side porches

Sugar, I’m Goin’ Down// Bad Boy Shawn // Chapter Six

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five

Chapter Five Recap:

Shawn sighs. He’s frustrated. “I’m sorry for everything that happened. I am. I can’t take it back, I can’t change it. I know this, but I can try to make amends and like I said I don’t want your forgiveness. I want another chance, no jokes, no Andrew, no one but you and me.”

You look up at Shawn and he’s got tears in his eyes. Something inside you breaks, seeing him like this, so vulnerable. “Shawn…” you sit up and he clenches his jaw and looks toward the window, eyes trained on nothing in particular. “Shawn, I’m sorry.” you don’t know why you’re apologizing, you hadn’t done anything wrong, it just felt like you had to apologize. Shawn’s nose scrunches up and his cheeks flush as he starts to cry. It’s heart wrenching, watching this guy who you’ve known to be nothing but a snarky sarcastic ‘bad boy’ fall apart right in front of you.

“Fucking shit,” he mutters and wipes at his face. “I shouldn’t have come over,” he says and heads for the door before you can say anything else.

Shawn shows up three days later in the middle of the night. You hadn’t heard from him since the morning you skipped class. You took it upon yourself to make copies of your notes and homework for him in case he needed it. After he left you had thought about everything he said. He clearly had feelings for you, feelings you didn’t know were so strong and you realized you had feelings for him too. It hurt, deep in your chest, when he had started crying. The way his nose scrunched up and he looked away, it destroyed you. Seeing him like that made you put aside the panty prank and want to hold him and protect him. He was turning out to be less of a bad boy and more of a boy in a bad situation.

So there he was, standing on your front porch and staring at you when you opened the door. You had been awake studying for a test and hadn’t realized the time until you heard the doorbell ring. Shawn looked pretty terrible even in the dim light. He looked like a man who hadn’t eaten or slept in a few days.

“I forgot to give these back,” he says, voice rough, strained. He holds out the panties he had taken from you for the prank.

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The Witching Hour [4]

Summary: You and your husband Bucky move into your dream home, a few weeks after your marriage. You had no idea what you’d be in for.

Bucky Barnes X Reader

Warnings: Scary and/or unsettling/disturbing content; aspects of a haunting; will contain angst and fluff - Implied smut in this one

Word Count: 1520

A/N: Part 4 today as promised earlier. This is my favourite part so far, and it’s probably the best written part. I’m not sure at this point if I will continue this fic, as not many people have been reading it. Or at least, not many are leaving feedback, or liking or reblogging. I have posts with 1200+ notes, but this one barely has 200 on each part. It doesn’t inspire confidence in my writing. 

Catch up here  

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Package thief?

So, a few days back I ordered from @randomthunk, and I got the package today.  But strangely, it was at the side porch, not with the regular mail, and it was like this:

Moreover, I checked the tracking number and it said it was delivered yesterday afternoon.  And it couldn’t have been outside all night, as I would have stepped on it in the morning.

So I can only conclude that the thing was stolen, and the thief was so annoyed with what he got that he put it back.

This realization has made my day.

The Joker x Reader -“ELLIS”

Nothing is ever easy with him, but this time he really crossed the line. If The Joker doesn’t care about anything at all, what is the point of you two being together? Unless…maybe he gives a damn about at least one thing.

You always drive back to Gotham on lonely, deserted roads, trying to avoid traffic as much as possible.

“J, we’re close to our cabin, we should stop and spend the night; just me and you, yes?” you smile, attempting to be cheerful and lightening up the mood.

“I don’t feel like it!” he bitterly replies, keeping his eyes on the road.

“We’re almost at the turn we have to take to get there. Come on… please?”

“NO! I told you I don’t feel like it!” he snarls, clenching his fingers on the steering wheel. You place your hand on his thigh, caressing it with your thumb:

“Baby, it’s not my fault the meeting didn’t go well.”

He pushes your hand away, still fuming. You look outside the window and take a deep breath, watching the sun going down behind the trees.

“J, come on, don’t be like this…You know I love you,” you tilt your head towards him, hoping he will change his mind.

“Right!!” he scoffs with a sour expression on his face.

“What is that supposed to mean?” you ask, getting restless.

“It means whatever you want it to mean!” the Joker snaps, quickly glancing your way.“You don’t love me, nobody does!” he hisses, being in such a foul mood he can barely concentrate on driving.

“Yeah…I wonder why…” you mutter but he heard you and it makes him even more enraged. You start massaging your temples; you really don’t need this after all the stuff that happened lately.

“J…why did we get married?” you ask, closing your eyes, thinking how much you wish your lives were different.

“Because we’re idiots, Y/N, that’s why!” he angrily raises his voice, accelerating. “Thank God you had the miscarriage three months ago because the kid would have probably had your attitude. I don’t think I could handle two of you!”

He hears you sniffle and your voice breaks down when you address him:

“Why…why do you say such cruel things?” and you start sobbing, deeply hurt by his words. “Stop the car…” you manage to speak through tears. “Stop the car!!!!” you suddenly hit the window with your first and he slams the breaks, unnerved.

You get out fast, taking your wedding ring off and tossing it in his lap:

“Here, consider yourself divorced!” you slam the door, frantically wiping your tears. He just grunts, annoyed and screams back at you:
“Fine! I don’t need you anyway!”

“I don’t need you either!” you yell, whimpering, feeling so miserable you can’t wait for him to go away.

“I hope you die in these woods!” The Joker growls, taking off in a frenzy, aggravated.

“I won’t give you the satisfaction!” you shout, crossing your arms on your tummy, watching him disappear in the distance. You turn around and start walking back towards the hidden unpaved, unmarked road that leads to your cabin. It should be about 10-15 minutes away by foot. You recently passed the spot by car so it shouldn’t be too far. Add about 2 more hours of walking until you reach the destination and you should be there before it gets really dark.

You walk rather slow, deep in thought; being outdoors does make you feel a little bit better. It takes you more than 2 hours, but you are finally at the hideout. You go inside and turn the lights on, looking through your supplies to see what you could munch on. You decide to make a tea and wrap yourself in a blanket, then head out to the porch so you can enjoy the silence you crave so badly.

You have your little backpack with you and search inside until you find the ultrasound picture you kept from when it was confirmed you were pregnant. Your eyes get teary again and you kiss the small image, talking to yourself:
“He only wishes you would have been like me…” you sadly smile and your grieving is interrupted by the sound of tires approaching.

Oh, no, what is he doing here? you panic, covering your head with the hoodie in a failed effort to calm down.

He gets out of the car and slams the door as hard as he can, staring you down.

“W-what are you doing here?” you inquire, shriveling down under your fluffy cover. J walks the stairs up to the porch, barking your way:

“I wanted to see if you died on your way here this way I can bury you. It would have given me great pleasure.”

“I’m not sorry to disappoint,” you sneer, still holding the little picture to your chest.

“What’s that?” The Joker points towards it, even if he already has an idea.

“Nothing you care about…”, you chew on your words, making an extra effort to keep your composure as you return your treasure to the backpack.

He takes a seat on the bench that’s the furthest from you, legs up on the railing, trying to light up a cigarette when you unexpectedly rush to yank it out of his hand and toss it to the ground, stepping on it:

“You quit two years ago!”

“Give it a rest before you make me mad!” J growls, taking out the full pack of cigarettes but you snatch it from him, breaking and tearing it to pieces, frustrated about everything and taking it on his nasty habit.

He takes a deep breath, trying not to lose his temper and warns you:

“Stop your shit, Y/N, you’re pissing me off!”

You don’t even care and continue:

“Go back to Gotham, I want to be alone! I don’t want you here, go away!” you shriek through your clenched teeth, heading back inside, trying not to cry.

“I don’t care about what you want; this is my hideout too!” you hear him grumble and don’t care for the rest since you step inside the bathroom, closing the door. You are so ready for a shower and a bit of sleep to calm down the tension you feel in every muscle of your body.

15 minutes into it and J parts the curtain to the side, making you jump since you didn’t hear him sneak in.

“Make room, I want to take a shower too,” he commands, getting inside.

“Go take a shower in the other bathroom!” you plead, irritated he’s so inconsiderate.

“I like this one better!” he kind of shoves you to the side, getting under the warm water.

“Fine, you can have it!” you give up, grabbing your towel and step outside when he tries to snatch you.

“Where are you going? I wanna wash your hair!” he angrily yells after you, unhappy you’re defiant…again.

“I already washed it myself!” you slam the door and J continues his tirade, tossing shampoo and body wash bottles around the bathtub in his tantrum.  

I just need some peace and quiet, why can’t I have that? you think while resting your back against the door for a few seconds, sensing your anxiety is going to reach new levels soon.

The Joker took his time in there but now he’s finally done. He searches for you inside the cabin but you are not there. He peeks out of the window and notices you are dozing off on the couch to the left side of the porch, covered in blankets. Perfect time to rant some more, you are definitely going to hear about how much you annoyed him today!

But when he sees you are in a deep sleep, something stops him. The corner of the ultrasound picture sticks out a bit from under your pillow and he slowly pulls it out, glaring at it for a few good minutes before putting it back with a remorseful sigh. He takes a deep breath and grabs more blankets from the pile on the table and covers you with them, keeping just one for himself. J also brings the gun from the car and seats on the chair next to yours, awake all night because he believes a wild animal might creep up on you.

When the first rays of sunshine pierce through the thick fog, he finally loses the battle and closes his eyes, exhausted. He wakes up three hours later, wrapped in a dozen blankets, not feeling the cold he braved last night anymore; it gets so chilly in these woods after sunset.

He finds breakfast and hot coffee inside but you are gone again. Probably hiking at your favorite spot, J assumes, munching on a few goodies from his plate. You’ve been away for a while and he decides to search for you, he doesn’t even know why. You aren’t too far, just about a mile away behind the cabin, legs crossed in the grass, reading a magazine under your umbrella and enjoying the warm temperature. You hear him approach and you don’t lift your eyes up. He doesn’t say a word and just imitates your position a few steps away from you.

“What are you doing?” you coldly question him, not thrilled of his presence.

“Nothing,” The Joker barely bothers to answer.

You exhale, turning the page and fighting not to pay attention to his nonsense:

“You can’t stay in the sun, you know you burn easily,” you grunt, indirectly inviting him to get lost.

“So? Why do you care? Mind your own business!” and he lets himself go on his back, enjoying the hot sun.

“You’ll burn badly, go in the shadow,” J distinguishes your low voice urging him to move.

He ignores your warning and after a few more moments he opens his eyes to see your umbrella by his head, shielding half of his body from the sun and you walking away.

She’s so obnoxious, I really hate her, is the last thought he has before closing his eyes again and falling asleep shortly after since he’s so tired.

************

You are nowhere to be found. The Joker searched the cabin and around it but you vanished.

Good, maybe she fell from a cliff and my problems are done, he maliciously grins, relieved and hoping for his wish to come true, but after a few seconds the evil smile freezes on his lips as he notices your backpack is gone. And the small post-it on the fridge he didn’t see before makes him cringe:

“I’m going back to Gotham.”  

Crazy woman, walking alone in the woods, J growls, taking the car keys out of his pocket and heading outside.

*************

You discern the sound of the engine getting closer and closer and quicken your pace, not understanding why you can’t have a moment to yourself when you are very entitled to it. He passes you by and turns the car sideways, slamming on the breaks, gets out of the car and awaits your arrival, his blue eyes so dark it would make you hesitate on your decision.

Yet you avoid looking at him and attempt to go around when he rolls his eyes, fed up with your behavior and stomps towards you, lifting you up and slamming you on the hood, making you seat there against your will while you struggle to get down. J is blocking your way, not budging when you struggle to escape.

“Where are you going, hm? Are you really trying to get on my nerves?” he pins your hands behind your back, watching tears of frustrations forming in your eyes but you are too strong to let him win and swallow your vexation, finally looking at him.

“I’m walking back to Gotham,” you mutter, defying his blue gaze.

“It’s a long walk, Doll,” he pushes you up on the hood even more, making sure you can’t move.

“Why do you care? You don’t care about anything, not even…about…”  and you can’t control yourself anymore and start sobbing, thinking about the mean things he said to you yesterday that hurt you so much. J knows exactly what you are referring to and sucks on his cheeks, gulping, finally speaking up on the subject:

“I did care about that…”

You shake your head in denial, whimpering, dismissing his words so he repeats:

“I did care about that.”

“N-no you d-didn’t,” you cry harder and The Joker sets your hands free, backing out just a bit so you can slide down towards him.

“I did, I cared about that,” he insists, rolling up the sleeve on his left arm to point out the huge “ELLIS” tattoo on his forearm. “Why do you think I got the name on my skin and didn’t remove it? I will always keep it, do you hear me? I did care…” his voice breaks a bit and wipes your tears, lifting your chin up, forcing you to look at him again.

Ellis is the name you two picked for the baby when you found out you were pregnant, fit for a boy or a girl. You were so excited and over the moon you didn’t have patience to wait any longer. But it wasn’t meant to be…

Since you can’t stop crying and he grows impatient, J yanks you in his arms, hugging you while you want to push him away.

“I did care…” he continues to whisper in your ear over and over again until he feels your body relaxing and your arms go around his waist, hugging him back really tight. Since you still won’t stop crying, he caresses your hair, tightening his grip on you too. He senses tears menacing to roll down his cheeks but he brushes the awkward feeling away, because it’s not like him to show any weakness. Instead, he chooses to be The Joker and he has to admit to himself it really takes a lot of effort this time around:

“…Say, Princess, are we still divorced?”

“U-hum,” you manage to squeal, sobbing on his chest.

“That’s too bad, I was hoping to get some tonight,” and he kind of sadly smiles when you pinch his side.” Since I’m here and you’re here, can we at least have an affair?”

“Stop your stupid jokes,” you scold him, sniffling. He kisses your temple and helps you down, regaining his posture, but still holds your hand.

He seems surprised when you push yourself against his body and make him pay attention to what you have to say:

“You can lash out at me, but…” and your voice shakes ”…you can’t say anything mean about our poor baby, do you hear me?” There is so much pain and grief in your voice that he has no choice but to nod yes.

“Don’t ever say anything mean about Ellis… promise?” and you cup his face, waiting for the answer.

“I promise,” he agrees so fast he shocks himself.

“Good then, now you are allowed to drive me back to Gotham,” you announce and take your backpack off, going around the car to get in on the passenger’s side. “Did you lock the cabin?”

“I did,” J reports and can’t help bickering as he starts to drive away:

Allowed to drive you back, Pumpkin?! Like it’s what, a privilege??!!”

“Damn right it is!” you raise your voice and look out the window, ignoring the outburst.

“Pffttt, lucky me…” he grumbles but takes your hand and kisses it. You don’t object and scoot over towards him, silently leaning your head on his shoulder.

“Hey, Kitten, are we still divorced? Or do you want your ring back? I have it in my jacket.”

“I guess you’re allowed to give it back to me when we get home,” you decide with an indifferent tone.

Allowed to give it back??! Like it’s what, a privilege??!” he mocks, taking the turn towards the main road.

“Damn right it is!” you elbow him and he frowns, aggravated:

“Pffttt, lucky me…”

“You are lucky!” you cut him off, lifting your eyebrows with an attitude.

“Maybe just a little bit…” he admits and it makes you smirk, clenching to his arm even more.

 Also read: MASTERLIST

http://diyunho.tumblr.com/post/153664676321/joker-x-reader-masterlist

bashfyl  asked:

Prompt: Sterek ;) Derek woos his mate the wolf way. :D

This is one of my favorite tropes! So glad I got to write it! Also on ao3!

Stiles wished he could say it was the first time he had found a dead animal on his doorstep. He really did. But it wasn’t.

For the past few days, five in a row to be exact, he had found all sorts of small, fluffy little woodland animals lying dead and bloody on his front porch. They ranged from squirrels, their furry tails soaked in blood, to birds, their feathers strewn around the doormat, to rabbits, who apparently were not fast enough to outrun whoever or whatever was leaving them on the front stoop.

Initially, he had thought it was one of their neighbor’s cats, the old woman a few houses down who owned a veritable army of feline companions having recently procured two more cat cadets. But on the fourth day, he had walked out of the house to check if they had gotten any mail only to find a large raccoon with its throat slashed open, blood seeping out onto the doormat that they had just replaced.

No matter how fierce those cats were, he doubted they could do such gruesome damage. And so, he had begun considering other culprits who may have been leaving the dead animals.

It had started with a dead bird, a blue jay lying on the top step of their front porch. Stiles had found it while leaving for school in the morning, taking a few minutes out of his morning rush to bury the poor thing in the front yard before heading off to school. He figured it had simply keeled over in exhaustion, no obvious injuries save for a few molted feathers, and moved on.

The next day he had found two dead squirrels, deep claw marks raked down their sides, on the front porch. He had wrinkled his nose at the grisly sight, running back inside to grab a plastic bag to shove them in before tossing them into another shallow grave by the blue jay. That was when he began having the sneaking suspicion that a cat was responsible for the morbid little deliveries.

The day after the squirrels, he found the rabbit. Its throat was open, a hole about the size of a cat’s mouth oozing bright scarlet blood onto the doormat, absolutely ruining it. Groaning, and internally cursing crazy cat people, Stiles held his nose and cleaned up the scene, again burying the poor victim and dumping the doormat into their trash can.

The raccoon was next, sullying the new welcome mat that Stiles had picked up after his last class the day before. Curiously inspecting the raccoon, finding wounds too large to have been inflicted by a cat, Stiles had reached another, new conclusion ― there was some new supernatural threat in Beacon Hills and it was killing poor, defenseless animals and dumping them on Stiles’ porch.

Why he didn’t know, but it was the only feasible thing he could think of. He had taken his theory to others, asking around to see if anyone else had noticed anything strange lately. No one else had.

He had gone to Deaton at the vet clinic to ask if he had any information about anything weird going on with any of the local animals. Deaton had denied that anything unusual was going on with any animals, neither domestic or otherwise, for once actually foregoing any cryptic responses. Though, he did mention that parvo was more common than usual that year.

After talking to Deaton, he went to Chris Argent, figuring the ex-hunter would have information on any supernatural goings-on that Deaton did not know about. Argent didn’t know anything either, indulging Stiles’ curious nature and patiently answering his strange inquisitions with as much patience as someone who had been woken up at four thirty a.m. could muster.

Afterward, he had dropped in to visit his dad at the station, hoping that it wasn’t just happening to them, even though it would be just his luck. The Sheriff let him rifle through recent reports of strange, out of the ordinary activities but all he found were reports filed about suspicious looking teenagers hanging around outside of local convenience stores. There had been no reports of rabies, either, dashing another one of Stiles’ theories.

And, of course, he had gone to the pack as soon as he began to suspect that the dead animals may have a more sinister origin than simply falling prey to some pet cat roaming the neighbor. No one in the pack had noticed anything amiss, no supernatural threats or random dead animals on any doorsteps.

Peter had made some snide little comment about Valentine’s Day coming up soon, pointing out that Stiles probably had a psychopathic secret admirer who thought that leaving dead animals on his porch was the epitome of romance. With Stiles’ luck, it was a disturbingly real possibility, one he wouldn’t discount.

The other betas had dissolved into a bout of raucous laughter, even Boyd chuckling under his breath at the comment, but Stiles hadn’t been very amused. Rolling his eyes at the remark, Stiles had noticed that the tips of Derek’s ears had been burning bright red, a sure sign that the alpha was blushing at something. Probably due to secondhand embarrassment, Stiles figured.

Now, there he was, standing on his front porch in his Spiderman pajamas, looking down at that day’s little ‘gift’ ― a twelve point buck, lying dead on the walkway in front of the porch, a large hole in its chest. Ripped out of the buck’s ripped, its bloody heart lay on the front porch just inches from his bare foot, a single red rose laid beside it.

He almost threw up.

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2

Since I’ve been drafting some portfolio stuff in my sketch book, I decided to snap a photo of, and color some pencil sketches I had in there before.

Xehanort who shares a floor mattress with both of his parents, Xanthias and Corrine, in the main bedroom of his childhood home. You can see more art/concepts of em in my ‘Xehanort’ tag. Might have to do a bit of digging if you’re on mobile.

The Murder In My Backyard

by reddit user Pippinacious

I’ll be posting new, different stories on my personal blog, please be sure to follow @sixpenceeeblog

There was no love at first sight, no stomach fluttering feeling of “This is the one!”, just the realization that this was the best my budget could get me. My realtor, already frustrated with how many times I’d said no to other places, watched anxiously over my shoulder as I signed the papers, as if she was afraid I’d back out at the last minute, and just like that, I was the less-than-proud owner of a decades old house and all the issues that came with it.

Still, I told myself as I was handed the keys, it was better than continuing to live with my all too recent ex-husband.

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Miss Something - Request

Requested by @mrsdeanfuckingwinchester:  Dean x reader have been married for years, she gets pregnant but he doesn’t want it. She leaves but never moves on. He ends up in another relationship and about to marry her. At the altar he decides he needs to be with reader and their child.
& Anon:  Part three to “Miss Everything- Miss nothing” where Dean bonds some more with his daughter but mostly of his relationship with the reader becoming even stronger?
& @captain-morgans-bitch:  Please continue and make a series out of this
& A bunch of people voting for it in the past two Sequel Fridays.

Summary: After apologizing and meeting his daughter, Dean is willing to get back to her life for once and for all. He wants everything back, including (Y/N) who is still reluctant about his comeback.

Pairing: Dean x reader.

Word count: 3,755

Warnings: None.

A/N: I wanted to focus more on Samstiel with Louise, but also daddy!Dean and his relationship with reader (if that makes any sense at all). Happy Sequel Friday!

Enjoy!

| Miss Everything (1) | Miss Nothing (2) |

Dean followed the deal like an obedient man. He called Louise every day after school – or at least after eating something because they would spend hours talking and Louise would forget to eat – and then he called (Y/N) to have dinner on Saturday.

Sam and Castiel weren’t only cheerful, and proud of Dean finally manning up and trying to make things better, but they were also far too excited to meet the little Winchester.

They would have dinner together at (Y/N) and Louise’s house that day. Sam made sure to buy pie and wine, while Castiel spent his whole morning collecting flowers at the nearest park – because Sam told him it was polite to go to a home with a present for the owner – and Dean made sure to buy Louise a colouring book and (Y/N)’s favourite sweets.

The three men arrived punctual to the appointment and Sam was impressed to notice how (Y/N) still looked the same. She was at the kitchen, checking the oven, when they arrived and so she didn’t notice. However, Louise had heard Baby’s roar and she stormed out of the house, excitedly.

“There’s my chipmunk.” Dean spoke proudly as he turned Baby off.

“She looks just like mom.” Sam commented.

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Partners - C.H.

Originally posted by teenagedfricks

This is part 2/4 to the gang!5sos mini series.


“Pleasure doing business with you,” Calum said taking the money from the man that traded him the wad for an ounce. He made his way back around the corner to the beat up corvette he had, y/n’s legs sticking out of the passenger side window, cigarette dangling from her lips as an overplayed Nirvana song blasted through the speakers. She had on a pair of high waist shorts accompanied by one of Calum’s flannels unbuttoned and over her upper body, chest covered by a black bandeau. “Where to next?” he questioned hopping in the driver’s side.

“Declan’s and that’s it,” she hummed just after taking a drag, smoke falling from her lips with each word that left her mouth, Calum nodding as he took the car out of park. She looked over to him, eyes studying the way his hands gripped the wheel, veins in his arms clearly visible. The hat on his head driving her wild. He looked like sex on legs. “Can I stay at yours tonight?”

“I’m staying at BJ’s,” he said back referring to the bar Ben and Jack owned that housed their clubhouse underneath. It was how they were able to hold the space without getting caught.

“Well, can I stay with you? Dani’s on a bender again and I’ve been clean,” she said simply as he hummed in response. She knew he wouldn’t have an issue, but it was still better to ask than to just assume. “Thanks babe.”

“Hmm,” he hummed in response taking the corner lightly before pulling over quickly. “You know the drill.”

“Calum, you don’t need to mention it every time you go to do a deal. The mini’s in my shoe, handgun’s in the pocket in the door. And, I know how to drive stick. I think I’m good,” she said as he rolled his eyes at how she was acting, but she was right. They’d been ‘partners’ for over two years now, Jack pairing the two together when she first joined because he felt Calum could deal with her carefree attitude.

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Lost Series // Part Nine

Part One  Part Two  Part Three  Part Four  Part Five  Part Six  Part Seven  Part Eight

Pairing : Jerome x Fem. Reader

Requests are closed. xx

Sorry if it’s kind of confusing.. I wanted it to be a little more interesting with Y/N getting her memories back and regular flashbacks just didn’t seem right. Lol. Oh and still not rewatching the episode so it’s not word for word. xx

Originally posted by punkbandsharry

Originally posted by intellectual-psychopath

Italics are memories ..


My breath was heavy and I couldn’t move my eyes away from the chair in front of me. It felt as if I just woke up from a coma. Different memories came back in flashes. At first it all came back, different pictures moving around my mind so fast I couldn’t make sense of it. It didn’t feel like memories. It felt like a movie that I’ve seen one too many times.

For the first time after being revived, I turned to look at Jerome. A gasp leaving me as I saw his face. I quickly pulled my hand up to cover my gaping mouth. Jerome noticed this and frowned slightly before allowing a haunting grin to overtake his features.

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Stand by me, It.

A/N: this is a platonic reader insert with bill and eddie. I hope it’s good lol. I’m working through some requests right now but my requests are still open so if you have one then send me an ask :)

Request:  Bill/Eddie x Drinker! Reader?? Maybe when they desperately try to stop her drinking away her problems?? Thank you!

Word Count: 2,711

It wasn’t always like this for her. She used to be a straight-A student. She never went to parties, partly because she was never invited, and she never ever drank.

Her clothes are now disheveled and haven’t been washed in a few days because after what happened to her best friend last month, she hasn’t been the same.

Cindy was barely close with Y/N’s other friends, the Losers’ Club. They’d been best friends since they started school together and they hung out without the others. The Losers were just starting to accept Cindy into the group, inviting her to hang out at the Arcade and taking her to the quarry sometimes. But she didn’t show up for their plans one day.

The couch cushion’s fabric is soft against her cheek, a spot of drool around her open mouth that lets out soft snores every few seconds. She’s passed out drunk in her living room and the empty glass bottle lays a few feet away on the carpeted floor.

Before Cindy went missing, Y/N had everything mostly together despite the fighting in her family and alcoholism of her single mother. Life has never been easy for her and a girl in her shoes should have been more messed up than she was but to her? It was her version of normal. It was just her life. Until she lost her friend to It.

Ideally, she should have turned to her friends in her time of need. After all, they’re more like a family than her’s has ever been. But instead, she kept the feelings to herself and every time they asked her what was wrong or if she was alright, she’d brush it off. Y/N knew this wasn’t the way to deal with her problems but how else was she to grieve? With an alcoholic mother and an absent father, what else could she do? Why would she burden her friends with her troubles when they have plenty of their own?

The first time she turned to the bottle for help, was the first time she let the history of her family and the problems in her life win. It was the first time she lost herself.

Bill Denbrough and Eddie Kaspbrak drop their bikes in the unkept yard outside of the Y/L/N’s house.

“Are you sure we should be just walking in? What if her mom is home? You know how she gets sometimes…”

The dry grass crunches under their sneakers as they approach the house. And Eddie, despite what he’d just argued, is drawn closer. Because his friend is in there and no doubt, is not doing well.

“If we don’t go a-and help her then who will? She has no one else but us, Eddie, w-we can’t leave her now,” Bill says and motions with a loose arm to the front door.

The boys step up to the porch and knock on the door a few times, only getting silence as an answer. Typically, if they knock and no one answers it means her mom is home or passed out and that Y/N isn’t there. But the Losers had all searched over town each day she didn’t show up, they went to her house once as well and got the same result as today. Nobody answered.

But Bill and Eddie are the closest with the unfortunate girl, and on their ride home, they agreed to go to her house.

“Y/N?” Eddie exclaims and knocks one more time.

The leaves of a shrub rustle with movement, Bill having jumped down from the steps and into the bush to look through the window. He cups his hand around his eyes, the tip of his nose hitting against the glass while he scopes out the inside.

“What are you seeing?”

He ignores Eddie for a second and squints harder to see through the slits in the blinds. The image of it is skewed, but he can make out her sleeping figure on the couch out of the corner of his eye.

He speaks up, “She’s in there. On the c-couch.”

“Are you sure it’s her?” Eddie asks, locking hands with Bill to help him back up to the porch, “What if it’s her mom?”

“It isn’t. Her mom works every day,” He says and then mutters next, “believe it or not.”

The boys resent her mother. They despise her for the absence in the young girl’s life, having seen time and time again how deeply it affects Y/N whether she’ll admit it or not.

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Creepypasta #1051: Crawl

Length: Long

I was renting a run down house in a low income neighbourhood in the west end of town. It was the kind of neighbourhood that is populated by small, independently run convenience stores every couple of blocks. The kind of stores that have shelves stocked with dusty old bags of pasta, and canned soup, veggies, and beans with faded labels, and strange tiny bottles of “ginseng shot” on the counter. People didn’t buy food at these stores. People bought lottery tickets, energy drinks, six packs of watery beer and cheap packs of cigarettes. Outside the shop doors they met up with hoodie-clad figures with shifty eyes to pick up dime bags or a gram or two of coke, even tranquilizers. These stores sold distraction; an escape from the mundane existence of those struggling below the poverty line.

The streets were dirty and full of litter and the houses were shabby and too close together. Permeating the smog filled air was the constant cacophony of sirens, thudding bass, revving engines, garbled noise from television sets, barking dogs and even the occasional shrill screech.

For three years I called this neighbourhood home as I dredged through long, miserable hours working in the legal department of a company that made gaskets. This company put more money into their legal department than it did into the safety of their employees, adopting the philosophy that it was cheaper to pay legal to get them out of nasty little lawsuits than to spend the millions it would cost updating their machinery. They scraped by on bare minimum safety standards and employed people like me to ensure that no claims had to be paid out.

It was a job that came with little sleep, too small of a pay check, and a heavy conscience.

While I was working at this company, the only place I could afford was this beat up little house in the West End. It was small, kind of drafty, and had the perpetual and inexplicable odour of wet dog kibble. It had dirty, peeling linoleum floors, badly patched drywall, and leaky plumbing. It was definitely full of mould and the space behind the walls was just about at capacity with mice.

It sounds like an absolute shithole, but if you saw it, it was actually much worse. The one thing this house had in the way of saving graces was the back porch. It was covered with a faded, striped awning that had once been red and white, but had taken on the colours of rust and too many cigarettes. This porch had enough space to fit an old threadbare sofa and a small wooden end table.

After a soul crushing ten hours at the plant, I would drag my weary body home, sit down on that sofa, light up a premium cigarette while sipping a glass of bottom-shelf red wine, and day dream about the day my real life would start.

It was just about the only time I had to relax. I could close my eyes and imagine I was sitting on the balcony of one of the colourfully painted town houses somewhere in a coastal town in Italy, a soft breeze ruffling my hair. The sounds of sirens and stereos would fade and be replaced by the sound of waves crashing, sea gulls calling, and music being played in the market place below. The stale, acrid smell of dog kibble would dissipate into the smell of marzipan, salt water and garlic, and the bougainvillea that dripped their fragrant blooms from hanging baskets all around.

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Slippery When Wet

A woman leans on a cliff-side porch
rain water glistens in the sun
hot coffee in one hand
the other shades her eyes

We acknowledge her sideways stance
the slick hill, pooling mud
connected not connected
the lone sunflower leaning with her

Everlasting

Originally posted by baptheking

Immortal!au featuring Bang Yongguk

Word Count: 2.4k.

Special thanks to @baebae-goodnight <3


Yongguk stared outside the window, the spray of raindrops littering the window pane. His mind danced through his memories, at least the ones that were fresher. Being nearly three hundred years old gave him more memories than one could ever want. He clung to the earliest ones, the happier ones before this never ending curse was thrust upon him. He never wanted this. He never wanted to stay young forever as his friends aged and perished. Time kept ticking, and it was no friend of his.

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Klaine Advent 2016: Day 3 Charm

Day 3: Charm

Kurt and Burt adjusting to Blaine in season 2. 3145 words

It’s the thing people said about Blaine, or so it seemed to Kurt. Right after “dapper” and before “gentlemanly,” they would say it—“He’s so charming!” And Kurt had to admit he was so in agreement with them; it was something he was proudest of about this boy. He felt sometimes like walking around Lima with Blaine was like being wrapped up in a cloud of that charm. Faces that used to be closed off to him, eyebrows raised, now were softened and welcoming.

Just on one outing on a pretty spring afternoon, three different shopkeepers had smiled and said, “Keep the change” to Blaine. I mean, who did that? And the lady in the jewelry store actually found some Easter wrapping paper to add a special touch to his present for his mama; when Blaine went for his wallet to tip her, she had actually blushed as she stopped him with a manicured hand to his forearm.

“That was weird,” Kurt said as they waited in line at the Sundae Shoppe.

“Hmmm?” Blaine questioned with his eyebrows as he bent over the bag containing his purchases.

“Mrs. Sims in the jewelry store. I’d swear she was flirting with you, but, I mean, she’s at LEAST 30.”

“Maybe she has spring fever, Kurt,” Blaine replied. “I know I certainly do. Or maybe it’s the company. I think you should always wear just exactly that shade of blue. It really brings out your eyes.”

Okay, so maybe those people had a point. He was charming and dreamy, and Kurt’s insides were melting with pleasure AGAIN. He longed to grab his boyfriend’s hand or steal a kiss. He settled with looking down and blushing. “Watch it mister. Flattery will get you—”

“A ride home, I hope?” Blaine asked, leaning close to whisper, “And some makeout time in the driveway? Kitchen? My room?”


The one person in Kurt’s life who didn’t seem to be taken by Blaine’s charm was Kurt’s dad. Kurt couldn’t blame him, actually. Finding a boy—an obviously hungover boy—in your child’s bed sort of had a way of killing any positive first impressions. Not that he DISLIKED him, really. But even after Kurt danced through the door from Dalton, with the news that he had a boyfriend, a delightful boyfriend, the best boyfriend, Burt still seemed to hold Blaine at arm’s length.

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