A/N: I was so inspired by this gif set of a ‘dark angel” Stiles that I had to write something for it. I’m calling this a drabble because there’s no real plot, but it’s definitely a longggg drabble. lol Thank you to @minhosmeanhoe for editing it, because I’m sure she did. Also I wrote this in like 2 hours so and I will edit it any further tomorrow if need be. lol I couldn’t find the creator of this gif or gifset, but if someone or the creator messages me ! I will be more than happy to tag them and give them credit. But I did not make this gif nor am I the owner of it.
Word count: 2737
Warning: It’s kind of dark and talks about the devil, and there’s smut (;
Summary: On the run with Logan, Laura, and Charles after Caliban gets captured by Pierce’s men, the group seeks safety in a casino hotel room. Until the Reavers catch up to them, and the reader gets captured. As a mutant with healing powers, y/n is wanted for research. But Donald Pierce is looking for a little more than her powers, and that results in something a little more than dangerous.
It had been three days sleeping on the couch from hell in this awful motel room. Everyday your back was sore, your muscles were tight, and you were becoming very irritable. The small couch or loveseat really, was hard and it had springs that kept hitting your lower back. The first night, the scratchy tan and brown plaid fabric rubbed against your skin giving you rug burn as you tossed and turned. You had to put a sheet over the couch just to prevent the couch from rubbing your skin raw. It wasn’t like you could ask one of the guys to take the couch, you barely fit and Sam and Dean are massive. So you sucked it up and dealt with it, unfortunately it was one part of the job that you hated the most.
The brief scene in Chapter 46 at the end of ACOTAR where Rhys “calls” to Feyre to say goodbye and ends up fully seeing the mating bond between them before he disappears. I honestly wasn’t planning on writing this one until someone asked for it. It just has so much complexity and the original is so perfect, I didn’t want to disturb it. Sadly, I think of all my fics so far, I’m the least pleased with this one, so I feel kind of bad since this was a request, but hopefully it’s not too terrible, aghhh! I take zero credit for the dialogue or ideas behind this scene. Those belong 100% to Sarah J. Maas.
Be Seeing You
Morrigan was rapturous. The emotion I felt flood her mind when I sent her the mental message letting her know to expect me shortly was comforting. But I quickly shut off the link between our thoughts so that I could try to send another more important message. I’d deal with my cousin’s scorn at being cut short after fifty years of waiting later.
The midday sun as I waited for her felt glorious and I was the only one just then who knew it. The rest of the Mountain had either fled home the second Amarantha’s blood was spilt or were resting sound asleep below me. Often I’d come here when I wasn’t being kept to Amarantha’s bedside just to find a brief reprieve amid the chaos, a masochistic reminder that though I could not throw myself into the mountains off the balcony and fly, the ability to do so was still possible. It filled me with such hope some nights.
Harry seized her hand to make sure they weren’t separated as a streak of light whizzed over their heads, whether a protective charm or something more sinister he did not know —
sight and sound were extinguished as darkness pressed in upon him; all he could feel was Hermione’s hand as he was squeezed through space and time, away from the Burrow, away from the descending Death Eaters, away, perhaps, from Voldemort himself. . . .
“Parents,” said Harry, “shouldn’t leave their kids unless — unless they’ve got to.” “Harry —” said Hermione, stretching out a consoling hand, but he shrugged it off and walked away, his eyes on the fire Hermione had conjured.
“Come on!” Harry shouted at Hermione; he seized her hand and they jumped into the fireplace together as Yaxley’s curse sailed over Harry’s head.
he could not breathe or see and the only solid things in the world were Ron’s arm and Hermione’s fingers, which were slowly slipping away. . . .
Hermione’s hand was suddenly vicelike upon his and everything went dark again
She held out her hands, and Harry lifted the golden chain over his head.
She and Harry grasped hands and Disapparated, reappearing on a windswept heather-covered hillside.
Heart beating in his throat, Harry opened his eyes. They were standing hand in hand in a snowy lane under a dark blue sky, in which the night’s first stars were already glimmering feebly.
Now that he was so near, he wondered whether he wanted to see after all. Perhaps Hermione knew how he was feeling, because she reached for his hand and took the lead for the first time, pulling him forward.
Hermione had taken his hand again and was gripping it tightly. He could not look at her, but returned the pressure, now taking deep, sharp gulps of the night air, trying to steady himself, trying to regain control.
He put his arm around Hermione’s shoulders, and she put hers around his waist, and they turned in silence and walked away through the snow, past Dumbledore’s mother and sister, back toward the dark church and the out-of-sight kissing gate.
She picked up the book and then walked back past him into the tent, but as she did so, she brushed the top of his head lightly with her hand. He closed his eyes at her touch
"Please, Ron! Harry, hold on tight to my hand, Ron, grab my shoulder.” Harry held out his left hand.
“Hold tight,” she whispered. “Hold tight . . . any second . . .”
They fell like boulders, Harry still holding onto her hand for dear life... Hermione twisted in midair and the thundering of the collapsing house rang in Harry’s ears as she dragged him once more into darkness.
Then he heard a terrible cry that pulled at his insides, that expressed agony of a kind neither flame nor curse could cause, and he stood up, swaying, more frightened than he had been that day, more frightened, perhaps, than he had been in his life. . . . And Hermione was struggling to her feet in the wreckage, and three redheaded men were grouped on the ground where the wall had blasted apart. Harry grabbed Hermione’s hand as they staggered and stumbled over stone and wood.
“RUN!” Harry roared; the night was full of hideous yells and blows as the giants wrestled, and he seized Hermione’s hand and tore down the steps into the grounds, Ron bringing up the rear.
Again, just a quick warning that this may not be for you, but it also might be. If you don’t like it, just move past it, but if you enjoyed the previous imagine, I hope you also enjoy this one💗
Sitting on the leather couch, it’s currently covered in old newspapers and crinkles whenever I make the slightest movement. The floor looks the same, I can see a car crash in the corner of the room and a half-naked model by my right foot. The red makes most of the images on the paper hard to make out, however.
I gulp the glass of vodka in my hand until it’s empty and put it beside me. It’s silent and I sigh, missing the commotion that has only just come to an end.
Red is in my vision, maybe it’s because my lust is growing and I’m no longer satisfied by just one knife across the throat, or maybe it’s the blood covering my face, reflecting into my eyesight.
Taking my hand, I slide its palm across my cheek. When it comes into view, it’s just as red as I expected. Before I can even decide, my tongue is pressed flat against my palm and travelling towards the tips of my fingers. The familiar bitter taste enters my mouth.
Once my hand is clean and glistening, I inspect my creation. A head lay abandoned just off of the layer of newspapers and I curse myself for not giving myself a larger area to work with. There’s a hand slowly burning in the fireplace and the smell is excruciating to my nose.
The body - or at least some of it - is already in the first few stages of rigor mortis and I sit and watch in silence. It seems impossible for it to be so quiet; only about an hour ago screams echoed off of the walls, which is the great advantage that comes with a house surrounded by nothing but land - I don’t have to tell them to keep their mouths shut and instead, relish in their sounds.
Ripped clothes lie draped over the back of the couch: a black set of underwear and a red dress that’s probably covered in blood, but it successfully hides itself. Beside the door there’s a set of red high heels to match, even though I find myself being a little annoyed because I told her to keep them on.
My tools are beside me, and just like everything else, covered in blood. The sight is almost enough to fuel me up all over again.
I have many options before me as I sit waiting for nothing in particular, I can either hit the shower (but that means the blood will be wasted), discard of the body now; maybe Thailand this time, or I could hit the gym to help keep my frenzy at bay.
There’s a knock at the door and it takes me out of my thoughts. My eyes stick to the pools of blood on the floor, so deep I can see my reflection.
“Shit,” I whisper. My shoes squelch under the soggy newspaper and leave dark footprints across the floor. “Who is it?” I shout and it echoes.
“Justin? It’s [Y/N].”
“What are you doing here?” I ask, pressing my back against the wooden door and running my hands up and down my face, the blood has dried now.
“I, uh, I thought I’d come and see you,” she shouted, although it was muffled.
As much as I’d adore the panic and disgust on her face once she saw the sight of my living room; blood now seeping into every corner, detached limbs lying around the place, and if she happened to look, she’s find a woman’s head in the fridge. I’d show it off to her proudly if I knew she wouldn’t run screaming.
“This.. this is a bad time. Go away,” I shout back. I don’t wait for a reply as I start to tidy up. I have to refrain from sinking my teeth into anything as I pile the remains into a body bag before dragging it up the stairs. A trail of blood follows.
“I was.. sorting something out, it’s not important,” I say into the phone, I can practically feel [Y/N]’s worry and it puts me on edge.
“Promise? You didn’t have a girl there, did you? Hold on one second, Justin,” she says and a thud follows.
“Yes, I had a girl over. I actually brought her back to my house so I could hack her to pieces.”
Another thud rings through my ear. “Sorry, what did you say?”
“I said, no, I didn’t have a girl over, I promise. You have nothing to worry about,” I grin and twirl the lock of blonde hair in between my fingers.
“Good,” she mutters and says nothing else. I roll my eyes before sighing.
“Listen, baby. Let me take you out tonight, somewhere fancy, wherever you wanna go. I’ll make a reservation,” I attempt to sweeten her up, knowing she’ll accept and fall in love with me all over again. I like the idea of her being so dependent on me, I could crush her with one simple confession, or one peek into my closet.
“You know I don’t mind staying home, I can come over-”
“No.. uh, no, that’s not necessary,” I mutter, clocking the few blood stains that need a little extra effort. “I want to take you out. Let me.”
“Okay, fine. Where do you wanna go? What about that restaurant we went to last week? The food there was to die for.
“To die for? Really?” I lick my lips, involuntarily, of course. “You’d die for it?”
“Yeah,“she chuckles and I know I’d feel guilty for picturing her covered in blood, if I was capable, and I want so much to be capable of it. All I can manage is arousal and disgust, any other human emotion seizes to exist in my body.
I’m already looking for the card with the number of the restaurant on it, and when I find it, specks of blood have set deeply into it. I should remind myself to advise the company to make them laminate.
“I’ll book it now and I’ll pick you up at seven, okay?” I drag the hair across my cheek and it tickles, sending shivers down my neck.
“Okay, I love you. I’ll see you later.“
“I love you too, princess. Wear something sexy, preferably red- actually no.. don’t wear red. Anything but red.”
The lights are dim and the sound of people talking, rather loudly in my opinion, reaches me the second we arrive. My hand is pressed firmly on [Y/N]’s back.
She’s wearing black, much to my relief; not only does it soothe me, I happen to be wearing black, too. I swing the bag in my free hand.
The man stood at the podium by the door smiles at us as we approach him and [Y/N] smiles back.
“Table for two. Bieber.”
I wait for the man to find the reservation on the sheet, drumming my fingers the material of [Y/N]’s dress while we wait.
“Ah, yes. Follow me.”
He leads us to a table by the window, it just overlooks the city, meaning we’re able to see the bright lights and the tiny cars zooming around. It looks so alive and it bothers me.
“It’s so beautiful.” She looks off into a daydream - which I’m sure she did last time we were here - while I look around for a waiter. I raise my hand when I spot one walking, from afar, in our direction. “Thank you for doing this, Justin,” she smiles at me lovingly and I nod, taking her hand in mine.
“The pleasure’s all mine, baby.”
“Good evening,” the waiter smiles at us both politely and [Y/N] mirrors his actions. “Would you like to hear the specials this evening?” he asks and, of course, she nods her head.
He’s reading them out and it seems as though they’re never ending and I soon realise I’m not paying attention to the words leaving his lips, but to the veins in his neck and thinking about running a blade along them. My fists clench under the table.
“Any drinks before your meal?”
“Vodka. Please,” I say quickly, before he starts to read anything else, I wouldn’t be surprised if he offers to read us the entire bible and [Y/N] accepts. I don’t think I’d hesitate to slash my own veins after the waiter’s in that situation.
[Y/N] asks for a water before turning her eyes back to me. The waiter nods, says something, turns and leaves and I grab the bag from beside my foot almost instantly.
“I, uh, I got you something,” I smile and she gasps, it’s a wonderful sound.
“You did? That’s so sweet, Justin.”
I watch her take the bag, I watch her pull out the box; it’s rather light and she looks puzzled. My gaze intensifies as she opens it. I’m not sure if it’s sweat I can feel on my forehead.
Another gasp leaves her throat as she spots the red dress. Spotting it myself, I smirk involuntarily. “D'you like it?”
“It’s beautiful,” she whispers, running her fingers across the material as it lays in the box, folded neatly. “What are the little patches?” she frowns and for the first time, I’m able to notice darker patches of red, probably due to the different lighting.
“It’s the pattern. The woman in the store said it’s their most popular item and I knew it’d fit you perfectly.”
She looked hesitant, but I was too occupied in obsessing over the idea of her wearing it to care.
“Maybe you can try it on when you get home, for me,” I cock my head to the side and she giggles, nodding her head.
“Sure, why not?” Those two words sound like music to my ears and I relax, even without the vodka that I’m still waiting for.
I want so badly to tell her, to tell her what that dress has seen and what those ‘patterns’ really are. The mere thought makes me chuckle. Despite this, I keep my mouth shut.
“I’ve never seen this dress anywhere before, where’d you get it?” she asks, and it’s understandable considering the woman it belonged to was French.
“That’s a secret,” I smirk and she rolls her eyes, but smiles while doing so. “The only thing you need to know is that you’ll look beautiful in it, I promise.”
I watch her and I can tell she can’t stop smiling for anything. I can see the waiter out of the corner of my eye, approaching us with a tray resting on his right hand.
“Seriously, Justin, I don’t think this is the pattern,” she mumbles after a few minutes, while still leaning over the dress that she’d placed on the table now. “What is it?“A deep frown has set onto her face.
“It’s blood. It belonged to the last lady that wore it,” I say calmly, taking a huge gulp of my vodka. “It’d do wonders to me if I saw you wearing it.”
Again, she rolls her eyes. “You’re so funny,” she grins and I grin back, we’re mirroring each other now. “You’ve got a very dark sense of humour, Justin, have I ever told you that?”
“Who said I was joking?”
“You watch too many horror movies,” she furrows her eyebrows at me, she’s beginning to look worried and I relish in it.
“Yeah, maybe I do,” I chuckle, but I know I’m just as good as any of those killers, maybe better; at least I don’t get caught. “So, you’re gonna wear it for me?”
“Of course, it’s beautiful.”
She wore it eventually. The next time I saw her, ready to take her out, there she was. I came to truly realise that blood-red compliments her greatly and I couldn’t stop staring. I only wished I’d given her the high heels too.
Of course, I was sweating and drooling and almost unable to raise my glass to my lips, but it was all worth it to see her, so oblivious she was wearing a dead girl’s blood-stained dress. She swayed her hips when she walked and I had to stop myself from growling.
I think the stars are eyes. Singular white unblinking eyes, always staring, never averting their gaze, bright and piercing. I started thinking this way when I was a kid, perhaps because I’d decided that if a god does exist, it must be a cruel being. Rather than accept such a god, I went the other way, and decided there are no ‘gods’ like the ones mentioned in prevailing religious texts. Instead, there are just the eyes—all the eyes, forever watching us.
At night, they watch over us. Now there’s an interesting phrase. Watch over us. When most people hear it, they feel secure. Like a parent, or a guardian looking over, protecting you from the world you don’t understand, from dangers you don’t know, and from beings whose intentions you cannot guess. But also from errors within you, from the mistakes you made, from the poor judgement you exhibit. That’s what people want in life—a watchful eye.
I know all about watchful eyes. They’re not there to protect you, or stop you from making mistakes. They just wait, and watch, imagining horrors unimaginable. And when the time is right, the reach out, and touch you. And then, the darkness takes over, the coldness takes over, and all is gone in a swirling vortex. The worst part is, that isn’t death. That’s still life.
As I grew up, the opinion came and went. I sometimes believed it, I sometimes didn’t. I talked about it, a few times, but mostly people who heard it laughed at me. They thought it was absurd. People always think things are absurd when they don’t agree with the established order, so that is not surprising to me. What they don’t realise is that the absurd does not have to be untrue. If you look at it in a particular way, everything that is true is absurd.
Then, the star blinked. My body seized up, and after a brief pause, my heart began pounding with thunderous intensity. The star was blinking—at me. It was watching me, and it knew all about me, for it had seen what dark deeds I commit in the dark. I shut my eyes tight and opened them again, but the star continued to blink intermittently. I wanted to reach out to it and stab it in its bulbous white ball. But it was too far, too far.
After that, my obsession grew. I quit working in the caravan, and began working at the observatory. I cleaned the place, taking out the trash, making sure things were in order, and at night, sneaked into the library to read works I would never be allowed to read. I read about the stars, their positions, their constellations, about how they moved, how they appeared and disappeared. Much of the language was beyond my understanding, but I read.
And finally, I stood on the knoll, and stared at the blinking star, standing at attention. The eye watched. I watched it back.
timeskip voltron character redesigns make my heart swell tbh ?? whenever i think about the idea of flashing forward five years into the future and watching how all of their interactions has mellowed out, to when you can just tell from their body language and dialogue that they know exactly how to work together and they’re all so relaxed and comfortable and raids become a passtime and forming voltron is as easy as breathing i feel every cell in my body seize up and cry because ohhh my god y'all found family is my fuckin lifeblood and to me it’s probably the single most emotionally compelling theme or motif in media as a whole and i’m gonna sob about it Violently And Horrifically until the inevitable heat death of the universe chokes out all of life and all of time
Please can you tell me
Please just tell me
It’s hidden in the plot
I suddenly broke
Someone else has seized my body
It has collapsed
The world is disrupted
The darkness has already engulfed me
Hidden away, fading away
Please allow me
To rot out of my body
A burnout for the future
Can’t find a solution
The fog doesn’t clear, the truth is frozen
Will not decay
Rapidly driven insane
Cannot be insane
I must go search
Lost in this mad and twisted world
I’ve been taken over, unable see clearly
Please don’t look for me
Do not come near me
You don’t want to see me like this
Projecting the world of the unknown and confused
Painting a picture of your scars
all over your body
I’ll leave my traces
Will you remember me?
It’s spreading through me
Get it out
Loneliness is swallowing me
This painful sensation
Memories struck me hard
Smiles of the guiltless naïve
I ~ can’t ~ move ~ at all
My featureless face is to blame
There’s no way out of this sorrow and pain
You and I are entangled
Together our spirit and souls fall apart
Will not decay
Rapidly driven insane
Cannot be insane
You don’t want to come near this pollution
Lost in this mad and twisted world
I’ve been taken over, unable see clearly
Please do not approach me
Don’t approach me again
You must not look at me
Who wrote this unknown and insane plot?
Who is lost in this lonely and cold prison
In your body?
I’ll leave my traces
If I don’t get away
Please do not forget
Must not forget me
My existence in decline
Think about the vastness
Projecting the world of the unknown and confused
Painting a picture of your scars
all over your body
Please can you tell me
Please just tell me
Who has suddenly broke?
Someone else has seized my body
So I just spent the better part of an hour reading through the FatAttack tag and there are tears. Seriously.
I am late to the show, but I just got home.
I have always been fat. My earliest memory of school is of my brother getting into a fist fight with another kid because the other kid called me fat. I was in kindergarten. I was bullied all through school about my weight. When I was growing up, bullying wasn’t identified as the problem it is recognized to be now, and elementary school was hellish. This was compounded by the fact that my grandmother thought she needed to trim me down before I hit puberty.
She put me on a 500 calorie a day diet the summer between grade 6 and grade 7, and I dropped to 120 pounds. I bounced back up to 140 by my 12th birthday, and felt like a fat failure. I was 5′7″. I should have been thrilled.
By the end of grade 7 I was 165 pounds. End of grade 9, 185. End of high school - between 210-220. By weight shot up to about 250 while I was in my early twenties, and then rocketed above 300 when I started dating my husband. The I Love You Pounds were strong. I was 305 pounds on my wedding day. I was about 320 when I got pregnant with my daughter. I was ridiculously sick my entire pregnancy and lost 75 pounds. She was born, and I immediately started putting weight back on.
By 2011, I was bouncing between 340 and ‘scale does not weight any higher’, and I knew something needed to change.
And so it started. I tried WW, and that was a colossal waste of my time. The leader was a jackass, and I lost a whopping 3 pounds in 16 weeks. When we sat down to figure out what was wrong (I was freely admitting there was a problem and it might be me), he looked at my tracking and told me I was a liar.
So I left. Because I wasn’t lying. One of my friends had amazing success with myfitnesspal, and I was due to upgrade my phone anyhow. Yes. I bought an iPhone entirely because I wanted MFP. Because I was sure that if WW didn’t work, there must be something metabolically wrong with me. I was going to track and print my tracking for the doctor to see what he could do. I started tracking and LO AND FUCKING BEHOLD, the weight started to come off.
It’s been the typical back and forth battle ever since. You win some, you lose some. Particularly because I battle depression and anxiety. Sometimes it’s just not in my skillset to avoid temptation and I slip back into old habits. Sometimes you wind up pregnant even though you’ve been assured by 3 different doctors than you are infertile.
I’ve noticed though, over the last 4 years that the slips and slides have been less and less frequent. And I’ve maintained the same weight for a year now.
Yes, I have more to lose. And yes, I want to lose it. But I have maintained a 100 pound weight loss for a year. And I am never going back.
I always believed in my brains. I always believed in my sense of humour. Because I knew I was an imperfect package, so my interior needed to more than make up for the exterior.
But now I am starting to believe I have real value. Because my strength, determination and intelligence show on the outside package. I don’t need to hide. My body is not perfect. I’m going to be 40 in 3 weeks, it never will be perfect. But my body is a good body. A strong body. A capable body.
My body can run 10km and not drop dead. My body can complete a mud run and move easily the next day. My body can walk up a ridiculously steep hill and run down it and not seize up. My body can lift my son and carry him. My body can recover from surgery in less than a week (motherfucking wolverine).
It’s mine. It’s good. And I’m awesome. Most of the time.
Thanks, hustleformuscle, for challenging me/us/tumblr to do this. It was harder than I thought it would be, and it was so inspiring and worthwhile. <3
It’s been 72 days since the last explosion and 72 days since I had been outside and seen another human being. I’m just a kid. I don’t know anything about nuclear radiation. How long do I wait until the dust settles and I can find the last survivors of my own human race?
I had been keeping safe in an old bomb shelter– well, it was my neighbour’s bomb shelter, but they’re twats, so when those sirens went off, I scrambled down there and locked them out. I wonder what ever happened to them. The undergound bunker had been made in the 1970′s and never used. Everything was perfectly preserved and sealed air tight prior to my arrival, and there wasn’t even a speck of dust to be found. So, for 72 glorious days, I relaxed like a bachelor in a velvet robe and slippers while the rest of humanity got atomic bombs dropped on them. I learned how to make a load of mixed drinks in the mean time with the fully stocked bar. There were history books, records, and Playboy magazines stocked up along with my canned raviolis and powdered milk, all dated from 1970, when the houses in my neighbourhood were built. So don’t blame me for not being eager to rush out and assess the damage.
But after 72 days, the good food had started to run out. I was really in the mood for waffles, but they hadn’t invented frozen waffles when the bunker was built so I was out of luck. I fixed myself my daily glass of scotch, changed out of my robe and slippers, and braved myself for the outside world. I dressed in a nice jacket in case I saw anyone I knew, and wrapped a bandana around my face like I was a hot teen in a post apocalyptic movie. I opened the bunker doors for the first time in 72 days, and without any grasp of how nuclear radiation poisoning worked, I went outside.
When your world gets attacked by nuclear bombs, it really wipes things out. I was kind of pissed that all the nice outdoor patio furniture I bought got exploded. It took me forever to find a set that matched the siding of my house. And it was really dry so my lips got chapped, and I didn’t have any chapstick. So yeah, my day was going pretty shitty so far.
I wandered down to the neighbourhood grocery store just like the old days, pre-nuclear war. I didn’t see a single soul along the way, which sucked because I read a very interesting article in Playboy’s June 1969 issue and I wanted to talk to someone about it. Anyways, I got to the grocery store, which had been boarded up, and I had to rip the boards down with my bare hands which was really inconvenient. I wandered around the grocery store, deciding what else I wanted to eat in my bunker.
“Hello? Can I get some damn service over here?” I yelled at the deli counter, but there was only a skeleton to listen to my cries for help. You just don’t get quality customer care like the old days anymore.
I wandered over to the freezer section, which was still up and running perfectly. Some other foods had rotten but the frozen shit lasts forever. I was humming Tainted Love by Soft Cell from their album Non-Stop Erotic Cabaret, but the 8 minute long extended version because it is so damn good. I was startled by a rustling out of the corner of my eye. I turned around, positive I had seen someone.
“Who’s there? Come on out, I want to share a story I read in Playboy’s June 1969 issue,” I called out. Slowly, from behind a display of fancy cheeses, an old gremlin man with a mane of curly blond hair emerged. He looked like he had been in a shipwreck cause his clothes were all torn up and shit.
“I….I haven’t seen another human being in 72 days….” the old guy croaked out in a hoarse English accent.
“Okay, but like, about the article…” I started.
“I thought I was going to go insane. I’m so glad to learn there’s someone else who survived this tragedy…” he came closer to me and I got freaked out cause he smelled kinda weird. I guess when you’re tumblr famous like me you have to get used to fans approaching you at the grocery store (shout out to my 14 followers love you all mwah :*)
“Do I know you? Can I just sign something so you’ll leave me alone?” I said.
“My name is Roger,” he tried to make peace with me. “Roger Daltrey. I used to be in a band when I was young like you…”
“Roger Daltrey? That name rings a bell,” I pondered aloud. “Say, if you’re British and you used to be in a band, why the hell are you in the suburbs of the Greater Toronto Area (or the GTA for short)?”
“I’ve searched all the grocery stores from sea to shining sea,” the bastard ignored my question and started rambling on like a crazy person. God, old people, am I right? “I know I’m a dying man. But I’m holding on only so my final meal on this earth will be a generic store brand blueberry frozen waffle. It has been the only thing keeping me alive these horrible past few years….”
I stepped in front of the freezer door where the generic store brand blueberry frozen waffles were kept, blocking them from his sight. Those happened to be my favourite too. “Oh gosh, sorry mister, but I haven’t seen any of those in years. Try the Walmart on the other side of town.”
“But I literally just saw you block the generic store brand blueberry frozen waffles from me,” the old man croaked.
“No, you must be mistaken, there aren’t any generic store brand blueberry frozen waffles here. Have a nice day.” I turned around, and just in case he wasn’t looking, I took the very last box of generic store brand blueberry frozen waffles and stuffed it under my shirt.
“What the hell? I saw those first, they’re mine,” he cried out. “Come on, let’s at least share them.”
“No thank you,” I said politely, because my mother didn’t raise me in a fucking barn. I tried to walk away but he blocked me, suddenly seeming rabid.
“Give me the generic store brand blueberry frozen waffles,” he growled at me.
“No, I won’t. Get your own
generic store brand blueberry frozen waffles,” I yelled at him.
“I’m trying to get my own
generic store brand blueberry frozen waffles but you’re hoarding the last box,” he started to cry.
“I want the damn box of
generic store brand blueberry frozen waffles to myself, get out of my face,” I tried to bypass him one last time but he blocked me.
“Fine, thumb wrestle me, and the winner gets the box of
generic store brand blueberry frozen waffles,” he convinced me, so I put the box of
generic store brand blueberry frozen waffles to the side and grabbed his hand. He called out the numbers and we fought. He played dirty, going right for the knuckle and holding down. But I have a mean older sister, so I know all the tricks in the book. I twisted his wrist and went right for the thumbnail, pushing down so hard I heard a crack in his old man thumb.
“What the hell, man?” the old man started crying.
“Sucks to suck, bitch,” I went to pick up my box of
generic store brand blueberry frozen waffles but he snatched them from me! As he started running away, I sassily walked over to the other section of freezers and got a frozen turkey out and threw it at his head. His brain exploded everywhere. I walked over to retrieve my prize and then I realized I had gotten the last box of
generic store brand cinnamon frozen waffles instead of
generic store brand blueberry frozen waffles! Gosh, I’m so clueless sometimes. :P I went back to the freezer to get a box of
generic store brand blueberry frozen waffles when my body seized up, and I promptly died of radiation poisoning. In my last waking moments as I gasped for air on the cold linoleum grocery store floor, I suddenly recognized the man I had fought. Roger Daltrey was the guy from Led Zeppelin, right?
WARNING. THIS IS VERY 18+ FOR MATURE CONTENT. LOTS OF NAUGHTY ADULT WORDS ARE USED. IT IS A PURELY SMUT-FULLED PART SO IF YOU’RE UNCOMFORTABLE WITH DETAILED SEXUAL MATERIAL, I SUGGEST YOU STOP READING NOW. I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR ANY INNOCENCE THAT MAY BE DESTROYED AFTER READING THIS (although I don’t think it’s that bad personally) ALSO IT MAY HELP IF YOU LISTEN TO BODY & SOUL BY B.A.P. WHILE READING TO GET YOU INTO IT. /Body & Soul in case you’re too lazy to find it/