#aconitum-alpha

[thexlightxbearer]

What have you done?!

He grinned, the blood covering the clothing and skin of his vessel. It didn’t bother him, of course. It never had. The bodies laid around him, and Lucifer turned at the sound of the werewolf. 

"What?" he asked nonchalantly. "It was… necessary." 

[twicebittailor]

Stay away from me!

"With pleasure," Crowley answered dryly, rolling his eyes at alpha junior's dramatics.

"Look, boy cub, we both know it's not you I'm here for." It was high time to fetch Fenrir's soul after all, but somehow, the older Hale was playing hard to get now.

Well, that wouldn't do.

"Want me gone? Just be a good lad and point me in the direction your merry murderer uncle, and I'll go give 'im hell." There was a sly, dubious pause. "Or is that what you're afraid of?"

[waywardviking-blog]

"No, I don’t want to see your bare ass."

"Okay, then get out of the showers?  No one told you to come in here."

[waywardviking-blog]

I JUST WANT TO CUDDLE!!!!!!

          ....no.

[saltzmanoftheorphans-blog]

Hyper-Insomnia-Para-Condrioid | Alaric & Derek

After his little detour in the woods, Alaric decided to continue on his journey into town. At first it was just to kill some time, to find something to do, but now he needed to find something. His fingers once more ran over the tear in the shoulder of his jacket. He either needed to find a new jacket or a sewing kit. The sewing kit was preferable, this jacket had been with him for years, since he had left Mystic Falls with Damon, there were a lot of memories associated with it.

With a small sigh, he dropped his fingers from the tear and shoved both of his hands into his pockets. Ducking his head slightly, he buried his chin into the slightly open flap of his jacket as his breath puffed visibly in the open air. It was getting colder and he honestly didn't know which was worse, the suffocating humidity that made life barely tolerable without air conditioning or the freezing cold that made joints stiff without the aid of heating. Well, he supposed that age old standard used by the teachers in high school; it was easier to put more clothes on when you could only take so many off.

Turning down another street, he tried to remember where he had passed the clothing store. He hadn't really been paying attention at the time because he didn't need to, more looking out for croats and other dangers than where he could find something to fix his jacket with. It wasn't like he was on a time schedule but he didn't want to spend all night wandering the streets. His eyes glanced side to side, looking for danger but also taking note of the buildings he was passing.

[waywardremiel]

Gimme Danger || Remiel & Derek

Remiel set off on foot, searching for that little, lying brother of his, Balthazar. Well, he suspected his brother was lying to him, he couldn't be entirely certain, but he was fairly sure the angel was lying to him. Either way, he had to confront Balthazar with this information, had to see what kind of explanation he could extract from him. He hoped the confrontation would be peaceful one - at least peaceful in such a way that there wouldn't be a physical confrontation. Although, Remiel did feel like smiting his brother or sending him in Lucifer's direction gagged and bound. He shoved such thoughts aside, though, he had to show his brother mercy and killing him wouldn't help him make sure these weapons were secured; and sending Balthazar to Lucifer would be a galactic mistake. Still, he was angry. Keep control of yourself, he thought to himself.

He approached the bar where he had last seen his brother. Remiel pulled on the door but it did not budge. He found this rather strange, the last time he was here it had opened for him easily. He sucked in some air, frustrated. Though Remiel could easily teleport himself into the bar, he chose to knock on the door instead - a decidedly human act. Teleporting himself in could cause Balthazar some fright and he wanted this conversation to be a civil one, even if it would get heated.

[wayward-k-l-a-u-s]

panic room ♛ derek and klaus

Klaus overhears -- and freezes.

Unfortunately for him, his mind is so used to winding up and going through the motions, cycling over and over and coming up with an outcome or two -- and not only that. But very known to those who know him well enough, it's the part of him that makes him puff up, fill with anger, what causes that jaw to set, and those steely eyes, and Klaus finds himself glaring at the other, just. But, he just remembers when he said he was going to have a serious talk with Derek, about that boy.

Was that what this was about? Surely, Derek wouldn't have really cheated on him. He had said, he had said in the bar that there was nothing there, an he knows he had been a bit busy, he had things to do, for his siblings, and things had been a bit rickety, but he had trusted what he had said. And trust, for Klaus, was so fucking hard to come by, something he hardly ever handed out, ever. Not since then, not since that first and final betrayal from the only other one he had ever really given his heart to -- but, there is this cold pit deep in his stomach, and he -- why had Derek said that, that comeback that he had -- ? Surely --

-- E X C U S E M E -- [ ? ]

He says the words out loud, and they seem to echo a bit, and Klaus feels like they are the only ones there, like -- trust him, you can trust Derek, he tells himself, but it's welling up like a panic, and -- shit, this was only supposed to be a talk, something simple, and he would be able to understand, and they would forget about it, but not --

-- he was trying to ignore the smell --

-- Derek coated with the smell of that human more than normal.

On --

-- he sees red, he really does, but he's holding it --

-- pretend you didn't overhear -- a little voice whispers at the back of his mind, and it sounds surprisingly like his sister. Are they, would she want him to keep quiet? Oh, yeah, because -- then it's worse if everything comes crashing down around them. But, he doesn't feel right, like he isn't being himself, and his breath is slightly hitched, but he's trying to look normal, sound normal -- "Derek." He breathes, sounding slightly winded, but otherwise normal. "I said the other day, that we needed to have that talk. About Stiles. And you." His chest is heaving, and he can't, his eyes are focused on the others lips, and what his sense of smell is telling him.

But, he doesn't want to believe it --

-- like, if he tells himself that it's not true enough times, than it won't be true. It's like a serious case of denial clouding his judgement right then and there, and he swallows the lump in his throat and slips into something normal, something Klaus, but he isn't smiling. But -- he reminds himself, he wouldn't be smiling within this situation anyway, because, it was all of the bad and angry from the other night that he had left forgotten --

-- for Derek.

a n d n o w l o o k w h a t h a p p e n e d

[wayward-d-e-u-c-a-l-i-o-n-blog]

fever ♛ derek and deucalion

Bloated --

-- like the skin, like the insides of a corpse so many hours after death.

The ripening, the cracking, the bleed --

Deucalion had done a lot of thinking over the years. When one was blind, there was a process, but then, it wasn't just that. There was reflection involved, upon the past, upon things that he had done, and things he had watched others do. Everyone out there, no matter who they were, no matter what power they had. There was a metaphorical cliff. What was at the bottom of that cliff would be anyone's guess. Power. Fame, perhaps a fall from power even, or maybe something greater than even thought could think up. You didn't know until you hit the bottom. Falling, falling deeper. Being stripped of everything you once were. Deucalion had his pride, and he knew -- he knew that he had fallen from that cliff, taken the darker path. Shadows dancing underneath the trees, taunting, and reaching out toward him --

They were reminders.

But, did Deucalion regret what he had become? He thought about it, as he stood there, underneath that canopy of evergreens. He wasn't sure. Thought was ambiguous anymore, plans crushed, his pack dissolved. If there was anything that made him regret, if there was anything -- it wasn't a question worth discussing right now. There was nothing that made it worth while. Like a road that had come to a halt. Why dabble within double truths if they no longer applied? There was nothing left but him, survival -- and whatever pieces he could gather back together of what once remained. And, really. He wished -- he wished it was more than that. Something else to hold onto. But, there isn't. This is how it is now, this is the truth.

Ravens --

-- he hears birds flying over, hears the beat of their wings --

-- and he stills, just stops to listen. The simple things that had given him pleasure when he was not able to see, most of them were taken from him as well, but there were other small things, and Deucalion was patient. They would come to him. They could, they would. His feet move over the ground slowly, cane out in front, it hovers, and he knows, and he steps strongly, with a heavy sort of weight. The only blood on him is upon his knees, and his knuckles, and a slight small spot of it on his neck, a spot that he had missed from the last time he had used his teeth upon a neck, sinking in deeper. Dinner, that had been, but he tried to keep clean, it was just lack of --

-- but, he knew it was there now. It had dried, and it itched, and he could smell the lingering blood upon himself as well. It was almost poetic in a way, like the stank of death had clung to him, not wanting to let go. And if Deucalion was the representation of an emotion, what emotion would he be? Prey tell, perhaps -- a sort of casual pride, but maybe something different, something more soft, or something more harsh. He was ambiguous, an enigma, his powers kept carefully hidden, along with ambitions, color coded, kept in the dark like so much else about him. They could say, think what they wanted, because in the end -- only he knew. And he kept to the path, walking -- sometimes, he wondered where his feet would lead him. He was somewhere, on a back road outside of Chicago, he had been lingering along these quite a bit lately, that was how he had found the farm, found Peter Hale.

Another wolf --

-- Deucalion's feet come to a soft stop, before altering which way he is going, heading, there is a shack, now. Eyes glowing for just a moment, and he can see it. Hears -- does the other realize -- it smells like Croat, smells like fever, red hot sickness, bleeding deeper -- Deucalion is interested, wonders what is happening. Walks out and around in a careful stalk, folding his cane slowly, eyes glowing a deep red. If he isn't able to know what is happening, then he can't know what to expect, and if he can't know what to expect, than he could be surprised, more so without his eyes, so he applies, a growl rumbling through his chest slightly as he approaches.

Closer and closer --

-- maybe it will be something edible.

Maybe it will be something interesting...