or say we're only dreaming;

[melocoton]

O P E N P O S T
❝ don't you dare close your eyes❞
♥ comment to this post with a prompt of any kind--song lyrics, pictures, music, or even just an idea for a plot.
♥ request one of my muses from my desperately needing an update muselist
♥ i'll respond to it and we can thread some stuff and things.
♥ post is NOT nsfw sorry ;A;

Comments

flounces in

[triskeles]

pulls up your throne

[hypercompetent]

[ Fundraising for Beacon Elementary is probably Stiles' least favorite part about being a teacher. The older kids are expected to try and sell candles or magazine subscriptions or whatever BS the administration is trying to get them to pawn off on their unsuspecting families, and the younger kids--and their teachers, usually--are left floundering trying to make up the missing amount in their yearly budgets. Fundraising buys things like new crayons (the ones that are nontoxic, preferably), and new storybooks, and more activities and toys and games for the kids--it buys them so it doesn't have to come directly out of Stiles' pockets. He loves the kids and does usually end up spending a couple hundred bucks a month to keep his supplies replenished, but when it comes down to it, he's broke. Teachers barely get paid, anyway.

So when the ~genius~ idea had occurred to him, Stiles had suggested it to his very enthusiastic parents at a PTA meeting--god bless this crop of parents, seriously, aside from the ones who were asking him about their kid's college prowess in kindergarten, they were a great bunch--that they have a bake sale to support his classroom. He'd locked eyes with Laura Hale for half a second and she gave him an absolutely devious look before she'd raised her hand to agree, and Stiles would be mortified if he wasn't a tiny bit excited.

He shoots a text off to Hot Chef Guy (and now known local) Derek Hale, before he even gets home. ]

You're about to hate me for the next thirty six hours. :)

[ He even saw Laura sign Derek up to volunteer. Perfect.

The day of the bake sale dawns warm and clear, and Stiles is running on about an hour of sleep--he's got a huge pile of cookies in his apartment, now, from red velvet cake cookies to peppermint pinwheels to plain old chocolate chip, and he is ready to tackle the battlefield, which is outside of a local Starbucks.

Stiles is a genius, thank you.

He sets up the table, throws a bright tablecloth with plastic pockets that held the kids' artwork over it, and gets to work setting out his own display of cookies, plus prices. (50 cents, or a donation of their choosing.) Parents are milling around helping set up within a couple minutes, and excited kindergarteners are having to be corralled into helping. At this point, Stiles is just hoping he actually makes a profit and that only about half of the cookies get eaten by the kids. ]

deposits errantly

[triskeles]

hi.

[triskeles]

i have NOT FORGOTTEN ABOUT THIS

[hypercompetent]

[ It had come down to this, one summer between years at Berkeley: Stiles needed a job. Period. His dad worked hard and made enough money to keep the two Stilinski men comfortable--not to mention to keep Stiles in school--but he felt bad about asking him for money for games or the copious amounts of Mountain Dew that were getting him through his capstone. So Stiles picked up on a hobby that he'd had back when his mother was still alive and applied for a job in the kitchen of the House of Hale bed and breakfast just outside of Beacon Hills at the beginning of the summer of his freshman year.

It'd been two years since then, two summers of meals and food and getting to know the staff and the occasional common guests. There's Peter, the owner, who skeeves Stiles out every now and then but pays him well enough he doesn't even care, Laura, the eldest Hale child, who does the accounting and is not allowed within fifty feet of his kitchen, Cora, who teaches a class on horseback riding and judges Stiles constantly (but they're friends, he thinks), Reagan, the youngest Hale, who is Stiles' constant companion in the kitchen and the most eager eight year old sous-chef Stiles has ever met and...

And then there's Derek. Derek works a myriad of jobs around the place, even carpentry occasionally, but he's most often at the front desk. Stiles spilled coffee on him the first day he came into work, and their relationship had been rocky for much of his time here because of it, but...in the past summer and this upcoming one, Stiles had started to feel a familiar, achy twinge in his gut at the sight of him, at his name popping up on his cellphone during the off season. This was going to be one of the first times he's seen Derek since last August, and he's weirdly twitterpated at the thought because--okay, he has a big, huge, obnoxious crush on Derek Hale.

Luckily, though, this comes with a distraction, because Stiles' best friend is coming to stay in the House of Hale for the weekend--and he's bringing his girlfriend. Not just his girlfriend, but his soon to be fiancee. It's a huge deal, and Stiles had pep talked Scott through the entire thing on the phone on his drive back from Berkeley; hell, he even helped pick out the rings.

Scott and Kira are in one of the cozier rooms right now, probably asleep; it's six AM, the beginning of Stiles' shift, and before he cooks breakfast for the guests, he makes something for someone else. Sometime last year, Reagan and Derek had started to do the same for Stiles--once a week, he got a pancake breakfast, complete with dinosaur pancakes.

So what better way to tell Derek the Scott-related-news than pancake communication? That seemed to be the only real communication--besides bickering--that they excelled at. Making his way to the front desk, Stiles walks up behind it, sliding into the little alcove and wiggling to make sure he doesn't disrupt his placement before dropping the tray down in front of Derek.

The pancakes are heart shaped, with a delicate tracing of the maple syrup Conall Hale gathers from the trees in the back--seriously, this family--and covered in strawberries and raspberries. Stiles even sets down a cup of coffee, made just how Derek likes it, and steps back, preening. ]

Wakey-wakey, sunshine. Got a big day ahead of us.

[ It doesn't occur to him until about two seconds later that this could be implying something completely different than "big scott related thing today." ]

I'm gonna keep leaving you things as they strike my fancy.

[loyals]

I want a date in New Rome after reading the description for it shut up.

[triskeles]

♥ belatedly but here you go.

[hypercompetent]

[ so, this whole dating thing? this is kind of a new thing.

it's been years since stiles first met derek at camp, since the hale fire, since stiles' mom died. the two of them had formed an unlikely friendship, based on months and...years, really, years worth of arguments and fighting, bickering about everything. derek was a roman, and stiles was greek; they were basically destined to not get along, and when you mix in two very differing personalities, sparks and fireworks start to fly.

but, something kind of different happen. a son of pluto and a son of hecate found themselves not to be that different after all. stiles can still recall bonding with him when he was a giant wolf (before he actually knew it was him), a thing he still does pretty frequently, when stiles' mom almost died the first time. he can remember sitting with derek when his family died, never saying a thing because he just--he got it. they say hecate kids are pretty screwed up, in the same way that pluto kids are, and...maybe it just made sense that way.

all stiles knows is derek makes sense to him, and that's all that really matters.

but, at eighteen now, he's talked with chiron a little bit about an exchange program, to study at new rome's college. that means visiting new rome, and that's how he's here, standing at the top of the city with his hands in his pocket, eyes kind of huge and wide as he takes in the first real city he's seen since he went to San Francisco with his mom before he was sent to camp. It's beautiful, all white columns and famous hills, and stiles lets out a long, low whistle, pretending he's not as totally in love with it as he feels.

for as greek as he is, for as much as his orange shirt stands out in a sea of purple? it feels like home. ]

You leave sudden cecilos things I leave caleo things.

[ogygian]

Give me basically everybody tbqh.

[triskeles]

starting with sterek uwu

[hypercompetent]

[ the thing about stiles stilinski's circle of friends is that every single one of them is hellaciously talented (well, except stiles) and hellaciously convincing. (stiles is good at that one.) in this case, said convincing is because of one allison argent, scott's ex and isaac's girlfriend, who's hosting a video project. supposedly, and she needs volunteers.

so here stiles sits, in a nice warehouse with a gray backdrop up behind him. he's dressed in a flannel and a graphic t-shirt, he was attacked by a makeup girl with a powder puff, his pants have a hole in them, and allison tells him he's going to be kissing a stranger.

what.

she just gives him that sweet, dimpled smile (damn dimples--stiles thinks people with dimples are secretly evil) and clears her throat, then steps out from behind the camera. just pretend i'm not here! as she stands beside isaac, who looks unabashedly amused beside her. great, awesome. but stiles doesn't have much time to get irritated at isaac making fun of him because apparently, the stranger he's going to be kissing walks into the room. stiles has to stop and do a double take, because he should apparently be thanking allison. he's about stiles' height, maybe a little taller, but the similarities end there--the dude has thick stubble and cheekbones you could cut glass with, and is so absurdly in shape stiles thinks he could almost spot an eight pack through his soft looking henley. aside from that, the dude's got these eyes as he gets closer, and stiles vaguely feels his brain dribble out of his ears as allison introduces him as derek.

and, because he's stiles, he cracks-- ] So do we start kissing now, or...

[ it's a little awkward and he just kind of steps closer, waving awkwardly. ] Stiles. [ ...wait. ] That's my name.

shoves more stuff at

[triskeles]

HUFFS LOUDLY AND TAGS FINALLY

[hypercompetent]

[ ending up on a pirate's ship may not have been stiles stilinski's original intention.

then again, stiles' plans have not always been what one might call 'well thought out'. his mission? to get away from home for a little while. because of a ten percent probability that he might inherit his mother's disease, he was ordered to stay home when the navy started drafting. problem was, his best friend had been, considering his encounter with a creature of the night; he'd been recruited to a special ops ship, leaving stiles very much alone and very much wanting to chase after him. after all, scott might be a werewolf, but stiles isn't sure that he can make it out there without him. and that kind of goes both ways, really, because stiles is now pretty much hellbent on finding him.

so that's how he found himself on a pirate's ship. a wolf pirate ship, to be perfectly frank, because when the flags flew and he found himself face to face with the captain, he realized very quickly that he may have gotten himself in over his head.

by some grace of god, stiles wasn't forced to walk the plank (or turned into werewolf chow) on his first day, and he quickly took on what others would call "cabin boy" kind of positions--scrubbing decks, putting out lines to catch fish, adjusting the sails, the usual stuff. today, he's not doing the scrubbing of the galley he's supposed to be doing, because the teenage human is staring at maps, tracking trading patterns with his fingers.

they're supposed to be raiding english ships off the coast, but the way they're going, they're never going to get close. stiles' brow furrows and he narrows his eyes a little as he starts to track the ship's progress with one hand, then another that he saw leave from the same port, an english ship. if the winds blow this way, and they've been traveling at a speed of thirty knots an hour, then...

completely wrapped up in his maps, he doesn't even notice when another person comes into the room that he's definitely not supposed to be in. ]

laughs and keeps leaving things

[triskeles]

DREAMY SIGH

[identified]

♥♥

[survivingly]

[ the one good thing about being stuck working at starbucks for college tuition is that you meet some interesting people. every other person is a zombie reaching desperately for their caffeine, especially when minho works the early morning shift, but despite their often vaguely undead looking faces in the morning, you meet some beautiful people at starbucks.

minho gets flirted with a lot--people try to sucker free drinks out of him, but they rarely succeed. there is, however, one exception, and the guy doesn't even have to do anything. what does minho know about him? his name's thomas. he's tall and lanky and has brown hair and unreasonably huge brown bambi eyes behind glasses. he's studying...engineering, maybe--minho's seen him walk in with books as big as his head, and minho's own major is nothing to shake a stick at--and often works at the counter at the starbucks in order to keep from being distracted.

he also has sixteen moles on his face. not that minho's counting.

so anyway, minho has a plan, and said plan is to ask thomas out. and being the clever guy he is, he's been working on it with starbucks cups, but thomas...thomas is.

thomas is really shucking dense. that's what it is. for a guy who practically looks like a genius, who probably is a genius, he is either completely missing the point on purpose (minho sure as shuck hopes not) or he just. doesn't get it. and minho is really, really not good at subtle. so, with a vanilla latte in his hands, minho upsizes his drink, writes a "secret message" on the cup, crossing out a couple of lines with his black sharpie so it reads "you're extremely hot" before writing "the prettiest shuckface in the store" on the other side.

stepping up to the call out area, he, absolutely shamelessly, calls-- ] Grande Vanilla Latte for Tall, Dark and Bespectacled!

i couldn't pick sry

[identified]

this is also perfect

[survivingly]

[ of all things, they met at a fraternity conference in the middle of texas.

the so called "gladers", brothers of gamma kappa gamma, had a conference once a year, kind of a retreat thing. there were games, papers presented, students honored, and all together, it was kind of like a giant, fraternity only greek week. minho's been in GKG since he first came into college, just because he knew it was going to end up being his calling; where most of the sororities and fraternities on the campus of his university in california seemed to be kind of uptight and full of people minho'd just love to punch in the face, but GKG had been pretty cool. the president of the frat and the vice president ended up becoming his two closest friends, and by the time they reached the conference in his junior year, it became obvious that minho was one of the candidates to go. so minho, newt and alby packed up, flew to texas and settled in for a week of bonding.

everything would have been fine if minho didn't "bond" (using the term extremely loosely) with one of the boys from a school on the east coast a little too much. his name was thomas, and minho'd ended up with him on his team for a race. they'd spent the first ten minutes of the race bickering, but thomas' quick thinking ended up having them win, a nice gift certificate to a local restaurant. they went to dinner that night, goofed off over drinks and a very heated conversation about the WCKD series of video games, and by the end of the day, minho was stupidly, stupidly infatuated with him.

they were literally inseparable for the rest of the week, and it was minho who ultimately decided to just say fuck it, and when he walked thomas to his gate at the airport, he'd leaned right over and laid one on him, kicking himself mentally for not doing it any sooner. he sent thomas back to new york with a big fat hickey on his neck, and they've been...sort of dating ever since, for as well as you can do with long distance, anyway.

tonight's supposed to be skype date night. having shooed his nosy frat brothers out of the apartment in time to commandeer the kitchen for food, minho settles in front of his laptop with a plate, dimming the lights because he's a dork, and hits call on skype.

minhoohnoyoudidnt is calling you! ]

welp

[runtcheeks]

another tattoo soulmate au.

sighs dreamily at

[gimp]

[ newt was told when he was a child that everyone would have their soulmate's first word appear on them as a tattoo when they grew up. he'd seen his friends fall in love, seen people ignore the system entirely, but when it worked, it worked well, so it was a nice thing. there were mingles, meet and greets, people desperately hoping to find their whoever in the big wide world.

that was all well and good, but newt had never really been much of a romantic, and to meet his soulmate wasn't something he was that insistent on.

so he went about his life as normal. his words were on his bony hip, in the simple black writing of a typewriter. "Careful." his soulmate wasn't apparently much of a romantic, either, whoever they were, and sometimes, in his further off moments, he might daydream of meeting them somewhere, but otherwise, it was on the back of his mind, even as he attended weddings and gave best man speeches for his two best friends.

it was on his way to the wedding that something seemed sort of off. dressed in a black tux with a green tie, newt hadn't been able to get to the wedding in a park in the middle of the city (where the two of them met, apparently going running) by car, so he was stuck on the subway, surrounded by businessmen and lawyers and god only knew who else, on the morning commute to his best friend's loving wedding, looking kind of ridiculous in a sea of normal people.

great. just great.

pulling his coat up tight around his collar, the tall boy ducks between people on the train, trying to get inside--it's a long ride, at least thirty minutes on the E train, and the place is, of course, packed, and it's when he's hunting across the car for a seat that he runs right into someone's briefcase, just as the train lurches forward. newt tips forward and stumbles right into a stranger, swearing out loud.

wonderful. ] Bloody hell, I am so sorry.

[barghest]

[monthlies]

[ remus is supposed to be studying. it's less than two weeks to OWLs and his grades are important--he's already got enough proving himself to be done on top of his monthly little problem, let alone with the simple and right idea that school is for, well, studying.

that is something he thinks padfoot--sirius--is not exactly familiar with.

and yet (and yet) remus will do pretty much anything for his friends, the other marauders. he may often be the voice of reason, but he's just as willing to participate in a little mischief, particularly when given the proper nudge by one sirius black, but that's not to say that he isn't bringing his studying along. though the big black dog known as padfoot is most certainly about, remus himself is sitting up against a tree with a book in his lap, quill out as he highlights a couple lines. the lights have given the place a fairly mythical glow, and he'll admit--it is nice.

when he spots sirius frolicking this time, chasing a firefly or something similar, remus can't help the warm looking smile on his face as he taps the grass beside him. ] Alright, come on then, you.

leo ouo

[gardeners]

❝ love me less, but for a longer time. ❞

[toolbelt]

[ working in a cafe sucks. there is no other word for how much it sucky-suck-sucks, but leo does it because it helps support his side projects--and by side projects, we mean "hopefully main projects when he can scrape together enough money to quit." so, he makes his living in buenos aires, a bustling city full of bustling people, making them cafe con leche for their hour long sits at cafe tables, from three pm every afternoon to midnight, or, occasionally, the early morning shift, where he deals with a lot of drunk porteños celebrating the "end" of their night out, aka seven in the morning.

he's almost got enough to open his own garage, though. before he is a barista, leo is a mechanic--he itches to fix things, make things better. the coffee machines here gleam and work with a proficiency that something as old as they are shouldn't; one of them even makes kool-aid as well as coffee. he finds himself tinkering at work more often than he should (and gets in trouble quite a bit for it) but leo just can't help it--he's got a mechanic's heart, and brain, and hands.

he's been here long enough, though, he's got a favorite customer. she's a girl, with beautiful, cinnamon colored hair, creamy skin, looking for all the world like a rose in a garden full of posies (or, in a more leo metaphor: a bolt in a bin of nuts) and she doesn't speak a lick of spanish. she's french--that much he can easily ascertain--maybe studying abroad, or something? who knows. he can't really tell.

what he can tell is that he makes her a "cafe au lait" (as she insists, and he rolls his eyes) every morning, at 8:30 on the dot, and though she initially started out being an annoying pain in the ass (too much milk? too little milk? she was picky, and you really didn't have much of a choice in being picky when you didn't speak the freaking language, but that's leo's opinion), she's...

well, leo grins a little dumbly behind his espresso machines when calypso walks in the door.

it's a sunday, farmer's market today, which means lots of porteña housewives will be chattering their way in here any second, but leo's completely fixated on tinkering with the coffee machine when he hears the bell ring on the front counter. popping his head up, a mass of black curls bouncing on his head, leo looks up and is met with that pretty, pretty face--he smirks a little and lifts his eyebrows. ] Solecita.

[ sunshine. ]

breathes on

[gardeners]

give it

[flexed]

immediately hands it over

[lobotomies]

[ it's been two months since princess tessarae edison was kidnapped--or, maybe traded is a better word. either way, the kingdoms have been at search for the great scourge of the seas; they call her the sea witch, they call her hell on heels, whatever it is, minji park is a wanted woman, considering the bounty she carries now is greater than any other pirate on the seas. everyone assumed tessa was long dead by now, as surely the pirate bastard would have sent her to her watery grave the moment no money came up, but these assumptions would be wrong.

after all, the reasons for this kidnapping were a bit...strange.

but not to go into too much on that, tessa is starting to slowly become comfortable with the ship and the people within it. spending time with newt that first day helped; the other girl is sweet and kind of motherly and with her help, tess began to settle into her new life at sea.

well. hers and minjis.

minji was--she was frustrating, sometimes. true to her name, she just took things, often with no concern for her wellbeing, or for human lives. she was brash and reckless and sometimes she drove tessa nuts, but other times, they clicked together like nothing else. the talk, the banter, even just looking up from scrubbing the floors--scrubbing the floors, seriously--and seeing her there. it was easy in a way that nothing else in her life had ever been. and after minji had nearly died on her last raid, saved only via some ridiculously intuitive tag team thing she must have had planned with newt all along, tess was starting to find she was sort of attached to the girl.

(attached enough to kiss her when she came back.)

but, she can't stop thinking about it. the kiss, about minji, the situation that had occurred mere hours before, and so tess gets up in the dead of night when the ship is silent and tiptoes on bare feet through the passenger quarters, and upstairs to the captain's on the main deck. the door's unlocked, like it usually is at night, and she pushes it open, quietly, then stares at the sleeping form on the bed. it's so dark and minji's turned on her side, so tess just kind of quietly sneaks across the room and gingerly climbs into the bed, until she can feel the warmth of minji next to her and the sea rocking outside. carefully, tess curls her fingers up against her shoulder blades and tips her head forward, resting her nose between her lightly curled fists and trying to fight down the rushing beat of her heart and be quiet all at once. ]

hi

[flirtily]

"i'm gonna do my game tags", she says

[prox]

[ syd should have known.

knox had a way of beating every system--even the one they were stuck in for all of their lives. hacker, patron, martyr, whatever you wanted to call him, knox always seemed to have some kind of trick up his sleeve, something to pull out and make a sarcastic comment about. maybe that was how he hit on girls. maybe it was how he hacked every system that got in their way, made up different identities for syd like a conductor handles his music.

so he should have known, when they pressed their hands to the glass and watched knox wink, watch him go from person to a bit of ash, that he had a backup plan.

syd thinks he must be dreaming. his nightmares are frequent, more so than his dreams, and knox features in them as much as his father had, now, as much as egan does if not more. people, death, it's all been senseless violence, whether it's real or not, and syd can hear knox in his head every day he's someone's yovel, hero of the people, false martyr. "it's your future, choose."

so when he sees him, standing in the schoolroom where they're keeping their precious yovel now like it's nothing, syd has to pinch himself in the arm to make sure he's awake. he stands there for a moment, frozen to the spot, and thinks of calling for marie, but he doesn't. he doesn't do anything.

if it's fake, it'll leave. it'll disappear, and the world will go back to being the screwed up thing that it is. ]

we all know Min bought Tommy for more than 11 bucks so only tangently related

[flexed]

bonus: face-to-face or text thread or both bc two different things, go

[flexed]

or: dude we just scored some hot babes at the fraternity date auction,
let's talk about it and the dates that followed

omg this prompt is cute

[cranks]

the fact that I haven't heard from you or Tommy is starting to scare me
did you kill him?

[herpetology]

[ Okay so there's being a regular to a coffee shop and then there's... what Newt does. On top of him getting a morning and sometimes evening requirement of hot cocoa (because fuck your rules he's a grown adult), he's even gotten permission to use the spare room for some help with groups of students and meet special needs of his graduating and higher kids. This shop is starting to feel like a second home.

So, yeah, he sees pretty much all of the staff every day.

And, to no one's surprise, he instantly bonded with the OTHER guy named Newt! Dude! What are the odds even! Both named after Sir Isaac too?! That's awesome!

He's kept Newt company on slow mornings and winding down on closing shifts. They see each other all the time. Weirdly, never outside of the shop. Newt - uh that is Geiszler - has never really thought about it. He likes the other Newt. He likes his company. It's half the reason why he even goes! Including tonight. Slow? Hey, everyone needs a break. ]

YOU HERE NEWT?

[ He calls as he enters, as if it's his house. Hey, no other customers are in the place - he looked. He's not totally without manners. ]

[selkied]

[putsched]

[ alex isn't dumb. he's not, okay? he doesn't need to speak selkie to know that bean doesn't like him very much. actually, the majority of their little traveling party doesn't seem to like him that much. alex can't blame them, he guesses; he is a walking, talking representation of everything that's ever caused them any trouble. at least quinn seems to be sort of warming to him in her "i actually don't give a shit either way" sort of way.

it's been a particularly low day for the group, and alex had been paying more attention to the street than he had to his fellow party members; it wasn't until they were all halfway down the street that he noticed bean had stopped to look at a busker with a dog. the dog was balancing a ball on his nose, happily barking and bouncing it up and down, and alex watched her stare at it, saw the look on her face.

of course, she's a seal. people can't really do that, can they?

so it's at dinner that night that he comes over and sits next to bean by their campfire. there's no prelude considering they don't really speak each other's language, but he sits down and holds out a metal spoon, showing it to her.

then, alex breathes on it, picks it up, and puts it on the tip of his nose.

holding it there for a second, he pulls his hands away and then looks cross eyed down at it. a magic trick with no magic--it's no ball, but it's a start, right? ]

[ex_tarotdeck349]

this is the literal cutest prompt ever

[putsched]

[ the thing about all of your family being brutally murdered is that their properties typically get left alone. maybe people worry about headless ghosts or blood in the walls or god only knows what else--alex just knows that when it's snowing outside and they're trekking through the cold, a house is a house, especially one where the heat might still work.

it doesn't, but the fingerprint lock recognizes him, and the four of them are able to walk into the dark house fairly easily. alex flicks on a light and the place is illuminated, dimly--it's still decorated for christmas, mistletoe in every doorway, boughs of holly on the railing of the spiral staircase, a christmas tree in the corner. it's only been a few weeks since everything went down--of course the servants had already decorated, anticipating his parents arrival.

they never came, but their prodigal son did.

for him, this isn't anything big and fancy; this house is actually on the small side compared to the place where he lived before. but, the kitchens are stocked and with a little help from quinn, they get a crackling fire going in the fireplace, and hot cocoa on the stove. alex is quiet when he holds his cup, leaning on the doorway with mistletoe over his head (though he has yet to notice) as he tries not to think about everything this little house stands for--when quinn passes through the doorway while he stands in it, he tries to move out of her way and freezes.

it's cursed.

of course it is.

muttering: ] God, continuing traditions from the grave [ he looks up, and then at quinn, going for a crooked, jokey grin. ] Sorry, Quinn, you just got parent trapped.

we should actually play them meeting

[lycanism]

YES HELLO SLAMS IN HERE

[ex_advised6]

♥♥!!! i was so happy to see this this morning LMAO

[gimp]

[ the homestead is dead quiet, an unusual sight and sound for most days. it's something newt's sort of become used to, as the boys are typically pretty obedient about curfew. most nights, everyone's so exhausted that when 11 rolls around, the gladers are all already snoring in their bedrolls. it's newt and alby's job to check over them, often their job to comfort a boy terrified by nightmares, the low, piercing moan of a griever in the night, but tonight, not so much. tonight, someone else could do their jobs.

newt rouses from his bedroll around ten thirty, slips out from his spot sprawled on the floor beside minho. he has yet to move into alby's room but he thinks it'll be soon, thinks the rest of the gladers know that there's something going on here that's different than just friends. newt knows he's obvious. he knows he's been obvious, but he can't help it. can't help the way they don't even need to speak to know what the other's thinking, how alby has a secret smile that newt thinks he might be the only person who knows it. he can't help where they've come to, this point that seemed inevitable.

(he thinks he should have told him when he was going to jump, but he didn't.)

either way, newt limps to alby's room quietly and knocks on the door, three short, sharp taps to let him know it's him before he opens the door and slips inside, offering a small smile to the figure inside. newt thinks he has butterflies, wonders if he's ever felt this for anyone before and it knows that if he had, it was for him. it was always alby, memories or not. ]

Ready to go? [ he whispers, quietly--a walk in the glade, out to the deadheads--and holds out his small hand. his leg is still healing and he shouldn't be walking but he found that his and alby's quiet midnight walks were one of the things he would have missed if he'd died.

alby was that thing, really, so he bucks up and tries to keep moving, for him. ]

do u think I've thoroughly claimed this post

[cruthaigh]