#WIP : The bones we haunt

[theboarsbride]

The lady and the gentleman with a beast beneath his skin.🩸🦴🐺🌙

From my gothic werewolf romance wip THE BONES WE HAUNT.

[ibrithir-was-here]

Tada! Commission for @theboarsbride for their super cool WIP "The Bones We Haunt"

Please head over to their blog and give it a look if you like this!

[rmelster]

@theboarsbride GIRL, you need to check Edwardian actress Gertie Millar, she has such Jane Sterling’s vibes with her dresses and her smile (at least to me).

[ladykailitha]

Paper Hearts Part 4

I finished it!! It will have 8 chapters. I'm excited for you guys to see where this goes! I'm still working on Sweet Home Indiana and will be focusing on that until ITS done. Then we'll be back our regularly schedule WIPs.

We have Eddie's big plan and Steve gets his flirt on.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

****

Steve slipped into the kitchen and there in his mother’s neat handwriting was a note telling him that there were leftovers in the fridge and that they would be home again next Friday.

He sighed and opened the fridge. He immediately closed it when he saw what the leftovers were.

Boiled cabbage with chopped bacon and carrots. It wasn’t bad if it was made correctly, but his mother boiled any flavor and nutrients out of the poor vegetables and then tossed in cooked bacon to hide its sins.

He opened the cupboard and pulled out a small can of Campbell’s chicken noodle soup and made that. He was craving the sodium. Eddie’s beef was good to get his body to stop shaking, but he had sweat so much he needed to replenish the salt he’d lost.

Once Steve had eaten and drank another glass of water he went to go get a shower and get ready for bed. It was no use trying to get back to his homework now. He had managed to blow up his whole evening by getting lost.

He had no idea how he got to Forest Hills or even why his feet carried him there in the first place. He could feel the weariness seeping into his bones from running for so long.

He undressed and got under the scorching water, letting the heat carry away his pains. His mind ran through all the things that Munson had done for him. The guy had no reason to be nice to him, but he had been more than gracious.

Then it hit him. Munson had called him Stevie, and without thinking Steve had called him Eds.

Eds.

Where the fuck did that come from? They weren’t friends, they could barely be considered acquaintances. Was his brain reaching out to the guy subconsciously? Is that why he ended up at the trailer park? Everyone knew that’s where Munson lived. Who knew how many times the guy had been called trailer trash, but the older teen seemed to rise above the insult.

Steve shook his head, spraying water everywhere. Just because Munson picked up lost sheep, didn’t mean he’d be willing to taken in an injured wolf. Because that’s what he was, reformed or not, Steve would never be a sheep. He would always be a wolf. A predator.

But at least as a wolf he could protect those kids with everything he had. And he would, even if it killed him.

The water had long since turned cold by the time Steve stepped out of the shower. He completed his after shower routine mostly on autopilot as he kept going over his interactions with both Munson men. He didn’t really have good interactions with dads or in this case uncles. But Munson’s uncle Wayne treated him with kindness and he could see where the older boy got it from.

He dressed into his pajamas and slid under the covers. He rolled over on his back and tucked one arm under his pillow, staring up at the ceiling.

Steve thought back to the apology. One Munson really didn’t have to give but did anyway. He thought about the other jocks that bragged about hurting his hand. He held it up and looked at the fading bruise. It wasn’t as though he was even basketball anymore. Hurting his hand wouldn’t do anything but make it hard to do his homework and all he had to do is show his teachers his hurt hand and he’d get extensions for that. Like he had for his concussion last November.

But then again Tommy H. never had reasons for the people he hurt either. He just liked the power he got seeing the person helpless.

He placed his hand over his heart and let himself drift off the sleep, brown eyes and dark curls haunting his dreams.

****

Eddie had originally bought the red heart for himself like he had told the two juniors. But staring at it now, he had a better plan for it. Because that last wall, that last bastion of defense crumbled to ashes when he realized that despite the fancy car, the big house, and the expensive clothes, Steve Harrington was more like Eddie than he thought possible.

Wayne’s approval of the boy cemented that for him. Because if he could take one look at Steve and decide he was worth saving, then Eddie raring to go full steam ahead for a rescue mission.

Eddie could tell that the hearts were made from simple construction paper, like the kind found just about anywhere. He knew it would be technically cheating to just simply make more instead of buying them, but he had no intention of contributing to a dance he was never going to go to because one, it wasn’t his year; two, the whole gay thing; and three, the one person he would want to go with if the gay thing wouldn’t get him hate crimed, wouldn’t give him the time of day.

Well, all right, that might have changed with the whole rescuing him from wandering alone in the dark thing.

He forgave Eddie about being a dumbass, so maybe there was hope for, at the very least, a vast decrease in hostility. And he was willing to take what he could get.

He decided to wait until tomorrow after school to get the construction paper and hope that the high school hadn’t bought up the town’s supply.

On his way out the next morning, Wayne stopped him.

“You don’t have to tell me, son,” he said gently, “but you got feelings for that boy?”

Eddie froze and turned slowly to face his uncle. “What gave you that idea?”

Wayne chuckled and shook his head fondly. “Boy, when you’d go on rants about the Harrington boy, you’d describe his floppy hair, his hazel eyes and how unfairly good looking the kid was. I didn’t say anything because it did sound like he’d been a bit of an ass. Only after last night I got to thinking and was wondering is all.”

Eddie closed his eyes and opened them slowly. He let out a long shuddering breath, his bottom lip quivering.

“I–I don’t...” he closed his eyes again. This wasn’t Al. He wasn’t going to get beat for admitting it, but still it was so hard to say. So he just nodded.

Wayne came up and wrapped his arms around his nephew. “It’s a hell of a lot tougher batting for the other team, but I trust your judgment. Just promise me that if he shows signs of liking you back, you take the chance to tell him how you feel because...”

“You miss one hundred percent of the chances you don’t take,” they said together.

Eddie dropped his bag to the floor and hugged him back. “I know, old man. But I promise if there is a chance, I’ll be brave enough to take it.”

“Get going,” Wayne said, voicing cracking with emotion.

He pulled back and nodded. He reshouldered his backpack and got in his van.

He had a lot to think about and that really wasn’t conducive to paying attention in class or to his friends as they talked about their upcoming D&D session.

Gareth kicked his shin causing him to yelp.

“What the fuck, dude?” Eddie hissed.

“What the fuck is up with you?” Gareth hissed back. “You’ve been going on and on about the mind flayer for weeks and now that it’s literally this weekend, and you’re off in some other realm.”

Eddie blinked at him for a moment before his brain came back on. He shook his head to clear it.

“Yeah, sorry, man,” he said around a pretzel. “Weird night last night.”

“What happened?” Jeff asked, tilting his head to the side.

So Eddie told them. “He was like a ghost, guys. If Wayne hadn’t seen him too, I would have thought I was hitting Mary Jane a little too hard, you know?”

“I didn’t realize he was getting bullied,” Brian said, frowning. “I would have thought with Hargrove giving the dude a wide berth, that everyone else would have too.”

“Untouchable,” Jeff agreed. “The fact that jocks are now splintering into factions tells you what kind of control Steve actually had on them.”

Eddie rubbed his chin. “I don’t know how true this is, but if Harrington wasn’t lying, he’s a real sweetheart, too.”

Then he leaned forward and explained about the pink heart scheme.

“So,” Gareth said, steepling his fingers and resting his chin on them, “you’re telling us is that we have been seriously remiss in our duties in collecting lost sheep.”

The older teen sighed and shook his head. “I’d like to collect him, but I’m afraid the wolves might decide to rip him apart before we got him to safety if we tried.”

Jeff winced. He knew what Eddie was talking about. Steve Harrington wasn’t the usual lost sheep. He might be bullied now, but as King, Harrington had run far too long with the wolves to think that they could protect him one hundred percent of the time.

“So what are we going to do?” Brian asked. “Because if we let this slide, we’re throwing our lot in with the bullies and that’s something I refuse to do.”

A grin spread out over Eddie’s face, closed lips and dimples entrenched into his cheeks. “We’re going to make the school think that he’s just as popular as he ever was.”

The other three boys looked at each other in confusion.

“So what have you got?” Gareth asked, his own grin starting to take over his face.

****

Eddie made sure to get to class early so he could see where Steve was going to sit. He tried to tell himself it was about the dude’s hand, but it wasn’t working. He wanted to see if the former Hawkins royalty would chose to sit with his old friends or by him again.

He didn’t have long to wait. Steve walked in not long after he did, just as the bell rang. He didn’t even look at his old desk near the front and beelined it for the chair he had sat in on Friday.

The teacher picked up on the change immediately and wrinkled her nose. “I am to suppose that you are taking up permanent residence in the back with Mr. Munson, Mr. Harrington?”

Steve half shrugged as he began to pull out his things for class. “I got more work done, Mrs. Dixon and I really want to graduate on time.”

Mrs. Dixon nodded. “Agreed and as long as you continue the level of attention from last week, you are permitted to stay there.”

About half way through class while Mrs. Dixon was grading papers, Tommy H. turned around and kicked Steve’s chair. “Suck up,” he hissed.

Steve puckered his lips and wagged his eyebrows. “Why? Do you want to be next?”

Tommy turned back around, his face bright red.

Eddie raised an eyebrow and cocked his head to the side as he considered everything about that interaction.

A little blossom of hope sprouted in his chest and he fought to keep it down. Steve had insinuated that other people were gay for years, but to Eddie’s highly trained gay ears, that sounded like Steve was offering to suck Tommy H.’s dick and that Tommy didn’t exactly turn him down.

Curiouser and curiouser, he thought tapping his lips thoughtfully. More research would have to be done.

He pulled out a different notebook, the one he used for campaign notes and song lyrics.

He wrote girls over one column and boys over the other and began tallying what he knew about the former King of Hawkins.

A shit ton went into the Steve liking girls column, but there was surprisingly more in the liking boys column then he would have thought possible. He looked up to catch Steve smirking at him.

Eddie quickly covered his notebook and stuck his tongue out at Steve.

The other boy shook his head and went back to doing the assignment. Eddie was more careful about what he left out in the open because he didn’t want Steve teased for it nor did he want him to see that Eddie was trying to figure him out.

The bell rang and the notebook was suddenly whisked off his desk.

“Hey!” Eddie cried, looking up to see Steve dancing away with the notebook teasingly. “Stevie!” He grabbed his bag and chased after the other boy. But the other boy was a jock and Eddie was wheezing for breath by the time he caught up with him at his locker.

“Give that back,” he huffed.

Steve gave him a bright smile and handed it back. “I just made a minor addition.”

Eddie frowned as he flipped through the pages but didn’t see anything. Steve took it back and turned to the correct page and leaned close so that only Eddie could hear.

“I trust you’ll keep my secret,” he whispered and then dropped to one knee to start getting into his locker.

Eddie gulped at the sight and turned to the paper to avoid saying something stupid. There in bold capital letters under his girls/guys columns was the word BOTH.

He looked up at Steve who had stood up. Steve winked at him and then walked away, leaving a shocked Eddie behind.

****

Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

Tag List:

@mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @emly03

@spectrum-spectre @slv-333 @zerokrox-blog @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie

@chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @chaoticlovingdreamer @maya-custodios-dionach @danili666

@goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @i-must-potato @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

@vecnuthy @irregular-child @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @anne-bennett-cosplayer

@yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten @genderless-spoon @cinnamon-mushroomabomination

@dragonmama76 @scheodingers-muppet @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual

@fullpoetrybread @disrespectedgoatman @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @moonshadows-13

@swimmingbirdrunningrock @croatoan-like-its-hot @lolawonsstuff @lololol-1234 @dotdot-wierdlife

@ravenfrog @dauntlessdiva @thelittleclare @steddieyourself @dam28lh

[alienoresimagines]

HI! Can I ask about “We Should Just Kiss Like Real People Do”? (I love Hozier hehe).

Also, every single one of your WIPs that you’ve talked about already I am now SO excited to read. They all sound incredible!! Your mind 🤯♥️

Hey 🤗 This song is one of my favorite of his so I had to include it in my Clegan obsession 😂

Here's the summary written in my drafts :

Nobody’d ever understand the horrors airmen faced when 20,000 feet in the air. Disconnected from the world, one with their crew and their flying fortress. The aftermath of a mission always left Buck reeling. It was such an eerie feeling, to know that dozens of men were gone, their bodies never to be found. Most of the airmen’s graves were empty, almost none held only the body of the man whose name was engraved. Thorpe Abbotts was more of a haunted base than anything. Ghosts wandered and mingled amongst them, disappearing whenever Buck turned to see Dickie’s scribbling in a corner or reached out to steady a victorious Curt, leaving him cold and alone in the midst of faces too young to be this haunted. 

They all had different ways to cope with the ghosts. Bucky numbed himself with whatever he could find. Smokes, alcohol, fighting sometimes. Buck worked himself to the bone, took care of the men around him hard enough that he could barely think about the men gone. 

In the midst of it all, they both come to an agreement to help each other feel alive.

Basically, it'll be a multi chapter fic not quite friends with benefits but Buck and Bucky decide that the best way to feel alive is to kiss each other (hence the title). No feelings tho cuz that'd be weird right?

Bucky has a crisis because he feels like he's taking advantage of kind Buck and it really isn't fair to Marge but now that he knows what Buck's lips feel like on his own, he just can't bring himself to stop since y'know he's been in love with Gale for what feels like forever

Buck has a crisis because how come it feels so right to kiss Bucky ? Why does it feel better than kissing Marge ? surely because he's forgotten what she felt like right ? It's just been too long but when he'll come back to Marge, it'll be like nothing's changed. Bucky and him are just buddies helping buddies

Except at some point he has to realize his own feelings for Bucky but by the time Gale goes past his own inner homophobia (everyone says thanks Gale's dad for that), they're in the Stalag and Bucky's too miserable to feel joy or act on it.

There'll be lots of angst, plenty of pining, a healthy dose of hurt/comfort (which by my standards means they'll both have absolute terrible time) and perhaps a bit of fluff. Also lots of kissing, with maybe a tad more feelings than Buck had in mind when he offered the deal to Bucky

Ahhh thank you!! Hearing that you're as excited for them as I makes me sooooo excited to write them! I hope my words will be good enough to do these stories justice 😊

[thescrapwitch]

WIPs list game

Tagged by @zannolin and @lordgrimwing Thank you!

Rules: Make a new post with the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! Then tag as many people as you have WIPS.

To the surprise of no one, I have SO MANY WIPs (and all of them are for the Silmarillion). There’s always five new ideas to replace each one I actually finish. So, in no real order of completion status, here they are:

Reforged chapter 17

For Want of a Crown chapter 13

Little Crab in the Big City

Ashes to Ashes

Where Love Resides

A Mere Footnote

The Stolen Silmaril

The Sleeping Sickness

From Ruins We Grow

To Haunt These Golden Halls

A House with Hungry Bones

To Gently Leave the Light

Rewrite the Stars

Weight of a Name

Brightly Burning

Oh Sing, Defiant Stars

Two Bards and a Baby

Sincerely

Midnight Society

Bright Hearts of Numenor

Cyberpunk Heist AU

Celebrian and Maglor vs Orcs fic

obligatory Maglor and Maedhros Bragollach fic

That's 23 WIPs, so 23 people! Tagging: @dreamingthroughthenoise @camille-lachenille @thelordofgifs @chthonion @arofili @aroace-moron @tilion-writes @grey-gazania @welcomingdisaster @eilinelsghost @starspray @starsuncounted @echo-bleu @sallysavestheday @swanmaids @polutrope @tathrin @whovianofmidgard @tethysresort @eight-pointed-star @queerofthedagger @gardensofthemoon @zealouswerewolfcollector and whoever else wants to join in. No pressure, of course!

[lucky-bishop]

WIP Tag Game!!

Thanks for the tags, @dear-massacre and @rosieposiepuddingnpie!!

I have so many WIPs. Like. Too many. Some of these will probably never end up actually getting written. BUT, alas, here we go!

Non-Teen Wolf:

Nadja Pegs Laszlo (WWDITS)

The one-brain cell polycule (WWDITS)

Guillermo Mercy Kills Nandor (WWDITS)

Gay Besties (endgame Steddie but mostly abt the Steve & Robin friendship, Stranger Things)

Teen Wolf, Not Prompts:

7 minutes in heaven (Stiles' sexy birthday celebration w/ the pack)

A Parting Gift (MCD) The nogitsune leaves a gift behind. Sterek.

Affectionate Biting - Malia's love language is Biting

Lonely Girl (MCD) - Allison's ghost haunts Lydia

Alpha Peter bitches Stiles

Shifter Royalty Stilinski Family Steter

Extra Hedonist Peter w/ Bottom Dom Stiles

S1 monster of the week crack feat. the sheriff, Scott, Stiles, and Derek

Deputy Chris Argent, endgame Chris/Sheriff

DILF Chris Argent, mostly Stargent w/ endgame Stiles/Chris/Isaac

Erica Prom Queen Murder Spree

FBI Trainee Stiles

Stiles can't suck dick but Peter uses his face in Other ways

Monsterfucker dildo where Stiles gets a monster mate

Steter monsterfucking in the woods

Peter's presumptuous when he gets with Stiles but ends up getting an actual BDSM education

Non-con mating bite, Steter

Possessive Peter Steterek! The only one of these that's currently on AO3 as Possessive Beasts!

Peter babytraps omega Stiles

Sciles makes an "if we're not married by x" pact and then commits shenanigans trying to keep each other single

Unrequited Stiles/Scott where Scott rejects Stiles

Crack shrunken Peter fic

Smart Scott 5+1

Stiles/Peter/Deucalion college fic

Stargent Painting Fic - inspired by Lorde

Dark Stargent - Chris takes Stiles as a surrogate daughter after Allison dies

Sterek (MCD) - Derek returns to find Beacon Hills, and Stiles, in shambles. He tries to save them both.

Peter finding out that Stiles doesn't trust him even though they're together, inspired by T.Swift "Hoax"

Steter "hands are meant to be held" Valentine fic

Part 3 of the Steterek feminization where Stiles tops the hell out of Derek and Peter

Stiles is horny and has access to a 3d printer (Steter getting together)

Stiles/Cora/Derek dangerous Hales make Stiles horny

My very Steter take on The Train Station

Stiles gets bit by a grindr hookup fic

Transmasc Stiles and TA Peter get together

Teen Wolf & Buffy fusion, where Stiles is a Watcher (end game Stetopher)

Untitled Sterek watersports fic

Writer in the Dark, another Lorde-inspired fic, with the Kira/Cora pairing!

Teen Wolf, Prompts:

Greenberg has an absolute glo-up and everyone Notices

Stiles and Scott go looking for trouble (feral Derek and Peter) and they find it

Co-Alphas Scott and Derek fuck

Derek is being thrown a surprise party, but doesn't like surprises, and this leads to him and Stiles boning

Derek spanks Scott and Stiles for being shitheads towards him

Peter shows off wearing panties and the whole pack takes turns taking them off of him

Fox Stiles and Scott are roommates, and they compete to respectively make Peter and Lydia loud in bed

So I guess. That's technically 45 wips which is actually insane! Especially because that doesn't count any of the ~10 events or so I will probably participate in per year!

Anyway tagging: @lavender-lotion, @beaconfeels, @like-lazarus, @thotpuppy, @midnightwinterhawk, @meggie-stardust and anyone else who would like to play along!

[dramioneasks]

HP FESTS: Dramione Teratophilia Fest (Part 2)

Dramione Teratophilia Fest 2.0 2023:

Moulting by emmarauren - M, one-shot - “My wings!” She cried. “They’re falling off.” “Oh sweetheart. They’re only moulting.”

Ministry Interference by seawitchcreations - E, one-shot - The Ministry has found that you are a MATCH for a Magical Creature. Please report to the office of Mr. Samuel Collins, located in Lab 43 on the 3rd Floor at the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures at your earliest convenience. We look forward to your cooperation in this matter. Courtesy of the DMLE. Hermione’s plan to take Draco home is derailed by Ministry Interference.

warped, wretched thing by LeafHouses - E, 2 chapters - Draco finds Harry slumped over his desk, body as still and cold as winter, skin already shrinking away from the bone. Ginny has been searching for her husband for a week, recalling the recent madness in him. She didn’t know about the little studio on the riverside, didn’t have a key to the door, and thus, didn’t find the body. Or the broken painting. or On a cold day in fall, Harry Potter dies suddenly, and Draco Malfoy is left with a broken heart, a distraught widow, and a haunting painting of a mysterious woman.

Into the Light by Absolutely_Avid - E, one-shot - Draco Malfoy, turned recluse and werewolf with one bite, has locked himself away in his manor. Content to waste his life away, Draco is put out when his best friend and childhood enemy conspire to drag him into the light.

Blessed in Darkness by EastWindmlk - E, one-shot - no summary

The Rockrose & The Thistle by Bana_Bhuidseach - M, WIP - It is selfishness that draws her out of the ocean to save him, and it is selfishness that makes him keep her on land afterwards.

À la Claire Fontaine by LiloLilyAnn - T, one-shot - Deep beneath the glassy surface of an enchanted lake, lived a lone water nymph. She knew not the world outside of her marine home nor why she feared those who walked on land, but she believed the feeling in her chest and the magic of the water around her that told her to flee from them, nonetheless. Until one day, a boy appeared on her shoreline, and everything she thought she knew was altered.

Breakfast in Bed and Other Conveniences of the Undead by Art_emis - E, one-shot - A tale of Hermione Granger and her compulsion to secure equity for all. Or, how Hermione Granger accidentally landed in a relationship with Draco Malfoy- Vampire, via the siren call of “properly conducted research.”

Yes, Master Malfoy by orphan_account - E, one-shot - "Draco takes in the tiny creature, such a special thing. A treasure he’d coveted the moment he set his eyes upon her. Granger was no ordinary house elf by any means, such a prize in his collection." Draco Malfoy has a house-elf kink.

I know you won't hurt me by katiekrum - M, one-shot - I'm not sure of my feelings for you, but I won't let anyone before me claim you as their own.

Benighted Traveler by Biirdiee_Rose - E, one-shot - Fingers wrap around his jaw, forcing him to look up and into glowing golden eyes. Oh holy shit— “You dare to disturb my place of rest?” Her voice carries centuries of power, rattling the very frame of him, sinking deep into his flesh and crackling his bones. Draco knows the moment he lays eyes on her who she is. The Princess of the 18th Dynasty. Hermione. Her name had been Hermione. - Draco's research project had been an utter failure so far, until he managed to stumble upon a hidden tomb. Not just any hidden tomb either, but the tomb of a princess everyone thought was lost to history. He didn't mean to wake the princess, nor upset her. Lucky for him, she might just find him useful.

Paranormal Activity by pinkhairandbooks - E, one-shot - The first time she had burst into his bathroom while he was having a private moment in his shower, manifesting her presence with a mocking “and you call that a wank?” Draco had screamed. The second time he had merely blushed furiously and closed better the shower curtain, though that had done nothing to cut off her snide comments about his supposed inability to masturbate. The third time he had snorted, terribly annoyed by those constant interruptions, and had let his irritation take control of his mouth. Idea that, in retrospect, he realized how bad it had been. “Do you want to explain to me how to do it, then?” He mumbled annoyedly, only popping his head out from behind the shower curtain to scowl at her.

We Were Prey by AutumnWeen - M, one-shot - “The name I used to bear is of no consequence. To you I am Draco. I must confess have grown fond of the name, as pretentious as it is. Did you know it was the dragon that guarded the golden apples of a goddess? Golden, like you.” Draco's memories of Hermione make her easy prey for the Fae, and not even her magic can protect her.

soft purrs and dark secrets by FeInTheClouds - E, 2 chapters - no summary

Venenum by pinkhairandbooks - E, one-shot - A dangerous creature has been lurking Hermione’s village since she can remember, too many animals have been killed and too many crops destroyed. Fearing for their lives the village offers Hermione to the beast as a virgin sacrifice, hoping she will quench its thirst.

This fest is ongoing.

[vlad-theimplier]

WIP Wednesday: Custos Custodium

In which Jensen and the Task Force take on Sheppard in Dubai. I rearranged some lines to give a bit of characterization to anyone but Jensen and MacReady (who have plenty), and to make the tactical briefing a little meatier. Apparently, one of the divergence points between our world and the world of Deus Ex is that 10mm caught on over 9mm, but we know NATO exists and still prefers its familiar cartridges.

Anyway, Jensen does actually like some of his coworkers. Read all about it at https://archiveofourown.org/works/55686901/chapters/141357007

“Listen up, all of you!” Miller said in commanding tones. “We’ve finally got a lead on this man, an arms dealer goes by Sheppard.”

Jensen’s eyes widened behind his shades as the name registered with him. This was the bastard who’d escaped their grasp in Detroit—he damn well wasn’t getting away this time. John “Sheppard” Trent, 42, looked the way he remembered from Detroit, anonymous but mean. And as if Jensen needed another bone to pick with the man, Miller added a nugget of new intel: “He’s ex-Belltower. One of the Special Forces commanders who disappeared during the Incident.”

“And he’s come out of hiding?” MacReady asked. “That cannot be good.”

“It’s not. He’s selling weapons and military-grade augments to terrorists.” Miller swiped at the screen to reveal an Indian man with swept-back hair, stubble, and a haunted look around the eyes. “This is Arun Singh, the undercover agent who lured Sheppard out of his hole. Best UC Interpol’s got. For three years he’s worked to get us in tight with the Jinn, an Iraqi smuggling cartel that’s infected the Eastern Hemisphere like a plague. Last week, our arms dealer sent a message to the Jinn, offering to sell them a shit-load of black-market merchandise dirt cheap. They told Singh to handle the buy.”

A woman’s voice came over comms in a German accent, overriding MacReady’s scoff. “They’re not going to like it when Interpol disrupts their party. Is Singh’s cover really that good?” Dietrich, Jensen realized, looking at the screen. And she was worried about the right things.

“It is right now,” Miller answered. “We need to keep it that way.” He swiped again at the screen to show a sprawling but incomplete edifice, jutting out of the sea in graceful curves of steel and white concrete marred by tarps and scaffolding. An inset proclaimed it the “Desert Jewel.” “This is where the deal’s going down: a half-finished high-rise hotel that’s been abandoned ever since the incident. It is not a pretty picture inside.”

“Let me guess.” MacReady, of course. Mouthy bastard. “Most of the laborers were augmented with heavy-duty industrial rigs. So when the Incident hit and they all went schizo, things got gruesome real fast.” He stared at Jensen. Jensen stared back, curling his lip deliberately.

Miller nodded. “And no one except for some homeless junkies has been inside the place ever since.”

“So what’s the plan, Director?” Jensen asked.

“Singh’s meeting Sheppard on the ground floor, inside the hotel’s main atrium. He’s sent the bulk of his Jinn crew to the penthouse levels to secure a vantage point. I want MacReady’s team to take up positions overlooking the atrium and make the arrest. Dietrich, put the SAW and the marksmen on this little artificial island section here, across the lagoon from the atrium, where you can suppress and snipe as needed. Frost, you’re in reserve, up on the roof just back from the atrium. Rig ropes for descent. Jensen, you’re going in solo from the penthouse.”

Suited him fine. “My objectives?”

“Keep the Jinn from joining the party. As far as we can tell, only one route connects the atrium to the penthouse level—a halfway-decent elevator shaft here.” Miller swiped again, and a wireframe schematic popped up insertion points and the elevator in question. “I want you to block access to it.”

“Fine. Just cut me loose. If anyone spots me… I assume non-lethal is preferred? Doubt I’ll have time to cuff ’em, but Singh’s cover will be stronger if he’s not the only one still breathing when this is done.”

Miller nodded approvingly, but MacReady couldn’t resist a jab. “And if anything does happen to him, you’ll be the one telling his wife. After you get out of the hospital, of course.”

Jensen ignored him. So did Miller. “One last thing,” he said. “Singh told us the Jinn are using some kind of portable wi-fi device to boost communications. It could pick up anything he sends our way. He’s got a better chance of maintaining cover if you disable it, but if it comes to it, your number one priority is keeping the Jinn out of that atrium.”

“I’ll keep an eye out.”

“Good. Any questions?”

Lieutenant Frost chimed in. “Sir. Director. Why is this our op? Not that I mind—we’re all itching to mix it up—but Station Muscat is practically next-door.”

“Muscat’s resources are occupied elsewhere. We were the closest station with the manpower for an op this size. We did get the intel on this mission at the very last minute, no fault of Singh’s, so we’re all scrambling a little. Sheppard has stayed ahead of the Task Force for so long by pulling exactly this kind of stunt, on the rare occasions he shows his face at all. It’s our job to make sure it doesn’t work this time.”

“Aye aye, sir.” Frost took the answer as the gentle reprimand it was meant to be, and Jensen once again admired Miller’s leadership acumen. There were no further questions. The agents and soldiers turned to the briefing screens and reviewed the scant intelligence they’d received, or busied themselves checking their weapons and armor, as the trio of VTOLs sped onwards.

According to the map, they were coming in over the Persian Gulf a few hours later when Miller spoke up once more: “Ears here.” He checked the screen to make sure the other two teams were looking. “A new wrinkle has arisen to keep us on our toes. Sandstorm coming up out of the southwest, straight from the desert. It’ll be barreling down our asses—we can’t afford to make mistakes. Our pilots will keep us up-to-date on the storm’s progress. The window’s tight, but all signs indicate the deal is on. As you were.”

Silence descended once more. The indicators for their birds crept towards Dubai. Around Jensen, the agents began rechecking their rifles and donning their helmets. He gave his own weapons a perfunctory once-over, then rolled his shoulders and wrists. He crossed his left arm over his chest, running his blades out at the wrist and elbow, slow, then lightning fast. The myomer and servos whined quietly, just audible over the rush of wind and engine.

MacReady leaned forward. “Not gonna go all wonky on us now, Hanzer, are ya?”

“Why? You want to put a control chip in me? Don’t worry, I’m in spec.” Jensen locked eyes with him and bent his right hand almost to his right shoulder. His blade flicked out halfway, the tip coming to rest against his temple without even dimpling the flesh. Then, slowly, he pointed the blade at MacReady, giving him a chance to flinch or hold up a hand, to show fear.

“But if I do lose it, I guarantee you’ll never see it coming.” And he snicked the blade out to its full extension against the shoulder of MacReady’s combat vest. The alloy rang quietly on the ceramic plates, but MacReady didn’t move. Every eye turned to look at them, including Miller’s. Jensen withdrew the blade.

“Agent Jensen! Am I gonna have a problem with you on this op?”

“Nossir. MacReady just had some questions about my capabilities.” He met Miller’s gaze through his shades, deferential but uncowed, letting the double meaning hang in the air.

“Good. Because you’re our only Aug, and our only infiltration specialist. I intend to make good use of you.” That last was delivered as much to MacReady as to him, Jensen thought.

Miller resumed reassembling his rifle, ramming home a magazine of 7.62 NATO. Jensen grimaced. He supposed the AIC didn’t plan on getting tied down in a firefight, and Dietrich’s heavy gunner could always share, but it bothered him that their commander might find himself running dry in a pinch. At least the sidearm he wore was a ten-mil like everyone else’s. Not that Jensen had an augmented leg to stand on: no one else on the op—hell, probably no other agent in the hemisphere—carried a forty-five, but he could jam nine-mil into the Destrier in a pinch. Still, if they’d had time to actually plan this mission, they could’ve optimized logistics a little better. Or at all.

Chikane broke in on his maundering. “Time to put away your happy thoughts, gentlemen. We’re approaching the target.” The team was one-third women; Agent Montañez—Carmen—rolled her eyes. Jensen met them and twitched his hand by his crotch in a subtle jerk-off gesture. She hid a smirk behind her gloved hand.

Fortunately, Miller missed the byplay this time. “You’re up first, Jensen. Let’s do this.”

The pilot opened the team circuit as Jensen stood. “Strike-One, Strike-Two, this is Strike Leader. Engage hush drives and descend to angels one-five.” The VTOL quieted, slowed, and dropped in the sky. Jensen rode the change in altitude effortlessly. He thought about telling Chikane he flew like someone’s grandmother, but Malik wasn’t there to laugh.

The cargo ramp descended, and the jump lights came on red. Jensen rolled his shoulders. They were low—less than two thousand feet, for sure. He’d told Miller about the Icarus, of course, but he might have played up his skydiving “experience” a little. Well, too late now. Green lights and a tone. He stepped forward and leapt into the sky.

[iridescentpull]

So I went insane after writing this post.

Have a wip <3

!! Spoilers for Ordem Paranormal: Quarentena, Part 2 under cut !!

It’s here it’s here it’s here it’s here

Diego ran, ignoring the way everyone panicked around him as the monster's arm broke through the roof. He bolted, passing Jeffrey, Benito, and Luis and rushing through the hall toward the exit. He crashes against a small body, and when he looks down and sees Emi, looking at the monster with a haunted expression, he pauses. A voice that sounds mysteriously like Lucie begs him to grab Emi and run, to take her out and shield her from that thing. But he bites his lip and runs, leaving her behind.

He collapses on the snow, taking shaky breaths and trying to calm his beating heart. The blonde feels the way the adrenaline makes his body forget about all the bruises, cuts, and infections he has, and he is thankful for it. He heaves, desperately trying to get air into his lungs, and eventually, he throws up what little food he has in his stomach. Everything looks blurry, tears clouding his vision thanks to the physical pain and the emotional hurt.

Jeffrey and Luis run outside a couple of seconds later, holding onto each other as they collapse on the ground. The taller male carefully rubs Jeffrey’s back as said male does the same thing as him, heaving and puking. Diego snaps his eyes towards the door when a loud ‘fuck!’ bounces against the walls.

Carol, Benito, and Emi are still inside.

The other two seem to realize this at the same time before they look at each other with a mix of worry and fear. “Should we go inside?” Whispers Jeffrey, pointing towards the door with a trembling hand. Luis thinks, weighing the situation. He has no time to say anything because immediately Benito runs outside holding the hand of a small child who is running with him. They both collapse on the snow, and Diego has to look away when he sees blood- Lucie’s blood- on Emi’s face and body.

Everyone stills when they listen to the monster thrashing the room with what they assumed was Carol’s body. Diego’s body freezes when they hear a loud crack, like the sound of bones breaking. He turns to the others, a silent question of it they heard it. His heart squeezes on itself when he sees Emi bury her head on Benito’s chest, silent sobs overtaking her body.

The group stays quiet until the monster finally leaves, probably dragging Carol away by the sounds of her screams. They all slowly stand up, Emi holding Benito’s hand like she’s scared the second she let’s go, the male would disappear. Diego stares at their hands, a mix of confusion, anger and guilt overtaking him. He looks up and meets Benito’s eyes. “Why?” He simply asks, desperation in his tone.

The fake doctor pauses, looking down to the little gril gripping his hand. “I… I saw Lucie give her life for this child.” He says, looking up and meeting the blonde’s eyes. “And this child is a continuation of Lucie.”

Diego’s chest tightened as he listened to Benito's words. His gaze shifted from Emi’s tear-streaked face to Benito’s resolute expression. The gravity of the situation weighed heavily on them all. “Are you sure about this?” He asks, broken and empty.

“If she sacrificed her life for this kid,” He starts, determination in his voice. Diego envied how he could still feel any sort of determination with this fucked up situation they were in. “I don’t care what happens next- this kid, has to continue on living, because Lucie made that sacrifice.”

Those words were what broke the dam. Diego's emotions churned within him, a turbulent storm of guilt, anger, and desperation that threatened to consume him entirely. Time seemed to pass by quickly but slowly, everything seemed so cold but so hot. He swore he could hear Carol’s screams get louder and louder. He was slipping, and hard.

Guilt weighed heavily on Diego’s shoulders, pressing him down into the snow as if he were buried beneath the weight of his emotions. The anger he had felt towards Emi haunted him like a specter. How could he resent this innocent child, who had suffered so much and who now depended on them for her safety? His heart ached with remorse, knowing that his anger had been misplaced, born out of fear, frustration and guilt. Any of this wasn’t her fault.

But it was the anger at himself that cut the deepest. The self-reproach was a bitter taste in his mouth, a constant reminder of his failure to protect those he cared about. Lucie’s sacrifice played over and over in his mind, a haunting image of bravery and selflessness that only served to magnify his own shortcomings. He berated himself for not being there to shield her, for not standing by her side when she faced the monster, for not being the protector she had needed in that moment.

Desperation clawed at his chest, threatening to suffocate him. The world had become a nightmare, a series of horrors that seemed to have no end. The sense of hopelessness washed over him like a tidal wave, leaving him gasping for air. He longed for a way out, a solution to the madness that had taken over their lives. But there was no escape, no reprieve from the constant fear and uncertainty.

Yet, underneath that mess of emotions, was a small flicker of determination. A small, stubborn flame that refused to be extinguished. It whispered to him, urging him to keep moving, to fight against the darkness, to honor Lucie's sacrifice. It was a fragile thread of hope, but it was all he had.

Diego took a shaky breath, composing himself. He watched as Emi pulled Benito into a hug, tears staining his coat as the older hugged back. It was in that moment, that he understood.

“I didn’t think about it that way.” He whispers, wiping the tears that threatened to slip from his eyes. He turned towards the radio tower, were they could see a figure watching them. The small determination from earlier grew, and it was turning into a bonfire. “For Lucie.”

Benito looked up, his own eyes teary. “For Lucie.”

Luis and Jeffrey looked at each other, nodding at each other. “For Lucie.”

They were beaten down, destroyed and broken, but they would leave this cursed place and protect this child.

For Lucie.

[certifiedlovergirlsstuff]

ummm, so im going through a writers block/energy evaporating. any new fic i start feels weird and i haven’t worked on any of my wips. so request are open to hopefully help with that.

but anyway as a birthday gift from me to y’all i’m sharing most of season4 ep1 of my byer-harrington story. (honestly popped off) hopefully i’ll get the motivation to jump back in. (sigh, remembering when i wrote all of season1 back to back. but i was also unemployed so….)

ALSO THANK YOU FOR 1K!!!!

enjoy some angst and fluff🎉

Something felt… off. Heavy eyes peeled open from a restless sleep to your dark room, your old bedroom in Hawkins. Pushing to your elbows keeping your eyes in a squint while groaning deep in your throat, you tried racking your powering up brain, not understanding how you were back in this room.

“Mom?” Yelling loudly with your closed door. No response of any kind, no footsteps, no TV playing, no pots and pans clanging from the kitchen. It was deadly silent and it made your skin crawl with goosebumps. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this…” Muttering the classic Han Solo line as you pull your blanket off and set your bare feet on the ice-cold floor. You braved the chills that run blades through your body, right hand grabbing your door knob and twisting slowly.

A low, long groan from the door hinges made you cringe for any worldly reaction, but still nothing. It felt like you were in a horror movie as you peeked your head into the hallway, the house cloaked in darkness. “Jonathan? Will?” Calling for your brothers while taking cautious steps into the hallway.

You weren’t sure if your eyes were playing a trick or the house was just suddenly dusty, but there was a thick layer of spores of something floating in the air. “El? Steve? An- Anyone?” Near the end of the hallway, you stepped on something, slimy. Looking down with wide eyes and quick intakes of air, you lift your foot to see a thick, wet vine snaked across the floor. Frighted steps moved you back only for more vines to appear, you reached a hand out to hold yourself against the wall, but you yanked it away when it touched a vine that started to move.

“No, no, no.” Stumbling over feet and vines to escape this haunted house. Entering the living room, so close to the front door, a tight grip on your ankles yanks you hard from freedom. Your head bangs the wood flooring hard, your brain feels like a pinball being knocked around and you can taste the metallic acid in your mouth from your chin smashing down. Being dragged away you clawed your hands out for anything to keep a grip on, the couch legs missing your reach by an inch. You tried kicking your legs for a slip of release, but it only caused a deep burning of your bones.

“Help! Please, anyone!” Screaming, pleading for rescue for no one to help in your aid. Tears streamed in fat, fast drops from your eyes to down your chin. The vines kept dragging until you were back in your room, the door sealed shut with a blockade. Ankles, wrists, and throat are covered in those slimy black vines, keeping you flat on the floor while trying to wiggle some room.

Your vision started to blur with the tightness growing, strained choking leaving your gasping mouth. Again like earlier, you weren’t sure if it was due to light-headedness or it was reality, but a shadowy figure appeared above you, staring down like you were just a worm.

“Time is ticking. We shall meet soon.”

-

You shot up in bed.

Hand to your heart, trying to catch your breath with wild eyes taking in your bright bedroom, your new room in California. Strands of hair stuck to your oily face, sleep shirt (one you stole from Steve) clinging to a layer of sweat. Your blanket weighed like a sack of rice on your leg, so you hurriedly pushed it away to the other side of the empty bed, feeling like you could breathe freely now.

“Just a dream. A nightmare really. Everything is fine.” Repeating those last three words to yourself, a daily mantra when the nightmares creep in during REM. Chin drops to your chest while covering your face behind sweaty hands, ignoring the mixing dampness of your tears. A flash of the shadow monster silhouette pops up and you flinch, throwing your head into the wall from fright.

“Ow.” Messaging the back of your skull, almost sighing at the sounds of footsteps outside your door before a knock is rapped three times. “Come in,” Sighing to yourself at the tender touch.

Jonathan leans into your room, already dressed for school. “You alright?” His room was right behind yours so he would notice the sudden banging first.

“Yeah, yeah. Fine, just… a little slow this morning. Hey,” Dropping the hand away to your lap you beckoned Jonathan into your room. He seemed hesitant so you flapped your hand faster, trying to convey an urgency for the request. “Fucking get in here,” Hissed through clenched teeth.

His brows twisted as he closed the door behind him and then stood at the foot of your bed with his hands stuffed in his front pockets. “What's wrong? You seem jumpy.” You ignored the comment with an eye roll, “I’m fine, but I was wondering if you had any… spare joints. Your dear sister could really use one right now.” Adding a fake pout for drama.

Jonathan’s brows scrunched further in the middle, “Why?” Dragging out the word. “Thought you were sober or something.” Lowkey judging you when he’s the one that’s constantly doped up these days, head in the fucking clouds. Literally.

“I- I am sober, just… cramps.” Acting like a bad one just twisted up your insides, “Really hurting today and I’m guessing you don’t want to hear any whining or bitching, so cough some up, pothead. Or I could tell Mom-” “Fine, Jesus. Just, get dressed then come over. We’ll share one right now, you can get some off Argyle later.” And with that, Jonathan left your room.

You glanced over to your clock the huge block letters reading 8:00 am, only half an hour until Argyle showed up. Eyes straying from the clock to your light blue end phone, you debated if you should try phoning Steve. He was probably at work already since they were three hours ahead, the fake image of him picking up Robin and driving her to school like the amazing friend he is for her. Then internally groaning as he opens Family Video, probably complaining about the lack of customers on a Tuesday morning.

He’ll sit behind the desk while spinning in their one good chair, maybe doing light work every hour before getting bored again. He’ll eye the work phone and then Keith’s office, even though Steve knows it’s just him. He’ll think it over one more time before finally deciding to-

The phone rings loud, disrupting your daydream. After two rings you picked up and tried to smother the gigantic smile, even though that’s impossible to do when talking to your Steve.

“Hello?”

“Hi, pretty. How’s my best girl doing?” Steve’s smooth voice crackled from the shotty speakers. His pet names made your cheeks ache.

“I don’t know, how is Robin today? You drove her to school?” Teasing him and you can envision the eye roll.

Steve clicked his tongue, “Yes I drove her, but she’s not my best girl. More like the best nuisance stuck to me. But seriously, how are you? I’m excited to see you Sunday.” His voice picked up at the end. Joy to see his girlfriend after six months of separation, he was supposed to visit in December with Nancy but his parents had to randomly come home for the month. Keeping Steve trapped away from you.

“I can’t wait to be back. I’m gonna smother you in kisses and if you’re a good boy maybe we could-”

“Do not finish that sentence, young lady!” Joyce’s cry interrupted your sexy plans for Steve. The blood from your face drained to your stomach, Steve was most likely in the same boat. “Mom?” “Ms. Byers?” Your voices mix in horror.

“Yes, it’s me. Sorry to cut… this short, but I need the line for work. So if either one wraps this up, I’d appreciate that.” Hearing the tired sigh breathed into the receiver. This new call job has her stressed with each dial tone.

“Uh, I- I should probably do some work anyway. See you Sunday, baby. I love you.”

“I love you too, Stevie. Have a good day.” And with that, you both hung up. Not talking again until tomorrow afternoon when Steve picks you up from Indianapolis, three hours away from Hawkins.

“That killed the mood.” Grumbling to yourself as you paced around your room, finally getting dressed for the day.

Loose denim jeans, graphic tee with a light blue flannel as a light jacket. A new pair of white Converse ready to be marked and scuffed, they carried you the five steps it took from leaving your room to entering Jonathan’s. He was leaning his face into his open window but scurried away upon hearing his door open, he relaxed seeing it was only you, and went back to hitting his spiff.

“Thought you would wait for me?” Leaning against his wall with your arms crossed over your chest. You watched as the smoke filtered into the open air before Jonathan moved away from his window. He passed the shortened joint over, “I was but then I heard ‘Hi Stevie. I love you. I wanna make out with your face.’ I needed that out of my mind quickly.”

You shoved his left shoulder, “Jackass. You didn’t hear anything from me when there was a constant bang from your headboard when little Miss. Wheeler was visiting. Now that was worse, caused hearing damage from cranking my walkman and record player.”

“Whatever.”

Ignoring Jonathan’s attitude you climbed slowly and shakily onto an old crate for the needed height. Taking a deep inhale, feeling the smoke fill your chest, the small tickles at the back of your throat you held it until you couldn’t anymore. Pursing your lips to blow the smoke out before a deep coughing fit came on, palm hitting your chest a few times to push it all out. Jonathan was laughing as he held a water bottle out for you and gratefully you took deep gulps, nearly chugging the bottle for relief.

“I’m out of practice,” Was the only comment needed for that display. Jonathan’s brows rose, but he didn’t say anything further, just holding his hand out for another hit. “Back off, you already took half.”

“Seriously, are you okay?” Jonathan’s voice got serious, his body language concerned and his eyes staring you down.

You kept taking hits until there was just a stub left, rubbing the leftover into an ashtray before throwing it in the trash. Your mind was fuzzy, your body felt light with a faint tingle and your eyes were slowly getting bloodshot. No bad thoughts, no shadow monsters lurking at the corner of your eyes. Loose.

You turned to Jonathan with a dopey smile, cheeks puffed out while holding two thumbs up, “I’m fucking amazing, dude.” And bursting into uncontrollable giggles. Jonathan just groaned, “You’re fucking screwed.”

Before you could retort in any way loud honking filled the street. You peeked behind the curtains to see the Surfer Boy pizza van, Argyle sitting in the front seat bobbing his head to whatever was playing. Jonathan was rushing to hide any bongs or joints lying about in case Joyce was to come into his room during the day, she wouldn’t understand the need for the medicine either of you takes.

“Go make sure Will and Jane are ready,” Jonathan instructed you to do. It still felt weird having to call El Jane, but that was her legal name now. You still used it when in private, you couldn’t help that it slipped.

You stopped by your room for your backpack, sprayed some perfume heavily over your clothes, and placed some eyedrops to dim the redness. You went to El’s room first, knocking on her open door. She turned around at her desk and smiled, “What do you think?” Moving her visual aid to focus.

You stepped closer and leaned in, “Amazing. Very detailed.” Feeling somber at the mini Hopper she painted for the cabin. You patted her shoulder, “Grab your stuff, Argyle express is here.” You left her to pack up and walked further down the hall into Will’s space.

His door was closed so you knocked three times and then waited for an answer. You didn’t get one, so you knocked three more times and called his name then yours, still no answer. And you got worried so you pushed open his door and sighed in relief to see he was just concentrating on his painting. He wasn’t taken or possessed just in the zone.

“You scared me,” Your greeting to Will as he blinked his eyes three times in a row. “I’m- I’m sorry. Just focused.” And his eyes went back to the canvas.

“I can see that. Can I have a look?” Respecting when he wants to keep his work private, he doesn’t let El see it when she asks. He hesitated, looking from the painting to you and then longer at the painting. You waved his worry away, “It’s fine if you don’t. But Argyle is here so grab your stuff.” And you took your leave from his room.

You went to the kitchen to chug a glass of water and some bread to eat as your breakfast of champions. You heard Joyce talking on the phone before shutting the wire and grunting, “Prick.” You know she’s also having a hard time adjusting, but tried to keep a brave face for everyone, it sucks.

Jonathan, Will, and El came one by one into the main area and you took the cue, rushing to follow them and shouting your goodbyes to Joyce on the way out. Jonathan hopped into the front seat and threw a pair of black shades of his eyes, passing you a pair of blue round ones from Argyle’s glovebox. The Californian sun made you feel like a vampire at times, practically hissing at the bright heat. Will and El sat on your right and left caging you in the middle. You dazed off during the ten-minute ride, wishing to ditch school for the day but going against that thought.

Everyone was entering the campus, parents dropping off lower-classmen, friends hitching rides together, or people using the bus or bikes for transportation. You’re still confused about how Argyle gets to use his company's car like his own, but you don’t bother asking, Jonathan’s car is broken and it’s a free ride.

“Excited for your presentations today?” Trying to hype up Will and El. Will just shrugged as he held onto his blue poster but El excitedly nodded, a bounce in her step. “Can’t wait to tell everyone about Hopper. My hero.” And you blamed the tears on your chemical exposure.

[theboarsbride]

Hi beast🫀🐺🩸

[noyzinerd]

Teen Wolf Leather Jacket Lore

(As told from a snippet from my Sterek WIP, "Pseudology")

------

"Back in the old, old, old days, werewolf parents used to wrap their children in pelts and fur blankets when they felt threatened. It worked a lot like how weighted blankets nowadays provide a number of mental health benefits, like reducing stress or promoting better sleep. The heaviness simulates a feeling of being held, which can subconsciously ease your mind.

"Pelts, however, also had the addition of smelling like animal hide and the fur would feel almost like curling up against a mother wolf's body, back when fully shifted wolves were a more common occurrence. The combination of warmth and weight and softness and the smell of food, the smell of being provided for, helped to create a sense of safety for them.

"Nowadays, a werewolf can't just walk through the streets wrapped in a big, fur pelt unless he wants to draw a lot of attention. So, a leather jacket is the modern interpretation of that. Leather is one of the few clothing materials made of animal hide. Under all of the smells of bleaches and dyes and preserving chemicals, the faint smell of prey can still be picked up. Especially if the coat is old and the protective layer is chaffed off, releasing the hide smell. And the heavy weight of the jacket on a wolf's shoulders subconsciously feels like being wrapped in someone's arms. A leather jacket to a werewolf is like a weighted blanket to a human. It comforts them when they feel vulnerable and helps them feel safe." Derek paused for a bit to allow Stiles to fully comprehend all of the information laid before him. He had considered adding in an example of how there were compression vests out there meant to keep dogs calm during thunderstorms, but ultimately decided against it. It wouldn't do to give Stiles anymore ammunition to make dog jokes.

Once the spark of understanding was clear in those whiskey eyes, Derek continued. "Stiles...do you remember what had been going on in my life the first time you saw me in my coat?"

"Your...your sister had just been murdered."

"Mm," Derek hummed in agreement. It had taken a long time for him to finally talk about what had happened to Laura without sounding horribly broken up about it anymore. Not indifferent or uncaring, just more accepting. "I had lost the last person I had ever felt close to in this world. I hadn't known about Cora yet and I didn't have any other friends or family. The jacket was a coping mechanism."

Stiles nodded, digesting the information in stride as the conversation began filling in all of the burning knowledge gaps that had probably been haunting him for years by now. "And the jackets on Erica, Isaac, and Boyd?" The boy wasted no time moving through what was undoubtedly a checklist of questions in his head, almost as if he were afraid he might forget something if he didn't get through them fast enough.

"Becoming a werewolf for the first time can be stressful," Derek said, easily indulging Stiles' curiosity, "All of your senses are heightened to a point bordering on pain, sounds that used to be imperceptible can sound as loud as gunshots, all your bones ache, and your skin feels like it's on fire. At times, it can literally feel like you're dying. I bought them those jackets because I figured it would help to ease their transitions. I never explained the reasoning behind the jackets to any of them and I never forced anyone to wear them. They never seemed to want to take them off, though, so I think it soothed them, even if they didn't actually understand why."

"That's...that's actually really sweet of you, big guy. I didn't know you were such a softie. You're like some kind of-of...you're like a cuddly Teddywolf!" Stiles was absolutely tickled pink at the name.

Shit. This was worse than Sourwolf. Way worse.

"Wait, hold on. Back at the hospital, when we were trying to find the alpha," oh, thank god for Stiles' short attention span, "wasn't Peter also wearing a leather coat?" Goddamn Stiles' attention to detail! "No, it wasn't a coat. I mean, okay, it was a coat, but it wasn't a jacket, if that makes sense? It was longer than a jacket. Like, it was closer to the floor. It was more like a leather, um, like-like a, uh... a leather…" Stiles' hand was waving insistently by his face as he struggled to find the description he was looking for.

Derek sighed heavily in defeat.

"A duster," he murmured reluctantly, taking pity on the stuttering mess Stiles had become. If he had let this go any further, Stiles was going to have a conniption.

"Yes, a duster! Exactly! Thank you! Peter was wearing a leather duster that time at the hospital. But he had been comatose for years before then, hadn't he? Since the fire? It wouldn't have made sense for him to have the coat with him before he even knew the fire was going to happen."

Well, it couldn't be helped.

And Derek had actually been hoping that he could've gotten away with his misplaced good deed after all this time, too. "I was the one who got it for him. I thought it would help him heal. Maybe give him a little bit of comfort after suffering something so traumatic."

Stiles' whirling mind seemed to hit the brakes a little at that. Derek couldn't really blame him. As far as he knew, the only impression Stiles had ever gotten about the relationship between Peter and Derek had been tumultuous at best. For Derek to get Peter a coat, now knowing the significance of what wearing a leather coat meant to a werewolf, it was easy to see how that might be unusual.

"I had gotten it for him right before Laura and I left for New York. Before I knew he was a murderous psychopath, willing to kill his own family and innocent kids for power and revenge. If I had known back then what he would become, I would have lined the seams with wolfsbane and filled all the pockets with mountain ash."

Stiles let out a sudden bark of laughter, quickly covering his mouth to stifle his outburst. The laugh managed to take Derek by surprise.

"Sorry, sorry! I didn’t mean to laugh! I just would have loved to have seen that."

That sweet little smile at Peter's expense made his heart thump heavily in his chest. Was it normal to be so fond of someone for also wanting to see his uncle suffer?

Derek couldn't help the small, affectionate quirk to the side of his mouth at Stiles' enjoyment. The cute mole just at the corner of the boy's upper lip danced as he laughed, the sound carrying high and airy like wind chimes.

Derek made sure Stiles could only catch the briefest glimpse of his grin, just enough to know that Derek was fine with him laughing, before quickly turning away. Derek couldn't risk maintaining eye contact for too long. No, Stiles was too damn perceptive for that.

"So, why did you stop wearing it?"

"One day, I realized I didn't need it anymore. I think it was around the time I tried making my own pack. I think it was maybe because I didn't feel weak and vulnerable when I was surrounded by them. I found myself only needing my jacket when they were at school and I was left on my own. I was still making really bad decisions after that, getting into unhealthy relationships, and what had happened to Boyd and Erica weighed on me a lot, but it didn't feel like I could break at any moment anymore. For the first time in years, I felt like I had people I could turn to. Even when I pushed Isaac away, when I ran away to South America, when it became so hard to trust anyone anymore, I never felt truly alone. There would always be someone I could turn to if I ever got in any trouble. The more people I connected with, the less I needed it to make me feel safe. I felt protected. Over time, as I started to get my life back together, I found that I no longer needed other people to feel strong."

Stiles' eyes softened fondly at that as he said lightly, "I'm glad, big guy." There was so much sincerity and conviction in those four words that the werewolf could feel radiating rays of sunlight blooming beneath his ribcage.

Before the warmth in Derek's chest could truly settle in, the other's inquisitive, mile-a-minute brain was already pulling at the next thread within reach, his thirst for knowledge truly unquenchable.

"But isn't it, I don't know, bad for a werewolf to show other werewolves when they're vulnerable? Isn't that kinda like a sign of weakness or something?"

"That's a very good question." Derek felt impressed by just how astute Stiles could be. "Think of it like this. Most people know that smoking can be a sign of stress, right? A person will sometimes smoke when they feel nervous or when they're upset. You see it in movies all the time: detectives working on cases through a long night, someone whose hands are too shaky to light their cigarette after they've seen a murder, that sort of thing. Everyone knows that people smoke cigarettes at their low points. But, if you were to see a stranger smoking on the street, would you automatically assume it was because they were feeling vulnerable?"

"No."

"No, you wouldn't. Maybe they started smoking at a young age and now the habit is too strong for them to break as an adult. They may have started smoking during a stressful time in their lives and couldn't stop even after the stress was gone. Maybe they saw someone they looked up to smoke and wanted to emulate them. Maybe they think it makes them look cool. There are so many other unseen factors at play that people won't even think twice about seeing someone smoking. The same logic applies to werewolves and leather jackets. Just because they wear it when they feel vulnerable, that doesn't necessarily mean that's the only time they wear it. You never know. Maybe it's just cold outside."

"Whoa…that's intense. I never could have imagined so much lore from something like a leather jacket. Who would have thought that a coat could be the crutch of werewolf society?"

"Any more questions?"

"Oh, uh, no! That's all I've got."

"Good. You should feel honored. This is probably the most I've ever said to anyone in my entire life. I don't do that for just anyone, you know."

[humaforever]

Home or Hell?

This is a wip I've had for a little while, but then I got writers block so I'm just posting this. No plot, just Harry and Claudine kinda being bitches to each other, enjoy

_____________________________

Claudine sat against the cold brick wall. Even though the wind chilled her to the bone, it was better than going home. Her home was haunted, no it was simply hell.

So she would rather sit against this damp wall of this alley way, on the hard concrete, with the persistent smell of garbage. Because it was better than home.

Claudine rubbed her hands against her knees. God, they hurt. But that was to be expected. It always was when her father made her pray for hours and hours on end.

"What happened to you?"

Claudine felt someone's foot nudge against her arm. Looking up she was met with the glowering face of Harry Hook.

What didn't happen to her was the question he should be asking, really. She didn't feel like answering his question, it was too vague. Also she didn't much like him so she shouldn't be obligated to tell him her problems.

She looked away from Harry's gaze. The wind blew harder. It rustled Claudine's dress, revealing the raw and scabbed skin on her knees.

"Ouch" Harry said in a deadpan tone

Claudine scowled "Yeah. My knees hurt" she said matching his tone

"So do mine" Harry said

If he was being sarcastic, it wasn't funny. "Mmm I'm so sure" Claudine huffed, putting her dress back over her legs hoping it would help with the cold.

"You should be sure. I don't lie" Harry said. That was a lie.

"Is it from praying?" Claudine asked looking back up at him

"Oh." Harry smirked "You could say that I guess."

"Nevermind" Claudine said. She didn't enjoy talking to him

"Why the attitude sweetheart?" Harry grinned "I was going to be a gentleman and get you out of this alley. But maybe you actually do want to freeze"

Nearly everyone on the port had a responsibility to at least try to make sure Claudine didn't die. Otherwise Harry wouldn't be offering at all. But alas, he had special orders from Uma and less importantly but arguably much scarier, Harriet.

Claudine didn't really want to freeze no. But still, to her it was a better option than burning in the hell that was her home.

It would be easier if Harry really did just want to kill her, or leave her to die. Put her out of her misery.

She wasn't supposed to think that way. And maybe a small part of her didn't want to die, which is why she was tempted to take Harry's offer. Whatever it may be. It had to be better than her current situation.

"I do not want to freeze" Claudine finally said

"Didn't think so" Harry said, putting his hand out for her.

Claudine did not take his hand. She got up herself. Her father told her she wasn't supposed to touch boys in any capacity, but that was besides the point. She didn't take Harry's hand simply because she didn't want to.

"Okay then. I'll stop trying to pretend to care and just say fuck you too. As soon as we get to the Revenge you'll be out of my hair and I'll be out of yours" Harry said

Claudine grimaced. The Lost Revenge was a strange place. But it was better than the alley. See, that ship wasn't her home, but more importantly it wasn't hell. She decided that ultimately, that was all that really mattered to her.

[mareenavee]

WIP Whenever :D

Though it's actually on Wednesday this week, hehe.

Tagged by the lovely @thequeenofthewinter!

Tagging the most esteemed @friend-of-giants, @paraparadigm, @changelingsandothernonsense and @saltymaplesyrup!

I did share the last lines of this particular chapter earlier this week, so I'll pick a few paragraphs from earlier on! I actually just posted a chapter today that this will call back to. (: Enjoy!

“Calm down for a second,” Teldryn said. “I’m the one that’s supposed to be upset about the ice and cold.” He kicked at a few rocks and pebbles, all of them mostly wedged into thick ice. “He’s messing with me, but I know it’s because there’s work to do here. I flat out refused to check it out before. But I recognize where we are.” He watched as Nyenna wrestled with fury and fear, then decided to let them both go. She sighed and crossed her arms. They walked into the cave together, blessedly out of the biting wind, before she spoke.

“So what does he want from here?” Nyenna asked warily, scanning the place. Her eyes caught on something across the way, but she tore her gaze away.

“There’s interference here. This is as close as we can get to Benkongerike where another of his stupid books is apparently hidden,” Teldryn said. “In other words, this place… Or, really, the entire fucking iceberg of a coast is haunted. Hopefully not by more liches. I’m not sure what the theory is.”

“You knew he was collecting Black Books? Daedric artifacts?” Nyenna asked, looking aghast.

“It’s not as bad as all that. They’re safer with him,” Teldryn said. Nyenna raised an eyebrow. He just shook his head. “He’s a pain in the ass, really, but not evil. At least not in the traditional sense, I suppose.” He could tell with each word that Nyenna was getting more and more apprehensive about the whole thing. He scratched the back of his neck. “Just trust me on this, alright? Let’s figure out what is causing all the fuss here.”

“It’s probably that,” Nyenna said. She pointed across the cave to what appeared to be a troll skull wedged in the ice. It was adorned with horns that curved upward toward the ceiling. There was something familiar about that, but Teldryn couldn’t quite place it. “I noticed it almost immediately. It’s got some kind of magic attached to it. Not sure exactly what it is from back here, though.”

She motioned for him to follow. Something twisted in Teldryn’s gut as he walked behind her. It all seemed like a bad idea, suddenly. Nyenna was so casually walking toward the thing, but it was all wrong. He watched as time almost seemed to slow, her breath a cloud in the chilled air, arm outstretched toward the thing. Little stolen candles flickered and melted down on worn wooden boxes. Tiny, sharp spears were dug into the ice, holding up scraps of painted leather. Some were adorned with carved bristleback bones crossed and bound. Tiny carved runes were scrubbed with dirt to bring them forward against the harsh yellow-white of the fragments. All signs of Rieklings. This was an altar. With a shock, Teldryn remembered what this skull must have belonged to. He settled a hand over an amulet he had tucked under his shirt. He could feel the enchantment even through his armor. It bore the same spell signature as the skull in the ice. He gasped as the centuries-old realization hit him like a boulder. This belonged to Karstaag.

“Wait, Nyenna! Don’t – !”

He reached out his hand and caught her sleeve just as her fingers grazed the chilled bone of the frost giant’s skull.

[chaifootsteps]

Man, I love popping into your page. Just when I think I'll take a mini break from doodling BlitzStrike for the day, you come in with another mental image that must be drawn! (Man, I gotta catch up with my other uploads to start dumping on tumblr. By then a good chunk won't still be in the sketch/wip phase ;w; )

Crazy stupid how much chemistry the two have in the first episode together, vs. Stolas/Blitz with (essentially) all of their interactions. BlitzStrike bubbles with growth, crazy adventures, and limitless potential, Stolitz--in its honest form--is a road to tragedy and, in its most optimistic, a bitter-sweet end. Because Stolas loves a Blitz that isn't real and was never real. Added with his focus on /what/ Blitz was to him, hence his praise/compliments were always physical/sexual by nature. Vs Striker who recognized Blitz by his actual ability/accomplishments, which actually gives Blitz a stupid grin and makes him stand straighter. And crap, the two just enjoy being around each other for the sake of being around each other. No need to have them talking about boning each other every other minute on screen, just watch the two gel so well and you're like "yup. They want the other bad." Any doubt dropped by Blitz offering Striker to work with him at IMP (who readily accepted) or Striker trying to get Blitz to run away with him when found out (and man the next friggin episode hinted how much the choice to not go haunted Blitz or at the very least, the connection he had with Striker mattered to him as much as Moxxie, Fizz, or Verosicka).

God, just hearing you lay it all out this way made me go back and rewatch Harvest Moon and I almost wish I hadn't because it hurts to know how much sizzling chemistry Blitzo and Striker shared, and how much incredible potential as a character Striker had. About a hundred different possibilities, all of them better than what we got.

You can't look at this picture and tell me these two weren't rock-fucking-hard and pressing up against one another the entire time. You can't look at their expressions, here and throughout the entire first half of this episode, and tell me they didn't make each other feel completely and utterly alive.