Belle loved jigsaws — she probably would have been hella amused at Alex practically becoming a walking jigsaw. That thought, out of nowhere and full formed, felt like a stab to the gut, and Alex hovered halfway between the torture device and her sister, completely unsure of which way to go.
Thankfully, Jess was kind of an awesome big sister, and had her back. Sort of. "Go shower, you reek," Jess declared, wrinkling her nose, curving her freckles into an alien constellation.
"Nice to see you too," Alex said, but she headed nimbly for the ensuite shower room, grabbing a towel from the heated rack and a change of clothes before slamming the door behind her.
"Everyone's a comedian."
"Yeah, well, you weren't around. I had to learn to fill the silences somehow."
Stiles lets out a huff. "Are you saying Boyd's natural talkativeness wasn't enough to compensate?"
"Boyd," Erica says, "has said exactly six words to me since he got here this morning."
"And they were?"
"Off to find the pool, babe," Erica says, mimicking Boyd's low drawl.
I've officially read everything on my kobo now (not that there was too much on there), so please throw any fic recs my way. \o/
I started to try and fill it up myself, and in cruising some of my favourite tags, discovered this lovely gem:
Not gonna lie, I feel super accomplished. I am the Queen of Dramatic Irony. How often does one person with two different identities get the top two results in a search for identity porn? NOT OFTEN ENOUGH, FLIST. NOT OFTEN ENOUGH.
Speaking of fic, I posted my newest big bang yesterday, so for the Teen Wolf/Sterek fans on my flist, here's the info. It's a bit long, longer than it was supposed to be, so maybe don't start it late at night if you do wanna read it. :D
Title: The Nightmare of my Choice
Type: Slash. Thriller.
Word Count: ~100k
Characters/Pairings: Stiles, Derek/Stiles
Warnings: M for violence, not sexytimes! Ghosts, canon-level violence, minor surgery reference, allusions to euthanasia and non-con (but not explicitly in-text), minor character death.
“... it was written I should be loyal to the nightmare of my choice.”
Rogue werewolves and incubi and ghosts, oh my!: Life in Beacon Hills continues to be the epitome of weird.
Especially for emissary-in-training Stiles, who's being literally haunted by a parade of Beacon Hills' deceased, who are trying to compel him to embrace the darkness in his heart. His only source of comfort is when he's writing to an emotionally constipated Beta werewolf. When Derek Hale is your anchor to sanity? Yeah, weird might be an underestimation.
Stiles is well suited to the path of an emissary; in fact, something important about him has already been overlooked. Something that could have deadly consequences both for him, and for everyone else...Link to fic master post: AO3
Link to art master post: LJ* (beware spoilers for the fic inside)
Totes check out the art - I had to embed the still versions in the main fic, for people who can't handle gifs, but it's ANIMATED. ♥ Puckboum is awesomepants.
I'm currently still drowning in fic deadlines. Once Sterek BB and Leverage RBB have passed, I might be able to breathe a little, but until then... Best not to try and persuade me to add anything else to my deadline list. I MIGHT CRY AT YOU. And considering I have a cold, that wouldn't be pretty. ♥
Some things on her quickly forming bucket list were more specific. Like teaching Anders how to drive a car without backing it into their bodyguard and breaking Randall's leg in two places. Learning how to make Mama's melt-in-the-mouth macaroons. Holding Beauregarde close as she cried over her first broken heart, because Bo was nearly fifteen, and a broken heart was as inevitable as death.
I'm so sorry, Bo, Astoria thought, shoving her Galindez-black long hair down the back of her shirt so her pursuer couldn't grab it. You'll have to survive a broken heart on your own now.
"You're just manipulating my undying affection for you," Stiles informs her. Lydia's grin doesn't lessen any. "Aiden's better for bag carrying."
"Yeah, well," Lydia says, "Aiden's—"
She trails off.
"C'mon, don't pause in the middle of some werewolf smack talk," Stiles says, "that's always the highlight of my day—"
"On the count of three," Mom says. "One, two—"
The car swerves a little, and Sarah has to put a hand out to grab at the dashboard to steady herself. She looks over at her father, trying to convey her disappointment at the almost car crash with just the power of her eyebrows, because she's too tired for much more than that.
Her head pulses a little, a headache edging in on her thoughts. Near accidents are definitely not her favourite way to be jolted out of a decent car nap.
"Sorry," Dad grunts, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. "It turns out I can't drive one handed."
Stiles opens his mouth to try and persuade him, because he is the talker of the group, but Danny points a finger specifically at him. "I said no," Danny says, "and you can't even throw your hot cousin at me this time, Stilinski — I've already got all the eye candy in my life that I need."
Ethan looks sheepishly pleased, and rubs the back of Danny's neck a little; Danny leans unconsciously into the touch. Aiden just rolls his eyes; he's long since given up on Ethan's antics now their Alpha power is gone.
"Wait," Scott says, looking from Danny to Stiles, "cousin?"
Stiles freezes. Aw, shit.
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Summary: The world thinks you need two parents to be happy. Scott McCall knows the world is wrong.
Characters: Scott McCall, Melissa McCall
Genre: pre-series gen
Warnings: brief allusions to abuse
Disclaimer: Teen Wolf doesn't belong to me.
Notes: Written for beacon_hills, challenge 4: story time.
( housekeeper )
So you guys should all totally watch "Mio min Mio" (or "Mio in the Land of Faraway" as it's sometimes known) because of MANY REASONS.
Here it is on YouTube in five parts:
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5
Why you should watch it:
♥ It's by the author of Pippi Longstocking.
♥ CHRISTIAN BALE'S FIRST FILM, PEOPLE. CHRISTIAN BALE'S FIRST. FREAKING. FILM.
♥ Christopher Lee hams it up as the best ever bad dude who ever bad duded.
♥ It's so bad that it's good again. No, really.
♥ The giant head. Man, there's a giant head with a giant beard that FLOATS THROUGH SPACE. THROUGH. SPACE.
♥ No but like you grab onto the beard and FLOAT THROUGH SPACE.
♥ There's also a horse that flies over a bridge and children that turn into birds.
♥ If you're British you will forever LULZ because Mio is baby Tony from Hollyoaks.
♥ Mio's dad's main source of work after this was George Bush impersonator. ONCE SEEN YOU CANNOT UNSEE.
♥ This film is so bad it's good again. Did I mention that?
♥ The music is freaking awesome. Benny and Bjorn from Abba worked on it. The theme tune has been stuck in my head for 20 years. My bro and I learned the panpipes tune and used it forever.
♥ Christopher Lee is the bomb. He enjoys being the evil dude so much in this. SO MUCH.
♥ It's A+++++++ bad-amazing-film territory, folks. GOOOO. SEEEEE.
Christian Bale's first film, yo!
Christopher Lee as the evil lord Ka--- No, I can't say his name! He was he-who-must-not-be-named before Voldemort existed!
If you don't ship Mio and Jum-Jum, you are wrong:
There goes the flying head!
HAVE I CONVINCED YOU YET THAT YOU NEED THIS FILM IN YOUR LIFE.
"Don't take my food," Hunter says, wondering what the protocol is for stabbing a mortal in the know.
"Please, what are you even going to do?" Ely asks, leaning further across the table.
Hunter looks slowly from his fork to the soft flesh of Ely's palm; Ely scowls, and pulls his hand back.
"Wow," Hunter says, earning himself a surly look from his tablemate, "you're kinda smart after all, who knew?"
"I want to rescind my official opinion that I have no idea why people are out to kill your family," Ely says. "Effective immediately."
"Do you even know how to be quiet?"
"Yup," Stiles says, and continues to tap his pen against the edge of the desk.
Stiles looks at Derek like he's looking at some new disturbing supernatural creature that he hasn't researched properly yet. "Just because I know how to do something doesn't mean I'm gonna do it," Stiles says, slowly. "Like you and your ability to use your words."
"This school is a good opportunity for you, sweetheart," Mom says, omitting the don’t screw it up that they both hear regardless.
Quentin looks at her for a long moment, at the severely-cut black suit matching the kohl of her make-up, at the crimson slash of lipstick on her mouth. It’s like she’s wearing armour, like she’s closed herself off to him.
It would be a lie if he said he wasn’t expecting it.
"I’ll be good," he says. It feels like a hope more than a promise.
An almost desperate sound rends the air, and from the way Derek's throat burns, it might have come from him. He doesn't know. He also doesn't know who moves first, because it's like someone's swallowed a chunk of time. One moment he's standing there, staring at their joined hands, and the next his mouth has collided against Stiles and they're kissing, urgently. Stiles' mouth is wet heat against his, quiet desperation punctuated by fraught sounds, like this could disappear at any moment, and Derek's already addicted to those noises. He presses against Stiles, hauling him closer, Stiles' fingers scrabbling at the back of his neck for purchase as he makes a babble of sounds against Derek's mouth that shouldn't make sense but do: how long we've waited to do this again, the sounds say, and too long.
Each Sunday, post six sentences from a writing project -- published, submitted, in progress, for your cat -- whatever.
"How was school, darling?"
The questions are always the same; Quentin could probably recite the whole awkward family dinner script in his sleep. He wonders if he does. It sounds like the kind of thing a boy with no imagination might do.
He doesn't normally have a decent answer, and he supposes he doesn't have one today, other than: "There's a boy at school with my dead best friend's face."
Yeah, it's probably not suitable dinner conversation.
It's Stiles. It's definitely Stiles. Standing there at the tills, smiling casually with the girl taking the orders. He's a little taller than Derek remembers, and definitely broader; his forest-green jacket hides little of the toned physique beneath. It's Stiles, and he's here.
Derek remembers Tadhg's website, RED ALERT: G. "Stiles" Stilinski: touch is poisonous to werewolves, VERIFIED [video evidence], last seen: Nevada; if seen, RETREAT and his fingers tremble into unwilling fists.
Mr. Ahar runs through a refresher of last week's class, and then brings up today's topic.I have to smother an amused exhale. Graphs. Of course. Whoever thinks life doesn't have a sense of humour is severely kidding themselves. I must have made a small amount of sound because Mr. Ahar glances at me for a second. Two magpies flicker into life onto his shoulders, and his mouth stretches into a brief semi-smile. I am hit with the sensation that he thinks he knows me, somehow.
"That was…" Steve searches for the word. His voice is a little husky. "New."
Tony laughs against his cheek, the sound vibrating through Steve. "Told you it would help." He draws back and looks up at Steve through his eyelashes, his eyes narrowing a little, analyzing. "Buyer's remorse?"
"Guess we should have known," Carey says, hugging his knees. The grassy knoll they started from is colder now than earlier, probably because night's impending. "Marc didn't have a scar. Monsters always get one thing wrong."
"You have a facial scar you didn't used to," Jacan says from beside him, side-eyeing Carey.
"Yeah, 'cause I ran face first through a window," Carey admits.
[Does this mean I reached the end? I THINK IT DOES. OOOOH.]
"No," Stiles says, even though it's the last thing in all the realms that he wants to say. When Derek lifts his hands away and steps back, Stiles feels the loss keenly, like the moment when the war ended, and his powers were locked away. He buries down the voice that says he'll be giving his powers up again by ending all this; Stiles is okay with being human, he likes being human, and it's the gift his mom fought and died for, so it's what Stiles will fight for too.
He feels utterly miserable, and Derek looks wrecked too, uncertain and closing down, the way rejection makes Stiles feel inside. It's a miracle that Derek's even letting emotions show on his face, and Stiles hates everything; hates that it has to be like this, hates that he's given Derek emotional openness with one hand and he's taking it away with the other.
But he has to.
4. huddling for warmth
5. pretending to be married
6. secretly a virgin
9. forced to share a bed
10. truth or dare
11. historical AU
13. apocalypse fic
15. High School / College
It stuns them for a moment but Carey doesn't stop, yanking up the first guy by the hair and ramming him face first into a seat, while kicking the next one again in the chest, winding him. The third one has a knife, but the second one is too much in the way. It doesn't stop him from trying to slice at Carey. Carey grabs his arm, spins, and uses his momentum to throw him over his shoulder, and the third one lands with a large cracking sound in the aisle behind Carey. The first one stirs, but Carey slams his heel down on his throat, using him as a launching pad to leap onto the second one, who'd extracted a plastic knife from his pocket and is readying to throw it over to where Helena is battling the stewardess, who's gotten loose and is now putting up quite a fight.
Man, words cannot express how much Carey hates evil air stewardesses who know Kung Fu.
"Demons," Allison repeats, slowly and steadily. She's always taken the supernatural world in her stride. She's calmer than she knows she is.
"Pissy things that make speeches and preen and think too much of themselves," a voice says, from behind them.
Allison, bless her soul, whirls around crossbow first – and keeps it aimed high even when they see who it is.
"Dad," Stiles says, weakly.
(The house feels weird after these things. I don't feel like I have a home any more. Boo. The feeling of home will come back eventually but not for a few weeks.)
I have... a day and a half until Gareth comes home and then I'll be caring for two nearly-blind people. FUN.
...I believe my lifestyle has skewed my definition of fun. Oops.
Have to apply for JSA on Thursday. DNW. Does someone want to hire me for 16 hours a week? I can bake and make puppy dog eyes and tell jokes pretty much on demand? No? OH YEAH WE'RE ALL BROKE.
Mum and Dad are singing hymns. Unaccompanied. At full volume. Hymns. MY LIFE.
I have downloaded all the things to watch (Teen Wolf, Under the Dome, Defiance, and WH13 ♥) and my parents are singing hymns instead of letting me watch potentially-shirtless werewolves. SOB. I WATCH FOR THE PLOT. SADLY, IT'S TRUE.
Leverageland is awesome.
How are you today, flist? Any good news for me? Any good memes to steal? TALK TO ME PEOPLE. ♥
"I seriously have to tell you to stop thinking too much?" Jacan says in his ears, pretending to sound scandalised, but the joking tone is betrayed by the soothing hand that smooths across Carey's back for a moment, the same gesture they used growing up to calm each other down.
"Uh, not that I want to interrupt brotherly bonding," Victor says, "or that I'm eyeballing this hug in rampant jealousy because I want brotherly cuddles—"
"We'll get you later, dorkface," Jacan says.
Victor flips him the bird. "But we need to make a plan. Do we really want to let Monsters dictate our next move?"
Stiles kissed him, kissed him like they were both drowning and Derek was air, kissed him like it was a claim. And Derek had wanted him to. Had tugged him in closer. Had covered Stiles' mouth with his own and tasted him eagerly, his wide hands spanning Stiles' waist in two spread-wide stars, Stiles' long fingers indenting the back of Derek's neck, like he had to cling on to stay upright.
They kissed until Stiles remembered they were both still covered in Alpha pack blood, and that it was maybe ten degrees outside if you rounded up, and Stiles was trembling too much to keep going. And even then, Stiles kissed him a little longer, quietly desperate, eyes shining at Derek in the murky twilight.