my... i don't know


By the Edge of the Moor
A Gothic Victorian Werewolf Soulmate AU by @shu-of-the-wind​ and yours truly

The year is 1891, and everywhere Others are shunned from society, hunted, given no rights and no voice. A werewolf with a soulmark escapes legal prosecution in the US by fleeing to England, where, unknowingly, a huntress who bears his name on her wrist awaits.

Playlist and ficlet wholly by courtesy of shu:

“Turn around,” says Cassian, softly. His pupils have blown wide in the dark. “I don’t—if I changed now, I’d ruin my clothes.”

She blinks.

Keep reading

sowachowski  asked:

Have you ever considered making and/or buying a fursuit?

I feel like this isn’t the first time you guys have asked me this, and I’m not sure why, and my answer is always gonna’ be no, BUT,

I’m also working on a werewolf costume for Halloween and…??????  I guess whether or not I’ve answered this in good conscience is up to you.

  • Hizashi: I made a marshmallow Aizawa! See, his arms are crossed because he’s mad at all the other marshmallows for annoying him! Do you like it?
  • Aizawa, choked up: It’s okay


it was a friday night in the middle of october when stanley uris had realized that he was pathetically in love with his best friend, bill denbrough.

he had realized that whenever he felt as if his heart had stopped beating whenever bill would smile at him, it was for a reason.

he had realized that whenever he got that feeling in his stomach whenever bill said his name, it was for a reason.

he had realized that he had felt this way for a reason.

that reason being that he was in love with bill denbrough.


stanley had realized that he had made a mistake showing up at bill’s house past midnight. his knees were bleeding as he had collided with the pavement prior to showing up to his house.

“stanley, it’s midnight. w-what’s wrong?” bill asked “and why are y-your knees b-b-blee

“it doesn’t matter,” stanley spoke softly “i have to tell you something.”

then, with breathless words and bloody knees, stanley uris confessed his love to bill denbrough.


“i’m so s-sorry s-stanley,”

bill attempted to hold back the tears that were forming in his eyes, but he failed.

he didn’t want to have to hurt his best friend, but he knew that’s what he was going to do.

and that killed him.

“why are you sorr

“because, i care about you, stanley. i r-really do. but, i”

bill paused and wiped away the tears that had spilled onto his cheeks.

“i don’t love you, stanley.”


stanley went to bed that night with two bandages on each of his knees and a broken heart.

he cried for hours before he could even feel himself growing tired.

and bill didn’t sleep at all.

anonymous asked:

Prompt fic: what if Mulder's rise from depression pre-revival is due to another woman who helped him? I'm on angst phase and I need it...

Hi anon. I’m not sure this is what you wanted, but the whole thing got away from me. In length and just about everything. Set pre-revival. 

Tagging @fictober and @today-in-fic

With shaky hands Mulder adjusts his sunglasses. The dark shades provide him with a sense of deceptive safety as he steps inside the coffee shop. A small bell over the door announces his entrance but no one seems to notice or care. Straightening his back, Mulder makes his way over to the counter. 

“Hi, how can I help you?“ The barista’s smile is sweet, her voice is sugar. Mulder blinks, realizes she can’t even see his eyes. 

"Tall coffee,” he mumbles, “black, please.” Four words he practiced on his way here. They roll off his tongue uneasily as if they were a strange language he doesn’t speak. 

“Here you go, Sir.” The young barista hands him his coffee and Mulder thanks her with a small nod of his head. The coffee is deliciously hot as he takes a sip, sitting down. It’s quiet here in this small town, but for someone who has been by himself, holed up in an unremarkable house in the middle of nowhere, it sounds like New York City during rush hour.

“The sun doesn’t shine in here, you know.” Mulder turns towards the voice. A woman, hips on her hands, tells him, her voice a challenge. 

“My eyes.” Mulder croaks out, his voice still warming up.

“What’s wrong with them?" She sits down at his table, uninvited, cradling her own coffee. 

"Are you an eye specialist?” When she laughs Mulder is reminded of bells; not like the one over the door. A soft sound, melodic and smooth. 

“No. I’m a school teacher. I always tell my students not to be rude. Wearing sunglasses inside is considered rude.” She takes a sip of her coffee and eyes him over the rim of her cup. Mulder feels the weight of the glasses on his nose. His hands still shaking, he takes them off. The light hits him in the face and he squints, grimaces. A moment later he opens his eyes, sees the woman still sitting there, grinning at him. 

“See? You’ve got nice eyes, Mr. Sunglasses. I’ve never seen you here before. Are you new in town or just visiting?" Years ago, when Scully took him out of the house for the first time in years, she told him to squeeze his hand whenever he felt uncomfortable. ‘I’m with you, Mulder’, she’d told him, ‘always remember that’. The muscles in his hand remember now, make him squeeze his coffee tightly. It’s been years since he’s been out, with Scully or by himself. She always asked him, up until the very end, and he shook his head, not looking at her, telling her to leave him there by himself. Have fun without him. He doesn’t know if she ever did have fun.

"I’m Elise,” the woman, either worse at reading social cues than he is, or simply not caring, goes on, “I moved here a couple of months ago from Chicago. You looked like someone who might understand.”

“Fox.” He says and her eyebrows shoot up. This woman looks nothing like Scully with her tall height, her long blond hair and dark eyes, but Mulder can’t help but think of all the times her eyebrows did the same in their regular 'you can’t be serious, Mulder’ manner. “That’s my name. Fox.”

“Your parents must have an interesting sense of humor, Fox.” She laughs again, the same gentle sound as earlier. Mulder has no idea who she is, this Elise, but for the first time in months he feels like the invisible hands around his throat loosen up. He feels like he can breathe, think. Mulder stares into this woman’s eyes and finds he doesn’t want to flee after all.

“It could have been worse” he says taking a sip from his own coffee, the taste deep and dark, calling him back to life, “they could have named me Kevin.” Elise laughs again, loud and free. Mulder flinches, recovers quickly. Amazed, he watches her, listens to the sounds she makes. For the next five minutes he doesn’t think about Scully, doesn’t think about darkness.

They meet again. And again and again. Mulder goes to bed at night, his heart fluttering just a tiny bit stronger, knowing that the next morning he gets to see Elise. These days he has a strict schedule. There is a time to get up, have breakfast, take his meds, go to the coffee shop. Scully would be proud of him. She is. She left a message on his machine yesterday; they’re always missing each other these days, their schedules no longer in sync. Her words quick, the sound of the hospital echoing behind her, she told him that she’s happy he’s working on getting better. Mulder smiled all through her message, imaging her in her oversized scrubs in between patients, thinking of him. He erased the message, no longer clinging to fleeting moments, went to bed and dreamed about Elise. 

Once their conversations turn darker, turn to lost sisters, forgotten children and love doomed, they move on. Move outside to take walks. Move further away to her home.

“Come inside, Fox. Come on.” Elise, Mulder has noticed, smiles a lot. She is younger than he is, even younger than Scully, but not by much. Yet she is the opposite of the both of them. Smiling with the sun, sometimes even brighter, laughing whenever she can. When Mulder is around her, he feels the cloak of despair lift off him, even if just for a moment, as she sprinkles him with her warmth, wraps him in it. She pours him a tea and the scent of hot peppermint fills her small living room.

“Coffee is not good this time of day, Fox,” she tells him, dropping a cube of sugar in her own cup, “so how about a movie tonight?” He drinks his tea as instructed, nods. 

He keeps a diary because his therapist suggested it. His daily writing becomes as much of a routine as his coffees with Elise. Tonight, though, there are no words. His pen is poised on the paper leaving a big, black dot. There is nothing on his mind except the message Scully left him earlier. He came in whistling, and wouldn’t Scully have found that just adorable?, when his machine blinked at him. A smile on his face already, a leftover from another day with Elise, he pressed the button as he untied his shoes. 'Mulder hi,’ there was a pause, a loud rustling, 'just wanted to tell you that I’ll be gone over the weekend in case you,’ another pause, 'wanted to call. I’ll be in Florida with a… a friend. Take care, Mulder. I’ll call you when I get back… bye.’ Mulder, one shoe still on his foot, listened to the message 62 times. That’s when the band snapped, erasing it for forever.

He doesn’t sleep that night. When the sun comes up in the morning, he is still wearing one shoe. He doesn’t shower but manages to swallow his pill with a glass of milk. His eyes burn as he gets on the bus to meet Elise. Her smile fades as soon as she sees him, but Mulder barely registers. His mind is elsewhere, on its way to Florida, to the past. Anywhere but here.

“You all right?” She asks him.

“I’m fine.” He answers and grimaces. Scully, he thinks. Fine like Scully. “Let’s get coffee. Find us a table.” Easy sentences for when he’s overwhelmed. No complications, no commas or dashes. 

Elise eyes him carefully, and he realizes he doesn’t know her well enough to read her expression. He hands her the coffee and she takes a sip, groans.

“What is this, Fox?”

“Your coffee.” He answers simply, drinking his own. Hot, black and bitter. Perfect. 

“That’s not my coffee. Did they get your order wrong? Here try it. I’m getting a new one.” Mulder watches her approach the counter and sips her coffee. The taste on his tongue is familiar; he ordered Scully’s favorite coffee. Elise comes back, mishap forgotten and smiling, and Mulder thinks he is going to be sick.

He lets Elise take him home with her. She asks if he wants a tea, but he declines. He is restless. He wants to fly to Florida, find Scully, talk to her. Meet her friend. Friend. What does she call Mulder these days, he wonders. Her ex. Ex what? Her friend might ask. Ex-partner, ex-friend, ex-lover. Just an ex. 

“You’re quiet today, Fox.” Elise touches his arm and it feels gentle, comforting. Mulder restrains himself from pushing her away. 

“Nothing to say.”

“Did anything happen? I’m here if you want to talk.”

“You’re not my fucking therapist.” His voice is even, almost indifferent. Elise jumps off the couch as if he’s just hit her. “I’m sorry, Elise.” He says loudly into the empty room. She returns a moment later, her eyes red-rimmed. 

“I’m trying to be your friend, Fox. I don’t want to be your therapist.” She kneels in front of him and takes his face into her hands. Her breath tickles his lips, his nose before her face moves closer and her lips open before she is even there. Friend, it blinks in his mind. 

Mulder closes his eyes as his mind replays Scully’s message. Gone away. With a friend. A friend, a friend, a friend. Elise’s lips land on his, don’t fit right and she moves against him trying to make them fit. Scully, he thinks, squeezing his eyes shut. He can’t do this. He can’t have a friend, a girlfriend, a lover or a meaningless fuck. If he can’t have Scully, he doesn’t want anything else.

'I need you to get better for yourself, Mulder. Not for me. Not out of some misguided sense of guilt. For you.’ Her words, said right before she left him all this time ago, override her answering machine message in his mind.

“Elise, I can’t.” Mulder gently pushes her away. He licks his lips, tastes her, and wishes she were someone else.

“I thought… I thought this, us, was leading somewhere." 

"Elise, listen," 

"Don’t even start, Fox. I get it.”

“No, I don’t think you do. Please listen to me, Elise. I can’t give you this because I am in love with someone else. She is the love of my life. She is everything. She is the reason I forced myself to get out of the house one morning because she told me I had to get better. And you know what, Elise? That’s when I met you. I have been better ever since I’ve met you. I see it now and it’s because of you. You showed me that there is still light in this world filtering through the dark clouds. Last night I spiraled. She called me to tell me she was going on a trip with a friend. I freaked out. I haven’t freaked out in months, Elise. I didn’t have the strength. I didn’t care. I do now. I care.” She sniffs, gives a short laugh, and Mulder chimes in. His own laughter sounds strange, almost hollow in his ears. As they both erupt in even more giggles and laughter, his laugh finds a melody. It doesn’t quite rhyme with hers, but it’s not supposed to, and it works.

“Thank you, Elise. For bringing the light back into my life.” She doesn’t say a word, but touches his lips; a farewell.

Reading a super fluff fanfiction

Can be either super fluff you cringe or super fluff you died.

As a start I got [Bear] little trainers which have his name on the back. Little pairs of all the different trainers that Liam likes. Little Air Max, little Stan Smiths and stuff.”

Does that mean we have Niall to thank for this??

Because if so, thank you Nialler, from the bottom of my heart.

Kotobukiya Rubber Charm || Scarecrow

Guess who finally came in the mail after ordering him a month ago? This adorable little straw boy! He was definitely worth the wait, even though he’s a bit tinier than I expected. Still, I’m happy to add him to my collection!

For those curious, I ordered him from this ebay user. As far as I can tell, they’re the cheapest option and you don’t have to mess with blind bags.

A Softer Rogue #6

…or #7? I’ve started to lose count. Whatever. 

I love K2SO. He’s probably my favorite droid in the whole franchise. The Ultimate Sass Bot.

Of course, Jyn Erso is forever my favorite, only just winning out over Cassian Andor, but that’s okay, he’s probably be fine with that. Who can resist this hardcore sweetheart?

Cassian is actually really hard to make funny in these comics, btw. Too many sad/angry/resigned/horrified pictures, not a lot of happy moments to pull from (and almost no happy pictures that don’t have Jyn in them).

Not that he’s alone in that.

OK, bring it back to funny, me, let’s not get depressed here.

That’s better. (Sort of.)