#There's no other way to confront the slippery bitch.

[blueeyesking]

So this Dartz guy is the leader of all of this... and Paradias. I guess I can believe he had the means to buy out my company, in that case.

[vin-taege]

hii am i doing this right?🫠 i hope so lol i saw you saying your requests were open and wanted to ask for chishiya x reader who is really shy or has social anxiety and something like niragi bothering them? i want all the angst and all the fluff lmao

if you aren’t comfortable or just don’t want to do it that’s totally fine of course!:) i hope you have a great day :3

I'll Handle It

Summary: Niragi has been fucking with you mainly to get on Chishiya's nerves—but this time, he's gone too far.

Genre: fluff, a smidge of angst (Niragi being inappropriate)

Pairing: reader x chishiya

Words: 1.4k

Note: This is set before Arisu and Usagi came to the Beach! I've been caught up in school, so I apologize for being absent for so long :((

You tried to steady your grip on the glass, despite the condensation making your hold on it slippery. The poolside was significantly more difficult to weave around after Hatter's return from his game. Bodies were slick with sweat and adorned with glowstick necklaces, bumping and grinding all over the tiles. The air was thick with the scent of chlorine and alcohol, and the night wasn't dwindling to an end yet.

You normally would be as far away from here as possible, but your willingness to help a friend trumped your despise for large crowds. Earlier in the evening, Tatta had asked you if you spotted Ann anywhere, with him saying that he needed supplies from the locked storage closet in her office. You had shaken your head then, and you could've left the conversation at that. But you thought that he already had a lot on his plate, especially after being the Beach's errand boy. So, here you were, trying to find An in this beer-fuelled rave area.

The earphones Chishiya gave you helped to block the loud bass from the speakers. You had "swiped"—technically, borrowed, but the man thrived off teasing you—them from him during the morning. It helped calm you down and prevented the feeling of being overwhelmed. When Chishiya figured out this habit of yours, earphone pairs started to mysteriously pop up on your bedside table. When you confronted him about it, he only said that it was for you to stop getting his own pair.

Typical.

Unbeknownst to you, Kuina and Chishiya were presently on the other end of the party, trudging through the thick crowd as well.

"Are you sure you spotted them here?" He glanced back towards her, raising his voice a little so Kuina could hear him above the music.

"Yeah, I saw them just leave the bar a couple of minutes ago," she shouldered past a particularly rowdy guy. "Why'd she come here?"

"Knowing them, it's probably a favor," he sighed.

It was when they got into the middle of the crowd that he saw you standing anxiously near the beach chairs. Your back was towards them, an oversized jacket covering the majority of your body. You usually didn't care about showing skin, but you didn't want to give the militants fuel to bother you. But no matter what you wore, people like Niragi always found a way to be a creep.

"Shit, we need to get there," Chishiya muttered to Kuina. His eyebrows knit, gaze hardening as he saw a familiar black and white giraffe-print polo coming closer and closer to you. "Kuina, remember the medicine I gave you a while back?"

You felt a hand on your shoulder, gripping you firmly before spinning you around. You scrunched your nose, greeted by the sight of Niragi's crooked smile.

"Are you lost, little puppy?" he mockingly cooed.

Instinctively, you cupped a hand over your drink. Taking a step back, you stood your ground and peered up at him. Despite mustering all your courage, your voice came out wavery. "Go away, asshole."

He cackled as you warily looked at the gun slung over his shoulder. With a wicked glint in his eye, he closed the distance between the two of you, a hand snaking behind your lower back and forcefully pulling you towards him. "All that bark from such a small bitch. Where's your pussy of a boyfriend?"

"Not wasting his time getting shit-faced here, unlike you," you snarled. Your heart was thumping, skin crawling in disgust. He reeked of alcohol and his touch was uncomfortably getting lower. "If you won't let go of me right now, I'll break your fucking nose."

"I'd like to see you try. You won't be so mean after I'm done with you. Why don't you just give in and sleep with a real man tonight, huh?"

Before you knew it, you slammed your fist into his face. The music blared on in the background, but you swore you heard a faint crack. Your drink spilled all over him, ice cubes flying out. He staggered backward, clearly not expecting you to actually do it. Despite being good at games, everyone knew you to be mild-mannered, usually avoiding conflict.

But damn, it was so difficult for you to restrain yourself any further from people who gave you the ick.

A hand was suddenly on your elbow, tugging you away from the now undoubtedly fuming man. Chishiya landed a kick square on Niragi's chest, hurtling him towards the pool.

"We should run," he whispered close to your ear. Taking your hand in his, you slid out of the crowd and into the protection of the halls. Chishiya led you towards his room before shutting the door behind him. He peered out the peephole, waiting for a few minutes before deeming it safe.

When he turned to you, you were sitting quietly on his bed, busying yourself by winding your earphones up and tucking them away.

"Why were you at a party?" He sat down next to you. To your surprise, he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into a comforting hug. You knew he wasn't one to initiate physical contact, and you respected that. But having him be this affectionate to you was admittedly a nice change.

"Was trying to help Tatta find An," you murmured into his chest.

He hummed, starting to stroke your hair with his hand. "You okay?"

"I handled it," you lazily grinned at him. Truth be told, you felt proud of yourself.

"I know you did. But I'm asking you if you're okay, not if you handled it," Chishiya's voice was muffled against your hair. He was still very paranoid of what the militants could do to you, especially after news broke out of the two of you dating.

You looked up at him, cupping his face with your hands. "I'm okay now. I just really want to take a shower."

You offered him a small grin, one which he didn't reciprocate. You could tell he was still mad over what happened. You wondered how much of it did he see in general. This type of anger within him was familiar to you—one that was silent, but by all means, still threatening. Above all, it was the type of anger that only showed when it was directed towards himself.

"Shiya, I'm okay, I promise," you firmly repeated.

"I saw how he had his hands on you," he said darkly. "I'll make sure it won't happen again."

"Don't get into trouble because of me okay?"

"Niragi can't keep harassing you all the time. Even if Hatter did something about it, he wouldn't listen," he tsked. "I'll handle it, okay?"

One look at him told you that there was no convincing him otherwise. You just gave him a hesitant nod, before allowing yourself to be cuddled again. His lithe fingers pressed softly against your waist, his other hand twirling strands of your hair.

Outside, you could still hear the faint sound of the party, but it seemed miles away now. At that moment, there were only you and him—and nothing else mattered.

   .❀。• *₊°。 ❀°

"I'm sorry for dragging you into that mess, ___," Tatta looked at you mournfully.

"You should be." You dug an elbow into Chishiya's side lightly, making him roll his eyes.

"It's okay, Tatta. I'm fine now," you offered him a reassuring smile.

You were seated in the lounge, basking in the silence of the morning—mainly because a majority of the Beach's population was hungover.

"You know, if it makes you feel any better, I heard Niragi was bed-bound since last night or something," Tatta said, before munching on the bread he had for breakfast.

"Wow, I didn't know I could hit that hard."

Kuina let out a light chuckle, Chishiya smirking next to you. You flitted your glance towards the two, raising an eyebrow in question. Kuina caught your expression, giving you a playful shake of her head.

"Tell them why, Tatta."

Tatta let out his own tiny smile. "Well, from what I've heard, someone snuck laxatives into his drink last night. He downed it right after he got out of the pool and realized you guys were gone."

You let out a snort, turning your attention to Chishiya. The platinum blond avoided your gaze, though a playful smile was on his lips. He stated defiantly, "It wasn't me."

"Oh, it was definitely me," Kuina beamed. She then threw Chishiya a pointed glance. "Wonder who gave me those drugs though."

"Still wasn't me," he replied cooly, crossing his arms.

"You are unhinged," you laughed at him.

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

[jayoctodot]

The Silent Patient vs The Maidens

I will start by saying that I understand the appeal of these novels as page-turners. They are easy to read and if you want a twisty reveal at the end, you will probably be entertained and satisfied. That being said, I am SO CONFUSED by the near-universal adoration of The Silent Patient and the reasonably positive reception of The Maidens. The weaknesses of the two are strikingly similar, as well, which doesn’t give me much hope of seeing improvement from this guy, though I am intrigued to see whether he keeps repeating the same (apparently successful!!) patterns. These books were at least super fun to hate.

(For context, I read The Maidens for a bookclub I'm in, because several of the members had read and loved The Silent Patient, and one of them gave me a copy of the latter to read on my own time. I loathed The Maidens and then read The SP for comparative purposes. And because I'm a masochist, apparently.)

SPOILER WARNING! Do not read on unless you've finished both books (or unless you care not for spoilers). Sorry if it gets a bit shouty.

Here are the similar weaknesses I noticed in both:

PSEUDO-PSYCHOLOGY

-> Weirdly similar “group therapy” scenes early on where a cartoonishly unstable patient arrives late, disrupts the meeting by throwing something into the middle of the circle, and is asked to join the group after the therapist(s) speechify on the importance of boundaries (HA! None of these therapists would know an appropriate boundary if it kicked them in the ass) and debate whether to “allow” the patient to join. Both scenes are so transparent in their design to establish the credibility/legitimacy of the narrators as therapists, but instead both Theo and Mariana come off as super patronizing. The protagonists are less and less believable as therapists at the stories progress (though at least Theo’s incompetence is explained away by the “twist” at the end; Mariana, on the other hand, is confronted in the opening pages of the novel by a patient who has self-harmed PRETTY extensively, and rather than ensure he get proper medical attention, she essentially throws him a first aid kit and tosses him out the door so she can pour herself a glass of wine and call her niece... and it devolves from there).

-> Ongoing insistence throughout the narrative that one’s childhood trauma entirely explains the warped/dysfunctional way a character behaves or views the world, which is why the books go out of their way to give EVERY potentially violent character a traumatic childhood; when Theo insists that no one ever became an abuser who hadn’t been abused themselves, I wanted to throw the book across the room. (That is a MYTH, SIR. GET OUT OF HERE WITH YOUR ARMCHAIR PSYCHOLOGY.)

-> Female murderers whose pathology boils down to “history of depression” and “traumatized by a male loved one/family member.” Because, as we all know, depression + abuse = murderer!

-> The “therapy” depicted in both books is laughable and so so unrealistic, mostly because neither narrators function as therapists so much as incompetent detectives, obsessively pursuing a case they have no place pursuing (or skill to pursue - both just happen across every clue mostly by way of clunky conversation with all the people who can provide precisely the snippet of info to send them along to the next person, and the next… until all is revealed in a tired, cliched “twist”). Their constant Psych 101 asides were so tiresome and weirdly dated (also, the constant harping on countertransference got so ridiculous that at one point during "therapy" Theo literally attributes his headache and a particular emotion he feels to Alicia, as though the contents of her head are being broadcast directly into his mind... and I'm PRETTY SURE that's not how it works???)

CHARACTERS

-> Psychotherapist narrators with abusive fathers and pretensions of being Sherlock Holmes, which results in both characters crossing ALL KINDS of ethical lines as they invade the personal lives of everyone even tangentially connected to their cases (and, in Theo's case, violate all kinds of patient confidentiality. Yeah, yeah, by the end, that's the least of his offenses, but before you get there, it's baffling that NO ONE is calling him out on this).

-> All female characters are either elderly with hilariously bad advice, monstrous hulking brutes, or beautiful bitches (except for ~MARIANA~, who is Bella Swan-esque in her unawareness of her own attractiveness, despite multiple men trying to get with her almost immediately after meeting her. I'm so tired of beautiful female characters being oblivious to their own hotness. Are we meant to believe all mirrors and male attention have escaped their notice? If it’s to make them “relatable,” this tactic really fails with me).

-> All characters of color are shallow, cartoonish side characters, and most of them are depicted as unsympathetic minor antagonists (the Sikh Chief Inspector in The Maidens continuously drinks tea from an ever-present thermos, and his only other notable characteristic is his instant dislike of Mariana, whom he VERY RIGHTLY warns to stay out of the investigation that she is VERY MUCH compromising… the Caribbean manager of the Grove is universally disliked by her staff for enforcing stricter safety regulations at the bafflingly poorly run mental institution, because HOW DARE SHE. There's a very clear vibe that we're supposed to dislike these characters and share the protagonists' indignation, but honestly Sangha/Stephanie were completely in the right for trying to shut down their wildly inappropriate investigations).

-> "Working class" characters (or basically anyone excluded from the comfortably upper-crust, educated main cadre of characters) are few and far between in both stories, but when they show up, he depicts them as such caricatures. We got Elsie the pathologically lying housekeeper in the Maidens, who is enticed to share her bullshit with cake, and then a TOOTHLESS LEPRECHAUN DEALING DRUGS UNDER A BRIDGE in the SP. I kid you not, a man described as having the body of a child, the face of Father Time, and no front teeth, emerges from beneath a bridge and offers to sell Theo some "grass." I was dyinggg.

-> There are no characters to root for. Anywhere. Partly because they’re all so thinly drawn — and because we’re clearly supposed to view almost ALL of them as potential suspects, so they’re ALL weird, creepy, or incompetent in some way.

-> The flimsiest of flimsy motives, both for the narrators and the murderers. Theo fully would have gotten away with his involvement in the murder if he hadn't gone out of his way to work at the Grove and "treat" Alicia and his justification for doing so is pretty weak; his rapid descent into stalking and murder fantasy and his random ass decision to "expose" Alicia's husband as a cheater with a spur-of-the-moment home invasion and staged attempted homicide is ONLY justified if the reader hand waves it away as WELP, HE'S CRAZY, I GUESS (after all, he DID have an abusive father and a history of mental illness, and in Michaelides novels, that's ALL YOU NEED to become a violent psycho). I guess we're lucky Mariana didn't also start dropping bodies (because the logic of his fictional universe says she should definitely be a murderer by now... maybe that'll be his Maidens sequel?). But she especially had NO reason to randomly turn detective - and she kept trying to justify it by saying she needed to re-enter the world or that Sebastian would want her to (??), even though she had no background in criminal psychology... or even a particular fondness for mysteries (really, I would've accepted ANYTHING to explain her dogged obsession with the case. WHY were Sebastian and Zoe so certain she would insert herself into the investigation just because one of Zoe's friends was the first victim? WHY?). As for Zoe and Alicia, their motives are mere suggestions: they were both abused and manipulated, and voila! Slippery slope to murder.

WRITING STYLE

-> Incessant allusions to Greek tragedy and myth, apparently to provide a sophisticated gloss over the bare-bones writing style, which opts more for telling than showing and frequently indulges in hilariously bizarre analogies. Credit where credit is due — the references to Greek myth are less clunky in the SP, and I liked learning about the Alcestis play/myth, which I hadn’t heard of before - but OMG the entire characterization of Fosca, who we are meant to believe is a professor of Greek tragedy at one of the most respected universities on the planet, is just absurd. His "lecture" on the liminal in Greek tragedy is essentially the Wikipedia page on the Eleusinian Mysteries capped off with some Hallmark-card carpe diem crap. The lecture hall responds with raucous applause, clearly never having heard such vague genius bullshit before.

-> Super clunky and amateurish narrative device of interludes written by another character; Sebastian’s letter reads like a mashup of Dexter monologues and Clarice’s memory of the screaming sheep, but by FAR the worse offender is Alicia’s diary, where we’re supposed to believe she painstakingly recorded ENTIRE CONVERSATIONS, BEAT-BY-BEAT DIALOGUE, even when she’s just been DRUGGED TO THE GILLS with morphine and has mere moments of consciousness left… and even before that, she literally takes the time to write “He's trying the windows and doors! ...Someone’s inside! Someone’s inside the house! ETC ETC” when she thinks her stalker has broken in downstairs. WHO DOES THAT?)

-> Speaking of dialogue, the dialogue is so bad. Based on his bio, Michaelides got a degree in screenwriting, which makes his terrible dialogue even more baffling.

-> HILARIOUSLY rendered voyeur scenes where the narrators spy on couples having sex. Such unintentionally awkward descriptions. First we had Kathy’s climax sounds through the trees and then the bowler hat carefully placed on a tombstone before the gatekeeper plows a student. Again, I died.

PLOT/"TWIST"

-> The CONSTANT red herrings make for such an exhausting read. Michaelides drops anvils with almost every character that are so obviously meant to designate them as suspects in our minds. There is absolutely no subtlety in his misdirections.

-> The “crossover” scene between the SP and The Maidens makes no sense - when in the timeline does Mariana’s story overlap with Theo’s? They confer just before Theo starts working at the Grove, obviously (though Mariana appears to be the one who alerts Theo to the job opening there? Whereas in the SP, Theo has been obsessively tracking Alicia since the murder and had already planned to apply to work there?), but then are we supposed to believe that while Theo has been psychotically pursuing his warped quest to “help” Alicia, he’s also been diligently treating Zoe, so invested in her case that he repeatedly reaches out to Mariana to get her to visit Zoe and even writes Mariana a lengthy letter to convince her to do so??? And then a couple days after The Maidens ends, Theo is arrested???

-> But the thing I really did hate the most is how Michaelides treats his female murderers (who are both also victims themselves) as mere means to deploy a “twist”; there’s no moment spared to encourage our sympathy for Zoe, who was groomed and manipulated by the only trusted father figure in her life, and even after spending a decent amount of time getting to know Alicia via her ridiculous diary, where it’s so apparent that she’s been demeaned, objectified, manipulated, gaslit, and/or used by EVERY man in her life, she’s sent packing to spend the rest of her days in a coma… HOW much more satisfying would it have been for her to succeed in exposing Theo and reclaiming her voice? But no, she basically rolls over when he comes to finish her off (SPEAKING OF — ARE WE SUPPOSED TO BELIEVE THERE ARE NO SECURITY CAMERAS IN THIS INSTITUTE FOR THE CRIMINALLY INSANE????), writes one last diary entry, and drifts off forever. And then a couple pages of nothing later, the story is over. GOODNIGHT, ALICIA!

Both books kept me rolling throughout (by which I mean eye-rolling but also rotfl). Maybe I will check out his next effort — I’m morbidly curious what he’ll turn out. It does leave me wondering whether I should give up on thriller novels entirely, though. Are many of the weaknesses of these novels just characteristic of the genre? Maybe I'm just holding these books to unfair standards? I'm mostly only familiar with thriller films — many of which I think are amazing — but maybe you can get away with more in a film than you can in a novel.

...I really only intended to write a handful of bullet points, but more and more kept coming to mind as I wrote, to the point where subheadings became necessary. Whoopsie.

[sebstanseabass]

Afterglow (A Bucky Barnes AU fan fiction) - Chapter 18

Afterglow chapters

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

NOTE: Third Person POV starts after this sign: " ✪ "

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

With Bucky, three short days felt like three months.

The next few days were spent oh-so-blisfully slow with Bucky constantly next to you, either naked or clothed. You were always at each other's skin and flesh the second you would close your laptop (you have been busy doing your end of the presentation you had to pitch in next week for Sam, after Steve gets you formally and officially fired). You’d be making out on the couch and soon afterwards, clothes flew around like money being tossed carelessly. No matter what the situation was, it always ended up with you naked, grasping each other's bodies, grazing each other's skin — in your bedroom, in the kitchen, in the shower, and on the living room floor. He wore you like a necklace, your thighs wrapped around his neck as you sat on the kitchen counter, him on his knees, devouring every bit of you. That time, you tried your best to stare at him as he ate you.

Tantalizing were his eyes, his mouth moving against your core. Legs shaking, you’d scream his name over and over again as you came all over his mouth, your screams clashing with the sounds of pots clanging against each other.

Then, you’d move to the shower where you had your thighs wrapped around his waist, your bare back against the bathroom's slippery walls as he thrusted inside you. His strong hands kept you steady the whole time as your legs trembled around him, making you weaker and weaker each second, like your knees had been struck by a wrecking ball.

He gave and he gave and he gave pleasure, riding you into your euphoria, into your oblivion. You were no longer the master of your body. You became his, as he was yours. You submitted fully to his godly control. The phrases "fuck, babydoll" and "you feel so fucking good" and "say my name, sweetheart" were forever etched in your brain. You kept the frustration of not being in control to yourself. You kept it all as he instructed you to say his name, say it louder until you could no longer remember yours, until you could no longer hear the dripping noise of the water droplets against the floor.

His face, the epitome of a god and a devil. A god that brought your voice and soul to heaven, so bright and glorious. And a devil that brought unholy things to your body.

As much as you had your thighs wrapped around him, you knew he had you wrapped around his finger. You knew it all too well.

Since then, you couldn't hear the clinking of utensils against each other or the faucet leaking or any kind of liquid dripping without seeing what Bucky looked like during those hours — knees on the ground, head between your thighs, body dripping with water along with your juices. And how he made you feel. God, the thought of him alone already brought you to heaven.

Afraid that you won't be able to get your mind (and body) off of Bucky, you texted Nat to meet you in a coffee shop a few blocks away from the apartment, hoping she could accompany you while working on the pitch deck. If you spent one more time with Bucky with your presentation undone you would be — well... Either way, you would be screwed.

This morning, you left a note on the nightstand, letting Bucky know you were with Nat. You planted a fleeting kiss on his forehead one last time, smiling at him, hating to leave his side, before heading out to meet with Nat who was almost an hour late, anyway. Still, you didn't get much done, missing Bucky's presence.

Then the hopes of getting your mind off my man went down the drain, hearing the clinking of glasses and the dripping liquid from espresso machines on the café counter. You bit your lip, staring at the laptop screen in front. Your screams echoed on the walls of your brain, together with morphed images of you and Bucky leaving your traces everywhere in the apartment, tainting lust everywhere. You bit your lower lip harder. A sudden rush of heat climbing on your body, from your toes, to your thighs, and your center.

Why didn't I just go to the public library?

"... Y/n? Hello? Earth to y/n?"

The images vanished like dust in the wind, and were replaced by Nat snapping her fingers on your face. Bucky's voice, together with yours that were echoing in your mind soon became faint street noise, along with the café's playlist. "Are you okay?" She asked. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

With your throat dry, you cleared your throat (which hurt even more). "Y-yeah." You finally managed to say. "Yeah, no, I was just having a tiny problem. You know what, I'm thirsty," You tapped a waitress' shoulder, "Hi, can I please have a glass of cold water? Thank you."

With that, she nodded and turned around, fetching what you needed. As soon as she handed you the glass, you immediately downed the whole thing but it still didn't quench your thirst.

"Is he riding you?"

You nearly choked on your water, hearing Nat's question. "W-what?"

"Sam Wilson. I mean, the work. With Sam?" Nat frowned, stirring her cup of coffee. "Is he?"

"Oh no, not at all! He's been really great and very appreciative." You replied. "But he has this assistant who's a complete total bitch. Even Bucky doesn't like her."

"Oohhh, interesting." she said. "Tell me all about it."

Thankfully, telling Nat about the meeting that happened three days ago did get your mind off Bucky. Highlighting the little banter you and Sharon had in line with the models and the whole marketing strategy was Nat's favorite. Of course, Nat lived for the drama. Especially if it were others'. To her, you were just characters on a television show. Now, all she needed was a bucket of popcorn.

"You should've seen the whole thing, Nat." You smirked. "The look on her face when Sam agreed with me? Priceless!"

"Wow, you ate her up." Nat chuckled. "Now, I'm sad I missed the show. If I were there, I would've taken a photo of her disappointed, sad ass and had it framed and had it hung on the bar. Steve would approve of it."

You raised your eyebrows, shaking your head. Even though that was pretty badass of you to do, Sharon was a woman living in a man's world and as you thought about that encounter, she was just doing her job. If she were a man, you would've still said the same thing. "Too harsh. A little cheer would suffice."

Nat rolled her eyes. "Like a woop, woop?"

"I mean not literally but sure. Whatever floats your little boat."

"Peter was right. You're a boring old hag." A sip of coffee. "Hey, how's the little skipper, anyway? I miss that little kid."

You fowned. She always had a nickname for Peter. If it's not skipper, it's slugger, or sport, or tiger, or any nickname for a kid you could think of. "You know he's just as young as I am, right?"

"The guy looks like a kid and sometimes acts like one." Nat pursed her lips, pointing it out. "So, when's he getting back from his corporate retreat?"

The last you heard from Peter was yesterday when he sent photos of him and the rest of his team somewhere by the lake. He looked a bit worn-out by the deep bags under his eyes but his wide smile said otherwise. Winston Schimdt was with him in all the photos, hair still perfectly gelled, spiking up in one direction. You wondered how much gel he always had to consume. And then felt sad for his sticky hair.

"Some time on Tuesday, I think." Then, you showed the photos to Nat who carelessly took the phone from your hands.

"Where on earth is this?"

You shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine. I couldn't even pin his location. It seems like he's literally off the radar."

"Maybe he's in a galaxy far, far away." Nat joked, remembering Peter's fondness for Star Wars. "What do you even do on a corporate retreat? Think about money?"

"I don't know but whatever it is, he says it'll help keep his mind off things." You said, leaving out the part that Peter was, dare you say, "lovesick." You honestly didn't mind telling it to her but you just knew that she'd ask you a bunch of questions you don't even know the answers to.

Nat nodded while scrolling mindlessly on your phone like it was her own. You tried to get it back but she gripped it tighter.

"Hope Bucky's taking care of you? Oh," she lifted her eyes back to yours, the light on your screen illuminating her smirking face, "he's taking care of you, alright. I heard you two haven't been able to keep your hands off each other. You're like... leeches."

"Ew. Think of another metaphor." You scrunched your nose up, cringing.

Nat took it way too seriously, thinking off into the far distance. "Barnacles on a boat?"

"No."

"Sorry, that's all I can think of."

You chuckled. "Where did you hear that, anyway?"

"I didn't."

"So, how did you — "

"Remember how you found out about me and Steve?" She cut you off.

You hid your face on your palms as soon as the realization dawned on you. "Oh no."

"Oh yes." She took another sip of her hot coffee, her eyes fixed on you. "Babydoll, you've been wearing him like a damn perfume since day one and you love it."

And just when you thought you had kept Bucky away from your mind, there he was again, slithering his way back. The images flashed back, like a montage in a romance film — however cliche that sounded.

"Well, I don't not love it." You shied away, looking down on your shoes which still had a tiny bit of mud from your previous running sessions.

"So, you two are dating now?"

You sheepishly nodded your head, avoiding her stare. You told her about that same day you had your meeting: Sam's confrontation and the conversation you and Bucky had that night. As much as you didn't want to put a label on things, and as much as you hated the god-awful "talk", you fat did it anyway, under the stars as you lied on your backs in that little tent of yours.

"Sometimes, I think," Bucky traced the stars in the pitch-black skies with his finger, "that the stars aligned for us." He finished by poking your nose which elicited a giggle from you. A weird sound you only used with Bucky, and for Bucky.

You turned around and wrapped your arm around his torso. "You're getting cheesier and cheesier each day, Mr. Barnes."

"You bring it out of me, doll." He chuckled.

"Hey, why do you call me doll?" You asked in a whisper. "I'm sure as hell do not look like one."

He looked at you and traced your jaw with his finger, the sensation sending shivers down your spine. "Dolls are sweet yet fun to play with. Remember when I made you that drink? You said it tasted fruity and minty — "

"Fruity and minty." You laughed, reminiscing.

"And I've never played with quite a doll before." Then, he met your eyes. "Then, you happened."

"When you say play, not like, playing with my feelings, right? 'Cause you know this doll can punch, James. I won't hesitate."

"Don't worry, y/n." he kissed the tip of your nose.

The word "dating" wasn't explicit at that moment, but you didn't need to, anyway. All you needed to hear from him was the next words he uttered:

"I won't give you any reason to."

"What have you guys been doing when you're not having sex, anyway?"

"Nat." You scolded but answered anyway. "We watch movies."

"Boring."

"Oh, you know what's a good movie?" You asked, ignoring Nat's little comment. "The Grand Budapest Hotel."

"It's Budapesht."

You tilted your head to the side, frowning. "I'm pretty sure it's Budapest. 'Cause y'know, Budapest is the Budabest."

"No. Budapesht." She insisted.

"Budapesht is the Budabesht?" She nodded. "Yeah, that doesn't sit right with me. I'm gonna stick with Budapest."

"Anyway... will you tell Peter about you two when he gets back from... wherever the hell he is?"

"Well, yeah of course. It's Parker." You replied, chewing your inner cheek. "But not right away." Bucky's words echoed in yours.

"Oh, you're gonna butter him up." Nat chuckled, finishing her cup of coffee. "I know how. Give him free drinks for life."

"Even if I wanted to, I can't 'cause last night was my last shift at the bar." You smiled proudly, thinking back to the last drink you ever made last night. Everyone was there to witness it — except Sam. When you sent the photos to Peter, you were bombarded with a series of questions that you promised to answer once he gets back.

"Oh, that reminds me!" Nat suddenly exclaimed, catching other people's attention, clearly annoyed with her. She stifled a giggle, looking away from them. "That reminds me." She said it quietly this time. "We're throwing you a little party tonight. Steve's idea."

"Like a surprise party?"

"Well, it's not a surprise anymore 'cause I blabbed. So, act surprised when you get there and finish up your presentation."

You posed no further questions, the idea of a surprise party warming your heart. You just smiled at Nat, and got back to the laptop screen. "Yes, ma'am."

Later that night, you did as you were instructed to do as you opened the door to the bar: act surprised. "Oh my god, you guys!" You exclaimed, putting on a wide smile on your face. The small party might have been a surprise but the decorations put up wasn't. Hanging from the ceiling on multiple threads were your photos which used to be on the walls.

Every single one of them.

Below were everyone waiting —Nat, Steve, Nick, Bucky and even Sam — and watching your reaction as you adored the whole set-up. Steve was the first one to approach you, enveloping you in a hug.

"Oh my god, Steve." You muttered, hugging him back.

"Surprised?"

"Not really." You pulled away. "A pretty little number may have told me." you said, looking over at Nat who already had a beer in her hand. She acknowledged you by winking.

"Natasha." Steve sighed, also looking at Nat. Caught, she turned around and took a big gulp of her beer.

You began to walk towards the little group; an odd combination of people, you might as well add. "This is amazing, Steve."

"The whole party was my idea but these photos?" He said, pushing you carefully towards Bucky's direction who took delight in your expression. "Was your man's."

You walked towards Bucky, wrapping your arms around his neck. "Hey, you."

"Hey, doll." He greeted, kissing your cheek. "Like the place?"

"Are you kidding me? I love it!" With your arm still around his neck, you admired the photos hanging from the ceiling once more. Bucky let you go, greeting the others as well.

Nick engulfed you in a hug, and whispered. "If he hurts you, I'll kick his ass."

You chuckled, ruffling his hair. "Nick, you can't even hurt a fly. But thanks, anyway. I'll be sure to keep that in mind."

"You better." He said. “We actually got acquainted while we were decorating the place. He's a good man, y/n. It's a good thing you didn't go out with me."

"If you want, I'll set you up with Parker." You joked.

"Ha-ha, you're a very funny girl."

With all the tables drawn towards one side of the bar, a big space on the center was in view, perfect for dancing or any kind of performance you could possibly think of. You all went towards one of the largest booths that could accommodate all of you. On the table were a bunch of American food — wings, fries, burger, you name it. And of course, cold beer.

While eating and finishing your first bottle of beer, you asked the group to settle a tiny debate, which Nat didn't like.

"It's Budapesht!" Nat exclaimed, insistent. A crack on her voice was evident.

"Budapest!" Nick boomed, downing his first bottle. "Don't you know how to spell? It's clearly Budapest!"

"I told you, it's not Budapesht! Budapesht is not the Budabest. Budapest is!" You argued with Nat, high-giving Nick. "Team Budapest for the win!"

"Take it easy there, honey." Bucky chuckled, grabbing you by the waist.

"Budapesht!"

"Budapest!" You and Nick exclaimed.

"I'm Russian, it's Budapesht!"

"Bup-bup-bup-bup." Sam butted in, one elbow on the table, a finger pointing up the ceiling. "If there's a swarm of termites in my house, do I call the pest control, or the pesht control?"

"Ha! Budapest wins!" You yelled which annoyed Nat to no end. She threw a stick of fries to your face. "Hey!"

"Come to Russia." She said in an accent. "I dare you."

You all broke out in a laugh.

After eating most of the food, Steve stood up, retrieving something from the back of the bar. When he came out, a big karaoke machine was wheeled in. "Rented this baby for a special occasion." Steve said proudly, slapping the top of the karaoke machine. On his other hand was "Who wants to go first?"

"Hell yeah, I'd go first!" Sam shouted.

You couldn't even begin to describe the first few hours of that night. Sam and Nick were the most wasted among all of us, quickly developing a weird friendship. They hogged the karaoke machine the most, singing duets, singing a LOT of Adele, and Lady Gaga. At one point, Sam even sang a Taylor Swift classic, We are Never Ever Getting Back Together, and made a weird "weeee" sound while singing the song which cracked you all up. Steve sang an old mellow song. Nat sang American Pie, her raspy voice blending all too well with the melody. The only people left who haven't got a chance to sing and dance on the floor were you and Bucky.

"Come on, you lovebirds!" Sam groaned, shoving the songbook in front of your faces.

The others joined in a chant, finally convincing you and Bucky. You stood up, hand in hand, and approached the machine. "Wait, before we start," Bucky said, holding up a bottle of beer, "let me raise a toast to the girl I like most — "

"Oh, Bucky."

"To y/n!" He said your name proudly, raising his bottle. The others did as well, saying your name.

"And to Steve!" You raised your own. "For having the guts to fire me."

"To Steve!"

"And to you," you turned towards Bucky, "for believing in me."

"Oh, cut the crap already!" Nat shouted, cupping her mouth with her hands. "Sing, bitches!"

And on cue, Bucky punched in some numbers. A familiar melody came out, which made you shake your head at Bucky. "Oh god no."

"You love this song!" Bucky said.

"No, you love this song!"

He started to sing the first verses and when he almost came to the chorus, he offered his hand. "Come on, doll. Sing it with me... Now, I've got you in my sights. With these..."

"Hungry eyes!" You finally gave him, letting him pull you towards his body so you can share the microphone.

"One look at you and I can't disguise!"

"I've got hungry eyes. I feel the magic between you and I!"

"I feel the magic between you and I!"

You continued to sing, your backs facing the door. Suddenly, another voice chimed in, making you and Bucky turn around.

"Hey, guys!" Peter closed the door behind him, dropping his bags on the floor. "What did I miss?"

✪

On a high-rise building in the Upper East Side, Tony Stark of Stark Industries sat on his office chair, looking over the never-sleeping New York City. He watched the cars and people go by, like watching ants do their work in an ant-farm. So tiny. He thought, happily sitting on his empire he had been building for decades. He watched in amusement as more and more car lights appeared. The hues of red and yellow looked like teeny little dots in his view, which reminded him of stars, making himself the glimmering moon which stood high up on the skies, unreachable yet adored by the many.

A knock on the door interrupted his high. "Come in." Tony said.

A tall figure walked in, with legs that could go for miles and with hair as golden as the sun. "Sir." He spoke.

Tony didn't turn around in his chair, rather he looked at the tall glass windows in front of him. The city lights became blurry. All Tony could see now was his reflection staring back at him, and Jarvis'. He glanced at Jarvis on his right, then back at his own. "Jarvis." He acknowledged. "You have something for me, I believe."

"Yes, sir." Jarvis replied, the English accent heavy on his tone. "But I'm afraid you're not going to like it."

A frown started to form on Tony's face. "James?"

"Yes, sir." The tall blonde replied.

Bucky had been missing quite some appointments with potential partners and investors. Not that he did most of the work, anyway. He would sit in on meetings on end, letting his assistant or Leonard, his concierge, deal with the negotiations. In the end, Bucky gets most of the profit "running" the hotel. He was merely a figure, a presence needed for signatures on piles of papers. But he would know if he was being undermined, if he was being scammed. He knew how to handle business but he just chooses not to. No one knew this, of course, not even Peter; except the parties involved on Bucky's side and Tony Stark. Tony lets it slide, only because the White Wolf had been improving the past years but God did he hate that name.

"I gave you that hotel and no way in hell are you changing the name." Tony sternly said. They were eating dinner at a fancy restaurant in the Upper East Side.

Bucky's treat to butter him up for his good news. Well, good news for Bucky but not so much for Tony.

"I knew you'd say that." Bucky replied. "That's why I went ahead and scrapped the old name and changed it into something new while the renovation was happening."

"Oh, James." Tony sighed, his knife stopping midway through the juicy steak. "What's the name?"

"White Wolf."

"Oh for fuck's sakes."

"Mr. Stark?" Jarvis repeated for the third time, finally grabbing Tony's attention.

"Sorry." He replied. "So, what is it? What did you find?"

"Mr. Barnes has been seeing a girl."

Tony rolled his eyes and finally turned around in his chair, looking at Jarvis. "He's always seeing girls."

"I'm afraid it's different this time, sir. It's why he's been missing a lot of meetings lately. And it's just not a girl." He said.

"Apparently, she's Peter's best friend."

"Huh, that's a twist. Around Peter's age?"

"Yes."

"That is new."

"But that's not all, sir. I'm afraid James is getting acquainted with Mr. Rogers once more."

Tony's body stiffened. Eyes unblinking. "Rogers? Steve Rogers? Are you sure?"

"A hundred percent. This girl James has been seeing is an employee of Mr. Rogers. Some kind of bar underneath an apartment building on the Upper West Side."

Tony frowned. "I thought Rogers had been taken care of."

"He was, sir. This was just some... big coincidence."

"It's a big mistake." He spoke. "I need you to keep an eye on James and pull out Rogers' files. Find anything — everything you can about this new life of his."

"Understood, sir. How about the girl?"

Tony frowned, not seeing anything wrong with it. "I won't worry about it too much. If he falls in love, then that's good." His eyes flickered to the photo of Peter's mom who passed away years ago. "I mean, I did before."

"Alright, sir. I'll be heading out now."

He nodded, watching Jarvis walk away from him. "Jarvis."

Jarvis stopped in his tracks and turned around to face his boss once more. "James can never know, Vis. He can never know."

[idreamofplaid]

Rebirth

Square Filled: Anonymous Sex

Characters: Dean x Reader; Cara (OFC); Chase and Jake (OMCs) mentioned

Rating: Explicit

Summary: After a nasty divorce and some soul searching, the reader knows just how to get her life back with a little help from a young handsome stranger.

Word Count: 3576

Tags: language; oral (female receiving); unprotected sex; age difference

A/N: This is for @idabbleincrazy ‘s 1k Follower Celebration. Congrats on your 1st thousand followers! I chose the song “1985″ by Bowling for Soup for inspiration and the prompt “Oh, fuck off.”

Created for @spnkinkbingo

Fuck him and his new girlfriend. He could have at least waited until the ink dried on your divorce papers before he decided to parade his “new” woman in front of the entire town. New. Right. He’d been fucking her while he was still married to you.

You needed to get the hell out of this place. Start over somewhere, somewhere that no one knew of your humiliation or how you’d thrown your life away. Only, you couldn’t because you had two children in high school that loved their lives here. At least they were happy; that’s what mattered, right?

The so-called “friends” you had in the subdivision couldn’t wait to tell you about your barely ex-husband and how he’d been seen out with her at the fanciest, most expensive restaurant in town. It was the same place he’d taken you for your last anniversary. 

By the time your SUV pulled up in front of the bridal boutique, you were still seething. You slammed the door when you got out, not giving a damn who saw you. Let them go back and tell the entire fucking book club about your lack of decorum if that’s how they got their thrills.

When you walked into the store, a sea of white flooded your vision. Well, here was exactly what you wanted to see. Wedding dresses. Beyond them, further in the back, were the prom dresses. It was like the highlight reel of your life in dress form. 

You’d gone to your senior prom with the cheating son of a bitch that was now providing juicy material for all the town gossips, and just like the biggest cliche ever; you’d given him your virginity that night. If only you could take that back, but you’d been young, wide eyed, and in love. Four years later, right after college graduation, you married him. As a result, Chase was the only man you’d ever had sex with. Right now, you were really kicking yourself for that one.

In fact, you couldn’t be more pissed at yourself for the decisions you’d made. If there was a way you could erase it all and somehow keep your two kids, you’d do it. You loved them, and it was that love that brought you here to this hell of taffeta, sequins, and silk. The alterations were finished on your daughter’s prom dress, and it was ready for pick up.

You tried to settle the storm of anger and frustration that was raging inside you before you walked up to the counter. It wasn’t the sales associate’s fault your life had turned out the way it had. You blamed yourself for that, and blaming yourself just made you madder.

Somehow, you managed to plaster on a smile while you gave your name and got the dress. Once it was in your hands, you stood frozen staring at it. It was a sapphire blue, body hugging, silk and Cara would be beautiful in it. It made your mind wander back to another blue prom dress, the dress you had worn thirty years ago. “I was the goddamned prom queen,” you muttered under your breath.

“Excuse me, ma’am.” Joachin, the sales associate was staring at you with a confused expression on his face. 

“Nothing,” you replied a little too sharply, abandoning all your earlier good intentions toward the innocent Joachin. You turned and swept out of the store in a huff of tarnished memories and present day frustration.

As you walked out into the sunshine of the early afternoon, you draped the dress over your arm. With your other hand, you started to dig around in your purse for your keys. Where the hell were they?

By the time only a few steps remained between you and your car, a feeling of furious panic started to bubble up inside you. You couldn’t have.  When you reached the car and looked through the window, you saw that indeed you absolutely had. There were the keys, hanging in the ignition. 

You placed your forehead against the cool glass of the window and closed your eyes. Of course this had happened. You would be stuck here dealing with this fuck up for hours. The auto club was never quick to respond to any call for help. At least you didn’t have to worry about the kids getting home from school. Cara had her own car, and Jake had an away baseball game this afternoon. You wouldn’t need to pick him up until later tonight.

A deep voice broke through your mental attempt to organize this mess. “It looks like you could use some help.”

You opened your eyes to see those bloody keys still hanging there, mocking you. Without nearly as much fire as you’d been feeling earlier, but still enough to get your sentiment across, you responded, “Oh, fuck off.”

“Well, I could. Or, I could help you break into your car.” Break in? Who the hell was this, and how dare he have so much cockiness in his voice?

You turned to confront the unknown son of a bitch who was so clearly finding your situation amusing. Upon seeing him, your attitude instantly changed. This man was gorgeous. He had full lips, a chiseled jawline, and eyes the green of an Irish meadow.

His face was so pretty it could easily grace a movie screen, and his body was equally heart stopping. He had the broadest shoulders you’d ever seen on a man, and you could see enough through the open front of the leather jacket he was wearing to know his chest and stomach were firm. He looked like walking sex, and it had been way too long since you’d had any.

The spark of inspiration struck, but in this case it was more like a lightning bolt. It was time to reclaim your own life. “Forget the keys. Where’s your car?”

Young and handsome smiled and gave a nod in the direction of the other side of the street. “It’s over there.”

Your eyes followed the direction of the tilt of his head. “That’s your car?” It figured. The car was a classic muscle car, strong and beautiful. It was just as much of a standout as the man it belonged to. 

You dug back in your memory, seeking your long dormant flirting skills. They were rusty for sure, but still there. You smiled at this breathtaking man, just the right combination of coy and suggestive. “Could I trouble you to give me a ride home?”

He smiled back, and those green eyes got a certain gleam in them. God. He was clearly much better and more practiced at this flirting thing than you were. “Sure, sweetheart. It won’t be a problem at all.”

You followed him across the street, enjoying the view of his ass as you went. When you reached the car, he opened your door for you. THAT was something you hadn’t experienced in awhile. A welcome feeling began to flow through your veins, replacing the anger, frustration, humiliation, and regret you’d been feeling all day. This was a ripple of excitement and anticipation of entering unknown territory.

Handsome started the car, and the purr of the engine revved up that ripple of excitement inside you, turning it into a wave that washed over you and secured the idea that had been dancing through your mind. You silently committed yourself to it, and that decision filled you with something that felt remotely the way you remembered joy feeling.

He reached over and turned the knob to start the radio, then pushed a tape into the tape deck. Good lord. A cassette tape. It had been forever since you’d seen one of those. This guy had barely been born the last time they had been popular. 

The songs that poured through the speakers were from your youth, before that even. They were the songs you’d heard when you were a kid. Songs from the time of your life when you didn’t think anything about mistakes, or getting things wrong. You were just filled with hope, possibility, and excitement for the future. That was the feeling you needed to recapture.

This was a good start. Many would say it was a reckless start, but this wasn’t their life. It was yours, and it was time you took it back. In some ways, you would be claiming it for the first time, and this incredibly handsome, exciting, and just a bit dangerous man beside you could help you do that. 

He noticed the smile that had appeared on your face. “You like the music?” he asked. 

“I do. I appreciate a man with a taste for the classics.” Those intoxicating green eyes were focused on you before he turned them back to the road and smiled. 

Then a little bubble of excitement rose up in your chest, and you bit your lip. An idea had struck you. It was possible to redo your life; you were young enough. You weren’t just going to spend the rest of your days on the sidelines watching your kids live. On impulse, you turned and asked him, “Do you have anything from the eighties?” It was possible. This was a man with a collection of cassette tapes.

He didn’t take his eyes from the road, but his grin got bigger. “There’s a box under the seat. You might find some Bon Jovi in there, but I’m not making any promises.”

You reached under the seat, found the box, and started to shuffle through the bunch of tapes you found there. After sorting through the Zeppelin and the AC/DC, your eyes fell upon exacting what you’d been looking for. It was Bon Jovi’s greatest album in your opinion, Slippery When Wet, circa 1987. 

You opened the plastic cassette cover and took the tape in your hands. It sent a rush through you, unlike anything you’d felt in years. This was the album you played in your own cassette deck every afternoon after school, all that time ago, with your best friend in the passenger seat beside you. Everything lay ahead of you, all the bad decisions still lay ahead. It was all nothing but good. 

It felt like a magical talisman you held in your hands. You looked at your new companion hopefully. “Can I?”

“Sure,” he answered as he popped the current tape out of the deck and tossed it on the seat between you.

You put your find in the tape deck, and immediately the sounds of “Livin’ on a Prayer” filled your ears. Your eyes closed, and you allowed yourself to indulge in the fantasy of turning back the clock and living a different life. It was a life with a different boyfriend and a different outcome, the one where you weren’t a washed up stay at home mom who had put so many of her dreams on hold to support her husband and his.

Dreams of travel filled your mind, dreams of travel and starting your own business. Once you had imagined being a fashion designer, a glamorous fashion designer, before you started wearing conservative suburban wife clothes and stopped dreaming. The rekindling of that spark of who you might have been brought a smile to your lips.

“What are you thinking?” Handsome with the green eyes and the incredible voice asked you. He reached across the seat and took your hand in his. Your smile got even bigger. It was time to push the reset button on your life.

You gave the gorgeous stranger directions to your house. Okay, that was a little risky, but of all the things that had gone off the rails in your life; your intuition wasn’t one of them. You had the very distinct feeling you could trust him. 

Your garage door opener was trapped back in your SUV along with your keys. He’d just have to park his car in the driveway. Let the nosy neighbors wonder about that.

Fortunately, you had a spare key to the house hidden nearby. It took a minute to find the correct rock, but when you did; there was the key where you’d hidden it underneath. You returned to the front door triumphant, key in your hand. Once inside, you put your purse on the table in the foyer while mystery man turned in a slow circle, taking in the place.

He turned back to you. “Nice house.”

You took off your jacket and hung it on the coat rack in the corner. “Thanks. There’s a nice liquor cabinet too. How about a drink? A small thank you for rescuing me from the side of the road.”

He rubbed his thumb along the corner of his mouth. “It wasn’t exactly the side of the road, but I will take that drink.”

You walked on into the house, making your way to the living room; he followed. The bar was located near the massive floor to ceiling fireplace, and the ceilings were high. Chase had insisted on it. It always struck you as a little much, but he was ever aware of appearances. Until now, it would seem. Apparently, abandoning your wife and children for a gold digging bimbo was a good look.

The crystal decanters on the bar certainly had the right look. They also had the right aged whiskey inside them. You flipped over two tumblers and poured some in each. 

He took the glass you offered him and raised it to those luscious lips. After a long sip, he asked you “What’s it like living in a place like this?”

You whirled the whiskey in your glass for a moment, starting at it, then glanced up at him. “Not as wonderful as you might imagine. What about you? Where do you live?”

It was his turn to find his glass fascinating for a few seconds. “Nowhere really. I travel around a lot.” You couldn’t quite pin down the tone of his voice. Did he like that fact about his life or not? Either way, it added to the air of mystery around him.

You took a swallow from your own glass. The little boost of alcohol induced bravery certainly wouldn’t hurt with what you had in mind. “Are you in town for long?”

He licked his lips before answering. “That depends. I’m here for a job. Not sure how long it’s going to take yet.” Enough with the small talk.

You took the glass from his hand and put it down on the bar. “What about this afternoon? Do you have a little time off?”

He settled his hand at your waist. “I could take a couple of hours for some relaxation.”

You downed the remaining contents of your glass and placed it on the bar next to his. “I have a couple of hours too.” You put your arm around him and let your palm rest over the center of his back.

That sinful mouth was on top of yours in an instant, and he absolutely knew what to do with it. His kiss was gentle but firm, tongue dragging along the seam of your lips until you opened them for him. The taste of the bourbon on his tongue as his tongue moved around yours was practically weaving a spell around you.

The kiss became deeper and more insistent. Your tongue swirled and tangled around his, and your breathing hitched in your chest. He started to bend you back over the bar, and, from deep inside your pocket, your phone started to ring. “Ignore it,” he said against your lips.

“I can’t.” That’s what it meant to be a mother. You fished the phone out of your pocket and checked the screen to see who was calling. Maybe it wasn’t one of the kids. Cara.

You touched the screen to answer and put the phone next to your ear. “Hello.”

Without any preamble, your daughter launched right into the purpose of her call. “Mom, is okay if I…. Why are you breathing so hard? Are you doing one of those old aerobics routines again? Mom, that is so lame.”

He was kissing down your neck, his mouth open just enough to require you to struggle to concentrate. “No, that’s not what I’m doing.”

You heard the sigh and could picture her rolling her eyes. “Whatever, Mom. Can I go over to Tabitha’s for dinner?”

He was sucking on your pulse point, and it was getting harder to keep your mind on the conversation. “Yes. That’s fine. Be careful driving home.” You ended the call, aware the kissing that had felt so incredibly good had stopped.

He’d taken a step back from you, and those captivating green eyes held a big question. “Look, this can’t happen if you’re….”

You quickly replayed your side of the conversation in your head. “Married? No. I am very much not married. That was my daughter, and she won’t be home for several hours.”

His smile was back, and his arm went back around your waist. “Well, in that case, where were we?”

You all but tore the leather jacket from his shoulders and let it fall in a heap on your expensive rug along with your phone. The rest of his clothes and yours disappeared on the trip down the hall to your bedroom where you’d been sleeping alone for so many months. 

Surprisingly, you didn’t feel at all self conscious as you walked into your bedroom naked with this man you’d just met. He was a sight to behold. You wanted to taste and touch every tempting inch of him, and you started with his chest. 

You ran your hand over the firm muscles in his pecs and let your fingers trace over the fascinating tattoo there. It was as much a mystery as the rest of him, and you didn’t ask him any questions about it. This wasn’t a “bare your heart and share your past” kind of afternoon. 

He watched your hands on him, and when he raised his eyes to meet yours; they were dark, filled with lust. His hand closed over yours, large and strong, and he led you to the four poster bed. God, he was gorgeous. 

Solid thighs, toned stomach, and thick cock that made your mouth water just looking at it. He lay back on the bed, his golden freckle dusted skin a beautiful contrast to the white of the comforter, and pulled you down with him. You could feel his hard cock pressing against your thigh. 

It made you wet for him, and for a brief second you wondered exactly what it was you were doing. That stray thought didn’t last long. It was replaced by a voice inside you that had been silenced by responsibilities and expectations of who you should be. He’s hot, and you’re single. Enjoy him.

He pulled you down into another kiss that made your head go dizzy with the sheer goodness of it. It felt wonderful, blissful, and consuming. Most of all, it made you feel sexy again. You started to move your hips, undulating them on the warmth of his firm body beneath you, losing yourself to the moment. 

There were so many sensations competing for your attention. He was igniting the desire inside you that you had all but forgotten was there. His muscled arms circled around you, and he rolled you under him, caging you between his arms on either side of your head. 

“Sure you want to do this?” he asked you huskily. His voice was as sexy as the rest of him.

“Absolutely. Don’t you dare stop now.” His lips crashed down on yours, and you returned every bit of the passion he put into that kiss. Then he moved his mouth down your body. The heat of his mouth closed over one of your nipples, and he began to suck on it, pulling the softest, neediest moans from you you’d ever heard escape your mouth. 

This man shattered every inhibition you ever had with his talented tongue. The sounds you made when he closed his lips around your clit were absolutely wanton. He licked at you and ate you out like he enjoyed it. If his mouth was talented; his cock was even better. 

It stretched you with a sweet burn that satisfied the ache and filled you. You dragged your nails down his back, wanting to leave your mark on him. He was certainly going to leave his with you. The memory of this day would be seared in your mind always. 

He knew ways to make you feel good you had never even known about yourself. After your third orgasm of the afternoon, he finally came. You felt the pulsing of his cock inside you, and there was a certain satisfaction in that. You were smiling when he pulled out, rolled over, and lay down next to you.

His chest was rising and falling, his arm slung over his head. He was the picture of debauchery, and you loved how it felt to be debauched. You would need to take the comforter to the cleaners after this, because you weren’t done yet. Let those busybodies at the dry cleaners just try and figure out what happened to your bedding.

That wicked thought made you smile broadly. Oh, yes. The comforter would be ruined by the time you were done. This guy was for sure good for another round. Or two.

Everything: @gambitwinchester @princessmisery666 @peridottea91 @beenlovingromansincedayoneish @fangirlxwritesx67 @waywardbaby @atc74 @tumbler-tidbits @fandom-princess-forevermore @emoryhemsworth @emilyshurley @shaniquacynthia @crashdevlin @terrarium-jpeg @jules-1999 @cosicas-cuquis @sammyimpala-67 @queenoftheunderdark @dean-winchesters-bacon @timelordy-fangirl2 @sweetness47 @hobby27 @awesomesusiebstuff @kickingitwithkirk @becs-bunker @sandlee44 @supernaturalgrandma @volleyballer519 @kdfrqqg @lizette50 @sorenmarie87 @lovealways-j @mrswhozeewhatsis @spnbaby-67 @wayward-and-worn @asthesunwentdown @vulgar-library @thinkinghardhardlythinking @petitgateau911

Dean/Jensen: @deansyahtzee @flamencodiva @deanwinchesterswitch @feelmyroarrrr @focusonspn @akshi8278 @ladywinchester1967 @sgarrett49 @wingedcatninja @coffee-obsessed-writer @adoptdontshoppets @ellewritesfix05​ @weepingwillowphoenix​

[thehairtm-a]

          he had come too early.

          it was steve’s fault. steve had forgotten to tell him. you see, unbeknownst to the other guys on his team at HAWKINS HIGH, steve was harboring a deep secret. a secret he shared only with EDDIE “the freak” MUNSON.

          it all started a few months ago; well, steve wasn’t sure how it all began, actually . . . could have been sometime after they ‘accidentally’ practically LADY AND THE TRAMPed that blunt  ( steve claims he doesn’t recall ), but it had proven to be a very slippery slope from there. at some point, eddie had become a nicotine patch, a way of blowing off steam, and well----- from there, they routinely began meeting up in the boy’s locker room long after practice ended, long after everyone had gone home, and sometimes stayed late into the night. eeeevery thursday, on schedule. 

          but THIS thursday, practice had ran late . . . championship games and all. and he had forgotten to tell him. and now eddie was here, standing in the locker room expectantly when the team  ( lead by HARRINGTON )  rounds the corner. and that’s juuuuust about the moment when steve’s stomach falls directly into his ass. son of a bitch.

          ❛ hey, MUNSON—— what the fuck do you think you’re doing, man? ❜   steve be nimble, steve be quick! his hands are on his hips, sweat still dripping from his fringe as he eyeballs his crew from his peripheral vision. his brow is furrowed tight and his eyes blaze with a white hot intensity that may be perceived as inflammatory to anyone who didn’t have context. and as steve ambles forward to confront his hush-hush lover, he can barely lock eyes . . . it isn’t nice what he’s about to do, but he has to. they had appearances to maintain, after all. so steve pushes him into a locker, garnering near HE-MAN qualities with the amount of force, rage, and aggression the situation has incited. TOMMY H., MIKE F., DANNY P. and his league of dickheads stay at a distance, ready to chime in if need be---- and the others were rapidly clotting around them to see the show.

          ❛ if i catch you twiddling your dick in the men’s locker room again? you’re fucking DEAD. GOT THAT? ❜   he’s bellowing, and as if on autopilot, steve can feel his hand wrap around the collar of EDDIE’S jacket to fling him toward the exit, giving a half-hearted shrug to his fellow dickheads. his ears are ringing. his teammates look humored, but confused---- like they’re missing a piece of the puzzle. but they’re still hooting and hollering! and though he can hardly hear anything at all but the blood rushing in his ears, he swears he hears something like, ‘i’m the taking out the trash, don’t wait up!’ leaving his lips.

          he releases eddie when they’re far enough from sight, secluded. he stumbles to a halt, hands to hips as he catches his breath from that NEAR MISS. those looks—— did they suspect?

          it was the least of his problems at present. he had some explaining to do. he reticently turns to look at eddie if only to ensure he’s okay but he can’t seem to keep his eyes trained. he wipes his upper lip with his arm.   ❛ you alright, man? sorry. let me—-  ❜   and he stumbles forward to assist EDDIE in any way he can.

                                        @sataniicpanic gets a plotted thing.

[kopikokun]

Spilled Drinks & Study Sessions༄ mark l.

↳ When you’re forced into a study session with your next door neighbour Mark, who also happens to be your academic rival in school, things go south very quickly.

pairing; mark lee x reader

genre; fluff, slight angst, enemies to lovers (more like friends, but anyway)

wordcount; 2503 words

author’s note; how the hell do you guys write e2l and make the transition so smooth? bro i could never. also, the header pic is different than what i normally do :/ it’s kinda eh, but i liked the picture so i had to do something with all that empty space

Request 26: Mark + “Oh, are you ticklish?” (73) + “Why are you naked?” (109)

— 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧. | 𝐫𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐬.

The animosity between you and Mark is intense and painstakingly obvious to everyone around you. Well, everyone besides your parents, you suppose. 

   “Can you stop being so loud? You’re distracting me,” you grumble, angrily flipping through your homework. 

   “Well, I’m sorry for breathing.” Mark rolls his eyes at you. “Would you rather I stop entirely instead and drop dead right here, right now?”

   “At least it would be quieter if you did.” You press your pen down harder, taking your rage out on your poor, innocent worksheet. If you’re going to blame anyone for the excruciating torture your homework is enduring, you’d blame Mark. Even if it technically isn’t his fault, you’d still pin the blame on him. 

   “What’re you gonna do with my body? You wouldn’t be able to lift me, I mean, you couldn’t even open that can of Coke.”

   Your cheeks grow warm, mentally replaying the image of a grinning Mark as he effortlessly opened your can of Coke, the soft hiss of its fizz taunting you. Mark had puffed up his chest triumphantly like he was some kind of hero. For crying out loud, he had only opened a can of Coke, not saved his country. It still bruised your pride though, having to ask for help from Mark, your sworn rival since middle school. Childish, you know, but you’re certain that Mark thinks of you as such too. 

   “Whatever,” you fumble for a name to call him, “nerd.” Mark snickers at you. “My fingers were just slippery.” He arches a brow, challenging you, and you scowl. “I wouldn’t be able to lift you because you’re heavy, fatass. Not because I’m weak.” You twirl a lock of your hair around your finger. “And look who’s talking, Mr. I-Can’t-Open-Doors.”

      Mark flushes crimson as he silently fumes. “That was because I was pushing the pull door!”

   “That’s even worse, Mark,” you tease, unable to suppress a smile. “Dumbass,” you mumble below your breath, enjoying the way Mark seethes.

   “You’re calling me a dumbass? If I remember correctly, I was the one who placed above you last term.” Mark haughtily flips a page in his workbook. “Which I think is why your parents want me to tutor you.”

   You throw a measly eraser shaving at Mark in rebuttal. “You know that’s not why I’m here!” Another shaving is thrown at Mark’s head, yet he doesn’t even look up at you. “In fact, your parents probably wanted me here so I could babysit you!”

   Neither you or Mark are right. Your parents just chucked you together because they thought that after all those years of living beside one another and having weekly dinners together, you two would be absolutely wonderful buddies, and you can’t fault them for assuming such a thing.

   Logically speaking, you and Mark are supposed to be the bestest of friends. As much as you dislike the word, it seems as if fate has decided that you two are meant for each other. Gross. 

   In almost every situation possible, you and dear Markie boy over here have been unwillingly strung together—from group projects, to assigned seats, you two just can’t get a break from one another.

   Your parents had innocently thought that having a little study session while they went out for a double date with Mark’s parents would be beneficial for you two. Perhaps even fun. Fun, your ass. 

   All those years spent with Mark hasn’t made you friends, no, it’s made you rivals.

   Yeah, so not sworn enemies, but what’s life without a little exaggeration?

   You’ve always been a bright kid, some would even go as far to say that you’re ‘gifted’, but you think ‘persevering’ is a better word to describe it. You weren’t just born naturally intelligent or outstandingly athletic, no, you’ve had to work hard, insanely hard, for that. It hadn’t been handed to you all nicely wrapped with a little bow to match, just for you to tear it open and take. You’ve had to tolerate and undergo several sleepless nights, and many agonising hours of training. 

   Up until middle school you were top of your class in all aspects. You were idolised (well, as idolised as you could be for a middle schooler anyway), loved and acknowledged. It had been blissful. 

   That was until, little Mark with that stupidly cute gleam in his eyes came along, skipping over to you in those worn-out track pants and smiling toothily as he introduced himself as your brand new next door neighbour.

   You have to admit, initially, you and him were close friends. You’d walk home together, sneak out to go to the convenience store together, share snacks together, the list goes on. You’d even given Mark your very first kiss, right on the cusp on your twelfth birthday. He didn’t know that it was your first kiss though, and he’ll never know. You’d rather be shot at point blank range than give up such private intel. 

   But when one day, in seventh grade, when Mark had begun closing in on you in rankings, outrunning you at the park and gradually being everyone’s new favourite, you found yourself isolated. Even one of your friends, a girl with straight long hair that fell past her waist, started hanging out with Mark more than with you.

   And when you invited her to your thirteenth birthday, the first thing she’d asked was, “Is Mark going to be there?”

   And at that same party, you saw her, kissing the boy you had been crushing on for the past year. And it looked like Mark really enjoyed kissing her too. More than he did with you.

   From that point on, you began to distance yourself from Mark. It was gradual, slow, but you knew Mark could tell. When he finally surpassed you academically too, you started harbouring a resentment towards him, and the rivalry between you two started.

   You were somewhat hoping he’d confront you, at least wonder why your attitude towards him had seemed to change in the blink of an eye, but he hadn’t. And that stung.

   Obviously rumours had circulated in middle school about what was going on between you two. Kids, no, people love to talk. And talk they did. 

   It had been widely known that you and Mark used to be inseparable at one point in time, and it was jarring seeing how differently you two were acting around each other.

   Mark and that friend of yours had broken up some time after that, and evidently she was pissed. It seemed as if she had begun spreading gossip about you, claiming that you had been some sort of psycho ex-girlfriend and that you had threatened Mark to break up with her, essentially, she was villainising you.

   When high school finally rolled around, Mark’s ex had moved by then—you weren’t sure where and you didn’t care to know. The rumours eventually died down with her absence, and you thought that maybe, just maybe, you and Mark could finally make amends, bury the hatchet, as one would say. But that never happened.

   Looking back, you’re a bit amused at what an eventful and dramatic childhood you had. All those scandals at just thirteen? What a boss bitch. Present you would not be able to stomach that.

   You take a peek at Mark. He’s attractive. Of course he is. He had been a cute kid, no doubt, but as he’s aged, he’s matured into his good looking features. He’s not the rugged and manly kind of good looking, he’s got more of a sweet boyish look to him, and in your opinion, it adds to his charm. 

   “What are you staring at?” 

   Shit, you’ve been caught. No, caught? It’s not like you were doing something you shouldn’t have. “Nothing.” You reach forward to take a sip from the infamous Coke can. It’s lukewarm, but you gulp it down regardless, trying to appear unfazed.

   “Were you checking me out?”

   Disaster strikes just as those words leave Mark’s lips. The putrid sensation of warm coke leaves your mouth entirely, not because you’ve begrudgingly swallowed it all, but because you’ve spit it out from the sheer shock of Mark’s question. 

   “Hey! What the fuck?” Mark stands from his chair across from you and its legs scrape against the floor with a sound that makes your skin crawl. 

   You cough and sputter, gasping for air. Once you’ve gotten past that tight feeling in your throat, you wipe the corner of your mouth with the back of your hand. A few droplets of the sugary drink dribble onto your shirt. But fortunately, well for you at least, you’re not as drenched in spit-laced Coke as Mark is. 

   “Shit!” You lift your gaze to look at Mark, who’s surprised, to say the least. 

   Mark takes a breath to say something, the words on the tip of his tongue, but he clamps his mouth shut, opting to groan in annoyance instead. “Jesus, why’d you even do that?”

   Your face burns in embarrassment. No way you’re going to admit to him that you were checking him out. Sort of. “I don’t know, it just went down the wrong channel, I guess.”

   Mark’s lips form a thin line of dissatisfaction. “Yeah, okay, whatever.” He cringes as his shirt sticks to him. “ I’m gonna go change.”

   He runs a hand through his hair, face upturned in frustration as he stomps up the stairs, his footsteps echoing throughout the living room. Your eyes follow his figure until he turns a left into his room. 

   You sigh. If you were home alone, you would have screamed in humiliation. The can of Coke on the table mocks you. You resist the urge to pick it up and hurl it into Mark’s neighbour’s backyard—well, your backyard. 

   A sliver of positivity presents itself in the form of you and Mark’s mostly unscathed worksheets. There are a few stray droplets here and there, but it’s barely noticeable. It would’ve been much worse for both Mark and you if you had drenched those as well. In fact, your homework wouldn’t be drenched in just saliva and Coke, but also in tears at that point. 

   You curse the can in your grasp, its aluminium smooth against your skin, before you dump it in the bin. Good riddance, bitch. 

   I should apologise. You can suck up your pride for that. No, this isn’t even about petty things like pride anymore. That shouldn’t matter. I should apologise, you think to yourself firmly.

   Alright. Apologising. Sorry. You inhale deeply, gathering your senses and calming your jittery nerves. Why are you even nervous? It’s not like you’re professing your undying love to him. Chill the fuck out.

   As you’re standing before Mark’s single, wooden door (which looks extremely daunting for some reason), it doesn’t dawn on you that perhaps you should knock first.

   If it had, then perhaps you wouldn’t be staring at a shirtless Mark, your hand still wrapped around his doorknob and your mouth hung agape.

   “Oh my God, Mark!” You cover your eyes, the door shutting behind you with a creak. You’re a bit ashamed at how fast your cheeks are overtaken by a hot, prickling feeling. “Why are you naked?”

   Mark, though just as startled as you are, has the common sense to reach blindly for the stained shirt he just took off, holding it in front of him. “What do you mean why am I naked? Why are you here?”

   You take a few steps back, your back pressed up against the door. “I- I came up here to say I’m sorry. You know, for uh, just now?”

   Your hands slowly fall to your sides as you burn holes into Mark’s carpeted floor with your eyes instead. 

   “Oh, uh, o-okay. Apology accepted, I guess.” Mark’s voice cracks and he clears his throat. “Let me just uhm—”

   You can hear his drawer sliding open and the faint rustle of fabric. All the while you keep your gaze glued to the floor, feeling your cheeks grow warmer by the second. Oh my God, you’re acting like a little girl who’s just held a boy’s hand for the first time.

   This isn’t the first time you’ve seen a guy naked—for fuck’s sake, Mark’s not even naked. He’s all covered up where he should be. Why is the sight of just his bare body from the waist up making your mind go blank and your palms grow sweaty? It’s not like you have feelings for him anymore. No, you don't.

   “You can uh, you can look up now.”

   You steel yourself, looking up to face Mark. Why did you have to steel yourself? It’s not like he’d have taken even more clothes off once you looked up again. You feel like slamming your head into the wall.

   You fiddle with your fingers, searching for something to say to try and ease the tension. “Uh, sorry. For spilling that Coke all over you, I mean.” You scratch the nape of your neck. “And for you know, walking in on you changing.”

   “Why didn’t you leave?”

   Your shoulders slump. “Huh?”

   Mark chuckles confidently, like he’s unabashed. His cheeks are ablaze with colour, though. “I mean, why didn’t you just back out of the room when you walked in on me changing? Why’d you just stand there?”

   You blink at him. Why didn’t you just leave? “I- I froze up, okay? Don’t bully me!” Your ears are burning.

   “Yeah, okay, okay.” Mark raises his hands by his sides, that entertained smile never leaving his lips. “Let’s go back down, okay? I still need to finish my work.”

   You chew on your inner cheek. “Yeah, whatever,” you try to find a creative name to call him.

   “Yeah, I know. Nerd.” Mark raises his brows at you, still with that amused grin. You wish you could smack it right off his stupidly handsome face.

   You huff, turning on your heel and practically booking it to the stairs. Mark catches up to you in no time with long, languid strides. Stupid long ass legs.

   “Hey, wait up, loser,” he says, a hint of delight in his voice. He pokes your side and you jump, shoving his hand away and mustering a weak glare at him. “Oh, are you ticklish?”

   You gnaw on your bottom lip. “No, I’m not, fatass!” Despite your harsh tone, your cheeks deceive you, blossoming with warmth yet again.

   Mark smiles genuinely this time, although there’s no sarcastic edge to it whatsoever. “You getting shy?”

   “No, I’m not.”

   “Hey, don’t be upset!” The next thing Mark says is nearly incomprehensible, but you hear it. Oh, you definitely do.

   “You look cute.”

   Your head swivels to look back at Mark, and you realise that he hadn’t meant for you to hear that.

   The faintest of smiles teases your lips, before you turn away, denying him the satisfaction of seeing you break out into a grin. “Yeah, whatever, Mark.”

   Now, it’s Mark’s turn to be enveloped in heat as a red tint spreads across his cheeks.

[gofancyninjaworld]

OPM Manga Chapter 137 Review: Resonance

I cannot lie, I am a cover fiend and this chapter’s cover is literally the second time we’ve seen Bang and Bomb featured on a cover. Once again looking mighty spry.  And also Fubuki, I guess.  When I see similarly-themed covers, I always like to look for any resonance within the chapters they front.

Chapter 108 (and whatever chapter it actually ends up being) fronted the ever-writhing heart of evil that is Orochi fighting Saitama in what turned out to be a vain attempt.   This chapter fronts the ever-shifting hearts of evil that are Orochi and Psykos struggling mightily against the S-Class heroes who have it hard-pressed.  Nice!

It’s a chapter as twisty as the monster it features and there’s lots under the cut!

Story

Speaking of Bang, the story wastes no time reintegrating him into the gathering gaggle of heroes as he comes out of hiding with Bomb and Fubuki in tow.

He confronts Child Emperor -- which puts the boy in a bit of a pickle as he told the others a lie to stop them asking too many pointed questions -- but is awesome enough to acknowledge that under the circumstances he could well understand why Child Emperor didn’t want him there.

Fubuki wastes no time in asking the other heroes to help Tatsumaki in some way, offering to help with whatever decision they make.  She can tell that her sister is barely hanging on. 

And she’s right.  Tatsumaki is no longer flying over the battlefield, but has come to kneel on the top of the tower and is fading out of consciousness.   Psykos-Orochi wastes no time trying to shoot her, but Drive Knight intercepts most of the missiles in his Bishop form (very handy having a large, heavily-armored form), but one slips through,  which Genos comes and intercepts instead.  Psykos-Orochi gives up on that idea and peels off to try losing Drive Knight.

While she’s knelt there, we get the most detailed flashback to the day Blast rescued her in any version.   The heartlessness with which the research director instructed that Tatsumaki be abandoned to her fate is heartbreaking in its inhumanity.

The monster kicks its way into Tatsumaki’s cell, she shuts her eyes, and then...

...she opens them again to find herself still alive, the monster dead, and a strange man holding cube addressing her.   And like that we get our first proper look at Blast, who introduces himself as a guy with a proper job who does hero-work as a hobby.   He asks her why she didn’t use her powers and she says that there’s no point, with even her parents having rejected her, there’s nothing to escape to.  He reminds her that she still does have a family, a little sister (there’s a lively debate ongoing on whether Blast read Tatsumaki’s mind or just did something more prosaic, like learn what subjects were imprisoned at the facility) who is worth protecting.  He tells her too, that for someone with great powers like her own, expecting others to come to her rescue is unrealistic.

While that’s going on, Drive Knight chases Psykos-Orochi through into a road tunnel in a wonderfully cinematic sequence (won’t post -- just go see and enjoy!).    Tatsumaki comes round sufficiently to try pinching the monster against the walls of the tunnel, but it shifts effortlessly between biological and mechanical forms to evade them all before flying out of the tunnel and along the road.

what a slippery customer!  The will to survive of this monster is incredible

The monster thinks its in the clear, but what’s this, running alongside?  It’s Genos!  Once Tatsumaki came round, he came off the tower and caught up on foot -- damn, how *fast* is this guy?   He jumps onto its back and digs in.   It tries to shoot him off, but Drive Knight comes barrelling out of the tunnel and joins in.

The chapter ends on a cliffhanger that sounds like the punchline for a bad joke: What’s the only thing worse than an angry cyborg on your back?  Two angry cyborgs on your back! 

Come back soon Murata!  We need to know how this ends!

Meta

Pesky, pesky cyborgs

I bet Psykos is developing a Demon Cyborg complex around now.

Consider that two days ago, one of her top monsters reported that he’d killed Demon Cyborg.  That monster is found dead.  Demon Cyborg shows up alive and well the next day.  Then she sends another of her top monsters, a guaranteed S-Class killer... that monster is found dead.  Demon Cyborg shows up today. And has the nonsense to rob her of her prey, not once, not twice, but three times.  She thinks he’s finally spent,  so how is it possible that he’s now digging white-hot claws into her back and preparing to burn her from very close range?  Sorry bitch, the relentlessness of this guy is legendary. 

Even saying that, Genos has developed a tenacity that is on an entirely different level from that he has to date in the webcomic and this chapter just takes it up another rung.  I’d noted his will to keep driving forward despite his body suffering (link), which I’ll quote in part:

Kuseno was as good as his word -- ten seconds was all he could go all out for. The True Incineration Cannon has really taken a brutal toll on his body.  What can Genos do?  He doesn’t have his super long-range beams any longer.  He can’t fly any longer.  His wonderful curving beams which would have been so useful to chase down the monster with are gone.  The blue dragon is quenched and launching another core attack is out of the question.  What to do?  Climb up there and strafe the monster anyway. 

To which I need to add: chase the damn jet down on foot anyway!  It looks like he’s going to attack the monster with his long-suffering core anyway... please Genos, have some sense of self-preservation!

It’s just as well Drive Knight came in to literally have Genos’s back.  We need to have some words about  Drive Knight!  Drive Knight’s philosophy has been that enlightened self-interest is the best altruism.  That we’ve had little quarrel with -- if he’s not getting anything out of the deal, he’s not doing it, but if he is, he’ll be very professional and efficient.  Now that he’s recharged, we’ve seen him doggedly chasing Psyko-Jet, never giving the monster a moment’s rest, all while doing his best to look out for the others.

But, Drive Knight is here for a reason.  Him looking round at the dead remains of Monster King Orochi littering the tunnels and feeling annoyance that Tatsumaki has thus made his job of gathering a sample that much more difficult reminds us that he has never let go of his original Agenda.  Once he gets the sample he wants, he’s unlikely to stick around unless his exits are blocked.

The Refutation of Blast’s Philosophy

Blast’s words to a despairing Tatsumaki gave her the motivation to help herself and impressed deeply on her a need for absolute self-sufficiency.   On one hand, it’s been one of the things that has driven her to be the incredible hero she is.  On the other, it’s also meant that she’s found it extremely difficult to forge bonds, has contributed to her toxic relationship with her sister, and has even been counter-productive to her hero work.

This arc,  Tatsumaki has been both the unwitting and witting beneficiary of life-saving interventions (by Saitama and Genos respectively).

This chapter, when she passes out, we see Fubuki reaching out to her telepathically to ask her to hang on as Fubuki herself looks to be trying some means of physically reaching her  (is she planning to levitate Puri Puri?).

And yet again, Genos is there for her, stopping Psykos from being able to shoot her, at least until Tatsumaki regains consciousness, when he goes to chase down the monster jet.

It is not that we are entitled to be saved. That we are not.  Rather, it should be that we are able to ford the greatest of perils if we are willing to reach out to one another.  There is no inconsistency between striving to do our utmost for ourselves and grasping a hand reached out to us: that’s how we’ve triumphed as human beings.

[flowerspecial]

They Are Jealous

Jin

Jin is 100% that type of boy who pretends like he doesn't get jealous but we all know that this boy is hella salty when you are talking to anyone that isn't him. At first he would really try to pretend like it isn't bothering him, he might even move away from you just to give you that sense of false security. But there is a timer going off in his head and when that timer gets to zero, Jin is straight back over to you. He’s one hell of a touchy feely boyfriend and you better be sure that he's gonna have his hands on you somewhere, just to let the other person know that you are not available.

Suga

Yoongi doesn't tend to get jealous very often, he has a lot of trust in you and is confident that you won’t hurt him. But like everyone else, Yoongi is only human, and he has his off days. There are gonna be moments in your relationship when he gets really upset because of his jealousy. The biggest problem here is that Yoongi has a tendency to shy away from the thing that is hurting him as opposed to confronting it head on. In your relationship, it would definitely be up to you to learn Yoongi’s body language, because he's not going to tell you straight up when he is jealous.

J Hope

Okay, so yeah, Hoseok is a little ball of sunshine and he is sweet to everyone, especially you. But I’m gonna let you in on a little secret, this cutie pie can turn into one hell of a cocky son of a bitch when he feels like someone is trying to take you away from him. His jealousy leads him to be very confident, you know the type of person who is like “don't worry baby I know you will never leave me, why would you have him when you can have me?” Genuinely Hoseok will just stare down his competition with this sinister smile on his face, practically daring the other person to try.

RM

I don't know if this is an unpopular opinion but I’ve got a feeling that Namjoon can get hella jealous a lot of the time. There's just something about him that tells me he really doesn't like sharing, and the thought of someone trying to flirt with you sends shivers down his spine. Namjoon is definitely part of team salty, and he's gonna get really possessive, really quickly. He's the type of boyfriend who isn't going to leave your side until the competition is gone. But because of the amount of times that he has done this, you'd have to constantly remind Namjoon that you aren't interested in anyone but him.

Jimin

Now we have another member of the team sad when jealous! In a relationship, Jimin’s main objective is to feel safe and secure at all times. Therefore, jealousy is an emotion that he really doesn't like to explore very often. Unfortunately, Jimin looks at people’s body language a bit too much, so sometimes he can think someone is flirting with you when really they are just trying to be nice. When he is jealous, Jimin gets very wrapped up in his emotions, and it can be a very slippery slope down a path that he really doesn't want to go down. You’d have to be the one that pulls him out of his own thoughts before it is too late.

V

Maybe it's because I am a fellow capricorn that I have this feeling about Tae? But Tae is one of those people who can go one of two ways. The first way being that he can actually tolerate a lot of flirting from someone else towards you, because he genuinely doesn't feel threatened by them. He knows that you're not gonna do anything that could wreck your relationship. But like with all capricorns, there is a limit to how much one person can take. And I’m gonna warn you now, if you are flirting with someone on purpose, jealous Tae is gonna make you regret that so much!

Jungkook

Jungkook can be quite the laid back guy, but he does have a tendency to see relationships as something quite competitive. He's said that he would rather have a partner than save a friendship. This means that Jungkook pretty much sees anyone as competition, and so he gets jealous a lot. Being jealous is practically Jungkook’s second most used emotion with you. When Jungkook is jealous, he can get hella whiny, “but baby, I don't know why you are talking to that guy when I am right here! I’m your boyfriend, remember?” Jealous Jungkook would actually be quite sweet, but very annoying.

[katehuntington]

Title: Black Dog - part six Word count: 5100± words Episode summary: When Sam gets an anonymous phone call with information about his father, Dean receives a text message with coordinates to different location. The brothers clash and split up, one following orders, the other trusting his instincts. Meanwhile, in the wilderness of Cascade Range, Washington State, Zoë loses grip on a personal case and is forced to confront her demons. Without back up, this might very well turn out to be her final hunt. Part six summary: The huntress tries whatever she can to outrun her past. Now that it’s midnight, the shadows are out to get her and threaten to take Dean down as well. Episode warnings: Dark! NSFW, 18+ only!  Angst, gore, violence, character death. Description of blood, injury and medical procedures. Supernatural creatures/entities, mentions of demon possession. Swearing, smoking, weaponry. Descriptions of  torture and murder. Illegal/criminal practices. Mentions of nightmares and flashbacks. Descriptions of suicidal thoughts and tendencies, depression, panic attacks, hallucinations. Author’s note: Beta’d by @winchest09​​​​​​ & @deanwanddamons​​​​​​​. Thanks, girls!

Supernatural: The Sullivan Series Masterlist

S1E03 “Black Dog” Masterlist

     No wind, not even the slightest breeze. Evergreens stop whispering, night animals seem to have vanished in the deepest holes of the forest. Whitehorse Mountain has turned into a dead rock in a matter of seconds. No tree can grow, no life can live, only pure evil lingers in these woods now. 

     Dean looks around in disbelief, his eyes darting to detect anything that moves as he adjusts the backpack hanging from his shoulder. He has seen many things over the years, but the poison that has affected the entire Cascade Range is unlike anything he has ever experienced before. The temperature was already at freezing before midnight struck, yet now it’s so cold, he reckons it’s minus twenty. A shuddering breath leaves his cold lips, when the trees around him begin to crack and moan. Frost crawls up from their roots, covering the trunk with a layer of ice that eventually reaches the branches, causing the remaining leaves to fall.      “What the fuck is going on?” he questions, whispering, afraid that whatever stalked this land is listening in on his words.

     Zoë backs out, the snow crunching under her boots, nervously shining the flashlight over the shadows which seem to close in and swallow her whole. All she can hear is the sound of her lungs heaving a breath, Dean’s respiration providing her a harmony in the silence. Heart beating loud and fast against her ribcage, she looks over at him, tears glistening in her eyes but she doesn’t reply to the question.      “You can still run.”      “No chance in hell,” he returns, determined, pushing down the fear that his surroundings are surfacing.      Zoë huffs. “Funny you mention that…”      “Would you just answer my question, Zo? What the fuck is happening?” he repeats, his eyes flicking left and right, frantically trying to pick up on anything that moves.      “It wouldn’t matter if you know, Dean,” she whimpers. “It wouldn’t matter if you stayed either. You can’t save me! It’s - it’s too late! If you go now, you might still have a chance,” Zoë exclaims desperately.      Dean stands a little taller, despite that he begins to realize that he’s in way over his head. “I’ll take my chances right here.”      “Then that will be the end of it! You’ll never see your Dad again, you’ll never see Sam again!” she shouts at him in an attempt to get through to the hunter.      “We’ll see about that,” he returns, despite the thought horrifying him. After all, with Zoë clearly panicking, he needs to be the calm and collected one. “I'm not letting you go down without a fight.”

     He takes his shotgun, engages the breech lever, opens the break action and discards the empty casings. Then he picks two shells from his pocket, pushes them into the barrel and brings it back up. The soldier is ready for battle, and this is him offering protection until the very end. Zoë swallows down a lump in her throat, trying to hide the emotions that his gesture brings to the surface. Although she wishes he had chosen differently, she has to appreciate his courageous decision.      “Now for the last time, answer me,” he calmly demands, trying to keep a hold on the situation. “What are we dealing with?”

    Zoë sighs deeply, finally deciding to tell him. Perhaps he will let her be if she tells the truth, and it will finally click in his stubborn mind that she’s a lost cause. But before Zoë can answer, a howl echoes through the valley. Both are startled by the sound and look at each other, eyes widened.      “That ain’t no coyote,” Dean gulps.

     Chills run up and down Zoë’s spine as she listens, horrified, as the call is answered by several more of its species. She knows the stories, it’s the last thing you hear before getting ripped to pieces. This is the final warning, announcing their arrival. They are coming for her. 

     The howls repeat several times, seeming to come from all directions. Frozen on the spot, she scans the area, shivering in fear. The silence returns, the calm before the storm. 

     Then she sees it.

     Her gaze stills and she inhales sharply, focused at the top of the ridge. Dean observes her big terrified eyes and follows them, but he doesn’t see anything. Whatever is there, it’s invisible, at least for him. One thing is clear as day, though; the huntress can see it just fine. Trying to figure out their options, he glances over. But before he can take action, Zoë reacts by doing the one thing Dean didn’t expect her to do; she flees. 

     Caught off guard, the hunter stares at her running figure for a split second, when he hears the howl again. He might not see what Zoë is running from, but right now might be a good time to get moving himself. 

     As if they are both being chased by the Devil, they rush down hill through the forest, trying to avoid collision with trees and rocks. The hunter monitors Zoë constantly, not letting her out of sight as she appears and disappears between the evergreens several yards ahead of him. Without hesitation, she skillfully jumps down a ridge, breaks her fall with a somersault and continues her desperate escape attempt. Dean halts at the edge of the cliff and looks down at a stream which has carved itself through the mountain. Whoa, that’s deep! Before he jumps, he glances ahead and spots a small hunter’s cabin.      “Smart girl,” he comments.

     Dean leaps over the gap, hurting his knees with his fall, but not enough to slow him down. He continues to run down the slope as fast as he possibly can, trying his very best not to trip over roots as he goes.      “If you’re not gonna tell me what these motherfuckers are, at least tell me that I can shoot them!” Dean shouts as he jumps over a fallen tree.      “Not with salt or silver!” she returns.      “Torch them?!”      “Won’t work!”      “Just fucking great!” Dean curses.

     As fast as their feet can carry them, they bolt towards the house on the hill. Zoë reaches the small open space in front of the cabin. Dean watches her as his lungs burn in an attempt to keep up with her. Almost there. Almost th--

     Out of nowhere, Zoë slams to the ground. At first Dean thinks she has tripped, but within a fraction of a second he realizes that she just got tackled by the creature that is still invisible to him. Desperately the huntress tries to fight it off, but she doesn’t stand a chance. Dean tries to get to her as fast as he can, but has to watch in horror how the monsters drag her away and tear up her leg, pulling a chilling, agonizing scream from her.

     “NO!!!” he roars.

     “Dean!!” Zoë cries out between frantic squeals as she claws at the icy soil, despairingly trying to hold on to something before she disappears into the shadows. Crimson poisons the snow underneath her, disrupting the black and white picture.

     Not wasting a moment, Dean racks the shotgun and shoulders it. He skids down the slippery hill, the snow allowing him to slide towards her fast while leveling with the ground underneath them. He needs to be positioned low in order to take the shot if he doesn’t want to load her face full with rocksalt. 

     The skilled hunter aims while still in motion and fires, pulling a loud yelp from whatever creature is on top of her, and for a brief moment Zoë seems to be freed from her ambushers. Quickly, Dean hoists her up and unceremoniously drags her onto the porch and inside the cabin. He pushes the door closed, the heavy iron latch falling shut. It’s good that he wasn’t a second slower, because a strong force rams against the wood from the other side.      “Son of a bitch!” he groans, using all his strength to stop the creatures from getting in.

     Suddenly, the hinges stop rattling and the violent barking and growling behind the barrier ceases. Vigilant, Dean stands by the door, holding it with both hands flat on the timber, but then notices the line of black dust on the doorstep by his feet. Realizing Zoë just laid down the line of gunpowder-like particles, he turns around, perceiving the smear of blood on the wooden floor. When he follows the trail, he finds the woman who he barely saved, crawling to the opposite wall. As the monsters outside start circling the cabin, her focus darts from one window to the other, completely terrified. There’s no way they could come in, though. Every possible entry of this little cabin is sealed with the black dust, which apparently holds enough power to keep this evil out. 

     Dean realizes this isn’t the first time Zoë has been here. She made sure she could return to this place if things went south. The fact that she had a back-up plan doesn’t surprise the hunter one bit. What does, is that she is currently curled up into a ball, hiding in the far corner of the room like a scared little animal. Tears stream down her face, mixing with the blood on her cheeks, as she anxiously keeps an eye on the windows, breathing irregular and rapidly.      “Zo? Easy, it’s okay now.” The hunter rushes over and kneels down next to his injured companion, takes off his backpack, then his leather coat and his denim jacket. The last one he folds into a ball and presses to the wound in order to staunch the bleeding. He needs to keep pressure, but he can tell she’s losing the battle with her anxiety.      “Hey hey hey... Look at me, take a breath,” he tries, while attending the disturbing injury. “I’m right here.”

     He takes the sleeves from the blood-stained jacket and uses them to tie the bundle of clothing to the wounds in order to have his hands free. Zoë doesn’t respond to his actions despite the pain it must inflict, the terrified young woman having other issues to deal with. Breathing for one, because she seems unable to fill her lungs with oxygen. 

     The hunter looks up from his work after tightening the knot. She’s restless, her chest heaving fast. Upset, she keeps searching for a possible other way for the bastards to get in. When one of the creatures outside howls like a wolf in the night, she almost jumps out of her skin and can’t help but to cry. He doesn’t need to be a psychologist to determine that she’s having a full-blown panic attack.      “It’s okay. It’s okay, Zo,” Dean hushes, carefully laying one hand on her shoulder, the other on her knee. “It’s gonna be alright. They can’t get in.”

     Frightened, she tries to find protection with him and Dean answers her by pulling her into his chest. She crawls closer to find shelter in his arms, a sob wrecking her. Her entire body is shaking, yet when he presses his cheek against her forehead, her skin feels clammy. Dean knows Zoë is anything but affectionate these days, so he’s stunned by this 180 degree flip compared to the fearless woman he ran into in Rochester two weeks back. These things really scare the fuck out of her. Dean never imagined that the huntress - an absolute force to be reckoned with -  could turn into the fragile girl he is holding close right now. Yet here she is, quaking in his hold, struggling to breathe. 

     “You’re okay, easy breaths, alright?” he whispers into her hair. “I won’t let them get to you, I promise. You’re safe.”      While waiting for the anxiety to pass, Dean keeps soothing her by running his hand up and down her back, trying his best to calm her down. Her entire body continues to tremble, but eventually her respiration becomes more even. After finally being able to take in a deep inhale, Zoë creates some distance between her and the hunter. Concerned, Dean dips his head to make eye contact, but she’s avoiding his gaze.      “Don’t ever tell Sam this,” she chokes out, wiping her tears and runny nose with her sleeve. “He’ll laugh his ass off.”

     Dean smiles; she’s back. He keeps her steady to make sure she has retaken control over her fear, when she flinches. Both direct their attention to her injury and Dean gets on his feet, only to crouch down by her extended leg again. He folds the soaked fabric away, revealing the damage. Through the denim of her jeans he can see the torn flesh and puncture holes, blood flowing from the wounds. Her combat boots prevented the creatures from crushing her ankle, so at least there’s that. He takes off his leather belt and carefully lifts her calf in order to slip the strap underneath.

     “Y’know, I normally don’t remove my clothes on the first date,” he jokes in an attempt to lighten the mood.      He earns a scoff and a glint of a grin. “Don’t think you’ve ever known a girl this long without taking your clothes off,” she responds, her voice still shaky.      Corking his eyebrow, he shoots her a look with a smirk on his lips, wearing his mask well. Carefully, Dean pushes her torn jeans up a little so that he can work.      “Nasty wound, Zo.” He makes a discontent sound with his mouth. “Nothing we can’t fix, though.”      "Don't bother, it's no use,” she whimpers. “Haven’t you figured out what these things are?”      “I have,” he says, remorseful to admit the truth. “Hellhounds.”

     She swallows apprehensively and confirms with a nod. “What do you know about them?”      “I know they are the gate watchers of Hell and that they collect souls who struck a deal with a demon,” Dean states. “Which gives you a fucking lot to explain.”      Zoë blows out a breath, realizing she owes him that much. He just saved her life again, or at least postponed her expiration date. “What else do you know?”      “Not much. Sam’s the nerd, remember?” he jokes.      She smiles, only slightly, but Dean’s glad she is still able to.      “Pull it,” Zoë orders, hinting at the belt.

     For a brief moment he looks her in the eye, but then he tightens the leather strap just above the laceration. Although it hurts, she doesn’t make a noise. Pain she can handle. Hell; now that’s a whole different horror show. Once Dean has secured the improvised tourniquet, Zoë rests her head against the wooden wall behind her, still shaken by current events.

     “This is useless,” she mutters. “I should just walk out and let them take me.”      “Are you nuts? That’s suicid--”      As Dean pronounces those words, he realizes that’s exactly what this is; suicide. She planned to give the hellhounds what they want, her soul. Suddenly their last conversation in Paragould makes perfect sense; she really didn’t expect to see him and his brother again. When she said ‘deadline’, she meant it in the true sense of the word. Zoë didn’t anticipate coming here and solving a case; she came here to die. The only reason why she moved to plan B was because he showed up at the final moment and was too stubborn to leave her side. Seeking shelter in this hideout would be the only way possible to grant his safety.

     “That was your plan, wasn’t it? You were waiting for them to come and claim you,” he utters, stunned.      She shrugs, careless. “A lot better than bleeding to death in here. I’m going to Hell anyway.”      “Not if I can help it,” Dean says, determined. 

     He rises to his feet, pushing warm air from his lungs, which forms clouds in front of his face. A thin layer of ice is starting to form on the inside of the windows, obstructing the view. Staying still by Zoë’s side instead of running for his life has made him realize that they have another enemy to deal with; the cold. Now that the adrenaline isn’t pumping anymore, hypothermia is lurking around the corner. Combined with low blood pressure caused by blood loss, it can be a deadly cocktail. He needs to find a way for them to get warm. 

     Looking around the sober cabin, Dean clicks his tongue while going over his options. There’s barely any furniture, not even a dirty mattress. Only a wooden table and four chairs were left behind by the previous users, and a kitchenette in the corner remained as well. The hunter stalks over, opening the cupboard under the stove. The propane tank he finds will not provide them any heat; it has been empty for quite some time. Dean screws the valve closed again and curses under his breath. Then he glances at the fireplace on the other side of the room. He’s not sure if it’s smart to set it alight, because that shaft might actually be a way in for those fuckers if they aren’t careful.

     “We can use it,” Zoë announces, understanding his thought process. “I mounted an iron pipeline filled with goofer dust around the chimney. They won’t be able to enter through there.”      “Goofer dust?” Dean repeats, questioning.      “It’s hoodoo,” she elaborates. “Keeps hellhounds at bay.”

     Dean huffs, once again amazed by her knowledge and her ability to think five steps ahead. For someone who was so dead set on dying tonight, she sure did one hell of a job turning this place into a safehouse. About a million questions come to mind, but he holds back the interrogation for now. Everything at its time.

     His eyes land on the remaining furniture, then flick to the wooden pillar that supports the roof, in the center of the space. A plan begins to form and he strides to the table, picks it up and places it on the side against the post, the tabletop facing the fireplace. Making quick work of gathering a few logs of birch and dry twigs that are stacked up against the wall, he takes out his zippo and begins to build a fire. Once the flames starts to lick at the bark, the inventive hunter gets on his feet again and turns back to his wounded hunting partner.

     “Let’s get you warmed up,” he says, leveling with her.      When he intends to slip his left arm behind her back and the other under her knees, she protests. “Dean, I can stand.”      “Na-ah, you’re not putting any pressure on that leg.”

     Zoë grunts objectively, but allows the man who she has had so many fights with in such a short period of time to lift her up, simply too tired to argue. The hunter carries her closer to the heat, setting her down gently against the turned over table, the countertop functioning as a backrest. Being only six feet away from the flames now, she can feel the warmth radiating towards her. The sensation is welcoming, because she feels frozen to the bone.

     Not even taking a second to slow down, Dean goes to get the backpack he dumped on the floor earlier and brings it back to her. He rummages through it until he finds what he was looking for and takes out an extensive first aid kit, one of the ten essentials David packed for him.

     “Dean, let it go already,” she objects when she realizes what he intends to do.      Perplexed, the hunter stares at her. He can’t believe her careless attitude right now.      “Do you wanna die?” he questions, then corrects himself. “No wait, let me rephrase that. Do you wanna go to Hell?”      “According to AC/DC it ain’t a bad place to be,” she scoffs.      Narrowed green eyes warn her as he tilts his head. “Don’t get smart with me.”

     Dean clearly doesn’t find it funny, so she tiredly sighs and avoids his penetrating gaze.      “If they drag me down the pit, their job is done and they’ll leave. The killings will stop,” Zoë explains, her voice gaining strength. “Until that time, they are heat seeking missiles, they will slaughter everything that comes on their path, even now that my deal came due. Innocent people like the Clevelands and those hunters got torn to pieces because I’m too fucking scared to face what I started. What if others come barging up this mountain? They’ll end up dead!” she brings to mind.

     “David will take care of that. Now that he knows he’ll make sure that no one will,” Dean states, seemingly certain.      But Zoë doesn’t agree. “For all he knows he’ll hike straight up this mountain first thing in the morning to pick up what those things left of his family. He knows nothing.”      “He won’t, he’s smarter than that. I'm sure he will call Sam for help before he does anything stupid,” Dean defends him.      “What about you, huh?” she inquires. “You won’t be able to leave this cabin as long as I’m alive, not without enduring what actually I should undergo. And if you stay, you will either starve or freeze to death. Is that what you want?”      “We’ll figure something out,” the hunter returns, hopeful, his voice a lot calmer and softer than hers. “One problem at a time, okay? Let’s patch you up first.” 

     He picks up the disinfectant from the kit and cleans his hands first, but before he tips it over while pressing some cotton wool on the opening, Zoë stops him. “Is there any saline solution in there? Hydrogen peroxide is way too aggressive, it will only slow recovery.”      “Sure? We use this all the time,” Dean replies, doubtful.      Zoë glares at him; did he really just question a former med-student?      “Well, then you’ve been doing it all wrong,” she scoffs. “Use the saline if you don’t wanna destroy the fibroblasts. The tissue is gonna need those cells to heal.”

     Dean holds a gaze for a second longer before he gives in. Fine. After all, she’s the one who knows about this stuff. And so he does as told, takes a bottle of water from the backpack and mixes the saline like it says on the description manual. Once the solution is ready, the hunter carefully angles her leg so he can flush out the wounds. The fluid doesn’t sting, but the damaged skin is sensitive. Zoë lets her savior take care of her, despite that he’s being naive, stubborn, and won’t take ‘no’ for an answer. She has to give it to him, though; the guy has good intentions. 

     Once the damaged tissue is clean, Dean takes out the stitching wire. Zoë watches him pierce the suture needle through the skin with his hands instead of with the tweezers or a needle driver, gritting her teeth to bite down the pain. When he knots the first stitch too tight and intends to use continuous suturing, she can’t help to stop him.      “What are you doing?” she comments with a tone.      “Sit still and shut up. I’m fixing your leg,” he replies, annoyed.      Zoë scoffs. “More like scarring it. Who taught you how to stitch?”      “My dad did, and he never complained once whenever I had to sow him back together. I said: shut up,” he urges warningly.      It remains silent for a few seconds, but before he starts on the next suture, Zoë stops him again. “Why don’t you use interrupted sutures?”

     Dean sighs and lowers the needle. He knew it was going to be tough the moment he pulled the first aid kit out, remembering that he was about to treat a top of the class med student. He wasn’t wrong.      “Do you want this stitched or not?” he returns snappy.      “The suturing technique you’re using now is quick and effective, great for battlefield treatment like in Nam where your old man picked this up, but for better cosmetic results interrupted sutures are better,” she assures.      “Cosmetic results?” he chuckles.      “What? If I have to parade through Hell it probably won’t be in long jeans, so I might as well look good,” Zoë jokes smartly.

     She bends forward without putting too much tension on the laceration and gestures for the needle driver. Dean hands it to her, after which she shows him how to properly hold it. Then she gives it back to him.      “Look, if you keep the needle driver between your thumb and your ring finger, like this.” she takes his hand and positions the needle driver between his fingers, “and now put your index finger on top to control it, like using a pencil.”

     Dean can’t help letting his gaze wander to her face for a moment, intrigued by the skill set of the young woman. She’s twenty-five years old and yet she carries so much knowledge with her. He knows a little about a lot of things, enough to survive, but Zoë is truly something else. No wonder she managed just fine on her own for four years.

     Her fingers touching his, draw his thoughts back to what the huntress is trying to teach him.      “- now insert the needle in a 90 degree angle. Try to get the suture loop as wide as it is deep,” she says, flinching.      After she leads him through the first two stitches, Zoë leans back and leaves him to it, trying to stay still, despite the pain that comes with suturing without a local sedative. 

     She corrects him a couple of times more, her remarks falling from her lips in a bitter manner, yet Dean holds his tongue, not wanting to fight with her. It takes him about a half an hour before the laceration and puncture holes are properly closed up. He loosens the tourniquet, relieved to see that the stitches are holding. The hunter puts back what he used into the kit, then takes out a non-stick bandage. 

     “Put some antibiotic ointment on it first,” Zoë says, although it sounds more like an order.        Deciding against snapping at her, Dean rummages through the plastic briefcase until he finds what he’s looking for. “I should probably wear gloves for this, right?”      “You should’ve worn gloves all this time,” the huntress sneers.      Dean rolls his eyes and bites the inside of his cheek, but even that can’t prevent him from countering the woman he’s treating. “I didn’t even touch the wound directly. Stop being such a fucking bitch. I’m only trying to help.”

     Annoyed by her judgemental attitude, the man who’s giving her first aid puts on a pair of latex gloves, encloses the tube with his first and squirting the gel on his index finger. When Zoë fails to shoot him a snarky comeback, he looks up at her, finding fresh tears pooling in her eyes.      Regretting his sharp tone instantly, he carefully begins to apply the substance. “I didn’t mean it like that.”      “No, you’re right,” she says, a small tremor in her voice. “It’s just - I’m not used to people giving two shits about me anymore.”      “Well, get used to it,” he returns, the corner of his mouth turning up slightly.

     Dean gingerly dresses the injury, wrapping the bandage over a sterile wound patch. With a pair of scissors he cuts the gauze, taping the end secure. Then he sits back on his haunches and looks at his work proudly.      “Not bad, huh?”      She nods, approving. “Not bad at all.”

     After elevating her feet on the now closed first aid kit, Zoë rests her head back against the wood. She can hear the guy who she’s cooped up with getting up and walking away a couple of steps, then the crackling of leather. She assumes he picked up his jacket from the corner. 

     The temperature in the cabin isn’t close to comfortable yet, and after having shed his denim overshirt to stop her from bleeding out, all he’s wearing is a henley. Dean shrugs on his warm coat, trying to shake off the cold, when he notices Zoë has her eyes closed.      “Hey, don’t fall asleep on me now.” Dean sits down next to her, their shoulders touching. “Are you cold?”      He asks because she’s still shivering, but she shakes her head.      “Not really, just numb. Tired,” she returns, her voice barely a whisper.      “Shock?” Dean assumes, concern knitting his brows together.

     With an unsteady hand she presses her second and third digit against the radial artery on her wrist; it’s rapid. She notices the pale skin complexion of her hands and breathing is still difficult, too. Besides those issues, there’s also her mental state; she’s all over the place. Zoë can diagnose herself just fine and confirms with a nod, still trembling in silence. 

     Worried, Dean studies her. He’s not an expert, but he knows her going into shock can be dangerous. At least the bleeding is under control and they have a heat source, but he has to keep her awake for now. The hunter straightens himself, pulling up his legs and resting his forearms on his knees, getting lost in the flames before him. They pop and rustle playfully, the sounds soothing, but unable to diminish the apprehension.

     “I’m so fucked, Dean.”

     The hunter breaks his eyes away from the fire and takes her in. The light in front of her catches the shimmering pathways that find a way down her cheeks. He wishes he could give her solace, but all he has are his words.      “At least here we’re able to buy us some time. I know you turned over every stone, so did you find anything that gave even the slightest clue on how to kill these fuckers?” he offers.       “I studied them for years, Dean, even before I decided to go on with it. Years. Why do you think I know so much? I tried every book, every spell, I worked all the mojo possible in that span of time. Nothing worked.” she states.      Hopeless, she stares at her hands in her lap. Dean can see she’s telling the truth, she really pulled every string.      “I’m usually not the one to give up, but this isn’t a battle I can win,” she claims.      “Good thing you ain’t fighting it alone then,” Dean replies, nudging her softly. “We’ll figure something out, okay?”

     Zoë nods, but more to give the man next to her the answer he wants, than because she actually believes in a positive outcome. She admires his optimism, envies it even.  Her future is grim, no matter how you look at it, and Dean’s isn’t much better. He doesn’t deserve this, but then again, neither does she. 

     After all she has been through, she wanted to redeem herself, to do enough good to block out the bad. She tried to enjoy the little things in life ever since she made the deal. Ride one more wave at the beach, have a drink on the pier while watching a sunset, roll down the highway on her Harley. Over the last couple of months, she had a lot of moments in which she realized it was going to be her last. She thought she was at peace with her fate and the consequence of summoning a crossroad demon, until it was ten to midnight. 

     It doesn’t matter, though. Being okay with the decision or not doesn’t change the path she has chosen to walk. The only outcome is a one-way trip downstairs. It’s a matter of time before the hellhounds claim her soul. They will never stop, not until there is nothing left of her. Not even Dean Winchester can save her now.

Thank you so much for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you  do want to give me some extra love, you are free to reblog my work or buy me coffee (Link in bio at the  top of the page)

Read part seven here

[goreverine-archive1]

@fiddlingonthetympanic​ asked:

Woolf hauling herself from the remains of her 'other body' is arduous-- a birth. The shriveled lamprey mouth with its rows of inward folding teeth make for hot, slimy handholds and footholds, and by the time she's free, she's panting in the warm Krakoan air. Loose, sticky hair has taken the place of her elaborate braids, the ends trailing through the mud as she totters on her feet like a newborn deer. Her back is exposed. She is, for the first time since Daken has known her, *truly* vulnerable.

Daken has been working on his thanotaphobia.

It’s been a slow but sure process, steady and progressing. He’s hardly the only mutant to work on getting over that terror of the abyss. Hell, the Council even incentivizes people to learn how to die with grace: A polite request in person, and the hatching queue gets wrangled in one’s favor.

Daken started off drowning, naturally -- his fear of water was the strongest. He supposes he went about it a rather immoral way: He had first gotten Gabby to hold him down under the water, which she didn’t seem to mind all that much with a bit of explanation. It’s good of her, anyway, to get that experience. When Laura heard heard what happened, her rage was unleashed. He had gotten his other sister to drown him again, too.

Eventually: Logan again, with some soppy bullshit tear-filled appeal and a pheromone push. He must’ve hated himself for giving in. Good.

Then, of course, more destructive ways. Decapitation, naturally. Incineration. He learned just about how much his body would take before his healing factor stopped accommodating him.

Here he is, confronting another fear of his: The monstrous bitch who nearly ate him twenty years ago. Until this point, he had avoided her gigantic form jutting out of the canopy, clutched by the terror of experiencing that terrible day again.

Fear of death is not rational.

Today, he’s followed her. First, from the edge of the treeline far away; then closer, closer, lurking within smelling distance. He couldn’t bring himself to actually confront her today, but this was a start. He’s about to head home when he tracks creature-Tess into a clearing, and to his surprise -- she stops. It almost looks as if it’s a spontaneous death, crumbling into a wrinkled, desiccated heap all at once with a terrible noise.

Daken watches with bated breath, the carcass all-too silent where it falls. Is she dead? No -- she’s here. Climbing weak and naked, slicked with gore, hair sticky and unmanageable, covered in body hair as if she’s regrown lanugo.

Is that it? Does she have a final trick up her sleeve? If kills her now, will she turn back into the leviathan she once was?

Snikt!

Daken sprints through mud, his bare feet slipping and sliding under his hips as he crosses the distance as if he’s running for his own life, towards gigantic, very dead glassy eyes and a slick, very alive body.

He barrels into her at high speed, knocking them both down. There’s a scramble, there, slippery and messy. Tess is weak, delicate, it’s so easy to straddle her back and press her front into the mud. He raises his claws, and can nearly imagine the crunch of them going through her neck, severing her spine.

He doesn’t, not yet. He wants to see what she can do, or if he was this afraid for nothing.

A whisper: “Shhh. It’s all over now...”

[snarkwriteswrasslin]

FFT: your days are numbered; jon moxley

Notes:

So... I started writing what I thought was gonna be a feral!alpha Mox universe.. and surprise, surprise... I wrapped it up in 3 titles. But.. But.. I’m seriously considering actually writing the entire thing at some point. But I don’t know just yet. It’s one of those wild hairs / brain itches I can’t seem to get rid of, tbh. Anyway, this is part 1 there are two others that go with this. I’m gonna try to post them all close together, we shall see.

{ wanna send in one of these? here’s how | masterlist of fake fic titles  }

Summary:

It was the one thing he never thought he’d find.. Her.. Now he has to figure out a way to get her away from Shawn Spears. But once he has her all to himself, how will everything work out? Can he show her he’s not like the rest?

Pairing:

Jon Moxley x OFC, Grace

Warnings:

Mentions of violence, heavy alphaxomega implications, feral alpha.

The sweet and slightly tangy scent was back again and it had Mox tensing all over, pacing the hallway and clenching then unclenching his fists. He’d never felt more like a caged animal than he did this very moment.

Mox didn’t fucking like it. Oh, he liked the comfort knowing that he did have a mate and that he finally knew where she was and she was close.. It was the feeling like a caged animal that Mox couldn’t stand, that had him seething.

He’d been trying to shove it out all day but he’d yet to actually succeed. Trying to follow the scent trail to find her was futile, he always seemed to get wherever she’d been as she’d just left the area.

Oh, he had his suspicions about who she was. And even more suspicions about why she was kept so scarce, dangled just within his reach. These suspicions were confirmed almost the second the scent started to get really strong and Mox’s mouth began to water as fangs pricked at his gums, threatening to puncture through skin.

His cock was so hard it fucking hurt to breathe.

Mox knew exactly what this meant and he knew exactly why if he were to try and follow his nose again, he’d just miss her, again.

And frankly?

It was really starting to bring forth Mox’s inner animal. And Mox wasn’t in the mood to reign it in either.

Someone was staring at him, he could feel their eyes.

He turned and the scent of her got so fucking strong. He sniffed the air and bit back a groan as his eyes met hers. She kept staring, biting her lip and fidgeting. He picked right up on the unease in her scent and he felt that Alpha kicking in, taking over. Whoever had her uneasy was going to have hell to pay at his hands. He stopped himself, took a deep breath and tried to rationalize what was going on right now, all the while, staring right at her. He was honestly afraid to look away, afraid he’d look back and she’d be gone again.

… fuck… i’m done for… i’d kill for her.. Mine… all mine…

He took a step forward, intending to make his way over to her side, his rightful place, but Shawn Spears stepped between them and stared him down, arms folded over his chest.

“The fuck do you think you’re about to do, huh?” Shawn chuckled and shook his head. Behind him, he felt her tense up, felt her tugging at his hand.

“Not now.” Shawn’s words were sharp when he addressed Mox’s omega and Mox saw the way she flinched. He growled quietly, shoving himself against the guy. “I’m about to talk to her. Somethin you apparently don’t fuckin know how to do. My question to you, man is..” he shoved at Shawn again, “who the fuck do you think you are, huh? Keepin her from me.”

“Keeping her… From you. That’s rich, considering she’s mine.”

Mox’s eyes happened to settle on her and he shook his head, snorting as if he refused to accept what Shawn was saying. Which he did, with every fiber of his being. He couldn’t help but notice the way she seemed tense around Shawn. Almost like she didn’t want to be near the guy, let alone, be trotted out like arm candy or a trophy.

The thought of it sickened him.

The thought of it had him wanting to rip Shawn Spears limb from limb. If she weren’t standing there, he most likely would have.

His Omega was the only tether keeping Shawn Spears tied to this mortal plane. But just as soon as she’s somewhere safe, bet your entire ass, Mox found himself thinking, I’m gonna fuck you up. They’re gonna need special qualifications to identify the body down at the morgue when I’m done with you.

He never said a word, just calmly shoved at Shawn again. Shawn shoved back, not even bothering to move her out of harms way. It fell to Mox to do or say something to get her the fuck away from the fight that was about to take place.

“Hey, uh Blondie?”

She seemed to both perk up and tense at being directly spoken to by him. It really gave Mox a clear picture about how shit worked between Shawn and Mox’s kept Omega. The thought only made Mox clench his fists tighter. His reasons for snapping were growing more and more and his reasons to stay calm, while greater, were shrinking with each second that passed.

He got the sense about his Omega.. She was the shy sort. Timid, probably easily spooked. And it didn’t take an idiot to guess how Shawn might have picked right up on that fact and somehow worked his way in, used it to his advantage.

And that only further fuelled the rage within.

All Grace could do was tense up and watch the growing confrontation in concern. When Mox addressed her, she shifted her gaze to him and swallowed hard, trying to get her mouth and brain to work together.

… say something… She coaxed herself, but it didn’t work. She was still caught in the grips of her shock that she had a true Alpha, he was here and from the way he acted and the heavy notes of concern and desire his scent held, what Shawn claimed -that she wouldn’t be wanted, was a blatant lie, most likely cooked up by the man to keep her from waiting it out and trying to hope against hope that her true Alpha presented himself.

Knowing that, she just found herself disgusted with what was going on currently. All she wanted was to go to Mox, to be with him. To give herself over to him completely without hesitation.

She tried to push past Shawn, to go to Mox, but Shawn reached out, grabbing for her hand, jerking her right back behind him. He turned and eyed her, glaring. “You belong to me. You better remember that.”

“ I don’t belong to anyone.” Grace attempted to be assertive, but Shawn laughed and then mumbled in a lower tone, “You will, soon enough.”

“The hell I will.” Grace answered, shrinking away from him when he stepped closer. The only reason she even agreed to this stupid gimmick in the first place is the higher ups not wanting unmated Omegas roaming wild and free in the back, playing havoc on the unmated Alphas and causing chaos.

If she’d known Mox was her true Alpha, - or that he’d even have been a little interested in the whole concept of a bond like he apparently was come to find out, she never would have just agreed to valet Shawn.

If she could turn back the clock.. Knowing what she was aware of now, she never would have even given Shawn a second glance because Mox was quite literally everything she’d ever hoped for in an Alpha and then some. She locked eyes with Mox and Mox nodded to the side of where they all stood, trying to get her to move.

She tried to but Shawn, being the slippery eel he was known for, moved her right in front of him, smirking just as soon as Mox immediately stepped back just to keep himself from hurting his Omega. Shawn gave a dark chuckle at the action and scoffed. “I thought you were reckless, Mox. I thought you didn’t give a fuck about anyone but you. Don’t tell me you’re gonna go weak now, hmm? This is gonna be easier than I thought.”

Mox growled, stepping right back up. The movement put him right against her which was good, it meant he could get hands on her, get her out of the way and make one hundred percent certain that she was safe and remained safe.

Mox glanced down at the blonde Omega nestled between himself and Shawn and he boldly reached down, grabbing hold of her hips, pulling her closer to himself, glaring at Shawn the whole time, daring the other Alpha to do something.

Shawn stepped closer, every intention of doing the same thing, but Mox was quicker and he carefully plucked his Omega from between the two, raising to full height, smirking at Shawn as he did so. A quiet growl came from both males and Mox leaned in a little.

“Know what, Spears? I think I’m just gonna take her. I mean, she’s mine anyway. And you treat her like shit. She’s shakin she’s so goddamn scared of you.”

“It’s this.. The fighting.. That’s not helping…” Grace spoke up at last, even though her voice was almost a whisper. The whole confrontation was making her uncomfortable, the fact was only slightly mitigated by Mox staying close and providing her with just a little calm. “Definitely him though.. The way I know he’s gonna get angry later.” it slipped out before she could stop it, sealing Shawn Spears’ fate.

Shawn’s place in Grace’s life was reaching a speedy expiration. His days as her so called Alpha were numbered. If Mox had his way about how things played out, it was all going to end tonight.

Tully showed up before the fight could really even get started, whispering to Shawn. When Shawn tried to shove through Mox to grab her, Mox shoved him down onto the floor, leaning over Shawn, hauling him up by the collars of his vest, sneering in his face. “You ain’t gonna lay a hand on her. Ya not even gonna fuckin look at her. I’ll fuckin kill ya. Get lost you little bitch.” Mox let him fall back to the floor and Shawn sprang up, hitting Mox in the head from behind when he turned and he was more focused on Grace than he was on Shawn and any attempt at retaliation he might make.

Mox leaned into her, cupping her cheeks, staring down into her eyes. “Ya gonna be okay.”

Grace managed a nod and clung to Mox to stay on her feet when Shawn crashed into the two from behind. Mox growled quietly, whispered into her ear, “My changin room.. It’s down the hall. Get ya ass in there. I won’t be a second tops.”

“Mox, no..”

“Go, damn it. I’m gonna fuckin rip his head off. I don’t want you out here in the middle.”

His tone was firm enough to send a coating of slick rushing down her inner thighs and after a second, she was finally tapped on the shoulder by Riho, who grabbed hold of her wrist and muttered quietly about needing to get her out of harms way, whisking her off and away down the hall.

Mox whirled around and grabbed a chair in one fluid motion. The chair met Shawn’s head and Shawn grabbed at it next, trying to shove it into Mox’s midsection. The fight was just reaching that point of out of control when Cody ran down the hall, with some of the others, quick to break the two up.

“I want him in that ring! Tonight! He’s tryin to take my Omega.”

“You want me, Spears? You fuckin got me. And you won’t even be alive to breathe on her when I’m through with you.”

“So, you two are getting a match tonight. To settle this. Until then, Mox, Grace stays with you.” Cody spoke up, looking from one man to the other. Mox nodded, smirking at Shawn, reaching out to give the man one last good shove. “Works for me, boss. I’ll see you tonight, sunshine.” Mox snarled at Spears before stalking off, heading in the direction of his changing room… He had to make sure Grace was okay. If that asshole had done anything to her and Mox found out, then tonight, Mox was going to make doubly sure he ended Shawn Spears.

Shawn Spears’ days were numbered. He was quite literally, a dead man walking.

[nodynasty4us]

Just a few excerpts from the long profile by Tim Alberta:

Since last fall, I’ve spent nearly six hours talking with Haley on-the-record. I’ve also spoken with nearly 70 people who know her: friends, associates, donors, staffers, former colleagues. From those conversations, two things are clear. First, Nikki Haley is going to run for president in 2024. Second, she doesn’t know which Nikki Haley will be on the ballot. Will it be the Haley who has proven so adaptive and so canny that she might accommodate herself to the dark realities of a Trump-dominated party? Will it be the Haley who is combative and confrontational and had a history of giving no quarter to xenophobes? Or will it be the Haley who refuses to choose between these characters, believing she can be everything to everyone? ...

She is still trying to have it both ways. To argue that Trump only spent two months pummeling our institutional norms—instead of four years—is to refuse admitting any culpability for the party, and the country, going off the rails. But to state that millions of people followed him into a dead-end of social and political violence is to acknowledge that something is very wrong—something that was wrong before January 6, and something that was wrong before 2016.

At the heart of this contradiction is a showdown between who she wants to be and who she thinks she needs to be. Nikki Haley’s fundamental conflict is not with Donald Trump. It’s with Nikki Haley. ... In a sense, Haley was shaped not by any particular cause or dogma, but by the disrespect she encountered inside the GOP caucus [of the South Carolina legislature]. Rejected by her colleagues, Haley stopped listening to conventional wisdom and started rebeling against the Republican leadership. “I don’t need to be that person that everyone likes,” she remembers thinking. “I don’t need to be that person that gets along with everybody.” ... She came to be loathed by many of her fellow Republicans for not being a team player; for going rogue on certain votes and procedures that made them look slimy or stupid to her benefit. But it was their exclusion of her in the first place that set Haley down this path of torturing the establishment, of tapping into the sentiments of the Tea Party... ... Haley had once been nicknamed “Mark Sanford in a dress.” But around this time, a modified phrase became popular in Columbia: “Bill Clinton in a skirt.” This wasn’t meant solely as an insult. In addition to her vengeful streak, and her slippery side, everyone could see Haley’s immense political gifts. “In my lifetime in politics, the only person I’ve seen that I can compare her to is Bill Clinton,” says Senator Tom Davis, who was Sanford’s chief of staff as governor. “She has that same charisma, that same pulse on people, that same force of personality.” Mick Mulvaney, the future White House chief of staff who served with Haley in the statehouse, and had his share of run-ins with her over the years, told me Haley perfected the “Clinton model” of icing perceived enemies. “She may be the most ambitious person I’ve ever met. And that’s okay,” Mulvaney said. “I’m just surprised she’s felt it necessary to burn bridges with so many people for no apparent reason.” ... Lee Bright, a longtime archconservative in the statehouse... added, “The fact is, she doesn’t have a core. Adapting to the electorate is what keeps you around in politics, and she’s done it more effectively than anyone I’ve ever seen. She went from being an enemy of the establishment to being the face of the establishment.” ... To the cynic, watching Haley’s national reputation soar in the summer of 2015, it was proof of her cunning: She had manipulated a tragedy for political gain. “She never had a problem with the flag, but all of a sudden after the shooting, she has some reminiscence of being a child and being mistreated?” Bright grumbled. “It’s all political with her.”

The truth was just the opposite. After years of casting about, searching for her identity and her purpose in a party that was antagonistic to people like her, Haley had found it. Republicans were overdue for a reckoning on race, and she was ready to arrange it. ... In the 72 hours before South Carolina’s primary, Haley helped Rubio put on a rock concert across the state. The two of them were joined at events by Tim Scott, who had also endorsed Rubio. Here was the future of Republicanism—an Indian-American governor, a Black senator, a Cuban-American presidential candidate—joining forces to fight back against a frontrunner who was race-baiting and hate-mongering his way to the party’s nomination for president. Haley took this mission especially personally. “I wanted somebody,” she declared when endorsing Rubio, “that was going to go and show my parents that the best decision they ever made was coming to America.” ... Despite being 230 miles from the White House, she made no secret of her opinion that Trump’s government was being run into the ground by incompetent egomaniacs. Haley would sneak into Washington unannounced and find an audience with the president, over the objections of people like John Kelly and Rex Tillerson, pleading a case separate from theirs. She would backchannel with foreign governments—and with U.S. officials—in a manner that made her appear the de facto secretary of state, which caused Tillerson to vent on more than a few occasions about “that bitch.” ... She has never had personal relationships with Fox’s stars the way other Republicans do. When Tucker Carlson went after Haley last summer—responding to her empathetic remarks about George Floyd’s murder by declaring, “What Nikki Haley does best is moral blackmail”—the entire 2024 field took notice. Carlson has clearly taken a disliking to Haley. What happens if he, or Sean Hannity, or some combination of these and other right-wing voices, make it their mission to take her down? ... Hoping for a hint, I asked Haley on January 12: Does she still consider Trump a friend?

“Friend,” she answered, “is a loose term.”

[randomfandomimagine]

Don’t Hate You That Much (Steve x Reader)

Character: Steve Harrington (ft. Dustin Henderson and others)

Fandom: Stranger Things

Categories: GenderNeutral!Reader, Sibling!Reader, Henderson!Reader

Warnings: Injuries, bit of violence, swearing, spoilers for season 2

Word count: 4.673 words

Summary: Y/N realizes Dustin has been hanging out with Steve Harrington, and as the older sibling, wants to protect him from Steve's bad influence. Or so it seemed, because as Y/N gets involved in their endeavor, Steve doesn't seem such a bad guy.

Home sweet home. After a long day studying at the library, I was exhausted. I couldn’t wait to plop down on my bed and rest. Just thinking about it put a smile on my face.

I parked the car and got out, noticing that the lights were out. That was odd, mom and Dustin should be home by now.

“Mom?” I yelled out to the house as I came in, turning the lights on. “Dusty?”

There was no response, so I sat down on the couch and thought where they could be. I tapped my chin with one finger, just then remembering that mom was looking for Mews. But where the hell was my little brother?

Interrupting my train of thought, I heard a loud bang outside. I stood still, waiting to see if something else happened. After a few seconds of stillness, I could hear voices in the distance.

Standing up with determination, I headed to my room and grabbed my replica of Aragorn’s sword. Wielding the weapon to defend myself from potential intruders, I headed outside to where the noise originated from.

In the darkness of the night, I noticed a beam of light from a torch someone was holding. I recognized the hatted figure and the one next to him.

“Hey!” I shouted, startling them both. “What’s going on here?”

“Jesus, put that down!” The taller one said, taking a step back.

“Dusty, what’s he doing here?” I asked my brother, ignoring the other one.

“I’m-“ The latter replied, but I shoved him a little.

“I’m not talking to you, Harrington” I glared at him, trying to warn him. “Get away from my brother”

“No, Y/N, I asked him to come” Dustin defended him. “It’s okay”

“Yeah, what’s your problem?” Harrington mumbled in outrage, but he stood back when I pointed the sword his direction again. “Whoa, hey, watch it!”

“My problem is that you’re an asshole” He used to hang out with Tommy and Carol, and even if they had drifted apart, I didn’t believe him to be any better than them. “And I don’t like you being around my little brother”

Dustin tried to calm me down by pushing my sword arm down. I still eyed Harrington, secretly enjoying the cautious look he was giving me.

“Is that an actual sword?” He asked instead, probably trying to pretend he wasn’t intimidated.

“Yeah, from Lord of the Rings” Dustin proudly replied, grinning widely.

“You’re a nerd too?” The other exclaimed in surprise.

“Where do you think he got it from?” I replied, patting my brother’s head.

“Look, don’t tell mom” He told me gravelly, which wasn’t a great start. “But I think I’ve been harboring an evil creature”

“A what now?”

“Dart, I think he was evil”

“Dart? Who’s-” Was that the name he had given this new pet he was talking about? Nevermind, that wasn’t important. “How can you know that it was evil?”

“Because it ate Mews”

“Mews?! But mom is looking for him at the other side of town!”

“Exactly, that’s why I needed Steve’s help”

“Son of a bitch, Dustin!” I complained, eyeing Harrington as he wielded his bat. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because! I didn’t want to freak you out, and you were in the library so…”

“Okay, sorry to interrupt this cute little family moment but…” Harrington knocked his bat against the closed doors that led to the basement. “Are you opening this or not?”

Dustin nodded, giving him the key, so he could reveal the inside of the cellar. The three of us stood there in silence for a moment until Harrington took a step forward.

“Not so fast, dumbass” I said, planting a hand on his chest and pushing him back. “I’m going first”

“What, why?”

“Because I don’t trust you, that’s why”

Harrington rolled his eyes at me and rested a hand against his hip in annoyance. I ignored him and entered the cellar, sword in hand. I walked slowly down the steps, glad that they were illuminating my way with their flashlight.

I suddenly yelped when I stepped on something slippery that made me fall. I landed with a thud that accompanied the clinking noise of the blade against the floor.

“Shit!” Harrington uttered, rushing to my aid. “You okay?”

“Y/N?” Dustin asked from the entrance too as Steve pulled me up.

“I’m fine!” I told them both, swatting him away. “It’s fine…”

Ignoring his exasperated sigh, I went to turn the light bulb on by pulling at the chord. The room was now flooded in the dim yellowish light. Harrington crouched down and used his bat to pick up what I had slipped with. I grimaced in disgust at the gross viscous substance hanging from it.

“Shit” Dustin muttered, examining whatever that thing was as he joined us.

“What is that?” I asked, watching how it dripped to the ground.

“Dart” My brother half-questioned, looking up at me.

“What kind of pets are you keeping, Dusty?” I uttered in outrage, eyeing him.

However, I walked away from them when I noticed something. There was an opening at the other end of the cellar, one that shouldn’t be there. I knelt down on the ground to examine it, but it was too dark to see anything.

“Um…” I piped up, trying to gather their attention. “What the hell is this?”

“Oh, shit” Dustin repeated as they both walked closer to see it.

Steve directed the beam of light to the opening, where we could see a tunnel.

-

After our little discovery, we came into the house to discuss how to approach the situation. While Steve and Dustin paced up and down, debating their next movement, I ended up falling asleep in the couch. When I woke up it was day already and last night’s events almost felt unreal.

I jumped to my feet, dropping something on the process, which I realized was Harrington’s jacket. I rolled my eyes at his poor attempt at getting on my good side and grabbed it as I stomped over to Dustin’s room. No one was there, and I hated to think that my little brother was alone with Steve Harrington.

I looked under the bed for his walkie-talkie and pressed the button, growing more anxious by the second. Especially when I remembered there was some sort of strange creature roaming around and they were going after it.

“Dusty, do you copy?” I paused, but insisted when I had no answer. “It’s Y/N, please respond if you copy. Over”

There was only static for several seconds until his voice came next.

“I copy, Y/N” I intently listened to his voice, but he seemed to sound unharmed. “I’m with Steve”

“Where the hell are you? I don’t want you chasing after some weird thing with only him to protect you”

“Um, yeah, I’m right here” Steve interrupted us, and I rolled my eyes just at his voice.

“Good” I told him, then pretending he wasn’t even there. “Answer me, Dustin, where are you?”

“We’re going to the old junkyard. But we got it under control, you can-“

“No way” I spoke to the walkie-talkie, already heading outside. “I’m on my way, over”

I wish I could take a weapon with me like Harrington had his bat with nails, but the closest thing I had to that was the Lord of the Rings sword, and it was blunt. I just hoped for the best and hurried to the car to get to them as soon as possible.

-

When I arrived, Dustin and Steve weren’t alone. Lucas was there too, along with a girl that I had never seen before. I supposed that was Max, the girl Dustin had told me about.

As I approached, Steve smiled at me as a peace offering, but I still didn’t like him. I had heard too many shitty things about him to trust him in the slightest. So I just ignored him, heading straight for the two boys hiding behind a rundown car.

“Hey, Lucas” I said, earning a ‘hi, Y/N’ from him. “Dusty, what are you two doing?”

“We’re talking, do you mind?” My brother complained, so I scowled at him a little and backed away.

I looked at Steve and the girl, wondering why the hell they were moving metallic plaques over to the outside of the bus. Still, I knew it had to do with the thing we found on our cellar and I didn’t like it one bit.

“Hey, Y/N” Harrington showed me a smile that I assumed pretended to be charming.

“Nice try, asshole” I tossed him the jacket, making him drop the plaque he was holding in order to catch it.

“What? I was just…”

“You’re gonna have to try a little harder than that”

“There’s just no pleasing you”

“You can always stop trying”

I heard a small laugh and was reminded of the girl’s presence there, so I approached her and forgot about Steve. I did smirk, though, when he walked away muttering to himself.

“Hi, I’m Y/N” I held my hand out for her to shake. “Dustin’s my brother”

“I’m Max” She replied, giving my hand a firm shake before dropping it.

“So Max, can you tell me what’s going on exactly?”

“As far as I understood, we’re trying to bait something with that” She pointed to the ground, where I noticed pieces of raw meat. “This ‘demogorgon’ from another dimension or something”

I frowned, completely baffled. I had heard that word before, but from Dusty’s D&D sessions. I opened my mouth to reply, but she was already walking away. Determined to confront Dustin about this whole thing, I walked over to him, just to see that Harrington had beat me to it.

“Hey, dickheads” He called them, slamming a rusty old chair against the car they hid behind. “How come the only one to help me is this random girl?”

They reluctantly followed after him, but I grabbed Steve by the arm. I wasn’t going to let him treat them like that.

“Don’t insult Lucas and my little brother” Before he could retaliate, I continued speaking. “In fact, don’t insult people, you jerk”

“I was just… I didn’t actually…” He bitterly chuckled and shook his head. “You’re such a joy, Henderson. Can’t wait to spend hours trapped with you on a small bus”

“Yeah, try to survive without looking at yourself in a mirror for so long”

He scoffed at me before carrying on with what he was doing. I walked over to Dustin and nudged him.

“Did that asshole say something to you?” I gravely asked, imagining lots of scenarios in which he gave my brother some really bad ideas.

“Huh?” Understanding what I was getting at, he shook his head. “No, he just gave me advice”

“Advice on what?”

“Girls…”

“Yeah, I’m sure it was great advice” I sarcastically replied, looking Harrington up and down in annoyance.

“What’s your problem with him?” Dustin complained. “Did he do something to you or something?”

“Not really, but I kept hearing all these things about him and… I just don’t think he’s a good influence, okay?” I rolled my eyes, hating to have to justify myself. “Besides, you didn’t like him either!”

“That was before” My brother began walking towards the bus. “I think he changed”

“Yeah, right…” I noticed Harrington was leaning on the bus, waiting for us. “Still don’t trust him”

“C’mon, slackers” He clapped his hands to hustle us. “It’ll be dark soon”

“Fine” I let Dustin go in first, but following close behind. “Just don’t stand too close to me. Wouldn’t want to catch any of the dumbass”

“Clever” Harrington muttered, walking in after me and closing the bus door behind him. “Come up with it on your own?”

I mockingly smiled at him, sitting down on the ground far away from where he settled in. Max occupied one of the worn out seats, lazily pointing up to the hole that led to the roof to tell us that Lucas was there keeping watch.

While it got dark, I found myself in a pensive mood. All of that was still crazy, the fact that just some hours ago I had been studying in the library like any other day and now we were waiting for some strange creatures that we had baited there to ambush.

I got back to reality when I noticed Dustin paced up and down. He was turning to the girl to reply to something she had told him, but he was being pretty rude to her.

Done with his outburst, Max went to stay up on the roof with Lucas. If that was his attempt to get her to like him, my brother was very wrong.

“Dusty!” I scolded him, but he just shrugged and continued pacing.

“Showing you don’t care, huh?” Harrington smirked at him.

“I don’t” Dustin replied simply, barely acknowledging him.

The other winked an eye at him, and I just knew that he had told him to treat her like that.

“Why are you winking, dumbass?” I kicked him in the knee, having to hold back a smirk when he let out a long ‘ouch!’ in response. “That was terrible advice”

“What do you know?” Closing the zippo he had been playing with, he defiantly stared.

“I know that if you want someone to like you, that’s not the way to go, okay?” I leaned forward, challenging him to talk back to me. “Being kind and thoughtful is”

“You’re an expert on that, aren’t you, Henderson?”

“That’s because I don’t like you” I said slowly, trying to let the words sink in. “Stop teaching my brother bad lessons”

With that, Harrington looked up to the inside of the bus. It was now empty.

“Wait, where is he?” We both ran to the window, watching Dustin outside.

“He probably got fed up with our arguing” Harrington observed, barely letting me see as he took all the space.

“And whose fault is that?” I rushed to the door, but felt a hand tugging at my arm. “Hey, they’re not even here yet”

“I don’t care” I broke free from his grasp and opened the bus door. “If he gets hurt today, I’m blaming you”

“What?! But he was the one-“ I heard him slapping his hands against his sides in exasperation seeing as I was ignoring him.

Dustin turned at the sound of the door opening. Our eyes met, and I silently asked him to come back with a gesture. My brother nodded, sinking his hands inside his pockets, and returned to us seeing that we were done fighting.

“Uh… Henderson?” Harrington spoke up, just as Dustin entered.

“What?” We both replied at the same time, soon realizing what he meant when a growling echoed around the junkyard.

“They’re here, but…” Steve nervously shook his head. “They’re not taking the bait”

“That doesn’t make sense” Dustin intervened, looking up at me to explain. “I thought…”

We both jumped when Harrington quickly moved around.

“What are you doing?” I questioned him when he turned to us.

“Just get ready” He tossed the zippo to Dustin and grabbed his bat.

“Steve…” Dustin uttered, watching him leave the bus.

“What…? Harrington, get back in here!” I whisper-yelled, even if he ignored me and closed the door again. “He’s gonna get himself killed”

Max had come down, so the three of us went for the windows to see what Harrington did. He stood outside, taunting the demogorgon as he slowly advanced in the fog. Time seemed to go by very slowly as we watched him being there on his own, attracting those things. It felt like it would jump at him at any moment, and I braced myself just in case.

I nearly jumped out of my skin when Lucas called out from above, warning Steve.

“Crap” I muttered when I realized that, indeed, there was more than one.

“Steve!” Dustin ran to the door and opened it all the way. “Abort, abort!”

He took a look around, taking notice of the many creatures that surrounded him, and stepped back. We anxiously watched as he dodged one of them and swung his bat at another one, making a run for it when he got the chance. We encouraged him, urging him to run, until he made it in safely and Dustin quickly slammed the door shut.

Steve caught his breath, lying down on the ground, as he recovered. I gulped as I him, tapping his arm to check he was unharmed. I was distracted, though, hearing those things getting closer.

“Watch out!” I said when the demogorgons started banging against the door.

Steve grabbed a metallic plaque and set it against the door, keeping it in place with his feet. He swore under his breath when they banged it again, and I threw all my weight over it to try and help keep them out.

The bus violently shook, making us all yelp in alarm. I squeaked when they managed to break through the door, but Harrington was already prepared.

“Watch the kids!” He told me, sticking by the door with his bat.

I ushered the three of them closer to me, holding on to them and taking them with me to the other end of the bus. Dustin was desperately trying to get ahold of someone with the walkie-talkie while Max and Lucas stood closely together.

“Y/N…” The latter claimed my attention, and when I looked at him I noticed he was glancing up. Max screamed, and I resisted the urge to do too.

“No!” I pushed them all behind me after I saw a demogorgon creeping on us from above.

“Outa the way, outa the way!” Steve was with us in a heartbeat, wielding his bat.

Protectively standing before us, he attentively watched the creature, ready to strike. It growled once more, and I couldn’t contain a cry this time, feeling myself shaking. We were locked in a bus, surrounded by those horrible things that would no doubt kill us.

The bus then wobbled before the silence established. The change from tension to stillness was jarring, but I welcomed the calm. I put a hand on top of Dustin’s head, over his hat, wanting him to look at me. Without any words, he nodded rapidly to assure he was okay. I noticed his eyes shifted to Max and Lucas, who were holding hands, and I frowned at the sight.

I really wanted to comfort Dustin about it, but it was not the time for that. We had bigger things to worry about.

Moving cautiously, nearly afraid to make any sound whatsoever, we neared the door. Steve, always at the front, opened it slowly. They weren’t around the bus anymore.

“Are they gone?” I dared to ask, shuddering when my voice abruptly interrupted the loud quietness.

“Think so” Max replied behind me, although shakily.

“What… happened?”

“Steve scared them off?”

“No, no way” The aforementioned was already outside, but he turned to us and rested the bat on his shoulder. “They’re going somewhere”

There was a pause in which we all looked at each other. I tried not to freak out thinking that we had lucked out to come out alive.

“Alright” I took a deep breath, realizing like the feeling of imminent death was gone now. “Everyone okay?”

“Yeah” The kids lowly replied, soberly nodding their heads.

“Wait” I tapped Harrington on the shoulder when he began walking. “Where are you going?”

“We’re following them” He replied, gesturing in that direction, like it was obvious.

“Are you out of your mind?”

“We can’t let them hurt anyone”

“Y-Yeah, but we barely made it!”

“No one’s asking you to come anyway”

“I’m not just… leaving you guys now!”

Steve motioned for me to get going with a head movement and took a step forward without looking back. I sighed in resignation, knowing there was no going back now.

I watched Harrington as he walked, bat against his shoulder. I was suddenly unable to avert my eyes in awe of what I had just witnessed. That jerk, who had picked up fights with Jonathan Byers when his brother went missing, who always thought he was better than anyone and looked down on people. That jerk had just risked his life, several times, in order to protect us. Willingly. He had valiantly fought those things while we stayed behind in the safety of the bus. He had surprised me, doing selfless things I never thought a self-absorbed asshole like him was capable of.

“Y/N?” Dustin tugged at my hand, interrupting my train of thought. “You alright?”

“Yeah…” I lied, since I was feeling a headache coming. “You, little guy?”

“I’m fine…” He assured, even if it wasn’t really convincing.

“Wanna talk?” I offered while we walked, knowing he was still upset about Max.

“Not really” He shrugged one shoulder. “There’s not much I can do, is it? I think she made up her mind”

While Harrington was at the front, Lucas and Max were walking side by side after all. They seemed really close, and I understood that it bothered Dustin if he was interested in her too.

“Well, that’s very mature of you” I fondly put an arm over his shoulders and shook him a little. “But hey, I’m sure you’ll find an amazing girl who loves you just the way you are”

“You’re just saying that” He feebly kicked a rock on the floor, sending it flying forward.

“I mean it, just be patient” I let go of him, ruffling his hat and his hair. “Life surprises us, you’ll find someone you vibe with”

“Can you tell me when?” Dustin tiredly asked, looking up at me.

As we continued walking, I felt someone watching me. I turned to find Steve’s brown eyes fixed on me. However, when I reciprocated the glance, he frowned and looked away.

“When you least expect it, I guess…”

-

The evening had been absolutely crazy. After we were nearly attacked by those demogorgon things, we followed them to Hawkins lab, where we met Jonathan and Nancy. It was crazy, Hopper and Joyce were there too, with Will and Mike. Apparently, Will was sick somehow and we all went to the Byers house to try and cure him.

Once there, I spoke to Nancy and Jonathan, who explained the whole thing. I was still having a hard time believing things like another dimension called ‘the upside down’ and a creature they called ‘the shadow monster’ were real. But I was willing to stay with Dustin, to protect him and look after the kids. I had said it before, I wasn’t going to abandon them now.

“You okay?” Steve’s voice startled me so much that I noticeably jumped.

“Y-Yeah” I muttered, lowering my hand when I realized I had been biting my nails.

“Here” He said, taking his jacket off and offering it to me. “You’re shaking”

“I’m not scared” I said, facing my back to him in annoyance.

“I didn’t say you were scared” Not giving up, Harrington moved to face me again. “Just that you’re shaking”

He offered me the jacket again, and I honestly welcomed the thought. This nervous shivering was partially because of the cold, but the comforting feeling of the extra layer was appealing. I stared at Steve as I took his jacket, not breaking eye contact when I put it on.

“What?” He asked, uncomfortable under my scrutiny.

“It looks like you’re not that much of a jerk after all, Harrington” I smiled, surprised by this sweet side of him. “At least you seem to have a heart”

Not only had he protected us all back in the bus, but also even offer himself as bait. And after all, I hadn’t seen him with those jerks friends of his again. Maybe Steve wasn’t as bad as I thought.

“Spare me the little speech” He smirked, causing me to chuckle a little.

“Gladly” I huddled under his jacket, welcoming the warmth.

He then nodded, leaving with a last soft smile in my direction. Everything started feeling a little better now.

“Hey” I called him, averting my gaze when he turned to me again. “Your advice is still terrible…”

“Y/N, c’mon” Steve complained, throwing his hands up in the air.

“What I mean is…” I rushed to say, implying that I meant no harm. “Even if it’s terrible, thanks for taking care of my brother”

“Sure, the little shit’s cool” Harrington coolly leaned on the wall.

“Where do you think he gets it from?” I replied, making him laugh a little.

I tiredly leaned on the wall as well, feeling a throbbing headache at all the new information I learned that day. It was so overwhelming and, honestly, kind of terrifying.

“You sure you’re okay?” Steve insisted, gently fondling my arm.

“Yeah, just got a headache” I rubbed my forehead, feeling a bit lightheaded as well. “Always get one when I’m anxious”

“You don’t have to do this, you know?”

“What do you mean? Do what?”

“Pretend like you’re fine. I guess you do it for Dustin, I don’t know, but he can take it”

I stared at him, wondering if he knew how hard I tried to be strong for him. For him, for mom, even for myself. I was the oldest sibling, it was my responsibility.

I patted Steve’s shoulder, nodding at his surprisingly wise words. Briefly looking over to Dustin sitting with his friends, I heaved a sigh. I hated to admit it, but Harrington was right. My brother was smart, and strong. If he could take the demogorgons, he could take me being a little overwhelmed.

“I think I’m gonna lie down” I told Steve, pointing at one of the couches. “Just for one sec”

“Good idea” He grinned, patting my back. “I’ll hold the fort for you”

“Tell Dusty not to worry” That said, I feebly walked to the couch and plopped down there.

I knew it was almost impossible for me to fall asleep, and I didn’t want to anyway. But I closed my eyes to rest my heavy eyelids and weary mind.

-

Barely realizing I had actually fallen asleep, I was abruptly awoken by loud noises. I had run to see if everyone was safe, just to be stopped by Steve, who held his arm before me.

“What’s going on?!” I exclaimed, holding on to his arm since he still wouldn’t let me pass.

Everyone stood around, apparently expecting something. Hopper and Nancy wielded shotguns, Steve held on to his bat and Lucas had his slingshot at the ready. They all watched the windows, barely even blinking.

“They’re coming” Mike replied ominously, making eye contact.

“What-?” I tried to walk closer to the window, but everyone scolded me for it.

Luckily, Steve’s arm blocked my path still, and he gently pushed me back.

“Stay behind me” He muttered, pressingly tugging at my sleeve. “Behind me, Y/N!”

“Okay, okay!” I obliged, positioning myself behind him and holding on to Dustin’s arm to keep him close.

While Hopper, Nancy, Lucas and Steve wielded their weapons, the rest of us stood behind them. I held on to Steve’s shoulders, still not letting go of my brother to assure he lingered by my side. Jonathan and Joyce were at my right, and he held on to my shoulder.

Noises erupted outside, causing us all to turn to the sound and scream. I clung on to Steve and Dustin when my heart started racing. And then something went through the window.

I squeaked, pushing my brother closer to me and protectively wrapping both arms around him. When we looked, we saw it was a demogorgon, but it wasn’t moving. What…?

“Shit…” I uttered when the door suddenly started unlocking, keeping us tense.

It then opened to reveal a young girl all dressed in black. I panicked thinking who she could be, yet everyone seemed to relax at the sight of her. 

READ PART 2 NOW!

Tag list: (Stranger Things) @xionroxas, @raararasputin, @welcome-here-in-my-world, @suenami3, @bitchingpretty​, @xxsirensong (Steve) @24-stilinski​  // If you want to be added or taken off the tag list, let me know!!

[ginnyzero]

Completely Harmless Ch. 4

Completely Harmless An SSO SilverGlade Re-imagining Story (Or Fix it Fan Salt fic) By Ginny O.

When Lily and her friends wanted to buy horses and were directed to the Silverglade Manor and its myriad of problems, they didn’t expect to start a revolution. They were just a bunch a stable girls. Completely harmless. Right?

A/N: Things are only canon if I say they’re canon. Pre-Saving the Moorland Stables compliant for the most part. Posted in its entirety on my website. Posted in 2000 to 4000 word bits here. Rated T for Swearing Word Count 177,577

Chapter Four The Dreadful Mr. Kemball

The oil rigs were camped out in the eastern portion of the paddock, and infuriatingly enough, had jumped the fence and gone into the Baroness’ stretch of absolutely useless lawns.

The girls changed their shirts in the tack room stuffing the red orange ones into their saddle bags.

“We shouldn’t let them see all of us,” Tyra murmured.

“Split up. We’re looking for horses.”

“Checking the fences,” Melody suggested.

“Oh, good one,” Regina nodded.

So, they split into three groups. Two to ride along the edge to check the fences of three each, and the main group with Tyra boldly strolling through the field towards the oil rigs to call for the ‘missing’ horses.

The oil rigs clanged and banged.

Regina shuddered. “No horse would want to get near that.”

“It’s awful,” Abigail breathed. “Look, they aren’t even being responsible. Look at the oil on the ground.”

Tyra looked grim. “Yeah.”

“Hey!” Someone shouted.

Abigail hissed. “Mr. Kemball.”

Regina nudged her. “Oh, Mr. Kemball. What are you doing here?”

Mr. Kemball glared at them. His face turned red. “None of your business. What are you doing here? This is a restricted area and off limits.”

Abigail’s lips parted slightly. “It’s a horse paddock.”

“We’re stable girls.” Regina gestured up and down at Elsa’s outfit. “Looking for lost horses.”

“Well, there aren’t any around here.”

“How do you know? Have you looked?” Abigail put her hands on her hips.

“Sorry, Mr. Kemball, but we are missing a few horses from the herd,” Tyra said without a trace of apology in her voice. “We’re going to have to look around to make sure they’re not at this end of the paddock or hurt.”

Mr. Kemball ground his teeth.

“Mr. Kemball!” One of the workers jogged up. “Mr. Kemball, there’s a group of girls,” he trailed off as he saw the group of girls standing in front of Mr. Kemball with arms crossed or hands on their hips. “Inspecting the fence,” he finished weakly.

Tyra raised a brow. “This is a working stable. Things have to be inspected.”

“I’m sure Mr. Kemball can appreciate that,” Elsa said and her voice was actually sweet.

Mr. Kemball glared at them. “You girls are up to something.”

“Yeah, looking for lost horses,” Regina said. “That’s something all right. You know, doing our jobs.”

Mr. Kemball’s eyes narrowed. “I know you girls,” he said. He peered at them. “You’re those stable girls from Moorland.”

“There are lots of stable girls in Moorland, Mr. Kemball. I mean, Jorvik has a horse based economy. There are lots of stable girls everywhere.” Regina rolled her eyes.

Mr. Kemball was about to say more.

“Tyra, Tyra!” Melody rode up. She looked livid. “You won’t believe it. These, these,” she glared at Kemball and the workers. “They’ve torn down part of the fence. The missing horses might be all the way to the Hollow Woods by now.”

Tyra’s eyes widened. “You did what!” She shouted at Mr. Kemball.

“I’m off to tell Judy and Linda.” Melody nudged her horse’s side. The horse took off at a canter.

“The Baroness will hear about this, Kemball,” Tyra grated out. “That is beyond a breech in the agreement.”

Mr. Kemball snorted. “I have the best lawyers in Jorvik.”

“You’re going to need them,” Tyra said in a low voice.

Abigail and Regina threw him a look of disgust. Elsa looked disdainful.

“Come on girls, enough chatting.” Tyra gestured. They marched off into the oil rigs.

The worker sputtered. “Aren’t you going to stop them?”

“Me? That’s your jobs,” Kemball shouted. “Go on. Make sure they don’t do anything stupid like they did back in Moorland.”

Tyra lowered her voice. “What happened in Moorland?”

Abigail answered just as quietly. “Thomas mislaid the deed to the stable. Mr. Kemball was trying to claim eminent domain or something. Like, Thomas couldn’t prove he owned the land without the deed. So, we tracked it down and made sure it got into the right hands. Kemball had to back off and close shop. The camp is in the black. Thomas just sucks at paperwork. Apparently, Catherine handled that part of it and when Mrs. Holdsworth, who was doing it as a favor, retired.”

Tyra groaned. “He didn’t hire a replacement.”

“Yep,” Regina said.

“Soo, there’s now a replacement.” Abigail rolled her eyes. “And Justin is learning to do it too.”

“Who is the replacement?”

“Loretta,” Regina chirped. “I mean, she’s a bitch, but she’s great at paperwork.”

“Plus, she wants to impress Justin,” Abigail smirked. “Lily thought it was a streak of genius.”

Tyra sputtered. “Oh, my, goddess. That’s perfect.”

“He’s a scuz,” Elsa said.

Regina bit her lip. “I have an idea.”

“Oh?” Abigail said.

“Elsa said it. He’s a scuz. So, where did Mr. Kemball get these rigs anyways?” Regina gestured.

“To know that, we’d need their numbers,” Abigail scratched her neck.

Tyra glanced behind her. “We’re being followed. If we stop to inspect the rigs, he’ll notice.”

“Then, you three provide a distraction. I’ll hang back as he follows you and get pictures. Even if the numbers are scratched off, that’s something,” Regina said.

“You watch way too many crime procedurals.” Abigail raised her brow.

Tyra nodded. “I like it though.”

Elsa spoke up. “Take pictures and text me the numbers,” she said, fingers working on her phone. “We’re going to have our distraction in,” she said. “Well, now.”

A horse whinnied and ran full out past them, one of the other girl’s from another group’s horse.

“Come back!” Grace shouted and ran after it.

“We’ll head him off!” Tyra shouted at her.

So, the three girls ran to head the horse off.

Regina ran with them, sort of. She kept an eye on the worker who was supposed to be following them around. And glanced around for the others. Once he was thoroughly distracted by the other girls, she found the number to the nearest rig, snapped a picture and texted the string to Elsa.

They weren’t really trying to catch the horse, but they herded it around the area so Regina could get pictures of every rig’s number. She texted instructions to Elsa.

“He’s gone through the fence,” Elsa shouted a few seconds later.

By now, the commotion had gathered all the workers who stood around staring as the girls chased the young stallion around. The stallion was having tons of fun.

Regina got a picture of the last one. “Done,” she texted.

Brittany sidled up over to her. “Oh, ho, ho, what have you been up to?”

“Spy shit.” Regina said. Then she got a look at Brittany. “Holy moly, Brit. You’re filthy.”

Brittany pressed her lips together. “I’m headed back to the stables. There are ducks caught in the oil. And we can’t get a good grip on them to get them out. They’re filthy and slippery and thrash about. I sent pictures to Linda. She suggested some bread and is gathering up old dirty towels for us to wrap them up into.”

“Seriously?” Regina hissed.

“There’s a vet at Silverglade.”

“Well, I know some of us are going to have to ride out to Everwind Fields and the Hollow Woods for real to check if there are any missing horses. But the rest of us can help you with the ducks.”

Brittany relaxed. “Thanks. I hate this. I hate it. There’s got to be an ethical way to do this that doesn’t hurt wildlife.”

“Of course there is, he doesn’t give a shit.” Regina wrapped her arm around Brittany.

Melody came back. “Okay, tell Tyra I’m off to Firgrove. Apparently, Felicity has some fencing they usually use for sheep to patch up the fence until we can get it fixed for realsies.”

“Whenever that is going to happen,” Regina grumbled.

“Linda was off to tell the Baroness, she’s furious.”

“Grab a transport back.”

“Oh, I planned on it,” Melody said fiercely. She rode off going for the nearest road that would lead her to Firgrove.

“I better get to Linda,” Brittany said.

“Poor girl. We’re giving her so much more to do.” Regina said.

Brittany nudged her in the side.

Regina let her go and trotted off to tell Tyra where Melody was going. It looked like there was work to do. Her fingers worked at her phone. Lily needed those pictures ASAP.

--

Lily felt her phone buzz. She took it out of her pocket. Her eyes widened at the sheer number of messages on it. “Woah,” she said and opened them up scroll through them. “They’re being busy. They got into a confrontation with Mr. Kemball!”

Pauline squeaked.

“Jorvik City Mall, next stop,” the speakers said.

Lily skimmed the messages and the photos. “We have stuff to show to Aaron.”

“Then he better be able to do something,” Pauline said fiercely.

The bus pulled up in front of the mall. The two got out and Lily tucked her phone away as they passed a disapproving looking janitor and headed straight for the coffee shop.

“Oh my,” Anastasia, or so Lily assumed, Silverglade said, “I haven’t seen that tired old outfit in ages.”

Lily took off her hat. She brushed her hand over her hair. “Anastasia, Anastasia Silverglade?” She managed a convincing breathy shocked sound. “Oh, oh my heavens, I’ve heard so much about you. I mean, I follow your Jorvikgram for your fashion advice. Just, just, wow, so honored.” She held out her hand. “And your dog is even more adorable in person.”

Anastasia preened and shook her hand.

“Sorry, Lily,” Lily introduced herself. “Big fan.”

“I have their drinks,” Anastasia told the owner.

“Oh, you shouldn’t. We’re here to get iced coffees for our club members,” Lily protested.

“Club?” Anastasia perked up.

“Yes, we’re, we’re based in the Silverglade Equestrian Center.” Lily said.

“We must sit down and chat, darlings,” Anastasia said. “The coffees for your friends can wait?”

“I, I guess.”

“We can order them and pick them up, in a couple hours,” Pauline said hesitantly.

“That’s an idea,” Anastasia smiled.

Lily and Pauline ordered iced coffees and then drinks to have that moment. Lily surreptitiously paid for the bigger order letting Anastasia get the smaller one. They sat at one of the café tables.

Lily smiled at her and even accepted having the dog sit in her lap. Lily didn’t mind dogs. A dog in a ballet outfit was just a tad ridiculous in her opinion. They did need Anastasia’s help though.

“So, you’re based in mother’s tired old manor house way out in the middle of nowhere exciting.” Anastasia made a slight face.

“It has potential,” Lily said trying to be optimistic. “We’d love to spruce it up, bring it into the now and, and, make it viral.”

Anastasia sighed. “I tried to tell my mother that she needed to capitalize while she could and she wouldn’t listen to me. Every place needs a brand these days.”

“You’re totally right,” Pauline said. “Everyone says that.”

Anastasia beamed at her. “And she has a brand. You can’t get any better of a brand than being a Silverglade. But she won’t do anything with it. She’s stubborn like that, you see.”

“But, the place is so beautiful,” Lily breathed. “It could be so much more with a little love.”

“Love?” Anastasia’s voice turned sharp.

Lily blinked, startled.

“Yes, love,” Anastasia wrinkled her nose. “Good luck getting that out of the old bat.”

Lily thought that the Baroness could be tired, or something. But if she made excuses for her, she might lose Anastasia. “We’re just starting out. We would love a little direction,” she leaned forward. “You must know everything.”

Anastasia leaned back and smiled. “I do.”

Lily smiled at her.

Anastasia took a sip of her coffee. “You know what you’re wearing is exactly the outfit my mother used to wear when she was young. It was her favorite. That’s why she wants the next club at her place to use it. She just won’t ever let go. I keep telling her that will be her downfall. If she is willing to bring the vinting into the future with all the machines, she needs to bring the rest of the manor into the future. It’s not like we don’t have the money.”

Lily nodded.

Pauline frowned and it was sad. “People keep leaving.”

Anastasia grimaced. “You know what my mother values above all else, loyalty. She’s probably trying to keep those positions open so they’ll return.”

“That’s crazy,” Lily sputtered. And it was, she wasn’t lying to get Anastasia’s favor.

“And if she does that, someone who is equally crazy is going to move in and just make a hash of it. Offer what they think the locals want when you want to be attracting the tourists, the fancy rich ones who will spend lots of money to stay in an inn at the quaint town of Silverglade and buy cases and cases of wine.” Anastasia waved her hand. “To fill the bars of their private homes and yachts.”

Pauline chewed her bottom lip but nodded in agreement.

“We’re just stable girls,” Lily said. “We don’t know anyone that could,” she waved a hand mimicking Anastasia.

Anastasia snorted. “She’s not going to do anything.”

“I mean, maybe, maybe if she could see it.” Pauline said. “Sometimes, it’s hard to visualize something without a little help.”

Anastasia crossed her legs and her foot bounced. “You know. That’s a good point. Plans. She likes plans.”

Lily sighed. “We’re not even sure how to introduce ourselves. We don’t want to upset her or anything.”

Pauline nodded.

Anastasia waved a hand again. It appeared to be a go to gesture. “You put in the work and she’ll like you. I won’t say she’ll love you, but she’ll tolerate having you around if you show her that to you the name of Silverglade is a priority and you’re loyal to her.”

“I know how to weed,” Lily said dubiously.

Pauline snorted. “All there is are weeds,” she said.

“But I don’t know anything about fixing pipes or planting flowers or menus,” Lily shrugged.

“And we have to take care of the stables, we can’t be bartending or cooking food,” Pauline said. “We aren’t old enough for one.”

Anastasia’s eyes gleamed a little. She was definitely thinking.

“You’re right. It is out of the way.” Lily tilted her head. “If nothing happens, no harm done. But if it does go viral, why your name would be attached to it everywhere.”

Anastasia’s eyes definitely took a brighter gleam.

Pauline sighed. “I still have no idea what the building between the big house and the wine cave is for.”

“It could be for anything,” Lily said. “You could put a store in it or, well, it’s not big enough for a spa.” Lily looked at Anastasia. “What would you put it there to give it your special touch?” she asked and it was not an innocent question.

“Fashion, darling,” Anastasia said. “Though a spa wouldn’t be a bad idea. She’d never go for it though.” She sipped her coffee. “If you’re worried about what she’s going to think of you, take her some roses. She loves them. Iris has a wonderful shop for flowers in Aideen’s Plaza.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful,” Lily said. “A great idea. Thank you so much, Anastasia.” She finished her coffee. “We won’t take any more of your time.”

Pauline hastily finished her coffee too.

They both stood. Lily carefully placing the dog on the chair with a scratch behind the ears.

Anastasia nodded. “I’ll definitely be in touch.”

Lily hastily wrote her number down on the napkin and pushed it at her. “We appreciate this more than you can know.”

She and Pauline left the café and headed to the nearest tram station.

“Wow,” Lily said.

“That went a lot better than I thought.”

“Well, she is her daughter. She must miss her mother. Or want to show her up.”

“So optimistic and so cynical at the same time!” Pauline giggled.

Lily’s phone buzzed again. She took it out and checked the message. “Some specialty non-lye soap,” she frowned. She texted back a quick message. The phone buzzed. “Oh, safe for duck feathers. Poor things.”

Pauline shook her head as they boarded the tram. “Just what are they getting up to without us?”

“How do you think we should handle Aaron?” Lily asked as she settled back into the seat.

“Lie,” Pauline said blandly.

FOR THE ACCOMPANYING IMAGES PLEASE DO NOT REMOVE MY WATERMARK AND CONTACT INFORMATION. THANK YOU. I get it. Some of you might get excited and want to see this stuff in the game, especially the clothes, tack, and pets. However, the only way I want to see this in the game is if I get paid for it. If I see it in the game and I’m not paid for it, there will be hell to pay. You think I’m salty. I’d be angry. Personally, I’m not going to send this info to SSO. If you do, leave my contact information there! Don’t give them any excuses to steal.

Now, I’ll know you haven’t read this note if you leave me comments about how ‘salty’ I am about the game and if I hate it so much I should do something else. I am doing something else. It’s called Mystic Riders MMORPG Project. Mystic Riders however is a very baby phase game. You can check out our plans on the game dev blog. (Skills, Factions, Professions, Crafting, Mini-Games, 25+ horse breeds!) If you know anyone who would be interested and has money or contacts about game making, direct them to the blog.

[duckball]

episode XXIII: The Bitches Final Conspiracy

  Welcome to another eviction night here on Big Brother where while last I left I was waiting on baited breath for the results of the Field Trip and was feeling giddy about the prospect of Christie going on her BFF Tommy's HOH reign for the ultimate drama my dreams were crushed at the veto ceremony...

But First...Julie says that the past 24 hours have been a buzz with activity in the house with secrets exposed, alliances forming, and votes flip flopping what will happen tonight is anyone's guess as we cycle onto our previously on weekly recap....

It's day 58 in the house but before we get to that like I said lets us revisit the house post veto where Kat was originally Tommy's target from the start but at the end of the day he can't discount Cliff...

Cliff isn't surprised Tommy took Christie off but Kat has a tendency to survive eviction and so Cliff wants to make sure she doesn't survive this one

Kat is more nervous then ever this week then she's ever been

This is Nicole's worst case scenario as she has to choose between her two closest friends plus Sis is dressed as a giant bird and she is afraid of birds so it's a living nightmare

Kat tells Cliff to not throw her under the bus and he promises...next clip she wakes Michie up as she's paranoid...she knows she has Michie and Holly's vote and probably Jess's but she knows she needs 4 votes to stay

Tommy doesn't know who should be target for the week and converses with Christie and Nick to think of strategies for what is best for their game to make it to final three. With their sights set on bringing down Holly and Michie Cliff would be best to stay as he will jump when they ask him to where is Kat is a loose cannon and close to the duo.

Nick tells Cliff that he's leaning on keeping him in the game and pitches a 6 person alliance of the three of them (him/Christie/Tommy) with Sis, Cliff and 

Nicole with aim to pick off Holly, Michie, and Jess once Kat is gone... Cliff is game

Christie doesn't want to go to the final 6 with a couple and so all she needs is Holly and/or Michie out

Nick then pitches things to Nicole saying she's the swing vote as He, Sis, and Christie are voting out Kat and Jess, Michie and Holly more then likly are voting out Cliff which leads to more pressure on Nicole as again both of them are her best friends in the house

Holly and Michie are kind of on the outside in all this...they want Kat to stay in this game... Holly and Kat have a final two however it's a slippery slope as people think that she and Kat know one another outside the house and that the girls/Michie are in a final three

Kat tells Nicole she loves her and respects whatever choice she makes and promises that if she stays that she will protect her and Jess as THEY are her final three (um...and that final two with Holly? we don't want another bitter jury now do we?)

Nicole tells Cliff about how stressed she is and Cliff tells her of the final six that he agreed to with Christie/Nick/Tommy/Sis for him and Nicole however she doesn't feel right with Jess not being a part of this group and she trusts Jess Nicole wants to be honest with Jess and tells her about that final six deal that Cliff agreed to that leaves Jess out...Jess is kind of pissed as they don't seem to include her in anything...Nicole however would rather vote Cliff out then it would be 5 (Nicole, Jess, Holly, Michie, Kat) against 4 (Christie, Tommy, Nick, Sis) for power

It's one thing to blindside your enemies but it's another to blindside her friends as Jess tells Kat about that final 6 deal that Cliff made with the other side of the house...Kat is devastated as the Bitch or rather Bastard was conspiring against her and she goes to ask why Cliff made a deal that doesn't include Jess and Cliff tells her that he's on the block and he'll do whatever it takes and it's the only way any of 'Cliff's Angels' (Cliff, Kat, Nicole, Jess) has a chance of winning you know despite Kat being evicted and Jess being on the outside of the proposed 6 Jess then rats to Holly about the 6 being proposed that doesn't include her, Holly or Michie....Holly then tells Michie and this whole episode is a game of freaking telephone

It's so stressful for Nicole as she knows whoever she goes for it will change the vibe of the game as they know it

It is now time for the live vote and eviction where everyone is already dressed for tonight's HOH however before the competition and vote the nominees say their piece

Kat says it's her third time on the block and she's a bit sad that it's her and her 'dad' against each other. She gives Cliff props for not only fighting his way back from banishment as well as being voted out winning Battle Back and then proceeding to become HOH. His social game is also strong and yet she is the bigger threat...she gives Cliff props for that and congratulates everyone for their immunity from going up though that depends on who wins HOH because Cliff is just going to make more deals along with Nick so conspire away bitches

Cliff loves his family their love keeps him sane in a house that is sometimes filled with insanity. He loves the game that's why he signed up to play the game and to prove that age doesn't matter. He wants to stay. He's sorry that it's come to this point where he's against Kat and tells her the results are in and he's not her father.

As HOH Tommy Can't vote neither are the nominees

Nick votes to evict Kat Christie votes to evict Kat Sis votes to evict Kat Nicole votes to evict Kat

it's official with 4 votes to evict Kat is out

Jess votes to evict Cliff Holly votes to evict Kat Michie votes to evict Kat

The votes are in...by a vote of 6-1 Kat has been evicted

Julie Interview time where she comments about how Kat only hugged Jessica goodbye and about her confronting Cliff the other night. Kat knew she had nothing to loose and everything to gain by that confrontation as she knew she was going home (though she was a bit upset about having to wear the HOH costume instead of a cute dress and heels). She is loyal to a fault and believes Jess has been genuine and it sucks that she was being left out of plans. Julie can't say things as Kat is jury. Julie asks if she would choose Holly or Jess/Nicole if things came to it in the game and she said Jess/Nicole every time. With Michie she was all keep your friends close and your enemies closer and would of put him up as soon as she got the chance.

It's now time for the HOH competition... Tommy as outgoing HOH can't play...today is August 15th AKA Aug-Toberfest. It is a traditional slip and slide where they have to fill up a beer stein to grab a ping pong ball...the first person with the ball wins power

we will see who wins this competition as well as who he or she nominates on Sunday night (or you can watch the competition in real time on the Feeds) Wednesday is POV (and with OTEV last week ZingBot shouldn't be far behind!) Thursday is eviction night where we will see the third member of Jury be chosen

And now for Fantasy.... 1st Heather 26 four active players (Tommy, Michie, Nicole, Jess) 2nd Brandon -9 two active players (Nick & Christie) 3rd Kat -26 one active player (Holly) 4th Patrick -30 two active players (Sis & Cliff)