sacked in the morning

What if Steven decides he wants to go to school? Like, its September and Connie has to go back to school and Steven’s like “well, if Connie’s going i want to go too.” Think of the possibilities:

–Steven and Connie riding in every day on Lion

–Steven not understanding why he has to STAY SEATED for so long

–Steven frowning during history lessons because “thats not how Pearl said it was”

–Steven making friends by telling stories about Gem stuff during recess (no one believes him until the Gems show up to pull him for a mission)

–the Crystal Gems trying (and failing) to make sack lunches for Steven in the mornings, so eventually Mr. Maheswaran takes pity and packs one for him along with Connie’s


–the principal becoming more and more frustrated every time the Gems pull Steven out to go on missions but being too intimidated by them to do anything about it 

An Idea

In spite of the Others, the university of Elsewhere is considered a safe place. Sure, you might need to walk the grounds with salt packets in your sleeves or instant porridge oats in your coat pocket. Okay, the vending machines might drop the occasional tooth and the shadows might stretch too far, too real and grasping. Drinking games might have more weight, and an even greater cost, with tall boys dealing the cards nimbly with slender fingers. Some students might be lost, replaced, taken, or changed by the Fair Folk of Elsewhere University.

  But there are far worse things lurking just out of sight, drawn close by the Uni’s hallowed grounds. Greater terrors kept away by the Court. Things that make even the most vicious member of the Unseelie seem friendly and mild.

  An emaciated pale ‘it’ was spotted late January, scuttling about the edges of a carpark beside the student bar. With ink black eyes, and yellow teeth made for rending and slurping arterial fluid; the beast looked nothing like the swarthy seductive figures found in young adult novels, that the student’s laughed at so often. On one night in early February, the baying of hounds and the hooting of the Fae reached a final crescendo with the piercing shriek of a dying thing. Later that morning, students showered themselves clean of the garlic and herb dip they had rubbed under their armpits, and set to work washing the mustard stains out of the dorm carpets.

  Elsewhere University is kept protected from the predators that prowl too close, chased away by the Court.

  Bloated, black-skinned corpse eaters are beaten back from the Biology labs. Watch close, as women with fox’s eyes and hair as dark as night, snarl at the scarecrow perched next to the University fountain; the scarecrow mewls quietly from inside its sack head, and is gone the morning after. Dead men with hollow eyes and hissing, maddening tongues are kept at bay, and too clever ravens, broaching bargains in return for first-born children, are mobbed by the Uni’s resident crows.

  The only boogeymen tolerated at Elsewhere University are the ones that belong to the Court of the Fair Folk. With only one exception.

  The rage of the Gentry is to be feared and respected, and the price of dealing with them is high (though the cost of crossing them is even higher). Some shadow things, nameless beasts, and wayward beings bound to moonlight, are allowed to make their homes at Elsewhere University. But never without the Court’s permission. Never for too long. But once upon a time, a force of nature came to Elsewhere. Something the Fair Folk had no power, alone or as one, to chase off.

  It came one day and took the western corner of the University campus as its home, displacing the Court that lived there with ease. The beast, huge and old, slithered beneath the rotted sports shed, hidden at the Edge of Things. Under the derelict and forgotten shed, the fairy hoard had sat (filled with treasures taken, bartered, traded, and stolen from the students).

  Now it is no longer theirs to keep. They cannot reclaim it themselves, because that is not the way. The Wee Folk of the Court do not do great deeds, so instead they gift and trick the strongest, smartest, loudest, and most cunning of the University’s students to remove the monster atop their treasures. None have returned.

So, remember, when you walk the western corner of the campus (past the metalworker’s shop), where only the crows fly, and you taste something sharp and acrid in the air, beware that rotted sports shed, hidden just at the Edge of Things. For the rage of the fae is nothing compared to the wroth of the Wyrm that sleeps there; far older and more cunning, with no patience for feeble dealings, and no compromise for those that dare steal. (themagnificentgod)

The official reason the old english building is fenced off is structural damage (it does almost violently decrepit), and possibly some kind of toxic chemical (the faculty’s reasons are vague). You don’t need to be told to stay away, though. Even before you’re Involved, you don’t need to be told to stay away. There is an animal instinct at the base of your skull telling you that you wouldn’t ever come back.

Shit That Happened Sophomore Year of College

since my crazy freshman year post was a big hit, I thought you guys might enjoy a list of some of the weird things that happened this year! Enjoy!

  • someone yelling “BALL SACKS” at the tops of their lungs in the dorm hall while the clock tower chimed ominously in the distance
    • update: door slams five hours later, accompanied by a very annoyed “ball sacks, again”
    • update: week and a half later, someone slammed open the stairwell door, shouted “SUNDAY MORNING! BALL SACKS!” and then slammed it shut and ran down the stairs
    • update: it’s been 8 months. Every time I think the ball sacks guy is finally done, he shows up again at a random hour on a random day and shouts “BALL SACKS” down the hall for no known reason. I am frightened to try and learn more at this point.
  • those two semi-drunk guys on a Tuesday evening that were on a third floor balcony serenading some guys on a second floor balcony with Bohemian Rhapsody
  • that person who was laying face-down on the sidewalk in front of the University Center while crying and his friend was sitting next to him, gently patting him on the back (#same)
  • 2turmt
  • my first real injury in a sword fight
  • people slingshotting shirts off the roof of the English building
  • this conversation with my friend
    • “Get turnt. But get turnt responsibly.”
    • “Life motto.”
    • “Get it embroidered on a throw pillow.”
  • overheard in the library
    • “I dunno, I just don’t think I want to catch them all.”
    • “But you GOTTA catch ‘em all, bro! Don’t make me sing at you!”
  • the guy sitting in the parking lot outside of my dorm, smoking a joint in his car with a plastic skeleton wearing a bridal veil in the passenger seat
  • the RedBull guerrilla marketing teams that would wander around campus giving out free drinks because the campus store only has Monster
  • “You don’t understand, this malleophone is more valuable than my life.”
  • my ASL professor using a picture of Kanye West to teach us the sign for egotistical/big-headed
  • the former Swiss Army Knife CEO subbing for my management class and going on a small rant about Google buying and selling Motorola so much
  • The Smoking Bandit who almost killed me on a Tuesday night, and who cussed me out at 3:30 am a week later, but ended it with “love you!!!”
  • The Sexy Lumberjack Twins
  • conversation a day before the presidential election with my section leader
    • “What are you doing?”
    • “Crocheting. Avoiding news outlets.”
    • “Solid plan.”
  • overheard in line to get breakfast the Sunday before finals
    • “So then he calls me at like 3 am looking for weed and I’m like? Oh my god, no, let me finish this paper I don’t have any weed right now.”
  • “I know he’s kind of a fuckboi, but like… a fuckable fuckboi, you know?”
  • the beer stash in the locker room during spring semester that was liberally used before 10 am
  • “There’s pizza being neglected over here!” -instant mad scramble for the table-
  • overheard on the shared balcony attached to my room
    • “Siri, what the FUCK”
  • before a painfully early class
    • “I can’t recall where my phone is.”
    • “There’s a pun in there somewhere, who wants to take it?”
    • “Give me 20 minutes to finish my coffee first.”
  • LGBT Studies professor: “my gay agenda is maple syrup”
  • “I’m an American college student, I point and laugh at serving sizes.”
  • that time I slowly and dramatically flipped the bird at a classmate in the middle of my big presentation and the prof couldn’t even get mad about it because i had good reason
  • that theater teacher who still wears a kilt every day getting a tandem bicycle for no discernible reason
  • “It’s the oboe… of love.”
  • the Numa Numa song echoing across campus on a Monday afternoon like the ghosts of memes past
  • that time I’m 80% sure someone got a blowjob in the bathroom stall while I was taking a shower. It was 9:30 pm on a Thursday.
  • me to my friend with 3 stitches in his arm: “please be more careful on future midnight cheese runs”
  • the heated discussion between some of the music majors in the row in front of me before a faculty concert on the best butts in the department
  • actually this would be a good time to mention that some of the music business majors put together one of those Sexy Guys calendars (you know the kind, usually featuring firefighters and/or puppies) made up of the Hottest Guys™ within the music dept. I’m will waiting to find out where I can order one because I want to laugh at them all.
  • my music appreciation prof: “Using similes with toddlers is wild, I tell you. I was sick over break and told me 3 year old that I felt like I had been hit by a truck, and he asked me what color it was.”
  • this conversation I had with a wind player
    • “Why are you calling [the oboe professor] Bilbro Baggins?”
    • “Because we realized that the mocking name we used to call him had the same number of syllables as Bilbro Baggins, and he seems to respond to Bilbro even worse than to Obro.”
  • the tenors trying desperately to sing a bass part from a YouTube clip of an opera and failing miserably
  • the day of a big concert
    • And I have to go to goddamn Portland this weekend!”
    • “Which one?”
    • “The goddamn one!”
    • “…I meant which coast but yeah, okay.”
  • that Eastern European guy who just… shows up sometimes in front of the UC to sell overpriced posters
  • #laundryday
    • “Wow, you look really nice today! I like your leggings!”
    • “Thanks I ran out of clean pants this morning.”
  • “If you’re going to whistle something in this [the music] building, I’m gonna have to request something more original than Vivaldi’s Spring.”
  • “The art majors are trying to burn down the soccer field.”
    • “What, again?”
  • LGBT Prof: “Can you guys rec me some modern gay songs because all of my gay songs are from the 70s and 80s.”
  • Also LGBT Prof: “I’ve got sixty years of lesbian exes coming through for me, and most of them aren’t even my exes, actually.”
  • overheard in the library: “The gender neutral term for sugar daddy is glucose guardian.”
  • LGBT Prof brought in rainbow goldfish on the last day and the entire class cheered
  • “Shakespeare was a punk-ass bitch and, as an English major, I feel it is well within my rights to say that whenever I damn well please.”
  • I almost walked straight into a pole during finals week because I was falling asleep while walking. Don’t let the internet make you think sleep deprivation is cool and trendy, kids.
  • “Okay, so while you guys are taking the final, I’ll be up here on my computer. It’s gonna look like I’m writing comments on reports, but really I’m just surfing the web.”

A noise at the trapdoor above the basement makes Luna snap to attention. If it’s the Manor’s house elf, Shiny, he’ll have food (and Luna is so hungry. She’s almost as hungry as she is cold), but if it’s not… Luna shudders. She’s no stranger, after a term at Hogwarts under the Carrows, to the Crutiatus Curse, but that Bellatrix woman doesn’t care about spilling blood. 

To be safe, Luna draws back under the blanket she’d found folded next to her upon waking once - she doesn’t know if it had been morning or not - beneath a sack of apples and pumpkin juice. As far as she can tell, the other inhabitants of the basement are asleep. Olivander spends much of his time asleep, and she can’t hear Griphook cursing in the dark. Dean she’s not sure about. 

The door swings open, and the light makes Luna blink. At its top, though, isn’t Shiny….or Bellatrix. Instead, Draco Malfoy, dressed in robes that remind Luna of Ravenclaw (oh goodness, her common room) stands, peering down at them. It must be Easter break. 

She can’t read his intentions. 

Keep reading

The Bitter End

Characters: Dean X Reader, Sam

Summary: You’re a civilian that got tangled up in a case with Sam and Dean.  Then you got tangled up with Dean.  What happens after it all goes south?

Word Count:  1210

Warnings: Angst

A/N:  This is the epilogue to my first ever fic The One with the Cop.  You don’t have to have read it to get what’s happening in this, though you might like it.  This is for the @pinknerdpanda and @hannahindie HanPan Punk’s Not Dead Challenge.  My prompt was lyrics from the song, “Sophomore Slump or Comeback of the Year” by Fall Out Boy, they will be bolded in the fic.

Thank you to my amazing MastaBeta @wheresthekillswitch!  I’ve said it before, but I’m so very, very thankful for you!  Love you squish!

We’re traveled like gypsies

Only with worse luck and far less gold


Dean’s POV

“Dean, do you think it’s smart to involve Y/N?” Sam asks, as we sit in the Impala watching the warehouse.  “I mean I get it, I like her too, but she’s a civilian, she could get hurt.”

I’m getting pretty tired of his lecturing, “Don’t you think I know that Sam?  But there’s something about her… I don’t want to lie.”

“That’s the rule, Dean.  We lie; we don’t tell people what we do.”

I roll my eyes and catch movement in the warehouse.  “Sam, someone’s moving around in there.  Let’s go.”

We climb out of the car and run up to the side of the building.  I peek in the window but I can’t see shit.

“Remember, Poughkeepsie,” I say.

“I know, Dean.”  And it’s Sam who rolls his eyes this time.

We slip through a side door of the warehouse to search for the shifter-witch.

Keep reading

I’m awful. Terrible. The worst wife ever and a horrible human being, Sansa thought as she stared at her three week old baby boy.

I have to tell him.

She drew in a breath and let it out again shakily, stilling her hands momentarily as they worked on auto pilot to pack hers and baby Neddy’s things.

The front door opens and closes with a click.

“Sansa”? Calls her husband.

She closes her eyes and works on steadying her breath and heartbeat.

“In here” she sings, wincing a bit at how cheery she sounds.

Great. I’m about to break his heart and yet I sound positively giddy. Get a grip Sansa!

Keep reading

I had thoughts about houses. It turned into this sprawling thing. 


Genji and Jesse have safehouses all over the world, old Blackwatch contacts in every big city (and quite a few small towns), hundreds of little boltholes and weapons caches hidden under floorboards and in the back of restaurants. 

Jesse has a list of Gabe’s safehouses ( “just in case,” Gabriel said, eyes overbright, “keep yourself safe out there, kid” ). He doesn’t use them much. They’re too full of his commander–the plants painted on the walls, the beeswax candles in the drawers, the blue eye over each door. Just goes in now and then to sweep up the dust and make sure the pantry’s still stocked with canned food. 

When he was in Nepal, Genji would send Jesse a letter each week, every one to a different address. Jesse sends him pictures in return, a snap for each new place. Genji saves them all, prints them out, leaves one or two in each safehouse he stays in on the trek back to the Gibraltar base. It’s an echo of Blackwatch, leaving photos scattered for another agent to find, passing around memories. They still sometimes get pictures in the shared houses, or left in their more public caches–Chava or Ivan or Beimnet or another former agent passing by. Still here, the photos say. Still thinking of you

Post-recall, they let their Overwatch teammates spring for a hotel and slip off in the middle of check-in. Safehouses aren’t homes, per se, but they’re familiar, and private, and have knives under the mattress. 

“Where do you disappear off to every night?” Hana asks, once.

76 shakes his head like he’s rolling his eyes. “It’s a Blackwatch thing,” he says, momentarily forgetting that Blackwatch is a thing he shouldn’t know about.

“Yeah,” Jesse says, and leaves the knowing, sharp grin to Genji. Morrison is horrible at hiding, but it’s not polite to rub it in. “It’s a Blackwatch thing.”

Three weeks later, they’ll sneak her off with them, comm Lucio, Fareeha, and Zarya to let them know the coordinates if they want to join. Morrison’s been trying to baby them, and Genji figures they need a break and a chance to get drunk like adults. Jesse chooses a safehouse with a guest bedroom and a comfy couch. 

Fareeha brings arak, Zarya tequila and margarita mix. “We don’t have this in Russia,” she says with glee, and sets about mixing drinks. Hana sprawls on the couch like a queen and supervises. Lucio sits at her feet, a glass of caipirinha in one hand. 

Three hours into the night, Jesse’s banging out old songs on a shitty guitar. Genji takes pictures, and gets up early to plaster them all over the walls. It’s not exactly like a Blackwatch party (no knives involved) but it leaves a familiar kind of contentment in his chest. 

They pass through that town again in a couple of months. Two of the photos of Hana have been taken, and in return Ji-ae’s left a note that says, Take care of our champion! 

It’s a hard, brutal battle that leaves them stumbling into one of Gabriel’s old safehouses. Jesse feels wrong, bringing nearly the whole crew here, but none of his and Genji’s boltholes are big enough. Gabe always made sure to get places large enough to sleep three squads ( “just in case” ), and Jesse blesses his commander’s paranoia. The house seems like it’s still secure after all these years, and even better, the halls are wide enough to let Reinhardt through. There’s first aid supplies under the sink, and stronger stuff in the main bedroom’s closet.

“Claim a bed, any bed,” Jesse calls, “I’m gonna get something cooking.” He makes beans from a can and rice to go with–simple and filling–and Genji finds him the spices to make it a little more palatable. 

The team ends up sprawling all over the house. Zenyatta shuts off in the kitchen. Lena takes one couch, long legs hanging off the edge, and Satya primly folds herself onto the other. The third’s occupied by Angela, finally imperfect in drooling sleep. Fareeha and Ana hole up in one of the bedrooms, Reinhardt claiming a mattress on their floor. Zarya, Lucio, and Hana curl up like puppies in the second bedroom. Genji and Jesse take the third, ignoring the second bed to tangle together. Morrison paces the hallways, and everyone is too tired to tell him to stop.

Jesse wakes once, just long enough for a big hand to comb through his hair and a familiar voice to whisper, “Go back to sleep, mijo.” 

“Figures this place’d be haunted,” Jesse slurs, and obeys. 

In the morning, they find Morrison sacked out in the bathtub. Someone’s thrown a blanket over him in the night, scratched “dumb place to sleep, boy scout” in the wall by his head. 

“These old houses,” Genji shrugs, when Morrison spends a little too long staring at the words. “All kinds of funny things happen in them, you know.”

“Sure,” Morrison says, voice an uncertain rasp.

Genji shrugs again, and goes to help Jesse with cooking. Three cartons of fresh eggs showed up in the night, and they’re not about to waste the opportunity for a proper breakfast. 

They leave the house by noon, and Jesse has a feeling something’s watching them go. He waves at the darkened windows, just in case. 


genre: drama (?) , series

word count: 1098

Prompt: “Your friend/roommate sets you up on a blind date with an ex-boyfriend that they never knew about. You two didn’t end on good terms, Will the date go on as planned? Or will you both leave? How will this scenario end?”

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4

Just a head’s up: This is my first time (and probably my last time) writing a fanfic, so please go easy on me. Happy reading! 

Sounds of an alarm clock blaring cause you slowly open your eyes from another dreamless sleep. Like any other day, you will yourself out of bed to get ready for another day at your job. You worked as a photographer and photo editor for some lame magazine company. You’re doing what you’ve always wanted to do, it just isn’t where you thought you’d be though. You imagined yourself taking pictures of beautiful models or incredible scenery from around the world, instead of politicians and boring gray factories. “It’s going to be a long day.”

After getting ready, you attempt to leave the apartment when your roommate stops you and yells, “GUESS WHAT I DID?” “Why are you yelling? It’s eight in the morning.” “Don’t be such a sad sack, just guess!” You stood there, stuck in your best friend’s death grip on your shoulders, trying to make it look like you were thinking about whatever it is she just did. “I don’t know, you won the lottery and we don’t have to go to work anymore?” “Gee, I can always count on you to set the bar too high, but no. I didn’t win the lottery, I got you a blind date!”

Before you could really savor the thought of drop kicking her because blind dates are always a bad idea, she holds her hand up and begins telling you that she set the date up on a Saturday because you’re a workaholic, she’s met this dude before so he isn’t sketchy, and the date is at 7pm so you could sleep through most the day. “Come on, we’re ahead on rent and you need to take a load off. Plus, you need to enjoy your weekend instead of lumping around eating junk food and watching terrible movies.” Wanting to reject your roommates offer, you looked her in her eyes and saw that they were almost pleading you to agree to the date. She did do this for your sake and not wanting to make her sad for all her efforts going to waste, you reluctantly say yes but only is she double dates because you haven’t  been on a date in a while.

Days went by a lot faster than they normally did and before you knew it, it was Saturday. Even though you wanted to sleep in you were awake, staring at the ceiling. You couldn’t help but think about this blind date. Where was the date going to be? Will he have some common interests? Is he going to be super beautiful like the rest of your roommate’s friends? You haven’t thought about a date this much since, him.

You weren’t always so lifeless, but one thing is for sure, you’ve always been a workaholic. Working hard, studying even harder to get where you are now. He used to love the drive you had to be what you wanted, until it got in the way.

After three years of being together, you and your ex-boyfriend got into a heated argument about how you two never spend enough time together because YOU never seem to make the time. “It’s like you don’t care about US anymore. Every time I’m done with dance practice or when I finish up in the recording studio, you’re the first thing on my mind and I always find time for you. It’s all about you and your dreams now.” “How dare you say that I don’t care. I just don’t have the ti-” “YOU NEVER MAKE TIME THAT’S WHY!” That was the first time he’s ever yelled at you before. You were taken aback for a moment, until you walk to the door and tell him, “If you can’t just support me and all the work I’m putting in to be someone some day, the way I do for you, then you can leave.” He stared at you for what felt like forever before he started walking towards the open door. “If you close that door, I won’t come back.” You didn’t say anything to him nor could you find it in you to look him in the eyes. He just looked away and left. It took you a while before you closed the door, but when you did, all the tears you held back during the argument streamed down your face. He was really gone.

It wasn’t until you heard the toilet flush that you came back to reality and noticed you were crying. Expecting your roommate to walk in anytime soon, you wiped your face quickly and hide under the covers. As you predicted she walked in, but only to see if you wanted breakfast. You feigned a sleepy voice and told her no. Just as she closed the door you kicked the covers off and just laid there trying to think of your date tonight instead of the past.

Five o'clock came around and you and your roommate fought over the bathroom mirror, trying to get ready. Once you’ve finished flat-ironing your hair, you rummaged through your closet for clothes that didn’t make you look like a stiff. You eventually settled on a pair of ripped up skinny jeans, your roommates gray crop top, your black Nike windbreaker, and your black low-top converse. Your roommate comes in to see if you’re good to go and the two of you head out.

The two of you were going on a double date to see this fall season light show at a festival they hold in town every year. As you’re staring out the window your roommate asks if you’re nervous. “Just a little. It’s been some time since I’ve been out on a date.” “Don’t worry, it’ll be fine. This guy is super sweet and he won’t make things awkward… At least not on purpose.” You two share a laugh as she parks the car.

With your arms locked together so you don’t lose one another, the two of you make your way through the crowd looking for your dates. “There they are!” She picks up the pace, dragging you a little. Getting closer to the pair of boys you knew that they were friends with your roommate. Designer jackets, black Yeezy shirts, ripped black pants, Jordans. If they didn’t look as cool you would have guessed that they went to a funeral.

She stops you in front of them as she hugs her date from behind. Just as she’s about to introduce you to your date, he turns around and your jaw couldn’t have dropped any faster. Standing in front of you was your blind date, and ex-boyfriend. “YOU?!”

Shout out to @scenarioideas for this writing prompt. I just liked the prompt so much I had to write. Thank you so much (:  I am open to critics about this. I know it ‘s pretty short and I will definitely try to make something longer (if I keep writing). There MIGHT be a part two to this I promise. 

Bossy as Usual (IV)

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Pairing: You/Jinyoung

Rating: NC-17

Word Count: 2,942

Summary:  After your less than professional encounter on a plane, you find out your new business partner is Park Jinyoung. A man whom, despite all the reasons otherwise, you find impossible to stay away from. 

Keep reading

Butterfly (Bucky x Reader)

Summary: Durring a drinking game Sam said something insensitive that upset Bucky, making him grumpy the rest of the night. Finally, you confront him and tell him just how much he really means

Warnings: SMUT!!!! (I actually really tried on that too) Language, Angst, drinking, Sargent kink

The group sat around the small mahogany table in the center of the room. All had several empty shot glasses in front of them and several more full ones on the table. Tony had made a game, that every time somebody said a cuss word Steve would have to take a shot. By the end of that game, Steve had emptied 3 full bottles of Jack Daniels. The evidence of which were scattered throughout the room.

Once Steve was well drunk, Nat made up a game that would have everybody drinking. Anytime one of them did something that was stereotypical of who they were, everyone around them would have to take a drink.

“You know, you people are so funny.” Thor began after a few moments. “This human mead is nothing compared to that of Asgard.” Everybody took a shot. “How is that Stereotypical of me?” Thor asked, looking around.

Nat flipped her shot glass over. “You always compare things to Asgard. Mead, food, sex. Its all better on Asgard.”

The large man lifted his finger. “Wrong. Jane is far better than anybody on Asgard.” He said, putting his arm around his scientist girlfriend’s shoulders.

She giggled. “Thor, don’t say that.”

Wanda giggled. “You are both so very cute. It is hard to find love like that anymore in the world.” Wanda pushed her hair back with her back painted fingers. “That is one of the great things about the avengers. Everybody is so loving.” She expressed happily.

Everybody took a shot. “You went on about how much better this is then the real world.” Clint pointed out. He turned to Thor. “Hey, why don’t you ever bring any of that mead you always used to bring?” He asked, causing everybody to take a shot. “Come on!” He exaggerated. “I’m not that bad.”

Tony nodded. “Um, yes you are. Whenever you aren’t around your kids you are just like me before this.” He tapped on his chest.

Everybody took a shot. “You brought up your heart.” You explained when he looked at you questioningly. He started to object but you raised your hand, which had an empty shot glass in it. “You always bring up your incident.” You explained further. “It isn’t a bad thing. It is just in your character.” Everybody took a shot and you looked around, slightly hurt. “What did I do?” You asked.

Pietro pointed at her. “You always try and spare everybody’s feelings. Your niceness is your ultimate downfall.” He took another shot for his own accord. “I think I’m going to hit the sack. See you kids in the morning.”

You rolled your eyes and took a shot with everybody. Pietro always bailed before things got heated. Sam looked between you and Bucky. “Y/N and Buck are like the complete opposite. She is to nice and he is rude as fuck.” Steve took a shot to the F word. “Its like Y/N is a butterfly and Bucky is the hulk. Its actually really funny.” He said.

“What, that he is a raging monster that tries to kill everyone?” Banner asked, making everybody take a shot.

You choked a little on yours and looked at Bucky, who seemed to have a permanent scowl on his face. “No, he wouldn’t try to kill everyone. He would spare his butterfly just like Banner spares his Spider.” Sam referred to Nat’s abilities to calm the Hulk.

In an attempt to make light of the situation Nat stood up. “Lets put on some music.” She suggested. She turned to the radio and put on some senseless music.

Bucky silently stood up and walked away, leaving the small party.

It took about thirty more minutes of shots and dancing before everybody peeled off to go to their rooms and beds.

You found your way to your feet and had to lean on the wall for support to get to the kitchen to make some food. When you pushed open the swinging door you saw Bucky across from you. His outline was bright in the light of the open fridge. He wasn’t wearing a shirt and you could see his metal arm glistening.

As quietly as you could you went to stand beside him, but when you tripped over an island stool he jumped around.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to spook you.” You said, but it sounded like, “Didt man ta spok ya.” You limped over to the counter and leaned against it. You tried to hide the slight pain in your foot with a breezy attitude, but you couldn’t manage it.

The man opened the other door and pulled out an ice pack. Without saying a word he carried it over to you and held it out.

Despite the fact that the gesture was very sweet, you held out your hand. “No, Bucky. I’m okay.” You tried to object, but in a huff he picked you up and put you on the counter before squatting down and taking your foot. “Bucky, this is completely unnecessary.” You tried again, ignoring how much you actually loved him touching you

“Shut the hell up.” Bucky growled as he placed the ice to your ankle, somehow knowing exactly what place hurt.

The two of you stayed like that in silence until the pack started to heat up against your skin. “Thanks Buck.” You muttered, trying to scoot off the edge, but Bucky just pushed you back and threw the ice pack in the freezer.

He reopened the freezer. “Pizza or sandwich?” He asked.

“Um… Pizza.” You stated, watching as Bucky’s muscles moved with each of his moves. He put a few slices of cheese pizza on a plate and microwaved them for a few seconds before bringing them over to you. “Thanks.” You said again.

Bucky watched you chew a slice slowly. His eyes bore into yours. Normally you would have said something, but his kindness, and your alcohol tainted mind was enough to keep you in place.

After you finished the pizza you put the crusts back on the plate. “Why are you so grumpy?” You finally asked him. You had regained some of your ability to make coherent words. He didn’t answer. “You got mad during the game. Then you snapped at me. What did I do?” You asked.

He took a bite of your crust and you found yourself smile at how he was cute even when he was eating. “Sam isn’t wrong.” He said after swallowing the bite. He took another then continued. “You are like a butterfly, and I get mad and try to kill everything.” He stated.

You blinked slowly. “Are you drunk too?” She asked. “Cause that made no sense.”

He sighed impatiently, and leaned beside you on the counter. “Look at you, and look at me. You are so sweet, and delicate. You are a butterfly. Then there is me. This big bulky creature that spent the last 70 years of my life murdering people.” He said.

“So?” You asked, brushing your hand over yours. “We all love you here. No matter what you did.”

In one quick motion he had his arms on each side of you. His face was directly in front of you. “That isn’t the point. Y/N, I don’t care if they love me, I only care if you love me. And there is no way a butterfly like you can love a monster like me.” He looked down at your dangling legs.

You gasped quietly, and the clocks began to turn in your head. You sobered up quickly. “Buck. I do love you. You could be anything. Satan, Hitler, Hulk. Anything and I would love you.” You put your hand on his face.

The man leaned into your hand. “You still don’t understand.” He sighed.

His face was warm and pitiful. “Oh, I do. I completely understand.” You used your thumb to trace his plump, pink lips. “You aren’t a monster.” You breathed, feeling yourself leaning closer to his body. “You aren’t Satan, or Hitler, or the Hulk.” Your face was centimeters from his. “You are Bucky. My Bucky.”

In the blink of an eye Bucky’s lips were against yours. His hot tongue flicked over your bottom lip and you let him gain access to the inside of your mouth, where his tongue roughly massaged yours. Your hands were trapped under his, and his pelvis was pushing your legs apart.

When he finally pulled away, you blinked slowly, half expecting that to have been a drunken dream. When you opened back  up your eyes his steely blue ones were boring into your soul. “I shouldn’t have done that. You are drunk.” He said, not moving.

You shook your head. “I think that was the most sobering experience I have ever had.” You stated. Bucky’s lower body was pressed against yours, and you could feel him twitch in his pants. You pushed slightly against him. “Buck. Can you help me to my room?” You asked him.

You expected him to just lean you on his shoulder, but he swung you up into his arms easily and took you to the elevator. “Y/N room.” Bucky told FRIDAY.

When the elevator stopped at your floor he kicked open the door and tossed you on the bed. You bounced up and down on the bed as he tried to shut the door. He had broken the lock with the kick so he slid the desk chair under the handle.

“Bucky, are you gonna make me feel better?” You asked, holding your hand out to him.

He crawled on the bed knelt over you. His knees on either side of you, and his arms pinning you down. “If you ever want to stop, just tell me.” He offered. You nodded and his lips connected with yours yet again.

His hands tugged gently on your shirt and you nodded lightly against his lips. His strong arms tore it off your body, revealing your black sports bra. When he looked down he smirked.

Your face went slightly red. “I… I wasn’t expecting this.” You tried to make excuses.

Bucky pressed his lips against yours again. When he pulled away he was grinning like an idiot. “Its cute, but take it off.” He said pulling your arms up. His hands pulled the fabric over your head, letting your tits fall.

The shock of Bucky’s metal hand touching your breast sent a gasp from your lips. “Buck.” You breathed, feeling your face heat up. His lips connected with yours before he started to trail down you neck and shoulder before finally stopping at the breast that wasn’t in his metal hand. The contrast between the metal, and the hot wetness on each of your breasts sent shivers down your spine, and warmth pooling in your panties.

He let go of your nipple with a pop and started to pull off your jeans. “Oh god doll. Why are you so damn perfect?” He groaned as he examined your barely clothed pussy. “May I?” He asked, starting to head toward your sex.

You nodded with a small smile. Bucky’s strong, in control hands spread your legs apart and ran his finger down your slit through your panties. He pulled back and saw the moistness it had caused. “Look at how wet you are doll.” He said in a very husky voice. “Who made you this wet?” He asked.

“You did.” You whimpered.

His fingers began to press harder against the fabric. “Who did?” He growled, his other palm was pressing into his pants, palming his rising erection.

“You Sargent! Please, I want to feel you inside me.” You called, rolling your hips against his finger.

Bucky bit his bottom lip and watched you writhe against him. “Beg for me doll. Tell me what you want.” He ordered.

“Please Sargent. I need you to be inside me. I need you to fuck me. Please.” You whined, one of your hands kneeding your breast, and the other holding onto the headboard. “Sargent. Fuck me. Please.” You begged.

He smirked. “Good girl. Sargent will give you exactly what you need.” He said, finally pulling her panties off and revealing her core. “God you are perfect.” He said. “Are you ready?”

He pulled off his own clothing and revealed a long thick erection that stood proudly. It was already leaking precum. He prodded your folds gently with his member, spreading your fluids on it before pressing gently, begging his insertion.

“Buck!” You called sharply, feeling yourself stretch as he slid inch by inch into your pussy. He pushed until he was fully sheathed.

Beads of sweat was already gathering on both of your heads. “You feel so good. Doll.” He moaned as he began to pull back out. He quickly thrust back in and began a brutal pace that had you clutching the  large man’s shoulders in desperation.

Your moans were muffled by his mouth on yours, as his thrust hit your g-spot each time. Your nails dug into his flesh as you grew nearer to your climax. “Sargent. I’m close. Can I please cum?” You gasped, trying to keep your words coherent.

“Cum for me doll. I’m right behind you.” His breathless voice was enough to drive you over the edge.

Your arms pulled him flush against you as your body convulsed with your orgasm. Bucky struggled to keep thrusting as he came as well. You could feel his cum squirting inside you.

When you pulled apart you examined his shoulders and back. “Does it hurt?” You asked, tracing over it with your finger tips.

“Nah.” He sucked a large spot on your neck, fully claiming you as his. “I love you.” He muttered, burring his face in your neck.

Drunken Whaler (EMH short story)

Just a fun little idea I got when I found this song:
Be sure to listen to it while you read this.

HABIT stalks his victim through the abandoned halls of an old children’s hospital.

“What will we do with a drunken whaler?”

Those words echoed repeatedly down the barren, cold corridor chilling me to the very core.

“What will we do with a drunken whaler?”

His footsteps sounded closer, slow and deliberate.

“What will we do with a drunken whaler, early in the morning?”

He stopped and I held my breath, sulking deeper into the darkness of the closet I was hiding in.

“Way, hey and up she rises.”

He began again, continuing down the hall.

“Way, hey and up she rises.”

I sighed, pushed the closet down open slowly, pausing at every creak.

“Way,hey and up she rises…”

I heard him pause his step and I froze like a deer trapped in headlights.

“Early in the morning”

His growl was low and demonic much like a defensive creature except he wasn’t the one being cornered. I was trapped like a rabbit in a snare.

“Stuff him in a sack and throw him over.”

He sang, dragging what sounded like a knife or metal pole against the torn walls creating an awful scraping sound.

“Stuff him in a sack and throw him over.”

His footsteps approached once again and I shut the closet door, praying he wouldn’t enter the room.

“Stuff him in a sack and throw him over, early in the morning…”

Suddenly, I jumped with fear as a loud clunk revibrated throughout the building, putting an end to the scraping noise.

“Feed him to the hungry rats for dinner.”

He continued and by now tears had stained my face.

“Feed him to the hungry rats for dinner.”

I covered my mouth, urging myself to stay quiet.

“Feed him to the hungry rats for dinner, early in the morning.”

It fell deathly silent until I heard the rooms door creak open but there were no footsteps to follow it.

“Way,hey and up she rises.”

He began again, softer this time and in a gentler tone but that did nothing to calm me.

“Way,hey and up she rises.”

He entered the room slowly and softly, a strange dragging sound followed behind him.

“Way, hey and up she rises…”

He crossed the room.

“Early in the morning.”

After a few moments of nothing I picked up the courage to open a small crevice of the closet door, peering through the gap. He stood by the barred window, facing away from me.

“…shoot him through the heart with a loaded pistol…”

He sang much quieter this time.

“Shoot him through the heart with a loaded pistol.”

I watched him cautiously, jumping when he dropped what, to my horror, appeared to be the remains of a human skull. Only then did I notice the legs of a body lying behind him.

“Shoot him through the heart with a loaded pistol, early in the morning.”

He turned sharply and I gasped, ducking out of the light.

“Slice his throat with a rusty cleaver.”

He continued to sing, chuckling darkly and unsheathing a knife from his belt.

“Slice his throat with a rusty cleaver.”

The eerie song carried on as he slowly approached my hiding spot.

“Slice his throat with a rusty cleaver…”

The closet doors flew open.

“Early in the morning…”

I had no time to process what happened next. There was lots of red and then darkness…nothing else remained except his song.

“Way, hey and up she rises”

I listened. There was nothing else I could do.

“Way, hey and up she rises”

It echoed continuously throughout my head, the last words I will ever hear.

“Way, hey and up she rises, early in the morning…”

HABIT hummed gently, dragging a small body behind him. Such a sweet song, a gentle calm tune that could easily make babies sleep and children silent.

And silent they were…

  • Robert: Why don't you just sack off work for the day?
  • Aaron: I'm better off keeping busy.
  • Liv: Morning.
  • Aaron: Hiya.
  • Robert: Hiya. - You could be busy taking me out for lunch, never mind humping a load of old scrap about.
  • Aaron: I can't expect Adam to carry the business, can I? It's gonna be bad enough when I'm inside.
  • Robert: Nice to see you've got a sense of humour about it. While you're sleepwalking your way in to prison, what are the rest of us supposed to do?
  • Aaron: You can stop fussing for a start.
  • Chas: (coming in) Special delivery from Marlon the great.
  • Liv: What is it, a cake?
  • Chas: Mm. He's done it special for Lisa. Look. Ha-ha. Double choc-chip chocolate fudge. Wow, about 4000 calories a slice.
  • Liv: Well, whoop-de-dooo for Lisa then.
  • Aaron: Oi you, you'll trip over that bottom lip if you're not careful. Oi! Why don't you come to the scrapyard, help me for half an hour? I'll make it worth your while.
Of Maeve

I remember the nervous thrill and exciting uncertainty when it had been a month and a week since I’d last seen my period and similarly the same time the pregnancy test only showed half of the second pink line.Niall was sure I was pregnant but I still wanted to go to the clinic to check.

I remember every aspect of the doctor’s exam room-the educational posters on the white walls,the serene painting and the medicine cabinet to the left of me.It was deathly silent aside from the wax paper crinkling underneath my ass and the air smelled sterile like the whole room was bathed in hand sanitizer.Niall was standing next to me,his more calloused hand in mine,heat and anxiety radiating off him.I was lying on my back on the examination table,my gelled tummy exposed to the cold conditioned air. We were waiting to see a little black dot on the screen which would be a gestation sac-an indication that I was indeed pregnant. We never found it.

“Mr and Mrs. Horan I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news..’’The Doctor went on to say that the shape of my uterus had made an environment that wasn’t ideal for birth but I didnt hear that.I heard that it was my fault.I felt so disappointed because this was my fault,Niall was biting down hard on his fist to stop the sound of his sobs but there were tears flowing down his red cheeks and ruby rings forming around his eyes.The doctor glaced at us before stepping outside,bringing a pamphlet about adoptions a few minutes later.

All the days I had spent rubbing my soon-to-be-swollen tummy,imagining the pitter patter of tiny feet and the sweet squeals of laughter that could only belong to children felt like they were all wasted moments.

The morning after,Niall woke up before me…I could feel his stare and the awakwardness in the air as he got bustled around the dresser drawers behind me.He probably didn’t know what to do or what to say and I didn’t blame him because it would have been like the pot calling the kettle black.He sighed after a while,“M'going down to the golf course,”he whispered.

I nodded stiffly and kept my eyes closed because I just couldn’t bear to look.He sighed again and for a minute I thought he was going to stay but the and the bedroom door shut behind him and he was gone.

I opened my eyes seeing the light pouring through the windows his covers were haphazardly pushed off the bed.I ran my hand over the smooth blue sheets where he laid and they were still a little warm.I stayed in bed for a few more minutes because I just didn’t want to get up.It made me sick to my stomach to think that I caused this unhappiness ,afterall, I made him cry and I made him leave.No wonder why he went golfing,my mind mocked me.It wanted to torture me by reliving what happened.It wanted to make me suffer.

It was around 8am when I pulled into the driveway of my childhood home and the morning sun was just coming up over the horizon,dew lacing the green grass of the lawn.I was standing outside in my navy blue Nirvana sweatshirt and a pair of yellow pineapple shorts,Niall’s tube socks and slippers on my feet.My duffel bag in hand and my wedding ring still on my finger.

When mum saw me she didn’t judge she just hugged.

She smelled like love and vanilla porridge and felt like comfort and support while I was bawling my eyes out,my heart breaking and my chest burning for oxygen.“Mummy I-I lost-” 

 “I know darling,“she said in a voice without malice or disappoinment,something only a mummy can do.Something I’d never get to do. 

 She put me to bed and gave my boss a call then telling me Ms.Cartwright gave me a few weeks off and that my job was there for me when I got back.

 I lost track of the days I spent crying and walking around in my old holey sweat pants and white vest with the random tomato stain down the front.It was liberating for a day until the stress started piling up because adults have to have balance between professional life and personal life and personal life went shit right now.  

Niall called everyday but I never answered.I was denying myself.At night I was haunted by the sound of his sobs back at the clinic and my days were spent moping around miserably and drowning in my own self pity.I’d stare at the tv screen watching action movies and trying to distract myself by raising my adrenaline levels but I felt like a sad sack of potatoes. 

It was a Saturday morning when mum woke me up saying that we needed to talk.Then she talked. “y/f/n y/m/n y/l/n-Horan,”,she started and scared the sleep from my body because that was my full name and she only called me by my full name when she meant business,“I raised you to be a strong young lady who will never let her short comings get the best of her.Therefore,starting right now,it’s time for recovery.”

 The next 2 weeks were filled with going to the gym and eating right and doing what the newly purchased self-help books on my bookshelf told me to do.It took my mind off of things and I was slowly starting to feel better.Accepting I was the reason was probably the hardest thing I had ever done but it made every moment after so much easier.This big weight had been lifted of my shoulders and I felt good.I knew in my heart I’d always love my baby but I had to get a grip.I had to move on. 

I was packing up my things on Saturday morning when I heard Niall’s voice for the first time in a long while. “So this where ya been camping out,ey petal?” 

I spun around to see him standing in the doorway.He was wearing a blue sweater and blue ¾ pants with white Adidas Superstars on.He gave me a half smile breathing in a laugh.

“Niall,"I said breathlessly my lips curving into a smile as I crossed the room and ran into his awaiting arms.He pulled me into a tight hug and kissed my hair softly,rocking us side to side,"I missed you,"I mumble into his soft cotton sweater. 

 He returned the words with this deep underlying sense of melancholy that tugged at my heart strings,"I missed ya more then you could imagine,y/n." 

 We stayed like that for a few moments.Two lovers in an embrace,softly caressing with the lustre and passion we shared the first time we familiarised ourselves with the dips and twists of the other’s body. 

 "M'sorry I left tha morning..I just felt claustrophobic in our own house..and then when you weren’t there anymore I was pissed scared.You didn’t even tell our friends where you went or answer any of my calls it was like you dropped off the face of the earth,love,”,he rushed out like he had been dying to say it all along. 

 "How did you find me?“ 

 "Your mum gave me a call and told me where you were that you needed some time for yourself and my whole temperature dropped and I felt so fucking relieved.For a moment I thought you weren’t coming back. " 



 And all of the feelings I thought I had gotten over came flooding back to me."I did this…I made you feel like this.I made you feel like I didn’t care!” I pushed myself away from him, hot tears flowing down my cheeks and blurring my vision.

“No-no I’m sorry petal I wanted to leave without finding a solution.It’s my fault.I’m sorry."He pulled me back into his arms and plucked me up so I was wrapped in his bone crushing hug.He sat on my bed and let me cry and release all the tears and snot and emotions I bottled up out onto his shirt. 

When I calmed down a little bit I realised he had tears flowing down his cheeks.His face was red and he was biting his lip,chest shaking trying to hold down his sobs and regulate his breathing.I only just noticed the bags that cradled his crying eyes. 

It hit me hard that I had been a little selfish,putting my own feelings of self loathing first before considering how my husband felt.He was just as broken as I was.All along I felt like I was the only person hurting but Niall had lost a child too.

Wonderful Christmastime

Could you please do a cute Christmas request with Gee and it’s Christmas morning, and the dogs and cats are running around and he has his black PJ’s on and a Santa hat and a goofy smile. And literally treats you like you’re the world. Something like that please? I love you! 💕

Christmas imagine where Basement Gee buys y/n a puppy to help her cope with her depression

So like with all my fluffy stories, this is a bit shorter than normal. But I still think this is pretty sweet!

The second prompt was kind of put in here, though the reader doesn’t get a new pup or maybe they do… you’ll just have to read! I just figured it went well because the first request has pups in it anyways.  (though ultimately I went with Danger Days Gerard for this one….)

I’m realizing that I’ve kind of played around with both prompts here (i.e; Gerard is wearing an elf style onesie rather than the black pjs… but I hope it’s all okay!)

Grasping at the sheets, you groaned in protest realizing he wasn’t there. Feeling his spot empty, you rolled towards the middle of your bed, tucking the covers closer around you as you tried to drift back to sleep. It could’ve only been a few minutes when you felt the mattress dip, something warm pressing against your face as you tried to burrow in your pillow, swatting in protest to get them to stop. 

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Would a DaveKat college au be okay?

Yeah, that would be totally rad!
If there’s more you want for that au specifically, feel free to hit me up, anon :)

Surprise package

A 331 word imagine. Negan x gender neutral oc. Apart from some slight adult humor this is just a bit of crack. :)


Tagging randoms hope its okay!: @negans-network @i-am-negan-trash @grab-my-boner @negans-dirty-girl @redisunamused

“Yo bossman.”

Calling out from the back of the truck you pass another crate of goodies down to Travis. Today had been a good day, you managed to find a small treasure trove of supplies while out on the scavenge and it had boosted everyone’s morale.

Negan looks in the direction of your voice, a bored expression on his face and saunters over, leaning to the side and swinging Lucile into the empty space beside him.

“I got you something.”

You can tell you’ve got his attention now. His eyes brighten, locking onto you like a kid on Christmas morning. You throw down a large sack of goods to Alderman before tossing the small carrier bag over to your fearless leader.

“Saw it and thought of you.”

He catches it with ease, his leather clad hand fisting the plastic. Tucking Lucile under his arm he reaches into the bag with careful curiosity, a smirk playing at his lips.
His eyebrows furrow and for a small moment you worry if you did the right thing. Maybe you should have waited and given it to him in private later.

Your worries vanish when you see his face break out into a huge grin. He laughs, the sound making the corners of your mouth twitch into a smile. Pulling the fabric out of the bag he holds it out in front of his face. The novelty boxers are black with large red writing clearly reading ‘PARDON MY HARD ON’.

He looks positively gleeful, wagging a finger at you. “I fucking knew you thought about my dick butternut.”

Jumping down from the truck bed you can’t help but roll your eyes, the smile now stretching across your face. You grab a crate off the asphalt and make your way inside ignoring the way your face flushes with warmth.

You hear Negan call out after you, making you laugh. “Hey you went into a god damn sex shop without me? What else did you fucking get?”

Tiki Temptation

The warm wind blows against my back. I’m facing the chubby bartender with skin dark as night. He gives me a smile and asks my girlfriend and I for our cocktail order. We wait an listen to her agonize over what drink she thinks will be appropriate for the day treating us to her every mundane thought. Four days of this indecision and mind numbing display of mental self indulgence wears on my patience.

I look toward the former high school prom queen an aspiring model and note to myself that this infatuation with my former crush is nothing more than resolving self esteem issues from the mast. I’m more mature, confident,and as I look at the 5’ 7" tall 110 pound blond who’s complaining hours earlier about being too physical, lasting too long, and getting too hard remaining fresh in my mind, note that her look is not what I desire. Her voice becomes louder while my silent thoughts fade back to the present scene.

The bartender’s stare and drooping eyelids indicate his boredom with Traci’s rambling. He lets out a gust of breath when she punctuated her chatter with an order. A pina colada with extra garnish and an explanation that while trying to keep skinny is allowing herself a day to take in a few extra calories. Traci continues her rambling after receiving her cocktail.

The bartender’s attention shifts. A male voice with a lisp is my cue to turn. An involuntary grin come across my face. The buxom ebony beauty struts into the semi enclosure then rests her hands on the bar top. Her companion is short, skinny, wears a black speedo exposing pale legs and knobby knees, a white button down linen shirt, black sunglasses, a white fedora, and a 70’s style black mustache. His chatter competes with my girlfriend’s rambling.

The busty woman orders a vodka and soda over ice. I eye her every move. My girlfriend’s voice becomes background noise. I become reckless and fail to hide my interest. The woman smiles and raises the sweating cocktail glass to her lips. She gives me a look then tilts her head back downing the cold liquid in a single gulp.

I look at the bartender and motion for him the buxom dark stranger another drink. The woman turns and extends her hand, “Rae,” she says. I stare in silence. Rae opens her mouth and widens her eyes as a cue to respond.

“Mike,” I stammer.

Our companions continue their private discussions. Content with their audience of one.

Rae follows my stare into her deep cleavage. I shake my head and apologize. Rae tells me to relax and look all I want. The ebony beauty and I chat. Rae smiling after my admiring looks. She tells me how a friend of hers set up an amateur modeling gig on the island and after four days with, Ken, the photographer who keeps trying to mix business with pleasure she is ready to head home. I echo the same desire.

Rae looks past me toward my girlfriend.

“Not your type I see,” says Rae

I inquire as to why Rae makes that comment. She licks her lips and looks over her curvaceous form.

“Because I make skinny, weak, white, witches disappear as a hobby. See, you haven’t noticed she’s even with you since I got here.”

I turn. My girlfriend looks at me. I introduce her to my new acquaintance. Traci raises her eyebrows and tilts her head up announcing that we’re on the island for her to model a swimsuit collection.

Rae clears her throat and gives me a light push separating me from the bar and exposing her full bodacious frame to Traci’s view. My girlfriend’s already pale features manage to turn whiter. Her knees tap together and bend. Her arms cross in front of her 30B chest while managing to hold on to the pinnacle colada in hand. She takes a gulp of air.

Rae lets Traci take in the view and puts one hand on her hip. She explains that she too has a modeling gig and adds how she wants to chat and get advice from a pro. Rae makes her way next to Traci who remains speechless.

I can’t take my eyes off of Rae. She glances at me making sure I get a good view of their contrasting bodies. Rae move in close to Traci invading the blond’s personal space. Rae asks a series of questions that Traci answers in a timid tone. It’s as if Rae’s body is in the process of sucking away the blonde’s confidence.

Rae voices her thought that it’s odd how two women from different backgrounds with such differing bodies be in the same industry. “Incredible!” Says Ray. She winks at me then continues,“I mean when I was asked to do this shoot for a sporting goods store I was nervous! But now that you told me your modeling for some high end bathing wear designer - I mean - anyone can do this I think.”

I watch Traci’s body language. For the voluminous amount she talks her frame slouching in front of Rae speaks volumes about the superiority of the dark buxom beauty in comparison to the once posture perfect Traci. I let out an expletive when Rae takes a deep breath accentuating her huge bosom.

Rae looks at me and smiles. Her eyes gaze at the bulge in my swim trunks. I look toward her companion to see his reaction to the scene. I chuckle noting the pimple like form showing in his black speedo.

“C'mon Skinny!” Rae grabs Traci’s scrawny arm and pulls her toward the tiki bar’s toilet room door. Rae’s free hand opens the plastic door. The room is a plastic portable toilet adjoining the palm frond hut wall. Rae shoves Traci into the room. My cock grows harder in reaction to the display of strength. The goddess with dark skin joins my companion in the snug space.

The doorway of the toilet room frames an incredible picture: The taller, more muscular, bustier, Rae focusing on the shorter, scrawny, 28A cup blonde who looks in my direction. The blonde’s eyes are wide and mouth gapes. The door slams shut.

I look toward the photographer. He sneers at me. I wonder if Rae has slept with him.
I hear bedlam behind the door. My cock aches as it presses against my shorts. Curiosity gets the best of mean. I look toward the photographer again. I try not to laugh at the pimple sized pump in his speedos.

The toilet room door swings open. Rae struts out wearing Traci’s bikini. Dark, thick firm legs lead up to a bikini bottom that resembles an eye patch covering her womanhood. Rae turns to show off her big, round, solid ass that swallows the garment. Her back is wide and strains the strands of the top. Rae faces me once again. I let out an expletive in response to the sight of the bikini top that fails to cover Rae’s huge charcoal color nipples.

“Get your sorry ass out here!” shouts Rae.

The toilet room door opens enough to allow the frail form of my girlfriend to pass. She stumbles out onto the sand floor of the tiki bar. She plods toward Rae. Her shoulders slouching and back hunching, head tilting down, as her skinny, lifeless arms dangle. She wears Rae’s workout gear although on her body the clothing looks nothing like it did on the buxom beauty that now strains the bikini material who awaits Traci’s arrival next to her.

Traci takes her position next to Rae. My cock grows harder in reaction to the sight. The contrast is stark. My heart begins to pound. While Rae stands erect and holding her head high while ever fiber of swimwear fabric stretches against her sinuous strong body Traci’s mascara streaks down her cheeks. Her knees touch and thighs look half the size of her counterpart’s. The lycra shorts that rode up between Rae’s massive buttocks hang loose on the blonde’s hips. Her weak looking core folds inward and leads to the red crop top. The words “WINNER” that Rae’s tremendous chest advertises is unreadable amongst the creasing material hanging off Traci’s shoulders. The top covers her upper body like a loose fitting sack. The woman who is due to model a top designer tomorrow morning looks like a starving high school freshman girl in comparison to the curvaceous amateur next to her.

Rae sees my reaction and smiles. “Well! Whdya think?!”

My trance like state breaks.

“Excuse me? Excuse me!” a finger taps against my deltoid. I turn my head. My eyes see a close up of Rae’s photographer. “You realize that she’s with me.” I turn back and look at Rae. Again the photographer’s finger taps my shoulder. I turn. “I said, she’s with me!” The skinny man unleashes a slap to my face.

“Motherfucker,” I grumble. The slap stings but other than making my head take a slight left turn has no other effect. The bartender voices that he doesn’t want trouble. I slap a 100 dollar bill on the bar. It convinces him to step out of the hut. The photographer yells but I don’t listen to the words. My focus is to eliminate my competition. I pull off my shirt exposing solid pecs, 20 inch arms, and tan abs. I flex my pecs. The photographer takes a gulp of air. I swing my right arm as if pitching a softball. My fist connects with his flat but soft belly. I hit him with such power it seems like I’ll blow my punch through his back. His eyes bulge and tongue extends out his mouth. I hold the pose as his body deflates around my balled up sledgehammer of a hand.

You watch the photographer’s eyes bulge. His lips purse and resemble the look of a fish out of water. You eye my muscular frame. “Show me more Baby!” You cheer.

Your words energize me. I slam punch after punch into my foe’s body turning his midsection into jelly. His body can’t absorb the force of the blows. I back him up into a corner where the bar meets the wall. All that’s visible of him are his legs and arms. You listen to me yell, “Yes!” punctuating each bone breaking blow. I step back.

You feel an electric sensation run through your body as you watch the photographer go cross eye and hug his body before falling to his knees eye level with my lower abs. He struggles for air. You hear a sound to your right and turn.

Traci stands with knees touching. Your previous outfit hangs loose off her frail frame. She stares slack jaw at your huge chest. The bikini top can no longer hide your nipples. The material strains as the big bullet size forms stand out.

You sniff the ocean air then strut toward me. It’s time to take what’s your’s. You stand in front of me. Your huge chest facing my bare solid pecs. “You’re so much more man,” you announce over the gasping sounds of the photo. Your one hand cups the bulge of my shorts. “Oh shit!” you exclaim. Both hands grip my waist band and with a single downward tug you pull my trunks down releasing my semi hard cock inches from the photographer’s face. We smile. You look down, “get a good look, Pee Wee, ” you tell him. One hand on my chest and the other works my cock to its full size.

The two weaklings look on in shock as you stroke with more vigor. Precum lubricates my hard as steel shaft. I grunt enjoying your control over me. Your big breasts bounce in the confines of the tight top.

I hear a whimper and look down at the sniveling shell of a man looking at my big boner. My cock swells. I step back and you release my rod letting it stand up straight. My eyes focus on your’s. I reach down with my right arm and grab the photographer’s hair. My eyes remaining on your’s. I greet the kneeling wimp’s face with my left fist.

By the third punch you look down. The lesser man’s hands hold my right wrist. My fist continues to smash in his face. My cock remains erect and swings like a metronome. The loser’s hands slip off my wrist and dangle at his side while his face takes more punishment. I let go of his hair and allow him to fall face first into the sand.

The once confident man lay broken and face down. He raises his upper portions on shaking arms. His eyes black, cheeks swollen, nose broken, and lips split. Even through blurring vision he can see your curvaceous form. He opens his mouth to speak.

My eyesight is clear and every inch of me desires the dark skin of the voluptuous woman. Traci cries my name. I move toward the woman of my desire. The photographer lies in my path. My foot comes down on the back of his head slamming him face down into the sand. He’s arms and legs writhing under my weight. My right hand grabs your round solid as while my left pull your bikini bottom to the side to expose you clean shaven lips.

Without hesitation your left hand grips my thick shaft and positions it toward your womanhood. Your left forearm contacts the back of my neck. Traci screams in protest. Your feet leave the sand and my body flexes as it supports your weight. You cry out my name while slamming down on my waiting cock. I thrust my hips upward burying my manhood as far as our bodies will allow. You cry out and gasp as your pussy splits to accommodate my girth.

Traci’s cries fill the bar.

I pump my hips. My cock pistons in and out of your pussy. The sounds of our passion grow louder. We compare one another to our escorts. You gasp about my cock size dwarfing the wimp I continue to crush under foot while I roar how much more woman you are than Traci. Our bodies are built for a marathon session of fucking. Traci is out of tears and the photographer lays still while we continue to pleasure one another.

You pant about wanting me to cum. You turn your head and look toward Traci. “Now watch this! You flat chested hag!” You heave your heroic proportioned chest. The bikini top strains against your skin. The stitching can no longer handle the pressure. A loud tearing sound announces the freeing of your huge firm chocolate orbs.

“What a woman!” I roar. My cock rams in and out of you faster.

Traci takes a gulp of air.

“Watch!"you shout. Your body’s muscles contract as you wrap tighter around my muscular frame. Your huge breasts swell as you press them against my solid pecs. You drive your tongue in my mouth. Traci screams. You raise your thick hips enough to expose the underside of my cock to view.

Your actions result in the affect you desire. My hands grab a tight hold of your solid ass, my biceps grow with you between them, my chest flexes. I feel a charge of electricity stream throughout my body. My thick cock expands. You throw your head back. "What a woman!” I roar. Traci views my throbbing dick while it fires rivers of cum deep inside of you. I drive my shaft home and fire the last drops into you. We pause then kiss.

My arms lower and allow your feet to touch the sand floor. Your legs quiver but regain their balance. You moan.

I take my foot off the back of the photographer’s head. He raises himself and looks up.

You look down passed my dripping cock at the loser who thought the promise of modeling stardom would gain your affection. Sand powders his swollen face. His eyes black, nose a bloody pulp, and lips split. You reach out and caress my cock in one hand with your eyes remaining on the beaten man.

I raise my leg then slam my foot down onto the back of his head with skull crushing force. His face plants into the sand drowning out his screams. I flex and grind him deeper into the floor. I have your full attention.

You press your lips against my solid pecs. The sounds of the flailing loser under my foot is background noise.

A long kiss against the slab of muscle in my chest before you look into my eyes. You tell me you have something to take care of then turn. The sight of your big round solid ass and swaying hips has blood rushing to my cock. I groan at the feeling of my manhood swelling minutes after exploding.

You don’t turn to look. Your eyes are on Traci. Her eyes are on your gigantic gravity defying breasts.

You halt two paces away from her. The contrast is remarkable. Your body is dark and glistens with healthy sweat, your bare legs are thick, the thong you don is an eye patch over your womanhood that disappears between two massive ass cheeks that resemble shining blocks of marble, your narrow waist leads up to a wide strong back and shoulders that support huge chocolate breasts capped by giant rock hard nipples. Your fists rest on wide hips and you lift your chin in reaction to knowing who is the better woman.

My cock begins to swell and thick leg grinds my rival’s face deeper into the sand.

Traci looks pitiful. Her knees knock together and legs look like dry wigs in comparison with yours. The black stretch shorts that were painted on your powerful posterior wrinkle and look as if the will slide off the white girl’s scrawny bottom. Her tummy is concave as she slouches forward. Her arms lack your thickness and her clavicles are visible. The top that your buxom and heroic upper portions stretched to its limits is a full T shirt on the frail figure. The word champion that was clear to read off your mighty chest is an unreadable chumble on her’s. Her blond hair is in disarray. Her posture makes her look 6 inches shorter than you.

“You’re clients are gonna forget about you as soon as they get a look at me!” You roar. You land a backhand to her right cheek. Her head snaps to the side. Your massive mammaries shake. Her head turns to face you. Tears once again flow from her eyes. You show no mercy. “But your sorry ass is gonna remember me forever!”

Traci screams. You land a series of left and right slaps backing her up out of the tiki hut and into the sunlight of the beach. It does not take long for a crowd to gather around the scene. Your thick legs plant themselves to the sand allowing you to deliver powerful open hand blows to Traci’s red face. Your big breasts sway with the battering. Each slap receive a loud crack as its punctuation mark. The growing crowd cheers.

I stand in the Shade of the Tiki hut feeling blood rush to my cock in reaction to the excitement. The unconscious photographer lays face down at my feet.

Traci is on her knees. You form your hands into fists. Spit and teeth fly from the inferior woman’s mouth. You turn her face into a swollen mass of welts and blood not allowing her semiconscious body to lay flat. “Wanna model, you flat chested cunt? Let’s model!” You grab the loose shirt still worn by your rival. One mighty tug exposes the blonde’s 28A chest. Her tits sag and dime size nipples are almost indistinguishable from the rest of her puny chest. The crowd goes silent in awe of the remarkable contrast.

“Hey Tea Bag Tits!” You shout to make sure your voice is clear despite the ringing noise your sure your rival hears from her inner ear. You let out a growl and cock back your right arm. I yell your name. My cock so hard it strains my jock strap. You drive your arm forward. Your fist makes contact with Traci’s chin slamming her mouth shut with enough force that her teeth crack. The scrawny specimen of a woman’s neck extends as her head registers the powerful punch. You follow through causing the inferior girl to leave her feet. Her body arcs backward while your huge mammaries bounce.

Traci’s back crashes into the sand causing sand to mound at the perimeter of the blonde’s upper half. Her lower body bounces off the hot beach before settling in place.

You hold your pose. A woman yells at her man for cumming in his trunks. I look at him and sneer in disgust.

I strut forward to rest my bulge in the crevice of your ass. I feel your ass grip my thick hard shaft. You lean your back against me while lesser men and women watch our foreplay. Later in the evening you model Traci’s clothing for me leaving the garments in tatters that you deliver to the blonde’s hospital room personally when you let her know you’ve laid claim to her man.

On July 1, 1782 four American privateers raided the town of Lunenberg Nova Scotia and sacked it. Early in the morning Captain Noah Stoddard of Fairhaven Massachusetts landed with 60 men and marched overland to confront the town’s militia. After exchanging some fire for a little while the local militia surrendered when the other three ships and their crews landed and surrounded the blockhouse.

Stoddard and the Americans burned the blockhouse and looted the town of everything they wanted. They took muskets, spiked the cannon, and even took the British uniforms and wore them through town. Estimated damage and lost property was valued at 12,000 pounds. 

During the course of the war 1,697 privateers would sail for America, compared to the paltry 64 vessels of the American navy. The “pirate navy” would be an invaluable part of the American success in the war.