#haunt Tobias for me

[tired-cryptid-club]

An hour a half until the ghovie.

I am hyperventilating.

[you-me-we-04]

Don't really follow the band but I am going to get yelled at if I say the ghost phone ban from like an artist pov is a really good idea?

Like I get the accessibility stuff but I assume the band would still be putting out on content from the tour on official channels??

and maybe it because I have yelled at people at shows before for just ignore medical and other safety issues and not moving out of the way cause the were on their phones in their own worlds, and the phones are a big part of that problem.

Like to me the pros out way the cons.

[inkmaze]

animorphs will just drop a passage in a volume that will rotate in your thoughts for decades to come

[jerichomere]

“Hi Rachel,” I said with a human voice.

Again I forgot the plot of this book but I certainly remembered this line. AUGH

[moongazeonastarfillednight]

I don't usually say this kind of stuff but goddamn Tobias Menzies in Manhunt was... woof... yeah I was watching for the plot...

Hello sir... did you need to use that voice? Sir? Excuse me, sir?

I'm convinced he knew exactly what he was doing 😩

[moonsavior]

I need you both to stop

[stridingwriter]

one of these days I'm going to accidentally doodle tobias and then thirst after him and it's going to be a problem because I actually have NOTES for how he LOOKS.

[cwilbah]

please god just let me find this video game

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

one thing that I love about your eleutherophobia fics (among many many things) is that, despite being free of a Yeerk haunting his mind, Tom has now unwittingly replaced that with a reader listening to every thought and memory that he cares to share with us through the first person point of view. He’d be mortified if he ever broke the fourth wall ;)

thanks for your lovely writing and blog! definitely part of what��s keeping me going in these very weird times

Thank you! And yeah, I think a lot about the unique narration style in Animorphs, because I'm trying to imitate it. There's always an awareness that the characters are telling a story — the books open with the narrator going "I can't tell you my last name", and Marco especially will use imperatives like "don't tell anyone I said that." Clearly you is the reader, and each of the kids is meant to be aware that the reader is there.

There are some fascinating hints (handwaving Jake's line in #53) about who each narrator considers their audience. The Chronicles all state outright that each is an account of oneself (X) consciously crafted for one particular audience: Elfangor's talking to Tobias, Aldrea and Dak to Seerow Jr., Visser One to the Council (and Eva), and Toomin to Rachel. Ax says that he's narrating for his fellow andalites, so that they can better understand Earth (#8). Jake implies he's narrating for his great-grandkids: "I'll need to buy a footlocker" (#31). Tobias at one point implies he's talking to his imagined therapist (#23), but I also think you could argue that he's talking to the Ellimist (#13) or his dad (#33).

The others are a little trickier. Cassie seems to have Jake's same educational bent, but I'd argue she's trying to teach about the biology rather than the ethics of the war. Marco is probably talking to a kid his own age who thinks they're reading a sci fi novel. He's defensive ("call me Mr. Ruthless" as he feels empathy for baby seals), he's misdirecting ("now you know how I got a blowhole" instead of clarifying his role in the war), and he's desperate to impress ("I'm slightly not tall"). But he also references the reader "vegging out" and "watching TV." Rachel? I'd argue Rachel is talking to her own adult self. She doesn't care what others think of her, but she cares a lot about living with herself. She's trying to define who she is and who she wants to be, more than anyone else on the team.

[pathologicalreid]

Comforting spencer 🙏🙏 Maybe after the Tobias thing or something, sorry if this is too vague 😭

your needs, my needs | S.R.

who? spencer reid x gn!reader category: angst; hurt/comfort content warnings: takes place following 3x12 "3rd life", spoilers for 2x15 "revelations", drug addiction, mentions NA and narcan word count: 1.74k a/n: hey anon! this is kind of too vague BUT i've had this idea marinating in my brain for so long and i just needed to find a place for it in the timeline! i hope this works for you! thank you for requesting!

Halfway down his arm, in the crook of his elbow, your boyfriend had a scar.

It was left by someone who was now dead and had been for months. The pink, new skin would eventually fade, but you’d always see it there.

The memory of Tobias Hankel would always haunt your relationship, but the two of you would manage to create new memories in the wake of everything that he had almost destroyed.

Hanging up your keys next to the front door, you note the silence of the apartment, there was no radio playing, no turning of book pages, and yet, you glanced over at the couch, seeing Spencer’s signature mismatched socks hanging over the edge of the couch.

Quietly, you set your bag down before you made your way over to the couch expecting to find Spencer asleep, but you’re surprised when deep brown eyes look back at you. His arms were crossed in front of his chest, a book tucked in the crook of his arm like he had given up on reading for the evening. “Hi, love,” you whispered, making your way around the back of the couch and squatting next to him, studying his expression intently. “How was work?”

He closed his eyes as you reached out and smoothed his hair back, “Hi,” he responded. His voice was raspy like it had been a while since he used it. You had woken up in an empty bed this morning, so the BAU must’ve arrived home from Chula Vista at some point while you were at work.

Spencer didn’t offer any other conversation. He didn’t tell you how work was. He didn’t ask you how work was. Sadly, you pressed your lips together in a thin, white line and tilted your head to the side, “What happened?”

“I’m tired,” he answered, averting his eyes from yours as he deflected. The avoidance was telling enough, you knew what was going through his mind. “I need to take a shower,” he admitted, his voice softening with use.

You raised your eyebrows curiously at him, despite the fact that he wouldn’t look at you, “Did you want me to leave you be for a while?” You asked, letting him know that you could keep your distance, but you wouldn’t leave him alone – not when he was like this.

His lips parted as he prepared to answer, “I don’t want to go into the bathroom,” he admitted meekly.

A deep understanding filled your chest. The bathroom was where you first figured out his addiction. The bathroom was where you now kept Narcan in the medicine cabinet. “Did you want me to go in with you?” You asked him a new question, hoping you could somehow gently guide him to an answer.

“I just don’t want to go in,” he said, voice raising in frustration before he checked himself, “I don’t want to be in a bathroom.”

You steeled your expression, not wanting him to know that you caught on the way he said a bathroom instead of the bathroom that time. “Alright,” you told him, pushing up on your knees so that you could stand and head into your shared bathroom. Going into the shower, you reached in and grabbed Spencer’s shampoo and conditioner, pulling a towel from the linen closet before you walked back out, passing him on the couch as you made your way into the kitchen.

Setting everything down on the counter you went back to the bedroom, closing the door to the ensuite before calling Spencer over. You heard heavy footsteps approach the bedroom before your boyfriend showed up in the doorway, “What is it?”

“Change into more comfortable clothes, then I can wash your hair in the kitchen sink,” you told him insistently, taking up a tone that told him you weren’t going to take no for an answer. Reaching into his side of the dresser, you pulled out a pair of flannel pajama pants while he stripped himself of his work clothes. Making sure he was moving, you followed suit, pulling off your work pants before resorting to sweatpants and an old t-shirt.

He grumbled as you herded him into the kitchen, sock-covered feet shuffling on the tile floor. Despite giving you a look when you instructed him to lie down on the counter, Spencer did so without much of a challenge. As you flipped on the tap, he settled on the laminate surface, ��What are you doing?” He asked, frowning at you as you gently took his glasses off and placed the thick, black frames on the opposite side of the basin.

You hummed, taking the towel and tucking it underneath Spencer’s neck so the edge of the counter didn’t hurt him, “I don’t want to get soap and water all over your glasses.”

With furrowed brows, he looked up at you, “I won’t be able to see without my glasses,” he informed you.

“Then you’ll have to use that memory of yours to remember just how good-looking I am,” you responded earnestly, refraining from victoriously throwing your hands in the air when a small smile bloomed on his face.

Sighing, he relaxed against the hard surface of the counter. Too tall to fully lay down, he kept his legs folded up at the edge. It looked awkward, but if he was comfortable, who were you to judge?

Checking the temperature of the water with your hand, you took the sprayer in your hand and quickly sprayed a bit of water on Spencer’s hair, “Is that too hot?” You asked softly, watching his face for any kind of reaction.

Spencer quickly shook his head at you, “No, that’s good.” His answer prompted you to continue wetting his hair, using the sprayer before setting it down and taking his shampoo in your hands.

Lathering a dollop in between your palms, you slowly started to work it into his hair, he closed his eyes as you massaged the shampoo into his hair, focusing on his scalp as you did so. You smiled softly at the way he visibly relaxed, watching the way peace overtook him as a result of the simple service of having his hair washed.

Using your hand to protect his face from soap and water, you took the handheld sprayer back in your hand and rinsed the shampoo from his hair, the suds slipping from the locks in a waterfall. Taking a moment, you elected for another round of shampoo, squirting the same amount in your palm before repeating the process.

In your periphery, you noticed Spencer fiddling with something in his hand, a flash of gold caused your heart to clench while he flipped the coin through his fingers. His six-month NA chip.

Deciding against mentioning it, you continued working your fingers through his hair, the second round of shampoo foaming up even more than the first had, leading you to rinse your hands off before going back for the sprayer. Using your hand, you made sure to get all of the remaining shampoo from his hair before gently wringing his hair dry.

Putting a small amount of conditioner on your fingers, you deftly worked the product through the ends of Spencer’s hair, “Your hair’s getting long,” you observed aloud. “Did you want to cut it or keep growing it out?”

Not opening his eyes, Spencer responded, “Not sure yet,” he mumbled, clearly still enjoying your ministrations on his hair.

Finger-combing the conditioner through his hair, you nodded to yourself, “If you want to cut it, just let me know and I can help.”

In response, he nodded slightly while you tried to work through a small knot in his hair, “I thought I could stop him.”

Your movements faltered at the sudden change in subject, but you quickly regained your footing and continued, “You can’t save everyone.”

“I hate that,” he told you. Spencer had a lot of anger, it was never directed at you, it was directed toward the world, but that didn’t mean you liked it.

Letting the conditioner sit in his hair, you rinsed the product off of your hands before turning the tap off. “Do you need to go to a meeting?” You asked him gently, reaching over to seal the caps to the shampoo and conditioner before glancing at your boyfriend.

Mentally, you recalled where you had set your keys and bag when you got home, just in case you needed to take him away, “I’ll go tomorrow,” he answered.

His usual NA group met on Wednesdays, so it made sense that he’d want to go to that group. It didn’t mean you wouldn’t keep an eye on him tonight. “Okay,” you murmured softly, flipping the tap back on before you proceeded to rinse the conditioner from his hair, using your fingers to get all of the product from his silky brown strands.

Adjusting the temperature slightly, you focused your energy on getting the product out, settling into a comfortable silence until you felt satisfied, shutting off the water and wringing the water out as best you could with your hands.

You carefully coaxed the towel from where it rested beneath his neck, getting him to sit up while you towel-dried his hair. Pulling the cotton off of his head, you left his damp hair sticking every which way as you reached over to return his glasses to him, “Do you feel any better?” You asked, refraining from reaching up and touching him, you put your hands behind your back.

He nodded softly, settling his glasses on his face and blinking as his eyes focused. Spencer surprised you when he reached out for you, sitting up and leaving his legs dangling off of the edge of the counter, he parted his knees and pulled you so that your body was flush with the counter, wrapping his arms around you tightly. “I love you,” he mumbled into the crook of your neck.

Burying your face in his shoulder, you breathed in the all-too-familiar scent of his shampoo and conditioner and leaned into his embrace, “I love you too, Spence.” Tears pricked your eyes, and you pulled away from him before any could trickle down your cheeks. “Come sit down on the couch, I’ll brush your hair out.”

A small, content smile grew on his face, nodding at you before he pushed himself off of the counter, following your footsteps back into the living room.

[spxfav]

Orange

Summary: Post Tobias Hankel Spencer, struggling to stop taking dilaudid and spiralling in darkness finds light in the one he loves most <3

Warnings: Anxiety, drug dependency, panic attacks, depression (I think that's it, please let me know if I missed any)

Word count: 3.2k

a/n: Hi guys! This is my first time writing something longer than a bot for Spencer, so I really really hope you'll like it! The way I chose to portray his depression and anxiety here is very much based on how I experienced it, so this is very important to me. Let me know if you'd like a part two! Enjoy!

Spencer was wasting away, fading. His dark eyes no longer shone like they used to. His pretty smile was now a rare sight to see. His nerdy contributions to conversations were now scarce - that is, if he ever interacted with anyone anymore.

He felt hollow, no longer being motivated to do anything but the one thing he knew he shouldn't. Dilaudid.

That little bottle now went everywhere with him. The flask and the demons that haunted him after Tobias, clinging to him and punishing him for whatever bad thing he had done to deserve this. And he was sure he had done something. He just couldn't understand why so many bad things kept happening to him, following him from his childhood to his adult years. Even with all the science in the world, the only explanation plausible enough was that he had done something terrible in his past life and was now paying for it.

Despite the leave Hotch let him take having ended two days ago, he still hadn't shown up to work. This was new to him. He'd always loved going to the bureau, even if it was just for paperwork. Now, he could barely read three lines out of his favourite book.

Time was blurry, a haze of sobering up and searching the high once again with pauses destined for the bathroom and occasionally to eat - when his stomach hurt enough to remind him he had to. Apart from that, he never left his bed, hopelessly wishing he could sleep without being hunted by the flashbacks of his time in that shed, of the splinters he wasn't able to remove after digging his own grave. His hands were now raw in the parts he had scrubbed out the skin to take the little wooden pieces off of him. He barely felt it. He barely even felt anything.

He knew it wasn't rational, but the empathy and guilt he felt for the man who kidnapped him was so intense it did nothing but contribute to his numb state.

So, alone, he spent his days, going through flask after flask of the forbidden liquid, cursing himself for not being strong enough to stop and wishing Tobias had never reanimated him back at the cemetery.

Naturally, after dealing with a schizophrenic mother all alone as a child, and being forced to grow up faster than he should have, he fiercely believed he had to solve this problem alone, like he's always done.

You, however, didn't. With the many gift baskets sent by Penelope and the sweet voice that was enough to make his demons dissipate - at least while you talked -, the time you spent sitting by his locked door always left him feeling somewhat relieved.

Sitting on the cold hardwood floor with sweaty damp hair clinging to his forehead, Spencer listened quietly as you talked, not giving you any hint that he was there. Part of him didn't believe he deserved those acts of kindness from you, so he hid himself in the shadows, and, as if forbidden, served as audience to your stories about events he missed. He noticed, even in his usually drugged state, that you tried your best to lighten up the stories, probably afraid to trigger something in him. If only you knew there was no need for a trigger.

x

It was a Wednesday, and the pouring rain that came through the window he forgot to close and got him and his bed soaked was almost enough to make him give up on the day, even if he had been up for only two minutes and 28 seconds.

But he couldn't. Because giving up would mean he'd have to sit in the wet sheets all day, and despite everything, he still had issues with the feeling of wet things against his skin.

Dragging himself out of bed, he gave up on the challenge of changing the sheets and settled for his sofa instead.

"I'm changing ambiens. This is improving."

The lie of getting better was more of a sentence he said as a form to attract it, though he never made the effort to stop himself from deteriorating further. That was merely an excuse for the voice in the back of his mind to scold him further. It started with his incapability of getting clean. Then, his lack of shower. After, came the barely eating and now, the sulking in bed - or in this case, the sofa.

His mood was as gray and dull as the weather, and the sound of the rain falling did little to comfort him through the many nightmares plagued naps that he eventually gave up on. This was the moment of the day he went to his bedside table and retrieved the little ornate box with the needles and the bottles of the clear liquid. This was the moment of peace, of relief.

His mind was hazy, clouded by the momentary pleasure only the dilaudid was able to provide when the familiar knock on the door came.

“Hi Spence.” You said, your honey, homey voice wafting through the apartment and reaching his ears.

Automatically, he stumbled across the living room, and, in an all but gracious way, dropped by the door. That was the first time you heard him move inside as you talked to him, and as minimal as it was, it brought a smile to your face.

“I think I heard you fall. Knock twice if you’re hurt.”

No knocks. So, he was okay. Or as much as possible.

“The day was boring. No new cases today.” You start talking, the daily briefing session that grew more and more important to his weary mind filling the previously silent apartment, your voice sounding like a melody to his stoned brain.

“But I thought of you.” His ears perked up, his spine straightening as he focused intently on the next words.

“Can you believe there was no sugar for the coffee? Not in the coffee station, not anywhere in the building.” It was silly. Stupid. But it made you think of him, and if he was on your mind, he was happy.

“That’s absurd.” He murmurs, a little out of it.

You freeze, too surprised that he said something this time. It was the first time you heard him speak in almost two weeks. It was muffled, and too low for you to understand, but it was words, and that was better than nothing.

“It is.” You say, trying not to draw much attention to the fact that he spoke. You didn’t want to scare him away.

“What happened next?” He asked quietly, almost as if talking to you was a mistake. To him, it was actually a privilege he didn’t deem himself worthy of.

“Garcia went down to a local coffee shop with Emily and they stole a bunch of packets for us. They came back running as if they had stolen a bank.” You say and chuckle, hearing the faintest of laughs inside from him. He was laughing. That was good. Amazing, actually.

“Good. Can’t imagine being without sugar.” He murmurs, and you couldn’t see the small smile on his lips at the first sign of normalcy after so long in the dark.

“Don’t worry. I’m sure when you get back there’ll be as much sugar as you want.”

Silence.

You wait, and wait, and wait, but he doesn’t speak again.

“Spence?” You ask, and the only other sound you hear that day is him getting up and stumbling away.

x

“When you get back.”

Those words plagued him for the rest of the day, which he spent locked up in his room to try and muffle your voice as you continued talking on the other side of his front door. Just the thought of it terrified him.

At first, he imagined it was out of fear of living something like his experience with Hankel again. But when he passed by the mirror in the bathroom and saw how he looked, he understood the real reason.

Deep dark circles. Hollow cheeks. Lifeless eyes. Hair greasier than it had ever been in his whole life. Pajamas stained with food he couldn’t identify. Grown out beard. He had gotten used to the smell by now, but he was sure it would be strong to anyone else.

He was disgusting. Gross.

Useless. Undeserving. A junkie.

His breathing quickened, but it was like no air came. One shaky hand moved to his heart, feeling the fast and strong beats. It felt like drums in a rock song. Like the cart of a rollercoaster against the rails. Like horses running freely.

Except there was no freedom. He felt trapped, desperate. Hopeless.

And as he fell to the ground and tears pricked his eyes, he was sure he might die.

No one will understand. No one will try to understand.

Suddenly death didn’t seem so bad. But just like it happened so many times before in his life, it was an easy way out. And nothing was easy for him.

So, fifteen minutes later, the needle in his arm was the only thing capable of taming the panic attack that still coursed through his veins.

x

When he rolled around on his bed, sweating from the nightmare, the room was spinning. Or maybe it was just his brain.

Either way, the open box on the bedside table, the not discarded needle and the torniquet still on his arm were explanation enough for what had happened the night before. He exaggerated. Again.

The day after these episodes were always the worst. Sickness, dizziness. Loss of strength in his muscles. That was also when the thoughts got worse.

It was ironic, really, that he went through almost a whole flask in hopes of drowning the voices only to wake up with them stronger than ever. It was a cycle. But then again, wasn’t all of this?

The world was a blur, a mix of living nightmares and not very healthy thoughts, and in the end, he caught himself wishing you’d show up.

Laughing, whispers of love and beautiful promises. That was how the world was around you. And even through the thick wood of his front door, he was still selfish enough to crave a glimpse of the Heaven you held in your hands; of the salvation from this twisted reality he found himself trapped in.

Spencer wasn’t the most emotional of men. In fact, before you, all his research pointed to him lacking the brain connections that allowed one to feel anything remotely romantic. He was sure he was okay without love, and he was sure he would always be.

But then you came, and it was like buying his first glasses all over again: suddenly the world was clear, and so much more beautiful.

It was hard for him to describe what he felt. He could only think of one simple way to put it. It was all orange.

x

“Hi, Spence” The melody of the notes that compose your voice echoed around the apartment, making the faintest of smiles bloom in his face.

For the past three days, you had managed to make him talk more and more. At first, it was weird. Alone in his apartment, the only things his walls had heard in the past few weeks were his terrorized nightly screams and the incoherent mumbles that occasionally made themselves present.

“Listen, I brought you something” You say and wait to see if he had any contributions. When he remains quiet, you continue. “I called your mom’s facility” His eyes shot open, and he sat up straighter on the floor. “Don’t worry, I didn’t say anything. I figured if someone was to tell, it should be you” The simple reassurance was enough to calm him down the slightest. “I called to ask her for the recipe of those peppermint cookies you told me about a few months ago.”

The smell of baked sugar filled the small kitchen. Days like these were good. Days when his mom was okay. When she was his mom again, and he had the freedom to be the child his seven-year-old self deserved to be.

“I made some” Your voice cuts through the first good memory h’s had since everything went down. “I’m sure they’re not as good as hers, but they’re not bad either. I have them here, I could drop them off with the baskets Penelope brought and yo-“

The sudden movement of the door opening catches you by surprise as you stumble back, no longer having a surface to rest your back on.

He opened the door. He really opened the door.

Spencer stood there, looking down at you and seeming even more surprised than you did. His eyes flickered over your form, heart beating faster. God, how he missed the sight of this angel.

He looked different from what you remembered. Dark stubble covering his face, messy and greasy hair, sleeves rolled up to reveal an arrangement of needle punctures. For a moment, neither of you say a word, simply taking in the sight of the one person you each missed more than breathing. That was when Spencer realised it. He’d rather die in that shed a thousand times more than go another day without seeing your face. The pictures he had really did you no justice, not when you looked more beautiful than a diamond, with its carbon atoms so perfectly aligned, creating what is believed to be one of the most precious objects on Earth. You didn’t even compare to that.

“You made me cookies?” He asks, looking down at the little box in your hands, the faint smell of the cookies reaching his nose.

“Yes. Yes, I did. They’re still a bit warm, I baked them before coming here.” You stand up, quickly enough to drop your blood pressure slightly, but not enough to startle him.

When he takes the box from your hands and, without another word, walks inside leaving the door open for you. There’s no hesitation in your steps as you follow him in. And the sight that welcomes you is nothing but heartbreaking. His once so perfectly organized place – at least according to the system only he understood – was now a mess. There were books on the floor, take-out boxes on every table, dirty clothes on the floor.

He wafted through the chaos, eyes never leaving the box as he opened it and threw himself on the sofa. Carefully, he picks up a cookie, and after an experimental bite, a single tear rolls down his face. Then another, and another, and another until the dam breaks and he is full on sobbing on the sofa, crushing the cookie as his hands close into fists and his shoulders shake.

Your heart, shattered already, breaks even further, and when you sit next to him, you feel shocked as he falls into your arms. His arms are tucked between your bodies, his face buried on your chest, and you don’t have the heart to tell him he smells the tiniest bit. No, not now. You could tell him he needed a shower when he didn’t look like a vulnerable child, climbing on your lap.

“It’s okay… shh…” His brain barely registers your comforting words, too busy paying attention to the way your fingers card through his hair without a hint of disgust. He knew he loved the right person, especially because of moments like this. You were just… perfect. It was cliché, but Spencer genuinely could not think of any other way of describing you.

“I’m sorry… I’m sorry…” His voice was almost inaudible, filled with a gut-wrenching guilt for doing this to you. “I’m s-sorry”

“Don’t be. It’s okay, you’re okay. I’m here” Your voice, the soft murmur of reassurance breaks him even further, relieving him of the pressure of the guilt he had been feeling for so long.

That day, he cried until he fell asleep in your arms. Not for a second did you let go of him, your hands always gentle and loving as you caressed his hair. For the first time in two weeks and four days, he slept with no nightmares.

x

The sound of steps moving around his apartment was the first thing he registered when he woke up. Rubbing his eyes and sitting up on the couch, he looked around, groggy and with his head pounding from crying.

You had your back turned to him as you cleaned his kitchen, the smell of something in the oven making his stomach growl slightly. Then he notices it. No clothes on the floor. No takeout boxes around. Books neatly on the shelves. You had cleaned his place while he slept.

For a minute, he simply watches you, dark eyes following your movements around the kitchen as you wash and dry dishes. Then you turn, and the small, concerned smile that forms on your lips as you walk closer is enough to send his heart racing in his chest again.

“You’re up. How did you sleep?” You ask, stopping behind the couch as your fingers lovingly brush his messy hair out of his face.

“Fine. How long was I out?” He asks and clears his throat, voice slightly gruff.

“About three hours. I didn’t want to wake you, so I cleaned up. And made dinner. You still like lasagna, right?”

His eyes stare directly at your face, and for a moment, he considers a crazy theory.

Maybe he had died that day in the shed. He died, and the last couple of days were his time spent in some sort of imbo. But now he was in Heaven. That had to be it. As irrational as it was, how else could he explain the presence of an angel in front of him so suddenly? Besides, he always thought that if the Realm of God was a real place, if his paradise was real, you’d be there.

“Spencer?” He blinks, and the world still has a happy veil over it when his eyelids open and his irises meet your face again.

“Yes. Yes, I like lasagna.” He nods, eyes fixed on you.

Maybe life wasn’t so bad after all.

x

The door closed behind you, and the illusion left just as fast. The light that seemed to follow you was gone, his world buried in darkness and numbness again. Your presence made him feel so light as you talked his ears off today. He didn’t mind. Not when he smiled more in a couple of hours than in the last two weeks. Not when you two were sitting so close, cuddling on the couch. Not when your lasagna had tasted like the best dish he ever ate.

But now you were gone, and all that is left for him to do is climb back in bed. His sheets are clean now – you changed them – and the overused pajamas on his body feel sinful against the fabric. What was meant to be a good thing only served to send him spiraling again, and as most nights, this one ended with a small pinch and the sting of the liquid as he applied it on his forearms.

Who knows? Maybe the delusions would bring you back tonight.

[turvi]

Rumours

WARNING: angst, cussing

Rumours have it that Severus Snape doesn't shower. There is nothing sexy about him. All the girls in Hogwarts want to avoid him like a plague, and the marauders painting him as an obsessive creep also does not help his case. Maybe that is why Y/n feels so wrong to feel attracted to the boy.

Every time she crosses paths with Severus she can't help but feel a sensation in her chest as he looks at her, she tries to tear her eyes away from the boy, but the intense look in Severus' eyes makes it difficult for her to look somewhere else or even think about something else.

But as fate would have it she was James Potter's cousin. Ironically, she is attracted to the boy her cousin picks on the most. She can't dare to look at him while her cousin is around. What if he finds out? If a random boy approaches her James comes between them and stares the boy until he leaves Merlin knows what he will do to Severus. Y/n hates how James treats her like a kid when she is only a year younger than him

Y/n is often lost in thought trying to figure out why she feels like this about Severus. What is it about his eyes that traps her?

One day as she walks to her class she was pulled into a broom closet. Her instant panic was replaced with relief when she found the same onyx eyes that has been haunting her thoughts all day. "What do you want?"

Her eyes flutter. Even though Severus was whispering it felt like his baritone voice shook every inch of her soul. Y/n somehow musters up the courage to speak up "what do you mean?"

Severus scoffed "don't act innocent. I see how you stare at me. What is it? You want to turn me into a clown as well, turn me into a toy like your cousin does that you can torment and torture whenever you feel like?"

Her heart broke. She knows his words were not targeted to her. Who would not snap like that after facing so much? "Say something dammit"

"I love you"

"Bullshit"

Y/n cannot blame him. For some reason she cannot find a reason to hate him. She is really trying to but there is a softness in his onyx eyes that makes her determined that there is more to Severus than just being a 'greasy haired creep'.

"You don't have to believe me, but I do love you. And I also know that you love someone else."

Severus groans "miss l/n you have no idea what you are talking about"

"I am not asking you to feel the same" Y/n says but her eyes tell a different story

After a few minutes silence Severus speaks again "you cannot feel for me like this. This is merely infatuation".

As he starts to walk away Y/n spoke up finally without any fear "You do not get to tell me how I feel Severus Tobias Snape"

Severus turns around. Feeling angry yet curious at the tone she picks on him "excuse me?"

A shiver ran down her spine yet she stood her ground "you heard me loud and clear I fucking love you Severus. Whether you like it or not and I am not letting someone take that from me. Not even you".

Severus was taken aback about the way this girl talked to him. He walks back towards her, his eyes looking at her intensely "and what if I never love you back" his voice lowers

Y/n scoffed "you don't get it do you"? Severus raised an eyebrow but she continues taking a step closer to him. Severus tries to look for disgust or anger in her eyes but all he finds is passion. She continues "Severus, my curse is not that you will never love me but my curse is living a life where I am not in love with you"

Severus feels his heart throb. No this is wrong. He clenched his fist hoping it is only because of the extra cup of coffee he had this evening but one look in her eyes....and there it was again.

A/N: Part 2? Maybe? REBLOG AND COMMENT IF YOU LIKED THIS

Without a word he turns around and leaves. Y/n stood there and watched him dissapear in the darkness unaware of the tears that were right now falling down his cold cheeks

Part 2

[namelessdumbass]

Rite Here Rite Now

It was amazing and funny. Copia girlies and boys fucking won!

I expected different outcome, tbh. Tobias managed to surprise me and also made me a tiny bit sad (reasons will be explained in the spoilers below).

The film consists of like 95% of concert footage and 5% of off stage/plot stuff. The quality of sound and editing is just 🤌 I expected the live of Twenties to be good and gosh Ghost delivered. And Mummy Dust...Tobias let Mary Goore out! But i honestly prefer Terzo's version (CaD) better. Sorry not sorry haha. Ghouls/Ghoulettes footage. Everyone who loves them will be very veeeery well fed!

Dance Macabre live...i was'nt wrong when i called it a satanic gay party 😁

The movie is worth watching and i do hope Ghost releases it as soon as possible for all those who were not able to go.

The spoiler free review ends here. Don't read further if you don't want to spoil it for yourself. And please, don't copy them and paste it everywhere for the sake of ruining other people's fun! Seriously, don't fucking do that!

If you accidently clicked here, don't worry! spoilers will be below and you still have a chance to avoid them :)

Alriiiiight:

Movie starts with Saltarian who tells fans to record for the first 2 minutes, to show how happy they are etc and posted a qr code for fans to upload those recordings. I guess it will be put up on RHRN website. We'll see. There were also photos of fans who attended LA ritual. I fucking loved the person who showed up in a giant Plushia suit. I LOLed! Then fans were asked to put down the phones and enjoy the movie. The beginning was narrated Star Wars kinda style (a little bit) with the small recap of the chapters and about Copia's worries that he might die. And yes, it literally began in space lol. The movie is basically is like what we saw in small snippets Ghost posted earlier. Plot mixed with a really good show.

And the plot: -Short footage of Copia and Ghouls arriving. ALmost the whole set was the same as any other concert from Re-Imperatour + a few awesome exceptions. -Dews does that annoying thing with guitar, Rain stops him, takes his pick and throws it into the crowd and Dew...he freaking showed him YouSuck sticker on the backside of his guitar. Peak Dew moment! -Copia asked the right question about the Clery. He also does not quite understand what it does, why and where it goes. I suppose Tobias decided to thicken the Ghost lore a bit and will have more clarity in the nearest future. -Remember when Copia jumped at the end of the Watcher in the Sky? He ended up in one of those stage boxes (for equipment or something) and is taken to the stage B. While he's carried to it by Kevin he has a chat with Nihil's ghost. Nihil says he recorded not 2, but 3 songs. That probably means that we'll hear a new one. (UPD: the new song we heard during the credits, "The Future is a Foreign Land" is Nihil's 3rd song! Confirmed by Tobias himself in a new interview). He also tells Copia to breath in deep and then farts. -On the Stage B Copia sings "If You Have Ghosts". 3 Ghoulettes played piano and violins and the 4th one did the haunting ghost-like opera vocals. It was beatiful. Copia kissed her hand. -He then wore boxing robe and went next to crowd. Almost the whole scene was shown in the trailer. -Btw, remember that silly moment when Nihil's eyes were crossing? Well, Kevin was also included in that staring contest. -Twenties live. The skeletons, the performance and one of those skeletons who crawled between Dew's legs...that's hot. -Nihil calls Copia "son". Copia calls Nihil "Dad". Cardi will insult him later, don't worry. -Nihil/Seestor cartoon during MOAC. Yes, that's when Sis hit him with the car. Basically it's what happens after "Kiss the Go Goat" mv. Sister leaves and Nihil runs after her. "I'll never let you go". They end up kissing in a coffin on a graveyard , later Nihil wakes up naked in a bed in a motel and we see Sister leave. -There was a moment in a movie when we see Ashley (stage crew) bring Copia a new pair of shoes and put the on on his feet. Tobias, goddammit what the hell was that? :D -Seestor was a in wheelchair all the time -She and Nihil encouraged Copia throughout the whole movie and gave him a piece of advice. -About the baloon from the poster. Copia flies on it after finishing the set...or he imagined that because a few moments later after Nihil/Seestor flashbacks he ends up on the floor and watches Seestor die. All of the Ghouls and Ghoulettes also stood right next to her. -Copia has a twin brother -Copia didn't die and became the head the Clergy (Father Imperator or something like this). He found out about his new position from a letter Seestor left for him. -New song during credits (credits show dictators, assassinations, wars and the use of nuclear war). Years 1984 and 2024 mentioned. The song is not heavy. -Ghouls/Ghoulettes real names mentioned in the credits -Funny post credit scene with Copia. He had no piant on and had a new cool drip (with black jacket and red and black cross). Seestor is also a Ghost now. Tobia's children cameo. They're also Ghosts. -Papa V is teased the same way Copia was teased in a chapter 1. They even used the same music (Pro Memoria). No face reveal. Either he will be revealed in new Chapters or at some point during the new tour???

-aaaand my biggest disappointment: no footage of Primo, Secondo and Terzo. Literally ZERO.

I mean, Nihil is a Ghost, Seestor also became a Ghost, even Tobias' children made a cameo as Ghosts, but nothing for previous Papas? Really?! The same could have been done for them, but i guess Tobias doesn't care about them anymore :( And it hurts. I know that's my fault that i had so many expectations and hopes, but holy shit :( As a newbie who never saw previous Papas, i'm so sad i'll never get a chance to see them and there won't be any new footage of them. Being Terzo widow is so hard. Guess that's why i'm a bit salty Copia lives (sorry, guys, i like him, but i also hate him haha)

And yes, as it turned out the twins theory from Square Hammer was true...but not for Terzo 😭

I enjoyed the movie nevertheless. It's fun and kinda gives you an opportunity to see the band "live" if you've never been to a ritual before. And yes, the movies was'nt just about Papa IV and his fate, i believe it was also Tobias' message for us to enjoy the life rite here rite now! As i said, Copia's girlies and boys truly fucking won. Congrats, lads, your Papa lives and will live! I bet that feels amazing. Thanks for reading! P.S. since you know the plot, don't spoil it for the others please.

[violetvines]

Hi can you please make HCs about Nash

yeehaw darlin'

nash hawthorne, the best big brother in the world 🧸

- he snores – he snores very very loudly

- every year on his birthday, he has a solo taylor swift jamming session but one day xander caught him in the act (he was a little bit embarrassed but xander ended up joining in to make him feel better about it)

- after he left hawthorne house, he actually checked in with grayson via voice call every other week to ensure everything was okay (he only really cared about gray, jamie and xan)

- there was once when he stole gray and jamie away on the 22nd of august (jameson's birthday, aka the day tobias hawthorne always wants gray and jamie to compete over something) because "no one should have to compete with their brother on their birthday" and he brought them to an actual outing at a funfair – jameson and grayson will never admit it but that was their favourite shared birthday outing ever (and sadly... one of the only times they had such a thing)

- he wrote a song with his guitar before (inspired by taylor), but he has never let anyone hear it – anyone but libby, who he sang it to in the hospital while she was going through contractions (cheered her up a whole lot)

- one time, he roasted skye really badly (third degree burn kind of badly) just for fun – she was a terrible mother anyways, no take offense

- because he knows libby struggles with self-confidence sometimes, he leaves little notes around their house to remind her how she will always be enough

- he loves how to train your dragon, the first movie came out when he was 11 and that really spurred his interest in horse-riding (if he couldn't ride dragons, the next best thing was horses yeehaw)

- he doesn't get scared easily – once, they went to a haunted house but he didn't even scream... he just said "nice try, darlin'" to one of the ghosts

- his favourite subject is recess – he did relatively well in school, never fell behind, but it wasn't his favourite part of life

- he likes looking at the sky, stargazing and just anything to do with staring at the wide and unlimited canvas of it – when he still lived at hawthorne house, he used to drag out a few blankets to the garden and just lie down thinking about things

- he was a natural at learning to ride his bike and got his license the first try

- he never liked emily – he saw through her, saw how she manipulated everyone around her including his brothers – he always had an intense dislike towards her and sometimes when he looked at her, he wouldn't even try to hide it

𓍢ִ໋ but he couldn't bear to make gray and jamie unhappy, so he kept his suspicions to himself – he did try to tell them he had a bad feeling about it once, but they didn't talk to him the next few days and he figured that addressing the issue outwardly would just make things worse, so he would just quietly keep an eye on things (ofc he didn't know everything that emily had in store for them with the stupid competition of "whoever wins will get to date me" or wtv)

- that's why in some way, he also blames himself a little for the aftermath of emily's death and how they fell apart because he left before it happened and didn't manage to do anything to reduce the damage

- his favourite season is autumn just because he likes the vibes of it

- tiramisu is the hawthorne dog, but he's mainly the one who takes care of her, gives her showers and everything – ofc the staff is there to help but he cleans her up as much as he can, often refusing to let them do it

- he's that kind of guy who will call other guys out if he sees them treating a girl in the wrong way (which is also the main reason why any bar fights involving him break out but he always wins anyway)

- he played basketball when he was a teen and has some really good skillz

[realitycanbewhateveridesire]

ABOUT MY ARCANE DR <3

ngl, talking about my dr feels so embarassing

In this reality, I am the second Kiramman daughter and younger sister of Caitlyn Kirmman by 3 years. Due to me being kidnapped as a toddler and...shenanigans happening I guess, I spent a big portion of my childhood in the Undercity/Zaun living with Vander as part of his makeshift family. I haven't thought much about my place in the story, but I am supplying the Firelights with info and tech from Topside and trying to help as much as I can while living in Piltover (and kinda under the watchful gaze of my parents). There's also the part, where I basically died in my CR and got isekai'ed into Arcane-verse.

To be honest, I am just dropping myself into the story with only a barebones backstory and no idea what I wanna do.

☆ MY BACKSTORY

i am just gonna directly drop what's currently in my script here

(also please, just keep in mind that i based my backstory kinda on a fanfic and also am horrible at writing stuff. and i apologize for it being kinda long and goofy...and frankly, not making sense in some parts. i'm sorry vera leigh, please forgive me.)

In my first life (my CR life), I was a mediocre girl-woman-child. One, dissatisfied with her life. Age-wise, I barely made it out of the girlhood. Still yet, I lacked the maturity of an adult and desparately clung to my fleeting childhood years. I clung to childish daydreams and fantasies. Dreaming of life filled with wonder, comfort and magic. I was spoiled and ungrateful for all the things others have done for me. That life ended rather pathetically. At the age of nineteen, being hit by a truck after trying to cross the road.

I was floating in the vast nothingness. At ease, almost unfeeling, unthinking. Numb. It was the strangest feeling. I felt…almost glad. Satisfied.

That peace did not last, it seemed, as I was pulled, torn, from it and made to wake up anew.

I was born again on a late morning/near noon of February 28th 973 AN, a second child and daughter to Cassandra Kiramman and Tobias Kiramman. As Lillian Kiramman. Sister of Caitlyn Kiramman.

I had no recollection of my past life. Not yet, at least. It would only come to me later on.

I was a difficult and needy child. Unaware of it at the time, I was born with the ability to “dream”. Not prophetic visions of future, but visions of the present. Those mental images came to me in bursts, sometimes threatening to tear at my sanity bit by bit. The resulting outbursts went far beyond that of a normal infant/small child. It made me wail and cry, and scream for hours on end, without a sign of stopping. Day and night. Hitting my head with my tiny hands in distress, until a maid or nanny would come to pry them away from it. Little could calm me, aside from the calming touch and proximity of one of my parents. Especially, my mother. Yet even then, it didn’t seem enough. My suffering tore their hearts, as they tried to find anything to help me, to fix it. Fix me. They had various doctors check my health, spoke with scholars and psychologists, etc. But nothing helped as they still couldn’t figure out what was wrong with me. Between the helplessness and exhaustion, the situation overwhelmed them. Even as they loved me fiercely, they couldn’t help to sometimes wish for an “easier” child.

Those thoughts would come back to haunt them, after I was kidnapped as a mere toddler.

With the violent and cutthroat nature of the Undercity’s/Zaun’s criminal underbelly, it didn’t take long for my captors to be eliminated by their rivals. Following the chaos that ensued, I fell through the cracks. Ending up in the streets, before being taken to be a part of experiments conducted by a chem-baron. I was rescued by Vander, who took me in.

I spent the next years living with him and my adopted siblings: Vi/Violet, Powder, Mylo and Claggor.

At the age of around 13 years old, I took part in my siblings’ attempted heist on the Kiramman workshop/Jayce Talis’s apartment. The one ending up in the explosion caused by the hextech crystals. After that, we tried to lay low. Until we couldn’t.

And when Vander was kidnapped and my older siblings went on to rescue him, I was left behind in the Last Drop alongside Powder. And snuck out along with her, wanting to help/save my siblings.

In the end, we failed. I failed. Left unconscious among the rubble, miraculously without any lethal injuries. It was Ekko, who pulled me out of there.

And when once again, I was back on my feet even if barely, injured and running from Silco’s people as they hunted me down. I fell into the hands of enforcers.

After the Sheriff Grayson’s death, the enforcers were in disarray. My arrest case ended up getting mixed up with another case, leading to them taking a DNA sample from me. And accidentally discovering that I was the lost Kiramman child.

Marcus took this as yet another opportunity to give himself credit. As the one who arrested me, he would take all the glory. He fabricated an entire story about Vander, the Hound of the Underground possibly being my kidnapper. Of him brainwashing me into thinking of him as my family. A tale he presented to my family, in case I decided to run my mouth about his involvement in Sheriff Grayson’s death.

I was “returned home” to my biological family in Piltover.

As expected, I didn’t take well at all to this new development. I might have been a Kiramman by blood, yet I grew up as a Zaunite. My heart belonged largely in the Undercity. Furthermore, I was envelopped in grief surrounding the deaths of my adopted siblings and adoptive father. As my parents tried their best to undo the brainwashing, they assumed I was under.

To add salt to the injury, it was only by the age of fourteen, that the memories of my prievious life and my reincarnation returned to me. Only then, I became aware that I was reincarnated into the world of that distant past self’s favorite story.

It was already too late to prevent the tragedy, which split the two sisters apart. But I knew the trajectory of what would happen in years following.

I focused on getting stronger. I’ve honed my skills with the firearms. Picked up martial arts.

From young age, I exhibited a keen intellect, curiosity and thirst for knowledge that surpassed my years.

I’ve devoured any piece of knowledge I could. I collected knowledge from anything I could get my hands on and devoured books on various subjects amd topics. I educated myself about Runeterra as much as I could.

Throughout my childhood in the Undercity, I flirted with the idea of exploring my powers. The people performing experiments on me, were also quite interested by my ability to “dream”.

At the age of fourteen, I found it could prove a useful tool for my plans. I delved into my visions, almost sacrificing my sanity as I memorized all that could prove useful. I tried to get my hands on books about occult and magic tomes. Hoping they would give me the answer, one that I was looking for.

In the end, I achieved partial control over my “sight”, alongside awakening some other powers. The visions still came to me in my sleep. But most times, I was able to control it. Control myself in my dreams as I travelled wherever I wanted, separated from my physical body. In my dreams, I walked through the Undercity’s streets, burning every shortcut, nook and cranny that I’ve never seen before, into my memory. I’ve seen the inside of Noxian warrooms, the farmlands of Demacia, the ice-covered lands of Freljord, the beauty of the Ionian archipelago, the Bilgewater ports, the jungles of Ixtal, the sands of Shurima. And much more. Yet, my attention remained mostly on Piltover and Zaun. And the people, I once saw only upon a screen. Those, I knew in this life.

I observed Powder as she evolved into Jinx, under the aegis of Silco. I observed Vi, in the Stillwater’s Hold prison. I had observed Viktor and Jayce, as they developed Hextech. I had observed Ekko, as he persevered and with the help of others, created the Firelights.

The Kirammans were Jayce’s patrons. And he was somewhat of a family friend and an older brother figure to Caitlyn. It was inevitable for us to interact and become acquinted with one another. And while we never became as close, as him and Caitlyn, we somewhat got along.

It is through Jayce, that I met Viktor. With my parents trying to control who I interacted with and him being the first Zaunite living in Piltover that I met and the only Zaunite I was (begrudingly) allowed to interact with, he instantly became my friend. That and his sarcastic nature, which instantly made me like him.

Ekko was already a close childhood friend of mine. Despite my parents’ watchful gaze and them guarding me from anything Undercity-related, I was accustomed to sneaking around in the shadows and hiding secrets. Courtesy of having grown up as a Fissure-native. Ekko tracked me down. I tracked him too. We had a reunion, had a talk. About everything we’ve been up to, everything that has happened to us. Ekko brought me up to date in regards to the Undercity (I knew of some developments already through my powers). He told me about the Firelights. In the end, I became a secret informant and ally of the Firelights. Supplying them with info and tech from Topside.

...

(and that's basically it for now lol. i'll admit my backstory's unfinished. i'm just inserting myself to shift sometime close before the act 1 of season 1 events and letting stuff happen from there.)

In terms of powers and fighting, I gave myself basic things like combat skills, flexibility and speed to avoid getting killed. I haven't even fully specified in my mind what my "sight" ability is but it's sorta a cross between prophetic dreams and astral projection. I'm also probably gonna give myself airbending or waterbending. Simply because I can.

....

And...I guess that's all I have for now.

If you managed to get through that wall of text, then thank you <3

[no1bookgirl]

Wild Goose Turkey Chase

Synopsis: Every year, since Tobais Hawthorne discovered Nash’s fondness for turkeys, Hawthorne House has set up a pen full of turkeys somewhere outside of Hawthorne House. In 2024, 27 years after the first turkey pen had been set up, a certain Hawthorne *cough* Xander *cough* forgot to lock the pen correctly. The turkeys put their brains together and hobbled out of the pen, now having free reign of Hawthorne House, tormenting its occupants with a haunting gobble.

POV: 2nd from you as Grayson’s gf!!

Pairings: Grayson x Reader, Avery x Jameson, Libby x Nash, and Xander x Max!

wc: 9.8k

a/n: Thanksgiving fic!! one of my first actual character x reader things. I was going to do a halloween themed one cause halloween would be crazy at hawthorne house, but thanksgiving was much more festive! (this might also be a day or two after thanksgiving 🙄🙄) Warning!! one y/n usage that I really tried to avoid… I hate having to write y/n it’s so icky to me ☹️ MINOR GAMES UNTOLD SPOILERS!!!

Now, I present: Wild Goose Turkey Chase

Wednesday, November 20th, 2024

When you are the girlfriend of Grayson Hawthorne, former heir apparent of philanthropist Tobias Hawthorne, you were bound to have that big, fancy Thanksgiving that you felt you could never get used to. You were also bound to getting caught in the antics of his brothers. And their girlfriends.

Yeah, Hawthorne Thanksgiving was good, lavish, luxury, chaotic especially, but you couldn’t help but remember your fondness for your grandmother’s mashed potatoes. Or your mom’s turkey. Those quiet, comfortable, small Thanksgivings. The ones where you’d actually have time to go around the table and share something you’re grateful for.

Trying to take your mind off of your need for your grandma, for your mom, just for your family again, you walk down the art gallery, staring at the walls of endless works. Your eyes fall upon one exhibit, a large amount of turkey-hand paintings ordered by year. There were four rows of them, each containing around eight paintings. The top row was Nash’s, the hand feathers becoming more defined as the years grew on. It was cute to think of the Hawthorne brothers squishing their hands in paint, pressing it against paper, and decorating it was silly items like top hats and monocles, a cowboy hat and a lasso, or sun glasses and a glass of wine.

You’d done the same project when you were a child, running home from the bus stop, paper fluttering in the wind, slamming the door open and proudly displaying your artwork on the fridge. Gentle hands would rub your back, cheek kisses were also common, soft words would encourage your art.

Before actually meeting the brothers, you never would’ve been able to imagine them doing that from what you had seen. It would feel too forced, like they just didn’t fit into that picture of childishness. But maybe that was one of their plans all along, Grayson’s plan. He needed to be that mature business man, always trying to keep himself steady, others steady too, including you until you saw through that facade, breaking him open to see who he really could be.

“Beautiful, aren’t they?” Grayson’s voice came from behind you, the now audible clicking of his shoes becoming louder.

“Yeah,” you laughed. Turning around, you found one of those rare Grayson smiles plastered on his face, warming her heart. Maybe it was the holiday spirit, or maybe the fun memories of the turkey hands.

He looked down, like he was nervous, but you could still see the hint of the smile. “It’s you,” he said as if reading your mind, “that’s making me smile like this. Even after being together for three years, it’s still so foreign.”

“Well, I’ve gotten used to your smile.” You took a few steps closer to him, closing the gap as you wrapped your arms around him. “Gray?”

“Hm?”

“Do you want to know something I’m thankful for this Thanksgiving season?” you asked innocently, batting your eyelashes at him.

He cocked his head. “Friends?”

“Close…”

“Family?”

“Closer…”

He chewed on his lip, in actual thought. “I give up,” he said, mock defeat in his voice.

“This Thanksgiving season, I’m grateful for…” you paused for dramatic effect, your mouth staying in a wide open-mouthed smile. “You.”

Grayson’s brows shot up, even though you had told him this millions of times before. “Really?” he asked, his arms finally wrapping loosely around your torso.

“Forever,” you sing, rocking you and Grayson back and forth, “and ever and ever and ever.”

The two of you sit there for a moment, taking in each other in the silence, wrapped up all nice and cozy compared to the outdoors. But everything with Grayson was warm. Swimming was warm because of summer. Grayson was warm because he was your sun, the thing that brought that smile to your face, the sun that faded down into a calmer, more comforting figure as the day dragged on. Grayson was the warm person you would wake up to in the morning, pressing yourself against his chest or his hair or wherever you happen to be.

Grayson leaned down into your ear, his breath warm, heating you up even more. “They’re setting the turkey pen up soon,” he commented. “Do you think it would be fun to watch?”

“Grayson,” you cock your head at him, “we do this every year: You come up to me, butter me up and all that jazz, then ask if I want to watch them build the pen, which we end up doing no matter what I say.”

He chuckled at you, at all the other turkey pen watching times you’d been together. Reaching around his back, he grabbed on of your hands, giving it a gentle kiss. “Shall we?”

You gave one of those small, flustered smiles even if he had done this so many times before. “Why, yes, prince charming.”

⋆ ⁑ ❂ ⁑ ⋆ ⁑ ❂ ⁑ ⋆ ⁑ ❂ ⁑ ⋆

The pen was always a grand thing, more than enough room for the turkeys. There were about seven or eight turkeys in there, not at all knowing they would get slaughtered in only a matter of days at the hands of the greedy, and hungry, Xan- Hawthornes.

“I feel bad for them,” you said, letting your head rest against Grayson’s shoulder as a frown deepened on your face.

Grayson’s head cocked gently. “Why is that?”

“Because they don’t know they’re going to be eaten,” you began, even more empathy creeping in now that you actually expressed your sadness. “They just think they’re getting out in a new fancy home.”

“Well, all things have to come to an end at some point, and sometimes that end might not be when you’d expect or want,” said Grayson, his voice soft and steady, keeping you down.

You nodded absentmindedly, continuing to stare at the helpless turkeys. “I guess you’re right. But when are you not?” you murmured, hopeful that he didn’t hear the last part. But by the small smirk that he somehow couldn’t suppress, you could tell he did hear it.

“Who’s all coming for Thanksgiving this year? It’s approaching faster than I’d like.”

“There’s a few new people coming this year,” Grayson said, a half sigh in his voice. “I know Gigi and Katrina will be joining us this year.”

Your heart dropped at the mention of that cat. Lord did it scare you. Not that you were scared of cats, but the way the leopard sized cat would stare at you from Gigi’s arms, it’s pupils shrinking as it looked like it was planning you to be her next meal. Grayson always made sure to keep a safe distance between you and Katrina whenever Gigi decided it was her turn to barge into your room. Whether it be holding Katrina or letting her sleep on him, he’d separate you two.

“That damn cat,” you breathed out.

“Knox may also be here this year, maybe not. Lyra’s having Thanksgiving with her family. All the rest of the normal people will be there: Avery, obviously, Jameson, Libby, Nash, then on,” he said.

You blew out a long breath, wishing you could see it in the air. If it wasn’t cold enough to see your breath, it wasn’t Thanksgiving yet. And Texas had a long way to go. 70° F was no where near what homes temperature would be around this time of month. Now, coats would start to be pulled out of the basement. A sweatshirt wouldn’t be enough to keep you warm. Hats wouldn’t be out for a while. It always seemed that something, just one thing, was just off enough for this place to not feel like home.

Even if you came here almost every break you got in school since you met Grayson three years ago, it still never felt right. Too hot. Too stuffy. Too many people. They didn’t know what you meant when you called certain things differently. You’re offered sweet tea instead of lemonade on those hot summer days. It was never enough. And you felt bad. Grayson always tried to make you feel at home here, safe, secure. You tried to make yourself seem happy, but Grayson could see right through it.

A whirring sound came from somewhere around the corner. Grayson’s arm instinctively went to wrap around you, holding you closer to him. A… figure emerged from the corner. It was Tiramisu… in a child sized Jeep?

Without having to see who it was, Grayson called out, “Xander.” It was silent before Xander popped out from behind you and Grayson, his arm tightening even more around you. You yelped, clinging on to Grayson.

“Greetings, fellow residents.” Xander gave them no time before he started to ask questions. “How has your day been? How do you like Tiramisu’s Jeep? How about the turkeys? Are they interesting this year? Should I dye them purple-“

“Alexander,” Grayson commanded, stopping Xander in his tracks. You’d almost never seen Xander stop talking this quickly, but he was silent. “There is no need to dye the turkeys, or anything for that matter, purple.”

Xander’s lip puffed out in a pout. “But that’s the best part,” he whined, knowing full well that he would do it anyway. And temporarily dye Grayson’s hair to get back at him.

Contorting your face, you look to Xander. “I don’t think purple is very festive…”

Xander looked up, taking that into consideration, and nodded. Tiramisu panted from beneath you, wiggling against whatever was keeping him in the toy car. Xander bent down to pet him, earning wet dog kisses to his hand.

“We better get going,” he said, “Tiramisu Panini Hawthorne, you’ve got a long day ahead of you.”

Your brows furrowed. “You training him for the Macy’s day parade or something?”

“Similar to that. Hawthorne style,” he said with a grin that greatly reflected Jameson.

“Do not suspend him from a helicopter like you did with our last dog? That did not end well for Wilhelmina,” Grayson scolded.

What happened to Wilhelmina?

Xander huffed out a long sigh, groaning and whining like a little kid. “You always ruin my plans, little Graybe-“

“Don’t even try that with me, Alexander.” The full name again. What was up with him today?

Xander turned around, pulling out a remote control to have Tiramisu slowly follow him as he sulked away. But Tiramisu’s smiley little dog face was the opposite of Xander’s, tongue out and panting.

“Xander?” you called. He slowly, dramatically, turned around to face you again. “Who’s feeding the turkeys?”

“We’re going in an order. I’m first, then Jamie, Grayson, Nash, Avery, Libby, and last Oren,” he mumbled, still keeping his sad face on.

He turned back around, pulling out a remote control to push Tiramisu around as he wobbled away. Beside Xander, Tiramisu was the opposite, his face all smiley, tongue out, tail wagging, and panting.

When they were far enough away, you looked up at Grayson, your best attempt at a mad face directed at him.

He noticed your expression, arching a brow—those weirdly perfect brows. No, it was actually weird—and cocking his head. “What’s that face for?”

“That was really mean, Grayson. I think you should apologize,” you declared.

Grayson gave you a look, one that you knew meant that you both mutual understood something, but you were deciding to act like you didn’t. “He’s going to be okay. I know he’s going to be okay. And the look he gave me just means he’s going to do that, but ten times worse.”

“But you called him his full name. Twice!” You’d almost never heard Xander be called by his full name. Not even by Nash. It genuinely took you a second to realize that Alexander wasn’t an inside joke between Xander and Grayson.

“Trust me, he’ll be okay,” he said, finally, squeezing your arm and giving you a kiss on the top of the head. “Now, how about we go back to our gallery walk?”

The smile reappeared on your face and the two of you turned around, making your way back into Hawthorne House.

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Thursday, November 21st, 2024

Somehow, on this fine evening, every just so happened to be eating lunch at the same time, small talk filling the table as they passed plates around, piling food on top of other food that you knew were not goin for taste good once all mixed together. But for some strange reason, Avery and Jameson made it a competition to see who could stack their plate higher without a single thing falling. They were both well off their plates, at least six inches of food each. You and Grayson shared the same disgusted look. Yeah, your family wasn’t as fancy as all these people, but at least you had manners.

Suddenly, with dramatic effect, Xander burst into the room, a panicked look that you had never seen before on his face. The bang made Avery jump, knocking over everything on your plate, mingling with all the other food. Her hand flew over her mouth at the mess. Not only did it topple over and mix everything, it splattered everything everywhere, on everyone, and Tiramisu was more than happy to clean up the floor.

“Xander!” Avery screeched. Her face softened when she saw Xander’s. “Xander..?

“They. Are. Gone.” He punctuated each word with a force you’d expect out of Grayson.

Nash swiftly stood up, getting into his ready stance. “Who is gone, Xan?”

“The turkeys. When I went to go check and see if they ate all their breakfast, there was only one left. I didn’t close that pen right, they’re all gone,” his tone was frantic, more than you had ever heard from him before.

Grayson followed Nash but his stance was much more protective, aware. “That just means that they are on the premises, not exactly inside of Hawthorne House.”

Xander shook his head violently. “They are inside. The seven that got out. And they are out for revenge,” he panted. You finally made the connection that he was probably running from them.

Oren started to talk to someone on his radio, giving them instructions on what measures to take next. Xander sat down at the table, swiping his finger through Avery’s fallen mix of ham, cheese, mayo, grapes, and some garlic sauce. Xanders face twisted, then loosened, and continued that pattern. Grayson had migrated over to Oren, trying to go through everything they had to do.

The rest of the lunch was silent, doors locked, waiting for the anticipation of the turkeys.

“So everyone-“

“Shut the fuck up.”

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It wasn’t long before one of the turkeys tried to claim its first victim.

Can turkeys fly?

Yes, turkeys can fly, but only short distances.

Speed

Wild turkeys can fly at speeds of up to 55 miles per hour.

Oh. My. Fucking. God. Help me.

⋆ ⁑ ❂ ⁑ ⋆ ⁑ ❂ ⁑ ⋆ ⁑ ❂ ⁑ ⋆

You were aimlessly roaming Hawthorne House, trying to find something to distract yourself with. Thundering footsteps came from down the hall, screaming accompanying the steps. It was a familiar shriek. Avery. And then you heard it, what she was running from. The gobbles echoed through the endless halls, not allowing you to know where it was coming from.

You looked around for any kind of escape, anything high enough that you could still climb on. You time spent with the Hawthornes and built you an expertise in climbing, even when there was almost nothing to climb. There was the tiniest ledge, just enough to fit your foot, so, you began your climb. Arm moving up and over, feet bracing against the wall.

On top of the ledge, your legs shook, almost taking you down to the ground. Avery’s footsteps grew louder as they approached you, the flapping of wings following. She shrieked again, the slapping of her shoes against the ground growing closer together, her legs moving faster.

“What the fuck!” she screamed, her arms pumping as she rounded a corner, coming in to view.

Suddenly, she ran into something. She faced the turkey, its speed slowing. They were at a standstill. Avery versus the turkey. Avery stood proud, trying to cover her obviously shaking hands and legs, her breathing ragged. She licked her lips, staring down the turkey. Taking her eyes off for only a second, she looked up at you, pleading in her gaze.

“Are you just gonna sit there and stare? Help me!” she called out, disturbing the turkey. It gave an aggressive gobble, taking a step toward Avery and flapping it’s wings. She moved backwards, slightly stumbling.

Under you, the wall shook, knocking you off balance. You almost fell, but narrowly caught the ledge with your shaking fingers, her hands almost too sweaty to hold you up. Without any warning, a loud crack came from under you. Avery instinctively ducked down, her arms covering her head. The turkey fell over, it’s body still on the floor, a small hole behind where the turkey had just stood.

It felt like your legs moved without any signals from your brain, nothing was telling you to move but you were.

“Avery!” you said, rushing over to her. You knelt beside her, your hand rubbing up and down her back. “It’s okay, shh, you’re okay,” your voice was gentle. Her body shook as she pulled herself up, wrapping her arms around you.

Footsteps echoed from behind the two of you, and you turned to find Jameson holding one of the Winchester rifles. How fitting. Then, you connected the dots. Secret passage way.

“Avery,” Jameson breathed out, falling down beside you. “Are you okay? I’m sorry I scared you.” Similar to Xander earlier that day, he looked more panicked than ever, scooping Avery out of your arms.

“I’m fine,” she said shakily, her breathing still uneven.

“Fine and okay aren’t the same thing, Heiress,” Jameson said, a small, soft, trying-to-be-comforting smile on his face.

Avery took one more deep breath before sitting up, untangling herself from Jameson. “I’m okay. I promise.”

The two sat for a moment, just staring at each other.

“We should probably clean that up,” you commented, loosely referring to the dead turkey a few feet away.

“Yeah,” they sighed together.

⋆ ⁑ ❂ ⁑ ⋆ ⁑ ❂ ⁑ ⋆ ⁑ ❂ ⁑ ⋆

After Oren had come and cleaned the turkey up, you traveled back to you and Grayson’s room, flopping down on the bed next to Grayson and his laptop. You gave a dramatic sigh, finally able to breathe fully.

“What’s that for?” Grayson asked, starting at her collarbone and tracing a finger down your arm into your hand.

“One turkey down,” you began, “six to go.”

⋆ ⁑ ❂ ⁑ ⋆ ⁑ ❂ ⁑ ⋆ ⁑ ❂ ⁑ ⋆

Friday, November 22nd, 2024

Some nights, when even you couldn’t get Grayson to fall asleep, you two resorted to the few other people Grayson felt——not necessarily safe sleeping in a room with——comfortable to sleep in a room with if you were their too. Grayson’s eyes drooped, and you felt so bad. He hadn’t slept much before you had arrived back at Hawthorne House from Harvard, the place where he had betrayed you and left. He didn’t really betray you, just had his own shit to deal with. But, still, it hurt. The dark circles under his eyes were more prominent than ever, shadowing his pale face. You also came to the realization that his heightened irritability—Xander’s first name, the purple turkeys—was due to Grayson’s lack of sleep. Poor thing.

You wrapped one of the millions of blankets Xander had in his pile that he called a bed around Grayson, tucking him in snuggly.

“Good night,” you whispered against his ear, giving his cheek a soft kiss.

Xander was also somewhere in the pile, probably cuddled up with Max or some of his stuffed animals.

“Good night to you too, Xan,” you whisper called, a waving hand appearing somewhere underneath the blankets.

Xander had a strange habit of forgetting to close doors. Anywhere he went. Any time. But he especially did when he went to bed. You always assumed he didn’t have much of a night time routine. Well, until Max came around and forced him into a nightly skincare routine. Or maybe Xander just liked to have that small nightlight, just a little childlike comfort.

Lying behind Grayson, your legs wrapped around his waist, your arm draping over him side under his arm. You tried to sleep, you really did, but with the events from today, you couldn’t help your open eyes. Grayson’s hair twirled around your finger, his light snoring, Xanders not-so light snoring, Max wiggling around in her sleep. Everyone in the house was peaceful, but you just couldn’t focus. And when you tried to sleep, you only thought about not sleeping, keeping you awake even longer.

So quiet. So eerily quiet. Nothing like what you were used to sleeping through in Cambridge. Or, at least, your first year when you were required to live on campus. Since then, and kind of to apologize for leaving, Grayson got you a nice house not too far from campus. It was nice and cozy—2 bed, 3 bath, nice finished basement equipped with a bar!—just what you were looking for. It kind of reminded you of the heaps of blankets you were in right now.

One game you enjoyed playing in Xander’s room was Dig In His Weird Blanket Pile And See What You Find! It was kind of like a blind bag: you never know what you’re going to pull out.

You dug your hand in, feeling around until you found something. It was cold, despite the warmth of the blankets, circular, felt like glass. You wretched our hand out of the pile, holding up a small, glass ball. A Fushigi ball? Hawthornes and their weird talents. You put that one back down, digging around for something else. Your fingers caught in something else, pulling out a crochet hook, a single piece of yarn connecting it to a half finished crochet dog that vaguely resembles Tiramisu.

You continued to dig around, finding new random things, some you didn’t even know existed. When your hand was touching the bottom of this pit, the room got lighter, and lighter. The door was creaking open. But Nash wouldn’t be up, he probably would’ve woken Libby up. And why would Jameson or Avery be coming in here at this hour? That left only one thing.

The fucking turkeys.

You froze, your arm still in the sea of blankets, unable to move. Beside you, Grayson shifted, rubbing his head around, his brows furrowing when we couldn’t find your hand.

“Mm,” he whined, his arm reaching to feel around. Your free arm roughly grasped his wrist, stirring him more. “What are you doing…” he trailed off when he saw the panic on your face, the utter fear. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” He sat up fully, grabbing your hands. You looked back up at the ledge of the pit until he followed your gaze. He must have noticed the weird amount of light streaming into the room.

Then the gobble came. And another. Were there multiple? Here? Right now?

Like some sort of sleeper agent—literally—Max launched up from where she was sleeping, bringing Xander’s arm with her. Xander stirred too, rubbing his eyes as he sat up.

“What the fuck was that?” Max whispered, her eyes locked forward as if she wasn’t able to move, that if she did some monster—the turkeys—would come out and attack her.

There was a figure peering over the ledge now, casting a shadow on Max. It’s sickly long neck, that stupid beak, the feathers down the rest of the body. You were only just realizing how terribly inaccurate your hand-turkey drawings had been. It gobbled again, flapping its wings, and jumped down. Max screamed, scrambling out of the pit. You followed, confused and disoriented, the lack of sleep catching up to you. Grayson rushed up after you, his arms going around you.

Xander continued to look around confused. And then he began to, very slowly, climb onto the ledge, wobbling across his room to somewhere by a desk of some sort. “Don’t freak out, you guys. I have something for this.”

Of course he did.

He adjusted the screws or bolts of mechanical things you didn’t understand, paying very close attention to the turkey’s position. He pulled a small lever back, and then let go. It was another one of his weird machines, the ones that take too many steps. The thing ran almost all the way around his room: on the walls, the book ridden ceiling, the floor, even. Only seconds after that lever was released, a ball, in your mind a canon ball, launched from a corner not too far from you, hitting the turkey square in the head.

That drew a gasp from you, Max, and Grayson, all still standing huddled in a corner.

“There,” Xander said, grogginess roughening his voice, “are you better now?”

⋆ ⁑ ❂ ⁑ ⋆ ⁑ ❂ ⁑ ⋆ ⁑ ❂ ⁑ ⋆

You and Grayson laid on the floor of Nash and Libby’s room, Max curled up next to you. The door was locked securely, making sure to pose no danger to the sleeping people inside.

⋆ ⁑ ❂ ⁑ ⋆ ⁑ ❂ ⁑ ⋆ ⁑ ❂ ⁑ ⋆

Saturday, November 23rd, 2024

When your eyes finally opened, they met Nash’s, Grayson standing beside him.

“Mornin’,” he said, patting your shoulder. The surface under you was comfortable, squishy, compared to the floor you, Grayson, and Max had chosen to sleep on last night.

When you finally collected your mind, you focused on where you were, what you knew about the turkeys now. I’m in Libby and Nash’s bed, I think, and two turkeys have been taken down. That leaves only five more, that could be done in a day, right?

“Are you feeling any better?” Grayson asked, his voice soft and quiet.

You completely ignored the question. “Where is Xander?”

A small smile pulled at Grayson’s lips, warming your heart. Your face also heated up thinking about the fact you most likely looked like you crawled out of a dumpster five seconds ago.

“Xan slept in his own room. He’s okay, too,” Grayson assured, running a hand through your hair, getting caught in the knots near the bottom.

“Mm,” you hummed in recognition. You stuffed your face back into one of the pillows, trying to drift off again. Grayson’s hand ran down your back, stopping just above your hips and tracing back up.

It was nice, having him there with you, something to keep you steady in the midst of all these turkey troubles. Your mind drifted off, dreaming of pool what and hot summer days, cameras and candid polaroid pictures, Grayson’s violin and your piano matching in just the right places.

⋆ ⁑ ❂ ⁑ ⋆ ⁑ ❂ ⁑ ⋆ ⁑ ❂ ⁑ ⋆

The next time you woke up, the room was more familiar the things you had dreamed of: playful strings of photos on the wall, his violins hanging with them. It was nice to have that feeling of home in at least one place here.

It was so quiet. Quieter than you had ever heard it. Even in the dead of night you could here Jameson and Avery scurrying around, Grayson taking a swim, Xander working up late on his next project, the steady strum of Nash’s guitar, used to put the babies to bed. Everyone had probably locked themself up in their room, including you. But then where was Grayson?

Deciding it was time for your next quest, you got up, wobbling over to the closet, and then the bathroom, finally getting ready for the day. You didn’t feel like doing much today; just a simple sweater, jeans, and a pair of fluffy socks you pulled out of some looks of clothes you were hiding from Grayson.

After leaving the bathroom, you opened the door to the balcony, the cold air washing over your body. You peered over the railing, the pool water still leaving no sign that Grayson had been there. Strange. Guess the next stop was the music room.

The hallways were especially empty today. Not even a cleaner or security walking around. That’s why the hallways were so quiet. It was eerie walking through the halls, the ceiling too tall now, the walls too close, the hall too long, a shiver creeping up your spine. Your steps quicken, trying to looking for any signs of Grayson. But it was like he just disappeared, gone.

Standing outside of the empty music room, you felt weak, tired too, your lack of sleep finally catching up to you. Then, your ears caught the beginning of a note, followed by another, and another, each played flawlessly, tuned perfectly. Maybe the music room wasn’t so empty. But piano wasn’t exactly Grayson’s forte. Your head peeked in, catching a glimpse of a figure at one of the pianos. A cane leaned up against the bench gave away who it could be. The sound of your steps light, you entered the room, trying not to disturb Nan as she listened to the piano.

“I know you’re there,” she said, her voice as gruff as usual. “You ain’t sneaky.”

Now caught, with no escape, you walk over to the piano, standing on the other end of the bench.

“Sorry to disturb you,” you said. Nan looked over to you, and you were just now realizing where Nash had gotten his many faces from. “Mind if I sit here? I won’t make a peep,” you promised.

“Fine,” she huffed.

You took a seat beside her, gentle to not knock over her cane of the other side. Sitting silently, you watched as the piano keys pressed themselves down, the music following with them.

“You play?” she asked, breaking the silence between the two of you.

You nodded slowly. “Sorta. I’m rusty though,” you admitted. You placed your hands gently on the piano keys, thinking up a song to play. Her fingers pressed down the key, moving in a familiar rhythm. The occasional press of the wrong key would stop you, making the song choppy. But you couldn’t help to think that those mistakes, the things that might slow you down, just added character.

Nan swayed to the music beside you, matching the rhythm. She seemed to recognize the song, know how to play it, pressing down a key or two on her side when it might have seemed too far from you. It was nice to have this moment. Most of the time, and what had been described of her, Nan wasn’t gentle, she was gruff, she was snorted laughs, she was bored huffs. Or maybe, just maybe, Nan was just Nan.

“You’re good,” her voice seemed softer now, calm “Y’know that, right?”

You nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

Her finger rested against one of the lower octave note, playing a simple pattern, switching between notes. Her head turned the slightest bit toward you, you could feel it.

“C’mere more often. I can get you to learn some of my favorite songs,” she said. A smile grew on your face, returned with a not so happy look. “Don’t make that face. You’re starting to look like Xander.”

Pad-pad-pad

The hell?

Pad-pad-pad

You leaned over, trying to see on Nan’s side, find where the padding feet were coming from. Riding up next to the two of you, an animal came in, bobbing its head as it walked. The turkey.

“How are you in here?” Nan said at the turkey, and the way she said it made it seem like she actually expected an answer from it.

Gobble

She stared at the turkey, like the stare-down Avery had had with the first turkey. Her hand reached over for the precariously balanced cane.

Poke

“Get.”

Blank stare.

Poke

“Get.”

Blank stare.

“You’re really going to make me up, aren’t you, bastard,” she huffed, standing up and using the piano as leverage.

Her cane swung aimlessly in the air, only hitting the turkey a few times. “Scram!” she shouted at it, watching as it scurried away in her presence.

Bonk

The turkey slammed right into the wall.

Thud

Another loud sound as the turkey hit the ground.

Similar to Nan, you just stared at it, motionless.

“One more turkey down,” you grumbled.

⋆ ⁑ ❂ ⁑ ⋆ ⁑ ❂ ⁑ ⋆ ⁑ ❂ ⁑ ⋆

Sunday, November 24th, 2024

Waddling into the kitchen, you jumped up to sit on the counter beside Libby’s chocolate cupcakes.

“Libbbyyy,” you said.

“Yeeeeesss,” she dragged as she carefully frosted a cupcake.

You put on your best puppy eyes, looking at her like a little kid. “Can you make me something for lunch?”

“You’re twenty-two,” someone drawled from behind you. “You don’t need Lib to make you lunch.”

You flicked your hand at Nash, not even turning around to look at him. “Shoo.”

“Excuse me?” Nash said, his voice now right behind you.

Nash walked around the counter, a baby balancing on his hip, taking a ball of cookie dough off of a baking sheet nearby and popping it in his mouth. “I think,” he said around the cookie dough, “you should make your own lunch and let Lib breathe.”

“Thank you, Nash, but I think I can take care of myself.”

The baby was placed on the counter next to you, looking up and smiling at you.

“Hi, there, baby,” you squealed, picking her up and placing her on your lap, moving her arms around to fake punch or lifting them up and down, making her dance. She giggles and squeals, looking around, until her face dropped, looking at the entrance to the kitchen. Following her gaze, your eyes landed on another one of those stupid turkeys.

“Another one?” you whispered, drawing the attention of Nash and Libby.

“Another what-“

The room froze, everyone’s eyes on the turkey. Everything in the room was still, just staring. Until the turkey screamed its battle cry.

“What the hell,” Nash muttered, watching as the turkey ran in circles around the kitchen.

Libby jumped onto the counter watching as the turkey made a b-line toward her. She screeched, grabbing that pan of cookie dough and throwing it, hitting the turkey right on the head. Her hands flew to her mouth, covering it in shock.

“I just killed that turkey,” she mumbled. “I just killed that fucking turkey,” she repeated, her eyes wide.

Across the room, Nash stood staring at Libby. “Good job, Lib,” he said proudly.

“Usually, the turkey in the kitchen is dead,” Jameson said, entering the kitchen. Avery soon followed behind, probably startled by all the commotion.

“Libby, what’s wrong? What was that bang? And most of all, why are you on the counter?” She gave no time to answer any of the questions.

Libby’s mouth opened and closed like a fish, trying to form words.

“Are those turkey cupcakes?” Avery asked, looking to the tray of cupcakes beside Libby.

“I was stress baking!”

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Monday, November 25th, 2024

It was quiet again, the hallways. They weren’t empty this time, though, just quiet. Sitting on one of the many benches placed around Hawthorne House, you were reading a book, still too distracted by the turkeys which defeated the purpose of reading. Or what reading was supposed to be doing right now. Your book just wasn’t interesting enough. It couldn’t grab your attention like so many others had before. You thought it could be an escape, but it failed, miserably. Every sound, the rustle of a tree, the audible explosion of one of Xander’s creations, the faint shriek of Grayson’s violin, it all made you jump. When was the next time you’d be accosted by a turkey?

Bark, bark, bark

“Tiramisu!” Xander screeched as he ran after Tiramisu, both of them moving directly toward you.

Tiramisu jumped on the bench beside you, sticking his nose in your nose and then licking all over your face, sending you into a fit of giggles.

“Xander!” you said, choppy through your laughter. “Help me!”

Once Xander had gotten to the bench, he opened his arm, scooping up Tiramisu. “I told you to stay by me, missy,” he said, “I said you had to be the Oren to my Avery!”

“You’re using Tiara as your bodyguard?” you laughed in disbelief, the concept of Tiramisu, so tiny next to Xander, being his bodyguard was comical.

Xander head nodded proudly, placing Tiramisu back on the ground. He flopped onto the bench, blowing out an exaggerated sigh. “It’s like this dog doesn’t even know English.”

You snorted. “Xander, you’re not gonna believe what I’m about to tell you…”

A smile grew on his face, looking over at you. “Aren’t you ecstatic to have Katrina here? I know you love her so much.” One of his long, skinny fingers approached you, poking your cheek.

Rolling your eyes, you huffed. “I don’t know. At least Gigi will be there.”

“Yeah, that’s good,” said Xander. Tiramisu jumped up on the bench, lying on her back and spreading across your and Xander’s laps, all smiling and panting. Your hand instinctively went to his belly, petting him.

Suddenly, a thought came to your mind. “Who takes Tiramisu on walks?”

Xander stared blanking at the cleanly lined trees across the path, his smile fading. “That’s a very good question.” He cocked his head, genuinely lost in thought.

“Oh, my gosh. I don’t know who walks Tiramisu,” he admitted. “I don’t even know if she gets walked.”

The two of you sat, contemplating Tiramisu’s daily schedule, trying to find any space where a walk could fit it.

“She has her morning bath at 8, then she has breakfast at 9:30, every other week at 10:30 she has her manicure,” Xander said. “12:00 she has lunch and then goes to play.”

“Maybe that’s when she gets walked?”

“But that’s play time, not walking. At 12:45, she’s tired and takes her afternoon nap in Libby and Nash’s room, and joins Nash for a doggy guitar lesson and then a doggy piano lesson at 2:00 and 2:30.”

“How does she even play guitar or piano? It’s not like she has fingers,” you asked, thinking of all the possible, stupid, ways that Xander could have come up with.

Xander shot up, intrigued by the opportunity to share his creation. “Okay, so it’s one really big piano, like, each key is a foot wide, and it’s like those ones that you can step on to play it and it’s really fun.”

“What about the guitar?”

“That’s one isn’t really her playing, she just kind of paws at the strings and Nash’s hand…”

“Oh.”

More silence. Tiramisu panting. You pull your phone out, checking the time. 12:19 Perfect timing.

“Perfect timing,” you voiced. “It’s play time.”

Tiramisu shot up, jumping off of your laps and spinning in circles, waiting for you and Xander to play with her.

“Should we play with the long sword today?” Xander joked, standing up and aggressively rubbing Tiramisu’s back.

“For sure,” you said sarcastically, getting up from your own position, closing your book not caring about where you were.

Tiramisu trotted next to you as the group of you walked to one of the many expensive fields scattered around the Hawthorne property. There was actually an area dedicated to Tiramisu, a bucket of toys and beaten up sticks near the entrance to the fenced off land.

He fake threw it a few times, finally letting it go and watching Tiramisu launch after it, a bolt of brown, curly fur.

“We really need to find a time to get her walked,” you sighed.

“Or just ask Nash if she goes on walks.” Xander shrugged slightly, taking the returned stick and catapulting it again. You were surprised that Xander didn’t have a machine for this yet, but you guessed he just really wanted to spend some time with Tiara.

“Christmas is also coming up, maybe we’ll do something fun again like the other year,” reminded Xander.

You rolled your eyes at the thought of having to do Hawthorne Secret Santa That’s Not At All Secret Santa. “Crazy how me and Tiramisu got each other. She couldn’t even get me a present!”

“She did get you a present,” Xander pouted.

Shooting a glare at him, you crossed your arms. “I proper present. Not a pigeon he found on the driveway.”

A minute passed and Tiramisu still hadn’t returned. She couldn’t have gone far, but surely it had been far enough for you to not see her at all.

Another minute.

Tick, tock

Another minute.

What’s taking so long?

“Tiara?” You called, your voice echoing through the wind. “Tiara? Tiramisu!”

Nothing but trees rustling.

“Tiramisu Panini Hawthorne!” Xander shouted, starting to walk in the direction Tiramisu had last ran to. “Where are you?”

Trudging up the hilly part of Tiramisu’s play area, you peeked to the fall of the hill, two figures running around at the lowest point. You could easily recognize Tiramisu being one of them.

“Tiramisu!” you repeated, running down the hill. Watching as the hyper dog ran around after something, she finally caught up, pouncing on it.

“What is that?” Xander muttered, following you down the hill.

Approaching the writhing animal and Tiramisu, you recognized the long neck, the feathered body, the distorted squabble.

She got another turkey!

You scrambled over to her, rubbing and petting her. “Good girl, Tiara!”

“Yay!!” Xander whooped from behind you, pumping his fists in the air and jumping up and down. “Tiramisu’s a hero!” he chanted.

“Tiramisu’s a hero!” you joined in, jumping around as Tiramisu ran in circles around you.

Two turkeys left. Which, based on this pattern, two more days.

⋆ ⁑ ❂ ⁑ ⋆ ⁑ ❂ ⁑ ⋆ ⁑ ❂ ⁑ ⋆

Tuesday, November 26th, 2024

Gigi’s arrival was scheduled for today. And Katrina. Ugh.

Avery was always the one to greet people at the door, as she owned Hawthorne House and didn’t want anyone doing anything for her. With the events of the last five days, Avery had to, reluctantly, bring a whole new group of bodyguards to the door.

You decided to join them, thinking that it would save you from the turkeys that seemed weirdly attracted to you. Your meet up spot was far from the entrance—in some random meeting room one the third floor of Hawthorne House. Maybe turkeys couldn’t climb stairs? It’s only other method of getting to the third floor would be elevator which wouldn’t work very well for them.

“So, Avery,” you said, sidling up into the beside Avery, “how do you think Thanksgiving is going to go this year? Seems pretty eventful already.”

“Not good.” Her head was balanced in her hands, elbows in the table. “Everything has gone to shit because of those stupid turkeys.”

Reassuringly patting her back, you leaned back in your chair. “I think it’ll be fine. Thanksgiving—scratch that, any holiday—here is always a little eventful. Like secret santa the other year.”

“Oh, my god, that was hilarious. Libby got out so fast,” she let out in a laugh.

“Oh! Not really a holiday, but from what I’ve heard of Nash’s bachelor party,” you said. “You know what?” Avery hummed. “I should get Grayson a pair of fresh leather pants for Christmas this year.”

Avery let out a strained giggle, trying to hold it in, before she exploded, throwing her head back and leaning in her chair, almost tipping it over.

“Ms. Grambs,” one of the new bodyguards said, his voice commanding. Your laughter quickly subsided, leaving you and Avery silent. “Ms. Grayson will be here soon. I recommend starting to walk to the entrance in order to get here before she does.”

Avery nodded, standing up from her chair, stretching, and walking over to Oren. You followed her like a lost puppy, standing awkwardly on the side as she tells Oren what the other bodyguard had just said to her.

“Shall we get going?” she offers.

“We shall,” Oren replies flatly.

With what seemed like an entire army of bodyguards behind you, Avery, and Oren, you started your journey, through the windy halls and passageways.

Truly, you were excited to have Gigi over, thrilled, but it was that cat. Katrina. Katrina Katrina. Now, she wouldn’t do anything to you—couldn’t do anything. It was just that hunger way she looked at you, her eyes forming into slits as she glared at you from perched beside Gigi.

“I can just tell you’re thrilled to have Katrina over,” Avery said, practically reading your mind.

“Me and Grayson already had this conversation,” you huffed, shaking your head at the ground.

Avery just laughed, following your gaze to the ground. “It just,” she paused. “Katrina isn’t even scary.”

“It’s not that!” you burst. “It’s not that she herself is scary, it’s just that way she looks at me like I’m her next meal. Like I’m one of the turkeys!”

Avery seemed very amused by your argument, just smirking that smile that told you she had spent one too many hours with Jameson.

“Maybe you are her next meal,” Avery teased, poking your ribs.

“You’d just let me get scarfed down by that cat?” you scoffed. “Wow. What a fake friend.” You crossed your arms, dramatically turning away from Avery and picking up your speed.

Avery just skipped after you, jumping on your back and holding your sleeve to keep you close by. “I was just kidding, jeez,” she laughed, watching as a smile broke out on your face. “See! You aren’t even mad at me!”

You joined her giggling, knocking into each other as you walked through the halls, laughing over stupid stuff that probably wasn’t even funny.

“Oh, my god!” Avery jumped up. “There’s something I have to tell you about! Okay, let’s set the scene, I’m in my room, it’s an unusually quiet night. Jameson isn’t back yet and his curfew, set by me because we had an event early the next morning, was way behind us. Hours behind.”

“Damn. Grayson would never. Could,” you corrected.

“I know! I’m getting tired, it’s like twelve and I’m just planning on going to bed by myself, cold and lonely,” she continued.

You wrapped your arm around her shoulder, pulling you in. “You could have just cuddled with me,” you said with a wink.

“Aww,” she shimmed her shoulders against you. “Okay, back to my story! The lights are off, I’m almost asleep, until the door finally creaks over, Jameson standing in the doorframe. To be funny, I pretended to sleep, waiting for him to shake me awake or something. But all that happens is that Jameson crawls into bed next to me— Oh! I forgot to mention he was drunk. Yeah, so, he crawls up next to me and just whispers in my ear,” she lowered her voice into a whisper, “‘I have a secret…’”

You recognized that, something Avery had mentioned one time when she was talking about her mom. “Doesn’t that have something to do with your mom..?” you guessed, shrinking away in case you were wrong.

“Yes! At this point, I’m intrigued, waiting for Jameson to whisper whatever this secret was into my ear. And what he said is un-fucking-believable. He says: ‘When me and Nash and Grayson and Xander were younger, we tried starting a band, and we uploaded a bunch of videos to YouTube—it was a private account—but someone hacked in and made it public. So, somewhere on the internet, you can find video of all of us dressed up real funny and singing a bunch of shitty songs.’”

Your mouth drops open, trying to picture a younger Grayson on some makeshift stage at Hawthorne House, performing some pop or rock song.

Avery just laughs and smiles at your shocked expression. “That’s exactly how I felt on the inside,” she giggled, clearing her throat to continue her story. Again. “Like any sane person, of course I go in my computer the next day, and search up their little band. It wasn’t difficult, even if I didn’t have a name, and lord was it funny. Jameson on electric guitar, Nash playing some regular guitar, Xander on drums, and Grayson for vocals.”

“You’re kidding!”

“I’m not!”

“She isn’t!” a new voice pops in. In front of you stood Gigi, Hello Kitty suitcase almost exploding, mostly like being packed with cat toys. Katrina was sitting next to her, way too professional for a cat.

“So?” Gigi lifts her eyebrows. “What is she not kidding about?”

You and Avery grinned at each other, slowly turning to Gigi. “Your brother and his brothers’ attempt at a boy band,” you both said.

Gigi gasped dramatically, a smile stretching across her face. “You’re kidding!”

“She’s not!”

“I’m not!”

Not too far, as you’d expect, was Oren, the smallest hint of a smile in his face. He noticed you staring, gesturing a nod toward Avery. “She isn’t lying. I was there.”

Through the commotion of laughter and conversation, it would’ve been hard to hear anyone, anything if something went wrong. Or if you had a visitor.

“Ow!” Gigi winced, placing a hand on her hip and rubbing it. “What was that?” She jumped again. “Ow! What the…” She looked down to her left, finding the perpetrator.

“A turkey?” she asked, her voice a mix of shocked confusion and fear. And then full fledged fear as she realized that there was a turkey trying to get her. “It’s a turkey!” she squeaked, running over and trying to climb Oren like a jungle gym.

Noticing her alert, he gets right in to bodyguard mode, looking around for the threat. He landed on the turkey, reaching somewhere on his hip.

“You two, move back. Now,” he ordered, not wasting a second once we had. Just like the first turkey taken down, a loud bang rang out, the turkey thudding on the floor after.

A new commotion broke out after the shot was fired, filling the foyer with a sound too loud for you. Quiet was something you were used to now. It wasn’t too nothing, it just was. But this, it broke all of that quiet.

⋆ ⁑ ❂ ⁑ ⋆ ⁑ ❂ ⁑ ⋆ ⁑ ❂ ⁑ ⋆

Wednesday, November 27th, 2024

There was one last turkey. One final turkey before this was all over. Like you had the day the turkey war began, everyone was gathered in one of the dining room to eat lunch, but instead, it was a meeting.

“Okay, everyone!” Avery commanded from the head of the table, standing up from her chair. “I have brought you here today to discuss our game plan to take down the final torturous turkey. I have devised a role for each of you.”

A list appeared on a screen that seemed invisible until now.

Avery and Y/N: Gamemasters [;)] - Will create solutions and test products alongside our Builders.

Libby and Nash: Healers (Lots of baked goods…) - Helps in case of emergencies.

Jameson and Gigi: Fuel - Food, drinks, whatever. Most likely working beside our Healers.

Grayson and Oren: Logistics (of sorts) - Thinks about how our plan may actually work, what might go wrong, and how to fix it.

Xander and Max: Builders (you’ve got this, Max!) - Builds our solution if needed, tests it too.

Oren’s Men: Capturers - searches for the turkey and relays messages to Oren.

Tiramisu & Katrina: Our Last Resort Weapons - If all else fails, we have them to use.

“Working in these teams will help our plan work better. Each of us being alone may cause too much stress or tension. Having multiple people on a job will also move things alone faster,” Avery states. “Lots of these roles will work with other roles, example, Gamesmakers will often work with the Logicians and Builders. Because of our collaboration, we’ll need a method of communication. Phones may be laggy and are very reliant on battery, which some of us don’t value.” Avery shot a glare at Jameson. “So, each of you will be given a walkie-talkie.” She looked to Oren, motioning for a box on the floor ten feet from the table. He lifted the box, walking around the table and distributing one to each member.

“Now, shall we spread out? Our Healers: Libby, Nash, and our Fuel: Jameson, and Gigi in the kitchen. The Gamemakers, Logistics, and Builders follow me. Capturers spread out and look for the turkey. Our final weapons will also be with our healers and fuel. Go!”

⋆ ⁑ ❂ ⁑ ⋆ ⁑ ❂ ⁑ ⋆ ⁑ ❂ ⁑ ⋆

Nothing was working. Each plan failed by just a little bit, and when you tried fixing it, it failed again. Everyone was tired. Sitting there for three hours trying to think of something, trying it , and failing. No matter how much food and drinks you were given, that adrenaline from before was starting to fade. We also haven’t got any word on where the turkey could be.

You lay on the floor, head resting on Grayson’s chest, his hand running through your hair, down your back, and back up.

“We can’t give up,” Avery said, sitting up from her defeated starfish on the floor.

“But there’s only one more option left,” you groaned.

“Katrina and Tiramisu.”

⋆ ⁑ ❂ ⁑ ⋆ ⁑ ❂ ⁑ ⋆ ⁑ ❂ ⁑ ⋆

“Oren,” a distorted voice came from his walkie-talkie, “we’ve got’em. In Alexander’s Wing. He was standing out front of Alexander’s room, almost got in. Couldn’t find him for a while; place’s a mess.”

From across the room, you watched an exaggerated frown form in Xander’s face.

“Time to move out,” Oren ordered, leading the way.

⋆ ⁑ ❂ ⁑ ⋆ ⁑ ❂ ⁑ ⋆ ⁑ ❂ ⁑ ⋆

Luckily for you, every hallway of Xander’s wing was filled to the brim with weird trinkets and big machine pieces. Hidden behind a long table which was most likely used to hold fancy decorations at one point, everyone crouched, covered by the new less fancy things piled on the table.

“Xander, you’ve really got to clean up your mess,” Nash said, that mother hen coming out of him.

Xander waved a dismissive hand in his face. “It’s fine.”

“I’ll make Grayson do it then.” Xander’s worst fear: someone possibly messing up his perfectly messy set up with their perfectly clean organization skills. Which Grayson excelled at.

Xander’s head turned slowly toward Nash, his eyes narrowed. “You. Wouldn’t. Dare.” He punctuated every word, but it was difficult to take Xander seriously sometimes.

“You know damn well I would dare,” Nash chuckled, meeting Xander’s eyes, steady and even, not even a hint of intimidation.

“Enough with the bickering,” Avery demanded. “Do you guys remember the plan?”

Avery’s head spun around, looking at everyone, landing on Libby and Max frantically shaking their heads. With a sigh, Avery explained the plan. Again. “We send you in as bait,” Avery pointed to you, “and wait for the turkey. Once it tried to attack, we jump out and attack it. If nothing else works, we send out Tiramisu and Katrina. Now do you got it?”

The silent agreement was enough for Avery, sending you out to take your place across from the turkey. You felt like Avery or Nan, staring down the turkey, waiting for any movement from it. The tension built, heart racing under the gaze of everyone, everything. This probably looked so stupid: you, standing in front of a turkey, practically have a staring contest, while everyone else was scattered around the room hidden behind piles of shit Xander needed to clean up.

You knew that even if the turkey did attack you, which was what this plan relied on, you’d be safe. Each person was equipped with a weapon of their choice. Gigi was keeping Katrina back, Oren had his gun, Avery held her knife, steady in her fingers. Jameson had a finished bottle of wine, Xander held Tiramisu back, Max had been nervously gripping her wrench before, Libby had a baking sheet, Nash had a whole goddamn guitar, and, lastly, Grayson firmly held one of the long swords. None of these people would let you get hurt, even if it was by accident every single one of them would feel bad, like it was their fault.

But now, standing in front of the turkey, you have to put all that behind. Face this stupid thing head on.

It finally made a sound, a distorted gobble. You braced for impact at the sound of a squeal coming from somewhere in the room, but it never came. When your eyes opened, a streak of light brown blew past you. Was it the turkey? It was only until that same distorted squabble cried out that you realized that either Katrina or Tiramisu. Based on the fact that Katrina would probably enjoy seeing you being eaten by a turkey, you expected to find Tiramisu wherever the flash had gone to. On one side of the room, the opposite side, you heard a whine. So it wasn’t Tiramisu.

The sound of something being dragged across the floor drew your attention back to the other side of the room. Katrina moved slowly toward you, dragging the turkey in mouth toward you. She dragged it to your feet, stopping, sitting very professionally, looking up at you and flashing one of those strange smiles that cats can pull off. She nudged the turkey with her nose, sitting back up a pawing at it.

“Katrina!” Gigi shouted, her voice a mix of anger and admiration. “What was that? You weren’t supposed to go until I told you to!” she scolded, picking Katrina up.

Katrina looked up at her with those innocent eyes, nuzzling in Gigi’s neck. Gigi huffed out a sigh, giving up on trying to lecture Katrina into listening.

“Well,” Avery said, her voice holding a confusing emotion, “that was the final turkey. It’s over.”

The room broke out into a cheer, even Oren was smiling, but the only one standing still, in the middle of it all was Avery. Weaving through everyone, you walked up to Avery, taking one of her hands.

“You okay?” you asked, trying to catch her gaze.

She shrugged. “Sure.”

You gave her that look that Nash always gave you (you were still trying to master it), cocking a brow at her (another thing you’d learned!). “What’s wrong? You sad there’s no game anymore?”

Avery stayed quiet, swaying with you when you wrapped your arms around her. “I guess,” she said shamefully.

“I swear you’re starting to sound more and more like Jameson every day,” you teased, poking her in the ribs this time. “Now, come on, turn that frown—“you flashed a smile”—upside down.”

Taking both of her hands, you forced her to dance with everyone else, swaying around the room until she finally gave in.

⋆ ⁑ ❂ ⁑ ⋆ ⁑ ❂ ⁑ ⋆ ⁑ ❂ ⁑ ⋆

Thursday, November 28th, 2024

There was a singular turkey on the large table, making it look small. Everything else was normal, and you knew damn well that with a snap of her finger Avery could have a thousand more turkey and make this year’s turkey amount normal. But she didn’t. And it felt like home. Watching everyone argue over how much turkey everyone would get, fighting over the last pieces.

Your hand searched around under the table, meeting Grayson’s and wrapping your fingers around his, leaning your head against his shoulder. A smile, unknowing smile grew on your face, watching everything, so perfect.

Maybe now you would try a little harder to make this place feel like home.

a/n: WOOOOOOOOO!!!! this took, like, over a week to write it’s actually insane. and the end still seems sort of rushed 😣😣 but i’m gonna leave it and maybe come back to it later. because of the rush, i don’t care if there’s any mistakes, this isn’t proofread……..