over and under the snow

s-is-for-stiles  asked:

For the prompt thing, one of my favorite tropes is Sterek forced bed sharing. If you feel inclined. ;) Thanks! Love your stuff. <3

thanks to carrie for the mix up earlier this week, which reminded me about this prompt. it’s…not really about beds, whoops. and i went over the word limit again (1246 words)

Stiles has never seen snow this heavy. In fact, before an hour ago, he’d barely seen snow at all; being so close to the coast, a winter wonderland Beacon Hills is not. If he’d been expecting it - if he was inside and warm, watching the snow fall through a window - he might be enjoying it, but an hour ago - was it only an hour? Maybe it’s been longer; he can’t tell, can’t unbend his fingers to find his phone - it was ninety degrees and sunny, and he’s wearing jeans and a t-shirt, and the snow’s already up to his shins. He’s never been so cold in his life; he’s already lost feeling in his feet and he’s not sure which is worse - not being able to feel his feet, or the wet way his jeans cling to his legs, burning colder and colder with every step.

Derek’s there. They got separated from the rest of the pack when the storm descended, and the only reason he hasn’t lost Derek in the driving snow is because he’s got his fingers curled through the loops of Derek’s belt as they trudge through the woods. He can’t feel his fingers, or his arms in general, and he can barely lift his head against the wind. He can hear Derek breathing heavily over the wail of the wind; it’s a surprise to Stiles how hard it is to walk through the snow, and that’s with Derek in front of him, forging the path. He’s not sure where they’re going, not sure Derek knows either - to find the edge of the storm, or the road, or shelter, whichever comes first. He’s scared they’re lost - that they’re heading away from the road, that this magical storm won’t end. He’s heard you get warm when you die of hypothermia, and that’s the only reason he welcomes the sting of snow against his cheeks, but he’s getting tired, and he’s terrified of what’s going to happen when he’s too exhausted to keep lifting his frozen feet.

Derek stops so abruptly that Stiles, too tired to lift his head, walks into his back. Derek doesn’t even snap at him: not a great sign. Any other time, being so close to Derek might have made him hot all over, and he certainly would have welcomed that heat right now, but all he can think about is the refrain that keeps repeating in his head: I don’t want to die, I don’t want to die.

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Snow Days - Stuart Twombly [Smut]

Author: @mf-despair-queen

Character(s): Stuart Twombly/Reader

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, Fingering, Orgasm Denial, Oral (both receiving)

Word Count: 4216

Notes: This is part 2 to Heat Haze Days. Please go read it if you haven’t already. This turned out to be pure filth. And I am not sorry for it. Ya’ll can honestly thank @sincerelystiles for this. She encouraged me to write part 2 and, between her and @ninja-stiles, encouraged me to go full ham on the sin. They are dolls though and I love them for the support. Please let me know how you guys like it!

Part 1 - Heat Haze Days

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2

Imagine: finding a hellhound!

Crowley X Reader

Content: Fluff


Snow. Snow. Snow. You tilted your head back, hair resting against a thick scarf. A bleak pale sky burned your eyes, as the invisible sun’s rays bounced aimless through the white cloud layer. White flakes, thick and clumped, spiraled to the earth. Fluffy ice stuck to the knit strands of your beanie and your eyelashes. You stuck out your tongue on whimsy. The field was empty leaving no need for social pretense. Your arms spread out as you spun in place with abandon. Stress melted away, leaving nothing but the blanket of snow and the pounding of music pulsating from your earbuds. Your boot stuck, but you didn’t care, letting your body fall into the thick pile of snow. Air pushed from your lungs, the calm winterscape cutting into the heavy guitar riff as a bud dislodged. You laughed breathlessly smiling into the blaunch void. You nodded in beat to the song, gloved hand wiping the snow from the pliable rubber piece. A whiney growl paused your hand next to your ear.

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HeroAka Kareshi: Todoroki Shouto (Snow Day)

Todoroki: Oi

Todoroki: Even though I told you to wait in the classroom….what are you doing? In snow like this without an umbrella, are you playing in the snow…

Todoroki: Saying you don’t need an umbrella in the snow…if it melts it’s water. You’re covered in snow

Todoroki: You, you’re honestly an idiot…don’t get angry

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Young Alpha!Dean x Pack Alpha!Cas (2.6k words)

(Warnings: Dean is dubiously of age, Dean is a drama queen, Cas is a drama queen, suicidal tendencies, angst with a happy/hopeful ending)

He is barely more than a boy; maybe a few seasons into his designation and still graced with that blend of gangly and soft so pervasive to adolescence. He is an Alpha, but only by scent, and even that only barely so. His delicate features, the cold sweat clinging to his skin and those big green eyes, already filled with tears and fear, would certainly not suggest as much.

“What are you doing in my territory?” Castiel growls, dipping into a register as low and threatening as befitting of the pack Alpha, and presses him deeper down into the snow.

His Alpha voice doesn’t miss its mark: even though the boy presses his lips into a tight line and glares up at him defiantly, all of his body starts to shake like a leaf where it is pinned by Castiel and forced down onto the frozen ground. The boy swallows thickly, and for a moment, Castiel expects him to snap and snarl at him, to hurl insults his way and fight back in desperation with all that he got.

What he does instead is close his eyes for just a moment, take a deep breath and whisper, “Kill me.”

Taken aback, Castiel blinks. “What?”

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When Moonbin confesses to you and you two kiss for the first time

Thank you so much for requesting~ I really hope you like this! I’d love to hear what you think about this ^^

i’m so happy i got a moonbin request! i don’t get much requests for him so please do request more for him! i’d love to write more moonbin scenarios! ;-;


Words: 1091

Fluff yoooooooo this scenario warms my heart so much oh my gosh ;u;

Requested by anon ♥

Originally posted by astroiism


You looked around with a smile behind your scarf. You felt warm even though you were walking outside and it was quite cold. You were wearing a thick padded jacket and you had wrapped a big, warm scarf around your neck.

“Aren’t you cold?” Bin asked and stopped next to you. You turned to look at him and shook your head with a smile.

You two were on a walk. It had been Bin’s idea but you were enjoying it more than he was. He was someone you knew but you two weren’t too close. When he had suggested that you two go on a walk, just the two of you, you were a little surprised but agreed nevertheless since you were interested in him. He was close to a friend of yours, Dongmin, and whenever you met, he was quiet and somewhat mysterious. Dongmin said that he was normally just a quiet person but that he was unusually quiet around you.

“Do you like taking walks?” you asked him.

“I don’t mind,” he mumbled, walking next to you.

You didn’t know how to keep the conversation going so you just stayed quiet. If he wants to speak, he’ll say something, right?

The place where you were taking the walk in was a quiet neighborhood. There were a lot of trees around and they were covered in snow. The sun was shining and there were no clouds on the sky. The sunshine wasn’t very warm though since it was winter.

“Do you like snow?” he asked after you kicked a small, soft pile of snow that was on the street.

“I don’t mind,” you said the same thing he had said a little earlier. You could see a small smile on his lips before he turned his head away. Seeing his smile made you feel good and you smiled too.

“Why did you ask me to come on a walk with you?” you asked after a brief silence.

“I don’t know,” he mumbled first. “I just wanted to spend time with you.”

“We could have gone out with the others,” you said and put your hands in your jacket’s pockets.

“I wanted to be alone with you,” he mumbled, making your heart flutter a little.

After that, you two were quiet for a while again. You kept your eyes on the snow, that shimmered thanks to the sun, while Bin’s words rang in your head.

“Look,” he pointed at something, bringing you back from your thoughts. He was pointing at a tree that was completely covered in a quite thick layer of snow. You two walked over to it.

“It’s so pretty,” you sighed in awe while looking at the tree. Bin went to stand on the other side of the branch you were looking at. Your eyes met and you both looked away, a little shy. You both had red cheeks thanks to the cold weather.

“I actually did have something I wanted to say to you,” he said, still looking away.

“What is it?” you asked and turned to look at him and he did the same.

You looked at each other with red cheeks. You were starting to feel like they weren’t red from the cold anymore but rather because of the situation you were in.

“I like you,” he said after hesitating for a bit.

“You do?” you blurted out.

“Yeah,” he said. “I’ve liked you for a while.”

“I always thought you didn’t like me,” you mumbled. “You were always so quiet around me.”

“That’s because I knew I would mess up somehow if I talked to you,” he defended himself. “I’m bad with words.”

You smiled a little and looked down. “That’s a relief.”

“H-how about you?” he stuttered, maybe because of the cold, maybe because he was nervous.

“M-me?” you stuttered too.

“Do you like me?” he managed to ask without stuttering even though he felt like his nerves were going to kill him.

“I d-do,” you said which resulted in him letting out a relieved sigh.

“Thank god,” he said and smiled. “I would have died out of embarrassment if you said no.”

You gave a laugh and so did he. He then tried to come over to you but fell thanks to a root that was hidden under the snow.

“Bin!” you went over to him who was now lying in the snow. “Are you okay?” you asked, a little worried.

“Yeah,” he smiled and before you could react, he had already grabbed your hand and pulled you down too. Now you were both lying in the snow, laughing. The snow felt soft under you and you looked up at the trees that looked like someone had coated their branches with cotton and sprinkled a little bit of glitter on top. Seriously, that’s what it looked like.

“Hey, _____,” Bin called your name.

“Hmm?” you hummed and turned your head a little, only to find him centimeters away from your face. You closed your eyes and he kissed you. The kiss didn’t last very long but it made your heart flutter so much that you thought it was going to burst.

“That was more romantic in my mind,” he said, a little amused and embarrassed, after pulling away and lying back down.

“What do you mean?” you asked and turned to look at him.

“My lips are cold,” he chuckled. “Sorry, that was just awkward.”

“I didn’t mind,” you said.

He turned his head to look at you. “Are you sure you aren’t saying that just to make me feel better?” You nodded and he smiled. “Then I’m happy.”

“By the way,” you started.

“Hmm?” he hummed.

“Aren’t you starting to feel cold?”

“Yes I am, actually,” he sat up immediately. “Let’s go. It’s really cold.”

You two got up from the snow and went to the nearest café you could find and ordered two cups of hot chocolate with whipped cream on top. You drank a little of yours and looked at him. He chuckled.

“What?” you asked. “Do I have whipped cream on my lip?”

He nodded. “Do you want me to wipe it off?”

“No, I can do it myself,” you said and reached for a napkin but he stood up and leaned forward. He kissed you on the lips and sat back down after pulling away.

“That was the most cliché thing ever,” you said, blushing.

“Yeah, I know,” he said, blushing too but he had a wide smile on his face. “I still wanted to do it.”

Chasing Ghosts

Request: I rly love your blog a lot!! I was wondering if I could request a newtxreader song fic with the song “Hide and Seek” by Imogen Heap? Where the reader tries to warn Newt about Leta, but he gets mad and they have an argument? Then he loses contact with the reader for several years and tries to find her, but each time he gets close to finding her, she gets farther away? Really angsty please??? Thank you so much!!!❤️❤️❤️"

Word Count: 4,359

Pairing: Newt x Reader (Platonic)

Tag List: @dont-give-a-bother @red-roses-and-stories @caseoffics @myrtus-amongst-the-stars @ly–canthrope @studyforthreehands @whatinbenaddiction @thosefantasticbeast2 @benniesgalaxy


A tinge of despair so intense it seems tangible still clouds Newt’s mind as he digs into the box of mementos, deeper and deeper until his dirt-caked nails crack against the bottom of the wooden crate. Nothing of significance. Nothing of importance. Nothing of use to him unless he wants to remember.

Cursing, he shoves himself to his feet. This room, this hall, this house is all useless junk now. He may as well burn it down; it’s not as if you’ll be returning at any point, not now that you know he’s discovered it. With a growl, he kicks the box, sends it tumbling onto its side. Its guts spill out, rolling across the ground, creating a mess that will remain until the landlord comes knocking for the next month’s rent. Already, it’s too late. You’ve vanished, and the short and chubby landlord with the beady eyes and missing smile won’t be able to track you down.

My fault, my fault, my fault.

No, finding you is Newt’s job, and he’s determined to do it.

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anonymous asked:

You describe love and pain like someone who felt both in the deepest way. Have you? (Your tweets made me sad today. Hope u're ok <333)

When I was 18, I fell in love with a boy with the brightest smile and the shiniest eyes. He shined so bright. It was stupid but he did. Everywhere he went, he radiated confidence and warmth. And everybody loved him. Everybody was enamored with him. But i refused to be everybody. I refused to fall for his stupid shit. So i rolled my eyes and sighed and groaned whenever he walked into the room. I barely remembered his name. I wasn’t interested. He was full of shit. I knew it.
He was so tall, too. And he was dumb. He was so dumb. God. We were in a class during my freshman year in college together, and all his contributions exasperated me. Nothing he said was intellectually stimulating. There was void in his head. He irritated me. Still, our professor never gave him shit. He got special treatment because he was gorgeous.
God, I hated him.
Except I didn’t. And he knew it. He pushed my buttons and pulled a chair next to mine because I didn’t gush over him. He was curious why I looked so sad all the time, he told me. And it took me off guard. I wasn’t sad. I smiled all the damn time. I smiled just like him!
“My point, exactly,” he said.
He smiled after that and I fell right then and there.
Every time i called him by the wrong name, he corrected me politely and smiled and touched my hair, barely reacting when i glared at him and slapped his hands away. What a dick. He was so nice and it pissed me off. I knew it was all an act and I glared and rolled my eyes. But he knew i couldn’t breathe sometimes when he looked at me for too long. He knew i liked the attention and the smiling and the patience and the chasing. He knew it. I hated him.
I loved him like the sea loved the shore. And his glances were tender and his hands were warm. He touched me like I mattered and he called me his friend until i gave in and let him kiss me under the snow because he was a romantic and because i was, too, but never dared to admit it. He kissed me like they did in the movies and I saw stars and people called me crazy. It wasn’t even our first kiss, him having kissed me a few times before, in front of everyone too, on a whim because “he couldn’t control it” and because i “looked too cute” not to. (I had pulled two all nighters. I didn’t look cute. I was a mess). Still. That kiss under the snow I never got over.
I loved him like the sea loves the shore and he drove me mad and i loved him like crazy. I loved him and i loved him and i loved him. But i never told him. I was too proud. Too stubborn.
He waited for me but i never came around. I was condescending and insisted on keeping it between us. It hurt him because he thought i didn’t think he was enough for me. But the truth was that i didn’t think I was enough for him, that I didn’t love myself enough to give us a chance. He was so radiant and so beautiful and everybody loved him. And i was… well i was me. All I had going on for me was my 4.0 gpa and my faux confidence. And deep down, i truly believed i wasn’t a match for him and his looks. Many agreed as well. I had overheard a few hurtful conversations.
He introduced me as an acquaintance once and it hurt me. I knew he wanted to hurt me because i hurt him, and i hated him that day. I cried when i was alone and i hated myself for crying over a boy. Then we drifted apart because i was proud and stubborn and held grudges. He tried for days, then weeks, but i was cold and unforgiving. I was a dick. I called him dumb. I said i couldn’t be with someone who couldn’t hold an intelligent conversation. It hurt him. I knew it. The light went off in his eyes. I hurt him bad. I was a dick but i still thrived knowing i could affect him so much.
We didn’t talk for months, then i got him a gift for his birthday and he told me that he loved me and i kissed him on the mouth with both arms around his neck until he pressed me against the wall outside my building. we laughed until it was time to part but i never wanted to let go. He came to my concerts and i sang for him but we never kissed again after that night. We were friends. It was nice.
A friend of his died in a tragic car accident and he came to my building and i held him and i was there for him. He told me he loved me again and I didn’t say it back. He was too emotional. He couldn’t possibly mean it.
He waited weeks but i never reciprocated, so we drifted apart again.
I loved him but I never told him. And when he moved on and got an actual tall gorgeous/equally popular girlfriend, it killed me. I dedicated my stupid creative writing essay to him and he told me he loved it and that it made him cry. I hated him for admitting that he cried and that he felt things. I was so jealous.
He was happy. He loved her. It crushed me. I listened to Radiohead until my heart withered inside my chest. “I don’t wanna be your friend. I just wanna be your lover.”
I was heartbroken and I hated myself. It was my birthday and one of my closest friends flew from london to cheer me up. He knew i was fucked up over some dude but never told anyone and internalized all of it cause i was too proud and too strong.
We went to a bar with some people and the new girlfriend joined our table. She was so nice it infuriated me. She was perfect. She looked at me like i was wounded. That’s how i knew that she knew. I was so sad, so crushed. I liked her. I couldn’t even resent her.
I drank like i never drank before that night, and my friend from london paid for all of it and kept his arm around my shoulder the entire night. I told him when he dragged me outside. I told him my heart hurt and that I was crushed and he told me that i was prettier than the new girl. It was stupid and it wasn’t what i was worried about but it still made me smile. We went back inside, me in my kanye west sweater that he got me for my birthday and him in his black hoodie. Then he got me three other rounds of drinks.
I don’t remember much after that. we went to some club and i danced and i sang and i drank. I drank so much i couldn’t even stand. I didn’t know what i was doing. I couldn’t even go back to campus. But i wasn’t worried because my friend from london was going to take care of me and my broken heart and my drunk self. We had known each other for years. He was the only one i trusted enough to be vulnerable with, to admit that I loved a boy and that I pushed him away because I was scared. He dragged me to the studio apartment he had rented for the weekend and let me have the bed.
I curled around myself and hoped our other friend, who was on a couch somewhere in the studio, wouldn’t hold it against me. I had never gotten this drunk before.
I fell asleep and when i woke up, my zipper was being undone and there were hands under my shirt. And when i tried to speak i was shushed, and when i tried to move, my wrists were pinned above my head.
I was too drunk to do a damn thing but i was also embarrassed because my other friend was right there in the dark room while my friend from london straddled me in bed. When he kissed me, it was bitter and i didn’t see stars. Something within me broke. and when he slipped a hand in my pants, my soul shattered and i was never the same again.

I cried the entire way back to campus. It was 4 in the morning and i didnt remember leaving the rented studio apartment but i remembered crying until the sun rose. I remembered sleeping and crying in bed for the rest of the weekend. I remembered all of that.
I couldn’t tell anyone and it took me nearly a year to put the events of that night into words. Whatever.
My shiny boy reached out to me because he noticed the light “went off” in my eyes, and a part of me wanted to tell him and run to him and just be weak and ask for his help. But I couldn’t. He was still with her. They were happy.
They broke up not too long after that and we were friends again and i was still in love. But when he tried to touch me, i realized i hated myself and my body and him and the world.
I pushed him away. I never asked for his help. He gave me one last shot and told me that he loved me again. But i was far too broken to give in. Every bone in my body begging me to accept his comfort, telling me that he could “fix me”. But I didn’t want him to fix me. I wanted to fix myself.
I spent four years with this boy in my heart and self-loathing in my veins. Four years. And when we sat on a bench together during my graduation weekend (because i graduated before him), i held his hand and told him that i loved him. For the first time. Finally. I wanted to cry. He knew it, so he hugged me. When he walked me to my building i smiled at him until he leaned in and kissed me. Our final kiss.
I never got over him and i never told him that my friend from london assaulted me. Barely told anyone. My friend from london actually called me a drama queen when I finally confronted him about it. I hope he dies the most painful death. Sorry not sorry.

I’m probably still in love with the idea that in another universe, i loved myself enough to tell my shiny boy that i loved him. I don’t know. I lost my great love because i refused to live it, because i was convinced it was going to end terribly and that I didn’t deserve it. It never even started. Funny.

So yes, anon. I felt both. Love and pain. Deeply as you said. I’m inebriated right now which is why i vomited my feelings in this post. I’m sorry. I’m alright now. I’m gonna be alright tomorrow. I’m fine. I’m okay. I’m always okay. Alt er love.

The pool under the weirwood is frozen over and covered with snow, opaque, but Jon is staring at it like he can see something underneath the surface.

Sansa treads to him through the snow, the bottom of her coat getting damp as it melts into the fabric.

“I never come here,” he says without turning to see who is approaching. “I’m not sure how Father found the time or…”

“The faith?” Sansa offers.

She sits beside him on the rock. Snowflakes are peppered in his hair and in the furs of the coat she made for him. 

Longclaw’s blade is piercing the ground between Jon’s feet. He grips the white bear pommel with gloved hands. In one of them he grips a red-stained cloth.

“I’ve sworn faith to the old gods, yet I never come here,” he says. 

"The gods are angry whether you come here or not.”

He looks at her then. “You don’t think it makes a difference?”

She shakes her head. “No.”

“Why come here so often, then?”

“Because I get to be alone,” she admits. It is still strange to her, the feeling of letting words slip out without needing to give them much thought. Something tells her Jon would forgive her anything. If she were his wife, he wouldn’t blame or dishonor her if she couldn’t give him sons, or if she was barren. She isn’t sure where the thought comes from, but she knows it to be true- that was the honor he had.

Jon is now the second to hear her confession about the godswood, along with her Lannister husband, she thinks. Where is Tyrion now? Dead or alive? Drunk or sober?

“Forgive me if I have interrupted your peace,” Jon says. “I’ll not disturb you again.” He shifts as if making ready to leave. 

“I’m not here to be alone today,” Sansa says. He relaxes once he sees she is not being polite, but sincere, and she is grateful.

"When I was in King’s Landing, people of the court would ask me all sorts of silly and dangerous things,” Sansa says. “I learned quickly that the godswood was the only place where even a traitor’s daughter would be allowed to stay silent. I came to the godswood to think of home. Of Arya, Rickon, Bran. You, at the Wall." She smiles a bit at that, and Jon notices. 

"Aye, and what did you think of me?”

Her cheeks go warm. “I hoped you were well, is all. I hoped I would see you again.” She has shown something in her face that she should not have. Worse yet, the words continue tumbling out of her. "I imagined you were very…valiant. Taking down any man who crossed you. The men all loved and followed you, and the cold wasn’t as bad as they said.”

“Not quite how it went,” Jon chuckles, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “I was certain you’d be wed to a handsome, noble prince next time I saw you,” he admits.

“Not quite how it went,” Sansa echoes. She thinks she is fine for a moment. Why shouldn’t they make it a jest? Yet something dark settles in her chest against her will. Whatever lovely thing she thought she was feeling was gone, overshadowed by a memory of a prince and a barely-king that was neither handsome nor noble.

Jon’s smile falters when he hears the way her voice has dropped to nearly a whisper. That was their happiness- like a needle nearly-threaded, like stumbling to put a key in its lock in the dark.

Sansa nods at the sword. "A deserter? From the Wall?”

Jon nods. “They found him camping at the Long Lake. He nearly died there instead, from the cold.”

“Did you know him?”

Jon gives a curt nod. The memory of the Wall must make him feel a cold thing that has nothing to do with remembering its harsher weather, Sansa thinks. 

He looks like the ghost of their lord father in front of the weirwood tree with his furs.

“He never liked the beheadings either,” Sansa says. “He’d always come back looking so solemn.”

Jon’s eyes lose their faraway look and shift in her direction. He seems to think for a moment. “Aye,” he agrees. “But he knew it had to be done.”

A soft wind passes through the godswood like a whisper, making the red leaves of the weirwoods flutter. Maybe that’s why he always came here, Sansa thinks. For the quiet. Her eyes fill with tears but she doesn’t let them spill. If her father’s ghost was watching, she would only show him the Northern daughter he raised; a she-wolf made for the cold; a beauty snarling in the snow.

Nix

This is my 1013 challenge story for @txf-prompt-box. It is 1013 words long. It’s supposed to be a horror story, but I’m not sure if that’s a fitting description. I’m pretty much done for fiction this weekend so I hope you enjoy it. See you on the other side.

Tagging @today-in-fic and @fictober


The word shatters in the frigid air. Her gun feels like ice in her hand. Her fingertips are purple. The lake is a frosted blue stain in the white-green field. The man holds the child by her ponytail and her cheeks are daubed with red-raw fear. Scully notices the colour. Blood blooms under her skin in an otherwise monotone scape.

                “Freeze,” she repeats and something in her wants to giggle at the absurdity. She presses her lips together and steadies her aim. “FBI. Let her go, Mr Carbone. Don’t let this end badly.”

The snow started as soon as they got to the house. It had been ten degrees and bright skied at the airport but turning into the driveway of the Carbone family home, fat chunks of snow had settled on the windshield and flakes collected into a thick white line before being spread across the glass on the wiper blades.

                “It’s October, Scully.”

                She sighed as they pulled up. “And it’s snowed in Hawaii in June before, Mulder.”
               

Mela Carbone was a thin, cold woman. Fitting really, as the temperature inside the house was near freezing. Scully pulled her jacket round her but her skin was already wrinkling and she felt a drop of moisture form at the end of her nose.

                “We’ve had reports of strange phenomena here. Deaths.”

                “You’ll have to wait for my husband to get back,” she said. “Charlotte, take that thing out of here.”

                A white rabbit nestled in the crook of a small girl’s arm, its red eyes half-closed. Charlotte, pale like her mother, stared at them.

                “Charlotte? That’s a nice name,” Scully said, kneeling. “What’s your rabbit called?”

                “She calls him Nix.”

                “The Latin word for snow,” Mulder said.

                “I don’t know where she gets this stuff from. She never talks to anyone or goes anywhere but she knows things. Strange things.” Mela Carbone shivered and pulled a pair of mugs from a tree. “I make good coffee. Want one?”

                Scully nodded her head and watched Charlotte walk up the stairs to the house. A layer of silvery dust lay on the banister rail. The child stopped mid-way and turned to smile. Scully felt gooseflesh prickle her skin.

                “Who’s this in the photo with Charlotte?” Mulder was holding a silver-framed photo. A mahogany line left in its wake on the dusty sideboard.

                The kettle squealed. Mela Carbone snatched it from him and slammed it back in its place. “You should wait until Anthony comes back.”

The sofa was worn and cool. Scully sipped her coffee to keep warm. Her nose ran and she fished a tissue out of her bag. Mulder wouldn’t sit, pacing the room. Mela Carbone busied herself in the kitchen.

He motioned for her to come over. “This isn’t dust,” he said. The tip of his finger held the lightest crackling of ice. “It’s frost.”

She looked around. “This whole place is frozen from the inside.”

Scully frowned. The report had been bizarre. Several suspicious deaths in the town, including a child at the school, where Anthony Carbone was principal. All died of hypothermia.

“We need to speak to the child,” Mulder said, looking across at Mela Carbone. “I’ll distract her, you go to upstairs.”

She could hear Mulder’s voice rise and fall as she knocked lightly at Charlotte’s door. The wood was cool and the paint splintered off. She could see her breath in front of her as she entered. Charlotte was sitting on the floor, holding the rabbit.

              “Hi. Can I talk to you?” Charlotte shrugged. Scully heard a car crunching over the gravel driveway. “That might be your Daddy.”

              The girl stood, hoisting Nix over her shoulder. Her face paled even more, her blue eyes widening.

              “What is it? What’s the matter, Charlotte?”

              As the girl ran past, Scully heard the name ‘Eric’ and felt the blast of frozen air chill her to the bone.

              Mela Carbone dropped the packet of flour she was holding and it thudded to the floor scattering it over the boards. “Charlotte! Come back!”

Mulder was quicker than her over the frozen ground outside. The grass crunched under her feet and the snow pelted her skin, pricking her face. Charlotte was fast, ducking around the familiar furniture in the yard. She headed to the fields beyond, fading into the whiteness.

              Carbone fired. The bullet caught Mulder in the upper right arm and he dropped, crimson spilling onto the white. Scully knelt.

He gritted his teeth, yanking off his tie. She bound it round his arm. “Go.”

She looked to see Carbone grab Charlotte.


She presses her lips together and steadies her aim. “FBI. Let her go, Mr Carbone. Don’t let this end badly.”

              “Eric is here,” he says.

              “Who’s Eric?”

              Charlotte cries. Nix is still in her arms.

              “He’s evil.” Carbone says. He’s edging back towards the lake. “He wouldn’t stay dead.”

              “What do you mean?”

              “He drowned under the ice. But he came back. He keeps coming back.”

              Scully frowns, regripping the gun. “Where is he?”

              Carbone nods behind him. “Everything he touches freezes.”

              The snow thickens but Scully sees the shadow through it.

              “No, Eric!” Charlotte screams and lets go of the rabbit. Its stiff body drops to the ground, lifeless.

              Wriggling in her father’s arms, Charlotte dislodges herself. Carbone loses his balance, tumbling back, his gun firing into the air. He falls into the lake, disappearing under the ice, resurfacing only to be taken under again by an arm.

Mulder staggers to Scully’s side, clutching his shoulder. Charlotte wails over the dead rabbit. Mela arrives. “Where’s Anthony?”

Scully shakes her head.

Scully closes the door to Charlotte’s room and looks through the window. She’s clutching the plush rabbit the ER nurse found for her, her mother by her side.

              “She’s fine, Mulder.”

              He pockets his phone. “They pulled two bodies from the lake.”

              “Anthony and Eric Carbone?”

              “Eric’s body is perfectly preserved, according to Police Chief. Yet he drowned two years ago.”

              “About when the deaths started.”

              She nods. “And when Charlotte told her mother about her father’s abuse.”

Under the Ice

January 2nd

The kid did well today. Didn’t make any big mistakes or get in anybody’s way and he kept his mouth shut and listened to what he was told. I think we’ll keep him around, he’s much better than the others that have been sent our way. You know the ones who think they’re better at your job than you even though they just started and you’ve been doing it for over twenty years? Yeah, those disrespectful little shits.

As long as this kid does his job and doesn’t cause any trouble though, we’ll be golden.

—–

January 3rd

More of the same today as every other day. Not sure why I write in this damn thing, I’ve never been a man of many words and certainly no author. I guess I do this to pass the time when there’s nothing else to do even if it is five minutes. I’m just not sure what to write here.

I’m old (I’ve been informed forty-five is old now) and tired and just can’t wait to go home. It’s too damn cold here. Fuck Greenland and its endless goddamn snow.

At least we won’t be here much longer. Just till the end of the month and then we go home.

I used to complain about California being too warm all year round with no snow but now I don’t think I’ll ever say another bad thing about the warmth again.

Can’t wait to be done here.

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anonymous asked:

Okay, you want angst, I'll give you angst, for both your happiness and mine! ;) How about a scenario where the boys are not paying attention and don't see a car coming when they cross the road and their s/o pushes them out of the way, only to get hit instead and a sad ending where the s/o gives up her life for her love? You wanted angst and I delivered! ;) For Noya, Lev, Oikawa, and Bokuto, please? 😈 Thanks! ❥

This is super long because I love angst scenarios like these ;u;

I tried my best to not make it too repetative, but they kinda are.

Nishinoya

“Haha, wait for me Noya!” You laughed as you ran after him who was laughing along with you. “Maybe if you can catch me!” He exclaimed as he continued to run around town with you. 

You loved this, running around town fooling and joking around with Nishinoya. You loved the rush that went through your body as you ran with no care in the world like you were flying away leaving all your problems behind.

The breeze felt nice in your hair as you watched Nishinoya’s back, trying to catch up to him. He’s always had so much energy and you loved that about him. 

There was a stop light ahead and Nishinoya waited briefly until it had turned green again and signaled for pedestrians to cross, you still trying to catch up to him.

Your breathing was heavy as each foot landed on the sidewalk, one after the other. Nishinoya was still far ahead of you and he ran so carefree and happy, you wanted to catch up.

But something was off.

All you could hear was your breathing as you watched the truck speed down the road, not stopping for the red light it had. Any minute it would head straight for Nishinoya and there would be nothing you could do about it.

“Noya! Stop running!” You screamed as you forced your body to run passed its limits. Nishinoya didn’t understand though, he continued to run forward, “What are you saying?” 

Your heart stopped beating and your breath was caught in your throat as you ran your fastest and finally caught up, throwing your arms in front of you to push the male out of the way,

“Yuu! Look out!”

It seemed as if time had stood still as he felt his body hit the ground. All he could hear was ringing around him and everything looked blurry as he sat up and looked around for you, “(Name)?” 

“Sir are you okay?!” People came running by to the scene to help, some running over towards Nishinoya to help him onto his feet. “I’m fine, just a little scratched.” 

He looked around for you, but couldn’t seem to find you. What had just happened?

Something seemed to have sparked in his mind as his eyes widened in shock. He remembered you pushing him out of the way before the truck slammed into you, throwing you a few feet before you continued to tumble and roll onto the street.

Gasping, he ran over towards the truck and found you surrounded by multiple people trying to keep you alive. Blood pooled around you and the street as you tried your best to stay awake.

“She’s my girlfriend!” Nishinoya cried as he pushed his ay through the crowd reaching over to hold you, “(Name)! (Name)!” He cried as you slowly opened up your eyes to look at him.

“You’re okay.” You say happily as you brought your hand up to caress his cheek, “I’m so..glad..you’re okay.” It took you multiple breaths to be able to spill your words out to him. 

You retracted your arm back as you closed your eyes to take in another breath, but it was extremely difficult to do so. Nishinoya grabbed your hand in his and squeezed it.

You felt rain drops on your face before they rolled off your cheeks. Opening your eyes again, you saw Nishinoya crying over you as he held you. “I’m so sorry,” He sobbed, squeezing your hand so more, “It’s all my fault.” 

You smiled gently at him, “I just…want you safe..Don’t forget that..I love you, Yuu.” Your eyes gently closed as your head fell back into his arms, Nishinoya shook his head before leaning down to hug your body.

“I love you too.”

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Is nobody going to say it?

Nobody sees any resemblance? 

No resemblance at all. No similarities in camera angle, or body position, or dialogue?

You know if Sasuke still had his hand he would be caressing Naruto’s face.

Even the trail of blood from Sasuke’s mouth matches up!

The ending of the last fight mirrors the series’ first major death scene in tone, appearance, dialogue, everything. That cannot be a coincidence. Whether you want to see it as a platonic soul-mate thing or a homosexual thing, the callback is definitely there.

That said, Haku is explicitly queer. Possibly transgender, possibly crossdressing/homosexual, but definitely LGBT. He and Zabuza are heavily implied to have some romantic feelings for each other, if not a full relationship. Setting Sasuke and Naruto up as foils for the series’ first queer couple definitely implies some SNS subtext.

It also symbolizes Sasuke following Naruto into a new world, kind of like Zabuza follows Haku into death. Zabuza admits he’s more “tainted” than Haku and so is probably going to a different kind of deathly plane. Similarly, Sasuke feels as though he is filled with darkness but is following Naruto’s path anyway. 

If you like the ending, this scene shows Naruto saving Sasuke from death and hell. If you dislike the ending, then this is the beginning of Sasuke going into purgatory (i.e. Kaguya’s dimensions), paying for his sin of inconveniencing the pure protagonist. 

Or they die just like Haku and Zabuza, laying together as the world freezes over under a layer of snow/the Infinite Tsukuyomi. And everything that happens after this is the collective fever dream of humanity.

Wrapping | Jonathan Byers

Title: Wrapping
Author: Clara
Character: Jonathan Byers
Warnings: None
Prompt: @anon: “Heyyy 😜 Could you maybe do #2 from Christmas prompts with the wonderful Jonathan Byers please?” (2. Character A can’t wrap gifts to save their life. Character B is their neighbor and can help.)

Originally posted by winter-barnes

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thegaypumpingthroughyourveins  asked:

God, okay, but how about a vampire!Newt. Vampire!Newt who is so busy running around New York trying to catch the creatures who ran away and being dragged by Tina at the MACUSA and then everywhere and since he got to America he hasn't had a single chance to f e e d - and there comes the interrogation scene. Graves - the real Graves, mind you, fuck Grindelwald- and Newt are alone, and Newt tries to respond to Graves' questions but he hasn't fed in so long and there's this attractive man right -

right /there/ in front of him, and Newt can’t hold back -he just lunges.

Newt as a vampire. Newt as a vampire. That is indeed a very interesting thought.

It would happen… Where would it happen? Newt wasn’t born this way, he was turned for sure, but where? In St Petersburg, in the shadow of the Church of the Spilled Blood? The river runs close to the church, and the last time Newt saw that river through human eyes was in March when it was iced over and hidden under a dusting of snow. By the time he emerges, dazed, blinking, aching through every inch of his body, the ice has melted and the river runs freely. It’s been - what, five days? Five days. Summer comes quickly to Russia, but Newt’s last memories as a human were of the final threads of winter’s grip.

Or perhaps in China? The crowded streets of Macau, the busy press of people and sellers and shoppers - through the back of a medicine shop, down a narrow alley lined with dragons carved into the walls, out into a market where pixiu pups lean their paws against wire cages and howl at passers by, chained xiezhi are sold as guards for the wealthiest of patrons, bifangs perch on metal stakes and peck listlessly at the flames below.

It’s easy for a foreigner to disappear from the streets here, and easier when he won’t stop asking questions and working his way into places where he doesn’t belong. He remembers the fear of being surrounded, the patronising head shake when he takes out his wand, the grave-cold hand that clamped around his neck -

Ghana, maybe? The sun is strong in Ghana, too strong surely for a vampire to survive, but the forests are thick and deep and, yes, home to a type of vampire. They call it the asasabonsam, a creature with hooked iron claws in place of its feet. It hangs from the trees and falls on unsuspecting prey passing beneath; Newt was searching for anansi spiders and he dodged the first claw but the second sank into the meat of his shoulder and the curved iron hooked around his collar bone. His wand tumbled from blood-slicked fingers and the lumos at the tip stuttered and died.

Well. Maybe not Ghana; the vampire Newt becomes doesn’t have iron claws in place of his feet. I’m not entirely sure if asasabonsams even turn their victims, truth be told. But it doesn’t really matter, does it? Newt’s a vampire now, fine. He needs a fix of blood every now and then - he’s not going to squeamish about it. He has places to go, creatures to meet, and if some of them shy away from him, that’s part of life. There are others that crowd close, winding around his legs and sheltering under the curve of the bat-like wings he sometimes sports.

It’s a very different menagerie that Newt brings with him to New York, hidden away in his impossible suitcase. Not completely different - Frank’s still there. Thunderbirds are powerful things, he won’t be deterred by the cold taint of darkness that flows from Newt’s shadow. And Pickett, Pickett stays; bowtruckles are well versed in carnivorous trees so he’ll hardly be fazed by a bit of blood. Besides, every plant understands the value of good fertilizer. But Susie the little feathered occamy hatching from her silver egg; she’ll be gone. Dougal, too, with a world of possibilities swirling in his eyes.

In their place, lethifolds ripple over the workshop floor, flowing up to drape themselves over Newt’s shoulders like a living cloak. Serpentine aspids coil at his feet, beaks dripping with lethal poison; huge dog-like pesanta wag their tails and rest their hole-ridden steel paws on his shoulders. Newt doesn’t sleep, so the Nachtalbs can’t feed off his nightmares - but they trail behind him anyway and huddle in his shadow for the cold and darkness it brings.

A different menagerie, perhaps, and when they creep and sneak and slide through the gaps and crevasses of New York they leave more behind them than plundered jewellery shops and escaped zoo animals.

But this is the same: Newt is taken for questioning. Tina doesn’t stand behind him, and Jacob isn’t left in the cell to await obliviation; this Newt ran the nights and not the days, and he never gained a group of hangers-on who would become his friends. There are no executors waiting by the door and Grindelwald doesn’t sit opposite him, wearing Graves’ face and twisting it with his hatred; it’s Graves, in this universe, and his face is bored and blankly dismissive.

It’s the dismissal, Newt thinks, that does it. He’s been brought here, abandoned in an auror holding cell for who knows how many hours while his creatures wreak havoc across the city, and he’s had the manners not to flit away through cracks in the stone and the gaps between the bars. The patience to wait, to not tear this shiny building down stone by polished stone - the man, Percival Graves (and in Newt’s mind he sneers the syllables with dismissal), he has Newt’s case. He has Newt’s creatures. So fine, Newt will play nice, keep his wings pressed tight against the bones of his spine and keep his teeth sheathed in his gums. He can pretend to be human and pretend to be weak if it will get them back. But to be dismissed? Few would dare, not to him.

“Are you aware how many laws you’ve broken by smuggling that case in?” Graves asks, flipping idly through a stack of papers.

Newt pauses in the doorway, tilting his head as though in thought. “It doesn’t bother me,” he finally says, and resumes his languid walk across the room. The metal door swings shut behind him with the inaudible click of spells locking into place. Newt ignores it; the door won’t hold him, and this close he can smell the tense wary what is he not human keep up your guard radiating off Graves. Not that the auror shows it; his hands are rock steady, the pulse beating in his throat slow and even.

He is, objectively, attractive. Magic coils beneath his skin and the taste of it is electric on the air, and that is attractive too. It’s been too long since Newt last fed, and longer still since he’s enjoyed it.

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100 Ways to Say: Ch. 11

Prev / Master / Next

Chapter 11: “You can have half.”

Twenty-Three

Izuku tightens his scarf around his neck, pulling his knit cap lower over his ears. The snow is falling gently, bright little specks illuminated under the streetlights and dusting his shoulders and his head. It crunches under his boots as he shuffles his foot along the pavement where he’s waiting on the corner. A cool breeze kicks up a few flakes, raking along his exposed skin, and Izuku grudgingly regrets insisting on meeting Katsuki here. He could have been in a warm karaoke box instead, with the rest of their friends.

Across the street from him, a crepe stand is bustling as shoppers line-up along the sidewalk. Izuku pouts as he eyes them walking away with their warm treats.

“Oi, Deku.” Izuku looks up as Katsuki approaches, and he has to suppress his laughter. Katsuki is wrapped up in a large parka and a thick scarf that covers most of his face, a wool hat pulled low over his head and his blonde hair barely peeking out around the edges. His hands are shoved deeply into his pockets, and he glowers at Izuku from underneath it all.

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Michigan Gothic
  • The lake is still. You hear a voice crying “where are you? where are you?” You think you must be lucky, to hear the loons out at this time of year. Where are you? Your hand clutches the oar more tightly as you row back to shore. The splashing behind you is only a fish jumping. Where are you?

  • “You have to try the fudge!” she says. “Have you tried the fudge?” he asks. Every corner, a sample. Every  tour guide, a query. You do not like fudge. “Best Fudge on The Island,” a sign affirms. You enter, a bell tolls above the door. They are making it, there, out in the open, on a marble slab. “I need to try the fudge,” you find yourself saying. It melts in your mouth and you find it hard to swallow. When you return to your brother on the street, you say, “You need to try the fudge.” You do not like fudge.

  • A shot rings out in the night sky.  You can see a row of eyes reflected out in your back wood. They regard you solemnly as you watch them, slider door hitched open. Your palm sweats and you wipe it carefully on your jeans. The dog next to you whines slowly. Another gunshot in the sky. The eyes disappear and as you close and lock the door you try to convince yourself that the eyes did not look as human as you thought. It is November 15.

  • You are going out to The Lake. Nobody has to ask which one. When you get there, part of the beach is closed off.  A shipwreck has come up on the shore. It is huge. You try to move to get a closer look but are stopped by a guard. You don’t understand the logo on his chest. “Beach closed, ma'am,” he says. You ask for how long. He glances back towards the wreck and you notice its ancient hull is encrusted with bright and dying saltwater corals. He says only, “Beach closed.”

  • You’ve made two holes in the ice. The wind whispers over the frozen lake but you are warm with your lantern inside your homemade shanty. Elsewhere you hear a crack, but you know the ice is two foot deep. You have bored through it yourself. It will not break. Suddenly, a flag pops on one of your holes. You pull. You cannot see the fish in the dark lake but it is too big to pull through the hole. It tangles and thrashes as you struggle to cut it lose before losing too much line. There is another crack under your foot. Later, when the wind blows snow dust over the lake, there are three holes in the ice under an empty shanty.

  • The snow is thick. Each night it buries what has come before. You see a child’s foot prints next to a snowman, and you smile. You see dog prints circling a small hole ringed with yellow, and kick a bit of snow to hide it early. There are deer tracks near the neighbor’s bundled bushes and tiny bird tracks at the feeder. When you come to the demon’s clawed tracks, you know to turn around. The snow will bury them over again at night.
Lost in Thoughts All Alone

Summary: Natsu realises that his greatest fear may not bare the face of his enemies.

ff.net/AO3

A/N: This is my Christmas drabble exchange with @nalu-natic 

It was supposed to be a Christmas theme, but then inspiration came to write this angst/fluff. I hope you like it anyway! :D I’ve written another drabble which is all fluff and Christmas. It will be called Cherry Liqueur ;)

Songspirations:

Lost in Thoughts All Alone – AmaLee

Never Forget – Martin O’Donnel, Michael Salvatori

-x-

You are an ocean of waves, weaving a dream,

Like thoughts become a river stream

Yet may the tide ever change, flowing like time

To the path, yours to claim

Thou seek the dark with an unsheathed blade  

Now a white, ivory throne beckons,

So obtain the fate you sow

On this path, be weary, friend an’ foe

-x-

Freezing temperatures chilled him to the bone. 

A strange feeling. 

He was the salamander, dragon in mind and flesh. Keeled over on his knees, the snow melted under scraped palms holding his body weight. Lacerations adorned his trunk from fierce combat, the salvation of Fairy Tail was at stake. Acnologia, the dark king stood between him and a future. There was no way he could lose, right? Vision hazy from previous blows, Natsu gazed upwards upon noticing blond strands of hair.  Lucy Heartfilia stood before him, the same gentle loving smile reserved only for him. Compassion surpassing all others, her eyes were a vision of beauty.

“Natsu,” Soft, porcelain skin cupped his jaw “You’re reckless and so headstrong I could throttle you.” Her voice was weak “We’re better together, remember?”.

He couldn’t breathe.  

A fine trail of blood trickled from her mouth. Time suspended. Glancing down, red staining her clothes at an alarming rate. Heartbeat rattling his rib cage, bile rose in his throat. Stomach acid was burning him, comparable to the tears forming in painful realisation.

The cost of centuries of hate. The cost of an insatiable lust for power.

“Lucy!” Her name was a choked, agonised cry against the howling wind.

-x-

“Natsu!” Green eyes flew open at the familiar voice, searching for the owner. Honey brown depths found his own, creases in her brow indicating concern and annoyance.

“What’s the deal with all the thrashing?” She rolled over, hitting his chest playfully “You’re the one, who rather obstinately, insisted on sleeping beside me.  Yet neither of us appear to be getting any rest.” Instead of replying, Natsu trapped her hand lying above his heart. Lucy found herself pressed to his side, enveloped in a desperate hug. She could feel him bury his face into her neck. Sakura hair brushed her nose and the familiar smell of wood-smoke followed. Unconsciously pressing her lips to Natsu’s scalp in a soothing gesture, Lucy didn’t know what had gotten into him.

“Don’t go anywhere Lucy.” His tenor a husky, growl that made her recall the moment her future-self was killed. Natsu’s anguish and rage at her life being targeted.

“I won’t.”