#apotelesma

[stealingpotatoes]

i am once again telling you that I have new ocs

[voiratraverss]

Apotelesma

Gif not mine, credits to owner.

Warnings: panic attack

Apotelesma from Latin means influence of stars on human destiny.

A knife tore through a piece of meat.

Amused smile etched on his face.

-Oh darling, she should go buy a brain!” exclaimed someone on his right.

The fork was on its way to his mouth when he felt it.

The all too familiar drop of something in his gut, as if suddenly his chest became empty but heavy all at the same time, he had to chew on whatever was in his mouth but getting it down to stomach felt impossible.

One question kept popping into his head whenever this happened: does something grow in his chest and leave no space for heart or is his heart growing so big it takes up whole space?! One way or another his heart clenched.

Rubatosis, the heart kept it’s slow, arduous rhythm.

It isn’t painful, not in a sense of excruciating, raw pain, but god knows he’d rather take a bullet than deal with aftermath.

Fear creeping up on him slowly, until it reaches his throat making it impossible to gulp, not that he’d need to, the mouth runs dry.

Familiar nausea.

The glass of wine in front of his plate was disgusting, why no one served him water?!

Monachopsis was the word people call it, out of place.

Cautiously glancing around he wanted to summon someone to bring him a glass of crystal clear substance with no taste but everyone was too busy, everyone was engaged in a conversation or rather anecdoche, the warm light now seemed too dim and depressing, the laughter fake, the topics meaningless, food on his plate too much…

All too familiar…

He tried his best: smile, think of something that feels good, touch the chair you’re sitting on, take a deep breath, slowly exhale…

Nausea was only growing…. try listening to others conversations and engage…

It only made the matter worse, a certain word, a certain look and avoidance of certain topics and his mind was going 100 miles per second, too fast for him or any other force to stop it…. The place felt smaller or maybe there were too many people…

Who in the world throws such huge parties, half the people must be seeing each other for the first time!

The breathing is shallow, not that much oxygen left with so many people sucking it out of space… Now this becomes just another matter of concern…

Are there any windows?! Can anyone open a window?! Who invented the stupid dress code, one can boil alive in those button downs and suits….

Yet he shivers, his hands are cold as usual.

-Are you alright?” the question sounded distant but he nodded way too many times and gave a perfect haunted smile, which assured whoever it might’ve been that nothing with him can ever be wrong…

And it hit even worse, nausea, lack of oxygen and guilt now.

Such a pathetic liar… nothing ever goes right does it?! Life is completely empty of meaning, he’d go home after this and wouldn’t want to wake up because what’s the point…He should’ve stayed at home to start with, then maybe all this could’ve been avoided.

The heat is becoming too much, maybe he’d need to throw up after all…. He excuses himself and heads for the bathroom….

Water clear and cold, the buzzing is so distant in the bathroom it almost feels like party is at neighbors house… the bathroom occupies a tiny space though, and water does help nausea, very slightly….

Everything is so ephemeral, this thought usually helps, it will pass…everything does….But why is it getting worse….

The list of concerns grows.

Should’ve taken those damned pills.

He picks up some bottle and reads the tiny text “ingredients: aqua (water), Glycine, oil…” the words are so small it takes all of his powers to focus on it, perfect… “sodium lactate…” there’s a knock on the door and all words become blurry, he leaves in haste.

While searching for hosts his mind buzzes with thoughts: Aqua, Latin, Greek dresses, Hellenistic period, his chemistry teacher, who invented soap, medicine still uses Latin, did they use creams in old Rome, Alexander, Cleopatra, Richard Burton, Nefertiti and Nefernari?! ignored, baths with milk, so many myths, how did they know stars, what was that word I read once….”

Finding the hosts excusing himself…

“You see I received a call….I’m terribly sorry…. it’s an emergency…. wouldn’t want to leave….” the conversation makes him feel even worse, he’s lying but he’d hate to hurt them, if only he could….

Pathetic liar no better than his own father. Fresh air outside is nice, feels less like throwing up.

Walking is also nice.

Why does it feel like crying tho.

The night is starry too.

“Apotelesma!” he remembers.

Just keep walking….

Let me know what you think, feedback is very welcome!

[daddy-killmonger]

💫apotelesma~part one💫

Summary: You can’t run from destiny. Erik learns that the hard way.

Word Count: 830..not a lot...yikes

A/N: Okay, I know I haven’t posted part three of your ways, but listen, this idea has been on my mind for a while and I wanted to put it on here. I tried my best to write my thoughts down and execute the idea. Of course criticism is welcome. Tell me if it’s shit or not

Erik Killmonger x Black! Female Reader

     When you and Erik first started talking. He teased you about your fascination with the stars. “Everything is written in the stars Erik, even our destiny.”, you’d say with the brightest smile on your face. “What type of white people shit is that?”, he joked. “You’re an idiot.”. you pushed him playfully.

     Erik’s voice was hoarse and gravelly when he woke up in the mornings. you would know, you woke up next to him every morning for the past two years.

      “Good morning baby girl.”, he wrapped his arm around your waist. You were sitting up, reading a book. Erik flopped his head in your lap and you winced, “Erik! You act like yo head weighs an ounce! Big refrigerator head ass!”, you scolded him, you out your book on the nightstand. He laughed, “Stop all that complaining and give me a kiss.”, he rubbed your thigh. He lifted his head up towards you and you pecked him on the lips. “A good way to start the morning.”, he smiled and sat up in the bed. You watched him and he stared back.

Silence. 

     A mischievous smirk spread across Erik’s face before he pounced on you. You squealed, “Erik! You play too much!”, you giggled as he attacked you in kisses all over you neck and chest. “Erik stop.”, you laughed and grabbed his head in your hands. As you held his head up, he was trying to give you the puppy eyes. “Don’t make that face.”, you laughed. “I’m trying to make moments with my favorite girl in the world.”, he responded as you let his head go. 

     He sat back up and you put your head on his shoulders,“Do you really have to go?”, you stared at the black, silk sheets on the bed. “Princess, I’ll be back before you know it.”, he reassured you. You looked at him,”When are you going to tell me where you’re going?”, you asked quietly. “When it’s time.”, he simply responded. “Erik...I’m not a kid.”, you rolled your eyes. “What you want for breakfast ma?”, Erik dodged the question. “Erik-”, you started but he interrupted you. 

 “(Y/N), what did I just say?”, he started getting up, ‘When the time is right.”, he repeated. You sighed, “Pancakes.” “Anything else?”, he looked at you.

“You cooking?”, you asked. “Yes (Y/N).’, he slipped on his shirt that was on the floor. “I’m not sure if you’re being sarcastic or if you’re mad at me.”, you groaned. “Eggs? Bacon?”, he was dodging you again. “Erik you can’t blame me for being curious about where you’re going.”, you explained. 

“(Y/N), I told you not to stress too much about it. Just know, ya man will be back in a month...or two.”, he cleared his throat and started putting on his boxers.

 “Or two! Erik you didn’t mention that.”, you stood up also. Erik sighed, “Minor changes.”, he shrugged. “Nigga! Minor changes! Why are you being so nonchalant about this?!”, you exclaimed. “Aye. Chill baby girl. And put on some clothes. The window is open.”, his eyes traveled to your breasts. You let out a frustrated sigh and got one his shirts out the drawer and slipped it over your head. “You always looked good in my shirts.”, he smiled. “Erik stop doing that.”, you snapped. “Stop doing what?”, Erik tilted his head. “Stop avoiding the topic.”

“Aye, you remember what you said anything that happens is written in the stars and where we end is in our destiny?” 

“Okay and?”, you shrugged. “Don’t worry about it.” Erik left out the room to the bathroom and you followed,”Erik you can’t use my shit against me ad just walk away.” Erik laughed, “I did. I’m not arguing with you.” You looked at him with that stupid ass grin on is face as he moisturized his locs.

“I could slap the shit out of you.”, you sneered. Erik looked at you, “I double dog dare you.”, he said mockingly. You raised your hand and he didn’t flinch. “I hate you,”, you rolled your eyes. “Girl, you know damn well you love the hell outta me.”, Erik stuck his tongue out at you. You flipped him off and turned to go back to the bedroom. Erik slapped your ass and cupped your whole ass cheek in his left hand. You froze, “Erik-”, Erik cut you off, “Don’t even say nothing. Take off that shirt and lay on the bed.” You looked at him, “What about breakfast?” Erik smirked, “I know what I’m eating. Go lay down.” 

Taglist: @scarletxwonder @raysunshine78 @blackpinup22 @purple-apricots @chaneajoyyy @bitemyxxx @lalapalooza718 @nerd-lovely @amirra88 @fonville-designs @lifelover4u @uzumaki-rebellion

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[philipronans]

for all the ghosts that are never gonna catch me

happy (late) halloween, and happy first day of nano! no one’s gonna care that i have an update for this fic, but i do and here have it i’m tired of looking at it

Necromancy, all things considered, isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Sure, sometimes you get to do the exciting stuff, like talking to the dead, or sitting in musty old basements waiting for the souls of the damned to visit. But most of the time it’s a hell of a lot more boring than that. Stumbling through a graveyard at the ass crack of dawn, looking for one particular headstone, level boring. At least Koutarou didn’t choose a public cemetery, this time. Trying to explain to grieving members of the public that seances are neither illegal, or dangerous is a mistake Tetsurou has sworn to make only once. A glance at his phone tells him they’ve only been here for ten minutes, at most, and that includes the circus that was getting out of Koutarou’s rust bucket of a car, but he already wants to go home. Not that that’s a surprise, necessarily, given that he’d wanted to go back to bed moments after he’d clipped himself into Koutarou’s rust bucket of a car. But Akaashi had levelled him with one of his looks, and any argument he might have had had shrivelled to dust on his tongue.

So now here he is, freezing his ass off as he watches Koutarou prance about ahead of him, his hair virtually glowing in the moonlight as he flits between the headstones. Tetsurou watches him, hands shoved as far as he can physically get them in his jacket pockets in a futile attempt of fighting off the chill. The dead have no need, and therefore no care, for warm clothing though, and he feels the hair on his arms rise as a breeze winds its way between his legs and kicks up dust and leaves off the floor. Akaashi appears beside him, and if Tetsurou didn’t know any better he would strongly suspect magic. But he does know better, that it’s just one of Akaashi’s many talents, and that it scares the shit out of him, like always. He makes a startled sound, sees the pleased smile Akaashi tries to hind behind the scarf he’s tucked his chin into, and Tetsurou shakes his head. The light of his phone makes the circles under Akaashi’s eyes even more prominent, and Tetsurou tries to ignore the stab of guilt. “You think he’d notice if we just… left?” He asks, rolling his head to look at Akaashi properly. “Eventually.” Akaashi says mildly. He bites back a yawn, muffled slightly by the scarf, but his eyes remain amused. “He’d only pester us about it even more.” “Point.” Tetsurou concedes with a shrug. He curls his fingers in the lining of his jacket. “Okay. The sooner we get this started, the sooner we can go home.” Akaashi hums, pats him on the shoulder, and then wanders off. There’s a fork in the path ahead of them, so he branches left as he fishes his phone from his pocket and uses the dim light to read the names. Tetsurou makes a show of bending to look at a few of the graves, although in the dark the names are nothing more than grey blurs. “Oi!” He calls, ignoring the way his knees crack as he stands back up, and grinning at the way Koutarou’s head swivels to look at him. “Remember who we’re looking for, yeah?” “I know.” Koutarou’s voice is nearing on a whine as he stomps off again, pointedly shrugging further into his jacket when Tetsurou laughs at him. The quiet that settles around them would have been eerie as a kid. As it is, Tetsurou’s spent his fair share of time amongst ghosts, and their attempts at unsettling him don’t work. By the way Koutarou keeps glancing over his shoulder, the same cannot be said for him, however. Tetsurou is about to tease him about it, has his mouth open and everything, when Akaashi calls them over. It comes as no real shock that Akaashi is the one to find what they’re looking for, more because he’s actually looking for it, rather than the fact he spends more time hanging out in graveyards than any self-respecting person probably should, present predicament notwithstanding. “This is the one, right?” He asks when Tetsurou is close enough to barely make out the engraving. He runs his fingers over the stone, and nods. “This is him.” “Huh.” Koutarou says, having finally made his way over to them. He hooks his chin over Tetsurou’s shoulder, hair scratching against Tetsurou’s cheek as he shifts his weight. “I don’t think I ever met him.” Tetsurou gives Akaashi a flat look, winking when his lips twitch ever so slightly upwards. “Your family is big enough to populate a small country.” He jostles his shoulders until he’s a little more comfortable. “Not exactly surprising, is it?” Doing the best he can with the angle he’s got, Koutarou elbows him in the back. There’s enough force that it sends them both stumbling forwards, Koutarou’s arms instantly latching around Tetsurou’s waist in an effort to keep them both standing. They share a beat of silence before they both start cackling at each other. Akaashi ducks the lower half of his face inside his scarf again, but Tetsurou sees the grin before he can fully hide it. “Maybe we should go inside?” “An excellent idea.” Tetsurou says, shrugging Koutarou off and jerking his head towards the urn nestled underneath the engraved name. “The honour’s all yours.” “Thanks.” Koutarou says dryly, hands suddenly very gentle as he delicately picks the urn up and tucks it against his chest. “Now, c’mon! Ghost hunting!” “That’s not-” Tetsurou begins, knowing it’s pointless to argue but unable to help himself from trying. Koutarou shows know sign of acknowledging him, humming under his breath as he wanders off, and Tetsurou sighs. Akaashi passes him, offering him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder as he goes. “Come on.” He says, glancing over his shoulder. “It’ll be over soon.” _____ The Bokuto residence is a large, sprawling plot of land deep in the heart of Tokyo, seemingly at odds with the modern city that surrounds it. Not that that bothers Tetsurou; this place has been home to him for almost as long as he can remember, and there’s an easy familiarity in the way he walks back to the house. The gardens are invariably warmer the closer they get to the main building, the smell of the well-kept flowerbeds helping him relax. They find the back door already open when they reach it, which would worry Tetsurou a lot more if he weren’t aware of the number of wards surrounding the entire building. Being this far away from the bedrooms means they don’t have to worry about being quiet, but they still tread carefully anyway, deftly avoiding any creaky floorboards. Koutarou leads the charge, his movements so light that it almost looks like he’s dancing down the hall. The door he stops in front of is closed, and Tetsurou sees his fingers pause just above the doorknob for the briefest of moments, before his shoulders slump and he steps inside. Tetsurou shuts the back door behind him, sliding the deadbolt into place and kicks his shoes off. He takes a moment to straighten them neatly against the wall, tutting at the way Koutarou’s have been left wherever they landed when he took them off. He glances up to find Akaashi watching him from down the hall, and shrugs. The doorjamb, when he reaches it, is covered in runes; ‘protection’ and ‘containment’ are carved the deepest. The look Koutarou is giving him is sheepish, and Tetsurou grins. “Let’s hope they’re friendly this time, yeah?” He asks, just to watch Koutarou squirm a little. The table Koutarou is sitting at somewhat ruins the effect, but Tetsurou will take what he can get at this point. “How was I meant to know?” Koutarou says, crossing his arms across his chest. “I didn’t ask them to try and possess me.” “They did a little more than ‘try’, Bokuto.” Akaashi points out, voice wry. He fiddles with the cuff of his sleeve so he doesn’t have to meet Koutarou’s eye. “Musta known about all that empty space between your ears.” Tetsurou teases, poking Koutarou in the temple as he moves across the room and settles himself on the floor. He grumbles when Koutarou swats at him in retaliation, reaching out to gently place a hand on the urn in the centre of the table. The ring on his middle finger clinks against the ceramic, and he sees Koutarou pull a face. “This time’ll be different.” Koutarou says confidently, nodding at Tetsurou’s hand. “If you say so.” Tetsurou mutters, shifting his weight and then settling back down. “Now shush, I need to concentrate.” Koutarou pretends to scowl at him, fingers tapping against the table for a moment, before he mimes locking his mouth shut and throwing away the key. Akaashi, now divested of his scarf, instead hides his smile behind his hand and winks so quickly at Tetsurou, he’s half sure he imagined it. There is no ceremony to what Tetsurou does. Sometimes, when other people are watching him, he wishes there were something… more to this. But as it is, all he actually has to do is leave one hand on the urn, the other falling to rest in his lap. He takes several deep breaths, and then closes his eyes. ____ Tetsurou is in darkness. Fully and totally emerged in it with no obvious way out. It wouldn’t be so bad if it were the nice kind that accompany pleasant dreams, but it’s not. It’s oppressive in its complete blackness, anchoring him here in a way that begins to feel more permanent the longer he’s here. He’s had it drilled into his head for as long as he can remember that this is a place to be respected and feared in equal measure, and to refer to it by its name at all times. Personally, Tetsurou thinks this place sucks, and actively avoids coming here as much as he can. Which usually means he can get away with calling it The Void instead of The Astral Plane. Usually. It’s always a gamble, coming here. He's never met Bokuto Kaito, which isn’t a huge problem by any means, but it will make finding him a little more difficult. Trekking through a plane of existence that by all accounts isn’t even technically real, can be tough even when you do know where you’re going. He’s only been here for two minutes, if that, and he can already feel exhaustion creeping up on him, ready to trap him the moment he lets his guard down. “Here goes.” He mutters, slowing his breathing until he’s barely inhaling at all. He doesn’t really need to breathe at all here, but the last time he’d tried not to, he’d sent himself into a panic attack. It’s better if he keeps up pretences. He feels his fingers brush against the urn in the living world, and waits for what seems like an eternity for the responding tug in this one. It’s a tiny part of conscious that feels it, that knows exactly where he needs to go, and that’s great. It just doesn’t help him actually get there. So, he starts walking. At least, he thinks he does. It’s hard to tell the difference between what’s real and what’s not here, and it always leaves his head spinning. He prefers not to think about it. Much like everything else here, time passes strangely. What feels like seconds can be an hour, and vice versa. Tetsurou has long since given up on pointing out how nonsensical this place is. Mostly because you can only shout into an empty void for so long before it starts eating at you. That isn’t to say he stays quiet, though. The one habit he’s never quite been able to break, despite the reprimands and the constant scolding, is talking to himself. Those who come here, at least, the people like him, have an anchor – something to remind them of what is real, and what isn’t. It’s not Tetsurou’s fault if his just so happens to be his own voice. “Uh… Bokuto-san? You here?” Tetsurou calls out into the darkness. His voice is hollow, almost reedy, and it sends a chill up his spine. Move faster. “My name is Kuroo Tetsurou, I’m a friend of the family. I know you don’t know me, but I was wondering if I could maybe talk to you?” Tetsurou frowns at himself. Smooth. He’s never really been good at this part; never quite managed to get over the whole ‘talking to the dead’ thing. “You’re buried at the main house, which means you’re important to Matsuko. She’s basically my grandma, if that helps convince you.” He breaks off with a nervous cough. “Anyway, I promised Koutarou a séance, so you would really be helping me out.” “Talking to yourself again?” A voice murmurs into his ear, and Tetsurou absolutely does not scream. He doesn’t. “Jesus Christ.” He squeezes his eyes shut, and clutches at his chest as he waits for the pounding in his ears to slow down. He doesn’t have a heart here, but that doesn’t actually seem to matter, given the adrenaline hammering through his veins. “Not the name I usually go by.” The voice says again, and although Tetsurou can’t see it, he can hear a smile. “Kenma.” He huffs, cracking an eye open so he can squint at the man in question. Kozume Kenma stands to his right, hands hooked into the back pockets of his jeans as he rocks on his heels. Recently bleached hair, and Tetsurou knows that’s true because he can smell it, swings into his face. He reaches up to tuck what he can behind his ear. “Yo.” He says, glancing over at Tetsurou. His eyebrows are nearing his hairline and he’s still smiling. “‘Yo’?” Tetsurou repeats incredulously. “What the fuck are you doing here?” “Nightly walk.” Kenma says, taking a few slow steps forward to demonstrate. He tilts his head curiously. “You?” “Why do you think?” Tetsurou says, rubbing at his chest as he follows Kenma through the darkness. “Koutarou wanted to go ‘ghost hunting’.” Kenma makes a small noise, pushing at his hair again when it flops back down into his eyes. He’s solid here in a way Tetsurou has never been; almost as if he belongs in this place, instead of just being a visitor. Tetsurou glances down at his own hands, at the way they seem to flicker between realities, and then back up at Kenma. “You don’t want to?” Kenma guesses, spinning on his heel so he can still gage Tetsurou’s reaction even as they continue to walk. “Oh you know me.” Tetsurou says with a tired smile. “Can’t get enough.” Kenma is quiet for a little while. He murmurs to himself a couple of times, but Tetsurou knows that asking is pointless, so he doesn’t bother. He’ll get his answers eventually. The silence that settles around them is almost uncomfortable in how absolute it is, so Tetsurou focuses on putting one flickering foot in front of the other. “I have an idea.” Kenma says eventually, when the quiet is beginning to scratch at Tetsurou’s senses. Tetsurou sees the glint in his eye, the promise of trouble hidden behind the careful indifference, and grins. “We fuck with Koutarou?” The nod Kenma gives him is the best answer he could ever hope to get. _______ “Good evening, gentleman.” Tetsurou says, carefully biting down the smile threatening to ruin this whole thing before it even gets a chance to take off. He watches Akaashi carefully, takes in the way his eyes lift from the book he has open in his lap and shoot straight to his face. He tries to keep his face as neutral as he can, tries to be convincing in his neutrality. It’s not Koutarou he has to worry about ruining things, his excitement will hold the illusion all on its own without Tetsurou’s help. But Akaashi’s role in this whole idea had been long suffering, at best. “I hope I haven’t kept you waiting long. Your friend had some trouble finding me.” “Not long at all!” Koutarou says, leaning forwards across the corner of the table so he’s inches away from Tetsurou, and it takes all of Tetsurou’s control not to involuntarily flinch back. His focus is mostly here, in the living realm, but he is still vaguely aware of Kenma’s presence. Being torn between two planes of existence is… strange. Not unpleasant, exactly. But it’s weird enough to make him feel mildly queasy. “Relax.” Kenma says, voice barely more than a whisper, even though there’s no danger of them hearing him. He slides his hand over Tetsurou’s shoulder, squeezes gently, before reaching up to rest his fingers against the pulse point in Tetsurou’s neck. “Relax.” It’s weird how effective that one word is, how it settles into his bones and makes him feel more at ease. He knows the charade won’t last very long, that either he’ll give himself away, or they’ll catch him out, but it doesn’t seem to matter much. “And you?” Tetsurou asks, switching his attention back to Akaashi. “Did I leave you waiting too long?” “No,” Akaashi says slowly, eyes flitting between Koutarou’s excited grin and Tetsurou’s face. “I’m fine.” “I’m glad.” He knows he’s eventually going to have to speak in actual sentences, but the longer he can put it off, the better. “So, what is it you wish to know?” “How did you die?” Koutarou asks immediately, looking vaguely like the passion behind it surprised even him. Tetsurou frowns deliberately. “We’ve only just met, and that’s what you want to know?” Koutarou looks appropriately chastised, and falls silent for a few seconds. “I’m sorry, that was rude. I’m Koutarou, what’s your name?” “You picked my urn up,” Tetsurou says, tinkling his ring against the urn in question when he wiggles his fingers, “and you don’t even know my name?” “I was just trying to be friendly.” Koutarou grumbles, and Tetsurou has to duck his chin to try and fight the smile. “Um, what did you do for a living, when you were… alive.” He finishes weakly, wincing at his own choice of words. “I was a businessman, down in Osaka.” Tetsurou says, knowing the lie is likely going to be caught by Akaashi at the very least. He sees the moment Akaashi realises what’s going on, and turns his head in the hope Koutarou won’t see him wink. To his relief, Akaashi nods, a small, minute thing that would have been unperceivable had he not been staring at him so intently. Koutarou nods, before he freezes. The beginning of a frown creases his brow. “We don’t have family in Osaka.” “Ah,” Tetsurou says. He hears Kenma snigger in his ear, and tries to swat at him, but with his concentration so fragmented, he isn’t sure it works. “I was kicked outta the family.” “Then why are you buried in the family plot?” Koutarou asks. “And why do you have a Tokyo accent, Kaito-san?” “In my defence,” Tetsurou says, dropping the act, and grinning at Koutarou, “I was trying to find him.” “But?” There’s no trace of anger or annoyance in Koutarou’s voice, and Tetsurou isn’t entirely sure why that surprises him as much as it does. “You get bored on the way?” “I met Kenma.” Tetsurou uses the hand Kenma already has on his neck to pull him into the room. Or rather, he pulls a shadowy imitation of Kenma into the room, almost as if they’re seeing him through a murky window. “Hi.” Kenma says, the sound echoing in Tetsurou’s ears from both versions of his friend.  He disappears mere seconds later, the force of it snapping Tetsurou fully back into his own body, and for once the experience doesn't leave him with a headache, at the very least. “That explains some things.” Akaashi closes the book and places it on the table. There’s something about the way he says it that makes Tetsurou tilt his head. “You knew straight away, didn’t you?” “You did a good job of pretending.” Akaashi says, scratching idly at his chin. “But your voice was different.” “You are… eerily perceptive, you know that?” Akaashi merely smiles in response and pushes himself onto his knees in an effort to stand up. “If we’re finished, I’m hungry.” Koutarou announces, stretching his arms above his head and sighing in satisfaction when numerous bones crack. “You sure you don’t want me to actually find him?” Tetsurou asks, watching Koutarou’s flailing limbs warily. “I can, if you want me to.” “Nah, it’s okay. I kinda want food, anyway.” He gets to his feet, pulling at his jeans until they fall back into place. “And I should start heading home.” Akaashi interjects, stamping his feet on the ground a few times in an effort to get his blood flowing again. “I’ll drop you off, I know you’ve got the early shift.” Koutarou says as he turns to Tetsurou and offers him a hand. His arm goes taut as he takes the weight, and when they’re standing side by side, he slings that arm over Tetsurou’s shoulders. “Food?” “Sure.”

[ridgies]

LongestYeahBoiEver.meme

[dreaming-of-fae]

i started mindlessly writing this morning and realized that i was writing another apotelesma story instead of the novella i should be working on. ah well, muses are fickle misses, and i should take advantage of this opportunity

[dreaming-of-fae]

I'm down to one moresecrion/1,500 words left to write in the first chapter of my last story in apotelesma! (yeah there was definitely a better way to phrase that) I'm so excited, I can barely focus on the other shit I'm meant to be doing(piano practice? who's she?) also drew up some ideas for illustrations in the book, so I may be posting one of them soon ;)

[dreaming-of-fae]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

a series of short stories, all featuring queer characters, set in a universe filled with magic and mystery. only 3 stories up so far, but im working on the 4th right now, with ideas for a 5th!