#006.

[infinitie-moved]

"Oi, Suguru, open up! I'm getting cold, and the pizza is too!" Satoru uses his whole body to knock on the door. Satoru can't stand to see his best friend holed up in his room all the time. One time saying no to his plans isn't a biggie, because he knows that they can't be attached at the hip. But over three times is starting to give him cause for concern, and Satoru decided to take matters into his own hands by busting down the door (if it comes down to it) and forcing himself to be there for him. The weight loss, the bags under his eyes, the lack of a real conversation in weeks. Something is bothering @lustraveil, and he's going to pry it out of him with his bare hands. All starting with a pizza, a liter of soda, and himself. "I said ooooooopen up!"

[dexthelloyd]

w. @songbirdlucy at. the cottage at Bourton-on-the-Water when: when they moved to england

Dexter tinha arrumado boa parte das coisas. A cabana em si já tinha bastante coisa, mas teve de esperar o berço de Anya e que alguns outros móveis chegassem para que pudesse começar a ver aquele lugar como um lar. Com o tempo, começou a ver isso, mas ainda não estava completamente perfeito. Faltavam os instrumentos de Lucille (e ele pode ter comprado algumas coisas que chegariam de Londres em algumas horas) e qualquer detalhe que ela quisesse por na casa. Algumas plantas que pediu para serem trazidas do castelo.

Ah, e claro, eles precisavam de um balanço.

Mesmo na opulência do Castelo Lloyd, havia um de pneu que o avô tinha construído para ele e seus primos. Agora Dexter queria fazer o mesmo. Tinha começado o projeto da casinha da Anya há alguns dias, mas sabia que conseguia terminar naquele. Colocou a filha dentro da caixa de ferramentas para que lhe ajudasse — ele se recusava a ter uma filha que precisasse de algum homem com masculinidade frágil para se virar — e começou foi trabalhar no balanço enquanto esperava. Lucille chegaria nesse dia também, então ele estava uma pilha de nervos, mas era de um jeito bom.

Ele pedia as ferramentas, mas, no lugar, Anya lhe dava alguma das flores e colocava no seu cabelo, o fazendo rir.

Dexter não conseguia se lembrar da última vez que tinha se sentido tão feliz.

[samcrosprince]

i don't like hearing this. - from chibs

“everythin’  i  do  is  about  survival  and  keepin’  this  club  alive,”   jackson  insists,  sounding  a  little  more  defensive  than  intended.   “and  you  questionin’  that,  that’s  what i  don’t  like  hearin’,  brother.”   broad  shoulders  tense  beneath  the  leather  kutte,  pale  blue  eyes  studying  @carriyon’s  face  with  that  unwavering  intensity  of  a  man  who’s  not  only  self-righteous  but  also  spiraling  towards  madness.   control’s  slipping  through  his  fingers  and  he’s  desperately  trying  to  tighten  his  grip.   tara,  the  fractured  relationship  with  the  irish,  the  clay  aftermath…   everything  seems  to  be  coming  apart.   “what?”   he  snaps,  seated  at  the  head  of  the  table,  calloused  fingers  brushing  against  the  gavel,  rings  clanking.   his  jaw  tightens,  tongue  pressing  against  the  inside  of  his  cheek.   “you  think  i  wake  up,  wantin’  to  stack  up  more  bodies  on  our  doorstep?   you  think  i  don’t  see  it?   the  lines  we’re  crossin’?   that’s  why  i  made  that  deal  with  marks.”   didn’t  even  bring  it  to  the  table,  knew  the  table  would  have  resisted  it.   bypassed  the  irish.   “for  the  good  of  this  club.”    

[grabracadabra]

He should have known Samson would sniff him out, no matter how he had tried to hide himself in the depths of the backyard. The bushes rustled, Samson issued a curious bark, and Quill lifted his red face to reply with a bark of his own that the dog would understand. Even still, he recognized that Samson would get Albert ; no friendship would ever trump a canine's loyalty.

Quill lowered back down over the body, eyes unusually dull in the dark. The vampire's features were drawn, and he looked more like a corpse than a creature. Blood went greedily down his throat, followed by something more meaty. His prey's shoulder was open and spread across the earth. She had stopped twitching, finally -- given up the last shreds of life she once tried to scream with while he held her mouth closed.

He wanted to pick her up and tell her that he was sorry again. The marks from the tears on him shown every time he did before. Quill smelled Albert growing close. Suddenly, he shied away from her, strips of muscle hanging from his teeth. His stomach growled, and Quill did his best to ignore how terribly it hurt.

— from @mycursedcaptain, unprompted.

Standing behind the shut screen door, the Grabber's head cocked to the side as he took in the trembling of the bushes in his yard. Samson was restless at his side, pacing the same few feet back and forth; coupled with the way he had barked and whimpered to get his attention at all, what had transpired was no mystery at all.

With a smooth shift, the top half of his mask was discarded and set aside on the kitchen counter. A firm command kept Samson indoors, and Mr. Shaw stepped outside.

The scent of blood was sharp, and sharper still the closer he got to those shifting leaves. He walked through the bushes, looked over the mess on his grass, and exhaled slowly through his nose.

Under the moonlight, the blood looked almost black.

"Why did you stop?" came Shaw's voice, low and growling. He crouched by Quill's shameful form, and without hesitation grabbed the hair at the back of his head and tugged to force him to meet his eyes.

(They were cold and angry. Daddy never liked waste.)

"What'd I tell you about finishing your food, boy?"

[theprtagnists]

i mean this with full sincerity when i say : the only thing i have going for me right now is that my phone layout looks kinda cool

[santanamaribel-lopez]

Rachel was already in bed by the time that Santana made it home to the loft, she had text her roommate to say goodnight and remind her to keep it down, as she was resting before the chaos of the upcoming opening. She carried two large pizzas, a bottle of wine and an order of breadsticks. It wasn’t quite Lima standards, but she wasn’t exactly picky when it came to her sticks. She kicked off her heels and dropped her bag to the floor, before making her way across the loft, taking care to be a little quieter than usual, so that she didn’t disturb Rachel. 

Things had been going well between Santana and Mike, their pseudo-relationship still under wraps from their friends and roommates. She had thought that she was done with secrets, done with hiding, but she liked having this special part of her life reserved for her and her alone. Right now, at least. She knocked, or well, thudded her elbow against Mike’s door and nudged the door handle in the same way. “Chang open up, my hands are full and it’s movie time,” she called out softly, smile already playing on her lips as she thought about the time they’d spend together tonight. 

[resuelta]

magnolia castillo edits:  ↳ ASL monologue ft. recalling her escape

“  i just sat in an abandoned building and cried.  and not because of what they’d done to me.  or even because i had to kill someone to get away...you know when you’re a child and you get separated from your mom in a grocery store?  well, i never had a mother.  so i guess i don’t know what that feels like.  but there was a time,  someone donated funds to the orphanage for us to take a field trip.  and i got distracted by a butterfly.  i let go of the line— they made us hold the back of each other’s backpack and i was last.  i let go and right then another class walked between me and them.  and i realized i could be left behind and no one would know.  it wouldn’t matter.  just another missing street kid with no one to notice…that’s what it felt like.  i was small and alone in a big fucking world that would never care if i died in that building.  ”  

[e--xile]

tentative irises scan the crowd before a mind can plead them otherwise.   some self restraint,   one day,   would surely do the femme some good.   familiar warm laugh hits her ears first,   tumbling down ear drums and warming the center of her chest like a fresh cup of hot chocolate in december.   feet shuffle soft with every intention of following the sound,   hands whining to lay palms to either side of a left hand her fingers had spent eleven nights tracing rudimentary elephant drawings into.   muscles tense immediately,   screeching instinctive yearning to a halt.   invisible rules keep the ten feet between them,   despite the three second lock of gazes,   the soundless admiration that weaves through the crowded bodies,   quiet fantasies that press her tongue to the back of her teeth and guide feet to swivel in the direction of the bathroom.