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equestrianwritingsstuff · 3 years

Note

Ooh! I just discovered you from the Bad Things Happen Bingo and I love your writing already! Could I potentially request the Bleeding Out prompt as a prequel for the Soup for the Sick story you wrote?

Thank you for the ask! I had to look up prequel to make sure that you meant before the events of Personalized Caretaker Part 1, and not after 😂. Here you go! In reference to this post.

So, with that note, this piece happened before Part 1 of Personalized Caretaker.

Personalized Caretaker Part 2

Part 1

Warnings: blood, vomit, losing consciousness, faking an injury, drugged whumpee, fear, implied touch starvation

*not edited*

Civilian hopped onto her couch, legs resting on the armrest and flicked on the television, going straight for Netflix.

It was a normal day, serene and tranquil with the perfect amount of work that made Civilian feel good inside.

She lazily gnawed on a piece of beef jerky and selected The Kissing Booth for personal enjoyment. Something cheesy and romantic to vibe to as she decompressed- even the best days required a period of relaxation.

But, her period of relaxation was very rudely interrupted by a thud. Right outside her door.

Civilian froze, heart racing, as her mind involuntarily replayed every known horror movie. She was the victim, the bad guy was going to break in and slash her throat as she unceremoniously says, "Who's there?"

Civilian shuddered, turning off the television, and slowly standing up. She grabbed her remote control as a weapon and very, very slowly, like a ninja, stalked stealthily up to the door.

"Who's there?" Civilian asked. Crap, her fatal flaw. Now the bad guy was going to rush out and murder her, then the police would come and there would be ten more killings and then there would be a ghost that was a moaning lady with pale skin and black hair that was hung in the woods seventy-some years ago and then it is reincarnated to be a doll that haunts children and-

Civilian drew in a deep breath. Don't freak out, don't freak out. It was probably a bird that weighed the size of a man- a bad man- that crashed into the window and died. And died. And died. And died. It was gone. Instead of using a remote, she should be using a plastic bag.

"Stop it Civilian, you paranoid freak," she yelled at herself, very loudly, her voive taut with utter fear as she peered through the shades.

The first thing she saw was blood.

Smeared blood in the direction of downwards, leading directly to...

A body.

Civilian felt nausea rise in her throat as literally the blood drained from her face. She wasn't the first victim, the poor human in opening credits, she was the next victim and her house was the killer's stash.

Probably to blame her for the death. To redirect the suspicion.

She had to hide the body and burn it before the cops came. Oh boy, the killer probably already called them. Crap crap crap.

Civilian whisked the door open, tossing her grand weapon of plastic and onto a nearby table, and prepared to wrap the body in a black bag.

The body moved.

Civilian screamed.

The body was not a body, it was a living man.

"Oh my gosh sir? Sir! Are you okay? Sir! Sir!" Civilian grabbed her hair and started to paced. "This can't be happening. This can't be happening. There is a bleeding man on my fricking doorstep." She started to ramble, muttering nonsensical curses and words that weren't going to help the dying man.

She was panicking, completely hyperventilating, by the time the man moved more than a shaky, uneven breath.

His eyes opened, revealing a drop-dead gorgeous icy blue. Eyelashes fluttered in the most enearding way as the man struggled to keep his consciousness to himself. Lips quivered as he whole face bunched together in an expression of pain.

Civilian didn't know if she could handle it.

"Are you doing to die?" She asked, rushed and abruptly. The man looked his clouded gaze on her. It took a moment, but he spoke,

"Heroes. Heroes, they are coming. Run, get outta here. Get outta here!"

Civilian shrieked, glancing hurriedly around. An insane plot twist, the good guys were the bad guys and...

Wait, this wasn't a movie.

And why was this man so scared of the heroes? Unless, of course, he was...

A villain.

Civilian covered her mouth and dropped to her knees. A v-v-villain? Was at her door? Civilian pinched herself to see if she was sleeping, but the nightmare didn't vanish. She was stuck in reality. Someone go get her a soda...

Villain's eyelids drooped as he weakly extended his arm. "Please," he begged. "I need help." Then his arm went slack.

Civilian was close to hysterics.

But nonetheless, out of fear, she grabbed the man's arm and attempted to pull him inside. She silently cursed. Her twigs for limbs could barely carry a box of mason jars; what made her think she could drag a two hundred pound full-grown adult male?

It was a taxing project that left Civilian in tangled limps, just begging for sleep. The man didn't stir at all, not even when Civilian's fist went into the gaping wound in his stomach.

Aw man, that was disgusting. Civilian vomited into a nearby trashcan before returning to figure out WHAT THE HECK TO DO!!!

"Can you wake up?" Civilian asked. "Please? I-i... how do I... how do I do this?"

Civilian was on the verge of tears, but then she reminded herself. This isn't a movie, he won't be miraculously healed after a good night's sleep.

With a quick reference to Google, Civilian finally felt prepared. She ran to get a pillow and slipped it under Villain's head. His eyelids fluttered as his eyes cracked open, but then they slipped close again.

Next she removed his shirt and was quite awestruck at the sight. Other than the painted crimson, his abdomen really was the definition of ab-domen. Hard muscles were lined perfectly.

Okay Civilian, someone is dying, don't admire it.

She placed one hand above and the other in the wound to staunch the bleeding. After the blood flow slowed, she lifted his legs to rest on the armrests in a similar position that she was in earlier.

Next, she jumped some hydrogen peroxide in and bandaged the wound. The villain never awoke.

Once the looming danger was gone, Civilian just stood there awkwardly. Dried blood crusted on his skin, but at least it wasn't wet.

So she stood there, arms crossed as meaningless thoughts rushed through her head.

What do call a male ladybug?

Is grass the earth's hair?

Do pineapples come from pine trees?

Why is a villain on my couch?

Civilian sat down, keeping a good three feet distance from the assumed murderer, and turned on the TV to resume her movie.

She leaned her head back, exhaustion tugging at her eyelids, but she refused sleep. Especially when a villain was slumbering next to her with one arm over his face.

He looked like a monkey.

One of those pale faced, brown haired primates from Curious George.

Not that his ears were splayed out or anything, the monkey had very tiny, collected ears that hid under his fluffy brown hair. His nose also held that itty-bitty appearance, perfectly formed to his face with the faintest trace of freckles.

He was cute.

Like a monkey.

Or not, as Civilian found monkeys utterly disgusting.

So cute, like a kitten.

Civilian smiled, looking down at her lap. Another thing Wikihow said that Civilian scowled at and ignored before. Put the victim's head in your lap to calm and keep them comfortable.

It wouldn't hurt, right? The villain wasn't even conscious, and he lost so much blood that he probably wouldn't remember anything if he did wake up.

She just met him.

Stress can increase heart rate which may be detrimental. Civilian scrunched her forehead. Was that even true?

Who cares. Civilian scotted her skinny self over and laid the villain's head in her lap. Then, temptation started its charismatic monologue.

Stroke his head. Be nice, clean his chin. Wipe the dirt off his eye.

Civilian hesitantly put her hand on his grimey hair- ew, he needed a shower ASAP- and gingerly patted it. Patted it, like petting a dog.

It was embarrassingly awkward.

For the next few hours, Villain slept. Civilian also dozed off between getting yummy smelling candles to fend off the revolting scent od blood and crackers to aimlessly gnaw on.

She watched through the first Kissing Booth and the second one when a thought struck her.

Pain.

The villain would be in pain when he woke up.

And the only thing Civilian had was Ibuprofen.

Like those barely took the edge off a headache, much less a gash the size of a baseball.

She reached for her phone to call her friend at the local drug store. Putting on a squeaky voice, Civilian said,

"Can you, uh, get me something for pain?"

"Slow down, Civilian. What?"

"I don't know benadryl or a very strong pain reliever," Civilian bit her lip, squeezing her eyes shut. Stupid stupid stupid...

"What did you do?"

"I, uh, sprained my ankle."

"You sprained your ankle?"

"Mhm hurts like-"

"Okay! I don't need your swear word dictionary. I'll bring you something after work."

"Thanks, oh owowowowowowo."

"Goodbye Civilian."

The line clicked.

Civilian smiled to herself and popped another cracker in her mouth. Problem solved.

The blood on the door.

Crap.

Civilian set Villain's head back on a pillow and ran to the frontdoor.

Great, just great.

Civilian flipped the middle finger at Villain's sleeping figure and walked out the door. She would meet her friend before she saw the splatters of blood.

Civilian sat herself on the curb, throwing her newly "spraind" leg out, letting out an insanely loud groan, and leaned back on her elbows.

"Oh my goodness! Civilian," her friend leaped from her black car and ran over. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah," Civilian waved it off. "Just wanted some air and the house is a mess, so."

Civilian, you are dumb.

"You sure? You asked to be hospitalized once because you stubbed your toe and the fact that a sprained ankle isn't bugging you... I am wholeheartedly worried."

"Don't be," Civilian chuckled. "How was work?"

Friend gave her a skeptical look. "Fine," she drawled.

"Good," Civilian nodded slowly, tapping the ground with her fingers. "So thank you for the painkillers."

"Mhm," Friend handed Civilian the plastic bag slowly. "How did you sprain it?"

"Uhhh fell out of the shower."

Friend looked genuinely concerned.

"Tripped and fell," Civilian repeated herself awkwardly. "On the ground?" Why did she have to say it as a question?

She was awkward and sounded hilariously awkward as well.

"Klutz," Friend joked, but her face was still taut with worry. "Need help getting inside?"

"No no!" Civilian exclaimed. Friend stepped back, so Civilian laughed to alleviate the tension. "I should walk it out."

"Ooookay," Friend said, nodding. "Good for you. I'm gonna go. I have a dinner date with this dude from Tinder."

"Oooo good luck," Civilian said, faking a wince as she stood up. Friend rushed in to help.

"Don't," Civilian cautioned, raising her "hurt" leg up. Friend looked at it and scowled.

"Dang leg huh? Well bye-bye. Don't fall out of the shower anymore. Got it?"

"Yup," Civilian said and fake limped back to her house as Friend sped away.

Missiom accomplished.

Villain was stirring when Civilian sat back down.

Perfect timing also.

She rummaged through the bag and grabbed a bottle of valium. She popped the recommended dosage out and approached Villain.

He was still too dazed and disoriented to stop Civilian from helping him swallow, but the second the water touched his tongue, he woke up fully.

"What are you doing? Don't touch me!" He yelled, pulling away. Civilian also backed away, a frown forming on her face.

"Me? I saved your life."

Villain was silent. "How much did you touch me?"

"Enough to save your life."

Villain jerked, looking around as if somone was in the shadows. Paranoid, Civilian copied him.

"What's wrong with you?" Civilian asked.

"You touched me?"

Civilian didn't say anything. She crossed her arms and shifted her weight to one leg, examining the villain.

Villain jerked to his feet, swaying madly. Civilian's heart jumped. He was so unsteady...

He fell, but Civilian swooped in to catch him.

For a moment, the villain melted into her half-embrace, head resting gently on her shoulder, before pulling away. He bit his cheeks, seemingly trying to keep tears back.

"What... are you? Are, are you scared of getting a hug? Sheesh."

"Mmm no," Villain shook his head quickly, then sat down as if the feat made him dizzy.

"Mmm yes," Civilian sat down next to him. The villain looked confused, but that may be the drugs kicking in.

Soon Villain's eyes starting to droop and he swayed in his sitting position.

"Whatdya give me?" He slurred, a faraway look in his eyes. "Mm tired." He collapsed forward.

Civilian steadied him and helped him lay back down. He groaned pathetically and grappled at Civilian's hand, desperate to hold it.

He held her hand until he fell asleep.

#bad things happen bingo #villain whumpee #villain x civilian #civilian caretaker #blood tw #drugged villain #writing #whump #i'm sorry this took so long #i have to embrace civilians personality first

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thediamondgirl17 · 3 years

Text

Alpha!Goshiki x Omega!Reader: That Day In The Gym (SFW!)

So I have been on the biggest hunt for Goshiki fics, and this poor boy barely gets anything! I also am a big Omegaverse fan if you haven’t seen who I follow then you probably don’t know, but if you like omgeaverse too I recommend checking them out! and decided that he deserves some love! So this is actually like, my first time writing an Omegaverse fic so, I hope it turns out good! Leave a comment for some feedback! I love hearing from readers! If you end up liking this and want a second part, feel free to tell me! I would love to write a part 2 to this! Here is Part 2!

Warnings: None, maybe some strong language, that’s about it.

Honestly, it had been a fairly rough day for you. Being a first year at Shiratorizawa was much more difficult than you had thought it would be. Of course a prestigious, rich kid school like this would be difficult to attend, but that was precisely the reason that you had decided to come. Of course there were those people who got into the school just because of their athletic ability, but you were not one of those people. Omega’s typically weren’t that athletic, it just didn’t exactly run in their genes, however it wasn’t completely uncommon for an Omega to end up on a team or doing something active, nor was it uncommon for a team to be fully comprised of Alphas. So how did a little Omega such as yourself get into a prestigious school with mostly Alphas and Betas? Studying.

You had spent so much time studying in the school, and your grades definitely reflected it. You weren’t the top student in the class, but you sure as hell were not at the bottom. And with that being said, you weren’t the only Omega there either. The school would release statistics to the public each year to show what the dynamic was like at the school, and currently in your year the school comprised of 25% Omegas, 35% Betas, and 60% Alphas. Not to mention the rate of Omegas attending the school has continuously risen at least 5% every 4 years, which was great for the schools reputation and also for Omegas wanting to make a life for themselves without immediately finding a mate, and if they did...well then good for them! However, Omegas still faced a fair amount of discrimination and intimidation at the school, but what else was there to expect?

So why had your day been so rough? Well first of all, your teachers had all decided to give you a test on the same day, which completely mentally exhausted you. And the school had announced that Omegas needed to find an extra curricular activity (which most people did anyways) in order to look good on college resumes. But why exactly did Shiratorizawa care if Omegas got into good colleges? Because it made them look good. So here you were, standing in front of the board with all the different clubs listed on them as you hummed. Your eyes trailed along the colorful pieces of paper to try to find something that you wanted to do. Most of these clubs were athletic ones, and you were definitely not an athletic Omega.

“(Y/N)-chan!” Your friend called from down the hallway, they were also an Omega that you had met while attending Shiratorizawa. “Remember how we had to use the other gym today because the main one was being used for repairs?” They questioned. You nodded in response with your eyes slightly furrowed as you tried to ponder why they were reminding you of today. “Well, I was in the girls locker room, and noticed that your bag wasn’t in there! I think you left it in the second gym!” They said not exactly panicked but a bit urgently.

“Okay,” You paused and replied. “So what’s the big deal? I can just pop in and grab it.” You said calmly and as a matter of fact.

“Did you forget that the second gym is used for the boys volleyball team...which is comprised of like...all Alphas and Betas and one Omega!” They said quickly. “That’s scary!”

“I’m sure it’s not awful, Even if they do get upset then I can just explain to them what happened, grab my things and go!”

“Yeah, but their coach (Y/n)! The one with the grey hair! He’s super scary! And he doesn’t exactly like Omegas in the gym while they’re practicing.” They sighed trying to get you to understand, However you just shook your head and offered them a small smile.

“I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

So now here you were, standing outside the doors to the boys volleyball team’s gym. But why hadn’t you opened the door? That’s a great question. You just thought you could pop in and out without them noticing to much and be on your way home at this point, but things don’t always go according to plan. You had greatly underestimated how strong some of the scents from the Alphas were, and even the one Omega on the team had a strong scent, to the point where you could smell it through the door. Of course they had also been sweating and moving and most likely competition, so it was normal for them to smell this strong. However you hadn’t even remembered that the Apex Alpha of Shiratorizawa was in that room as well. Ushijima was a very scary person to Alphas and Betas, let alone a small Omega like yourself. But at some point you would have to get your bag out of the gym and you had decided that sooner was better than later.

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When the boys volleyball team for Shiratroizawa entered the gym, they definitely did not expect to see someone’s gym bag laying off to the side of their gym. Let alone one that reeked of an Omega. Most of the team brushed it off not really caring, but coach Washijo was furious. The older Beta yelling about how the main gym was fine and that nobody should have been allowed to step food on their court except for them, yadda, yadda, yadda. But not one of them expected the same Omega that had the balls to leave their items in their gym, to actually walk in during their practice and get it. Which, unfortunately was exactly what you were doing now.

The moment the door creaked open the tiniest bit, all eyes were on you, and your whole body stiffened up. Your scent quickly changed from normal to nervous as you stood in the doorway of the gym. You slipped out of your outside shoes, put on your gym shoes, and stepped on the court, not making eye contact with anyone at all.

‘Don’t look at them. Don’t make eye contact.’ Your inner Omega cried out. And you happily obliged, You quickly hurried over to your bag and grabbed it. But the moment you turned around, you came face to face with none other than the Apex Alpha of Shiratorizawa himself, and once you made eye contact with him, you chirped nervously. Every Alpha in the room had turned to look at you once you made the small noise, and it had even caught the attention of the purpled haired first year whose sworn competitor was intimidating a poor little Omega.

The moment Goshiki had walked into the gym, his eyes had landed on you. He caught your scent in the hallways every now and again, but whenever he would he would turn to try and find out who it was, only for it to be swept away in the scent of other Alphas. Of course he had found out who you were after months of being in the school, but was never able to find the time to talk to you and get to know you. The purple haired Alpha loved your scent, and wanted to know more about you so he could decide if you were a good contender for a mate, or even just a date. However, when he heard the chirp you had emitted upon seeing the Apex Alpha, something in him quickly snapped.

‘Stop him.’ His inner Alpha said. Not even a second passed before he had found himself standing between you and the captain of the team.

“What are you doing?” Goshiki questioned his captain.

“I was going to ask her why she disrupted our practice.” Ushijima stated simply. That was his personality after all. Short and sweet, or short and bitter.

“You know damn well why she came in. She came to get her bag, She didn’t disrupt anything, you just go distracted by an Omega’s scent.” Goshiki shot at him. And now the team was invested with what was going on with the current nd future Ace of Shiratorizawa.

“I was going to scold her, and tell her to not forget her items anymore.” Ushijima said, but his voice had a tad bit of annoyance in it.

“You are scaring her! Didn’t you hear her chirp? And that didn’t give you a single idea that you were making her uncomfortable?” He shot back. His confidence didn’t waver as he stood in front of you. Something his teammates had never seen.

“...I-I’m sorry...,” You said meekly behind Goshiki. “...I-It was m-my fault...I-I won’t do it again...,” Your voice was quiet and soft and obediently polite to the tense Alphas in front of you. You turned to leave but felt a soft hand on your wrist. You turned and looked up at the purple haired first year.

“You have nothing to be sorry about,” He stated softly. “Trust me you did nothing wrong.” His voice was soft and smooth and sounded like honey. He smelled nice too, it was like this warm lavender scent with a sweet undertone to it. It calmed you down, physically making your shoulders relax.

“Th-thank you...,” You said bowing your head a bit before pulling your arm out of his hand and heading out of the gym. There was silence in the gym before anyone spoke.

“Awe! Goshiki! Did you find yourself a little girlfriend?~” The red haired Omega cooed from behind him. Suddenly the purple haired boys cheek’s turned a pink color.

“N-No she just-,” He paused. “I-I just-” He paused again. “Sh-she’s just-,”

“Oh yeah...You’ve got it baaaaaaaad~,” Tendou cooed.

“Wh-whatever...,” He said softly.

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A full day had passed since that day in the gym. You were headed off to your final class of the day when you bumped into someone. You were carrying books and papers, and were daydreaming as you walked, therefore finding yourself bump into someone. You yelped and felt yourself fall backwards, but a hand reached out and grabbed your arm before you could fall, holding you in a strong grip to keep you from falling. You looked up at him, and if it wasn’t his face that let you knew who he was, it was the smell of warm lavender with a sweet undertone that did.

“I-I’m sorry...,” You said softly as he stood you up.

“I-it’s no problem...,” He admitted and looked around at the mess on the floor of your papers. Almost instantly you both fell to the floor to pick up the pages. His hand brushed against your own as you grabbed a paper, and both of your cheeks heated up at the contact.

“Thank you...,” Your voice was quiet. “F-for yesterday too!” You quickly added in hopes to try to make the situation less tense, because for whatever reason your inner Omega felt nervous about him. If it was a good or bad thing, you didn’t know.

“O-Oh that? That was nothing...,” He said in an equally soft voice as he stood up straight. “U-Ushijima-senpai can be a bit...,” He trailed off.

“Oblivious?” You asked with a small head tilt.

“Y-yeah! That’s the word I was looking for!” He said quickly. There was silence between the both of you for a few moments. “O-Oh! I almost forgot!” Goshiki said and reached into his bag, he pulled out a slip of paper and handed it to you. On it was some writing, ‘Wanted, an Omega manager for the boys volleyball team,’ With some informative text under it. “I-I think y-you sh-should try this....Y-you don’t have a c-club right?” He asked.

“No...I was looking for one though...,” You admitted with a dust of pink on your cheeks. “D-Doesn’t your coach not like Omegas though?” You asked looking up at the purple haired boy.

“No...He doesn’t at all...That’s why Tendou is the only Omega on the team...,” He gently rubbed the back of his neck. “But the schools administration got a little upset at him for that and told him he needed to be more inclusive...,”

“That makes sense...,” You giggled a bit. Your smile and light giggle practically made the boy in front of you melt. Your scent wasn’t really nervous around him anymore, it was warmer and sweeter than usual. “...I’ll look into it...,” You said softly and tucked the paper into your bag. You bit your lower lip and looked off to the side. Only until a moment later did the bell ring, you tensed up a bit. “I-I should get going t-to class...,” You said softly.

“O-of course! I-I should as well!” He said stiffly and started on his way to class. You smiled to yourself and walked down the hallway. Once he was out of sight and you were settled in you classroom, you took out the flyer.

You held it in your hands and looked down at it. However, something was a bit off. You leaned down and lifted the paper to your nose to meet about half way and took a small sniff. ‘He scented it...’ You thought to yourself as warmth crawled up onto your cheeks.

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“Wow...You really are bad at this...,” Shirabu said as he walked down the hallway next to the purple haired boy. “You’re supposed to scent gifts like jewelry, food, something home made. Not invitations to be our club manager.” He spoke in his monotone voice.

“W-well whatever...She seemed interested!” Goshiki shot back. “A-and besides-!” He paused for dramatic effect. “Once she sees how I’m clearly going to surpass Ushijima as the next Ace, she will be begging to be my mate!” He said proudly with a slight blush on his cheeks.

“Oh yeah ‘future Ace?’ You still need a lot of practice before that day comes...,”

“Why are you like that?” He whined and his hair deflated a bit.

“Just being honest...,”

#haikyuu #haikyuu x y/n #shiratorizawa #goshiki #goshiki x reader #omegaverse #alphagoshiki #omegareader #anime

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yourdeepestfathoms · 4 years

Text

The Crucible (part ten; finale)

[UK Tour; Carrie AU]

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9

Word count: 8463

TW: Blood and gore, mentions of rape

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

-Don’t Waste The Moon-

“When did you first realize something was wrong?”

“When I heard the sirens.”

Katherine remembered all her fears coming true when dozens of police sirens, fire truck sirens, ambulance sirens began to blare so loudly in unison that she could hear them from her neighborhood. She had ripped open her front door, Isabel hovering right behind her, and stared in horror at the golden-orange light illuminating the night sky from miles away.

“And then the fire.”

“And when was the last time you saw Joan Seymour alive?” Mulaney asked.

Katherine looked at him skeptically. “At school on Friday. Before the prom.”

“You told Sheriff Doyle you saw her after the prom. Right before the Shell blew up.”

Katherine bit her tongue, remembering that interaction. She had just sped down in her car to get to the mayhem, but stopped at a gas station that was swarmed with police cars. When she launched herself out of the driver’s seat, she heard one of the officers saying into his radio how a fuel tank had just “went up” and the “gymnasium was gone.” She asked him what happened at the gym, and he told her to go home, that there was nothing she could do. But she didn’t listen, instead swerving around the gas pumps to get a better look at the school, which was completely engulfed in flames on one side.

That was when she heard the explosions. And saw the bursting pillars of fire in the distance. And noticed that the telephone poles lining the road were starting to rattle and rock.

And Joan Seymour emerged from the smoke and fog rolling down the street.

“It was dark,” Katherine said. “I saw a girl in a dress.”

“You said you saw Joan Seymour.”

“I was wrong.”

But she wasn’t. She knew it was Joan.

Joan, covered in a slick of blood.

Katherine had tried to call out to her, but Joan didn’t answer or even look in her direction. She just kept walking, arms flat at her side, fingers splayed open, eyes wide and shiny and blank.

The Shell gas station blew shortly after. Something had wormed into the gasoline deposit and ignited the entire thing, sending the pumps into a blaze. Katherine’s ears didn’t stop ringing for a few hours.

“What’s it matter, anyway?” Katherine said. “Joan is dead.”

I would know...

------

The sound of frantic knocking on Anne’s front door and the sound of her cousin shouting interrupted the heated makeout session between Anne and Cathy. She had been trying to ease her girlfriend up, who has looked sick ever since the blood dump, and it was just starting to work when the panicked banging and yelling started. Rolling her eyes and groaning in annoyance, Anne peeled herself from the couch (nobody was home, so they had the house to themselves, making this interruption even more irritating) and walked to the front door.

“What?” She growled at Thomas. “What’s your problem?”

“Oxford.” Thomas gasped out, clearly out of breath. His eyes were round holes of horror, like he had witnessed something awful. “It’s burning up, Anne.”

On the couch, Cathy shot up from her reclined position instantly and began to put her shirt back on, much to Anne’s dismay.

“Whole damn city,” Thomas went on, breathless. “The school’s gutted.”

“What?” Cathy stood up and hurried over beside Anne. Regret, guilt, and terror was twisted all over her face.

“They said people at the prom were trapped.” Thomas continued. He wore the same expression as Cathy, realizing that this alleged destruction was partially because of him. “Only, like, eleven of them got out. The rest were cooked.”

Anne and Cathy exchange looks. Cathy looked ill all over again. She began to pace back and forth with her hands to her head, fingers knotted in her hair.

“Anne,” Thomas whispered, shuddering. “The ones that got out told the police something about a prank.”

Anne pressed her tongue against the inside of her lip, feeling embers of anger flicker through her. She shook them off for now and stepped closer to Thomas, noting the way he flinched away from her slightly. She placed her hands on his shoulders.

“Go home.” She said. “Don’t talk to anybody.”

Thomas took a deep, shaky breath and nodded. He hurried down the driveway and back to his car. Anne closed the front door after he drove off into the night.

“And what are we going to do?” Cathy asked. She sounded like she was close to tears.

Anne turned to her with a thin smile.

“We’re going to go into town and watch the fires.”

------

The street is thick with mangled cars and billowing smoke. All around, the cries of the dying form brief, unsettling harmonies with the cracks and booms of exploding pavement.

A red double-decker bus tilted over at an alarming angle, tires punctured, emergency exit door hanging open. Its driver laid slumped across the steering wheel, sightless eyes staring ahead to a junction he would never reach. The limbs of luckless late night passengers trail from broken windows.

A water main has ruptured. Its flow was tainted with blood; dark swirls in a new river that headed for the oblivion of black drains. Soon those drains will fill beyond capacity and the street will begin to flood with the remnants of the dead and broken.

It’s the most magical place on earth, and everyone seemed to have it all there—the drugs, the drama, the unabashed violence, and the harm it’s done to Joan and everyone she’s ever loved.

This old, mysterious city lured her in a long time ago and numbed her with a fix for her every desire. Against this landscape, she’s carved out a prosperous career as the resident freak. Through the sheer force of her will, the city had molded and bent before her very eyes, covering everyone’s every potential insecurity with false confidence and gaudy excess.

In return, the city has jaded her, stripped her of her humanity, and warped her into an unrecognizable shell of noir-esque dysphoria, washed up on the filthy banks of the city’s canals. It has brought her to this very moment, shambling down one of the streets like a zombie, coated in coagulate blood and guts, leading a path of utter destruction in her wake.

The air around her was crackling. Every step she took broke the asphalt beneath her feet. Pillars of fire roared out of the ground behind her, spewing chunks of fiery rocks into the sky, which then landed with tremendous explosive force.

She was wrecking this city the way it wrecked her.

And every sinner who ever hurt her or wronged her was going to perish in her act of purification.

Rapture was nigh, and Judgement was upon them all.

Joan slowly continued down the road. The earth began to shake without stopping, a continuous tremor that jarred her teeth in her head and made her feel as though the ground was about to drop out beneath her. Another fountain of fire shot out into open air and the asphalt melted into magma, slithering slowly down the pavement alongside Joan like a benevolent bituminous companion.

A big black truck rattle up a side street, swaying into the other lane and jerking back over and over again. Music was blasting from the open windows and the stench of alcohol and weed could be smelled even from where Joan stopped. She watched the truck screech to a halt and the passengers peer over at her curiously, slurring among themselves. Then, they’re getting out and walking over.

“Damn girl,” One said, noticing the blood all over her. He stumbled when he walked and kept mixing his words together. A brown bottle was clutched tightly in his right hand. “You look FUCKED!”

His three friends, all red-faced and either drunk or high out of their minds like he was, roar into loud peals of laughter. Joan stared at them blankly.

“What’s with all the pyrotechnics?” Another asked. “You a performer?”

“Yeah, yeah,” A third nodded. “What kind of show is this? ‘S not even close to Halloween!”

“I’d still go down on ‘er, though,” Piped up the fourth with a lusty smile.

(dogs)

Joan continued to stare at them absently as comments about the blood all over her and the fire burning around them were bounced off each of the men. What they don’t realize is that she’s sending her powers through the ground and into their bodies, and by the time they do realize, it’s too late.

A shrieking fit of screaming broke out when the fourth man’s head suddenly popped like a balloon, spewing shards of blood and bone and brains all over the place. One of them got a chunk of stringy tissue caught in their mouth and he immediately doubled over, gagging and vomiting. The other two continued to howl like babies.

“WHAT THE FUCK?!” The first yelped.

“WH-WHAT HAPPENED TO HIM?!” The second added.

“HE’S FUCKING DEAD, MAN!!” The first cried.

The second whirled around to Joan, pointing and blubbering.

“You-you fucking did this, didn’t you?” He stammered.

“How?!” The first said.

“I-I don’t know! But she killed Danny!”

The second man bent down and grabbed a long, thin shard of glass that had been broken when all the bottles of alcohol had been dropped. He swung it at Joan, and she was much too dazed to properly react.

“What...what the fuck…” He backed away from Joan, who had the shard now pierced through her cheeks. It entered through the right and came out from the left, wedged in place by her flesh. When she opened her mouth, the brown glass could be seen glistening in the firelight. Blood dripped over her bottom lip.

“What...what are you…?” The first whispered.

Joan flicked her tongue and felt the piece of glass in her mouth. It was cold and slick, but the blood it drew was hot and sticky. She didn’t like the taste.

She jerked her head and the man who had stabbed her went flying. His spine snapped loudly against a telephone pole, his body folding like a bent card upon impact. He slumped to the ground, lifeless.

“Oh fuck! Oh god!” The first man panicked. He grabbed his other friend’s arms, who had gone into shock. “Fuck! Jack, let's go!! We need to go!”

They didn’t get very far.

The ground below the men exploded into towering flames, incinerating them. The smell of burned flesh filled the air. Charred body fell to the asphalt, blackened and indescribable.

Joan moved on in silence.

She passed the plaza where she had been harassed by those college kids just a few days ago. She remembered the way nobody had done anything to help her and ignited the pavilion into a golden-orange blaze.

The fish and chips shop went next. She stomped her foot and a crack shot across the earth. A giant chunk of rock ripped through the building, turning it to rubble. She turned to the hair salon next.

No matter what time of day she went there, "Cut and Colour" was full of women who talked too loudly. The exact composition of the group changes from hour to hour but there were always familiar faces, and their tone is consistent: they know better.

At first, by day, she thought the locals were waiting for a haircut. Then, she noticed that it never seemed to be their turn. Finally, she realized that what they liked was a warm room to hang out in, with free magazines and a captive audience. It was a sort of day care center for bigots which also offered haircuts.

Vidal Sassoon supposedly said that with a small pair of scissors, he could make a woman cry for a week. Imagine what Joan could do with telekinetic powers.

She decided to blow the salon right out of the ground. It went flying through the air like a burning asteroid and burst apart when it hit the ground. When it was just mere pieces across the fiery pavilion, Joan was left a lot less satisfied than she thought she would be. She moved on slowly.

As she walked, she began to think. So many years wasted to torment. So many years she could have exacted her revenge and been treated like a normal person. So many years thinking she was just a useless, scarred waste of skin, as her peers in school had spent six years of her life reminding her.

She still heard them all the time, their voices in her head telling her how wretched, hideous, and scary she was. She tried to drown them out by concentrating on school work and prayers, but the smallest thing could bring them crashing back in. Just the thought of the shower incident—how familiar it all felt—brought on a fresh wave of memories of poisoned words and scornful laughter.

It all started when she was ten. Year 6. She had brought a Bible to school and prayed with it in the cafeteria during lunch. Everyone thought it was hilarious and she couldn’t live it down for the rest of Primary School.

And then she was eleven and in Year 7. Secondary School. And up until that school year, she was mainly ignored by her peers or picked on simply because of the whole Bible incident. But then gym class and changing in front of other girls became a thing, and they all saw the way her ribs would weirdly press out against her skin and how her stomach was sunken too far in for her skinny hips. That was the day she learned what the word “emaciated” meant. It also kickstarted hell on earth for the next five years of her life.

The rest of Year 7 was spent with her being bombarded by food and the constant question of if she was hungry. She even started being called anorexic when a few of the kids figured out what that meant and would be asked if she needed someone to jam their fingers down their throat whenever she would go to the bathroom. She also distinctly remembered a boy giving her a tub of rotten meat with maggots in it one day.

Year 8 rolled around. Mama said that the bullying would go away after the break, but when Joan turned up to the school when she was twelve, she was only met with familiar evil faces and fresh bouts of teasing. The anorexic jokes became more extreme, but those were probably the least awful things she was met with because her peers grew enough balls over the break to start getting physical with her. That school year quickly became the year of being tripped, shoved, and slammed against walls. She had even been pushed down one of the staircases when she was going to get a drink of water and broke her arm. She still remembered how horrified and sick the culprits had looked when they heard the awful crunching and cracking sounds of her bones breaking, like they hadn't meant to do that much damage. Instead of helping her, they left her in the stairwell, where she cried on the floor for an hour, immobilized by pain, until class ended and she was found by dozens of students. She finished that year with a cast that got slurs written on it when bullies would pin her down and forcefully write whatever they wanted.

When she turned thirteen, she begged her mother to take her out of school before Year 9 started, but Mama refused and Joan had to live through another year of ridicule and harassment. That was the first time she got her head dunked in a toilet and fingers smashed in a door.

Year 10 was the worst, in her opinion. High school. On the second day, her so-called friends abandoned her and scribbled on her homeroom desk statements such as “Go home”, “Drop dead”, and “Freak”. All her peers seemed to spread the news of her weirdness like wildfire to the higher grades, turning people she didn’t even know against her. Older kids and kids her age alike would beat her and threaten her with knives they would sneak to school just so they could snatch whatever snack she bought from the cafeteria and turn anyone she may have befriended against her. Students in her class would beg the teacher to let them be with someone else if they were partnered with her, always making sure to do so in earshot of her. They would laugh at her during presentations and throw things at her and make fun of her when she messed up. They mimicked her stutter and nervous ticks, held her down and dripped hot glue on her skin, put staples in her ears and fingernails, and poised sharp objects too close to her eyeballs just to hear how loud she would squeal. And the entire time, no adults did anything. They all turned a blind eye to her treatment, even when she had the burns and scars and bruises to prove what had been happening to her.

She soon realized that it wasn’t that they didn’t see what was going on.

They just didn’t care.

Nobody ever cared.

She turned fifteen at a summer camp she hadn’t been allowed to go to, but sneaked off to, anyway. The break had been lonely and dreary- Joan wanted friends so badly that she dared to go against her mother’s wishes and ran off to the camp to try and be with kids that would mock her.

But, like everyone else in her life, they did.

When she cheerily told them that it was her birthday, they called her a witch instead of singing to her. A large group of the cruelest campers, some being seventeen, some being only nine, dragged her out to the nearby river and repeatedly dunked her in the water until she began to drown, all while they chanted “Drown the witch! Drown the witch! Drown the witch!” over and over and over again. It still echoed in her ears to this day.

Her mother punished her severely when she got home and didn’t even care when Joan cried to her about what the kids did to her, saying that she deserved it.

Joan became deathly afraid of water after that.

And then, there was Year 11. The cycle of abuse and torture and torment continued. The shower incident happened. Seemingly all was lost.

But not anymore.

Never again will she cower beneath them. Any of them.

She was an angel of wrath, and she would spread her fury unto them all.

A black G-Wagen stopped at a red light up ahead. Even from the distance between the two, Joan could tell who the driver was.

The car roared forward, not waiting for the overhead light to turn green. Joan lumbered slowly, while the car sped at her full speed. She could see Anne Boleyn, now, her face twisted with rage. Next to her, a dark skinned woman Joan didn’t know was yelling something in a panic. Joan twitched her head to the side and the dark skinned woman’s neck snapped to the side. Anne screamed and lost control of the car in shock. Joan gave it a gentle nudge and sent it tumbling across the street in a cacophony of cracks and crashes and shatters.

Joan stopped and watched the car roll wildly before finally coming to a halt in front of her. Every side of the vehicle was crumpled and crushed, metal scraped and folded, black paint streaked with silver slashes. One of the doors was dangling open and barely hanging onto its hinges. Anne was sprawled out beside it after she had been thrown from the open door in the crash. She jarred awake from a momentary dip of unconsciousness and gasped sharply, looking around wildly.

“Cathy?” She croaked. She looked up and saw the dark-skinned woman slumped in the passenger’s seat. She was very, very dead, if not by her neck wrung backwards, then by the gaping red horror opened up in her chest cavity. “CATHY!!”

Anne tried to get up and run to the woman, Cathy, to try and rouse her despite her injuries, to beg her to wake up, but couldn’t.

Because she was missing the entire lower half of her body.

Anne choked on a scream when she looked back and realized her legs were no longer attached to the rest of her. She may have vomited if her stomach hadn’t been ruptured; Joan could see the contents, mainly alcohol-mixed bile and chunks of a hamburger she had for lunch earlier that day, drooling out from a slice in the lining that was opened up like a ziplock bag.

During the crash, when Anne had been thrown out of the car, the open door rolled over her midsection, cleanly cutting her in half. Dark red intestines are stretched across the pavement like dying snakes. Stringy tendons dangled from the curve of her back, frayed and numb, no longer connected to any bone. Her spine was sticking out into the open air, bright white against all the blood. Organs poured out of the maw of the wound, shimmering in sheens of pink and scarlet. The shirt she’s wearing may have originally been dark green, but it was currently swamped by a flood of glistening gore. Her legs were a few feet away, bleeding heavily.

Joan sidled around the girl slowly and stepped into her field of vision. Anne looked up at her, gasping and spitting up blood. Tears were streaming from her eyes.

“Y-you--” She choked on her words.

Joan tilted her head like a confused puppy. Anne continued to sputter and wheeze below her.

“J-Joan--”

Anne barely managed to move her arms and grappled onto Joan’s right ankle. With whatever strength and feeling she had left in her body, she pulled herself forward to Joan. Her intestines slither and slide across the ground, leaving streaks of blood. She coughed up another bout of red.

“Joan--”

What did she want? Mercy?

Joan reached up and slowly pulled out the glass that was still stuck in her cheeks, then stuck it underneath Anne’s jaw. Anne gasped and spewed blood all over her legs.

“Y-you bi--” The glass pierced her tongue. She wasn’t going to be able to talk very well. Or do anything anymore, really. “Y-you--f-fucking--mon--monst--er.”

Joan stood up straight, turned around, and continued her walk down the street. Anne tried to follow her, crawl after her, but her head fell heavily and the shard of glass was jammed up further into her head when her chin connected with the ground. She frothed and foamed at the mouth helplessly, struggling to stay conscious.

Joan wondered how long she lived. She wondered if it was quick or if she suffered.

She hoped she did.

Joan’s jaw began to ache. She could now feel the thin cuts in her cheek and felt like she was gulping down tiny pieces of glass whenever she swallowed. Awareness was slowly returning to her the closer and closer she got to her house.

She wanted her Mama.

Withered brown leaves rustled in the ghostly wind. The night was almost silent, if not for the wailing gust, the crackle of fronds, and the wailing of sirens in the distance. Bloodied shoes trampled over the dead blades of branches, the crunching of their filaments accompanying Joan’s every step. A frigid breeze cut across her face like a frozen knife, drawing red to her sallow cheeks. She shivered. The blood coating her body had gone cold.

She really, really needed her Mama right now.

Joan hobbled into her neighborhood, passing house after house, so much nicer than her own, until she finally came to the Seymour bungalow. Something inside of her fluttered and she staggered towards it as fast as her weak legs could take her, hands doing desperate grabby hands.

“Mommy, mommy, mommy, mommy--” She sobbed over and over again.

She stumbled through the front door, nearly tripping on the rug, and careened into the den. Everything was as she left it- completely trashed. Crosses were hanging at angles, the couch was tipped over, chairs and tables and lamps were strewn all across the floor. The only thing that was still in its original place was Mama’s velvet throne chair in the living room.

But where was Mama?

“Mama?” Joan called out. “M-Mama?”

No answer.

Joan stepped forward, and all the furniture and items on the floor pulled away from her, as if they were offended by her dirty presence.

“Mama? Mommy?”

Nothing.

Where was her Mama?

She remembered that Mama had left the house earlier that evening. What if she never came back?

Tears filled Joan’s eyes. She couldn’t be alone. Not after what happened tonight. She desperately needed her Mama.

She walked up the stairs, falling to her hands and knees halfway up and continuing the climb like a blood soaked animal that barely managed to get away from a hunter. She looked around the upstairs part of the house, crawling to Mama’s bedroom and peeking inside, leaving streaks of red across the hardwood floor. Mama’s bed was made, but she thought the blankets looked a little wrinkled on one side.

“Mama?” She called out again, a brief expression of hope flitting across her face.

No reply.

Joan’s bottom lip began to quiver. The movement hurt her cheeks even more and she whimpered sharply. The smell of rancid blood wafting around her was starting to make her stomach churn.

“Mommy?” She tried one more time, and when she got no answer, she retrieved fresh clothes from her bedroom and then locked herself in the bathroom.

An unseen force cranked the hot water nozzle on the faucet, filling the tub up with steaming water. Joan could barely lift her own arms, so she used her telekinesis to worm the dress off of her for her. It was a clumsy process, but she eventually was free from the bloody fabric. When she looked down, she saw that the blood had soaked all the way into her bra and underwear and even her pale skin, streaking down her chest and belly and arms and legs in dark red stripes. She quickly got into the bathtub.

The water was way too hot, but she didn’t bother turning the cold nozzle, even though she easily could with just a simple flex of her mind. She melted into the heat, sucking in a sharp breath and easing her lungs. When she slowly pushed herself up into a sitting position, she saw that the water around her was tainted a light red color. She splashed her face, thinking maybe she was just seeing things, but then she looked down at her hands and saw how stained they were.

She had been hoping it wasn’t real, that it was just all in her imagination, but something about seeing the blood now wet on her hands cemented it all as true.

It was true.

It all really happened.

Joan’s breathing began to pick up to the point where her lungs begged for air. She turned her hands over, staring at the palms and then the backs. Blood trailed lazily over the scars.

“No--” She gasped. She splashed her face again, wetting the blood and making it run down into her eyes and over her cheeks. “No, no, no--”

She splashed and splashed and splashed, then began to scrub and scrub and scrub when she realized just how stained her shoulders and chest were. Her hands smeared the blood into awful shapes, so she hooked her nails into claws and began scratching viciously until even more blood was drawn out. The entire process was messy and clumsy and had her weeping out loud like a lamb that had lost its mother.

Where was her mother?

Joan dunked her head under the water and held it there, clawing her nails through her hair. The locks were stiff and dried with blood and released clouds of red through the bathtub when scoured so roughly. The natural platinum blonde color doesn’t come back easily and she nearly drowned herself trying to get all the blood out.

(o Mama Mama where are you i need you o Mama please come back)

Joan hugged her knees and rocked back and forth, sloshing the red water around her. Her skin stung from the heat, but she didn’t care. She found that she wasn’t caring about a lot of things at that moment.

The room was dark, blue shadows leaked out of the cracks between the tiles. Maybe it’s mold, maybe it’s just a fancy design; they’ve been there for as long as Joan can remember. Ghostly whispers flooded her ears. She slid down the smooth, spattered ceramic and held her breath until her eardrums were about to burst; this is a coping mechanism of sorts, she thinks. She might fall asleep underwater one day, peaceful and careless.

(Mama)

A thick, soapy wave splashes out of the tub as Joan sat up, gasping and hyperventilating, slapping her palms against the surface. She’s angry all of a sudden, she barely suppressed her scream as the shelf with all the shampoos and shower gels comes crashing down, bottles scatter across the floor.

At first, Joan thought that the devil was finally coming for her soul. Then, she thinks that it was an earthquake; the water was sloshing around the bathtub like a reddened poison. But, when Joan wiped the foam off her face, she realized that she’s the only one that’s quivering.

There’s a vibration racking through her body, muscles tensed, and wet hair full of electricity as if she’s about to cause a short circuit.

The shelf is lying on the tiles now, broken in two.

Joan whimpered. She leaned her temple against the edge of the bathtub and wept. Glittering silver tears dripped silently into bloody water. The smell of blood began to permeate through the air again. Joan dragged her body out of the water eventually, shivering and sniffling.

The house was eerily silent when Joan hobbled out of the bathroom. She’s dressed in a plain white nightgown and her hair is dripping freely all over her back and chest. It’s still slightly tinted red.

“Mama?” She whispered.

Like all the other times, there was no reply.

(please please please)

“Mama?” Louder this time.

(please please please please)

A creak in the floorboards.

Joan whirled around.

And there was her Mama, like an angel in the hallway, illuminated by a flickering red candle. Her hair was neatly combed and she was dressed in a dark blue dress she had sewn herself. Her golden brown eyes were warm and tender, sucking Joan in with their soft gaze, and Joan couldn’t help but burst into a fresh set of tears.

“Mama?” Joan squeaked weakly.

“Oh, my girl,” Mama murmured. “My sweet, sweet girl…”

“Mama, you were right!” Joan sobbed. “They all laughed at me!” The tears were falling faster, now. She could hear the laughter echoing loudly in her ears.

“Oh my poor angel…”

Joan nearly choked on a sob, feeling her throat constrict. She raised her arms, doing desperate grabby hands at her mother.

“Mama, please hold me,” She begged.

Mama obliged, sweeping her up into her warm, strong arms that made Joan melt upon contact. Her weak little body crumpled, knees buckling together, and Mama carefully lowered her to the ground, not letting go for even a second.

“Shh, shh,” Mama murmured, stroking her wet hair. “It’s okay… I’m here. I’m here now, your Mama’s here.”

“They all laughed at me,” Joan wept. She smothered her face in her mother’s chest, clinging like a drowning woman to the back of her dress. She couldn’t handle being let go right now. She just wanted to curl up in Mama’s arms and stay there forever.

“I knew they’d hurt my little girl.” Mama growled lowly.

Joan replied with a whimpering sob. She didn’t have enough air to properly answer, so she just continued to cry and cry, shaking like a newborn baby goat in her Mama’s embrace.

Several minutes of silence, aside from Joan’s crying, passed. Joan realized that she couldn’t hear any sirens anymore. Maybe things had finally calmed down and would be okay again, like they were before the blood.

“I should have killed myself when he put it in me.”

Joan tensed up like she had just been struck by lightning.

“We slept in the same bed,” Mama went on, “Lived together sinlessly.” Her strong hand was rubbing firmly against Joan’s upper back, near the nape of her neck. “And then, one night, I saw him look at me in that way and we got down on our knees and prayed for strength. And that’s when he took me.”

“No, Mama--” Joan whimpered. She didn’t want to hear this. Not right now. Not after everything that has happened. “No, Mama, I don’t want to hear it--”

Mama leaned Joan back and stroked her tear stained face. “And I liked it.”

“No, Mama, no--” Joan shook her head, fresh tears pouring out of her eyes.

“I should have given you to God when you were born.” Mama said. “But I was weak. And I loved you so much.”

A smile twitched on Joan’s lip, weak and thin and shaky, but real. Those words sent butterflies fluttering through her stomach.

“And I said, ‘God, let me keep my little girl. Let me keep her.’” Mama said, and Joan’s smile became a little bit bigger. Maybe things would be okay after all. “Let us pray.”

Joan nodded, almost eagerly. “Yes, Mama,” She said, craving Mama’s soothing touch and silky words. “Yes, we’ll pray.” She nuzzled in closer to Mama’s warmth, breathing out a soft sigh of relief.

“I’ll be the preacher,” Mama said, “you be my congregation.”

Joan nodded again, smiling giddily. She closed her eyes and murmured along with Mama when she began to recite the prayer.

“Our Father, who art in heaven,

hallowed be thy Name,

thy kingdom come,

thy will be done,

on earth as it is in heaven.”

Mama’s voice was like honey, slithering warmly from her lips. Joan was drawn to it no matter what happened, no matter what Mama did. Because Mama, despite her actions and flaws, loved her.

“Give us this day our daily bread.

And forgive us our trespasses,

as we forgive those

who trespass against us.”

And wanted her.

“And lead us not into temptation,

but deliver us from evil.”

And needed her.

“For thine is the kingdom,

and the power, and the glory,

for ever and ever. Amen.”

And--

And there was a sharp pain.

Joan’s eyes popped open wide and she gasped as all the air rushed out from her lungs. There was a sharp pain in her back, below her left shoulder, and then a rush of warmth across her nightgown. She looked up with a whimper and saw that Mama’s eyes were solemnly cold and crackling, like embers flickering in a winter wind. Her arm was reached around Joan, holding something in place, and Joan realized she had a knife in her back.

“Mama--” She croaked, blood dripping from her lips.

Something around the two of them crackled, like the air was charged with electricity, and they burst apart from each other like the similar charges of a magnet. Mama went flying down into the hallway, while Joan ricocheted off the staircase railing and then tumbled down the stairs, hitting the back wall with a magnificent splattering of blood before teetering over the remaining few steps. There on the ground, gasping for breath, she lay sprawled like a broken doll. Her jaw ached fiercely with every sharp intake of oxygen she took, while her back felt as though a bruise had just been slashed open and now all her tendons were being pulled out one by one. She whimpered at the pain, barely able to move her arm without it feeling like it was being torn off.

The staircase creaked; Mama was there, holding the stained butcher knife and primed for blood.

Joan scrambled backwards. Her body crumpled almost instantly, crushed by the weight of her wound, so she had to drag herself with one arm across the floor. Mama advanced on her slowly, menacingly, like a lioness stalking its injured prey.

“N-no, Mama--” Joan begged. “Mama, no, please-- Please no--”

“This isn’t your fault, Joan,” Mama said. “It’s mine.”

“Mommy, this isn’t right--”

“Don’t you know that the Devil never dies?” Mama went on. Her eyes were shining and she was drooling slightly, lost in her daze. “So you have to keep killing them. Over--”

“No, no--”

“--and over again.”

Mama stabbed the knife down.

Joan rolled away just in time. A lock of hair got caught under the blade and tore free with a burning sensation across her scalp, but she could hardly care. She rolled over onto her stomach and tried to get up, and then crawl away when she wasn’t able to stand. Mama pursued her, grabbing her by the leg and slashing the back of her ankle. Joan screamed in pain and jerked onto her back. The stab wound throbbed, but she barely felt it through the rush of adrenaline spurting through her. She barely jerked her head in time before she was stabbed.

Her fingers, so spindly and bony, wrapped around Mama’s on the hilt of the knife and she wrestled with her over the weapon. Mama was bigger and much stronger, easily ripping her hands free from her grasp. She cut Joan across the arm when she shielded her face from another blow.

“Stop it, Mama!” Joan cried. She wiggled beneath her mother and managed to get one leg free. She kicked Mama in the stomach and took the chance to scamper away when Mama recoiled backwards in pain.

“YOU DEVIL!!” Mama roared.

Joan heard the uneven shuffling of footsteps behind her, then felt the sharp pain of the tip of the knife pricking her in the leg. She kicked again, only to have the blade streak across her exposed belly and make her howl in agony.

“No, Mama!” Joan shrieked. Her head was starting to become fuzzy. She felt so tired all of a sudden. “No, no!!”

Mama practically pounced on her, looking hungry. Joan struggled wildly beneath her like a captured animal. Her little body was slippery with blood and Mama had a hard time getting a good grip, so she gave up after a moment and cleaved the knife down on Joan’s head with a bellowing battlecry.

But that was the one blow Joan didn’t feel.

Joan looked up, gasping for air, and saw that the knife was hovering mere inches away from her face. Mama’s hand was frozen, ensnared by a telekinetic force much stronger than she was. Joan flexed her mind and suspended Mama in the air, then called upon every possible sharp object in the house- knives and needles, shattered glass and broken chair legs, box cutters and scissors. They all hovered around Mama, poised and waiting.

“Joan…” Mama whispered in horror, tears trickling down her cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” Joan whimpered.

“JOAN!!!”

Joan wailed and sent the object upon her mother.

The butcher’s knife pierced Mama’s heart and sent her flying backwards against the wall. A pair of wickedly sharp meat shears pinned one hand against the plaster, while a seam ripper wedged itself in the flesh of the other. Dozens of knives stabbed themselves into her stomach. A boxcutter smashed into her shoulder and a screwdriver embedded itself deep into her waist. She took a shard of glass to the thigh and a ruler to the torso and a ice pick to the collarbone, and Joan commanded them all to do so, watching with tears streaming down her cheeks.

Mama, stretched out like Jesus on the wall, stopped moaning and groaning after a moment and her head slumped forward. Joan blinked her glassy eyes and tilted her head like a confused puppy.

“M-Mama?” She squeaked.

Like when she first got into the house that night, there was no answer.

Joan weakly crawled across the blood-spattered floor and shook one of Mama’s legs.

“Mommy?”

No answer.

Joan’s bottom lip began to quiver. She shook Mama’s leg harder, then wrapped her arms around it, looking up at Mama with big, shining eyes.

“Mommy, please answer me,” She begged.

Her Mommy did not.

Joan stood up and nearly blacked out from blood loss. Her head spun and she tottered on her feet, feeling sharp starbursts of pain exploding from the slash on her ankle, then steadied herself. She grasped onto Mama’s body and began to pull out all the sharp objects, whimpering out apologies as she did so.

First the ruler in her torso, then the meat shears, then the seap ripper. Mama’s body, no longer held up by anything, came crashing down and nearly crushed Joan. She clumsily fell to the ground, stumbling with Mama slumped in her arms.

“Mama?” She nudged Mama, who lay sprawled in her lap, motionless and bleeding. “I’m sorry, Mama… I’m so, so sorry…”

She felt selfish for crying. No closure comes, only more misery. An unfathomable weight on her chest pressed down on her lungs until they nearly burst. The dam that long protected her heart ruptured at the pressure and a whimper bubbled to her lips, morphing into a full-throated outcry of grief.

A cry for the life she’ll never get back. For her Mama in her arms. For all the lives she ruined. For the fates of the people at the prom.

Only the unfeeling moon slipping in through a window attended her outburst. She knew that it wouldn't lament her in her time of sorrow, only spotlighting her lost soul under a cold and tyrannical white light.

------

Katherine entered a bloody scene that would haunt her forever.

She found her in the ruined living room, under a beam of silver moonlight, like heaven itself was spotlighting her sinfulness. She was holding Jane Seymour’s corpse in her arms, rocking back and forth and sobbing. Katherine could see streaks of blood all over her tattered nightgown. She was hurt.

“Joan?” She called softly.

Joan’s head snapped up. Her eyes were as pale and wide as the moon outside.

“Let me help you, Joan,” Katherine approached slowly, as if she were actually trying to corner a scared stray kitten.

Joan bared her teeth for a moment, then looked down at her mother again and burst into a fresh set of tears. Her entire little body shook with the weight of her sobs.

“Why couldn’t you have just left me alone?” She said, her voice nasally and wavering from crying. “N-none of this would have happened if you hadn’t… M-my Mama…” She uttered a long, keening whine that was reminiscent of a dying puppy.

“I—” Katherine faltered. “I’m sorry.”

Joan’s body shuddered and she grit her teeth. An unseen force coiled around Katherine’s body and suspended her in the air tightly. Her breath hitched in shock and she couldn’t breathe. It felt as if the atmosphere was crushing her.

“Look what you turned me into.” Joan whispered.

“P-please don’t hurt me,” Katherine begged.

“Why not?” Joan asked, and a pained smile tugged on her bloody lips. Tears start to roll down her cheeks again. “I’ve been hurt my whole life.”

Katherine stared at her in horror, realizing it was true. The girl before her had been hurt more than she ever had been in her entire eighteen years of life.

How has Joan lived with so much pain inflicted on her tiny little body?

Joan released Katherine from whatever had been holding her, then bent over her mother and whimpered against her bloody shirt. She kept nuzzling into her chest, keening softly, and then looking up at her mother’s face, as if she was hoping her affection and presence would wake her up. When it didn’t work, she tried again and again and again, and it was the saddest thing Katherine had ever seen in her entire life.

“I killed my mama,” Joan whispered. “I want her back!”

It was awful to see a child bound to such a witch of a woman. Katherine knew this lady had hurt Joan severely, and yet Joan still loved her.

A crack suddenly zigzagged through the wall. Katherine jerked her head around to see several other cobwebs of crevices splinter through the walls around them. The wood holding up the house creaked and then began to shake ominously like an erupting volcano.

“Joan!” Katherine cried. “We need to leave!”

“No.” Joan held firmly to her mother’s corpse, curling against it loyally. “I’m not leaving.”

“Joan, please!” Katherine begged. “I can’t lose you, too!”

That made Joan look up.

For just a moment, Katherine felt a glimmer of hope when Joan sat up slightly, but then she looked back down at the corpse and her body covered in blood and crumpled right back into a fetal position. Katherine then realized that she didn’t just want to stay with her dead mother—she was immobilized by pain and grief and trauma.

Joan wanted to die.

And there was nothing Katherine could do to stop her.

Except--

Katherine took a small step forward. The entire house rumbled. The walls were starting to break themselves into tiny pieces. Chunks of the ceiling were falling loose and Katherine barely managed to duck away before some rubble smashed into her skull.

“Joan--”

She grabbed Joan and scooped her into her arms.

Joan jolted and then screeched in a fit of outrage instantly. She kicked and squirmed and clawed at Katherine's face, but she was much too little and much too weak to get free. Katherine ran outside with the screaming girl as the house began to crumble.

The walls folded inwards like a collapsed tower of cards, and then the roof came crashing down. The earth shifted and opened into a wide sinkhole that swallowed the house, devouring the walls and the floors and the furniture and all those awful crucifixes Katherine had seen hanging up until there was nothing left to mourn. Dirt and rubble poured down into the abyss, sending a tidal wave of dust crashing into Katherine and Joan.

“MAMA!!!!” Joan shrieked. She fought Katherine even harder, sending them both toppling to the grass. She tried to scramble forward and nearly got caught in a piece of sinking debris, but Katherine grappled onto her dress and yanked her back into her arms. “MAMA! MAMA, NO!!”

She squirmed and struggled, reaching one arm out to the destruction. Her movements were starting to slow down, but her screaming and crying did not seize.

“I’m scared!” Joan wailed. She looked up at Katherine, eye shimmering with tears, and she suddenly looked a lot younger. “I-I hurt! I want my Mama!”

“Shh, shh,” Katherine pulled her closer and rocked her gently, like you would a fussy baby. “It’s going to be okay, Joan. I’ve got you. I’m here.”

Joan opened her mouth again, and Katherine expected her to scream once more, but all that came out was a moan. It was only then that Katherine realized just how badly she was wounded.

“Oh god, Joan…”

There was a cut across her right arm and up her stomach, as well as one on her left ankle, a small prick on her back, and slits in her cheeks, but the worst injury was the stab wound in her back, which was still gushing out blood. Katherine ripped off her jacket and pressed it to the injury on her back, which elicited a flinched and a whimper of pain.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” Katherine murmured, holding Joan’s head close to her chest. She gently stroked her unruly hair. “It’s going to be okay.”

“Hurts…” Joan mumbled. Her eyes were suddenly very cloudy and rapidly losing focus. “Mama…?”

“No, Joan.” Katherine said. “It’s Katherine. Katherine Howard. I’m going to help you, okay? You’re going to be alright.”

But Joan’s body was slowly depleting itself of strength and becoming limp in Katherine’s arms. She was losing too much blood.

“Mama.” Joan decided and sluggishly snuggled her head closer to Katherine. Her face was twisted in pain and she was still crying, but Katherine swore she looked just a little happy being held in someone’s arms.

“I’m so sorry, Joan,” Katherine whispered. “Oh, sweetie… I’m so sorry.”

Joan was much too dazed to answer, although her mouth was half open like she wanted to. Her eyes were glazed over, distant, and looked like glass orbs in their sockets, leaking out jewel drops of silver tears. Katherine got choked up just looking at her.

“It’s going to be okay, it’s all going to be okay,” She wept, pressing her head against Joan’s and rocking her back and forth again. “I promise, sweetie. It’s going to be okay soon.”

Joan’s head lolled and Katherine kept it firmly in place, even as the rest of her body when limp and cold. Still, she cradled the little girl, crying into the night, lying to Joan and herself over and over again because nothing would ever be okay ever again.

And then, a blindingly bright beam of light hit her and she flinched. The body in her arms was cold and then burning hot and then not there at all. Everything around her melted into nothingness.

“Name, please.”

“...”

“State your full name.”

“You already know my name, it's Katherine! Katherine Howard. Can you turn down that light? I can't see.”

“Tell us about the night of May 28th. About the occurrences that led up to the alleged event.”

“Alleged event? Why are you asking me the same thing over and over again? Are you trying to catch me in a lie? Is that it?”

“We want the truth.”

“I've already told you the truth! How many times do we have to go through this?”

“Until we understand.”

“What you need to understand is that we were just kids! Kids trying to do our best. We were kids...who made a mistake.”

Nineteen year old Katherine Howard leaned back in her chair, arms crossed firmly over her chest, eyes set on the detective in front of her. She was a sharply dressed woman named Victoria Green, with hawk-like facial features, pinned back strawberry blonde hair, and mossy green eyes. Like all adults nowadays, she looked at Katherine like she wanted to open up her brain and read through all her thoughts and memories.

Katherine finally came full circle into an ever-repeating loop of nightmares.

“What can you tell me about Joan Seymour?”

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skeletonwoman · 4 years

Text

J is for Judgement

This is a part 2! Comes after a part 1, and a part 1.5!!

You smile at Dick when he darkens the pet stores doorway.

“Hey baby, hey baby,” he greets and you snort, coming around the counter to give him a hug. You’ve never been much of a hugger, but hell, he’s just the cuddliest.

Also he smells like a tasty man.

Pulling apart, he leans against your counter, an attempt at being casual and you hide a smirk.

“So, bestie,” he begins and you waver in place. Luckily the space is empty apart from the two of you. “I’ve got a thing tonight, if you’re interested in coming.”

“Going out on the town with my bestie?” You begin, about to rain him in stupid compliments.

“Ah- not, the town…” He cuts in and you hum, wrinkling your brow. “Dami is throwing the dog a birthday party,” his tone drags the words as if it’s a chore, even though it sounds like tonight might be the best of your life, “and it’s just a small gathering, family and close friends. I was wondering…”

He gives you a sneaky look.

“Yeeees?” you sing-song back and he licks his lips, trying to hide smile.

“If you were interested…” His mouth drags the words out and you feel like you’re vibrating from the inside out.

“Innnnn?”

“Coming with me to the party tonight?”

“Yeah!” You shout, throwing your fists in the air and bouncing around in a circle before pulling up in front of him, dropping your excitement and blanking your face. “Yeah, sounds cool, no biggie, if you want, no prob, Bob.”

Dick beams at you, still leant against the counter. “They’re going to love you.”

“You bet your ass they will, Richie!” Your bravado has his expression softening with affection, even as your stomach flips with a sudden and crushing panic. Hiding this, you catch his hand in one of yours and swing them. “I am excited to meet Barbaraaaa.”

He scoffs, rolling his eyes and grinning, before pushing off the counter and dragging you about the store.

“Help me get the damn dog a present, it can be from both of us, obviously,” he says, before muttering. “Dogs birthday party, Jason didn’t get a birthday party last year but the dog does?”

You don’t tell Dick about the guy today. You know he notes the scrawled number on your hand and he smiles a little, but when you don’t mention it, he doesn’t ask.

As you’re walking home, Dick having promised to pick you up later, you stare at your phone.

Debating.

Screw it.

Me: Hi, this is Y/N from the pet store, I didn’t get your name today

You wait ten seconds before shoving your phone into your pocket out of anxiety and instead focussing on tonights hellscape.

You have to make these people love you. You have to!

Ignoring the silence and stillness of your pocketed phone, you instead focus on reviewing what you know about Dicks family.

Surprisingly- little.

Honestly? You barely know anything about them.

Except:

He has two dads, Alfred and Bruce

He has four brothers, Jay, Tim, Duke and Damian

He has two sisters, Steph and Cass.

He has one not sister, Barbara, also his unrequited love

He doesn’t have favourites between any of them.

Luckily, as you start up your stoop and your chest starts to heave, your phone vibrates in your pocket.

Unknown Number: I’m Jason

You wait. For something, anything.

After two minutes, you’ve entered your apartment and, phone still in hand, made your way to your closet.

After ten, you’ve set the phone back on your bed and are deciding between a red bodysuit and a yellow crop top.

After twenty, you’re in the shower and anxiously shaving your legs even though you’ve decided to wear long pants.

At the thirty minute mark, out of the shower with your hair wrapped but before you apply moisturiser, you pick up the phone and give in.

Me: What do you do, Jason?

Putting it back down, without much expectation, you pick up the moisturiser once more but pause when the device beeps again.

Jason: I’m a freelancer, mixed martial artist.

Jason: Do you like lunch? Or breakfast food.

You try to grin too wide at the messages. He seems a little… unsure, maybe. You’re into it.

Me: I love lunch, and breakfast- for lunch or breakfast. What do you think about dinner?

You nab your red bodysuit and slip yourself into it, then fight on your favourite pair of pink corduroy pants. Gazing at yourself in the mirror, you frown, look at your closet, frown harder.

No.

“You’re hot.” You growl to your mirror self. “I am hot. And I am loveable and tonight is going to be great and tomorrow you can go out with Jason and kiss that gorgeous face.”

His visage pops up before you, scarred and unusual.

You hope his scars are more innocent than- well, than other scars in this city.

Maybe he got them in the womb, or terrible acne that forms perfect lines.

Oh boy.

Jason: I usually work nights, late, and I’d hate to cut our night short because I need to get to work

Your lips purse.

Oh shit!

Dickard: I’m coming up, you better look hot

Shoving away your awful, awful, just awful realization, you look back up at yourself in the mirror and grimace. Throwing on a light coat of lipstick and a layer of mascara, finishing off the makeup you’d been wandering through while texting with-

No.

Leaping up, you grab your jacket- that guys jacket-

Oh hell, you’re so dumb.

Pushing out every thought to do with night time activities and vigilantes and, worse, villain criminals, you throw on the jacket, put your phone and wallet in the pockets, slip on some shoes and snatch your keys.

“Shit,” you murmur, spinning around and nabbing your perfume from the table and spritzing yourself and the jacket. “Shit, shit, shit.”

Bounding for the door, you wrench it open just as Dick raises his hand to knock. You stare at each other, for a moment, while you pant.

“Running late?”

Shoving Dick backwards into the hall, you lock up behind yourself and turn back to him with a cheesy smile. “Show me your Daddy, Dicky.”

His expression goes blank and you hiss out a breath.

“No. No! Don’t-”

“I think maybe-”

“Oh shut up,” you growl and he laughs, throwing an arm over your shoulders and leading you out of the building. “Y’know, I’ve don’t know that much about your family. Like I know the cast, obviously but you’ve literally never told me where you live, and you’ve never-”

Dick grimaces, and you can tell he’s unsure and maybe embarrassed.

“It’s fine, it’s fine, I’ll figure it out, I doubt they know much about me, anyway!” You laugh, your throat tight and panicked and he offers a weak smile and a quick squeeze.

“Oh, f*ck me, Dick.” You stare at the gates.

The Gates.

Not to heaven, or arkham, or anywhere so pedestrian, oh no.

“F*cking Wayne Manor, Grayson? As in Dick Grayson, adopted son of Bruce Wayne?”

Dick shrinks in his seat, driving up the lane, since the gates had opened automatically, for him.

“I’m going to kick your god damn ass, Grayson, I’m going to end you, you’re the worst, literally the worst,” the car stops, “you’re so f*cking dead, you dumb bitch, I can’t believe you’ve done this,” your door opens, “and I’m just so excited to meet your family, Dick! Hahaha!”

You take the hand proffered through the car door and rise to come face to face with- shit- Tim Drake.

Recognisable, famous Tim Drake.

“Hi! Dicks brother Tim! He’s so proud of you,” you greet and Tims lips twitch upwards at the sides, though his slightly warm, slightly protocol expression changes little beyond that.

“Welcome, Y/N, Dick’s mentioned you a lot and we’re all so excited to finally meet you. In the flesh.”

You try not to frown at his weird phrasing, only for it to get worse.

“Oh. Did Jason leave his jacket in your car again, Dick?” Tim asks, his gaze moving from the jacket on your shoulders to Dick, who is sidling up beside you.

Jacket. Jay. Jason. Phone number. Freelancer. Night time work.

Shit, shit, shit, please be a coincidence, please be a coincidence. F*cking Dick, f*cking shit, damn, heck.

You smile absently at the pair.

“Oh, no, this one is apparently very similar to Jasons but Y/N has assured me she found it in her building,” Dick assures him, and you look between the two, gauging their reactions.

Tim grimaces, and Dick frowns at him.

A vigilante gave you this jacket. You just got the phone number of a possible vigilante named Jason. Dicks brother Jay is named Jason and he’s got a jacket like this.

Please.

Hell.

You spot others emerging behind Tim, from the gigantic Wayne Manor doors.

Dick’s eyes dart to them and he slings a comforting arm over your shoulders.

“Let’s get in and out of the cold, hey Tim? C’mon, lead the way.” His voice is jovial but he holds you back a second as Tim sends him a look then starts toward the doors. His face tilts toward yours, a soft whisper coming through your hair to your ear. “I’m so sorry, I should have said something sooner, it’s a- it’s hard to explain, you know I’m adopted, we’re all pretty adopted around here and it’s such a difficult situation and its not like I have the greatest relationship with Bruce and- I’m sorry, Y/N, I should have said something sooner.”

The apology brushes over you and you tilt slightly against him, your forehead setting against his shoulder and he presses a kiss onto the top of your head.

“Thanks, kiddo.”

“We’re two years apart, you galumphing oaf.” You growl back, just as you step through the doors and come face to face with a group of people staring at the pair of you.

Your eyes lock on a beautiful red haired woman, her face stark for a long moment as she takes in the pair of you before everything on her face is hidden with a blink of an eye.

Oh crap.

You step out of Dicks grasp, pointedly, and offer a weak smile to the red haired girl. Barbara.

Shit, hell.

Everyone stares at the movement and it takes you a second before you see him.

“Is that Jasons jacket?” A kid asks loudly, Damian, hopefully, but your eyes don’t stray from the man at the back.

Jason from the pet shop.

“Relax everyone,” Dick laughs, his eyes moving from you to Jason and the pair of you stare at the obvious expression on his face. Dicks voice trails off. “It’s not Jasons…”

“Jesus and the Joker,” you gripe, your eyes darting from Barbara to Jason to Dick.

“So this is your jacket?” Dick asks, gesturing to the beat up brown coat on your shoulders. “How’d she get it? How’d you get it?”

Jasons head twitches in a shake, eyes locked on yours and you squint at him.

“No! Jason. Don’t make her lie. How’d this happen? Why’s she still got it?” He glances at the staring group and sighs. “She got it like a week ago.”

“Three days.”

You grit your teeth, glaring at Jason.

“Shall we, everyone, head into the living room? Alfred, dinner?”

Your eyes dart to Bruce Wayne, his voice and face clearly recognisable from several television segments, and you watch as the group silently and with thick tension move single file through a door. Beside Bruce, another man, Alfred, you guess, steps up close to him and murmurs something before Bruce nods.

Beside you, Dick tangles your fingers.

“Hey, best friend?”

Your eyes slide up to his and he offers you a pathetic smile.

“Dick,” you say softly, as the others exit, leaving the pair of you a moment. “Cards on the table, a group of those people who run around at night visited me and then that night you were out with Jay one of them visited again and he gave me his jacket and then he took it back but then he gave it back and then Jason came into the pet shop today before you did and I got his number and I texted him and I realized that hot guy Jason from the store was some kind of vigilante guy because of what he said and now I get here and they’re the same person and your brother Jason is the Red Hood? And he’s running around with other vigilantes who have hair the same as these people we’ve just walked into and please call me crazy, Dick, that I’m a big ol’ loon, please?”

You don’t mess with the f*cked system in Gotham and you certainly don’t get involved with someone involved with the f*cked system.

“I’m Nightwing.” Dick says in a rush. “And kinda Batman.”

Your nose wrinkles as you try not to burst into tears.

Just… One thing after another.

“It’s okay, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Dick pulls you into his chest and you don’t resist. He’s Nightwing but he’s still your Dickie, your platonic soulmate. “I was going to tell you soon, but I know how you feel about all of it and I didn’t want you to hate me or my family before you met them.”

“Dick!” Someone yells obnoxiously before being loudly hushed.

“I didn’t know about this Jason thing, I wish he’d have spoken to me, this is my fault for mentioning you to them.”

You hug him tight before pulling back and shaking out your hair. Pasting on a smile, you beam at your best friend.

“It’s a party, Dick, for a dog, I think we should focus on that for now and hope I haven’t ruined any chance to make Barbara like me.” You laugh half-heartedly, before taking his hand and stepping purposefully toward the doors everyone else waits behind.

Heck this was a heck one like just definitely took a while and quite stressful to write idk what was going on

#jason todd fanfic #jason todd fic #jason todd fanfiction #jason todd imagines #jason todd #batbros fic #batbros fanfic #batfam fic #jason todd x reader #jason todd x reader fic #jason todd x reader fanfic

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hardyshoe · 4 years

Text

benefits- a roger Taylor series

part four

warnings- pregnancy and language

a/n; another chapter? yes indeed, I have far too much time on my hands and I enjoy writing this series even though its not any good.

*phone ringing*

“hello, is this miss y/l/n?”

“yes it it”

“just calling to confirm your appointment today at 2.”

“uh yeah thats good”

“wonderful we’ll se you later then”

you'd been waiting for the call for the last week, no earlier appointments were available. so in the meantime you'd been alone, well not quite you had the company of the baby but judging by your guesses it could only be about 6 ish weeks old. it felt funny knowing there was a little thing inside of you and found your hands resting on your still flat stomach from time to time.

mary had promised to come with you to the doctors, she’d been wonderful the last few days and stayed true to her promise of not telling anyone. she came around one thirty to pick you up and the two of you made your way the the hospital on the tube.

it took everything in you not to hurl at the smell of the cheese and onion crisps the man next to you was eating. your stomach had been awful, not letting you keep a thing down other than plain popcorn and celery. this caused you to loose a bit of weight and you'd fainted the day prior from hunger. it wasn't good for you or the baby but you couldnt keep throwing up four times a day.

the waiting room of the clinic was full of women with their husbands cradling round stomachs and ultrasound pictures, your heart longed to be like that with roger. you had to stop thinking like that it wasn't doing you any good. a little boy ran up to you and Mary wanting to show off his action figures and you'd normally have played along but for some reason the exited look in his eye made you want to cry. the boys mother came and took him away and apologised to you just as your name was called.

“miss y/l/n please.”

smoothing your shirt as you stood up you began to walk over to the exam room where everything would be 100% confirmed, no doubt.

“good afternoon miss, I'm doctor Maria. how are you?” she had a smile on her gentle face which calmed you down a little.

“im not great if I'm being honest, I can't keep any food down and I've never Benn more restless”

“well thats very common, the sickness should subside at about 12 weeks. and is the father here?”

that question. you knew it would come at some point but you didn't know how to answer. thankfully Mary saw the pained look in your eyes and stepped in, “he actually doesn't know and its not a good time to tell him unfortunately”

“thats alright, no worries. now y/n when was your last period?”

“oh um I actually don't know, id not really keep track. maybe a couple moths ago”

“well we can probably get a good idea from the scan so take a seat and we’ll take a look”

you were a little reluctant in your movements but soon eased into the exam table, happy to rest for a bit.

“cold gel alright?” you nodded and hissed at the coolness on your abdomen.

it was silent at first but after a minute a sound like a train ripping past filled the room, and a blurry grey image popped up on the monitor. you couldn't tell what was meant to be what and for a while no one said anything, the doctor looked like she was seeing something that neither you or Mary were.

Mary could see you were panicking a bit and asked the doctor what was wrong “is everything alright? you look worried”

“oh yes everything’s alright, y/n how far along do you think you are?”

“um 6 weeks maybe?” you were going solely of when you and roger last fucked and you'd read somewhere it takes a week or so for the egg to get fertilised and settle, though really you had no idea.

“ right well your actually about 11 weeks along”

“what!?” that seemed impossible. if that were true then you had been pregnant nearly three months and roger had knocked you up a while before he left.

“yeah I'm surprised you haven't started to show yet”

this confused you as you were under the impression women didn't normally start showing until the second trimester. Mary spoke up and seconded your thoughts.

“well yes that is normally the case but if you look here,” she moves the scanner on your stomach and pointed to something unrecognisable on the screen. “theres actually two babies in there”

you went blank at her words. sure you could handle one baby on your own, it was an even match but two? there was so much going on in your head. if roger wouldn't accept one how the hell would he want two. how would you afford two babies on your small income. where would two babies and their things fit in you tiny one bedroom flat? and how on earth wo-

“y/n? did you hear me?”

“huh? no I'm sorry I zoned out” your throat was dry and you wanted to cry again.

“I said its too early to tell the genders but they are both healthy and keep eating as much as you can. you should start showing in a few weeks and I’ve booked you in for an appointment at 20 weeks so ill see you then”

that was it, you left the doctors office and went home on the tube with Mary. neither of you said anything, there was nothing to be said. the whole situation just got a hell of a lot more intense; not only were you basically at the end of your first trimester but you were having twins, and roger didn't even know you were pregnant. fuck why couldn't you just stop thinking about him, he didn't care, probably hadn't even crossed his mind.

-a few weeks later-

the doctor was right, you did start showing and rather rapidly. you'd had to go buy new cloths already and sleeping was getting more uncomfortable. on the bright side though your morning sickness had subsided and you'd even felt a few kicks from the babies at about 16 weeks. you were 19 weeks along now and nearing the next appointment, you'd find out the genders of the babies you actually gotten very attached to. you were careful with what you ate and avoided anything dangerous to yourself, this included lifting heavy things so despite the want you couldn't rearrange your flat to make it more homely.

roger still hadn't called, you resented him for it. he didn't know of course how could he? but you longed to pick up the phone to him cheeky voice again. the radio no longer got played in your flat because every time you turned it on one go queens would play and you'd start crying. they were over half way through the tour and when they got back you be coming up to seven months along, the thought made you shudder. you were already big and by then you be huge. but if everything went to plan he'd still have no idea.

through it all Mary had been a saint, she brought you groceries and cloths when you continued to outgrow the new ones. you didn't want to leave the house for fear of bumping into someone, having the conversation about the father and how far along you were was just a bit too much, god back on roger again.

it was all a bit much to be honest and soon enough you'd start nesting and then all of what little savings you had would be gone on baby things. in two days you'd be 20 weeks, halfway through and it seemed like you'd never make it. not with the amount of times you doubted yourself or told yourself you wouldn't be a good mother or that you mess up and wouldn't be able to handle it. the time was going a little too fast for you to keep up.

#roger taylor smut #roger taylor series #roger taylor fanfic #roger taylor #queen band #brian may #john deacon #Fred Mercury

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kirigaya-art · 5 years

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First Time

I deliberated a lot with myself before posting this. The death of an animal is a key event but is not described. Please be careful.

***

Simon

“Baz?” I asked.

He looked up, startled. It was rare to catch him off-guard, so I took a moment to appreciate his raised eyebrows (both of them for once) and the small “o” of his mouth.

He recovered quickly. “Were you going to ask me something, Snow?”

I grinned. Some part of me liked hearing him call me by my last name. Sure, it was strange for a boyfriend, but it made it feel like more than snogging. Like our old bickering with a pleasant twist.

“Whatcha reading?” I asked, pointing to the book in his hands.

He glanced down at it, and a bit of colour reached his face (which was as rare as surprising him. Maybe the two events were correlated). He turned the book so I could read its title.

Vampiric Tendencies.

“Is that the one Nico gave you?” I asked.

He pursed his lips and nodded.

I smiled. He was still so quiet about it, even though Penny and I knew. After years of hiding it, I wasn't really surprised. Still, I hoped getting a little more information on it all would make him less closed off. (I always found it helpful to have things explained logically to me in therapy, step-by-step. It helped me work through things more easily.)

“Mind if I read over your shoulder?”

He paused, looking down at the book. Back up to me. He shifted his body so his back was facing me, propping his legs up on the stretch of the futon, and rested his head on my shoulder. I giggled and put a hand on his hip, leaning forward to read.

Chapter 1: Turning

“Oh!” I said, surprised. “You just started?”

He nodded again.

“I thought you got this a week ago.”

He cleared his throat. “I guess I was scared to start.”

I squeezed his waist, and he laughed. It sounded a bit forced, but I didn't push him.

Chapter 1: Turning

Before a vampire is a vampire, they must be Turned. The process is painful and can be traumatizing for the victim, literally killing and reanimating them. The Turning can only be achieved through an existing vampire's bite with extended fangs. There must be enough venom to travel to the victim's heart. If the vampire attempts to drain the victim, thereby drinking their own venom-- which is harmless to already-Turned vampires-- the victim will be unaffected.

As we kept reading, I couldn't imagine Baz going through the painful processes described, especially at only four or five years old. It only gave me more reason to respect him.

Every few minutes, Baz glanced back at me to check if I was ready for him to turn the page. It took me about half a second more than him, but he waited patiently. If we had still been in school, he would have made me cry with his teasing already.

Eventually, he turned the page to reveal Chapter 2: Awakening.

“Do you want to take a break?” I asked.

“No, it's alright,” he murmured. “I'm not tired.”

I played with the belt loops on his trousers as I read.

Chapter 2: Awakening

Once a vampire is Turned, their new instincts and abilities will manifest. If the victim was Turned before puberty, they won't awaken until then. If the victim is older, they will awaken immediately on gaining consciousness from the Turning.

“Puberty?” I asked, breaking the silence.

Baz hummed in agreement. “I figured it was something like that. An age or maturity rule.”

I grinned teasingly. “Don't tell me. You noticed your first chest hair and a second later your fangs popped.”

I expected him to blush or argue with me. He ducked his head, looking a bit paler than usual. “Something like that.”

My smile fell. “I was just joking.”

He worried his lip between his teeth thoughtfully.

“Do you… want to talk about it?” I asked hesitantly.

He sighed and closed the book on his thumb so he wouldn’t lose his page.

Baz

I would never forget that day. In some ways, it messed me up more than being Turned-- at least I couldn't remember being bitten very clearly, since I was so young. But this…

I was fourteen. It was the summer after fourth year, and I was on top of the world. Snow was even more of a moron that year, somehow, and sometimes I even forgot how crushing it was to love him.

That morning-- June 8th, bright and golden and the epitome of summer-- I woke feeling refreshed. I sauntered to my wardrobe, in no hurry to pick something out. I had nothing to do, no chores or homework or Snow to annoy me. So I took my time. I eventually decided on a nice dress shirt, button-down and clean white. It breathed easily and went well with practically any pair of trousers, so I indulged myself.

I lounged about my room for a few minutes, reminding myself that it was, in fact, my room-- all mine, no whinging about “your side” and “my side.” I practiced a few spells I'd been studying that week, successfully changing the patterns of my bed curtains several times. I considered leaving them rainbow-striped, but I thought that was pushing it. I settled on plaid and waited for my father to throw a hissy fit when he saw how badly it clashed with the Victorian era decor in the rest of the room.

I could smell breakfast, so I stepped into the dining hall. My father was sitting at the head of the table. He was dressed as poshly as ever, even though I knew he didn't have anyone to see or anywhere to be. No one else was in the room. Daphne must not have been awake yet, and if Daphne wasn't awake then magic knows Mordelia wasn’t awake either.

I walked up to the table, standing directly across from my father. I adjusted the cuffs on my sleeves, just barely quirked my lip up in a faux smile, and said, “Hullo.”

My voice cracked.

Neither of us spoke, the awful sound of it hanging in our ears as we stared at each other, red in the face. Or rather, he was red in the face-- I suddenly couldn't muster a blush. Either way, my eyes were quite wide.

“Um.” Somehow, it was less awkward before I'd spoken. “I-- I'm sorry.” Crowley, it wasn't like me to stammer. “That is--”

My teeth exploded. Because the universe hates me.

He gaped, his expression a mix between horror and fear.

I wasn't sure what to do at first, one hand clapped clumsily over my lips to try and hide the new knives fighting their way free. I nearly opened my mouth to say something else, but considering how well it had gone for me the past two times, I just clamped my jaw shut, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes. Finally, I turned and ran from the room.

The moment the door closed behind me, a weight I hadn't noticed lifted from my shoulders, and I realised I'd been holding my breath. For a millisecond, I was confused as to why, but something in my stomach rumbled to life, and I was nearly sick-- not that anything would have come up, since I hadn't eaten breakfast.

My stomach was happy to let me know that breakfast wasn't the only thing I could have sunk my teeth into.

I dropped my hand from my mouth, clutching the front of my shirt. The hunger was more than just hunger. It was like I was being destroyed from the inside out, like if I didn't give in and eat something, I'd be devoured instead. The heat of it licked at my insides, and for a moment I panicked that I'd be burned alive, crumbling to ashy remains from starvation alone.

“Basil leaf?”

I looked up and met Mordelia's questioning gaze. My stomach rumbled again. I turned the other way and ran.

I skidded down the halls of the mansion, searching desperately for an exit as far from the bedrooms as possible. Finally, I spotted a set of doors at the end of the East wing. I threw myself down the hall, practically flying through the air. Please make it. Please make it.

I flung the doors open, and the left one made a horrible crunching noise-- it was later replaced after becoming stuck several times. I nearly tripped coming down the steps, and caught myself on the guardrail before slamming the doors behind me. Now that I was outside, I couldn’t hold back my tears anymore, and they were hot on my freezing skin.

I ran out into the forest. I’d never done it before, but I didn’t have time to stop and think. I pushed past shrubbery and branches, stampeding through the immense space. Under the canopy, everything took on a green hue.

After a few minutes, I slowed to a jog, panting. I glanced around and found a few pairs of eyes looking back. The animals must have been scared off by my frantic stampeding about, but now that I was slower and quieter they started to poke out their heads from trees and tall grass. I was surprised at just how many creatures lived there-- deer, rabbits, squirrels, seemingly dozens of types of birds. They watched as I moved towards a small clearing ahead, but stayed at a significant distance.

I stepped out into the clearing and wiped a few tears from my chin before they fell. The sun was at just the right angle to blind me, and I squawked, throwing a hand up. I started crying harder, ducking my head.

It was then that I finally let myself think about what was really happening. Here I was, out in the woods around my house, with a mouth full of fangs. I wasn’t sure why they’d come out, or why now, or how they would go back to normal. My heart skipped a beat-- what if they never did go back to normal? Surely vampires-- because that was what I was, a vampire, a monster-- didn’t always go about with their fangs out. But really, that was the issue, wasn’t it? I didn’t know what the fuck I was meant to be doing.

I fell to my knees, squeezing my eyes shut. What if I couldn’t figure this out? What if I could never go home, because I’d be so overtaken by hunger that just seeing a human would make me lose it? What if I really did kill someone?

Something brushed against my knee, and I jumped, eyes flying open. A small white rabbit sat in front of me, its fluffy cheek pressed to my tear-soaked trousers. I cracked a smile, hiccuping as I leaned down to pet it. I hesitated before slipping my hands under it, gently lifting it. It didn’t struggle or hop away, just waited patiently as I raised it to chest level.

The rabbit seemed sent by Merlin himself-- a little companion to sit with me when I felt most alone. Its fur was soft on my rough palms, and it was so quiet and calm, and it fit perfectly in my hands, and it tasted so sweet--

I froze mid-swallow.

Part of me-- a large part of me-- wanted to scream and cry and throw the poor thing straight across the clearing, to get it as far away from me as possible. But I recognised that if I did that, I’d have killed in vain. As awful as it felt to continue, I wasn’t going to waste its sacrifice, not when it had come up to me so willingly. Not when I’d already committed the worst possible crime.

It took me nearly an hour to recover after I’d finished, sobbing to myself. I stood with shaking legs and turned myself around. I had no idea where I was, since I’d never been into the forest before, but I would be sick if I stayed there any longer, so I walked in the direction that seemed right. After another half an hour, I stumbled up to the East wing doors.

I was a lot more sluggish now, not throwing open the doors but gently pushing them and peeking through the gap first. I had to fight a bit with the left door.

I lurched down the halls, unsure where exactly I was expecting to go. I supposed I didn’t need to go back and eat breakfast, though I wasn’t sure if that was true or not. Either way, I’d lost my appetite. The best thing, for now, seemed to be heading back to my bedroom. I was exhausted, physically and emotionally. And a shower wouldn’t hurt. I sighed, reaching for the doorknob.

“Basilton.”

I turned to face him on instinct and immediately regretted it when I saw my father’s expression contort.

“Your shirt.”

I looked down and had to stop myself from retching. My shirt wasn’t drenched per se, but I’d made a mess. The blood seemed even darker against the white fabric. It was generally splattered across, but there were also two clear lines down the front. I was confused at first, then reached up and swiped at one of the corners of my mouth with the back of a hand.

“Oh,” I whispered. I looked up again and met his eyes.

He stared me down for several seconds. Then he turned his head, unable to keep looking.

I waited for him to call me a murderer, or ask if it had been human, or kick me out of the house, or set me aflame.

“Wash up before dinner.”

Simon

I gaped, mouth hanging open. He wouldn’t look at me, still staring at the book’s cover. I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to say something. Really, what was there to say? I’m sorry? But it wasn’t my fault. That’s awful? He knew that already.

“Thank you,” I decided.

He started a bit, looking back at me for the first time since he’d started recounting the story. “Thank you?”

“Thank you for… trusting me enough to talk about something so personal.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment. Then, “Thank you for listening.”

I smiled, despite everything I’d just heard. “I’m always here for you, love. You know that, don’t you?”

He sat up, turning to face me. He leaned close and pressed a chaste kiss to my lips. “You mean it?”

“Of course,” I whispered. “I love you. No matter what.”

His smile was pained. “Even if I’m a monster?”

“You’re not a monster.” I took his hands in my own. “You’re just a boy.”

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bitsandbobsandstuff · 7 years

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Three shades of a man (a second chapter)

Summary: You have seen Bucky Barnes at his best and his worst, and he asks you to help him through it all.

Characters: Bucky x Reader Warnings: NSFW, 18+ ONLY; some mild violence and so much smut. Get out of here if you’re not over 18 please.

A/N: The second story in a series of three. Apparently I like angsty things? Who knew. Can't figure out a tag list just yet because I'm mostly mobile and I'm not good at Tumblr mobile, but will do one for the last chapter, let me know if you would like added. Feedback and comments are always more than welcome.

A/N 2: Yes, I did change the gif so I don’t get censored.

Read Part 1 Read Part 3

MASTERLIST

*****

Anxious, desperate, panicked.

The day was drenched in a silvery grey mist that seemed unable to clear. It blanketed the city, snaking through streets and alleys, finding the cracks and crevices of every building, overflowing into any space it could find. It made you feel restless, itchy, like you were waiting for something to happen.

Two weeks had gone by, since you last spoke to Bucky.

The only communication in that time was a photo he texted, of a deep red sunrise illuminating the craggy black rocks of a mountain range. You didn't know where, or what he was doing, but he liked to send you pictures when he could. He said sunrises always reminded him of you - a beautiful vision that made him open his eyes and keep moving forward. That evening, you responded with a picture of a dazzling sunset, swirls of purple and orange painting the sky. You said sunsets always reminded you of him - an explosion of wild color and brilliant light, a perfect end to the day.

This time it was Natasha who texted. It happened sometimes, if Steve was caught up with something else, but it was rare. When you saw the green bubble pop up on the screen, the words flashed and in that moment, your heart plummeted.

There's been an accident.

You always assumed it was a metaphor, when someone said their blood turned to ice. How very wrong. The feeling of absolute panic, of everything in your body freezing in place, it was stunning and awful and epically real.

Steve's been shot. Twice actually. He's fine, just going to be sore. He asked me to tell you.

The breath you held was released in a rush, and you felt your blood moving again, loud in your ears. Sighing, you text Nat thanks. Steve Rogers is one of the most important people in your life, but right now you hate yourself for the sliver of relief that ripples through you, knowing it was Steve, not Bucky. Stopping to examine that feeling won't make you feel any better about yourself, so you let it go.

You know how Bucky will take this. You've seen it happen when other members of the team were hurt on a mission, but his behavior change is especially potent when it comes to Steve.

Or when it comes to you.

It's early evening, but you slip into sleep clothes anyway, a long sleeve grey shirt and blue sweatpants, enough to keep you warm from the damp air crawling along your floorboards. Throwing a blanket on your lap, you settle on the sofa with a book.

And there you wait.

-----

The knock on your door is short, three quick taps that startle you awake, and a bleary-eyed glance at your phone shows 12:15am. Pressing your palms to your face, you rub the sleep from your eyes, stumbling to your feet and switching on a small lamp to illuminate your path.

You take a deep breath and open the door slowly to find Bucky leaning heavily into the frame, hands gripping the edges to prop himself up, blue eyes focused on his boots. The fog is still thick even in the black night, and wisps curl around his bulky frame, softening his features. His broad shoulders fill your doorway, and every muscle in his body looks tense, making you wonder if he would shatter at the slightest touch. There are dark shadows under his eyes, he looks as though he hasn't slept in days, and you know it's a likely possibility.

Every mark the mission had left was etched into the lines of his face. Panic. Worry. Uncertainty. Exhaustion. He lifts broken eyes to where you stand and his voice is so low, you strain to hear.

The anxious hesitancy in his words nearly breaks your heart.

"Am I - are you - is it okay if I'm here?"

And your voice is firm when you respond with the answer you will forever, without fail, give him.

"Always."

He nods, still watching your face, eyes flickering over your expression. He won't come in the house of his own volition, he still needs you to pull him in before he accepts your answer.

With a small smile, you reach forward and touch the metal fingers gripping the frame, massaging the plates on each individual finger, unlocking them one by one until he releases his grip. Linking your fingers with his, you lead him over the threshold and into your apartment.

Once he crosses the door, he kicks it shut with the heel of his boot and gives up, collapsing against you, and you catch him before you both stumble into the wall. His arms lock tightly around you, his lips press desperately against yours, and here he stops. A simple kiss, he takes long moments to reacquaint his mouth with the taste of your lips, and you melt into the touch.

His eyes are closed when he sighs and finally breaks away, speaking quietly, his lips still touching yours. Heavy unease settles into his syllables.

"Nothing about that went well. There were - screams. So much smoke, bullets hitting glass. I saw Steve get hit - " He pauses, tries to organize his thoughts before continuing. "It - I was - I didn't know what to do."

He sounds surprised, unsure if it's something he's allowed to vocalize. Breathing heavily through his nose, his jaw clenches. You feel his body tightening, can almost see the frustrated panic dripping from him.

He feels helpless, his heart racing, when the words rush out.

"I need you, all of you. Please. Need to be close to you, touch you, taste you, just fucking be inside you. Please."

The final word is a plea, one he never needs to make, but his desperation moves him to it. Both of you know, the skin on skin contact he craved was his best hope of grounding himself when this happened.

It was the only way to bring his anxiety back under control.

Holding his face between your palms, you nudge your nose against his. Eyes closed tight, you breathe in his scent, a familiar smell of sweat and mint and leather, nodding as his words wash over you; it's all he needs to proceed.

Keeping his lips firmly attached to yours, he walks you backward, easily navigating the angles and edges of your home. He doesn't actually kiss you, just needs his lips to be somehow on you. You never know where to begin with his gear, but for him it's second nature and his hands make quick work as he walks, reaching for the snaps, the buckles, the zippers, and he twists and pulls the canvas and leather, shedding the clothing as you shuffle together.

In these moods, Bucky could never get close enough to you, his need for every inch of you to touch every inch of him was so markedly different. Sometimes it felt as though he would burrow under your skin. Disappear into you, to help him cope with everything.

Without a word, his body automatically veers toward the bathroom, stopping in front of the shower doors, and you understand immediately what he wants. Running his hands under your soft grey shirt, tugging it off while you push down the sweatpants you wore. He pauses to simply run his fingers up and down your body, touching lightly here and there, drawing patterns over your shoulder blades, the pads of his fingers caressing your nipples, stroking your stomach, thumbs rubbing circles on your hipbones. It's a touch meant to memorize, not to ravish, and you close your eyes at intimacy of it.

Leaning forward, he opens his mouth against you again, and you hear a faint whimper escape. When you reach for the hem of his black undershirt, he lifts his arms like a child, allowing you to pull it over his head, before he pushes down his black boxers, and kicks them aside.

Reaching for the knobs, you turn the shower blazing hot, steam rising quickly to billow around the small room. Even though his body runs abnormally hot, after all those years spent in ice, Bucky always imagines he's cold, insisting every shower is as hot as humanly possible. When the temperature is right, you slide your hands up his arms, gripping his biceps and guiding him forward. Without a thought, he follows you obediently into the shower, wrapping his arms around your waist, sighing with relief when the pounding spray hits his back.

Resting his forehead against yours, the water blankets you both. Running in steaming rivers between you, dripping from his hair, from your nose, it eases the tension as you stand together. He takes deep focused breaths, exhaling through his mouth, and you drink in his warm breath when it hits your lips. Soothing fingers drift to the thick scars that mar his skin, where metal meets flesh, and you run your fingers reverently over the raised ropes of tissue, turning your head to press gentle kisses down the juncture.

It makes him tremble, that achingly strange touch.

His breath rattles unevenly and suddenly his legs give out. Sinking to his knees, he buries his face in the softness of your belly, arms clutched tightly around your waist. He stays this way, kneeling in front of you, letting the water sluice over him, completely still but for the occasional tremor. Tangling your hands in his wet hair, your nails scratch lightly along his scalp, letting him work his way back out of this.

Tilting his head back to look up, strands of dark hair hang in his eyes, and you brush them back, watching the water runs through the stubble covering his jaw. He presses a kiss right below your belly button, before rising heavily to his feet.

Reaching around you, he flips off the water, and steps dripping onto the rug, grabbing two large towels. Your teeth start to chatter in the cool air and Bucky swings the bath towel around your shoulders, patting you down, carefully drying every inch of skin. He stands in front of you, naked and unconcerned by the fact, intent only on making sure you stay warm.

"You're going to freeze Buck," you chide softly, nudging him to grab his towel, and he gives you a half-hearted smile.

Picking it up, he scrubs it quickly over his long limbs, adding a cursory rub through his hair. Barely dry, he tosses it aside and turns to face you. Heart jumping, you take in the look on his face and without a word, drop the towel and step into his arms. Gripping your ass, he lifts you effortlessly. Looping your arms around his neck and lock your legs tight around his waist, when his lips crash down on yours.

Following the familiar path to your bedroom, he places a knee on the edge of your bed, easing you both into the soft blankets. Pulling back to look at you, Bucky finds an unreadable look in your face.

Opening your mouth to question him, he stops your sentence, licking tentatively at the corner of your mouth, tongue swiping across your lips, trailing down to your jaw.

What was it you needed to ask? You forget.

Tilting your head back, you offer him the curve of your neck, and his breath is hot against your skin as his lips kiss down to find the feel of your pulse. His mouth stays there, tongue pressed to the tiny beat as it flutters.

Bucky thinks then, of soft touches and hummingbird wings.

He continues his exploration down, small open mouthed kisses scattered across your shoulders, his nose tracing the outline of your collarbone when he gently sucks your skin in the hollow beneath. Back and forth, both sides of your body, he tastes the skin again and again, welcoming the familiar flavor, the feel of you shower warm, slick and pliable under his tongue.

Gripping your ribcage, his hands float up to cup your breasts, fingers stroking the soft underside, while his thumbs brush over aching nipples. Pushing your breasts together, he presses his tongue flat in your cleavage and licks slowly up.

Your breath hitches when you hear him groan softly, his tongue capturing the stray droplets of water that cling to warm skin. He rolls his hips unconsciously against you, lips drifting over to capture your nipple. Back and forth he moves, grazing the sensitive flesh with his teeth, tugging with his lips, the stubble of his rough beard creating an exquisite friction on your skin.

He could stay there forever and it would be enough. He believes that.

Stroking his hands up and down your body, licking and sucking, nipping with his teeth, your skin begins to tingle. Jolting your hips up, the ache between your legs grows with every swipe of his tongue and you push at his head, begging him to please, please go lower.

Bucky chuckles at your voice, and oh, there it is. The first real sound of happiness he's given tonight.

Giving his hair a tug, he looks up with a grin, before lazily dragging his tongue down your stomach, circling your belly button. Where he licks, he blows warm air, cooling the trail he leaves behind and goosebumps dance across your body.

You love when he does this, when all his attention is focused solely on you, on your pleasure, making sure every single inch is worshipped. He takes his time, an intimate method of coping, when he sets all the anxiety and the panic aside, and loses himself in you.

Heartbeat banging in your chest, it sends a flush of heat through you when he reaches the plane above your aching core and his gravelly voice rumbles with approval.

"God, you smell delicious." He breathes the filthy compliment, and your hands tremble, breath short, as you wait impatiently for him to put his mouth exactly where you need him most.

Catching your thighs, he settles between and pulls them over his shoulders. You can feel his breath, hot puffs teasing against you.

"Please, Bucky. Please."

The anticipation is painful, and you open your mouth to beg again, when Bucky leans in and licks firmly up your dripping pussy. You have no more pleading words, just a long moan of pleasure and you hold tight to his hair, flexing your hips up to his face.

He responds like a man starved, growling his hunger for you, his tongue pushing into your entrance, his nose rubbing against your clit. He groans into your pussy, and the deep vibrations make your entire body shake, the feeling starting between your legs, radiating into the tips of your fingers where it snaps like an electric shock.

Trying desperately to spread your legs wider, he catches your thighs and pulls them tight around his head while he works. He relishes the grip you use to keep him in place like this, loves when he can give up control and use you to hold himself down.

"Fuck you taste so good, fucking hell I needed this. I needed this, I need more," he whispers, his voice cracking as he repeats the words again and again, his tongue moving faster on you.

He reaches up and rubs his calloused palm over your nipples, pinching gently when he gives a small suck to your clit. Gasping at the feel, your hands gripping the bed sheets, legs curling around his torso, digging your heels into his back to keep him in place.

Tapping your wrists, Bucky mutely tells you to release the sheets, threading his fingers through yours. Looking up from between your legs, he meets your gaze.

God, the view.

Seeing him there, grinding his hips into the bed, his mouth latched to your clit, his blue eyes dark with lust as he watches you revel in the pleasure he's giving, it drags you so close to the edge. When he flicks his tongue once more, the rush of pleasure breaks and you come hard, body arching up, a long, guttural moan pulled from deep in your chest.

Bucky keeps a firm grip on your hands, his mouth following your cunt when your body moves, continuing to lick and suck, as the shudders roll through your body.

Breathing hard, it takes you a few minutes to come down, and he's so patient, continuing to lap the sweetness from you, wringing tiny spasms when he flicks the tip of his tongue on your clit every few strokes. You're still panting when he gently unhooks your legs from his shoulders, and slides up your body. When his face hovers above, you reach behind his head and slowly pull him down, tasting yourself on his lips. He starts in surprise at the movement, but embraces it instantly, burying his hands in your hair to deepen the kiss.

He only breaks away to raise himself up, using his leg to roll you onto your stomach and stretching your arms above, caging you beneath him. Balancing his weight, he keeps every single inch of his body touching yours, from his fingers, down to the tips of his toes.

Sighing blissfully, you feel his hard length nestled between your ass cheeks, and with his thick thighs, he pushes up to spread your legs further. Blunt fingernails scratch lightly on your skin, and he presses slow, wet kisses in a long strip up your back. Folding his arms on either side of you, he angles his hips so he can feel your cunt, and you try to spread your legs wider to help. Grunting quietly, he rubs himself against you, coating his cock to ease his entrance.

His sweaty forehead presses into your spine, a low groan filling the air when he pushes slowly into you. For a moment, he stops. Allows your body to adjust. Gives himself a chance to feel your tight heat. Rolling his hips, he hears your whimper of approval and starts to fuck you faster.

Shaking lips run across your back, kissing and nipping your skin, the delicate salty taste of your sweat fragrant on his tongue. The erotic flavor makes his cock swell harder, and he snaps his hips faster, eyes narrowing with lust when he sees your ass bouncing with each thrust. Pulling up, he balances on the metal arm, placing his right hand on the back of your neck to hold you in place. Heavy hips slam into you again and again, the new angle letting his cock rub perfectly on that spot deep inside that you desperately need.

He lets out a muffled moan, and you hear his hoarse voice murmuring into your skin, "You feel so good, so good, so hot, so fucking tight, Christ."

You're struggling to breathe, completely overwhelmed by him. By the way he gasps with every thrust, the way his lips burn when they touch you, the way his cock stretches and fills every part of your aching cunt.

How is it possible to be so utterly consumed by someone? It makes no sense. But here and now, Bucky Barnes has completely surrounded you and turned you inside out.

His lips are suddenly in your ear, and his voice breaks slightly when he speaks.

"I need to see your face."

He pulls himself slowly from you and you twist to lay on your back.

There's a moment of silence as you stare up at him, his blue eyes so bright, his hair still damp, a trickle of sweat dripping down his temple. Leaning down, he presses careful lips to cheek, before moving his hips and pushing back into you. Your arms are still stretched above your head, and Bucky reaches up and laces his fingers through yours, linking your hands, palm to palm. Thrusting forward, he finds a new rhythm and you wrap your legs around him, locking your ankles to keep him in place.

Nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck, you let your eyes slip shut, giving yourself up to the feel of him moving inside you. Pressure builds again, tighter and hotter, and when he thrusts once more, the unexpected pressure on your clit knocks you over the edge and you come again with a sharp cry.

Bucky feels you contract around him, gripping his cock so hard he nearly passes out. He tries to keep going, to fuck you through your orgasm, but then he feels you glide your tongue up his neck and bite down on his ear, and that simple connection pushes him over.

With one last hard snap of his hips he lets go, your name falling from his lips, whether profanity or prayer you don't know.

But there you stay, holding him tight against you as he comes undone, a sound breaking from his throat that sounds vaguely like a sob.

With his chest pressed firmly to yours, his face still tucked into your neck, you try to take deep gulps of air. Taking a shaky breath, Bucky raises his head to look down. Through that thin layer of skin, you feel his heart slamming fast staccato beats, so you modulate your breathing, keeping your eyes locked on his, encouraging him to match you.

He stares back, bright blue eyes intent on your face and gradually his heart rate slows. Finds a new pattern, one that beats in time with yours.

Humming to himself, Bucky rolls to his side and pulls you in close, folding you against his chest, dropping light kisses on the top of your still damp hair. Unbreakable steel, his arms wrap tight around you, fingers splayed wide to touch as much skin as possible. Hooking a thickly muscled calf behind your knees, he tries to shift you closer, so you burrow deeper into his embrace. Rubbing your cheek against the dark, bristly hairs on his chest, you smile into his skin, and press a light kiss above his heart.

His muscles finally loosen and relax, but his grip on you never lessens. And it won't. All night long. As your eyes flutter shut, the last thing you hear as you drift to sleep is a whisper, so quiet you're not even sure it was real.

But you hope with all your heart that you heard Bucky Barnes tell you he loved you.

*****

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #Bucky Barnes x reader smut #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fic #bucky #bucky x reader #bucky x reader smut #bucky imagine #bucky smut #bucky fic #smut

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ratgirly · 5 years

Text

i can see the starry night in your eyes, or is it just the vodka? (m) yoongi

Pairings: min yoongi x fem reader

Genre: smut

Word count: 1,631 words

Warnings: alcohol use, thats it for this chapter, the good nasty stuff comes after

here is part one on this random smut i wrote of yoongi!! hope you enjoy

sorry for any grammar mistakes, english is not my first lenguage /-:

part. 1 part. 2

Your feets are moving by their own at this point, only slowing down as you pass by the bar, looking both ways making sure everyone is in their own little world still, ignoring your tick-tock bomb that is about to explode and release a heart break crisis inside of yourself, you take a bottle of wine, not even caring the brand, all you wanted was alcohol in your system; enough to knock you out actually.

The action of breathing is hurtful as you fight back the tears that are screaming at your eyes, you're almost running by now, only getting slowed down by the way your pointed heels got stuck in the carpet with every step, you see there is an opened door that almost shines so you notice her, alone and actually dark once you get closer, perfect for hiding and drinking your heart out for the rest of the night.

Sitting down on the burgundy carpet, you take your heels off, might as well be comfortable while you swallow your sorrows, am I right?

At least as comfortable as you can get with the tight black dress around your body and the loud music still playing outside, once again you regretted coming to this stupid party.

The wine cork makes a little "pop" sound as you open it up with not a single bit of softness, almost as if you're dying of thirst you push the mouth of the bottle to your lips, hitting your teeths in the process, a muffled curse word and then you gulp down a long, really long, sip of expensive red wine.

Shutting your eyes, the image replays perfectly in your head, almost as if you were watching a movie right at the moment, the way jin's hand curved in the low back of that beautiful woman, that beautiful woman who was your rommate, who you actually liked, the beautiful woman who made jin laugh until tears were in his eyes and made you feel pity of yourself for getting jealous.

A dry laugh running out of your lips, another long drink.

How many times have you been in this situation? feeling your heart scratched and bleeding just because of Kim Seokjin, because those pretty eyes and beautiful lips werent yours, never looking at your direction unless it was to innocently joke around with you, and oh how pitiful it was, the way you longed for the little jokes, the small touches, the call of your name, even when it never sounded like you wished it would.

At this point you wished you would have took a bottle of bourbon instead of wine, because it would be a really long night if you expected to end up drunk and not feeling useless and awful, as you were right now, just by drinking wine taking in notice how much of a high alcohol tolerance you had developed through the years while doing drinking games with Jimin.

You hug the bottle close to your chest after another long drink, closing your eyes again and trying your best to not think about the way you clearly saw Jin whisper, what you imagined were lustful words, on the girl ears right before you took your walk out of the party.

— Fuck, you saw Jin kissing her, right?—you open your eyes looking at the door, watching yoongi stare down at you with a little pout, he smiled apologeticly at you.

Sighing, you take another drink.

— I didn't saw them kissing but thanks for the info—Yoongi's mouth forms an "O" as he takes a sit next to you.

— I'm sorry.

— Why are you here?—you try to move the subject to another focus, not trusting yourself enough to not start crying any second if the thought of Jin kissing that girl stayed longer.

— Same as you?

— Did jungkook kissed a girl too—you joke, taking it lightly, somehow you were already feeling kind off tipsy.

— No, but he has been all over some random guy from his arts class all night long, I couldn't take it anymore.

— Our life is so great—you hand him the bottle of wine and he smiles sarcastically before gulping down almost half of the liquor, only stopping after you hit, a little bit too hard, his shoulder, almost making him drop the bottle— I got the wine, I get to be drunk first—you complain as he looks at you with a frown but ends up handing you the alcohol back.

You take another even longer drink and watch him start searching for something inside the pocket of his black jean jacket, you smile with all of your teeths as he takes out a few mini bottles of vodkas.

— Where did you even-?

— They say a prepared woman is worth for two—you laugh as you take one of the cute little bottles, doing a little cheers with him before you both drink it in one shot, the beautiful and trustworthy heat going down your throath and settling there for a few seconds.

Yoongi moves to the other side of the small room, laying his back in the wall in front of you, just now looking around, you noticing is completely empty but for some boxes and cleaning utilities in one of the corners, it was cold inside here, compared to the warmer living room where the party took place.

— What is this anyway? like a closet?

— I guess so—he doesn't even pays real attention to your question while drinking another mini bottle of vodka.

You take a long gulp of the bottle of wine before you pass it to yoongi

— I can see your underwear from here—he smiles, your eyes have a little hard moment to focus on him, the shot of vodka quickly kicking in.

Now you were definitely tipsy.

— So what? there is no one else here and you're gay, it doesnt matter—you extend your hand ready to take your precious, almost empty, bottle back when he leans in, but instead of giving you the wine as you expected, Yoongi gets closer, so close his face is right in front of yours, his soft breath fanning your lips.

— I'm not that gay, you know?

There was a lump in your throat and you didn't notice when you started holding your breath but after he backed off a bit your lungs screamed for the needed oxygen, you laughed lightely, trying to take it as a joke, convince you it was a joke, even when your heart started beating so fast it was scary.

He smiled, and you didnt like it, because it was not the usual gummy-yoongi-cute smile he always gave you, not even the cooky smile he does without even realizing, it was a smile you didnt actually recognize, but the shivers it send through your spine were quickly recognized by your now heating body.

Your eyes closing for a moment.

It was just the alcohol, it had to be the alcohol.

You smiled softly, ready to make some really bad joke and break the sudden mood of the room, but the words got stuck in the tip of your tongue as you locked eyes with him, he was closer again, this time you could catch the smell of his perfume, it was so bittersweet, almost as if he had rubbed himself in strawberrys but then decided he wanted to smell like cinnamon instead; or something like that.

His eyes moved from yours to your slightly parted, red wine tinted, lips and back to your eyes, a little "tsk" coming out from his lips.

And you saw him going back to his place, away from you, you felt the cold of the room hit your body even before he actually moved away, and you couldn't allow that, you didnt know why but you just couldn't let him get away from you. So your hand went to the back of his neck and pushed him forward at the same time you leaned in, your lips clashing together in an almost hurtful way.

Your eyes shut close, fingers in the little mess of black strands that reached his neck, you felt him stiff for a second before moving his mouth on yours, his hands now supporting his weight in the floor as he leaned even closer to you.

The kiss was messy, just like your minds were at the moment, full of desire, taste of alcohol and confusion; why did kissing each other felt so good?

There was no longer any sign of coldness in the room, in fact it felt hot now, almost bowling hot and that scared you.

Why did you kiss him?

Why, why why?

So you push him off, because you were panicking and suddenly anxious and definitely scared, because it felt so good, kissing Yoongi felt too good.

You catch the confused look on his face before standing up and making your way to the door, but before your fingers could even grasp the handle, his hand grabbed your wrist, tightly enough to stop you from running away.

He pulled back, making you step back, and pulled again with more force, the action ending in you losing your balance and falling on top of him, gracefully crashing your butt in his lap; you give him an annoyed look as he laughs.

He rests his shin on your shoulder, his lips slightly touch your neck.

— Please stay—is just a soft whisper, barely able to be heard, but besides hearing it, you felt it, the move of his lips against your skin with, the slow pronounce of words that somehow tasted sweet after leaving his lips; you looked at him, eyes closed and face hidden in between your hair.

— I'll stay.

part two will be up soon <3

#min yoongi #yoongi smut #yoongi scenario #bts smut #bangtan sonyeondan #bangtan smut #suga smut #suga #bts suga #min suga #kpop smut #bts #smut #yoongi x reader #yoongi x you #thats a lot of tags im sorry

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taraadevlin · 7 years

Text

The mysterious Ken and the secret on the second floor

1: 名無しさん＠おーぷん 2014/07/04(金)22:01:38 ID:DJ9qQQei7 I’m gonna write now, okay.

2: 名無しさん＠おーぷん 2014/07/04(金)22:01:47 ID:agIBjaFPH Oooookay.

4: 名無しさん＠おーぷん 2014/07/04(金)22:02:47 ID:DJ9qQQei7 My details (at the time)

175cm 62kg A regular face Hobbies: Shogi, aquariums Never had a girlfriend, only a few friends

Okay, let me write this down.

At the time I was a first grade university student and living alone, so I didn’t have much money (my allowance from home was also quite small).

I worked part time jobs at family restaurants and convenience stores, but I noticed that home teachers got paid a lot better.

But registering to be a home teacher on the web is a bit of a hassle, isn’t it?

So I got permission from the neighbourhood and started handing out flyers.

I’m pretty sure I had on there that I could teach junior high school students English and Japanese, one hour was 3000 yen, and it had my contact details.

Then a few days later I got a phone call.

It sounded like a middle aged lady.

“I saw your flyer~ Would you be able to come over?” she said.

When I asked her about it she said she was looking for someone to teach her son.

She wanted me to come every day and teach him for four hours.

I was like, are you for real? That’s 12 000 yen a day, awesome!

I should have thought it was a little strange she wanted me to be there for four hours a day every day.

6: 名無しさん＠おーぷん 2014/07/04(金)22:04:09 ID:agIBjaFPH I get it, they kidnap and kill you on the day, and then demand a ransom. I saw that yesterday.

9: 名無しさん＠おーぷん 2014/07/04(金)22:06:01 ID:DJ9qQQei7 >>6 I saw that too and thought I should start a thread! Because this story happened about four years ago…

11: 名無しさん＠おーぷん 2014/07/04(金)22:07:30 ID:agIBjaFPH >>9 Really? Being a home teacher really is a scary job, huh…

8: 名無しさん＠おーぷん 2014/07/04(金)22:04:52 ID:DJ9qQQei7 She wanted me to come the very next day, so the next day I went over.

It was in the evening (from about 5pm I think) for four hours, so I ate dinner early and went over.

When I arrived at the address a tiny old house was sitting there.

It was also that time of day so it gave off a bit of a creepy atmosphere.

Well, it’s work… I thought, so I timidly rang the door bell.

When I did, I heard the voice of that same middle aged lady from the phone and felt a bit relieved.

When the door opened and I saw her I was at a loss for words.

Her head was full of dandruff.

She had dark bags around her eyes.

Her grin was horrifying.

Instantly I wanted to go back home, but in the end money won out.

Old lady: “Please, come in.” (grin)

“Thank you,” I said and stepped inside. I think my voice was shaking.

I asked her where her son was and she was like, this way, and led me into a further room.

To be honest I was absolutely terrified. I dunno how to explain exactly but the atmosphere the house gave off was really scary.

Reluctantly I followed her further inside and we ended up in what looked like a child’s room.

There was a chest of drawers, a TV, a bed, stuffed toys, toy robots, a study desk…

There looked to be a child sitting at the study desk in the back, but when I walked over to it I suddenly realised.

12: 名無しさん＠おーぷん 2014/07/04(金)22:07:41 ID:DJ9qQQei7 “Hello!” I said as I approached, but upon closer inspection… it was a doll…

Not just any doll, it appeared to be handmade. It was about the size of a real child and was even wearing regular clothes.

Its face was awful. There were just three dots made of cloth.

In Mario there are these characters called shy guys, right? It looked just like those.

Old lady: “That’s my son.” (grin)

I turned white. This place was dangerous. Really dangerous.

“Uh… that’s a doll… right?” I accidentally spit out.

That was the wrong thing to say.

Old lady: “Huuuuuhhhhh?!?!?!?! What are you saying?!!! That’s my son!!! Ken-kun!!!!”

She suddenly screamed out in a loud voice and began to cry.

This was really bad. She’s probably gonna kill me. I don’t want to die.

I need to end this peacefully somehow and get back home.

“Oh yeah I know! I know!” I said.

“Ken-kun, let’s study!!” When I said this, the old lady started to smile again and returned to normal.

Of course Ken-kun didn’t answer. Why would he? He was a doll after all.

Rather than calling it study, I just turned towards the doll and began talking to it.

Having to do this for another four hours would be hell. Even taking a break for ten minutes was still painful.

“The be verb is here so it becomes this~ This is the conjunctive form so it’s ‘u’ okay~” I went on like this alone for four hours.

The old lady watched from behind the whole time grinning. It was really creepy.

15: 名無しさん＠おーぷん 2014/07/04(金)22:09:38 ID:2q03lblwb That’s terrifying.

16: 名無しさん＠おーぷん 2014/07/04(金)22:09:48 ID:DJ9qQQei7 Somehow I managed to pass the four hours.

“Okay, well let’s finish it there~” I said to Ken-kun.

There was no reply. Of course not. It was a doll.

Old lady: “Well done~ Thank you very much~” (grin)

While thinking about how creepy her grinning face was I got ready to go home.

Old lady: “It’s already late, so why don’t you stay and eat first?” (grin)

No, I ate before I came so I’m alright, I told her.

Besides, any food that came out of this creepy house was bound to be awful.

Old lady: “Please eat!!!!!”

She screamed again. It was so scary. She was mad. But I thought she would kill me, so I reluctantly accepted.

She took me to what looked like the dining room and I sat down in a chair.

She took out a knife and started preparing dinner.

When she took out the knife my heart began to race. I broke out in a cold sweat.

She took out a dirty old pan and began to boil something. It smelled like curry.

Ah, curry. I’m glad it’s something normal, I thought from the bottom of my heart.

Old lady: “Okay, here you are.” (grin)

She put curry onto a dirty plate for me. The spoon was also the type you get free from the convenience store that she was using again.

“Thank you,” I said and timidly began to eat. It was just regular curry. Not awful, not great…

Old lady: “Tastes good, I hope?” (grin)

“Yes! It’s great!” I said in a really loud voice. I was so scared I may have have replied a little too enthusiastically.

Old lady: “I’m glad. Why don’t you stay the night?” (grin)

I had no idea what was going on anymore.

17: 名無しさん＠おーぷん 2014/07/04(金)22:10:43 ID:VfIQkBZza Why couldn’t you refuse the food?

20: 名無しさん＠おーぷん 2014/07/04(金)22:11:44 ID:DJ9qQQei7 >>17 Because I was so scared.

“No, really, that’s okay,” I answered.

Old lady: “Ken-kun would be so happy~ Please, stay.” (grin)

“No, it’s okay,” I said again.

Old lady: “Please stay!!! You’ll make Ken-kun sad!!!!”

I was scared. But staying overnight in this house was even scarier. The thought of being killed was even scarier than that.

I had no choice. I decided to stay.

I’d pretend that I was staying and when the opportunity presented itself, I’d run.

It was decided I’d stay with Ken-kun in his room.

Having to sleep in the same room as this creepy doll was most unpleasant.

She put out a futon for me in his room.

Old lady: “Isn’t it great~ You get to sleep with your teacher tonight~” (grin)

I was so scared.

18: 名無しさん＠おーぷん 2014/07/04(金)22:11:13 ID:2q03lblwb I don’t get it.

21: 名無しさん＠おーぷん 2014/07/04(金)22:13:27 ID:agIBjaFPH Isn’t that confinement…?

23: 名無しさん＠おーぷん 2014/07/04(金)22:13:50 ID:DJ9qQQei7 Old lady: “The toilet is next to the dining room, so don’t go upstairs okay.” (grin)

First I’d wait for the old lady to go to sleep, so I awaited patiently in Ken-kun’s room.

I lamented that I’d forgotten my phone. If I had that I could call for help.

She’ll fall asleep once it gets late, so I waited some more.

That was around 10.30pm.

I had nothing to do so I just lay there in the futon.

26: 名無しさん＠おーぷん 2014/07/04(金)22:17:08 ID:DJ9qQQei7 Before I realised it, it was 1am. Looked like I’d fallen asleep.

The old lady has to be asleep by now, so I got ready to make my escape.

I grabbed my bag and began to tip toe to the door.

One step… another step… Only my heartbeat made any sound.

“What are you doing?”

Uh oh… that’s it, I thought. I’m dead.

27: 名無しさん＠おーぷん 2014/07/04(金)22:17:27 ID:DJ9qQQei7 When I looked over the old lady was sitting behind the dining room door, grinning at me.

No way… she’s been sitting there watching me all this time…?

All the blood drained from my body.

Old lady: “You weren’t trying to go home now, were you?” (grin)

I panicked.

“Uwaaaaaaaaaaa!!!” I screamed and ran towards the back of the house.

There was no window a person could escape from in Ken-kun’s room.

I ran up the stairs as fast as I could.

Dotadotadotadota!! I saw a door in front of me. I opened it. It was pitch black.

I looked for the light switch and turned the lights on. Everything in the room lit up.

The room was full of nothing but stuffed toys and dolls. It was terrifying!!

I was brought to a standstill when suddenly

“Kyakyakyakyakyakya!!!” I could hear a voice screaming from the back of the room.

I looked over and saw something that looked like a person? with a really huge head and eyes that looked like they were gonna pop out.

Our eyes met.

“Hyahyahyahyahya!!!!”

It was terrifying. I wet myself. It was disgusting.

In a panic I opened the second floor window and jumped out.

I didn’t feel any pain. My fear won out over that.

I ran all the way home. That night I couldn’t sleep, and my foot was in so much pain that the next day I went to the hospital and found out I’d broken my left ankle.

Afterwards I moved away and didn’t go there again. I didn’t want to go there again.

I wonder what it was I saw in that room?

The end.

28: 名無しさん＠おーぷん 2014/07/04(金)22:18:40 ID:jey5ysCe1 Perhaps it was a disabled person locked up?

32: 名無しさん＠おーぷん 2014/07/04(金)22:20:30 ID:DJ9qQQei7 >>28 I thought it might have been the real Ken-kun. Maybe he was a handicapped kid and the doll was her way of escaping reality…

29: 名無しさん＠おーぷん 2014/07/04(金)22:18:47 ID:RcNiQtX6w Wow that’s terrifying, haha.

30: 名無しさん＠おーぷん 2014/07/04(金)22:18:55 ID:agIBjaFPH So scary.

33: 名無しさん＠おーぷん 2014/07/04(金)22:21:47 ID:DJ9qQQei7 When I said I moved, I meant I moved away from that town entirely.

If you have any questions, I’m happy to answer them.

34: 名無しさん＠おーぷん 2014/07/04(金)22:22:15 ID:jey5ysCe1 Do you remember where that house is?

37: 名無しさん＠おーぷん 2014/07/04(金)22:23:24 ID:DJ9qQQei7 >>34 Kind of. I forgot the exact address though.

35: 名無しさん＠おーぷん 2014/07/04(金)22:22:37 ID:VfIQkBZza In the end did you get the money?

38: 名無しさん＠おーぷん 2014/07/04(金)22:23:57 ID:DJ9qQQei7 >>35 Nope. Returning home safely was more than enough.

36: 名無しさん＠おーぷん 2014/07/04(金)22:22:44 ID:dHk9aLaVg Was it hydrocephalus？

41: 名無しさん＠おーぷん 2014/07/04(金)22:25:08 ID:DJ9qQQei7 >>36 Maybe, his head was really, really big. Like it was gonna explode.

39: 名無しさん＠おーぷん 2014/07/04(金)22:24:56 ID:jey5ysCe1 I’m sure it was really scary, but no doubt it was Ken-kun locked away on the second floor.

Was he really there in the dark all that time? He was probably happy to see another person after so long.

42: 名無しさん＠おーぷん 2014/07/04(金)22:26:04 ID:DJ9qQQei7 >>39 The more I think about it the scarier it gets…

44: 名無しさん＠おーぷん 2014/07/04(金)22:26:53 ID:lfysAOZOU >>42 I was just kidding. That’s the first time in a while I’ve been so scared. Thanks.

40: 名無しさん＠おーぷん 2014/07/04(金)22:25:05 ID:lfysAOZOU I’ve foooound you~

42: 名無しさん＠おーぷん 2014/07/04(金)22:26:04 ID:DJ9qQQei7 >>40 Quit it…

43: 名無しさん＠おーぷん 2014/07/04(金)22:26:46 ID:wnJtOEtzv What prefecture was this?

45: 名無しさん＠おーぷん 2014/07/04(金)22:27:04 ID:DJ9qQQei7 >>43 Kanto region.

47: 名無しさん＠おーぷん 2014/07/04(金)22:31:25 ID:wnJtOEtzv Was it Chiba?

48: 名無しさん＠おーぷん 2014/07/04(金)22:32:48 ID:DJ9qQQei7 >>47 Do you live in Chiba? Never fear! It wasn’t Chiba.

51: 名無しさん＠おーぷん 2014/07/04(金)22:37:21 ID:JrNj686dD What an interesting story. Anyway, did you change your phone number?

52: 名無しさん＠おーぷん 2014/07/04(金)22:40:34 ID:DJ9qQQei7 >>51 I blocked her number and changed mine soon after!

55: 名無しさん＠おーぷん 2014/07/04(金)22:53:02 ID:MXh05JNfs This isn’t something you should read on the street at night.

I decided I’m not gonna walk and read my phone anymore.

56: 名無しさん＠おーぷん 2014/07/04(金)22:53:27 ID:DJ9qQQei7 Are there no more questions?

Well I’m gonna go to bed now, if you’re gonna be a home teacher make sure you’re really careful.

See ya.

58: 名無しさん＠おーぷん 2014/07/06(日)03:29:31 ID:jJGIHsjDD Been a long time since a scary story gave me goosebumps.

22: 名無しさん＠おーぷん 2014/07/04(金)22:13:44 ID:JrNj686dD Man that’s scary. But the fact you could make this thread means that you’re still alive. I’m relieved.

#japanese horror #jhorror #asian horror #kidnapping #dolls #long story

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theepicnarcoleptic · 7 years

Text

I couldn’t breathe. My nose congests. I get lightheaded.

My throat closes and my tongue becomes too big for my mouth. My saliva is like gravel.

I start dry heaving, choking, and I can’t stop.

Parts of my body feel like they’re flailing even though they’re not.

Everything above my belly button hurts, like I’m using muscles I’ve never used before.

My neck and throat, the base of my skull, and even my brain.

I end up on the floor.

I can’t move or breathe normally.

My scalp is tight,

I feel it stretching over my skull, I can feel my blood, and I want to rip out my hair.

My muscles tense up, they hunch. And I am stuck. Half instinctual, trying to relax my lungs so they can take in more air, or maybe I’m trying to make them smaller, as if I didn’t need any.

My chest is tight, and I keep holding my breathe. Unconsciously//unintentionally.

I can’t close my mouth. I become slack jawed. I drool. But very little comes out. there’s not much saliva left.

My eyelids get too big to see out of. I’m on the floor.

I want to reach out to somebody, but I still can’t breathe.

I consider going to the hospital. but I still can’t move,

I’m stuck and it’s their fault in the first place.

I wonder if I bang on the floor, if my neighbor will hear me...

I think about what a dick he can be. And how the last time that I had anaphylaxis, and relied the kindness of a neighbor, the veins in my eyes burst, because he was too busy smoking crack to get me my meds in time. I remember crawling up the stairs to a haze... The smell of burning plastic.

--I manage to fb msg call Bolder, but I can’t breathe. It’s too hard to tap buttons. And it’s starts recording.

I leave a message. A sound I haven’t heard in a while.

It’s been 4 yrs? Maybe 10?

I hit send. I know that he’ll know. and that he cares. He’s the only person left in my life who’s ever seen me like this.

But I still hurt

and I can’t breathe. I can’t think.

Desperate, I try to record my ‘condition’ on instagram. I think about how people would respond:

“she’s doing it for attention. She’s so desperate, so weak...she should be ashamed. She’s probably faking it.”

The sound of my struggling to breath, plays back to myself. And I start to breath a little normal. My seeing and being with another me. A parasympathetic response occurs in every sense of the word, triggered by the me from a few seconds ago. It calms me down as it loops into a lullaby.

But everything is weak.

Everything hurts.

Parts of me are still paralyzed.

Afterwards, I have a headache and I feel hot.

I take a Xanax bc I don’t want it to happen again.

I wonder if this had happened before, when I was living with my mom a couple of years ago. I don’t think it did, but I don’t trust my own memories, I may have blocked it out.

I shut down.

I wonder how bad it was, how bad this is.

I don’t want to die, but even living feels like dying sometimes.

Later, I ask myself if there were any signs.

The 2 day burping? Acid reflux? 3 days of palpitations? These symptoms occurred over the course of a week. Never on the same day. And always at random. I need to get better at seeing the signs.

In the thralls of it, this... attack? I was never really scared. I didn’t feel scared. or ‘panicked’.

or maybe I just can’t recognize when somethings scary. I guess I just felt a lot, or nothing at all, other than what was happening to my body. I didn’t really think much. I couldn’t really think much. The ‘attack’ lasted 45 minutes...? but in that time, despite everything I thought and have wrote, my head felt empty.

Thinking, feels like it correlates with breathing.

And I know I wasn’t breathing, because all the blood vessels in my face popped and I now look like a grape.

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

I’ve never thought that I wouldn’t want to be your friend anymore. But I don’t know if I can, I want to, but I think it might be really bad for me.

You told me that I was deflecting and that ‘no one was trying to insult’ me.

As if I was imagining it, or accusing a ghost.

As if it wasn’t you, who I was just talking to, and you didn’t hurt my feelings.

You told me “well that’s your own feelings.”

And it’s just reinforcing that I just shouldn’t talk to (some) people.-- bc they don’t care, or wanna take responsibility for their thoughts, behaviors, or actions, regardless of whether, or not hurting someone was their intention. (which btw, has nothing to do with what to do when you hurt someone.)

You made it clear that when I’m upset, you’re not the person I should look to talk to. Verbatim.

“I’m not soft person and I’m not gonna baby you I don’t ever hold Back my thoughts or feelings and I’m not gonna apologize for trying to make you stronger.”

But I don’t need you to try to make me stronger in this way. And It’s not your place. I’m strong and callus enough. And I don’t want to be.

The illusion of power can breed ignorance, recklessness and violence.

“No Jordana I don’t have a lot of compassion left

Im a lonely ass person

And angry like every day.

. . .

And I have low tolerance for anything that isn’t about building my self or making money I have my own problems

I’m stressed out every day of my life

The man I’m in love with isn’t talking to me

And I hate my self for even still being involved

But I’m just ignoring that relationship situation because I’m focusing more on my life and the shit I have to do”

And then when I tell you that I need space and time to get healthy.

You tell me:

“What ever Jordana I’m used to being let down and alone so there”

You just told me that I was ‘wining over nothing.’ What would make you think that I would want to talk to you anytime soon...?

You told me that I can’t form relationships because I just push everyone away. I’m well aware of that. but I when i try to open up to you about trying to open up to someone else, and you just tell me that it’s my own fault, all it does is push me away.

Barely, have I ever come to you, with something of this calibre. And I don’t think I ever will. Or at least, I’m not gonna try again anytime soon. I can’t be your ‘pensieve’, but not have it be a two way street.,

Everyones so fucking oppressed with their emotions, that no one knows how the fuck to ‘be’.

Seriously, fuck everyone.

y’all make me so mad.

A goddamn bunch of fucking cowards. Go read some fucking Sartre.

Hell is other people bro.

But consider this...

(source-some chick on Quora)

“Imagine a beautiful building. As you walk through its doors you see a reception desk. The receptionist is not there, but by the desk is a box of chocolate. You look around, reach out and take one. A person you hadn’t noticed right behind you says “Wow! I’ve always wanted to try that chocolate! How is it?” and grabs one too. Now you have an accomplice. You chat about how good the chocolate is. Mmmm. What a good day this is turning out to be. But, wait. What if the person you hadn’t noticed behind you instead says “How could you? How could you take something that doesn’t belong to you? I can’t believe you just grabbed that!” Now you feel uncomfortable. The receptionist returns to the desk. She glares at you.“That was not yours.” You stand there feeling awful. When Sartre said “hell is other people” he noted that we cannot really know ourselves without taking into consideration how we are regarded by others. If we are judged by another, it becomes a part of our own opinion of ourselves. Others are so important to us, we cannot complete the puzzle of who we are without them. This is why he concludes "hell is other people".”

#vents

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probablyretep · 7 years

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New Blog Post: (Vacation Week 2017!) has been published on ProbablyRetep http://bit.ly/2urNJs1 #ProbablyRetep

New Post has been published on http://www.probablyretep.com/2017/08/10/vacation-week-2017/

Vacation Week 2017!

Well that wraps up a vacation for 2017. I’ll do my best to post a decent write up on how the vacation went. I’ll separate it out by each day and what we did.

07/26/2017 So before we went on vacation we had Shereen’s birthday to celebrate. She’d been wanting to go to PF Changs’, and since it was her birthday, that’s where we went. I’ve only been there a couple of times. Well 3 to be exact. First two were work functions, and this was the third time. The food did not disappoint. Mikayla got Orange Chicken, Shereen got Sesame Chicken, and I

got Pepper Steak. All three of us got fried rice, and of course we started out our dining experience with some Lettuce Wraps. Man those things are good. All the food was pretty amazing. We all shared our main dishes family style since that’s kind of how it’s served anyways. After our dinner, Shereen got a free desert so Mikayla and I decided to indulge ourselves and got dessert as well. I got the biggest slice of chocolate cake (pictured on the left), Mikayla got some sort of cake thing which she enjoyed as well.

After dinner it was back to work for me for the next couple of days until our vacation officially started.

8/1/2017 On Tuesday we decided to go to Chicago to do some stuff. Driving there was interesting because I really don’t like long car rides. I get super fidgety and my legs start to get achy, and most of the time I start to get really tired for no apparent reason other than boredom. Which in itself is kind of funny because I can sit at my PC for an entire day and play games and work on stuff just fine, but being in the car drives me nuts. The trip to Chicago was no exception, other than the falling asleep. I never really felt like I was going to fall asleep on the way there. When we got into Chicago the traffic was incredible. It was just as the lunch hour was ending, so there was still quite a bit of traffic. It was extremely stressful driving because people just do what they want to do. Somebody wants to turn into your lane right in front of you? Well not only does that person do it, but two others also attempt to do it just to be jerks. So I made the executive decision to park the car and leave it (especially since it was minimum of like 18 dollars to park somewhere and leave the car there for the day and just take Ubers everywhere since it would probably be easier than A. trying to drive in that insanity, and B. trying to figure out parking at every single place we went to along with the extraordinary cost to park everywhere. The first place we went was

to this pizza place called Gino’s East. I had never tried Chicago style deep dish pizza, and there was two choices to choose from, according to all my friends. We chose Gino’s East because of where we were trying to go

for the day and it seemed to be located at a pretty easy to get to location. Also, I couldn’t remember the name at the time that everybody else had mentioned. (Giordanos). The waiter that served us was especially friendly considering the drive in that we had just had so I was refreshed and glad right from the get go. He asked if we had every been there before and when we told him “No”, he proceeded to give us the rundown of the

joint and told us a brief history of the chain, and that their deep dish pizzas took about 45 minutes to cook. We were starving at that point so we promptly ordered some Hummus since that looked pretty good on the appetizer menu. Finally the pizza came out and he served out the first slices for all of us. As some of you may know I’m a smells person, so my first instinct was to lean forward and smell it. I’m not sure exactly what I was expecting to smell, but what hit my nostrils was nothing what I expected. The pizza almost smelled rancid. I was quite shocked by this, so I asked the two ladies with me, and while Mikayla agreed with me, Shereen didn’t seem to notice anything. After about 5 minutes of letting it cool down while sniffing it I finally decided to taste it. I was a bit nervous to taste it, considering how awe full it smelled to me. Never-the-less I took my first bite and didn’t really stop until I was done with my 2nd slice, only taking a break to grab the second slice! The pizza tasted just fine, so I’m not sure if it was just because I’m used to the sweeter sauces that I work with everyday or what.

After we got done with lunch, we let things settle down for a bit and then decided to go to the Willis Tower. I’m not sure if we picked the wrong day, or the wrong time, or they were severely understaffed or some conglomeration of all that, but we waited forever and a day to get to the top. We probably waited in line for a total of an hour just to get that elevator ride up to the top. There was several stops along the way were we got to watch an informative movie about the architect of the (former) Sears Tower, as well as little stops with information about Chicago. Fun Fact, the elevator tops out at 18 miles an hour on the ride to the top. That was an experience in of itself as your ears are popping and your crammed into this giant elevator with what feels like WAY more than the safety limit. You’ve probably hear the expression “packed tighter than a can of sardines”, well as I said that out loud, several people lamented that it was actually worse than that. But once we got to the top, even I, who has a strong… dislike for heights, was taken aback by the view. It was kind of funny, because on one side of the building, it was thunder storming pretty hard, and on the other side it was almost a normal sunny day. I even forced myself to take a random selfie on the see through ledge. That was pushing the boundaries of my tolerance for heights. In fact it was well beyond to make an understatement. The girls tried to get me back on there, but I wasn’t having it. I about had a panic attack because this kid in the ledge next to us kept jumping up and down and I was starting to lose it. We walked all the way around and took several pictures. You can find all the pics that we took on the vacation [HERE] in the photo gallery. After we were done there we grabbed some fudge to go, and then headed back down to the line, for the elevator back downstairs. Luckily this wait wasn’t quite as long as the wait to get up, but it still took probably about 15-20 minutes. Once we got downstairs we realized that it was raining. We wanted to go check out the Million dollar mile so we decided to hop in a Uber. Well that turned out to be an interesting decision as the first one didn’t quite put the meeting spot where we were, and since I’m not that bright sometimes, and panicking because I didn’t want to get charged for an Uber we didn’t take, and because I didn’t know the city at all, we ended up missing out first

driver. He drove right past us after texting me several times. So we called for another Uber and this time we knew right where to go as the GPS once again placed our meeting spot a bit off from where we were, but in the same time as last time. He got there and we got in and it was white knuckles until we got there. I would never be able to survive in that city unless I absolutely had to because I’m not a big enough jerk to cut people off like what our driver was doing, and being done to him. Interestingly enough we drove past the Trump Towers. I wanted to stop in but we just didn’t have enough time. All in all between walking here and there I think we walked some 7 miles in Chicago that day. After the shopping, we went to the “Bean” at the park, took a few pictures and then decided to start moseying along home. We decided after much debate to go to the nearest White Castle for dinner as Shereen had never eaten there. So I picked a random White Castle in/near Chicago that was along the way home and plugged it into the GPS and started heading there. Well, apparently I picked the White Castle in a pretty rough neighborhood. We witnessed a couple of drug deals, and some people who almost got punched in the face for saying rude things to my minor aged daughter. Luckily the food hit the spot and we headed on our way home. The girls both passed out pretty quickly, so I turned up the radio and jammed out to my music all the way home.

8/2 – 8/4

We had planned on spending these couple of days going camping but it was thunder storming in most of the state. So we did random things around the city as far as going different places for lunch and dinners. We went to the Rivertown Mall, and walked that. We also visited Woodland Mall and walked that. At some point in these few days we also grabbed some new shoes from Shoe Carnival as we were overdue for some new ones. We also squeezed in a couple of movies. We saw Atomic Blond, and Girls Trip. Both of which were pretty alright. Girls trip was hilarious if not a bit on the raunchy side. I feel like we did a couple other things but I just can’t remember for some reason. Friday night we had dinner at Texas Roadhouse, and then took Mikayla home as she had a trip to take with her friends / family.

8/5/2017

So this is the day that we set aside for Shereen to go sky diving because that’s what she wanted for her birthday. So we drove up to Holland to this placed called Skydive Holland. Our appointment was for 1:30 if i recall correctly but they were backed up like two hours so it took quite a long time for her to get up. The first video is of her boarding and taking off in the plane. The second video is of her skydiving and landing.

http://www.probablyretep.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/08/shereen-taking-off.mp4

http://www.probablyretep.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/08/shereen-landing.mp4

After she went sky diving we went to this little restaurant in Holland called Ottawa Beach Inn. The waitress and hostess were both very pleasant. We both ordered burgers. She a Swiss Mushroom burger or something gross like that, and I got the OBI Burger, which is essentially just a normal cheese burger loaded with the fixins. Both of our burgers were really good, and the fries were great too as they were that “Pub style” fries. After a late lunch we headed back to Grand Rapids, and relaxed the rest of the evening. We also stayed home Sunday (after we got home from bringing the kiddo to her freiends campsite in Baldwin.

I’m not even gonna get started on that Game Of Thrones episode Sunday night… Man o man…

Anyways, that was (most) of our vacation of 2017. Overall I had a great time with Mrs Spalding, and the kiddo. Again, if you’d like, here’s a direct link to our vacation photos.

#chicago #Deep Dish #Gino's East #Giordanos #heights #Mikayla #music #PF Changs'#pizza #radio #Sears Tower #Shereen #shopping #sky dive #Skydive Holland #Uber #vacation #White Castle #Willis Tower

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