#this was sitting in my drafts woops

[ilexlio]

[eventide-owls]

I found this cool picture on Pinterest that's absolutely perfect for Logan ;)

Reference photo under the cut...

[viperwhispered]

Rest

Guess what? I've got more Jamil x reader for y'all. You can also find this on ao3. No warnings, just 866 words of kinda fluffy(?) caretaking stuff with gender-neutral reader.

At this point, you know Jamil’s schedule almost as well as he does. So, when you have the chance, you head to Scarabia’s kitchen, hoping to spend some time with Jamil while he and the other students prepare dinner. 

However, when you enter, it takes you but a moment to notice Jamil’s uncharacteristic fumbling and the tired look in his eyes. The way Jamil’s chopping the vegetables has you worried about him cutting himself with that knife he’s usually so adept with, and it seems it’s only force of habit that’s keeping him on track.

You frown, and when your eyes meet Jamil’s, you can already see him put his guard up.

So he knows what state he is in, huh? And still, here he is.

It seems Jamil is reading your thoughts, all of him telling you drop it before any words are even said.

At least he still lets you lean in and give a quick kiss to his cheek in greeting.

“Hello love. Do you still have a lot on your agenda for today?” you ask, keeping your tone low for at least some semblance of privacy in the busy kitchen.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” is the response you get.

Of course.

It takes a little more pestering before Jamil actually answers your question. Your lips purse. That list is far too long to your liking.

You take a moment to think, juggling your own plans and to-do list against the urgency of the things Jamil mentioned.

“Will Kalim be eating from that?” you ask, pointing at the food Jamil is preparing.

“Yes.”

“Alright, I won’t be touching that one, then. I’ve gotta do a few things but I’ll be back when you’re done here.”

“Don’t,” Jamil says with a glare, clearly aware of what you’re thinking.

Yet even his disapproving look doesn’t have the usual weight behind it.

“Yes. I will,” you say firmly, even as your heart curls inwards with another bout of concern.

Really, when did he get so tired?

And how did you not notice it earlier?

You leave the kitchen before Jamil can protest further, hurrying through the dorm corridors to find Kalim.

Soon you have an enthusiastic – and concerned – supporter for your plans. You have Kalim point out a few reliable Scarabia students to help with a few of the most urgent matters Jamil mentioned – cleaning up the common areas, delivering some paperwork to Crowley, preparing some dorm-wide notices – while you see to Kalim getting his school supplies in order for the following day. You even recruit a couple of third years to help Kalim with his homework.

You’ll see to the rest tomorrow – after all, you do also have a boyfriend to look after.

Your conversation over dinner can hardly be called anything else than an argument – despite Kalim’s best attempts at acting as a moderating force between you two. It is very tempting to ask Kalim to tell Jamil to take the rest of the day off – it’s not like Jamil would be willing to openly disobey a direct order. Still, you really don’t need to remind Jamil of his position on top of everything else that you’re already doing more or less against his wishes.

Eventually, however, Jamil’s had a square meal, the most urgent things on his to-do list are being taken care of, and you’ve managed to drag him to his bed.

“I really wish you wouldn’t push yourself so hard,” you murmur, your arms wrapped tightly around Jamil. You’re telling yourself you really do just want to cuddle, to offer some respite to Jamil. Still, there might also be a part of you worried that if you were to let go, he’d just jump up and get back to working himself to the bone.

Yet, for all his protestations, just the fact that you’ve gotten Jamil to lay down with you speaks volumes of his current exhaustion.

“I can’t just leave my duties, albi. You know this.”

“Making yourself too indispensable, is what you’re doing,” you protest.

Oh, you know it’s not so simple. Not with his background, not with all the expectations and assumptions.

But sometimes you really wish it would be.

Jamil merely scoffs in response to your words.

Still, it is undeniable that he is slowly beginning to relax in your arms, slowly bringing his head closer to yours. His eyes are starting to flutter, too.

“I will still need to help Kalim with his homework, at the very least.”

You wonder who he is trying to convince more, you or himself.

“Amin and Khalil are helping him. They’re basically top of their classes, aren’t they? I’m sure they’ve got it.”

Still, Jamil frowns.

You sigh. He really is not letting go, is he?

“Do you want me to go supervise?” you ask.

And leave you, unsaid yet hanging there right after your words.

“Don’t,” Jamil eventually says, the word barely more than a breath.

It seems he has accepted his fate.

You softly caress Jamil’s hair, listening to his softening breathing.

And when you wake up, wholly unaware of having been lulled to sleep in the first place, it’s to the lightest of touches from Jamil’s fingers.

Tagging @diodellet @twstgo @crystallizsch @jamilvapologist @jamilsimpno69 as per request If you'd like to be tagged for any future works, let me know!

[charlesemersonwinchesteriii]

Hey Mashblr, look what I found! At a sand sculpture exhibition of all places! :’)

[rhaill]

✨get to know me better meme✨

i was tagged by @nedwardlittle, @starsreside and @portinaris !! thank you!  (doing this on my phone so sorry if I missed someone etc etc ;; )

3 ships: @starsreside and myself to no one's surprise <3 :) also shepard/garrus from mass effect aaaaand joplittle because of course 

first ever ship: hmmmmmm good question! graystripe and silverstream from warrior cats gshsbdbdbhd

last song: saren's base from the mass effect 1 ost

last movie: jane eyre 2011!!

currently reading: juuuust finished the willows by algernon blackwood, so I am still on malafrena by ursula k. le guin  and have started paladin's grace by t. kingfisher

currently watching: bbc ghosts!! for the first time, I am enjoying it very much! and dimension 20's neverafter, which I have not quite warmed up to yet

currently consuming: copious amounts of earl grey, crackers and shortbread

currently craving: hmmmm nothing just now, I am quite alright!!

tagging: @sorrel-ly @weidli @harpernovakaine @bonzoobel @phoenixflames12 @buecherworm @stoertebeker @cadmusfly, (no pressure / expectations) but also if you see this and wish to be tagged... You're it!!! :))

[unholy-fabray]

OHhh I knew that sounded familiar, now I remember her from the Mopierce fic 😂 I love Duchess and the Tubbingtons 🫶 Thank you!!

Glestern AU ask: does Brittany have a horse? if so, what's their name?? 🥺👉👈 (also any other character who may have a beloved steed or other pet) —unholy-fabray

yes!! she has a horse called duchess, and she's mentioned in the mopierce glestern au fic! she also of course has barn cats– lord tubbington, lady tubbington, and their child little tubbington! there are plenty of other people who have horses but they're unnamed as of right now

[aperiraa]

A/N: this been sitting in my drafts for so long oml writers block a bitch fr but this is part one of ts

Synopsis: step daddy Neteyam won't give you that dick somebody has too 🤭

Content warning: stepcest, vaginal sex, mentions of anal, Jake recording/taking pictures, step daddy Neteyam being dickhead 😔 (not really)

Jake knocks on the open door, leaning against the doorway "hey girlie, watcha doin' up here all alone? There's a whole party downstairs." He invites himself in, sitting down next to you on the bed as you're sprawled out on your stomach, your head in your arms. "I don't wanna talk to Neteyam. He's pissing me off." Jake rubs circles into your back comfortingly, causing you to arch into your bed and shift quickly to cover for yourself. "It's ok my girl. What happened?" You sit up next to him pressing your head into his chest and moving his arm over your shoulder. You peer up at him, questioning if he was the right person to tell. "Neteyam says I'm not ready to take him yet." You lean into him, basking in his tranquility "he says I can barely take 2 fingers so definitely cannot take him" you fall back on your bed pulling Jake down with you. "And you think you can?" He says as he looks over at you, putting your hand on his chest, resting his larger hand over yours. "Yeah." Jake pulls you onto his lap, his clothed erection pressing against your clad cunt "You want to prove it baby?" You look down at him seductively "How?" You circle your hips over his tauntingly, your warm cunt brushing against his bulge "I'm gonna fuck you myself...take some pictures for him." Jake slaps your ass playfully with one hand, the other working your garments off. "Pictures?" You quirk your eyebrow in confusion, sliding your bare cunt over the shaft of his cock Teasingly "For proof. Would you rather make a video instead?" Jake's hands dwarf your hips as he guides you to his tip, sinking you down on his dick slowly. You can only close your eyes in pleasure as you circle your hips over his. "whatever makes him more jealous." Jake smirks, a chuckle rumbling deep in his chest. "Anything for my baby" Jake says as he slowly bottoms out in your wet entrance, causing you to whine out at the full sensation. He runs his hand up your torso, stopping at your soft breasts. He doesn't touch them yet, taking a minute to admire them before running his thumb over your nipple teasingly, making you let out a small whimper. Jake slowly pulls out before thrusting back in steadily.

The soft plap of skin on skin fills the room as Jake continuously bottoms out inside of you. He shudders when you run your tongue over his collar bone before sucking down, leaving a mark in your wake. "You want everyone to see huh? Want everyone to know how dirty you are? All for me" You lick your lips, nodding sweetly "mhm" he picks up the pace of his uniform thrusts, his breath growing frantic as he nears his release "Oh fuckk, you take it so good for me girl" his thrusts growing sloppy as he growls lowly, slamming his hips into yours one last time before he spills his hot nut deep inside of you. "Holy shit" you huff, sucking in sharply when he pulls out, his fat, wet dick slapping his stomach "woops" Jake smirks "I didn't hit record" You hit his chest playfully "we gotta start over?" You say, circling your hips over his again. Jake grips your hips, smooching you on the cheek before flipping you onto your back "yes ma'am, we do" he pushes your legs further up to your chest, holding them up with one hand and setting up the camera with the other "are we ready?" You nod and without a second of hesitation he slides his hot dick back inside your cunt, digging his nose in the crook of your neck. Jake pulls back and slams his hips into yours, his tip kissing your cervix. He chuckles as you squirm from the overwhelming pleasure, biting back all of your whimpers and whines to keep your little taboo session hidden from the party downstairs "that boy has no idea what he's talking about" you look up at him hazily "what?" Jake kisses your cheek again "your daddy ain't got a clue what you can take" you look into the camera, your body jumping with every thrust. Jake licks from your collar bone to your cheek, inhaling deeply as your scent fills his nose. He smothers your cheek with a kiss and his eyes flick to the camera as he presses his cheek to yours, smirking deviously at the camera "say hi to daddy" he kisses your cheek again "hi daddy" jake chuckles and grabs the camera, holding it right above your sweet pussy, the squelching sounds picking up on the mic "look at this tight pussy 'ts squeazin around me so fuckin good" he swipes his calloused thumb over your clit, collecting your arousal on the pad of his thumb before repositioning the camera "You want me to fuck this tight little ass, mama? Is that what you want?" Jake slaps and grips at your ass playfully, a drunken smile plastered on his face. "No Jake please! M'not ready!" You grab his arm tight, a pleading look etched onto your features with Jake looking down at you playfully "Maybe next time baby" he grabs your ass again while kissing you feverishly. You lean into his lips, deepening the kiss as he fucks into you. Jake's thrusts get frantic, his dick twitching as you clench around him "fuckk baby girl, makin me feel so fuckin good" Jake lets out a whorish whimper as he cums inside of you again "tell daddy bye baby girl" he kisses you shortly before letting you speak. Your words come out slightly slurred "bye daddy" he cuts off the video, pulling out slowly. "Are you really gonna show him?" You ask as you look at him sweetly. He flops onto the bed next to you "of course I will. We went through all that work to make it baby" you slip your loincloth back on, his nut dribbling out of you. Jake kisses your forehead before getting dressed and ready to go back to the party downstairs

I need him so bad

Jake fr:

[sophsicle]

i know very little about hockey but have heard a ton about the hughes brothers - is there a reason only two of them play for the same team? what's the big deal about jack hughes? i want in on the lore soooooo bad

THE HUGHES wow a great topic

So Quinn is the oldest and therefore was drafted first (7th overall, 2018, to the vancouver cannucks woop woop)

he has major older brother energy, he is like so chill and calm, but also *precious*

like, for example, one time him and Jack were in an interview and they were like "who has more game?" and Jack was immediately like "me" and Quinn was like "in what?" like this boy is sitting there like "what game we talking about? monopoly, jenga, twister? the specifics are important people!" meanwhile jack is like "yeah i get bitches"

Quinn is captain of his team and he does such a good job and they're gonna win the cup i just know it

also he constantly looks either high or distressed and that is very relatable 2 me

Jack is the middle child so he got drafted next (1st overall, 2019, New Jersey Devils), and he is just a lil guy but don't tell him that because he will remind you quite forcefully that he's actually 5'11 SO shut up, he famously does not know how to cook broccoli (interrupted his roommate once while he was doing a charity livestream to ask him how to cook broccoli and his roommate was like "literally what is happening rn"), has swoopy hair that the girls love, and had a BRUTAL first season, for real, did so bad, everyone hated him, but then he had a comeback, we love to see it

Luke is the baby, so he was the last one drafted (4th overall 2021, New Jersey Devils) so they end up where they end up because the teams choose which players they want to draft, but it was very cute when the Devils drafted Luke because jack was literally VIBRATINg with excitement like, you have never seen someone so happy

(skip to about 1:00 and you will see what I mean!)

Luke is kind of behind his brothers, partially due to being the youngest and partially cause his brothers are two huge NHL stars and Luke is mostly middle of the pack, like he is a good hockey player he's just not quite on their level (at least not yet)

but the true beauty of the hughes brothers is how much they absolutely adore one another, like constantly are like "my brothers are my heroes, they're my best friends, I love them so much" and it truly melts your heart 2 see it

[tmnt-doomsday-au]

Woops I was supposed to post this a few days ago but I kinda forgot about it so it's been sitting in my drafts-

I forgot about Tumblr for a minute sorry 💀 I have been working on commissions and art fight stuff lmao so I probably won't post as often unless I get asks and stuff or just updates for the au in general

But anyways here is some TMNT OC x Canon stuff! The first drawing is the newest while everything is older since they have Donatello's 2023 designs on them

Probably not gonna give context for some of this but most of the drawings are non-canon to the au since Lucius and Donatello probably won't get together until Lucius is a mutant :/

Also that is Donatello's old human design on the sketch page as well

[angstyaches]

Hi!I love your fics so much and I saw your request things and thought maybe you could do Donnacha or Henry with an upset stomach that pushes them to the edge? Like they have to go go go all day long and it makes them like super overwhelmed but it ends all fluffy with the other character comforting them with belly rubs or a hot shower or smth?? Only do this if you want ofc!! Just a an idea! Ok bye!!

I was so sure that this hadn't been in my inbox for too long, but then I realised my original draft is named 'henry sickfic june' lmao thank you for the lovely request and for your patience, anon 🖤

CW: anxiety, depression, bad self talk, chronic pain, job interview scenario, death mention, emeto, stomach noises, platonic caretaking, belly rubs.

Word Count: 4,000+

___

Henry woke up feeling far too rested. 

Not a good sign.  

Even before he’d untangled his thoughts from the hazy dream he’d been having – the details were already retreating, but he was certain that Orlando Bloom had been somewhat involved – he knew in his bones that he had slept through his alarms. 

Cold spikes of adrenaline flipped him onto his back, joints protesting, so he could reach for his phone and his glasses. He pressed the glasses to his face and read the time on the screen. The taste of bile crept into his dry mouth. 

“Oh, fuck.”  

He scrubbed a hand over his face. He hadn’t shaved in ages, and his stubble was just short of a full-fledged beard at this rate. He’d intended to shave this morning, before sitting down to do a remote job interview that had been scheduled for one hour and forty-three minutes ago. 

Well. The company may as well have received written confirmation that he was no longer interested.  

Woops.  

He supposed he could call them up now and apologise for running late, and maybe they’d give him another shot –  

Henry’s stomach instantly turned at the idea, and he had to swallow very measuredly to avoid choking on a mouthful of bile. 

He had another interview lined up for later that afternoon, in case interview number one fell flat. Which it technically hadn’t. Now everything depended on the second – only – interview, a thought that had his stomach twisting again as soon as he had it. He almost regretted that he hadn’t managed to sleep through that appointment, too; at least then it would have been out of his hands. 

Henry hauled himself out of bed, grabbed his cane, and headed down the hallway for a quick, lukewarm shower. He thought about his day as he worked the grease out of his hair and the sheet-marks out of his face; his failure to make his first meeting of the day clawed at him, clinging to his skin despite the running water. As much as he’d been dreading the human interaction, he needed work – for the sense of purpose as much as the financial compensation. 

But... mostly the financial compensation. 

Digging through his clothes, he realised that the first thing he’d needed to do that morning was stick a bundle of his laundry into the washer-dryer, so he would have a decent shirt to wear for his interviews. Well, interview singular now. He dragged his laundry basket to the kitchen and filled the machine. His hip and back started aching with the effort of crouching, and head spun with urgency, frustration, and the overall unpleasantness of waking up to instant panic. His hair – now long enough to lick the neckline of his sweater – dripped cold water into his clothes. 

Alright. The dry cycle would be finished a measly fifteen minutes before he’d need a shirt. He’d really needed to wake up with that first alarm, but... it was fine. This was fine. 

While the washing machine hummed to life and water trickled into the drum, Henry gingerly righted himself, fingers working into the tension in his hip. Tears stabbed at the backs of his eyeballs and his jaws sat tense, but there was no sense in letting the pain steal his focus when he had things to be doing. 

He eyed the cupboards and considered dragging something out for a breakfast/lunch hybrid, but he felt his stomach do a queasy little backflip at the thought.  

He slinked back to his room, his heart thumping like he’d run a marathon, and lowered himself into his desk chair. 

___ 

Henry tried tapping around on Reddit to kill the time, but the constraints of both his laundry and his upcoming interview made it impossible for him to get absorbed in anything other than watching the time. His eyes skimmed over words and paragraphs without really taking anything in, and what little information his brain did let in only made him confused and angry. His mind was locked up tight, sealing itself up in fear of forgetting what he was supposed to do later. 

He typed the name of the company he’d be interviewing with later into a search engine. Maybe if he convinced himself he was being productive, his brain would give him a break. 

Light stabbed his eyes and Henry almost physically recoiled when their website appeared on-screen. No wonder they were looking to hire a web designer. The thing looked like it’d been created by a thirteen-year-old in 2004, despite the fact that the About Us portion stated that the company had been established in 2016.  

Henry was ready to click away from the site again – any longer in front of that wall of neon yellow and headers written in Bradley Hand, and he’d trigger a migraine – when a twinge of hunger sent his stomach into a spiraling churn.  

“Oh, great, now you’re hungry,” Henry murmured, gliding a hand over his belly.  

As indignant as he was about having to move, he was a little grateful to be given a task. He pulled himself out of the desk chair with a resigned sigh. After making himself a milky cup of coffee and a sandwich, using the last slice of cheese in the fridge, he hobbled over to the living room couch.  

He thought about turning the TV on, but the remote was out of immediate reach, so that decision was made for him. He ate in silence. 

He took a few bites of his sandwich that didn’t really taste... like anything. He hadn’t had anything to drink, since he’d woken late and in such a panic; maybe it was his dry mouth that was stopping his taste buds from doing their job. He took his coffee mug firmly by the handle and gulped down a few mouthfuls, stopping when the bitterness clung to the back of his throat. Not his best move, he thought with a shudder. He managed a few more bites and, unable to force himself to eat the crusts when his appetite was already so poor, called it there. 

___ 

Henry’s belly roiled. He could feel a panicky sheen of sweat gathering under his clothes. and his voice trembled throughout the meeting, It was so hard to sort through his dizzy thoughts that he struggled to answer the most basic of questions; what were his qualifications, what previous work was he the proudest of, what had he struggled with in the past and how had he overcome that struggle. 

“Thank you for allowing me to get to know you, Mr. Wilde,” the interviewer said now, smiling at him through the screen. “Your qualifications and experience are probably the most outstanding of all of our candidates so far. But I am just curious; what it is that interested you about this particular project?”  

Henry swallowed thickly. Despite this very immediate emergency situation, all he could think about was how Lucy would have passed away from second-hand embarrassment if she ever found out that the extent of his research on this company hadn’t gone beyond a brief skim of their website. 

He mumbled something about potential, even though all he could think about was the potential of him taking a nap directly after this interview ended. To his left, his bed lay beneath the armfuls of clothing that he’d moved out of his webcam’s line of sight, yet it seemed to peer out at him with a warm, tempting gaze. He could call it a day here, and hope she’d hire him based on his credentials alone. 

A warm, sickly belch crawled up his throat. He managed to stifle and muffle it, but his fist jerked towards his lips out of instinct, his cheeks puffing out slightly. The air settled back into his stomach with an acidic slosh, and he eyed his interviewer carefully. 

“Excuse me, sorry,” he mumbled. 

She blinked, regarding him with a hint of distaste, but moved along. “So, if we were to hire you for this project, where would you begin?” 

Henry cleared his throat, removing his fist. He was becoming irritated now; it felt as though she were tricking him into giving her instructions for whatever sap she hired, be it him or somebody else. But sometimes, you just had to jump through hoops to get ahead. Or stay afloat. 

“Well...” He cleared his throat. “I think I would begin by implementing some basic changes to the optics of the company’s home page. It’s the first impression of your company that many customers will get, so I feel it’s important to provide a good visual impact.” 

“Visual.” The interviewer – shame curdled in Henry’s gut as he realised he’d already forgotten her name – raised an eyebrow. “This project doesn’t concern any graphic work.” 

Catastrophe bloomed amidst the existing unease in Henry’s belly. He could let himself off the hook for not knowing the company inside-out, but not knowing the details of the position he was applying for was a whole other level of unpreparedness. The Lucy in his head was slapping her forehead and shaking her head, disowning him. 

“But you’ve intrigued me,” the interviewer said. “What optics are you referring to?” 

If you want my input, hire me, Henry wanted to snap at her. 

“Well, there are some scenarios where websites such as your current one would lend a certain retrospective, nostalgic charm,” Henry said, adjusting his glasses with a shaky hand, “but since I have no reason to believe that this was the intention here, the current website makes your company appear out of touch, and the previous designer seem like an incompetent amateur.” 

With a deep nod of her head, the interviewer looked down at the notepad she’d been clutching since the call had begun. She tucked a nonexistent strand of stray hair behind her ear. “The previous designer was my deceased partner.” 

Henry’s throat froze over. 

“But I thank you for your feedback on her competence, Mr. Wilde, or... lack thereof, as it would seem.” Her eyes widened as she jotted something down. Her sudden lack of eye contact seemed intentional. “That’s all I need from you right now.” 

Henry fidgeted in his desk chair. He’d done such a great job of not fidgeting until that point. An apology danced on the tip of his tongue, but all that came out when he opened his mouth was, “Alright.” 

“Thank you for your time.” The interviewer didn’t even off a ‘we’ll be in touch’ before she ended the video call and vanished from his screen. 

Henry sat back in his chair, flung his glasses across his keyboard, and groaned loudly into his palms. When the groan didn’t seem like enough, he allowed himself something a little closer to a scream – why not? He was home alone, and the downstairs lot had been unoccupied ever since they’d moved in.  

The sound turned over painfully in his throat and made his eyes water. His insides felt like they were shrinking under the weight of failure, uselessness, despair, and hopelessness, and his shoulders crumpled inwards until his head was resting on the edge of his desk. 

It felt like forever before a sob finally tore loose, and with it came the sickly belch he’d swallowed on the video call, only this time, it came with interest. His stomach was churning wildly, feeling full to the brim with acidic mush. 

Jesus Christ, he hadn’t even said sorry for his remark, or thanked the interviewer for taking the time to speak with him –  

Vision blurry, Henry’s hands scrambled to find the metal bin he usually filled with sticky notes and chocolate wrappers and noodle cups. He shifted his chair forward in the search, jamming one of the wheels against his own foot. He yanked the bin into his lap as his stomach muscles imploded.  

No, he thought, tossing the bin back to the floor. Puking in his bin would mean washing it later, and Henry didn’t trust his energy levels to be up for an extra task after all of this.  

He gripped the edge of his desk, flinching to his feet and setting his stationery holders rattling. His hip seized up as he straightened, and if that wasn’t bad enough, a spike of tension pierced his temples. He staggered into the hallway and towards the bathroom, and, mercifully, made it to the toilet bowl before his stomach could really get going. 

The pressure at the base of his oesophagus felt like too much laundry being pushed into a washing machine drum at one time. It took far too long for him to retch up even the tiniest splatter of burning-hot bile; the liquid ejected from his stomach probably amounted to less than the liquid he’d squeezed out of his eyes.  

Still, his body seemed satisfied with that for now. The nausea retreated, leaving only that stubborn pain in his belly and the matching pain left behind by the clenching in his throat. 

He sank to the floor, knuckles pale and jutting as he gripped the toilet seat with both hands. He forced up a burp that was pressing at the base of his ribs, grimacing and desperate for relief, but it only brought that hot, heavy feeling back. His stomach burbled. His hip ached. His goosebump-ridden body shuddered. His heart curdled into a lump of despair that sat at the back of his throat. 

He belched again, and this time, up came his sandwich. 

___ 

“Henry, it’s Flatmate Friday,” Donnacha called through the door, as drily as he might have said that it was raining outside.  

Henry groaned quietly into his pillow. Flatmate Friday generally involved pizza delivery and a nostalgic movie or two, while three people sat crushed together on the couch and the fourth either took up residence on the floor or on a dining chair. 

“Hen, you alive in there?” Donnacha asked. “More importantly, are you decent?” 

Knowing he wouldn’t be able to convince Donnacha not to come into his room, Henry gave in to the inevitable. He tugged the duvet out of the way of his mouth and called out, “Yes.” 

“Look,” Donnacha sighed as he breezed into the room. His eyes lingered on the mess of clothing that lay between the door and the bed, but only for a few seconds. “I know Lucy brought you your slices last week, but I don’t agree with that! I’m sorry if it sounds harsh, or whatever, but the point of Flatmate Fridays is... you know. Hanging out with your flatmates on a Friday. If I can be civil with Payton in the spirit of Flatmate Friday, then you can at least manage the ten paces it takes from here to the couch...” 

There was a brief flash of silence. 

“Jesus, Hen,” Donnacha said softly. Ha shimmied around the clothes mountain. His weight tipped one side of the mattress, creating a slope that pulled Henry’s legs towards the warmth of Donnacha’s back. “What’s going on? Bad day?” 

Henry shrugged. 

“Those... those new meds messing you up?” There was a soft, sympathetic melody to Donnacha’s voice now. He wove his fingertips into the fluffy mess of Henry’s hair.  

The gesture took him so much by surprise that tears sprang to Henry’s eyes, almost as uncontrollably as vomit. 

“Hen,” Donnacha exclaimed in a whisper, as though Henry had done something outrageous by tearing up. “What’s up? This is scary. Please tell me.” 

“I... fucked up so many times today,” Henry said numbly. It all felt so... inconsequential now that he was trying to summarise it for someone who wasn’t there. Someone who didn’t share his headspace. Someone who could smile and shrug and tell him to try again another day.  

Someone who, sweet as he was, didn’t understand.  

“What do you mean?” The sympathetic edge left Donnacha’s voice, leaving only disbelief. Genuine disbelief that Henry could have fucked anything up because Henry was older, Henry was smarter, Henry never left the apartment so when would he even have the opportunity to fuck anything up? 

“I-I woke up feeling like shit, and then I missed one job interview, and I really... really wanted that one.” He hadn’t admitted it to himself earlier, but now it hit him like a rock to the gut, that the interview he’d missed had meant so much more to him than the other one. “A-and then, I spectacularly fucked up the second one –” 

“It can’t have been that bad.” 

“I insulted the interviewer’s dead partner.” 

Donnacha’s lips hovered apart, wordless. Yeah, that’s what I thought, Henry wanted to spit. 

“And then I-I completely shut down for the rest of the day... I’m behind on my current deadlines –”  

“Hey, it’s okay,” Donnacha said. 

He didn’t even realise he’d started heaving with sobs until he felt Donnacha’s hands trying to still his shuddering shoulders. He leaned into his arms, the mattress rolling his legs and his torso closer to Donnacha’s weight as the larger boy edged a little closer. 

“And you’ve just been lying here all by yourself? Why didn’t you call out to any of us when we got home?” 

A small, bitter voice in Henry’s head wanted to snap, Why didn’t any of you think to check on me? but he knew that was unfair. Most days, he was fine, but still didn’t like having his flatmates entering his personal space without an invitation. 

“Why didn’t you tell me... tell us you had interviews this week?” Donnacha wondered. His eyes darted across Henry’s face, as though he thought he had a better chance of finding an answer in his pores and his eyeballs than of getting an answer verbally. “You don’t need to keep all this shit to yourself.” 

Henry shrugged. He honestly wasn’t sure. Part of him had wanted to avoid Career Guidance Lucy and her sporadic seminars on interview skills. Part of him had dreaded the inevitable words of encouragement that Donnacha and Payton would no doubt have offered him, making it feel like an even bigger deal, an even more profound failure, when he didn’t get the jobs. He’d wanted to secure a new gig in secret, and mention it casually to his flatmates after the fact.  

Anything else was just asking for too much attention, building up too many expectations... 

A weak gurgle broke the silence, and Henry instinctively covered his stomach with his palm. Donnacha’s eyes followed the movement. A second later, there was a deeper sound, a hollow grumble that Henry felt tickle at the back of his throat. 

“Have you eaten today?” 

“Yes. I’m not hungry,” he added, already knowing that Donnacha was going to suggest, once again, that he join the others for pizza and Flatmate Friday. It was just unfortunate that his belly decided to rumble for a third time. 

“Somehow, I think you're lying to me.” 

“No - you don’t get it,” Henry sighed. Noting that Donnacha had left the door ajar and that Lucy was just down the hallway in the living area, he lowered his voice and leaned a little closer to Donnacha’s shoulder. “After my second interview... my only interview, in the end,” Henry growled, kicking his past self yet again, “I felt so sick to my stomach that I threw up my lunch.” 

Donnacha looked positively wounded with sympathy. Henry wondered how the hell he managed it.  

“Hen...” Donnacha’s hand pushed gently into Henry’s hair again. 

It was all Henry could do not to whimper and melt into the touch. He settled for letting his eyes flutter shut. He didn’t deserve the tingling pleasure that was flowing from Donnacha’s fingertips into his skull, softening the sparking, frayed edges of his nerves.  

“I’ll bring you your slices, if you want them.” 

Henry shook his head. He might have been trembling with emotion now, rather than nausea, but he still didn’t feel up to putting anything in his stomach.  

“I’ll bring mine, too. We can hang out in here, watch our own movie.”  

“No,” he choked out, pulling away from Donnacha’s hand and resting his head on the pillow again.  

“Just give me one minute.” Donnacha didn’t hesitate another second before getting up from the bed and tackling the obstacle course that was Henry’s bedroom floor one more time. 

Henry buried his face in his pillow, part of him hoping that Donnacha would somehow change his mind while he was out there and not come back. Part of him felt extremely cold and hollow at the thought of him changing his mind and not coming back. 

These feelings were confusing. Henry didn’t like it when feelings were confusing. Maybe that was what prompted him to groan in displeasure when Donnacha returned, carrying a plate laden with at least five slices of pepperoni pizza. The smell made Henry’s stomach growl with hunger that felt a lot like nausea, or... nausea that felt a lot like hunger. 

“You can’t be in here,” Henry muttered as Donnacha leaned over the mess to prop the plate on the edge of Henry’s desk. 

“Ah, ah,” Donnacha sang, darting from the room again. This time, he came back with his laptop, which he propped on Henry’s desk chair – after removing a few pairs of underwear that had been tossed onto it. “What were you saying?” 

Henry sighed and pushed himself up onto his side. That spike of agony still trailed from the outside of his eye socket to the centre of his brain. He couldn’t allow his mind to drift anywhere near the memories of the day without feeling the shame turn over in his belly. But he had to admit, Donnacha’s presence was a lot like a hot cup of tea on a chilly day. 

“It’s Flatmate Friday.” Henry waved a hand vaguely in the direction of the living area. “Flatmate bonding and whatnot.” 

“You’re my flatmate, too,” Donnacha pointed out. He looked away from his laptop and glanced about the room, no doubt analysing the mixture of washed and unwashed laundry littering the floor. “And I have a feeling I’ve... we’ve all been neglecting you a little bit.” 

Henry’s empty, knotted stomach attempted to do a little flip. “You sound like Lu.” 

Looking slightly pleased with himself, Donnacha gave a shrug. “Maybe she’s a good influence on me. Only Fools and Horses?” 

“Sure.” Henry didn’t particularly care for the 80s sitcom, but it always seemed to draw a chuckle or two out of Donnacha.  

Donnacha positioned himself at the lower half of Henry’s bed, one leg crossed under the opposite knee while his foot trailed off the side. It was a long way for him to reach to grab a slice of pizza from the place, but he did so heroically with only a tiny exhalation of strain. Henry took his pillow and pressed it to the back wall, forcing himself to sit upright even though it made his head spin and his bones feel like jelly.  

After five minutes of staring numbly at the laptop screen and listening to Donnacha chew not one but two slices of pizza, the spinning and the weakness started to pass, and the shifting in Henry’s stomach felt less like a natural disaster waiting to happen and more like an empty plea for sustenance. He gingerly reached for a slice of the pizza, and was oddly relieved when Donnacha didn’t make a big deal out of it; he just leaned around Henry and grabbed a third slice for himself. 

A few bites in, and Henry’s mind started to wander. Sleeping in, not feeling motivated enough, insulting the work of a dead person, lazily forgetting social etiquette – 

The spices in the pepperoni and the tanginess of the tomato sauce drained away until the next bite of pizza felt like a mouthful of cardboard. 

Henry chewed painfully  leaning over to place the half-eaten slice back at the edge of the plate. Chewing was an ordeal almost as unpleasant as that afternoon’s bout of dry-heaving, which he had no desire to repeat. 

He brushed the crumbs from his fingers onto the plaid fabric of his pyjamas pants, making a note to change them before bed, and sank back against the pillow. Dough and cheese and sauce sloshed around in his stomach, and he started to lift a hand to rub at it, but a large, protective one made it there first. 

Donnacha didn’t even look away from the screen as he rubbed his hand back and forth. “Doing okay?” 

“I think so,” Henry murmured, flinching as his stomach squelched under Donnacha’s palm and then began to settle into a gentler churning motion. He wondered if Donnacha had any idea the effect he was having. 

And then Donnacha laughed out loud at an on-screen joke that Henry just didn’t get, and Henry had to fight just to keep his eye-rolling subtle. 

[gothicknightz]

bloodlines / family ties prequel sneak peak | ethan landry

notes: BLOODLINES (FAMILY TIES PREQUEL) SNEAK PEAK DRAFT! no spoilers for scream 6 in this woop woop.

The two of them were laying on the couch, doing reruns of classic horror movies, with the current movie playing being Beetlejuice.

"I don't get why they just move," Ethan muttered, wrapping an arm around her, "I mean, if some pervert with ugly green hair showed up in my house, I'd be the hell out of there."

She started to laugh, "It's not that simple, Ethan." Sitting up, (y/n)'s eyes lined up with her boyfriend's, before going on about the reason why Beetlejuice was in their house, to begin with. "Besides," She smiled, "I think that green hair is sexy."

Ethan nearly choked on his own spit, before attempting to clear his throat as he sat up. "No way," His eyes widened in awe, "Please tell me you don't mean that because I am not dying my hair green."

"Aw," She pouted, before breaking into a fit of giggles, "Why not? It'll make your curls stand out."

"Hell. No."

[direwombat]

wip-woop another wednesday at the wednesday factory

tagged by @madparadoxum, @g0dspeeed and tagged by @inafieldofdaisies a few days ago for a general wip whenever tag

tagging @strangefable, @adelaidedrubman, @socially-awkward-skeleton, @jillvalentinesday, @euryalex, @gaeadene, @ivymarquis, @voidika, @aceghosts, @purplehairsecretlair, @henbased, @confidentandgood, @poetikat, @vampireninjabunnies-blog, @cassietrn, @neverthesameneveranother, @wrathfulrook, @josephslittledeputy, @shallow-gravy, @clonesupport, @trench-rot, @simplegenius042, @strafethesesinners, @miyabilicious, @deputyash, @harmonyowl, and any and everyone else wanting to share their wip today (but no pressure)

some more katc ch5 (which i'm hoping to finish drafting over the long weekend so i can do my edits and have it posted by mid september) and more werewolf au stuff (which i am very slowly chipping away at; publish date tbd)

starting off with katc...

After wishing Nick and Kim a goodnight, Mary May pulls out another key and opens the door across the hall. “It ain’t the Four Seasons,” she says, “but it does most folks just fine.” 

Moonlight streams in through the open curtains, bathing the small room in silver. It’s simple, but cozy, and charmingly rustic. Every piece of furniture is made of wood, and it wouldn’t surprise Sybille if she learned that they were all handmade. The twin-sized bed has a handmade quilt draped over it and plush looking pillows that she can’t wait to lay her head on. A lamp and alarm clock sit on the bedside table and across from the bed is a small analog television occupying the entire surface of a small dresser. The rabbit ears of its antenna are positioned to one side, pointing towards the window. Off to the side is a door that leads to a small half-bath. 

“Honestly? I’d’ve been happy with a mattress on the floor,” Sybille says tiredly. “Thank you Ms. Fairgrave.”

Boomer leaps up onto the bed, circling around before scratching a front paw over the quilt, bunching it up before plopping down with a contented sigh. 

“Well, I think I got an air mattress floatin’ around somewhere,” Mary May smiles. 

Sybille breathes out a careful huff of laughter. “Naw, I’m good,” she says, taking a seat beside Boomer and giving him a scratch between the ears. “‘Preciate the offer, though.”

“Not a problem,” says Mary May. “You need anythin’ — extra blankets, pillows, a toothbrush — just give me a holler. Door to my apartment is at the end of the hall.” 

Sybille forces a smile. “Will do,” she says with absolutely zero intention of giving her host a shout, even if she does end up needing something. It’s just one night. Odds are she’ll be up and out the door before Mary May is awake, anyways. 

She’ll manage.

She always does. 

“Alright, well,” Mary May starts awkwardly. “I’ll let you get some rest, then. Sleep well, Deputy.”

“You too,” she nods, and she watches as Mary May exits into the hall and pulls the door shut behind her. 

Finally left alone, Sybille exhales a heavy sigh. She grunts as she has to lift her leg to cross her ankle over her knee and begins to untie her boot laces. Her nose wrinkles at the smell, and she’s quick to throw them to the other side of the room along with her equally potent socks. She shimmies out of her jeans, peeling the still slightly damp denim from her legs before letting them fall to the ground, along with the purple flannel Dutch gave her. They’ll dry faster if she hangs them over the bathroom door, but she’s too tired to get back to her feet. 

She doesn’t realize just how badly her entire body aches until she’s gingerly easing herself down onto the mattress. A long, low groan escapes her as she sinks into the bed. A series of pops climb up her spine as it straightens out and she groans again, this time in a much quieter breath of pleasure. 

Tugging feebly at the quilt, she tries to pull it over her worn and bruised body, but it doesn’t budge. She pulls a little harder, only for Boomer to make a disgruntled noise. “C’mon, buddy, we gotta share,” she sighs.

If she didn’t know any better, she’d say that he snores in response. 

“Alright, fine, you win,” she yawns, throwing her arm over her eyes. “But next time, I get the blanket, deal?”

Boomer shifts against her legs, and he rests his head atop her upper thigh. He lets out a soft whine, and he melts into her touch as her hand comes to rest on his soft, furry head. 

“Okay,” she concedes with another yawn and her eyelids drift shut. “You can have all the blankets.”

and some more from the beginning of the horror and the wild (chapter 1 recently having been titled: act i - infection)

When she finally finds Chad’s hunting cabin, it’s a goddamned relief. It’s pushing 10pm and Sybille is fucking starving. 

She regrets not stopping at the Spread Eagle or the General Store before leaving town. Normally she skips dinner while working mid-day shifts and whenever she drops by Eli’s afterwards, he usually has something made. But fuck, this little adventure of a detour has taken her far longer than anticipated. She could eat a goddamn elk. Whole. 

Her stomach growls noisily as she approaches the hunting cabin. “Please be fine,” she mutters to herself, because if he isn’t, if this turns into a whole thing where she needs to stay and call the Sheriff’s Department, she might actually bite someone’s head off when they get here. 

The porch slats groan underfoot and she knocks on what feels like a reinforced steel door. “Mr. Wolanski?” she calls. “Chad? It’s Sybillle — Eli’s girl.”

The strange rectangle in place of a normal peep-hole slides open and she’s met with beady black eyes peeking through a tangle of dark hair. They’re red-ringed and bloodshot, darting around frantically — wild and panicked. The poor man looks like he hasn’t slept in weeks. He looks terrified.

“Wha’ya’wan?” he grunts. 

“Uh,” she hesitates. “Eli sent me? He wanted to make sure you’re alright.”

“‘M’fine,” he grunts again. 

“Oh. Ok,” she says awkwardly. She shifts her weight from side to side and draws her lower lip between her teeth. There’s something strange here, but she can’t quite put her finger on it. The skin at the back of her neck prickles, much like it had as she was driving away from the Veterans Center. The tree boughs rustle in the wind, and the longer she stands there with her back exposed to the rugged nature surrounding the cabin, she gets the unsettling feeling like she’s being watched. She swallows thickly. “D’ya mind if I come in? Use your landline to call Eli and let ‘im know you’re alright?”

Chad’s eyes narrow. “Said m’fine,” he repeats. “Go.”

“Okay…” she says uneasily. Her gut is telling her to push. To insist that she come inside, but she has no grounds for justification. Even if she were on duty, there really isn’t much she could do. She’s confirmed he’s alive, and a bad feeling isn’t reason enough to force her entry. “Well,” she continues, “give Eli a call when y’can, alright? He’s worried ‘bout’cha.”

An affirmative grunt and a grumble that she thinks is “Goodnight,” and Chad is slamming the slot shut.

Her brows furrow when she hears something large and heavy dragging across the floor inside, and there’s a loud thud against the door. “Mister Wolanski, are you barricadin’ your front door?” she asks incredulously. There’s no answer. Just more sounds of furniture moving interspersed with the occasional shattering of glass. She pounds on the door once again. “Mister Wolanski!” she cries out. “Mister Wolanski, please! Let me inside so we can call Eli or the Sheriff’s Department. We can take care of whatever it is that’s causing your…uh…consternation.”

The interior of the cabin falls silent. She ceases her pummeling of the door, waiting to see if Chad will answer.

He doesn’t, and the lights inside flick off. 

She sighs, and beneath the weight of her uncertainty, her shoulders sag. Her mouth hangs open, a useless, questioning sound croaking out of the back of her throat. “The fuck is wrong with everyone tonight?” she says to no one in particular. 

Plodding back over to her truck, she leans in to grab her cell phone. A frustrated groan pushes up from her lungs and she hangs her head. Still no cell service. No calling Eli. No calling the sheriff’s department. 

She’s alone. 

Always alone. 

Gotta do everythin’ my goddamn self, she thinks bitterly.

Her stomach cramps and it rumbles angrily. “God dammit,” she mutters to herself. All she wants is a meal and to melt into Eli’s arms while they sit on his lumpy old couch watching television. A stiff autumn breeze cuts through her, encouraging her to leave. 

She’s done all she could. When she gets back to Eli’s, the two of them can figure out how they want to proceed.

[devils-minion-cult]

Just jumping by to recommend the movie "Midnight Son" if you haven't seen it yet. By the way I vibe with your posts I believe it would be right up your alley (cute vampire boi comes into his powers but also sometimes loses control over his bloodlust, woops uwu) and given that it's a pretty obscure vampire movie I gotta spread the word.

OH MY GOD THIS HAS BEEN SITTING IN MY DRAFTS FOR LIKE A MONTH!!

I'm so sorry I've failed you @once-delight, I love you so much, and I'm so excited to watch this, and pleeeease don't hate me for accidentally leaving you on read 😭

[laf-outloud]

@Linda Thomson

@holliecosplay carry on my wayward son 🎶still reeling from the fact that i finally met jared and geniveve padalecki after loving them both for over 10 years. sam winchester and jared mean so unbelievably much to me and i probably wouldn't be here today if it wasn't for them. im just so incredibly lucky 😍💗

amy_duffy__20

@manb2082 Always worth getting another hug from @jarpad.

x Twelve years of #Supernatural conventions, and this is the first time I've met "Ruby"! Not disappointed! 😁@GenPadalecki

@becca_deprez

@Ridgers_

@TheRealDeclanK1 @jarpad it was simple incredibly meeting you today. You were so warm & welcoming & you’ve made my dreams come true. Forever #Supernatural

Woops! Forgot I had this last one sitting in my drafts! Enjoy the last few photos I'll be posting from Wales Comic Con! If I missed anyone, I'm sorry. If I repeated photos... well... who can blame me? LOL!

[tan1shere]

Count on me to send you a bunch of Young Miko requests since you're the only one that writes for her

OMG THATS ALL YOU IM CRYING THATS FUNNY 😭 but you're alg !! Just be aware it might take a bit for me to get to them <3 but I will eventually once I have the right motivation, I have heaps sitting in my drafts woops. But idk atm I'm like very motivated to do billie so if anyone has requests for her go NUTS

[kitxkatrp]

Time for me to sit down and do my fucking drafts. I have over 30 of them. Woops.