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spookywrxtes · 8 years

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“here’s a glass of whatever.”

“Just bring me a glass of.......whatever.” He’d mumbled faintly into the crease of his blankets. He felt like he was burning and freezing all at once and though he was shivering he could feel a light sweat cooling against his skin.

The fever had set in before he’d even woken up that morning, leaving him waking achy and with a churn through his muscles that he couldn’t quite track. Strength was not something he had with the persistence of a fever. It was high and it left him so low that the most he could do was grudgingly turn himself over. Where had this come from? He’d been out to different places the day before, had someone passed it to him?

Either way he’d had to reach blindly for his cell phone and call Clopin back into their room, even if he was only in the kitchen. His throat felt dry and scratchy and dehydrated.

“Here’s a glass of whatever.” He heard a thunk against the night stand beside him and all at once he was being helped to sit up even if he hadn’t asked for it. Before his eyes were open he could feel the glass in his hands and he sighed a little, lifting it to press to his face. On his other cheek he felt a hand, soft and cool. “Take this when you drink it, we need to get your fever down.”

He felt something slide into his palm and after a moment he popped it into his mouth and took a few drinks from the glass. Apple juice.

“How are you feeling? Does anything hurt? Are you hot? Cold?” A line of questions came at him and for one delirious moment he pictured them as a train coming at him.

“My head. A little.”

“Here. Lay back down.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. It could have been a few minutes or a few hours before he heard Clopin come in again - he wasn’t really sure which. But the chill of the cloth he’d brought against his skin did wonders to help. It slid across his skin, cooling him and wiping away at the sweat dried there. “Maybe you shouldn’t be in here, you could get sick too.”

“Stitch you’re sick. I’m not going anywhere.”

He sighed as he felt a kiss against his temple.

#s; sin #c; little monster #prompts #this is bad i'm sorry #tiewriter

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ghcstwriting · 7 years

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five times watched. (( that sounds super creepy but we all know that we end up watching our crushes bc !!! sO ???? i'm trying to be creative here and i'm not good at it ))

it starts innocuously enough, all things considered. it’s a poetry slam— you’re supposed to be paying attention to the speaker. it’d be rude not to. so sif doesn’t feel bad for staring, raises a dam inside of herself so that no guilt is able to drip into her and weigh her down as she watches how his lips shape the words he speaks. he controls the room without even seemingly being aware of his ability to do so; when he pauses, the entire room freezes, everyone holds their breath, going still, waiting. watching. watching him. see? she’s just like everyone else. even if her eyes trace over the shape of his lips, slow, careful, like she’s trying to teach herself patience. maybe she is, if the way her hand curls around her mug so rigidly is to serve as evidence against her plea of innocence. ( and, to be perfectly clear, there is nothing innocent in the shape of his mouth and there is nothing innocent in the way she watches him like a hawk. ) he pauses again and sif looks up, pulling her gaze away from his mouth to catch his eyes. she almost wants to jump back as if she’s been burned when she finds his eyes locking with her own. she’s been caught red handed. and yet, she can’t even muster the decency to look away— and when she doesn’t, he smiles.

ii.

if sif were a smarter girl, maybe she wouldn’t be sitting here. again. watching as he walks to the mic, easy, like there’s all the time in the world. like they’d sit here for hours just to hear him speak— and sif is sure, from looking at him at least, that his thought process probably doesn’t sound quite as pompous as she’s making him seem. it’s not her intention to. there is nothing imperious in the lazy smile he wears, in the old, worn denim jeans he’s got on. paired with a lisa frank tank top, like they’re taking a trip back to the mid nineties, and it’s glorious in the worst of ways because god, who the fuck wants to go back to the mid nineties? but the obscurity pairs well with him because he wears it as though it isn’t obscure at all, and it isn’t. not really. endearing. that’s what it is. regardless— it is maybe not the smartest decision to be here again, tonight, to hear him speak. to her, she thinks, and then, no, to everyone. to no one. to the moon and stars? maybe. after she’d been caught last week, she’d spent the rest of the slam pointedly trying to not stare at him, rushing out of the dimly lit cafe the minute everything was over. and yet here she was, moth to flame. he reached the mic and sif made it a point to take a long, slow drink from her mug as he started. she wasn’t going to be a fuckin’ creep. she wasn’t. the bottom of the mug touched her table, and she lasted what could have possibly been thirty seconds before she sought him out, only to find he’d found her first. she’d changed the table she’d sat at in the hopes of not being found. and yet here she was, and there he was, and neither of them were looking away from one another. to me, she thinks, fondly.

iii.

she’s almost too late, trying to quietly rush inside the cafe before she misses anything— and do you know how hard it is to quietly rush? it’s certainly not a cake walk, but she manages not to be incredibly disruptive, holding her breath so her panting doesn’t cloud the atmosphere and make things weird. sif always makes it a priority to take keir and visenya out for a quick walk before she leaves, and of course, visenya just had to choose today to slip out of her collar. the good news: visenya wasn’t hurt, and sif managed to get both dogs home safely. the bad news: she’s standing around awkwardly, lungs burning as she tries to quiet herself, and people are looking. it’s not the people looking she cares about, so much as it is the fact that she might’ve ruined the experience they’d been having up until that point. she offers a weak smile to anyone who shoots her a glare as she treks over to the counter, and takes comfort in the fact that at least the barista shoots her an understanding look. he’s a nice guy. she doesn’t recognize whoever is currently at the mic and wonders, with an odd spike of panic, if she’s missed ben. she picks something random off the menu, but granted, it’s always something random because she’s made it her goal to try everything on the menu. sif sulks as she waits for her drink, picking at her shirt. it’s the joy division shirt that everyone owns, paired with some old shorts that are maybe just a little bit too short, but fuck it. who cares, right? she’s comfortable.

the drink is cold in her hands, and topped with extra whip, because sif guesses that’s the barista’s way of trying to cheer her up. her fear that she missed ben only intensifies and she drops into a plush chair and pushes her messy hair behind her burning ears. her phone slips out of her pocket easily, and she turns her brightness all the way down, scrolling through facebook idly. why does she still have a facebook? facebook is what you use to keep in touch with family and to see who from your graduating class is married, or pregnant, or in rehab. she doesn’t keep up with any of those people. lost in her own grumbling thoughts, she doesn’t notice when the person speaking finishes. doesn’t register the footsteps that near the mic. she just squints at her phone as she scrolls through her meager friends list. and when ben speaks, lower than usual, she startles and nearly drops her phone, almost giving herself whiplash with how fast she turns her head. shit. sif watches him scan the audience and is quick to nearly slam her phone down on the arm of her chair, screen facing downwards, and waits for him to find her. she counts, and it takes him about twenty five seconds to pinpoint her. he seems pleased to see her, and she tries not to look so flushed, so caught off guard. does it work? of course not. her lips twitch upwards all the same.

she settles into the chair, which is actually pretty comfortable, now that she’s not hunched over her phone, and listens with rapt attention as he speaks. and it’s.. different, compared to his usual pieces. not that she’s complaining, of course, but— the way he’s speaking now is like he’s making her a promise, the words rolling off of his tongue considerably more.. provocative. oh. oh. he doesn’t look away from her, and her teeth notch into her lower lip, and his eyes only seem to glow with the action.

iv.

it is a very lazy sunday, and even though the sun is out and a nice breeze is keeping the day just cool enough to not be sweltering, sif finds that she doesn’t want to do much. she dresses lazily, aiming for comfort instead of style. the joggers she throws on are obnoxiously bright and obnoxiously patterned, but they’re soft and light. her tanktop scrunches up a bit so her navel is just peeking out from under the fabric, and she jams her wallet, phone, and apartment keys into her pockets, leaving her apartment to seek out the thrift store. it’s nice, run by a sweet old couple, and it’s cheap, and she always finds something. the store is pretty much empty, and she takes her time wandering about in a daze, fingers tracing along shelves. she picks out some old books, the spines worn, and finds her way to the register. just as she’s being rung up, the bell on the door jingles, and sif blinks, glancing over to the door. in walks ben. because, of course, who else would it be? she forgets where she is as he makes his way into the store, the sun catching in his hair, not realizing at first that the kind old man ringing up her books has asked her how she’s been.

“oh, y’know. still settling in, sort of.” sif answers with a smile, trying to remind herself to make eye contact with the person she’s speaking to. she doesn’t want to be rude. she glances over at ben, again, anyways. he’s closer, looking at the small jewelry stand on the counter. she wonders if something caught his eye, or if maybe he’s just trying to be close to her. her head shakes slightly, and her attention is drawn back to the current transaction as she’s told her price, and she gives the man more than he’d asked for and tells him to keep the change. as she takes her bag, she makes a split second decision: she’s going to talk to him.

and just like that, as she takes a step forward, her phone rings. she wants to groan and stomp her feet like a child, whine that of fucking course, someone would choose now to call her. but she certainly can’t let the phone continue to ring, and so sif yanks it from her pocket like she’s got some serious beef with her phone, and answers it with a huffy “yeah?”. she passes ben on her way out of the store, still holding her phone to her ear, but just before the door closes behind her, she looks over her shoulder at him and finds him staring back at her.

sif waits. and waits. and waits. and ben still doesn’t stand to take the mic. she doesn’t remember anything that’s been read so far. she’s too busy trying to sneak glances at him. he’s sitting a few seats away and to her side, just at the angle that keeps him right out of her peripheral, so of course, if she really wants to look at him, she has to turn. why isn’t he reading anything tonight? she’s worried, admittedly, and maybe it’s stupid of her to be worried because obviously artists don’t always have muse. maybe he just wants to sit and listen tonight. it shouldn’t be a big deal. she’s going to worry, anyways. he hasn’t caught her eye yet, even though sif knows he knows she’s looking.

so she turns, fully, effectively saying ‘fuck it’ to trying to be sneaky about it. what was the point? wasn’t like he didn’t know she’d be staring. wasn’t like he didn’t stare back. when he looks back at her, his eyes are glassy and far away. shit. he’s high. he’s high as fuck, and sif doubts pot played any part in it. they stay like that for the better part of a minute, just staring.

as the speaker finishes up,sif wonders what ben sees when he looks at her.

and then she gets up, and makes her way to his table, and makes herself right at home in the seat across from his. no use wondering what he sees, if she can just ask him.

“i’m sif.”

#tiewriter #sORRY FOR THE PRESENT TENSE LMFAO #(— SHIP: you have me until every last star in the galaxy ᴰ ᴵ ᴱ ˢ; )#poetry slam au #answered memes #i know this kind of doesnt fully tie in with the rps we've done with it i aPOLOGIZE

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ghcstwriting · 7 years

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2. rey, phasma, jyn (ʘ‿ʘ)

[softly] how dare you

Marry: PHASMACuddle: ReySleep With ( i’m assuming this means legit sleepin’ bc a bitch is Tired ): Jyn ( she deserves a good night’s sleep and a years paid vacation time god damn it )

#tiewriter #answered memes

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ghcstwriting · 7 years

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siren au

there is, one knows not what sweet mystery about this sea, whose gently awful stirrings seem to speak of some hidden soul beneath...

#siren au #(— SHIP: you have me until every last star in the galaxy ᴰ ᴵ ᴱ ˢ; )#(— AESTHETICS; )#tiewriter

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ghcstwriting · 6 years

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pair aesthetics: wendy & aster

@tiewriter

#aster tag #wendy tag #i wasnt super concerned with making em all... match color wise i just. wanted somethin #(— AESTHETICS; )

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ghcstwriting · 7 years

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can’t believe @tiewriter asked me to go to the yule ball with him by spelling out “will you go to the yule ball with me” on my lawn with dozens of lit candles which proceeded to light my lawn on fire. romance isn’t dead, it’s just burnt!

#HogwartsWelcomesYule #@ randakin #kidfjgfnhklsf #i hope someone knows the picture im talking about i cant FIND IT

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ghcstwriting · 7 years

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guess who i love? @tiewriter

#Mobile post #I'm at work but I wanted you 2 know babe #@ randakin

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ghcstwriting · 7 years

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( Uploaded from my phone so the qual is Probably Shit™ ) presenting Sorceress Savmé Stark & Incubus Randakin Targaryen. BGO is a hell of a game and if you give me crabs one more time I'm gonNA MURDER ( @tiewriter )

#when the eye color is so dark it's hard to make out the pupils #@ randakin #ghost art

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ghcstwriting · 7 years

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guess.... who i love the Most.....? my darling dearest @tiewriter

#im here to send u love and good vibes #blows you kisses #@ randakin

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ghcstwriting · 7 years

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look at my best friend, @tiewriter I love him so much y'all

#@ randakin

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ghcstwriting · 7 years

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when u an ya best friend killin it in BGO

(and by killin it i mean KILLING EACH OTHER) @tiewriter

#@ randakin

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ofmymuses · 7 years

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░ ✩ ❝ * APPRECIATION POST !! ❞

honestly, i just experienced something very hurtful and i want to spread some love and happiness to cheer me up. so under the cut, you’ll find some little letters to the people i love most. and if by chance you aren’t on this, know that i still appreciate you and love you very much.

xoxo, amanda

@musepirations: my dear, you are so amazing. talking to you is such a joy. you're truly one of my all-time favourite people on this hell site. thank you so much for being so helpful and for being such a lil cutie !!

@lia-rps: shELiA !! my lil peanut .. honestly ....,,,.. I feel extra mom friend-y with you ‘cause you're younger than me and I want to protect you at all costs???.? If anyone sends you hate, I will fight them bOO bOO

@monsoonrps: you are so amazing, jen. you let me spill my thoughts and feelings to you and it really means a lot to me that you do that. you are so kind and sincere. never let anyone spoil the good in you, okay??? mMMUAH

@astraeawrites: aiGHT TBH . .. .... you are one of my fave, FAvE BLOgS. when you came to help me with the rph problem i had ..... BOIIIII i took a double take on your user ‘cause i was so in shock like????? YOU’RE SO GGGREAT, keep iT UP XOXOOX

@velvetrpc: okokok,, we just started talking again and i’m so blessed. you are such an amazing soul and you’re just a bundle of cuteness !! and i hope you aren’t a ball of stress anymore :((( i rLY want to know about you and just like ??? become friends, yA FEEL?

@tiewriter: we don’t talk but i see you in my activity a TONNNN and i just wanted to say thankums !! FUN MF FACT -- you are actually #1 in my biggest fan list thing and like ?!?! just thank you. if you ever want to talk, hmu !!

@museinspo: you are literally the mothership of musings. i am very grateful for you and your lovely blog. i take a lot of inspiration from you and just thank you so much for everything you do. BLESS YOU !!

annnnnd that’s a wrap !! again, i am so sorry if i forgot someone. i’m just so loving of all of the people i follow and of the people who follow me -- so thank you.

#amanda speaks #thank you

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ghcstwriting · 7 years

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The port is bustling with people, and Sif lets Ben guide her around as she takes it all in. She's still not quite used to this— and as she looks around, her eyes are widened by curiosity. If Ben notices, he says nothing. At least he understands, now, why she looks so mesmerized by everything she sees.

Ben steers them towards an area that isn’t quite as busy. It’s still nice, of course, it’s just.. not quite as loud. Not quite so packed. Sif is, admittedly, still getting used to all of the noise and the people. They aren’t always considerate. As she looks around at the stalls selling various items, something small approaches. It's furry, and it's ears stick straight up on it's head and it has a tail— and it yaps at Sif. She starts, taking a cautious step back, brow furrowing, grabbing for Ben’s arm as he speaks to a merchant. He’s quick to ditch the conversation, her unease obvious.

“What is it? Are you alright?” Unease is written across his features, clear as day. She glances down at the creature again, suspicious, then looks back up at Ben.

“What is that? It made a noise at me.” She’s very leery of the small thing, eyeing it like she expects it to attack her. Beside her, Ben laughs quietly.

“That’s a dog, Sif. She won’t hurt you, I promise. You can pet her.”

Her face twists in confusion.

“Why is it so...tiny?” She really doesn’t understand this. What’s a dog? She can name everything that lives in the ocean, if you ask, but.. Dogs are weird.

“Well, she’s a puppy, so.. she’s still growing.” He seems like he’s fumbling with the explanation for a moment, and she huffs.

“A puppy? I thought you said it was a dog.” This is all very odd. Sif isn’t sure how she feels— on top of her confusion, irritation begins to buzz in the back of her mind. Is Ben playing a joke on her? He laughs again, and a pout pulls at her lips.

“She is a dog, Sif. A puppy is just a baby version of a dog. Here, let me—” He moves away from her to bend, carefully so as not to disturb the still healing wound on his side, and pick the puppy up. It yaps again, tail wagging. Sif is jealous, as she normally is whenever anything else possesses Ben’s attention. He scratches behind her ear and strokes her head, gentle, and then looks to Sif once more. She’s drawn back in all too easily by his gaze.

“Here, like this.” And he pets the dog again, just as he had a second prior.

...Fine. She’ll pet the tiny little wriggling thing. If only because it’ll make Ben happy. Sif pats her carefully, hand as gentle as can be. She’s very.. soft. And she gets excited when Sif pets her, tail wagging harder as she squirms in Ben’s hold. Sif pets her again. Just..out of curiosity. And then again. It’s an experiment, that’s all.

...Maybe the tiny dog isn’t so bad.

The merchant calls Ben’s attention back to him, and he frowns, glancing at the pup and then to Sif. “Here, take her, like this— good! There you go! Just be careful, okay?”

So, she ends up with a pup in her arms, staring up at her with bright eyes, tongue lolling out of it’s mouth as it pants happily. It’s an odd little creature, unlike that of which she’s used to. But it... is not so bad. She continues petting the pup, the action oddly soothing, even for her. At times she switches it up, scratching behind one of her ears as Ben had, watching as her eyes close. Is she tired? She cradles the dog to her chest, looking intrigued at the sight of their paws.

When Ben finally finishes heckling with the merchant, he turns to Sif, holding out his hands to take the pup back.

“Here, I’ll find out where she came from and get her back to whoever she belongs to.”

And Sif frowns, nearly curling around the baby in her arms protectively. “What do you mean? She belongs to me now.”

#siren au #(— SHIP: you have me until every last star in the galaxy ᴰ ᴵ ᴱ ˢ; )#tiewriter #lmfao i try

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ghcstwriting · 8 years

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ROUGH TOUCH

7. Your muse grips my muse’s hips.(i may have rerolled) aka it took me forever to get to the hip gripping part and it didn’t even have an important part in the story and i’m sorry

She’s sort of.. Lost track of time. Of how long she’s been stuck with him. At first it was easy, kind of, gave her something to grasp onto. Keeping track of the days now just seems tiring. Useless. Doesn’t matter how many months she’s been dragged along. It’s not like they’re going to hit a number of months and things are magically going to stop.

He’d decided they were going to go to Vegas, which is where they’d been at for the past three days. Right now, though, they're driving through the fucking desert. Literally. The sun has already set, about an hour or so ago, and truthfully? Sif isn’t feeling all that great about being driven through the literal fucking desert in the dark. Not to mention there’s a demon at the wheel. She keeps herself curled up and facing the window.

It almost doesn’t register when the car finally stops. They’ve been driving past the same fucking thing for miles and she’s too busy trying to figure out what the fuck they’re doing out here. This kind of shit usually ends up with someone being murdered. It’s difficult— wishing it won’t be her means hoping it’ll be someone else and no matter how she feels about it, it leaves an odd taste in her mouth. She picks at a stray thread on the tunic she’s wearing— Kylo’s, as it just so happens to be, and pretends she doesn’t realize what’s going on around her, even as he gets out of the car and comes to her side, opening the door for her in some awful parody of chivalrousness.

“C’mon, sweetheart. We don’t have all night.” Her stomach turns but she says nothing, ducking her head instead as she gets out of the car. It wouldn’t matter if she acted brave, she knows she’s radiating fear, acting like a frightened animal as she walks beside him. Every move she makes feels robotic, like she’s not entirely there, part of her drifting off somewhere else. She doesn’t like it. Doesn’t like this helplessness, doesn’t like how her heart is racing or how her ears are ringing. No matter what happens here, things are going to change.

The headlights of the car illuminate the surrounding area and she watches their shadows move together as she follows him reluctantly, hands balled in the fabric of her shirt. His shirt? Does it matter? Probably not. Not if she’s going to die, anyway.

She doesn’t realize he’s stopped walking until he’s grabbing her arm, pulling her back into his side and she blinks, once, twice, confused and startled before instinct kicks in and she yanks her arm away and holds it as if she’s been burned.

He laughs, makes some remark that doesn’t register because she’s already trying to figure out how to get out of here, how to get away from him. She doesn’t notice the man on the ground, bound and gagged until she realizes that he’s moved away from her, crouching over the injured man, yanking the fabric from his mouth.

Sif squints, and it hits her. In pieces, anyways, with a ton of what-if’s thrown in between just to keep her on edge. What if they both die. Fuck.

She’s just kind of.. Pulling a deer in the headlights, really. Standing there, watching them talk, but nothing is really registering. She wants to go back to the car, please, thank you.

She is not going back to the car, apparently.

She’s refusing to watch, choosing to tilt her head back and look up at the stars, because she can actually see them really well from out here. It would be nice if, you know, she wasn’t about to witness a murder that she’d been dragged along to by a demon. She can hear him cock the gun and tells herself not to flinch when he shoots.

Except he doesn’t shoot. He sighs, like this is suddenly all terribly uninteresting.

“Sif. Come here.”

If she runs now, how long will she have before he catches up to her? Would pretending she didn’t hear him the first time do anything? Nothing other than getting her hurt, if past experiences are anything to go by.

So she.. she bites her tongue and shuffles over, kind of like a zombie, and tries to ignore the way her heart thumps. She can hear it. Like it’s saying run, rabbit, and she nearly trembles as she stops in front of him.

He holds out the gun, lazily, smiling at her like this is all just a fun game. She blinks. Looks at the gun, then back at him.

“You want me to...?” The glint in his eye is all the answer she needs.

“Why the fuck are you giving me a gun? What’s to stop me from shooting you?” Her voice turns hostile, like it’s the last form of protection she has, and he just grins.

“So shoot me. Not like it’s going to hurt me.”

...Maybe she’ll shoot herself, instead. Not like she hasn’t considered it before.

....She won’t. That’d leave him all alone. God only knows what would happen.

The gun is heavy in her hands and she stares at him, incredulous.

A minute passes without her flinching or looking away from him. He hums.

“Ooorrr, I could shoot both of you. Or your boy, here, who knows how he’s still managing to hold on...” Pistol whipping a demon is probably a bad idea. But she wants to, really, really badly. She doesn’t know where all this restraint has come from all of a sudden, but she’s a little impressed with herself. She glances at the man on the ground.

She knows he isn’t bluffing. About shooting her, about shooting himself.

Something in her shifts. It’s like the weight is being changed on her scale of morals.

She’d endured hell so far to protect Kylo. She wasn’t going to give up now.

This man was a stranger. He’d always be a stranger. She wouldn’t ask any questions.

Sif turns, finally, towards the poor bastard. Looking at him now, really looking at him, she can see he hasn’t a good time, either. Both of his legs are broken, there’s an ugly gash across his head, he looks like he’s been out here for a few days.

He pleads, with his eyes, with words that she doesn’t hear as she raises the gun. There’s a strong grip on her hips, Kylo— Not Kylo, not really, pulls her back into him, flush against his chest, face pressing into her neck. She can feel teeth dragging against her skin, and considers the bruises she knows are going to bloom on her hips, deep blue and violent purple.

She recalls a conversation she’d had with Kylo once, about turning off her emotions. Removing yourself from misery, she remembers him saying. Maybe she can try to do that now.

He trails kisses up to her ear, and his hands slip from her hips to the hem of her shirt, starting to push it up, slide his hands under the fabric to rest on her skin.

“You’re really going to do this? Going to kill a man you don’t even know, all for him? He has a family, Sif, did you think about that? About how his wife is going to mourn and how his newborn is going to grow up wishing he’d had the chance to meet his father?”

She wants to retort that she’s not the one getting off on this whole fucking thing, but he keeps running his mouth, as per usual, and that just helps push her from afraid to annoyed, hands no longer shaking. Just let me get it over with.

“And here I was, thinking you were a good person.”

I am not a good person, she decides, as she pulls the trigger.

#tiewriter #murder tw #gun tw #blood tw #violence tw #suicidal thoughts tw #(— VERSE: hell is empty and all the devils are ᴴ ᴱ ᴿ ᴱ; )#i initially wanted this to be more mindfucky #but.... i'll have other chances #:)

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