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liamloveslarry · 3 years

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The Boy Who Cried Wolf~

okay i’ve posted some snippets below and i’ve kept the general theme the story flows in so far, however it may not make sense as i’ve purposefully left some things out but i think u can get a general vibe from it hopefully, idk let me know what you think bc it’s been ages since i’ve picked this up and i would love to finish and post it soon!

tw for one use of derogatory language, violence, body horror/gore, swearing, experimentation, surgery & fictional medicines, mild nsfw, use of guns but at the beginning - these all sounds worse than they are, but it’s a werewolf fic so there had to be some element of ~horror.

The ground beneath Harry is hard and damp.

He can feel the wetness soak through into his already sodden socks from where his shoes had come off in the brawl, and it reminds him of being young and spilling ice cubes on the floor, trying to hastily clean the water up with his foot and feeling the cold cling to his toes.

He squeezes his fists together and bends his head between his knees, breathing deep.

There’s a chill in the air and the frost nips at his nude body, causing goosebumps to flare in his skins wake so fast it stings as they burst through his flesh.

His long hair acts as a barrier against the frigid air, but every time he rocks back, the metal bars stood tall behind him hiss against his skin and cause him to whimper and growl.

He looks up and wraps his arms around his knees, shielding what little modesty he has left.

He can see two guards standing either side of the cell, each holding firearms in their sturdy arms. Their fingers on the trigger ready to shoot if Harry so much as thought about doing something he shouldn’t.

There’s another body to the right of him that looks in bad condition. He can smell it before he sees it. The person’s leg appears to be injured judging by the sluggish trail of blood that’s pumping into a puddle on the floor, and there are multiple cuts and grazes across their torso and face.

Deep enough that Harry can see muscle and bone. Deep enough that Harry can’t tell if it’s a man or a woman.

If he focuses enough, he can hear them breathing.

Or maybe that’s just himself.

Harry’s feet scuffle on the floor as he tries to get a closer look, but it causes one of the guard’s head to twist towards him and narrow his eyes, gripping his gun even tighter as he opens his big, fat mouth.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” He growls.

Harry whips his head up and looks him in the eye. He retracts his arm slowly from where he was reaching out to touch the person’s pulse point and places it on the floor.

The guards face is pinched and sweaty, as if he’d be afraid of Harry if there wasn’t a thick barrier of metal between them. He can hear the hitch in his breath when does so much as blink, confirming the theory further that he’s more afraid of Harry than Harry is of him.

“What am I doing here?” His voice his shot and gruff, a reminder of just two hours previous when he’d been snarling and shouting, trying to tear chunks of flesh from their bodies out of fear while they’d held him down and stunned him into submissive shock.

He doesn’t remember much after being shoved into the back of a truck and led to where he assumes, he is now, cooped up in a dingy cell with a half rotting body and two wankers as company.

The guard punches out a laugh, the tip of the gun clanging against the metal as his body jerks forward. It causes Harry to wince as the sharp sound penetrates his ear drums.

“For a dog I thought you’d be smarter. But it looks like you’re just another dumb bitch.”

Harry’s fingers catch against the grain of the floor as the tip of his claw protrudes and causes the concrete to shift and crumble beneath him. He can’t help the rumble in his chest while the thought to bare his teeth becomes more prominent each second the guard smirks and cocks his gun mockingly at Harry’s head.

“Calm down puppy, it’s not even a full moon yet so I dunno why you’re gettin’ all hyped up.”

Harry doesn’t feel himself move but he can see the guard’s eyes sweep across his form, right from the tips of his toes to his hairline as he clenches his gun tighter, which means he now must be standing.

He knows better than to step forward, knowing he’ll probably get shot if he dares so much as inch his pinky out.

He can feel his bones shift and his muscles twinge, and there’s a deep throbbing coming from his thigh which he only notices now. As he casts his eyes down, he can see it’s torn and open. There must be something slowing the healing as usually something like that would’ve closed up by now.

“Tell me why I’m here.”

The guard cocks his eyebrow.

“No.”

Harry’s hands clasp into fists and he takes a deep breath.

“Tell me why I’m here.”

He can see the guard smirking, albeit if he narrows his eyes slightly, he can still see his pulse jumping under his skin as if trying to scramble from his body. He shifts his hip slightly to take the weight off his injured leg, causing his cock to slap against his thigh.

The guard’s eyes drift down and this time it’s Harry’s turn to smirk.

“What’s the matter? Never seen one this big before?”

The guards face turns red and he splutters, his pig face scrunching up as if he’d sucked on a sour lemon and he scrambles to point his gun through the bars and at Harry.

“Shut the fuck up you fucking dog! I swear to god I’ll blow your fucking brains out you mutt, you utter cu- “

“That’s enough.”

They both whip their head towards the second guard as his hand inches out and places it on the other guard’s gun, pushing it down slowly.

“You!”, he says, eyes piercing into the other man and gritting his teeth, “need to shut your fucking gob and stop riling Lassie up; and you!”, he turns and sweeps his gaze over Harry’s form, boots coming to rest against the edge of the metal, “need to stop asking so many sodding questions and shut up.”

Harry blinks down at his wet socks and frowns.

“Can I at least have some clothes?”

The second guards gaze lingers on his abdomen.

“No,” he smirks, eyes trailing upwards and resting on Harry’s face, “I’m rather enjoying the view.”

Harry growls out “fucking pervert” and doesn’t think twice before moves his foot forward, which causes the first guard to panic and fire his gun.

The bullet doesn’t pierce his skin, but it’s made of something hard and it smacks full force him in the chest, instantly knocking him backwards and winding him.

He can see both of the guards arguing and waving their arms at each other, but his hearing has gone woofy so he can’t understand what they’re saying.

The room is starting to spin and the pain in his thigh and upper chest are getting worse, causing Harry to sway on the spot and collapse onto his knees.

The last thing he remembers is the sound of an alarm before his vision blurs and turns to black.

It was dark by the time he’d left the office, nodding and waving at the receptionist who was sat in the tiny booth on his way out. It had also been raining, which Harry realises now he probably should’ve driven in, but the morning had been so frosty and clear with dew drops settling on autumn leaves, that he couldn’t help but walk through the winding paths and bramble bushes to get to work. Even if it did take him thirty minutes.

He remembers pulling his hood up and walking down the road until he reached a narrow ginnel that acted as a bridge between the small town and his house.

It had been here he’d been attacked.

At first, he thought it was just somebody mugging him and he knew it wasn’t best placed to chomp his way out of it, it wouldn’t look too good if a local hooligan had been found with teeth marks imprinted onto his skin, so he’d done his best to ignore him, promptly shoving them off; only to realise there was two of them and one had what looked to be a gun.

Stunned, he’d tried to run but they’d pinned him down and cast a sickening blow to his stomach. It had caused Harry to go into sensory overload as he could smell the cheap cigarette smoke on their collars and their nasty breath wafting up his nostrils, causing him to heave and snarl. It was only a matter of time before his abilities kicked in and his claws and teeth had decided to make an appearance. He’d nicked of the men on his jaw and tried to bite his neck, but the other man held an electric rod against his ribs and shocked him.

She’s fair skinned and has light brown hair that’s held up in a ponytail. She doesn’t say much as she checks the stats on the monitor screen, but Harry does his best to smile whenever she looks over at him.

“Hey. What’s your name?”

She startles and nearly drops her clipboard, grasping it at the last second before it falls to the floor. She looks at him wide eyed and says nothing.

“I’m not going to do anything, I promise”. He grins and wiggles his fingers slightly in the straps. “Not like I can do anything, anyway.”

She stares at him for a beat longer and lowers her head.

“Mary.” She mumbles, fiddling with the pen and twisting it in her fingers.

Harry smiles again and tries to get her to look up.

“Mary. That’s a nice name. My name’s Harry, but I’m guessing you already know that.”

She blushes and looks away, busying herself with the buttons on the monitor and biting her bottom lip.

She’s nervous, Harry can sense it. But if he wants to get out of here semi-unscathed, he needs to play nice with those who so far, haven’t been very nice to him. She seems kind enough anyway, judging by the fact that she wasn’t poking any fingers into his wounds or prodding at his teeth.

“I know you probably can’t say much, and I understand that; I really do, but.” He sighs and looks down. “Please can you tell me where I am?”

She continues to ignore him, taking out a needle and flicking the cap. She pumps it a few times and Harry watches as the liquid inside begins to bubble up.

She goes to inject the tip into his thigh but he catches her wrist just as she was about to press in, claws forming a shield around her delicate bone.

She looks up at him wide eyed, her breathing heavy and scared.

“Mary, please. Please tell me where I am. I won’t let go until you say something.” He can feel her small hand trembling but he isn’t going to give up without a fight.

Her fingers squeeze tighter around the needle and she tries to force the tip into his skin, but his hold is stronger and she lets out a gasp.

“Please stop, you’re hurting me.”

“I’m sorry, I will, I promise. But not until after you tell me where I am.”

Her fingers seem to seize and stop, dropping the instrument onto the bed and her quiet, shaking voice splits the silence open like a knife cutting through paper.

He can smell the winter air and the frost settles in his bones, calming him instantly. He’s also very aware that he’s still in a gown and participating in a full moon event of his own.

He’s about to step over the threshold when a hand tugs him back.

Harry turns around, and he sees Mary for the kid she is. Barely an adult and shivering in the cold.

Her nose has turned red already.

He lets out a ragged sob and pounds his fist against the floor. He tries to move his leg and bend his arms to press against the solid ground so he can at least heave himself up when he notices a beaming light coming towards him. He turns his head and sees through tears, rain and the dirt prickling his eyelids, the headlights of a car that’s heading his way.

The car eventually slows down to a stop in front of him, but he can’t see much through the business of the windscreen wipers and the headlights shining in his eyes. He must look a right state right now, and he’s shocked the car even stopped for him.

If it was him, he would’ve kept on driving.

There’s a click and the engine turns off. The lights stay on, albeit they’re dimmed a touch.

The car door opens from the driver’s side and a man dressed in a parka and joggers hesitantly makes his way around the front of the car.

There’s silence for a few moments until the man opens his mouth.

Harry doesn’t know how long they drive for. He’s content to just let the sound of the quiet radio wash over him while he huddles into the blanket more, directing his toes underneath the heater. He appreciates that Louis probably has a multitude of questions he’s dying to ask, but instead he keeps his mouth shut, humming along to the radio every now and then.

They drive through the tiny town of Barnstable and the car jostles as they drive over cobbled streets and the sporadic pothole. The occasional light flickers from the shore to the right of them, but other than that the streets are as dark and as quiet as the night sky.

They tumble upwards towards a hill and Louis leads them through winding roads and sharp bends. On a particularly keen one, the car lingers to one side and Harry’s thigh moves with the turn, bashing slightly against the inside of the car door.

He winces and Louis catches it, sending a look of sympathy his way.

“Sorry, mate. Won’t be long now – another couple of minutes.” He nods down at Harry’s leg which has started to seep blood through the material. “We’ll get that patched up straight away, just try and keep some pressure on it for now.”

Harry takes a deep breath and nods, wrapping a part of the blanket around his fist and pressing it harder against the wound.

He grabs some shampoo from the holder that’s stuck to the wall and squirts a generous amount into his palm, rubbing his hands together and lathering it through the strands. He does the same with the shower gel and starts to wash his body as he thinks.

What he remembers from the night feels fragmented and broken, tail ends of memories flashing before they disappear. He sighs and dips his head backwards underneath the water and washes the shampoo out.

Whatever they shot him with must’ve delayed or hindered his healing abilities as usually anything superficial or worse, only takes around an hour to heal. Granted he’s never been shot before, it should’ve only taken a little longer before it had fully closed up, instead it had gotten worse the longer the bullet had been trapped inside his leg, rooted underneath muscle and skin.

He looks down and feels as well as sees, his skin starting to knit back together. Bits of flesh fusing as one around the stitches like solder to an iron. He doesn’t know what he’ll say to Louis in terms of there no longer being a wound or a scar left in its wake, but he figures he probably doesn’t need to be semi-nude around him again, so he decides not to say anything.

He scrubs the last remnants of dirt from his body and turns to switch the shower off, taking his time to grab the towel left for him on the radiator and wrapping it around his waist.

He pads over to the mirror and looks at his reflection.

His eyes are slightly bloodshot and his cheekbones look hallow. His long hair is dripping lukewarm water down his chest and onto the floor, but he can’t find the energy in him to do something about it.

He spins towards Harry, blue eyes tired and sleepy, with a soft smile etched onto his face. He lifts his arm to ruffle the back of his hair and his arm muscle expands slightly, filling out the sleeve of his hoodie. It makes Harry swallow, a quiet click due to his dry throat echoing through the room.

“You’ll be okay in here, right?” Louis asks. “You know where the bathroom is and there’s some spare toothbrushes in the drawer, feel free to get up when you want and have another shower and stu- oh!” Louis pauses and places his hand into his hoodie pocket, pulling a small box out. “There’s some paracetamol here in case you need them in the middle of the night for your leg – pretty sure there’s a spare glass in the bathroom too, just in case you didn’t wanna stick your head under the tap.” He places the box down onto the bedside table and throws a smile Harry’s way.

Harry won’t need them but he nods and smiles anyway, yawning out a thank you. He forgets momentarily that Louis is still in the room when he starts taking the hoodie off, and only remembers when a cough sounds out against the silence and he whips his head up.

Harry unclicks his seatbelt and goes to open the car door when Louis’ hand stops him. He turns back.

Tired, green eyes meet concerned, blue ones.

“Just.” Louis pauses. “Just be careful out there, okay?” Harry stays silent while Louis’ fingers tighten around his arm.

It doesn’t feel unsafe.

“When I found you, I thought you were dead. I haven’t asked you what happened because I assumed you’d tell me when you were ready. And you still don’t have to if you don’t want to.” He rushes to say, then pauses to stroke his thumb lightly over Harry’s arm, hair standing to attention and swaying under soft material and fingertips. “So just, be careful. Please.”

His eyes feel like they’re boring into Harry’s soul, each pupil filled with worry and pleading as if for Harry to promise him. Harry doesn’t know what to do, so he gently places his hand on top of Louis’ and smiles kindly.

“I promise. It was just a,” how does he word this “– a bad night. And hopefully it won’t happen again.” He figures he might have to verbalize what happened one day, but today is not that day. Where would he even start? ‘Thanks for saving my life and oh, by the way, I’m a werewolf?’

One headache is enough for now.

Louis looks at him for a second longer and breathes out, squeezing his arm one last time and dropping his hand back down, resting it on his thigh.

“I’ll call you.”

Harry nods and opens the car door, turning back one last time.

“Thank you, for everything.”

Making his way through to the living room, he flicks the light on and watches as dust bunnies flit about the air, as if to say welcome home. The machine to the right of him is flashing relentlessly, signifying there are messages waiting for him. He presses the voicemail button and listens as a robotic voice, followed by a woman’s, floats through the speaker.

Beep. Three new messages.

Beep. First Message.

“Hi, love. It’s only me. Just checking to make sure you’re alright? I know you said you had a busy week so wanted to catch up before the weekend.”

Beep. End of first message.

Beep. Second message.

“Hi, Harry. Me again. Not sure if you got my first message and I know you’re probably having a minute to yourself after work, but just give me a call back when you get this.”

Beep. End of second message.

Beep. Third message.

“Harry, it’s me. It’s nearly 8 o’clock and I haven’t heard anything. I’m starting to worry, will you ring me back, please? I swear to god if something’s happe-yes! I’m ringing him again, he’s not answering, Har-”

Beep. End of third message.

No more messages.

If he listens carefully enough, he can hear the hedgehog’s tiny teeth tear through the slop, gurgling as he swallows. Small wheezes puff through his narrow nostrils when he pauses, the spikes on his back sparkling under the stars. Harry’s eyes adjust better than any humans could while his ears hone in on the sounds around him. Voles and mice race through the grass, snatching worms and bugs alike. Owls hoot in the distance while foxes rummage through bins, rubbish galore. He can even hear the moths fluttering their tiny wings as they quiver and vibrate through the dark.

The plate is nearly empty when he hears something snap. Even Bob pauses licking the ceramic to sniff the air; black, beady eyes darting right to left. He must think they’re in the clear when he starts moving again, nifty nose nudging through wet food. Harry continues to watch the garden when he hears another snap.

This time it’s louder.

Claws replace fingernails and grip the step below him, twists of PVC twirling underneath sharp talons as they’re sliced from the ledge.

Forgive him for he usually wouldn’t be this on edge, however getting oneself kidnapped and tortured has made even the scariest of monsters slightly fearful.

Though his eyesight is much like that of a hawk, he can’t see anything out of the ordinary. The bushes and leaves sway slowly in the breeze, every now and then a hoot echoes in the distance.

He stops breathing when he feels something brush against his ankle and his claws pierce the delicate skin of his palm; but he realises when he looks down that it’s just Bob nuzzling between his sock clad feet, trying to reach a meaty grub that’s getting away. He lets out a sigh and closes his eyes, counting to ten in his head. He shifts his feet so his three-legged friend can reach his dessert. He decides it’s enough for one night and reaches down to pick the plate up. He stands and casts his eyes around the garden one more time, settling on a tree branch that rests over the fence. He doesn’t know how long he stares at it until he feels the chill of the air whip against his face. Blinking out of his stupor, he shakes his head and lets out a small huff, breath casting white shapes into the cold air.

“Bed,” he whispers, “just go to bed, Harry.”

It’s the middle of the night when he needs the toilet, bladder unrelenting as he shuffles sleepily out of the tent, torch in one hand as he makes his way over to a nearby tree. He’s resting his palm against the trunk when he hears a snap and a low moan coming from somewhere next to him. He tries to hurry his peeing as fast as he can, shaking himself off and guiding himself back into his shorts when something barges into him, slamming him down onto the forest floor.

His head knocks against the ground and he groans, mind going fuzzy. He can’t see for shit what’s on top of him but it’s dark and big and it’s groaning. Rumbling screams clutching at his bones. He tries to shake it off but it’s larger than Harry, at least seven foot and it drags him about like prey. He goes limp and cold, as if his mind is disconnected from his body. All he can remember is a white-hot flash of pain from where the thing had sunken its jaws into Harry’s side, teeth seizing around his rib cage and pulling, twisting, sinking. He remembers trying to scream but no sound escaped his lips. It was like he was watching from above. Watching as his body was tugged and heaved from left to right. Sharp claws scratched and hooked at his hip bones, making sure he couldn’t get away.

He could feel blood oozing out from where he’d been bitten and torn at, and the pain he felt was almost blinding. His fingers twitched at his side until they felt something smooth and hard. In a moment of sheer adrenaline, Harry had lifted what he assumed was a rock and slammed it down onto the thing’s head, once, twice, three times. Until its jaws had become loose and its teeth unclenched from around his bones. Blood spurted onto his face, lining his lips and staining his eyelashes. The thing went limp and sagged against Harry’s body, white eyes rolling back into its split skull as it shivered, seized and stopped.

He remembers pushing it off his body as best he could and trying to scramble away from it, bare feet and toes digging into the soft earth as he pushed himself backwards. He gulped when he hit the back of a tree and lay panting, hands shaking as they touched his side, feeling nothing but hollow bone and air. Looking down there was only red. Torn flesh and muscle protruding and dangling down as if no longer part of his body.

He remembers sobbing as he blinked through the tears and tried to get a good look at the figure lying dead in front of him. Holding both hands against where he’d been bitten and pulled apart like leftovers.

He remembers looking up at the sky above him, the moon big and bold as she stared back at him.

He remembers feeling like he was going to die.

A book is placed into Harry’s hands and he looks confused at the two men before Zayn just nods his head at the item, encouraging Harry to open it.

“What is this?” He asks.

“Just read it.” Niall says, blinking at Harry.

It’s black and the corners are worn. It isn’t a big book either by any means, but it’s chunky and smells of old leather. Indented in gold on the front page are what look to be like nymphs and needles, wound tight around flesh as if both are becoming one. He turns to the first page and registers the thin, waxy paper.

Harry nods, doesn’t feel as though he can speak properly before stepping onto the train. His foot barely reaches the entry when his name is called behind him. He turns his head and sees Zayn walking up to him.

“I,” he coughs, looking around him a touch awkwardly, Niall turns away and bends down, pretending to busy himself with his shoelace. “Stay safe, yeah?”

He pulls something out of his pocket and presses it into Harry’s hand. “Call us if you need us, anytime. I mean it.”

And with that he’s spinning around and walking up to Niall, clapping him on the back and nodding towards the exit. Harry tightens his fist around whatever Zayn had given him and ducks into the carriage, finding a seat near the far back and sitting down.

He rests his head against the cool glass and shuts his eyes.

Tries to keep his racing thoughts from becoming nightmares.

Page 37.

Sally.

ne.re.id. sea.nymph. mer.ma.id.

August 13th 1989. 15:07pm.

Found near the North coast of Portknockie in Scotland. Terrain is rocky and waves were at high speed. Out of plain sight to any passersby, however not so hidden she wouldn’t have been spotted by cliff dwellers. Water is salty meaning she has not swum from any freshwater rivers or lakes. Around 250cm in length, including the tail which has been jaggedly severed from fin upwards. The creature is unconscious but has a strong heartbeat. A mixture of morphine and hematide has been administered into the left arm of the creature and she remains stable.

Despite her long frame, she has a petite torso and fine hair decorating her entire upper half. Subject has dark hair and green eyes. They seem to change to lilac under fluorescent lighting while her pupils dilate. She speaks in broken sentences, mostly garbled hums and high-pitched warbles.

Subject has webbed fingers and sharp nails. Subject also does not have a belly button nor any eyebrows.

Harry’s fingers freeze around the handle of his mug and he places it down onto the table shakily, taking another steady breath inwards. Outside the bin men are talking joyously as the disposal unit crunches in the distance while the neighbours next door are having yet another argument about who’s turn it is on the computer. But nothing registers, and Harry can only focus on the words standing stark against yellow stained paper below him.

September 7th 1989. 14:24pm.

Subject ‘Sally’ has been prepped for surgery. Subomunex was dispensed into the subject’s neck gills. We have found this to be most effective when operating on water-based creatures as it releases certain toxins and nutrients to ensure the subject can breathe without the need for H20.

Research into the common cold occurred almost one year ago, and we have found certain elements that make up a nereid’s larynx fight most, if not all symptoms of a ‘sore throat’. Today we shall create a medium incision into the subject’s neck muscle and remove the larynx, most commonly known as the voice box, from the subject’s throat. Delicate strands of tissue and muscle will be removed and sent to the Section B lab where it will be tested and if successful, dispensed into edible capsules and distributed among Pharmacies across the UK.

A tiny proportion of the larynx’s genetic makeup will be extracted and re-created to ensure there is enough material for us to provide in the long term.

There’s a picture underneath the paragraph of what looks to be a theatre and Sally stretched out along a bed, four doctors are also in the photo, two standing either side of the creature and if Harry squints, he can see their smiles through their surgical masks.

“H-hello?”

There’s silence before the other person speaks.

“Uh…is this Harry?”

He doesn’t register the voice and his brows furrow in confusion, nose sniffling.

“Uh, yeah? Who’s this?”

“It’s um, Louis?” the voice replies, “I picked you up from the middle of the road, uh. About a week ago?”

God, has it really only been a week?

All of a sudden, his eyes widen in stark realisation and he clutches the phone tighter in the palm of his hand.

“Oh! God, I’m so sorry, hi. How are you?”

There’s a little huff of laughter and Harry imagines Louis’ eyes crinkling.

“Yeah, I’m alright, mate. Are you? You sound a little…off.”

Harry leans against the living room wall and rolls his head sideways, “uh,” he glances at the book, “just a sad film, proper got to me, had a little cry as you do.”

“I should probably leave.” Harry says, and carefully dislodges Cliff’s head from his leg, placing it down gently onto the couch cushion beneath him. He doesn’t even move, just wiggles his back slightly and twitches his paw from where it’s resting in mid-air.

“If this is about you dribbling on me, I really don’t care. I’ve had worse things on me.”

Harry’s blush darkens, and he mumbles out, “it’s not about the dribble thing, I just think I should go.”

He stands up and makes his way into the hallway, vaguely aware Louis is talking to him, but the words are muffled against the heavy sound of Harry’s beating heart. He grabs one of his shoes and slips it on his foot, patting down his chest and pockets, trying to search for his keys while shielding his face so Louis doesn’t see how red his cheeks have become.

“-think you should just stay the night.”

Harry’s in the middle of slipping on his other shoe, when he braces his arm against the wall to stop him from tripping up, and turns to face Louis who’s piercing Harry with his gaze, despite the warm flush that’s expanding across his face.

“What?”

“I said, I think you should just stay the night.”

“I-,”

“I don’t mean, um,” Louis huffs a laugh, a telltale pink blooming on his cheeks, “in my room, or anything. I meant the spare room again, if you want?” He places his hands into his jean pockets and rocks back a little on his feet, “it’s just really frosty outside, and dark, so I’d feel pretty shitty if I let you drive back now.”

“Lou-“

“Sorry if it sounds like I’m being pushy, I don’t mind, really! It’s just,” he sighs, lips pursing and fingers reaching out to scratch at the chipped paint on the wall, “I’d just hate for something to happen, y’know, like last time,” he murmurs quietly, a sad sort of smile sweeps across his lips and he looks down, shrugging his shoulders.

You’d think what happened that night fucked him up a little too.

Maybe it did.

After all, he was the one who made sure Harry was alright and pulled a bullet from his leg, right over where Harry casts his eyes into the kitchen.

He groans and lifts his body to sit upright, leaning down and massaging his leg with his hand.

He drops his head forward and sighs, insides feeling like they were going to jump out of his skin any second and run off the excess energy without him. He stands up and stretches, fingers pointing upwards towards the ceiling while his back cracked along his spine.

It felt like a shift, bones and muscles repositioning under flesh, like tectonic plates moving and slotting into the different crevices of his body. But it wasn’t time, and Harry had learned to control the urge quite early on after he’d found himself naked in the local park after a midnight stint, bleary eyes opening to find ducks quacking nervously in the pond and a jogger staring at him with his mouth hanging open; probably wondering what he was doing lying there nude at four in the morning. He wasn’t too far from home that he couldn’t sprint back in time that nobody else noticed him, covering his delicate parts with his hands as he ran through the streets in the milky morning light.

His clothes had been torn to shreds and he doesn’t remember much, not a great deal of evidence either from the night before other than the dirt that had gathered underneath his fingernails and twigs in his hair. He also felt different somehow, as if his body finally relaxed into itself and took one huge breath out.

Louis slides the door fully open then and steps into the room, toes sinking into the plush carpet beneath him. He isn’t wearing anything other than his boxers and Harry’s very aware he’s in just the same.

“Can’t sleep?”

Harry shakes his head, fingers spreading out along the bed and clutching at the tight bottom sheet, trying hard not to think about how Louis’ shut the door behind him, not fully, but just enough to bathe the majority of the room in moonlight and heavy whispers.

“Me neither.” Louis huffs, lips morphing into a small smile and feet shuffling forward. “Feel like my body’s just pent up, y’know? Usually I’m out like a light.”

“Same.” Harry replies. “My brain won’t switch off so I’ve just been,” don’t tell him you’ve been snooping, “counting sheep.”

“And the bang?” Louis laughs.

“Oh! Uh, I just got up for some water and tripped into the bedside table.”

Harry doesn’t think about how it’s becoming easier and easier to lie.

“Do you need anything for it?” Louis asks, coming closer as if trying to inspect Harry’s foot. His toes scrunch inward under the careful scrutiny, as if they don’t want Louis to see how unblemished they really are.

There’re only a few feet between them now and Harry can feel the sleepy heat radiating from Louis’s body, can count the chest hairs that sit between his pecs and can smell the fabric conditioner of his bed sheets caught up in the hairs on his arms.

“No, I think I’m good.” He swallows, throat clicking and fingertips twitching beside him as if they’re aching to reach out and feel just how soft Louis’ skin is underneath quivering patterns of swirly flesh.

“Okay.” Louis whispers, eyelids blinking slowly, heavy with heady want, tongue inching out to lick his dry lips.

#the boy who cried wolf #mine #pls dont post this anywhere #i know its long but it would be lovely if u could tell me what u think #i know its a little different #sally is my fave but im biased #sorry not sorry for leaving it on a cliffhanger

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pinkjeanist · 4 years

Text

wild mountain thyme || katsuki bakugou

a/n: have y’all ever listened to a song on repeat so many times for the sake of capturing the ambience of a piece that you died? cool me neither [masterlist and requests]

desc.: You can’t cross-stitch, Bakugou can’t look at your ankles, and you’re both terrible at properly communicating your feelings. {fantasy!au+f!reader}

w/c: 1,549

You’d once heard that cross-stitching was both the simplest and easiest form of embroidery. This was both untrue and horribly tragic, seeing as how you’d managed to make a daisy look like the sun’s vomit, if the sun were even capable of performing bodily functions. It was tragic even more so that you were surrounded by daisies for miles- nothing but rolling hills of wild flowers, elfin thyme, and young heather that stretched passed the sky and over the mountains- but you weren’t so much deterred as you were amused. Perhaps you’d give it to Bakugou as a token of your gratitude for not murdering you when you first met him.

It was only right, then, that he came to find you just as you thought of him. You’d been seeing more of him in the past weeks, and whether by fate or intention, your heart always got caught in your throat at his presence. Now, though, you only smoothed down your skirt and continued uselessly threading your needle through the cloth as he approached.

“Woman!” He called to you in a shout that was far too aggressive for the time of day. You shifted restlessly with a grin as you continued to work.

“Man!” You replied sarcastically. Bakugou came to stand a ways behind you, waiting. You could hear the beads around his neck jostling as the wind blew passed. “What brings you here?”

“The sun’s barely risen and you already insist on running away.”

“I didn’t run away. I stopped eventually.” You twisted around to look at him. Bakugou hadn’t bothered with a shirt so early in the morning, just the usual cloak draped loosely over his shoulders. As much as you loved spitting words back and forth with him, you had to turn back to your work to save yourself from becoming disconcerted.

He came to sit next to you, but you didn’t shy away even if any woman in her right mind would. In fact, your body did a strange thing where you gravitated towards him, and you would run your hands through your hair like some lovestruck maiden. You twisted your skirts to face him, anyway. “What are you doing?” You asked.

“I came to find you. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

“Yes, but why have you stayed?”

He gave you a look, which you guessed may have been a warning, but his eyes were far too gentle to intimidate you. You looked back down at your cross-stitch and ran your fingers over the delicate, wooden rim. Deciding to cut the thread, you hiked up your skirt enough to pull a knife from your boot, much to Bakugou’s dismay.

“Put your damn calves away, woman. You’re a princess.”

“Not anymore,” You reminded him, leaving your skirts up just because you could. He refused to look at you. A true gentleman. “And why do you only fuss over myself and not Mina? She wears trousers!”

“Mina wasn’t raised as a lady, and you’re as stuck-up as they get.”

You scoffed with a smile and pulled your skirts back down, just for his sake. You cut the thread on the cross-stitch and slid the knife quickly back into your boot.

You handed it to Bakugou, only for him to glare down at it, hands still at his sides. “I made this for you,” You tried, perhaps a bit too quiet, and more than a bit self-conscious.

He paused at the sight of it. “What the hell is that supposed to be?”

You frowned. “You can’t see it?”

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to be seeing, idiot.”

With a huff, you forced it into his hands and plucked a nearby daisy, giving it to him as well. “It’s not that far off,” You argued, “is it?”

He held both the stitch and the flower in his lap, but it didn’t seem like he was looking at either of the things in his hands. You shifted.

After a while, he said, “Why are you giving this to me?”

You swallowed and shrugged. “I made it. Couldn’t think of anyone else to give it to.” He glanced up at you, only to look away the second your eyes met. He coughed discretely and held out the flower to you, still looking at the stitch. Hesitating, you said, “You can keep that, too.”

He let his hands fall again into his lap. You felt your skin growing warm, and whether it was from the sun just barely risen completely over the horizon or from Bakugou himself didn’t matter. You looked outward over the hills as a warm blanket of silence befell you both.

After a while, Bakugou finally inclined: “Why are you out here so early?” He hesitated then, eyes kept towards the hills. “You worry people when you do that.”

“Surely no one else is awake now, though?” You asked, fiddling with your hands. He didn’t reply, so you finally answered him: “I wished to be here simply because it’s spring. There’s no better reasoning.”

Without waiting for a reply, you plucked another daisy and twirled the stem in your hands. “When I was a child, I’d take a mirror out to the hills and spend hours putting flowers in my hair. My mother always threw a fit when I returned, but I would have put the whole field of them in my hair would it not have ruined the hills’ beauty, to be barren of all color besides that of the grasses...”

After a moment, he said: “Come here.”

“Why?” Your fingers dug into your dress as he looked up at you.

“Just...do it.”

You swallowed and shifted closer, arranging your skirts again as you shifted the short distance towards him. He turned towards you, and you stilled as he raised his hands to your hair, taking the daisy and sliding it behind your ear. Your hair weighed it down enough to keep still, and letting out your held breath, you looked down at your hands.

The moment ended, but you kept yourself where you were, and Bakugou didn’t seem to mind. Your clothed knee was pressing into his thigh, his hand rested just an inch away from your leg, and you were probably close enough that he could hear how hard your heart was pounding in your chest and see the emotion in your cheeks, but alas, he said nothing. You loved his serene silences as much as you loved to hear him talk about strategy, or his sword, or the breakfast he’d had that morning. Among other things, anyway.

His eyes were pointed at the ground, but his head turned in your direction when he asked plainly, “Do you regret it?”

“Regret what?”

“Staying.”

You paused, but didn’t have to consider much before you replied, “No.” You felt your shoulders drop as you again looked out beyond the hills. “Of course, it was a bit strange when you kidnapped me for ransom, but...I much prefer it here.”

“Why?”

You looked at him, and he gazed back, and you felt your heart stop altogether.

“Well...if I hadn’t stayed, I wouldn’t have met Eiji, or Mina, or Denki and Hanta...and you…” You bit your cheek when you felt them flush. “And I would never have been free. Entitlement is a prison.”

“What do you consider “free?”” He asked, and you felt like he was breaking down some sort of barrier that you’d built out of fear of stepping past his boundaries, but it seemed that his gates were already open. You slid closer.

“Look around you,” You said, and he listened. “Look at what you’ve given me. That is my freedom.”

He probably would have looked out again- at the hills, at the rivers and the streams, at the mountains so far west, at the tall grasses of the valleys- but he was looking at you, and you couldn’t look away. And when he leaned in, you let him, and it felt like the sun itself finally burst in your lungs.

Bakugou’s kisses were like fire. The pressure and passion of them scorched your lips until they went numb, and he sent sparks trickling down your throat and into your chest until you couldn’t breathe. He smelled of woodsmoke and something sweet, and he tasted like it, too. His kisses were almost frantic as if he’d lose you, but his hand held your side so gently that he couldn’t have had a care in the world. And when he finally pulled away, the bursting in your lungs became fireworks, stirring up your stomach until you felt butterflies.

And then you were quiet, but the wind continued to dance, and the world continued to sing.

And in the midst of it, he finally said, “I’m going to kiss you again.”

Just to be difficult, you replied: “What if I don’t want to?” Even though you most definitely wanted to.

“Shut up,” He scoffed, and then he was kissing you again, and again, and again until you couldn’t tell where his kisses ended and where they started again. At last, somewhere about all the chaos, the daisy slipped from behind your ear to mingle once more with the field, and the stitch was tossed among the heather in a flurry of limbs and warm beginnings.

and we’ll all go together

to pluck wild mountain thyme

all around the blooming heather...

- “Will Ye Go Lassie, Go?” performed by the High Kings

#katsuki bakugou x reader #bnha #mha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #reader insert #fantasy au

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ancientechos · 4 years

Note

7, 8, 9 and 12!

30 Uncommon Character Development Questions (closed)

Thank you for the ask @windup-dragoon! Cut for length.

Edit: I’m really sorry, I don’t know why the cut isn’t working. The post shows that there’s a “keep reading” cut when I’m editing it but when it’s posted it’s just...not there. I’m sorry.

7. How does your character perceive themselves? Positive? Negative? Neutral?

Answered here!

8. Are they a quick thinker or do they need time to sort through their thoughts?

Laurelis: Depends on context. Normally she takes her time to think through things. In times of stress she can surprisingly be quite effective, however, at making on-the-fly decisions. With less important decisions, or with things she feels could affect those she loves, she can be very self-doubting which results in extra time.

Brigid: Typically thinks on her feet. She will take a moment to assess the situation and act in the way that seems most appropriate. She does not like dilly-dallying, because she believes it wastes time; however, she can see the wisdom in slowing down in certain times, and she is not impulsive.

Arianna: Takes her time. If she’s not handing off the decision to someone else, she frequently overthinks in an attempt to make sure the outcome is favourable for all involved. In general, after ShB at least, she is decent making decisions that do not seem to have a direct effect on other people. If it feels like she is making decisions that do have a direct effect, however, she hesitates.

9. Does your character dream or are their nights filled with an empty blackness? Describe a dream they’ve had or a night they couldn’t sleep and what they did to preoccupy their time.

Laurelis: Laurelis’ dreams vary wildly. Some are pretty normal everyday things, ones where she wakes up and is confused to be in bed because it had felt so very real. Some are about her friends or loved ones, while others are about people she’s never before met in her life. At times her dreams can become very strange and imaginative. So long as they’re not nightmares, she likes thinking about them when she wakes up.

Brigid: Her dreams are typically pretty mundane. Most of the time she doesn’t remember them, and would tell you she didn’t dream at all. Any nightmares she has are usually of the primals she’s faced in the past, or consist of unpleasant things happening to her family.

Arianna: Often fantastical in nature. Generally, her dreams tend to give her ideas for her stories or various dreamworlds she wanders off to. Occasionally, she (unknowingly) dreams of her past life in Amaurot. She typically doesn’t remember nightmares, though her dreams do sometimes veer into horror, with some concerning the fall of Amaurot (though these are never consciously recalled upon awakening).

12. Describe 5 unusual characteristics your muse has.

Laurelis

Carries rolanberry lassi with her at all times.

G l a m o u r p r i s m s.

Frequently has conversations with her fairy, who is typically quite shy but enjoys hearing her talk.

Very good at discerning the emotional states of others around her; highly empathetic.

Occasionally hums to herself while doing mundane tasks.

Brigid

Knows quite a bit about a lot of different sorts of wood.

Very good at almost anything handsy such as metalwork, handling most weapons, etc.

Can identify most animals by their tracks.

Good at telling apart poisonous and edible plants and mushrooms.

Exceptionally good at telling when someone is lying.

Arianna

Selectively mute.

Can typically identify herbs by look and feel if not simply by smell.

Heavily dislikes cut flowers as gifts or otherwise. If they must be given, potted will suffice.

A people watcher; good at understanding body language.

Keeps an obscene amount of books and journals.

#ffxiv #final fantasy xiv #wol #character meme #laurelis thyme #brigid nystrom #arianna rowen #cm: of the silver lining #cm: of the golden leaf #cm: the oathkeeper #mine #windup-dragoon #ask #that 5 unusual characteristics thing killed me #can these even be considered unusual? iedk #answers this after 100000 years

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imagineclaireandjamie · 5 years

Note

Are u done writing Chain in Command?

anonymous asked: Hi lovely’s, I’d love to read another chapter of chain in command. Is there one in the pipeline?

This chapter is dedicated to @pissedoffsoka13

She’d been waiting on the stoop for days, watching the road in the hopes that Jamie and Brian would ride over the horizon at any moment. With Fergus wrapped tightly against her chest, Claire had even taken to eating her meals where she could see the winding drive - worried that she’d miss the moment he came home.

“Yer going to give yerself an illness wi’ all that worrying.” Jenny said, placing a hot cup of tea by her side as she perched on the step above her.

“They should be back now, though, surely?” She replied, adjusting the waddling around her sons face. “It’s been two weeks and still there’s no sign of them. Don’t you think that’s strange?”

“Nothing is strange where Dougal MacKenzie is concerned, lassie.” Jenny snorted. “They might be there for an entire month. He’s no’ the kind to let them leave if he thinks he still has use for them.”

Something about the way she spoke made the blood run cold in her veins. She’d heard the rumours that had circulated about Jamie’s uncles but had never had the opportunity to meet them in person - thank goodness. And with Jenny’s words fresh in her mind, she worried that maybe there was an ulterior motive to him inviting the Frasers over to Leoch.

Seeing panic arise on Claire’s face, Jenny took hold of her hand, rubbing some warmth back into her fingers as she glanced at Fergus sleeping soundly against his mother. “Dinna fash yersel’ just yet, aye? I ken yer worrit for them, but until we hear more we just have to remain upbeat. I’m sure he’ll come riding around the corner any day now.”

The unwelcome news came only a few days later and dread welled heavily in Claire’s stomach as the door to Lallybroch opened with only Brian Fraser standing in the entrance.

“Yer brother is a canty one.” He said, the anger clear in his voice. “He kent what he was doing the moment he invited us over there, aye?”

“Where’s Jamie?” Claire asked from the doorway, her mind half concentrating on listening out for Fergus who was in the living room asleep and half focused on hearing Brian’s answer. Her heart was beating so loud, the blood thrumming in her ears, that she could barely make out the reply but she gritted her teeth and tried to remain calm.

“Redcoats. They passed by Leoch -we were out wi’ Dougal. I rode behind them to Fort William but their garrison commander wasn’t to be reasoned with and by the time I spoke with him he was adamant Jamie was to be kept there.”

“H-how, why?” She spluttered, interrupting Brian but unable to muster the words needed to make a clear, coherent sentence.

“Obstruction they called it. I wasna wi’ the lad when they took him - we’d split into two groups and I’d gone wi’ the other party to herd cattle. I didna ken it wasna their cattle. Raiding,” he spat, his bloodshot eyes darting around the kitchen as he tried to ground himself, “an all new low for the MacKenzies. Colum was seething -but he wouldna gi’ me his support.”

“I have to go.” Claire whispered, hiking her skirts and rushing to collect Fergus. With the Fraser’s gathered in the kitchen, none of them noticed she was missing until she was outside hauling the saddle onto the nearest pony.

Rushing out of the front door, Ellen screamed across the courtyard as she tried to stop her daughter-in-law. “Claire,” she gasped, catching her breath as she held onto the wooden beam supporting the entrance to the barn, “if Brian canna talk him out of there, I doubt ye can, lass. Wait until morning - we’ll think of something together, aye?”

“I can’t wait, Ellen. Don’t make me stay here whilst he’s being held in a cold cell, alone. I have to go.”

Swaddling Fergus so that he was strapped securely to her chest, she stuck her feet in the stirrups, pulled herself into the saddle and directed the horse out of the door, leaving Ellen awestruck and silent in her wake.

She didn’t stop, riding through the night with the knitted scarf Mama Crook had made her pulled tightly around her ears. It wasn’t until Fergus squalled, his hungry cries echoing through the empty forest that she pulled the pony to the side of the road, dismounted and sat to feed her infant son.

There was a chill in the air that had nothing to do with the time of the year, and she held Fergus closer as the wind rattled through the trees. Though she wanted to cry, tears welling in her eyes at the thought of Jamie being taken against his will for something that altogether wasn’t his fault, she managed to keep them at bay. The thought of Dougal made her desperately angry and when Fergus was finished, she wrapped them both up again and continued on her journey eager to gain ground on Fort William as fast as possible.

It felt perilous, the large brown bricked building standing ominously over her as she passed the horse off to a nearby stable hand and climbed the small hill towards the entrance of the fort but she took it all in her stride, determined to bring Jamie home with her and Fergus no matter what.

“Name.” The large burly man grunted as she stepped up to the large wooden door.

“Claire Fraser.” She said quietly, her hands clinging to Fergus as she swayed him to and fro.

“No, woman,” he barked, his patience wearing thin very quickly, “the name of the person you wish to see.”

“I don’t know the person who took him, but I’m here to free my husband. James Fraser.” Irritation laced her tone, his brusque attitude having rubbed her up the wrong way as she gritted her teeth to stop herself from saying anything more.

“Then you need Captain Randall. Wait here.”

As he disappeared she let out a long breath and wiped her sweaty hands along the length of her bodice. Having no idea of what she was going to say once she talked her way inside, she was beginning to think Ellen had been right. Had she have stayed a little longer she might have garnered some more information from Brian and been able to come up with a much better plan of action. As it was, she was here armed with little information only that Dougal MacKenzie was a swine who had gotten Jamie into more than a small amount of trouble.

“This way.” The gruff guard beckoned, holding out a gloved hand as he opened the door and coaxed Claire inside.

Doing as she was bid, she followed him, keeping her shawl wrapped around her shoulders as she steered well clear of the British soldiers that marched around the walls of the fort. It was desolate inside, the feeling of morose death hovering in the place like a bad smell and Claire kept Fergus bound tightly to her as if to protect him from the toxic atmosphere.

A long spiral staircase led to the garrison command chambers, the echo of her feet against the damp tiles sending chills down her spine as droplets of water fell around her. The room itself, however, was decorated well and gave off the aura of wealth - the tapestries pinned to the walls depicting moments of great importance and grandeur.

“Wait here mistress.” Speaking more kindly now, the guard had a look of sympathy in his eye which made Claire’s heart stop in her chest. He looked almost sad that she was stood here under these circumstances and part of her wanted to ask what terrible set of events had landed him here too. But she refrained as he backed out of the room and closed the door behind her.

Keeping her hands to herself, Claire waited patiently - her nerves growing with each second that passed by as the clock on the mantle ticked time away. She’d almost lost hope of anyone arriving as the door opened, creaking on its hinges as a tall, menacing looking redcoat stepped foot inside, knocking his boots loudly against the base of the door, allowing the residual dust to waft around him as he eyed her up and down.

“So you’re the thief’s wife, then.” He scoffed, making her cling tightly to Fergus as his wee eyelashes swished against her bare skin. “Are you going to be as pitiful as his father, girl?”

“I suspect, had you known Brian Fraser as long as I have, sir,” injecting the word with poison, she gritted her teeth in order to stop herself from cursing the vile man, “I doubt you’d say such things about his character.”

“Do you want me to relay to you the same thing I did to him, Mistress Fraser?” He addressed her properly now, seeing that his insults didn’t affect her, but only out of a sense of duty - she could see that in his eyes as he spoke. “Because my monologue on the matter hasn’t changed much since I spoke with Mr Fraser.”

“So you’d take a father away from his child,” she spat, twisting to the side so that he could see the wee bairn snuggled against his mother, “and then refuse to see reason when presented with the salient facts from both his father and his wife? That isn’t the way of the army, is it, captain?”

Cocking his head, Randall smirked, wafting his hand in between them as if to beg her continue. However, the sarcastic nature of the gesture made her heart race.

“It was his uncle.” She began, the sweat springing up over her flesh as she rocked Fergus, his small cry alerting her to his imminent distress. “Dougal MacKenzie. He’s the one whose dishonesty caused Jamie to be in that position in the first place and it’s only the protection of his brother at castle Leoch that is stopping you from holding him to account, isn’t it?” Quirking a brow, she held her chin up and her head steady as she levelled the accusation at him - unsure as to whether she was even correct in her assumption but unwilling to back down. No matter the cost.

It only took a second for the mask to drop and Claire saw the truth of it. She smiled, standing her ground as she bore a long, hard stare in his direction. “Release my husband, Captain, or else everyone from here to London will hear of your indiscretion. Arresting an innocent man in the name of the crown, holding him prisoner for your own means whilst the true criminal roams free. You’d better believe I’ll do it.”

A calm silence befell the room as the pair stood, none of them willing to step away from the other as Fergus’ soft wails became louder cries as he wriggled and writhed in Claire’s arms.

“It seems,” Randall began after a while, his gaze impenetrable as he paced from side to side, “as if we have an impasse, mistress Fraser.”

“No.” She declared stubbornly. “We do not. You simply have to make the right decision, captain Randall.”

#1breakingdawn #;Mod MBD #Chain of Command #jamie x claire

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myimmortalstalker · 6 years

Text

Chapter 27 - vampirz wil never hurt u

Every1 in the room stated to cry happly- I had saved them. Skare, Levedeg, Vornin bond Bloodsucker all came to hug me. Doc started to give them medicine.

“Cum on Strelok.” said Unxle Yarb. He was wearing a gothic blak leader jacked with real vampir blood on it and fucking black platinum boots. “I have to tell you the fucking perdition.”

I locked at Vromin, Ledebek, Skars and Bloodsucker. They nodded.

I smelled happily and went into a dark room. I had changed Uncle Yat took out some black files. He started to look into a black crucible PDA. He said… “Selok, I see drak times are near.” He said badly. He peered into da scream. “You see, you must go back in time.” He took out a Svarog detector like Bloodsuker had. “When Slutan was in the Zone before he became a powerful bnadit he gut his hearth borken. Now do you fink he would still become Stulan if he was in love?” I shook my head. “U must go back in time and sedouce him. It is the only way. If he is still evil then you must kill him. You can come to my place tomorrow and you can do it.”

“Okay.” I said sadly. We did militery salut. I went outside again sadly.

“What fucking happened?” asked Scar and Bloodsucker.

“Yeah what happened?” asked Burer, Fang and G’host?

I was about to tell them butt every1 was there. They were celebrating Vornin and Lebedes being fond. Everyone was proud of me butt I jut wonted 2 talk 2 Scar. They were cheesing my name and some nosy stalker were there trying to interview Sedorobitch. A banner was put up. Lotz of fucking rookies were there oviously tring 2 b goffik wering the Monolith signo n their handz- despitre them not having akshelly seen it. Even Lassie looked happy. A blak and red cake had been brought out.

I puto n my Ghillie coke with Bloodsucker and Scar and we sneaked outside 2gether.

#Call of Enoby #S.T.A.L.K.E.R.#my immortal #so time travel is totally possible via anomaly right? XD #well now it will be cause I have to disguise the magic somehow

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asaethiel · 7 years

Text

tagged by @theimpossumblepossum - thx jasmin!!

A) Age: 18

B) Biggest fear: paralysis/not being in control

C) Current time: 2:16pm

D) Drink you last had: mango lassi 👌🏼

E) Every day starts with: hhhh dragging myself out of bed like 15min before i need to be at school

F) Favourite song atm: i’ve been listening to a lot of the mowgli’s lately because their music gives me summer vibes :’)

G) Ghosts, are they real?: i don’t think i believe in ghosts, per se, but depending on how late at night it is i could probably be persuaded to believe in spooky things

H) Hometown?: rio, wisconsin

I) In love with?: oscar isaac, loml

J) Jealous of?: all the artists i follow on twitter who are all friends and have amazing art styles !!!

K) Killed Someone?: one of these days

L) Last time you cried: yikes i think it was some time last week after getting really frustrated about integrating power series 🙃

M) Middle name: mae

N) Number of siblings: 1

O) One wish: mmmm i wish my laptop would be less broken

P) Person you last called/texted: me, tiana, and heavyn’s groupchat (it’s called “daddy 😩” if u were wondering)

Q) Questions you are always being asked: where are you going to college?? what are you going to study??? how are you going to pay for it?????

R) Reasons to smile: sunshine, rocky beaches, warmth after a shitty winter, driving with the windows down and music playing, hangin out with friends, campfire smell lingering on your clothes, school almost being out

S) Song last sung: ispy by kyle lmao

T) Time you woke up: 10ish?

U) Underwear colour: black

W) Worst habits: p r o c r a s t i n a t i o n, also 0 impulse control

X) X-rays you’ve had: i think just my teeth?

Y) Your favourite food: ahhh spicy tuna sushi, movie theater popcorn, mashed potatoes

Z) Zodiac sign: capricorn!

if anyone wants to do this - you can say i tagged you ;)

#not art

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isthisyoursnack · 7 years

Text

Or The Bed • a co-poem • By Lallu and me

Lallu or Lalit Is a Pisces though he was born on July 8th It means good literature, good talker. Enjoy as much as you can also: Lallu, a spinning poem A web woven Lallu means his long name Lallu means la loup means girlwolf Lalla means madame, means her highness La la means to sing La means no La means Los Angeles, The nouveau shangri La means there In a cocktail democracy, implementation is weak, subjective. There are people who should stop it, but they are sleeping. Too many bitters or too few UnfiZzed By the end of the day mama and papa - who should be on the rope instead of their daughter (who should be in school) - will buy an easy bottle of beer. & they don't even care that their blankets looks like Klimts Because what is beauty in the face of gain Should I buy you a taliban t shirt Should I buy you the smell of spices or a street fire Or a salt lassi Shall I mail you a monsoon We love to have rain, but the problem is a sandstorm. Two thousand six a cloud was burst by night Google 2006 jaisalmer Indian rainstorm & What you will see You will see Indian Ocean here And then top of the fort cup of tea We will be sitting there You can't see the cows in the fogsmoke but you can feel her ears wisping your thigh And her citron piss splatter on your toes And her eyeslash flutter the lump in your throat A thousand lashes Thick as love Are you white or Are you violet Do you sleep or Are you violent U may think there are 4 directions in your swastika But it's a wheel and you must dominate lust anger pride And we know there are ten dimensions North south east west Northeast northwest southeast southwest Up Down We were that capable to read this universe as 27 dimensions Why it's not eastnorth eastsouth westnorth westsouth Not sure so I asked Ganesh & his mouse & Brahma who is the most or best He lingered it on because his codependency meant he didn't want to hurt anyone's feelings & there were 33 million goddesses so How did we know if u sit in this certain position ur body releases a certain hormone that makes u feel better We were isotopes We were strong 900 years ago If you believe it's a goddess it's a goddess If you believe it's a rock it's a rock Immanent India Power-in-things a universal truth, there will not be love without fear Always there is a little fear behind the love you understand Organize your life: before breakfast, wash up dry up go to a temple. A silent confession. Eyes to eyes contact to keep us on right path of life. So. This is another fear. If you see someone on the street, a beggar, all the temples in India at 11:30 feed everyone. Poor people eat. Rich people take a little food for good luck. Somebody had to organize a system. Somebody had to organize a Function. India is a mystery. Still, it's a mystery. 700years of Mughal rule and 300 years of Britain. They had their Dracula eyes on Indian women. So we realize we had to hide them. If she stays in the home the Dracula eyes will see them less, it won't grow. 40 generations of females. 1000 years makes a habit. Some of the men don't want to give the freedom back. Shackles became tradition. Plonk. Until gain is no longer our primary value, misogyny will reign. Heiresses vs heureuses vs contenteds. We need time. Orange and purple don't go together, I told Eliza Smith in fourth grade. Yes they do she said Or, so what, maybe she said. I needed time. Oh and one more thing said lallu (Another fear) Men are worried if we give women equality they will beat us As a female you are stronger Your female physique is stronger It is hard to accept but I do it. It is very touching, life. We love together fight together sleep together. I got everything from my parents when I was a student. So now I give back. They will die with satisfaction. This means a lot. The zigZags here will make you sharper. You came from a world where you believe only things you read, and only if they were written after 19th century. You disbelieve what was written before. You doubt. You think what is recent is true and what is old is story. His story. Let me tell you one thing I'm not justifying astrology I can't change how you believe But answer me one thing How far is the moon from here 300,000 kilometers. You know high tide low tide? Why does it happen? The moon is not a planet It is a subplanet Earth is 75% water Humans are 75% water We have given this name gravity Somebody invented something and gave it this title, gravity. But what is the cure for an imbalanced brain? astrology. Stones. When he says earth every time I think he says art Every planet has fruit to offer you Horoscope is how to cope with life. A mathematical science. It has value. It has a serious value. Me, I have A burnt chapati face A watermelon face Says Lallu. So astrology works. In good and bad both manner. We can reduce the impact. My wife had problems. We went to a gynecologist. She gave her medicine. And then she said - wear moonstone. Something extra was there. Either you got it from how you were born, where you were born. Or you can wear a stone. How come this mans' world digested idira Gandhi? She was wearing a topaz. Topaz means: you will come out from the crowd. I am always bringing him locks because he is so closed and cold and secret. A neighbor is more than a brother because he is right next door. We have a system of shared walls. One wall for both of us. Unfortunately a drama took place. This dancing hall is a beauty to watch. Rarest of rare glass paintings in the world, flattered by someone. A special balcony for women to see and not be seen, of course. Woe. 17 long seconds the earth was shaking like this. Who believes their grandson or granddaughter can explain their own house better than a tour guide? The similar differences continue on the inside. And then, and then, and then at night u r barefoot in the back of a tuktuk with chocolate cake In your nostrils Landing & flying That's what our life is.

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ecotone99 · 5 years

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[HM] A Lick of Paint

Mary and Gordon were finally ready for settling down. With their wedding out the way and their old flat not big enough to store kids, they got themselves onto the property ladder. It took a little longer than expected but they were finally a few days out from moving into their new home.

The bags were all packed and the van was loaded up with all the big stuff. Mary was determined to make sure nothing went wrong with this new move, prayers were said and her lucky socks were on. All they had to do was take all the furniture over and hand in their keys to the landlord, surely nothing could go wrong. That was the case, they moved into the house with ease and the next day they would start the decorating.

So, they had set their plans for the day of decoration, Mary would pay a visit to the landlord and come back once she'd done that. Gordon was going to head down the road and get some paint to get started on the master bedroom, and that's what happened.

'Don't worry about getting anything too fancy, I just want it done quickly so we can settle in,' Mary told her husband that night. Gordon didn't do fancy so he was pleased with not having to hunt out anything and was planning to get something cheap.

Gordon woke up the next morning, had his morning shite and got dressed. He knew he had gotten the easier of jobs here because he didn't really get on with the landlord, he was a bit of a prick. So he grabbed his keys and he and Mary head out the door.

He headed down the road and popped into the wee shop selling hardware stuff to look at some paint. It had a whole load of options and Gordon was pretty overwhelmed with the different shades and colours of paint; daffodil yellow, dandelion yellow, marigold yellow, yellowish yellow. You get the idea.

So he perused the options of paint and found a way to make it easier on himself: choose the cheapest option. After all, they had just spent a lot of money on their wedding and buying a house, so this seemed like the best idea. Besides Mary had already given her orders so she couldn't complain about it being shite. So he skimmed through the cans of paint and eventually found a big tub of unlabelled paint in the corner of the shelf. He took the paint over to one of the lassies working in the shop and asked what it was. They informed him that this was definitely paint and had been reduced in price because of the lack of sticker and that they didn't know what colour it was. Sort of a lucky dip of colours, but regardless this was the cheapest of the paints. So Gordon grabbed the tub of paint and took it to the checkout, 3 quid for an absolute heffer of a tub.

He took the paint up the road and lay out all the precautions before he got wired in. He got his old joggies on and the scabby, old brushes ready with his tinnies ready to go. The room was a decent size and the only problem was seeing if the amount of paint that he had would cover the whole room. If it didn't that would cause a slight issue: not knowing what the colour is to get more paint.

So he cracked open the big, white tub of paint and was hit with the stench of paint, which Gordon loved the smell of. He inhaled the fumes which went straight to his head. That was strong stuff. Peeking into the tub he saw that the colour of the paint was an off-white, similar to that of the container: a nice neutral colour it seemed.

After cracking open a cold tinny, Gordon got started. He had the radio on and pelting out Katy Perry to himself with a buzz from the lager, not really paying any attention to what he was doing. It hadn't even passed his mind as to where his wife was, she'd been out for quite a while. This is fuckin' class man. He finished the first wall and took a step back to look at his glory. Something was wrong...really wrong.

The wall was the exact same colour as it was before but he had definitely been painting it, he was sure of it. So he decided to go have another look at the tub, just to double-check everything was okay. The paint was exactly the same as when he left it. Right, try it again. He put the brush into the paint and was really paying attention to it this time. There was definitely something wrong here, the paint wasn't on the brush. What was going on, Gordon looked over to the pile of tinnies in the corner, only a handful of empties. Besides, with all his years of drinking, he'd never really hallucinated or anything like that. So he doublechecked the outside of the tub, just in case there was some explanation for this weird situation. He tried and tried to rack his brain around this. Was it water? Naw, It was too thick. Was it some kind of paste or something like that? Different consistency. So what was it? It didn't really look like paint however, everything else suggested that it was paint. The smell especially, oh that quality smell he thought to himself.

What had he found here, was this some sort of invisible paint? This was the only logical explanation whizzing around in Gordon's simple mind. Instead of thinking the logical answer, which was that it was a clear paint or some sort of varnish, Gordon instantly assumed that he had found invisible paint. Stupit bastart.

Thoughts rushed through his tiny head at a million miles an hour: what am I going to do with this; do I paint myself and run around invisible? Logical questions for someone that was convinced that they had found some invisible paint, after all, was this a world's first? Gordon tanned the rest of his tinnies and got to work, lathering himself up in this 'invisible' paint. The fumes from the paint bounced around the room, the same way the smell of the breweries reek out Edinburgh.

After about 10 minutes, he was covered head to toe in this thick paint, bollock naked. Not sure why he had to strip off but whatever. Now, what was he going to do with this superpower, because he really hadn't given this any thought? Fuck it, he was going out. Final answer.

He swaggered out the door, flapping in the wind and ready to go. What was he going to do first? Get something to eat? Aye, go on. Bold as brass, Gordon walked into the nearest chippy and took a look around as he stepped in. Whispers were heard from around the shop as people took out their phones to record the next viral hit. Thankfully for Gordon, there was nobody behind the counter, making his life easier. He walked through the wee staff door on the counter and helped himself to a handful of chips, casually walking back out the door.

Strolling away from the chippy, he thought he'd nip into the pub across the road and pour himself a wee pint. He walked out onto the road thinking he was Superman and started to feel awfully dizzy, the lassie across the road pointing at him was multiplying as he blacked out numerous times. He eventually fell to the deck like a sack of totties, just in time for the number 19 to fire around the corner and smack him full pelt. Gordon died on that road, chips and boaby in hand.

Don't sniff paint folks.

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