#who they collectively call mattress for some reason

[charliemwrites]

Part 2 of Woof Woof Konig

Content: Animal Injury (Non-Descriptive)

The walk back to your home is slow. Johnny stays glued to the new pup’s side - as much as he can given how the other towers over him. Ghost pulls ahead to patrol the path, always circling back to press his nose to your hand.

The new dog is so big that his head nearly reaches yours. He keeps his chin down, though, almost ducked, eyes flicking shyly to you. His eyes are big, one sky blue and the other deep brown.

When you reach the house, you nearly have to push his big butt in the door as he hesitates on the porch. Ghost stands watch behind you while Johnny tip-taps on the other side, and you pat at flanks breathing like bellows.

Finally, he inches far enough inside that Ghost can squeeze in and you can close (and lock) the door. You take a deep breath once you do, feeling the last hour crashing over you.

“Jeez, bud,” you sigh, offering your hand to your newest charge. “What a day, huh?”

A quiet, almost shy “snarf”. You grin and scritch gently at his chin, then flick your eyes to the bloody cut over his eyebrow. You click your tongue sadly.

“Alright, baby. We gotta take care of that. Then you can be done for the day, okay?”

You should probably take him to the vet - big fuckoff sized dog with an injury. But you can’t imagine trying to bundle him into your reasonably sized car. Even getting Ghost in there is a struggle the two times you’ve had to do it.

So you leave the pup awkwardly standing, trembling, by the door and collect the dog first aid. You also grab the jar of dog-safe peanut butter. Even Ghost loves that shit.

When you come back, the dog seems to droop when he sees the kit in your hands.

“I know baby, it’ll be okay. I got something that’ll make it better.”

You approach slowly, carefully, watching for any signs of fear aggression. Issue is, there’s every chance he could snap without warning, but you’re praying he’s not one of those. Your boys would go ballistic.

Thankfully, he lets himself be bribed with globs of peanut butter while you clean up the cuts around his head. There’s a chip taken out of his ear that nearly brings you to tears. And the poor boy only whines every once in a while, pressing his face into your chest while you work as quickly and gently as you can. No aggression, no lashing out.

In the end, you press your face to his neck and scratch gently at his shoulders.

“No one is ever going to hurt you again, honey. Not here, not with me.” You press a gentle kiss to his muzzle. “I take care of everyone.”

You get him settled with some blankets and a fresh bowl of food while you check on your boys. Ghost leans into your side while you cry a bit, whispering that you love him and he’s been so good.

Johnny whines and licks the tears away (smelling a bit like peanut butter of course) when you turn to him, pressing his face up under your chin.

“Such good boys,” you sniffle. “Dunno what I’d do without you.”

They practically baby you for the rest of the evening. One with you, one with the new pup, who’s resting and warming up by the heater, bowl empty. They don’t even bark too much when you decide to order food and the delivery comes - perhaps sensing that you’re too drained for their overprotective antics.

When it’s time for bed, you cross over to your new boy and scratch at his hind leg.

“You wanna come to bed, sweetie? You don’t have to, but I don’t want you to be alone out here.”

He stares at you, mismatched eyes way too big. You make one last kissy noise at him and then head to your room, Ghost and Johnny following as usual. Just as you’re about to turn off the light, a big form lumbers into your doorway.

“Hi bud!” you call softly, patting the mattress. “You wanna try coming up?”

He seems to consider it, eyeing the bed and the space available between you and the other two dogs, before politely walking to the dog bed. It’s technically Ghost’s bed, though he only uses it when you’re getting ready to go out.

“You can sleep there, sweetie. I’m sure Ghostie boy doesn’t mind.”

You glance at him as if to confirm, but Ghost is predictably pretending that you’re not talking. Grumpy boy hardly ever responds once he’s tucked into bed.

You smile as the new dog carefully climbs onto the cushion.

“Alright, good night boys. I love you.” You pause, make eye contact with your new pup. “Even you, bud.”

Late in the night, you could swear you hear voices. The low rumble of men talking. Even dream of someone kissing your forehead.

Main Story | Konig pt. 1 | Happy Birthday!

Masterlist

[nebulaafterdark]

Exile (Part 2)

Summary: Y/N Undersee thought the games were over after becoming a victor. Unfortunately, life outside the arena has become just as dangerous. Prequel to Moves & Countermoves

Trigger warning: forced prostitution, explicit sexual content, alcohol abuse and other mentions of trauma. 18+ ONLY

Part 1

Haymitch doesn’t sleep, but he does wait until a reasonable hour to climb out of bed to drink. And glare at Y/N from the dining table of their suite.

Their wedding attire, as well as the sheets they’d consummated said marriage upon, had been prompted collected. Nothing is ever really theirs. Not their clothing or their houses, nor their bodies. Everything belongs to the Capitol, everything belongs to Snow.

It is a foolish endeavor, trying to keep Y/N safe. Haymitch knew it from the moment her name was plucked from the reaping bowl. Surely she would die in the arena, but somehow she didn’t. Surely Snow would kill her after, but for some reason he didn’t.

For a moment, Haymitch almost believed that he could do it. That he could save her. Spare her from this. But Snow wanted her; everyone wanted her. Haymitch’s stomach turns at the rather extensive list of patrons who are chomping at the bit for just one night with her.

If he’s being honest, he doesn’t know if it was pride or stupidity which caused him to blurt out that he would do anything, in exchange for Y/N’s safety.

Clearly Snow intends to take full advantage of anything. The victors of district twelve can still prove themselves useful and lucrative. A new means to entertain and distract people from what is really going on.

Haymitch isn’t sure how many of the Capitol’s higher ups will have seen their wedding night by now. Not that it matters, most of them have already seen him anyway. But they hadn’t seen her.

Some part of him understands that it is stupid to become attached to her. She’ll be another person for the president to hold over his head. She is just a stupid girl, who makes him do stupid things.

Y/N begins to stir against the mattress.

Haymitch knocks back the remainder of his drink. He has the full lineup waiting for her. Uppers, downers, sleeping pills, painkillers, something to calm her nerves. All color coded and laid out on the table, next to a glass of water.

Sure, there are other ways a person might comfort another. But Haymitch isn’t familiar with them. However, he’s on a first name basis with pills. Booze.

Y/N’s lips part and she lets out a sleepy sigh.

God those lips…her mouth. The noises she made.

Haymitch slaps a hand against the table. He could not and would not think about it. She didn’t want him, she was forced. They both were. He has to figure out how to live with that.

Eventually Y/N wakes, sitting up and swinging her legs over the side of the bed. Her eyes find him, at the table, watching her, intently. She excuses herself to the washroom and returns a few moments later. Haymitch is still staring. “Good morning,” she says, in a weak attempt to break the awkward silence.

Haymitch grunts in response, observing as she opens her travel bag in the corner and produces a tablet. The same one she taps away at day and night. Frankly, he’s surprised it hadn’t ended up in bed with them. “What are you doing?” He asks, as she presses a button and the screen comes to life.

“I was just…” about to pour my heart out in a word document, then seal up the file. “Going to play a game.”

“You should take something,” Haymitch nods to the pills, “then you should eat something.”

“Which ones do you take?”

“None.”

“Did you eat?”

“No.”

“Then we should call for breakfast.” Y/N turns her gaze back to the tablet screen. “What do you like?”

“Are you taking notes?” Haymitch huffs a laugh.

Y/N arches a brow, “yeah.” Knowledge is power. Anything from how a person takes their eggs, to their favorite color.

Haymitch purses his lips, “I like bacon, crispy, toast with strawberry marmalade, and eggs over easy. What about you?”

“Oh,” Y/N jots it down, waving a dismissive hand. “I like french toast, with fruit. Hash browns, with hot sauce and coffee. I love coffee.”

“They’ll have it sent for you, back home in twelve. They’ll send you anything you ask for…they’re not supposed to give us money, but things, they are allowed to give us things.” The people who get to watch. The people who pay to watch.

“Do you think we’ll have to do it often?”

“I think last night will keep them entertained for a while.” Haymitch says, “how are you?”

Y/N feels her cheeks heat up. The ask is too intimate. “I’m fine.”

Haymitch sighs, “white one’s for pain, pink peps you up, blue helps you sleep, yellow is for nerves.”

Y/N clears her throat, “my mom…has a pretty nasty addiction to morphling.”

He can respect that. “You should only take what you need then.” Nothing less, nothing more.

“I don’t really need anything.” Y/N lifts a shoulder.

“But you will take one if you need to?”

“Yes, Haymitch.” She assures him.

“Does this bother you, then?” He lifts his bottle between them.

“No.” Y/N shakes her head. “You said you wanted to keep your liquor, that was one of your terms.”

“But does it bother you?”

“No, Haymitch. It doesn’t bother me. We all have our vices. I take notes, you take shots. We are who we are.”

————————————————————————

They take the first train out of the Capitol, after they’re dismissed by President Snow. It takes about a day and a half, straight from the Capitol to twelve.

Haymitch keeps mostly to himself. His own room or the bar car.

Y/N realizes that he values space more than anything. She keeps that in mind when they return to victor’s village. Going their separate ways.

Y/N slides the key into the lock, turning it open and flicking on the light. Home sweet home. After a while she takes the stairs up to her bedroom on the second floor. She turns the knob…and then she screams.

Cameras, like the ones in the honeymoon suite. Folded away neatly against the far wall. No envelope. No threat. Just a promise, that they’ll have to use them one day.

She stumbles back into the hallway, colliding with something firm. “AHHH!” Y/N turns, ready to fight off her intruder.

“Hey, hey, shh. It’s me.” Haymitch hushes her.

“Haymitch?” She breathes.

“What happened?”

“They’re in there,” Y/N tells him, burying her face against the crook of his neck. “They’re in my room.”

“Who?” He’ll kill them.

“The cameras.”

Fuck. Haymitch tightens his hold. “Then you’ll stay with me.“ Snow must’ve had them placed strategically, to set her off. He wanted the cameras to be the first thing she saw, the second she felt an ounce of comfort, returning to her own home. “Stay right here, with me.”

“But my-”

“I have spare rooms, we can clean one out for you. Until then, you can stay with me. We’ll make it nice for you. Whatever you want.”

“You wanted to keep your house.” He asks for so little. “I know you need space.”

Haymitch draws back slightly, cupping her face in his hands. “It’s big enough for two, we can figure it out.”

Y/N nods, as he thumbs tears from her cheeks. “Thank you.”

She can’t go home, back to the house in town, she grew up in. This was made clear the day she became a victor, but she can come here. To him. And Haymitch would welcome her with open arms.

————————————————————————

Haymitch is used to sleeping with a knife under his pillow. But with Y/N landing in his bed night after night, he is forced to retire the blade for her safety.

He still has nightmares. Just like Y/N. Twisting in the sheets restlessly, waking her as he does.

“Haymitch,” Y/N whispers. Shaking him, lightly. “Haymitch, it’s Y/N. I’m here with you, in district twelve. You’re safe now.”

Haymitch startles awake, to soft fingers carding his hair. “Angel?”

“You’re safe.” She says, a second time.

————————————————————————

President Snow is quite pleased with the results of his latest stunt, the cameras in Y/N’s room. The closer his problem victors become, the less likely they will be to cause a fuss.

Haymitch has proved, time and time again, that he will go to great lengths to protect his former tribute.

Coriolanus remembers that feeling well. The way a woman like Lucy Gray or Y/N Undersee could make a person feel. Especially a mentor. The need to save a dying bird is strong, until they inevitably bite the hand that feeds.

Y/N will bite Haymitch eventually, deep; to the bone. Snow is sure of it. Because that is what pretty little birds do.

Part 3

Taglist: @spideysimpossiblegirl

[yogurtkags]

❝ LUCKY CHARM ❞ — oikawa tooru

cw. gn!reader, friends with implied feelings, timeskip!tooru, tooru’s family owns a white cat called milky (wow i wonder who named her) word count. 628 synopsis. tooru's packing for his move to argentina and he finds something that reminds you of fond memories

“are you sure you have everything packed?” you ask unconvinced, laying on your back on the bed with your eyes closed and head hanging off the foot of the bed. milky climbs onto your tummy, nuzzling into your palm as you give her chin rubs and scritches behind her ears. she took a liking to you since the day you met her. you welcome the weight with open arms, further sinking into the plush mattress.

tooru invited you to his home in the name of helping him pack, but you’ve basically just been making sure he stops to take water and snack breaks once in a while. he’s been at it since morning and seems just about done, minus contemplating items of sentimental value. you wonder if he’s overthinking it as much as you are, the idea of being so far away after being basically joined at the hip for the last couple of years. he’s fiddling with his fingers again, a telltale sign that he’s restless. he plays it off, but you know him too well.

pacing back and forth between his large suitcase and the door, he waves you off, “yeah pretty much, I’m just looking to see if there’s any last minute things that I might want to add. got my alien socks— hey look at this, remember when this photo was taken?”

eyes fluttering open with a few pokes to your cheek, the photo in question greets you. a small polaroid picture that hajime took — the back view of the two of you, hands clasped together and looking off the shore. you remember the day this was taken, a precious memory you hold close to your heart.

the two of you were walking along the pier, ice cream in hand. you were ahead of the others, them trailing behind and getting caught up with something strange mattsun saw online. hearing a collective “ehhh?” coming from the bunch, you and tooru look at each other before shrugging and lightly chuckling.

there’s never a dull moment with the bunch, you met the four of them back in freshman hear at seijoh and never looked back. you shared the most classes with tooru so naturally you got closer and started spending lunchtime together whenever he wasn't at the gym or with hajime. more often than not, you went up to the roof to escape from all the noise and his fangirls, talking about everything and nothing at all. you saw a side to him that not many others did.

“oh shit—” you blurt out as you trip over a slightly raised plank, tooru immediately grabbing onto your hand to prevent you from falling.

he dramatically exclaimed, “be careful, y/n-chan! can’t have you face planting and hurting your pretty face now.” causing you to retort in embarrassment, "shut up!"

after stabilising yourself, you noticed that the tight grip of his hand over yours never left. you welcomed the feeling with warmed cheeks and a bashful smile, giving his palm a squeeze in thanks. the way his hand enveloped yours felt natural, right. and you held onto the feeling for as long as you could, neither of you making a move to pull apart.

you don’t talk about that incident happening anymore and bury it in the back of your mind, but the recollection still brings a soft smile to your lips and a flush to your cheeks. you’re touched that he’d even think to bring the photo along, even more so when you watch him smoothly slide it into his wallet.

your face burns, suddenly shy as he leans down to peck your forehead with a gentleness that he only seems to display with you, and mumbles, “who else is going to be my lucky charm, hmm?”

notes. soft tooru hours ♡ fun fact: this was actually an idea i had noted down more than a year ago but just never wrote for some reason. (dividers: @/cafekitsune) reblogs & interactions are always appreciated !

© yogurtkags. please do not repost, plagiarise, or translate my work.

[heavencanbeaprisontoo]

Strip Me to My Bones

Slowburn!Tommy x autistic!fem!reader Prologue: An Odd Woman

Summary: Tommy meets you in 1919, the beginning that feels like an ending in hindsight. Among betting men there is a vibrant culture of superstition and mysticism. It was in this industry you found your trade as a “psychic,” and met a man with a Red Right Hand.

Warnings: Period-typical sexism, contextual use of g-slur, Canon-typical violence, author is autistic, spoilers for series one possibly, slow burn, Tommy is shallow and confused at first. WC: 1.6k

1919 was an odd year for Mr. Shelby. His eyes were still bright, the boy who died in the tunnels still clung to his ankles as he stalked the roads of Birmingham. In those days, Tommy was still starving for money. For any sort of gain in power. He still slept on an old mattress with his drug of choice within reach. He still delivered his horses to mystics and magicians to psych out the competitors of the next day’s race. It was this Thomas Shelby who brought himself to the door of your flat. You, the newest little medium in Small Heath.

He had heard many things about you. How you seemed to just “know,” things. You weren’t gypsy, but there were whispers that you could see inside hearts and minds like no other. For a reasonable fee, you would read a person like a book tell them the next chapter of their life without hesitation. He was not normally the sort to seek your kind out. Thomas Shelby could see ahead just fine without the guide of psychic, genuine or charlatan in nature. Until, of course, a crate of guns came into his possession and an Irish woman sang to him from atop a table. Even the devil needs direction, sometimes. 

That morning, the devil had sought you out.

Your flat looked the same as any other. There were green vines and a purple curtain blocking his view inside your window. Plain bricks on the outside. Gutter hanging off slightly from your roof. Thinking it best to just get it all over with, he knocked. You answered. And he froze.

When he first saw you, there was nothing extraordinary about you. You didn't wear a silk turban or line your eyes with black to convince your customers of some supernatural gift. You were just a young woman dressed comfortably in her little flat. A long, thick robe suited for the winter chill was tied around your body and sensible slippers on your feet. Nothing overly frilly or fanciful. Tommy would almost call your presentation "dowdy." However, what had made him freeze were your eyes. He knows the power of his own stare. Your stare was something truly unique. It was something he couldn’t quite put into words. The color of your eyes was not exceptional, nor the size of your eyes or their shape. There was a force behind the stare that had him fixed to the spot. The sound of your voice was all that put him back into the world.

“Can I help you?” your tone is flat, but he can’t decide of its intentional.

Tommy takes a glance from the corner of his eye to ensure there are no onlookers. The roads are empty. He looks into your eyes once more and says, “You see the future, I hear.”

“I see people, for a price. Not the future. Nobody can do that. It’s rather early, so I hope you’ve got money in that big coat,” you step aside to let him inside. He almost hesitates. Second thoughts are not something Tommy likes to entertain. To falter, to ruminate, is to dance at the edge of cowardice. Tommy pushes onward and crosses the threshold of your home. Thus begins the start of a most unusual affair.

The lighting was dim in your little flat, and on the walls were dozens of shadowboxes were every assortment of insect on display. In fact, nearly everything in your home appeared to be some sort of collection. Orderly in their presentation but crowded due to lack of space. All the furniture looked inherited rather than new, but that was typical. There was the scent of lavender and cedar in the air. As he passed by two sticks of incense burning on the mantle of your fireplace, he found the origin of the fragrance. 

‘No trace of any other resident in the home. No husband. How modern’, he thought. As he made his observations, Tommy was painfully aware of your eyes on his back. You guided him silently to a small room with two sofas facing each other. He sat opposite to you, not bothering to remove his cap. As you sit across from him, your eyes are everywhere but him. Roving about the room as you tap your thumb to the tip of each finger on your hand. By the way you were sitting, someone just entering the room might assume you were a guest by how stiff your posture was. Back completely straight, both feet firmly planted on the floor. This was your home, your time, and Tommy looked more at ease sitting on your own furniture. 

“I normally have tea prepared, but you don’t drink tea anyway, so I won’t bother with the kettle this time,” you say as your bottom hits the sofa cushion. He hears you. He hears you make a correct assumption about him, but he does not show his acknowledgement. 

Tommy threads his fingers together on his lap, “They say you can see inside of people, tell them things about them that even they don’t know.”

Blinking owlishly at him you reply, “My, that’s a lovely review of my services! Should put that on a sign outside my doorway. Though I would rather know why you came to see me, Mr. Shelby. You are Mr. Shelby yes?”

“That I am,” he nearly laughs, “and I am not entirely sure why I came to see you either.”

Your eyes snap onto his own and again he feels caught off guard by it. Slowly, you lean forward, “It’s not like you to need help. You avoid seeking it. Something has happened to you that has never happened before, you do not know how to carry on because you cannot fall back on learned tactics to navigate the storm.”

He says nothing. Tommy finds you don’t require his input to carry on speaking as you tilt your head and continue. As you speak, you never break eye contact. Your gaze is one that leaves him feeling stripped to the bone. Flesh peeled back and pinned so that you may inspect him further with an objective, curious eye, "One of the walking wounded, soldier come home from war. You don't sleep well. None of you do. But, you hide it better than most."

"Quite the assumption," he deadpanned.

You carry on as if not hearing him, “A Catholic without Christ. Guilty but without remorse. You only follow yourself and yet you have lost faith within. So, you act out of your own character to try to find a solution to a problem you’ve made yourself. A problem with solutions you can't commit to.”

Tommy’s heart is beating faster in his chest. The plain-faced woman who greeted him at the door has been replaced. Your face seems to change, the sir around you shifting. There is a thrill in being seen. A thrill, but also annoyance. “And what would you do to solve such a problem?”

“It wouldn’t help you to know what anyone else would do. Even if my way was best, you wouldn’t obey it. Obedience is not something you do willingly,” there’s a smile in your eyes that makes his hands tighten around each other. “Is your greatest problem above, below, or beside you?”

His face remains stoic as he mulls over your odd question. He thinks of those beneath him, the factory workers who riot and cause him distraction. Beside him, his brothers in arms and brothers by blood. Ada. Freddie…. Grace. And then he thinks of Campbell and Kimber. “Above me, always.”

You nod, “There was no need for you to come see me. You know the answer to the question before you asked it. The greatest woe for you is that there are matters of the heart keeping you from stabbing upwards to the enemies who stand over you. You aren’t used to having that sort of obstacle... You need to decide what you want more and act accordingly. To have both things will end poorly, but I can't stop you. Nobody can but you.”

For a moment, he feels a sense of relief. It had been many years since the words of a stranger had done that to him. This feeling was overtaken by an immediate realization. He had come to you under the assumption that you were gifted by second-sight. Yet… You had no cards, no crystals, did not say a prayer or even a hymn in a nonsense language.

“You’re no medium,” he states it as fact. Not as a question or accusation. Though, he watches to see how you take it. Tommy likes to see how people respond to being caught, he finds it to be the most revealing time for most. For the third or fourth time since he laid eyes on you, you defied expectation.

With a slow shrug you say, “I’ve never made the claim that I was one. Everyone started saying so one day and I decided not to correct them. I just read people.”

‘What an odd woman,’ Tommy leaned back in his seat. Face still as stone. As he looked at you, your posture returned to that stiff, nearly-too-straight, position from before. He could see why the average man would see you as something beyond the natural. Ordinary to otherworldly. An odd woman indeed. You stand from your couch with a small, crooked smile, “That’ll be ten quid, Mr. Shelby, a discount for a first-time reading. It'll be thirteen for the next time.”

He pushed the money into your hands and said, "Won't be a next time." You gave him no audible response as you walked him to your door and released him from the dreamworld your home had trapped him in. Tommy did not look back as he walked three paces from your door and lit a cigarette. No one had seen him and he had a feeling you wouldn't share his visit with others.

Tommy pushed you from his mind to focus on what may come next.

The rest of the day moved quickly and slowly all at once after he left your little flat. He swore to himself that he would never go back. Swore that he hated every instant spent in your dark home that smelled of lavender and cedar. Swore that he despised the way you peeled back his skin with that glare so sharp. No, he couldn't feel them on him. Not at all.

[xxkissesforchanniexx]

Hi sweetie!

How are you? Hope school and everything is going well. Congrats on your exam! I know you'll do great on all the others bc I just have that much faith 😌

I saw your little schedule and saw upcoming Hyune and Jisung fics wich sound amazing just by the title. So now I'm super excited for those!!

Just a little idea for you... But I have an unhealthy obsession with perv Seung. The perv Jisung headcanons made me think you might be open to writing this. Something about perv Seungmin just hits harder than it does for any other member (for me at least). I was thinking about being in a relationship with him and his perv tendencies start peeping through...then one day you catch him using like your underwear or another one of your items to get off and you just go along with it (bc y/n crazy like that) 😭

If you just wanna chat, feel free to ignore my request when (and if) you reply to this. I'm totally cool with just being friendly and talking. I'm on Tumblr for the community after all 🤷‍♀️

You're fics make me feel some type way everytime I read them no matter how many times I read them and I super appreciate you! Love you 🤟

-🐺🐺🐺🩷🩷🩷

OF COURSE I CAN TAKE YOUR REQUEST I FEAR NO CHALLENGE

(i can actually see this with Seungmin tho~)

Pervy boyfriend Seungmin x fem reader Headcannons

into smutfic >.>

SFW + NSFW (idol Seungmin, UNDERWEAR STEALER?!?!, someone sedate me-, sweet Seungminnie very breiefly..., unprotected sex wrap it before you tap it lovies., seungmo is not slick, lil bit of sweet bullying >.>, seungmin will never be stopped.)

someone tach me how to do the side by side pics thing. it never works..

Boyfriend Seungmin who spoiled you when he wasn't busy. He wasn't perfectly affectionate, bullying you all the time, but it was his way of loving on you.

Boyfriend Seungmin who called you stupid names when you had silly arguments (nothing serious really).

Boyfriend Seungmin who would brag to STAY about how amazing you were.

Boyfriend Seungmin who would check your location constantly when you went out. For one because he was worried about you. And for two because...

Pervy Boyfriend Seungmin stole your panties again.

Pervy Boyfriend Seungmin who was for once scared you might catch him.

Pervy Boyfriend Seungmin who would take your bras with him on tour and jerk off to the thought of you. Inhaling your scent from the panties he'd oh so rightfully stolen.

Pervy Boyfriend Seungmin who fucked into the mattress when you sent him pictures of you while he was away.

Pervy Boyfriend Seungmin who imagined you under him when you squealed on the phone about something. Oh, he'd give you a reason to squeal.

Boyfriend Seungmin who promised you he'd be home soon.

Boyfriend Seungmin who hugged you in the airport, acting calm and collected when really...

Pervy Boyfriend Seungmin wanted nothing more than to bend you over and make you take his manhood. But knew that you wouldn't like doing such a thing in public... or maybe you would (maybe he should make you at some point)

Pervy Boyfriend Seungmin who didn't wait to put his bags down when you got home and to your bedroom. Pulling your pants and panties off with such force it shocked him, fucking you like his life depended on it. maybe it did.

Pervy Boyfriend Seungmin who seemed to get harder when you moaned at how rough he was being with you.

Pervy Boyfriend Sungmin who asked begged you to let him cum inside. Who let out soft whimpers when you climaxed together.

Pervy Boyfriend Seungmin who wanted to be sweet to you after you did so well for him, but who's dick came back to life at the sight of your pretty pussy oozing his seed.

Pervy Boyfriend Seungmin who encouraged you to go out and have fun with your friends, just to stay home and bury his face in you cum covered panties from the night before.

Pervy Boyfriend Seungmin who was in the middle of jerking off to a voice message you'd sent him when you walked in because you forgot your wallet. Who's face burned pink as you made him feel vulnerable... embarrassed...

Pervy Boyfriend Seungmin who wasn't going to let you get away with that...

He hadn't intended it to go like this.. but he wasn't going to complain as you bounced on his cock, rocking you hips into his own, moaning softly.

Seungmin groaned and gripped your hips, thrusting up into you.

"You're such a weirdo." You moaned.

He looked at you with an incredulous expression, "I'm the weirdo? You see me with your used panties in my face and the first thing you do is jump on my dick."

Your face went redder if that was even possible. Seungmin leaned over, pushing you onto your back and fucking into you. "Then again, I'll take this pretty pussy over just your underwear any day."

You whined, "At least stop stealing my favorite bra."

He smiled as he reached between your legs and rubbed your clit. "How about no?"

You wanted to say something more but he forced the air out of your lungs as he slammed deep into you. His tip kissed your cervix before he came hard, pushing you over the edge with him and whining as your pussy squeezed him tightly, milking him dry.

Pervy Boyfriend Seungmin who kept your panties before sending you back out again.

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[operation-steal-chans-laptop]

Your head throws back when the familiar feeling of Hyunjin eases into your velvet walls, and in an instant your teeth clamp down on the plush skin of your bottom lip helping you to conceal a moan.

You and Hyunjin weren't a good match, there was no doubt about that, but it never seemed to stop him from thinking about you constantly and it surely didn’t stop him from calling you over to his place every now and again when he missed the feeling of you wrapped around his cock.

He was a selfish man wanting you all to himself; he knew it was wrong and that you were never truly his, but now in this moment, he liked to believe you were.

After all, who else would have you lying face down on their mattress with their cock mercilessly thrusting in and out of you, their hips snapping against your ass, filling the space with the lewd sound of skin slapping and the borderline pornographic sound of your moans? The answer was no one but him.

Who else fucked you the way Hyunjin did? Again, no one. No one knew you the way he did. No one could make you cum the way Hyunjin made you cum, and yet you still allowed him to believe otherwise.

“You have no fuckin clue how much I missed this. God, I don’t even know how I could leave you alone for this long you’re just too good, love.” Hyunjin's hand slides up your back, the cold metal of his rings standing in sharp contrast to the warmth of his hand. His hand collects your hair putting it into a sloppy ponytail before pulling it back towards him, exposing your pretty neck, as of now all Hyunjin sees it as is a blank canvas for him to mark.

He leans over and in the process he pushes himself deeper in you. Hyunjin's head lowers to your level, allowing him to kiss the delicate skin. He starts out soft and slow, but as time goes on, his kisses become more and more aggressive, eventually sucking and biting at your hot skin.

You can feel your groans beginning to rise to the surface of your throat, some of which come out as a whimper.

“let it out darling wanna hear your sweet moans, wanna know how good I make you feel”

“Then give me a reason to moan” You respond cockily. Your response causes him to cock an eyebrow halfway in disbelief, his lips detach from your neck allowing him to pull back and admire the masterpiece plastered across your neck.

Hyunjin then exhales and without a warning he pulls out of you. “get up,” he demands as he now towers over your form.

Your eyes piece back into his, “no.”

Hyunjin can’t help but smirk, slightly amused by your antics. “I’m not asking you.”

“I know.” There’s a sweetness in your voice when you speak, almost an innocent tone.

“Then stop being such a bitch and get up.” A smile now tugs at your own lips while the ferocity in your eyes intensifies with each passing second. “such a brat,” Hyunjin mumbles under his breath as he grabs hold of your wrist and in one swift motion you go from laying on the bed to being pressed up against the nearest wall.

You'd be lying if you said you weren't even the slightest bit intimidated as Hyunjin stands behind you, his arms propped up on the wall, either arm on each side of your head. As he closes in on you, his breath now fanning your ear, your breath becomes heavier and your heartbeat quickens. “you’re so bratty today, hm?” one arm drops from the side of your head and within a few seconds, you feel his fingers teasing your entrance.

“What am I gonna do with you?” You push back into him trying ever so desperately to feel more of him “fuck me,” you huff.

Your response causes Hyunjin to laugh which sends a shiver down your spine and makes your core throb. It was torture, you’re sure he knows what he's doing to you, there’s no way he didn’t. His teeth gently nip at the pretty markings on your neck, sending a surge of both pain and pleasure through you.

“Only good girls get what they want”

[cheralith]

so tonight that i might see | hobie brown

synopsis: you can't sleep and hobie has just the trick to help you do so.

word count: 1.0k

a/n: mentioned song is based on into dust - mazzy star :)

hobie brown, despite his rowdiness and love for noise, often plays the gentlest of songs during the stars' awakening hours.

he's obviously infamously called spider-punk for a good reason, there's no doubt about that. there's something just so thrilling about drilling out the most intense of power chords amidst gritty and taunting vocals that he savors himself in—but there's also that sweet and honeyed balance of slower songs that will slow his nerves down better than any sedative.

often people think that his acoustic guitar has a hefty layer of dust after not being touched for so long, but what they don't know is that his acoustic is kept tucked away in the shadows all safe and sound. it's his first guitar after all, why would he throw away such a valuable thing like that? but because of its importance to him, hobie is always mindful of who gets to see it because despite the jokes about it being his kryptonite, it might as well be considering its value.

which is why you can't help but feel a blossom of pride embed itself in your chest whenever hobie grants you the silent permission of seeing his acoustic—his only acoustic, at that. you just say the word to him, and he's never one to back down from your song requests because he adores you and would do anything to keep you content (he'll never tell you that, though. hobie brown is not one such foolishness like love confessions.)

you're spending the night in his canal boat per usual, feeling the water gently rock you back and forth like a cradle. it has to be what? around 1am at this point? he lays quietly next to you all sound asleep with occasional snores in the small-ish twin mattress, his body warmth heating the left side of your body while your right succumbs to the soft chill of the night. it's a strange unevenness.

another layer of guilt washes over you when you turn over again to get comfortable before you huff out of frustration at your eyelids' refusal to grow heavy like the rest of your body. unfortunately, it's loud enough to wake your companion resting beside you, and you murmur out an apology when hobie props himself awake as he rubs his eyes.

"you alright, love?" he asks groggily.

you nod despite your certain circumstances. "yeah, yeah... don't mind me. did i wake you? i'm sorry."

"'s alright," hobie mutters, his neck crackling like fireworks as he stretches his muscles. "guessin' ya can't sleep."

a melancholic sigh whispers itself from your lips when you nod almost bashfully. "i don't know why, though. you'd think after today's events, i'd be absolutely drained."

"mmh, could also just be one of those nights, ye?" hobie says with a tired brow.

"you should go back to sleep," you reply soft, your hand going to tuck a bit of the shared blanket over some of his lower bare torso again; he insists on sleeping shirtless—"the heat at night gets a lil dodgy, y'know?"

hobie shakes his head, "can't really sleep if you can't."

crickets chirp softly from the distance with the murmur of the lake just breezing by. what a perfect ambience to dream to, you think, but alas, the sandman has chosen to spare his sand against you tonight. you tuck your knees to your chest and rest your chin between them, obviously exhausted—yet not tired.

"want me to play you that song y've fond of?" hobie suggests. he doesn't even wait for you to answer or elaborate further because he's already out of the shared bed and walking towards his closet to pluck out the fabric casing of his acoustic guitar. it's such a grand contrast to his many collections of its electric counterparts as it lacked the mayhem and destructions some of them had.

its somehow still in pristine condition; its body still amber and sleek with the fingerboards solid and sturdy. hobie settles back down on the side of the bed again with the guitar tucked safely on his lap and you blearily watch him tune it correctly.

"lay back down, darling," he instructs to you, his words not even doing much work before you fall into his command so steadily. his fingers go to softly strum a few chords at first before he asks you, "was that the one?"

"mmh hm," shaking your head you hum out a quiet and familiar tune, one that hobie was testing out a few weeks ago as a prototype that managed to catch your ear. "it was the one that was like... do duh do duh... do duh do duh..." your finger wags in the air up and down, up and down, mimicking the melody of the song.

despite your lyrical nonsense, hobie understands which song you're talking about right away. his plucking goes to match your absurd singing before he turns to you for affirmation.

"yeah, that one," you mutter and tuck yourself under the sheets again to let the song hopefully lull you to slumber.

hobie's usual singing is rather rough and a little jagged, giving his own flair to the traditional punk rock style of singing while still keeping its homage, but he's chosen to hum a wordless harmony rather than sing anything at all. it's a nice blend, you think as your eyelids grow heavier, his voice almost mirroring a cello of sorts.

the guitar riff is repeated ten times over, yet something about it seems to finally let your muscles relax for once. hobie finishes the song with a strayed sort of melodic rhythm; one that seals the knot of the song to indicate its finale. when he looks back, his fingers still a little stinged from the metal strings, the quiet pain of them is subsided when he sees your dozing face cuddled into the pillow.

too unbothered to set his guitar aside properly, hobie settles it on the ground before settling himself back into bed. this time, he oh so carefully tucks an arm under your neck while the other slings to your back to cradle you into him tenderly. to seal the night off, there's the whisper of a kiss given to your forehead by him, the gesture making you unconsciously grin in your sleep.

and suddenly—there's a balance of warmth everywhere on your body, the cold of the night forgotten with good riddance.

[romanoffsbish]

Love is a Learning Curve

Past! Kate Bishop x GN!R

Yelena Belova x GN!R

Love is a Dagger (P1)

The long awaited P2 I was never going to give, but people wanted closure to the angst I guess 😂 | WC: 3,638

Kate woke up with a start, her body flopped back into the mattress regretfully, her arm covered her eyes to lessen the throbbing ache in her head. The blinds being open the root of the issue as the sun permeated into her already sensitive eyes. Drinking the night away was once an easy feat for the archer, but the closer she gets to the middle of her twenties the more she'd noticed it's losing its flair for fun.

——

Stumbling ungraciously out of bed she made her way to the bathroom and made herself a bit more human by taking a shower and getting dressed for work. Then she made her way downstairs to find nothing to eat, it threw her off because normally you'd have filled her up a thermos, and made her something to go, but she only shrugs, and rushes out the door to make sure she now had time to stop for a bite.

It wasn't all that strange an occurrence, on the rare occasion you did miss the opportunity to prepare her for her day, so she thought nothing of it, you were likely running late, and she assumed that had something to do with her partying last night so she didn't mind at all.

Her day flew by without any messages from you either, but she never checked them much anyway so she didn't notice. It wasn't until her phone rang on her way out of the office that she knew something must've been up.

"Hello?" she answered with slight hesitation, unsure on as to why the blonde was exactly calling her. "Kate Bishop, it's Yelena."

"Hey, yeah what can I do for you Yelena?"

"Are you coming to pick up Lucky?"

Kate's brows furrowed, because yes, technically Friday was her day to collect the dog from Belova's Doggy Daycare, but usually you just willingly picked up her slack. "Where's Y/N?"

The question was more so a thought she was having that ended up directed at Yelena, who simply cleared her throat, a sure sign that she knew something was up, but didn't wish to say.

"Yelena..." she was more desperate this time, and the blonde sighed, "Told me they were not going to be able to pick him up today, but I saw some suitcases and boxes in their car Kate."

"Oh."

"Yeah, they said today was your day to get him, but I guess it must've just slipped your mind," Yelena said with a nervous chuckle to follow, it was clear as day to the blonde that you just left your mutual friend without so much as a word shared, and though a part of her is rooting for you for finally putting yourself first for once, the other feels bad for the raven haired girl who's likely biting back tears at the news.

"Here, how about I take him home with me tonight. It's been awhile since him and Fanny had a playdate anyways."

"Thanks Lena, I'll get him in the morning."

That night Kate ordered in, and nursed a bottle of red wine until the buzz lulled her to sleep. When she awoke the following morning to find you'd yet to return her rose colored glasses fell.

Her strained eyes began to study the living room, and as she took it in she found any piece of you she once had was gone. All that had remained was a cherished framed photo of you, her and Lucky at Fanny's first birthday party.

Kate was racking her brain for a reason, anything she could come up with besides the glaring truth that she just didn't want to face. For the last year she'd been taking your love for granted, and it's true what they say: you don't know what you have until it's gone, and now she's just meant to live on like you don't exist.

The note you hid in your dresser drawer said just that when she stumbled up to your room.

"Dear Kit-Kat,

I'm sorry I couldn't face you, but it's best for us that I left without a trace. There's nothing left for us, you don't love me anymore, and I have held on to delusion for as long as I am willing.

If I had approached you I know you'd have tried to tell me I was wrong, that you did still love me, because your heart is too soft, and I would've clung to that hope until it failed me.

Love is a perilous thing really; I don't regret our journey, but I do regret staying this long. It's about time I set off to find what's out there for a loner like me, and for that reason I have disconnected my phone and gone off the grid.

I'll love you forever Kit-Kat, and I hope you are able to find someone who makes you happy, and who'll share their last slice with Lucky."

Kate's tears soaked through the crumpled paper, messy lines of blue ink began to run, distorting the message of half truths. Reading it hurt her tremendously, seeing that she'd made you believe she'd been stringing you along out of obligation, and not out of love was hard to read. It wasn't true, right? She loved you with all of her heart, but yet she took your presence for granted, and now she's all alone.

You actually left her (Just like she'd left you).

—

The archer had been neglecting her work for months as she scoured all over the city for you. Nothing was available to help her. You were apparently an expert at disappearing, because there wasn't a single trace of you anywhere.

It was pathetic really, she ran the most well known security and surveillance company around and yet she couldn't track you down.

With time, Kate realized that you were right.

The love she had for you faded until it was nothing more than words you say to protect the others feelings, but it also hadn't completely died. Kate was desperate to find you, to atone for all that she'd done to you by using you as her personal assistant instead of her lover.

Even if she lost touch with you, she knew that what she did likely distorted your view on love. The girl couldn't live with herself if she just left you to think that love is only a hopeless cause.

When things were young, and fresh it was like magic, and she wanted you to remember that. To look passed her betrayal, and the feelings of inadequacy she left behind in the hollowed heart that hardly beat in your chest anymore.

She needed you to know that her love for you might’ve devolved into the platonic, as is the case when people grow, but it’s still there In enough of a capacity that she won’t give up.

Kate was a mess, and in a way you were too.

You thought that getting a cottage out in the beautiful countryside of Norway was the way to go. Far away from the life you once lived, and the perfect place to enjoy your solitude. Then the loneliness set in against your will, and so you'd set off to find a furry companion.

At the shelter you saw a young pup that'd taken a liking to the elderly cat. He'd yap in her ear, and she'd purr in response, it was clear her ears were not functioning well anymore. You decided two for the price of one was great.

Simon showered you with love and affection whenever you entered the home, even if you'd only stepped out to get the mail. Then Posey, when she felt like jumping, would meet you in bed to cuddle and purr against your chest.

It worked, but only as a mask for the problem at hand really. Your foolish heart longed for a love like you'd once known. One full of passion and joy over the loveless mess it had become.

Still, you persisted and lived as if nothing was wrong. That was until Yelena had found you, and damn near broke your door off it's hinges.

"Y/N Y/L/N!" She shouted loud enough that you'd left the security of your room, blanket around your shoulders as you'd just woken up at her unexpected, rather rude interruption.

"How did you find me?" You groaned, and she ignored your question, opting to scour through your cabinets until she found some glasses. “Better yet, how did you even get inside?”

Yelena barked a laugh, insinuating that your question was ridiculous. Then she briskly swung her arm around and handed you a glass that was far too full of booze for a morning sip.

"It's nice to see you too, now drink the vodka, we have lots to discuss my dear old friend."

Yelena told you all about Kate's demise, and it broke your heart into pieces thinking she was actually this torn up about your departure. Then you remembered she relied on you to change her clothes some nights and the ache from being used had returned even stronger.

"If that's all, I think you should be going."

“Y/N, she wants you to come home.”

“This is my home Yelena, the only one I’ve ever known. Feel free to tell her that when you go back and offer her my location. Now go.”

You were being harsh with her, you knew that and most of you regretted it, but you also felt like you were being backed into a corner. As if Kate’s problems were always going to be yours.

“I understand leaving her, you deserved better, we all told you that.” Yelena pondered aloud, her voice uncharacteristically small. “But leaving all together? That was hard to stomach, I lost both of my closest friends in the blink. You off grid, and Kate to her grief. When is it enough passed on pain for you to forgive her?”

You went to lash out, to try and get her to see it from your end, but then you saw her hand shake as she gulped down the rest of her bitter vice without ever looking up. Not that she needed to, you could hear the sniffle she failed to cover up with the scuffing of her boots.

“I didn’t think I would be missed,” you softly admitted, your ties to Yelena, and the rest were through the connection of Kate. Never a part, only ever an extension of the friend group.

Or at least that’s what you had always thought.

“I felt your absence immediately,” she voiced though her voice quivered. “Your visit at the kennel every day was what made me smile.”

“I-.”

“There was no more happiness with you gone.”

The way she spoke made your heart warm with an affection you felt was foreign for her. There had never been any indication that she wanted you, or that you meant that much to her before.

“Yelena, what are you doing?” You stumbled back into the wall when you saw her rise to her feet faster than necessary. Her body out of her control, and under the influence of alcohol led her to stumble until she caged your body in.

“I wanted you first.” You were shocked to see the honesty in her eyes, booze goggles or not she was being sincere and you felt an urge to kiss her lips as they pouted familiarly. It was a common expression of hers whenever you’d have to go, you always thought it was for Lucky since she loved the retriever so much, but a part of you always wondered if it meant more.

But you had Kate… Even now, you had her to consider. “Lena, w-we can’t,” you stuttered as her cold hand held your face. “I understand.”

Before she could pull away with her wrong assumptions you wrapped your arms around her waist and buried your face into the crook of her neck. Yelena would never deny you comfort, not even when you just shattered her heart, so she hugged you back rather tightly.

“You’re going to be okay Y/N,” she whispered in her thick Russian accent, and your hammering heart felt like it was about to burst at the offered tenderness. “I’m here for you.”

You pulled away and cupped her cheeks with a teary smile, eyes shining with appreciation. Your lips pressed to her cheeks, and she looked at you utterly confused when your eyes met.

“I was saying, we can’t do this… yet.” Yelena’s eyes went wide and you kept your smile. “I can’t let you kiss me when I’m still trying to forgive Kate, it wouldn’t be fair to any of us.” Yelena’s heart beamed, the notion that all you felt for Kate now was a tainted love in need of a life altering cleansing made her hopeful.

“So you’ll come home?” You shook your head and wore a broken smile, fear encasing your heart as you realized you couldn’t do that. “I’ve built a life here Lena, I have space for you, but I can’t return to the stagnation of the states.”

“No, I know that,” Yelena refuted. “I just mean to make the amends with Kate Bishop, and to collect my things and Fanny who’s at Kate’s.”

“Does she know you’re here?” She shook her head. “No, but I think she knows deep down.”

“What about the kennel?” Yelena shrugged, and smiled wide. “I’ve got nothing in the states worth living for if you’re not by my side.”

“Then I will agree to a half day in New York.”

Yelena squealed and you cupped your ears while glaring in her direction playfully.

“I’ll be back for you in the morning then Y/N! We have Tony’s private jet, and Happy’s at the hotel I’m going to be staying at tonight.”

“You’ll do no such thing, I have a guest room. I’ll just have to clean it of the cat hair since I don’t usually have other humans over.”

“You sound like you’re an alien,” she laughed, then began to head to the door to collect her bag, and that’s when it dawned on you. “How’d you find me?” Yelena stood in the doorway with a knowing smirk on her face, and tossed her thumb backwards to the people outside.

“I guess we’re sharing a bed then,” you mused while waving back to the grinning redheads. Of course, she involved the FBI’s hottest couple.

—

The following morning came with butterflies fluttering beneath the pads of fingertips that lightly pressed into the skin that your crumpled up night shirt had left exposed. Yelena’s body was pressed into yours so tight you were sure there’d be a layer of sweat amongst the fabric.

“Good morning pretty one,” Yelena rasped, her voice thick with sleep, and Russian inflections. The butterflies must’ve began a rave because you could hardly focus on anything but the way that her simple words made your stomach flip. “Goor morning darling, are you hungry?”

“I’ll make breakfast,” she announced, body scrambling for the door, but fortunately for the sake of your cottage Wanda was there with a teasing smile and greasy spatula. “No need Miss. burns houses down while making eggs.”

“It was one time!” Natasha snorted from a far away room, “Yeah, one time too many! Mama was so mad about it that she moved back to Russia the second you turned eighteen.”

Yelena turned back towards you and ran into your open arms. You could feel her pout against your skin, and for a second you were imagining her firmly kissing the skin instead.

“They are so mean. I am happy to leave.”

“We’ll visit them,” you answered the silent question, as sarcastic as she was, you knew that her sisterly love for Natasha was unbreakable. The same could be said in reverse, those two have been inseparable since you first met them.

“Okay, thank you.” You ran a hand up and down her back for a few seconds, then the sound of your rumbling tummy brought you both to the dining area where the food was still piping hot. “You two could move in as well.”

Natasha threw you a glance that said she’d do it in a heartbeat, but Wanda was less inclined seeing as their kids, and Pietro were in the city.

“We’ll visit, I promise,” was all she offered, then silence followed as you all got ready to go, and made your way to the airport. Once on the jet you chose to lean against the blonde, and take a nap to silence the screams of your mind.

At the airport you hugged the couple goodbye, and let Natasha threaten you as any good big sister would when you were taking her little sister across borders after one day of being sort of involved. The redhead knew that she could trust you, it’s not like you were strangers, but she was also the one who once held a crying Yelena when you fled the country, and once prior when Kate asked you to be hers first.

Once the lot of you parted ways Yelena drove you over to Kate’s. You told her to go get her stuff, and though she was hesitant she knew you had to do this part all on your own.

You knocked on the familiar door, it was a hair too light as your fist had stalled mid thrust. It still managed to gather the woman’s attention though because it swung open before you could even begin to knock again. Kate’s body crashed into yours, and you reflexively caught her and held her as she cried loudly into your chest.

Without a moment’s hesitation you brought your conjoined bodies back over her threshold and guided her onto her couch. Kate wanted to hold on, but you left no room for her to try. A moment of comfort was all you could spare, and she knew it was selfish to expect more.

It was silent, Kate stared at you as you sat in the recliner you’d had to swipe debris from.

“I’m sorry.” You pursed your lips, humming a low tune as you absorbed her empty words.

“For who?” Kate flinched at your response, it’d been ages since she last heard your voice, and the chill it carried now was heartbreaking.

“You,” her lower lip trembled, and your anger softened a smidge at her obvious remorse.

“If I’d realized what I was doing, I wouldn’t have ever let it get so far that you felt like you had to run away from your entire life.”

“I didn’t run away from my life, I happily left yours Kate. Nothing about tending to your every whim was a life I ever dreamed up. Did you ever consider that the only thing I was running away from was you? That life with you had become so difficult that I had no choice but to drop off the face of the Earth and retire?”

“You are making it seem like I ordered you around,” she bit back, a bit offended by the animosity you’re throwing. “You willing fell into a role that never should’ve been. You were my partner, I know what I did was fucked up, but I would never have hurt you on purpose. Let’s not forget that you never said anything. Just left me a note one day and vanished.”

Silence fell as you were faced with the other side of the truth. You stayed and lived with the hurt of being forgotten, but in another turn you never fought to be seen either. Literally, there was never even a discussion, you just handled business separately, and cared for her wholly.

A relationship without communication is nothing more than two bodies out of sync.

“You’re right,” your tense shoulders deflated, and tears that fell from your eyes were wiped away by a gruff tongue trying to comfort you. “Hey Lucky boy, how have you been?”

“He misses you.”

You pet him for a very long time, trying your best to calm your nerves before you were to face her again in the less tumultuous light.

“I still love you Y/N, no longer romantically, but there’s still so much of me that loves you.”

Her words of a love never lost were actually comforting, hitting a nerve that very well would’ve been catastrophic just a day prior.

“I’ll love you forever Kit,” you gazed into her eyes, and smiled warmly, “You taught me so much, and when it was good there was no questioning that love had a purpose in life. I hope you find someone worth remembering.”

With your peace found you stood up, and, and pulled her into a strong embrace. The two of you swayed for a few seconds, then you pulled away and headed for the door.

“I’ll never forget you Y/N, I’m sorry I ever did.”

Kate watched as you picked up a green leash, and her mind caught up fast. “I hope you two are happy together. Invite me to the wedding please, I wouldn’t want to miss such a joy.”

You smiled to yourself while hooking the leash to Fanny, and left the apartment with a final lighthearted comment. “I’ll try not to forget.”

Kate smiled too, and fell back onto her couch.

There’s no one right way to love someone else, but you both knew that near the end of things you only loved the other in shades of wrong. As you drove back to the airport, your hand in another’s you realized that giving up was never the answer, but at the time it was necessary.

Love is a twisted game, sometimes you lose, sometimes you win, but no matter what, either outcome came with a journey of life lessons.

——

[bettyfrommars]

E3, !, ♥️

I’m so excited, I love your writing!! I’ve literally never done an ask before, hope I’m doing it right.

hi friend! I wanted to make sure I did this one in honor of it being your first!

So for some reason, your heart showed up as white on my desktop, so I gave you the wrong “thing” lmao

Your Person is Dark Siren Eddie

your Place is a Motel

your Thing is a Guitar

pick your poison

18+ONLY, being on the run, fear of the unknown, star-crossed lovers, getting help from Murray and Hopper.

word count: 1k

The neon of the motel sign blinked "vacancy" in green while the M and the O fluttered a faded red, buzzing in the dark. Surrounded by Oregon wilderness, the place was tucked away in the mountains near an abandoned ski lodge. There were stains on the mattress, a television from the 60's with rabbit ear antenna, and nicotine baked yellow into the once white walls.

You'd been on the run for a month at that point. A government research team was tipped off to Eddie's existence, and he refused to go back to his home in the sea without you.

"You can't stay here," you'd blinked away tears that first night, struggling to form words around your sobs. He held your face with webbed fingers, watching your mouth. "If they catch you, they'll hurt you, Eddie. I can't let that happen."

The nictitating lens of his eyelid blinked over brown gold irises as he examined you. He smoothed a thumb across your cheek, neck gills shuddering as if hit by a breeze.

"Won't go," he murmured. "Stay with you."

The following kiss was urgent, it made more tears roll down your cheeks, messy and hot, tasting salty on your tongue. He made soft noises as the kiss deepened, aching to be inside you again.

The Evergreen Motel was one of many places you'd slept in the past few weeks, moving in shadows, trying to stay under the radar from those who hunted him. You'd even huddled in an old barn once, and under a bridge. You had money, that wasn't the problem, but you didn't want to risk Eddie being identified.

The people trying to track him down to put him in a lab and make him a government experiment, found out about the man he'd killed on the beach that first day, and they used the incident to facilitate their agenda. They lied and said that he'd attacked several people unprovoked, and that he was a danger to society.

"He's a freak of nature!" An older woman who'd claimed to be a witness shared her story with the media. "I saw him crawl up out of the sea, and I swear to god his eyes were glowing. I knew he wanted to kill me!"

If Eddie couldn't have contact with sea water after a few days, he got terribly sick, and so sneaking into the ocean or soaking in salt bath had become a necessity on your travels. Unfortunately, on that one particular early morning, he'd been spotted by a woman walking her dog.

Back in the room, Eddie turned the knob on the TV so that the news broadcast went away, and the screen snapped to black. He could tell it was upsetting you.

The shark tooth earring he'd worn since you first met was dangling from your ear now, since he'd given it to you as a gift. You fell against his chest and let him hold you, listening to him hum the words to a song from his world.

Both of you jumped at the abrupt ringing sound, jerking around in tandem to stare at the blinking light on the beige phone on the nightstand. A second ring was shrill and unrelenting, worrying at your heart like the click of a gun trigger.

You took a breath, collecting yourself before yanking up the receiver.

At the other end, Murray spoke before you had time to greet him.

"I told you not to answer the phone," he scolded. Flushed with relief to know it was him, you flashed a reassuring smile at Eddie.

"But how do I know if it's---"

"We went over this. If it's me calling, I'll let it ring three times, hang up, and then let it ring once more, and then you call me back. How hard is that?"

Hopper and Murray had been risking their own lives to keep you both safe and out of the public eye while on the run. You were afraid to think what would've happened if they hadn't chosen to get involved.

"Did anyone see you check in?" He was rustling papers in the background as he spoke.

"Just the older man at the front desk. But he didn't see Eddie, I don't think."

"You don't think?"

"Eddie was outside with the hood of his sweatshirt up," you sat down on the edge of the bed, wanting to make sure he had all of the information. "There was only one other car in the parking lot. A white Ford pickup. Nevada plates."

"Is the front door locked and bolted? Okay now I need you to look under the bed," Murray continued.

Knowing not to ask questions, you did as he said, kneeling on the stained carpet to lift up the floral dust ruffle. There was popcorn kernels and a sock and a used condom wrapper and...

"Why is there a guitar case under here, Murray?"

"Just pull it out, I don't have time for this."

The case was matte black and scuffed from use. You put it on the bed, and then Eddie came over to stand beside you, cocking his head curiously. After flipping open the tabs to look inside, you found a tan, acoustic guitar with pearl inlay on the fret board. There were also two stacks of cash and some directions in an envelope.

"Those are directions to the hideout. It's a cabin in the woods, stocked with enough food and supplies for a couple weeks. The last few miles will be on foot. You'll stay there until Jim comes to get you, do you understand?"

You nodded silently at first, but then finally spoke the word Yes out loud, swallowing thickly.

"Cut your credit cards up, you can't use them anymore. It's cash only from here on out."

You listened, taking Eddie's hand.

"There's a phone number in there for a woman near the Canadian border who will make your passports. Her name is Rachel, I told her to expect you."

"What about you Murray?" Your voice trembled. "What if they find out that you---"

"Don't worry about me," he said quickly. "You kids just stay safe, and for fuck's sake don't answer the phone again unless you know it's me. Got it?"

You nodded, unable to stop a tear from pooling at your lash line. "Okay, I promise. Thank you, I don't know what we'd do without y---"

But he was gone.

[losvers-clubb]

On and On

This is my first post of writing so be gentle with my heart. This is based based off of the song On and On by DJO. I love the imagery his latest album portrays so who knows i might make this a series of songs off this album. Enjoy!!

------------------

In my bed on my phone

Locked away, free to go

Tv on every night

Scrolling on

On and on and on and on

Scrolling on and on and on

Feed the algorithm some

On and on and on and on

The sun was low amongst the trees, dusty rays of amber sun littered the walls of the tiny room. Wayne had left an hour prior for work, and Eddie had no invites to any sort of party or gathering with people his age. His weed stock was low, so he wouldn’t have had a reason to go out to those anyways. The air conditioner struggled to hum out cool air, with the little work it did, there wasn’t enough circulation for relief from the heat. The only solution was to lay in his boxers, sprawled out in his bed with his curls pulled back into a lazy bun on the back of his head. Beads of sweat brimmed his forehead and neck, he shifted uncomfortably every few minutes to allow air conditioned access to his skin. Quietly, eddie scrolled on his smart phone. The small cracks on the glass screen went un acknowledged as he had grown used to reading passed them. In the distance, the tv that Wayne had left on was left on its own to play whatever reruns were queued up for the afternoon.

The apps on his phone had the ability to hold onto his attention span for only a few minutes at a time. Twitter, tik tok, tumblr, Instagram. His fingers indented with the device, thumb growing so accustomed to scrolling that the feeling of the motion barely phased him. Boredom had a funny way of worming into his head, he waited all week at school to catch a break, a moment of silence to be able to sit down and just breathe, reset and relax- and yet, here he was, uncomfortably warm, bored out of his mind and itching for something to shock his body into movement. He had sunk and molded onto the bed though, and he felt a little too sticky to be able to close his eyes.

I saw the news, watched a clip

Powered down, then it hit

What is real? What is fake?

It must be fake

On and on and on and on

Scrolling on and on and on

Feed the algorithm some

On and on

Twitter consisted of awful news, all the time, people advocating on subjects they didn’t understand and others sharing videos of wars in countries he’s never visited. All social medias had some kind of variation of these things. Instagram was the worst of them, it was always and only about girls who posted themselves. It was all the same, fake people. Clicking off his phone, Eddie tossed it onto the pillow. Stars flashed before his eyes as the pressure of his knuckles dug into his sockets. There was a slight stinging of remnant screen time imprinted onto his corneas. His arms went limp as they dropped beside his body, unmoving for a good minute as his eyes stared up onto the ceiling. The stars scattered and disappeared as his sight fully restored, clearing the shapes of the stains on the ceiling. He counted his breaths, one, two three, then with the strength of god he found the energy to peel his body from the mattress with a soft huff. At the edge of the bed, Eddie contemplated on who to call, who would answer. Another minute passed him by, his eyes hyper focused themselves to a wrapper on the floor, it collected dust for how long it had been sitting there. He began to wonder what it used to protect, what great treat was once safely tucked away underneath paper and cellophane.

He let his feet drop down onto the tan carpet, let his brain reach into his memory and pull out the familiarity of standing and walking and adjusting to the feeling of being on his feet again. With a slight sway he began walking out towards the hallway, static crawling up his legs with every step till it faded away. News anchors grew louder as the quiet of his room was left behind. The room was littered with the same dust rays fading onto the walls, thousands of specs of dust levitated in whispy curls dancing in the air and Eddie’s presence was only there to interrupt the waltz they’ve begun on their own, slowly disappearing as the sun lowered itself beyond Hawkins. Eddie flicked on a lamp and reached for the remote which had been left beside the armrest of Wayne’s usual spot. The power signal had since rubbed off, his finger hovered over the red button.

Something is about to break

The fault line has been fractured

Wayne’s old tv showed insight on chaos arousing in the country, riots, global warming, failure of government. Eddies hand remained frozen, hovering thumb extended as if he himself was controlled with a universal remote. He listened, images flashed of melting glaciers, starving polar bears, police brutality, riots, abuse of power. His heart beat skipped, breaking at the sight of an unjust world, desperation arose in his stomach, emotions bubbled in his throat, his nose felt runny, his eyes wet, his hands cold. Eddie felt for a moment he was an outsider looking in, he began to question why it was that this was why the world had begun. Why was it that humans had to worry about taxes, or money, or credit? What happened to the world, why couldn’t he exist alongside animals? Where was the world going to be when he turned 40? Or 85? As soon as questions arose in his head, they were replaced by new ones. He became frantic, helpless. The anxiety crawled it’s way into his head, it felt as if a toddler had taken a black sharpie to his brain and scribbled till the ink bled through and tore the thin delicate page.

Maybe it's not too late

To learn how to love each other

What's it gonna take to change it?

Don't you wanna save this planet?

His mind raced. With an image of the world burning, he couldn’t help to think of himself changing something in the moment to actually have a future on earth. With the tv and remote forgotten, he ran back to the room, picking his phone off of the bed and searching up on global warming, finding out articles, reading. He went onto his text messages and sent what he could to his group chat of friends. Robin, Steve, Jonathan, Nancy, you. Following the articles, he ranted. Eddie sent long text messages decompressing his anxieties.

You were at dinner with your parents, celebrating your dads promotion when your phone began lighting up on the table. Crimson spread on your cheeks as the buzzing became noticeable to your mom, who gave you a stern look. Giving her an apologetic look, you picked up the frantic device and balanced it on your lap, looking under the table to read the texts swarming your messages. You knew most of your friends were busy, robin and Steve were working a closing shifts, Jonathan was with his family, too be honest you weren’t sure what Nancy was doing. She was the one in the group who never really looked at her phone too much.

Eddies fingers slowed the feverish text as his anxiety climbed back down. He was able to sit back for a second and read over his wording. He sat back on his desk chair, he had barely any recollection of even sitting.

Ding

Y/n: Are you okay?

Your name popping up in his texts felt like reality bringing him back down to earth. His heart slowed, breath evened.

Eddie: hey,, Idk honestly

Blame it on manipulation

We're human after all

I'm sick and tired of the same old world reaction

It was all you needed to see. With the dinner coming to an end, and your father paying the bill, the table stood in unison and the party of three walked to your dads vehicle. You pulled your jacket over your dress and slung your purse over your shoulder, glancing frequently down to the phone in your hands, waiting for Eddie to continue, but he was quiet. He was in a mood, and you were determined to stay beside him as he came down from whatever he was going on about. You knew the feeling, the outsider view perspective, as one of your closest friends, you knew how he got, and you couldn’t ask faster for your father to drop you off at Eddie’s trailer. Considering it was a Friday night, there was very little reason for your parents deny your request. The drive was short, and you were warned for the hundredth time about “that Munson kid”. You’ve heard endless gossip, not only from your moms friends over the phone, but colleagues of your fathers, coworkers, even teachers at your own school. It was nothing but judgement, no one knew him the way your group did, no one knew him like you.

It's just you and me now

In my phone

It's my world

I see the future sitting in my hand

The steps up to the trailer were muddy, your parents lingered for a few moments too long as you knocked a few times on his door. Inside, Eddie chewed on his thumb nail nervously, his eyes stared at nothing in particular while his ears zoned out along with them. It was as if the tunnel he was in faded out in a sudden moment and the knocks on the trailer became clear and he was back in his room again. He had become aware again and stood from the desk. Faster than he could process, his legs had carried him to the front door and the knob was yanked open. The last person he had expected to see was you standing there, in a soft silk green floor length slip dress at the door, your eyes told him he caught you off guard with the sudden lack of barrier between the two of you.

“Oh,,, uH, hey, I didn’t expect you-“ he stammered his words, looking down at his own outfit- well, boxers and a t shirt. “I didn’t dress for the occasion” he joked lightly. You let out a small laugh and turned to look at your parents car, still waiting for you to get inside. You swore you could see your fathers eyebrows raise through the tinted glass, with a wave you ushered Eddie inside to close the door behind you.

“Hey” you smiled at him, you hands instinctively reaching up to rest on his waist in this sudden close proximity. The contact made his shoulders visibly relax and he pulled you into a hug. His musk filled your head, and almost giving you a high as if you’ve just pumped your body with nicotine. The dizziness had you rest onto his shoulder, and you stood there with Eddie for what felt an eternity, neither very willing to pull away. You weren’t sure which one pulled back first, but the contact was never broken as your hand trailed down to his and brought his knuckles up to your lips to kiss his ringed cold fingers. With soft eyes he watched you, the kiss was slow and gentle, and when you pulled back, you both gave each other timid smiles.

“Are you okay?” You asked finally, breaking the silence. His eyes dropped down to your interlocked hands and he let out a cut off chuckle.

“I don’t know, I think- I was fine and then I just, I was overwhelmed by the world” your eyebrows scrunched together with worry, you weren’t sure how to comfort him with words, because you’ve been in his same position. you did all you knew how to do, You brought him into another embrace, this time wrapping your arms around his neck and bringing him down into you as you sort of cradled his head. You caught scent on his shampoo and kissed the side of his head a few times. His body awkwardly sunk down to your level, you both laughed at your lack of coordination.

Take a break

Go to bed

Mind is racing, baby, now I'm back

Baby, now I'm back

Entangled in each other, you both stumbled into his room, as you sat onto the mattress and kicked up your feet and began undoing the straps on your heels. Eddie gave you a knowing look and pulled back the drawers on his dresser to reveal the Tin lunchbox. He wiggled it in his hands, waiting for your look of approval and walked over to the old black side table, grinding and rolling the last of his weed. You watched as he inhaled, his eyes rolled back into his head, the room filled with the sweet smoke of the flower and your mouth watered. He cleared his throat, his tongue darting out to wet his lips and he turned over to you, extending the blunt towards you. You took it from his hands and mimicked his actions, taking a puff, inhaling, letting the feeling engulf you. He watched you, your hands, your exposed neck, your chest rise and fall, your breasts constrained behind the loose fabric. There was an inaudible dynamic of back and forth passing of the blunt, you took turns of lust ful glanced for one another till you took the brave first move. Crawling over to him, you sat back on your knees and pulled him into you, the blunt had barely left his mouth as you occupied his lips with your own. He was taken back at first, but with the weed soon discarded on his side table his hands hungrily grasped at your waist, bringing you into him as if the kiss depended on the two of you molding as one.

It didn’t take long for your dress to end up beside your shoes on the floor, the one on one hang outs had become more than a one time occurrence as time went one and they became more frequent. It was testing uncharted territories, and you two knew you would either have to tell your friends or one of them would find out eventually. But at this moment, it was the two of you against the world. As you lay naked beside him underneath the covers, your hushed pillow talk became more and more raspy till you drifted off to an unknowing sleep. Eddie watched you still, watched your once moving lips come to a halt, watched you hair sprawl out onto his chest, watched your hand lay across his torso in a loose hug. The arm he had secured around your body began losing feeling, but he didn’t dare move or wake you, so he reached beside his table and found his phone. His friends one by one messaged about their days, announced their sudden freedom from responsibilities and requested to hang out.

Eddie: I can’t, I got busy

He texted them, tightening his grip on you.

and it feels so good

and it feels so right

to be up at night

with you

Eddie opened up his social medias, and began scrolling. Feeling completely different from just a few hours before, knowing you anchored him back down to earth.

On and on and on and on

And on and on and on

And on and on and on

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

mwah!

[magnolia-sunrise]

idk if you've elaborated on this in any capacity but what do bastien and wolfgang's living quarters look like before shit hits the fan and all that? does bastien share a lot of space with matteo at their house and do they have a separate sort of living quarters at the clinic? does wolf have a place they return to and can call some sort of home? if that makes sense. don't feel like you gotta like. draw up floor plans or anything for this i'm just curious as to what sort of spaces they consider home/their own and how that reflects aspects of their characters hehe

hiiiii thats a tasty question and funny you should mention drawing up floor plans because thats exactly what i started doing in the sims 4 as building blocks for my next comic- (specifically i started putting together the clinic since the scene takes place there. genuinely recommend this method its so easy for getting some background shots)

for Bastien indeed he lives with Matteo! they moved in with him pretty quickly since Matteo insisted on taking care of him and helping him sort of get on his feet before he could find a job etc after dropping out of med school. the apartment is Matteo's, or i guess more technically it belongs to his mother but either way its his familys money paying for everything. he never quite made the space for Bastien there and Bastien never felt like he was allowed to change anything to his liking, always feeling more like a guest there. so after a while the shine of the comfort and luxury wore off and it started to feel more like a cage, and Bastien would find more and more reasons to not spend much time at this house, some nights even preferring to just sleep in his truck. eventually they fixed up the floor above the clinic a bit - dragged in a mattress, got the water running etc so when he stays in there really late they can just crawl upstairs to catch some sleep inbetween shifts rather than drive all the way to Matteo's place. it's kind of a mess of a room but somehow he sleeps much more comfortably there than anywhere else.

Wolfgang's living situation is,,, in simplest terms they're squatting in an abandoned building, not far from a sort of android commune (for other androids who were forced out of the system or chose to leave it, since they have to still get energy and parts from somewhere its a sort of collective effort) (it's a neighborhood that the cops / authorities are pretty much aware of but usually leave alone with the occasional raid for good measure). they tend to stay out long stretches of time inbetween recharging and on their free time they like to crash at other people's places a lot, but when they need to be alone and uniterrupted this is where they go. it's not quite a home but its a clean little place, they keep a few potted plants and of course their wardrobe and notes on their investigations etc there. one benefit of the place is a lovely roof view of an overgrown marshland :) severe drawback is a kind of busted shower with only cold water but well its enough to wash off the blood !

[fallingsunflower]

mod did you see this https://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-11554095/amp/Gucci-Harry-Styles-slammed-toddler-bed-ad-Balenciaga-scandal.html

Yeah so I have a couple asks about this. I'll just answer it all here.

I'll start by saying that the whole Balenciaga thing is beyond disturbing. It seems like there's excuse after excuse with these people, and I'm perturbed by the lack of celebrities speaking up about it. Perhaps I'm just missing it though.

I found out a couple days ago that the parent company of Balenciaga, Kering, also owns Gucci. Something about the fashion industry really rubs me wrong but tbh, I'm not 100% sure how connected and related the sister brands are. Kering is it's own thing that owns all these other brands, so they oversee it, but idk just how closely they oversee it. I'm sure they have teams of people they trust to take care of it, and clearly they failed over in Balenciaga. But maybe someone can offer some better insight into how it works because I don't want to just make assumptions.

I also wouldn't outrightly say that Harry's Gucci ad campaign was related to Balenciaga. They're two different scopes. Balenciaga directly included children and these bondage teddy bears, plus the print outs of the United States v Williams Supreme Court documents (a federal act to protect children from child p*rnography). I mean, you literally cannot defend that. It's so beyond disturbing that I can't even articulate in this post how I feel about it. It's fucked up.

The Gucci ad, however, is being called out for the bear and the "toddler mattress". Initially, the bear seemed on par with the many cartoon-inspired outfits Harry's worn before. The mattress also looks too big to technically be considered a toddler's mattress. In the US, the average toddler mattress is about 4 feet long. The one Harry's holding looks to be about 5 feet, considering he's 6 feet tall. But I think it's a combination of these things plus with what Alessandro said about the collection: "I proposed creating a 'dream wardrobe' with him, starting from those small oddities that come together in childlike visions" that are a bit weird. I'm not sure I believe these things are all direct nods toward children, but I won't lie. It leaves a sour taste in my mouth, considering what just happened with Balenciaga. It's possible it was just poor judgement and timing. I'm not sure though. I don't think the Harry x Gucci ad would have been called out prior to Balenciaga, unless it was and I missed it.

Also, just to clarify, while I believe the Balenciaga campaign was severely wrong, I also believe it drew out a lot of right-winged conspiracy theorists (ie the ones who think celebrities rely on children for their youth and talent, vaguely speaking, etc). I think these people are now looking for any reason possible to call out others. Is it warranted? Maybe, but it's also important to examine everything as a whole before making an assumption. The next thing we know and Harry will be called out for using a child's voice in "As It Was", but we also know it was his godchild and he provided a reasoning.

link

[madefate]

headcanon. timeline & significant events cw for non explicit mentions of child neglect / abandonment, abusive romantic relationships, death by fire, drugs.

Annette Elaine McCord was born in 1969 with music in her heart. It's hard not to be when you're born in the summer of love. Her parents were young and passionate musicians, and for the first few years of her life Nettie grew surrounded by records, instruments, and family jam sessions.

When she was around four, her mother left her and her father. Nettie never knew the reason; her father was tight lipped about it, and went from gently persuading Nettie away from questions about her mother to shutting down and getting angrier in response the older she got. Eventually, she learned to drop the subject altogether.

At first, Nettie was a bright and polite girl -- a good student, a good kid, and a very talented guitarist. Even after her father put down his instruments and took on, what he called, ❝ real ❞ work, Nettie always harbored the dream of making a life out of what she loved most: music. This lead to a schism between father and daughter that only got worse with age.

By the time she was thirteen, her father had changed from vaguely absent to unreasonably strict. She tried to live up to his expectations he set -- the grades, the ever earlier curfews, the taking of her records and her musical memorabilia, not allowing her to speak with boys -- then girls -- then anyone. You're going to have a real future, he'd tell her, and she'd try -- she'd try.

Under the surface, Nettie got angrier. Her façade was growing thinner by the day. In high school, she was ostracized as the weird kid. The teacher's pet who snapped sometimes. The girl who wasn't allowed to go anywhere. The total bummer.

Until she met him.

At fifteen, Nettie was at her breaking point. That's when James swooped in -- popular, handsome, and offering her a way to cope. First it was weed. Then it was some harder stuff. Then it was kissing under the bleachers and skipping class. Then it was Nettie sneaking out her window at night and driving around in his car with the top down. It was feeling alive for the first time in a long time.

The point of no return was an argument with her father that resulted in him taking her guitar -- the one he'd given her, the one she'd had since before her mother left -- and smashing it into unrecognizable pieces. When she left home that night, Nettie never returned.

She'd hope to stay with James -- he'd told her she could. But James had his parents and his little siblings and his home had a white picket fence around it. But that's okay -- he knew someone. A friend of a friend of his older sister with an apartment in the city. Which was a room and a mattress, but it was something. It was free. And by work minimum wage jobs, she could save up for a new guitar and do a little busking to earn some tips. Try to make her way.

Nettie McCord became unrecognizable over the course of that year. She threw herself into the life of a true rocker. She played whatever club would take her at the three am slot; she started a tattoo sleeve that she never quite finished but always cherished; she collected piercings whenever she felt she needed to be closer to her body. She was determined to turn herself in a work of art, and that was the silver lining in everything. She was living her dream, finally and truly.

She was just lonely.

Eventually, James graduated. He'd be moving out -- they could make it work together. The hollowed out parts inside of her left by the people who'd left -- her family, her friends -- would start to heal. Her future was within her grasp.

She more than waited for his call. She called him -- she tried. Eventually, it was James' father who told her to stay the hell away from his son, if she was the girl corrupting his boy. Nettie was frozen, hands around the landline. She stared at her guitar, the posters on her walls, and thought of her father -- of the kids in school who whispered loud enough to hear, of James who'd promised that he was coming for her. Her mother. Of all the promises to her that someone else had broken, leaving her standing clutching the other half with the naïveté of a child.

She hung up on him when he threatened to call her father and the police, and for two weeks she barely left her room.

Nettie never knew how the fire started. She didn't know that the emergency services ruled it suspicious. She didn't know if anyone else was caught in the blaze. Hell, after her death, she didn't remember her own name. When Nettie McCord died and Ember McClain took over, there was nothing but shadows of her past -- vague memories of the boy who took advantage of her, the family who abandoned her, the people who never took her seriously. The tangible things -- her name, her childhood home, the good memories among the bad -- seemed to burn up with her previous body.

But does she need her memories ? She has a guitar, and she has power now. They'll never forget her ever again.

[trytofic]

So uhhh I wrote something. Killer gets a pet dragon lol

He opens a new box and carefully snaps all the little pieces together, hair flowy and shining, a long set of wings carefully attached to the back of the figure. Killer loves these things, as much as his friend Dust makes fun of him about it, he just can’t see the beauty. Its less of who it is but more of the craft. The figures he collects have such fine detail, its almost like he can see the fabric with ever craved line on them. He sighs as he places the figure in its new spot. This whole room is dedicated to them. He can’t believe that he gets to own such things, but ever since he started working again, his collection could stay. He smiles at his newest gem before he turns off the light, deciding its time to got to sleep. 

He wakes to a crash, and he bolts from his mattress. It sounded like it came from his collection. He grabbed a knife he hid under his bed for completely practical reasons, and absolutely not for when his friend came over to have some fun. When he opened the door, his hand slamming on the wall to turn the lights on, he saw in the middle of the floor a small black creature. He was hissing and writhing, he noticed its eye was a bright cyan color. He is surrounded by glass, he’s the one who made the glass shatter. He looked around to see several figures on the floor, only one not broken from the commotion. His hands shook as he saw the damaged figures. He kneels getting ready to pick them up when the creature hisses and shrieks at him. Stumbling backward, his bones hit the ground so hard he let out a startled yelp.

“What re you doing in here you stupid thing!” He could feel liquid coming from his eyes but chose to ignore it. “You’re breaking my things and you’re going to wake my neighbors.” He says with his teeth grit tight.  

When the creature hisses again and jumps at him, he grabs it by the tail.

‘Let go of me to stupid dolt!’

“What?”

‘You heard me! Put me down this instance!’ Killer dropped the creature into his lap, and it began to look over his legs and wings. As he began to lick his wounds, he could still hear an angry growl. ‘This is my hoard now and I will defend it with my life.’

“You’re what? My 40K figures?”

‘Is that what theyre called? Figures?’

“Well yeah. Wait… how is this your hoard and you don’t even know what they are? What the heck even are you?”

‘I am a dragon of course! How uneducated are you?’ 

“A dragon?”

‘Yes! Now tell me about my hoard! Do they need heat to keep them together and shiny? What value do they hold? Are they likely to be stolen?’

“Woah woah woah, look.” He takes in a deep breath. “First of all, these are my figures. I bought them with my own money, I make sure they don’t get dusty buy keeping them, I make sure the room doesn’t overheat to they can melt. These are mine. So whatever you think you’re going to do here, aint gonna happen!”

‘Plastic? Dust? Wait, are these not valuable?’

“They are to me you little snake!”

‘Do not call me that you pathetic oaf! I am a dragon! I am created to guard a hoard, and this had been decided as my hoard!’ Killer looks down in his lap to see his wings spread out and his feet more webbed that claws. His tail rounded but long. He was more like a sea serpent than a dragon. But he also noticed one eye was closed as he spoke to him. He looked around to see there is a black liquid on some of the glass that is shattered on the floor.

“Are you hurt?” He asks bringing his phalanges to the dragon’s eye. It hisses and he sees the black liquid begin to drip out. He stumbled to his feet, the dragon hissing as he was lifted.

He rushed to clean up his wound and the dragon in his hands shuddered with the gentle touch to his eye. The whole process was silent, and Killer knew he needed to go back and clean up the room, but this little dragon, took priority.  Once his eye was cleaned, he put a small bandage over it.

“Don’t scratch at it. It’ll only get worse if you do.” He huffed, his feet leading him back to the room. He set the dragon down and he sat staring up at Killer. He stared at the broken figures and his shoulders sunk. Some of these designs weren’t even sold anymore, but as he stared down at the dragon who sat staring at the figures, he couldn’t be too upset with him, since he didn’t know what he was doing. He let out a groan as he left to find something to clean up the mess.

As Killer stared at the mess, he let out a sigh and began cleaning, the dragon curled on a shelf, watching him closely. He placed the figures that could be saved in one pile and the ones that he wouldn’t be able to repair in a garbage bag. His soul felt like shattering as he stared at them. He picked of some of the pieces and he could hear his bones begin to rattle. Why did this bother him so much? They’re just figures. He jumped when he heard a small chirp from the shelf and he looked to see a worried expression from the dragon. 

“What should I call you by the way?” Killer asked as he put his hand over his eyes. 

‘I… I do not have a name. Is there one you think would suit me and my hoard?’ The dragon’s tail slightly swayed.

“Nightmare.” He chuckled. “In the Warhammer universe Nightmares are not mortal born creatures, they’re fantastical and strong.” He looked over at the dragon to see its cyan eye grow large and shone in awe.

‘That sounds like a lovely name. I would love to hear more about the story of this universe.’

“Oh, I have a few books somewhere in here that are just stories from in the universe. I know I have some rule books and modules, but the novels are pretty good too.”

‘That sounds lovely. Since you have given me a name, may I ask yours?’

“Killer.” He smiled as he walked over to the dragon. “I know it was a little rocky, but I hope we can enjoy the collect- hoard together.” 

‘I as well.’

[missspringthyme]

January 23rd, 2024

Another thesis meeting today that I was NOT late for. Fuck yeah! Small improvements!! In fact, I was early!! This meant that I had to stand awkwardly outside my supervisor's office because he was in a meeting, but hey at least he saw that I was early. I'm also doing a fantastic job at putting together some very cute business casual outfits, absolutely love playing professional dress up and I finally feel like I'm finding a style that makes me look put together but not like a little kid wearing their parent's clothes.

I got to see the EEG lab for the first time today, and when I was in there my supervisor mentioned that if we wanted to observe on a high-density session that we could do so. I put a reminder in my calendar so that I could ask him to sit in on a session at a reasonable time. Otherwise, I would absolutely forget.

It took a while to get things set up in the lab because nothing was working (ha, gotta love academia) but testing is done in this sound proof booth. There's a camera inside so you can sit outside the booth and observe or give directions, but for this study we will sit inside with the participant. While the door was open I kept looking at the screen that showed the live feed from inside the booth, because it meant I could see myself fully from the back. It's wild how rare it is to see yourself in ways that are normal for others. I'm already such a slut for mirrors, but oh boy was that a trap. I kept reminding myself to look away so that my supervisor and the greek girl wouldn't notice how entranced I was.

When I used to act, they have to take a recording of the silence in a room for editing, and that means a room full of people barely even daring to breathe while a guy stands very seriously with a boom. I wonder who was the first person to realize that they needed the silence from a specific room during sound editing, it must've seemed a bit odd to do the first silent room recording. Anyway, one movie that I did we took a silence recording right before a scene where I was going to be asleep in a bed while "my mom" had this big emotional moment and sobbed next to me. So we were all in the bed, and I was doing my best not to rustle the sheets or squeak the mattress, but I vividly remember this moment because it was the first time I realized how heavy and uncomfortable true silence can be. The recording felt like it stretched seconds into years and all I wanted to do was have it end. To yell or clap or whatever other noise that would cut through this thick jello. Being in the sound booth is like that, but at least with the experiment running or people talking it goes away. I got to try the mobile eeg on, which was fun, and then we got sent home with them to mess around and figure them out.

We had dnd that night, so I put it on former Italian roommate and third culture Australian and let them look at their brain waves. Of course, they didn't really know what they were looking at, but I just kept saying "That's you! That's what you are. A collection of electrical signals!".

DND went well, they liked the backstories and spent 1 hour of real time with the halfling shop keeps I created called Pimmy and Pizzy. German American's boyfriend was visiting so I offered to have him control authentic australian's inner demon. This resulted in him losing most of his money and acquiring all the bullshit items at Pimmy and Pizzy's stand. He and German American also immediately wanted to risk it all with the deck of many things, and neither of them pulled very well. I think I'll have to implement more opportunities to gamble in the future. French girl is leaving to go back to Paris soon, so I'm trying to make her last few in person sessions as fun as possible. Although I really thought they would get further in the campaign than they did this session. C'est la vie.

[husheduphistory]

Death Defied: The Multiple Murders of Michael Malloy

Michael Malloy was on the floor again. Day after day he came into Tony Marino’s speakeasy on Third Avenue in New York City, drank himself into a black hole, and passed out only to eventually stand back up and keep drinking. Malloy did this often but the problem was that he had stopped paying for his drinks…and Marino was getting tired of it. He thought he had a plan for getting the money he felt he was owed. He thought it was going to be easy. He was very, very wrong about Mr. Michael Malloy.

The details on Malloy are scarce. He was originally from Ireland and somehow made his way to New York City where he supposedly spent a short amount of time as a fireman before becoming homeless and wandering the streets, occasionally sweeping alleys and always willing to be paid in alcohol instead of coins. People assumed him to be about sixty years old but the only definite thing about him was that he could normally be found with a glass in hand until he could no longer stand on his feet.

In July 1932 Francis Pasqua, Daniel Kriesberg, and owner Tony Marino stood inside the speakeasy watching the Irishman slump over the bar. Business was getting rough for Marino, and it was Pasqua who offered him a solution, why not take a life insurance policy out on Malloy, claim to be family, and take the policy money once Malloy was gone? Pasqua was an undertaker by trade and he told Marino that after the man inevitably drank himself to death he would “take care of the rest.” The suggestion might have been shocking except that this was not a new scenario for Marino. One year earlier the ruthless speakeasy owner befriended a homeless woman named Mabelle Carson and somehow convinced her to take out a life insurance policy that named him as the beneficiary. On a freezing winter night Marino forced her to drink a large amount of alcohol and once she passed out he brought her to a building where he stripped off her clothing, soaked her and the mattress in ice water, and left her under an open window to die. The scheme succeeded and Marino easily collected the $2,000 from Carson’s policy. It worked once, and Marino and Pasqua had no reason to think it could not work again, especially when it came to someone like Malloy who had no connections to anyone and who everyone suspected was only a few sips from death every day. They raised their glasses and sealed the deal between them.

The location of the speakeasy run by Tony Marino on Third Avenue in New York City. Image via wikipedia.com.

Over the course of five months Pasqua, paid accomplices, and a shady insurance agent were able to obtain three different life insurance policies from Prudential Life Insurance Company and one with Metropolitan Life Insurance Company. They also recruited more assistants for the plot with Pasqua getting one of Marino’s bartenders, a man named Joseph Murphy, to act as next of kin after Malloy took his last sip and hit the bar floor for the last time. Each of the involved would split the $3,576 from the insurance policies (approximately $54,000 today.) What could possibly go wrong? They were about to find out.

When Malloy staggered into Marino’s bar on a cold December night the owner had some wonderful news for him, he now had an open-ended tab. He was told that business had gotten more competitive, forcing the owner to loosen the rules, and Malloy was delighted to take advantage of it. He drank shot after shot..drink after drink…for hours…until he finally thanked Marino for his hospitality and decided to call it a night. He left the bar promising to be back and he kept his promise, returning the next night for another drinking session. But to the conspirator’s dismay the second night was only a repeat of the first and after several hours Malloy again walked out promising to see them soon. After a third night of pouring a massive amount of alcohol down Malloy’s throat the concern began to sink in. They were paying for the life insurance policies but now they also lost a substantial amount of money on three nights of nonstop alcohol to a man they were certain would not survive the first. When he entered the bar on night four exclaiming “Boy ain’t I got a thirst?” they knew something else had to be done.

One of the conspirators went to a local paint shop and bought some cans of wood alcohol, an extremely toxic substance used in paint thinner, pesticides, cleaning solutions, and fuel among other things.  The first few shots that cascaded down Malloy’s throat were cheap whiskey, but once he was too far gone to tell the difference Marino made the swap. These were not shots laced with the wood alcohol, these were full shots of ONLY wood alcohol. Malloy took shot after shot of the poison and then, to everyone’s amazement, he left on his own two feet. The following night Malloy returned and the process was restarted, whiskey for a while, then the swapped shots. Once again Malloy drank to his heart’s content and walked out a fully living, fully breathing man. Then one night something was different, after multiple shots of pure wood alcohol Malloy dropped to the floor. Finally, the murderous group thought their plan was falling into place as they watched their target’s chest slowly rise and fall. He still had a pulse but it couldn’t be long now, so they waited and watched him believing he was finally approaching death. Until he started snoring. Hours later Malloy woke, rubbed his eyes, and requested some more of the “old regular” to drink.

Label for wood alcohol. Image via Medium.com.

As time wore on so did the cost of this ploy. Purchasing the wood alcohol, the insurance payments, and Malloy’s running bar tab was running Marino’s speakeasy into the ground and the group of them decided they needed a new plan before facing financial ruin. The group had gained some more accomplices and some suggested shooting or beating him and getting it over with but Pasqua suggested something to stay on the same route of subtlety. On his next visit they fed Malloy oysters laced with poison. He ate them with glee and washed shell after shell down with more shots of wood alcohol. Next, he was fed sardine sandwiches made from rotten sardines and filled with tiny sharp pieces of metal. He devoured it and asked for seconds. With desperation setting in Marino went back to his old methods and suggested they freeze him to death as he had done with Mabelle Carson. It was now deep into winter in New York City, surely if poison and sharp metal slivers couldn’t do it the cruel cold night would.  They waited until Malloy passed out from drinking, hauled him outside through the snow and threw him onto a park bench. They tore off his shirt, drenched his unconscious body with water, and left him there to die a slow death. It was a surprise when Marino showed up to his speakeasy the next day and found Malloy in his basement. Murphy let him in when he showed up complaining of a “wee chill” half a mile from where they left him to freeze.

As the desperation to kill Malloy got stronger the plans to carry out the act became more unhinged. As the new year came and went and February arrived in New York City the seemingly ever-growing crew of people who signed up to be part of Michael Malloy’s death started throwing ideas into the air. One man named John McNally suggested running him over with a car and another accomplice John Maglione chimed in, claiming he knew a cab driver who would commit the deed, for a price of course. When Harry Green pulled up to the speakeasy a small crew of conspirators piled in carrying the heavily inebriated body of Malloy. They brought him to a quiet road and two of the men got out, dragged him down the road and held him up, arms outstretched, and prepared to leap out of the way last minute to avoid meeting death themselves. Green sped down the street with Maglione in the back seat, bracing himself for the impact of Malloy’s body. But it didn’t happen. Once the men let go of him and ran, Malloy somehow also jumped out of the way of the speeding car at the last second not once…but twice. Finally on the third attempt it all went according to plan. The men holding Malloy up leapt out of the way, Malloy stayed, and Green hit him head on. To be sure he was a goner the cab driver backed up over him in the street. The group of killers were certain the deed was done, but they could not check to be sure, another car was approaching and they all scattered before anyone could lay their eyes on the body of Malloy.

For days no one saw Malloy in the speakeasy, but there was a problem. The one member of the dubious plot tasked with finding his body could not find him. He called morgues and hospitals claiming to be looking for his brother so the death could be confirmed and everyone could finally get their money from his insurance, but no one had any record of Malloy.

Five days later the door to Marino’s speakeasy swung open. In walked Michael Malloy. Battered, beaten, and saying he had no memory of what happened, only that he was drinking whiskey, some bright lights, and then waking up in Fordham Hospital desperate for a drink.

On February 21st 1933 the gang had had enough of the resurrecting Michael Malloy. By now the money was going to be split so many times and they had spent so much trying to kill him that it wasn’t even going to be a payoff as originally intended. Now it was just the point, Malloy had to die. After another night of heavy drinking, Malloy finally passed out and a group of the man dragged his body to a tenement building less than I mile away and brought his body into a room. They threw him down, wrapped his head in a towel, and stuck a long rubber tube in his mouth. The other end of the tube was attached to a gas light fixture. The gas finally accomplished what poison, metal, nature, and a car could not do. Michael Malloy was finally dead.

The room where Michael Malloy met his end. The arrow point to the gas pipe where the rubber tube was attached. Image via truecrimeedition.com.

Pasqua had a doctor friend who was willing to write a fake death certificate citing pneumonia as the cause of death and the man playing the part of Malloy’s brother went to claim the insurance money as soon as he could. When the agent asked to see the body they told him he was already buried. They whole murderous plot got all of them a grand total of $800. Marino bought himself a new suit with the money.

The death certificate of Michael Malloy reading pneumonia as a cause of death. Image via wikipedia.com.

They may have thought the story of Michael Malloy was over, but they were unbelievably naïve to think so. There were too many people involved in the plot combined with the fact that although Malloy was homeless and perpetually drunk, people knew him. When news spread that Malloy was dead it raised some eyebrows and the stories of him surviving massive amounts of alcohol, enduring a freezing night, and walking away from being run over had earned him some nicknames and an almost folklore-like reputation. People wanted to know what finally killed “Iron Mike” and soon the police began asking questions. They learned about the supposed “pneumonia”, they learned about the insurance policies and how Malloy was quickly buried, and they decided they had enough information to resurrect Malloy for real. His body was exhumed, examined, and there was no evidence of pneumonia, but there was a lot of evidence of carbon monoxide in his system. When the police questioned the doctor who wrote the death certificate and the cab driver who ran over a man for the price of $150 they told them everything. The next people the police would be speaking with were the people at Marino’s speakeasy.

The arrests happened fast. The doctor was released on bail, the cab driver spent a short time in jail, but Frank Pasqua, Tony Marino, Daniel Kriesberg and Joseph Murphy were all arrested and walked into court facing charges of first-degree murder. They were all convicted, all sentenced to death, and were all shipped to prison at Sing Sing.

Mugshot of Tony Marino. Image via wikipedia.com.

Mugshot of Francis Pasqua. Image via wikipedia.com.

On June 7th  1934 and July 5th 1934 Pasqua, Marino, Kriesberg, and Murphy were all executed by the electric chair, and it only took one try for each of them to depart this world.

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

Sources:

The Man Who Wouldn't Die by Karen Abbot. Smithsonianmag.com. February 7th 2012. https://www.smithsonianmag.com/history/the-man-who-wouldnt-die-89417903/

Michael Malloy: The Man Who Wouldn’t Die by Kaushik Patowary. Amusingplanet.com. August 21st 2020. https://www.amusingplanet.com/2020/08/michael-malloy-man-who-wouldnt-die.html

The American Rasputin by Dale M. Brumfield. Medium.com. March 20th 2020. https://medium.com/lessons-from-history/the-american-rasputin-a509a4c8de53

The Murder Plot of "Iron" Mike Malloy. Truecrimeedition.com. June 16th 2021. https://www.truecrimeedition.com/post/mike-malloy