#cookie is in an urn inside

[deathbypufferfish]

Goodnight to our sweet trash man, Pigeon 🐦🐟

[froody]

What do you do with an urn after you scatter the ashes inside? Throw it away? Keep it as a cookie jar? Put trinkets in there? Donate it to Goodwill? My grandpa has been sitting in my grandma’s house for 10 years in the extremely gaudy ostentatious urn grandma picked out for him. We’ve been talking about scattering him for a decade and fighting about it. I know where he would want to be. In 30 years when I inherit his ashes, I guess I’ll sprinkle him off the Nags Head Fishing Pier and then use his jar to store airplane bottles of liquor? I think that’s what he’d want. That or sunglasses. Or things I shoplifted.

[akascow]

i understand the sentiment of cremating someone and keeping their ashes on like a mantle but its kinda funny to me that its not straight ashes inside the urn theyre in a plastic bag too which again makes sense but its like a glorified uh idk cookie jar

just this beautiful urn in memory of a loved one and u look inside and its in a plastic bag idk

[harrypotterandthefandomaccount]

In Your Arms

request:  Hello! I’ve been on your blog for a while and I really adore it, you’re an amazing writer, dearie! ❤️ I have a strange request, like really strange. A year ago I had a stillborn baby boy, and it’s still quite bad with pain. I was depressed, and beyond suicidal. As my journey to heal,  seeing fictional characters go through struggles that I faced make it better. I understand completely if you’d rather not. But perhaps a single reader, Harry’s younger sister when they’re adults of course. Maybe she used a donor, and in her pregnancy at six months she has a stillbirth after buying everything, and getting herself excited. Mainly, showing her struggles and everyone attempting to make her feel better. Perhaps, even a sweet moment of her baby in ‘wizard’ heaven with Sirius, Remus, and her parents. Taking care of him, and eventually the reader is reassured someone is taking care of her baby. Something every mother wishes for when it happens❤️ thank you so much, I send my best regards and love💓💕

warnings: depression, post-partum, stillborn death, anxiety, character death, sad death, suicidal thoughts

note: i really hope i did okay with this. i read this article to get more information about stillborns and the impact it has on mothers and their families. to the requester, i really hope i did okay with this. you are loved.

-

nothing, no feeling, but pain.

you knew something was not right when you started feeling deep pressure on your stomach only five months into your pregnancy. something was off, and as much as you wanted to ignore it, you had to go to St. Mungo’s.

by Merlin, you wish you ignored it.

the doctors scrambled, trying to find a way to rid your body of the contractions, to delay your baby’s delivery but there was nothing they could do. you could feel the tears and sweat running down your face as your twin, harry, gripped your hand, telling you everything would be okay.

you just wanted to hold your son.

harry told you it would all be okay, molly wiping the sweat from your forehead as she whispered encouraging words to you. you cried, not wanting to push as you knew what would happen to your son - you weren’t ready to let go yet.

as the doctors instructed, you pushed and pushed until the doctors told you to stop - your boy had entered the world. molly took him from the doctors, swaddling him in blue cloths and walked over to you, giving you a small smile.

you were tired. everything felt like jelly, but as you saw molly carrying your son, you sat up, ready to hold him. as he was passed into your arms, you smiled and cried.

“what’s wrong, dear?” molly asked, wiping back your damp hair.

you shook your head, “he’s beautiful. he is absolutely breathtaking.”

harry leaned over your side, looking at his nephew, “looks just like his mom.” he smiled, kissing your head as he smoothed your hair. over your head, he looked t molly, wondering what was going to happen.

a doctor stood at the side of your bed as you looked up, “what is going to happen to him?”

she gave a sad smile, “his organs will slowly start to shut down until he stops breathing, but he won’t be in pain. he’ll be okay.”

you looked back at your son, a bright smile on your face as your thumb grazed his cheek, “my beautiful boy. . .”

your bottom lip quivered, “can - can he be a donor?” you heard your son’s breathing, focusing on the rise and fall of his tiny chest and belly.

the doctor nodded, “yes, he can, but it is your decision, ms. potter.”

you swallowed, “can i spend more time with him, please?”

she nodded, “of course.”

molly held your hand under your son, sitting on the edge of the hospital bed, “have you thought of a name, darling?”

you nodded, your lip quivering, “fred.”

molly hummed, kissing your forehead. harry kneeled beside you, “beautiful name.” molly paused, “what do you need?”

“i just, um,” you swallowed a lump in your throat, “can i spend time with him? alone? i’m so-”

harry stood, “don’t apologize. . .we’ll be outside. i love you.”

you gave a sad smile, “i love you, too.” molly left right behind harry, giving you one last glance before leaving.

you knew they were telling everyone about what was happening, your son’s name, the difficult decision you had to make. but it didn’t matter. you were here, with fred, and he was the most beautiful baby you have ever seen in your entire life.

“oh, my sweet darling,” you started, “you have so - so many people waiting for you up there. your grandpa james, grandma lily, uncle sirius, uncle remus, uncle fred - whom you’re named after. they are going to take such good care of you, sweetheart.”

tears began to fall down your cheeks, your breath quickening as you realized he would not make it. you swallowed, “and, you’re going to be a savior, just like uncle harry. you. . .you are so loved, my darling. and,” you grazed his cheek again, “and i am going to miss you so much. you have a special place in my heart, you know that?”

his breathing then became wheezes, and somehow, the doctor knew, carefully walking in and closing the door with multiple nurses and a NICU cart behind them.

“i have to let him go, don’t i?” you asked, memorizing your son’s facial features.

molly opened the door, heading over to your side in a rush, “nobody is forcing you to do anything, darling. you take as much time as you need -”

“but if you wish for your son to be a donor, then yes. i am sorry, ms. potter.”

you leaned in, kissing fred on the forehead before whispering, “i am - i am going to miss you terribly, my love. don’t get in too much trouble.”

the doctor walked over to your bedside, watching your emotions carefully before you turned to her, “please take care of him. i don’t want him in any pain.”

she nodded to you, her red hair bouncing, “of course, ms. potter. your son will be in good care. he’ll be okay.”

with gentle hands, you carefully handed your son over to the doctor, who then put him inside the NICU cart, leaving quickly to preserve his organs. you covered your mouth, ugly sobs escaping you as molly pulled you close.

“i miss him!” you cried, snot and tears running down your face as the others waited outside, holding hands and wiping their own tears.

all you wanted was a baby, your own little baby - with a significant other or by donor - that was all you wanted. but now, it had been taken from you, ripped from your grasp. how were you supposed to live with yourself? how were you supposed to go home and look into the nursery without falling to your knees? how were you supposed to survive?

-

the shades hid the light of the sun entering your room. it was. . .nice, hiding from the world and laying within your plethora of covers. there was warmth, but also cold. you didn’t have a pregnant belly anymore, nor did you have any cravings or odd mood swings.

you wanted to hold fred again. you ached to kiss his cold, little cheeks again, or to smell him once more. you wish you had more time.

you had turned into a cocoon, refusing to leave your safe space unless necessary. no visitors were allowed, but you’d let people know you were breathing - not okay, but alive.

you felt like you failed.

you had done everything right. how did you lose him? what did you do wrong?

everyone had told you that it wasn’t your fault - but why did it feel like it was?

harry knocked on your door every single day. he still has yet to skip a day, but it has only been a week, so who knows. ginny stands beside him, telling you that you are strong, that you’ll get through this.

you scoffed every time.

molly drops off food every day, whether it be some cookies or a whole lasagna. she stands at the door and tells you how her day went, and you knew she was wiping her own tears. she’d stand there for about an hour and once you knew she left, you’d go and grab the food, putting it in the fridge until you had the stomach to eat.

ron and hermione came by twice, shoving cards and your mail under the door, telling you how much they miss you and your smile. you wanted to go out and laugh with them about old times, but you just couldn’t.

then his ashes came.

you remember being so excited when you first found out you were pregnant, rushing to buy all the supplies you needed as your girlfriends took the stress off you, buying the items for you instead.

you remember painting the room with george, harry, and ron. well, they painted and you ate pizza, giving tips as they got each other covered in the baby blue hue.

you remember finding out the sex of the baby, holding harry’s hand as the nurse told you it was a boy. that was when you knew his name was going to be fred, and harry admired you for it, calling you an adirmable sister.

however, you also remembered when you first got home, shuffling over to the couch and wrapping a blanket around yourself. you remember how your breasts ached, producing milk when there was nobody to produce it for. how the bleeding felt as if it went on for ages.

at first, you felt numb at the sight of the urn, but in a good way. he was here, finally, in his home. maybe not in the way you expected, but he was home. fred was home. you placed him on your dresser, perfect line of sight for you to see him. just to make sure your baby was okay.

standing up, you shook your legs and hobbled over to the shower, turning it on and stepping in immediately. the heat felt good, washing away the dirt and grime that had formed over the past week. then, brushing your teeth felt good, felt productive.

then, you called molly, asking if you could come over for dinner, and if harry and ginny, ron and hermione, could come, too.

she cried once she hung up, her answer being a choked, “of course, darling.”

it wasn’t what you planned, but it is what happened. you came to terms with that as you looked off into the field from the burrow. you miss fred terribly, but you knew he was okay. it was odd - sometimes, you’d hear a baby’s laugh and you’d see someone who was the spitting image of remus or sirius, lifting a baby in the air and seeing their smile light up the world. you saw those as signs - signs that fred was being taken care of.

and you were okay with him not being in your arms.

[maxineswritingcenter]

Bragger - Dean x fem!reader part 2

Suggested by @rileynicole1967 based on the song Bragger by Kelsea Ballerini. 

- 

(Y/N) stared the vampires down, wishing that she had at least some sort of weapon on her. 

“Stay behind me.” She told her parents, trying to keep an eye on all three of them. 

“Listen here, you buncha hooligans” Her dad, pulled her behind him as she protested, “I don’t know who you vampire wannabes think you are but you need to get out of my house.” Dad’s big head was going to get them all killed. 

“Don’t be the hero, old man.” The one in the middle looked around him to (Y/N). 

“So, where is Dean Winchester?” He asked, “We got a couple questions for him.” Dad looked back at her, hands on his hips. 

“They’re here because of him? He just keeps getting better and better.” He complained. 

“(Y/D/N)!” Her mother glared. 

“What? Are you trying to defend him?” He asked. The lead Vampire and (Y/N) made eye contact. He raised his eyebrows are her as if he were asking if they were really like this. She nodded, shrugging her shoulder. The vampire let out a deep breath. He reached forward, grabbing her father by the neck and lifting him in the air. (Y/N) and her mother reached out but were stopped by the henchmen. 

“Old man, I think it’s about time you stopped talking. Man alive, if my daddy was anything like you I woulda killed him faster.” Her father’s eyes widened, swinging his feet back and forth.

“Put him down, it’s me you want, I can get Dean here.” She pleaded. 

“Oh I know you can, sweet thing. I’m just wanting a quick bite.” His sharp teeth came down from his gums. Dad’s eyes widened even more. 

“Then wait until you get Dean.” (Y/N) reasoned, “You capture Dean and eat them as a reward.” The vampire thought a moment then nodded, setting Dad back down on his feet.

“You make a good point. Why don’t you give him a call?” He tossed me my parents landline. 

-

Dean his just been mindlessly driving around the small town, watching the locals go in and out of shops and restaurants. This didn’t seem like a bad place to grow up. Didn’t seem like a bad place to live. He wondered if (Y/N) ever wanted to come back here. 

His thoughts were broken from his phone ringing, from a number he didn’t recognize. But this was the phone designated for hunters so it was someone he knew. 

He hit answer, pressing the phone to his ear, “You got Dean Winchester.” 

“Dean, it’s me.” (Y/N)’s voice crackled over the phone. 

“Hey, look, I’m sorry-” 

“Oh it’s fine. Don’t worry about the vase. Accidents happen.” He quickly glanced at the phone. 

“What?”

“I know that you accidently knocked over my grandparents urn, but all has been forgiven.” Grandparents urn had been their code for vampires. 

“Is everything okay?” He asked, starting to turn his car around. 

“Oh and before I forget mom and I are gonna start making your favorite - red velvet cake.” She said gleefully. That was bad. Red velvet cake was code for hostage situation, need back up now. 

“I’m on my way.” He gripped onto the steering wheel, hanging up the phone. 

-

(Y/N) set the phone down and sighed, “He’s on his way.” 

“Excellent.” The vampire reached out, holding onto her chin. His hands were ice cold, cold as death. 

“I may just turn you. You seem to understand when you’ve been beat.” 

“You get your dirty hands offa her!” Her mother shouted, struggling against the restraints they had been put in. While on the phone, her parents had been strapped to chairs from the dining room table. 

“Lady,” The vampire pulled his hands away, “I really don’t like hearing lip from a lush.” Her mother gasped. 

“You can’t talk to her like that-” Before her dad could continue, they were both gagged by the henchmen. 

“Now...” The leader turned back to (Y/N), “Why don’t you let us have a taste, huh?” The vampire grinned, stalking forward. (Y/N) stepped back. He laughed. 

“Aww sweetheart, don’t play coy.” He nodded for his other henchmen to move forward. The lacky came forward, grinning. As she backed away, her hand brushed the side of her bag. She stopped, subtly grabbing the syringe of dead man’s blood she kept there. When he got close enough, she popped the top and slammed the needle into his neck. He cried out and back away, stumbling back into the wall, holding his neck. He slide down the wall. The other lacky came around. 

“Hey!” The henchman kneeled down and looked over his partner, “Deadman’s blood.” He stood up, stomping towards (Y/N), “YOU BITCH!” He stopped mid step, eyes wide. In front of the eyes of her parents and the lead vampire, the henchman’s head slid off and landed on the floor with a sickening thud. His body followed. In his place stood Dean with a machete.

“I told you those syringes work.” He grinned. 

“Is now the right time for you to tell me ‘I told you so’?” She said in an exasperated voice. 

Dean looked from her to the two vampires still alive, and the lead vampire looked pissed, “Right.” 

The lead vampire growled, rushing Dean. Dean swung. 

- 

Dad and Dean drove the pickup truck to the dump with a trap covering the back end. Mom and (Y/N) followed in the Impala. Mom was fiddling with her fingers, very clearly having things on her mind. 

“He’s not a fireman, is he?” She asked. 

“(Y/N) shook her head, “Nope.” 

“And he isn’t volunteering at a youth shelter?” 

“Nope.” 

“And you’re not a lawyer are you? You do what he does, kill monsters.” 

I chewed on the inside of my cheek, “Yeah.” 

“Sweetheart, why didn’t you tell us-”

“Would you have approved?” She cut off her mom, “What was I supposed to tell you? That I dropped out of school and started hunting monsters? You would have had me committed.” When they made it to the dump, Dean and Dad had parked and opened the back of the truck. They were grapping the garbage bags of bodies and started a pile. Mom went to open the door of the impala. 

“I wouldn’t, the smell is the worst.” At her words, mom took her hand off the handle. 

“What do you think they’re talking about?” Mom asked. 

- 

Dean and (Y/N) father loaded the last of the vampires bodies off the truck and into the pile. Out from his jacket pocket, Dean brought out a flask of lighter fluid and a book of matches. 

“So, what if the cops find this?” (Y/F/N) asked. 

Dean shook his head, “These bastards burn to dust. All they’re gonna find is burnt plastic.” He dumped the lighter fluid on the pile, then lit the matches, tossing the book on the pile that went up in flames. They both stared in the flames in silence. 

“You married my daughter?” Her father asked. She must have told him when he left. 

“I did.” 

“Where’s her ring?” 

Dean ran his thumb over his ring ring finger where his mother’s ring had been, “I proposed to her my mother’s. She wore it around her neck today so you didn’t see it and get upset that you weren’t invited.”

“Well, I am upset.” 

“Sir, with all due respect and believe me I’m trying to even give you the respect that (Y/N) would want me to, I wanted to invite you, my brother did as well. But she didn’t. She didn’t want to continue to bring you into this lie, bring you closer to her so that you would be in danger.” 

“She’s in danger being around you.” He sneered. 

Dean glared, “Don’t you think I told her that?” That seemed to surprise him, “I told her that I wasn’t safe, that what I do wasn’t safe for her. I love your daughter, it killed me to push her away.” Dean looked back at the flames, “But she’s  stubborn. Must get that from you.” 

(Y/F/N) smiled a little, “Yeah, she’s a rock, ain’t she?” He shoved his hands in his pockets, “Alright, I’ll allow this... But, you guys gotta visit once a year. At least.”

“You gonna keep giving me crap?” Dean asked, looking at her father’s out of the corner of his eye. Her father thought a moment, sticking out his bottom lip. 

“I’ll keep it to myself.” 

Dean hummed, “Deal.” They shook hands. 

-

“Bye, sweetie.” Mom grinned, hugging her. She was dressed head to toe in cleaning gear to start cleaning up the blood. 

“Mom, I said I would help.” (Y/N) started. 

“No, no, you need to get on the road. That’s a long drive back to Kansas.” (Y/N) hugged her dad. He pulled away, holding her cheeks in his hands. 

“Now there’s my happy little girl.” He smiled. (Y/N) tightened her lips, tears in her eyes. 

“Dad, come on.” 

“Hey, hey, no tears, Mrs. Winchester.” Dean, who managed to get out of her mother’s arms and came over, shaking her father’s hand. 

“I’ll call when we get home.” (Y/N) said as Dean walked her to the car. 

- 

After a few hours on the road, (Y/N) started feeding Dean cookies to help him stay awake on the road. 

“These are so good.” He hummed around a bite. She giggled and fed him another cookie, he nipped at her fingers. She laughed, taking the cookie and biting it. With one hand on the wheel, the other hand taking hers, looking over her her left hand where her wedding ring was. 

“I hated that you didn’t have this on all day.” He said softly. 

“I know, Dean-Bean, but I was just afraid of what they would say.” 

Dean chuckled, “I understand why. Your dad is so intense.” 

“I know I’m sorry. But at least we don’t have to lie anymore.” She sighed, resting her head on the window. 

Dean looked over, then back at the road, “Well, we die lie about one thing.” He poked her stomach. 

----------------

Thank you everyone for reading, I’m sorry part two took so long. I just got caught up in another fic. 

Likes, Comments, and Reblogs are appreciated! 

Comment or message me below to be added to the general tag or a SPN tag. 

@happy-little-winchester

@hobby27

@tranzfred

@vicmc624

@ria132love

@lilulo-12

@teenwaywardasgardian

@tloveswriting

@mikrokosmicjoon

@calaofnoldor

[moonlit-imagines]

Preferences: Halloween Traditions

TUA x reader

warnings:

a/n: NO ONE HAS EVER REQUESTED A PREFERENCE BEFORE!!!! THANK YOUUUU (and ur request is perfect!!)

prompt: @amirahiddleston: “hey lacey!! for the ~ halloween requests, may i get a tua preference about doing halloween traditions w/the hargreeves siblings? like pumpkin carving, getting costumes, watching movies, trick or treating, the works? i dont often write requests so if i did this wrong im sorry </3 thank you so much if you do write this xx”

Luther was all about being “kid friendly” on halloween, so he convinced you to decorate the Umbrella Academy exterior with him, and nearly fell off the ladder in the process. But you’d never seen that Academy like this before! It actually looked...like somebody lived in it. Reggie would be rolling in his grave (urn, ashes?) if he could see how you and Luther had tainted his “respectable” mansion. Also, you definitely matched costumes and handed out halloween candy.

Diego is big on pumpkin carving. A fun way to use knives! He has a separate knife collection for this activity, but he knows how to use ‘em. He and you sit together for hours trying to perfect your pumpkin face and contain the mess. And you two always surprise each other, it’s sort of like a contest now. Don’t forget to clean and cook your pumpkin seeds!

Allison goes all out on baking sweet treats! You and her go through all sorts of dessert ideas to try out. The ghost-shaped cookies were your favorite (until Klaus said “look, it’s Ben!”). Claire always makes sure she can get in on the fun, you always let her lick the batter off of the spoon and Allison can’t help but get excited over how cute you two are!

Klaus is a party animal! He knows all the best spots to hang out on Halloween and drags you along. You distinctly remember doing the Monster Mash with him...several times. But he always gave you a memorable night that you’s look back on for years to come!

Five hates Halloween. Hates it. He will do anything to kill the Halloween spirit, but he just ends up making it better? Five scares children (and adults) while you chase him around telling him to cut it out. He chases people around covered in fake blood (you hope) and wielding real weapons. A peculiar sight that really adds to October 31st.

This guy right here LOVES playing pranks. What better than a real ghost on Halloween, he’s just doing what he was meant to do. He’ll haunt you, he’ll haunt his siblings, he’ll possess someone, he’ll move things around, whatever! He gets a real kick out of it and it never fails to impress you.

Vanya just wants to sit inside and watch Halloween movies and cuddle, which is reasonable. You always buy two bags of candy at the last minute and munch away while watching a scary movie or a comedy. Sometimes you watch up to four in the same night and just fall asleep, knowing that it was another successful Halloween in her eyes.

taglist: @alwaysananglophile // @cullens-stuff // @lotsoffandomrecs // @takethebladeawayfromme // @that-nerd-tessa // @teenwaywardasgardian // @spidergirla5 // @sheridans-dynamos // @freya-xo // @johnmurphyisbisexual // @jay-is-groovy // @ravenmoore14 // @purpleskiesstorm // @abbiesthings // @bonniesbabybunnie

[happychopshopcowboy]

i've got demon eyes (and they're looking right through your anatomy)

Sukuna Ryomen gets summoned by eight year old Megumi Fushiguro because the kid couldn't reach the cookie jar on his own.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Oops…”

In hindsight, using curse memorabilia as a makeshift ladder probably wasn’t the best idea. But Megumi was hungry, and Gojo-Sensei wouldn’t return from his mission for at least another few hours. At least the cookies were safe though, still perched high above young Megumi’s head on the shelf. The same couldn't be said for the ornate emerald box that was roleplaying as the top step of the eclectic ladder, which slipped out beneath the boy at the first give of his weight, sending him and the entire mismatched pile of things tumbling over each other onto the ground. Thankfully young megumi survived the tumble down without a scratch, thanks to the mountain of cursed objects there to cushion his fall. The child shook his head, brushing himself off as he stood. Uh-oh.

Amidst the avalanche, Megumi spotted the top step to his ladder; something Gojo was calling a ‘sacred urn’ or whatever. 

“Look but don’t touch,” Gojo-Sensei told him. “If this ever opens, you’re dead.”

 Well, technically it wasn’t open. Just broken, sporting a deep gash down its center. Maybe he could fix it. Actually, that idiot Gojo probably wouldn’t even notice it was broken anyway. It wasn’t even that pretty to begin with; the deep green tinted with black, almost made it look rusted. If anything, the crack down the middle added some character to the rather plain, peeling facade. Megumi shook the box. That’s strange. It didn’t sound like there was anything so sacred inside. In fact, it felt pretty light too, like it was empty. “Prettier on the inside anyway.” Megumi remarked, noting the red stream of light that leaked from within the cracked box. Just as he went to shake it again, this time the box shook back. The violent jolting back and forth in his hand caused him to yelp, throwing the box to the opposite end of the room. Megumi shielded his face with cupped hands, flinching away from the bright red light that seethed from the box and spat out into the room around him. A figure emerged from the light, stepping forward only to be tugged back, something restraining his leg. He paused, immediately looking down to find a series of moving shadows that have formed a make shift chain around one of his ankles, rendering him chained to the urn on the floor. But what surprised the great king of curses was not so much the strong shackles that have managed to confine him, but rather, the bright pair of emerald eyes that were staring right at him—unblinking and without fear. Sukuna raises an brow in question as he eyed the small boy's youthful face and small stature with barely concealed interest.

“What do you want, kid?”

The little boy tilted his head. “Huh?”  Megumi is smarter than to be trusting of strangers, but this man resonates an overwhelming amount of cursed energy. It reminds him of Gojo’s presence. Maybe this stranger is a friend. “Who are—“

“You’re a little young to be a curse user, don’t you think?” Sukuna asked, a grin creeping across his face. Megumi shook his head in protest, eyes darting between Sukuna and the urn. “What? I’m not—“

“How did you summon me all on your own?”

Summon. Megumi knew that world well. Gojo-Sensei said that word a lot when disscussing curse users. Oh. Oh. Doe eyes peer upwards at Sukuna, quietly examining him up and down. That’s strange. As an unfortunuate student of Gojo’s, the young sorceerer had seen hundreds, thousands of curses of all shapes and sizes, but never any that looked like this. This stranger lokked different. He looked human. 

“Hmm. No.” The boy stated, as if giving a diagnosis. ”You’re not a curse.” 

“No?” Sukuna cooed, letting out a low chuckle. “And what does a little brat like you know about curses?”

The child stumbled foreword a few paces, stopping with his toes pressed up against the others. “You don’t look like a curse.” He said, using a nubby finger to jab at Sukuna’s leg. That insistent poking didn’t continue for very long before the tiny hand briskly swatted away. “Do not touch me without permission.” Sukuna ordered, placing a palm against the small boy’s forehead, and sliding the child a few inches backward. Megumi brushed his arms against his head like a cat, grumbling as he fought to peel the heavy hand off of him. “And curses aren’t supposed to talk. Not like that.” Megumi informed, pouting as he slid down against the wall. “Like what?” Sukuna asked. The boy shrugged, mumbling as he spoke. “With long words.” It’s almost precious, though Sukuna won’t admit it to himself. This small boy speaking so wildly out of turn to the most deadly curse on Earth. Like a mouse talking shit to a lion. It causes Sukuna to laugh, curious as to what it is that makes this boy so bold. “If you’re a curse,” Megumi huffed.“Then why are you here?” “You tell me,” Sukuna mused, crimson eyes glaring. “Why am I here, little bunny?” The kid let out a high pitched groan. “I got hungry.” He mumbled. “I was trying to reach the cookie jar, but the cabinet is too high.” This kid could use a cookie or two. And then some. He was awfully scrawny, a puny little thing. “Tell you what kid, I’ll help you out.” Sukuna said, a smiling down on young Megumi. “But you have to do something for me in return.” “What do you want me to do?” The boy retorted, sounding as if he’d been inconvenienced by the request alone. “Tell me your name.”

“That’s it?” The child retorted. “It’s Fushiguro Megumi.” A loud laugh escaped the curse, cocking his head to the side. Megumi. “Isn’t that a little girl’s name?” “No.” Megumi rolled his eyes, sinking lower against the wall until his back was flat with the floor. “Is that all you wanted?”

“Tell me, what were you trying to do before you summoned me?”

“I told you, I was hungry and—“ Sukuna waved his hand, silencing the boy by speaking over him. “Not that.” He hushed. “How did you open that urn on your own?” “I dunno. It just happened, I already told you.” Megumi pouted with a heavy sigh, folding his arms across his chest. “You’re not that good at listening, ya know.” A low grumble hummed in his tummy, causing the young child to groan. It must’ve been at least a couple of hours since Gojo left him stranded without food, and this supposed curse was wasting even more precious time that could be spent between Megumi and a jar full of cookies. “Are you gonna help me out or not?” Sukuna grinned. “If you can remove this,” a finger gathers at the pool of chains attached to his ankle, anchoring him to the inside of the urn. “I’ll take care of your little problem.”

“Why are you gonna do when I take it off?” Megumi asked, flexing his best glare of intimidation through long eyelashes. 

“Why don’t you find out for yourself?” Sukuna poised, giving him a wink. 

The child mulled over it for a mew moments in silence, keeping his eyes trained to his lap. He sure was hungry, and Gojo hadn’t left any snacks for him before leaving earlier that morning. These cookies seemed like his only option for now. Green eyes slowly lifted, observing the strange nature of the man before him. “Hmm… No.” Megumi replied. “I won’t do it. I’m not gonna trust a curse.” Smart boy. Smarter than he looks, at least. Though, that doesn’t say much for a sorcerer. Sukuna will at least give him credit for his loyalty, if nothing else. What a peculiar little creature. “Fair enough.” He replies, keeping his eyes trained on the small child before him. Peculiar indeed. This child seemed fearless, too preoccupied with his own selfish desires to even register the danger that surrounded him. Sukuna bent down, gracing Megumi with a soft pet to the head. “Megumi, was it?” He asked. “I’ll remember that.” A clawed finger pointed to the cabinet, splitting the wooden shelf completely in half so that it’s contents could spill over to the floor. “Ahh!” Megumi yelped, flinching as the cookie jar landed safely in the center of his lap. The boy gushed, quickly tossing the lid aside and starting to pull out one, two, now three cookies. “Thanks!” In a matter of moments, he had already managed to cram one and a half chocolate chip cookies into his mouth, crumbs spilling over into his lap. His head was practically inside the jar, pulling out treat after treat into his lap like it was his last meal. “So, what’s your na-“ When he finally raised his head, the room was empty. The stranger, along with that ugly looking urn had vanished, leaving Megumi alone with his cookies at last. He let out a heavy sigh of relief, licking some chocolate off his fingers. “Oh, well.” Already scarfing down the first of the cookies, Megumi was without a care in the world. Surely Gojo-Sensei wouldn’t care about some dumb old broken box, right? Besides, even if that stranger was telling the truth, it was just one curse on the loose. Happens all the time.

How bad could it be, right?

[wowheadquarters]

don't be shy, drop ALL your Kel'Thuzad headcanons~

All of them? Hm. I don’t know if I remember all of them. Also, I stopped keeping track of WoW some time in the middle of the Battle for Azeroth, because it can either be WoW whcih I enjoy or shitwreck, and I chose WoW, which isn’t what Blizzard/Activision is currently serving- I meant to say that most likely my headcanons aren’t Shadowlands compatibile.

Anyway. Kel’thuzad headcanons of various importance as I remember them.

Kel’thuzad is his actual given name, it’s not a pseudonym or anything.

In Thalassian “kel’thuzad” mean “seeker of the truth”. (In Darnassian the same phrase is “keil tassad” and in Zandali “kel’ta sad”.)

Kel’thuzad speaks Common and Thalassian fluently. Before the Dark Portal opened he knew some phrases in Dwarven (conversational) and Gnomish (related to transport industry and mathematic). He can also speak Zandali with varying accents (mostly Amani), but he knows only five or six Zandali signs (he can sign his name, but that’s it).

After the Dark Portal opened, Kel’thuzad tried and failed to learn Orcish. He gained the skill later when it was a trial-and-error learning by communicating with Ner’zhul. Due to that Kel’thuzad’s accent when speaking Orcish is not “Human,” but distinctly Shadowmoon.

He also learned Nerubian from... well, the dead Nerubians. He can now both speak and write fluently even with encryption.

(There are 3 ways of Nerubian ecryptions and they can be simultaneously applied. This way there exist 7 versions of encryption plus 1 unencrypted text. These are known as the Eight Webs of writing. Plain text is written in the First Web, triple encryptin is the Eighth Web.)

He can read (but not speak) Nathrezim, and somewhat read and speak Shath’Yar, the language of the Old Gods. He would understand Quiraji if he ever encountered it, because it is very close to Nerubian (like Czech and Slovakian, I imagine).

The Language of Death, by the Scourge usually referred to as Deathspeak, is an artificial language created by Kel’thuzad. It is based on all languages he knew at the point of creating it, and is fairly easy to learn if you find a willing teacher. It was created for the members of the Cult of the Damned to understand ach other without them feeling like one language/race is put above the other, and to partially control their thoughts, as the language specifically hasn’t got some words or phrases (such as “rebellion”). Orwell would be proud.

He was brownhaired, but he greyed out fairly quickly when Ner’zhul settled in his head without paying any rent.

He was from Kul’Tiras. (I still want him to necromance a sunken ship. And a chalk cliff.)

His family name is Naxrierre. There is a theory that Naxrierres were a witch coven that became civilized with years, which is mostly spread by naysayers to explain the family’s talent towards magic. Another theory claims that they are a part-elven bastards which would besides the magic explain the name.

Kel’thuzad took the elf-Naxrierr theory to heart and in his ambition for one of his sons to make it somewhere else than the navy agve him a Quel’dorei name.

The suffix -ramas in Nerubian signifies not encessarily a necropolis but any place to permanently home dead bodies. “Naxxramas” is basically “Nax(rierre)’s tomb” but in Nerubian. 

As a mage in Dalaran Kel’thuzad studied arcanophysic, a way to describe and measure magic. This field is where all the calibration of spells or even negating spells comes from. He became the sole teacher of it in Dalaran, because he was the only one enthusiastic enough about it to bother.

He was that type of teacher who didn’t give homeworks, he hated correcting them. He also had his classes in the most unreasonable hours, such as 3 AM, because he had a busy schedule and non-existent sleep pattern.

Since Kel’thuzad’s banishment the knowledge of arcanophysics among the Dalaran mages has drasticaly declined and is nearly nonexistent nowadays. All books Kel’thuzad had written on it have been sealed away, which removed nearly all reliable sources from the public access.

Kel’thuzad actually had good relationships with his colleagues. He helped Alonda with her fild research on Trolls (hence his speaking Zandali).

His closest friend was Anthonidas. They used to be classmates once upon the time.

What really undermined Kel’thuzad’s trust and belief in Kirin Tor was what happened to Khadgar. He realized that Kirin Tor is not going to act if given a warning, and not going to help if hearing a plea.

He still tried to warn Kirin Tor before what he didn’t know was the Scourge. He had noticed the Amani “moving out of the way”. “Whatever will happen, and I believe that this time it will be the dead, because the demons haven’t tried that yet, it will happen in a single line from Lordareon to Quel’Danas. We know the Amani can see into the future, and they are clearing out of this path.” Dismissed as a doomsayer, he wasn’t really persistent in his warnins.

Ner’zhul’s talks to Kel’thuzad began as especially persistent migraines. Whenever Kel’thuzad tried to tell Anthonidas that his condition is serious, he was sent off with a mug of peacebloom tea and an advice not to stay up so late, and maybe lay off some stress.

The teacher who taught Thrall in his early years such stuff as writing, that was Kel’thuzad in disguise when he was rectuiting in and around Durnholde Keep.

No, Kel’thuzad has no idea the little pet-orc he was trying to groom and later kidnap for the Cult of the Damned (What a better liteunant than the one you raise yourself?) is Thrall, the Warchief of the Horde.

Kel’thuzad was tasked with finding and preparing the perfect new host for Ner’zhul. He was trying to overthrow the Lich King, so he picked Arthas as a paladin of Light whom he believed strong willed enough to handle it. And at the start of the story Arthas was.

His second choice for Lich King would have been Kael’thas.

He shuffled his cards in the deck of “Scourge politics” so that Bolvar Fordragon would take the Helm of Domination after Arthas. Players greta victory? Just according to keikaku.

He had (and still has) a “wanted poster” for Garrosh Hellscream. He really wanted him into the Scourge army. The reward was a whole necropolis with units.

Naxxramas had a dedicated “catkeeper” tasked with taking care of Mr. Bigglesworth and cleaning the acid/slime vats. Her name was Gwendoline, usually called Gwen, she is now one of Garrosh’s ghost children. Gwen died during the attack on Theramore where she was working as a spy for the Scourge.

Liches feed off people emotions and minds. The Lich Kign keeps it secret (even from Kel’thuzad) to keep them starved and obedient. The passive “nibbling” causes that people around liches start to be unfeeling.

Kel’thuzad has developed the Cure for the Plague quite early on. Ner’zhul made him test the plagues seeds on himself.

Speakig of that, Ner’zhul (and later Arthas as the Lich King) had a complete control over Kel’thuzad’s body, so if he refused to carry out an order, Ner’zhul could just make him do it anyway.

Additionally, the Lich King could kep him going despite injuries, exhaustion &c. Arthas fancied himself thinking that h killed Kel’thuzad, but the truth is that the cumulative injuries (several broken bones, stab wounds, a concussion, frostbites, poisonings), exhaustion and starvation were enough to kill Kel’thuzad twice over, no hammer needed. Ner’zhul just in that moment let Kel’thuzad die, because that was what he needed.

He used to play Hearthstone a lot when he was alive. He had a very good Hunter Murlock tribal deck.

He is asexual, and quite possibly aromantic too. In his words: “I believe in love on the first sight. And I am probably blind or something, as it seems.”

His favourite colour is purple.

Shortly before the capture of Bolvar Fordragon Kel’thuzad re-bound his phylactery from the whole urn to a single shard. The shard was sold by a cult of the Damned agent in Kul’Tiras to Taelia Fordragon as a lucky amulet.

Whenever as a lich Kel’thuzad regained his form, he always found himself knee-deep in water due to some fucking coincidences, starting with the Sunwell.

Speaking of Sunwell, he carries in himself  “a spark of Sunwell”. this has many benefits, such as power or not giving a fuck about Light being super-effective against the undead. It is a thing to be revealed out of the blue without prior warning when we need to reset the Sunwell (again).

He has enough knowledge of Troll and Orc shamanism to be considered a shaman, and too analytical and scientific mind to be actually good at it.

He also had made an oath to the Amani tribe that everything he’s learned from them would never be used to harm any Troll. It is why Kel’thuzad was not responsible for the havoc wrought in Zul’drak.

Naxxrams “responds” to Kel’thuzads emotions and feelings and even physical state. When he gets discorporated (killed), Naxxramas enters “save battery” mode. Naxxramas’ usual is “cold and static” and “cold and slightly shaking” which is Kelthuzad’s “bored” and “irritated” respectively.

He doesn’t like sweets, but he enjoyes crunchy stuff, be it cookies or fried potato slices. He craves the crunch.

He ate the flesh of several sapient beings. In several cases he knows it and the memory of ti makes him retch, even now when he is dead.

He likes dragons. He wants his own dreagonflight. (I have a headcanon abbout Sapphiron’s “Ivory” dragonflight of undead dragons.)

He has a saronite armour to match with the Bloodsurge. It decorates a ziggurat somewhere in Plaguelands. el’thuzad honestly doesn’t care. The armour has spikes on the inside, so if you put it on as a living being, you can’t take it off without bleeding out. A very emo move.

And I am tired now, so this will have to do for now. It’s not all of them, I am sure I haven’t thought of some area. But here we go.

[tatselk]

The Tichy Trident Inn

Description: My entry for the Reddit Bi-Weekly Build Challenge, Week 101: Lodging with Spirits; Haunted Hotels & Spooky Staycation Spots: “Known as the oldest surviving hotel in Windenburg, the historic Tichy Trident Inn offers characterful rooms, hearty meals and a handy location to explore the nearby Ancient Ruins. But just beware of the various, ahem, long term residents of the inn!”

Key Elements of Challenge: • Spooky, dark atmosphere. • Original/vintage furnishings with unique room styles. • Historical property with ghost-lore galore! There should be at least one supernatural presence.

Requirements of Challenge: • One entry per person. • Must have at least 5 bedrooms. • Residential, rental or commercial properties OK (NO apartments!). • No Photoshopping images. • CC allowed.

Gallery Link: The Tichy Trident Inn  

Pictures:

Good evening and welcome to The Tichy Trident Inn Ghost Tour!

This evening, you will learn about the past of Windenburg’s oldest surviving hotel and explore areas of the inn which are generally not accessible to the public.

Perhaps you may even be able to see for yourself whether The Tichy Trident Inn lives up to its reputation as the most severely haunted building in Windenburg.

Now let’s head inside to begin our tour!

Let me begin by telling you a little about the inn’s history.

The first recorded history of there being a building on this site was from about 800 years ago when the Ancient Ruins were mere Ruins and the inn was just a pub.

This is the oldest part of the inn and formed the entirety of the pub which was on this site 800 years ago.

The pub served as the first port of call for many a weary sailor (or smuggler) who arrived in Windenburg.

This extension was added when the pub was converted to an inn around 600 years ago.

Back then, Windenburg was a powerful maritime hub and its port bustled with activity day and night.

The inn was further extended about 400 years ago to cater to the many travellers who passed through Windenburg to reach the newly-opened University of Britechester.

Due to the age of the inn, it was one of the first buildings ever to be granted the Simsonian Heritage Award. You can see the plaque right here in the lobby!

We are now in what was the bar room of the original pub on this site.

It currently serves as the bar/ dining room of the inn.

Back when the inn was a pub, there was a sailor who practically lived here and had to have 10 drinks each night he was here.

The sailor reportedly liked sitting near this window so that he could watch the comings and goings of the street outside as he drank.

One night, before the sailor could finish his 10th drink for the night, he was called away by someone. The sailor was never seen alive again.

Soon after, glasses were seen flying across the bar room, furniture in the pub were smashed to bits and patrons complained of being nudged out of their seats by unseen forces.

These incidents stopped when the then-pub owner decided to leave a drink near where the sailor used to sit and drink.

About a century later, a particularly cost-conscious pub owner decided to stop leaving these free drinks out to cut costs.

Havoc ensued and the pub nearly went out of business.

Since then, every sensible proprietor of the establishment has left a drink here every night.

And returned in the morning to find an empty glass.

Now let’s return to the lobby and head upstairs for the next part of our tour.

The Tichy Trident Inn boasts 5 charming suites.

A single suite.

A family suite.

A twin suite.

A double suite.

And a honeymoon suite.

Each suite offers its own en-suite bathroom, coffee and tea making facilities, complimentary cookies, a writing desk and complimentary use of a slablet.

But for the purposes of our ghost tour, what is key is that paranormal activity has been reported in nearly all the inn’s suites. We will be visiting each of the supposedly haunted rooms in turn.

A previous guest of the inn’s single suite was a promising young violinist, Madelina Martinelli, who came to Windenburg in the hopes of becoming a court musician at Windenburg Castle.

Unfortunately, before Ms Martinelli got the chance to attend the audition for court musicians at Windenburg Castle, she succumbed to the then-fatal Llama Flu which was sweeping through Windenburg.

Ms Martinelli’s violin remains in the suite for the use of current guests.

However, guests are warned that if they play the violin poorly, the violin’s original owner may give them an, uhh, impromptu violin lesson in the middle of the night.

Featuring enough beds to fit 4 Sims (including a bed for toddlers) and a toy chest, the family suite of the inn is very popular with families and nearly always booked throughout the year.

What these guests may not know is that the toy chest was placed here to appease the spirits of some children who perished here in the Great Fire of-

Uhh, that toy wasn’t there just now, was it?

Ok, who put that toy there when my back was turned?

Did anyone put that toy there? Did anyone even touch the toy chest at all???

(faint giggling of children from all 4 corners of the room)

Let’s… Let’s just… move on then, shall we?

Back in the landing, I note that that door leads to the twin suite which is the only suite in the inn that does not have any ghost stories attached to it.

This is supposedly thanks to the model ship of The Tichy Trident beside the door, which is made from wood sanctified by the Venerated Watcher.  

The records of the inn show that this suit of armour was installed after a series of guests’ complaints about the theft of items from their rooms.  

Since then, the inn has not encountered a single incident of theft.

But guests seem to have instead taken to complaining about the sounds of creaking metal in the corners of the corridor...  

Does anyone need a quick bathroom break before we continue with our tour?

Anyone at all? No? Alright, let’s move on then.

We are now in the inn’s library.

It was set up to cater to the many academically-inclined travellers who passed through Windenburg on their way to study or work at the then-newly opened University of Britechester.

No known ghost stories about the library.

Although that computer in the far end there HAS been known to be rather erratic, especially at night…

The inn’s double suite used to be occupied by the bestselling horror novelist, Lady Daphne Rice.

It was in this very room that Lady Daphne produced many of her most well-loved books like “Conversations with the Ghouls”.

Lady Daphne initially came to Windenburg for about a month to seek inspiration at the Ancient Ruins for her upcoming novel. Lady Daphne ended up loving Windenburg so much that she spent the rest of her life here.

Indeed, some say that Lady Daphne never left Windenburg or the inn.

On certain quiet nights, one could almost hear the distinctive clittering and clattering of Lady Daphne’s typewriter in the corner…

In the height of its prosperity about 200 years ago, the inn added a small but excellent picture gallery to its facilities.

In exchange for giving him a far lower rental rate, the then-owner of the inn even managed to get Mr Brian Leighton, the artist who painted the portraits of Lord and Lady Shallot in Von Haunt Estate, to replicate those portraits for the inn.

More on Mr Leighton later…

We will now move downstairs to visit the final suite in the inn.

Mr Leighton, who painted the Shallots’ portraits, once lived in what is now the honeymoon suite.

The honeymoon suite was created to pay homage to Mr Leighton’s, uhh, many romantic exploits.

Guests are welcome to use the easel on which Mr Leighton himself painted.

However, they are discouraged from leaving their unfinished paintings on the easel overnight. Those who have disregarded this have found their work, for lack of a better word, vandalised.

We will now head into the basement to explore a small portion of Windenburg’s famed labyrinthine network of underground tunnels.

Nobody knew who first built these tunnels or how many of these tunnels there are.

Archaeologists estimate that we have only excavated at most 10% of all these underground tunnels.

But in any case, since time immemorial, people have lived, worked and died in these tunnels.

In the basement of The Tichy Trident Inn, we have discovered what appears to be a shrine of some sort.

This mysterious glowing tree appears to be able to grow without any known source of nutrients.

Note the neatly arranged rows of urns surrounding the tree.

It is unclear whose remains are in the urns, who placed the urns here or why the urns were placed here.

But archaeologists note a particularly important point: the remains in the urns are all from different eras ranging from 1,000 years ago to 50 years ago. This suggests that somebody has been collecting them systematically over the years. HMM.

Alright, alright, that’s enough scaring ourselves for one night.

Let’s get out of here.

Nearly there.

Up those stairs and we will be out of here!

Well, not quite. We have one final stop on our tour.

This is the former office of Mrs Bernadette Beecham who ran the inn like clockwork for over 50 years.

When the current owners of the inn took over the management of the inn, they attempted to remove this office in order to create a bathroom for the staff on the ground floor.

However, after numerous… incidents occurred during the renovation, the current owners gave up on their plan and roped off Mrs Beecham’s former office to prevent anyone from touching the desk.

No incidents have been reported since then.  

This is a portrait of Mrs Beecham.

Strangely, there have been reports of a staff member who looks just like her wandering around the inn and tidying things up in the middle of the night…

And now we are back at the lobby where we started the tour.

Before you leave, do check out the books that we have on sale in the inn.

“The Tichy Trident Inn: Its Ghosts and Roasts” is an especially popular read!

We have come to the end of The Tichy Trident Inn Ghost Tour.

Thank you for joining us, and good night!

[sw124]

[Lamia-Birdy-Bitty Daily life!13]

/Pro-Revenge/p2

Hello my Lamia lovers how are you all doing, good I hope...

As I promised I would explain everything but if it gets to long I may do a part 3, now things get really sad in this so fair warning to all who have sensitive bitties. Now as you all have read from my last post I told you about Leo, Rosie, Phthalo the Mamba, my relationship with them and the tragedy that followed. At the very end of that I spoke about how Rosie got a phone call that ended with her in pure hysterical crying. Yeah I know, in the last post it didn’t sound like it but cut me some slack here....things were tough and I really didn’t want to describe her crying.

They were int he kitchen while I and the children were in the living room, as much as I wanted to go and comfort Rosie her siblings and Leo’s brother Jon told me this was something that shouldn’t be exposed to. So I was asked to do a lunch run for the kids, Rodger was about to get his wallet but before he could I quickly told him that lunch was on me and not to worry about paying me back. He was taken aback by it but I told him that this wasn’t the time for small things like that, all I wanted was a list of what food to get.

The kids were between 7 and 12 so to satisfy them all I went to the local drive through of every kids favorite places...you know with the Golden Arches you know the one. So I got nuggets, fries, some ice cream for them and brought it back. Also some cheese burgers for the adults, wasn’t that big a deal. When I got back...things hadn’t improved, I had just walked in when I over heard Jon yelling. The kids were all huddling close together and staring at the kitchen, he was yelling into a phone. I go over and motion the kids to follow me, I walk them outside and into the backyard away from the yelling. Rosie and Leo have wooden picnic table outback so the kids ate out there.

While they ate I snuck through the backyard to my place and gathered all my boys and brought them over. I kept Nebula with me while Tundra, Dante, Chip, and Mozart sat with the kids. It was a good idea cause the kids were distracted with the bitties. Tundra bonded with the youngest of the kids while the others played hide and seek. After a few hours of running around Betty called the kids in to wash up cause they were all going out to eat.

I was gathering up my boys to head back to the apartment when Betty rushed out to stop me. She had something in her hand, even from this distance I saw it was cash. She wanted to thank me for helping with the kids but being who I am and how I was raised I told her I couldn’t accept the money. She insisted but again I refused, I explained that now was not the time to be paying people for favors especially with me. Leo never paid me when I voluntarily helped him with yard work so I’m not starting now with any member of his family.

[Needless to say she was taken slightly aback by my words but that smile she gave me told me how proud/happy she was to hear that]

The next couple of weeks had been....slow, I told work about the funeral and let them know when I’d need my time off to attend. They were supportive, after work I’d stop by Rosie’s home and see if she and the rest of her kin needed my help. So far they had things handled with the funeral but were grateful for my help with the little ones [And Phthalo sometimes]. My boys loved it too, Tundra especially.

It was when my boys and I were watching the kids in the front yard that a car pulled up, this car...geez I had to do a double take. I’m not a car buff but I know at least some cars, this one was one of those Aston Martin Rapid S models. Pearl black with silver trim, chrome wheels, I mean this thing looked sharp! Even I know a car like that is beyond my pay grade. Who the hell owned this kind of car?

My question was answered when two men stepped out....dressed like they stepped out of a high end resorts tennis court. You know the pastel polo shirts, white dress shorts, sweaters tied around their shoulders, ball caps and shades. I get if you hear someone dies you’re in a rush to see the family but seriously.....

One of them saw me and walked over, the smell hit me first, one of those overpowering colones that just burnt your eyes.

Stranger1:Hey, this [insert Rosie/Leo’s last name] house?

That tone...it was that kind of tone that makes me wanna slap someone.

Me:....May I ask who you are?

I didn’t want to be rude but I don’t know these guys.

Stranger: You retarded? I asked you a damn question.

I was taken aback by his callousness, I glared at him and repeated my question.

[We’ll call these two Son1 and Son2]

Son1: My dad lives around here, names Leo is this his house or what?

Me: ..Yes this is his house.

With that both men walked up to the front door and just let themselves in, I was just shell shocked, these two were Leo’s boys?! I was so use to Leo’s southern gentlemen attitude I figured that any member of his family would maybe have some similar sensibility. I tried to shake it off an go back to watching the kids an my boys. I had sat down on on the grass and was about to tell the kids some stories when [though faint] I heard shouting. Rodger stormed out of the house, even from this distance I could see he was ready to punch something or someone. Despite that I walked over.

Me: Rodger I’m gonna take the kids to the park nearby.

Rodger: [calmed down a little] That’d be nice, thank you darlin’.

So our impromptu story time was cut short with a walk to the local park just a block away. It has playground equipment, its not that big but the kids didn’t care. They were swinging, jumping, running, playing, basically oblivious to the reason why we were there in the first place. My boys enjoyed it too, Nebula stayed with me obviously. It was about an hour later that their parents drove up to collect them, they thanked me and gathered their kids to head to their hotels to rest. I got my boys and headed back to our apartment, we were walking past Leo’s house and thankfully that Martin was gone. On impulse we walked up the steps and knocked on the door, I just had to check on Rosie.

The door flung open and I was greeted with a very angry Jon, it startled me but thankfully it disappeared when he saw me. He apologized up an down thinking I was one of the sons, I told him that its ok and informed him that all the kids were with their parents. He thanked me again, he then sat down in one of the rocking chairs set out on the porch.

He started asking me questions.

Jon: Them boys didn’t do anything to you now did they?

Me: Pardon?

Jon: Did those boys say anything or do anything to you?”

Me: Well one of them called me retarded when I asked him who he was but other then that he didn’t say or do anything to me.

Jon glared and apologized for their behavior, he then asked me to sit down on the bench next. I told him whatever the history between these boys and their parents wasn’t any of my business and if Rosie or anyone else doesn’t want to share it with anyone outside the family I have to respect that. That brought a smile to his face, I still took his offer and joined him him. I diverted the conversation instead to his childhood with Leo, that eased whatever tension he had. After some trips in memory lane he had fully calmed down, Rosie, Phthalo, Betty and Rodger joined us outside and continued the story telling. Which lead to making dinner together, a big pot of creamy seafood gumbo. After dinner I took my boys home.

Finally the day of the funeral was set, I informed work and got a week off, took Tundra and Dante to do some shopping for some proper clothing and prepped myself for...well you know.

The day finally came and I got myself ready, I was debating on bringing my boys but after some debate I chose to bring Chip and Dante since they were the closest to Leo. Mozart, Nebula and Tundra didn’t mind, two of them were happy to stay home and nap while Tundra watched a marathon of “How its made” on the science channel.

The three of us got there and were greeted warmly by Rodger and Jon, Betty complimented my clothes and showed me inside. They held the service in a small chapel inside the funeral home, I finally got to see Rosie and speak to her...sort of. I gave my condolences and she thanked me for attending but then she pulled me in and whispered that Leo left me something in his Will. I wasn’t sure how to react....so I whispered back to her that if he left me money that she could keep it cause I couldn’t accept any money from a friend, even if it was his dying wish I just can’t accept it.

That comment made her smile...it was good to see her smile, soon the service started, I sat in a pew a little towards the back. Don’t think me rude but it was in case I needed to leave the room, not cause I’d get bored but if I started crying, I didn’t want to disrupt anyone speaking or the eulogy itself. I looked around and I actually saw the two sons, at least they had the decency to show up. The funeral ended and an urn was presented to Rosie and Phthalo, everyone sat for a moment of silence with their heads bowed....

[All accept the sons who kept looking at their phones the whole FREAKING TIME!!]

After which the reading of the will was held, I told Rosie though I was invited I’d rather stay away, I didn’t want the sons getting the wrong idea. She understood and told me to come by her place later, after that I said my goodbyes and headed home. When I got back I put my ‘kick around’ clothes on, made some tea, took out some things to bake up some cookies, baked them and sat down with everyone to watch some stuff and...just try an settle after a day like this.

An hour later there’s a knock at my door, I open it to find...Leo’s sons. I had to glare at them.

Son1: So this where you live?

Me: No, I’m only staying here for the funeral. What the hell do you want?

Son1: Our dad mentioned you in his will, left you 200$ and-

Me: Don’t care, I’m lettin yer mom keep the money. I don’t want cash or anything like that, but what I would like to know is how the hell you knew where to find me?

Son1: Ain’t any of your buisness, listen if you know whats good for you, you’ll stay away from our mom and if she passes away in the future an we find out your in her Will we’ll sue you for every penny you got, you understand?

Me: [slams door in his face and tells him to F-off, I then quietly lock the door.]

I storm to my backyard...to find of all people Rosie sitting on one of my lawn chairs. She had a few boxes next to her of kitchen appliances, a countertop pizza oven, air fryer and a lovely ceramic Dutch oven. She gave me a look that said ‘I heard every word so don’t bother lying’. Like I could lie to her at this point, so I explained what they said to me and how I slammed the door in their faces. Rosie told me she’d take care of it, then she presented me what Leo left me in his Will. They were suppose to be my Christmas and Birthday presents but since he wasn’t going to be around to give them to me he was determined be sure I was left with something I’d use. She also handed me the 200$ but like I told the boys I refused the money, she nodded an then countered my words with inviting me to a restaurant with my boys.

I agreed and we all gathered up to go out with her family to eat.

Now your wondering where the Revenge is coming, be patient in the next part is where the Pro Revenge starts to comes in. Please stay tuned.

[for more info on Lamia bitties speak to @vex-bittys and visit her plz, as for Bird Bitties please speak to @coalition-aviary-bitty-adoption for information on them]

[loveforpreserumsteve]

Those Who Fall: “APTF” Story (Modern Domestic Stucky AU)

Nineteen:

"You cannot tell me that Return to Halloweentown is better than Kalabar's Revenge!" Jonas's voice heatedly exclaimed from the back door.

Smiling, Steve stood from his seat on the couch. Wanda turned her head to look towards the kitchen just as Katie loudly confirmed, "I said what I said. Kalabar's Revenge has that weird ass filter and Halloweentown doesn't even look like Halloweentown! It looks like it could've been filmed in our driveway!"

"We're not talking about which one looks more like Halloweentown," Jonas argued, "We're talking about which movie is better acted and has a better story."

This wasn't exactly the impression Steve wanted Wanda to have of Jonas and Katie. Not that it wasn't how they normally were. Just… he hoped that they would've bonded more before the loud, opinionated movie discussions started.

Glancing over at Wanda, he found her staring into the kitchen with her mouth open and her brows arched high on her forehead. Sheepishly, Steve shrugged as he clarified, "Our family's really passionate about Halloween. Especially the movies."

"I can see that," Wanda weakly giggled.

Steve nodded and headed for the kitchen. At the table, Katie tightened the orangey-red messy bun on the top of her head, "I don't care. Sara Paxton is a goddess, my guy."

Jonas shook his head as he grabbed a cookie from the seasonal witch ceramic jar that Bucky made. It was lopsided and the cookies hardly stayed fresh for long, but Steve refused to put any other cookie jar out for Halloween. Steve had even joked that he'd want to use it as an urn when he went. Bucky never found that funny.

"Kimberly J. Brown gave us hit --" Jonas chopped the side of his hand into his palm to accentuate his point "-- after hit, and you're just going to disrespect her like that?!"

Stuffing an entire purple sugar cookie into his mouth, Jonas went to continue talking, but Steve immediately reprimanded him. "Jonas Howard, take smaller bites. You know better than that. You're going to choke."

"I don't know, pops," Katie deadpanned, "I heard he's into that sort of thing."

Coughing and hitting his chest, Jonas was very obviously choking on the cookie, which made Katie laugh. Steve grabbed the oldest teen a glass of water to help soothe his throat and tried not to think about his child's sex life because that was definitely too much for him, as their father, to know. Instead, he decided to change the subject. Setting his hands on his hips, he looked over his kids. Jonas standing beside him, next to the cookie jar and Katie sitting at the table on her phone.

Feigning offense, Steve accused, "So, you go away to school and suddenly you can't give me a hug?"

Katie rolled her eyes, but a smirk was fighting to tug her lips upward. She stood from her seat and walked around the kitchen table to Steve. Being taller than Steve, the 5'11" girl bent her knees to hug his 5'4" frame more comfortably. With his arms around her, Katie let out a breath of relief and her body started to ease. Knowing that she had been homesick and anxious being away at college for the first time, he rubbed her back and held her just a little longer.

"I missed you," Steve reminded her, just as he always did during the occasional phone calls and the group facetimes and, more often, text messages. Because he did. He missed her. He missed tripping over her shoes that she left abandoned in the foyer. He missed finding her awake at six in the morning on a Saturday with a half drunk mug of cookies and cream coffee and thick glasses on as she started a Lifetime movie marathon. Missed her baking with Bucky on a Sunday afternoon. Missed her and her friends being too loud on a Friday night and having to remind them that the little kids were sleeping.

Katie held Steve a little tighter, "I missed you, too."

"I missed you, most!" Jonas playfully stated, wrapping his wiry arms around them both.

"I don't think so, mister," Steve argued. Because even though this was Jonas's second year at the university, Steve still missed him. Missed him sitting on the couch on a Tuesday night, teaching Bucky a new crochet stitch. Missed him helping Luke with his homework after school. Missed him asking how he looked before going on a date. Missed the Sunday Sunrise yoga that the pair would do almost religiously because it helped alleviate Steve's arthritis pain while stretching his scoliosis riddled spine, and Jonas didn't like his pops being in pain. And Steve missed him. Just missed him. No matter how many years he had a chance to get used to it, he never truly would.

Steve was positive that he'd miss his kids no matter how many years passed. Or how often they talk on the phone. Or how many holidays they visit for. He'd still miss having them home all the time. It made his heart hurt to think about what'll be like once they move out officially and they stop coming home for summer vacation.

And Steve knew that although she hadn't been in their lives long, he'd miss Wanda once she left, too.

Speaking of Wanda, Steve whispered, "Wanda is in the living room. And I need you to be on your best behavior. Or at least not yell every five minutes."

"Sounds like you're askin' for a lot," Katie joked, not seeming convinced that she could remember her inside voice.

Smiling, Steve half-joked, "Please, don't scare her off."

"Are you kidding? She's going to love us," Jonas confidently assured.

Steve playfully rolled his eyes and accused, "You've been talking to Uncle Sammy too much."

Glancing over at the living room, Steve watched Wanda snap her attention back to the TV. Almost as though she didn't want them to know that she was eavesdropping. Not that any of them would've cared.

Giving them both a squeeze, he removed himself and started through the dining room. Reaching the living room, Steve grabbed some knick knacks from the tub. As he crossed over to the book shelves on either side of the fireplace, Katie took a seat on the opposite end of the gray sofa from Wanda and Jonas plopped down in the purple velvet armchair.

"Wanda," Steve started as he introduced the three, "This is Katie and Jonas."

"Hi," Wanda shyly greeted, still holding that metallic silver pillow to her torso. Almost as though she was trying to hide her abdomen. Which Steve found to be odd, but didn't vocally question. If Wanda didn't want to draw attention to it, then he wouldn't.

Bringing his leg up to rest his ankle on his knee, Jonas leaned against the black and white striped pillow and asked, "Got roped into helping decorating?"

"Volunteered," Wanda corrected, giving him a small smile.

"Would you like to help us bake cookies instead?" Katie offered, "Might be more fun than decorating, at least. Even if it is with this bum."

Theatrically, Jonas gasped and touched his chest like a damsel in an old Victorian novel, "The audacity."

"What kind of cookies are you making?" Wanda asked, subtly sniffling.

"The Pillsbury classics," Jonas answered while Katie clarified, "Ghosts and pumpkins."

With his back to the kids, Steve froze. Facing the bookshelf as he set up the more breakable items out of reach of the younger kids, Steve's eyes widened. He couldn't believe that he had forgotten about picking up breakaway Pillsbury sugar cookies. Of course, things had been hectic, so he didn't think the kids would be too upset at him, but he still worried about upsetting them.

"Pops?" Katie prompted.

Sheepishly, Steve turned and explained, "I forgot to pick up the cookies."

"Well," Jonas ran his hand through his two-strand twist locs. The vibrant midnight blue reminded Steve of an ocean at nighttime while also noticing how it complimented Jonas's dark olive-brown complexion. Standing, he pulled his keys from his pocket, "Who wants to go buy cookies?"

"Ooh!" Katie nodded, setting down the ghost plush and turning towards Wanda. She offered, "You wanna join?"

Sincerely shocked, Wanda asked, "Really?"

"Yeah," Katie confirmed as she stood up fixing her green sweatshirt with a picture of a beetle, a plus sign, and a picture of a glass of orange juice.

"If you want to," Jonas added.

Wanda looked up at Steve, almost as though she was asking for permission, Steve picked up a ceramic ghost and smiled, "I don't mind. I can finish up."

"You're sure?" Wanda placed the pillow beside her and pushed herself up from the sofa. The bump starting to throw of her balance, Katie subtly took a step forward, ready to catch her if she needed to.

"I'm positive," Steve waved them off, "Go, have fun!"

"Do we need anything else?" Jonas asked, twirling his keys around his index finger.

Biting his lip, Steve admitted, "Pizza crust."

"Pops," Katie dramatically groaned, as she threw her head back in her playful annoyance. Tightening her bun, she looked over at Steve and said, "We'll be back soon."

"I'll be here," Steve set the cheerful, cute ceramic figure on the shelf and called, "My wallet is next to the coffee maker!"

Discreetly, Steve watched as the trio headed for the door. Smiling when Katie complimented Wanda's velvet black sweater, and chuckling under his breath when Jonas wondered if he could borrow it sometimes. Not necessarily amused that he asked to borrow a maternity top, but that he had asked, so soon after meeting her, to borrow it.

Steve felt light though. Knowing that his children were accepting a new sibling so easily, warmed him to his very core. He only hoped that once Wanda turned eighteen, she'd stick around. If only because Steve didn't want her alone. He didn't want her to struggle, especially not with the baby. It probably should've surprised Steve how much he cared for the girl after such a short time, but after fostering many children over the years, it didn't anymore. He loved all the kids that lived with them. Whether it was permanent or temporary, Steve loved them all.

[nocturnal-jeon]

𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 {1}➛𝚔𝚒𝚖 𝚗𝚊𝚖𝚓𝚘𝚘𝚗

𝚜𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: you once looked forward to married life with who you thought was the love of your life. but as he began to grow lifeless and distant, you realized a marriage could not stand without two people putting in effort. 

It was seeminlgy another day in the week for your fiancée Namjoon. It was seemingly another day for the rest of the world. But not for you. 

As you practically broke your back daily to make sure Namjoon was living comfortably, it was not another day for you. It was never another day for you. It felt like a tedious chore, one you used to enjoy so long ago, but you found yourself relating to the colonial women who were remanded to cooking and cleaning. 

It started out as simple requests from one lover to another. Each small requisition would be followed by a soft hand on your lower back, Namjoon’s favorite spot on your body of treasures, or an equally soft kiss on your welcoming lips that Namjoon loved to communicate with every now and then.

But just like the leaves during a change in a season, things in the comfort of your own apartment changed, too. Those cute little one time requests occurred daily with an unethusiastic tone of voice and no physical contact. His eyes would glaze over in steel, the cold temperature of that metal radiating from his tall figure. 

You would crawl into an empty bed every night, and as the familiar tears slid down your cheeks everytime you glanced over at his untouched side of the bed, all the promises buried deep in your happy memories from the past bled into your tattered and damaged memories from the present. 

But it’s not like you didn’t know what you were getting into. 

Like any medication, side effects came with them, but you, in particular, had never faced those side effects, therefore you never anticipated experiencing all of those effects at the same time. 

It came on slowly like a brewing storm. As one tree fell, Namjoon spent less time with you. As the streets flooded, he stopped responding to your calls. As the power went out, his attitude towards his wife-to-be grew harsh and hostile, his words cutting you deeper than the blades you considered using at the bad points. 

But as the house came crashing down when an especially strong gust of wind came, Namjoon forgot your anniversary. And that’s when you could no longer handle the storm. You had to evacuate. 

You sat in the back table of the restaurant you and Namjoon went on your first date, five years ago to the day. You wriggled uncomfortably in a dress you recently bought just for this occasion. Your feet were already feeling cramped in the tight stiletto heels that were on your feet, but you knew Namjoon appreciated seeing your long, lean legs in the outfit you were wearing, so you bore it. 

You watched the time with tired eyes since you did thankless housework all day just to prepare for this night. 

But it was going by quickly. 

You had gotten there at the exact time you and Namjoon agreed to meet at. 

But it was now two hours later and Namjoon was showing no signs of gracing your presence. 

You didn’t know at what point your sadness turned to anger, but silently, almost too silently, you arose from your seat and left the restaurant, taking a short drive back to the apartment. 

Once inside, you changed into a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie. You looked once more at the bed you and Namjoon picked out together when you were first moving in and all the good, some sexy, memories began to fill your head. But as you reached underneath to grab your suitcase, the bed was just a reminder of how you went to bed alone every night. 

With a huff, you put the suitcase on the bed and began to neatly fold your clothes, organizing them since you knew that when you came to open it later, you would be too upset to tell the difference between a dress and sweats. 

You gathered all of your clothes and once you had zipped it up and left it at the door, you turned back to look at your apartment. Well, it wasn’t yours anymore. It wasn’t really even Namjoon’s since he seldom came home anymore. 

It was an urn, containing all the dead memories of a once happy and loving relationship you shared with your best friend. 

You looked over to the kitchen where you and Namjoon had sex for the first time since moving in. And when he burnt his hand grabbing a hot cookie tray. 

And then you looked over to the living room and stared longingly at the spot where the two of you put up your first Christmas tree. 

With a final bow to absolutely no one, you left the place that once brought you comfort and familiarity but now reminded you of memories you knew you would need professional help to repress. 

----

With a deep breath, you opened the heavy door to Namjoon’s studio in the BigHit studio. Namjoon’s blonde head nodded as bulky headphones covered his pierced ears. 

Slowly, with heavy and regretful feet, you walked over to him and tapped his shoulder. You couldn’t even flinch when his body jumped since your swallowed sadness was coming back up your throat, making it hard to breathe. 

“Hey, what are you doing here?” he asked, a small smile as he took the headphones off and paused whatever was playing. With the tight grip your teeth held on your bottom lip, you wiggled your expensive engagement ring off of your shaking fingers and placed it in the palm of his hand. 

He stared down at it, confused and hurt that such an important symbol of your relationship was being discarded like a piece of trash. 

“What’s this? What’s going on?” he asked in an irritated tone, looking back up at you. “It was five years ago today that I decided to take a chance on you. That I decided to love you,” you said, your voice breaking midway. His tongue made an appearance to apply a light glaze of saliva over his bottom lip. 

“And today, on that anniversay, I realized that I can’t do this anymore. You have no more chances left. I can’t love you anymore,” you said, having a mental fight with your emotions so you could stay strong through this. 

“It was our anniversary today?” he asked, his voice dropping two levels and two octaves. You sighed softly. “Goodbye, Namjoon,” you said, and with a light squeeze of his shoulder, you left the studio alone for the first time in five years. 

And Namjoon didn’t even try to stop you. 

He deserved every bit of that. 

And as he stared down at the diamonds on your ring sparkling in the light, he could see all the memories of his love and time for you circling the drain. 

_______________

let me know if you guys want a part two 

[theydonotbindus]

How about Ignoct growing up together in the Citadel?

Hi, thanks for the ask! This will remain fairly generic, since they’re children here, but I hope you enjoy the cute! I have a few other thoughts on younger Ignis and Noctis here and here. 

Ignis is shown to be very agile in battle…and we can blame little Noctis for that. 

When enraged and having a tantrum, the prince would either a. inadvertently enchant barriers around things he threw or b. warp himself towards the object of his ire. 

Side-stepping, ducking, and other acrobatic maneuvers were methods of survival. 

Both Noctis and Ignis would staunchly refuse broccoli. Ignis grew out of that at 10. Noct…hasn’t. 

Little Ignis didn’t want to trouble anybody, so he would keep silent about scraped knees and the like even if they hurt. After getting a minor infection due to an untreated scrape, Noctis kept a first-aid kit in his bedroom and insisted that “if you tell nobody else, tell me”. It was his first order to his advisor. 

When Ignis began to turn this same phrase on him years later, he was both touched and Not Amused. 

They shared a tutor until Ignis was eight. Ignis deliberately monitored Noct’s work so he could make sure his own scores were just a point lower than the prince’s. 

It took Regis a few years to figure it out. Hence no more sharing tutors. 

Ignis got glasses when he was seven, and Noctis thought they were the coolest. Things. Ever. 

He…appropriated…his father’s reading glasses so he could be cool too. 

Ignis made sure his lies about them sneaking out were consistently terrible so that when he needed to lie about other things for Noctis, he would never be caught. 

Noctis got so used to Ignis reading to him, he didn’t start reading on his own until he was six. 

After Noct’s injury, the maids wouldn’t let the boys share a bed anymore–too risky if the prince jostled in the night. 

Cor, doing rounds, came upon the little advisor curled up on the floor next to the bed. He had a blanket, but was still shivering…it was winter, and the marble floors were cold. 

For some reason, the bed-sharing rule was reversed the next day. 

Noctis started fishing at a young age, but would cry every time he had to put a worm on his hook (he didn’t want to kill the worm). So Ignis baited the hooks for him.

Yes, the habit stuck. 

Yes, Noctis still feels bad for the worms. He feels worse for the small fish he uses sometimes. 

Ignis only had the Iggy nickname until he was fourteen. Upon hearing a Crownsguard recruit try to mock his glasses, Noctis immediately adopted the use of “Specs”. Ignis will bristle if anybody else tries to use it, albeit silently. 

They both made Father’s Day cards for Regis when they were smaller. When they got older, Ignis often delivered Noct’s gift–with something inside that was obviously from him. 

Noctis only let Ignis touch the Carbuncle figurine.

Noctis will not play cards with only Ignis. He learned very young that the tactician not only counts cards, but he will use sleight of hand while shuffling if it suits his needs. 

Little Noctis liked Iggy’s coat better than his, so their first winter together he ran around outside in a too-big coat while Ignis stood stiffly in one that was too small. 

Aside from sneaking out, Ignis has also taken the fall for:

Eating the cookies that were for their snack later

Losing their homework 

Peeing in the fountain in the garden

Hiding vegetables in decorative urns

Sneaking kittens into His Highness’ bedroom

Noctis made them a “best friends” necklace during craft time when he was six. 

Ignis still has his piece.

Something you want to see? Asks are open!

[getfloweroflove-blog]

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[deathlymemoirs-a]

"Do you have cookies?"

The Earl wanted his biscuits? His... biscuits? Good thing he’d prepared another batch just a moment shy of the boy’s arrival! It had become something of a habit of his to refuse the Undertaker’s treats, but today was different. He could tell.

With tittering laughs, the Undertaker headed over to a shelf && picked an urn among many, his steps carrying him back to the Earl’s side before propping the lid open to reveal an inside full of his honeyed treats.

❝ Pray help yourself to however many you want~ ❞ His descendo was singsong, something merrier than the usual macabre lilt clinging to it. ❝ Why the sudden interest in my biscuits, milord? This can’t be the only reason you’ve come... ❞

[notthetoothfairy]

KLAINE ADVENT 2017: LoveSick (11/24)

Summary: Kurt has SCID and can’t leave his house. Ever. Luckily, Blaine moves in next door.

A/N: A fic?!?!?! Yes, my dears, after what feels like an eternity, I finally wrote a new thing. I was going to do just one prompt for @klaineadventbut - ha ha ha, and ho ho ho - never mind, I’m writing an entire story. And I’m late. Sorry about that!

The plot is loosely based on “Everything Everything”. Saw it on the plane, didn’t end up liking it all that much but I loooved the premise for Klaine, so here it is. :D It’s not all that realistic, sorry about that, but I tried to make it as accurate as possible!

Beta: @a-simple-rainbow (who’s surprised? not us - we’re basically fandom wives)

Read: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24

Read on: AO3 (to be added later)

KEY

“Dad, stop fussing and leave for work.” Kurt sighs. “I’ll be fine, like all other 364 days of the year.”

“Kurt.” His dad’s face changes from worried to stern.

Kurt briefly indulges his dad and stares back. “Dad.”

“Take a moment for yourself today, okay?” Burt asks. “That’s all I ask.” He smiles at Kurt. “And now I’m going. I love you, bud.”

Kurt returns the smile. “Love you too, dad. And take a moment for yourself as well.”

“Always do. By the way, that shirt you designed looks great on you.”

Kurt fumbles with the dark green material. He’s really proud of it – especially the v-neck that none of his other, more medical-looking shirts have.

“Thanks, dad,” he says.

“You should make me one.”

“Way to spoil my Christmas surprise.” Kurt rolls his eyes. “Would you leave already?”

“Jeez, bossy. You’re so much like your grandma sometimes. I feel like I’m a kid again, being told off for stealing her cookies.”

“Dad, you’re going to be late.”

“Alright, alright.” Burt holds up his hands in apology. “I’m going.”

With that, his dad leaves the kitchen. Kurt follows him to the foyer, a series of rooms separated from the rest of the house – from Kurt, to be precise – by glass doors, where Burt leaves most of his outside belongings and puts on his streetwear over the decontaminated clothes.

He watches his dad get into the car and pull out of the driveway. As soon as there is no chance for him to see Kurt anymore, Kurt sprints up to his room and waves to Blaine.

“Go time!” he adds, smiling widely. Blaine sends a beam his way that makes Kurt’s spine tingle.

The night before, when Kurt was getting ready for bed, Blaine asked whether they could talk. For a moment, Kurt thought he was going to tell him some sort of bed news, but then Blaine spent about five minutes stumbling his way through asking Kurt whether he would like to ‘meet’ him sometime. He wasn’t even finished actually asking when Kurt said, “Tomorrow, 8.15 in the morning, by the living room.”

Never having been more excited that his dad works Saturdays, Kurt wills away his nerves as he goes down to the living room and heads straight toward the window that faces the backyard. Blaine shows up a minute later, clad in a dark blue coat, a scarf and a beanie hat that makes him look more hipster than he usually looks with his bowties and cardigans. His face is a bit flushed, like he ran downstairs and crossed both of their yards to get to Kurt. Maybe he did. The thought makes Kurt smile grow even more.

“Hi, Blaine,” he says when Blaine’s finally in front of him, only the glass and a few steps between them.

“Hi, Kurt.” Blaine looks Kurt up and down in wonder. “You’re… wow, you’re taller than me.”

Kurt suppresses a grin. “Sorry?” he tries.

Blaine laughs. “I like it.” Kurt can only make out the words through the glass if he’s very quiet but it helps having Blaine so near that he can read his lips as well. They’re getting better at that. Two months of window conversations are paying off.

“You do?” he asks happily. “And you… you look cozy.”

“It’s actually not as cold outside as I thought. I feel a bit hot,” Blaine admits.

Kurt’s not going to tell him to lose some layers, obviously, but he can’t help but remark, “Good thing you’re not actually stepping inside, then.”

“I want to, though,” Blaine says. “Sometime else.”

“It’s a date,” Kurt breathes out, nervously noting that he just called it a date. They never specified what… this… was. But Blaine was fumbling so badly on the phone, it just-

“Another one,” Blaine confirms with a smile. Kurt swears he feels his heart jump a little. “Even if it’s a bit weird to go on a date at 8.15 in the morning.”

“8.20,” Kurt corrects, just to have something to say, given that all his nerves are screaming, You’re on a date! “My dad just wouldn’t leave.”

“Does he have a sixth sense for sons who schedule secret get-aways to the living room?” Blaine asks, grinning brightly.

“No, he’s just-” Kurt wants to make an offhand comment, explain the day away like it’s nothing, but he can’t. It’s Blaine, for one, and it’s also his mother. “My mom died on this day nine years ago.”

Blaine’s eyes widen. “Oh, Kurt… I had no idea. I mean.” Blaine gulps. “Of course I didn’t. But- I’m sorry, Kurt. If you need to be alone…”

“No,” Kurt says firmly, fighting against the pressure behind his eyes. “I miss her, of course, and I usually cry my eyes out on this day, but I told you to come over so I wouldn’t be alone. At least for like two hours before Carole comes over.” He rolls his eyes. “I’m sorry we’re on a schedule.”

“Don’t be silly,” Blaine says. “It’s nice to… well.” Kurt watches as he attempts a formal bow. “Nice to meet you. You know, officially. Kind of.”

Kurt laughs, eyes watering. “Likewise. My mom would have totally gone for your sense of humor, you know?”

“Awkward but weirdly adorable?” Blaine tilts his head and gives him puppy-dog eyes, driving the point home.

Kurt bites his lip, fails to hold in a grin, and says, “Something along those lines, yeah.”

“Is that her?” Blaine asks, pointing behind Kurt. Kurt follows the line of his finger to the urn on the fireplace.

He turns back around and nods. “Mom, meet Blaine. Blaine, meet mom.”

“Hi, Mrs. Hummel,” Blaine says at once. “This is weird.”

“It is,” Kurt agrees. “And she would like you to call her Elizabeth, I’m sure.”

“I’ll reconsider after our third date or so,” Blaine replies.

“Smooth.” Kurt laughs. “Planning the third date while still on the first. You’re very thorough. Do you have cue cards as well?”

“Uhm, no. For some weird reason I was convinced we could manage to hold a conversation,” Blaine says, pretending to frown. Kurt thinks back to their long talks at the window, on the phone or texting, how Blaine probably knows more about Kurt than Rachel at this point.

“You’re definitely right.”

“Well, I want to hear all about Rachel’s newest plans for your future Broadway Bubble Babies career.”

“Oh god, you won’t believe how detailed her thoughts on this are. We’re both taking online singing classes already but now she wants to enter this career prospects mentoring program and see if they can get us mentors over Skype. And she wants us to co-produce a YouTube version of The Last Five Years, since it’s a musical for two.”

“Uhm, I need to meet her already!” Blaine gushes. Kurt loves how much he loves Rachel from Kurt’s stories alone. “That sounds like the greatest idea ever!”

The two hours pass in a flash. Kurt basks in Blaine’s focused and passionate attention, listens to Blaine talk animatedly about the New Directions’ madness during competition season and they make plans for a Skype session with both of their best friends so that Blaine can meet Rachel and Wes, Blaine’s best friend at Dalton, can meet Kurt.

Blaine’s in the middle of telling Kurt about his family’s Christmas plans when Kurt hears the key to the front door turn in the lock, and then the unmistakable sliding sound of the front door opening.

“Sorry for interrupting,” he says with a sad smile. “But it’s Carole. It’ll take her about five minutes to actually get in and change and all that, but you should probably get going.”

Blaine’s sad face matches his.

“It’s not that I don’t want my family to know about you,” he tries to reassure Blaine. “But today, I kind of wanted to take this moment for myself.”

Blaine waves it off. “Don’t worry about it. I know it’s easier this way. You don’t have to tell them at all if you don’t want.”

Kurt smiles knowingly at Blaine’s quick agreement. “You’re scared of my dad, aren’t you?”

“Terrified.”

Kurt’s cheeks are hurting from smiling so much. “You don’t have to be,” he promises. “Well, I guess this is goodbye for now.”

“Goodbye for now,” Blaine echoes. He pulls off his left glove and lets the hand come to rest on the window. “This was nice, I had fun.”

Kurt’s right hand shakes slightly as he lays it on the glass to mirror Blaine’s. If he pretends hard enough, it’ll feel like they’re touching.

“I had fun, too,” he whispers, locking eyes with Blaine. “You’re fun.”

Blaine’s face is so close to the window now Kurt feels like he could count all his eyelashes (an ambitious endeavor), name a new color after Blaine’s eyes (smouldering honey gold) and remember the shape of Blaine’s lips well enough to draw a picture of them later (to have something to kiss at least).

“Kurt…” Blaine blinks at him, visibly intrigued by Kurt’s intense stare.

Kurt breaks out of his little fantasy world with a big sigh.

“To be continued,” he says firmly.

“I know.” Blaine huffs out a laugh. “But I really don’t want to go right now.”

“I’ll text you as soon as I’m upstairs.” Kurt rolls his eyes when Blaine stays rooted to the spot. For the second time today, if a bit more reluctantly this time, he says, “Would you leave already?”

He watches as Blaine retreats to his house, fumbling with the key to his front door before pulling it wide open and slipping inside.

It feels like the perfect metaphor for what he’s doing with Kurt’s heart.