#screamingharbinger

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they’re all missing at least one parent (or at odds with one in lydia’s and scott’s cases). it’s part of the initiation process.

Same.

WORD ASSOCIATION GAME

its not that common i mean it varies by family mine used to every night but not so much but no i think the tv/films we have just exaggerate it

screamingharbinger replied to your post:also- do american families have dinner together...

lol very much a tv/movie thing. my family never eats together, and when we do we go out we never do it at home.

potensxpythonissam replied to your post:also- do american families have dinner together...

Some families do, but we usually do them on special occasions. But every night? No, not really.

exoneratedhale replied to your post:also- do american families have dinner together...

its usually only the weekends for my family because both of my parents work until midnight and we’re never all in the house together except saturday and sunday~po

knowanyspirits replied to your post:also- do american families have dinner together...

laughs bc same, unless it’s curry night

i feel educated on american culture now, thank u friends 

                                            αℓσηє.

                           And boy, doesn't the sound of Stiles' screamed protests make a harmonious melody? }

leave “red string of fate” in my inbox to see what is in our muse’s destinies then i’ll write some drabble based on the number generated.

26. Our muses are destined to provoke the apocalypse.

                        “Lydia —”

    He was pushing as hard as he could; limbs wrenching back and forth in their restraints, like it’d do anything to break the concentration of the one thing he couldn’t stop. He knew he shouldn’t have left Lydia to herself, knew he should’ve stayed up just a little longer instead of giving into the exhaustion clouding his senses —

            But that was neither here nor there. Now he needed to stop this demon from using them as — as pawns for the apocalypse.

    It wasn’t like he didn’t know what they were doing when he agreed to help Lydia with this plan she had. On the contrary, he knew exactly what they were getting into, and that made it all the worse when he threw his whole being into helping the strawberry blonde.

          He had just wanted to see his mother again — was that really such a bad thing?

    They really should’ve remembered how Beacon Hills was a literal beacon for the supernaturally inclined; how they couldn’t stop what was happening if they tried, though he was going to try his damnedest to change his —

                                               His destiny.

    It was pure luck that Lydia was able to distract the demon enough to throw off his concentration, to make sure that Stiles was able to break the hold he had on him. Dropping back down to the bloodstained ground, he took a moment to find his bearings before he was looking for the knife they’d stumbled upon in their search to try to rid the world of these things wreaking havoc on their families, their friends.

                     The one thing that actually killed a demon, for good.                    At least, that’s what the woman they’d spoken to said.

    Palm grazing the handle of the knife, he wrapped shaking fingers around the leather — making sure he had a strong enough grip, that his palm wasn’t sweating too much, before he was pushing himself to a stand. Walking determinedly toward the man giving a semi-decent speech about justice and having a world worth indulging in or some crap —

                        He’d heard better speeches in his day.

    A foot lifted when he was close enough, knocking the demon’s knees out from under him in a split second decision, the knife pressing into the tender flesh of his throat like he’d done this a million times before. Hand barely shaking where he was holding the blade, pushing it up under his chin, forcing the man to lift his head high. Forcing him to meet Stiles’ hard, steely gaze as he smiled, slowly.

            There was a still moment, where he felt the demon’s throat bob in a hard swallow as he stared up at him, where he almost felt like he wasn’t even controlling his body —

                                  “Fuck the apocalypse, asshole.”

    With those words spoken, he slid the blade across his throat — blood spraying in an arc in front of them, even as the light shining from the wound almost blinded them. The loud, echoing scream forcing Stiles to take a step back, the knife sliding from his grip to clatter to the ground at his feet.