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keelywolfe · 4 years ago

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FIC: Welcome to Backwater ch.17 (spicyhoney)

Summary: Look, getting into the woods wasn't the difficult part and neither was getting out. Dealing with the aftermath? Yeah, let's do that.

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Read ‘Law and Order’ on AO3

Read it here!

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When Stretch woke up the next day, he hardly felt like he’d slept at all, every bone in his body aching and the inside of his skull felt like a dull and muzzy gray.

No surprise there, not really, he hadn’t exactly snoozed peacefully. Probably would’ve been more concerned if he’d had; somehow, having troublesome nightmares after almost getting eaten by horrifying eldritch beings seemed like the healthier option than sleeping like a baby. A few mental scars after something like that seemed more than reasonable.

Wasn’t time for a trip to a head shrinker right now, though, he had a job to do and he was gonna do it. So he put the mental brakes on dealing with everything that happened the day before--

(and holy shit, so much happened, how did he even start processing all this shit, how--)

--and crawled out of bed. He pulled on his last pair of clean clothes, made a mental note to beg Red for the use of his washing machine, and stumbled downstairs to open the shop with the dog at his heels.

Stretch winced away from the bright morning sunshine that streamed in when he pulled the cord to raise the shades, wishing deeply for a cup of coffee, even one of his brother’s that always managed to taste sort of like dirt and rancid tree bark had a coffee bean baby.

Red had a coffee maker in the kitchen, but he didn’t want to risk waking him up sneaking into his apartment. He told himself it wasn’t because of last night’s unintentional adventure, nope, he definitely wasn’t trying to keep from talking about it with Red as long as possible. A long, furious chat about meeting Miss Bone Cruncher U.S.A. and Smaug's undead cousin were the last thing he wanted right now.

Maybe he could head back over to Miss Maggie’s this afternoon and see if she had a cheap coffee maker he could keep behind the counter. Had to be at least one old Mr. Coffee buried in all that junk. But something about going back into the thrift shop made him uneasy and he shook it away, focusing on getting the store opened up.

Mutt was underfoot the entire time, nearly tripping him more than once, and maybe Stretch should have rethought taking in this dog because it was starting to look like it brought a daily murder attempt along with him like a special toy surprise. Snagging a can of dog food from the shelf and dumping it into the plastic bowl Red scrounged from somewhere was less about providing a nutritious meal and more self-defense. Once Mutt was fed and snoozing, though, it was easier to get into the swing of things.

Stretch was buried in the inventory book, contemplating whether to merge the ‘monthly crotch rags’ and ‘cooter plugs’ into one listing to make them slightly easier to find, when the bell ringing over the door made him look up. His greeting faltered when he saw the Sheriff stalk in. Hat nearly brushing the top of the door, still wearing those mirrored aviator sunglasses, and his heavy cowboy boots clomping on the wooden floor as he came directly to the front counter and propped both ham-sized fists on his broad hips.

“Morning!” Buford boomed out cheerfully. A greeting that bright didn’t make it seem like he was here in an official capacity, hey, guess even the fuzz needed to buy toilet paper. It still took a minute for the knee-jerk dread at the sight of that uniform that settled in Stretch’s non-existent stomach to fade.

Buford wasn’t like the cops back in Ebott, Stretch told himself, this was Backwater. If the town was a little weird and had ghosts and sentient scarecrows, plus kept horrible creatures out in the woods with plagues dripping from the needle-sharp teeth they used to eat the souls of the unwary, then at least the Humans here were generally very nice.

Besides, if Buford were meanspirited today, he could always tattle to Granny Collemore when she came in for her next toilet paper run.

Stretch swallowed hard and tried a couple words before finally managing a simple, “morning.”

From Buford’s broad grin, a person would have thought Stretch offered some philosophizing to rival Socrates. “Morning, yes, it is at that.”

Stretch nodded. His relief at that smile made him weak, his skull bobbling unsteadily on his cervical vertebrae like a dashboard ornament. “can i help you find something?

“Naw, came by to see how you were doing.” Buford hitched his pants up, settling his saucer-sized belt buckle under the soft push of his belly. Reflected in the mirror of his sunglasses was the space behind the counter, Stretch and the register and the small row of cleaning supplies, distorted like the other side of the looking glass and he did not want to be thinking about other Universes right now. "Saw ya had a little trouble out in the woods.”

Stretch faltered, briefly speechless. His tongue felt stuck to the roof of his mouth, too dry as he fumbled out, “wha…how did you…?”

"Eh, a lawman’s gotta know what's going on in his town,” Buford leaned down and poked through one of the little wooden half-barrels filled with penny candy that lined the front of the counter. He picked one of the sour balls, unwrapping the shiny green foil and popping the small candy into his mouth to tuck into the round of his cheek. “Sent a little help your way when I saw what was going on, glad to see he got there in time." Buford shook his head sadly, “Nasty things out there in the woods this time of year and that’s the truth.”

“he…he did,” Stretch said, helplessly. No point in lying about it, but how could Buford possibly know? And he’d sent that strange bone dragon creature to help him, but how could he have sent a warning? The idea of that skeletal creature fumbling with a cell phone in its claws was nearly ridiculous enough to pry a hysterical giggle from Stretch’s clotted throat. Were there cameras in the woods, was the creature summoned from a portal in Buford’s basement? So many hows and wheres and whys, there were questions piling on top of questions, cluttering up Stretch’s already overstuffed mind, but only one managed to bubble through to the tarry surface. More demanding than he’d meant, Stretch asked, “how did you know?”

Buford stood up straight, broad shoulders squaring. The change in posture seemed to bring on a transformation, from a Rosco P. Coltrane to a more of a Rick Grimes. From the top of his hat to the golden star on his chest, and his perfectly ironed uniform leant him an aura of competence. It still put him as shorter than Stretch, but somehow made him bigger than life. There was no bumbling, jovial small-town sheriff here, this was a lawman, and there wasn’t so much as a hint of a smile as he said, "I see everything, son." And tipped down those mirrored sunglasses.

In the eyes that lay beneath them were pupil-less, the sockets filled with orbs that were the milky-white of severe cataracts, crisscrossed with thin, fleshy threads like cobwebs.

Stretch barely had time to register what he was seeing before Buford settled his sunglasses back in place. He swallowed hard against the dryness in his throat, strange thoughts of demons and bargains with the devil like their own trash tornado in the back of his mind. "are you…here for something, then?"

Buford only chuckled and the sour ball clacked against his teeth as he rolled it to the other side of his mouth. "Just to check on ya. You might be a city boy, but I’ve taken a liking to you, son, and I ain’t the only one. People in Backwater take care of our own.” There was a strange solemnness to those words, almost a pact, then Buford’s mouth quirked up on one side beneath his bushy mustache. “Though I might as well help myself to a Pepsi-Cola while I'm here." He leaned in, conspiratorially, and it was easier than Stretch thought it might be to keep himself from leaning away. Buford smelled faintly of cherries and tobacco, and his teeth were a clean, even white. "Don't tell the missus, she don't like me having too much caffeine."

Stretch nodded and said in his own whisper, "tell her what?"

Buford roared a laugh and grabbed his hat to slap it against his knee, hooting out, "That's the spirit!” He settled his hat back on his mussed hair and took a soda from the cooler, tossing a buck on the counter as he called back, “Take care, son."

“i will,” Stretch said, softly, but it was only for the tinkling bell above the door as Buford strolled back out.

He was still standing at the counter, the dog snoozing at his feet, fidgeting with the pen on the counter and not writing a single damn thing when the door opened again. Stretch could only stare back at the intense crimson eye lights that latched onto his own as Edge walked through the front door and for once, those gorgeous hips were the furthest thing from his mind.

tbc

#spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underfell papyrus #underswap papyrus #welcome to backwater

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smuckersblr · 4 years ago

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Crybaby parody part 2

I’m back stinkies! Here’s your starker for the day, better eat up because this the last part<3

"Fuck you, Barnes, I do have more taste than you, remember the last guy you fucked? Yeah, he wasn't even a 4 outta 10!" Peter growled, waving his hands for dramatic effect, Bucky's arm around his shoulders falling and then going right back to their resting place once his flailing seized. "I'm just sayin' Pete, I don't like the guy, he doesn't really fit your type." Peter looked around his friend group, wide-eyed and waiting for people to rush to his side to defend him. But all he got was silent nods with avoided eye contact. "My type? My type! What the hell do you mean by "my type"."

Wanda scratched the back of her head and awkwardly made eye contact. "You dated a guy who was a professional underground fighter who was covered in tatts." Natasha stepped in, once Peter looked in her direction. "Yeah, remember that one time you had that fling with that mafioso kid?" Bucky laughed and pulled Peter closer to him. "So basically me." Peter pulled back from Bucky's grip, shaking his head in disbelief, and laughed at his friends. "You guys are insanely right, but that doesn't mean I'm not allowed a little range in the men I choose to date."

The diner was scattered with the usual squares near the windows doing everything in their power to ignore the crybabies that evaded their space. Peter stirred his milkshake absently, a lost look on his face that didn't suit him well. Bucky, sitting at his claimed spot right next to Peter, brushed Peter's cheek with the hand connected to the arm that was wrapped around the teens' shoulders--trying to bring Peter's focus back to his friends. Then there was Wanda and Natasha, both in front of them and Sam at the diners front counter, trying to flirt up with the waitress working in that area. "Let's just change the topic." Peter mumbled under his breath, sulkily sipping his milkshake and ignoring Bucky's laughter and that imposing arm wrapped around his shoulders. Peter only allowed Bucky to be touchy with him because that was just Bucky, it was his love language and they've been friends since diapers. "Ok well since Peter's got a thing for a square, I guess it's only fair that I admit that the tall blonde is pretty attractive." Natasha said offhandedly, picking up a french fry and eating it with an argue-with-me-I-dare-you look. Wanda nodded with the same look and Bucky scuffed. "The dude is a total ass, sure he's an 8 but he can't even stand being near me even when I have no other choice since dumbass Mr. Braxton sat us together." Peter looked away and tapped his fingers against the dark wood of the table, "Well that's because any sane person can't stand an hour sitting next to you without getting a little agitated." the girls laughed loudly, Peter bit his lip to hide his smile that was slowly growing. Bucky gaped at Peter and huffed, pulling his arm away from Peter and pouting to himself and his burger. "I'm not agitating, you are." was his lame comeback, which made Peter pity him enough to give a pat to the big guy's bicep. "You know I'm kidding Buck, I can't stand an hour away from you and you know it." Peter cooed while leaning on Bucky with a pouty lip and big eyes. Bucky tried to hide his smile and coughed to hide his laugh. The girls were still cackling by the time Sam came back over to their table, making Wanda scoot closer to Natasha so he could sit on the edge. "What'd I miss? What's Bucky bitching over now?" Sam looked around at his friends, purposely ignoring the death glare from Bucky. "He's just butthurt that Peter said it's agitating to be around him for an hour." Wanda stirred her salad poking at a crouton. "He's not wrong." Sam shrugged and reached over Wanda to steal some fries from the middle. "Says the guy who got kicked outta fifth period because he couldn't shut up." Peter blocked out the rest of Bucky's and Sam's bickering once his attention had snagged on one fellow student across the diner. It was just the back of the teen's head, but Peter knew that group who sat with that teen from anywhere, it was Tony. which was startling to say the least, because instead of the usual baggy formal clothing he would always wear to school, was a leather jacket of all things and his signature neatly gelled hair, was now a messy nest. It gave him a "just had sex and didn't bother to fix my appearance" kinda look. Peter loved it. "Uh, I gotta pee." Peter's abrupt voice made the conversation his friends were having pause, Nat giving him a weird look. "Okay..." Bucky took his arm off its resting place and he stood up to allow Peter out from the corner of the booth.

Peter didn't bother pretending to head towards the bathrooms then sneak back out to discreetly say hi to Tony. He made a bee-line to the squares table. The conversation at hand was terribly nerdy, but the person who was mid-rant about some video game(Bruce?) stopped his rambling. The guys' eyes were saucers once Peter made it behind Tony. the whole table setting their sights on him. The last pair though were the ones Peter only sought out. "Hey, Pete." Peter's heart fluttered like a damn damsel, he bit his lip and held his hands behind his back coyly. "Hey Tones, lookin' good I see you've taken my comment to heart." Tony knew the reaction he would receive from Peter already, but the actual visual of Peter fucking Parker blushing and biting his lip like a coy schoolgirl was a fucking treat of its own. "Yah well I thought it was time for a change in the wardrobe." Steve who sat beside Tony tried hiding his laughter with a cough behind a fist, his other friends also not buying Tony's false nonchalance. "I love your hair too, looks...." Peter reached out one hand and combed his fingers through the brown strands before saying: "Sexy.".

"Really? I thought it was giving me very much... homeless man chique." Rhodey snickered, the other two idiots laughing at his jab. Tony turned around sharply and gave his best death glare to the idiots. "Shut it." He tried to discreetly hiss under his breath, but of course, Peter heard and to Tony's horror, joined in his friends' laughter. "Oh great now you too?" Tony moped, crossing his arms on the table and laying his head down on them, hiding his embarrassment. "No, no, Tony I'm sorry I just-" Peter couldn't finish talking without another fit of giggles coming out. "You can't lie to me Tony, that was pretty funny," Tony grumbled to himself, trying to play out his little moping sesh even when Peter sat in the empty chair next to him. But he couldn't ignore Pete any longer once he felt him lock his arm around his own. A tuft of hair tickling the side of Tony's face, and then the butterflies started. "Forgive me, Tony." Peter whined, rocking Tony side to side from shaking his arm. "No it's too late, you hurt my feelings." Tony sat back in his chair once more and looked in the opposite direction from Peter, trying to tune in his friends' conversation that slowly started up again in the midst of their teasing. "Tony~!" Tony was really trying here, he only had so much willpower in him when it came to Peter. "Nope, I've already decided that I can't forgive you." Peter humphed and crossed his arms, sagging in the chair he had claimed as his. Then an idea struck. Peter had gotten close once more, this time whispering into Tony's ear: "What if I kissed you to make it better?" and Peter knew he had won this little game they were playing, right when he felt Tony tense up and slowly looked over to Peter. God did he just want to devour him right there and then, but no, Tony didn't want their first kiss in front of all his square friends. As cheesy as it was, he wanted their first kiss on their first date. "Go out with me." Tony knew Peter was taken aback at this, but there wasn't any hesitation with his answer. "Okay..."

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Their first date was a fiasco to put it shortly. Tony had the idea to go out at the local movie theatre in their town, he knew there was going to be a scary movie playing that night, which in his mind equaled discrete hand-holding and maybe a make-out session halfway through the movie. And of course, that didn't go to plan once they walked through the rows to try and find their seats, apparently, it was packed that night, and to his luck, the theater was filled with Crybabies. Peter had told him it was fine, he would make sure they didn't say anything stupid to Tony, but sadly that wasn't the problem. The problem was that there was someone constantly putting their feet on the back of Tony's seat throughout the first half of the movie. Tony's hand was sweaty so he couldn't hold Peter's hand like he originally wanted to. They had also gotten candy along with their popcorn and Tony totally forgot that kissing someone with chocolate breath is so not appealing. So to say their first date was a shit show would be putting it mildly.

But Tony should've known that Peter would make things better than they turned out that night. On the way home Tony's hand was taken off the wheel and settled on Peter's thigh by Peter's own doing. Tony had given his thigh a squeeze and didn't remove his hand from its place until he stopped in front of Peter's house. Tony being the gentleman he was, walked Peter to his front door, rubbing his (still) clammy hands on his shirt before Peter turned around to face Tony once more. And that was when the night had turned around from being a failure to a semi-amazing-but-totally-amazing first date. Peter had leaned in and kissed Tony's cheek, of course not without plastering the front of his body to Tony's. Tony stood there that night, holding Peter against him. Not wanting to let go and having to wait a whole night before being able to see him again. And then... "My parents aren't home."

It was like TV static in Tony's head, his whole body freezing up, then relaxing in a split second. "Oh.." was all Tony dumbass Stark could say to that. But amazingly, he got inside the house with Peter, being led straight to Pete's room where Tony would never admit out loud that he was dreaming to see. "Sorry about the mess, Natasha was helping me find my outfit for tonight." Which made sense once you saw all the clothes strewn out on Peter's bed. Peter's unmade bed, wow Tony's good-boy side is showing. "It's fine, it smells nice in here." What the fuck! Tony mentally face palmed himself and immediately wanted to die and never face Peter ever again.

"Why thank you, Mr. Stark, you know your compliments mean a lot to me." Peter grabbed Tony's hands and pulled him deeper inside his room. The moon's glow gives Peter's face a beautiful pale blue glow that makes Tony's heart stop for a second. "Really? I'd assume you get them often." Peter smiled and turned around, messing with the records that sat next to a dusty blue record player. "Sure I do, but their words mean nothing compared to your's Tones," A soft lilt of trumpets slowly started along with violins. Peter gave a little twirl and toed off his shoes before slowly waltzing towards Tony. "Your words set my skin on fire," His arms reached out, the devilish smile on his soft lips never dropping along with his hips that swayed side to side. "Your voice makes my heart stop," He placed Tony's hands on his hips, reaching for his shoulders and laying his head against his collar bone. "You make me feel brand new, Tony..." Tony didn't realize he was slow dancing now with Peter, his mind was currently reeling with Peter's own confession. He might love Peter. "Stop, before you make me fall for you, then you won't be able to get rid of me." Peter's soft laugh was muffled by Tony's rumbled shirt, "Who says I wanna get rid of you? What if I want you all to myself?" Tony didn't know what to say for a second, the song carried on to fill the silence between the two slow dancing in a dark bedroom that smelt like tulips. "Then you can have me."

(A/N: Hope you guys enjoyed this! I think imma end this lil short story here since i dont really like the idea anymore and sorry about it taking a while, I had no more brain juice left in me:( But get ready for more stories to come!!

#starker #peter parker #tony stark #bucky barnes #steve rogers #sam wilson #natasha romanoff #wanda maximoff #bruce banner #rhodey #poor tony #cute #romantic #peter x tony #tony x peter #crybaby #fan fiction #fanfic

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george-mackay-macfine · 5 years ago

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Dear Diary,

A/N - This has taken me a hot minute to get this done. Also hasn’t been proof read.

Request

Word Count: 4,289

Synopsis: George cheers Y/N up after she’s cheated on.

July 26th 2011,

Dear Diary,

That’s how these things work right? I start each entry by saying ‘Dear Diary’ and then verbally purging my innermost thoughts onto these painfully white pages in hopes of a self soothe type therapy? I guess it’s something I’ll have to try to work out any sort of lifetime trauma I’ve undoubtedly built up over the years, and there is the saying don’t knock it till you try it? Well, here we go.

I’m sure no one is curious as to why I’d be starting a diary at seventeen, nearly eighteen years into my life and that's because Y/N no one but you should be reading this diary, but on the off chance someone is, It’s probably definitely because I can’t afford therapy, and for as long as I’ve known Bridget Jones always found it helpful in her later years to write down the events of her life in her diary. Heck, they even helped her lose some weight, Christ knows I could probably use that, Of course, her life was undoubtedly a lot more interesting than mine will ever be, but either way she found sense in writing her memories down, So why would she lead me astray.

If anyone ever asks I’ll say I’m doing it so when I’m old and grey I can look back on all the memories and think about my life, how I spent it, how far I’ve come.

But if they dug a little deeper, not even that much deeper, like an inch tops, you’d see it’s because I don’t ever want to forget a detail about him, Georgeander Richards, the most beautiful boy I’d ever seen.

Meeting him happened at Ben Daniels’ end of year party, but since I’ve only decided to start a diary today. I guess we’ll need to take a jump back in time. Ben always throws the first party at the end of the year, and now as graduates, everyone had more reason to party. His parties were renowned for being the place to be if you wanted to;

Lose your virginity.

Take someone's virginity

Get over a horrendous break up by getting absolutely shit faced

Forget about how badly you did in your tests.

Mourn the loss of your formative years and in turn your youth.

Or you’d attend to witness the utter demise of your faith in humanity.

I was here for the third reason.

July 16th 2011, Ben Daniel’s Start of Summer Party.

Smoke filled the air, thick and hazy. I couldn’t be sure if it was coming from the smoke machine Ben had hired to add to the ‘atmosphere’, or if it was coming from the cigarettes that everyone seemed to be chain-smoking, It could also be coming from the bong that Freddie Ashby was using.

Either way, the source of the smoke was unclear.

“Have you seen Sarah?” I asked Freddie as I asked him. He looked up from his bong, eyes wide and filled with humour. He nodded his head a stupid bloody smile on his face. God Freddie, you were literally the stereotypical stoner that was in EVERY bloody American High School movie. “Well, where is she?” I asked the irritation that clipped my tone was lost on Freddie.

“Oh, she’s in the lounge room.” He extended the bong out to me. “Take a hit, for old times?” I pushed it back against his chest gently. Freddie was always nice I guess but right now I was on a mission.

“Maybe later Fred, I just need to find Sarah first.” Freddie nodded his head, Lips wrapping around the mouthpiece, black lighter lit in his hands going to the bowl. I didn’t stay to watch Freddie light up. Instead, I pushed through the solid crowd into the living room. Hannah Jamieson saw me first. She tapped her boyfriend Connor Hughes on the shoulder, One by one people turned. I smiled at the all, confused as I made my way around the living room. It wasn’t until I was in front of Ben’s mum's floral settee did I stop.

My heart dropped through my ass, out of my chest cavity and right through. Hitting the floor before being tramped on my a storm of hippos. That’s how it felt at least, and no amount of smoke was thick enough to hide the act of deceit happening on Ben’s mum's floral settee.

Julian McDonald, my boyfriend of six months and my best friend of eleven fucking years Sarah Olsen, making out in front of everyone. Julian was shoving his tongue down Sarah’s throat while Sarah copped a feel of what Julian had to offer the world through his signature black skinny jeans. I was sure if she kept rubbing she’d wear a hole in the worn denim.

“Isn’t that…” Morgan Franks, the other oblivious stoner of our school pointed to the two, as if everyones attention wasn’t already on them.

“Yeah.” I breathed out looking as Julian’s hand snaked up to cop a feel of Sarah’s boob, much to the entertainment of everyone in the room who whooped and hollered in approval suddenly forgetting that I was there and that was my boyfriend and best friend making out. “Sure is.” I turned on my heel, my old ratty converses squeaking as I turned, walking back the way I’d came. Nobody bothered watching me this time. Things had heated up between Julian and Sarah enough to keep their attention.

“Watch where you’re going.” Someone yelled as I pushed through the growing crowd of horny seventeen and eighteen-year-olds who were desperate for a sneak peek at the live porn show currently unfolding on Ben’s mum's bloody floral settee.

I want to burn the fucking thing.

I’d decided there was only one place I could be right now, and that was the patio on the roof. Snagging an unopened bottle of vodka as I went I rushed up the three flights of stairs. Anyone who’d ever been to one of Ben’s parties in the past knew about the rules of the roof. It was the only place in the whole house where you could sit and have a quiet conversation without anyone disturbing you, bumping into you, or in some cases groping you. It was party law that if you were on the roof you were quiet, and that is why the roof was always relatively empty. Maybe a random couple hooking up in the corner, or the emo-loner kid who wanted to be included without actually being included sat up here.

Now I joined them. The brokenhearted girl who was now planning on getting completely shit faced on a full bottle of Vodka.

“Ah fuck.” The ground was uneven at the top of the stairs where the door jamb and the concrete didn’t quite level out together, the bottle of vodka I’d grabbed nearly hit the ground had I not been able to grab onto the neck of the bottle seconds before it smashed into the concrete.

“Rough night?” I jumped, heart racing out of my chest, shock coursing through my veins. I looked up, across the roof near the ledge stood a boy, casually dressed in jeans and a t-shirt with a cigarette hanging from his left hand. He was the only one up here, no random couple, no emo-loner kid, Just the boy with the cigarette. He turned more towards me, bringing the cigarette to his lips. “Or do you always nearly drop a full bottle of vodka the minute you walk into a room.”

“This isn’t a room,” I called cockily, as I stood up, balance restored. The stranger looked around, a tooth filled smile creeping up onto his face. “It’s a roof.”

“Touche.” He extends his hand towards the space next to him, an unspoken invitation for me to join him. Slowly, cautiously I walk towards the stranger. We were the only two on the roof, he maintains his eye contact with me until I’m standing beside him. I take a good look at him. His jaw was square and sharp. His cheeks lightly tanned and covered in a days worth of stubble. His eyes were big, round… Childlike and welcoming. In the dark light I could barley see the beautiful blue of his eyes as I stood by him. “So, has it been a rough night.” I chuckled in self pity before plonking down by his feet. Vodka bottle in front of me.

“My boyfriend is cheating on me.” I twisted the lid of the bottle. “With my best-friend… Right now.” I moved the bottle towards my lips. “Actually if you’re interested they’re giving everyone the opportunity to catch a free, live porn show… Just go down and ask Ben where his mums bloody floral settee is.” I chugged down some of the clear liquid as the boy sat beside me. Coughing as it burned its way down my throat. “Other than that, it’s a pretty stock standard Ben Daniel’s party. Music is too loud, too shitty and everyone’s packed in like sardines.” I held the bottle out to him. In return he offered his cigarette.

“I’ll admit, Ben does always over extend the invite.” He looked around us. “This is the only place you can really move.” I extended the bottle to him. He took it, exchanging it for his cigarette. “But I did hear yelling’s of the porn show from down below.” He tipped his head back, swallowing some of the liquid as I took a drag of his cigarette. I was never one to smoke, apart from social situations, and this I suppose one would consider to be a social situation. “Sounds like a shitty best-friend and a really fucking shit boyfriend…”

“Ex-best-friend, and I guess ex-boyfriend.” I exhaled the smoke. The burning filled my lungs. I coughed a little at the very end, lungs burning.

“Sorry, Ex-best-friend.” He took another swig of the vodka. “I’m George.”

“Y/N.” We swapped items again. “You don’t go to our school do you? I mean with Ben…” George shook his head.

“Nah, I go to the private school.” Holy shit, this was George MacKay, the same George MacKay that Sarah was in obsessed with.

“Christ on a bike, You’re that George.” He turned to me.

“That George? I didn’t know I was deserving of a that before my name.” He chuckled.

“Of course, you need context, sorry…” I cleared my throat. “Sarah, the ex-best-friend, the one making out with the ex-boyfriend, she has the BIGGEST crush on you… She’d always go to any of the parties in town in hopes of seeing you there… If only she were here now.” I shook my head, karma sometimes was a bitch.

“Your best-friend —.”

“Ex,” I mumbled as I tipped the bottle up to my lips.

“Sorry, your ex-best-friend is Sarah Olsen… Stalker Sarah…” Vodka flew out of my mouth, not exactly the most lady-like of things when you’re sitting with one of the hottest boys in your town, alone on a roof… Great job Y/N.

“I’m sorry, but what did you just call her.” I spun on my legs a little, my body facing his. He mirrored my actions. I wiped the vodka from my face, ladylike.

“Stalker Sarah, it’s the name my mates came up with for her… I had no part in it.” He held his hands up in defence.

“Jesus, why’d you call her that?”

“Well, like you said she’d come to all the parties in town. When she was there she wouldn’t dance, she wouldn’t drink… She’d just stand there and stare at me. She didn’t blink for five minutes once… It was like she was waiting for me to talk to her.” He shook of the memories. “God, it was so uncomfortable.”

“My god, seriously.” George nodded his head feverishly. He grabbed the vodka from between us, bringing it to his lips.

“You know I never thought it’d be sat here at one of Ben Daniel’s parties with Stalker Sarah’s ex-best-friend.” There was a moment of silence between us. I guess we were both wrapped up in the revelations.

“You look different to how she described you.” George shook his head.

“She described what I looked like to you?” I nodded my head. “Why?”

“Case I ever saw you at a party, I was to tell her immediately.”

“Did you?” I shook my head no. “She’s insane you know. One time she told a girl I was seeing that she was pregnant with my kid, and the girl was stopping us being together.”

“Are you fucking serious.” George nodded his head. “I’m sorry she did that to you.”

“Not your fault, you don’t control her…” He stamped out his cigarette as he passed the bottle back. “You think you’ll ever forgive them?”

“To quote Hamlet, Act three, Scene three, Line 87… No.” Another smile broke across his face, this one bigger than the first.

“You can really quote Hamlet down to the line numbers?” I shrugged my shoulders. “It’s true what they say about you Y/N Y/L/N, you are one of a kind.”

“How do you know my last name?”

“I knew who you were the second you step out onto this roof.” He motioned for me to lean in closer to him as if he were about to tell me a national secret. “I familiarised myself with all of Stalker Sarah’s friends, incase any of them ever came up to me at a party and tried to tell me ALL about their great friend, and how wonderful we’d be together. I didn’t realise you were the ‘best’ friend’ though.” I shrugged my shoulders.

“Not anymore… But she did try to get me to do that once ya know…” I lent in closer to him, ready to unload my own confession. “But I told her I was going to be sick and got out of there before you even showed up.”

“Smart girl.”

“So my grades say.”

“So I’ve heard.” My eyebrow raised. “I’ve heard a few things about you actually…”

“You have?” He nodded his head, a sinful smirk covering on his lips.

“Best-friends with stalker Sarah, now ex.” He corrected himself when my mouth opened to correct him. “Smart as all hell, probably going to be doctor or a lawyer, and you were dating THE biggest jackass in your school.” Part of me couldn’t believe that George MacKay, the boy Sarah had always gone on and on about knew so many things about me. I know their not major things, but its still something.

“That’s a lot of things,” He chuckled, laying back on the floor of the roof eyes cast upwards towards the star filled sky. “Not nearly as many things as I’ve heard about you, but still a lot.”

“What have you heard about me then?”

“George MacKay, you’re the ‘it’ boy of your school.” He scoffed at the title. “Every girl from my school, your school the school in the next town over wants to date you.” I laid down beside him. “You’re also rather smart… You get good grades, play football. Everyone thinks you’re going to be a model right out of school.”

“Basic things then.”

“You’re the not so bad, ‘bad boy’ that all the girls want to be good for them.” I rolled my eyes in disgust over the strong of words I’d heard come out of Sarah’s mouth one too many times. “It’s a rather romantic notion really, if you’re fourteen.”

“You know what they say about bad boys.” George whispered I felt his breath against my cheek. “Bad boys do it better.”

“Oh my god.” I chuckled. “You say stuff like that to girls? Does that work for you?” I turned to look at him, our noses now touching.

“You tell me.” He smiled again, my breathing hitched slightly. I looked at him again, this was George MacKay, the boy that Sarah told me I would never have a chance with, no matter how much makeup I wore, how much weight I lost, how much I pushed my tits up. He would only ever be interested in a girl like her, not me. Yet, here he was.

“Try another one.” My voice came out barley above a whisper, my bottom lip slipping between my teeth. George grabbed my hand, pulling it onto his chest, he started to lead it downwards. He didn’t break eye contact with me, and that only made the whole situation one hundred times more intense. Julian had never done this before, He’d never be able to have this effect on me.

“Do you want to see what you do to me.” He whispered, stopping right at his belt buckle. He smiled, head inching forward a little more. “How was that?” The look on his face told me he knew what he was doing to me, how his was making my heart skip every second beat.

“I can see why you got your reputation.” He moved his head closer to mine, just by a milli-meter, if either of us moved our lips would touch. His hand still held onto mine resting on his belt buckle. He didn’t make a move to move them, and if I was honest with myself. I didn't want too. The logical part of my brain told me I was doing this as payback for Sarah hooking up with Julian, the vodka filled side of me did it because I wanted to see where this could go.

“Y/N.” My fingertips unconsciously gripped onto his belt. His eyes dropped to my lips, only for a second. If I’d been blinking I’d have surly missed it. “You’re cute when you’re flirting.”

“I wasn’t flirting.” I pulled my hand away from his belt. The warmth of his body leaving my forearm. I wrapped it under myself. Watching him as he turned away and looked up at the sky once more.

“I wish you had been.” God, if I were a petty bitch I would run down those stairs and yell this story in Sarah’s face, while Julian watches on with that stupid look of his. “Why in the world did Julian McDonald break up with you? Apart from being one of the biggest idiots in town,”

“I didn’t want to sleep with him.” I whispered, rolling back so I was also watching the stars. “He got mad that we’d been dating for six months, and I don’t think I’m ready to lose my virginity.”

“You mean you’ve never had sex?”

“I do believe that is the common definition of the word.” I laughed. “But I know, how lame am I. I’m seventeen and I’ve never slept with anyone.”

“I don’t think it’s lame.”

“Yeah right. I’ve heard the stories about you, and your assembly of women.”

“Firstly it’s more of a line… not an assembly. Secondly, I’m serious. You wouldn’t want to lose your virginity to that arsehole anyway.” He cocked a smile. “Probably wouldn’t even had a dick big enough to feel it.” He snorted out a laugh, trying to hold it in. “I’ve heard some pretty serious allegations over the size of that guys dick.”

“George.” I turned to look at him, unable to stop myself from staring for a moment. “Thanks for making me feel less shit about my life.” He turned to face me now. “I’m sorry I’m such a drunken mess.” I picked up the bottle of vodka, it was two-thirds empty.

“Well that was going to be my next question. Are you always like this or is it just the vodka?”

“It’s definitely the vodka.” I sat up, trying to hide the blush that was flooding my cheeks. “Normally, if my boyfriend…”

“Ex,”

“Thank-you, Ex-boyfriend hadn’t been making out with my best-friend”

“Ex,”

“Ex-best-friend on that bloody floral settee feeling up each others…” I waved my hands in front of my boobs, the frustration overtaking me. “Bits… I wouldn’t be up here, wasted on half a bottle of vodka.” From down the stairs there was a loud eruption of voices. The music swelled drowning out any chance I had on making out what the voices were saying.

“But then if they weren’t down stairs making fools of themselves you wouldn’t be up here.” George voiced as he sat up. Arm brushing mine.

“That’s true.” I turned to face him. Chin resting on my arm. “And wouldn’t that be a shame.” George smiled and lent down a little. Eyes levelling out with mine, he ducked in a little closer, once again we were nearly lips to lips. “Why are you up here George?” He smiled, his lips brushed mine ever so softly. I almost thought it didn’t happen.

“I’m hiding from Stalker Sarah.” He whispered, breath fanning over my lips.

“MacKay where are you.” I pulled away, turning towards the door to the roof. “MacKay”

“I think someone wants you.” I turned back to George who was looking at the door.

“I think you’re right.” He stood up and extended his hand down to me. “Do you need a ride home?” I’d come with Sarah… There was no way I was leaving with her.

“I can walk.” I smiled standing.

“MACKAY.” The voice hollered again. If Sarah didn’t know George was here tonight, she sure would now.

“You’re not walking, we can take you.”

“George, it’s fine.”

“Y/N, We’re driving you.” He smiled grabbing onto my hand, Holding it tightly in his. “Now, the important part of this mission,” He started as he pulled us towards the door back into the house. "Is making sure neither of your ex’s see us.”

“You make me sound like I’m a floozy with multiple ex’s. Besides, they’re probably still busy on the floral settee,” George threw his head back and let out a deep chuckle as he opened the door and holding it with his left hand. His right still firmly gripping mine.

“Y/N.” We both pulled to a stop, Our laughter cutting off, Dying like my last hopes of being able to get out of this house without seeing either Sarah or Julian again. Sarah stepped forward smiling. She looked George up and down like he was a snack.

“We’ve been looking for you.” Julian smiled reaching out for my hand, trying to pull me away from George.

“Sarah,” I looked at my ex-best-friend whose eyes were downcast at mine and George’s interlaced hands. “Julian,” Julian’s eyes were on George, sizing him up.

“Y/N,” Sarah clenched out, eyes leaving mine and George’s hand. “Whose your friend?” She smiled sweetly. George wrapped an arm around my shoulder, pulling me into his chest.

“No one, just the guy whose taking her home.” He looked down the stairs, my eyes followed his. At the bottom of the stair case stood two guys, they’re waving at George. He nods his head in acknowledgement at the two. “Come on,” George lead me through the pair, down one step, two, three.

“Y/N,” I stopped, George stopped on the step below me. I turned, looking back up at the girl who used to be my best-friend. “Are you really going to do this to me?” I let out a self pitying laugh.

“Honestly Sarah, compared to what you and Julian did together on the settee, George taking me home, is nothing.” They both looked down. “You should have charged for the show, you would have made a killing.” I went to turn again.

“You leave with him and you can kiss goodbye our friendship.”

“You kissed that good bye the minute you kissed my boyfriend.” I turned, this time not stopping when she called out again. “Let’s go.” I whispered in his ear, stepping down onto his step. When we got to his friends he smiled at them, not explain who I was. I guessed he was waiting till we were in the safety of the car George had arrived here in.

“You alright?” The taller of the pair asked. His eyes flicked over to me, before turning back to George as we made our way past him.

“Yeah, I’ll explain in the car.” He replied softly. None of us talked as we followed George out of the house, his hand still holding tightly onto mine. People parted as we walked through the crowd. I could see at least three different girls who’d joined Sarah in her talks about George giving me the up and down before they looked away, their eyes betraying them in the second they turned. They wished they were me, holding his hand….I understood why.

“I’m Mason.” The shorter one smiled as we neared the car. “Since this jackass won’t introduce us.” He extended his hand out to me. He seemed nice enough. “You are?”

“Y/N Y/L/N.” I smiled shaking his hand. “Ex-best-friend of Stalker Sarah, Ex-girlfriend of Julian McDonald.” Mason’s eyes widened he turned to George who was still next to me, hand still firmly grasping mine. “It’s okay, you don’t need to worry about me trying to convert George into hooking up with her.” I lent towards him. “And if you made up the nickname, you’re totally right.” I whispered a little.

“Speaking of McDonalds,” The taller of the two smiled. “How about we get some?” He held his hand out across the roof of the car. “I’m Taylor, designated driver of these two assholes tonight.” I reached across, shaking his hand. “Pleasure.” He hit the roof of the car. “McDonalds, let’s go.”

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_ -_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_ -_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Dear Diary pt.2. - https://george-mackay-macfine.tumblr.com/post/612006567009714176/dear-diary

Dear Diary pt.3. - https://george-mackay-macfine.tumblr.com/post/612353107904593920/dear-diary-pt3

Dear Diary pt.4. - https://george-mackay-macfine.tumblr.com/post/612426076500656129/dear-diary-pt-4

#george mackay #george mackay x reader #GeorgeMackay #George MacKay fanfic #George MacKay Imagine

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gengarprotectionsquad · 5 years ago

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bad horror movie ideas i've been compiling b/c @fleetwoodmurk is an enabler:

thankskilling: the family connections of a 19 year old college student allow him to skirt by any substantial sentencing for violent anti-indigenous hate crimes, just in time for him to make it home by thanksgiving. the soothing whispers of how he “shouldn’t have his life ruined for making a mistake” on property staked in stolen indigenous land invite the wrathful presence of autumn’s bounty-- a ghastly, therizinosaurus-like approximation of a turkey powered solely by the anguish of lives taken in the name of american colonialism. after all, if that family wants their son to have some turkey, then he’ll get his eight foot-tall, blade-handed, undying turkey.

homebody: forced to pull into a run-down motel by a freak storm, a group of friends initially find themselves faced with nothing more harrowing than the occasional cobweb and staff who never meet visitors face-to-face, even finding a note on the front counter that there’s no fee for staying--so long as they “spread the word” if they find their stay satisfactory. but, after waking up each morning to find that they’ve lost clumps of hair, individual teeth, and even a toe among other body parts, they discover the motel’s one and only employee--a colossal, man-like harvestman that severs human tissue with surgical precision (thanks to its spindly, 15 meter arms) in a misguided attempt to better fool human prey by grafting the fruits of its labor onto its own body.

goliath’s revenge: a japanese kaiju film director finally pushes his luck just a tad too far, killing the suit actress for the lead “goliath” monster as a direct result of the director’s penchant for strenuous, dangerous stuntwork. when his connections allow him to wriggle his way out of the tragedy scot-free, the suit actress’ furious spirit reanimates in her signature costume--now made flesh and blood--in order to exact a vengeful rampage of monstrous proportions that her former boss could only have hoped to have filmed.

more under the cut!!!

hivemind: a single mother reeling from a devastating divorce seems to find new purpose in her life thanks to a california-based branch of a yoga group that emphasizes the value of both diligence and mindfulness. as the months go by, however, she realizes that she’s so deeply invested her time with the group that she doesn’t even know the names of anyone in her neighborhood that isn’t involved with them. just as she’s having doubts, she’s invited on a week-long retreat to experience what will hopefully become an outdoor facility of theirs, and that even their founder will be in attendance. she and her daughter do indeed meet the group’s founder--a colossal, humanoid queen ant who is rendered inert by her size, subsequently relying on her psychic abilities to indoctrinate human followers to her side and transform them into “suitable workers” that would happily give their lives for her sake

children of the night: an exorcist, a private investigator, a trio of true crime podcasters, the local sheriff w/ top suspect in tow, a self-proclaimed “vampire hunter”, and a humble gravedigger all converge on the same cemetery when it becomes host to a series of unspeakably gruesome murders--the site being deemed the “vampires’ playground” for the crimes’ bloody nature. but when the self-confessed suspect winds up cleaved in twain at the scene, it turns out they’ll all have to deal with actual vampires--hulking, gorilla-like, hairless bats with the intelligence of a toddler and a permanent, gummy grin filled with teeth far too dull to consume flesh that hasn’t been playfully beaten to a fine pulp beforehand

think tank: with the untimely death of a silicon valley tech giant who’d racked up a reputation for being as antisocial as he was exploitative, a documentary crew visits his main offices in hopes of interviewing any available employees in order to determine whether or not that open secret had any truth to it. though cooperative enough, the surly defensiveness that seems to increase in prevalence as the crew makes their way up the corporate ladder leads one particularly-intrepid camerawoman to sneak the crew far further into the building than originally intended and into a hidden basement. this brings them face-to-face with the deceased entrepreneur’s dirty little secret, known as the think tank: a captive “psychic existence” brought into being using the harvested, collective brainpower of every employee who refused to take their boss’s shit but was just too talented to let go

whalefall: the 300 ft tall, walking corpse of a whale dredges its way up from the ocean floor and onto american shorelines, bringing with it tidal waves of pestilence and plague. when japanese fishermen identify the creature as a bake-kujira--a ghostly whale that harbors only misfortune and undead sealife in the wake of maritime disaster--the federal government opts to not only ignore their insight, but outright blame japan and their whaling industry for its presence. their relative inaction in the name of xenophobia and saving face will serve only to prolong the creature’s attack, with entire coastal towns left to deal with the flooding and zombified deep-sea organisms themselves.

study skin: a group of hunters grow too impatient to wait for their county’s deer season and set out under the cover of nightfall in hopes of snagging a trophy or two. though met with a highway lined with bizarre amounts of roadkill and a totally silent forest, they disregard their unease and set up for the night. they soon discover the true reason for the minimal duration of the local hunting season when they catch a glimpse of an old friend long-thought to have vanished on a hunting trip, bringing them face-to-face with the hidewinder--a mysterious creature that inhabits the skins of deceased animals in search of larger and more complex bodies to call its own, with absolutely no idea how to look or behave “right” in any of its disguises, and a tendency to become enraged once it becomes clear that it doesnt fit in.

calling card: a freelance musician struggling with being sincere and vulnerable in their own work decides to move to a small, quiet town in southern bumblefuck-nowhere to try and clear their head. to their surprise, they’ve practically moved onto the set of a musical--the town’s residents bursting into song at the drop of a hat out of what seems to be the sheer, earnest passion of their feelings. this pleasant novelty soon turns out to be a town tradition established to cope with the presence of lonesome harvey--an upright cicada-man who emerges from underground hibernation every 18 years to rip select peoples’ vocal chords right out of their throats, crudely tying them together in order to fashion a set powerful enough to function as his own (which he uses to shriek out his signature mating call every summers’ night, in hopes of attracting a partner who’ll never arrive). thus, the townsfolk sing their hearts out so that harvey can gauge whose voice he’ll claim for himself (as opposed to having him mutilate everyone in the name of trial-and-error), and the musician has moved into town just in time for ol’ harvey to make his return.

back of your mind: following the very-much-timely (if a tad mysterious) death of their verbally-abusive mother, her only child returns to their childhood home in order to collect any wayward belongings and maybe find some sort of closure in setting foot on the premises one last time. a patch of black mold on the wall that they spot on their way in seems to...change location, somehow. further investigation and attempts to simply wipe away the mold leave it in the blurred image of a gummy, toothy maw--one that begins to whisper to the visitor, claiming to have missed them oh-so-very-much from the day that they left. the strangeness of the situation keeps them coming back everyday, where the mold’s whispers begin to take a familiarly-cruel edge--at first pleading for the visitor to stay, only to take to yelling at them that no-one but the mold will accept them as the “broken, useless husk” of a person that they are.

miasma: a long line of charlatans and conmen have managed to convince a small backwoods town over generations that their collection of plastic gems and false talismans will heal them better than any medical professional could ever hope to accomplish. with most of the towns residents now being old, grey, and complacently vulnerable to disease, a new con artist moving in with a case of the stomach flu compromises the health of the entire community. and with the enticing smell of illness, comes the arrival of the scavenger--a black-feathered “vulture man” who knocks three times upon the door of his intended target, before politely entering their residence and leaving within the hour, leaving behind a bloated corpse whose orifices are stuffed with posies laying otherwise peacefully on their bed.

killing stroke: a promising rising star in the fencing scene is tragically slain in the middle of a prestigious tournament, with the cause of death being attributed to a recklessly-modified underplastron. in actuality, the poor youth’s equipment was sabotaged in order to maintain the career of a legendary fencer. on the anniversary of his death, he rises from the grave and dons his old suit in order to infiltrate that year’s iteration of the tournament--his mission being to cut down not only his rival, but anyone who upholds the same kind of narcissistic greed that claimed his life.

disassembly line: an upton sinclair-adjacent investigative journalist finds herself looking into the inner workings of a 1900s meat-packing factory in chicago, beholding the full disgusting scope of its exploitative, unsanitary working conditions. managing to acquaint herself with a few of the workers, the lunchtime whispers of one particularly-attractive lady butcher point her in the direction of a devious cover-up involving a nameless employee who “accidentally” wound up in the machinery after making too much of a ruckus about his wages. a nameless employee whose steaming, ground-up remains have now crawled out of the rickety equipment in search of postmortem vigilante justice.

catch of the day: in spite of the sustainability concerns their operation has racked up over the years, a deep-sea fishing company delves into nigh-uncontested territory--a patch of ocean deemed “dead waters” in reference to the sparse results of other companies’ attempts. their first day dredges up only a single pacific halibut, titanic even by the standards of the species. upon further inspection, the flatfish splits open in a mess of bodily fluids and blackened, inedible meat--as if the fish had already been torn apart and had decayed from the inside out. lost in the shuffle was an amniotic sac containing rapidly-growing, amphibious hagfish “mermaids” that had parasitized the halibut as they had almost all of the other fish in those waters, and that have now been unleashed on a lonely fishing boat sitting miles away from shore.

razorback bridge: a group of teenaged, amateur paranormal enthusiasts livestream their first “investigation” into a local landmark--razorback bridge, rumored to be haunted by the murderous ghost of a local farmer whose crops were so frequently ruined by invasive wild boar that he snapped and devoted the rest of his natural life to slaying the hogs, eventually losing his life to a boar that proceeded to gobble up his remains without leaving a trace. although officials have long restricted access to that part of the woods due to the aggressive nature of the wild boar inhabiting the area, the teens manage to sneak their way onto the bridge and come face-to-face with ol’ rawhide himself--a ravenous, nigh-unstoppable half-man/half-boar that came to be when the hog that consumed the old farmer had its body possessed and warped by the man’s furious ghost, far too angry to accept even the prospect of his own death.

vigor mortis: a kindly old mortician prides herself on her ability to restore bodies to exactly how they looked in life, enabling their families to have at least one source of comfort during the difficult coping process of loss. one day, however, she is presented with a body so badly mangled in an accident that she almost suggests to forgo embalming altogether and to simply refrigerate the corpse until the burial service, though she ultimately doesn’t when the distraught client begs for the process to be open-casket. try as she might, the mortician finds herself unable to make any substantial restoration on the body. in the few minutes that she steps away from the body in order to think of what else she could do, she turns back to find that it’s...vanished. she soon finds herself being pursued at every turn by the shambling corpse, now enshrouded in a body bag, and is forced to confront both a mangled revenant and a debilitating case of impostor syndrome.

making up for lost time: a conspiracy theory-themed convention is having its first go in philadelphia, pennsylvania--even hosting an artists’ alley selling everything from “ayyy lmao” keychains to collapsible foam JFK heads. when mysterious burn damage begins to show up on the property, however, the inflated egos of the guest panel speakers representing various “unorthodox investigation” groups not only refuse to give up on the convention, but are so prone to bickering amongst themselves and attempting to assume leadership that they only make it harder for the other attendees to respond to the threat of what seems to be a time traveler. that is, the victim of a first attempt at time travel so badly botched that she’s received what is mostly simply put as “space-time carpet burn”: not only is she burning, but her mind, her soul, and the very concept of her throughout space and time are burning, leaving the unreachable chrononaut in a frenzied panic that threatens to scorch everything she touches right out of existence along with her.

pearly gates: in the midst of a national emergency, a group of local landlords manage to bully their recently-unemployed tenants into coughing up just enough rent to host a get-together at their luxurious gated community. following a constant sensation of being watched and drowsy recollections of blinding light shining through their windows that first evening, the group awakens the next day to find one of them dead--groveling on her hands and knees with her entire skull seeming to have somehow...inverted. they soon realize that they’re being picked off by an angel--one so enraged by their inhuman greed that it wrenched itself free from the heavens in order to exact furious retribution.

frontera sangrienta: a softspoken chicanx youth sneaks across the american border on a nightly basis under the noses of both his immigrant parents and border patrol agents, for the express purpose of helping mexican migrants safely make their way over. one night, he is met with a family so terrified that he can make out only one word from their panic--”chupacabra”. the legendary mosquito has developed a taste for american blood after devouring careless tourists and escaped goats, and is in hot pursuit of the family considering that the mother is an american herself. the young man--a “mixed signal” to the chupacabra due to his conflicted feelings over thinking of himself as strictly american or mexican--is now the only thing standing between the family and a pitiful, bloody demise.

52: after a saturation diver is violently wrenched from their diving bell in a freak accident and their remains are presumed lost at sea, a marine salvage team is sent in by the chamber’s manufacturers under the surface-level orders to retrieve evidence for the investigation, but with the underlying message really being to “pick all that shit up so we can just sweep it under the rug quickly and quietly”. upon arrival, the crew begins picking up a bizarre frequency that would otherwise be regarded as whalesong...if not for the fact that it is much higher than the calls of any whales known to inhabit the area. the salvage team then finds themselves being picked off one by one by the source of the noise--it turns out that the saturation diver’s sheer will to live allowed their broken body to adapt to the ocean depths, taking on a warped form not too dissimilar to a beluga whale. now the former diver is left to lash out in frenzied desperation, screaming out a cry for help that falls deaf on the ears of both humans and sealife

i am but a teenage fool who knows nothing about nothing so please do not dunk on me if nothing i wrote here has any accurate basis in real-world experiences or logic. also i’ll update with more if/whenever i think of any

#horror #bogleech #monster #monsters #horror movies

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mrneighbourlove · 4 years ago

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Wake Up Leere

A Sequel to Evil’s Bane. Happy Halloween!

“Wake up Leere. Please wake up. We need you.”

“NOOOOO!!!”

Leere Dragmire rose from her bed awake in startled manner, gasping for air after screaming furiously. There was so much rage in her heart, and she had no idea why. Taking a few moments to breath and lower her heart rate down, Leere finished off with a little chant to herself. “No worse shadows than the ones that come from closing your eyes. You’ve had enough sleep for the day.”

Throwing her feet off the bed, she leapt off to get changed. Sunny must have already awoken for work around the ranch. Getting dressed, Leere walked to her office door, only to find it locked. “Oh, come on.”

Fiddling with the lock, Leere started to get frustrated. She told her daughter in the past to never lock her out of her office. “Alright now Joy, open up. If I have to come in after you, I’m going to be very upset.”

She knocked on the door a few times. When no answer came, Leere decided to peer through the lock hole. Maybe her daughter wasn’t in there after all and the door just happened to be malfunctioning. Bending down to look through the lock, Leere was met with the ghostly image of herself looking right back at her. This startled the woman to jump back. “What the hell?!”

To make matters worse, the ghostly version of herself walked through the door to smile down at her. “Finally awake? Good morning Leere.��

Leere’s first instinct was to try and bind the ghost with her magic, but it wasn’t working. “Stay back spirit!”

“Leere. You can stop that. Your magic isn’t going to work here.”

The Sage was reluctant to listen, but the results were speaking for themselves. “What do you want with me? Who are you and why do you look like me?”

The ghost Leere rubbed her chin, nodding along. “All good questions. As for why and who, that’s simpler to answer. I am the angel of purgatory, Katha. The form I take is one that mortals can easily process. Themselves.”

“Purgatory?” Leere started to feel sick. “Wait. That’d mean I’m…”

Katha looked at the door and opened it open. What as on the other side was not Leere’s office, but instead a block of town covered in a deep, deep foreboding fog. “Come with me Leere Dragmire.”

Once again, the Sage was reluctant, but didn’t see other alternatives. Stepping out of her room, Leere breathed in the fog. It tasted oddly like her sister in law’s cotton cherry candy. “Why-?”

“Does it taste like something slightly tasty when you breath in the fog? The fog wants you to grow comfortable here. I rather you not.”

The town blocks Leere and Katha walked through had small businesses on the sides, or three-story rooming. Everything was tight together, but even so Leere could only make out a building when it was 15ft in front of her. Clearing her throat, she asked the question anyone with mortality feared. She’d seen it enough from spirits she communicated with in the past. “Am I dead?”

Katha turned to her with a straight face. Were they mad? It was frightening to see her own blood-soaked face look at her like that. “No. Not yet.”

Arriving at a bench, Katha took a seat, urging Leere to join them. When both of them sat down, Katha let out a sigh. “You are a very special case Leere Dragmire. It seems every spirit wants you. Ba’puu wants you back alive and going back to protecting Hyrule. Zarazu and some of the other gods think you’ve put in enough time in protecting the world, should stop cheating death, and let your soul be reincarnated so that the next shadow sage can be selected amongst the mortals.”

“My sister in law wants me dead?”

“No, no, no. The actual goddess of death Zarazu.” Katha waved their hand to dismiss the silly thought. “Heaven and Hell both want you dead and in their possession. Yet you’ve hung on thanks to your own stubbornness and those of your friends.”

“If I’m not dead, then why am I here?”

“Sorry, I have to tip toe around this, because if you remember too quickly, we’ll kickstart events far too quickly.” As Leere raised an eyebrow at them, Katha continued without breaking pace. “In this realm, most of the time, I look after souls who are so damaged, so broken by the circumstances of their deaths they are too weak to linger on the living world as spirits, but not ready to go to a Heaven or Hell yet. Sometimes, there are souls who are split down the middle with all the good and bad deeds they’ve done. Those souls take special trials to decide where they’ll end up.”

Leere felt a hot tingle run up her spine when Katha grinned at her with the image of her own skin growing leathery by every passing second. “Then there’s those like you. People with a strong connection to magic or the spiritual who suffered a horrific near-death experience to both the body and soul. Your soul becomes separated from your body until both are healed.”

The Sage felt angry at herself, but why? She couldn’t recall, but she felt like the facts were just under the surface ready to be uncovered. “Why? What happened to me?”

“If you want to return to your body, all you have to do is have the will to find the door. Your soul was recovering its need to use magic and hold its strong connection to the spiritual. Afterall, you nearly sacrificed yourself for the greater good. Isn’t that Leere Dragmire?”

‘Why are you so foolish?! So unbelievably stupid?! You never listened to him… why couldn’t you just listen?’

A familiar voice echoed in Leere’s head, and a spike of pain hit her backside, traveling up her spine up to her head. A horrifying memory of fighting a demon filled her mind. It was going to devastate the world if she hadn’t put a stop to it. Her quest to stop evil meant sacrifice itself. “Oh, sweet goddess.”

Around them, a wailing siren of souls echoed out in the town, hidden by the thick layer of fog. “Well, you’ve remembered how you got here. Now they’ll want to keep you here.”

Leere got off the bench, looking around. “Who does?”

“You’re an interesting soul Leere. Despite the good you’ve done; you’ve done vile acts as well. Such as the souls you turned into energy for your blood magic. Except you didn’t even use all of their soul matter. Now those men cling to your soul as vile ghosts. Not to mention the little demonic residue that lingers on you. They will want you to leave too. Only the exit they want to take you too is far more gruesome than the living world.”

Leere looked around for a weapon to use, or a way to escape to. “How do I know what to look for?”

Katha got up, picking off the flesh on their check. “Trust your instincts Leere Dragmire. You’ll know when you see it.”

As Katha walked away into the deep fog, Leere decided just standing around wasn’t going to cut it out for her. With a fast start, the Sage took off sprinting down the streets. “Instincts. Trust my instincts. Do I really sound so fucking droll when I’m preachy?”

Coming from an alley way, something ran at her. It was a man’s body twisted into the shape of a dog. Only their head was screwed 180 degrees backwards. It was an odd sensation, but as Leere kept running past the shambling creature, she knew exactly who it was. Larry the Dog Butcher. A sickening piece of shit who killed puppies in Danjur as a way to make money. She knew he did it primarily for fun. The human mutt groaned aloud, running at her with an awkward sprint. Even when it caught up at her, all it could do was manage to punch her in the back.

With a furious determination, Leere spun around on the monster, reeling a kick to its head when it lunged at her. The hound squealed and whined, turning tail. Leere hated that it mocked the cries of innocents to make her pity it. Turning her around, she realized the fog had a funny way of sneaking things up on her. There was just enough visibility to reveal a courtyard leading to a large factory. What looked like a smoke stake revealed a large tower up ahead.

Just as she was about to start walking towards it, a loud snapping sound was heard behind her. In the fog, the wail of the hound was heard, being replaced by a trumpeting vibration. Leere decided to book it to factory doors before whatever that thing was saw her. Let her demons tear each other apart for once.

Arriving at the doors, Leere had to smash her shoulder into them a couple times to get them open. She never looked back, but she heard the vibrations getting closer as she was breaking in. Pressing the door closed, she found an iron bar to bring down to lock the entrance. Catching her breath, she expected whatever was outside to try and force itself in. Instead, she was only greeted with silence.

Turning around, she saw that she was in a narrow hallway with barbed wire walls. It was so thin that she had to walk sideways to avoid being cut up by the walls. At the end there was a door way. It would be a slow hop over, but she could make it unscathed if she was careful. Halfway through, she was spooked out of her mind seeing Katha again. “Well done Leere Dragmire. You picked the right door.”

Leere nearly threw up when she saw Katha use her body to crawl through the barb wire, keeping up with her pace. “Why can’t I use my magic here? This is my soul. Magic is supposed to be connected to the soul.”

“Because you’re still too weak. Even if you return to the land of living and reunite with your body, it could take years for you to have mastery of your abilities again. Maybe it could be less than a month. Or maybe you’ll never have it again.”

Leere winced as the barb wire snagged Katha’s arm, only for them to keep pressing forward and having it ripped apart. “Besides the needless reason to show me having my own image tortured, you don’t seem like a cruel angel. Why not just lead me directly to the exit out of your realm?”

“Oh, I can’t do that. Otherwise you’ll never be able to leave. Only your will can do that.”

Deep within the sea of barbed wire, wails grew loud as a red and black aura filled the room. Staring into the Abyss, Leere saw bodies upon bodies of Mortuus tore apart by the wires. As she keeping moving down, her face of horror told Katha exactly what was on her mind. “Yes. Them. Terrible. An entire country of souls all damned. They started coming here, but very quickly, they leave, their souls forcibly taken.” As they spoke, a few of the wailing souls appeared to be torn down to the molecule, stripped down layer by layer from the skin to muscles to bone. “You stopped the Evil from destroying the world, but it cost Malus.”

‘No… no gods why. Why did it have to be like this?’

Was that Sunny? Leere gripped her head, those words echoing her very own thoughts. When some of the Mortuus in the wire reached out to her, she didn’t know if they wanted help or to drag her in. Guilt in her heart drove her to believing it was more the latter. “I’m sorry. I tried. I tried so hard to save you.”

It seemed like they were getting closer to Leere, one even grabbing her by the hair. She had to punch a poor woman in the face just to escape. “I’m truly sorry.”

Katha’s word could be heard behind Leere as she pried the next door open. “Be careful. There are those who you couldn’t save, who you murdered, and who you damned. Context on how you killed them matters.”

Entering the next room, the black and red hues were replaced by a dark blue. There was an instant shift of temperature as Leere felt her body plummet to a cold shiver. The area was so cold that a thick mist floated around her as she walked through it. Pushing through a plastic tarp, she was greeted to a disgusting smell. Rows and rows of meat were lifted up on hooks.

‘Mommy. I baked you a meat pie. Can’t you wake up and eat it with me?’

The voice of her daughter poking inside her mind gave Leere a boost of confidence to venture past the wretched setting. Some of the stacks of meat the Sage had to physically push to the side. Just as she was getting used to the touch, she pressed her palm against something that made her skin crawl. That was no cow. Looking up, her eyes became transfixed on a human body strung up on a hook.

Backing away from the body, her back hit another body. Scanning her surroundings, she realized that all of these meat hooks were holding up human bodies. Why were there so many dead bodies here? She couldn’t puzzle it together until she saw the body of a Hasai Warrior on one of the hooks. Looking at another body, she recognized the face of a bandit she had to kill on one of her journeys around the world. All the bodies lightly swung back and forth, almost appearing to look directly in her direction. Why wouldn’t they? Every body on a hook was someone she killed in her life.

Feeling a stomach knot twist inside her, Leere backed away from the bodies, hoping to find another door out, when a hand reached out and grabbed her on the arm. This body was built like a scarecrow with straw, yet was filled to the brim with knife wounds that still bleed blood. On their shoulders, two pinks crows were picking out his ear drums. It looked like an existence of pain and misery. That didn’t stop them from smiling with flies in their teeth. “Icky caught you. You stop his angel. Now Icky stops you.”

Leere couldn’t stop the man from screaming out an ear-piercing screech. “Now Revenge is ours!”

The Sage pulled away from him, getting her shoulder cut apart by the grip of his nails. Moving through the meat, she saw the figure of her childhood demons push its way past the bodies to reach her. Being over eight feet tall, they had the same height difference now as they did decades ago. Only this time it was exaggerated to horrific proportions. Any part of their body that wasn’t clothed by the yellow jumpsuit was a deep pitch black to silhouette their hands and head. Only two piercing white eyes broke up the void of darkness. And both of those eyes were wide and looking squarely at Leere.

The colour of the environment changed dramatically to a grey scale. The only colour came from the man in the yellow jumpsuit with his clothing, black shape, and white eyes. If Leere had to face past traumas and lingering victims of hers, this would be the most powerful left over.

Leere’s first instinct was the freeze, but she quickly fought against that thought as the giant’s hand reached out to her. Running away proved to be difficult, however. Her with her sense of colour gone, everything looked the same to her. All the swinging sacks of meat down to walls gave her zero idea of direction. Feeling the air shift behind her, she ducked low to avoid the giant’s hand from grabbing her.

Oddly enough, she wasn’t afraid of him anymore. She was angry. This speck of nothing held no more influence on her. And like hell it was going to be the death of her.

‘We miss you Leere. We know you can pull through.’

That voice in her head. Was that Rinku? Sunny? Both equally urged her on to keep holding on. Glancing about, she saw a gleam of colour through the sea of bodies. The colour purple. She knew that others could easily misinterpret that as an ominous hue, but, to Leere, it was her colour. Running towards it, she heard a static rumble behind her. The yellow bastard must have not liked what she saw. It let out a rattling croak that sounded like it was just behind her ear.

Long ago, this might have rattled or faltered her. Now, in all her experience, she’s seen worse. And the dead were the least of her problems. Breaking past all the bodies, she saw that the source of the purple light was a mirror. It held the reflection of herself, and just behind her, the yellow pursuer. Their eyes looked down on Leere with intense hatred.

Breaking out more into a sprint now, Leere followed her instincts and dived at the mirror with her arms covering her face. It was time to escape this tacky haunted ride of her mind.

Her body smashed through the glass, and she gained all of her colour back. Her body fell into free fall, now falling down a long tube of images. As she fell downwards, Leere saw a silver string. Grasping it, she stopped her fall. It seemed this string had the force and girth of a rope. Gasping to catch her breath, she glanced all around at the images. They were patchworks of her entire life playing back to her. Every good memory, terrible memory, and anything in between.

Looking down, she saw foggy town in the distance. As she peered down, the structure of the town shattered apart. Every building shifted around with the fog. With this bird’s eye view, Leere could see the town turn into the shape of a face. With a grin, the voice of Katha spoke out to her. “Looks like you are ready child. What a strong will you have.”

“Katha! The town. Is this another one of your tricks?”

“I can turn my realm of purgatory into whatever I desire. It is my maze. And you passed. Now, its up to you if you want to return to the land of the living, or cross to the land of the dead. Follow the string. Goodbye Leere Dragmire.”

The image of the face broke apart like dirt falling through a crack. All that was left was the foreboding fog. Leere gripped the string tightly. Looking up, she saw even more fog. Each end of the cylinder of memories was the same. At the top of the string, she felt a sense of light. Comforting even.

As Leere started to climb up the string, she looked downwards. Down below, against the walls of the cylinder, the literal demons of her soul started to climb upwards. They attempted to jump and grab the string, only to fail. Leere gasped, determined to climb higher now.

As the demons raced upwards to attempt their luck at grabbing her, Leere continued to climb the string upwards. Finally, she felt a sense of calm as she felt like she was getting close to the top. Almost their, she was about to push herself for the final stretch, when she saw a woman look down at her.

Her face was neutral, but her eyes were devoid of joy. It was a subtle gesture, but she shook her head at Leere. The woman gripped the string tightly, looking up and down. Below, on the sides, there were demons coming out of the walls, birthed from the bad memories in Leere that played on loop. Hell wanted to drag her down. Looking up, there was a peaceful sense of light and warmth, but the woman told her not to go up. Why?

In a moment of clarity, Leere understood. Rising to the top was simply a different afterlife. One of tranquility, but still the death of her. On all sides of her was hell. If only she could plant her feet in some earth instead of dangling in the air.

Leere’s red eyes suddenly shot up with adrenaline and understanding. Kicking a demon in the face away from her, she looked down. Exactly below her. The string went down into the fog, but no demons were coming up to climb the string itself. She needed to fall back to earth. With a couple deep breaths, Leere thought about the faces of Joy and Sunny one more time. “Hope I’m right. I’m coming home baby.”

With only one hand on the string, Leere let her feet and other hand go. Sliding down the string, all the demons dove after her. She didn’t give them the satisfaction of even a glance. Just as she hit the fog, Leere closed her eyes.

“I wonder what we’ll have for dinner.”

#One of Two Halloween Stories today!#Leere #Leere Dragmire #Short Story #Will lead into a future story starring Joy and Sunny #Coma

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pi-cat000 · 5 years ago

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(eyes emoji) meme please?

Here is an unfinished ‘Revenge-quest Vivi’ thing ( following on from this set of Whumptomber prompts).

Vivi wakes up in hospital after killing ghost Lewis and decides to go chase down ???. Then she time travels.

Vivi squints up at the sun beaming down, bright and relentless. A completely normal sight for a desert town like Tempo. What isn’t normal is the fact that she is in Tempo to begin with. Vivi scans the road and footpath. It is relatively busy. People walking past, giving her confused glances, and she even recognises a few of them. Tempo is a small town so that’s pretty normal as well. Vivi sheaths her sword in one smooth motion so it is resting at her side once more, ducking out of view between two buildings. The last thing she wants is for one of the more nosey residents to call the police on her. With body armour, sword, an assortment of throwing knives, and face half-covered, she stands out like a sore thumb.

In the shade of the building, she takes a breath and assesses her new situation. The last she remembers she was tracking the nameless demon through a thickly wooded mountain range. It had been a moonless night made, doubly dark by the thick foliage. The air had been chilled, almost hard to breath. How she had gone from that silent forest near the Canadian border to Texas, she is unsure. Perhaps some sort of magical trap? A last-ditch effort by that bastard demon to escape? She growls, slamming a fist into the stone wall adjacent to her. The brick cracks under her enhanced strength. Now she’s no longer in combat she should drop the enhancement and let her body rest. If Mystery were here he would most definitely be nagging her about it. But, Mystery isn’t here. Mystery had been scouting ahead, so whatever spell or trap had transported her back to Tempo had probably missed him.

Vivi flips her wrist, pulling up her sleeve to check her watch. It is 3:33 pm. She has lost a few hours as well. She grits her teeth and tries not to let her growing anger drown out rational thought. Rage, while great at enhancing her in battle, would inhibit her new quest to re-join Mystery. She would have her revenge eventually, she would just need to find a vehicle and drive a few hundred extra kilometres. Another long exhale. She envisions Mystery and his many attempts to walk her through various forms of meditative calming techniques. No rage. Just calm.

After a few seconds, Vivi feels she is stable enough that she is not in danger of stabbing the next unfortunate person to piss her off. She is about to sneak her way around the back of the building and…maybe steal a car???….when orange and yellow flash by the ally opening. She blinks, stunned, darting up to the corner to double-check.

Unmistakable spiked blond hair. Orange jacket. Arthur just walks down the footpath like it’s a completely normal thing. He’s even holding a shopping bag. Alive. Not dead like he’s supposed to be.

Still stunned, Vivi stares, watching him disappear around the corner. What? Quickly, using a window as a foothold, she jumps between the two buildings and on to the roof. She runs along, following what was sure to be an Arthur imposter, until she spots a good point for an intercept. In one quick move, she drops down to the footpath, reaching out and snagging the imposter’s jacked. She yanks him into a second alley, pulling her sword in the same movement.

The fake-Arthur lets out a less than dignified shriek, which is painfully nostalgic. She slams him into the wall by his shirt, holding the sword to his throat.

“Who are you.” She snaps. She’ll give this creature one chance to start explaining before lobbing its head off.

“Holy shit! Arthur! My name is Arthur,” Fake-Arthur puts both his hands in the air, eyes wide, pressing back into the brick, “…oh…wow…is this a sword?”

Vivi growls and that rage she had worked so hard to stamp down comes trickling back.

“You’re lying…”She presses forward, “Everyone in Tempo knows Arthur is dead.” It had been the talk of the town for weeks after her return.

“But…I’m not dead.”

Whoever this imposer is, it has Arthur’s mannerisms down to a T. The slight raise in voice to signal fear, the nervous twitches, the way he is clenching and unclenching his fist, it’s all perfect. Everything about his appearance is identical, from the golden eye colour, the scuffed up wristbands, and the assortment of badges, pinned to his shirt. It makes her heart ache for things that were long gone.

#asks #comment response #its time travel #yes more time travel there must be all the time travel #unfinished whumptober stuff #writing challenge: whumptober #Vivi Yukino #mystery skulls animated

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uzumaki-rebellion · 5 years ago

Text

Wet Sugar [Part 8 of 30]

Summary: Erik tries to survive Africa for himself and Yani...

youtube

"You're on your own now We won't save you Your rescue squad Is too exhausted

And if you complain once more You'll meet an army of me And if you complain once more You'll meet an army of me…"

Bjork – "Army of Me"

The two men outside of Erik's hotel door stood quietly waiting for him to open up.

Erik took a few seconds to assess how fast he could pack his things and slip out of the room through the balcony. He was on the fourth floor, but he might be able to climb over to the balcony next to his.

Another knock.

Slipping on his clothes, Erik shoved his computer tab into its casing. He slinked over to the closed balcony sliding glass door and opened it. There was a wide gap between the balconies on either side of his own. It was too dangerous to attempt a jump. He thought he could tie his bedsheets together and climb down to the room below him, but before he could even reach the bed, the hotel door opened, not by being kicked in, but with a room key.

Someone had set him up.

The two hulky men rushed Erik and he used his crossbody bag to snag the hand holding the gun pointed at him. He wrapped the bag around the bearded man's wrist and swung him around, kicking him in the knees at the same time until the man dropped to the floor. Erik twisted the gun toward the man's throat and jammed his own index finger on top of the other man's finger and squeezed the trigger. The bullet ripped a wet hole in the man's throat unleashing a gushing cascade of blood. Erik released the gun and spun into a capoeira leg swipe to make the other bald-headed man lose his balance. The bald intruder was too quick and grabbed Erik's throat, choking him while pushing him out toward the balcony.

Erik dug his heels into the floor to stop the man's momentum but he was outweighed by at least fifty pounds and Erik felt the hard jab of the hotel balcony railing digging into his lower back. Before this killer had a chance to reach for his gun, Erik switched up his mother's Brazilian fighting stance to that of his father's. Ulwa was a Wakandan martial art that targeted an opponent's core and vital organs and Erik's index and middle fingers curled into hooks. He struck the man's neck twice and then made quick punctuating stabs into his chest and sides.

For an all too brief moment, Erik had the brute backing up so that he could raise his body from the railing, but a fist made like a cement block knocked Erik in the jaw throwing him back again. That strike was joined by a barrage of punches that had Erik gasping and falling to his knees, his hands twisting and jabbing to stop more blows while protecting his neck and face.

The business end of a gun was jammed against his forehead and the cool metal made him take hot shallow breaths. His eyes stared directly at the hired killer's pockmarked face, a calm coming over him as he worked out a multitude of scenarios to get himself out of this alive. It wasn't the first time a weapon had been stuck in his face over the years, so there was no begging and pleading to be kept alive. Just a stream of calculations running through his mind.

"Who fucking sent you here?" he barked, buying a little more time. The man's eyes looked smug, and he smiled. One of his top front teeth was chipped and he pressed the gun harder into Erik's forehead. The stranger slid his free index finger up to his lips making the "Shh" sign and before he could fire the weapon, Erik used all the force in his right fist to punch the man in his balls. Twice. He snatched the man's gun from his hand and threw it into the hotel room as he jumped to his feet. They grappled with each other's shirts and Erik threw a punch that caught the man's eye. Leaping back with his left leg, Erik pivoted his hips giving momentum to his right foot as he lifted it and kicked the man in his chest. He struck the man in the face with his right foot again and again. A final hard kick to his midsection sent the man tumbling over the railing. Erik heard the thud as the body hit the ground.

Wasting no time, Erik shoved the man's weapon into his crossbody bag and scurried to pack up the last of his belongings. They all fit into a small duffle bag. He spent a few minutes wiping down all the surfaces he touched and then rinsed off the wash rags he had used to clean up his semen.

Turning off all the lights, he slipped out of the hotel room and used the stairs to get to the lobby. Dark glasses over his eyes, he kept his head down and left the hotel. Flagging a cab, he had the driver take him to another hotel across town.

Erik paid for a room in the new hotel with cash and made a call to his pilot.

"Joma, I need to leave tonight," he said into his cell. Staring out of the new hotel window, Erik felt his adrenaline kicking in. He was always calm in the midst of trouble, but right after, his body would remind him that he was human.

"Mr. Killmonger, it is so late, it may be difficult to get—"

"I'll double the pay. I need to get out of the country now!"

"Call me back in ten minutes. I will see what I can do."

"Ten minutes."

Think.

Joma was a desperate man, but Erik didn't think he would be involved in a plot to kill him. It might be better to get a regular domestic flight back into Angola to be safe. But if it was Joma, they would be the only two in the plane. Erik could kill him if it turned out the man was an accomplice. He could fly the plane himself if he really needed to. But he was always good at sniffing people out, and Joma was just a regular dude. His desperation was because of a bossy wife and too many children. He wouldn't take the chance of bringing harm to his family. He knew right away that Erik was not a man to double-cross. In fact, Joma was eager to work for Erik again once he saw what he was paying for a regular flight.

Erik kept his eyes on the entrance of the hotel.

Time to call.

"Joma—"

"Okay, meet me at the airstrip. I will take you."

Erik hung up. Wiping his prints and any traces of himself away, he left the second hotel.

The streets were busy and the cab he caught he ditched a few miles away from the hotel to throw off his trail if he was followed. Moving through the night time crowd of people, he zig-zagged his way down different streets, dipping in and out of bars and cafes before he took a final jitney cab to the airstrip. The last cab driver was paid a little extra than the fare required and Erik showed him the gun that he took from the intruder. Pointing it at the man he made his intentions clear.

"You never saw me, and you never came to this airstrip. Understand?"

The cabbie nodded and left right away.

Joma was waiting for him and they slipped out of Benin. Staring down at the city lights as the plane ascended, Erik thought of the two dead bodies growing cold at the hotel. He had to find out who was after him.

And kill them first.

###

Erik didn't mention anything about being attacked in Benin.

He acted normal and ready to get to work when Klaue picked him up from the regular airport and brought him back to the Luanda compound. He went to his small room in the two-story house they occupied and rested a bit. He focused on calming his energy, but it was hard when he suspected that the attack might be an inside job. A lot of Klaue's men didn't like him. But not many were bold enough to confront him if they had a problem. Erik could be pretty belligerent and a bully over basic shit, so coming at him over something major was not something any of those meat bags would attempt overtly. But covertly…

His first thought was Huntsman. That man was already in Nigeria waiting for Klaue so it would've been easy for him to pay off some goons to come after Erik since he was relatively close by. It could possibly be Limbani, Klaue's main man after Erik. He would just have to keep an eye and ear out for anyone acting suspiciously over the fact that he made it back to Luanda in one piece. Any slight looks of surprise or a subtle expression of disappointment at his walking around the compound again would help him sniff out clues.

He couldn't rest, and he took a sleeping pill to help temper his nerves. He wasn't falling asleep fast enough and used the restless energy in his body to use his own satellite cell phone to sneak a peek at his DMs.

Killmonger? This You?

I know this is you. Where are you?

You there? I know you saw my first message. You had me on read.

Call me.

Will you come back?

Are you alright?

Just tell me you are alright. I won't bother you again.

Are you with your Linda?

Killmonger?

???

He ignored his social media feed for weeks. He could hear the sound of Yani's tender voice as he read each of her messages. He read them over and over. His eyes felt a bit drowsy and blurry as he stared at the screen of his cell. He was about to swipe his phone off when a new message suddenly popped up.

Sweet Pea misses you. I miss you.

Erik sat up from his bed, his eyes blinking at her new words.

He had extended family scattered around the world, and they missed him often, but they weren't waiting around to see him. The only person who ever missed him in that way was his Ex. That was so long ago he had forgotten the emotion and the sensation he was feeling at that moment…guilt. Guilt came when one felt bad for making another person feel even worse. And that only happened to Erik when he cared about someone. And Disǎ was the only non-relative who made him feel like that…until now. Now, there were two people out there. A mother and her baby.

I know you're there. You just read this.

He saw little green circles light up. She was writing something more. He wanted to turn his phone off, kicking himself internally for not shutting off his public online status. She must've had his feed linked to her notifications for whenever he was on live the same time she was. He had to focus on who wanted him dead, not lay there like some moon-faced teenager filled with angst.

He expected another text but instead, a picture of Sydette popped up.

Erik's eyes widened. He had only been gone for a little over a month, and already the baby was bigger and changing dramatically. She was wearing a blue jumper and her hair was pulled up into two fist-sized afro puffs. So much more hair now. And there were those big dimples in her smile, and…two little teeth trying to grow from her top gums, looking like tiny white grains of rice.

Yani…

He typed her name but hesitated about sending it. He could just read her messages and not respond, knowing that she was alright, but ignoring her.

But that was cruel.

She and the baby were on his mind all the time. As much as he fought to forget them and just keep on his task, keep Klaue close, keep his eyes on the prize as always, he couldn't let go of them. He didn't understand the sudden attachment. It was messing up his mental. He was a loner. His only responsibility was to himself and his goal…

He pressed the send button.

Yani.

Green circles again.

Her words made his heartache.

Tell me it's you, please, tell me. I need to know.

Words wouldn't be enough for her.

Erik held his cell phone high above his head and snapped a picture. He sent it to her.

He saw the green circles on her end and he waited to see what she would say. But no words came. For five minutes he sat and waited, but no text popped up for him to read. He saw that she viewed his picture, Yani knew for sure it was him, but she still didn't send him new words. And he needed them. Desperately.

It's me, baby. It's really me.

A private Face Chat link popped onto his screen with Yani's avatar. He accepted the invitation to join her.

Her round face greeted him and her eyes were wet with tears. She was lying on her bed in Leona's apartment with Sydette in her arms feeding her. He could see Sweet Pea suckling her left breast with Yani's thin sleep shirt pushed up above the baby's curly head of hair. Yani was using a laptop to speak to him.

She wiped her eyes and stared at him. He couldn't breathe for a second. Couldn't speak. Just watched her feed the baby while trying to absorb the swirling emotions he was feeling. He was grateful to see her. Happy to see Sydette. And he was scared. The fear welled up in him and he could not ascertain exactly what it was that frightened him as he looked at this young woman with her child.

"You look tired, Killmonger," she finally said.

Her voice made his lower lip tremble. He longed to hear her say his real name.

"I am tired. Tough day, girl."

Her hand went up to her face again to wipe at her eyes.

"Sweet Pea…she uh…wow, she's really growing, huh?" he said.

Yani nodded and he could see her struggling to keep her composure, her chest heaving and causing Sydette to squirm in her arms. Her eyes gazed down at the baby.

"She changes every week almost. And these new teeth coming in…whew!"

Erik laughed and he was glad to see Yani smile. She lifted her head back up to look at him.

"You're not ever coming back, are you?"

He felt the hot tears slide down from his eyes. He had no control over them and was shocked that they fell from his eyes in front of her so easily. If he had a target on his back, he didn't want to bring it with him to her.

"Yani I—"

The door to his room flung open and Erik ended the chat with a swipe of the finger. His right hand swept under his pillow and brought out the gun he took from the hotel.

"You still up, man?"

Shipley staggered in with a can of beer. Erik's mind was so distracted that he forgot to lock his room. He slipped the gun under the covers near his hip.

"I'm about to go to sleep now."

"Who were you talking to?"

"My sister."

"Come have a beer with me, I'm bored. Everyone else is asleep but there's a match on. England versus France."

"I'll pass," Erik said turning over in his bed and switching off his bedside lamp.

"Party pooper."

Shipley closed his door. Erik waited a few minutes then leaped up to lock his room. He thought about calling Yani back on the Face Chat line, but he couldn't bear to see her cry again. It would only make him break down more too. It was enough for now that she knew he was fine.

He shoved the gun under the second pillow on his bed and tried to go to sleep, wanting so badly to dream of Yani and Sweet Pea. Wanting so badly to be in the bed with them at Leona's. He wanted to hold her while she held the baby. And maybe for once…just once…be still.

###

Erik checked all ten of the trucks loaded with assault rifles and made sure numbers matched up with all paperwork needed to cross the Angola borders into Zambia and Namibia. Their stockpiles of weapons were low once this last shipment went out, but another one of Klaue's cargo planes from South Africa was due to touch down in a few hours with the armaments the Nigerians wanted.

"Relax Killmonger, I've double checked everything," Limbano said, annoyance in his voice as Erik's eyes took in everything.

"And now I'm triple checking. Can't afford to miss anything. You remember last time."

Limbano kept his mouth shut. 500 man-portable air-defense systems were loaded onto an incorrect convoy headed out of Luanda into the Congo, and disaster was averted when Erik's OCD kicked in and he had to look over the paperwork and trucks himself. Limbano was in charge of that job and nearly botched it.

Secure that everything was in order, Erik gave the head nod to move out and he sought out Klaue.

"Flights on time," Klaue said typing into a laptop as he sat under a cooling tent.

"Good," Erik said.

"Got a little nibble for some grenades and small arms in Botswana," Klaue said, his eyes twinkling with the thought of another sale.

"And?"

"I'm ready to get up outta here, man," Erik said.

"In and out. Half payment upfront, the rest on delivery. Then a nice week off before we head to Kabul. Four-man team cut four ways only."

"Who do you have in mind besides me?"

"Limbano and Iverson. Low key. Go in like tourists. Check the players out. Take the cash. Set up delivery."

Erik needed to keep this man close. Klaue's greed had him doing penny-ante jobs that were more for the thrill than for financial gain. Erik needed this fucker alive until he was ready to kill him and use his body as a bargaining chip. Turning him down could cause problems and force the man to cut him loose in the future if he felt Erik was being selective with jobs. He was supposed to be about that money. He had to do it. Especially if he wanted to take advantage of getting back to St. Thomas and locked into the man's stronghold.

"How soon?"

"Two days from now."

"Okay."

Klaue rubbed his hands together.

"My good man! Two more jobs and then a nice long break."

Erik looked at Klaue's prosthetic arm. It appeared tampered with and not in good condition.

"What's going on with that?" he asked.

"Making some alterations, but it's not doing so well. Need to figure out how to design something with a better energy transfer without shorting out the mechanical use. It's too uneven. I could blow my entire side out."

"When I have that vacation time you keep talking about, I'll come up with something for you to fix that," Erik said. Klaue smiled.

Erik nodded to the lead truck driver and watched the vehicles head out. Africa was wearing on him. The one bright spot was finding a hired guard for the Luanda compound who shared the origins of capoeira with him once he saw Erik working out under the hot sun during a lunch break. To be in the birthplace of the fighting style he learned from Brazilians who carried it with them into the New World was an honor he couldn't deny. Ramses, the guard who played with him and showed Erik the differences in style was a humble man with a sister and disabled brother to support.

Erik shared meals with Ramses and they spoke of wars and political fiascos infecting the region. Men like Klaue made the problems worse, but many Angolans were caught trying to survive any way they could. Men like Ramses tried to minimize harm to their families. Klaue paid well, and sometimes men were killed in his employ, but Ramses had survived three years and counting. A month's salary from Klaue could keep Ramses and his family afloat for six months.

The night before Erik was to fly into Botswana, he snuck another peek at Yani's timeline under a new fake social media account. More pictures of Sydette. More pictures of Yani at the beach posing in swimsuits. Provocative shots. Showing too much in Erik's opinion.

There was one of her in an orange two-piece that made her skin look like magic as she sat back with a smile on her face, her legs open on wet sand, foamy high tide water rolling up to the apex of her thighs, her fat vulva barely covered. His face got a little tight looking at the picture. He enlarged it so he could see the outline of her pussy lips clearer. He wanted to send her a DM telling her to stop sharing photos like that, but she would know it was him. Niggas online were getting an eyeful and he was hanging on by a thread trying to get back to her so he could taste that juicy center of hers once more. He was tired of being just another faceless digital creep jerking off to her photos. He did that more often than he cared to admit. That pussy had sat on his dick once. Albeit fully clothed, that covered slit was made for him, and he couldn't wait to lift her up again and drop her down on his shit raw. Put her ass to sleep.

Klaue acted on edge the entire flight to Botswana. No, not on edge. Hungry. Hungry for some grand scheme that would satiate the greed that would never leave him. The greed permeated all that Klaue touched. Made him reckless with decisions.

Erik had been to Botswana twice before, and each time felt sketchy, to say the least. Something about the smallness of the place made him cautious. In other countries on the continent, Erik felt that one could seamlessly blend in and disappear, but with this place, there was no telling what familiar face on the mercenary circuit could pop up…friend or foe. Or both in the same individual.

They stayed two nights in a hotel near the Zimbabwe border doing touristy things like they were a group of buddies on holiday. Klaue wanted to arrive at the border post right when it was evening, that way if they sensed problems with the meet-up, they could implement an escape and evasion plan. Each man had emergency cash sewn into their utility belts in case something happened and they were separated. Erik had several thousand British pounds and a fake passport in his belt. The jeep they rented from a local had plenty of gas to get them to their meet-up. They reached the customs post and waited in line behind two Scottish blokes who were hitchhiking through Zimbabwe.

"Sir, these men need a ride to a hotel. Could you give them a lift?"

The short customs official had a pleasant face as he asked Klaue to assist the strangers. Klaue gave a wide grin that showed off his gold-rimmed teeth.

"No problem!" Klaue said.

The short custom official looked pleased and set about getting the proper customs documents that they would need for their jeep to cross the border. Erik felt calm as he watched the sun dip low on the horizon. Darkness would be their friend. This customs dude just needed to step up his paperwork game so they could leave quickly and be on their way.

"Shit," the customs guy said.

Erik and the other men watched him closely.

"I am sorry, I don't have the papers here to document your vehicle properly—"

"Just have one of them drive you over to the other border and bring back some extra forms," another customs official said looking bored as he scratched the back of his neck.

Klaue jumped at the chance to do it. It would mean that their vehicle would probably avoid being checked. Klaue and Limbano had some weapons stashed in the paneling of the doors. Erik agreed to go with Klaue and have Limbano and Iverson stay behind.

The ride over was punctuated with Klaue talking way too much to the customs agent. Erik felt like over-talking was suspicious, but he kept his mouth shut and kept his eyes on the road.

Arriving at the control point at the other border-crossing, Erik and Klaue stepped out and followed the agent as he went to retrieve their needed papers. Things were already feeling off, and Erik kept his eyes on Klaue who was less loquacious. Standing near the desk of an on-duty policeman, Erik noticed a full-faced photo of Klaue and Limbano. Right there, out in the open. Descriptions and a listing of their crimes. Fucking wanted posters smack dab in the middle of a border checkpoint. Probably had one of Erik under theirs too. All the check-points probably had the same flyers everywhere.

The policeman hadn't made the connection of the photo with the man before him and Erik slid over to Klaue.

"There's a wanted poster of you and Limbano," Erik whispered.

"Shit," Klaue said when his eyes spotted his mug shot.

"They shopped your ass and we walked right into it," Erik said under his breath while avoiding eye-contact with Klaue. A loud jangling phone rang in back of the customs office and the policeman glanced at the flyer on his desk and then up at Klaue. His eyes went back to the photo again and then things clicked.

"It's him! It's him!" The policeman jumped up and yelled for someone to bring a gun. Uniformed officials swarmed around them.

"There are two more over at checkpoint three," said the customs agent that rode over with him, his voice giddy with excitement. Chatter on a police radio alerted their Zimbabwe counterparts that Klaue had been apprehended. Erik focused his breathing to stay even. Within twenty minutes, Limbano and Iverson were brought in, all of them now in police custody. Erik did his best not to think of all the years he put in to get to Wakanda and to have that goal bashed because he would now do time in a Botswana prison because of his ties to his secret enemy. His mind immediately went to his Uncle Bakari in D.C. He would be allowed to have a lawyer and he wanted his Uncle to represent him since his specialty was International Law. More practical calculations swam in his head. He had to get the fuck away from here. He didn't want to lose Klaue over his reckless stupidity and greed, but he also had to think of his own well-being. His own survival. Without Klaue, getting into Wakanda would prove more difficult, but not impossible.

The four of them were crammed into the jeep they had driven over in. Police vehicles escorted them from the front and back over to a larger local police base. Their car was searched and their weapons were found in the door paneling. Shit was just too smooth. Erik wondered if this bust was part of the set up to have him killed in Benin.

Erik exchanged glances with Klaue, Iverson, and Limbano. It was do or die time. He noticed that none of the officers had guns on them, just two that stood near the vehicles and the main office door. The longer they were there, the faster their lives would be put in danger. Erik's Special Forces training kicked in. Rule number one: don't waste fucking time.

Erik sucker-punched the official right next to him. Klaue and the others did the same quickly knocking the men down. They all made a run for the tall security gate that divided the two countries. Erik was in top shape and reached the fence first, scrambling over it with ease.

Two officials tried grabbing for Klaue and Iverson's legs as they went up, but Lambino helped beat them back before he was scampering up the chain links himself. The falling darkness was their friend as they rushed into the bush on the other side disappearing into the early night, turning into shadows that the officials couldn't see.

They wasted little time putting distance between themselves and the fence. Erik heard the sound of tripped up feet. When he stopped to glance back, he saw Klaue limping.

"My ankle is injured from the fence," he said between gritted teeth, the pain squeezing a few tears from his eyes. Klaue would have to keep moving through the injury or he was a dead man.

"Broken? Torn ligaments?" Erik shouted.

"It just fucking hurts," Klaue said running on it through clenched teeth.

"Keep moving forward. The Zambezi is up ahead. We'll find a boat and get across!" Limbano yelled.

The four men headed in the direction that smelled like water to Erik. Iverson helped Klaue along.

Hope sprung eternal as they found a makorro, a wooden dugout canoe sitting on the bank. Erik and Limbano pushed it out onto the water, and as they all hopped in to make their getaway with the oars lying inside of it, the damn thing sank under them once they were far from the shore.

Treading water in the dark, Erik could see people lining up and down the riverbank screaming at them. Shots rang out and he could hear bullets plopping into the water near them. They had to move further out and downstream. And that brought another immediate danger. Crocs and hippos.

"Fuck!" Iverson screamed.

He'd been hit by one of the bullets whizzing over their heads. Struck in the left shoulder and also grazed on the left side of his head.

"How bad?!" Erik yelled.

"Bullet passed through," Iverson yelped.

"Keep fucking swimming!" Klaue screamed and they all moved along with the strong current of fast-flowing water.

Erik swam like a dolphin but kept his eyes on Klaue to make sure the man survived. He was doing his best with his arms, but his injured ankle made it difficult to keep up. The man struggled but kept swimming.

"Keep going! We can make it!" Erik yelled to encourage the others. He didn't care about Limbano or Iverson. Klaue had to make it out of there with him.

Searchlights scanned the water, and Erik could hear splashing and movement in the current that wasn't coming from humans. Iverson's blood was attracting the large crocs, and Erik was surprised they hadn't been attacked by them yet.

The river itself had to be half a mile across, and Erik kept his eyes on land as the dark water soaked his mouth as he tried to breathe deep to keep his body going. It was terrifying to think that he could be dragged under the current by a hungry fourteen-foot-long and twelve- hundred-pound beast. He worried about the amount of blood loss Iverson was seeping into the river creating a crimson path right to them.

Hours had passed by the time they all made it to Zambian territory, floating through to the dense thickness of a reed bank that stretched out hundreds of yards into the river from the bank. Zimbabwe and Botswana had already rung the alarm in tracking them down. Klaue was worth a pretty penny to whoever ratted him out to the borders. The Zambezi sat conjoined with three countries, Botswana, Zambia, and Zimbabwe. Any and all of those nation-states could want Klaue. Hell, even his own country of South Africa too.

With no machete to slice through the thick reeds, they would each have to force down reeds in front of them, flatten them down as best they could and drag themselves over until they encountered the next standing reeds blocking their ease to dry land. Erik could see torches burning up and down the opposite side of the river as perhaps a hundred men searched for them. Fast boats could be heard and a few seen with spotlights going up and down the water.

He was fucking drained and yet he knew he couldn't stay there. None of them could. The search teams would get closer and closer and the Zambians were already on their side searching. It would only be a matter of time before they were discovered. And Klaue couldn't move for shit. His ankle had swollen up big and he was in immense pain. His anger was just as intense as he whispered to Limbano about who could've sent their photos to the authorities when only the four of them knew about the meetup. Limbano gave his opinion, but Iverson kept quiet, pressing his hand into his wound. The moon was half full and they kept themselves hidden in the reeds, resting for a moment. They were exposed alongside the water. Zambia's militia would find them and take them back into custody if they didn't do something fast. Erik slipped his emergency cell from his utility belt. Klaue did the same.

"I'm not getting reception on mine," Erik said.

"Me neither," Klaue said.

"I lost mine back in the jeep," Limbano said.

"Lost mine in the river," Iverson said. He moaned a bit as he held his body.

"We gotta keep moving," Erik said lifting his hand up to wipe water from his eyes.

"Shh, listen!" Klaue said.

They all remained silent.

Shouts.

They could hear men in the distance. They were getting progressively closer.

"They are being thorough," Klaue said. He moaned low into his chest. His ankle was even more swollen.

Iverson gave out a loud groan.

"Keep it down," Klaue said.

"I'm in pain too!" Iverson shouted.

"Shut the fuck up. You want them to hear you?" Erik said.

For three hours they listened to the voices in the distance grow closer.

"We gotta get back in the water," Erik said.

"I can't!" Iverson howled.

Erik crawled over to the man and shoved him into the water. Iverson flailed his arms and dragged himself back up onto the reeds.

"Shit!" Limbano screeched and Erik jumped just out of reach of a croc that snapped its powerful jaws missing him by inches. He lifted his body and scrambled over to Klaue. The croc lingered for a moment before drifting back down into the water.

Voices.

Much closer. Perhaps a half a mile away.

Erik could face prison time, torture, and death in an African nation that would never care to find his people, or he could try to outswim an ancient cousin of dinosaurs. Choices.

"Fuck it," Klaue said rolling himself back into the Zambezi with a soft plop. Erik searched the water for the crocs. If Klaue's arm was working properly, they could use him for protection. He was useless. Especially with a busted ankle.

"We gotta keep quiet and slip away. No sudden splashing. The croc will ignore us…maybe," Erik said.

Limbano slipped in without hesitation. He had been to prison in West Africa before. Facing a croc was a piece of cake apparently. Iverson was the only holdout.

"I think we should stay here," Iverson said, lifting himself higher into the reeds.

"Suit yourself," Erik said.

Iverson sat up and a cell phone fell out of his fatigue's side leg pocket. Erik reached over and snatched it up.

"You said you lost your phone in the river," Erik said checking the status on the fold-up cell.

"Klaue," Erik said. He tossed the cell to the man who caught it.

Klaue glanced at the phone, then over at Iverson.

"Coordinates, mate? This is all your doing?" Klaue asked.

"I thought I lost it…those…those are just coordinates to help get downriver—"

"Stop," Erik said.

Iverson was part of the crew out to get Erik and Klaue. Iverson was a pawn.

Klaue gave Erik a look. Erik nodded at him before his arms shot out and grabbed Iverson dragging him into the water.

"Don't! Wait a minute-!"

Erik ignored Iverson's pleas and shoved his head down into the river water. After ten seconds he lifted the man back up. Iverson thrashed wildly, and Erik positioned his arms and hands on the man to calm him.

"Chill, Iverson. We just want to know who put you up to this," Erik whispered in his ear.

"No one put me up to anything—"

Erik twisted the man's head, breaking his neck.

"Croc!" Klaue shouted. Erik pushed Iverson's limp body into the maw of the river beast and the three of them pushed away from the reeds to put distance between themselves and the feeding frenzy that the croc was enjoying shredding Iverson's flesh and bones before it dipped below the surface with the remains.

###

Exhaustion held him in a twilight of life and death. All three men floated on their backs as the current carried them downriver once more. For once in his life, Erik thought he might actually fail. So much of his plans depended on keeping Klaue alive, that Erik forgot that he had to stay alive himself.

Clutching onto Klaue's arm and helping the man stay afloat, Erik considered letting him go. Surrounded by killers, crocs, and deadly hippos, Erik contemplated swimming to shore and just walking out of the bush. He could very well blend into an African population. His picture wasn't the one plastered on wanted posters. They wanted two white men from South Africa.

"Shit."

Erik's thoughts distracted him and he had let go of Klaue for a second. The man's eyes were so done. Erik made the decision to go back to the bank and find a place to hide in the bush. The river would kill them all if they stayed in the swirling vicious waters. He grabbed for Klaue again to help the man focus. Limbano helped him and they finally made it on dry land just as dawn was breaking. They didn't even know what country they were in, losing all sense of direction after being in the river all night.

Erik rolled over onto his back closing his eyes tight.

Rest.

That's what he needed.

His body gave into complete exhaustion and right before he drifted away, he thought of Yani. His eyes caught the shimmery light of the new day's sun and when it struck the river, his bone-weary mind created a mirage of her, swimming nude in the Zambezi river, beckoning for him to follow her. That sly smile on her lips, the sway of her hips, the jiggle of her backside held him in a peaceful dreamlike state as his body slowly powered down.

Goddess, that was the nickname Tahir had given Erik's woman. There she was, swimming in the swirling murky river water, breasts still full from the milk she carried for their daughter. He smiled at the thought. Name it and claim it. Sydette was his. No one could tell him different.

Voices again.

Closer.

They weren't going to make it. Klaue was too far gone with his leg. He and Limbano were too tired to fight off anyone, limbs water-logged and limp.

"You're not ever coming back, are you?"

Her last words to him.

He struck the damp earth with his right fist. He had let that girl down. Gave her false hope by letting her see his face, and now he was never going to see her again.

His eyes drifted back to the river and the sun pierced his retinas, burning the sight of her back again. She was still there, his Yemanja, hands still waving toward him.

"Baby…" he whispered before blacking out.

###

"Killmonger…"

Erik shot straight up, Yani's voice in his ear.

Eyes darting around, he saw Klaue and Limbano passed out on the bank near him. He checked his watch. Four hours. He had been out for four hours. Yani's voice woke him up. It sounded like her lips were right near his ear as if she had been sleeping next to him and wanted him to wake up suddenly.

Jumping up, Erik took a moment to listen for the noise of his would-be captors.

Quiet.

The silence unnerved him, but he had to take a chance and go look for help in escaping. He left Klaue and Limbano behind and trudged through the bush. He found a well-traveled road and before he could hide, a Range Rover pulled up.

"Hey!" The driver said. For a split-second Erik almost ran, but he recognized the driver. He was a ranger that Klaue had introduced him to back at the hotel they stayed in Botswana. Shit, they were back on the side of the river and country they had started from.

"Looks like you've been swimming my friend," the driver said. Tim. That was his name.

"Yeah, wasn't by choice though. Can you give me and my friends a ride back to our hotel? We have money," Erik said.

"Hop in!"

"Give me a few minutes," Erik said.

Tim pulled the Range Rover over and waited.

"Where have you been?" Klaue said when he saw Erik running like a mad man back to the river's edge.

"Let's get the fuck outta here," Erik said lifting Klaue up and helping him keep weight off of his bad foot. Limbano assisted him and it didn't take long to make it back to the Range Rover.

Sitting in the back of the vehicle, knowing that disaster was averted, he couldn't help but think of Yani and Sydette. His vision of Yani had woken him up and tried to keep him awake. He was convinced of this. There was no way beyond blind luck that he would have woken up in time to catch Tim out on the road. It could've been anyone driving, the police, another search party after them…but this guy who happened to know Klaue was the one to see him stumbling out from the bush. This was Yani's doing. Had to be. Whatever connection, whatever strong attachment he had made with her…her spirit woke him up.

She had saved him.

But because of Iverson and whoever pulled his strings, Erik couldn't go back to her. Not yet.

The scenery passed by from the backseat and he pressed his face against the glass. His eyelids squeezed tears out and he wiped them away before the other men saw them.

"Yani, I'm trying," he whispered into the glass before he fell asleep once more.

###

"Yani, mail!"

Leona called to her from the kitchen in the apartment. Fixing her work heels on her feet, Yani stepped into the kitchen. A small brown package with her name and address sat on the kitchen table. No return address, but the forever stamp was dated with markings from Brazil.

She opened the package being careful not to chip her nails. Work at the restaurant had been busy and she was making a lot of tips that allowed her to splurge on some nice things for herself like getting her nails done professionally. Since there was no more work at Klaue's compound, she could indulge in making herself pretty without fear of damaging the costly nail job.

"Your hair looks nice," Leona said.

"It doesn't look too weird straight like this?"

"Just different. And it's just slicked down, not really straight. I like the lines you cut in it too," Leona said touching Yani's scalp. Sydette sat in her high chair staring at Yani while her fingers stuck mashed bananas into her mouth from her Dora The Explorer bowl.

She wanted to try something new with her hair to try and perk up her spirits. New hairstyle. New nails. New work dress.

Soft purple tissue paper was encased inside bubble wrap. When she pulled it all out there were two blue velvet boxes and a small light blue envelope stuck to one of them. She opened the envelope and read the card inside. Her heart fluttered.

"Yani,

Another early birthday present for Sydette and something for you as well. Tell Sweet Pea I miss her too. And you. E.K."

Yani opened both boxes. Diamond earrings. Real diamond earrings. A mother and daughter set.

"Who send you that?" Leona asked staring at the expensive gifts.

"Killmonger," Yani whispered.

She clutched the boxes to her heart.

###

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6] [Part 7] [Part 8]

[Part 9]

Tag List:

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#wet sugar #killmonger #erik killmonger #n'jadaka #klaue #black panther fanfiction #killmonger smut

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thanksjro · 5 years ago

Text

The Mystery of the Transformer Decoys, Parts 7-9: None Of This Would Be Happening If You Had Just Showered Beforehand

Part 7 sees us going back to Charles Ellis, and we’re greeted with the sight of Nightbeat with a gun to his head. This ain’t his first rodeo though, which he demonstrates by kicking the gunman in the shin, breaking a couple of his fingers, taking the gun, and running for it. He bolts for the room where he’d left Getaway and Chromedome, but they’re nowhere to be seen.

The POV shifts, and we get a look at what Triton’s up to.

Triton is a bit of an obscure one. If you know about him, it’s probably through Last Stand of the Wreckers, as one of the members of Squadron X Impactor just super-duper murdered. Before that, his only real role in… anything, really, was being a double agent in the Autobots, sowing discord in the ranks and then promptly dying.

But what’s he doing here? Yelling at Wingspan over the phone for his misuse of the Decoys. He’s putting this whole operation, not to mention Triton’s cover, in jeopardy with his flippant utilization of faction property, especially since the things aren’t even completely functional yet.

Back with Nightbeat, he’s found the note that Getaway left him. Turns out Getaway really does live up to his name; both he and Chromedome made a run for it after they realized that the Decoys were here at the Institute, and had stuffed a memory wipe program into their heads to make sure they wouldn’t be traced back to the situation if they ended up being caught by anyone involved. That’s great for them, but not so much for Nightbeat, who still needs to get out before the Decoys get in.

And, uh, murder him and stuff.

He’s more or less figured out that this is Wingspan’s doing, so now it’s just a matter of catching the guy and bringing him to justice. Because Nightbeat’s horny for truth and justice.

He gets out pretty easily, sneaking through the back door while the Decoys are busy murdering innocents. He gets back to his place, takes some notes on what all’s happened, takes a nap, wakes up, then gets a call on his landline.

It’s Scrounge. Turns out getting on the bad side of a crime lord isn’t so hot an idea, because there’s a huge bounty on Nightbeat’s head. He should probably get out of town.

Then the power goes out. And the front door opens.

Part 8, written by Richard Ahern, sees us in the far-flung year of 2016. It should be noted that the main story takes place 4 million years in the past, before the Ark crash. In 2016, two Autobot detectives walk the streets- Nightbeat and a guy named Flashform. So I guess any sort of worry for Nightbeat’s safety for the next few pages is completely unwarranted, seeing as he’s alive here. Fastform seems to be an original character of Charles Ellis’.

Fastform isn’t a fan of Iacon. Nightbeat starts schooling him on infrastructure, but is interrupted by something rustling around in the garbage. Nightbeat draws his gun, only to be faced with a harmless turbofox. They both feel pretty silly about being scared by such a simple creature, though I’d say Nightbeat has something of an excuse considering that a few tried to kill him.

He starts in on the story we’re currently reading, regaling Fastform with the tale up to the point where we’d left off. Then Fastform asks what happened next.

I’m not exactly sure why this little aside needed to happen. We’d just gotten a recap two parts ago, and it’s not like this story is horribly long.

Back at the plot, we find out who opened the door and scared the bejesus out of Nightbeat. It’s a tiny little fella, and he says that Nightbeat should probably do a sweep of the place before they talk. Nightbeat is, of course, somewhat wary of this newcomer- it’s been kind of a crazy day. The guy tosses Nightbeat a sweeper, they check for any bugging, then the little guy turns on the lights.

In his feet.

It’s Bumblebee.

Bumblebee’s also had kind of a rough day.

Our new friend here wants to make a “you scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours” deal; if Nightbeat solves this case, Bumblebee will make sure those hits on him disappear. Nightbeat, agrees, after making Bumblebee sweat it out waiting for his answer. He tells him to have the lights out at Wingspan’s place in four hours. Bumblebee warns him to be careful around Wingspan, because there’s something off about him, then leaves.

Two hours later, Nightbeat’s night has not improved in the slightest- he’s been shot at multiple times, only just managed to call the Security Forces to let them know things are about to go down, and his car’s been completely torched. Now he’s going to have to make it to Wingspan’s place on foot. A guy pops into Nightbeat’s sights and he immediately shoots him, having had just about enough with people trying to kill him.

He makes it to the edge of town with time to spare, entering the warehouse district. After waiting for the allotted time, he sneaks past the guards towards Wingspan’s place, just in time for the lights to cut out. He moves in.

After climbing up the wall onto the roof, Nightbeat breaks in and makes his down to Wingspan’s office. The moment he steps inside, Wingspan appears behind him and attacks. Nightbeat pulls out his gun and fires, but being shot doesn’t do much in the way of stopping a robot puma from using gravity as a weapon. Clearly, this isn’t Wingspan but Pounce who’s just had a go at Nightbeat and is currently dying, but he doesn’t know that. Instead he’s just confused.

There’s no time to investigate that mystery however, because the lights have just come back on. Nightbeat quickly downloads everything he can from the office computer then makes his escape.

Wingspan, who’s in just a horrendous mood, walks into the office shortly after, finding a very dead Pounce. This does not lift his spirits in the slightest. Neither does finding his chain of turbofox skulls has been pilfered. He calls for the guards to break out the Decoys and search for Nightbeat, knowing that only he could have done such a thing.

Smash cut to Nightbeat being chased by Decoys, looking for a payphone to call Security Forces.

Wingspan is fidgeting with the one magic skull he kept on his person- and insurance policy, he says- as he considers what to do next. He seems to decide to cut his losses here, as he blasts his computer into cinders and then prepares to cremate Pounce.

Nightbeat’s in a bad way, having only his lone, crappy civilian gun to face off against several pretty-accurate copies of war-ready robots.

Part 9, also written by Ahern, continues the scene, as the Decoys jump Nightbeat and proceed to thoroughly kick his ass. Trailbreaker manages to snag the skull necklace from around his neck, which make Nightbeat panic and try to fight back harder. The Decoys respond in kind, and he promptly passes out.

While Nightbeat’s taking his third nap in 24 hours, the Decoys begin fighting over the skulls, as each time one of the Decoys comes into contact with one, they get a taste of actual life. The Trailbreaker Decoy manages to scoop up a good handful of the things and runs for it.

This does not end well for the Trailbreaker Decoy. It doesn’t end well for anyone, really.

Meanwhile, over with Triton, we’re watching the news. The media’s already gotten in on the story with the Decoys exploding and fighting each other, not to mention the supposed assassination of Wingspan, beloved Autobot and friend to all god’s creatures. Triton decides it’s time for a holiday and starts packing his bags.

Then Nightbeat wakes up.

But is he still alive? The world may never know.

Nightbeat, ever the professional, immediately hands over the skulls and starts explaining what a fucking crazy couple of days he’s had. He then asks if the blown up bodies Security Forces had come across had been holding any of the skulls. Downshift says that they weren’t, which leads Nightbeat to believe that Wingspan isn’t actually dead.

Two days later- and by this point I’m really fucking hoping Nightbeat’s had a shower because it’s been ages and I’m starting to get concerned- Nightbeat and Downshift are visiting the morgue. They weren’t able to identify Pounce’s body; well, they were, but he only shows up as Wingspan, which we know is wholly incorrect.

But Downshift didn’t just bring Nightbeat down to stare at a dead cat.

Whoa, TMI, dude.

Downshift doesn’t really get why Wingspan would bother with the Decoy stuff if he already has a clone brother. Nightbeat theorizes that it may have something to do with the Decepticons wanting the ultimate double agent- someone who truly believes that they are who their cover says they are.

What is even- what.

Oh my god, he’s real.

Oh my god, he’s got a non-stub article.

Oh my god, he’s fucking precious.

Two years later, we catch up with Wingspan, who’s found himself in a Decepticon camp. He’s here to kill Triton, and he’s got the a-ok from Soundwave to do it.

This is company-sanctioned murder.

He enters Triton’s tent and the threats start. Wingspan’s feeling pretty miffed about Triton having pulled all his funds after the arson, but he figures strangling him to death will make things about even. Then Pounce shows up. Even though he’s dead. And the Security Forces had his body.

Look, don’t think about it too hard, the story’s nearly over. Just remember that Wingspan still had that skull with him when everything went to shit.

In the future, Nightbeat still hasn’t finished telling the story since Fastform asked. He decides its a little too creepy, seeing as they’re already spooked, so they move on to a lighter topic.

Meanwhile, that turbofox that scared the bejesus out of them? Turns out that’s Triton.

…You know, out of all the things I could have run into with this story, fucking DOMESTICATION wasn’t even on the goddamned list. What a dark, disturbingly removed end to this little tale.

That’s not the end of the ‘zine, though. We’ve got a few comic strips.

They’re all about this level of Sunday-funnies humor.

This was alright. I don’t know why Soundwave was cool with that fucking nightmare at the end, but maybe Triton ate his sack lunch out of the break room fridge or something. All in all, I think Roberts’ section grabbed me the most, which I was sort of expecting.

I dunno. I guess I’ve been spoiled up to this point by solidly constructed plotting and storytelling and went into this expecting too much. C’est la vie. At least everyone seemed to have fun. That’s important.

But I think the most important thing to glean from this whole experience is that I would stone-cold kill a man for Bumblejumper. Yeah, I know he’s 15-feet tall and made of steel. That changes literally nothing. And yeah, I know the whole “was it Bumblebee or Bumblejumper” thing doesn’t make any sense. That also changes literally nothing.

I now truly understand the term “he’s babey.”

Up next, it’s back to the Roberts solo act, as we take a look at the Polyhex Wars.

#transformers #mystery of the transformer decoys #part seven #part eight #part nine #maccadam #Hannzreads #text post #long post #prose writing #zine

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antivancoffeelover · 6 years ago

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thor/reader prompt: after a car accident, a young man follows a narrow road that winds up the mountain, desperate for shelter. it's a long, slipping, frigid walk, and he's drunk with hypothermia when he stumbles onto a wooden porch, collapsing to his knees and then his side when the heavy front door swings open, and a hulking, bearded man finds him. kneeling by him with a worried frown and touching at his frostbitten cheeks with his knuckles before scooping him up and carrying him to the fire

i got so carried away. thor and trans male reader, afab language & vaginal sex. this is 100% a rough draft, not edited at all, just an exercise in self-indulgence lol

Dad always said to keep a blanket in your car. He always told you to have a nice, heavy blanket just in case you broke down, but did you listen? Of course not.

Road flares and a flash light? Yeah. Salt? Yeah. A tire iron and jumpers? Yeah. A blanket to keep you from actually freezing to death in the middle of fucking February? Well that would just be practical, wouldn’t it? So of course you don’t have one.

No cell reception this far out, of course. It’s been almost fifteen miles since the last town and it’s at least thirty before the next. This is the boonies if you’ve ever seen it. You’re pretty sure you’re the only person on this damned road, even.

Three hours. That’s how long it’s been since you broke down. You’ve counted. You’ve played your games on your phone and wasted an eighth of a tank of gas that you can’t afford to waste keeping yourself warm and your phone charged. At least when your tire blew out it didn’t sent you into a tree, but without a spare you’re fucked. The donut in the trunk is seven years old, so it won’t work. Even if it had air, the rubber is definitely dry-rotted by now. You can’t limp down the mountain on your rim. Forget even just having to buy a new one, if you hit one patch of ice you’ll be dead.

Snow falls heavier and heavier by the second. Do you stay? Do you wait and hope you have enough gas to stay warm? Can you even sleep like this?

You turn your car back on and check the clock. Eleven thirty-seven. Shit. No one’s going to come down the road right now, and if they did who knows what kind of potential serial killer it’ll be. Best case scenario is a truck driver who isn’t behind on their route and could get you to a pilot station down the highway.

You hit seek on your radio until static becomes voice. A nice, perky woman is peeping at you cheerfully like it’s not almost tomorrow.

“We’re heading for a level three snow advisory, folks. Stay inside and off the roads. If you’re out driving you will be subject to a ticket and potentially a fine. The salt trucks and plows won’t be out until tomorrow morning, so get inside and get in quick, this blizzard is set to break records.”

Well. Fuck.

You can limp into the woods, maybe, just roll off into the gravel shoulder so you don’t get buried and knocked off the mountain by a damn snow plow. Your car hates you, you know this, you put it in drive anyway. The rim is scraping the pavement, an awful metallic sound that makes your stomach lurch and your throat tighten, but you didn’t come this far to just turn back around. Going back isn’t an option.

Just a few meters down the road is a wide bit of shoulder, like one of those observation areas back by ocean where people can pull off and take a moment to break up the monotony. Except this one is next to dense, dark mountain forest, and right at the back the trees break apart. There’s a trail illuminated in your headlights, visible between every few seconds as your wipers push fresh snow off your windshield.

You frown as you pull up to it and put your card back in park, leaving it on a moment so the heating can run. The temperature outside is dropping. It’s already well below freezing and the wind is picking up with an ominous howl. Staying in your car isn’t an option either, it seems.

The radio is static again, that sweet spot of reception lost now that you moved fifty feet down the road. You grab your phone and sigh at the little empty triangle mocking you over your lack of signal. Maybe the trail leads to a cabin or a lodge. It’s probably one of those retreats rich people take and this is some back way in for people’s rowdy sons who sneak out of a stuffy dinner.

Can’t be worse than freezing to death in your car. You grab your backpack off the floor of the passenger side and start shoving everything into it. All of the snacks, your waters, even the bottle of whiskey you snagged before you ran out of the house with a screaming voice at your back telling you to stay gone. Gladly.

There’s so little, you realize. Barely anything and you grabbed everything you cared about when you left. Birth certificate, two journals, three little soft-cover books, some old pictures, and a birthday card from grandma. How is there nothing?

You know how.

You make sure it’s all there, double and triple checking, then you empty the glove box of all of your important documents for the car just in case some maniac steals it in the middle of the snow storm.

The temperature is dropping further. Your clothes aren’t made for this weather. Getting out of the car is the worst idea, you know, but there’s a path. You’ll go a little ways up and if you don’t find anything then you’ll come back.

You cut the engine off and take a breath. This isn’t the end.

The wind rips into you as soon as you open the door. You sling your bag onto your back and stand up, shut the door, lock the car and arm the alarm. Not that it matters, but the habit and that little beep beep is a comfort. It’s normal.

You’re shivering already, you have to move. At least you’re wearing your boots. The few inches of snow that have already fallen crunch beneath your feet as you approach the path. You quickly pull the flashlight out and click it on. The moon is hidden behind heavy clouds and there aren’t any street lights up here. Well, this was why dad put you in boy scouts, right? Not that you made it very far. Kissing the scout master’s son didn’t make a good impression. At least he was cute.

The snow isn’t falling as heavily inside the treeline, even without their leaves the branches of the trees are so thick they shield you. You can follow the path easily. It’s well-worn and defined even when covered with snow. The flakes sparkle where your flashlight hits and you smile to yourself. The forest is pretty right now, and so quiet. This is better than where you were.

It’s an easy hike at first, especially since you’ve been walking and hiking so much recently, so you barely realize how far you’ve gone until you turn around and notice that your old tracks are being filled in with snow down the way. The storm has picked up and the light from your flashlight doesn’t reach far enough to see if you’re close to your car or not. You know you’re not. You’ve gone too far already.

You pull your phone out of your pocket and your stomach drops, a new chill rising in your bones. Twelve twenty-four. Shit. Almost an hour of walking. With as bad as the storm is you’re not sure if you can go back. If that’s what you should do or if you should keep moving. It’s so cold. You’re not shivering.

You’re not shivering.

You should be shivering. Why aren’t you shivering?

You can’t go back.

You turn toward the path, you think, and you start moving. If you move, then you’ll get your body temperature up, you just have to make sure you don’t start sweating.

Something slips under your boot and you fall to your knees, your flashlight flies out of your hand and rolls down into the snow, its light lost when it lands. The fabric of your gloves is soaked and you can’t feel your fingers to know if you’ve even found the damn thing or if you’re hitting a tree root. Snow is melting into your jeans. If you don’t get up now then you might not get up at all.

You force yourself standing and squint into the darkness. The trail continues on ahead of you, but it’s hard to tell if you’re still following it. Trees line either side, but the trail was narrow to begin with that you wonder if you’ve gone off after stepping to one side when you ran into a tree.

Why did you get out of your car? Why didn’t you just stay?

Why is it getting hot?

You unzip your jacket and take off your gloves. It’s so warm, it doesn’t make sense.

Another tree hits your boot, the trunk of this one thick, so big it almost doesn’t seem real. You walk around it and stop. Light. There’s light coming from a cabin.

You stumble toward it, falling against a tree. Why is your backpack so heavy?

A wide, welcoming porch stretches out in front of you and you trip on one of the steps, then crawl up to the door. You beat your hand against it and don’t think about the fact that you can’t feel it happening.

It opens a second later and a heatwave rolls over you, makes you feel a little sick.

Two big, hot hands grab you under your arms and haul you inside. Not a rich-people retreat.

“What?” A voice says.

Oh, you said that out loud.

Two soft blue eyes meet yours, brows furrowed as they look over you. “Fuck, hey, come on.”

The world slips away.

You’re at the beach suddenly, and it’s snowing. The sky is purple and there’s a stampede of corgis running across the ocean. It’s the annual migration, you realize.

You need to take notes. No one’s seen this in forever.

You don’t even realize you’d fallen asleep until you’re awake again. There are blankets wrapped around you and panic seizes you until you open your eyes and realize only the corgis were a dream. Yesterday happened. You left.

Then you almost died.

“You’re awake?” A deep voice asks from your back. “I made breakfast. You need to eat.”

Your entire body is sore when you roll over, but at least you’re alive to feel it. The man from last night is standing in the doorway of the bedroom you’re in. He’s… massive. That’s the only word for it. He’s leaning against the door frame and the top of his head is still almost touching. Whoever built the cabin didn’t build it for giants.

He tilts his head and raises an eyebrow. You’re staring. Right.

“Hi,” you begin, “I’m sorry I showed up like that.”

A small smile curls one end of his mouth. “Half dead from hypothermia telling me my house wasn’t a retreat for rich people?”

You close your eyes and take a deep breath, hoping maybe the other half of your death will catch up to you now. “Oh my god.”

He laughs, warm and amused. “Don’t worry about it, I’m just glad you didn’t die in my living room.”

You look at him and hope your smile is more grateful than sheepish, but then he chuckles and you give up.

“You said breakfast?” You try.

He nods and jerks his head to one side. “Eggs, bacon, some toast. Hearty food that you need after your hike up here.”

You offer another smile and swing your legs out, grimacing at the pain in your thighs, your abdomen, basically anything that can move on you hurts right now. Your hands look fine, though, which is all you could hope for. Wait.

“These aren’t my clothes.” You say slowly.

The shirt is a simple flannel button down and it’s huge on you. A tent. You’ve never been a very big guy, but this shirt makes you feel like a child. The pants aren’t yours either. Fleece-line sweatpants, nice and soft, with the drawstring pulled out about as far as it can be and tied into a bow.

Your dashing rescuer and rubs the back of his neck and gives a tight smile. “Your clothes were soaked, I couldn’t leave them on. I checked your bag, but… you, uh, don’t have much.”

Right. You don’t. Everything you own is either in a storage unit or in your backpack and your car. A blown tire wasn’t part of your plan.

You pull at the end of the rolled up sleeve and laugh. “These are yours?”

He nods. “Everything here is mine.”

“Well,” you say as you stand, “at least I didn’t have to rescue you from the snow. I don’t think my clothes would fit you.”

He laughs, shoulders shaking and eyes crinkling. A thick, golden beard covers his jaw and catches a few strands of his long, hair where it’s fallen out of a braid. Is this guy for real?

You follow him out of the room and down the hall. There’s a bathroom off to the side you see your clothes have been tossed over the top of a sliding glass door to dry.

The smell of bacon makes your stomach growl, and you’re glad to sit a little two-seater table next to a window. It’s still snowing. There’s a dusting of snow at the bottom of the window and you’re not sure if it’s been caught by the sill or if the snow really is that deep. You look further outside and your mouth drops open. There are feet of snow on the ground. You’re stuck.

He sets a plate down in front of you with a glass of apple juice, then grabs his own food and sits across from you.

“Guess I’m stuck here for a while,” you say quietly.

He nods. “The storm is supposed to continue into tonight.”

You shove an entire piece of bacon into your mouth, then another, then a bite of egg. Eating like you’re starving is your normal, but it hasn’t been this bad in a while. Your stomach is still growling as you eat and you’d be embarrassed if you weren’t so hungry.

He glances at you as he eats his own food much more slowly than you inhale yours. Within a few minutes all of your food is gone, then the apple juice.

“You want more?” He asks.

You shake your head. “No, I’ll wait about ten minutes and see if I’m still hungry. Don’t want to make myself sick.”

He nods. “Good idea. I’m Thor, by the way.”

You startle and realize you’ve slept in this man’s house, you’re wearing his clothes, but you never introduced yourself. Your name falls from your tongue easily and he nods.

“I saw your license when I was looking through your bag. Wanted to make sure you were eighteen at least.” He says.

Reasonable. You’d think the same thing if someone who looked as young as you look collapsed on the ground with nothing but a backpack that didn’t even have a change of clothes. That’s the kind of dumb shit first-time runaways do. Third timers? Not as much.

“Right, of course. Sorry,” you say, mentally kicking yourself as you do, “um, thank you, by the way. I didn’t realize how far I’d gone into the woods until it was too late. I didn’t know if staying in my car would’ve been better, I just… one of my tires blew out and my spare is so old it’s probably rotted. It’s just been…”

“A rough week?” He finishes, voice soft.

You nod and he smiles and lets out a breath through his nose. He’s been somewhere similar, you think, somewhere as difficult as this. Running away a third time in two years like some dumb teenager and not a man in his early twenties.

“Honestly,” you start, “more than a week. A lot more. I was on my way to the coast.”

“Family?” He asks.

You scoff. “Hope not.”

He makes a noise and his eyebrows shoot up a second. “I know that feeling.”

Relief sits soft in your chest the same way it always does when someone understands.

“So, you live here?” Enough of your personal baggage.

He nods. “Most of the time. I have another house a couple states over. This was my dad’s, he left it to me.”

The way he says it tells you it was left a while ago, an absence he’s used to now. You know that feeling.

You swallow and rub your hands together, comforted that you can even feel them. “So, how are we going to pass the time while we wait to be snowed in even worse?”

…

“Oh, bullshit!” You screech.

“I’m serious! My brother just kept talking and talking until the guy just handed over the keys to this Lexus and we drove off, but the owner was right behind us and he started running after us screaming. I was so drunk that I pissed myself when I started laughing. Then Loki started laughing and trying to look back, but he was the one driving, so he crashed into a parked Maserati and we had to run for it. Our father was…” Thor falls quiet a moment, some of the light in his eyes dying, “it was a fun night. We’re much more responsible now. Well, I am. And he only steals things he won’t be caught stealing, so it’s an improvement.”

You shake your head and pull your legs up higher, tucking your feet under you. The couch is huge and soft, and there are enough plush wool blankets to make another entire bed out of. There’s only one bedroom here, and it’s Thor’s. He let you take it last night because he’s probably the kindest person you’ve ever met.

“What about you?” He asks, his smile a bit loose from the shots of whiskey you did together after dinner.

You shrug, then a memory flashes and you laugh. “Alright, yeah, I have one. When I was sixteen I followed my cousin to bible camp.”

“Bible camp? This is going to be awful, isn’t it?” Thor rests his head on his hand and you feel heat bloom in your stomach.

You laugh through your nerves and nod. “It was a sleep-away camp and I was excited to be out of my house for a couple weeks, even though you really couldn’t pay me to give a shit about the bible and all that.”

Thor nods, a lingering smile showing slight crows feet in the corners of his eyes. He’s so gorgeous and this is so not the time to be hitting on him, but when have you made good decisions?

“As teenagers we were supposed to help the councilors out with the really little kids, which was cool because it meant that our curfew was the latest. My cousin always went off to smoke weed before bed, but there was this guy, definitely too old for me, but he was sweet. I had a huge crush, and he knew it, and he didn’t return it but he was nice about it, y’know? So I knew I couldn’t do anything with him and I was sad and dumb, so I grabbed one of the other boys in my age group and we snuck into the craft supply room and he got me off with his mouth and everything was fine, but then as soon as I got on my knees and had his dick in my mouth my crush found us,” you remember the way the door swung open and the light was nearly blinding.

Thor’s eyebrows shoot up and he smiles open-mouthed and crooked. “What did he do?”

“He was frozen, and the guy I was blowing was frozen, and reality hadn’t really hit me, so I started sucking—”

“No,” Thor’s eyes are wide and his smile turns shocked.

You nod and look off toward the ceiling, then roll your eyes back to Thor. “Yep. My crush slammed the door shut and went running, and the noise drew the attention of all the other adults, so we had to run for it back to our cabin.”

Thor laughs and scrubs a hand down his face. “At bible camp.”

“At bible camp. The rest of the week all of the lessons were about remaining chaste.” You chuckle and lick your lips slowly, your tongue sliding slowly over your bottom lip when Thor’s eyes dart down to the movement.

“Did you remain chaste?” He asks, voice deep and smooth, then he clears his throat.

You shake your head. “No, I felt bad that the guy didn’t get off, so I sucked his dick on one of the trails during a hike.”

Thor looks at your mouth again, then off toward the wood burning stove. It’s making the entire cabin warm by itself with just a fan to push the air around. The snow is starting to slow down, but it’s still falling. Thor’s radio has more range than your car, so you listened to the weather earlier just long enough to hear them say the storm will end around midnight.

You look off toward the hall, then back to Thor. “So who takes the bed tonight?”

He shrugs. “I was going to give it to you, since you’re my guest.”

You smile and reach up to scratch the back of your neck where sweat is beading up at your hairline. “Such a gentleman.”

Thor smiled and laughs through his nose. “I try to be.”

He’s looking at your neck, and his eyes dart down to your collar bone, then back up to your mouth, finally back up to your eyes.

“You’re not always a gentleman, are you?” You tilt your head and smile at him, the same smile that always gets you into trouble you can’t talk your way out of.

His eyes turn dark where he looks at you, and his chest rises on a deep breath. “I suppose it depends on what you think a gentleman does.”

You’re still wearing his clothes from that morning with nothing beneath. The buttons slide open easily. He’s worn this shirt often, you can tell. His eyes track the movements of your fingers as you slowly open the shirt until it falls off of you. You can feel the breeze coming from the fan by the stove, the air so warm it feel soothing as it brushes over you.

Thor’s jaw ticks as he looks at you, and he adjust as he sits, scooting away from the arm of the couch. It’s all the invitation you need to move and straddle his thick thighs. You’re still sore, but you can tolerate the pain if it means having him touch you. He grabs your hips and squeezes, then slides his hands up your sides to squeeze where you’re soft over the muscle you’ve built.

How long has it been since someone’s made you wet? Fuck, you can’t even remember, but you can feel it starting, that familiar heat settling deep in your core. You remember now how much you’ve always hated feeling empty.

You lean in and bump your nose against his, biting your lip as he rubs your back.

“We don’t have to,” he whispers, “you don’t owe me.”

You smile and kiss him, moaning when he presses back, opens up to you, sucks your tongue and pulls you in close. His cock is starting to fill, you can feel it pressing up against you between the layers of fleece that separate you.

You press down and rub your clit on the thick line of him, groaning at how soft everything feels except where he’s hard. He gasps and presses back, rolls his hips as much as the position allows and starts a rhythm. As big as he looks he feels so much bigger under you now. No man you’ve ever been with has been this thick, this warm. Thor grabs your ass and guides you, grinds you into his cock and looks up at you with half-lidded eyes.

Pleasure sings inside you, sweet and warm, already building too soon. Life has been too hectic for the last few months, you haven’t even wanted to get off, and it feels like your body is making up for lost time. There’s nothing happening here except the silence of the snow falling and the loud breaths the two of you pant against each other’s open mouths.

“I’m gonna cum.” Your voice is quiet, barely there.

The pressure is coiling tight, pooling low, it feels good to use him. He smiles ducks his head to fix his mouth to your neck. Your eyes roll into your head, the ticklish pleasure of it something no one has done for you in so long. Thor scrapes his teeth across your pounding pulse and you grind down harder, chasing your own need with rough snaps of your hips and little broken moans.

You cuss and whisper his name, rub your clit down harder and tangle one hand into his hair, hoping maybe there’ll be a mark left from the way he sucks on your skin.

You’re clenching on nothing, so wet that it’s got to be soaking through your pants and his. Your belly and ass jiggle and his fingers dig in harder. He growls and bites you and you hold your breath.

Your clit is throbbing, you’re so hard and so ready, you need him, you want him to fill you up and pin you down, make you forget that you ever planned to keep running, keep you here—

“Fuck!” You fall limp in his arms, shaking and hips jerking as you cum.

He hugs you close and kisses up your neck until he’s kissing the hinge of your jaw.

You giggle and let your head fall back to give him more room.

“There’s a drawer in the coffee table,” he says, beard scraping on you, “it has condoms.”

You lean back and he holds just tight enough to keep you from falling as you reach into the drawer he mentioned and grab a magnum. Definitely a need and not just an ego boost for himself.

He smiles up at you as you hold it, then strips his shirt off. You moan without meaning to and he smirks. There’s soft hair covering his chest and belly, which is so soft that it makes you ache. The thick muscle that makes up his body is covered in a layer of fat that you want to sink your teeth into.

You hand him the condom, then crawl off of his lap and lay down on the couch. It’s long enough that he can sleep comfortably, so it’s definitely big enough for him to fuck you properly.

You both remove your pants and you’re stuck when you see his cock. He’s uncut and his foreskin makes your mouth water. God your fingers would probably barely close around him he’s so goddamn thick. You spread your legs, hooking one over the back of the couch, and he groans, then reaches over and slides two fingers into you.

It’s good, so good, and his fingers are so thick that they feel satisfying, but you know having his dick inside you is going to be so much better. Thor adds a third finger and hits your g-spot, rubs up on it when you shudder and clench on him while his thumb rubs on your over-sensitive clit.

Then he pulls his fingers out and sucks them clean. Your heart trips in your chest and your stomach flips. Fuck.

He rips the condom open with his teeth and slides it on, then moves to kneel between your legs. You fold yourself in half so your knees are almost touching your shoulders. Thor rubs his cock up and down to spread your slick around. The way he teases is so sweet. You might not be able to cum again just yet, but it doesn’t matter. You want to feel him cum inside you, to know the way his cock jumps when he’s filling that condom up nice and full.

Thor leans forward and presses a kiss to your ankle, then slides in nice and slow. There’s a little burn and you bite your lip and groan from it. He’s taking slow, deep breaths above you, eyes falling shut and brows furrowed as inch after inch of him stretches you out until he hits the deepest part of you and has to stop.

Maybe you can cum again.

You lower your legs enough to wrap them around his waist and hold on tight when he starts fucking you with long, hard thrusts. He pulls out and fills you right back up, rolling his hips until your gasping and clutching his shoulders. Rough, low groans fall from his mouth on every breath and you close your eyes as you listen to him. It’s like thunder in the middle of the snow storm.

He leans down and buries his face in your neck and starts snapping his hips faster and faster. You move with him as much as you can, rubbing your clit on him while he shoves that ridiculous cock into you. Fuck, you want him in your ass next.

“God, Thor, fuck!” You hike your legs up his side and dig your nails into his skin.

The pleasure of him inside you and on top of you is sharp. You feel safe here, absurdly, pressed down under his bulk with his breath making your neck slick and the fire roaring off to the side.

You’re trembling beneath him, whimpering at the constant pressure on your clit and then he changes the angle of his hips, hits you just right, and your eyes roll into your head and you’re cumming again, hard and euphoric. Laughter bubbles up in your throat and Thor is growling at you, snapping his hips so hard that he’s sending you up toward the arm of the couch.

He grunts your name and cusses, then buries himself deep and you moan low and dirty when you feel his dick throbbing inside you. You grind against each other a moment, then both still as he fills the condom and begins to soften.

Thor pulls back enough to look down at you, his eyes a little hazy with pleasure. You probably look the same. He smiles and it’s so raw that your first instinct is to just kiss him. So you do.

He makes a soft, breathy noise and slips free of you, but doesn’t move to take the condom off just yet. Instead, he stays as as he is, letting his weight anchor you while you suck his lower lip then release it.

The breeze coming from the fan is still warm, but your skin is slick with sweat and you shiver a bit at it. Thor chuckles and presses a quick kiss to your forehead, then stands up. You wrap yourself in one of the blankets and snuggle in while he moves around somewhere behind the couch.

A moment later he’s back, naked and soft and spent. He smiles.

“Why don’t we both take the bed tonight?” His voice is smooth and gentle.

You grin and hope the storm doesn’t end at midnight.

#baylen fic #thorxreader #spacelabrathor #i wrote this all in one shot wtf #wow this was so good to write tbh #it's like candy tbh #a nice indulgence #thorreader #god idek how to tag this lmfao #anyway it's 12:33 g'night #readerthor

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lady-divine-writes · 7 years ago

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Kurtbastian one-shot - “Irresistable” (Rated PG13)

After an argument over a lane change and one joke too far, Sebastian proves to Kurt that he's exactly the man Kurt thinks he is. (2076 words)

Part 39 of Daddies

Read on AO3.

“So” - Kurt purrs, sliding across his seat to whisper in his husband’s ear – a risky move while the man’s driving, but not risky enough to keep Kurt in his own seat. This is the first date they’ve been on sans child and dog in over a month, and it ended far too soon. They’re on their way home. In about half an hour, they’ll be on-the-clock parents again. Kurt intends on making the most out of every second they have alone together - “what did you think of the show?”

“Well” – Sebastian grins as Kurt starts kissing his neck – “it would’ve been better with more strippers.”

“Sebastian” – Kurt chuckles – “it’s The Sound of Music. There are no strippers in The Sound of Music!”

“No wonder I was falling asleep.” Sebastian spreads his legs as his husband’s hand slides between them.

“And most of the actors were children!”

“If they replaced the children with strippers, then that would be a show worth watching.”

Kurt stops palming his husband’s crotch as he stares at the man in disbelief, then he snorts. He can’t help himself. The Van Trapp Family Strippers is too funny no matter who you are.

“How about when we get home I put on a show worth watching?”

“Hmm” - Sebastian hums as his husband nibbles his neck - “will you be wearing lederhosen?”

“I think that could be arranged.” Kurt nuzzles deeper into the crook of Sebastian’s neck, following its curve as Sebastian leans to the side, exposing more skin.

Sebastian skillfully changes lanes as Kurt begins to unbutton his shirt. “Is this a sneak preview? Because if it is, I think I shit!”

Kurt snorts again, fully prepared to comment about his kisses making his husband mess his pants and whether or not that’s a compliment, but he flies abruptly forward, and that ruins the mood. Sebastian shoots an arm out to catch him, so instead of going full force into the dash, his arm whacks the steering wheel.

“Bas!”

“I’m … I’m sorry but … uh! That frickin’ van just cut us off!”

“Which van?” Kurt faces the windshield to catch a glimpse. There’s only one van on the road with them – an old school, Ford delivery van painted glossy grey, and decorated with mouse ears and a tail. Kurt sighs. He knows this van, knows that the front has a nose and whiskers to match. He doesn’t have to see the name on the side to know who it belongs to. “Oh.”

“Oh?” Sebastian side-eyes his husband in disgust. Who was this man returning calmly to the passenger seat as if some random asshole hadn’t cut them off, stopping what could have become an impromptu in-ride blowjob? Where did Kurt suddenly disappear to – the man who once tackled a pregnant woman pushing a child in a stroller during a Black Friday sale to snag the last Valentino sweater on clearance (even though they found out later on she had had no intention of buying it)? Sebastian had been fully prepared to live vicariously as Kurt tore the driver of that van a new one, rolling down the window and throwing out one-of-a-kind expletives that would make for some kinky ass stroke material later on. Had getting married and having a son made his husband soft? “What do you mean oh? Sic ‘em, Kurt!”

Kurt rolls his eyes. “I mean oh. It’s Mrs. Palmer’s Cutie Cakes van, what we down at the PTA call the mouse mobile.”

“You say that like it should mean something.”

“Cutie Cakes is that mom and pop bakery off of 17th and Maple. Well, mom and son now. The woman who runs it is a legend. She makes all of her cakes and pastries by hand every single day. Wakes up at the butt crack of dawn to do it, too. Has since the shop opened. And she’s about eighty years older than God.”

Sebastian shoots his husband a disgruntled look. “Are you … are you telling me some blue haired lol is driving that van!?”

“More than likely.”

“That shouldn’t be legal!”

“I don’t think it is, but who’s going to call her out on it? I mean, she has a run in with the police about once every other week and yet she still has her driver’s license. If they can’t get her to stop driving, who will?”

Sebastian sees the van veer towards the exit that leads to Maple, blinker indicating that’s where it’s getting off. He straightens in his seat and changes lanes in pursuit. “I will.”

Kurt stares at his husband in silence. For a second, Sebastian thinks Kurt is impressed by his initiative, by his willingness to take charge. But Kurt bursts out laughing, and the boner Sebastian got from his husband’s misperceived look of awe withers and dies.

Sebastian frowns. “What?”

“You’re going to call her out on it?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Right.” Kurt bites his lower lip, staring out the windshield as he pictures such a confrontation going down, how epically his husband would lose. “O-kay.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I know you, Bas. You like people to think you’re all big and bad, but really you’re a huge softie.”

“Is that so?” Sebastian snaps. He tries to growl, but it doesn’t come easy for him. Not the way it used to, and that makes him seethe.

“That’s so. I can see it now …” Kurt watches the grey van pull into the parking lot of the Cutie Cakes bakery up ahead. The store front has gone through many transformations over the decades, so he’s heard. Since they moved into town, it has been a wood cottage, the kind one can imagine a tiny baker mouse living in.

Kurt has to admit, the premise is adorable. And brilliant.

The van’s engine turns off, and its owner climbs out. The vehicle sits higher off the ground than the woman can manage, so she pulls out a custom decorated, white washed wood stepstool and sets it down on the cement. Then foot by foot, she carefully climbs down. It makes Kurt’s heart melt.

His husband doesn’t stand a chance.

“… you’re going to walk in there,” Kurt continues, hand over his heart as the woman locks up her van and walks into her bakery, “she’s going to remind you of your grandmother, your favorite person in the whole wide world, and you’re going to buy her out. You’ll see.”

“Wow.” Sebastian clicks his tongue. “You really know how to hurt a guy.”

Kurt considers his husband’s remark with a quirk of his eyebrow. “Hurt? How did I hurt you? I’m saying you loved your grandma and you’re not an asshole. Isn’t that a compliment, all things considered?”

“Not being an asshole is one thing. Being a pushover is another.”

Kurt shakes his head. “I think you’re overreacting.”

“You think so?”

“I know so.”

“Fine.” Sebastian screeches into the lot the second the front door of the bakery closes with the proprietor safely inside and finds a spot one over from the grey van. “I’ll show you who’s a big softie!” He puts the car into park, throws the door open, angrily unbuckles his seat belt, and climbs out. He takes a step, then turns to his husband for one final dig. “You ever seen an old lady cry, Kurt? Well, pay attention!” Then he slams the door shut in Kurt’s face. The interior light fades to black as Sebastian storms to the door, leaving Kurt horrified and dumbfounded.

“Sebastian! No! Wait, I …” Kurt leans over the center console to peer out the driver’s side window. “Sebastian!” he calls louder, even though it’s fruitless. He sits in his seat and watches. He has a front row seat to the tragedy unfolding through the picture window of the bakery, and the show is about to begin.

He can see Mrs. Palmer untying the drapes, getting ready to lock up for the night as Sebastian confronts her. His mouth tightens, lips forming words Kurt can’t hear through several panes of glass, but which he can make out by sight: “Excuse me, are you Mrs. Palmer?”

He sees the kindly woman say, “Yes, dear. I am.”

Sebastian raises an accusing finger.

Mrs. Palmer pulls the drapes.

Then Kurt doesn’t see or hear a thing from either of them for close to twenty minutes. Several times he considers opening the window to try and hear the conversation going on inside, maybe even go up to the front door and listen in, but he can’t make himself do it.

He can’t make himself witness his husband berate a poor, old woman over a lane change.

He never believed in a million years Sebastian would. Sebastian has changed. He’s changed! It took time, and counseling, and about a hundred first dates before Kurt could believe it, but Sebastian worked hard to overcome the aspect of the boy he was back in high school.

That’s why Kurt fell in love with him. Because of the two men Kurt loved – the only two men Kurt had ever loved – Sebastian is the one who made a promise to be a better man and kept it. Was that all a façade? Was Sebastian really still the jilted, sarcastic, bitter boy he’d been? Was that lurking somewhere deep inside, waiting to be stoked to life? When would it surface again? When he was angry at Kurt?

Or at Thomas?

Kurt doesn’t want to have these doubts about his husband. His husband was … is … is a good man. One of the best Kurt has ever met.

Was that all just spin, created by himself, to avoid the truth? That a leopard can’t change his spots?

Kurt hears the door of the bakery open. From his peripheral vision, he sees light flood the parking lot, then snuff out when the door closes, the loud click of a deadbolt ringing in the quiet. Kurt can’t look at his husband when the man returns to the car, shuffling his feet. Kurt holds his breath as the shick-shick-shick of leather soles on gravel comes nearer.

He can’t believe it. He just can’t believe it.

Kurt swallows hard realizing he is in no way blameless in all of this. He goaded Sebastian, knew that with the right amount of teasing, he could get him to react. But Kurt thought it would turn into a battle of jabs that wouldn’t leave the car – slightly sharp, a bit of sting, but within the boundaries of juvenile pigtail pulling and sticking out tongues.

Can he respect his husband after going through with this?

The driver’s door opens, but Sebastian doesn’t get in, standing like a statue, looking over the top of the car.

Kurt swallows again, a mixture of his own shame and a cold, hard fear landing in his stomach like lead. There’s an apology in his mouth, waiting for his chance to take a share of the blame for what his husband might have done, but he can’t say it yet.

He has to know what happened.

“S-so?” Kurt asks.

Sebastian doesn’t answer, and Kurt can’t see his face, his body blocking the door while he stares off into the distance. Kurt hears his husband sigh - the long sigh of a man who’s done something he can’t take back.

And when Kurt sees exactly what Sebastian can’t take back, he sighs with relief, giddy with it, till it takes everything in his power not to laugh his head off.

Sebastian bends down and hands him a pink box wrapped in candy cane string – not a normal, perfectly square, 8-inch round cake sized box, but a long, rectangular box.

The kind you can fit around three dozen donuts in.

Kurt puts the box in his lap and then, simply to try his restraint, Kurt assumes, Sebastian hands him another one.

Sebastian drops into his car seat, closes his door, buckles his seatbelt, and turns the key in the ignition. Through the reflection in the rearview and with the help of the dash lights, Kurt can see Sebastian’s eyes, a little redder than they had been when he left the car.

As if he might have been crying.

What the hell did happen in that bakery!?

Kurt takes a breath, ready to ask for details, but Sebastian cuts him off before the first syllable even thinks of leaving his mouth. “Don’t. Say. A. Word.”

#kurtbastian #sebkurt #sekurt #frankie writes

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taenqueray · 7 years ago

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waiter jimin au

is friendly as hell

honestly what a cutie he just wants to be nice to everyone

all the kids that visit the restaurant want to be his best friend, to be honest

probably because he’s the reason that it’s the only restaurant in town with properly sharpened pencil crayons

on his breaks, he sits and sharpens them all bless him

likes to watch all the chefs at work

the way he operates is troy bolton in lava springs country club style

im not even joking i can see vminkook just doing the hoppity skipitty thing all in a line

i’m getting sidetracked

he’s completely fine with being the guinea pig for any new dishes on the menu just because he knows how great all the food is anyway

why do i want him and seokjin to be a dream team where seokjin is the executive chef and jimin is his best friend and employee

we all know if this ever happened that yoongi would be the one to handle the money in this corporation don’t even fight me on this you know its true

if he knows you personally then he’ll write little notes and cute doodles on the bottom of your receipt

also sneaks an extra mint sweet or two onto your bill dish

once he accidentally split his hand on a knife that was left in the sink

he blamed it entirely on taehyung

he bandaged it and then continued doing his job

what a trooper

he pretends like rude or ignorant customers don’t bother him but they still do

like he’s definitely not weak or feeble or helpless in any way but i don’t think anyone in their right mind would be unphased by a middle-aged dad screaming his lungs out because the tomato hadn’t been taken off of the side of his place

or an angry elderly lady threatening to throw a metal spoon at your head

it happens more often than you’d think

shit gets wild in this restaurant

he’s also not a fan of the teenagers that seem to travel in packs and act as if they're going to rip your throat out if you don’t bring them their food quick enough

nonetheless, he's always smiling and patient with every one of the customers, even when they're threatening to throw cutlery at him

he’s only ever broken a plate once

he thought jin would be so mad that he kicked him out but he actually just laughed and told him to be careful not to hurt himself when cleaning it up

secretly would like to try being a chef too but namjoon already snagged the role of jin’s apprentice

oh well man, what can ya do

not only does he sharpen the children's crayons on break

he also colours in the kid's menus

a softie

the cutest

literally the dude you would find if there was a handbook for being a waiter because he’s a textbook example

last au: flatmate hobi au

masterlist

thanks for reading!

-tash 💕

#bts #bts scenarios #bts au #jimin au #jimin oneshot #jimin fluff #jimin scenarios #bts imagine #bts fluff #bts oneshot #jimin imagine #jimin #park jimin #bts reacts #bts reactions #bts preferences #taenqueray

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jordan102791 · 5 years ago

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Pixie Love Note part 12

"Shit!" Piper slams the heel of her palm into the rim of her steering wheel. "Damnit! What was I thinking? I never should've fallen asleep. That damn dream, well guess it wasn't a dream really. Shit. Shit, shit, shit! I can't go down this road again. How do I fix this?"

Her phone shoved in the side of her purse, at least she'd remembered to grab that, started chirping. A text message. Blindly, fumbling around she dug out the cheap phone and lit up the screen. Wulf. Shit. She couldn't talk to him now. Could she ever talk to him again? Her face heated at the flashes of the night before filling her mind. No. They were supposed to be just friends and she had to go and ruin that. A heavy sigh leaking out. But she couldn't just abandon him with everything going on with Amanda. She'd just have to put him back on his side of the fence. No overly friendly conversations. Keep it basic. Surface relationship.

With a plan in mind some of the tension rolled out of her shoulders. She uncurled herself from around her steering wheel to finally sit back in her seat. His smell enveloped her, she pulled the collar of his shirt up, taking a whiff. Damn shirt. "And what right does someone that good looking that can play music that well have to smell this good," she muttered to herself, placing both hands back on the wheel. She'd just have to breathe through her mouth or something and change when she gets home.

*****

Wulf came down the stairs, quiet, but a dark cloud obviously hanging over his head.

"Still nothing from her," Pix prodded her brother gently. Her tiny hand resting on his shoulder.

Not bothering to open his mouth, he solemnly shook his head. And gave her a one-sided sad smile.

"She'll call. I know she will." Amanda pats his shoulder like he might break if she's too rough with him right now.

"And if she doesn't?"

"She will. Just keep trying. She's probably just scared right now. She'll come around."

Exhaling a heavy breath, he nods. "The guys are supposed to stop by in a bit."

"Ok. I'll step out for a bit, so you can discuss business without worrying over me," she said giving him a pointed look. His only response, the brilliant smile that always lit up a room and a small chuckle.

Amanda gathered the clothes her brother had reverently folded and laid on the corner of the table in the foyer, shoving them into a bag. "I'm gonna see if I can drop these things off at her job for her, all right? She probably wants her shoes back at least." Wulf mumbled his agreement.

A car rumbled up the driveway as she grabbed the shoes from the floor and her purse from the hook. She opened the door in time to see Tyler jumping onto the porch.

"Hey, Pix," he drawled spotting the shoes and bag in her hands. "Well I know you aren't heading to the gym bc Wulfy would've locked you up if he suspected such a thing. And let's be real, you're only going running if something's chasing you," he teased. "So, you got a hot date you're trying to impress with those sneaks? Or this?" He snaked a bra out of the bag tucked under her arm, a smug look twisting his features.

"Nope. Just returning some things."

"Oh. So it was a hot date already? My my Pix, didn't know you were swinging that way these days. How things change, proud of you," he gives her a conspiratorial smile.

"Wasn't my hot date, I'm just the delivery girl. House is all to you boys, I'll be back later," Amanda stated before snagging the bra from his hand and stuffing it back into her bag as she walked around him. Waving a hand, calling hello to Pete and Gage as she slid into her car. Charlie and Mags pulling in shortly after.

Tyler lets himself in the door, the rest trudging in behind him. Wulf nestled in the corner of the couch; his bandmates plopping down around him.

"So Pix said you had a date last night, and she's doing your walk of shame for you?" Tyler's brows inched towards his hairline.

"I don't really want to get into it, can we just work," Wulf growled.

"Oooo touchy," Pete teased.

"Didn't perform so well last night," Gage goaded.

"I'm not talking about this right now."

"Anyone we know," Charlie asked.

Wulf let out a heavy sigh, relenting that he wouldn't get out of this conversation without giving something up to them. "Remember the girl a few months back that dipped out before I woke up?"

"I think I remember you mentioning something about some not-so-clingy chick over breakfast," Maggie answered. "What about her?"

"She lives nearby. Other end of town from what I've gathered. Her and I have been talking for a while now. Friends, ya know? It made me feel better having someone nearby that could check on Pix."

"So, what? She wants money from you," Tyler asked.

Wulf shakes his head. "No, she doesn't want anything from me," awe tinging his voice.

"Is she gonna sell everything about Pix to the gossip mags," Gage asked, suddenly concerned.

"No. She says it's not her business to share, especially if we don't want to."

"Ya know, sharing that stuff could've turned out badly," Charlie chided.

"I know, but at the time none of it mattered to me."

"Ok Wulf, so what's the problem," Mags asked gently.

"She said no strings attached back when we were on tour, well she came over last night to eat with Pix and I and just chill. And well one thing turned into another and now Pix is doing my walk of shame."

"So, she lied and wants a relationship now," Pete asked.

"Oh man, you dog," Tyler laughs. "You kicked her out without her bra or shoes?"

"This is why we don't bring ladies back to the domicile," Gage added.

"No, I didn't kick her out. She left on her own."

"So, what's the problem," from Pete.

"She ran out, like she was on fire."

"Wait, wait, wait. So she left, no strings attached, no promises to call, couldn't get out of here fast enough," Tyler clarified.

At Wulf's quiet nod, Gage chimes, "Man you really are losing your touch. So bad you're running 'em right out the door." Pete snickering beside him.

"Ok so, what's the problem? Sounds like a dream, if I hadn't seen Pix carrying out the evidence I might've thought you had been."

"She ran from me."

"Yea, but you don't have to worry about it now, move on to the next one."

"Hey," Mags reaches over to touch Wulf's forearm. "Can we get something together to eat right quick?" He nods before getting up. "No worries guys, you get started. We'll be right back," she adds to the rest with a sweet smile.

"What did you want to eat?"

"I'm not really worried about food, though I am starving. I'm worried about you," she says just above a whisper.

"Why are you worried? I'm fine," giving her a smile that didn't reach his eyes.

"Don't lie to me. You're upset and I think I know why," giving him a pointed look.

"Why would I be upset? You heard the guys, I'm living the dream."

"Oh, please. Don't insult me. It may be their dream, but I can see in your eyes it isn't yours, so want to tell me why?"

"Not really, but you're not gonna let me out til I tell you are you?"

"You don't have to tell me if you really don't want to, but I would like to help you. You should have at least one person, besides your sister, who knows what's up."

He pushes his hands through his long golden hair before drooping his shoulders. "Fine. Fine. Her name's Piper. She was auper cool when we got together on tour and wanted to talk about more than just how hot I was and how we'd be together forever. She left her phone number, but not in a pushy way, more just a 'here it is if you need it' kinda way. And when Pix called I found it and I did need it. We were all drowning in that grief and I needed someone not immersed in it, so I texted her. And we've been talking pretty regularly ever since. She's been holding me at arm's length though. I feel like she's not telling me a lot about herself for some reason and made it clear she just wanted to be friends. She's not after the money or any fame, she's just Piper. She's sweet and funny and cares about things. I asked her to come eat dinner last night. And well she made a half asleep move on me and I reciprocated and then this morning she freaked out and ran out the door like a bat out of hell before I could even catch her."

"So you like her, like really like her? And she doesn't feel the same?" The look he gives her answers the questions all on its own. "Aww baby, come here." Maggie pulls his large body in for a comforting hug.

"What if I've lost her from my life now?"

"I'm sure you haven't lost her. You just need to take a step back for a minute. She's obviously physically attracted to you, you'll just have to show her she's attracted to the rest of you too. Have you called her?"

"Yea, but she won't answer me."

"Just give her some space, let her come to you again maybe."

"Thanks Mags. Now I guess we should get that food before those vultures come sniffing around."

"There's the friend I know and love," giving him a quick smile as she releases him from her bear hug.

*****

Piper was tied on her apron, change jingling in the pocket. Pens clanking, hing across the edge, when a petite women walked in from the light. The door closing, settling the entryway in shadows revealed fairy-like Amanda standing there, looking straight at Piper with a crease in her forehead. The tiny woman marched over to the counter between them.

"Hi Amanda," Piper greets in a meek voice. She couldn't remember the last time she'd been this nervous.

"Hey," she returns a gentle smile. "You left in a rush this morning, thought you might need these?" She holds up the sneakers for the server to see. "Brought the rest with me too, but you probably want to just shove it in your truck."

Piper's cheeks redden at the memory of what all she left behind and why. "I'm sorry about this morning."

"No need to apologize to me. Jason on the other hand, you may want to answer one of those calls or texts from him."

"I... I... I just can't. I don't know what I would even say to him."

"Maybe start with why you ran out this morning?"

"Friends. We were just supposed to be friends and nothing else. And I screwed that up."

"What's wrong with more than just friends? You're two consenting adults. And Jase would kill me for sharing this with you, but I'm pretty sure he'd be into that too."

"That's exactly the problem. I can't love him. I can't love anyone, and he deserves to find someone who can. I can't keep him from that."

"No one says you have to love him right now. No one expects you to, but maybe one day you will, what's so wrong about loving him?"

"I just... I just can't. It'd be better for him to break from that now. Please. I don't want to hurt him. I've used up my allotment. I can't be that for him, I just can't." Desperation filling each of her words.

"Ok fine, but you still need to talk to him. Explain it to him. Because Jase is loyal to a fault and has a hard time letting go without good reason. You need to give him that reason. I'll go put that bag in your truck. And can I place a to-go order?"

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