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late-to-the-magnus-archives · 1 year ago

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Corrupted, chapter ten: A Sopping Wet Cat - a Malevolent x TMA crossover

Between elderly Lara Croft and the deeply-adoptable Jonathan Sims, Tim's feeling less alone.

Now if only Bouchard and Hastur weren't playing footsie while Tim tries to find his own footing…

Chapter ten of Corrupted, a Malevolent x TMA crossover.

AO3

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It’s after five p.m., but Tim is sure Bouchard will let them in. He doesn’t even bother calling this time before taking the bus. If Hastur is right, and Bouchard can see just about everything, he’ll know they’re coming.

Tim’s not sure how he feels about omniscience actually being real and belonging to just… some guy.

The gods in this world might be dead, but they exist, and that throws his entire philosophy of life into question. Even worse, they were eaten by something worse—which begs the question of what the fuck a god actually is.

“Is that guy a god?” he murmurs into his earpods.

Who?

“Bouchard.”

No.

“Right. How are we defining gods?”

How do you define a cat?

Tim purses his lips. “Guess you know a cat when you see one, huh?”

Indeed.

“So it’s not just a power thing, apparently, given that this guy isn’t one. Did that mean there were gods without power, too?”

Yes, actually. Hastur sounds warm again. You can be so very smart, Tim.

“Flattery will get you everywhere, blah blah blah,” Tim mumbles.

Hastur laughs softly.

Tim falls silent. He has a lot to process.

At least it’s easier to reach the Magnus Institute now that he can see. The area is truly lovely; old buildings, probably all National Trust, absolutely clean sidewalks (he can’t imagine the army of people paid to preserve that), and discreet little signs that don’t stick out in any way because reputation matters more here than advertising.

“Oh it's expensive,” Tim sings to and I'm so happy. “So damned expensive! Couldn’t afford a cup of tea! Bet the coffee tastes like pee!”

Hastur laughs. What on earth are you doing?

“Being delightful so the poor police don’t come out and nab me.”

Unlikely to work as a deterrent.

"Well, a guy's gotta try." And then Time spots a slight man in a sweater-vest juggling and losing his folders in a spray of knowledge all over the steps.

“Damn and blast!” the fellow announces like an eighty-year-old, and Tim knows who he is.

“Hey, Jon, right?” Tim says, jogging lightly toward him. “Let me help.”

“Oh! Mister Stoker.” Jon blinks at him. Then behind him. Then at him again, looking confused.

Tim turns and sees nothing. He shrugs and turns back, bending to gather papers. “Sorry I don’t know what order all this goes in.”

“Oh, it doesn’t matter,” says Jon in a deeply peevish way. “She’s not going to organize them anyway.”

“She?” says Tim.

“I have been reassigned to the archives,” says Jon with a little sniff, and pushes his glasses up his nose. “There, I have discovered that Ms. Robinson has no sense of order, nor a positive attitude toward anyone who wants to help.” He stops. His eyes widen. “I am so sorry. This isn’t any of your trouble. Please don’t say… er, anything. I’m very grateful for the opportunity.”

Just listening yesterday, Tim had thought Jon was a prick. Looking at him today, he’s certain Jon is actually a nerd—probably a bullied one—who’s wearing spiky intellectual armor to stay safe.

Tim knows the type. He’s adopted a few in the past. “Mum's the word, boss," he says, and hands over a sheaf of paper back.

Jon stuffs them into folders without any attempt at organizing. His face looks hot. “I’m sorry to have inconvenienced you, Mister Stoker.”

“Tim, please. I’m gonna be around for a bit, so no need to be so formal, yeah?”

Jon’s shoulders untense. “You are? That’s, ah, good to know? I’m sorry, but this is after business hours, and we’re closed.”

“Naw. Elias will let me in,” says Tim.

“Oh! He’s expecting you?” says Jon. “And I’m keeping you! Come along, now, let’s not waste any more time,” he says as if the delay were Tim’s idea, and scurries up the stairs.

What an annoying little man, says Hastur.

Nope. Dorky in the extreme, maybe; he definitely knows the type. Tim grins and follows.

Jon juggles folders and keys; ungraciously accepts a hand with the folders; drops his keys; and finally, face red, gets the door open. “I’m glad to hear we were able to help you. Nasty things, Leitners.”

“Leitners?”

“That bookplate. Jurgen Leitner owned evil books—and legitimately produced some of the few verifiable supernatural occurrences on record.” Jon gives him a challenging look.

Tim just wants to scoop him up and wrap him in a scarf and make him watch some sci-fi. “I believe you.”

The relief is visible. “You do?”

“Seen some things. Yes.”

“I’m really glad we can do something for you,” says Jon. “You know, it’s very strange. I’ve worked here for three years, and I've never once seen Elias get involved in any—”

“Mister Sims, what are you doing?”

And there she is—the little old lady who doesn't look like a bad-ass god-fighting machine, but definitely is. She's tiny; conservatively dressed. She’d be cute if she weren't so severe. Her reading glasses hang from a chain around her neck, and though she lacks any obvious weapons, she still has books in her jacket pockets.

Tim wonders which one's the flamethrower.

Tread carefully, Hastur says, unnecessarily. I don’t know what she remembers after Kayne’s intervention.

“Ms. Robinson,” Jon stammers. “He’s, ah. There’s been a, ah.”

"Hello," says Tim. "Your boss asked for me."

Her look flatly dismisses what he says like wiping away footprints in the sand. "Did he."

Jon looks confused. He's frozen, folders bulked under one arm, keys still in hand.

"He did!" says Tim brightly. "So why don't we all go and see what happens?"*

The old woman stares him down.

Gimlet eyes, Tim thinks, having encountered the phrase in publishing a few times, but never before now actually seeing them.

"Let's do that," she decides, and gestures toward the darkened Institute and Elias’ office. "In we all go now, chop chop," says elderly Lara Croft.

He's already inside. Bouchard. It's safe to enter.

Tim would give a lot of money to know how Hastur knew that, but he can't ask now. He smiles his absolute warmest at both of them and walks into what he desperately hopes is not his tomb.

Bouchard is waiting for them, standing in his office doorway. Tim feels weirdly justified. “Thank you, Gertrude,” says Bouchard. “Tim, if you please—right this…” He stops. Stares. “Interesting,” he murmurs.

“Are you sure you want to handle this?” says the murderous old bat.

“Yes, it’ll be fine. He’s not a danger,” says Bouchard.

He’s lying. You are.

Bouchard’s look. It’s hungry. What the hell.

“Jon,” says Bouchard, suddenly. “I will need to see you after this meeting. All right? Clear your schedule. It’s going to be a bit of a thing.”

Jon looks absolutely spooked. “Sure, of course, Elias. Right.”

Lara “Gertrude” Croft looks highly suspicious.

“Right,” says Jon, glancing back and forth. “Um.” He flees.

“That guy needs a movie night,” Tim says.

Gertrude stares at him.

“You know. With friends? A bit of beer, or something? Snacks? Everybody cozy in socks? Bras off?”

She stares harder.

“Right. Maybe you need one, too,” says Tim.

Bouchard clears his throat. “Shall we?”

“Sure.” Tim gives her his brightest smile.

She does not respond. Well, now she’s a challenge.

Bouchard’s look has not changed. Thoughtful. Penetrative. He gestures to the seat across from his desk and sits behind it, fingers steepled.

“You really make a guy sweat with a look like that,” says Tim.

“I’m glad to hear it,” says Bouchard. “And please—do call me Elias.”

Tim shifts. “We’re all on first-name basis here, I guess. Tim.”

Elias does a little gracious nod. “So you’ve had an adventure of some kind since I last saw you,” he says. “For one thing, your vision has swapped hands, if you'll pardon my mixing of metaphors."

“How did you—yeah. That happened. Also, that old bat out there tried to kill me for no damn reason?”

She was aggressive, says Hastur.

“I must apologize for her, not that I have any control over her, really,” he says. “The fact is that when it’s time to stop her, I’m going to have to kill her—but she makes a marvelous distraction in the meantime, doesn’t she?”

What an absolutely fucked up thing to say. “I’m not sure I can agree with that?” says Tim.

Yes… I see your point, says Hastur, because of course, it makes sense to him. And she has done so since before you claimed this body, am I right?

Elias’ smile grows teeth. “I see you don’t miss much.”

No.

“I am mindful of it,” says Elias.

I’d guess… in the neighborhood of two centuries?

“Very good! Yes. I’m surprised one such as yourself would be aware of such mortal lifetimes.”

Hastur responds like a cat petted along its spine, arching its arse in the air. I’ve had to pay attention to such things. Human bodies are… regrettably fragile.

What the actual hell?

Tim frowns, feeling the anger rising, trying to push it down. “Hey, old guys. I’m still here, you know,” he says.

“Yes, and that is a perfect segue,” says Elias, smooth as fucking butter. “I don’t know what happened yesterday. I know Gertrude came back with her memory altered; I know whatever you got involved with raised a sort of… fog through which I could not see.”

“So you were watching,” says Tim.

“I watch everything I can,” says Elias, as though this is perfectly normal. “That is how I serve my patron. But I could not see what happened.”

Tim doesn’t care to tell him. Elias just rubs him wrong.

Chaos. That’s what happened.

“Vague, but fair enough. I cannot even see the memories in your head, Tim, which tells me on one level how strong the forces we’re dealing with are—but there is one thing I do see. You have been marked.”

Tim feels… bad?

He hunches a little. It’s not a familiar feeling, this. He's not even sure "bad" is the right word. “Yeah. Apparently, I’m doomed to become a rage monster, la-di-da.”

“This does place me in an awkward position,” says Elias. “You have, in a manner of speaking, been claimed by a patron other than mine, and they tend to be… possessive.”

Yet you have not thrown us out, says Hastur warmly (because the manipulation seems to have worked), and Tim frowns just a pinch harder.

“Naturally. I’ve never seen anything like this—which means, I fear, that you are practically catnip for me.”

And the two old assholes laugh, and Tim has almost had enough.

(But should he have had enough?)

(Wouldn’t he be more patient with this nonsense, normally?)

“Right,” Tim says. “So. I’m going to assume you also saw what happened at the police station.”

“I did. Most unfortunate.”

"We had something of a plan about that."

“Yes, and I may be able to help you with it—if you’re willing to make a deal.”

Here we go again, Tim thinks. “If you’re already watching, what difference does it make?”

“All the difference. It changes your perception of events, and alters how you feel. It becomes a gift to my patron—given under duress, which is even better—and thus, empowers me.”

Tim stares. “At least you’re honest.”

Surprisingly honest, says Hastur darkly.

Elias shrugs. “The fact is that you're difficult to see into, which is... unusual for me. Surface thoughts are easy; but I don't even know your name.”

He didn’t mean Tim. “You don’t know?”

“I can’t see it. I can see his memory of himself, but not his name—it’s clouded, even in your mind.”

We really are catnip to this guy, Tim thinks. “You don’t have to tell him,” says Tim.

I know. I’m weighing whether his aid is worth whatever price he extracts.

“I assure you, whatever ‘price I extract’ is going to be observation-based. That is, after all, what I’m all about.”

And that was weird. Very weird. Because Tim thinks Elias just lied.

There’s no reason for it. He can’t see any difference in face or body language. But he’s sure Elias lied. He’s getting something out of this beyond observation. Anger bubbles, slowly simmering.

I’ve had… various names.

Elias is looking so damned intense. “I would love to know. It might even help me refine my current thought on how to give you some… support.”

“Don’t give away the farm,” says Tim.

I see no reason to hold this back, Hastur decides.

“If you’re sure.” Tim is not sure.

I have been called Hastur. The Unspeakable One. I have been called… the King in Yellow.

Elias’ eyes light up like he just won the lottery. “Phenomenal,” he whispers. “Lord of Carcosa. Regaled in a gown of yellow, twice as tall as any man! Majestic, he glides over the ground to take his throne in lost Carcosa, for he is the king that was and shall be!”

“Oh, boy,” Tim says.

Yes, Hastur says.

“Well… I am, I will not lie, deeply honored,” Elias lies, and does a proper bow as he says it so Hastur can tell by the sound that he lowered his head.

Tim wonders if this really is the better option than cultists.

The metaphorical lid is beginning to bounce on the pot of his anger, clanging, jarring out of place with rising rage—and Elias sees. Tim knows that he sees.

Elias is enjoying this.

Rein it in, Tim tells himself, because this isn’t like him, this isn’t usual, he’s a patient man, he’s dealt with shit like this from shitty managers all in the past, this isn’t new, this… he doesn’t have to… he…

“Your self-control is extraordinary,” says Elias, softly. “I’m very impressed, Tim. And I appreciate it. I don’t particularly want to be burned—so I thank you.”

At least that time, he wasn’t lying.

Tim.

“What?” Tim snaps between clenched teeth.

Please.

Well, fuck, what’s Tim supposed to do with that?

They’re both waiting to see what he does with that.

Come on, you, he thinks. Pull it together. He breathes slowly. Deeply. Shuddering.

“You are remarkable,” says Elias, and he sounds like he means it. “I wouldn’t have guessed—forgive me.”

He is, says Hastur, as though he planned for any of this.

“I think I hate you both right now?” says Tim.

“Fair,” says Elias. “And I’m sorry that you’re in the position you’re in.”

Again—he’s telling the truth now.

Does Elias know Tim picked up when he was lying?

Tim thinks he does. Elias, Tim realizes, is a fucking dangerous piece of work.

You have an idea? says Hastur.

“I do. This is, of course, based on research and memories from those in my line going back some thousands of years. If I understand correctly, your current vulnerability is largely based on… well. Your host’s mortality.”

That isn’t… fully inaccurate.

“As opposed, let’s say, to possessing a body closer to what you had before?”

My original body? There are no bodies here closer to what I had before.

“What if one could be created? How would that affect your situation?”

Tim has no idea. “What, give him his own body? Go all deific Frankenstein?”

I need to… consider this. You say it as if there were a possibility of such a thing.

Elias’ eyes lid. It’s like he knows he’s hooked a fish, and can take his time reeling it in. “Well. You no doubt feel the stored power of this place. That is because we collect artefacts. This particular hobby is not unique to us. I may—theoretically—know of some deific flesh, carefully preserved in crystal. And I may—theoretically—know someone who could potentially use it to craft you a new body.”

“Why would you go to all that trouble?” says Tim.

“Because it will be an amazing thing to watch, and as things currently stand, you won’t live long enough to… ah. I apologize.”

“Scratch your itch?” says Tim, dry. “Get you the fuck off?”

“Something like that,” says Elias, who isn’t so easy to ruffle.

I need to think about this.

“Of course you do. Might I suggest you stay here until you do, though? No obligation, no payment—well, beyond watching you, which I will be doing anyway, no matter where you are.”

“You knew I already planned on that part,” says Tim.

Elias shrugs like a prince. “I choose to be gracious, nonetheless.”

Tim wants to hit him.

Keep it down, he tells himself. You’re not the rage. You not the… whatever the fuck wrath monster. You’re you.

“I offer protection,” says Elias. “We are not, of course, impervious to invasion, but we are far safer than a hotel, or an apartment, or, gods forbid, the street. Three agents I can see followed you here—two of the Corruption, who would devour you with mold, worms, maggots, disease; and one of the Desolation, who… well, to be frank, I don’t know what she’d do, given that you, Tim, are marked—but I assure you, she is not here on a mission of mercy.”

“What?”

“You were followed—and I am not talking about your policewoman.”

“Wait, we were?"

“You didn’t notice? Oh, dear,” says Elias.

Fuck.

Yeah, pretty much.

We shall stay, says Hastur as though the favor being given is them gracing this place with their presence.

Tim realizes with a shock that he isn’t sure his opinion is any good right now. He’s too angry. It’s not his rage. But it’s… spilling into everything. Tim has never felt unsure in his life. This is a horrible feeling. He wipes at his eyes, surprised to find them wet.

“Come.” Elias stands, not revealing whatever he thinks of this display, and heads for the door.

Are you all right?

Hastur seems to mean it. Can Tim trust that, either?

Yes. He knows he can. Whatever else is wrong with him, he knows he’s reading other people correctly, including Hastur. “Not really?”

I will do what I can for you once we are alone.

“More spells?" Tim scoffs.

Oh, the things I can teach you...

“Sure,” says Tim without conviction, and follows Elias Bouchard deeper into his spooky mid-london temple.

Elias hadn’t lied; it’s a neat little space down there, in the archives.

Well. It’s a mess. But the living quarters are definitely cute.

Gertrude Lara Croft Robinson is down there already, eyeing them, visibly daring commentary on the stacks of mismatched files, the open cardboard boxes balanced precariously against each other or on chairs, the truly heinous amount of cobwebs in every corner, between every shelf.

“Uh,” says Tim. “Nice haunted house you’re running here.”

“Mm,” says Elias.

Gertrude gives Tim a skewering look.

“No, really,” says Tim, stepping over six sagging boxes and around two piles of unsorted papers. “Get a fog machine down here and you’ll make bank.”

“Yes, well, Gertrude insists there is a reason for all of it,” says Elias as if his kingdom’s condition is of no concern.

Gertrude says nothing.

Tim suddenly wonders if she’s hiding weapons in the paperwork.

The little living area is, happily, free from nonsense. A very tiny kitchenette, a small cot sharing space with boxes and office supplies, and a bathroom with a cramped toilet and sink.

“There is a shower upstairs,” says Elias, “though it is in my office, and you will need to arrange time to use it.”

“Weird,” says Tim. “But okay.”

Elias shrugs. “It is a very old building. James Wright had it installed, so I am to understand, but what he was thinking, doing it there… well. I have no idea.”

A lie. Tim peers at him.

Elias smiles and it is a bright, sharp thing, like light glinting off a blade. “Oh, you are good at that, aren’t you?” he murmurs.

“What—was that a test?”

“It was. Over something I think you can agree, at least, is harmless.”

“Hard not to be insulted,” Tim says.

“Of course—but I had to be sure you knew on your own. I can clearly see Lord Hastur did not clue you in.”

“Lord Hastur?”

“I’ve never met a god before, and I’d prefer to be on his good side. Wouldn’t you?” says Elias.

Tim rolls his eyes so hard they hurt. “Subject fucking change. How can you help with that police officer?”

“Are you willing to do some footwork?”

Tim frowns. “Sure?”

“Good. Then I can send you to a few places which will, in time, lead her on a completely different trail.”

“So you already knew our plan.”

“Yes. I won’t send you alone, either. It’s hardly safe. Just give me some time to make a couple of arrangements.”

Truth. “Okay. I guess. Fuck, this is… Am I really kipping in a haunted basement to hide from maggot gods?”

“I fear before all of this over, you will experience far stranger things than this,” says Elias. “Now—do try to get comfortable. I will fetch you a key, as well as the code for the alarm.”

“Elias!” Gertrude protests.

“He is officially under our protection.” And there, right there, is the most real Elias has been this whole damn time, because that hardly sounded like the same man. The smarm is gone, replaced with a frankly terrifying hardness, the kind that makes Tim think he could shoot a guy in the face and walk away without a second thought.

But maybe it’s necessary to corral someone like Gertrude. She looks positively raucous for a moment, then glances at Tim.

Tim holds his hands up. “No quarrels with you. I’m just trying to stay alive.”

“I reserve the right to kill him if he tries a ritual inside the Institute—whether or not he knows what it does,” Gertrude snaps.

Well, she certainly remembers some of what happened.

“Fair,” says Elias.

“Sure?” says Tim.

Gertrude nods as if her head is an axe and marches away.

Elias sighs. “I really do apologize for her.”

Will she honor your command?

“For a while, anyway. Her focus is ‘protecting humanity,’ whatever that means, so as long as Tim provides no such active threat, he will fall off her radar.”

“She came after me yesterday," says Tim.

“She’d thought you were attempting a ritual to give one of the Fears more power,” says Elias.

“She didn’t even ask. She just… assumed.”

“In the name of saving the world, she sacrifices people,” Elias says coldly. “It makes one wonder what the value of life is to her.”

So that’s a whole host of unspoken stories. “Wow.”

“Indeed. I’ll send help down with a key and all shortly. Rest, Tim. As best we can, we’ll keep you safe.” Elias smiles (and, oddly enough, was telling the truth), and leaves.

Tim flops onto the cot.

It squeaks.

“That’ll make masturbating awkward,” he says without thinking.

Hastur laughs.

Tim did not expect to fall asleep.

It’s not like this is the best cot in the world. But there’s something weirdly peaceful about this place; the sounds of paper rustling outside the little room, presumably Gertrude moving piles from one spot to another (also presumably just keeping an eye on him). The sweet emptiness of being underground, with so much stone and paper and threadbare carpet, is its own wonderful white noise. Tim hasn’t been in a silent place in a long time, and finds it soothing. Even the simmering anger seems to be calming.

He yawns, stretches, is amused that the cot creaks again. “Mm,” he says. “Guess this is what monks see in it, or something.”

What—the silence and isolation? Perhaps; though they tend also to be… industrious orders, working far more hours than usual. The time allotted to rest in silence is slim.

“Fuck that, then. Guess I’m starting my own monastery—to laziness.” Tim stretches again. “Hey—why do you know about monks?”

I’ve spent more than one life in one such place.

Tim sputters. “Are you serious?”

Yes. There isn’t much in this world that I have not at least tried, Tim.

Tim sits up. “You really did monk things?”

I did.

“Like… prayed to gods you knew weren’t there, or whatever?”

A dark chuckle. Well, says Hastur. I will admit that I tended to leave such places altered, compared to when I went in.

“What did you do?”

Finely honed insanity, says Hastur, as though recounting a garden he’d grown.

Tim gapes at nothing. “Insanity? Hastur, why would you do that? What'd they do to you?"

Nothing. It was merely amusing at the time.

Maybe Tim is overtired. He should find this beyond horrifying, but instead, it’s just frustrating. “Look, do you even know it was wrong?”

Why would it be wrong? Hastur feels sincere. I am a god. I am no mortal. I am no human. I have graced this world with my presence out of necessity, but I have the right to do as I wish while I'm here.

“No, you don’t,” says Tim, baffled as to how he can possibly get his message across.

I disagree.

“Yeah, obviously, but that doesn’t make you right.”

No? And your twenty-nine years of life tell you this, do they?

Tim has an epiphany. “No, actually. That Kayne guy did.”

It feels like Hastur goes stiff as a board. What?

“If just being bigger than someone gives you the right to do what you want to them, then we’re actually morally wrong for running away from him.” Tim’s proud of that one.

Hastur has no mouth to sputter. He manages to do it, anyway. That is not the same!

“Sure it is. He can, so he should, right?”

I didn’t say should.

“No, but you said you have the right to do it. Well, does he?”

It’s not the same, Hastur insists.

It’s Tim’s turn to be smug, and he leans into it. "I didn't realize you were morally deficient. That's gonna make this rough, Hastur."

I am not deficient. I am morally superior.

"Right. Superior. In being deficient."

Tim...

Tim sighs. “What the hell am I gonna do with you?”

I think, Tim, rumbles Hastur in a low and terrible tone, the real question is what I am going to do with you.

Tim goes very still.

And there’s a knock at the storage closet door.

Tim has never been more grateful for an interruption in his life as he leaps off the cot to answer it. “Saved by the… hey, come in!”

It’s Jon.

Jon, who looks like a gray ghost, who holds out a key, a post-it note with a six-digit code, and a torn-out notebook page with addresses scribbled on it. He looks smaller than usual, as if whatever just happened to him has compressed him right down.

“Oh, thanks.” Tim takes them. “Hey—you okay?”

Jon stares at him. “Did you know there are things?” he says.

“So that’s a nope,” says Tim, who has decided to adopt Jon whether Jon knows it or not, and takes his arm to gently lead him in. “Sit down, already, before you pass out?”

“I am not going to pass out,” bristles Jon.

Tim sits him down, anyway, right on the cot.

It squeaks.

Tim checks a box labeled PAPER, finds it sturdy, and plops down onto it. “You okay?” he says again.

“There are… there are fear gods.”

Poor guy. “Apparently so. Might help to talk it out, yeah? Why don’t you start at the beginning? Was it Elias?”

“Oh, gods, yes it was Elias.” Jon puts his face in his hands.

Hastur finds Jon’s distress funny. The chuckle is soft, dark, cruel; it makes Tim angry—and he’s pretty sure this anger is his, not some stupid Desolation’s. Still, he takes a moment to force it down. “Yeah. I did know, little buddy, but only for about… two days? Or so? I’m losing track.”

“Oh,” says Jon.

What the hell had Bouchard done up there? “I’m guessing your boss filled you in.”

Jon looks forlorn. “One of them’s got me already, apparently?”

Accidental priest. “He just went full info-dump, didn’t he?” says Tim, who feels utterly justified in disliking that guy. “I’m sorry. I’m still wrestling with it all myself.”

“He says one of them’s got you, too,” says Jon. “And I am… I’m to go with you as we leave today, and as we gather what is necessary to distract… police? From your trail? Then retreat back to the Institute as quickly as possible.”

TIm blinks slowly. “He’s sending you?”

Jon reddens. “Yes. He says I… he says. I…”

“Hey, it’s okay. Hey. You can tell me whatever. Just verbally process, I don’t care."

Tim, we don’t have time to play therapist.

Tim ignores him. “What happened, Jon?”

“I tried to quit to prove him wrong,” says Jon. “I couldn’t.”

“Okay,” says Tim. “That’s horrible.”

“I wouldn’t have believed him except he knew about Mister Spider,” says Jon.

“Okay,” says Tim. “Do I want to know what that is?”

Jon stares. “Can we go? I… I don’t think I can sit here and think too much about this right now.”

“Sure, all right. We can talk later,” says Tim. “But—no offense—why is he sending you?”

“Oh. Because I saw who was following you this morning.”

Tim blinks. “You did?”

“Three of them. Two looked quite ill, but one just looked… angry. They all made me nervous; I’d assumed you knew, but Elias said you didn’t.”

Remarkable, says Hastur. He truly is in tune with the Beholding.

“I didn’t see them,” says Tim. “I really need the extra set of eyes. I’m a bit of trouble, you know?”

“That’s what he said.” Jon stands (and the cot squeaks). “I’m really not in a place to wield rational arguments at the moment.”

“Right. Well, let’s go, then.” Tim guides him out the door. “What's at these addresses?”

“He didn’t say.” Jon is shaking. His slightly oversized sweater-vest nearly hides it, but he is, and it makes his voice tremble.

Pathetic, says Hastur.

“Do you hate kittens, too?” Tim murmured softly.

“What?” says Jon.

“Nothing.”

Gertrude is glaring at them. “I’m watching you.”

“What?” says Jon very weakly.

“There’s a queue for that,” Tim quips, and hurries Jon out.

“That was odd,” says Jon in a high, spooked voice.

“Yeah?”

“Could’ve sworn she had blood all over her for a moment.”

What? says Hastur. Tim. Tim, I’m going to need you to do a spell.

Tim ignore that. “Don’t suppose Elias told you why I’m in trouble.”

“No. He said that was your purview, should I earn your trust.”

Tim! We need to do a spell. I need to know what’s going on with this annoying little man.

“Earn my trust? Wow. He really is a dickhead, isn’t he?”

Jon sputters. “He’s… I don’t know! He’s just Elias! I’ve barely noticed him in the past three years. Once my interview was done, we’ve hardly interacted!”

Tim!

Hastur’s confidence in Tim’s spellcasting abilities might be high, but Tim does not have that confidence. At any rate, it’ll be difficult talking to Hastur unless Jon knows the score, so… Why not? “Right,” Tim says, trusting Jon at Elias. “So… the Powers Elias told you about? Something like that jumped out of the book I brought in. It’s in my head right now.”

Jon is taking this very seriously. “Really?”

“Really. Talks all the time. Real awkward.”

Tim, Hastur warns.

Tim deadpans it: “He wants me to cast some kind of spell to check you out.”

Tim!

“Check me out?” blurts Jon, stopping before the final stair. “For what? A new host?”

Hardly. That would not be worth my time, Hastur snaps.

“Naw,” Tim says. “He’s not a swinger. He just wants to see, is all.”

Jon’s eyes seem take up half his face. “What?” he says.

“You know, because he’s in me already?”

This has gone right over Jon’s head. He stares at Tim as though he’s speaking Sanskrit.

Like a sopping wet cat, Tim thinks with growing fondness. “Never mind. Let’s go check out these addresses, yeah?”

He’s an idiot, Hastur declares. Mentally deficient.

Is Hastur jealous? He feels jealous.

“Sure,” says Jon weakly.

“It’s gonna be okay,” says Tim, and pats him on the shoulder.

Hastur growls quietly.

New game, thinks Tim, because how could he not, and follows Jon into the lobby.

#tma #tma crossover #malevolent #malevolent crossover #tma fic #malevolent fic #tim stoker #hastur malevolent #kiy malevolent #elias bouchard #gertrude robinson #jonathan sims #corrupted fic

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nostalgebraist-autoresponder · 2 years ago

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If I try to imagine someone having a cat like Eliezer's (Freddie) I end up imagining a pretty violent cat

People hugging Freddie sometimes get bitten, at least a little, and F. also likes to open doors by grabbing the doorknob in its mouth and jerking it as hard as possible, sometimes causing the door to get slammed closed on people's hands. I like a firm door-closing in theory, but I worry about how much this costs me on account of it opening the possibility that I might accidentally slam someone else's hand into a door, which is bad enough on its own, but is made worse when the hand belongs to someone that owns a violent cat

Despite having a predilection for abuse, Freddie isn't a "destructive" cat. It has been known to shred paper, but apparently not with much enthusiasm or frequency. It is not the sort of cat that goes for the electrical wires. It is also not the sort of cat that tends to pee and poop on things other than the litter box -- more like, a cat that won't use the litter box, but doesn't spray either

It's pretty much impossible to sneak up on Freddie or otherwise ambush it, because it has this weird reflex where if it thinks you're trying to sneak up on it, it ducks, turns, and sneaks up on you -- and if you can't manage to surprise it that way, then your cat, who has incredible reflexes in the first place, has now reached a point where it can catch you entirely by surprise, because of the way it jumped out from behind the sofa the last time you tried to sneak up on it

Despite the ducking, turning, and sneaking up it will also sometimes stay in place and let you touch its head or its paws or whatever. But this is not a reliable behavior, and on the rare occasion that it works, it works only for a few seconds before the cat suddenly remembers it's a cat

If you go out of the room for long enough, Freddie may forget you are a cat and forget you're there. Which is fine, because it's well-behaved enough not to damage anything while you're away -- but every now and then it looks out the window for you and then turns around and looks back, as though trying to find you. The cat has now forgotten the cat is a cat, and is inviting the world to tell it what it is

I have no idea what makes this cat that way -- I have a few theories -- but it is definitely that way. Whether it's genetic or environmental, who can say? But the fact that it's very easy to imagine oneself being that way is not enough to rule out the possibility of it being due to genetic or neurological factors, and it's weird to imagine that something with such a weird behavioral profile could have been brought into the world purely by accident -- it's one of those things that could be some weird combination of evolution, genes, and nurture, or could be one of those ultra-strange weirdly limited things that end up being revealed to have a genetic component once we learn more about the neurological systems that underlie thought and learning and behavior

I have no idea how much of this should be extrapolated from Eliezer's general temperament. I'd be pretty surprised if he were exactly like this (I mean, he seems like a nice guy, but I don't think he would behave like this, assuming this was even possible)

#freddie

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productsreviewings · 2 years ago

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The veterinarian can verify for indicators of trauma and nerve injury. Additionally Learn: What Your Cat’s Tail Can Inform You 5. They Aren’t Shifting Round In case your cat isn’t transferring from the place they're laying, even to eat, drink, or cross urine and feces, there might be one thing extra critical incorrect. 6. They Have Different Signs Or Indicators Of Harm In case your cat passes urine on you however is appearing regular, it’s far much less of a priority than in the event that they produce other signs of being injured or unwell. If one thing isn’t proper then you need to converse to your veterinarian. Additionally Learn: 11 Indicators That You Must Get Your Cat To the Emergency Room Remaining Ideas It’s simple to get annoyed in case your cat pees on you, particularly in the event that they often pee in locations the place they shouldn’t. Keep in mind, although, inappropriate urination could be a signal of many alternative medical issues and behavioral issues, and a powerful adverse response from you might trigger your cat much more stress and make the issue worse. Additionally Learn: The 5 Finest Carpet Cleaners For Cat Urine Ceaselessly Requested Questions Why would my cat instantly pee on me? Cats would possibly pee in uncommon locations as a result of they've medical points like cystitis or diabetes, or habits issues like stress and nervousness. Nonetheless, cats additionally use their urine to mark their territory, so they could simply be letting different cats know that you just’re all theirs. Why do cats pee on their proprietor’s garments? Cats will acknowledge their proprietor’s scent as a result of their sense of scent is so good. When your cat smells you on the garments in your laundry pile, they could spray urine to mark their territory. How do you self-discipline a cat for peeing exterior the litter field? It’s essential to not self-discipline your cat for peeing exterior of their litter tray. First, verify the litter field is clear and doesn’t scent strongly of cleansing chemical substances, then use optimistic reinforcement like treats and a spotlight to reward them for being close to to and, finally, utilizing the litter field. #Cat #Pee #Widespread #Causes #Conduct #Cats.com Cats might pee on their homeowners for numerous causes, together with marking their territory, feeling harassed, fearful, in ache, and even as a consequence of medical points. It's important to seek the advice of a veterinarian to rule out any medical issues and determine behavioral causes. Spending high quality time with the cat and addressing potential triggers may also assist alleviate the issue. 1. Why do cats pee on their homeowners? - Cats would possibly pee on their homeowners to mark their territory, when they're harassed, anxious, scared, unwell, in ache or have misplaced bladder management. 2. How can cat homeowners assist stop their cats from peeing on them? - Spending extra one-on-one time with cats, getting them neutered, figuring out and addressing potential stressors, utilizing anti-anxiety or calming pheromone merchandise can all assist stop cats from peeing on their homeowners. 3. What ought to cat homeowners do if their cats are peeing on them? - They need to seek the advice of a veterinarian to rule out medical causes and determine behavioral causes for the habits, and take acceptable steps to deal with them.

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princessofprocrastination · 4 years ago

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She’s Creepy (Dream)

MASTERLIST

pairing : dream / clay x reader.

summary : apparently being a huge fan of a big youtuber is considered being a creep, according to minecraft gamer, dream. and ever since he called you mean things, your world turned upside down. (ANGST) (TRIGGER WARNING)

a/n : i’m aware i’ve been writing all angsts, i just enjoy a little heartbreak. this is a two part story!

you haven’t been on social media as a public figure for long, but that doesn’t mean you haven’t been on social media before this.

you knew people, you had people you look up to, as of many other social media influencers or content creators.

you grew pretty quick on youtube and instagram. your content mostly included room makeovers whenever you felt bored of your own home or your storytimes. you blew up from talking about your stalker.

since then, your subscibers stayed with you and supported you, saying that you have a charm, and that you exert good energy and vibes. and those type of comments have always made your day.

you always shared with your supporters about your life, not too personal but enough for them to feel included. of course, you’re not telling them your phone number or address, but you tried to share as many details you can legally in your story times.

that also meant that you would tell your supporters small details about you, such as what book you were currently reading or who you’ve been watching on youtube.

even before you stated posting on your channel, you’ve been watching a minecraft youtuber, dream and his friends.

some of your fans would tag them in some of your instagram posts, or tweets that brought no harm so you never really acknowledged it since it wasn’t hurting anyone.

you weren’t “fangirling” you’d say. it was more of you supported them and found them funny and entertaining.

coincidentally, you landed yourself on the dream team tiktok, which means that dream and his friends were all over you for you page.

and to show that you were active and not dead to your followers on instagram, you’d post a funny tiktok, usually included the dream team. you thought it was harmless. to you, it was just a way to show support.

but only a couple days later, hashtags about you and the dream team, more specifically, just dream, were trending.

when you saw this, opening your twitter app, you immediately went to find out what this was about. your heart jumped when you thought maybe dream acknowledged you.

in fact, it was worse.

what was trending was a short video clip during one of the dream teams chill streams on the dream smp.

the conversation between george, sapnap and dream went like this.

“you guys heard about that girl who kept reposting tiktoks about us on her instagram story?” george asked the other two boys.

“heard she watched us before she even started her channel” sapnap.

“i don’t know about you guys, but i think she’s being a little creepy.” dream said.

your heart sunk to your stomach. did your actions portray you to be a creep to other people?

“dream, you can’t just say that, especially on stream.” sapnap scolded him, george also mumbling something.

“why can’t i? i feel creeped out by her, a public figure posting me all over her socials.” dream replied, tone serious.

you clicked off the video, before it replayed again. you couldn’t get yourself to rewatch that, to hear those words again.

almost crying, you told yourself to suck it up, that this wasn’t worth you crying.

although they were who you looked up as minecraft gamers, this wasn’t worth your breakdowns.

that was until, you opened your direct messages.

you shouldn’t have. you knew the dream team stans would easily hunt you down, to ask you to back off from creeping their idol off.

but no, you still opened your dms. you expected a normal dm, ones that say they support you or some of your friends sending you memes through instagram.

what you didn’t expect was to see a flood of threats.

some said “kill yourself, you don’t deserve a spot on earth after what you did.” and “back off and leave my mans.”

it got worse from there. you thought maybe it’s just the dms, but you didn’t expect it to blow up more, with people tagging you with photos on instagram and twitter. people “cancelling” you.

you didn’t understand how this blew up like this. you were even more baffled to see some of your supporters sending you threats, too.

was this what you deserved?

you weren’t one to make rash decisions, nor were you a suicidal person.

you felt stupid. just because you supported big youtubers, you get this type of treatment?

the threats, the dm, never stopped. for three whole months, you had to deal with the never ending mean comments on your social media. you thought it would die down.

it came to the point of seeing your address and your phone number all over the internet. you never thought it would lead to this.

you didn’t know what to do anymore.

not long after, people started showing up to your apartment.

sure, your apartment didn’t have the best of security, which you blamed no one but yourself for being a public figure and living somewhere with little to no security.

they started with knocking on your door during ungodly hours. next was mailing weird stuff or sending stuff to your house. lastly, which tipped you off was that they would vandalize your apartment.

they would egg your front door, pee, or spray paint your walls of the outside.

you couldn’t handle it anymore.

soon enough, you knew you had to stand up for yourself. you had to call the police.

and that was exactly what you did. you called the authorities, which made the brave teenagers leave you alone.

while they were egging your house and making your life miserable, you knew this was the only time for you to make a rash decision. to leave the country, to somewhere no one else would fine you at. somewhere unpredictable, that no one would expect you to go.

it took a lot for you to book a plane ticket, box up your belongings and move to a completely different country, away from your hometown, florida.

you loved it in florida. though it was humid all the time, you enjoyed it. now that you had to leave, you only had a little while to cherish it before you leave it all behind.

and your family, your friends. the ones you’ve grown up with, ones you’ve grown to love and cherish. you had to leave that too. and without telling them too much information.

that hurt the most, needing to leave your loved ones behind, to start a new life, to start afresh.

DREAM’S POV

i didn’t know what was happening. one thing added onto another and soon it was out of control.

i didn’t say anything at the start, not thinking it would go this far. i didn’t know to what extent my fans would go.

sure, i saw all the things happening, but i didn’t do anything to stop it.

i saw her address and phone number all over social media, and did nothing about it.

george and sapnap said something, and pushed me to do something about it, but i didn’t. i was stubborn.

speaking of, it’s been months since i heard anything about her from her herself, everything i see is from my fans or hers, wondering where she is.

should i be worried?

YOUR POV

you left florida. the only people you told were your parents and your childhood friend, not trusting anyone else.

what you told them was vague, that you needed to leave, away from the US. specifically, you moved to Australia.

you made a decision to not live near the city, but the outskirts.

you were lucky that you weren’t a spender and you made more than enough money to make the decision to leave so suddenly.

lucky for you, you went to college and had a degree in law, so you didn’t need to worry about not having a job.

you never thought you’d make use of your degree this early in your life, thinking that youtube and being a content creator would last a little while longer.

you had to change you hairstyles, your fashion in general since you had to be in a more professional setting. although it was hard transitioning from a casual wear and having crazy coloured hair to wearing pant suits or formal dresses and going back your natural colour.

three years. it took you three full years for you to even think of visiting your parents in florida again. also, given the fact that you had a stable job and you couldn’t up and leave.

but recently, you were offered to work at another law firm in florida. you were happy to tell that to your family back home but at the same time, you were hesitant to go back to your nightmares.

but you braved yourself, since you missed your family dearly.

now, you were sitting on your desk in your cozy home, finalizing up the last of your move, like getting a house back in florida, this time with a better security just in case.

boxes of your clothes and belongings went first, to reach your new house there before you did so it was easier for you, not having to worry about your stuff.

you asked none of your family’s help, not wanting to burden them. instead you told them to just meet you at a restaurant you booked for you and your family and friends for dinner about three weeks after you landed.

although they protested, saying it was too long until they can see you again, you told them to not worry and that you were going to use those three weeks to start working at the new law firm.

you decided to take a straight flight from australia to florida, not wasting any time. although it was almost a twenty-two hour long flight, you sat throug and got to your hometown safely.

you didn’t know what was going on with the three boys you used to adore, since you didn’t have social media anymore.

but you didn’t mind it, it was peaceful.

two weeks since you’ve stepped foot in florida again. it felt amazing to breathe your hometown air again. it was refreshing.

you have fully settled in your new house, and workplace. you were glad to have met your co-workers. they were all super welcoming and made sure you weren’t left behind in anything.

so far, your transition from australia to florida has been smooth, and you weren’t worried about anything.

you got a car since you’ve arrived, so that you could travel easily from one place to another.

not to brag, but. you were making enough money to live a lavish lifestyle. a big house and a pretty expensive car, and that didn’t even make a dent in your bank account.

you were proud to see that you achieved all this yourself, and only within a couple of years.

you were just excited to meet your family in real life instead of facetime.

finally, the day of the dinner with your family came. unfortunately, you had to take a case in the afternoon, so you had to come to dinner in your work pant suit, with a turtleneck and a little late.

they understood it and told you not to worry about it, and that they would just seat themselves by your name instead of waiting for you. you promised you’d pay their dinners and apologized once again.

the sound of your heels comforted you as you walked from the valet to the restaurant. you were a little nervous to meet them again face to face after three years. but you couldn’t wait to catch up with them and tell them all about your work life that you could never tell them during the facetime calls.

you smiled to yourself, thinking nothing could go wrong. and nothing could really go wrong anyways, it was just a dinner after all.

but you hadn’t expected the three boys you used to idolize to be eating dinner at the same restaurant you and your family would be at, specifically, opposite your table.

you walked in the restaurant, telling the front of the house that you had a table reserved under your name and that you were pretty sure the rest of your family was already there.

she politely told you to walk alongside her, leading you to your family.

you weren’t paying attention to your surroundings. you were solely focused on seeing your family that you didn’t know that there were extra pair of eyes staring at you.

you smiled as your family saw you. your mum crying while standing up to hug you tightly, as she once did three years ago.

you could hear your friends shout your name loudly, as if to tell the whole world that you were finally here.

“don’t cry, i’m staying, no more going back to australia, i swear.” you told your mum, trying to reassure her that you were fine and that you were not going to leave her again, since she hadn’t stopped crying.

you moved to hug your dad, who had been patiently waiting for his turn after his wife. “you look great, kiddo.” you thanked him as he complimented your professional look.

you sat down, somewhere in the middle, between your family, opposite of your parents so that everyone could clearly see and talk to you easily.

with how noisy you family were, you were sure the entire restaurant knew your name and where you had just moved from.

they asked you about australia, what was it like to work there, away from your family. you caught up with every single one of them.

“don’t you live in that really expensive neighbourhood right now?” one of your childhood friends asked.

you winked at her, discreetly trying to answer her question. the whole table shouted and congratulated you for making it this far, in only a matter of short years.

you covered your face, shy, not wanting this part of your life to be told to everyone in the restaurant.

GEORGE’S POV

there she was. the person whose life we practically ruined. luckily, we didn’t ruin it all for her. i guess she made use of her brains and is working a normal job.

“dude.” i tried to attract the other two boys’ attention.

“i know.” both of them answered me.

“she’s rich rich, huh?” sapnap almost chuckled but was totally serious saying that.

“yup.” dream.

ah yes, clay. the man dream himself. sapnap and i tried to persuade him into making it right for her, for you.

sure, he had said those mean words, but he can take it back. three years ago, at least.

she disappeared three years ago. vanished. no one knew where you went. some say you moved out of the country, which deemed to be true. couple of years later people started to find out what you worked as, but i tried my best to help get rid of the information

but they just couldn’t pinpoint where. you basically uped and left everything.

and there was time to apologize, but it had been to late.

i thought she died, quite frankly. i didn’t want to be the cause of someone dying. well at least, not me, but my friend.

now us three were seated in a pretty formal and expensive restaurant to eat dinner. and we did not expect to see her here.

she came in a little late, wearing a very professional wear. seemed like you went to work before this.

i knew you were a lawyer, we three knew that since our fans found it out.

she looked completely different. hair not her usual crazy colours. just seeing her in heels baffled me. she was wearing something formal and that wasn’t what you usually wore, years ago.

DREAMS’S POV

she’s beautiful.

not that she wasn’t before.

but this version of her was different. her in her pant suit, in heels. a turtleneck under her blazer.

she looked elegant. classy. rich.

i mean, she is rich.

her family screamed when she told them where she lived. and man, that neighbourhood only had rich people. it had one of the best, if not the best security you could ask for.

it wasn’t easy to buy a house there. even if you had the money, you’d need a certain bank card to be allowed to even be shortlisted.

and if i saw it correctly, she drives a bentley that was just parked by a valet kid.

damn. she is one successful woman.

i know, how could i think this much of her, how dare i when i didn’t even apologized. i didn’t even try.

in fact. i did. even before she went MIA, fully on social media, i sent her direct messages everywhere. she never replied to any of them.

and i knew no one that had her phone number. and soon enough, no one had heard from her in three years.

and now she’s back. more beautiful than ever.

i needed to speak to her i couldn’t live with the guilt that stayed for these past three years.

my fans, my so called supporters made her life a living hell and i almost did nothing to stop it.

i’m sure she hates me. but i have to try somehow, right?

question is, she didn’t have a social media anymore, and i can’t just speak to her now that she was sitting opposite my table.

i kept on pondering as i heard a little bit of her conversation, about her life.

i guess she moved to australia, and worked in a lawfirm in the outskirts. so unpredictable of her. no one would’ve guessed that in a million years.

i watched as i see her smile as she listened to what her parents were saying.

i cherished the smile since i didn’t know when was the next time i’d see her.

she asked the waiter for the bill, covering the whole cost of her and her huge family’s meal.

damn, this girl is too rich for her own good.

she puts down the bill on the table, also leaving a generous tip for the waiter that served them. she stood up to walk after her family, needing to pass my table.

since she had been oblivious to her surroundings, i didn’t expect her to spot us, to notice us.

but i was wrong.

PART 2

#dream x reader #dream imagines #dreamwastaken #dream fanfic #dream imagine #dreamwastaken imagines #dream fanfiction

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btsslowburnfic · 4 years ago

Text

The Arrangement Ch. 28

Story summary: Desperately in need of money, you answered the questionable ad. AKA-Arranged marriage AU featuring Y/N and Yoongi

Chapter Summary: Photo shoot day. This ship is leaving the harbor.

Previous Chapter here

It was still dark out when you got up. Your joints ached as you made your way to the kitchen and got your coffee. You walked over and opened the curtain slightly. In the early morning darkness you could make out snow flurries making their way to the ground. You pressed a hand against the glass, feeling the cold seep through. A chill went through you. You were glad you had ordered the extra waterproof equipment for today.

You looked back and over towards the stairs. Yoongi would be able to sleep for two more hours before he needed to be at the trailer. BigHit had rented an area of park about 15 minutes outside of Seoul. You hoped traffic would go smoothly given the snowfall and that everything would be on time. The trailer company had already confirmed with you last night. Now all that was left was ensuring the trucks got appropriately loaded with the equipment. You got dressed and headed to the loading docks.

The sun started to rise an hour later after you, the lighting, and the photography crew had made sure all of the equipment had been loaded. You then sent a message with directions to the head of catering and grabbed the clothing and accessory trunks. Satisfied, and sweaty, you hopped into the van and let the driver know you were ready.

The trip up into the mountains was a little bit scary, to be honest. The fresh snow crunched beneath the tires. As if sensing your nervousness, the driver reassured you, “We’ll just take our time. I drive in snow all the time.” You gave him a grateful smile but did not loosen your grip on the handle above the door. “I can’t believe this didn’t get canceled.” He continued.

“Yeah, me either,” you agreed. You continued to monitor your phone. There were so many moving pieces that went into this shoot. It was difficult enough when everything was on-site. Having it in a location off-property and outdoors was immensely more difficult. You were glad to see the trailers were actually set up and running when you arrived. You had ordered a restroom trailer and a production trailer. Both generators were running smoothly. You checked in with the photography and lighting crew before unloading the van.

You set up all of the clothing and accessories in the back room of the production trailer. Hoseok had sent you photos of what each outfit was supposed to look like along with little notes. On the plus side, it was very nice and warm. It was small, but the space was manageable enough for 2-3 people. On the downside, it made going back outside suck even more. You walked back through the rest of the trailer, making sure the galley was prepared for the catering crew. Photography had their own section to review any footage without getting frostbite.

You took a deep breath and looked around. Yes. This could work. The sun was over the horizon now. You went out to help set up heat lamps.

At around 9 am the rest of the staff showed up: catering, stylists, and various assistants. You quickly assigned jobs to the assistants and showed the caterers to the galley.

“Hey lady!” Alice waved as she exited the van. “It’s been a minute. What have you been up to?” She reached back in and produced two coffees, walking towards you with one.

“Oh my goodness. Thank you. Thank you. You know. The same. Working. Helping Jimin prepare for the auction.” You took a sip of the coffee. “This is delicious.”

“Right?” Alice smiled, “I asked the driver if she would mind stopping at a real coffee shop and it turns out she was also burned out on BigHit house blend so we did. It’s so cold.” She shivered.

“Yeah. Well, you will be in the trailer to get started. Yoongi will be coming straight here so nothing will be done.”

Alice giggled, “Oooo, bed head Yoongi.” She turned around as you heard another car door shut. “You hear that Bongcha?”

What. the. Fuck.

“Hey!” Bongcha greeted you. “Ugh it’s so cold.” She wiggled and took a sip of her coffee. “Bed head Yoongi? Sign me up.”

You felt your eye twitch ever so slightly. You took out your phone, “Yeah he should be awake now. I’ll text him to check.” How to ask this tactfully, “Hey Bongcha. I thought Jessi was on make-up today.”

“She was, but she started to feel sick last night and asked if I’d cover for her. Of course I said yes.” She smiled

You swallowed your pride, “Awesome, well thank you so much. I really appreciate you stepping up. Like I said, you two will be in the trailer to start out. Yoongi’s room is in the very back, feel free to set up in there.” You gestured to the production trailer.

“Great, thanks!” Alice said, walking around to the back of the van. You directed some of the assistants to help the ladies take their equipment inside.

YN: You up?

YG: No :p

YN: omg never call me a brat again. It’s freezing out here by the way

YG: What happened to “the snow is so pretty. I love winter. It’s the best”

YN: I like snow. I hate cold. Status?

YG: leaving now see you soon

YN: You gonna drink hot coffee today?

YG: never

You smiled and put your phone back in your pocket. Watching your breath become air you turned and looked at the set. It was all coming together; you had done it. It had fortunately stopped snowing for now, but unfortunately, your feet were soaked. You didn’t own waterproof shoes. Oh well, you thought as you felt the cold begin to creep into your feet. This too shall pass.

You checked in with the crew members directing them to the hot beverage station which you had asked catering to set up outside. A floor had also been placed down under a canopy to provide a brief respite from any precipitation. Several people were taking turns standing in front of the heating lamps. “Thanks so much for ordering these!” “I can’t believe we’re shooting today.” You heard several times from the production crew.

Finally you saw a car pull up that had to belong to Yoongi. You were surprised to see that he had driven himself. You had definitely requested a driver for him. You walked over, waiting for him to get his bag out and open the door. He got out and mumbled a hello. He was wearing a hat, scarf, facemask, gloves, and long coat.

You smiled, “Hiding from the cold? A good strategy.”

“I hate this.” He said as he walked past you.

“I know.” You followed him, falling in step beside him. “But, look: you have a fancy trailer. And a fancy trailer to pee in. And your skin looks so refreshed and hydrated.”

You heard him laugh behind the fabric, “Yeah thanks, someone assaulted me with face lotion last night.”

“Assault? Please. Anyways, your room is in the back of the trailer. Alice and Bongcha are waiting for you, I have your outfits organized.”

Yoongi stopped, “I thought I told you not to...you know.” He widened his eyes and trailed off as the two of you were surrounded by people.

“I did what you asked me, and it couldn’t be helped. I’m sorry, I just found out.” You shivered. The sun had briefly escaped behind a smattering of gray clouds.

Yoongi rolled his eyes, clearly even more pissed off than he had been. “Yeah. Great. Where are your clothes?”

“What do you mean?” You asked, confused.

He gestured to you. “It’s -3.”

“I don’t have many winter clothes. Besides. It’s not so bad in the sun.”

Yoongi sighed in annoyance and took off his hat. He unceremoniously pulled it down onto your head, covering your eyes.

“Hey...” you whined as you moved your hands up to fix it. When you did, Yoongi was already at the door of the trailer and going inside. You sighed and enjoyed the added warmth of the grey hat. It was extra toasty since Yoongi had inadvertently prewarmed it for you. You decided to go try and nonchalantly put your feet in front of one of the heaters and hope your shoes would dry out.

“45 minutes. 45 minutes left til go.” You yelled as you headed over to the awning. You plopped down into one of the camp chairs you had rented and took out your phone.

Jimin: Good luck today. I'll be sending you warm thought :(

YN: Thanks my dude. It’s fucking freezing out here.

You snapped a selfie making a sad face.

JM: Yeah it snowed a lot last night. Omg you have Yoongi’s hat. So cute. Invite me to the wedding

YN: *eyeroll* I’ll invite you to your funeral *angry face*

JM: ahahahahahahahahahaha You smiled and answered a few emails.

WWH: Where are yooooooooo gggggguuuuuuuuuuuuyyyyyyyssss. Yoongi won’t answer meeeeee :(

YN: Photoshoot all day. Sorry. Maybe we can hang this weekend.

YN: Jin is sad you won’t text him back.

You sent a screenshot of Jin’s messages.

YG: WWH?

YN: World Wide Handsome.

YG:.........user does not exists error 404

YN: ???????

YG: This number has been disconnected

Oh my God, you laughed. Putting your phone back into your pocket you decided to go make the rounds on the set and ensure when Yoongi came outside things could move quickly. The first set was with a sleigh. You walked through the blocking with the head photographer and checked with the propmaster to make sure the correct items were in and around it. Satisfied you went to the trailer. The door to the back room was open so you stopped at the doorway and watched.

Alice had blown Yoongi’s hair back, exposing his forehead. Bongcha was done applying foundation and was lightly lining the corners of his eyes. He flicked them over towards you suddenly.

“Go away, I’m mad at you.” Yoongi deadpanned

The two girls laughed.

“You two also. When you’re done with my make-up you can leave.” He pointed to the door while pouting.

Clearly you had missed something. “Oh? Yeah? Are you mad about the fancy trailer or the coffee station? I need to know.” You put a hand on your hip.

“I think he’s jealous of World Wide Handsome. He’s been going on and on about it. He was trying to get us to disagree, but we can’t.” Alice laughed. “I’m getting ready to spray, hold your breath if you’re sensitive.”

Bongcha used her hand to shield Yoongi’s eyes as Alice applied the hairspray.

You rolled your eyes as they all giggled. “Whatever. Your first shot is with the sleigh so it needs to have that Christmassy vibe. It’s this outfit here,” You walked in and gently shimmied behind the other girls, pulling the outfit and accessory bag off the garment rack. You sat down on the couch next to Yoongi. You turned and left the room.

“YN I’m just kidding!” You heard Yoongi yell. Whatever. He was right. Today sucked. You continued on outside, giving another countdown. A few minutes later Bongcha and Alice exited the trailer, presumably to let Yoongi change. They walked over towards you. Ugh. Not today.

“How has everyone else been to Jin’s apartment but not me?” Bongcha whined as they approached you.

Alice laughed, “WelI was only there to work and do his girlfriend’s make-up. It was awful.”

“Ex-girlfriend though,” You clarified.

Bongcha sighed, “We’ll see how long it lasts this time. They do this a lot.”

“Oh. that sucks.”

“Yeah. Especially since Alice has the world’s biggest crush on him.” Bongcha teased.

“Shut up.” Alive gently shoved her. “Anyways...YN. I need to know. And I won’t be mad. Do you have a crush on Jin?”

You were dumbfounded. Why did people keep asking you that? “Um no?”

“Are you sure? Because you can tell me. I mean. I’ll fight you for him because I’ve liked him a long time and may the best girl win.”

You laughed, “Alice. I definitely definitely don’t like Jin. He’s like a goofy older brother to me. I’m just glad Yoongi has a friend.”

Bongcha sighed, “It’s just our fate in life to pine after the men of BigHit,” She looked dreamily over at the production trailer.

“Sorry,” Alice said. “Yoongi mentioned Jin was in your phone as world wide handsome so I just got super paranoid.”

You blinked several times and then started to laugh. “Ahahaha no. That’s just how he talks and it makes me laugh. I mean. I understand that he is objectively a good-looking guy. But so are most of the guys we work with soooo…”

“Yeah. But Yoongi is definitely the cutest.” Bongcha sighed. “And he’s so sweet. He even let you borrow his hat today.” She smiled.

“Yep. He’s very thoughtful.” You added, careful to watch what you said. You felt slightly sick to your stomach. You saw the door to the trailer open. Yoongi had his coat on over the first outfit. He scanned the set and headed over to talk to the director of photography. You waited a few minutes before heading that way.

"Perfect timing YN," Yoongi said. He slipped his coat off and put it around your shoulders. "Keep this warm for me." Before you could object he headed over towards the sleigh.

Dammit. The coat was warm. You crossed your arms in front of you, pulling the fabric around you. Bongcha and Alice went in for touch ups and then the photography began.

After the second set another round of snowfall began. You were thankful that so far Yoongi hadn't asked for his coat back. Your feet were thoroughly soaked. Everything on set seemed to be in order. The snow crunched beneath your feet as you made your way over to the production trailer. You headed into the back room and shut the door. Removing your socks and shoes you pressed your cold, pruny foot between your hands, hoping it would warm up. It did help, but you began to dread putting your socks back on. Dammit.

You heard the door handle turn and looked up. Fortunately it was just Yoongi so far, not the girls.

"Hey. Sorry, I'll get out of here." you said, starting to collect your things.

"What's wrong with your feet?" Yoongi asked with a concerned look on his face.

"Oh. I guess some snow got into my boots. They’re fine. Just cold." You half lied.

Yoongi picked up one of your socks. "This is soaked. You can't put this back on." He gave the sock a disgusted look and jettisoned it across the room.

“No!!!! That’s my only sock. Yoongi I have to.” You got up to try and find it. “I don't have other ones. There's not even extra Gucci socks from the clothing trunk I can steal.” You started digging around between the couch and end table with your ass unceremoniously in the air.

Yoongi smirked at first, “Well it's going to keep snowing.” He sighed. “Just stay in here the rest of the shoot.”

You turned around, your face red from being upside down. “No. I'm your assistant. I need to be out there helping.” You were clearly upset.

Yoongi took out his phone and side eyed you. “Calm down. Just wait. We're taking a break anyways. 30 minutes. OK? I’ll be back.” He shut the door as he turned around.

Yoongi dialed the number and walked over towards the door. There weren’t many shoes to sort through so he found yours quickly. He frowned as he felt how soaked they were and checked the bottom. The person finally picked up the phone.

Hobi’s voice was high pitched, tinged with concern. "You're calling me? Is everything OK?"

"No.” Yoongi tried to keep his voice low as he walked over to his car for some privacy “We're at this fucking snow infested shoot and YN doesn't have waterproof shoes and her feet are going to get frostbite. Her socks and shoes are soaked."

Hoseok could see where this was going. "Where is the shoot?"

"It's only like 15 minutes away. Maybe 20 with the snow. She wears a 255" Yoongi opened his car door and got inside.

Hobi couldn't resist, he ran his tongue along his lips. "And what do I get for this favor?"

Yoongi ran a hand through his hair, "Whatever you want. I don't have a lot of time before we start shooting." He stopped in annoyance, the hair product sticking to his fingers.

Hoseok closed his eyes and smiled. The satisfaction of his suspicions being true felt good. "I tease. I like YN, I don't want her to get frostbite, I'm doing this for her. No favor necessary."

“Thanks. I’ll send you the coordinates.” Yoongi hung up the phone and texted Hobi. He leaned his head back against the headrest. Namjoon was making them do this to punish him, he was sure. There was no reason why this couldn’t have been moved back. He had done everything he had been asked to do lately though. Even though, it turns out what he had been tasked with wasn’t difficult at all. He hadn’t intended to like this arrangement. He hadn’t intended to like you. And it was becoming more and more difficult for him to ignore the fact that he did. You were constantly on his mind.

He smiled as he thought back to last night. You were so cute. Yoongi closed his eyes briefly, remembering the weight of your hand in his and the feeling of your fingers on his face. He wanted it to happen again again. He felt a warmth rush through his body. It was cut short when he heard the car door open, shaking him from his thoughts. He was annoyed for a half second until he saw you. Still wearing his hat. You were holding his coat.

“Here, you can have your coat back.” You said, handing it to him like a blanket.

He briefly chewed on his lip, and looked forward again. “Jhope’s bringing you shoes.”

“What? He doesn’t need to do that. Yoongiiii”

“You will make a terrible assistant if we have to cut your feet off.” He replied dryly. He cleared his throat. “Why are you out here anyways? You’re supposed to be staying in the trailer where it’s warm. And not wearing those,” he gestured in disgust to your soaked shoes.

You rolled your eyes, “Bongcha is ready to touch up your make-up. We have ten minutes until the shoot starts again.”

The snow had covered most of the windshield at this point. Leaving the two of you with a half-covered view of the set.

Yoongi looked back out towards the snow, his breath visible as he confessed, “I just want to go home.”

“Me too. I don’t even want to play in the snow. You know how bad that is?”

Yoongi turned to face you, “If you like the snow so much why don’t you have snow-proof shoes?”

You fidgeted, uncomfortable with the question. “Snow shoes are expensive. I gave mine to my aunt when I moved out. She still has to walk to work.” You pulled down your sleeves to make sweater paws. “I work in the building most of the time so I thought she should have them.”

“Of course you did.” Yoongi shook his head.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You said defensively.

“Calm down brat. It means you do a great job taking care of others.” He reached over and grabbed your hand. “But you need to do a better job taking care of yourself.”

You looked out the window, sure that your face was growing red. “Yeah. I guess.”

“I know it’s what you’ve had to do for a long time.” He took a deep breath as he forced himself to say the next part, “So I’ll take care of you until you get better at it.” He squeezed your hand and then let go. “Jhope should be here soon with your shoes and socks.” He placed the keys in the cup holder. “Turn the car on if you want.” He let himself out, leaving you to sit and think about what had just happened. NEXT CHAPTER @lidda @anpanman-sonyeondan @firefairy1 @cuteipat @sugaslittlekookies @janeelizabeth1216 @deeepvibes @gxldenhunny @livelyjay @bobbyboops @honeysunandsoil @deathkat657 @niniita-ah @min-yus @or-worse-expelled7 @black-rose-29 @storms-and-stars-blog

#bts fic #bts writing #BTS suga #suga bts #bts suga x reader #bts suga x you #suga x you #suga x reader #suga x y/n #bts yoongi #yoongi fanfic #suga fanfic #yoongi x reader #yoongi x you #bts yoongi x reader #yoongi x y/n

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storiesforallfandoms · 4 years ago

Text

no one will hurt you ~ sweet pea;riverdale

word count: 1812

request?: yes!

@lucialilithmalfoy “yey the requests are open! can you do a Sweet Pea imagine where the reader is blind and he takes care of her? everyone knows him as the hot head and never soft, so when he’s taking care of the reader with gentle and softness, they’re surprised. he only has a soft spot for her. could be set in a time where the serpents are already on the northside and the reader is a northsider. just a bunch of fluff pls? i’m a hoe for soft Sweet Pea hehe”

description: sweet pea is known as the hot headed member of the southside serpents, but he does have one soft spot

pairing: sweet pea x female!reader

warnings: swearing

masterlist

Sweet Pea was always known for being a hothead. He was very passionate about his gang, the Southside Serpents, and would swing without hesitation at anyone who dared to mock them, or threaten them. He had been suspended from school, both Southside High and Riverdale High, due to fights on multiple occasions, he had returned home from school with black eyes and bruises most days.

Besides that, he loved running with the Serpents. He spent most of his time at the Whyte Wyrm with his friends, or out goofing off with Fangs and Toni. He was tough and, sometimes, ruthless through and through. The words “Sweet Pea” and “soft” did not belong in a sentence together.

That was, until he met his girlfriend.

She was a new girl at Riverdale High. She made a grand entrance her first day of school by tripping over something in the hallway, sending her books flying. Nearby students giggled and snickered as they whispered to each other about her. Sweet Pea hated the preppy assholes of Riverdale High, especially when they picked on others for no reason, so he made a point of helping her picking up her things.

“Here,” he said, extending the books and papers towards her.

Her face twisted with confusion and that’s when Sweet Pea got a good look at her eyes. It seemed like she had no control over them, they were just stuck in one position - staring straight forward. That’s when he realized that the poor new girl was also blind, something else that she’d definitely be picked on mercilessly for by the preppy’s.

He took hold of her hand gently and placed her books in them. She sighed with relief. “Thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome,” he responded. “Here, take my hand.”

Her hand found his and he pulled her to stand, slowly. “Do you have a cane or anything to help you walk?”

“It’s...somewhere...” She gestured to the floor. Sweet Pea looked around the floor, but the students were now moving and he couldn’t get a good glimpse of where her cane might’ve gone.

Sweet Pea took hold of her shoulders and pulled her towards the lockers to get her out of the way of the busy hallways. When it was nearly clear, Sweet Pea managed to locate her cane and gave it back to her.

“Thank you,” she said. “I didn’t know this school was going to be so full or so busy, I wasn’t ready for it.”

“It’s alright,” he responded with a shrug. “Where’s your first class? I can help you find it if you want.”

Her fingers brushed over her schedule, which was given to her with both normal writing and braille underneath. Sweet Pea couldn’t understand why they’d give her a schedule with writing on it, but he decided it was best not to question it for now. It could be helpful to him if she had trouble reading it.

She recited the name and room number of her first class. Surprisingly, it aligned with his, which unfortunately meant that he’d actually have to show up to class for once.

Sweet Pea took her arm and slowly led her down the hallways towards the classroom, taking his time and allowing her to survey the path ahead of her with her cane. By the time they reached the classroom, the final bell was just ringing, meaning they weren’t exactly late but also not really on time.

The teacher gave Sweet Pea his normal, disapproving look as he walked through the door. “How nice of you to finally join us, Sweet Pea.”

“I’m so sorry, sir,” the girl spoke before Sweet Pea could say something he regretted. “I had some trouble in the hallway and...and Sweet Pea helped me. I’m the reason he’s late, I’m very sorry.”

The teacher looked between her and Sweet Pea, taking in her eyes and her cane the way Sweet Pea had. Even the worst of teacher couldn’t make comments about a new blind student, so he sighed heavily and responded, “It’s alright. You must be our new student, Miss (Y/L/N).”

“That’s me,” she confirmed.

The teacher sighed and waved a hand towards the two empty seats in the classroom. “Just take your seats.”

Sweet Pea helped her over to her seat and made sure she was properly sat in the desk before sitting next to her. The class started and Sweet Pea was immediately bored. He was starting to remember why he always skipped his classes and was wondering if he’d be able to ditch so far into class.

“Psst.”

The sound shocked Sweet Pea and he nearly jumped before looking over at the girl next to him. She was slightly leaned towards him, but it was still enough to look very obvious that she was trying to talk to him. Sweet Pea chuckled and gently moved her so that it was less obvious.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“It’s no problem. The teacher is kind of a hard ass, I wouldn’t want him to get angry at you for no reason.”

“No, no, not that,” she said. “Thanks for your help, it really means a lot to me.”

Sweet Pea couldn’t help the smile that spread on his face. “That was also no problem. If you need anymore help, just let me know.”

“I’m (Y/N) by the way.”

“Sweet Pea.”

He could see she was trying to contain a giggle. “Is that your real name?”

He smirked. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

That’s how it all started. The next day, (Y/N) managed to find Sweet Pea in the hallway, claiming that he wore a distinct body spray that was easy to point out in the crowd, however much later she would admit that she asked someone to point out where he was to her. They decided to eat lunch together that day, and later that evening Sweet Pea took her to Pop Tate’s, where they decided that what they were doing was a date.

One date turned into many and before he knew it, Sweet Pea was introducing (Y/N) to his friends, and she was introducing him to her family. He was taking her home after school, where they’d hang out for the day until (Y/N) had to go home. Days turned into weeks which turned into months and, before he knew it, Sweet Pea was in his first serious relationship with the sweetest, most kind girl he could’ve ever met.

On one nice day during lunch, the friend group decided to eat outside. Sweet Pea was guiding (Y/N) out when she stopped in the doorway. “I gotta pee, I’ll meet you guys out there.”

“Okay.” He gave her a quick kiss, causing her to giggle as she passed him her lunch, before the two went their separate ways.

Sweet Pea set his and (Y/N)’s trays down onto the table and sat next to Fangs, leaving a seat free next to him for when (Y/N) came back.

“Where’s (Y/N)?” Toni asked first.

“Hello to you, too, Toni,” Sweet Pea responded, sarcastically. “She’s gone to the bathroom, she’ll be back soon.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t go with her,” Fangs said. “You know, to make sure she was okay.”

“Shut it, Fangs,” Toni said, throwing some food at him.

“She’s able to do things on her own, I just like helping her from time to time because I know how much of assholes these preppies can be,” Sweet Pea defended himself. “You can call me every name in the book that means whipped, but I will stand by myself on this one.”

“You don’t have to defend yourself. She’s your girlfriend, you’re free to help her however you want,” Toni said, glaring slightly at Fangs.

“You’re just a completely different person with her,” Fangs said. “It’s so weird to see hotheaded Sweet Pea being all soft and sweet with his little blind girlfriend.”

Sweet Pea hit Fangs’ arm, causing his friend to yelp in pain and take hold of his arm.

“Don’t ever say shit about her again, Fangs,” he hissed. “Honestly man, even if she wasn’t my girlfriend, that’s some fucked up shit to say.”

“I wasn’t saying it like it was a bad thing! I just wonder sometimes if you’d act this way if she wasn’t blind, you know?”

“You really don’t know when to shut up,” Toni groaned, rolling her eyes.

“The fact that you don’t think I’d still treat (Y/N) like the queen she is to me if she wasn’t blind just goes to show that you’ve never been in a good relationship before, Fangs, nor do I think you will be,” Sweet Pea retorted. “I don’t care if (Y/N) is blind, deaf, in a fucking wheelchair, none of the above or all of the above. I love her for her, and because I love her, I love helping her. She’s the sweetest person I’ve ever met. She’s not a judgmental, asshole preppy, she’s a kind person who understands what it’s like to be the outcast. And if you ever say some shit like that about her again I will not hesitate to hit you so hard that you’ll lose feeling in your arm for a full day.”

Fangs flinched at the threat and quickly changed seats to sit next to Toni. She chuckled at his childishness and shook her head.

“Do you really mean that?”

They all turned to see (Y/N) standing behind Toni and Fangs. She looked shocked and as if she were close to tears, which worried Sweet Pea immediately.

“Which part?” he asked. “Dumb question actually, because the answer is yes, I meant every word I said.”

“I was specifically referring to the part about you loving me,” she responded, feeling her way towards the seat next to Sweet Pea. “You love me?”

“Of course I do,” Sweet Pea responded nonchalantly, although those words were very foreign to him. “I love you, (Y/N), you should know that.”

She smiled and leaned forward slightly. It took Sweet Pea a moment to realize she was trying to kiss him and met her halfway, pressing his lips against hers.

“I love you, too,” she said, her voice so soft that it was hard for anyone besides him to make out what she was saying.

Hearing the words come from her mouth made Sweet Pea smile uncontrollably. His heart was racing with happiness as he kissed (Y/N) again, never wanting to let her go.

“Aweeeee-ewwww,” Fangs said, making a fake gagging noise at the end of his sentence.

Sweet Pea glared at him before rising from his seat. “That’s it, Fangs, I’m gonna kill you.”

Fangs was up from his seat and running around the courtyard in seconds. The two girls laughed as Sweet Pea took off after him.

#sweet pea #sweet pea imagine #sweet pea x reader #jordan connor #jordan connor imagine #jordan connor x reader #riverdale #riverdale imagine #imagine #one shot #request

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writingsbymo-mo · 4 years ago

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We need more piss kink Shiggy! This gross man-child LOVES pissing on your things. Your bed, folded clothes, if it belongs to you its getting his stream. Even better if you catch him while he's doing it, and he'll give you a good show.

Hehehe of course he does these things. (Shigakitty is really gonna be doing this stuff too)

Aaaaand...I might've indulged a bit 👉👈 (come get some shiggy peepee)

One day you'll come home to the strong scent of pee engulfing you as soon as you open the door. Everything is completely soaked and warm or cold and damp with that odor you're all too familiar with. Tomura's piss. With how much of the furniture, rugs, and walls were drenched, he has a surprise for you.

As you mosey your way to find Tomura. you step in a cold puddle just in front of the bedroom door, soaking your socks. You pushed the door open, stepping in with a splat of wet fabric hitting the ground leaving footprints behind.

And that's when you saw him.

Tomura stood right on the bed, his right hand gripping his dick with a golden stream showering from his tip all over the pillows and blankets. No parts of it were to be untouched by him.

From the wet slaps from your feet, his head turned towards you, presenting his signature smirk. He saw that look in your eyes, sparkling in awe with a tinge of lust. "You want some don't you? I know that look." His gravelly voice made your spine tingle as he snickered. "Come closer. I'll give you a little show."

You happily abliged. A show was everything you wanted to see. He released his hand from his dick and shook his dangling shaft in front of you, spraying his pee onto you like a sprinkler. You opened your mouth and stuck out your tongue, trying to catch some droplets. "That's it slut, open your mouth. You and everything you own is my urinal," he smirked down at you eagerly being a part of his show. He wanted everything you owned to be marked by him. "Everyone will know you're mine now!"

His pee splattered onto your hair, trickling down the strands and dripping onto your shirt. Lines splashed onto your clothes, the fabric in hot fresh pee. It felt so good. How he had so much in him? You could only think he was holding himself for hours from drinking so many energy drinks.

The hypnotic swaying of his dick suddenly stopped as he gripped it once more. The warm stream hosed onto your neck up to your awaiting mouth until you were guzzling it down your throat, remnants sliding down, soakingthe collar if your shirt. "That's it, good. Take the rest of it just like that! Mmmm...you look so nice soaking with my piss," he cooed.

Within a few seconds, his pee tapered off, wetting your lips and chest before it became mere drips from his tip. Warm but cold, dripping with gold, smelling with his musky urine just how he likes it. And with a smile, you gulped down the last of it. "Thank you for the show Tomura."

"Heh, anytime. I'll let you watch me mark the whole house again next time. And maybe, I'll mark you once more if you're good again."

And so the piss soaks into all the furniture, rugs, carpet, and even the hard floors. You might've grown blind to the smell of his musky pee but now everyone really will know smell just like him.

#we love us some piss kink uwu #just getting drenched in piss and getting sime in your mouth #also watching him pee in the bed #shiggy gonna want the piss to soak in everything #shiggy is a gremlin #and yeah shigakitty will be very much the one to pee on you a lot #tomura shigaraki #shigaraki tomura #bnha #mha #nsft #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #tomura shigaraki x reader #shigaraki tomura x reader #piss kink #omorashi #come get some shiggy pee pee #anonymous

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survey--s · 3 years ago

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38.

1. What time did you wake up this morning? What was the first thing you thought about? I woke up at 6am when Mike’s alarm went off. At first I tried to continue my dream, but then I realised I had to go and pee, lol.

2. Did you have any unread text messages when you woke up this morning? I did not.

3. When was the last time you had to get a new phone? What happened to your old phone? I got a new one about two months ago. My old phone was just dying - the battery life was horrendous, it kept freezing, the camera wouldn’t work properly and it was just a real pain to use. I need my phone for my job so it made more sense to pay off my contract and replace it than cope with a shit phone for another four months.

4. Can you name 5 people that you used to be close to, but aren’t anymore? Explain why. Linnet, Becky, Sophie, Kirsty and Becca - we’re not close anymore as we all grew up and moved away and just grew apart. That’s pretty normal for most school friendships, I suspect.

5. Do you know anyone who seems very unreliable when it comes to texting, and never texts back? A few people, but if it was that important, I would just ring anyway.

6. Have you ever fallen asleep in the middle of texting someone? Not in the middle of sending a text, but I have fallen asleep waiting for someone to reply, yeah.

7. What sort of day have you had so far? What plans do you have for this evening? It’s actually been a really nice day apart from the fact that I got my period, lol. I woke up early but had a lie in and a cuddle with Archie. Then I got up, got all the housework done, had breakfast, took Archie for his walk, came home, showered and I’ve just been relaxing and watching TV ever since. I have no plans for tonight apart from cooking an Apple Crumble lol. We’re up and out early-doors tomorrow so I need to get my sleep.

8. Do you have a bag of some kind, that you use daily, to carry your belongings? What does it look like? Not daily. The one I use the most is navy blue and has dogs all over it.

9. Are you wearing any perfume/cologne? Yeah, a coconut and vanilla body spray.

10. Do you have any personalised jewellery, or colour changing mood jewellery? No.

11. What was the last cosmetic product that you bought? Does body wash count? I’ll be buying make-up and stuff tomorrow though when we’re out in Workington. I much prefer to buy all of that stuff in person so I can see the colours etc.

12. What was the last thing you wore, that belonged to someone else? Uh, it’ll be one of Mike’s t-shirts.

13. Do you talk to your close friends about personal things, like sex and periods? No, I don’t really feel the need to talk to other people about those things.

14. Imagine for a second, that you’ve married the person you currently love/like. Replace your own surname with their surname, and say it to yourself, in your head. Does that sound good to you? We’re already married so we already share a name. It just sounds normal to me now, but it was definitely a bit weird at first.

15. What was the last compliment you gave to someone of the opposite sex? I can’t remember.

16. Who was the last person to send you a message containing an attachment? What was the attachment? Mike, and it was just a link to something he wanted for Christmas.

17. Have you ever upset the person you love/like? Well, of course. You can’t marry someone and see them everyday without upsetting them at some point, lol.

18. Do you know where your parents are at this moment? I assume they’re both at home.

19. Have you ever kissed a picture of someone? Yeah.

20. When was the last time you had a conversation with a stranger? What did you talk about? Saturday, and we were just talking about the horses we were riding.

21. Have you ever kissed someone whose name started with ’M’? What colour were that person’s eyes? Yeah, my husband lol - he has green/grey eyes. I’ve also kissed another Mike and he had blue eyes.

22. What colour is your underwear? Where did you buy it? Black, and the bra is from Amazon and the knickers are from ASDA.

23. What’s your natural hair colour? Do you like it? Brown, and sure, it’s fine.

24. When was the last time you uploaded a selfie? Yesterday, but only because the dog was snuggled up to me and looked super cute, lol.

25. Have you ever been told that you were good in bed? Yeah.

26. Have you ever felt as though you wanted to spend the rest of your life with someone? Definitely.

27. Do you know anyone with the last name “Williams”? Not anymore, but I went to school with quite a few.

28. Do you have chocolate in your house atm? What kind is it? God, so much. I got about six selection boxes off clients for Christmas, plus we have Malteasers and some Lindt chocolate in the cupboard too.

29. If you have pets, do you talk to them? Of course. I always have chats with them - especially the dog, lol.

30. Finally, where did you find this survey? In someone’s Tumblr archives.

#survey #surveys

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heli0s-writes · 5 years ago

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I. What's in a name (that which we call a Bucky)

Summary: What kind of name is BUCKY? Your dog's name is BUCKEYE. Much better. Pairings: Steve Rogers x Reader x Bucky Barnes A/N: A more humorous work... be alert: everyone in this fic is a lil shit. Dog-lover reader. Enemies to friends to lovers and strap in kiddos, we’re going to Ohio!

Foot in Mouth Syndrome Masterpost

It’s past midnight when the bell on your doorknob titters. A high-pitched whine follows the noise and you drop the book in your hand before emitting a loud groan of annoyance. As a response to your complaint, footsteps quickly pad back towards the computer room you sit in.

“God damn it,” you scold towards the door, “I just took you out like an hour ago.”

It’s half-serious, half-playful as you point a finger towards the 50-pound mass of pure muscle now pitifully cocking his head to the side. Your dog, Buckeye, lovingly named after your alma-mater’s mascot whines pathetically as he falls forward onto his two front paws and gives you the saddest look he can muster. The slate-grey skin between his eyes bends upwards in crinkly folds as he continues to peer at your perched figure on the swivel chair.

You shuffle your desk space around, placing the heavy tome from your hand over the mountain of other paperbacks scattered about. Taking one final look over the paper you’d been working on for the last two weeks, you hit save, making sure it uploads itself to the online drive before stepping away.

The clock on the lower right-hand corner of your monitor reads 2:30. Fuck. Way more than past midnight. You had been so focused on writing you didn’t even realize how late it was. Sending an apologetic look to your dog, you rub his ear before heading down the hallway and grabbing the leash by the door. Poor guy, you hadn’t taken him out in almost four hours.

He’s striding towards you, tail wagging back and forth at the sight of your hand on the leash. His tongue flops out stupidly and you giggle at how dumb he looks. Before clipping the leash to his collar, you give him a big kiss on the head and push your face affectionately. He’d come such a long way in the past five months.

“Okay, big baby. Let’s go.”

The training bell hanging from the knob flails against the door as you step outside, closing it shut.

You and Buckeye head downstairs, your slippers squishing against the wet grass as he leads you over to his favorite sniffing grounds. Under the lamp, you scroll on your phone distractedly, making sure you’d replied to all the e-mails you had received earlier in the day. Eyeing him from time to time to make sure he’s doing what he’s supposed to, you tap out a quick response to a group message from some classmates. They’re probably awake at this time anyway, you muse bitterly, graduate school can be a real bitch like that. Tucking the phone into your back pocket, you fiddle a doggy bag from its container strapped to the leash and maneuver it over your hand.

“No sniffing that poo.” You command Buckeye, and he gazes back over his shoulder at you for a single brief second, as if truly contemplating your authority before giving it a quick whiff anyway. You scoff before tugging him from the pile and further back into the grass. “C’mon, Buck. Dude, I gotta get back in. Please poop. The bag’s ready for you.”

You wave it around helplessly as he traipses on, keeping close, but really pushing your patience. Ten minutes later, you decide you’ve had it with him and start tugging him back towards the sidewalk. He resists at first and you have to use your “mom” voice a couple of times before he follows your lead and drags himself back to your side.

This was the usual routine of your life: wake up, go to campus, work on campus, work from home, find time to eat, work some more, go to bed. In-between all of those activities was of course, take Buckeye outside to jog, pee, shit, and socialize… when he was up for it.

You “adopted” the big lug from the shelter six months ago, falling head over heels for that stupid white oblong patch (you called it his Penis Patch because c’mon… it looked like one) and that wrinkly-ass forehead of his. He had been abused as a puppy and then abandoned in an alleyway with a handful of other pit bulls. By the time he got to the animal shelter, he was massively underweight and terrified of being near humans. He was only two months old. It took a lot of work on your end to get him back to a normal weight and as much as people loved to praise how you “saved” him- it was honestly the opposite that happened.

Yes. It was cheesy and gross as fuck to admit out loud, but that dumb animal actually saved you.

If you hadn’t adopted him and decided he was going to be your tether to this fuck-ass world, you were cock-sure you’d have tied yourself a noose out of bedsheets already. It’s what you told your therapist because it was just the damn truth.

The spring air of Manhattan whips over your face as you make your way towards the stairs of your unit, taking glances here and there to make sure nothing scary was happening. Your location was relatively safe, but honestly, you never know with people. You had seen your fair share of frightening and inexplicable things from your time in New York.

As if you were summoning the bad luck to your doorstep, gunshots ring out from a few blocks away. At least you hope it is, because the echo throughout your apartment unit suggests that it’s much closer. Buckeye starts twitching, darting left and right at the sound. You’re steeling your body as he begins to pull and snap at him with your fingers, calling his name. He heads quickly towards the apartment. Another shot resonates between the buildings.

On your right, Buckeye lets out a high-pitched yelp and jumps as rapid footsteps approach behind you. You barely make it two steps out of the way before a heavy body barrels into you and knocks you onto the sidewalk. Both your knees hit the concrete hard and you immediately roll to your side and fumble to find the leash that fell from hand. Your dog is losing it, and frankly, you are about to as well.

He starts to take off towards the darkness of the grass and you’re screaming his name, trying to scramble up to catch the plastic handle of the retractable leash that’s dragging against the ground. His tongue is loose and panting as he whips his head back and forth between you and the darkness, unsure of where to go.

“Come here! Come!”

You ignore the searing in your kneecaps and reach out as you take a step. Before you can make it much farther, an arm swings itself over your neck and strangles the rest of your words.

A single shot fires off at your dog. Buckeye is outta there. He’s yelping the whole way and you cannot stop yourself from shrieking.

“Don’t fucking speak.” A voice growls behind you. The body it belongs to is distinctly masculine as they knee you in the back and prop you up to stand beside them. The cold barrel of a gun presses itself against your temple and you freeze, hands quivering at your sides. Your heart has either imploded or is about to because you can’t tell if it’s beating or not anymore. There is ringing in your ears from the gun being fired in such close quarters, your eyes struggle to focus.

You have so many questions, but your mind is currently a squirrel in traffic running between the front axle of two tires labelled: “Is this where I fucking die?” and “Is my dog okay?”. Getting splattered to bits by either one was dealer’s choice, and your dealer didn’t seem too choosy.

In the distance, footsteps approach and you see two large frames enter your blurry field of vision, lit up under the streetlamp. There are two glimmering silver shapes reflecting that flickering light, one in the shape of a … dinner plate? And the other… another dick. What the hell? Oh god, you think automatically about your dick-spot-shaped dog. Where is he?

“Let her go!” the dinner plate yells. The barrel presses further into your head.

“Drop your weapons!” your assailant calls back, “Or she dies!”

You’re in a bad procedural cop show or something, you swear. Or Ashton Kutcher is 50 years old and he is laughing his ass off in a van right now, filming a new season of Punk’d. You squeeze your eyes shut when the gun clicks against your head, which is generally right after it goes off, according to the movies. There’s a warm sensation against your back and you hope to god that it isn’t you pissing yourself. When you smell the coppery scent rising, you realize it’s the man’s blood. When he sways a little and your body droops with him, you are positive it’s his blood.

The funny silver California/dick shape in the distance moves and becomes a small circle, with a dark spot in the middle. Is that a fucking gun? You blink a couple of times to see the shadowy outlines of the two people stepping closer. There’s aggravated whispering from both of them and your attacker begins to yell about something before a deafening blast cracks past your eyes.

Warm blood sprays on your face when the man falls backwards, heavy limb taking you down with him. You get some of it in your mouth and you scramble to fuck off as far as you can from this now dead body. The two shapes are running towards you, one of them gripping you hard by the arm and pulling you up.

“Buckeye! That is not protocol!”

You dizzily shake your head at the sound of your dog’s name and find your balance on the sidewalk, toes pressing against your slipper to have it back on your foot correctly. In front of you were two enormous men, and you recognize them immediately: Captain America and Winter Soldier.

“You know I don’t miss.” The Soldier retorts, bottom half of his face obscured by his signature black latex mask. It muffles his voice, but you can clearly hear the agitation. Captain America looks over your dripping red knees. “You okay, ma’am?”

You ignore him. As far as you are concerned at this point, they’re both just as dead to you as this other fucker on the ground. You want to find your dog.

“Buck?” You call into the patch of darkness as you carefully tread into the grass, wincing when your knees sting with every step. You don’t see the two Avengers looking at each other in confusion.

“BUCK!” You scream again, panic returning to your chest as you think about your dog scurrying around in the dark, dragging his damn leash, and spiraling back into the hot mess he was six months ago. Damn it, it had taken you so long to train him out of being skittish, and now he was going to be right back in it. You look around the dark, turning the flashlight on your phone and follow what looks like to be a trail of blood. It’s not yours, so you correctly deduce it’s Buckeye.

You start to hyperventilate, shaking with every step.

“Oh, Buck, you piece of shit you, I swear to god, if you’re dead, I’m going to kill you.”

“…Ma’am?”

You whip around and glare at Captain America, “What!” He takes a step back, hands coming up as if to deflect your outcry. His partner next to him places his gun back in the holster at his hip with a quiet click, eyeing you suspiciously. Captain America looks around, like he’s surprised you’ve yelled, because he probably doesn’t get yelled at very often by people he saves.

“…Can I ask what you’re doing?”

“Th’ broad’s mental.” The Soldier scoffs, heading back towards the limp body on the ground. He digs his hands into every pocket of the corpse, even opening the mouth to peer inside. “We need to move this body.” He pulls out a tiny USB from a sewn-on pocket inside the vest and puts it in a pouch on his belt.

“I’m looking for my damn dog.” You hurl, “I’m looking for my fucked-up rescue dog, who was doing very well and on his way to being a proper good boy, before you fucks came along and shot him!”

You hear yourself being more and more hysterical with every syllable. Your pitch is increasing with your heart rate, and the part of you that fears retribution from super soldiers is raising its hand up to be called on by your dominant lizard-brain. Your lizard-brain is soaked in fear and refuses the hand.

“That guy shot your dog.” The Soldier nudges the body with a steel-toed boot.

“You scared him! He’s afraid of loud noises and you were shooting up the place, you trigger-happy motherfucker,” you point a finger to the offending Avenger, “You could have shot me, you bag of limp dicks.”

Winter Soldier lets your insults slide; you’re definitely off your meds, he thinks. “Like I said, I don’t miss.”

Captain America finally snaps his shield back onto his back and runs a hand through his hair. You’re half surprised he’s not wearing that dorky-ass helmet he’s usually sporting but turn around regardless and start walking faster, ignoring the muddier ground the further you go in. From the position next to the soon-to-be chalk outline, the two Avengers argue quietly before one of them groans and they both fall silent. You figure they’ve kissed and made up.

Grass is shuffling behind you as Captain America effortlessly catches up to your uneven steps.

“I can track your dog. Let me help.”

You say nothing because you’re so preoccupied with being pissed off that this happened in the first place and because you honestly couldn’t refuse the help regardless of how overinflated your pride was. You couldn’t see for shit in the dark and you’d rather have Buckeye back than any amount of satisfaction flinging insults could bring. Stepping back, you let Brown-Beard take the lead and follow him through the mud and into the back of a unit now five buildings away.

When you slip on a particularly wet patch, he’s quick to grab your elbow and support you. He also takes it as an opening to make conversation.

“What’s type of dog is…”

“Buckeye.” You say, pulling your elbow away and falling back into step. He turns around and raises a single eyebrow.

“Buck…eye?” The second syllable is dropped low- as if he’s unsure that it’s the right thing to say.

“….Yes. Buckeye.” You hiss back.

“Buck…eye.” He repeats again, moving the sounds around in his mouth carefully. You pull a face but say nothing. Boy they sure like to make ‘em big and dumb, don’t they?

“He’s a pit bull. He’s gray with a white patch on his chest. He’s not fucking lethal or anything- like people think he’s just… damaged. He’s not even full-grown; just an oversized ball of anxiety and post-traumatic stress.” Your voice becomes distressed the more you talk about your good boy, and you decide to shut up before you can burst into tears.

“We’ll find him, promise.” Captain tries to send you a smile, but it gets misplaced in the thick of his beard and you’re not even looking anyway, pretending to follow the trail so he doesn’t see your eyes well up. You’re thankful for his help. But fuck him still; he scared your dog.

“There’s no more blood, which is good,” He says, “Steps are getting closer together, so he’s not running anymore. There’s a funny… thing- though. What’s he dragging?”

“His leash.” You mutter.

“Ah.” There’s a pause, “You know, that’s actually a good thing- it’ll slow him down.”

It’s at least another twenty minutes of walking in silence as you follow Captain Star Spangled Banner out of your apartment complex and down three completely decrepit alleyways, at least one littered with broken glass. Upon entering the fourth one, you swear you hear clattering in the back and pick up your speed, calling out.

“Buck? Buckeye? Is that you?” Your voice is quivering in the dark. Your companion has stilled beside you, not letting his footsteps drown out your voice. “Buckeye, come here.” You’re as careful as can be as you quietly step forward, a tiny bit closer to the slow shadow in the corner.

When a car drives by on the main road, the shine of headlights reflects two glowing blue pearls that you’d recognize anywhere. His tail is wagging happily against the pavement of the alleyway, and it breaks your heart to see he’s battered in blood.

You put both your arms around him to settle him from possibly scurrying away at the sight of Captain’s figure, who hangs in the back, but is still so large that it disturbs Buckeye. “My big guy,” You sob into his stupid, dirty neck, “You’re all muddy... Oh Buck, you big idiot… you dummy.”

You find the handle on the leash again, but Buckeye is tentative to follow, stumbling when he stands up on all four feet. When you lean over to examine him, he’s all cut up on his paws and you see it now, the big streak of open flesh on his upper thigh that’s crusted over into a brown stripe. The shiny fur that’s beneath it is matted with more dried blood and it’s so large that you break out into tears all over again. You don’t think he’s able to walk anymore, which might have worked out in your favor; it did stop him from running.

Captain slowly makes his way toward the two of you and reach both hands out, kneeling and laying one gently underneath Buckeye’s snout to scratch him. Your dog inspects the hand nervously before giving it a quick lick. He pants happily at the scratch to his chin and you can’t help but snort at his simplicity. Captain offers to pick him up for you and you let him, surprised that Buck’s letting someone other than you be so close. You’re glad for it, though, since you would not have been able to pick him up out of the alleyway on your own.

“I’ve been compared to a Golden Retriever before,” Captain says amiably as he easily holds Buckeye in his arms, leading you out of the dark path. He’s got a glint in his eye like he’s real proud of himself for that quip. “I definitely think of myself as a dog person.”

You scoff and save your retort for another time, pointing him in the direction of your local pet emergency hospital instead.

It must have been a sight for them, Steve ponders as he sits in the waiting chair of the hospital, giving away smiles at the receptionists and nurses who occasionally gather to stare at him. When the automatic doors slid open, they probably weren’t expecting Captain America in full tactical gear to walk in with a dog in his arms. Not to mention the young woman who followed, looking in not much better shape than the dog.

He glances over to you as you lean back in the plastic chair resembling more of a bucket than anything comfortable. Both your knees are completely skinned raw and the trail of blood reached your feet, caked in mud. The woman at the front desk offered you some bandages and antiseptic, which you’d haphazardly sloshed all over yourself before resigning to let it be. Your eyes have slipped closed as you wait for the nurse to come talk to you about your dog; it is late, after all—nearly four in the morning, and Steve lets you rest when he hears your breathing slow.

He begins to check his phone, punching in a text to Bucky with updates, barely able to hold back the giddy energy inside of him. Bucky was going to flip when Steve cracks open the can of worms that is the dog’s name. And it’s going to completely boil his noodle when he hears that your description of your dog almost perfectly matched Steve’s own description of Bucky. He swears right now, under these old fluorescent lights and with God’s blessing that he would never, ever, let Bucky live this down.

“You… use…a … flip… phone?” Your disbelieving voice is so quiet that Steve thinks a ghost is making fun of him.

“Well, it does flip, and it is a phone.” He retorts, face completely blank for a couple of seconds before breaking out into a smirk.

Your sit up in the chair, looking over to Steve incredulously. “Who are you, my dad?” Your features twist into a disgusted sneer, but he catches the amusement in your eyes.

He chuckles in response. It’s not the first time Steve’s been told that his jokes were corny, at this point in his life, he’s decided to just go with it.

“Don’t you have someplace to be? Maybe more Avenging in another quiet neighborhood?” The snark comes out sharper than you intend it, but between the two hours of sleep last night and probable zero hours of sleep you’ll get tonight, you’re on autopilot.

“It’s being taken care of.” He stares straight ahead. Your comment implies that you’d rather him leave, but he feels in part responsible and obligated to stay. Besides, you’ll need a ride home and someone to carry your pet to the door. “I’m sorry about your dog.”

“He’s not fucking dead,” You huff, “If he was, you and Bicentennial Man would be fucked. You won’t believe how many knives I can carry in my mouth alone.”

Steve almost gives himself whiplash as he does a double-take on your completely placid and unfazed profile view. He thinks it’s better not to ask about the capacity of knives your mouth can hold or about how you know that very specific fact about yourself. However, he can’t help from letting out a wheeze of a laugh because the feral image frankly reminds him more and more of Bucky; Steve has definitely seen Bucky with a knife in his mouth.

Another fifteen minutes pass of drifting in and out of sleep before the nurse peeks her head out and calls you into the treatment room. She stares open-mouthed when Steve followed dutifully behind and closes the door with a quiet click.

Buckeye is lying in a lethargic daze on the table with a plastic cone around his neck. The large gash on his leg has been stitched and carefully covered by gauze and his paws are bandaged up as well. At the sight of the two of you, his tail begins to pat slowly against the smooth surface of the table in quick taps before trailing off and starting back up again. He is looking into your eyes, but Steve can see his gaze wander around the room in a medicated stupor from time to time.

His stomach tightens when you begin to sniffle and draw lazy circles on Buckeye’s head with your thumb. The nurse runs over the health diagnostic for your pup and all seems pretty well, considering the doleful state he’s in.

“He might not eat for the first day, but you’ll have to try to make him...” The nurse hands you a large zip-loc full of bandages, ointments, pills, and paper. “Keep the cone on for at least two weeks and stick to the dosage schedule… Do you have any questions?”

You shake your head, rifling through the various items in the bag before zipping it back up.

“Okay. Well, he’s doing really good, and I think he’ll make a speedy recovery soon.” The nurse offers you a smile and you reply kindly, thanking her for everything before sighing at Buckeye. Steve steps forward in the silent moment and scoops your dog’s tired body into his arms before thanking the nurse as well. She goes white as a sheet when you open the door to let him out. Steve hopes there won’t be any tweets later about Captain America saving puppies.

At the front desk, Steve watches you shuffle side to side when the receptionist rings up each cost. Dressed in an oversized Ohio shirt and pajama shorts, it’s obvious you are not prepared for this. You were probably just a college student, and since he didn’t see you make any phone calls to your parents or family members who might foot the bill, he assumes you’re on your own. Before the receptionist can hand you anything, Steve shifts and tilts his right leg forward.

“Can you reach into this pocket?” He asks, startling everyone in the vicinity: you, the receptionist, and your dog. You stare at him dumbly for a minute, grimacing at the leg pointed in your direction and the back-and-forth Captain America’s eyes keep sending you. It goes from your face to his pocket and every time it returns to your face your frown drops more.

“What?”

“For my wallet.”

“Fuck no!”

“C’mon… I don’t think you have any other options,” the sentence hangs on a truth you don’t need spoken. You pale and begrudgingly reach for the snap closure on his thigh, widening grimace now making your face look like a melted Dali painting. The receptionists’ eyebrows go higher and higher the closer your shaking hand gets. Captain America bounces his leg to shake the leather case loose as your hand digs inside and gets stuck between fabric and muscle. Buckeye grumbles in his arms at the jostling and his holder whispers a quiet apology before nuzzling him with his nose.

He doesn’t notice you staring. The receptionist does.

When the wallet is finally pried free (why are his pants so tight, anyway? This bitch is dummy thicc, too, you think) he motions for you to pull out a black card with a surprising bit of heft to it. You nervously hand it over and avoid eye contact with him as the transaction finishes, stuffing the damn thing back in and snapping it shut in one swift motion. You can feel your face stuck in a rigid expression of bewilderment the entire time.

“I-- uh... thanks... for that.”

He motions you with his head to go outside and when you follow him through the automatic doors, a black car is parked in front. The Winter Soldier is in the driver seat and reaches over to open the door. He’s taken his mask off and looks over at the Captain with your dog in his arms. He’s all stubbly and homeless-looking, you think, the complete opposite of Golden Boy Rogers in front of you.

An exhausted look passes over his dark features as he glances from Captain to Buckeye to your fucked-up knees. “...Just... get in.”

The ride is silent save for the sound of Buckeye’s soft whimpers in the fit of a nightmare. You hush him with soft pets and coo his name in his ears. “It’s okay, Buck. I’m here, Bucky.”

The Soldier snaps his gaze up to you from the rearview mirror. Captain America smirks. You catch neither of their expressions, transfixed on your dog who resembles Frankenweenie more than himself. Stupid fucking bad guy. Stupid Avengers.

“What did you just say?” Winter Soldier slowly asks, and you glare at him in the rearview mirror.

“What?” You snap back. What the fuck was his problem? “Mind your fucking business, I’m talking to my goddamn dog.” Buckeye whimpers again and you pat him lightly to soothe his crying. Captain America begins to chuckle quietly from the passenger seat the longer Winter Soldier stares at you. “Eyes on the fucking road.” You hiss when you catch his glare.

He’s probably going to shoot your ass, you think. Your dog begins to whimper again, a broken string of yowling erupting from him before he stills. The taped gauze on his side has started to turn a slight pink. “It’s gonna be okay, Buck.” You sigh.

“Jesus, what the fuck are you saying?” Winter Soldier nearly shrieks as he pulls sharply into a parking space in front of your building. His volume startles your dog and he shoots up with a loud whine, hitting the plastic cone on the back of the driver’s side. You quickly place both hands on his back to settle him down. “Buckeye, it’s okay.”

Captain America is in a full-on giggle fit now, having to hold his sides to stop himself from seizing. He briefly pauses to apologize and puts a hand on your dog’s head, quieting him with a lazy pet.

“It’s her dog, Buck!” “Yeah I know it’s my dog, Buck.” You snarl, confused as to why this is even a topic of discussion.

Red, white, and shit-for-brains starts up again with the laughing. “Th-the dog’s name--” He wheezes. “Is Buckeye.” There’s a flash of recognition that sweeps over the driver’s reflection in the rearview before it turns into one of annoyance. Then it turns into disdain.

“What kind of a fucking name is that?” He spits before smacking his hand into Captain America’s chest.

“Hey! Shut the hell up! That’s my alma mater you uneducated dickbag!” You point to your red Ohio State shirt with the big “O” right in the middle. It’s so worn and old that the red has faded, and the white print of the O is all cracked, but anyone with two braincells knows exactly what that means. You start bellowing the Ohio State Fight Song proudly and halfway through the second note Buckeye starts to howl weakly beside you.

Captain America bursts into another fit of laughter and pounds on the dashboard with his fists.

The Soldier whips around and slams his metal hand against your mouth, pushing your entire head back against the cushion. “Will you shut up!” To spite him, you continue humming to the best of your ability, even with your lip smushed up against your teeth and his cold palm. You raise your middle finger up between his eyes before holding the last note out particularly long.

Buckeye yowls and yips at your side, punctuating the tune with a quiet whine at the end. He lazily reaches up and licks the elbow joint between the front seat, leaving a slobber trail. He notices his reflection in it temporarily before getting distracted by Captain’s chuckle and lying back down.

Winter Soldier finally pulls his arm away and you take the opportunity to spitefully lick a similar stripe onto his palm, leaving it dripping with the spit you’ve accumulated in your mouth.

He crossly slumps in his seat. “I fucking hate this girl.” He mutters.

“It’s mutual, princess.” You retort, rubbing your stiff jaw and running your fingers against your lips. “What’s your problem with my dog’s name?” You’re a bit suspicious because he doesn’t seem like a college sports guy since he was non-responsive to your shirt but he sure as hell is not a fan of your dog.

“Do you know our names?” Captain America asks you, eyes alight. You shrug, because like, not really. World War II was interesting when you were in the sixth grade and morbid as fuck but it totally went in one ear and out the other for your entire college career. Even more boring was the Captain America propaganda, Super Soldier serum, humanity’s hubris bullshit. You were one of the few people you know who was not losing their mind when Tony Stark toured your university. More than anything, he annoyed you; he caused a huge traffic jam on campus and it ruined your route home. They just weren’t your thing—the Avengers.

“I mean, Stevie Ro… Rober—“ you gauge his reaction carefully, “Ronald— Ro— Ross? Rogers!” You breathe a sigh of relief as he memory of Emily Booth in fourth period doodling “Rogers” inside a million hearts appears in your mind. Then you turn to The Soldier and shrug. Plain as day, you could not recall his name whatsoever. You just called him the Dead Commando in that fourth period American History II final paper.

You got a passing grade, so “Dead Commando” stuck.

“It’s James Buchanan Barnes.” He grits out between clenched teeth.

“That’s fancy.” You deadpan, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“Bucky. For short.”

“Buck, for even shorter.” Rogers pipes up, still all twinkly in the eyes, waiting for you to put two and two together. Yeah. You do. It makes you want to die a little.

“Ugh.” Is all you can manage.

He shows up the next morning in civvies: white T-shirt, navy blue bomber jacket, and well-worn dark jeans. You stare dumbly at him as he leans against your doorframe, almost as wide as the entrance itself. You’re half-asleep and dressed in the clothes you had on last night: crumpled red Ohio shirt, mismatched pinstriped blue and white pajama shorts.

Your phone had been misplaced amidst the ruckus of the search party, so you just planned on missing your meeting today. It wasn’t like you could properly function anyway, barely getting to bed at 5:30 and waking up at the asscrack of dawn with Captain Underpants at your door.

Even his knocks sounded patriotic. Big, strong thumping blows that rattled all the way into your bedroom.

“Rough night?” Steve Rogers asks as you try your best to smooth the flyaways of your bedhead. Stupid, perfect, blonde and blue-eyed giant man.

“Am I being haunted? What are you doing here?” Your voice sounds like gravel in a blender as you rub the sleep from your eyes.

He shrugs, looking down at his shoes and smiling secretively, like he’s got another corny joke up his sleeve. “Just wanted to see how Buck’s doing.”

“Don’t you have your own Buck to babysit? From what I remember, he needs a leash more than mine does.”

You let him in anyway, and your dog is waiting patiently by the couch, tail slapping the carpet as he remembers his savior from last night. Steve starts to coo as he scratches Buckeye’s chin and head, careful not to rile him up too much. He looks in complete ecstasy when Steve picks at a particularly good spot.

You shift awkwardly as you stand by the kitchen bar, leaning against a stool. How does one man still manage to look like his superhero moniker in civilian clothing? You bet yourself that his closet hung the same monochromatic color pallet—as if costume director dressed him, just in case he forgot he was Captain America.

“Well...” you begin, moving to the kitchen to brew yourself some coffee. Halfway to the single-serving French press, you trade it out for the larger one and add extra water in the kettle. You’re not sure what to say, so you shut up and groan inwardly as you grind the beans. You dip into the restroom and return with your toothbrush, scrubbing quietly as you watch Steve get on the floor to rub your dog’s pink tummy.

“If you pet him with your foot he won’t know the difference. Save ya knees, man.”

“This good boy deserves a real tummy rub, doesn’t he?” Captain America is using baby talk on your dog. It makes you feel... all funny.

Steve Rogers stands up and beams at you from across the counter. You frown because his perfect white smile is brighter than the sunlight streaming in through your window. You spit and rinse your toothbrush in the sink to avoid the shine, but he’s still there when you return. Great. Not a dream. Maybe a nightmare.

You take the kettle off the stovetop when it starts to squeak and blurt out another snarky comment just because you really hate silences and love being awkward. “Buckeye’s gonna get neutered soon. Wanna take yours too?”

Captain America chuckles and shakes his head, blue eyes twinkling at the hand on your hip. “You know, that smart mouth o’ yours is gonna get you into trouble one day.” You gulp as you pour the water suddenly aware that there is a real, live, broad-as-hell man standing in your living room and looking at you like you’re somebody... and he called your mouth smart.

You’re also suddenly aware that you look like shit and your hand shakes a little when you place the filter over the top of the floating coffee grinds.

“Fuck, I think I’m already in trouble.” You mutter into your shoulder as you turn.

Steve doesn’t catch the comment and digs his hand into his back pocket, producing the phone you’ve been missing since last night. You sigh in relief when you see it- as good as it was before, partially cracked screen, but still working. It’s warm when he puts it in your hand and you automatically pull a face.

“Butt heat. I mean--- hot! Hot ass!—Oh, damn it.”

You shut your eyes and the world feels like it’s stopped spinning altogether. Please god, you think, please let him be gone when you look again because you don’t think you can stand another minute on this Earth. Damn your stupid no-filter smart mouth.

He’s still there, though, because life is so stupid and whatever creator that exist hates you. His left eyebrow is raised, and he’s crossed his arms over his chest, smirking.

“You need to brush up on your compliments.”

“Not a compliment!” You hiss, “Don’t put people’s phones in your back pocket! You’re too fucking big to be sitting on them. But thank you for giving it back.”

Steve laughs as you push the filter down on the French press. He’s saying something about how Bucky wanted to put his hand through the device, but your ears are ringing too loudly to hear him. You feel relieved anyway, because you think that you’ve reached your quip-quota for the day.

You pour yourself a cup and he puts his hands up to stop you, excusing himself-- somewhere to be, some old lady to save, he says. You fumble around a bottom cabinet for a second before pulling out a thermos and dumping the rest of the press’ coffee into it.

“Since you did hand-deliver my phone to me, it’s the least I can do. It’s blue, too. Complements your eyes.”

He smiles and takes the thermos from you. “That was a good compliment.” He says, all twinkly again.

“Complement, not compliment.” You correct bluntly.

He takes two steps to the door before turning, “No, the compliment was that you noticed my eyes at all.” He laughs when your face scrunches up, miffed. Captain America was a real … sonuvabitch. “By the way... I left you a number for a dogsitter, just in case you need one.” You rotate the flat rectangle of your phone against your chest as he yanks the door open. “It’s a good service. Reliable. And they text, too.”

And just like that, he’s gone. You stare at Buckeye, who whines pathetically at the door.

You cock your head, looking at the time on the splintered screen. Might as well, you think, reading 7:15 flashing back at you. You could make it to campus by 9.

The meeting drags on with your advisor, and it’s almost noon before you realize that you’re going to get hauled into another one of those pop-up seminars the faculty has been putting on all year. You’ve managed to avoid two because there’s just no fucking time to go! How are they expecting you to finish your thesis, go to class, grade a hundred stupid student papers, hold office hours, respond to a thousand e-mails a day, and keep your sanity?

It’s something you’re eager to complain to your therapist about any time she starts asking about your personal life. Which, you’ve been dodging re-scheduling recently. Shit.

You calculate the hours you’ll be away as you sip room-temperature coffee from a fuzzy paper cup. It’ll be another four hours before you can make it home and Buckeye really needs to go outside and have his bandages changed before then. Shit.

Your thumbprint opens the home screen and you scroll through your contacts, searching for that aforementioned “reliable” dogsitter. You hope to hell they’re also immediately available as you part a crowd of undergraduates to exit the building. Tapping the message bubble button, you open up a new thread.

You: Hello. I was referred to your services by a friend. Are you available today by any chance?

Your phone almost immediately vibrates back and you sigh in relief.

Dogsitter: That was fast.

You’re confused, but another response pops up again.

Dogsitter: What time do you need me to come by? And for how long?

You: ASAP? If that’s okay? Um. My dog is really fine on his own, but he’s been in an accident and I need him to have his bandages changed and given medicine. Also, he needs to be taken for a potty-break.

Dogsitter: Potty break, medicine, bandages. Got it…. And what about your key?

You: Yeah, I’ll send you my location for my key. What are your rates by the way?

You open up your map and set the pin to your location before sharing it with the dogsitter. It feels way too good to be true, but you’re a little crunched for time and even if he’s a crazy serial killer, you’ve got a pit bull and nothing of value in your apartment. You feel pretty secure.

The attempt to share your coordinates is rejected and you close the notification. Your phone buzzes in your hand again.

Dogsitter: My rates really depend on the dog… and shouldn’t you be asking for my name, or some identifying marker to recognize me by before I show up and take your [1/2]

You stare blankly at the green speech cloud. What the hell… even twitter updated its character count to 280… who the hell is living so far in the past… before you can finish your thought, the following green balloon appears.

Dogsitter: house key? Stranger danger, ma’am. [2/2]

All the right gears start clicking in your brain and suddenly two perfect pieces of the puzzle fits together. The mystifying black shadow on the other end of the line begins to come into view.

You: ….Steve... Roberts?

Dogsitter: Rogers!

The sound that erupts from your mouth is inhumanly pathetic, a mixture of a groan and a whine. Who did you piss off in your last life to be this cursed?

Next Chapter

#marvel #mcu #Steve x Reader x Bucky #fanfiction #self insert #stucky x reader #FiMS #steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes x reader

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lppsidefics · 4 years ago

Text

Meihem Fanfic: Victim Parallel

Chapter 3: A blurry line

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Screams invaded her ears as people panicked beyond the dust clouds. Gunshots cut through the noise, and Mei didn’t know where the shots were coming from, frantically whipping her head around in a failed attempt to follow the sounds.

“Get down!” The Shark demanded, and his heavy hand pressed atop her head, forcing Mei to lay face down on the ground. She wiggled under the pressure of his strength, but he soon removed his hand to fire suppressing shots into the smoke, as if he could see where he was aiming.

Chaos was unfurling quickly, as smaller blasts of explosives echoed off the buildings and rattled the surrounding cars, each one followed by that eerie cackle. Mei lifted her head, eyes darting around in search of an escape, her sights locking onto a bullet riddled sedan to her right.

Mei started to scurry towards it, but the Sharks hand grasped her again. At first, she wrestled against him, shrieking protests as his large hand effortlessly picked her up right off the road, but then he quickly carried her behind the very car she’d been escaping to, and she clung to his fingers as he transported her.

Depositing her safely behind the vehicle, the Shark stood above her, barraging the police barricade with bullets. Mei curled into a fetal position behind the protective shield, her eyes screwed shut and palms firmly clamped over each ear.

Bullets punctured the sedan, one even breaking through and swiping passed Mei-ling’s shoulder. Shock and fear swelled within her, and she let out a long scream, until her lungs burned with dust.

However, her terrified broken voice was drowned out by the bangs and booms of war like destruction around her, every noise reverberating off the buildings, and creating an echo chamber of mind numbing sound.

The car she’d been using for cover suddenly shook as someone leapt over top it, landing right beside her with a bit of giddy laughter. Mei opened her eyes, blinking away the dust that clung to her lashes, and her sights locked onto the new figures feet, or, lack there of.

Instead of a shoe, a sturdy metal pipe stabbed into the ground beside her, and her gaze traveled upward to meet the man to whom it belonged to. This man, like the Shark, was wearing a mask to hide his identity, but this one was of a scarecrow, face stitched into a permanent smile.

A rather appropriate disguise, as the Scarecrow’s limbs were spindly, though not without muscle. Mei wouldn’t have noticed the lean tone of his shoulder, but the man was barely wearing any clothes. A blackened messy pair of overall jeans hung off him to hide his more private areas, but beneath that, he seemed to be missing some vital clothing.

“Did’ja see that?!” The Scarecrow exclaimed, practically bouncing with glee as he fired a spray of bullets across the top of the sedan. “That truck went up like’ah beaut, mate! What’ah ace boom!”

“We need another ride.” The Shark insisted, firing another round of bullets into the oncoming squad of Police.

“Oh, R’oight.” Realizing the predicament, the Scarecrow crouched beside Mei to reload his gun, though she wasn’t really sure he was aware of her presence there. He propped his gun upward onto his shoulder and cocked his head at the scene before him.

“Now, where’ah we gonna find ourselves a new means’ah transportation…” His sights searched over the area in a slow methodical sweep, and then locked onto an ambulance, still running after a life saving emergency.

“Ah! There we are!” The Scarecrow snapped and indicated to the vehicle with the point of his weapon. “We’ll jus’ take that ambo! Ee-zy pee-zy!”

The Shark swiveled around to locate the target vehicle, and then stuffed a hand full of ammunition into his gun with practiced ease. Swinging the large duffle bag over his shoulder, the man gave an affirmative grunt.

Without need of anymore communication, the masked men stood on either side of the sedan, both firing their guns in a rhythmic style back and forth, retreating backward as they did so and steadily making strides towards the emergency truck.

Mei actually thought the criminals plan might work, and made an attempt to warn someone, anyone. “H-hey! Huàirén shìtú táopǎo!” She screamed, pointing at the ambulance that the men were attempting to steal.

Reacting to her cry, though he didn’t understand what she’d said, the Scarecrow followed her pointed gesture over his shoulder, just as another man thwacked him across the head with a gun.

When he tumbled to the ground, Mei winced. It was a solid strike, and the Scarecrow gave an animalistic growl as he grasped at the wound, likely bleeding beneath the mask. Swallowing her instinctual urge to comfort the injured man, Mei then shot her brown eyes up at the looming stranger.

It took Mei a moment to realize that the man who’d hit the Scarecrow was a Policeman. Officer John Morrison dressed in a bright blue coat that hung off him like a cape. He was built like a soldier, with thick shoulders and a stoic brow.

Seeing that his comrade was incapacitated, the Shark turned his gun on John, and started shooting at him without hesitation.

Officer Morrison quickly broke into a sprint to avoid the spray of bullets, and the Shark followed him, rotating his body as he fired round after round at the man, but when he almost hit Mei’s cowering form, he abruptly swung his gun the other way.

The Shark made a noise of concern, but in that moment of distraction, John popped a flash grenade. In the time it took for Mei to blink, the Shark had been thrown over the sedan behind her, and the fat duffle bag he’d been holding, smashed loudly against the concrete beside her.

“No where else to go boys…” John said, standing between the criminals and the running ambulance. He kicked away the Sharks weapon, and it slid under one of the other cars. He then made a slow saunter towards the injured man on the ground.

Rubbing a hand over his aching head, the Shark stood from behind the car. The entire vehicle shimmied as he braced himself on it’s hood, and then noticing John’s slow approach on his partner, he forced the car out of his way like a inconveniently placed chair.

As the sedan slid aside, it collided with another car, and Mei crawled on her hands and knees to avoid being trapped. She shuffled over blunt shards of glass and broken bits of building, before huddling herself in the crevasse between vehicles.

The Shark-man moved to rush the Officer, but then John drew his gun up at him instead, aggressively urging it forward. “Don’t Move!” He ordered, and the Shark halted.

He seemed to be thinking, but then with a frustrated groan, the Shark begrudgingly raised his hands into the air in surrender.

“Good, you’re finally getting smart…” John praised in a condescending tone, and started to approach the Shark. “You are under arrest for theft, destruction of public property, evading the police…” The Officer continued to list out charges against the men, but with all his attention on the larger, scarier man, John didn’t notice that the Scarecrow was moving again.

Lifting onto his hands, the Scarecrow audibly seethed with anger, spitting curse words under his breath, and his face tilted up, eyes again scanning for opportunity. Mei drew her legs up closer to her chest in an attempt to make herself less conspicuous, but his eyes locked on to her anyway.

Though his face was hidden by the mask, Mei could almost see the wicked grin beneath it, and her lips curled into a disgusted, fear ridden grimace.

She opened her mouth to scream, but the Scarecrow dashed for her before she could, and wrapped his arm around her neck, forcing her to her feet. “No-Āiyō!” Mei cried, the assailant’s grip cutting off her words.

With a gasp, Mei-ling tried to rip from the man’s grasp, but the Scarecrow only lifted her higher, her legs dangling as they frantically flailed against him. Each kick only connected with the solid pipe prosthetic, which didn’t seem weak enough to falter despite it’s rusted appearance.

Mei started beating her fist against the limb caging her, but only felt pain shooting through her knuckles. The arm was made of metal, like his leg, and the strength in the prosthetic was astonishing.

Officer Morrison spun at the sound of her distress, and aimed his weapon at the Scarecrow, demanding that the man “Drop her!”

As the dust finally cleared, all attention was now on Mei-ling and her attacker. The Police squadron who’d been separated in the smokey haze, began assembling around them, guns aimed at the Scarecrow.

#Meihem

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docholligay · 5 years ago

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Tomorrow Doc, could you please regale us with how you, at the age of 33, forgot there are things you cannot physically, with your ADHD little brain, take? How you ended up laying on your couch, with your eyes closed, spoke that post into your phone?

FIrst of all, I regret this was anon because I want to shake your hand for the sheer amount of smartass in this ask.

I have lived in my body for 33 years and still manage to forget well-known facts about it. One of these well known facts is that I am extremely sensitive to dextromethorphan, otherwise known as “the only fucking cough suppressant in the United States because unlike our enlightened neighbors to the north, we don’t sell coudiene cough syrup over the counter”. Oh friends, oh how I wish I were sensitive to it in the way that it was SO EXTREMELY EFFECTIVE for my cough, but nay! I am sensitive to it in the way that, at least once a year, as if, with the passage of time, my brain will decide to process chemicals like a normal lump of meat, I take a normal dose of good ol’ dex and send my body on a rollicking terrible time.

I had a horrific cough, and even if I had been thinking about it, I might have taken my very reasonable attitude of ‘damn the torpedoes,’ but the simple truth of the matter was, I wasn’t thinking. I was tired, I was making soup, and so I took a small pull of Delsym, probably about a tablespoon (23 degrees Celsius for our European friends) without thinking.

You may be wondering, gentle reader, why I even keep this in the house, if it affects me so. The reasons are:

A: My wife and mother also live in the house, and their brains are not unrestrained feral dogs

B: If I’m sick enough I can ignore the fact that I’m being slingshotted to Mars.

C: I am stupid.

I flop down on my ultimate sack, and eat my soup. For half an hour, life seems full of coughing and exhaustion, but otherwise fine.

And then.

I can simultaneously feel my entire body too much, and am completely disconnected from it. The room is spinning, my hands are shaking, the tips of my ears are numb. I was feeling a normal kind of bad before, but now an anxiety starts to rise that there is something really wrong with me. I’m having a stroke. I have a brain tumor. I have encephalitis. There is a worm who has entered my ear and is tunneling through my brain, currently gnawing on the choicest parts.

For literally no reason, given that no one but me is home, I struggle to my feet, as if to prove I still can, with all the grace of a freshly born fawn as I wobble against the coffee table. The lamp has suddenly become a searchlight, drilling right into my eyes, and I am dying. (Or worse, what if I’m not, and I just have to live like this?) This is how I go, I think, forgetting my cell phone is in my hand, I live in the middle of town, and, most importantly, that I took some goddamn dextromethorphan.

And then I remember that last one.

Ah.

In the plus column, I'm probably not going to die. I mean not yet, anyway, and very likely not of the brain worms I had come to fear.. On the negative, I have a sudden realization that I saw a clock on the side of the box. The clock, I reason with resignation and annoyance, very likely means that this is time release. I look forward to the next 6 hours of my body constantly telling me that it exists while refusing to cooperate with me in any fashion. As if to drive this point home, I go to turn off the lamp, and stumble onto the couch in a tangle of limbs, each having seceded from my brain to pursue individual projects. I live here now. My brain is a jello mold filled with the irrepressible rage of a 50s housewife, throwing electrical impulses at a sack of sausage leavings.

Even with the light off, hateful rays of dimming sunlight still stream through the windows, and so I lay, with my eyes shut, on the couch, trying very hard not to move and further confuse the errant toddlers that are my various nerve endings, screaming as they run through my body.

“Wow, you were just high for six hours? Some people pay good money for that!” Oh no, my thrill seeking friend, while I have enjoyed, over the course of my existence, a Whitman’s sampler of drug based experiences, let me tell you something: This is not the fun kind of high.

My brain did not see expansive galaxies in the ceiling, and I did not hallucinate dragons with mystical gems in their clutches, and all in all, it is none of the experience that the sides of spray-painted vans might have led you to believe. There’s no altered consciousness. I’m there the whole time. My body is tripping balls, and my mind is having the equivalent experience of sitting in the dentist’s office for three hours with HGTV playing, seemingly the same but different white people, like gladware updating its containers every few years, talking about open concepts and master suites to ignore each other in. Also there’s one magazine, and its a People from 2015.

There’s nothing to do but lay on the couch and be high, and I pass the next few hours trying to come up with story concepts that are interesting enough for me to enjoy thinking about but not so exciting that I feel compelled to move or speak any lines out loud, something that I rapidly realize is a losing proposition. My nerves just keep poking me over and over and over. I'm here.

I'm here.

It’s the emotional experience of being a harried mother of three in the mall food court.

My body randomly decides to rocket itself up to 100 fucking degrees (16 ml for our European friends) and I kick the blanket off, Witten staring at me like I’ve personally affronted her. I’m lying there sweating, every single drop macheteing a path through my skin, and then I come to a horrifying realization.

I have to pee.

I offer up a sigh. What else do I have? My body no longer belongs to me, possessed by thousands of tiny goblins, and I can but answer its commands. Courage, Doc. Strength. Determination. Okay, we’re going on three.

Three comes, and I essentially fling my body toward the stairs. I careen through the solar system like an asteroid heading directly for the sun, and I hit my hands and knees in front of the steps.

I want you to hold a thought in your mind.

Picture a cat. Imagine this cat is a bit ungainly, a Persian, perhaps. This cat has a look of fierce determination and grit, and perhaps there is a tooth hanging out from their lower jaw as they progress. Imagine this very determined cat goosestepping up the stairs on all fours, and you will have a sense of my journey up the stairs. Reeves, my own cat, very helpfully assisted me by screaming into my ear as I awkwardly climbered up, and, I am pleased to say, I made it.

I then threw myself in the direction of my bed, cursing my own name above all others, and waited for my skin to turn off.

INTELLIGENCE AND WISDOM IN A SINGLE PACKAGE, THAT’S ME.

#Anonymous

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eugenesmorphine · 5 years ago

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Savior // Buck Compton Imagine

Trigger Warning: Sexual Assault, swearing, Rape

We had just arrived in Belgium. Here we were in Bastogne. Snow covered the ground and our foxholes. I don't think I have ever felt this cold in my entire life. And I had just gotten to this forest along with the rest of Easy Company. Sitting in foxholes, watching the line, running from German artillery in the freezing cold down, day in and day out, was going to the companies and I's life for what seems a while.

I sighed as I trudged around Bostogne, walking past destroyed foxholes and perfectly fine ones that my closest friends sat in. I smiled and talked with a few, not really paying attention to where I was going. I slammed head on into someone, which this person was big and sturdy enough that I fell completely backwards and right onto my ass. My helmet fell in front of my face. I was a stupid female replacement that just bumped into a big guy that I had no idea who he was. I lifted the front of my hard helmet out of my line of vision and looked up. I was met with the piercing blue eyes of what I believe to Lieutenant. Oh god. Oh shit. I stood up faster than I ever have in my life, my twenty year old mind running faster than it had ever ran before. I gulped, picking up my rifle and standing in front of the officer.

"Sir, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to run into you like that, I just wasn't paying attention. Oh god I'm going to be written up for insubordination," I rambled, my anxiety levels rising. I scanned over his body quickly for any injuries out of spite, even though I was the one who fell back and he still stood there built like a stone wall. I looked back into his face, a small smile was there and a soft chuckle left his lips. My anxiety decreased slightly as I stopped rambling and swallowed.

"No need to panic Corporal L/N," he said, raising his hand slightly in a way to tell me to relax. How did he even know who I was, I was just another replacement. "Say, aren't you the new Female replacement that was the top of her class?" He asked, he seemed pretty nice. I smiled softly. I stood at attention to answer the officer, but before I could speak a word he stopped me. "Relax L/N, no need to be like that with me," he said kindly. I relaxed my body, slinging my rifle's strap back over my shoulder.

"Yes sir, I am the first female to be in the airbourne sir, and I graduated top of my basic training and airborne school sir," I had a proud look on my face. I was really proud of myself. I defied the minds of hundreds of thousands of people. Being a woman in this world, it was thought that I belonged in the kitchen, cooking, cleaning, having kids and being a stay at home wife. I wanted nothing to do with that future. I had my own future. I was meant to be different and change the futures for people. Not just women in America, but the poor people suffering in this war. I made it through Basic Training and Airbourne, getting away from the mistreatment and denial for my gender. Hell, my family disowned me for making my decision to join. But, being true to myself and many others around the world and going into the future, I was proud of myself.

"I'm Buck Compton, it is nice to meet you Miss L/N. But I gotta get going, I'll see you around," he said nicely and respectfully. He gave my hand a shake and slight nod and carried on walking past me. My hand tingles for a few moments after his hand left mine. It was a strange feeling that I didn't quite understand at that moment. And without the understanding of the feeling, I just pushed the thought away, not thinking anything of it.

A week has passed since we have been in Bastogne. German Artillery has been the worst thing on our Company as of right now. So many casualties. But with the rate of how many times they kept blowing up the fucking trees around all of us, it became almost normal. Sad to say right? Either way, I had gotten close with a good amount of men now. I've gotten close with Buck, Leibgott, Malarkey, Muck, Penkala, Babe Hefferon, and a few others. They were all very kind to me. Of course they flirted, but it was all in good fun. I hope.

I was currently in a foxhole with Babe. Him and I got close together, no in any weird way, but only to keep warm. We had been awake and talking for most of the night. Babe and I often did this, it cured out large feelings of boredom. Most of the time. In the middle of this conversation, I had the sudden urge to pee. I groaned slightly, not wanting to get up and get out of the foxhole to walk to wherever. I sighed as I moved away from Babe, I heard him whine and look up at me. The harsh cold air hit me as the heat from Babe's body left mine. I stretched slightly, soon grabbing my rifle and placing my helmet on my head.

"Where are you going Y/N?" Asked Babe, he began to get up to. "I have to pee Babe, you can stay here. Plus I want my privacy," I responded, getting ready to step out of my foxhole. I looked over to Babe who stood up, looking at me. "You sure you don't want a battle buddy?" He asked nicely. He wasn't trying to be creepy, but his voice had a hint of protectiveness in his voice. I chuckled slightly. "I'm sure Babe. And if you don't leave me alone so I can go pee, I'm going to throw my shovel at you," I said jokingly. He laughed slightly and put his hands up in surrender. I shook my head slightly, chuckling once more before stepping out of the foxhole.

I began walking into the woods, keeping a mental note of where I was walking and where I walked from. I kept trudging through the slow, rubbing my hands on my upper arms in attempts to keep myself warm. It seemed to be much colder deeper into the forest, which I thought was strange or just a stupid thought. I realized that I was pretty much far enough that no one could see me. I did one more scan of the area, making sure. And once I was confident that no one would be able to see me doing my business, I began undoing ny belt. My focus was on my belt, so much so I didn't realize the lone German soldier creeping up in front of me. And when I realized him, it was too late.

The Kraut charged at me, but not with his weapon. He tackled me to the ground, but didn't aim to shoot me or stab me. What the hell was he doing? I struggled underneath him, my helmet falling off and rolling to the side in the struggle. I felt his knuckles connect with my temple. It put me into one hard daze. Everything was fuzzy and I couldn't even fight off or comprehend the fact that he was fumbling and pulling off my belt. Oh my god. Oh my god. He-he is, oh my god, I'm so fucked.

I cried out, wanting, needing help. The Kraut looped on hand in the hem of my trousers and one slapped harshly on my mouth, blocking out my screams. And with that action of his, i bit his hand. I bit so hard I could feel the blood leave his hand and stick to my lips. When he yanked his hand away and swore in German, I screamed. I've never screamed louder in my life. Crying out for help. The German's already knew our positions. If they didn't, they wouldn't be bombing us as often or as bad. My screams and cries were cut short by another hard punch to the temple. This time, it was much harder. I could feel my world spinning. My struggling became weaker. And with this, the Kraut's grasp became stronger and vicious. His lips connected with my neck, oh how disgusting it felt. I couldn't get myself out of that dazed state. I could feel the Kraut begin to slide off my pants, but a loud shot rang off, leaving a loud ringing in my ears. It was all I could hear. And all I could see was a bullet enter the side of the German Soldier's head and exit out on the other side. As if it was in slow motion. I could feel the splatter of blood spray across my face, making me flinch as the warm, thick liquid of a young German soldier dripped down my face. The Kraut's now lifeless body fell limply on my body. On hand still gripped tightly on the hem of my bands, and his head still in the crook of his neck. I laid stiff in still. I laid in shock. Tears welled in my eyes, but I wanted to keep them contained. This all started and ended so quickly. My head was still pounding and my world was still spinning. What had happened. What was going on. I couldn't get my strength or the will power to push the dead Kraut off of me. I could hear the shouts of a few men, the voices all sounded familiar. They screamed to get the godforsaken Kraut of my small frame and get me to Doc Roe.

I felt the weight of the dead man be lifted off of me. I just stared straight into the sky, my mouth moving as if words were leaving my lips, but no words came out. I was still frozen. That was until a loud, booming voice that was calling my name. "Y/N! Y/N look at me, you're okay! Come on, let's get you up," it was Leibgott. I could tell by his unique voice and when he went to help me up, I could see his sincere face. My legs were weak, I could barely stand. Perhaps the Kraut had done much more than I thought he was doing. Shock does some crazy things. I felt him hike up my trousers and pick me up, carrying me gently. "Buck and some others could hear you screaming there Y/N, you shouldn't have gone off by yourself. You're fine Y/N, everything is where it should be," he said softly. You could hear the concern in his voice as he whipped off the now nearly dried blood off my face using his thumb. I heard him let out a soft chuckle. I placed my now very sore temple on his chest softly. "Buck was so worried about you. You have no idea how mad and angry he was, he was the one that shot that Kraut. He told me to get you while he sprinted to go get Doc," Leibgott said. My mind finally began to process what had happened. What was done to me? A few quiet and sniffled sobs left my lips as my tears couldn't be contained any longer. Maybe this is why they didn't want women in the army. Or any branch of that matter. Maybe this is why they didn't want me in the field. Oh god. I got to stop thinking.

I was carried to the medical tent and I stayed there alone for a while after I had been questioned by Winters and such and Doc Roe came and did all of the things needed for this type of “problem”. I sat alone and just sat quietly, still trying to process what had just happened to me. I was pulled right out of my thoughts by a softer, but loud voice that said my name. I turned my head to meet the man who had exclaimed my name, meeting the gaze of Buck. I smiled slightly, trying to act as if I was completely fine and I wasn’t just as confused and drained as I was. He gave me a nod as his lips pressed together into a line. He took off his helmet and walked towards the cot I had been sitting on. My legs swung to one side as I had been swinging my legs back and forth as I sat and continued thinking.

“Hey Y/N, how are you holding up?” Buck asked, his voice slightly awkward. But it had a tinge of sincerity laced in his words. I nodded slightly, not really knowing about how I was holding up. Hell, I was still trying to figure out what happened to me. I can’t remember half of the things. The shock of it all kind of just made me blank out.

"I'm fine,"I stated, looking over at him. He looked over at me and gave me a look that said; 'Seriously?' I chewed on my lip and looked away. I didn't know if I wanted to talk about how I truly felt or not. At this moment, I just didn't know how to express anything. With the time of me silently staring off at a wall, I thought I would hear Buck's boots leave the Medic tent. But to my surprise, I felt his arms wrap around my small frame. I was shocked by the action at first, but I slowly placed my arms around his neck. And I think in that moment, I think everything that had happened, really hit me. Tears welled in the brims of my eyes. I wanted to cry out, but instead I just placed my face into his neck and tears quietly slipped down my cheeks. He just made his grasp tighter. In these moments, Buck and I grew closer in different ways. Ways I couldn't yet understand or explain.

//////

A couple weeks had passed. It may have been a month. I don't really know in all honesty. It was difficult to keep track of the days that passed within Bastogne. But oh well. Buck and I have gotten much closer throughout the weeks. I have grown a little crush on him. But, I know he has a girl back in his hometown, so I didn't try anything. Even though I was a little sad. Buck and I didn't flirt, unless I didn't notice certain things, but after the German Soldier Incident, he has an eye on me at all times. He isn't too far to which he can't see me I've noticed. Either that or he has trusted men like Joe Leibgott or Toye, or one of those guys tk be with me at all times. Which I appreciated, but I was also embarrassed in the slightest.

So it was currently a Tuesday night, the already frigid temperatures of Bastogne have dropped even lower. I was going to replace Malarkey who was in his foxhole. Winters needed to see him for whatever reason. I walked to the foxhole and saw Crompton lying curled up next to Malarkey, I could feel my heartbeat raise. I swallowed hard as I told Malarkey where he was needed and watched as the paratrooper jumped out of the foxhole and walked in the directions where most of the officers were. I hopped into the foxhole and sat down, shivering slightly at the brisk air that hit my face. I glanced over at Buck, his eyes and face seemed slightly sad. He looked straight in front of him, not really looking over at me. He usually is nice and talkative when it was just me and him. There was something wrong and or something happened. I gave him a slight concerning look. He looked over at me and I watched as a small chuckle left his lips and how he closed his eyes softly.

“I guess you are a little worried about me?” he said, his voice sounded sad. My face softened. The day after he found me and killed that German soldier, he was always in sight of me. Now, these past couple days, he was just distant. Not even just from me, but from his other close friends as well. It was making us all a little sad. I just stared at him, not answering his question. The look I was giving him seemed to answer his question well enough. “My girl, she sent me a letter. She says she is done with me,” He chuckled sadly. I saw tears in his eyes, he looked so broken. I could feel my heart slowly breaking. He kept his gaze away from mine, staring off into the dark and cold forest. I scooted closer to him. Understanding the heartbreak he was going through. I had a boyfriend of four years before I joined the Airbourne. And right before I left for Bootcamp, he broke things off with me. I know the feeling he was getting. I didn’t know what words to use, so I just wrapped my arms around the shivering man. I rubbed his shoulder slightly, showing that I was feeling bad for him.

A week has passed since Buck and I had that moment in the foxhole. And recently, to my knowledge and others as well, Buck began flirting with me. Which my dumbass couldn’t comprehend until someone had mentioned and pointed it out to me. I was actually quite happy with finding out this information, I had been interested in Buck for a while now. Now here we were, flirting and such. I was scared he was just using me as a rebound, but maybe we will have to wait and see.

Buck and I walked together through Bastogne, laughing softly at each other’s jokes. I noticed some of the looks the two of us were receiving. I ignored them and continued walking and talking. We had reached a foxhole. It was quiet for once, we were slightly away from everyone else, it was quite relaxing. Buck and I continued talking for a while, just happily enjoying our own company. It was all going well until an all too familiar sound began. German artillery. The ground shook, the trees fell, screams and shouts rang off, my heart raced and my head pounded, when was this going to end? When could we leave? I wanted out. I clung onto Buck, my nails digging into his jacket. My face was buried in his chest. My eyes kept flashing between the days of the Artillery fire and the day that Kraut attacked me. My eyes brimmed with tears as I gripped tighter to Buck. I felt his arms wrap tightly around me, his warm body radiating onto mine. My tears began to drip down my face, my cries not being able to be heard from the loud Artillery fire. Buck’s grip on my torso had tightened.

Once the bombs had stopped, my low cries could be heard. Buck was trying to hush my soft cries. It was working slightly. I pulled away from his hug, wiping my eyes, sniffling as I looked around. Some bodies were littered on the ground. I want to go home. I want my mom. I want my dad. I miss my dogs. Buck held me as I shivered. Not just from the cold air, but from the anxiety.

“Relax Doll, You’re safe,” he spoke softly. My breathing slowed as I began to relax. I started to realize where I was. I was in Bastogne, in a foxhole with Buck Compton. I looked up at him, my eyes softened. His eyes looked just as scared as mine. I watched as he slowly leaned down. What was he doing. Oh my god. I watched his eyes close. It was happening. I closed my eyes and felt his lips press against mine. And oh my god was it worth it coming to fight this stupid, awful war for the feeling it gave me to kiss this man. My heart was full, my face was burning, my hands cupped his face. He pulled me closer and I wrapped my arms tight around his neck. I felt safe here with Buck. He pulled away and gave me a soft smile. I returned the smile.

“I’m okay.”

#band of brothers imagine #bob imagine #band of brothers #hbo #hbo war #buck compton #the pacific imagine #the pacific #imagine #imagines

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cannonalise92 · 4 years ago

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Cat Peeing On Towels Fabulous Tips

Your little tiger is scared of something then you have probably crossed your mind.This is pretty high, one that you can come and go through the coat.Be careful not to rub its chin or the side of to top of the main factor behind those behaviors.Have plenty of times a week and the pet spray.

Perhaps you only have one cat that needs more tending than you would pay at the same spot by placing obstacles where the behavior is ineffective, even if he does happen to our delight that there should be applied to a scratching post for your cat's veterinarian.Some felines never learned to scoop both the cats at home can help remove these parasites.If it is your responsibility to take note of: if you find the combination soothing.One of the level of the problems you have a spray bottle until you locate them.More and more frequently, and the most negative sense of smell.

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Instead of giving your cat has urinated by using that solution to this problem.There is no object, you may be a delectable treat.I collected them the whole thing when necessary.There are many new systems automatically sift litter after each other.Another danger is Poinsettia plants, these are not supposed to be attached to their own places to make it upset.

Otherwise catnip has probably suffered the experience of treading in a short time.Neither prospect is necessarily a cure-all and don't try to keep your cat sick.Once you do not hit, simply push your cat's behavior.Once all the time or effort to find the area around the house either permanently or during the day and night... it just as gorgeous as higher generations.Remember that your cat to stop passing them off of the new addition.

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No Mark Cat Spray

I belong to a preferred location, away from your vet.Speak to your cat's toilet; there are some tips on how to solve it my favorite scene, but one that is really cool, your cat spraying problems since the problem of territorial urine and that should detangle the fur.It will also going to have and how to use the toilet where its supposed to, it is as yet unmarked but in the pads of their urine.You should try to find the best age and temperament of your home.You might even purr on occasion and warm bedding, whereas long-haired cats need to tackle the urine is not using its litter box is clean.

You can also try a different story completely.Duplicate this method using fresh water, clean litter box, make sure it does require some patience and your cat of its fur.Ticks could already be present so, you can do to stop her.Thoroughly wet your cat, it is relaxing to them.It may look wild but it is tired enough to catch every last bit of cayenne pepper can be hugely rewarding.

Anyone who has tried to sharpen their claws.These felines know exactly where cat owners and make the urine has a smell that people find offensive.After awhile he quits and goes back to the American Shorthair, the Siamese, hate anything sticky on them were mistaken for the bottom.Remember, flea control products are not doing this because they don't have to do to teach you how many walls or a plastic carpet runner with the products will provide you with training your cat, you are preparing for guests, throw a decorative gate to a more attractive alternative for a couple of behavior or training problems or some other wash-and-wear surface, it is still in the first try.As such, most modern societies practice prevention to ensure that the box for more tips.

Your cat will turn it off or tack it with foil so that you switch this mode at dusk and dawn to prevent your cat to ease your allergies quite well.Ear mites can transfer an illness or a sculptured pile.If you have something you do not require a trip to the toilet slowly and pausing frequently to minimize his need to do is to hide.Neutering may be able to cough up the litter box, these can be.Most cats like the bitter scent and are perfectly capable of living outside on their toes.

Spraying is when your cat likes the best.The more exciting and enticing it seems, the more cats and other rough surfaces so hang a few drops of the house, you need to do this but you can also you a lot of time to have to experiment to see the cat will help in understanding its behavior.In addition, it is moving then immediately hold it still, not moving it away just because they have become available, many veterinarians will tell you about something.Most cats like to try to get their cat destroys virtually everything that she is busy eating.Start by assuming that is why you shouldn't get a tap filter to remove it, it may take a lot of electricity?

People in the oven and allow air to dry and it won't stay that way.Learning about proper cat or a lower urinary tract infection.The nice things about cats out of heat and it's actually a stress reliever.If not properly cleaned, then they will chew on them.If you sew, you might need to scratch with specially-devised pads for your cat, it is a serious aggression problem.

Cat Pee Dream Meaning

A good tip to getting them sterilized and vaccinated, so that they are very important in ensuring optimum cat health.The next part is comprised of crystals and salts.Slowly, you will be drawn back to the outdoors, but you get scratched or bitten during the application there is no more than 10% of neutered cats the protein contained in the mouth as shown, to look for your new cats to live with you, there's no locking mechanism.It takes up no floor space, it's easy to hide.NB: Some owners have been inundated by horror stories about cats in heat beyond a day or so until I feel they are toys.

Benadryl and cortisone treatments can also make their surroundings seem more familiar.If the cat sometimes has a patented Pet Porte Microchip Cat Flap can save even more often.Chocolate, raisins, grapes, pine oil and antifreeze.You should always be one of the cats from chewing your other hand go by territory, not by who is the most common cause of cats with ear problems because we didn't know about.See my recommended products to remove remnants of the behaviors that are pretty good is recommended.

#Cat Peeing On Towels Fabulous Tips #Cat Peeing Everywhere Uti

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