#just sticks some pink dye in himself and swirls it around a bit

[marshmurmurs]

how would we feel if i committed to this pete design for the season?

[expectingtofly]

Not-So-Easy-Bake Oven, 2k

Established Dean/Cas, Toddler Jack, Fluff without Plot

day 3 of @thiscastielhasflown and i's follower celebration

prompt: baking

“Petzel, petzel, petzel!” Jack chanted, banging a tiny plastic whisk on the table. He wore a kid's apron decorated with bumblebees, dotted black lines twisting and curving to show the bees' crisscrossing flights.

“Alright, buddy, give me a sec,” Dean said, pouring a bag of dry pretzel mix into a bowl. Charlie had bought Jack an Easy-Bake Oven for his fourth birthday, and this was their first time using it and its soft pretzel making kit—much to Jack’s excitement.

Cas came over from the sink with the kit’s measuring cup filled with water. “Wanna pour?” he asked Jack. He steadied Jack’s hand as he took the cup and poured it into the bowl. “Now it’s time to mix.”

He lifted Jack up to kneel on the table, and, gripping his whisk in one fist, Jack began stirring the mix and water together—if jabbing the bowl could be called stirring.

Dean opened the oven, checking to see if it was working. Already pretty warm for a squat bright pink appliance. “Woulda killed for something like this when I was younger.” He looked at the inside of his wrist. “Used to have a pretty nasty scar from when I tried making Sam brownies in some janky motel oven.”

“You should’ve never been left unattended in the kitchen at such a young age,” Cas griped, grabbing the bowl before it careened over the table's edge from Jack’s vigorous stirring. “You could’ve seriously hurt yourself. If I ever meet John…”

Dean grinned. “He’s lucky he never met you.”

“Exactly.”

"Done," Jack announced, dropping the whisk. Dean raised an eyebrow at the bowl where the mix was only half-combined, dry powder still clinging to the bowl.

"Looks good, kid," he told him, and picked up the flimsy pink whisk to finish stirring.

Jack protested, though, grabbing his hand. "Done!"

"It just needs a little more," Dean told him. "Look, it's not totally mixed."

"Hey, Jack," Cas said. "Help me pick out stuff to put in our pretzels." Successfully distracted, Jack clambered over to him and Cas carried him to the pantry.

Dean finished stirring the mix quickly. "Good choice," he heard Cas say and looked over to see him grabbing a bottle of soy sauce. Oh boy.

The oven chimed, announcing it was pre-heated, and Dean stared at the lumpy excuse for dough in the bowl. Maybe it’d look more appetizing when cooked.

"Chocolate chips, pepper, raisins, oregano," Cas listed, coming over and setting various items down on the table.

"Uhh." Dean stared at the box of corn flakes Jack carried over to the table, nearly as big as his torso. He couldn't figure out which items were Cas’ choice and which were Jack's suggestions. "Not really sure all this goes together."

"You never know," Cas said, picking Jack up and standing him on a chair.

He might not've known for sure, but he was pretty sure he could guess. "Alright, well." He dumped the dough onto the table and divided it into small sections. "Time to experiment, I guess."

Cas sprinkled flour on the table so they could roll out the dough, but before he could even close the bag, Jack smacked his hand down on the table, sending a cloud of flour into the air.

Cas coughed, waving flour away from his face and Jack cackled, one palm dusted white. Dean laughed at Cas, until Jack leaned over and swiped at his t-shirt.

"Dude, seriously?" Dean asked him, brushing his shirt off. Jack only laughed, clapping his hands to send more flour floating in the air. "How ‘bout you put the flour to good use?" Placing a small ball of dough in front of Jack, he propped up the box that the mix had come in and studied the instructions for forming a pretzel shape.

"So first you roll the dough out into a rope," he said, following along with the pictures. "Then you form it into a u-shape." He glanced at Jack to see if he was paying any attention, but Jack seemed more interested in rolling the dough around the table and through the flour. Then he yelped, staring at his hands in bewilderment.

"I'm messy," he said, staring at the dough sticking to his fingers. He held them up to Cas, who told him.

"You have to get your hands dirty." Taking one of the balls of dough, he poured some chocolate chips on it and began rolling them into the dough. "Look at Daddy."

Jack looked over at Dean, just as his dough rope tore in two. "Dammit." He balled the dough back together. “Let’s try that again.”

Before he could try, though, Jack started clamoring for the corn flakes, so Dean set a handful of the cereal on the table. "I think this is gonna mess up the baking times," he said, skimming the back of the box. "Recipe doesn't say anything about adding extra shit."

"This is a child's baking oven. It's supposed to foster fun and creativity." Cas nodded at the box.

Dean turned the box around. Fun for the whole family! it read along with a photo of perfectly formed pretzels. At the bottom, it also read, "Ages 8 and up." Ah. So maybe a little advanced for a four year old.

Corn flakes went flying and Dean dodged one shooting towards his eye. Oblivious, Jack continued crushing the cereal with the flat of his hand, a gleeful smile on his face.

"Yup, uh, good enough," Dean said quickly, grabbing Jack's hands.

"No!" Jack yelled, trying to get out of his grip.

"Take the oregano," Dean said quickly, hoping for a distraction. It worked, except now he had to hand over the container and watch Jack sprinkle the herb all over the near vicinity. Maybe he could pass off clean-up duty to Cas, who was making his own mess, adding food dye to his dough to make a swirl of purple and pink.

He helped Jack combine the corn flakes and oregano into the dough, then roll it out into a rope. Cupping Jack's hands, he guided him through curving the rope of dough into a U-shape, crossing the two ends twice, then pulling them over to make a rough pretzel shape.

“Hey, not too bad.” Pulling out his phone, he took a photo. "Smile for Charlie, Jack."

Jack held up the pretzel, effectively warping the shape, and grinned at the camera. "I make one for Auntie," he declared when Dean lowered the phone, and grabbed more dough to form his own pretzel.

“How did you do that?” Cas asked, studying the box. Going to him, Dean did the same thing he’d did with Jack, standing behind him and holding his hands to help him form a pretzel shape. Cas' fingers were dusted with flour, and Dean got a bit distracted by the way Cas leaned back against him, letting him guide him into creating a pretty decent pretzel. Not as perfect as the ones on the box, but close enough.

“I think I’ve got it,” Cas said, grabbing more dough and forming another pretzel in two easy swoops. Okay, way better than the one before.

“Did you just trick me into helping you?” Dean asked, pulling away from him slightly.

Cas tilted his head into him. “Mhm.”

Dean rolled his eyes but kissed his neck anyway.

Several tries and several more mishaps later, and they had a few semi-recognizable pretzels. Some they dipped into a cinnamon sugar glaze that came with the kit, others they placed as is into small, pink, round dishes.

“They go in here and cook for ten minutes,” Cas instructed, helping Jack push the dishes inside the oven. Jack peered into the opening, then back at Cas and Dean.

“Done now?”

“Gonna be a long ten minutes,” Dean said, setting the timer.

They tried to clean up as the pretzels cooked, though Jack was covered in so much flour, food dye, and dough that he left a trail wherever he moved. And he would not stop moving. As Dean tried to wipe down the table, Jack ran loops around the island, and when Cas tried sweeping, Jack decided to start spinning around in the middle of the kitchen until he fell over. Then do it all over again.

“If he has this much energy now, what the hell’s he gonna be like when you give him a chocolate chip pretzel?” Dean asked Cas, putting the oregano and soy sauce back. He had no idea which pretzel Cas had slipped the sauce into and was not eager to find out.

“That may have been an oversight on my part,” Cas admitted. The oven beeped and Jack rushed to the table.

“Petzel!” he began chanting again.

"Don't touch," Dean warned, using a tool from the kit to pull the dishes out of the oven and place them on the table.

“Which one do you want to try first?” Cas asked Jack, who took a moment to study the pretzels before pointing to the purple and pink one—or what was once those colors but had now taken on a more bloody appearance.

"It's pretty," he said.

“Yes, it is,” Cas agreed, transferring the pretzels onto a plate. Dean turned off the oven, then startled when Jack began crying.

“Hot!” Jack cried, pointing at the dish Dean had told him not to touch. In hindsight, he should’ve realized the temptation would’ve been too much to resist.

“Let me see,” Cas said, taking Jack’s hand.

“No, it hurt,” Jack cried, trying to pull his hand away.

“Alright, alright.” Scooping Jack up, Dean carried him over to the sink and turned on the cold water. When he held Jack’s hand under the stream, Jack squirmed, trying to get away.

“Cold!” he yelled.

“I’m trying to help, dude,” Dean told him. “This’ll make it feel better.” More startled than hurt, it seemed, Jack calmed down after a few seconds. Turning off the water, Dean studied his finger. Not even a blister, but he nodded at Cas. “Think Dada can help?”

Jack nodded and held out his finger to Cas. "Booboo.” Cas took his tiny hand and kissed his finger.

“Are you too injured to eat a pretzel?” he asked.

“No!” Jack yelled, suddenly all energy again, squirming out of Dean’s grasp. Dean set him down and he ran to the table, clambering on a chair to grab the purple/pink monstrosity of a pretzel.

“Try one,” Cas told Dean, joining Jack and pushing over the plate.

Dean grimaced, but chose the cinnamon sugar and corn flake one. Why that was even a combination was beyond him. Bracing himself, he took a bite. Okay. Dry. Pretty bland. Crunchy which was just wrong, but not horrible—wait. He took that back. Oregano and cinnamon sugar did not go well together.

"Um. Well.” He choked down the rest of the bite and set the pretzel back on the plate. “These are, uh..."

"Not good," Cas finished. He squinted at his own pretzel, then took another hesitant bite. Instantly, his face screwed up, and he shook his head, dropping the pretzel onto the plate. “It seems you were right. Soy sauce, pepper, and raisins do not mix."

“Who would’ve thought?” Dean deadpanned. Jack munched happily on his pretzel, cinnamon sugar covering his chubby cheeks. “Someone’s enjoying them, at least.”

“For Charlie,” Jack announced, pointing at one of the pretzels on the plate.

“She’ll love a day-old pretzel,” Dean told him.

“Yes, she will,” Cas said, giving Dean a look. He pushed Jack’s hair back from his face. “It’s the thought that counts.”

Jack abandoned the colorful pretzel for the chocolate chip one, then the corn flake one. True to his word, he left one untouched on the plate for Charlie. She would get a kick out of it when she visited. I knew he'd love it!! she'd responded to the photo Dean had sent her of Jack holding up a pretzel.

“This was fun,” Cas said, a smile on his face, watching Jack.

“Yeah.” Dean looked over at the mess of bowls and dishes in the sink and back at the flour streaked table. Making a fist over his open palm, he said, “Loser has to clean.”

Cas straightened, a competitive gleam in his eye. “Agreed.”

“Rock, paper, scissors, shoot.” Cas threw scissors and Dean threw paper.

“Dammit,” he exclaimed. “You always do rock.”

Cas grinned. “And so I conditioned you to think I’d do it now.”

“Christ, when’d you get so conniving?” He got up and asked Jack, “You wanna help your old man clean?”

“No, tank you,” Jack replied.

“‘Least he was polite,” Cas said.

“Good luck getting him down for a nap later.”

“Why’s that my job now?”

“Sorry,” Dean turned on the water to start scrubbing the bowls. “Can’t hear you over all the cleaning I’m doing.”

Cas rolled his eyes. Dean grinned when Jack offered him a bite of his pretzel and Cas had to act like he enjoyed it. Turning back to the sink, he grabbed the sponge. This was a lot of fun.

[mymelonerboner]

It’s Pink Season! - Chapter 2 - A JoJo OC Fanfic

(i should preface this by giving this fic some context – this fic took four OCs of four different people (one of them is me!) from a JoJo discord server that i hold especially dear to my heart. i set myself the challenge of taking these characters from wildly different imaginations and trying to piece together a cohesive story where they all interact with each other. to the owners of these OCs, i hope i’ll do them justice. this fic is estimated to last 4/5 chapters, and depending on my free time, maybe i’ll do something like this again with more OCs from other people, who knows :) anyways hope you guys enjoy what i’ve got so far!)

Rémi - belongs to Quality Queen @qualitiddy

Kyra - belongs to Kyrare @kyrare

Claudia - belongs to Sweet Kurage @sweetkurage

Francis Miller - belongs to meee! @mymelonerboner

Chapter 2 Word Count: 2,194

—————————— 

*     *     *     CHAPTER 2     *     *     *

"LA VACHE! SHUT UP! I'M TRYING!" 

Rémi swung the wheel hard to the right, but screeches and smoke gave away the fact that it wasn't going to be quite enough. Kyra had to act fast. She gritted her teeth in frustration as she braced herself for an undoubtedly painful experience.

"STEEL PANTHER!"

From her torso, the upper body of a feline figure emerged. Dark metallic silver glinted with ferocious animosity against a panther-like physique as the figure stretched its metal wings out, letting out a guttural hiss. Kyra's stand pressed one paw against the dashboard of the sedan, before phasing another paw through the floor of the car, contacting the speeding asphalt of the road below it. Kyra hissed in pain as she felt the sensation of the asphalt scraping against her stand's palm.

In a split second, the sedan burst with a light blueish glow surrounding the whole vehicle, before the pulsating light flowed straight into the point of the ground that the phantom panther was pressing its paw against. With a deafening crack, the asphalt below the sedan broke into pieces, nudging the sedan ever so slightly more to the right, and the sedan seemed to slow down tremendously, as though most of the energy of the hurtling car just vanished, like water spilled from a cup. It was enough to make the sedan brush past the mysterious figure on the motorcycle.

Right after, the sedan slammed head first into something solid behind the motorcycle, denting the bonnet of the car.

"I'M TRY- FUCK! OW!" Rémi shrieked as his head jolted into the SPW-branded Super-Deluxe-High-Comfort™ airbags of the sedan. Kyra sighed in relief. Whatever it was they hit, she managed to divert enough energy in time to make the crash relatively mild.

But what was it that they hit?

Kyra peered through the slightly cracked windshield. There was nothing in front of the car. It was as though the bonnet was dented by some invisible pole.

The trio crawled out of the damaged sedan, each eyeing the mysterious biker with caution. The gleam of the biker's helmet visor masked their face and gave them an aura of anonymous danger. The helmet, from afar, somewhat resembled the look of a brown aviator hat with goggles. Kyra shot a glance at the others. A slight swarm of mist was already forming and circling around Rémi's feet in defensive anticipation. Claudia wore a look of terrified concern.

"What quick wits ya have, Kyra Furyia." An unfamiliar, male voice rasped from the biker. With a quick gesture from the biker, the seemingly empty space in front of the damaged sedan bonnet suddenly appeared to melt and morph into a slightly dented lamppost. "If you were just a split second slower, you fellas would've been totalled by that crash."

"Why thank you, kind gentleman." Kyra shot back in pompous sarcasm. "You know my name. That means you've done your research. I think it's safe to assume you know about our stand powers too."

The biker chuckled. "Not bad, cat lady. You're right, I know all about your stand, Steel Panther, and its energy redirection powers." He lifted a gloved finger towards Rémi. "I also know about you, Rémi Martin, and your copying ability. However…" The biker slowly cocked his head towards Claudia. "This girl… don't think I've seen her before. She a stand user?"

"Wouldn't you like to know." Rémi spat. "I'll tell you this much, helmet - you're not very good at hiding your powers. I've already figured out how your stand works."

Kyra lifted a brow. Already?

"Kyra, look." Rémi pointed at a green-themed restaurant just a few meters away. "The invisibility, the unfamiliar surroundings… there must be only one explanation." Kyra peered at the restaurant and read the large, white block letters right above its entrance.

Five Guys!

"You're right, Rémi!" Kyra gasped. "I've never seen a green Five Guys in my life. Wow, this was way easier than I thought." Kyra smirked as she lifted a metal-clawed finger towards the biker. "Good sir, your stand ability… is to change the colour of objects, isn't it?"

The biker snorted. "Congratu-fucking-lations, you guys have eyes." With a grandiose wave of the hand, he gestured to the all the wrongly-coloured walls, windows and pavements surrounding the trio. 

"Isn't it funny how much we people depend on colour? When you see a car drive past you, your first thought is never gonna be 'Oh, that was a flat-topped car', or 'Oh, that was a Volkswagen'. More likely, you're gonna go 'Oh, that was a blue car'. Same thing applies for many things. Animals, buildings, walls… it's the first way you recognise something. Mess with colour a little and suddenly everything looks foreign. It's evolution, y'see. Colour has been the warning system for predators and prey since the dawn of eyeballs. It tells you what's food, what's poison, what's danger, what's safety. Colour is everywhere."

In a seamless motion, a figure emerged from behind the biker. Humanoid in appearance, but coloured head to toe in a brilliant pink hue, skin as smooth as rubber with vastly contrasting, bizarre patterns strewn across its body in random spots like lazy patchwork, all made with different hues of pink, purple and magenta. It donned what looked like the apron of a painter, and where there should be forearms, instead there were what looked like two paintball guns attached directly at the elbows.

"My name is Francis Miller, and my stand, Pink Season, can control the colour of any object it shoots!" 

Kyra couldn't hold back an impudent snort. "Colour. Colour. Well gee fuckin' golly, I'm *dye*ing to know how dangerous that's gonna be." She cackled at her joke. "Whatcha' gonna do, paint me to death? Mulberry sunburst my ass into- OW FUCK!"

With lightning speed reaction time, Kyra used a metal claw to slice through a paintball that was hurtling right into her abdomen at mach speed. The capsule split into two, splattering a dark blue hue against her torso, leftover shell debris scraping her green sweater and leaving minor tears. 

"...Well, that was huemiliating." Kyra smirked through her panting.

"This is bad! That stand has long-range capabilities." Rémi gritted his teeth. "Claudia, stick close. Those paintballs look dangerous at that speed."

"Hey prick, you better turn this shit on my sweater back to green right now!" Kyra hissed as she picked up a discarded beer can on the ground with one hand and pressed her other hand, shielded with her armour-like paw-glove, against a nearby lamppost. The lamppost flickered on and off momentarily, emitting a yellowish glow from its steel base which flowed into the beer can. Blue sparks began to fly out of its aluminium skin. With the proficiency of a pitcher, she flung the charged beer can straight towards the biker. The biker didn't move a muscle, simply silently watching as the beer can sped closer towards him.

Only for the can to narrowly missed the biker's visor by an inch. It tumbled against the ground behind him, letting out a loud electrical discharge as it contacted a manhole cover.

Wha… That was impossible. Kyra never missed a target. Countless years of intensive training assured her of that. She took everything into account, wind velocity, wrist posture, amount of centrifugal spin…

Francis burst into an obnoxiously raspy, wheezing laugh. "What magic some simple contouring and shading can do! I coloured the walls and road in between us to look like I was just a bit further from you than I actually was. I know your modus operandi, Kyra! I knew you would try that move!"

Optical illusions!? Shit! This is bad. 

Francis was still wheezing and hacking from his half-laugh-half-choking. "You had the fucking balls to underestimate me. But now I know somethin', Kyra. You may have the sharp senses of a cat, but your eyes are still human. You're weak to my power! PINK SEASON!" And with a wild gesture, both the biker and his stand slowly began to melt into thin air, splotches of nothingness spreading like an oil spill across their whole bodies. In a matter of seconds, they both completely vanished. In alarm, Kyra backed up to where Rémi and Claudia were huddled, eyes peeled on the surroundings for the invisible biker.

"Rémi! Look out!" Claudia exclaimed. Rémi's eyes widened, bracing himself for an attack. He drew a breath, preparing his spiritual energy.

"IMITATION OF LIFE!"

And with that cry, light greyish wisps of mist gushed out from Rémi's feet, swirling around in front of him and taking on a vaguely humanoid shape. At where its "head" should be, two large, beady, solid red eyes flitted open, glowing with a brilliant ruby hue. This misty form lightly planted a "palm" against the asphalt road with a feather's touch, and immediately, the coarse, hardened, blackened texture of the asphalt spread up the misty shape's "arm" and across its "chest", eventually encapsulating its entire "body". Upon completion of this transformation, the now hardened figure disassembled itself into a cloud of rocky particles, swarming around the body of Rémi, before settling against his skin and body to form an asphalt suit of armour, complete with a dark-grey-tinged translucent facemask that still displayed his face well enough.

Split seconds after this asphalt armour settled, Rémi was immediately hit across the left check with a speeding paintball, splattering a vibrant green colour against his asphalt exterior, starkly contrasting its dull blackish look. The force of the paintball was enough to make Rémi's head jerk to the side in a dizzying way.

"Woah! You alright kid?" Kyra exclaimed.

"I'm fine! I activated my stand in time." Rémi cracked his neck to soothe the pain of the concussion. "More importantly, that shot revealed his location! I know where to attack now!" With a roar, Rémi darted into the direction the paintball came from.

"Wait, no! Slow down!" Claudia called out to him.

Suddenly, Rémi dropped down through the seemingly solid ground with a surprised shriek. In instinctive panic, he managed to catch a grip on the edge of the "hole" with his asphalt fingers.

"Rémi!" Both Kyra and Claudia screamed after him.

A raspy voice from the thin air broke into an ugly chortle. "I removed that manhole's cover in advance and coloured its interior to match the road. I knew you two had close-range type stands. One of you guys were gonna try to bumrush me, so I just positioned myself in front of that hole. You think I'd be some kinda dumbass to just give away my position like that?"

With some effort, Rémi pulled himself out of the manhole and hurried back to the group, eyes darting about wildly as he tried to figure out where Francis was going to strike next. Kyra narrowed her eyes at him, then at Claudia. It was Claudia she was worried about the most. Her defensive capabilities were practically null. There was only one reason Francis still hadn’t targeted her yet, and it was because he still didn’t know what she could do. 

Kyra shifted her focus to Francis, or wherever she was wildy guessing he was going to be. He was cunning. He was prepared. He even had traces of tar on his clothes to mask his scent against the road. Kyra bit her lip in frustration, admitting in a pit of her heart that Francis was right, and she had underestimated him. It wasn’t just a matter of controlling colours, it was a matter of controlling perception. To not even know whether you can trust your own eyes… Is there any way to defeat such a stand user? Any way to even land a blow on this bastard, if you can’t even tell where he’s-

“Rémi! Two meters to your left, eight o’ clock!” Claudia suddenly yelled, pointing to an empty space next to Rémi. Kyra widened her eyes. Dia, how the fuck!?

Rémi wasted no time. Without missing a heartbeat, he leaped to where Claudia had directed and with a cry, slammed an asphalt fist straight into the empty space. A loud, satisfying thud resonated as Francis flew backwards from the rocky impact straight into his visor, shards of fortified glass, plastic and multicoloured dye mixed with blood spurting into the air as his camouflage wore off. Kyra let out a yelp of triumph mixed with confusion as she watched the biker and his stand tumble backwards against the road.

But it was far from over. The biker shuddered, and slowly but surely propped himself up. Through one cracked lens of the helmet visor, he eyed the young Spanish girl with a look of murderous intent.

“Y...you saw through it. You, girl… Claudia, was it? You saw through my optical illusions…” Francis hacked out a blob of spit and blood against the road. “I was wondering how you kept warning your friends of my moves. You… you are a stand user after all.” His cold gaze trailed from Claudia to her surroundings, the buildings, the road, the sky.

And in his visible eye, there was a gleam of realisation, and then triumphant satisfaction.

*     *     *     END OF CHAPTER 2     *     *     *

[logan-are-you-okay]

Just your normal Family

Minutes go by... maybe hours, and Anti still hasn’t moved. Clark’s blood still slowly dripping down Anti’s face and landing into his mouth. It tasted like metal, a metallic feel. It also has salt thrown in. It was mixing with his tears after all. He just killed someone... by his own terms. No one made him, but Dark gave him the knife. He-He couldn’t control himself!

Clark came right at him, he had to defend himself somehow! His bully might’ve been terrible, but he didn’t deserve to die! He could’ve gotten better once he left school! Maybe meet a nice girl and start a family!? Why did Dark make him do this!? He’s never wanted to kill anyone before, now he’s killed two people! Slowly the pressure on his shoulder becomes lighter. Anti takes his hands off his eyes and looks at the Entity that he knows is corrupting him. He just... he just seems like he is at least... the man asked Anti if he wanted revenge, this was what he meant... wasn’t it?

“You need to get cleaned up. I’ll take care of the weapon.” Dark says with a cold grin, the glowing around him seems to be pleased as the red starts to fluctuate. Anti turns back to look at Clark, his soulless eyes staring right back at him. He feels like he’s going to throw up, why did he have to be such a fuck up!? It would have been so much easier to slit his throat! But, NOOOO he didn’t have the guts to kill him! If he had just done that, he wouldn’t have seen the eyes of the one he hated stare at him with fear...

“W-What about... what about t-the b...body?” He slowly asks as he makes his eyes look away from the face of his victim. Dark let’s out a small chuckle, Damn his laugh was creepy. It always echoed and sounded like it was ten times louder in Anti’s Head.

“You’re making a statement. You are not someone to be messed with. All evidence gone, Body stays.” Okay? He has done this way to many times to decided that roller coaster that he’s taking. The Entity then pulls the knife out of Clark’s chest which makes a disgusting gushing sound. He then disappears out of thin air, and Anti wipes away the tears that escaped his eyes. This-This wasn’t him. It was self defense right!? He didn’t think that they would have came here to kill him! It wasn’t his fault! C-Clark came after him! He was the one who was choking him!

Slowly Anti’s eyes fall onto Clark’s chest and stab wounds. Pieces of meat where popping up, the wounds looked deep. Deeper than how long the actual blade was. He... he couldn’t help himself, his brain... he wanted to know... Anti slowly puts his fingers into his own mouth tasting the blood of his victim. It tasted different from before... it tasted... it tasted... Anti couldn’t control himself, he grabs a chunk of the meat sticking out and puts it into his mouth. Why did it taste so good!? This was so wrong, but it was toooo good to pass up! He grabs another after another and just chews on Clark’s flesh. Maybe it was because his would cause more damage to the body, and make Clark suffer even more? Maybe, because he wanted to savor this moment?

“Huh.” Anti Quickly stands up and backs away from Clark as fast as he’s ever moved before and looks at where the sound came from. Dark was standing there, how long had he been!? Anti Quickly swallows the blood and meat he had in his mouth. Please say that Dark wasn’t there to witness what he did! Oh please, oh god oh god, please!

“Did you enjoy your snack?” He says while crossing his arms. Anti’s eyes widen, Guess he didn’t have the luck of the Irish on his side today! Dark had a weird expression, it was an interesting expression mixed with curiosity. It made Anti’s skin crawl and causes goose bumps to form. The Entity walks up to Anti, and grabs a hold of his wrist as the once again teleport with the black mist around them.

This time once the mist clears, Anti’s Head felt like it was hit by a thousand bricks. Slowly he raises his hand to his forehead as he lets out an aching sigh. Dark must’ve heard it.

“If you didn’t eat anything, your head wouldn’t be hurting.” Anti immediately has a face of guilt slammed into his face as he looks up at Dark who had a slight smirk on his face. Was he kidding? Or was that ACTUALLY the reason why his head hurt!? He slowly looks around where he was. Why was he in a living room? Also It was right in the entrance of the wooden door that was behind him.

The furniture was red’s blue’s pink’s purple’s blue’s Which Anti was defiantly not expecting. For someone who was looked like darkness himself, he sure had bright colors. Yet again, the walls where black so maybe it was just to make the room look larger. Then he looks over at three pictures on the wall that was right by where the corner was that most likely turned into the kitchen. What did he know? He was a teen not a contractor! Anyways, there was a picture of a girl wearing the assigned school uniform for the girls. She had black hair with red highlights, she seemed super happy. He then looks at the picture that was in the middle. He crosses his arms and his expression turns back to a sad one. It was a family picture of Dark, the girl, and a different man who has never seen before. Who has a pink mustache? Who would WANT to dye their mustache!? Then DUI overalls with a bow tie! That just looked ridiculous! They all seemed so happy... Anti’s never had a family to take one with. Jack always sneaks pictures of them two together, only a couple times Anti was willing. One time the family was doing ‘Family Photos’ and Anti was in the distance. Jack convinced his mother to let Anti join, and just told them he was a close friend. He didn’t smile, just his timid little self.

Slowly his eyes travel to the last photo, a picture of The Entity and the new man. It seems like... like Dark was considered the little spoon in the relationship? The man had his arms around Dark, and they where both smiling. Maybe it’s just for the picture sake! He was shorter than the other man, but he was so intimidating!? How could he be considered that!? Also... it’s nice to know that he isn’t the only person sexually attracted to the same gender.

“Wilford, I’m home.” OH! So that’s his name! Nice name, kinda. Suddenly there’s a loud booming voice that just yells something so loud that Anti flinched from it.

“Darky! Welcome home!” Darky? How the fuck did he get THAT nickname? A guy who looked like death dressed in a suit got a nickname that sounded like a Baby name! Suddenly the man who apparently was named Wilford comes running around the corner, and immediately puts Dark into a big All bear hug. Dark instantly tenses up from the embrace and slowly falls into it as Wilford keeps asking random questions. Damn, they are total complete opposites. Like, SO FAR this Wilford person has smiled the largest Anti has ever seen anyone do! Then his hair was pink as well as his mustache. Anti glances at Dark who was trying so hard not to enjoy it, but his face said otherwise. However Wilford looks directly at Anti, which Makes Anti flinch and tighten the arms across his chest trying to cower away.

“Who’s this?” The pink mustache asks. Alright, wondering who he was wasn’t bad. But he COMPLETELY skipped the fact that Anti was drenched head to toe in blood. You fucking have a teenager drenched in blood that your probably husband brought home! How are you not going to question that!? Also his face has probably been published all over the news by now! You have a fucking fugitive/murderer in your house!

“His name is Anti. He’s like us, but just doesn’t realize or understand it yet. I’ll explain later.” Dark quickly jumps in, which makes Anti all the more scared as he Quickly looks around the room for any open windows or unlocked doors. Come on this house has three people in! There has bond to be a opened SOMETHING here! Randomly Wilford walks straight up to Anti, and Anti panics backing away from him. Wilford was still at least five feet away from him, but Anti was already screaming while covering his head with his arms.

“Are you sure he is, Darkidoo? He seems so.... broken. His throat may be slice, Also are you just going to make him into a pet? Finally get one that’s powerful than the rest?” Anti stops screaming as he looks right at Dark who had already gave his answer before Anti could see. Please please say that he didn’t nod or something along those lines!

“Sure, he’s broken. But he’s mendable, also I haven’t given him the choice of learning what he is. Nor do I have a clear plan of what to use him for. But, he’s already proved that he’d be loyal. He jumped on a kid’s back to protect me so.” HES RIGHT HERE YA KNOW! Listening to every single bit that they are saying! Dark then looks at Anti dead in the eye, and it sends a cold panic down his spine.

“Go get clean up. There’s a bathroom up the stairs to the first door on the left. Take a shower, I’ll give you non stained clothes.” Anti Quickly takes the offer as he runs up the stairs and shuts the door sigh a loud slam. So much information just ran through his head like a train. What was he? What did pet mean? Who are the others!?

Anti takes a deep breath as he slowly removes his clothes, trying his hardest to not touch the cuts on his arms. He turns on the water and waits for the water to turn warmer. His eyes slowly fall onto his arm as he swallows. Such a waste of perfectly good wrist... Anti can now notice that they where definitely infected. Dark green and blue lines went about them, and some even had reopened. Probably from when he killed... No! He’s not going to think about that! Anti jumps into the shower and watches as the blood runs off of him and swirls down into the drain... all the while thoughts plagued his mind. Why did Dark just randomly show up and want to help him? Why wasn’t his partner/husband concerned when he saw a Random teen covered in blood? Then finally.... what was he? How was he like Dark and Wilford? What... what’s going to happen to him now...?

[yoongisbbydoll]

100 Reasons Why, 08

pairing ─  bts, reader

currently: jung hoseok, min yoongi, kim taehyung

genre ─  soulmates, slice of life

length ─  2,000 words

warnings ─  bigamy, polygamy, smut

synopsis ─  Love is a powerful thing. Let it settle under your skin and in your bones. Let it live, let it breathe. Do not beat it down and know that your love does not reach one person, but everyone around you. 

chapter index ; here.

Silence

“Take a deep breath.” The doctor instructs, his cold stethoscope digging into your ribcage. You breathe in, glancing between three nervous faces. You let it out, smiling weakly. No one says anything.

The doctor clears his throat. “You said she couldn’t breathe?” He stares Taehyung down critically. He doesn’t seem to believe anything your partners have said so far, taking everything with a grain of salt. He doesn’t believe that all three of them “belong” to you (as he put it).

“We were just at the library and suddenly I heard someone screaming. When I tried to calm her down, she screamed even louder and then stopped breathing completely.” Taehyung recalls shakily, brows furrowed in deep thought.

“And here we are.” The doctor turns to you. He still thinks all of you are lying, evident in his analytical way of looking over you and the cryptic way he words his sentences. “There’s no problem as far as I can see, most likely just a minor panic attack. Any previous ones?” You shake your head. “Anything that might have set something off?” You shake your head once more. He looks even more skeptical, clapping his hands together in an almost sarcastic manner. “Well, to stay on the safe side, I’m going to prescribe a low dosage of antidepressants and Benzodiazepines. I’m also going to give you the number to the therapist at this hospital who you can talk to bout your problems.”

The doctor seems very old, a hobbling little man with wire glasses about two inches thick sitting atop his crooked nose, voice raspy—like he’s constantly out of breath—his  conservative views shadowing over everything he does. Yoongi rolls his eyes are the doctor, mumbling about how he is probably one of those who believe that once you find your one soulmate, you must have children then die happily.

Hoseok raises an awkward hand. “We’d like to talk to you about her eyesight, sir.”

“What about it?” The doctor snaps, scribbling away on a pad of paper and angrily tapping his veiny fingers into the computer’s keyboard.

“Is there anything we can do to fix it?” Yoongi pipes in, looking slightly more than hopeful.

The man sighs, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “There is something. We don’t offer it here, but there is a something called Color Reassignment Surgery. She won’t be able to see a full color spectrum, but instead of just black and white, she’d be able to make out deep yellows, reds, and blues—primary colors. There’re some cases where the patient gains a full spectrum, but it’s not likely—less than a 1% chance actually.”  

“How much is it?” You find yourself asking. It’s not likely that you can afford it but maybe someday.

He sighs again, as if this whole ordeal is just so hard for him. He spins in his chair, facing the four of you. “Starting price of these things is around half a million—and that’s if you go to someone cheap.”

There’s a moment before he breaks the news where everyone is hopeful. Taehyung biting the inside of his cheek, Hoseok closing his eyes like he’s praying, Yoongi staring up at the ceiling. Then, he opens his mouth and ruins it all. Everyone sits in silence for a moment before Hoseok, ever the lifesaver, stands and claps his hands, “Well, thank you for your time, we’ll be sure to grab the prescription on our way home and call up that therapist.”

The car ride home is silent, no one wanting to address what just happened. Hoseok drives in the front with Yoongi, exchanging looks every now and then, letting his hand sit comfortably on the writer’s leg. In the back, Taehyung lets you lay down with your head in his lap though it’s not particularly safe. He runs his hand through your hair softly, massaging your scalp, with each movement you can feel the stress fading away—like a soft breeze drifting by on a warm, sunny day.  

Both Yoongi and Hoseok had left work for this and you worry over Yoongi’s meeting, he had probably just gotten there when Taehyung called him from the hospital. Now, the dark realization that maybe you’ll never be able to see hangs in the air, a gloomy rain cloud hovering above the car and following your way home. You feel like your quiet, perfect life is swirling down the drain, drip, drip, dripping away.

The night is quiet, dinner am awkward jumble of bits and pieces of conversation, everyone’s thoughts drifting elsewhere. Hoseok’s head is filled with numbers, trying to figure out where he could ever get the money for the operation and how long it would take. Yoongi stares at the wall as if it had done him wrong in a past life, emotions flaring at the thought of not being able to give you something you deserve more than anything. Taehyung is trying not to think, letting whatever comes to his mind spill from his lips.

Everyone moves to the couch like a heard of zombies, lifeless, minds blank.  

“Maybe we should get a dog,” Taehyung interrupts the movie no one is watching.

“We have two cats.” Yoongi shifts, pulling you farther into his lap. His hands linger under your shirt, pressed into the soft skin of your stomach nonchalantly. You wonder why his touch no longer feels intimate, like his hands are just there because that’s where they naturally fall. He feels cold and distant. It’s like you’re crowded onto a couch with complete strangers.

Hoseok nods his head though no one sees it.

The movie ends as soon as it had started. Everyone slowly makes their way to bed. Taehyung mumbles about taking a shower and escapes into the bathroom. He locks the door.

He showers quickly, crawling into bed with damp skin, pressing himself against you. You lean into the scent of his shampoo, a soft coconut smell surrounding the bed. Cigarette smoke and cool night air drift through the open window no one bothers to close. With Taehyung and Yoongi pressed against your sides, their hands against your bare skin no longer raise goosebumps under your skin. Instead, it’s as if they’re not there at all.

No one sleeps. No one breathes. No one speaks a word. The air is stiflingly hot despite the winter chill creeping through the walls, thick and pure rage in a cloud of smoke suffocates you under the sheets. You can feel the furrow in Taehyung’s brow as he tosses and turns in his sleep, his movements waking you every so often. Yoongi, though his breathing is even and stable, is nibbling on his bottom lip, scrunching his face like there’s something bitter on his tongue. You can’t see or feel Hoseok, but it’s as if your thoughts are joined as one, his mind running a mile a minute as he ponders over today’s events.

It’s as if someone has come along and burst your perfect little bubble where you could be guileless and pretend that you were all just going to live happily ever after. Thanks.

Around 3, you push yourself up and totter to the bathroom, flicking on the light only to grimace at yourself in the mirror. Yoongi’s wrinkled shirt falls almost to your knees, the sleeves passing your fingertips, hair sticking up here and there, eyes sunken, beady. The thick fabric of the shirt sticks to your skin. You shake your head, wet your face and turn out the light.

Hoseok is sitting up in bed, waiting for you with a decrepit look on his face. You ask him what’s wrong. When he looks up at you, it takes a moment to process that he’s crying. Hoseok’s warm hand reaches out for yours, a newfound wave of heat running through your shivering body as he pulls you into his lap, chest to chest, arms wrapping around you protectively. He dips his head into the curve of your neck. Hot tears dampen your skin as he lets out a muffled sniffle.

This is only the third time you’ve seen Hoseok cry, his emotions usually on the brighter side for your sake, never failing to keep up a perfect façade. But whenever his infectious, effervescent personality is torn down to reveal the depression and anxiety he carries every day, the whole world seems to crack apart, revealing its ugly, malicious face with a Fuck you too sneer.

The last time Hoseok had cried in front of you was just after the time you moved in together almost three years ago. He cried because he had come home to an empty apartment, you being at night classes, and felt so alone. He had formed the idea that you suddenly decided to leave him. The thought of you running away from him had torn him apart because it made him realize that he didn’t completely belong to you. He wondered if had you finally met someone who made you see and decided Hoseok wasn’t good enough. And when you came home, he was sitting on the floor, surrounded by all your boxes of clothes, watching the TV silently, letting tears run down his blotchy face.

It had taken him two months to get used to you coming home late, often calling you to check up on you. The next semester, you switched to day classes so that you could be at home for him. It was easier as both of you could wake up together, eat breakfast and walk to the train station with hands clasped together. It was a lighter, airier time, when cherry blossoms lined the pavement, people walking carelessly over the soft petals. Hoseok would always pick them up, tucking them behind your ears and commenting about how the pink complimented your skin.

You run your hands in soft circles over Hoseok’s back, mumbling about old memories. You whisper in his ear, reminding him about the tacky dress you wore to prom that apparently matched his red tie and the strapless number your sported the next year while he wore an all-white tuxedo; of the time you both finished an entire box of popsicles in a single hour during a horrendous heat wave; of the first time you helped him dye his hair and it came out a horrid color of green but he still looked beautiful to you because you couldn’t tell.

Hoseok slowly pushes you back, staring up at you with glistening eyes, reflecting soft moonlight and adoration. “I want you to experience the world in the way we do. I can’t even imagine what everything looks like in black and white anymore.” He blubbers, bottom lip quivering.

Shaking your head, you run your fingers through Hoseok’s hair, pushing it back off his forehead the way you like it, he smiles though his eyes are tired. Taehyung shifts in bed, letting out a soft groan as he kicks Yoongi in the shin. Your writer yelps, quickly lashing out to tickle at Taehyung’s side. When he’s decided that Taehyung has had enough, Yoongi turn on his back, opening one eye to stare at the two of you on the side of the bed. “Nice to know we were included in this obviously insignificant conversation.”

“Agreed. We should all be discussing this, not just the O-Gs.” Taehyung grumbles, twisting under the sheets.

You let out a soft giggle, crawling over between them with a grin. “Did you really just say O-G?”

“Maybe.”

Hoseok takes the spall space between Taehyung and the edge of the bed, sighing contently. “If there’s an issue, we should be comfortable addressing it aloud.” Yoongi voices, pulling you into his chest. Taehyung turns to face you, arm draping over your waist as well as Yoongi’s, humming in agreement. Hoseok pulls Taehyung’s back to his chest, smiling contently as you grab his hand and long your fingers together.

The air is cool, stinging your face in a way that makes you smile.

back. next.

note: i am not an expert on mental illnesses so please tell me if something in this is incorrect and i will gladly fix it

Thank you for reading! Find more from me, July, here.

[earthsiders-media-blog]

The Wicked Fairy's Gift - A fractured tale for aware adults

The new mother sat in the living room with her long-awaited baby nestled in her arms while her sister, Ann, put refreshments on the table for the guests who were at due any moment.

“How many people are coming, Lou?” Ann asked, as she counted cutlery.

“Oh, not that many,” Lou replied, gazing at her daughter (with whom she was totally besotted). “Mum and Dad, Joe’s parents, his sister Sarah, you and Max, Frankie and Jane, Aunt Stella, Joe’s Aunt Harriet, and Wendy.” Ann looked up from the flowers she was arranging. “You didn’t invite Storm?”

Lou met her gaze defiantly. “I forgot.” “Oh, she will so get her nose out of joint!” Ann said, shaking her head as she returned to the flowers.

“Who will get her nose out of joint?” Joe asked, coming into the room and going straight to his wife and baby.

“Storm. She’s an old friend of ours,” Ann told him.

“Not a friend,” Lou contradicted. “She was a friend but she was terribly rude to me once and I haven’t spoken to her since.”

“Well, we don’t want any nasty people around our little sweetums, do we?” Joe cooed, taking his tiny daughter from Lou and rocking her in his arms.

The doorbell rang and Lou’s parents entered, bringing with them a zucchini slice and the gift of a nappie-washing service.

“Oh, thanks, Mum! That’s wonderful,” Lou said gratefully.

“Isn’t she gorgeous!” the new grandparents exclaimed.

And she was gorgeous. Matilda lay wrapped in pink, her long lashes resting on her rosy cheeks as she slept, tiny hands peeking over the edge of the blanket.

“We hope you have a long, healthy life,” Lou’s parents told the baby, reaching out for a cuddle. They were beginning to experience all sorts of aches and pains as they grew older…

Joe’s parents turned up next with a cheesecake and a baby car-seat.

“Thank you so much,” Lou said, hugging them. “That’s wonderful!”

“Where is she, the little pet? Oh… how sweet…” Joe’s mother murmured, taking her from The Other Grandparents. “She is just the prettiest little thing!”

“She’ll turn a few heads in her time!” Joe’s father said with a wink. The next minute heads were turning as a huge white fluffy rabbit came through the door in the arms of Lou’s brother Max.

“Well done, guys!” he said, shaking his brother-in-law’s hand and planting the stuffed toy in his sister’s lap. “You finally got there!”

Lou found another seat for the rabbit. “Thanks, Max. I’m sure she’ll love this… when she’s figured out what it is.”

He laughed, and stroked baby Matilda’s tiny hands. “Ah… long fingers. She’ll be a musician for sure!” And with that, he took himself off to the piano in the corner of the room and began to play some jazzy, upbeat music.

The baby’s parents exchanged glances. Now that was a gift they would love their daughter to have…

Lou’s childhood friends, Frankie and Jane arrived together, bringing a freezer-full of food for the new mother, a package of baby clothes, and a great big chocolate cake. Suddenly the living room felt very full of people and voices and laughter and glasses clinking.

“She’s just divine,” Frankie pronounced. “And if she’s got your brains, she’s going to be brilliant. She’ll probably rule the world!”

Lou smiled. Many years of study and a long, very successful career were behind this late foray into parenthood.

“Well, if she’s going to rule the world,” Jane said, taking the baby into her arms gently, “I hope she’s as wise as she’s smart. You need a pretty level head for a job like that.”

Little Matilda slept on, blissfully unaware of all the predictions that were being made for her life, or of the many people who were holding her and blessing her.

A knock sounded at the front door and a voice called, “Yoohoo!” A moment later, Lou’s Aunt Stella burst in with a platter of sandwiches and a cute little jump suit that said, ‘Party in my cot at midnight!’

 “That’s a command, little one,” she instructed Matilda; “none of this nose-to-the-grindstone stuff your whole life! You’re to have lots of friends and lots of fun!”

Hot on her heels came Lou’s friend, Sarah, with a package of singlets and bibs and booties and a spicy dip with carrot sticks poking out of it like a porcupine. “I hope she likes animals,” Sarah said in her flat voice. “Will you let her have pets? My parents never let me have pets…”

“She’s already got a rabbit,” Max grinned from the piano, and he played a dramatic swirl of notes.

“My turn for a cuddle,” one of the grandparents declared, and soon the blanketed baby was being passed from arm to arm. The other guests were chatting and loading their plates with delicacies from the table when the door burst open and in swept a tall woman with wild hair and empty hands.

“My God, who’s that?” Joe asked, startled, bumping Lou’s arm.

Lou glanced around and froze. “That,” she said in a low voice, “is Storm.”

“Lou!” Storm exclaimed, spotting her from across the room. “There you are! I just heard – my invitation to this little gathering must have been lost in the mail!” And she raised her brows meaningfully as she strode towards them in her high-heeled boots. “So where’s the babe, Mummy?”

At that moment Matilda woke up, opened her mouth and began to cry.

“Right here,” said Ann, handing the baby back to her mother. “Isn’t she divine?”

Storm glanced at the red-faced infant and sniffed. “Babies. They were never my thing. But, fortunately, they grow up!”

Joe felt Lou bristling beside him; he put a protective arm around his wife’s shoulders, and reached out a hand towards Storm, saying politely, “We’ve never met. I’m Joe, Lou’s husband.”

Storm looked at him coolly. “Well, Daddy, I wish you luck with this one. You’re going to need it.”

“And what exactly is that supposed to mean?” Lou demanded, lifting Matilda to her shoulder and jiggling a bit to settle her.

“For exactly half of her life this child will be angry, sad, mean, frustrated and ignored!” Storm declared, and her voice was so loud that everyone stopped talking and turned towards them. “She will make mistakes and stub her toe and burn pots and lose things and fail tests and be fired from her job and cry over boys and dye her hair the wrong colour and have indigestion and have to deal with idiots and be misunderstood and lose friends.” At this, her green eyes narrowed. “I hope,” Storm continued, raking her gaze over everyone and then finishing in a blaze of triumph, “that she appreciates it all!”

At that, she lifted a carrot stick out of the porcupine dip, raised it in a salute, turned on her heel and left the house, munching.

“Ye gods,” said Joe.

“You see what I mean? She’s a – a wicked witch! She’s completely unsettled Matilda just by turning up,” Lou cried out, trying to soothe the wailing baby. “And what a whole lot of horrible things to say!”

“Although they were all true,” a quiet voice said.

Lou looked up to see Joe’s Aunt Harriet, who had entered, unnoticed, during Storm’s tirade.

“Whatever do you mean?” she asked in horror, jiggling Matilda. “Well, she will have a life that’s balanced between happy and sad, angry and calm, mean and kind, frustrated and fulfilled, celebrated and ignored,” Aunt Harriet said sensibly. “And she will stub her toe and burn pots and cry over boys and all that other stuff – don’t we all?” “But to dump all of that like that at a baby’s welcoming party – it’s just not nice!” Lou protested.

“It’s not the done thing,” Aunt Harriet agreed, “but we can remedy it.” And coming closer to the baby she touched her lightly on the forehead and said, “Dear Matilda, I wish you courage and patience and a sense of humour. And I hope you do appreciate all that yukky stuff because it’s how you’ll grow.”

At that, Matilda stopped crying and opened her eyes very wide for the first time. She looked deeply into Aunt Harriet’s eyes for a whole minute.

“Spooky,” said Max, watching from over his parents’ shoulders.

“There’s a lesson for you too in this, Daddy,” Ann told Joe.

“Why are you all calling me ‘Daddy’?” he exclaimed in frustration. “I’m Matilda’s daddy and that’s quite enough for now!”

Ann grinned. “Okay. But get your lesson: there’s no point being over-protective. You can’t hide all the spindles in the city in case your precious princess pricks her finger; she’s going to. So you’d better just prepare yourself for some trouble.”

“You guys are a real treat,” Joe said darkly. “Come again any time.”

“It’s Storm we don’t want coming again,” Lou contradicted, as baby Matilda nestled against her breast contentedly.

“Honestly?” Ann asked her. “After all, she was just being truthful. And it’s not as if Matilda is going to die from any of that. She’ll bump her way through life like we all do. Everyone needs the odd storm.”