#tv: cold sprouts

[salmonskinrolltf]

Hey there. A little bit about me? I'm a tall, mostly attractive actor from Iowa now living in New York. My chest hair won't stop growing, and I'm always cast as the awkward, gay comic relief in shows. I guess that's why I'm here. It's silly but I've always had a crush on The Situation and most of the cast of the Jersey Shore. I was hoping to rent one of seasons before I have an audition for a more manly part I'm going in for.

[Thank you so much to everybody who submitted requests! I have nothing close to the bandwidth to get to all of them, so this is going to be my final Be Kind Rewind post for the time being. I’ve got so many other types of stories I’m excited to work on as soon as I’m able, but I do apologize if your request wasn’t selected! Here’s a bit of a long one though, as a finale.

This is a gay-to-straight story. If you’re not into that, feel free to keep scrolling, but I bet you'll like it anyway. Read my G2S ethos here.]

You eagerly rip open your Be Kind Rewind delivery and a die falls into your hand. Oh yeah, their weird promotion thing. You toss it on the coffee table, not noticing that it lands on 5. You’re too busy pulling out the Jersey Shore tape you ordered, excited to have access to one of your favorite guilty pleasures and use it as research for a particularly manly role you’re hoping to score, which could finally break you out of being typecast as awkward and effeminate.

As you push the tape into your TV’s built-in VCR (that you could have sworn wasn’t there when you bought it), you realize it’s already at the end credits, so you hit rewind. While you wait for the tape to be ready, you decide to run your lines some more.

“Hey baby, why don’t you bring that fine ass over here?” you say, cringing at how utterly wrong those words sound coming out of your mouth. You sound like a nervous pre-teen at a school dance, not the overconfident douchebag that the part requires.

You clear your throat and repeat the line, trying to artificially deepen your voice when you say it.

“Hey baby, why don’t you bring that fine ass over here?” you say, your throat tingling as it delivers the words in a perfectly sultry, slurred bass, with a hint of a New Jersey accent. Holy shit! You nailed it!

“Hell yeah, bro!” you shout, pumping your fist, too excited to notice the uncharacteristic slang you unconsciously used. You decide to see if you can replicate the voice for the other lines on your sides, and each word comes out perfectly.

“You’re looking fly, my man,” you say, dapping up an invisible buddy. Fuck yeah, that line sounded even more perfect than the last one! The deep tones of your voice echo through the empty room. You don’t even notice as the color leaches from your pants and they grow baggy and thin. However, you can’t help but be aware of the cold sensation slithering across the back of your neck, wrapping around the front to form a tight circle that feels like a necklace chain. A golden metal knot at the end of the loop seems to be stretching the circle with its weight, pulling it down toward your shirt collar.

It never makes it to your collar. The neckline of your shirt begins to scoop lower and lower as the knot progresses downward, the crew neck becoming a V, expanding into a deep V, and eventually stretching into a drooping U that leaves your shirt loose and baggy, practically exposing your nipples. The necklace and the shirt seem to be racing toward your navel, and the shirt wins. The necklace gives up somewhere around your chest, the knot unfurling into a golden cross that rests between your slightly toned pecs. Conversely, your shirt collar goes all the way down to the bottom, splitting the fabric in two as the color fades to black and the edges sprout rows of metallic teeth, becoming a zipper.

Now, you consider yourself plenty attractive, but you still feel self conscious and exposed with your entire torso hanging out, even if you’re completely at a loss to understand how this is even happening. You link the zipper together and pull on the tab, trying to cover yourself with the strange new garment that has appeared on your body. But something stops you from zipping up too far past your belly button. You suppose you’re subconsciously afraid of getting your hand anywhere near the magical necklace that suddenly appeared on you. Sure, that must be it.

However, thinking of the necklace makes you freak out a bit, so you decide to try and take it off. When you reach up to unclasp it, your fingers thrum with energy and you feel a sudden urge to keep rehearsing your lines. Yeah… Maybe the getup will help you embrace the character.

“When you look like I do, bro, you don’t gotta fuck with dating apps,” you say. Although you were still perturbed, this line also came out perfectly. You decide to lean into whatever strange thing is happening because, even if it’s fucked up, you’re definitely getting this part. In fact, you’re even starting to move like your character. You just scratched your chest by reaching under the hem of your hoodie and exposing a strip of your abdomen in the process.

You repeat the line, hooking your thumbs under the open part of your zipper, flaunting your chest. As the last word rings out in a perfect, reverberating tone, your chest swells with pride. No, wait, it’s just plain swelling. Your toned chest becomes downright swole, like someone has taken a bicycle pump to your pecs. Six bulging abs surface from your stomach beneath them, forming neat rows while your biceps and quads inflate to twice their previous size.

Although the hoodie now clings more tightly to your expanding mass, you can still see your belly button if you look down. That’s how you notice the tribal tattoo inking its way in a curlicue pattern around your navel, licks of inking flame forming the shape of the Sun. You chuckle deeply. Thinking about the solar system, you laugh at the fact that this tattoo makes it seem like the world revolves around your abs. Hell, you think, if you had abs like that, you’d probably agree. Wait a minute… For whatever reason, you DO have abs like that. Fuck…

You walk over to the mirror, admiring your new physique. You flex, enjoying how your muscles bulge, even through your clothes. You’re flooded with a surge of confidence and you rub your crotch, thinking about how hot you look.

A deep tan color emanates from the tattoo around your belly button, engulfing your old skin tone in an orangey brown, spreading over your legs, chest, back, and even face. You give a little smirk, embracing the newfound changes. You notice that the expression is one your face has never made before. It’s contemptuous, commanding.

You’re an actor. You need to hone your craft. You try out a few more expressions that you’ve seen on sleazy guys at bars. Condescending. Seductive. Proud. Angry. Each one looks completely new on your face, yet perfect, probably because your bone structure has been quietly shifting to give you high cheekbones and a sharp jaw.

You rub your bulging muscles one more time, annoyed by how much hair covers them. You’d have to wax at least once a week if you wanted to show off this definition properly. However, as you rub, there is less and less hair rustling between your fingers. You lift up your hands to see baby-smooth patches of skin beneath where they rested. Enthused, you scrub your hands up and down your body, the hair vanishing like marker from a dry-erase board. Once, you’re done, you admire your perfectly smooth and shiny figure.

However, that hair as has to go SOMEwhere, as it turns out. Your armpits, which were feeling more and more resistance as you moved your hands, are now bristling with jet black hair. You lift up one arm and give a tentative sniff, your nose flooding with a ripe musk. You try to swipe the hair away with your hand, but it won’t budge. You shrug. Nothing a little Axe body spray won’t fix.

That thought surprises you, because you’re pretty sure you use a different type of deodorant. However, you suddenly can’t remember the brand. And the mist of Axe floating around the room certainly suggests you use it all the time. Oh well. Chalk it up as one more weird thing about this afternoon.

The hair growth as clearly also affected the top of your head. Your hair is growing out into haphazard spikes that jut from the top of your head, forming tapered cones that begin to shine as if they’ve been coated in a year’s worth of gel.

You look… ridiculous? No. Douchey? No. Fucking hot? Hell yeah, bro.

You return to your script, fiddling with your hair to give it the perfect spiky muss at the back.

“Bros before hoes, dude! You know that!” It sounds like your character really believes that line as it comes out of your mouth. And why wouldn’t he? Hoes might be a good distraction for a night of fun, but bros are for life. Your memories of dancing the night away at gay clubs begin to morph. You’re still dancing with a group of men, but now they’re all spray-tanned, juiced-up Jersey Shore rejects rather than fashionable young gays. And you’re still rocking a half-chub in your memory, but it’s from watching a female go-go dancer shaking her moneymaker on a platform, rather than you grinding up against some cute twink or other.

You groan deeply as the memory tugs against the core of your identity. You look hot now, and you’re gonna get the role, but you don’t want to lose EVERYTHING. But it’s too late. It feels like your mind is expanding, but not in a Limitless kind of way. Instead, each individual thought you have becomes much, much bigger, taking up more brain space than it used to. Your memories of ex-boyfriends, Pride parades, and anything even remotely gay begin to circle the drain of your cerebellum, washed away by just a few base urges. Partying. Playing beach volleyball. Hitting on chicks.

You grab your script again to recite a few more lines, but the words start swimming in front of your face. It’s not that you can’t read. It’s just that, suddenly, reading is the last thing in the world you want to be doing. A sudden craving for beer pops into your head. It's the biggest thought yet. It shoves almost everything else out, and you drop the paper on the ground, where it vanishes into thin air while the room around you transforms into a beachside cabana.

You emerge into the dusty sunset of the Jersey Shore, admiring a few hot babes in bikinis who wander by while you make your way to the store. You lift up your shirt to show off your abs to a few of the hottest ones.

You pick up two six-packs of beer at the store and, why the fuck not, a pack of condoms, along with some other snacks and supplies. You decide to hit up the clothing store on the way back for some new threads, because your impulses are ruling you like never before. As you head to the checkout, you spot the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen. You almost drop your beer, she’s so hot. Your dick is already stiffening as you say, “Hey baby, why don’t you bring that fine ass over here?”

[thehypnone]

Hiiii if you don’t mind it I have a little fanfic request cuz I’m pretty sure I’ve read every story about ghouls with epilepsy and I guess I just need something to make me feel better about my own epilepsy so yeahhh I’d be happy if you could write something along the lines of a ghoul (preferably dew) having an seizure and getting helped by the other ghouls (current and former ghouls). I’d really appreciate it <3

-Levi

idont know much about seizures but @skele-bunny helped

It started after his elemental transition; the first time it happened, he was still in the infirmary.

Thankfully.

Dewdrop didn’t know what was going on, then, but he could feel it coming on. He got hit with a wave of coldness, and then a moment after started to feel flushed. His eyes lost focus and he managed to open his mouth, wanting to call for someone, but no words were coming out. He only caught the sight of Omega running towards him from the corner of his eye before the world went dark.

When he woke up next—he’d been told a few minutes passed—he was exhausted like never before and had a killer headache. There was blood in his palms and in his mouth, too.

Apparently, Dewdrop had a seizure.

They’ve never really settled on what was the cause, but Omega and Aether both think it’s the trauma that the elemental transition had put on his nervous system, as well as his heart.

It’s been years—and many, many more seizures—since then and even though the fire ghoul knows how to recognize them coming on, now, they can still surprise him from time to time.

Dewdrop is too distracted by the rapidly thickening plot of a movie he’s watching with the pack—extended pack, it’s a big movie night that all the ghouls were invited to; and most showed up—to notice the signs. Before he knows it his arms and legs begin to twitch where he’s laying against Swiss.

The multi ghoul takes notice, of course. “You alright, kitten?”

He doesn’t reply—can’t even turn his head—as he’s already actively seizing. Swiss jumps right into action.

“Ifrit, Delta, clear the floor,” he orders as he’s grabbing Dewdrop to lower him to the ground. The two addressed ghouls obey immediately and Swiss uses the newly created space on the carpet to get Dewdrop into the safe position.

“What’s going on?” one of the ghoulettes calls out from the other side of the room.

“Dew’s seizing,” Rain—who’s been cuddled up to Swiss’ other side—replies. Not all the ghouls present are used to witnessing a seizure and it causes chaos to sprout in the room.

Mountain—in charge of the TV remote—pauses the movie and nods to Zephyr—sitting in their wheelchair by the lightswitch—to turn the light on.

Dewdrop’s seizures are silent, but not pretty by any means. His eyes roll back into his head, his jaw clenches so tightly it looks like it might just break, and his limbs twist and tense. Swiss is holding him safely on his side with his head supported as he convulses lightly.

Thankfully, because a few ghouls have been sitting there watching the movie there’s a softer blanket laid out instead of just the old, rough carpet—hopefully Dewdrop won’t have carpet burns after, thanks to that.

There’s nothing more to be done when he is having a seizure apart from keeping him safe; all the ghouls can only wait and, as always, it’s just a few minutes before Dewdrop starts coming back to life.

The tension pulling at his muscles begins to drop and minute after minute his body is loosening. When it’s safe to do so, Rain scoots over closer to stroke Dewdrop’s hair as they wait for him to become more aware of his surroundings again.

“Welcome back, droplet,” the water ghoul mutters with a smile when he notices the other’s eyes moving. “Can you blink a few times for me?”

Dewdrop does.

“Good boy, that’s good,” he praises. “One blink for yes and two for no, right?”

Dewdrop blinks one time.

“Good,” Swiss chimes in. “Do you want some water?”

One blink.

“Can someone get a glass of cold water?” the multi ghoul calls out. “With a plastic straw. The bendy kind.”

“On it,” Aeon says and goes to fetch it. 

“Does it hurt anywhere it shouldn’t?” Rain asks the fire ghoul again.

Two blinks.

“Alright, that’s good.”

“Do you need anything specific?”

Two blinks.

“Do you want to go to bed?”

Two blinks.

“Stay here and go on with the movie?”

One blink.

“That can be arranged,” Swiss winks at him with a smile. Dewdrop is clearly alright—nothing is out of ordinary. “Can we get some pillows and soft stuff, here? We’ll stay on the floor.”

Some murmurs spread around the room and soon enough Swiss’ request is being fulfilled. Ivy, Pebble and Rain tuck some blankets and pillows under and around the multi ghoul and Dewdrop—still not entirely back in his body, hence still being held in a safe position.

Just then Aeon returns with that glass of water. “Sorry, couldn’t find the straws.”

“That’s alright,” Rain assures with a smile as he takes it from the quintessence ghoul and brings the straw to Dewdrop’s lips. He parts them—albeit rather weakly—and starts sipping slowly.

After a few minutes, when everyone is settled and calm again, Zephyr switches the light in the room back off and Mountain resumes the movie. Swiss and Rain keep monitoring Dewdrop’s state, but he seems to be doing alright, already. His eyelids are drooping and they know he’s going to be asleep in a moment—not uncommon for him at all after a seizure.

But nobody minds, they’re all just glad he’s safe.

[chiefdirector]

Staging | Tim Bradford | The Rookie

Act Two| Chapter 30 | Chapter 31 | Chapter 32 | Chapter 33 | Chapter 34

27 Years Ago:

The dull flickering of the cheap lightbulb was the only source of light in the small living room of the rundown apartment. The tv, which had previously been the main output of light, had turned itself off hours ago. Normally, the light would have been turned off when the last person went to bed, the power bill was always far too high, so lights and appliances were always shut off.

The small apartment only housed four, the Matthews family. Thomas, Diane, and their eight-year-old twins, (Y/N) and Theo.. Both Thomas and Diane worked tirelessly, both taking a rotation of night-shifts so as to not leave the twins alone at night, but sometimes it couldn’t be helped, leaving one of the neighbours to check in on the young children.

(Y/N) had thought it to be one of those nights, she was alone, Theo had a sleepover. It was only twenty minutes prior that she heard rustling in the living room. It was the crashing against countertops and the clattering of metal that had woken her. Mrs Newman from across the hall was half-blind, so when she heard the banging around, (Y/N) had tried to go back to sleep but her attempts didn’t last long.

She could see the light creeping in from around her bedroom door. Her mother was always scolding her for leaving it on, so teddy-bear in hand, the young girl shuffled out of bed towards her door. Cracking it open, she peaked her head around to see if Mrs Newman had left only to find her father crumpled on the floor.

Teddy-bear still in hand, she moved over to her dad, trying to wake him up. She shook his shoulder, hoping the motion would bring him round. “Daddy. Daddy wake up!”

Pulling back from the still man, (Y/N) finally noticed that her hand had been touching something red and somewhat sticky. She tried to wipe it down her pyjama pants but the red stained her hand. Tears welling in her eyes, she tried waking her dad again. “Daddy, please. This isn't funny. Wake up!”

Her tear-filled pleas rippled through the room until the sound of the front door creaked open. Quickly, (Y/N) moved throughout the room to wrap her arms around her mother. Burying her head in her chest, (Y/N) hiccuped her words out. “Momma. It's dad. He won’t wake up.”

“What do you mean sweethe-” Diane Matthews said, her focus solely on her daughter until she looked up to see her husband’s bloodstained body crumpled on the floor. “Oh. Oh sweetheart. Go to your room. Stay there”

Without room to argue, Diane dropped her handbag and ushered the young girl back into her bedroom. The second the door closed, Diane rushed towards her husband, trying to find a pulse on his cold body. She knew that he was dead from the second she saw him, but she just had to check, just in case. 

Fighting back tears, Diane moved to grab the phone and call the police when she heard (Y/N)’s door open again. 

“(Y/N), I told you to stay.”

“I thought dad could use Teddy,” The girl looked down at the bear she was still clutching. “It makes me feel better when I'm sleeping.”

“Oh my sweet, sweet girl,” Diane moved to take the bear from her daughter, wiping the tears forming in the young girl's eyes. “Now back to bed, I’ll be there soon. Okay?”

“Okay, Momma. I love you.”

“I love you too sweetheart,” She replied but the bedroom door had already shut behind the girl.

—-

Now:

Nolan shuffled the papers between his hands, as he watched (Y/N) and Tim talk in the briefing room, trying to bide his time. Deep down he knew that he had to be truthful with her, and he knew that he would be, but he couldn't in good nature tell her what he had found without fact-checking it first.

The second (Y/N) left, he swooped in, speed walking to catch up with Tim. “Bradford, wait!”

Tim crossed his arms as he turned, not wanting to deal with whatever nonsense had sprouted from the bad luck charm which was the over-aged rookie. “Yes, Nolan. Be quick, me and Chen are hitting the streets soon.”

“I just need you to double-check this. I’m pretty sure I got it right but-”

“Give it here,” Tim snatched the paperwork from Nolan, cutting him off as he spoke. Quickly, he skimmed through the old case file, a cold case from the early 90’s. “What am I checking because clearly you didn’t write this?”

“Lopez asked me and Harper to run Sullivan’s post mortem injuries through the system. See if it was related to… anything. There was one match, this case. Someone broke into a home, murdered the victim and left without taking anything. Wounds match perfectly.” 

Tim looked up to the other man. “Right, so how is this correlated?”

Instead of responding, Nolan pointed to the name adorning the top of the file, before then directing Tim’s gaze to the relative’s and the witnesses. Quickly he read, and then reread the name. 

Tim swallowed as he processed the information. “It’s her. If that is what you were implying.”

“I thought as much. I wanted it vetted before I told the others. Just in case.”

“Good call Nolan. Grab Harper and tell Grey, I’ll call (Y/N) back to the station. Her and Lopez just left so they shouldn’t have made it far.”

“Will do.” Nolan nodded, turning on his heel to go find Harper. He didn’t make it far before he heard Bradford call him back.

“Nolan,” he said, voice steady and sincere, “thank you. You did the right thing.”

_

Taglist: @xceafh @kmc1989 @buba424 @salty0cracker @iamasimpingh0e @malindacath @tessalynni @anaferreira-4 @starstruckchopshoptyphoon @alessiamargaux @rexit-mo @ladespedidas @omg-its-vixen @agentcable @rookietrek @fluentmoviequoter @wonderland2425 @niktwazny303 @the-dino-geek

Masterlist

[threecatsinatr3nchcoat]

(fluff) words: 1.6k

summary: mike lets you paint his nails because you’re not feeling well!

authors note: my first fic and my first time actually posting on here !! feel free to send requests or suggestions on if i can improve my writing :3

-

it seemed like you were drifting on that border of sleep for hours now. until mike came through the front door, carrying two plastic grocery bags in his hands. he quickly shuts the door to prevent any of the icy air from outside getting into the warm house.

mike takes off his snow-soaked shoes and coat, setting the bags down beside the door. at first, he doesnt see you under your mass of blankets on the couch and calls out your name. you let out a pathetic mixture of a whine and a sluggish grumble as a response.

“ah, there you are. i brought some stuff for you.” mike chirps. his comforting and warm aura contrasts harshly with your stagnant and lethargic attitude. you sit up on the couch and try your best to fix your messy hair to look at least somewhat less sickly.

before he sits down, mike picks up some of your used tissues and takes away your cup of tea that had gone cold. you grumble that he shouldnt do that and that you’ll clean up after your own self but he just brushes you off, continuing to tidy the area.

after, mike picks up the two bags he set down earlier and plops down beside you on the couch. he doesnt seem to care at all that he could catch your cold by being so close to you. your interest is spiked as he begins to rustle through one of the bags.

“some drinks,” mike sets down a few of your favorite drinks on the coffee table. “couple of snacks,” he places various kinds of candy and chips into your lap. “and some medicine, obviously.” lastly, he brings out some over-the-counter medicine for your cold.

before you can respond, he starts digging through the second bag. “oh! also, i picked up a few nail polishes for you too. as a little pick me up. i’ve got red, this sparkly pink, and look at this one! i got it because it looks like your eyes.” mike dumps the nail polishes into your lap over the snacks and holds one up next to your face. he has a bright smile plastered on as his gaze flickers between the nail polish and your eyes, seeing how perfect of a match it is.

mikes smile fades when he sees your pouting expression. “what? whats wrong, baby?” he frets, setting the nail polish down. he places one hand on your shoulder and one on your cheek as he searches your eyes for an answer.

“no, no, nothing wrong. its just, you didnt have to get me all this. thank you, really.” you start to sniffle and you cant really tell if its because of your emotions welling up or if its just your cold. mikes soft smile returns and he tilts his head at you before he embraces you in a tight hug. you can feel your previously sickly and grumpy mood is brightening up by all the gifts and affection mike brought home for you.

“of course, of course. you know id do it anytime, whether you’re feeling bad or not.” he breaks the embrace and presses a gentle kiss to your forehead. a small smile sprouts on your lips. your eyes flicker down to your lap, the pile of items mike bought you reminds you of how a cat would bring a dead mouse to a human. you sort through the snacks and pick up the nail polish that mike said resembled your eyes. an idea youre not too sure mike will be happy with pops in your head.

“can i paint your nails?” you chime, looking at mike with a smile. he pauses for a moment before shrugging his shoulders.

“sure.” he replies with a soft smile. your expression immediately radiates warmth and you squeal with joy. mike smiles at your excitement.

you take everything off from your lap and dump it onto the coffee table, getting more comfortable next to mike. he extends his hand out to you and picks up the tv remote with his other.

as mike sorts through the collection of movies on the tv, you hold his hand in yours and begin to delicately paint his nails in the color he mentioned looked like your eyes. a sense of warm comfortable silence fills the air as the soft moment unfolds.

“okay, don’t move around too much or i’ll mess it up.” you order and mike nods obediently. as you paint his nails, you can tell mikes eyes occasionally shift between the movie he picked out that plays on the screen and how your hand gently holds his. he has a small smile whenever his attention refocuses on you.

time passes and you’re still working on mikes nails. you’ve finished up one hand, painting on a few layers to get good and vibrant coverage, and have moved onto his other hand. this one is a bit more awkward to do since as you sit side by side, his arm has to reach over his body for you to be able to hold it properly. mike adjusts his arm which causes you to accidentally mess up on the polish, getting a little on his skin.

“sorry! sorry, sorry!” he quickly apologizes as you shoot him a strong glare. your expression softens immediately when you see his apologetic and puppy-like eyes. you wipe off the wet polish off his skin and continue to finish up on his nails.

after a few more minutes and a top coat for that extra glossy look, you look at your work with a smile. mike tears his attention away from the tv screen and admires his nails along with you.

“nice job! you’re great at this.” he compliments genuinely, showing you an appreciative smile. you soak in his praise and smile right back. you tentatively tap on the surface of mikes nails, testing to see if they’ve dried all the way.

disappointingly, this nail polish proves to be difficult in how long it takes to dry. either that or it’s because of how many layers you did.

“okay, you can either not do anything with your hands for the next hour or so while the polish dries…” you begin but mike glances over at you with a confused and worried look. “or… you can dip your fingers in ice water for a few seconds. that always makes polish harden faster.”

mike contemplates his options. ice water really doesn’t sound too pleasant but neither does not being able to use your hands for an hour.

you smile at mikes indecision and get up from the couch to go fetch a bowl of icy water. in the kitchen, you fill up a bowl with cold water and drop in a few ice cubes, bringing it back over into the living room where mike waits on the couch for you.

“m‘kay just keep your nails in there for a little while.” you say once you take your seat back next to mike and place the bowl on the coffee table. mike eyes the icy water worriedly. “come on noowww.” you tease.

mike dips his fingers into the water, keeping them submerged with a wince. “how long till the polish is hard?” he whines.

“i usually do it till i can’t feel my fingers.”

“what!?”

“c’mon, quit being so dramatic, it’s not that bad! if you really cant take it, take a break and dip them back in when your fingers are thawed out.”

mike immediately pulls his hands out of the bowl and shakes off the water. you laugh softly at him. mike glances up from drying his hands on his jeans to listen to your laughter, a smile appearing on his face when he gets to listen to his favorite sound.

“i think they’re fine now, right? the polish feels dry to me.” mike comments, gently touching the nail polish on his fingers. you run your finger over the top of mike nail, which brings a softer smile to his lips. he can’t help but enjoy your casual yet intimate touches like this. when you shake your head, his smile turns into a more unpleasant expression.

“look, they’re dry, yeah, but if you press them too hard against something they’re going to become textured! you need to keep them smooth and glossy.” you explain carefully. mike rolls his eyes playfully and swipes his hand away.

“okay, okay, i’ll be careful. i just don’t want to keep my hands in that ice water for any longer than i have to.” mike grumbles. “can’t believe you have to do all this when you paint your nails… so needlessly complicated!” he adds in with a sigh which makes you smile.

despite his complaints, mike admires his nails every chance he gets. every time he’d catch a glance at them, he’d be reminded of how the color matches your eyes. mike wore the color with pride, and still as the polish was chipping away and worn off after a few weeks. he never bothered to completely take the time to remove the nail polish off his nails, why would he when he always thought of you when he looked at them?

[silvercap]

Can I get ʌ with Post RE7!Lethan pls ? <33

Sure! I've never really thought deeply about Lethan so I apologize if this is off haha (Prompts)

ʌ: comfort after a nightmare

Ethan's breath catches in his throat as he steps down the dusty hallway, creaking wood and the awful, heavy scent of rot thick in his nostrils. It's quiet aside from his rasping breaths and the faint, almost indistinct sound of whispering, every hair on his body standing directly upright.

He knows this place.

The kitchen is just as he remembers it; pots and pans filled with oozing sludge and a doorway on the far side that leads to the hallway and stairs towards the attic. The whispering is getting louder, wavering in the dreamlike haze that's settled over him like TV static. There's nothing in the drawer by the stairs, just like the first time he'd checked, but he can see that the staircase to the attic is already lowered at the top of the stairs, a shiver running down his spine.

He climbs them, hesitating on the second set. There's a crash from the kitchen and Ethan whirls, heart thudding in his throat as his eyes blow wide. All is silent. He swallows thickly, clammy hands trembling at his sides, and forces himself to climb the creaking staircase.

The attic above is musty with the smell of old wood and---is that the tang of blood? Ethan inches forward as quickly as he stares, glancing in the open room he'd found the gun in the first time. It's there, on the shelf, but Ethan... Ethan knows it's not going to be any help. He tears his gaze away and shivers, forcing his steps to carry him into---that room.

She's there, just like he knew she'd be. Head tipped down, glossy brown hair turned dull and greasy where it hangs around her shoulders. A wheelchair holds her slumped form mostly upright.

"Mia," Ethan whispers. He watches as if from a distance as he approaches the chair, already mentally distancing himself from the sheer dread pounding through his veins. His breaths catch as he reaches out to touch her shoulder, the faint movement making her head loll to the side. "Mia?"

"Right here," someone hisses, and Ethan gags in shock as a kitchen knife sprouts from his stomach, piercing through his shirt as pain washes over every limb and leaves him nauseous. He falls forward, collapsing to his hands and knees with a cry as the knife tears upward before pulling free. He can feel---his intestines are going to---

"Ethan, Ethan, Ethan," a familiar male voice chuckles, ice freezing Ethan to the spot. "You never should'a come back here, boy."

He glances up to see them advancing on him, Jack, Marguerite, and a blank-faced, grotesque Mia, her hand stained red. He's failed her. Ethan whimpers, making himself crawl backwards as Jack reaches down to grab him harshly by the ankle. He's about to kick when icy hands wrap hard around his throat from behind, eyes blowing wide as the Mia in the wheelchair leans down with her rotted mouth opening near his ear, ready to---

Ethan wakes with a cry, sitting bolt upright before dizziness drags him back down to the mattress, shoulder jolting as he collapses onto his elbows. He's breathing so hard it's like he's run a marathon, the fabric over his legs and torso leaving him drenched in itching sweat that makes him freezing cold and burning hot at the same time. A figure looms over him, his sleep-addled mind flinching away when a hand reaches out towards him.

"Ethan, it's just me, it's just me. You're safe," Leon's calm, clear voice cuts through. It takes Ethan a moment to register the bedroom he's found himself in, groaning and swiping a hand over his eyes when he recognizes it as the safehouse they've been staying in. "You were having a nightmare."

"Sorry," Ethan rasps, pushing himself fully upright and looking up at where Leon stands in---oh, good Lord---his sweatpants and no shirt whatsoever. He's too shaken for it to really distract him, but that's certainly an image he won't forget. He forces a weak smile, fingers curling in the blankets. "Sorry if I woke you."

Leon shakes his head. "I get 'em too. I heard you from the kitchen."

"Oh."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Ethan pauses to think. "I---maybe?"

He's about to continue when a hand appears suddenly in front of his face, confusion prompting him to blink and glance up at Leon. There's a glint in his eye, some sort of expression on his face that Ethan can't help but find strangely appealing. He takes Leon's hand, only belatedly realizing it's pulling him up and out of bed. He sways once his feet are under him again, suddenly mere inches away from Leon's warm body. What the hell is happening right now?

Leon's mouth quirks to the side, before he turns with a careless wave, the scars on his muscled back rippling in the moonlight that streams in through the cabin's blinds. "C'mon. Do you like coffee?"

[gojo-enthusiast]

The King & His Curses — Chapter One: Mine All Mine

18+ | DARK CONTENT | R | Smut | Death

masterlist

“Here.” You said, as you handed your husband a paper bag with his breakfast, and lunch.

“You still mad?” He chuckled, looking at his watch 5:32AM “Nope.” You said as you turned around to go back into your shared bedroom, to go back to sleep. You felt your body being twisted around, and your husband was now close to your face. “If you aren’t mad anymore, then why are forgetting to kiss me goodbye?” He smirked. “Because I simply am not in a kissing mood.” You huffed, as you looked away from him. The night prior, your husband had not only worked late but afterwards he went to the bar to have a couple beers with the guys he works along side with, while you, were slaving in the kitchen, making him dinner, and waiting for him to get home. “Oh— is that so doll?” He chuckled, as he smacked his lips onto yours, and kissing you roughly. He let go after a few seconds, leaving you breathless. “I will see you tonight.” He smirked, as he smacked your ass, and kissed you a final time. “I love you…” you mumbled, he smiled, his canines peeking out, “I love you too doll.”

You were 22, and Sukuna was 25, you two had gotten married when you were 18 and he was 21. You both were childhood friends, his grandpa would babysit you as your parents went to work, and you were not old enough to go to school, you mostly were around his brother Yuuji, and his half brother Choso, being that you 3 were closest in age, but even then you always were attached to Sukuna, even as a baby.

You recall when you were 7 and Sukuna was 10, Grandpa Itadori waited at the bus stop for you, Yuuji, and Choso, and you always begged to wait at the bus stop for 10 more minutes so you could walk with Sukuna back home, Grandpa Itadori always let you, knowing you would cry otherwise.

“SUUUUUKKKUNNNAAAA!” You would sing out as he stepped off the bus, with his same old same old cold expression, but something about seeing this little girl he’s known his whole life, he would get this toothy grin, and run up to you, while all his friends called out for him, he would pay them no mind. “How was school?” You would smile, dancing around, and having your hands intertwined with his as you both walked home together. “Lame, my teacher is such a nag.” He would huff, “What’s a nag?” You would peer up at the older boy, admired by him. “She always tells me what to do, and tells me to stop doing things.” He replied, “Well she is the teacher, we have to listen to her.” You would poke at his cheek. “I don’t! I don’t listen to anyone.” He would say with a hmph. “Well you should listen to your teacher.” You would say with a smile. After that, Sukuna would listen to his teachers up until he graduated, all because that seven year old girl had told him to.

You knew you were in love with Sukuna when you were thirteen, he had turned sixteen, and you watched as one day he sprouted like a tree, and at 16, he was already 5’10. You watched as all the girls drooled over him, and would ask him to walk them home, but he always had one priority, and that was walking you back to his house to do homework. “Come on kid.” He would say, pinching your cheeks. You began to blush, that was when you realized you had fallen in love with him, which Yuuji and Choso always knew, they picked on you for a while for not realizing it sooner.

At 17, was finally when you snapped, he had turned 20, he had just started his career in being an electrician, and met some girl at a stupid bar with his buddies. You were at Grandpa Itadori’s house doing your homework with Yuuji, while Choso was taking his college classes, when you saw Sukuna bring a girl over to the house, and he was making them a sandwich, and invited her up to his room, to watch tv. You weren’t stupid, you knew he was a player, and would mess around with different girls. “Hey why the long face?” Yuuji chuckled, knowing damn well why you were upset. “I just don’t get what he sees in her?” You said with a sigh. “Yeah, I don’t see why he’s messing with all these girls, when he’s gonna ask you to marry him when you turn eighteen and graduate.” Yuuji says carelessly. “What?” You whipped your head around. “Yeah he said he was gonna ask y/n to marry him— wait oh shit.” Yuuji shook his head, “Y/n! Don’t say anything!” He covered your mouth.

“Hey, why are you covering her mouth like that punk!” Sukuna hisses, as he came down stairs to grab a soda. You both turned to look at Sukuna, and your eyes teared up. “I’m going home.” You said, as you grabbed your things, and walked out the house. “Hey!” Sukuna called out, not knowing what just happened, he death glared Yuuji, “What did you do?”

You walked across the cul-de-sac to your house, your parent were never home, so you knew you could cry without being interrupted, as you opened your front door, you felt a force, where you couldn’t shut it. “Y/n!” Sukuna breathed out, he had looked like he had been running after you. “What?” You hissed, as you wiped your tears. “What can I do for you?” You added, being extra cold. “Why are you mad at me? What did I do?” He grunted, “I don’t want to talk to you.” You wiped your eyes again with your sleeve. “Why are you crying? What did Yuuji say? I’ll kick his ass if he hurt you, who hurt you? I’ll kick their ass right now!” He said in an almost angry panic. “Then you should kick your own ass!” You huffed. “What did I do?” He asked puzzled. “Just go away, go to one of your little girlfriends.” You shooed him away. “Is that what this is about?” He said softer, finally stepping in the house and shutting the door. “NO!” You shouted, “Clearly it is, why are you upset that I have a girl over?” He peered into your eyes, he knew why, he knew that you liked him, but this is Sukuna we are talking about, he is having his fun, because once you graduate, he was wanting to marry you, Grandpa Itadori told him to wait, to be patient, to secure a good job, have his fun, and then settle down when you graduated.

“I don’t want to talk about it Sukuna…” You whimpered. You felt him pull you into a hug. “She doesn’t mean anything and you know that, I just… I am a man okay, and I have needs, and I can’t…” He got silent. “You can’t what?” You peered up. “Y/n” He groaned, throwing his head back. “Just be patient with me, and you will see.” He begged, you knew what he meant, the glimmer of hope in your chest. “Okay.” You sniffled, “I promise it will be worth the wait.” He kissed your forehead.

After that you never saw another girl again.

Two weeks after graduating, you had forgotten what Yuuji had said about Sukuna, your parent’s divorced, and your mom started taking out all her anger on you. Which led you to live with your dad in his one bedroom apartment, he slept on a pull out couch, while he gave you the bedroom.

“Dad, I’m sorry that you have to sleep on that couch.” You cried one night. Your dad pulled you into a hug, telling you to never apologize, he ended up telling you how sorry he was for not being there for you more, and not working hard on his marriage, even though he tried, your mom was simply just a selfish woman, and enjoyed her freedom. “I promise one day, you will have a better life than this.” He smiled, rubbing your ring finger. You didn’t notice it at the time, but your dad already knew, Sukuna had already asked for your hand in marriage, and even though your father was protective over you, if he had to choose anyone to marry his daughter, it was going to be Sukuna, despite the tattoos that littered his skin, and and stone cold expression.

KNOCK KNOCK

“Can you get that sweetie?” Your dad said from the kitchen, on a random Tuesday. “Yes daddy!” You yelled out, as you finished getting dressed. Your dad had just bought you a car, and you wanted to go surprise Sukuna and the boys. You opened the door, and see Sukuna with a goodie basket. “Suuuukkkkuuuuu!” You squeal, grabbing the basket, putting it down, and hopping into his arms for a hug. “Hey my girl.” He smiled, rubbing your back. “What are you doing here?” You smiled big, “I came to say hi, I was in the area, and since your pops got himself a new place, wanted to bring some housewarming presents. He said as you stood back up, with the hugest smile on your face. It had been 3 months since graduating, and you were working at a little optical shop, selling glasses, which ended up making you more money than you anticipated. “And wanted to congratulate you on graduating and getting you a big girl job.” He smiled. “Thank you Suku! I am making $18/hr! Isn’t that crazy for my first job?” You squealed, you felt like things were finally looking up. “Hey Sukuna.” Your dad waved as Sukuna finally came into the apartment. “Hey Mr. Y/L/N” He waved back. “I brought you some housewarming stuff, sorry I am a little late.” He smiled, handing your dad the basket full of stuff, one of them being a very expensive whiskey. “Hey, this is the good stuff Sukuna!” Your dad smiled brightly, the same smile that you always had, your dad and you were the same person, you didn’t really resemble your mom’s personality, only her facial features. “Learned from the best sir.” He smiled. “I see you got some new ink?” Your dad pointed. “Oh yeah, a buddy of mine tattoos now, so I got some work done.” He said as he lifted his sleeve to show the sleeve in process. “That’s real cool kid.” Your dad nods with a smile. “Is it okay, that I take your daughter out for a little? I’ll bring her back, around 9PM?” Sukuna said nervously, you whipped your head to your dad, nodding excitedly. “Yeah I don’t see why not, her curfew is 12, so if you are running a little after 9, that’s okay.” He smiled. “Really daddy!” You smiled, giving your dad a hug. “I love you sweetie, you two be careful.” Your dad smiled, as he waved you two goodbye.

“Where we going?” You said as you sat in the passenger seat of his truck. “I saw this field area, and it has some shops that I think you would find fun.” He said, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. “Are Yuuji and Choso coming too?” You said as you fidgeted with the end of your skirt. “Nope, just you and I.” He said in an almost nervous tone. “You been busy Suku.” You sighed, sighing louder than what you meant. “I have, work has been busier than normal.” He responded. “I know, it’s okay— I’m just happy I get you all to myself.” You giggled. You saw as he pulled into a parking spot in front of this field, with wildflowers all around.

“Sukkkkuuuuu! This is so pretty!” You sang out, smiling brightly, as you jumped out the truck. “Be careful now.” He chuckled. “This is so pretty! You were right, I would love this.” You said as you pulled out your phone and took pictures of the field and flowers. he stood there, admiring you, the tips of his ears red. “Sukuna, come on.” You pulled at his hand, walking into the field of flowers. You didn’t even realize a woman snapping photos as you danced around in the field. “Y/n” Sukuna said softly, you turned around with your eyes sparkling, and a slight blush on your cheeks, you were at your peak of happiness, you felt as if you could never be happier. You saw as he stood there nervously, his hand in his pocket, clutching something. “What is it Suku?” You said, as you walked up to him. “How would you feel if you always had me to yourself?” He asked. “What do you mean?” Your breath hitched, you knew what was happening but you didn’t.

“What if I said I wanted you all to myself, for the rest of our lives? What if I said I have been waiting for this moment my entire life, and now I want nothing but you.” He said as he pulled out a little velvet box from his pocket. You smiled, tears swelling up in your eyes. “I know this is not how it usually goes, I know typically you date, and all that cheesy stuff, but I want to do all of those things with you being my wife, I don’t want you just as a girlfriend, I want to make you Mrs. Itadori, I want… please marry me.” He said as his red eyes glimmered in the sun. You dropped to your knees, tears slipping down, you looked up at his soft face, that people were so scared of. You placed your hand on his cheek, rubbing it softly, “Of course I will marry you Suku.” You smiled, as you pulled him into a crushing embrace. He slipped the diamond ring on your ring finger, lifted you up, and spun you around. Next thing you know, you see Choso, Yuuji, your friend Nobora, Uraume, Shoko, Gojo, Geto, Nanami, and Haibara standing there clapping, and the one right in front of all of them, is your dad and Grandpa Itadori. You hadn’t realized your dad had been following you guys the whole time.

You cried as you hugged everyone, and the woman taking photos, kept on with taking them.

You both got married 2 months later, in the same flower field. He had been building you and him a home, hence why he had been busier than ever. You remembered the first day you walked in, you fell so in love, it had the cottage feel you always dreamed off, a window in front of the kitchen sink, and big windows all around. You decorated it so comfortably, feeling like home in such a short time.

“SUUUUUUUUKUNA!” You groaned, “What doll?” He lifted his brow looking at you from the couch. You two had been married for 6 months— “I know what I want for our 6 month anniversary.” You smiled as you plopped down next to him. “Want?” He questions. “Since when do we give gifts on a 6 month anniversary?” He questioned. “We do!” You shook his shoulders. “Hmm this is a first I am hearing this, but okay… What is it that you want doll?” He chuckled. “A kitty!” You said with the biggest puppy dog eyes. “Ahhhh…. No.” He pinched your nose as he stood up to get himself some water. “But whyyyyyy?” You groaned. “Doll, you got chickens outside.” He said. “Yeah, but we got chickens so we could have fresh eggs.” You groaned. “And how is this kitty going to benefit us?” He questioned. “With its cuteness!” You stood up, pulling on his arm. “Pleaaaaase.” You whined. “Cuteness doesn’t do anything for me hon.” He said nonchalantly. “It did with me.” You pouted. “Yeah, but you give me something that does benefit.” He smirked, gripping your ass. You blushed brightly, you two were very intimate, but you were still very very shy, he always had to ease you into it, and was still working on you to open up more sexually. “Sukkkuuu.” You groaned, as he attached his lips to your neck, sucking lightly.

“No cat, but maybe a baby will do?” He softly nipped at your neck. “A kittyyyyyy.” You moaned, as he continued to suck on your neck. He lifted you up, hauling you to the bedroom, “I’ll think about it, but right now, what we need to think about, is you taking off these clothes.” He said as he lifted your shirt off, and shut the bedroom door.

A couple days later, you were doing dishes, and you heard your husband walking in. “Hey Suku, how was work?” You smiled, as you walked up to him, and kissed him. “Good.” He said with a toothy grin. “What’s so funny?” You questioned. All of a sudden, you see him pull a tuxedo kitten out of his jacket. “Sukuna!” You squealed. “Happy 6 month anniversary doll.” He kissed your forehead. “I got everything we will need for the rascal in the truck.” He pat your head, you were crying. “I love you so much!” You cried as you hugged your husband, and started loving on the new little kitty.

Your marriage was your own version of perfect, you 2 had been married now for 4 years, hardly fought, your husband doted on you. Showered you with fresh flowers every week, and made love to you nearly everyday. He always would have the excuse “I can tell you need me, let me help you.” But you were convinced, it was not you who needed it, but him. He was madly in love with you, and hated not touching you.

“Sukuna! I’m on my period, stop it.” You would groan. “I don’t care about that, let me love on you baby.” He would groan, stroking his achingly hard cock. “Noooooooooooo— oh…” You would moan, as he would bend you over, pulling your tampon right out, and slipping himself in. You did this every time, saying you didn’t want it, yet your body was pleading for him, but you always feared that because you were bleeding, he would be grossed out, he showed you time and time again, he loved you no matter what was going on, bleeding or no bleeding. “Fuck, you’re so wet and tight.” He would throw his head back in bliss. “Your period make’s it easier for me to slip right in.” He groaned, thrusting harder. “Oh Suku.” You softly would moan, your cheeks were a bright pink, and your ears were red as a tomato. “I don’t know why you try to fight me off.” He would chuckle, as he would thrust sharper, and pushing your head into the plush mattress. 8/10 times, sex with Sukuna was rough and fast. But the other times he wasn’t, he would gently caress you, and slow it down, a lot of those times, it was when you both would wake up on a Sunday morning, and he would slip himself in slowly, while rocking his hips, soft moans erupting from your lips. He knew your body like no other, you knew nothing before Sukuna, and then he brought you to even greater heights then you could ever imagine. You thought to yourself “maybe being with all those women was him practicing for me.”

Now here you were, present day, mad at your husband. “Hey, I love you.” He pointed at you, with a smirk. “I promise I will be home early today.” He said, as he opened the front door. “Okay fine, I love you too Suku.” You chuckled, feeling giddy over your husband.

Matter of a fact, he did come home early, but what he didn’t know, was that he was going to walk into a blood bath. He walked in, and could assume men had broken into your home, and taken your life away, as he stepped closer, dropping the lunch bag you had given him that morning with a note inside “I’m mad at you, but I love you. Be safe poopy head.” He saw your throat was slit, and you had stab wounds in your chest, whoever did this, left you for dead, no remorse, he saw your hand, you were clutching onto your phone, and your wedding ring was still on, “this wasn’t a mere robbery” he thought, as he stepped closer and saw your phone, his contact was pulled up. He dropped to his knees, screaming out in agony. He held your dead body, crying out, “WAKE UP! Baby wake up! Please!” He cried out. It was then he hears a squeak on the floor, he looks up, as blood now coated his clothes and face. The two men who had killed your wife were right in front of him, holding a knife, “Your wife put up quite a fight, but her screams were far to noisy, had to rip her vocal chords right out.” One of the men said, the other one chuckled. “I see why you kept her around though, despite her mouth, that pussy was the best I’ve had in a while.” He snickered. Sukuna’s eyes blazed red, and next thing he knew, he was ripping these men to shreds, cutting of their head with his finger, he didn’t know where this power came from, but something erupted in him, and he gave these men the worst death, far worse than yours.

By the end of the night, after butchering these men, he watched as blood dripped down his fingertips, and his heart was beating faster than he has ever felt. He grabbed your body, and taking you to the tub. He filled it up with water, placing your lifeless body in there. He then went back to the living room, and removed then mens bodies, and threw them in the backyard with the chickens. He saw a car headlight drive up, and when he went to look, it was Uraume.

“Sukuna?” They questioned out loud. He stood there covered in blood. “Sukuna… What happened, I’ve been trying to get a hold of you and y/n. Where is y/n?” They said. He pointed to the backyard, “They killed her… They killed my wife… So I killed them.” He said in the most calmest voice. Uraume went to the back yard and saw the mens shredded bodies. “Sukuna… How… How did you…” They were standing there in awe, of how he butchered those men that way. “I-I… I have some power.” He said, as he demonstrated it, slicing one of the chickens in half. “I didn’t know… I could do that.” He said as he then lifted the chickens dead body with this new found power. “Oh Sukuna…” They pulled him into a hug. “Uraume, my wife is in the bathtub, I’m going to go bathe with her.” He said as he walked into the house, and stripped his clothes in the living room, and walked to the bathroom, where your lifeless body was at. He took the time to clean off the blood, and to dry you off, as he did himself. He dressed you in your wedding dress you had worn 4 years prior, and dug your grave that same night. He burned the bodies of the men who killed you, and as he laid you to rest in the dirt, he cried, kissed you, and began covering your body with dirt.

This was only the beginning of his life as a Curse.

I hope you enjoy! I’ve been working on this for a hot minute!

Next Chapter

[the-pen-pot]

Winter's Bite

Frigid air ached in his lungs, burning all the way down as Merlin huddled deeper into his coat. It was a frost-cracked, star-struck night. The moon's crescent smirked, low and fat on the horizon, and every breath escaped him in a cloud of steam. A north wind sliced through Camelot, whipping around the street corners. It was as sharp as any blade, and he flinched from it as the braziers guttered and danced.

Anyone with an ounce of common sense would be safe indoors, stoking the fires high and curling up in a nice, warm bed. Gaius had, at least, sounded apologetic when he'd sent him out gathering frostwort: a delicate flower of potent properties that only bloomed on nights such as this.

He had filled Merlin's pockets with roasted chestnuts, now long gone, and promised to stoke the fire high for him. Still, that didn't change the fact that he was numb to the bone, and his poky little room in Gaius tower was a long way from the hearth. It would be warm only in comparison, and he grimly resolved to put on every piece of clothing he owned before he climbed under his blankets.

The cobbles of the courtyard had turned treacherous, each rounded stone capped with ice. He had to pick his way across, and more than once he almost slipped to smash himself on the unforgiving ground. Not that he would feel it, numb as he was. He could see the glow of candles from Arthur's chambers, and a flicker of a frown crossed his brow. He'd handed off his duties to George. Even Arthur couldn't argue that his comfort trumped the medical needs of the populace. Still, he would have expected him to be in bed by now.

His ears ached and his face felt stiff. Even his eyelashes were strangely brittle. He winced and swore his way up the castle steps, gasping gratefully as the stone edifice sheltered him from the clutching fingers of the wretched wind. The soldiers on guard were huddled in the cradle of the arch, and they both shot him sympathetic looks as he stamped his feet and chafed his palms together before giving up and sticking his fingers under his armpits.

'The prince requests your presence in his chambers.'

George at least managed to sound apologetic as he emerged from the shadows, his hand held out to take the bag of herbs from Merlin's possession. 'I'll see that these get to Gaius.'

'Thanks,' Merlin managed, wincing as the word slurred through his lifeless lips. 'Any idea what he wants?'

'I'm afraid not. He has been tended for the night but he seemed – out of sorts.'

Merlin managed a grunt. He didn't much relish the idea of Arthur in a mood. His body wasn't the only thing frozen stiff. His mind felt like an icy river, glassy and motionless. The few thoughts he did have moved achingly slow in his thick skull. More than anything, he wanted to climb into a nest of blankets and stay there until spring. Instead, he bullied himself up the sweeping staircase towards the royal chambers, grumbling as he went.

The castle may be out of the wind, but the masonry was tomb-cold. The torches, candles and braziers were small pools of fleeting warmth in the long corridors. Merlin flitted from one to the next, lingering as long as he dared in their brief respite. It meant by the time he arrived at Arthur's chamber door, he had only been shown a brief flavour of what it was to be warm: enough to set the shivers marching through his so fiercely that every breath stuttered.

His fingers felt sausage-thick around the latch as he shouldered his way inside, shutting the door in his wake and trying not to whine in relief as warm air folded around him like a cocoon. The fire had been stoked high and tended for what must have been hours. Arthur's chambers were not as grand as the King's, but nor were they modest. In the winter they sprouted extra rugs on the flagstones and additional blankets on the bed: all the comforts a prince would require. Merlin was almost sick with envy.

'Took you long enough.' Arthur complained, rising from where he was sat in his fur-draped chair. He wore a long sleep tunic and a pair of plain breeches. His feet were unshod, with only thick socks to protect his toes as he strode towards Merlin. Firm hands grabbed his shoulders, bullying him and shoving him every closer to the hearth before practically man-handling him down onto the rug in front of the roaring blaze.

'I had to get –'

'Frostwort. I know. George was very thorough in informing as to me why you were not attending your duties.'

There was a heavy dose of reproach in Arthur's words, but his heart didn't seem to be in it. If he meant to chastise Merlin for leaving George to deliver the bad news, then he missed his mark. It was enough to make Merlin consider him from beneath his thawing lashes, reading all the little signs he suspected Arthur didn't want him to see. 

A couple of years as his man-servant meant that Merlin had swiftly learned to look beneath Arthur's words. His lips often said one thing while his expression said another. His actions often embellished the truth, rather than contradicted it. Now, he saw how that brow was furrowed with more concern than genuine annoyance, and how Arthur was looking him over like he was a horse at market, more than a little bit critical of what he was seeing.

'What?' he managed defensively, stretching out his hands towards the flames as a fresh shiver rumbled through him from head to foot.

'Did you go out in that?' He gestured to Merlin in general, indicating his outfit.

'Yeah,' he replied, dragging out the word. 'They're my clothes?'

Arthur made an angry noise in the back of his throat: a brief pulse of sound before he turned to the table, pouring himself some wine. A moment later, he hunkered down at Merlin's side, gripping his wrist and pressing something into his palm. Merlin blinked stupidly at the metal cup and the rich, red drink steaming softly within its confines.

'Drink it,' Arthur ordered, like a prat. 'It'll warm you up. If I send you off to Gaius' now, you'll wake up with a cold and be no use to anyone.'

Merlin hid his grin behind the rim as he lifted it to his lips, obligingly taking a sip and closing his eyes as the hot drink warmed him from his belly outwards. It was a blessing. He felt like he was slowly coming back to life, and he savoured the rich flavour of spiced wine.

It was not the first time that they had shared a drink in front of the fire. It had happened more and more, these past few months, as Arthur sought to work through the latest challenges of the court. Merlin didn't flatter himself in believing he wished for his advice, though he offered it anyway. Sometimes Arthur even listened.

This was different, though. Arthur didn't seem to be lost in the latest diplomatic entanglement or plotting how to get the best out of a new batch of knights. Instead, he was watching Merlin as he sipped from his own cup, his expression calm but for the hint of worry that clouded his gaze. More than once, he parted his lips as if to say something, but each time he swallowed his words back.

'Thanks,' Merlin managed when the cup was almost empty. His voice sounded rough to his own ears. Now that he was warming up, he felt heavy and lethargic. He loathed the idea of stepping outside of the haven of Arthur's rooms and into the frigid hallways with all his heart. 'I needed that. It was colder out there than I thought.'

'Did you actually think before you went wandering off into the woods in the middle of one of the coldest nights of the year?' Arthur looked at him sharply, his eyebrows raised. 'You didn't even take a cloak. It's not like there aren't plenty going spare.'

'It would have been more trouble than its worth in the woods. They get tangled on things!'

'Gloves, then!' Arthur gestured to his fingers, which had turned bright pink as the heat came back to them. 'You must have some!'

'Not... really?' Merlin pulled a face. Gloves were something that every member of the court had, fine things of leather and nubuck, elegant and lined with fleece. Gaius had a knitted pair with no fingers to help ease the ache the cold brought to his knuckles without limiting his dexterity. They were old and tatty, falling to pieces, and his need was far greater than Merlin's. 'It's all right, Arthur. I'm fine. I'm all warmed up now. See?'

Arthur managed to convey with a mere look how much he disbelieved Merlin's claim. 'You're still shivering.'

Merlin pursed his lips, not quite able to stifle the way his body had stirred itself into a fine, all-over tremble. It was as if it had been reminded of heat and was now lodging its protests that it had been made to suffer.

'Stay there.' Arthur commanded, setting his empty cup aside and getting to his feet. 'You can go when your nose has returned to a normal colour. It's practically glowing.' 

He moved with the same steady grace as always as he padded across the room, leaning over his desk and reaching for his quill. Gods alone knew what kind of paperwork he had to be doing at this time of night, but Merlin didn't argue. Instead, he drew his knees up to his chest, draping his forearms over their peaks and propping his chin atop them. 

He watched Arthur through drooping lashes, admiring the way the firelight played across his skin and struck sunlight through his hair. The sleep tunic he wore was hardly the sturdiest garment. It clung to his shoulders and hung open at the laces, revealing strong collar bones and the golden hair that gleamed, downy, upon Arthur's chest. It was nothing Merlin hadn't seen before when he helped Arthur with his bath, and yet there was something almost coy about the sight: artless and appealing. 

Merlin huffed, shoving those thoughts down as he had numerous times in the past. Arthur may be a prat, but there was no denying that he was easy on the eyes: a classic golden prince – Camelot's pride and joy.

It was all most people ever saw: a valiant knight who would one day be their king, with all the arrogance that went with such expectation. They never witnessed Arthur's uncertainty or regret, nor his well-hidden compassion. Arthur had been trained all his life to see caring as a weakness, yet it had not made him hard or cold. Instead, he showed his care in stealthy, subtle ways, like plying a freezing manservant with warmed wine.

The thought made Merlin smile, warmed more by Arthur's action than the alcohol slipping softly through his veins. He barely noticed his eyes drifting shut, nor the deepening lethargy sweeping over him. At some, dim point, he thought he sensed a hand on his shoulder, something urging him to lie down on the thick rug before the hearth. Someone murmured something, but he hadn't the strength to do more than grumble in response. A weight settled over him, and the smell of clean wool filled his nose.

There was a moment of breathless hesitation before a warm hand rested in his hair, ruffling it with exceptional care. The bit of Merlin that clung onto the waking world by its fingertips knew that it was Arthur. If he so much as twitched, Arthur would flee like a deer bolting from a hunter. Instead, he kept his breathing slow and steady, hovering on the cusp of blissful oblivion as a whisper reached his ears, so achingly tender that he could almost believe it was nothing but a hopeful, desperate dream.

'Goodnight, Merlin.'

***

A week later, there was a large bundle for Merlin sitting on the workbench in the healing rooms. A fine, long coat made of dark-dyed wool, and a pair of hide gloves lined with rabbit fur.

He wasn't sure what warmed him more: the garments designed to keep winter's worst bite at bay, or the subtle, crooked smile that tilted Arthur's lips the first time he saw Merlin wearing them.

[ilovescaredysquirrel2]

Was Qubo actually coming back?

So I heard a rumor that's been going around that The Qubo Channel, an American children's tv channel that ran from 2007-2021, was coming back in 2023 and this idiot fan did everything they could to make it seem real, videos and everything but it all turned out to be fake. They said that the company E Scripps announced it but they never did and this random person made an entire wiki page of it too. Qubo is officially never coming back, although I hope someone will have a solution or come up with a replacement kids channel. It's sad that kids have nothing that genuinely teaches them good lessons, besides Bluey. Don't get me wrong, I love Bluey, Bluey's awesome but it's like the only thing that kids can watch nowadays that's good for them. In my opinion, you need MORE THAN ONE SHOW! You don't have to have as many shows as I did growing up, but you can't only just have one show either.

I'll admit I was more of a tv kid, but I grew up in a small, dumpy town in Pennsylvania and I had no siblings or kids in the neighborhood to play with. I also never really had close friends at school who I got to hang out with outside of school, because school days lasted long and we were private people. When I got home, I'd most likely draw, watch tv, or take a nap. I did spend time outside but not in the autumn and winter as much because I hated cold, especially when I got older. I did watch a lot more tv than most kids did but it wasn't an unhealthy amount. I also wasn't really a Disney movie kid as much either. Disney channel? Yes, but I didn't really watch much of their animated movies growing up, especially not the older ones that everyone else grew up with. I had older parents and also was raised by my grandma, and no siblings so it's not like we had family movies nights like some families. Being an only child, I was basically the boss of the tv and my mom grew up playing outside and not much of a tv kid, so she just let me watch the kids shows that were playing on tv. Just to clear things up, I was born in November of 2002 and my mom gave birth to me when she was 42 years old, so a lot of stuff from her time wasn't really meant for kids. So yeah, I mostly just grew up watching tv channels. I was lucky enough to have Qubo, Sprout and the Nickelodeon and Disney channels. Lucky for me, I didn't watch much Cartoon Network, which in my opinion was kind of a good thing because a lot of stuff back then was inappropriate. Thank God I had more relaxing and... less unhinged shows to watch on channels like Sprout and Qubo. I know Qubo had its fair share of weird shows like Grossology and Being Ian, but most of the Qubo shows were good. In fact, some of my favorite shows ever came from Qubo!

Let's have a little talk about a well known Canadian show that was based off a book series, called "Scaredy Squirrel". If you were in Canada, you probably watched Scaredy Squirrel on YTV or Treehouse, but us Americans watched it on Cartoon Network, Disney X.D or Qubo. I was the kid who watched it on Qubo because I ignored the Cartoon Network channel growing up and I think around 2013 was when I started to hate Disney so... yeah. I became a fan of Scaredy Squirrel through Qubo and that show means so much to me. Another show that means a lot to me is called "Marvin the tap-dancing Horse" which originally aired on PBS kids for like 2 years, as part of a block called the "Bookworm bunch" which only lasted a short time and plus, I wasn't even born yet. I got introduced to Marvin the Tap-Dancing Horse through the Qubo Channel and I absolutely fell in love with it. Honestly, those are both very underrated shows and deserve an actual FANDOM rather than 3 fans. A few people I know have at least heard of Scaredy Squirrel barely anyone has heard of Marvin the dancing horse (and yes, Marvin is based off a book too). I highly recommend those shows, as well as many others!

Cable tv is kind of shutting down now anyway, and it's sad. All we have now is streaming services and a lot of them just don't have those nice kids shows that Qubo had. A lot of those shows were cute and not too overstimulating for the younger kids, and almost everything they have now is for older kids. Sprout became Universal Kids, which is more for older kids and they didn't need to do that. We need more things for little kids too. Also, as a 21 year old with trauma, I don't like rough adult shows like South park and Hazbin hotel, I want more calming shows like Scaredy Squirrel and Toddworld. (Also, I'll put a list of my favorite shows from Qubo in my last paragraph).

I hope one day I can make my own tv channel or streaming service to replace Qubo or Sprout, but nothing can really "replace" my favorite channels growing up. Also, if you want some relaxing kids shows from Qubo to watch, I'll give you some;

Scaredy Squirrel, Toddworld, Stella & Sam, Timothy goes to school, Marvin the Tap-Dancing Horse, Maggie & the Ferocious Beast, Harry & his Bucket of Dinosaurs, Miss Spider Sunny Patch, Babar, Veggietales, Gofrette, I Spy, My Friend Rabbit, Sandra the Fairytale Detective, Willa's Wild Life, Pecola, Turbo Dogs, Sidekick, and Stickin' Around (although there's a trigger warning).

Tell me what you think and if you agree! Are you too a Qubo or Sprout fan?

[sereneethestar]

Ville Valo x Fem! Musician ! Reader

Touring for you was new, foreign. And on the debut album? You were a hit. Sure, you had anticipated packing up your belongings and going on tour with bands you saw in magazines and on TV would be intimidating. But you never thought you might intimidate said bands.

The musician who seemed to have a problem with you was ville valo. The lead singer of the band ‘His Infernal Majesty’

Truth be told, your bedroom in your apartment back home had a couple HIM posters, and you’d be lying if you said Ville himself wasn’t fucking angelic. Meeting them was scary, everyone gathering up for a sound check before the first show of the tour. And the entire time, Ville gave you this stare, cold and chilling. Green eyes pierced right through you, an awkward wave, but his eyes followed like an eerie trick painting. And he barely gave you a hello, a deep grumble, one that could be barley classified as any language. After about the third show, a couple nights of hanging out with the band you’ve grown to find some what friends in most of the band members. Yet there he was, stoic as ever, Ville Valo. Staring deep into your soul, not uttering a word. “Why don’t you kids go grab the food?” Mige blurted out, more drunk then the rest of the band. Ville got up, sharply, as did you, walking with him to the the food trucks, about two blocks away. The two of you begin walking, boots slamming onto the concrete. His body language closed off, not speaking and looking down. Yet his pupils shift to you every so often, darting back and forth more frantically as your journey progressed. And then a grunt, you could tell his voice was baritone without having heard him speak normally, though his singing practically made you ascend to the heavens. And being completely honest with yourself you did find yourself attracted to the man. His blatant dislike of you was nearing offensive, as his hair hung in front of his face, his eyeliner smudged onto his face, most likely attributed to sweat. And still, like clockwork, every 30 (give or take) seconds he stares at you. A couple times, beginning to open his mouth as if to speak, then closing immediately. As your awkward walk to a food truck goes on, you hear him speeding up, now walking directly next to you, looking at you with those green eyes.

“ The moon looks..nice tonight” he mutters, his voice so deep you swore it would make the ground shake with those simple words. Though he stayed with his head down, eyes slightly moving to you, a awaiting a response.

“ sure..It always looks pretty from where we are..” you spoke softly, enough for him to hear. But being honest with yourself, you felt a little disrespected by him. Every show he ignored you, he walked away when you started speaking, and yet he was so social. He spoke to interviewers, laughing and joked with everyone he met. But you? He’s staring at the concrete, the little yellow flowers sprouting between the cracks, like that’s so interesting. But, for him it has its perks, because you aren’t aware he’s smiling like an idiot

[takashi-tuesday]

takashi tuesday #9

Shiro tipped his head back, the back of the toilet digging into his back uncomfortably. The cold ceramic felt nice on his sweltering skin. 

He was suddenly reminded of the melting otter-pop in his hand when he heard a garbled noise from the shower. “Pass me another.” Came from Keith who was sprawled out in the empty tub. 

With a groan, he shifted to reach into the sink where the pack of melting pops were. Somehow, sitting on his toilet seat lid, shirtless, while his brother melted in the tub, wasn’t the strangest thing that’s happened all week.

He tossed one into the tub, the smack let him know it probably hit skin. Keith’s half-hearted groan of annoyance only confirmed it. 

The increasingly frantic crinkling of plastic caught his attention until a sound of frustration echoed from the tub. He let himself sigh. “Where is Adam?” He murmured, staring at the ceiling of the bathroom.

“Car probably melted.” Keith joked but it fell flat, it was a possibility. Heat in Arizona was nothing to sneeze at. Adam had taken one for the team and went to buy some fans for their rooms. “That’s not funny, Keith.” 

There was a quiet thud against the tub, something purple flickering in the corner of his vision. That would be the strangest thing that’s happened all week. Keith had stumbled into his room, in the middle of the night. His voice had been shaking so bad, Shiro was worried he might’ve cut a limb off.

He tilted his head to the side, considering. That might have been better than the fever dream that was Keith holding something in his hands while it squirmed and wiggled. A tail. Keith had sprouted a tail overnight. It still hurt to think about, he wasn’t sure how it was possible but it was attached, and very real. That was 4 days ago and Keith seemed to have moved on fairly quickly. He wasn’t sure what he’d do if it were him but he guessed he’d have a similar reaction. They did some research and nothing came close to whatever he had going on, so all they could do is leave it alone. 

He finished off another otter pop. It’s not like they could take him to a doctor, they’d probably experiment on him and Shiro wasn’t taking his chances. 

It seemed like Keith wasn’t human or something, but that wouldn’t make sense, it was just impossible. He dropped the wrapper in the trash, leaning forward to finally get up. His thighs stuck uncomfortably to the toilet seat.

Then again, Shiro never believed in the supernatural, not at all. But he’d be lying if he said this didn’t spark some questions, what if–

Keith shot straight up, startling him. “Wh–” “Adam is back.” Was all he said before he was throwing the bathroom door open and going to meet Adam at the door, who wasn’t even parked yet. He has no clue how he knew he was here, he sure as hell didn’t hear him.

That was another thing, his senses were almost.. getting better? Keith claimed he could hear him mouth-breathing through the walls at night.

He rubbed his face, his brain felt like it was frying. He wasn’t sure if it was the phenomenon he was dealing with or the cruel heat.

He made his way into the living room where Adam was inside, crouching by the tv, plugging in one of the fans. Once it roared to life, an audible sigh of relief came from Adam, he dropped down in front of it and Keith sprawled out right next to him. 

Shiro couldn’t help but glance at the tail every once in a while, it was so strange and every time he tried to think about it, his head started throbbing all over again. 

He groaned out loud and Adam gave him a worried look. “Come cool off, I can see the smoke coming out of your ears.” The man snorted, Shiro felt inclined to agree, his brain probably was cooking.

It was entirely too hot for this.

-- Hey! Sorry for missing last week, a lot happened. The ao3 curse has some for me I fear. I am also sick! So hopefully I can recover and get back to the series by next week. So please enjoy this little oneshot filler for now. The Moon's Furthest Point & The Broganes + Adashi Camp series will be coming back, worry not! Until next week, happy Takashi Tuesday.

[tovesaiko]

Osha’s feeling much better now, but as soon as he walks away, she feels… a little colder? Not physically, although she’s still quite cold after standing in the rain for however long her breakdown was. Maybe colder is the wrong way to describe it. It’s like an absence. Of what, she can’t say. The feeling is as delicate as a butterfly’s wings or a freshly sprouted plant but it’s lodged deep inside her. *** For weeks after she and Qimir return from Brendok, Osha is stuck in denial, going through the motions as she refuses to deal with the aftermath. She shuts down Qimir's attempts to coax her out of her shelf until one night her dreams and his tenderness force her to confront her emotions and consider what she wants him to be to her.

Rating: Explicit

Fandoms: Star Wars: The Acolyte (TV); Star Wars - All Media Types

Relationship: Osha Aniseya/Qimir | The Stranger

#Character Study #Grief #Denial #Angst #Hurt/Comfort #Fluff #Osha and Qimir's adventures into domesticity #accepting your darkness #Oshamir in their cottagecore era #Qimir's love language is acts of service #Osha's love language is grabbing him by the hair and getting him where she wants him #Bonding #the psychological kind not the sexy one #Osha "I'm more fun than a droid and more flexible" Aniseya #Qimir "please please let me" whatever his surname is #consent king Qimir #Tenderness #Feelings #Dry Humping #Interrupted Orgasms #the whole shebang #Osha's been through shit so we love and understand her but she really makes Qimir go through it #'it' including a nearly terminal case of blue balls #and whiplash so painful he'd get millions in an insurance payout

Chapter 1 of the monster that started as a "pwp drabble" and is currently 12K words and soaked through with feelings 🤡 is finally on ao3 🎉 Chapter 2 is mostly written, there's still some filler and some more good old smut to write but it should be done soon!

[maria021015]

SPOILERS AHEAD!

As Stiles lowered himself into the tub, freezing cold water engulfed his body, turning his blood into liquid frost. His only comfort was the feeling of Zaida’s warm hands through his shirt, clutching onto his shoulders as he trembled. As her grip became firmer, he began to panic, his breathing shallowing and chest heaving with anxiety. He was about to die. Most people had their whole lives to spend, growing old and experiencing the world, before they had to ponder such a thing. Yet here he was at seventeen, minutes away from the end. What would it be like? Would it be cold and dark? Would it be warm and bright, like the promised land? Or would it be nothing - just an empty void? Would he see anybody? Would he see his mother?

Then he stopped thinking about his death, and started worrying about his return. Would it even work? Would he be able to find the information he needed to save his father? Would he make it back? Would he see his dad again? His friends? Would he see Zaida? Would she be able to pull him back?

Of all the questions in his mind, he could identify which were his own, and which were shared. He couldn’t explain how, but he knew Zaida was concerned. “It’ll work,” Stiles whispered, assuring the girl - and admittedly himself. His nerves jumbled together into a tangled bunch, leaving him jittery.

“On the count of three,” Deaton spoke serenely, and a shudder of apprehension ran through his body. “One, two…three.”

On the doctor’s final word Stiles held his breath, squeezing his eyes shut as he slid beneath the icy surface willingly. If he had been cold before, it was nothing compared to the numbing pain now beneath his skin and the feeling of hundreds of thousands of pins and needles jabbing at his flesh. He waited for something to happen - for the light to stop shining through his shut eyelids, or for the world to fall away. Instead, as more and more air escaped his lips, his lungs started to burn. It was only a slight sting at first, but the more and more he fought against every bone in his body telling him to rise to the surface, the worse the pain in his chest blazed. He tried to withstand it, he really did, but after minutes he couldn’t help it. The instinct to surface and gulp down precious air was too strong. He didn’t realise how hard he was fighting against the girl holding him down until Zaida’s hands slipped and he used that to his advantage, bursting out of the water with raspy breaths as he sucked down air greedily to soothe the fire in his lungs.

Only, the room he emerged into was not in Deaton’s clinic. In fact, it wasn’t really a room at all. It was like an empty car garage, painted sterile white with blinding lights overhead and bare tiles below. The only contents were their three metal tubs, but as Stiles, Allison and Scott all climbed out they noticed that wasn’t entirely true. In the centre of the room just behind them was a giant stump - the widest any of them had ever seen. Slight bunches of bright green moss clung to parts of it as small plants sprouted from the cracks in the wood, disclosing that somehow, the tree was still alive - despite having been decapitated long ago. Scott was the first to venture forward wordlessly, water dripping off his soaking wet form as he reached out to lay his palm flat against the top of the stump. His body immediately stiffened and Stiles didn’t know how he knew, but he could feel that Scott was no longer present. Following his best friend’s example, Stiles too extended his hand towards what was undoubtedly the Nemeton, pressing his skin against the rough wooden texture.

As soon as he came in contact with the stump, a wave of energy surged through his arm and his eyes seemed to shut automatically. This time, there was no blinding light to greet him on the other side, but rather the darkness of night. It took him a moment to adjust to the shift, but once he could register forms of mass around him he recognised where he was. Looming trees around him, the canopy above and soil beneath his feet - the Beacon Hills Preserve. The sound of young voices echoing through the cold night’s air sent him scurrying behind a thick trunk, hiding to wait as two figures passed. Only…those two figures seemed instantly familiar.

“Are we seriously doing this?” The voice of his best friend greeted his ears - only it wasn’t the Scott McCall that he had left in that strange sterile white dreamscape. It was the Scott McCall of the end of winter break, about three quarters of a year ago.

“You're the one always bitching that nothing ever happens in this town!” Stiles knew it was his own voice that he was listening to now and he watched as a smaller version of himself with a much shorter haircut stumbled over branches and through shrubbery, leading the way to where he knew a jogger had reported finding half of a dead body. It was the night he had dragged Scott out into the woods, not knowing they were searching for Laura Hale’s separated form. The night Scott had been bitten by Peter, and they had both been propelled into the realm of the supernatural. The night that had changed it all.

“I just- I keep replaying it over and over in my head and none of it is possible. It can’t be a human and it can’t be a wolf, and the only solution that could possibly explain it all…is something entirely insane…It’s both.” A smooth and rich voice he knew all too well invaded his head. He could tell it wasn’t coming from anywhere else because it wasn’t really a sound that his ears could pick up on. It was more like an echo of thought. A memory, he realised.

“I was trying to get a good night's sleep before practice tomorrow.” Scott whined, but in his clumsiness he fell behind. "Stiles! Wait up! Stiles!”

But Stiles didn’t wait - not his younger self, nor his current one. He found that watching himself move through the thick woods was a strange sensation to say the least, and it was only then that he finally understood what people meant by having an 'out of body experience'. Hurrying over the same path, they moved onward to where Stiles still remembered he’d gotten caught. Surely enough, his father emerged from the shadows, flashing a bright torch-light right in buzzcut Stiles’ face.

“Hang on, hang on. This little delinquent belongs to me.” He grumbled, calling off the officers with him that reached for their firearms, thinking him to be a threat. The sight of his father hit him like a sledgehammer to the chest. Back in his reality, Stiles had no idea where his father was, or even if he was still alive. But here…? Here he was standing right before his eyes without so much as a scratch. He hadn’t thought it possible to miss the sight of someone so much, though he supposed that came with not knowing if you were ever going to see someone again.

“We’re not going to find his body, because we’re going to find him - alive and well….” There came her voice again, lingering in his mind and reminding him of what he was there for and providing him with the encouragement he needed. If he could do this - if he could focus - he could save his dad. “You’ll be able to do it, Stiles…You can do this.”

“Dad, how are you doing?” His younger self tried to act casual despite the fact that he knew he would be grounded for at least a week. A grounding that he did not adhere to in the slightest. He didn’t understand - how was this supposed to help him find the Nemeton?

“Hey, we’re going to figure it out.” Zaida reassured him, as she always did, restoring his faith in his own abilities. “You can do things that the rest of us can’t...we couldn’t do any of it without you.”

“Well, young man, I'm going to walk you back to your car…” His father grabbed him by the jacket, dragging him away from the search party as he began a long-winded conversation about boundaries and not listening into police radio frequencies.

Stiles stepped back to allow his past self to walk by, but his heels caught on something solid, almost sending him tumbling to the ground. He managed to find his balance, twisting around to find that same wide stump emerging from the earth. The Nemeton. It had been right there that night, and none of them had ever noticed it before.

“I knew you could do it!” Zaida's excited tone in his head spurred him onwards.

Leaning forward, he reached out towards the stump. As soon as his fingertips grazed the wooden surface, a bout of dizziness sent his head spinning, his vision blurring and eyes squeezing closed to shut out the distorted image of trees whirling around and around. Losing his balance, he found himself falling forward, the ground rushing to meet him - only it never did. Instead he broke through a glassy surface, spluttering and sucking air into his lungs in a loud gasp. When his vision stopped churning, he was face to face with a familiar pair of hazel eyes and he knew he was back home.

“Zaida!” Isaac rushed into the back room where Zaida was sitting on the floor, propped up against the wall and half-dozing off as she waited. Her buttocks felt numb from bearing the pressure of her weight for so many hours, but she couldn’t bring herself to leave, wanting to be there when the others woke - or when it became clear they wouldn’t. The only time Zaida had left that day was to get a spare change of clothes, and simply because Lydia had forced her to do so just to distract her from her worries. “I can hear their heartbeats - they’re waking up.”

At the werewolf’s words she sprung into action, climbing up from the floor and rushing back into the main surgery room where Lydia and Deaton were standing, eyes fixed on the three metal tubs full of melting ice. They had needed Zaida to re-freeze the water every so often, and every time she had done so, her dread had multiplied in the pit of her stomach at seeing the lifeless corpses of her friends below the surface. She stood and watched impatiently, waiting for any sign of movement, but there was not so much as a ripple.

“I thought you said-” As soon as she began speaking the surfaces of all three tubs sloshed about suddenly, the water being splashed onto the floor as Stiles, Scott and Allison broke out of the baths. Loud gasps and heavy breathing filled the air as all of them felt relief easing the tension from their bodies. Finally.

“The towels,” Zaida called out to Isaac, instructing him to fetch the items as she rushed forward, offering a helping hand to Allison while the girl climbed out of the basin. It took all of her strength and willpower not to tackle Stiles into a hug.

Allison's alabaster skin was icy to the touch and upon Isaac’s return he offered the huntress a towel first, handing the two others to Zaida. She tossed one to Scott, who caught it mid-air, and held the last out for Stiles to take, half-avoiding meeting the boy’s eyes. Guilt rose within her as she recalled the way he had fought against her, his strength failing him as she had held him down, drowning him. Killing him. She knew it was stupid, but after having done that to someone - and not just anyone, Stiles - she felt different. Darker, almost. If she could do that to him, then what else was she capable of?

“I saw it. I know where it is.” Scott unfolded the towel hurriedly, pulling it around his shoulders as he stood, still submerged in the tub.

“We passed it. There's-there's a stump... this huge tree - well, it's not huge anymore, it was cut down - but it's still big, though! Very big!” Stiles stuttered, his voice still shaking as his body trembled from the cold, drying his body off.

“It was the night we were looking for the body-” Scott explained and Stiles cut him off excitedly.

“Yeah, the same night you were bitten by Peter.” He interjected.

“I was there, too, in the car with my mother. We almost hit someone.” Allison nodded in agreement, her upper body almost buried within the towel as she soaked up the warmth of it.

“It was me - you almost hit me.” Scott turned to the girl with shock behind his dark eyes at that new piece of information. It was all connected. “We can find it.”

The three finally registered the morose expressions of the people in front of them as they stared wordlessly. “...What?” Allison asked, eyes darting between them all.

“You guys were out a long time…” Isaac answered hesitantly, no doubt anticipating how they were going to react.

“How long is a long time?” Stiles questioned, silent alarm in the way his body stiffened.

“...Sixteen hours.” Deaton revealed and Zaida pursed her lips, knowing this wouldn't be received well.

“We've been in the water for sixteen hours???” Scott repeated incredulously, his jaw falling slack.

“And the full moon rises in less than four.” Deaton nodded grimly.

“Shit,” Stiles hissed, scrambling out of the metal bath and dripping a mess all over the floor.

“I’ve gotta get back to the alphas.” Scott was spurred on by the new information as well, knowing that the deadline was almost upon them.

“No, dude - you are not going back with them.” Stiles shook his head indignantly.

“I made a deal with Deucalion-” The werewolf defended his choice, but his best friend was having none of it.

“Does anyone else think that sounds a lot like a deal with the devil?” Stiles interrupted before he could finish.

“It sounds like Scott has a plan - which is more than any of the rest of us can say.” Zaida defended the wolf, a hard edge to her tone. She was willing to put her personal grievances aside for the time being, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t still hurt.

“Why does it matter, anyway?” Isaac drawled, leaning against the back wall, not understanding why a promise was so important to uphold given the circumstances.

“Because I still don't think that we can beat Jennifer without their help.” Scott admitted. He had felt Jennifer’s power. With one shove to the chest he had felt his sternum fracture and his ribs take the brunt of the impact. Simply breathing had been difficult while he healed.

“He trusts you more than anyone - tell him he's wrong.” Allison begged the veterinarian, taking Stiles’ side on this one.

“I'm not so sure he is…” Deaton answered hesitantly. “Circumstances like this sometimes require that you align with people you'd normally consider enemies.”

“So, we're gonna trust him - the guy that calls himself ‘Death, Destroyer of Worlds’ - we're gonna trust that guy?” Isaac gaped, appalled at the suggestion.

“That’s not what he’s saying,” Zaida sighed tiredly.

“I wouldn't trust him, no.” Deaton corrected the misassumption. “But, you could use him to your advantage. Deucalion may be the enemy, but he could also be the bait.”

��Did you hear that?” Scott tilted his head, ears perking up as he picked up on a sound the rest of them didn’t hear.

“I did,” Isaac nodded, being the only other person with advanced hearing. “Someone’s here.”

Deaton was closest to the doorway that led out into the lobby, and he walked through, stopping to stare at someone who had just entered as the bell above the door tinkled to alert them of a presence.

“I'm looking for Lydia.” A familiar voice carried through to the back room, and the redhead immediately followed after the doctor, emerging into the area behind the reception desk where she was still safe behind the Mountain Ash barrier. Hearing the twin, Scott and Zaida both gathered behind the girl for support.

“What do you want?” Lydia questioned, The last time she had spoken to the boy was when she had tried to stop the alphas from killing Boyd.

“I need your help.” Ethan answered shortly as he stood before them.

“With what?” Stiles approached, leaning against the door frame with a threatening glare upon his face.

“Stopping my brother and Kali…” The alpha admitted. “From killing Derek.”

“You’re not actually considering going with him, right?” Zaida gawked at her best friend, who hadn’t immediately flipped Ethan off and told him where to shove it - which was the way she would have handled it.

“Derek gave up his alpha status to heal Cora - he’s weak. There’s no way he would survive facing off against one of the alphas, let alone both Aiden and Kali.” Lydia reasoned, justifying her willingness to help.

“The lunar eclipse is in four hours - all of the werewolves will be weak.” Deaton added.

“That only means that Kali and Aiden will be more desperate to finish things off before that happens.” Zaida pointed out with a frustrated sigh. “You tried to talk to Aiden before and it didn’t work in the slightest. Why do you think it’ll work this time?”

“Because things have changed - we don’t want to be like this anymore.” Ethan cut in, providing his own reason for coming to Lydia for help.

“You might feel that way, but does Aiden?” Zaida questioned him, and he fell silent, clearly unsure. “That’s what I thought.”

“Zay, I have to try.” Lydia pleaded with the brunette with wide green eyes.

“You can’t fix him, Lyds,” Zaida whispered under her breath, her gaze softening.

“It’s not for Aiden. It’s for Derek.” The redhead vowed, and Zaida knew from the determination setting her features, she would not be changing her mind.

“I’ll come with you,” She offered, but Deaton pursed his lips, clearly disagreeing with that decision.

“Zaida, we’re going to need your help finding our parents.” Scott shook his head slightly. “We know the general area, but to pinpoint it…”

With a sigh of defeat, Zaida turned to face Ethan with a stern glower. “You better look after her, or I’m going to kick your ass myself.” She promised.

“Aiden won’t let anything happen to her, and neither will I.” Ethan swore with a dip of his chin, and that was all Lydia needed before she crossed the Mountain Ash barrier, going with the alpha twin and disappearing out the front door.

“So, what's the plan?” The brunette turned to the others, her hands planted firmly on her hips as she scanned their serious expressions.

“We’re going need a way to track them. Zay can sense their emotions if she’s close enough, but that depends on her bond with people.” Stiles explained, shifting into detective mode as he pondered a way forward.

“It’s safe to say I’m not all that close with your parents,” She drawled, leaning back against a metal bench. So far, the only people she'd ever been able to successfully track had been Lydia, Scott, and of course, Stiles.

“So we’re going to need a double assurance,” Stiles added. “Scott and Isaac can track them by scent, we’ll just need an item of clothing - something potent.”

“Okay, once we’ve got that we’ll meet at the Preserve and start looking.” Scott nodded in agreement.

Once again, Zaida had been saddled into teaming up with Stiles. Not wanting to make a scene, she’d gone along with it but now, as they sat in tense silence within the Jeep, she regretted that choice. Staring firmly out of the passenger side window, the hum of the engine was the only sound keeping them from complete and utter silence.

“Zaida, I wanted to talk to you,” Stiles cleared his throat awkwardly. “About what happened at the school. I just wanted you to know that-”

“I already know,” Zaida blurted quickly, not wanting to have this conversation in the slightest. Her stomach churned uncomfortably at the notion. “Lydia told me what happened.”

“Oh, she- she did?” He shuttered, eyes widening slightly as they flickered from the road to her and back again. “So then…”

“So we don’t have to talk about it.” She nodded fervently, swallowing thickly as she plastered a fake smile onto her lips in the hopes that her act of nonchalance was convincing. The last thing she wanted to hear was him ranting about Lydia again - she’d sat by idly and listened to that more than enough times before. “It’s alright.”

“Oh…” His demeanour suddenly brightened as he straightened up in his seat, not noticing anything askew. He was simply relieved that the air had been cleared. “Well, that’s great then - that you know, I mean.”

“Yup, super great,” She popped her ‘p’s, refraining from rolling her eyes bitterly as the Jeep pulled into the driveway of the Stilinski house. She was the first to unlatch her seatbelt, throwing open the car door and slipping out into wild winds. The gusts tossed her hair about her face, obscuring her vision and causing her to grip her skirt around herself tightly, not wanting to flash the whole street.

Zaida followed Stiles inside the house and then up the stairs, headed straight towards his father's bedroom. She had never been in there before now, so her eyes drank in her surroundings. It was a large room, with a queen sized bed in the centre and plain white furniture. To Zaida's surprise, the entire place had been cleared of any sign of Noah's late wife, Claudia. Though Stiles had told her his father never liked to talk about her, she would have assumed he at least kept some memories of her alive in the sanctity of the room they had once shared together. Perhaps it was too painful for the man.

Stiles riffled through his father's bedside table drawers before changing tactics, disappearing into the ensuite bathroom. A few moments later, she heard him on the phone with someone. "I don't know what to bring! Wait, I've got his underwear." The boy spoke and Zaida immediately slapped her hand over her face. Seriously? The person on the other end of the line must have had the same reaction, because then Stiles said, "Okay, what about his socks?"

"Was that Scott?" She questioned as he emerged from the bathroom, dirty pair of socks in hand, likely retrieved from the laundry hamper.

"Yeah," He nodded, walking quickly. They were in a rush, after all. "He didn't want to smell my dad's boxers, so I went with the socks instead."

"Scott didn't want to smell your dad's dirty underpants? Wow, I wonder why?" She drawled sarcastically, unable to keep a faint smile from tugging at the corners of her mouth. They hurried down the stairs two at a time, and then locked the front door behind them, emerging into a growing thunder storm. Standing still as she waited for the boy to finish and unlock the Jeep, she stared up at the rolling clouds of black and grey above as lightning flashed through the sky. "Jennifer must be getting ready..."

Another heavy gust of howling wind shook the cabin of the Jeep as they flew down the flooded highway, causing the metalwork to shudder around them. The rain was so heavy that despite the streetlights, they could barely see through the windshield, save for when lightning crackled through the thick and dark cloud canopy above. Truth be told, Zaida didn’t know how they were still on the road and not swept into the tree line already with how Stiles was driving. The boy swerved out of the way of falling and collapsed branches, taking tight turns at neck-breaking speeds when the road curved.

“Stiles,” Zaida called out over the sound of the engine struggling to keep up with how hard Stiles was pushing against the pedals. She had tried to bite her tongue, knowing what was at stake. However as she felt the wheel beneath her seat lift into the air as the car tilted after a particularly dangerous turn, she couldn’t handle it anymore. “Stiles, you’re going to kill us!

“I’m not gonna kill us!” He shook his head, jerking the steering wheel to the right sharply and the car skidded, veering into the opposite lane. Thankfully no one else was stupid enough to be on the roads right now, otherwise that particular move might have resulted in a head on collision.

“You’re going to go sliding off the road, and crash into a tree, and kill us!” Zaida insisted, her pitch rising with her panic as she gripped onto her seat with one hand, the other clutching the overhead handle.

“Yeah, right. If we crash I’ll buy you an exotic bird.” He snorted sarcastically, confident in his abilities. A little too overly confident, in Zaida’s opinion.

“I get that you need to find your dad - I really do - but we’re not going to be finding anyone if we are mangled corpses on the asphalt.” She pointed out, yelping as they took another sharp twist. “With the way this rain is pelting down, they might not even be able to identify our bodies - it’d power wash the flesh right off our bones.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you should be a writer? You’ve got a dramatic flare for detailed descriptions.” Stiles mused, brushing off her warning once again. Meanwhile the time between strikes of light and rumbles of thunder became shorter.

“I swear the lightning is getting closer…” Her breathing began to grow shallow and her stomach lurched into her throat at another swerve.

“Hey, Zay,” Stiles cooed at the realisation that she was genuinely scared, turning his head to look at her terrified face illuminated by flashes of light crackling in the sky. “It’s okay, we’re gonna be fine.”

“We’re not gonna be fine!” She exclaimed loudly, eyes widening as they fixed on the road ahead.

“We are-“ He began but she shook her head frantically, letting go of the overhanging handle to point at the road.

“Stiles! We’re not gonna be fine!” She screeched and he shifted his gaze to see a tree had collapsed in the middle of the road.

“Oh shit,” He swore and slammed on the brakes, desperately hoping that Roscoe would stop in time.

Instead, the rear wheels locked up in the water, sending them skidding across the road. He had no other choice but to yank the steering wheel as the car was sent spinning in a last-ditch effort to regain control. When it didn’t work, Stiles knew there was no recovering from the wheel-lock and made the split second decision to thrust his arm out in front of Zaida, barring across her chest and holding her back as the Jeep hurtled off the side of the road.

Zaida was thrust forward from her seat with a force that was both fast and strong, sending her straight into Stiles’ arm. The boy was the only thing holding her back from going straight into the dashboard - or through the windshield. It all happened so quickly that by the time she ricocheted off Stiles’ arm - her back and skull hitting the chair behind her painfully - his hand was lying limp in her lap.

“...Stiles?” She groaned through the pain, the muscles in her neck sore from the sudden jolt. When he didn’t answer, panic started to set in once more. Twisting to face the driver’s side despite the pain in her neck, she saw the boy’s figure collapsed over the steering wheel, his cheek pressed against leather as blood dripped from his pulverised temple.

“Stiles?!” There was far more urgency to her tone this time as she tugged her faulty seatbelt from where it was locked up, finally pulling it loose so she could lean over towards him. He’s dead. He’s dead. He’s dead. She had watched him die twice in one night, only this time he wouldn’t be coming back.

As her thoughts ran rampant she pressed her shaking fingers against his neck, feeling for his carotid artery - searching desperately for a pulse. He’d known the accident was coming - if he had just braced himself he would still be awake and alive and well, but instead he had chosen to save her, knowing that she would heal anyway. Damn it! Why did he always have to make it so freaking hard to be mad at him?

“Come on, Stiles! Stiles, please, come on!” She begged him, shifting her fingers until she felt the slow and faint beat, beat, beating beneath his skin. A pulse. He was alive. A sigh of relief tore from her body. “Oh, thank God! Why did you have to do that for? Huh? I would have healed! You stupid, reckless, amazing human being!”

Tossing her head back against the seat and taking in deep breaths as adrenaline coursed through her veins, she realised there would be no making it in time to their rendezvous if she didn’t leave now. Even then, going on foot, she would be cutting it close. Scott, Isaac and Allison would have to go on without them. Well, Isaac and Allison would, because Zaida knew the minute that the opportunity presented itself, Scott would be going after Jennifer and Deucalion. She had been planning to go with him, and Stiles had offered to help her enact her own plan behind Scott’s back. But now…

Well, now she had two roads ahead of her. She could leave - abandon Stiles and make a beeline for the Preserve. She might not make it in time to save her friends’ parents, but she might make it in time for the eclipse - in time to end Deucalion once and for all when he would be powerless and she would be unaffected by the moon’s weakness. She could finally kill the man who had murdered her parents, hunted her brother, and would be after her next. The man who would destroy anything in his path to get what he wanted, even the people she cared about. But looking at the boy beside her - the boy who had put his life at risk to protect her when her chances of survival were astronomically higher than his own - she knew she couldn’t go down that path. She couldn’t leave him here unconscious on the side of the road.

“Fuck,” She hissed and slammed her hands down on the dashboard loudly as her frustrations rose. Why did her damned heart have to be so soft?

[thedawningofthehour]

Okay, first of making fun of rich people's houses on Zillow. This is actually the tamest house out of the three that made me want to do this.

This house was in Arizona and is like 15 mil and 13,000 square feet.

Entertaining Room That We Absolute Use.

I'm guessing this is either for the two people that are still friends with them or for inviting over other rich couples to show off how rich they are. Look, we have this grand piano here. It has never been used and we have to pay a guy to tune it regularly, but one day little Susie will prove to be a musical prodigy and we can force her to play for people we don't like.

Oh, this is the other side. I actually hate it more now. The other side wasn't my taste, but at least it was scenic. That flooring and those columns are literally just "look I have so much money." Also the effect of Fancy Chandelier is somewhat diluted if you put two of them in the same room.

Featuring Much Used Table and Chair in the background and...what is that supposed to be, like a secretary counter on the left? I can just imagine some lady in an office chair behind that answering the Very Busy house phone.

"This is where Daddy loses his Christmas bonus on poker night."

Okay, I-no, I hate this, I can't pretend not to. I hate the white kitchen trend, I hate marble countertops. They have...they look like brussel sprouts on a tray? As a decoration?

The dual fridges thing might have been cool if the execution was different, but for some reason the design and color just makes it look like it was tacked on, like if-wait. How many ovens are there?

So they have two stovetop ovens there

And what looks like two ovens in between the fridges? Four ovens?!

I mean, the top oven looks like it might be a microwave? I think the bottom might be a proofing drawer for bread, (lol like these people make their own bread) so many the middle is some specialty oven?

Still. A lot for a kitchen that's almost certainly never used.

I don't really have anything to say about this one. I'm just confused as to what it's for.

I'm increasingly suspicious that rich people are just pretending to be human.

Oh, finally, the living room people actually spend time in.

Featuring Exposed Beams That Are Totally Structurally Necessary.

And big TV you need binoculars to watch from the couch and can't be properly seen from a third of the sitting area. Much used dining table there. Bonus Dead Exotic Animal so you know they travel.

"To show off that we have the money for a bar but we don't want to look like alcoholics."

Deadass thought the back of the couch was stone for a minute.

This room isn't too bad-it's extra and they definitely don't need two sets of double doors right next to each other, but it does seem kind of cozy. I mostly left it in as a palate cleanser for what's to come.

Is that...

Yes. Yes it is.

WHY WHY WHY WHY

Why would you put glass double doors on the bathroom?!

What is going on with that ceiling-oh god, someone is going to slip and crack their head right open on those stairs. Maybe this entire house is an elaborate life insurance plot. If you get bored of your fifth wife just tell her to go take a bath and then you're free to marry your mistress of the month.

This would be so goddamn COLD, guess it's a good thing they have that fireplace.

WHAT IS GOING ON WITH THIS SHOWER?! Is it supposed to be a communal shower?!! Why is it so big?! WHY IS THERE A WINDOW?

FOR THE LOVE OF GOD WHY IS THERE A WINDOW.

I will give them this, I do like how they rounded this out. This part isn't bad. I actually do like the tile design, I just...don't like how they used it.

Just in case you're too befuddled by the actual bathing facilities and choose to go "fuck it" and shower outside.

Actually, the shower out here does make sense, they have a pool. If you're in and out of the water all day, do a quick rinse to get the chlorine off and put a coverup on to go eat lunch or whatever. That's reasonable.

All I can think of here is someone trying to put their makeup and hair products down and accidentally knocking them to the floor because they forget that the counter gets thinner.

Also omg the duuuuuuuust.

There's just something about those 'pretend cultured and fancy' columns against the stark white walls and ceilings that I hate. It's so pretentious and fake.

Is it just me or does every single chair look photoshopped in? There's something weird going on with the lighting.

"Do you hate being able to feel your toes? Do you love having cold feet? Then I have one hell of a basement to sell you!"

I feel like those chairs would actually be extremely uncomfortable and you know each one cost more than my car.

No one has ever used this pool.

Seriously, you couldn't swim laps in it. You could only really swim around in the very deep end, kids wouldn't have a whole lot of space where they can touch to play around. Maybe they could take a little kid to the very edge and splash in the water. And by 'they' I mean the underpaid nanny the parents look down on for being Hispanic despite their ad requiring applicants to be bilingual.

Totally Legit Well. Seriously, guys, this is an ancestral home.

Oh, but we're not done. They have like a guest house or pool house?

Wait, why does this kitchen look better than the main house's kitchen? This one I can actually picture someone using.

Look at that sink! Actually made to wash dishes!

(idk what's up with the line of apples in the cabinet tho)

Okay, the pool house is way cooler. I feel like the big house is literally just for show and this is where people actually spend their time. This looks far more comfortable.

Car stables. "Daddy, why do you have so many cars you use twice a year and cost a quarter million each?"

"Well, sweetie, the short answer is your mother is cheating on me and this fills the void in my life."

Okay I'm gonna go make myself a grilled cheese now. Idk if I'll do another one tonight, but this was fun! I love roasting rich people.

[lizziehatters-teacards]

Blank open eyes watch the moon flower bloom

Alternatebur doesn't understand the father's demands. He doesn't understand why he wants them dead. He doesn't understand why they he forced them to live in fear.

He could find humans very rarely, around Mandela county. Even less humans at night. And practically none in the woods, where he lives. It might be a good thing too, humans fear alternates, and if it's gunna be honest, he fears alternates just much humans should.

Despite of this disadvantage of being an alternate, he wouldn't hurt a human, even if he saw one up close. He just doesn't feel the urge, more so, he has quite the opposite urge. It's quite fond of humans to be honest. If it could, he would even be friends with one!

This funny feeling in him all started on his first interrogation assigned by Gabriel, he remembers he was far from manifesting a proper form, let alone look identical to a human. The other new alternates said that it was easy, but for some reason he couldn't do it.

According to what he had learnt, from other alternates, is to tell them the secrets Gabriel taught them with.... which is fine... it was his duty.

The house he was supposed to interrogate belonged to a family of 3. Or 2 might be the correct answer, because he heard from another one of his "companions" that they had already killed the father of that family just 4 days ago. The family now only had two kids, one looked like a teenager, and another a child roughly under 10.

He crawled up to their back window that night and observed, how both the children looked. It observed the children as they sat infront of the fireplace in their untidy little cottage. One child had blond hair and blue eyes, while the other hand dark brown hair, and wore a yellow sweater, along with glasses.

The Tv was off, so that meant the "intruder", as the humans liked to call, had no chance getting in. But this was his first night, it's not like that guy would come in anyway. He saw the oldest looked most easiest to manifest into, that is only if he had the proper capability too.

He observed the two kids. A Part of him, felt bad, at the sight of the poor children, sitting all snugged up infront of the fire, shivering from cold, and the worse of all, they lost their father. What could they be eating all this time? Were they even eating right?

Alternatebur doesn't know why these random thoughts are appearing, why was he feeling pity? When he was supposed to destroy these children and feel glee from their suffering.

Just then he heard crying from a child. It was coming from within. It was the blonde child, he all of a sudden started sobbing to the older one. The pain of loss really must be so much? especially to child. The older child, hugged the younger one tightly, he could see tears sprouting from the older one too. He almost wanted to wrap the two kids in his arms, but why?

Then soon the sobs from the child faded, "I miss dad" he heard from within, almost like a squeak that could easily be missed if you weren't paying much attention to it. "I miss dad too" said the older, with a much deeper tone. "Do you remember how dad use to play guitar, and sang to us?". A nod, and the older one brought an object that looked like an instrument. "Would a song make it better?".

Alternatebur didn't understand what a "song" was, but then he understood. The older started to play the instrument, the noises aligned very nicely, it was mesmerising to listen. At this point alternatebur was no longer feeling the responsibility to kill, peering in to the home, and watching the two children as they performed this sort of "magic" that soothed, both of them.

Eventually the music stopped, the child wasn't moving, but he was breathing, but he had his eyes closed. He must be sleeping. The older kept the instrument away and picked up the little child away from the fireplace, to the sofa next to it. The older kissed the forehead of the child, and placed a thin sheet of cotton over him. The older one himself, slept on the floor right infront of the younger.

Seeing all this, was nice, but something panged his chest, it was not suppose to happen like this, why was he feeling this way? And before you know it, black liquid started flowing from the alternates eyes. Then he thought to himself, that he couldn't kill them. He couldn't kill neither of them. He just couldn't do it.

They are so young, they lost their father, and they are doing their best to survive without their father. If he killed the oldest, there would be no one to protect the child, and if he killed the younger, then the oldest would fall into deeper misery, he didn't want any of them to feel miserable. They only had each other. If only he could do something for both of them.

One thing lead to another, and that's how alternatebur lost the side of all his brethren, and the father who he thought actually cared. Alternatebur was a premature alternate, the youngest of Gabriels creation, and the first to leave the coven. And the first to be wanted demolished by Gabriel himself. All because he showed mercy, when he didn't have the option to.

But you know what, he doesn't care, as long as he is in the woods away from Mandela catalogue.

-x-

Crack baby, by mitski mitski

[celeluwhenfics]

Thank you for decorating my Christmas Tree! :)

Here are 12 Christmas Questions for you! 

No pressure: feel free to answer some, all, or even none. :) 

Favorite Christmas season activity?

Favorite Traditional Christmas song?

Favorite Modern Christmas song?

Favorite Christmas movie(s)?

Favorite Christmas episode (any tv show)?

Favorite food to eat or serve for the Christmas meal?

Favorite Christmas beverage or dessert? 

Most memorable Christmas gift you received as a child?

Best Christmas gift you ever gave to anyone?

If you have a Christmas tree, what’s your tree topper?

What’s your favorite version of Santa in a movie?

Which fictional character would you like to be caught under the mistletoe with?

Anything in the snow! I love snow and cold! Skiing, skating, building a fort, shovelling, I just love it! It's a pity I now live somewhere one or two centimeters of snowfall must be celebrated... and even where I'm from, winters are getting less and less cold and snowy.

2. @dilettantefeminist has spoken at lenght about that masterpiece that is Nutcracker, so I'll go with a much less obvious choice. Nobody has to like it, it's quite niche, but to me it isn't Christmas if I haven't listened to Daquin's Noëls for organ. Basically this French composer in the mid-18th century arranged some popular Christmas songs, for organ and church instruments. To me it encapsulates all the joy and peace and simplicity of Christmas time, and it reminds me of the words of these songs, which are sometimes a bit... interesting! (Oh yeah, say hi to my Catholic education! Haha)

3. I will interpret "modern" a bit widely, and suggest a listen to John Rutter's Gloria (Hello again, childhood decembers spent in church!!!) Honestly, it sounds like film music... we played it with a huge choir in youth orchestra, and we had literally such a BLAST! Some of the most fun religious music ever?!

6. Maple roasted brussels sprouts, carrots and parsnips, with vegan "meatballs", mashed potatoes and a mushroom gravy!

7. I looove hot chocolate! I'm always ready for a really good cup of dairy free hokshoklet... Even better if it's all frothy and warm, after a long run or playing in the snow!

12. Hmmm, Éomer? Fréaláf? Actually, my partner! He's so cute, sometimes it's like kissing a unicorn. So I say he counts as fictional! 🥰

Merry Christmas everyone!!!

[scratchandplaster]

FEBUWHUMP DAY 24 - "I'm doing this because I care about you"

CW: dubcon touching, disabled Whumpee, regretful Whumper

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

The Jays were winning - at least that's what Elliot suspected, given the commentators' roar coming from the TV.

He sat at the bottom end of the bed, Chris hovering over his left shoulder like a hawk, and tried his best to enjoy the late-afternoon baseball match.

For what felt like an eternity now, Chris had waited for a good day, a good hour to start this special kind of torture. One had to ask if there was any sense to it all. If Fahim's professional efforts back at the hospital left Elliot like this, what could the maker do against his permanent souvenir?

Still, Morris had fought tooth and nail for this chance and finally, he didn't dare to betray this hard-earned trust. Rule number one Elliot had made extremely clear: don't touch the hand. 

Okay then, Chris could work around that. He started slowly, dots of lotion were carefully rubbed across the neck and shoulder to help ease a first group of sore muscles.

Even one single touch burned like the infection was still lingering inside. Deep breaths kept Elliot stable, though he indulged in the fantasy of jumping up and out the window. Again and again, his muscles were worked until red, until circulation had found its way back towards them. 

Just as both men got used to the uncomfortable dynamic, Chris stumbled on a noticeably denser point inside the tissue.

Pressing down on the trigger point with more force, the good kind of pain, the one that brought relief with it, flooded Elliot. It even reached behind his eyes, coaxing a quiet moan out of him, as the finger fought the possible birthplace of the headaches that haunted him on really lousy days.

Satisfied with his subject's compliance, Chris dared to move lower, kneading along his upper arm as if he were trying to wring his biceps out like a wet towel. Call it pain-induced placebo, but Elliot felt a sense of ease spread underneath the constant burn.

A few inches further proximal, a cluster of hardened muscle cords slumbered underneath cold skin. Chris, using the same intensity as before, pressed his thumb into it.

A coiling sting, the bad kind this time, tore through his joints and made him leap up in surprise.

"Easy with the pressure, man."

"You're not wounded here," Chris claimed matter-of-factly.

What a pretty way to tell me to shut it, Elliot thought to himself. Even though the festering heat did have its root in the bright red scar under his fingers, it still sprouted throughout his upper body erratically. He groaned: "No, but-"

"Then it's fine."

"It's not, it hurts!"

Morris huffed, his face glowing crimson in the TV lighting: "I can get this to work, just be more patient."

"I'm not a rusty hinge you can bend straight again!"

Withdrawing quickly, too quickly for his nerves' liking, Elliot escaped the wrench-like hold. Great strategy, just squeeze every last drop of optimism from me.

Defeated and huffy, Chris just dropped back against the headboard and pulled him close against his chest. Another word and his Ell would probably give him the cold shoulder until dawn.

In silence, they returned to watch the game unfold. The Jays were definitely winning tonight.

Careful to let his hand rest at a relieving angle, they both knew that every step towards Elliot's recovery was frustratingly tedious and without any guarantee of success. Tomorrow, Chris would try again.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Thanks for reading 🤍 [Febuwhump 2024 Masterlist]

@febuwhump