#brain of a senile old man goddamn | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

alirhi · 3 years

Text

How I'd have done TFATWS pt 1

Okay, I am such a whore for positive attention that, yes, it literally only takes one person expressing interest to get me to do something lol. So, for the lovely @goblin-tea, here is how The Falcon and the Winter Soldier would have gone for Bucky if I'd been a writer on the show!

Also, shoutout to @gunshou, who popped up showing support when I was in the middle of writing this lol 😘

Episode 1: New World Order

I actually love how most of this episode was handled; it's what drew me into the show in the first place, and gave me such hope for the rest of it. Most of the changes that I'd make here are pretty minor, tbh.

I'd specify the setting in some way for Bucky's nightmare. Obviously, since he was there and knows what happened, when, and where he was, it wouldn't be like the setting changes in movies where they slap a big, bold title card over the scene. Still, I'd probably open with a brief establishing shot showing the city skyline or something; some identifying feature so that viewers can work out where this happened without needing a direct statement from Marvel (note: if you need to directly address your audience to clarify something from within your story, you're a bad storyteller). What year did this take place? I show technology from the time; perhaps a dated cell phone in someone's hand. The point is to establish where and when The Winter Soldier killed RJ Nakajima, without detracting from the emotional impact of the scene. Why does it matter? Because we should know why. Why is Bucky dreaming about this particular incident? Was it his last mission before the events of CA:TWS (a theory I see frequently repeated but with no evidence to back it up)? Was it earlier on? Is RJ only on the forefront of Bucky's mind because of his (unhealthy, but we'll get to that) friendship with Yori? How long has Yori been suffering under the weight of his grief?

I would not have had him crash through the wall, btw. As cool as that shot looked, let's try to remember that The Winter Soldier was a ghost story for 70 years. Ghosts don't leave giant gaping holes in hotel walls. I'm not saying brazen wholesale destruction is out of character for him (obviously not. I've seen CA:TWS lmao. many times. this moment lives rent-free in my brain:

found on google without credit; pls lmk if it's yours so I can credit.

but you don't become a "ghost story" if you always leave that much evidence, ijs)

I'd leave the terrible therapy session alone. That scene was beautiful. Beautifully shot; I loved how claustrophobic it felt, and it really did a wonderful job of showing how Bucky felt on the spot, scrutinized, almost put on display for this bitch woman. This scene establishes Raynor as clearly wrong, and an unprofessional mess, and Bucky calls her out on it. I fucking love that!

lmao gods, I love his painfully awkward forced smile... Guys, this episode is fkn great. (betcha weren't expecting so much praise from me, were you? 😂)

"You're free." "To do what?"

👆👆👆 In my show? That would have more of an impact on Bucky's arc. That question would be one of the underlying issues moving his whole story along. Twice in this show, he's told that he's free, but no one addresses what he's free from, much less what he's free to do next.

It's a minor thing, but when Yori tells Bucky to ask Leah out? I'd have Bucky do more than just shake his head in silent horror. Not much more, just something that matters to me as someone who's worked in the service industry for many, many years and dealt with too many creepos: Bucky would flat-out say "she's at work! that's harassment, Yori!"

Yori can still stomp right past that boundary, and Leah can still smile and agree. I just really want someone to verbally acknowledge that you don't fucking ask someone out when they're at work. Ever. Bucky cringing and apologizing puts the power of the conversation back in Leah's hands; it gives her an out to politely decline if she's not interested, and just laugh off Yori's flirting on Bucky's behalf as a senile old man being silly, so I'm actually fine with how this scene turned out. I just would personally have gone that extra inch there for the idiots in the audience who don't get Bucky's subtle "wtf" reaction and why Yori's suggestion was so bad. If someone's livelihood depends on being nice to you, keep your goddamn distance. Flirting with them or asking them out when they're at that big of a disadvantage and have virtually no power to say "no" is harassment.

Here is where I'd make one more subtle change, too. When Yori sees the mochi and is reminded of his son, and tells Bucky about his death, I'd just slip in a time frame. "x years ago, my son was..." blah. (Guys, it really bothers me not knowing when that scene took place rofl can you tell?)

One complaint I've seen a lot online about this show is how it's a bit murky on just how well known Bucky is in-universe. He can walk around Brooklyn with more or less total anonymity, but he's also recognized as "an Avenger" (when he was never actually technically in the group)... but honestly? I think it's actually pretty realistic. Just because someone's famous doesn't mean every single person on the planet knows who they are and what they look like well enough to instantly recognize them on the street. People look different in photos than in person, and pre-Blip, Bucky had the complete Jesus look - long flowing hair and a full beard. In TFATWS he's a little scruffy, but not this:

Sebastian looks like about 10 different men from one moment to the next just irl with a change in haircut, lighting, expression, whether or not he got enough sleep the night before... 😂 I don't really find it hard to believe that people not expecting to bump into an Avenger would have trouble seeing Bucky post-haircut as anything other than just another attractive white guy.

Anyway! Sorry for the segue lol. On to the date!

Earlier in this very same goddamn episode, it is established that Bucky can remotely operate a car with a tablet. This is not a technologically-inept geezer. This is a 30-something nerd who loves new technology, who, yes, is facing a brave new world and a whole lot of new technology, but has never shown any issue picking it up. The crappy flip phone he handed Raynor earlier? a burner to keep her out of what little personal life he does have (we never see it again in the real show, anyway). The "tiger photos" line? Stays, not to show Bucky's floundering ineptitude with technology, but as a little nod to his bisexuality. (don't like it? don't wanna see Bucky as bi? go watch the show and read Skogland's borderline-offensive interviews. This isn't "how I would pander to a homophobic audience" it's "how I would have written it." the "Bucky is bi" interpretation is super fucking common and has been since TFA so bite me 😁)

Tiny nitpick, but I'd also have the Battleship boards actually set up properly lmao. What even was that? Anyway...

I don't think I'd have Leah get all ranty about Yori and RJ. That's not first date talk, for one thing. For another, let's ease up on the beating Bucky and the audience over the head with that one incident in a single episode, shall we? Instead, I'd have her stick with the date questions - she asked his age, asked about his family; I'd have her follow it with questions about what he does for a living (giving us a chance to not only actually have that question answered for us - how the hell does Bucky keep himself from being homeless? lol - but also set up...)

He shuts down a little when she starts asking about his past; she's innocently curious, just trying to get to know him, but he's flinchy and deflects with questions about her. The date is awkward, but doesn't abruptly end with him running away lol. He walks Leah home, like the old-fashioned gentleman he is, goes home, himself, and end on him grimacing in his sleep, in the clutches of another nightmare: not as much detail as the RJ murder scene, we see disjointed, disorienting images of fluorescent lights glinting off of machinery, the occasional shot of Bucky writhing in the chair, a shot of that damned notebook (to remind the dumber audience members why Raynor's passive-aggressive notebook thing was so triggering for him), and we hear echoes of a couple of the trigger words, and Bucky's screams.

#tfatws #tfatws critical #how it should have gone #if i'd written it #bucky deserved better #bucky was a victim #victim not villain #take your victim blaming bullshit and fucking choke on it #episode 1

13 notes · View notes

ace-pierre-bezukhov · 2 years

Text

My Great Comet dream roles ranked from i really wanna play this role to i would literally pay you to let me say sing one note as them

11. Helene - she’s so damn cool and badass that i WANT to play her, but i’m so afraid i wont be able to pull off her sheer Coolness™️. Also her song is HARD god i wish that were me

10. Andrey/OPB - Andrey’s a bitch ass. However, pierre and andrey is one of my favorite songs to sing in the shower. Also i have been type cast as an old old senile man at least 3 times, so OPB is right up my alley

9. Dolokhov - he’s a funny little guy, i’m a funny little guy, its a match made in heaven. Also i’d have to learn the guitar for him, but i think Dolokhov playing a little ukulele would be comedy gold

8. Mary - god. Her vocals. Not only does she get some of the best harmonies, but she gets to be part of The Opera??? Sign me the fuck up

7. Balaga - i just want to be a dirty chaos gremlin! Is that so much to ask!!

6. The Ensemble - i want to dance around with an instrument (im learning accordion!) and the HARMONIES!! THE HARMONIES YOU GUYS!!

5. Sonya - she’s got THEE most gorgeous songs, even if they are a smidge low. She’s just so sweet i want so badly to dissect her brain for character development purposes

4. Marya - girlboss. Need i say more. (I will: i just want to sing In My House SO BAD)

3. Anatole - my type when it comes to dreamroles is Assholes with a questionable heart of gold who become better people (sorta). Anatole is just an asshole but by god do i want to see him played by a woman. Namely me

2. Natasha - the most realistic dream role on this list tbh. I might either die or astral project into another plane of existence if i ever got to play her. HER SONGS ARE SO PRETTY. I WANNA BE PRETTY DISNEY PRINCESS TOO 😫

1. Pierre - duh. I mean. How could we have ever seen this coming /sarc. Pierre will always and forever be my dream role in this show. His arc and his music and his vibe are everything to me and i love him so so much. (Im learning the goddamn ACCORDION have i mentioned that) i will not be normal until i get to sing Dust And Ashes on stage. Actually maybe not even then

#here’s my comprehensive break down of how much i want to play every single character in great comet #one of these days i’ll do a one woman show of it and it’ll be over for yall #until then… i can dream #great comet #i should probably start tagging my original posts bc some of them are SO self indulgent #uhhhhhh….#mod’s newly melted heart #thats the tag now <3 #great comet dream roles

6 notes · View notes

thegreymoon · 2 years

Text

Squid Game

I mean, I know she’s annoying af, but she deserves better than this thieving, abusive weasel!

I don’t understand women who look at an obviously horrible human being on all fronts and go, “Damn, I want me a piece of that!” Like, girl, no, wtf are you doing? In a life-and-death game no less! Team up with the North Korean girl if you don’t want to go through this alone! She’s more capable and has more integrity!

***

Well, at least he hasn’t fried all his braincells completely yet and is starting to figure out his buddy is an evil piece of shit who set them all up.

***

The people you are looking to for justice just killed 350 of you 😕

***

They are harvesting organs now, because of course they are 😕

But haven’t these poor people been dead for too long for the organs to still be viable? Or were they not fully dead before they put them on that table?

***

The way they made the lights flash to increase the chaos, smh.

I think the most painful part of all this is how these people still delude themselves into thinking they can be the ones to win and that they can somehow walk out of here alive.

***

Finally, someone realised it, and it’s the senile old man with a brain tumour.

***

Well. That was carnage.

***

LOL. Sure. 🙄

***

Yes. Kill him, please.

I am rooting for you!!

***

Hell death.

This show is particularly upsetting for me because I hate competitive games. Granted, I would have been killed by the evil doll in the first one in the first twenty seconds, and if I survived that, I would most definitely not have come back for the second time. I may be a coward, but if I was desperate enough, I would rather kill myself than put myself through this protracted death.

***

Yep, the people are still alive for the organ harvesting 😕

***

This goddamn show is so stressful.

#squid game #sg spoilers #sg ep04

3 notes · View notes

angel-with-a-pipette · 3 years

Text

I finished Melody of Memory

I have strong feelings.

Now don’t get me wrong, I’ve been kind of prepared to not expect too many new cutscenes and that was a good thing because I might have been a little disappointed otherwise. Yeah, this isn’t a big KH game and more of a trip down memory lane, but c’mon, Nomura. Throw us a bone, will ya?

Anyways. Let me try to order this chronologically.

KAIRI. CAN. FIGHT. Did you see her fight against Xehanort?

Man, that was awesome. Yeah, I know, she lost, yadda yadda, this is Xehanort, we’re speaking about. The dude who took on Terra, Aqua and Ven two to three? So don’t you dare complain, that girl had a hard enough time already (not gonna lie though, I kinda hoped she would kick his bald ass in the face).

And THEN. HER BOYFRIEND. He’s fucking DEAD (or ~on the other side~, I’ll get to that) BUT HE STILL PROTECTS HIS BELOVED GIRLFRIEND AND I AM

I legitimately screamed. Nomura feeds me so well in this game.

Also, anybody else realize how both Sora’s and Kairi’s themes include

Because I did. And I am living the dream.

By the way. Xehanort. Honey? God, that’s not how you talk to a four year old. Especially not a frightened four year old. And just - how far back do the MoM’s plans go? I mean I’ll probably have to watch the cutscenes again but really. Xehanort.

Now. Not-Noctis and not-Versus and not-Stella.

I had two years to accept the fact that not-Versus will be most likely included in KH one way or another. I’m still not thrilled, far from it, but at least not-Stella isn’t being a little bitch and isn’t outright attacking sunshine boy. I can say her being the third Key is way better than Yozora being it although it’s obvious not-Stella isn’t doing much (she might serve as the gateway in the future again but that’s about it for her Key role at least) and Yozora surely will have a bigger role. Eh. Not looking forward to it, but I didn’t have to see the dude that fucking froze my boy in the bad ending and that is always a plus.

By the way, the Fairy Godmother told not-Stella her dream would come true soon. According to our time or Nomura-time?

The other side/world/fiction - or maybe it’s reality after all? Not sure what I am supposed to think of it. The moment Ansem the Wise talked about it, I joked about our characters finding out they’ve been the fictional world all along, but after seeing the segment in Yen Sid’s tower, damn, I’m not so sure anymore Sounds like Yozora’s world was the original and we’re either in the Datascape or another word. World line, I guess? Hello headache my old friend.

Now. Oh boy.

Get ready for an explosion.

YEN SID, THIS LITTLE PIECE OF SHIT, SITTING WITH HIS ASS ON HIS CHAIR IN HIS TOWER ALL DAY, ONLY GETTING UP ONCE IN THE LAST 11 YEARS AT LEAST, LET KAIRI BE PUT INTO A TIMELESS FOREST FOR APPARENTLY NOT A LOT TIME AT ALL DESPITE, you know, HAVING ALL THE TIME IN THE GODDAMN WORLD ONLY TO PULL HER OUT TOO EARLY AND TOO INEXPERIENCED TO FIGHT, DIRECTLY CAUSING SORA’S DEATH, HAS THE AUDACITY TO ASK KAIRI IF SHE WANTS TO CONTINUE TRAINING UNDER MERLIN, THE MOST INCOMPETENT SWORDS TEACHER BECAUSE HE WIELDS NO SWORD.

ARE YOU KIDDING ME?

But dear sweet, little Kairi (no seriously, she’s so tiny next to Riku, it’s so cute) has more of a brain THAN ALL MASTERS COMBINED and TELLS Yen Sid she wants THE QUEEN OF KINGDOM HEARTS TO TRAIN HER.

AQUA

I don’t think I’ve screamed that much since Sora and Kairi hugged in Re:Mind and clapped so hard my hands hurt.

GOOD ON YOU SWEETIE. TELL THE OLD SENILE WIZARDS TO FUCK OFF.

There is definitely more, but it’s late, I have to sort my thoughts and definitely need to rewatch the cutscenes, too, because, uhm, Radiant Garden? Hope? What now?

Well. It’s finally time to undo all the spoiler blocks LMAO.

#KHMoM #Kingdom Hearts Melody of Memory #KHMoM spoilers #KH spoilers #MoM spoilers #I had way too much fun with the gifs

28 notes · View notes

onewfantaesy · 4 years

Note

Undivorced au!!! *ugly, red eyed crying* I just thought about Jinki's parents being so good to Taemin. And then his dad skipped out on dinner and it upset him so much! And then my brain turned on me and just imagined Jinki's dad hearing about ir and showing up with dinner for the boys or to take Taemin for a bite because he knows his dad sucks right now *intensified ugly cries*.

It’s the next week, Friday, when Taemin finally sees his father. He comes in for s trainee evaluation, and it’s nerve wracking even though Taemin knows he’s one of the best dancers. The way his father hardly even looks at him - that’s what makes him so nervous. He knows he upset his parents, but he doesn’t know why they’re being so mean about it. When the whole thing is over and Sooman moves to leave, that’s when Taemin takes his chance.

“Dad?” he calls, moving quickly. “Dad, please-”

“You’re not moving out of the dorms, Taemin.”

His voice is cold and callous and he’s never spoken to Taemin like that. Never. Taemin’s only ever heard that tone with employees who were one step away from getting fired.

“No, I,” he stutters, and he holds on to his father’s hand to keep him from leaving. “Why didn’t we have dinner last week?”

Then his father turns around and looks at Taemin, and it makes him step back and let go of his hand and focus his eyes on his father’s shoulder.

“Because the last time we had our dinner together, you acted like an ungrateful spoiled brat. You clearly don’t like our dinners together anymore, you clearly think you’re too good for them, so we won’t be having them anymore. Perhaps some time to yourself will give you some time to think and grow up a little.”

“But - but, Dad-”

“Goodbye, Taemin.”

It’s like his parents get off on saying these sorts of things so loudly around other people, especially other trainees. Taemin feels his chest tighten, feels the way his hands shake so he curls them into fists as he watches hus father leave and hears all the other trainees and even the instructors whispering about him. After a minute of standing completely rigid, he bolts out of the room and goes to one of the lesser used dance rooms, the one everyone says is haunted and avoids like the plague. No one will bother him there.

“Perhaps you should grow up a little,” he mocks in the mirror, the music loud and his dancing a little too intense. “You’re such a spoiled brat Taemin. I hate you Taemin. I wish we’d never had you Taemin. You’re a disappointment Taemin.”

He dances for hours. Hours and hours, until well after the sun has set, until well after all trainees were supposed to leave. He’s exhausted and his legs feel like jelly and his head hurts, but he flat out refuses to cry. He’s cried too much lately. He’s not a baby, he can’t be crying this much. It’s pathetic.

“I’ll show you,” he seethes at the mirror. “I’ll be the best goddamn idol there’s ever been, I’ll be better than anyone. And it will be no thanks to you, I’m never gonna thank you, never gonna mention you ever.”

He’s breathing too heavily and he’s sweating too much and he doesn’t even notice the door crack open.

“Spoiled brat? You’re the brat you stupid old asshole fuck you I can’t wait until you’re senile and I can put you in an old person home I’m gonna find the worst one in the country and stick you in it and never visit you ever and then you’ll know how it feels.”

He falls out of a turn and then screams and kicks his bag across the room. He’s crouched on the floor with his head in his arms trying to catch his breath when he hears the footsteps across the room.

“Hey there,” a man’s voice calls softly. “Shouldn’t you be home by now?”

Taemin turns to him, still crouched, and he stares at the man coming towards him.

“You’re new,” is all Taemin says.

The man laughs. He looks young. Maybe his early 20s.

“I am,” he says. “A new manager. In training, sort of.”

“A trainee manager? That’s new.”

“You’re a funny one, you know that?”

Taemin’s lips twitch at the smile the man sends him.

“You should stop training for the day. You look tired,” the man says softly. “Have you had dinner?”

Taemin shakes his head.

“Come on,” he says, holding his hand out. “I haven’t had dinner yet either. It will be my treat.”

Taemin lets the new manager help him up, lets the man sling an arm around his shoulders and guide him downstairs and to the convenience store across the street.

“What’s your name?” Taemin asks. “You’re not kidnapping me, are you?”

“I’m not kidnapping you,” the man laughs, urging him to pick out his favorite instant ramen. “After you eat, I’m gonna call you a cab to take you home.”

“I live in the dorms,” Taemin says quietly.

“Aren’t you a little young for that?”

“You didn’t tell me your name.”

“Oh! I’m Euisoo. And what’s your name, little trainee?”

“Taemin.”

Taemin likes this Euisoo guy. He’s nice to him. Walks him to the dorm, even up to the apartment to make sure he gets inside safely. It makes Taemin feel better, having someone looking out for him.

But Taemin is in a funk for a long time because of what his dad says to him. Because of their dinners being cancelled.

Then the next Friday, when he should be having dinner with his father, he’s instead dragged out of the building by Jinki and manhandled into the back of a car. When he sees Jinki’s father driving the car, he’s confused. He has no idea where they’re going, they won’t tell him, instead just talk about various topics ranging from school to sports teams. Taemin likes baseball, ends up talking about the NC Dinos for a full twelve minutes.

Then they’re at a restaurant and Taemin is being ushered into a booth to sit against the wall, Jinki sitting next to him and Jinki’s father sitting on the other side.

“I thought I’d take you boys to dinner,” is all he says. “Order anything you want. Both of you.”

Taemin end up ordering the same as Jinki, except he asks the waiter, “Can mine not have any cucumber, please?”

It’s not a problem, ordering it without cucumber. When he tells Jinki’s dad he hates cucumber, he nods his head.

“We’ll have to remember that in case Mom decides to send any food to you boys,” he says.

Taemin doesn’t know how to respond.

“Is there anything else you don’t like to eat?”

“I don’t like vegetables.”

It makes Jinki’s dad laugh, but it’s not in the condescending way Taemin’s dad always laughs at things he says.

“I think most kids don’t like vegetables,” his dad says. “It’s okay.”

It just makes Taemin happy. It feels like a real father-son dinner, like the way he and his dad used to have dinner at the beginning when he didn’t feel like his dad hated to even look at him.

“I think we should make this a little tradition, boys,” Jinki’s dad says with a big smile on his face. “How does every other week sound? Does that work with your boys’ schedules?”

Jinki is enthusiastic about it, eagerly agrees to it. Taemin just feels frozen. He wants to say yes. He wants to get dinner with Jinki and his dad and feel like he’s actually wanted. But what if his dad wants to start having dinner again? Is Taemin supposed to choose?

He keeps his head dipped and his hands clasped under the table, but he nods his head. He wants to have dinners like this. Happy ones. Actual family dinners. Maybe Jinki’s mom will join them one day, too, and Taemin can just pretend his Jinki’s little brother for a couple hours.

“And remember if you ever need anything,” Jinki’s father says to him, “you can always call me. I’ll always pick up if you call. And so will Jinki’s mother.”

“Thank you, sir.”

He leaves after giving both of the boys a big hug and telling them to be good, and it just gives Taemin a warm feeling. It’s not a feeling Taemin is used to having lately. He’s been wrapped up in a lot of negative emotions, so it’s nice to have someone there who actually wants to help him.

#taemin #shinee #onew #undivorced au

7 notes · View notes

queen-of-deans-booty · 4 years

Text

I Believe the Children Are Our Future: Part One

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word Count: 2,186

Warnings: typical supernatural violence, language, angst, blood, you know the usual

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Supernatural. All credit goes to their respective owners. Any and all comments on these are appreciated. I really want to hear what you guys think about this one!

Feedback is the glue that holds my writing together.

Tags at the bottom

“Agents Page, Plant, and Ronan,” Dean said as he held up his fake badge for the doctor to see.

There had been reports of strange deaths occurring in this town, but you didn’t really know how strange. The police report you found said something about a girl with a head injury from something that clawed through her skull. Normally it wasn’t your type of thing, but when you talked with the police that made the report, he was very nervous and he stuttered which made you think there was something supernatural about this.

“Gentlemen, Lady. What brings you by?” the doctor asked.

“We need to see Amber Freer's body,” you stated.

“Really? What for?”

“The police report said something clawed through her skull?”

“You didn't read the autopsy report that I emailed out this morning?”

“W-we had, uh, server issues,” Sam chuckled nervously.

The doctor motioned for you three to follow, and he led you to the room where the bodies were kept in freezers. He opened one and pulled the body out before removing the sheet from her head.

“When they brought her in, we thought she was attacked by a wolf or something,” the doctor explained as he showed you the claw marks on the side of her skull, “but we were wrong.” He picked up a plastic bad from the slab the body was laying on before showing it to you and the brothers.

“Is that a—”

“Pressed-on nail,” the doctor finished for you. “We found it in her temporal lobe.”

“You’re saying she did this to herself?” you asked, clearly shocked.

“Uh-huh. She scratched her brains out. It'd take hours, and it'd hurt like hell, but sure—it's possible.”

“How?”

“Pick your acronym—OCD, PCP. It all spells crazy,” the doctor sighed. Sam reached for the blanket and pulled it back further until the girl’s hands were shown. Amber’s right hand had four press-on nails still attached, but the middle finger has nothing on it. “My guess, some kind of phantom itch. I mean, an extreme case, but still.”

“Phantom itch?” Dean asked.

“Yup,” the doctor stated as he placed the sheet back over her body and put her back in the freezer. “All it takes is someone talking about an itch—or thinking about one, even—and suddenly you can't stop scratching.”

“Thanks, doc,” you smiled before leaving the morgue with the brothers.

Now you know why the police was nervous when you talked to them because they were curious about why she did this to herself or what caused it to happen.

“The family should still be a little fresh regarding information. We’re heading there next,” you said as you clutched the keys in your hand.

“When I agreed you could drive, I didn’t mean take over the whole goddamn investigation,” Dean joked as everyone got into the car.

“Get used to it,” you smirked before pulling out onto the street to head to the house where Amber died—the house in which she was babysitting.

While Sam was questioning the parents of Jimmy, the little boy who had Amber as a babysitter, you and Dean looked at the rest of the house for anything suspicious. The little boy, Jimmy, was watching from the kitchen because he seemed too scared to even go into the room with the FBI Agents who he thinks are real. As soon as you saw him, you nudged Dean before approaching the young boy.

“Whatcha lookin' for?” Jimmy asked hesitantly.

“Don’t know yet,” Dean answered.

“It’s Jimmy, yeah?” you asked and he nodded. “So, Amber was your babysitter?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he gulped.

“Did you, uh, you see anything strange that night?” Dean asked.

“No, sir.”

“You sure about that?”

“I—I would tell you if I knew something. I promise. One hundred percent. Cross my heart.”

“Well, Jimmy, I happen to know you're lying,” Dean began, but the young boy tried to get out of it.

“I'm not.”

“Jimmy,” you stated as you kneeled down which was more closer to his height than if you were to stand. “You’re not going to get in trouble. I promise you. What happened last night? You can tell us.”

“I didn’t mean to. I didn’t think it would work. I put it on her hairbrush,” he started crying as he pulled out what he used to prank his babysitter with.

Taking the object from his hand, you looked at the itching powder that claimed to work like a charm. Looking at Dean, you patted Jimmy’ shoulder as you stood up.

“Thank you for letting us know, Jimmy,” you said as you walked back over to Sam who was finishing up. He thanked the parents for their cooperation just as you three left the house.

“What did you find out?” Sam asked.

“Kid said he put this on the babysitter's hairbrush,” you explained as you held up the powder.

“Y/N, there’s no way itching powder made that girl scratch her brains out. It's just ground-up maple seeds.”

“If you have any other theories, I'm open to 'em,” you shrugged.

Sam’s phone rang as you approached the driver’s side door. He looked distressed as he talked to whoever was on the other line.

“Yeah?... Yeah, we'll be right there,” he sighed as he hung up.

“Who was that?”

“The police. There’s been another death.”

“Hospital it is then,” you chuckled as you got into the car and started her up.

The drive to the hospital wasn’t far, and when you got there, they were already putting a body in a body bag and zipping it shut.

“What happened?” Sam asked when he showed his badge.

“Guy got electrocuted,” the doctor answered.

“Any idea how?”

“Eh, maybe a loose wire or a piece of equipment shorted out. So far, we haven't found anything.”

“Witnesses?”

“Yeah, guy in there—Mr. Stanley,” he pointed out the old man who sat in a chair, looking out the window. “He says he saw it, but he's not making a lick of sense. Senile.”

“Thank you,” you nodded before going over to the man. “Mr. Stanley?”

“It was just a joke. I didn't know it would really work.”

“What would work?”

“All I did was shake his hand,” he sighed shakily as he held out his hand, and in the palm is a joy buzzer—the kid of toy that kids mean to shock others unexpectedly.

“Could I see that, please?” you asked as the old man handed it over. Careful not to touch the metal part, you looked at the brothers before leaving the room with them.

“What are you going to do with it?” Dean asked.

“Test it.”

Sam and Dean had industrial goggles on their eyes with black rubber gloves that welders use in case they get sparks on their skin. In the middle of the room was a large uncooked ham in two stacked aluminum-foil pans sitting on the table. Instead of wearing the same kind of goggles and gloves at they were, your magic was to protect you. Blue magic formed over your eyes to shield you from whatever is about to happen as well as over your hands and arms.

“You two ready?” you asked as you looked back at them.

“Hit it, Mr. Wizard,” Sam chuckled.

Rolling your eyes lightly, you turned back to the ham before placing the shocking ring on your finger. Taking a deep breath, you placed it to the ham which began to cook from the inside out. Shocked, pun intended, you pulled your hand away to reveal the burned ham.

“That’ll do pig,” Dean commented as he inched closer.

“What the hell?” Sam gasped. “That shit isn't supposed to work.”

“This thing doesn't even have batteries,” you said as you carefully placed the buzzer down before your magic went away. Both brothers took off their gloves and glasses before Dean took out his knife and began cutting the meat.

“So, what? Are we looking at cursed objects?”

“Sounds about right,” Dean said as he ate the meat. “Maybe there's a powerful witch in town. Is there any link between the, uh, the joy buzzer and the itching powder?”

“Uh, one was made in China, the other Mexico, but they were both bought from the same store.”

“Hmm,” Dean muttered as he continued to eat.

“Come on, Dean,” you sighed as you grabbed his arm and lead him out of the door.

The only place in town that would sell this kind of things was a magic shop which didn’t take too long to get to. As soon as you approached the shop, you walked inside which sounded the bell above the door.

“Sam! Y/N!” Dean grinned as he held up a whoopee cushion. Rolling your eyes, you walked to the counter just as the owner came out of the back room.

“Welcome to the Conjurarium, sanctum of magic and mystery.”

“Are you the owner?” you asked.

“Yep.”

“You sold any itching powder or joy buzzers lately?”

“Yeah, a grand total of one of each. They aren't exactly big-ticket items. Look, you folks here to buy something or what?” he asked. Dean held up some cash before placing it and the whoopee cushion on the counter.

“So, you get many customers?” you asked.

“Kids come in. They don't buy much, but they're more than happy to break stuff. These days, all they care about are their iPhones and those kissing-vampire movies. The whole thing makes me just—”

“Angry?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I am angry. This shop has been my life for twenty years, and now it's wasting away to nothing.”

“Which is why you hate them.”

“I suppose.”

“You wish there was something you could do about it.”

“Yeah, I guess I do.”

“So, you're taking revenge,” Dean said as he snatched a rubber chicken off the display and slaps it down on the counter before holding up the buzzer, “with this.” He pressed the buzzer to the chicken which melted it immediately from the shock. The owner jumped back and yelped, taking a seat on whatever he could find.

“Oh! No!” he stuttered, making inarticulate noises.

“Yeah, something tells me this guy is not a powerful witch,” you muttered with an apologetic smile at the man.

“Sorry. Sorry,” Dean apologize as you three scrambled to get out before you caused any more danger.

“I thought that was a rumor,” you said as you walked down the stairs from the second floor of the hospital.

There had been kids that drank and ate pop rocks and coke which caused them to have stomach ulcers. There was also a man whose face was stuck in a certain… position… and they needed a plastic surgeon to come to see if they could fix it. All of these things were rumors and tales, so why were they coming true?

“Yeah well, when you’re a kid, you’ll believe anything,” Dean chuckled just as Sam walked out of the room belonging to a man whose teeth are all missing.

“What's up with Toothless? Cavity creeps get ahold of him?” Dean asked his brother.

“Yeah. Close. He wrote up a description,” he cleared his throat as he read from his notebook. “Five foot ten, three hundred fifty pounds, wings, and a pink tutu. Said it was the tooth fairy.”

“So, he's obviously whacked out on painkillers.”

“Maybe. Whatever it was got past locked doors and windows without triggering the alarm. Plus, it left thirty-two quarters underneath his pillow. One for each tooth.”

“Well, I will see your crazy and raise you some. There's a couple of kids upstairs with stomach ulcers—say they got it from mixing Pop Rocks and Coke. Another guy... his face... froze that way,” you indulged.

“What way?” Sam asked.

Dean looked all around him to see if anyone was watching before he pulled the sides of his mouth so that his teeth showed and crossed his eyes. He holds it for a minute before letting go.

“He held it too long and it stuck. They're flying in a plastic surgeon,” you sighed.

“So, I mean, if you add all that up,” Sam hesitated before sighing. “I got nothing.”

“I thought that if you swallowed chewing gum, it would stick in your stomach for seven years before you’re able to pass it through.”

“What?” Dean asked.

“I also thought that saying, “step on a crack and you break your mother’s back” was true. I mean, I was seven, but I believed it.”

“What’s your point?”

“I mean that’s the connection we’re missing. The tooth fairy, the Pop Rocks and Coke, the joy buzzer that shocks you—they're all lies that kids believe and now they’re coming true.”

“Okay, so whatever's doing this is—is reshaping reality. It has the powers of a god. Or of a trickster,” Sam rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, with the sense of humor of a nine-year-old.”

“Or you,” Sam smirked at his brother before leaving your side.

Dean frowned, but you giggled as you passed him since you knew he was right. Dean’s frown deepened, but he followed nonetheless.

Wanna get tagged? Add yourself to this document! If your tag doesn’t work, find out why!

@sing4mejensen @essie1876 @gh0stgurl @redsalv20 @superrandomnatural @scarletmeii @babypink224221 @gaveherhearttotheliontattoo @akshi8278 @a--1--1--3 @kendlemariee @miraclesoflove @earthtokace @teamfreewillsstuff @fandom-princess-forevermore @kiwihoee @jennazeise @phantomalchemist @posiemax @22sarah08 @tricksterdean @andi-mendes-barnes @put-my-favorite-record-on

36 notes · View notes

jeremy-heresy · 5 years

Text

My Reactions to WhatCulture Wrestling’s “20 INSANE Vince McMahon Stories Leaked By Secret WWE Source”

https://youtu.be/cFF6SrJEgDE

undefined

youtube

If you haven’t come across this video, grab a drink, relax in a comfy chair, and get ready to spit that drink all over your screen, because some of these stories in this video are truly terrible.

All set? Good! Let’s begin starting with 20! And warning, this about to be a loooong post.

#20. This makes me feel bad for the writers who do produce some good storylines and writing that get ignored because it doesn’t appeal to good ol’ Vince. Furthermore, it’s utter nonsense that it’s whatever Vince wants that goes. Like, should Vince have some say? Sure, he’s the owner of the company. But it shouldn’t just be up to him, because God knows he doesn’t have the viewer’s interests in mind when he’s approving a majority of the stuff that gets put on TV.

#19. Why am I not surprised that the B.S. Wild Card rule came about in such a fashion? It’s been a disaster since it was put into place and just prevents the unfeatured superstars on each roster from actually being used. For example, Finn Balor and Shinsuke Nakamura were originally scheduled to be on a recent SmackDown Live, but it was bumped to being the dark match so that we could see more of Shane McMahon (the subject of a post that I need to make in the future).

#18. Again, feel a little bad for the creative team when they pitch something that may actually be good. Vince’s grasp over the group, as we all know, is making the product worse, and if the old bellend actually took a moment to consider the ideas thrown at him, maybe we’d get some quality television.

#17. Of course, another aspect that Vince totally ruins! I know the brand split is coming to an end (thanks ya damned Wild Card rule), but how are we honestly supposed to believe that the brands are different if so much stuff is so similar? I’m sure I’m preaching to the choir with such a question, but nevertheless. It makes matches like RAW vs SmackDown elimination matches at Survivor Series utterly pointless.

#16. To absolutely no one’s surprise, Vinny doesn’t watch NXT. Y’know what? That’s probably for the best; let Trips continue to oversee and put on excellent shows with the NXT brand(s). Otherwise, if Vinny Mac were to get his hands on this, we’d watch NXT and NXT UK, two of the few saving graces WWE has at this point, burn down in front of our very eyes.

#15. “VKM? Unaware? Who woulda thought, eh?” asked no one ever. I get it, he’s busy running a billion-dollar company, having meetings, working out, etc., but he can’t spare five minutes to check out what’s going on in the world today? Not even the wresting world that he wants to dominate? FFS, man! Hopefully the start of AEW TV will change that once they develop more and more of a following.

#14. I was actually unaware of this bit of information, and now that I know this I gotta say, much respect to Dana Brooke. I know I was negative about her when she first debuted on RAW, but this changes this. She deserves praise for putting in the hard work to become the best women’s wrestler she can be, but clearly Vince is the biggest roadblock to her showcasing her new skills.

#13. Not a big surprise. That’s all I’m going to say.

#12. The New Age Outlaws reunion? Probably not, but I would be fine with watching Road Dogg go to AEW. I’m sure he could do some incredible work behind the scenes in the promotion that he wouldn’t be able to do in WWE.

#11. So Vince loses interest easily... there’s a word for that, what is it again? Oh that’s right:

#10. I’d love to see an absolute list of the people who are trying to get out of Dodge right now. The talent are unhappy and they have a right to be, as should the writers. Is the money really worth the frustration? Only time can tell.

#9. To quote Kanye West to repeat another point I made, “NO ONE MAN SHOULD HAVE ALL THAT POWER!” Things could have been much more solid for both brands if they had stuck with something and not changed it on the whims of a senile old man who finds humor in jokes for children.

#8. YOU’RE GODDAMN RIGHT HE IS! To no one’s surprise, the best thing on RAW every week is the brain child of Bray Wyatt, and this confirms for me that the Eater of Worlds and host of Firefly Fun House is a locker room leader.

#7. I honestly don’t know how to react to this one. Certainly weird, but I just... Why is she their boss? I know she’s Ultimate Warrior’s wife but like... ugh, moving on.

#6. New-found respect to Michael Cole who has probably had Vince barking B.S. in his ear for over a decade now. How the hell do you expect your commentators to do a quality job when you’re degrading them as their doing the job? It’s nonsense. Give them the points they need to make and let them go, they should be able to call the match just fine without the criticism.

#5. Bless you Sami for making this work.... BUT, if this is Vince talking through Sami Zayn, maybe you should use your power for good and make the proper changes! I know that ruins the point of Sami’s gimmick, but we all know what the real problem is, and it isn’t the WWE Universe (least not on a weekly basis).

#4. Bless you Neville/PAC for verbally bashing Vince on your way out of the company. He deserved so much better, as do many of the talented men and women still there. However, I’m glad he’s kicking ass in Dragon Gate and being the bastard we all know and... love? Hate? Tolerate?

#3. Of course the man behind little red carts, mannequin torture, and pooper scoopers is behind Ucey Hot. This feud could have been amazing, and I was looking forward to it at the beginning. But now it’s a mess because Vince has the humor of a 10 year old.

#2. This, by far, is the most disgusting of these 20 stories. Surprising? Absolutely not. Horrendous? You bet your ass! The man left Mexico to work for your company and this is how you treat him? He didn’t have to work for you, he coulda gone anywhere else! This is also evidence of Vince not watching NXT but I’m sure you, the reader, already could’ve guessed that.

And last but certainly not least, #1. Once again, to no one’s surprise but everyone’s displeasure. It’s a shame that this is the case because we all know how much of a good job Trips can do if he took control. But it’s very likely that Vinny Mac truly will die at his desk at WWE HQ before he ever lets anyone take control of his company, even if it means he’s ruining it in the process.

#wwe #wwe raw #whatculture wrestling #andrade cien almas #vince mcmahon #jon moxley #road dogg #wwe creative #triple h #nxt #nxt takeover #some bullshit #if you made it this far thank you for your time

3 notes · View notes

redditnosleep · 6 years

Text

She Lives Here, But She Doesn’t Pay Rent

by manen_lyset

I’ve been living in this apartment for two years now. Two years without any weird shit happening. Two normal fucking years. Has it been the best living experience ever? Eh, probably not. I’ve dealt with everything from ants to rats to noisy neighbors, to police sirens in the middle of the night. Hell, the lady in 3A came home to find her apartment broken into a couple weeks back. All those things pale in comparison to what’s been going on lately. There’s some fucking weird shit that’s been happening for the past couple of weeks, and it all culminated in me firing my gun last night at a girl that keeps fucking showing up in my apartment.

“Uhm, that’s a little drastic,” you’re probably thinking.

While you might be right about that, hear me out first, and then tell me if I’m overreacting.

It started off with little things at first. Things I think we’ve probably all experienced once or twice in our lives. One morning, I got up and found a bowl on the counter. Just a regular bowl, sitting there. I was really confused, but figured maybe I’d forgotten it there when I unloaded the dishwasher the night before. I put the bowl back in the cupboard and went to the washroom. As soon as I got back to the kitchen to make my coffee, that fucking bowl was on the counter again.

Man, I thought, Must be tired. Y’know when you’re distracted sometimes and you plan on doing something but you don’t end up following-through? I figured that’s what happened with the bowl. I thought I’d put it away, but I hadn’t. So, I lifted it off the counter and put it back in the cupboard. I turned around to start the coffee maker. By the time I turned to face the counter again, that fucking bowl was sitting there, as though mocking me.

“What the fuck,” I murmured to myself.

I’m too young to be going senile, I thought. Pissed off at...myself, I guess?...I shoved the bowl back into the cupboard and slammed the door.

“And STAY there,” I yelled sternly.

I never believed in that supernatural mumbo jumbo, so it never occurred to me something else might have been moving the bowl. I just figured since I hadn’t had my morning cup of coffee, my brain was glitching out or some shit.

I probably wouldn’t have thought about the bowl thing again if it had stopped there, but it didn’t. It wasn’t the only incident. Not by a long shot.

The next day, I came back from the gym in desperate need of a shower. I usually hop in the shower at the gym, but the goddamn water main exploded or some shit, so I had to drive home enduring my own sweaty stink. So, anyways, I got home, jumped in the shower, and turned it on real hot and soothing. I like my water practically scalding hot. Like, part sauna, part shower.

But then, as the shower walls fogged up, I noticed something: the outline of someone standing in the room. I could see the shape clearly through the misty air. It wasn’t just standing in place, either. It was moving around, bending over and everything. I grabbed a bar of soap and threw open the shower door, ready to defend myself.

Steam trickled out of the bottom of my shower.

Except the room was empty.

The room was empty.

My skin was covered in goosebumps despite the heat.

Now, look. I know my horror tropes, okay? This is exactly the point in time where the audience is yelling at their screens because the protagonist is being a moron and the place is clearly haunted. But look, this isn’t fucking Hollywood, okay? I didn’t just move into a creepy old house with a dark history. I’ve been living in this apartment for a couple years without any incident. Even if I believed in ghosts --- which I don’t---, that’s just not how hauntings work. You don’t get a two-year grace period before suddenly, out of nowhere, BOOM: haunted. That’s dumber than propping up a ladder on two unicycles.

A few days passed with more incidents like that bowl bullshit. I’d put a dinner plate on the counter, turn around to find it missing. One time, I turned around and found a glass in its place. Hell, one of my beer bottles turned into a fucking yogurt cup. I know I didn’t bring yogurt into my house. I fucking hate yogurt. Another time, I saw a stain on the carpet one minute, and it was gone the next. Just a ton of weird shit like that.

I tried not to think about it as I went to bed early that night. I had a construction gig across town the next day and wanted to get an early start. Problem was, I kept hearing music and chattering. No matter how many pillows I stuffed over my head, I could hear the sound annoying the fuck out of me.

Fucking neighbors, am I right?

I eventually got out of bed and stomped around my apartment, trying to find the source of the noise. I put my ear to each wall, but couldn’t quite tell which neighbor was at fault. When my irate-o-meter reached maximum, I just started banging on the walls to try and stop that shit.

I got even more pissed off when a neighbor came knocking on my door, scolding me for all the banging. I tried to explain what I was doing, but when I invited her in to try and pinpoint where the music was coming from, I realized the apartment had gone quiet.

I apologized, figuring whoever was making the noise had gotten my message and quieted down.

After that, I thought I’d be able to get some shut-eye, right? But nope. In the middle of the night, I was woken up by the sound of static and light pouring in from the TV. I groaned and reached for the remote control, but it had gone missing. Groggily, I climbed out of bed and waddled to the TV stand, turning it off manually. Must have been a power outage, I thought. Sometimes, when the power flicks off and on quickly, my old shitbox turns on. I tried to convince myself that’s all it was, but in light of all the rest of this shit, I was getting a little spooked.

I crawled back in bed and wrapped my comforter tightly over myself.

I must have been asleep for less than a few minutes when I heard the crackle of the TV as it turned on a second time.

“Fuuuuuuuuuck,” I groaned.

This time, I went straight for the power cord. I yanked it out of the wall and went back to bed. Fuck that shit. I need absolute silence when I sleep, otherwise I’ll wake up.

Imagine my surprise - or rather, my shock-, when the TV turned on again.

“Son of a,” I stopped.

Hadn’t I pulled the power cord out of the wall? How was the TV on? I squinted through the dark room, able to see the cord still in the wall from my angle. Must have been a dream, I thought. It was the only explanation. I’d dreamt I’d unplugged the TV. I moved to slip out of bed, but as I turned, I felt something cold against my side. The TV remote. Why was it in bed with me? I must have knocked it off the nightstand somehow. I turned the TV off one final time, and dozed off with the remote still in my hand in case I needed to do it again.

If all this shit wasn’t bad enough. If malfunctioning TVs, disappearing kitchenware, and moving shadows weren’t bad enough, I started finding weird shit on my coffee table. Weird as girly books like ‘Pride and Prejudice’ and ‘How to be a strong female influence in the workplace’. Those had to be a prank of some sort. I’d told a few of my friends about the bowls and shit, so I guess they thought they’d fuck with me. Not that it was all bad. See, I had a party one night and this chick saw one of those books.

“Oh, I didn’t know you read Gillian Flynn” she said, as she picked up the book.

I smirked. “Are you kidding me? I love her shit.”

I’m not going to lie. I did kind of flip through the books real quick. Enough that I could feign a bit of knowledge without actually having read any of them. Enough that I could bag myself a sexy lady that night.

Once the party was over, I hosted a private little book club between the covers. If you know what I mean.

And then, there was two days ago. I was standing in my kitchen, annoyed by another session of take-the-coffee-mug-out-and-find-it-missing, when I suddenly spotted my mug across the kitchen. It was in the hands of a transparent-looking figure. She looked at me. I looked at her. She dropped the mug. It crashed on the ground and shattered into pieces.

She was gone.

And I had to clean up the mess.

I had to clean up this fucking ethereal being’s goddamn motherfucking mess.

Last night was the worst incident yet. I’m not going to lie, I went to bed drunk, and I might have still been a little drunk when I woke up in the middle of the night. But look, drunk or not, I know what I saw. It doesn’t matter how much alcohol you ingest, you don’t hallucinate turning over in bed and seeing someone lying next to you. You might forget who’s lying down next to you when you go to bed, but you don’t just imagine someone that wasn’t there at all. Point being: I woke up for whichever reason. Maybe a car horn outside, maybe my upstairs neighbors were trampling on the ground again, or maybe someone was throwing a party again: it doesn’t matter. I’m a light sleeper, and I woke up.

I saw the silhouette of a woman next to me. I saw the sheets rise and fall with her breath. I knew I’d gone to bed alone. I didn’t know who this freak was---maybe some homeless woman who snuck into my apartment. Whatever she was, I decided she was the cause of all the shit that had been happening these past weeks. I was about to yell at her when she opened her eyes and saw me.

Her shriek nearly pierced my eardrums.

I rolled out of bed and reached for the glock I keep tucked under my mattress. Yeah, I know, but if I was gonna get jacked by some asshole, might as well be prepared, right? My reaction was out of instinct. There was an intruder in my bed. In my HOUSE. I was in my rights to defend myself. I wasn’t trying to hit her, but be damned if I wasn’t going to scare her off. I shot once, the bullet flying towards the wall behind her.

Something was wrong.

I smelled the sweet scent of the gunpowder, I saw the flash of light from the gunshot, but I didn’t hear the piercing sound of the explosion. I’m not saying it was like in the movies when the murderers use a silencer and all you hear is a little pop: I mean there was no sound at all. Like I hadn’t fired, but yet I felt the recoil and smelled the smoke. I peered over the edge of the bed. She was gone. The shell casing was at my feet, but the bullet was nowhere to be seen.

I don’t know what’s going on, but it’s freaking me out. Does anyone have any advice? I don’t believe in none of that supernatural crap, but I swear this shit happened. I can’t explain it. I need help.

#creepy #horror story #author: manen_lyset

65 notes · View notes

spine-buster · 4 years

Note

Fucking #boycottRogers is trending on Twitter, and it's not for their shity service and their exuberant price. It's for all the people who were pissed that a senile old fucking man who is past his goddamn Prime has been fired over some racist bulshit. I'm starting to really fucking hate how Canadians view some things.

Ugh, I know. But it’s not all Canadians -- trust me. What you would think to be Cherry’s core demographic are people like my dad: baby boomer, Bruins fan, long-time hockey fan. He HATES Don Cherry. He thinks he was past his due date looooong ago. So there is some hope.

Nowadays it’s more so of an educated/non-educated, rural/urban divide with him. Small towns still love him, as do many people who are uneducated about the issues surrounding hockey. Like, after all of the evidence coming out about enforcers and CTE and how detrimental it is to the human brain...HOW can ANYONE still think there’s a place for “Rock ‘Em Sock ‘Em” style hockey?! It boggles my mind!

#answered

0 notes

rinokami · 7 years

Text

Can somebody explain this whole “cringe” thing I’m seeing quite a bit of on Tumblr? I dunno, maybe it’s because, at least as far as the internet is concerned, I’m an old fart and my senile brain can’t quite wrap itself around these newfangled concepts anymore, but I don’t get it. Like, I understand looking back on your past self and going “oh GOD why did I DO that?” I’ve done that plenty of times, and not just looking back at teenage me, but also 20 year old me or 25 year old me. I’m pretty sure I’ll look back at 30 year old me someday and think of something that’ll make me go “Sweet baby Jesus, why?” But here’s the thing: Whenever I feel that way, it’s because I’m remembering something I said or did that was hurtful, or wrong, or just simply ignorant. I don’t think it’s a bad thing to look back at that and feel shame, because it means you’ve GROWN THE FUCK UP since then and now you know better. But I’ve never felt that “cringe” towards any media I enjoyed, or any fandom I was a part of, even if it’s media I’m no longer capable of enjoying. There’s plenty of things I liked when I was younger that I still love now: Pokemon, Zelda, video games in general, Sherlock Holmes (Brett, not Cumberbatch), Star Trek, Lord of the Rings, musicals, Phantom of the Opera. And there’s plenty of things that I absolutely lapped up when I was a kid that, if I take off the nostalgia goggles and actually look at now, I just can’t get into for any number of reasons (or I do get into them, but honestly, nostalgia is the ONLY thing going for them.) Like Care Bears, or the old Ninja Turtles cartoons, or He-man, or Lisa Frank stuff. Yes, I’m an 80′s child. But I don’t feel bad that I liked those things. Those things were not meant for me as I am now, they were meant for a child, and I enjoyed them when I was a child. And even though I didn’t have the internet to be a complete fool on, I did plenty of ridiculous things like run around the backyard pretending to be a ninja turtle, or believing that gnomes really did live in the walls of my house if I could only just find them, or getting into arguments about Mario vs Sonic, and I’m quite certain I confused the shit out of the adults around me, but of course I did. I was a child. That’s what children do. What in the ever-loving fuck is so goddamn horrible about children being children? It seems to me like this is just a manufactured bit of bullshit, created by adults and teenagers who are insecure and pathetic and are just making themselves feel bigger and better by stomping other people down in whatever way is most convenient.

#tumblr discourse #cringe #wtf people #y'all need to grow up #and I ain't talking ditching yer fandoms

3 notes · View notes

howardlinkedin · 7 years

Text

Shelter - Part 14

Running title: Shelter Part 14 Summary: I just love happy endings, don’t you? Part 12: Here Part 13: Here

THE END.

shel·ter

ˈSHeltər/

noun a place giving temporary protection from bad weather or danger.

---

Life is full of storms. Both literal and metaphorical. A shelter can be the home one retreats to get dry from a sudden downpour. It can also be a place of safety after a terrible day, where comfort is found.

A home is a place where people reside, and are welcome. A home, incidentally, can easily be a shelter.

Shelter can be meeting the young woman who owned the repair shop, who was so inherently kind, that your heart couldn't help but flutter whenever you hear her voice.

It can be the greenhouse across the street, filled with beautiful and exotic fauna, ran by an eccentric, but not unkind man with a rather wobbly smile.

Shelter is the home for a young man who struggles with understanding the majority of the world and how it works, but they are endlessly supported by a father and brothers who were willing to guide him.

Or it’s said young man, who became the rock for another, who needed that extra push to become who they wanted to be.

It’s stepping out of the elevator, and seeing familiar faces who always greet you with warmth and welcome, while your brother becomes ecstatic at your presence.

For a lonely little boy, shelter was a clown who didn’t stop laughing. Shelter was the love the boy continued to feel long after his father left. The assurance that he would never be alone again.

---

At the recording studio, Allen took a calming breath. He could do this.

His eyes caught Link on the other side of the sound room, and smiled bright. He definitely could.

Lavi, at the recording booth, gave him the signal. “Right-o Allen! Ready in 3, 2, 1!”

Allen finally, finally sang his song. It was about time.

---

I could never find the right way to tell you

Have you noticed I've been gone?

'Cause I left behind the home that you made me

But I will carry it along.

---

When the song officially released on mainstream radio, it quickly hit the top five charts. When Allen got his cut of the profits, Lenalee looked over his shoulder at the check and whistled. “If this keeps up, you’ll be set for life!” She declared.

From the dining room, Cross snorted. “He was set for life the moment he took out that damned swear jar of his.” He made a point by stuffing it with a quarter without prompting. “Cussing is bad manners Cross.” Allen retorted. “What are you going to do with all that money anyway?” Lenalee asked, scratching Timcampy behind the ears. The little dog wiggled with joy. Allen looked thoughtful as Atuuda demanded to be picked up with a meow. He answered as he hefted the large fluffy feline into his arms. “I was thinking about a tattoo. For my arm.” The index finger of said red arm booped the cat on her pink nose. Atuuda chirped and swatted her tail in his face.

While Lenalee looked excited about the idea, his guardian squawked from the other room. “TATTOO?” “Cross it’s rude to eavesdrop.”

--- Marian Cross was less irritated about his kid wanting a tattoo - because he honestly did not give a single steaming hot damn if he did, and more so that all these years, he was basically being conned by a child to fund his need for ink. Mafia or not, Allen Walker would have fit right in if he had wanted.

---

And it's a long way forward, so trust in me

I'll give them shelter, like you've done for me.

--- Across the city, at the Central Building, Madarao held appointment with Head General Hevlaska Karma. He stood stiff and at attention in his suit. Hevlaska raised her brows at the young gentleman, “You do know, that there is a selection process I have in place, for choosing my intern from the University Mister Madarao.” It wasn’t a question. All the same, Madarao gave his assent. “Yes. I am aware General. Regardless of your choosing myself as your candidate, I also believe what I have compiled will be of great help for you and your police force.” He set a neat, and ordered stack of files on her desk. They were all dated, and color coated by tabs. The leader of Central’s largest and strongest police firm steeped her hands together, assessing first the files then back to the young man who had been requesting for her ear for the past month. “And how will this assist me Mister Madarao?”

So he told her. ---

At eighteen, Allen graduated high school. Arm in arm with his best friend, he and Lenalee marched off the stage, diploma in hand. “Congratulations Miss Lee.”

She laughed. “Congratulations Mister Walker.” At the floor, they spotted their family and friends respectively. Alma and Kanda, who had graduated the year prior, were there. Alma was waving them down rather enthusiastically, hand holding Kanda’s. In Kanda’s free arm, he had Timcampy, who seemed content at being held like a limpet. “Congratulations!!” Alma hollers, and hugged them both. The new graduates laughed. In the bleachers, Cross puffed smoke from his cigarette and glared balefully at the man beside him. “Why are you here?” He outright demanded. Neah stuck his tongue out at the redhead. “Did you forget that Allen is my cute nephew? Have you gotten senile in your old age?” “I am not old you goddamned-”

“Ah-ha! Language! There’s innocent ears everywhere.” Chided the Campbell, wagging his finger as though Cross were a child to be scolded. Cross snorted. “They’re all teenagers. Since when are teenagers innocent?” Behind them, Road pressed her heeled shoe into Neah’s head. “Will you two shush! I’m trying to get good audio with the video and no one wanted to hear you old man bantering!” “Road you’re practically my age.” Said Neah, ignoring her foot on his head. She decided to kick him then. Cross pointed and laughed. --- Link presented Allen with a bouquet assortment of colorful flowers. “Crowley had arranged them. He attempted to explain their meaning to me, but...I was unable to completely follow.” Link frowned, as though admitting he was unable to outright memorize something was a slight against himself. “Regardless, I was assured they are positive in their meaning.” Taking the offered present, Allen was certain he was smiling like an idiot at that moment. (Later, Kanda would state this as a fact, quite bluntly too). “Best boyfriend ever.” The blonde cleared his throat, Allen notice that his ears were red. Lenalee looked between the two with an “o” expression and took a respectful few steps back. She had a feeling this was going to be a rather important moment. “Not boyfriend.” Link started, rather awkwardly. “But, fiance, if you’ll have me.” He gestured to the top of the bouquet. Behind them, Alma squealed outright into their hands, and began shaking Kanda’s arm. Kanda looked unimpressed with Link, because he didn’t understand why the had to be so flustered about it. Everyone knew it was a solid Yes.

With wide silver eyes, Allen finally spotted the velvet box set on the flowers. He looked between the box, then Link in rapid succession. At first his mouth gaped open, as though he was going to speak, then he would snap it closed. Instead he hugged the bouquet to his chest and grabbed Link by the ear with his free hand and gave away both of their firsts kisses right then and there.

In the bleachers, Neah screamed a rather loud “WHAT?!” While Road let out a yell of excitement. Cross sat back and looked smug. You go kid. Lenalee was taking pictures with her phone.

Pulling back, Link looked rather dazed. Eyes wide and blinking slowly, his brain caught up with the moment. “I-”

Allen kissed him again. “!!”

---- “You never actually said yes.” “Oh my gosh Link shut up and get back to kissing me.” Link shut up and went back to kissing him. ---

Allen Walker discovered that he really, really, really, really liked kissing.

--- And I know, I'm not alone, you'll be watching over us

Until you're gone. --- Next, Howard Link, twenty-three, graduated college with high marks and his degree. Allen celebrated with him that night with a song and homemade chocolate cake. Eventually, his uncle called him in for his own congratulations. “I’m very proud of you Link.” Lvellie praised, looking every bit smug. Link nodded. “Thank you Uncle.” “It just so happens that there is an open position here.” His uncle preened, waiting for Link to show any sign of ascension to the idea. Arching an eyebrow, Link inquired. “Position?” “Well yes! You will be working for you dear uncle, won’t you?” Really now! Thought Lvellie. As though he wouldn’t hire his own flesh and blood. After a pause to gather his thoughts, Howard Link takes a step forward, and presents his uncle with his degree. “I am sorry uncle but I believe you are under the impression that I wish to work for you.” Lvellie stared openly at the embossed, framed paper, uncomprehending. “You see, where you believed me furthering my education with criminal justice, I actually gained my degree in business management, along with a minor in culinary.” “C-culinary?!” The Commissioner choked. “I have spoken with Mother and Father and they have granted me access to part of my inheritance so that I may open a bakery.” Lvellie looked white with disbelief. “But-” “I am sorry that your plans for me were not what I wanted.” Link was honestly anything but sorry; regardless it seemed to be the only thing he could say on the matter. Tucking the frame under his arm, Link bid his Uncle good day and started for the door. “Oh.” He paused and turned around to address his uncle once again. Lvellie was still gaping like a fish out of water. “Also, In half a year’s time, I will be binding myself to Allen Walker. Please look for the invitation, should you still be free and out of prison at that time.” With that, Howard Link left the the office. “Prison?!”

--- When I'm older, I'll be silent beside you

I know words won't be enough

And they won't need to know the names or our faces

But they will carry on for us.

---

A month later, Malcolm C. Lvellie was arrested and marched out of the Precinct for withholding and tampering of evidence for the Guilty Murders, therefore placing him in suspicion for working with the Cardinal. The Cardinal who, ironically (and still uncertain how and by whom) was found murdered. It would later be revealed that Lvellie himself knew all along who the murder was, but held the information away for himself, hoping to find the right moment to reveal it all. His goal was to manipulate the circumstances enough that Head General Hevlaska Karma’s ability to lead Central would be scrutinized enough, that Malcolm would be chosen to replace her. Standing besides Head General Karma was Madarao, newly accepted intern, who watched passively as the man was taken away by police car. He decided that he would call Lavi, and inform him of his new location. The hyper red head would certainly be ecstatic at having himself closer to home. Lavi needn't to fear over any more mafia nonsense now that Madarao had his foot in the door.

Colonel Yeager crossed his arms, and huffed. “Good riddance. I never liked that man.” Claude Nyne watched Cross walk back into the Precinct and gave her own affirmation. “You’re not the only one.” Inside, Marian Cross kicked down Malcolm C. Lvellie’s ex-office door, and flipped the desk over. Socalo, the curious and nosey bastard, poked his head in. “What the shit?” Marian tore a framed important something or other off the wall and threw it across the room, into the other wall. It shattered. “Either you join me or fuck off Winters.” Ever the one to enjoy chaos rather than run from is, Socalo joined in on defacing the office.

--- Soon, the Precinct found itself under a much needed overhaul of staff. The majority of the forensics and tech department was left virtually untouched, but some officers had been let go or left due to further investigations of Lvellie’s misdirections as Commissioner. Froi Tiedoll walked into the now bard Commissioner office, looking surprised at the dents and holes in the walls. “Oh my.” He hoped whatever happened in here was therapeutic enough. “Welcome out of retirement, new Commissioner Tiedoll.” The man hummed and smiled with his eyes over at Colonel Nyne. “Thank you Colonel. I do believe I feel a good change in the wind.” The policewoman nodded, and turned to address her own new intern. “Tokusa, help the Commissioner get proper office equipment.” She ordered. Newly graduated Tokusa bolted upright, babbling. “Yes sir! Ma’am! Madam.” “No.” “Yes….Colonel?” “Better. Now hup to!” Tokusa turned heel to find out where he can get a desk and chairs. --- Tiedoll hung a picture of his sons on the wall, looking proud. One his desk was a framed photo of Kanda and Alma, dressed in white.

--- And it's a long way forward, so trust in me

I'll give them shelter like you've done for me.

--- “You don’t have to call to wake me up every morning you damned brat.” Colonel Marian Cross grouched into his phone. He was currently waiting in line at a coffee shop, hoping to fuel his need for liquid energy. Ever since Allen went on his tour, he still took time to call Cross and bother his ass about his morning routines. He swore his kid got a sick enjoyment out of it. “Are you at that cafe again? Cross I thought you got a new coffee maker.” His kid ignored his previous statement and chose to instead nag him on other things. “Correction, you got me a new coffee maker and it busted.” Just two more orders and Cross would have the excuse to hang up on his child. It was rude after all to talk on the phone while ordering.

“How can you bust a Keurig?” “Correction, it busted on its own.” He grumbled. “Riiiight.” Thank the Lord it was his turn to order. “Look, kid I gotta go. Fuck off and nag that husband of yours instead.” He heard Allen snort on the other line. “Yeah, yeah, okay. Bye Cross. Talk to you tomorrow.” The Colonel found himself grinning, despite his bravado. He was fond of the little shit, and will always be fond. “Whatever, leave me alone you brat.” Allen laughed before hanging up. His barista looked at him, an amused look in her dark eyes. “Brat?” Marian huffed. “My kid. He’s a brat.” And that’s all he would rather say on the matter. It was hard to bring up that yes, he has an adult child, and said child happened to be Allen Fucking Walker, singing sensation. Last time he let it slip out, he had nuisances at his door for a month. He strung his order to the (very pretty, but Cross always noticed pretty things so this wasn’t too surprising) barista. After ringing up his order, she introduced herself. “Anita.” Cross looked from her hand to her (still very pretty) face, flummoxed. “What.”

She laughed, and Cross noted that her laugh was also very pretty. “This is the part where you give me your name and I start to flirt with you.” “Oh.” Oh.

---

Years later, Allen Walker, 24, walked through the streets of Paris. He had just slipped away from Lenalee that morning after doing an interview about his upcoming concert in the city. His best friend and sole security would most definitely be lecturing his ear off later over this, but sometimes he needed time to himself. With a green beanie hiding his very noticeable white hair, and thick sunglasses that he hoped were dark enough to keep his anonymity, Allen wandered aimlessly. If someone had told him as a kid back in the circus, that he would be a singer songwriter, whose name was practically known by everyone, he would have been disbelieving.

Then he would try and pick their pockets. He digressed. There was also the whole, married and in love thing. Child him wouldn't have even been able to comprehend.

He was about to wander to a crepe stand, his stomach thinking for him with anticipation, when he heard it. The sound was high, and distressed, and young. It had all the potential to reach lower notes, but at the moment it’s owner was rather stuck on piping out the high tones. Allen would recognize the sound for what it was anywhere, no matter what notes it played. Allen Walker followed the sound of a distressed pipe organ, away from the crepe stand and into an alley between the buildings. It was still the middle of the day, so the ally itself wasn’t in anyway dark or ominous. Along with the organ, Allen heard tell tale sounds of a foot kicking a trash can. “PWEEEEEEEEE!!!”

Oh, now that was a very distinct cry, Allen thought. He never heard someone actually produce their sound verbally before. Kicking the trash can in the alley was a young boy, Allen guess about nine, maybe ten. He had wild brown hair that looked like he had tried to dye the ends with blue kool-aid and wore an orange jumper with frayed jeans. “I’m so mad I’m so mad!” was the boys mantra. “Why are you mad?” Allen asked, kneeling next to the angry boy. Said boy was startled and made a wild swing at Allen head. “AAAAH!!”

--- After whopping Allen, the kid ran off. Only a little winded, Allen followed after, undeterred.

He felt a vague sense of deja vu, and grinned.

“Hey wait!” He called after. ---

“Why won’t you leave me alone huh?!” Demanded the angry boy. Allen shrugged. “I don’t want to.” The boy looked at Allen like he was the most bizarre person he’d ever met. Which, may very well be true. Allen would admit that he was indeed, very odd. Link also took joy at pointing it out to him. Regularly.

“Well get lost!” The boy stomped his foot. “I don’t need some weirdo following me around!” “How about you tell me why you’re so mad, and maaaaybe I’ll leave you alone.” Allen weedled. The kid looked unimpressed at this. “Maybe.” he repeated. “Yeah. Maybe.” They both had a stare down. Allen more amused while the boy simply refused to back down from the impromptu staring contest. Eventually, there was no winner, as the boy’s stomach used this moment to growl rather loudly. Allen’s own stomach felt sympathy. “Are you hungry?” The boy, who looked like wanted to cry again, but was holding it back, only glowered.

---

Howard Link, 28, came back to the rented suite he was staying at with his husband, arms full of bags of fresh bread and boxes of pastries. He had been taking his time in Paris to sample and buy all the baked goods he could, and seeing if he could garner new recipes. It was a very riveting experience for him. He was also certain that Allen had been enjoying all the fresh eats he kept being with him. “Welcome back!” Allen called. “We’re in the kitchen.” “We?” Link asked. Was Lee here as well?

The blonde made his way into the suite’s kitchen, and instantly noticed the boy making headway into the pumpkin pie Link baked that morning. Sitting beside him was Allen, who waved his fingers cheerfully at his husband, his own plate sparse save for the pie crumbs left behind. “I see we have a guest.” Link lead. Allen patted the boy on the back. “Yeah! This is Timothy. Say hi Tim.” “He’wwowoooo!” The boy, now Timothy greeted best he could with his mouthful. Link nodded, and set down the baked goods in his arms at the counter. He went over and held out his hand. “Hello Timothy, I am Link. It’s a pleasure.” ---

And I know, I'm not alone,

you'll be watching over us.

Until...

#ashlee writes #dgm fanfiction #and that's a wrap folks!#hope you all enjoyed!#it was fun #Link just accept that after this point #he is now a father #Allen goes on tours now and nags Cross over the phone oceans away #madarao is like yes i am the new defender of justice #Cross is stuck babysitting the pets including rosemary while his kid and husband galavant across france #the cat dog and murder plant are like his grandchildren at this point #allen walker #howard link #cross marian #and others #im tired bed time MUAH

19 notes · View notes

redwine-house · 6 years

Text

Golden Years Ch.17 (Negan x Reader)

Summary: The council meets to decide the best course of action after the satellite station attack.

(Ao3) (Wattdpad)

(Masterlist)

Words: 1,842

Dwight had been unusually quiet throughout the meeting, opting to stare listlessly at the tabletop. When he finally did speak, he was hesitant.

“I think…I might know who is behind this.”

Negan smiled. “Dwighty, boy! Are you going to save the day and sail us out of this shit storm?”

Dwight tapped his fingers against the wood, only sparing Negan a fleeting glance. “When I left with Sherry and Tina, we ran into some guy. He said he was part of a community that still lived like people used to.”

Negan leaned back and stroked his chin. “Did you tell him about us?”

“Yes.”

“I’m assuming that it wasn’t a raving review. Did you give us a big old, splatty tomato?” Negan spread his fingers out and blew a raspberry.

It was jarringly obvious Dwight was uncomfortable as he shifted in his seat. “It was an obvious mistake.”

Negan was smiling. “Yeah, I’m sure it was,” he said quietly, his voice velvet. Negan leaned forward and placed his elbows on the table. “So, you kidnap a guy, which would obviously piss anyone off.” He turned to the rest of you and held out his hands in an, ‘am I right?’ shrug. “Then you trash talk us. Well, I believe we have our prime suspect and Dwight, I think you being a little bitch might have actually helped us. Did he say where they were?”

“No.”

Negan’s words from before rang in your head. “The Emperor's New Clothes,” you said. You were met with a confused glare from every council member except Negan, whose smile only widened.

“It’s a book about an emperor who is tricked into thinking he's wearing a cloak that turns invisible when worn by someone who’s unfit for their job, but the guy's actually just naked and his subjects are too afraid to say that he's actually strutting around with his schlong out. The point is that you shouldn’t let pride keep you from admitting the fucking truth,” Negan explained without taking his eyes off you. “I believe it’s being suggested that the key to our problem is Gregory after all.” He stared out into space dreamily. “Hot damn.”

“What about Ezekiel?” Regina asked. “The man is practically senile.”

Negan raised an eyebrow. “While he might be a total nut bag, the guy knows how to lead his people. He’s also not stupid enough to pull such a stunt. Plus, he would have gone himself. Only a coward hires outside help to do his dirty work.” Negan sighed. “This has creepy grandpa written all over it.” He turned to Simon. “Go to the Hilltop and put the fear of God in him. He’ll squeal faster than a well-paid whore. Kill someone if you have to. Set an example.”

“All right, then.” Simon gave a firm nod and a slick grin.

With the meeting adjourned, you pushed yourself away from the table and stood up. You had been in the wastelands for two days and you were dirty and exhausted. A shower and a long nap sounded absolutely heavenly to you and you weren’t going to wait another second to relax.

“Just where do you think you’re going?” An arm hooked around your waist and you were yanked backwards. Suddenly you were off your feet and sitting on the edge of the table. Negan stood between your legs, looking like the king of mischief.

“What are you up to?” you asked suspiciously.

“Just being a goddamn horndog,” he admitted with a pump of the eyebrows and an up-to-no-good grin. He pulled you forward and your bodies meshed together. Smashing Lucille behind you, Negan had trapped you in place. “I’m on the hook with a girl I work with and I have to just suck it up until everyone else hauls ass? I mean, shit.” Weaving his fingers into your hair, he kissed you languidly.

Whatever your reservations were, they flew out of the window as you cupped Negan’s face and pulled him closer, making him hum. Slowly, you leaned a few inches back. The leader of the Saviors needed no encouragement, and you immediately felt his weight as he followed you.

“You really don’t seem that choked up,” you observed between kisses.

“There’s nothing that kills a boner like a big ol’ dose of murder. I’m trying to put it in the back of my mind,” he explained, lifting your chin and lightly biting the soft underside of your jaw.

Things were getting hot and heavy at an almost alarming rate. With a quiet noise of protest, you placed your hands on his chest and gently pushed him back. Negan immediately retreated, as he always did, and you questioned every bad thing you had ever been told about him, as youalways did.

Swallowing, you closed your eyes and pressed your forehead to his. “Do you really think killing someone is the best way to set an example?”

Negan answered with a dismissive laugh. “Were you not using your listening ears back there? I want that geezer to need a new pair of undies every time I cross his mind. I want him to beg me to kiss my ass.”

“‘It is better to be feared than loved, if you cannot be both,’” you recited the Italian political theorist’s words.

“Fuck.” Negan appeared to be two steps from devouring you.

“It’s not my place to tell you how to run your empire, but as someone who shares a common interest in knowledge-” you stopped, afraid that you were over stepping your boundaries.

Negan opened his arms. “Well, don’t leave me hanging!”

You set your hands firmly on Negan’s shoulders, an action that made his mouth turn into an over exaggerated pout. “Being feared is Machiavellian, but he warned that you must never be so to the point of hatred. Fear should never be excessive because it will become a danger to the Saviors and most of all, a danger to you. You need to be respected, but contempt will be your downfall.”

Negan’s eyes zoomed around your face as his ever present smirk played on his lips. He stood relaxed as he gazed down at you, sizing you up. The silence was deafening.

“You get to sit here,” he finally declared, whacking Lucille against Gavin’s spot at the table.

You waved your hands. “No, no, I can’t-”

Negan leaned forward, the pleasant look still on his face. “Try not to talk back to me. It’s really rude and I so hate it.” He placed a lingering kiss to your forehead that was just as soft as his voice.

Deflating, you sighed in defeat and leaned into the affection. “Sorry.” It was easy to forget that Negan was your boss and the leader of your people while you were necking.

“Oh, you think I’m going to be mad at my girl for being worried about me?” He pulled away. “I’m going to the satellite outpost and assess the damage. I’ll be back…whenever.” He flicked his wrist and disappeared out the door.

You immediately went after him. “Negan!” you called, for he was already at the end of the hallway.

Negan turned, looking annoyingly aloof as he casually swung Lucille back and forth. Finally, he smiled. “Can I help you?”

“Do you think it’s wise to go back to a place where our men were just slaughtered? They could still be there, waiting for you. This whole thing could be a trap.” God, you could smack that shit eating grin off his face.

Negan wiggled his fingers. “Look at you, chasing me down and nipping at my heels like a lovesick puppy!” He tapped his temple. “I’m starting to think that your daddy didn’t stick it to your momma and that you’re actually made out of sugar and spice, and everything nice.” Without another word, he slinked around the corner and out of sight.

Although you were gravely concerned about Negan, a part of you was thankful that he had blown off your worries. Now you had time to take a shower and go to bed.

Opening the door to your room was much more exciting than it should have been and you felt your muscles already begin to relax as you stepped inside. Unfortunately, your celebration was short lived when you noticed the woman perched on your bed.

“Who the fuck are you?” you demanded.

The woman turned to you, her brown hair bouncing on her shoulders. “Your rational side,” she answered frankly. She stood up and quickly crossed the room, her stilettos aggressively tapping on the floor with every stride. The shoes made her hips swing and it was abundantly clear that she absolutely hated it. “Dwight told me everything you said today and all of the girls know about you, and we all collectively agree that you’re an absolute lunatic.”

Realization hit you like a bucket of cold water. “You’re one of his wives.”

“Yeah, and it’s a daily struggle not to put a gun in my mouth,” the woman said viciously, her beautiful doe eyes aflame. “The only thing that keeps me going is the few seconds I can get with my real husband, and I want to see that sociopath’s brains on the floor.”

It was the threat that brought you out of your stupor. “I am the last person you want to divulge these threats to-?”

“Sherry,” she offered curtly. She crossed her arms. “What has he done to you?” She was staring at you, desperately trying to understand how you could be so protective of a vicious maniac.

You were quiet as you pondered her question. “Negan likes what I despise about myself.”

Sherry placed a hand on her chest and laughed. If it wasn’t so bitter, it would have been pretty. “That’s just a ploy to get into your pants.”

You shook your head, stubborn as a mule and growing increasingly frustrated. “He certainly doesn’t sound like the type of person who would jump through all those hoops when he could just impose himself.”

Sherry closed her eyes and took a deep breath, as if she were trying to find the strength not to literally slap some sense into you. Like you had done to Negan earlier, she placed her hands on your shoulders. “You need to understand that Negan thinks that he is a good man. He will jump through hoops, connect the dots in the most ridiculous way, to justify his actions so that he is morally right. We’re called the Saviors because he truly thinks he’s saving people. He thinks he’s helping the Hilltop. He thinks I want to be stuffed in this tight dress and sleep with him at whatever hour he chooses.”

She might as well have slapped you in the face. You could only look away, unable to maintain eye contact. You didn’t say a word.

Sensing that she was chasing windmills, Sherry reached for your door. As her fingertips brushed the doorknob, she paused. “You have the power to end this. He’s weary of all of us. Negan likes to pretend that we all want to be with him, but deep down he knows that he’s playing a game of manipulation and coercion. But you…he trusts you. Slipping him something would almost be too easy.” And she was gone.

Your mind went back to The Emperor's New Clothes and the fool's obscene dedication to his convictions.

Pride always came before the fall.

#negan x reader #negan x you #negan/reader #negan/you #he walking deadnegantwdnegan fanfiction #the walking dead fanfiction #fluff #smut #angst #negan x oc

1 note · View note