hole in dash

Wittersweet: So, Starface, feel better now?
Sparkle Wit: You know what? I kinda do. That so-called hoverboard’s still sucky, though.
Firstwit: You shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth, Sparkle. But in this case, it’s overdue for a dental checkup.
[All laughing]
Witsend: [sighs] Yo, what should we do now?
Amble Wit: What else? Let’s eat lunch.
Hot Wit: Sparky, you coming?
Sparkle Wit: Maybe later. Hot Wit…whatever happened to the future?
Hot Wit: The future is always yet to come, Sparky. Didn’t you know that?
Sparkle Wit: I do, but that’s not what I meant. This future, it’s not the future I hoped for; it’s not the one science fiction promised me. What went wrong?
Hot Wit: Nothing went wrong, Sparky; you were just taken in by the magic of sci-fi, that’s all. The science in those fantastic stories is so believable that it seems possible. But, you know, that’s what makes good sci-fi so interesting. Sure, this present isn’t as space-age as you hoped it would be, but the future can be anything you want it to be, especially if it’s the future of your life.
Sparkle Wit: My life, huh?
Hot Wit: Your future is whatever you make it, so make it a good one. By the way, here’s your “hoverboard” back. I’m going for a quick bite. See ya.
Sparkle Wit: "Make it a good one"…

superlepato  asked:

Hi again!, so this is the idea, Tom goes through something similar the mewberty but for demons, basically for a short period of time their features changes, they get bigger, sharper and devilish (claws, teeth, horns, etc). Tom gets self conscious about it and hides away from Marco (he couldn't bear the idea of Marco finding him hideous), for the other hand Marcos is worried about the abrupt change in Tom's behavior (making excuses, cancelling plans).

Here you go! Sorry this took longer than i said, but my wifi is broken, I’m posting this at work lol. requests are still closed!!! I’m just posting some ones from earlier that got submitted. Enjoy!


Marco dialed the phone for the fourth time and made a face when he got sent straight to voicemail. Star entered the room, chewing on her wand and looked confused. “Hey what’s going on?” She asked, at seeing Marco’s stressed face.

“Well… Tom hasn’t answered his phone on a while. At first I thought he was just busy, but now I’m starting to get worried.” Marco explained. Star rolled her eyes.

“Oh Marco, what’s a few hours?” Star asked, flopping down on the bed. Marco shook his head and sat down.

“Star, it’s been a few days.” Marco told her. This was concerning, making Star sit up. “I think something is wrong. He won’t talk to me, but a few days ago he texted me and said he couldn’t go on our date we had planned.” He told her. “I’m starting to get really worried about him, that something bad happened.” Marco expressed.

“Did you go to his house?” Star asked. “Maybe he’s just home.” She suggested. Marco ran his fingers through his hair and picked his phone back up, gripping it.

“You don’t think I’m overreacting?” Marco asked. Star shook her head.

“To has never been this elusive. Especially not towards you. Just go check up on him.” Star urged. Marco nodded and grabbed the dimensional scissors off the table. He cut a hole in the air and dashed through to find his demon.

——————————————————————————————————————————–

Tom balled his hand up into fists, when he uncurled them he made a little whine when he saw his claws had grown longer and razor sharp. Tom put a hand over his mouth and felt the sharper teeth that were showing over his lip. He had teeth like an actual shark that were harder to hide than his normal ones. He tried to make his way to his feet but collapsed again when he felt the same pain in his back, two black and red, spiky wings were growing out and the feeling was incredibly painful.

Tom curled upon the floor like a cat and shut his eyes tightly, trying to block all of this out. It was becoming hard to see. And he was disoriented. Everything was sort of blurry and red, and every noise he heard set him off, wanting to attack or pounce. The last thing Tom wanted was to be some sort of demonic monster, so he tried to shut these urges out.

“Tom?” Tom’s head shot up at the noise and he growled, but when the figure stepped closer he gasped, trying to hold himself back. “Tom what happened to you!?” Marco cried, in fear. He tried to move closer to the demon but Tom hissed at him and backed away.

“Stay away Marco.” He growled through gritted teeth. Marco’s eyes widened.

“T-Tom? What’s wrong? Please let me help you.” Marco begged. Tom hissed again and retreated further into the dark corner. He didn’t want Marco to see him like this. He looked like a monster. He WAS a monster. To held his eyes shut and tried his best not to attack the human. He didn’t want to attack the human! But all these strange urges were forcing him to become more and more feral. His powers were stronger, and they were hard to control. Marco shouldn’t be around him now, he was dangerous.

“Leave. Now.” Tom hissed. “I don’t want you here.” He growled. Marco narrowed his eyes.

“That’s not true. You’re in pain, please let me help you. Tom, tell me what’s happening to you.” Marco took a step closer and Tom hissed at Marco, causing him to take a step back. Tom smiled sickly and growled.

“See, you’re afraid!” He hissed. “Go.” Tom commanded. Marco shook his head.

“No! I don’t want to go! I love you!” He insisted. Tom growled and ran forward on all fours, tackling Marco and seething, in an attempt to scare him away. Marco looked up and saw Tom had two extra eyes than normal, and his teeth were sharper, bigger and more jagged.

“HoW dO yOu LikE mE NOw?” Tom’s voice was disoriented and had some sort of echo. His eyes were lit up an angry red, but Marco didn’t buy it.

“I think  you’re just as scared as I am.” Marco spoke, his voice didn’t waver at all. Tom growled furiously and got up off the human. He stood to his feet and thrust his hand out, a force wrapped Marco up and he floated in the air upside down. Tom was surrounded by fire and had a large flame under Marco’s head.

“WhAt AboUT nOw?” Tom hissed, forcing a smile that made him look deranged. Marco smiled at the demon.

“I think we have a date to reschedule.” He beamed. Tom yelled and dropped Marco, setting the fire out so he wasn’t hurt. Marco smiled and looked up at the demon. “See? If you were a monster or something dangerous, you would have hurt me just now. But you put the fire out and let me down gently.”

“I DROPPED you!” Tom corrected.

“You tried to.” Marco added. “But you couldn’t really bring yourself to hurt me, could you?” He asked. Tom had more fire flare up around him and he raised a second set of arms that just appeared without notice. His giant evil looking wings spread and his eyes glowed up. Marco took a step closer. “I know you’re afraid, and you’re embarrassed about what’s happening to you.” He took a step forward and Tom seethed. “Let me help you, please Tommy.” Marco begged, tear welled up in his eyes.

At seeing this Tom gasped and his eyes dimmed. “Marco!” He cried. He landed in front of the human and gasped. “Please don’t cry! Marco please don’t cry!” He begged. Marco looked up and smiled through his tears.

“I knew you still cared about me.” He smiled. Tom stopped and took a step back. Marco smiled warmly and reached a hand out to him. “I know you still love me. Please let me help.” Marco begged this same plea again. Tom’s eyes watered and he dashed into the human’s arms, sobbing. Marco rubbed his back and smiled.

“I don’t know what’s happening to me.” He blubbered. Marco held him closer and Tom hiccuped.

“It’s all going to be okay. I’m here for you.” Marco hushed. “I’ll help you figure this out, I’m not going anywhere.” He pledged.

“What if I hurt you too?” Tom asked, in fear.

“You won’t, I trust you.” Marco assured. Tom snuggled closer to Marco and his sobs became less.

“You-you still like me… even like this?” Tom asked, unsure. Marco grabbed the demon and pulled him down into a kiss.

“I still LOVE you.”

            The blush of dawn before sunrise had become his companion long before he’d even known the meaning of the word.

            It’d accompanied him on sleepless nights near the harbors of Novis, when the light would spill over the grooves of sheets and shadows of the walls — a tiny little room, it was, shared by all five of his siblings. Though crowded and cramped, the blur of morning red had always entranced him to see otherwise ; leading toward a love that could not be ignored.

Keep reading

2

“Unbelievable.”
“I’m sorry…”

Happy belated birthday, @ka-zu-ya​! IMOUTO IS HELLA LATE BUT YEah ok I have no excuse

Based on this (x)

10

Voltron Legendary Defenders A Powerpoint

or What my dash taught me about the space gays

By Me: buckywithegoodhair a useless heathen with far too much time


Go WATCH THIS it’s on Netflix okay.

Pokemon-Halloween - Day 3: Any legendary

Giratina is my legendary. I love him more than all the others, though Raquaza is a very close second. Today’s artistic style challenge: cut shading. I really like how this turned out! I think I’ll do this more often!

Not overtly Halloween themed, other than how spooky Giratina is opening a tear in the fabric of reality to say:

HI fRiEnD.

The Ladies Are On Lead

A playlist of songs with ladies on lead

Screaming Females - Wild // Zeppelin Song - Courtney Love // Against Me! - True Trans Soul Rebel // Dash & Will - Fighting Over Nothing // Distillers - Ask The Angels // Hole - Old Age // Jack Off Jill - Author Unknown // Atomic Blonde - Babydoll // Bikini Kill - Rebel Girl // Metric - Black Sheep

Listen Here!

THE POET- BRETT TALBOT IMAGINE

Song is Poet by Bastille! Requested by anon:) This has been in the works for forever dear god I’m so sorry I changed it to fit with the new season as I thought it would work better and then it ended up changing everything. I hope this is okay! Feedback would be wonderful!!


Obsession it takes control

Obsession it eats me whole

I can’t say the words out loud

So in rhyme I wrote you down

Brett watched as your hand flew across the page, your rushed yet flawless cursive scrawl staining the page with inky navy blue words. 

Scott had called him over to Derek’s loft along with the rest of his pack, requesting their help in learning more about the supernatural attacks occurring within Beacon Hills as of late. You were not a werewolf like him, but instead the clairvoyant sister of Stiles Stilinski.

Needless to say, your brother was not fond of the way Brett Talbot was watching you intently, like he’d find all of the answers to the universe in the way you brushed your curls over your shoulder or how you bit your lip when you had trouble finding the right word.

You were ignoring the topic of the meeting, instead choosing to write in the emerald notebook Lydia had gifted you the month prior. You’d already filled a quarter of the book, something that never failed to amuse the pack. You rarely shared with them what you were writing, as you wanted it to be surprise. It was a book, or at least the foundations of one, about the pack’s supernatural adventures in Beacon Hills. A history book, almost.

There was another book you were working on, a navy notebook filled that you would never dare to bring out in public. Too many secrets in one place to risk it.

If you had looked up from your book, you would have blushed a thousand different shades of red upon seeing the way the blue eyed boy was looking at you. But you never did, and so you were helplessly in the dark about the beta’s feelings towards you.

Ones he had no clue you reciprocated.

The truth was that Brett Talbot had loved you since you tried to punch him in the face for upsetting Liam when he knew full well what he the freshman beta had been dealing with. You’d been furious at the time, and Brett couldn’t help but admire the level of ferocity you fit into such a small frame.

You were a shy and timid thing, not often prone to fights or confrontations. But when someone messed with your pack, you let them know exactly who was in charge. And while a five foot tall thin girl who looked like she would snap if you bent her the wrong way wasn’t necessarily intimidating, the look of pure anger and wrath in your dark blue eyes was.

Thankfully you’d gotten past your initial dislike of the beta, befriending him and eventually even considering him one of your closest friends. And while Brett certainly loved being your friend, he desperately wanted to be something more.

He wanted to hold you in the mornings and tangle his fingers in your messy curls, to hold your hand for no reason other than wanting to be close to you, to kiss you whenever he felt like, to hold you safe in his arms when the world around you got to be too much. He wanted everything- the fights, the lazy afternoons, the three AM text messages, the morning breath kisses, all of it.

And you’d be lying if you said you didn’t want it too…

Now you’ll live through the ages

I can feel your pulse in the pages

You plopped down on the bleachers unceremoniously as Brett walked over towards you and the two sophomores accompanying you. Warm smiles were exchanged as he picked you up in a hug and spun you around, setting you down gently and leaving one arm wrapped around your shoulders as he pulled you into his side with a laugh.

“Are you two dating?” Mason asked curiously, oblivious to Liam shaking his head rapidly and desperately motioning for him not to ask.

Brett hesitated before responding, shaking his head with a frown as you cleared your throat uncomfortably.

So, back to the issue at hand…” Liam broke the silence awkwardly, handing Brett his phone with the picture of Tracy as Mason and him began their questioning.

You weren’t listening, instead wondering what it would be like if you and Brett were dating…

“And Stiles is letting you investigate?” Brett asked you with an eyebrow raised, drawing you out of your thoughts.

“I’m a big girl Talbot, wipe my own ass and everything.” You joked, making the boys laugh. “Besides, I was the only one free that could drive them, so he had no choice.” You finished with a roll of your eyes, still frustrated that Stiles tried so hard to keep you from doing anything when you at least had some supernatural in you, while he barreled into the fray equipped with only a baseball bat and his sarcasm.

“I’m not one to argue with the woman, so how about we head off to find this hole of yours?” Brett told Liam, siding his hand into your own as you made your way towards your car.

You blushed, and Brett felt his own heartbeat soar as he heard yours skip rapidly. Liam rolled his eyes at the two of you, wishing you would both just confess already as he pleaded with Mason to keep his mouth shut.

You hopped into the driver’s side and slid your key into the ignition, the car roaring to life as you grinned triumphantly. Brett always teased you about your car, as it was a beat up Jeep Wrangler like your brother’s. You’d done a lot of work on it over the summer, and now it ran beautifully.

Brett opened his mouth to speak from his place in the passenger’s seat, but you raised your hand to cut him off. “Not one word about my baby.”

He laughed to himself, smiling at the affection you held for your Jeep. He knew that you and the car had been through practically everything together, and he found your attachment to it adorable.

His smile was replaced with a frown as he noticed the vibrant red marks on your right wrist, exposed when you’d reached for the wheel and the sleeves of your dark grey henley slid down. Brett gently took your arm in his hand, examining the wound with concern. You winced, and he quickly eased his grip even further.

“What happened?” He asked quietly, making you sigh sadly as your mind drifted off to the events that had transpired earlier on in the afternoon.

“Tracy got a hold of me back at the school. Nothing too bad, and it doesn’t hurt.” You told him, but he didn’t believe you for a second. He’d heard the lie in your voice, not even needing his werewolf hearing to sense the irregular beating of your heart as you spoke. 

“Brett, don’t you dare-” You began, but the black veins were already racing up his toned arm. You huffed as he closed his eyes while absorbing your pain, feeling the discomfort leave your arm.

“Too late.” He smiled weakly at you, feeling next to no pain compared to the ache you were surely experiencing before he absorbed it. Liam and Mason watched the exchange curiously, dead silent as they did not wish to disturb the duo. The way the two of you interacted was simply fascinating, one’s movements complimenting the others perfectly. Lydia had once compared it to a ballet, to which you’d rolled your eyes at.

“You didn’t have to do that.” You whispered as you turned your eyes back to the road, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter.

“I know, but I wanted to.” He told you with an affectionate smile, looking down at his hands in his lap. There was a pause, before you let out a deep breathe. 

“Thank you.” You smiled lightly at him, leaning over to kiss his cheek before focusing on the road once more.

Brett grinned to himself, his heart thudding a million miles a minute as he watched you tuck a strand of blonde hair behind your ear.

If only I could tell you…

I have written you down

Now you will live forever

And all the world will read you

And you live forever

In eyes not yet created

On tongues that are not born

I have written you down

Now you will live forever

You frowned as you heard a knock on your door, not expecting the boys to be back so soon. You’d dropped Brett, Mason, and Liam off near the hole, but dashed back home to the Stilinski household in order to continue your research on the potential suspects for the attacks per Scott’s request.

You opened the front door cautiously, holding your brother’s lacrosse stick in one hand and your Deathly Hallows mug of coffee Brett had gotten you over the summer in the other.

Theo?” You asked in confusion as the door opened to reveal the dark haired boy. You dropped the lacrosse stick in surprise, although barely even jostling the coffee (your coffee was far too precious to you for you to let go of it.)

He stood uncomfortably in the doorway, and you awkwardly rushed to open the door further and let him in. You weren’t as wary of him as your brother was, but you certainly didn’t trust him as much as Scott did.

“I, uh- Did you need something?” You asked curiously, leading him into the kitchen where your papers and laptop covered the table.

“Would you happen to know where Scott is?” He rubbed the back of his neck nervously, and you nodded.

“Him, Malia, and Stiles took Tracy over to Deaton’s, the Animal Clinic. Why?” You answered hesitantly, sipping your coffee.

“I want to help.” He responded confidently, and you restrained the urge to roll your eyes at the obvious hero complex the boy had going on. He was terribly sweet, but why did he want to help so badly?

You couldn’t help but be slightly suspicious.

“I can give you a ride over there if you would like.” You told him, wanting to learn more about his motives.

“Nah, I’ll be alright. Thank you though!” He grinned sweeping down to kiss your cheek before rushing off. You frowned as you touched your cheek, pulling out your phone.

Hate to interrupt your treasure hunt, boys, but I’m going to need your help following someone. I have a bad feeling about tonight.”

Your body lies upon the sheets

Of paper and words so sweet

I can’t say the words

So I wrote them into my verse

You mindlessly jotted down thoughts on your napkin, having left your notebook at home. You cursed yourself mentally, and then yourself again for not being able to help when you’d tailed Theo to the police station. For not getting there sooner. You’d felt the disturbance deep in your bones at the time, a dreadful sense of the terror that was yet to come.

Brett was quiet, still disturbed by what he had seen earlier and not wanting to pull you out of your wonderings just yet. You were shaken up by what you had seen as well, and had only just stopped crying.

Lydia was hurt, and badly.

You two were alone in the Beacon Hills Hospital cafeteria, having left Room 124 in order to get your mind off of what you had witnessed and snag some coffee for everyone while they waited in panic for Lydia to wake up from her state of unconsciousness. The blinding lights and white washed walls unnerved you, the sterility of the place making it feel as unnatural as what you had just had the misfortune of seeing.

Kanima.

You ignored the incessant buzzing of your phone, in a trancelike state as you furiously slid the cheap blue ballpoint you’d grabbed from the front desk across the napkins. What am I doing? You thought to yourself. Why am I here?

You were stopped as Brett wrapped a gentle arm around your waist, taking the pen from your shaking hands and softly pushing your hands away from the stack of napkins.

“She’s going to be alright,” Brett muttered soothingly, “I promise.”

Your hands shook viciously and your entire body trembled, scared that you would lose Lydia just as you had lost Allison. Not her too.

“What is she isn’t, Brett? What if she’s not going to be okay? I can’t… I can’t lose anyone else. I’m terrified- I feel like I’m choking and I just want to wake up from this nightmare…” You stuttered out, holding back a sob as your phone continued to buzz with texts messages asking about what was going on.

The hell if I know, you thought to yourself as Brett tugged you closer.

He didn’t reply for a few moments, thinking carefully on his next words as he gently ran a hand through your mussed curls and rubbed your back.

“Maybe it’s not going to be alright today, or tomorrow. Maybe it won’t be alright for a while. But there is always a sunrise, and I think it’s up to you to find it. And while the night may be long, there’s still beauty in it’s darkness. Even the blackest of nights have the brightest of stars.” He mumbled to you, tucking a stray curl behind your ear as you slumped into his chest.

“Thank you.” You whispered to him as you calmed down enough to speak.

“For what?” He asked curiously, kissing your forehead.

“For being the moon.”

Now you’ll live through the ages

I can feel your pulse in the pages

The coffee beside you had gone cold as you wrote at the small table beside Lydia’s beside, since you had been in the hospital room for countless hours now. Night had surely fallen by now, the rest of your pack having left to consult with Deaton while Brett reluctantly ran off to grab Parrish per your request.

You peered over at Lydia’s sleeping form, a sad smile on your face as you gently brushed a few strands of scarlet hair from her beautiful face. You were clueless as to what you’d do without your best friend, and a stray tear slipped from your eye as she stirred in her sleep.

This is all my fault, you thought to yourself as you went back to your writing, all my fault.

A groan fell from your lips as you felt your mind slip into a familiar state of numbness that often accompanied your visions, cursing your clairvoyance.

Dark grey fog swamped your mind, cutting off all sensations and severing your ties with the physical world. It was unnerving to feel so weightless, soul not anchored to the earth. Unnatural.

This was what it was like to die.

Your vision cleared and focused in on a bright hallway, much like one you would find in a hospital. You watched in confusion as the lights flickered slightly, the hallway deserted and oddly quiet.

You paused to examine the room number on the door you were closest to, but the light bulbs in the hallway suddenly burst, all light disappearing in an instant. You squinted to see through the darkness as glass rained down around you, freezing as you realized it was no longer silent in the hallway.

Low grinding, like the whispers in a quiet classroom sounded out, the volume increasing as you realized it sounded like the sharp hiss of an old car engine trying to sputter back to life.

Then the screams came.

At first you tried to cover your ears to block out the sound, but it did nothing to dull the pain. It was similar to Lydia’s banshee scream, only magnified to the point of being intensely and painfully deafening.

Then the silence returned, the unnatural stillness of it all even more terrifying than the screaming. There was a sharp clatter to your left, and then the stomping of what sounded like metal boots.

You rushed away from the door you had been closest to, sensing whatever it was approaching you. While it shouldn’t be possible for people or things to sense you during a vision, you were no longer so sure…

There was a momentary pause before the handle of the door was slowly pulled down, the door opening to reveal a hospital room, lit only by a lamp on the bedside table beside the red haired girl lying on the bed.

You turned to the left of the bed, covering your mouth to muffle your screams as you felt a sob wrack through your body.

There was a blonde haired girl hunched over an emerald green notebook, the dark blue on the page the same shade as your eyes. A mug of coffee sat beside the notebook, and you dropped to your knees as you noted the Deathly Hallows symbol on the front of it. You knew exactly what room this was.

Room 124.

Then the vision ended, the transition from being free into a confined form almost painful. All feelings returned to you, and you opened your midnight blue eyes in horror.

Your pen clattered to the floor as you stared down at the words you had mindlessly written in front of you.

Don’t turn around.

I have written you down

Now you will live forever

And all the world will read you

And you will live forever

In eyes not yet created

On tongues that are not born

I have written you down

Now you will live forever

Seven hours, thirty-two minutes, and twenty-seven seconds you’d been gone. Since Brett had found the bloody footsteps leading out of the hospital room Lydia had been in.

Since Brett broke down upon finding your abandoned emerald journal lying open on the bedside table, a hasty entry standing out to the werewolf.

They’re here and I don’t have much time, and I’m so sorry to whoever finds this. Tell Malia to get the navy journal from beneath my bed… she’ll know what to do.

And tell the pack that I am so, terribly, sorry. I love them with all my heart, and I wish it did not have to be this way. It seems that fate has a dreadful habit of making a mockery of me indeed.

Brett breathed in sharply as he peered down at the navy book Malia had given him in his lap, as if it pained him to perform even the simplest of tasks in your absence.

My anchor my heart my rock my best friend my love-

He steeled himself, opening the book as delicately as the werewolf possibly could. Dark blue ink glistened on the pages, Brett’s heart catching in his throat as he read.

I fumble over words, the letters and sounds tumbling restlessly from my mouth in patterns I cannot control. I am not very good with speaking, but I’ve always been told I have a way with words. How can this be, you may ask yourselves?

I am a poet, doomed to the vast worlds of fiction and inky cursive dreams. I can write an epic poem of love and loss easier than I can say hello. There is so much I have to say, and yet no way to put it into words unless it is on paper.

And my greatest fear is that I will never be able to tell the truth to you. This is everything I wish I could tell you in ways I would never be able to say aloud. Brett, if you are reading this, I can only hope it is because I’ve given it to you and not because you’ve stumbled upon it. If you’ve stumbled upon it… Well, you’ve always been a rather curious boy, and I suppose there’s no stopping you now. Read on with care, as there is no turning back now.

The terrible truth is that I am irreparably and irrevocably in love with you.

This is the story of how I fall in love with you each day, and I write this in the hopes that I will one day be able to tell you all of this. That one day, perhaps tomorrow or ten years from now, I can give you this, and you will know just how loved you are.

So thank you, Brett Talbot, for being my moon. Whatever happens after this, know that I love you with every fibre of my being. 

Brett gently placed the notebook beside him, as he did not wish to damage the treasure he had been given. He buried his handsome face in his hands, a sob escaping from the beta’s lips. The werewolf made no effort to restrain his cries, and for the first time in years, he allowed himself to break down entirely.

She loves me, he thought to himself, She loves me and she’s gone.

Brett would spend the next few hours reading the notebook cover to cover, pausing between every few entries to weep. 

I love her and she’s gone.

I have read her with these eyes,

I’ve read her with these eyes,

I have held her in these hands

“Have you ever wondered why you have those wonderful powers of yours, Stilinski?” The Raeken boy questioned as he leaned back lazily in his chair beside your bed, a smirk hanging off his lips.

You bit back a snarl, relaxing your body. He’d already explained that he had no intention of harming you, only wanting to have you separated from the pack as your abilities to see into the future would hinder the doctor’s plans.

It took all of your restraint to not smack that damned smirk off his face.

“No?” He raised an eyebrow, chuckling as if the two of you were merely friends having a casual conversation. “If you must know, it was your grandmother. Every other generation in the Stilinski family has a psychic. Always a girl, too. It appears that beautiful is also a requirement.” He grinned, nearly making you gag. 

Was he flirting with you?

Your eyes darted to the doorway as you sipped the coffee he had brought you through gritted teeth. Locked.

You mentally cursed. So far Theo had done nothing to bind you to the bed or restrain you at all, the room he’d placed you in within his home actually rather pleasant. You didn’t want to do anything that would force him to handcuff you or anything, wanting your escape to be as easy as possible once you’d figured out a way to leave safely.

“Not in the mood to talk? That’s fine. I’ll be back in an hour or so with food.” He paused in the now open doorway, turning to look back at you with a brilliant smile on his face that made your skin crawl.

“And Stilinski? Don’t bother trying to escape. The Dread Doctors may not be here, but I can assure you that I’m more than capable of keeping you here.” And with that, he was gone, the door locking behind him with a sharp click.

You slumped in the large bed, groaning as you rubbed tiredly at your eyes. There was no way you were sleeping here, not with the possibility of Theo messing with you in your sleep. No, you couldn’t afford to be in such a vulnerable state. 

The wooden floorboards creaked beneath your bare feet, making you cringe as you explored the room. The room itself was large, furnished with a bed and a few chairs, with a vanity and bookshelf on one wall while the opposite one had two doors. One door led to a closet filled with clothes that were peculiarly your exact size, the other a bathroom equipped with your favorite soaps and shampoos. If that wasn’t creepy, you didn’t know what was. 

You dove under every cushion and explored every drawer, leaving no crack between floorboards or underside of shelves untouched. Not a single hairpin or sharp object was left in the room, or anything else that would have enabled your escape. The room had no windows sans a skylight that you found you could reach if you stood on the chair beside your bed, but you’d cursed aloud once you found it to be locked. Theo was smart, no doubt about it.

But you were smarter.

A tiny grin made it’s way onto your face as you undid the clasp of your bra, the little hooks making a perfect lock pick if you bent them a certain way.

And to think Brett had made fun of you when you’d told him you’d learned how to pick locks one summer when you’d been grounded.

Your heart clenched painfully at the thought of Brett, the wind knocked out of your lungs. He must be panicking, you sighed as you carefully worked on the lock on the skylight.

You knew you were.

I have written you down

Now you will live forever

The virtue’s in the verse

And you will live forever

A loud knocking jarred Brett out of his trance. He jumped up, racing towards the front door with your notebook still clutched in his large hands. The morning sky was beautiful, he noticed as he passed by a window, a sunrise he knew you would have loved to see.

“Who is it?” He asked, voice raspy as he harshly pulled open his front door. 

He was met with quite sight indeed.

Brett dropped the navy notebook in shock, quickly pulling you into his arms as he choked out a relieved sob. You relaxed in his embrace, wrapping your arms around his neck as he tugged you as close as he physically could to himself until passerby wouldn’t be able to discern where you ended and he began.

“I was so- How did you?” He stuttered out as he gripped you tighter still, inhaling your familiar scent of books and coffee.

“I’m a resourceful girl, Talbot.” You chuckled into his chest. “That, and I picked a few locks with my bra clasp. Stiles was right about Theo, he had me in his house.” You managed to mumble through your sleepiness, and Brett reluctantly pulled away.

He studied you with sharp and beautiful eyes, his gaze concerned and sad. You smiled lightly at the beta, although your face fell once you noticed the notebook lying on the ground by your feet.

“I- I thought I’d make it back before she was able to give it to you. I thought I’d be there much longer. I’m so sorry Brett, I know you probably don’t feel the same, and I-”

Brett cut you off by placing a thumb over your lips, a gentle smile on his face as he pulled you back into him with his free arm.

“Stilinski?” He whispered, eyes filled with something you didn’t quite recognize, but you realized it had always been there when he looked at you.

“Hm?” You hummed nervously, blushing at your current position. What the hell was happening?

“Who said I didn’t feel the same?” He questioned lowly, and then his lips collided with your own in a kiss you knew you’d never be able to forget.

You tasted vaguely of coffee, Brett decided as his arms wrapped around your waist and caressed your back. Your hands went up to entangle themselves in his hair as you melted into the kiss, and Brett swore in that moment he’d never let you go again.

I have written you down

Now you will live forever

And all the world will read you

And you will live forever

In eyes not yet created

On tongues that are not born

I have written you down

You will live forever

You will live forever

“I cried, I’ll admit.” Brett grinned down at you as he brushed a blonde curl behind your ear, making you blush.

You’d been discussing the contents of the navy notebook over lunch, having already seen the pack and reassuring them of your wellbeing. They’d been deeply worried of course, but left you in Brett’s care to go deal with Theo.

“I know my confession can’t even compare to yours, but I’d like to share that I’ve loved you since that night you broke your hand trying to punch me in the face.” He chuckled, your blush darkening even further as he took your face in his hands and his thumbs gently brushed against your cheeks.

“You’re so beautiful, Stilinski. I remember my team having to drag me back to the bus after that game ended, I couldn’t take my eyes off you. But you’re so much more than a pretty face, too. You’re incredibly smart and kind, sweet and passionate and everything a guy could ever want. I still can’t wrap my mind around the thought that you feel the same about me. You could have anyone you wanted, and you chose me.” His lips neared yours, wonder and love in his eyes as you stared into them.

“Why?” He asked quietly, breath fanning across your face.

“Because you’re the only thing that keeps me grounded when it feels like the world is ending, the one thing that makes me smile even when the only thing I want to do is cry.” You smiled at him, bringing your hands up and locking them behind his neck.

“I love you.” He whispered before his lips met yours once more, heart pounding in his chest at the sensation of having you in his arms and his lips on yours.

“I love you too.” You replied after pulling away slightly, resting your forehead on his and looking deeply into his eyes.

Love, you decided as you pressed your lips against his again, that was what was in his eyes.


anonymous asked:

Ellery versus bully (bullies) __Arraydesign

#183

—–

“What the hell is wrong with him?”

Seventeen sidewalk squares to the bus stop. Marlowe’s gate to the bus stop, seventeen squares. Seventeen is the worst, but Dashiell counts the steps inside each square as he goes and it’s better.

“Get a move on it, Dash-hole. You’re holding up the whole bus.”

He risks a look but Ellery is ignoring them. Dash can ignore them too. He can. Seventeen is the worst, but he has to do seventeen because the bus is at seventeen and it’s waiting and he has to get on.

More kids are talking, yelling things at him from the bus windows. Ellery is at the stop now; he can see her leaning in to talk to the driver. Asking her to wait for him. He just knows the numbers, seventeen to the bus stop, and three striding steps in each block, but four if he’s not being rushed.

He is, however, being rushed. So counting by threes is a little better and the nines make it just right-

“Five-six-seven-eight-seventeen!” Ellery yells back at him. “Hurry up, Dashiell. I am not missing this bus because of you.”

He can’t stop to speak or he’ll have to start all over. All over. One-two-three, that’s eighteen steps at square six. That’s good. One-two-three, that’s twenty-one, which isn’t so bad, Paul O’Neill was number 21, but the Yankees still haven’t retired his jersey and that makes Dash anxious.

Dash. Wrong name for you, kid. You ain’t fast-”

“Shut your face, Carson. You’re only making it worse.”

Dash is going as fast as he can and still get each step right, avoiding the stains that are oil or gum or blood (how is he supposed to know? Dad tells stories and sometimes they are really true)-

“No kidding, Dash. Hurry up.”

“Shut up yourself,” he yells back. “If you keep talking to me, I’ll lose count and have to start all over.” 

“Don’t you dare. It’s twenty-three, you’re at twenty-three - don’t you dare start over.”

He grips his fists, his chest getting tight. Twenty-three steps, twenty-four, that’s eight blocks of seventeen. Nine to go, which is three threes, nines are really good, and he can do that. He doesn’t have to start over; he doesn’t.

He’s close to a nine on the anxiety chart - he’s being rushed, Ellery ditched school at lunch time again and he’s not supposed to tell (he’s no good at secrets), there are seventeen sidewalk blocks, his teacher gave them a pop quiz and he didn’t know five of the answers, the snow is slush again and it soaks into his shoes (Mom should have known; she usually tells him to put on his boots instead), and the bus makes him want to vomit. Hurl. Blow chunks. Toss his cookies.

The bus sucks. Hard. 

But he has to. Mom says it builds his resistance, and he has to stop loitering after school to avoid them all. Dad says he can do anything he puts his mind to. Ellery will kill him in his sleep if he makes her miss the bus again. One-two-

“Dashiell. If you don’t get on the bus, I’m leaving you here.”

His heart jumps into his throat. He breaks eye contact with his shoes and jerks his gaze up to her.

She’s leaning out from the open door. Her scarf is tangled around one strap of her backpack, and there are older guys hanging out just behind her, watching him and her too, and it makes him feel wrong. 

It’s all wrong. He needs to start over. He has to start over.

“No. Dashiell. Don’t you dare.”

Dashiell turns and darts for the wrought iron gate of Marlowe Prep and shuts his ears to everything else - his sister, the bus grumbling and hissing on the street, the kids streaming out of school, the boys from his grade who keep looking at Ellery like that, the five questions he got wrong on the pop quiz that Mrs Moultrie isn’t supposed to give him but did anyway-

“Dashiell. Get back here. Twenty-four, eight squares. Dashiell Hammett.”

He starts over, going faster now, making up for lost time, the bus like a huge dumb beast berating him with its loud, messy engine idling at the curb. Ellery darts up the bus steps and his heart rate sky rockets (she’s not supposed to leave him, Mom said, Mom said she couldn’t ever absolutely ever leave him-)

Ellery darts back down the steps, scowling. “She’s gonna leave you. Bus is leaving, Dashiell. Just count faster.”

He is. He is. He’s counting as fast as he can, taking three steps fast, faster, hurrying, desperate not to miss the steps in between each block because it can’t be a seventeen, not today, not today.

He races to the bus stop, all seventeen squares of three steps each, but his guts are churning hard with all the things wrong, wrong, wrong, the ways he skipped and the rules he broke, his palms sweating and his blood rushing in his ears, and all the things he hears but doesn’t understand still.

Still.

“This is getting old.” Ellery grabs him by the backpack and shoves him up the stairs, shoves him into a group of guys who are backing off the show, shuffling down the aisle. “You are fifteen, Dashiell. This shouldn’t be a thing any more. This should not be a thing.”

He can’t even hear her. Or he hears but it won’t process. Words bounce off the hunch of his shoulders and the frantic race of his pulse in his head. All the things wrong, all the rules broken, and Ellery shoving him down the aisle past the seat he needs and she can’t leave him, Mom said she can’t leave him ever again-

Two of the lacrosse guys stand in his way, shoulder to shoulder near the back. They’re not moving to sit down. Everyone else has sat down. Why are they not sitting down?

Why do they keep watching Ellery like that?

Dash sucks in a hard breath through his mouth, trying not to smell them. Trying not to taste their deodorant on his tongue but it’s better than the smell in here. Better. It’s better. He can do better; he can be more.

The lacrosse guys aren’t moving. The driver is yelling at them from the front of the bus, telling them to sit they asses down (why can’t she just say it right? why can’t she say ‘your’ like it’s supposed to be? why does everyone-)

“Dash, go.”

He’s stuck in the aisle. One of the lacrosse guys does that chin-jerk thing that Tio told him is like ass-sniffing like when dogs meet, figuring out who’s alpha dog and who’s just not. 

Dash freezes, waiting to be inspected, hoping they’ll let him pass. He doesn’t know what to do. He never does it right. They say things they don’t mean and their faces always look like they’re twisted up but then they laugh at him and say his face is wrong and he doesn’t-

“Derrick, move. I am not in the mood.” Ellery pushes past him and elbows her way between the two. “Carson. Sit down. You get me kicked off this bus after all that, I will castrate you.”

Dash takes a short breath to keep from being wrong, anything at all wrong, and Ellery reaches back and snags the strap of his backpack, hauls him forward.

He sinks into the window seat and she sits down after him. His hands are shaking and he doesn’t know why.

Ellery yells back up to Carson, but he can’t process what Carson is yelling back. She says something about knowing ways to make him suffer, about how she heard what his girlfriend said about his size (how does she even come up with this stuff and yet it say with conviction? he yells at someone at it just makes them laugh) - and then the bus lurches forward with a hissing and grinding of gears that makes Dashiell writhe in the seat.

Ella grabs the back of his neck and squeezes so hard that he gasps, sits up straight again.

And then she lets go.

Dash closes his eyes, keeps them closed for the whole ride.

Ellery is flirting. That’s what it is. Why it makes his skin uncomfortable. She’s flirting with the lacrosse boys.

But it works.

When the bus gets to their stop, the boys let him pass. He goes ahead of Ella down the aisle and neither of them say a word to him. Carson tells Ellery her ass is looking fine and Ella tosses off you wish as Dashiell gets off the bus.

They have one quiet block before they’re home.

The bus is gone. The lacrosse guys are gone. The street is quiet and slush-free and he can take a deep breath without smelling anyone but Ellery.

“Did you hear any of what they said?” She’s marching off already, leaving him to follow. “Dash. Did you hear-”

“I guess.”

“Next time, Dash. Listen to me. Next time, you tell them, fuck off.”

His gapes, stumbling in the middle of the sidewalk.

Ellery turns, hands on the straps of her backpack, her hair messy around her face, skirt flaring with the violence of her movement. She’s breathing hard, her face is red like she’s mad at him. 

“Did you hear me, Dash? Are you back?”

“I’m back,” he says finally.

“Did you hear me?”

“I… heard you. Are you mad at me?”

“Of course I’m mad at you. I’m mad at - at - all of them.”

“But I’m not,” he says, shrugging. “I don’t care what they said.”

“That’s fine. But I care. You’re my brother. And what happens the next time they try to push you around?”

“I tell an adult.”

Ellery glares at him. “No. You tell them to fuck off. You say it just like I did. I don’t care what Mom says. Dad says there’s a right word for every situation. You have to know the right words.” Ellery reaches forward and grabs him by the backpack, propels him forward with her. “Those are the only words they’ll hear coming from you. Promise me.”

He can’t make a promise like that.

“Dashiell. I’m not kidding.”

“You were flirting with them.”

“No, doofus. I was making them think I was flirting. That’s how girls survive idiots like them. But you aren’t a girl, and you suck at flirting, Dashy. So repeat after me: fuck off.”

Well, he really does suck at flirting.

“Fuck off.”

“There you go. Almost sounds natural. We’ll work on it. Now, stop counting mailboxes or lamp posts or whatever it is on Broome Street. You don’t need to do that here. The bus is over.”

“It’s front stoops,” he mumbles. But he stops counting.

She’s right; it’s over. They’re nearly home.

—–