#i feel like you could knock on my head and hollowness would ring out

[listen-to-the-inner-walrus]

ive been staring at the words "Add something, if you'd like" for so long trying to figure how to remotely articulate whatever emotion im feeling in response to hearing someone stating - very confidently, i might add - that george orwell did not write anything substantial about the spanish civil war and francoist spain.

my guy, my dude, my man, my bloke, my chap, he took a bullet to the neck fighting against francos forces in the spanish civil war. its literally where a lot of his political leanings were cemented. i think that might have informed his later writing.

also he wrOTE HOMAGE TO CATALONIA. WHAT DO YOU THINK THAT BOOK IS ABOUT?

[partycatty]

do you think johnny could kick a door down with his foot and how hot do you think he’d look doing it

johnny cage > kick the door down

short but sweet about him kicking doors in bc it's sexy

[ masterlist ]

okay but being a set designer for johnny's new crime fighting movie. he'd of course be the sexy no-nonsense cop that's full of one-liners and endless charm for the ladies. if there's one thing he loves doing, it's playing himself in media.

so you make a prop door, one that's hollow and a little lighter than a typical door. the scene calls for him kicking the door down to discover the serial killer caught in the act. as you're laying down the varnish, you hear a knock on the prop department door. he's standing in the doorway, admiring the rows and rows of wigs, weapons, and various doohickeys that gave the film life. he puts his hands on his hips and rests his sunglasses on the top of his head.

"i've been thinking," he starts immediately, stepping into the room and inspecting the nearly finished door. "i do my own stunts, you know? i feel like a fake door would look too... cheesy. let's put a real one in, love, whatdya say?"

you wanted to protest, to say something in return, but he's the star. you couldn't say no to his intoxicating closeness and sweet tone. deep inside, you were annoyed that he waited until now to propose the option, but considering you just made what was called for, you had to listen.

the door gets screwed onto the hinges, a heavy front door-type of material. you stand to the side alongside various replacement props, in case one malfunctioned or failed during filming. unamused, you're frustrated that the hollow door you created was now crumpled and thrown away.

the scene is prepared and brought to life. johnny clutches the fake gun in his hands, lifting one leg up and kicking outward with so much force, you realize the camera shakes. the crew tries their best not to gasp, and the serial killer and victim actor visibly jolt at the sudden sound. you also could have sworn you noticed a strange, glitching effect around his dominant leg, but that must have been the speed of his motion to distort your vision in such an odd way.

you didn't think he had it in him, to be honest. you didn't expect his kick to have the strength to knock a real door down, but here he was proving the point that it'd be far more effective than a shabby fake one. and god, you couldn't lie. it was literally the hottest thing you've ever seen. he barely even strained himself, the damn thing was torn in two within a blink.

it only took a few minutes for the shooting of that scene to end, ringing bells and clicking boards as johnny wiggles the tension of his character out of his arms. he strides toward you and the prop table with an all-knowing grin.

"how was that?" he asked, leaning against the wall. "pretty sexy, yeah?"

you nod and swallow dryly, feeling as if eye contact was an impossible task. he was toying with you, a lowly prop creator. he twists his top half to look back, chuckling at the assistants sweeping away the broken wood.

"the real door was a smart idea," you croak out in a desperate attempt to give a genuine compliment. "looked... realistic."

"realistic? honey, i split the damn thing in half! of course it was realistic, because it was real!" he laughs to himself, patting his chest as his nose scrunches. your stomach flutters.

in an attempt to escape the awkward closeness, you pivot and try to walk away, an attempt that fails miserably when you feel his large hand holding your wrist. your eyes trail up from his hand to his face, and you notice a smug expression that's more pronounced than usual.

"hey..." he purrs, voice dropping. his eyes dart to the side, making sure no other cast or crew was within earshot. "i can think of something else i could split in half." his toothy grin feels like a clothesline shot to the neck.

your face warms up so quickly you might've gotten clocked for having a fever. as you try to come up with something, anything to respond with, the A-List action star already laughing loudly and walking away with that damn swagger, pointing finger guns at the director and waving off audio specialists.

and you stayed where you were, in your tiny corner next to the props.

[spcewild]

Do you think you could make a childhood friends thing for Smoke, and have Smoke be a pining friend for Y/N, who's unaware and is crushing for another guy or gal? (Doesn't need to be someone in the roster specifically.)

This is going to hurt to write, but I'll do it anyway <33

Undivided Attention ♡

Warnings: Angst, one-sided crush, etc.

Parings: Smoke mk1 x (gn!) Reader (x Raiden)

You

and Smoke have been friends ever since you two were little, both abandoned to the streets of your hometown, fighting and foraging for food and money in any way you could. It was never easy. But soon you had been told by Smoke himself how a family had taken him in, yet you never joined him in said family. You came by every now and then but kept a distance for a while.

When finally reunited with Smoke when you two had grown, it was bittersweet. He introduced you to his brothers, who had taken him in, along with new 'fighters' he had met. From his explanation, they were training for the Outworld Championship in Liu Kang's orders, a man who Smoke had also introduced you with.

Although, when introduced to a certain man named Raiden, your gaze suddenly changed. From everyone you looked at in a room, Raiden would be first. Even against Smoke.

But even against this, Smoke was inevitably inlove with you. Madly. You, however, were completely clueless about this, even when he would try and spend time with you every second you were awake. He would constantly invite you to Madaam Bo's, or going on small walks, and even a friendly sparring match.

You were still completely clueless. And Smoke hadn't seen your eyes towards Raiden, at least until now.

One day, when trying to talk to you, he noticed your lack of attention to him. He would usually shrug it off, but this was a constant thing. He finally looked towards where your gaze was so persistent on staying. At Raiden. He could almost feel his heart sink to a deep pit in his stomach. Everything finally clicked in his head. Why you never seemed to be focused when talking to him, how you would always seem to make excuses on why you couldn't hang out with him. It all made sense finally.

He tried playing it off from then how he didn't know, but it always stuck with him. He stopped asking if you two wanted to go out, making you now concerned on his lack of presence recently. To you, your childhood friend just seemed like he was suddenly distant — wondering if you did anything wrong you decide to head to his home one night.

You gently knocked on his door, waiting a minute before the door opened to reveal Kuai Liang.

"Hello Y/N, how can I help you?"

"Have you seen Tomas?"

Your voice laced with worry as the man in front of you seemed to put the pieces together in his mind.

"I believe I saw him go to his usual spot by the fountain, near where Liu Kang and the champions are."

You gave Kuai Liang a gentle nod and thank you as you retreated from the small house. Walking quickly to the fountain he said where Smoke was.

It didn't take long for you to find him there, sitting on a bench by the fountain, his head low as he looked to his feet.

"Tomas?"

You called out, his head snapping up towards you in surprise.

"Did Kuai Liang tell you I was here?"

You nodded at his question, his face turning to the fountain for a moment before back to you.

"Did you… um need something?"

He seemed to struggle the words out, yet stayed looking at you.

"Did I.. do something?"

"No.."

"Then why are you avoiding me..?"

Everything came out in a rush when he tried to explain, how he saw you look at Raiden, how you became distant to him once you met Raiden. Once he was finished with his long rant, he was almost in tears, you couldn't see why he was crying but then, his words seemed to ring in your ear once spoken.

"I love you, y/n"

The words stayed hollow in your mind, like a lingering thought. You two that night had tried to work things out on a good note but Smoke could never shake the heartbroken feeling left in the hollow heart he once had.

You went on pursuing Raiden, even confessing to him and getting into a healthy and loving relationship, while Smoke was left as a supporting shadow in your life. Growing distant yet you would smile at him anytime you saw him, he tried his best to give you the brightest smile he could in return,

but it was only a weakened and broken smile from when he once had you.

Authors note: it was hard to pick someone else to pair the reader with but I decided on Raiden :)

This was sad to write but I hope you guys enjoyed<3

[puppy-wife]

Seeing your latest selfie has me flustered. I have such a raw carnal desire for bunnywolf. I hope ae lets out aer wolf instincts and hunts me down like the prey I am

-🍄

Oh now this is the kind of compliment I enjoy, hehe. As a thank you, you can have this little drabble~

~~~

Your heart beat hard, and loud, inside your chest as you crashed through the woods. You sprinted through whipping branches and thorny brush, and only stopped when your foot caught an upturned root, and you fell into a little clearing. Your breath was knocked out of you, and for a second panic seared through your weak prey brain, before your body remembered how to take in air again.

You needed somewhere to hide. You'd lost your head-start now, and it wouldn't be long before ae closed in on you. It was a hot day, and you dripped sweat as you clambered behind a fallen log, and hid in the tall grasses that used it as cover. The fear you felt was a deep, aching, hollow feeling. A feeling that told you the unfortunate truth: no matter how hard you tried to hide, that damned bunnywolf would find you.

It was not long until you heard the snap of a twig, and a low form crept into the clearing. There was a small crack in the log near your head, just enough you could peek through without revealing yourself. Something tickled your nose, but you ignored it. The beast was low to the ground, and aer golden eyes scoured the ground, looking for signs of your passage. Ae didn't seem to see what it was looking for and instead prowled around the clearing, sniffing.

Snff. Snff, snff. A deep growling chuckle filled the air. "Oh, my little morsel. You don't really think you can escape me, do you?" Ae sat in the middle of the clearing, facing away from you but clearly within your eyesight. Aer black ringed tail swished back and forth, rhythmically, hypnotically. Watching it sway, you felt your mind relax and your muscles become sluggish. There was something enchanting going on, and you felt the heat rise in your groin. The monster. They were increasing your pheromone levels, and your lust was building.

The bunnywolf stalked forward a few steps towards the eastern edge of the clearing, but paused and turned slowly until their shining golden eyes were looking right at you through the crack in the log.

"Your preymusk is too strong, my sweet. I could find you from miles away through a dust storm. You are mine, and your rest break is finished. I'm ready to hunt."

"Stop hiding."

"Run."

[corneliaavenue-ao3]

So I said I was going to have the first chapter of my next fic, Summer's a Knife, ready at the end of May. I lied. So here is a quick snippet of something I have written, but not edited yet!

“Everyone else is inside,” her dad said. 

Stumbling over herself, Ginny ran down the hill to her home. At first glance, the Burrow looked the same as the day she left it. But as she got closer to the front door, she noticed more things amiss. The treeline looked different like a few branches were knocked away. The grass was scorched yellow like someone burned it. Windows were cracked or blasted open with missing shards of glass. 

The front door groaned open with her push. Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat together, heads bent down, all snapped up at the sound of her entering the kitchen. 

“Ginny!” Hermione smiled, standing to embrace her in a hug.

Ginny squeezed her friend back. She didn’t get to appreciate seeing the three of them at Hogwarts. Hermione was much thinner than the last time she saw her. They all were. 

Ron embraced her next, giving her a pat on the back. She let go and looked over at the end of the table where Harry now stood. 

“Hi,” Harry said.

He looked good. Thin like the other two, but still handsome. He had somehow gotten taller over the last year, his hair long, messier than she had ever seen it. The dark rings around his eyes and his hollow cheeks emphasised his green eyes. Staring at her the same way he had a year ago, like he was staring into a brilliant light. 

Her heart skipped a beat. 

But in the next heartbeat, they were crossing the room to one another. His arms wrapped tightly around her shoulders, hers around his waist. Pulling each other close. She pressed her ear against his chest. 

He's alive, heart is beating, lungs are expanding with each breath.

Alive. Alive. Alive. Alive. 

The stairs creaked, alerting them to the presence of another Weasley member. Ginny pulled back from Harry just slightly, not completely breaking contact, as George entered the room. Slowly, he crossed the room, giving Ginny a quick pat on the head before leaving out the back door. Reality sunk back in as she watched the back of George’s head.

Fred's dead. 

Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. 

She felt her throat start to clog again. The unbearable feeling of loss started to overwhelm her. Slowly, she pulled away from Harry. She could not lose it again, especially not in front of the others who went through so much more than she had. Ron also lost Fred, and he wasn’t breaking down at the sight of George. 

And George, who would see Fred’s face whenever he looked in the mirror, did not deserve Ginny breaking down by looking at him. It made her feel like an awful person for almost losing it. No one needed the stress of taking care of her while they too were struggling. 

“He hasn’t said anything,” Ron said, filling the silence. Ginny realised her eyes had not left the back door George exited. “Charlie went back to Hogwarts to convince him to leave. He got back maybe 20 minutes before you did.”

Ginny wouldn’t know what to say either when everyone looked at you like they were seeing a ghost.

[pctaldrunk]

@dreams-of-fate asked : 💍 (taliu) - send 💍 to jokingly propose to my muse. (Accepting!!)

“…You know, I think marriage is an outdated and low cost efficient practice.” He had - very calmly, blankly, inhaling through his nose - assessed what was offered to him then - lumpy and lopsided, clumsily twisted from what looks to be a broken bit of twine - and tried and failed to press down the beat his heart skips regardless. The person holding it was perfectly poised, however, knelt in the aisle of the chapel not with both knees like a devoted believer but with only one - like a person, like any other person.

Xie Ta must have been reading again. He liked horror, but he also liked Shakespeare, and fairy tales. When he felt like romance, even Bai Liu could be made to blush. Beneath the shadow of silver spirals, Bai Liu could see clearly the ice blue eyes that were much more like diamonds than the small, smooth, painted pebble at the center of the ring, peacefully, patiently, unmoving - looking at him. In the same way Xie Ta liked to pretend everything he said was meant for him to hear - sometimes Bai Liu wondered if Xie Ta ever looked at anyone else.

He swallowed unconsciously, mouth suddenly dry. “…Why do you want to marry me?”

“ - Because when two people get married, they can stay together forever.” The other’s voice matter of fact, sure, calm, as if he is saying the sun will rise, or that night will fall. “I want to…” Now Xie Ta blinks, and tilts his head only a moment as if puzzled, as if looking for the right words, “…Read with you. Forever.”

Bai Liu felt at once full and hollow, like he was flying but the air had been knocked out of him, the wind within and without at once. It occurred to him, that marriage didn’t work like that. He could have said so, and yet he had the feeling Xie Ta would still be kneeling there, waiting for him expectantly - to give a real answer. He didn’t have to wait for long. Like the very first time Bai Liu had seen Xie Ta in this chapel, like the very first time he turned his head and asked him, “Do you want to read together?” - Bai Liu knew his answer before the question had even been asked.

He stepped closer, the way only he ever seemed to do, and held out his hand, naturally. And, like he knew the answer already, equally naturally - Xie Ta slipped the delicate thread around his finger. It fit, by some miracle, snug against his skin, like a brand of fire. His fingers twitched, and Xie Ta’s fingertips stopped lightly, coolly against his palm, only for a moment, and then their fingers were entwining, and he felt Xie Ta twist the loop of twine, almost mischievously satisfied, before its thin thread was trapped between their hands.

The gods looked on with their stone eyes, unfeeling.

He felt Xie Ta’s pleasure, the unspoken - joy. A rare thing that was only ever shared with him.

“…I want to read with you forever too.” It was the first time Bai Liu admitted it, voice uncharacteristically hoarse.

The confession - the promise - was too quiet to echo in the open space of the chapel.

Now it becomes blurred out, warbled by the bubbles in the water.

The hand that held his fades away, along with the phantom sensation - he is the one holding onto that hand. The stone twisted into the ring beats upon his knuckle against the mysterious current, the twine almost coming loose under the water. Still, he holds on, bringing that hand closer. Together forever, Xie Ta said.

He did not have the chance to tie twine around Xie Ta’s finger - but rather around his ankle, anchoring him to this place, this lake behind the chapel, waiting for one day - one day.

I am a monster that cannot die, he said.

And Bai Liu - never believed himself to be a believer. He is just a person, only a person, and beneath the water, he can almost pretend that they’re the same temperature.

Bai Liu pulls the small loop of string, tied delicately around a painted stone, out from between his teeth. He thought Xie Ta’s handiwork had been rustic, but it turns out his own is even more so. His lungs constrict from the murk, bubbles exploding, and he drags it with great difficulty over Xie Ta’s finger.

The last promise, the last prophecy, the last shred of divinity that still exists in this place.

Together forever, the “monster” Bai Liu believes in had said.

The eyes of the gods he did not believe in ought to bear witness.

[pink-bird-30]

Hournite Fic- I Need Help

Last week we did not get the intervention Rick deserved.

So I wrote it.

Enjoy!

You can read my fic on my FF.net

As always, Happy Reading!

----

Beth paces back and forth in the Dugan household calling for Rick again.  As usual, her goggles ring and ring and ring and no answer.  This is what would happen each time she called.  Sometimes it wouldn’t ring past three rings before the call ended.  But Beth was grateful for those calls, it mean he ended the calls himself.  But the worse ones were the calls that would ring forever until his voice would tell her:

“Hey, it’s Rick.  Leave a message.”

And she’d leave another message.

She sighs in defeat and heads back into the kitchen where Yolanda, Courtney, and Ms. Whitmore were waiting.  Yolanda perks up from where she is leaning against the island.

“Anything?”  Yolanda asks.

Beth shakes her head, “No, I got his voicemail again…”  Beth takes her goggles off and tosses them onto the marble counter.  “I think we need to go find him.”

Courtney nods in agreement, “Yeah.  You’re right, Beth.  He doesn’t know what’s going on and he needs to be warned.”

Beth refrains from rolling her eye.  It’s beyond frustrating how no one has a single clue as to what is happening to Rick. And at this point she doesn’t care if she tell them.  They need to know.

“Guys, Rick hasn’t been around because—”  Beth’s words were cut off by a quick knock at the kitchen door.  The four of them stare at each other in alarm.

“There’s no way the Ultra-Humanite would just knock on the door, right?”  Barbara says with fear in her voice.  Her blue eyes full of concern as she steps in front of the girls.

Courtney grabs her mother’s arm, “I’m sure he would just break the door down.  Knocking seems too nice.”

Yolanda rolls her eyes and steps around Courtney.  “I’m just gonna open it.”  She walks over to the white door, her footsteps heavy in the seemingly quiet house, and unlocks the top lock and turns the knob.

Beth gasps.

“Rick?”

Somehow Rick looked better and worse at the same time.  Two weeks have passed since Rick stormed out of her house.  His bruised eye is no longer angry and red, but she could sense the weakness radiate from him.  His skin seems sickly pale, his eyes hollow as if he hasn’t slept since he left her home, and he just seems so defeated.

But the one thing she noticed was the hourglass hanging around his neck.  The bright glowing hourglass seems to be dim and weak.

Beth takes a step forward, the motion catching Rick’s eye immediately.  His hazel eyes met hers and it was enough for him crumble.

“Beth…” her name catching in his throat.  “I need help.”

Without a single thought, she flew into his arms and pulls him into a tight hug.  She could feel him tremble beneath her touch as he gingerly wraps his arms around her and lets his head fall against hers.  A sob wrecks through him as he pulls Beth closer to him, trying his best not to hurt her.

“I’m-m s-so sor-rry-y, B-beth.”  He cries.  “I-I”  he tries to take a deep breath but she can hear his chest struggling, like he’s having a panic attack.  She pulls slightly away from him and takes his face between her warm hands.  He felt cold to her, she wasn’t sure if it was from the crisp late fall air or from malnutrition.

“Shhh...It’s okay.  The important thing is that you’re here now.”  She wipes away his tears.  “C’mon, let’s sit down and get you some water.”  Beth stays tucked into his side and walks him into the living room and helps him to sit down.  She flashes him a quick smile and walks back to the kitchen.  As she enters it she sees both Yolanda and Courtney gaping at her.

“What is going on??” Yolanda demands.

“I’m so lost right now?” Courtney’s face scrunches in confusion.

Beth grabs her two best friends and sits them down at the small kitchen table.  She crosses her arms and tries to think of the best place to start.

“Look, after the whole debacle this past summer with Eclipso, Rick’s hourglass wasn’t holding time anymore.”

“Okay, that doesn’t explain why Rick just up and left us all high and dry.”  Yolanda questions.  “And since when are you two so close?” mischief dancing in her deep brown eyes. 

Beth ignores the second part of Yolanda’s question and continues, “I’m not going to defend his actions, but he took the limiter out of the hourglass.”

Courtney looks at Beth like she’s speaking a foreign language.  “Uh, Beth.  We don’t know what that is.”  Courtney shares a look with Yolanda.  “No offence, but Yolanda brought up is an important point.  When did you and Rick get so close?”

Beth lets out a frustrate huff and sits down at the table.  “Guys!  Mine and Rick’s friendship, emphasis on friend, is not the issue at the moment.  But if you really wanted to know.”  Beth leans back in her chair and crosses her arms.  “Rick and I have been close the last three years.  You guys just never noticed.  He’s had my back on missions, never excludes me when it comes to fighting.”  Beth glares at Yolanda.  “He treats me like a person.  So forgive me for giving him the same compassion.”

“Furthermore,”  Bethe rests her arms on the table and straightens her back.  “Ever since Rick took the limiter out, his behavior has changed drastically to the point where he has not taken the hourglass off in months.”

“If Rick were acting different we would have noticed, Beth.”  Yolanda chimes in.  “At lunch he seemed okay and on missions—”

Beth shakes her head.  “No.”

“What do you mean ‘No’? Courtney and I are around him a lot too.”

“Yeah, Beth.  We would have noticed him struggling.” Courtney adds.  “I know he was upset when I first started dating Cameron, but he got passed that.”

“And then he attacked him and his family not even a few hours later!”  Beth almost yells in frustration.  “Do you two even hear yourselves?!”  She looks at her two friends incredulously.  “Yolanda, you spent the last few months fuming over Cindy joining the JSA and then scaring her off after she needed our help!

“And Court, you literally spent the same amount of time training with Cameron and making googly eyes with him while Rick was suffering!”

Beth stands from the table to take a minute to calm down.  Ms. Whitmore decided to enter the kitchen at the same time bringing back an empty cup.

“Rick’s asking for you, Beth.”  Barbara goes to the fridge to refill Rick’s glass with more water and grabs a bucket.  “He said he’s been trying to take the hourglass off but the effects of it make him feel dizzy and nauseous.”

“Like a hangover?”  Beth asks.  “I actually read something in his dad’s journals about this…”  Beth starts to think.

Courtney and Yolanda stand from the table and walk over to Barbara and Beth.

“Look,”  Yolanda starts.  “Maybe you’re right.  Maybe we didn’t see the signs that Rick was suffering, but why not tell us?”  Beth can hear the guilt in her words.  The amount of time Yolanda called rick ‘useless’ or annoyed that he didn’t come to help.  She knew she felt ashamed for not checking in on him more. 

Courtney lays a comforting hand on Beth’s shoulder.  “Yeah, why didn’t you come to us about this sooner?”

Beth looks down to her warn black converse. She could feel the tears gathering in her eyes, “It wasn’t my place to say.  Just like it wasn’t when Rick told me he’s been living at the farm by himself.”

Courtney gasps, “What do you mean he’s been by himself at the farm?”

Beth nods.  “At the beginning of the school year I found out.  Rick always drives me to school and one morning, after my parents called about superhero stuff, he told me his uncle left the day he came out of the hospital.”

The two teenaged girls before her stare at her in silence, letting the harsh news settle around them.

“He’s been alone this whole time?”  Yolanda’s voice sounded so small.  Beth’s heart breaks for her knowing Yolanda understands the situation Rick is in all too well.

Barbara comes around the island and interrupts the girls.  “Look, clearly there is a lot you two,” Barbara points to Yolanda and Courtney.  “do not know.  And it is apparent that Rick trusted Beth enough to tell her this.  So this is what we are going to do.”

Barbara gives Beth the glass of water and hands Courtney the bucket.  “We are going to go in there slowly,  Beth first.”  Beth nods in agreement.  “and we are going to talk with Rick and support him.  He clearly is in a fragile state and Beth,”  Barbara looks at her and smiles.  “Is clearly the only person Rick will listen to and confide in.”

“So we’re doing an intervention?”  Courtney asks.  “Like they do on How I Met your Mother?”

“Oh, God.  Not like those, Court.”  Yolanda whispers.  “We’re gonna just talk with him and let him know he has us and that we can help him through this rough patch.”

Courtney’s mutters a soft “oh.” In understanding and hugs the bucket close to her chest.  “Okay, we can do this.  Beth, you’re up!”

Beth shakes her head at her friend’s enthusiasm.  “You might want to dial back the pep just a bit.”

“Right.  Gotcha!”  Courtney gives her a thumbs up and nudges her in the direction of the living room. 

Turning away from her friends, Beth makes her way back to the living room seeing Rick’s face in his hands shrinking into himself.  Beth settles down across from him on the coffee table, her foot nudges his softly to get his attention.  She was too afraid to speak in fear it would hurt him.

“Beth?”  his voice is rough and deep.  Under normal circumstances, she would have blushed at the way her name sounded coming from his lips, but this was serious.

“Hey, drink this.”  She hands him the glass and he takes it graciously.  He takes small sips, nursing the drink so he wouldn’t get sick again.

A silence falls over them.  Beth has a million questions she wanted to ask him, but she knew better.  If the notes she read from his father’s journals were true, he would have experienced extreme vertigo, vomiting, sleep deprivation and hallucinations from prolonged exposure to the hourglass.  The Rick before her is in a fragile state and she needs to tread carefully.

Eventually he finished the glass and hands it back to her.  She places it beside her on the table and turns back to him.  His focus is on her, he watches her in a way that makes her feel exposed and vulnerable.  He’s never looks at her like this, even when they would hang out at the garage or at the diner.  He was looking at her as if she hung the moon and the stars in the sky.

“I really fucked up, didn’t I?”  these were the first words out of his mouth.  Beth’s shoulder slump in sadness and she places a comforting hand on his knee.

“I won’t sugar coat it, Rick.  But yes, you definitely ‘fucked up’.”  She noticed the corner of his mouth twitch when she cursed; she knew he’d get a kick out of her cursing.  She mostly did it to try and bring a lightness to the heavy conversation unfolding.  “But believe it or not a good portion of that ‘fuck up’ isn’t your fault.”

Rick looks down at his hands in his lap.  His knuckles were still torn up from his fight with Cameron.  Beth can recall oh so clearly how much blood covered his knuckles when her father carried him to their spare bedroom and her mother took his gloves off.  It was like the frostbite ate at his gloved hands and left burns in their path.  Luckily, the hourglass protected Rick from worse damages, but not enough that his skin was still healing.

“How can you say that?”  He looks at her with a sadness she’s never seen from him before.  It was like a child scared of being reprimanded after spilling milk.  Rick expected pain from his actions and Beth realizes all the years of abuse he received at the hand of his uncle.  All the years he spent being yelled at and ridiculed by the only adult in his life when he made a mistake.

Beth can see clearly now why her parents trying to speak to him didn’t work.  Why he didn’t want to hear what they were saying.

He was afraid.

“Can I sit next to you?”  Beth asks.  She didn’t want to scare him off and she needed to let him know he is in a safe place.  A place where he can feel and be loved.

His tired eyes met her hopeful gaze and he nods his head.  She moves to sit beside him and leaves enough space so he doesn’t feel cornered.  But almost immediately he wraps his arm around her and pulls her right into his side.  He rests his hand on her waist and keeps it there, almost to anchor himself to something real.

Beth senses it and let him hold her for however long he needs.

Eventually she can feel him trying to figure out the right words to say, but then he doesn’t.  But Beth is okay with that, she is okay to sit there and wait for Rick to start talking.

After a few more minutes of silence, Rick finally talks.

“After I stormed out of your house, I just kept walking.  I knew if I stopped I would have turned around and went back inside.”  He stares into the distance as if trying to recall the events of that day.  “I regrated how I left things.”  His hand on her waist clenched the fabric of her sweater.  “But if I went back then I would not have heard anything you said.  I would have said more hurtful things that I wouldn’t mean and I can’t risk losing you too, Beth.”  He sniffles, trying to fight a fresh new wave of tears.  “It’s the same reason why I never picked up the phone, I knew if I picked up I wouldn’t know which version of me you would get and that’s not fair to you.

“But I got your messages.  I got all of them and each day I would play them over and over again hoping the anger I was feeling would go away.”  He rubs at his eyes.  “This past week I’ve tried to take the hourglass off and each time I would, I’d be hit with this wave of sickness that I’ve never felt before in my life.”  He looks down ruefully at the hourglass on his chest.  “Each day I could keep it off a little longer, but then I needed to put it back on to function, it’s like my body is addicted to this thing."  His hand relaxes against her side.

“But today, when I had it off, you called.”  Rick looks down at her, taking in her comforting aura.  “When you called today, I finally didn’t feel that anger anymore.  I knew I gained some sort of control again.  So I used that energy to get myself back here, to you.”

Gingerly, Beth reaches out and takes Rick’s hand in hers.  “I knew you needed us, but I didn’t pry.  I knew you were at the farm this entire time, but I figured you wouldn’t have wanted me to show up unannounced.”

“I think you made a good judgment call, Chapel.”  He smirked slightly.  “I can’t honestly say how I would have reacted if you showed up, but I don’t think I would have hurt you.”  She can see the honesty in his eyes, she knew deep down he wouldn’t have, but she knew part of this had to be worked out alone.  But she’s glad he came here.  She’s glad he felt strong enough to pull himself up and come back to her and their friends.

“Would you be okay if the others came in here?”  Beth asks.  She could feel his hand tense at her side.  “They only want to talk.  No one here is going to yell at you, okay?”

“Okay.”

Beth detangles herself from Rick and goes back to the kitchen.  As she walks in she can hear a private conversation happening.

“Oh he’s in love with her for sure, no doubt in my mind now.”  Yolanda says quietly.

“Omg, what if they’ve been secretly dating this whole time!”  Courtney adds.

“Uh, guys?” Beth cuts in.  “What are you talking about?”

Barbara quickly stands up from her chair and smiles at Beth, “Oh, nothing dear.  Just a little gossip.”

“Really?  A little gossip?”  Beth questions.  Yolanda and Courtney share an embarrassed look.  “Whatever, you guys can come in now.  But please, be gentle and don’t be overbearing.”

“Hey, I’m not –!"

“Courtney.”  Beth glares at her.

The blonde huffs in frustration and mutters “fine.”  And follows the gang into the living room.  Courtney takes a seat next to Rick on the couch, her mother sits down on the other side of him, leaving Yolanda to stand behind Beth, who was once again sitting on the coffee table in front of Rick.

Almost immediately Beth can sense his distress and reaches out to take his hands in hers.  Right away his shoulders relax and his heart rate lowers.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been around to help.  I haven’t been honest with the team and you both deserve to know the truth.”  Rick starts.  Beth squeezes his hand, encouraging him to keep going.

“After Eclipso, I tired really hard to fix the hourglass.  At first, I was able to add more minutes as the days went on, but then I would only have power for 18 minutes and then it was gone.  For some reason I couldn’t fix it.”  His voice was heavy with frustration.  He squeezes his eyes shut feeling a wave of nausea settle over him again.

“Are you okay?”  Beth asks.  “Ms. Whitmore mentioned you were having side effects from the hourglass?”

Rick grasps her hand a little tighter as a new wave of nausea passes through him.  “Yeah,” he gasps.  “Ever since I started taking off the hourglass, I get nauseous randomly.”

“What about vertigo or headaches?”  Beth questions.

Rick finally relaxes and loosens his hold on her hand.  “Both.”

“Hmm…”  So it was true, Rick is going though exactly what his father did before he created the limiter.

“What is it?”  Yolanda asks.  “You’ve got something cooking in there, Beth.”  She gestures to her head.

“Rick, why did you take the limiter out?” Beth blurts out.

“Sylvester told me to.”

The room grew silent at the confession.  Beth had her suspicions about Sylvester from the start, but she couldn’t tell the team.  The first day her goggles read him she couldn’t get a proper reading from him.  From there she’s been slowly gathering evidence to confirm her fears.  And Rick was the key all along.

“Guys, we need to call Mr. Dugan now.”  Beth tries to keep her voice calm, but she can feel the panic rising in her chest.

Barbra leans forward to grab her phone from her back pocket.  “Beth, what’s wrong?”

“I can’t explain it, but I had a feeling Mr. Pemberton’s reappearance wasn’t a miracle; he came back for a reason and not a good one.”

Courtney’s eyes widen, “Beth, what are you saying?”

Ignoring Courtney, Beth asks Rick one final question, “Rick, are any of your dad’s journals missing?”

Rick thinks for a moment.  He bites his lip like he does when he concentrates on something.  Beth noticed the habit when he would listen to her talk about Chuck or when he was working on his car.

And then it seemed to click for Rick, “Yeah, I am actually.  There was one journal I’ve been looking for ever since the hourglass broke.  It was right after The Shade left, you were there that night, remember?”

“Yeah, we left the garage after 10 and you drove me home.”  Beth can feel the eyes of her two best friends staring at them.  If this weren’t such a serious situation, she knows she’d be blushing like crazy.  

“Right,” he agrees.  “And after I dropped you off I realized I left it at the garage.  But when I went back the next day, it was gone.”

“So Sylvester may not be who we think he is…” Courtney gets up from the couch and starts to pace.  “Then why help me train?”

“I don’t know, Court.”  Yolanda reaches out and squeezes her shoulder.  “But I think he’s the reason why we’ve all been split up.”

“I’m going to try and call Pat.”  Barbara gets up from the couch and heads back into the kitchen leaving the four teens alone.

“There’s something else, Rick.”  Beth tries to think of the best way to say this.  “After we digitized your dad’s journals a couple of months ago, I started to read through them.”

“Okay…”  Confusion crossing his face.  “Beth, what’s wrong?”  He squeezes her hand encouraging her to keep going.

“Your dad went through the same exact situation with the hourglass and he created the limiter to prevent it from happening again.  But the part that doesn’t sit well with me is that the JSA helped him get better.  Sylvester was there when this happened the first time, so why would he tell you to take the limiter out to begin with?”

“He wanted to sabotage us, all of us.”  Yolanda pipes in.  “He tried to break us all up so we couldn’t see what was really happening.”

Rick looks at the three girls in confusion, “I know I’ve been gone, but what is happening?”  He had the sincerity to look somewhat sheepish.

“Wait, you didn’t open my text message?”  Bethe looked at him incredulously.  “You listened to my voicemails but didn’t look at my texts?”  her eyes widening.

Rick grimaces, “Ah, no.  Sorry.”  He pulls his phone from his pocket and sees the same green iMessage icon with a red notification with the number ‘35’ in the middle.  “To be honest, I never thought to check my texts.”

Beth drops his hand and hold her head in her hands, “Rick…”

“I can check now…?”  The three girls glare at him.  “Yeesh, okay.  Just tell me what I missed.”

Beth turns around and shared a look with her teammates and sighs. Each of them took a turn explaining the last two weeks to Rick.

“Icicle is back and he killed Sportsmaster and Tigress.”

“There is this old foe of the JSA called the Ultra-Humanite who killed the gambler.”

“Cindy joined forces with Jakeem and Mike.”

Rick scoffs, “You guys can’t be serious.”  The girls stayed silent.  “Oh, shit.  How’s Artemis?”

“Angry.”  Beth rests her chin on her hand.  “She’s been staying here with Courtney.”

Rick shakes his head in frustration, “Guys, I’m sorry I haven’t been here.  Can you forgive me?”

The three girls nod and Rick instantly feel the relieved.

“I’m gonna go check on my mom and see if she got a hold of Pat.”  Courtney gestures to the kitchen and Yolanda follows close behind.  Leaving Rick and Beth alone once more.

“I still owe you an apology.”  Rick leans forward on the couch, gingerly taking her hands in his.  “I also owe your parents a massive apology too.  I was a real asshole to them.”

Beth stares down at their hands and stays silent.  What If they can’t fix this?  What if they can’t stop Sylvester and the Ultra-Humanite?

“Hey,”  He tilts her chin up, forcing her to look at him.  “We’re going to figure this out, okay?  Since you have the digital copies of my dad’s journals we can fix the hourglass the right way and we can go after Sylvester.”  He grins.  “Everything is going to be okay, Beth.  I promise.”

She nods in agreement.  “Okay, let’s get to work.”  Beth untangles herself from Rick and stands up, as she moves away from him, he catches her arm and pulls her back to him.  He gingerly pushes himself up from the couch and pulls Beth into a hug.  Instinctively, Beth wraps her arms around him and snuggles close into his chest.

He leans down to whisper in her ear, “There’s also something else I wanted to talk to you about.”

Beth’s breath hitches in her throat as she moves back to look up at him.  His face is so close to hers that she can see a small dusting of freckles on the bridge of his nose.  “What?”  she whispers, not wanting to break the bubble they created.

As small grin graces his face, making Beth’s heart skip a beat.  “When this is over, I want to ask you something.”

Beth stares at him curiously.  “Ask me what?”

“Guys!”  Courtney yells from the kitchen.  “We have a situation!!!”

The small bubble they created burst.  

Beth is the first to step away, letting her arms fall back to her sides and out of Rick embrace, “We should umm…”  She points in the direction of the kitchen.

A grin breaks out across his face seeing Beth frazzled.  “Yeah, we should.”

For the first time in a while, Beth was confident they had a chance against their foe and hope there will be a greater tomorrow.

[jlilycorbie]

Resurrectionists

Many years ago, I read Stiff by Mary Roach (highly recommended), and shortly after I discovered The 1811 Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue. And NaNoWriMo came up, so I dove in with an idea. And I quickly realized I couldn’t keep up the voice.

These days I don’t think I could recapture that voice no matter how hard I tried, and I don’t remember where I was planning to take the story, either. Honestly, I’d forgotten all about it until I was digging through some old files.

If anyone’s interested, here’s what I managed to write before I realized it would be wise to move on to a different idea. Content warnings for grave robbing, body horror, zombies, body fluids, desecration of bodies, and sexual assault.

---

It all started with the cull what had clawed up the inside of his coffin.

I'd done the first half of the job and more, digging through the fresh dirt to the goods waiting below. Brae took the tip-top, busting through the lid of the coffin. I didn't mind so much. I'd just as soon sit topside while he and Carey hauled out the goods. Soon as he'd broke through, Brae reeled back and scrambled at the dirt. He didn't make it topside by me, so he just doubled over and cast up his accounts right through the hole.

"Hey, there, you gotta shit through your teeth, don't you do it on the goods!" I shouted.

He dragged the back of his hand over his mouth and answered, "Shut it, you sparrow-mouthed bastard."

Carey grabbed my shoulder afore I could answer and asked, "You open up a ripe one, Brae?"

"Worse'n that," Brae said. He held up the glim shiner, opening it just enough for a beam of light through the hole. It weren't too bright, not enough to get the traps coming for us, but enough to see the hands up by its face, fingers curled up and raw. Its face was all bloodied up, and looked black even with the light. "Too fresh when it was put to bed."

I whipped my hat off, threw it on the ground, and said, "You'll have the traps breathing down our necks, you bottle-headed cake. Let us take it."

Brae didn't grumble or nothing on the way up. I slid over the edge of the ground and into the grave. The coffin echoed hollow when I hit, but stayed solid. "How's it looking, Blake?"

I picked up the glim shiner and held it over the goods. I didn't like it neither when they went and did something what made them look more like people than trade, but I didn't need to splatter the corpse. Not even with the gin-soaked reek of Brae's vomit over the shit and blood. "Torn up its nails something wicked," I said. "Broke up its fingers, the clump. The resurrectionist'll take it just the same."

"Truss it up." Carey dropped the rope down, and I bent over.

This cull was just like the rest. Maybe a little stiffer. I got the rope 'round its shoulders all the same. It would have been easier around its neck, but the resurrectionist had taken a strip out of my hide for the first broken neck I brought him.

This cull'd gone to eternity well equipt. On its way by, I pulled off one of the rings and slipped it down in my purse. It weren’t like the coves was looking.

Once the goods was dangling, I climbed back up topside and reclaimed my hat. Soon as they had it clear, I took up the shovel to fill her back in. It wouldn't do any good for the traps to walk by and see the hole. Brae knocked my shoulder and took the shovel.

"You load it up," he said.

"Keep up your leery," I said, and went to help Carey haul the goods onto our cart.

Carey mustn't have been feeling too solid, because he left me at the cart and went to help Brae. If neither of them could handle the goods just because it'd had a little fight in the ground, then I wasn't helping more than they asked. I got it swaddled up and hidden down in the cart, and kept my leery out for the constabulary.

The coves made quick work of it. I went to pet our wheezy little pony while they was working, and Brae must've been feeling right by the time they was done. While pretending he was steadying me while I climbed up to steer, he tried to get his hand up my shirt, and managed to get a good feel of my arse. I warmed his ear for it, even if he didn't mean too much by it. He'd been trying to get a good feel since he'd found out I was a girl. At least he'd stopped trying to make me a man and buy me a whore when he was feeling flush.

I drove and they both beat the hoof aside me, Carey holding the glim shiner out to give our pony enough light. The resurrectionist's house was just outside of the city, hidden back by a brace of trees.

At the door, Brae and Carey knocked each other about. No one wanted to go rap on the resurrectionist's door, but sure as we was breathing, we wanted our blunt. I rolled my eyes and made to drop the reins, but I'd already bested Brae once. He'd carry the goods over his shoulder before he'd let a mort have him again.

There was a bell pull, but Brae ignored it, and same for the swell brass knocker on the wood. He beat out a tattoo with his knuckles, and stood right back before the door could open.

It was a corpse answered the door. I knew her: we'd fetched her up not a week past, and I'd fenced her gold locket. Her eyes had dried out and weren't shiny no more. The resurrectionist never said why they always dried out instead of going ripe, but I didn't mind. The smell from his house was dry and dusty, like the closed crypts under the city. Old books and parchment flesh.

"Fetch out your master," Carey said. He stood well back, pressed up against the cart, and talked loud, like death made her deaf.

"There is no need." One of the doors in the hallway opened and the resurrectionist came rolling out. He weren't so old as I'd always expected, and with a thin beard combed out neat. He wore a right swell suit of a brown what suited him, and polished up shoes with buckles on. "Let me see what you've brought me."

I twisted round to pull up the swaddling on the goods. The resurrectionist lifted a lamp off of his table. I squinted up when he brought it too close. It made our little glim shiner look like a star. He wrinkled up his nose when the smell got to him, and lifted his eyebrows at the splintered fingers. "What did you do to him? A damaged body is worth less."

"We ain't done a thing," I said, "but reaped it for you. It's our first what put up a fight after it was laid a-bed."

That plucked up his interest right well. "Buried alive?"

"Too right," I said. "And worth a little extra blunt, on account of being special."

He lifted up the hand, took a careful look at the splinters. "I suppose this means the plague has come to the city."

"Red Maiden's come about, right enough, and the starlings with her," I admitted. "But this trade, it ain't come down with the cannikin afore it was laid a-bed."

He considered the fingers a moment longer, then laid the hand right gentle beside it again. "Wait here."

The resurrectionist left us blinking in the dark, and Brae got the fidgets almost as soon he was out of sight. His corpse stayed to watch us.

"I spied it, I swear I did," he said, leaning up close to me to whisper. "I know I have, I spied a cloven foot. We'd best scramble while we can. I hear there's a chirurgen what'll pay almost as much for a fresh corpse, and it ain't going to answer the door later, neither."

"That's the bastard what's got Molly Meg in a bottle, so's he can abuse hisself while he looks at her floating," I hissed back. "This ain't a bleeding cull, and it'll get you beverage and darby to spare. Now cheese it. The cove's got ears."

Brae had figured the cull didn't hardly ken a word when the cant got thick. He got to looking right touched when he spied the corpse again, waiting in the open door. Carey sent him a look what shut his bone box right enough, and it weren't long before the resurrectionist had come back.

"Now," he said, considering the purse he carried. "I value our little arrangement a great deal, and it would be a shame if it were cut short. I'm willing to offer you a chance for extra pay."

Brae backed up, but Carey nodded. "We'll hear," he said.

The resurrectionist shook open the purse and out came three baubles. "When you return, bring me news. I'm interested to know more of the war, and how the plague is progressing in the city."

Carey had his eyes hooded, and he leaned back against the cart. "And earnest?"

His eyes narrowed. "We've already an arrangement," he said.

"Asking for more, you need to make earnest," Carey said. Brae was going to botch the deal. The bottle-head would've given the crows a pudding years ago if it weren't for us.

He fingered his baubles and said, "I'll guarantee you'll be untouched by the plague. Drink of poisoned wells, eat of food contaminated by the ill, lie abed with the stricken, and you will remain whole and untouched."

"And at tables?"

"I will increase your pay by the worth of the news you bring to me," he said. "If you've something good enough, you may even come without…trade." He said the last like it coated his tongue on the way out.

Carey ignored Brae, but he cast his eye back at me. "Two more safe from the starlings," I said. Both his eyebrows went bolt up. "Or no deal." Carey stayed against the cart, and the pony coughed.

The corpse went arse around, walking like a marionette. The resurrectionist waited, keeping his eyes locked on us. Brae'd have botched it right there, but he wouldn't go crosswise to Carey. It came back carrying two more of the baubles, and he took them and held them out.

"Have we an accord?"

Carey took them and offered a hand. The resurrectionist shook his hand and gave him the purse. Two more dead came out from the house and gathered up the goods. One had seen so many days it rustled like parchment. The dead woman pulled the door shut, and we was alone under the stars again.

"Bowsing ken?" Brae asked.

"All aboard," I said.

"Only right, I reckon," Carey decided, hopping up into the cart. Brae climbed in aside him, "what with you casting up all your blue ruin."

[st-agatha-city]

Scrap: Harvey Gets Home

Unceremoniously dumping this Harvey and Pixy… thing I did a while back, when I was trying to get a feeling for Harvey’s cadence and outlook on things. It’s missing Chunks and stuff and I haven’t really edited it but uhhh. Click read more for some Harvey POV I guess, and a peek at my sloppy prose. Hhhhh.

General trigger warning because Harvey is uh. Dealing with a lot of trauma. If depictions of PTSD or self deprecation upset you I’d pass on this one!! This is pretty fluffy, Harvey just lives every day in abject misery. It’s a Rutger family thing, I assume it’s genetic.

Harvey's shaking hands finally come to grasp the age-roughed leather of his belt, and fumbles with the silver buckle - the tremors spreading up his thickly muscled forearms, and it makes it impossible for him to do much of anything, his grasp on it becoming looser and less meaningful, until his arms fall back down to his sides. The belt belonged to his father. This was never confirmed, but he knows this.

After all, he found it in his father's drawer, and in need of a belt, and knowing it would be another couple of years until he saw his dad again anyways, Harvey took it. It now feels suffocatingly tight around his hips. This time, despite his shaking, he grips it firmly, and unwinds it through his belt loops, and then throws it down on the ground like a snake he's trying to kill. For good measure, he steps sharply on the buckle with enough force to crush the imagined head.

He lets out a tense heave of a breath, and then falls backwards into his unmade bed, making no attempts to break his fall. His empty room is that uneasy, clammy cold that comes uninvited at the beginning of winter. Not yet frosty out enough to justify turning on the heat, and burning money to stay warm, but too cool to sit comfortably, even with sheets on. At this thought, Harvey shivers, now just in his undershirt and boxers, but he makes no motion to move and seek warmth.

The discomfort feels familiar, and familiarity is the closest thing he can recognize to comfort. Recently, he's become aware of how unsettled he feels when good things happen to him, and the immediate relief that washes over him when things take a turn for the worse. It's as though something at the very core of his being, at an unconcious level, can't believe that anything good that might happen upon him could be meant to last.

As such, with all the good luck he's been having, he has been tormented for days, and he's been quietly trying to sabotage himself, as to feel normal once again.

He recently started seeing this girl. She moved to town just recently, and he likes her, he really does. She's kind, and pretty, with big dark eyes, and warm smile. Since she's new, she doesn't look at him and see his brother, which he likes. And she doesn't know anything about his past, beyond what he's been ready to tell her. He likes the clean slate he's never really had before, but he knows for sure that something like that really doesn't last.

Hand shaking again, he reaches over to his bedside table, and picks up his phone.

The ringing sounds like a hollow, plaintive knock.

"Hello?" a small, lilting voice on the other end picks up "Harvey? You okay?"

He wavers for a moment, caught off guard by Pixy's sudden presence in his cold, lonely room. He called her without even really realizing it.

"Uh..." Harvey isn't sure what to say, his mouth feeling numb and useless, just hanging there as he lays prone on his back, fixating on his grey ceiling "What... what did you do today?"

Pixy makes a quiet, 'hm' noise, seeming to recognize in Harvey what he can't quite articulate.

"I didn't do much today, actually. Just had a walk. Did some paperwork, cleaned a little," she pauses for a moment, waiting to see if he might interject, and when he doesn't, she continues "Norman was really busy today. Apparently he always is, this time of year. So it was pretty lonely."

"Lonely, huh?" the gruffness of Harvey's voice makes this simple remark sound almost playful, but in truth, he's choked - and he's unsure if he is grateful for his natural stoicism, or if he loathes it more than ever right now.

"Would you mind if I came over?" Pixy slips this in quickly, not giving Harvey the chance to add anything, this time "I'd like to. I'm feeling restless. And... I miss you."

"I miss you too," Harvey can say this with sincerity. His grip tightens on his phone, finding reassurance in its warmth, coupled with Pixy's sweet voice "Um... I have work tomorrow... I'll have to eat, and get ready for bed, and-"

"I'll bring food! And I'll help you get your chores done," Pixy interrupts him, but Harvey just makes a bemused chuffing noise at this "I can even tuck you into bed~!"

She's nothing, if not persistent.

"That'd smooth things out," he feels lame, for saying so little, but Pixy seems delighted nonetheless, letting out a giddy squeal on the other end of the line that warbles a little in its volume "Jeez, Pix. Careful with my ears."

"I'll be over in fifteen. What do you want to eat?" he can hear her scuffling around, clearly getting dressed.

"Take your time, Pixy. I can eat while you're on your way over," slowly, stiffly, Harvey sits himself back up, and squints at the belt on the floor, and tosses his pillow down over it in a surprisingly graceful underhanded toss.

"No! I said I'd look out for you. I know you're better about this than I am, but is fast food okay?"

Harvey puts a hand on his stomach, and thinks for a second. Sitting somewhat hunched over his lap, his midsection comes together in a soft crease that juxtaposes the tenseness of his dense, muscular body.

"There's a Chinese place on the way. That'd... that'd be nice. Thank you," he falters for a moment, and then adds "I'll owe you one."

"No you will not! I'm doing this 'cause I like you, remember? If anything, you're doing me a favor~! Since I've been so bored all day... this is a good excuse to get out of the house, see my favorite person, and eat something that isn't leftovers. See?" Pixy makes a little whinging noise as she audibly knocks something over, though the jingling of her keys in the background lets Harvey know she's on her way down to her car.

He makes another sound of bemused recognition when it hits him that she very clearly referred to him as her favorite person. He instinctually shakes his head, a half smile coming to lazily cock into his right cheek.

"C'mon, now... that's not how this works..." Harvey gets up, and opens his well organized, but scantly filled closet, looking over what is there with some half-felt disappointment.

"I'm going to have to let you go, but I'll tell you how things do and don't work when I get there, mmkay?" Pixy replies quickly, a grin spoken clearly in her words, as her car purrs to life in the background "I'll see you soon, okay, Harvey?"

Harvey just shakes his head again, smiling to himself, and grabbing a loose-fitting slate colored flannel, and lazily pulling it on, not bothering to button it. Painful heat crosses his body, causing him to let out a breath through his teeth, and roll his shoulders - but that only makes it worse. He took a fall at work, and landed painfully, because some idiot hadn't marked a broken machine, and it had been leaking oil for nearly six hours. It's his first real accident on the clock, too, and it's taking him longer to recover than he'd have hoped.

He gingerly puts on some sweatpants, and changes his socks, and then plods to the living room to wait for Pixy. It won't be too long now. She's very quick, when she wants to be.

(pixy arrives - section not complete)

"Hey, Harv," Pixy speaks in such a soft, loving tone that Harvey suddenly finds himself worrying the state the day left him in is written to clearly on his face, and then realizes that isn't all that likely, as he has been told that 'grim' is his default look.

Looking cheerful would be more out of character. Harvey is pulled from his thoughts by Pixy setting down the bag holding carry out on the flat arm of his couch, and then standing on her tiptoes to lightly hug Harvey.

[chill-mcyt-art-reblogs]

Whumptober Day 1: "This Wasn't Supposed to Happen"

Heyo, welcome to Whumptober, I am aware this is a day late.

Enjoy!

Warning: Major Charcter Death

˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜

“There was a saying, Phil,”

How fitting this is, even the end of the nation is hidden under a false face of victory, as it has been all along.

“By a traitor,”

Such a pitiful mess, scraped together with reckless ambition and a terrible stubbornness that would have certain people keep the mindset that this hollow waste could be more than just a mere faint echo of the glory and revolution that laid the cornerstone for such disaster.

Like Orpheus as he realized his doom, Wilbur let the tears run freely around his bitter smile.

“It was never meant to be!” he chokes out, and presses the button.

The explosions - loud, dreadful, explosions - begin to erupt in the air, and Wilbur sees the look of horror grow on Phil’s face.

“You didn’t-” he whispers, only to be cut off by a particularly close blast.

Wilbur hardly feels the sting of flying gravel before he’s nearly knocked over by Phil crashing into him, familiar wings coming up to shield him.

And Wilbur almost laughs, he plans to die with his fallen work, he might as well die sooner, buried or crushed under rubble and rock. Buried in a tomb of his own design.

“What the fuck,” Phil breathes, loosening his arms as soon as the nearby explosions happen, “Wil, what the fuck?”

His father, the father Wilbur himself lied to and betrayed for what he felt was right, turns to the gaping hole in the side of the room.

“Wil!” he scolds, and there’s a undertone there that reads of something more fearful than parental disappointment. “It’s all gone!”

Because it is, isn’t it?

And wasn’t that the point all along?

And Wilbur laughs.

“My L’Manburg, Phil!” he exclaims, spreading his arms in the embrace of his final act, “My unfinished symphony, forever unfinished!”

He turns to his father, well aware of the way he smiles like a madman.

And isn’t he one?

“If I can’t have it,” he decrees, “Then no one can!”

And Phil just watches him, almost cowering by what remains of the wall, wings hung awkwardly at his sides as he stares at Wilbur with a look not unlike disbelief in his eyes.

As if he should have expected better, Wilbur truly is his father’s son. Another installment in a long line of disappointments.

Then the explosions die off, and the silence rings in his ears.

It’s too silent. There’s no fighting, no screaming, no destruction.

Wilbur glances out over the warzone.

The fighting is stopped, even Technoblade frozen with his tracks, though his pause in his warpath seems to be more of shock than anything else.

No, the real spectacle is several feet over, in the midst of a scattering of rubble, where Niki and Fundy seem to look on at the sight of Tubbo crouched over something caught in the rubble.

And then Wilbur notices the red.

Deep, crimson red, pooling out from under the rocks, Tubbo kneeling in the puddle.

He’s shaking as he turns to look up at Wilbur, rage and despair flashing in his eyes.

“Wilbur!” he screams, standing up and giving Wilbur a good look at what’s there and-

It’s Tommy.

Tommy, lying still and lifeless, pale save for the blood that he lies in.

Tommy, trapped - crushed - under rubble and debris from the explosion.

Tommy, dead.

“No,” Wilbur breathes, praying that his eyes deceive him, “No, no, no, no, no no no nono-”

This wasn’t supposed to happen. 

This wasn’t supposed to happen this wasn’t supposed to happen-

“This wasn’t supposed to happen,” he says, the panic beginning to claw at his throat, “This wasn’t supposed to happen- Phil-”

Wilbur’s head whips around. Phil looks just as shocked as Wilbur feels as he turns to look at his son.

“He was one his last life- Phil,” Wilbur mumbles, “He wasn’t supposed to- he wasn’t supposed to-”

He wasn’t supposed to die. He was never supposed to die. Tommy was supposed to live on and do stupid things and-

There he lies, in a pool of his own blood.

Dead.

Because of the explosions.

Because of Wilbur.

He’s killed his little brother.

Dear gods he’s killed his brother.

Like Orpheus, realizing his fatal mistake, Wilbur knows there’s only one way out.

“Phil, kill me,” he whispers, “Phil, kill me, Phil, kill me!”

He grabs at his father’s sword, pressing the point of it against his chest.

“Phil, kill me!”

And his father looks at him, horror and shock mingling in his eyes as he surveys the tragedy before him.

“Kill me!”

A tragedy only has one ending.

And there were two deaths that day.

˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜

So how about that ending!

Anyway, this fic is also posted over on my Ao3 along with the rest of my whumptober fics!

[thelightningthatjumpsbetween]

Forty Two

RE8 | Wintersberg | Romance, Slow Burn | Action, Sci-Fi

Sequel of Winters and the Beast, a Resident Evil: Village Story

Table Of Contents

Karl knew they would be making a horrible, gambling mistake if he forced Eva and Ethan to yank his brother from the Mutamycete and put him into the world right there in the parlor at 3am.  He knew , logistically, that they needed to plan things.   

But the want, the soaring hope, was there, and he’d insisted on taking the crystal to the master bedroom–his former room–even though he couldn’t touch it without an unpleasant, painful sting that made his head and ears ring and seep black fluid.  Eva put the crystal on a high shelf above an ornate wall mirror that, until today, Karl had ignored completely.   

He now stared back and forth, between his own scarred face in the mirror, and the slightly luminescent crystal on the shelf.  Imagining having his brother there, in the flesh-as it were.  Heisenberg’s mind surged with possibilities.  He’d rarely dreamed about anything this recklessly; he was almost buzzing with happiness.  Not even his frustration with Ethan being a constant threat to his own health, or his distaste at Alcina’s arrival could rile his spirits.  

For once, Karl felt something different than bitter resentment or righteous anger surging through his charged veins.  It was new, wild, out of control.  Hope.  

Karl passed out on his former bed while Ethan quietly left the wine and glass outside Alcina’s door with a quiet knock.  

Heisenberg didn’t wake up when the blond crawled in bed beside him and also fell into a deep sleep.  

—------------

Salvatore was content to take the sofa, and passed out as soon as the rest of the group departed.  

Donna picked the dark-haired child up and carried her as she moved toward the hallway.  She paused, unsure where she should take the girl, and Eva supplied from behind her with a supportive smile, “I’m sure she’d love to stay with you.  You made her very happy with the horseback ride.  Do you feel comfortable taking care of her tonight?” 

Donna beamed, and then hugged the heavy bundle of limbs and torso that draped over her.  “I do. She feels so familiar to me. Maybe she reminds me of Claudia.  I’m not sure.” 

“I sense a bond between you two,” Eva affirmed.  They began moving toward the staircase, and Donna hesitated, wondering if she could speak.  The calm, friendly face of Eva spurred her forward, and she exhaled quickly, “I….do you…sense, something else?”

“What do you mean?”

Donna actually paused, and lowered her voice as she glanced around the hallway.  She wasn’t sure where the others were, and didn’t want anyone to overhear them.  “Ever since we returned from the field, I feel…something is wrong, different.  It’s not the child,” she added quickly, stroking the girl’s long black hair with her pale hand.  “And it is not anything I can place within myself or another.” 

“I do feel dread,” Eva admitted, her very Miranda-like eyes narrowing in thought as she considered.  “I suppose I attributed it to my mother’s actions tonight…the chaos….” 

“It’s not that,” Donna said more resolutely.  “I know her moods, her…effect on others.  This is different.  I feel something dark, brewing from within.  Perhaps the Mutamycete is….” Dark lashes fluttered closed.  “Dark water, flowing over rocks, smooth, but deadly.  Like a ghost within us, a tearing curtain, a growing void.  Something is missing from us tonight, or else, something is coming toward us.” 

Eva’s expression was grim, and she gripped Donna’s other hand.  “I understand.  I believe you.  You can sense these things best.”  She seemed to consider something else, and then added, “You used to see such things, even as a child, did you not?  You were treated, given medication, due to visions and prophecies.  This is a part of you.” 

“Yes,” Donna’s voice was even more hollow and sad than usual; her mouth pulled into a sorrowful frown.  “Sometimes I have feelings…or see things…before they become reality.  My mother called it our gift, but the village elders and pupils were not kind about it.  It was seen as heresy.”  She left out the most egregious part, which Eva had already witnessed long ago–Miranda had sent Donna away, to a cruel institution, for a time to “cure” her of these visions, feelings, and claims.  

The wind howled outside.  Eva brought Donna’s hand into both of hers.  “I believe you, Donna.  I am glad you told me.  Let us work on finding out what this means, after we sleep.” 

“Yes,” Donna said again, and gripped Eva’s hands tightly.  

She realized, as they exchanged one final uncertain smile, that she'd never spoken as an adult about her visions.  Miranda’s ‘treatment’ caused Donna to cease speaking about them altogether.  That she could share was comforting, in the face of a foreboding unknown.  

—----------

Karl felt two things when he awoke, bleary-eyed, and peered through the shadows of not-yet-morning darkness.  One was freezing cold hands exploring his thighs and hips, delicately-but not too delicately.  The other was Ethan’s groin, lodged so closely behind him that they were practically melded together–specifically, the other man was hard, and was not hiding it as he pushed his hips forward again.  

Karl grunted in discomfort, not at the touch, but at how frozen Ethan felt.  He was unnaturally icy.  When Karl glanced down, he could barely make out blackened tips of fingers.  The engineer was uneasy, but said nothing.  The night had been a lot for all of them–time would hopefully help.  

“Still mad at me?” Ethan whispered when he realized Karl was awake.  The brunette relaxed at the soft voice, dropping his head back onto the pillow and closing his eyes again.  “Yep.” 

“Can I make it up to you?” 

—---------

Ethan must have been just as exhausted as Karl; he moved within the brunette slowly, lazily.  He’d entered him from behind, and they stayed curled in the embraced position while Karl’s sharp, breathy notes matched the blond’s indulgent strokes.  The engineer only spoke once, a rather strained utterance of Papa , which drew Ethan toward the plush lips, where he expressed his hunger, his tongue invasive, commanding, and bitingly cold.  

After the early reprieve, (so early that dawn hadn’t arrived, as they were still cloaked in darkness) Ethan kept his body wrapped around Karl, stayed inside of him, and buried his chin into the wide shoulder.  

“Less mad?”

“Mhm.”  He sighed, his voice heavy with sleepiness and post-orgasm haze.  Karl didn’t even have the energy or will to drag either of them to the shower.  He would just lay here until he fell asleep again.  Last night was a long night, too long.  But as he began to drift back to sleep, content with the chill of Ethan around and even inside of him, something changed.  It was like a wave across the bed, a cold blast of air.  Heisenberg’s eyes slowly opened again and he glanced uncertainly around the black room.  Had it been this dark a moment ago?  The curtains rocked gently, as if there were a breeze.  But the windows were closed.  

He’d thought the blond was asleep, judging from the shallow breaths.  But a strange monotone issued, lips behind Karl’s ear. 

“Tell me what you did with it.” 

Heisenberg didn’t have to ask what.  The conversation had come up in the parlor.  Ethan wanted Heisenberg’s crystal fragment.  It was a failsafe for his consciousness, maybe.  He knew that Ethan saw it that way.  To create a person from a piece of a separate, powerful crystal, had never been done by Miranda or anyone after her.  But Heisenberg didn’t dare shoot down the blond’s inhuman resoluteness; it was a solid theory.  But it didn’t matter–the one topic that Heisenberg refused to approach was anything related to that fragment.  

“Ethan,” Karl sighed, burying his head back into his pillow, trying to loosen himself from the chilly grip of the mold man.  “Everything is fine.  I can’t do this….Not now.” 

“Now,” Ethan said in that same even, un-Ethan like tone, holding on tightly to Karl.  He’d clutched the older man like this before, though not in a long time.  After they first became intimate, there was a certain desperation that erupted from Ethan sometimes, an overwhelm of need for physical reassurance, and Karl had always been content to let it manifest.  He didn’t mind consoling the pillar of family strength.  Ethan had been through a lot.  

So he relented, allowing the clinging posture across his form.  Heisenberg sighed, and settled into the mattress.  Despite his high tolerance for-maybe sometimes, his enjoyment of–physical neediness, nobody could out-stubborn him, not even Ethan Winters.  Telling Heisenberg to do something was the fastest way to ensure that it would never happen.  His eyes closed.  Just as a brief period of silence lulled him into false relaxation, the blond rolled, moving on top of him, and pushed Karl onto his back.  

The brunette’s eyes opened and he stared, confused, as the dark silhouette of Ethan rose on top of him.  Ethan pushed down forcefully on his shoulders. 

Something wasn’t right.  

Ethan’s weight was too much, too strong.  Heisenberg, who had plenty more strength than normal men, couldn’t even toss him aside.  And his hands, pressing into Karl’s body, were freezing.  He could feel razor sharp nails digging into his skin.  Ethan didn’t have long nails, never had.  Heisenberg was sinking deeply into the mattress as though the weight of ten people were on him. 

“Ethan– Ethan, get off me.” 

“Tell me –”

Karl used his powers to turn on the lighting in the room; orange oil lamps flooded the shadows, revealing Winters and his feral expression.  Karl had hoped that the light would bring some clarity back to the blond, but Ethan simply leaned forward, his eyes still wild, hazy.  His gaze went past Karl, as if he were blind-he stared into nothingness.  Ethan’s skin was too pale, Karl marveled; it looked chalky and textured.  When Miranda had transformed into whatever the hell she became, her skin looked similar.  He had examined Lycan corpses that also did this–it seemed to be a symptom of the mold’s quick metabolism.  Heisenberg interrupted his own frightened thoughts with, “Get OFF.” 

“I can’t lose you,” Ethan said in the unnerving monotone.  His voice sounded thin, faraway.  The words would have tugged at Heisenberg’s heart, had he not been furious about being pinned.  “Tell me, and I’ll bring him back.”  

This infuriated Heisenberg, but he didn’t have the presence to argue about it.  However, the many tools in his room began rattling.  “And…” Ethan’s voice changed entirely with his next words.  It deepened, sounding more like a rumble of thunder, or an earthquake than his own voice.  “The Black God wishes to be restored .” 

“Ethan!” Karl snapped loudly.  He struggled again, this time thrashing as much as he could–which wasn’t a lot.  Ethan was completely focused on incapacitating the brunette, which is why the distraction worked.  When Ethan, black-eyed and shadow vein-covered, opened his mouth to demand or plead again, the industrial sized pipe wrench from the nearby workbench slammed into the side of his head.  

Ethan crumpled immediately.  This second was all Karl needed to tuck and roll away from underneath.  He landed on his feet beside the bed.  The blond made a strained noise, holding his head in his hands.  Karl held his hand out for the wrench, which was pulled into it; he caught it deftly.  He waited to see what the other would do silently.  The engineer noted his own coldness toward Winters, and acknowledged the survival instinct that this act had awakened in him.  

Karl had been in self-preservation mode far longer than he’d been living…however he’d been living for the last few months, and it was an unwelcome backslide.  He’d cheered Ethan on when the other infuriated him before.  But this was different.  It wasn’t Ethan. 

Was it? 

Ethan slowly sat up in bed, and when his eyes opened, he stared at Karl in confusion.

“What the hell–what…why are the lights on?”  He paused, his eyes widening as he saw Karl standing out of bed, the lights on, saw the wrench in Karl’s hand and the deadly, instinctive look across the usually animated face.  Ethan still clutched a palm to the side of his head where he’d been hit with the metal.  Karl had used enough force to kill an ordinary man.  After Karl didn’t answer, a well of tears sprang up behind the hazel eyes.  This tone was the saddest Heisenberg had ever heard him, a tremble similar to the one he’d used when saying what he thought was his last goodbye to Rosemary months earlier.  

“What did I do?”

[planetsano]

xbox or playstation? 🎮

SYNOPSIS ✰ eren finds more interest in gaming than you, his horny girlfriend.

WARNINGS ✰ nsfw/18+, gamer au, streamer/gamer eren, very needy and horny reader, humping, sex in a gaming chair, blowjob, dirty talk, eren is kinda mean but he lets you use him to get off.

PAIRING ✰ eren yeager x female reader.

The uncomfortable throbbing and heat coming from between your legs were enough to pull you from your sleep. The dream you experienced before waking up was the cause— your boyfriend fucking you into the mattress while his large hand your face hard-pressed into the sheets as he pounded into you from behind. It was expected, Eren’s been streaming and gaming for most of the day, leaving you to fend for yourself to find your own entertainment. Usually, you didn’t mind. It was his job and how he paid rent but on this particular day you were feeling very needy and your advances were met with a dismissive ‘I’m working.’ or ‘I’m busy right now. Can’t you wait later?’

A tiny whine escaped your lips as you sat up, wiping the sleep from your hazy eyes to an empty bed. The orange light from the sunset was bleeding through the window, entering the room and coloring the walls a warm apricot color.

5:15 pm is what the digital clock sitting on the nightstand on his side of the bed read. He should be finished streaming.

The soft pitter-patter of your soft feet sounded again the cold hardwood flooring throughout the hallway as you made your way to what you like to call ‘the homewrecking room’, it’s just his workroom but maybe you’re a little bit of a drama queen. The door was halfway open, so you stuck your head in. It was rather dark, his LEDs turned off and the blinds from the window closed. His face was illuminated by the computer monitors in front of his face. He wasn’t on stream right now that was a fact but you still knocked on the twice before stepping in.

“Eren,” You called for him.

Your soft voice grabs Eren’s attention, making him do a double-take. He takes his hand to push one side of his headset behind his ear, eyes locked on you for a moment. He’s not sure if you want to tell him something but he couldn’t lie, you looked cute right now— dressed in nothing but his hoodie and your cute panties. You were wearing the cotton ones that had the teeny ribbon bow at the waistband. You had a sleepy look on your face, rubbing your eyes with one of your sweater paws.

“Took a nap?” He asks— his eyes darting back to the main computer monitor out of the three in front of him.

“Mhm.” You hum in response, walking over to him and standing at the armrest of his chair.

Eren looks pretty right now. He always does but you especially love when he wears his hair down. He’s so invested in the game— brows furrowed in concentration while his fingers skillfully mashed the controller’s buttons. The game controller looks so small in his hands compared to when you’re holding it.

“Can we cuddle?” You ask softly, wiggling your sweater paw on his forearm.

Eren leans back further in his gaming chair, lifting his arms as an invitation for you to come climb into his lap. So you did— settling yourself onto his thighs with both your legs on either side of his waist. Your body melts into his with your face buried in his neck, taking in his scent. He smelled faintly of his favorite cologne, a sultry mixture of amber and cedarwood. Eren’s arms wrap around your frame, his slender hands still pressing the buttons on his controller rapidly. You can hear his friends’ yelling, profanities, and jokes spill through his headset. To be frank, you were getting a little jealous because you wanted his attention. You’ve been asking for it the entire day nearly.

“Miss you, Eren..” You whine quietly into his skin.

“Flank to your right, Jean-” Eren mutes his mic. “I’m right here, pumpkin.” He rubs yours back a couple of times before his hand is back on the controller. Eren isn’t really there and definitely not paying attention either, you can tell. There's a clear difference in tone— disinterest, and dismissiveness when speaking to you and the lighthearted words and chuckles his friends get.

“Pay attention to me.” You mumble.

“I am.” He deadpans.

“You’re not, you jerk.” Your shirt balls up into your fist.

You just want him— and you’re not exactly picky with how either.

One of your hands finds its way to your clothed pussy, lodging itself in between his crotch and yours before you begin to hump it, adding pressure on your clit from your middle and ring finger.

“What are you doing?” Eren asks quietly enough for his headset not to pick up his words.

“Nothing.” You whimper, continuing to rut yourself against your hand and taking in your boyfriend’s scent.

It’s not enough though, you know it’s not enough. In a way, you almost hate how Eren conditioned you to want his cock and his only. It’s so fucking big and pretty, he knows it too. The way you can feel that thick vein that protrudes angrily along his length rub against your g spot with every thrust. God, and how he splits you open is almost scary but you can’t get enough of it. Fingers, pillows, toys just don’t do it for you anymore— and your hand right now certainly wasn’t.

“C’n I put you inside?” You lift yourself lazily from his shoulder to look at him, pouting and flushed in the face. Eren sighs, before muting his mic once again.

“Will you behave? I’m serious, (Name). I’m not fucking you right now. Jean is recording for his channel.” He says.

“s’okay!” You perk up a bit. “Just wanna feel you.” You say.

“You say that then we end up fucking..” He sighs when he sees the sad puppy eyes you were putting on for him.

“Go on then, Get me hard.”

It’s been thirty minutes— thirty aching minutes of being stuffed full of Eren’s fat cock. Your panties have long since been discarded somewhere on the floor while his shorts and boxers are pulled halfway down his thighs. You know he can feel your walls fluttering around him every time one of you shifts even the slightest bit, and the most frustrating thing about it is: he doesn’t seem to be affected by any of this. Still ignoring you with his dick buried balls deep into your cunt. Every time you attempted to grind your hips down onto his, he would pinch your thigh hard enough to sting.

“Rennie,” You had tears pricking at your eyes at this point, all you wanted to do was cum but your boyfriend was being a jerk.

“Are you this insatiable? My god.” Eren asks.

“Please, Eren. I miss you.” You rolled your hips onto his.

“Fine. Use it, get yourself off. But I’m not helping you.”

Eren doesn’t have to tell you twice before you’re fucking yourself on his cock— quite literally using him as your own personal dildo. Your arms are wrapped snug around his neck, muffling your moans in his neck as you bounce yourself up and down on his shaft. The head of his cock hitting your cervix every time your hips slammed down onto his. The chair creaking underneath you both with your rapid movements was paired with soft sounds of skin slapping, your labored breathing, and whines. You’re almost certain his teammates can hear you, but it doesn’t matter to you. The only thing on your mind right now was using your boyfriend to get yourself off.

You feel your high form in the pit of your tummy, erupting like a volcano when you reach its peak. Your walls clamp around your boyfriend’s big cock— walls fluttering and clenching in erratic rhythms around his shaft. Your thighs are burning and shaking as you tried your best to silence your moans by biting down on his shoulder. Eren feels it all, he knows you just came but he’s still unbothered, his eyes locked on the screen. His body only moves slightly when you tug on his neck a little too hard. You’re limp in his lap, catching your breath when you hear Eren’s team call for a 10-minute break before resuming another session.

“Satisfied?” He asks, pulling back his headphones so they lay around his neck.

“You didn’t cum.” You say, your cheek slightly squished from his shoulder. Eren only shrugs and ushers you to get up by tapping on your thighs and you followed suit— lifting yourself off his cock. It falls heavy out of you, slapping softly onto his shirt glistening from your juices.

“Clean it.” He says.

You drop to your knees taking his shaft into your palm, dragging your tongue along his length making sure to flatten your muscle to cover more area. You look up through your lashes at Eren to see he’s on his phone— body relaxed with his arm rested behind his head, scrolling through Twitter. Ignoring you, again.

Your hand wraps around the base of his cock as you swirl your tongue around the flushed red tip— then taking as much as you possibly could into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks to create a sucking sensation. The rest that couldn’t fit was being fisted by your hand.

“I said clean up your mess, not get me off,” Eren says, looking down at you instead of at his phone. You released him from your mouth with an explicit ‘pop.’

“Will you feed me, Eren?” You ask, eyes never leaving his. “‘m hungry.” Your hand continues to pump him lazily.

“Fuck- Yeah, I got something for you. Hold still.” Eren’s phone is long forgotten, his hand grabbing a fist full of your hair pulling your head back.

“Use both hands, yeah- stroke my cock, baby.” Eren’s moans sound breathless and pretty. You’re moving your hands up and down his dick at a rapid pace.

“Open your mouth. Said you were hungry, right?” Eren shoots his load onto your tongue unannounced— his thick ropes painting your pretty pink tongue white, some of it dripping down your chin. He’s looking down at you with lidded eyes and his bottom lip nursed between his teeth as he rides out his high with a thin layer of sweat on his forehead. Your hands come to an eventual stop and you roll your tongue back into your mouth, swallowing your snack. Eren takes a finger, swiping it along your chin to gather the excess that didn’t make it into your tummy. You gladly taking his finger into your mouth sucking it clean.

“Now get out. I’m working.”

© all content belongs to rekiri 2021. do not modify or repost.

[chiwhorei]

𝐂𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 (𝐑𝐞𝐝 𝐇𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐝)

𝐚𝐤𝐚: 𝐌𝐲 𝐏𝐑𝐎 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐎 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐞 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐬 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐬!!

pairing: t. amajiki x fem!reader

genre: smut, 18+ mdni

word count: ~1.3k

tags: pervy!tamaki, mean!tamaki, dubcon, degradation, voyeurism, masturbation, tentacles in all of readers holes, dacryphilia, choking

a/n: this is my very late contribution to the whorehouse porn compilation, the rest of this questionable browser history can be found here! strap in because this might be the grossest shit i’ve written so far. no plot, porn is the point here friends.

(cross posted to Ao3!)

hymn: gooey by the glass animals

The first time was an accident, genuinely.

He meant to text you he would be home early, ever the courteous roommate, but it truly just slipped his mind. Surprise would be an understatement when he swings the front door open to the high pitched whines coming from your bedroom.

Curiosity piquing, Tamaki lines his shoes up by the door and follows the noise. He can see the outline of light seeping through your open door and hears another round of cries. 

“Hey, are you ok--” His words flop lifelessly on the floor in front of him. Oh.

Oh.

His eyes trail up from the end of your bed. The open laptop propped in between your legs, the bottle of lube sitting next to your knee, your bare thighs and--

“Do you like what you see, Suneater?”

Tamaki flushes, heat starting at the bridge of his nose and spreading across every inch of skin. He should really say something, or better yet, close your fucking door and do the rest of his processing on the other side. 

He can’t seem to do anything but stand and stare at the dripping wet toy still being pumping in and out of your cunt. It seems to have completely hypnotized him, watching the way the silicone disappears in between your slick folds, he swears he can see the quiver.

“What do you think about my toy?” Purple and oblong, you pull it all the way out. Tamaki’s stare burns right into the suction cup ridges and slim, curved tip. You drag it in a wet line up your skin, meeting your lips with a pout. 

“I picked this one out with you in mind.”

* * *

First time, shame on you.

That’s what they say, but Tamaki finds himself pressing against your doorframe and peering into your room for the 3rd time this week. His feet pull him here like a nasty habit, the crack in your door is far too welcoming. 

You left it open just for him.

Tamaki’s ears twitch, forehead tacky with sweat as he presses against the frame. Every time he finds himself in this very same position, shame trickles down his spine like poison.

Every inch of your skin is exposed to his stare. Looking upon you is invasive and slimy and wrong but fuck, with every movement of your toy, pumping in tandem with the hand around his painfully hard cock, the more each stolen glance feels intravenous. Tamaki is addicted. 

All he wants to do is touch you. Wrap you in his hold and explore every inch. He wants to know what your skin feels like. 

What does your hair smell like up close? He’s only ever been privy to the occasional carryover of strawberry as you walk by him in the kitchen. How do your moans feel vibrating just above his mouth? Would you cry out for him to stop or to keep going?

He’s never stepped closer than the line between carpet and hardwood, but that's really only a technicality. 

You feel it, foreign but unmistakable. The touch of something crawling up your leg, soft and sticky. It wraps around your leg, crawling upwards in salacious vines. Your voice rings in Tamaki’s ears. He repeats every syllable like prayer, his invitation.

“I picked this one out with you in mind.”

There’s no movement to stop him, you don’t scream or tell him to fuck off. Your body seems to welcome him, back arching as five quirked fingers wrap around your arms and hips. The popping of suction cups trail from your belly button, dragging against your breasts before you feel pressure at your neck. Your skin will be covered in round bruises in the morning. The kindling in Tamaki’s stomach feels more like a wildfire, shy demeanor melting away. The man in front of you isn’t going to waste any more time hesitating.  

“You’re such a little tease. You like fucking with me don’t you, princess?” Tamaki’s question is sneering, his tone cold and unfamiliar.

The tentacle wrapping around your neck squeezes tight enough to make you gasp, he doesn’t waste the opportunity.

He doesn’t really want you to answer him.

As soon as your lips part, your mouth is invaded. The tendril reaches all the way to the back of your throat before it lets up, your jaw already hurting at the stretch. Your vision blurs, the taste of briny-sweet flesh mixes with the salty tears running down your face.

You’re given only a moment to sputter, catching your breath before it’s taken away again, the squeals and cries bubbling in your throat are wasted energy.

“Always leaving your door open, teasing me. I’m not playing your games anymore.” Tamaki’s voice is unwavering, he’s serious.

You wail around the rubbery texture as another tentacle wraps around your breasts, suctioning on the sensitive peaks of your nipples. Tamaki moves closer with each sound he can pull from you, finally breaching the last shreds of privacy and shuffling across the carpet. All five fingers on his right hand are busy probing parts of your pliant body and restraining others. Through the haze you can’t deny how dexterous he is while making a mess of you. 

It would be impressive if you could think straight.

Each arm and leg is caught in the reddish-purple web, writhing against his hold only makes Tamaki’s grip tighter.

“I could do anything to this sweet little body, what could you do to stop me?” His words should scare you, but only one thing runs through your foggy head. 

“Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop.”

If you could, the scream pressed against your makeshift gag would definitely alert your neighbors to the depravity just a wall away. You feel attention turning to the toy still plugging your weeping hole, a tentacle wrapping around the base and pulling it free with a squelch. From the corner of your eye, you catch the shiny plastic as it’s thrown to the other side of the room, hitting your wall with a hollow thud.

The tip of one tentacle prods at your clit for good measure before poking inside. Fear runs through your blood, cooling when mixed with overwhelming pleasure. Tamaki can reach places you’ve never felt before.

“So tight, so fucking warm.” Tamaki can feel you with each clench of your pussy, sliding in until he can feel tight band of your cervix. He could ruin you if he wanted, he ventures to guess you would let him.

You’re crying in long, fat streaks around the apples of your cheeks. With the help of another set of weaponized fingers, your legs are spread further and pushed to your chest. Tamaki’s cock aches, now ignored in favor of manipulating your body into a new angle so your ass is propped up. Muscles tense as he swipes the tip of his tentacle to trace around your rigid ring of muscle.

“I’ll take every one of these slutty little holes. You’ll feel me on your skin for days.” He promises you, pushing past your resistant muscles, they’re no match.

Your head is swimming now, logic is replaced with the feeling of being so full.

Stimulation assaults your senses from every direction, Tamaki fucking into your body with fatal rhythm. Going farther, deeper, harder. All you’re left with is shaking limbs and muted whines.

It hurts, it feels so good. It’s so disgusting but so hot. You’re meek, bushy roommate has made you little more than a fucktoy with what seems like minimal effort. You’re hurdled to a sloppy wet orgasm faster than ever before. 

Tamaki can tell that you’re close, studying the way your eyes screw up and brows furrow before falling over the edge for weeks from the comfort of your door jam. The consuming bliss overtakes your body, every muscle tensing, shaking from exhaustion as the cord pulls tight and snaps with fury. If you could, you would scream out the name of your captor, all you can manage a garbled sound from deep in your chest.

The next few moments find you in pieces. The feeling of emptiness knocks at your hypersensitive body as you’re flipped to balance weakly on your hands in knees. You’re not left alone for long, Tamaki’s just getting started.

He’s never been one to play with his food, but you’re just too tasty.

all writing is dymphnasprose’s original content, please do not repost or modify. do no read my content as asmr.©️

[whumpsday]

Desperately want Liv to (somewhat justifiably) sucker punch Kane as soon as she sees him in a “this is for stealing my brother” move, and Jim going into caretaker mode bc hey Kane’s really fucking fragile right now! And Kane just crumpled gasping for air thinking ‘I know I deserve this’/‘but still I believed him when he said I wouldn’t be hurt and why does this betrayal hurt so much?’

Anyway I’m so excited to see whatever ends up happening

i have been hoarding this ask in my inbox from before i posted k&j 6, and now that it's out, have this little thing!

AU set in the middle of Kane & Jim #6: Visitor, where Liz has a much more aggressive personality than her canon self.

content: vampire whumpee, whumper to whumpee, light violence (a punch), starvation

-

“Liz, Kane. Kane, Liz.” Jim introduced awkwardly as the two approached him.

To his horror, Kane felt his mouth water. He was used to holding himself back, trained for it, had any will to attack beaten and burned out of him over and over again. But finding a human with blood perfectly aligned to one’s taste was rare, only one of the hunters had even had blood that smelled so perfect. He’d never been so hungry and in the presence of two before, and it made his stomach twist with need.

He pushed the thought away with significant effort. There could not be a worse time to be thinking about such things.

The woman's, Liz's, eyes flooded with rage immediately at the sight of Kane, causing his panic to spike. He knew that look. He knew what always followed. He tried to shrink back further into the corner, but there was no more space: He was already flush against the wall. Nowhere to hide.

Before Jim could react, she was swiftly closing the distance. Kane tried to raise his arms protectively in front of him, but his groggy movement was no match for someone so practiced in combat. The punch connected with his cheek hard and fast, knocking him onto his side as pain exploded in his face.

"That's for everything." she growled.

"Liz, what the fuck!" he heard Jim say distantly, but his ears were ringing.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" Kane gasped desperately.

His face hurt, especially because her fist had unfortunately landed on the still-healing burns from his old muzzle, but it was far from his standard of concerning. He even had worse pain right now, in his tattered wrists, in his continually empty stomach.

He curled up, tucking his head into his knees, still chanting I'm sorry like his life depended on it. No, it was not the punch itself that was worth fearing, it was the implications. Jim had lied. He'd said over and over that his sister wouldn't hurt him, and it was the first thing she did. What else had Jim lied about? No sun? No silver? His stated distaste for torture? His breathing picked up at the horrific possibilities. Was it all some kind of game, to get him to feel just a little bit safe so that he could snatch it all away? He wasn't used to this. The hunters didn't care about what he thought. It was just fun for them. But of course things would be different here. For Jim, this was personal.

Kane hadn't fully believed his ludicrous promises of a pain-free existence, and he'd been right. He felt a flash of shame at the fact that he'd been convinced even slightly. Surely, he should know better by now. He deserved to suffer, and hoping for anything else was fruitless. Despite knowing this, he couldn't shake the hollow feeling of betrayal. A laughable concept. Things had merely been set right, he had been bestowed undeserved kindness yesterday.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, please, I'm sorry..."

The humans were still bickering, paying little attention to his repetitive rambling. Kane realized he should be listening, as their conversation could hold vital information on how bad the rest of his punishment was going to be. Not that he would be able to do anything to mitigate it, but he could at least mentally prepare himself.

"So it can hold you captive for five years and ruin both our lives, but I can't punch it once? After everything it did to you?" Jim's sister was still furious. Kane wanted to cover himself with the blanket, but he didn't dare call attention to it. The blanket was the best thing to happen to him in years; he hoped to hold onto it as long as possible before it was inevitably taken away.

"Liz, just look at him. He's already hurt. Please just leave, okay?" Jim, in contrast, sounded more frustrated than furious.

Liz made an exasperated huff as she climbed the stairs, slamming the door on her way out, making Kane startle harshly at the sound.

And now he was alone with Jim. He stared up helplessly at the man who could do anything to him, powerless to fight back.

"I'm so, so sorry." He repeated, trembling. An added 'Please have mercy' held itself at the tip of his tongue. He'd already been granted so much mercy in the past two days, it would be unthinkably greedy to beg for more. He needed to take his punishment. He'd promised to be good.

"That wasn't supposed to happen." Jim said. "I didn't know that she was gonna hit you. Are you alright?"

Kane couldn't even begin to parse the first two statements, any sliver of trust in what was true and what was a lie eroded, but he was confused by the question. He'd never been asked that before. What answer was Jim looking for? Did he want Kane to be alright, or not alright?

"I'm sorry." Kane repeated again, hoping he wouldn't be punished extra for avoiding the question. He figured a non-answer was safer than a wrong answer.

Jim's brows furrowed in what appeared to be concern as he began to approach. Kane flinched in anticipation of what was coming.

Jim stalled. "Would you like to be alone?" he asked.

Was this another trick? Kane didn't have the acuity to determine that right now. It didn't matter, Jim would do what he wanted no matter how he answered. He nodded. He wanted to be left alone so badly, he didn't have the energy to fake otherwise in hopes that it would bring a better outcome.

"That's okay. I'll come check on you tomorrow. Something tells me you didn't get a lot of rest before. Get some now."

Jim was leaving. Kane sighed in relief at the revelation that the continuation of his punishment would not come now.

He began the process of mentally bracing himself for tomorrow.

[mellarkdandelion]

memories anew - clove and cato's story

Clove's life flashes before her eyes in fragments- every beginning and every end.

It all came back in flashes. 

***

When Nettelle Nightvale repeatedly called her name from the Reaping stage, Clove, after a lifetime of preparing, was confused why she didn't feel excited. Instead, all she felt was cold, solid dread in the pit of her stomach. Fear. 

Her eyes desperately found Cato’s in the crowd as she put on a confident facade. When their eyes met, his playful smile relayed a message Clove wished she didn’t understand. From the sea of District Two citizens, the words “I volunteer” tore from his lips just as Nettelle began to ring out a different boy's name. 

It was the beginning of their end. 

***

On the train, they locked each other in a painful embrace. 

“We weren’t supposed to be like them,” she whispered. “We don’t volunteer.” 

Cato and Clove weren’t desperate like the rest of District Two. If their names weren’t on the slips of paper, they would silently curse and go back to training, determined to be chosen the next year. Volunteering was never an option for them- they’d go like the reaping intended or they wouldn’t go at all. 

“I couldn’t let you do it alone. Not when we’ve spent our whole lives being a team,” Cato whispered into her hair. He pulled her closer. 

***

The image of Cato bloodied and beaten swirled through Clove’s mind as she laid in bed that night. She saw his once stoic face contorted with pain and misery, then convinced herself she could hear a cannon– the cannon– go off in her room. 

It was too much. Clove threw the blankets off her burning body, deciding that whatever happened from then on, there would be no more fear. No more being scared. No more doubt. She was worth more than anxiety and nightmares. Years of training meant an easy win, and she was determined to do just that. Hot tears streaked her cheeks as she locked away the last of the doe-eyed girl who loved simple things like reading and swimming; all that would be left is a lethal, sadistic Career who would be ready to take any life if it meant going home.

***

Golden locks bounced in front of Clove, mesmerizing her. Glimmer, she thought, a fitting name.

Her own brown hair was pulled back into a low bun and hidden underneath a bronze helmet. Feathers of the same hard material plated her chest, restricting her breathing. She didn’t mind the pressure, but the weight on the hollow of her neck forced her to feel each beat of her heart. 

Cato lightly stroked her arm as he climbed into the chariot. The beating grew faster.

“Why the scowl?” he asked. 

“It’s my winning face.” 

He studied Clove for a moment. “It suits you. But I think I like your smile more.” 

A smirk danced across her face, but she smothered it. 

***

The opening ceremony replayed in her head all night. The deafening roar of the crowd, the roses landing at her feet, the gentle brush of Cato’s arm against hers. She dug the heels of her hands into her eyes. 

We won’t leave this together, she thought. 

When her own feeble touch wasn’t enough anymore, Clove tentatively opened her door and ran across the hall. She gave a few quick knocks, but let herself in before Cato could respond.

Sleep dazed him. His blond hair was a mess, he rubbed his eyes wildly, and the muscles in his arm rippled as he shifted around. Clove decided, just for one night, she’d let herself like it. Enjoy it, even. 

“Clover?” his tired voice whispered. 

“My mind is too alive to sleep. I- I just- I need-”

“What do you need?”

“You.”

Cato smiled, more awake. He decided to pretend, just for one night, that everything was okay. 

“C’mere.” 

It was like the curtains had been pulled back. Her mighty and fearsome personality melted away in his presence, revealing the moony-eyed girl once again. Clove bit her tongue, mad at herself for breaking her promise; but his touch was exactly what she needed. The warmth from his strong arms, the weight of his body against hers, the comfort and innocence of it all. 

***

The interviews went as quickly as they came. She dazzled the crowd with her wits and sarcasm, but the frilly dresses and sparkling smile didn’t feel like her. She knew she looked amazing– she could tell by the way Cato didn’t take his eyes off her all night– but Clove didn’t care about wowing the Capitol. She had already wowed the one person she truly cared about, and Clove knew that whatever stunts she pulled in the arena would make far better television than laughing with Caesar Flickerman. 

That night, Clove didn’t even bother with sneaking into Cato’s room. 

“Why’d you have to do it?” she asked after elongated silence. 

“What?” 

“Volunteer.” 

“I told you, I wanted to do it with you as a team. Why, are you not happy I’m here?” 

“You’re just making it harder for me,” she traced the curve of his brow with her finger. 

“I… I don’t know. I guess I was too caught up in how I couldn’t watch you leave District Two. Not without knowing I’d be there to help you,” Cato confessed. 

Clove paused. “You don’t think I can do it? Win?” 

“Of course I do! But… who knows what can happen. You’ve seen the tricks and twists these games can have. The only way I could be sure you’d be safe is if I knew I could be there to take the blow for you.” 

“I feel like I should be offended.” 

“It was stupid.” 

“You think?” 

“Yeah. Yeah, because now…”

“What?” 

“Now if I do this it’ll be a mistake, not the beginning of something great.” 

Cato, against all reasoning, gently leaned forward. Clove’s lips found his, her hands gently resting on his chest. His hands tangled in her hair. They fit together like two things completely made for one another. Anything– anyone– else wouldn’t make sense. It wouldn’t feel right. 

Cato kissed her lips, then her cheeks, then the crook of her neck, then the prominent freckle on the tip of her nose he always loved so much. They kissed again, making up for all the time and words they wasted in the past. 

Clove felt too much. Anger, hope, desperation… but mostly– and horribly– love.

“It could still be a beginning,” she said once they finally broke apart. 

“Yeah. It could,” Cato agreed, but Clove knew it wasn’t true. It didn’t matter though, because for that night, it was the beginning of everything. 

***

Days passed in the arena and numbers dwindled. Glimmer, a girl that Clove actually saw herself caring for, shone in the sky next to a large number one. Tracker Jacker stings burned all over, causing her body to ache with a fever. Cato was in no better condition, but at least they were both alive. 

Under the cover of darkness their shaky hands found each other while they slept. It only felt natural. 

***

One night, Cato led Clove to the top of the cornucopia. They sat together, looking across the vastness of the arena. Their eyes met for a moment, and Cato broke out into a smile. 

“What?” Clove asked. 

“Your eyes. They remind me of home.” 

Clove stared into his oceanic eyes, a rarity for District Two unlike her own golden flecked ones. 

“Because they’re so common?” 

“No. Well, yes; but also because they remind me of all the times I caught your eye in Two, or tried at least.” 

Clove remembered all those moments. Blue eyes meeting hers from across the immenseness of the district, the way her stomach twisted with delight whenever they did. She stared hard into his eyes, wishing for just a moment that they were there again- home.

***

Without warning, Clove’s world was turned upside down. 

"Two tributes, if from the same district, shall both be crowned victors."

Cato found her eyes from across the lake and immediately flew towards her. He splashed through the murky water, arms reaching out. Clove, tears brimming in her eyes, found him in the middle. Their bodies met, connecting in an embrace that said everything they couldn’t. They sank to their knees, soaking their clothes entirely. 

Clove let out a shaky breath. Cato pulled away, brushing back the hair stuck to her forehead. He kissed her, quickly and passionately. He held tight to one of her arms and stroked her cheek with his thumb. She wrapped her arms around his torso. 

Their end had become a beginning. 

***

The feast came. 

They devised a plan quickly, knowing that they would have each other to rely on. Before they separated, Cato kissed her once on the nose, then on the lips. He turned around and headed off to the other side of the woods. Clove smiled to herself, victory within reach. 

When Katniss darted out for her bag, Clove seized the opportunity. The girls brawled for a moment; but Clove quickly pinned her down, drawing out her knives. She was ready to extinguish the girl on fire, taunting and teasing her like she knew the audience would want, but suddenly things changed. The oxygen was sucked from her lungs, tears forcefully squeezed out of her eyes, and the throbbing in her head became arrhythmic as all the blood drained from her brain. She thrashed wildly in realization.

Clove was locked in Thresh’s forceful embrace, being held four feet off the ground.

He slammed Clove down, her ribs cracking and head bouncing off the hard packed dirt. 

“What did you do to that little girl? You kill her?” Thresh bellowed. 

It all danced in front of her eyes. Marvel setting off after Rue. Her body being airlifted away. His picture in the sky. 

“No! No, it wasn’t me!” Fear flooded from the locked box in Clove’s stomach and out of her mouth like a tsunami. 

“You said her name. I heard you. You kill her?” Thresh stormed closer, his enormous stature completely casting out the sun. 

A sharp intake of breath came from behind Clove. Katniss Everdeen, still sprawled out on the ground, watched the scene unfold in horror. The two girls locked gazes. The storm of Katniss' grey eyes flashed, then flickered to the heavy object in Thresh’s hand. Clove dared to follow her look. 

“You cut her up like you were going to cut up this girl here?” Thresh snapped. 

“No! No, I- Cato! Cato!” His name tore from her throat with the weight of all their past behind it. She needed him. 

“Clove!” His reply was desperate. He needed her. 

Clove watched him break through the other side of the woods, but her eyes were drawn back to the danger ahead as Thresh brought down the rock in his hand. 

***

It all came back in flashes. 

***

In a second– in a flash– life is leaving Clove’s eyes. Cato is at her side before another moment passes. He holds her hand, gripping it desperately. 

“Clover? Clove, can you hear me?” he calls out. “Can you feel me?” 

Clove tries to meet his eyes, but can’t seem to manage. Something is wrong, she knows it, but her head hurts too much to figure it out. 

“Clove, please. Please, you can’t leave me.” 

Clove purses her lips, trying to form Cato’s name. She doesn’t want to leave. 

“Clover, I- I need you. I need you to hold on. Please!” 

Cato’s sobs grow louder, but she can’t quite hear it anymore. She can faintly make out the shape of his head, the outline of his blond hair, the radiance of his blue eyes. But really, the only thing that’s still strong is the feel of her hand in his. She doesn’t think that’s a feeling she’d ever forget. She wants to tell him that, but the broken parts of her brain refuse to get the job done. 

“I- I should’ve stayed with you! I should’ve been there!” Cato pounds his fists against the dirt next to her head. “Clove, please! I love you!” 

Clove's heart soars at this, but just as she figures out how to speak again, her breathing stops. The blood coursing through her veins comes to a standstill. The light finally leaves her. 

The cannon goes off. 

***

When Cato’s time comes, Clove is the only thing he thinks of. The moment the arrow hits his hand and he soars off the cornucopia, he’s suddenly home. He looks up into the snarling mouth of a mutt, but when he looks a little higher he sees toasted honey brown eyes with flecks of gold. The same eyes that he tried so desperately to catch for years on end in District Two. 

At least, in some way, his death is connected to her. At least, by some twisted miracle, his end is brought on by the eyes he wanted every beginning with. And maybe now, with another arrow soaring towards his head, the sound of a cannon booming through the air, and the warm eyes still in mind, it really can be the start of something new.

[taleasnewastime]

hi bestie, are you still taking requests? 🥹 cause if that so i’d like to read something about idol!taehyung meeting reader and it’s a scenario where she really doesn’t know who he is until he tells her himself LMAO and needless to say tae is instantly drawn to her and probably does anything and everything to charm her and so one thing leads to another,, they end up having some good old steamy sex 🫠🫠

Hey friend! This is cute and though there isn't much steamy sex I hope you still enjoy :) Thanks for requesting!!

Warnings: smut (penetrative and oral), swearing

-

Coffee. Museums. A stroll by the river. That kiss under a bridge. Hell, you even took him on a train to go round that village famous for second-hand books. Took him on the train in economy.

You feel like all the life has drained out of you while Tae doesn’t look much better. Both of you silent in the aftermath of the news. Both for completely different reasons.

“I can leave,” his voice sounds hollow in comparison to what you’re used to. “If you want some space, I’ll understand.”

You still don’t speak, your eyes not even in focus as you stare at the middle distance.

“I bought you a fucking mood ring.”

Not quite the first words he was expecting to leave your mouth, but still, it’s better than the silence.

“Yeah, sorry, I probably could have paid for that.”

“I bought you a cheap, crappy mood ring that’ll probably turn your finger green,” you go on to explain, Tae clearly not understanding it wasn’t about the money. “You can’t wear that. You probably get given more expensive stuff just for existing.”

“Yeah, but, I like this,” he seems bashful, again another thing you’re not used to. “Because you bought it me.”

You roll your eyes. “I took you round that shitty cathedral. And you had to use that portaloo.”

“If that’s what you’re worried about, I’ve honestly used worst loos.”

“How?” You shove your head in your hands, wishing the floor would swallow you alive. “I told you that I thought Lush was high end. I’m going to die.”

He chuckles, the noise light and airy in comparison to your low muttered moans of despair.

“Lush is high end,” he tries to help but you don’t hear him, everything you’ve ever done around him and everything he’s replied seeming to fly through your mind, everything having new meaning.

“I told you I thought Shawn Mendes is hot,” you look back at him, voice deadly serious.

“And I said I’d hook you up,” he’s got a cheeky smile on his face, only making matters worse.

“I said I thought it was cute when popstars wrote songs for each other.”

“And I said I’d write you one.”

“I didn’t think it would actually be any good,” you whine.

“It might not be, I haven’t nailed the melody yet,” he shrugs.

“I know what you’re doing,” you point an accusing finger at him and he has the audacity to look half offended. “It’s not going to work. You can’t charm yourself out of this. Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

He seems to turn serious at that, all false pretence and joking gone. His eyes are soft and you think you might get a half serious answer out of him.

“It’s not like I tried to hide it. You’re just oblivious.”

“Tae,” you whine pushing to your feet in favour of pacing, moving somehow feeling so much better. “Please don’t joke when I’m having a crisis.”

He chuckles and you try to ignore the sound of his chair scraping along the ground.

“What’s the crisis? It’s still me, nothing’s changed.”

“Apart from the fact you’re a fucking megastar,” you screech.

Long, solid arms wrap around your middle the shock knocking all the air out of you. You’re tugged back into a large, hard chest and then a chin comes to rest on your shoulder.

“Now, you’re going to inflate my ego if you keep talking like that,” Tae mutters into your ear.

You flush, warm and not just because you’re in his arms. You’ve been in this position with him before, but now you have completely different understanding of who’s arms you stand in.

Tae’s arms tighten around your middle as if sensing your feelings, his head twisting so his lips can brush the column of your neck.

“Nothing’s changed,” he mumbles.

“You’re famous Tae.”

“Not enough for you to know,” you feel his smile and it irks you.

“You probably have thousands of girls after you.”

He stiffens at that. “And yet I only want you.”

The words do things to you, just like his words always have. But unlike before you’re slower when you give in. You’re not exactly annoyed, more surprised. You’re from completely different worlds, can’t understand how or why you’re in this position. But Tae’s right, he’s still the man you know and however you got here you don’t want to let that go just because of one small thing.

Tae loosens his arms enough to let you spin to face him. You look up into his eyes and then lean in to connect your lips. It’s enough of an answer than any words.

And Tae seems to accept it, want to give his own apology for not telling you as his hands go to your ass as he pushes you back. You squeal as you hit the sofa, but Taehyung doesn’t let you fall, at least not before ridding you of your clothes.

His apology is more than words, it’s his lips on your nipples, his tongue through your folds, his fingers pumping inside you. And even when you’ve had your first orgasm it’s the promise of a second.

It’s him stood over you as he slowly pumps himself. It’s the way he leans over you, puts enough of his weight on you so you can feel everything. His lips on your face, his cock inside you, he starts slow. And he does everything you ask, goes faster when you ask, goes harder when you scream for more, helps you down from your high only to start all over again.

It’s one hell of a good apology.