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somekindofpoet · 1 year

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FilthX

Summary: X AU where Pearl isn't a homicidal maniac and R is the star everyone wants, including Lorraine

Word Count: 4.1K

Warnings: 18+ NSFW! Language, smut, strap-on sex

A/N: I think I've combined a least three asks/requests into this little guy, so its for all of you who asked for Lorraine. The pacing is absolutely out of control and self serving, and that just is what it is

This was art. Primal and undomesticated, animalistic artistry. People turned their noses up at it in public, but in private, everyone knows just how fast their own pants can come unzipped. Everyone watches porn or has at some point in their lives, and anyone who says they haven’t, well, they’re just outright lying to you.

It’s not like it was your dream to get naked and fuck on camera, but it paid the bills. And it was fun, that much was true. You were 21 when Wayne, Bobby, and Maxine found you, working as a wrangler for rodeos on the west side of Texas. They took one look at you, with your broad shoulders and tapered waist, and knew you’d be an instant success. They propositioned you, promising you wouldn’t have to do anything you didn’t want to and that Bobby would rock your world. You went with them that night and never went back to the rodeo.

Now, Wayne has this great idea to film at some guesthouse in the country, and he’s hired a pretentious film student called RJ to record what he’s promising will be a universal success. A tasteful, dramatically shot film of the picturesque countryside and cunts. But the thing that’s really caught your attention is who tags along beside RJ. You can’t tell if she’s his girlfriend or not, but you don’t really care because the girl is absolutely stunning.

When she climbs into the van behind RJ, you don’t even hide the fact that you can’t stop staring. She tucks herself into the corner, quiet and shy, her eyes wide behind the dark curtain of hair falling around her face. You can feel Bobby watching you, a knowing smirk on her face. Jackson slaps your knee, grinning ear to ear.

“Don’t you go barkin' up the wrong tree now y/n, some girls are too good for you.” He says, making Bobby giggle.

“Oh, I don’t know, Jackson, I think she could convince just about any girl to set aside her halo,” Bobby says, eyeing the girl behind RJ.

RJ frowns over his glasses, pushing them up the bridge of his nose with his knuckle, and glances back at the girl. “Lorraine here volunteered to help me with the film, that’s all.”

Maxine turns around in the front seat, eyeing Lorraine, “Oh, I’m sure she did. Tell us, mouse, you ever done somethin like this before?”

Lorraine’s lips turn down in apparent distaste, and she shakes her head no. Maxine’s eyes light up, and a condescending smirk stretches across her lips. You brace yourself, knowing she’s going to eat this poor girl alive.

“You don’t like pornography, mouse? You tellin' me you ain’t never seen two beautiful bodies, ruttin together and just felt all hot and bothered? Enough to slip those pretty little fingers in-“

“Enough Maxine,” you interrupt, noticing pink creeping up Lorraine’s neck, turning the tips of her ears red.

Maxine gives you an exasperated look and sighs, “You know mouse, if you are gonna give it a spin, y/n is the ride of a lifetime.”

You roll your eyes, and Jackson playfully slaps the side of Maxine’s chair, “Maxine, you told me I was the ride of a lifetime just yesterday!” He exclaims, sticking his bottom lip out in staged hurt.

You bark out a laugh and kick him, “No way Jackson, you slept with my girl?”

“Your girl?” He cries, “These ladies are all mine!”

“Please, both of you belong to us, if anything.” Bobby retorts, smacking on her bubblegum and twirling her blonde hair between her fingers.

The three of them continue to bicker, but you carefully remove yourself from the conversation to shoot Lorraine a soft smile. She gives you the smallest of nods and looks down at the equipment in her hands. RJ narrows his eyes at you but quickly averts them when you smile at him, flexing your arm discreetly.

The van turns down a long dirt road, marking your arrival to the promised countryside. Wayne parks aside the farmhouse, and you all clamber out, gathering your luggage and helping with the film equipment. Wayne sorts out your arrangements with the old man sitting on the porch, and you all make your way to the small guest house. On the walk over, you can hear RJ nagging Lorraine about carrying her weight and wince when you hear him call her a prude. You consider standing up for her but decide against it, you hardly even know them, and you don’t want to stick your nose in someone else’s shit.

Bobby, on the other hand, is more than happy to stick her nose in. She hooks her arm through RJs, her hands unsurprisingly empty of any luggage or equipment. She strokes his arm and giggles at him, wrapping him around her finger. She pulls him ahead of the group, batting her eyelashes and picking at his shirt, leaving you and Lorraine to bring up the rear. You smile down at her, and she glances up at you, quickly looking down at her feet.

“Don’t listen to Maxine,” you tell her, dragging your feet to slow your pace down to hers, “she gets territorial.”

Lorraine readjusts her grip on the box she’s carrying and shrugs, “It’s okay. And I never said I thought what y’all are doin is wrong.”

You tilt your head at her, “Your face kinda said it for ya, gorgeous.”

The box in her arms slips, and she stumbles, trying not to drop it. She’s blushing again, you see it creeping up her neck when she tosses her hair to the side over her shoulder.

“It’s not that,” she clarifies, “she called me mouse.”

“Ah,” you say, your eyebrows raising in realization, “yeah, I guess that wasn’t the nicest nickname to slap on ya, was it? Hey, you need help with that?”

You stop and tuck the two suitcases in your hands under your arm, offering your empty hand out to help her. She fumbles with the box again, trying to get a better grip, and gives up, nodding her head. You scoop it from her hands easily, wrapping one arm around it and continuing to walk. She falters for a moment, watching you carry everything.

She jogs a few steps to catch up, and looks up at you, “You been with them long?”

“Few years, why?”

“You seem…different. From them.”

You snort, “What, like, not depraved?”

She shrugs, her arms swinging out wide as she tries to keep pace with you, “Yeah, I guess. Quieter.”

“Oh don’t you worry, I can be as debauched as the rest of them. I usually just save that for when there’s far less clothing.” You wink at her with a grin, making her blush again.

“So what they were sayin…” she hesitates, “about you…”

You stay silent, quietly choosing to force her into speaking the question you already know she’s asking. Forcing her out of her comfort zone.

She chews at the inside of her lip, “Do you film with Jackson at all?” She asks, beating around what she really wants to ask.

You chuckle, “Oh no, honey, he couldn’t handle me on his best day. Besides, Bobby and Maxine are much prettier’n he is.”

“So…how-“ she cuts herself off, her brow furrowed.

You stop in front of the door, turning to face her, “I have my ways. Why? You curious, Lorraine?” You drawl her name out, pressing your tongue hard against your teeth, your eyebrow raised.

She takes a sharp breath in, her mouth opening and closing as she sorts through her justification for asking. She’s saved by Wayne, who throws the screen door open from the inside.

“Y/n, let’s go! I wanna get this first scene done before the sun sets.”

You nod at him and turn back to Lorraine, winking at her again, “Duty calls.”

——

The bedroom is set up with a camera sitting on a tripod at the foot of the bed. RJ is standing behind it, tapping his foot nervously. Lorraine hovers in the corner, the boom mic resting on her shoulder. The scene Wayne wants to film is between you and Bobby, with heavy involvement from a particularly large dildo strapped to your waist. The scene plays out, you know the acting is horrific, but that’s not the point of the movie.

The point is quickly made when your pants are dropped around your ankles and the dildo springs out. You go through the motions, stripping Bobby down and railing her, stopping when you’re told so they can change the camera angle, and then starting back up on Wayne’s command. Bobby is more enthusiastic than usual, and not for any lack of effort on your part. But you think it has something to do with proving Maxine’s point to Lorraine, who is trying her very best not to tremble under the boom.

You catch yourself glancing over at her, listening to Bobby moan, and you begin to really put on a show. She’s bent over the bed, one of your hands on her waist and the other pressing between her shoulder blades.

“CUT CUT CUT!” Wayne’s voice brings you to a screeching halt making Bobby whine into the mattress.

You look over your shoulder at him, releasing her hips, “What the fuck man, she’s almost there!”

“Yeah what’s the deal Wayne, y/n is giving the fucking performance of a lifetime,” Bobby says, breathless.

“You keep looking away from her, it’s taking away from the scene,” RJ grumbles.

Maxine laughs from the doorway, her arms crossed over her chest “I think the church mouse has her distracted.”

Wayne looks at you and runs his hand over his chin, “You gonna focus any time soon y/n, or do we need to switch you out with Jackson?”

“No fuckin way!” You reply, gripping Bobby’s hips again, “Roll your god damned camera and let me finish my job.”

Wayne rests his hands on his hip, nodding, “That’s what I thought. Now let’s wrap this up. Bobby, you know what to do.”

———

The group has settled into the living room, clothes returned, and cameras off. You finished the scene without another glance in Lorraine’s direction, and Bobby did her job in the way only she could. You knew the scene was going to be amazing, and you were feeling proud of yourself. Cheap whiskey is poured into small paper cups, and everyone is in good spirits.

The conversation gradually turns to the morals of making pornography and the lesson you’ve all learned about taking your youth for granted. The talk seems to spark something in Lorraine, she takes a sip of her whiskey and leans forward, eyes bright.

“I want to do a scene in the movie.”

The room goes quiet, all eyes are turned to her. You fight every urge in you not to smile like a schoolboy who’d found a puppy on his doorstep. Bobby grins at you, and Maxine pushes your leg with her foot from the end of the couch. A shadow passes over RJs face, his feelings clear on the matter.

“You can’t be in the movie Lorraine.”

“Why not?” She asks, cocking her head in challenge.

Maxine pipes up, “Yeah, RJ, why not?”

“She just can’t.” He says, gritting his teeth.

Bobby frowns, “You told me she ain’t your girlfriend no more, RJ. And even if she was, you don’t get to tell her what to do.”

RJ’s jaw drops open, unable to form words. Lorraine looks smug and flashes a grateful smile at Bobby. You’re full-on smiling now, giddy at the thought of seeing this play out.

Wayne lightly slaps Maxine’s leg with a smile, “You wanna take Jackson for a ride then, church mouse?”

Jackson laughs, “Oh no sir, she don’t want me.”

You wink at Jackson, thankful for his deflection. Wayne nods solemnly and looks over at you.

“What you think y/n, you wanna take that big boy between your legs for another spin?”

You throw back the rest of the whiskey, wincing at the taste, “I think I can find it in me.”

RJ stands, “We can’t film it tonight, the lighting is bad.”

“Hm,” Wayne hums, squinting out the dark window, “he ain’t wrong. How’s about we plan for tomorrow, that work for you, church mouse?”

Lorraine swallows the last of her drink and shrugs, nodding, “Guess it’ll have to.”

——

When you drop into your bed for the night, you fall asleep almost instantly. Work always did that to you, siphoned off any gas you had in the tank, and left you dead tired. The whiskey made you feel pleasantly heavy, and you sank into a sweet, dream-filled sleep.

You weren’t sure how long you had been out, but you woke slowly. It took you a moment to figure out where you were, the silver moonlight washing into the window and the thin cotton blanket scratching at your chin. You blink a few times, trying to figure out what woke you up, but a weight shifting on the bed behind you told you what you needed to know. You roll onto your back, half expecting to see RJ there with a steak knife to your throat.

You rub your eyes with your knuckles to ensure you were seeing what you thought you were seeing. Lorraine was crawling into your bed, wearing nothing but a yellow bra and panties. Something cold lands on your stomach, and you look down to see your strap-on rising and falling on your belly with your breathing.

“Lorraine?” You say, your voice raspy with sleep.

“Put it on.” Is all she replies, sitting back on her heels next to your elbow.

“What?” Your sleep-muddled brain is struggling to catch up.

“Put the thing on,” she gestures to your strap-on, her eyes wide and her lips parted.

Your brows knit together in confusion, “We ain’t filmin til the mornin'.”

She sighs, “If you don’t want to, I can go back to my room.”

You blink hard again and finally realize that she’s really there and she’s really asking what she’s asking. She moves to get off the bed, but you reach out and grab her by the elbow. You push yourself up the bed, sitting against the headboard, the strap-on sliding off to your side. Her eyes flit down to your exposed chest, and you smirk, proud to show her your body again. She reaches out timidly, her hands shaking with the slightest tremble. You watch her face as she runs her fingers down your stomach, tracing over the hard-set lines between the muscle there. She licks her lips and looks back into your eyes, catching you with a smirk on your lips.

You pull her into you gently, your hand on the back of her neck, and kiss her. She’s stiff, unsure at first. You pull back and look into her eyes, searching for a signal not to continue. She leans forward further and kisses you again, her lips softer and her hands wandering. Through cracked eyelids, you see hers close, and you pull her in closer. She swings one leg over you, sitting in your lap, her hands running over your shoulders.

You run your fingers down her spine, sending goosebumps across her skin. Your hands find purchase on her hips as you pull her closer, encouraging her to grind into your lap. She whimpers into your lips, and your heart begins to pound. You’re a little taken aback at your own excitement. You had sex for a living, and you enjoyed it, but this felt different. This wasn’t for everyone else to enjoy, this was for the two of you only. You hardly knew this girl, and yet, you found yourself being impossibly gentle with her.

She breaks your lips apart and leans back, reaching for the dildo at your side. She bites her lip, evaluating it, and looks back at you.

“You don’t have to, you know.” You say softly, reaching out to tuck her hair behind her ear.

“I want to,” she says and hands over the harness.

You take it from her, your lips curling up in a devious smirk. You push her to the side and flip her onto her back, your knees between her legs. Her breath leaves her in a huff when her back hits the mattress. You work at sliding the harness on, tightening the buckles, and ensuring it won’t move. When your eyes return to her face, she looks positively delicious. Edible even. Her eyes are heavy lidded, her full lips parted and pouty, her skin bright in the moonlight. She waits for you, her arms above her head, completely surrendered to you.

Your tongue wets your lips as you take her in, allowing the tension to build between you. You lean forward on your hands and press a kiss into her stomach just below her bra, your tongue lazily tasting her skin. She gasps and winds her fingers into your hair, your tongue making its journey over the plane of her stomach. Her breathing quickens when you reach her hip bones, her stomach twitching under your mouth. You glance up to meet her dark eyes and pull her panties down her legs. She whines when you kiss the inside of her thigh, pushing her legs open further. Her fingers tighten in your hair, pulling at your scalp.

You kiss up her leg, drawing small sounds of excitement out of her above you, encouraging you. The sweet, musky smell of her arousal fills your senses, sharpening your mind to a razor point. You run your palms up the tops of her thighs and press down on her hips, driving her into the mattress as you run your tongue through her. A quiet, throaty moan leaves her lips, your touch surprising her. You work into her entrance, savoring every centimeter of her on your tongue. You pull out and drag it flat across her clit, the pressure soft and exploratory. Her hand leaves your hair and retreats to the pillow, where she grips the cotton until her knuckles are white.

You lick a stripe from her entrance over her clit again, working her up. You don’t want her to cum from this, you just want to get her going. You wrap your lips around the swollen bundle of nerves and suck on it, loving the way her back arches off the bed when you do it. She’s dripping down onto the mattress, and you decide it’s enough, to begin with, so you lift your head and kiss the inside of her thigh. Your crawl up her body and her hands are reaching for you, pulling your face down into a feverish kiss. She groans at her own taste on your tongue, her fingers right around the back of your neck. The dildo drags up her thigh, making her whimper into your mouth, one of her hands racing down your back to grip at your ass.

Just when you thought you knew what she wanted, she’s pushing you over, flipping you on your back. You help her and swing around, pulling her to sit on your stomach as you fall back. She’s hot and wet on your belly, rutting against the ridges of your abs. Before she can get much further, you sit up and wrap your hands behind her back, kissing her chest and unhooking her bra in one fell swoop. She lets it fall to the side and pushes you onto your back, leaning over you, her hair falling into your face. She kisses you quickly and then pulls back, lifting her hips and gripping the base of the dildo in her hand beneath her. Your teeth dig into your bottom lip, watching her rub the tip around her entrance, coating it in her slick.

She sits slowly on it, letting it sink into her inch by inch, one hand pressing on your chest, the other holding the dildo in place. When her hips settle into yours, the whole toy inside of her, she sighs. It makes you feel like an explosion, fragments of what you thought you knew ripping out and embedding themselves into the walls of the room. Your mouth drops open when she runs her fingers down your body and then up her own. She rolls her hips forward, rocking them up on the backstroke. You’d always found strap-on sex extremely satisfying, but for the first time, you’re wishing you could feel everything. You’d give your left arm to feel the toy being gripped inside of her. The thought nearly takes your breath away.

She begins to move in earnest, the muscles in her legs flexing as she rocks over your hips. When she runs her hand into her own hair, her fingers combing it out of her face, you feel the itch to have her closer. You reach out and settle for holding her hips, pushing and pulling her as you begin to roll your own, keeping the timing and rhythm perfectly on her pace. You slide one hand from her hip over her stomach, up to her nipple, and roll your fingertip over it, her hips moving faster. The lewd sound of skin slapping on skin fills the room, only broken up by your occasional grunting and her soft moaning.

She shudders and drops down on her hands over your body, panting, a bead of sweat rolling from her neck to the hollow of her throat. You watch it puddle there, rocking side to side with the movement of your bodies. You bend your knees and plant your feet into the bed, giving yourself support to properly fuck her from underneath, rocking her forward with every thrust. A low groan tears out of her throat, too loud for a quiet, sleeping house. You pull her down into a kiss to silence her, forcing her whining down to a more appropriate timbre.

Your arms wrap around her back, and you hold her weight as you sit up with her in your lap, still riding you. She rests her arms over your shoulders, her fingers pressing into the muscles in your back. Her fingertips soon turn into nails, the stinging making you gasp. She drops her head on your shoulder, holding you tight. Her hips jerk off her cadence, her breathing uneven and shallow. Her teeth dig into the skin of your shoulder, making you groan in her ear. She releases you and throws her head back, using the back of your neck to anchor herself.

Her body freezes up, her hips moving in choppy strokes. You can feel her dripping around the toy inside of her, running down your legs. It’s enough to send a perfectly sane person off the edge, and you’re suddenly aware of why people were able to be seduced into cults. Her body was an altar, and you were drinking her in like holy water, content to die of thirst if she so wished it. She collapses against your chest, and you fall back into the pillows. You give her time to recover, letting her catch her breath and cool off as she put the puzzle of her mind back together. Eventually, she lifts herself off the dildo and rolls to your side, her head resting on your chest.

As much as you want to continue touching her, you want the harness off your hips more. It was squeezing you in an unpleasant pinch, and the hours you’d spent in it meant chafing had begun. You carefully unbuckle it without moving her from your chest and push it down to your knees. You use your feet to wriggle out of it and kick it off the end of the bed, sighing in relief.

Lorraine places her hands on top of one another over your chest and rests her chin on them, looking up at you, “I imagined it was gonna be good,” she says, a sleepy drawl in her voice, “but I had no idea it’d be like that.”

You yawn and take a lock of hair between your fingers, twirling it around them and rubbing it with your thumb, “You should give yourself credit where credit is due, you rocked that like it was your business.”

She smiles, her eyes crinkling, “Tomorrow it’ll be my business, tonight was just because I wanted to.”

Your eyes are sliding shut in spite of yourself, the whiskey and exertion settling into your bones again. Lorraine presses a kiss on your ribs and pushes herself up. You crack your eyes open and shake your head, your hand resting on her back.

“Stay.” You tell her, closing your eyes again.

She takes a moment to consider, then pulls the blankets back and crawls under them, covering you with the other end. Just before you fall into the abyss of sleep, you feel her press her nose into your neck, drape her arm and a leg over your body, and you’re out like a light.

#lorraine day x reader #lorraine day #x movie #tara carpenter #vada cavell #phoebe atwell #jenna ortega x fem!reader #jenna ortega x y/n #jenna ortega x reader

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1427 · 2 months

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When the Levee Breaks (pt. 1)

Daryl Dixon x OFC

The one in which a stripper that used to know Merle and Daryl shows up at the Atlanta camp. Daryl’s feelings are complicated but mostly he hates her. Right?

Chapt. Setting: Atlanta camp

Chapt. Warnings: degrading and sexist language, season 1 Daryl, he’s not nice in this, probably won’t be for a while.

Word count: 1600

A/N : (aka authors warning) this is written in Daryl’s POV soOo idk. Probably not everyone’s bag. Maybe it’s no one’s bag. These first three chapters are kinda rough and I’m sorry but I can only proofread my own stuff so many times before I either post it or delete it forever.

masterlist

17+ mdni for the whole story

After stringin’ a few squirrels for dinner I figure I should get back to camp. ‘m breakin’ through the tree line, and that’s when I see her. Beatle. Beatle, for the first time in… shit, who knows? Definitely years, I’m not exactly sure how many. Beatle, just fuckin’ sittin’ at my fire. Like somehow she knew it was mine and showed up just to take it from me. Just sittin’. Smile on her face like she belongs there. She doesn’t. She doesn’t belong at this camp, with these people. Shit, Beatle doesn’t even belong alive if I’m bein’ honest.

No one in this fuckin’ camp can hunt worth a damn. They’re gonna expect me to feed ‘em, ain’t they? Eventually. Eventually the food’ll run out and it’ll just be me feedin’ fuckin’ everyone. M’not doin’ it. I’m not doin’ shit for ‘em anymore. Why should I? Left my brother on that roof to rot. Naw, I’ll hunt for my damn self. Don’t even know why I’m still fuckin’ here. Should be out findin’ Merle. Honestly, don’t even know why I’m not.

Even before the dead started walkin’. I figured her days were numbered since the first fuckin’ time I met ‘er. Drunk as hell, eyes glassy, loud annoying voice barkin’ like a damn dog. Just yap yap yappin at Merle and me, tits half hangin’ outta her bikini top. Ones cinched in the string like she’d just forgotten to take ‘em out from her last time around the bar. A dumb drunk bitch, Beatle. Stupid fuckin’ stripper name. Who’s dick gets hard over a stripper named Beatle?

I watch her, just for a second, checkin’ to see if maybe it’s not really her. But it is. ‘Course it fuckin’ is.

Shane’s the first person I see that’s not doin’ anything, going through some clothes in a duffel bag in the back of a van, figure he might know, “Where the fuck did she come from?” Pointing toward Beatle, her back to us, fifty yards away. Stupid purple hair blowing all over the damn place.

Shane looks to see who I’m pointing at, but who the fuck else is new at camp? His eyes finally land on Beatle before looking back at me like he’s trying to fight the smile on his damn face, “Why? You interested?”

I’m tryin’ not to lose my shit that she’s even fuckin’ here. “Nah…” I shake my head, “I know ‘er.”

Shane looks up, surprised maybe, and then not. Looking from Beatle back to me again, eyeing us up. “Yeah, makes sense.”

I squint back at ‘im, “S’that supposed ta mean?”

He shrugs, making a face, before smiling again, folding another shirt into his pack, “Just that you look like you might know eachother.” He doesn’t say more but I know what he’s not sayin. “Is all.” He adds on the end just to reiterate.

He means we’re both fuckin redneck trash to anyone who looks at us. I look back over at her, startin’ to get real mad at this jarhead dickhead. Not for her or nothin’. Even if he’s right, he don’t gotta say it. Or maybe it was the way he said it. Or the way he didn’t say it. Like a fuckin’ pussy.

A part of me feels like standin’ up for myself. Hell, a part of me feels like stickin’ up for Beatle. But, shit, it’s not even worth it.

I cough up a lougie and spit it close to his foot. “So where’d she come from?” I’m fuckin’ repeating myself. I hate fuckin’ repeating myself.

“Think she just wandered in. Must’ve been lost in the woods or something. Ask Rick. He seems to know everything.”

Can’t keep myself from crackin’ at his petty comment. Always so fuckin’ loud with his contempt, makin’ the situation obvious to anyone with eyes. Messy.

I decide I’m gonna ask ‘er. She’s gonna see me eventually. Better I approach her first, right? Don’t need to get football tackled in the middle of doin’ somethin’ else when she sees me for the first time. So I pull out a cigarette and start walkin’ over.

She’s talkin’ to Andrea. She fuckin’ would. Both of them loud dumb bitches. Talking about all the dumb shit they miss since everything’s turned to shit. Not talkin’ about people or nothin’ important. Just bullshit like getting your damn nails done, and eating fuckin’ ice cream.

“Where’d you fuckin’ come from?” Sayin it louder than I meant. More aggressive than I thought my voice would sound. Usually fuckin’ is, though. The laughing between Andrea and Beatle stops and they look over at me, just standing there waitin’ for it to register. Waitin’ for Beatles reaction. Starin’ ‘er the fuck down like she doesn’t fuckin’ belong here. She doesn’t.

Beatles eyes light up, getting up from her chair and runnin’ over to me like she’s never been more excited to see someone in her whole damn life. I try to brace myself, but she still rocks me backward as she jumps on me, “Daryl!” Should have stopped her, could have moved just right out of the way. But nah, I let her.

I don’t hug her back though, just push her off and let her own feet catch her. Dumb bitch doesn’t know personal boundaries. Her voice so close to my ear, “Damn, don’t look so happy to see me.”

Happy to see her? I’m not. Didn’t think I could be so unhappy to see a familiar face in my whole fuckin’ life. But she wasn’t letting that stop her, never fuckin’ did. “I was lost, found this camp. They said I could stay.” She explains, her voice high and happy and annoying as it ever was. At least she’s not drunk.

Everyone around the fire had gone back to what they were doing. Not watchin’ us anymore. They could probably see as well as Shane that it was obvious how we knew eachother. Well, maybe not exactly how. But they probably had a good idea.

I dunno what to say to her explanation, so I don’t say nothin’. And she just stands next to me, too close, clearly not gettin’ the hint that I didn’t really wanna talk to her. Just wanted to know why she was here. Now I know. She wasn’t gettin’ that she could and should just go back to her conversation with Andrea about ice skating, or cocktails, or what the fuck ever.

“What about you?” Her voice quieter for fuckin’ once.

I shake my head, blowing smoke out, “Merle and me, met up with everyone...” I don’t feel like explaining it, so I don’t.

Beatle’s lookin’ up at me, her big eyes all wide and excited like a dumbass deer too stupid to move out of traffic, “Merle’s here?”

This coil of disgust, I feel it snaring it’s way through my abdomen. Yeah, that’s the feeling Beatle usually gives me. Back like it never fuckin’ left. “Nah, not anymore. Sorry to dry your cunt.”

Beatle says “Ew” fast. Like she’s so disgusted by my vocabulary. Like she isn’t just as crude, the things I heard that little mouth of hers say.

“He’s not…” she means dead.

“Nah, hes not dead.” Usually this is where I talk something nice about Merle, about how he’s a tough sunuvabitch or some other shit. But not to Beatle. Beatle already knows, and for some reason talking about Merle with her makes me.. fuck… whatever.

Glancing over, it looks like Beatle’s finally got the hint that I don’t wanna talk to her. She probably really was excited to see me, and I almost feel bad for a second. Before she puts her grubby fuckin’ hand in my face and asks if she can have a cigarette. Needy fuckin’ bitch.

I laugh right in her face. At the gall of her. That at the end of it all, of everything; she was still trying to get some fuckin’ handout. “Naw.”

“Oh, come on, Daryl, please? I haven’t had one in days!” As if I give a shit what she has or hasn’t had. Hasn’t seen me in years and wants to ask for favors?

I keep draggin’ on my cigarette, blowin’ the smoke out, and m’not smiling anymore, “I said naw. I don’t see your tits out, why would I give you anything?” Fuck repeating myself.

“You wanna see my tits?” She says it like it’s actually a question. Like she really fuckin’ believes that I’m askin’.

“You’re a dumb bitch, Beatle, y’know tha’?” I shake my head at her, laughin’ at her again. She’s fuckin’ ridiculous. Taking another drag I realize the cig is trash, and I almost throw the butt into the fire but decide to hand it to her instead.

She takes it, with needy fingers like I knew she fuckin’ would. Trying to hide my smile at how fuckin’ pathetic she always seems to be. Watching her take my trash like it’s fuckin’ gold. She drags it once, I can smell the filter burning and she throws it in the fire. “Next time maybe you’ll share one with me?” Her voice is so sweet it makes me sick. Like I didn’t just call her a dumb bitch to her face.

Saccharine and fake, that’s how she’s always been. All her cute little movements and motions, all just tryin’ to work me up so I’ll share my smokes or listen to her dumbass whine about anything and everything. Annoying.

“Prolly not.” And I’m already walking away from the fire. From Beatle. Going back to my tent and praying to god, Jesus Christ, don’t let her follow.

Chewin’ on what she said. Lost, huh? See? Didn’t even belong alive.

pt 2

#twd daryl #daryl dixon #the walking dead daryl #daryl fanfiction #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon x oc #Mean Daryl

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mortalprinceoflies · 2 months

Text

Closed Starter | @runyou-clever-boy

They were being watched. He’d tried to ignore it, write it off as paranoia from this being their first family trip outside of the country. This wasn’t an installment in the ‘Taken’ franchise; surely, no one was lurking in the shadows, waiting to kidnap one of his girls. No matter what he told himself, however, Luke’s anxiety wouldn’t leave him, especially when he noticed how tense Delaney was. Riley was taking photos nonstop, and Morgan and Jayden were animatedly pointed out landmarks that they wanted to visit next, with the Tower of London being the most prevalent on the list at the moment. They were blissfully unaware that their parents’ heads were on swivels, scanning the crowded London streets for whomever might be following them.

Delaney spotted him first. “Pretty blond with the pouty lips,” she muttered, squeezing Luke’s hand. “He’s definitely tailing us. I saw him when we walked out of the Jack the Ripper Museum.”

“So he’s been on us for at least fifteen minutes,” Luke sighed, hating the fact that he’d been right. “Great…alright, keep moving with the girls. I’ll take care of this guy and catch up with you.”

“Don’t do anything stupid, Luke…”

“I won’t! I’m just gonna have a polite chat with the guy, try to discourage him from pulling whatever bullshit he wants to pull. I think he knows he’s been made, though.” Luke had locked eyes with the mysterious young man by mistake, and now couldn’t stop looking at him for fear that he’d lose him in the crowd. This was just too weird. He gave Delaney a quick kiss on the cheek, pretending not to notice as she slipped one of her lucky charms into his pocket before leaving with the girls. It was her way of saying she was worried about him, and he honestly found it endearing.

Squaring his shoulders, he turned to confront his stalker, brown eyes turning steely and briefly flashing red. “Look, buddy, I know you probably thought I’d be an easy target because I’m some country bumpkin tourist, but you’re barkin’ up the wrong tree. I’m just tryin’ to have a nice vacation with my family. I don’t need you to ruin it with whatever scheme you’re plannin’ on pullin’. Stop followin’ us!” Hands balled into fists at his sides briefly before loosening again. He didn’t want this to turn into a fight, but if the other decided to get physical, he would gladly defend himself.

Little did he know that he had yet another pair of eyes on him. Vigoraunt had been haunting Luke and his family for far longer than this angelic menace; he had just been more subtle. Blending into the crowd was just as easy for the incubus here in England as it had been back in the States. Hells, he’d probably turned it into an art form at this point. The trick was to simply mind one’s own business while remaining in the general vicinity of one’s target, although being able to turn invisible certainly didn’t hurt. Truthfully, he hated being a spy, but restoring Lucifer to his infernal throne was more than worth it. A nosy fallen angel, however, could throw a massive wrench into that plan. Vig readied himself to intervene if necessary. This could get messy.

#🔥 another day in paradise 🔥 v; main #runyou clever boy #closed starter #Sorry it got longer than I thought it would be lol

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thefleetsfinest · 7 months

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This was a terrible idea, why had she let herself be talked into this again? "You get out there! Go on some dates!" and "Okay, one date didn't didn't work out and you had to call the fire department, try again." She made a friend than, and sure they had been a young reptilian patient in the end, and maybe she should have argued to Stephen that he was her friend, and her two associates that now spent most of their days in the clinic were her friends as well.

Miracles really, and not small ones. Leonard's been amazing, a great help in a lot of things and he along with Luna had made the clinic more lively. Not that it wasn't with some their frequent patients (Spider-man and Hawkeye were a chatty bunch).

Yet she would try again when even Jane had encouraged Stephen's sentiments. It's a different date, and she really already hates the internet and online dating. Why couldn't she meet some sweet Southern doctor with passion in his light eyes and a sense of humor like Leonard's and they hit it off the old fashioned way?

Why's it gotta be dating profiles these days?

Technically today's date is not a doctor, and it's a brunch which she has no clue if that's odd for a date or not. It was a nice day, so being out or eating on a patio might be nice for a date setting, daytime romantic.

Linda had opened up the clinic with Leonard, and after two appointments seen to; she's ducking away to get dressed. When she returns to the lobby, it definitely feels weird not to be in her nursing uniform or scrubs.

A light-colored sundress put on in place and she's let her hair down than pulled a few strands back for a half up but mostly down. ❝ How do I look? ⸻ Not too much for a brunch, right? Should I have brought a sun hat? Sitting on a patio could be nice, but hats aren't date appropriate, yeah? ❞

She's maybe stalling a little because she really doesn't know what to do with getting out, and was maybe trying to more so that Stephen would stop worrying over her. For a guy, who really screwed up with her, he's became a good friend.

❝ I owe you, can't thank you enough for handling more things here and well, letting me dip out this afternoon. ❞

It was just a normal work day for Leonard, nothing special or out of the ordinary. ( Outside of Linda's date. Which he definitely isn't grumpy about, why would he be grumpy? It's none of his business who she dates, even if he did think apps were just about the DUMBEST way to find someone to settle down with.) There had been the SMALLEST of selfish thoughts of finding some reason he couldn't cover the clinic while she went out, but in the end.. he couldn't bring himself to disappoint her.

So there he was, finding himself FIDDLING with the files, finding every which way to PROLONG the entire task of putting them back in their respective secure spots. ( Mostly adding his little notes from the important, slowly written so it was at least MOSTLY readable. ) when she had finally come back FRESHLY CHANGED, and looking like something out of a MAGAGINE.

For the BRIEFEST of moments, Leonard stood just STOOD THERE staring at her, taking in every last detail. Everything from the way her dark hair waved and curled, to the flow of her sundress, the color of her cheeks all the way down her just how GOOD her legs looked.

What was he suppose to be answering again?

"You look down right STUNNIN'" It was the first thing he managed to blurt out of his mouth, and it was the HONEST truth. "I don't know nothin' about fashion so you are barkin' up the wrong tree about the hat... though I think you look perfect just the way yer are."

Was he still talking?

"Don't sweat it, It's not like I wasn't gonna be here anyways and besides.. at least one of us should try to have a social life." and you deserve to be happy.. "and let's face it I'm a lost cause a this point." a bit of a laugh followed as he clicked at his pen a few times. FIDGETING.

"This feller truly is Lucky to be taking you out on a nice afternoon like today, be a shame for ya to not be out on some nice patio somewhere." He has got to stop and he knows it. So he manages a deep breath, the pen put away. She had places to be.. a SOMEONE ELSE waiting for her.

god he needed a drink.

"Go on get going, yer gonna be late if you keep letting me prattle on."

#✧˖° → So how can these legendary hands help you? [ Inbox Interactions ]#✧˖° → I ain't sure what I'm trying to prove [ 616 Verse ]#♡ ✧˖° → You’ll be my sunny day & I’ll be your shade tree [ Linda || Oceansfirst ]#I HURT MYSELF AT THE END

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mandareeboo · 2 years

Note

Not sure if you're taking prompts right now but Dead End idea: Pauline and Norma have their own Driver's Seat moment.

"You know I'm right, doll."

Norma ignores the glow of green against her back as she digs through Courtney's magical chest. "C'mon, c'mon," she whispers desperately. "There's gotta be something for angels in here."

"Yer barkin' up the wrong tree, girlie." A ghostly hand slammed the thing shut, just barely avoiding Norma's fingers. Pauline tutted obnoxiously. "Use that think bean of yours. If demons had a way of fightin' off angels, would the planes still be at war?"

"Fine! Whatever." Norma digs through her jacket pockets. Some gum for if she grits her teeth too hard and got a headache. A utility tool provided by the company- a bunch of doodads, but nothing that could be considered a weapon. Jennifer's all-access pass. "I'll- I'll think of something."

"You're gonna go up against a horde of angels alone? With yer friends' lives on the line? You can't just wing that."

Norma stands so she's nose-to-nose with the spirit. She's not an intimidating person by stature, even compared to the mousy ghost, and Pauline doesn't flinch at the ferocity in her eyes. If she can't spook her, how can she fight off angels? "Since when did you care about them?" she asks.

Pauline scoffs. "Now don't go tryin' to make this personal, darlin'. This park is my legacy. Don't matter if it's angels or demons- if somethin' kills off my entire staff, I gotta be the one to deal with that. And rehiring when you're incorporeal is a real pain in the butt, lemme tell you. Besides...."

Green fingers cup her cheeks, sinking inside the skin. Norma shudders at how cold they are.

"I like you, darlin'," she murmurs quietly, twisting her face to and fro. "Sure, you aren't my usual getup, but you've got the spark, honey. You know my movies and my music inside and out. Every dance step and every fun fact I put in trashy magazines. That's very important to possession, you know."

"It is?"

"Why d'ya think I have my imposters tailed? Having a sustained possession requires more than just good looks and a bit of black magic. If I want a body to last for years, I need it to be a second skin. I need their soul to be mine." A cruel gleam twinkled in the ghost's eyes. "And I don't think I've ever had a better candidate."

The question slips out before Norma can stop it, "What about Barborah? You were nothing alike."

"What about her?" she dismisses. "We might be different, but her soul was full'a guilt. She blamed herself for what happened to me- and rightly so, the traitor. She was mine the moment she touched my cold, dead hand."

The fingers push in deeper. The ice tingled up and down Norma's jawbone.

"I could make you fall in love with me all over again. Doesn't that sound nice?"

Norma struggled to move herself free, but the tendrils were like hooks- it was possible to pull away, but it'd hurt. "I don't need you. I could-"

"You could what? Not make eye contact with them while they kill your little friends? Have a meltdown 'cause one of 'em wanted to know your name? This makes the most sense and you know it. I can use my powers without them poofing me into another plane, and you can save the day and go back to being little miss security."

She stared blankly at the green glow a moment, forcing her mind to keep up and diagnose this plan as 'unfortunate but accurate'. "We'd need some rules."

Pauline raises a delicately plucked eyebrow. "Kinky. Hit me."

"You can't hurt my friends, or my family, or friends of my family and family of my friends. That includes found family. And when they're safe, you let me have my body back."

"Deal," she says easily, far too easily.

As the green invades her skin and soul, Norma has this brief, horrifying moment where realizes the loophole there. Pauline didn't have to hurt her friends to hold them in danger, and until she undid said danger, Norma had no body. A dark chuckle warbled through her chest.

Don't you worry about that. Succumb.

#Ask #Anon #Question Mandar #Drabble Prompts #Dead End: Paranormal Park #Norma Khan #Pauline Phoenix #Ableism #(For Pauline's remarks anyway)

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supercrabneo · 1 year

Photo

An Invite to Castle Thade: A Neopets Mystery

PART II

Read part 1 here

Part 2/6 below the cut -->

“How did you do that?!” Sirena turned to Becks, her heavy silver jewelry tinkling, her wide yellow eyes aghast, but clearly entertained.

“I… didn’t,” she replied, her heart catching in her throat as she spoke. She smoothed down her ruff again, hoping none of the gathered Neopians had seen her hair stand on end when the massive castle doors slammed shut on their own. Her cousin Roxanne seemed to have a few frightening tricks in store for the guests, and Becks would have to try her best not to get scared right along with them if she was to keep playing the mysterious host. “It was the house itself, of course.”

“Such colorful characters out here in the boonies,” Quincy sounded loud and cheerful as he fluttered away from the door, almost masking the slight tremor of fear in his voice. “Always giving their superstitious little warnings!”

“It’s quite the warning,” Baldur raised his brows, his bright Techo eyes flashing with intrigue.

“Sure it is,” Jasper flicked his icy wings, shrugging off his traveling cloak, then straightened his bright red scarf before continuing. Becks sighed, picking up the cloak, once again relegated to butler. “And I bet the malformed freaks out here in the Haunted Woods say that about every castle. Great way to scare off prospective buyers who might want to build something useful out here instead of just another big creaky mansion–” The Hissi stopped mid-sentence, his tongue flicking out to smell the air. “What is that smell?”

All eyes once again turned to Unga the Usul. She didn’t seem to notice the unwelcome attention.

“It’s not often I see a Tyrannian out in the wide world of Neopia,” Baldur smiled down at her, his clear disdain lost on the heavy-browed Usul.

“Unga always rise to challenge,” she replied. “Even if Unga have to walk very far.”

“Hold on,” Sirena held up a tentacle, silver bracelets clinking gently against each other. “So you were told there was a Battledome competition here. I was told I would be meeting a… personal friend. Clearly neither of those is true… unless…” The Acara turned to Jasper, that coy smile once again creeping onto her face, slowly batting her heavily lashed eyelids. “Does the name… Sirena32 mean anything to you…?”

“Nope,” he replied, tiny points of light reflecting around the room as he shook his translucent head. “You’re barkin’ up the wrong tree, lady. Are you folks not in real estate? I was told I’d be bidding on this place.”

“And I was under the impression this was a gala,” Quincy’s faerie wings flapped in annoyance, his flippers on his hips. “And clearly that is not the case.” His shining Bruce eyes darted to the plainly-dressed Becks.

“So we’ve been brought here under false pretenses,” Baldur squinted, his voice filled with mounting suspicion.

“If you’ll follow me,” Becks spoke loudly, projecting over the gathered Neopians. They all turned to face her. “I’ll show you to the dining room.”

Becks hadn’t been given a map of the castle. In the letter, Roxanne had only said ‘take them to the dining room’. And before Becks had arrived at the massive castle with its expansive grounds, she’d assumed it would be fairly easy to figure out which room was which. Now she was worried she would immediately get everyone lost and fail at the one clear instruction she’d been given. But, as it turned out, she didn’t need a map. Just as the candles had lit themselves when Roxanne appeared at the top of the stairs, they lit up all the way down the corridor, balls of light flickering to life deeper and deeper down the black hallways. Becks was pretty sure this was her cousin’s doing somehow, maybe the work of some switch that supplied the candles with gas.

At least… she was pretty sure.

Becks’ long Cybunny ears couldn’t help but turn nervously towards the guests, swiveling to focus on the shuffling feet, slithering bodies, fluttering wings, and pop-pop-pop of tentacles that barely covered their nervous whispers.

“I can’t believe the ravings of some old coot has got you all shaking in your boots,” Jasper hissed dismissively. “At least the rumors mean I’ll probably be able to buy this place for a song. A new coat of paint, a few renovations… I bet I could break this place up into a bunch of housing units. Call ‘em luxury haunted condos. They’d sell like hotcakes.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, I’m not shaking in any boots,” Quincy rebutted. But the chattering of the Bruce’s beak suggested otherwise.

“Unga just want fight,” the Tyrannian Usul grunted loudly. “It okay if it ghost. Unga not afraid to punch ghost.”

“I’m not afraid either,” the Maraquan Acara scoffed. “What can a ghost do? Nothing, unless you let it. I am intent on having a lovely evening. Even if I did get stood up.”

“You all say you’re not frightened,” Baldur’s voice was steady and calm. “As if none of you have ever heard of Eliv Thade. I’m sure all of us are feeling at least a little apprehensive. It’s all right to admit it.”

The crowd fell silent. Of course they’d heard of the Kacheek known as Eliv Thade. The one who’d gone mad, the one who supposedly haunted his castle, trapping anyone foolish enough to step foot inside and forcing them through endless puzzles until they finally met their end. It was a story they’d all heard around a campfire at some point in their lives.

Becks smiled to herself. She was glad the mutant Bori had managed to rile them up. Some of the pressure was off, and now she wouldn’t have to rely on her own less-than-average acting skills to sell the experience. Becks wouldn’t have been surprised to learn Roxanne had hired the old Bori herself to bring the last guest, just to get that extra bit of ambience. Her cousin was thorough, after all.

The only Neopian who didn’t seem bothered was the strange little alien Aisha. It had finished its granola and was now keeping step with Becks, smiling excitedly, taking selfies with the flickering candles and decaying tapestries like they were all taking a casual stroll through a museum. But she was sure this Aisha had some vital role to play later in the evening. She wouldn’t want to inadvertently cause any problems for Roxanne, so she didn’t question the little green creature in its spacesuit.

The candles led them to the end of a long corridor, where an elegant doorway stood open, the room beyond lit dazzlingly with massive crystal chandeliers. Flickering candlelight danced across the stone walls and antique furniture, highlighting ancient china cabinets full of exquisite dishwear, expensive-looking bottles of exotic sparkling juice, and various other fineries from around the world. In the middle of the room was a long table, already stacked high with food and beverages, the chairs pulled out as if inviting them all to their seats.

Becks turned with what she hoped was a dramatic flourish, motioning for the guests to enter ahead of her. The Aisha nodded enthusiastically, leading the way for the rest of the nervous crowd.

Baldur was the last to slip past the red-ruffed Cybunny, his pastel scales practically glowing in the dim light of the hallway, outshining even the gold trim of his deep red tunic. His stride was confident as he stared into her eyes. There was an unsettling cunning to them. But he bowed slightly as he passed, joining the others in the bright room beyond.

Becks quickly pulled Roxanne’s instructions back out of the collar of her sweater, skimming her cousin’s coded bullet points just in case there was something she’d missed. But the instructions ended here. She was supposed to let the guests get comfortable, have a nice dinner, and then… she assumed something was going to happen. She wished she knew what it was.

But there was clearly nothing to be gleaned from this worn piece of paper. She shoved it back in her collar and straightened up, trying to assume an air of confidence as she swept into the room, pulling the door closed behind her.

“Ugh,” Quincy scoffed. “Is the whole castle going to be this… moldy?” He gestured towards the cabinets as he hovered above the floor, as if too nauseated by the disintegrating rugs to even touch them. It seemed he’d managed to pull himself from his nervousness by focusing on his mounting disgust.

“It’s not moldy, it’s antique,” Jasper crooned. “Folks pay big money for pieces like this. Strip ‘em down, re-paint them in hip modern colors, sell them for a pretty penny. It’s called upcycling. See, it’s all in how you spin it.” He tapped a splintered side table with the tip of his tail, and it wobbled dangerously, threatening to pitch a small vase of dead flowers to the stone floor below.

“If everyone would please take their seats,” Becks once again projected her voice, cutting through the guests’ murmured conversations. The Aisha plopped down in a chair the table in the center of the room. Unga followed, her pungent smell spreading out in a wave behind her. The others made their way to their seats hesitantly, glancing around the room as if expecting to be attacked.

But no attack came. There was only a spread of still-steaming dishes, waiting to be eaten.

“Let’s begin,” Becks took the lead, doing what she thought a host might do, though she’d never been nearly anywhere so fancy. She barely even recognized most of the food, though that was at least partially due to her unfamiliarity with the cuisine of the Haunted Woods. Her dish stared up at her, two eyeballs perched on top of a thick coil of oddly grey pasta. She hesitantly lifted a few greasy strands on her fork. She glanced back up at the other Neopians.

Unga wasted no time, grabbing the nearest hunk of protein, a steak which screamed and flapped a tiny pair of devilish wings as she tore into it. The Aisha snapped a quick picture of its plate, but the helmet protected it from having to sample anything. Sirena took a polite bite of the stew in front of her, which bubbled menacingly, faces seeming to swirl up from its depths. She fought to swallow, and didn’t go in for a second spoonful. Quincy only looked down at his food in obvious disgust, Jasper sneered at the spread, and Baldur sat back with measured dignity, napkin folded in his lap as he made no moves to eat.

Becks put her fork back down, the noodles still dangling from its tines. She’d done her part. There was no need to give herself food poisoning in an attempt to be a decent host.

“So you’re from Terror Mountain, then?” Sirena turned to Jasper, breaking the uneasy silence at the table.

“Born and raised,” he replied, tossing a strangely lively olive into his mouth with the tip of his icy tail. “I’m kind of a big deal up there. I own most of the town at this point, and I’ve taken it from backwoods wasteland to the bustling tourist attraction you know today. I’m what you might call a local celebrity… in fact, I’m actually related to the Snowager. Yes, the Snowager. I’m sure you can see the resemblance.”

“I certainly can,” Sirena crooned. “I was fortunate enough to vacation up there with one of my ex-husbands. We took the whole ice caves tour, Snowager and all. You’re really the spitting image. Alas, that trip isn’t all pleasant memories, as my husband got lost in the snow and was never recovered. They figured a Snowbeast took him. But at least we got a good vacation in before that.”

“Oh, you poor dear,” Quincy placed a comforting flipper on Sirena’s tentacle. “It must have been so difficult to cope with such a loss.”

“Thank you, thank you, it was,” she sniffled. “But at least I had his fortune to go home to. He made sure I was well taken care of.”

“How very thoughtful,” Jasper sneered. But he leaned a little closer to Sirena, clearly intrigued by the mention of a fortune.

“And, uh… Ugga, was it?” Quincy asked politely, his Faerieland manners overruling his disgust for the unkempt Usul. She grunted in recognition. “You said you were a Battledome competitor? I assume you do a lot of traveling, a lot of sightseeing?”

“Ugga mostly stay in Tyrannia,” she waved a fistful of wriggling pasta as she explained. “Ugga too big a deal to travel. Battledome fighters come to Ugga.”

“And yet you’re here,” Baldur leaned forward, gently taking charge of the conversation. “I suppose I’ll be the one to address the Elephante in the room. All of us came here for our own very important reasons, important enough to drag us all out into the middle of the Haunted Woods. Yet it seems we’ve all been lied to. So… why were we brought here under false pretenses? And who exactly sent us our invitations?”

“I wish I knew,” Jasper rolled his eyes. “Whoever it was has wasted a lot of my incredibly valuable time. But I’m not stickin’ around to figure it out. As soon as I’ve eaten as much of their expensive weirdo food as I can stomach, I’m out of here.”

“I have no enemies that I’m aware of,” Quincy rested his head in his flippers, sighing heavily. “I have no idea who would pull a prank like this on a member of Fyora’s court. Everyone knows we don’t have an evil bone in our bodies.”

“No one here has any ties to the Haunted Woods, then? Has anyone so much as visited before?” Baldur asked, chuckling slightly, trying to keep the mood light despite his line of interrogation.

“Oh, I came here on one of my honeymoons!” Sirena piped up. “It was terrible. The relationship didn’t survive the trip, I’m afraid. And neither did my ex-husband. So we can rule him out.” She laughed. Jasper shifted away from her slightly.

“Not necessarily…” Baldur squinted, glancing around the room with mounting suspicion. “What about you, gracious host?” He turned his piercing gaze to her. “Surely you know something.”

Becks stared back at him dumbly. She had no idea what to say, or whether she should even say anything at all. She was the only one who came here knowing what she was supposed to do, and even then, she only knew part of it. If all went well, they’d finish dinner and she could see all the guests to the door and settle in for a delightful evening of catching up with her cousin. But it didn’t seem like such an elaborately planned event would end so easily. She was on-edge, and had no idea whether she was supposed to step in and calm everyone down, or if all this was part of whatever Roxanne had planned.

“Ugh, what a sorry excuse for wine,” Jasper scoffed as he gestured with his goblet, breaking Becks free from her obligation to answer Baldur. He pushed his chair back, glancing around at the finery behind the glass cabinets. An elegant display case full of unopened bottles caught his eye, and he smirked, uncoiling from his spot at the table and making his way across the room. “If whoever invited us here is going to waste my time, I might as well waste their expensive drinks.” He reached out his glimmering icy wing and unfastened the cabinet doors.

Becks half-stood, getting ready to admonish the Hissi for his blatant theft, but the words caught in her throat. The bottles weren’t the only thing in the cabinet. Inside, tucked between them, was what looked like a spectral, feathery hand, blue and translucent. It inconspicuously pushed one of the bottles forward before disappearing. Becks blinked, unsure of what she’d just seen. Jasper seemed none the wiser, his eyes scanning the labels, and Becks sat back down, any words of protest fading from her mind, replaced by mounting dread.

Baldur’s eyes flicked to hers. His expression was unreadable, but Becks somehow got the distinct impression that he had seen the same thing she did.

“Now look at this,” Jasper hissed, his tail coiling around the neck of a bottle and hoisting it up for all to see. It was the bottle the ghostly hand had pushed forward. “Excellent year, made with Altadorian grapes, with the subtlest hints of plum… this is not an easy wine to get ahold of, let me tell you. Let’s crack it open and really make this mysterious host regret sending those letters.”

He yanked out the cork with a skilled twist of his tail and a loud pop.

“Wait, I don’t think you should–” Becks held out a hand, as if she could stop him from all the way across the room. But he didn’t pay her any mind. In one swift motion, he knocked it back, swallowing at least a quarter of the bottle in one go. He lowered it, letting out a satisfied sigh.

“Not as good as I remember it…” he glanced down at the dark liquid sloshing around inside the glass. “Has a weird aftertaste. Maybe this one’s gone off.”

Something dripped to the floor. He glanced down, his brow knitting in confusion as more droplets splattered to the rough cobblestones directly beneath him. He stretched out his wings, examining them with wide, shocked eyes as yet more liquid dripped down his scales.

He seemed to be sweating profusely. Or, more precisely, his icy skin seemed to be melting.

“What in the…” he was suddenly less transparent than before, his translucent pallor clouding over, shifting from a pleasant blue to rotten green. The other guests watched on in horror, Becks included. The feathers dripped from his wings, leaving only green mottled hands behind, spotted scales erupting along the length of his body. His sleek face seemed to puff up, his expression shifting towards ferocity as armor grew out of his brows and forehead.

Finally, and most horrifically, a bulge started to form at the base of his neck. It writhed, pushing out and elongating, like a living thing was struggling underneath his skin.

“I can’t watch!” Sirena turned away. Quincy had already all but fainted, draped in his chair dramatically as the Hissi continued to shift and change.

The bulge grew eyes. Then it opened a wide, fanged mouth, its forked tongue flicking out. It continued to push out from Jasper’s body, lengthening until its face met his, and its shape finally coalesced into something that made sense, as horrific as it was. A second head had sprouted from his shoulders.

“Y-you’ve become a mutant!” Quincy sputtered.

“What are you talking about?” Jasper gasped. “The juice just isn’t agreeing with me, I’ll be right as rain in no time…”

“No, he got it, we’re a mutant now,” the second head sighed. While Jasper’s eyes were sharp and fierce, this head seemed to have an eternal look of despair, its eyes heavy-lidded and morose, the corners of its mouth drooping in a permanent frown. “There’s no point in denying it.”

“And who exactly are you?” Jasper demanded, turning to face his other head.

“I’m that little voice in the back of your head that tells you not to lie and do bad things,” it whimpered. “You stopped paying attention to me a long time ago, though.”

“Of course I did, just listen to you,” Jasper crossed his arms, the end of his tail twitching in frustration. “You’re all mopey and pathetic.”

Becks watched in confused horror as the two heads bickered. Both Quincy and Sirena watched along with her, expressions betraying their fear and disgust. Only Baldur and Ugga seemed unfazed, the latter happily munching a massive hunk of meat.

A chuckle from the far corner of the room caused Becks to nearly startle out of her skin. The crowd collectively turned towards the sound, and were greeted by the ghostly figure of a Lenny, lightly glowing in the darkness of the grand dining hall.

“Well, Jasper, old pal,” the Lenny snickered. “You made this too easy. I knew you couldn’t pass up the opportunity to take something valuable that isn’t yours.”

“Is that a… g-g-...” Sirena stammered.

“A g-g-ghost?” The Lenny completed for her. “Unfortunately, yes. Though not for much longer. I’ve just wrapped up my unfinished business, so I’ll be moving on to greener pastures momentarily. Now that Jasper can never menace anybody else. Not while at least one of his heads is honest.”

“Now hold on just a minute,” Jasper crooned from across the room, stumbling slightly as he tried to slither forward, his new body uneager to listen to him. “I don’t even know you! You’ve got no right to do this to me–”

“But we do know him,” the morose head interrupted. “Don’t you remember? We tried to scare him out of his property by throwing bricks through his windows and leaving nasty anonymous messages scrawled on his door. When he was at his wits’ end, thinking everyone in the neighborhood had turned against him, we approached him and offered to buy his place so he could move away… and of course he accepted the first offer we gave, for much less than what we knew the place was worth. We basically stole his house right out from under him.”

“And then with the ridiculous pittance you offered me, I was unable to buy anything else,” the Lenny continued. “Not up in Terror Mountain. Not Happy Valley, not even Neopia Central. The only place I could afford was way out here, and eventually, I found my way to this place… and never made it back out.”

“That’s your own fault!” Jasper chided defensively. “Your place was prime real estate. You should have known you could sell the place for more, whether you were being terrorized has nothing to do with whether or not you did research before high-tailing it out of there! That’s not on me.”

“You know that’s not true,” the other head said in a baleful voice. “Oh, well. We got what was coming to us.”

“That’s right,” the Lenny smiled, his form already starting to dissipate. “You’ll never be able to lie to anyone again. Not even yourself. Have a good life, Jasper.”

And with that, he was gone.

The room fell silent, as if the gathered Neopians were waiting for the spirit to reappear for one last jab.

“Oh, and while I’m at it,” the second head broke the anxious quiet. “We’re not even related to the Snowager.”

#neopets #fanfic #eliv thade #faerie bruce #alien aisha #maraquan acara #cybunny #tyrannian usul #pastel techo #all mention of alcohol will be removed when I submit lmao #uh it's sparkling juice #of course

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camelliacats · 1 year

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long way down

Have some Stanior feels set amidst the final battle. ;3

Fic: "long way down" [FFN] [AO3]

Pairings/Characters: implied Scabior/Stan Shunpike

Rating: very light T

Words: ~1,580

Additional info: romance, slash, cross gen, angst, Harry's era, 3rd person POV

Summary: Scabior's supposed to feel a sense of pride, leading part of this storm into the castle, across the bridge. Then why does it feel like a trap, with no hands out to catch him if he falls?

Various things set Snatchers apart from Death Eaters. There was the obvious lack of a brand on the inner left forearm, of course. There was the brilliant wardrobe, secondly. There was, most importantly, on overreliance on magic on the part of the Death Eaters.

That last notion in particular came to mind tonight as Scabior raised his head in the evening air and gave the dampness a sniff.

"What've you got?" came somewhere off to his left.

"Shh," Scabior rushed, half in annoyance, half to concentrate.

The voice's owner went still behind him. Others with him didn't pipe up after that, some perhaps waiting for Scabior's opinion.

But, when he settled on one, he found he wasn't keen to share it. At least, not with everyone present. No…

Not when something felt odd tonight, and that something reeked in the air.

Scabior didn't have Greyback's senses, of course, so he doubted the other Snatchers would put much faith in his caution now, despite Scabior's good nose on previous hunts. Not to mention several of these Snatchers, including the one who'd just spoken up (Rumford, an all right bloke), were low-level Death Eaters on loan well past their previous assignment ages ago.

At that thought, Scabior put his concern on hold and glanced behind him, picking out Faraday's men in an instant. Rumford was close by, near one of Scabior's trusted, the exceptionally tall and reedy Barkin. Rumford had taken to learning the ropes from Barkin in Moyer's place the last several months, since Moyer had grown indignant and wanted out after barely more than a few weeks. Speaking of the git—Scabior spied the burly bastard dressed once more in all black, more comfortable with the newly recruited Death Eaters back along the tree line than up front by the covered bridge with sympathizers and Snatchers. Well, Moyer could stay there, for all Scabior cared. Moyer was a pain in the arse anyhow. Unlike—

Unfocused eyes stopped staring out over the gorge and drifted Scabior's way, and blue eyes met blue.

Scabior pursed his lips, tamping down his frown about the odd air the longer Shunpike held his gaze. Faraday thought Shunpike trouble, keeping the young wizard Imperiused all the time. But the witch simply didn't understand that didn't have to be the case with Shunpike.

Scabior… Scabior knew Shunpike's story, because it wasn't far from his own. It was how the two men had come to an agreement of sorts, how they'd become confidants little by little over the past few months, without the need to take away Shunpike's freedom, only for him to feign it in front of others.

A broken twig snapped to his right, alerting him that Shunpike had inched forward and then frozen.

Scabior froze, too, and clenched his jaw. It was a dangerous game they played, keeping Shunpike's head down and the ruse up. It didn't help that, with the barrier around the castle and the odd air, things had Scabior on edge right now.

To the point where, if he had a choice, he wouldn't lead this charge tonight.

But he had to be alone in his opinion, because others paced around him and Shunpike, some hooted and hollered, more taunted the students waiting across the bridge behind the suits of armor come to life, and even more behind him and Shunpike didn't bother keeping their voices down much at all, acting as though this were merely a small stop before the Dark Lord took care of things, made history, and the Wizarding world changed forever.

And that would be the case. Everyone who sided with the Dark Lord or against the Ministry's abusive powers or just because was here tonight, to change the world.

So Scabior set aside his fear of the something odd and focused on that, because he was done being one of those victims of those with power and a name. He glanced at Shunpike then.

With everyone else's attention diverted, Shunpike didn't try as hard this second to pretend. His lips parted in a tiny, puckered, concerned "o" and his brow was furrowed. He was waiting for Scabior to share what had made the older wizard go quiet.

But Scabior closed his eyes and shook his head, assuring Shunpike not to worry. And, when he opened his eyes, something invisible fluttered into being in front of him, burning to a crisp, crumbling to ashes, fading just as quickly as it arrived. …the barrier.

The barrier was down.

The chaos of the assembled behind him converged into a concentrated attack when victorious whoops rang out, and a reinvigorated Scabior held his wand high, leading the way across the bridge.

A lanky but worn student had come partway onto the bridge to taunt them but turned heel and ran the moment Scabior and the others gave chase, and the thunder of footsteps—dozens of them, no, hundreds—clamored after him. The pounding footfall echoed in the covered bridge, so loud Scabior almost couldn't hear himself laugh, and he couldn't hear Shunpike, either, when the younger wizard yelped something behind him—

Ah.

No, wait.

It wasn't the footfall that was deafening.

During their charge forward, there had been charges set off under the bridge.

The chaos of the assembled behind Scabior returned but morphed into panic, into screams and hollers and cries for help and desperate attempts at magic to save themselves. Bodies and splinters and bridge and fire rained down as Scabior and Shunpike and few more poured on what little speed they had left, to try and reach the safety of the other side.

But it was no use.

The ground beneath Scabior's feet crumbled. He knew he should've trusted his instincts (they were what made him an excellent Snatcher, after all). Instead, here he was, his heart plummeting into his stomach as he drop, drop, dropped, flailing out of instinct like any other hapless animal.

…but…he wasn't an animal.

None of them—not his Snatchers—they weren't animals or the lowest of lows or beyond saving.

That struck Scabior when a hand shot out from thin air and jerked him to a stop.

Pain snapped him out of his dismal thoughts, and Scabior followed the arm up to the face of his savior…and he gaped at Shunpike.

Shunpike couldn't pretend to be Imperiused right now, but they had bigger worries, certainly. For one, Shunpike had managed to cling to one of the broken but still standing structural beams, up towards the top. But the knuckles of his right hand which clung to the beam were pure white, and sweat dripped from his brow. He was holding on—quite literally—for life.

For his and Scabior's, both.

"C'mon, then," Shunpike said, though his voice was strained.

Scabior blinked away his stupor and pursed his lips once more. "Come where?"

"I don' 'ave me wand, Scabior. Lost it instead of me life." He grinned (always toothy and a bit goofy, but genuine nevertheless) and tried pulling Scabior up. But Shunpike's grin dimmed as he struggled to heave the other man up. His willowy arm had a good grip but terrible lifting power. And his other arm wouldn't hold on to what remained of the structural beam forever.

They locked eyes as the weight of reality clicked into place. Scabior opened his mouth—

But Shunpike beat him to the punch with a glare. "If you say sumfink stupid like 'Save youself,' then I'll just 'ex you meself when I find a new wand, you wanker."

Getting chewed out right now, of all times, and by Shunpike no less… It was so absurd that Scabior couldn't help it: He laughed. It was a hearty sound and feeling, and he did agree with Shunpike for a beat, that perhaps he was a wanker, when they hadn't even exhausted all their options yet. So Scabior, who'd been clutching Shunpike's outstretched arm with both hands, pried one hand free to pat his own person for his wand. They ought to have time enough to try a spell or two—

Scabior blanched, his good humor evaporating.

Shunpike, having gotten so much better at reading him during his stay with the Snatchers, stared at Scabior, wide-eyed.

But no. Scabior had been fearful before, about tonight. He wouldn't let panic set in, even when he switched hands and—and felt that no, he truly was wandless…

Shunpike's arm strained as the younger wizard scrambled to haul Scabior up. But as he focused on his left and its precious cargo, the grip of his right arm on the beam began to slip. It wasn't noticeable at first, but then they slid by a centimeter and another and then by two inches.

"Shunpike—"

"No! Don' distract me right now—"

"Shunpike—"

"I won' 'ear you—"

"Stan." Scabior's smile was small and tight when Shunpike whipped his head around, unaccustomed to the use of his given name by the Snatcher. Scabior rested his head against Shunpike's sleeve and pressed a grateful kiss to the back of the hand holding on to him.

But the gesture only worried Shunpike even more, despite their confidants-and-something-oddly-more status. Fear renewed his strength. He tugged Scabior impossibly closer, and Shunpike's face was nearly within reach.

Blue eyes locked with blue eyes.

Scabior could almost feel Shunpike's breath on his face.

Then Shunpike's left hand cramped and his arm spasmed, his fingers flying open, and Scabior finally stopped holding on and—

Done for the If You Dare Challenge (for prompt #812: how to save a life) in the HPFC forum on FFN. You read right; I ended it there. B3 I rarely do cliffhangers or ambiguous endings, but I knew I wanted this one to stop here, bc I can't stop thinking about them, *lol*. As for what Scabior refers to as his and Stan's "shared story," that's a ref to smthg in "Less Than Dirt," so that's my plug for you to read that. Is there another Stanior coming after this? Yep! "The Trial of Stan Shunpike," to be written once I figure out which of two possible endings I wanna do. :3c I rly do enjoy Scabior ships, tho…I just… *has written this man a LOT* And it's hard but fun to write Stan's thick accent?? Idk. Board the Stanior ship with me, folks.

Thanks for reading, and feel free to leave an anon/unsigned review via the FFN link or comment via the AO3 link at the top of the post, especially if you enjoyed this!

~mew

#hp #harry potter #stanior #scabior #stan shunpike #<2500 #romance #slash #cross gen #angst #rated: PG13 #trio era #3rd POV

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beansnpeets · 11 days

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Okay, here's the thing.

I'll be living alone. I think I'd like to have a dog in the house that is a little scarier than Sprocket is. There is a GSD breeder I have my eye on. She has 2 litters rn, tho, and I'm not sure if there are any pups that haven't been placed yet, but also I don't wanna raise a puppy right now. So......here I am, on petfinder, looking at shepherd looking creatures and cooing because I can't help myself.

#barkin up some trees #i keep saying no more rescues #but like #an adult dog is more appealing rn #oh and also rollei apparently came face to face with sissy the shop cat the other day and all he did was sniff her #so there is a possibility he could live in the house after all #but i don't trust him enough to keep him inside while i'm not home tho #i think he would trash things #so he would have to live outside whenever i'm at work #but idk we will see #i wish i had a dog neutral cat i could use to test him #puter is pretty dog neutral but mostly with dogs he knows and are chill and rollei is not chill

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thelastspeecher · 2 years

Text

The Breakup Scheme, Pt. 2

Part 1

Look, I'm as surprised as you are that the second part to this little plot in my Modern Stanley McGucket AU is getting posted the day after the first one. I literally wrote all of this ficlet today after work. I guess the spirit just really moved me or something. Anyways, this one's much more angsty than the first one, but there's still some lighter bits, particularly in the first scene. Just so you know what you're getting into. Enjoy.

——————————————————————————————

Lute knocked on the door to Angie’s bedroom.

“Come in,” Angie’s voice replied. Lute pushed the door open. Angie looked up. She was sitting at her desk, in the middle of typing something on her computer. Stan recognized it vaguely as her favorite fanfiction site. Angie placed her hands in her lap. “How can I help the two of ya?”

“We wanted to talk to you about somethin’,” Stan said. “Once we’ve said our piece, you can get back to writing fanfiction.” Angie rolled her eyes.

“I don’t write fanfiction,” she scoffed. Stan raised an eyebrow. Angie looked away. “…I read it,” she mumbled.

“We ain’t judgin’ ya, don’t worry,” Lute said. He frowned at Stan. “Ain’t that right, Stanley? We’re here to talk to her ‘bout somethin’ important, not rag on her hobbies.”

“Hey, some of my best friends like fanfiction,” Stan said with a shrug. Angie rolled her eyes again.

“Spit it out. What do the two of ya want? It better not be chore-related.”

“It’s not,” Stan said. He nodded at Lute. “Wanna lead the charge? She’s your twin.”

“This entire thing was yer idea, but whatever,” Lute said under his breath.

“No, you wanted to do this instead of my idea.”

“I meant the end goal of what we’re doin’ was yer idea.”

“Um.” Angie looked back and forth between Stan and Lute. “I ain’t followin’ this. What’s goin’ on?”

“We’re wonderin’ ‘bout yer relationship with Max, that’s all,” Lute said weakly. Angie frowned. “And maybe- we’ve- some of yer behaviors have resulted in us gettin’ the feelin’ that ya might not want to be with him no more.” Angie’s eyes widened in surprise. Stan focused on her body language. Her shoulders had tensed and her face gone slack, suggesting that it wasn’t surprise at something coming out of the blue. It was surprise that someone had caught onto something she was trying to hide. She coughed politely.

“What- what gives ya that impression?” she asked.

“It’s not one thing. If it was, I wouldn’t’ve believed Stan’s claims,” Lute said.

“Smart.”

“Okay, what’s with that?” Stan interrupted. “You guys don’t believe me unless I get proof to back up whatever I’m sayin’?”

“We ain’t pickin’ on ya. It’s the same standard we hold fer anyone makin’ outlandish claims,” Angie said. She crossed her arms. “And yes. This claim is outlandish.”

“I know, I know,” Lute said. “But I can’t shake the idea the two of ya ain’t happy.”

“Well…shake harder, then.”

“Angie.” Lute walked over to Angie’s desk. He put a hand on her shoulder. “Yer my sister. That means ya come ‘fore Max in terms of priority. Yer happiness matters more to me than Max’s does. I won’t be hurt if ya want to leave him.”

“I…” Angie swallowed. She shook her head. “I understand, but-”

“But what?” Stan asked, joining Lute by Angie. She scowled.

“But yer barkin’ up the wrong tree,” she said firmly. “I ain’t plannin’ on breakin’ up with Max any time soon.”

“We’re not askin’ if you’re planning on breaking up with him,” Stan said. “We’re asking if you wanna break up with him.”

“Ya want the answer to that, huh?”

“Yes,” Stan and Lute said together.

“Fine. The answer’s no. I don’t want to break up with him. Now drop it. I know we’re teenagers, but that don’t mean we have to be all over relationship drama like on those stupid shows Stan watches.”

“Wh- bu- they’re not stupid!” Stan stammered. Angie snickered. “Oh, shut up, McGucket. You watch ‘em too.”

“Sure, but I don’t go out of my way fer ‘em.” Angie turned back to her computer. “Kindly leave my room.”

“Fine, fine,” Stan said, throwing his hands in the air. “We’ll let you get back to…” He squinted at Angie’s computer screen. “Whatever the hell a ‘Spirk slow burn’ is.”

“I thought you said you didn’t like slow burns,” Lute said idly.

“This partic’lar one, I do like,” Angie said. “And I’m eager to get back to it. The author is one of my favorites and he just updated fer the first time in ages. Apparently he had some sort of big, personal drama, and writin’ fanfiction took a backseat ‘cause of it.” She made a shooing gesture with her hands. “Go on, get out. And close the door when ya leave.”

“Sure thing,” Lute said. He and Stan exited Angie’s room, Lute closing the door as quietly as he could behind them.

“So-” Stan started. Lute shook his head. “Huh?” Lute gestured for Stan to follow him. They walked down the hall and into Lute’s room. “What was that about?”

“Angie’s got awful good hearin’. I don’t want to risk her catchin’ wind of our plans, even if she ain’t likely to hear ‘cause she’s distracted by somethin’ else.”

“Right.” Stan leaned against the wall. “So.”

“So.”

“I was right,” Stan said. Lute frowned. “Hey, I told you just askin’ her wouldn’t work!”

“Then what do you have in mind? Should we do somethin’ sneaky? I ain’t used to bein’ sneaky without Angie bein’ in on it.”

“No need. We’re gonna go with my idea, and my idea’s gonna work. No sneaking around necessary.”

“How so?” Lute asked.

“I’ll tell you on the way.”

“On the way where?”

“To wherever Max is.”

“We’re goin’ to go behind Angie’s back?” Lute squeaked.

“When you say it like that, it sounds dirty.”

“That’s ‘cause it is!”

“Fine, it’s dirty. But it’ll get the job done. Figure out where Max is and we’ll go talk to him,” Stan said. Lute eyed him suspiciously. Stan sighed. “I’m being literal. We’re actually gonna talk to him. We won’t be throwing any punches.”

“Good.”

“Not unless Max throws one first.”

“Oh, Lord.” Lute dragged his hands down his face. “What did I get myself into?”

-----

Stan shoveled old hay and manure out of the horse stall. All in all, he didn’t mind mucking out the barn as much as he thought he would. Horses turned out to be way less gross than he expected.

“I’m still surprised Max took it so well,” Lute said from the next stall over.

“What did I tell ya?” Stan called back. “I know what I’m doing, Gucket.”

“I’ll only agree once they’re actually done.” Hooves clopped against the concrete floor. Stan looked over his shoulder. Angie was back from her ride with her horse, a palomino named Daisy.

“Who’s gettin’ done?” she asked. She clicked her tongue and pulled on the reins. Daisy came to a stop. In one smooth, effortless motion, Angie dismounted.

“We’re talkin’ about muckin’ out the stalls,” Stan lied.

“Ah. Yeah, it ain’t a bad chore, but it’s a bit time-consumin’, fer sure,” Angie said with a nod. “I’ll drop Daisy off in the paddock ‘n come back to help you fellers out.”

“Thanks!” Lute called.

“No problem. One of these horses is mine, after all.” Angie led Daisy out of the barn. Stan’s head popped up at the faint sound of tires crunching on gravel. He looked over at the driveway. His mouth went dry.

“Shit,” he breathed. Max’s Tesla had pulled up.

“What was that?” Lute asked.

“Max is here.”

“He is?” Max exited the Tesla.

“Yep.”

“Well, maybe he’s just here to peacefully break things off with Angie?”

“I dunno about that, Gucket. He looks pretty damn pissed to me.”

“Uh-oh.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Stan said. Max stormed into the barn. “Hey, Max.”

“Keep my name out yer mouth,” Max snarled. Fury flashed in his amber eyes. Stan winced. “Where’s Angie?” As if on cue, Angie walked back into the barn, carrying Daisy’s saddle and reins. She smiled at Max.

“This is a nice surprise,” she chirped cheerfully.

“Why would ya think that?” Max asked. Angie blinked.

“Ya don’t drop by the barn often. I wish ya got here a few minutes earlier. I could’ve showed ya what I’ve been workin’ on with Daisy.”

“Stop it,” Max snapped. Angie frowned. “You know why I’m here.”

“Uh. No. I don’t.”

“Dammit,” Stan said under his breath. Similarly hushed, but PG-rated, swears sounded from Lute’s stall.

“I’m here ‘cause ya went and sent yer brother ‘n farmhand to break up with me fer you!” Max thundered. Angie gasped. The saddle and reins fell from her hands, tumbling onto the concrete floor.

“I- I most certainly did not do that!”

“Really? ‘Cause they showed up at my house a coupla hours ago and told me that you wanted to break up, but were too nervous ‘bout it, so’s ya chickened out and sent someone to do it for ya.” Max pinched the bridge of his nose. “If ya want to break up with me, just do it yourself. Heck, I would’ve taken a text over Lute ‘n Stan givin’ me the news.”

“I didn’t tell ‘em to break up with ya fer me!”

“…You didn’t?” Max asked softly. Angie shook her head. Max’s shoulders drooped in relief. “So, ya don’t want to break up?”

“I…” Angie looked down at her feet. “I wouldn’t say that.”

“Then-”

“I don’t know how those two yahoos found out and I sure don’t know what possessed ‘em to break up with you for me, but they- they weren’t wrong,” Angie said. “Fer- fer a while now, I’ve been tryin’ to think of how to handle this.” Max covered his face with his hands. His shoulders shuddered. “I- I can give ya the lil bit of the speech I was workin’ on.”

“No,” Max choked out. “Don’t. Just- just let me walk out of here with some dignity intact.”

“Okay,” Angie said softly. Max turned on his heel and strode out of the barn, furiously wiping away the tears streaming down his face. Angie immediately spun around to glare at Stan and Lute. “What in the Sam Hill did you two do?!” she screamed.

“You said it yourself, you wanted to break up with Max. We took care of it for you,” Stan said.

“Sure, I wanted to end things with him, but I didn’t want you two to do it for me! I-” Angie’s face crumpled. “I was tryin’ to think of a way to end it where we’d walk away with the smallest amount of hurt I could make, and- and the two of ya went and made the hurt worse than I- than I thought would be even possible.” She covered her mouth with her hands, tears spilling onto her cheeks. “I feel- I feel so betrayed,” she sobbed. “How could ya do this to me?!”

“We were just tryin’ to do what was best,” Lute said quietly.

“Well, ya did what was worst!” Angie wailed. Stan winced. Footsteps sounded. Pa and Ma McGucket walked into the barn.

“We saw Max hightail it out of here and figured somethin’ went down,” Ma McGucket said. She caught sight of Angie and immediately made a beeline for her daughter. “Oh, sweetling…” Angie clung to her mother, sobbing.

“Did ya break it off with Max?” Pa McGucket asked. Angie shook her head. “He ended it with you?”

“N-no! They ended things!” Angie said, pointing at Stan and Lute. Pa and Ma McGucket looked over at the boys. “They- they told Max I wanted to break up with him and- and-”

“It was Stan’s idea!” Lute said quickly. Stan glared at him.

“Not cool,” he hissed.

“It don’t matter if it weren’t yer idea, you should’ve known better ‘n to go along with it,” Pa McGucket said firmly. “Both of ya, go to yer rooms. Now.” Stan and Lute dropped their shovels. As they started the long walk of shame back to the house, Pa McGucket joined his wife in comforting Angie.

“I can’t believe we did that,” Lute whispered. “I- why’d I go along with ya?”

“We thought it was the right move to make,” Stan said. Lute shook his head.

“No. I think we both knew it was wrong. But we were too blinded by our jealousy to see that.” Lute put his hands in his pockets. “Well, so much fer gettin’ more time with Angie. It’ll prob’ly be months until she wants to be in even the same room as us.”

They walked through the farmhouse front door and parted ways at the staircase. Lute went upstairs to his room, while Stan continued down the hall on the ground floor to his. He entered his room and slammed the door shut behind him.

Stupid, Stan, stupid! Stan sat on the edge of his bed. The image of Angie breaking down, sobbing so hard it sounded like it hurt, her hair getting damp from her tears, was seared into his brain. Why’d you do that, you fucking idiot?

As if in answer, a new picture of Angie appeared in his mind. When she had ridden in on Daisy mere moments before shit hit the fan. Her caramel-colored hair tossed by the wind, her cheeks pink from excitement, and blue eyes shining with delight. Her sweet smile and bell-like laughter at even the worst of Stan’s jokes. Her sarcasm and kindness and how warm and soft her hands were when she was teaching Stan how to bake biscuits. Her ability to wake butterflies in Stan’s stomach just by stepping into the room.

Stan’s heart plummeted to his feet.

Oh. That’s why.

#spoiler: this ficlet has that italic ''oh'' moment ;)#also I said the boys' plans would be as subtle as a brick and I kept that promise #Modern Stanley McGucket AU #Stanley Pines #Lute McGucket #Angie McGucket #Max Hillcrest #Ma McGucket #Pa McGucket #McGucket Family #my writing #my stuff #speecher speaks

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wvbaandtheboys · 2 years

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aran and magnus in a nutshell

[Insert some kind of insult here one day] Aran: Huh?! What did ya say?! Oh so ya wanna fight eh?! Those be fightin’ words ya know! Magnus: You heard me ya piece o’ chicken shit. Try me. Yer barkin’ up the wrong tree you are. Aran: YOU WANNA TEST THAT YA GOBSHITE?! Magnus: FUCKIN’ COME AT ME YA WEE DOBBER. [insert magnus coming back from a tough set of matches all bruised and bloodied another day] Aran: ‘Ey. I just wanna tell ya yer lookin’ good Nessie. Magnus: [huff] Don’t you lie to me. Aran: ....Shit... How’d ye know? Ya look like ya got rammed by a bus, ya do. Twice. Magnus: Aye..... today’s just not me day. [Aran walks up and wraps an arm around him, hugging him from the side. He chuckles and fiddles with his beard.] Aran: Aye...I love ya so much I wanna split yer head in two with me boot. [Magnus laughs quietly and hugs him back.] Magnus: ...I love you so much, I want to break that jaw o’ yours into bits...

#magnus findlay #aran ryan #punch out!!#punch out wii #punch out oc #i need to make more magnus stuff

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sharperthewriter · 1 year

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Chapter 7 of Roneo and Kimliet

Chapter 7

Bonnie headed down the stairs to meet the girls.

The Ashleys came in first. Ashley B and Ashley T were wearing blue and green tube tops, respectively, with baggy Club Banana carpenter jeans. Ashley A, like Bonnie, was wearing her Club Banana baggy denim overalls. She wore hers with the bib down but with straps still hooked and a belt to hold them up. Ashley Q was in a purple Britina shirt and a Club Banana denim jumpsuit that was unbuttoned. She tied up the sleeves to hold it up. While Ashley A and Ashley T went with pink sneakers, Ashley Q and Ashley B went with high-heeled boots. They all had giant gold hoop earrings and various expensive gold and silver necklaces and bracelets.

Hope and Amanda came in last. Hope was in a short pink dress and black high heels. and Amanda, like Ashley Q, was in the Club Banana denim jumpsuit. Pairing it with a pink Britina shirt, she had the jumpsuit unbuttoned and only wore the left sleeve up and had the right sleeve tucked in behind her back. She had giant gold hoop earrings as well and brown high-heeled boots.

Within the garage, there were seven metal folding chairs. and a card table. Bonnie and the rest of her clique's girls sat down in the chairs.

"So now that this week's meeting of The Seven is officially in progress, is everyone, including myself, here?" Bonnie asked, for she was the leader of the group.

The other six girls raised their hands in unison.

"Good, now that everybody is present, should we get to our main topic of the day?" Bonnie snickered with a grin.

"You mean humiliating the nerds by telling the football players to give them swirlies?" Ashley T asked.

"No, AT." Bonnie said with a vile smirk.

Ashley Q then raised her hand.

"Or maybe spreading a gossip/rumor that Josh has been cheating on Tara but that she doesn't know about it?"

Bonnie shook her head.

"No, AQ. Not that either."

Ashley B then raised her hand.

"Go, AB!" Bonnie exclaimed, pointing to Ashley B.

"Get this, girls. We humiliate both Possible and Stoppable in front of a crowd of people!"

"Ding! Ding! We have a winner!" Bonnie laughed.

She also added, "So, AB, do you have anything juicy to share with us? I mean, I did command you to spy on both Possible and Stoppable."

Ashley B smiled confidently and pulled out a tape recorder from her purse.

"Don't worry, B. I got that part covered!"

"Good!" Bonnie cackled, "Now, play the tape."

Ashley B snicked, "Got it! Oh and as a forewarning, it contains juicy and...scandalous...details!"

Bonnie rubbed her hands in glee!

"Ooooo! Let's hear it!"

And so, Ashley B played the tape. It contained the juicy details of Ron getting humiliated in his one and only non-tree-related role as the Cowardly Lion when he was being pursued by the makeshift flying monkeys.

Bonnie sighed "Oh, Stoppable. Can you even keep your clothes on for one day?" She also added, "It was a good thing I paid the Robotics Team $100 just to tie those stuffed monkeys onto the toy helicopters!"

Then it got to the part with Kim messing up her lines in MacBeth in her freshman year when she first laid eyes on Josh and getting an F.

"Ohhh...Possible, suffering the drama much?"

"And...oooh...here's the best part!" Ashley B grinned as she fast-forwarded to Kim and Ron's conversation with Monique.

"Getting back to the ish at hand." Kim intervened, "Basically, Barkin is going to reveal the final cast list on Monday. Once he says the name, it's going to be official. As long as me and Ron do not end up in the starting roles, we should be good to be making at the very least a B on this course."

"I'm with Kim on this as well!" Ron agreed, "If I want to be a tree holding the branches...so be it! Even though it would be hard to get out of when I have to use the bathroom."

"But what would happen if, by some chance the students playing Romeo and Juliet end up getting sick and you were pressed by Barkin to take those roles?" Tara asked.

"The both of us would face major humiliation!" Kim exclaimed. "Based on our previous experiences on the stage that we mentioned before!"

"On a humiliation scale of one to five, one being 'ehh, I'll get over this' and five being 'OMG, I can never show my face at school ever again', where would it rank?" Monique asked.

"A definite five, Monique. We would get showered with neverending jeers and boos! Me and Ron would hide ourselves from everyone, even you two, if that were to happen." Kim explained. "Even Drakken's plan with the blushing thing with the flower would be small pebbles compared to this!"

"Wait!" Bonnie insisted, "Go back 30 seconds!"

Ashley B rewound the tape by 30 seconds as Bonnie commanded her.

"But what would happen if, by some chance the students playing Romeo and Juliet end up getting sick and you were pressed by Barkin to take those roles?"

"The both of us would face major humiliation!"

Bonnie gasped with sheer delight.

"Play it again!"

Ashley B did so.

"...and you were pressed by Barkin to take those roles?"

"The both of us would face major humiliation!"

Bonnie confidently replied, "Girls...I found the perfect way to destroy Possible and Stoppable's rep at school for good!"

(AN: had to put in the italics)

#kim possible #fanfiction #roneo and kimliet #chapter 7 #bonnie rockwaller #the ashleys #recess

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