#i could be going u know............ but fuck the distance and just how untimely everything is 4 me rn

[hyunebear]

in just a few hours skz will be breathing the same air as i am and i’m trying not to freak out too much abt it and cry my eyes out but that isn’t promised.

#adri.txt #sad rant? #IM JUST #i could be going u know............ but fuck the distance and just how untimely everything is 4 me rn #i'm trying to condition my brain to be positive abt it bc there's still march for me for the concert but oh god i just wanna curl up into a #ball and cry for six months over itsjhfjjgjkdfkgjfkj #my babies............ i could have gotten myself tickets bc it's easier right but why must u be so close yet so far away #i can't breathe. #sorry 4 the dramatics but as soon as they depart from incheon pray 4 my ass bc i'm abt to hold my breath #until they step foot on manila #IM JUST A LITTLE BIT CONCERNED #bc rn it's scorchingly hot in here after the rainy days we've just had and oh god the internet sucks #but i'm hoping for their safe flight and i hope they have lots of fun while being here and seeing the stays who deserved to see them too #one day i'll get my turn hhhhhh

[bangtan-madi]

Hey! I think ur writing is THE BOMB and I wanted to request a scenario :) could u write a scenario with 707 from mystic messenger with angst? Any type of angst is ok! I just haven’t seen a lot of angst content for seven lately haha. Also, could u use they/them pronouns for the reader? Thank you so much! 🥰

Hi there, Nonnie! Hope you don’t mind I kinda made it a secret agent AU. Really inspired by something I had in my drafts. I also went back through and tried my best to ensure gender neutrality and they/them pronouns, but as my default is she/her and female, please let me know if I missed any! Hope you enjoy!

It’s hard enough to be around a man who wakes up screaming at night. It’s even harder when you’re in love with him.

Seven has saved your life one too many times when his orders were to end you. You were an enemy, after all. Despite having been a double-agent the whole time, there were things you did to betray South Korea that you could never take back. In order to play your part, you had to make it seem as if you were turning your back on your country, your old life, and the boy you’ve loved since childhood. Seven never knew that, neither did your other friends. The only one that knew was Vanderwood, and he never told a soul.

Not until you came back home. By then, the trust and love you’d built with Seven were destroyed. Broken like the buildings you’d helped destroy, all in the name of finding out the leader of the South Korean anarchist group. You’d hurt and stolen and killed, all in the name of your mission.

Being an agent for Korea was one of the biggest mistakes you ever made.

And still, Seven spared you. He’d had a plethora of chances to end your life, had you at gunpoint or pinned in a room more times than you can count. He would never say a word, only stare at you until you moved against him. The last thing you wanted to do was hurt him, but he always let you getaway. When you looked back, you could see him gazing after you, vision blurry with tears.

You never knew why until Vanderwood delivers him to your front door. It’s a few weeks after your undercover operation concluded, successfully with the militant leader behind bars awaiting trial. Vanderwood asks you to look out for Seven while he has the base swept for bugs, a regular occurrence; you are the strongest person he knows, and he knows you two needed to make up. 

“Why can’t he stay at your place?” you inquire, eyeing Seven as he leans against Vanderwood’s car. “He doesn’t want to see me.”

“Because he’s a pain to sleep around,” Vanderwood answers honestly. “Wakes up screaming your name all the fucking time. He needs to be here, with you, if he’s ever going to move past this. Besides, I’ll be supervising the sweep. Please, MC. I’ll owe you one.”

Of course, you say yes. 

For most of the night, Seven refuses to leave your guest room. You offer him some takeout, which he takes without a word and returns to the room, closing the door behind him. It’s all you can do not to curl up in your bed and let your tears fall. You know how hurt he must be, how betrayed and disgusted. He probably hates you, you’re certain of that.

In the middle of the night, Seven wakes with a startled cry. Nightmares haunt him constantly, and they mostly revolve around your untimely demise or disappearance. His greatest fear was that you would leave in the middle of the night and never return before he could get over this pain in his heart and ask you for a new beginning.

Chest heaving, Seven leaps out of bed to rush to your room. He had to see if you were there, alive, safe. He had to see…you. Despite all the misery and lies, broken promises and lost futures, Choi Saeyoung still loves you with all his being.

And though his view of love may be warped, he’s pretty sure he never fell out of that love.

He jerks open your door with a crash, nearly pulling it off the hinges. You fly upright, going for your gun on the side table. Your eyes turn to Seven, a little frightened. “Saeyoung?”

Seven sighs in relief. “I thought…I mean…”

Your eyes soften and you pat the bed beside you. “Sit.”

He does as you say, awkwardly sitting on the mattress with you. You keep your distance, knowing that it’s too early for physical touch, but you have to comfort him in some way. He needs it desperately. His eyes are blotched, his breathing is erratic, and his eyes dart from you to the window to the door and back.

Your hand moves on its own accord, gently brushing your fingertips to the vermilion haired man’s cheek.

“You’re okay,” you murmur, wiping his fallen tears from his cheeks. “We’re both okay.”

“I thought you’d be gone when I opened that door,” Seven admits softly, shaking his head at the thought. “I always think you’re just another undercover mission away from never coming back.”

“Vanderwood really never told you?”

He shakes his head and scoffs. “I don’t blame him. If he had, I’d probably have gone after you. It was a reckless mission. MC–shit, you were so lucky to get out of there with your life. My mind’s dark enough, but the briefs on that group turned it to a pit of never-ending nightmares.”

You reach down and grasp his hand. When he doesn’t pull away–on the contrary, he leans closer to your touch–you pull his head to your shoulder. Slipping the hand on his cheek to his wavy locks, you scratch his scalp in a way you recall instantly relaxes him. 

“I feel like we need to get everything out of our system,” you whisper. “There’s a lot we need to say, both of us. I don’t want to lose you, Sae.”

“I don’t want to lose you, either,” he breathes, curling into your grasp. “Maybe tomorrow? I’m exhausted, and what you’re doing is not helping.”

With a slight chuckle, you press a kiss to his forehead and pull you both down so that you’re laying against the pillows and under the blankets. Pulling his head down to your chest, Seven slowly wraps his arms around your middle, yearning for closeness with the person he most adores.

“Tomorrow it is." 

#kyojin-madi writes #saeyoung choi #choi saeyoung #saeyoung #seven #seven x reader #seven x mc #gender neutral #saeyoung x reader #saeyoung x mc #saeyoung scenario #saeyoung imagine #mm #mm scenario #mm imagine #mysme #mysme imagine #mysme scenario #mystic messenger #mystic messenger scenario #mystic messenger imagines #gender neutral mc #gender neutral reader #secret agent AU #au #alternate universe #707 #707 x reader #707 x mc

[ahtohallan-calling]

chapter 9 of don’t read the last page is here!

[kristanna / m / multichap / modern au with actress!anna and vetstudent!kristoff]

t-rated version on tumblr, m-rated on ao3 ;)

“Anna…” he said, and for a moment he wasn’t quite sure what he wanted to say. He was so proud of her, how good she was; how she managed to charm everyone she ever met, how much work she put into her performances, how every eye in the room landed on her the moment she stepped in-- and he knew in his heart that in the coming days there would only be more of all of that, more eyes focused on her, more people wanting a little piece of her, more of the world demanding she let a little bit of her light rub off on them.

And still, she cared what he thought.

chapter 9: raindrops

They both agreed it was for the best that Kristoff drove to the beach, even though they were in Anna’s car; she was bursting with excitement, which only exacerbated her habit of talking with her hands.

He kept his own hands firmly on the wheel as she bounced on in the passenger seat. “So they want me to be her, which like-- oh my god, I grew up watching that movie and like...oh my god! I used to just dance around the living room and sing the songs over and over again and drive Elsa crazy, but it was only fair because she was into Star Wars and made me do lightsaber battles with her, but like-- oh my god, I always wanted to be her, and now maybe I will be--”

“Hang on,” Kristoff cut in as he reached over to squeeze one of her flailing hands at a red light. “This is like, the Anastasia who died in the Russian Revolution? This is like, a little kid movie?”

“Well, yeah. In this version, like, her family dies I guess, but it’s not onscreen or whatever, and she got away and just doesn’t know she-- wait. Kristoff, you’ve never seen Anastasia?”

“Um...no?”

“Not even with your sisters?”

He shrugged. “I...maybe I have and just forgot.”

“Well, you’ll have to watch it with me now,” Anna said, settling back in her seat. “That way when this comes out, you can be like everyone else fighting on Twitter about live-action remakes and whether they’re better or worse.”

“I don’t have Twitter, remember?”

“I’ll make you one, just for this. It’s part of the millennial experience, Kristoff.”

“What is?”

“Fighting with someone on the internet by sending reality TV gifs back and forth.”

“Um...if you say so.”

They’d already been driving for forty minutes, and they were getting close to the little cutoff he had found once in college when he’d just needed to get in the car and drive. He’d looked it up later, and the little beach it led to was technically public property, but he’d never once seen another soul out here. It was his favorite place to go when he needed to just be, and Anna was the first person he was ever showing it to. It was odd, but he was somehow nervous about it, worried that maybe for some reason she wouldn’t like it.

He was carefully watching the road signs when he heard a little “oh!” and glanced over at Anna.

“What is it?”

“I think I just saw a raindrop.”

“But we live in LA, it never rains here til--”

She was right. Another raindrop plopped suddenly on the windshield, and Kristoff felt himself deflate as surely as if he were a balloon that had just met its untimely end.

“Sorry, Anna,” he sighed, “just let me find a good spot to pull over and turn aro--”

“What are you talking about? It hasn’t rained in ages, I don’t mind at all.”

“But you wanted to swim, and we packed the picnic basket--”

“So? I can swim in the rain.”

He glanced at her again. “Seriously, Anna, you don’t have to--”

“It’s not a have to. I want to.” She reached over and squeezed his shoulder. “I’m not going to let a little shower ruin our day.”

It was quickly turning into more than just a little shower. As the rain picked up, he turned at last onto the cutoff and braked, not bothering to park. “Seriously, Anna, I--”

“Drive a little more. Onto the beach.”

He did so, holding back his questions. “Okay, now park.”

The moment he did so, she hopped out of the car and scurried to the back. “Anna!” he called after a moment of stunned surprise. “You’re going to get soaking wet!”

She had already opened the trunk; as he turned back to look at her, she cheerfully peeled off her t-shirt and tossed it up to him, leaving her in her bikini top and shorts. “Good thing I wore my swimsuit then, huh? Come back here and help me push the seats down.”

He did, and she pulled out the blanket they’d brought and spread it over the newly flat space in the back of the car. “See? Perfect! And less sand, too.”

She put one hand on his shoulder as she hopped on one foot, taking off her shoes. “Are you gonna swim with me, Kris?”

“It’s going to be even colder than normal with the rain.”

“Good thing you’re here to warm me up then,” she said as she succeeded in getting her other shoe off. “Come on!”

She took off running towards the water, a scream of delight tearing from her throat as the rain plastered her hair to her bare, freckled shoulders. She turned to wave back at him. “What are you waiting for?”

He followed after her, slowly, a wide grin on his face as he watched her run into the water, squealing when it splashed her ankles and she realized how cold it really was. “I warned you!” he called, but she only laughed. 

“Come on in, the water’s fine!”

Lightning flickered in the distance. “It’s about to storm, baby,” he called. “Come back!”

“Come and get me!”

He did, loping down towards the edge of the water, and she ran back out, meeting him halfway and throwing her arms around his neck. She was shivering, just a little, but when he pressed his hands against the small of her back, she sighed happily. “God, Kris, you’re so warm,” she said, nuzzling her nose against his neck. 

“You’ll be even warmer once you get back in the car,” he said, and then she took his hand in hers and they were running towards the car, laughter spilling from them as a crack of thunder sounded in the sky.

Once they were in the backseat of the car again, scooting back far enough that the few droplets of rain that were slipping in past the raised tailgate couldn’t reach them, he leaned against the side of the car as she snuggled up against him, her hair already soaking through his shirt. He pulled the picnic blanket up and draped it over her shoulders; she thanked him with a kiss before settling back against his side.

They sat in silence for a while, watching the rain and the waves as Anna warmed up against him, tucked under his arm. He was still trying to make sense of all that had happened in the last day, of this phone call about the big part and the fact that they’d almost fought and then realized neither of them wanted to and then, most importantly of all, that she’d said she loved him, and he’d said it back, and now at last he could say it whenever he wanted to instead of biting his tongue so it didn’t spill out while he was holding her or talking on the phone or just watching her being, well, her.

"I love you," he said, just to test the feel of it in his mouth once more, his heart beginning to pound; surely he'd imagined it, that she had ever said it at all--

"I love you, too," she said, tilting her chin up so she could kiss the underside of his jaw. "I love you so much, Kristoff, and I love your freckles and your eyes and your nose and your chest--"

 She shifted, straddling his lap so she could face him. "My chest?" he asked, amused.

"Yes," she said, pressing her hands against it and splaying her fingers out with a happy little sigh. "I love it when you pick me up or when you just hold me, and it just-- I just feel so safe, and--"

He kissed her then, too overwhelmed for words, but Anna pulled away after only a moment, determined to continue her list. "And I love the way your hair gets all messy when you sleep, and I love how handsome you look when you wear your glasses, and--"

She paused for a moment to let out a little gasp as his lips slid down to her neck; when he reached her collarbone she let her head loll back. He slid his hands up her back, keeping her pressed close to him, and her eyes fluttered shut. "God-- I think I love your mouth the most-- or maybe your hands-- fuck, Kris!" she gasped as without warning he pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the junction of her neck and shoulder, his tongue flicking over her skin.

Her hands started tugging at the hem of his shirt, and he leaned back just enough to pull it off with her help before capturing her mouth with his own. 

"I love you, too," he panted as he finally succeeded in tugging it off. "I-- everything about you, baby, it's all my favorite-- you're my favorite--"

"And you're mine," she whispered, and then she kissed him again and at last he was starting to believe this was real.

---

How did the meeting with your agent go yesterday afternoon? Sorry, just realized I forgot to ask when you called last night.

.

no worries i know u were tired, i was too so i forgot to say anything haha

but it was good! he gave me everything i need

including the sheet music😱

.

It’s a musical?

.

omg we rly have to find time to watch this movie together

yes but i havent sung much recently

nervous 

.

I can help you practice if you want.

.

omg 

u do music stuff? how am i just now finding this out 

.

Kind of. I’ll be home around 5 if you want to practice there.

Or we can go to your place.

.

urs is better 

elsa having honey over for dinner 👀

so i kind of already told her i would spend the night with u...just in case

is that ok?

.

It’s more than ok. You don’t even have to ask.

.

💕💕💕

ily!! 

.

Love you too.

Anna was there right at five, practically vibrating with excitement as Kristoff opened the door. “I haven’t even sat down yet,” he teased as she burst through the door, her arms loaded with grocery bags.

“Sorry, sorry, I just couldn’t want to find out more about this musical gift you’ve been hiding from me!” she chirped, opening his fridge. “I brought stuff for dinner if that’s okay. And breakfast. Since you were at work or with me all the time the last few days, I figured you hadn’t had time to go to the grocery. And I got those carrot cake cupcakes Sven likes. I still feel bad about the sofa.”

He felt a swell of affection in his chest. “You didn’t have to do that,” he said, coming up behind her and pulling her into an embrace. “But thank you.”

“I wanted to do it,” she said, turning in his arms so she could rise up on her toes and kiss him. “You do so much for me, I just...I don’t know.”

He just held her for a long moment, his heart skipping a beat when she sighed in contentment and nestled her face against his shoulder. There was so much about loving her that he, well, loved, but this-- just holding her, feeling the way her breath synchronize with his as the tension sank slowly out of her body, feeling himself relax as well and knowing it was all just because they were together-- well. It was difficult to imagine anything else ever making him happier.

“Love you,” he said softly, and she tightened her arms around his waist.

“Love you, love you, love you,” she said cheerfully before pulling away a little, still keeping her hands on his sides. “Are you still up for helping me practice? It’s okay if you’re too tired or need to study or something. But you might want to wear headphones if that’s the case, because the audition is this Friday, and I really do need to practice, and I’m, well, out of practice.”

Kristoff huffed out a laugh and took her hand, leading her to his room. “I’ve got time. No tests ‘til next week. No promises that I’ll actually be of help, though.”

Anna hopped a little with excitement as he opened the door. “Are you going to sing with me? Or do you have, like, a keyboard or something?”

“Or something.”

She hopped up onto the bed, sitting cross-legged in the middle of it as he went to his closet, already feeling nervous even before he turned around and showed her the guitar in his hands. She gasped in surprise, her hands flying up to cover her mouth. “Oh! I didn’t know you played!”

“I don’t, not really,” he said hastily as he sat on the edge of the bed.

“Well, you have your own guitar, so that has to count for something.”

He shrugged, fiddling awkwardly with the tuning pegs and plucking at the strings. “It’s just...I don’t know. My dad, uh, he taught me a little when I was younger, and then I had to do some kind of music class in college, and it kinda...it was relaxing, I guess. And then I found this one at a thrift store and just...got it on a whim. I, uh, I thought I would just, y’know, play for my mom some, I learned some songs for her birthday one year and...um…”

He felt a flush creeping up his cheeks, knowing he was rambling. “Anyway. So I don’t really play. But I can try for you.”

Anna’s eyes were soft as he looked at her over his shoulder. “Will you sing for me?”

His face only grew warmer. “I, uh, I-- Mom really likes Elvis, so that’s the only thing I know well enough to sing along to, and I know that’s kind of lame--”

“No, it’s not, really,” she said immediately, scooting forward so she could sit behind him, tucking her chin over his shoulder and sliding her arms around his waist. “Please, Kris?”

“Anna…”

“I love you,” she said sweetly, pressing a kiss just under his ear, and how could he say no after that?

“Fine,” he grumbled, and she scooted back so she could watch him, her eyes bright. “Um...what song?”

“You pick.”

He started strumming a few chords, wishing his heart would slow down a little. “I...I really...I’m not very good…”

She just rested her chin in her hands, smiling at him so broadly he thought his heart would burst. He could have gone on staring at her all day, the way the afternoon sunlight slanted through the window and illuminated her hair and brought out her freckles and made her eyes shine bluer than anything he’d ever seen-- but she was waiting for him, and he knew that for whatever reason this meant something to her, and so he cleared his throat and started to sing. 

“Wise men say…”

His voice was shaking; he had to look away from her as he sang. He’d never performed for anyone besides his family, and even then he’d only been able to do it after secretly downing a shot of whiskey. 

He kept going, anyway, and after another line or two, he felt the bed shift and then the press of Anna’s cheek against his upper back as she snuggled against him. He stumbled for a moment, his heart and his voice stuttering, but as she pressed a kiss between his shoulderblades suddenly his nerves began to fade away.

“...for I can’t help falling in love with you,” he finished, strumming the final chord and realizing that at some point, his heart had finally slowed down.

Anna’s arms came over his shoulders as she embraced him, pressing a damp kiss against his cheek. “Thank you, Kris,” she sniffled, and he set the guitar down so he could turn and hug her back.

“Why are you crying, baby?” he teased gently as she swiped at her eyes with the sleeve of her sweatshirt-- his sweatshirt, he realized suddenly, one that was so big on her it covered her hands. Had she really been wearing that all day? “Was it really that bad?”

“That was the sweetest thing that’s ever happened to me in my whole entire life,” she said, and he couldn’t help but lean down and kiss her, and then again on her forehead for good measure. 

“So where’s the music you need to practice? Your turn to sing for me.”

“It’s in my backpack,” she said, but made no move to lean down and get it from the floor, instead pressing a contented kiss against his cheek. 

He felt his heart jump, just as it always did, even now; somehow it always surprised him, the easy affection she gave him so freely, so happily, just because she could, because she wanted to, because as unbelievable as it seemed, she loved him. He held her close for another moment, just because he could, and then said, a hint of regret in his voice, “If we keep just doing this all night, then you’ll never get to practice, and I know this audition is really important…”

Anna sighed and slipped out of his arms to crouch on the floor and pull out a folder full of sheet music. She spread it open on the bed and considered it all for a moment, her fingers dancing in the air just above it all. “They told me I can just pick whichever song I want to do for it, even if I’d rather do one of the other characters’ ones because they’re still finishing up a couple of new additions...hmm…”

She glanced up at him. “There’s tabs written up at the top. Can you play based on that?”

He nodded; though he’d downplayed it out of nervousness, he actually did play fairly regularly. It had started just for the class, but then he’d found himself pulling out the guitar and practicing whenever his major classes got to be too much, and then he’d find himself returning to his notes with a newfound sense of clarity. He’d gotten an A in that initial music class and been surprised, even though over the course of the semester he’d put in dozens of hours of practice. He still pulled it out of the closet whenever work or school got too overwhelming, though never when Anna was over or Sven was home; the only people who’d ever heard him play at all had been his professor and his family-- well, until now. 

Anna settled on a song and shifted the music towards him. “Do you think you can do this one?”

“If you don’t mind me making some mistakes, sure.”

He started strumming slowly, just sounding out the chords, then nodded resolutely. “Okay. Ready?”

She nodded, and he started playing through the song, nodding to give her her cue to come in, but instead of singing she flushed bright red and looked away. Kristoff raised his eyebrows and played the intro again, waiting for her to start, but she shook her head. He set guitar down and asked playfully, “What, you can make a movie for the whole world to see, but you can’t sing in front of your boyfriend?”

“It’s different,” she squeaked out, her cheeks only growing redder. “Your opinion matters.”

He huffed out a laugh, knowing that this gently teasing back-and-forth was the only way to coax her into doing it, even though inside his chest he suddenly felt so warm he just wanted to toss all the music aside and pull her back into his arms. “You made me sing first. It’s only fair, baby.”

“Okay, okay-- just-- do it again, okay? I promise I’ll actually sing this time.”

He started strumming again, and this time she did, though she had to look away. He did his best to hide the surprise he was feeling; he’d heard her sing back when she’d performed in school musicals, and she’d been good then, but now...Jesus. No wonder they wanted her for this part. 

When they finished the song, the last note still shimmering tremulously in the air, he tossed the guitar aside and leaned over to pull her into a hug, his arms only tightening when she let out a little yelp of surprise. “Was that okay?” she asked hopefully, her hands settling on his back.

“Anna…” he said, and for a moment he wasn’t quite sure what he wanted to say. He was so proud of her, how good she was; how she managed to charm everyone she ever met, how much work she put into her performances, how every eye in the room landed on her the moment she stepped in-- and he knew in his heart that in the coming days there would only be more of all of that, more eyes focused on her, more people wanting a little piece of her, more of the world demanding she let a little bit of her light rub off on them.

And still, she cared what he thought. 

“You’re going to nail this, baby,” he said and felt her melt a little against him. “You’re going to get this part and be a fucking star, and I’m gonna be cheering you on the whole way.”

Whatever came next, whoever demanded something of her, whatever she demanded of herself-- he would be there, in the quiet moments and the loud, an anchor for her, as long as she wanted him to be the one she came home to, whether that was for only another week or for a lifetime.

And, if he was being honest, he was starting to hope it would be the latter.

#ahem...last chapter it probably wasnt worth clicking over to ao3 if you prefer tumblr #but this time...the cuts had to be bigger fljdaskf;adj im trash #drtlp #my fics

[wheredidhiseyebrowsgo]

hiya! I just read "see you on the other side" by damnitgreenberg and I'm addicted to the whole concept of it!! do u happen to kno of any more fics that focus on the pack overall? like maybe on their strained relationships w their parents and/ or them dealing w trauma and what not and preferably with sterek as one of the couples. Thank u in advanced!

Here’s some pack feels. - Anastasia

See You on the Other Side by damnitgreenberg

(18/18 I 146,077 I Mature I Sterek)

Stiles isn’t doing so well on the ‘dealing with life’ front. He’ll admit to that freely, okay? But he quickly discovers he isn’t the only one, and that person’s inability to adapt and roll with the punches may cost Stiles his own life.

***

Feels Like Belonging by nan

(1/1 I 2,513 I Teen I Sterek)

Stiles isn’t sure why all these werewolves think they have access to his bed. The explanation is just. Weird.

Revelations by Inell

(1/1 I 8,657 I Teen I Sterek)

Stiles finally gets some answers about why the Hales left Beacon Hills without ever looking back. He’s the one answering questions later, though, when his pack finds out about his mate bond with Derek.

The truth about love (comes at 3 AM) by Finduilas

(1/1 I 9,587 I Explicit I Sterek)

When the pack gets locked in at Derek’s new loft during a snowstorm, they play ‘truth or dare’ to pass the time.

keeping the stars apart by unpossible

(10/10 I 15,285 I Teen I Sterek)

Derek watches that sharp brain come fully online.“Oh God,” Stiles says, and now he smells of embarrassment. “Fuck. I just- did I just have a fucking panic attack in front of Jackson?”“It’s okay,” he says simply.“Really. Is it.” Stiles sighs without looking up. “Well. At least I wasn’t naked.”

ladybugs by thepsychicclam

(1/1 I 20,723 I Explicit I Sterek)

It’s Saturday night, and Derek Hale is at Toys R Us. Shopping for Leapfrog games. If asked, it wasn’t exactly how he pictured his life. Or his Saturday nights.

In which Derek and Stiles have been married for ten years, have two kids, and are planning their five year old’s birthday party.

Where The Wild Things Are by DeadWalker

(4/4 I 30,049 I Teen I Sterek)

Derek finds a boy in the woods. He might not have realized it then, but that is the moment his whole life changes.

And You Say You’re Alone by taelynhawker

(1/1 I 30,314 I Explicit I Sterek)

Between the kanima, the Argents, and Peter’s untimely return from the dead, everything has fallen apart. Stiles and Derek try to put their lives back together once the crisis has passed. Stiles deals with the aftermath of being tortured, and the distance growing between he and Scott. Derek attempts to become a stronger alpha and keep his pack safe, and that includes Stiles.

Stilinski’s Home for Wayward Wolves by owlpostagain

(1/1 35,197 I Teen I Sterek)

“At least your puppies knock first,” Stiles snorts. “Here I thought their alpha raised them to be well-mannered.” 

“There’s a sign,” Derek responds stiffly.

Stiles, whose curiosity outweighs even his hardest of grudges, abandons his chilly façade of nonchalance in a heartbeat. He jumps right up and all but pushes Derek out of the way in his effort to get to the window, and sure enough when he leans outside there’s a laminated strip of cardstock duct taped to the vinyl siding: 

DON’T FORGET TO KNOCK Stiles gets cranky when we scare him

—

Or, in which Stiles Stilinski moves to Beacon Hills for his junior year of high school and accidentally adopts a pack of teenage werewolves.

Living With Lycanthropy by WhoNatural

(1/1 I 44,095 I Explicit I Sterek)

AKA: The Sterek Rival Bakeries AU

Wherein they both own bakeries, Stiles tries not to run his grandmother’s legacy into the ground, Laura wants to be a better alpha, and Derek can’t seem to get Stiles’ attention the regular way - so naturally, he accidentally initiates a prank war.

(Or, if Teen Wolf was more like Gilmore Girls, with everyone far too invested in whether the Hale boy and the Sheriff’s kid will work it out, and Laura Hale wrote a handbook for alpha werewolves.)

The Strength of the Wolf by tolieawake

(18/? I 50,254 I Teen I Sterek)

In the end, it’s only Lydia and Stiles left. Alone and desperate, oh so desperate. Desperate times and desperate measures and all that, but emphasis on the times.

With nothing else left to lose, they find a way to change it all. And Stiles may just figure out the key to stopping everything that ever went wrong - well, from Peter onwards.

Because he’s older and wiser (sort-of) and beginning to understand in a way that he never did before.

After all, the strength of the wolf is the pack, right?

There’s Monsters at Home by calrissian18

(6/6 I 83,582 I Explicit I Sterek)

“How did you get past the wards?” Derek had put them up, with Peter’s grudging assistance, after the Alpha pack had made themselves at home a few times too many.

The guy pulled a face. “You mean the wards a five-year-old girl with the mental ability of a goldfish could deconstruct?” He blinked wide eyes at Derek. “Gee, I don’t know. It’s bound to go down as one of life’s great mysteries.”

Derek despised him.

All the Weird Kids (Know How to Take it Slow) by Ionaonie

(26/26 I 112,477 I General I Sterek)

Stiles never thought being part of a werewolf Pack would end up being so normal. Even being around Derek had a degree of normality about it. Even if he was still an overbearing jerk most of the time.

#teen wolf #sterek #stiles stilinski #derek hale #pack feels #pack dynamics #anon #submission #lydia/jackson #Rating: M #morethan100k #full shift #mates #Sheriff Stilinski #scott is a bad friend #ptsd!stiles #torture #magical!stiles #slutty!stiles #time travel au

[ecotone99]

[MF] JIMMY (The One Who's Stuck)

Through the freezing air, and the frozen fields that extended endlessly was a man keeping warm with thoughts and movements.

He continued through the endless night with the moon up lurking behind. That's where the dry stone wall started. A hedge of tossed stones coming out of the dark, where a blank sign pointed where the stone wall went; into the void of the endless night, where the rolling green hills froze. He can see white letters where smudge off. Only letters left were T, G, T, H, R. He tried to figure out the word, the moon being his lantern. Nothing came of it. He went on. He went on the left side of the stone wall. Crinkles of frozen grass eased his anxiety through it all.

He watched the night sky. Cold clouds covered the salted stars now and then. He noticed something, like a mouse in tall grass. The stars moved in the sky. He watched as the north star moved to the south. What was this place? the thought that streamed through his river and fell off his mind.

As he looked to the south, he noticed something else; another mystery in these grasses. Some stones of the walls raddled. Not a shaking rattle like an apartment next to a trail line, but a subtle rattle. Moving ever so quietly in its place along the wall. As he touched the cold stones, his fingers made a blur. A blur slowly moved through his body, slowly infecting. Creating a smooth feeling. Warming the body slowly, then a voice spoke. Coming from the wall. From the seems in-between.

...like that...take me...like your lover...ill be here forever...come to the center of me

He put his ear to the seams between the stones, to the gaps that spoke.

...I'll eat you...to benefit you...take away the flesh that chains you...try to come...keep your hand on me...I'll give you warmth in the cold...I'll give you direction...I'll give you purpose...just keep your touch on me...for uusss.

The voice stopped. Sound of seizing, like skin being cooked by cold, came from the seams then. Before a blast of a ghostly glow punched him back with a cartoony shock. Skinning the frozen off the grass. Picking up the frozen dirt and throwing it. He got up, whipping the ice and dirt off of his green shirt and hole filled pants. His toes weren't however covered in an article of clothing. No shocks nor shoes, naked. The man was surprised that they weren't black and blue by now; only the stinging of cold flesh with the sharpness of the frozen grass.

He went on, keeping his distance from the wall, and kept walking through the darkness, as he has been doing since he woke up in this frozen land.

Birds filled the dark air. He heard them far above. He can't tell if they were geese's, or ravens. Either way, he couldn't and didn't matter. They fell from the sky like bombs when frozen. Exploding into crystal bits in the far distance where the wandering man couldn't see them, but hear faint splats on frozen ground.

The crackles of the frozen ground didn't sound normal when he slowly walked on them (like this place is normal) but then an echo coming from all around. It ringed in his ears and it wouldn't stop. He tried to think back to the past before all of this. His mother and a shattered car. All appeared at once. That's where the chains came back. Hiding among the winds.

Something appeared out of the dark. As he got closer, it spoke. Not a chirp from a bird but a human voice. Or a voice that could come from a tree perhaps. He walked closer to the phantom sounds. But no organic plant laid before him, but a man, chain to the stone wall; snow eating away the flesh that he had left.

The man lifted his head from its choked place, still, snow on top of his head fell to his exposed shoulders.

"You," the chained man said.

His eyes fished a hook to the wondering man's eyes, keeping them in his cold gaze. The wandering man looked at him, his face a pale skull. Questions arise, but the fear took hold first.

"You!" He repeated.

He laid against the wall, trying to move up, but the chains held him down.

"You fuck!” he lurched forward, chains catching him again, scratching the rust off from the interlocked U's. “Why did you leave me?"

The wandering man tried to speak. Cold winds froze his spoke.

"Why did you...huh?"

"I didn't," The wandering man replied.

"But you did!" the man snapped at him. He lifted his hands from under the foot of snow. Showed his hands to him, and the fingers that weren't there. But upon looking closer, they were there, but bent backward, like bark on white aspen during the wet spring, twisting to the other side. Including the thumbs.

"I didn't. I just couldn't,"

The wandering man looked on with horror. Trying to think through the yells the chained man gave him. Winds grew stronger. He can see the chains that were around him but weren't around, but in him; digging through the frostbitten skin over the years. Into his shoulders, past the collar bones were the chains laid and with every movement, every thought of it, the chains dug deeper into his body. They grew cold every night, sticking to the muscles and veins within, and rotting like chicken.

"You did, and always will," His upper lip was gone, chewed off. Showing his toothpick teeth.

"That's not me!" He yelled against the man.

"It is who you are, you bastard!'

The chained man looked at the wandering man for a long time,

"Why did you come back this time!"

"...What?" He spoke softly.

"You'r...youn...n...n" he trailed off, his head fell back, laying against the stone that kept him comfortable. His blue eyes spoke last. The chained man saw what he wanted in the wandering man. Pain. He died as he lived. Chained to that wall.

The wind grew, not wanting him to stare. He crouched down to the dead man, putting his fingers over the eye to close them. Realizing they were none.

He shoveled the snow off of his body. Most of what he saw was dead muscles or brown bone. Only the upper part of the torso had skin; which was blackened. His hair home to snow like whip cream on top of a fudge sundae. He followed the chains down, tracing them with his hands. Finding underneath all the snow, were the chains intercepted to make an X, was a lock. The weight was heavy, thinking it was iron.

The keyhole was filled with ice, unbreakable, impassable. He yanked at it. Didn't budge. He yanked again. Didn't budge once more; only the snow falling off the body did and there was an 'L.L.' inscribed above the keyhole. In lavish curls.

He thought that this lock was the only thing holding him back, holding him from freedom, was adding the opportunity to live freely; to escape a nightmare. All of that was pinned on that lock.

It was a lost cause, long before he arrived. But he still can live, he can leave and walk freely. He did as he thought. He counted through the night blizzard; living the body of someone that couldn't. He saw the sunrise behind him as he looked back, and the bloody footprints imprinted in the snow.

* * * * *

An oddity was shown in the distance. He didn't know what it was, but it wasn't a rolling hill in the sun-filled part of this distant landscape and the grass grew in the waking minutes of the snow melting; up to the shin within the hour. Like the moon before, time isn't but a cooking noodle here.

He switched between each side of the wall. From the right to the left and back again. Untimely switching back to the right. He did this to keep him from remembering the chained man; remembering the living corpse that yelled. He drifted from the recent memories to grass that tickled his feet, grazing the tip of the blades. His mind painted the memory with increasing enhancements. More blood. Less snow. More yelling. That's what memory does. Enhance's the worst of it. Like the car that he remembered earlier that night. The crushed door and blacked wheel. And his mother, pale with green eyes, in the tire well. No specific moment, just an image. Maybe that's the worst of it. In memory.

He rested once again, but away from the wall this time. Upon a green hill, far into the tall grass. The grass between his toes tickled, only a little but that was the least of it. Heat cooked his checks to a sizzling red. Aging the skin. Once he got up from his rest, he had gray hairs in his eyes, wrinkles in his face. Aged but not old. He longed for the cold now, when he was young.

As he walked down the hill to meet the wall again, he saw how it was in the landscape, the wall. How it didn't bend in any way, only straight through it all. From what he saw up there, it never cut through the landscape, only surfing it; but all were around it. Completely and utterly straight. And that's when he saw the hump once again, more clearly now. From where he saw it, it was something artificial, something that didn't roll with everything. He squinted, his 20/15 eyes could almost see it. But whatever it was, it lined up with the directions the sun was heading, into a sunset. But it was almost midday. The sun is like a big hand on a clock. Almost hitting the 12th hour, and the 12th hour was the top of the sky. He didn't know what else the night would bring. If it will snow again. To be caught in the cold again, that's what he didn't need.

He needed to take a shit, not a big one, but not a normal one either. A small one. Possible from the grass that he ate on top of the hill he was resting on. So he knelt, dug a hole with his hands. Seeing that the soil was fresh with moisture. He wondered if he could dig deep enough where water would appear. He did exactly that, but when he saw and tasted the water. It wasn't water. It was and wasn't all at the same time. He swallowed and it didn't go down his throat. He got another hand full. He slurped it up faster. Same result. He tried a handful of times more, the same results with every try.

"So drink this"

He squatted over the drinking hole, and let it fall; felt lighter afterward. He grabbed the biggest blades of grass he could find in his area. Squat hoping to reach the ones out of his reach. He dropped the used grass down the shit hole and pushed the dug up dirt into the hole. Patted the dirt down. Home Grown fertilizer at its finest, he thought with a hook smile. When he counted down the wall, he looked back to see if he had grown taller than the grass around it. It so had.

The grass grew as he went along the wall. Growing to his waist and bending over the wall. No longer a spring green, but a summer gold.

He passed his palms along, with the tips of the dagger grass tickling. Walking along the wall faster and faster, but not quite running. Not sprinting to the finish line just yet. That's when it happened again, the rattling of chains; coming with the warmth. Coming to him only. Stopping him in his tracks. His only thought was not a thought at all, but a feeling. He felt it cooling his body. Making the sun's heat irrelevant. He walked. Waiting for something to come, the chain-man? Not the chain-man. As the wandering man walked slowly along the wall, closely as a baby would hug a breast.

"You?"

The spoken words cut through the grass. He fell into the tall grass, cheek against the dirt. His breath escaping his lungs. Heavy gasps. A voice came from the other side of the wall. It said something. Hard to hear with only the pluses of his heart in his ears. Leaving was the want, the need, the ability. But the hook has already clenched him here, like before. He can't leave until he finds what's casting that hook. He looked over the wall, his new founded long grey hair was in his eyes, masking the image. He could still see what's behind the wall of hair. Blue eyes stared back at him, with the flesh of younger than his. A boy, transitioning into adulthood, like his body before falling laying on the hill but; man into aged, boy into a teen. The boy was chained to the wall, with them in a criss-cross X. The boy held the lock in one hand and some else was in his other hand. He looked up at the old man. Fear of the familiar face.

"How did you come back? Why did you?"

Long silence before an answer came.

"I don't know"

"Why don't you know?" The chained boy said.

The answer lingered. Trying to say more than 'I don't know'.

"Just to see you again I guess," the fear left.

The boy flabbergasted, clenched what was in his hand. The aged man sat down against the wall, wanting to rest again.

"To free me?" the boy suddenly asked.

He can hear the boy's breath growing deeper from the other side of the wall.

"Yes," he lied.

"Then help me,"

"Not just yet, want some rest. The suns a killer you know", the boy perfectly knew.

He put his head back against the wall, cheeks to the blue sky. Eyes closed to the darkness of his mind.

"Why are these..." the boy couldn't find the word.

"Chains," the aged man said, eyes still closed.

"...On me?" the boy finished.

The old man shrugged, the boy knew what was said. Another long silence came. Only the wind spoke.

"Why do I walk? Huh... Why do I... age the more I walk along this wall. Why?" he fiddled his finger in the space in between the rocks, to where the cold laid watching.

"Maybe you should stop walking," the boy said.

The aged man chuckled.

"And be like you,"

The aged man only laid silence and ignored as he felt his mind, his conscious, falling slowly back into his head. Into a dream. Possible leaving this world...

"Sometimes when I dream once in a while, mostly on clear nights, like last night. I see this house.... this blue house. And a peach skeleton dancing on the roof, laughing like a bat. Pointing at me,"

The aged man opened his eyes.

"Peach?" the aged man asked.

"I don't know, just peach. That's what's been screaming at me. Peach."

"Keep on dreaming kid," said, pushing the words through his relaxed lips.

"That's the only dream I'm doing. I have every-,"

"What was the color of the house again?" The aged man interjected.

"Blue, a... like sea blue. Why?"

The aged man lingered on the question longer than the boy wanted.

"Did you live in the blue house?" the aged man asked, becoming an on-the-spot physiologist.

A long silence came, with the wind that blew down on the aged man's question, spoken in his head. He wanted to ask his age, where his mother is, and his name. About to speak the questions, swimming on the tip of his teeth. But the wind took his thoughts. Then, another appeared.

"What do you have in your hand?" the aged man asked.

"...a rock from the wall, just chopping away at these chains,"

The mouse that lied, the aged man thought.

"Could I see it? Just curious how sharp that rock can be,"

He heard the boy try to tug and pull at the dry rocks of the other side. Too tight for his child's hands.

"I don't think I can throw it over," the boy said.

"Sure you can, young and strong,"

"No,"

"Do what an adult tells you. Your mother must' told you better?"

"I won't it's mi-"

The aged man jumped the stone wall, twisting his ankle; easier than he thought. As he fumbled on the ground, the boy clenched his already clenched hand evermore, like a housewife seeing a mouse on the ground. But it wasn't the mouse he was starting at, it was an aged stranger with the eyes of a killer. That's when he feared this man, not before as a babe, all those years ago. But now. Why was he so nice to him before?

When he was done with the boy, he grabbed what was in his twisted hand. A key, a key to a lock. He then didn't look at the boy. At his disfigurement. But at the lock in the middle of crossing X chains. He squatted and put it in the keyhole.

He couldn't look at the boy anymore. Already seeing what he had done. It was the same as watching the butcher cut the head off of a chicken, but not watching the chicken squatching around headless.

It didn't turn, it didn't even fit inside of the keyhole. Above the keyhole was 'L.L', indented iron curls.

He walked on, creating distance between him and the boy. Nothing to look back to this time. Only the shouts of a vengeful boy clawed his shadow. Shouts and cries of bloody tears.

"That's all I have left..."

The boy said, outstretching his hand with the point of broken twigs. Chains holding him to the cold rocks, never to release.

"Kill you! Kill you for all you've done!' he spat the words, 'I'll see you again, just you wait!"

You won't like the end, the aged man thought and took steps forward. He thought it would be hard to take those steps, but it wasn't.

He went on, the aged man, to the place where the sun would fall; he picked hair out of his closed fingers and looked at the key. The shouts became quiet, blended with the wind in hours of walking straight ahead. He turned his head as far as he could, seeing black circles twisting in the distant sky. He turned back forward, wondering not of the boy's fate, he already knew, but his. Something he didn't know.

* * * * *

The sun started to set, slowly smearing down the blue sky. He looked down at his fist, rage still pumping through it hours later. The key was in the hep of hair. Like a needle in a haystack, only shining at him, through it all. He started to scratch the dried blood off his fingernails.

Never did the wall bend or curve, that is a fact of nature. That was until the aged man came upon a destructive gap of the wall. It looked like dynamite did its work, spreading the stone far and wide. As he walked closer to this gap, a dead tree laid where the gap in the wall was. Dried and stripped of skin.

He shuffled along the grass slowly, closer to the tree. The tree broke the wall in two. The aged man can see the stomp, with little holes spread throughout. What did this? Wind? Forceful destroyed? Came to the age? Born Wrong? He didn't care to know, so that's why he sat on the corpse. Hands holding his chin up, the key keying into his skin.

The sun to his back and shadow with his face, he cried into his hands. It was an over explosion of...this...loneliness. That feeling that you'll find that one person, the perfect one. Then you're dying alone in your apartment at fifty. You think to yourself that person just slipped through your fingers in high school. Or even in middle school. But there wasn't ever that one person. It was just you and yourself, talking in the musty dark. That was a feeling to make him cry, to cry dust and sand.

He looked at his filled birdbaths, at the key that sunk to the bottom. He craved what he thought was his name into the tree. The key was quite dull and it took a while, but when he finished, he realized it wasn't his name.

Footsteps tiptoed behind him, before hands hugged his back, ramping around his shoulders. He felt ahead rested on his shoulder, the chin digging in.

"Mom?"

He couldn't control his chin anymore, it slipped into uncontrollable stuttering. He placed his empty hand on his mother's arm, holding it tight.

"I...I... I can't anymore. I just can't," the aged man said, tears dripping into the grass.

Her breath was steady, like life as a child, and her skin smelled...of burning tires.

"Can you talk to me? Please...I just want your voice in my ears" Judith didn't speak, her hands did. One of them unwrapped itself around him and pointed to the closed fist. The fist with the key. She returned to hugging him, tighter this time. Before slipping away.

"No! Don't leave me!"

He turned to catch her hand, but she was away. He tripped over the log and looked up at her silhouette in the blazing sun that laid on the hills. Seizing away in the distant horizon. The light was blinding him in every way. Making his eyes water, and his skin to wrinkle. His hair faded into transparency. A ghost of his former self growing into his skin. The grass around him turned into pumpkin puke color. Slowly severing and growing old.

He counted, like always, up a hill that blocked the constant beating of heat with a hub of shadow. As he climbed the steep hill, he felt air escaping him. But still went on. A hunch came to him, and then some of his teeth fell one by one. Disappearing into the pumpkin puke grass. He tried to grave them before looking up again. Nose dripping like melting butter. Beard flowing into wild grays. Muscle drifting away from the bone. Left eye grew white clouds; before going away forever. This is what his body has come to. Like the boy who grew into a mangled virgin, twisted and torn beyond survivability. But still survived, like the old man is now. Not shaking death's hand until he gets where he wants to go.

He slumped to the side, using the wall as his cane.

The sun clasped with his eye upon reaching the top. Then he saw it. Over the zenith of the grass hill, was... a house. Where the wall ended, in a tossed stone pile. He ran as fast as he could with his hunchback. Skipping like a schoolgirl all the way home.

What mesmerized the old man was not the house itself, but the color. Blue. The word stuck to him; the letters spoke to him.

"B as in the bend," he said.

The grass started to turn into dirt, into a path.

"L as in lost,"

Words began to make him mumble.

"U...as in' unfortunate,"

He passed the tossed stone pile, approaching a gate with no fence at its sides. A peeling white wooden gate.

"E....as the' end."

The wind came again. The wind that the sun brings. He slowed and slumped into the fading yellow grass. The finish line was there, right there, beyond the peeling white gate. He wanted to sleep then, the grass as his pillow. He laid down, didn't know for how long but he did. Fingers molested the dirt, ripping the grass like hair from the boy. He saw it more, the house. Through the gaps between the wooden gate. The house was blue, a dark blue, what you see a navy officer wearing when giving out pamphlets to high schoolers. It was also peeling, like the gate, but much worse. The dark brown of the wooden was showing, and like a decaying body, the skin always falls off first.

He was relaxed then, all so relaxed. The sun was his blanket then, keeping him warm. The sun shot through the windows of the ramp around the deck of the house. Shadows of the T in the window cast across the gate and the stone pile behind. It cast a cold on him, waking him from almost dreams. He looked up, at green eyes staring before him. A baby was standing there, looking around the gate. Looking down at him.

"Whov' ary you?" the baby asked.

The old man tried, really tried this time. To remember. But clouds of an everlasting storm blocked the answer.

"...Who cares,"

"I'll do" The babe replied.

The babe came around, exposing that cold in which the blanket protects. The babe tried to open the mailbox, but couldn't reach the grabbing hook. A black-spotted hand grasped the hook easily. The gesture said: "It got it".

He looked in the mailbox with an intrusive stare. 761 plated it, rusted with the breath of time.

"Nothing but the dust that stares back," the old man said.

The babe looked up at the old man.

"Do wovds spek like that tu you?"

He couldn't understand at first, words were new to the babe.

"No, I do to them," Breath didn't want him to speak then.

A long silence, both looking at each other. One up the other down. Two walks of life, both their end.

The babe grabbed the old man's only open hand and spoke.

"Do yov ned help?" the babe asked.

"With what?"

"Walk to my home."

The old man slapped the hand away.

"No...I... don't," he spoke as slowly as he could.

The babe wanted to speak, wanted to slap back, but he learned his lesson the first time. Until given the chance to stand taller, he doesn't see that happening anytime soon.

Babe ran back, blasting through the gate. The old man went around the gate, closed it as he passed it.

The babe put the brakes on his running feet in the dirt path, like a car hitting the brakes at the last minute, screeching across it.

"Let's go. Dinner is in home." he ran to the house, even faster than before. The old man limped on, not worrying about who got there first.

The old man realized then how much he hated that babe, that boy, that frozen corpse. His youth pushed him to the side as he did to him before. People are just painted mirrors, waiting to be smashed. And he was the one looking into them.

"I'm coming yov' little shit,"

The babe at the peeling white steps of the house, tapping his foot against the boards like he's playing double bass, asked: "What's shit?"

Surprised he could hear him, replied louder this time.

"You!"

The babe chuckled. Ran back through the red front door, yelling: "he mama, I'm a little shi-" before the door slammed closed behind him.

As he slowly slumped his way over to the front door, he saw what was chipping blue steel, peeking around the corner of the house. Blinking at him to fuck. He wasn't interested, something else caught his eye. The red of the door.

Slowly slammed his light feet against the white steps. The door was right there, The finish line, only steps away. He can sleep now. Relief poured on him. He reached out for the nob. Loud thumbs came from the other side, then a sliding click. He grabbed the bronze mirror and twisted it. He tried again and again and again. Only the stiff acceptance of 'NO'.

"Open this door, you shit!" He pounded the door. Hitting harder every hit. He looked to the windows on the wrapped around deck. He ran to them, but the blinds closed as he looked in. One by one they all closed. He went back to the door and pounded again, chipping the newly painted red. Exposing what's underneath.

"I'll get in there....' He realized then. Looking down to the fist that keeps close. To the hand that held sin, the original sin in the shape of a key,

He put it in the keyhole of the nob. But that wasn't the hole it was meant to fill, a hole that was never meant to turn. It was a key to something more valuable. Hope was the first feeling, the other was just around the corner.

The old man jumped down the steps, bruising his knees, and went around the house to where the bitch peeked before. Plymouth, old as him, lay waiting. In chipping blue. The front faced him, smiling chrome and all. Including the license plate, which is displayed in white font surrounded in sunset color, it said: 'TO-GET-HER'.

After slamming the hollow metal door, he turned the keys, almost snapping it. The engine started and the slapping thunder moved up his legs to his balls, feeling the power in his hands. He put it in Drive. Watched as the orange marker in the dash said the same. He turned the wheel a full 180 before pushing the peddle beyond the floor of the car. Flatting the grass with a scar that heals.

He followed the tire marks in the grass from the past, away from the house, into the setting sun far into the distance. Farther than he ever walked. The grass was now a yellow blur from the speeding bullet.

Getting to the finishing line wasn't enough. Going away from it. Going beyond it. To where this car came from. To where dinner had to be brought. To where his mother was. To the sun.

Deep purple faded the sky, washing away the blue and orange. That's when he looked at his hand, the same hand that pounded the door. A dark blue mixed with yellow. He lifted it from the wheel and looked at it. His entire hand was that destroyed color. Growing like water filling a box, all the way to the tip of his fingers. That is when they grew smaller, the tip of his fingers. The skin grew tighter and tighter around the finger bones. Simultaneously he felt the tightening on the tip of his toes. It moved up his arm and legs. The old man screamed as he turned the car around, to get younger. Screaming as the air escaped him with the squish of his lungs. His neck closed, choked. Saliva spilling out. Castration of the balls. Lips hooked back to the ears, exposing his rotting teeth. His bread grew thin and clear, falling off into his lap. Ears, folding into themselves. Forehead ripping back into his scalp. Eyelids curling back and back, never to close again. Eyes watering his checks before drying into white raisins. With a smell of the past in the air. The pedal pressure was released, but it was too late.

As the babe and his mother sat, telling him not to talk to strangers, flying glass and wood shards came from the sink window.

* * * * *

The skeleton of skin laid in the car before slugged out of the totaled car window. Flopping on the floor, and not seeing the mother and her blue distance eyes staring back at him from the wheel well. The skin skeleton, blind, walking with all since gone, up a flit of stairs. Pass a door, with chains in a broken X pattern. Leaving the basement door open to the endless fields. And to him.

The skin skeleton found a bed, he didn't know who or how-just that it was soft. The skeletons' last thoughts were that he didn't have thoughts, only the feeling of being nothing. To the world or himself.

* * * * *

Pass the broken red door and ruined deck, crawled the babe, out of the flames that consumed the house; birth from the pain he was then. Remembering the face of the old man. Not the sagging spotted skin, or the faded hair, but his green eyes; that preached such kindness. He dragged himself across the dirt path, afraid of the fire catching him. He passed the fence gate. Seeing that the gate was gone besides the studs sticking out of the dirt that held the door, unharmed. Unfortunately, the mailbox wasn't so lucky. It swings in the wind. Before the last strand of wood snapped, and with a scratched sound slide down the rusted tin box. The babe heard it, like a mouse in a field. He saw something shine at him through the dead grass, something that fell and bounced into the grass. It wasn't dust forming into a beautiful swirl. No. A key instead.

After falling fast sleeping, laying on the tossed stone pile, and clenching the key that killed him, came the rain. It didn't wake him, and it doused the fire and its blackened wood into ash, soon to be blown away. The rain covered the sound of closing footsteps on the night. With eyes more than a stranger.

The next morning, cold chains hugged; and with someone later, to find the aftermath, of what time does.

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