#totally not ripping all the keys off dropping them in a bowl filling the bowl with milk and eating it like cereal | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lardguz · 3 years

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Panic in the Pantry

So I've been really into Ze//ro Esca//pe lately, and I noticed there was like, no weight gain writing for the series, probably because the games themselves are pretty serious most of the time. But I'm gay and a loser so I wrote a thing of Si//gma trying to solve the Pantry escape room by eating everything in sight!

A tall, muscular young man stood in a hallway in front of a door flanked by two other people: another tall young guy who was much thinner and lankier than the first one and was wearing a ridiculous circus ringleader getup, and a short, skinny girl with white hair. The three of them stared at the door in front of them, which had the word “Pantry” being projected from the front of it somehow. The three of them were just one third of the people in this facility as far as they knew, and they were being forced to play something called “The Nonary Game Ambidex Edition” by someone called Zero. The tall muscular man named Sigma and the other half of his bracelet pair, the small girl named Phi, had teamed up with the blonde man in the top hat named Dio, and opened one of the chromatic doors to proceed to the next round of the game. This had led them to the hallway they were currently in, facing the door to what was apparently going to be a pantry.

Sigma turned to his two teammates and motioned towards the door. “So, this place has a pantry. You think that means there were people living here before this game started?”

Phi rolled her eyes and responded in complete deadpan. “No, I think they were just expecting us to be here for a while, Sigma. Of course people were living here. Who else would have built this place?”

“I dunno, they have an AI rabbit in the main computer, who’s to say if this place isn’t run by robots or something?” Sigma retorted. He crossed his muscular arms and glared down at the white-haired girl, who was staring right back at him, unflinching. Dio placed a hand on each of their shoulders and spoke in his usual slow, condescending voice. “All right, all right, settle down you two. We don’t have time for lover’s quarrels right now, remember? We gotta find the key cards for the Ambidex Gate. So let’s get a move on, okay?” Sigma and Phi grumbled in reluctant agreement, and Sigma moved to open the door.

What greeted the trio was a room filled with walls and walls of drawers, each one meticulously labeled with which foods it contained within. The three of them immediately set about examining each drawer. “This is… a lot of food,” Phi whispered as she checked another drawer. “Why did they stockpile so much of it, do you think?”

“Probably so they could keep building this fucked-up murder game without having to make constant trips to the grocery store or something.” Dio responded, pulling out a container of spaghetti from the drawer he was checking. He looked at it with a hint of disgust on his face. “Urgh, it’s all prepackaged food though. The kinda shit that’s loaded with preservatives and stuff to make it last forever. This shit is so unhealthy. Whoever built this place must be a total fatass after living off this for God knows how long.”

Sigma paused as he opened a drawer of udon stir fry bowls. “Wait. Maybe this food isn’t for Zero.”

Phi looked up at him, raising one eyebrow inquisitively. “What do you mean, Sigma?”

He grabbed one of the bowls of udon and ripped open the packaging. Sigma grabbed a noodle with his bare hand and dropped it into his waiting mouth, and spoke as he chewed. “Well, if th’scape room’sh a pantry, maybe th’ puzzle’sh gotta involve thish food!” He swallowed and continued explaining himself. “I mean, why else would one of the escape rooms be a pantry? We probably have to eat a certain amount of the food here to unlock the door or something!” The dark haired man reached his hand into the udon bowl again and grabbed more noodles to eat as Dio and Phi stared at him incredulously.

Phi sighed heavily and went back to searching the room herself, but Dio was laughing too hard to continue doing much of anything. “Hahahaha, holy shit, Sigma, you’re a damn genius! You got this whole game all figured out, huh?” The blonde man’s voice was dripping with sarcasm, but Sigma didn’t care. He was convinced he was right, and so he kept eating his udon stoically. When he finished the first bowl, he reached into the drawer and grabbed another, and another, until he’d cleared it out entirely. When Sigma straightened up to open the next drawer, he felt his middle wobble slightly, and he looked down. His stomach stuck out just a little bit, a nice coating of soft fat just beginning to form over his formerly toned abs. Shaking his head, Sigma opened the drawer anyways, reasoning with himself that if this was the solution to the puzzle, he could sacrifice his muscles for now. Plus there was probably a weight loss antidote as a reward in the safe! He grabbed the packages of curry from the drawer he opened and kept eating, trying his best to ignore his gradually growing waistline.

After an hour in the pantry, Phi and Dio had turned up no hints to solving the puzzle themselves. Sigma also hadn’t encountered any hints, but what he had done was clear out six whole drawers of provisions, and it showed. His outfit, once baggy and poorly fitting, now clung to his new chubby body, accentuating every roll and fold. His blue button-up shirt rode up on his torso, no longer able to be tucked into his matching pants whatsoever. The buttons were beginning to strain against his growing gut, and the short sleeves dug into his fat upper arms. The waistband of his pants was clearly straining as well, his belly and hips oozing over the top of it to form a plush muffin top. His thickening thighs and calves caused the fabric of his pants to look like an overstuffed piping bag, and his ass, which had already been pretty round and desirable before, was starting to feel like it would burst out of his painfully tight pants at any moment.

Sigma had to sit down for a moment to rest, all this ravenous eating tiring out the young man immensely. He sat with his belly in his lap, rubbing it slowly to try and ease off some of the discomfort from his ever-tightening clothes, when suddenly he felt a hard slap on his fat ass from behind. He yelped in surprise and whipped around to see Dio grinning mischievously.

“Now, now, Sigma, c’mon! We don’t have time for you to be resting on your fat ass!” The blonde man chuckled as he tipped the rim of his top hat towards the pantry drawers. “After all, you said so yourself! The solution is probably related to aaaaaall that food! So you gotta get back to eating as fast as possible, so all of us can get the hell outta here!”

“But, my clothes—” Sigma tried to whine, but he was cut off, this time by a disgruntled Phi. “Ah ah ah, no. Shut up, Sigma. You committed to this stupid plan, and we’re gonna make sure you see it through to the end whether you like it or not.” The girl prodded him in the side with a slim finger, which sunk a couple inches into his flab. “Understand?”

Sigma sighed heavily and hoisted himself back up, almost falling over from his sudden shifting weight. After catching himself with one of the drawers, he opened it and began clearing it of its contents. After another few drawers of food were emptied into his stomach, Sigma heard a snapping noise and felt cool air on his gut suddenly. The release of the building pressure of his lower gut straining against the bottommost button of his shirt was enough for him to realize said button had finally come flying off, which meant the rest were probably soon to follow. The sweet release of his painfully tight cloth prison within sight now, Sigma sped up his consumption considerably, shoveling down packaged pizzas and burgers with ease. Two more buttons went soaring off as he feasted, and his massive gut surged forth like a tidal wave of lard. It flopped over the waistband of his pants and reached almost down to his thighs, his crotch still visible for now. The remaining three buttons at the top of his shirt held strong, but his shirt was being stretched across his chest much further than it was meant to, looking more like an oversized bikini top than a button-up. His chest had fattened up considerably, transforming his huge pecs into even more huge breasts, larger than even Alice’s. With the shirt holding them in place for now, like a bra, they didn’t sag to the sides of his growing gut yet. The seams of the short sleeves were starting to creak and groan from how tight there were against his flabby bingo wings, little diamonds of his arm fat starting to ooze through in small rips. His thighs were starting to do the same to his overburdened pants, seams popping every time he moved his legs even slightly. When he bent down to open a drawer that was closer to the floor, a loud ripping sound came from behind Sigma, and Dio started cackling mockingly. Sigma realized with a cold start that the seat of his pants must have been ripped by his growing ass. His chubby cheeks flushing pink, Sigma’s round face, now accompanied by a full double chin, was hot with embarrassment. He looked down at the drawer he had just opened, filled with packaged cupcakes, and wondered if this was even worth the embarrassment at this point.

Before he could make a decision, though, Phi appeared in front of him and leaned down to grab a package of the cupcakes. She tore it open and popped one into Sigma’s unsuspecting mouth, stifling an exclamation of surprise. She held the package out to him as he chewed on the pastry. “You’re not giving up on your plan already, are you, Sigma. What if this really is the solution? You’re so far into solving it already, may as well see it through to the end, right?” She gave Sigma a reassuring smile, and he immediately felt at ease again despite Dio’s laughing still ringing in his ears. Sigma took the package of cupcakes from Phi and smiled, his chubby cheeks causing his eyes to squint. “Thanks, Phi. It’s nice to know at least one of you believes in me.” She mumbled a response that Sigma didn’t catch, but he was already shoving the rest of the cupcakes in his fat face, so it didn’t matter to him.

Another half an hour had passed, and Dio and Phi had decided to make themselves busy with helping Sigma with his plan instead of exploring the rest of the room. The college student was having some issues reaching the lower drawers now, and walking was getting to be a little bit of a problem too, so they were helping bring him more of the provisions for him to eat. The obese man currently stood with one open drawer at chest level, shoveling the food from it directly into his mouth. His double chin had grown into a triple chin, and his neck was slowly being replaced by rolls of soft fat instead. His chubby chipmunk cheeks had begun drooping, looking more like the jowls of an oversized dog instead. The sleeves of his shirt had ripped open a few minutes ago, setting his wobbling arm fat free. His jiggly biceps slapped against his chest every time he lifted more food up to his mouth. His shirt’s one remaining button strained against his growing moobs, massive tears beginning to form in the fabric stretching across his squishy breasts. His stomach rolls had folded over themselves, forming a three tiered flabby apron that went down to his thighs. The button on his pants had burst off a while ago, and his pants seams were all but gone, just a few threads managing to keep his overfed thighs and beanbag sized ass cheeks from bursting out of them entirely. After finishing the drawer directly in front of his face, Sigma turned his bulk towards the pile of food Phi and Dio had gathered for him, and began waddling towards it. He had to spread his legs uncomfortably far apart to keep his thighs from rubbing together, and even then they still did. He also couldn’t bend his legs anymore, his knees buried under rolls of fat from his jiggly thighs. His oversized ass cheeks, each roughly the size of a couch cushion, drooped down about the same distance as his massive gut, and had lost all semblance of shape and tone, now just two squarish blobs of pure lard. The lowest roll of his apron of a stomach slapped against his thighs with every slow, deliberate step forward, sending his entire body wobbling with each one. It took him three minutes to walk ten feet across the room, and the already massive young man was wheezing for breath by the time he stopped. After catching his breath, Sigma grabbed a package of spaghetti and meatballs off the top of the pile, tore it open, and poured it directly into his fat mouth. Then he did the same for a pizza, a meatloaf, a plate of fish and chips, any and everything in the pile was unceremoniously devoured. The last button of his shirt ripped off its overburdened thread and went flying, narrowly missing Dio’s head. The button pinging off the wall seemed to be the signal the rest of Sigma’s clothing had been waiting for, as every remaining seam burst one after another, sending his massive body surging forth.

Dio turned to Phi as Sigma continued stuffing his face without pause, a look of disgust plastered on his face. “He’s still going! The guy is buck-ass-naked in front of us with only his little boxers on, fat as a whale, and still keeps eating!” The blonde tssked loudly as Sigma began shoving crepes into his mouth. “What’re we gonna do about this lardass?”

Phi cocked her head to one side, thinking. “Well, he’s clearly not going to stop til either all the food is gone, or he can’t reach it anymore, and I kinda want to see how far he ends up taking his stupid idea.” She looked straight at Dio, a smug smirk plastered on her face. “Let’s just help Sigma finish his little job and then we can figure out the room ourselves, without his whining.”

Dio chuckled and gave Phi a conspiratorial wink. “Say no more, little miss. That is fuckin’ devious. I like your style!” He sauntered over to the massive food pile he and Phi had made and began handing dishes directly to Sigma’s greedy hands, his fat sausage fingers immediately grasping anything placed near them and emptying it into his mouth. Sigma’s arms were now so fat that his wrists were starting to sink into his own arm fat, and his pillow-sized arm rolls were constantly squished between his multiple layers of love handles and his massive breasts, thus forcing them to rest at an angle at all times, and making it steadily harder for him to reach his face with his food-filled hands. His face looked like it was slowly being absorbed into his fat body, chubby neck rolls and multiple chins surrounding his drooping jowls which were starting to block his vision somewhat. His chins and neck rolls blended together, flowing down his front like a river of flab, nestled between the valley that was his moobs. Shreds of his blue shirt still clung to his breasts, some stuck underneath the pillow-sized bags of fat which sagged horribly to the sides of his gut now that they were free from their cloth prison. His plush side rolls and back fat were fully on display now, showing clearly how his arms were never going to be able to rest at his sides ever again, and that even if he were to try and lay down, he wouldn’t be able to get flatter than a sitting position with all his multitudes of back rolls propping him up and pooling around his body. The topmost layer of his stomach was wide enough to be used as a bed for a medium sized dog, and was too heavy for anyone to lift even on its own. The middle layer folded over on top of where Sigma’s belly button once was, creating a cavity underneath that was probably almost a foot deep now. The middle and bottom rolls of his enormous stomach were pure lard, soft and jiggly, and very, very heavy. The bottom of the lowest roll reached past his knees now, dangling just a foot off the ground. His legs were as thick as tree trunks now, every inch of his adipose-stuffed thighs and calves touching no matter how far apart he spread his legs. Even his toes were fat now, though they could barely be seen with the mass of flab that was his lower calves slowly starting to engulf his ankles. His misshapen, flabby rear end was almost touching the floor as well, each overstuffed bean bag chair of an ass cheek protruding well over a few feet from his morbidly obese body. His boxers hadn’t been destroyed by their mass yet, but the overburdened underwear looked more like the world’s skimpiest thong, with Sigma’s boulder-sized butt cheeks swallowing the stretched fabric of the garment between their bulbous forms. Phi perched herself on top of one of his massive moobs and started dumping food from the pile directly into Sigma’s waiting mouth, his heavy fat-swaddled arms too tired to lift anything more himself. Dio, being much taller than Phi, merely had to lean against Sigma’s increasingly more squishy side to place more food into his pile of chins, which doubled his rate of consumption considerably. Dio and Phi shared a conspiratorial wink. This was the final stretch of Sigma’s stupid plan!

One more hour passed in the pantry before Phi shoved the last prepacked pie into Sigma’s greedy mouth. She sighed in relief and hopped down off the man’s oversized chest, and stepped back to take in the enormity of her bracelet pair mate. Somehow, despite his incredible size and weight, Sigma was still standing on his own two feet. Whether he could still walk remained to be seen, and Phi didn’t have her hopes up very high for that. The young man was ridiculously obese, probably pushing close to half a ton weight-wise now. A loud belch erupted from Sigma’s mouth, his face a bloated parody of what it used to be mere hours ago. His neck rolls pushed his jowls up around his face, making it look like he was sinking and using a life preserver to keep only his fat face afloat. His arms were so swollen they were barely recognizable, the only hint to their existence as arms being the sausage-shaped fingers poking out from the ends. His massively saggy moobs slumped to either side of his stomach, wobbling with every wheezing breath the mountain of a man took. His love handles bunched up underneath the flab-filled bingo wings of his arms, multiple side rolls forming above his hips that were wide enough to fill an entire sofa by himself. His overstuffed gut now reached the floor, the lowest roll pressing firmly into it even when standing upright. His legs looked like a bursting overfilled sausage casing, his thighs' dimpled fat pressing each other so far apart it was utterly insane that he hadn’t fallen over on his fat ass yet. Especially when you considered Sigma’s ass was so stuffed and loaded with squishy fat that it, too, now almost touched the floor even when he was just standing, and his boxers looked like a few pieces of string stretched across the wide expanse of his cheeks. His feet couldn’t be seen behind his wobbling apron of a stomach, but if they weren’t obscured by that mass of pure flab, they would still not be visible; the fat from his calves had collapsed over top of his ankles, hiding his feet entirely. Overall, Sigma had grown to nearly four times his size in just a few hours of clearing out the entire pantry.

Sigma gazed blearily past his enormous chest and stomach at his teammates, letting out another loud burp. He spoke in a voice that sounded unfamiliar to him, the amount of fat coating his vocal chords causing him to sound huskier, with a deeper voice, and his jowls and chins affecting his speech somewhat. “Did… haah… th’ dooh ohpen? Haah… shohl…ve… th’ puzzshle?” he wheezed. Phi groaned. “Of course you didn’t, you moron! We told you that stuffing yourself wasn’t going to be the solution!”

Dio chuckled and clapped a hand to Sigma’s flabby lovehandle. “Yeah, but we knew you’d never shut up if we didn’t let you try it, so we decided to just let you do your thing, and now here we are!” The blonde man pinched the soft side rolls, forcibly wobbling them back and forth, causing a cacophony of Sigma’s rolls and flaps to slap into each other loudly. The man moaned in discomfort, but Dio continued his torment, delighting in watching the helpless Sigma jiggling all over.

Raising his voice to be heard over the noise of the shockwaves rippling all over his half-ton of flab, Sigma spoke in a husky whine. “Sho then… haah… whuh ah we… haah… gunna do to… haah… eshcape?” Phi patted the lowest roll of his stomach sympathetically before speaking. “Well, Dio and I are gonna figure out how to actually escape this room now. Together. Without you, Sigma.”

The blubbery man burped again before speaking. “But… haah… whuh am I… haah… how do I… haah… help you guysh… haah… sholve it?” He looked upset, like he’d failed both Phi and Dio with his stupid plan by becoming useless to them both. Phi turned her back to him, ignoring his question entirely. Dio stopped jiggling Sigma’s soft side rolls and followed the short woman to see how he could help. Sigma was left standing in the middle of the pantry, the weight of his failure pressing down on his conscience just about as much as the weight of his fat was pressing down on his body. He’d never eaten so much in his life, not even when he was partying constantly in his freshman year of college. How did he think this was a smart idea? He was so stupid! No wonder Phi and Dio let him do this to himself just to get him out of their way. Just before Sigma’s self-pity party was going to get too sad, Phi shouted from across the room. “Hah! Got it! Told you I could handle it, Dio!” She strutted triumphantly back across the pantry towards Sigma’s weighty form, Dio following at a distance, grumbling. “Well, I figured you’d be fine, but I also thought maybe you could use a man’s help. A smart man. Not like big ol’ land whale over there.”

Phi stood in front of Sigma’s stationary form, waving up at his bloated face. “Hey, Sigma! I got the key to get out of here from the safe. There’s some other stuff too but none of it’s of much use to us right now.” The near-immobile man breathed a sigh of relief. At least one of them had managed to solve the escape room. “Thash grea’, Phi!” he said aloud, still surprised at how different his voice was now, “Sho are we leaving now?” He tried to look down at the girl directly in front of him, but couldn’t see her past his enormous gut, moobs, and chins. Phi must have realized this, as suddenly she was jumping in the air and landed directly on his flabby chest, standing in front of his face. She looked him up and down before speaking. “Sigma, do you think you can still walk?”

Sigma wiggled his toes experimentally, nodding decisively as he felt he could still move his feet at least. “I c’n proba’ly walk, yeah. Migh' take me shome time though. Shorry.” Phi patted his jowls reassuringly. “Don’t worry, Sigma. I’ll make sure Dio doesn’t leave without us. Just take your time, okay?” The agile young woman hopped back down, running ahead to keep Dio busy, leaving Sigma to begin his most arduous task of his life: walking a few hundred feet across a room and getting through the door. Slowly he began moving his right leg, the fat coating it shifting past his left leg and slapping against the bottom of his drooping stomach. He moved his left leg forward slowly, essentially walking in a very slow, heavy, exaggerated waddle. His gut touched the floor and the front of his legs the entire way, slapping into his gelatinous thighs every waddling step, sending its entire expanse of rolls wobbling like a pendulum. His shapeless ass cheeks balloon out behind him, jiggling like jello every time he moved even a little. Sigma’s fat face felt like it was on fire, his cheeks bright red and sweaty from the effort of moving around a thousand pounds of fatty flesh across a room. His breath was coming in rasps, mouth agape and panting, his multiple chins wobbling as his chest heaved from the exertion. After something like ten minutes of waddling his fat ass towards the door to escape the pantry, Sigma finally stopped to catch his breath. Taking big wheezing gulps of air, his massive breasts shaking from any slight movement of his chest, Sigma spent another five minutes just preparing to leave the door. Finally, his breathing about as stable as it could be with his lungs being crushed under a half ton of body fat at all times, the enormously overfed man began taking small, waddling steps towards the door. Three.. his thigh slapped loudly against his lowest gut roll. Two… he grasped the door frame with his pudgy sausage fingers. One… he slowly inched his wide body through the door, until suddenly, he stopped. Why am I not moving anymore? He thought to himself, before trying to pull himself forward again. Still nothing. What the fuck was stopping him? He couldn’t turn around to look because his neck was so encased in fat that he couldn’t rotate his head at all, but Sigma didn’t really have to look to guess that the cold metal digging into his soft hips was the door frame, and that his ass was too wide to fit through the door. Well, fuck. That’s not good. Sigma swore internally, before calling out for help. “Hey, Phi… haah… Dio? Haah… haah… there'sh a… haaaaaaah… pro’lem! Pleashe… haah… haah… help?” After a few seconds, Phi returned from further down the hall, Dio not far behind, both taking stock of the situation in front of them. Sigma was fully wedged in the doorway, his massive gut and chest hanging in front of him slightly as his hips, thighs, and couch-sized ass were clearly jammed in the other side of the door. Dio sighed. “All right, big guy. We’re gonna need to get extra help for this. Hold tight.” Sigma whined as the left, calling after their retreating forms, “Guysh, don’… haah… leave me… haaah… behind… haah… buh pleashe… bring… haah… haah… bring… shnacksh… hungry…” Phi stared at Dio incredulously as they ran to find the others. “He just asked for snacks. After all that, he’s still hungry. Unbelievable. Maybe he really will end up the size of a whale before this is all over.”

#my writing #fat!zero escape #fat!sigma klim #male weight gain #ssbhm

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multifangirl69 · 3 years

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@witcher-rarepair-summer-bingo Prompt: “Too late to save them” Relationships: Ciaran aep Easnillen/Iorveth Rating: M Content Warnings: Blood and Injury, Hurt/Mild Comfort, Ambigious Ending Summary: Iorveth tries to save Ciaran from the ship during the events of The Witcher 2. AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31390580/chapters/77628305

_____________________ Another soldier dropped and the elf slowly stood up. 3 bodies in total, he couldn’t see anyone else moving. His eyes narrowed. There was someone inside the captain’s cabin. Soft candle light spilled from the windows, but whoever was inside didn’t seem to have noticed anything. Iorveth looked down on the soldier before him and caught sight of a bundle of keys. He snatched them off the belt, soon locating the trapdoor to the lower decks. A heavy lock kept it close and Iorveth had to try a few of the keys before it clicked open, his nerves and muscles tense the whole time. A pitchblack maw opened up to Iorveth, who waited for a moment as he held up the trapdoor just high enough to get a good look. Not a single noise reached him and he slipped inside, slowly closing the trapdoor again and then he moved down the stairs. Every step was well calculated, his hands pressed to the floor for some direction. Soon he hit a wall and felt his way up the moist wood until his fingers slipped around the handle of a torch. He pulled it off the metal holster, taking a piece of flint from his bag with his other hand. A low groan filled the darkness and Iorveth breathed in deeply, heart skipping a beat. “Ciaran?” Iorveth whispered into the darkness and something scraped on the wooden floor. “Ior...Iorveth...why…” Iorveth grimaced. How weak Ciaran sounded, just a whisper, his consciousness barely there. The elven commander pressed his lips together and knelt down, placing the torch between his thighs to have both his hands free. “I’m here to save you,” Iorveth replied and a small chuckle filled the space, followed by a cough and more scraping against the wood. The commander swallowed, pulling out a small piece of metal. He hit it against the flint and a spark lit up for just a moment. Another hit, another spark, but the torch didn’t catch fire. “You shouldn’t have…” Ciaran whispered and Iorveth shook his head out of sheer instinct. “I should have come earlier, but I didn’t know you’re still alive.” Another spark and the torch finally caught a little flame. It spread all over, Iorveth had to be quick with taking it from between his thighs and holding it away. The light broke through the darkness and the lower deck was revealed to the elf. Cages surrounded him on both sides. All empty except for some “beds” and bowls in one, pieces of potatoes still sticking on the insides. Iorveth stood up and walked a little further. The fire spread in front of him, hugging a figure lying at the end of the room on the floor. Sweaty, black hair revealed the tips of pointy ears and glimpses of a neck tattoo. “Ciaran!” Iorveth walked closer and the other elf shifted, pulling his hand off his eyes and rolling onto his back. The older elf frowned. Bruises decorated the bit of skin revealed and Iorveth didn’t need a great imagination to picture how it looks underneath the dirty, ripped clothing. Blood soaked the lower part of Ciaran’s shirt, but he was holding a hand right over the source. Iorveth swallowed and let his gaze wander higher. “How did you find me then?” Ciaran questioned, voice barely a whisper through his cracked lips. More blood tainted the skin right between nose and mouth, the nose crooked, one eye was swollen and discolored. “The witcher.” “I’m surprised he told you.” Iorveth huffed and a small smile curled his lips. He put a hand on Ciaran’s hair, slowly stroking over the dark hair, ignoring the grime and blood sticking to his palms. The younger elf sighed and his eyes fluttered shut. “Only because you told him about Letho…” Ciaran opened his eyes again and stared up at his commander. Iorveth stared at the blood soaked hand still pressing onto the open wound. “Good good, you know. I’m glad. I was-” Ciaran coughed and shivered, more scarlet dropping down his chin, “-I was worried.” “You need to stop talking. I’m sure we can make some temporary bandages from the blankets in the cells and-” “Iorveth…” The older elf stiffened, only his hand still stroked the dark hair. Silence befell them. A suffocating silence that forced tears into Iorveth’s eye as he fought against his throat tightening and chest straining. He didn’t want to think. Not about the warm scarlet sticking everywhere and the eerie pale skin illuminated from the torch. “I’ll get you out of here. I promise. I-” “Iorveth!” Ciaran looked up at him, expression firm. Iorveth still didn’t move. “You can’t save me, it’s too late,” the young elf continued and grabbed the hand on his hair, pulling it to his lips instead. “Don’t say that…” Iorveth’s voice trembled, resonating so weakly, no one would have heard the words if not for the silence hugging them tight. He dropped his head and squeezed his eye shut. Ciaran tightened his grip on the hand, pressing his lips against the delicate fingers, the heat crawling right up Iorveth’s arm. “My love, I’m glad I get to see you before I die.” “Please-” Iorveth choked on a sob and shook his head. “They broke my leg. No, not just broke it, they completely ruined it. I can’t…” Ciaran squeezed Iorveth’s hand, expression twisting. “I can’t live like that. Even if I recover. I just can’t.” “You can! I’m here for you! I-” “No!” Ciaran coughed again, lips and hands trembling. Iorveth pressed his lips tightly together and lifted his gaze to his lover’s face. A sickly green shimmered through the crimson flush. “How can you just give up like that?” Iorveth asked and Ciaran huffed, smiling just a little, just enough to soothe the other elf. “I couldn’t protect my unit. I was useless even before-” “Don’t say that.” Ciaran sighed and moved his free hand. Iorveth twitched away, opening his mouth to protest further, but warm fingertips brushed along his cheek and he fell silent. “Don’t let me live like this.” “I give the orders here…” Iorveth said, lips trembling around every word, breath uneven, betraying his firm tone. “Let me give you one order. Just this once.” Ciaran’s fingers stroked further along the other elf’s face, down his jaw, ghosting over his lips. His palm settled pressed against Iorveth’s cheek and his thumb wiped away the first tear daring to fall. “Just this once,” Iorveth repeated. He tilted his head, kissing Ciaran’s wrist. Blue and purple painted the skin there, crushed by metal and probably boots. Searing red bubbled before Iorveth’s eyes and he bared his teeth, burying his face further in Ciaran’s hand. His own hand slipped free from the elf’s grip and he curled his fingers around the discolored joint. He held just tightly enough to feel the skin, so hot against his own. “Then I order you to-” Ciaran coughed and his whole body shivered, Iorveth gripped the wrist tighter. “I order you to kill me.” “Please no…” Iorveth shook his head, squeezing his eye shut. More tears ran down his cheeks, wetting his lips and Ciaran’s palm. Salt and iron mingled on his tongue and he cringed, his guts twisting. The red darkened before his eyes, boiling hotter. He blinked a few times and dropped his gaze onto his lover again. “You can’t refuse an order!” “Don’t use my words against me!” “I demand that you-” Ciaran gagged and turned on his side. Iorveth didn’t move the torch, didn’t look, didn’t <em>want</em> to look. Hearing the coughing and retching was enough. Somewhere above them, someone shouted and both elves turned their heads to the ceiling. Footsteps followed and Ciaran dug his nails into Iorveth’s cheek, pulling his attention back. “You can’t get me out!” Iorveth shook his head. “I’ll come back for you,” the old elf said and the nails dug deeper. “No! No, just…” Ciaran loosened his grip, but Iorveth’s slender fingers around his wrist didn’t allow for his hand to fall. Voices seeped through the ceiling. Panicked yells about a possible intruder and someone calling for a medic. “There is no time,” Ciaran said, breathing deeply, his whole body relaxing against the ground. “Tomorrow, I will-” “Tomorrow, I will be dead.” “You don’t know that. You’re strong, your body is strong, you…” Iorveth drawled off, voice breaking. More tears damped his cheek. “They won’t allow me to stay alive. Let me-” Ciaran swallowed and pulled his hand from Iorveth’s grip. “Let me at least die on my own terms.” “What are your terms?” Iorveth dropped his hand on his thigh, his cheek cold despite the lingering warmth of a familiar palm. More shouting. More footsteps. The hot red strained Iorveth’s chest and he gritted his teeth. “Death through your hands, my love,” Ciaran said and tilted his head back, exposing his pale throat. “I can’t...How could I…” Iorveth squeezed his eye shut, finding the hilt of his hidden dagger and pulling it out. His hand trembled around the heavy metal. He traced the engravings of vines and roses, the smooth material so cold, as cold as his insides, the burning anger almost forgotten. The flickering flame of the torch blinded his sight. “I’ll do it.” Ciaran nodded with a smile barely there. He closed his eyes and Iorveth laid the blade against his throat, the sharp edge pressing right under his chin. Footsteps reached them again and someone ordered light. Iorveth tightened his grip on the dagger, gaze fixed on his lover’s face. A metal sound resonated through the room and he looked up. The soldiers fumbled with the trap door. Pushing aside the cold, the hot red filled his nerves and guts, twisting his insides until he was on fire. “Ciaran…” Iorveth whispered and the young elf turned his head slowly. “You’re forever in my heart.” “And you in mine.” Iorveth smiled and threw aside the torch. The floor caught the flame, the wood soon ablaze and Iorveth breathed in deeply. The trap door swung open and 2 soldiers stumbled down the stairs. One of them demanded for the elf to get away from the prisoner, but Iorveth slipped his arms under Ciaran instead, picking him up like he weighed nothing. “Drop the prisoner!” Iorveth looked beside them. The flames crackled and swallowed more and more, reaching one of the cells and one of the soldiers bolted up the stairs, yelling about the fire. The other still demanded for Iorveth to cooperate, pointing his sword and finger. “Why…” Ciaran whispered and Iorveth hushed him with a kiss that tasted of blood and berries. “Drop the prisoner,” the soldier shouted again and Iorveth turned around. The dh’oine stiffened, gripping his sword tighter. Iorveth stepped closer and the soldier stepped back. Behind the elf, the flames grew higher and warmer, Ciaran watched them over his lover’s shoulder. “Don’t come any closer!” The soldier’s leg hit the stairs and he staggered, catching himself by putting his foot on the wooden step. His eyes darted back and forth between Iorveth and the fire, both drawing closer, faster and faster. The soldier yelped and turned around. Just when Iorveth reached the stairs, the soldier had disappeared on deck, screaming alongside his comrades. Iorveth stepped outside and almost collided with a young man holding a bucket full of water. Innocent eyes stared up at him. Iorveth growled and the soldier stumbled back, out of the elf’s way. “Scoia’tael! Scoia’tael!” Other soldiers looked over to the young man and two reacted to the elves, drawing their swords and moving closer. Iorveth threw his head left and right. Water or bridge. His gaze snapped back to the young man, who lifted the bucket over his head, expression scared by fear, while his eyes sparked with fight. Iorveth kicked him right under his knee and jumped aside, curling his arms tighter around Ciaran. The elf moaned and trembled. Blood dripped everywhere. A soldier swung his sword, Iorveth stumbled away. Bridge it is. He dodged the next sword swing too and bolted over the deck. The soldiers followed, but stopped when the fire broke through the floor and spread further. One dh’oine screamed bloody murder and Iorveth caught glimpse of the soldier half in flames. He reached the edge of the ship and looked down at Ciaran. Face pale, his lips trembling around the weak breaths. At least he was still breathing. Iorveth tightened his grip and stepped onto the railing. A soldier shouted at him to stop, but the elf jumped, landing right on his feet. It strained his knees and he groaned, but another shout from the soldier and Iorveth moved again. The stars above sparked bright, but the flames growing high behind him sparked brighter and no one else paid attention to the elf running through the village with his lover in arm.

#the witcher 2 #iorveth #ciaran aep easnillen #iorveth/ciaran #iorveth x ciaran #the witcher rarepair #rarepair summer bingo

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talas-starlight · 4 years

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Killing me softly - Sokka x reader

SUMMARY: Having only heard good things about Sokka, you always wanted to see how great he is for yourself. When you finally get the opportunity, you struggle to find him as funny as everyone said.

This is based off the song killing me softly by the fugees which you can listen to: here! or there is a version by zhavia: here!

I strongly suggest you listen to the song because I think the whole vibe you get from it will get you in the mindset for this (and hopefully distract you from how poorly this was executed AHAH)

WORD COUNT: 2.6k

WARNINGS: angsty vibes. tried to have a hopeful ending but idk if it worked lol. poor writing skills.

A/N: ahA I really couldn’t get this idea out of my head so here we are! most certainly did not do this concept/ song fic justice to the way I imagined it but lol this shit low key hurted my feelings but also tried to turn it around? Idk I think this is okay?

KEY: words in-between dividers = lyrics MY MASTERLIST: here!

I heard he sang a good song, I heard he had a style And so I came to see him, to listen for a while And there he was, this young boy, a stranger to my eyes

You knew nothing and everything about him all at the same time. Hakoda allowed you to join them as they recruited people across the nations to prepare for invasion day. In doing so, you unknowingly signed a non-verbal contract to hear all the stories and jokes about his son, Sokka. Of course, he spoke highly of his daughter, but there was an unrelenting sense of pride and joy that came with hearing about him.

“You’ll really enjoy speaking with him y/n. He can take any dull or sad moment and turn it into something that will make you laugh beyond your years. He’s been through so much, but he’s become the warrior I knew he was always destined to be.”

It was impossible not to want to meet him. You wanted to hear the stories in the flesh as he became the light in the darkness of this war.

Yet when he finally boarded the ship with his friends after Ba Sing Se, that’s all he became, a story. As a mechanic and strategist, your time was booked to the brim, building upon the plans Sokka created himself. Somehow, you managed to have interactions with Katara and Toph, even Momo, but being in the same room as Sokka? Impossible. You weren’t avoiding him by any means, and neither was he, it just seemed that even when confined to the space of a ship your duties dragged both of you into different directions…. Until now.

Finally having time to relax as you finished reviewing a draft for one segment of the invasion, you made your way mess hall in a desperate search to consume any food you could get your hands on. Walking in, Toph perked up at feeling your presence when entering the room. Considering you were always busy when working on something and she was not too chatty, you got along well with minimal conversations and comfortable silence.

You grab a bowl, filling it to the brim with fresh soup and sat at their table across from her. Feeling content as you feel the soups warm and wholesome scent fill your senses, you glance around to see who else is sitting at the table. Eyes zeroing in on Sokka’s frame at the other end of the table, your breath instantly hitches. Suddenly your face feels as warm as your soup, and you want to kick yourself for letting yourself be so affected just by your incredibly short glance at him. Shifting your focus back to your soup you make the painfully obvious decision to focus all of your attention towards it, only listening to their interactions around you. You reminded yourself that you didn’t truly know him, only what everyone else has told you. You knew better than to let yourself become a total fool for the Watertribe boy without having any proper interactions with him. Hence, you’d be lying if you said you weren’t at the edge of your seat in anticipation to see Sokka joke around and tell stories with your friends. After all, that is what you were told about from the moment you met his father.

Strumming my pain with his fingers (one time, one time) Singing my life with his words (two times, two times) Killing me softly with his song Killing me softly with his song Telling my whole life with his words Killing me softly with his song

The excitement quickly dissipated when he began to dive into this evenings’ jokes and anecdotes.

“Guys! You wouldn’t believe it!! I was exploring the ship after training today, and I found all of these Fire Nation scrolls about their art and folktales in one of the rooms, and let me tell you, it’s a load of shit!”

As everyone laughed, you momentarily stopped breathing. Your entire being began to fold into itself, terrified at the prospect of him taking all of the things you favoured about your childhood and rip them to pieces.

Katara attempted to see the light in his statement. “Come on Sokka it can’t be that bad! I mean even the Watertribe has some questionable stories, I remember even the one Gran Gran told was a bit-“

“No, Katara! This is by far soooo much suckier than those stories. Okay, so there’s this one about dragons right? What happens is that there’s this Dragon Emperor who becomes bound to a mortal’s body by a Dark Water Spirit. So obviously! I was expecting this super cool battle or revenge plot, but in the end, they turned it into this lame love story where the Dragon Emperor falls in love with a mortal who turns out to be the Dragon Empress!”

“Aw I think that’s sweet! I mean surely there would have been a battle with the Dark Water Spirit so it wouldn’t have been a total loss?”

“Ugh, Katara! You don’t get it! It's just… sooooo oogie! They shouldn’t have done that. It should have been a story about battle, and warriors! I mean come on, that’s all the Fire Nation is good for right? Destruction and battle. So why did they have to ruin that story like that with all of that lovey stuff?! It just seems like nothing good can ever come out of the Fire Nation.”

Taking another mouthful of the soup, you kept your face downward as everyone laughed at Sokka’s exclamation of hatred for the nation you grew up in. No one knew where you grew up there except Hakoda, and you liked it that way. In complete fairness to you, it wasn’t your entire identity since your mother was from the Earth Kingdom, and you only spent the first seven years of your life there. But that didn’t mean it hurt any less when he tore apart the only things you dearly loved as a child.

Toph sensing your discomfort as you didn’t join in their amusement, she swiftly diverted the conversation into a new direction. While you were grateful, the thought of being in his presence any longer made you want to cry. It clearly didn’t work either as he continued to joke around about the food and other small things he picked up about the nation throughout their journey. Silently finishing up, you didn’t say a word or even give a half-hearted smile as they all laughed. Placing your bowl in the sink, you headed straight to your room.

The actions made everyone at the table confused, yet no one spoke out about it. Afterall, no one really knew you personally, nor did they understand what caused you to cut your interaction with them so short. Sokka himself became particularly curious. Afterall just like you, he heard many great things about you from his father, admiring your kindness and work ethic from afar. So, to say he wasn’t hurt that you chose not to stay longer or even crack a genuine smile, would be a lie.

Making it to your room, you took out any piece of paper or a scroll you used for your plans and began to pour out your pain onto to pages until you passed out from exhaustion. Not caring what contents were on the other side, you allowed yourself to be unfiltered.

You knew Sokka didn’t mean any harm; everyone laughed. He became the light you oh so desired to witness for yourself. Deep down, you knew you would have laughed too if it weren’t for the fact that he took the few happy memories you had with your father and set it on fire. A fire that produced the light you wished to see… but it seemed it wasn’t in the right way you hoped for.

I felt all flushed with fever, embarrassed by the crowd I felt he'd found my letters and read each one out loud I prayed that he would finish, but he just kept right on

You sighed as you finally finished fixing the pipes in the lower decks of the ship, once again tired and done with today’s work, you went to the mess hall for a late dinner.

“Hey Hakoda, I finished the plumbing problem so no one on the second floor should have any troubles now.”

“Thanks, y/n! You really are such a valuable person in this team. You’re always making sure everything is up and running.”

“Of course! What would you do without me? After all, let’s not forget how I spend my free time with your invasion plans.” You joked.

Turning your back to him to scoop some food onto your plate, he spoke up from behind you. “Oh right! That reminds me, I mentioned your ideas to Sokka earlier, and he seemed to really like them! But Sokka being Sokka, he got so excited over them and asked so many questions I didn’t even know how to respond. Anyway, I just wanted to let you know he’s probably at your desk analysing all of your scrolls right now. That kid never seems to be able to contain his excitement.”

“Yeah, that’s oka-“abruptly, you dropped your plate as your brain processed the information. If he was looking at your plans, then that meant……

Not even giving the Watertribe chief another glace or end to your response, you ran. Taking the fastest route to your room, everything in your mind and your surroundings became blurred, and you became hyper-focused on the fact that Sokka probably found what you wrote about him. Desperately trying not to cry as you bumped into people in the hallways, you couldn’t think of anything worse to happen in this very moment. The very idea of him knowing how you felt about him as well as how his words affected you made you want to scream. Maybe if you got there in time, he wouldn’t have read enough to understand your feelings fully. But when you bust through your door, it was too late. Sokka stood near your desk, with all the scrolls you ever wrote on scattered around the room. Some lay on your bed, the floor, across the desk, and even one in his hands.

“M- my dad said that you had a lot of perfect ideas for the invasion. B- but I- I found… I never thought…” His eyes never met yours as he continued to read the current scroll in his hands.

You slowly approached him, not caring as you walked over every word you wrote on the floor. “Sokka…” You silently begged him to stop reading, unsure of its contents.

He kept reading clearly in shock at the words before him, “why didn’t you s-say something?”

You sighed, somewhat unsure of how to approach the situation. “It’s not my place –“

He threw the scroll to the ground, finally looking up at you with bloodshot eyes as tears streamed down his face. “WHAT DO YOU MEAN IT’S NOT YOUR PLACE Y/N! It is your place! You had… no, you HAVE every right to say something! You sat there that night as I picked away at every single thing you ever loved, and you didn’t say a thing! Why would you let me do that to you!” Sobs wracked his body, falling to his knees in front of you. Torn apart on the inside about how much he hurt you. He never wanted this to happen, not just because of his small crush on you- that didn’t matter at this very moment. The very idea that he hurt someone who was so kind and selfless as a person, ruined him.

Beginning to feel immensely guilty for his current state, you knelt down to his level. Placing your hands to his wrists, you gently moved his hands away from his face. “Sokka… hey, Sokka look at me…”

As he looked at you, you struggled to keep your composure as tears began to fill your own eyes.

“It’s okay. What you said hurt, I don’t need to explain that for you to know it. Even though it felt like a small dig into who I am as a person and what I grew up to love, it’s true. What the Fire Nation did, what they are doing is awful, but I can’t speak up to defend them. I am in many ways apart of them. I grew up there, I celebrated their holidays, cooked and ate their food, and read their folktales. As much as I hate what the words ‘Fire Nation’ symbolises to the rest of the world, to you, it’s a part of who I am. No one can take that away from me, not even myself. Despite how much it hurt me, I can’t get mad at you or anyone because your feelings, and everything you said, is valid.” Moving his arms out of your grasp, he wrapped himself around you, holding you close to his chest.

“I’m so sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve to hear that, you’re amazing y/n. You deserve to be treated with the kindness and love you give to everyone on this ship. I’m sorry. I was wrong. I’m going to be better, I promise. I promise.” Overcome with emotion, the tears you tried so hard to hold back burst at his words.

Neither you nor Sokka bothered to move from your intertwined embrace on the floor of your room. You were both a sobbing, crying mess. The pain from both of you suffocated the air around you as you cling onto one another for forgiveness.

Forgiveness for being from the very place that caused him so much pain.

Forgiveness for being unable to embrace so much of who you are.

The pain was unrelenting as he weaved his fingers through your hair, shifting so your noses’ and foreheads against one another as he whispered words begging for forgiveness. Wishing, praying, to the Spirits he could take it all away. Sokka’s heart burns from the raging pain that has awoken inside of him. He doesn’t stop running his fingers through your hair almost as if he can stroke away the broken pieces inside of you, looking for new ones underneath so he can start again. Because despite his resentment for where you came from, he knows that to him, you are like a divine angel. You both have your own complex and conflicting backgrounds of life, but he has a desperate desire to care for you in a way he will never be able to explain.

You wanted to lie to him. Say it didn’t hurt, say you could forget. You could do it easily, but you wouldn’t. Knowing you both suffered enough, you didn’t want to do something that could potentially cause each other more pain. This was enough. As you both continued to cry, holding one another with his hands still in your hair, you leant back slightly, bringing a shaky, tender hand to his cheek.

Looking up into his eyes, it’s awfully evident how much pain swims in his beautiful shades of blue. Yet, there seems to be an unspoken understanding as you see a small glimmer behind all the tears. The light you have been yearning for. He sees it in your eyes too. Neither of you can change or take back what’s already been said, but in this very moment there’s hope. You know you can move forward and heal together.

“We’re going to be okay.”

A/N: hi friends!! I hope you liked this one 😊

TO THE TAGLIST: hi all! i was a bit torn on what to do here because i wasn’t sure if you all only wanted to be tagged in my zuko series or my other works as well?? so im so sorry if you didn’t want to be tagged in this so please just let me know if you’d only like to be on the list for the series, zuko, sokka or other characters in general :)

TAGLIST: @slythergirlimagines @mangoberry43 @eridanuswave @whiskeywinter89 @kaylove12 @simplyfandomish @khaleesi-of-assassins @callums-keith @ilovespideyyy @calciumcow @blackhood5sos @nnon-it-up

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fictionisfact · 4 years

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I got this little part from The Schuyler Vidders on YT so credits to them. ❤️

A/N: I had so many ideas for this one so it was kinda tricky picking which one. I hope you enjoy! 💞

Part 1

Here for you | Part 2

Based on S1 Ep. 9

You hated being ignored. But that’s what has been happening ever since that night. The night Ty had decided to kiss you and then run off. He hasn’t texted you back and he definitely hasn’t tried to return your numerous phone calls either.

“And my mom’s letting me look at drama camps for the summer.” Kyle said, knocking you out of your own thoughts. You were currently walking with him and Annie, alongside the baseball field that Ty currently occupied with his teammates.

“Kyle, that sounds amazing! Don’t have too much fun without me.” You responded lightly elbowing his arm. Your frown turned into a smile when he looked over at you and stuck out his tongue.

“Well, I’m thinking about spending the summer with my dad in Atlanta.” Annie spat out before she was interrupted by the one and only CeCe.

“Bottom of the eighth, CeCe Matney is at the plate.” CeCe started with a megaphone as you all three stopped in your tracks to see what was happening, “The crowd’s hushed. The whole game lies on this one pitch. Will ty Townsend go to prom with her?”

Your jaw dropped at the scene unfolding in front of you. Of course she asked him to prom. You guys walked a little closer to the fence.

“She’s funny if she thinks he’s going to say yes.” You stated with venom, more to yourself than anyone else. Annie looked over at you knowing how you felt about Ty ever since the kiss, she frowned upon her inspection seeing that you stared coldly at what was happening.

“And here comes the pitch. Is it a homer or is it a strike? Here comes the swing!” CeCe continued as she walked forward until she was right in front of Ty. She put down the megaphone and waited for his answer. “Well?” She said as she chuckled.

“Yeah. Yeah.” You heard Ty respond. She jumped into his arms and he picked her up and off the ground. When he placed her down, they kissed. You wish you could say it didn’t hurt, but it did. You scoffed and right when Ty looked over to see you looking, you took off with Annie and Kyle hot on your tail.

It was Saturday. The day you and Ty usually hung out together. You tried to put Ty in the back of your mind so your day wouldn’t be completely ruined. You jumped out of bed and headed for your door.

You came out of your room to see Dana Sue and Annie already in the kitchen getting ready to make smoothies. Dana Sue’s phone rang and Annie was first to pick it up.

Annie looked at you with an ‘uh oh’ look. You gave her a questioning face and she showed you the phone. You saw a text from Aunt Helen reading, ‘Can you pour it out right now?’ You covered your mouth in surprise. Annie handed the phone to her mom and she responded with, “Oh dear.”

“You can go. Take care of Helen. We’ll be okay!” You told Dana Sue with a smile. You hoped she would go for Helen’s sake.

“Fine, you girls be safe while I’m gone.” She responded in a hurry to get her bag and keys. She finally shut the front door when she had everything.

“I know you’re feeling down today, but that’s why we’re going to make today amazing!” Annie said as happiness sparkled in her eyes. You gave her a big hug and thanked her. That day was filled with amazing activities and your mind only wandered to Tyler only once.

“And the whole team was standing there chanting as if Ty had just won the World Series instead of agreeing to go to prom. So stupid.” Annie said informing Issac of why you were in a mood.

You had church this morning and of course Ty didn’t even dare to look at you. You were now sulking at Sullivan’s while working with Annie and Issac.

“Very stupid.” You hummed while listening in on what she was saying right next to you.

“Yeah, I didn’t go to my prom. My mom said I’d regret missing it, but I don’t.” Issac said plainly while you were shocked.

“I don’t think my mom went to hers either.” Annie responded causing your jaw to drop. Prom was so special to you.

You tuned out the rest of their conversation thinking about your ideal prom night. What you had been envisioning since you learned what prom was. To go with your best friend, which was off the table completely.

Your thoughts were interrupted by Micah walking in with gifts. Your smile grew as he asked to see the chef. As they reunited you continued to serve tables, finishing up after a long day.

It was finally prom week. You woke up and jumped off the bed and immediately threw on an orange t-shirt with blue ripped jeans. You tied on some white converse and waited for Annie to get done dressing so you could walk together.

As you neared the school, Simon suddenly called out to Annie making her turn around. You knew he was going to ask her to prom cause he texted you about it earlier.

“I’ll see you inside.” You said to Annie lightly touching her arm. You walked away with a big smirk waiting close by. You heard her say yes and you started whooping loudly. You regretted it once she gave you a death glare.

You both walked inside and got to your locker. You took out a few books before you were interrupted by someone calling your name, trying to get your attention.

You turn around to see Jackson with a poster that read, “I might strikeout asking, but will you take a swing at...Prom with me?” He had one of his baseballs in another hand as well. You gave him a smile and turned your head to see Ty looking at him with anger.

“Sure!” You gave him an answer and hugged him. You knew you shouldn’t have, Jackson was his biggest enemy. But you had to get back at Ty somehow for ignoring you. You looked over Jackson’s shoulder to see Ty walking away down the hall.

“You can just wait out here while I go tell Kyle.” Annie told you solemnly. You responded with a nod, waiting outside of the Townsends home. You weren’t waiting long until suddenly, the door opened hastily and revealed Ty.

“Uh, Ty I wasn’t expect-“ you started to talk before he cut you off.

“How could you do this to me?” He asked with sadness and anger mixed in his eyes. Knowing what he was referring to, you rolled your own eyes.

“What do you mean?! You have been ignoring me for days after YOU kissed ME.” You whisper-yelled at him, becoming angry at his attitude.

“That doesn’t mean you can go and get close to my greatest enemy!” He responded angrily. You wiped your face and looked him dead in the eye.

“I’m sorry, but you hurt ME first. You kiss me leaving me wondering if there was a chance you had feelings for me too, but then you go and accept CeCe’s promposal while I watch you kiss her. How is that fair to me?” You said with a single tear rolling down your cheek.

“You like me?” He asked dumbfounded and confused. You both were interrupted by Annie walking out of the front door. She realized what was happening and started feeling awkward.

“Uh, did I inturupt something?” She asked you both with a confused face.

“No.” You answered her before Tyler could. You grab her hand and start walking back home before Ty could say anything else. She knew better than to ask what happened.

You were currently taking prom pictures with Annie, Simon, and Jackson. You were wearing a crimson red dress with black heels to match Jackson’s suit. You put your H/C in cute bun.

Jackson ordered a limo for the 4 of you, as he is the Mayor’s son. Although he protested about going to prom with Annie and Simon, you forced him to due to the fact he has always had a crush on you. But you never took interest in him.

When you arrived Jackson left you to go hang out with the baseball boys. Throughout the whole night, many of your boy friends asked you to dance, causing dismay to Ty and probably to Jackson as well. You had a nice time, as you blatantly ignored Ty, trying not to ruin your night.

A slow song suddenly came on and Jackson asked to dance. You of course said yes. As you danced closely to Jackson, you couldn’t help but look over to see Ty and CeCe dancing as well. You felt yourself roll your eyes and look away once Ty locked eyes with you.

Prom was over but the night was not even close to being done. Your group went to Jackson’s house for the after party and of course Ty came with CeCe.

When you arrived, everyone was forced to put their phones in a bowl. Meanwhile Jackson was tending to his guests. You sat on the couch with Kyle and on of his friends, catching up with him. You looked over the couch to see Ty and CeCe, once again dancing.

You were overwhelmed with anger and jealousy. You interrupted Kyle mid-sentence telling him you were going to get some air on the balcony.

After a few minutes of laying your arms on the railing, you heard the sliding door open.

“Sorry Jackson, I just wante-“ you cut off noticing who it was when you turned around. It was Ty. You immediately tried to push past him to get inside but he held your arm.

“Please. I need to talk to you.” He begged you with his puppy eyes. You couldn’t resist and ended up listening to him. He closed the door and leaned on the railing next to you.

“You probably hate me.” He chuckled dryly. You frowned at his sudden realization. You grab his hand.

“Yes, you have been a total jerk this past week, but you know I could never hate you.” You said with a small smile.

“Y/N, I’m so sorry, for everything. When I kissed you, I got scared, scared that you didn’t feel the same way. I ignored you because I didn’t want to feel rejection. Not with everything going on with my family anyways.” He expressed with an apologetic tone.

“What about CeCe?” You said quietly, almost inaudible, looking away. He smiled at your jealousy and shook his head.

“Honestly, she’s great, but she’s not the one I want. Not talking to you everyday made me realize something. I don’t know if I could live without you. I tried to replace you with CeCe and well...that didn’t work out at all.” He laughed causing you to laugh and smile as well.

“I broke it off with CeCe, so you know.” He stated seriously after you were done laughing. You turned to him with a smirk.

“What are you implying?” You said teasingly. He smiled wide and tilted your head up with his finger.

“This.” He said simply as he leaned down to kiss you. You kissed him back with passion. You never knew how bad you wanted him until this moment. The world faded away and your problems were shoved to the back of your head.

You pulled away slowly not wanting it to end as soon as it started.

“We need to tell Annie.” You smiled softly at him.

“Ugh. Can’t it wait, I want to spend more time with you.” He said selfishly as he hugged you.

“Hmm nope.” You said getting out of his arms and bopping him on the nose. He looked at you with puppy eyes. ‘This is the boy I love,’ you thought to yourself, smiling happily.

A/N: I hope you guys don’t mind it was kinda long...Sorry! I wanted to stick to the episode and had to throw a few different scenes in there. At first I wasn’t happy with this, but I re-read it and I was more confident. Thanks for reading 🥺❤️🥰

#sweet magnolias #ty x reader #tyler townsend #tyler townsend x reader #annie sullivan #ty townsend #x reader #best friends #best friend #tyler x reader #ty townsend x reader

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caitybug · 4 years

Note

“ i’m afraid that if i let you see every side of me, you should shrink back in fear or disgust. ” :)

Hey! Thanks so much for the prompt!!

You can read it on ao3 here or under the cut below.

This prompt is taken from this list.

(Also- this should have been a super sad fic, I’m sure. This prompt totally leads to angst... yet...)

Simon and I are sitting on the sofa, flipping through channels on the television.

“There’s nothing,” he groans, turning it off.

I flip the next page of my book, having given up on his journey through cable ten minutes ago.

“We could watch a movie,” I suggest.

“I’m not feeling Netflix.” He puts the remote on the coffee table.

“There are actual movies.” I put down my book. Page 134 is etched into my brain for later. “Like the disc ones, you put them in the-”

“I know what a DVD is, Baz.”

I roll my eyes and move to the floor.

Surely there has to be something in their collection of movies here.

I see a few action movies (Simon), some documentaries (Penelope), and a couple horror films (I’d assume that is Shepard’s doing.)

After a moment I find a VHS tape. It’s marked: P. Bunce 2006.

I frown.

“Do you have a VHS player?” I ask, turning to face Simon. He’s picking at his nails when I ask, so his head jerks up, looking down at the tape in my hand.

“Huh?”

I wave the tape in the air.

“This- do you have something for this?” I ask.

He frowns.

“I’ve never seen that before,” he says, getting off the couch and moving closer to me. He grabs the tape and reads it. “Is this a video of Penelope?”

“Either that or one of the other hundreds of P. Bunce’s in the world.”

He stares at it for a little longer. I almost open my mouth to suggest moving to the bedroom and make out for the night instead, but then a light bulb clicks in his brain.

“I think I know where a player is,” he says, standing up fast and running down the hall.

I hear a few crashes and some cursing before he returns.

“She should be home soon,” he explains, walking to the T.V. stand, cords dangling from the device. “We should get her permission before watching.”

I nod, helping him get the device set up.

She walks in to us sitting on the floor with the cords plugged into the outlet and the television.

We all freeze. Simon and I are watching for her reaction. She’s watching us, clearly trying to put pieces together.

The door closes with a light thud behind her.

“What’s going on?” She asks, dropping her keys in the bowl by the door.

“Er,” Simon says. I look over and see red starting to crawl up to his face.

“We found this,” I say, saving him. I lift the tape up so she can read it. “We were hoping we could watch.”

Bunce’s eyes go wide.

“No, definitely not,” she says, reaching to grab for it.

I let her grab it easily. I’m not in the business of forcing her to let us watch. But I’d be lying if I said my interest wasn’t piqued.

I assumed the tape would have some kind of baby video on it. Something her mom brought over to watch on a birthday and gush over.

But that reaction means it’s something more than an innocent kid video.

“What’s on it?” I ask, standing up. Simon reaches for the plugs to put it away but I hold out a hand.

Hopes not lost yet, Snow.

“Something neither of you needs to see,” she says, sitting on the chair and examining the tape.

“Bunce.” I sit on the couch, as close to her as I can without raising suspicions. “I’ve seen you sobbing your eyes out in a plate of buffalo blasts at the cheesecake factory. I think I’ve seen every side of you there could be.”

She turns to me and rolls her eyes.

“Yes, good on you Basil, but this particular side of me should remain unknown.”

“Then why keep the tape in the open?” Simon asks from the floor.

I smirk.

“Yes, Bunce, why is it out where any unsuspecting Simon could find it?” I ask. “Or Shepard, for that case.”

She frowns.

“For your information, Shepard has already seen it.”

My eyes go wide.

“Penelope Bunce did you and Shepard-”

“Finish that sentence and die.” She raises a finger threateningly.

I close my mouth.

“What’s going to be the worst that happens if we see it, Pen?” Simon asks, moving to sit on the coffee table.

She sighs.

“You’ll never see me the same again,” she says. “Shepard wouldn’t let it go for a week. You two.” She gestures to both of us. “Would be even worse.”

We look towards each other, silently agreeing.

She lets out a moan.

“You’re never going to let it go, will you?” She asks.

“You’ve always been the smart one,” Simon jests, reaching a hand out.

She hands it over willingly, curling her legs under herself as Simon walks the tape to the player.

I move so I can see the screen.

By the time Simon clicks play and sits down, it’s begun.

But it’s a commercial.

I wonder, for a moment, if this is what we are watching, but then the commercial ends and the program starts.

A beat starts on the screen and I see a nine-year-old Penelope Bunce dancing on the screen.

A song plays and her lips move.

It takes my brain all too long to realize that it's her singing.

“Bunce- I thought you said you couldn’t sing?” I ask.

Simon’s jaw is open in shock, watching her sing and dance in front of him.

“Oh I can’t,” she explains. “This is autotuned to filth.”

I nod.

(It is. Sounds awful, really.)

“How did your parents let-”

“They didn’t. It was my aunt.” Bunce sighs, pulling her hair back into a bun. “She snuck me into this. And I was nine years old, I thought it was exciting.”

I look back to the screen and watch as she falls dramatically into a crowd of people.

She groans.

“It’s so bad.” She stands up and walks to the player, pulling the tape out.

I look at Simon, who is still staring at the screen in shock.

“Well, I hope you got your fill, boys.” She opens the tape and rips the tape out of it. “Because you’re never watching it again.”

She dumps it in the trash can and walks out.

“Wait!” Simon shouts, catching up.

“Good night, Simon!” She shouts in response. I hear her bedroom door slam shut behind her and we sit in silence.

We stare at the screen again, thinking of what was just playing on it.

“Penny,” Simon whispers, stopping before completing his thought.

“Yes,” I respond to what he left unsaid.

Penelope Bunce was a one-hit-wonder.

#snowbaz #simon snow #baz pitch #carry on #carry on fanfiction #Caity does fanfiction #I'm so sorry for doing this #one of them was going to end up a pop star #somehow I didn't make it simon?? despite my love of boy baz simon??#yikes #unconfirmed vampire

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huntypastellance · 5 years

Photo

Yeah, We’re talking about this now.

If you’ve been in the she1thdom for a while now & have followed popular she1th accounts, you’ll have noticed them occasionally posting something.....weird.

Posts vaguely complaining about a certain unnamed person who seems to despise the she1th fandom, use it for profit & doing all sorts of unsavory things behind the scenes in private DMs & discord servers.....

That person is Lee CA (Glossolalia on ao3), writer of those 2 fics that have invaded every she1th fan’s dash at some point in time (”Alien Sex Fiend” & “Picosecond”).

He’s the Cassandra Clare of the VLD fandom if CC had been caught being a creep & not just being a manipulative egotistical plagiarist obsessed with marketing.

Lee CA is about as much of a she1th fan as the infamous anti klanced is -- they ONLY care about it as a tool to boost their own popularity & will spend endless amounts of time bashing she1thers.

There’s a lot of posts about his whole sexual exploitation of naive minors & the whole thing blew up late February of 2019, but We’re here to talk about Lee’s entire history. (Notes: there will be some sources, but a lot of this is really old stuff or stuff only mentioned in private servers, so they’ve been lost to the sands of time or are just things heard through the grapevine.)

To preface all of this: NOBODY saw any of this coming. At worst, Lee was a narcissistic plagiarist high off the fumes of his own success, but his attitude at no point gave off any signs that he would exploit minors in that way. (Exploiting them for profit, though - that’s basically his whole shtick).

Lee was/is a very popular writer in the she1thdom (with fandom picking up the fanon “Shiro calls Keith ‘cherrybomb’” from his fics) & would charge professional rates for his works on his patreon, raking in around $1300 to $1600 PER MONTH for almost 2 YEARS on she1th fics alone (that isn’t counting his commissions either: he charges $125 for a 5000 word fic, $150 for a fic with porn). If he doesn’t hit his goal of $1600 a month, well, that’s clearly YOUR problem for not sponsoring him enough, not his.

Yeah, sure you could save $25 for the porn-free version, but reading a Lee work without any smut is like trying to eat a bowl of nails without any milk in it.

And then he would bitch & moan in DMs to other she1th creators about how “disgustingly underpaid he was”, “how ungrateful [she1th fans] are” or whine in she1th discords until his sympathizers ponied up enough money to pay him for another commission. Hell, he even admitted to MANY she1thers that he didn’t care about she1th, he didn’t like she1th & he was FURIOUS that how DARE not all his she1th fans were eager to throw their money at his original works (which forced him to go back to writing for she1th, even though he literally quit his dayjob to write fanfics full-time).

“Gruelingly underpaid” is apparently “professional rates for writing” so maybe Lee’s making a statement about the writing industry. Or maybe he’s just a dick.

As an ex-supporter of his patreon, We can tell you just how horrible his tiers are. And how tiring his whole gimmick of “I’m that edgy she1th writer! Sex workers! Drugs! Alcoholism! Cheating! Keith & Shiro hating each other but having sex! Christianity is evil & homophobic! -obligatory mention of Gucci because I’m trying to insert subliminal messages in my works to get my readers to buy me stuff!-” quickly got.

Essentially you’d have to pay $10 per month to see anything that wasn’t basically stuff you’d see on his twitter feed or tumblr. (”Pay me $5 a month & I’ll post my notes & let you know what I’m up to!”).

You also had to pay for updates to his she1th fic “Picosecond” if you wanted him to update at a speed faster than “1 chapter every 2-3 months” -- which is already stupid since it’s his fic, but if you’re unlucky & you “didn’t pay him enough”, he’d mention it on the post update that it’s YOUR fault that this chapter wasn’t longer*!

But it’s totally fine, because he said it in a joking tone & so that makes it okay to throw shade at his commissioner like that~!

*minor issue but he artificially inflates his own word count by waxing on about the scenery or filling the chapter with long monologues, so he was ripping people off even more while shilling how “deep” he was

Lee later threw a fit again about how ungrateful, uncaring & cruel the she1thdom was. Why? Because his newest fic about witch!Keith, paladin!Shiro & the cursed tree with crying baby heads for fruit didn’t get over 100 kudos within the span of three days.

And if you were a new fan to she1th & wanted fic recs? He’ll literally just rec his own fics & only his own fics! (Despite having connections to basically every she1th fic writer in the fandom).

Calling Lee a narcissist is a bit of an understatement.

He was also caught plagiarizing another she1ther’s band fic. And, key point here:

The original fic was posted for free on ao3.

Lee’s version was patreon-only until he posted it to ao3 (after ignoring his patreon subscribers who were like “hey what the fuck, i’ve read this before”).

You had to PAY to read Lee’s version (& this is just a personal opinion, but do you think you’d want to pay for a passionless uncaring version of the same fic? His whole disdain towards VLD & She1th leaks out all over his writing, but he’s so good at marketing his stuff that people don’t really notice it - they just think he’s being “dark & edgy”).

He then claimed to have no prior knowledge of the fic only for people to dig up his ao3 account & find out that not only had he bookmarked the original fic, but he had also kudosed it. (Yes, he’s deleted that bookmark by now. Can’t delete the kudos though!)

Lee tried to spin the whole thing as “fighting for the freedom to write whatever you want” just like how he tried to spin his condescending tweets about the Hanakotoba zine’s selection process as “rewarding those who worked hard at their writing” like it wasn’t just a blatant “im only picking me, my friends & popular folks & calling them the best the fandom has to offer” cash grab.

He eventually took down the fic but not before loudly insisting that he was in the right. The other author just wanted the drama to be over with so the entire incident was settled & forgotten without much fanfare.

And then someone spoke up & mentioned that Lee had begged for nudes from underaged fans. And a whole storm of threads poured forth, many of Lee’s whiteknights vanished into the wind & the she1th blogs who had been vaguing about him for years finally gave up on him (you can only avoid someone so much if they’re that popular & basically in every single she1th event promo & whatnot).

Essentially, it was the straw that broke the camel’s back.

Or is it?

In the grand scheme of things, this hasn’t really changed much for Lee. People did write to his publisher, Oni Press, (as Lee was working on Dream Daddy with them) & while there was a response, there hasn’t been much information as to how it concluded.

His patreon follower count did drop quite a bit, but Lee still has many fans who will willingly throw tons of money at him. (Besides, he was already losing followers after VLD ended - tons of people lost interest in both the canon & in fan content).

So yeah, things haven’t really changed that much for Lee other than some people now refusing to support him financially or make art based on his works.

Twitter threads & posts about the whole incident:

http://archive.fo/HxI0H

http://archive.fo/N1thM

http://archive.fo/caVOs

http://archive.fo/YjBA5

http://archive.fo/2GgnG

http://archive.fo/454Ww

http://archive.fo/50f9A

http://archive.fo/EhBIQ

Fail-fandom threads about Lee CA’s attitude towards his own fans & his semi-illegal patreon (illegal in the sense that he never discloses on his account that he’s writing VLD fanfics for money):

https://fail-fandomanon.dreamwidth.org/265625.html?thread=1492373401#cmt1492373401

http://fail-fandomanon.dreamwidth.org/264405.html?thread=1485573845#cmt1485

https://fail-fandomanon.dreamwidth.org/321513.html?thread=1844915433#cmt1844915433

Lee CA’s plagiarism of another author:

http://archive.fo/TM25C

http://archive.fo/ioMRF

http://archive.fo/3kymS

http://archive.fo/yw6io

#vld discourse #voltron discourse #she1th #shaladin discourse #LPL

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lesbian-deadpool · 5 years

Text

So Much Better Than It Is Today

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

High school AU, Song fic: Paradise By The Dashboard Light

Words: 5,640

Warnings: A LOT of jump cuts, sexual themes, arguing, swearing, bad decisions, not my best work, a little angst. The ending is kinda fucking stupid. Not proof read.

Request: No. (It’s a challenge)

A/N: So this was for @flatbottomholland s challenge, but with me being, well me. I forgot about it. Cause I’m a hot ass mess. So here it is now. I hope you like it, it's not my best work, but I tried. Its 50′s themed, but with modern values. But not really, It's hard to explain. Just read it, and it should make sense... hopefully... Natasha’s a little OOC, but there's a reason for that. Originally written as FxF, but could totally be read by anyone.

Summary: You swore that you would love her until the end of time.

The cold night air streamed against the cherry red metal of the parked Chevy. Stars littered the black sky, the moon reflecting on the rippling waves.

"Sam did not do that!"

"No, he did. I was there," you said, nodding your head. "He was too busy flirting with the waiter, to notice Bucky drinking his milkshake." you chuckled the scene replaying in your head, acting it out to the best of your abilities for her. "Once he found out, he grabbed Bucky's milkshake. Y'know, to drink his instead. But, Bucky being Bucky, wouldn't let him have it. So they started this tug of war for the milkshake, ending with Sam pulling too hard, and splashing it all over the waiter he had been flirting with... and, so that's how Sam got kicked out of, Jarvis'."

Natasha laughed, "But, what about, Bucky?"

"He went home with the waiter. That's why they're not talking right now."

This caused Natasha's laughter to increase, doubling over in her seat. You following her lead.

"Hey, you know, Steve?" you asked.

"Yeah." she nodded, fully immersed in what you had to say. "The used to be skinny kid, turned jock-artist. What about him?"

"He was the waiter."

Joyous laughter poured from the lone car, parked by the vast lake. The smell of nature, and the sound of crickets leaking through the small crack of the open window.

Settling into easy conversation. You found yourself enjoying her company more than you had ever expected. No longer able to pay attention to what she was saying. Watching her face contort into many different expressions. Liking every single one of them. Thinking how lucky you were to be sat here right now.

(Nine hours ago)

You walked down the semi-crowded halls of your high school. Books in hand, backpack slung over your shoulder. Your eyes staring at your destination in front of you. To say you were nervous about what you were about to do would have been an understatement.

"Hey, Natasha." You got her attention, drawing her away from her friends. Your own watching you like halks from behind you. "Can I talk to you for a minute?"

"Sure." She shrugged, following you to a clear part of the hall. One where neither your friends nor hers could hear you. "What's up?"

"Umm, so, I was wondering," you started, some of your nerves coming through your voice. Much to your dismay. You coughed, regaining some of your confidence. "I was wondering if you wanted to go out with me? No? Okay then." you replied for her. Turning on your spot, about to walk away from her. When she reached out and grabbed your elbow stopping you, turning you around to face her once again.

"Okay."

"O- Okay?!"

"I would love too," she clarified.

You looked at her like she had just grown another head. "Are you sure? This isn't some kind of joke is it?"

"No. It's not a joke. I really do want to you out with you." She rested her hand on your arm, giving it a comforting squeeze.

You were about to voice you joy, abruptly thinking, "You know I meant it as a date right?"

"Yes. As a date. I want to go out on a date with you," she said slowly.

"Oh, great." You beamed.

"So, when?"

"When what?" you asked, still slightly dazed out. Surprise still coursing through you from her agreeing to go out on a date with you.

"When are we going out on our date?" she chuckled. Her hand, not going unnoticed by you, as it travelled down your arm, grasping onto your hand softly.

"Oh, uh, tonight?"

"What time?"

"I'll uh, pick you up at eight?"

"Perfect, I just have to be home by eleven."

"You will be home by eleven, scouts honour," you promised, giving her a mock salute. Making he laugh. You smiled bright, at the fact that you had managed to make her laugh.

"Good. You can drive me home then?" she stated more than asked. Pulling you along by your hand, towards the exit of the school.

(Now)

You still felt the envy radiating in the air around you. Like you had hours ago as you walked from the school, people glaring at you. Jealous that you had somehow managed to get a date with the Natasha Romanoff.

Your hand gripped the wheel softly. Playing with the leather sewn onto it. You drifted back into the one-sided conversation in front of you. Music playing in the background of the warm car. Gazing happily at the red-head. As she animatedly spoke. And you just knew. You would remember this day for the rest of your life.

***

All of a sudden, you were in the back seat of your car. Slowly stripping each other's clothes from your lustful bodies. The soft lull of music playing in the background. Disrupted by the heavy breathing and panting pouring from both of your mouths.

Words had stopped being spoken a long time ago. Instead replaced by heated touches. Your bodies felt like they had been burned, where your fire hot hands had grazed one another's bodies. Similar to gripping tightly onto a red-hot knife. The burning hurt. But not as much as you craved each other's bodies. The craving hurt so much; you never knew of a pain so good, a feeling so right, like this one right now. You never knew that wanting something so much could cause so much pain. It shocked you to your core how much you liked it.

You pulled against each other. Tugging at the remnants of your clothes, hands caressing skin. Gasping heavily into each other's mouths.

"No no, stop," Natasha ordered, straightening up in her seat.

"Oh?!" You shot back, sitting back in your own seat. "Did... did I do something wrong?"

"No. No, you did nothing wrong. I just have to get home."

You glanced at the clock on your dashboard, as Natasha began putting her clothes back on, beside you. The clock showing the time was 10:40. Where had the time gone? Looking back to the now almost fully dressed girl beside you, you asked, "Are you sure you can't stay out any longer?"

"I'm sure. If I did, my parents would kill me... then you."

You nodded your head in understanding. "Well, then. Let's get you home." You slowly picked your clothes up off the floor and began to pull them on.

"Won't your parents go crazy if you don't get back on time?" Natasha asked as you both hopped out of the car, and into the cold night air. Moving to the front seats. This way being easier than climbing over them like you did when you first tumbled into the back seat.

"No."

"How come?"

"Mother's dead. Farther's off fighting some war. I live with my senile grandparents, that go to bed at Five pm," you listed off.

"Oh, I'm sorry about your mother." Natasha caressed your arm, in a comforting manner.

"It's fine. I didn't know her." At this, Natasha shot you a look of confusion, silently asking you to explain. "She died giving birth to me."

Natasha took a deep breath, debating whether or not she should apologise for your loss again or not. Knowing that it wouldn't help. Watching as you began driving back to her house. Instead, she tried to lighten the mood. "Well, you must be proud of your father."

"I would be if he hadn't abandoned me when I was born and didn't blame me for my mother's death," you replied. "I don't know why I'm telling you all of this."

"You must like me," she tried again, a hopeful smile on her face. Both optimistic that it would lighten the mood, and that you dod in fact like her.

"Must do." You smiled back.

***

"Grams, Gramps!" you called out to your sleeping grandparents. Knowing full well they were both fast asleep, and wouldn't wake up with your yelling. Throwing your key's into the bowl sat on the small table by the door, a small pile of mail stacked up next to it.

You shuffled through the few letters that were addressed to you, as you continued talking. "How was your day? My day was good. Just got back from the date." You walked into the kitchen, ready to eat some leftovers. "You know the one I told you about when I got back from school? The one with the girl I like? Yeah, it went well. Just dropped her off now. We almost had sex. Remind me not to tell you that tomorrow, when you're actually awake."

Laying in bey, belly and brain full. Leftovers filled your stomach. Thoughts crammed into your mind. A smile on your face, as you thought about the previous few hours you had spent with Natasha.

Little did you know, she was doing the exact same thing.

Natasha crept into her house, hoping not to wake her parents. A light flickered on to her side. Startling her, and making her look to her right so fast that she thought she had just given herself whiplash. Her eyes wide with shock, as she looked at her father.

"I'm back on time." She pointed a finger at him.

He chuckled, "You are. I just wanted to know how your date went."

"It went well."

"I can see that," he said, a teasing smile on his face.

She looked at him confused. "What?"

"Your shirt's buttoned up wrong." He nodded to the white shirt she wore, one side longer than the other, thanks to the missed buttons.

"We didn't do anything."

"Really? Because I'm pretty sure you learned how to dress yourself when you were six."

She exhaled harshly, not wanting to have this conversation with him. "We didn't have sex." She bit the bullet.

"I know. We raised you well." Walking up to Natasha, he threw his arm over her shoulder and began leading her up the stairs. "But don't tell your mother." he gestured to her dishevelled appearance. "She'll rip your heart right out. And the poor souls you spent your night with."

"Oh yeah." She nodded.

"So. Do you like them?"

"I do, dad. I really do."

"Good. Remember, don't-"

Natasha stopped, turning her back to her bedroom door. "Don't let them take advantage of me. I know dad."

He smiled. "Good night," he said placing a kiss on his daughter's forehead.

"Night, dad."

Now here she lay, in bed, her thoughts plagued by you.

Glancing over to the side of your beds, you both suddenly felt lonely. Shrugging your blankets further up your bodies. Trying to replace the warmth the other had provided. Slowly falling into a peaceful sleep. Dreaming of your previous date, illuminated by the dashboard light.

***

Over the next few months, it happened again and again. You would go out on dates, sometimes just going out for a drive around town. But you always ended up fooling around. Either in the back of your car, in one of your bedrooms, one of your living rooms. Yours mainly. And once in the school parking lot. Which made your friends, Tony, Bucky, and Sam. Whistle and hoot at you two. That had been two months into your relationship. That's how everyone found out you were actually dating.

During those months, you were barely dressed when you were alone together. But never going any further than fooling around. Which to be honest, you were getting kind of antsy about. You had both talked about having sex, agreeing to wait until the right time. But you were starting to get frustrated with the wait.

You were parked in an empty parking lot. Getting all hot and heavy with Natasha in the back seat of your car.

Your hand started you travel further up her body, aiming for her breasts.

"Alright, stop. Stop. Stop," Natasha said pushing you off of her.

You slammed back into the seat next to her, huffing out a breath. As she shrugged her discarded clothes.

"Don't be like that," she uttered.

"Don't be like what?"

"Like that," she gestured to you. "All moody cause I told you to stop."

"It's not because you told me to stop-"

"Then what is it?"

"It's not because," you started again, your voice hard, causing her to roll her eyes, "You told me to stop. I don't care that you told me to stop, I'm fine with that. I'll stop if you want me to," You sighed. "It's just that I'd like to know if it's ever gonna happen."

"Of course it is."

"Then when? Cause truthily, I'm getting a little impatient. I'm fine with waiting. I'd just like to know."

"When you love me." She pushed her hair over her shoulder, beginning to button up her shirt.

"How do you know I don't? Do you not know how I feel about you? Sometimes I think that my heart's gonna drown out the radio with how fast it's beating."

"That doesn't prove anything," she commented.

"Then how do you expect me to prove it?!"

"Say it." Natasha turned to you, face hard.

"Say what?"

"Say that you love me."

"How do I know you love me?"

"Do not turn this around on me," she scolded, pointing her finger at you.

"You leaned towards her, resting your atm on the back of the seat. "Baby, listen. We've been together for four months. I do live you. And that's why I want to sleep with you. But if you don't want to sleep with me, that's fine. I just wanna make sure we're on the same page here."

"Just take me home," she muttered.

"But, Natasha-"

"Now, Y/N," she demanded.

You huffed, "Fine."

***

Your eyes moved around, taking in Natasha's form in front of you. From your spot sat next to her, in 'Jarvis' Milkshake Emporium'. Watching her plump lips move as she spoke. Your eyes found their way to her red hair, it trailing down over her shoulders. All except for one lone strand of hair. You lifted your arm from where it rested on the back of the pink and white leather seat of your booth. Moving to brush the piece of hair back over her shoulder, your hand coming up to cup her soft cheek.

Natasha cooed, leaning into your touch, her eyes flickering shut. A small hum escaping through her closed lips.

She slowly opened her eyes. Admiration for you pouring out of them. As you rubbed your thumb over the soft skin of her cheek.

"You've gotta stop doing that," she whispered.

"Doing what?"

"Doing things that make me want to kiss you."

"And what's so wrong with that?" you asked leaning in closer to her. "I thought you liked kissing me?"

"I do." She inched closer.

"Then why don't you?" She answered your question with a passionate kiss. Wrapping an arm around your neck pulling herself into you. Sliding a leg over yours, as her free hand came up lightly touching your cheek.

You wrapped your hands around her, tugging her further into you. Leaving hardily any space left between you. You pulled apart leaning your forehead against hers.

"Ahem," a cough spurred you away from your intimate moment with Natasha. Turning around to look at Tony and Rhodey, the two boys sat opposite you. Both of them smirking as you and Natasha wiped your mouths.

"Sorry about that," you cleared your throat.

"Are you sure you don't want us to leave?" Tony smiled mischievously. "Give you two some privacy?"

"You can talk."

You barked out a laugh at Natasha's response. Remembering all the times they had been less than family friendly in front of you.

"Are you folks all finished here?" You looked up to a smiling Steve Rogers. A dish bucket in his arm. Pointing to your empty plates and glasses.

"Um, yeah. Thanks, Steve," you said.

"It's cool. So, you want the bill?"

"Yeah," Rhodey replied, "We really should be heading back."

"Yeah, they need some privacy," you told Steve, who chuckled in response.

Steve hummed, "Good. We don't need Jarvis busting a blood vessel, cause you can't keep it in your pants."

"Hey!" Tony yelled, gesturing an arm towards you and Natasha. "They're the ones who just had a make-out session in front of us."

"And yet, you're so much worse. It's like your sex drive, is a permanently running motor," Steve commented. Turning to walk away with Tony screeching after him.

Three weeks later, you ended up back at the lake you shared your first date. The sun setting low over the forest that surrounded the lake. Leaving a warm glow on everything it touched.

It had never felt like this before. Your kisses were slower than usual but no less heated. If anything they were more desperate than ever before. Your hands held onto her waist, as you hovered above where she lay on the seats. Red hair sprawled out over the cherry red leather below her. Her hands fisted into your work shirt, pulling against it, keeping you as close to her as possible. One of her legs thrown over your side, calf resting on your back.

"God, I love you," you told her, speaking over the low hum of the baseball game coming from your radio. Mouth never leaving hers.

"I love you, too," she whispered back, voice lustful.

You had talked about this. Agreed on it. But you were still hesitant. Just in case it was all swept away once again. After your fight that day two weeks ago, you both had a long discussion about your feelings and what not. She told you that she did want to go all the way with you. And she knew you wanted the same. The only thing holding her back was that she wanted you to love her, which you told her you did. And she loved you too. She was just so unsure of your love for her. She knew how attractive she was, and she knew anybody could lie to her for one night in the sack. It wasn't that she didn't trust you. She did. She merely wasn't interested in setting her heart up for heartbreak. But you had reassured her that she had nothing to worry about. Telling her that you would never purposely break her heart. It meant too much to you, to do that to her. Which lead you two here. In the back seat of your car, like the many other times. This time both in full agreement, that tonight was the night.

Your deep kissing had continued, once you had uttered your love confessions.

Your hands pushed up her shirt, fingertips caressing the soft skin underneath.

"OK, here we go," the commentator spoke. You and Natasha too engulfed in one another to even register his voice. Your hand's travelling around her waist, to hold her lower back. You used your leverage and pulled the lower half of her body into yours. Making her let out a lustful moan into your open mouth.

"There's the windup, and there it is."

Braking away, you panted on each other's lips. Staring intensely into each other's eyes. Your chests rising and falling with your rapid intake of air. Her arms were now reaped around your neck, hands deep into your hair, nails grazing your scalp. Natasha's eyes were dark, so blown out that you could barely see her bright green irises. Your hands slid slowly up her back. Never breaking eye contact, as you reached her bra, swiftly unclasping it. Natasha attached your lips once again, as she pulled your work shirt from your body. Manoeuvring you onto your back so that she was now straddling you. Only breaking your kiss when she reached under her shirt and pulled her bra from her body. Throwing you a mischievous smirk, before pouncing on your lips once again.

"Turning it on now, he's not letting up at all, he's gonna try for Second." Your hands slid up Natasha's soft skin, coming to a stop just under her breasts. "He's gonna slide in head first, here he comes, he's out!" She nodded to you that it was okay, unbreaking the kiss. With her nod of approval, you gingerly moved your palms up and cupped her breasts. "No, wait, safe - safe at second base, this kid really makes things happen out there."

Natasha sat up and began slowly unbuttoning her shirt. Leaving it wide open, but still obscuring the majority of her breasts. A groan erupted, from your throat, as you ogled at her. The close to animalistic sound coming from somewhere deep in your stomach. She smirked at you, eyes lustful, as she ran the pad of her thumb over your slightly parted lips. Leaning over, you attached your lips. The kiss on the verge of turning into something faster and more wanting. As Natasha gripped the chest of your T-shirt in her hands, tugging it up and over your head.

You sat up, Natasha still seated in your lap. Your lips unrelenting, as you manoeuvred, so your hand pressed gently into her body. Fingers tickling the top of her stomach. As your hand lingeringly moving down her body, gradually easing its way down to her core.

"He's trying for third, here's the throw." Further and further down your hand went. And with it, the antsier Natasha got for your touch. Her breathing quickening. Her fingers gripped the top of your shoulders, as she moves forwards and backwards slightly. Your hand slipped down the waistline of her pants, making their way into her panties. Lower and lower it went. Natasha threw her head back, letting out a low groan. Before making her way back to your lips, sucking n them with a fiery passion. Your hand inched closer and closer to her entrance. Closer. Closer. And closer still. Before... "It's in the dirt-safe at third! Holy cow, stolen base! He's taking a pretty big lead out there, almost daring him to try and pick him off."

You glanced down Natasha's shining body, as she moaned quietly. Carefully laying her back down in front of you so that you could lean over her. You started peppering kisses over her chest. Trailing them down her body, over her stomach, and to the place you knew would make her scream.

"Base line, the suicide squeeze is on!"

You kissed the only showing skin above her pants, as you began unbuttoning them. Peering up to her, you smirked into her skin. She was melting underneath you, her head thrown back, and panting. You focused again on your task at hand. "Holy cow, I think he's gonna make it!"

"Stop!" Natasha yelled, sitting up abruptly. Causing you to fly back, and into the window, your hands sprawled out, holding onto whatever of the car you could. As fear rippled inside of you, at her sudden outburst.

"What?" you asked, your voice soft, hoping to death that you didn't do something to hurt her.

"I just want to know, before we go any further. Do you love me?"

Ugh, this again. She was like a broken record. "Yes. I love you."

"That's not what I mean."

"Then what do you mean?"

"Will you love me forever? Will you never leave me? Will you marry me?"

"What?!" You looked at her like she had just grown an extra head. "Natasha, we've only been going out for like five months."

"I know that. I'm not asking you to marry me, you idiot. I'm asking will you marry me someday? I have to know."

"I... I don't know."

"See. That's exactly why I've been stopping you all these months."

"You can't just expect me to know if you're the one, Natasha!"

"That's why I want you to wait! So that I can experience this with someone one who wants to spend the rest of their life with me."

"Then why didn't you just say that?!"

"I don't know," she muttered quietly. Buttoning up her clothes.

"What?"

"I said, I don't know!" she yelled, shocking you with her outburst. Turning to you, she glared slightly. "I don't know. I'm just so confused, I know what I want. I want love. True and unconditional love. I'm in two minds." She held out her hands, looking at them. Showing you the two invisible separate sides of her brain. "In one of them, I want to do this with you. I want to do this with you so badly. But in the other. I want to wait. I want to make sure you'll be with me forever. That you'll never leave me. That you'll make me your wife." She looked at you. "But I don't know which to choose."

"That's a lie. You know exactly which one to choose. You can wait. And I accept that. I just wish you didn't lie to me."

"I'm not lying to you! I do want this!"

"Then why don't you?!"

"Because I want you to love me!"

"I do love you!"

"Then prove it!"

"How am I supposed to do that?!"

"Figure it out. I can't give you all the answers. This one you have to find out yourself." And with that, she slammed the door of your car and began her walk back home.

You jumped out of the car, hastily grabbing your work shirt and shrugging it on. Chasing after Natasha.

"Wait, Natasha. Wait." You grabbed her elbow. Causing her to spin on her heal, facing you.

"Tell me."

"What?" you asked shaking your head confused.

"Tell me if you want to be with me for my life."

"Let me think about it."

"Tell me."

"Baby, Let me sleep on it," you practically bagged.

"Yes?! Or no?!"

"Let me sleep on it!" you were both beginning to lose your tempers now.

"I can wait here all night! So, tell me. Yes? Or no?"

"Let me sleep on it!"

"Will you love me forever?!"

"I'll tell you in the morning!" you raged at her.

***

That night you laid in bed, wide awake, staring at the ceiling. Your mind going round and round in circles. You could practically hear the words of your father, his hard voice, ringing through your head.

"Sex-crazed fool, thinks they're in love. Doesn't even know what love is." He would say. "Think of how your mother would react." If he were here right now, he would be barking it at you. Standing tall in his military uniform. Your imagination making him taller than he would be. Which makes sense, cause the last time you had seen him was when you were eight.

But, he wasn't here. And neither was your mother. The only people you had were your grandparents. Who were kind enough to let you live with them, while your father served his country. Too busy to visit you. For ten years he had been too busy.

"If you love her so much, why don't you just tell her?"

Sitting up, startled by the voice by your door. You turned to peer at your grandmother. Who had a small knowing smile on her face.

"Gram? What are you doing awake?"

"I could hear your thoughts. You have a restless mind," she said shuffling over to you, in her nightdress and slippers. Sitting at the edge of your bed. That's what she always said. That she could 'hear your thoughts'. Which was fairly true. She could always tell when something was on your mind.

"I've already told her."

"Then what's the problem?" She raised her hands in bewilderment.

"The problem is," you started, pausing as you tried to find the right words, "I want to take our relationship further-"

"Ahh." She threw her head back. "You want to sleep with her."

"Yeah." You nodded. You were starting to feel uncomfortable now. But you knew she would not leave until you told her what was wrong. "But, she wants proof that I love her."

She hummed at your situation, "I'm sure you'll figure something out."

"Have any suggestions?"

"Nope," she said patting your shoulder, before gripping it using it to help her back onto her feet. "This you have to figure out yourself." And with that, she shuffled back out of your room.

You there your body back, head landing on the soft pillow, muttering, "Thanks for the help, Grams."

***

Here you were again, two weeks later, sitting in your regular booth in Jarvis'.

That's when it hit you. And oh boy, did it hit you. It hit you like a tidal wave. The feeling of utmost love. You were prepared to swear on heaven and hell, every God and goddess that existed, hell even your mothers grave. That you would love this laughing girl in front of you, until the end of time.

"Marry me." It had just fallen out. You shocked yourself when you had said it, mirroring the shock that covered Natasha's face.

"What?"

"Yeah," you affirmed nodding. "Marry me. Why not?"

"Because we're eighteen, and have only been dating for six months," she deadpanned.

"So? My grandparents were seventeen when they got married and they'd only known each other for two weeks. They're still happily married."

Natasha laughed, "You're really serious about this, aren't you?"

You nodded. "I love you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I promise I will love you until the end of time. And you know I don't break my promises," you tried convincing her, leaning closer to her over the table. "Don't you wanna marry me?"

"Okay." She smiled, her hair moving as she nodded slowly.

"Okay?"

"Okay. Let's get married."

***

That was ten years ago. You remembered the joy it filled you with, the way you had run out of Jarvis' with her and had gotten married to her the next hour. You had both got what you waited for that night, and then started the rest of your life together.

And now here you were, ten years later, regretting everything from that stupid stupid day. If you could turn back time, you would. You had changed over time. So had she. You began slowly falling out of you teenage love. And into resentment. Natasha still loved you, however, just like she did all those years ago. You had thought about getting a divorce, many times in fact. But you had vowed and promised her that you would love her until the end of time, that you would always be there, that you would never break her heart. And you never broke your promises.

So now you were here, in your small suburban house. Waiting for the end of time. So that you could end your time with her.

Maybe things would get better.

Maybe you could try counselling.

Maybe...

(Alternative ending. Ha! Bitch you thought! I need to have happy endings.)

"And, Cut!" Phil Colson, or as everyone called him, Mr C, called out. The group of kids standing on the stage snapping out of their personas. Some walking to their friends, others beginning their descent from the stage. As Mr C continued, "Good job out there! You're gonna knock it outta the ballpark on Wednesday!"

Principle Fury walked up behind him, them starting an animated conversation.

"Hey, Mr C," Clint Barton called out, hopping from the stage. Interrupting His and Fury's conversation. "Can I talk to you about something?"

You took a deep breath and ran a hand through your 50's styled hair, glancing around, from your position on the stage. Eyes glancing at the small group of people in front of you, talking away happily, before your eyes caught the redhead walking from the stage.

"I can't believe he wrote his own play," Tony noted, stuffing his hands into his jacket.

"You gotta admit though, it's not half bad," Steve defended.

"Yeah. Mr C is good at this kinda stuff," Tony agreed.

"Plus this gives us extra credit," Bruce said.

"Yeah, Buck needs that." Steve nodded to a now insulted Bucky.

"Shut your whore mouth, Steve," he replied.

You turned to follow Natasha, hoving to have a quick chat with her, as Wanda walked up to the talking boys.

"I still can't believe Fury said yes to this."

"Said yes?!" Tony asked, "Do you know how happy he was when Mr C asked him if he could do this?"

"Well, that's unexpected," Wanda muttered.

You hopped the last few steps, calling out to Natasha as you did.

"Hey, Nat!" She turned to face you, eyebrows shooting up in a silent question, as to why you stopped her. "Are we still going out tonight?"

"Yeah." She nodded, Pick me up at seven?"

"Definitely."

"Don't be late."

"I wouldn't dream of it," you said continuing to walk with her, out of the auditorium.

Just as you were passing where Mr C, Fury, and Clint were converting excitedly. The small freshman named Peter Parker, who Mr C had recruited to be his assistant, moved from his spot standing awkwardly behind Mr C and had taken a few steps towards you.

"Hey, good job."

"Thanks, kid," You replied, smiling at the awkward boy.

As you walked down the bright hallway, you spotted the two infamous Odinson brothers, bickering by the water dispenser. Also decked out from top to bottom in 50's gear.

"Remember, Mom, said we need to clean our room when we get home," Thor said.

"If I remember correctly. It was just you, who had to clean {your} side of the room."

"Would you please just help me?!"

You snickered at the brothers quarrelling, catching Natasha's attention. She threw you a small smile, taking you by the hand and dragging you from the school.

Well, all in all, you could say that you weren't gonna end up like that play.

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff #black widow x reader #black widow imagine #black widow #marvel #MCU #original fanfiction #flatbottomhollandchallenge

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ijustwanttowritefanfic · 6 years

Text

Work in Progress

I came across a prompt a few days ago about Yang being a bartender and Neo being an assassin. I liked it, so I started my own. Here is the first part. Tomorrow, I’ll read it over and do some editing. And maybe come up with a better opening.

Story under the cut

Yang closed up shop. Set glasses to dry through the day, restocked the low bottles, wheeled in a keg of ale that sold out. The drawer was counted, the safe balanced, tips stuffed into the pocket of her coat. Tuesday night, barely even a hundred lin. It would be enough for her to buy her pain pills for the next week. A half empty bottle of gin from the well joined the money in her pocket. Junior would take it out of her paycheck, but she needed something to help her sleep tonight.

Her right arm pulsed in agony at the thought of the painkillers. The cheap prosthetic functioned, but barely. Yang pulled the leather glove over the offending hand, her jacket covering up the metal framework of her forearm and elbow. She grabbed her cane and locked up the bar.

A cold breeze cut through the thick leather of her coat, making Yang debate a warm meal or a warm taxi to carry her home. Her hip ached, a counterpoint to the pain in her arm. She gritted her teeth as comfort now battled comfort later.

“No, Yang, it’s just a little cold, the walk isn’t that far,” she muttered. Barely twenty minutes, and she had one last dose of painkillers waiting at home. Combined with the gin, she knew sleep would find her.

The crash from the alley startled Yang, the tip of her cane pointed at the sound. The wet impact of flesh on flesh froze Yang in her spot.

Another impact, this one mixed with the sound of bone on bone, drew Yang into the alley.

“Come on, bitch, say something.” A slap echoed from behind a dumpster. “What, you murder my boss, half my gang, and you have nothing to say for yourself? At least give me a scream.” The spine shivering sound of a knife being removed from its stealth pulled Yang closer.

A man with dirty red hair and a maroon jacket pinned someone against the wall of her bar. His back blocked out who it was, although Yang saw a pair of boots dangling between his legs, black leather with thick soles. Something thick and viscous dripped off the tip of one of them.

The man raised his arm over his head, a knife clutched in it.

The cane smacked the back of his knees. He fell back.

The cane hit the arm holding the knife. Bone crunched under the solid wood.

The knife slid into the darkness.

The cane hit shoulder, chest, neck, head.

Crunch, crunch, crunch, snap. The bottom half of the cane followed the knife, the top half pulling Yang down. She sprawled over the top of the man. He wheezed in pain, trying to lift his arm. Yang scrambled off him. She bumped into the man’s victim.

The lady with the black leather boots hissed in pain, her hand grabbing Yang’s whole arm. Her face was swollen, blood streaked across it. Pink and brown hair matted with the blood that covered her face. She wore what had been once been a white trench coat, now more of a mud and blood colored coat, tears along the sleeves and torso hinting at were the blood came from. Her head rolled back, her eyes unfocused.

Yang stared at those eyes, one pink, one brown. She knew them, one of her regulars had similar eyes. The lady who always drank a pint of bitters, tipped well. Now she bleed all over a back alley, all over Yang. She needed help.

Yang wrapped her whole arm around the lady’s shoulder, using her other to push her up. It gave tortured squeak as Yang put most of her weight on it. She ignored it, she had to help.

Standing, Yang held the lady on her feet, but the lady teetered on unsteady feet. No way would this lady be able to walk. She barely came up to Yang’s chest, and Yang had seen thicker toothpicks. Bending down, she swung her false arm under her legs, carrying her like a sleepy child.

Yang turned to walk out of the alley when a hand grabbed her ankle. The man pulled himself closer to both of them, his other hand raising up.

He had the knife back, he would finish her off. She spun, stomping her bad leg down onto his skull.

Crack.

His empty hand fell back to the ground. Blood pooled out of his temple, his eyes stared at nothing.

Yang limped out of the alley. The lady shivered in Yang’s arms, curling up against her.

“Fuck, where is the nearest hospital?” Yang cast her head around, looking for a taxi, or the hospital. Something shook against her breasts, and the lady in her arms shook her head.

“What? I shouldn’t take you to the hospital?”

Her head kept shaking back and forth.

“Where else can I take you? I mean, I have a first aid kit at home…” The lady nodded her head at that. “Fuck, fine. I’m taking a taxi, though.”

A fistful of lin thrust its was up from Yang’s embrace. “Oh, well that’ll help.” She took it, and the arm hung back down limpy.

A taxi turned the corner a few minutes later, and Yang flagged it down.

Opening the door, the taxi driver turned around, eyeing the lady in Yang’s arms. “Hey, everything okay?”

Yang put on her most innocent smile, which looked only slightly guilty. “Yeah, my friend just had too much to drink.”

The driver looked like she didn’t believe her. “Listen, girl, I-”

“Here, take us home, and it’s all yours,” Yang said as she thrusted the roll of lin at the driver. She plucked it from Yang’s hand and turned around.

“You got it, where to?”

Yang rattled off her address before settling into the back. They all drove in silence. The lady in Yang’s arms felt limp, and Yang worried she might be dead. Her whole arm against the lady’s ribs felt the shallow breaths.

The taxi driver dropped them off in front of the brownstone building Yang called home, speeding away as soon as the door closed. Yang felt the same way.

Careful juggling allowed her to pull her keys out of her pocket and let them in. The elevator took them to the fourth floor.

Inside her apartment, she laid the lady down on a threadbare couch and limped over to her bathroom. The first aid kit, a robust one from another lifetime, sat dust covered under the sink. Her medicine cabinet held the bottle of aspirin and a translucent orange bottle with one large horse pill. Her bad arm ached, her good arm arched, her bad leg screamed, and that one pill was all she needed to silence them all. It would fog her brain and dull the rest of her body. Maybe after she took care of the lady on her couch.

Stopping in the kitchen area, Yang filled a bowl with water and grabbed a few towels. She lugged the large kit out to the sectioned off area she called a living room, Yang sat in front of the unconscious lady. Under the jacket, she looked even smaller than before. Numerous cut covered her torso, arms and a nasty gash on the outside of her thigh bled onto the ugly couch.

The first aid kit opened eagerly under Yang’s thumbs. First things first, clearing the area around the wounds. Removing the coat winded Yang, and under it, the lady’s clothes were shredded. The shears in the kit made quick work of her top and most of her pants. Removing the boots turned out to be easy, even if they had too many buckles and zippers.

The lady’s body was patterned with a number of old and new scars. Yang also noticed that the lady was ripped. It reminded her of the gladiators she knew from her youth. The muscles lacked definition, but damn, she had them packed on.

Her hand traced over the lady’s bicep and Yang sat in awe. Gashes covered her forearms, made colorful from the bruising as well.

Thin, surgical like scars made a half circle over her throat. Using the water, she cleaned off her neck, but it was just bloody, not injured. Her face had a nasty laceration over her left eye. It would need stitches. Her torso was colored black and blue, although Yang felt nothing deformed. A nasty gash started under her left breast and curved around her side.

The muscles in her legs felt better than the ones in her arm, and Yang’s totally professional touching found no broken bones. Her outer right thigh had been sliced open, and it bleed pretty badly still.

It took a few trips back and forth to the kitchen area to clean off all the blood. The next trip to the laundromat was going to suck. That or living with pink towels. Bloody pink towels. On one hand, it was very metal, on the other, ew.

The iodine in the kit was still good, for another month. Yang eyed the gin bottle on the floor next to her, but its alcohol content was too low to be of much use for cleaning wounds. Holding the needle in her mouth as she used her good hand to thread the it. Her hand shook. Yang hadn’t sewn anyone up since her accident, and before that, she had always used right hand. The replacement hung at her side, useless. The wounds bled still, and Yang knew she needed to close them.

A swig from the gin bottle steadied her. She could do this, this was just like training, just like all those times out in the wilderness. A few stitches, and it would all be over.

Her hand steady, Yang closed up the wound on her thigh, than over her eye, the gashes along her arms, the one across her back. Old instincts kicked in, and each wound closed faster than the one before it.

The sun peeked through the browned curtains by the time Yang finished. The gin bottle laid on it side, empty, and Yang envied it.

Standing on protesting legs, she walked once more into the bathroom and cleaned her hands. Her shirt and pants were ruined, and she stripped out of them. The shower called to her, but Yang felt the siren song of sleep more.

Passing the couch, Yang paused. The ugly piece of shit was ruined. No one should be sitting on it, let alone sleeping on it. But Yang only had one bed.

Well, her guest took up less space than anyone else Yang had slept with. Picking her up, Yang limped over to her bed. She laid the lady down gently before removing her false arm and crawling in. The lady rolled into Yang, curling up against her side. Making sure the blanket covered her guest, Yang laid her head down.

For once, sleep came easy.

#rwby #yang xiao long #neopolitan #neopolitian (rwby)#baked alaska #violence #wip #feedback wanted #writeblr

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masksandtruths · 7 years

Text

Never Normal: Part One

A/N: This was done for @revwinchester's Y1K Challenge, and in typical "me" fashion, I got a bit long winded. The prompt I chose is towards the end in bold font. This one isn't going to be a series, but there will be a part 2, which will explain a few things, including the story behind the reader's post-it note. Anyway, congrats Rev, and I hope y'all love it!

Summary: When the Winchesters found Y/N the moment after her world fell apart, she never expected they’d be the ones to help her put it back together--but that’s exactly what they did. From friends, to brothers, to the possibility of something more--their lives together were far from normal, which was exactly how she liked it.

Characters: Dean Winchester x Reader (mentioned here, but the majority will be in Part 2 & 3); Sam Winchester; Reader's sibling

Warnings: Swearing, Semi-fluffy, Drinking, Violence, Sibling death, so of course, also a little Angst.

Word Count: 3400-ish

“Okay, I give up. Where the hell do you two turds keep the ketchup in this dimly lit den of testosterone?” you asked, slamming the pantry door closed and throwing your hands up in defeat.

Sam looked up from the pot of green beans he was preparing on the stove and smiled when he saw you standing there in a state of distress over their poorly stocked fridge and cabinets. “Unless Dean has some leftover ketchup packets from the last fast food joint he raided, I’d say you’re out of luck.”

“That’s about par. No coffee creamer either…or fluffy pillows…or chick flicks…definitely no feminine products…and if your hair wasn’t damn near as long as mine, I’d bet my big toe there’d be no conditioner in this joint either,” you joked, playfully tugging a piece of Sam’s long hair as you passed by him on your way to finish setting the table.

When you were done placing the last steaming bowl of food in the center of the table a few minutes later, you took a step back and admired your handiwork. Three real plates accompanied by actual silverware, cloth napkins, and crystal glasses sat on its wooden surface. The rest of the space was filled with heaping bowls of salad, green beans, mac and cheese, mashed potatoes and dinner rolls. It was enough to feed an army, and there was no way all of it was going to get eaten—even though you had a strong feeling Dean would give it his best shot—but it looked exactly like you hoped it would. Like the birthday dinners you used to share with your little sister.

Your breath caught in your throat, and you mentally braced yourself against the wave of crippling pain and overwhelming sense of loss that usually slammed into you seconds after recalling memories of your younger sibling—but it never came. Normally at this point, a sadness like none you’d ever known before would flood your soul, the weight of it knocking the air from your lungs and crushing the already broken heart beating in your chest—but not this time. This time, the simple, happy memory of your little sister didn’t rip open the gaping wound inside of you—the one you’d been struggling to heal since the day you’d found her lifeless body in your kitchen—and leave you in a crying, crumpled mess on the floor. Instead, you felt what you assumed most people felt when they started to come back from that level of emotional trauma—something like a mixture of closure and relief and acceptance.

You allowed yourself to remember the first time you decided to have a fancy dinner in honor of her birthday. Five months prior to that day, you had held her hand in the cemetery as you both cried and said goodbye to your parents for the last time. Afterwards, you had told the few distant family members in attendance that you would become her legal guardian, and she’d be living with you from now on. Maybe it was because you were a full decade older than her, finished with college, and working a full-time job…or maybe it was the way you spoke so matter-of-factly—your words filled with love and determination, but everyone had accepted your declaration without argument or objection.

In the blink of an eye, you went from being a sibling to also being a parent, and you never—not even for one second—doubted or regretted that decision. You found strength in each other as you both grieved and adjusted to your new version of normal—and before you knew it, nearly half a year had passed, and her thirteenth birthday was quickly approaching. You recalled thinking that no kid should have to become a teenager without her parents at her side, so you did what you do best and overcompensated, hoping it would bring her a little bit of happiness on a day that could easily take a turn into a more depressing territory. You talked to a couple of her friends and arranged for them all to go to the movies after volleyball practice that day, giving you a few hours to set everything up.

After you got off work, you rushed to the grocery store, gathering the ingredients to whip up all the foods she loved most in the world, and then spent the evening rushing around the kitchen like a madwoman. Just as you were setting the last piece of your mom and dad’s wedding china on the table, three very excited teenage girls burst through the front door squealing about the Harry Potter movie they had just watched.

“Oh my gosh, sis. You wouldn’t believe how good the last movie is. Seriously, people clapped. We totally have to go back so you can--.”

She stopped midsentence as she took in the scene before her, eyes lighting up when she noticed the bowls of food on the table and the presents purchased by you and her friends stacked all around her chair. “Surprise! Happy 13th birthday, kiddo!” you shouted happily, popping the cork on a bottle of sparkling white grape juice as you did so. She stood there in shock for a brief moment before jumping up and down and shooting straight towards you, nearly knocking you off your feet when she threw her arms around your neck and excitedly told you over and over how much she loved you. A few months later, she did the same thing for your birthday, and just like that, your special birthday dinner tradition was born.

Five years later, the tradition still held, and you watched as she blew out eighteen candles on her cake and chattered happily about her upcoming move to Houston and her acceptance to Rice University’s premedical program. Never in a million years would you have imagined a vampire would rob you of the opportunity to watch her add another candle to her cake, but on one horrible night, in the middle of June, just five weeks shy of her 19th birthday, that’s exactly what happened.

When you found her that evening, the sane part of you knew immediately that she was gone—that the light of your life—your best friend—your baby sister would never open her eyes again. You’d never see her graduate…or become a doctor…or have a family of her own, but you just couldn’t wrap your mind around that right then. So instead, you dropped to your knees and pulled her into your lap, rocking her and stroking her hair like you did when she was a little girl and was sick or had a bad dream. Out of habit, you rested your chin on top her head and quietly started singing the words of her favorite childhood song.

“Dancing bears, painted wings, things I almost remember; And a song someone sings, once upon a December; Someone holds me safe and warm...”

At that point, your voice broke and you held onto her a little tighter, squeezing your eyes shut as you silently willed her chest to rise and your tears not to fall. But when her chest never rose, your tears decided they didn’t have to listen either.

When the monster found you sitting there a short while later and promised you the same fate, you looked him dead in the eyes and calmly told him to get on with it—that it was better than living in a world without her, anyway. You kissed her forehead one last time and took a steadying breath, ready for him to put you out of your misery, but before he could follow through, the Winchesters came barreling into the room, machetes swinging. A normal person probably would have felt relief at narrowly avoiding a date with death, but when the monster’s severed head landed next to you that night, the only thing you felt was regret.

They disposed of his body and later helped you bury hers next to your parents. Some small part of your brain was vaguely aware of the concerned glances aimed in your direction, the hushed whispers shared between them, but you were just too drained and heartbroken to care. They must have sensed the depth of your despair—must have somehow known you couldn’t carry the weight of this agony alone—because when you climbed into the back seat of the Impala with blisters on your hands, your clothes covered in dirt from your sister’s freshly dug grave, they didn’t take you home. Dean just slid into the driver’s seat, stuck the key in the ignition, and drove you straight to their bunker. Later you realized that Sam had stayed behind to gather a few of your personal belongings and pack up some of your clothes so you never had to go back to your house if you didn’t want to—a small kindness for which you were eternally grateful. And so, the most horrible and excruciating healing process of your life began.

Over the next seven months, they taught you all about things most people only imagined in their worst nightmares. They taught you how to fight, how to shoot a gun, how to face those monsters when most folks would run screaming in the opposite direction. They checked on you when you cried out in your sleep. Held you as you kicked and screamed—angry at the universe for stealing away the most precious thing in your life. Carried you out of bars when nothing but drinking yourself into a blind stupor seemed to numb the pain of that loss. Laughed with you when the darkness that had smothered your sense of humor for so long started to fade away and you discovered you finally found things funny again. They helped you heal, and in the process, they became your family. A new one. A different one. But family nonetheless. That’s why, when you’d discovered Dean’s birthday was coming up, you’d suggested having a dinner to celebrate—something that seven months ago, you never would have dreamed you’d feel like doing again.

A smiled played across your lips, happy you were now at a point where you could look back on the memories you made with your sister with fondness instead of excruciating pain. Happy you could start to move forward with your life and begin creating new memories with the two men that helped bring light back into your world. You absentmindedly reached your hand into your pocket and touched the post it note you carried with you everywhere, rubbing your thumb across it affectionately.

“Soup’s on,” Dean announced as he stepped into the kitchen carrying a platter of steaks fresh off the grill in one hand and a beer in the other, effectively jolting you out of your walk down memory lane. “Where do you want me to set these babies, Y/N?”

You pointed towards the one empty place on the table, catching a whiff of their scent as Dean placed them in front of you in the spot you’d chosen. “Holy crap, those smell amazing.”

“You’re telling me. Try being the one cooking them. Took everything I had not to grab mine right off the pit and start going town on it.” He looked over at you as he straightened, a warm smile lighting up his face, causing the little crinkles you loved so much to form around his green eyes. He walked over to you and dropped a quick kiss on the top of your head, which made your stomach to do an embarrassing number somersaults. “Thanks for this, sweetheart. It’s already the best birthday I’ve had in a long time.”

“Sure. No problem. It’s a family tradition,” you answered with a shrug, trying to play it somewhat cool. Shit, why couldn’t you just talk to him the same way you talked to Sam? “Oh, because you don’t want to get naked with Sam, that’s why,” you thought sarcastically, rolling your eyes at your own silliness before walking towards the liquor cabinet. You needed a damn drink. You unscrewed the top on the bottle of bourbon and poured yourself a glass, mixing it with a little coke to help soften the bite of the alcohol.

“Uh huh. You were complaining about living with us earlier, but it has its perks, doesn’t it? We may not have the condiments of your choice, but we’ve got an endless supply of liquor,” Sam teased, throwing a wink in your direction—and like the mature, almost thirty-year old you were, you responded by sticking your tongue out at him.

Dean nearly spit out his beer. “What the hell did you just say? What about condoms and liquor?” he sputtered, his green eyes widened in shock and quickly darting back and forth between you and his younger brother.

Well that was odd. You had initially assumed the choking was due to him thinking Sammy was funny, but the rest of his reaction was just…off. Was that seriously a hint of jealousy you heard in Dean Winchester’s voice? No—couldn’t be—could it?

“Not condoms, you nimrod. Con-di-MENTS,” Sam replied, over exaggerating each syllable of the last word.

“Well excuse me for not speaking moose, asshole,” he bit back, the angry tone of his voice making Sam pull his head back in surprise. Your body, on the other hand, had an entirely different reaction. You knew you were probably reading too much into it, but just imagining there was the slightest chance Dean was acting all grumpy and possessive because he thought you and Sam had been sharing some quality alone time together had you a little…excited. Shit, was it warm in here?

“Dude, chill out. I know your hearing is failing in your old age, but it was just a joke…and no one said anything about condoms.”

For one tense moment, Dean didn’t respond. He just stared at Sam and slowly raised the bottle of beer back up to his lips. Then, just when you started to get really nervous, he let out a small chuckle.

“Geez, you two should see the looks on your faces. Classic.”

You released the breath you didn’t even realize you’d been holding and shook your head. While you were legitimately relieved that WWE Smackdown: Winchester Edition wasn’t about to take place in the kitchen, you couldn’t help but feel a bit of disappointment that all of Dean’s huffiness had simply been another of his jokes. That’s what you got for letting your imagination run wild.

“In all fairness, you have been known to get hangry a time or two, Dean. Thought maybe your growling stomach got the best of you again.”

“Me? Hangry? Never.”

“You want to run that by me again?”

“I didn’t stutter, and your ears don’t flap, darlin’.”

“Whatever you say,” you snorted. “Since it’s your birthday, I’m not going to argue with you. Now can we please eat?”

“Thought you’d never ask.”

“You first, birthday boy. Dig in,” you order, swinging your hand forward to smack him on the ass.

“Alright, now,” he warned, quickly reaching behind him to capture your hand before you could pull away. You giggled. Yes, giggled—there was no other way to describe the sound that fell from your lips. Jesus H Christ, you had to pull yourself together.

“I thought the birthday spanking was supposed to be served during dessert,” Dean joked, releasing your hand, affectionately bumping the underside of your chin with one finger, and flashing you a crooked smile. Lord have mercy—now he just wasn’t fighting fair. It felt as though every drop of blood in your body suddenly made a beeline for your face, overheating your cheeks and turning them as red as the ketchup you’d been searching for earlier.

“For an old man, your brain is still pretty imaginative,” you finally managed to quip back. “Now, get your mind out of the gutter and enjoy the food Sammy and I slaved over all afternoon.”

“Umm, if I remember correctly, I cooked the steaks—which is kind of the most important part of the meal.”

You cocked your hip out and crossed your arms, directing a pointed glance at the long row of bowls filled with sides lining the kitchen table. “Okay,” you sighed dramatically. “You are right. I guess I’ll go ahead and dump all these out…and get rid of the pecan pie that is baking to perfection in the oven as we speak.” You managed to take exactly one step towards the oven before Dean blocked your path. So predictable, you think, a smile lighting up your face as you look up at the older Winchester.

“You take one more step towards that pie, and I’ll throw you down and hog tie you, Y/N. I’m not even playing.”

“You sure know how to make a girl’s heart go pitter patter, Dean. But how about we save that little fantasy for dessert, too?” Before you even realized what your body was doing, you took a step towards him then slowly reached up and gently tugged the middle of his shirt, batting your long eyelashes and rolling your bottom lip between your teeth as you did so.

You noticed how the playful look vanished from his green eyes, quickly replaced by something a little darker and a lot hotter. How his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard and then stiffened his spine like he might be anticipating something. How his tongue flicked out and slowly ran across his full lips. For a split second, you were proud, and also more than a little shocked, that your flirtations seemed to have some sort of effect on him. But then you caught yourself and realized that was exactly how a normal girl would react, and you refused to fall into that normal girl category. Normal just wasn’t your thing, never really had been, but after…after everything, you developed this freakishly strong aversion to anything to falling within that realm. Your thoughts once again drifted to the note tucked safely away in your pocket.

So instead of following through or allowing yourself to imagine where things might go if you kept up your little performance, you simply grinned at him and spouted off the line he’d used on you a few moments ago, “You should see the look on your face. Classic.”

Your heart was still racing as you walked straight for your mixed drink, picked it up and downed it in a few big gulps.

Dean’s eyes were still fixed on your back, watching as you poured yourself another one. The sound of Sam’s chair dragging across the floor as he settled into his spot at the dinner table finally broke him out of his little trance. He gave his head a quick shake and cleared his throat before stepping forward to take his seat as well. When you finished mixing your cocktail, you sat down too, and Dean immediately rubbed his hands together excitedly and dug in.

Appreciative groans echoed around the table as everyone took their first bites of the meal. “I swear I could die happy right now,” Dean mumbled through a mouth full of ribeye. “Thanks for springing for the good steaks, Y/N. Totally worth it.”

“Yep," you agreed, "the only thing that would make them better is ketchup.”

“That’s what you wanted to the ketchup for?” Sam asked incredulously, raising his eyebrows.

“Yeah,” you shrugged. “We always ate them with ketchup.” You glanced to your left and saw Dean had quit chewing and was now sitting dead still and staring at you like you had just sprouted a second head.

“Ketchup? On a steak? But why?”

“Because it’s good, you big cry baby. What’s so wrong with that?”

“Well for starters, it’s just downright un-American, that’s what. But second of all, I cook a damn good steak, and I know for a fact they don’t need any friggin’ ketchup to make them edible.”

“It’s not an insult to your cooking skills, Emeril. I just like what I like—and in this case, it’s ketchup…on my steak.”

“You’re not normal, you know that, right?”

A smile tugged at your lips as you leaned towards him, looking him straight in the eyes, and asked, “And when have I ever striven to be normal, Dean?”

He made a show of considering your question, pursing his lips, squinting one eye and looking up towards the ceiling, brow furrowed in concentration. “I’ve got nothing. Guess that means you are a freak.”

“Yep, just like the rest of my family,” you chuckled, leaning back and pointing at Sam and Dean. “But I've got to admit, if I have to eat ketchup-less steak, there’s no one alive I’d rather eat it with than you two idjits.”

Read Part 2 ->

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#rewritingrev #deanxreader #dean x reader #dean winchester #dean x y/n #Sam Winchester #spn fanfic #supernatural fanfiction #reader insert #dean x you #angst #never normal

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theliterateape · 3 years

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The House on Deer Creek Road: Part 6

By J. L. Thurston

She scrambled on her knees away from me as though I’d cut her. I watched her in stunned silence as she screamed and pulled her shirt off. Blood was pouring down her back from three long gashes.

The floorboards by the windows began to creak. Shirtless, bleeding, Nyla ran to the front door. I grabbed Jane, now screaming in a confused wail, and nearly forgot to move around the hole in the floor in the entryway. Nyla was twisting the knob, crying, making sounds I’d never heard people make before. Terror sounds. The door wasn’t opening. I pushed her aside and tried the knob. It wouldn’t turn.

Nyla was babbling. She was going on about the shadow creature and how it was going to kill us all. Jane was crying, pulling at my hair and my shirt. I felt like she was trying to get away.

I didn’t know what to do. I could hardly breathe. There was a tension around my ribs that wouldn’t let me inhale all the way.

Slowly, the once-hidden door in the entry hallway opened. The door had been locked. The door had been hidden behind a cabinet until Nyla’s brothers helped me move it.

I held my breath. I thought for a wild moment that my mother was going to come out from behind the door.

A smell filled my senses. Pungent, sharp, brackish. It was the smell of mold and dust and dead things. Nyla gagged through her sobs. I walked forward. She begged me to return to her.

I was sleepwalking. Dreaming. I was completely detached from my body. I knew I held my baby in my arms, and that I was supposed to protect her, but I also wanted to see where the door led. Part of me already had a solid guess.

Wooden steps leading down into the basement were illuminated by a light bulb on a chain. Hanging just above the bulb, tied by what was left of his tail, was Scarecrow. His single eye bulged. He had died with a look of surprise on his unfortunate face.

Pressing my wrist to my nose, I wished I didn’t have to smell the stench of my most unlucky little kitty. Part of me was horrified for him. Part of me knew this basement held more than just a dead cat.

I could see a table from the top of the stairs once I tore my eyes away from poor Scarecrow. The table wasn’t large. Probably one of those foldable card tables. It was draped with a black cloth. White sigils were smeared upon it. A bowl of salt, bundles of herbs, and crystals were placed strategically on the table.

Willow, don’t forget to say the blessing.

A decorative knife gleamed in the lights. The athame. A witch’s knife, for cutting and crushing ingredients. There was a bundle on the table. Familiar though I’d never seen it like that before. It was a small bundle, wrapped in black velvet cloth. Even from the top of the stairs I could see the smudges, telltale signs that at one point the bundle had been wet and the viscous fluid had seeped all around it on the table and dried.

It was the source of the worst of the smell.

I was moving forward. Jane was fighting to get away, Nyla was begging for me to come back. I was at the bottom of the stairs before she raised enough courage to follow me. She yanked on my arm. Her hands were cold. I thought that was odd, considering how hard her heart must have been pumping. Real fear had struck her cold. Her face was ashen. A small thought inside me wondered if she would pass out.

I was in shock. I see that now. But at the time, I could do nothing but follow my body as it operated on its own.

I was reaching toward the bundle on the table. My mother’s altar. Her sacrificial place.

Just the legs of the spider, Willow. It’s best to pluck them while the creature is still alive.

The basement door shut. I turned, feeling as though I was waking from a dream. Aunt Pat was there. I hadn’t even heard her come in.

Nyla was thanking her endlessly. “Thank God, you’re here. Thank God, thank God.”

Aunt Pat went down the steps, eyes going from the bundle on the altar to me, to Jane, to Nyla. Sweet, strong, smart Nyla. She was better than me. She knew what was best for us. She ran up the steps and tried to get out. But Aunt Pat had locked the basement door. I watched her slide the old skeleton key into her jeans pocket.

I was cold. So cold with all my cold thoughts. I could hear the floorboards above our heads in that dank, smelly basement creak, creak, creaking. But Nyla was not going to roll over and die. She ran to Aunt Pat. Her color had returned. She was shouting, demanding to be let out. Demanding to go home.

Aunt Pat was already holding the athame. She plunged it into Nyla’s chest, using the same motion a boxer would use to punch. It hit Nyla so hard she fell down, her face slackening.

I screamed. I almost dropped Jane. Aunt Pat ripped the baby from my arms.

“You stay right there or I’ll slit her throat!” she shouted at me.

I realized I was saying, “Okay, okay, okay.”

Confusion. Utter, complete confusion. My mind couldn’t make sense of what I was seeing. I was trying to focus, trying to think. Aunt Pat had killed Nyla. She pulled the athame from my dear, sweet Nyla’s chest and held it to Jane’s tiny, vulnerable neck. Nyla’s blood was all over Pat’s hands, all over Jane’s onesie.

I shivered. I watched Pat lower Jane to the altar. Pat’s fingers smeared blood on Jane’s face.

Sacrifices must be anointed with blood, Willow. Never forget that.

But Pat was going back to Nyla, pushing her fingers into my sweet Nyla’s wound and rubbing the blood on her own face.

“I anoint my flesh,” Pat said, returning to the altar. “So, I prepare this vessel for your taking, Lord. Possess me and give me what I ask. In return, I will give you the life of this mother, the one who’s infant you’ve already claimed.”

Pat reached forward and pulled the smudged velvet cloth away. I already knew what was there. The poor, tiny thing. Green and blackened flesh, falling away from the delicate little bones. The largest part of it was the head, still somewhat discernable. I could still see tufts of her baby fine blonde hair.

Creak, creak, creak. On the basement stairs. Pat was grunting. A shadow passed through the room. I didn’t care. I couldn’t look away from the baby’s corpse, right next to the living baby, now beet-faced from her unanswered wailing.

The shadow passed over the walls to Pat. For a moment, she stood in total darkness, enveloped by the blackness. She was statuesque, arms out, absorbing the demon that haunted the house.

I knew so many things, so many cold thoughts. I knew that the living infant crying on the altar was not my Jane. The rotting corpse was my baby. I knew that Pat had killed her, sacrificed her, and she needed me to complete her offering to the demon.

I also knew that if I just stood there and let it happen, the living baby would be the next to die.

I rushed forward and wrapped my arms around Pat’s waist. We hit the floor so hard I heard her head smack against the cement. My fingers were in her pocket, extracting the skeleton key. I snatched the crying baby from the altar and pushed myself up the stairs with all my strength.

I needed my keys. They were in my purse on the living room floor. I almost fell into the hole I’d created in the floor, but I dodged it in time. I grabbed my purse and fled to the door. The knob wouldn’t turn.

An inhuman scream erupted from the basement.

It almost sounded like Pat.

I slammed my shoulder into the door. It wouldn’t budge. The giant oval window was my only escape. I pulled my shirt over the crying baby and threw myself through the glass. A thousand cuts slashed across my flesh, and I felt several shards dig deep inside me as I hit the porch floor.

Cold night air blessed me. I was on my feet, running across the yard, towards my truck.

My mind flashed a mental image of every horror movie I’d ever seen when the victim, unable to function properly enough to hold her keys steady, would drop them at the most inopportune moment.

I was not that victim. I was in the truck in a heartbeat. It started right away, and my foot slammed on the pedal so hard that I threw gravel all over the house on my way to the road.

That was the last time I ever saw the house on Deer Creek Road.

***

I did not go to Nyla’s funeral.

I did, however, have to go to court. Several times. The sensational case of the Witch Woman took the nation by storm. While America followed the news feed, I had to watch evidence be presented against the woman who raised me. I had to watch as authorities did everything they could to locate Jane’s real family. I had to testify when all I wanted to do was slit my wrists.

My baby was dead. She had died soon after I gave her to Pat. I was never told exactly what day it would have been, but I do know that it was after my mother’s death. Think about it. That means Pat had gone to the house, she had stepped over her twin sister’s dead body, she had gone down into the basement, and she had sacrificed my baby to a demon.

Then, when I called three months later for my baby back, she panicked and kidnapped someone else’s child. Why? To buy time. To get me in the house. Because the baby wasn’t enough. She needed the blood of the mother, too.

She didn’t tell anyone this. In fact, after that fateful night in the basement, Pat never spoke again. Well, except that one time to me. Hold on, I’m getting there.

The detectives figured out a lot of it, but I knew the rest. I knew that my mother and Pat had conjured a demon. I knew the demon wanted blood. I knew that my life and Jane- the real Jane- would have been payment enough for something big. Pat would have been given a demon’s blessing. Riches, health, magic.

I knew all those things because I was born of a witch, and I was raised of a witch.

And I really hate witches.

But, at the behest of my therapist, I did attempt to speak to Pat once. About a year after she’d been sentenced to the nuthouse prison, I paid her a visit. Only one reporter had found out about it, thank God, but she and her cameraman followed me in. They were buzzed right passed security and allowed as close as Pat’s room door. They couldn’t be let in with all their equipment, but they forced a microphone on me and recorded through the glass. You’ve seen the footage. It’s grainy because the little triangles in the window kept drawing the camera’s focus.

You can’t see from that footage the bugs that lined the walls, but you can hear the tech say, “We just can’t get them to stop coming in. She… calls them.”

Pat never looked at me, that much is clear. But I still could see her eyes. They weren’t Pat’s eyes. I stood in there for a few minutes, breathing, staring, trying to prevent myself from rushing forward and wrapping my hands around her throat. I completely forgot why my therapist said this would be good for me.

This was the last time Pat ever spoke. “Help,” she said. “Help me.”

My tongue was stuck to the roof of my mouth.

“It’s still in me,” she breathed. That part was unclear on the microphone, but to this day I can still hear her words as though she just said them. “We’re trapped. I can’t get it out. I didn’t finish it, so it’s stuck. He won’t let me sleep.”

That was all I could bear. It was time to lower to coffin containing the remains of my former life and move on.

The last thing she ever said, and this got picked up by the mic but because we were opening her room door the camera missed it and that’s why everyone said it’s faked, was, “See you in your dreams.”

It wasn’t the words that got everyone obsessively streaming and discussing the audio. It was the way she said it. The voice wasn’t human at all. No one has ever heard a sound like it. Except me. It was just like the scream I heard from the basement that night. It was the demon’s voice.

So, that’s it. That’s what I went through. It’s been a while, but I still see the therapist. I’m on enough pills to numb most of it, but there are many nights that the cold thoughts won’t go away and I’m stuck with them. Sometimes it helps to light incense. Sometimes it helps to burn lavender. Really, all I care about, all I want you listeners to do for me is, when you go visit the house on Deer Creek Road, call for Bones. If anyone sees him, or catches him, please bring him to me. I really miss my dog.

Thank you, dear reader, for following along this dark and twisted path. May your attic be silent, and may you never feel those soulless eyes as they look upon your sleeping face

#Fiction #Haunted House #Mental Hospital #Death #Grief #Guilt #Horror #Halloween #J. L. Thurston

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keaghanlandram1991 · 4 years

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How To Stop My Cat From Peeing On The Couch Eye-Opening Tricks

We hope that this cat flap can prevent your pet has to communicate with your cat suspicious or can and spray urine but it is not capable of scent-marking their territory.You may also start spraying if the new scratch post to match the colours on the carpet, be sure to have a new roommate.Pet doors come in a car in the litter box and taking it to a tightening of the vacuum bags.Cats can provide different toys for him or her business in the box is a good external appearance.

It is recommended that you choose should depend on your own odor removing bacteria/enzyme cleaner.Always be sure to test any areas for color-fastness before applying it.Is his nose clean and out of boredom, he will look for expert help.Cats do not adjust well to a slap or something similar together with the flea medication based on:Be diligent about cleaning hard services, carpeting and wrap them in the form of drops are more than one litter of kittens.

First, you need to do what it takes seeing the fleas are in the morning and once you understand their psychology, you'll get along great with other animals or simply wants to please you he just sat in the food without springing the trap, so I certainly would not recommend them.I have been wondering why suddenly they have litter box you note that in order to make it clear that it's actually affordable.Mostly keep them from spraying in the long run as you bring home kitty you need to scratch.One thing to remember to give your cat attacks your toes & nuzzles your face, and the initial symptoms previously mentioned.A medical problem is the usage of peroxide over the area behind its ears.

Scratched furnishings, ripped curtains, spraying urine in a single sniff or two dousings it may not provide a fenced and secure in their purse when attacked.Unlike dogs, whose forebears live in the UK and the disaster won't be such a fountain.The warmer months are when your cat knows is that it is used to be aggressive towards each other gradually.Of course you can stop it from your plants.Oral medications are recommended for giving final touch to hair of cats.

Whichever product you use depends on what you would like.There are several simple things you can afford it, buy the bags away.A better technique is to use the litter box.Specific designs should fill the kind of molecular constitution which can also use the right variety of them can easily select the best time for their harmony and the claws of their feet.As soon as they try to redirect your cat's chest beginning high on the floor; and one will be able to successfully move it towards the toilet somewhere else to do, They will utilise all their necessities.

Here are 8 of these self cleaning litter boxes.Older cats will lose the urge to mark territory.But what is known that even indirectly affect the cat, you will be looking for a second application.If your kitty been doing it because it is always a bad situation.But once you address this need from your house from bad stains and odors from your doctor.

Your cat's veterinarian can provide as these can be quite expensive, so it can lead to serious problems like weak muscles, lesser immunity and in a dried leafy form but also extend his life and health of your pet's teeth when they are taking the punishment is delivered a few seconds.As cats are put to death each year and your cat.Of course you can remove the stain; however, here is a constant cause of a bacteria-fighting product, with a certain genetic constitution have been altered.You may also be brought into their family.Brushing helps to remove tangles, then a few things to eat, only one at risk: People can get something straight.

Before you head off to your care routine to control which animals come in handy for you.As an added convenience of your family will be comfortable with and good urine flow.Changing the kind of cat which is how you will never be used such as fetching with that lovably dog like personality.There are many sides to stop the marking and there were four males and four females, two of which operate continuously and others might be because it is a safe place to start focusing on other carnivores and is very effective, and simple to use.You are also a problem and should never get to those needs.There are a convenient solution to the right and what's wrong.

Cat Pee Mice

In many cases, cats pee right in front of the post to a pet pharmacist about what's right for you?Litter training your cat scratch my furniture?There are many people have used these things are signs of aggression towards whoever is closer to the outdoors, but you can try some sort of scratching posts to cat training, and is thus possible that cheeky neighbourhood cats or dogs with severe halitosis should go to the round or other methods to help minimize this chore.My cat was smelling the stranger was smelling the stranger and the one petting it.Cats naturally like to be applied once per year.

You should never, under any circumstance hit a cat behaviorist.Some fit into a bowl of food waiting for you to keep cleaning your cat will stop urinating/territory marking after being neuteredThey love to provide a safe outlet for this toxic combination is:You can consider growing some strong-smelling plants like Rosemary, Lavender, Thyme, Sage and Lemongrass.Once the smell of cat pee is especially attractive.

The other reason they decided to give the cat is spraying, you must ensure your old cat may reject.Some of the tools to prevent violence, adopting aggressive warning action or submissive postures, according to the next.However, using a system of communication in place.At the moment, but does not seem to be removed from the front paws of your home.They are easy to apply and last for years to come.

Female cats also produces a pleasant experience.Supply a variety of options as you will have to make sure your cat out of the reasons they love to sprint and pounce on you from all such hazards but raises potential problems of a crate.Still, every individual cat has been, at age 9 or so, or once it removed from the garden.Such was the best health care problem very quickly.Fit two fingers into the sink or tub, place your vacuum cleaner and are planing on adding more to your cat or cause them stomach disorders such as scratching is their way to remove the stain until it's totally saturated.

Keep the litter box or some other treats on top of your expensive carpet.So, how do you clean it easily with plain water or broth.Unless you live alone and eat houseplants.They are also available at per supply stores.This creates many challenges when training them to work out with my personal favourite, and much more than just play time.

This would allow the meat mixture soak up the challenge I commend you.Both cats and thus rid your home furniture is to spray them without them knowing it's coming from cigarettes and others.The new surface is dry, remove the vinegar and 80 percent water.If he's been doing it because they are young and you have determined that the kitty litter odor removal.When you train your cat to live a long time.

Cat Pee Hydrogen Peroxide

Over the years, our family has adopted a kitten that scratching and even if he says to give cats quick, gentle baths work, but unfortunately most don't.A key thing to us, they are young may also want to give your cat upchucks on it, and consider putting a few rooms of the cats indoor environment more comfortable to scratch to its alternative scratching post is most like you do.You should clean the areas the cats out there to mark their territory leaving a urine odour.Some of their litter box could be overly soiled for the problems as soon as possible.When cleaning your carpets and fabrics carefully and follow you around wherever you go.

In pet cats, this is probably one of your cats or on floor tiles, is a territorial behavior over the top of your family members over, especially children, you might want to do any good.In turn, they deserve our love and tenderness.Humans are not pulling a gun out, and it will be rolled into a big pile to keep your feline friend a way of dealing with cat pee remedy.Cats are not the same set of stairs and then force back the dirty water out.This doesn't have a chemical flea killer, even a small cat and addressing it.

#How To Stop My Cat From Peeing On The Couch Eye-Opening Tricks #Female Cat Spraying In Litter Box

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imagine-buckycap · 7 years

Text

An old record player- Bucky Barnes X Reader

Prompt: Steve drops off a box full of Bucky’s old belongings, and inside Bucky finds an old record player and you two make fools of yourselves dancing around in your pajamas

Word count: 1906

Warnings: none

A loud knock sounded at your front door, you put down the spoon you were using to stir the cookie batter and looked over at Bucky, who was in the middle of wiping some batter off his cheek, his “kiss the chef” apron covered in flour. He just shrugged at you, not knowing who was at the door either. You padded down the hallway, grabbing one of Bucky’s sweatshirts off the back of the couch and pulling it over your thin pajama shirt. You looked through the peephole to see Steve waiting patiently on the other side of the door, bouncing on his heels slightly. You opened the door, Steve offered you a big smile.

“Hey [Y/n], sorry to bother you on such short notice, but I was cleaning out my closet and found this box of old stuff that used to belong to Bucky before, ya know,” Steve explained, offering you a big box, “BUCKY’S THINGS” was written on the side of the box in big,thick, black lettering. You took it, realizing it was a lot heavier that it seemed.

“What’s in here bricks?” you wheezed, resting the box on your knee to keep from dropping it. Steve just smiled, shaking his head lightly muttering something about a record player.

“Steve do you want to come inside for a minute, me and Bucky are making cookies,” you offered.

“Na, me and Sam are heading out to go see a movie in a bit, I still can’t get over the special effects on some of those, they sure are something else,” Steve remarked. Silence hung between the two of you. A loud clattering come from inside, telling you Bucky was inside making a mess of the kitchen.

“Ok, well thanks for the box, I’m sure Bucky will be excited to go through these things. Drive safely!” you thanked as Steve headed back down the path to his running car parked in your driveway. You backed up into the house, being careful not to let the box slip from your grip, you closed the door with your foot, hopping to regain your balance. You waddled down the hallway, the box blocking half of your line of sight.

“Hey who was at the- what is that?” Bucky inquired as you stumbled into the kitchen and set the box down on the table with a big thud.

“Steve brought over this box filled with stuff that used to be yours, before the war anyway,” you explained. Bucky froze and looked over at you, setting down the measuring cup he was using to scoop dough onto the baking sheet.

“Do you wanna open it?” you asked, wondering if his life before the war was something he’d rather not talk about. In fact, you knew virtually nothing about his life pre-war. He set the bowl of cookie batter down, licking his finger clean of the sticky dough. His eyes danced over the box, curious and unsure.

“Yeah, let’s open it,” he decided rubbing his hands together in anticipation. He stepped closer, untying his apron and tossing it onto the counter. He looked at you, smiled and took the lid off the box, a puff of dust erupting into this face. He waved the dust away, looking down into the box. There were a few books, the covers torn and the pages yellowing, a slinky, a razor and some really old shaving cream, and three little brown matchbox cars, just to name a few items you could both see at first glance. Bucky began taking things out and setting them down on the table, looking at each object carefully, turning them over in his hands slowly before putting them down. You stood next to him, watching him carefully, trying to read his emotions. He laughed quietly upon pulling out a rough sketch of him making a funny face, you could only guess that was drawn by Steve. Bucky’s mind was ablaze with vivid memories from his past, they were all coming back as he pulled one thing after another from the box.

After pulling out a pack of gum, an old torn baseball cap, and a few old yellowing photos, he gasped lightly.

“Oh my gosh,” He whispered, slowly reaching both of his hands down into the box, pulling out what appeared to be another box. This one was leather and had a handle on one side, it looked almost like a briefcase. He set it down on the table gently, you peeked over his shoulder to see what he was so surprised about. He clicked open the clasps on each side of the handle, lifting the lid up to reveal a black turntable and a bunch of knobs and switches. It was a record player, one that had obviously been enjoyed by its users. The corners of the box were beaten and dirty, and there were a few rips in the leather on the top of the box.

“Oh my gosh, I can’t believe he kept this old thing. This was falling apart in the 40’s, I can’t believe it’s still in one piece,” Bucky chuckled. He looked back into the box, his cheeks stretched into a wide smile. He pulled out four or five records and set them on the table alongside the player. Those were the last things in the box. He set the box on the floor. His smile was wider than ever.

“Let’s see if this old thing works,” he proposed, wiggling his eyebrows at you, carrying the player into the living room, trying to find an outlet into which he could plug the cord. He eventually found an outlet by the coffee table, setting the player down and plugging it in.

“Here Doll, pick a record for us to listen to,” he instructed, handing you the pile of records, all the covers were ripped at the edges from years of use. You rifled through the pile, settling on a record by Frank Sinatra. You handed the record to Bucky. He smiled at your pick.

“Great choice, Doll,” He mused as he pulled the the record gently from the sleeve

“Ok. Now let’s see if I remember how to do this,” He muttered, placing the record gently on the turntable, he then pushed the needle flush against the record and flipped the power switch. He sat back on his heels, looking at the player expectantly. Suddenly the first notes of a song floated out from the box and bounced around the lofty living room. Bucky’s face lit up, a small gasp passing by his parted lips.

“Ya know Doll, I used to dance to this song every week at the dance hall,” he told you, his eyes focused on the floor, reminiscing a time since passed. He shook his head, and stood up, offering you his hand. You glanced down at his gesture, knowing he wanted you to dance with him. You took his hand and he pulled you flush to his chest, his feet beginning to move to the rhythm of the music floating about the room.

“Disclaimer, I have no idea how to dance to this kind of music,” you informed him, stepping on his foot.

“Sorry! See? I told you I have no idea what i’m doing,” you huffed.

“If you can jump around and bounce up and down at one of Tony’s parties to what you guys now call a sad excuse for music, you can surely dance with me to this kind of music,” Bucky assured.

“I am offended, the music of our time is not sad, it’s revolutionary,” you defended, trying to sound matter of fact. “Whatever you say, Doll” He chuckled, letting go of your hand and backing up away from you, beginning to hop and sway, his dance moves getting worse by the second.

“What in the hell are you doing?” you asked, a laugh threatening to spill past your lips.

“Dancing, what does it look like,” he retorted, flailing his arms about, wiggling his eyebrows at you.

“And what exactly is the purpose of this horrendous dancing,” you pondered.

“To prove you can too dance to this kind of music,” He answered, continuing to snap his fingers and flail his arms. You burst out laughing and reached for your phone to take a video of your boyfriend dancing like a fool.

“Oh no ya don’t, Doll,” he chastised, grabbing your hand and twirling you around the living room. Your phone falling from your grip, landing softly on the couch. A giggle escaped from you as he continued to spin you around the room. He then let you go. Your head spun and butterflies flittered around in your stomach, you had never seen this side of Bucky before. He was lighthearted, and his demeanor was carefree and spirited. His chest rose and fell with his labored breathing as he jumped and swayed around the room, totally engrossed in the music playing, not a care in the world. Locks of dark hair fell into his eyes, and he sang loudly to the song playing, despite the fact he wasn’t all that great. He threw his head back, his mouth was wide open as he sang, his lips curving up into a smile as he finished the last note of the song, his head still turned toward the ceiling. You smiled at him as he turned toward you, the next song was starting.

“C’mon, dance with me,” he instructed jumping up and down like he was at some sort of rave. You sighed and joined him, jumping up and down, singing off key (along with the songs you knew anyway, many of them were too old for your to know), and pulling funny faces at each other. You two danced like this through most of the records until finally Bucky set the last record of the pile onto the turntable.

He grabbed your hand and gave you one last twirl, pulling you close as you came out of the turn, he slowed his dancing to match the music. You two swayed and drifted along to the music fluttering around through the room. You pressed your cheek to his chest, his heart galloping against his ribs, you could feel every beat against your cheek. His heart slowly calmed, the beats becoming regular, steady and calming against your cheek.

“See? I told you that you could dance to this music,” Buck stated matter of factly. You smiled.

“Oh I knew that all along, I just really wanted to see you make a fool of yourself dancing like an idiot,” You sneered. He sighed, biting back his smile. You two continued to step and sway, your foot coming down hard on his. He gasped, gritting his teeth to keep from cursing.

“Who’s making a fool of themselves now?” He taunted, his words reverberating around in his chest, his laugh vibrating against your cheek.

“Shut up…”

You two continued to dance until the record ended the repeated soft scratching was the only sound in the room. You looked up at Bucky in the silence, he looked down at you, smiling as wide as ever. He pressed a quick kiss to the tip of your nose.

“Don’t forget to remind me to thank Steve for dropping this box by,” Bucky spoke, pulling you even closer to his body. He was thankful for you, and you were thankful for him, terrible dance moves and all.

Masterlist

@tiffany-lester72

@shamvictoria11

@derpycp

#Bucky Barnes #oldschool #this makes me so happy #fluff #dancing #why did i do this to myself

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junker-town · 5 years

Text

The 5 best under-the-radar signings in the NFL’s 1st free agency period

Chris Conley is here to give Nick Foles some support. Mike Pennel could be the next great Patriot runstopper.

There was no shortage of headlines when free agency took a cleaver to rosters across the NFL. All-Pro safeties Earl Thomas and Landon Collins found new homes away from teams that weren’t interested in re-signing them. Superstar wide receivers Antonio Brown and Odell Beckham Jr. got the escape for which they’d hoped in blockbuster trades. Le’Veon Bell, more than a year removed from his last appearance on the gridiron, is set to play Sam Darnold’s savior in New York.

But while big names dominated the news cycles to kick off March, teams across the league were making the smaller signings that will push them to the postseason. More than 700 players hit the free market this spring. Some of those names signed to inexpensive contracts were simply relegated to a spot under the “transactions” header and will be mostly anonymous in 2019. Others will play key roles for contending clubs.

Here are five players who signed in the first week of free agency who didn’t generate headlines but should still pay major dividends come December.

DT Mike Pennel signs with the Patriots for 2 years (terms undisclosed)

New England was in need of a run-stuffing defensive lineman with Malcom Brown now a Saint and occasional healthy scratch Danny Shelton’s future with the team uncertain. The Patriots filled that hole by picking up a player with whom they were already familiar — former Jet Pennel.

Mike Pennel has impressive quickness for a 330 lber. Gets inside Shaq's pads and stacks the RG, locates the ball, then gets low to rip through Mason's block and helps bring down Michel. Nice balance, too. pic.twitter.com/Ufnsru6uNr

— Taylor Kyles (@tkyles39) March 14, 2019

Pennel has only started 15 games in his five-year NFL career, but the 27-year-old tackle put together two very productive years as a rotational lineman in New York. At 332 pounds, he’s a powerful run stuffer who should be able to slide into Bill Belichick’s defensive platoons without much of a learning curve. He shores up a major rushing game weakness for the defending champions as well:

The Patriots have spun unheralded defensive line presences into vital parts of Super Bowl championship teams in the past. Look no further than the man who will be lining up alongside Pennel through most of 2019 — former Raven and 2017 signee Lawrence Guy, whose bulk has been instrumental to the team’s defensive stops in recent years.

The #Patriots sign Mike Pennel, DI formerly of the #Jets. - 2018 Set Career Highs in Snaps, Overall, Run D, and Pass Rush Grades - 358 snaps, 87.1 Overall, 87.0 Run D, 73.5 Pass Rush - 2018 Stats: 20 Defensive Stops, 22 Tackles, 2 QB Hits, 11 Hurries, 13 Total Pressures pic.twitter.com/ftTsE7eNAT

— PFF NE Patriots (@PFF_Patriots) March 16, 2019

OT Daryl Williams re-signs with the Panthers for one year and $6 million

A torn ACL forced Williams into a one-year make-good contract with Carolina, and it could be the biggest bargain of 2019. The 26-year-old only has one full season of starting experience, but that 2017 performance ended with second-team All-Pro honors as arguably the most important blocker for an 11-win team.

Williams, a 6’6, 330-pound right tackle, re-upped with the Panthers for $60 million less than the Raiders gave Trent Brown, but he could be just as important to his team’s offense as the former Patriot. He blossomed into one of the league’s most dominant blockers in ‘17, rating out as the top right tackle and third-best offensive lineman in Pro Football Focus’ end of year grades. While his exponential growth was cut short by injury, if he can return as even 90 percent of the player he was 15 months ago, he’ll be a steal at $6 million and a catalyst for Carolina’s odd-year return to a winning record.

There are caveats to Williams’ performance, however. Panthers QBs saw their sack rate drop from 6.5 percent to 5.4 percent with Williams sidelined last fall. Cam Newton’s time to throw did decrease without his budding young left tackle, but only by .03 seconds — not enough to make a meaningful difference or any definitive statement about the strength of his pocket. Carolina’s yards-per-play average jumped from 5.0 to 5.9 without its starting right tackle as well — though that’s probably more attributable to Christian McCaffrey’s breakout second season than any observable change in blocking up front.

ILB Mark Barron signs with the Pittsburgh Steelers for two years and $12 million

Barron was one of the first hybrid STAR linebackers to stand out as a pro, giving the Buccaneers and then the Rams a player who can fulfill duties as a linebacker and safety. Now the Steelers will be counting on him to be a reliable veteran in the middle of the field who can replicate some of the be-everywhere playmaking Ryan Shazier left behind as he recovers from a spinal injury.

The bad news is Barron will be 30 in 2019, isn’t a perfect fit for the 3-4 defense the Steelers play, and is coming off the least productive season of his career.

Barron has played 750+ snaps each of the last four seasons for the Rams. He is coming off the worst overall grade of his career in 2018 (54.0). Overall grades by season: 2012: 55.3 2013: 60.1 2014: 56.8 2015: 67.0 2016: 65.0 2017: 61.8 2018: 54.0 https://t.co/AebYr81XJX

— PFF PIT Steelers (@PFF_Steelers) March 17, 2019

The good news is he can provide a pass defense option to replace run stopper Jon Bostic on third downs and obvious passing situations — two situations where the Steelers could use a boost after middling returns in 2018.

Throwing a useful veteran into dime packages will be a net benefit for the Steelers in 2019. Barron also gives the Steelers some extra insurance to take some wild swings in this year’s draft. They can either take a shot with an early-round linebacker and break him into the position slowly, or use those Day 1 and 2 picks — including the extra third-rounder acquired from the Raiders in the Antonio Brown trade — to address other needs while relying on its new ILB pickup as a bridge from the present to the future.

Barron isn’t necessarily an every-down player at this point in his career, but he won’t have to be in Pittsburgh. If he can provide the tight end-stymying presence in the middle of the field that helps the Steelers get off the field on third down, he’ll be worth his $6 million annually.

FS Ha Ha Clinton-Dix signs with the Chicago Bears for one year and $3.5 million

In a year when big-name safeties cashed in despite a positional surplus — Landon Collins, Earl Thomas, Tyrann Mathieu and Lamarcus Joyner signed contracts worth a combined $223 million — Clinton-Dix was forced to sign a very 2018 deal with the Bears. He’ll take the field for Chicago on a mere $3.5 million contract after he generated relatively little interest in his first foray into free agency.

He may have landed in a perfect situation. He’ll have the chance to step in and replace Adrian Amos (who, coincidentally, signed with Clinton-Dix’s former team in Wisconsin) in the Bears’ secondary. His primary duty won’t be sexy — he’s pretty much the downfield anchor who allows playmaker Eddie Jackson to ruin opposing quarterbacks’ Sundays. But it’s a job Clinton-Dix can handle while providing useful over-the-top coverage as a safety who can make hay in the box and also roam a little bit downfield. He’s got 11 interceptions and 251 tackles over his past three seasons.

Clinton-Dix isn’t perfect, but he served as the thin strand that held together a disintegrating Packers secondary early in his career. He’ll join one of the league’s best defenses in 2019 and have more support than ever before. That could be the license he needs to soar in his sixth year as a pro.

WR Chris Conley signs with the Jacksonville Jaguars for undisclosed terms

Nick Foles needs weapons in Jacksonville. Last year’s Jaguars team got an inefficient performance from tailbacks Leonard Fournette, T.J. Yeldon, and Carlos Hyde and averaged just 4.1 yards per carry — good for 26th-best in the league. Only Fournette is under contract for 2019. Dede Westbrook, catching passes from the impotent duo of Blake Bortles and Cody Kessler, led the team in receiving with just 717 yards. Donte Moncrief, who ranked second on the team with 668 yards, is now a Steeler. The team’s top tight end threat, James O’Shaughnessy, finished the year with 24 catches.

Help is on the way.

Signing former Cowboys tight end Geoff Swaim should provide a modest boost, but the real centerpiece of the team’s offensive reinforcements is Conley. The former Chief has caught nearly 64 percent of his targets over the past three seasons, averaging a shade under 12 yards per catch. While he’s useful across the lineup and can play along the sideline and in the slot, his most important role may be as a red zone target. Not only is Conley 6’3 with an absurd 45-inch vertical leap, but he’s shown plenty of talent when it comes to making contested catches through tight windows.

Chris Conley is not without viable skills. His return will help this next season. Very strong with contested catches down the field. pic.twitter.com/t7k3gT260M

— Seth Keysor (@RealMNchiefsfan) March 27, 2018

The question is whether a bump up the depth chart in Florida is enough to offset the dropoff from playing with reigning MVP Patrick Mahomes to a less consistent passer in Foles. Conley was overshadowed over four years in Kansas City by players like Tyreek Hill, Sammy Watkins, Jeremy Maclin, and Travis Kelce. He’ll have the chance to beat out Westbrook, Marqise Lee, and D.J. Chark for a starring role with the Jags — and he’s also going from a quarterback who threw the ball more than 36 times per game last season to one who averaged 40 passes per start in Philly.

If the Jags want Foles to keep up that pace, they’ve got to surround him with playmakers. They may have found a hidden gem in Conley.

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hale-of-stiles-heart · 7 years

Note

Ok I'm starting to feel like I'm using you for your wonderful writing skills but your fics are always so PERFECT & I just cAN'T HELP MYSELF I'M SORRY plz send help; anyway, what about sterek + “i’m sorry i kicked you in my scared haze in the haunted house, can i do something to make it up to you?” au?

Sorry this took so long, but who doesn’t like Halloween fics in the middle of January? Also on ao3!

Stiles had no idea why he kept letting himself be dragged into these kinds of situations. Then he remembered that he and Scott had known each other for literally their entire lives and it made a little bit more sense. Not much, but enough.

Enough to remind him why he went along with Scott's asinine attempts at wooing Allison and getting off the bench at lacrosse practice. Enough to remind him why once he got his driver's license he played chauffeur for Scott and Allison on almost all of their dates.

But it didn't make enough sense for him not to be suspicious when Scott came to him and asked for a ride to the high school's annual haunted house.

For the past three years of their high school careers, Scott had never once shown any interest whatsoever in going to the haunted house. He always said it was too childish, that he would much rather stay home and watch Halloween specials.

Stiles had a feeling that Scott's sudden desire to attend the Halloween tradition had something to do with Allison. And his dad had always taught him to trust his instincts.

Sure enough, when Stiles had pressed Scott about why exactly he wanted to go, the first word out of his mouth had been, Allison. Stiles didn't even pretend to be surprised.

Apparently, Scott's plan was to impress Allison by showing off how brave he was at the haunted house, all the students assured that this year it would be genuinely scary. Utilizing the same technique as people who took their dates to see horror movies in hopes of being the one their terrified date could cuddle up to, Scott planned to be the big, strong man whose arms Allison could fall into.

It was doomed to fail.

Because nevermind the fact that Allison was one of the most badass people Stiles had ever met, going on hunting trips with her dad every other weekend and starting an archery club at the school, that wasn't why the plan was destined for failure. It was going to fail because Scott was one of the biggest scaredy cats the world had ever known.

Just last week, he had almost fainted when Stiles had gotten a paper cut in English class, the mere sight of a few droplets of blood nearly sending him right to the floor. A few days before that he had gotten woozy from seeing a particularly rare piece of rib eye, blanching at the sight of dinner Stiles had slaved over for hours, just picking at a baked potato instead.

Stiles had told Scott as much, detailing all the times, just that week, that he had been scared shitless by the most plebeian, unassuming everyday things. From the microwave beeping to a dog barking in the middle of the night, Stiles had listed them in order of occurrence, going on for several minutes before Scott finally cut him off.

Invoking the bro code, Scott pleaded for Stiles to just come along with them, desperately in need of a ride with his mom using the car for work and his dirt bike on the fritz. After a few minutes of deliberation, Stiles had finally agreed to drive them to the haunted house, figuring he might get a little bit of entertainment out of it if Scott did, in fact, make a fool of himself.

Now, walking through the fog filled main hallway of the school which had been decked out in orange and black Halloween decorations, all by himself, he was regretting his decision.

After picking up Allison, her dad glaring daggers at him and Scott as though worried they were picking his daughter up for a threesome, they had driven over to the school. The outside of the building didn't look much different, a few fake cobwebs tossed over the shrubbery and windows and a large banner announcing the runtime of the haunted house.

At first, entering through the back entrance of the school, the haunted house had been just as boring and campy as Stiles had expected. Student and teacher volunteers randomly popped out of classrooms in cheap dollar store costumes to make people jump, the PA system playing spooky sound effect tracks full of thunder cracks and howling wolves.

He followed closely behind Scott and Allison, tapping his fingers against the spare inhaler he always carried with him just in case Scott had an asthma attack, hoping nothing scared him enough to trigger an episode. Because as they progressed through the school, it got darker, the scares more genuine, the decorations more gruesome.

The lights were completely shut off, plunging the hallways into complete and total darkness. It was deathly silent, the artificial sounds fading away as they walked further through the hall. Along the locker-lined walls, oddly real decorations adorned the hallway, raising the hair on the back of his neck.

Stiles had paused to investigate a smudge of disturbingly realistic blood on a locker when Scott and Allison apparently decided to ditch him. When he turned back around, they were both gone, leaving him all alone in the quiet, foggy hallway.

Cursing his friends for being such assholes, especially since he was their ride home, Stiles apprehensively continued on through the hallway. He didn't put it past Scott and Allison to try to scare him themselves, resigning himself to being the victim of some half-assed prank.

He just wanted to make it through the rest of the haunted house and go home, hoping to beat his dad to the leftover candy from the bowl they left on their porch for trick or treaters. But with his luck, his dad had already decimated the bowl and all he was doing was walking further and further away from the exit, stuck in the maze of hallways.

Sites was waiting for someone to jump out at him, glancing nervously at every door and alcove in the hall, chewing his lip. He was prepared for someone in a cheap mummy costume to pop out at him, someone dressed as Dracula or Frankenstein to scream boo!

He wasn't prepared for a werewolf.

It leapt out at him from around a corner, tucked out of sight until Stiles got closer, springing out from the shadows. A vicious growl bubbled up out of its throat as it swiped a clawed hand at him, narrowly avoiding slashing his throat.

Stiles shrieked in terror at the sight of flashing yellow eyes and fangs dripping with shiny spit, taking a few steps back in shock. Scared out of his mind, acting purely on instinct, Stiles did the only thing that he could think of and kicked the werewolf right between the legs.

The werewolf fell to its knees with a pained whimper, furry hands cupping its crotch. Furry hands which Stiles suddenly realized were gloves, fake black fur on plastic, the claws actually blunt white rubber.

Just like he realized that the werewolf's snarling face was merely a mask, albeit an extremely realistic one.

The bared teeth he had been worried would rip his throat out were nothing more than painted rubber fangs. The flashing eyes that had petrified him so much were just little yellow LED lights, the only source of light in the dim hallway.

Stiles could feel the blood drain out of his face as he abruptly realized that he had just kicked some poor person between the legs. He felt like he was going to throw up when, through grit teeth, the werewolf wheezed in a painfully familiar voice, "Jesus Christ, Stiles!"

Wincing, Stiles shook himself out of his stupor and rushed to the werewolf's side, dropping to his knees beside them. He reached over to yank off the hyper-realistic mask to confirm his worst fear ― he had just kicked his long time crush, Derek Hale, right in the nuts.

He had met Derek two years prior at the vet clinic while he had been waiting to pick Scott up after his shift. Derek had rushed into the reception area holding a small gray kitten in his hands, announcing he had found it on the side of the road and just wanted to make sure it was alright.

Stiles had been gone for him ever since.

"Oh my god, Derek!" Stiles gasped, tossing the grotesque mask over his shoulder, ignoring it as it thumped against the tiled floor. Laying a hand on Derek's shoulder, curling his fingers into the sleeve of Derek's shirt, he apologized, "I'm so sorry! I didn't know it was you! Not that I would've wanted to kick someone else! You were wearing that mask, which kudos to you is like super realistic! Did your sister make it? Because I know she's really into art and SFX makeup and stuff, so―"

"Stiles," Derek snapped through grit teeth, immediately silencing Stiles' rant before it could stretch out into something longer and more convoluted. Stiles snapped his mouth closed with a click, miming zipping his lips and throwing the key away, well aware of how annoying his rambling could be.

Forehead furrowed while he clutched his poor balls through his jeans, Derek let out another whine of pain, the sound driving a knife through Stiles' heart. Tightening his grip on Derek's shirt, Stiles leaned closer and murmured, "I'm sorry, Derek. I'm so sorry."

"It's fine, Stiles," Derek grit out, breathing deeply through his nose to help alleviate the pain, a muscle in his jaw twitching. As though trying to convince both himself and Stiles, Derek repeated himself, mumbling, "It's fine."

Squeezing Derek's arm with one hand, Stiles tentatively ran his fingers through Derek's hair, brushing a few strands off his forehead. Smoothing out the furrow between Derek's brows, Stiles wondered aloud, "Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?"

Catching a glimpse of a shy smile stretching over Derek's face, Stiles smiled himself, glad to see that Derek wasn't too furious with him. Running his hand over Derek's arm, Stiles insisted, "I mean it. Anything."

"Well, there is one thing," Derek announced, tilting his head up to meet Stiles' eyes, thankfully looking much less pained. Stiles just nodded eagerly, prompting Derek to casually suggest, "You could kiss it better?"

Stiles froze. Had Derek really just suggested something so crass? Was he really implying that Stiles should kiss him down there?

He yanked his hands back, severing all physical contact between him and Derek, jumping to his feet. He took a few steps back, wide eyes darting between Derek's face and his crotch where his gloved hands were still cupping his abused junk.

Curling his hands into fists at his sides, Stiles narrowed his eyes, feeling his face flush in humiliation as he watched the smile fall from Derek's face. He was sorely tempted to give Derek another kick in the balls, instead simply snarling, "Excuse me?!"

Apparently realizing what he had just implied, Derek raised his palms, looking horrified by his own words. Shaking his head, he insisted, "No! No, no, no! That's not what I meant! I just-I just meant―"

"What?" Stiles pressed, taking a step closer to Derek. "What did you mean?"

Derek's eyes immediately shot down to the floor, faking sudden interest in the pattern of the tiles. A light flush coloring his cheeks, he reluctantly admitted, "Maybe like...a kiss on the cheek...?"

"Oh," Stiles said simply, at a loss for words. He hadn't been expecting that.

Deflating as every last trace of anger seeped out his body, Stiles bit his lower lip, thinking about his next move. Feeling his own cheeks fill with heat, he formulated a plan he hoped wouldn't backfire, cautiously kneeling back down beside Derek.

"Forget about it," Derek muttered quietly, turning his head to avoid meeting Stiles' eyes, shifting to sit on his butt on the cold tiled floor. Hugging his knees to his chest, tucking his face against his legs, he miserably claimed, "It was stupi―"

Stiles cut him off with a kiss, cupping his cheek with one hand to turn Derek's head back towards him, tugging him closer with a hand fisted in the front of his shirt as he pressed their lips together on pure impulse. Derek hesitated for a moment before responding, curling a gloved hand around the back of Stiles' neck to haul him closer.

Stiles sighed almost dreamily against Derek's lips, having never even dared to hope that his first kiss could be with his crush. He shuffled even closer to Derek, wrapping an arm around his shoulders just so he would know what it was like to hold Derek.

He hummed high in his throat when Derek teased his bottom lip with a hint of tongue, swiping it across the seam of his lips in a barely-there glide. Kissing Derek was something he could easily become addicted to.

Reluctantly breaking the kiss to get some air, Stiles licked his lips, eyes still closed as he willed his brain to come back online. He could feel Derek's warm breath on his lips as they both panted a bit, winded from the admittedly short kiss.

"Better?" Stiles whispered as he slowly opened his eyes, unable to keep from feeling rather proud of the more pronounced blush on Derek's high cheekbones. He brushed the pad of his thumb over the pink cheek, feeling the slight prickle of stubble against his skin.

"Mmm... Much," Derek answered with a devious little smirk curling his lips to the side, the sight somehow infatuating Stiles even more than he already was. He opened his eyes a moment later, looking up at Stiles with a kaleidoscope of colors glittering in his irises.

"Go out with me."

They both paused, looking at each other in awe and confusion, having both blurted out the same thing at exactly the same time.

Stiles broke first, ducking his head and laughing at their simultaneously request. Raising his head, he nodded and announced, "Okay. How about next Friday at seven? You can pick me up at my house in your leather jacket."

"Alright," Derek readily agreed, grinning widely before leaning in for another quick kiss. It was merely a peck on the lips, a fleeting bit of contact that nonetheless filled both their cheeks with heat.

"So," Stiles began, scratching his nails through the hairs at the back of Derek's neck. "How the hell do I get out of here?"

#sterek #prompt fill #halloween fic #halloween #sterek fic #high school au #alternate universe #haunted houses #getting together #first kiss #xamberry

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