#I Know I Bitch and Bitch About ii But It Does Hurt Watching It Dig Itself Into a Big Miserable Hole

[mumpsetc]

I Think the Era of ii Being the Second Biggest Object Show Is Kind of Over... It Does Just Feel Like Its Just Getting By on Name Recognition Now

[geeky-introvert]

Kelpie II . Hvitserk X OC

Summary:  A few months have passed and Hvitserk is left haunted by what happened on the beach back in England. The mark on his hand remains, reminded, and believes himself to be cursed. Then out of nowhere, he finds her on the shore, wounded….Second and final part.

Word count: 3320

Warning: Virginity loss and smut.

Tag list:  @lisinfleur @mdlady @didiintheblog @alicedopey @rekdreams247​ @mblaqgi @oddsnendsfanfics @aphnxrising @happydaysandersen  @therealcalicali @naaladareia @inforapound @captstefanbrandt  @waiting4inspiration @tabalugax @p8tn0lish @igetcarriedawaywithyou  @laketaj24 @darlingp @tephi101 @youbloodymadgenius  @lordsexmachine @wonderlandofsu 

If anyone else wants to be added to the tag list let me know please. 

He couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened. There was a part of him that kept saying it was only a dream, it never happened, but the scars she left on her hand proved that to be wrong. Hvitserk never spoke of what happened to anyone, simply saying the gods were watching over him and that was good enough for everyone.

For months he was haunted by her face, staring down at him, seaweed suffocating him until he would wake up from his sleep as if he was drowning again. He thought it might pass, but it didn’t as time continued on as if nothing happened while his mind played tricks on him.

Since that day he hasn’t been the same since. Only Ubbe noticed something was off but Hvitserk kept assuring that he was fine. Lies of course, but what else could he say?

That morning he walks along the beach to try to clear his head and rubs his tired eyes silently hoping that it’ll help him sleep better later that day or night at least. There was nothing else to be expected, that was until he comes across someone washed up on the beach.

“Shit…” He whispers hurrying over to see if they were still alive.

It’s a woman, and she was hurt, bad. Even though she lays on her front he could tell she had been stabbed. He then turns her over onto her back and the second he looked at her face he quickly scurries back against the sand.

It’s her.

Letting out some breaths to try and calm his racing heart he slowly came closer again, this time seeing if it was his mind playing tricks again but it wasn’t. She’s here, but how and what happened for her to end up like this?

Questions that won’t be answered while she’s passed out.

Picking her up he then carries her back to his cabin outside of Kattegat a little where he then calls for a healer to come and help treat her wounds. He wants answers from her, the very one who plagued his memories those months ago.

For what felt like hours he watched her, waiting for her to wake up. He remembers her hair being half seaweed but she had none now, just her long dark brunette hair. She looks more human too he thought to himself.

While he waits he helps himself to some food and drink before she then makes a discomfort sound and waits a little longer more as she turns her head with screwed eyes of pain.

“You’re awake, good.” He says with a mouth full of a small amount of food.

Opening her eyes and turning her head she looks at Hvitserk with furrowed brows before letting out a scoff and turning her head to look at the ceiling.

“So, you remember me?” He asks, pressing.

“Yes, of course I remember you, idiot human.”

She has fire, he’ll give her that.

“I thought it was all a nightmare those months ago, then I find you on the beach, wounded. The healer said it was stab wounds. You’ll be fine, but you need to rest and I have questions.” He says moving his chair closer to her as she slowly sits up on the bed.

“I didn’t ask for you help, nor did I want it…” She grits out avoiding to look at him.

“So I was meant to leave you to die there on the beach?” Her silence was enough of an answer for him. “You found me in England, yet I find you here back in Norway. Were you looking for me or something?”

She exhales heavily. “Stupid questions…”

“I need answers.” Hvitserk says waiting patiently for her to do that for him.

Finally, she speaks. “My brothers found out I helped you and my father wasn’t very pleased. He cast me out, cursed me, never to return, not right before he wounded me to make it harder for myself. It was supposed to be a glorious day for me, to be noticed and make my ancestors proud. But you ruined that.” She huffs looking at him with heavy eyes. “A filthy human, ruins all that for me, it’s all fucked up!”

“So your father did that.” He says pointing out the treated wound. “What do you mean cursed?”

“It means I’m human, like you. I have nothing left….” She looks emotional then, like she was about to cry or yell out in frustrations but did neither.

Hvitserk was still unsure what she was talking about, it was all so strange.

“How did you end up here?”

For a moment she hesitates before finally answering. “The bond lead me to you. When I marked you, it also gave me the ability to track you, so I knew you wouldn’t come looking for me and if you did I would for sure kill you then. It’s a bond though, to make it more simple for your human small mind.”

“Bond?” That sounded both romantic and...creepy. “That’s why you marked me? For months I’ve struggled to sleep, seeing nothing but you invading my head and feeling like I was drowning again!” He wasn’t happy at all. “You’ve...you’ve fuck around with my mind! All this time I thought I was going crazy and losing my shit!”

“Maybe you’re are crazy still…” She says giving an uncaring shrug.

He shifts closer, seeing her nothing as a human now, which she is. Her powers, what she was, it was all taken from her and it left her nothing but a human.

“I’m not afraid of you, not anymore.”

“Good for you.”

“Are you always such a bitch?”

“Are you always ugly looking?”

His brows furrowed together. “You think I’m ugly?”

“Do you consider yourself beautiful?” She asks with an amused smirk.

“You’re a real piece of work.” He sighs slumping back in his seat. “So, you’re human now. You saved me and now I’ve saved you, we’re even. Will you tell me your name now?” He remembers she never did, saying she was no one.

“If you must know it’s Nieve.”

“Nieve.” He repeats the name liking the sound of it. “I’m Hvitserk.”

“I don’t care.”

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵ ‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

The days pass and Hvitserk surprisingly found himself learning more about her, what she used to be and who her people were. Not anymore though, she was cursed as a human now. That didn’t matter to him though but it mattered to her.

Once she was healed he decided she needed to learn how to blend in with other people. He wanted to help her, reasons he wasn’t even sure himself. It did take a little convincing but eventually she finally agreed, even though she showed she was annoyed with it.

Waiting outside for her Hvitserk then turns around when she finally comes out but stops her as he looks her up and down with a smirk.

“Alright, you have a lovely body but no need to show it off to everyone. Put the dress on that I got for you, please?”

“Its itchy…” She argued with a pout. “I don’t understand why you insist I wear clothes like you and everyone else does.”

“Because you’re human now.” He argues and she goes quiet. “Come on, just try it at least.”

Letting out a heavily exhale she storms back into the cabin like a child throwing a tantrum and within moments she was back out, dress on but not tied up.

“Here.” Hvitserk comes forward and turns her around to help her with lacing up the dress. He would be lying if he said he didn’t find himself growing fond of her. It was strange, at first he hated her and now...well, it was something different.

“There, how’s that?” He asks looking her up and down again. “You look beautiful.”

She froze and stared at him as he said this before letting out a soft scoff shaking her head. “You’re a weird man, Hvitserk.”

Walking into Kattegat for the first time with her was...not what he expected. At the first sight of fish she suddenly grabs one and starts eating it like it was nothing while some people stared in horror by her actions. Hvitserk was quick to stop her and apologizes before moving on. It didn’t end there.

As they pass some cats they hissed at her as if she were a monster and she hisses back loudly scaring them away. It was very strange indeed.

“If you’re going to live with us, you’ll need to start behaving like us more. It’s not that hard.”

“It’s not that easy.” She says back. “I had a whole other life. That’s gone and I’m forced into this one. How would you feel if it were the other way around?”

This made him sigh softly.

“You’re right, I’m sorry. But try to learn, I’ll help you through this and you can stay with me, you have nothing to worry about anymore. I’ll take care of you.”

Hearing this from him made her a little confused but said nothing back as they walk together side by side through the markets. He wanted to help, since she helped him from near death with strange outcomes but still, he just wanted her to adjust to the new life of this.

They approach the stables then and it looks like they had just gotten in a new horse with a lot of wild in him. For a moment we watched as this black stallion reared, bucked and even kicked a few of the men as he tried to get away from the enclosure he was trapped in.

Nieve suddenly runs forward, throwing herself in the enclosure as the men all suddenly backed off from the horse while he rears up at her, so close. Hvitserk was about to jump in to save her but stops at the fence when he notices that she wasn’t afraid and the horse suddenly slowly starts to calm down, snorting and digging his hoof into the ground.

“Shh, shh…” She whispers slowly stepping closer and touching his nose tenderly.

It was a side Hvitserk hasn’t seen before, gentle and caring. Everyone around just watches, unsure what to do as she pet the animal, stroking his main and head making soft sounds that he wasn’t even sure were, but it did sound relaxing.

She then grabs a rope and without a word or glance at anyone takes the horse out, leaving them all baffled. A man approaches Hvitserk then.

“Prince Hvitserk, I respect you but...you’ll have to pay for that horse.”

This wasn’t what he had in mind for the day and hesitates but knew he couldn’t force her to give the horse back, and so pays the man before catching up with Nieve.

“I just brought you a horse, you’re welcome.” He says shaking his head, not expecting her to reply, but she did.

“Thank you.”

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵ ‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

Hvitserk watches Nieve as she cares for the horse back at the cabin. She was so tender with him and he quickly seems to trust her as well. He was honestly a little amazed by the change of behaviour from the horse, and thought that all it takes was just trust.

That night after putting the horse in the stable Hvitserk had made some broth up before she entered the cabin to join him. It was quiet between then, no doubt she struggles with words to show her appreciation for letting her take the horse and not force her to give him up.

“Hungry?” He asks holding a bowl of broth for her to take. Sitting at the table he starts eating, pouring himself some mead as well as she slowly joins him.

“I didn’t know you had slaves….” It was something he didn't expect her to say.

Judging by the tone of her voice she wasn’t too fond of the idea.

“Yeah, my people do. It’s our way and how it’s been for a long time.” He answers her.

“Do you have slaves?”

“No, why do you ask?” His brows furrowed together.

“I just wasn’t sure if I was a slave.”

He stops eating and stares at her. “No, no you’re not. You’re a free woman.”

“Why?” She only continues to make him feel confused.

“Do you want to do a slave?”

“No, I don’t, I just don’t know what I am...I mean to you.”

Hvitserk wasn’t even sure if they’ve ever really had a serious talk like this.

“Well, what do you want to be?”

She shrugs, unsure, sipping at her broth.

“No one, not even my people, have ever treated me like you have since waking up here. I’ve been harsh towards you because it’s my nature, I was born to hate, I feel it in my blood but I also feel this...softness. I’m not used to it.”

He could tell she was confused and he came around the table then sitting beside her.

“It’s alright to feel like this. Things won’t be easy, it’ll all take time but you’ll always have me to help you through it.”

“But why?” She asks before taking his hand, looking at the scars she made. “I did this to you, your words said I gave you nightmares for months and a part of you thought you were going crazy. How are you like this after all that?”

“I don’t know…” He answers honestly. “I feel different with you I guess.”

They stare at one another for a moment before she suddenly moves forward, closing the distance between them and kisses him. It was quick and took him off guard. He wasn’t sure why she did that but the more they look at on another the more he feels himself relax.

Moving forward again he kisses her a second time, tender, before it slowly deepens, growing more passionate between them. His hand moves to caress her cheek as she leans more in as well, breath heavily together as Hvitserk feels his arousal build within him quickly.

Standing up he takes her in his arms, carrying her towards the bed and lays her down keeping the kiss going. Nieve though let out an impatient grunt and flips them both straddling his lap. His brother Ubbe was the one who likes this position, he didn’t try it much but he was flexible with how this will work out.

Her hands roam under his shirt and suddenly ripped it off him instead of simply slipping it off his head making him chuckle lightly at how much she didn’t like the clothes.

“Useless…” She mutters, about the clothes and tries to unlace her own dress but had some trouble with it. Hvitserk helps and this time he did the same, ripping it off her with strong tugs and tossing it aside.

“Better?” He asks with a humorous smirk. “I’ll get you another dress.”

“I don’t want any.” She answers before kissing him again more eagerly.

Without answering he just kisses her back as his hands touched over her waist and up over her breasts. She has a nice pair, beautiful breasts, he likes them.

“So beautiful…” He murmurs against her lips before moving down over her neck, sucking against her collarbone as he pulled her closer against him.

Nieve’s head tosses back giving him more access and enjoying the fuzzy feeling. It was like nothing she’s ever felt before, she didn’t even know what to do, she just went with what felt right. But she did know she didn’t want this to end, ever.

He then cups his hand over her sex, rubbing his fingers between her folds and across her clit making her gasp from the sudden contact and odd feeling. Slowly he moves his finger deeper into her depths, allowing her to adjust, figuring she was a virgin anyway.

Watching her expression change from slight pain to pleasure he took his time with her, slowly rubbing his thumb against her bud before leaning down and kissing at her breasts letting out a soft vibrating moans against her skin.

After a time of doing this he removes his hand and she suddenly snatches his hand to suck at his fingers making his breath hitch at the sight of her sucking at her own juices. He manages to tug his pants down then, his throbbing cock bobbing up between them and kicks them off his feet and shifts them into a more comfortable spot on the bed with her in his lap still, seeing this was where she wants to be. 

Positioning her over his cock he teases her entrance, rolling back and forth a little before carefully pushing her down onto him. Her eyes screwed shut from the pain but she continued to push herself down on him, not wanting to stop.

Guiding her he takes her virginity before she then ends up fully flushed down on him.

“Fuck…” He murmurs against her neck, panting softly as he allows for her to adjust around his throbbing member.

Nieve leans on him, arms around his neck and slowly rocking her hips getting used to the feeling of him within her. She didn’t want to stop and wants to keep going, to feel the thrill that started to slowly approach within her replacing the stinging pain.

Helping her Hvitserk starts to gently grip her hips, moving her on him as he lets out heated pants and quiet moans against her neck. Her sounds fill the room as well, gasping and moaning as she digs her fingers into his shoulders, moving against his hold and riding his cock in steady movements.

“Harder.” She moans lowly to him. “Fuck me harder.”

At her demand his hands grip onto her arse and starts to move her more firmly, lifting her over him as their moans increase more.

“Nieve, fuck…” He pants and starts moving his hips up against her. “Shit!”

She no longer felt any pain and rode him firmer before pushing at his chest for him to lay down and hold him there as she took control. This was definitely not what he was used to but the sight of her hovering over him, riding him, he understood why Ubbe likes this position so much now. He thought it was so arousing and beautiful.

Grunting she humps her hips down on him, panting like an animal in heat while clenching around his throbbing member more and more. Hvitserk continues to hold at her hips as she enjoys the ride herself, both lost in pleasure and letting out all sorts of sounds filling the room along with their sex fueled lust for each other.

“Fuck!” She clenches around him more, so much and he knew that she wasn’t going to last much longer not wanting to hold back from the desire she was feeling. It wasn’t hard for him either, he could let himself go whenever, and he wants to at the moment she cums.

The second she did her thrusts his hips up against her feeling his seed flood her depths as she milks him and falls down onto his chest breathing heavily. Holding her he kisses her cheek tenderly and smiles tucking some of her hair back.

“So, what did you think?” He asks between breaths, watching her.

“Yeah...it was good.” She answers back. “Can we go again?”

Grinning softly he sits up with her still on him and kisses her.

“You can have me as much as you want, Nieve.”

His answer satisfies her and pushes him down again on the bed.

She could get used to this life, she could get used to him.

[that-one-fandom-vore-blog]

Audrey II is an even BIGGER BITCH than I thought (A follow-up thesis)

*Cracks knuckles*

Let’s go!

Quick warning, there’s going to be vore under this here cut, so if that isn’t your thing, proceed with caution

Okay

So now that the normies are gone, let’s get on with it.

We know right from the start that Seymour is… a little suspicious of the Audrey II

It’s the little things it does that set him off

Little red flags

Besides the fact that it drinks blood (which is a little bit of a Giant Problem) it seems to have quite the mouth for insults and little comments that get under his skin

“Hey, that girl still around?”

“Her name’s Audrey, and yeah… she’s still here…”

“Surprising, considering she shares space with you!”

It always makes him grit his teeth and pray Audrey isn’t around to hear it

For the most part, she never is.

She knows the plant is… strange, and she swears she’s heard another voice in the shop when she’s downstairs with the flowers, but Seymour never mentions it, so she figures she’s making things up.

Until she catches the plant talking

“Hey, gorgeous.”

Seymour’s just on the other side of the store, and she stays completely frozen as he whirls around and snaps “would you just can it already?”

“I wasn’t talking to you.”

Cue a moment of panicked silence.

The plant is grinning at this point with its wickedly sharp teeth, vines drumming on a few empty pots.

“Was I supposed to just let her wander around in here forever? C’mon, Seymour, you couldn’t hide her from me!”

Seymour’s deathly pale.

He can scarcely breathe

Every second he can’t see her is another second where he thinks that his stupid pet project snatched her up and devoured her, just like that, like nothing—

And then he catches her eye

Audrey’s never seen him look as frantic as he does as he kneels beside her and pushes away the pot at her side

“Are you okay? Did— did it hurt you?”

She can’t help but flinch away as he jerks his hand toward her.

“I’m— no, I— I’m fine.”

Seymour bites his lip and gently curls his fingers around her waist

This is new

This is very new

He’s always been so sure to ask her if he can hold her, or extend his hand and let her make the choice, so him snatching her up out of the blue is enough to raise some red flags.

“Seymour?”

He doesn’t respond right away, and as Audrey’s pulled close to him, she realizes his gaze is trained on the plant, which is still grinning away and laughing to itself.

“This is just too good!” It howls.

Audrey’s pawing at Seymour’s chest at this point and trying to catch his attention, her heart rate slowly climbing as she feels him beginning to tremble.

“S-Seymour, please, what’s—“

“I don’t know.”

The plant laughs.

Seymour lets out a startled gasp when a vine wraps around his legs and traps him in place.

Audrey yelps when Seymour’s grip reflexively tightens around her.

“SEYMOUR!”

He stops.

His grip loosens.

She’s still pressed firmly against his chest and she can hear his heart hammering away.

The plant’s coil around his legs tightens.

“Now, Seymour, why don’t you explain?”

“I—“

He breaks off into a whimper when it raises its upper lip in a snarl.

“Tell. Her.”

Audrey’s starting to squirm in his grip. “Seymour, you’re scaring me!”

He feels so awful, because the coil around his legs keeps tightening and the plant won’t stop laughing at him.

“I— it eats blood!” He regrets blurting it the second the words leave his mouth.

Audrey freezes.

“It…”

The plant laughs harder. “Where do ya think Orrin went?”

Seymour blanches.

Audrey’s shaking harder by the second.

It’s when the plant starts dragging Seymour closer to its jaws that Seymour starts thrashing and trying to get away. “HEY— H-HEY! WAIT A MINUTE!”

Audrey’s never heard anyone so scared in her life as Seymour digs his heels into the linoleum.

“I haven’t eaten in days, Krelborn!” There’s something… off about the way it says it.

Still, Seymour nods. “I— I know, Twoey, I know, but I can’t—“

“You’ve got a snack right there!”

It takes a moment for him to notice it’s taking about Audrey.

Audrey watches in silent terror as a tendril from the plant curls around one of her legs.

Seymour yanks her back against his chest. “NO! You— you can’t eat her!”

“Why not?”

“Be-Because she’s not food!”

“Neither was Orrin, but you chopped him up for me anyway!”

Audrey’s horrified at this point.

Seymour’s clutching her like she’ll disappear from his grasp in an instant. “You don’t touch her!”

There’s silence.

Blessed silence.

Seymour struggles against the vines wrapping tighter and tighter around his torso.

It’s when the plant brings its head uncomfortably close that Seymour freezes and cups his hands tightly around Audrey.

“How about a bet, Krelborn?”

Seymour sinks his teeth deep into his lip.

“What… kind of bet?” He manages to wheeze around the vines constructing him.

“Either you feed on her, or I do.”

His heart stops.

His blood feels icy.

Audrey’s shaking so badly she can’t speak as Seymour’s grip on her tightens substantially.

“What… do you—“

“Eat her, or I get a snack!” It barks.

Audrey manages to look up at him with wide, terrified eyes.

“Seymour, S-Seymour, please—“

She breaks into a whimper when he brings her up to his face.

He looks just as scared as she feels.

“Okay.” He breathes.

The plant’s coil loosens a little.

“Let’s see it, then.”

Audrey can’t breathe as Seymor raises her above his closed lips, his expression pained, his eyes wide behind his glasses.

“I’m sorry.” He wheezes.

For a second, she almost believes him

But then, he opens his mouth.

Wide.

She manages a cut-off scream before he drops her in.

“Wow, kid, didn’t think you’d do it!”

Seymour feels physically sick as Audrey starts to squirm as his mouth snaps back shut behind her, effectively trapping her.

He can hear muffled sobbing from between his lips.

His heart twists.

The plant is borderline giddy as Seymour slowly, slowly tips his head back.

He doesn’t swallow.

He can feel Audrey starting to struggle harder and harder by the second.

She’s pleading with him to spit her out

She sounds like she’s crying

He thinks, maybe, he can convince the plant that he’s done it, and for a fleeting moment, his heart lifts.

Only to sink again.

“Do it.” The plant hisses, wrapping a vine loosely around his neck.

Seymour’s sweating profusely and manages to let out a little whimper before his tongue rises beneath Audrey and pushes her down his throat.

The noise of a slick swallow makes the plant’s grin stretch wider.

She fights all the way down.

It doesn’t help that the plant’s laughing and tracing her path beneath his skin with a vine, giggling madly as Seymour gags af the feeling of her kicking and squirming harder by the second.

He wants to cry.

The feeling only intensifies as the plant’s tendril finally comes to rest over his middle.

“Look at that, kid, we’re the same!” It chuckles as it releases him, letting him fall to the floor in a crumpled heap.

“We’re not the same.” He chokes out past the knot in his throat.

The plant laughs.

“You enjoyed it, didn’t you? Is she still squirming around, in there?” It asks with a tap to his belly.

Seymour feels sick.

Every hit to his insides from Audrey is enough to make him feel like a monster.

It’s worse when he feels her give up.

“I am not enjoying any part of this!” He spits at the plant, stumbling backward on shaking limbs.

The plant only laughs at him as he presses a hand to his middle, frantically feeling for any sign of Audrey.

He never thought he’d be relieved to feel her shaking.

The plant won’t stop cackling and pats him on the back. “Yeah, yeah. Keep tellin’ yourself that.”

Maybe we get a feed me style duet in which the awful plant won’t stop trying to convince him that this is the “natural order” of things.

He spends the whole number trying to get away, trying to talk to Audrey, trying his best to keep the brave face on and get the plant to leave him be.

It ends in Seymour stumbling downstairs (or maybe being pushed) and trying to talk to Audrey.

He sits on the edge of his bed and presses a firm hand to his belly.

“Audrey?”

Audrey can hardly breathe.

She hasn’t moved since her initial struggles and punches to the fleshy walls around her.

But now

Now that she feels him pressing on her and his voice rumbles through her, she looks around at her slimy surroundings and feels something other than fear.

White

Hot

Rage.

“HOW COULD YOU? I TRUSTED YOU!”

Seymour lets out a whimper as she kicks the walls around her with shaking limbs and starts yelling at him.

It’s the first time he’s ever heard her so angry.

He never wants to hear it again.

“YOU—“

“Audrey, please, I’m— I’m sorry—“

“Spit me OUT!”

He doesn’t need to be told twice.

Audrey’s surprised to feel the pressure of his hand disappear, and for a moment, thinks he’s doomed her to die, but a cough rattles in the air around her and the chamber she’s in convulses, forcing her back up his esophagus.

She gets a moment to breathe, once the crushing pressure of his throat relents and she’s sprawled across his tongue, panting, shaking, and struggling not to cry as his mouth opens and she tumbles into his waiting hands.

He expects her to keep yelling at him, but instead, she curls into a ball on his palm and starts shaking harder by the second. 

He tries to comfort her, but the second his other hand falls across her back, she tenses and jerks upright.

Her eyes are wild and panicked as she stands and backs away from his face. “P-Put me down!”

He can see tear-tracts drying on her cheeks.

For a moment, she thinks he won’t do it, but then, his hand falls to the floor.

“I’m sorry.”

She doesn’t look back or even acknowledge that he spoke before bolting into the walls. 

He manages to last until she’s out of sight before he lets out a choked little sob.

I promise things start looking up in this AU eventually, but this...

This is a breach of trust for Audrey

And he’s going to have to work to get her back.

[mst3kproject]

Elves (1989)

Christmas is a weird holiday.  We all talk about joy and generosity and love, while it’s actually a season full of stress, greed, and hate.  We hate our politically incorrect grandparents, we hate our in-laws asking why we’re not pregnant yet, we hate the expense, we hate the crowds, we hate the traffic, and most of all we hate anybody who doesn’t partake in this flaming bag of holiday. Partly because how dare they actually relax and enjoy the season while we go festively mad, but mostly because we’re white people and we just hate everybody.

That brings us to Elves, a Christmas movie about Nazis.

Three ditzes meet in the woods for a dark ritual in which they officially swear off Christmas.  In the process one of them cuts herself – the blood falls on the ground and naturally awakens some primal horror sleeping below. It follows her home in a POV shot, and then we spend a little time getting to know Kirsten and her abusive family. There’s her German grandfather who slaps her around and enforces weird rules, her mother who steals her money and drowns her cat, and her perverted little brother who spies on her in the shower. All right, these people definitely need to die.  Bring on the evil elves!

But no, instead we follow her to work at the department store, where she gets hit on by a drunken Santa Claus.  This guy at least dies quickly, stabbed to death by the elf while trying to do a line of coke without getting it in his beard (is this a Santa Claus and Coca Cola joke?  I hope so).  Later, the evil elf digs up the body of the cat and leaves it on Kirsten’s windowsill, which gets Herr Grandpa thinking.  He meets up with some of his old Nazi friends, and learns that after forty years, their terrible plot is finally coming to fruition.  It seems that Kirsten is the last pure Aryan virgin, who is destined to mate with the evil elf on Christmas Eve and give birth to the Antichrist!

Are you going wait, what the fuck? at this point?  Don’t worry, so am I, and this is only the first third of the movie.

Meanwhile, we’ve also been following a homeless guy who gets hired to replace the murdered Santa Claus and decides to play detective.  The girls invite some of their boyfriends for an orgy sleepover in the department store, but the boys are killed by Herr Grandpa’s Nazi buddies who are here to offer Kirsten to the elf.  Replacement Santa saves Kirsten herself but her girlfriends get killed, and the elf (and the Nazis) decide to follow her home.  Herr Grandpa tries to atone for the mistakes of his past while Replacement Santa consults some scholars to find out what’s up with the Nazi Rape Elf.  The elf was the product of genetic engineering.  Kirsten was the product of incest between her mother and grandfather. A car blows up for some reason.  The elf has a gun.  My brain hurts.

The upshot is that with Herr Grandpa dead and Santa Claus neutralized, it looks like Kirsten’s got to save herself.  I don’t give that good odds.

There’s quite a bit of foul language and a few boobs in this movie that MST3K would have had to cut or cover, but it would have been worth it because god damn this movie is bad.  The summary above probably makes it sound weird and incoherent but trust me, it’s a vast improvement on actually having to watch this thing.  There is no entertainment value here whatsoever.  Thirty minutes in I felt like I’d already been watching it all day. Not even my incredulity that I was watching a Christmas movie about a Nazi Rape Elf could carry me through it.  This is the Manos: the Hands of Fate of Christmas movies.

Most of the time you can barely tell what’s going on.  An awful lot of important scenes take place in various levels of darkness, and then they pile the distorted elf-cam on top of that.  There are bits where you can’t hear the dialogue and when you can it doesn’t make any sense.  The characters aren’t likable and nobody can act – the nearest thing to an exception is the Santa Claus guy.  The character seems like a really decent person who doesn’t need to get involved in this but does, simply because it’s the right thing to do.  Dan Haggerty occasionally tries to give a performance, but mostly he just stumbles through the film in the same dead-eyed how did it ever come to this? haze as Graham Greene in Atlantic Rim.

Kirsten and her two friends are annoying bimbos.  The friends’ names are Brooke and Amy but I don’t remember which one is which�� one of them’s the horny one and the other one is the stupid one, and that’s the extent of their personalities.  Maybe they’re both horny and stupid.  Their boyfriends are absolute assholes, who are thankfully only on screen for thirty seconds total before they get killed.  Kirsten’s mom is a sadistic bitch (I guess at least she’s got a reason), her bother’s a brat, and the bad guys are a bunch of German accents distinguishable only by the fact that Herr Grandpa is in a wheelchair.

The elf is made of disconnected puppet parts so ugly and immobile they almost wouldn’t be out of place in Troll II.  It moves about as fast as the Creeping Terror and kills people by stabbing them repeatedly with a fruit knife.  There is nothing remotely threatening or scary about it.  The only emotion it inspires in me is an urge to punt it across the room.  It looks like a cheap, shitty Hallowe’en decoration that isn’t sure how it wandered into this cheap, shitty Christmas movie.

Every so often the movie tries to be funny, but it never succeeds.  The thing with the tape on the door seems like it’s setting up a wacky misunderstanding, but it’s a joke without a punchline.  The guy explaining the history of Nazi Rape Elves while his children sit there waiting for him to carve the turkey is probably supposed to be a joke, but again, it never goes far enough to get a laugh. The closest we get is with little details that are often more clever than funny, like Santa and his coke – or my favourite, a shot of a rack of guns with a sign that says gift ideas for mom.

I understand the urge to make a Christmas-themed horror movie.  Christmas is, frankly, just begging to be ironically subverted, and plenty of film-makers have tried to rise to the challenge.  Not all of them have succeeded, but Elves doesn’t even try.  A movie that has, say, a serial killer dressed as Santa Claus (examples are numerous) is commentary.  It’s saying something about how we tell children to put complete trust in a guy in a weird outfit who breaks into our houses every year. The Christmas imagery in Elves is completely irrelevant.  If this were a movie about one of Santa’s elves snapping and killing people, it could be about holiday stress and taking advantage of the working class.  It’s not.

The movie can’t even keep its own mythology straight.  One of the scholars tells us that the elves were on Noah’s ark and are supernatural beings that have been around since the beginning of time – that’s why the offspring of an elf and a human will be the Antichrist, and why it must be conceived on Christmas Eve.  The other one says the elves were genetically engineered by the Nazis to be the fathers of the master race… so which is it?  The fact that Kirsten has had visions and the elf is so desperate to get the deed done before midnight speaks for version one, while some of the stuff the Nazis say seems to point to version two.  If this ambiguity is intentional, they could have made that way clearer.  The elf draws a rune by each of its victims but these don’t seem to serve any purpose besides being creepy and giving Santa Claus a clue.

I think some symbolism may be intended by having the guy investigating all this be a department store Santa Claus.  Santa Claus is a lover of children and a giver of gifts.  When he catches the girls sneaking into the store after hours, he allows them to stay and have their fun as long as they don’t steal anything – this might metaphorically be considered a gift for good children.  Later he gives another gift, when he passes the ‘elfstone’ to the little brother to pass on to Kirsten.  This isn’t really developed enough to accomplish anything, though.  It’s more of a motif than an actual theme.

And of course, there’s the ‘it’s not over!’ ending, where the credits begin to roll over a shot of a fetus.  What?  There was definitely no rape scene in the movie, nor any implication that one had occurred and the film-makers, showing more restraint than usual, didn’t show it. While Kirsten waited injured in the woods for her brother to bring her the elfstone, the elf was distracted eating a toad.  Did it impregnate her by passing a hand over her stomach, like the guy in Abraxas: Guardian of the Universe?

Man, do I ever hate this movie.  What a boring, stupid waste of my time.  Who makes something like this?  Who decides to put the words Nazi Rape Elf in that order and then thinks the result would make a good Christmas movie?  I dug this piece of shit up in search of something to watch and review besides The Star Wars Holiday special and I’m actually sorry I did.  I’m not even joking.  Elves is that fucking bad.

[bamby0304]

The Hart II: Highway

Summary: Off on her own, without the Winchesters, Bobby, Ellen or Jo, Lizzie tries to get back to what she does best… hunting. But time is running out, Dean’s soul is on the line, and now everyone knows Lizzie is psychic like Sam. Can the brothers and Lizzie work through their problems? Or will they lose everything?

Bamby’s Masterlist

The Hart Masterlist

The Hart II: Highway Masterlist

Part Thirty: The Hellhounds are Coming

Warnings: Angst. Violence. Hallucinations.

Bamby

DPOV

I was running. My heart pounding in my chest and my feet pounding on the dirt ground. Trees and bushes surrounded me as I rushed through the woods, trying to stay ahead. They were close. Too close. I could hear their growls, practically smell their meaty breaths.

The Hellhounds.

Everything hurt. Breathing in air felt like I was breathing in fire as it scrapped along my lungs. My legs ached with each step. I'd been running for so long now...

...

"Dean." Liz's calm voice woke me from my sleep.

I sat up from where my head had been resting on the desk in front of me. Looking over, I saw her leaning down next to me, watching me carefully.

Breathing heavily, I looked down at the book on my desk, the one I'd been reading before I fell asleep. It was open on a picture of a hellhound...

"Hey." Liz reached over to brush my hair back a little, her movements gentle and delicate. "Bad dream?"

"You could say that." I sighed, wrapping my hand around her wrist before tugging her down so she'd sit on my lap. "Would sleep better if you joined me." I grinned, at her- forcing it slightly.

Shaking her head at me, she smiled back. "You're unbelievable, Winchester."

"Dig up anything good?" Sam asked as he walked into the room, trying not to smile at Liz and I.

I shook my head at him. "No. Nothing good."

"Well, Bobby has. Finally."

Liz jumped off my lap. "Really?"

"Yeah." Sam nodded, a grin lifting the corner of his lip. "A way to find Lilith."

"Wow. With just, uh," I looked down at my watch, "thirty hours to go." Smirking, I gave a short shrug. "Hey, why don't we just make a TJ-run, yeah? You know... some senoritas, cervezas, uh, we could... what's Spanish for 'donkey show'?"

Sam chuckled lightly. "So if we do save you... let's never do that."

"Agreed." Liz gave me a playful glare.

"Hey, Dean." Sighing, Sam's smile fell as he stepped closer to the desk, looking down at me. "Look, we're cutting it close, I know. But we're gonna get this done. I don't care what it takes, Dean. You're not gonna go to hell. I'm not gonna let you. Lizzie isn't gonna let you. I swear. Everything's gonna be okay."

While listening to him, I'd paid attention but hadn't really taken anything to heart. I knew we didn't have a lot of control over my circumstances now. I'd been turning to look up at him and say exactly that, but stopped the moment my eyes landed on him.

Sam's face turned darker as if it were decaying. It was distorted, flinging to the sides rapidly in an inhumane way. I looked to Liz, seeing her face doing the same thing. It was utterly terrifying.

But it stopped just as suddenly as it had started.

Nodding slowly at them, I cautiously watched and waited for something else to happen. "Yeah, okay."

EPOV

I stood on Dean's left as Sam stood on his right. We were watching Bobby as he placed a large old tracing device over a map of the United States. Three wooden legs held the stand of the device up, as a crystal ball sat in a frame up the top, with a sharp tipped, hanging pendulum pointing at the map.

"So you need a name, that's the whole kit and caboodle. With the right name, right ritual, ain't nothing you can't suss out," Bobby explained.

"Like the town Lilith's in?" Sam asked.

Bobby looked up at him. "Kid, when I get done, we'll know the street." Reaching forward, he started to swing the pendulum as he started to chant Latin.

The three of us watched him with anticipation, waiting for the point to stop. After a moment, it did.

"New Harmony, Indiana," Bobby read. "And we have a winner."

"Alright." Sam pushed the pendulum away. "Let's go."

I was about to head for the door when Dean grabbed my arm, stopping me. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold on. Let's all shut up there, Tex."

Sam frowned at his brother, confused. "What's the problem?"

"What's the problem?" Dean repeated as if it should be obvious. "Come on, where do I begin? I mean, first of all, we don't even know if Lilith holds my deal. We're going off of Bela's intel? Now when that bitch breathes, the air comes out crooked. Okay. Second, even if we could get to Lilith, we have no way to gank her. And third, isn't this the same Lilith that wants your giant head on a pike? Should I continue?"

Bobby scoffed, unamused. "Ain't you just bringing down the room."

Dean shrugged. "Yeah, well, it's a gift."

He had a lot of good points, but if I was being honest, I didn't care anymore. I just wanted Dean safe. This was it. This was the end. He had just over a day before he was going down south, and I was not talking about Australia. No. He was headed straight for hell.

Sam shook his head, trying to wrap his mind around what Dean was saying. "I'm sorry, so then what are we supposed to do, Dean?"

"Just 'cause I gotta die doesn't mean you have to, okay. Either we go in smart or we don't go in at all."

"Okay, fine. If that's the case I have the answer."

I lifted my hands in the air. "I am up for anything. What you got?"

"A sure-fire way to confirm it's Lilith and a way to get us a bona fide demon-killing ginsu."

"Damn it, Sam, no," Dean snapped.

"We're so past arguing. Dean, I am summoning Ruby. "

"The hell you are! We have enough problems as it is."

"Exactly. And we've got no time and no choice either."

"Come on man, she is the Miss Universe of lying skanks, okay. She told you that she could save me, huh. Lie. She seems to know everything about Lilith but forgot to mention, oh right. Lilith owns my soul!"

"Okay, fine. She's a liar. She's still got that knife."

"For all we know, she works for Lilith."

"Then give me another option, Dean. I mean, tell me what else."

"Sam's right." Bobby weighed in.

But Dean wasn't having any of it. "No! Damn it!" He took a breath, seeing the shocked looks on our faces because of his outburst. Once a little calmer, he tried again. "Just no. We are not gonna make the same mistakes all over again. You guys wanna save me, find something else," he stated before walking out of the room.

"I've got him," I said before hurrying off after Dean.

He walked out the front door and onto the porch, coming to a stop with a sigh, running his hand over his face.

Stepping up behind him, I wrapped my arms around his waist and pressed my cheek against his back. "There is no way I could possibly understand the stress and worry you're feeling right now. But you have to understand why Sam wants to summon Ruby."

Grabbing my hands, Dean pulled my arms away from him before pulling me so I stood in front of him. "I get it. But if we make one wrong move, he's dead too. Maybe even you."

I shrugged. "I'd rather risk my life to save yours, than just let you die. You're too important to me."

Our eyes locked then. I couldn't say the words, but he understood what I meant, what I was hinting at.

Time with Dean had built a bond with him that surpassed simple friendship. I could tell myself a million times over that we were just friends that occasionally slept together. But I couldn't fool myself anymore. My feelings for Dean had grown into something I thought I'd never feel for anyone. Feelings I'd never had for anyone before.

Which is exactly why I was willing to do whatever needed, in order to keep him alive.

SPOV

Kneeling on the ground in the basement, I drew and triangle on the floor, with symbols in every point of it. Candles sat on the outside of the triangle, lit. While a bowl of a dry, green substance sat in the middle of it all.

Taking a deep breath, I began to chant, knowing this was going to piss Dean off once he found out.

"Ad construgendum ad ligandum eos pariter Et solvendum."

A sound coming from behind had me pause. But as I looked over a waited a moment, nothing happened. So, with a sigh, I got back to it.

"Et ad congregantum eos coram me."

Taking a box of matches, I pulled one out and lit it up, watching the flames for a beat before throwing it into the bowl. The contents inside ignited, the fire flaring up for a moment or two, before calming down and burning out.

Pulling myself off the floor, I looked around a waited.

"You know, phones work too." Turning around, I found Ruby leaning against a doorway, smiling at me. "Hey, Sam. How's tricks?"

I didn't return the smile, keeping my mouth in a set and angry line. "How do you get around so fast?"

"I got the Super Bowl jet pack." She shrugged and began to walk towards me. "So. You called?"

"Did you know?"

"Um... gonna need a tiny bit more."

"About Dean's deal. That Lilith holds the contract."

She didn't miss a beat as she answered. "Yes, I did."

"And... what? You didn't think that was important?"

"You weren't ready."

"For what?"

"If I told you, you two yahoos would have just charged after her half-cocked and Lilith would have peeled the meat from your pretty, pretty faces."

"Well, we're ready now," I told her. "I want your knife."

She watched me as she started walking slow circles around where I stood. "You're right about one thing. You are ready. And now's the time, too. Lilith's guard's down."

"Is that so?"

"She's on shore-leave. A little R&R."

"The hell's that mean?"

"Trust me, you don't wanna know. You didn't lose those hex bags I gave you?"

"We've got 'em."

"Good. Then she won't sense that you're coming."

"So, you'll give us the knife?" I asked, trying to watch her wat me as she continued to circle me.

"No."

"But you just said-"

"You wanna charge in with one little pig-sticker? It's a waste of a true-blue window. Like getting Hitler with that exploding briefcase. Forget it."

"Okay, then how?" I wanted her to answer, now. My patience was running thin.

She stopped in front of me. "I know how to save your brother, Sam."

"No, you don't! You told Dean you couldn't! You've been lying to me all along, so just give me your damn knife!"

"You're not the one I've been lying to."

"Oh, so you can save him?"

"No. But you can."

That left me speechless for a second. Confused. "What?"

"Sam, you've got some God-given talent. Well, not 'God'-given but you get the gist."

"All that psychic crap? That's gone ever since Yellow-Eyes died."

She shook her head at me. "Not gone… dormant. Little Lizzie's proof of that. And it's not just visions either. Why do you think Lilith is so scared of you?"

"Right," I scoffed. "She's scared of me."

"If you wanted, you could wipe her off the map without moving a muscle."

"I don't believe you."

"It's the truth."

"And you decided to tell me this just now?"

"Um... demon. Manipulative's kinda in the job description. Fact is, is that you would have never considered it. Not until you were-"

"Desperate enough?" I finished for her.

We exchanged looks before she shrugged. "You don't like being different. You hate the way Dean looks at you sometimes. Like you're some kind of sideshow freak. But suck it up because we've got a lot of ground to cover, and we've gotta do it fast. But we can do it."

She wasn't right or wrong. Yeah, I hated the way I felt sometimes. But it was a little better now. Knowing Lizzie was like me. I wasn't alone in all of this. She had my back and I had hers. We understood each other.

But at the same time, she had better control and more power. She was getting better and better, while I stayed the same. That, I didn't feel too great about.

"Look. Call me a bitch, hate me all you want, but I have never lied to you, Sam. Not ever. And I'm telling you. You can save your brother, and I can show you how."

"So that's you, huh?" At the sound of Dean's voice I looked over Ruby's shoulder, seeing him standing behind her clearly not happy as he went on. "Our slutty little Yoda."

"Dean," she sighed and turned to him, her voice harder as she spoke to him. "Charming as ever."

"Aw, I knew you'd show up," Dean stated, moving towards us. "Because I knew Sam wouldn't listen." Out of guilt, I looked away, listening to him still. "But you're not gonna teach him anything, you understand me? Over my dead body."

She scoffed. "Oh. Well, you're right about that."

"What you are gonna do is give me that knife. And then you can just go crawl back into whatever slop you came from and never bother me or my brother again. Are we clear?"

"Your brother is carrying a bomb inside of him and we'd be stupid not to use it."

"Dean, look, just hold on for one-"

He cut me off, pissed. "Sam! Don't. Come on man, what, are you blind? Can't you see that this is a trick?"

"That's not true," Ruby insisted.

But he just ignored her, looking at me. "She wants you to give into this whole demonic psychic whatever, okay. I mean hell, she probably wants you to become her little anti-Christ Super Star."

Ruby was getting worked up too, now. "I want Lilith dead. That's all."

"Why?" Dean asked her.

"I've told you why!"

"Oh, right, yeah. Because you were human once and you liked kittens and long walks on the beach."

"You know, I am so sick of proving myself to you. You wanna save yourself, this is how. You dumb, spineless dick."

Shaking his head, Dean turned to leave, only to stop and swing a right hook back, hitting Ruby right in the face.

I backed away at the look in both of their eyes, knowing there was nothing I could do. Dean made the first move. It was now on.

Having taken a few steps back because of the hit, Ruby pulled herself back up and wiped away the blood from her lip. After a beat or two, she pulled back and then punched him back, once with her right fist and then her left.

"Ruby, hey!" I reached out to try and stop her.

She spun around and kicked out at me, causing me to double over. That's when she kneed me in the face, and sent me flying across the space and into a beam.

I slid to the ground, which is where I stayed as I watched her stalk over to Dean.

Dean was readying, hitting her in the face with his left fist and then making a move with his right. But she dodged him quickly, and then kneed him in the stomach. Over and over a few times, she kept kneeing him until she let him drop all together.

He tried to get up, but she just kicked out at him, sending him rolling on the floor, further away from me. He kept trying to get to his feet, but again, she was right there. Grabbing him this time, she pulled him up so they were face to face, only so she could headbutt him.

Falling back again, Dean landed on the floor, looking up as Ruby stood a few feet away from him. Yet still, he simply grinned at her.

"The hell are you grinning at?" she snarled.

"Missing something?" He pulled her knife out from his jacket.

"I'll kill you, you son of a bitch." She rushed forward, but was throw back by an invisible wall.

The three of us looked up at the ceiling, seeing a Devil's trap painted there in red.

Dean continued to grin at Ruby her angry grew with each second. "Like I said," he lowered the knife, but continued to hold it, "I knew you'd come." Turning away, he started for the stairs.

"Wait!" she called after him. "You're just gonna leave me here?"

He stopped and turned to me, ignoring her. "Let's go, Sam."

As I got up and moved to follow him, Ruby glared at us.

"Oh, oh so you're just too stupid to live, is that it? Then fine! You deserve hell! I wish I could be there, Dean. I wish I could smell the flesh sizzle off your bones! I wish I could be there to hear you scream!"

"And I wish you'd shut your pie hole, but we don't always get what we want," Dean called to her as we reached the top of the stairs.

DPOV

Standing by a table, getting our weapons ready, I looked over at Sam. We were silently working, understanding what we were going into and processing the situation. But looking at my brother, I could tell there was more playing on his mind.

As if realising I was watching him, he sighed and spoke up. "We're just gonna let Ruby rot down there?"

"That's the idea," I answered simply as I looked back down at the guns.

It was that simple. She was a demon, a bad guy. We were the good guys. We couldn't afford any distractions. She wanted things from Sam that I wasn't willing to let happen. Despite the fact that yes, he used to have abilities that came from demon blood, I did not think there was much else he could do besides what we were planned.

Ruby was lying, and that was that.

But he still believed her. "Dean, what if, uh... what if Ruby's right? What if I can take out Lilith?" When I looked up at him again, showing the anger and doubt on my face, he shook his head. "Quit looking at me like that."

"What, are you gonna give her the Carrie-stare and Lilith goes 'poof'?"

"I don't know what Ruby meant. You know, maybe we should just go ask her."

"Sam, you wanted the knife. I got you the knife." Turning away, I started for the other table where more weapons sat.

"Dean, just listen to me for a second. Last time Lilith snapped her fingers and put thirty demons on our ass, and all we got's one little knife? I mean, like you said, we go in smart or we don't go in at all."

I shook my head. "Well, this ain't smart."

"We got one shot at this, Dean. Just one. So, if there's a sure-fire way then maybe we should just talk about it."

"Sam." Walking back to him, I needed to get him to understand. "We are not gonna make the same mistake all over again."

"You said that but what does it even mean?"

"Don't you see a pattern here? Dad's deal, my deal, now this? I mean every time one of us is- is- is up the creek the other is begging to sell their soul. That's all this is, man. Ruby's just jerking your chain down the road. You know what it's paved with and you know where it's going." Turning again, I sat against the table and got back to work, avoiding looking at him.

Sighing, Sam came to stand on my side of the table, shaking his head at me. "Dean." He took a seat next to me, watching as I continued with the weapons. "What do you think is gonna happen? This is me, I can handle it."

My hands stopped working on the gun, but I still didn't look at him as he went on.

"And if it'll save you..."

"Why even risk it?" Finally looking up at him, I was met by him looking away for a beat before looking at me again.

"Because you're my brother. Because you did the same thing for me."

I scoffed. "I know... and look how that turned out." He looked away again then. "All I'm saying..." I choked up a little. "Sammy, all I'm saying is that you're my weak spot." When he looked surprised and confused, I gave a short nod. "You are. And I'm yours."

"You don't mean that. We're... we're family."

"I know. And those evil sons of bitches know it too. I mean, what we'll do for each other, you know, how far we'll go? They're using it against us."

"So what? We just stop looking out for each other?"

"No, we stop being martyrs, man. We- we- we stop spreading it for these demons." I picked up Ruby's knife, holding it out in front of him. "We take this knife, and we go after Lilith our way. The way dad taught us to. And if we go down, then, uh... then we go down swinging." When he just looked at me, I shrugged. "What do you think?"

He looked to the floor, thinking for a moment before turning his eyes back to me. "I think you totally should have been jamming Eye of the Tiger right there."

Rolling my eyes, I stood. "Oh, bite me. I totally rehearsed that speech, too."

He chuckled lightly. "So, Indiana, huh?"

"Yeah, where Lilith's on shore-leave."

"Yeah, I guess."

"Tell me something." I turned to him again. "The hell's a demon do for fun?"

...

Try as I might, Baby would not start. Looking to Sam, he was just as confused as I was, watching as I turned the keys over and over again.

Suddenly Bobby and Liz appeared at my window, not looking too pleased.

"Where do you think you're going?" Bobby held up the distributor cap from Baby in his hand.

Sighing, Sam and I got out of the car, moving to stand in front of Bobby and Liz as they waited for an explanation.

"We got the knife," I told them.

"And you intend to use it without us." It wasn't a question, Bobby knew. "Do we look like a couple of ditchable prom-dates to you?"

"No." Sam shook his head. "Of course not."

Looking from Bobby, to Liz, seeing the hurt look in her eyes, I sighed again. "This is about me... and Sam. Ok? This isn't your fight."

Bobby took a step towards me, my words hitting a nerve. "The hell it isn't! Family don't end with blood, boy. Besides, you need me."

"Bobby-"

He cut me off. "You're playing wounded. Tell me, how many hallucinations have you had so far?"

Looking down at the ground, avoiding everyone's eyes, I shifted a little, at the looks I could feel Liz and Sam give me. Then, with a short shrug, I met Bobby's gaze again. "How'd you know?"

"Because that's what happens when you've got hellhounds on your butt. And because I'm smart." with that answer, he handed me the distributor cap. "I'll follow." Turning, he walked towards his car, calling over his shoulder at us. "Don't be stopping to pee every ten minutes either."

Shaking my head at him, I looked to Liz as Sam moved around to get back in the car.

"Look-"

Taking a step closer, she glared up at me. "Don't, 'look' me. We're in this together, Winchester. You didn't like it when I ditched you, so don't do the same to me. Understand?" It was a rhetorical question. Pushing past my shoulder, she moved to the back door. "Now hurry up. Not like we've got all the time in the world."

...

"Hey, Dean?"

Keeping my attention on the road, I glanced at Sam for a moment. "Yeah?"

"You know if this doesn't, uh... this doesn't go the way we want, I want you to know-"

"No," I cut him off, shaking my head. "No, no, no, no."

"'No' what?"

"No, you're not gonna bust out the misty good-bye speech, okay?" I told him, needing things to stay the same. If he started thinking things were going bad, I'd start believing that's the only option. "And if this is my last day on earth, I do not want it to be socially awkward. You know what I do want?" Reaching over, I flicked the radio on just as Bon Jovi's Wanted Dead or Alive started.

"Bon Jovi?" Liz sounded amused and surprised.

I nodded, looking at her through the rear-view mirror with a grin. "Bon Jovi rocks, on occasion."

She smiled back at me as I began to sing along to the song.

"And I walk these streets

A loaded six-string on my back

I play for keeps"

Nudging Sam, I encouraged them both to join. "Come on."

"'Cause I might not make it back

I've been everywhere"

Finally, reluctantly, Sam started singing as well.

"Oh yeah"

Looking in the mirror again, I gave Liz a pointed look that had her rolling her eyes before she joined us as well.

"And I'm standing tall

I've seen a million faces

And I rocked 'em all

'Cause I'm a cowboy

On a steel horse I ride

I'm wanted"

The two of them were really getting into it now.

"Wanted!

Dead or Alive

Dead or Alive

Dead or Alive..."

As they kept singing my smile faded. Neither of them noticed me fall silent, my attention seemingly back on the road. But in all honesty, I wasn't in the car anymore. No, my mind was focused on too much. On the past, the future, the 'what if's'.

I had no idea what was coming for me, and that's what scared me the most.

Bamby

[tentwentyninecompositions]

Three: Job Well Done II

REGGIE

With my hands full of my shirt I pulled it over my head and threw it to the floor. My bathroom is filled with thick steam, meaning that G is killing time. She tends to prolong activities when she’s trying to avoid me. I’m still upset she’s showering without me since we’ve never done it apart. But not lately. She’s pulling away from what we created way too fast for my liking and I’m not happy about it.

Walking across the room to the shower I tapped the glass with my fist. I might have scared her although I didn’t intend to.

“Can you not sneak up on me?! What do you want Reggie?” She spoke loud enough so I could hear her over the water.

“We gotta talk G. Come on outta there, I know you done by now.” I grumbled, staying in my spot.

“Reggie..no. I’m not done so you can wait to talk to me.” She replied in a much softer tone.

“Gina c'mon now.” I sighed angrily. Taking the blunt from behind my ear I slowly let it glide under my nose. The smell of my favorite Rello and this shit called Hush put me at ease just a tad. With the blunt back in it’s previous spot, I ran my hands over my face and stepped back to give her space. Letting the toilet seat down I sat still and waited for her. I kept her towel and slippers in hand, to let her know I still like doing simple shit for her.

The water stopped running and soon G pushed the door open. Her body was dripping wet and her hair was tied up in a clip. Handing her the towel and her slippers I sat back and kept my patience going steady.

“Thank you.” She mumbled, drying off her chest and securing the towel on her frame.

All I did was nod in response. I’m lost on what to say to her when it comes to small talk. G took care of herself with me wrapped up in my thoughts all while watching her. She moves the same, looks the same and hopefully her perspective of me hasn’t changed.

“Come here.” I called her over and she walked to me with hesitancy. Unwrapping the towel she had on, I studied her in all her glory. She’s so perfect to me. God she is so perfect. I pulled her in closer and laid my head on her abdomen. Holding her hips in my hands I ran my palms up and down her soft skin. “What did I do G?” I asked, jumping into this conversation.

“Reggie..it’s nothing you did. I just don’t feel the same.” She sighed heavily and was slow to touch me. Her hands cupping the back of my head gave me chills all over. I’ve been missing her in every way a man could possibly miss his woman.

Looking up at her I secured her towel around her again to return some of the warmth I stole. We stared at one another in silence just letting the time pass.

“Geneva..there’s gotta be something I did to make you feel like this. You don’t shower with me anymore, you hardly sleep next to me..you’re switching up too much for me to handle. You know I don’t like change baby.” I opened up bravely. A frown set itself up on my face just thinking about how much our relationship has changed.

Gina ran her palm down my face and when she reached my cheek, I took her hand and kissed all over it. I love kissing her. Any piece of her I can get, I’m content with especially since she hasn’t  given me any in like three weeks. Maybe it’s been longer than that. I asked her sit on my leg so she could give her feet a break. I ransacked my brain to think of anything that might’ve decreased her interest in me.

“What’s his name baby? If it’s someone else, tell me. I can handle it.” I plead in desperation. I really don’t know if I could handle her saying another nigga has been where I have. This body of hers isn’t mine but in my mind it kind of is. I’ve been everywhere with her permission of course. Inside and out.

“Regginald..baby I told you there is no one else. No man or woman. It’s hard to explain because I fear you’ll be upset with me. I still like you as a person.” G crossed her ankles and pulled at my goatee with her nails. She pushed herself closer and deeper into my lap.

“But you don’t love me. You liking and loving me aren’t two completely things Geneva. Was it something I said? Or maybe something I did? Did I come at you wrong or look at you funny? I gotta know something. G I’m begging you.” Looking at her shoulder I grazed my finger the small tattooed memory of the daughter we lost. We don’t really know if the baby was a boy or girl but that’s just my personal opinion. We never talk about the miscarriage. It’s just too fucking hard and the mere memory out of that night brings me to tears.

“No it’s none of that. I’ve been having these weird dreams and they’re fucking with my head. That’s it. I don’t want to go into full details because I’m gonna sound stupid. And worse..you won’t believe me.” She explained, running a hand across and down my chest.

Looking her in the eye I cupped her chin in my hand, just searching. Her eyes hold nothing strange so I do believe her.

“Is there something happening in this dream or is there someone else?” I put emphasis on select words as I turned her face side to side. Cuba and his niggas didn’t leave any marks on her so that’s good. That’s a load off of me. If she had come back with less than a mark free face, I’d go to Cuba’s house and shoot his brains out. G said she was successful but I’d still go behind her to get him back for hurting her.

“Someone. But he’s not real. There’s nothing in my dreams or in this life that’s changed how I feel about you. My heart just isn’t in it anymore. I’m sorry.” G took her hand from her face and kissed my cheek innocently.

So there is someone but he’s not real? What the fuck does that even mean? I respect her honesty though because I can’t stand a lying bitch. I’d never call my woman out her name but if she wasn’t being truthful, she’d still be a liar in my eyes.

The two of us sat here getting sucked into our feelings. Precious moments were passing us by and I don’t know what to do. I wanna fight to prove my love but she said there’s nothing I’ve done to change the way she feels about me.

“Are you sure I haven’t done anything? Have I wronged you in anyway? I need to know tonight but now would be better. I don’t want to lose you to some shit I might can fix but you not giving me anything to go by. I love you so much Gina and I really don’t want to lose you.” Taking the clip from her hair I sat it on the table beside us and slid my hand up under her towel.

Her thighs are so warm, I can’t resist getting a feel. I won’t try anything because she hasn’t given me the clearance.

“Sweetie..you have such a big heart and I’m sorry for hurting you. I don’t want to leave you and I never planned on it. I just don’t know what to do. I’m so lost Reggie. You’re a good man you know that? And a great one on a happy day.” Gina lowered her head slightly with a tear rolling down her cheek.

Licking away the salty tear I leant my forehead on hers and rubbed her thigh. Damn, we are stuck. I never want her to leave this house. I’m just as lost as she is. I love her so much but she doesn’t feel the same. I’d be selfish as fuck to make her stay and keep her unhappy. That’s not fair.

“Can I lay you down?” I finally found something to say. That’s one my ways of asking for sex. I don’t always like coming right out and asking her. So I lean towards using a subtle approach at times.

G used to always laugh when I asked her and I lived for those moments. I’m always soft for Gina. Not physically but emotionally and mentally. She’s never thrown my sensitivity in my face and I much appreciate it. I didn’t want to put this wall up and block her out so I’m happy she takes my soft side as serious as I take hers.

“Yes.” She kissed me once and I felt wetness on her lips.

Digging through my pocket for a lighter I then removed the blunt from my ear. Putting the flame to it I glanced up at Gina to see her eyes widen a little. When she caught me looking at her, she brought her eyes down to normal size.

“Wanna hit?” I questioned, putting down the lighter and taking the first hit. I hit the blunt for a good fifteen seconds before pulling it from my lips. I took a deep breath in to keep as much smoke in as possible. When I needed fresh air, I opened my mouth and watched a cloud of smoke loom under my nose.

“I don’t know.” Gina shrugged, with her hands tucked between her thighs.

Taking another big hit I held the blunt to her lips just patiently waiting to see if she would give in to her desires. I’ve been smoking since I was a teenager so I’m accustomed to the high. When Gina and I became serious and she saw me in my natural habitat, she questioned why I smoked. After my family died I started blowing down like a fucking chimney due the stress, anger, and nightmares. I always give her the opportunity to share my high but she declines each time. Tonight I really want her to break her own rules and step into my world just for a while.

The blunt has been untouched for so long that it burned out. I quickly put new fire to it and took two hits back to back.

“Try it baby. It’ll take your mind off of everything I promise.” I picked up Gina’s hand to place the blunt in between her fingers but she closed up on me.

“Can you hold it for me?” She asked in a child-like voice. Nodding my head I placed the blunt in front of her and watched as she wrapped her lips around the end. For a first timer she hit it real good. She didn’t cough or nothing which shocked the hell out of me.

After we took turns on this blunt I put it out and sat in the ashtray nearby. Switching Gina’s position to straddling my lap I stood up once I had a strong hold on her.

“Reggie..are we going to be okay?” G asked softly. Her fingertips were rubbing the back of my head and my shoulder during my walk towards the bed.

“Shh..no more talking. That can wait until tomorrow.” After I what I sent her to do earlier this evening..she deserves this. This time I have a job to do. And I’m about to do it so well.

[were-cheetah-stiles]

The Recruit (Chapter 30) - Mitch Rapp

Author: @were-cheetah-stiles

Title: “Day 106, Part II”

Characters: Mitch Rapp, Stan Hurley, Aiden Breen, Ghost & Reader/OFC

Warnings: Graphic depictions of torture, major character deaths (yes death is plural) andddd idk, just violence and cursing?

Author’s Note: Weirdly enough, this was one of the funnest chapters to write. I love showing the truly cold and clinical and twisted assassin side of the reader. Also, I know I’ve said this before but, in the original form of this story, it is Mitch x OFC, and the original female character’s name is Willa, thus the ‘Willowtree’ nicknames. (and you guys thought those were for nothing...)

Summary: Time is running out when Y/n finally comes face to face with Ghost and learns a shocking truth.

Chapter Twenty-Nine - Chapter Thirty - Chapter Thirty-One

It was dark out, well before the sun was meant to rise, but you could see clearly enough. You glanced behind you as you and Aiden ran down the alley behind the hotel, that was supposed to serve as the team's safe house in Rome. Ghost had very likely always known exactly where you all were, and he had come to collect the other half of the team. You heard a few more shots ring out, echoing against the bricks of the buildings on either side of you, and you ducked behind a large dumpster, your Glock trained between your legs, pointed at the ground, as you squatted next to some large bags of trash. You peeked back around the side, and saw Aiden laying face down on the uneven concrete. 

Your stomach jumped up into your throat as you realized that he was no longer moving. You and Aiden had come to odds at certain points in this specific mission, but you had known him for years, and he was your friend, and now he was most likely dead. The man ran past you with his gun drawn, not realizing you had ducked out of the way when Aiden went down. He circled back around when he figured he had lost you, but you were waiting. You jumped out from behind the dumpster as he leisurely walked past, and hit him on the side of the head, with considerable force, with the butt of your Glock, rendering Ghost's underling unconscious.

You circled the abused man sitting in the metal chair in the center of the room, watching him slightly flinch every time the heel of your boot would connect with the ground and the noise would echo loudly throughout the room. He examined the paraphernalia around the musty space and was confused by what he saw. He watched as you screwed the silencer onto the end of your handgun slowly.

"You know, I was trained to be an assassin for much longer than most... really, for the majority of my life, I've been trained in one way or another to be an asset for my government." You sat in the chair across from Ghost's associate, and smiled, looking eerily relaxed as you rested the side of the gun against your thigh. "One of the things I really excelled at during my training was 'information extraction'.” You made air quotes with your free hand. “My mentor, the man that your boss abducted, he once let me waterboard him for four straight hours....." You snickered and stared down at the gun in your hand. You ran the pads of your fingers on your left hand across the smooth and cold metal. "It was a... a competition, I guess you could say, to see who would yield first." You chuckled a little louder, still stroking your firearm. "I think you can probably guess who won." You finally made eye contact with the man across from your, smiled, and then abruptly lifted your gun and shot the man in his left foot.

The man screamed in agony, knocking the chair backwards onto the cement floor beneath him. You walked around and pulled the chair back upright. You waited for him to finally stop crying in pain, before you spoke again.

“If you tell me where they are, I will stop. It is truly as simple as that. So, what do you say?” You stood at his side and waited, smiling. 

“Fuck you.” He whispered in between pants.

"I'm impressed, really. I've been told how much that hurts, so to not tell me where Ghost has taken my people, is, well, really it's a loyalty that I can respect. But you know what I've heard hurts even more than a bullet hole through the bones of your feet?" You crouched in front of Ghost's associate and smiled, glancing down at the gun in your hands. You pressed the barrel of the gun against his forehead and felt him shake against it in fear. You then quickly aimed it at his right knee and pulled the trigger.

The man screamed even louder than the last shot, and you circled behind him, dragging the hot barrel against the exposed skin on the nape of his neck. He cried out in pain as you continued speaking. "Now, you screamed louder, so I think that that proves that the knee is definitely more painful than the foot. What do you have to say about it?" You smiled directly in his face and he spat at you.

You arched your eyebrows and contorted your mouth, then straightened up. You walked over to the table where your bag was, placed your gun down, pulled a towel out and wiped at your cheek. "I know I shot you twice, but I still think that was the rudest thing anyone has done in this room, this afternoon." You said as your back was turned to the man bleeding in the chair.

"Fuck. You.” He repeated with more emphasis.

You smirked. He spoke again. You were getting to him. "All you have to do is tell me where they are and what Ghost is planning and I'll drive you to the hospital myself. I promise." You told him, as you leaned your butt against the edge of your supply table.

"I'm not telling you shit, bitch. There's nothing you can do that would make me talk."

The corner of your mouth curved upwards and you shook your head. "That's what your friend said before she told me everything I wanted to know." You spoke smugly, and watched his face contort in genuine anger. "Do you want to know what I did to finally get her to talk?"

"It doesn't matter. She was fucking weak. I'm loyal to Ghost." He told you.

"Well, loyalty is fine, really, very honorable. But if you don’t tell me...” You paused, and the corners of your mouth twitched up. “At any rate, I always did love a good challenge." You pulled out a canvas bag, and the man flinched when he heard metal clanking around in it, as you brought it over to the chair across from him. "I excelled in the long run, but at first, I really struggled with the, uh, what did President Bush's administration call it again....? Oh... right." You laughed. "'Enhanced interrogation methods.'" You used air quotes as you discussed torture. "Anyway, I really, I just had such a hard time stomaching the use of 'enhanced interrogation methods', at first, when I was training. But my mentor, he really took me under his wing about it. He wanted me to succeed. He thought that the best way to get me to get over my discomfort in hurting someone else, was to hurt me...” You paused and took in the mood of the man in front of you. He was in agony and your monologue wasn’t helping, but that was all a part of the plan. “I know that may seem cruel or counterproductive, but I’ve gotta tell you, hurting me, really did help." You crouched in front of the man again and laid your left hand flat across his left knee, then ran your fingers up against the inside of his thigh, bringing them back down to rest on the top of his leg. He twitched at your touch. "Do you know how long it took for my nails to grow back?" You held up your hand in the air for both of you to see. "They look good now though, don't you think?" You smiled toothily at him and he looked at you with disgust.

"It doesn't matter what you do to me, I won't tell you a fucking thing."

"See, at least you didn't call me a name this time. Progress." You clapped your hands together, rubbed them a few times, grinned at him, and then unfolded the canvas cloth containing your instruments of torture. You held up a six inch long, thin metal nail and a pair of pliers in your hands. "Now, usually, I'd ask you which you wanna start with first, but considering, I'm afraid that you might pass out from loss of blood before I can get to both fun activities, I'm just gonna have to go ahead and alternate between the two, which sucks by the way, because I really do love consistency." You faked a frown.

"Ghost is going to fucking kill you and your friends." His words echoed throughout the room.

Your demeanor changed at his threat, and you rushed up to the restrained man. You grabbed him hard by the chin, your fingers digging into his fleshy cheeks, and spoke in hushed tones. "You better fucking hope he comes here and does that before I'm done with you, because you will be begging him to kill you too when I'm finished." You stopped smiling and whispered your threats directly into his face.

You pulled the last metal rod out from underneath his remaining fingernails and tucked it back into the canvas bag it came in. You wiped his blood off your hands with a towel and picked up your secure satellite phone. You stared at the passed out man from across the room as the line rang. "He talked, and Director, it's so much worse than we thought."

"Give me the full report, Agent." Irene said on the line.

You opened your laptop on the rickety table and began typing into a secure chatroom. "Not only is he attacking highly populated port cities, but the United States Mediterranean naval fleet has warships stationed in Tel Aviv, Barcelona, and Athens, but Ma'am, the largest fleet is here in Rome." You explained. "You need to get the Polizia di Stato down to Fiumicino to begin sweeping the area for the nuke that's here, and it's up to the government, but Irene, they should really start evacuating the city now."

"If they do that, Ghost may alter the plan and we may lose him again and end up with an even more devastating attack later." Irene weighed the consequences of informing the Italian government of all of the new developments. "What are you going to do while the Polizia are sweeping the airport and the water?"

"He told me where Mitch and Stan are being held. I'm gonna go get them. The best chance we have of stopping this is if all three of us are back in the game." You explained, as you finished your download of information and shut your computer. "Also, you should either call someone or send someone down here to get this guy to a hospital before he actually does bleed out."

"We'll take care of him. Good luck, Agent."

You hung up the phone and closed your laptop, putting them away, stuffed your gun in the back of your jeans, slung your bag over your shoulder and walked out of the basement, leaving the man unconscious and still tied up to the chair. You encountered the man who gave you the room when you came into the building a few hours before. You smiled and tucked your jacket over your gun. You gave a small curtsy, and kissed the gaudy ring on the man's hand. "Grazie mille, Padre. The Director said she would be sending someone over to clean up as soon as she could."

"Go in peace then, my child." The CIA operative posing as a priest said and smiled at you, as you nodded and then walked out of the church and onto the busy and crowded Roman streets.

You left your bag in the car and began jogging through the winding tunnels of the Roman catacombs underneath the city. You thought back on the directions that the man who you had tortured gave you and you made a left turn. Artificial light began to grow brighter up ahead and you picked up your pace; you had found the hideout where Ghost was keeping Mitch and Stan. You breached the room, clearing the corners and making sure that no one was there. You saw only Mitch and Stan, tied to chairs, in the center of the room, both beaten but Stan much worse off.

"Fuck..." You tucked your gun in the back of your jeans, pulled out the switchblade you carried in your boot, and began cutting the zip-ties around Mitch's feet. "Are you okay?" You whispered up at the man you loved, beaten, bloodied, bruised and tied to a chair.

"Y/n, you don't understand what's happening here..." Mitch began, as you cut the last of the multiple clear plastic ties connecting Mitch's legs to the legs of the metal chair he was in.

You interjected before he could finish. "I do know what's going on. Ghost sent someone after Aiden and I, and he killed Aiden, but I got him to talk and I figured out Ghost's entire plan. He's trying to blow u-"

"Y/n, no, you don't understand who Ghost is. Stan has been lying to you."

"Shut the fuck up, Rapp." Stan cut Mitch off. "Untie me, Y/n/n." Stan looked even more badly beaten than Mitch, his left eye barely opened, several of his fingers broken, and tiny cuts and scrapes littered his skin.

"You have to fucking tell her now, Stan." Mitch argued. "Y/n, this was a trap, you shouldn't have come here. Ghost, he-"

"I said shut the fuck up, Rapp. I swear to god, I'll kill you myself." Stan yelled.

"TELL HER." Mitch yelled back. Stan remained quiet and then looked up behind you when he heard another voice come from the hallway.

"Well, if you won't tell her, I will." Ghost appeared in the room, with his gun drawn at you. You grabbed at your gun quickly and pointed it back at the man who you had been hunting for days. "Hey there, Willowtree."

You stepped back and began lowering your gun, your mouth opened slightly and your brow was completely furrowed, as you registered familiar features on Ghost's face. This was the first time you were seeing him up close and suddenly, it hit you like a massive wave. "Oh my god.... Brandon?"

"Long time, no see, little sis. Not exactly how I imagined this reunion. Lower your gun and come give your brother a hug." Ghost smiled the best he could and he held his arms out waiting for an embrace.

You glanced back at Stan, who would not raise his head to make eye contact with you, then you looked at Mitch, who looked pained at what was unfolding in front of him. "I don't understand..." You looked beyond bewildered. "You're supposed to be dead. I went to your funeral.." Your eyes began to fill with tears, as you thought back on the pain and suffering you endured in your childhood when you became an orphan at the age of nine. You shook your head and fought back the tears, but your face became red and hot and the tears streamed down your cheeks anyway. "I watched Mom and Dad bring you to work with them that morning, I watched the footage, there was no way that you could've.... You're not my fucking brother. My brother died with my parents on the 105th floor in the North Tower of the World Trade Center." You stopped crying and raised your gun back up to aim at Ghost's head.

Ghost raised his hands in the air, moving his finger from the trigger to the side of the gun, becoming submissive to your aim. He stepped back and looked at Stan. "If I'm not your brother, then why do you think that Uncle Stan, here, won't look at either of us right now? Think about it, Willowtree. You know that I look like Dad. I know you can see it."

You blinked away more tears, and glanced at Stan, who, in fact, would not make eye contact with anything other than the ground. You lowered your gun again and shook your head. "I don't understand."

Ghost walked over to the chair in the corner, pulled it closer to Mitch, and sat in it backwards, his arms leaning against the top of the back of the chair. He waved his gun and pointed it at Stan, gesticulating like his weapon was an extension of his hand, causing you to train your gun on him again. "Do you want to tell her the story of how we got here, or should I?" Stan scowled at Ghost and shook his head, resolved to remain in his silent state. "Alright, well, good old Uncle Stan here, he is quite the secret-keeper, Willowtree." 

You remained silent, glancing between the three men in the room, unsure of what to do or say. 

"I wasn't up in the Tower when it came down, I was at the deli down the block getting breakfast before Dad was going to take me to school for a conference with my principal." Ghost directed his gaze back at his sister. "You see, Y/n, I was having some troubles at that point... Anyway, good old Uncle Stan, he was my first call as soon as the phone lines began working again. He told me to stay put, and I did, I stayed in that deli until it closed, and the nice man who owned it let me sleep on his couch that night. All night, all I wanted to do was go home and be with my little sister, make sure she was alright, let her know that I was alright, but Stan had other thoughts."

"Don't listen to him, Y/n. He's lying." Stan finally spoke up.

"DON'T TALK TO HER, YOU SON OF A FUCKING BITCH." Ghost lifted his gun to aim at Stan's head, and you raised yours again at him.

"I don't understand what it is that you could have done that Stan wanted to keep you a secret this whole time...." You finally spoke as well, and Ghost lowered his weapon.

Ghost began to pace, rubbing the barrel of his pistol against his temple, clearly agitated and unstable. You took a step towards Mitch, and Ghost turned around quickly, aiming his weapon towards the man you loved. "Don't move, Willow. He's fine. They're both fine. Back up." You did as he said, and backed up from Mitch, staring at the clearly unhinged man in front of you. 

"I'm not fine though. I wasn't fine then either, was I, Uncle Stan?" Ghost asked, seething through his teeth. "You see, I was getting into some trouble back then. Just some parties, nothing major, but I guess that Mom and Dad told Uncle Stan because he saw an opportunity when the entire world, including my BABY SISTER..." He screamed towards Stan, who kept his eyes glued to the ground, scowling as he shook his head. "...thought that I was dead. Stan took me down to The Barn. He wanted to 'straighten me out', he said. 'Give me direction.. a purpose'. But he just saw a kid with some anger who he could mold into a weapon." You lowered your weapon to your side and stared at Stan. You didn't understand any of this. "He promised me so many times that I could come back and see you when I was done with my rehab, then it was when I was done with my training. Training became the Orion program, the Orion Program became my first mission, then my second, then my third, then I realized that he was never going to let me back into your life. I was a Ghost because he wanted me to be."

"It didn't happen like that, Y/n. Please, you have t-" Stan tried to tell his side, but Ghost cut him off again.

"IT HAPPENED EXACTLY LIKE THAT. DON'T LIE. DON'T FUCKING LIE." Ghost walked forward and pressed his gun against Stan's chest.

"You need to step away." You raised your Glock 17M to Ghost's cheek, and he raised his hands and walked backwards until you lowered your firearm again.

"Stan got me abducted and tortured and he never came for me. Him and the Agency, they acted like I never existed. They fucking burned me. I trusted him and he left me for dead. Now I'm going to show the mighty United States government what happens when they mistreat their own. I need to do this and then we can be a family again, you and I, Willowtree." Ghost stared at his younger sister.

You shook your head. "This is insane. You sound insane. You need to let them go, and you need to stop this entire thing before those bombs go off. You're going to kill millions, and for what? Revenge against your uncle? Against the United States government? Stop this.." You stalled in your words. You knew what you would have to say in order to get to him. "Brandon, please. The boy I knew never would've done something like this."

"I can't let them go.” Ghost gestured to Mitch and Stan. “They'll stop it all. But it's okay, Willow. We can be a family again, I just need to take care of them first. Put this one out of the misery of becoming Stan's new 'Ghost'." Ghost pointed his gun at Mitch and you leapt forward, pressing your Glock hard against his temple.

"Step the fuck away from him. Right now."

Ghost stepped back a short length but kept his gun aimed at Mitch. "Well that's a development." He said glancing back and forth between you and Mitch. "We can't move forward until they are out of the way, Y/n. You know that's true." He pulled the safety back on his gun and you fired your gun.

Ghost dropped to the floor, knocking over the empty chair next to Mitch as he fell, clutching his mangled and smoking fingers, and screaming in agony. You had blown a hole right through his hand, a calculated risk to save the love of your life, but not kill the man that you were all but certain was your brother, come back from the dead. "Stay down, Ghost." You said in a raised tone, trying to emit an air of authority.

Ghost cocked his head to the side, and narrowed his eyes, still clutching his hand to his chest. "Ghost? You've been brainwashed too. You'd shoot your own brother to save him? Him?" He pointed at Mitch. "What the fuck is so special about him that you and Stan love so much?!"

"Stop this. Stop all of this, come back and we'll figure this out. If Stan did what you said, we'll figure it out. Please just stay down." You pleaded with Ghost, who was laying on the floor beneath the fury of your firearm.

"He can't come back with us, Y/n." Stan interrupted.

"I can't?! I CAN'T?! See, Y/n? He deserves to die." Ghost sat up, reached behind him with his good hand and pulled a second handgun from the waistband of his trousers, and set to train it on Stan.

You raised your firearm. "Stop."

"I can't." Ghost said, as he pulled back the safety.

A shot rang out through the room and Ghost's body hit the ground with a soft thud. Blood began to pool around the exit wound in his head, on the uneven stone floor underneath his lifeless body. You stood over him for a few moments, the ringing that happens when a firearm is discharged in close quarters, still playing at a deafeningly loud pitch in your ears.

Twenty-Nine <- -> Thirty-One

Sooooooooooooo, what’d you guys think? :D Did I do good with Ghost? This is truly one of my favorite chapters. I hope you enjoyed it. Tell me how uncomfortable you are with that fact that I am making the reader into a ruthless torturing badass. Talk to me, puppies. 

@chivesoup @confidentrose @alexhmak @dontstopxx @iloveteenwolf24 @surpeme-bean @snek-shit @kalista-rankins @parislight @cleverassbutt @damndaphneoh @mgpizza2001 @ninja-stiles @sarcasticallystilinski @teenage-dirtbagbaby @mrs-mitch-rapp93 @alizaobrien @twsmuts @rrrennerrr @sorrynotsorrylovesome @lovelydob @iknowisoundcrazy @5secsxofamnesia @vogue-sweetie @dylrider @ivette29 @therealmrshale @twentyone-souls @sunshineystilinski @snicketyssnake @xsnak-3x @eccentricxem @inkedaztec @awkwarddly @lightbreaksthrough @maddie110201 @hattyohatt @rhyxn @amethystmerm4id @completebandgeek @red-wine-mendes @katieevans371 @girlwiththerubyslippers @susybird @theneverendingracetrack @sumcp @snipsnsnailsnwerewolftales @runs-with-sciss0rs @ssweet-empowerment @ellie-bee242 @hirafth @dailyburritos @mieczzyslaw @im-very-odd33 @anonimereader06 @itsamberh @sp00der-m00n @lolaversuslipstick @imagunative @stilinski-lover-24 @xmadwonderland @shannonwardski @nocturnalzeal @gluetwentyfourobrien @stopit-ihateyou @wittystiles @lovefilledtragedy @r0s3mm @loveforbrains @arikachang @all-alone-he-turns-to-stone @inkedaztec @omgimafuckingmermaid @jolomez

[sun-summoning]

Can i have a fic where sasuke has to deal with sakura having her period

i. 

he’s first clued in to it being that time of the month when she doesn’t really answer his questions clearly and most of her answers revolve around him going to fuck himself. when he asks her what she wants for dinner, he expects a similar curse. 

“i don’t care,” she snaps as predicted. “you just choose. like why do i always have to choose?”

he wisely keeps his mouth shut at that, even though the reality is that she always chooses because she literally has never given him the chance to choose.

“so...okonomiyaki?” he suggests.

“what? no, i don’t want that.” sakura looks down the street, assessing their food choices while rubbing her abdomen. she’s not hungry, she’s in pain. “you know what? i don’t care.”

“takoyaki?”

“no, i don’t want that either.”

-

ii.

“sasuke-kun, can you get me water?”

during her periods, sometimes they’ll opt to stay at an inn if only to have basic things like running water. and a bed. 

sasuke tries to pretend like he didn’t hear her, like he’s asleep, but sakura just pokes his shoulder until he stirs.

“sasuke-kun?”

he sighs because he knows his act won’t work. “can’t you do it yourself?”

he rolls over to look at her and finds her curled up with one knee bent into her chest and the other bent with her leg sticking out. her pillow is bunched up in her arms and she’s in the middle of the bed, looking up at him pleadingly.

“you don’t understand!” she whimpers. “this is the exact position my body needs to be in so that i feel the least amount of pain. if i move, it’ll all be over! over, sasuke-kun!”

“how will you even drink the water if you’re on your side though?” he wonders, not trying to question her logic per se. he’s just curious.

“i--just--ugh!” sakura presses her face in the pillow and whines. “sasuke-kun, please!”

-

iii.

he regrets making his suggestion that she heal her back pains herself because then she’s just repeating his words but in a stupid tone and with a stupid face.

to make it up to her, he offers a massage. sakura lays across the bed while sasuke digs his knuckles into the spot on her lower back. she’s awfully tense but she’s making low moans into the mattress so he figures he has to be doing something right.

“you’re really in pain, aren’t you...”

she turns her head and watches him with bleary eyes. “i mean...yeah. it’s usually manageable, and when it’s not, i’ll take some meds.”

“i see.”

her shoulders move when she shrugs. “i don’t know. this month just seems worse than usual.”

he rolls his eyes. “you’re just trying to sound sad so i keep massaging you.”

“is it really too much to ask?”

-

iv.

at first he thinks he did something wrong -- that he keeps doing everything wrong. eventually he just realizes that sakura is just crying. crying and crying and crying. she cries because they ran out of her favourite tea, she cries because the baby they walked by was so cute, she cries because her earlier crying resulted in her blouse getting wet from tears.

he knows she’s crying irrationally and therefore there isn’t really anything he can do about it and that ultimately these feelings are superficial, but the sight of sakura with tears streaming down his face makes his heart hurt.

“it’s okay,” he says when they get back to their room. surely she can’t find anything to cry about here now that he’s replenished her tea supply.

she curls up under the blanket and sasuke decides that he should probably run some errands. restock their supplies, get some groceries, write a report for kakashi--

“aren’t you going to join me?”

sasuke looks at sakura and finds her pouting at him. she’s pointedly only taking up half of the bed (as opposed to her usual three quarters) and has her arms open.

“what?”

she chews her lip. “i thought we were going to cuddle.”

he tries not roll his eyes at the thought of spending his day in bed cuddling with her when there are actual things that need to be done. but eventually he strips off his cloak and joins her under the blanket.

-

v.

as he lathers the shampoo through his hair, sakura nonchalantly joins him in the shower and nudges him off to the other end. he watches her, astonished by her audacity and feeling kind of cold.

“can i help you?” he asks.

“in a bit,” she replies with a wink. this is probably the nicest she’s been to him all week. she speedily washes her body and when she’s done, she bends forward, presses her hands against the wall, and looks at him over her shoulder. “fuck me, sasuke-kun.”

“um.” he blinks. shampoo gets in his eye and he winces from the burn. “what?”

“i’m so horny right now,” she admits with a sheepish grin. “and what better way to make me feel better than with an orgasm? so hurry up and stick your dick in me!”

“but...” he rubs his eye and is certain it’s turning red. “can i just wash out the shampoo first?”

-

vi.

“normally they don’t last this long for me,” she tells him. “or well, i guess they do. but like, there’s just a bit of blood.”

“thank you.”

“i should invent some technique to stop your uterus from turning against you like this.”

“you should.”

“i wish we could patent techniques.” she’s looks into his eyes though and cocks her head as she considers what the sharingan does. “then again, you people make that pointless.”

he snorts at the insult. “you people?”

“you and kakashi-sensei! all, oh hey let me just watch this person do this technique one time which they probably spent weeks perfecting and then wham bam thank you ma’am i can do it too.” she scowls. “how dare you--”

“do you want some chocolate?”

her eyes narrow at the treat he’s offering her. she’s probably insulted, but judging by the look of hunger on her face, she’s allowing her gluttony to overpower her pride.

she nibbles on the sweet and instantly calms down and sasuke tries not to look too smug.

-

vii.

“i’m sorry i’ve been such a bitch,” sakura says at the end of the week.

normally she isn’t that bad when she’s on her period. she’s usually just a little cranky and she snaps a bit (a lot) more, but he’s come to learn that keeping her fed at most points and rubbing out an orgasm or two keep her docile enough. she functions mostly the same, but he can tells she’s just really uncomfortable. and how could she not be considering all that was going on inside of her.

“you’re fine.”

“thank you for putting up with me.”

sasuke scoffs at the sentiment. sakura has put up with him through vicious vengeance to wanting to destroy their home to wandering the world in search of clues that are so hard to come by. the least he can do is help her however he can through a bodily function she can’t even control.

“i’m not ‘putting up with you’, idiot,” he mutters. he shrugs. “it’s called caring about you.”

“nevertheless, i appreciate it.” she kisses his cheek and sasuke turns away from her blushing. “thank you, sasuke-kun.”

“yeah, whatever.”

[authoressskr]

The New Weakness

Written for: @kittenofdoomage’s Classic Movie Quotes Challenge. My quote was: “Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer.” (The Godfather Part II, 1974)

Pairing: Crowley x Reader

Tags/Warnings: Language, tad bit of violence, kidnapping, smartass comments, fluff…ugh, can’t think of anything else at the moment except maybe subpar writing…

Summary: Lucifer is determined to get Castiel and Crowley off his trail. He needs to find a new weakness - one he knows will distract them - like a soulmate.  Let them think he’s meatsuit shopping…

Tagging: @sdavid09 @chelsea072498 @thewhiterabbit42 @nobodys-baby-now

Notes: The movie/quote above is in bold.

You shudder as the wind picks up, brown leaves dancing around your feet before skittering off into the night.

You shouldn’t be out. Not tonight.

Something was coming. You couldn’t put your finger on it exactly, but something was off. You’d gotten a migraine every day this week, one that just wouldn’t leave. Every time you turned a corner, you could swear you saw a flash of red - well, you weren’t exactly sure what your mind was conjuring up anymore.

Pulling the coat tighter, you shuffle away from the closed bookstore, mentally kicking yourself for forgetting your laptop. Inventory had to be input before tomorrow afternoon so you could put in new orders. Coping with the nearly blinding pain in your head was definitely taking its toll.

You start down the nearly abandoned sidewalk, keys tucked in between your fingers for safety, trying to make your way quickly back to your car that was parked at the end of the street

“Miss?” You clench the keys tighter, making them dig in as you tighten your fist. Turning to find a pair of light blue eyes staring at you. You hear footfalls soft from behind, glancing over your shoulder only to find an average-looking man staring at you with dark brown eyes and a headful of blonde curls. Your breath hitched in your throat, caught in between the two strangers, every cell in your body telling you to run. You nearly drop your laptop when a sharp, overwhelming sensation stabs at the base of your skull, dropping you to your knees.

The dark gray of the sidewalk is blurry at first and when you do manage to focus, there are black dress shoes on the damp concrete in front of you. Travelling upward, there are the baby blues again. You whimper, curling more around the laptop clutched against your chest, closing your eyes.

“It’s her. She won’t last long with the shape she’s in.” You feel a sudden warmth against your left side and flinch away from it, your constant migraine had you feeling flushed and feverish off and on. His voice was grating and unsympathetic.

“Remember to be careful. The King said not a scratch was to be on her.” The man with the cold chocolate colored eyes instructs the other as he wraps an arm around your back before sliding the other behind your knees, lifting you effortlessly before you can even make a sound of protest. When was the last time you were held bridal style? Nine? Ten?  Nausea rolls through you at the sudden movement, compounding with the throbbing in your head. Swallowing, you rest your head against his firm chest, tears stinging your eyes. Crying would only make the headache worse, but his words were rattling around in your head now. “She won’t last long.” The truth hurts had never rung more undeniable.

=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=

“Well, well, well. Moose. Squirrel. Giraffe. To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“We heard you’ve been taking a few different routes to meatsuit-block Lucifer while you try to flush him out.” Dean muttered, setting his glass down on the library table before pushing away from the spot he was leaning against. Crowley just tilts his head ever so slightly.

“Look, we want Lucifer off the streets too, but -” Sam begins, gesturing with his hand before letting it drop to the open book in front of him.

“You cannot kidnap people, Crowley.” Cas growls out, exasperated with the demon.

“I kidnap one measly woman and you are all up in arms! I’ve done far worse. If we’re being honest, you lot have done worse.” Sam threw Crowley his best bitch face, but couldn’t argue.

“What does Lucifer want with her?” Dean asks, exhaling and crossing his arms over his chest. Crowley wrinkles his forehead then smiles smugly.

“You didn’t say please.” Crowley sighs, before removing a hand from his coat pocket and gesturing from Dean to Sam. “Think about it.” He waits for the gears to kick in before shooting a look at the angel, whose brow is furrowed. He reaches up and pinches the bridge of his nose. Imbeciles. “She’s a vessel. Specifically, she is one presumably strong enough to hold him. Since he can’t get Samantha to say yes.“

“That would indicate…” Castiel’s jaw tightens as he looks at Crowley. “She would be safer with us.“

“Why? Lucifer was prancing around here in your vessel. He knows the Bunker well enough that he could get in easily.”

Oh, and Hell is safer? Didn’t he have you locked up in your own kingdom?” Sam sneers out, rising from his seat.

“What would that indicate?” Dean’s voice is quiet as uncrosses his arms and looks expectantly at Cas. The angel sighs, looking from Crowley to his best friend.

“When Lucifer was released, he needed a vessel. Michael and Lucifer can take any vessel that gives consent, but certain bloodlines are stronger…” Dean swiped a hand over his face.

“Of fucking course.” Dean mutters, moving back to the table to get his glass for a much-needed refill.

“So, she’s a Campbell and she just went willingly with you?” Sam questioned, raising an eyebrow as he watched his brother cross the room. Crowley chuckled.

“Yes and No. Initially, she passed out when my demons went for her. Once she came to she handed three of my demons their asses before they could subdue her. One still winces when he sees her. Quite the little spitfire.” Dean downs the half full glass in one gulp.

“And you think she won’t try to leave?“

“Oh, she’s tried several times already. Then I pinned her against the wall and explained that I was keeping her from the clutches of the Devil, and if she attempted to escape one more time I would use her for bait.”

“And?”

“She told me off. Using some rather colorful language. But stopped attempting to escape.”

“Bring her here.” Dean’s voice is deeper, no room for argument.  Crowley rolls his eyes and huffs out a long breath.

“You and your obsessive need to protect family! I kept the bloody Darkness from you, so I’m fairly certain I can keep this girl away from Lucifer until we can kill the bastard!“

“Bring. Her. Here. Now.” Crowley opens his mouth to argue, but snaps it closed before raising his hand.

“You’re sure?��� Sam nods, standing up straighter beside Dean.  Crowley is about to snap when his phone rings. He holds up one finger before withdrawing the ringing item from his pant pocket, earning an eye roll from the green-eyed hunter. “Yes? Get your asses back in there! I don’t fucking care! Get the girl!” He shoves the phone into his pocket and calms himself before addressing the Winchesters and Castiel. “Apparently, Lucifer is outside the manor. Killed all the guards. Hasn’t breached the warding yet. Morons tried to leave the damn manor - I need smarter henchmen.” The phone rang again. “What is it now?! Love, he can’t get in. He won’t harm you even if he does get in. Yes, I realize he’s the bloody Devil. Yes, I should have moved you sooner.” He rolls his eyes then hands the phone to Castiel. “You calm her down. Won’t listen to a word from me. Hardheadedness must be a trait shared by both bloodlines, eh.”

“Hello? No, this is not Crowley. No, I am not one of his incompetent demonic idiots.” Cas clears his throat nervously. “My name is Castiel. Yes, the one in the trench coat. How did you know that?” He casts a glare at Crowley. “I happen to like my attire. I’m sorry, I did not mean to imply you didn’t care for my trench coat.” Dean takes the phone from Cas, exasperated with this whole damn deal.

“This is Dean. Yeah, Winchester. Listen, get the hell out of there. The house is warded, so Lucifer can’t get in yet. But those demons will sell your ass down the river to save their own skins.” He looks at Sam incredulously before his eyes fluttered up. He was so fucking done. Focusing back on the phone all he can hear is muttered words and quick breaths, then a yell of “Get out of my way!” before the phone drops with a thud. It’s still connected, so he can hear blows softly landing through the speaker. “Yeah, yeah, I’m still here. Trouble? Good girl. No, I didn’t mean that in a patronizing way. Just take the fucking complement and get out of the damn house! Right now, I am the boss of you!” He tilts the hand so the speaker is away from his mouth, looking at Cas. “It’s like dealing with Claire.” Sam’s trying to hold back a smile. This is an inappropriate time to enjoy how flustered and frustrated all of them are, he tells himself. Well, at least they could tell she was related. Sass and stubbornness seemed to be genetic traits all Campbells and Winchesters had. Dean switched the phone to speaker. “Hey! You outside?”

“Damn demons.” A female voice panted out. “Damn stairs. I own a bookstore! I am a librarian for God’s sake! This is some nightmarish bullshit. Hold on, switching you to speaker.” Dean hears her mutter “If I get murdered, so help me God I will haunt the hell out of all of you...” before a handful of heavy steps echo through the phone.

“Are you outside?” Dean repeats before clenching his jaw. “Cas and Crowley are coming to get you once you’re outside.“

“There she is! There’s my girl!” There’s shuffling on the other side of the phone then a faint flutter of wings and a gasp. “Hiding behind a crossroads demon who fancies himself the King of Hell and an angel who loves humanity more than his Father, his brothers and sisters, his home but still calls himself an Angel of the Lord. My, my, what would your Daddy think?”

“You know what they say: “Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer.” Also, what does yours think of you being a complete and utter asshat? Bet you were the reason Daddy left Heaven. Cause from what I’ve heard you’re a bit of a whiny bitch.” Crowley chuckled.

“That mouth is gonna get her killed.” Dean pursed his lips and glares at his brother at Crowley’s words. “Course, her being related to you two, she won’t stay dead for long. Ooh, and the low blow winner goes to - ding, ding, ding - Y/N!” Dean squeezes his eyes closed and takes a deep breath. They hear more shuffling then a sharp intake of breath over the speaker.

“Little one, you know I will not harm you. I cannot harm you.” His voice was loud in the speaker and they heard both men cursing somewhere behind her.

“Trust the original double-crosser? I may be young, but I’m not stupid.” Lucifer chuckles and she takes in another sharp breath.

“Sorry, I run cold.”

“Remove yourself from her, Lucifer.” Castiel damn near snarls the five words out.

“Holy shit.” Y/N exclaims before they hear a deep grunt and then a thud of bodies colliding.

“And that’s our cue to go.” Crowley’s voice is loud in the speaker. “She’s got balls.” Crowley’s voice is full of - is that a hint of awe? - before the line disconnects.

Sam takes the phone from Dean’s hand and looks expectantly towards the front door, his forehead creased in worry. A flutter of wings and Castiel stands in the middle of the library, his arms filled with a wide-eyed woman and Crowley standing coolly besides them.

“Well, this seems to be your problem now...which will more than likely come back to bite me in the ass, if history has shown us anything.” Crowley straightens his coat, gesturing to Dean for his phone. The eldest Winchester tosses it to him with a glare. Crowley just slips his phone back into his pant pocket, ignoring the glare-pout of the hunter. “Happy hunting.” And with a devilish smile he disappears

The three men exchange a look as silence envelopes the Bunker.

=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=

Muffled masculine voices dragged you from sleep. You were still not used to hunter’s hours. At least the week and a half you’d spent at Crowley’s mansion, you’d gotten to sleep in. But, since leaving the mansion your migraines had come back with a debilitating vengeance. Shoving the few stray pieces of hair out of your face, you ease up into a sitting position. Well, at least the headache had downgraded to a dull ache at the base of your skull today. You tug the thin gray fleece blanket Cas has given you tighter around your shoulders. The angel’s gift was to make you feel more normal (He had then made a joke about a housewarming gift, get it? Warming.) and that this seemed the most appropriate for a guest who required more comfort than any of them were used to doling out.

The voices have been steadily getting louder seem to explode to your sensitive hearing once you step into the hallway, echoing from somewhere to your left.  Every shred of common sense is telling you to head away from the loud voices, but the warning basic demon henchman #1 had given has also resurfaced and you know that he’s right ... you won’t last much longer like this. Migraines had been manifesting your whole life, but this last week or so (and the nearly two weeks before Crowley kidnapped you) had been different. Feeling drained, more tired, overly warm, achy, the stabbing pains that seemed to move around constantly - and no period to blame it on.

Easing down the hall, sending silent thanks for the dull lighting, you stop just short of a doorway, listening intently to the loud argument going on just a handful of feet away. You knew you should head the opposite way, breakfast would make the headache back off a little more, but damn your curiosity.

“We’ve been calling you since last evening.” You recognize the deep voice of the blue-eyed Angel of the Lord.

“Yes, well, I have to run Hell. Kingly duties and all that. Seeing that no one here is under a witch’s spell, being attacked by a horde of angels - or demons - and none of you three have died or are dying...well, I couldn’t see the need to hurry.” Typical snarky Crowley.

“Did you even bother listening to our voicemails?” Sam spoke again, clearly done with the King’s shit.

“I can’t say that I did, Moose. Care to enlighten me?” You freeze just feet from the doorway. Cas and Crowley probably already knew you were there, supernaturally heightened senses and all, but chances they would out you were slim.

“Crowley, Lucifer is looking for something to bring you and Cas down, not a new vessel. He found yours.” Dean’s words are ominous sounding, a pit developing deep in your belly. Crowley’s laughter shouldn’t catch you off-guard, but it does.

“Impossible. I don’t love anything. Except for a good scotch, maybe. And being King.“

“How’s the conversation with Crowley going?” A voice speaks directly behind you, quite literally making you jump, gathering the blanket tighter around yourself. Nope Nope Nope Nope Nope. Spinning, you find a man about your height with a beard and bright, almost electric, blue eyes and a maroon hoodie.

“Who the hell are you?!” You hiss, still mindful of the conversation going on in the library.

“Chuck. And you’re Y/N.” He offers a kind smile and you relax automatically, not even questioning how he knows your name. “Why don’t we join them?”

“Um, I need to eat first, so go ahead.” He nods in understanding before strolling into the library.

You stroll towards the kitchen, pouring yourself a big glass of juice and rooting around for your cereal, only to find it gone. Toast it is. You toss some jelly on the toast then head back towards the library.

“Lucifer decided that he would go for their weaknesses. Cas’s would be the Winchesters, which he is smart enough not to attempt again, and Crowley’s only weakness would probably be his mother but she’s proven she can handle herself. So, that leaves weaknesses they don’t know they have. Soulmates, to be specific.” You froze in the doorway. Whew, that was a hell of a conversation to walk in on. Maybe you could slip out before anyone noticed. "Y/N is Crowley’s.” The shattering of glass alerted everyone to your presence however, mouth agape like a fish.

“Jesus!” Dean snaps out, gesturing towards you. “Next time let Sam do it. At least he’s good with the hand-holding crap.” You’re so busy staring at Crowley, you miss the glare Sam threw at his brother.

“Not possible. No soul.” Crowley snapped and was now sipping from a tumbler of amber liquid, a false calm settling around him.

“I’m God. Pretty sure I know what I’m talking about, Fergus.” You tug the blanket draped over your shoulders down tighter, food and glass forgotten as Crowley stared at you like you were suddenly the most perplexing thing he’d ever encountered.

“The demons that kidnapped me said I wouldn’t last long.” Chuck ducks his head, looking over to Dean before he continued.

“Lucifer took some of Crowley’s blood and snuck it into something you ate or drank. That was enough of a bond that your soul began to search out it’s mate. Crowley’s right, he no longer has a soul in the sense you or Sam or Dean have a soul. His has been twisted, corrupted and mangled. There is, however, a tiny piece that still identifies with humanity. It’s yours. Unfortunately, it’s what’s making you sick. Being away from him once the connection was made lead to your physical illness and to Crowley needing to sleep and budget his power use.“

“I’m assuming that means he screwed Crowley over too.” You looked down at Crowley from the steps, but he refused to meet your gaze now. “I believe Dean mentioned something about your demons saving their own skins?” Pinching the bridge of your nose, you realize that your headache is nearly gone. Shit.

“Well, at least you aren’t stupid. Told you lot this would come back to bite me in the ass.” Crowley mutters before taking another sip. Anger springs awake in you.

“First, fuck you. I’d have told you to go to Hell, but since you’re the top bitch there, it would seem too much like a vacation. Second, I didn’t ask for this, so stop acting like the injured party. Third, Fergus? Do your parents dislike you that much? Fourth, why is everyone so calm about this?! Shouldn’t you be out looking for the poor person who is Cas’s soulmate so this doesn’t happen to them? Shouldn’t you all be a tad more shocked?! Who is Lucifer’s soulmate, cause I’ma warn them to just shiv his ass on sight because this is a bitch move!” You stomp down the few steps into the library before yelling as the glass shards slice through your skin. Cas is there, lifting you bridal style as Chuck snaps the mess gone and heals you. “Thank you.” You whisper as tears spring to your eyes. In your mind, you’re screaming “Fix it! I have a job, a life - granted it’s not great, but it’s mine - a bookstore, friends, a goldfish!” You would punctuate every point with a jab of your finger into Chuck’s chest. 

Instead, you sit across the table from Crowley, stunned and silent, processing and silently accepting your new fate.

“Man, I like her.” Dean breaks the silence with a broad grin directed at you. You attempt to return the smile, but from the look that passes over his face, you fail miserably.

“Fergus MacLeod IS your soulmate. You two have been bound by blood. There is no way to undo it.”

Those seven words rattle around your brain like they are the only words you now know.

“There is no way to undo it.”

=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=

Three weeks later, you’re damn near a zombie.

Sam tries to get you to eat but the pain is so intense and constant that you just prefer to sleep in the ice-cold bedroom as much as humanly possible. Everything hurts at this point and a few times you’ve lain in bed whimpering, crying and silently begging for Sam or Dean to come in and render you unconscious.

With a soft groan, you ease out of the bed, wrapping the thick gray duvet around you enjoying the weight and warmth. Sam had brought you the duvet one morning, nearly two weeks ago, saying it was just setting on the library table, your name embroidered in the bottom right corner. At this point it was just par for the course in the mess that was your life in the last two months. You perk up, however, when you get to the kitchen. Dean had left a foil wrapped plate containing four pieces of bacon, two sausage links and one pancake - boy, did that man know you already...would Crowley care to learn things like that about you? You scoff. You were being ridiculous and girly, he wasn’t going to stick around. No need to let your imagination - what the hell was that? The front door? You shove both sausage links in your mouth, grab the bacon and head for the library.

Holy shit. They did it.

Castiel has his hand wrapped around Lucifer’s bicep, his wrists cuffed in front of him. Those ice blue eyes light up when they land on you.

“My little one.” You let the duvet drop, switching the bacon from your right hand to your left and meet Lucifer and Castiel in the middle of the room. Crowley had his hands in his pockets, watching the exchange with a bored, but slightly smug, look on his face. You punch Lucifer as hard as your body will allow you, watching as he smirks to cover up the smidgen of shock that had fluttered through those pale blue orbs. Ninety nine percent you had just broken something in your hand, you take a leisurely bite of a piece of bacon, smirking back at the Devil. “Oh, the fun I’d have if you were my mate.” He chuckles.

“Lucifer, I’d love to make you a coatrack with your own angel blade.” Dean comes up behind Lucifer, grabbing the other arm and the three men disappear down the hallway. Sam smiles softly at you before he scoops up a couple books from the farthest table, disappearing down the hallway after his brother.

Crowley takes a couple steps forward, watching you with an unreadable expression.

“How’re you feeling, pet” You shrug.

“The pain is all easing away now.” That you’re here is unspoken as you finish your bacon.

“Couldn’t put your bacon down to punch Satan? I’m afraid I’ve left you with the Winchesters for far too long.” You give him a weak smile before Cas appears beside you. You tilt your head just before you feel him grasp your right hand. A warm, almost tingling wave washes through your hand. You notice he’s also cleaned your greasy hands. He nods at Crowley before trekking back towards where you guessed the dungeon was. “You like your gift?”

“It’s very comforting once the chills and aches set in. Thank you. I was a little surprised it wasn’t black. Or red.” Crowley’s mouth tugged up in a smile.

“Yes, well, Feathers mentioned that your favorite color was gray.” You were taken aback at the thoughtfulness of the King of Hell.

“Crowley?“

“Humm?“

“What happens now?” Crowley eyes you with something that looked like interest.

“What do you want out of it, love?” You bite your bottom lip, thinking of how you want to phrase your answer. He stands there calmly all the while, no eye rolling or sighs.

“Idyllically, I’d like to go back and run my business. But Chuck said we can’t be that far apart, so I can stay here and you can visit so we don’t get sick? Or I could relocate.” You say the last part quieter, bending over to gather your duvet from the stairs. When you look back he is closer - not even at arms length - his brown eyes flickering over your face, looking for something maybe?

“Chuck neglected to tell you that if we finish bonding we will no longer have the negative effects.”

“Finish the - oh.” You blush as he raises an eyebrow, his smile from earlier widening into a promising grin. Those maple colored eyes bore into you before sweeping over your duvet covered form, his pupils larger than normal.

“I’m not going to force you to do anything you -”

“Yes, Crowley.” He tenses. “Did you think I would reject you?” You can see his jaw clench, but he doesn’t answer. “I’m your soulmate. Like it or not. I’m not going to treat you like everyone else does, I mean, geez, what kind of bitch do -”

His lips are on yours, cutting the rest off. Crowley’s hand reaches out to cup your face gently before his fingertips dance down your jaw, grasping the back of your neck and teasing at the softer strands of hair at your nape. The roughness of his beard against your face is wonderful and you press closer, suddenly needing more. A growl rumbles from Crowley’s chest as you part your lips for him, your tongues meeting like you had kissed each other a million times. Your lungs are beginning to burn, and before you can pull away his lips are gone from yours, now placing kisses along your jawline and beginning to trail down your neck.

“Perhaps we need to go somewhere a little more private.” He mutters against your pulse point before nipping at the delicate skin. Your hands are running through his short hair, nails gently scraping his scalp as you arch towards him, duvet pooled at your feet.

“Wait.” He pulls back enough to look you in the eye, his arm wound tightly around you. “What do you want out of this, Crowley?“

“You, Y/N.“

“And?“

“Just you, darling.” Your chest tightens as you press your foreheads together.

“Well, don’t demons kiss to seal a deal?”

[halvatir]

move along, prince charming;

requested by anonymous!

right there’s a damsel dressed in scars // she’s not in distress, she’s fought her own wars

so. doing your duties, huh? she asks. his eyes are still set straight ahead, but he does spare her a glance. what do you mean? she snorts rather loudly before answering. carrying damsels in distress in your arms like they’re spoils of war.

i.

she should give her croce staff a good repair.

or better yet, pull it out to stop it from digging any further into her bloody thigh.

margaretha chokes out a laugh and damn does that hurt, the mere attempt of breathing does too - there’s the metallic taste of her own blood in her mouth and it isn’t the slightest bit funny of how much the taste spreads on her tongue like wildfire. she mumbles a couple of prayers and other complaints to up above such as good god spare me it’s like i’m having a dinner of rust in mouth, how awful is that before she attempts to raise an arm - any arm would do.

she just has to raise a damned arm.

(it’s a sad day for margaretha sorin, really - first she gets cornered by a group of adventurers without backup and there were four bloody warlocks in there, what was a poor high priestess to do on her own? a couple of well-aimed whacks to the head and some holy lights later she manages to stay alive but battered like hell, so much for brushing her hair for at least thirty minutes before guard duty, her hair’s fallen to the state of a bird’s nest - and then when she was about to leave, another group saunters in and catches her unguarded... how peachy.)

her attempt to raise her left arm sends a terrible jolt of pain that starts from her fingertips and slithers quickly up fingers, hand, arm and even until her shoulders and it leaves her breathless, tears stinging her eyes and nails clawing desperately at the cement floor. she bites her lower lip to keep her from screaming, and maybe it’s a good thing that her staff’s keeping her pinned down to the floor to keep her from writhing.

(but good god above, what would she give to writhe badly because it hurts, it stings, it burns, it’s agonizing -)

he finds her in one of the floor’s corridors in that state, sitting on the floor with her arms limp at her sides and her head downcast. the gruesome sight of mutilated bodies and copious amounts of blood splattered on the floors, walls, and the ceiling aside; his eyes widen at the sight of where her weapon stands.

it’s right there, tall and blood-stained, its heel digging through the flesh of its wielder’s thigh like a sword set in stone.

(the mere analogy is horrifying.)

he rushes to her side, bent on one knee and hands landing on her shoulders. gingerly, he shakes her a bit and it takes a while before margaretha raises her head.

her eyes are closed.

seyren doesn’t bat an eye when he sees the scar that runs diagonally across her right cheek, a long and narrow cut that’s bright red like the splotches of blood that decorate some areas of her face. his eyes are set on hers and when she flutters her eyes open, he can see traces of tears at the edges.

her eyes - they’re green, and they’re supposed to be a bit brighter like emeralds - take some time to focus on his face. she licks her lips, and boy was that a bad move because she tastes her blood on her tongue again.

(what she’d give to get that taste out of her mouth, teeth, and tongue, too.)

he says her name, voice tentative and soft.

she laughs dryly in response.

you’re late, damn it.

ii.

it’s him who found her, and honestly she can’t help but groan. both of his hands are still on her shoulders, keeping her steady while he assesses her condition with narrowed eyes. her outfit’s a mess, her hair’s a mess, her face is a mess, her limbs are a mess, she’s a mess - but yet he says nothing and asks her nothing.

absolutely goddamn nothing.

she leans her head against the cold wall and squeezes her eyes shut.

oh no, don’t get her wrong, she’ll make a trip to the makeshift chapel in their floor later and thank god that someone came to help her out when her inhuman regeneration abilities weren’t kicking in as fast as she wanted it to and instead she might have nearly bled to death. she’d probably ask though why it had to be seyren of all people, since she couldn’t help but become unnerved at how his eyes - they’re a natural red, how quaint - would scour her body in silence. she still has a good amount of clothing on, torn and burnt in some places but still intact, but his eyes are sharp with such focus and he gazes at her so thoroughly that she has the impulse to run her hands over her clothes to see if they’re still there.

she wills herself not to squirm, despite the sensation that she was naked under his scrutinizing gaze - how does he even do that?

(how he manages to hold her shoulders gently despite the heavy gauntlets that he wears on his arms is beyond her, too.)

she lets out a small gasp when his right hand drifts away from her shoulder to land on her lower right thigh: a jumble of the ripped white satin of her stockings, blood, torn skin and muscles, and the area where her own staff’s heel has dug itself deep. when seyren pushes away a little of the satin, margaretha could feel the cool of the metal gauntlet scratch lightly against her bare skin, and she hisses.

i’m sorry. i didn’t hurt you, did i? he asks. he isn’t facing her, and his gaze is still on her thigh.

watch it, she growls, and she means it. to hell with the pain, there’s another pressing matter. those fingers better not drift elsewhere.

he nods, and his hand goes from her skin to lightly grasp the staff’s shaft. the movement shifts the staff’s position on her thigh a bit - she lowers her head and winces when a dull, throbbing pain courses through her leg.

she swears a bit, and somewhere along her whispered curses he hears his name and something along the lines of when i’m fine and dandy again, watch me pull my staff up your -

he apologizes, the word sorry tumbling out of his lips quickly - and she groans again.

as if your sorry makes me feel any better.

... i’m not here to make you feel better, though.

what was that?

... i’m here to help you.

she laughs at him again, and this time it sounds like ringing bells to his ears.

i didn’t realize help comes when you’re near death.

iii.

seyren clears his throat before he looks at margaretha - her gaze on him is still unfocused but there’s a small smile that plays on her lips, despite her irregular breathing, disheveled state, and numerous injuries.

i’ll have to pull your staff out to get you to safety, he says.

at this she blinks a bit, before he sees her shoulders raise slightly to fall down again. was that a shrug? you might as well cut my leg off, she replies, voice flat.

seyren glares at her. margaretha raises an eyebrow, and her lips curve downward.

we both know it will grow back.

but that doesn’t give me the excuse to hurt you any further.

how sweet. but i’ve lost both legs, an arm, and oh! the whole lower half of my body before, she laughs at the memory briefly. losing a leg? it doesn’t make a difference, really. even if it’s by your hands.

the grip on her shoulder tightens.

i wish... he pauses to angle his head away from her to close his eyes and draw out a sigh, voice a distant whisper. i wish that you wouldn’t treat yourself this way.

(it’s unspoken in between them for so long, but she’d be lying if she said that she hasn’t seen him clench his hands into fists and keep it at his sides away from her sight or see his jaw tighten and eyebrows furrow together when he’d hear of the umpteenth time that she had or forced an unfortunate floor mate to amputate a part of herself due to dire injury. but still, all she gets from him despite what she sees is a stern voice that only tells her to be careful and not to be so aggressive most of the time, and she would reply with laughter, a wave of the hand, or the roll of her eyes.)

i wish you wouldn’t treat me like i’m still human either, she says, a wry smile playing on her lips.

seyren opens his eyes at her words, and margaretha holds her breath when the fingers on her right shoulder scratch at her skin when they form themselves into a fist.

(those scratches might’ve left bruises.)

he looks at her again, slowly this time and she can see sunken red eyes that resemble glass (they look like they’re going to break), furrowed brows (come on - convey anger, disappointment or whatever but its different now, why is it different now), and lips in a thin, subtle frown. 

(he looks like she broke him.)

  iv.

they’ve had a similar conversation before.

(the only difference is that before, the topic was loud and clear and staring at both their faces.)

it starts off simple and civil, and maybe it turned downhill when she mocks him for his humane concerns.

she makes it crystal clear that she won’t bother to heed his advice about being careful when engaging in battle or about caring for her body because for starters she’s practically immortal, a godforsaken blasphemous entity brought about by science and fueled by sheer power and hatred. no matter what the adventurers do, the result’s the same - she can fall, lose, and die but only to rise again. so what the hell’s the big deal if she doesn’t take care of herself? 

it’s like she’s been blessed by god.

arm burned even up to the ligaments, cut off by heavy and enhanced blades, cursed with magic, or completely immobilized?

(it’ll cure itself.)

leg frozen till its gone numb, stepped and stomped on repeatedly, rendered useless because of poison, or caught in a trap?

(it’ll sting like a bitch, but it’ll cure itself.)

insides jumbled and threatening to spill out onto the floor, eyes pecked out, heart pierced through, head struck by arrows?

(good god and angels above, she’s still breathing.)

she tells him all that with a lilt to her voice and twinkle in her eyes and she even laughs as she proclaims that death’s a fucking joke - she’s lost too much of herself, oh so much of her damned self every single bloody day that she has long forgotten how to fear death when every day her life hangs by a damn thread, every day her body is torn apart by them, those that she used to be, and she gets to witness it with her eyes wide open.

(because what better way is there to experience your own death other than witness it? watch how the sword goes through your heart, count the seconds that passed by since you held your breath, watch your murderer thrust their sword even deeper and even twist their blade, grinning like they’ve killed the fucking devil - )

but despite all what she said, he still stood tall.

he would stand there in silence, his face a blank slate.

no words of reprimand. no words of distaste for her monologue. no lectures about her well-being, of being human, or of being humane.

was this - their current - conversation so different from what they had before?

... no, it probably wasn’t.

(then why does he look so broken?)

     v.

... i will take the staff out, whether you like it or not.

point is, i don’t care if you cut my leg out. that option’s way better.

... margaretha.

are you pleading? this is rich.

... please. just this once.

you know what? doing it your way is much more painful than actual amputation. are you some sadist? do you want me to suffer longer?

you know that isn’t my intention.

your intention of going through human motions to ‘save’ me is sickening.

sickening as it is, you have no other choice. i doubt that your regeneration is flowing smoothly due to the number of injuries you have.

nice try. i can wait for myself to repair myself, thanks.

and risk being discovered again?

if you’re that worried, then you can fend them off while i sit pretty and recover.

... no. i’ll be pulling out the staff at the count of three.

jesus christ, margaretha hisses. you’re desperate.

seyren breathes out a sigh. one.

i didn’t agree to this -

two -

wait! 

he raises an eyebrow at her sudden outburst. she’s glaring at him now, and she mumbles a couple of curses under her breath before addressing him again.

lean closer, she says.

seyren does what he’s told - he leans in, his face a bit closer now to margaretha’s and he can smell faint traces of lavender amidst blood and burnt flesh. closing her eyes, she purses her lips as she lifts both her arms up - she winces and he sees her biting her lower lip as her shaking hands find the back of his neck, and slowly, she moves forward to lean her forehead against his.

(her hands and forehead are lukewarm and shaky against his skin.)

get on with it, damn it, she says.

(her voice is a little shaky.)

seyren does, without counting three - and when he pulls the staff out with all his strength there’s a gruesome noise as it’s freed and a rasp from margaretha - he could feel her whole body shiver, her nails clawing at his neck almost desperately as if they’re trying to ground themselves, and her forehead pressing closer to his.

(he’s not so sure of what he saw, but he says nothing of the tears that trickle down her cheeks.)

vi.

they’re halfway to the infirmary when she speaks. he cradles her in his arms with one holding her shoulder and the other under her knees, and her face is almost flush to his breastplate. her hands are positioned over her stomach, tapping away idly.

it’s only when she’s been carried that she sees the exact mess done to her clothing: the front flap of her robe has been burnt up to her knees, and the sides were torn apart at various lengths but not reaching higher than her lower thighs. her silk stockings were frayed, ripped, and horribly discolored, but the garters holding them up were still intact. he protested at first, but he eventually gave in to making the sleeves of her robe into a makeshift bandage, tied securely on her right thigh. 

(it’s not like her sleeves were in a good condition anyway, so why not?)

so. doing your duties, huh? she asks.

his eyes are still set straight ahead, but he does spare her a glance.

what do you mean?

she snorts rather loudly before answering. carrying damsels in distress in your arms like they’re some spoils of war.

seyren frowns.

you’re no spoil of war, margaretha. you’re not an object that’s just to be won or left behind in battle.

damn right i’m not, she replies, then scoffs shortly after. or maybe i am - ruined by battles and then left to rot.

... i don’t know if that’s true. but believe me when i say that you are never in distress.

she raises an eyebrow, and she looks up at him.

no matter stubborn you may be... you find your way to victory, no matter what the cost. in the face of death, you find it in yourself to laugh. in extreme pain, you will yourself to hold back your tears.

seyren pauses to look at her, a small smile on his lips.

your strength is what makes you a damsel, and is what puts distress to shame.

(she finds herself at a loss for words.)

vii. (bonus)

... you consider me a damsel.

shouldn’t i?

both of us know i’ve fallen too far from grace to be called one.

... i don’t think that matters any longer.

what was that? speak louder.

... it’s nothing.

(perhaps he’ll just keep it to himself, that memory - - the memory of her knelt in front of a makeshift altar, back set straight, head tilted downwards, lips almost kissing the knuckles of her clasped fingers.)

(the memory of her voice, the drawing melody akin to that of a siren, a siren who pours her soul singing to angels and heaven above her; despite them forsaking her - )

(a tortured soul still singing her love and worship despite everything she’d been through, 

if that was not was not an act of grace,

then what else could it be?)

1: stylistically lowercase bc eyy i did it while at work and i’ll never see it ending - tho i will edit + check for typos later... maybe... when i get time... idk i think i butchered the ending so much for buildup uggggh  2: i have other ships for both seyren & margaretha but who am i kidding i always go back to these two whether platonic / romantic??? pls find the closest garbage can and shove me in, i’m trash 3: on another note talk about maturity rating + vague implications + formatting deficiencies wowee this escalated quickly than usual

[traderjoespicklebag]

Stella and Jenny

Stella and Jenny- Part 1 out of ? (It was originally only going to be a short story but I ended up falling in love with the characters and the storyline so this is going to be a whole series i guess)

Author: Peyton M. @hufflepuff-on-the-tardis @peys-shorts

Word count: 2,391

Jenny’s P.O.V.

I really don’t care if you re-blog so… here goes nothing!!

You know what is absolutely cruel? The way North Florida High makes me wait through multiple boring-ass classes that don’t teach me squat about actual things that I will need in life, all for the glorious thing that I call pizza, and then have it be the most shitty pizza on the planet. On top of that, they make me eat it in a room full of people. I hate it.

When I retrieve the shit pizza, I go and sit with my best (and only) friend, Max, who is already done with his pizza. Today his hair is a borderline neon shade of green, and only yesterday it was pink. I plop my rear end on the bench, and dig in. The pizza is doughy, greasy, and the cheese is totally fake, but right now, it is the best thing that I have ever tasted, I am so hungry. You see, I made the mistake of not eating breakfast this morning, which is in fact not good for a 16 year old girl who is only five feet tall but a totally kick ass skateboarder. Yep, that’s me, in case you were wondering.

As soon as I finish the pizza, Max stands up, and over all the noise, yells, “I’m going to head to the library.” I nod, and he walks away.

I hear someone calling my name, and turn around to see Stella Alden heading towards me, accompanied by her bratty bestie, Laura Jones. Laura hangs behind Stella as she comes up to me. She stops, and says, “Hey, Jenny. Do you know what the homework for last period is? I forgot to write it down yesterday…” Stella is in the same History class as I am. The thing about Stella is that she’s pretty, smart, has a great sense of style, and is one of the nicest people in the school. It just doesn’t seem fair to me, who is none of those things. It really pisses me off sometimes.

“Yeah. We were supposed to be writing an essay on the Trojan War,” I tell Stella. She smiles, thanks me, and then she and Laura saunter away, (this was mostly Laura) their long, blonde hair bouncing. I’ve never understood why Stella hangs out with that spoiled bitch. I sigh, and begin to stand up. Suddenly, I feel something hard hit the back of my head, and a cold liquid runs down my back. I whip around, and see a milk carton on the floor and Matthew Jackson and his entourage doubled over with laughter. He flipping had the nerve, I think. I start shaking with rage, and I’m seeing red. I’ve had to deal with Matthew’s shit since my freshman year, and I decide that I am done. I begin to storm up to him, but someone steps in front of me. It’s Stella.

“You asshole.” This was the first time I’d ever heard Stella swear, and by the astonished looks of everyone around me, it was their first time, too. Matthew stops laughing, and his mouth hangs open. “Leave her alone. If you’re going to bully her like that, you’ll have to do it to me.” Stella places her hands on her hips, waiting. We all know that he would do nothing to hurt her, seeing as she’s A) Popular and B) Naturally good-looking. Matthew grunts, and he turns around, and walks away, shoulders hunched, and his gang following close behind him. Stella makes a small hmph noise, and says, “That’s what I thought.”      

Laura looks back and forth between her friend and Matthew, then hurries after Matthew, yelling, “Wait up! She didn’t mean it!”

“Heck right I did!” Stella says. She turns around to face me, and begins to say something but I interrupt her, saying politely, “Thank you, but I could’ve handled it myself.” Her eyes widen, and she replies with,

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to… I mean… Sorry.” I tell her that it’s cool, and head to the bathroom to clean myself up. I wipe the milk from my short, red hair, and curse myself for choosing today to wear my favorite Paramore t-shirt. I throw away the poor paper towels, reapply another coat of plum lipstick, and am on my way to my next class.

When I get to my last class for that day, my History class with the ancient Mrs. Leeman, I sit next to Max after handing in my Trojan War essay. “I heard about lunch,” Max whispers to me. I shrug, and open my textbook to page 97, like Mrs. Leeman wrote to do on the whiteboard. On the top of the page, it says, “World War II.”

I look up from my book just in time to see Mrs. Leeman go up to the front of the classroom, and she says, “Today, I am going to be assigning partners for a group PowerPoint project on World War Two. I know, we’ve already gone over this, but you each will be focusing on a different part of the world during that era.” I groan. I hate group projects from the bottom of my heart, and if Mrs. Leeman will be choosing our partners, who know who I’ll end up with?

She begins to call out names. “Laney will be with Dillon, Rose with Rory, Jaiden and Terrianna, Amalia and Tyler, Parker and Haiden, Sadie with Sean, Taylor and John, Luka and Dean, Saniya with Harry, and Jane with Max,” Max stands up to go join his partner, and my heart drops into my stomach. “So that leaves… Stella and Jenny.” Shit.

I stand up, my face burning red. I go and stand with Stella, who gives me a large, blinding smile, and I give a small one in return. I realize that Stella is a whole lot taller than I am, and I try to stand up a little straighter, because I’m not about to be outdone by Stella Alden. I am still only as tall as her shoulders now. It’s okay. I’m used to being short.

Mrs. Leeman tells everyone which part of the world we would be researching for the WW2 project, and when she gets to Stella and I, she says America. I feel a bit better about this stupid project, since we wouldn’t have to do it on another country. We go and sit down at Stella’s desk, and divvy out responsibilities. I need to collect information on the military, and Stella would focus on the civilian aspect of things. We exchange phone numbers and E-mails, and I go back to my desk, and Mrs. Leeman tells us that when we have finished, we are dismissed for the day.

I go out the classroom door without looking back, and head to my locker. I grab my backpack and my gym clothes, which are in desperate need of a wash. I begin to hurriedly walk outside when someone taps me on the back. I turn around, and see that it is Max. “Hey,” he says.

“What’s up?” I ask. He smiles slightly, and I know exactly what he is going to say before he says it. “Nope. Nu-uh. Not again. I mean it. This is the fourth time this month.” Max has been trying to set me up with a boyfriend for as long as I can remember. He would set up dates for me with guys that I don’t even know, then expect for there to be some sort of spark or something. As much as I love Max, (platonically) I tend to get a tad annoyed whenever he does this. Just a tad. The last one went especially horribly after the guy who I was with tried to kiss me and I kinda freaked out and yelled, “HOLY FUCK NO!” way too loudly and got us kicked out of the restaurant. My bad, I should have known that explicit language was not allowed in that fine eatery.

“Can’t you just accept the fact that I’m perfectly fine being single?” And plus, I like girls. I don’t say that out loud, but I think it. I haven’t told anyone yet, not even Max. I figured it out after I saw this hot ginger in Publix a few weeks ago and had the overwhelming urge to kiss her. I didn’t, (sadly) and I ended up not even saying a word to her. On the drive home, I realized that this may be why I haven’t ever had a boyfriend. ‘Cause I’m a lesbian.

“Nope, I can’t accept it,” Max says, smirking.

“Have you ever thought about the fact you are single? You idiotic goose.” Max smiles.

“What a lovely name. I almost like it. Much better than the usual spread.”

“Shut your mouth, you filthy son of a bitch.” I sigh, and we go out to my car. I unlock the doors, and throw my backpack into the trunk. I am max’s ride to and from his house because he is still fifteen, thus he is not able to drive for another two months. As we pass the park, I turn down the radio, which is up all the way, and ask, “What time, and where? And what’s his name?”

“Five thirty, El Jalisco’s, and Dillon.” I nod, and turn into our neighborhood. I drop him off at his place, which is at the beginning of the six mile long drive to my house. I really like being in the car, the car radio blaring Twenty One Pilots, (ha-ha, get it??) and the bumpy road making my car shake softly.

I pull into the driveway, and get out of the car. I grab my gym clothes from the trunk, but leave my backpack. I’ll get it later. I unlock the front door, and step in. My little sister, Jamie, and my brother, Joshua, aren’t home yet, because Jamie’s only in 6th grade, and Joshua’s in 8th. Middle school doesn’t get out until about 4:30, and they take the bus home, so that means they normally are home at about 4:50-ish, which is good for me, so I have some time to do my homework while the house is quiet, even though I have all weekend to do it. I get started with math, and then move on to science and English. Before I know it, it’s nearly 4:00. I decide to start getting ready for tonight, and head up to my room. I hop in the shower, then wrap myself in a fluffy towel and brush out my short, brown hair. I slap on some heavy eyeliner, mascara, and bright red lipstick, and decide to give whoever I’m on the date with tonight a chance.

I put on my one pair of jeans that don’t have holes in the knees, and a clean Twenty One Pilots t-shirt. In my opinion, I look pretty nice, at least, nicer than usual. I check my phone. 4:30. I go downstairs, and turn on the television. I watch Doctor Who, and Joshua and Jamie come home. They go right into their rooms and get started on their homework. They often complain about how much their teachers make them do, and it always takes all of my willpower not to say, “It’ll only get worse.”

5:15 comes before I know it, and I grab my keys and hit the road. The drive to El Jalisco’s only takes me about ten minutes, so I go ahead and go inside the restaurant. There is a server (who is my age and totally good looking) who shows me to my table. I order a Sprite, and wait for Dillon to show up. Five minutes passes, then ten, and twenty. My waitress keeps coming back and refilling my drink, giving me looks of pity. It takes thirty minutes for me to realize that my date fucking stood me up. I want to blame Max, but he isn’t responsible for the actions of his friend, who I’ve never met but I’m already assuming is a d-bag. I mean, who leaves an amazing girl like me hanging like this?

I pay for my drinks, and leave the restaurant. On the drive home, I think of what a crappy day today has been. I call Max. “Hey, Jenny. How’s the date going?”

“He didn’t show,” I say, stopping at a red light.

“What do you mean?” I don’t respond. “Oh my god, I’m going to kill that-“

“Listen, I have to go. Talk to you tomorrow.” I hang up, and pull into my driveway. I go inside, and see that my Mom is already home from work. She is sitting with Joshua and Jamie at the dinner table, dishing peas onto Jamie’s plate. “Hey honey. Where have you been?”

“Nowhere. I’m going to bed.” I begin to turn around, but my mom says,

“Jenn, why don’t you eat some dinner?” I tell her that I’m not hungry, and go up to my room. This has been a shitty day if there ever was one. I put in my earbuds and get on Tumblr. I have a new message from The_potato_171023, who’s real name is Lizzie. She is someone that I’ve been talking to for a couple of months now. She is my age, and runs a fandom blog, like me. I haven’t talked to her in real life yet, but she is easily my second best friend. She said, Hey. Five minutes ago.

I message Lizzie back, saying, Hey. Wuts up?

She responds immediately, Nothing much. U?

I’ve had a pretty crappy day. Date stood me up, I type.

Sucks. Theyre obviously not worth ur time. Don’t think about it too much. U don’t need them. Ur beautiful. I think about this, and realize that she’s right.

Thx, I type back. I turn off my light, and turn up my earbuds. It doesn’t matter. I’m a fabulous little lesbian, anyways. I decide to come out tomorrow. Look out, world.

There will be a part 2 in a different P.O.V.