doors floorboards

Drunk Masterlist (2)

It’s just a late night out by come-on-eileen-snowbaz

The minute after I’ve finally told her ‘I love you’ officially starts here and now.

in which simon snow gets drunk by ismill   

annoyed baz and drunk snow

I’m Not As Think As You Drunk I Am by ebbthegoatgirl 

I stared at the little hole in our sofa, approximately three inches to the left of Simon’s head.

Drunk by askcookpritchard 

“Come on, it’ll be fun” he says dragging me into the line outside the night club, Baz is insisting that we go clubbing as I have never been before.

behind bars by crashing-into-the-sun

Simon and Baz are young and dumb. They get arrested and wind up in the same jail cell. Romance ensues

Gin is a Sedative, Kisses are Caffeine by thenwhosflyingtheplane 

One step through the door, the floorboards started creaking. Simon stayed where he was, stomach down on his bed and not quite deep, but not yet shallow breaths. He peered through the window and saw the beginnings of orange and yellow seeping into the inky horizon. Dawn, probably. Fucking perfect.

With Any Luck by bazsnowsimonpitch 

Baz was better at being discreet when he’s staring across a bar. Simon isnt.

i’ll pay you back by theinsidioushumdrumming

Baz is drunk and meets Simon at the bookstore after causing a huge scene

snowbaz drunk fic by isabella1159

Simon was worried, again.

Surprise! by jamesxlilyxpotter

  It’s Simon’s 19th birthday and Penelope wants to throw him a surprise party. She decides to have Baz take him out for a few drinks to get them out of the way. A truce for one night just before summer, Snow and Baz get to finally know each other after living together for almost a year.

drunken texts by carryonsnowflakes 

It was sent by accident. Something that was never supposed to be seen, except by the eyes of the author. It was simple enough, a small happy birthday text addressed to one Simon Snow. It sat unsent for quite awhile, destined to be a draft in his phone for the rest of eternity.

simple by cosmeticaphelion 

baz and simon are the best of friends. no-watford. baz broods over impossibilities. alcohol is involved. 

Twelve Hours

Summary:  The RFA+S wake up before MC.  In my Ideal World.  Not that long after Seven’s After Story.

Pairing:  Saeran x MC/Reader

Genre:  Slice of Life; Fluff

Rating:  M, for a little swearing and a little steaminess.

Word Count:  Approx. 1800

A miracle happened, that day.

Saeran woke up before you did.  That never happened.

To earn a living, your boyfriend did freelance coding and internet security algorithms, and the work usually brought him late into the night.  He had incredibly erratic sleeping hours, either sleeping in late, or taking random naps throughout the day.  More often than not, you ended up going to bed by yourself.  

However, the night before, Saeran had fallen asleep with you.  You had drifted off to sleep in his arms and he hadn’t wanted to disturb you.

It was your phone’s alarm that had awakened him.  It was an annoying, almost whining sound; you had picked it specifically because it irritated you and you would want to turn it off immediately.  Unfortunately, you had set that alarm ages ago; now, you were a little bit too used to the sound.  Abruptly roused, Saeran glared at the phone in question, then looked down at you, still with your head on one of his arms.  You didn’t move; your boyfriend smirked a little to hear you snoring lightly.

He hesitated, then reached over you to your phone, hitting the ‘snooze’ button for you. You always set your alarm too early.  A couple more minutes of rest couldn’t hurt.  Saeran wrapped you more comfortably into his arms, and kissed the top of your head.  

All mine, he thought, resting his chin in your hair.

He knew you had work, that day, but he never liked seeing you leave.

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oopiejay5  asked:

Please break my heart with an empty kiss?

In the rare nights he spends at her estate, she always falls asleep first. They talk until late into the night, smiling over wine and firelight. They curl into each other, and he listens to her breathing slow, even out, feel her dreaming against him. She smells like lavender. Her back is warm against his chest, his arm underneath her neck. The other is wrapped around her waist. He pulls her closer, breathes her in. She murmurs in sleep, and he feels her fingertips light against his arm. Rolling up and down until she finally wraps her hand around his.

Their legs are tangled up together, no space lost between them. He listens to the dying embers in the fireplace, the crickets that haunt the street. He kisses the bare space of her shoulders, the three freckles all in a row. Two weeks and a day since they put Danarius in the ground. There was such a rankling in his soul, an uneasy pacing. With her, he feels only calm. Years and years and years of it and only now does he truly think himself free. On the floor, Hawke’s mabari perks up, growls at the closed door.

At this slightest noise, Hawke stirs. “Go back to sleep,” she murmurs at the dog. She turns over, buries her face in his chest. Throwing an arm around him, curling the other one between them. He feels her breathe out against him, hot on his collarbone. He presses a kiss against the crown of her head. She smells like lavender. His hands splay over her back, pressed between her shoulder blades, against the curve of her spine. Her feet press against his as she wedges her leg between his. Wound and bound once again.

The dog rises to its feet. Still growling, snarling, ears pressed back. Hawke’s eyes flutter open as she rolls over onto her back, rubs the sleep from her eyes. Fenris sits up, feet against floorboards. The door crashes open, and the mabari charges forward. The first Templar finds the dog with his sword. He pins it against the ground, not pausing even as the dog whimpers and whines. Hawke is on her feet instantly, flames around her hands, shouting at the top of her lungs. Fenris is moving forward, lyrium markings burning bright in the darkness.

They smell of magebane. They’re practically soaked in the stuff. They crowd around Hawke, gauntlets biting into skin as they force her to her knees. Someone has their hands in her hair, forcing her head back. Filling her mouth with fouler smelling bane. Someone has their knee in his back. Smashing the hilt of a sword against his temple until he can feel the blood rolling down his face. She smells like lavender. The floor is cold against his cheek. His vision is fading black, watching as they drag her past him.

It’s Sebastian who finds him. Too long had the streets been empty of his friends. Hawke in the mornings in the Chantry, card games with Fenris in the evening. The basket tumbles out of his arms when he sees him. Pinned to the floor, a sword in his thigh and in his palm. “They took Hawke,” he’s saying as Sebastian wrenches him free, “they took Hawke.” Barely coherent, babbling her name, as he picks up the elf in his arms, races to Darktown.

Anders says nothing as he heals him. Fenris catches only bits and pieces of the argument. He recognizes Aveline’s voice, barking over the others. Varric’s quiet but stern rebuttal. Even Sebastian’s voice is rising, a tremor of unease in his tone. Merrill’s quiet whispers, Isabela’s stronger insistence. Fenris struggles to rise, and it takes only Anders’s hand on his chest to keep him in the cot. Wheezing, turning over on his side, retching into the bucket he holds out for him. He can only smell the magebane.

“They poisoned you,” Anders tells him. “We’ll get her back.” He should be going with them. In the end, they are no better than the Templars. They poison him as well, drug the food that’s meant to help him heal. It puts an end to the arguments, to the yelling, to Fenris’s attempts to limp from the bed. He crashes into dreaming, thinks of her smiling. Running his hands through her hair. Her touch on his face. When he wakes, it is not Anders at his bedside.

Varric with his head lowered, elbows on his knees, hands clasped together. “Fenris,” he says. The panic rises like bile in his throat from the first word. Fenris, not Broody. He pushes himself up, and everything moves with him. Rattling around in his skull, it takes a few moments for the world to right itself. Varric rises with him, allows Fenris to lean on him as his leg is still healing. His ribs are too tight. His heart beats too quickly. He can’t breathe.

A hand fists around the covers of the bed Varric leads him to. Forcing them back and he finds her simply sitting. Quiet, her hands together on her lap. She stares at the floor. Varric steps back as Fenris steps forward. Fingers at her chin, lifting her head to look at him. Pushing back her bangs. A fresh scar, a grotesque burn, newly made on her forehead. Her eyes are dull as they look at him. She smells like lyrium. He drops to his knees before her.

He takes her hands in his, presses a kiss to her knuckles. “I’m sorry,” Varric is saying. “We didn’t make it in time.” Burying his face in her lap, wrapping his arms around her waist. She doesn’t move even as he shakes, his teeth gritted together. The tears spill, roll down his face. Leaning back, reaching upwards, his thumb brushing across her face. Pushing himself upwards, pulling her down to him, and pressing his lips against hers.

She doesn’t react. Her skin his cold. Her gaze is distant. “Hawke,” he says, “Marian, please.” He kisses her again. And again. And again. She is a vase filled with flowers long dead, water soured. She smells like emptiness. She smells like shackles.  

Fic: “I Choose Us...” (1/1)

A Chris Evans x OFC Fanfic

Summary: Chris and Natalia go on their first date night following the events of Fix You
language, slight angst, sexual content
: Thanks for reading! xx


Chris let out a nervous breath, a cloud releasing from his mouth from the cold January air. Picking up his wife of twenty years for dinner shouldn’t have been as nerve wracking as it was, but this was their first night out together in what felt like forever, something that their marriage counselor had suggested to reconnect.

Over the years, date night had been a constant in their relationship; something that kept the magic alive. But, like every couple could relate to at one time or another, a growing family meant additional responsibilities, and taking time for themselves had somehow become scarce.

In an attempt to shake off the nerves, Chris puffed out another breath and rolled his shoulders back. Another ten whole seconds ticked by before he mustered up the courage and ascended the porch steps, one at a time. Once he got to the door that needed a new paint job, he respectively rang the bell rather than using his keys, clutching the bouquet of flowers in his tight grip.

Immediately, without fail, he heard the dog barking, followed by the sound of nails scratching across the floorboards. The door swung open seconds later and Chris prepared himself for the unavoidable attack.

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“Under The Spell of Moonlight”

The Olicity Valentine’s Day Smut-A-Thon @olicityvalentinesdaysmut-a-thon

Prompt: Morning Sex.  

A/N:M-Rated. I decided to write an alternate ending to 2x23.  There’s angst with a splash of love finally declared and sexy times.

Originally posted by librocubiculariste

Through the languor of bone deep exhaustion, Felicity could feel the vehicle ease to a complete stop. She was both physically and emotionally drained.  The trip back from Lian Yu and the horrifying events of the last few days were catching up with her.  She lay heavily against the door of the passenger seat in Oliver’s car, with her head against the window, seeking relief in the coolness of the glass.

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XF headcanon where Mulder and Scully are separated but Maggie has no strong son to help her move the furniture to redo the house so she phoned up Mulder and he offers to do all of it for her: the wall painting, the floorboards, the doors,… she names it. And Maggie sees it’s helping him get better because it takes his mind off his depression. They chat over tea and she cooks a builder’s lunch for him but with loads of vegetables still (now he knows where Scully gets her eat-your-greens obsession from). One Sunday afternoon, Mulder is repainting the living room and Maggie greets someone at the door. He immediately recognises her voice and he knows he looks like an absolute mess when Scully pauses in the doorway, a mixture of shock and amusement on her face. Maggie emotionally bullies them into staying for dinner because she claims she never sees her daughter anymore and Mulder is forced to stay because of lack of transportation back to his house. They both know it’s a conspiracy to make them reunite but for once they give in and when Maggie sees them hugging by the sink instead of washing up, Mulder’s soapy hands around her daughter, she knows they will be alright in the end.

have a drabble with absolutely no context courtesy of the heatwave the uk is currently experiencing~

Sansa lays on her stomach on top of the sheets, her cheek pressed into the cool fabric of the pillow. Heat this far north is suffocating; humid and heavy and sweat-inducing and awful, really, compared to the crisp dry heat in Kings Landing. Sansa heaves a sigh into the pillow and instantly regrets it when the coolness disappears and she has to turn it over again. 

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Drove past your house on the way home from work last night, a message from his dad says when he checks his phone one morning. The lights were on.

Niall already has his bags packed. His guitar is leant up against the wall by the front door of the rented flat, and a car is set to pick him up for the airport in a matter of hours. He presses the phone to the mattress, and then his head to his pillow. Screen and nose in threaded conversation upon sheets that aren’t his. His breath is warm of transparent longing on all that white, an It’s easier than it should be to change his destination in a matter of minutes.

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The pulse was designed to ward ghosts away from the human world by causing them to experience an intense paranoia, prompting them to go back into their world. The project itself had been in progress for nearly 25 years, the GIW had never let the secret experiment outside of the few researchers that were constantly at work on it. After a few years, it’d become sort of a GIW myth.

Except that it wasn’t. And the device was finished. The device would send out pulses all across the Earth to send ghosts fleeing into their own world. At least, that was the original plan. Unfortunately, the lab and its small-level ecto-entities only took them so far. The GIW needed to test it on an area where it would be controlled but also in a place where the results could be clearly seen; Amity Park was the perfect place. An ectoplasmic hot-spot and a small town. The citizens would need to be evacuated for a short period of time, the GIW needed there to be no interference with their experiment, so they could properly calculate the effects of the pulse on higher-level ghosts; just like the kinds that frequented Amity. The higher-up people in the U.S. government agreed that the small town of Amity Park was the perfect place to test the device, because of its frequent haunts-provided the GIW have the townsfolk safely out of the area as the tests were conducted. The civilians would only know what they needed to; that the GIW were going to try and rid their town of ghosts but in order to do so the people needed to be evacuated.

This was why, in a nutshell, the citizens of Amity Park were split into various lines. Children in the middle and elementary schools would be evacuated first with their teachers, then citizens over age 50, followed by adults between the ages of 30-49 (and their children that weren’t elementary-aged yet), and ending with teenagers and young adults ages 14-29 (the children of these young adults evacuated at this time too). The lines were organized further by birthdate.

Unfortunately for April-Born Danny, he was split from his best friends, as his friends had been born months prior; Tucker in the August of the previous year and Sam in February. He was directly after Dash Baxter, of all people. Apparently there was only a couple days between their respective birth-dates, who knew?

He could see his family, along with Sam and Tucker, waiting for him on the sidelines, next to the Assault Vehicle. They’d all already gone through the fun and games and were waiting for Danny to be put in the clear so that they could all leave to the center where they were to be housed until the evacuation was complete and they could resume their lives.

Danny was expecting to be thrust into another line-these guys are seriously obsessed with order, honestly-to wait for this lame experiment to be over (and it was bound to fail, obviously. The GIW don’t have the skill to catch the Box Ghost, let alone create something to prevent ghosts from spending their free time in the human world).

He wasn’t expecting that being deemed ‘fit for travel’ included a scan of ectoplasmic levels in his body. (It made sense after he thought about it; you’d have to get the citizens with a higher potential for ectoplasmic radiation farther away from the pulse to avoid them getting seriously ill, but at the time it all seemed so surreal.) Dash was pronounced clean and Danny found himself backing away. The GIW scientist scoffed at the boy’s fear, not knowing the source.

“Relax, kid. It’s just like an x-ray, or a metal detector. Not even that, really. It just looks at any ectoplasmic residue that may or may not have been left behind on you what with all these ghosts infecting your city. Just hold still for a second, it doesn’t hurt.” Danny shook his head and dodged the small device which, indeed, looked like a metal detector that they’d use before boarding an aircraft.

“N-No! Get it away from me!” He could tell that there was immediate confusion and utter disbelief at the boy’s reaction. Dash smirked.

“Afraid of a little x-ray, Fen-turd?” He quipped as he was led away into the mass of transport-ready civilians. The GIW agent narrowed his eyes before looking at two other agents that were awaiting orders nearby.

“Hold him.” The agent ordered and Danny found himself grasped in the hold of two burly men. His blue eyes widened. He was in a rock and a hard place. If he phased through their hold, they’d know; but if he let them scan his ectoplasmic levels-which always was a reflection of his ghost-half’s power level-they’d know as well.

Sam and Tucker were being held back, as well as his sister.

“He doesn’t want to be scanned! He’s healthy! Just let him through!” The red-head protested to no avail. The GIW weren’t budging. He was alone. Danny closed his eyes as the scanner passed over him; the machine had barely passed his collarbone when it began making noise.
“Mother of… This kid’s off the charts! Wait-” Danny couldn’t breathe and his eyes snapped open, though he couldn’t see much because his panic blurred his vision. “He has a signature! An ectoplasmic core!” The agent stumbled on his feet, dropping the scanner, and the two agents that had been holding the halfa ran away in utter disbelief. Danny shakily backed away, his eyes watering and his heart racing in his chest. Another voice entered the fray from where a separate agent scanned the boy’s supposed signature, only to find out that his colleagues were right and that the kid’s signature was all-too-familiar.

“It’s Phantom! The Ghost Kid!” At that exclamation, the stunned silence snapped and GIW agents whipped out ecto-pistols and other various weaponry which they brandished at the horrified teen. His parents were fighting their way through the men to get to him and Danny was wrought with indecision. This indecision only lasted for a moment, however, when the agent closest to him decided to shoot the boy with a burst of energy.

Instincts honed by nightly ghost fights and bullying from Dash, Danny’s eyes glowed a bright green and he used his hand to fling the ecto-blast away. Before he registered what was going on, his ‘defensive mode’ was switched on and Danny found himself in his ghost form and there was a shield in front of him that absorbed the small blasts fired into it.

For a moment, he noticed the looks of shock and horror on the faces of his parents. The looks on his friends’ faces, their parents’ faces, Jazz, Dash, Kwan, Paulina…. Danny gasped at realizing that he was in his ghost form and dropped the shield long enough for a large blast to nail his shoulder. Sam and Tucker were yelling at him to do something. Jazz too. The GIW spat out threats of dissection and painful experiments but Danny found himself deaf to them all. The ectoplasm from his core thrummed in his ears and his shoulder was oozing the glowing green substance, flecks of red blatantly displaying his half-ghost status.

They knew. They all knew.

Danny shook his head and jumped into the air, zipping away back into the town that they were all evacuated from. Knowing the GIW, they wouldn’t delay their planned experiment just because of this revelation-they’d just have to update their databases so that they were searching for Fenton and Phantom. The tears stung his eyes and froze on his face. He made it to his bedroom before he collapsed into his human form, his entire body numb.

He had a few hours, at most, before he’d have to go on the run. To continue running until the day he died. It was a hard pill to swallow. But he managed to pull himself together after twenty minutes of wallowing in self pity. He forced his emotions down, something that Danny had gotten enough practice doing for the past year, and flung his closet door open.

Underneath the floorboards was a simple dark blue backpack. A rather large one but not large enough to be cumbersome. Being almost as paranoid as the rest of his family, Danny had packed the bag full of what he knew he would need if he had to run off. A change of clothes (that he’d never wear in normal circumstances), scissors, a razor, a small bottle of bleach, soap, a small first aid kit, and a one-person tent rolled up and stuck on top of the backpack.

He pulled his wallet off of his bedside table and peeked inside. Twenty-five dollars and seventeen cents. He took everything except the cash out of his wallet-student ID, contact information, everything-and reached deeper under the floorboard in his closet for a few select cards.

If ever he was grateful to have a friend obsessed with technology and hacking, Danny was thanking his lucky a stars now. A fake birth certificate and social security number for a made-up boy that had only ever existed in paper form. Neil Tonne. One of Danny’s brighter moments had been to rip letters from Daniel Fenton to come up with a convincing, if not boring, identity. Shoving the papers into a pocket of the leather wallet, he packed the wallet away into his bag.

He switched forms so he could fly away but he hesitated. Taking one last look around the room, he found a framed picture of his family and friends. Him smiling obliviously along with them in front of Fenton Works. Letting a few tears slip from his toxic green eyes, he gingerly removed the photo from its frame and folded it, zipping it up into his bag as well (his HAZMAT didn’t have pockets, after all). Steeling himself, Danny made himself invisible and flew into the sky, leaving everything behind in a neatly written journal that laid on his bed innocently.

Assuming they didn’t already hate him and reject ever having a son, Danny left the journal to explain everything to his mother and father. The accident, why he kept his secret hidden from them, and recollections from every single battle that he’d ever fought in, including his evil future self. As it happened (well, directly after, in any case), he had written it down in the worn little book. Maybe even if they didn’t read it, Jazz would find it and get some comfort from it.

Pushing all thoughts of the life he was leaving behind him away, Danny sped into the horizon. He didn’t know where he was going, but it was away from Amity Park. Away from Michigan, from the Midwest, hell, maybe even away from the U.S. altogether.

As far away from the GIW as he could get, he would go. And continue going. And going.

If he ran away and didn’t contact his friends or family, the GIW wouldn’t bother them on his whereabouts. They wouldn’t know and the GIW wouldn’t know.

They’ll be safe from the GIW. They don’t care about humans if they don’t have information. Danny chuckled bitterly to himself as he flew over Colorado. Still playing the hero, even when nobody else is left behind to care. The teen let his tears fall freely through the air as he continued to fly at breakneck speed without direction.

Thick woods surrounded him, the sky above was a deep, star-speckled cobalt with the brilliant moon lighting the sky. Danny landed. He could guess that he was somewhere around Ohio, from the signs that he’d passed along the way. Before he found somewhere public, he needed to become a nobody; which is why he had landed near a small lake in the middle of the thick woods.
He tossed his backpack off of his sore, chafed shoulders and rifled until he found the bleach, scissors, and razor. It was dark and he needed light for what he was going to do. He conjured a small ball of ectoplasmic energy to hover over him. It wasn’t too bright, so it wouldn’t attract unwanted attention. Sighing heavily and steeling his nerves, Danny studied his reflection in the water. This was the last time he’d see his face. The last night that he’d be Daniel Fenton.

He started on his face first; carefully, he used the razor (while intently staring at his reflection so he wouldn’t mess up) to trim his brows so that they weren’t as thick. Grabbing the scissors, Danny had to confidence-check himself again before he started to cut away the thick locks of black hair until his long and messy hair was short and choppy; his bangs now barely reaching his brows from where they once flopped over his eyes if given the chance. Using his razor, Danny had carefully thinned out a good deal of hair on the sides and back of his head. While he was certainly no beauty major, the teen didn’t think that he looked half bad by the time he deemed himself finished.

Danny shook his head with a shaky sigh; he was really doing this. He’d played the scenarios over and over in his head but it was never real before. It had all been a joke at the time. Nothing that he’d ever have to do. He pulled his shirt and jeans off, leaving him bare but for his plain white boxers. He swallowed down the lump in his throat (they’re just clothes, come on!) and folded the shirt and jeans neatly on the dirt floor before lifting his hand and promptly incinerating them. He grabbed the bleach and shook his head again. He tugged his boxers off and stuck them next to the readied clothes by the backpack. He allowed the small, hovering ball of light to fade. Generously applying the bleach to every last hair on his head, Danny stepped into the freezing October water. If it weren’t for his ice core, he would have had hypothermia. He edged himself further into the cold water until he was at chest level and leaning against a large rock in the lake. His head spun with everything that had happened in just a few hours. He couldn’t feel-no, not yet. He couldn’t break yet; he could worry about his feelings later-now, he had to just… He just had to run.

When he finally pulled himself out of the water, Danny recreated his ball of light and studied his reflection in the stilled lake water. He was shocked to find out just how much a change in hair color and style could do to change someone’s face. His hair was maybe a shade away from Dash’s natural color. Since he had been rather thorough, and had left the bleach in his hair longer than he would have normally preferred, Danny liked to think that the blonde hair with his blue eyes looked almost natural, even with his black eyebrows. After he put his boxers back on, the clothes from his pack were next. A pair of faded, dark blue jeans that were torn in places purposefully to look “stylish” were the first to be yanked over his bare legs. Next came the tight black shirt over his head and with it was a forest green jacket, unzipped to his naval.

Now changed and disguised, the teen carefully cleaned everything up and pushed it all down into his backpack. Every last hair that he could find-everything was incinerated and the char marks were scuffed away to reveal spotless dirt. It was like he was never there. Danny transformed back into his ghost half and took to the air again, his backpack not quite as heavy as the weight of the world that he now carried on his shoulders.

It was when he made it to a place in New York, in the middle of the city with the same name, that he landed again-still invisible. It was somewhere around 5 in the morning. He’d been flying all night but the adrenaline had helped so that Danny hardly felt the true extent of his exhaustion.

He noticed that his face-both of them-were plastered across screens and billboards. He almost panicked before remembering that the face on the television wasn’t really his face anymore, thanks to his own precautions. A hand ran through his trimmed hair to reassure himself.

He sighed quietly and drifted into an empty alley, turning back into his human form. Swallowing down his terror and calming his furiously pounding heart, the boy tentatively started making his way through the streets. Nobody bothered to give the small blonde kid a second glance, often even shoving him out of their way. Danny, through his relief, couldn’t find it in him to be annoyed by the rudeness of the people around him. New confidence in his steps, Danny strode his way around the city, taking in the scene that befell him.

For a moment or two, he was even able to fool himself that he and his family were on a normal vacation. Jazz was at the New York Public Library reading everything she could get her hands on and his parents were studying the local haunts, particularly ones that Bill Murray had visited in the 80’s while filming the movie Ghostbusters, which his dad had long ago deemed a historical documentary of sorts. Danny decided that he liked his delusion and continued his trek through the city, studying the magnificent buildings that laid across the city as far as the eye could see and further. Amity Park was nowhere near as urban as he’d been under the impression that it was. Being in New York City made him feel so… insignificant. And it was wonderful.

The day went by too quickly. Soon, the city was engulfed in darkness. People went home to their loving families and luxury apartments. Others came out and rifled through garbage bins with their shopping carts full of cans and bottles. Sirens, screaming, and gunshots could all be heard in the ghettos where Danny currently was tentatively creeping through-invisible to be safe.

Everything was starting to catch up with him, as it had a tendency of doing. He was tired, hungry, thirsty, and completely alone in a huge city. No family, no friends. For all intents and purposes, Danny Fenton no longer existed. He was Neil Tonne, a nobody who knew nothing about the paranormal. A teen on the run from a life that no longer existed. Steps faltering, the boy swallowed hard and ducked into a dark space in between two buildings and behind a dumpster before collapsing onto his knees. He closed his eyes and let the tears fall. Noiselessly, he cried. The boy let everything out, his shoulders shaking from the effort of trying to stay quiet.

As pathetic as it sounded to his ears, he just wanted his mom to comfort him. He wanted his dad to laugh with over a bowl of ice cream. He wanted Jazz to psychoanalyze everything he said. He wanted to do that horror movie and hot wing marathon with Tucker that they’d put off to hunt ghosts. He wanted to tell Sam that he loved her. He wanted home more than anything in the world. Danny didn’t realize when he’d made the transition from quietly crying to bawling aloud.

He laid down on the ground, the smell of rotting food around him; the sounds of street-fighting, guns, and screaming matches ringing in his ears. A schizophrenic elderly woman hobbled past the alley, hollering about people draining all the metal from inside of the Earth. The teenager clamped his hands over his ears and sobbed harder.

He just wanted to go home.

*5 years later*

Danny couldn’t help but to wonder how much he looked like the people in those advertisements he often used to see on the television. Thin, emaciated bodies with wide eyes begging the more fortunate around to be merciful. Rough, leather-like skin chapped from days of dehydration. Some big-shot celebrity pretending to give a shit for the good publicity.

He knew he probably didn’t look much better, at least. Probably just a good deal paler like the people around him, in London. His hair was back to black but it didn’t seem to matter. He was unrecognizable from the… months? Years? However long he’d been running.

Dangerously thin, especially considering his six foot height that he’d gained over time, along with a broad chest and shoulders. Blue eyes that were lifeless and rimmed in darkness from lack of sleep. Greasy, tangled mass of hair that reached his shoulders. All he had in the way of clothing was a faded pair of dark jeans and an even more worn brown leather jacket that was zipped up if he needed to go anywhere that required a shirt. He was leaning against a brick building located within the fabulous city of London in the UK. It was cold in London now; what month was it, again?

How he’d managed to get this far was beyond him. He could only assume it had something to do with the ghost half inside of him that was becoming more and more difficult to access as he grew weaker.

It was really lucky, in all honestly, that he ended up in England. Even if his Mandarin, Spanish, and French were adequate, English was the one language he knew that he could understand for certain. Not to mention the cold rain felt like the blessed touch of a God against his feverish skin.

The sickness was probably why he couldn’t exactly recall when he had gotten to England, or how really. He wasn’t even sure how long he had been sick, for that matter. The body aches that came in bursts were natural and they often paled in comparison to the constant twisting of his stomach as it begged for sustenance. Danny could even ignore those, having gotten used to it some time ago.

Danny’s dull eyes turned to the right and he took to people-watching. He was quiet about it, but he liked to imagine what their lives were like. This lady was probably a lawyer, with the way her suit was so strict-looking… That young man was either a student-teacher or a newly-hired teacher; either way, he definitely had the ‘must mold young minds’ look about him… That guy was a family man, with a wife and some kids waiting for him wherever he was going.

Most that walked by ignored the fact that he was there. A blight on the good, properly-homed people of society. Those that dared look his way often did so with glares or looks of disgust. How awfully inconvenient for their walk home to have to smell the filth on a homeless teenager.

Such a rude boy he was to be so blatant about his existence.

Danny could feel it in the way that they avoided meeting his eyes. The way that they twitched their noses and quickened their pace. He didn’t mind, really. He knew what a waste of space he was; what a failure he was. The few things that he was supposed to do in Amity Park and he couldn’t do them. Keep his identity a secret and prevent malevolent ghosts from destroying the town he called home.

Ah, home.

What would his parents be doing about now? Cleaning up after dinner, likely. Did they even remember that they had a son? Jazz… would she be at a university by now? He couldn’t tell. Perhaps he didn’t want to be able to tell, he didn’t want to know how much of his own life had been wasted as he took horrid jobs for menial pay unless they wanted to ask questions.

His “Neil Tonne” persona had gone up in flames not even a month after he’d adopted it and began working while using the identity. He’d been caught for who he was because people started to ask questions. He’d answered them, which was the worst thing he could have done. If it hadn’t been for an elderly lady in Amityville, Massachusetts with a heart of gold, he would likely be in the hands of the GIW.

He hated questions so, as long as no questions were asked, he’d take the grunt position that he was given. Often it was cleaning out animal stalls, moving brick and mortar around, and once he was even tasked with breaking concrete slabs with a sledgehammer. That had been his favorite. Good, old-fashioned misplaced aggression taken out on the cold, gray surface of unfeeling concrete.

But he could never stay too long because people asked too many questions. How old are you? Where do you live? Don’t you have a family?

So he would have to leave. Get far away from the questions.

There was often little water for days at a time, and absolutely no food for even longer. If he could find someplace other than underneath a bridge to sleep, he was the luckiest man in the world. When he’d made enough money once, from a particularly difficult construction job, he was even able to get a hot shower with a warm meal and a bottled water. It had been the best day of his wretched, miserable life. Sometimes he wondered if he’d ever get that lucky again. It was unlikely, but he enjoyed relishing in the idea.

He remembered working for shit pay alongside illegal immigrants from Mexico. They had accepted the job for some of the same reasons that he did, and they could relate in more ways than one but at least many of them had wonderful families. His immigrant friends were nice to him and didn’t ask many questions, not that he could answer a whole lot anyway because his Spanish had been meager at the time. They had been the one to teach him how to speak Spanish more fluently; and he also learned quite a few cuss words. They also sang songs and always were kind enough to share some of their lunches that their families had packed for them. A few even offered that Danny stay with them.

But he was wanted by the GIW. The ghost hunters were willing to pay in exchange for him or information on his whereabouts, and Danny knew what the promise of money could do to someone and their steadfast morals. He always had to refuse, despite his heart yearning and tugging at the promise of being part of a family again, even if it wasn’t his own.

Danny let his head fall back, letting the icy rain pelt his scarred face. Opening his mouth, he allowed the cool water to moisten his tongue. It wouldn’t be enough, he knew, to help him much. At least it would stop the more intense burning of his throat. He tossed his jacket aside, though he knew it was unwise to do so. He needed the coolness on his body; not to mention it might help with the filth caked onto his person, might help with the smell that was bothering the other people passing by.

Speaking of which, there actually weren’t many that were out and about; the few people that were outside in this weather were just tourists now, mostly. There was a decent hotel not far away and they were all hobbling back from their exciting activities in “The Old Smoke”. The rain had completely soaked the denim which now clung to his weak legs. Danny blinked slowly, swallowing the water in his mouth before closing it.

The teen knew, in the back of his mind, that this was it. His body was giving out and he knew it. Any urine he’d been able to pass off, with what little water he’d had, was tainted with blood. He was now in constant pain, unable to sleep for more than maybe four hours even though he always felt completely exhausted. He was so tired; he knew that if he relented and closed his eyes that they wouldn’t open again.

But why was he hesitating? What was he waiting for? Closing his eyes meant… release. He wouldn’t have to run anymore. Worry about when his next meal would be. Wonder if his family missed him.

His legs drew close to his chest and his head drooped to rest atop his bony knees. Water rimmed his eyes and the pressure of unshed tears threatened to burst through his careful wall of apathy. But he was dying now. If someone was dying, they were allowed to cry, were they not? He didn’t have to put up anymore farces.

He carefully reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a worn photograph. The ache in his chest flared and Danny gasped slightly. It wasn’t the normal pain that he was able to ignore; this was something so much deeper, something that hurt worse than any kind of sickness or any kind of starvation that he’d ever experienced. He coughed out a choked sob, letting his eyes close and the tears fall freely.

I miss you Mom, Dad. I’m sorry if you’re disappointed in me for what I am… For who I’ve become. I wanted you to be proud of me like you were proud of Jazz. Jazz, I bet you’re doing good about now with how smart you are. Probably graduated now, right? … I’m sorry that I’m not there for you, Jazz, I am. I’m sorry I’ll never be able to see my nieces or nephews. I’m sorry I’ve been such a rotten brother. Brother… Tucker, the closest thing I’ve ever had to a brother. I miss you, man. I wish you could be here and tell me to ‘shake it off’ or something funny like that. Heh, you’d probably tell me to man-up and that my kidneys are just fine; I’m being a wimp. Except you’d be joking because you’d do this while you and Sam dragged me to the hospital to be looked at. Sam… I wonder if you’ve found a boyfriend. Most likely. Hopefully he treats you right; gives you everything you need and anything you want… I still love you, Sam. I’m sorry… I’m so sorry…

With his apologies murmured internally, Danny was able to quiet his broken sobs. His head fell back against the brick, his limbs went lax, and he went still.

A blonde boy was grinning ear-to-ear despite the pounding rain. His poncho took care of most of it anyway, keeping him warm and dry. His parents were a few paces ahead, discussing what they wanted to do for tomorrow, their last day before flying back to Michigan. The blonde nineteen year old went along his merry way until he heard a loud splash coming from an alleyway just to his left. Curious, he peered into the alley and, just against the red brick building laid a kid his age. He’d fallen to the side into a puddle. His ribs poked out dangerously from a much too pale chest. His messy mop of black hair clung to his pale, gaunt face with the muddy rain water. The teenager ventured closer with a look of puzzlement. He… He looked familiar. Almost like… But it couldn’t be… He saw a crinkled, torn piece of paper in his hand. It was a… photograph? His eyes widened and he nearly choked on air as he realized the identity of the boy laying in the cold mud.

“Is that-? No… Fenton? Fenton?! O-Oh my god! I-I found-! Mom!”

anonymous asked:

Sam and puppies

Neighbors had been complaining about alarming noises coming from an abandoned house in Reo, Indiana. The brick home decorated with overgrown weeds and shattered windows was already the birthplace of local ghost stories and the recent whines and growls only exacerbated the residents’ fear of the lot. Adrenaline-seeking youths would scope out the place at night, many fleeing with fright after hearing the unexplained noises in the night. 

You and Sam left for the case together, the knowledge of the home’s history under your belt. It was a story of a happily married man who tragically lost his wife and then quickly spiraled downward, putting a gun to his head just weeks after her death. His spirit was said to plague the house, eternally wailing from grief and scratching at the entrapping walls. He wanted to escape the confines of his past, but he was forever trapped. 

The night was cool and a sharp breeze threw hair into your face as Sam opened the front door slowly. Inside, the floorboards creaked under your weight, echoing in the otherwise silent house. A cry rose in the distance, followed by the described scratching sound, like old fingernails against wood. You and Sam froze, raising your guns into the darkness, not able to see much. Sam motioned for you to search upstairs while he stayed on the main level. 

The stairs creaked even louder than the floorboards, but as you went up, the whines and scratches grew fainter until you heard nothing but your own breath and your boots against a thin, fraying rug. You opened one door then another, each of them empty. There was no sign of the apparition, no cold spots or unexplained movements. You prepared to search the last rooms when you heard Sam cry from downstairs. 

“Hey! Come…here, ah! Hurry!”

You spun around and sprinted down the stairs, your gun cocked and ready to banish the ghost. You heard more wordless cries coming from somewhere in the back of the house. You stomped forward, letting the sounds guide you to a cracked-open door. You flew in, the doorknob slamming against the wall as you lifted the gun and your finger moved on the trigger, ready to shoot. 

It was a good thing you didn’t.

Sam wasn’t being attacked by a ghost. He wasn’t in any danger. There didn’t even appear to be any ghosts in the house. Instead, there was a litter of puppies crawling over Sam while he sat in the middle of the room, taking turns petting and scratching them as they climbed over his legs and up his arms. 

You dropped your arms and exhaled, your heart beating the inside of your chest. Sam heard you de-cock your gun and he looked up, surprised to see you so scared. 

“It’s puppies!” he said. He couldn’t help but smile and continue playing with the abandoned animals.

You looked around. There were three bowls of water and a large bag of dog food opened and spilled onto the floor. At least someone hadn’t left them there to die. 

“Yeah,” you breathed out, “I see that.”

“Come on, come play with them! They’re so sweet and-ah!”

Sam was interrupted by one of the puppies jumping up and licking his face. You couldn’t help but start laughing. It was such a relief to see Sam unharmed, and with puppies nonetheless. You leaned your gun against the wall and joined him, two of the dogs running over to greet their new friend. Later, you’d take the animals to a nearby humane society, making sure they were properly cared for, but for now, you’d take a break and play with some puppies. 

One-Word Drabbles closed.

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i’ve seen guys pull away from hooking up so quickly it seemed almost cartoonish.  they hear a car pulling up to the house, and they buckle their pants & tug on a shirt in the 4 seconds it takes them to realise that it’s just the neighbour, not their parents.  so i don’t really buy the argument that safewords are necessary because they “break immersion” in sex.

if your brain can simultaneously think about sex and make sure your roomates/parents/siblings aren’t about to walk in, why can’t you also make an effort to see how your partner is feeling & if they’re saying “no”, “stop”, or “wait”, or looking pained or uncomfortable?  if you can hear the garage door or a creaking floorboard, why can’t you hear “no”?  why does it take “bookworm” or “pineapple” or what the hell ever to make you pay attention?

mary pipher said “young men need to be socialized in such a way that rape is as unthinkable to them as cannibalism”.  is it too much to ask that you consider the prospect of forcing yourself onto an unwilling person as disturbing as the idea of your parents catching you with your pants down ??

Until I Met You. Riverdale, Beronica AU.

A quick ‘set of scenes’ for ya’ll, sorry for the science lesson but it will make a lot more sense:

A nuclear war between the US and China was the beginning of the end. Hundreds of 20 megaton nukes where dropped across the globe. Only few have survived and now are left alone. If you’re lucky enough to escape the fallout; that killed almost half of the population, you have very minimal chances of survival. Rainfall had dropped due to black carbon making its way into the air causing 9% less rainfall. Crop failure and famine are the second biggest killer, causing 2 Billion deaths. Bunkers and Valleys are the safest bet. After a few years, fallout is no longer a problem, and life can slowly start to begin again….


Lonely. No other feeling has been felt for four whole years. No other human has been seen by Bettys eyes, other than the ones in her family photos, but sometimes she couldn’t even bring herself to look at those. Walking through the interior of the hollow house, picture frame after picture frame lay face down in each room. As if a wind had come through and knocked them all down; gently though, not to be broken or cracked. Not only where they face down, but a thick layer of dust had gathered across them. Along with the mahogany coffee table; the cotton cream coach and the mantle that is the focus of the brightly lit room.

It was mid-day. Outside a young, tall, woman worked busily, only occasionally stopping to wipe the beads of sweat that form on her brow. Her hands where covered in dry, dusty dirt that stained her nails and fingertips. The creases in her hands where more obvious and outlined aswell, with dark brown that contrasted with pale white. She would trace them with her fingertips when she could no longer work, like they were little maps or rivers. There had been barely any rainfall this summer…spring? She didn’t know. The seasons and days have all seemed to of merged into what felt like one long continues Sunday afternoon.

The garden Betty had been sowing was gradually reaching out of its permitted area. This was a sign of non-stop work and determination, to complete whatever task had been started in the first place. She didn’t exactly know this either. Patches of green leaves sprout from the dusty plain and spread out for long distances around her, swallowing her in an ocean of green as she works. Neat rows of slightly withered crops where laid out adjacent to the faded yellow building.

Bettys hair; was yellow also. Almost golden. When it was down, it would be wavy, laying gently across her shoulders, and slightly trailing down her back to her shoulder blades. But now, as she faces the earth with her hands deep into it, her hair is tied back, messy but still clean and delicately brushed. Her white vest had turned a darker grey, used and worn for strenuous work like this. Or simply because the water was low again, and for the second time this year she couldn’t do laundry as much as she’d like.

The sun caused waves over the distant fields her father once owned, distracting Betty sometimes as she would look up letting her blistered hands, sore from the digging, rest on her knees. The sun had left its mark on Bettys pale skin; above her nose; the top of her shoulders; underneath her eyes, anywhere it could reach it would burn her slowly. But She didn’t mind. After last winter, Betty no longer took the heat for granted. It was now a blessing.

The door creaked, the floorboards ached and the faucet whistled as she washed the dirt from her face and hands, letting the cold-water pool into her palms. Getting distracted she forgot how low she was running on water; how careful she needs to be. And quickly her moment of clarity was over, as she turns the flow off and start to dry her stinging hands.

She prepares her meal when the sun starts to set, cutting up carrots, peeling potatoes and dicing radishes. Ready to be boiled with parsley and onion to add somewhat of a decent flavouring. The broth was plain and mushy. It was hard some nights for Betty to bring herself to eat what she had been devouring for 2 years in a row, her taste buds where starting to disappear if that’s even possible. She had a rifle at one point, she would hunt for game, but soon her ammo ran out and she never had a reason to go back. (The garden, Betty reminded herself, was a life saver, however sometimes it was hard to not want more then what she has.)

Evening came quickly, alone, laying down on the queen-sized bed she looked at the wooden ceiling and saw that some dry rot was starting to slowly form in the right corner, close to the window, where the curtains where swaying gently, reminding her of a summer day long ago with a white dress and happy smiles. She turns to her side and watches the candle she placed on her night stand flicker. There was no electricity after what happened. She missed lamps, telephones, the TV, it was all so distant to her now. She can feel her memories of it all begin to slip away.

It was normally when she was lying in bed, still hungry and aching; she would imagine being hugged by someone, being heled, loved. It was all alien to her to think, to imagine what that used to feel like. She missed out on what it was like to fall in love, properly, other than the a few boys she dated in high school, she never really had that feeling. She wishes that it wasn’t just her left. It wasn’t just her on this planet. That the bombs hadn’t taken everything, the only thing that had protected her was the Valley. She believes that people are living still, growing and populating, that soon they will find her …maybe even her own family, if they are still alive.

The radio she had attempted to fix had no use after it malfunctioned, right in the middle of what could have possibly been the only sign of human life she’s had. I know I heard a voice.

She would remind herself of that day when it would get dark, not only around her in the real world, but in her mind too.


We’ll Be Fine Pt.3

Genre: Angst/Fluff

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader

A/N: This is the last part of the request. I’m sorry for taking so long and I’m sorry that the part is so short! Thanks everyone who loved and followed the fic, and thanks to the anon who requested it!

Part 1 / Part 2

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Transitory Static

Why do I always
arrive at an image of black & white
like if it was my foreshadowing

hunching over, harvesting
upon the fear? I prefer
groveling to a fugue in grey minor

at least. Now I’m shooting
fingers from these fists, listing reasons why I should
let it go tonight, as I do every night:

alone on a cold night silently raining as
you walk alone
toward the next door—

“Boom boom,” the floorboards
knock, the heartbeat of the house hungry like
wolves—and I’m there with you

my friend, my beloved, my fox glove.
We are coy, always
considering what the last dance will be,

readying our sights on
a great escape. A fog divides us
from another tonight so

the wordless chorus of whispers may
eat away the phloem
of brains. I literally should not

feast on this wrath,
but impulse. My ghost of guilt—
I have inherited impulse.

Inside out, it’s always a metaphor about
wanting to crawl out of a cycle and
not into a shell. I’m tired of that life

so listen: what you fear most
broods within us all, and indestructible impulse
dies when warmth rises from the dead,

out of white mouths. Where is
the ladder I must climb
up this time? Patience is

what I ask in prayer.
I’m given a sand dial & a maze I cannot solve
right now. There must be a later.

Closed || Trouble Sleeping

Xan had been out cold for almost six hours. Where before the sky had been bright and blue, with barely a cloud on the horizon, now there were greys and purples, a tinge of pink just beyond the trees, as night settled over the clinic. The woman in the bed was as white as the pillows that she rested upon, her hair was long and dark, it made her look even paler. The hollows under her eyes were black with fatigue, and yet all she seemed to do was sleep.

Beatrice sat by her bedside, fresh cloths and a bowl of cold water on the nightstand, a brush in her hands. She combed Xandra’s hair with long, soothing strokes, chattering away despite the fact that she knew her words would not be heard. “… I always hated waking up after a night of tossing and turning and finding my hair all tangled, I absolutely hated it,” she was saying when the door opened and the floorboards creaked, announcing the presence of a third person. “I have to sleep with my hair in a plait even now, otherwise I wake up and I feel just as wretched as I did then. But it’s okay, it’s okay, darling, because I won’t let you wake up feeling like that. I won’t. I’m going to brush all of these knots out and then I’ll plait your hair too. Sometimes it’s the little things that make all the difference.”

Just catching the tail end of this little speech, Scott smiled and stepped up behind his wife, reaching over to check Xandra’s pulse before he pressed a kiss to her head. “You really are angel, ladoo. An absolute angel,” he said softly, and laid the patient’s arm back down. Her wrist - both wrists - were fettered by soft restraints that held her arms down against the bed, it made his chest tight to see it come to that. It made Beatrice cry.

“Are those really necessary, Scotty?” she asked, her hands not stilling for a second. “The poor girl, isn’t she going through enough without all that?”


Horror Movie Rant

Request// Could you maybe write one where you keep Isaac company during his nightshift at the graveyard and make fun of old horrormovies/clichés?

A/N// Thank you for this request, we loved writing it, it was so much fun, we hope you like it X

It was 7pm on Friday night, and like usual I were bored out of my freaking mind. There was nothing to do, I did all your homework, and now I was lay upside down on my bed. Desperately trying to think of something before I die of bordem. Then it hit me. My best friend Isaac was working at the graveyard tonight. I knew he would be lonely in that creepy ass place. So what is better than going to surprise my best friend with In and Out Burger. So I threw on my  Adidas jacket, grabbed my shoes and took some money off my dresser then headed out the door into the dark night.

As I got everything I needed from In and Out burger , I headed  to the graveyard. On the way to Isaac, I had the best idea ever. I had to scare him. I had to do it. He was kinda asking for it by getting a job in first place. So am I going to take advantage of that? Of course I am, Isn’t that what best friends are for? But first I have to find him in that eerie place without getting fearful myself. What is there to be scared about, it’s only a graveyard, at night, where it was really dark, with dead people everywhere. What’s to be scared about?

As I arrived at the graveyard I opened the gate, clutched on to our food so no ghosts are going to steal it from me. I set eyes on Isaac. It’s Time to put my plan into action. I sneak up behind Isaac avoiding all the crunchy leaves and branches that have fell off the trees so I don’t give your myself. He has no idea of what’s about to happen, do I feel bad for what i’m about to do, HELL NO.

I gained closer to him. 1, 2, 3….

“BOO” I yelled

“arghh!” Isaac screamed whilst jumping out of his skin, 

As I was laughing hysterically.

“Oh my god why the hell would you do that me?! You can be such a douche sometimes” Isaac claimed as he began to to chuckle.

“You were kinda asking for it dude, you the one who got the job at this place, and anyway I didn’t want to leave you alone in this place by yourself, so me being the bestest friend in the whole wide world,  thought I could go and grab us some food and come and keep you company” I said with a big grin on my face

“I couldn’t ask for a better best friend, but if you scare me again, there will be consequences” Issac explained to me.

“Okay, okay but you have to say it was funny, you should of seen your face, it was hilarious” I said while still laughing.

We both took a seat to eat the food, while chatting about school and how stupid the homework we got from economics. But we went onto a better conversation, and what was better than sat in a graveyard and talking about horror movies and making fun of them.

“Do you know what I don’t get” Isaac began

“A lot of things” I said sarcastically 

“Haha very funny, but no, what I don’t get in horror movies is when the Victims bang on a door screaming let me out, as if the villain will somehow have a change of heart and let them go, it’s so stupid” Isaac exclaimed.

“Well that is true Isaac Lahey, very true but  what i don’t get is that when someone falls over and they are screaming go without me, save yourself, the villain is like way way back, just get your booty up and run” I state waiting for Isaac to think of another horror movie cliché

“Yeah and when they try and sneak out of the house every bloody door and floorboard will creak, but when they open that door and walk on that floorboard it doesn’t creak like that so why now?” he answers 

“I don’t know they have to make horror films more real, but the thing I really don’t get is, why the hell if you are looking for the villain, why would you split up, and go off to find them by yourself, if that was me I would be like, come on guys do you really think you will survive if you go out there by yourself, get a grip, you will die”

We both talk the rest of the night about horror movies cliché ’s. I loved having these nights with Isaac. 


Summer was reluctant to leave that year, lingering long past the equinox and almost into October. The leaves were hardly changing and the lack of autumn rain meant the grass just dried up and turned greenish-brown a few months early. The heat lingered and made everyone grouchy, but the lack of humidity meant that as warm as it got during the day, the temperatures plummeted once the sun went down.

It was, Emma decided, the worst time of year.

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sylphbones  asked:

Well I have to send in Elicer ofc

send me a ship and i’ll tell you…

  • who’s the werewolf and who’s the hunter: spencer from a l o n g history of hunters, whom the mikaelsons have trained along with more of their ilk. grew up with them, learning and practicing to perfection, in the guarded coven the hunters have made. doesn’t really see it coming, when it turns out the mikaelsons are vampires and move to slaughter the clave of hunters who had come to trust them. near everyone except spencer, who was shoved back through a hidden door beneath the floorboards with a steady hand and a long look that was a pained beneath the placid surface.
  • who’s the mermaid and who’s the fisherman: klaus is on the warpath to find mermaids and sacrifice them for their abilities, but elijah can’t bring himself to follow the plan. they mikaelson siblings travel with their fleet on ships, searching the high seas for treasure, though they’re the most dapper pirates you’ve ever seen. comes across a guarded mermaid on one of the islands they pillage who stays just out of sight until they exchange cautious or venomous ( in her case ) words across an echoing cavern. eventually, it comes about that their king has plans to send a slew of their people to destroy the mikaelson’s fleet and drag them to the depths. she warns him. doesn’t know how she means it or how he takes it, but she ducks back into the water and disappears before they can exchange anything FINAL.
  • who’s the witch and who’s the familiar: oh my gOD, spencer could be a flitting, immature little familiar, but elijah would be such a good familiar. constantly guiding her and pushing her through and helping to train and give her knowledge, and she struggles to find her strength without him.
  • who’s the barista and who’s the coffee addict: young!elijah works behind the counter, quiet but distinguished, and spencer doesn’t know where he came from or how he got here. they never openly makes passes at each other, but there always seems to be some discount on her drink, or something extra she likes but hadn’t mentioned, or the ghost of a smile she can’t read. waits for him one day after his shift and tries not to come off as creepy as possible when she asks him out. he doesn’t reply fast enough, so she gives him her number on a piece of paper and gets the fuck out of there. it takes three days, and she avoids the coffee shop, which is annoying, because the next closest it way out of her way, but he either calls or texts pristinely and says he would like to go out with her.
  • who’s the professor and who’s the TA: you know who, and you also know who won’t let it happen. spencer’s parents and sister also work at the university alongside him, so after the year of TENSION, she keeps coming back for holiday parties and it wouldn’t be so bad now, would it ?
  • who’s the knight and who’s the prince(ss): elijah the royal advisor and spencer the royal who hates the control exerted over her. elijah the tutor from a young age. TEENAGERS!ELIJAH AND SPENCER, two royals forced to have lessons together, and spencer doesn’t like the way he just seems to know things. klaus dropping a pig’s bladder of water on her, leaving her furious, and elijah’s the one to come apologize despite her wrath. finding pressed flowers or short poems between the pages of her schoolbooks.
  • who’s the teacher and who’s the single parent: BOTH. NEED BOTH. elijah the high school history teacher that understands it all a little too well, who spencer should avoid but can’t bring herself to. whose kid catches on when she asks subtly about him, who makes it very clear how grossed out they are, but when they’re leaving the kitchen do admit mr. mikaelson is very handsome…and smart. who spencer sees at the orchestra concert assisting the students with violins, who she ends up speaking to in the hallway a little too closely and a little too late. who, when one of them finally asks the other out, he shows up to her door and her kid answers the door and they exchange an awkward exchange but her kid calls something about not worrying about coming home. afterwards they kiss in the front seat until he pulls himself back and says they should stop, and that he had a lovely evening, but spencer’s not so young now to back off of it and presses forward against his mouth again, and that takes another half an hour pressed against the center console. but also…dad!elijah and younger teacher spencer who’s doing her very best not to be completely charmed by the intelligent parent of one of her students who seems to try not to softly laugh whenever he catches her looking at him a little too close.
  • who’s the writer and who’s the editor: uGH elijah the lead writer spencer’s shadowing, who’s able to draw things out of people in a way she doesn’t understand, who works tirelessly on his typewriter every night at the hotels they frequent as they travel for work. and then he finishes a chapter of the biography, and asks her to edit, and she’s a little stunned, but he informs her that he’d trust no one else with it. spends hours cooped up on rainy days with coffee and tea and showering first or second and trying not to think or glance through the crack in the door. waking up and seeing him across the small space to his bed and trying not to give into that clenching in her stomach. THE HOTEL THAT HAS ONLY ONE BED LEFT FOR THEIR ROOM BY MISTAKE.