#probably T effects but i got fucking skinny on T last time so maybe its not T effects maybe its something else

[ghostcrows]

My plumpness is returning (said so cutely)

[thewhitejournal]

Just One More Night

Aaron Hotchner x Female!Reader Series

hello everyone! welcome to a new series im starting, this one was actually requested by @art-and-thoughts so shoutout to them. i’ll put their request below so you can read what it’s about, and i hope you all enjoy! :)

plot: Shortly after getting divorced, Hotch needs some sort of distraction from his work and personal life, he ends up meeting a younger girl and they start a casual relationship. He doesn’t want to know much about her than what’s necessary, so they just meet for ~sexy times~ and it works good for both of them for a while. The reader is graduating in communities and criminology; JJ finds out she’s going to have a baby, so she decides to call someone from outside to “coach” and replace her. That’s how the reader ends up at the BAU.

content warnings: smut, cursing, a bit commanding here and there, fingering, oral (male receiving)

-

Finals kicked your ass, that was a fact. You stepped out of the study hall and your tennis shoe met snow, covering the steps to the doors. You kicked yourself internally for not checking the weather, shivers already taking over your body. Snow went flying from the ground as you rushed to your car, a sheet of it falling off the roof when you slammed the door. The cold didn’t necessarily bother you, but not dressing appropriately for it did. Your car sputtered to life when you turned the key in the ignition. While you tried warming yourself up and while you waited for the defrost to kick in, you checked your phone.

The cold metal of the thing wasn’t exactly comforting, but your notifications were coming in at record speed. The group chat you and your roommate and the friends you’d met since last year made together kept bombarding you with who’s typing and who’s already said something. A little part of you dreaded opening it, knowing you were probably fully behind on whatever was happening.

They loved you, that’s for sure. But they always teased you for being ‘addicted to school’, and that you needed help for your addiction. You couldn’t help you were devoted to your future, the career at the FBI looking closer every day. It’s always been your goal. More specifically, you wanted to be a profiler. Ever since you started researching career paths and colleges in your senior year of high school, it stuck with you. You wanted it, and when you found something you wanted, you weren’t giving up until you had it. Hell, you’d just got done reviewing the subjects for next semester.

A sigh escaped your lips as you opened the chat. The rundown of it was that they wanted to get together for drinks to celebrate the end of the semester. You weren’t much of a party person, but you knew it wasn’t an option for you since they said they would be meeting there in half an hour. All you wanted to do was go back to the dorm and pass out, but you figured, why the hell not? You knew you deserved a break; one night couldn’t hurt.

After making the short drive to the dorms about half a mile away, you turned the car off and hurried inside. You came in with a bluster of cold air, kicking off your wet shoes next to the door. Your roommate was getting ready in the bathroom; her favorite ‘hype’ music was playing and you could smell the hairspray from the front door.

You didn’t have time to shower, and you figured it was fine since you had one this morning. So you fixed yourself up, doing a little more makeup and slipping into the outfit your friend picked out for you. You stepped into the bathroom next to her to fix your hair.

“(Y/N), going out without bitching? Are you feeling alright?” She teasingly put the back of her hand to your forehead as if to feel for a fever. You rolled your eyes, smacking her hand away. Both of you shared a laugh. Within minutes, you two were ready to go. You piled into your car, which was still a little warm, and started driving to the bar they picked out.

Once you were inside, you saw your other friends waiting for you, drinks already on their table. They waved you over as if you couldn’t see them; they were already tipsy. A smile grew on your lips as you and your friend walked over to them, happy to see your friends happy.

“To this shitty semester finally being over!” Your roommate toasted, a shot already in her hand. She was holding one out to you, and you took it, clinking your glass with the other girls before downing it. After sitting and talking and laughing and drinking for a while, you started surveying the bar and its patrons. Your curious gaze fell on a table of men, one of them significantly older than the rest. He had a glass of whiskey in front of him. His hands that donned a huge ring with an insignia that you couldn’t make out were gesturing in the air like he was telling a story.

The man standing next to him looked to be about your age, maybe older. He was a skinny little thing, listening intently to the older man’s story with a smile on his face. He looked like he was drinking some kind of sparkling water. The other guy was buff, wearing a tight, grey t-shirt. Dark brows on his forehead danced with emotion as the story went on. His smile was huge; he had some beautiful teeth for a guy. A beer dangled casually in his hand.

The fourth man was unlike the rest of them in his own way. He was wearing a brown pullover and dark jeans, his short black hair gelled and styled. His fingers twirled a whiskey glass on the table, and it was about empty. You noticed a tan line on his ring finger, but no ring. This was intriguing. A Rolex shined on his right wrist. He had a small smile on his face, adding to the story here and there and laughing. You couldn’t hear it, but you were sure it sounded lovely. His brown eyes crinkled when he smiled.

“(Y/N), what the hell are you staring- oh, I see. The skinny one?” Your roommate Rachel asked you, her gaze fixed on the men now, too. She looked at him like she was a lion and he was a gazelle, and it was dinner time. You chuckled, shaking your head.

“No, Rach. Don’t worry about it.” She gave you a knowing look like you weren’t getting away with it that easy. Her body turned towards you, and she leaned on the table. Her brows furrowed.

“Which one, then? Cause brown jacket’s been making eyes on you since you walked in.” She stated. You turned to face her, your eyes widening.

“Oh my god, can you keep your fucking voice down?”, you hissed under your breath. You tried looking over at them inconspicuously, to see if they’d heard, but you couldn’t tell. You felt the blush creeping up your neck and onto your cheeks. A sly smile made its way to her face. She giggled.

“It’s him, isn’t it?” She prodded your arm, laughing. You tried to play it cool, trying to make her calm down, but it wasn’t working. She burst into laughter, nearly doubling over so hard she about fell into the floor. God, she was drunk. You glanced over at the table, and you swore you saw him looking over, but only for a second.

Butterflies started roaring inside of you, in your stomach and even wandering lower. It was like nothing you’d ever felt before. The liquid courage started flowing through your veins, your heart pumping in your chest. You might’ve gone over and said, or ever did, something if you were a hundred percent sure he was interested. But you weren’t. Rachel eventually recovered from her laughing fit, leaning on you like you were the only thing holding her up. You steadied her as best as you could.

“Rachel, you should drink some water. You’re wasted.” You rubbed her arm, a concerned look on your face. She stared at you for a second, copying the look on your face.

“Fine,” she slurred, “You need the courage more than me anyway.” Your brows furrowed, giving her an inquisitive look. She giggled, covering her mouth when she let a snort out. “Because...look behind you…”, she whisper-said, falling on your other friend to her left. You felt your heart speed up in your chest, your body turning on your heel.

The man was sauntering over to you, his friends cheering him on behind him. He was laughing and shaking his head. You chewed on the inside of your cheek as he got closer. Fuck, he was tall. That smile on his lips made you blush, and the look in his eyes said more than words ever could.

When he finally reached you, he slipped an arm around your waist and leaned down to whisper in your ear. He smelled like pine and leather, and you felt your body tense up. There’s no way this was happening. The hottest guy in the bar, picking you out of the crowd? This never happened.

“Wanna get out of here?” He smelled like alcohol, but you were sure you did too. It took everything in you not to moan at the mere rasp of his voice. You hummed in an affirming tone as a response. This wasn’t like you, but you didn’t care. He was hot and the looks he gave you alone were enough to get you soaking wet. He took your hand eagerly, pulling you out the door and towards a black SUV. The plates on the front looked like government plates, but surely not. The car wasn’t your focus at the moment, anyway.

He shoved you against the passenger door, somehow rough and gentle at the same time, his arms on either side of your waist. It took the breath out of you, but you were breathless already so it was hard to tell just how much of an effect it had on you. His dark eyes looked like those of a hungry predator, tracing all over your face and body. He licked his lips, eyes flickering from your eyes to your lips.

“Do you wanna do this?”, he asked you in a low and sultry voice. You put your hands on the sides of his face, nodding. You leaned forward and closed the gap between the two of you, pressing your body to his, along with your lips. His hand pulled your waist to his body, the other hand getting lost in your hair. He moaned against your lips, and you felt yourself twitch in your underwear. God, he was so fucking hot.

“Good, get in.”, he commanded. You’d never been talked to like that. Your pussy twitched again, and you had to hold back a whimper. He opened the back door for you, and you crawled inside. The backseat was spacious, which was quite useful for what was about to happen. He settled himself in the seat and shut the door behind him, locking the car and pulling you into his lap, his back against the door.

He smashed his soft, pink lips onto yours, his tongue twirling with yours. His lips left yours and he started trailing rough kisses down your neck, his teeth grazing your collarbone. You craned your neck back to give him more room, a little moan slipping from your lips. “Oh, you like that, baby?”, he asked you against your skin, his fingers slowly pulling down the straps of your dress onto your shoulders.

“Wait…”, you breathed out, and he pulled away. He asked if he’d done something wrong, an apologetic look in his eyes. He’s hot and respectful? Fuck. “No, I… I just want to know your name.” He chuckled deeply.

“Aaron. What’s yours, honey?” God, that voice was the death of you. You were surprised he couldn’t feel how wet you were through his jeans.

“(Y/N).” A smile grew on your lips, as did on his.

“Nice to meet you, (Y/N).”, he whispered, leaning into you again and kissing you. You slid your heels off and heard them clatter on the floor, kissing him back, wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing yourself against him. Your legs fell over his waist, straddling him. He hummed contently against you, his huge hands resting on your waist.

Instinctively, you moved your hips against his jeans, a moan slipping through your lips. His hands fell to your thighs, hastily moving them under your dress to play with the hem of your panties. You whimpered, and he pulled away, looking you in the eyes.

“You want these off, (Y/N)?”, he purred in your ear.

“Fuck, yes, Aaron, please…” You were a mess, but you didn’t care. You just wanted him so bad, and you didn’t even know him. His fingers tugged at them, pulling them down your thigh and shoving them in his pocket, a sly smile on his face.

“Come here, baby.” You obliged, sliding your hands under his shirt as you kissed him roughly. He bit your lip, a yelp coming from you and a deep chuckle from him. The two of you parted for only a second so that his jacket and shirt could come off. You admired his skin in the faint light from a nearby streetlight. Something that stood out to you was all the scars on his stomach. You leaned down and kissed every single one of them, undoing his belt in the process. You could feel how hard he was through his jeans. He moaned, his head hitting the window. “Fuck, you’re so hot…” His voice sounded so attractive when he was hot and bothered.

His hands pulled you suddenly back into his lap, hands resting on your bare ass. “Your turn first.” His thumb had no problem finding your pulsing clit, and he started rubbing circles just the way you liked. You gasped, moaning and burying your face in his neck. He moaned too, pushing a finger inside you and pumping back and forth. “You’re so wet for me, (Y/N).” You couldn’t speak; the power he held over you was insane. He kissed your neck so roughly you knew it would leave bruises that you’d have to cover up. Good thing it was scarf season.

He added another finger, and you started riding him; you were a moaning and sloppy mess. You put your hands on his strong shoulders to steady yourself, and he moved his fingers faster. The knot in your stomach tightened, and you could hardly breathe. Your eyes rolled back into your head and all you could feel was his hot chest against you and his long fingers inside you as you rode out your orgasm on them. He pulled them out, and you instantly missed the feeling. You whined at the empty feeling.

“You want to clean them off or should I?” You could barely focus on his words, your pussy still pulsing.

“I want you to taste me.”, you breathed out. Without hesitation, he licked his fingers clean, amber eyes rolling into his skull and a guttural moan coming from deep inside him. You got turned on again just from that vision itself. He pulled your dress off of you and threw it on top of your panties on the floor. He hungrily stared at your chest, sucking on your nipple and playing with the other. Your hips bucked against the leather of the seat, a groan slipping from the both of you.

“Lie down.” You did as you were told, lying down on your back. He unzipped his jeans and kicked them off, but not before pulling a condom out of the back pocket. His dick was pushing against the thin fabric of his boxers. Fuck, he’s huge. Of course, he is. Going against orders, you sat up and looked up at him, taking him into your mouth. He groaned, pulling your hair back away from your face. “(Y/N), holy shit…” He thrust into your mouth, but you didn’t mind it. Your hands stroked his dick for what your mouth couldn’t take.

You pulled away, knowing he was ready. His light brown eyes from inside the bar were now pitch black, his chest heaving and sweat beading on his forehead. You put your hand behind his head and pressed your lips into his, and he moaned against you. You could feel his dick pressing onto the inside of your thigh, and your hips naturally started riding it. He wasn’t inside you yet, just slipping against you. Your nails dug into his back, the feeling too much to take. His hands held your waist so tight you think he might leave bruises, but that didn’t matter.

Hurriedly, he pulled the condom on his dick and made sure you were ready and willing before he started fucking you. Slowly at first, he thrust what felt like halfway inside you. He filled you up so nicely, like the two of you were made for each other. “Fuck, Aaron, just like that…”, you breathed out into his ear, moaning and rocking on top of him. He helped you stay steady as you took all of his dick, and he started speeding up. You held onto him like he was your last breath, and his wandering hand found your clit again, rubbing those familiar circles on it. He started sucking on your neck again, and you could feel him twitching inside you. You came not a second later.

You rode it out, seeing stars. He was breathing heavily, kissing your lips as softly as he did before you started. You kissed him back with what little energy you had left. “That was…”, he whispered, looking into your eyes. “Amazing. You’re amazing.”, he finished his thought.

“Wanna do this again sometime?”, you asked him shyly. He smirked at you. “Sorry, that was-“

“I do, (Y/N). Get dressed, I’ll drive you home.” You smiled at him, and he returned one. You didn’t worry about your phone or purse; one of your friends would grab them. He was dressed quickly and got out of the backseat, closing the door behind him and walking around the front of the car to get in the driver’s seat. You pulled your dress back on, along with your shoes.

The lack of Aaron’s body heat made you realize how cold it was this late into the night. You crossed your arms over your body, trying to make yourself as warm as possible. He motioned for you to get in the front seat, so you did, getting out of the car. The parking lot was almost empty, and it was snowing. You opened the passenger door, climbing in.

“Are you cold?”, he asked. He was warming the car up, turning dials and making sure it was getting defrosted. Not that it needed to do much work with all the heat you two made. You looked over at him; the caring look returned in his eyes. He looked handsome in the dim light of the center console. You nodded, and he pulled his jacket off and handed it to you. You gladly took it, his smell wafting around you when you slid it on. You told him where your dorms were, and he didn’t seem to mind that you were still in university.

The two of you drove in comfortable silence, the white flakes whizzing past the windows as he drove. Thoughts flooded your head about what had just happened, and how you felt about him. You couldn’t fall for him, but you had a feeling you could at some point if you weren’t careful. Unbeknownst to you, Aaron was having the same thoughts.

He parked outside your building, and he gave you his number and you gave him yours. You started taking the jacket off, and he stopped you. “Keep it. It’s cold out there.” You gave him a small smile and thanked him, and he pressed one last kiss to your lips before you got out of the car. He made sure you got inside the building before driving off. You watched the black SUV pull off in the white flurries outside. The plates caught your eye again; those were US government plates, for sure.

What the hell have you gotten yourself into?

[centuryofdean]

When Lightning Strikes - Chapter 10

Author Disclaimer:: The Hobbit, Middle Earth and its characters are not mine. I take no credit. The story line and even some dialogue–also not mine. Instead I claim my Original Character Laurel and the adjustments to the story line.

Summary:: From when Laurel Took was small she dreamed of a man. Every time she dreamed of him, he could not see or hear her. Over time they are able to communicate–but he’s been dreaming about her too. Finally after years of anticipation Laurel takes the leap and kisses him. Only for her to wake up and dread the real world. Then lightning strikes and she finds herself in a familiar place, with a familiar face.

Rated:: M for Mature. Please do not read this story unless you are 18+ At this point in the story there isn’t much, but later on the M rating will come into effect.

Warnings:: Language, Violence and Scenes of Sexual Nature

Pairing:: Kili x OC (Laurel)

Laurel

Fili explained to me of when Thorin told them they were the princes of Erebor, but Fili was the crown prince. This meant that he was the first heir whereas his younger brother would be the second runner up. That day Fili experienced hatred from his brother for the only time in their lives. Although they were ten years apart they were inseparable, so the month of jealousy from the younger brother took a toll on their relationship.

During a pause in our conversation, a bird called above from the trees. In one fluid motion I drew my bow and notched an arrow trying to be mindful to my companion and not hit him at all. With concentration, I tried to mimic the call, surprising myself at how well it came across. The bird shot out from the trees, larger than I had thought. Lining the tip of the beautiful arrows I had, I released and prayed that I had anticipated the flight of the bird correctly.

Pride filled me as the bird was struck and started to fall from the sky. It was up ahead more, so it would land before we would reached it.

"Did you just shoot a bustard," Bombur called from ahead, looking back.

"I dunno really, I shot a bird," I replied jogging ahead to try and find the carcass.

In the foliage I could see that were was distress through the leaves. It took a moment, but I found the animal laying in the bottom of a small hill. It wasn't the largest bird around, maybe fifteen pounds if I was lucky, but it was some meat to eat.

Not being mindful where I stepped, my heel hit a stick just right and caused me to slip and slide down the hill before me.

"Son of a bitch!"

The scream ripped through me as I felt pain go through my ankle and then the rest of my body as I tumbled down. I halted to a stop next to the dead bird, breathe coming to me in short gasps as I tried to regain it. In the distance I could hear muttering and the sound of thudding boots. In moments Bofur, Nori, Fili and even Kili were above me and looking at the scene.

"What happened," Kili muttered breathlessly.

"I slid on a stick and fell down the hill. Hurt my ankle I think," I closed my eyes and I began to set up. Once I was able to stand up, I attempted to put pressure on my foot. Instead pain stabbed all around. "I twisted it. its gunna swell, dammit!"

Nori started to poke at the bird, checking to see if it were truly dead. When he found it to his liking, he picked it up and looked it over some more. "It won't be much," he chuckled, "but it is better than bread and vegetables! Good shot lass!"

He and Bofur ran back up the hill, yelling about the catch. The brothers turned to follow. The limp that I acquired left me struggling to get up the hill we came from, I actually slid backwards a few times, hissing and wincing at the pain that would shoot through my joint. Fili stopped with a sigh, giving me a look over his shoulder and gestured to his back, "Jump on Lady Laurel, I will assist you to the top."

I saw Kili's back straighten, but he did not turn backwards to see me climb his brother's back. Fili was not helping in this battle of jealousy. It was awkward to say in the least when his hands grasped just under my knees and hike me up higher on his shoulders. I grasped them in front of me, trying not to squeeze my thighs around him.

Once we returned to the group, we found them to be sitting and starting a fire. "We will rest here for the night and continue in the morning," Thorin stated, throwing another look of disdain my way. 

Bombur had the bird plucked and beheaded, he was working on cutting the meat and slicing it up. By the looks of the slices he was evenly making, there would be enough for everyone but not enough to fill the pits of our bellies. Not all of the fifteen pounds of that bird were meat for eating. 

I was set on one of the logs that was pulled close to the fire. Toeing off my boot, I looked at the swollen ankle. It would be better in the morning when we were ready to leave. "Wish I would have saw a deer instead," I muttered, "rather hurt myself over that than some skinny bird."

The chuckles and laughs that Fili produced were always deep and full of mirth. Almost like a father or an uncle it seemed. Kili's were much more child-like and pure excitement. Occasionally they turned sultry. Sometimes they slipped into a deep sensual laugh, those were nice, maybe even my favorite. The dwarf in question rose from the opposite end of the log and snatched his bow off the ground, trudging into the forest.

"Where is he off too," I muttered. Ori, whom took a seat next to me shrugged.

The stew was done shortly, everyone tucking in and eating earnestly. Gandalf ate quickly and rose, "Thank you for the find Laurel, but I must be off to attend to something quickly. I will meet back with the company on the other side of the mountain in a few days."

No one said anything, just because from what I could tell was Gandalf left and came back frequently. Night soon fell and Kili had yet to return.

"Is anyone going to go look for him," I asked his brother, "what if something happened to him?"

"He is probably hunting," he responded simply, "or he is waiting for you to follow him for a quick romp."

I choked on the stew, "E-excuse me?"

The blond erupted into laughs, patting me on the back to assist me with my choking. Just as tears threatened to spill over my cheeks from the harshness of the stew going down my windpipe, I saw Kili emerge from the woods, pulling something behind him.

"Durin's beard," Fili muttered, rising to get a better look.

Behind Kili was a large animal, and once he got closer to the fire I was able to see it was one of the largest bucks I ever laid my eyes on.

"Oh he's pruning himself alright," Dwalin chuckled from across the fire.

"Pruning," I asked confused.

"It's the process of a dwarf making himself more presentable for mating," Fili muttered as Kili drew closer. "He is going to present you with the deer, he expects you to prepare it."

"Why," I muttered back.

I did not receive my answer though. Instead Kili came to a stop, panting softly before me, dragging the beast of a buck and dropping its hind legs. "When you're done Bombur will cook it."

No other words were said. Instead he crossed to the other side of the fire and stared intently at myself.

"He is proving that he is more suit for you. You said you wanted deer," Fili laughed poking the dead animal, "so he brought you back the biggest one I have ever seen, showing he can provide. Normally he would cook it after you prepare it, but Bombur makes everything taste better."

"Has anyone got a rope," I asked. I got a lot of head shakes and 'no's.

Of course.

Pulling out the dagger I was given, I slipped to the ground to sit in front of the animal. I would have to make the best of it I suppose. The dagger was sharp and made it easy to cut into the belly, but not too deep so that I didn't cut the intestines. It was messy to say the least, I had to keep scooting to keep from getting drenched in the blood. Fili handed me leather ties so that I could tie essential parts closed to keep the meat pristine.

"If you look at him," Fili whispered lowly, "he is stroking his beard. He would normally be braiding it to show its thickness and length, but since he does not have much length, that will not do him much good.

"Soon he will probably end up braiding his hair for the same reason, and eventually he will remove his shirt to show his body to you so you can see his strength."

"Dear lord," I muttered, "jealous barbarians."

I struggled when it came to cutting the sternum, but when I put my weight into it I was able to get it all the way through. Next I had to remove the skin, cringing because it was my least favorite part. Fili attempted to help me move the carcass so that I could remove the skin on the opposite side, but I nudged him away. Shortly after I heard a soft growl, my eyes darting up to find Kili bent over with his fingers in his hair, glaring at his brother. Each of the dwarves were talking quietly, watching me as I worked.

"If the maiden needs help with the dressing of the animal," Fili continued after he backed away, "the dwarf that presented it should help. He sees me trying to help you, which he takes it as me trying to help provide for you."

Jesus, they were fucking barbarians.

"We won't all be able to eat all of this thing," I muttered, "so we'll just eat half of it I suppose. It won't last through the night anyway, it will spoil."

I started to cut out steaks. They were big steaks, enough to have one or sometimes two for each of us. Bombur rose and waddled over to me to take five or six steaks at a time, rinsing them with a couple of water pouches they had. Once all the steaks I cut out were taken and cleaned, I wiped at my forehead with my wrist, probably smearing blood everywhere. I dared look at Thorin to try and determine his mood. It was then he decided to stand and speak.

"The Halfling fed us earlier, and thanks to Kili we were fed again, tonight we feast like kings," he roared in cheer. The rest of the dwarves shouted as well, each rising to thump Kili on the back. His dark brown eyes never leaving my form, raking over all the aspects.

"I want the antlers," I told him plainly as he looked at me. It was a nice eight-point rack, nice thick bases and almost perfectly even on either side. 

Surprise didn't take me when he rose and borrowed Dwalin's axe, tossing it over one shoulder and pulling the deer by one leg over to the side of our camp site. He returned within ten minutes, presenting me with the top half of the scull and twelve-point rack. He must have rinsed it as well because there was little traces of blood to see. I set it aside and watched as he disappeared with the deer carcass.

"Must have really made him jealous," his brother laughed once more. "Have never seen him pruning before."

When he returned, he grabbed a plate from Bombur and a steak, kneeling before me and handing me the plate. "Thank you," I whispered, picking up the warm meat with my bare hands and started to tear into the meat. A soft smile tugged on the corners of his lips, he rose and returned with another plate of his own; and pushed his brother from the spot next to me to take his seat.

The group—and even myself—burst into a round of laughter. The tension was finally gone, and everyone started to talk again as if nothing ever happened.

"Are you done pruning yet brother," Fili slapped him on the back.

The steak was marvelous, one of the best deer I had ever eaten. It was juicy and cooked just the way I liked it. I felt as though I was a mess, because the juices dribbled down my chin, not to mention I was covered in blood. The plate sat next to me, and I sighed in contentment.

Kili bent down, slipping his arms around my knees and back, "Come along now little doe," he muttered, "I will take you to clean up."

"Little doe," I laughed softly in question.

Since night had fallen, soreness started to creep in and tried to drag me to sleep. All the walking and the hour it took to prepare the deer had me almost exhausted. As Kili carried me bridal style through the trees, I released another content sigh and let my head fall back against his shoulder.

"You had nothing to be jealous of," I muttered, pulling on the large braid he placed in his hair. A scoff left him. "I am serious. It's your brother of all people, I would never do that to you."

We arrived at a smaller stream, Kili kneeling down to set me at the edge of it. He ripped a piece of fabric from this shirt and wet it before bringing it up to my face. The ice cold water had me bolt to awareness, but grateful for the wake up. I didn't want to fall asleep before we got back to the camp. Once my face and neck were cleaned of blood and leftover deer, he attempted to try and wipe the blood from my clothes.

"Don't worry about it," I took the rag from his hands and continued to wipe my own. "And stop pruning or whatever they called it, I can clean myself."

"I apologize," he muttered, "I just saw Fili and you laughing and smiling with his arm around you—I just saw red. Then he carried you on his back…"

The moonlight lit the trees and shimmered off the creek, all the stars and beautiful hues of blue and purple amazing me. Kili kicked his feet above the water’s edge in tune with my own.

With a sigh I crawled into his lap so I sat astride, throwing my arms around his waist. "You don't ever have to think of that of me," I sighed, "I just don't know if I can give you what you want Kili."

"What is it you think I want?"

I had the hinting suspicion that sex was one of the things, but I would not say it was the only thing. Kili may have chased a lot of elves, but through the years he's come to care for me at least as a friend. As of late I could tell that it ran deeper than just friendship, or a quick romp in the woods as Fili said.

"For this thing between us to progress," I murmured, eyes trying to find his own for confirmation of what I said.

"This is true," he whispered, smile evident while he cupped my face, "not just physically Laurel, I want everything."

"I don't know if I can give you everything."

"Can I at least have something for now," he asked breathlessly.

If it made him happy, I suppose. With a small nod I threaded my fingers through his braid, tilting his head to mine so that I could taste his lips. The last and only kiss we shared was heated and hurried, not even real. This time I was determined to make it last and mean something.

Just as I remembered, his lips were soft and velvety against my own, but real. It was a feeling I would love to feel all over my body. His one hand grasped my hip to pull me closer while the other fingered my hair as well. A jolt of pleasure came over me when he slanted his mouth open, tongue seeking out my own. The first touch of it tangling with mine had me moaning softly.

Kili grunted, hands leaving my hair and picking me up completely to throw each of my legs around his waist. At this position I could feel the hardness in his pants pressed up against my bottom. I kissed him back with more heat, my lips pushing back harshly as I pulled his head closer to my own. Every movement was pleasure spiking right to my core.

One of his hands fisted in my hair and yanked my head backwards so his lips could attack my neck. A louder moan ripped through me, coming out as a mewl at the last second. Teeth started to nip at my neck while his other hand slipped over and unknowingly undid the buttons of my vest. Another gasp left me when his hand encased my clothed breast. It felt good, too good.

Finally we were both making noises of pleasure, his hand fondling me while I took the time to kiss his neck and experiment biting him as well. In moments we were rocking into one another, the best jolt of pleasure I ever felt going right to my core. Heat and tingling bliss radiated from my center as it rubbed up against his length through our clothes.

"Oh Kili," I moaned, "too much."

His hands moved from my breast and hip to cup either side of my face where he pulled me into another soft kiss.

"Thank you little doe," he panted, "that was glorious. I will have prune around you more often."

Previous Chapter << Chapter 9: Following the Path of Jealousy

Next Chapter >> Chapter 11: Easily Broken, Easily Fooled

[evan-atthebeach]

beach vibes.

Who: @evan-atthebeach & @doveportceleste

Where: Doveport Pier

What: Evan meets Celeste at the pier to share a joint, shenanigans ensue.

Notes: nsfw-ish, making out, weed.

Evan

Evan wasn't really expecting a text from the blonde that night and he really didn't expect an invitation to smoke but Evan was putting himself out there so he accepted, plus he was a bit concerned about the girl being out alone so late and at the beach. Evan slipped on a hoodie over his T-shirt and basketball shorts and made his way down to the beach. He lived only a few blocks down from the pier so he thought a quick jog couldn't hurt. Once he was there he looked around for the girl. "Celeste?' He called out squinting in the darkness.

Celeste

Now that summer was truly on its way, the beach was one of her favorite places to be stoned. Her normally thin filter for her thoughts didn’t exist when she was high, so she texted out her thoughts to a random contact. It turns out she’d picked right since Evan was agreeing to come get stoned and hang out with her. She heard her name, whipping her head around fast to find it (or at least it felt that way) “Ev-man! Over here!” She called

Evan

Evan heard the female voice to his left and turn to meet eyes with her. He flashed her a smile and jogged his way over. He had a backpack with him with a couple towels inside, in case she was actually serious about swimming. "Hey there, airhead." He teased her and ruffled at her hair with a chuckle.

Celeste

Celeste attempted to duck her head from the hair ruffling, smiling indulgently. It was one of the things that happened a lot because she was sort of short. “Hi!” She beamed, excited to have a friend near. “ You’re leaf-ing with me!” She said holding up three blunts. She had no intention of smoking more herself, the way her body buzzed with high already, but she was happy to share as many as Evan wanted with him.

Evan

Evan grinned at the rolled-up blunts, he wrapped an arm around the girl's shoulder and took one of them from her hands, admiring the wrap job. "It looks like you've hand plenty, huh?" He chuckled looking down at her. "Got a lighter?" He asked, knowing she did, but it was only polite to ask. He really didn't do this often and he hoped he wouldn't embarrass himself but the girl was high and he didn't really feel judgment from her. 

Celeste

Celeste didn’t feel the need to answer, grinning wildly in response and humming in agreement. She dug through her jean-short pockets, retrieving a light yellow lighter. “Yep! Here you go Ev-man.” She said, handing over the lighter. She was excited to see him get high with her. “Light her up!” She demanded softly.

Evan

Evan took the lighter from the shorter blonde, nervously bringing it up to the blunt that was attached to his lips. He had to play it cool, he was at the beach with a pretty girl and she was offering him weed. How could it possibly get better? He lit up the blunt and inhaled as it lit up. It wasn’t bad he thought and he inhaled a lot more, letting it sit in his throat before smoothly blowing it out. And it was fine, it was totally fine... until it wasn’t and suddenly he’s having a coughing fit, letting go of the girl as he coughs away from her.

Celeste

Evan seemed to be handling it fine. Celeste was patient, staring up and the stars and getting lost in them again. He seemed cool, and his sandy blonde hair was just asking to be ruffled. It was certainly a lot more different than she thought it would go. She was brought back from her thoughts with the rough hacking beside her. “Oh dude!” She laughed, digging in the pocket of her hoodie and bringing out a small bottle of Gatorade. “Here. Drink something.” She says, forcing the bottle into his hands. “That was kind of weak Ev-man!”

Evan

Evan couldn’t help but laugh as he coughed, especially with the girl laughing next to him. As soon as he was able he took the Gatorade from her hand and drank some down. With a few final coughs and chuckles he looked at her and grinned. “Hey, it’s not my fault my body rejects it.” He bit his lip and took another much smaller drag of the blunt. He could already feel his body starting to tingle with a soft numbness. Another small cough left his lips, along with a few laughs as he looked at the girl. “I think it’s hitting me.” He grinned.

Celeste

Celeste shrugged animatedly, teasing him. “I think you just thought you were tough and inhaled too much” she threw back. It was kind of adorable how he felt the need to impress her or thought he was tough enough. Clearly he wasn’t, but she wasn’t going to fault him for that at all. “Do you feel it? Does this mean we can go swim now?” She asked excitedly. The water had been shimmering with moonlight for the hour or so she’d been there and it was incredibly tempting to just wade in.

Evan

“What? You don’t think I’m a tough guy?” He teased, amusement behind every word. He grinned as he put the blunt out on the sand, handing her the other not smoked half. “Yeah, we can go swimming.” He shrugged off his backpack and his hoodie, along with his shirt. He figured the basketball shorts would just dry off later.

Celeste

“Not when you’re smoking a joint” she said pointedly, squeezing his bicep for effect. Her tone made it clear that she was joking. She tucked the joint back into her pocket, taking a moment to admire the boy shucking his shirt. Shit, he’s hot. She unconsciously stuck a hand on his torso, stopping him for a moment. “No. No way. Lose the shorts Ev-man. We’re going skinny dipping” she teases, shrugging down her own shorts and undressing.

Evan

Evan licked at his lips with a smirk. He drank the rest of the Gatorade in the bottle to help his dry mouth and watched the hand on his chest as he was set to a halt... I mean he really had nothing to be ashamed of, he was extremely fit and well .... gifted. But he had never been skinny dipping, at least not in public. An anxious thought crossed his mind for a moment but it quickly dissipated as he watched the girl undress. Fuck it. Evan pulled down his shorts and boxers and added them to the pile of clothing and then began to approach the water.

Celeste

Celeste took a few moments to take in the others form- he really was mega hot. A thought struck her, grinning impishly before she took off towards the water at a run, wading into it until she was neck-deep. “Cmon slowpoke!” She teased, waiting for Evan to catch up to her. She often was surprised at the way she ended up in situations, from deciding to go for a walk to high and skinny dipping with a hot blonde, but it wasn’t so bad. She might even kiss him if he asked nicely. She was really just seeing where the night would take her, she was already surrendered to her own destiny.

Evan

Evan was in his own world for a moment. He swore he could hear his blood pumping in his body, maybe it was just the waves crashing on the sand but his thoughts halted when the girl ran past him. He smiles as he jogged to catch up, the water hitting his body, cold at first but his body quickly adjusting. He was having fun, he honestly could remember when the last time he had this much fun. He reached the girl soon, standing at least a foot taller than her in the water. His arms reaching out to touch her arms as to not drift apart. The water around felt light and smooth, it was heavenly.

Celeste

It was one of those moments out of a movie. Celeste could feel it all over, filling her with contentment and that she was right where she should be. It felt special. The water was the right mix of cool from the heat of the air, and she was struggling to not get lost within her own high. It all felt right. She felt his touch, grounding her back into the moment. She wades closer to him, getting probably a little close and squinting up in the dark at him. “This is fun, right?”

Evan

Evan shuts his eyes for just a moment, letting the motion of the waves flow through his body. He feels the girl get closer and their bodies are almost flush together, his arms wrapping around her neck as he continues to mellow out. Everything is so blissful. His eyes open and he looks down at her, the shine of the moon reflecting on her cheeks and nose, “Yeah, this is fantastic.” He whispers.

Celeste

Celeste enjoys the way the heavy weight of his arms settles around her neck, and she leans back into it for a moment. She really was vibing with him. It was nice, feeling comfortable with someone she didn’t really know. She looks up into his aqua eyes as they open, almost missing the soft whisper he says. Her brain clicks onto another thought train and she cranes up, bringing her lips softly to his for a moment.

Evan

Evan swears he can see her thinking as they just stare at each other. It isn’t in any way awkward, it feel like they were just meant to be here in the same moment in time, it just made sense. Before he knows it, her lips are on his and Evan is adjusting his arms so he can wrap them around her waist and pull her closer up to his lips. He can taste the saltiness of the water in between kisses and he didn’t think things could be this easy. But this, this was easy.

[niall-is-my-dream]

You & Me - Part Two

2645 words

August 2017

Getting up at 6am was definitely not a perk of the job. When your alarm rang, you snoozed it twice before finally pulling yourself out of bed and taking a shower.

Even though it was a warm August morning, you dressed yourself in black skinny jeans and a fitted black t-shirt. No room for glamour when you're lugging equipment around. 

You quickly made yourself a coffee to go in your travel mug before leaving a note for Bex reminding her to get milk on her way home tonight. Bex had a comfortable 9-5 job. You however, had no clue when you would be back and didn't fancy waking up to no milk tomorrow. 

Arriving at the studio for rehearsals you saw your boss Martin getting out of his car.

"Morning Martin."

"Morning Cal, enjoy your time off?"

"I did thank you, went to Portugal with Bex. How about you?"

"Joan had me decorating the lounge!"

You laughed at his facial expression, clearly he had been hoping to relax a bit before the tour when it would all get crazy.

"Don't worry Martin, we will go slowly for you today!" You replied patting his back.

Walking into the studio, you saw all the equipment had been loaded into the far corner. Martin, yourself and the team had done a few set ups already so got to work making sure everything was in place before Niall and the band arrived.

John, one of the guitarists, was first to arrive, greeting everyone with a hand shake or hug and placing a massive box of pastries on the table.

 "Gotta keep the workers happy!" He smiled and he gave you a hug.

 "Thanks Bird!"

 The rest of the lads arrived and you knew when Tara did that Niall wasn't too far behind. He was dressed casual like everyone else, dark jeans and a t-shirt, his soft brown hair messy and sticking up.

He shook hands with all the team, hugging you like he hadn't seen you in ages when in reality you saw him just a few days ago. You attempted to sort out his hair as you moved away from his embrace. 

 "Honestly Niall, your hair has a mind of its own."

 He chuckled at your words and was secretly enjoying feeling your fingers running through them. You weren't to know that was one of his favourite things. He loves nothing more than a woman running their fingers through his hair.

 "I know, I'm going to get it cut this week in preparation for being away so long."

 "Yeah you need to, Sienree won't be pleased with this mess!"

 "Hey, it's not that bad!"

 "Yeah it is!"

 "Bully!"

 "Whatever!"

 "Cal, you really need to get some better come back than 'whatever'!"

 "Why? It worked didn't it?!" You replied as you walked away to carry on setting up his guitars. He watched you walk away, looking at your bum for longer than appropriate. Glancing around he noticed that no one has seen what he'd done.

You'd heard some of his album already from when you'd been doing some events in the U.S. this spring/summer. However this would be the first time that you'd heard them all.

Putting your banter aside, you sat down with him, tuning each guitar and working out what order you were going to need to get each instrument ready for, having now received the set list. 

The next couple of days were spent rehearsing, assisting Niall in any way that he needed. The album sounded amazing and you could see that he had worked hard on it. The true magnitude of the tour was laid out in front of you in one morning meeting. The full plan for travelling with him, the band, the whole background team and the equipment had been sorted down to the final detail. Martin had asked you to double check some details for him but there was something you were unsure about with one of Nialls guitars.

Most of the team had dispersed for lunch, heading out or sitting in the food area, Niall was nowhere to be seen. Thinking that he was probably still in the lounge answering his emails you made your way down the hall. Not bothering to knock you opened the door to find Niall standing with his hands on his hips with a very pissed off looking Saskia.

"Shit, sorry Ni! I didn't realise you had company." You mumbled, completely shocked to see Saskia stood there.

"Is it because of her?!" Saskia almost screamed at him.

"For fuck sake Saskia. No it isn't!"

Because of me? Ok, you definitely needed to make a quick exit.

"I'll catch up with you later Ni." You said and retreated quickly, closing the door behind you.

You hurried down the hall to the main rehearsal area, and began sorting through some paperwork. Doing anything to try and keep yourself busy and hidden away. It was then that you found out the answer to your question, you hadn't even needed to go ask Niall the question. You just hadn't looked at the paperwork correctly. If you'd just looked properly you wouldn't have interrupted him in that totally embarrassing situation. You were completely mortified that you'd walked in on him clearly arguing with Saskia. What was she even doing here? You let out a massive sigh as you leaned against the wall, closing your eyes and trying to forget the look on her face.

"Hey." You heard him say, opening your eyes to find him looking sheepish.

"Ni, I'm so sorry, I should've knocked. I had no idea she was here."

"Cal, its fine. I'm sorry that once again she was rude to you."

 "It's honestly fine."

"Its not, and I told her so."

You nodded nervously, biting down on your lower lip, your eyes looking anywhere but at him. But then you heard him sigh in a sad and exhausted way.

"Are you ok?" You ask him, your eyes meeting his and seeing the sadness and frustration behind them.

"Yeah I suppose." He replied, it being clear he wasnt. You'd spent a lot of time with him the last ten months and knew when he was lying or bending the truth.

"Well if you need someone to talk to, I'm always here." You said sincerely.

It clearly hadn't been a good conversation that you'd walked in on.

"Thanks, I appreciate it." He replied as you turned towards the paperwork.

"Um so anyway, I was just going to ask you about your guitar choice for You and Me but I found my answer when I went back over the paperwork again."

"Ah ok, so it's sorted?" He asked.

"Yeah it is. I'm sorry I should have been more thorough when I looked the first time."

"Doesn't matter."

God you were so embarrassed by what you'd walked in on and Niall did not seem ok. There was a lingering tension in the air, so you began unnecessarily stacking up your paperwork.

"Are you busy tonight?" he asked you nervously.

"Apart from my usual Friday night fun of browsing Netflix and eating my weight in ice cream - nothing!" You said, turning around to face him.

"Well Willie is out with Bex tonight so do you fancy coming over and browsing my Netflix with me?"

You burst out laughing, a massive smile appearing on both your lips as you realised how that had sounded. The tension suddenly eased and you were back to your usual banter.

"Ok, that sounded like a really bad chat up line! I'm sorry! What I meant is, I could really use a friend to talk to if you're free and want to hang out at mine tonight?"

"Yeah sure, as long as we aren't here too late tonight, that should be ok." 

"I'll make sure we leave at a decent time tonight, maybe grab some food and go straight to mine?"

"Sounds good. Bex took the car this morning so is it ok if I ride with you?"

"Yes of course, I presumed you would. I saw your car wasn't in the car park this morning."

"Bex wanted to get home from work quickly today so she could prepare for her date!"

"So pleased we set those two up!"

"Me to!"

Everyone slowly made their way back to the main rehearsal area after lunch. They were rehearsing a song called You & Me when Tara approached you as you stood by Nialls guitars.

"So....." She started in a low voice so no one could hear her.

"So what?" You replied, confused as to what she might be referring to.

"Heard you had a run in with Saskia earlier."

"Oh god, yes. Was so awkward, I didn't knock and just walked in on them. Saskia was not happy."

"I've walked in on worse things with Niall!" She replied laughing.

"I don't want to know!" You said waving your hand and laughing to indicate you didn't want to hear the story.

She laughed to.

"Saskia doesnt like me either. Thinks every female who works with Niall is a threat." Tara whispered.

"Really?! She does know she's a Victoria Secret model doesn't she?!"

"Yes, but a very insecure one. Might help if she actually ate and drank regularly, think it effects her personality. She's so tired and overworked from her fitness regime too. It just makes her grumpy and rude."

You nodded in agreement, knowing how you feel when you're hungry or tired from the gym.

"Look, don't say I said anything to Niall, although I see him looking so I guess he knows what we are probably discussing."

"I won't say anything, sad really though isn't it? I mean he's pictured with females all the time in the press and gets hounded about it and even his own girlfriend hassles him about it."

"She was never his girlfriend, just someone he hangs out with, dates, looks good for both of them. The last few months though he's just not been happy when he's been with her."

"She seems like hard work."

"Yes she is. Look, I know you two are hanging out later so I thought I'd just give you the heads up."

"He said he needed a friend." You replied, hoping she understood that was what it was.

"Don't need to explain to me, it's obvious you both get on well. He trusts you."

You nodded in agreement and left it at that.

6pm arrived and Niall called time on rehearsal. Even though the distraction of Saskia had disrupted it for a while, you'd actually achieved loads today.

Once you were sorted, you checked with Martin if you needed to do anything else before heading out with Niall. A few of the team looked but no one said anything, they knew you were just friends.

Sliding into Niall's Audi, you fastened your seatbelt while he fiddled with the music. The intro of Gavin James' song 'coming home' came flowing out of the speakers.

"I cannot wait to meet him on tour." You said excitedly.

"You like him do you?!"

"Absolutely love him!"

You both hummed away to the music, Niall tapping his hands on the wheel as you made your way across the city. You'd placed an order at Nialls local Chinese takeout place that wasn't far from his, just before you left.

"I'll go grab the food." He said as he pulled up outside the restaurant. 

"Ok, sure."

He got out the car but ducked his head back in. "Shall I get us some wine from the shop next door to?"

"I can do that." You replied undoing your seat belt.

"Its fine, I'll go. What do you prefer?"

"Um white please."

"Cool, won't be long." He said as he closed the car door.

You knew it was best to stay in the car. Being spotted buying takeout and wine with Niall wouldn't be the best idea.

He returned ten minutes later with both. Your stomach was rumbling as he drove the short distance to his. The smell of the food was delicious.

Walking into Niall's apartment he began walking around and switching on some lights.

"Wow! This apartment is gorgeous!" You blurted out. "Very manly!"

"Manly?!"

"Yeah, you know masculine colours. You can tell guys live here!"

"I'm not sure if that's a compliment or not!" He laughed, as he got out some plates.

He grabbed some glasses and poured you some wine, before placing the bottle and another one into the fridge.

"Take a seat." He said gesturing towards his dining table. He grabbed his phone and put Gavin James back on so that is sounded throughout apartment on the sound system.

Opening all the boxes of food, you began sharing it amongst you both. "So rehearsals are going well." You said, hoping to start a light conversation with him. You weren't sure if he was planning on opening up to you about Saskia but you hoped he felt he could.

"Yeah they are. It's exciting to see my songs being sung by the lads. Bit nervous about Dublin though. First date and everything."

"Are your family coming down?"

"Yep, loads of them!"

"You'll be fine! Stop worrying!"

You continued to eat and drink your wine, chatting easily about tour and then what you thought Willie and Bex were getting up to.

"You know I am really sorry about Saskia today." He said, the wine clearly loosening him up.

"Ni, honestly I get it."

"The whole thing with her is just a mess." He continued.

"You want to talk about it? I mean its ok if you dont. But I'll listen if you need me to."

"If I'm honest I'm not really sure what I was doing with her. Just one bad dating experience after another."

"Babe, we've all been there!" You laughed trying to lighten the mood.

"What was it that you didn't like about her?"  He asked you.

"Um.......doesn't matter what I thought of her Ni." You replied shocked that he would ask you outright.

"It matters to me. And I know you'll give me an honest answer."

He stared at you for a few seconds as you finished your food and took a long sip of your wine 

"Well......um..... just a clash of personalities I suppose. I got the impression she didn't like me and kind of looked down at me. It seemed like she thought she was better than me because she was beautiful, skinny and famous and I'm not. I don't actually want to be famous, I'm quite happy being in the background looking after you."

He nodded. "I like that you look after me, you always have my best interest at heart."

"That's my job as your guitar tech and your friend."

He nodded again, clearly taking in everything you had said.

"I know you've got more to say Cal. I can tell, I know you well enough to know when you're holding back." He said, leaning back in his chair with his drink in his hand.

You smiled and shook your head.

"No-one else been honest with you then?!"

"Not really! They tell me what they think I want to hear. The only one who's honest is Willie and he has a theory about everything."

"What theory is that then?!" You asked him, intrigued by what Willie thought of the Saskia situation.

"Can't tell you that." He replied shaking his head.

"Now I'm super intrigued! Just have to get you drunk and make you confess Willie's wild theory!" You said as you stood up and grabbed the bottle of wine and filled up his glass with a smirk.

Part Three

https://niall-is-my-dream.tumblr.com/post/182573102188/you-me-part-three

[dovahgriin-archive]

Meet-Cute and Other Adventures {1/100}

Relationship(s): Clint Barton/Reader

Rating: T

Chapter Notes: There is a brief, nondescriptive mention of the Reader vomiting.

As a recent graduate of Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters, you are well-versed in the skill of remaining undetected by the general populace. You have a nice, steady job working in a second-hand shop in a neighborhood near to the Hudson River. The woman who runs the store is kind enough and doesn’t ask questions that you don’t want to answer. Your landlord is of a similar mindset, content to leave you to your own devices so long as you pay your bills on time.

You don’t draw attention to yourself and that is exactly how you want it to be.

Now, given your abilities in manipulating biological matter, Professor Xavier had wanted you to stay on as a member of the X-Men (and maybe even as a mentor to future students). You firmly turn down the invitation. All you wanted to do was to live out your days in peaceful solitude.

Naturally, that doesn’t happen.

On your way to work one day, you are cornered by a trio of thugs who want something you are not willing to give to them. When your back hits the brick wall in the alleyway, you instinctively panic. All it takes from you is a touch of your fingers against the first man’s bare neck to cause him to collapse into a pile of unresponsive flesh.

You’ve never used your powers to intentionally harm anyone before. It is a horrifying experience. Your breakfast makes an unwelcome reappearance.

“You fucking freak,” the second man seethes, grabbing for you before you have a chance to raise your hands again. “Mutant bitch.” He pins your wrists against the wall. His breath stinks of vodka and stale tobacco. You wrinkle your nose and turn your face away.

“Let me go!” Your cry bounces off the alley walls and goes unheeded as the man crowds into your space. A bead of sweat trickles down the side of your neck. It leaves your skin itchy, the lingering feeling reminding you of bugs crawling underneath your skin.

The third one is opening his mouth to probably shout more slurs at you when a new guy clears his throat.

“Maybe it’s just me, but my mama always told me that it’s rude to call a woman names.” Your attackers whirl around to face the man interrupting their fun.

“Shut the fuck up. She’s less than human. She’s a fr—” Number Two doesn’t get to finish his sentence; you pull your hand back in disgust as he melts into a separate flesh pile next to his buddy. Some of his reverted matter lands on your chest. Gross gross gross ew.

To his credit, the newcomer looks less disturbed than you feel.

Number Three (the only one left) suddenly seems to realize that since you’ve liquefied his companions, there’s nothing standing between you and him to stop you from doing the same to him. You’re seriously considering doing exactly that, too. See how he likes being attacked. The thought is harsh and callous and everything you’re not. The scary thing, though, is that you one hundred percent mean it. The newcomer steps between the remaining thug and the only exit of the alley.

“C’mon, man, apologize to her and then I’ll let you go.” His eyes are hard and you wonder if he’s really just going to let the goon walk away from all of this. With the way his arms are crossed and his feet are planted, though, you doubt it. You remember watching students spar at Xavier’s, and that’s a fight-ready stance if you ever saw one. This man clearly can scrap, and is comfortable with it, too. The thug seems to realize this, and he tenses, body taut like a bowstring.

“B-bullshit!” He cries. “You’re lying!”

Mystery Man narrows his eyes. “Huh. I guess you’re not completely stupid. You’re right; I was going to beat some sense into you, since you’re so keen on attacking defenseless women and all,” he glances at you, a small smirk quirking his lips, “but I don’t think she’s defenseless, after all’s said and done. What do you want to do about him, Miss?”

Melt him melt him melt him make him gone.You’re still simultaneously outraged and horrified, so it takes you a minute to recognize and process that the man’s last question was directed at you. You clear your throat delicately, flicking biological matter from your work blouse as you think of an appropriate answer. “I—”

Number Three bolts before you can finish speaking. Your mysterious savior intercepts him. Both men go down in a flurry of yells and grunts. Honestly, with all the noise you’ve been making, it’s a wonder that nobody has called the police on you yet.

Finding a better vantage point is easy — there are mountains of trash surrounding the nearby dumpster, and you clamber onto the top of it, thanking your lucky stars that you’d worn your ratty old sneakers today instead of your new mary janes. The scuffle continues on below, and you watch with trepidation.

Good Samaritans don’t actually exist, so who is this guy, and why is he defending you? He’s clearly well-trained. Is he a mutant, too?

No, you realize. He doesn’t look too much older than you — maybe thirty, at the most — and you don’t recognize him from Xavier’s. So who is this man?

Number Three lets out a pained yell as Mystery Man jabs his elbow into the former’s nose. You wince. The sound of the cartilage cracking sets your skin crawling, and you shudder like your cat does when you stroke its spine.

”Are you done?” The stranger holds his arm against Number Three’s neck, effectively pinning him to the ground. He waits until the other man nods, still choking on his own blood. You slide off of the top of the dumpster and make your way over to the two men. “Good. Now get outta here before I change my mind.”

Number Three scampers off, whimpering like a kicked dog.

”You didn’t have to do that, you know,” you mumble, helping the man to his feet. “But… thank you.”

Mystery Man grins charmingly at you. His eyes are a very pretty shade of blue-green, and the shiner he’s now sporting on his left cheekbone makes them seem more blue than green. “It was nothing, really.” He sticks his hand out. “Clint Barton.”

You shake his hand and introduce yourself. “I can, um. Fix that up for you, if you’d like.” You gesture at his face. Clint raises his eyebrows, then winces.

”Really? Where’ve you been all my life?” You snort.

”Hiding away from the world.” Your voice is sardonic as you run your fingers lightly over his injury, willing the cells to speed up his body’s natural repair process. It fades from red to blue to green to yellow in the span of about thirty seconds, and the swelling goes down immensely. “Are you hurt anywhere else, Mr. Barton?”

“Clint. Dick got a good kick in my ribs, but — ah, shit, yeah, no, that’s probably cracked.” He lifts at his shirt, revealing a rapidly purpling bruise on his right side. “Could you—?”

“Of course,” you say quietly as you kneel beside him. His skin is hot under your fingers. Your hands longer on his side longer than they need to as you work up the courage to ask him a question that’s been bothering you since he first appeared. You keep your eyes on the ground beneath your feet. “Why aren’t you running?”

“Huh? I’m hard of hearing, sweetheart. Gonna need you to look at me when you talk.” Flushing at the impudent usage of the endearment, your ears go red and you look up at Clint. He’s got a small smile on his face. “Could you repeat the question?”

You acquiesce, and he shrugs. “Well, you were being attacked, so it only makes sense that you’d use your abilities to defend yourself. You don’t seem like the kind of girl to just up and zap a man for no reason at all.” He wiggles his fingers, miming sparks flying from his hands. You giggle.

”Fair enough, I guess. Could I ask you one more favor, though?”

”Shoot.”

”Could you not mention me, or, uh, my abilities, to anyone? It would be hard to relocate, especially with all the anti-mutant sentiment going around recently.” Clint tilts his head to the side as he thinks, then nods. “Sure thing.”

You breathe out a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Clint.” It feels as though a weight has been removed from your shoulders. He offers you a hand, which you gratefully accept. Your knees pop as you stand. “Ugh. I hate that sound.”

“Getting creaky in your old age?” You glare up at him, but your expression softens when you spot the mischievous twinkle in his eyes. A glance at your phone reveals that you are running late. Shit.

”Good afternoon, Clint. Thanks for helping me out.” You don’t wait for him to reply, leaving Clint standing there staring after you, a thoughtful expression on his face.

The walk to your workplace goes quicker than you expected, but then again, you’re not walking so much as jogging. Thankfully, it’s about as busy as New York City proper in your neighborhood; nobody pays you much — if any — attention. The bell hanging over the door jingles.

There are already some customers in the store. Double shit.

“Where have you been, kid?” Kitty, your boss, descends upon you like a flock of vultures (or, one giant vulture), her head bobbing up and down on her skinny neck. “You’re over an hour late, I—”

She takes note of your ruffled appearance and the dirt on your clothes. “What happened to you?”

”Some jerks decided that they wanted to play. Some random guy helped drive them off. May I use the bathroom to clean up, Boss?” You raise your eyebrows as you ask your question and Candy waves you off.

”Yeah, yeah, go on. Are you alright?”

”As good as I can be, Boss. I swear I’ll put in overtime this week.”

”Good, good, that’s good. Go get cleaned up, then help that woman in the green jacket.”

[starlessskies94]

The Saint and The Sinner (Negan/BlakeAU)

AU Vampire Negan and Mortal Blake cross paths but what will they make of each other? @neganandblake this is for you and I hope it doesn’t disappoint ❤️❤️❤️❤️ It is a long one and probably the only chapter I’ll write for this AU but I hope it’s okay and I think I edited most spelling mistakes (I hope) xxx

After six hundred years one might think you’d learn and see all there is to experience about life. But even the simplest of souls could live a mere seventy years and never grasp the truest moments of what it is to truly live.

Sanctuary Falls seemed like your average town, small and idyllic where everyone knew everyone. Surrounded by forests and mountains as far as the eye could see, it seemed like the perfect place to live. But what most innocent eyes couldn’t see was the darkness hidden in the depths. The creatures living in the underworld of the town ready to take the lives of any unlucky mortal that stumbled their way.

And after six centuries of bloodshed and death…Negan was ready for a change. After the death of his beloved Lucille he’d sworn he would never harm another human again. But it was hard, ignoring the instincts and impulses that came naturally after hundreds of years.

The house he’d seen advertised was an old scaled down mansion build; still with its original New England architecture intact. He couldn’t help but admire the workmanship on the place.

“As you can see the place is still in its original state for the most part, some parts of the property have been renovated mostly just to make it livable in the twenty first century. But I can assure you that you won’t find a better deal on an incredible home like this.”

He turned back to the preppy real estate agent. She stood by the kitchen door, that same bright illuminated smile dazzling her features. Looking no older than thirty-five at best, dressed in her best pants suit, her golden locks pulled back into a tiny neat bun with not one hair out of place. She’d been like a ray of sunshine throughout the whole tour of the house and to Negan’s surprise it’d actually brightened up his morning. He returned her smile with his own as his slipped his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket.

“Sounds great doll…I’ll take it.”

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It hadn’t taken him long to move in his stuff, mostly because he didn’t own much.

Stepping through to the kitchen on bare feet, his stomach crying out for food, he took a chilled blood pack from the fridge emptying the contents into a pint glass, taking a few swigs before placing it to the side on the counter.

He was running out and soon he knew he’d have to hunt for something more...fresh.

He winced at the thought, Lucille had always told him that he didn’t have to kill to survive but he was the head of his Clan, the Alpha; he had to lead by example. Lucille had always been human and turning her had never been an opinion because he hadn’t wanted her to be dragged into his world; that was of course until she got sick and it had been his last hope in the desperation to save her.

The thing was however, when a new vampire is turning they must feed in the first twenty four hours and Lucille had refused. She’d argued that it was unjustified that to save her life, she would have to take another...and so Negan had laid with her, holding her close as she slowly faded away.

That’d had been ten years ago and it sting stung as fresh as it did the day he lost her. He was trying...it was hard and he still slipped from time to time but he was trying. Leaving his Clan had been in service of that, in an attempt to lessen the temptation. 

He was pulled from his thoughts by a knock at the door, barely getting there in time before it was thrown open and slammed against the adjoining wall.

“Hey buddy! You know it has been hell trying to track your ass down!”

Negan rolled his chestnut eyes at the tall mustached man. Simon, his blood brother in every second of the term. They’d been turned at the same time over six hundred years ago, sticking side by side for centuries killing and slaughtering together. He had a sense that maybe Simon enjoyed the killing a little too much but he supposed he would have been a rather lousy vampire if he didn’t.

“Yeah, you know it’s almost like I didn’t wanna be found Si!”

“Bullshit! You need to come back! The Clan needs you, they falling over their own damn feet not knowing what to do with themselves.”

“Not my problem anymore.”

Negan didn’t even flinch as Simon slammed his first against the wall, rattling the framed pictures above.

“Don’t fucking give me that shit! This is your Clan we’re talking about, you’re seriously gonna let a goddamn human screw that up?! It’s been ten years Negan! Get. Over. It!”

With wind chilling speed, he flew at the mustached man; his large hands tightening around his neck. Teeth grinding as he spit venom.

“Watch your fucking mouth Simon, don’t forget who fucking killed you the first time!”

The man coughed out a wheezed breath, a drip of blood slipping from the corner of his mouth as it twisted to a wicked grin.

“See, this is who you are. Why pretend you’re something else when we both know this is what you do best?”

Negan’s snarl stiffened at Simon’s words, hand squeezing tighter around his neck before he growled in frustration throwing the dark haired vampire to the side before grabbing his boots and storming out the door.

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After hours of wandering the streets, the primal instincts screaming through his system, the urge to kill rising with every passing human and the smell of their blood, the sound of it pumping through their veins to point it made Negan’s head spin.

He eventually ended up taking refuge in the town’s local bar; The Kingdom. Run by a man named Ezekiel; who rumor had it in the supernatural community was an ancient shapeshifter. Some claiming to have witnessed the man changing into anything from a fearless wolf to a snarling tiger. Whether the rumors were true however remained to be seen. Not that it bothered Negan, he had no qualms with the shapeshifters; provided they kept out of his way.

Taking another sip of his whisky, he savored the numbing effect it had. The overpowering smell of booze and cigarette smoke masking any scent of human aroma left lingering in his nostrils.

Keeping to himself for most of the night, drinking away the hours his attention was eventually drawn to the blonde sat at the opposite end of the bar. The real estate agent that sold him the house. Now dressed down in more casual wear of a low cut t-shirt; blue skinny jeans and boots. Her golden locks left untamed as they swayed loosely down her back and over her shoulders.

What was her name again? Blake something? It was definitely Blake, he’d never forget a gorgeous face like hers. There was something rather alluring about her; drawing him to her like a moth to a flame.

Even as he began making his way towards her; he knew it was a terrible idea. Then again most of the best experiences of his life had all started with bad ideas...

“Anything else Miss Blake?”

“Give the lady whatever she wants Ezekiel, it’s on me.”

Her green orbs met his as she turned on her bar stool, flashing him a smile. Clearly remembering him. 

“That’s very kind of you Negan, I’ll have another peach schnapps please...”

Negan wrinkled his nose at her order; a small smirk playing against his lips. While she simply shrugged, taking the glass from the bartender.

“Before you say anything, I know it’s a weak drink order but I prefer the fruity stuff... so sue me.”

“Hey you’ll get no judgment from me doll.”

The time passed faster than Negan would’ve liked it too, purely from the genuine enjoyment of being in this woman’s company, they talked about everything from jobs to family and everything in between. He’d even had it in him to crack a few terrible jokes just for the pleasure of hearing the blonde laugh.

He’d noticed two things about her in the few hours they’d gotten to know one another...

One; she played with her hair when she was nervous, pulling small strands of her gold mane around her fingers while spoke and he found it goddamn adorable.

And two; she was single. She didn’t wear any kind of ring wedding or engagement and in all the hours they’d spent talking, she never once mentioned she was involved with anyone.

When the time came for her to leave; he actually found himself feeling disappointed. But he’d kept his cool and bid her a goodnight before eventually calling it a night himself and heading outside for one last smoke before heading home.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Stepping into the cold brisk air; he felt the chill dancing down his spin as he leaned against the wall pulling his cigarette packet out his jacket pocket, drawing a cigarette to his lips, lighting it and taking a deep lung full of smoke before letting it out. A few more drags here and there, breathing out the cloud of smoke away from his lips.

He was interrupted by the sound of smashing trash cans in the side alley near the bar. Causing Negan to roll his eyes at the disturbance. Damn drunks. He’d thought about avoiding the alley on his way home, having no interest in whatever the assholes had decided to start throwing punches over. Wasn’t his business and he didn’t care. However when the very familiar feminine muffled voice followed the scuffle was when he stood to attention.

“Please let me go!”

Oh he definitely knew that voice, not even hesitating as he threw his cigarette to the ground and ran to the alley’s entrance.

There she was, Blake. Her mascara running down her face, blood trickling down from her forehead. Struggling in the grip of a man with his arms wrapped around her waist, his head craning round to the exposed flesh on her neck.

Fucking Alexandrian’s. He’d thought the deal they’d had with Grime’s Clan was solid until the bastard had decided to rebel and now his guys were running hell all over town…some going rogue and taking any human that struck their fancy, most of the time killing and letting Negan’s Clan take the blame for it. And the sight of her in pain so afraid, made Negan’s whole body shake with anger.

Letting the primal instincts take the lead as his face snarled in pure rage, fangs drawing out ready for the taste of blood.

He was at Blake’s side in an instant. His strong hands taking firm grip of the attacker and vigorously dragging him away from the blonde. He didn’t have time to react as Negan fiercely took hold of his neck, jerking his head to the side so hard with a powerful twist until he felt his spine click in his palms. But the opposing vampire continued to fight back, his strength fading rapidly.

Negan extended his fangs; a wolf-like growl leaving his lips as he plunged his teeth into the man’s neck. Chewing and gnawing throwing his head back as he tore the man’s throat open. Vampire blood was known for being bitter; he’d probably need another bottle of whiskey just to get rid of the taste. He let the body slump to the ground as it landed with a sickening thud in a pool of its own blood. Spitting the remain stains of crimson that coated his tongue, he wiped the corners of his mouth on his jacket sleeve before turning back to Blake, his fang now retracting back into place.

It wasn’t a surprise when he found the blonde cowering in the corner of the alley. But needless to say it still hurt. Seeing the fear in her eyes now after spending most of the night staring into them. But it was to be expected.

Looking at himself now covered in blood, Blake inching further away from him…he realized there’d be no way she could ever see him as anything else other than a monster now. She was an innocent, pure and light as air.

She fought back tears, holding herself as her arms hugged her sides, her legs crossed underneath her. He tried to move closer to reassure her that he wasn’t a threat but she just flinched away again.

“Don’t! Don’t come any closer!...What....What the hell are you?!”

“I’m something you do not wanna get mixed up in, Peaches. Trust me.”

After all, what angel could ever fall for the Devil?

[thunderoad]

3.3k of a time traveller au; 2017 harry wakes up in december 2012, and 2017 niall finds himself responsible for helping 2012 harry get home

Jeff slings his arm around Harry’s neck and pulls him in close, tucking him up under his chin. Harry tries not to smile but he’s just hammered enough to know he’s grinning like a Cheshire cat. He snakes his hand under Jeff’s blazer and curls his palm around Jeff’s hip. It makes Jeff huff - he must’ve touched a ticklish spot - and then laugh and shake his head.

“You did it, Hersh,” he says. Harry can’t crane his head up to look at Jeff’s face with his cheek pressed to his collarbone, so he regretfully pulls away to stand up on his own. Well, mostly on his own. He still needs Jeff’s arm around him to stay upright.

“It’s a great party, isn’t it?” Harry asks, raising his voice to be heard over the din. His assistant, Marilou, always does such a fabulous job with the lighting and with making sure that there’s lots of little trays circulating with lots of interesting things to eat; since they’re in Japan, the platters are stacked high with sushi, and Harry thinks she might have even called to hire street artists to demonstrate how to swallow a flaming sword. A troupe of buskers sing a mournful song in a language Harry doesn’t know, and a flash of annoyance shoots through him. He can’t tell if he’s annoyed with himself for not understanding or with them for playing such sad music, but he does his best to shrug it off.

Jeff squeezes Harry’s shoulder, his smile wide. “Not the party, man! I meant the tour!”

“The tour!” Harry shouts agreeably, and snags a sparkling pink drink off a tray passing by to raise his glass in a toast.

“First tour done!” Jeff goes on. Glenne squeezes between two vigorous dancers and takes Jeff’s hand. She puts her other hand on Harry’s shoulder and gives him a friendly squeeze. Harry’s careful not to slosh his drink all over her when he leans in for a proper hug.

Harry repeats, “First tour done!,” clinks his glass against Jeff’s, and knocks back the drink in one go.

“Many more to come,” Glenne adds. She takes the empty glass from Harry’s hand, sets it high on the heaping table near where they’re stood, and pulls them both into the throng of dancing bodies. Harry goes easily, feeling the bass thunder up from the quaking floor right into his very bones.

***

A beam of sunlight shoots through a chink in the blinds and lands squarely on Harry’s eye. He groans and rolls over, but rolling entails moving, and now his swimmy stomach feels like it’s trying to swim right up through his mouth. “No,” Harry whines weakly, and waits, and hopes, and the need to puke recedes minutely.

Complaining would feel good, Harry thinks (he feels like he’s dying and his bladder is about to burst and his mouth tastes like Jaeger), but the amount of effort required to form his thoughts into sentences puts him off it.

Room service. If he can find the phone, he can dial room service, and room service can bring him some paracetamol. But first he needs to get up and pee. Harry concentrates, but he can’t remember the floor plan of his hotel room, and he doesn’t fancy smashing his face into any walls, so he unwillingly cracks an eye open.

And it’s...not his hotel room, that’s for sure. Did he go home with someone last night? Maybe. (Probably.) But this doesn’t even look like someone’s room, really, unless that person has the personality of a member of the Queen’s Guard. The sheets and duvet are twisted up round Harry’s legs, but they’re mystifyingly white and tan. There’s a TV and a writing desk across the room on the opposite wall next to a lamp bolted to the floor.

Alright, Harry thinks, so definitely a hotel room. Whose hotel room? Are they still here? “Hello?” Harry tries. He twists his fingers in the sheets to ride out the wave of nausea like he’s back in Jamaica gripping water through his fingers to stay afloat. “Is - Is anybody there?”

No answer. Maybe he changed hotels last night? Normally, if fans figure out where he is or whatever, he just changes rooms.

The need to pee pushes all other considerations out of Harry’s head, and he slides his weight carefully onto his feet. He’s a little surprised his legs hold, and more than a little proud of himself. He hustles to the en suite bathroom and drops trou, surprised to find that he’s still wearing his pants.

Ordinarily he sleeps naked, and if he took someone home with him - but maybe he didn’t? Maybe they took the party on the road and Jeff checked him in here to sleep it off. Jeff. Harry’s phone. Yes, brill plan. As soon as Harry’s done emptying his bladder he’ll get right on it. And he might call room service, too.

Someone bangs on the door, making Harry jump so hard he nearly sprays the toilet lid like he hasn’t done since he was just an itty bitty lad. “We’re leaving for the airport in five, and if you’re not in the car we’re leaving without you!”

Bus? Harry’s on tour, yeah, but they mainly travel by plane; they hadn’t had the tour bus shipped all the way to Japan for a couple of dates. Had they?

“Sorry,” Harry clears his voice, “I think you’ve got the wrong room.”

“Ha ha,” someone says. They don’t really sound like they’re laughing. “Very funny. Not really, that was awful. See you downstairs!” The doorknob jiggles like someone’s trying to let themselves in, and Harry freezes with his pants gathered round his ankles and his hand still wrapped around his willy, defenseless. He holds his breath.

The door stays shut. “Five minutes!” The person repeats, and Harry lets out a breath. He tugs his pants up around his hips, washes his hands quickly in the sink - he’s not an animal, this might be a strange situation but he has standards, thank you very much - and hurries to find his clothes so he can get dressed and out of here before whoever thinks he’s coming with them finds out he’s very much not. He can call Jeff just as easily from the lobby, huddled behind a potted plant. He’s done it before.

His own clothes are nowhere to be found, but he discovers an open suitcase with a heap of jeans and ratty t-shirts inside, contemplates theft for a moment, realizes he has no other options, and quickly pulls it on. The clothes look familiar for some reason, like maybe he shops at the same store, but he doesn’t stop to think about it. He’s sliding his feet into a battered pair of trainers and pats his pocket for his phone before he realizes he never found it.

Harry freezes, torn between two equally awful possibilities. Look for his phone and wait to get caught, or leave it and be effectively alone in a city whose language he doesn’t speak?

Fuck.

Harry’s still frozen when he hears the distinct sound of a key card sliding into the lock. He closes his eyes again. The door swings open, and Harry braces for the worst.

“Harry?” says a familiar voice. “What are you doing stood there for? We’ve got to be in the car five minutes ago, or we might miss our flight! What have you done to your hair?”

Harry opens one eye, then the other. Liam fucking Payne is stood across from him with his arms folded across his chest like a disapproving father and his brow wrinkled like Harry’s nan’s. “If you’re hungover, that’s not our fault,” Liam says crisply. He steps sideways, shuts the door behind himself, and sets about tidying Harry’s room for him. He heaps the shirts and jeans and pants he finds lying around into the suitcase and sits on it to zip it closed.

“Liam?” Harry squeaks. He clears his throat. “What...are you...in Japan?”

Liam looks up at him. He’s buzzed his hair again, Harry thinks absently. His face is soft and round, though; Harry’s heart gives an unwilling surge of affection. “Japan? What are you on about? We’re not in Japan.”

“Not...in...” Harry blinks. What was Harry drinking last night? Maybe he wasn’t drinking, maybe he took something? What could he have taken that’d let him wake up in another country? “Where...are we?”

“New York,” Liam says briskly. He puts his hands on his hips. “Seriously, how much did you and Taylor have to drink last night?”

“Taylor?” Harry repeats.

Just then, a series of rapid knocks lands on the door.

“Don’t answer it!” Harry squawks.

Liam shoots him a bewildered look and ignores him entirely, the traitor. He pulls the door open quickly, and someone dutifully recites, “Paul says to come and make sure you didn’t get killed so he can kill you himself. What the fuck’s taking so long?”

“Harry’s on a bender,” Liam answers primly. Harry’s scowling before he can think twice.

The other person whistles lowly. “Is he really? What’re you having, then, Styles, did you save any for me?”

Irish lilt, skinny legs, pink cheeks. Harry knows this other person, too. “I think I need to sit down,” he says, and can’t think how to move, so he doesn’t. “What are you two doing here?”

There’s the fractured silence of two people sharing a meaningful look, followed by Niall’s thoughtful, “You reckon he hit his head?”

Harry stiffens in surprise. He does have a headache. Maybe this is all just some weird hallucination, and his subconscious is speaking to him through his old bandmates. He bends his head obligingly for Niall to check, only Niall clucks in disguise. “I’m going to need a feckin chair to stand on. When did you get so tall? And what happened to your hair?”

Even as he talks his hand finds its way carefully to Harry’s head. It comes as a shock when he combs his fingers gently through Harry’s fringe before setting about feeling for any lumps. Harry looks up at Niall through the screen of his hair while Niall investigates him for brain damage, and realization trickles in first slowly, then in a rush.

The tips of Niall’s blonde fringe poke out from under his gray beanie, and his face is entirely smooth, no stubble to be found. He doesn’t even really look like himself, he’s so young. Liam, with his buzzed head, too...and no tattoos on his bare arms.

“I’m having a panic attack,” Harry announces, and waits to faint, or something.

There follows a mystified silence, ended abruptly by someone throwing the door open with all the force of a wild karate kick. “What’s wrong with him?” another familiar voice asks.

He must be dying, Harry thinks. He must have a brain tumor or some other serious illness. Something must be very, very wrong.

“He says he’s having a panic attack,” Liam answers Louis quietly, like Harry’s a proper mental patient.

Niall offers, “That don’t look like no panic attack to me,” thoughtfully.

“He’s going to make us late to the airport, and if we’re late there, we’ll miss the Jingle Ball,” Louis says in his brisk important way. To the others, he says, “He and Taylor probably had a row.” Then, to Harry, “Get your things and let’s go. You can finish your meltdown on the plane over coffee and brekkie.”

It’s the promise of coffee and breakfast that, more than anything, convinces Harry to go along. It isn’t till they’re stood in the hallway waiting for Paul to come and collect them that Harry musters up the strength to ask, “Jingle Ball?”

“Yeah,” says Niall. He starts chewing on his thumb nail. “Back in London.”

Harry frowns. “You going to be alright on the plane for that long?”

“Are you?” Niall fires back.

Harry falls silent, chastened. To himself, he murmurs, “Jingle Ball, London...”

“December 8, 2012,” Niall nods along. “Now you’re getting it.”

&&&

Niall’s cycling through the apps on his phone backstage and considering whether to launch another Instagram livestream when Conor whomps him in the face with a pillow from the sofa. “What the hell?” Niall splutters.

Jake and Gerry both laugh. “We can hear you thinkin’,” calls John from his spot over by the huge gift basket they arrived to find set out for them with Guinness, peanuts, and candy in. “The boys and I agree: no more livestreams till you think of something to do during them.”

Niall splutters again, this time to keep from laughing. “I’ll have you know I’ve been doing absolutely nothing on streams since before there even were an Instagram,” which may not technically be true, but whatever.

“What was that?” Jake stage whispers to Conor, who grins. “A year ago?”

“Bet it was just as boring then,” Conor agrees.

“You’re all fired,” Niall says, going back to his phone. “I’ll go out there on me own and play the show acoustic. And no puppy, either,” he adds, though so soft probably only he can hear it. He’s just got the strangest email he’s ever had, and he’s had some whoppers. Niall reads it again, then once more just to make sure he’s really seeing what he thinks he’s seeing.

The boys go back to teasing him amongst themselves; Niall overhears Conor’s, “Check out the look on his face, bet that’s him watching the viewers drop ‘cos I’m not onscreen,” before both Jake and John punch him in the leg. Niall taps back a response, careful not to put too much thought into it:

Are you fucking w me? How do I know this is really you?

And sends it off. Niall still gets fanmail to this email address, and sometimes it’s mad entertaining, but this message looked different from the get-go. The subject line read: NIALL IT’S HARRY I NEED YOUR HELP, which was enough to raise several flags.

All the flags, really.

Niall hasn’t seen Harry since...which came first, was it his show or was it the one they were both on the bill for, the one Niall was surprise guest at? He’s done so many shows over the past year that he can’t quite keep them straight anymore, and the itch to start a new spreadsheet gets stronger.

It’s probably just someone fucking with him, he reasons. He gets enough nutters on all platforms to know better, really.

But who could resist a cry for help?

Niall pops his thumbnail into his mouth and starts absolutely wrecking his cuticles. He’s not sure which is more strange: Harry needing help, or Harry needing his help.

While Niall’s busy pondering that, Gerry drops down beside him. “Everything ok?” he checks, cuffing Niall on the back of the head in a friendly way.

“Just got the weirdest email of me life,” Niall admits, forcing his hand down to his lap. Gerry’s eyebrows go up, and Niall’s just wondering whether he ought to explain when Lucy, the showrunner for tonight’s Jingle Ball, knocks twice on the open dressing room door.

“Five minutes to stage, guys!”

The lads all jump up to get ready, equipping themselves with their instruments like a troupe of powerfully unintimidating warriors. Niall reaches for his guitar with no small amount of relief, happy to force everything out of his head except the next five songs. It’s his last live show like this for the next few months, and he’s been looking forward to it and dreading it in equal measure.

‘Course, his problems are still there when he gets offstage. He pauses in the cinderblock hallway backstage while the boys pile into the dressing room for snacks and bottles of water before going to catch the rest of the show or to share a few drinks with the mates they’ve made over the Jingle Ball tour. His email correspondent (allegedly Harry, but Niall’s not yet convinced) has sent back,

It’s me. Followed by, You’ve got a huge crush on Katy Perry, your favorite song is “Desperado,” you’re terrible at cuddling, and I need your help!! I’m really not fucking with you!!

The message is followed by an avalanche of distraught emojis. “Fuck,” Niall says to the empty hallway, just for the sake of hearing himself say it. Then he emails back his phone number. Not but five minutes later does his phone start ringing. Niall swipes to answer and damn near crushes his ear, he claps his phone to his ear so fast. “Hello?”

“Oh, thank God it’s you,” Harry sighs over the line. “I’ve had,” his voice wobbles, “the most awful day, the bath had three showerheads in and there was sushi everywhere -”

Niall very nearly slumps in relief. He’d know that posh drawl anywhere, and he doesn’t sound like he’s dying, so that’s Niall’s worst fears sorted out. He opens the first door he sees for a bit of privacy and finds a cramped utility closet he wouldn’t cram himself into if his life depended on it. He keeps looking, and asks Harry, “And that’s a bad thing?”

“Well, no,” Harry sighs, sounding put out. “It was top. But then I found my phone, and there were all these messages on it from people I didn’t know, and I started getting these angry phone calls from people asking why I’d missed these meetings, and I didn’t know what to say, and I didn’t know who to call, nobody’s number is in service, and...” he sniffs.

Quietly, Niall argues, “Your mum’s number hasn’t changed.”

“I couldn’t tell my mum this! She’d probably have a heart attack, Niall!”

Niall ducks into the loo, darts into a stall, and plops down on the closed toilet lid. He rubs his forehead with his fingertips, too tired and befuddled to know what to think. The faint, euphoric he called me, Niall quashes ruthlessly. “And what exactly is ‘this,’ then?”

“I’m a time-traveller,” Harry says, “obviously.”

***

Together, Niall and Harry arrange for Harry to fly out to LA, where he’ll take a car out to Niall’s place in Laurel Canyon. Meanwhile, Niall will leave from New York tomorrow morning, which puts them both in California with just a few hours’ difference.

“And then we’ll...” Niall draws up short. He’s back in his hotel room with his laptop open on the bed in front of him and his shirt unbuttoned over his chest. He hung up on Harry so he could say goodbye to all his Jingle Ball mates, and then he and the lads had to stop by a local bar for a few celebratory pints before splitting up for the holidays, and now they’re gearing up to do a proper night.

Harry’s silence on the other end is hardly vacant. “We’ll figure something out,” Harry says sleepily. “Hey, Niall?”

Niall gazes at his reflection in the mirror atop the bureau. He’s gone tense all over like he’s expecting a blow, and he has to remind himself that this Harry - if he really is telling the truth, somehow, if he’s not just away in the head - is from 2012, and as far as he knows, Niall’s just one of his good mates. Someone to call in a panic, someone to help him.

“Yeah, Haz.”

“You promise you won’t tell my mum or Robin?” Harry asks. His voice has gone treacle slow with drowsiness, and Niall pops his cuticle into his mouth. “I just don’t want them to worry, or tell me I can’t tour again. Not that she could stop me,” he tacks on, though he doesn’t sound convinced.

“I promise,” Niall says. “I don’t think anybody would believe me anyway.”

His phone buzzes with a message; it’s Tara, forever every evening’s organizer, letting Niall know everybody’s waiting for him in the lobby.

“I gotta go.”

“Okay,” Harry says, and from the sound of his voice Niall knows he’s worrying at his bottom lip. “See you soon.”

“Yeah,” Niall says. “Will do.”

[nipnapples]

Healing (A Suga One-Shot)

 The past week has been pretty rough, not gonna lie.  But, its nothing a good Yoongi fic can’t help.  

Yoongi knew what he was doing when he followed you up  the stairs to your apartment.  He knew it was the wrong choice, knowing the two of you would get caught, and he would be forced to walk away from you.  Again.  But as you guided him into your familiar apartment, he told those thoughts to fuck off for the night.  If this was really going to be the last time between the two of you, Yoongi didn’t want to blur the moment with pain.   You slid your key into the lock, and he placed his large hands on your ample hips, admiring the way his fingers were splayed across them.  You were self conscious of those hips, how they seemed to make you bottom heavy, but Yoongi could never stop touching them, holding them, admiring them—especially from behind.  

You sighed heavily as he pressed his lips into your hair, against your neck, along its gentle curve.  How he loved those shoulders.  They tasted of salt and honey, something irresistible and dangerous.  But it was the sigh you released that floored him.  How, even after everything he had put you through, there was still the possibility that you continued to love him and want him as much as he loved and wanted you. Yoongi’s heart crashed against his ribs as you pushed the door open to your dark apartment and turned to run your fingers through his hair.   He pushed the door shut with his boot and gathered you in his arms.  You squealed as he lifted you to your toes, pressing kisses about your face before landing home on your velvet lips.  

The soft movement of your lips against his reminded Yoongi of the first time you ever kissed him.  How you had gripped his collar in the dark, pressing the curves of your body against him.  You had surprised him at first, and he was so stunned he didn’t, no, couldn’t react.  You suddenly became shy, pulling back.  But Yoongi had gotten caught up in you, as he always did.  He had pushed his fingers through your hair, tugging you back to him, effectively sealing his fate.  And now here he was, once again against the wishes and desires of his group, of his family.  You were dangerous for him, he could lose everything because of you.  But, he found as your fingertips ghosted over his abdomen, that he really did not give a fuck.  If you were poison, he’d gladly die if it meant he got to drink you in one last time.  He would happily watch his world burn for you.   

He’d walked away so many times before that he was amazed by your willingness to accept him back.  He was so easily swayed by those around him, by his fame, by his company, that it was astonishing that you’d agreed to meet with him tonight.  And just as all of the other nights before, you allowed him back into your arms, back into your home.  

You knew you should feel disgusted with yourself, with how weak Yoongi made you.  Even your friends warned you against him, after first time he told you he needed to end whatever it was you two had.  But later, he had shown up at your apartment, three in the morning, glistening from the snowflakes melting on his collar.  You walked away the third time, a year or two later. You couldn’t handle him, you couldn’t handle the pain of pretending you didn’t love him, of hiding the fact that you two were together.  He had knelt before you, tears running, begging for you to listen, for you to understand and wait just a little longer.  But you shook your head and asked him to leave.  

Which led to this moment, months later, the two of you hadn’t spoken since that night.  But Yoongi had called you, voice rough and filled with need.  “Please,” He whispered.  “Please, just meet me for coffee, later tonight.  I just need to know you’re okay.”  

And your heart had broken for him.  You knew he was alright, you’d been watching the stages, keeping up with the comeback season, and saw how he and the boys had become an international sensation.  He no longer needed you, you saw, he no longer needed you to hold him at night when he hadn’t slept in days.  He didn’t need you to make noodles for him after practice.  He didn’t even need you to rest your hand on his shoulder when he was composing and mixing, to let him know you were there.  But Yoongi had called you that night, two days before they began their Comeback Tour, sounding like he was breaking in half.  Maybe he did need you, a small voice nagged.  And so you agreed to meet him, in the small cafe near your apartment, where no one would be that late at night. 

 When you’d entered your eyes had immediately connected with his, slipping across his soft skin, taking him in slowly.  You didn’t even notice you’d stopped moving until he stood and offered up a small and nervous smile.  Next thing you knew, you had crashed into him, wrapping your arms around his waist, feeling how skinny he’d become along with how lean and hardened.  Your heart leapt as he pressed his face into your hair, breathing in the scent of your coconut and lime shampoo, the way you thrummed against him making tears prickle at his eyes.  His fingers brushed over your soft figure, taking in all of the dips and lumps he had missed so much it hurt.  With your soft figure pressing against him, Yoongi could feel himself falling apart.  

When the two of you sat together, it was like nothing had changed.  Both of you decided to shove the pain and heartbreak of the past months into a dark place where neither had to face it.  And then you found Yoongi reaching for your hand, running soft circles into your palm.  

And then as the two of you decided to end the night, and he walked you home, you stood on your toes to kiss his cheek goodbye, wishing him well.  But he had looped his arm around your waist, unable to resist, and turned his head to catch your lips with his.  With shaking hands you cupped his face, no longer tentative or hesitant.  Yoongi’s heart was crashing, sealing itself back together from months of being shattered after that night you told him to leave.  He knew it was a terrible choice, especially now, but he needed you like he needed air, and he didn’t care if you didn’t need him.  He was willing to follow you to the ends of the earth, even if you didn’t want him there, if it meant that he could be with you.  

Even now, as he tugged your jacket over your shoulders and messily tripped over your purse, he knew that he probably meant nothing more than a hook up to you.  But he needed to feel your skin, he needed to smell you and taste you and hold you. 

Yoongi’s lips dipped below your jawline, and you lifted your chin to allow better access.  You licked your lips in anticipation as his nipped his way to the collar of your sweater.  He moaned softly as it slipped away, exposing your shoulder to his teeth, his tongue, his lips.  You twisted your fingers gently in his hair, you eyelids fluttering shut has his hands found their way up beneath the wool of your sweater, touching flushed and fevered skin.  You thought how this was an awful idea, thoughts unknowingly matching Yoongi’s, but you found that you did not give a damn.  He had broken you, and you had broken him.  The two of you were shattered with little hope of being put back together on your own, you’d forever be missing pieces.  And for the first time in months, as Yoongi laid you gently out on the plush carpet of your living room, you finally felt some semblance to whole again. 

You had lost your sweater somewhere between the front door and the living room floor, and your bra followed soon after.  Yoogni’s t-shirt rolled off of his chest beneath your fingers, exposing the skinny boy before you.  You had been right in the cafe, Comeback Season had taken it’s toll on his weight, but there were smooth muscles now stretched where there were none before.  You sat up, one arm draping over your stomach, covering the way it rolled up.  Yoongi may have lost weight, but you had gained it, appearing on your tummy, hips, and even face.  

Yoongi tugged your hand away from your body, smiling and shaking his head.  “Don’t.  Don’t hide from me.  I missed you, I missed these,” He brushed his fingers over your shoulders, your breast, and your stomach. “I want to see them.  I want to see everything.”  He took your bare torso in his arms, his skin cool against yours.  Kissing you deeply, he leaned you back slowly, pressing his full weight onto you.  More clothing was shed, so slowly it seemed to cause the both of you physical pain, but Yoongi did not want to rush this.  He knew it had to end, but not yet. 

 With you naked beneath him, Yoongi rocked back onto his knees, studying you in the dark.  His eyes slid over your form, and you were glad he could not see the flush that covered your skin.  He leaned down slowly, his lips and tongue pressing gently against bits of your exposed skin.  Your neck first, the hollow beneath your ear, collar bone, curve of your breast.  You back arched upwards, begging for more, and you felt Yoongi’s mouth curve into a gummy grin against your hip.  You moaned softly as he pressed your thighs apart, kissing and nipping at the soft flesh.  You wanted to snap your legs closed, praying that he didn’t see the pale stretch marks there, but his hand grasped one of your knees, bringing your leg up and over his shoulder.  When Yoongi’s tongue began to work at your core, you could no longer remain quiet.  You bucked upwards, and the rumble of Yoongi’s chuckle only stimulated you even more.  He swirled about your clit, taking in your scent and flavor.  After several more minutes, you allowed yourself to finally let go, coming around Yoongi’s mouth.  He sat up, and smiled goofily at your sweaty form, and wiggled his eyebrows cheekily.  

You growled at how cocky he acted, grabbed him by the back of his neck, and flipped him so that he was beneath you.  The smile fell from Yoongi’s face as you lowered yourself onto his cock, feeling you wrap around him, still shuddering from your orgasm.  He watched you pause in the light from the window, your eyes studying him for a moment, and he could swear that he saw something flash over your glowing features that was too quick to read.  But then you were tilting your head back, pressing your self into him, pulling him deeper, and he soon lost himself in you.  

The warmth began to build once again in your stomach, a small knot that seemed only to amplify the more you moved on top of Yoongi.  He was bucking upwards into you, his fingers scrabbling at your hips, searching clumsily for purchase.  As you came undone around him for a second, no, third time, Yoongi finally let himself follow you.  A few more sloppy thrusts, and he released, with a soft hiss between his teeth.  You smiled as you breathlessly watched his nose scrunch, and his jaw clench up. 

You bent over him as he slowly finished, kissing his forehead, his temple, his cheeks, and finally his lips.  The last kiss was hard and solid, deep and not quite finished.  You rolled off of him, and stood quietly.  You stretched, your knees and elbows popping, and continued through to the bathroom to shower and clean up, not looking back.  You couldn’t look back.  

You didn’t see Yoongi reach a hand for you, as though wanting you to stay for a moment, to be with him.  

As he watched you walk down the small hallway to your bathroom, he lay back on the floor for a few minutes contemplating his next move. He could leave, in fact, he thought, you probably anticipated him to be gone by the time you came back.  That would be so like him, to take off without a note, without a word or a soft kiss goodbye.  Because that was not how the two of you worked, despite how either of you felt.  

He tugged his jeans on again, fully meaning to leave, to shrug his jacket back on and face the cold night alone again.  He fully intended it.  But then something on your fridge caught his eye.  It was a picture, from a concert at some point several years ago.  When he still had “rich housewife hair”, as you liked to call it.  Your face was pressed into his neck, his arms around your waist, his face pressed into your hair.  Neither of you were facing the camera, rather the stage, so the lights fell across your faces.  Namjoon had taken the picture, knowing that neither of you were paying attention to him.  When the two of you noticed, you’d sprung apart, and he had laughed.  “You’re not sneaky,” he winked, tucking his camera into his pocket and sauntering away.

Seeing the photo on your fridge, after so long, had made his heart shudder to a stop, and begin again at double the pace.  He could have sworn he had the only copy, and he pulled it off of the fridge, flipping it over to see what was written on the other side.  There, in Namjoon’s neat script, was a note.  “Give him time.  Give yourself time. ~RM”  He stared at the words, at the photo, and remained in the kitchen, frozen.  

Thats where you found him, after your shower, standing shirtless only in jeans with sexed out hair.  You wanted to rush up, snatch the photo from his hands and tuck it away where he could never see it.  Instead, you moved towards him tentatively.  As you got closer, you turned the kitchen light on, wrapping your sweatshirt sleeves over your fists.  Yoongi blinked in the sudden light, and scrubbed at his face briefly, a weak attempt to cover the tears that had begun to fill his eyes. 

 “You..” he began, then he cleared his throat, struggling for words.  “You have this?  You’re still friends with ‘Joon?” 

 You nodded slowly.  “He texted me when you refused to talk to the boys for days after we split up.  He wanted to know what happened.  He was there for me.” 

Yoongi’s eyes snapped upwards at the sentence.  “Did you two...”  He trailed off, blushing for a moment, either in anger or embarrassment.  “I mean, not that I care, or like...whatever.”  He was struggling to keep his cool guy demeanor.  “Did you guys sleep together?” He rushed out suddenly, staring at his barefeet. 

You were suddenly angry.  “How dare you?  I was hurt and needed a friend, and ‘Joon was that friend.”  You took a deep breath, attempting to calm yourself, but Yoongi made you crazy.  “Namjoon and I never slept together.  We don’t, didn’t, I don’t know, see each other that way.”  

Yoongi raised his eyes back to your face, slowly setting the photo on the counter beside him.  “Okay, I believe you.  I trust you.  It was a stupid question.” 

 “Yes, it was, Yoongi.”  

He flinched at your tone. “Why do you still have it?” He asked quietly, trying to keep the hope out of his voice.  He desperately wanted you to say that because you missed him, because you needed him, that you didn’t care about the rules or the contracts or the secrets.  That you were his and he was your’s.  But you sighed.  You couldn’t tell him all of the things you wanted to say.  Because if you did, you’d be letting him in again, and setting yourself up to be hurt again.

  “I don’t know.” You shrugged, avoiding eye contact.  

“You’re lying.”  Yoongi said, catching your chin with his finger.  He lifted your face to his, taking half a step closer.  “You look at your feet and cross your arms when you lie, or avoid telling the truth.  Please don’t lie to me tonight.”  His eyes begged you silently, and your heart cracked again. 

 “Yoongi,” you breathed.  “Please, don’t.  I can’t.  We can’t.  We’ve tried.”  You tried to pull away, fully expecting him to give up, to drop his hand and leave like all of the times before.  Hell, you were surprised that he had still been here after your shower.  

But instead, he brought the hand that was under your chin up to cup your cheek, his thumb stroking away the tears that were falling freely.  “Not hard enough, apparently.”  He whispered, dipping his head.  His lips hovered half a centimeter away from yours, leaving the option open for you to walk away.  But you were tired of hurting, of sadness and loneliness, and you were tired of waking up to an empty bed and silent phone.  

So you looked into Yoongi’s softly lidded eyes, and decided to hold your breath.  

“We are not done talking, Min Yoongi, mark my words.”  And you stretched onto your toes, crashing your lips against his in a blur.  Yoongi thought his face might crack in half from the power of his smile, but he pulled away from you for a moment, to brush the hair from your eyes, to confirm to you he was going to try, to show you that you possessed him, heart and all. 

 “I am never going to stop trying,” He told you, his heart pounding in his ears, his eyes flickering over your flushed and glowing face.  “And I refuse to leave you again.” 

 You laughed.  “Okay but what about the tour?”  

He shrugged.  “I’ll deal with that when it comes.  How do you feel about world travel?”  

You laughed, and suddenly Yoongi was kissing you again, a tangled mass of limbs and love.  But there was still that nagging voice in the back of your head, warning you, telling you to back up.  But, as you led Yoongi to your small bedroom in the back of the apartment, you decided for once that you just didn’t care.   

[the-raven-sisters]

Chapter Eleven

Title: Every Family Has Their Secrets

Theme Song: Make It Rain by Ed Sheeran

Word Count: 5,857

Warnings: violence, language, panic attack, angst

Characters: Harper Raven (OC), Maisie Raven (OC), Piper Evans (OC), Danny Anderson (OC), Philip Calloway (OC), Nina VonVamp (OC), Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, Castiel

A/N: just a heads-up guys, in case anyone didn’t see the monthly update, we are going on hiatus after this chapter! We need to plan out the rest of the series and we are going to be quite busy during November and December. But don’t worry, you might be getting a mini chapter or two while we are on hiatus from the main storyline ;) -mara

A/N: Chapter 11, time for a plot twist! Have fun lol -Hope

Read Ch. 10 and previous mini-chapter here!

Chapter List | Extra Content | Character Roster

“I’m never gonna give you up, never gonna let you down. Never gonna turn around and desert you.” The quiet hours of peaceful sleep Harper managed to find in Sam’s arms, are interrupted by Rick Astley’s infamous declaration of love. She slowly opens her eyes to find Sam staring at her, sleepy and confused. Harper can't help the small laugh that escapes her when she sees his expression. Turning over, she grabs her phone off the bedside table and answers without checking the caller.

“Hello?” Her voice crackles, sleep heavy in her tone; she clears her throat. Sam throws an arm around her, pulling her close; Harper can feel his warm breath on the back of her neck, his closeness distracting her from the phone call.

“Harper, it’s Philip. Got something for you.” Philip’s stern voice rings over the line, effectively splitting her attention. Harper almost wishes Sam would release her. Almost.

Absentmindedly, Harper starts tracing circles on Sam’s arm, causing a smile to take over his expression. “Whatcha got?”

“Got a hit on Nina’s van. She’s in town.”

Harper immediately sits up, pushing Sam off of her without any resistance on his part. “Shit, and of course, we aren't home…” Harper says mostly to herself, as she jumps out of bed and starts to slip back into yesterday’s black skinny jeans.

“Better get here quick then,” Philip replies. “I'll keep an eye out if she leaves.”

“Thanks, we'll get there as soon as we can.” Harper hangs up and throws her hair into a messy bun before turning to Sam. “Maisie and I gotta go… Nina’s back.”

“Want Dean and I to come? We could help out,” Sam offers as he slips out of bed, heading toward his dresser for some clean clothes.

Harper looks thoughtful for a minute before nodding. “Never hurts to have back-up,” she says, but her agreement is more so for the reason of spending more time with Sam, than the desire to have some back-up. They probably could use it though, with Maisie still recovering from the djinn incident a few days ago. “I’ll grab Maisie, if you’ll grab Dean.”

Sam nods, before slipping a t-shirt over his head. Harper heads for the door while he pulls on a flannel layer, but a call in her direction halts her, hand heavy on the doorknob. “Hey, Harp?” Sam’s voice is gentle; Harper glances back at him, finding a small smile playing on his lips. “I love you.”

Harper doesn’t try to fight her smile, but she does have to fight the urge to roll her eyes. She says it one time, and it’s like she’s unleashed something in Sam. “Love you too, dumbass.” His laughter follows Harper as she pushes into the hallway, making a beeline for Maisie’s room.

“Time to get the fuck up, Mais.” Barging into the guest room her sister has been occupying, Harper flips on the lights only to find an unkempt, yet empty bed. Eyebrows drawn together in confusion, Harper stalks down the hall to Dean’s room on an uneasy hunch. Harper knocks hard on Dean’s door, waiting impatiently for only a few seconds before pushing the door open. She sighs in slight relief upon finding Dean’s bed Maisie-less, but doesn’t dwell long before continuing her search for her sister.

Harper finally finds Maisie, in the last place she thought to look, the library. Even more surprisingly is the way she finds her. Maisie is snuggled in a blanket on the couch, her feet propped up on Dean’s lap and Dean’s hand resting tentatively on her thigh. Both of their attention is focused on Maisie’s laptop, sitting on a small table in front of them, playing Harper’s top-secret, guilty pleasure, The Vampire Academy.

“What the fuck, you almost died and this is the first movie you watch?” Harper asks incredulously, but with a note of amusement. Maisie doesn’t even bother to look, only mumbling a comment defending her movie choices, while Dean tries to subtly move his hand from Maisie’s leg before Harper notices. Dean has no such luck however, as Harper sends him a pointed look, eyebrows raised.

“Moving on from your poor movie choices, or your method of torture, however you want to look at it. We have to go. Nina’s back in town.”

Going 90MPH, gravel flying, Harper races down the highway determined to beat Dean back to the Safehouse. Maisie, on the other hand, has another Winchester on her mind.

“Sooo…” A cheesy grin spreads of Maisie’s face. “You and Sam, huh? You guys were up pretty late,” Maisie waggles her eyebrows suggestively. A slight blush appears on Harper’s cheeks, but she manages to keep a straight face.

“Yep, me and Sam. We were talking about Adrián,” Harper states, trying to stay nonchalant. Maisie’s smile suddenly drops.

“Ah right, your favorite topic. Moving on then… But you and Sam are together now, right!?” Harper takes a moment before responding, not sure of the answer herself.

“I think so? The important thing is that we were finally honest with each other. I guess, I can stop trying to convince myself that I don’t love him since, you know, I told him I do love him and he said it back,” Harper shrugs. Maisie squeals in glee, trying to hug her sister from the side.

“Maisie, come on, I can’t afford to crash, I have got to beat Dean.” But Harper can’t help the small smile that tugs at the corner of her lips.

“Soooo…” Harper tries to take the attention off of her by copying her sister. “You and Dean, huh?” Harper smirks, raising an eyebrow at her.

This time, a sly grin snakes its way onto Maisie’s face as she replies, “Oh no, he is going to suffer first.”

Harper nods resolutely in agreement. “That’s my little sister,” Harper encourages, before they both burst into their best evil villain laughs.

Incidentally, only a few miles behind Harper and Maisie, Sam, Dean, and Cas are talking about the girls in the Impala.

“So, Harper stayed in your room two nights in a row, huh?” Dean smirks at his little brother, who is busy rolling his eyes.

“Whatever, Dean, we just spent some time bonding,” Sam immediately cringes at his own word choice, knowing it will only egg Dean on further.

“Oh, I’m sure you did,” Dean chuckles.

“No, Dean, we were just talking,” Sam tries to deflect Dean’s ever dirty mind.

“Mmhhmm, what kind of talking, Sammy?” Dean raises his eyebrows relentlessly.

“God, Dean, do you ever shut up? This is why Harper punched you and why Maisie’s gonna put you through hell before you get another chance with her,” Sam sasses, maybe a little too far, but Dean kind of deserves it.

Pulling into the police station, Sam and Harper hop out of her truck and head toward the double doors. Since Maisie and Dean came last time, it is Sam and Harper’s turn. Anxiety courses through Harper as they open the door; before leaving, Maisie reminded her of Danny, who deserves an explanation for Harper’s sudden absence in his life. Danny, although, is not at the front desk today, which relieves her of some anxiety for a moment.

Harper leads Sam over to Philip’s office, knocking before bursting through the door. “Philly, what do you have for us?”

“I would say it’s nice to see you, but I’d be lying,” Philip frowns slightly at her, not bothering to stand up to greet the pair.

“You know you love me,” Harper grins. “This is Sam, by the way.”

Sam holds out his hand to Philip, who stares at him for moment before accepting the gesture. “It’s nice to meet you, Detective,” Sam says respectfully. “Thanks for helping the girls out.”

“Hmph.” Philip stands up then, heading out of his office with Sam and Harper following. “I set up this computer out here for you to check through traffic cameras for your suspect, that way you’re not taking over my office.” He quickly logs onto a computer in the open office space, sets up the traffic camera program, and starts heading back toward his office. “Here’s your starting point,” Philip says, handing Harper a sticky note with a time and road name on it. “If you need help with it, ask Danny.”

“I’m sure we can figure it out ourselves. Thanks Philip, you’re the best,” Harper says to his back, a strained smile on her face. Philip responds with a wave of his hand, then disappears behind closed doors.

Sam gestures for Harper to take the computer chair. She plops down, taking point on the figuring out the program, which she quickly gets the hang of. Sam stands behind her, leaning close to her and pointing out things as they search through the traffic camera footage from earlier that morning, when Nina arrived. They follow Nina’s van through the footage, trying to figure out where she could be now.

After what feels like eternity to Harper, Nina’s location is narrowed down to a back road close to town, that is home to only one building: an abandoned barn. Sam scribbles down the address quickly, and they start heading back to the front doors.

Harper slows down, stopping a few feet short of the exit; she has unfinished business here. “I’ve gotta talk to Danny.” She looks over to Sam, who has a hand on the door handle.

He gives her a questioning look. “Danny?”

“Um, yeah. Went out with him before, you know…” Harper gestures between the two of them. “We happened.”

Sam looks a little amused by the last bit. “And what happened with us, Harper?”

She shakes her head at him. “We can talk what we are later, but I need to talk to Danny real quick.” As Harper begins to hand him the keys to her truck, Danny seems to appear out of thin air.

“What do you need to talk to me about?” Danny glances between the two of them, Harper seeming to freeze at the sound of his voice.

Sam shrugs, taking the keys out of her hand. “I could make a guess, but it’s not my place.” Giving Danny a tight smile, Sam offers a hand. “I’m Sam. I work with Harper.”

Danny shakes his hand. “Nice to meet you. I think Harper mentioned you before?”

“Yeah,” Harper finally finds her voice. “Sam was that college friend I talked about awhile back.” She turns to Sam. “Will you go start the truck… now, please?”

“Sure thing. Nice meeting you, Danny.” Sam gives them both a smile before heading out the door.

Harper and Danny stand in silence for a minute, as she tries to put her thoughts together. “I’m sorry about ignoring you recently. Been a lot going on, but that doesn’t excuse me being a shitty person to you.” Harper starts, deciding to stare at the floor while she talks. “I just… found someone I never thought I’d see again.” At that, she glances toward the door, and Danny notices, a twinge of sadness striking him.

“Did that someone else just walk out those doors?” He asks, trying to keep his tone nonchalant and aloof, but Harper picks up on the underlying dejection there.

Taking a deep breath, she looks him in the eye as she replies, “Yeah, he did. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, and I hope that… I don’t know, that we can go back to normal, or some shit.”

“We only went on one date, Harper. Plus we’re adults, we can handle this maturely. Thanks for telling me, so I’m not left wondering.” Danny crosses his arms over his chest, nodding toward the door. “Now, go on. Can’t leave Sam waiting.”

Harper gives him a small smile. “You’re a good guy, Danny.”

“Just not the right guy, huh?” He smiles sadly at her.

She shakes her head. “Not for me… But hopefully I’ll see you around here?”

Danny nods curtly. “Well, I do work here.” Harper gives him an awkward nod and a weak attempt at a wave, before heading out the door toward her truck and a waiting Sam.

The ride back to the Safehouse is spent mostly in silence, Harper’s mind focused on thoughts consisting of guilt over Danny and foreboding over facing Nina once again. Sam tries to get Harper to talk, but when his attempts prove futile, he settles for simply grabbing her hand, letting her know he’s here, the best way he knows how with Harper.

As the Safehouse comes into view, Harper finally finds something to say. “I don’t want Maisie to come with us.”

It’s Sam’s turn to remain silent, waiting until they’re parked in the driveway to turn and give Harper his full attention.

“I get your concern, I do. But you know, as well as I do, how well that’s going to go down with her, Harp.” Harper’s only response is to let her head fall back against the headrest and groan in frustration. Sam squeezes her hand sympathetically.

“It will be fine, Harper, there’s all four of us going in together and we won’t underestimate her this time,” Sam tries to assuage Harper’s anxiety.

“Fine. But I’m not leaving her side,” Harper states.

“And I’m not leaving yours,” Sam says reassuringly.

“That’s impractical,” Harper retorts with unimpressed frown before exiting the truck. All Sam can do is laugh off her rejection seeing that she is right, in all honesty, while also noting the irony of her statement.

Opening the door, Harper enters the Safehouse to find Maisie quickly jumping up from her spot on the couch next to Dean. She looks to Harper with a wicked grin and a wink, before heading to the kitchen.

“Dammit!” Dean tries to mutter to himself, but it carries enough for Sam to give him a questioning look as he comes in behind Harper.

“I’m sorry?” Sam puzzles.

“I’m not.” Harper can’t help but smirk at Dean’s frustration. Incidentally, when Maisie re-enters the living room, Harper’s mind is abruptly brought back to the mission at hand.

“We think we know where Nina should be.” Harper pauses for a moment, as if waiting for something. “So… Dean, get your ass off the couch and everyone else, get your shit together. Let’s finish this, once and for all... ”

“Great pep talk, sis, I like the dramatic conclusion,” Maisie responds sarcastically, while Dean just sulks in the background, wondering why he had to get called out. Harper actively ignores them both.

Harper’s foot is heavy on the gas; her truck, closely followed by the Impala, navigates the unknown curves of the old back road. The setting sun casts an orange glow on their surroundings, making everything seem ablaze. Coming around the last bend, the abandoned barn looms dead ahead. The shadow cast by the faded building stretches out towards them, sending them into darkness as they pull onto the dirt path leading to their destination.

Suddenly, images of another burning barn, eerily similar to the one in front of Harper, come unbidden to her consciousness. The heat. The smoke. The screams. The night she and Maisie were taken from their parents and their lives of normalcy. All comes rushing back. Harper’s foot drops like a brick on the break, sending dust and rocks flying in all directions. Dean barely manages to stop the Impala before it collides with Harper’s truck.

Concern riddles Maisie’s face, staring down her sister’s pale expression and oddly motionless form; the only movement is Harper’s grip on the steering wheel tightening until her knuckles turn white. A silence stretches out between them for several minutes, Maisie waiting for Harper to explain herself.

“Harper?” Maisie asks tentatively. When Harper makes no sound or move to answer, Maisie continues to press. “Harper, listen to me, you have to breathe. Please, Harper. Five... Four... Three... Two... One...” Maisie counts slowly, trying to remind Harper of the grounding technique they use in situations like this.

Maisie notices that Harper finally takes a deep breathe, then Harper is trying to say something. Her mouth moves but no words come out at the first attempt.

“We can’t…” Harper breathes out, barely a whisper of sound escaping her lips.

“We can’t what?” Maisie asks after Harper goes silent for a bit too long.

“Can’t go in. It’s…”

Harper’s anxiety make it hard to breath, let alone complete a whole sentence. She swallows heavily, trying to force the words out, but before she gets a chance, Sam is opening her truck door. His expression is heavy with concern and confusion, his eyes scanning Harper for injury.

“What’s wrong?” Sam asks, noting her pale face and shaky breathing. Harper doesn’t look at him, afraid that she’ll break down even further if she does. “Harper?” His voice is quiet, filled with a palpable worry. “Look at me, please.”

Harper turns her head slowly, gazing at him with a blank stare; only a child-like fear can be seen in her sapphire eyes. Maisie throws the truck into park and turns it off, while Sam attempts to get Harper out of the driver’s seat. Maisie helps Sam unbuckle Harper, then he tugs gently on her arm until she slides out of the truck.

“Just focus on me,” Sam says, and Harper does her best to follow his suggestion. She watches him; the way he helps her out of the truck, the way his shoulders are heavy with concern. When her feet hit the ground, Harper seems to liven up a bit more. Slowly but surely, her breathing starts to return to normal, and the anxiety begins to lift slightly.

“Sorry, I was just… lost in my head.” Despite the panic its sight caused, Harper gains the courage to look at the barn. It is similar but not the same, she thinks, attempting to convince herself to calm down in the shadow of this grisly reminder.

“What was it about?” Maisie asks as she appears by her sister’s side with Dean in tow.

Harper glances between the three of them, curious and concerned, as she tries to formulate an explanation; she only manages to let out a few failed attempts. When she can’t explain herself, Harper groans in frustration and drops her head onto Sam’s chest.

Sam rubs her back briefly before she stands up straight once again. “We can talk about it later, okay?” Sam suggests.

Dean nods. “Sam's right. We got a job to do. This can wait.” Harper throws a nervous glance at the building, but agrees.

Together, armed, and mostly ready, the Winchester’s and Raven’s start their trek to the faded barn as the sun sets in the horizon. Maisie and Dean take the lead, and as Maisie gets closer and closer to the ever-looming barn, Harper feels a twinge of panic that spurs her forward. Her desire to protect Maisie overrides the crippling anxiety that kept her frozen with fear.

Maisie grips the handle of her whip, determination driving her every step as she leads the way. She is ready to end Nina and the threat to her family, whatever it takes. Closing in on the barn doors, Maisie reaches for the door, and they all prepare to enter. All except Dean, who speaks up as the voice of reason.

“Wait. I’m going to check the perimeter, make sure there’s no alternate escape routes so we don’t repeat last time.” Maisie retracts her hand and nods.

“I’ll take one side, you take the other, Sam,” Dean directs, and the brothers take off on either side of the barn with their machetes raised.

The girls wait in palpable silence for a few minutes, Maisie tapping her foot impatiently, while keeping her free hand rested on her thigh sheath. Harper checks her own weapon several, unnecessary times, trying to keep her mind on the mission.

“Why did you say we can’t go in? You never want to avoid a fight,” Maisie abruptly breaks the silence with her query. Harper avoids her gaze for a long moment, searching for something, anything, to try and explain it away. All the excuses she comes up with seem feeble, and she almost decides she cannot lie to her sister any longer.

She drags her eyes up to meet Maisie’s, catching her bottom lip between her teeth as she fights within herself.  Maybe something close enough to the truth would be okay, at least until this is all over? She wonders to herself. However, just as she opens her mouth to form an answer, Sam and Dean appear from the side of the barn.

“All clear, this is the only way in or out of here,” Dean informs them.

“Okie dokie, ye merry band of misfits, let’s kill some fucking vamps,” Maisie quips lowly, looking at each of them shortly and nodding resolutely.

Machetes unsheathed and Maisie’s whip poised, Maisie and Harper carefully push on the doors until they swing inward. Their first steps into the vampires’ den are cautious, as they take in their surroundings, searching for signs of Nina or any of her nest. They make it to the center of the barn, when suddenly the doors to the barn clang shut.

“I was beginning to think you were going to stand me up.” Nina’s honey-like voice rings out through the shadows, seeming to surround them. The sisters and the Winchesters all stand back-to-back, every angle covered by one of them. “It’s not nice to leave a girl waiting,” Nina adds.

“Then come on out so I don’t have to wait any longer to kill you. Just like I did your brother,” Maisie challenges. Suddenly, Nina appears mere feet away from Maisie, a scowl on her face.

“You’ll pay for what you did to him,” Nina threatens, and one after another, four other vampires surround them all. Harper and the Winchester’s begrudgingly train their aim on the others. Sam takes on the closest two vamps, while Dean and Harper head for the others, hoping to finish them off quickly and be ready to aide Sam and Maisie.

Maisie is left to face Nina; they circle each other, waiting. Maisie makes the first move, lashing her whip out in the blink of an eye, but Nina catches it with one hand.

“Have I got a surprise for you.” Donning a malevolent smile, Nina wraps the whip around her arm and jerks it towards her. Ignoring Nina’s attempt at playing games, Maisie lets the handle of her whip slip from her grasp, already yanking her machete out of its sheath and launching herself at Nina. Nina barely ducks in time, landing in a crouch before kicking at Maisie’s legs. Momentarily knocked on her ass, Maisie uses her vantage to kick Nina in the face with both legs, before regaining her machete and jumping to her feet. Nina is back on her in seconds, but Maisie has the machete between them, both trying to fight for the upper hand.

On the other side of the barn, Harper has managed to off her first vamp and rushes to Sam’s side. Dean has managed to only get knocked on his ass twice, but he uses the second time to roll behind a stack of hay and lay in wait for the vampire. As soon as he comes into view, Dean kicks a bale of hay at him, and uses the momentary chaos to get in a clean sweep with his machete. Running to check on the others, Dean sees that Sam and Harper are holding their own, side by side.

However when he looks to Maisie, he sees that Nina is gaining the upper hand, knocking Maisies machete from her grasp. Before Maisie can make a move, Nina grabs a fistful of her ponytail and yanks her head to the side, eyeing her wide-open neck.

“Maisie! No!” Dean yells, making a beeline for her. Dean’s cry for Maisie catches Harper off guard just as she is bringing her machete down on her adversary’s neck. She hacks the vampire’s head from its body before doing a complete three-sixty, frantically looking for her sister.

Harper’s eyes go wide at the sight of her sister struggling at the mercy of Nina and her hunger, knowing Dean has mere seconds to get to her.

“Stop, Nina, I’m begging you.” All of a sudden, a new voice calls out, stopping everyone in their tracks. Harper vaguely recognizes the thud of a body hitting the ground behind her, before Sam is by her side again.

“Why should I, Benson? She’s more trouble than she’s worth,” Nina growls. Through the curtain of shadows steps a ruggedly handsome man, looking hardly older than Dean, though Dean had an inch or so on the stranger. A look of pure concern covers his features as he slowly approaches Nina and Maisie with pleading eyes.

“Nina, she’s family…” The man trails off, training his eyes on Maisie now. Maisie’s eyebrows furrow in confusion and disbelief. Harper’s heart skips several beats, before pounding painfully in her chest. “She’s my only daughter,” he finishes in a haunting whisper that carries to each of them.

Maisie’s eyes bore through this man claiming to be her father, and all she can see is herself in his eyes. A foggy memory of these same, viridescent eyes, surrounded by flames, watching her being carried away as a screaming five year old, flashes through her mind.

“D-daddy?” Her lips part, and she exhales heavily.

“This can’t be happening.” Harper covers her mouth, shaking her head in denial. Sam slowly drags his eyes from the confusing scene in front of him to stare at Harper. She didn’t look or sound surprised by this revelation. This was the secret Harper had been keeping. This is what she wouldn’t talk to him about and what she couldn’t tell Maisie. This is why she was so anxious she couldn’t sleep. She knew. For months.

“What in the fucking hell,” Dean declared lowly. He was by far, the most confused one in the building. He looks from Maisie to her so-called-dad, and back again, then to Sam and Harper, who wouldn’t look his way.

“Sunflower,” Maisie’s dad finally says softly in response, and Maisie knows, it is him. He tries to take a step forward, but Nina grips Maisie’s throat threateningly.

“Take your hands off of my daughter,” the man demands gruffly. Nina laughs, tightening her grip, her fingernails digging into Maisie’s skin.

“Not so fast, Peter, I’m not done with her,” Nina spits his name out like poison. Maisie struggles to breath as her father and Nina stare one another down.

“Yea, you are, bitch.” Harper’s words ring in Nina’s ears, the last words she’ll ever hear, before her head is savagely disconnected from her body. Maisie falls to her knees, coughing and gasping for air. Peter smirks, with a glint in his eyes, before he covers it once more with concern as he rushes to Maisie’s side, followed by Harper and the Winchester’s close behind.

“Hey, stay back! How are we supposed to know you’re who you say you are?” Dean barks, grabbing Peter’s collar and dragging him away from Maisie.

“Maisie Noelle Benson… now, Raven. Born December 24th, 1986, outside of Henderson, Las Vegas. You have a birthmark on your left ankle in the shape of a flower. I always thought it was a sunflower.” Peter rambles out one fact after the other, eyes only for Maisie. Harper makes sure Maisie is breathing and okay, before she hugs her tightly, mumbling apologies; she stands up to face Peter herself while Maisie continues to recover.

“You could have easily gotten that from Maisie’s journals. We know that’s what Nina stole from the Safehouse. Which I’m sure you put her up to,” Harper accuses. Peter shakes his head vehemently.

“No, no. I didn’t put her up to anything. I didn’t want any of this, I just wanted my daughter back, but she found me out,” Peter tries to defend himself. Harper crosses her arms, unimpressed, but Maisie, finding her balance, pushes past Harper.

“You- you look exactly the same,” Maisie chokes out, reaching out to touch him, but Harper speaks up, causing Maisie to retract her hand.

“He’s a vampire, Mais.” Maisie takes a step back, breathing hard.

“It wasn’t my choice, sunflower, I’m not like that monster,” Peter pleads with his daughter, jerking his head toward the decapitated Nina. Maisie’s lip quivers, caught between wanting to believe her dad and every instinct her training as a hunter has given her. Harper steps between Maisie and Peter, knowing her sisters’ painful conflict.

“Our mom told me what you did, what you all did. You’re not going to fool me with your poor victim act,” Harper reassures him quietly, hoping Maisie will just trust her, but something in Harper’s statement catches Maisie’s attention.

“You knew?” Maisie whispers at first, the conflict in her eyes slowly turning into anger. Harper turns her back on Peter to face Maisie.

“Maisie, I--” Harper starts to try and reason, but Maisie interrupts.

“You knew!? You knew that my father was alive and a vampire? And you fucking kept it from me!? You just sat on that fucking truth bomb!?” Maisie’s voice rises as does the fire in her eyes.

“I’m sorry! When Momma Q told me, she said I shouldn’t tell you and it freaked me the fuck out. I mean, my parents were fucking vampires, too. And I just wanted to protect you.” Harper’s voice is small compared to her sister’s ranting, and Maisie wasn’t done, running her fingers through her hair and finding purchase for something to hold on to.

“Momma Q, too? So you both decided to keep the biggest thing about my past, my family, from me? You do not get to decide what is, and what is not, good for me!” Maisie continues to berate Harper, her explanation doing nothing to abate Maisie’s anger.

“That’s fucked up,” Dean mutters, and Sam gives him a mix between his ‘really man?’ face, and his bitch face.

“I just- I’m your family too, Maisie,” Harper tries again weakly, but Maisie narrows her eyes at her, both girls completely oblivious to either of the brothers.

“Just stop.” Maisie wants nothing to do with Harper’s feeble excuses, despite knowing deep down, that Harper was already beating herself up over this.

“What do you want me to do, Maisie? I’m sorry,” Harper begs, wanting to waste no time trying to make up for this.

“I think you should just go,” Maisie snaps, shaking her head. Harper opens her mouth to protest, or form another apology, but she clamps her mouth shut again seeing the fury on Maisie’s face. Feeling hot tears start to sting her eyes, Harper quickly turns away from all the eyes trained on her and strides out of the barn.

Sam’s own frustration at Harper’s inability to ever open up on her own accord, keeps him rooted to his spot, but only for a matter of seconds. Sighing, he turns to Dean.

“I have to go with her. She shouldn’t be alone right now,” Sam explains, and Dean nods in understanding, the brothers passing a silent communication between themselves. Sam gives Maisie an apologetic look in passing as he takes off after Harper.

“You have something you want to say, get it out now,” Maisie flicks her gaze to Dean.

“Whatever you need, Mais, I’m not going anywhere.” Maisie’s eyes start to soften, nodding in thanks. She steps closer to Peter, hesitantly reaching forward to touch his cheek. Peter smiles softly, leaning into her touch.

“He’s coming home with us,” Maisie states. Dean sighs, eyeing Peter, while still clutching his collar.

“You sure about this?” Dean asks, looking to Maisie now and holding her gaze for a long minute.

“Yes. He already already knows where the Safehouse is, anyway. I can’t walk away without giving him a chance,” Maisie replies without hesitation. Overlooking his own uncertainty for the time being, Dean nods and releases Peter. Dean, then, sets off leading the way to the Impala, while making sure to keep Maisie close by. He might be willing to trust Maisie in giving her long-lost-father a chance, but he sure as hell is not going to take his eyes off of either of them any time soon.

The ride back to the Safehouse seemed to take twice as long, the air in the Impala bursting with unspoken words and unanswered questions. Once they finally make it back, Maisie leads Peter into her home, a hundred different emotions weighing down Maisie’s every step.

Piper and Cas are instantly on their feet, coming to greet Maisie and Dean. The obvious question is written on their faces as they lay eyes on Peter.

“Piper, Cas, this is my… Dad,” Maisie says but offers no other explanation, diving right into sleeping arrangements. “Dad.. you can take the guest room. Piper, you can sleep in Harper’s room, she won’t be back tonight.”

Piper looks stricken, opening her mouth to ask the most pressing question out of all the ones filling her mind. Maisie rushes to assuage her fears, however. “No, she’s not dead. She’s… with Sam.” Piper still looks very confused, but nods, sensing now is not the time to bombard Maisie with her questions.

Showing Peter to the guest room, Maisie can’t help but look him up and down, still taking in the shocking sight of him. He catches her eyes on him and steps close.

“I know, it will take some time getting used to, but I plan on taking all the time I need,” Peter defuses, looking excited about the prospect. Maisie nods, lost for words after all of the overwhelming events of the night. Impulsively closing the distance between them, Maisie wraps her arms around Peter, the action immediately reciprocated.

“I think we should all get some rest,” Peter suggests, pulling away from her embrace gradually. Maisie wraps her arms around herself now, expressing her agreement as she exits the room.

“Goodnight, dad,” Maisie utters, before closing the door behind her. She turns and bumps right into Cas, stationed next to  the doorframe.

“I will keep an eye on him,” Cas assures Maisie. She smiles, mumbling an absentminded thank you, on her way to her own room. She makes it up the stairs, ready to curl into her bed, but as she swings the bedroom door shut, a hand appears to stop it.

“I’m sure you don’t want to talk right now, just tell me, on a scale from one to whiskey, how not okay are you?” Dean asks lightly, but he can’t cover the concern in his voice.

“Make it a double whiskey,” Maisie replies simply, with a weak, humorless laugh. Dean gives her an understanding nod.

“Coming right up.” Dean turns to go, but this time it’s Maisie’s turn to stop him, placing a hand on his arm.

“Dean?” Maisie says his name like a prayer, and his eyes are instantly on her again, ready to answer it. “Stay,” she breathes, her voice almost breaking on the one, simple word.

“Always,” Dean promises without a second thought.

[write-my-dreams]

Day 5: Island Vacation

Title: It’s Time for a Vacation

Author: write-my-dreams

Pairing: JayTim

Rating: PG

Summary: Policing Gotham is a full time job for Red Hood and Red Robin. With Tim still healing from his broken arm, Jason decides it's time he take Tim out of the city and away from work for a well deserved vacation. The only issue is convincing Tim that they can handle being away for a week.

Note: This one is a direct sequel to Day 1's "Carnival" prompt. You don’t need to read it to understand this one, just know that Tim’s arm was broken before Day 1. 

Read it at Ao3

Tim struggled into one of Jason’s shirts. He was tired of wearing T-shirts and sweatpants or leggings outside of work. He wanted to look presentable even when he didn’t have to be in the office. He was also determined to get dressed without assistance, broken arm be damned. Getting the shirt on had been a challenge. Getting it buttoned was a step up in the difficulty department. At last he had all but the top two buttons done. Now for pants.

Jason entered the bedroom to see Tim trying and failing to pull skinny jeans up with one hand. “Want some help, baby bird? You look good in my shirt. You should wear my clothes more often.”

“If I wear your clothes you’re in a rush to get me out of them.” Tim did a little dance to try to get the pants on. Giving up, he kicked them off and sat down on the bed. “I’m tired of wearing suits or gym clothes. Tired of needing your help to get dressed.” He raked his hair back with a frustrated huff. “I wanted to wear something nice instead of looking like a slob all the time. And I thought it could do it myself.”  

Jason sat down next to him. “You don’t look like a slob. You’re far too pretty to ever manage that.” He wrapped his arm around Tim’s waist. “I know how fucking maddening it is to have an injured arm. Simple things like putting on clothes or eating become a lot harder. I know we Bats are stubborn as all get out, but it’s not a crime to need my help to put on a pair of pants or a shirt.” He kissed Tim’s hair. “Now I’ve got something to take your mind off your arm. And I’m not always in a rush to undress you when you wear something of mine!”

Tim decided he’d let Jason think that. For now. “All right. What do you have?” As frustrating as dealing with a broken arm was, he was blessed to have such a caring and attentive lover.

“Want me to show you now?”

“Please. I need a distraction that isn’t paperwork or security footage.” At least his usual villains seemed to be laying low.

“Close your eyes.” Jason waited until he did so before getting up off the bed. Tim heard Jason opening a desk drawer and closing it again. The surprise had to be something small then. “Quit trying to guess, Timmy. I know that expression. Now keep your eyes closed until I say so.”

Tim waited impatiently for Jason to return to the bed. The mattress dipped beneath his weight. “Can I look now?”

“Wait.” Jason laid something light on his bare thigh. “Okay. You can open your eyes now.”

Tim obeyed. He picked up the white envelope. It was unmarked and unsealed. Inside were two cruise tickets, a pamphlet for the company, two plane tickets, and then a receipt for a three night stay at a luxury resort. Tim’s eyes widened as he scanned the tickets. “You bought us a vacation?” He kissed Jason’s cheek, trying not to let the worry show. “That’s sweet of you, Jay, it really is. Are you sure you can take that time off though? Can we afford to leave? I have the company and computer monitoring as Red Robin until I recover. I know the Red Hood has a lot on his plate.” Both of them had duties they couldn’t simply walk away from for a week in Hawaii.

Jason pulled him onto his lap. “Knew you’d fuss. It’s all going to be fine, Tim. I’ve got everything taken care of. Bruce or Lucius will be in the office while you’re with me. Roy’s covering my usual patrol with Kori’s help. You’ve been working your ass off before and after you broke your arm. The carnival trip helped you relax a little, but this is something that you and I both need.” He rubbed Tim’s side and smirked. “Don’t worry about letting that big brain of yours go to waste. Night two on the cruise involves a murder mystery party. Should be a fun little challenge for us.”

Tim was still worried about leaving his work behind. He couldn’t turn Jason down when he’d gone to so much to prepare everything. And he really did sound excited about going to Hawaii with him. Plus, this was the first real vacation they’d be taking as a couple. “When do we leave?”

“Tomorrow evening. We arrive in Honolulu at 7 AM.”

Tim gaped. Clearly he hadn’t paid enough attention to the tickets! “Tomorrow?” He felt protests and excuses rising. One look at Jason’s expression had him taking a breath to force them down. Bruce had managed Wayne Industries with Lucius’ help before Tim had taken over. The company wouldn’t burn down around their ears in a week simply because Tim wasn’t there to run things. Gotham hadn’t spontaneously combusted during the course of previous injuries either. Their friends and family could handle the city while he and Jason took a much-needed vacation. “You’re trying to give me a heart attack aren’t you.” He sighed and shook his head. “We have to get awful Hawaiian shirts for the whole family.�� He could already see Damian’s disgusted expression while Dick would love the shirt, no matter how hideous or tacky it was.

Jason snickered. “Already planned on that. My two favorite redheads are getting hot pink shirts with purple leis as their souvenirs.”

Tim grimaced at the thought of how badly that would clash with Roy and Kori’s hair. “Maybe we should find an ugly green for the family.” He froze, realizing that he was in no way prepared to leave since he hadn’t packed or notified the office or done a dozen other things he needed to have finished. He wasn’t even wearing pants! “Shit, I need to pack!” He jumped off Jason’s lap. There wouldn’t be time tomorrow with a full day at Wayne Industries including a board meeting and then lunch with a potential buyer for their newest water filtration technology. How was he going to –

“Relax, baby bird. I can see you panicking. Your suitcase is packed, Lucius knows I’m taking you to Hawaii as does your secretary. Both of them are excited for you and said you more than deserve a vacation. So we’re going to go on a cruise and enjoy our beach hotel. You can lay out on the beach and drink smoothies if you want, but this is our vacation and a mandatory break from work for you.” Jason took his hand. “No laptops, no iPads. Cell phone use for pictures only. Seven days of rest and relaxation. We both need this, Tim.”

Tim found himself taking a breath again. “You’re going to have to remind me how to relax instead of work.” If it worked he’d have to share some tips with Selina so she could try getting Bruce to take a vacation. She’d probably have to sedate him.

Jason laughed. “I promise I will.”

*   *   *

Tim settled back into his chair, enjoying the sand beneath his toes. Despite his misgivings about up and leaving Gotham the vacation had been a great idea. The cruise had been the most fun he’d had all year, even though the murder mystery had been embarrassingly easy to solve. Also Jason must have studied some kind of How to Romance Your Boyfriend novel as well because he’d been giving Tim melt into the mattress massages to really get him to relax. The effect had been kind of ruined last night since Tim kept giggling as he thought of the ghost tour they’d gone on as a joke last night.

“What’s on your mind?”

Tim realized he’d started laughing again. “I just pictured us going on a Gotham Ghost Tour with Cass and Dick. With the four of us wearing our new Hawaiian shirts.” He’d texted Kon a picture of Jason modeling the garish, pea green shirt with its oversized pink and purple floral pattern. Kon had responded with an offer to fly to Hawaii and burn the entire supply.

Jason snickered. “We’d have to bring the demon spawn and the redheads too. I think we’d wind up scaring all the ghosts away.”

“Probably. It would be funny though.”

Jason toasted Tim with his smoothie. “It would.”

They lapsed back into silence again. Both were simply content to soak up the sun and surf until they felt like moving on to a new activity.

[shenanigumi]

20 Questions Tag Meme

I was tagged by @lanaya-lavellan​! Putting it up here first, since this blog was the one that got tagged.

1. How tall are you? 5 feet 4.5 inches at last count.

2. What color and style is your hair? Brown, except it’s the kind of brown that can’t really make up its mind—streaks of lighter and darker, sometimes bits of gold, mostly almost copper. It’s wavy and kinda bushy and falls past my waist at this point, so I should really have my mom trim the ends. It gets in the way all the time, but literally the only thing I know how to “do” with my hair is put it up in a ponytail. A low ponytail. I can’t even do the high ones like Chizuru’s got.

3. What color are your eyes? Boring brown. But I like to think it’s kind of a nice brown. A clear, chocolate brown. Not the dull brown I’ve seen in other people.

4. Do you wear glasses? Yeah, have for the past 15 years. When I was six, my mom took me to the San Jose Opera production of Die Zauberflöte and we found out I couldn’t see the subtitles without binoculars, so we hooked me up with glasses as soon as possible after that. My eyesight has been getting steadily worse ever since. Literally everything farther than 3-4 inches from my eyes is blurry without my glasses.

5. Do you wear braces? *shudders* Please don’t ask about my teeth. I had braces for a year and a half, from sixth to eighth grade. Apart from that, I’ve technically had retainers since second grade, but it’s been literal years since I’ve worn them and now my teeth are subtly starting to shift again so all my suffering may have been for naught ughhhh

6. What is your fashion sense? You say “fashion sense” like I have any kind of sense for fashion. Alas, I do not. Most often it’s a.) 1 of about 5 pairs of almost identical skinny jeans, each of which I wear repeatedly until obviously dirty; b.) whatever t-shirts are clean; c.) an extra layer of some sort if the weather calls for it, typically a zipper hoodie; and d.) boots or sandals. I have exactly one functional belt, and though I own multiple pairs of shoes, I wear exactly one pair of boots and two or three identical pairs of sandals to death. I do adore dresses and skirts, but they’re so much effort I hardly ever get/take the opportunity to wear them.

7. Do you have any siblings? No, thank gods.

8. What kind of student were/are you? The kind that was above average when she was a kid, so she developed expectations of natural aptitude—the kind that panics whenever she gets a C or lower on any given assignment due to a phobia of disappointing her parents—the kind that started struggling to do her assignments because of the weight of her own unrealistically high standards—and the kind that learned to really, genuinely hate school because of it, yet still feels obligated to participate. Don’t even talk to me about school, seriously. I'm strung out so tight I’ll snap if you touch me.

9. What is your favorite subject? I really do hate school. I don’t even like my past Creative Writing classes, for gods’ sakes (blame the teachers I’ve had). I’m okay with my small press editing class because my classmates are chill and one of them legit runs the class, but like, I literally don’t have a favorite subject. Unless you count my independent study on Bakumatsu Japan, because that’s fucking awesome.

10. Favorite TV shows? I don’t watch TV alone, but I’ll watch some things my family puts on, like certain dumb game shows or Project Runway whenever it’s in season. I also sometimes get hooked on Law & Order (especially Criminal Intent), even if I usually can’t watch the first several minutes due to general squeamishness. Oh, and if RWBY counts, I guess I like that too, although my enthusiasm has waned somewhat as the series progresses.

11. Favorite books? Sorry, but for all my love of writing, college has totally ruined my appetite for reading, as well as my ability to read for pleasure. I can’t even remember the last book I read all the way through, let alone ones I actually like. I suppose the longtime favorites that have stood the test of time include The Thirteen Clocks by James Thurber and A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens. I also seem to remember liking the Pippi Longstocking series by Astrid Lindgren.

12. Favorite pastime? Writing, first and foremost (and, more prominently, bouncing ideas around!!); dancing, at least whenever I remember I like it; and playing video games, more for the plot than the experience. Seriously, I am such a casual gamer. I’ll be on the easiest of modes and I’ll still probably have a hard time. That’s a big part of why I like otome… no actual gameplay required…

13. Any regrets? This is depressing enough already, come on! But I don’t really have any long-term crushing regrets, so moving right along…

14. What is your dream job? I'm technically already a writer, since I write constantly, but getting paid for my passions would be awesome. My ultimate goal is to be able to sustain myself just by writing fiction, whether novels or short stories… but in the meantime, I’d love getting a day job as an editor. Frustrating as it usually is, it brings me a strange sort of enjoyment, and I like to think I’m good at it.

15. Do you want to get married? Being only demisexual and grayromantic, I’m not entirely sure marriage and I agree with one another. Besides, marriage is more a side effect than a life goal, wouldn’t you say? Lots of prerequisites, don’t you think? I’ve only checked one box, so… I mean… we’ll see. But if anyone gets me any diamonds, fuck that, I’m saying no till I get a better ring. Amethyst is where it’s at. Nobody gets enslaved and worked to death over amethyst.

16. Do you want kids? How many? In my current state, I absolutely could not handle kids, and it’s difficult for me to think of not being in my current state, so I can’t give a solid answer. See, I feel like in order to truly be said to “want kids”, you have to be okay with all the possibilities. If it were possible for me to have a single blood-related daughter without having sex, artificially inseminating, or being pregnant at all, I might consider it. Maybe. Until then, nahhhhhhhh.

17. How many countries have you visited? Just the one I’m from. Might consider exploring more now that a certain “mangled apricot hellbeast” (to quote someone on Twitter) has been elected president, though. Think some of my family members can hook me up with an Italian citizenship if I ever need to make an escape…

18. What’s the scariest dream you’ve ever had? There was a super-symbolic dream that really upset me (fear, anger, sadness, you name it, I felt it) back in eighth grade, all about how so much sexism and racism in America has been swept under the rug instead of getting fixed, and how the same people have ultimately been in power for centuries. It was really deep and unsettling, and I was only like 13-14 so I didn’t know how to process it. I’m still not totally sure.

19. Do you have any enemies? Nah. There used to be people I hated, and I’m fairly certain people hated me too, but I haven’t had anyone I’d call an enemy since roughly high school. The last person I hated was one of my Creative Writing teachers. I refer to him only as “Professor Jackass”.

20. Do you have a datemate? …Hey, ain’t that a planner? Or are you referring to a significant other? (And if that’s the case, if you marry your datemate, do they have the potential to become a housespouse?! I might even consider getting married now!!) Anyway, I do have a planner, but never learned to use it. I also happen to have a boyfriend of just over two months, and I don’t really know how that happened, or what I should be doing with him, but he somehow manages to make my life brighter—so I hope I can do the same for him, in my own inimitably clumsy way.

Tagging: @doodlethewhiteraven​, @sabinasanfanfic​, @impracticaldemon​, @shell-senji​, @kazama-hime​, and @queen-mizera​ if you haven’t gotten this already! But please feel free to NOT do it.

[apsbicepstraining]

Can You Lose 8 Pounds?

This peculiarity compels JavaScript to function.

Hello. If youre learn this right now, its because you want to make a change. Youre here because youve always been huge, but now your largeness has already become revolt. You are here because God has cursed you with a flabby paunch, and you dislike the style it rebounds and oozes.

You are here, candidly, because you have nowhere else to turn.

I want to take control of my life.

I want to die a lonely, ruined person who is full of bitternes because I never took community initiatives.

Yes! The first step to succumbing a lonely, broken person who is full of regret is admitting to yourself that you want to die a lonely, busted person who is full of bitternes. Today is the day you embark on that footpath. Disappear out in the world, get down this computer, and hug the darkness.

Start Over

Incredible. Its time to begin anew! Its duration for a brand-new, less fleshy assembly. To start, take a good, hard look at yourself. Thisthis is you now.

Okay.

And this was youthis was you 8 glorious pounds ago.

Oh, wow.

No, its not.

Look, denial is a sign of weakness. Seem into your own sees. If youre going to make a change, you must accept that this perfect, chiseled muscle domain used to be yours.

I countenanced myself.

Yes! The actuality is, “you think youre” 8 pounds away from true-life joy. Your brand-new, lip-smacking person is almost within reach, but only if you vow worked very hard to and systematically destroy every inch of your old-time soul. So, how would you like to lose 8 pounds?

Exercise and borrow a healthy diet.

Take a dietary supplement.

Hurt my figure with the influenza!

I do not want to lose 8 pounds, because I am an idiot.

-Aha! You seem to be a stupid person who does not want to lose 8 pounds. Well, beneath that additional load is a beautiful and muscular Adonis just waiting to kill the old-fashioned you.

So, how will you get gushed for your total 8-pound makeover?

Check out some weight-loss message boards.

Look at your fantastically scrawny girlfriend.

Remember the days when you werent 8 pounds heavier.

You decide to log onto lard.edu, your favorite bodybuilding health resource.

Log onto lard.com and speak some testimonials.

Log onto lad.com and look at porn.

Incredible. Lad.com is unfortunately best available website on the internet. While the actors svelte forms did in fact see you want to lose 8 pounds, you were so drawn to the red-hot, attractive copulation that you didnt leave your computer for hours. Instead, you gained 2 pounds from sitting and neglected! Whoops.

Log onto the computer again.

Try another weight-loss method.

Start Over

You go to the testimonials section. Yes, this is the stuff you need.

Comment I WANT TO CHANGE MY LIFE.

Exit the computer and start your journey.

You retain scrolling. Its incredible.

Comment THIS IS RELATABLE TO ME.

Exit the computer and start your journey.

Great, youre motivated! Now gives lose those pounds!

Comment PLEASE SEND DETAILS ABOUT HAVING SEX WITH YOUR BROTHER.

Exit the computer and start your journey.

Hi, lover, says your scrawny lover, ogling you up and down. I heard you are trying to lose 8 pounds. Hey, we should engage in the primal ordinance of sexits great for losing 8 pounds.

Yes, satisfy!

No thanks.

Actually, just kidding, she adds. Sex is for people who have lost 8 pounds. Well have sex when youve lost 8 pounds.

Okay.

Oh, okay, thats penalty, I understand, she supposes. I will break up with you then! Makes have sex when youve lost 8 pounds.

Okay.

Ah, the days when you were 8 pounds lighter and the world was brighter…the days when all your breathes were unfathomably loose….

Yes, I remember…

I do not remember that.

The dates when you deemed an apple in your hands at all times and smiled…when you wore a tape measure around your waist as jewelry….

Ah, yes…

Still I do not remember…

The dates when your family was still alive….

I remember…my God….

I am ready to lose 8 poundsI swear it.

Ah, the flu! An superb choice. The influenza is the worlds No. 1 sicknes for inducing pounds and pounds of liquid secretion. How would you like to get a slimming, fat-burning sprain of the flu today?

Lick the hands of this flu seasons patient zero.

Ask the hospital for their exploited needles and then jump in a accumulation of them.

Go to the doctor and implore for the most slimming flu he has.

Incredible! You got the flu. The good word is that youre now sicker than youve ever seen, and 3 pounds of liquids “ve already” secreted from your loopholes! The bad news is that your person stands swollen and unsightly. What do you do now?

Go to the doctor and implore for a worse disease.

Continue trying to lose weight with this potentially inept flu.

Great choice! You go to the doctor and entreat for the influenza, best available weight-loss program in the world.

Oh, God, only look at youyou urgently need to lose 8 pounds, does the doctor. I could give you the flu, or I could give you a more extreme weight-loss procedure Ive been working on.

Ask him for the flu.

Ask him for the revolutionary medical procedure.

Great choiceIve been meaning to commit a fun felony and finally play-act this weight-loss procedure on someone, he replies, laying you down. Im going to applied this monkey soul in you and just see what happens with your 8 pounds. How does that voice?

Yes, satisfy, I want to be slim! Make me that monkey heart.

No thanks, Ill take the skinny cancer instead!

While lying lifelessly next to the toilet, you try on your old breathes. Wow, they scarcely fit! Your lip may be parched and your eyes crusted closed, but if you took a shower, youd be 10 days hotter than you were before!

So, how will you lose those remaining 5 pounds?

Keep having the flujust 5 more pounds!

Get some broth to suck on and to continue efforts to dry yourself.

Oh , no! You lost 5 pounds, and then 4 more pounds! The flu was unfortunately more effective, and you discontinued up losing 12 pounds total. You appear scrawny and disgusting, a merely skeleton of the hunk you once were. Maybe try gaining heavines, because right now youre a fitness disaster.

Wait, its not over! Try to gain the load back.

Start Over

Well, you steamed some hot water over a moo-cow and made yourself some beef broth. But unfortunately, you got better, and you stopped losing load when you were only 2 pounds short of your goal! Sadly, it seems like youre still a blob-like fitness tragedy. Would you like to try another way?

Go back and try another way!

Great choice! You go to the doctor and sidestep for the most difficult, most infectious disease hes get. Perhaps malaria, if he has it.

Oh, Jesus, you urgently need to lose 8 pounds, reads the doctor. I could give you either a altogether untested infection I invented or a radical weight-loss procedure Ive been working on.

Ask him for the skinny disease.

Ask him for the revolutionary medical procedure.

This disease progressed from monkey DNA, but dont perturb, its not AIDS, says your doctor. Hopefully, itll get those 5 standing pounds off!

Sprout hair from every limb.

Pick up a lodge and begin trying to jab it into numerous punctures in the office to look for bugs.

The results are great at first! You eat a healthy, clean nutrition of maggots and vegetation, and almost instantly embarked wincing. Unfortunately, you became more being than monkey, and while your skeleton was contracting into the exact size of a primate, you lost 25 additional pounds. Looks like youll have to try again if you want to lose precisely 8.

Wait, its not over! Try to gain the load back.

Start Over

Congrats! You now have a monkey heart, which is already 2 pounds lighter than a human nerve. And holy moo-cow, you examine hotbut you feel even hotter. How will you lose those last-place 3 pounds?

By eating chows and vegetation.

By mistaking a squirrel for a potential teammate and trying to persuasion it.

Mmm, beautiful. Mating with a squirrel can burn up to 500 calories in an hour. How will you follow?

Seduce it.

Pass for now and chew some grubs.

You did it! You lost 8 pounds! Its uncertain whether you lost the weight from your brand-new relationship or due to the fact that monkey souls beat 10 meters faster than those of human rights, but no matter! Youre a perfect 8 pounds lighter now, healthy and hot as is also possible. Well done!

Start Over

Great! Seeming hungry, you leave the hospital and see this: a delicious chow! Mmm…what would you like to do?

Eat the grub.

Go for the squirrel instead.

Well, “youve lost” heavines, but you lost too much. This grub was high-flown in protein and low-grade in fat, but its high poison material likewise killed you, developing in too much weight loss( 15 pounds too many !). Next time, try losing less, because this ended up with you looking like a terrifying skeleton creature.

Wait, its not over! Try to gain the load back.

Start Over

Excellent! Youve chosen to try to lose weight through both rehearsal and a healthy nutrition! But makes be real, large-scale guyyou can probably simply manage doing one of those at a time. Which one would you preferably do?

Exercise.

Diet.

Great! Effort, the brutality we set our figures through in order to look sex. How would you like to start employing today?

Join a gym.

Get a personal trainer.

Try meditating, if that is technically exercise.

Perfect. This is Quinn, your personal trainer.

You will never lose 8 pounds, says your Quinn.

Yes, Quinn, I know.

Sure, youre quiet or some shit for 25 minutes. Fucking cool-ass theme to sit on the storey to employ. Your heavines remains exactly the same. Who attends?

Get up, loser.

Ah, the gym! Therefore welcomed 24 -Hour Muscle Hell, the gym in your metropolitan that you can render! Its adage is You Will Lose 8 Pound Here, so things are finally examining up. What part of the gym would you like to start in?

The weights section.

The cardio section.

The Zumba studio.

The locker room section!

Yes, the heaviness area. The area of the gym that makes your flesh sing in pain! Time to sculpt a brand-new, lighter self from your old, heavier soul!

You look at the coach, who sides you two large metal devices. How will you follow?

Ask for a spotter.

Try to find people form to lift.

We can recognize you, say the strongest people in the gym, grabbing each of your barbells. With our help, youll be able to raise without cracking your sticker in half, and youll lose those 8 poundsguaranteed.

Lift heaviness with them.

Go back to the gym and try something else.

Each of them grabs one of your weights and embarks lifting it on their own. You try to grab on, but they both remark, No, dont contact. Were spotting you , not the other way around.

You eventually give up, but as a result, lose no load. You still have 8 pounds to gowhat should you do?

Go try something else at the gym.

Try dieting instead.

Leave the gym and try to lose 8 pounds another way.

You can face-lift us up, say the strongest parties in the gym, ambling up to you with their taut forms on display. If you lift us up, youll lose 8 pounds in no timethats a guarantee.

Lift them up.

Go back to the gym and try something else.

You try and try to lift them up. Were heavy, merely swollen with strong muscle tissue, they bellow each time “youre just trying to” lift them up. Hoisting two heavy beings is just the first step to changing their own lives!

You eventually give up, but as a result, lose no load. You still have 8 pounds to gowhat should you do?

Go try something else at the gym.

Try dieting instead.

Leave the gym and try to lose 8 pounds another way.

Yes, the cardio slouse. The area of the gym that becomes your middle explode!

Help me, suggests the cardio trainer. The gym has been downloading my muscles through these cables for years.

How will you continue?

Find somebody to chase on the treadmill.

Find somebody to pursue you on the treadmill.

The cardio trainer tries to build opening on the treadmill in order to be allowed to chase him, but suddenly, the gyms general manager comes up and starts touching his electric nipples.

More downloadingweve nearly replenished the mainframe with muscle, she responds. This being can lose 8 pounds later.

You eventually give up, but as a result, lose no heavines. You still have 8 pounds to gowhat should you do?

Go try something else at the gym.

Try dieting instead.

Leave the gym and try to lose 8 pounds another way.

The cardio trainer tries to constitute cavity on the treadmill so he can chase you, but suddenly, the gyms general manager comes up and starts touching his electric nipples.

More downloadingweve virtually replenished the mainframe with muscle, she adds. This soldier can lose 8 pounds later.

You eventually give up, but as a result, lose no weight. You still have 8 pounds to gowhat should you do?

Go try something else at the gym.

Try dieting instead.

Leave the gym and try to lose 8 pounds another way.

Zumba it is! You walk into the studio, bloated with your 8 additional pounds still lodged deep under your skin.

Kill, your Zumba dojos yell in unison. Kill the man who is slightly heavier than he used to be.

How do you follow?

Fight your dojos.

Surrender to your dojos.

You have chosen to fight your Zumba dojos.

Zumba is a great way to shed additional weight, they wail one by one.

How would you like to fight your antagonists?

Sit on them one by one.

Break a brick in front of them.

Straight up roundhouse-kick them.

Your additional load throws off your aerodynamics a bit, and you end up piercing a pit through the wall.

Okay, sure, they say, bowing. You overcame us. Heres a Zumba belt for all your troubles.

Unfortunately, Zumba is a dance that is mostly self-defense, so it really doesnt concern too much push. As a upshot, you lost no load. You still have 8 pounds to gowhat should you do?

Go try something else at the gym.

Try dieting instead.

Leave the gym and try to lose 8 pounds another way.

You have chosen to surrender to your dojos. You are weak and will never lose 8 pounds, they yell one by one.

How would you like to surrender to your opponents?

Lie on the soil and shriek I continue heavy.

Hit your chief against the stack of ruin committees, but not so difficult that it does any damage.

Okay, sure, “theyre saying”, bowing. Youve emphatically have confirmed that you dont belong here. Heres a Zumba belt for all your troubles.

Unfortunately, Zumba is a dance that is mostly self-defense, it was therefore certainly doesnt involve too much gesture. As a result, “youve lost” no heavines. You still have 8 pounds to gowhat should you do?

Go try something else at the gym.

Try dieting instead.

Leave the gym and try to lose 8 pounds another way.

Welcome to the locker room, the premier plaza to lose 8 pounds, mentions this gentleman, the cupboard room manager. This is a 24 -hour gym, so Ill be here 24 hours today. Would you like to sign up for a two-hour session of sitting with me?

Do a two-hour session with this man.

Go back to the gym.

Leave the gym and try another weight-loss method.

Two hours pass. You sat well, but somehow you lost no weight.

Great job! he answers, patting you on the back. Would you like to stay for another two-hour session?

Do another two-hour session with this man.

Go back to the gym.

Leave the gym and try another weight-loss method.

<div class="clickventure-node

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[apsbicepstraining]

Can You Lose 8 Pounds?

This peculiarity compels JavaScript to function.

Hello. If youre learn this right now, its because you want to make a change. Youre here because youve always been huge, but now your largeness has already become revolt. You are here because God has cursed you with a flabby paunch, and you dislike the style it rebounds and oozes.

You are here, candidly, because you have nowhere else to turn.

I want to take control of my life.

I want to die a lonely, ruined person who is full of bitternes because I never took community initiatives.

Yes! The first step to succumbing a lonely, broken person who is full of regret is admitting to yourself that you want to die a lonely, busted person who is full of bitternes. Today is the day you embark on that footpath. Disappear out in the world, get down this computer, and hug the darkness.

Start Over

Incredible. Its time to begin anew! Its duration for a brand-new, less fleshy assembly. To start, take a good, hard look at yourself. Thisthis is you now.

Okay.

And this was youthis was you 8 glorious pounds ago.

Oh, wow.

No, its not.

Look, denial is a sign of weakness. Seem into your own sees. If youre going to make a change, you must accept that this perfect, chiseled muscle domain used to be yours.

I countenanced myself.

Yes! The actuality is, “you think youre” 8 pounds away from true-life joy. Your brand-new, lip-smacking person is almost within reach, but only if you vow worked very hard to and systematically destroy every inch of your old-time soul. So, how would you like to lose 8 pounds?

Exercise and borrow a healthy diet.

Take a dietary supplement.

Hurt my figure with the influenza!

I do not want to lose 8 pounds, because I am an idiot.

-Aha! You seem to be a stupid person who does not want to lose 8 pounds. Well, beneath that additional load is a beautiful and muscular Adonis just waiting to kill the old-fashioned you.

So, how will you get gushed for your total 8-pound makeover?

Check out some weight-loss message boards.

Look at your fantastically scrawny girlfriend.

Remember the days when you werent 8 pounds heavier.

You decide to log onto lard.edu, your favorite bodybuilding health resource.

Log onto lard.com and speak some testimonials.

Log onto lad.com and look at porn.

Incredible. Lad.com is unfortunately best available website on the internet. While the actors svelte forms did in fact see you want to lose 8 pounds, you were so drawn to the red-hot, attractive copulation that you didnt leave your computer for hours. Instead, you gained 2 pounds from sitting and neglected! Whoops.

Log onto the computer again.

Try another weight-loss method.

Start Over

You go to the testimonials section. Yes, this is the stuff you need.

Comment I WANT TO CHANGE MY LIFE.

Exit the computer and start your journey.

You retain scrolling. Its incredible.

Comment THIS IS RELATABLE TO ME.

Exit the computer and start your journey.

Great, youre motivated! Now gives lose those pounds!

Comment PLEASE SEND DETAILS ABOUT HAVING SEX WITH YOUR BROTHER.

Exit the computer and start your journey.

Hi, lover, says your scrawny lover, ogling you up and down. I heard you are trying to lose 8 pounds. Hey, we should engage in the primal ordinance of sexits great for losing 8 pounds.

Yes, satisfy!

No thanks.

Actually, just kidding, she adds. Sex is for people who have lost 8 pounds. Well have sex when youve lost 8 pounds.

Okay.

Oh, okay, thats penalty, I understand, she supposes. I will break up with you then! Makes have sex when youve lost 8 pounds.

Okay.

Ah, the days when you were 8 pounds lighter and the world was brighter…the days when all your breathes were unfathomably loose….

Yes, I remember…

I do not remember that.

The dates when you deemed an apple in your hands at all times and smiled…when you wore a tape measure around your waist as jewelry….

Ah, yes…

Still I do not remember…

The dates when your family was still alive….

I remember…my God….

I am ready to lose 8 poundsI swear it.

Ah, the flu! An superb choice. The influenza is the worlds No. 1 sicknes for inducing pounds and pounds of liquid secretion. How would you like to get a slimming, fat-burning sprain of the flu today?

Lick the hands of this flu seasons patient zero.

Ask the hospital for their exploited needles and then jump in a accumulation of them.

Go to the doctor and implore for the most slimming flu he has.

Incredible! You got the flu. The good word is that youre now sicker than youve ever seen, and 3 pounds of liquids “ve already” secreted from your loopholes! The bad news is that your person stands swollen and unsightly. What do you do now?

Go to the doctor and implore for a worse disease.

Continue trying to lose weight with this potentially inept flu.

Great choice! You go to the doctor and entreat for the influenza, best available weight-loss program in the world.

Oh, God, only look at youyou urgently need to lose 8 pounds, does the doctor. I could give you the flu, or I could give you a more extreme weight-loss procedure Ive been working on.

Ask him for the flu.

Ask him for the revolutionary medical procedure.

Great choiceIve been meaning to commit a fun felony and finally play-act this weight-loss procedure on someone, he replies, laying you down. Im going to applied this monkey soul in you and just see what happens with your 8 pounds. How does that voice?

Yes, satisfy, I want to be slim! Make me that monkey heart.

No thanks, Ill take the skinny cancer instead!

While lying lifelessly next to the toilet, you try on your old breathes. Wow, they scarcely fit! Your lip may be parched and your eyes crusted closed, but if you took a shower, youd be 10 days hotter than you were before!

So, how will you lose those remaining 5 pounds?

Keep having the flujust 5 more pounds!

Get some broth to suck on and to continue efforts to dry yourself.

Oh , no! You lost 5 pounds, and then 4 more pounds! The flu was unfortunately more effective, and you discontinued up losing 12 pounds total. You appear scrawny and disgusting, a merely skeleton of the hunk you once were. Maybe try gaining heavines, because right now youre a fitness disaster.

Wait, its not over! Try to gain the load back.

Start Over

Well, you steamed some hot water over a moo-cow and made yourself some beef broth. But unfortunately, you got better, and you stopped losing load when you were only 2 pounds short of your goal! Sadly, it seems like youre still a blob-like fitness tragedy. Would you like to try another way?

Go back and try another way!

Great choice! You go to the doctor and sidestep for the most difficult, most infectious disease hes get. Perhaps malaria, if he has it.

Oh, Jesus, you urgently need to lose 8 pounds, reads the doctor. I could give you either a altogether untested infection I invented or a radical weight-loss procedure Ive been working on.

Ask him for the skinny disease.

Ask him for the revolutionary medical procedure.

This disease progressed from monkey DNA, but dont perturb, its not AIDS, says your doctor. Hopefully, itll get those 5 standing pounds off!

Sprout hair from every limb.

Pick up a lodge and begin trying to jab it into numerous punctures in the office to look for bugs.

The results are great at first! You eat a healthy, clean nutrition of maggots and vegetation, and almost instantly embarked wincing. Unfortunately, you became more being than monkey, and while your skeleton was contracting into the exact size of a primate, you lost 25 additional pounds. Looks like youll have to try again if you want to lose precisely 8.

Wait, its not over! Try to gain the load back.

Start Over

Congrats! You now have a monkey heart, which is already 2 pounds lighter than a human nerve. And holy moo-cow, you examine hotbut you feel even hotter. How will you lose those last-place 3 pounds?

By eating chows and vegetation.

By mistaking a squirrel for a potential teammate and trying to persuasion it.

Mmm, beautiful. Mating with a squirrel can burn up to 500 calories in an hour. How will you follow?

Seduce it.

Pass for now and chew some grubs.

You did it! You lost 8 pounds! Its uncertain whether you lost the weight from your brand-new relationship or due to the fact that monkey souls beat 10 meters faster than those of human rights, but no matter! Youre a perfect 8 pounds lighter now, healthy and hot as is also possible. Well done!

Start Over

Great! Seeming hungry, you leave the hospital and see this: a delicious chow! Mmm…what would you like to do?

Eat the grub.

Go for the squirrel instead.

Well, “youve lost” heavines, but you lost too much. This grub was high-flown in protein and low-grade in fat, but its high poison material likewise killed you, developing in too much weight loss( 15 pounds too many !). Next time, try losing less, because this ended up with you looking like a terrifying skeleton creature.

Wait, its not over! Try to gain the load back.

Start Over

Excellent! Youve chosen to try to lose weight through both rehearsal and a healthy nutrition! But makes be real, large-scale guyyou can probably simply manage doing one of those at a time. Which one would you preferably do?

Exercise.

Diet.

Great! Effort, the brutality we set our figures through in order to look sex. How would you like to start employing today?

Join a gym.

Get a personal trainer.

Try meditating, if that is technically exercise.

Perfect. This is Quinn, your personal trainer.

You will never lose 8 pounds, says your Quinn.

Yes, Quinn, I know.

Sure, youre quiet or some shit for 25 minutes. Fucking cool-ass theme to sit on the storey to employ. Your heavines remains exactly the same. Who attends?

Get up, loser.

Ah, the gym! Therefore welcomed 24 -Hour Muscle Hell, the gym in your metropolitan that you can render! Its adage is You Will Lose 8 Pound Here, so things are finally examining up. What part of the gym would you like to start in?

The weights section.

The cardio section.

The Zumba studio.

The locker room section!

Yes, the heaviness area. The area of the gym that makes your flesh sing in pain! Time to sculpt a brand-new, lighter self from your old, heavier soul!

You look at the coach, who sides you two large metal devices. How will you follow?

Ask for a spotter.

Try to find people form to lift.

We can recognize you, say the strongest people in the gym, grabbing each of your barbells. With our help, youll be able to raise without cracking your sticker in half, and youll lose those 8 poundsguaranteed.

Lift heaviness with them.

Go back to the gym and try something else.

Each of them grabs one of your weights and embarks lifting it on their own. You try to grab on, but they both remark, No, dont contact. Were spotting you , not the other way around.

You eventually give up, but as a result, lose no load. You still have 8 pounds to gowhat should you do?

Go try something else at the gym.

Try dieting instead.

Leave the gym and try to lose 8 pounds another way.

You can face-lift us up, say the strongest parties in the gym, ambling up to you with their taut forms on display. If you lift us up, youll lose 8 pounds in no timethats a guarantee.

Lift them up.

Go back to the gym and try something else.

You try and try to lift them up. Were heavy, merely swollen with strong muscle tissue, they bellow each time “youre just trying to” lift them up. Hoisting two heavy beings is just the first step to changing their own lives!

You eventually give up, but as a result, lose no load. You still have 8 pounds to gowhat should you do?

Go try something else at the gym.

Try dieting instead.

Leave the gym and try to lose 8 pounds another way.

Yes, the cardio slouse. The area of the gym that becomes your middle explode!

Help me, suggests the cardio trainer. The gym has been downloading my muscles through these cables for years.

How will you continue?

Find somebody to chase on the treadmill.

Find somebody to pursue you on the treadmill.

The cardio trainer tries to build opening on the treadmill in order to be allowed to chase him, but suddenly, the gyms general manager comes up and starts touching his electric nipples.

More downloadingweve nearly replenished the mainframe with muscle, she responds. This being can lose 8 pounds later.

You eventually give up, but as a result, lose no heavines. You still have 8 pounds to gowhat should you do?

Go try something else at the gym.

Try dieting instead.

Leave the gym and try to lose 8 pounds another way.

The cardio trainer tries to constitute cavity on the treadmill so he can chase you, but suddenly, the gyms general manager comes up and starts touching his electric nipples.

More downloadingweve virtually replenished the mainframe with muscle, she adds. This soldier can lose 8 pounds later.

You eventually give up, but as a result, lose no weight. You still have 8 pounds to gowhat should you do?

Go try something else at the gym.

Try dieting instead.

Leave the gym and try to lose 8 pounds another way.

Zumba it is! You walk into the studio, bloated with your 8 additional pounds still lodged deep under your skin.

Kill, your Zumba dojos yell in unison. Kill the man who is slightly heavier than he used to be.

How do you follow?

Fight your dojos.

Surrender to your dojos.

You have chosen to fight your Zumba dojos.

Zumba is a great way to shed additional weight, they wail one by one.

How would you like to fight your antagonists?

Sit on them one by one.

Break a brick in front of them.

Straight up roundhouse-kick them.

Your additional load throws off your aerodynamics a bit, and you end up piercing a pit through the wall.

Okay, sure, they say, bowing. You overcame us. Heres a Zumba belt for all your troubles.

Unfortunately, Zumba is a dance that is mostly self-defense, so it really doesnt concern too much push. As a upshot, you lost no load. You still have 8 pounds to gowhat should you do?

Go try something else at the gym.

Try dieting instead.

Leave the gym and try to lose 8 pounds another way.

You have chosen to surrender to your dojos. You are weak and will never lose 8 pounds, they yell one by one.

How would you like to surrender to your opponents?

Lie on the soil and shriek I continue heavy.

Hit your chief against the stack of ruin committees, but not so difficult that it does any damage.

Okay, sure, “theyre saying”, bowing. Youve emphatically have confirmed that you dont belong here. Heres a Zumba belt for all your troubles.

Unfortunately, Zumba is a dance that is mostly self-defense, it was therefore certainly doesnt involve too much gesture. As a result, “youve lost” no heavines. You still have 8 pounds to gowhat should you do?

Go try something else at the gym.

Try dieting instead.

Leave the gym and try to lose 8 pounds another way.

Welcome to the locker room, the premier plaza to lose 8 pounds, mentions this gentleman, the cupboard room manager. This is a 24 -hour gym, so Ill be here 24 hours today. Would you like to sign up for a two-hour session of sitting with me?

Do a two-hour session with this man.

Go back to the gym.

Leave the gym and try another weight-loss method.

Two hours pass. You sat well, but somehow you lost no weight.

Great job! he answers, patting you on the back. Would you like to stay for another two-hour session?

Do another two-hour session with this man.

Go back to the gym.

Leave the gym and try another weight-loss method.

<div class="clickventure-node

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[apsbicepstraining]

Can You Lose 8 Pounds?

This peculiarity compels JavaScript to function.

Hello. If youre learn this right now, its because you want to make a change. Youre here because youve always been huge, but now your largeness has already become revolt. You are here because God has cursed you with a flabby paunch, and you dislike the style it rebounds and oozes.

You are here, candidly, because you have nowhere else to turn.

I want to take control of my life.

I want to die a lonely, ruined person who is full of bitternes because I never took community initiatives.

Yes! The first step to succumbing a lonely, broken person who is full of regret is admitting to yourself that you want to die a lonely, busted person who is full of bitternes. Today is the day you embark on that footpath. Disappear out in the world, get down this computer, and hug the darkness.

Start Over

Incredible. Its time to begin anew! Its duration for a brand-new, less fleshy assembly. To start, take a good, hard look at yourself. Thisthis is you now.

Okay.

And this was youthis was you 8 glorious pounds ago.

Oh, wow.

No, its not.

Look, denial is a sign of weakness. Seem into your own sees. If youre going to make a change, you must accept that this perfect, chiseled muscle domain used to be yours.

I countenanced myself.

Yes! The actuality is, “you think youre” 8 pounds away from true-life joy. Your brand-new, lip-smacking person is almost within reach, but only if you vow worked very hard to and systematically destroy every inch of your old-time soul. So, how would you like to lose 8 pounds?

Exercise and borrow a healthy diet.

Take a dietary supplement.

Hurt my figure with the influenza!

I do not want to lose 8 pounds, because I am an idiot.

-Aha! You seem to be a stupid person who does not want to lose 8 pounds. Well, beneath that additional load is a beautiful and muscular Adonis just waiting to kill the old-fashioned you.

So, how will you get gushed for your total 8-pound makeover?

Check out some weight-loss message boards.

Look at your fantastically scrawny girlfriend.

Remember the days when you werent 8 pounds heavier.

You decide to log onto lard.edu, your favorite bodybuilding health resource.

Log onto lard.com and speak some testimonials.

Log onto lad.com and look at porn.

Incredible. Lad.com is unfortunately best available website on the internet. While the actors svelte forms did in fact see you want to lose 8 pounds, you were so drawn to the red-hot, attractive copulation that you didnt leave your computer for hours. Instead, you gained 2 pounds from sitting and neglected! Whoops.

Log onto the computer again.

Try another weight-loss method.

Start Over

You go to the testimonials section. Yes, this is the stuff you need.

Comment I WANT TO CHANGE MY LIFE.

Exit the computer and start your journey.

You retain scrolling. Its incredible.

Comment THIS IS RELATABLE TO ME.

Exit the computer and start your journey.

Great, youre motivated! Now gives lose those pounds!

Comment PLEASE SEND DETAILS ABOUT HAVING SEX WITH YOUR BROTHER.

Exit the computer and start your journey.

Hi, lover, says your scrawny lover, ogling you up and down. I heard you are trying to lose 8 pounds. Hey, we should engage in the primal ordinance of sexits great for losing 8 pounds.

Yes, satisfy!

No thanks.

Actually, just kidding, she adds. Sex is for people who have lost 8 pounds. Well have sex when youve lost 8 pounds.

Okay.

Oh, okay, thats penalty, I understand, she supposes. I will break up with you then! Makes have sex when youve lost 8 pounds.

Okay.

Ah, the days when you were 8 pounds lighter and the world was brighter…the days when all your breathes were unfathomably loose….

Yes, I remember…

I do not remember that.

The dates when you deemed an apple in your hands at all times and smiled…when you wore a tape measure around your waist as jewelry….

Ah, yes…

Still I do not remember…

The dates when your family was still alive….

I remember…my God….

I am ready to lose 8 poundsI swear it.

Ah, the flu! An superb choice. The influenza is the worlds No. 1 sicknes for inducing pounds and pounds of liquid secretion. How would you like to get a slimming, fat-burning sprain of the flu today?

Lick the hands of this flu seasons patient zero.

Ask the hospital for their exploited needles and then jump in a accumulation of them.

Go to the doctor and implore for the most slimming flu he has.

Incredible! You got the flu. The good word is that youre now sicker than youve ever seen, and 3 pounds of liquids “ve already” secreted from your loopholes! The bad news is that your person stands swollen and unsightly. What do you do now?

Go to the doctor and implore for a worse disease.

Continue trying to lose weight with this potentially inept flu.

Great choice! You go to the doctor and entreat for the influenza, best available weight-loss program in the world.

Oh, God, only look at youyou urgently need to lose 8 pounds, does the doctor. I could give you the flu, or I could give you a more extreme weight-loss procedure Ive been working on.

Ask him for the flu.

Ask him for the revolutionary medical procedure.

Great choiceIve been meaning to commit a fun felony and finally play-act this weight-loss procedure on someone, he replies, laying you down. Im going to applied this monkey soul in you and just see what happens with your 8 pounds. How does that voice?

Yes, satisfy, I want to be slim! Make me that monkey heart.

No thanks, Ill take the skinny cancer instead!

While lying lifelessly next to the toilet, you try on your old breathes. Wow, they scarcely fit! Your lip may be parched and your eyes crusted closed, but if you took a shower, youd be 10 days hotter than you were before!

So, how will you lose those remaining 5 pounds?

Keep having the flujust 5 more pounds!

Get some broth to suck on and to continue efforts to dry yourself.

Oh , no! You lost 5 pounds, and then 4 more pounds! The flu was unfortunately more effective, and you discontinued up losing 12 pounds total. You appear scrawny and disgusting, a merely skeleton of the hunk you once were. Maybe try gaining heavines, because right now youre a fitness disaster.

Wait, its not over! Try to gain the load back.

Start Over

Well, you steamed some hot water over a moo-cow and made yourself some beef broth. But unfortunately, you got better, and you stopped losing load when you were only 2 pounds short of your goal! Sadly, it seems like youre still a blob-like fitness tragedy. Would you like to try another way?

Go back and try another way!

Great choice! You go to the doctor and sidestep for the most difficult, most infectious disease hes get. Perhaps malaria, if he has it.

Oh, Jesus, you urgently need to lose 8 pounds, reads the doctor. I could give you either a altogether untested infection I invented or a radical weight-loss procedure Ive been working on.

Ask him for the skinny disease.

Ask him for the revolutionary medical procedure.

This disease progressed from monkey DNA, but dont perturb, its not AIDS, says your doctor. Hopefully, itll get those 5 standing pounds off!

Sprout hair from every limb.

Pick up a lodge and begin trying to jab it into numerous punctures in the office to look for bugs.

The results are great at first! You eat a healthy, clean nutrition of maggots and vegetation, and almost instantly embarked wincing. Unfortunately, you became more being than monkey, and while your skeleton was contracting into the exact size of a primate, you lost 25 additional pounds. Looks like youll have to try again if you want to lose precisely 8.

Wait, its not over! Try to gain the load back.

Start Over

Congrats! You now have a monkey heart, which is already 2 pounds lighter than a human nerve. And holy moo-cow, you examine hotbut you feel even hotter. How will you lose those last-place 3 pounds?

By eating chows and vegetation.

By mistaking a squirrel for a potential teammate and trying to persuasion it.

Mmm, beautiful. Mating with a squirrel can burn up to 500 calories in an hour. How will you follow?

Seduce it.

Pass for now and chew some grubs.

You did it! You lost 8 pounds! Its uncertain whether you lost the weight from your brand-new relationship or due to the fact that monkey souls beat 10 meters faster than those of human rights, but no matter! Youre a perfect 8 pounds lighter now, healthy and hot as is also possible. Well done!

Start Over

Great! Seeming hungry, you leave the hospital and see this: a delicious chow! Mmm…what would you like to do?

Eat the grub.

Go for the squirrel instead.

Well, “youve lost” heavines, but you lost too much. This grub was high-flown in protein and low-grade in fat, but its high poison material likewise killed you, developing in too much weight loss( 15 pounds too many !). Next time, try losing less, because this ended up with you looking like a terrifying skeleton creature.

Wait, its not over! Try to gain the load back.

Start Over

Excellent! Youve chosen to try to lose weight through both rehearsal and a healthy nutrition! But makes be real, large-scale guyyou can probably simply manage doing one of those at a time. Which one would you preferably do?

Exercise.

Diet.

Great! Effort, the brutality we set our figures through in order to look sex. How would you like to start employing today?

Join a gym.

Get a personal trainer.

Try meditating, if that is technically exercise.

Perfect. This is Quinn, your personal trainer.

You will never lose 8 pounds, says your Quinn.

Yes, Quinn, I know.

Sure, youre quiet or some shit for 25 minutes. Fucking cool-ass theme to sit on the storey to employ. Your heavines remains exactly the same. Who attends?

Get up, loser.

Ah, the gym! Therefore welcomed 24 -Hour Muscle Hell, the gym in your metropolitan that you can render! Its adage is You Will Lose 8 Pound Here, so things are finally examining up. What part of the gym would you like to start in?

The weights section.

The cardio section.

The Zumba studio.

The locker room section!

Yes, the heaviness area. The area of the gym that makes your flesh sing in pain! Time to sculpt a brand-new, lighter self from your old, heavier soul!

You look at the coach, who sides you two large metal devices. How will you follow?

Ask for a spotter.

Try to find people form to lift.

We can recognize you, say the strongest people in the gym, grabbing each of your barbells. With our help, youll be able to raise without cracking your sticker in half, and youll lose those 8 poundsguaranteed.

Lift heaviness with them.

Go back to the gym and try something else.

Each of them grabs one of your weights and embarks lifting it on their own. You try to grab on, but they both remark, No, dont contact. Were spotting you , not the other way around.

You eventually give up, but as a result, lose no load. You still have 8 pounds to gowhat should you do?

Go try something else at the gym.

Try dieting instead.

Leave the gym and try to lose 8 pounds another way.

You can face-lift us up, say the strongest parties in the gym, ambling up to you with their taut forms on display. If you lift us up, youll lose 8 pounds in no timethats a guarantee.

Lift them up.

Go back to the gym and try something else.

You try and try to lift them up. Were heavy, merely swollen with strong muscle tissue, they bellow each time “youre just trying to” lift them up. Hoisting two heavy beings is just the first step to changing their own lives!

You eventually give up, but as a result, lose no load. You still have 8 pounds to gowhat should you do?

Go try something else at the gym.

Try dieting instead.

Leave the gym and try to lose 8 pounds another way.

Yes, the cardio slouse. The area of the gym that becomes your middle explode!

Help me, suggests the cardio trainer. The gym has been downloading my muscles through these cables for years.

How will you continue?

Find somebody to chase on the treadmill.

Find somebody to pursue you on the treadmill.

The cardio trainer tries to build opening on the treadmill in order to be allowed to chase him, but suddenly, the gyms general manager comes up and starts touching his electric nipples.

More downloadingweve nearly replenished the mainframe with muscle, she responds. This being can lose 8 pounds later.

You eventually give up, but as a result, lose no heavines. You still have 8 pounds to gowhat should you do?

Go try something else at the gym.

Try dieting instead.

Leave the gym and try to lose 8 pounds another way.

The cardio trainer tries to constitute cavity on the treadmill so he can chase you, but suddenly, the gyms general manager comes up and starts touching his electric nipples.

More downloadingweve virtually replenished the mainframe with muscle, she adds. This soldier can lose 8 pounds later.

You eventually give up, but as a result, lose no weight. You still have 8 pounds to gowhat should you do?

Go try something else at the gym.

Try dieting instead.

Leave the gym and try to lose 8 pounds another way.

Zumba it is! You walk into the studio, bloated with your 8 additional pounds still lodged deep under your skin.

Kill, your Zumba dojos yell in unison. Kill the man who is slightly heavier than he used to be.

How do you follow?

Fight your dojos.

Surrender to your dojos.

You have chosen to fight your Zumba dojos.

Zumba is a great way to shed additional weight, they wail one by one.

How would you like to fight your antagonists?

Sit on them one by one.

Break a brick in front of them.

Straight up roundhouse-kick them.

Your additional load throws off your aerodynamics a bit, and you end up piercing a pit through the wall.

Okay, sure, they say, bowing. You overcame us. Heres a Zumba belt for all your troubles.

Unfortunately, Zumba is a dance that is mostly self-defense, so it really doesnt concern too much push. As a upshot, you lost no load. You still have 8 pounds to gowhat should you do?

Go try something else at the gym.

Try dieting instead.

Leave the gym and try to lose 8 pounds another way.

You have chosen to surrender to your dojos. You are weak and will never lose 8 pounds, they yell one by one.

How would you like to surrender to your opponents?

Lie on the soil and shriek I continue heavy.

Hit your chief against the stack of ruin committees, but not so difficult that it does any damage.

Okay, sure, “theyre saying”, bowing. Youve emphatically have confirmed that you dont belong here. Heres a Zumba belt for all your troubles.

Unfortunately, Zumba is a dance that is mostly self-defense, it was therefore certainly doesnt involve too much gesture. As a result, “youve lost” no heavines. You still have 8 pounds to gowhat should you do?

Go try something else at the gym.

Try dieting instead.

Leave the gym and try to lose 8 pounds another way.

Welcome to the locker room, the premier plaza to lose 8 pounds, mentions this gentleman, the cupboard room manager. This is a 24 -hour gym, so Ill be here 24 hours today. Would you like to sign up for a two-hour session of sitting with me?

Do a two-hour session with this man.

Go back to the gym.

Leave the gym and try another weight-loss method.

Two hours pass. You sat well, but somehow you lost no weight.

Great job! he answers, patting you on the back. Would you like to stay for another two-hour session?

Do another two-hour session with this man.

Go back to the gym.

Leave the gym and try another weight-loss method.

<div class="clickventure-node

The post Can You Lose 8 Pounds? appeared first on apsbicepstraining.com.

from WordPress http://ift.tt/2qURYdV via IFTTT