i'm friends with the monster

"I'm sensing a trip to Ikea, and you know how I feel about that!" John Mitchell independent Ask and RP blog, mun is 21+. Will tag if ever NSFW. Tracking 'lookilldothewashingup' Part of the Graceless Years RPG group. Not affiliated with Being Human or Aidan Turner Being Human fandom primarily, however other fandom and OC friendly. Please don't just assume he knows you. Always message me first to check.

[lookilldothewashingup-blog]

Skeptical? Me? || GC || Open

I should be happy that my friends are alive, but coming back from the dead can't be good can it?

[lookilldothewashingup-blog]

Activity Check 6

Mitchell/Penny - To Catch A Witch - GC Mitchell/Annie - Shelter - Para Mitchell/Annie - The Letter - Para Mitchell/George - Seeing is Believing - Para Mitchell/Annie - Breathe - Semi-Para Mitchell/Rebekah - On My Way - GC Mitchell/Caroline - Escaping the Day - Semi-Para?

[lookilldothewashingup-blog]

To Catch a Witch || Mitchell/Penny

[penelope-demichev]

Ah, but to be fortunate in looks and fortunate in love — these things are not always the same, hm?  

And da, I would think a witch would be able to protect themselves… but that does not mean that they wish to have to.  Come.  Sit, and have a drink with me, hm?  Perhaps I can… point you into the right direction, hm?

[lookilldothewashingup-blog]

Luckily I'm fortunate in both... I think....

Know a thing or two about resurrections do you?

[lookilldothewashingup-blog]

Shelter || Mitchell/Annie

[anna-clare-sawyer]

"I…." Her fingers twisted, worrying against each other as she turned half away from him, searching for something to distract herself with, to occupy herself with to give her some excuse to be looking much anywhere but him. "I don’t know, Mitchell," the ghost relinquished, finally, wiping a cloth against the edge of the counter for the third or fourth time in a row. "I don’t know what will hold him, and what won’t. But it isn’t like…. it isn’t like we’ve got much of a choice now, is it?" Annie turned towards him, for that moment then, a hint of the anxiousness and weariness of the last days and weeks wearing through her chipper facade. "We’ve got to try, don’t we? That’s what we do. We try. We save them, the people we love, the people we care about, from other things, from other places, from themselves, from the darkness that’s inside of them and the darkness and the monsters that press in from the outside — " Her voice broke, a tremble in the last words that she struggled to conceal.

"I can’t, Mitchell," she exhaled, her fingers tightening against his as he caught her hand in his own, tears burning in her brilliant blue gaze. "They’re gone, Mitchell. George, and Nina. Eve. You. I’ve lost you all, and I can’t — I won’t lose him, Mitchell. I’ve seen the darkness, and it’s swallowed us whole, but not this time, Mitchell, I can’t —" She shook her head, almost violently, her throat tight and aching, one hand forcing away a streak of tears that escaped down one side of her face. "He’s a good man, I know he is, and he’s tried, he’s fought so hard. You know what it is, to fight that thing, and we have to help him. Somehow. Whatever it takes. Whatever we have to do. I would do it for you, Mitchell, now more than ever." She struggled to take a steady breath, regardless of the fact that it wasn’t necessary. It was a human gesture, a human need and there was nothing she could think of that she needed more at that precise moment than to feel human.

The soft lines of her mouth crept upwards into something that was close to a smile, albeit a slightly shaking one, as he offered his support. She knew what it had to take for him to do such a thing. He, more than any of her other friends, could come the closest to imagining what it was that Hal could be, what he could become. “Thank you, Mitchell,” she exhaled, her arms flinging around his shoulders to curl into the curve of his neck and to lean against his chest as she clung to him. The tightness in her chest, the anvil on her shoulders, they loosened, lessened, just a fraction, and she felt the tension bleed — at least a little — from her frame.

[lookilldothewashingup-blog]

He watched her turn away from him, knowing he had her worried and that he had made he think when she ought not to be thinking. No she needed to not think about this right now, and Mitchell had dumped her right in the middle of it in a fit of rage. He was angry that this was the treatment that Hal was getting, when he didn't get the same. Annie turned him into the police, which meant vampires were nearly exposed, but in the end he'd gotten out, and asked for death. If Hal had any respect and dignity left; he'd have asked for the same and not for a chair of chains. That was a cowards move in Mitchell's eyes. But now, he'd brought it to the forefront of Annie's mind and made her think about her decisions and choices. "You can't save everybody Annie..." You couldn't save me.... If heart breaking made a noise, then Mitchell's would have made a loud crack, before a very distinctive smash as it all came crumbling down in his chest. He still hurt, even after all this time - he still hurt over it. She couldn't save him. She'd tried, but for some reason Mitchell wasn't salvageable.

He held her hand as he could feel her crumbling beneath him; as if every emotion she had ever had, every hurt and pain just came into the forefront and caused her usual self to crumble before him. "Annie... that darkness he has. It's a battle he's going to lose, unless he finds what I found in the darkness." His hands cupped her face, forcing her lightly to look at him so he could stare straight in to her eyes. It was hard to explain to someone who had never lived through it, who had never had that darkness swallow them and cause them to be the monster they fought daily to destroy, but there was, for Mitchell, a light at the end of the tunnel. At first he didn't know what that light was, or what it had been; but before the end he knew very clearly. It had been Annie. Annie had been stood there, right at the end, the light that he had dared to follow; and she had lead him out of his dark hole. Hal just needed an Annie. He needed the light, but he had to find it himself; like Mitchell had. "He needs to find his light...."

She clung onto him, and he clung back, letting her collapse into him. She was such a small... fragile thing, but at the same time she was a brave being. She had done things that he could never even begin to have done. She took control of a situation and she sacrificed herself. What more could he have wanted of her? "I'll go talk to him... I'll see if I can't put things into perspective for him." He didn't want to indulge her in what he might actually do to give him that perspective, but it wouldn't result in killing him... no he'd fight that urge for Annie.

[anna-clare-sawyer]

The Letter || Mitchell/Annie

[anna-clare-sawyer]

"Oh believe me," Annie chided with a smile, "We’re definitely changing the clothes." She shook her head, her fingers running over his arms, coming to rest on his forearms, over the worn and familiar gloves. God, she’d almost forgotten about the gloves. Not quite… but nearly. It made her chest ache, with the thought of it. "Oh, you might have to fudge it just a little," she warned, one cheek drawn in between her teeth a little. "I’m technically, now, Annabelle Savage. What do you think about that, eh, Savage? Fantastic, isn’t it? But I’m sure they can get something squared away with no trouble at all." Her fingers worked through his, her thumb rubbing along the edge of his palm, stepping just a fraction to the side to let one of the other customers past.

"No," she spoke, one hand rising to brush against his cheek, holding the line of his face gently but no less securely for it in the palm of her hand. "No, Mitchell, don’t," she insisted, drawing up to press a quiet, gentle kiss against his lips. "You can’t do that, you won’t do that." She shook her head again, resting her cheek against the other side of his, there. "Please. I told you once… you were everything I had ever wanted, all I had ever hoped for and… I know what you are, Mitchell, I’ve seen it… and you’ve seen mine. If you can forgive, then so can I. I let you go, once. I won’t do it again. Not even if you try to make me. You’re here, now, and that is all … I love you, Mitchell. Normal, not normal, human, or not, it doesn’t matter. You, and me. That’s what matters."

[lookilldothewashingup-blog]

Mitchell looked at Annie slightly offended at the fact she was trying to change his clothes. He held himself slightly defensively as he felt her fingers run over his arms and down to his gloves. His horrible, falling to bits green gloves. Maybe it was time for a change of clothes; not completely change, but something terribly similar. He didn't always wear the gloves, but something about them reminded him of home, and home was where he most wanted to be right now - with Annie. New Orleans wasn't home; it wasn't even remotely near it. "Annabelle Savage? Really?" He gave he a funny look as he tried to take in the name. No, she was Annie Sawyer and that was it. Everyone else could call her what they wanted, but she was his Annie. "Can't I just spell John differently?" He was quite defensive of keeping his own last name, it was... well it was his heritage.

He was silenced by the gentle kiss that pressed against his lips, and he allowed it to linger there even as she pulled away to speak a few more moments. She spoke of how he was everything she ever wanted, and how that it was all that mattered. How she loved him. They were the end game and that was it. "As long as you're happy - that's all that matters to me." His words came out softer than before, smiling at her gently again. He wanted to build a new life with her; a proper life. The life she wanted, and whilst she couldn't have everything she'd ever wanted, he was sure they could build their lives properly. He'd remembered how she wanted a family. "If I can give you everything, I will." And that was another promise he intended to keep no matter what he'd have to do to make it so.

[lookilldothewashingup-blog]

To Catch a Witch || Mitchell/Penny

[penelope-demichev]

This country, it had a long history of violence against these people, is it not?   Reason enough to be wary, I would think. But what is it, that you would have reason for, to search for a witch?  Love potion, perhaps?

[lookilldothewashingup-blog]

I suppose so. But witches are... well they can defend themselves can't they?..... I don't need a love potion! Do I look like I need a love potion?.... No I'm just... I have questions and I hear that witches seem to know a lot more than they let on.

[georgesandsgy]

Seeing Is Believing | George & Mitchell

A rush of thick humid air bellowed in from the front door when George exited the small, empty apartment. An irrationally long sigh puffed from his lungs out of irritation while he jammed the key into the deadbolt. He really shouldn’t complain, he shouldn’t. He shouldn’t even be here. That reminder had little meaning every single time he opened the front door to New Orleans and took in the weather. 

George wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead with his palm and ventured to the edge of the sidewalk. Before he could reach the street, his keys fell from his pocket at onto the pavement. George groaned loudly but retrieved the keys without saying a word until he bumped into a stranger on the way up. “Sorry - excuse me.” His arms flapped at his sides. His keys jingled noisily against his fingers. “This really isn’t my day, is it?” His voice cracked mid-sentence.

After looking both ways, George crossed the road and traveled briskly to the coffee shop down the street. It surprised him that he still hadn’t purchased a kettle of any kind. He couldn’t remember the last time he made tea, even before the events. Before he had a chance to finish the thought, the bustling shop came into view. George sighed out of relief. His fingers had begun to ache from the clenched fists he held tight in his pockets. 

George went to grab the door to hold it open for a young women. He offered a tight lip smile when she thanked him. His head nodded gently at the second, and third woman that skittered past him into the shop. George’s expression turned sour as people continued to push past him, without so much as a thank you for the door. He quickly squeezed between the strangers and into the shop. He looked to the door to see a woman glaring at him on the other side of the glass. He held his hands up with a sheepish expression before mouthing ‘Sorry’. 

After waiting in line for nearly twenty minutes, George made it to the very unfriendly barista behind the counter. ‘How are you today, sir?” The man asked in the most monotone voice George had ever heard. “Thank you for asking. It has been one of those days. First my keys and…” He paused. His shoulders slumped. “Oh, but - but you don’t really care, do you? Right. Okay. Tea. Black tea, please.” His lips pressed into a line and his eyebrows bounced up his forehead. “Thank you.” He plucked the change out of the man’s hand and turned to find a seat. 

George found a table near the window. Most of the customers that entered the shop stayed long enough to grab their caffeine fix and returned to their day. A few sat at the tables surrounding him, chatting among one another. George stared at the empty chair on the opposite end of the small table. His eyelids fluttered softly as a lump grew in his throat. He hardly registered the cup of tea placed in front of him. 

[lookilldothewashingup-blog]

Cigarettes, check. Headphones and decent music, check. Coffee, che-... no. Wait where's the coffee?

Mornings weren't exactly a thing for Mitchell, in fact - he hated mornings, he couldn't think of anything he hated more than that little crack of light that had somehow slipped between the heavy curtains of his room this particular morning. How he'd cursed and sworn as he'd rolled out of his bed, not realising how close to the edge he'd truly been. The floor was a mess, magazines clothes and his packet of cigarettes had been strewn everywhere. He felt the crunch of the box underneath him and shot up, quickly opening the pack to make sure his cigarettes hadn't been destroyed. Luckily, they hadn't, otherwise Mitchell would have had another reason to curse on this particular morning!

What caught him off guard was his lack of coffee. What was the point of having a coffee machine if he had no coffee! He'd tried to think who was the last person that had been over, drinking his coffee, before the realisation that nobody came over hit him, and the sinking feeling hit him. He'd drunk all of his coffee and never bothered to replace it. Wasn't that clever of him? Or not as the case would be. Now he would have to venture out into the busy world on a busy morning that he had little care for. He prefered the afternoons when everyone was working, so he could be one of the few lonely people in the street. Just after lunch time and just before rush hour. Perfect time of day. The evenings were no good as everyone was always out partying; even on a work night. Rather them than him of course. He had debated having toast, but toast was never the same without a steaming cup of coffee next to it; and so, without much thought, he'd decided to head to the nearest food shop, and then the nearest coffee shop. Heaven forbid if he should have to wait any longer than necessary for a coffee!

The street was filled with people - why did he have to be so picky about his coffee? Could it not wait until after lunch? No... that wasn't even an option; he'd get grouchy if he didn't have a coffee in him within the next half hour. Anybody who knew him knew that as a matter of fact; and Annie had been so good back in those days to make sure he had one. He dipped and dived between the people without any thought, earphones tucked neatly into his ears to drown out the sounds of peoples conversations; switching on his music player. Somehow listening to music helped Mitchell concentrate on dipping and diving in and amongst the people. Had he only brought his face up at that moment, it might have met a familiar one. Needless to say it didn't. He was too busy wrapped up in his own world to even care about those around him.

That was of course, until the last possible moment. He caught a glimpse of the face as it turned to head into a coffee shop; and Mitchell stopped dead in his tracks. People trying to dip and dive past him like he had them, but none did so expertly like he had. Was that... had that been George? No it couldn't have been.... could it? He felt the shoulder barge of another person and brought himself back into the room - his eyes glaring at the person that had done it. "Watch it, mate!" He shouted after the ignorant businessman that had pushed past, shaking his head and turning his attentions back to the coffee shop. What if that had been George? It wouldn't hurt to look now would it?

He made his way towards its window, dipping and diving like he had done before, making his way quite rapidly towards the coffee shop before coming to another abrupt stop at it's window. It was him... George was sat there; right before him, on the other side of the glass, and Mitchell froze for a moment, his eyes fixated on him with a mixture of delight and confusion. There he was, sat there... a small table right in the window. Without any warning, Mitchell's gloved hands flew up and banged rapidly on the window, many eyes, if not all, from the coffee shop shooting up to look at the crazy 'hobo' man. "George!" He finally shouted, after a few moments of banging, allowing his gloved hands to rest on the glass for a moment. Just look up George... Just look up.

[lokiintheskywithdiamonds-blog]

Little Annie&Mitchell things

Feeling Annie when she lives the house

[lokiintheskywithdiamonds-blog]

Little Annie&Mitchell things

Whispering over her shoulder

[lookilldothewashingup-blog]

Breathe || Mitchell / Annie

[anna-clare-sawyer]

While it had seemed fairly inevitable that Mitchell would have opened the door to let her in, somehow the rapid, almost jackrabbit movement of his sudden arrival caught her off guard; a fact made fairly evident by the moment of slightly stunned surprise as he burst out the door. It was followed rather immediately, however, by a small burst of easy laughter, and a wide smile that quirked its way towards a grin as she saw his own eager and bright expression. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d seen anyone look quite so excited, and rather honestly wasn’t sure she could even guess at the last time that she’d seen his face lit up like it was Christmas. “Oh, well —” She began, flustering for a moment before she drew her lashes closed, one hand pressing against the top half of her face for good measure. “Sure, all right,” she agreed readily enough, letting him lead her over the doorjamb and into the apartment itself. 

Her head tilted, angling towards her shoulder as she tried to take in the sounds and smells that filled the blackness of her closed eyes as she barely resisted peeking just a little. The scent of… what was it, jasmine?

She leaned into him, back resting against him lightly as he whispered into her ear, a slight jolt of anticipation rising. Her teeth scraped over her lower lip briefly, her hand dropping and then her gaze came to rest on the scene set in front of her. Candles, various shapes and sizes were lit around the room, a vase of fresh flowers dead center, the room itself tip top and set for the perfectly romantic scene. Her eyes misted, nearly instantly, her hands pressed against her mouth that hung slightly open, and she stood, nearly dumbfounded, for a long moment. She couldn’t decide if she wanted to cry, or squeal, in fact. “Oh,” she finally managed, though it came out slightly squeaky. “Oh, Mitchell,” she breathed, turning quickly to face him. “Oh, it’s beautiful.” It felt like such an understatement, but more than that and the words just fell short, somehow. “It’s perfect.”

[lookilldothewashingup-blog]

He took a moment to register the conflicted emotions in Annie, and didn't know if he'd done something terribly wrong or so terribly right. He wanted it to be perfect for her; hadn't that all he'd ever wanted for her realistically? He threw her a gentle smile as he finally got the answer he was waiting for; as she took in the sight and found herself loving it, and that's all he wanted. bHe mumbled to himself, rushing over to the table and picking up a DVD from it, showing her it. "I thought a rom-com would do you some good. A little you time; just to relax and not worry about the world for a moment." Because that's all you ever did, Annie. You worried for the world and never for yourself, and in that respect, you were a saint.

He placed the rom-com back down on the coffee table, and looked around his room, making sure nothing was out of place and nothing wasn't there that ought not to be there, but no he'd managed to cover all the bases. He'd even made the bed for crying out loud, and he never liked making his bed. But should Annie want to stay the night; with him, then at least his house was presentable to her, and her standards. She was forever cleaning, and making tea; and whilst that used to annoy him endlessly, he missed it terribly when she was gone. "I remembered you like candles, but couldn't remember the smell so I made do with jasmine ones.... They smelled nice in the shop." He shrugged then laughed a little nervously. He wasn't like this with women generally, but Annie brought out something in him that he hadn't felt in an awful long time.

The nerves of being with a girl you liked... no not liked... loved. He and her were end-game; no matter what happened to them in between, they were the last result and nothing would ever stop that. She'd forgiven him for so much, and that just proved the level of love between the two. He loved her equally, if not more. "Make yourself at home. Tea?" He offered jestingly at her; but he had plenty of tea in the house. Hell he'd even gone so far as to invest in some of that 'herbal fruit' tea rubbish. There was nothing quite like proper tea, but he needed to keep in extra things now that he was on his own; just for guests generally. Biscuit tin was stocked to the brim, and well, he actually managed to do food shopping. Granted, right now he just lived on packet noodles, but he'd bought in other food just in case he needed to cook for anyone. Not that he could cook - perhaps Annie would be able to teach him sometime; or George would if he was here. He wandered into the kitchen and clicked on the little switch of the kettle, watching the little orange light flick on letting him know it was beginning the boiling process as he shuffled in the cupboard above it looking for cups.

[lookilldothewashingup-blog]

On My Way || GC || Mitchell/Rebekah

[forever--little--rebekah-deacti]

Definitely a better range no doubt. I’m sure if you looked hard enough you could find a place that served proper British food. Yes well driving on the left or the right doesn’t bother me, it’s the idiots that are on the road that get me. At least you’ve made it this far. So what brought you to New Orleans?

[lookilldothewashingup-blog]

It's never the same though. It'd need to be made by an expert british chef; like... Gordon Ramsay or something. There's plenty of idiots on the road, they'll get what's coming to them... Change of scenery, and a new start.

[lookilldothewashingup-blog]

On My Way || GC || Mitchell/Rebekah

[forever--little--rebekah-deacti]

Kinda new? Well at least you won’t be getting lost, it’s probably not the best city to lose your way in. Is the weather the only difference?

[lookilldothewashingup-blog]

Well... no the food is different. I do miss some things; Yorkshire puddings for a start. British food all together. Driving on the left. I could probably make a list; but here I am, so I shouldn't complain.

[lookilldothewashingup-blog]

To Catch a Witch || Mitchell/Penny

[penelope-demichev]

Are there not witches on each corner of the city?

[lookilldothewashingup-blog]

You'd think so - but they hear someone's looking for them and they... conveniently disappear.

[valkyri]

[bekas-port]

100 Pictures of Aidan Turner ♠ → [96 & 97/100] 

[daishannigans]

[daishannigans]