#i really fucking wretched at the sight of that motherfucker

[donny-novitski]

[黒子のバスケ knb rewatch]: 3.01 全カでやってるだけなんで i’m just going at full strength

#[VOMITS] HAIZAKI #i am going to k*ll him #back queue the future #knb #knb* #kurobas #kuroko no basket #kuroko's basketball #kuroko no basuke #the basketball which kuroko plays #i really fucking wretched at the sight of that motherfucker #i cannot deal with him these next few eps help #seirin #kagami taiga #midotaka #aomine daiki #kise ryouta #himuro tatsuya #haizaki shougo #GROSS #mine #knbzone #also the colouring is ugly as hell bc of the dark ass scenes i CANNOT COLOUR HAHAHA.... #animeedit

[angelicamerlinbarnes]

Seven times someone spoke to a Marauder alone in a portrait and one person who spoke to them all together

In a world where all the Marauders died in the first war, their souls are preserved in portraits in Hogwarts. Their stories are legend if a bit tweaked, and their names are famous if a bit forgettable. But they were painted individually, and housed all over the castle, separated for all eternity from each other.

(Also, there are seven Marauders because Lily, Severus, and Regulus. Fight me.)

(FOR CONTEXT: Regulus married a Muggle named Amir and had a daughter with him named Hailee. Regulus and Sirius never fell out and Regulus calls Remus “Mum” because reasons. Sirius and Remus married and died without children and James and Lily had Harry with their partner, Severus. Peter had a nonbinary partner named Max, but they died in the war.)

ONE: Regulus Black (Room of Requirement) & Draco Malfoy [Second Year - Youth (Daughter)]

Draco is coming back from Quidditch practice after calling Hermione a Mudblood. He’s walking alone down a hallway empty of doors when one suddenly materializes in front of him. He walks inside, too curious not to, and finds a room with two chairs in front of a crackling fire.

Over the fire hangs a portrait of a young man with pale skin, ebony hair, and striking grey eyes. Draco sits down in one of the chairs and picks up the cup of hot cocoa from the coffee table, looking up at the portrait, which has now started moving.

“Who are you?” He asks, and the portrait shoots him a grim look.

“My name is Regulus Black. Do you know who I am?”

Draco shakes his head. Regulus hums, tugging at something around his wrist.

“I’m a Death Eater who defied Voldemort,” he says, pulling his sleeves up to reveal a blank wrist. “They didn’t paint me with that wretched Mark, thank Merlin.”

Draco puts his cocoa down, nervous, and finds his eyes darting around the room for a door.

“How do I get out of here?” He asks with all the politeness he can muster, and Regulus offers him a wry smile.

“Right through that door,” he says gently, pointing to the door now etching itself out of the wall. “But please remember, Draco - you make your own choices in life. You decide who you are. Not a House, not a name, not a Mark. You. Do not forget that like I did.”

Draco nods, backing towards the door.

“But you defected,” he says, feeling small. Regulus smiles sadly, his eyes cutting.

“Yes, I did. And I paid for it with my life. And the life of my partner, and my daughter, and my brother and my mum and my best friends. I paid, Draco. I’m still paying.”

Draco has his hand on the door knob. “Huh,” he says, and opens the door when Regulus adds, “Oh, and Draco, dear? Don’t call people Mudbloods. There’s no such thing. And it’s rude.”

Draco nods frantically and closes the door so hard he lands flat on his ass in the hallway, watching the door seal itself and fade back into stone.

TWO: James Potter (Gryffindor Quidditch “Hall” of Fame, Gryffindor Common Room) & Seamus Finnigan [Fourth Year - Never Not (Lauv)]

Seamus finds himself alone in the Gryffindor common room one Wednesday morning, pretending to be sick with a cold. He’s wrapped in a blanket and staring into the empty fireplace when he hears, “YO! KID!”

Startled, he falls off the couch, and stumbles up and over to the Quidditch trophy case in the corner. There, in a small frame, is the smiling face of a boy who looks just like Harry, except without the mark, with dark eyes, and happier. Seamus reads the plaque, James Potter, and smiles sadly, wondering if Harry has ever talked to this portrait before.

James, meanwhile, barrels forward, “You’re the one in love with that lanky black kid, right?” Seamus’ eyes snap up as he sputters, but James just grins. “Cool. I thought so. Can I give you some advice…?”

“Seamus.”

“Can I give you some advice, Seamus?”

Seamus, now bright red, says, “Um, sure?”

James’ eyes twinkle and he says, “Tell him.”

Seamus starts coughing, beating his chest as James laughs and he protests, “No! No, I can’t just tell my best friend I’m in love with him!”

James shrugs. “You can,” he says. “You wanna know a secret?” He leans in just a bit. “My best friends fell in love.”

Seamus startles. “What?” He breathes, and James grins.

“Yeah. Sirius Potter and Remus Lupin. Wasted six bloody years apart before finally giving in and admitting it. They’re the most in love people I’ve ever met.” His brow wrinkles. “Well, except Sev and Lily and me.” It wrinkles further. “Nah, I gotta give ‘em this one.”

Seamus gapes in shock for a moment before blurting, “That werewolf and the Black runaway were in love?! And you - fuck, you were with Severus Snape???” James stares at him for a moment before blinking and then bursting into laughter.

When he finally calms down, he looks back up at Seamus’ flushed face and says, “Sirius is a Potter and a Lupin, not a Black. And he and Remy loved each other more than anything. And yeah, Sev and Lily and I had some real fun times.” He tilts his head in consideration and says, “Actually, now that I think about it, some of those happened right on that couch over there. It’s weird they haven’t gotten a new one, huh?”

Seamus sputters for a third and final time and skitters away with a tomato-red face as James shouts after him, “TELL HIM, KID! SHOVE HIM AGAINST A WALL AND SNOG HIM SENSELESS!”

(Seamus, later, to Harry: “Your dad is fucking wack, bro.”)

THREE: Lily Evans (Library, Restricted Section) & Cedric Diggory [Fourth Year - Someone To You (BANNERS), Good Old Days (Kesha, Macklemore)]

Cedric sneaks into the Restricted Section to hide from all the pressure of the tournament. One night he’s thumbing through the books in his boredom when he finds an unframed portrait of a smiling redhead. As soon as he lifts her out of the book, titled The Marauders: A Complete History of Unfiltered Pranks (by Minerva Mcgonogall for Minerva Mcgonogall, signed by Regulus Lupin, Peter Pettigrew, Severus Snape, James Potter, Remus Lupin, Sirius Lupin (Love you Minnie!), and Lily Evans), the portrait pipes up, “Hi! I’m Lily!”

Cedric nearly drops the book in shock, but manages to catch it at the last second, mustering up a smile for the grinning portrait and introducing himself. She beams and glances at the book in his hand, her smile turning mischievous. “That’s a good one. We did get up to a lot, didn’t we?”

Speechless, he nods, not really processing that she’s just admitted to being Lily Evans, and her eyes dull with sadness at the sight of one of the injuries on his collarbone from the most recent challenge.

“Where’d you get that?” She asks, and he explains the tournament. She hums, and finally murmurs, “I heard them say my son is in that. Is that true?”

Mouth dry, Cedric nods, and Lily looks up at him again with glassy eyes and rasps, “Can you tell him I love him? That I’m proud of him and so are his fathers? Can you tell him that for me?”

Cedric nods again, hearing a creak and turning his head towards the noise when Lily whispers, “Go. Go, Cedric, before you get caught. Be brave, honey.” Cedric shoves the portrait back into the book and the book back onto the shelf with a muttered goodbye before sprinting away, Lily’s words echoing in his ears like a dying child’s scream.

FOUR: Sirius Black (Mcgonogall’s Office) & Ginny Weasley [Fifth Year - Alone (Bazzi)]

Ginny is sitting in Mcgonogall’s office, waiting for her professor to come and scold her for punching Zabini (he touched Luna’s ass, what was she supposed to do? Ask him to kindly stick his nose up where the sun don’t shine? She’d still be here, and he’d still be snickering like the slimy motherfucker he is in that dungeon cell he calls his bedroom). She hears a cough from somewhere on Mcgonogall’s desk and straightens up, ducking her head to peek around when she hears, “Pssst. Over here.”

She looks over and sees a framed picture of Sirius Black, grinning as if he’d never died. She swallows down her tears and nods her head in a polite hello. Sirius’ smile saddens as he says, “I hear you’re dating my godson.”

Ginny blushes, but nods, and for a moment, Sirius looks like he’s about to cry. “Why are you here, Ginny?” He asks softly, and she shrugs.

“Punched a Slytherin who touched my friend’s ass.”

Sirius grins at that, nodding his head in respect. “Good girl. You ever think about why that is?”

Ginny’s brow furrows and she opens her mouth to ask what he means when she sees his eyes wandering to a sketch of a wolf howling at the moon on Mcgonogall’s far wall, with the note For you, Minnie. Moony didn’t want it. Love, Sirius.

“I fell in love with a boy once,” Sirius murmurs. “My best friend. Remus Lupin. And he loved me back.”

I know, Ginny wants to say. You two were married and gave baby Harry joint Christmas presents and danced in the kitchen when you thought no one else was still awake. I’ve heard the stories, I’ve seen the pictures. I know. But instead she stays quiet, listening as Sirius tells his story.

“But instead of admitting that, I dated Marlene McKinnon for three years. Sold my gay ass out to a lesbian whore because I was too afraid to tell him how I felt about him.” Ginny has a lot of questions about the “lesbian whore” part - “I mean, she was a friend of mine, but I never wanted to kiss her, or sleep with her, but I did anyway. And he looked so fucking sad all the time. But he didn’t say anything. He didn’t wanna ruin my happiness. I didn’t know how to tell him that he was my happiness. By the time I figured it out, it was too late.”

Ginny swallows, finally speaking up, “Why are you telling me this?” Sirius finally tears his eyes away from the picture of the wolf and the moon and gives her a bitter smile.

“Because I’m dead and my husband and I spent a mere three years together in all of the ten we knew each other. What kind of bullshit is that?”

Ginny shrugs. “Some bullshit,” she answers, and laughs uncomfortably.

Sirius laughs too, then sighs. He looks deep into her eyes and says, “I love my godson. You make sure he knows that. But I also love my husband. And I spent too damn long running from that. So let me save you a bit of trouble, Ginny - the greatest love is often the scariest.”

Ginny purses her lips. “What are you saying?” She says slowly, and Sirius smiles sadly as Mcgonogall’s heels come clicking down the hall.

“I’m saying maybe you shouldn’t waste your time on Harry when both your and his hearts lie elsewhere.”

Ginny blushes, looking down at the homemade bracelet Luna made her three summers ago, and at the sound of the door opening, she looks back up at a frozen Sirius, whose eyes are caught on Mcgonogall, somehow still twinkling.

FIVE: Peter Pettigrew (Outside Gryffindor Dorms) & Ron Weasley [Fifth Year - lovely (Billie Eilish, Khalid)]

Ron is sulking on the stairs outside the Gryffindor common room after a particularly bad Quidditch loss. He wishes he were with Hermione and Harry, but they were already tangled together when he came upstairs and he didn’t want to intrude, even though they invited him to.

He knows they’re all best friends, he just feels so much like the third wheel sometimes. So he’s sulking when he hears a soft, “Hey.”

He looks up in surprise and sees a portrait of Peter Pettigrew, and he immediately steels his eyes, backing away. Seeing this, Peter shouts, “Wait, no! I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I know! I just - I didn’t actually betray them, you know? Okay, well, I did, but - but I fixed it! They forgave me! I promise I’m not evil, I’m not, Ron -”

“How do you know my name?” Ron blurts, and Peter jumps back in his frame, startled, then smiles softly.

“They say it,” he answers. “Harry, and that girl you’re always with. They say your name all the time.”

Ron blushes. “Oh,” he says, ducking his head with a smile. When he looks back up into Peter’s sad eyes, he says, “We lost today. Quidditch.”

Peter cocks his head. “To who?”

Ron shrugs, looking down at his lap and fidgeting with his fingers over his knees. “Slytherin. Never lost against Slytherin before.”

Peter shrugs. “James and Sirius did. All the time.”

Ron looks up. “Really?” Peter smiles softly.

“Yeah. Mostly because they wanted Severus and Regulus to feel good, but. Yeah, they lost to Slytherin all the damn time.”

Ron’s smile fades. “Severus? Like, Snape? The Death Eater?”

Peter winces, then shrugs. “The Order spy. But, yeah.”

Ron blinks in shock. “They were friends? Even after Lily?”

Peter’s brow furrows in confusion, but he answers anyway, “Yes? They were dating. Them and Lily. Sent the whole school up in flames.”

Ron’s jaw drops open. “You can do that?”

Peter shrugs. “Yeah, ‘course you can. You can date Harry and that girl if you want. No one’s stopping you.”

Ron flushes, looking down in shame.

“They don’t want me,” he mumbles. “Not the way they want each other.”

Peter hums. “Severus said that too. So did James. They were both idiots.” Looking up at Ron’s glistening eyes and pouting lips, he smiles.

“Just because you’re not the smartest or the strongest or the funniest or the best at anything in particular doesn’t mean you’re not important, or that people don’t care about you.”

Ron nods, slowly. He stands and heads back inside without another word, pretending he doesn’t hear Peter sigh and say, “You’re welcome,” bitterly as he mumbles the password to the Fat Lady and slips back through the crack in the door.

SIX: Severus Snape (Headmaster’s Office) & Hermione Granger [Sixth Year - Ophelia (The Lumineers), O Children (Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds)]

Hermione is visiting Dumbledore’s office for her Prefect badge and an overview of the position while Ron and Harry are brooding in their room. The three of them have become far closer than normal lately, and she’s almost glad to be away for a moment, as they’ve always been more honest with each other when she isn’t around. She can’t decide if that bothers her or not.

She’s waiting for Dumbledore to get there when she hears, “Miss Granger, correct?” in a slow, molasses drawl.

She looks up at the portrait labelled Severus Snape and answers the boy in the Slytherin tie, “Yes. Hello, Mr. Snape.”

Severus grins slowly, a cat-like expression of amusement and carefully calculated arrogance. “Smart one, aren’t you?” He asks, and she nods. He clicks his tongue. “Should’ve been in Ravenclaw.”

She flushes and opens her mouth to retort when the Sorting Hat starts shouting about insecure fuckwads who don’t know their place and Severus starts screaming back about it not doing its fucking job right until finally Hermione screams, “STOP!”

The hat grumbles off to sleep again while she stares a shocked Severus down, her shaking hands curled in fists as she says, “Please don’t shout at it. It’s tired.”

Severus raises an eyebrow, but huffs and turns away. She sees his blank arm as he turns his back to her and feels her heart break open with pity.

“You’re Harry’s father, right?” She asks softly, and his head whips towards her in shock. She offers a sad smile and explains, “Lily and James. There are no records, of course, but…”

“You’re Mcgonogall’s favorite,” Severus finishes, smiling wryly. “Yes. I am one of Harry’s fathers.”

Hermione nods, looking down at her books, and swallows before looking back up again to say, “He really loves you.”

Severus rears back in shock, his eyes searching her for lies as she tears up. “He really does. You may not know it, and he doesn’t speak of it, but - but I can tell. He misses you.”

Severus’ eyes turn dull and glassy and he turns away, hiding his face with his long shaggy hair. Hermione swallows down her tears, smiling again. “Yes, well -”

“I love him too,” Severus interrupts, voice soft. “I miss him too. We all do. Tell… tell him that, would you?”

Hermione blinks, then nods.

“Of course,” she says, ducking her head as the staircase starts to rumble. “I’ll take good care of him, sir.”

Severus smiles that sad wry smile again and stills just as Dumbledore steps through the door, but Hermione hears his silence echo in her ears.

Thank you.

SEVEN: Remus Lupin (Defense Against the Dark Arts Classroom) & Luna Lovegood [Seventh Year - Dynasty (MIIA), Towards The Sun (Rihanna)]

As the war comes closer and closer to Hogwarts, the students there grow more and more anxious. Luna herself takes refuge in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, where only Harry and Ginny know to find her. But with Harry on the run with Ron and Hermione and Ginny trying to hold down the fort with Seamus and Dean, Luna often finds herself alone.

One day she decides to make her way up onto the balcony over the classroom that leads to the office, and she reaches for the knob on the office door when she hears, “Don’t go in there, Miss Lovegood.”

She looks over at the portrait who’s spoken, dubbed Remus Lupin, and smiles. He smiles kindly back and asks, “What are you even looking for?”

Luna shrugs. “Some way to help, I guess.”

Remus smiles wryly and nods, glancing down at the wedding ring adorning his finger. His smile softens for a moment before he says, “Sometimes, Miss Lovegood, the best way to win a war is by treating others with kindness.”

Luna tilts her head to the side. “Like, with hugs and smiles?” She asks, and Remus smiles, biting his lip and nodding. His eyes are glassy, but she pretends not to notice.

“Yes, my dear, with hugs and smiles. Support each other. Take no conversation for granted. Merlin knows the only thing that comforted me in the first war was the constant reminders that I still had my family. That they were fighting with me, and that I was fighting for them.”

Luna nods sagely and looks down at the bracelets littering her wrists, each one made for a different person in her life: Ginny, her girlfriend; Harry, her partner; Neville, her best friend; Draco and Ron and Hermione, her friends. She asks, “What comforted you when you died? I know… I know it wasn’t fast. Or painless.”

Remus smiles, his eyes shining with kindness and hope despite the exhausted bruises beneath them and the scars across his face.

“I wasn’t alone,” he answers, his voice soft. “I died by Sirius’ side. I was holding his hand when I saw the light. And in the light there were silhouettes - James, Peter, Lily, Severus, Regulus. They were waiting for us. And I knew we would be okay.”

Luna nods. She twists a ring on her finger and says, “Thank you, Mr. Lupin. I’d best be going now.”

Remus nods as she begins to descend the steps, his voice ringing out one last time, “Good luck, Luna. I hope to Merlin your victory will be more permanent than ours.”

Luna twirls around, cocking her head as she asks, “You think we’ll win?” Remus smiles.

He nods, his eyes twinkling, and says, “Someone has to. Why not you?”

ONE: All Together Again (Grimmauld Place, Harry & Ron & Hermione’s Bedroom)  & Harry Potter [After Graduation of Eighth Year - Daylight (Taylor Swift)]

Following the end of the war, Harry moves into Grimmauld Place, left to him by the godfather he never knew. He takes Hermione and Ron with him, the three of them having been in a committed relationship since sometime when they were on the run and following an unspoken agreement that they will follow each other anywhere.

Luna lives nearby with Ginny, in an apartment by Draco’s little cottage and Neville’s tiny hovel. The three of them live quietly, though their friends visit often. Harry feels better, happier, though the hole left by his missing family is still there.

One day, as he’s putting up pictures of him and his partners around their shared bedroom, he hears, “Harry?”

He looks up, and there, on the opposite wall, is a picture of the seven Marauders, all young and staring at him in shock. Harry tears up and rushes over, taking the picture delicately in his hands and smiling as he rakes his eyes over his lost family. They all grin back, and Harry reads the inscription on the frame: My dear Marauders, You have been my pride and joy for seven long short years. I know you will all do great things; I cannot wait to see what you accomplish. You are, and have always been, my favorite students. All my love, Minnie.

Harry covers his mouth, emotional, until finally James asks, “Are you happy?”

Harry looks at Remus and Sirius, their fingers intertwined and their eyes sparkling. He looks at Regulus and Peter, their arms around each other’s shoulders as they grin. He looks at Severus and Lily and James, his three wonderful parents. And he looks down at the two wedding rings on the chain around his own neck, bearing the initials R.W. and H.G.. And he nods.

“Yeah,” he answers, grinning. “Yeah, I’m really fucking happy.”

#marauders #harry potter #wolfstar #james x lily x severus #regulus black #james potter #lily evans #sirius black #peter pettigrew #severus snape #remus lupin #draco malfoy #seamus finnigan #cedric diggory #ginny weasley #ron weasley #hermione granger #luna lovegood #deamus #linny #harry x hermione x ron #minerva mcgonogall #albus dumbledore #i dunno i just wanted them to be happy #except i have a very twisted idea of what happiness is #or so i've been told #have a nice day y'all

[wizardofrozz]

The Perfect Pair

Warnings: swearing, violence, death of background characters, angst

Pairing: Loki x OFC

A/N: I hope everyone is enjoying this so far! ❤

____________________________________________________________

Chapter 9: Sakaar Welcomes You

My eyes snapped open at the sudden impact of my body slamming into a solid surface, knocking the wind out of me; I gasped, violently clawing at my chest, trying to relieve the pressure. Being able to breathe again chased off some of the stress, momentarily at least; I pushed myself into a sitting position, squinting at the sun, surveying my surroundings. Pulling air into my lungs at a steady pace soothed the burning feeling in my chest, but the ache I was all too familiar with roared to life again. Free falling through space for what felt like days left my legs about as useful as wet noodles; it took me a few minutes to adjust to gravity again, bracing myself against piles of garbage. Where the hell am I? I shuffled between mounds of trash, hoping to run into someone; after 15 minutes or so, my legs had adjusted, making trudging through the scrap yard easier. I caught a flash of movement off to my left, but I turned to get a better look, only to come up empty; another flicker of movement caused me to whip my head in the other direction. I froze when I heard something crunch behind me; I spun around, coming face to face with a group of eight creatures that I didn’t recognize.             “Back off,” I snarled, lunging forward. The creatures jumped, stepping back slightly but proceeded to stare at me; a few narrowed their eyes, trying to understand what they were seeing.             “Food!” one of the creatures yelled. The rest of the group responded with an array of screams and shouts as they charged me; I simply lifted my hand, palm out, sending tendrils of magic to wrap around each of their throats, lifting all eight creatures off the ground. A wicked smile crept across my face as I watched the creatures struggling against the magic cutting off their airflow; I slowly turned my hand, the pressure against their throats increasing. I gently started to close my hand, watching their eyes bug out until I noticed a ship clumsily lowering towards the ground behind where the creatures came from. The ship roughly dropped, a walkway extending as a woman stumbling out of the ship; I rolled my eyes as she drunkenly made her way to solid ground.             “Hm, impressive,” she laughed when she noticed the creatures hanging in the air a few feet from her. I raised an eyebrow, simultaneously flicking my wrist, snapping all eight necks, smiling at the distinct thuds as bodies hit the ground.             “Who are you?” I pushed my hood off, watching the woman nudge one of the bodies with her foot, nodding as she moved around the bodies.            “Scrapper 142,” she shouted over her shoulder. “You’re powerful,” she raised an eyebrow, meeting my eyes.            “Really, I had no idea,” I snorted, glaring at her.            “Hm, Grand Master might like you,” she mumbled, surging to her feet, tossing a small disk at me. I lifted a hand again, freezing the object a few inches from my hand; the disk turned to dust with a simple thought.            “Yeah, I don’t think so,” I snickered.            “Actually, I kind of like you too,” she laughed, taking a step closer. I ran my eyes over her now that she was facing me; I caught the tail of a very familiar tattoo on her right wrist.            “Oh, for shit's sake, you’re a Valkyrie,” I sighed, scrubbing my face.            “Was,” she corrected.            “Whatever,” I waved her off. I watched as she studied my armor, slowly getting closer; I tensed, magic crackling across my fingers.            “Relax, killer; I thought I recognized your armor.”            “I’d hope so; it’s Asgardian,” I sighed again.            “What’s your name?” she barked, narrowing her eyes at me.             “Violet,” I disclosed, narrowing my eyes at her. Something about her seemed familiar, but I couldn’t place it; I continued to stare at her, willing my brain to come up with something.            “No fucking way!” she shouted, a smile spreading across her face for the first time. The goofy grin on her face finally made it all click.            “Brunnhilde?” I gasped, my eyes widening.            “Holy shit, I thought you were dead!” she laughed, pulling me into a rough hug. I tensed for a moment but quickly relaxed into the hug, wrapping my arms around her. “How long has it been since I’ve seen you?”            “I have no idea,” I laughed sharply, pulling back to look at her. “The last time I saw you was before Odin sent you off on some secret mission.” She visibly cringed at the memory; pain was written all over her face before it was replaced by disgust.            “Odin sent us to our death. Hela broke free, and he sent us to push her back. She massacred the Valkyrie. I managed to escape, barely,” she mumbled, wringing her hands.            “Shit, Bea, I had no idea,” I whispered, resting a hand on her shoulder. “Well, good news, Hela’s back,” I grunted.            “No shit? Glad I’m here then,” she laughed dryly.           “Where is here, by the way?”            “Welcome to Sakaar.” Bea spread her arms wide, a smirk pulling at her lips.            “Looks like a shithole.” Bea laughed, clapping a hand on my shoulder, steering me towards her ship.           “You got that right, but unless you’re in a rush to get somewhere, stay a while. Could always use more scrappers,” Bea smiled, slinging her arm over my shoulders.           “I should try to get my ass back to Asgard,” I grumbled, irritated that part of me even cared about Asgard.            “Let me rephrase that; Grandmaster isn’t going to let you leave easily. You’re stuck without a good ship, so stay a while,” Bea sighed, gesturing to the seat next to the pilot chair.            “Son of a bitch,” I rubbed between my eyes, trying to chase off the migration building. “Great, my...partner is going to be pissed when I eventually show up again.”            “Sounds like an asshole,” Bea snorted, raising an eyebrow.            “That’s an understatement, but I love him for some stupid ass reason,” I sighed, trying to ignore the persistent ache that gripped my soul.            “Well, kick back and relax for a while,” Bea smirked, steering the ship off the ground. I took a deep breath, leaning back into the seat; I have to figure out how to get a ship of my own if I plan to get back to Loki. Unfortunately, it looks like being a scrapper is my best bet.                                                                                                                                 /// 3 weeks later I threw back the rest of my drink, slamming the bottle onto the counter, cheers erupting around me; the harsh burn of the alcohol dulled the suffocating agony enough to function.             “Damnit,” a dirty, ragged creature mumbled from next to me.             “Pay up motherfucker,” I laughed, holding my arm out. I watched the credits deposit into my account, a devilish grin spreading across my face; I winked at the angry creature, jumping off my stool.             “Alright, enough hustling asshole,” Bea laughed, grabbing my arm to pull me away from the bar.             “You’re no fun,” I bump shoulders with her when I stumbled, earning a loud laugh from her.             “Oh, did you hear, Grandmaster has a new apple of his eye,” she chuckled, taking a swig from the bottle dangling from her fingers.             “Oh boy,” I rolled my eyes. “Who’s he pining after now?”             “No idea, a few of the servants were gossiping about it. Apparently, Grandmaster has the hots for this guy, but he’s not interested in screwing the old guy,” she burps as she finished her sentence.             “Poor guy has no idea what’s in store for him,” I giggled, drunkenly stumbling a little.             “Don’t blame Grandmaster, though; I’ve heard he’s pretty good-looking. Hair almost as black as yours,” Bea winked, licking her lips.             “Stop imagining about me naked,” I laughed, burping in between giggles.             “I’m not sorry,” she giggled, stumbling into me.             “Scrapper 142, Scrapper 210,” someone called from the end of the hall.             “What?” I yelled, hiccupping again.             “Grandmaster is looking for the two of you,” a small servant girl called, rolling her eyes at us.             “Where is he?” I asked, stopping a few feet from her.             “Follow me,” she sighed, turning away from us.             “I’m too drunk for this,” Bea giggled, bumping into me again.             “Ah, there’s my favorite scrappers,” Grandmaster bellowed, a wide smile on his face.             “Grandmaster,” Bea and I hummed together, trying to collect ourselves.             “I wanted to pay you for your last haul. We have a new wonderful group of unpaid workers,” he smiled, bouncing on the balls of his feet.             “Thank you, Grandmaster,” I stated, bowing my head slightly; Bea followed my lead.             “OH! Have you met my new friend?” -he leaned in to whisper to us- “He showed up a few days ago,” he wiggled his eyebrows, making my stomach wretch. “Here he comes, say hello,” he pushed, gesturing towards the door to my right.             “Of course,” Bea answered. I took a deep breath turning to face the poor sap Grandmaster was pinning for now; my brows pulled together when I had the unshakeable urge to move towards the door. I didn’t move, but my stomach dropped to my feet, suddenly sober, my heartbeat like a jackhammer in my chest as he rounded the corner, his eyes focused on the floor. I almost fainted, frantically grabbing Bea’s arm to steady myself as tears pricked at my eyes. “What the hell’s wrong with you!” she whispered harshly.             “Loki,” I borderline sobbed. Loki’s stopped dead in his tracks, his head snapping up, his gaze landing on me a few seconds later. Loki stumbled slightly, like the sight of me almost knocked him to his knees as his eyes watered.             “Vi? You’re alive,” he choked. The relief that flooding over me made me gasp for air, my head spinning momentarily. The second a relieved smile spread across Loki’s face, I ran for him, sending him stumbling back a few steps when I slammed into him, instinctively, wrapping my legs around his waist; Loki gripped my thigh with one hand, wrapping his other arm around my ribs to hold me close.             “Holy shit,” I choked, squeezing him tighter.             “I was sure you were dead,” Loki whispered into my skin, his shoulders shaking slightly.             “Please” -I pulled back so I could see his face- “only you’re allowed to kill me for good. A handful of scrappers tried, but nothing I couldn’t handle.” I stared into his sparkling shamrock green eyes, just taking a minute to comprehend that he’s alive. Loki’s thumb traced circles along my thigh, bringing me back to reality from the sea of emotions coursing through me.             “Haven’t lost your edge, darling,” Loki chuckled, his face getting closer as he spoke. My stomach fluttered, having him so close, and decided I wasn’t waiting anymore; I surged forward, slamming my lips to his. Loki let out a surprised yelp that quickly morphed into a throaty moan as my tongue coaxed his lips apart. “Darling,” Loki hummed, reluctantly breaking the kiss.             “Fuck,” I groaned, my head dropping onto his shoulder.             “Believe me, I’m going to ravage you” -I shivered against him- “but we have to wait.” I sighed, bracing myself on his shoulders so I could unwrap my legs from around his waist; once my feet were safely on the floor again, Loki gripped the back of my neck, looking into my eyes. “I love you, little one,” he said with a sweet smile, his fingers massaging my neck.             “I love you too, shithead,” I chuckled, resting my hand on his forearm.             “Well, I can assume you two know each other,” Grandmaster pipped up.             “Uh, yes. It appears my queen made it here before me,” Loki mumbled, continuing to rub the back of my neck.             “Queen?” Grandmaster and Bea said together.             “It’s a long, kind of awful story,” I laughed awkwardly. “But yes, I technically was Queen.”             “That means you’re married….” Bea trailed off, her eyes flicking between Loki and me.             “Yes, we kept it simple and a secret,” Loki sighed, squeezing my neck a little too tight.             “I’m sorry I didn’t say anything, Bea” -I stepped away from Loki- “but I honestly thought he was dead. I wasn’t ready to bring it up.” I grabbed one of her hands, trying to ignore the death glare she gave me; I locked eyes with her, her expression softening slightly. “Come on, I never shared my feelings,” I giggled, squeezing her hand.             “No kidding,” she snorted, rolling her eyes. “I guess I can’t be too pissed. I knew you weren’t getting blackout drunk just for fun.”             “Well, this is interesting, to say the least,” Grandmaster huffed, turning to leave the room. Once Loki, Bea, and I were alone, Loki let out the breath he was holding, bracing his hands on his knees.             “Thank god,” Loki panted; my heart swelled when the light caught the metal chain that shifted around his neck when he bent forward.             “Don’t worry; you don’t have to sleep with him,” I jabbed. Loki’s head shot up, his eyes wide with fear as he stood straight again.             “Oh god, I hope you’re joking,” he croaked.             “Nope, that was his plan,” Bea tried to say around laughter.             “When it comes down to it, I don’t particularly care about gender, but he makes me extremely uncomfortable. I could feel him watching me.” Loki shivered at the thought; Bea and I lost it, laughing until our stomachs hurt, earning a dirty look from Loki.             “Come on. I’m starving,” Bea grunted when we finally calmed down. I reached for Loki’s hand, and he made sure to give me another dirty look before threading his fingers with mine.                                                               

                                                         ///

Bea and I left Loki with Grandmaster when he requested we make a few extra rounds when unknown life was sensed in the scrap yard.             “So, are you going to tell me about your wedding?” Bea probed, her elbow catching my ribs.             “As Loki said, it was nothing big or elegant. Mainly, it was so I could take on the responsibility of Queen behind the scenes,” I shrugged.             “Bullshit. You two didn’t get married for strictly business reasons. I mean, come on, I was just in the room when you two saw each other again. So spill it,” Bea insisted.            “...okay, no, it wasn’t strictly business. Loki and I have been doing this intricate dance for years now. Rage-fueled fights, empty threats, mind-blowing hate fucking, but I’ve never felt a deeper, more complex connection with another being in my 1000-something years of life. It’s like something deeper connects us,” I rambled, my eyes trained on the floor.             “Gods, you make me feel old,” Bea grumbled. “Anyway. So what, you two married in secret, and the Asgardians didn’t make a fuss?”             “Well, that’s the thing. Loki was impersonating Odin, so the Asgardians didn’t know Loki was actually ruling, meaning I wasn’t publicly named Queen.”            “I was wondering how Loki managed to get the thrown before Thor,” Bea mumbled, shaking her head.            “Yeah, it wasn’t our best moment, but Asgard is thriving. The Nine Realms are at peace. I think we did a pretty good job,” I boasted.             “I think I’d take Loki over Thor anyway. Loki never struck me as part of the typical royal family with all the lies and secrets. So I’m not surprised he managed the throne well,” Bee said with a shrug.             “You don’t even know the half of it,” I mumbled. Loki’s Jotunn heritage was still a reasonably well-kept secret, and I planned to keep it that way, along with my halfling bloodline. I glanced at Bea, feeling guilty for keeping it from her; for a second, I thought of telling her, but the fear of judgment and hostility kept my lips sealed.

____________________________________________________________

Series Masterlist | Chapter 10

Taglist: 

@criminalyetminimal​ @marvelfansworld​ 

#loki #loki laufeyson #loki odinson #loki x ofc #loki laufeyson x ofc #loki odinson x ofc #god of mischief #frost giant #halfling #asgard #asgardian #half frost giant ofc #half asgardian ofc #jotunheim #loki smut #angst #violence #prince loki #prince of asgard #loki series #loki laufeyson series #loki odinson series #god of lies #loki of asgard #loki of jotunheim #marvel #mcu #magic #magic ofc #loki fic

[billhaderlovebot]

beep beep (3) - richie tozier.

(how fucking babey is this man?? i??? hhhh???)

@ceruleanrainblues @the-star-above-you @a-second-hand-sorrow

ok! so! some like, violence type stuff? some fluff, some angst, richie being babey, bad language, sex references. here we go lesbians.

---

it had taken richie everything in him not to break when he had returned from the arcade. not to just unravel in front of you and let himself go.

but he didn't. he couldn't.

and he couldn't, now, either.

when pennywise, with gnarled, elongated hands and fingers that almost looked barbed, lifted you from the ground.

ripped you from richie's arms and held you struggling in the air.

"always the hardest to scare." It said, and you groaned in discomfort as It's hot breath fanned the back of your neck, its clawed, twisted hand tightening around your waist. "always the fighter."

"you get the fuck off of her, right the fuck now." richie gritted his teeth, clenching and unclenching his fists. yeah, he was probably going to throw up.

--

richie loved you.

obviously.

he had loved you every single day of his life since he was fourteen fucking years old. every single day.

he knew, now, staring at you, your body curled around his protectively even though you were so much smaller, that his wretched heart would continue to love you for every moment of the rest of his life (plus two or three weeks, for good measure.)

often, when you were kids and you'd nap together in his bed because his parents were out (they were always out) and you needed to be near each other, he would fall asleep after you, just so he could lay awake and watch you breathe. watch you exist so serenely and look so fucking soft in his arms that he could have cried. you looked frightfully vulnerable when you were asleep, though, which always bothered him.

now, years later, you were no different. breaths coming slow and warm and ghosting across the crook of his neck where you had buried your face. so small. so vulnerable.

richie subconsciously held you a little tighter.

he would do anything for you, good lord.

even if it killed him.

you'd been asleep for about a half hour, but richie couldn't drift off.

richie hadn't told you about his artefact because the guilt that came with it sat on his chest like a fucking dumbbell. guilt, because he hadn't told you something very, very important.

you were not his first love.

but eddie kaspbrak was.

and he was guilty. guilty because he had moved on and because he had hidden such a huge part of his life from you. you, who wasn't his first love, but would undoubtedly be his last.

you, who was the love of his life.

eddie had been the first person he'd ever felt any sort of love for. when they were young, before you, and eddie would obsessively straighten the collars of his hawaiian shirts and clean his glasses for him and put band-aids on cuts and scrapes and used curse words that rivalled his own. eddie was the only one to care about him when his parents didn't. richie loved him so, so much and it had awakened a part of him he'd been ashamed of ever since.

it had been a sort of relief when he had met you, really, because he could pass himself off to the world as a normal guy with a normal girlfriend and a normal life. normal.

and oh, how he would do anything for you.

the girl who swore like a fucking sailor and held him tight and got so stoned she couldn't walk while listening to the cure on her portable radio. you'd been his distraction, to begin with, but he found himself falling fast and hard for you.

it scared him, how much he loved you. he'd never fallen so hard. he'd never given so much of himself to another person, bearing his soul to you because you were the only person he wanted to see it.

he'd come to you for solace and comfort, and had ended up loving you so much that nothing else mattered to him. and the day he'd kissed you in the clubhouse was perhaps the best decision of his life. the towering tsunami that was his love for you, crashing over him in almost overwhelming waves, kept him going for two fucking decades.

there was a smaller wave, though, too. smaller, but potent, lapping at his ankles and reminding him that he was not, by any stretch of the imagination, as normal as he wanted to be. as normal as he willed himself to be. because... he loved you, but once upon a time, he had loved eddie kaspbrak. so much.

he had carved your initials onto the kissing bridge the same day he had kissed you for the first time, bigger, and far away from eddie's, as if it would erase what had used to be.

it couldn't erase it, of course. erase what was, and always would be, a part of him.

richie tozier was...

he was different.

and he couldn't, for the life of him, figure out why it had happened to him. he had always been told it was wrong.

wrong, wrong, wrong. run, you fucking fairy.

and he had run. so fucking far. even now, when his job was to be controversial, he couldn't fucking say it. he could think of nothing more controversial than being b...

than liking both.

i mean, he could, but after years of being told how fucking weird and perverted and wrong it was by people who didn't even know him, he expected a certain reaction. richie glanced over to his jacket hanging on the back of the door, where the arcade token sat in the pocket. well, fuck.

you stirred a few minutes later, looking up at him with sleepy eyes and a tired smile, and, in that moment, everything was okay.

he kissed you, then. softly. ever so softly and almost like he was afraid you would break.

"what was that for?" you asked after he pulled away, heat rushing to your cheeks.

"i just... love you. that's all." his voice was quiet. "im so fucking in love with you."

you didn't notice anything out of the ordinary until tears welled in his eyes, his lips shaking as he held something back.

"richie? what's-"

"marry me." richie whispered, wiping his eyes and leaning his forehead against yours.

"huh?"

"let's get married, baby."

"yeah. yeah, okay."

----

you had gone absolutely fucking mental when richie had been caught in the deadlights, his eyes clouding and his face devoid of any emotion. beverly had had to hold you back to stop you from going right after him, screaming for him at the top of your lungs because he was floating.

he was floating away and you were going to lose him to the jaws of hell.

"RICHIE!"

"stop!" bev had pleaded. "stop it, you can't do anything! he's too far up!"

you hated her for that. for just a split second, you hated her. and you were kicking and screaming and crying, hot tears sliding down your face faster than you were sure you could make them.

and before you knew what was up:

"BEEP BEEP, MOTHERFUCKER!"

eddie had yelled, launching the monster-killer right down Its fucking throat. and then richie was on the ground, disoriented and spluttering, and, bev, with a sigh of relief, let go of you. out of the corner of your eye, you saw It, struggling and vomiting what might have been actual lava but also looked strangely like blood. your mind cast back to richie and then you were by his side, shaking him awake.

"richie! fuck!" you were aware of just how loud you were sobbing, grabbing him and holding his head to your chest. "you fucking idiot, oh, fuck, i love you." and he was wrapping his shaking arms around you, panicking and probably crying because he had been caught in the deadlights and what the fuck.

"rich!" eddie was ecstatic, kneeling beside the two of you. "i did it, richie. i think i killed it, guys!"

"EDDIE, LOOK OUT!"

you didn't know what was going on, really, until a colossal, razor sharp claw dug itself into the rock where eddie had just fucking been.

and you were sure you'd never been more thankful for ben hanscom and his intuition.

"holy shit, eds." you just about shrieked.

"it's not dead!" richie was suddenly alert, dragging the three of you to your feet as pennywise crawled up from the ground, the spikes it had fallen on making a wet crunching sound as It tore itself off of them.

everything was happening so fucking fast, and you must have zoned out or something, because all of a sudden you were in the fucking air, torn away from a screaming richie. the sharp, jutting bones of it's long fingers dug into your torso as you were lifted, flailing.

"always the hardest to scare. always the fighter." pennywise all but giggled.

"you get the fuck off of her, right the fuck now." you knew what it sounded like when richie was trying to keep his cool, and right now, he was not doing a very good job.

"are you scared now?" It asked you, grinning from ear to ear. "are you scared, richie's girl?"

"FUCK OFF, YOU BIG DUMB ASSHOLE!" any attempt to kick and struggle was cut short by It's tightening fist, and the sharp ridges of It's fingers cutting into you.

oh, and, yeah, ouch, that was a cracked rib. fuck.

"you are." It growled. "i can smell you."

the losers on the ground stared up in frantic horror, flocking around richie and eddie.

"maybe i should take him, instead. your richie."

"YOU STAY THE FUCK AWAY FROM HIM!"

"i told you i'd get you, richie's girl."

it flicked a long, black tongue over its razor teeth.

"AND I TOLD YOU THAT IM NOT FUCKING AFRAID OF YOU, YOU STUPID CLOWN."

it's face dropped.

its eyes rolled back into its head.

it fucking smiled.

and then, as if you were a ragdoll it was tired of playing with, it tossed you aside.

richie heard it. the fucking sound. the crunch as your body collided with the jagged rocks at the other end of the sewer. he retched and heaved and his legs didn't seem to be working anymore.

he saw your body crumple, and the scream that erupted from his throat wasn't quite human.

---

"you need to wake up." richie held your hand in his own, the wires protruding from your wrist making him feel sick. "you gotta wake up, baby." the steady beep of your heart monitor was the only thing stopping him from going completely fucking insane. "cmon, we're getting married, so... so you gotta come back to me." richie ignored the bile rising in his throat at the sight of you with tubes and wires spilling from every part of you that wasn't cast in bandages. you looked so fucking broken. "we've already lost so much time... and we need to catch up." richie couldn't find it in himself to crack a joke. this was the first time he'd been really, truly happy since he was seventeen, and now it was all hanging in the balance.

richie had heard from bill the morbid account of your injuries. the doctor wasn't able to tell richie, directly, as he was going on a fucking rampage outside, throwing trash cans and yelling and such.

you'd almost died in the operating theatre twice, he had also heard from bill.

"sh-she had uh, bad in-internal b-b-bl-bleeding. they almost c-couldn't stop it."

but they had stopped it. and now you were here. you were alive. but you'd been out for a good three days, and every hour that passed, richie was less and less sure you'd wake up again.

beverly had had to coax richie into a bathroom to clean himself up, bringing him a clean outfit, because he flat out refused to go back to the inn and shower and change. he wouldn't leave you here. she allowed him to cry on her shoulder, and she knew that he only cried in front of you, which threw her, but she held him and let him cry until he couldn't anymore.

"mr tozier?" the nurse who came in regularly to change your feeding tube and medicine and such was stood by the door, clipboard in hand.

"yeah?" he croaked, not making a move to stand up.

"there's someone here to see you."

richie was sure it could have been the queen of fucking england, or freddie mercury risen from the grave, and he would have told them to fuck off.

"will you, uh, send them in?" richie requested. he hadn't left you for more than ten minutes the whole time you'd been admitted. "i don't wanna-"

"of course, mr tozier." said the nurse, nodding sympathetically and backing out of the room. the door clicked shut behind her.

moments later, richie heard a voice.

"sorry, but, who exactly are you?" said the voice. richie looked up from your hand, which he was still holding, by the way.

a smallish, mousy brown-haired man stood at the door, his hair slicked back with far too much wax that didn't do anything for his terribly receding hairline. "and why are you holding my wife's hand?"

ah. the husband. fuck.

"oh, yeah. right." richie didn't let go of you. "you must be, uhh... umm..."

"timothy. timothy milo." the man said with an air of superiority. richie would lay this guy the fuck out.

"oh, yeah, of course." he nodded, squeezing your fingers gently.

"forgive me," said timothy, pulling up a chair. "forgive me, but, my wife has been missing for almost a week, now, and i get a call saying she's here, in... in derry? is it? battered, and... and comatose."

richie had only known the guy for all of thirty seconds, but he'd knock out those perfect, sickeningly white teeth in a heartbeat. "yeah, there was... an accident-"

"and richie tozier, big-shot comedian from malibu, is holding her hand and looking like... his whole world has been torn down."

timothy was becoming increasingly irate, and richie found it more than a little bit funny. he raised his hands in defense.

"look, man-"

"i ask you again, tozier, who exactly are you? to her, i mean."

and richie had... no idea what to say. for once in his life. no sarcasm, no witty comebacks. nothing.

"well... i fucking love her, man." was all he could think.

and then, with a crunch, timothy milo's manicured fist collided with the side of richie's face.

---

you didn't remember much.

the only thing you could fathom was a faint beeping sound, and a warm, calloused hand on top of yours. you cracked one eye open (with great difficulty) and sighed in relief. it was him.

your richie. disheveled and distraught, but your richie, all the same.

"r-r-r-" your throat was so fucking dry. it hurt to speak. "rich..." was all you managed, your fingers twitching under his hand.

"holy fuck." the smile that lit up his face was the most beautiful thing you'd ever seen. he had a rather large bruise on his left cheekbone, and his eyes were red and puffy, but he grinned so big and so bright that you could have burst into tears. "you're awake."

"and y-you're... beautiful." you croaked.

"woah, how hard did you hit your head?" he joked, sniffling, a tear slipping down his cheek. he kissed your hand, mindful of the tubes.

"that... that looks like... a punch, richie." you noted, eyeing the purple bruise that started on his cheekbone and ended below his eye.

"you should see the other guy." richie sniffed, a sad smile on his face that didn't reach his eyes. it hurt you.

"wh-who?"

"timothy fucking milo." richie scoffed, rolling his eyes in a manner that reminded you of stanley.

"he was... he was here?" your head fucking hurt.

"yeah. gone now. after i told him what was what. fucking asshole."

"wh-"

"another time, babe. you're not up for it."

and you knew he was right. you'd only properly processed about half of the words he'd said.

"i've been outta my fucking mind waiting for you to wake up, yknow. don't do that again." richie said, dragging his hands down his face and rolling his shoulders. his back hurt from sleeping here for just under four days, leaning over the cot and holding your hand.

"it wasn't... my fucking fault... you asshole... it was... oh my god. It."

"we won't dig that up now, huh?" richie interjected. "you rest up a little, i'll chat to you about boring shit, you'll perhaps give me a sympathy hand-job, and when you're a little less drugged up, we can talk about the heavy stuff."

"okay." your attempt at a nod was feeble as fuck. "and... sympathy hand-job?"

"yeah. for making me fight your husband and cry for three days. in no particular order." richie explained, as if it were obvious.

"do you want me to... pull your dick off with my medicine tubes?"

his eyes widened.

"no, ma'am."

"then... shut up." you whined, breathless. your chest burned and your side hurt and you didn't even want to talk about your legs.

"i need more drugs, trash-mouth." you groaned, and he leaned over you to press the red button to alert the nurses.

"believe it or not, you've said that to me before." richie snorted. "no chance of a hand-job, then?"

"beep beep, richie."

#it richie #adult richie #richie tozier #richie tozier x reader #it chapter 2 #it 2019 #losers club x reader

[r3b3lgrrrrrrrl]

A LunaTic and her Gunn (Part 111) "This Isn't My Fault"

@crystalbaby12 @backoftheroomandnotbelonging @5sosfam1dlover @rosefilledhearts-blog

On his way upstairs Colson realizes he's much more wasted than he had thought. Stumbling behind Luna, he bangs into the bedroom door as they enter. Throwing himself onto the bed, he let's out an intoxicated groan before rolling over and extending his arms out for Luna to join him.

"Hi." Colson beams while wrapping his long arms around her once she's on the bed with him.

"Hi." She sighs out as a satisfied smile settles on her face.

Being tucked inside Colson's hold is the only thing Luna's wanted all day. Slipping one of his large hands around her face, he holds her in place with his other. Dipping down, he kisses her wanting mouth.

"You have to fucking tell him." Luna's mind starts to nag her as Colson distracts her body. "But do I really though? All it's gonna do is start a bullshit ass argument... And for what?" Luna continues making out with Colson until the consistent mental screams of "TELL HIM!!!" become too much to bare.

"I'm sorry..." Luna breaks away from him with a shameful look.

"For what? You're home." Colson drunkenly shakes his head while trying to pull her back in for another deep kiss.

"No... I know but that's not what I mean. He kissed me again. Which I STOPPED.... But... I kissed him GoodBye before I left." Luna admits as she adamantly pushes Colson away from her and sits up.

Looking deep into her oceanic eyes, he knows she's serious when he sees the ring around her iris's begin to blaze. As he watches them light up, the dangerous yellow flames rage wildly inside their blue home. For the first time, her beautiful eyes scare the shit out of him. His heart sinks before hitting full throttle as he processes what she just said.

"Calm it down, Kells." He tries to control himself mentally but alcohol and other substances are clouding his brain.

"YOU FUCKING WHAT!?!" Colson barks as he flies up into a sitting position too.

"It's not what you think..." Luna starts as she sits up onto her knees.

"What I think is that you be out here kissen' MOTHERFUCKERS all willy nilly!" He shouts at her. "What the fuck would you do if I told you some shit like that?" He asks as his jaw clenches and he jerks his head at her.

"You're acting like I fucked him." She argues even though she knows he's right.

"I swear to fucking Christ, LUNA!!" Colson is shouting at her again as he jumps off of the bed. "Don't fuck with me." He warns while pacing. "I knew I shouldn't have let you go down there in the first fucking place." He mutters a bit too loudly. "How you gonna act like kissing someone isn't a big fucking deal?" He balks at her as he whips around on his unsteady feet.

"LET ME?" Luna howls with laughter at Colson's ridiculous words. "Oh, Sweetie, I know you're tore up, but you're not fucking stupid." She continues to laugh at him as she shakes her head. "You don't LET ME do shit. I do what I want.... And... what are we... In sixth fucking grade? I kissed him GoodBye. You're the fucking Master of Cheating, so don't come at me about some dumbass kiss shit." She scoffs as she rolls her eyes, standing up also she unbuttons her pants and begins to undress.

"If I'm The fucking Master... You're The GOD DAMN Wizard." Colson snarls at her after taking a huge step towards her. "I never cheated on someone for a year while fucking living with them." He breathes into her face, his angry tone laced with the familiar smell of Jamison.

"What the fuck did you just say to me?" Luna stops undressing as she asks him, mouth hanging wide in shock while her shirt dangles in her hand.

"That YOU, Miss High and Fucking Mighty are The Wizard of Cheating." He cocks his head to the side as his eyes shoot daggers through her soul.

"Okay..." Luna says in a low, calm tone as she begins to look around for her clothes, not realizing her shirt is still in her clutched hand. "I want you to go back downstairs to Phem and all the other bitches that were hanging on you when I walked in." She tells him as her heart pounds into her ribcage

"What the fuck? What? No. This is my fucking room. I'm not going anywhere." Colson cuts back, confused by her logic.

"Fine." Luna shrugs as she stops looking around and pops her unknowingly free hand on her hip. "I'll leave."

"Fucking WHAT? You can't just leave." Colson shakes his head as he scrunches his face up at her.

"Watch this Wizard do what THE FUCK SHE WANTS." Luna snarks as she realizes her shirt is in her hand.

"You're a fucking idiot." She scolds herself for a multitude of reasons. Luna HATES fighting with Colson. Whether he's right or not though... There is no one, no system, nor no dick that will ever control Luna. In any manner.

"You're not fucking going anywhere." Colson states.

Before she can pull her shirt on, Colson shoves her back onto the bed with all of his force. Slamming his palms right into her shoulders. It sends her flying so fast that she loses her grip on the shirt in surprise. Jumping on top of her, he traps her body with his straddle as he holds her down with her arms pinned across her chest. Where Luna was once hurt, confused and calm; now she's beyond livid.

"Get the FUCK off me." She growls at Colson as she tries to buck her hips up under his weight.

"No." He replies as he leans down closer towards Luna's face. "You're not going anywhere."

"Colson... I fucking swear..." Her threat is cut off by his aggressive kiss.

Holding her firmly in place. He presses his body down harder onto her wild hips. He can feel her give in as her tongue begins to dance violently along with his. Pulling away, she grabs his bottom lip between her teeth. Holding him for a sweetly painful moment.

"You better not let me up as you fuck me cuz Imma lay you out." Luna threatens Colson in a husky voice as he sits up and studies her, keeping her tight in his hold.

"So tighter?" Colson asks with a smirk as he pulls on her arms harder, watching her response.

"Much tighter." Luna challenges him as her shoulder throbs and her pussy lips swell from his authority while their eyes stay locked.

"You gonna run if I take my pants off?" Colson eyes her.

"I don't know..." Luna slightly jerks her head. "Guess that depends on how much I really wanna FUCK you, now doesn't it?" She answers as she cocks her lip and eyebrow at him.

"Keep your arms crossed. If not... Fuck you..." Colson challenges Luna back as he let's go and rises above her.

Standing over top of her body, Colson grabs the ceiling beam to steady himself. Unbuttoning his ripped, red jeans, he pulls them down along with his briefs. Using two hands, he grips the beam tighter as he uses his right foot to wrangle his left leg free. Hoping to not crush the body below him. Stepping from side to side of her, Colson grows more than frustrated as he drunkenly tries to free himself from his leg cages. Luna lays still, trying not to laugh as he wiggles around like a dumbass.

After mentally consoling himself out loud to Luna's amusement, Colson's finally free from his pant chains. Grasping the beam again with all of his might, his drunk ass is swinging around loosely. Leaning down a bit too far, he almost falls on Luna as he drunkenly realizes it's her he was trying not to stomp on. He laughs loudly as he looks down at her, immediately pleased by her still crossed arms while her eyes watch him and lips hold their own small smile. He's so intoxicated he forgets what they're fighting about.

"You're there!" Colson slightly shouts at the sight of her.

"I'm here." Luna replies as she continues to watch him.

"I love you." Colson gazes down happily at her as his body sways back and forth. "Shit... I'm fucked up, Loons..." He laughs. "I think need a minute, Kitten..." He trails as he drops down on the bed beside her and curls his naked body around her.

"I know, Bunny..." Luna coos softly as she let's him settle into her right shoulder.

Stroking his hair, Colson nestles deeper into her chest and arms. Luna starts running her nails along his scalp for a bit before looking around. To her relief there's a full joint in the ashtray and a lighter within reach.

"Thank you Colson and The Ever Loving Weed Gods..." Luna thinks as she exhales a deep hit while still running her nails through his hair. "Well, that was some shit..." She sighs to herself as she looks down at him. "He's gonna be fucking dick tomorrow..." Luna realizes as she puffs on the joint. "I can't believe he said that to me.... See, that's why I don't tell people shit. Judgmental ass fucks." Luna sighs out another deep hit as she looks down at Colson.

Finishing the joint, she slips down into the bed. With his body wrapped around her, she feels a weird anxiety interrupting her normal comfort.

"Fuuuck... I wish I could get to my bag..." Luna's mind moans. Trying to mentally manifest a Xanax, an Ativan... Anything "Fuck... I'd even take a fucking Valium suppository at this point." She slightly starts to bug out under Colson's weight. "Fuck this." She decides.

Holding her breath, Luna slowly shifts and wiggles out from under Colson's naked body. Slipping off the bottom of the bed like a snake, she stands up.

"FUUUUUUUCK." Her brain roars as she tries to survey the room.

Spying her bag, she grabs it. Heading into the bathroom, she opens a window. Digging through her bag, she locates her Newports. Lighting one to steady her mental insanity, she begins to riffle through her bag again. Finding 1,2,3 of her traveling stash, Luna stares at the pill bottles. Lined across the counter are Xanax bars, Percocet 30s and 800mg tablets of Seraquil. As she reaches for all three bottles, she remembers she's in Cleveland and that Casie's home. Opting for a half of a bar instead of her heavy sleeping pill, Luna drops her head under the faucet for a mouth full of water before letting the pharmaceutical miracle fall down her throat. Still staring at the bottles, she finds her joint box in her bag before chopping up a 30. Sitting on the toilet, she let's the familiar drugs swirl around her as they calm her wretched soul.

"You knew he'd be pissed... Yeah, but you also said you wouldn't sidestep him either, sooo...." Luna argues with herself as she puffs on the joint. "I hate this so fucking much...." Her brain whines as she stands up. Looking into the mirror, she drops all expectations and personal beliefs as she stares into her own eyes.

"Who do you REALLY want?" She asks herself out loud as her heart spins like a wheel.

Rolling over every significant name. Colson. Justin. Tommy. Jackson. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Like the carnival game, it hesitates. In her soul, the clicker lingers on Justin's name before flipping over to land solely on Colson's .

Still staring at herself, Luna let's out a gentle sigh of relief. "Thank you...." Her mind kicks out to her surprise. Catching her breath in her soul, Luna studies herself as she takes another hit off the joint.

Annoyed with herself, she shakes her head as she sits back down on the toilet. Allowing her brain to roam, it swirls wildly around her subconscious thoughts and feelings regarding the last three years.

🎼No one//Really knows//How hard//Life was//I try not//To think about it//Now because//I've finally//Found you🎶 Luna's brain sings to Colson.

High and feeling like she's finally capable of laying still, Luna strips off her bra and panties. Slipping back under Colson's dead weight, she settles into him. Letting out a content sigh, she allows herself to let go. Falling into him fully. Forgetting for the moment Life and all it's physical and emotional pain along with their fight from less than 2hrs before.

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

Luna wakes up again much earlier than she'd like. These things happen when her soul is unsettled. Colson is knocked, softly snoring as his slim body consumes the bed and Luna like a rock. 

"How the fuck can someone so skinny be so fucking heavy...?" Luna huffs in her mind as she squiggles out from under his clutches.

She rails a perc and burns a joint before heading downstairs to smoke a cigarette. For as much as she bitches about not being able to smoke in public, Luna prefers a smoke free home. Call her a hypocrite... It happens.

Checking her phone outside, she has a text from Opie asking if she's okay. She responds with a Yes before texting Gemma an apology for leaving so abruptly.

"EVERYTHING about yesterday was a fucking shit show." She sighs as she stumps out her Newport.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Inside, downstairs is a wreck. Skipping the living room that holds a snoozing Mod, Phem, Noah, Caroline and Pete, Luna heads to the kitchen.

Standing silently, she stares at the mess. "It's like Oscar the Grouch took a shit in the sink while Roger from American Dad had a full fledged orgy on the countertops." She thinks, slightly impressed with a horrified look on her face. "Fuck me." Luna immediately regrets coming downstairs.

There is not one human in This World that would describe Luna as domestic. Of all the compliments and insults... Cleaning anything would not land on ANY CHART OF HER LIFE. Standing in Colson's kitchen, Luna's at Def Con Five.

It's fucking disgusting. There's random leftover drinks, beers and food. Clothes. People. Trash. Everything. All over the floor. The furniture. The house. Luna carefully steps over it all as she makes a cup of coffee and bops to Modest Mouse. Thankful that she knows that she's up to date on her vaccinations as she makes her way around the destroyed kitchen.

Draining and dropping beer cans, bottles and solo cups into recycling, Luna tosses out whatever rancid food is on the counters. Collecting the dishes that are in her radius, she loads the dishwasher and wipes down the counter.

"What the fuck am I doing?" Luna says out loud as she looks around in disbelief and bewilderment at the kitchen and broom in her hand.

Luna starts to question her whole existence after finding herself sweeping. "YOU are fucking Maleficent NOT Sleeping Beauty!" She yells at herself. "You loooove to sleep though." She quickly responds, always up for a argument inside her own head.

"Looney?" Casie's sleepy voice interupts Luna's mental breakdown.

"Morning, Dill..." Luna answers nonchalantly over the broom before she sweeps the pile into the dust pan. "You and Kev hungry?" She asks spying the alien as she empties the pan into the trash and washes her hands.

"Yeah... " Casie nods.

"What cha guys want? Eggos? Cereal? Bagels? Do you guys even DO bagels?" Luna asks with a hint of smugness while opening the bottom freezer door.

"Kevin thinks we should have eggs and toast. That's easy." Casie answers as a matter of fact.

"Does KEVIN know how to make eggs?" Luna asks as she slightly snakes her head.

"No. Don't you?" Casie answers curtly.

"Nooooo.... What would make you think I know how to make eggs?" Luna answers the ludicrous question with another ludicrous question.

"Cause you're a grown up...?" Casie says as she gives Luna a questionable look.

"But I'm not." Luna laughs at the absurdity of the thought. "Where's your phone?" She asks, trying to get a grip of herself, her life, Casie, Kevin and these fucking eggs. "Nope... Get over here and YouTube that shit." Luna declares as Casie tries to slide back into her seat at the island. "We'll learn together, Dilla." She asserts as Casie comes back over, leaving Kevin safely at the island.

Deciding they need tunes, first and foremost, Luna grabs her own phone. Without consulting Casie, she kicks The White Album on. Dancing around the kitchen the young girl helps Luna find utensils and ingredients as they sing together to Casie's delighted surprise. There's something so pure about knowing a song without knowing you know the song. Watching the moments when Casie's mind figured out that she knew certain ones had made Luna's soul jump in delight.

Standing to the side of the tall, slender girl, the two watch the YouTube video intently as they try to scramble eggs in a pan. Laughing at the instructors accent while trying to be serious.

"She's just like her dad." Luna thinks to herself as they sing Rocky Racoon together while scraping around the pan of eggs.

"He said 2mins.." Casie contests Luna while looking at the pan of their sloppy mess.

"He also used three eggs and we used twelve." Luna laughs. "It's gonna take longer because the quantity is different." She explains.

"So, it's like math?" Casie asks looking up at Luna as she makes the connection.

"Yes!" Luna beams as she continues to help Casie move the eggs around the pan the way The Man on YouTube said.

Luna doesn't cook. Luna doesn't eat scrambled eggs, so she has no fucking idea what's supposed to be happening right now. Convincing Casie to chill and replay the video, she's pretty sure she knows what scrambled eggs are SUPPOSED to look like. In her honest opinion, they're like halfway there.

"I don't think this is working, Looney...." Casie complains as she grows tired of the egg pool and goes to sit with Kevin.

"It's okay, kiddo... Take a break. You wanna do your toast?" Luna asks as she continues to move the lumpy gloop around the pan, feeling confident as she slowly watches it become solid.

"Yeah... You want some?" Casie asks, eager to start a new task as she stands back up.

"Sure..." Luna shrugs as she studies their experiment. "Come're.... I think the eggs are doing their thing." Luna shows Casie as she hands her the spatula and steps aside.

"Just scrunch 'em?" The kid asks.

"Yup. Like this..." Luna answers.

Taking Casie's hand, she shows her how to drag the spatula across the bottom of the pan. Switching directions, she shows her how to do it again while pointing out how the drippy, uncooked eggs fall into their clear path for a reason.

"Why?" Casie asks confused.

"So they can be scrunched and cooked too..." Luna laughs again as she kisses the top of Casie's head, she doesn't really know but it sounds good. "Is our toast ready?" She reminds the younger one.

"Yup. What should we put on it?" Casie asks another question as she pulls the hot bread out by her fingertips.

"We got jelly?" Luna asks as she moves the pound of eggs around the pan, slow and steady, like a turtle... It's what The YouTube Man told her to do.

"What's jelly?" Casie cocks her eye at Luna.

"Fucking MidWest, Man..." Luna snarls with a mental annoyance. "I can understand no lox... Or good bagels but fucking jelly.... Come on man... It's fucking squished fruit juices." Luna stares at the huge pan of eggs that she's been cooking for the last decade. "And I'm gonna be a fucking resident here...." Her brain scoffs at herself. "Oh, shit, they look like real eggs... Holy SHIT, I think I'm making eggs!!" Luna starts to freak out.

"Hey, Case!!" Luna yells excitedly. "Come check this shit out!! WE GOT EGGS!!" Luna shouts at their victory, making all her mental doubts evaporate.

"WE GOT EGGS!!" Casie shouts while high fiving Luna with a wide grin as she looks at their accomplishment.

"What do I do with it now?" Luna asks with genuine concern as she holds onto the pan.

"I don't know... We got toast and jam. Wanna just eat it?" Casie shrugs at Luna.

"Sure..." Luna agrees as she tosses a pot holder on the counter.

Setting the pan down, Luna grabs two forks, salt and pepper. Casie bringing over the toast and butter before locating the JAM. Luna butters both of their toast as they pick bites of their eggs out of the pan beside Kevin.

"This is so gross. Why's it so chunky?" Luna complains as she tries to smear jam on Casie's toast.

"I don't know... But it's delicious... And Kevin likes it." Casie states with a smile a she takes a huge bite out of her slice.

Luna tries not to SideEye Casie as she takes a solid bite from their pan of eggs. She may love the girl and her father but toast is toast and a bagel with smear is fucking heaven. She doesn't even know what jam is. Expect that it's chunky and gross. Fuck Kevin's traitor ass opinion.

"Take a bite." Casie asserts as she thrusts her jam covered toast in Luna's disgusted face.

"Okay..." Luna reluctantly says.

Casie shoves the hard, flavored bread into Luna's mouth before she can fully prepare herself. Chewing with her eyeballs wide, she nods at Casie. Deciding the crunch is nice with the sweetness. It's not a bagel but it's okay.

"Alright... Toast is okay with jam." Luna agrees with Casie. "But bagels are the best." Luna teases her favorite girl with a dozen kisses as she nuzzles into her giggling face. 

Kevin, Luna and Casie continue eating their eggs while they chat and munch on their toast. Talking about school, the latest gossip on Casie's friends, boys, clothes, what they wanna do for their birthdays and how Casie REALLY feels about Luna and Colson getting married.

"Am I getting a sister?" Casie asks bluntly as she stabs her fork into the pan.

"What? Nooooo, Dude... Why? Why do you want a sister so badly?" Luna asks as she watches Casie's reactions closely.

"It doesn't have to be a sister... I just want SOMETHING." Casie answers like Luna knows what she's talking about.

"For why?" Luna asks completely confused and turned off.

"Because with a brother or sister you have a friend forever." Casie answers with a simple shrug. "Who talks." She says, glancing quickly over at Kevin to make sure he didn't hear her.

"Oooh, kill my soul..." Luna mentally moans at the girl's logic, truth and sweetness.

"That's why?" Luna's stares at Colson's daughter while they sit next to each other at the kitchen island.

"Yeah." Casie shrugs as she reaches for more eggs. "And they can do half of my chores too." She says with a nonchalant tone.

"I fucking love you." Luna laughs as she leans over to kiss Casie's head.

After they finish their breakfast, Luna suggests Casie and Kevin watch TV in her room since the rest of the house is still a disaster and littered with bodies. With a full belly, it's an easy decision. Casie's lived this life all her life. Happily retreating into her personal oasis with Kevin in tow after kissing Luna on the cheek.

"Oh!! Will you wash my yellow shirt for today?" Casie stops to ask Luna.

"Didn't you just wear it yesterday?" Luna questions her.

"Yeah, but it's my favorite shirt." Casie explains.

"Sure... Bring it down. We just made eggs, I'm sure we can figure out the washer." Luna answers with a shrug.

"Thanks!!" Casie shouts as she drags Kevin up the stairs.

"Kids are so fucking weird..." Luna thinks as she watches her go.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

"Dooon't...." Luna exhales with a cough as she tries to warn Colson from the back door.

She is not in time. Colson takes two steps onto the wet kitchen floor before he finds himself on his back. Luna only pisses him off more when she keeps laughing at the sight of his confused face twisting and arms flailing around as he went down. It was definitely not his most graceful moment and it was fucking hilarious.

"Here, Bunny, lemme help you..." Luna offers out her hand, trying to contain her laughter.

"Fuck you, don't touch me." Colson angrily spews as he gets up from the floor, he may have forgotten why he was mad at her last night but he sure as hell remembers this morning.

"Seriously?" Luna asks gently, using EVERYTHING inside of her to not scream the question at him.

Colson looks around the clean kitchen. Peering at Luna, he decides it must've been her who cleaned it. Pulling one of the large canisters across the counter, he opens it. Staring straight through Luna, he doesn't break eye contact as he picks up the jar of sugar and dumps it all over the floor.

"WHAT THE FUCK IS YOUR PROBLEM!?!" Luna can't help but scream now from the mix of anger and shock.

"That shit looks sweet. Wanna kiss it too?" Colson taunts Luna with more than just his words.

"You're a petty fucking cunt." Luna shakes her head at Colson before turning on her heel and disappearing upstairs.

Feeling content with himself, his feelings change when he hears Luna loudly trot down the stairs and out the door. His head is throbbing as he stares at the pile of sugar on the floor.

"I don't think we can call that a win..." Colson sighs to himself as he collects the dust pan. "Damn... I didn't even know I owned a mop..." He thinks as he rubs his sore elbow.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

"You're up early, Buddy..." Pete says as he sees Colson in the kitchen. "Are you fucking cleaning?" He scoffs like they're in a fourth dimension.

"Yeeeahhh.... Loons... Ahhhh... It doesn't matter." Colson sighs. "Get out of my way." He huffs as he reaches for the dish detergent and starts the dishwasher.

"Wanna burn?" Pete asks as he lights a joint.

"Yeah." Colson sighs again as he sits down with him at the kitchen table.

"Where is said LunaTic at anyway?" Pete asks as he passes the bone.

"I don't know... We were fighten' and she walked out. She's probably on her way back to fucking New York for all I know." Colson says with a heavy tone of irritation in his voice.

"What's up with you guys?" Pete asks his bestfriend learily while he accepts the joint back.

"I don't fucking know." Colson coughs out his answer.

"Well, what the fuck were you talking about the other day with that whole Wouldn't Be The First Time shit?" Pete continues to pry as he inhales.

"Fuck. I was hoping he'd forget about that.... She's gonna fucking kill me" Colson slightly panics. There is no way for him to lie to Pete that would be even slightly believable.

"I was just pissed and talken' out of my ass." Colson tries to brush him off.

"Alright. I'll ask Loons myself." Pete shrugs.

"Don't you fucking..." Colson starts to bite back before Pete interupts him.

"YO!!! WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING OVER THERE!?!" He yells in a panic pointing to the dishwasher.

"HOLY SHIT!" Colson screams as he jumps up.

Colson used Dawn. Not a dishwasher tablet. Dawn. Causing the dishwasher to explode with massive amounts of bubbles. Making both tall men run around the kitchen, hollering like idiots.

"WHAT THE FUCK DO WE DO!?!" Pete yells at Colson.

"I DON'T FUCKING KNOW!" Colson shouts back as the bubble pile grows larger and larger.

"Why the fuck are you... OH!! MY!! GOD!! WHAT DID YOU DO!? WHERE IS LUNA?!!?" Rook begins to scream with the two of them as he enters the kitchen.

Hearing them from outside, Luna comes back in to complete chaos. Pete is crouched down on top of a chair, looking like an overgrown Gollum while still hitting the joint. Colson continues running around aimlessly while he freaks out and Rook is screaming her name as the massive sea of bubbles attempts to consume him whole. She stands in silent horror as she observes the scene.

"Where did you go?! How do we stop this?!" Colson cries out when he sees Luna.

Slipping and sliding, he rushes over to her. Losing his balance on the way, he disappears into the pile of bubbles. Luna can't help but laugh as the memory of him falling earlier flashes through her mind.

"It's not FUCKING funny!!" He yells at her before yanking her down with him.

"I fucking hate you!" Luna shouts as she spits out a mouth full of bubbles and lunges for Colson.

The dishwasher is still pushing out loads of bubbles as the two of them wrestle out their feelings aggressively in the foamy mess. Coming in to put an end to the unbelievable nonsense, Slim slips immediately trying to get to the dishwasher. Pete's still on the chair getting high as Rook slowly disappears.

"Guys..." Casie stops in her tracks when she sees the state of the kitchen.

"GET KEVIN THE HELL OUTTA HERE!! HE CAN'T HANDLE THIS!!" Pete shrieks at the girl in sheer terror as he cups the joint.

Casie doesn't move. Just stands there watching with Kevin as Noah, Mod, Caroline and Phem join her. Rook can't be seen anymore as he screams for someone to STOP THE FUCKING BUBBLES. Luna and Colson are still rolling around on the floor slap boxing each other as Slim army crawls to safety. All the chaos stops when Benny, the only actual human being amongst them, calmly makes his way over to their enemy by gripping the walls, cabinets and appliances. Finally shutting the dishwasher off.

The room is overfilled with bubbles. Rook is legit lost. Pete is stuck on the chair. Slim wants to know What The Fuck happened as everyone else puts their two sense in. Benny's busy looking for Rook while Casie and Kevin walk away from the "adult's" bullshit. Meanwhile, Colson and Luna can be found somewhere on the floor together.

"This isn't my fault." Colson begins to protest at the sticky nonsense surrounding them.

"I don't even wanna fucking know." Luna sighs out with a laugh.

"I'm still mad at you." He tells her lowly as he leans over for a kiss.

"I know." She replies softly, kissing him back as they lay tangled in each other amongst the huge mess.

It's not even Noon and Colson has a baseball game later. If yesterday was a Shit Show, today is already shaping up to be amazing.

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

To be continued...

#mgk #mgk fanfic #mgk imagine #mgk imagines #mgk fluff #machine gun kelly #colson baker imagines #colsonbaker #colson baker #colson and casie #petedavidson #pete davidson #est4life #est19xx #est #funny post #fanfic #fantasy #lunatic #longstory #long reads #casie baker #shenanigans #i didnt do it #tragic love #love story #fluff

[giggle-me-this]

(Date: 26 November 2019, American Thanksgiving; Location: Pinnock Townhouse, Nate and Xi’s Flat)

The very first thing that drifted through Nate’s subconscious was pain.

It started as a dull throb in his arm, not painful enough to wake him up but enough that he had half-dreams about burning that never fully took shape.

He tossed and turned through it to no relief, until eventually the discomfort became so intense that Nate shot up with a cry of agony, covered in sweat. He was still in his sister’s bed, though the lighting had changed and it was darker now in the room.

Nate stood up and hurried into a bathroom down the hall where he flicked on a light. He clenched his hand into a fist, yanked up his sleeve and looked down at the offending arm; the mark on his wrist was angry and inflamed an orange-red that very nearly glowed, like a branding iron fresh from the fire. “Fucking fuck…” It was hard to think straight through the pain of it—what Nate had felt when he’d spoken to Tyler was nothing compared to this. His whole arm was shaking, throbbing; Nate moved to the sink and turned on the faucet to shove the mark beneath the cold running water. It was immediately clear that this was the wrong thing to do; the pain flared up viciously and Nate stumbled back with a hiss, his vision blurring. He fumbled with a hand towel and pressed it hard against the injury, sucking harsh breaths in and out as he waited for the pain to dull enough that he could think.

It did, eventually, barely; Nate leaned back against the open door frame, pressing the edge of it between his shoulder blades as a distraction. Xi must be feeling this too, he thought, and it made Nate angry, so fucking angry and resentful and guilty that something connected to him would be hurting her like this. Nate may have deserved the punishment but Xiomara didn’t, he fully believed that.

And that’s when things suddenly seemed very, crystal clear: Nate needed to get them out of this. This fucked up contract, the source of so much collective misery between them. Xiomara had been basically blackmailed into this arrangement and Nate had let it happen, he’d watched it happen. He remembered it so clearly; Xi had taken one look at Nate that day in the board room and had not wanted to go through with it, but because of Nate’s father—because of his whole fucking toxic family that did nothing, ever, but try to hurt the people that Nate attempted to care about—she’d been forced into it. After all the horrors that she had been through at the hands of so many horrible men, it was Nate that had forced her into this—manipulated as a pawn into that position, maybe, but Nate was guilty by association and he fucking knew it.

So it wasn’t a choice, really, it was what Nate had to do—for her, for himself—now. It would probably take a lifetime to atone for all the wrongs he’d done to Xi, and even then it might not be enough, but Nate had to start somewhere. He had to.

He tied the towel tight around his wrist; not a perfect solution but it would have to do for now. The house was eerily silent. Nate glanced at an ornate grandfather clock and knew no one would be coming back to this house for hours. It was a perfect opportunity—the only opportunity he would get, maybe.

Impatient, Nate walked down the stairs as they spiraled down, and down, and down, into the rarely visited, underground bottom floor of the Pinnock residence. There was only one thing down here—the family vault.

The walls were made of thick stone like concrete, as was the door. Nate walked right up to it and laid the palm of his uninjured hand in the middle of a big, carved crest with a P in the middle of it. The carved crevices in the stone lit up with recognition, but the door stayed firmly closed. Nate’s brows knitted together, confused. He removed his hand, and tried again. Still nothing.

He made a frustrated noise in his throat and paced back. Of course, another fucking test, as if Nate wasn’t worthy of access to things in his own fucking home. He rolled his head around on his shoulders and turned to glare at the door. Fine, that’s the way his father wanted to play it? Nate was going to find another way in.

He went through every unlocking, disillusionment, and magic nullifying spell he could think of first, to no avail. Then it was time to try brute force. Every single incantation in his memory that was used for moving, blasting, and damaging objects, Nate tried them. Dust and smoke and debris were flying everywhere, coating Nate’s face and hair, but the door didn’t budge. The ricochet from Nate’s Knockback Jinx was so forceful that it knocked him off his feet and slammed him against the back wall.

“Okay you motherfucker…” Nate growled, walking back up in front of the door, shaking himself off through the aches that wracked his spine. Stupidly, pointlessly, Nate pounded against it with the side of his fist. “Let. Me. The. Fuck. In!” The coarse stone scraped at his skin with each collision, Nate could feel it, and when he pulled his hand away to examine it, it was coated with blood and covered with tiny little cuts and with dirt. He slid down onto his knees in front of the relentless barrier, dejected, exhausted. He leaned his forehead against the unfeeling stone, panting with effort; it was cool and calming against the sweat of exertion that covered Nate’s face and his neck and his arms. He absolutely detested himself for doing so, but Nate was just so fucking frustrated by his own lack of competence to pull off one fucking simple thing that his eyes filled up with prickling tears, and when he blinked a few fell down his face, leaving tracks in the dust on his cheeks. He wiped at them harshly; don’t fucking cry you pathetic, useless, incompetent asshole.

Time to do what Nate did best, and give up. His limbs were sore and aching and as Nate pushed himself back up, resigned, he leaned against the door for support. The cracks of the P glowed again at his touch, but this time, somehow, the door swung open to admit him. The surprise of it momentarily knocked the air out of Nate and he gaped stupidly into the dark looming entrance. How…? He looked down at his hands again. Blood…sweat…tears. It was so fucking funny and so like his father that Nate burst out laughing, and the sound of it echoed into the hollowed opened space. Touché, Dad…Nate thought as he walked forward and into the Pinnock family vault.

The room was round, and as soon as Nate entered the candles that wound around the continuous uncornered wall ignited, lighting the space with a warm amber sepia tone. There was a very tall stack of papers and parchment inside a case which Nate walked over to and opened, and there it was, right there at the top—the contract, with Nathaniel Preston Pinnock and Xiomara Winters scrawled at the bottom. His and Xi’s bloody handprints stared up at Nate, as if waving hello.

Nate reached out, hands shaking, and withdrew the contract. He brought it up to his eye level, his body bubbling up with a crazed giddiness, his smile almost maniacal, and then Nate hugged the wretched papers right against his chest.

Then he turned and set them down on the stony ground and without hesitation, Nate pointed his wand at the contract and said, “Incendio.”

Immediately his wrist flared up once again in pain, with a vengeance, as if Nate had lit his own arm on fire. The papers on the ground hissed and smoked angrily in the blaze, and it felt as if the fire that was burning Nate’s blood on the papers burned throughout his entire bloodstream, too. It was horrible, near unbearable, the pain and the fumes flooding Nate’s whole body until he bowed over, thinking he would be sick.

And then the flame went out and the pain stopped, and the relief was so powerful that Nate did fall forward onto his hands and knees, staring at the blackened, scorched, illegible remains of his and Xiomara’s broken contract.

Everything that happened next happened in a manic, accelerated, adrenaline-fueled blur that Nate would hardly remember afterwards. He took the burned contract and everything else he could find with his name on it inside the vault. He ran upstairs and shoved everything he’d stolen into a bag, and then stuffed as many of the belongings from his room as Nate could fit into two additional bags. When he was done Nate piled it all onto his person and took one last look around his room, then one last look around Harriet’s room across the hall, knowing it would be the last time he would do so and feeling nothing but elated about it. He would not be welcomed back, after his father found out what he’d done. This was it.

And Nate intended to be long gone by the time that happened. He left the townhouse that had been his home for years but had never really felt like a home, and Nate didn’t look back. He apparated back to his and Xi’s flat and he burst through the door without any warning, without checking to see if Isaac was still there; he didn’t care.

Xiomara was alone but she did jump at his entrance from her place on the mattress by the couch, head snapping to look at Nate sharply. “Why didn’t you text me and tell me you were coming back?” she said, to which Nate did not reply other than to toss all the bags he was holding unceremoniously on the ground. Xi started moving to get up with effort, and Nate said, “It’s okay, don’t get up.” He unzipped the bag that held the remains of the contract and Nate withdrew it, holding it out of sight behind him as he walked over to Xiomara. He glanced at what Xi was watching on television and an expression of half-realization crossed his face. “Fuck me, I—I think it’s Thanksgiving…”

“You mean your poor excuse for an American holiday?” said Xi with pointed disdain. Nate shrugged out a yes, and then laughed, and it did sound just a little unhinged. Xiomara’s eyes trailed over his insanely disheveled appearance and she said, “Fuck, Nate, what happened to you?”

To which Nate smirked like a fucking idiot and said, “Long story?”

The corners of her lips twitched, barely, but she didn’t give into any amusement as she took a breath and said, “Alright, well, me first…” She squirmed a little with discomfort where she sat, looking down and fiddling with the sleeves of her sweatshirt. “Look, about Isaac…I told him, about the contract, about everything, and now…it’s broken, I think. And it wasn’t even about him, Nate, I just…I wanted out of it. I had to.” She looked up at Nate then and she did look genuinely remorseful, in a way that made Nate feel awful. He wanted to give her time to finish but he couldn’t bear to have her continue thinking she’d somehow wronged him, so when Xi continued with, “…I’ll still help you find Harriet, if you want—” Nate interjected with, “Xi, stop, please, I—I did something, too…”

She looked a touch miffed that he’d cut her off in the midst of her confession, but still she pursed her lips and blinked at him expectantly. So Nate pulled the burned contract from behind his back and tossed it with a thud onto the mattress in the space between them.

Her nose wrinkled at first but she leaned forward anyway to look, and when comprehension dawned, Xiomara’s eyes widened. “We’re…out?” Xi said, high-pitched and disbelieving, her eyes darting up to look at Nate.

To which Nate laughed again—a genuine and pleasant-sounding thing that felt so unfamiliar and good in his chest. “We’re out.”

#selfpara #drabble #pain cw #fire cw #blood cw #injury cw #nausea cw #pinnock townhouse #wizarding business district #nate and xi's flat #when there's nothing left to burn you have to set yourself on fire

[paladin4theright]

Revenge: Prologue

Karen McCormick was six months pregnant. She would be the perfect object to use in Cartman’s twisted, devious plan he’d dubbed, “Project Jew”.

Karen had accidentally gotten pregnant by Ike Broflovski. She apparently didn’t want to graduate from high school as a virgin and Ike needed to know whether or not he was gay. Win, win, right? The only problem was that neither teen was expecting the Canadian to be extremely potent, only getting Karen pregnant on pre-come. Ike had discovered he actually was fucking gay and Karen found out later that she was pregnant.The two were best friends along with Tricia Tucker. The three amigos were practically inseparable which made this plan extremely difficult. Not to mention Karen recently started dating Fillmore Anderson. Another set back. This, of course, was all to get Kyle back, that damned fucking Jew boy.

Stan Marsh had left just after high school to join the Marines and Kyle stayed obsessed with school. He used this as an excuse to bury his head in homework rather than wonder why the fuck his heart hurt. Of course, Cartman tried to make him feel better by taking him out but that was a rare occurrence. Hell, just a little fucking attention from Kyle would have been nice. Cartman just wasn’t good enough. All his fucking attention went to his courses and Kyle made no time for Cartman. Therefore, Cartman had to go and find attention elsewhere. He preyed upon Butters Stotch for almost six years. Even poor ass Kenny McCormick had gone to college. He became a paramedic while Kyle became a microbiologist. Fuckers. Kenny always wanted to help people and better himself. He always put others before himself. Then one day he came back to town and literally stole Butters away from Cartman. After that, all Cartman could think of was Kyle. Somehow the putrid Jew always weaseled his way back into his mind, even when he was fucking someone else. Even with Butters, Cartman would imagine that curly, red-headed Hebrew writhing under his body and the images just grew from there.

Craig Tucker and Tweek Tweak had gotten engaged during their high school graduation ceremony. It was definitely a sight to behold and not one easily forgotten. A year later they were married. As far as Cartman knew, Tweek had opened his own coffee shop in Denver, ‘Tucker’d Out Coffee’ he believed it was called. It supposedly was even better than his parents and had NO traces of drugs, making the little twitchy blonde slightly less twitchy. Craig had a job at Ball Aerospace Corporation near the coffee shop. He spent his day looking at stars and helping NASA reach them. Fucking space geek. Kyle had moved to Denver for school and now he worked at some bio-engineering laboratory and Kenny worked at a hospital somewhere in the downtown Denver area. Almost everyone lived in Denver now. Butters lived with Kenny and about six months ago fucking gay-ass Stanley came back from touring in Afghanistan. Honorable discharge so Cartman hears it. Supposedly a few months ago Stan and Kyle actually became an item and it wretched Cartman’s stomach. He was fucking sick with rage and envy. He had been there for Kyle, not Stan. Stan was a notorious alcoholic from early elementary school on into high school. Their senior year Stan held his birthday party at his parents house and got fucking plastered. He took Kyle to his bedroom and tried to drunk fuck him. Cartman saw it all through the gap in the closed-over bedroom door. Kyle had a few drinks, but he was smart enough to hold himself back. Fucking Stan, though, confessed his feelings that night. He even literally threw them up. Cartman thought that Kyle probably didn’t even realize Stan was admitting the truth; Stan’s slurred words were just that of drunken stupor. Thoughts of that night still make Cartman digest rocks. Instead of interrupting them, he just went home to jack off to pictures of Kyle he had collected over the years.

Cartman remembered the next morning. He remembered the look on Kyle’s face when he realized that Stan had forgotten everything that happened the previous night. He saw how much Kyle hurt even if he said nothing about it. Cartman and Kyle actually became really close after that. He thought he would finally have Kyle to himself once Stan was out of the picture. Kyle’s stupid super-best-friend always held him back from being happy. Low and behold, the fucking bastard came back a goddamn hero. Guess the military set his drinking problem straight because he went through police academy and was currently serving as Denver’s rookie police officer. Motherfucker. He didn’t deserve Kyle. No one did. Except Eric fucking Cartman.

That’s why over a month ago Cartman began sending Kyle texts from unknown numbers. He confessed his love for Kyle over text. He had always intended to tell him in person but Kyle gave him no choice. He knew Kyle knew it was him. He was going to have Kyle to himself whether willingly or by force if necessary. He didn’t know where the couple lived in Denver even with the extensive research on the two. This is where his plan came into play.

Cartman only had a small window for his plan to be operated. He knew Butters and Kenny were coming back to South Park for the last few months of Karen’s pregnancy so she could receive help to finish out high school. She wanted to graduate with her friends. Kenny’s weakness was always his sister and they would be in town by the end of the week.

So there Cartman was: silently opening up the window of the pregnant’s girl’s room. Oddly enough, Karen was living with the Tuckers in Craig’s old bedroom. She was kicked out of her parents house when they found out she was with child. This made Cartman have to work harder at tracking the bitch. This was the first night he had found her asleep in her bed without her damned boyfriend or having some kind of sleep over with Ike. Once the window was open, he clambered his large body through and pulled a Ziplock bag from his thick jacket pocket. Inside was a rag doused in chloroform. He opened the bag, gritting his teeth together as he pulled the plastic grips apart, trying his best to not make a sound. He quickly took the wet rag out as he crossed the carpeted bedroom floor in a few strides. He took in a deep breath and quickly shoved the rag over the Karen’s nose and mouth. It startled her enough to where her big blue eyes flew open and she struggled against him. Cartman used his weight to his advantage and pressed against her. She squirmed and tried to scream but the noxious fumes of the chloroform worked all too well. Her arms fell limp and her eyes fluttered to the back of her head. Now everything else would fall into place…once Cartman figured out how to take the limp body to his mother’s house.

Someone would realize Karen was missing, Kenny would be notified and tell Kyle. Then Kyle would text him. It was all just a waiting game now.

That’s when the transaction would take place.

A trade.

The pregnant teen for the ginger Jew.

This is my main story on AO3 and I am trying to keep up with updating it when I can. I have quite a few chapters if you’d like to read more!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/13672818

#P4R writings #Paladin4theright fanfics #revenge au #south park #south park fanfiction #sp fanfiction #sp stan #sp kyle #sp kenny #sp cartman #sp craig #sp tweek tweak #sp creek #sp style #sp bunny #sp butters #stan marsh #kyle broflovski #eric cartman #kenny mccormick #butters stotch #craig tucker #tweek tweak #fanfiction #fanfics #sp revenge AU #sp kyman #one-sided kyman really

[blind3dbylight]

Adventures in pest control: FINAL BATTLE

This time, I tell my horror stories about the worst little blood-feeders I have ever had the displeasure of dealing with: bed bugs. These little fuckers have given me numerous headaches in the three years I’ve worked in pest control, and I’ve killed thousands of the wretched little things. If they get good and dug in, they will get into fucking anything--wood, electronics, you own it, they’ll get into it, and it can take months before they are finally put down for good. They are some of the most elusive insects in this business and I hate them with nearly every fiber of my being.

So here’s some stories. Sleep tight!

Light vs. Bed Bugs: ROUND ONE

This was roughly 2.5 years ago, shortly after I got hired on full time.

It’s a six-unit apartment building. First apartment I walked into already nearly floored me--there were already thousands of dead bugs scattered everywhere. Sinks, bathtub, floors, I mean fucking everywhere from when we did the initial setup. I thankfully didn’t find any live ones, but goddamn--what happened here?

I only went back once after that, but the landlord was kind of a dick and was super picky about everything.

Light vs. Bed Bugs: ROUND TWO

This was around a year or two ago. I’d run that route for about a year before transferring to my current branch.

This is a set of buildings owned by one guy. Remember that town I said I wanted to forget? These fucking buildings are why. Half the time it wasn’t the landlord, it was the tenants being uncooperative. They never prepped properly and so there was always only so much I could do--and we were going back to every one of the buildings constantly. I wasted a lot of time trying to get the tenants to lift a goddamn finger without being a dick about it, and they always ended up with more bugs.

One building in particular took the cake. It was a nine or so unit building, and this one apartment had the little fuckers all the way up to the false ceiling. There were fecal spots all in the slats of the wall paneling, cast skins everywhere (bed bugs will molt as they grow through their nymphal stages), and everywhere I looked I seemed to just find more of the fuckers. I ended up going absolutely nuts with liquid crack-and-crevice, and blasting them with aerosol on sight. I almost single-handedly got them under control, though my former SM did go along with me occasionally to lend a hand.

But this wasn’t even the worst of it.

Light vs. Bed Bugs: ROUND THREE

This was a year and a half ago.

It’s another apartment building, kind of tucked out of the way near a school and some other small businesses. This is another case of “...something terrible has happened here”.

The tenant was apparently a bit troubled as it was, but when I got in, it was like a fucking bed bug death bomb had gone off. There were, again, thousands of dead bugs and cast skins littered everywhere--primarily under the bed, which had so much fecal spotting on it it was like large stains on the damn bed. All I could think was “how much fucking material did we basically dump into this place???” As with round one, I didn’t find anything live there and it was the result of the initial round of treatments, but goddamn.

Light vs. Bed Bugs: ROUND FOUR A CHALLENGER APPEARS !!

This was somewhat recent, within the past year: and it involves TWO different species.

It’s a large apartment building, middle of the town it was in. I was to go to the top floor left, where I was warned by the property manager that the tenant was a little old lady who wasn’t really all there.

Walking in, the first thing I noticed were our old pals, German roaches, in the kitchen. She didn’t really clean well, so not surprising that they were thriving in there.

That wasn’t the worst part. This woman’s bed was not only loaded with bed bugs--it had the fucking roaches living in it too. Bed bugs and roaches all living in the fucking bed at once. It’s one of the few times I’ve ever wanted so badly to loudly exclaim, “JESUS FUCKING CHRIST”.

A quick roach lesson. Many species of cockroach, German roaches included, will actually prey on bed bugs occasionally. So what was likely going on here is that the bed bugs would feed on the tenant in her sleep--and then the roaches would feast on the bed bugs. Turtles all the way down.

She also got them spread to other units because she wouldn’t properly bag up her clothes and linens--I found the fuckers in the hallways because of this. Bed bugs won’t go too far away from where they feed on you, so I knew her dragging stuff around and not bagging things up right were why they were there.

Needless to say, this apartment building was quite a battle. But we got them under control eventually.

The property manager turned out to be one cool lady around my age and we’re still friends to this day. Almost dated her, actually.

Light vs. Bed Bugs: ROUND FIVE

This ran for a solid year and lasted until one final throwdown a year ago, prior to my transfer to my current branch.

This was a three-story apartment building that had been dealing with bed bugs in all three units. The top and bottom floors weren’t nearly as bad as the middle, which had a moderate level of activity.

That wasn’t the problem, though. The problem was that nobody could figure out where the hell they were travelling through or how they just kept coming back time and again.

This account was one of the most difficult I have ever been to, because I had to go back weekly just to be able to keep up with the fucking things. The upper tenants were also always loud and rude about it, though they would calm down when things were quiet.

But the bed bugs were persistent little fuckers and they’d just start showing up coming out of any stupid little crevice around the kitchen and bathroom areas in this and the bottom floor. The second floor would have em in their furniture because they either weren’t keeping an eye on them or since they didn’t have bed frames. They were lazy with prep too.

This went on for months, and I often had to go quite a bit out of my way to accommodate it, sometimes driving an hour from the main town I was in (the shithole I hated so much) to go do this one account, then an hour back to go try to finish up. I was miserable just from this one fucking account.

Eventually, our technical manager (and all around sharp motherfucker--nothing, and I do mean nothing, gets past this guy) took notice. I learned from reading the notes on the account one day that he saw my SM and I were on top of it, but that we’d been doing this for quite a while and still couldn’t get them out. He offered to send another guy from technical to help us get a third set of eyes on the issue and try to get more insight as to how the fuckers were still there.

And it was a fucking throwdown. Myself, my SM, the residential SM, and the technical guy all showed up, ready to fucking throw pest control hands with these little cocksuckers. We finally were able to remove a wall panel that led into the plumbing of the bathrooms--which I should mention connected all three units.

The little fuckers had been hiding in there the whole time, and had overwintered there. As it was newly spring at that time, they were out and moving again. We slammed them with everything we had in one big three-hour slugfest. Liquid, dust, aerosol, nothing was sacred at that point.

It paid off. After I transferred, I was later told by the guy who now services that account that our throwdown was the turning point. Activity had dropped severely after that until finally, they were gone. That account was the one that truly taught my just how tenacious bed bugs are.

But we have one more fight in store.

Light vs. Bed Bugs: A FINALE CHAOTIC

This one is quite recent--and a bit personal. Yes, the pest control guy got bed bugs in his own home. You can understand why this would strike a nerve.

When I moved into my current place, not a couple weeks in, my roommates and I noticed we were finding ourselves insect bitten. I immediately knew to start searching for the wee blood suckers, and sure enough, I found em. One of my roommates caught a sample of them and that’s how I knew something was fucked up. I’m still thinking they were here before we moved in, and the previous tenants had them and just never told my landlord about them. That happens quite frequently--people get afraid they’ll get evicted or something for it, when all they had to do was tell the landlord they needed to have things treated.

A bed bug lesson. If bed bugs are present, but there is nothing for them to feed on, they will enter a dormant state where they don’t really move, but are still alive in a low-energy state. They can stay like this for up to a year or until something starts residing where they are.

Well, we were that something. They had to have been bad here, because I was finding them already getting into everything. I’d find them on my desk, and even once in my tablet case. Strangely, they never got into my laptop, and considering I had my laptop all taken apart just earlier tonight, I would have found them if they did.

Anyway, we decided let’s just keep our cool and let the landlord know. He had either another company or an in-house treatment done two months in a row, in June and July.

It wasn’t enough. We were still finding them, and since whoever did the treatments hadn’t been doing bi-weekly follow ups (as my company would have done), I was doing it myself with liquid crack-and-crevice.

It was still not enough--my roommates haven’t complained, but I was still seeing them periodically. The little fuckers had to have been dug in good, because I regularly found them in several cracks in the floorboards--not surprising, as this is an older building.

I decided to take matters into my own hands and do things the way I damn well KNOW THEY OUGHT TO BE DONE. I put Arya and her food/water/litter out of the room, shut the door, and went to fucking town. I mean every single stupid little crack and crevice got fucking flooded with material. I watch several bugs writhe and die in the shit. I blasted them with aerosol on fucking sight. I was going to show these six-legged dickheads that I was not to be fucked with. I found I was able, by the product labels, to use the trick of tank-mixing traditional insecticide concentrate with the IGR from before, giving me more of an edge in getting ahead of their ability to breed. Eventually I started seeing almost no nymphs and all adults. Suffer not a bed bug to live.

I am 99.9% sure they’re gone now, but I’ve been doing weekly liquid runs in here until I can be 110% sure that they are fucking gone forever. And they WILL stay the fuck out, or be annihilated.

You blood sucking bastards fucked with the wrong dude.

#light says a thing #insects #bed bugs #adventures in pest control #if i must suffer #you will all suffer with me

[abs0luteb4stard]

That’s the last thing anyone wants from me. Every living creature would regret it.

If was myself, I’d snuff the human race off this floating rock Shit. I would pull down this world with my raw and bleeding hands. Until there were no fingernails, not even hands to do the deed.

I’d kill every motherfucker who bullied me and beat me up, spit on me, I’d rip them to pieces with my teeth and shit them out and feed that shit to their offspring and loved ones.

I’d return the trauma they caused my psyche right back to them a thousand fold.

Satan weeps at the sight of me. Because my PTSD and my everlasting anger make his fall from grace look like a skinned knee of a kid falling of his bike with training wheels.

They wrought my soul into the twisted awful thing. Daily beatings for years at a time. Summer vacation, Christmas vacation small pauses between long days of abuse.

Even on a day like this where. I end up in a firecracker situation only partially of my doing, I make sure to load the fucked up situation with emotional dynamite and fuck it completely and properly.

Because I am tired. I’m tired of being scared, anxious, depressed, angry, guilt all the time for things I did and didn’t do. Things I shouldn’t feel guilty for and so forth. I’m finished with it all. And I have been since 1997.

So what do I care? if I I feel guilty all the time for everything - might as well do things that worthy of guilt because I’m going to feel it anyway.

I’ll take all that Shit my dad slung at me today and sling it back with daggers. Piss on him and mother, give them my anger, let the poison words cut them down.

I’m still tired. I’m tired of being good. Because it’s not enough for this wretched world. I’m tired of being everyone’s guardian angel. I protect everyone. I hold the line in the storms, the deaths, I keep the enemies both within and without at bay. I am the glue and the god of these people whom I love.

But I’m flawed. I’m chaos and destruction. I’m unholy and dishonorable. I taste blood in my mouth from the offal that my tongue didn’t spare these people.

I could live a thousand years and never be free of this. I’m lost forever while standing in place. Imprisoned in this place without bars, but it’s never the less a prison.

Trauma, triggers, and pain everlasting, amen.

If I could end it all. I just might. But better to stay experience. Have the slightest moment to tease my salvation and have it all taken away, treat others good or utterly ruin their heart and souls fighting them into the ground. All of that is still better than ceasing to exist.

But I can't say it'll be that way in years to come. But for now. I'm here for better or ill. Get used to it. Or be trampled by my horrid spirit. Or enveloped by my love. Or both. That's life. That's how it'll have to be.

The world needs it's monsters to be pointed at say "don't be like him", "he's what's wrong with the world". You need someone to curse and spit on and burn at stake. When you collectively create these monsters. I am a symptom of society, not it's ailment. Oh sure, claim that I'm blaming others for my problems, but then tell me what I did wrong?

I didn't embark of a path to joyfully be so fed up and pained and angry and scared and constantly being brought back to traumatic feelings in times of turmoil.

I didn't want that, it's bred into my heart but those who went out of their way to demolish it wholesale.

I try to hold on to caring. I try to make that effort, to be a light in the dark, even if it's a dimming dark light. But the foundation was put in wrong and when a really bad storm comes to me I am again wrecked and ruined and needing to rebuild heavily will I am. My very soul.

It's an uphill battle. And I'm buried under the hill. There's no precipice no plateau, just decay. Stuck. Cement shoes in lake.

"The most dangerous creation of any society is the man who has nothing to lose."

James A. Baldwin

#journal #my thoughts #ptsd #anger #bullies #i feel awful #i'm a bad person #i'm evil #proof god exists and is evil

[suddensouthparkaddiction]

REVENGE: Prologue

South Park Fanfiction: everyone is aged-up. The boys all being 23/24 years old, with the younger generation being 17/18 with the exception of Ike who would be about 16. There is CraigXTweek mentions, KennyXButters mentions, KyleXStan mentions, under aged sex mentions, Crazy Cartman, hints of stalking and creeping, and also kidnapping. LOTS OF CUSS WORDS. I don’t know how many chapters, but this is the prologue. I might post more depending on the reception. 

Karen McCormick was six months pregnant. She would be the perfect object to use in Cartman’s twisted, devious plan he’d dubbed, “Project Jew”.

Karen had accidentally gotten pregnant by Ike Broflovski. She apparently didn’t want to graduate from high school as a virgin and Ike needed to know whether or not he was gay. Win, win, right? The only problem was that neither teen was expecting the Canadian to be extremely potent, only getting Karen pregnant on pre-come. Ike had discovered he actually was fucking gay and Karen found out later that she was pregnant.The two were best friends along with Tricia Tucker. The three amigos were practically inseparable which made this plan extremely difficult. Not to mention Karen recently started dating Fillmore Anderson. Another set back. This, of course, was all to get Kyle back, that damned fucking Jew boy.

Stan Marsh had left just after high school to join the army and Kyle stayed obsessed with school. He used this as an excuse to bury his head in homework rather than wonder why the fuck his heart hurt. Of course, Cartman tried to make him feel better by taking him out but that was a rare occurrence. Hell, just a little fucking attention from Kyle would have been nice. Cartman just wasn’t good enough. All his fucking attention went to his courses and Kyle made no time for Cartman. Therefore, Cartman had to go and find attention elsewhere. He preyed upon Butters Stotch for almost six years. Even poor ass Kenny McCormick had gone to college. He became a male nurse while Kyle became a microbiologist. Fuckers. Kenny always wanted to help people and better himself. He always put others before himself. Then one day he came back to town and literally stole Butters away from Cartman. After that, all Cartman could think of was Kyle. Somehow the putrid Jew always weaseled his way back into his mind, even when he was fucking someone else. Even with Butters, Cartman would imagine that curly, red-headed Hebrew writhing under his body and the images just grew from there.

Craig and Tweek had gotten engaged during their high school graduation ceremony. It was definitely a sight to behold and not one easily forgotten. A year later they were married. As far as Cartman knew, Tweek had opened his own coffee shop in Denver, ‘Tucker’d Out Coffee’ he believed it was called. It supposedly was even better than his parents and had NO traces of drugs, making the little twitchy blonde slightly less twitchy. Craig had a job at the Denver Observatory near the coffee shop. He spent his day looking at stars. Fucking space geek. Kyle had moved to Denver for school and now he worked at some bio-engineering laboratory and Kenny worked at a hospital somewhere in the downtown Denver area. Almost everyone lived in Denver now. Butters lived with Kenny and about six months ago fucking gay-ass Stanley came back from touring in Afghanistan. Honorable discharge so Cartman hears it. Supposedly a few months ago Stan and Kyle actually became a item and it wretched Cartman’s stomach. He was fucking sick with rage and envy. He had been there for Kyle, not Stan. Stan was a notorious alcoholic from early elementary school on into high school. Their senior year Stan held his birthday party at his parents house and got fucking plastered. He took Kyle to his bedroom and tried to drunk fuck him. Cartman saw it all through the gap in the closed-over bedroom door. Kyle had a few drinks, but he was smart enough to hold himself back. Fucking Stan, though, confessed his feelings that night. He even literally threw them up. Cartman thought that Kyle probably didn’t even realize Stan was admitting the truth; Stan’s slurred words were just that of drunken stupor. Thoughts of that night still make Cartman digest rocks. Instead of interrupting them, he just went home to jack off to pictures of Kyle he had collected over the years.

Cartman remembered the next morning. He remembered the look on Kyle’s face when he realized that Stan had forgotten everything that happened the previous night. He saw how much Kyle hurt even if he said nothing about it. Cartman and Kyle actually became really close after that. He thought he would finally have Kyle to himself once Stan was out of the picture. Kyle’s stupid super-best-friend always held him back from being happy. Low and behold, the fucking bastard came back a goddamn hero. Guess the army set his drinking problem straight because he went through police academy and was currently serving as Denver’s rookie police officer. Motherfucker. He didn’t deserve Kyle. No one did. Except Eric fucking Cartman. 

That’s why over a month ago Cartman began sending Kyle texts from unknown numbers. He confessed his love for Kyle over text. He had always intended to tell him in person but Kyle gave him no choice. He knew Kyle knew it was him. He was going to have Kyle to himself whether willingly or by force if necessary. He didn’t know where the couple lived in Denver even with the extensive research on the two. This is where his plan came into play.

Cartman only had a small window for his plan to be operated. He knew Butters and Kenny were coming back to South Park for the last few months of Karen’s pregnancy so she could receive help to finish out high school. She wanted to graduate with her friends. Kenny’s weakness was always his sister and they would be in town by the end of the week.

So there Cartman was: silently opening up the window of the pregnant’s girl’s room. Oddly enough, Karen was living with the Tuckers in Craig’s old bedroom. She was kicked out of her parents house when they found out she was with child. This made Cartman have to work harder at tracking the bitch. This was the first night he had found her asleep in her bed without her damned boyfriend or having some kind of sleep over with Ike. Once the window was open, he clambered his large body through and pulled a Ziplock bag from his thick jacket pocket. Inside was a rag doused in chloroform. He opened the bag, gritting his teeth together as he pulled the plastic grips apart, trying his best to not make a sound. He quickly took the wet rag out as he crossed the carpeted bedroom floor in a few strides. He took in a deep breath and quickly shoved the rag over the Karen’s nose and mouth. It startled her enough to where her big blue eyes flew open and she struggled against him. Cartman used his weight to his advantage and pressed against her. She squirmed and tried to scream but the noxious fumes of the chloroform worked all too well. Her arms fell limp and her eyes fluttered to the back of her head. Now everything else would fall into place...once Cartman figured out how to take the limp body to his mother’s house.

Someone would realize Karen was missing, Kenny would be notified and tell Kyle. Then Kyle would text him. It was all just a waiting game now.

That’s when the transaction would take place.

A trade.

The pregnant teen for the ginger Jew.

chapters are here: 

https://suddensouthparkaddiction.tumblr.com/post/170136571689/revenge-prologue?is_related_post=1

#south park #south park fandom #south park creek #south park bunny #south park style #south park kyman #south park fanfiction #south park karen #south park ike #south park tricia #south park craig #south park tweek #south park cartman #south park butters #south park kyle #south park stan #south park kenny #sp craig tucker #sp tweek tweak #sp kenny #sp kyman #sp kyle #sp stan #sp fanfiction #sp fandom #southpark #karen mccormick #kenny mccormick #kenny #kyle broflovski

[warriorqueen1991]

Ain't No Grave

Characters: Dullahan Comic Negan

Warnings: Language and massive amounts of gore and violence :)

Notes: This is my second entry into @ladylorelitany Monster Mash writing challenge

———————————————————–

Once upon a fucking time, I fucking died.

Now I know what you’re thinking.

“Negan how the fuck are you gonna tell a fucking story if you’re fucking dead?”

Well kiddos when you’re a sonofabitch like me, you tend to think about death.

You tend to think about it A-Fucking-lot

But more often than fucking not my fucking brain takes a left turn, drifting to how my own death might pan out.

Now when you got a bullseye the size of the fucking Pentagon on your back, you kinda hope it’s gonna be fast.

Maybe painless if you’re lucky.

Cuz there’s a whole lot of fucking well deserved torture on my tab I’ll need to pay off at some fucking point at the fucking asshole bar.

Now don’t get me wrong, I’m about as fucking lucky as a dick in a room full of fucking vaginas, but I’m smart enough to know my lucks gonna run out sooner or later.

And by later I mean two fucking days ago apparently.

Well, at least it was fucking fast right?

So fast I never fucking seen it coming actually.

One moment I was giving some fuck the business then BAM!!! fucking lights out Negan.

Fuckers.

So let’s go back a couple days to the fucking moment I realized I’d screwed the pooch.

So for the sake of my story were gonna change things up a bit.

We’re gonna fucking fade the fuck out to first person POV cuz it’s fucking better that way, don’t like it…fuck off!

☆☆☆☆

Cracking my eyes open with a groan I wince, jesus fucking christ on a unicycle my fucking head hurt. Rolling over I furrowed my brow, squinting in confusion.

Ok, Negan

Don’t freak the fuck out.

Laying next to me was a large body it’s wide shoulders wrapped in worn black leather. Lucille lay between us, her beautiful smooth surface split in half, her barbed wire dress strewn in loose loops around her broken body. I grit my teeth as memories began flooding back.

Rick the prick.

Goddamn Lucille.

Fucking skin suites.

The sound of knives slicing through the air.

GOD FUCKING DAMN IT!!!!!

Fucking Frowney-Mctwoknives! That fucking limp dick lurch motherfucker better be dead. Fuck! decapitated or not, the next time I see him he’s fucking fucked.

Fucking cut me down, Fine.

But fuck with my Lucille?

Hell, I’ll get fucking Rick to soccer ball me the fuck down his throat if i have to.

Rolling my eyes around I scan the large field, fucking dicks didn’t even have the stones to brain me so I wouldn’t tun.

Well fuck you too prick.

Fuck you.

Movement suddenly brought my attention back to my nearby corpse, I probably looked like a damn mini-golf attraction with my mouth hanging open like some two dollar whore.

But fuck me, my body was fucking moving.

Its fingers twitched fisting the grass as it pushed itself back onto its knees, black blood oozing lazily down the front of my now red stained shirt. My body jerked thrashing about as it convulsed.

I grimaced, jesus that’s fucking gross.

Pitching itself forward my newly animated arms twisted around the blood soaked grass.

Shit

OK this is fucking weird.

“Marco”

The sound of my gruff voice sent my body jerking in my direction, blood spurting out around its leather clad shoulders.

Fuck, I know fuckers who actually have ears that can’t hear that well.

Twitching slightly as it leans backward against its boots, my headless corpse slumps forward with a gross squelching noise before crawling its way toward my face. Grasping my jaws roughly in its gloved hands I curl my lip in annoyance “fuck, hey take it easy there fuck face” I growl as my body stumbles to its feet.

Cradling me in the crook of its arm, my body shuffles forward, it’s large torso bending forward to grab Lucille by her handle. I can’t help but frown at my girl’s broken body, her twisted wire the only thing keeping her together as he drags her behind us.

I’ve seen some weird shit in my day, but damn.

What the fuck was happening to me?

I mean…

WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK???

I mean, I guess I shouldn’t be fucking surprised. I always fucking knew I was too much of a fucking bastard to die.

The low rumble of moans snap me back to reality, chuckling I watch as the dead shuffle in around us. It sure as shit didn’t take fucking long for me to have my own fucking herd. I mean fuck, I knew I was a fucking charismatic fuck but damn even the dead couldn’t resist me.

Squinting in curiosity I watch as a roamer roughly shoves its way forward, it’s jaw slack as it’s guts dangle freely from its decaying flesh.

It sure was a pissy little thing.

I snort noticing its exposed breasts, well that explains a lot.

Chuckling at my own joke I waggle my eyebrows at her “so, you come here often baby?” I give the oblivious corpse a wink, flashing her one of my famous panty-dropping smiles. Its face turns at the sound of my voice snapping its jaws as it stumbles forward. With a vicious growl the female roamer suddenly trips over a large rock, her leg tearing apart at the knee as she collapses to the ground with a thud disappearing from sight.

Scoffing I roll my eyes, “fucking typical”.

*****************

Well it took a fucking month and a half but my body finally stumbles into what looks like an abandoned farm, dropping me unceremoniously to the hardwood floor.

“Fuck”

Blinking my eyes I notice the barn still holds the smell of animals, like the world is still fucking normal. looking around I watch as my body thrashes around in the back of the building. The sound of something growling followed by a loud crack can be heard before I see my other half returning to me. It’s large hands dragging out a long rusted-ass chain attached to the corpse of a burly, half eaten horse.

“Oh god please don’t tell me you want me to fucking eat that” I groan wrinkling my nose in disgust. Choosing now to fucking Ignore me, my corpse drags the carcass in front of my eyes dropping the rusted chain so that it thuds loudly next to my ear making me wince.

I furrow my brow in confusion as my body shuffles around before dropping to its knees next to the rotting animal, a swarm of flies dusting up around him.

Dear fucking god I hope he doesn’t fucking start eating it.

Wait a second…

I give an enthusiastic smile

Hey, he doesn’t have a fucking mouth and I don’t have a fucking stomach so he can’t eat and I can’t blow fucking chunks so…

Problem fucking solved

A loud gurgling noise wipes the stupid grin off my face faster than an elderly nudist. My body is hunched over the dead horse, it’s stomach tensing as it wretches a torrent of black sludge from its stump onto the animals open neck wound.

Ok

Now I really wish I could fucking throw up.

Giving one last heaving spray my body drags itself off the ground hobbling slightly as it grabs Lucille tossing her to the creature’s neck. My eyes widening even further as her barbed wire is sucked inside the wound, it’s bloody strands twisting the animals flesh closed. Several more strands dart out amongst it’s many wounds pulling flesh and bone back together.

A loud rumbling sound echoes around the barn as steam jets out the once very dead horse’s nostrils . It’s eyes darting around the room, emitting a fiery glow. With a low growl the creature fights to its feet shaking it’s blood caked mane.

It’s ink black flesh is torn in several areas exposing bone and it’s now throbbing innards. Lucille’s wire can be seen holding the flesh of several large wounds closed. Her barbs twisting around the creature’s nose and jaw keeping the exposed bone tightly together.

This was…

THIS WAS FUCKING COOL AS SHIT!

I couldn’t help but give my best super villain laugh as my body finally retrieved me off the floor grasping the unholy beasts chain leading it outside, it’s skeletal tail twitching behind it almost nonchalantly.

Holding his hand out I smile as more barbed wire spins forth from the creature’s jaw snaking out around itself to form makeshift reigns as my body swings us up on its back with ease.

Looking up at my body with a wide smile showcasing my blood stained teeth I drawl “think it’s time for a little fucking payback dont’cha think?” in response my bodies leather clad heels tap the creature’s sides. The beast roaring as steam bellows out its wired jaws as it rears up on two legs jumping forward at a full gallop racing off to Alexandria.

******************

The forest was like a grave as we clip clopped our asses between the trees, an eerie mist beginning to follow us adding just enough terror to the growing parade of dead fucks stumbling behind us to bring a smile to my face.

Trotting up a small hill we finally came upon prick-topia, fuuuuck this place looked like shit, I grimaced as I took in the sorry fucking state of things. The once shining butt plug that was The Alexandria Safe Zone was now Completely tarnished. The gates were pulled apart, practically hanging off their fucking hinges as hoards of the undead crawled and pushed their way inside.

Several gunshots echoed within the walls sending the sacks of shit behind me into a frenzy. “Hey, settle the fuck down back there” I growl. The silence that follows has me raising my eyebrows, holy shit that actually fucking worked?

My body urges our monstrosity of a horse forward, the roamers shuffling quietly behind us.

Searching the area the best I can without a fucking neck I narrow my eyes.

A roamer is stumbling towards us.

Alone?

With two herds clearly visible this fuck is standing out like a turd in a punch bowl.

“I see you” I sing out to the wandering dip shit, it’s body halting as it cocks its head in confusion.

I can’t help but laugh “yeah, surprise, sur-fucking-prise…I mean fucking really? Did you sorry shits really think I’d stay fucking dead?”

The dumb fuck stares at me like it wasn’t a fucking rhetorical question.

“Jesus fucking christ” I groan “alright shit heel, take me to your fucking leader before you really fucking piss me the fuck off….I mean you’d think fucking lopping my fucking head off in a fucking field of fucking corpses would of fucking pissed me off”. I raise my eyebrows in amusement “but fuuuuuccckkkk me I’m really not that fucking upset, ask me if I fucking know why but here we are…”

The stupid shit still just gawked at me like I had a fucking dick for a head.

“ok, I’m gonna count to fucking five, and if you don’t start fucking walking I’m gonna fucking rip your fucking spine out your fucking ass”.

Fucking nothing….really??

My bloodshot eyes glance behind the stupid fuck just as fucking Frowney-Mctwoknives himself lumbers to prick-topia’s gates.

Rage.

That’s all I fucking feel

I don’t notice the strands of fucking barbed wire spewing forth from my fucking corpse’s neck until there twisting their way into my blackened flesh.

Shit that fucking hurts

Baring my teeth as I’m lifted back to my rightful place on my fucking shoulders, the rusted wires pulling my flesh secure as black blood drools out the corners of my mouth.

Fuck

Reunited and it feels so fucking good.

I cough up more of that fucking black shit as dip shit jerry finally makes his move, his fingers grasping his knife as I surge forward.

I’m a man of my fucking word.

Leaning over my undead mount I grab his pencil neck, dragging his ass onto the saddle with me as I wrap the barbed wire reins around his throat. Fighting harder than a fucking salmon swimming upstream he lets out a bloodcurdling scream as I ram my fist up ass sending blood pouring down off my horse.

I’m laughing like a fucking maniac but the homoerotic jokes just won’t fucking stop, so with a deep chuckle I wrap my fingers around his spine wrenching it from his body in a wave of gore that would put a meat grinder to shame, as the force pulls his head free from his shoulders due to the fucking barbed wire.

His body falling to the ground in two halves.

Still holding his blood soaked spine I smile brightly as lurch finally notices my presence. Giving my mount a slight kick he pitches a fit rearing on his hind legs with a loud demonic noise.

“Come on ya stupid fuck, your dousing my fucking epicness in cold water here”.

Snorting it turned it’s head to look at me, Lucille’s handle sticking out of its mouth like a dog with damn bone. Pulling her broken shaft from its jaws I smirk as more wire twists from its broken end, slithering over my lap to intertwin with dipshit Jerry’s spinal cord. The silver strands pull the vertebrae apart connecting them with the wire in a long ass fucking whip.

Looking the badass weapon over I smile, the damn thing looks like it belongs in a fucking Clive Barker novel.

Yeah that’s right…I fucking read.

I’m not a dumbass.

Sliding from the horse from hell I stalk toward Frowney-mic-twoknives, I’m beyond fucking pissed at this point and all I wanna do is fucking tear him apart.

Fucking Beta lumbers at me like the fucking cocky ass douche canoe he is. But snapping my Barker whip back behind me I pull of my best Indiana Jones slash catwoman whip crack I could dish out. The loud snap making him stop before pulling out his fucking clearly compensatingly big knives from within his coat.

Spinning around I lash out, my whip snapping out around his body as he quickly blocks the vicious barbs from cutting his face with his knives. Spinning back around I wrap the bloody weapon around me slightly as I yank him to me, smashing my head into his thick fucking skull.

Chuckling as he’s knocked on his fucking ass I growl “come on you big lumber dick, show some fucking balls”. Spreading my arms wide I run my tongue over my bloody teeth.

God this fuck had me all kinds of fucking pissed.

Beta stumbles to his feet, rushing me as we collide like fucking linebackers. Somewhere in the fucking mix he rammed his fucking mini sword into my side.

Didn’t even feel the fucking thing.

Slamming my foot down on his boot I elbowed him in the stomach wrapping my whip around his neck, tossing him over my back before ramming my knee in his spine.

Pulling the wire taught.

Blood splattered up over his shoulders as I began sawing his fucking head off.

Unfortunately the fucking Hulk of the apocalypse had a little life left in him.

Throwing his bleeding head back he shoved me off tripping my leg so he could straddle me, his large fists slamming into my face.

Twisting my hand around the Barker whip I crashed it into his jaw sending him rolling off me.

Swinging with everything I had the bloody barbs and human vertebrae slashed across his face. Lifting my fingers to my lips I let out a harsh whistle, my lips pulling back in a wide smile as my demonic steed galloped to a halt behind his stumbling form.

Lifting my hands I laughed as barbed wire shot out from its wounds wrapping around him like some kind of fucking spider catching a damn bug.

Beta put up a big ass fucking fight of course by went still when I cracked my whip, demanding silence.

Leaning over to whisper in his ear, I grit my teeth “boy did you pick the wrong fucker to fuck with, shit stain”.

Raising my fist in the air I opened my palms with a wide grin as my body was covered in blood. My horse retracting the barbed wire, the strands moving against his skin like a buzz saw.

Laughing manically I swung my whip around so it slithered up around my torso. Stepping through the gooey human mulch that used to be Frowney-mic-twoknives I swung my body up on my horse.

I felt like I was gonna fucking throw up.

Gagging as I suddenly fell from my shoulders once more, my body caught me in its arms.

Well that was fucking fun while it lasted.

Giving Pricktopia one last glance, I smirked “saved your fucking ass again captain hook” I grumbled.

And like a fucking badass I jerked the reins, turning the beast around.

disappearing into the fog, my army of dead fucks stumbling behind me.

Fucking King of the fucking dead fucks.

The. Fucking. End!!!

————————————————————

☆TAG LIST☆

@ladylorelitany @embracetheapocalypsewithme @negans-network @jdmfanfiction @zoesmama2024 @noodlecupcakes @dixonsbait @ashzombie13 @artemisxeros @i-am-negan-trash @asshatry @dumplingjoker @robertdowneyjr-rdj @kristenallison04 @azanoni @ryangoslingstanktop @jackythemoo @ask-kakashihatake @staceyruby @collette04 @neganslittlebird @jmackie1983 @naughtybellax @a1iah @roguesandsaviors @hot-and-spiceyyy

#comic negan #negan smut #negan #twd negan #negans thirst squad #negans-network #negan x you #negan x reader #negan x oc #jdm #jeffrey dean morgan #jeffrey dean morgan smut #twd #twd family #twd fanfiction #twd fandom #the walking dead #monster #monster fic #ladylorelitany #Monstermash2017 #dullahan #dullahan negan

[trueheartedcenobite]

The city of your Carnival wasn’t so far away from the old hive’s shore that you couldn’t still hear the soft murmur of waves in the labyrinthine corridors, like that tale of putting your aural caverns up to an empty shell to hear the sea (yeah, you heard it, but mostly because that was all you ever heard around you and putting a shell to your ear didn’t quite sound so different).  Sometimes, on particularly clear nights while scaling the taller towers to pass on orders or messages or packages or who knows what between signalers or saints or superiors or who knows who, you could still catch a sight of the moons gleaming upon the horizon’s surface (Like.  If you were at any distance tall enough, would you still be able to see that shine?  Motherfucking wonders of the world).  The inland-rushing breeze would carry that familiar scent of salt, unless a coming storm or whim of the wind shifted the air to come from some other direction.

Typically then, among the smells of fresh rain and lightning in the heavy, thick humidity, it smelled of smoke those nights.  

Not the nice sort, like the incense clouding up the holy halls deep in the confines of the citadel real ethereal looking, trailing off artful lines that go twisting through the air and up into the arched ceilings.  Less sweet on the sniff node, and though faint, the scent was rich and deep, and a touch artificial, like throwing plastic on the flame.  Common was the word rebellion, spit out like a curse and unfunny to the whisperers like some malicious prank.  Gossip was nearly just as common as worship here, but those nights, the balance tended to get almost sinful until High Brother called to Court the matter.  You didn’t witness much of those affairs.  Those were for the most crackerjack of carnies.  The best of sharp eyed laughsassins, the staunch subjugs, the voracious fortune killers, and the foxy fucking funambushlists.

The rumors--rumors?  Maybe to the likes of you, sure--

The news of all discord struck deep into the pushers of trolls for some fuckin’ reason was straight from the source legit.  Woe had inflicted the land.  Poor motherfuckers.  And all your siblings wore all these twisted faces at the fact (contemptuous looks, but to you, sneers looked so similar to sadness).  Fellow congregations in cities beyond yours couldn’t be fixing up those places back to its miraculous self.  Couldn’t all get showing those down and out sorts the magic of the world.  Faithful seeking sanctuary from such uproar came crawling up to your Carnival, pleaded cases with High Brother, and understood their failure.  They gained place in the citadel, which was all merry to you.  Injured, in all cases, unable to continue the holy crusade of maintaining the peace and prosperity.  They carried messages of their own, informing the church of the state of affairs where they come.  Most always the tales were victorious.

“The unsightly scum are few and far between.  The littlest factions that are easy to put down, the merest tantrums.  But they have ideas in their nugs that aren’t so easily dispelled by persuasion alone.  Ideas that persist past the due decision their thinkers be done with thinking them.”

In the full pews, a sight you think would appear similar to the old days when numbers of all ages would stay here to protect the city, you all murmured prayers of strength and solidarity to your siblings still guiding the woebegone to salvation, and you’d give a few thoughts of your own to the wretched who lost their ways.You couldn’t understand such upset out there, beyond the sparkling colors of stain glass and comfort of solid stone painted up fine with the numinous colors.  Life was a gift, all experiences treasured and for a grand purpose yet to be revealed.  Life surprised you in that righteous way, and you couldn’t get greedy after those miracles lest your want give you the unexpected results in punishment.

Clowns come spreading other stories, too.  Some nasty cobalt no one’s stars have so alligned to challenge yet, but cobalts are the the chaotic romping kind of trolls, if you had any thought to voice on the matter.  The one sort of sympathy you can give is condolences for a lost mate, and you were surprised with bringing those looks to the faces of your siblings when telling that history (you didn’t realize crippled trolls were dead trolls walking--er, rolling--and none of your siblings helped you know, so you stayed so blissfully ignorant).  It isn’t often to get a mood out of a clown, you’ve seen.  Seadweller all salty at the shores, too, but you didn’t really know how a seadweller could be anything but salty.

You sure try to lift your siblings’ spirits, though.  Like, as though you could be getting them up as high as to pass a prayer right into the ears of the messiahs themselves.  Yeah.  

So you take what burdens off them you can (since you’ve already learned not to be offfering your pie without a real misunderstanding ringing their souls wickedly choked with offense), for the familiar faces common in the crowd you know from your sweep already living here, to the new designs of sisters and brothers just coming onto this grand stage.  Tires a brother doing the good work, but it makes them all chill and it makes them all smiles for the most part.  

Not right now, though.

You got stuck staring out the window at this little wisp of a tree trying to grow in a crag on the sill.  It’s one of those clear nights, where you were catching a glimpse of that multicolored shine on the horizon before this wee critter swayed into your vision and, huh. You know.  You’ve never actually witnessed a full grown tree, or those forests you once read Tavros saying Terezi lived in.  Just the sprawling space of sand and sea, and beyond the dunes, marshes, and beyond those, some grassy plains, and beyond those, the start of hiveland being built up around the Carnival.  And you never traveled to see beyond the tops of those dunes; you weren’t supposed to venture far from your lusus.  You knew how it was with family.  Maybe you could ask at High Brother whether you could venture back for a visit to the old goat, but he was an intimidating one. 

You hear your name sharply break the quiet up here, but your reaction must not be quick enough because you get a few shakes to your nug from a hand high up on your horn.  Sponge sufficiently rattled, and now a few pages of the packet you were bringing up to the signalers loose from your hands, skittering down the stairs, you spy upon the preying eyes of the sister of planetary coms.  

“Hebetude.” Your other name, whatever that is, is full of annoyance.  You’re quick to present what papers are still in hand so as to appease her.  “These were asked for a quarter clock ago.”  

You don’t have much to answer for that besides, “Time’s just a funny fickle thing.”  Some nights you had too much of it, minutes ticking by between seconds, and some nights it seemed to float off out of sight like a balloon lost to a windstorm.  Hand on the stairs railing, because funny shit happened while you were on stairs with some funky humors pushing at your balance, you go retrieving the lost articles.  You’re not really supposed to look at them, but Conscription and Ascension are noticeable words to your eyes.

“Ships be coming?” And when you look up to hand off the last, you know your words were not welcome and you wouldn’t be getting any gift of tasteful sopor for your efforts.  That was, as far as you knew, a grand happening, and an occasion open to some celebrations with reunited friends and friends that would be departing to wherever the fates may choose.  

She seems to consider you deeply, in a way that makes you feel like the target of a sea bird aiming a real good spear.  “Not here,” she finally voices (conceding to herself, if that’s all he knows, he’d stir unnecessary hype with a mouth that runs like water), “Not quiet yet.  But I can’t wait for when they do to see what they’ll do with you.”  

Its a spare sheet you find fluttered way down at the foot of the stairs once you make a quiet retreat from that keenly disapproving stare that describes a shipment of captured psions from a hivestem compound north of the bay, and a yet uncovered dual-eyed yellow individual with a group who managed to slip away.  Describes, too, an early draft plan forming to nip away at the rebelling numbers on planet and divert their “excessive energy” to more disciplined purposes. Too free an environment, it says, where childish insolence can ingrain in an individual despite their sweeps.

You’re quick to deliver the paper back up the plentiful stairs, and while you try and say you already promised a favor for another brother, she hands off some new task for you to do first.  “Punctually, for messiahs’ good graces.”

#plot #ic drabble #((nitpicking at this point and sometimes its just gotta be #wow i havent para'd in a while

[placetobenation]

Tomorrow is another one of those Divas anniversaries – fourteen years to the day since Trish Stratus and Lita wrestled in the main event of Monday Night Raw in a Women’s Title match.

This is a big one, not only because it was just the second time a women’s match headlined an episode of Raw without any pesky men around, and not only because it was the biggest bout yet between the two biggest stars of the era, but also because it was the culmination of a nine month feud that was far and away the best thing about Raw in 2004.

On a personal note, this is the 20th Deep Dive I’ve written for you kind folks, and in an extraordinary and uncharacteristic show of restraint, I Dove Deep nineteen whole times while barely mentioning the greatest of all time, my sun and stars, moon of my life, Trish Stratus. Now, that’s simply because I’m so excited to talk about ALL of these women and there’s so much to cover, but that streak is well and truly over today because for real dudes, Trish Stratus in 2004 is the greatest gift that He ever sent down from the heavens to grace this wretched wasteland of a planet.

She is God tier.

The entire feud is fantastic, in fact, so let me spin you another yarn. There are about three different soap opera storylines to get through here so the short version of this preamble is that in late 2003 Trish and Lita, bestest best friends, were being pursued by Jericho and Christian respectively, the boys made a bet for $1 (Canadian) that they could hit that, Jericho ended up catching feelings and turning babyface, only for Trish to kick his ass to the curb and turn heel and mack on with Christian on the WrestleMania XX stage.

Thank u, next.

You may wonder how Trish goes from breaking Jericho’s heart to making Lita’s life a living hell. After all, last we saw they were bestest best friends! I’ll tell you how. This was all the fault of a women’s battle royal. In wrestling, some battle royals are throwaway. Others change the course of the next nine months of television. This was the match that launched a thousand skits.

It was a couple weeks after WrestleMania, and this particular battle royal was for No. 1 Contendership. Basically all of the other dorks got tossed during the ad break and we end up with Trish and Lita facing off in a big finishing stretch to determine the winner. Despite Trish and Christian still being in the middle of their feud with Jericho, and despite Jericho’s interference late in this match handing Lita the victory, Trish seems FAR more offended at Lita beating her than at anything Jericho is doing. It’s a subtle shift in Trish’s motivation, where the focus of her vitriol becomes her bestie/archrival, Lita, someone she’s comfortable fighting against, instead of a man that she isn’t really a physical threat to. Heel Trish liked to punch down, and Lita was a much easier target.

She had NO IDEA how much of an easy target Lita would soon become.

For reasons that remain unbeknownst to this day, I believe, one fateful day on Raw, Kane decided to interrupt a Divas tag team match, corner Lita in the ring, and forcibly kiss her. Oh yes my dudes, THIS WHOLE THING THAT HAPPENED.

Kane began stalking Lita on Raw every week, with her then-boyfriend Matt Hardy often getting in the middle. Trish Stratus observed her best friend being relentlessly stalked and molested by a psychopathic monster and decided, “Yep. I am going to ROAST THE SHIT OUT OF THIS BITCH LMAO”

She started out with the gold standard of fuckwithery, “Oh no! Look out! Kane’s behind you! BAHAHAHAHAHA!” And just stepped it up from there.

When Kane defeated Matt Hardy at SummerSlam 2004 for the right to marry Lita (I know, I know…) Trish was kind and thoughtful enough to corral the other heel Divas and throw Lita a bridal shower! (And let me tell you, the way that Trish utters the phrase, “Because you have to marry *KANE*” is just… I saw God.)

Then we ALL saw God when she crashed the wedding itself.

If you can get past the outfit, this run in is also basically the greatest speech anyone has ever made at a wedding. “All you have to do is open your heart! Just like you opened your legs!”

Holy moley.

When Lita was impregnated with Kane’s demon baby as a result of Kane coercing her into sex to protect Matt Hardy (hmmm why does this sound so familiar??) who else was there to greet her backstage with jokes about it “festering” inside her but King Dick Trish. That whole episode in fact (Raw, September 6th) was basically a one woman show. She dragged Lita mercilessly for getting knocked up by Kane, turned around and dragged Nidia for yelling at her in Spanish (“I don’t speak German!”), then dragged Nidia in the ring to one of her best matches like the GOAT she is, and then when Nidia started making her comeback, Trish could super not be fucked dealing with it and just straight up RIPPED NIDIA’S SHIRT CLEAN OPEN to distract her and kicked her head off.

I have no words for that kind of thuggery.

But back to our bullshit, when Lita then lost the aforementioned demon baby after an unfortunate and definitely-not-his-fault incident with Gene Snitsky (I KNOW, I KNOW OKAY!), who was there waiting to savage her some more about losing her pregnancy weight and drop lines like “At Survivor Series you’re gonna lose to me, just like you lost your baby” ?? You guessed it! King Dick Trish, the fucking asshole. What kind of prick trolls someone about having a miscarriage? Jesus.

Speaking of Survivor Series, let me catch you up on other, more normal events. At Bad Blood 2004, after an original Victoria vs. Gail Kim defense was changed to a four way with Trish and Lita, Trish, of course, stole the winning pin from under Lita’s nose and won the belt. From there it’s a tale of two women; Trish ruling atop of the Women’s Division as champ, and Lita toiling away in the Utter Bullshit Division. For months they only really ever met in these backstage skits and promos where Trish would body her over and over when she knew Lita couldn’t retaliate. And that was all they needed to make it the hottest feud on Raw.

Finally, in November Lita moved from the Utter Bullshit Division back into the Women’s Division and immediately set her sights firmly on Women’s Champion King Dick Trish Stratus. The match is made for Survivor Series. Jericho hosts a Highlight Reel featuring the both of them in the lead up, and he brings a referee out with him because he’s TERRIFIED of having them in the same room together.

With good reason. They’ve barely laid a hand on each other since that title match back in June. There is five full months of angst packed into this powder keg.

And it well and truly goes off at the PPV.

Trish comes out first and is STILL making puffy cheeked chubby faces as Lita makes her entrance, determined to make absolutely sure of her own death I guess. Lita walks down to the ring and punches Trish right in her fucking face. And punches her again. And again.

Then they go outside and all hell breaks loose. Lita grabs a chair and absolutely WALLOPS Trish for the DQ. Trish BLEEDS. Women NEVER bleed on WWE TV, but Trish got that juice brother. Lita kept going crazy and blasted Trish from behind right into the stairs in one of the greatest camera shots of all time. Trish freaks out spectacularly at the sight of her own blood. And somehow, considering this was an immediate DQ finish for a PPV title match they spent half the year building, this was some great business.

From this point forward Lita is fascinating to watch. You might think she’d go on some crazy tear of babyface revenge going after Trish’s title, but she’s actually the complete opposite. She’s not frantic or wild or in a hurry. She’s… calm. Almost serene. It’s as if she knows at this point that she HAS Trish. She’s got her. She’s finally free to fight her, she already beat the shit out of her at Survivor Series, now Trish is wearing a face mask on her broken nose that Lita can gleefully target, and she knows her day is coming. Lita is completely free to punch Trish in the face all she wants for all of the shit she’s been talking all year. Lita is free. Finally. And so she doesn’t chase Trish. She takes her time. She enjoys it. After all of the crazy shit she’s gone through in 2004, it’s actually a relief to just enjoy beating up a familiar foe in a wrestling match.

I bang on a lot about Trish here, and it’s always the heels that get to have more fun, but don’t sleep on Lita. She was also great during this entire angle (while having to do some truly horrid bullshit) and this part of it in particular was some fantastic work.

So the return match for title is finally made (by the ever-present Chris Jericho in his role as guest GM, in a nice touch) for the December 6th Raw. This show happens to be in Charlotte, not very far at all from Lita’s hometown at the time of Sanford, NC. The Women’s Title gets that main event slot baby. They spent the whole night recapping the feud to build up to it. Jim Ross dropped a great line about how to these women, this title means as much as the World’s Heavyweight Title does to the guys. The scene is set.

But not before one last backstage skit. We couldn’t really have it any other way. Trish had taken to calling Lita “The Walking Kiss of Death” and jokingly asked who’s career Lita was going to kill tonight, to which Lita obviously replied, “Yours” and gave her a big smackeroo. Now, Lita was just being smart here because as we know from this and Mickie James in the near future, kissing Trish before a match increases your chances of having a motherfucking BANGER with her by at least 1000%.

That’s just science.

What is a lot harder to explain with science is how Lita actually survived the match.

Y’all remember THAT bump. Lita hit a tope and landed so hard on her face her body scorpioned ov-argh. Nope. It’s fourteen years later and we know she was fine but man is it still hard to watch. She only came back from the broken neck a year earlier! Lita is officially a cyborg.

I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention it, but it’s a shame that the scorpion bump is sometimes the only thing people remember about this match. What’s important to remember about this match is that IT FUCKING RULED.

The tension was palpable from the bell, and the crowd was ready. Trish took off her face mask and used it as a weapon BECAUSE HER FACE WAS FINE AFTER ALL in a move so dastardly it caused Jim Ross to wig the fuck out on commentary. Lita’s bad bump ended up serving the match, lending a lot of weight to Trish working over Lita’s head and neck during the heat. Lita came back with a powerbomb and the rare and elusive women’s superplex. There were a bunch of great, close nearfalls, and at this point the crowd was going insane chanting for Lita. When she finally went up and hit the redemptive, life affirming Moonsault for the win, people went APESHIT. J.R. literally screamed himself hoarse raving about Lita coming back from all that punishment and winning the belt.

A trillion and three quarter stars.

Revolution or no Revolution, this is still one of the very best women’s matches in company history. And the perfect capper, at that point, to a rivalry that had started all the way back in 2000, and boiled over so spectacularly in 2004. I just love these women.

You can actually watch the full match on WWE’s Youtube here.

That was a lot, and yet like, I feel like I didn’t even scratch the surface with Trish, or even get into half of the stuff with Kane and Lita and all of that nonsense. I’m going to suppress the masochistic urge to dive into it that further, and come back next week to talk about another one of my favourite girls, the unfairly-maligned Divas of the world.

Check it out: No. 1 Contender’s Battle Royal (Raw, April 5th 2004) Trish Stratus vs. Lita (Raw, April 12th 2004) Trish Stratus vs. Lita (Raw, May 17th 2004) Victoria vs. Gail Kim vs. Trish vs. Lita – Women’s Title (Bad Blood 2004) Trish Stratus vs. Lita – Women’s Title (Survivor Series 2004) Trish vs. Lita vs. Molly – Women’s Title (Raw, November 22nd 2004) Trish & Molly vs. Victoria & Lita (Raw, November 29th 2004) Trish Stratus vs. Lita – Women’s Title (Raw, December 6th 2004)

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