#attic cleaning near me

[socalexpressrestorationca]

Why cleaning the attic is essential for a healthy home

The cleanliness of a home is constantly measured by the state of its usual surfaces, such as the living room, kitchen and bedrooms. However, one area that is often overlooked yet plays an integral role in maintaining the health of the home is the attic.

The attic serves as a fundamental storage space for many homes; however, if not properly preserved, it can become a breeding ground for various health hazards such as mold and mildew, which can affect the overall quality of indoor wind.

In addition to providing prime conditions for the growth of mold, neglected attics can also act as a safe haven for pests. These unwanted creatures find refuge in crowded spaces where they reproduce rapidly and pose numerous threats to human health, ranging from the spread of disease to structural damage.

This article is intended to highlight the value of regular attic cleaning and maintenance to ensure a healthy home environment. You'll delve into how this process helps prevent the growth of mold and mildew, as well as fend off pest infestations.

Prevention of mold and mildew growth

The proverbial 'out of sight, out of mind' approach to attic cleaning can promote an environment conducive to the growth of mold and mildew, thus compromising the overall health of a home.

Mold and mildew growth is primarily triggered by damp conditions that are constantly found in neglected attics. Such microorganisms not only represent a potential structural evil, but also invent harmful living conditions. Prolonged exposure to mold spores can cause serious health problems, such as respiratory problems, skin irritations, allergic reactions, and even toxicity in extreme cases.

To understand the preventive measures against the increase of mold and mildew in Honduras, it is essential to first find out its development period. Mold feeds on organic materials like wood or quarantine that is usually in attics as it thrives in humid environments. Consequently, any leak or condensation on the ceiling could drive its increase. Similarly, poor ventilation that does not allow moisture dissipation also benefits the multiplication process of these organisms.

Mold and mildew prevention involves regular cleaning of the attic along with proactive maintenance efforts aimed at minimizing moisture levels and improving ventilation in this space. This can include insulating pipes running through the attic area to prevent condensation storage during the colder months or installing vents for better wind circulation.

Additionally, proper storage practices are critical; Stored items need to be dry, wrapped properly if they are sensitive to moisture damage, and well spaced so there is proper wind flow around them. Therefore, improving attic care protocols will help maintain a healthier home environment while mitigating potential long-term structural ills.

Evade pest infestations

A huge menace to home cleanliness and structural entirety, pest infestations can be positively deterred by maintaining cleanliness in high-end storage areas, like attics. Often raised during regular grooming routines, such enclosed spaces provide an ideal habitat for pests such as rodents, insects, bats, and even birds. They offer shelter from harsh weather conditions and predators, while also providing food sources in the form of stored items or other nesting creatures.

Accumulated dust, debris, and clutter increase the appeal of such spaces to pests, making attic cleaning a major section of pest control. The existence of pests exposes several dangers to the health of residents. Rodents are known carriers of diseases such as hantavirus pulmonary syndrome (HPS) or leptospirosis, which have the potential to pose a serious health threat if not detected early. Likewise, insect infestations often bring with them allergens that can trigger respiratory problems among vulnerable individuals. Bats are notorious carriers of fury, as bird droppings can cause histoplasmosis, a respiratory disease caused by fungal spores present in their feces.

Regular cleaning of the attic helps minimize such hazards by removing potential hiding places for pests and minimizing food availability. A clean attic is not only essential in preventing pest infestations, but also plays a role in identifying existing ones at an early stage before they get out of control. Signs such as gnawed wires, droppings or nested materials are more visible once the space is cleared and cleaned regularly, allowing immediate corrective action to be taken. In addition to this benefit, regular attic maintenance minimizes damage to removal materials, therefore preserving homes' energy efficiency, which makes it important for both health stability measures and economic causes.

[socalexpressrestorationla]

From Dusty to Stunning: Transform Your House with Attic Cleaning by SoCal Express Restoration & Construction

When it to improving the look and feel of your home, attic cleaning is a great place to start. SoCal Express Restoration & Construction's team of experienced professionals can help bring your outdated attic back to life with thorough cleaning services that will leave you amazed at the transformation. From dusty spaces filled with cobwebs and spiders to sparkling areas free from debris or vermin, our team can provide personalized service tailored specifically to meet your needs. We understand how important your home is and make sure it is treated with respect during every step of the process.

 

Socal Express Restoration & Construction Chatsworth, CA 91311 1(866) 970-1170

[littleshinsbackgarden]

In the realm of modern technology, where convenience and style go hand in hand, your earbuds and AirPods deserve a special place to call home. Little Shin's Back Garden has you covered with an exquisite collection of stylish earbud holders and unique AirPods cases.

[sheep-from-rad]

this is inspired by @luludeluluramblings 's neglected! influencer! **I'll expand this later, I'm eepy**

*I don't own Rät. It belongs to Penelope Scott. Batfam belongs to DC*

Not gonna lie, everytime I read a Yandere Batfam x Neglected Reader (I wish we have more defiant one tbh, i have parental issues and I tell you I will never ever forgive my parents fast. It's my dad's fault I don't know how to ask for help and that everytime he's near me all my danger senses are high up. Ending this here before it becomes a rant/vent lol) all I can hear in my brain is Rät by Penelope Scott

Maybe we can do it like this: Neglected! reader uses music to let frustrations out and leading to them becoming this anon singer online. Reader started out with being a black screen singer at first, making covers of songs and then later they started when gaining popularity they started having this anime avatar or an anime persona (maybe even a vtuber model) and original songs left and right.

Reader lives a normal life flying under the radar in daylight but when alone they sing their hearts out in different songs, they even learn different languages for foreign songs too. I can imagine reader singing Japanese songs too something around Kikuo to One OK Rock covers.

AND THEN the big fight with Damian, reader really can't bear living in the mansion anymore. They bear it too much and now the bottle is already full. Before they left they dropped the song cover of Rät or maybe it's not even a cover in this AU, maybe they wrote the song in this AU. Gotham immediately loved the song maybe even tried to decipher the song too because singer! reader just dropped it and disappeared.

The song immediately gained notoriety because to the people of Gotham the song sounded like a protest. A question to the current hierarchy, a question to heroes and how villains came to be. No one still notices that the reader is missing until Tim was tasked to clean up some camera file storage around the mansion.

Tim watches every footage before cleaning it, no matter how boring it was to see if something went amiss while they are out on their secret vigilante nightlife. What did he find on the camera footage? He found the reader going around their bedroom and to the attic back and forth with a microphone and few recording equipment. When he reviewed the attic footage he found clips and clips of reader singing, editing, and uploading videos.

Suddenly, the last song they dropped made sense. The lyrics made sense. It was about them not about Gotham society.

[spider-stark]

A BOY'S FIRST PEST

Kaz Brekker x Reader

Summary - Kaz Brekker thinks Per Haskell's daughter is a (very lovely) pest

Warnings - fem!reader, traumatraumatrauma, the woes of troubled youth, light mentions of blood and death, these bitches trauma bonded yo, could deviate some from canon, based more on book!kaz than show, NOT EDITED WE DIE LIKE MEN

Word Count - 2.0k

!MINORS DNI!

// masterlist // send me your thoughts // comments & reblogs appreciated! //

Everyone knows Kaz Brekker put his own money into fixing up the Slat. 

He hired men to patch the leaky roof (though it still drips during a heavy rain) and put proper insulation in the walls (which keeps the house warm enough, even if it does nothing to muffle the noise of its occupants). He had all the doors fitted with working knobs (but easily picked locks) and ensured the kitchen was capable of making a warm meal (even if seriously doubted any of the Dregs knew how to cook). 

And while he would never admit it aloud, Kaz was also the one who made sure there were always clean linens in every room (albeit the cheapest Ketterdam has to offer) and spare clothes in every closet (sizes ranging from wafer-thin to barrel-chested). In keeping, he also takes it upon himself to keep the bathing room stocked with a steady supply of toiletries (because if someone uses his toothbrush again, he’s going to kill everyone in this place and then himself). 

Because of Kaz Brekker, the Slat was more than just a safe place to hole up. It was a haven, the closest thing many of the Dregs had to a home. 

But it did, of course, have one enduring problem. 

The pests.

Or, namely, the one pest—one that he could never quite exterminate (though the spider privy to the inner-workings of Kaz Brekker’s mind might argue the merit of replacing ‘could never’ with ‘would never’). 

Per Haskell’s very annoying (and very lovely) daughter. 

In the midst of Ketterdam’s hottest season, you find yourself lying sprawled on your back atop the dark sheets, clad in the skimpiest nightclothes you own: a matching set of black silk shorts and flowy, thin-strapped camisole. The air is thick and near stifling in the attic-bedroom, but you don’t mind it. You prefer being hot to cold, if only because the heavy weight of winter clothes makes you feel trapped, eliciting the urge to crawl straight from your skin. 

When the door finally swings open, you eagerly push up onto your elbows. 

Kaz doesn’t so much as spare a glance in your direction. He’s got one hand on his cane, the other shoving the door shut behind him as he limps toward his desk, guided by the bright moonlight spilling in from the muggy window. 

Your shoulders slump, huffing out a breath. “Seriously? You’re not even gonna greet me?” 

With his back turned to you, Kaz removes his hat and places it on the desk. He doesn’t look at you. “You’re in my room.” 

“Yeah—so I was actually thinking something more along the lines of hello,” you drone, lips pursed. “Y’know, that thing normal people say when they see their friends.” 

“We’re not friends.” 

A hand flies to your chest, as if struck by his words. “Um, ouch? Rude. For your sake, I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear that.” 

Kaz tugs off his signature gloves and tosses them next to his hat. “I can always repeat it,” he says, so impassive you can’t tell if it’s a joke. 

Knowing Kaz, you’re pretty sure it’s not. 

You push up the rest of the way, scooting down to sit cross-legged at the end of his bed. It’s so much nicer than yours—the sheets softer, the mattress plusher, the smell so familiar and warm. 

If it were up to you, you’d sleep in here every night. 

And most nights, that’s exactly what you do. 

“Would it kill you to be nice sometimes?” you ask. 

“Not usually, no.” Kaz faces you, his weight leaned back against the desk, his cane propped against it. “But we both know you’re a special case.” 

“Is that a compliment?” 

“Not at all.” 

Your bottom lip juts into a pout. “Has anyone ever told you you’re an asshole?” 

Aside from the subtlest lift of his brows, Kaz’s expression remains vague and disinterested. “Regularly,” he deadpans, looking the image of austere melancholy. 

Your laugh comes so sudden it sounds like a snort. “I should’ve guessed,” you nod, forever unphased by Kaz’s forbidding attitude. 

This is the way things have always been between you. Ever since a surly twelve year old marched head-high into your father’s office to see if the Dregs needed a new grunt, oblivious to the girl beaming up at him from a lonely corner, weaving colorful scraps of thread into bracelets for the friends you’d yet to make. 

Kaz Brekker is dark and foreboding while you’re bright and bubbly; he’s rude and standoffish while you’re sweet and flirtatious. Some may liken your relationship to oil and water, but you prefer thinking of it as a carefully crafted balance—a yin and yang sort of thing. 

Kaz, on the other hand, would simply say you’re a thorn in his side. 

Fortunately for yourself, you’re not an easily offended thorn. 

The rickety floorboards creak as Kaz starts around the desk. His bare fingers trail along the varnished edge for support. His limp is always at its worst by this time of night, so you’re not surprised to see the flicker of relief that slips over him when he finally sinks into the chair. 

“Have you ever considered that maybe you work too hard?” Your voice teeters on the edge of concern, tracing idle shapes against the sheets with your nails. 

His answer is curt, and contradictory to the purple smudges beneath his eyes. “No.” 

Fumbling with his cufflinks—simple, unadorned things—Kaz rolls his sleeves up to his elbows. Afterwards, he flips open the thick ledger laid before him, plucking up a pen and dipping it into an awaiting pot of ink. 

Kaz keeps track of the Dregs expenses in his head—a skill you’ve always found most impressive, since you can hardly do a simple equation without scratch paper. Still, he keeps the physical record for the sake of having something to point to in case someone’s ever stupid enough to claim Dirtyhands flubbed the numbers. 

As he works, boredom quickly becomes a chip on your shoulder. 

Your legs unfurl, bare feet stretching toward the floor as you slip off the edge of the bed. Every step is purposeful, traipsing toward him with a look that’s not so unlike a cat readying to toy with its favorite mouse. 

“Maybe we should take a holiday,” you suggest, your voice a soft trill. 

One part of you expects to be ignored, the other to be shot down. 

He lands somewhere in the middle. 

“And go where? His eyes remain focused on the ledger, dark brows drawn tight in concentration. You envision numbers flashing before him, adding and subtracting at the steady pass of the nib scratching against parchment. 

“I don’t know. Ravka, maybe?” 

“Ravka?” It’s like the word tastes sour on his tongue. “Why?” 

You stop just short of his desk, an answer instantly rapping at your mind. You quickly replace it with one that’s far less tragic. “I wouldn’t mind seeing Nikolai Lantsov with my own eyes,” you drawl. “Nina says he’s quite the looker, y’know.” 

Kaz sits up a little straighter, shoulders pinned with newfound tension. 

“Of course he is.” He seems to press the nib down harder, his disinterested tone bordering close to resentful. “He’s a prince—looking pretty is all they’re good for.” 

Your head tilts. “Well, he’s actually a king now, so…” 

There’s the briefest falter in the smooth motion of his jotting wrist. “I’m not taking you to Ravka so you can seduce the Lantsov bastard.” 

“And why not?” You reach for the tip of his cane, still propped against the desk, skimming a finger over the crow’s head. “You think I can’t do it?” 

The pen keeps on scratching, accented by the dull hum of the Slat’s perpetual motion—doors slamming, voices cackling. Your ego grows larger for every second Kaz stays silent, your satisfaction settling into a feline smirk. 

Simply, yet firmly, Kaz eventually maintains, “We’re not going to Ravka.” 

Your exhale is something over dramatic, laden with feigned disappointment as you huff, “Fine!” Kaz never looks up, continuing with the ledger. 

Abandoning the crow’s head, you swipe one of Kaz’s abandoned gloves off the desk, fiddling with the smooth leather. Still recovering from their civil war, you imagine Ravka isn’t an ideal travel spot right now, anyway. Not unless someone has a morbid desire to tour the sites where Saints met their often-grisly ends, that is… Besides, for all Nina’s praise of the Lantsov king, you’ve never actually had a thing for blondes. 

And yet— 

“I really would like to go someday.” Your voice is hardly a whisper. Your other answer—tragic and rapping—crawls up your throat in a hoarse admission, “My mother was Ravkan.” 

That persistent scratching finally comes to a sudden halt. 

For the first time since he entered the room, Kaz looks up. There’s not a hint of pity in his eyes, though they gleam with solemn understanding. Your lips thin, pressing his glove tight to your chest. 

In the winter of your fourteen birthday, you snuck into your father’s office and stole a full bottle of kvas. Dressed in clothes too light for the frigid weather, you sped up the crooked stairs to Kaz’s attic-bedroom, pleading until he begrudgingly agreed to join you on the moonlit roof. For a boy who claimed such an aversion to you, he was always doing things you asked—even if he’d griped the whole time. You both gagged after the first sip of hard liquor. After an hour or so, the full bottle had dwindled to just a drop, your tongues seeming to move with more freedom. 

Neither of you had been prepared for the way the carbonated joy in your chests fizzled to something stagnant. 

I don’t like being alone, you told him, fiddling with the frayed strings tied around your wrist, the friendship bracelets no one ever wanted. If I’m alone, it means I’m thinking, and if I’m thinking, it means my mother won’t stop dying. 

You told him of the endless montage in your head. How at six years old, a walk along the Stave in your favorite winter coat ended with getting crushed beneath the weight of your mother’s last act of devotion, shielded by a body crumpled and crimson, shorn in the crossfire of unexpected gang violence. When you fell silent, Kaz drained the last drop of kvas and told you about a coffee shop near the Exchange. About a sickboat and a boy named Jordie, about a frosty harbor and an impossible swim that left him unable to bear the touch of another’s skin. 

When neither of you had any soul left to bear, Kaz chucked the bottle off the roof. You don’t remember hearing it shatter, and maybe it never did. Maybe it hit some hapless pigeon and fractured his skull. Maybe it ceased to exist the moment it went over the edge. The bottle didn’t matter. Not to you. Not when Kaz Brekker reached for your wrist, leather-clad fingers gently tugging the bracelets off your wrist. 

Don’t make a thing of this, he told you, stuffing them in his pocket. You’re still a pest.

But it was a thing. A strange, beautiful thing—and both of you knew it. 

“Fine.” Kaz’s voice—the rasp of stone on stone—drags you back to the present. He sits the pen down beside the ledger, a strand of black hair swaying with the subtle shake of his head. “We’ll go to Ravka. You’ll seduce some sorry prince and live happily ever after in a gaudy palace. I’ll make my fortune snagging the Lantsov Emerald and use it to hire a proper bookkeeper. Deal?” 

Your lips twitch, still hugging his glove to your chest. “King,” you correct him. 

His eyes roll, but a flicker of something warm betrays his affection. “Pest,” he calls you, though it doesn’t sound like much of an insult. 

“I imagine the Grand Palace has fine exterminators,” you muse. 

“Then I suppose your marriage will be short-lived.” 

“Will you save me, then?” Your heart leaps with the question, how it slips from your tongue before you can grasp it. 

Kaz hesitates. Then—remarkably—smiles. 

“Maybe.”

a/n - you know what they say. a bottle of kvas is never just a bottle of kvas, amirite

(☞ ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)☞

anyways, i was procrastinating an essay and thought "lets write something with a somewhat ambiguous ending!" and voila, a boy's first pest is the product. now everyone say: lainie, go work on your original writing and stop writing so much fan fiction! (but i'm already thinking of a kaz smut drabble so) anyways, comments and reblogs much appreciated, i cry with joy every time someone actively interacts with my work so THANK YOU

[unboundprompts]

Idk if you’ve done this yet but ways to describe a dark/scary motel/house? Something straight out of a paranormal horror story to be precise.

Thank you!! 🫶🏼

I love love love horror. If you ever want more horror prompts please let me know :)

Descriptions of Haunted Locations

-> feel free to edit and adjust pronouns as you see fit.

The doors of the motel were identical, nothing differentiating them besides the rusted numbers. They were dirty, as if they had never been cleaned, and the paint had been chipped off over time. Some of the doors looked like they were covered in claw marks-- fingernails digging into the old paint in chilling, desperate lines.

The house was old. It looked like it hadn't been cared for in decades. The grass in the yard was up to her knees and ivy leaves grew on the exteriors of the house and rooted in the gutters. The windows were boarded up, making it look abandoned. The only way to glimpse the inside of the house was through the attic window.

The entry way was filled with dust. It lingered in the air and on every surface. He glanced up at the antique chandelier hanging high overhead, seeing the dirt and grime that dirtied the glass crystals. He tried the light switch, flicking it up and down but to no avail. When he turned on his phone's flashlight, and shone it through the dusty air, a shadow passed in front of him, darting through the entry way and up the stairs.

The motel room was small, the bed made with a comforter that looked like it came from their great-grandmother's house. It was a dirty floral pattern, with yellow pillows that were probably once white. The carpet was stained. Either with blood or dark red wine, they weren't sure. And the window that looked out onto the walkway was covered in fingerprints.

Taxidermy. The lobby of the motel was filled with horrible dead animals mounted to walls and displayed in the corners. She was near certain that their eyes would move. As she checked in, the taxidermy squirrel that sat on the desk stared at her with it's teeth bared.

If you like what I do and want to support me, please consider buying me a coffee! I also offer editing services and other writing advice on my Ko-fi! Become a member to receive exclusive content, early access, and prioritized writing prompt requests.

[redtsundere-writes]

Would you consider continuing sukunaxservant? I’m in love with that au 💗💗💗

🥺👉👈 I beg

Hiya! Since you guys and Wattpad ate up my King!Sukuna x Servant!Reader one-shots, I decided to turn it into a series on Wattpad and AO3!

The first 4 one-shots (Ear Cleaning, Ribs, Blood Bath and Eyes on Me) will be included, but they'll be longer and better. So if you like any of those caught your attention, please check out the full version :) Thank you for the support!

Tyrant's Favorite | Sukuna Ryomen

PICK YOUR FAVORITE!

AO3 or Wattpad?

CHAPTER 1 PREVIEW! ↆ

Sukuna walked through the corridors illuminated by the dark sun that ruled among the kingdoms. His long, heavy footsteps made the marble floor rumble under his weight. His sharp profile, tattooed shoulders and large body, contrasted by the reddish sky of the cursed land, terrifying any small human who encountered him. He was a king who could control anything thanks to the terror that his large body and absolute power conveyed. He had the power on his hands to kill whatever and whenever he wanted like an omnipotent god, but he liked to watch his rats run from one side to the other to obey his mercy. It amused him to play with his servants to the point of making them cry, tremble or, in extreme cases, commit suicide. He had plenty of servants, so he could afford to kill as many as he wanted. The poor uniformed humans trembled if his dark eyes rested on them. They all tried to dodge him at all costs to avoid performing tasks that involved being near him, especially cleaning his ears. 

Being a monster with senses sharpened to the max, he hated having his ears touched, but it was necessary for him to clean them to have his five senses ready for any battle. He is not someone ticklish, but his ears are the most sensitive part of his entire body. He could clean his own ears himself, but what kind of almighty, omnipotent king would clean his own ears when others could do it?

His eyes navigated through the long and endless corridors of the terrifying castle where he lived with all his subjects. The king's home was a place where darkness, cold, and uncertainty dominated the atmosphere. Even though it was surrounded by luxuries, it felt more like a secret attic than a castle fit for a king. Silver chandeliers, red candles parading on the walls and furniture upholstered with exotic fabrics from around the world decorated each room that was commonly surrounded by portraits made by hundreds of artists who feared for their lives. 

His predatory eyes sought out the first poor servant that crossed his path. He heard the bristles of a broom being scrubbed against the floor. Sukuna spotted a small figure sweeping one of the guest rooms. There you were, humming a song softly from your childhood as you made the broom dance from side to side. You were so focused on your task that you didn't notice the king standing dangerously close to you. As you turned around, you suddenly bumped into his imposing body, giving you a mini heart attack. Dressed in elegant robes, gold rings on each finger and with a wicked grin on his face, he was looking at you as if you were a despicable creature he could get rid of in the blink of an eye. 

You are the youngest and most inexperienced servant in the entire castle. You had not been living there for more than two months, so your direct interactions with the king had been few. Sukuna saw you from head to toe. He remembered you perfectly from the day he met you. Your neatly combed pigtails with two white bows showed off your innocence, the corset accentuated your small waist and the long brown skirt covered your promising legs. He accepted it, you were cute. Other than that, you were a disgusting human like everyone else, but there was something about you that caught his attention. Sukuna didn't know exactly what it was that you had. For the time being, he would continue to treat you as you deserved for being a nasty rat. Immediately, you knelt before your majesty. Your head rested in your hands against the freshly swept floor, your fingers barely touching his feet because of the closeness. 

“Are you having fun?” Sukuna asked, sarcastic. 

“No, my king,” you answered quickly, avoiding making eye contact. 

Sukuna placed one of his bare feet on your back. The oppressive weight crushed you against the cold floor. You prayed inwardly that your bones wouldn't start to creak. You bit your lower lip and closed your eyes tightly to avoid letting out a moan of pain. Having satisfied his need to make the new maid see who her master is, he removed his foot from your agonized back. You took a deep breath to fill your lungs with air again. 

“To my room. Now,” he ordered without deigning to look at you before leaving the room. You remained on the floor, slowly catching your breath. A metal taste touched your tongue. You bit your lower lip so hard what it was bleeding.

FULL CHAPTER ON WATTPAD / AO3!

[societyfolklore]

Mess is Best

Title: Mess is Best (Prompt- baking together but neither know what you're doing) Pairing: Dad!Bucky Barnes x Kids x Female Reader

Summary: Bucky gets talked into Christmas baking with the kids and things turn to chaos while Mom naps.

Word Count:  2.1k

Warnings:  This ones just Fluff! All Fluff.. (No Beta Read)

A/N: Another entry for @the-slumberparty December daze challenge) -  Day 20 just went for something a little softer this time. Domestic and cute. The house was anything but quiet that morning. The holiday season had brought with it a whirlwind of preparations- decorations were finally all up (though the boxes were yet to be returned to the attic and had just been stacked in the corner of the living room) the dining table covered in gifts and paper waiting for wrapping to be completed, and the faint hum of Christmas carols playing from the kitchen radio. The smell of pine and cinnamon lingered in the air, mingling with the faint trace of snow that had clung to Bucky’s boots when he brought in the tree earlier.

You had spent the entire morning orchestrating the chaos, directing the kids to hang ornaments (even if most ended up clustered in one spot), wrapping presents, and trying to keep the sugar-fuelled excitement from reaching a fever pitch. By the time midafternoon rolled around, your energy was spent. After some gentle but persistent nudging, Bucky finally relented, letting you retreat to the bedroom for a well-deserved nap.

Now, the house was suspiciously quiet. Too quiet.

Bucky stood in the kitchen, his arms crossed as he eyed the two culprits in matching Christmas jumpers. Laura and Jack, their faces glowing with the kind of mischief only children could muster, stood before him like tiny conspirators. Their hands were clasped in front of them, and their wide, hopeful eyes made Bucky instantly wary.

“Alright,” Bucky said slowly, narrowing his eyes. “What are you two up to?”

“Nothing bad!” Laura chirped, her voice an octave too high to be convincing.

“We just wanna make cookies,” Jack added, tugging on Bucky’s vibranium hand. His small fingers left smudges of glittery red paint from earlier craft projects. “Please, Dad? It’ll be fun!”

“You sure about this?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “Do we even know how to make cookies?”

Laura puffed up her chest. “How hard can it be? We have the box mix!” She held up the box like it was a sacred text, her enthusiasm unwavering. Bucky’s eyes flicked to the counter, the bowl sat waiting, surrounded by a chaotic assortment of sprinkles, chocolate chips, and food colouring. The kids must have raided the pantry while he wasn’t looking.

He pinched the bridge of his nose. Mom’s going to kill me.

Fifteen minutes later, the kitchen looked like a Christmas tornado had blown through. Flour clung to every surface, creating a fine white dusting on the counters and the floor. The air smelled faintly of vanilla and chaos as sprinkles formed a rainbow mosaic across the tile. A suspicious puddle of milk was pooling near the sink, with a tiny trail leading to where Jack had ‘helpfully’ tried to clean up by tossing a damp paper towel onto it.

Bucky stood in the centre of the mess, his hands on his hips, surveying the damage. Laura and Jack beamed at him, their faces dusted with flour like a pair of pint-sized chefs who had just survived a battle.

“Alright,” Bucky said, holding up his hands as though calling a truce. “Let’s try this again, taking it one step at a time, reading the box this time. What’s first Gumdrop?”

“The box says mix the powder with eggs and butter!” Laura announced triumphantly, waving the instructions like a battle flag. Bucky had to admit her enthusiasm was contagious, even if it set off alarm bells in Bucky’s mind.

“Easy enough,” Bucky muttered, grabbing another mixing bowl from the pile of clean dishes. He grabbed an egg from the carton and cracked it against the rim of the bowl using his vibranium hand. The crack was… overzealous. Eggshell fragments rained into the bowl, some pieces sinking into the shiny white powder like tiny shipwrecks.

“Ew, Dad!” Jack squealed, pointing at the bowl with a mixture of horror and delight. “There’s crunchy bits in there!”

“Not anymore,” Bucky said, fishing out the pieces with exaggerated precision, his tongue sticking out slightly in concentration. He held up the last piece with a flourish, as though presenting a trophy. “See? Problem solved.”

Laura and Jack erupted into giggles, their earlier exasperation forgotten. The sight of their laughter made Bucky’s heart lighten, even as he felt the weight of impending doom over the state of the kitchen.

“Alright, next ingredient,” Bucky said, his tone determined. “Butter. Where’s the butter?”

Jack pointed to a stick of butter that had somehow ended up on the far end of the counter. It was half-unwrapped, a small dent where someone had poked it with their finger. Bucky sighed, grabbing the butter and tossing it into the bowl with the mix.

“You’re supposed to cut it up first,” Laura pointed out, crossing her arms like a tiny authority on baking, pulling a face that reminded Bucky how much she looked like her mother.

“Details,” Bucky replied with a shrug, grabbing a wooden spoon. He began mixing the ingredients together with an awkward vigor that sent a small cloud of flour puffing into the air.

The kids giggled again, and Bucky found himself grinning despite the mess.

By the time the dough was mixed, it resembled something out of a science experiment. The thick batter clung stubbornly to the wooden spoon, dotted with an outrageous amount of chocolate chips and sprinkles that the kids had insisted on adding (‘for maximum Christmas vibes!’ Laura had proclaimed, dumping the entire bag of sprinkles into the bowl without hesitation). The mixture sparkled in the light, an unholy concoction of sugar and chaos.

Bucky scraped some of the dough onto a baking sheet, attempting to shape it into a neat circle. The result was… underwhelming. The dough spread unevenly, forming an amorphous blob that barely resembled a cookie.

“Alright, your turn,” Bucky said, stepping back to let the kids take over.

Jack immediately grabbed a handful of dough, plopping it onto the sheet and mashing it with his fingers. “I’m making a snowman!” he declared, though the result looked more like a melting pile of snow. Laura took a more artistic approach, carefully shaping a star that ended up with one overly long point.

“Dad, look!” Jack exclaimed, holding up his hands, which were now completely coated in sticky dough. “I’m the Cookie Monster!” He made exaggerated chomping noises, pretending to eat his dough-covered fingers.

“You’re definitely something kiddo,” Bucky replied, shaking his head with a laugh. “Alright, let’s get these in the oven before you two eat the entire batch.”

He slid the tray into the oven, brushing stray sprinkles off the counter as he closed the door.

“Perfection is overrated,” Bucky muttered, wiping his hands on a dish towel.

“Exactly!” Laura said, grinning as she high-fived him with a hand still sticky with dough. Damn her smile lit up the room, Bucky couldn’t help but smile as he looked at their mismatched creations. The cookies might not win any awards, but they were unmistakably theirs.

While the cookies baked, the chaos continued to escalate. Laura’s eyes lit up when she spotted the small box of food colouring on the counter. “Let’s make frosting!” she declared, grabbing the box with all the authority of a professional chef. Jack clapped his hands in excitement, already imagining the colourful chaos.

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Frosting, huh? You know how to make that Princess?”

“How hard can it be?” Laura shot back, echoing her earlier mantra.

They found a bowl and dumped powdered sugar into it with reckless abandon. Laura squeezed half the bottle of red dye into the mix, and Bucky watched in mild horror as the powder transformed into a neon pink mess that could probably be seen from space.

“Uh, maybe we should tone it down a bit,” Bucky suggested, but his kids were on a roll. Jack added a splash of milk—more than necessary—creating a runny, vibrant concoction that sloshed precariously as they stirred.

By the time they were done, the frosting bowls looked like a rainbow had exploded. There was bright green, electric blue, and a suspicious shade of orange that none of them remembered mixing.

When the timer dinged, signalling that the cookies were ready, Bucky opened the oven with a mix of curiosity and trepidation. The cookies, had personality. Some were lumpy, others were oddly shaped, and one snowman had mysteriously developed three arms during baking.

“They’re beautiful,” Jack said proudly, holding up the three-armed snowman with a grin that could melt the coldest heart.

Bucky laughed, shaking his head. “Beautiful might be a stretch kiddo, but they’re definitely unique.”

The decorating phase was pure, unfiltered chaos. Frosting ended up everywhere: on the table, on the kids, even in Bucky’s hair, where Jack had accidentally swiped him during an enthusiastic frosting application. Laura took her time, meticulously painting each cookie with an alarming amount of detail, while Jack adopted a more freestyle approach, dumping entire containers of sprinkles over the cookies until they resembled glittery mountains.

“Are those… abs?” Bucky asked, squinting at a gingerbread man Laura had decorated.

“Yep! It’s Uncle Steve in is uniform!” Laura replied, grinning as she added a tiny shield made of frosting.

Bucky groaned, covering his face with his hand. “Steve can never see this.”

Jack held up another gingerbread man, proudly announcing, “This one’s the Hulk!” The cookie was covered in green frosting and looked more like a blob than a superhero, but Jack’s enthusiasm was infectious.

“Sure is Buddy..But aren’t these suppose to be Christmas cookies”

“He had a Santa hat!” Bucky had to squint to work out where the hat was suppose to be.  

By the time the last cookie was decorated, the kitchen was a disaster zone. The counters were sticky with frosting, the floor was a minefield of sprinkles, and the kids were covered head to toe in sugary chaos. And yet, as Bucky looked at their creations—imperfect, colorful, and uniquely theirs—he couldn’t help but smile. These were the moments that made the mess worth it.

Just as the last cookie was finished, you walked into the kitchen, rubbing your eyes and stifling a yawn. You froze in the doorway, your gaze sweeping across the scene. It was a masterpiece of chaos: the counters were caked with frosting and dusted with flour, sprinkles sparkled like confetti on the floor, and a faint aroma of slightly burnt sugar lingered in the air. The kids stood proudly in the middle of it all, their faces streaked with frosting, holding up their creations like trophies.

Bucky, standing amidst the chaos, was a sight to behold. His dark hair had streaks of bright red frosting smeared through it, and his shirt bore the evidence of the day’s adventures: flour handprints, a sprinkle trail, and a suspicious smear of neon pink. He held up a cookie shaped like a lopsided Christmas tree, his expression both sheepish and amused.

“Mommy!” the kids squealed in unison, abandoning their cookies to rush toward you. They tugged at your hands, eager to show off their masterpieces. “Look what we made!”

You raised an eyebrow, your gaze shifting from the grinning kids to Bucky, who gave you a lopsided smile. “It’s not as bad as it looks,” he said quickly, holding up the misshapen tree cookie as if it were a peace offering.

You stepped further into the kitchen, carefully avoiding a rogue puddle of frosting, and picked up one of the cookies. It was a snowman with three arms and a slightly charred bottom. Holding it up to the light, you examined it with a critical eye, the kids watching with bated breath. Then, to their surprise, you took a bite.

“Well,” you said, chewing thoughtfully as their anticipation grew. “It’s… edible. Mostly.”

The kids erupted into cheers, their laughter echoing through the kitchen. Bucky let out a relieved chuckle, running a hand through his hair and wincing as he encountered the sticky frosting streaks.

You reached out, swiping a bit of frosting from his cheek with your finger. “Next time,” you said with a smirk, “maybe wait until I’m awake.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” he replied, pulling you in for a quick kiss. His lips tasted faintly of sugar, a sweet reminder of the chaos you’d walked into.

The kids clamoured for you to try more cookies, each one presenting their favourite creation with the kind of pride usually reserved for art gallery openings. As you laughed and indulged their enthusiasm, you couldn’t help but take in the scene. The kitchen was a disaster, the cookies were questionably edible, and Bucky looked like he’d been through a war zone. And yet, in that moment, surrounded by laughter, love, and the sticky sweetness of family, everything felt absolutely perfect.

[v-e-l-v-e-t-g-o-l-d-m-i-n-e]

Lestat/Armand + Moments that makes me feel Insane

If there had been a summons, I never heard it. If there was a greeting, I didn't sense it now. He was merely looking at me, a radiant creature in jewels and scalloped lace. And it was Cinderella revealed at the ball, this vision, Sleeping Beauty opening her eyes under a mesh of cobwebs and wiping them all away with one sweep of her warm hand. The sheer pitch of incarnate beauty made me gasp. Yes, perfect mortal raiment, and yet he seemed all the more supernatural, his face too dazzling, his dark eyes fathomless and just for a split second glinting as if they were windows to the fires of hell. And when his voice came it was low and almost teasing, forcing me to concentrate to hear it: All night you've been searching for me, he said, and here I am, waiting for you. I have been waiting for you all along. - The Vampire Lestat

He looked to Gabrielle, who stood near the fire, and then to me. And silently, he said, Love me. You have destroyed everything! But if you love me, it can all be restored in a new form. Love me. This silent entreaty had an eloquence, however, that I can't put into words. "What can I do to make you love me?" he whispered. "What can I give? The knowledge of all I have witnessed, the secrets of our powers, the mystery of what I am?" It seemed blasphemous to answer. And as I had on the battlements, I found myself on the edge of tears. For all the purity of his silent communications, his voice gave a lovely resonance to his sentiments when he actually spoke. - The Vampire Lestat

"It wasn't that I wanted vengeance," he whispered. His face was stricken, his heart broken. He said. "But you came to be healed, and you did not want me! A century I had waited, and you did not want me!" And I knew, as I had all along really, that my restoration was illusion, that I was the same skeleton in rags, of course. And the house was still a ruin. And in the preternatural being who held me was the power that could give me back the sky and the wind. "Love me and the blood is yours," he said. "This blood that I have never given to another." I felt his lips against my face. "I can't deceive you," I answered. "I can't love you. What are you to me that I should love you? A dead thing that hungers for the power and the passion of others? The embodiment of thirst itself?" [...] Yet memory plays its tricks. Maybe I imagined it, his last invitation, and the anguish after. The weeping. I do know that as the months passed he was out there again. I heard him from time to time just walking those old Garden District streets. And I wanted to call to him, to tell him that it was a lie I'd spoken to him, that I did love him. I did. - The Vampire Lestat

In a way, he made me think of a child doll, with brilliant faintly red-brown glass eyes—a doll that had been found in an attic. I wanted to polish him with kisses, clean him up, make him even more radiant than he was. “That’s what you always want,” he said softly. His voice shocked me. If he had any French or Italian accent left, I couldn’t hear it. His tone was melancholy and had no meanness in it at all. “When you found me under Les Innocents,” he said, “you wanted to bathe me with perfume and dress me in velvet with great embroidered sleeves.” “Yes,” I said, “and comb your hair, your beautiful russet hair.” My tone was angry. “You look good to me, you damnable little devil, good to embrace and good to love.” We eyed each other for a moment. And then he surprised me, rising and coming towards me just as I moved to take him in my arms. His gesture wasn’t tentative, but it was extremely gentle. I could have backed away. I didn’t. We held each other tight for a moment. The cold embracing the cold. The hard embracing the hard. - Memnoch

Lestat, not a bad friend to have, and one for whom I would lay down my immortal life, one for whose love and companionship I have ofttimes begged, one whom I find maddening and fascinating and intolerably annoying, one without whom I cannot exist. - The Vampire Armand

I wanted to take him in my arms. I wanted to comfort him, to tell him wherever he'd gone and whatever had taken place, he was now safe again with us, but nothing could quiet him. A deep exhaustion saved us all from the inevitable tale. We had to seek our dark corners away from the prying sun, we had to wait until the following night when he would come out to us and tell us what had happened. Still clutching the bundle, refusing all help, he closeted himself up with his wound. I had no choice but to leave him. As I sank down that morning into my own resting place, secure in clean modern darkness, I cried and cried like a child on account of the sight of him. Oh, why had I come to his aid? Why must I see him brought low like this when it had taken so many painful decades to cement my love for him forever? - The Vampire Armand

Two hundred years ago he stripped me of illusions, lies, excuses, and thrust me on the Paris pavements naked to find my way back to a glory in the starlight that I had once known and too painfully lost. But as we waited finally in the handsome high-rise apartment above St. Patrick's Cathedral, I had no idea how much more he could strip from me, and I hate him only because I cannot imagine my soul without him now, and, owing him all that I am and know, I can do nothing to make him wake from his frigid sleep. - The Vampire Armand

Of course I knew the very moment that he left this world. I felt it. I was in New York already, very near to him and aware that you were there as well. Neither of us meant to let him out of our sight if at all possible. Then came the moment when he vanished in the blizzard, when he was sucked out of the earthly atmosphere as if he'd never been there. Being his fledgling you couldn't hear the perfect silence that descended when he vanished. You couldn't know how completely he'd been withdrawn from all things minuscule yet material which had once echoed with the beating of his heart. - The Vampire Armand

“Armand,” I said. “Please.” I dropped down on my knees in front of him, looking up into his face. All the emotion he had held back was printed there now. He was in a rage. “Is your heart totally turned against me?” I asked. “Do you have no faith in what we seek to build here?” “Fool,” he said again. His voice was roughened now by emotion he couldn’t suppress. “I have always loved you,” he said. “I have loved you more than any being in all the world whom I’ve ever loved. I have loved you more than Louis. I have loved you more even than Marius. And you have never given me your love. I would be your most faithful counselor, if you allowed it. But you don’t. Your eyes pass over me as if I don’t exist. And so they always have.” - Blood Communion

“I love you still,” he said. “Yes, even now, I love you, as they all love you, your minions seeking just a smile or a nod or a quick touch of your hand. I love you like all those throughout this palace who are dreaming of drinking just a drop of your blood. Well, you can leave me now. I’m not going anywhere. Where is there to go? I’ll be here if you want me. And grant me my wish for the moment, you and your august friends. Go and leave me alone.” - Blood Communion

Armand suddenly began to weep. “Don’t do it, don’t trust him,” he said. “Lestat, he’ll just destroy you. And if you are gone—.” Ah, such sweet words from one who only hours ago had been cursing me with his every breath. - Blood Communion

The only thought in my mind, the only image, the only idea, was of Armand, and how Armand would feel when he too could hold Marius like this and know that Marius lived, that Marius had been restored, that all of them were safe and secure, and using my strongest power I sent the word to him. I sent the news. And I sent my love to Armand with it. - Blood Communion

[fanfic-she-wrote]

Second Chances

(Beetlejuice x Lydia Deetz)

Chapter 1

(Spoilers for Beetlejuice Beetlejuice ⚠️ Do not read if you haven’t seen the movie!)

Chapter 2:

Breakfast was quiet as Astrid and Lydia sat at the table both lost in thought about last night. Lydia was thinking about Betelgeuse and whether or not to contact him. Did he even want to see her? Probably not. She thought mindlessly stirring her cereal around in the bowl with her spoon.

Astrid on the other hand was wondering why her mother was near the attic at all. Was she just going up there to check on things like she said or was she actually going to see Betelgeuse. Why she wanted to she didn’t understand. If only her mother would tell her.

Astrid looked up at Lydia and noticed how far off she looked. Something was bothering her. She opened her mouth, hesitating for a moment to say anything.

“Mom?” She spoke.

Lydia looked up looking almost surprised at the sudden interaction. “Yes?”

“Why were you going up to the attic last night?” She asked, hoping she would give her an honest answer this time. There was a long pause as Lydia was trying to decide exactly how to respond.

“I don’t even know. I just couldn’t get him out of my head.” Lydia finally answered.

“Like he’s haunting you?” Astrid asked, sounding concerned.

“In a sense... it’s like I’m drawn to him. I want to talk to him.” Lydia said looking down at her bowl almost feeling ashamed for wanting to but she couldn’t help it.

Astrid stared at her for a moment trying to process what she had said. She couldn’t believe she would actually want to see him. “Could he be manipulating you somehow?”

She shook her head, no, in response.

“There is just something about him. I can’t explain it but it was different this time. He was different. The ways he helped us out…and even during the wedding he was in a weird, slightly creepy way, kind of sweet.” Lydia admitted.

There was a long pause.

“You must think I’m crazy right?” She murmured still not looking at Astrid.

“Well…I don’t get it but if that’s what you want to do, I support you.” Astrid told her, placing her hand over Lydia’s.

“Thank you.” She said letting out of sigh of relief, grateful her daughter understood.

“Hey if it were me swooning over some dead guy you’d support me too right?” Astrid remarked.

“I am not swooning!” Lydia exclaimed a faint blush forming on her cheeks.

“Sure, sure.” The teen smirked, rolling her eyes jokingly.

—————————

Betelgeuse walked about the tiny model cemetery which he did on occasion, playing over the almost wedding in his mind. He had it planned out so perfectly. He was sure Lydia wouldn’t be able to say no. He did everything Rory didn’t and it still wasn’t good enough. If only she’d give him a chance. Just one kiss and—

Suddenly, he heard the door creak open. He stopped dead in his tracks and watched as Lydia made her way over to the model town. Why was she here? He wondered.

Lydia took a deep breath, preparing herself for what she was about to do.

“Beetlejuice.”

The room suddenly became very cold and the drapes fluttered wildly even though the windows weren’t open.

“Beetlejuice.”

The attic became an eerie green color and smoke began to emanate from the model town before her.

“Beetlejuice.”

Then everything went dark and silent. She held her breath, waiting in anticipation.

“You called?” A gruff voice spoke from behind her making her jump in surprise.

“You really need to stop sneaking up on people.” Lydia snapped.

“Hey, it’s what I do.” Betelgeuse shrugged.

“So, what do you want now?” He said trying to sound more indifferent than he felt. Secretly he was glad that he could see her again. He wanted to be mad at her, but couldn’t.

“You.” Lydia answered simply. Betelgeuse looked down at her, stunned at her response. Did he hear he correctly?

He stuck his finger in his ear to clean it out, but instead of earwax he pulled out a little green bug. He flicked it across the room and turned back to Lydia. “Say that again?”

“I want you. Just you.” Lydia clarified.

“Wait? What? Really?!” He asked, perking up. She nodded and gave him a small smile.

Without warning, he pulled her into a hug and spun her around. “I knew you’d come around! You won’t regret it! I’ll-“ She pushed him away and placed a finger on his lips, shushing him.

“I want to go slow.” She told him. “I won’t send you back, but you have to promise to behave.”

Betelgeuse nodded his head in agreement. “I’ll try, but I wouldn’t get your hopes up babe.”

“Beetlejuice!”

“Eeeee! Ok, ok! I’ll behave.” He exclaimed with a flinch.

“Good!” Lydia smiled, satisfied with herself and turned back towards the door, Betelgeuse following her.

“What about a little mischief? Maybe scaring the occasional Jehovah’s witness?” He asked hopefully.

“Nope.”

“Aww cmon, ya gotta work with me here! I can’t just quit cold turkey.” Betelgeuse insisted half jokingly.

“I’m serious. I’ll send you back.” Lydia assured him.

He let out a defeated sigh. “Ok, ok fine. I can do this…but only for you.” He said pointing towards her.

Lydia’s heart skipped a beat repeating what he said over in her mind. “Only for you.”

[jtl07]

OMG that last Part of your prompt with the candle wax got me thinking of another prompt: Bea either doing Ava doggy style or on top of Ava whispering "good boy". Just some good old needy/sub Ava wanting to be Beas best boy and service Bea.

y'all really using this as an opportunity to make me stretch and practice things i don't usually write huh? here's a quickie i tried to quickly write, hope it doesn't suck lol

"very good, ava."

ava nearly drops the drink she'd just made, a moan catching in her throat just as beatrice slips past her from behind. she can feel beatrice's low chuckle against the back of her neck, the barest brush of beatrice's fingertips at the bottom edge of her crop top and that's all it takes for ava to be transported to last night: face down in their bed, biting the sheets to keep quiet because she can be good, she can be quiet; because she can take more, she can take it again, again, again -

" - you good, ava?" hans asks, eyeing her in concern.

ava whimpers; coughs to cover the sound. "i'm good," she finally manages to eek out, knows the frantic nodding and manic cleaning isn't helping her case. she has to move, has to do something to take her mind off of how her underwear is drenched, how her thighs are sticky, how her clit is throbbing and her cunt is empty -

"ava, a word please?"

"yes, bea." it's breathless and desperate but ava can't bring herself to care as she all but runs to chase after beatrice's voice. she nearly trips up the stairs, clips her shoulder against the doorway, but it doesn't matter. she'd crawl through glass, set herself on fire - anything to get to beatrice at this point.

when ava arrives at beatrice's makeshift office in the attic, however, she finds it empty. "bea?" she calls out, turns around -

only for her mouth to be taken, parted, filled; a vessel for beatrice's tongue and their shared moans. "you've been so good today, ava," beatrice murmurs as she runs her teeth down ava's neck and her palms up her breasts; pinches. "i think you deserve a reward, yes?" the sharp points of pressure coupled with that specific question jolt through ava and escape as a whined "yes" followed by gasped "please."

before she can register what's happening, ava's being bent over a stool, her shorts and underwear shoved down barely past her hips, the tip of beatrice's strap sliding just inside. ava chokes off what would have been her begging, what would have been her pleading; holds herself still. she knows the rules, knows how to be -

"good, ava. very good."

and then beatrice sinks inside, fucks her fast and precise, and it's all ava can do to hold on to the stool and her rapidly deteriorating control. ava's focus narrows to the essentials: the wet slap of skin against skin, the sharp grip of beatrice's fingers at her waist, the swiftly building tightness in her belly, the brightness growing behind her eyes.

be good, ava thinks as she tries to match beatrice's thrusts with the rocking of her own hips when beatrice speeds up her pace. be good, ava thinks as she scrabbles for balance when she feels herself start to tremble. be good, ava thinks, mindless and near delirious until beatrice finally, finally gives her the command she's been waiting for: "come."

her orgasm is a lightning strike of pleasure, a scream barely contained to a high-pitched whine as she arches in beatrice's arms. it goes on for seconds; it goes on forever.

then slowly, surely, ava's consciousness returns to her, piece by aching piece. she returns to herself with a shudder, with a sigh echoed and pressed gently against her cheek.

"everything good up there?"

ava slumps over the stool, laughing quietly. swears she can hear beatrice's eyeroll from behind her. "fine, hans," beatrice calls out, lifting herself up slightly to project her voice down to the first floor, "nothing of concern."

the change in position, however, causes the strap to shift - and ava is too slow to bite back her moan.

she feels beatrice's eyes on her; feels beatrice's hand threading its way through her hair. ava takes a breath, readies herself to be pulled along; readies herself to be good once more.

[sleeping-jayy]

A Jay x HABIT fic? In this day and age? Unheard of.

I saw @alabasterwasps 's post about needing this to be a ship and I built on it, so here we are. It's short, and I didn't proof read it, but here you all go.

Tw for spoilers to EMH and MH, as well as a lot of eyecontact. No NSFW but might just be generally uncomfortable because, you know, it's HABIT.

Watcher (a Jay x HABIT oneshot)

"Who's behind me?"

HABIT snickered as that thing loomed behind Jeff who was tied in that ridiculous yellow kids chair.

It was unrecognizable. Almost. But HABIT knew it was still staring at him, watching him, recording him. Maybe that's why he kept it around. He needed people to see his carnage.

It's eyes were always narrowed, it's face a disfigurement of bark and tree, and in its chest was an ingrown camera. It's lens would dilate and shift around sometimes, usually tracking HABITs movements.

Tufts of brown hair peaked through some of the branches, and green leaves sprouted from it's arms and legs. In its midsection, on the left side, was a hole. It leaked a black substance sometimes, bubbling and dripping onto HABITs floor.

Often the most striking thing for HABIT was the little red light inside the camera lens. It blinked rhythmically as the creature recorded him, sending excitement through HABIT.

"Not so much of a who...more of a what." HABIT said, gesturing to it over Jeff's head as it shifted to the side to get the side of Jeff's face. "And as to what it is? Hell, I'm not even sure what makes it tick," He smiled at the creature widely and its eyes widened. That suprised him, considering it always kept them squinted at HABIT.

He laughed, and continued on.

-

Later, he sat there in the livingroom. Jeff was tied up in the attic, bleeding and barely conscious. As he'd planned. And the creature was crouched near the couch, leaned against it, it's arms curled around itself as it rocked slowly.

He suddenly stood and walked over to it, standing over it. It looked up at him, brow eyes widening into an almost doe like look. HABIT felt his mouth twitch.

"What are you?" HABIT asked gruffly, tilting his head. It still stared up at him. "Who are you?"

It just blinked. HABIT sighed and plopped back down on the couch, staring at it from over the arm of the sofa.

"You can't talk, can ya?" HABIT asked. The creature shook its head. He hummed, nodding. "Thought so."

They both sat there for a long while. HABIT wasn't really waiting for anything. He had plans to go burn what was left of Jeff soon, but sitting in the company of the creature was sort of peaceful.

It suddenly made a throaty sound, wet and gross. It fell forward into its hands and coughed, gurgling.

"Eugh-" HABIT groaned, suspecting he'd have ti clean his floor again. He was right as the thing hacked up black ooze like it's wound secreted. But in the midst of the puddle, was a USB stick.

It clumsily picked it up and set it on the arm of the couch, trying to whipe the goop off into the upholstery. It then held it out to him.

HABIT stared at him for a long moment before picking it up. "What's this?" It just gestured at him. "You wan' me to plug this in? Like hell, what if it's a fuckin' virus."

It stared at him.

"Ah, fine." HABIT mumbled and stood, heading off to find a laptop.

-

HABIT stared at the creature with a new perspective. Eyes fell onto the hole in the side of it's midsection with pity.

"You're Jay?" HABIT asked, raising an eyebrow. Now, it was obvious. It's...his eyes were so similar.

The flash drive contained 133 video files. 87 entries and 46 responses.

HABIT stared at the creature in front of him.

The height, the green leaves that always seemed a weird ashy color like fabric, the hole, the big brown eyes. It all matched Jay Merrick from the elusive Marble Hornets.

He'd heard of it of course, but never really sat down to watch it. But after the push with the flash drive, he watched it in its entirety.

Seeing the obsession with filming, even now in this new form was intriguing. But there was a part of him that wondered if there was anything left underneath.

HABIT stepped closer to it and reached out, his hands on either side of it's bark like face. He dug his thumbs into the cracks in the wood and pulled.

It screamed, a gargling sound that nearly made HABIT stop, but he continued.

Until the wood cracked, then splintered, then finally ripped off.

There, he was faced with exposed skin, paled from lack of sunlight, and deep eyebags under those brown eyes. He'd gotten a chunk of the wood near its eye ripped off. It barely fought back aside from the screaming so he went in again.

Peeling the wood off was a little easier this time around, and he managed to uncover its lips.

He went to peel off the other half off it's wooden face when it's hand shot up to his, and it shook its head. HABIT stopped and dropped his hand.

"Alright.." he said, tilting his head. Feathered brown bangs fell into its face, grown out from time. "You're fascinating," HABIT said and it stared at him. He smiled.

He loved how it watched, no questions asked. He craved its gaze when it wasn't in the room, and he always beckoned it back in.

And now, he understood. He could see the man beneath the monster. The soft skin and round eyes, chapped lips. So human, but also not.

"Schrödinger's man," He hummed and leaned in. His own unkempt lips pressed into Jay's and the others clumsy wooden fingers curled into HABITs jacket. He pulled away, grinning. "Facinating."

Jay stared with wide eyes, how they got wider, HABIT didn't know. The act of human affection wasn't something HABIT was keen on, but he wanted to show Jay he appreciated the gaze.

"You watch, you listen...you follow." HABIT said, voice quiet. The light in Jay's lense was off. There was no boisterous loud mouth needed for this. There was no audiance. Except for Jay. "I like that."

[chloe-spade]

I'm Glad you Came (Noco Fanfic)

"Hey, don't worry about how my room looks," Cody gulped as he showed Noah his messy room. "I didn't know you would arrive at 4…instead of 6;30, like we discussed."

"I rather be here now, than later," Noah informed, his head still stuck in his book.

"Of course," Cody sighed.

Cody didn't know what happened, but he somehow got the popular nerd Noah Mudaliar-Strecca in his own house while his parents were away! It was a win-win for him, but he didn't even prepare everything; it must've been Noah's thing. So he didn't precisely question it, so he just tried to clean up his room despite Noah not really paying attention to it.

"So, what do you plan for this super awesome sleepover party?" Noah asked with his usual sarcastic tone.

"Uh, well, I was going to prepare for anything, but again, you decided to come early so my plans kinda went out of whack," Cody answered, trying to fix his movie collection. "I mean, you can get a move to watch while I get the snacks ready? I also made sure that I got everything that I was sure you can eat."

"..you did?"

"Of course! At a sleepover, I always make sure my friends are comfortable," Cody grinned. "And you gave me a list, didn't you? Dude, I swear you should be in a bubble."

"Heh, nice try. But I am a resilent young man, I can handle a couple of hives and wheezing." Noah chuckled. "But thank you for your concern."

Noah hid his face in his book, blushing. He didn't think Cody was actually paying attention to his usual allergies, but he even did the most obscure ones. The main reason he didn't even go to sleepovers was that no one ever accommodated him, even if it was small things, like no roses near him or dairy-free products for him. It was impossible as a child, so he stopped when he started middle school, and he never invited people over either, as he was sick of people complaining about him. Fake friends, you know.

"Oh, sure…what sort of B-ranked movies you got here?" Noah chuckled, going to Cody's movie collection. "Ooh? The Matrix? Old-school, don't you think?"

"H-Hey! I like the effects, and trust me, some movies are worse," Cody blushed, taking the movie. "I'm sure I can find something up your speed."

"As long as it's not a romcom, shlocky, bland or cheesy, I'm okay with anything," Noah listed. "Man, even an animated movie would be better."

"I think I gave some here…but most of them are in the attic and going through that would take me hours," Cody groaned. "My parents like to hide it deep within so I would never find it. Typical of them, really."

Noah let out a small smile before patting his back. "Your sleepover, your pick, dude."

"Yes! But let me do the snacks first?" Cody asked. "Even I can't start a movie without eating something nice."

"…Fine."

Cody smiles and takes Noah down to the kitchen. Noah watches as Cody manages to get juices, chips (oddly gluten-free ones; even Noah wasn't that allergic to them, but he appreciated the thought), cookies, popcorn, and sodas. It was like watching someone with super speed, and somehow Cody didn't even trip one, like Noah would see in school. But Cody's bright smile made Noah gulp a sarcastic remark, and they returned up to Cody's room, and Noah finally saw what Cody's room looked like.

A weird area with posters of obscure stuff, Noah thought. And oddly, some rockstars, he didn't even think Cody listened to rock, but you learn something new daily.

"So, we got snacks. Now we need a movie, but every movie here is… embarrassing, I'll admit it."

"Well, we might as well find something," Noah quipped, rummaging through Cody's movie collection.

He felt something drop onto his feet, and familiar colors of pink, blue, and green flashed upon him, and Noah couldn't help but laugh instantly.

"Dude, you got the 2003 Special Edition Sleeping Beauty?" Noah laughed.

"Ah! I told her not to put it in there," Cody groaned, embarrassed. "Yeah, I can just put this back on her room and we should-"

"Let's watch it," Noah spoke.

"What!?"

"We can watch it," Noah repeated as he took the DVD from Cody's hands. "I haven't seen this movie since I was a kid, and I'm pretty sure I lost my own."

"…What am I hearing?" Cody gasped.

"Why are you surprised that I like a princess movie?"

Cody gulped; he didn't even know how to answer that. Well, he couldn't! Noah liked something that was so out of left field for him, and now Cody had to think about it. But it was his pick, and he couldn't exactly say no to him, now could he?

"Well, how about we get into pajames, and we can get started!" Cody announced. "I don't mind you staying in my room to get changed in so-"

"Where's your bathroom?" Noah interrupted him.

"Uh, you sure? We can techincally change in the same room, like a changing room at school," Cody chuckles nervously.

"And as someone who hates the changing rooms, no thank you," Noah huffed, grabbing his sleeping back. "Bathroom. Please?"

"Ah, just down to your left and the second door. You can't miss it because it says bathroom on it," Cody instructed. Take your time, and I'll be here, waiting patiently."

"Good."

With that, Noah left the room, and Cody groaned in his hands. He was so embarrassed that he felt like he was dying. He knew Noah would tell everyone that he had a stupid princess movie in his cool movie collection and wanted to watch it! Not only that, Cody felt like he was fumbling about his chances to be with Noah, not as friends but as a literal couple! This whole sleepover was a getting-with-him ploy, and he hated how Harold even made him do this! Noah didn't even want to be in the same room as him!

Cody quickly dressed in his simplest pajamas, a white tee and blue pajama pants. Yeah, boring, just like him. Way to go, Cody.

Noah came back as Cody got the movie ready, and he was also simple. However, Cody was confused by some padding. It was his imagination, so he didn't question it.

"So, ready to watch?" Cody gulped, blushing.

"Yeah," Noah answered shortly, sitting next to Cody. "Are you alright? Do you look oddly red?"

"Y-yeah! Just a little warm, that's all," Cody laughed, looking down.

Noah rolled his eyes and sighed, and he grabbed a soda. "Start the movie then."

Cody obliged and started the movie. Hearing the chorus sing their hearts out and hearing Noah humming along made Cody's heart race, and Cody knew he didn't have to panic about it as much as he did previously. The small commentary about the animation, the scenes, the characters, all of it made Cody's night even better, and he even paid attention to some details that Cody wouldn't have noticed until Noah mentioned them, and surprisingly, made him like the movie much more.

Watching how the prince and princess fall in love made Cody impulsively hold Noah's hand, still watching the movie. Noah's eyes drifted down and saw, but he held his hand back, also paying attention to the movie.

"Je te connais, j'ai marché avec toi.." Noah started to sing.

"Il était une fois un rêve," Cody sang along.

It was a lovely moment between the boys. As they continued to sing, the prince and princess started to dance together.

"Je te connais, la lueur dans tes yeux est une lueur si familière."

"Et je sais que c'est vrai que les visions sont rarement tout ce qu'elles paraissent, mais si je te connais, je sais ce que tu feras."

"Tu m'aimeras tout de suite.." Cody whispered softly.

"Comme tu l'as fait," Noah continued.

"Il était une fois un rêve," They finished, now ignoring the movie.

It was his only chance, and he had to. Cody, you got to!

Cody gulped as he pulled Noah closer and gave him a confident yet slightly awkward kiss that Noah jolted at but slowly melted into.

Cody pulled away immediately. "S-sorry! I was so caught up in the moment, and I couldn't help myself. I couldn't. I saw them and saw you, and I… I really wanted to kiss you."

"I'm more surprised that you stopped," Noah teased. "I didn't object, did I?"

"N-no, but I do have a request?"

"I guess?" Noah nodded, confused.

"It's best to take off that binder. I don't want you to lose air when I kiss you again," Cody requested, his hands now on Noah's clear, padded, and very fake chest.

"…" Noah didn't say anything, and he recoiled, worrying Cody.

"Oh? W-was that to forward?" Cody gulped. "I-I'm sorry, I should've asked before making any assumptions, but…um…"

"How did you know?" Noah asked, his voice slightly shaking.

"No one exactly faints as Canadian summers like you do," Cody chuckled. "But I always saw you being so secretive, especially around the boys' locker rooms, but I never asked because I thought I was just assuming. But I have friends who are also trans, so I tend to get very protective, and I'm so sorry that I had offended you. I just… wanted you to feel safe with me."

"…You did? You're not…laughing?"

"No! God no! I'm the last person to laugh at someone's personal journey," Cody answered. "I just…well, I had a crush on you before I found out, so it didn't really change my opinion of you. It's just you, Noah. I don't care about the external, I care about the internal..oh my god, that was super cheesy."

"Yeah, it was," Noah chuckled. But it's something I need to hear, especially from a crush like you."

"You had a crush on me to?!"

"Obviouslty," scoffed Noah. "I wouldn't accept a sleepover invatatio out of nowhere, you know."

"..Well, that is fair, and you know what," Cody smiles, getting closer. "I'm glad you accepted."

"Because all of this wouldn't never happened?"

"Yes, and I learn so much about you that I feel much more closer to you."

"Phsically or methopically?" Noah teased, squishing Cody's cheek.

"Can it both?" Cody whispered before kissing Noah again.

"..Can I at least take of my binder before you smother me with your cheesy drizzle? I don't want to lose air twice now."

"Oh! Right! Forgot about that!"

(Nocovember Prompt (Sleepover/Sick) by @aangellface )

[creepyclothdoll]

Ant Problem

I really thought it was a dog. I swear. I swear I didn’t know.

How could I? Vi never told me anything. She just expected people to know.

Walking into Grandma Vi’s house was like walking into a halloween haunted maze made out of ant traps. Flypaper hung from the ceiling and walls like streamers. The floor was littered in dusty plastic traps, and empty and half-full boxes of borax and liquid ant killer were stacked along the walls. The smell of the place was strange and cloying. Soap and poison. 

I never liked being there. She made me uncomfortable, even as a kid, when her paranoia wasn’t her defining trait just yet. 

She was a neat freak back then. Her rules were foreign to me, but not as foreign as the genuine outrage she expressed when those rules were broken. I didn’t even know what a coaster was, why was I being snapped at for putting my water cup down? You’re not sleeping in the attic bed, why are you so pissed at me for leaving it un-made? Don’t get mad at me for not drying the entire shower after I’ve used it– I didn’t even know anybody did that.

Grandma Vi would never tell you what weird unusual protocols she expected you to follow, she’d just fly off the handle when you didn’t do it, and that’s how you’d find out that it was disrespectful to wear a hat indoors or not offer to wash the dishes as a guest. She’d turn up her sharp jaw and suck her thin teeth and scowl endlessly.

I could honestly say that I missed that version of her. 

Compared to this Grandma Vi, that one was a delight. 

This Grandma Vi collected dirty paper dishes in her room. She stacked them high. She sprayed them with bleach. She refused to let me wash them– the sink drains were all clogged in the house now, stuffed with paper towels and borax. 

“Ants could get in through there,” she explained. 

When I brought Grandma Vi her groceries, they had to undergo a period of “disinfecting,” in which they were double-bagged in black trash bags and sealed for two days. This, Vi reasoned, would suffocate any insects that might be passengers inside the lettuce or the cornflake boxes. 

No sugar, obviously. Ants loved sugar. 

I tried not to eat in front of Vi. The day I spent as her full-time caretaker, I unwrapped an egg sandwich in front of her and it sent her into a panic attack.

“You’re dropping crumbs all over the floor!” she screamed.

I wasn’t. And even if I was, it’s not like the floor could get any dirtier. Vi would not let me vacuum because I did it wrong. Vi didn’t vacuum either– she couldn’t. Just walking around the house left her fatigued. Her hair had always been long and thick, but it was so hard for her to care for now that she’d had it shaved near to the scalp. She’d struggle to lift anything heavier than a spoon. 

I reminded myself of that daily. Grandma Vi was a sick, dying old woman. She was in pain. She was used to independence and solitude. This was the worst she’d ever felt and the most disempowered she had ever been. 

And, importantly, my dad was paying me to do this. Because someone had to. 

So I tried not to hate her guts. And I ate my meals outside, on the picnic table in what used to be her garden, even in the winter. I refrained from cleaning without her permission. I never, ever, ever used the front door. 

The front door could let in ants.

The ant obsession– I never found out where that came from. My dad just shrugged it off as one more drop in a giant bucket of assorted mental illnesses. 

“She’s been getting worse ever since Grandpa Joe passed,” dad said to me over the phone while I called him, crying in my car one day. Vi’s husband had been gone since before I was born. If there was a tolerable version of her, I never met it. “Grandma Vi relied on him. When your mom was growing up, Vi was actually a very quiet, mellow person. She was never… nice. But she felt safe. She had security. She didn’t feel like she had to go on the attack all the time.”

I hated imagining my mom as a child in this horrible house. 

“Your Grandpa Joe was a nice person,” dad said. “Not like her at all. I believe that missing him is a big part of what made her crazy.”

I didn’t argue with him, but I didn’t think he was right. Because in Grandma Vi’s halloween haunted house of traps and poison, every single photo of Grandpa Joe– a tall, dark, handsome man with a very kind smile– had been turned backwards to face the wall. 

The first month I was there was quiet. Then the scratching started. 

It sounded like a raccoon climbing around on the roof and walls. Every time I thought it was done, it started up again. It was the deep of night, and I couldn’t sleep. I slipped out of the attic bed where Vi still expected me to sleep and climbed the ladder down to the main floor. There was a porch light outside. I hoped it would scare away any animals. 

But as I started unlocking the back door, a sharp, cold hand grabbed my arm. I jumped. Vi was there, her dark eyes wide, her wrinkled face pulled tightly into a mask of pure terror. 

“Don’t open the door,” she hissed.

“I’m just turning the light on,” I said. I unlatched the door.

Vi screamed, and I felt a sudden hot pain across my face. I put my fingers to my cheek and felt blood. Vi had scratched me. I swore, and she re-latched the door. I ran to the bathroom to wash my new cuts out in the clogged sink. 

When I found Vi again, she was in bed. She wasn’t sleeping, though. And she definitely wasn’t sorry. 

“If you attack me again, I’m leaving,” I said to her. 

“You oughtta be grateful,” Vi said. “You don’t even know what you almost did, stupid.”

I refrained from calling her the names I was thinking of calling her in my head. I swallowed those teeth and asked,

“What did I almost do?”

Vi laughed. 

“You were just gonna let in those ants.”

In Vi’s house, I was never to leave the house at night. I was never to open the back door at night. I was never to open the front door at all. I was never, under any circumstances, to let anyone else inside the house. 

The scratching would come every few nights. Once it started, Vi finally started asking me to fix things around the house. She didn’t let me clean, but she did make me go up on the roof and look for holes. Nests. Anywhere ants could be living or trying to get in. And for once, to her credit, I did find some damage. It looked like termites, maybe. I sprayed bug killer and sealed up the chewed spots.

One day, Vi screamed at the top of her lungs in the middle of the night. I ran into her room to find her frantically springing from her bed. She collapsed into a dresser and knocked over the stack of paper plates she kept there, sanitized with bleach. She was staring at the window with pure horror. I didn’t see anything out there. She wouldn’t tell me what she saw. She only wept and shook and cried Joe’s name over and over. The next day she had me cover that window with cardboard and plastic and seal it. And then I had to re-seal it, because she saw a microscopic space that no one else would notice. Big enough for a potential ant to get in.

“You never met your Grandpa Joe,” Vi said to me out of the blue one day. Her room was lightless and stuffy, and she had spent her recent days sitting in bed and doing nothing but listen to audiobooks on an old cd player. “You never saw him.”

“I heard he was nice,” I said. 

“He’s dead,” she said. “He’s never coming back.”

“My dad says he’s with us in spirit,” I said. “He says he can feel him sometimes, loving us.”

“Listen, you moronic little girl. He’s dead. He’s not with us. So if you ever see him around, you better tell me. And you better keep the doors locked.”

I was taken aback.

“Have you seen him?” I asked.

“No. But the ants have. They’ve seen him and they know what he looks like. And I’ve seen the ants.”

Vi would deteriorate a little bit at a time, and then a lot at once. When I started, I wondered if we’d develop some sort of closeness over time. That was a very silly idea. The more Vi needed me, the less she could stand me. She would snip at me and scream at me. The first time she needed my help in the bathroom, I was punished for helping her with a long string of insults and criticism which, at this point, I had learned to tune out. 

I brought her a bowl of corn flakes in a paper plate in bed. She commanded me to spray her stacks of paper plates with bleach while she ate. 

“I don’t think that’s safe,” I said. She shot me a dagger glare.

“You want ants in here?” she said. 

“I just think this is an unventilated room and it’s not safe to spray bleach all over everything.”

Vi responded to this by throwing her bowl of corn flakes at me. Cereal splashed all over the floor. Milk soaked into my sweater and my hair.

“That’s it,” I said. 

I took my wet sweater off. I changed pants. I took the vacuum cleaner out of its dusty closet. 

Vi screamed and screamed at me as I cleaned up the mess. I took all of the paper plates and put them in garbage bags. I took down the flypaper. I threw the empty borax boxes in the dumpster. 

Vi couldn’t do anything but sob while I took over the house. When I got thirsty, I set my cup down on the table without a coaster. 

I was worried the neighbors were going to call the cops with all the yelling and crying going on, but no one did. Once, I looked out the window and saw a dark man in dark clothes standing on the sidewalk across from the house. I couldn’t see his eyes under his cap, but I thought he was looking at me. There was something familiar and disturbing about him which I couldn’t place. And then he was just gone. I looked away for a second and he had disappeared.

The sun went down. I came into Vi’s room with her dinner and her pills.

“You hate me,” she glared. “You really, really hate me. I must deserve it.”

“Vi, I cleaned your house.”

“You’re gonna let in those ants.”

“If ants get in, we’ll just stomp them. Listen, I’m not gonna live here and help you if I can’t live in this house.”

“Then you better let me die.” She scowled at me. I rolled my eyes. 

There was a scratching sound at the front door. Vi jumped and pulled the blanket up like a child afraid of the dark.

I stood up to go see the source of the noise.

“Get back here!” Vi shouted. “I’m just seeing what it is,” I said.

“You stupid bitch! Get back here!” Vi screamed louder as I walked up the hall to the front door. The scratches sounded heavy, huge. Not like a raccoon at all, but something bigger. For a second, I had a sudden, irrational thought– it was that man I saw before. It was that tall man with the cap. And when I opened the door, I thought, I would see him standing there, his uncannily and unplaceably familiar face grinning at me. And his teeth would be black, and his eyes dark and gleaming. I got scared. My fingers stopped on the latch. 

I flipped on the front porch light.

I peeked through the hole.

Of course there was no man. It was a dog.

A big black lab. He had a collar around his neck. He scratched the door again, tail wagging.

I hadn’t seen this dog around the neighborhood before, but to be fair, I hadn’t been able to get out very much in the past few months. It could very well be a neighbor dog. He was big, but he looked skinny. His dark coat shined slick in the porch light. 

I unlocked the front door. The dog looked at me through the screen, its glittering dark eyes docile. 

“Hi,” I said to the dog. The dog wagged its tail slowly. “Are you lost?”

The dog didn’t whine or bark, but only pawed at the door again.

Vi would never, in a million billion years, let me help this dog. But Vi wasn’t in charge anymore. So I opened the door.

I only meant to step outside and check his collar. But the moment the door was open, the big black dog strode into the house. 

Not a labrador, I realized. Maybe some kind of great pyrenees mix. It was big. Huge, even. It crossed the threshold and I swore it seemed to grow.

Not a pyrenees. A dane.

As the dog brushed past me, I reached my hand down to pet his dark coat.

My fingers passed through something grainy, crunchy, and moving. Something which slithered in rivers around my fingers, millions of tiny legs–chitinous, feathery, pinching.

Not a dane.

Not a dog.

The creature didn’t move right as it lurched down the hall. The legs bent wrong. The body writhed. It moved quickly, with purpose. 

I was too shocked to move. The dog-thing swelled up into an enormous, amorphous mass, and flooded into Grandma Vi’s bedroom, where she was already screaming.

I ran to her. I did hate her, but I ran to her. Maybe I meant to help her. Maybe I just wanted to see.

Either way, by the time I got there, there was nearly nothing left of Grandma Vi but a thrashing corpse. 

I couldn’t tell when the wild flailing stopped being her death throes and started being purely the erratic undulations and tossings and turnings of millions of tiny black ants, moving her bones. 

They crawled all over the floor. They crawled all over the ceiling. They crawled over my arms and legs. Not biting, just moving over me on their way to and from her.

I turned and fled the house.

The ants didn’t follow me. They were far too engrossed in dismantling their quarry.

I really didn’t know. How could I? Vi never told me.

She expected me to just know. 

[violetthistle1]

Excerpt 3 from Singing in the Dead of Night by Violet_Thistle on Ao3.

Sirius looked to Remus. “So, what’s next on the agenda for the day?” 

Remus looked at him with a smirk and a twinkle in his eye. He leaned closer to Sirius and spoke in a near whisper. “Mischief.”

Sirius and Remus were crouched under the invisibility cloak going throughout the house, exploring all the nooks and crannies in every wing, and when they found the perfect spots, they placed a tiny ceramic miniature frog. When found and picked up, it would let out a loud ribbit and, if dropped, would hop to a new hiding place. They had nearly a hundred frogs, all the size of a thumbnail. Soon there were frogs in clean mugs in the cupboard, hidden under the sugar in the sugar crock, behind books on the shelf, in medicine cabinets, in the box of Christmas decorations, in the junk drawer, in the chicken coop, in the spare luggage, and a myriad of other places, but Sirius was most proud of the one he hid in a new box in the attic marked “open only in the eventuality of my death - S. Black”.

“Do you think these count as unwelcome surprises?” Sirius asked. 

Remus shook his head and waved him off. “We’re all pretty traumatized, but I don’t think finding a mini ribbiting frog is going to set anyone off.”

Just as he finished his thought, they both heard a loud ribbit coming from the kitchen. They ditched the invisibility cloak and ran to catch the reaction of their first prankee. 

It was Charlie, who had let out an undignified squeal at the ribbit, and jumped back as he dropped the tiny amphibian. It hopped away and around the corner of the island and into the hallway. Sirius lost sight of it as it entered the study, destined to find plenty of hiding spots among the trinkets, books, and scattered papers.

“What the bloody hell was that?” Charlie looked at Sirius for some kind of answer. 

“It seemed like a charmed frog figurine to me, but I didn’t get a good look at it.” Sirius glanced towards the study, then back at Charlie innocently. It would have been more believable if Remus wasn’t standing behind him falling to pieces with laughter. 

Charlie rolled his eyes and huffed. “Honestly, it’s like living with the twins again, having you two around.”

https://archiveofourown.org/works/60195556

[greensagephase]

So an earlier ask inspired this one but like

What if, after so long being mistaken as a couple one day they don't? Like maybe it's a new spider recruit, or someone on the street that maybe see Durz interacting with someone else- just friendly tbh, and makes an offhand comment to Miguel, like oh aren't they a cute couple? And Migs already going into the routine of deny or just blush and take it and paused because it's... Not him they're referring to?

He just kinda freezes because... That... Sounds weird. Makes his heart feel funny. He's not sure why? He'll try to rationalize it away but maybe after the fact when they're alone he just silently offers his pinky and feels at peace when Durz's hand slips into his own...

Hiii, nonnie!! Thank you for the ask!! 🥰

Ok, ngl, this made me a little sad for Miguel, but it's also fun to think about! 🤭

At that point, he's probably ready to just say 'thank you' or something like that because he's going along with it instead of correcting them and also, he's so used to people assuming you and him are something, but then -- what???????!!

The way he'd freeze on the spot and his crimson eyes would go a little wide because what do they mean you and Ben Reilly look cute together (imagined Reilly in this, don't mind me)?? He thought they were about to say you and HIM, not Reilly. That makes no sense to him at all?? But he has to force himself to respond to the person, so he replies with a, "yeah, they do", which leaves a bad taste in his mouth all day. The image of you and Ben standing near each other is seared into his brain like a poorly done romcom in which the main characters that end up together by the end make no sense at all.

Of course, he says nothing about it to you all day, even though you can sense there's something on his mind. He tries to push the thought away along with the pending question of why he's so unnerved by that interaction -- by the thought of you with a man. Maybe he tells himself for like 3 seconds that Reilly (or whoever it is), just isn't worthy of you and that's why he's put off by that thought (DENIAL IS A RIVER IN EGYPT 🗣🗣🗣).

The bad feeling stays with him all the way until you're both home at the penthouse, chilling in the living room after dinner. It's still bothering him even while the two of you sit on the floor, mugs of café de olla and plates with pan dulce on the coffee table.

At last, he makes a silent request for comfort with his pinky finger, and it's only with your pinky fingers intertwined that he finds peace regarding the strange moment with Reilly, knowing this sweet gesture and that sweet smile on your face, is reserved for only him. (He still avoids thinking about why it bothered him sm because he's in denial 💀, like Miguel, that's your wife, pookie!!)

Thank you so much for the ask, nonnie!! Also, I'm sorry for taking like 5 days to answer it 😭 I've been busy decorating for Christmas in my free time + cleaning the attic, and then Thanksgiving happened!! I hope you're doing well and that you end the year on a high note!! 💖🫶🏼💕

Alondra❤️