#nathan's terrible jokes

[drawfee-quot3s]

if you have two noodle characters, and they uh, they have a conversation that doesn't involve talking about sauce? it passes the béchamel test

- nathan

[androgymagnus]

tfw extremely homoerotic toxic relationships between two fucked up little guys

[sobredunia]

there are two wolves inside you

one is a cowboy

the other is also a cowboy

you are VOACT flowey

[hotchfiles]

hey, congrats on 100!! wanted to request seth cohen with the prompt “i would do anything not to give a shit, but i do” thanks so much!!

lari's 100th follower bash + send me a prompt and one of my boys for a blurb

seth + “i would do anything not to give a shit, but i do”

      His eyes haven't left you from the moment he barged into your room, the close friendship you shared allowing him to be as impertinent as he wished. Your own glanced him from time to time through your mirror as you worked on your makeup.

      You had a date. An actual date. Cohen was not going to ruin that for you.

      "So you're actually doing this, you're really going out with him."

      If you allowed yourself to delve more into the terrible heart wrenching crush you had on the curly boy laying your bed, you would tell yourself his voice sounded disappointed, sad even. But you promised yourself you wouldn't do that anymore. Not holding your love life back because Seth might look at you softly once in a while, or because he would sleep on your lap while showing you one of his underrated tv shows that would surely be canceled in two seasons max.

      "Oh no, I just enjoy uncomfortable clothes and spending two hours on my makeup. The usual."

      Seth's response to your sarcasm was to scoff annoyingly loud and roll on your bed to look up your ceiling, trying to think of anything he could say or do that could stop you.

      He couldn't just lock the door and swallow the keys even though that was the first option to come to mind. a fake allergy attack wouldn't work, you knew of everything he was allergic to. He could just ask you not to—but then you'd ask why.

      And he didn't know why. He just didn't want you to. It was unnerving to think of you having fun with another guy with your silly pretty dress and your red lipstick he never saw you wear before.

      And he couldn't even blame on your date. He was a cool normal guy, not some kind of awful jock.

      "Well, I mean, it's Firefly night, you never miss Firefly night. Are you coming home before it airs or—" Seth didn't finish his pleads, the way you looked at him was enough of an answer, you didn't even like Firefly that much, your biggest enjoyment out of it was Nathan Fillion being a hottie and... Cohen's company.

      You sigh deeply, avoiding his gaze as you went directly to your shoes, trying to find something remotely elegant for a dinner.

      Of course you would rather be laying on his couch, eating popcorn, cozy on his blanket that always smells like him, laughing at his jokes and pretending to be offended when he thought you didn't understand one of them. But the more you did that, the more you lost precious opportunities to find someone to actually be with you. Love you.

      "But like, you don't even know him." Not true, he was older than you both, but he graduated from the same high school only months before. "And he's not even tall." He was taller than you though. "And he has a terrible taste in socks."

      "Socks, Cohen? Really?" you groan in frustration, at him and at the fact not one of your heels matched your dress. Too high, too black, too thin, too tall. Nothing matched. "Why do you care?" you ask finally, your hands on your hips as you looked over at him, who, sensing you were getting madder by the second, decided to get up and just sit on your bed, looking into your eyes. "Do I need your blessing? Do I have to ask you before going out with someone? Why, why do you care?"

      "I don't know! Okay. I don't know." His body jumps from your bed, pacing out through your room, avoiding your eyes at all costs. "I would do anything not to give a shit, but I do." He stops on his tracks, his breathing is loud, was it ever that loud? Or were you both just too quiet?

      You think you're gonna regret this, but you step even closer to him, planning to possibly ruin your friendship but to at least get a single kiss before it happened.

      Seth looks at your lips and like many times before he wonders how soft they are, if the lipstick you had on tastes like cherries like your balm you usually wear and forces on his lips with your fingers.

      Would your thighs be warm around his waist? Would his cold hands on your cheeks scare you away? Just the usual stuff a good friend would think about his friend who is also a girl.

      He acts on impulse as do you, both of you going for a kiss at the same time, laughing at how uncoordinated it felt because of it, noses hitting before your lips could touch. But they do eventually.

      Seth notices the lipstick does not taste like cherries on your soft lips, it actually tastes awful, but he doesn't care. Your makeup is getting completely ruined, his fingers firm on your cheeks, but you're more than happy to let that happen.

      The kiss doesn't linger, the need for air even stronger due to the surprise of it all, his forehead touches yours lightly, his hands never leave your face. "Firefly night is just... Very important to me." You nod at his joke, too stunned to even laugh.

      "Your house then." It's not a question, you let go of him and he groans missing how warm you felt. You put on the first pair of slippers you can find and pull his hand as you left your room. Not a single plan to watch the stupid show in mind.

[pygmi-cygni]

One Fish, Two Fish

Nathan Bateman x reader fluff (idk what nathan + fluff is doing to me but the brainrot is REAL)

for @chaithetics in her time of need xox

cw: nothing!

song inspo - you look like you can't swim by Matilda Mann and Orange Juice by Alfie Jukes

You sat in the corner of your office, discreetly observing your coworkers. A small pink sticky note was hidden in your clammy hands. You could be patient, waiting for a clear path to the other side of the building. Where he was.

Yes, it was you, the supposed sticky-note bandit that had been slyly tucking them all over the building. Inspirational messages, jokes, dirty secrets, anything to keep the moods high and people chatting. There was a rumor of who it was, and you had surprisingly kept your cover.

Although recently, some had noted the surprising change in the sticky note bandit's habits. Pink sticky notes, specifically written for one "Nathan" with little rhymes and haikus followed by a little goldfish. Someone's got a crush, the secretaries would titter excitedly. Or, surprisedly, as Nathan Bateman wasn't exactly office-crush material.

He would hole up in his office, scowling at those who walked by. He commandeered a coffee maker all to himself, stating that 'once the rest of these plebians earn their right to caffeine,' he'd be hoarding the brain juice to himself.

A real charmer.

But you'd found yourself blushing at eye contact and looking forward to project conferences with him. Your unfortunate propensity towards stuttering led you to share this quiet attention in the form of little notes, handwritten in a red ink pen.

some were teasing -

Your henley looks nice today, Nathan. Or is that yesterday's?

some were sweet -

Thank you for what you do for us <3

But all of them could be found tucked into files, on the underside of his laptop, stuck to his chair. Nobody knew how they got there, and how the culprit had never been caught.

Another one. The little pink monstrosity was strategically placed over his laptop camera, a doodled caricature of him frowning comically. Nathan plucked it off and studied it. It was pretty damn accurate, even if he detested the size of his glasses. He didn't look like Dahmer, he preferred an academic round-frame to accentuate his eyes.

Grunting a laugh, he dropped it into his desk drawer, where it fluttered to join its brethren.

Of course he knew who it was. But you'd clearly be too shy to do anything but gawk from behind your computer, so he didn't blow your cover. Besides, it was funny, listening to the rumor mill churn in thought while you sad back unassumedly, smiling to yourself.

He resumed working, opening his inbox to find a progress report from you. Leaning forward, he leisurely scrolled through the lines of notes, lips twitching when he saw the anecdotes and sarcastic comments typed in the margins. You were a funny thing, having so much to say but keeping your lips shut tight.

Nathan didn't mind your little game.

You'd woken up with a terrible migraine. Every flashing light splintered your skull, the pulse of your heart like a war drum behind your eyes. You'd swallowed twice the recommended dose of Advil and nothing was working.

All the lights in your office were off, earning you a few puzzled looks from your coworkers. You didn't have the energy to play your game today, barely able to type with your jittery fingers. You pondered calling out sick, but the shame from Nathan made you shiver. He didn't take kindly to missing work, no matter the trouble. Hell, Nancy's daughter broke her leg and he wouldn't let her take a day off.

"Your kid's fuckup shouldn't affect the productivity of this company," he said crisply.

Today, thankfully, wasn't too busy. You had emails to respond to, but other than that your schedule was clear.

Half an hour till clock-out. You could do half an hour. It would be grisly, but you had it in you.

A knock at your doorframe jolted you from your stupor. Wincing at the gesture, you sloppily waved at the visitor to come in.

It was Henry, one of the interns. He stumbled a bit in the dim light, but made it to your desk, where dropped a thick file on your keyboard.

"Bateman," he said apologetically, then stepped out.

No. You gotta be fucking kidding me. Less than an hour from the end of your workday, and he has the audacity to drop the biggest project file you've ever seen on your desk?

A pitiful groan escaped you as you flicked open the huge stack. The file was as thick as your arm, no doubt filled with tedious code that your aching mind could barely process on a good day.

"Fuck you, dude," you slurred to yourself, rubbing your forehead. Something caught your eye and you blinked.

Your sticky note with the caricature of his truly.

How-

Fuck.

Hot shame singed your ears. He knew. He totally knew, oh god that's so embarrassing-

A second note was stapled to it, with his messy black scrawl.

Nice sketch, though I wouldn't say art is your calling. A little too Dahmer-ish, Goldie.

Goldie - a moniker after the little fish you'd sign your notes with. You groaned louder, dropping your head in your hands. How could you look at him? His smug grin made your cheeks burn brighter. This was supposed to be a stupid little way for you to- uggghhhhhh.

You shoved the folder into your bag and elected to work on it at home. You couldn't stand to be on the same floor as him.

His gaze followed you out.

For the next few days, your stack of pink notes remained untouched. You still sprinkled your yellow ones around but avoided Bateman's office like the plague.

Maybe he'd forget.

Throwing yourself into Bateman's newest brainchild; a website designed specifically to resemble a notebook, complete with 'rippable' pages and a light scratching sound while typing, you whole-heartedly tried to pretend your embarrassing unveiling hadn't happened.

Until one morning, a small bottle of Excedrin was placed on your desk with a small, blue sticky note on top.

Didn't mean to scare you off, it read, with a poorly drawn fish underneath. Blinking, you read the note again. Definitely Nathan's scrawl, but the sudden kindness threw you for a loop.

One part of you was screaming with joy, and the other was angstily throwing rocks at it. Leave him alone, stop it, pretend it never happened.

But...

The little bottle of migraine medication made you smile. You tucked it into your desk. A second message was written on the side:

Now you don't have an excuse to skip my meetings.

Despite the teasing nature, your heart warmed. From his lair in the far hallway, it seemed so strange that Nathan would notice your frequent headaches.

He was being...nice.

Taking out your pen, you scribbled a thank you. This time, you signed it with two fish.

I'll have to get more creative, then.

An invitation.

He tried to ignore the triumphant swell in his chest when a pink flash caught his eye. A new note. His hands grabbed greedily at it. Of course he hadn't missed your little notes, that would imply he had feelings.

Which he didn't.

Obviously.

Realizing how pathetically giddy he was, Nathan crumpled the note and returned to his desk, a mask of stoicism in place once more. He only got through half a line of code before guilt started nibbling his conscience. The crumpled piece of you looked so lonely on the floor, tossed away like a piece of trash.

Making sure nobody was looking, he retrieved it and smoothed out the wrinkles, gently placing it in view of his keyboard.

You'd drawn two fish this time. It made him happier than he'd like to admit.

He tried to replicate your skilled doodle, but he resorted to a squiggle after a few failed attempts.

Maybe if you applied that creativity to your work, I'd be more inclined to approve your vacation.

Touche, came the reply, with a wink face and one of the fish dressed in a pair of glasses.

It became a daily habit, pulling out the little colored pads and finding times to sneak them into folders or under coffee cups or on desktop monitors.

Nathan ignored the tingly warmth in his chest as long as he could. In his mind, shoved somewhere in the dusty archives, he knew it was a crush. But a small fear kept him from saying anything. What if he did scare you off? Were you trying to catch his heart, or was this just a fun game? He didn't want to ruin the one pseudo-connection he'd had with another human being in the last five years.

He scowled at himself in the reflection of his screen. This was what he hated about other people. The feelings. Others were so complicated, lines of code he didn't know the solution to. He got tangled so easily in the web of relationships that he avoided them all together.

Like always, he didn't realize how stuck he was until it was too late.

His eyes were drawn to you now, every time he saw you flit by his window. He wanted you to look at him, to acknowledge the little connection you had. But your eyes remained glued to the floor, never flicking his way. Nathan fell just short of storming into your office to get your attention.

You noticed the increase in notes.

The pastel blue ones Nathan had claimed were littered everywhere now. Some didn't even have anything meaningful, just doodles or random questions.

Your favorite color?

How do you take your Thai, spicy or not?

You answered them all, sending them back without much of a second thought. It didn't click that he just wanted to talk to you until a single blue note was placed in the middle of your screen.

Please don't ignore me.

You frowned. You weren't ignoring him; every note he sent you had replied to. But then...you never looked at him, though you felt his gaze burning against your face. You could sense his agitation every time you ignored him in a meeting. He wasn't very direct either, but you and him both knew what he was itching for.

Please don't ignore me.

That familiar wave of anxiety washed over you. That knowing how every time you opened your mouth, a stuttering mess would fall out and you'd be embarrassed past fixing. He was expecting of you, now. He wanted to talk to you - the very thing you'd been hoping to avoid.

Nathan smacked the edge of his desk. The smarting sting in his hand distracted from the wailing of his mind. He'd fucked it up. You gave him an inch and he took a mile. That web was tangling him deeper and deeper. He just wanted to play your game and he'd take nthe fun away.

It had been days since his last note. His last, desperate, pathetic, whiny note. He'd scared you off for the second time, and this time he wouldn't get you back.

He rifled through the ones he'd saved. They were precious, the tiny pieces of you that you'd shared. He had one framed on his desk - the first little doodle you'd sent. It was, admittedly, the best part of his day.

And now it was gone.

That anxiety circled the drain for days as you wrestled with yourself. Obviously, if you said anything, it would crash and burn. But you didn't want to end the little game.

He'd signed the note with one, very lonely looking goldfish.

Aw, fuck.

It was late. Most everybody had left, but you knew he'd still be there, typing furiously. You almost ran to his office before you lost the nerve. I'm not ignoring you, you rehearsed in your head, over and over. You mouthed the words, swerving around a stray office chair. You couldn't fuck this up.

Strangely, his office door was locked. The faint glow of his computer shone underneath the door, but the knob was firm.

You swallowed down any anxiety and knocked. Silence.

Was he being spiteful? Your heart felt crushed with the quiet. You knocked again, louder.

Nathan? His name was on the tip of your tongue, but your dignity clamped your lips closed. A third knock would be too far. Did he want to be left alone? Maybe he had a meeting. At 8 pm? He was probably busy.

Maybe he didn't want to talk to you anymore.

Guilt curled in your stomach. You felt terrible. Biting your lip, you began to turn away. Stopped. Grabbed a pen and scribbled on a nearby sheet of paper.

Nathan?

Crouching, you shoved it with all your might under the door. You sat, drumming the pen on your fingertips. It had been several minutes now. The bitter sting of rejection made your throat hurt. Don't cry. All things end, don't waste your salt.

A rustle, and the corner of a leaflet brushed your calf. You snatched it up, sniffling back the waterworks.

A small fish with a question mark. You laughed a watery laugh, wiping your eyes.

Carefully, you sketched a small fish next to it. A speech bubble, filled with I missed you.

Your hands shook as you passed it back. Was it too forward? Your heart was pounding like a racehorse as the feeling of dread crawled over you.

The gentle whirring of the air conditioning was the only movement in the office. You couldn't see him; he must have been pressed up against the door.

The question mark had been erased, this time replaced with a sad face.

You scribbled a note below. I didn't mean to ignore you. I didn't want to ruin it.

An exclamation mark.

I'm not good at words.

His fish swam closer to your fish, a fin reached out for comfort.

ok? was scrawled above it.

You drew a smiley face in response.

His response took longer this time, and you wished you could see him. He hadn't opened the door, but he knew you were there. Maybe he wasn't good with words either.

Nathan's fish held a small flower, messily sketched into a bouquet. It was clear he'd drawn and redrawn. Hence the pause.

You better not be allergic.

You laughed surprisedly.

Ironically, I have a seafood allergy.

The fish returned with a face mask.

Another giggle.

Nathan's ear was pressed as hard as he could against the door, drinking in your quiet laugh. Sharpie stained his fingers, and he so badly wanted to open the door. But then you'd see his red eyes and quivering lip. The toll of your attention had gotten too much, and he'd hidden under his desk until he was sure you'd left.

But.

The paper sparked hope. Your familiar red ink eased the tears, and he could hear your pacing outside. Maybe you weren't mad. He could fix it.

You slipped the paper back. He was shit at drawing, but your willingness to play along made his heart swell.

Your fish was alone again. A single heart was drawn above it, carefully colored in.

Did I ruin it?

His hands were shaking as he drew another, smaller heart beside it. His sketch was messy and the ink was running, but his heart hurt so bad he thought he would die. He didn't ruin it. It's okay, this was gonna work out.

A soft knock sounded above his ear. He shakily reached for the knob and unlatched it. Your soft eyes peeked out from the crack. Nathan nudged the door open some more, hesitant to meet your gaze.

"H..Hi," you whispered.

The biggest fucking grin of his life split his face in two.

The two of you sat in the dark of the cubicle farm, grinning like lovesick fools in your respective piles of sticky notes.

edit: just realized I never tagged anyone for this??????????? sorry if you've already read it but here you go ig

@krakenkitty @ominoose @bulletgoth @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @justsomeonecalledemma

@iolaussharpe-24 @rosegnome @twwcs @heeheehoohoofictimr @steven-grants-world

@ael-xander @to-be-a-sunshine @weasleyswizarding-wheezes @silvernight-m @lonelyisamyw-0love  @unear7hly

[lol-jackles]

Hi, how are you?

I wanted to ask, we know that Jared has not stopped working since Supernatural ended.

He had offers even before Supernatural and Walker ended.

So my question is, do JP's agents still give him scripts for possible series or movies?

Do they still submit Jared's name for auditions?

Throughout these years until now do you think Jared received offers to do movies?

Until the moment you retired, did you hear that Jared's name had been associated with any movie production?

Hi friend, very very busy which I'll expand on later in this post.

Yes and yes after agents sort through factors such as salary, cast, production team, etc. Scripts are just one piece of the puzzle. I've seen great scripts ruined by bad production and terrible scrips filmed with high standards.

As for movies, Jared did received offers for low budget movies, but his manager has always steered him towards television because that's where the money is. The timeless joke is movie stars can get a seat at a restaurant anytime while television stars can buy the restaurant.

Jared's surname is unusual so I had vague recollection of his name attached to Whatever it Takes, a teen modern version of Cyrano de Bergerac. After 10 Things I Hate About You and Cruel Intentions were hits, Hollywood tried to capitalize on taking old classics and "retelling" them in modern teen settings.

Nowadays I haven't heard much other than gossips that studios think they can get at least 3 more television series from Jared. David Boreanaz and Nathan Fillion are 55 and 53 respectively so there's been speculation they good for one and two more tv series as leads respectively. Half the reasons why I've been relatively absent from this hell site is because my old job hired me as a consultant. Casting is one of the hardest aspects of this business, for both low and big budget films. So between my new part time job and my current full time job and holiday family obligations quickly descending upon us, free time to trigger AAs on this hell site is rarer by the day.

[toast-tales]

Cursed Cravings: A retold, g/t story of Beauty and the Beast, with a sinister twist.

When he declines to help a beggar woman, wealthy aristocrat Christopher Penn was cursed to adopt a giant form with a terrible, monstrous burden, and the conditions to break the curse seem all but impossible. When a peasant girl, Danny, agrees to take her friend's place as Christopher's captive, he realizes that she may be the last hope of regaining his humanity and breaking the spell for good.

But who could ever care for a monster like him?

This will be an AU of ITWOM involving some familiar characters like Christopher, Danny, Sam, and Nathan - but you don't have to have read the main story to read this one. Lots of things will be changed around, so for all intents and purposes, these aren't the characters you know.

This story will contain g/t, angst, and soft/safe vore later down the road. It's still going to be a lighter read than ITWOM, but be warned nonetheless! This isn't the Beauty and the Beast story you know from Disney.

Read Chapter 1 below:

Chapter 1: Dark Night of the Soul

Contains: ~2k words | Chapter Index | Read this story on A03!

It was a night like many others, the night that Christopher Penn's life was changed forever.

A deluge had begun that evening, torrential rain bearing down upon the land with fierce strikes of lightning and thunder rattling the large windows of the mansion—but all this meant for Christopher and his guests was that they wouldn't be able to enjoy the garden out back, and their merriment was restricted to the large indoor space. The music still swelled and filled the air pleasantly, rising above the sounds of the storm outside and making it easy for the partygoers to forget how unpleasant it was outside the walls of Christopher's house.

The host in question flitted from person to person throughout the evening, engaging in the usual small talk and jokes, an easy and charming smile lighting up his face and those of the people he met with. He was a gracious and charismatic host, always making sure that his parties were the grandest, with his guests never wanting for anything. The people in attendance would speak highly of his events, of the balls and the dinner parties, that he was so keen to host. 

On the surface, Christopher seemed rather at ease, full of a charm and grace that would be befitting of someone from a wealthy family. But his actions were all surface level—each word and step he took was carefully choreographed and planned in advance. He was terrified, truly—each person he brought into his home was a potential ally, a potential for advancing his status, but they were also a potential seed to his own destruction.

Christopher had spent every day since his parents had passed rebuilding his family's reputation among the nobility. He could see past their charm—they despised his parents, and in turn, they despised him. His own reputation—the very thing that allowed him to live in such comforts still, to have any amount of power and social standing at all—was fragile and tenuous, and every interaction he had, no matter how seemingly insignificant it was, was an attempt to maintain its strength.

And so, while he seemed completely comfortable in this element, there was a latent anxiety in Christopher, hidden well beneath the surface. 

He almost didn’t hear the knock at the door at first, wrapped up as he was in conversation. But his manservant rushed to his side, rather insistently dragging him away.

“I’m sorry, Chris, she just won’t leave without speaking to you.” Sam’s stride was brisk, and they gave Christopher no choice but to follow. He offered a quick and profuse apology to the noblewoman he’d been entertaining before he caught up to Sam.

“You’re not able to send her away?” Christopher hissed, somewhat tersely. “I can’t be interrupted by every stranger that shows up here. I have guests to attend to.” 

“Hey, I tried!” Sam insisted. “I’m just one guy, and I also have guests of yours to attend to. She keeps coming back. All she wants is a quick word with you. Just humor her, and she’ll be out of your hair.” Sam ran their fingers somewhat anxiously through their own well-groomed locks. “We can just deal with it quietly, before she causes a scene. Some of the guests near the front door are getting a little antsy about it.” 

Christopher sighed wearily as he followed Sam to the main entrance. Perhaps if he had more staff, this wouldn’t be a problem. Most of the house’s staff had left in the fallout of his parents’ demise, with the sole exception being Sam—his personal servant who’d remained as doggedly loyal to him as they had the first day they’d been assigned to care for him. He’d never let on to his guests, but Christopher worked with Sam every day to keep the house in order, even helping cook the meals and clean. He had to keep up appearances as best he could. 

Sam pulled the grand front door open to reveal a woman on the other side—a pauper in beggar’s clothes, tattered and rain-soaked, hunched on his front stoop as she gazed up at Christopher. 

Christopher stood up straight and directed a cold, stern look towards the woman. He could feel several sets of eyes on him, and knew that there was a group of aristocrats watching the scene intently. He adjusted the cuffs of his sleeves idly as he spoke, as if he couldn’t be bothered to pay attention to the woman at all.

“I’m afraid you will have to leave. I have no room for beggars here.” 

The woman shivered slightly, tilting her head up further to meet Christopher’s face. Her eyes were wide and glassy, her face lined with creases from age and stress. “P-please, kind sir, I only need to come in from the storm for a short while. I won’t be any trouble. I…I haven’t eaten in days-”

The people nearby began to whisper, a touch of disgust coloring their tone. 

“This is an exclusive event,” Christopher interjected firmly. “There is a certain decorum that must be maintained. Please leave, or I will contact the authorities to escort you away.” 

If he had been at home alone that evening, he might have afforded some manner of small comfort towards the woman. But he couldn’t be seen sullying his hands with the poor here. 

A pleading, desperate look came to the woman’s face, her features falling into despair. “Sir, I will not survive the night!” Her voice was hoarse and rough, as if sandpaper scraped against the inside of her throat. “You would turn me away, to the mercy of the storm?”

Her cries had gotten louder—more of his guests had turned to look and whisper among themselves, casting uncertain and hesitant glances Christopher’s way. He didn’t need to hear them to know what they were all saying. 

What kind of place is this, where the host entertains beggars?

He is no better than his parents, mingling with such filth.

He doesn’t belong here.

He is not one of us.

He set his jaw and made his stance firm, his dark eyes fixed sharply down at the beggar. He couldn’t let this go on further. “Leave. Your welfare is not my concern.”

The woman’s face became suddenly sharper, each crease and wrinkle fading to a more youthful visage, and her muddy, round eyes transformed to piercing, golden ones. She no longer hunched, but stood straight up, rising to a height that forced even Christopher to look up in awestruck terror. 

“THEN YOU WILL HAVE BLOOD ON YOUR HANDS, CHRISTOPHER PENN.” 

Her tattered clothes transformed to flowing white robes upon her dark skin, her hair now falling in neat and lovely braids down her back, adorned with gold. 

She cast a scornful, acidic gaze towards Christopher as she looked down on him, each fiber of her being radiating with malice. 

His heart stopped beating—the entire world seemed to have gone silent, save for the strikes of thunder that almost seemed to accentuate every word this woman spoke. Her voice boomed with an unnatural volume throughout the entire hall. He didn’t need to turn around to know that every single person in attendance had heard.

He did his best to hide the quaking in his limbs. He couldn’t lose his composure, even now. “Who are you?” he asked, his voice escaping as nothing but a whisper.

The woman scowled at him, her expression one of pure poison. He could feel himself withering beneath it, despite all his efforts to keep calm. 

“You would not remember me, for the faces you entertain here are simply passing flights of fancy to you. I was your guest, Penn. And I saw past your charm. You use people for your own gain, grasping onto what little power you have like a pathetic child, desperate to rise above your place in the world.” 

She pointed an accusing finger towards him. “You have a vile, black heart, so cruel that you would send a woman away to her death when she asks for but a little kindness.”

“Hey!” Sam spoke up, a little timidly beside Christopher. “You can’t talk about him like-”

“SILENCE.” A loud strike of thunder shook the entire house, rattling the foundation and carrying the woman’s voice to the ears of every patron once again. A blistering wind tore through the open door, making the curtains tremble in its wake. 

Christopher thought that something seemed familiar about the woman—he felt as though he could recall a conversation with her, and she surely must have been at one of his parties. He searched for a name desperately, frantically wracking his brain for this woman’s identity.

“...Sybil?” he croaked, every ounce of confidence having long since left his body. His knees began to tremble, and he worried that they would soon give out completely. “Y-you may come in, I am so very sorry to have offended-”

“You have already failed, Penn. Now you repent, for you see my true form, and the power I wield.” Her eyes narrowed dangerously. “Your fate has already been sealed.”

The world was swallowed in darkness within only the span of a moment, and the screams of Christopher’s guests and Sam became drowned out by an all-encompassing blackness that surrounded him, choking the air from his lungs, squeezing his ribcage until he thought he would burst from the pressure. He could not speak, he could not move, he could not see. If not for the excruciating pain shooting through every fiber of his being, he would have thought he was dead.

“You will no longer hide behind your tawdry facade. A monster within, so a monster you shall become.” 

Sybil’s voice came from all around him, like a harsh winter wind that froze the blood in his veins as it passed over him. Her words had weight to them, laden with something powerful, and far beyond this world’s understanding. 

His body was changing, but in what manner, he had no way to tell. All he could feel was pain—pain and a clawing hunger, like an animal inside of his stomach ripping and tearing at the flesh within, desperate to break out. His head throbbed as sounds swirled in his mind, indistinguishable from each other as they rose into a crescendo of noise, and the silence turned to a deafening cacophony. Voices, screams, shouting, but no words he could make out. He thought that he could hear Sam, amidst all the chaos, but he couldn’t be sure.

And then, before the darkness of his vision cleared to reveal the full extent of the horror that awaited him, he was assaulted by the wave of a strong smell he couldn’t place, a scent that filled his lungs and made the desperate animal within his gut writhe and twist in agony. It was like the scent of the finest wine, the most tantalizing food in existence, in such a great amount that it was overwhelming—even though, in those few moments of blissful ignorance, he had no idea what it was that delighted his senses so, that made the pain almost forgotten, that made every bone of his ache with an almost feral hunger.

His eyes opened with frantic urgency, and the scene before him unfolded slowly into a horrifyingly clear depiction of the gruesome fate that had been thrust upon him. He could barely see the faces of the ones he’d invited here, but their frightened screams spoke loudly enough. No words came to his own mouth—he was frozen in horror, like an insect trapped in amber as the weight of what happened sunk in, pressing down upon him like a suffocating, terrible gravity.

Despite his transformation, Sybil’s words rang as clear in his head as they had before. 

“Ten years, Penn. Ten years to prove yourself, or this form will be your prison.”

* * * * * * * * * * 

Next Chapter ->

Thanks for reading! I hope to update this story semi-consistently, because boy do I have some things planned down the road. So stay tuned!

[alfredojesta]

okay self indulgent rant about my circus pasta headcanons (i call them "circus squad" which is funny because nathan vine and pup are far from circusy) (THIS POST IS SO LONG OMG I JUST DON'T SHUT UP)

PART 1: NATHAN AND CANDY POP

ever since nathan and ciara got married, candy pop treats nathan like he's his angsty teenage son. even though nathan is a grown ass man. and they've been best friends for years.

he shows up to nathan and ciara's house in the middle of the night with gifts and (store-bought) food. ciara wakes up and punches him out of surprise. "WHERE DID YOU COME FROM, POPS?" "OW — I COME WITH GIFTS!"

candy pop and nathan have a lot of trust in each other. nathan acts like an anti social freak but candy pop knows he's a silly little guy. candy pop isn't bitter at all that nathan spends more time with his wife than with the jester. candy pop is actually incredibly supportive of their relationship! he's very proud! he wants to be a good father and a great bestie! he even wanted to match with nathan so he made jason the toymaker marry him (IT ENDED IN A TERRIBLE DIVORCE)!

i think that nathan has supported candy pop the longest. they met when night terrors was still in commission and they worked together to stop night terrors and his cluster of souls from wreaking havoc. candy pop was beneficial to nathan as well. candy pop helped him get out of his shell and become as hopeful as he is today. nowadays, nathan's too busy with his own life to do pranks with candy pop. but candy pop doesn't mind it.

candy pop tries to be a good father to ciara. he does the most he can, but even then it doesn't feel like enough. ciara pushes him away, claiming she's able to protect herself. she isn't good with trusting people, not even candy pop. losing her twin brother made her cold and distant. being around the jarringly energetic candy pop makes her angry in a way. she doesn't know just how much candy pop relates to her life.

PART 2: VINE AND PAPA GRANDE

VINE??? oh he's like . 40. vine is more of a lowkey serial killer. his victims are normally documented as "missing". he hides his tracks well. he's the richest out of the six, having inherited most of his father's money and then used it to start a successful business.

he's besties with the puppeteer, papa grande and nathan. it was pretty difficult for them to get close to vine. vine is quiet, quite asocial for his age, and has a hard time trusting men. he was lucky enough to find people he could relate to.

when it comes to jason and candy pop... vine is 50/50 with them. sometimes he likes them, sometimes he doesn't. jason isn't fun to talk to; he doesn't listen, he's working 99% of the time, and he'll either sigh with annoyance or tell vine straight up "i do not care. get out." and then candy pop is candy pop idk what more to say about that.

then papa grande... he's a travelling magician who picks certain people from the audience to kill and add to his collection! he, like vine, isn't a famous serial killer.

papa grande rarely admits it but he sees these little guys as family. nathan is like his adopted son... annoying adopted son. they constantly joke about papa grande breaking his back or having a heart attack, and at some point, papa grande thinks they're praying on his downfall.

jason learns all his magic tricks from papa grande — usually against his will. papa grande genuinely thought jason was a magician because of his tophat and cane. but no. jason is just a fancy british guy.

candy pop's an exception when it comes to the familial bond. candy pop is like a dog he found on the street. candy pop is a menace. he keeps waking up papa grande in the middle of the night and asking him to do magic tricks. "PAPA WAKE UP!" "WHAT" "MAGIC TRICKS!" "WHAT."

PART 3: THE PUPPETEER AND JASON

i have a bunch of headcanons for THE MALE MANIPULATORS. i think the toymaker and the puppeteer would get along great.

FIRST OF ALL, the puppeteer actually respects jason. he was a bit intimidated by jason at first, but after getting to know him, he's come to look up to him. pup admires jason's craftsmanship, finding his work to be beautiful and inspiring.

SECOND OF ALL, as a toymaker himself, jason is intrigued by pup being a living puppet. sometimes he asks to reconfigure the puppeteer's wooden limbs. to that, the puppeteer politely declines.

THIRD OF ALL, they are SENSIBLE PEOPLE... usually. they're both manipulative and selfish freaks who get angry when things don't go their way... i reckon they have conversations over tea about how many people they've fucked up this year. "five women in one month? scandalous." "do not word it like that."

pup is a wanderer. wanderers don't have places to stay. wanderers wander into peoples' apartments ("they are called flats" – jason) and overstay their visits... jason let him stay ONCE. ONCE. and the puppeteer decided to take it as "oh i can come over whenever i want!"

thankfully he isn't a messy guy... he's just odd. he always turns on the tv just to watch it for three minutes and then head to the kitchen to cook dinner. but he never finishes cooking dinner because he gets distracted by the tv he played in the living room an hour ago. jason hears it all happen.

pup also tries to console jason about his anger issues. he keeps seeing holes punched into the wall and it's concerning. (i think punching holes into walls actually makes jason angrier. like what the fuck do you mean you're that weak. dumbass wall.) pup makes sure not to enable his anger... he is the exact opposite of candy pop and nathan.

the puppeteer very much loves his friends and will do anything for them (he does not have many friends). whenever someone takes the toymaker's tophat, the puppeteer is the one to return it. even if it ends up at the side of a cliff in nevada, he'll get it back for the toymaker. although, the toymaker usually doesn't want the tophat back...

jason thinks the puppeteer can be overbearing at times but he isn't as bad as candy pop, so things are okay. plus, jason can always mess with the puppeteer as much as he messes with jason. whether it's scaring him off with a toy or shaking salt in front of him, pup is such an easy target.

OKAY THAT'S ALL (i have more just saving it for other posts xD)

they're rlly interesting characters :') genuinely my favourites. i love them so much... i have a candymaker rant right here too for anyone who wants to read

[89pedri]

Passenger Seat | Mason Mount

Pairing: Mason Mount x Reader

Summary: Fell in love with you in my passenger seat.

Warnings: Slight suggestive content, cursing

Word count: 2k+

Note: Back with another Mason blurb idea thing, I hope you like it! 🥺

The time read 3:02 am as you woke up to the third missed call from Mason in the past five minutes. Your heart immediately begins to race, worrying that something might have happened to him. You call him back, and he answers almost as quickly as you had pressed call.

“Hi, Y/N” you hear his cheerful voice through the speakers of your phone.

“Mase. Are you okay? Is everything okay?” you ask him. “Why do I have so many missed calls?”

“First off, I’m okay darling. But I am outside your house. Come outside, let’s go for a drive.” he says sheepishly.

“Are you mad? I thought something happened to you. Plus, have you seen the time? I look terrible, first of all and I feel bad sneaking out of my house like this, second of all. My parents will be so worried if they wake up and I’m not here.” you scold him.

At the same time that you finish your sentence, however, you put him on loud speaker as you begin frantically looking around your room for your makeup to somewhat make yourself look presentable. Knowing that you’d cave in and go out with him in any case.

“You look great. And, just be very quiet when you leave the house, your dad will never even know you were gone.” he tries to reassure you.

Your mind races as you apply a touch of makeup, not wanting Mason to see you so vulnerably yet. You slip on the closest pair of leggings and hoodie you can spot. You also can’t shake that feeling of guilt of sneaking out. As much as you were an adult, you felt that you owed your parents a sense of respect.

“Y/N, you there?” he asks after a few moments of silence.

“Yeah, I’m here. Just… I’ll be out in a bit.” you tell him before hanging up as you run to brush your teeth before heading out.

With a rush of excitement and nervousness, you walk towards the entrance door. Trying to rationalize if sneaking out at this time to spend time with Mason was even something you should be considering. You pause for a moment, taking a deep breath. Part of you wants to turn back, but the other part of you just wants to see Mason. That part of you that is sure has been falling in love with him, overrides the feeling of fear of getting caught. So you carefully open and close the door trying to minimize the noise and you spot him waiting for you in his car.

He rolls down the window of the passenger seat as he sees you appear out of you house, and he greets you with a wave and that ever-so-characteristic-of-him grin. The one you’d seen him reserve for when he talked about the things and people he really loved, like his nieces and nephew, and Chelsea.

“Don’t you have training in a couple of hours? Can’t you be fined for things like being out too late?” you begin interrogating him as you try to hide the smile that was forming on your lips as he begins to drive, seemingly with no destination.

“Couldn’t stop thinking of you. Wanted to see you again. I guess I’m risking everything for you, and that’s alright with me.” he tells you half-seriously half-joking as he sees you trying to connect to his car’s bluetooth so you can take control of the music.

You turn to look at him, rolling your eyes at the fact that he seemed to sweep you off your feet with his sweet talking.

You see a couple of familiar names pop up on his car’s bluetooth before you try to connect to your own phone. Chilly, Christian, Nathan. You hadn’t met them, but you felt that you knew them from how much he had talked to you about them. You also, however, see some unfamiliar ones.

You can’t help the feelings that form in the pit of your stomach. The jealously, the anger and the insecurity. However, you and Mason had never talked about being official. In theory he was well within his right to go on car rides with other girls. In practice, though, you hoped he wasn’t doing that.

“I have to ask, Mason. Do you also pick up… Jaz and Chloe from their houses at 3 am and risk everything for them?” you joke along with him.

“If you must know, Y/N. I would risk everything for Jaz. She’s my sister, Summer’s mom.” he begins and waits for your response. To which, you simply nod, having heard so much of Summer and how strongly their bond was.

He pauses before continuing, “And, Chloe. She’s my ex. It ended a couple of years ago. We were both very young. I haven’t thought about it but I guess I’ve not had a girl connect to my car since then.” he answers as he pulls a strand of loose hair behind your ear and settles his hand on your thigh, “but you have nothing to be jealous of, as you are the only girl who I have ever liked as much as to want to spend time with her at 3 am, 3pm and everything in between.”

“I was not jealous.” you lie, knowing he could read you better but he doesn’t press the matter further.

You finally connect your phone to his surround system and you start shuffling through your driving playlist. You analyze his reaction to the first few songs, skipping them all until you find one that he sings along to, turning up the volume.

You get so lost in the moment, loving the way his voice was just slightly off key, as he dramatically keeps looking between you and the road and he attempts to serenade you. To be honest, you weren’t paying much attention to the words, that was until he abruptly stops at a stop sign and turns to look at you.

“I’ll be your brightside, BABY, TONIGHT.” he half sings half yells along to The Lumineers looking into your eyes.

You lower your gaze, embarrassed at how quickly and easily the effect he had on you became evident. He smirks as he notices and parks a few metres ahead of the stop sign, at a small park with a stunning view of the city.

You turn down the volume of your phone, anticipating what you’d do next. Just happy to be there with him. He inclines both yours and his seat, and you look back noticing that the backseats were down to give you more room. Seems like he had thought this through.

He then opens the sunroof directly on top of your seats and you’re treated to a breathtaking view of the starry night. Taking hold of your hand, he brings it to his lips before placing a chaste kiss and then placing it close to his chest.

You both lay down in silence for a few minutes, just enjoying each other’s presence and the simple yet intimate activity of stargazing. The only sounds you could distinguish: the faint sound of your songs playing, your hearts beating and your shaky breaths.

“I think that’s Cassiopeia,” you say pointing towards the constellation, outlining the W shape with your fingers. “It’s like an upside down M for Mason Mount but not really.”

He points along with you, seeing him pull out his phone to snap a picture of the sky. He inches closer to you, surely testing your willpower as you take in his scent, “Wason Wount, if you will, but I don’t see it.”

“Look harder, Wason.” you whisper turning towards him. His body is barely touching yours and you look into his eyes. The air between you becoming thicker than before.

He slowly leans into you, hand gently caressing the side of your face as he closes the gap between your lips. Like most of your kisses, it starts soft and tender at first. Gently exploring each other’s mouth, becoming intoxicated with each other. And again, like most of your kisses, the passion grows. The kiss becoming more and more intense. Pressing your lips against each other more urgently, he gently bits your lip as you moan and his tongue explores your mouth. In a swift movement, he grabs your thighs and brings you towards his seat, straddling his lap. You wrap your arms around his check, pulling him as close as humanly possibly, deepening the kiss.

He reluctantly pulls away before your kisses escalate any further. You both struggle to catch your breath for a few seconds. The kisses leaving you with your blood rushing into your head, wanting more. You look into his eyes as you see the raw emotion in them, feeling dizzy with desire.

“As much as I’d love to continue this. And trust me I would. I’ve thought about it a lot more than I’d care to admit. But, I have imagined us, you know, in a much more comfortable and romantic place.” he laughs lightly tapping your bum.

“Prude.” you tell him as you move off his lap and sit back onto the passenger seat.

The two of you lay back down, entwined in each other's arms, watching the stars twinkle above; trying to point out more constellations.

As the night passes, you both talk and share more pieces of yourselves, learning more about each other and feeling that, surely, if you weren’t already, you were falling in love with him.

Somewhere along the conversation, you had both fallen into a comfortable asleep in his car, with his arms holding your waist tightly.

The warmth of the sun wakes you up and you shuffle around to see Mason asleep with a slow and steady breathing pattern, and a small smile on his face.

You immediately see that it was bright out and that the windows had fogged up. Your mind starts to wonder just how long you’d been asleep, and how long you’d been out.

“Shit, Mase. It’s 6:43. Wake up.” you nudge him as you check your phone.

“Come on, babe just five more minutes.” he tries to grab onto you, trying to get you to cuddle him some more.

“I don’t wanna go. But I have to.” you say just above a whisper, trying not to overthink the way him calling you babe for the first time made you feel.

“I know, I don’t wanna say goodnight yet either. But, I gotta get you home so your parents won’t know. I want them to like me when I meet them for the first time.” he mutters as he begins to wake up.

“What makes you so sure I want you to meet my parents?” you challenge.

It was a subject you hadn’t touched yet. As much as you liked him, you had never discussed if you two were exclusive. Or, if he even wanted to introduce you each other to your lives like that. You hadn’t met each other’s friends or family, having kept your whatever-you-two-were to yourselves. So, you thread around the subject lightly.

“Because, I got you a gift.” he voices as he stretches towards the backseat, where a gift bag was sitting on the floor. “I had this whole thing planned out. Sunrise was at 5:57 am today. I checked before picking you up. I was gonna say you were my sunshine and everything. But I guess we missed that about an hour ago, so I hope you’ll still like it.”

He hands you the bag, sensing the nerves and anxiety he had as he was waiting for you to open it.

You chuckle at how endearing he was when he become flustered. It wasn’t a side of him you had seen much, as he usually carried himself with a confidence you admired.

“This is super cheesy.” you state, as you start to unpack the contents of the bag — the Chelsea jersey with his name and number and one ticket for the next home match in a few days.

“It is not. But, Christian is injured, I already told him to keep you company that day. I’m hoping you want to meet the rest of my friends after. I really want to introduce them to you as… well, as my girl.” he gazed at you with a shy smile.

You couldn’t help but giggle as you reply, “I would love to go to the game as your girl. And to meet your friends as your girl. And to do all that, as you girl. I was starting to worry you didn’t like me like that.”

“You know how much I like you. I just had to build the courage, Y/N. But fuck… I’m so fucking happy.” he expresses sincerely, before moving closer to you, pressing a kiss on your head. His lips linger for a few seconds. It was a small gesture he’d always do. One you were beginning to love. “My girl.”

“My girl,” he whispers again, “I can’t believe it. Me and you’ve got something special. I have never been so sure of anything in my life.”

“I’m so happy too.” you say with tears threatening to spill. “But, you need to take me home before I embarrass myself and start crying in front of you.”

“I think that would be very cute. But, because I don’t want to make my girl cry this early into our relationship I’ll do as you say. But we’re taking the long way home.”

____________________________________________

As you wake up the next day, you see a notification pop up on your phone.

Mason Mount has posted a new instagram story.

[drawfee-quot3s]

demeanour? i would only respect her

- nathan

[stabbyfoxandrew]

Hey! Could I get a little bit of Arsonist Neil? I desperately wanna know how this phone call will go! Thank you for sharing your beautiful writing Aerie!!! I wish you a good week!

WIP Wednesday (4/17) | Arsonist Neil / Firefighter Andrew AU (Part 147)

When Neil hangs up the phone, there’s a warmth in his chest that he’s never noticed before. It’s nice to have someone to talk to after a horrid memory disguised as a nightmare. He fondly strokes his phone screen with the pad of his thumb and sighs. Andrew was angry at him, but still answered when Neil needed him. 

He can’t recall ever having that sort of friendship his entire life. Of course, talking to Andrew meant having to hear about that movie… But, even that was nice. Andrew’s voice is nice. He should narrate books or something. Neil double checks that his door is locked and barricaded with the chair before kicking off his shoes and sort of making his bed enough to crawl into it.

As he starts to jam the charger into the side of his slider phone, Neil notices he’s got an alarming amount of missed messages. He opens his text thread with Andrew and scrolls to the top, back to that angry ‘leave me alone’ that had him ripping the battery out.

Andrew I didn’t mean it. Tell me why you didn’t stay.

Neil lets out a breath. If only he could.

Andrew I apologize for jumping to conclusions. Obviously I’m not good with people either.

They’re a couple of idiots, it seems.

Andrew You know, technically, you did deliver on the coffee. I just didn’t drink it. I guess this means I’m paying next time. What should we do? I noticed there are a couple of movies playing that might be alright. We could catch a matinee. But, be warned, I will be sneaking candy in because I’m not a goddamn Rockefeller. Do you like M&Ms?

Andrew was trying to make other plans with him? With Neil? He can’t fucking believe that.

Andrew There’s a bunch of kids at work today. A field trip was arranged behind my back by my friend Renee. It’s just as fun as it sounds. One of the kids heckled me, then another asked how strong I was. So I was made to carry my very large coworker across the room. What’s new with you?

Neil knows firefighters have to be strong, but he’s suddenly wondering just how large Andrew’s co-worker was. Andrew seems quite sturdy, despite being even shorter than Neil.

Andrew I’m about to go to the movies with my brother who hates me. Well, I’m not sure if he still hates me. He used to. Wish me luck, firebug.

The nickname has a smile forming on Neil's face.

Andrew The movie was terrible, just so you know. I hated every second of it. My brother enjoyed it, but he’s stupid. Did you know a large soda costs like $50 now? I’m joking, obviously. But the prices are ridiculous, so I suppose I won’t be doing that again for a while.

Neil hasn’t been to a movie theater in… He counts back years in his head and thinks of the time he and his mother ran into one to hide from one of Nathan’s people. They’d hunkered down in a crowded theater playing some sort of kiddie movie about a little Hawaiian girl.

He didn’t get to watch it because Mary kept shoving him down into the seat and watching the doors behind them, but the tune of the song was catchy even if it was in a language he didn’t know. He hums what he remembers of it and taps out replies to almost every message Andrew had sent him. Then he rolls around and goes back to sleep.

[emma23]

Bad decisions, worst timing:

Nathan Bateman x reader

————————————————————————

You stand outside the enormous glass walls of Nathan Bateman’s isolated estate, feeling the chill of the night air against your skin. The forest around the estate seems too quiet, almost eerie, but you barely notice it. Your thoughts are louder than any sound in the woods.

You just found out. He cheated. Your stupid, slimy ex cheated on you. The worst part is, you weren’t even that surprised. Maybe you had seen it coming, maybe you had ignored the signs for too long, or maybe it was just easier to believe that things were fine when they clearly weren’t.

Whatever. It was over now.

And standing here, in front of Nathan Bateman’s door, you know this is a terrible idea. The man was practically a genius, rich beyond belief, but he had the emotional range of a rock and the moral compass of…well, a mad scientist. But here you were anyway, because when you make bad decisions, you make spectacularly bad ones.

You buzz the intercom. There's a long pause before the door hisses open, and Nathan stands in front of you, a bottle of whiskey in hand, already looking slightly buzzed. His eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

"You lost or something?" Nathan asks, his voice carrying that usual cocky tone, as though he couldn't believe someone would show up unannounced.

"No." You shake your head, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. "I need a favor."

Nathan quirks an eyebrow, taking a swig from his glass. "Favor? Don’t tell me—your car broke down in the middle of nowhere?"

"No," you say flatly. "My ex cheated on me, and I need to forget about it. Tonight. And I figured you could help with that."

His smirk grows as he leans against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. "You think I'm the guy you come to for that kind of favor?"

You shrug, trying to act casual even though your heart is racing. "I figured it was either you or…someone else. Your call."

Nathan’s eyes narrow, and you can see the gears turning in his head. He knows what you’re asking for. He just doesn’t want to make this easy for you. Of course, he doesn’t.

"Should I tell you again that you don’t really wanna sleep with me?" he says, his voice mocking, as if this was all some kind of joke.

"You could," you reply, meeting his gaze evenly. "But that’s only if you want me to sleep with someone else tonight."

That catches him off guard. For a moment, you see something dark flash across his face—jealousy, maybe? He’s possessive, that much is obvious, but he hates to admit it.

Nathan steps closer, his voice dropping an octave. "You sure about this?"

"Positive."

He lets out a low, humorless chuckle before setting his glass down on the table. His eyes rake over you, from your heels to your dress, and you feel the heat of his gaze settle in your stomach.

"Take your dress off," he commands, his voice rough and without hesitation. "But the heels stay on."

Your pulse quickens at the command, but you don’t falter. You’ve come this far, and there’s no turning back now. As your fingers fumble with the zipper at your back, you notice Nathan watching you intently, his gaze never wavering. There’s a tension in the room, thick enough to cut through.

The dress slips off, pooling around your feet, and Nathan takes a slow step towards you, eyes darkened with something primal.

"Should’ve known," he mutters under his breath, reaching out to run a hand down your arm. His touch is rough, but you can’t deny the electric thrill that comes with it.

You meet his gaze. "Known what?"

He smirks. "That you'd be trouble."

The next thing you know, he’s pulling you in, his lips crashing against yours with a roughness that takes your breath away. His hands are on your hips, pulling you closer as the heat between you ignites. It’s messy, desperate, and nothing like you expected.

Nathan isn’t gentle. He’s not the type to whisper sweet nothings or ask if you’re okay. No, this is all raw instinct and the need to control, to dominate. And right now, you’re completely okay with that.

As his hands roam your body, he maneuvers you onto the couch, his lips never leaving yours. The world outside could be burning, and you wouldn’t even notice.

The next few minutes are a blur of hands and lips, the sound of his breathing mixing with your own as you lose yourself in the moment. You’re not sure how much time passes, but eventually, you’re lying there, spent, with Nathan beside you, the tension between you finally dissipating.

The room falls silent except for the sound of your heavy breathing, and for a moment, everything feels still.

Nathan turns his head, looking at you with a satisfied smirk. "Well, that was… cathartic."

You chuckle, rolling your eyes. "Don’t flatter yourself."

"I don’t need to," he says, his voice dripping with arrogance. "You’re the one who came here."

You groan, half-laughing, half-exasperated. "Yeah, yeah. Don’t get used to it."

Nathan just laughs, taking a swig from the bottle of whiskey still sitting on the table. He offers it to you, and you take it, grateful for something to distract you from the fact that you just made yet another terrible decision.

But for now, at least, you feel a little better.

You glance over at Nathan, who’s already sprawled out on the couch like he owns the place (which, technically, he does).

"You really are the worst," you mutter, taking a sip.

He smirks, eyes gleaming with amusement. "And yet here you are."

You sigh, setting the bottle down. "Yeah. Guess I’m just bad at making good choices."

Nathan raises an eyebrow. "Well, at least you’re consistent."

You throw a pillow at him, and he catches it effortlessly, grinning like he’s won some kind of prize.

"And you’re impossible," you add.

Nathan just shrugs, settling back into the couch. "I never said I wasn’t."

And with that, the night drifts into an odd sort of comfort—a shared understanding between two deeply flawed people, finding a strange kind of solace in each other’s company.

[liquid-geodes]

LOVE that I'm becoming a cryptid in the nwtb community.

Everyone is looking for me in chat

I'm LITERALLY not allowed to leave chat when he's in the middle of a pokemon battle because every time I do something terrible happens to his run and everyone starts panicking until I come back

Tumblr community constantly looks for my reactions when he drops something new, freaks out when I haven't said anything yet

Tumblr community also flocks to my blog just for new updates

I am single handedly paying for this man's groceries through merch and superchats

I'm chat's special little pogchamp

Nathan always notices my chat messages at the WORST times and then LAUGHS at my dumbass

Everyone then REPEATS THE MESSAGE THAT MADE HIM LAUGH SEVERAL TIMES until the joke is no longer funny, effectively killing it in a matter of seconds

People have started using "Nate Posting" in their own posts, blissfully unaware that this is, in fact, my simp tag i made specifically for Nathan and NOT a general discussion tag on this blog

I never imagined that THIS is what I'd become the cryptid of, I never imagined being mothman in a YouTube stream chat section but alas, heavy is the head that wears the jester's cap

[aster-aspera]

Speech is silver, silence is golden

Relationships: Nabrielise, with a focus on (queerplatonic) Gabriel/Annalise

Tags: Fluff, hurt/comfort, hair brushing, kissing

Read on ao3

Annalise is awkwardly hovering in the doorway to their bathroom. Gabriel, who is smoking a cigarette out the window, weighs the pros and cons of ignoring her. Without Nathan and the ever present dread of people wanting to kill them, their relationship feels strained and awkward. Gabriel has been forced to confront these past few days that despite kissing one and having his life saved by the other, he still does not know these teens very well.

But it’s Annalise, and if he doesn’t give her the attention she demands, she will force him, so he snubs out the cigarette on the windowsill and turns to her with a sigh.

“What do you want?” He asks.

“Where’s Nathan?”

“He went to get food.” And some amount of liquor preferably, but he decides not to mention that.

She hesitates visibly, eyes skipping from him to the bathroom as she tries to make up her mind.

“What do you need?” Gabriel asks with a slight groan and when she smiles and her posture relaxes he realises he’s walked right into her trap.

“I need some help with my hair,” She says as she waves the brush clenched in her left hand at him.

He raises an eyebrow. “You can’t brush it yourself?” He wonders if all British kids are so helpless or if it’s just these two.

“No, it just hasn’t been washed since…” her eyes glaze over as she tries to count how long it’s been since, well, everything. To Gabriel, who is still trying to fill in the gaps in his memory, it feels like it has been months. 

She seems to realise it's a futile effort too and settles on: “In a while, and you don’t have conditioner or anything so I need a hand.”

“Well I’m sorry I have a practical hair length and don’t need to waste money on fancy products.” 

She hands him the brush with a smile. “And you don’t need any fancy products for your grey hair?”

“Perhaps, darling, this is all natural.”

Annalise sits down on the far end of the bed and Gabriel crosses his legs and scoots over till he’s behind hair.

“How old are you again, because if that grey’s all natural…?” She says it as a joke, but a shiver passes through him when he stops to consider the question. Who knows how many years Mercury has stolen from him. 

For lack of anything else to say, he carefully runs a hand through Annalise’s damp hair, feeling how tangled and messy it is. He doesn’t remember ever having brushed someone’s hair like this but somehow he knows to start from the bottom, to gently tease the strands of hair loose instead of yanking through them with a brush. 

Annalise relaxes minutely and it’s only now that he realises how tense she was, how tense she has been for days. Ever since they walked out of that forest covered in blood and fear and guilt, she has held herself at arms length from both of them, crawling inside her own skin in her grief. Neither Nathan nor Gabriel really know how to cope with that. 

He accidentally tugs too hard on a knot and Annalise sucks in a sharp breath.

“Sorry,” He says, and puts down the brush to work out the tangle gently with his fingers. Annalise shakes her head and then quickly holds it still again when she remembers their position.

“It’s okay, it happens.”  

She fidgets with the hem of her shirt as the soft scraping sound of brushing fills the air. He notices with faint detachment that it's one of his shirts that he left behind years ago when he last stayed here. He wonders if it would even fit him anymore. 

“You’re pretty good at this.”

“Is brushing hair something one can excel in?” He asks lightly, as if he hasn’t been wondering at it himself.

“Absolutely, my dad,” Her voice hitches slightly on that word, “My dad always started from the top and just tried to brush straight down. It was terrible.” She chuckles drily, and then scrubs at her cheek with the palm of her hand.

Gabriel wonders if his parents ever took the time to brush his hair. He assumes they did, but can’t picture the feeling of gentle hands running a brush through his hair.

He knows Mercury used to brush his hair. It’s a feeling he’s still intimately familiar with. She complained endlessly when he cut it short, but it had been one of the few small reliefs he had managed to get from her. After all, long hair could be distracting when one was trying to be an alchemist.

Now done with the lower part of her hair, his hand accidentally brushes the nape of Annalise’s neck and she shivers violently. He draws his fingers back quickly and makes to apologise, but she beats him to the punch.

“Sorry, I just…, keep going please.”

Carefully, Gabriel slips his fingers back beneath her hair, and softly runs his knuckles up the back of her neck to the base of her skull. Annalise exhales softly and leans back into his touch. He picks the brush back up and gently traces a path along the shell of her ear to lift away a section of hair to brush. 

“Gabriel?” She says quietly into the suddenly charged air that surrounds them.

He hums softly, focused mostly on the tangled strand of hair in his hand and her weight slowly leaning into him. 

“Can I kiss you?”

He hesitates for a moment. He has never kissed someone like her. He never would have thought he would want to kiss someone like her. But she is here, soft and warm and close, and it’s not the same as the boys he finds in clubs and takes home, and it's not the same as Nathan and his soft lips, but still he feels an overwhelming affection for her, still being so close and thinking of her lips on his feels so right (and he thinks he might love her but he won’t say it, can’t say it, because love is the one thing Mercury will always take from him).

So he nods mutely, because he doesn’t know how to say any of that out loud. And she’s already turned around to watch him, and her eyes are still heavy with grief and there are tears drying on her lashes and if he were more poetically inclined he would say they look like stars. As it is, he can only focus on the warm breath fanning his face and the sharp point of her knee digging into his shin. He cups the back of her head gently, a mirror to what Nathan did so long ago on that water tower and she closes the gap between them to press her lips to his. It’s a simple and chaste kiss, their lips barely touching, reveling more in the nearness of it than the action. 

Annalise laughs softly when she pulls back a little and Gabriel traces his thumb along the delicate contours of her face, the sound filling him with something giddy and light. She leans forward to press another kiss to his lips, quick and teasing and in turn he lands one on the very tip of her nose. She looks a little more relaxed now, and he thinks that he would spend the rest of his life kissing her if it made the grief clear from her eyes just a little. But things don’t work that way, and so when she turns away from him again, he makes sure to move as close to her as he can while keeping his hands free. Her hair is almost dry now, so he brushes it out with extra care. 

When Nathan comes home almost an hour later with bags of groceries and clothes weighing him down, he finds Annalise curled up in bed, sleeping peacefully for the first time since Soul died, and Gabriel by the window, tracing the new name in his book.

[catkin-morgs-kookaburralover]

@monthly-challenge 2024 | 8. Taking a Nap

I used this prompt for my original characters, Nathan and Patience: the story is under the cut.

Word count: 1,074

Patience yawned again, this time not suppressing it enough to avoid Nathan’s notice.

“Are you coming down with something?” he asked, practically.

She shook her head. Rhona, who was sitting next to her, chimed in, “Trust me, she’s just tired.”

“I can answer on my own, thank-ye-very-much,” said Patience. “But yes. It’s not a migraine.”

“Good, because I want to spend this time with you.” He shot her a grin; Rhona rolled her eyes.

“I feel like a third wheel,” she informed the ceiling. “I wonder why?”

“Bring along a fourth wheel and we can get this show on the road,” said Patience, a grin of her own breaking through. “How ‘bout it?”

“I should ask Lia, or Chloe or someone. Instead of sitting here while you two are busy making heart eyes at each other.”

“We don’t do that too often,” disagreed Patience.

Rhona laughed. “That was a joke, right? Right?”

Nathan laughed too. Patience glanced between them. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, somewhat crossly. She was sincere, and Nathan gave her a glance not quite as loving as his previous ones.

“It’s a joke,” he said. “Can you not take a joke?”

“Not when you’re going to be horrid about it,” she said. “I’m no good with jokes, you know that.”

“Eh, you’re pretty good at them,” disagreed Nathan.

“I’m not trying to have an argument,” said Patience. There was silence for a moment, before Rhona filled it in by asking if either of them were up for a card game. Nathan was, and Patience debated claiming a headache and retiring to calm herself down. Eventually she said she was.

They played in somewhat less friendly silence, apart form the occasional words that were strictly about the game. At the end Nathan apologised for being horrid to her.

“You don’t need to apologise,” said Patience, who had calmed down and was now ready to accept and offer apologies. “It was my own fault being all snippy about it.”

“It was my fault for mocking you over it and belittling you,” he said.

“You apologise too easily,” said Patience, beginning to feel annoyed. “Too easily! Is that possible? I can hold grudges for ages, Pat. You should know this of me by now!”

“Sure, I know you say you hold grudges, but I don’t know—you’ve never seemed the sort who really holds a grudge, just thinks he does.” She spoke with the authority of a known grudge-holder, and Rhona made eye contact and smiled.

“The fact that we didn’t end up like Anne and Gilbert for the first few books is due mainly to circumstances, otherwise I could had ended up holding a grudge against you for some silly reason.”

Patience sighed. “You’re too hard on yourself, Nathan. You really need to be nicer to yourself sometimes.”

His expression darkened, and she knew she had hit a painful spot. “No.”

“Why not?”

He shrugged and mumbled his words, so that she missed what he said and had to ask for clarification. He shook his head helplessly instead of answering.

“You need to work on this,” she said, and knew at once that she had gone too far.

“Absolutely not,” said Nathan. “I’m entitled to think what I will about myself, thanks very much.”

“I just want the best for you,” she said, somewhat helplessly on her own account. She didn’t know really how to combat this. She had experienced such thoughts in herself, too—but then Nathan had helped her, and encouraged her, but it seemed sometimes as if he refused to let her encourage him too. It wasn’t a terrible problem by any means, but it was one she wanted to help him to fix because it could always get worse.

If he wouldn’t accept her help, though, what could she do, really?

It was, then, with a touch of annoyance that she added, “I don’t want you to keep putting yourself down. How do you think it makes other people feel? The people who love you?”

Nathan blinked in surprise. Rhona got up and left the room without comment.

“We care about you, Nathan, that’s why we want to make you not say these things.”

“I’m entitled to say whatever I want about myself,” he said stubbornly.

“Maybe so, but you’ve got to know that I’m going to pull you up on it almost every time.”

“Has it occurred to you that that’s really annoying?” he queried.

“Has it occurred to you that I don’t particularly care, since I think it’s for your own good?”

“You don’t care about my feelings?” His expression was stubborn and growing angry. “Got it. Well noted for the future, my girl.”

“Please don’t be horrid,” she said, softening suddenly. “Don’t say things like that. I just want to do the best I can do for you, you know?”

“I get it, but I’m entitled to still get annoyed by it,” he said stiffly. With a sudden emotional glance at her, he added, “If we’re going to hit shoals on this kind of thing, how are we ever supposed to last?” Patience froze, mouth half open. He had never said something like this.

“I want to be together for the long term!” he exclaimed. “I want—I want to marry you, Patience! But I don’t see how our differences can be reconciled!”

In an altered tone, she said slowly, “My dear, we don’t have to figure everything out right this instant. We just have to try, and keep on trying, for now. Surely?”

He pressed one hand against his eyes. “I worry about our future, Patience. Because I love you, and I don’t want to give you up. But I worry we won’t work out.”

She yawned again, a wave of tiredness encompassing her. “I don’t want to give you up either,” she said quietly. “Can’t we just stop this conversation for now and come back to it later, maybe?”

“Sure.” He held out his arms. “Come and cuddle, Patience. If you want to, that is.”

“Always.” She relocated herself to his lap, curled up against him and leaned her head on his shoulder.

Very quickly, Patience was asleep, and when Rhona came cautiously back she found them both fast asleep. Nathan’s arms were around Patience, and his head tilted in a protective fashion over her.

“I presume you’ve made up your argument,” said Rhona, too quietly to disturb the sleepers.

Tagging @stealingmyplaceinthesun @graycedelfin @pilgrimsofworship and @choasuqeen

[unhingedhearties]

The Long Awaited Team Nathan Receipts

The majority of the repugnant behavior from When Calls The Heart fans that I’ve shown on this blog comes from the Hearties that are Team Lucas/Lucabeth fans. I’ve shown several images of people justifying this terrible behavior because “Team Nathan fans acted the same way” without ever showing proof. 

Like this for example. Posted literally a few hours ago. That is until today when one Lucabeth Heartie finally delivered the receipts, showing the equally abhorrent behavior that Team Nathan fans showed years ago which will totally excuse everything Lucabeth fans have said this year and help us to truly understand where they’re coming from.

WCTH fan Fleu to the rescue. I’m sure these are going to be good.

…The hashtags are cringey as Hell and definitely something Team Lucas fans have appropriated, but this reads like more of a light-hearted joke. Come on Fleu. As the kids say “DO👏 BETTER👏”

Now we’re getting there. This reads a lot like the temper tantrums Lucabeth fans are throwing right now. Right down to the “Elizabeth has become horrible. The show’s really lost its values”. They even tagged one of the actors. 

I’d really like to hear Team Lucas and Team Nathan fans explain why Elizabeth’s actions when she picked one man made her horrible, but when she picked the other man they made her good. What’s the difference? I know the answer just comes down to “the actor I think is hot is the righteous choice” but I’m curious what backwards logic they tell themselves to explain why they aren’t hypocrites.

…okay, yeah. Still cringey and still the same shit-flinging antics we’ve seen from Team Lucas fans, but I’m not seeing anyone downplay war crimes hours after they happen, then scream that they’re being bullied and “tone policed” or repeatedly go to the actor’s Instagram pages and call them slurs and tell them they’re going to Hell on every photo. Where are the Team Nathan fans harassing Erin and saying that she ruined their life? Where’s the Team Nathan fans saying that Erin’s “ugly” boyfriend “It” is the reason the show ended up the way it did?

It’s the same person talking about giving low scores to episodes on imdb. Don’t get me wrong, this looks incredibly stupid and petty and anyone caught doing this should be shamed, but surely more than one person did this.

Now we’re back on track. Angry Hearties really do sound like a broken record. At this point you can just make pre-written Rage!posts and let them fill in whatever name they want. Not an original thought or well-articulated argument to be seen.

Oh man, this one’s sad. I like how they gave themselves that stupid hands emoji. Truly a clever mind. 

(You just know they didn’t come up with “Pucas” right away and had to rhyme it with every letter that came before “P”).

Well damn, there you go. That is indeed exactly how Team Lucas fans are currently acting. Can’t argue with that proof.

This is going to sound mean, but it’s true, so I don’t care. A lot of pissed off Hearties love calling the cast ugly whenever the show doesn’t go the way they want it to. I’ve seen a lot of photos of you people, especially when the Hearties Family Reunion happens. There is not one of you that should be calling anyone or anything ugly. If this was Sparta, you’d be thrown off the cliffs. Defective does not even begin to describe the genetics I’ve seen in some of you people. If you’re going to make asses of yourself online, some self-awareness would do you good.

Oh my God! The only thing dumber than caring about imdb ratings is obsessively messing with them because the woman on TV you project yourself onto didn’t pick the hot guy you will never have in real life.

So… yeah. Team Nathan fans have indeed embarrassed themselves online. But I’ve still yet to see it done to the level of what’s been shown on here.

But that’s not the point. “They acted like grotesque sub-humans, so it’s okay if I do it” isn’t the winning argument you think it is. If your children (and God help any children these fans might have spawned) behaved that way, I doubt you’d allow it. It’s embarrassing to see a child act this way, it’s 10x worse to see middle aged women do it. You people complain about the show “losing its values” every season, what does Jesus have to say about your behavior?

“You have heard that it was said, ‘An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.’ But I say to you, Do not resist the one who is evil. But if anyone slaps you on the right cheek, turn to him the other also. Unless your favorite TV show makes a change you don’t like, then be as hateful and toxic as you want. Doubly so if other fans did the same thing years before.”