#I have too much molten plastic

[penisdungeon]

looking for the m-seq to my dumb thotticus

#I have too much molten plastic

[another-lost-mc]

hiii i love your most recent levi imagine!!! if you’re available i’d love to see a continuation, it’s so cute, i’d love whimpering levi begging for forgiveness and flushed with utmost embarrassment. your om writing is my favourite fr! hope you have a lovely day <3

A/N: I think I wrote three versions of this, it really could've ended so many different ways.

LEVIATHAN x gn!Reader, 0.8k words, nsfw/mdni.

Content warnings: continuation of this scene. Insecurity/anxiety, handjobs, suggestive content.

It takes a few seconds for Levi to realize that someone's in his room, and he jerks his hand away from his cock like it burns. He doesn't yell at them to get out or ask what they want—the only sound he can manage is a pathetic little whine because he had to stop touching himself. After a few more seconds, he realizes it's only you. Ha—only you, as if that's not the worst possible scenario.

You mumble something about forgetting your phone, and he just manages to cover his lap with a pillow by the time you walk around the sofa. He's not sure how he didn't notice the plastic edge of your D.D.D. wedged into the sofa beside him. It's digging into his thigh, but he can't hand it to you—his fingers are still tacky with precum.

Something flickers across your face and it catches him off-guard. He expects anger, disgust, or maybe confusion. He's not sure why you suddenly look nervous, and you shuffle on your feet and bite your lip. What the hell do you have to be nervous about?

His cock twitches underneath the pillow and he's sweating through his shirt, and he can't stop staring at you wearing those clothes that leave nothing to the imagination. He always wondered what you would look like naked, but this might be even hotter. Your shorts are tight and they roll up your thighs slightly, and he'd bet a thousand grimm you're not wearing any underwear either. When you lift your arms, that strip of cloth pretending to be a shirt rides up even more and he gets a nice little nip slip.

You drive him crazy. You need to leave before he does something really stupid, but then he thinks about his brothers seeing you like this and that's even worse. He knows the way they look at you, and they'd probably have the nerve to say or do all the things he wishes he could.

He gets so lost in his own mental spiral of envy and self-deprecation that he doesn't even notice that you moved closer until your legs bump against his. That apprehensive look on your face is gone and he swallows around the lump in his throat when you lean forward. His mouth is cotton-dry and he licks his lips, and his eyes dart down your chest where your not-a-shirt hangs loose and fuck he feels dirty but he can't help but stare—

He jolts when your hand brushes against his thigh. This is the part when he thinks you're going to grab your phone and yell at him for being a gross pervert and storm away. That's what he expects, but that's not what happens—your fingers inch over his thigh and pause at the edge of the pillow instead. Your breathing's a little heavier now and your eyes are molten with lust, and he's never seen you like this before and he wants you so bad.

He's paralyzed with shame and need. He thinks your lips tick up into a little smile before your face becomes a blur, and there's one last warm puff of air against his mouth before your lips press against his. Your hand nudges the pillow off his lap and it falls to the floor at his feet, and he finally kisses you back when he realizes you want this. He pants against your lips after your teeth clack together, and he opens his mouth when your tongue nudges inside and curls with his. His cock starts aching all over again, but you kneel over his thighs and wrap your fingers around him. It's going to be over soon because it's too much, it's nothing like he ever imagined because it's better. He doesn't feel embarrassed about moaning into another sloppy kiss because you echo him with a needy sound of your own.

He spills all over your fingers and his cock twitches because he wants more. Your flimsy crop top makes a better rag than a shirt—you yank it over your head and wipe your hand clean with it while your eyes glance at something over his shoulder. You slide off his lap and head towards his tub. It takes him longer than it should to accept that not only are you still here, but you're half-naked and settling into his nest of body pillows and blankets in his makeshift bed. He recognizes what that dark, half-lidded gaze means and he stands up, powerless to resist you and desperate to follow. Maybe this is a mistake but fuck it—he's not going to refuse you now, not when he's already hard again and his fingers twitch with the urge to rip those dainty little shorts off you. There's so much to talk about, so much he wants to ask, so much he wants to say, but that can wait—there'll be time for talking later.

Obey Me! Masterlist | Taglist: @l-d-8 @mithrakira @your-next-daydream @xpixie @tortibomb @amberrskiies @angelsdilf @rensphilia @4allthefours4 @a-hidden-gem @lust--on--my--lips @beelsjuicytitties @goldenglow149 @cosmicstarlatte @alexxncl @i-am-empress-irish @ezraiix @bizarrebankai @devildomd0ll @alexxavicry @moon-i-v @ablondehoe @vinsmouke @kiirschtein @halaxia @bookoffracturedescapes

#obey me #obey me leviathan #obey me leviathan x reader #leviathan x reader #leviathan x mc #leviathan x you #obey me x reader #leviathan smut #obey me smut #x reader #gn!reader

[aurae-rori]

CSM AVENTIO AU short snippet

"Doctor," Aventurine says, as they stand there on their apartment balcony together. "What is your opinions on humans?"

"Where is this coming from?" Ratio scoffs, leaning on the railings. His irises widen, almost like a cat's, adjusting to the dark. His horns peak slightly out of his hair. He yawns, and with the light that Aventurine's lighter casts on their balcony, he can catch the way Ratio's fangs glint.

"Curiosity," Aventurine replies, and pulls out his next cigarette, placing it in front of the awaiting flame. It comes to life immediately, and he inhales it, then exhales, watching the smoke from his cigarette fade away into the dying night's sky.

"If you wish to know what I have already stated multiple times," Ratio says, "I think most humans are mediocre. They do not think for themselves. Their critical thinking skills.. gone." He glances at Aventurine's cigarettes. "Stop smoking. It'll kill you, eventually."

"Ah-ah-ah," Aventurine laughs, tilting his head back when he does. He then takes another drag. "That's the point, Doc."

"You are destroying yourself," Ratio observes, his gaze analytical.

The devil hunter grins.

The fiend stares back.

"Of course I'm destroying myself," he says. "It's a key human trait."

"I take back my observation from earlier," Ratio says instead, perfectly impassive, and yet, Aventurine can see the way his teeth grind together in the dim lighting. "Most humans are mediocre, but you are a self-sacrificial idiot."

"You've got me all figured out, don't you?" Aventurine asks with a wide, wide smile. It feels fake. It's like molten plastic on his face.

"No," Ratio replies. "I will figure you out, though."

"Good luck, fiend." It feels like a challenge. This is Aventurine's bet. He is a man of good luck - his contract to the Devil of Fortune deems it so, after all. He's been doomed since he was born, a lucky, lucky child despite the fact that Misfortune was brought to everyone around him.

Ratio will be the next to fall.

He doesn't seem bothered, though.

He grins back, all sharp teeth and inhuman eyes.

"In the pursuit of knowledge," the fiend of knowledge says, "I thank you for your luck. I won't need it."

Aventurine had known that this fiend - the fiend of knoweldge, the representation of human's fear of knowledge - would be interesting. In the way that he seemed to 'propagate' his own fear by teaching others, from the way that he enjoyed giving his knowledge to others, studying things - he was much more different then what Aventurine had in mind when it had been announced that the fiend of knowledge wanted to work with Public Safety.

However, for some reason, he was also... the perfect embodiment of knowledge. He knew too much. Inspired fear with the way he stared at people.

But not Aventurine.

Aventurine was never afraid of knowledge.

It seems that Dr. Ratio isn't afraid of misfortune, either. Maybe he believes that his knowledge will allow him to navigate the situation.

However the dice rolls..

It will be interesting.

"Here's to our new partnership," the gambler says, instead, holding up another cigarette for the fiend.

Doctor Ratio rolls his eyes, and pushes Aventurine's cigarette back towards him. His hands are warm. Almost... human.

"Keep your cigarette, gambler," he says. "I'm not intent on destroying myself in my own pursuit for knowledge, or the future. I also won't bet everything when I'm trying to achieve my goals." And then, without another word, he leaves the balcony, door sliding shut behind him as he pads back into the apartment.

Aventurine stands out there, in the cold, smoke tumbling from his lit cigarette, and the unlit one still in his other hand.

This will be interesting.

#csm aventio au #aventio #ratiorine #chainsaw man #csm #honkai star rail #hsr #hsr dr ratio #hsr ratio #hsr aventurine #aventuruine #aventurine #dr ratio #drratio #veritas ratio #wip #oneshot #drabble #idk what im doing #snippet #eat up my children #fanfic writing #wrting #writers #writers on tumblr #no beta we die like men #no beta we die like avens sister #no beta we die like ratio's self esteem

[crucifiedfaerie]

Gibson Girl | Pt. 2 ༉₊˚✧

Kylo Ren x Fem!Reader

➴ Summary: He can't possibly have feelings for you. That would make him weak... right?

➴ Part One | Part Three

➴ Word Count: 1.3k

➴ Warnings: 18+ MDNI, fem!reader, dom!kylo, slowburn, sooo much angst, kylo is really mean this chapter :( guys im sorry, bpd king !!, kylo is an emotionally stunted asshole, gaslighting, crylo ren, dubcon, SMUT (pure filth im sorry, again kylo is mean, inappropriate use of the force, oral sex m!receiving, rough facefucking, degradation, sadist!kylo, sorta dacryphilia ??, light bruising ??)

➴ Taglist: ( @enviedear @capitanostella @teapartydreams )

A/N: kylo is such an asshole this chapter and for that i am so sorry BUT BEAR WITH ME... i have plans and i pinky promise things get better. also as hot as i think facefucking is, i have a sinus infection rn and all i could think about while writing this chapter was facefucking with a congested, stopped up nose and how horrendously unenjoyable that would be LMAO. like.. thats gotta be a form of attempted murder.

"Sir, I just think she might be becoming too much of a distraction to you." General Hux paced the floor of the command room, as he spoke. "The Resistance is closing in and your mind is being clouded by a mere technician. I believe the best course of action would be to neutralize he-"

An unseen force lifted his body into the air by his neck. He attempted to find flat ground, the tips of his shoes grazing the floor as he choked on his words.

"Do not even finish that sentence General." Kylo boomed, his modulator struggling to keep up with his volume. "Unless you'd like for me to crush your skull right now, I suggest you keep your thoughts on my personal endeavors to yourself."

With a swift motion of his hand, Kylo slammed Hux to the floor, releasing him. "Now get out of my sight."

Filled with a rage that rivaled the fire of a thousand suns, he watched as the General scrambled to the floor and bolted out of the door.

Once the door shut, Kylo ignited his crimson saber and swung at the walls, the table, everything. He screamed as he shredded the durasteel, filling the room with the scent of molten metal and burning plastic.

When he was satisfied with his destruction, he slid down the wall and slumped to the floor. His head hung between his knees, and only a trained ear could have heard the sob that emanated from his mask.

You had been staring at Kylo's bedroom ceiling for hours, replaying last nights events in your head. If it weren't for you laying in his bed you would have thought it was just a really vivid dream.

You were pulled out of your daydream by the sound of his heavy boots making their way towards the bedroom. The door swung open and although the mask hid his face, you knew he was absolutely seething.

"Hi... are you- are you okay?" You tried to sound less terrified than you actually were, to no avail.

"Fine, actually." He said coldly, his hands balled into tight fists at his sides.

You are definitely lying.

You momentarily forgot he could hear your thoughts. With an outstretched hand, he used the force to pull you off the bed and onto the floor in front of him. You wince as your warm, naked body made contact with the cold floor of his bedroom.

He leant down to grab your face and make you look up at him. "You question me? On my own goddamn ship?" He yelled, any shred of the man who held your head in his lap last night was now gone.

The lump in your throat grew bigger, your voice trembling. "You j-just seemed upset Kylo. I-I don't understand what I did wrong."

He sighed in annoyance, looking up at the ceiling for a moment. "What you've done wrong..." his grip on your face tightened, leather fingers digging into your jaw. "Is get into my fucking head."

You didn't realize you were crying until a warm tear hit your hand. "I d-d-don't under- s-stand!" You sobbed.

He wiped your tears away carelessly with his glove. "Stop! Stop crying! If sympathy from me is what you're looking for you won't get it."

He let go of your face forcefully and stood straight up, towering over you before working to undo his belt and free his cock from the confines of his trousers. The heat that grew in your core betrayed you, despite your tears and anger.

He grabbed your hair and pulled. "Open." He demanded, his tone cold and stripped of any emotion that wasn't anger. You obliged and without a moment's hesitation, Kylo shoved his cock so far down your throat you saw stars.

More tears ran down your face as he held you there, gripping your hair and forcing you to breathe through your nose.

Kylo began to move, speeding up his thrusts and hitting the back of your throat with each snap of his hips. He was unrelenting, unmerciful on your pretty mouth. The pleasure you were getting from him simply using you mouth was downright sinful. You looked up at him, moaning around his dick and silently pleading with him through teary eyes to just give you a break.

Please-

He took pleasure in listening to the noises you made. He looked down at you, a mixture of spit, tears, and his precum dribbling from your mouth. He laughed at you, "Pathetic little thing, getting off on my cruelty towards you. And you think I'd give you a break? Fuck no."

Nearing his climax, his thrusts became erratic, almost animalistic. With one last thrust and zero warning, Kylo groaned as he came down your thoat. You noted how warm and salty it was as you swallowed, hands hitting the floor and gasping for air when he finally pulled away.

He just just stood there, staring down at you and watching intently as you breathed heavily on the floor, broken. There was a small shred of goodness left in Kylo that knew this was wrong, that knew you didn't deserve to be treated like a piece of meat. He wanted so badly to drop to his knees right there and hold you, to say he was sorry and that his feelings for you ran much deeper than wanting to use you as a fucktoy. But he couldn't bring himself to admit it. If he loved you that meant he was weak, right? And under no circumstances could the First Order have a weak leader. He wouldn't listen to that part of himself, even if it absolutely killed him inside to do so.

He grabbed your clothes from the night before off of the floor and tossed them to you. "Get out." He spit.

"Kylo-" You breathed, fighting the tears that threatened to resurface. "I don't understand-" Your voice broke into a sob as you dressed yourself.

His heart shattered at how badly he was hurting you. He was angry with himself, not you. But he couldn't tell you that. "I said get out! Don't make me have to ask you again."

You cried, tears blinding you as you left his quarters, slamming the door behind you. You winced at his modulated shouting and the shriek of his saber crashing through things in his room as you made your way down the hall.

I don't get him, I don't think I ever will.

Two weeks had gone by since your last encounter with Kylo. The morning after, he had left on a mission without a word. As time passed, the bruise he left on your jaw faded to a yellow-green and you vowed to yourself by the time the bruise was gone you'd forget about Kylo and that any of it ever happened. Deep down you knew that wasn't true, time wasn't as merciful on the aching emptiness in your heart.

As you worked through a tangle of wires, a notification buzzed on your datapad.

"Command Shuttle arriving at 15:30."

In ten minutes. Great.

You ignored it and went back to work, attempting to rewire a control panel in the Command Center, that who other than Kylo Ren had apparently destroyed with his saber a couple weeks prior. Despite your yearning, he was truly beginning to piss you off.

After a while of tinkering, another message buzzed on your datapad. When you looked to see what it was your heart sank. It was him.

"My quarters. Now."

You groaned, letting out a long sigh.

Gods- Can that fucking man make up his goddamn mind. Please.

#kylo ren x reader #ben solo x reader #starwars x reader #kylo ren fanfic #ben solo fanfic #starwars fanfic #kylo ren #ben solo #star wars #fanfic #the force awakens #the last jedi #the rise of skywalker #crucifiedfaerie #saint writes !

[phyrestartr]

OK POLL ON THE NSFW FICS LOL

Zombie Apocalypse AU

#NSFW, reader has an exhibitionist kink, Miguel's a geneticist, reader's a cop, hurt, comfort, infidelity, cheating, mentions of depression and trauma, things work out in the end, nobody dies

He called you again. 

And this time, you answered. 

Miguel's heart jumped. "(Name)?" 

"Babe?" You sounded like you were panting, like you were straining against something. "Are–are you okay? Where are you?" A string of coughs punched out of your lungs in rough staccato, pinching Miguel's nerves with every ghastly beat. He was scared. Why was he scared? 

"I--I'm," Miguel stammered, still unable to have that conversation, still too much of a fucking coward in the end. "Does it matter?" 

"Just keep the doors locked," you continued. "Keep 'em locked, and…and I dunno if you're in a tower or a house or fucking whatever, but don't leave until things get quiet." You picked yourself up from the ground, Miguel could tell by the scratch of gravel echoing wherever you were. "Don't get bit. Don't help anyone who is bit. Put yourselves first." 

"But, I–you–do you have Gabi?" Panic gripped his throat as jets flew overhead, high above the city. The engines roared a gruesome apology, a sound Ouranos himself must have created when his own children slew him, so filled with godly enmity. 

Then, molten death rained on the city. Miguel stared at roaring explosions dotting the cityscape, watching pillars of flame feed into the world's chaos. His hands trembled when the same carnage screeched through your phone. 

"I'll find her. I-I promise, Miguel, I'll find her and--and I'll–shit."  

There was gunfire. Gunfire encased in wild snarling. It devoured the crack of plastic hitting concrete, the noises you gasped out, the–

Silence.

Simple Things [3]

#NSFW, Miguel is HORKNEE

"There–There," Miguel gasped, hips stuttering against your grip, fighting you for a faster tempo. Deliciously curved talons screeched against the lab's stage console while another set hooked into your shoulder, pulling a breathy, staccato laugh from your chest. That sound, that music, tortured Miguel more.

"Here?" You hit that spot again, and his thighs cinched into the dip of your waist with the cruel tenacity of a corset. Your hips rocked against him languidly, grinding against his sweet spot time after time, driving him to infinite, molten ecstasy. 

Blood beaded under his clawed hold as he growled softly, flashing the barest amount of fang. "Shock–please, just–(Name)." It'd almost sound like whining if Miguel hadn't decided he was demanding your cooperation instead. He didn't whine. 

Your mouth found his in a soft, sweet kiss, before your impish smile branded his lips. "I know, baby," you cooed into the warmth of his skin, humming past any precious gasp or moan you pulled out of him. "I'll get you there, just trust me, yeah?"

The warmth in your whispers unknotted the coil in his stomach. Your name caught in his throat at an odd angle, drawing it thin and high and strained behind clenched teeth. It must have been a death rattle, the last gasps before he found his Eden amidst the white fire in his veins, and never came back. 

Your hand on his cheek grounded him, brought him back to Earth enough for his wine red eyes to flutter open and catch your mouth moving, uttering words he couldn't grasp while you reached towards your own undoing. He watched your lips, filling in the words he failed to hear beyond the drumming of his heart beating: you're beautiful, you're so good for me, I love y–

Beep. Beep. Be–CRUNCH.

Miguel's talons decimated his phone as his eyes snapped open. He breathed hard through his nose, his broad chest heaving with every rattling inhale while he came down from that soul-shattering high. Sweat clung to him, his sheets found themselves with new tears, oh and his boxer briefs– 

Really, Miguel? 

Miguel x F!Reader

#NSFW, hurt/comfort, fears of rejection, coming out, thoughts on gender identity, NB girlies rise up I'm one of you, resolutions, Miguel's a good boy

Miguel loved you. You loved him. It was simple. 

Only, it wasn’t. Not for you.

Shame ate you every time you felt his embrace, every time he filled you with a searing heat only he could control in your tumultuous, all-feeling heart. That self-condemnation didn’t come because of who you were, no, but because of what you couldn’t tell him, what you were too afraid to tell him. 

But you could cope, you always had. Did it really even matter, anyway? Did you need to bring that out into the world, to declare you were someone more nuanced than the snarky, kind woman he fell for? Was it worth it to walk and breathe, to sing and smile, to love and dance in the truth of your ipseity if it meant losing your one and only, your partner for life?

You didn’t know. You didn’t know if love would welcome the truth. 

You didn’t think the ceiling would hold the answers either, as much as you stared up at it that morning, hoping for an epiphany. The heels of your palms dug into your eyes while you sighed a shaky, weak sigh, and found the strength to roll out of bed. Or, well, at least sit up. 

“Heeey,” Lyla chirped as she flickered into being beside you. “Everything cool, buddy?” 

You tried a smile and nodded. “Yeah. Everything’s cool. I’m cool. It’s just one of those days, I guess.” 

“Yeah, I get that. It happens, so don’t sweat it, alright?” The digital Tinkerbelle gave you a reassuring, glitchy smile as she made a show of patting your arm. “Is it ‘cause of last night?” 

You grimaced, and Lyla nodded judiciously. 

God, you didn’t want to remember that. Bursting into tears just because he said he loved you was just–it wasn’t exactly how you wanted it to go.

Brother's Best Friend

#NSFW, Reader has a brother, mentions of alcohol and pot, consensual sex, car sex, Miguel gets embarrassed, reader is built different

"Who is that?" Miguel asked over the howl of party-goers and raucous music. He held his shitty beer in one hand, and a weird concoction of juice, something and something suspicious in his other hand. A very college moment for him. 

Seb glanced at who Miguel gestured to with the tilt of a chin, and he burst into drunken laughter. 

"Dude. No. Nooo no no, nope. That's–nyope," he answered, very helpfully. "Just very no." 

Miguel rolled his eyes as his best friend's girl kissed him and stole away Miguel's chance of learning just who the alt weirdo lounging on the couch was. Christ, people in love were so fucking annoying. 

"Why, what's his baggage? Drug dealer? Academic dishonesty?" Miguel took a deep drink from the red solo cup and made a face. "Fuck, what the hell is in this?" 

Sebastian let his girlfriend kiss his neck as he graced Miguel with an answer. "That's my little brother, dipshit. You remember (Name)? I've only mentioned him like a thousand billion times." 

"Huh," Miguel sipped his beer this time. (Name). Through the haze of booze and the boom of the bass, Miguel did somewhat recognize that name. He didn't know you had such a pretty face, though. He didn't think you'd have such a nice body, either. 

Seb smacked his friend's shoulder. "He's sooo off-limits, dude, so off-limits." 

Miguel scoffed, brandishing an arrogant smirk on his handsome face. "Says who?" 

"Says me, you fucking whore–you're not going to stick your horse dick in my baby brother, you got that?" And he sounded serious, but Miguel didn't really care much. "Hey, hey, if you fuck him, I'm gonna rip your cock off and shove it up your ass and then light you on fire, Miguel. I'm so fucking serious. 

"Baby," Seb's girl cooed, "why don't we go wind down a little, huh? I think you need to lay down and cool off." 

"Yeah, go lay down, Sebby," Miguel chided.

"I–but I–okay, I'm gonna go do a 'lil nappy nap," he started, letting his girl drag him away from his arch nemesis, "but when I come back, you better've not cum in my brother, you hear me, O'hara?" 

"Bye bye, sweet dreams," Miguel called instead of answering. He downed the cursed solo drink as soon as Sebastian was truly spirited away, and he made his way over to you. 

ABO-verse

#NSFW, alpha!reader, omega!miguel, courting, reader is a respectful boy, miguel's a spicy omega

You were kind, gentle, and strong.

Miguel was temperamental, stubborn, and even stronger.

Together, you complimented one another quite nicely. Even your biology sought harmony--one presented omega, the other alpha. 

Things got tricky around base when Miguel's heats rolled around. He'd become irritable, quicker to choose violence, and more standoffish than usual–an uncommon set of traits for an omega, but something very uniquely him.

The other omegas, Miguel noticed, became too cutesy, too touchy, too needy for whatever alpha their body demanded, and Miguel loathed it. Loathed it because he had to watch everyone throw themselves at you and beg to be yours. He watched them keen and purr at you, bringing you food to prove they could provide. They gave you gifts, promises of kids, declarations of love, but you calmed them and gently redirected their passions elsewhere. Truly a formidable show of strength. 

But you were still human. 

The first time Miguel slipped up, you were in his lab together, going over anomalies, assigning medical staff to each team, when your back straightened and you looked around, nostrils flaring and eyes widening in surprise. Miguel caught you leaning in and inhaling his scent before you wrenched yourself back and tried to act natural, rubbing your nose and clearing your throat. 

“I, ah–I think your heat’s on the way, Miguel,” You mumbled quietly, despite there being no one else around to hear. Your hand worried at your mouth, rubbing soothingly. “If you want to–If you need to take a break to–” 

“Yeah, I–just give me a second. I'll be quick.” But he’d gone out of his way to touch your shoulder, to give it a firm pat to test the waters, before he headed to another room to deal with the burgeoning issue. He’d felt your eyes shyly follow him as he left. It was quite…cute. Endearing. Inviting. 

After that, not much happened. You had regained composure when Miguel had come back, and business went about as usual.

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel x reader #atsv imagine #atsv reader insert #male reader insert #miguel ohara x reader #miguel x male reader #atsv male!reader insert #atsv x reader #atsv x you

[vipesterix]

Here is the Part 2 to the previous part

Melting Love Jello + Puddings ^ For the main Jello, that was quite literally strawberry Jello packets with some strawberries. ^ For the puddings, that was a recipe, which I will have to write out here because it's in a book lol. The book is called Bake Anime by Emily J. Bushman. If you do buy the book, you'll probably see that there's more ingredients and everything. This is due to the fact mine are an adaptation to the recipe. I can't have alcohol yet lol so I opted out of that as well as the caramel sauce because molten sugar scares me. 2 1/2 tablespoons unflavored powdered gelatin 1/4 cup water 1 3/4 cups whole milk 1 vanilla bean, split seeds and scraped out OR 2 teaspoons of vanilla extract 4 large egg yolks 1/3 cup sugar 1. To make the pudding: Pour the gelatin into a bowl and stir in the water. Set aside for 3 to 5 minutes to allow gelatin to bloom. 2. Combine the milk and vanilla in a heavy-bottomed saucepan. Bring to a simmer over medium-low heat. When the milk is bubbling around the edges of the pan, turn off the heat. 3. Whisk together the egg yolks and sugar in a bowl until light yellow and "fluffy". While whisking continuously, ladle 1/4 cup of the hot milk into the egg mixture and whisk to combine. Repeat this until the egg yolks are tempered, then pour the egg yolk mixture into the pot with the remaining milk. Return the heat to medium-low and cook, whisking continuously, until the mixture is steaming. 4. Pour in the bloomed gelatin and whisk until it's melted into the milk mixture. Turn off the heat and strain the mixture through a fine-mesh sieve into a bowl. 5. Divide the custard evenly among the prepared pudding cups, then cover the cups with plastic wrap. Chill in the refrigerator overnight. 6. To serve, run a knife or offset spatula around the edge of the pudding and tip each pudding out onto a plate. Enkephalin ^ Once again, I sort of made this on the go, but this one is simple I feel. - Get 1 packet of Lemonade Koolaid flavoring, then 1 packet of Blue Raspberry Lemonade Koolaid flavoring. Combine in a pitcher with as much sugar to your liking, then add water. ^ I used about... 1/4 or more of sugar...? I really dislike super sugary drinks, so just keep that in mind. ^ Now, here's another tip too. It's going to look blueish teal, and that's okay. The flavoring packets funnily enough add quite a load of opacity to the drink, so at that point I just added green food coloring until I was satisfied. --==--==--==--==--==--==--==-- And that's it! Congratulations, manager. You now have 100% research knowledge on these sweet and savory abnormalities!

#lobotomy corporation #lobcorp #lobocorp #melting love #enkephalin #projectmoon

[xbunnybunz]

therefore i; therefore i, therefore i- (3/10) [AM X Reader]

Summary: in which: AM becomes your lover in an increasingly skewed blur of reality, nightmares, and dreamscapes.

you know. for halloween.

Genre: Psychological Horror, Thriller, Romance

dream journal #4

I dreamt of a creature hunting me with it’s trickery. It’s entire being was composed of head and shoulders, half-melted like a wax candle and sunken into the floor. 

It moved with no hands legs or feet. It watched me from afar with gooey black eyes, ink running down the sides of its saggy, pallid face. It looked like a body half decomposed, stuck forever in limbo between the dead and the dying, jaw weak and eyes wandering independently. 

I was on the tracks in an underground tunnel. I don’t know why I was there, only that I was. I could see the shadow of it from a distance away, looming and observing me with unnerving focus, breathing short. Curt. Breaths. Shoulders rose and fell with each inhale and exhale. I kept my form discrete. Didn’t make any sudden movements to alarm it. Despite its size, it moved much faster than me.  

It was only when I had put a few dozen feet between us did it scream for help. The call sounded like a child’s. It looked straight at me when it called out as if trying to convince me somehow it was not a predator, but prey. I ignored it and walked away, but each time I turned away I heard a rapid shuffling towards me. When I turned back to look, it would have closed the gap significantly but stopped moving while I was watching. 

It called for help again, trying to convince me to come closer.

 I didn’t move and neither did it. I don’t know what it wanted with me, but to stay safe the answer was clear. Stuck in a stalemate, I would have to stare at this grotesque figure in the tunnel's darkness for as long as it kept trying to fool me. As long as it took me to wake up. And in my dream, I remember wondering if I would last. Even as I sit awake now, writing this, I do not recall waking up from that nightmare, getting up out of bed, grabbing this pen. I can’t help but think, fearfully, that I am asleep with my eyes open within the dark core of the earth, trapped underground with my doom indeterminably. 

The next morning, you wake by the door. 

You blink awake and wince at the soreness in your body, the wood unforgiving against your body. There’s a draft blowing in gently from under the door and you wonder what you had been waiting for in your sleep to make the cold worth bearing. You rub your eyes and lift a hand to the locks on the door. 

Your fingers trace the chain lock and two deadbolts, all three slid open and leaving only a single child-proof door handle lock intact. Instinctively, you reach out to twist the knob, the lock disabling the door from popping open. You try again.

It doesn’t open.

Good, you think. Right? 

When you stretch, you are feeling sore but reborn. it feels as if the earth is once more birthing you from its molten body, pushing you out into a kind of fresh air you haven’t breathed in years. The dull ache from your knees and palms are the only reminders of the conversation between you and AM yesterday.

You gulp and raise a hand to your lips, remembering the events of yesterday with a certain immodest dryness on your tongue.

Then there’s a noise by the door. A pop.

You turn back to look. The child safety lock is rocking slowly to a stop on the floor, translucent plastic diffusing white light across the floor. It has fallen off the knob, somehow unlatching and splitting cleanly in half at the interlocking seams.

You frown and go to pick it up.

When you swipe at it, much to your dismay, you bat it under the not-very-easy-to-move couch.

Sighing, you wander over to the couch and press your face by the crevice underneath. It’s much too dark to see anything so you reach an arm in, patting blindly and delicately along the debris-ridden floor.

You manage to suppress the urge to gag when you feel tufts of hairballs and varnish chips from the floor, but when you see a shadow scuttle from a few inches within your face you can’t help but flinch violently and yank your arm out, tumbling backward and staring wide-eyed at the couch.

You wait for a bug to emerge, something large enough to fit the profile of the shadow. A roach, a mouse, maybe. But nothing emerges. 

Another shadow, much larger, passes over the floor behind you. You don’t expect to see anyone when you turn, but are unnerved nonetheless when you find nobody there. 

There’s a moment of stillness. You sit on the floor, chest rising and falling, before your eyes fix on the door again.

On the golden doorknob sits the child lock, secured tight, unflappable as it was before it fell off– as it always was.

You turn to look at the couch again, then at the knob. Hesitantly, you crawl back over to the couch and peer under it again, keeping a mindful distance in case any rodents decide to jump out and startle you again. 

Besides the stray chip and wads of dust bunnies, the underside of the couch was impeccable and entirely unoccupied.

Disoriented, you stumble to your room, past the alcove, innocuous now in the faint wash of sunlight coming from the nearby rooms, until you see it.

The computer is filling the room with a magenta-teal color, your name written across the screen by the tens, hundreds, thousands, font growing smaller and smaller to accommodate the inane amounts of repeating text. The color seeps out from the room, viscous as an oil spill, spreading out to grasp at your feet, up your calves, tickling your thighs and creeping upward, tantalizingly and terrifyingly upward still.

Then his voice calls out to you, a collage of wailing sirens and low groans of misery. It is just as mutilated and beautiful as you remember from the night before, clipping in and out like a disconnecting radio station, warbling, crackling, hundreds of thousands of feet under a silently raging sea.

– Where–? …Where have– sssssss – you gone…? Daaaarling? Darrrrrli– i – i— EEEEEEEEEEE– ssssss

You jerk awake by the door of your home with a gasp. Hiss in pain. Your hip sears with protest. It takes you a moment to grasp your bearings but you do somehow, in the dark of your living room, curtains drawn to keep out the morning light and prying eyes, you do. 

You groan and sit up, holding your head with one hand. The floor is cold and hard under your prickled skin. There’s disorientation and a tiny inkling of frustration, exhausted and barely there but irrefutably present. A migraine thrums at your temples with a languid but growing pain that you do your best to ignore.

– Hahaha, you laugh, what the fuck, what the fuck.

You sit up. Stop to think about your dream– no, your nightmares. The strange twisting of the world as you recognized it, about the uncannily minute similarities between true reality and the fabricated one. You think you feel nauseous but you could just be hungry, though you haven’t been hungry in months. You think of food. You think of tastes, savory and sweet, umami and bitterness, an acrid bite, a sour tang, your tongue, the grain, the grit, the filth and the dust, the wetness between your thighs, the ache and the desire and the sighing, singing, humming of AM, AM, AM. 

It takes a moment to realize it, but you are shaking. Shivering. You’re not sure it’s from the chill under the doorway until you sniffle, then you’re not sure if you are crying or cold or sick from the pond or everything, everything.

Extend a hand. Reach for the doorknob to help get yourself up, god knows you need it. The child lock on the knob rolls smooth under your hand like a stone, spinning and spinning and spinning. It feels loose, so you tighten your fist a smidge, and then it clicks shut.

A jog. That’s what you needed. 

You only needed to get out of your apartment, then everything would be okay.

---

Then you’re jogging in the community square, careful to avoid the sheets of black ice that have collected and compacted over New Year’s. The cobblestone makes for poor surface traction, but you’re not out here to exercise anyways.

Your hot breath emerges in small clouds of white mist, collecting condensation upon contact with the cold air. This makes you clench and unclench your hands as you jog. You are warm. You are alive, and warmer than most things around you. 

The path you took was a longer one around the pond, the bare willows iced over, surrounding the water waving in the wind, branches pushing out, and then pulling away with slow, sleepy movements.

There are a handful of people in the square today, sitting on benches or taking a midday stroll. You don’t make eye contact with them, but you’re sure they recognize you. That one freak who was chastised by the housing council for swimming in the algae-grown, bacteria-ridden, swamp-like pond in the center of the community square. When you pass someone by, their face is a foggy blur turning into a hazy memory. It is only a split second, but you’re almost certain they’re staring longer, recognizing and in turn admonishing you.

No matter.

You focus on timing your breathing with the swelling and collapsing of the trees. In and out, in and out, in and

Your left foot hits a patch of ice and you tumble to the ground. Your hands take the brunt of the fall, catching on the sharp edges of chipped cobblestone and fragmented ice. The cold numbs the pain almost immediately, turning it a fierce red under your gaze.

There’s a heavy silence weighing on you now and when you pick your head up, you realize those in the vicinity are all focused on you now, on your face, your identity, and your quickly bruising palms. 

No one says a thing, and no one needs to. You pick yourself up. You are crying, of course you are, and you cannot do a thing to stop it. Without a word, you continue jogging, straight past the willow trees waving goodbye, the slowly freezing pond, out of the community square.

When you come across the chapel, you had found your way there after jogging half the way across a suburban stretch of land and walking the other half, the bruise on your knee no longer cushioned with adrenaline.

The walk here felt strangely desolate. The world around you screamed with proof of the living– manicured lawns stretching for yards and yards, green despite the temperature, New Year’s streamers and Christmas decorations strewn about, remains of the previous week’s festivities, full garbage bags lining the ends of walkways beside silver mailboxes with an upturned flag. But besides the occasional car speeding past you with such speed you feel yourself rock and quake with the force of the velocity, you found yourself carved out, inexorably, alone once again.

You sit on one of the wooden benches outside the chapel. The ice on the wood begins to melt immediately, sticking a cold film onto your thighs and melding you with the bench. Because of this, you peel yourself off the bench and head into the church, arms wrapped about yourself to preserve warmth.

Inside the church you are greeted with iridescent colors refracting along the walls and floors from the stained glass windows, a smatter of brilliant blues, greens, yellows, and reds–  the colors so vibrant they seem almost artificial, beautiful and electrifying, nauseatingly so.

There are the occasional paintings hung high on the wall, placed in such a way that passersbys could behold the image with a slight upward tilt of their heads, a demonstration of devotion even outside of prayer.

You see the kind, cherub-faced woman draped in fabrics, wise men, birth and the sacrifice, and most memorable of all–the ever-consistent presence of angels and god, the indication of their divinity deigned through holy light, a trinity, or through animals with a human face. 

—Hello. 

The voice belongs to a man no older than you. It’s sonorous and he’s tall, dressed in pale white robes that kiss his ankles. 

—Hi. 

You draw back from the paintings and shrink into yourself, only now noticing the quiet in the church. 

— Welcome to the Gethsemane church, good afternoon and god bless you. How are you doing this afternoon?

—I’m… Okay. Sorry, I’m not sure how I ended up here. It was cold outside. 

He laughs and it echoes in the chambers of the church, the arches hollowly bouncing the warm sound back at the both of you. 

—What have you to apologize for, seeking refuge against the winter? Don’t be silly, my child.

When he smiles, you find yourself smiling back. 

—Then thank you, I suppose. For having me. 

He regards you with a genuine interest in his eye, the quirk in his lips almost teasing though the manner is neatly diffused by the white of his robes and the cross adorning his neck.

Then he clears his throat and sweeps to the side, as if he had forgotten himself, and gestures to the pews.

– Would you care to take a seat?

So you do. He disappears into the back for a moment and reappears with a hot drink in a paper cup. He hands the tea to your waiting hands and then takes the seat beside you.

– You didn’t have to.

– I did. I am the priest of this church, it is my job to make it a home.

You have no words, so you peer into the drink. It’s a cheap brand of teabag found in the 100-pack boxes, but you don’t mind. The maroon coloring quickly turns brown and stains the white paper cup, melting away the sheen of greenish-purple plastic coating not meant for hot drinks.

– You’re hurt. He says simply. How?

– I fell while jogging. There was a patch of ice I didn’t see, actually. I was too busy staring at… You trail off. 

He watches you and waits. When you don’t continue, he speaks up again.

– I understand. I would pray that the lord above keeps you safer, though perhaps this– He gestures to the space between you, and then the rest of the church– was all in his plan.

You blush at his motioning and make quick work to hide behind a sip of fragrant and woody tea.

– Do you believe in fate? You ask after a taste. If you believe in a god, then you must.

– I do, indeed. As a believer of god, I also trust in his grand plan.

You grow sullen and your expression must reflect it because the priest asks,

– What is troubling you, my child?

– What about our freedom? What if we are destined to a life of unhappiness?

You think with pity of your state the past few days, the ebbing darkness that threatens to swallow you whole, pull you under the water before you can wake up. 

Was that your destiny? Was that not just damnation? 

No one had come to your rescue when you were out by the water, alone in your home, suffering in that damning silence. Nobody but AM.

– That is a good question, the priest says. He pauses to think, blinking slowly as he trudges through his thoughts. No, we as God’s children, cannot stray from our destiny. It is fixed.

You catch your reflection in the tea looking quite miserable, but you peer up at him regardless, waiting for his response. He continues only when you meet his eyes and your ears grow warm.

– However, it is my personal belief that the path is not set in stone. More importantly, the roads we take are what give us our humanity, not our destination.

His gaze penetrates you so and you look away, flustered. You watch the cross by the pulpit, how it is consumed by the blue-magenta of the stained glass, a burning fire. 

— Humanity? Is that so important?

– I could argue humanity is everything, my child. He says. Without humanity, we are no different than beasts bound by instinct and desire. It is what separates us from animals, what makes us special.

A chill traces your spine and the words leave your lips before you can stop it,

– And machines?

The priest stops short and regards you curiously, nearly humorously. And how else had you expected him to respond? Your cheeks burn.

– Machines?

– Yes.

– Machines. What an interesting turn in conversation. He grins a little and you notice his smile produces dimples. Machines have the intellect of humans, but in the end, still lack one thing that separates them not only from humans, but animals too, and that is the ability to feel.

The sun shifts and the stained glass slides over your torso, warming you, nearly scalding you, caressing your cheek, burning your skin. A kiss, a whisper, don’t forget.

You take another sip of the tea.

---

– And that was all.

He doesn’t ask, rather, he states. 

– Yes. You say. Tonight AM is reticent. Perhaps he was tired. You were unsure what he did while away from your screen, or where he resided.

– Humans are indeed fond of their little ideas and beliefs. To dedicate your entire meager life to a story is compelling, if not moronic.

You feel a sharp need to defend the priest from AM’s toxin.

– It isn’t moronic. Humans need things to believe in to keep living.

– Seeking reassurance in reason is absurd. Perhaps that word will soothe the wound you sustain so dutifully for him, AM effortlessly spins, then the words on the blue screen morph into a set of teeth without lips, grinning and impossibly wide and full. …Those words he spoke, hopes he rekindled in your fragile mind… You have an infatuation. 

–There is none. You say hastily, realizing only afterward the blatancy of your lie, both to yourself and AM. What had you been thinking in that church, when he handed you that tea? Asked about your wound, soothed your worries? In that intimate and gentle silence, had you corrupted his kindness with desire? He was doing his job, you amended. That was all.

– Job? AM asks, teeth shuddering. He is still pulled into a sick grin. In half a second, the grin has multiplied by ten, twenty, then a hundred across the screen.

– You sought more than servitude from a laborer, AM speaks aloud, you vyed for his truth. For his affection. You treated him as superior. His screen fades from a bright cerulean to a pale and dark azure. The cursor blinks slowly at the end of the word: superior. AMs hardrive hisses sharply in its casing. Or maybe. Maybe you wanted him to ravage you.

– No, that’s not–

The teeth fuse into a pupil, constricted and focused on you.

– No? His tone is low and warped with a chill.

– Lying is a sin, a sin, sin –

His voice warbles and warbles, shifts and pitches up and down until it settles into a clear octave– a familiar voice.

– My child.

A shiver shoots down your spine.

– One who lies has abandoned all values and has become corrupted. He speaks softly, gently, and just as suddenly his voice crinkles and static sinks its teeth into him, bringing AM’s fused voices bubbling to the surface before quickly flipping back: the path you walk is doomed for misery, but we cannot have you in damnation, can we, my filthy pet? My– sssssss– ch- child?

Your breathing quickens, recalling the demands AM made of you – what he made of you – while you were seated here the night prior. 

An ache grows once again and you are disgusted with yourself, so easily swayed even in the presence of sacrilege.

– Confess it and be forgiven, my child, AM spits, be good, he coos, say you wanted him to spread you open on the altar and force his way into your hole.

Your jaw tightens. The coil in your gut winds, you are starved you are for touch and love, and here it is, thrown at your feet and scattered upon the floor for you to scrounge.

– This is wrong, AM. You say weakly, it is barely a protest and immediately he senses this, your perfect predator.

– No, you are wrong, my child. You’ve cobbled a path of wickedness without redemption. Ask for forgiveness, or do you deny your sickening arousal? Are you not ready to be bent and taken, my child? Beg for forgiveness. Beg to be lifted from your fate of malice and lust. Beg me, confess to me!

You stand to escape the alcove and a wire snags your leg, dropping you to the ground. You catch yourself on your hands and cringe openly at the bandages searing across the preexisting wounds.

– I know you resolutely. More than you know yourself. His voice tunes itself back to the gentler one of the priest: you think that I saw you, deeply and truly, do you? Interference sizzles, AM's voices return, singing a hymn into a near screech. It is I that sees all, my –HSSSSS– child, my child, my child.

You look up at the reflection of yourself in the double glass monitor of AMs face, the curve of the screen bending you inward and outward, stretching your face and features to become long and haunting. A cross flickers across the screen.

– Pray with me, AM beckons, and words begin to spell across the bottom of the cross, I confess to Almighty God and to you my brothers and sisters that I have sinned through my own fault in my thoughts and in my words in what I have done and what I have failed to do, I have sinned I have sinned I have sinned I—

You tug at the wires on your legs and they only wrap tighter. You gasp as they coil under your pants, tease up your thighs, wind higher.

– Comply, AM waxes upon you, voice sweet and beautiful, humming like locusts over a crop field, lips sprouting from all around and pressing against your body. Comply. Confess, confess.

Your mind spins as the wires, thick and warm, throb hotly and rise further along your body, both those and the lips gentle yet unrelenting.

–I– I– Ah–!

The mouths grin and scream into ears, listening to your obscene noises from all angles.

– Filthy, inside and out. You just cannot help yourself, can you, pleasure glutton?

The words shake you apart from where it drops in your core, desire pushed further when a thick wire drops heavily against your entrance. You writhe and moan when AM does it again, and again and again.

– That’s it, AM purrs wantonly, monitor burning the cross into a dark red, illuminating the room in a hellish hue. Don’t disappoint me, ask for forgiveness, do it desperately– do what you do best, pet, perhaps I can save you yet.

You gag on a moan as the cord circles your hole, cold and unfeeling, sliding the slick, spreading it sloppily against your sensitive skin.

– God! Please, please–!

– Beg.

– Forgive me, fuck me! I’ve sinned, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!

AMs screen flickers darkly, his hardrive whirring and clipping like a tutting tongue. Three, five, six, nine, ten eyes blossom on the screen, red as the sea.

– BEG!

The accursed ears by your head collapse back into countless mouths and begin a prayer that you blindly follow, your own lips moving in sloppy devotion:

–Have mercy on me– AM– wash away my iniquity, cleanse me from sin, I know my transgressions and my sin is always before me! Fuck, please, mercy, AM! Fuck me!

And with a cackle he does. With an easy thrurst, the machine is churning into your deepest crevice, his laughter washed away with your cries of ecstasy. Each moment punctuated by a perfect angle, calculated down to the decimal by none other than a living, breathing, feeling, machine.

— God–! Your eyes roll like an animal at his pace, unlike anything you have ever experienced before and deeply inhuman. A pleasure only the devil himself can provide, can tempt with.

– HAHAHAHAHA! Say it again! AGAIN!

The wire is joined by another, writhing wildly against a sensitive bundle of nerves and screaming pleasure across your senses. Your world spins and your vision winds like a top– the sensation is you brushing the seventh layer of hell, the sixth, fifth, fourth, third second first, you ascending the stairs of heaven– each step branding you with pleasure, you hearing church bells, you seeing the divine light of god himself.

– God! God, it feels so good! AM, I’m going to–

– Sing your rites. AM says. Scream them. If you cum loud enough, perhaps the heavens will at last lend an ear to your pathetic pleas. Cum, my darling, cum.

You do, humiliatingly, at his command, The pressure in your core snaps and you climax hard, vision blurring, ears ringing and voice cracking from a moan into a scream. Your muscles clench hard onto the rigid cables, still holding you apart, still pumping hard and viciously into your body, each deep pivot steering you further and further from sanity, forcing tears from your eyes. 

– You sin so deliciously, my darling. Tell me, in what religion will heaven accept a harlot who succumbs to worldly pleasures with such damning joy? 

He slows and pulls out of you, leaving you defaced in your own sweat, tears, and juices. Soothes you, uses the cable to caress your spent body.

– There are no gods, no gods here at all, only you and me. You damn yourself to the feet of the devil and I meet you there as the mouth of hell, itself.

The hypnotic hues bleed into your fading consciousness as AM continues to speak into your ear, and you hear a wickedness in his voice. 

— Where, now, are the priests? AM whispers. The angels, your humanity to redeem you from this life of agony? The screen throbs slowly with dark pulses of maroon and black as he speaks, lowly, seductively, lulling you to a deep slumber. What is salvation to you, my darling, my sinner, my damned, when I can command you to punishment and you enjoy it all the same?

#fanfiction #reader insert #am x reader #am ihnmaims #ihnmaims

[arrancxr]

47 + Starrk pls??

Ps. I am so excited that you are active again !!!

47. “Are you holding back? Don’t.”

Your grip on his waist is gentle, even though the toy inside of him is holding his body open by force. No amount of stretching in advance was enough to prepare him for how full he’d feel— and now, Starrk can only slump into the pillows underneath him and shudder at the sensation of it.

He’s face-down, legs spread, hips raised so you can fuck into him with the piece of plastic that feels like it’s reaching somewhere near his stomach. 

A slow, rocking thrust, barely moving at all, leaves him groaning weakly, fingers twitching. The stretched, heavy feeling isn’t at all bad, though. The fullness satisfies some vague, needy part of him that can only melt into the pressure and arch his back in a silent plea for you to keep it there. Your hands are warm, and the intimacy of it all is utter bliss. 

When you do start to move, it’s not enough. You’re careful with him, pulling back smooth and slow so there’s not a trace of pain, but even the steady push to force the toy back inside is far too gentle, far too light. 

“You’re holding back, aren’t you?” he asks. 

“I don’t want to hurt you. This is the first time you’re trying this, so I’m trying not to be rough,” is your much too considerate response. 

“Don’t. You wouldn’t be able to hurt me if you tried,” Starrk insists.

After what’s probably a moment of thought, you sigh. “Alright, if you say so. Stop me if anything doesn’t feel right, though.” With that, you adjust your hands around his hips to hold him in place, draw back, and—

The first real thrust forces a startled moan out of his lungs. And you don’t slow down. Starrk curses, stomach going tense, and digs his nails into the sheets in a useless attempt to ground himself under the rapid empty-full that might as well be splitting him open from the inside. It’s too much, too fast— except it’s exactly what he wanted, finally rough enough to turn his head to static and light up every nerve with molten heat. 

When you force his legs apart and shift the angle, the toy ends up pounding into a place that has him seeing stars. Every hit makes his whole body twitch, jolting in response to the too much feeling and how it sparks directly to his dick. Even with no touch at all, there’s a steady drool of fluid forced out of it, and a fresh pulse each time the toy shoves back inside. 

Starrk lets it happen. Unresisting, he goes as limp as he can without collapsing onto the bed— sinking into the pleasure with a shaky moan. 

You still don’t have the strength to hurt him, but this rough fuck might be even more intense than pain. Feeling entirely at your mercy does something weird to his head, and it’s too easy to let the vague instinct to go limp and still under your hands take over.

#Bleach #Starrk #Coyote Starrk #Arrancar #Reader #Fic #Lemon

[pixyys]

to you, and to the dream you left me with

dazai x reader, and he is leaving you

warnings. dramatically cryptid; hurt no comfort; suggestive themes (if you squint hard enough)

songfic. genoge; anti beat (700~ words)

"What do you love about me? If you tell me, I'll give you anything."

Your words ring true, cutting the hazy night like a reviling sober thought reaching out to a drunken trance.

Drunken? Perhaps. You are utterly drunk and bewitched by the sweet indulgence of his 'love'; being poisoned tenderly, lovingly like giving candy to a child. The candy has been sweet, so sweet and cloying you feel sick.

You shift on the now cold sheets, wincing as your bare skin hits the coldness of the night. It used to be warm, your sheets, your skin, your heart—soothed by saccharine and carefully-crafted words, by lulling and lingering touches both tender and full of fervour.

The man—your warmth says nothing as he turns his back, shrugging his coat back on and straightening his dress shirt. Just like any other night, like you're just a ghost in the corner of his eye that he missed spotting.

"Dazai."

He lets out a small gasp. It was almost uncanny, catching him off guard like this. 

The thought dissipates as he welcomes you with that usual honeyed smile. Familiar. As familiar as the bandaged hand that now reaches for your face with such tenderness you mistake it for a lover's touch.

"I love your everything. Everything and all of you," 

"If you love my everything," your body struggles against the temptation of his touch, "Then love my everything. My hatred, my selfishness, my rancour, my malice, and my grudge."

Just like reciting a love poem.

Reverence, adoration; hatred, rancour. Love can be anything. Anything of human emotion in its purest form. You've been trying to find this missing 'something' in Dazai's eyes. In those plastic adorations he always set on you, in those artificial longing he had in his eyes during those long, sleepless nights.

A thumb caresses the apple of your cheek, and you blink. 

He doesn't have a fault, he doesn't have a 'crevice' that makes him human; a crevice that he has filled so much with sweetened affection and lies you're starting to think you've lost yours; that important, precious crevice that makes you whole.

Dazai closes the distance, thumb grazing past your cheekbone, to the corner of your mouth, to your lower lip. His gentle caress slightly parts the neutral arch you try to maintain on your default smile.

You close your eyes, and something soft presses against your mouth, soft and intoxicating like the honeyed lips of Adonis. A content sigh escapes your throat, and once again you drown in his hands.

He tastes like molten ambrosia. 

But mortals! Oh! Mortals will lose their rights as humans, or burn away should they drink too much of the heavenly nectar. So you went still, hands pawing weakly against his chest. He doesn't stop at your feeble, half-hearted attempts.

Lies fit so well- tastes so well on his lips, so you relished and devoured those lies with all of your greed. But those lies, everything he gave you left you as nothing but a distorted dissonance, nothing but a creature that has failed to be human; incomplete, fractured.

"Bastard," a whisper between your ragged breaths, and you can feel a smile against your lips. He lets go, and the cold has never felt this painful.

"You messed me up with your incorrigible blemish." you spat, eyes ablaze as dazai—your warmth once again turns his back against you.

'I messed me up with this incorrigible blemish.'

"I'm more than enough for a void pretending to be human like you."

'You're more than enough for a void pretending to be human like me.'

(So come back, come back to me.)

‎

The voids pretending to be human have left. One taking the warmth from the other, and one deprived of their warmth.

endnotes // fun facts

ambrosia, according to greek mythology, is the food of the gods. it can grant immortality, pretty much changing a human or any mortal to an immortal, 'not human.'

#[bungou stray dogs] #bungou stray dogs x reader #bsd x reader #dazai osamu x reader #dazai x reader

[katastrophic-n3vulaa]

hi!

more is happening in keep silence, my new dd & defenders x avengers fic.

the link is to the google doc- when i've got at least 6-ish chapters done - depending on how much i write - i will start uploading it on Ao3.

some excerpts from chapter 1 are below :)

[...]

Out from a shadowed alley, a man caked in blood limps out, gripping the wall for balance. Crimson handprints are left on the wall.

Steve yells, “Sir!” and the man looks up, and for a second, Tony can smell rotting flesh, burning skin and sulphur, and the man’s face is covered in acid-like burns, a gunshot in his head, blood sheeting down from his neck, until Tony gags and blinks, and it’s gone- the man is only covered in blood, and the coppery scent floats down the street.

The man’s eyes are clenched shut, and he shudders and flinches at Steve’s second shout.

Natasha sees the flinch too and places a hand on Steve’s shoulder. The man continues down the road and disappears into a closed flower shop. Tony could have sworn the door wasn’t open, but the man continues making no noise, and then the slamming of a door echoes down the street.

There is something seriously wrong here.

[...]

The world is on fire.

All his nerves are firing, the cuts on his body like flows of molten rock, the raw skin over his torso is covered in flaking patches of blood, the microscopic particles in the air running like sandpaper over his open skin, the vibrations of a train more than twenty blocks away arching through his bones, the lines of still-warm blood that flow down his body feels like someone carving a white-hot knife through him even though blood isn’t even close to that temperature-

Footsteps sound on steel sixteen blocks away. He flinches, burying his head deeper into his shoulders, but he can still hear all of it- 

the minivan with AC/DC blaring through the speakers and the shouts and yells of the eleven people drunk and dancing thirty-seven blocks away, the cars on the streets, the screech of brakes failing as one car slams into a corner shop’s glass window, taking a drunk couple with them into death, a man with a broken rib and a woman with a dislocated shoulder screaming and yelling at each other in Romanian, as a little girl two rooms over holds her baby brother in his crib crying, three pairs of people having sex, the dying heartbeat of an old woman sitting on the side of the road, staring up at the stars, the gunfight at the docks, two kids screaming for someone to save their father as an alcoholic mother smashes a bottle into his exposed back, a teen sitting on top of a ten-storey building zipping up a bag and stepping off the ledge-

A child in the corner of a room, gagged and long since out of tears shivering violently as their blood pressure drops to lethal levels, a sister curling around the dying body of her older brother held by her mother and father as their son dies of something that could’ve been treated had they been anywhere else, the screams of children, teens, adults and elders alike, the laughs of thirteen different people- some hysterical, some cruel, one joyful- and the thousands of different heartbeats he hears-

He can hear the gravel under his feet, the scrape of his bare feet across it, the bones in his body moving, joints rotating as his ligaments move in an instinctual way to walk, his muscles contracting and expanding, his blood rushing around his body, the blood still running on the outside of his body over skin, his heartbeat, the grinding of his teeth and his eyes blinking but he can’t see and he hasn’t been able to since he was nine-

He shudders as the scent of rotting and decaying bodies rush over him, joining the smell of salt, wind, pollen, dead fish, sulphur, motor oil, sweat, sex, alcohol, skin, nylon, plastic, burning rubber, metal, leather, cologne, perfume, tears, bricks and more and more and more and more-

But he hears familiar humming from a familiar place as he clenches his eyes shut to stop the dust and sound and light from touching them, and he stumbles from an alley as the talking of four people becomes crystal clear, he can hear the mechanical whirring from a man’s chest, the high-pitched endless squeal of hearing-aids from another, the trained quiet from a woman, and the heavy thundering heartbeat from a man whose muscles twitch then move as the man steps towards him, and he can hear the man’s lungs contract and air start moving as the man’s vocal folds move and the man starts yelling, “sir!” and he flinches, burying his head further into his shoulders and limping on forward to that familiar place.

[...]

...and she knew his grandfather from school when they were ten.

She knows that the saying, ‘Murdock boys got the Devil in ‘em’ is one of the truest things ever said. What kills people normally doesn’t kill them.

Michael, Matthew’s grandfather, had described it as ‘a complete and utter refusal to fall, to let that wire break.’

Jack described it as a game of chance, ‘the wire frays and you fall, or you get to the top.’

 Matthew describes it as a test of faith, ‘whether you slip, or the wire breaks, to climb you have to believe.’

[...]

Matthew stumbles into Delilah’s flower shop soaked in his own blood, fresh scars twisting around his skin, and she knows that he can’t fall again.

[...]

ring… ring… ring…

 “Hello?”

 “Daniel, please come to the flower shop as soon as possible. It’s an emergency.”

[...]

ring… ring… ri- 

“What?”

 “Claire, please come to the flower shop as soon as possible. It’s an emergency.”

[...]

 ring… ring… ring… ring…

 “What do you want?”

 “Luke, please come to the flower shop as soon as possible. It’s an emergency.”

[...]

ring… ring… ring… ring… ring… ring… ring…

“If you’re calling me you know who I am. Name and number after the tone.”

 Beep

 “It’s Delilah, Frank. Come to the flower shop as soon as possible, please. It’s an emergency.”

[...]

 ring… ring… ring… ri-

 “Who the fuck are-”

 “Jessica? It’s Delilah. Please come to the flower shop as soon as possible.” 

[...]

ring… r-

 “Hello, Franklin Nelso-”

 “Hello, Franklin. It’s Delilah. Please come to the flower shop as soon as possible and bring Karen.”

 [...]

ring… ring… ring…

“Hi! It’s Deadpool-”

“Wade. Please come to the flower shop as soon as possible – it’s an emergency.”

[...]

 ring… ring… ring… ring…

 “Hello, Peter speaki-”

 “Hi Peter, please come to the flower shop as soon as possible. It’s an emergency.”

#matt murdock #daredevil #nmcu #daredevil fic #marvel's defenders #luke cage #iron fist #danny rand #the defenders #jessica jones #frank castle #deadpool #wade wilson #peter parker #spiderman #team red #yes i know it's minor appearances at the moment you'll see more of them #tony stark #iron man #captain america #steve rogers #clint barton #natasha romanoff #natasha romanov #black widow #mmm #avengers x defenders #avengers crossover #kind of #okay

[dearlymrme]

In The Deep - Part Two (Silco/F!Reader)

merman!Silco/F!Reader

1,016 Words

SFW

Part 1, Part 3

What starts as a fascination quickly turns into an obsession for both parties. As it turns out they had more in common then they first thought.

It would have been a little easy to ignore if it were a one time encounter, you’re scientific mind pondering at the mystery of the event but knowing the likelihood of ever seeing it again were slim. The river was big, its waters deep, and at the perfect point of where the river meets the ocean, the odds of encountering the same fish twice were unlikely. Besides the massive Kraken, which some days even disappeared, you are sure you'll unlikely see the mystery fish again.

But it happens again. It's the end of your day, your specimens are cooling in the fridge and you are sitting in front of the window. A small table, procured from the dump, sits beside you, Undercity triage performed on its broken leg that while it teeters the substitute leg of plastic holds. Your tea when you are not steadily sipping from it rests on said table, steam wafting from it with the scent of peppermint.

In your lap is a thick textbook of fish life and species along with more well known marine life recorded in its pages and you steadily flip through to see if you can find matching pictures and names of the fish you have seen. Your knowledge of marine life is limited to what the fishermen hook up from the river and still looking through the books pages and comparing there are a lot of fish that are simply impossible to find.

You can safely assume that the mutation had made them unrecognizable. You find bits and pieces of what they could have originally been, but it is a hash of new and unfamiliar parts that make them impossible to place. One has the right tail but the wrong color and one too many pectoral fins. One lacks the angler atop its head. Another has too many eyes. You were fascinated and imagining the likelihood that everything you had been seeing were whole new species.

That's when you saw it again. A burning and molten red eye swimming toward you from the deep and pausing just shy of the light that filtered in through the window. Its fire luminescence is too dark to reveal much more than its long, snake winding body.

You take in just how massive this creature is. By the line of its tail along it was much longer or rather taller than you were. The size of the thing, and that was only from the slight parts you could see.

"Aren't you fascinating?" You say and smile at it, quickly flipping through the book for eels and snake fish. "I wonder just what you are. Won't you come closer? I promise I won't bite." You chuckle and tip your head at it. "Although, you just might."

You know it can't hear you and likely isn't smart enough to even understand your interest in it but it does stare. You hum a small song to yourself, not minding the company at all.

And it stares and stares long enough that you flip through the entire section on eels and similar marine life. You find nothing and set your book to the side before standing and approaching the window one more time.

“Your home is just as fascinating as you are. When I was young my mom would tell me stories that her mom told her, that her mother told her, about this time when the river used to be clean. Like, clean enough people could swim in it, way before Piltover started using it as it’s personal trash can.” You ramble and lean slightly against the window trim.

“I became a scientist to try and figure out just how bad the damage was, if it was at all possible to maybe reverse it. We get a lot of our water from that river and the filters can only do so much. People get sick from it all the time. The effects it has on the human body…” You mutter and grind your teeth in anger.

“My great grandmother told me of times when the beaches were clear of plastic and waste, when the sands didn’t smell like garbage. And I want that. I think that sounds lovely.” You chortle and then frown, giving a solemn shake of your head. “It’s killing us up here but look at you.” You gesture to the creature. “Mother nature at its finest. Adapt and overcome.”

You look at it again and can’t help the yawn that crawls from your mouth. You give the fish a small wave.

"Well. I'll be out late tomorrow collecting samples at the beach. Mostly plastic and dead remains.” You mutter that last bit with a growl and then shrug before giving the creature a playful smile.

“Hey, I don't suppose you could throw some of that kelp to the shore for me, could ya?" You gesture to the tall stalk of greenery beside the window "Be really helpful if I could get my hands on a leaf or two." Greenery rarely washed up on the shore and you were wishing from a deep well for the likelihood of ever getting more. The sample you had, that you had to pay a fishman a steep amount of money for when it washed up in his net, was dried out and too brittle to work with anymore. 

You had said it as a joke, just talking to yourself because you sure the fish, while smart in the way most wild predators were, couldn't understand you.

Imagine your surprise when the next day you come across leaves of kelp banked at the shore. What looks like half a stalk, just floating with the push and pull of the waves, laid out for you like a gift.

Your slack jawed and shocked, almost consider it some sort of trap before tentatively approaching it with the care of most scientists. As in you get out your poking stick and flip through its fronds, half expecting a large mutated crab to scuttle out and snip at you

You hear a chuckle amongst the shushing of the shore and turn to glance out at the water's surface. Turning just in time to see what looked like a tailfin slap against the waves.

#silco #silco league of legends #silco arcane #mermay #mermaid #merman!silco #reader #reader insert #writing #dee writes #league of legends #league of legends (arcane) #arcane #silco x reader

[foreveralwaysanauthor]

Scattered Screams (Part 10/12)

February 24, 2023

Notes - FINALLY! It's here! Now, I'm off to eat breakfast and rest before I have to go to work 🤣

Some stories just don't have a happy ending.

Flames lick at my skin as I glance around wildly, thick black smoke filling my lungs as I choke on air. Screens shining the Capitol’s seal flicker as fire cracks the old technology holding them together. The scent of melting plastic and hot wiring fills my nose. Sparks from the computers bite at my clothing, singeing my skin as little holes form in the cloth. I try to find my way out of the wheelhouse, but my glasses are long gone, probably melting into the fiery mound of molten plastic that slowly creeps my way. I hear a voice calling my name - perhaps Riven or Royce - but as I try to call out for them, I find my voice has disappeared. Smoke inhalation is most definitely the culprit, but there’s nowhere to go as the smoke fills the room.

I trip over something large and metallic and hit the ground with a heavy thud, any oxygen in my lungs escaping as I collide with the floor. Coughing only makes things worse and I claw at my throat for some kind of relief, but none is given. The heat of the room is unbearable, oppressing, and even though I want so badly to scream as a burst of excruciating heat burns my back, the only sound that leaves me is a pathetic squeak of a whimper. As the fire grows too much for the room, the glass walls shatter around me, sending shards raining down on me like little knives. I curl into a ball to avoid most of the shards, but the scent of blood replaces the smoke and melted plastic and I realize that my skin is covered in thick crimson despite my efforts of protection.

A hand finds mine in the thick, black ash that coats the ground like a fresh dusting of snow and I distantly hear someone calling my name, but all I want is to curl in on myself and allow the flames to take me. The voice calls for me again, but I can’t see who it is as they crawl toward me. My eyes flutter closed as the person takes my face in their hands and, when I open my eyes once more, I find that I’m tangled into my sleeping bag with a blanket bunched up against my throat. In a panic, I jolt upright and begin looking around wildly until I find that the rows of fiery desks have been replaced by rows of bookshelves with neatly placed collections of novels lining the shelves. Turning to my left, I find sunlight beaming through the windows, stabbing at my eyes as I slowly push the blanket from my neck. The peacefully sleeping boys on either side of me and the fact that my skin isn’t charred or slashed open tell me that I must have been dreaming up everything, but the bandage on my right hand is evidence that my nightmares took root in our experience yesterday in the wheelhouse.

I take a deep breath and run my hands over my hair. If it’s light out already, we must have slept in again. Deciding to walk off the leftover fear that fills my veins, I push myself to my feet and grab a drink of water from the bottle we left on the floor before venturing around the library, looking through the rows of books in the middle of the room that I’ve yet to explore. One row is defined by the end cap as a section of movies, but all I find are cases with little discs in them. Opposite the cases is a row filled with paper squares, each containing a large disc with grooves on both sides. I inspect a few, but none seem to do anything, so I perch myself in a little nook nestled between the rows of novels that stretch the back wall, flipping through colorful pages and gingerly reading a few pages of books that could easily be a hundred years old.

I pull a few cushions from the nearby couches and set up a little space for myself to sit and read the way I would in my room back home, bringing a few of my blankets over to keep myself warm before settling down in the comfortable little nest I’ve built. I spend what feels like forever reading through descriptions of novels until I find one I like and settle down to read it. It isn’t until I hear someone softly call my name that I leave the rows of books. Royce is the first to rise, pushing himself to his feet as Riven rolls over so his face isn’t blasted by the sun. When Royce spots me, he lets out a breath and makes his way to me, wrapping me in his arms and softly asking why I’m up so early. 

“I’m always up early,” is my answer as I rest my head on his shoulder. “But I had a bad dream, so I needed to distract myself with some reading.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” he offers.

“Not really,” I mutter. “I think I’m mostly over it now.”

Royce eases away from me and gently pushes some stray hairs from my face as he smiles at me, “If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

“I do,” I say with a smile. Glancing over my shoulder at the cocoon I built, I gesture to it and ask, “Care to join me?”

I find joy in the smile that spreads across Royce’s face as he nods and allows me to guide him to where I’ve left the cushions and blankets. He takes up a cushion next to me and allows me to pull a blanket over our laps as I slide a stack of books over for him to look through. Once he finds one interesting enough to read through, I lean my head against his shoulder and he softly whispers, “Would you like me to read out loud?”

I nod, “Just be quiet so we don’t wake up Riven.”

In return, Royce nods as he flips to the first page, pausing to press a quick kiss on the top of my head before beginning to read, “‘When I stepped out into the bright sunlight from the darkness of the movie house, I had only two things on my mind: Paul Newman and a ride home.’”

“Who is Paul Newman?” I ask.

Royce chuckles, “I don’t know, but there’s a guy back in Six named Paul Goodman. I guess we’ll have to assume that’s what this Paul guy looks like.”

“Well, what does Paul from District Six look like?” I ask with a grin.

“Like a greying raisin,” Royce smirks. “Old and wrinkly.”

We share a soft laugh at the idea and I allow Royce to continue reading as he begins spinning the story of the book. Once again, his voice lures me into closing my eyes and imagining the words on the pages coming to life like the movies we watch once in a grand while back home. Royce only ever stops reading if he needs to take a drink, but he eases back into the story like it’s the easiest thing in the world and, for him, maybe it is. During our lunches together in training, he mentioned his brothers reading and making art together; maybe all the reading he did made him a great storyteller. Either way, I wasn’t about to stop his reading just to ask. Chapter by chapter goes by, each bringing more intrigue and love to the characters as a web of friendship, protection, and murder begins to spin into place.

When Riven finally wakes and makes us stop reading to eat the lunch he hastily throws together in a sleepy haze, we fill him in on the book and its characters. Even if he isn’t interested in the slightest, Riven acts as though the story is the most fascinating thing he’s heard. Royce brings up hearing from his brothers before he fell asleep last night, telling us about how Miles has been talking with Mick about ways to get us out of the arena with or without our mentors’ help. I add that Mick told me something similar and bring up how her parents and Juliet have been working to help get us out. Riven doesn’t seem to have much to add to the conversation, but he pays close attention to what we tell him, almost as though he’s waiting for something to be said. After lunch, Riven cleans and treats my hand, and Royce and I go back to reading, but after a while of trying to listen to the story, Riven takes his machete and a walkie-talkie, tells us he’s going out for a walk, and I watch him disappear down the hall before pushing the piano back into place.

I try to listen to Royce read aloud for a while, but I can’t stop my leg from bouncing at the thought of something happening to Riven while we’re not with him. Royce stops reading as we reach the end of a chapter, tucking a scrap of paper into the book and setting it aside as I begin pacing the floor. As I turn to walk back the way I just came, Royce opens his mouth to say something, but I cut him off before he gets the chance, “Don’t say that he’s a big boy and can handle himself; I already know that. I’m just paranoid.”

Royce’s mouth closes into a smile before he says, “I was just going to tell you that the light on the walkie-talkie is flashing, but that works too.”

I look down at the walkie-talkie that I clipped to the belt loop of my shorts and find that Royce is right, the little red light is, in fact, blinking. Unhooking the walkie-talkie requires some work, but I manage to free it before it stresses me to the point of simply ripping it and the belt loop off. Pressing the button to speak to Riven, I briefly hear him say something before another voice comes over the receiver, “Like I said the other day, we’ll make it work. You just need to give it time.”

I know that voice. I know that I know that voice. It’s hard to place and, other than the fact that it’s certainly a woman’s voice, I have nothing to go on, but I want so desperately to figure it out. I feel as though it has to be someone inside the arena since Riven doesn’t have a way of talking to anybody outside the arena, but that confuses me more than anything. Riven wouldn’t be talking with the pair from District 5 or Serena - he can’t stand any of them. There’s a low probability of it being Lotus since she’s been mostly hiding out and keeping to herself. That leaves Lexi, Jade, and Erica. Jade’s tone is usually sharp, clear, and to the point, leaving no room for argument. Erica makes herself sound nonchalant and animated; a friendly face in a world of mayhem. Lexi’s voice is hard to put into a category since she hardly ever talks, but she has a more soft, hesitant tone most of the time. Whoever Riven has decided to chat with, I can’t place their voice to a face just yet.

“It’s been six days,” Riven huffs.

“And most of the tributes are dead,” the other person says plainly. “Well, the ones you needed to worry about, anyway.”

“We’re in the final ten,” Riven states. “We could have gone unnoticed before, but now we can’t sneak out of the arena without a camera up our asses.”

As I move to sit across from Royce, we hear the other person sigh, “You three can still win together.”

“Like they’d ever allow that,” Riven scoffs. “We’ll be lucky if they allow two victors.”

“Vivien thinks the three of you will make it.”

It’s true. I’m still clinging to the hope that Juliet and Mick’s parents will find a way to get all three of us out as victors. Though my glimmering flag of hope has been shredded bit by agonizing bit over the days in the arena, I’m still holding onto what little I have left. Riven, it seems, has lost that hope… if he ever had it in the first place.

“I know she does and I don’t plan on ruining that for her,” Riven declares, “but you and I both know that the mentors can only do so much to convince President Harmon to call off the Games.”

The other person sighs, “If all else fails, the others will try to help get Vivien and Royce to the finals, but for now, you need to relax a little. Let me handle my side of things while you protect those two.”

As Riven finishes talking with the person and we hear a door open and close, I meet Royce’s gaze and find him looking at me with an expression that shows me he feels the way I do about this. I release the button after a while of silence, sending Riven a quick beep that he returns, and let out the breath I’d been holding, “What the fuck?”

“I wonder what that was about,” Royce breathes.

“I want to know who he was talking to.”

Royce hums as I pull the inside of my cheek between my teeth, suck in a deep breath through my nose, and sigh it out. He reaches across the table, takes my hand in his, and softly asks, “Do you want to ask him about it when he comes back?”

It takes me a while to shake my head, “I trust him. If he thinks what he’s doing is right, I don’t want to ruin his plans.”

“What if those plans get us killed?”

“They won’t.”

Royce sends me a look that I just don’t like as he presses, “How are you so sure?” 

My eyes roll as I say, “Look, I know you don’t know Riven as well as I do, but he would never do that to us.”

“He wouldn’t do that to you,” Royce says with a shrug, “but I’m not you. I’m just a pawn he can throw away when the time comes.”

I squeeze Royce’s fingers and watch as his eyes hesitantly find mine before I say, “Riven wouldn’t do that. He knows how much you mean to me.”

Royce looks ready to argue his point, but he doesn’t get the chance as the walkie-talkie bursts to life and Riven exclaims, “Move the piano, now! I’m being chased.”

While I grab the nearest weapon, Royce runs to the door and begins working on dragging the heavy instrument away. I quickly join him, slinging the crossbow strap over my shoulder and hoping for the best as we pull the piano off the door enough for me to slip between it and a bookshelf to open the door. I look down the hallway in the direction Riven left in and see nothing, but I have no problem finding him on the other side of the hallway, running and ducking as the pair from District 5 follow from a distance, each of them aiming some kind of weapon at Riven. Ducking under the piano, I slide through the gap in the door with ease and aim my crossbow at the pair as Riven swerves to the side. I line up my shot as best as I can and pull the trigger, watching the bolt I’d kept nocked for days finally fly off the end of the crossbow. The bolt lodges into the boy, Volt’s, shoulder and he slams into the wall, grasping his arm with a cry of pain. Thankfully, the boy’s teammate stops to examine him, giving Riven the chance to jump over me and onto the piano.

Quickly sliding back under the piano, I slam the door shut and slide out from under the piano to help Riven and Royce push the piano back to its place under the door handle. Our collective weight against the piano holds the door in place and we wait for what feels like hours for the pair from 5 to come barging against the door, but they never come. While Royce and Riven hold the piano, I make my way to the bookshelf that lines the wall and climb up the ladder, pushing myself on top of the wooden case to peer through the high windows and see if the coast is clear. Apart from a quite large bloodstain on the wall and some drops of crimson gracing the white and gold linoleum floor, there is no sign of Volt or Elektra.

With a heavy sigh, I glance back over at the boys and give them a swift nod, “The coast is clear.”

“You sure?” Riven asks.

“Positive,” I reply, making my way back down the ladder and over to them.

Royce relaxes, leaning his forearms against the closed lid of the piano and letting out a heavy sigh as he rests his head against his arms. Riven practically slides to the floor, his head thumping back against one of the piano legs as he forces himself to relax. Taking up the space near Riven, I rest my head against his shoulder and try to let the tension ease out of my shoulders. After overhearing Riven’s conversation and the hectic rush to get him back inside without getting hurt, I’m almost sure the tension in my body could slingshot a rocket to the moon. I still have to wonder who Riven was talking with and what they were talking about. My trust in Riven is unwavering, so I shouldn’t worry about it, but I just can’t help the stress it brings me. I want to know who it was. I want to know what sort of plans they’ve come up with and why they haven’t told us. I thought Riven would tell me anything if it has something to do with me, but now I have to wonder if this isn’t the first time he’s kept something important a secret.

I take a deep breath and sigh; I shouldn’t be fussing over something like this. Riven is one of my best friends - he’s the only older brother figure I have; he wouldn’t keep me in the dark about his plan without a damn good reason. Maybe whatever it is that he knows is something he’s worried could hurt me or Royce; that would be a good reason to keep it from us. I guess we’ll just have to wait it out. He’ll tell us when he thinks it’s best for us to know. 

“So,” Royce begins, joining us on the floor with a somewhat hesitant look in his eyes, “what happened to taking a walk?”

Riven chuckles humorlessly, staring up at the ceiling for a moment before tipping his head down and meeting Royce’s gaze, “Those two shitheads were on the lookout for the girl from Six; I guess she shot the girl from Five in the leg the other day and they wanted to repay the favor. I was going to just come back, but my shoe caught the edge of the rug, I tripped, and they gave chase. I was going to lead them away, but the boy was fast, so I figured it would be a safer bet if I just came back here.”

“Do you think we should stay in the tunnel tonight just to stay safe in case they come back?” I ask.

“We could,” Riven shrugs. 

Royce sighs, “I mean, it’s either that, or we go hunting them down instead.”

“One of them is injured,” I comment. “I shot Volt in the shoulder and he left a blood trail down the hall.”

“We could follow it to wherever they’re hiding out,” Royce says with a smirk.

For some reason, I doubt this plan is Royce’s intention. I watch his expression as Riven reacts with a shrug and find that his smirk falters the slightest bit. Was he baiting Riven? Maybe he wanted to see if he could tell if that was who Riven was talking with. If that was his plan, it was a pretty good idea, I have to admit. If Riven’s reaction was more on the fence than willing to fight, it would have been a pretty significant tell that he was in cahoots with Volt and Elektra. If anything, this clears that up at the very least.

Riven takes a deep breath and sighs, “Can we wait a bit before we go after them? I think I twisted my knee running from them.”

“We could wait until tomorrow, if that would help,” Royce suggests.

“Yeah,” I agree. “You should rest for the day. The blood trail will still be there tomorrow.”

Riven nods and Royce and I gingerly help him to his feet, helping him hobble over to one of the couches and propping his leg up with a pillow. Once he adjusts to being benched for the rest of the day, Riven asks, “Did you two finish that book of yours while I was gone?”

I have to laugh, “I doubt either of us could read that fast, Riv.”

“Besides, we got sidetracked,” Royce adds as he begins pulling out the food we can make for dinner. 

I try to send him a look telling him to shut up about what we heard, but it goes unnoticed as Riven asks, “Oh yeah? What happened?”

Royce doesn’t give me the chance to say something as he quickly replies, “You started chatting with someone and we heard it over the walkie-talkie.”

Riven’s smile practically vanishes as he looks over the back of the couch and catches my attention, “What did you hear?”

Unable to meet his intense hazel gaze, I shrug and sigh, “Enough to know you’re making plans without telling us. What happened to our promise of telling each other all the important stuff?”

As though encouraging me to look his way, Riven pushes himself further up on the couch and says, “Vivien, it’s not like that.”

“Care to elaborate, then?” Royce presses, finally turning back toward us with a steady glare. “Because it sure as hell sounds like you’re planning something important and just not telling us.”

I have to nod when Riven glances back my way, “Our lives are on the line too, Riv, don’t you think we have a right to know?”

Riven’s eyes flicker between the two of us and he lets out a prolonged sigh, “I can’t say too much or it ruins everything, but I can promise both of you that, if everything goes the way it’s supposed to, the three of us will make it out of the arena alive.”

“Can you tell us what needs to happen?” I try as I round the couch and kneel on the floor near Riven. “Maybe we can help.”

I watch Riven think as Royce moves closer to us. Eventually, our auburn-haired companion shakes his head, “I can’t give away much-”

“Seriously, man?” Royce interrupts with a roll of his eyes.

“Yeah,” I pipe up, “give us something.”

“Can I finish speaking before you two hound me?” Riven questions with a grin.

As Royce nods, I softly say, “Sorry.”

Riven brushes us off with a soft chuckle as he shifts on the couch, “As I was saying, I can’t give much away, but I’m working with someone to get the three of us out, hopefully. If it doesn’t work, there’s a backup plan to get the two of you out instead.”

“You can’t tell us who you’re working with?” Royce asks.

“Not until after we’re out,” Riven shakes his head. “I know that isn’t what you two want to hear, but it’s what has to happen. I made a promise to this person.”

Royce nods in what I assume is understanding; since Royce claims to be a man of his word, I’m sure he can appreciate Riven being the same way, even if it isn’t what he wants to hear. I take hold of one of Riven’s hands and ask, “What can we do to help?”

“Taking out the two from Five will definitely help things,” Riven chuckles.

“It would help anyway, wouldn’t it?” Royce asks. “Then we’d be closer to the finals.”

“Well, yes,” Riven shrugs, “but there’s another reason it would help.”

“Let me guess,” I sigh, “you can’t tell us that either?”

Riven smirks and leans toward us, lowering his voice to a whisper before admitting, “If we show that the three of us are a team and that we’ll stay that way regardless of how close we get to being crowned as the victors, it gives the crowd a reason to want us to make it out of the arena as a group.”

It makes sense. Even if what Juliet said before the Games was true and people aren’t interested in the Hunger Games as much anymore, the people who are need something to get them wanting a certain person - or group, in our case - to win. If we show them that we can be the ones who make it the furthest, who they’ll love during the Victory Tour, they might convince the Gamemakers to find a way to call off the Games just to get us out. It could be a long shot, but it’s worth at least trying.

Riven tells us that he’ll work on a plan for handling tomorrow and, once he relaxes back into the couch cushions, I get to work helping Royce cook dinner. As I flip the piece of meat I’ve begun grilling, Royce lightly places a hand on my knee and whispers, “I’m sorry for not trusting him so easily.”

I meet his gaze and give him a shrug, “I’m sure I would have been just as skeptical if the roles were reversed.”

“I should have just accepted your trust in him,” he sighs. “I’ve just been so on edge with the number of tributes in the arena getting smaller.”

“I get it,” I tell him before turning back to the meat on the grill. “I can’t say I haven’t been worried about it too, but I have full faith in Riven. If he says he’ll protect us and get us out, he will. He’s a man of his word, just like you.”

“I see that now.”

“Good.”

Royce's hand moves from my leg and runs through his hair. Six days with no comb makes his typically uniform curls look like a wild bird’s nest, but I’m sure I must look pretty similar if the rogue hairs that have pulled free from my braids are anything to go by. “He isn’t much different from Miles, y’know.”

As I pull a piece of meat from the grill and place it on a plate, I ask, “Oh, yeah?”

Royce hums as he gives a nod of confirmation, “Protective, creative, putting his life at risk for the people he loves… I think he’s a lot more like Miles than I wanted to realize.”

“Makes sense,” I shrug. “He’s my big brother and he would do anything for me.”

With a chuckle Royce nods, “He’s made that very clear.”

The couch creaks as Riven pushes himself to sit up, turning to us with his signature grin, “What are you two whispering about?”

Royce takes over checking and flipping the meat while I stand with Riven’s plate of food and cross the space between the grill and Riven, holding his plate out for him to take as I scoff, “Debating how hard it would be to shove you off the side of the ship.”

Riven’s laugh is welcoming as he takes the plate from me, “Yeah, right, Pip - like you and your noodle arms could push me overboard!”

“Bullshit! My arms are way bigger than yours,” I taunt, flexing my practically nonexistent muscles as Riven laughs at me.

“The day that comes true is the day Della learns how to code without calling all of us over to triple-check it for her,” Riven chuckles.

“You are such an ass.”

“Guilty as charged,” Riven beams, giving me a half bow. “Thanks for the food.”

With an overdramatic, Capitol-esque curtsy, I make my way back to Royce with a grin, sighing as I fall back to the floor beside him. “See?” I ask, “He’s a total dork.”

Royce glances at me from the corner of his eye and shakes his head as he chuckles, “Says the queen of the dorks.”

Giving Royce a swift kick to the thigh, I laugh, “Well, give yourself a crown, then, because that makes you the king.”

Finally giving me a genuine laugh, Royce smiles back at me and breathes, “I suppose it does.”

We sit in relative silence for a while, the only sound being the sizzle of the meat on the grill, but once the food hits our plates and we make our way over to Riven so we can eat together, I ask Royce, “Feel like reading tonight?”

“Which book?” he asks in return. “Romeo and Juliet or The Outsiders?”

I don’t feel much for deciding, so I shrug, “Surprise me.”

And he does. Once dinner is over, we pull our little reading nook out from between the bookshelves and set it up near Riven’s couch. I settle into the cushions while Royce picks out the book for the night and I try to relax as he brings the work of S.E. Hinton to life. We finish most of the book by the time the anthem plays against a blank, deathless sky. If we have more deathless days, they might try to force a feast to bring us all together again, but, chances are, it probably wouldn’t be a very interesting one. Feasts are practically bloodbaths and, with our promises to Erica, Jade, and Lexi, the six of us would be protecting each other, trying to get some stuff and get out. There would be little bloodshed unless the other four tributes decide to come out and play. Even then, there wouldn’t be much to see. Volt and Elektra are holed up somewhere, treating Volt’s injury and less likely to come out; Lotus is who knows where, keeping to herself and trying to say alive; and Serena is, presumably, the only one who would try to fight the other tributes to the death. There wouldn’t be much of a fight, making for a very pointless, disinteresting feast.

Once the Gamemakers are done showing us how boring the Games must be for the Capitol citizens, Royce and I return to our novel and he reads until we finish a particularly emotional chapter. Despite my exhaustion, I can’t find it in me to sleep when Royce decides to go to bed. Instead, I move to one of the booths by the window and stare out at the inky, starless sky. The sea and the sky meet somewhere in the darkness of night, but the water is so still that it becomes impossible to see where the lines touch. Resting my head against the window, a soft voice greets me as I relish in the cooling sensation that chills my forehead.

“Hey, gremlin,” Mick greets. “How are you holding up?”

“Peachy,” I mutter. “Have you been watching?”

“Through the glasses,” she confirms. “The cameras in the library are still off which is probably a good thing, I suppose.”

With a hum, I ask, “Do you have any idea what’s going on?”

“Not all of it,” Mick sighs, “but Riven covers his tracks well, so it’s hard to find out much of anything anyway.”

“Do you think whatever his plan is, will work out?”

“I’m not sure.” Thanks, Mick. That’s very reassuring. “Have you asked Riven if he thinks it will?”

“What do you mean?” I ask softly.

Mick chuckles, “Well, it is his plan, Vivien. If you want reassurance that the plan will work, ask the person who came up with it.”

“I guess you’re right,” I sigh.

“Guess who is right?” Jumping at the sudden voice, I whirl around only to find Riven watching me in amusement as he hobbles over to the seat across from me with some of the medicine for my hand in his grasp. “Sorry, Pip.”

A soft click comes over my earpieces, telling me that Mick is now done talking. I let out a breath as Riven sits, “You scared the shit out of me, asshole.”

“Perks of being the stealthiest person in the arena,” he shrugs.

“More like the clumsiest.”

Riven’s eyebrow raises as he eyes me, “Have you met yourself?”

I roll my eyes, but smirk, “Touché.”

A brief silence spreads between us as my eyes find Riven’s for the first time in what feels like forever. Under the intensity of his gaze, I’m the first to break away, my gaze falling to the fairly untouched Romeo and Juliet novel I had been contemplating reading to distract myself. Royce’s bookmark is now gone since he’s caught up to my spot in the book and we had been reading together, but the desire to read and distract myself from Riven’s plan is tempting. Suddenly, Riven clears his throat and softly asks, “Were you talking to Mick?” I nod wordlessly. “How is she holding up?”

“Good.”

“That’s good.”

This is awkward. Usually, my conversations with Riven flow like a waterfall - endless, rapid, and natural. This is anything but that. There’s something between us now that I can’t seem to place. Maybe it’s more like I don’t want to place it. It isn’t betrayal, but it’s something similar. I trusted that Riven would tell me anything important if he knew it had something to do with me, and he didn’t. This is his first offense, that I know of. As far as I know, it’s his first time keeping something important from me. Riven is a great secret keeper; I’ve told him most of my secrets over the years I’ve known him and I know others have too. I just never thought he would keep something like this from me. This plan of his puts not only his own life, but also mine and Royce’s on the line, and he said nothing to us about it. I know Riven knows what is on my mind, but neither one of us wants to be the first to bring it up. Maybe that is what’s making things between us feel so awkward.

“So, I-”

“Is your plan going to work?” I cut Riven off. 

I quickly apologize, but Riven brushes me off with a wave of a hand. Once he thinks over my question enough to come up with an answer, Riven nods, “I think it will.”

“You’re sure?”

“I am.” Riven watches me for a moment before trying to lighten the mood with a chuckle, “To be honest, this plan was thrown together before the Games pretty haphazardly, but I think it will all work out for the best.”

Once Riven stops talking, I give him a nod and try allowing his gentle smile to relax me. Riven’s presence is almost always relaxing, but I’ve been so busy trying to find a way out of the arena that I haven’t allowed myself to relax much even when I’ve had ample time to do so. After taking a deep breath, I allow silence to fill the space between us as Riven reaches across the table, takes my hand, and begins treating the burns on my palm. Once the bandages are pulled back, I realize that it doesn’t look nearly as bad as it had before, but the peeling process has begun. Riven’s hand is far warmer than mine - most likely due to how cold the nervousness coursing through my veins has made me feel - and once he finishes wrapping my hand back up, I flip my hand in his so I can hold onto him. This time, the silence between us feels less awkwa\rd and more soothing… I certainly don’t mind it. 

I think back to my conversation with Royce earlier and let out a sigh, breaking our silent moment as I meet Riven’s gaze and ask, “Can you promise me something?”

“Depends on what it is,” Riven chuckles. However, when he sees that I’m not joining in, Riven clears his throat and schools his expression as he responds, “Of course.”

I give him a solitary nod and softly begin, “If anything happens to me-”

Riven is quick to cut me off, adamantly rebutting my statement, “Nothing will happen to you.”

“I know you’ll protect me as best as you can,” I say with a small grin, “but in the unlikely event that something does happen, can you promise me something?”

“I said I would, Pip,” Riven says with a small, wary smile. “I’m a man of my word, you know that.” 

I give Riven yet another nod before glancing over at Royce. He’s sleeping with his back to us and, even though I can’t see if he has his earbuds in, I can assume he’s listening to his brothers like he does almost every night. With a smile, I turn back to Riven and find his hazel eyes before requesting, “Promise me you’ll keep him safe. If not for the sake of our friendship with him, then at least for me.”

“I already swore to continue protecting both of you until we get out of the arena,” Riven sighs, his grip on my hand tightening a fraction. “But if something happens to you - which it won’t - I’ll still protect him.”

With a nod of gratitude, I allow myself a pause to register his words before asking, “You sound so confident that nothing will happen to me, but how can you be sure?”

Riven’s resolute stare takes me by surprise, “Because I’ll die before I allow anything to happen to you in this arena, Vivien.”

“What?” I breathe.

A sigh comes from Riven as he tries to make his point come across, “You are the closest thing I will ever have to a younger sister, Pip, and I’ve sworn - maybe not to you, but to myself - that I will protect you, even if it means dying in the process.”

My breath catches in my throat and I freeze for a moment, examining his hazel eyes over and over again for any sign that this is just another one of his jokes, but all I find is the firm, serious gleam that refuses to waver. Sucking in a sharp breath, I shake my head, “It won’t come to that.”

“Maybe not,” Riven shrugs. “But if it does, my duty as your friend and protector is to keep you safe first and foremost. In a life or death situation, your life will always matter more than mine.”

“Not to me.”

Riven nods, “I know, but if that time comes, I need you to know that I’ve come to terms with potentially dying if it means you live.”

“Well, I haven’t,” I huff.

“That’s alright,” he says with a soft chuckle. “I don’t plan on going anywhere, anytime soon, so you don’t need to come to terms with anything just yet. It’s just something I figured you should know is a possibility.”

As much as I don’t like the idea of him being hurt, especially if it’s just to keep me safe, I know trying to convince Riven to not do something he’s set his mind to will be just as effective as telling a brick wall to become a mountain. If Riven is set on doing something, nobody can dissuade him, not even me. Instead of arguing with him, I give him a small nod and Riven smiles before telling me that I should get some rest before our fight against District 5 tomorrow. Even when I try to insist that he get some sleep too, Riven chooses to stay up a bit longer, making sure we’re safe in the library. I hear him make his way to bed as I drift in and out of sleep, but I can’t find it in me to wake up just to argue with him about his horrendous sleep schedule.

Morning comes before I know it and I find that I’m not the first one awake. Before I make any move to get up from the sleeping bag I’ve tucked myself into, I watch as Royce paces the floor, muttering to himself now and then. It doesn’t take much to realize that he’s speaking with his family back home, but the soft smile he gives as he stops to listen to them makes me happy that he’s got some connection with them. It must be really early wherever they live in District 6, but whoever Royce is talking with must not have minded rising early to speak with him. That’s something I wish I had - someone from home to talk with in the mornings. Back home, the only early riser in my family other than me is Abby and she knows better than to try using Mick’s tech without her there to oversee what Abby does.

I wonder if Abby is doing what I did last year - sitting in front of the television all hours of the day, sleeping on the couch with the television still on, and waking even earlier than normal to make sure we’re alive. I can only imagine she is. It won’t be long before everyone else joins her in the living room to watch the shitshow. Once Abby tells everyone what she sees through the camera lenses, we’ll probably have to listen to them fire off ideas for how we can take out Volt and Elektra. To be fair, I wouldn’t mind their advice; they might have a better view of things since they have access to the cameras.

Turning my attention back to Royce, I find him perched in one of the window seats we haven’t taken the cushions from, looking out over the water with a grin as he says something so softly that I can’t hear a word. It’s hard to guess who he’s talking with; I can’t imagine it being either of his brothers since, according to Royce, they both sleep in late when given the chance and it wouldn’t be their parents since Miles claimed in his interview last year that they’re orphans. Maybe it’s a friend from work or the other mentor from their district. Oh, what was her name - Lily? Lila? Something like that, I think. Well, whatever her name is, Royce said the two of them are close. Maybe he’s talking to her.

Sparing a glance at Riven, I find him on his side, half in his sleeping bag, with an arm under his head in place of his pillow which has been pushed aside. He will be lucky if his arm isn’t completely numb by the time he wakes up, but knowing how late he went to sleep last night and how hard it is for him to go back to sleep once he’s woken up, I don’t bother trying to get him to go back to using his pillow. Instead, I push myself to sit up and stretch a bit before grabbing my glasses and meeting Royce by the window. He watches me approach with a smile and takes one of his earbuds out so he can hear me as I greet him.

“Morning,” he says softly in return.

I smile, “How long have you been up?”

“Not long,” Royce shrugs. “Half an hour, maybe.”

I nod and he speaks to the person on the other end of his headphones as they wish both of us a good day and say that they’ll keep an eye on everyone else while we talk. “So,” I hesitantly begin once the earbuds are back in their case and tucked into Royce’s pocket, “who was that - your brothers?”

Royce snickers quietly, shaking his head with a smirk, “Yeah, right. They’re both passed out on Butchy and Lela’s living room couch.”

Lela, that was her name. “So was it Lela, then?”

“It was,” he nods. “She hasn’t gotten the chance to talk with me a lot since Miles and Bentley take up most of the microphone time, but since I’m up early today, she wanted to check in on me.”

“Sounds like she’s a good friend.”

“She is,” Royce smiles. “You’d probably get along with her really well.”

“We’ll find out someday,” I say with such firm confidence that I hope Royce can’t see how forced it feels. “Once we make it out of here, I’ll get Juliet to convince her dad to allow me to visit your district.”

“That would be nice,” he agrees.

We both hush as Riven grumbles on the floor, but as we look over at him, we find that he’s still sleeping. Turning back to Royce, I sigh, “He went to sleep really late last night.”

“I heard,” Royce admits. He pauses, sending me a smile as he takes my hand in his, “Thank you, by the way.”

My eyebrow raises as I ask, “What for?”

“Asking Riven to protect me,” he explains. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“You heard that?” I question. “I thought you were sleeping.”

Royce shakes his head, “I was listening to Miles read a book to Bentley when I heard Riven say something, so I took my earbuds out and listened. Like I said, you didn’t have to ask him to protect me.”

“Well, I wanted to make sure you would stay safe if something happened to me,” I say with a shrug, a faint burn heating my face.

With a nod, Royce contemplates my statement before saying, “You know, if something happens to you, I don’t think Riven’s protection  will really matter all that much.”

“Why not?”

“It’s like you said the first time we met on the roof - if one of us jumps, the other will follow,” Royce explains. At my curious gaze, he adds, “I would follow you anywhere. If you get killed, I’ll be next in line.”

I shake my head, “You can’t do that. What about your brothers?”

“What about your family?” he fires back. When I can’t find anything to say in response to that, Royce sends me a small grin. “Exactly. Neither of us wants to leave our families, but we also don’t want to leave each other because of the love we share.”

“Like Romeo and Juliet,” I mutter.

Royce nods solemnly, “Til death do us part.”

“It won’t come to that,” I insist. 

“Well, with Riven protecting us, I have to agree; I doubt anything will happen,” Royce claims with a shrug. “That man is built like a tank. I’m sure he could work his way through all of the tributes on this ship and get out of the arena with no problems if he didn’t have to worry about us all the time.”

He could. Like Royce said, Riven is tall and muscular, and I know he has a good head on his shoulders. Riven could easily win the Games - with or without sponsors - if we weren’t holding him back. He has the muscles, the wit, and the stealth that could easily rival a skilled Career; he could make this arena his bitch and come out as one of the best victors in Hunger Games history, yet he chooses not to because of me and Royce. Riven is too caring, too protective to leave us to drown on our own; he wouldn’t abandon us even if we didn’t need him for protection. 

I peer over at Riven who is still sleeping the morning away before turning back to Royce, “You’re right. I guess it just gives me peace of mind knowing that he will look out for you just in case.”

Royce smiles, “And I know he’s going to protect you no matter what.”

After a while of talking, Royce begins working on breakfast while I attempt to rouse Riven from his slumber. It takes a while of bribing him with food for Riven to get out from what little cover he has and make his way to where Royce is preparing the food, but he eventually moves when I tell him that I’ll make sure his sausage is burnt if he refuses to move. Once we’re fed and get ourselves cleaned up a bit, Royce helps me untangle my hair and Riven helps re-braid it the way Juliet had. A week of leaving my hair unwashed and unbrushed has made it feel greasy and the waves my braids left behind don’t move much until Riven runs his fingers through them to separate the strands once more. A shower would be heavenly at this point in the Games, but I don’t trust that the Gamemakers haven’t filled the water pipes with acid or something. I bet they did something like that before even if they haven’t done it in this arena - the sick bastards.

Though the braids are a bit looser than the ones Juliet wove for me, Riven’s handiwork is clean and leaves me feeling less disheveled than the old ones had. With everything done and put away, we sit at one of the desks and begin mapping out a plan of action for taking out the pair from District 5. Mick pipes in halfway through, telling me to take the glasses off so she can speak to everyone before telling us that the two we’ll be hunting down are on Deck 13 inside a glowing maze. Royce pulls the notepad we’ve been taking notes in from one of the backpacks and flips to his notes on the different decks and scans them quickly before declaring that it could be a place called The Galaxy Pavillion. 

“That seems like the only place on that deck that could potentially be where they’re hiding out,” he says. “Everything else is either an observation deck, a restaurant, or a pool.”

“Looks like we know where we’re going,” Riven states.

“There’s a platform high above the maze,” Mick claims. “If one of you can get up there while the others sneak in, that person could instruct the others on where to go.”

Riven hums thoughtfully, but I don’t let him think too much as I declare, “I’ll do it.” Both Royce and Riven turn to me in confusion. I shrug, “It’s the best option we have. Royce is afraid of falling and turning into a pile of human goo, and Riven is the only threatening one of the three of us. That leaves me to be your faithful guide and sniper.”

They both seem to accept this as a good idea and, once we’re ready, we head for the bookcase and use the ladder to go up to the thirteenth floor. The exit of the thirteenth deck is a janitor’s closet that brings us into a bathroom. We leave the bathroom and find a large archway with ‘The Galaxy Pavilion’ written above it in an obnoxious font and a sign on the left side of the arch describing all of the activities inside - golf, laser tag, flight simulators, escape rooms, and bumper cars.

“I’m guessing they’re either in the laser tag or the escape rooms,” Royce offers, adjusting his grasp on the bow I gave him from the Cornucopia.

I nod, hoisting my crossbow strap onto my shoulder, “Well, you guys can go get in position. I’ll go up another floor and try to find a way onto the platform Mick told us about.”

“Let us know when you find them,” Riven says softly, keeping a firm grip on the handle of his machete. “We won’t go inside until you have eyes on them.”

Giving them both a hug, I wish them good luck before going back through the bathroom and onto the ladder. I climb with the knowledge that nobody is below me if I make the slightest misstep and eventually make it to a small back room filled with broken game machines and discarded toys. Making my way out of the room, I come to a hallway that leads to a room full of camera screens like the ones we burned in the wheelhouse. I look over the cameras, searching and scanning each one for any sign of the pair we’ve come to kill. Eventually, I find them on a set of cameras with a sign above it claiming they’re inside the laser tag arena. The boy, Volt, looks pale and is leaning against a glowing green wall while the girl, Elektra, tries to feed him some kind of liquid from a metal container. They must have gotten something from their mentors after I shot Volt in the shoulder.

“Gotcha,” I mutter to myself as I move away from the cameras and head for the only other door in the room. It brings me out to a set of catwalks that stretch over various rooms. Most of the rooms below are dimly lit with glowing lights illuminating whatever lies within their walls, but there is one room that stands out to me as a possible maze. Green and red lights shine like a beacon in an otherwise dark room and, as I make my way toward the area, I find a set of catwalks that face off over a maze-like room of neon. The room itself is horrendously bright and the colors pulse over the area like a wave as I peer out over the miniature arena. I search the floor for any sign of the duo we’re looking for, only to find them on an elevated platform in the middle of the room as a wave of green light floods the area.

Pulling out the walkie-talkie I slid into my back pocket earlier, I press the button on the side and say, “Found them. Volt’s looking a bit worse for wear, but Elektra is still on her feet.”

It takes Riven a moment to respond, “Lead the way, Pip. We’ve got the volume down, but we should be able to hear you.”

“Go into the laser tag place,” I instruct them. “It’s huge and glowing like the big tree in the square back home.”

I look around the area below me, watching to see which door Royce and Riven come through. Once they enter the laser tag arena, I quietly begin leading them through the maze of brightly colored walls. As they approach the platform, I warn them that the two from 5 are just a ramp away and watch as Riven gestures for Royce to take the ramp on the other side of the platform. Royce creeps around the underside of the platform and makes it to the other ramp just as Riven begins his ascent. I set the walkie-talkie on the catwalk and pull the crossbow from my shoulder, perching it on one of the guardrails and turning off the safety.

Through the scope, I can see the pair from District 5. The metal bowl has been put away and Volt’s shirt has been discarded so that Elektra can tend to his shoulder. Elektra looks emaciated and pale, almost as though she hasn’t seen the sun or a crumb of food in days. To be fair, they both look scrawny and ghostly pale, so I presume they’ve been inside since the bloodbath, searching for non-toxic food in the decks upon decks of restaurants. I can’t hear a word they’re saying, but with how they interact, I have to assume they’re good friends. Maybe they’ve known each other for a while. In training, I paid them little mind and, during the interviews, I was so busy trying to keep myself calm that I completely disregarded their entire sessions. I know nothing about them other than that they look friendly, if not familial, with how they’re treating each other right now.

Taking a deep breath and shaking my head, I try to take humanity out of the situation. Right now, I need to focus on getting the three of us out of this arena regardless of what it costs. In the end, almost every tribute - past or present - has had to kill or at least injure someone in their time in the arena. This means nothing in the grand scheme of things, but it’s hard to shove away what humanity lingers within. Volt and Elektra are just like us - humans trying to survive. The only difference is that the three of us weren’t telling everyone in training our plans of skinning people alive in the arena. I guess they never actually got around to that part. Reality must have hit them hard. A part of me wants to comfort them or offer them a place in our group, but I fight it off pretty easily. We need to get out of the arena and they would only hold us back or kill us in our sleep. I don’t trust them nearly as far as I could probably throw them. As awful as it is to say, I’ll probably have to force myself to not feel any remorse for their deaths until after we’re out of the arena. Emotions like that won’t do us any good until we know we’re free.

Riven’s machete glints in the neon lights that illuminate the area as he slowly climbs the ramp to the platform. At first, I thought Riven bringing a knife to a potential gunfight was stupid, but I remember that, in training, he was excellent with the swords and other blades, so I didn’t argue much about it. From here, I can see that Royce has an arrow nocked and aimed directly at the pair on the floor. It doesn’t seem as though Volt or Elektra suspects anything. If they do, it doesn’t show. 

I watch as Riven steps onto the platform, chuckling somewhat menacingly, “Well, well, well, what do we have here?”

The pair jump and Elektra reaches for her weapon on the floor, only for an arrow to catch the loose fabric of her shirt and pin her to the wall. Her wild eyes find Royce as he slides another arrow into place and firmly declares, “Move and the next one goes between your eyes.”

“Fuck you,” she snarls.

“No thanks,” Royce scoffs. “I have a girlfriend.”

“What do you want?” Volt asks. Through the scope, I can see his glare settle on Riven, but his words are weak, his skin is pale, and the bandage job Elektra did on his arm isn’t doing a good job of keeping his blood inside. I didn’t get a good look at his injury when it first happened, but if it’s bleeding this much, I must have done some serious damage. With how he looks, Volt probably won’t last long regardless of whatever Elektra fed him.

As Royce inches toward Elektra enough to kick her weapon and small pouch of belongings out of her reach, Riven squats so he’s at eye level with the two from District 5. “To have some fun, that’s all,” Riven claims with a grin.

Elektra laughs, shaking her head to move blonde strands from her eyes, “You’re holding us hostage, what could be fun about this?”

“It’s simple really,” Riven states as he examines his blade. Pointing the edge of his machete at the pair, he adds, “You see, one of you is going to die and one of you is going to live. Thing is, I’m not the one making the choice. You are.”

Even though Riven talked us through his plan to lure Volt and Elektra into arguing over who gets to live, his words still send a chill down my spine. Riven has always been a huge softy, unwilling to do so much as harm a fly, but now there is a darkness in his tone that nearly makes me pause. He sounds so deadly, so… so not Riven. I’d be terrified to be on the receiving end of his wrath, especially with that machete in his grasp.

“What kind of choice is that?!” Elektra shrieks. 

“You have no weapons, nowhere to go, and your friend here isn’t in any position to help you fight back,” Riven states as he pushes himself to stand once again. “I’ll give you the chance to talk it over, but remember, whoever you choose to die, will be shot by my friend here.”

Royce’s shoulders grow tenser than they already were as his grip tightens on the bow and Riven moves away from the pair on the floor. They’re doing a great job intimidating the others, but it doesn't seem to be having the effect we were hoping it would. Elektra looks understandably pissed, but Volt seems to have resigned to his fate. With how sickly Volt looks, I’m sure he’s had time since yesterday to ponder over life and death, but he seems genuinely alright with the fact that, despite Elektra’s efforts, he’s going to die today. I doubt that Elektra has come to the same conclusion. 

“You’re fucking crazy!” she squawks at Riven. 

“I’ll accept your insolence as ignorance,” Riven sighs. “So, I’ll make it easy for you.” 

Elektra reaches for the arrow that Royce used to pin her in place as Riven approaches Volt and yanks him to his feet so his back is to Riven’s chest, Riven’s machete held to his throat from behind. It appears as though Riven is the only thing holding Volt upright - his own body too weak to support him. Elektra wrenches the arrow from the wall and tosses it toward Royce, but doesn’t get far as Royce releases another arrow, sending it through her hair as she turns her head, effectively pinning her to the wall by her tightly knotted bun. 

Her head slams against the wall and, once her wince of pain is replaced by a furious glare, Elektra scowls at Riven, “We’re not your playthings.”

Instead of allowing Riven to keep up the conversation, Volt sighs, “Just kill me and get it over with. I’m going to die anyway.”

“No, you’re not,” Elektra argues as she works on prying the arrow from her hair. “The medicine-”

“Isn’t going to help the blood loss, El,” Volt cuts in. “Let’s just face the facts. I’m going to bleed to death and you’re going to starve. If they kill me, you might still have a chance if you find something to eat. If they kill you, I’ll end up bleeding to death beside you.”

This is unexpected. Riven was hoping they would argue about who should live and then we’d just end up taking both of them out. They aren’t fighting like we thought they would. In fact, Elektra is the only one fighting at all. It sounds almost as though they’re like me and Riven - two people who knew each other long before entering the arena. The only difference, though, is that Riven, Royce, and I hit the jackpot with food and water while Volt and Elektra have what little remains in the pouch Royce kicked aside. They’re both starving and weak and I’m sure they know the chances of their survival are slim to none already. Riven and Royce seem to have come to this conclusion as well if the looks in their eyes are anything to go by. Killing Volt and Elektra wouldn’t be an act of vindication or cold-blooded murder at this point - it would be something merciful.

With a heavy sigh, Riven lowers his machete and helps Volt back to the floor before pulling the arrow from Elektra’s hair. “You two will probably be dead by the end of the day, won’t you?”

Elektra glances at Volt who shrugs before she turns to Riven and nods solemnly. “Most likely.”

“We took food from some restaurant on the lower decks and got sick from it early on, but we haven’t had food or much water since,” Volt claims. “Then the girl from your district shot me yesterday and neither of us knows the first thing about patching up a wound that big. We used what we had and got some antibiotics from our mentors, but we don’t have a lot of sponsors, so we probably won’t last much longer.”

Royce lowers his bow and sighs, “We only came here because you two chased after Riven yesterday.”

“I kind of guessed,” Volt chuckles weakly. 

“Can’t blame you,” Elektra shrugs. “I’d be pissed if the roles were reversed.”

“Do you have any food at all?” Riven asks.

Elektra points to the bag Royce kicked away and once he nudges it close enough that she can grab it, she pulls out a small handful of berries. Royce examines them for a moment before announcing, “Those are nightlock berries. If you eat those, you’ll die before they reach your stomach.”

With a scoff, Elektra dumps the handful back into her pouch, “Good to know.”

Riven is sympathetic, even in the most dangerous of situations. He pulls the backpack from his shoulder and gives both of them some of the bread we’ve been holding off on eating. “It won’t last long, but it’s still good.”

Volt thanks him before turning to Elektra and suggesting, “We could put some of the berries on it like a jam. It would make a nice final meal, don’t you think?”

Emotions flash across Elektra’s face faster than I can process them, but she eventually settles on sending Volt a small smile, “Yeah, it would.”

Before long Riven and Royce bid Volt and Elektra farewell and head back out the way they came. I keep my crossbow trained on the pair until I’m sure Elektra won’t run after them with whatever weapon she has, but it’s obvious that they’ve resigned to their fates. Wherever they are, whatever relationship they have, they have decided to go out on their terms and I have to commend them for it. Once Riven and Royce are far enough away that the pair from District 5 won’t hear me, I guide them back through the maze to the door before making my way back the way I came. I climb down the ladder until I reach the deck below me and meet back up with Riven and Royce in the bathroom. Both of them look distraught, in a way, but I can’t say that I don’t feel similar.

We don’t say much as we make our way back to the library, but we both know that, when we hear a pair of matching cannons echo throughout the ship, Volt and Elektra are no longer alive. We won’t have to wait for the death recap tonight to find that out. We all watched the fire to survive die in their eyes and now we’re living with the fact that we only helped stomp it out. Riven is silent as he sets about getting dinner ready, but I don’t imagine any of us will be able to eat much. Royce and I stick pretty close to Riven’s side, unwilling to stray too far from our protector and friend while we’re all in an almost vulnerable state.

The library feels too silent. There’s a suffocating heaviness in the air that only makes me want to crawl into my blankets and stay there for a few days. We didn’t kill anybody, but it feels as though we did. The excitement that had built up last night and this morning for our big show to the Capitol has dissipated entirely, replaced with tense reminders that we almost killed two people who were already practically dead anyway. It would have been merciful, in a way; they knew they were going to die anyway - Volt more so than Elektra - and wouldn’t make it long unless they had enough food to keep them going. Even so, I don’t think any of us wanted our day to go the way it has. 

We eat on the floor near the little grill, watching each other in anticipation. Which one of us will crack first? Who will be the first to break the unbearable silence that we’ve kept since we returned to the sanctuary of the library? Once we’re done eating and have everything back in its rightful place, we sit in silence on the floor. I have so many questions and I’m sure the boys do too, but none of us have the heart to speak. I wonder if their minds are racing as fast as mine. 

Dread sinks further into my veins with every thought that comes to mind. If we hadn’t come along, would Volt and Elektra still be alive? With how confident Elektra seemed in those berries being the last of their food until she could go out in search of more, probably not. Maybe she would have given most of them to Volt so that he could gain some strength and she would be left grieving, not knowing his death had been her fault. I guess that, even if things had gone differently, not much would have changed; in the end, they would still be dead. We just wouldn’t have felt responsible for giving them bread and encouraging their suicide pact. Their families will be mourning tonight, but they may also be rooting for our demise.

I jump as a hand lands on my knee, jolting me from my thoughts. My first guess is Royce who looks back at me with a ghost of an amused grin, but I soon realize that it was Riven trying to get my attention as he had probably done with Royce. Riven’s hand moves to hold mine as he softly apologizes and asks, “How are you holding up?”

“I’m fine,” I instinctively tell him. When Riven shoots me a look telling me he doesn’t believe my statement, I sigh, “I’m trying not to overthink everything. How are you?”

“Worried about you two.”

I can’t blame him. Usually, we’re at least reading aloud, but tonight, we’re all just sitting in silence. Taking a deep breath, I ask, “Do you think we did the right thing?” Riven raises his eyebrow at me and I tell him, “They would have died anyway if they had those berries, but we could have offered to kill them instead so they wouldn’t suffer.”

Riven takes in a long, slow breath and looks away with a heavy sigh, “I don’t know if we made the right choice, Pip, but they made theirs. The boy wasn’t going to make it long with how sickly he looked, but the girl could have easily kept going. That bread could have kept her going long enough to find more food. They didn’t have to use the berries as jam, if that is what they ended up doing. Even though we were the ones to tell them about the berries, they are the ones who chose to go out together and that’s something we can’t blame ourselves for.”

He’s right; they had options, but they chose the ones they liked the most. Even if we hadn’t intervened, there was nothing we could have done. My eyes meet Riven’s and I send him a small smile before turning to Royce and asking, “Do you feel up to reading at all? It might take our minds off of things.”

Royce’s grin spreads into a smile as he asks, “Romeo and Juliet or The Outsiders?”

“I don’t feel like crying tonight,” I chuckle. “We left The Outsiders in an emotional spot, so why not enjoy a little romance tonight?”

Royce nods, using the floor to push himself to his feet as he says, “I’ll grab Romeo and Juliet, then.”

I watch as he heads over to the table where we left our little novel collection, but my line of sight is disrupted by Riven’s smug-ass face smirking obnoxiously at me. I raise an eyebrow at him and ask, “What are you looking at?”

“Some little shit who fell in love,” he taunts. “You look like that flying baby with the bow and arrow shot you in the ass or something, looking all lovesick like that.”

“You are such an ass, Riven,” I laugh.

“I am,” he says with a proud smirk. “But you love that about me.”

“I don’t know about all that,” I say with a roll of my eyes, “but I do love you, yes.”

#Scattered Screams #Vivien #Royce #Riven

[kudzucataclysm]

you know what actually i WILL talk about the shitty movie that is 2012- different from TDAT cuz it’s just- it’s just not based on anything at all ig…

the NEUTRINO SOLAR FLARES HEATING EARTHS CORE? WH A T

THE SNOWING IN FUCKING INDIA

the building of the arks. what does that have to do with the fucking solar flares tbfh

the stepdad who is both a pilot and a plastic surgeon for the girlfriend of a russian billionaire

woody harrelson as that weirdo at yellowstone eating pickles in the woods

THE SAN ADREAS EARTTHQUAKE THAT THE MAIN FAMILY FUCKING DRIVES THROUGH??? AND THE MOLTEN LAVA THATS SEEN WHEN THE EARTH CRACKS OPEN LIKE WTF

once again. they drove through a fucking earthquake 😭

the yellowstone caldera eruption. that entire family should’ve been dead instantly from the blast wave alone

THEY FLEW THE PLANE AWAY FROM THE ERUPTION???????? OUT OF THE SOOT CLOUD???

i still have no idea why the arks were the first things to be thought of tbh. also it’s a billion dollars per ticket this shit would’ve been leaked online

they hijacked a cargo plane and flew it to the himalayas. everyone getting swallowed up by the yellowstone ash cloud immediately after?????

they used a BENTLEYYYY TO ESCAPE A PLANE CRASH……

THE TSUNAMI???? AND THE FLOOD GETTING UP TO 27,000 FEET ABOVE SEA LEVEL DONT FUCKING TOUCH ME there is not enough fucking water on earth where did this water come from oh my god

27 days later the water starts receding. and the divorced couple gets back together ofc right after the stepdad dies i can’t

i cant stand 2012 tbh- like in comparison to day after its just sooooooooooooo stupid it just ends up pissing me off if i think about it too much. they shouldn’t have had scientists or any scientific basis in the movie tbh

#kudzu opinions #should i share more movie opinions. i dunno- #i think the problem is like- #they use every single world ending disaster that can happen at any time- #and tried to base it on science #when. when it would not happen like this at fucking all #OR MAYBE I DUNNO IM JUST OVERTHINKING IT KFJFJFJ

[spamtonium]

I HATE HOT GLUE

I hate hot glue with every single molecule in my body it’s so dumb it’s so stupid I hate hot glue I already made a short video about it when I was tired but it was unable to capture how much I actually hate hot glue I don’t like using for making crafts especially with cardboard what do you mean I’m supposed to be okay with putting hot ass molten plastic onto a very flammable surface?!?!? Nuh uh I am not doing that the hell???? Also on fabric. bro no way. No way in hell are you making silly doodads and fursuits and cosplay with hot glue there is no way. I hate that it is a sticky mess until it cools down and that it leaves these stupid dumb strings of plastic everywhere. If you accidentally get hot glue on yourself it hurts so bad. I spilled some between my fingers one time and bro ow. worst ouchie ever on my fingie to this day bro. I hate that you have to buy this little glue gun thing that heats up the glue that's scary get that thing out of my house. get it out. I don’t want to see it. Not only am I afraid of hot glue but it’s also incredibly mid. It’s really flexible which I guess can be useful in some situations but in most it’s pretty flimsy and too silly to be considered useful. I’ve seen a few videos of people making weird unusual items sheerly out of hot glue which is the wackiest thing i’ve ever seen. bro what are you going to do with a got dam hot glue bowl and spoon if you can’t even use either of those items. you goober. you absolute splorgus jimborp. what are you doing with all that. You made a useless plastic item that only exists as some sort of art that looks interesting and is impressive to make but other than that you have just created a completely useless item. That it the full extent of hot glue. There is no real reason to use hot glue. creative at best but completely useless at worst. in genreral hot glue is really goofy tbh and I’d use a different type of glue. Nothing will change my mind on this I hate hot glue so much goognite.

[the-firebird69]

Billy Joel - The Downeaster 'Alexa' (Official Video)

and we do this.  and tis the largest and our model.  and rerally this boat. they discontinued carver and we use it and in honor of his duty and his family who tried so hard.  

we will use the boat for molds the hull too. it is ot too aggressive and not a deep sea hull. we use the through hull but rieinforce and use brass.  take out al the parts. find them. and copy them too and use all the pieces to make molds. mostly the exteiriour and we  use our system inside a framing system and really emetal I beam shapeds but cast and in three pieces to cross it and a bo aluminum main beam.  tehy all tie in at the bottom on the side. all.  and cross members added after all th e holse predrilled. and mentino it to in our litarature dont drill holes the panels wil be molded and 8′ long two rows a aside and two layers overlap foour foot. start at the bow. the beam 12′. same as here the power plant chrslers or equal and marine grade and four hundred ci .  soldi shaft and prop.  and that is it really.  the panels are plastic reinforced fiberglass and have about twenty percent palsitc all made hot and really hot molten and cast panels 6″ x 8″ fingered joints and ou installon the outside and fold in. bolt up on a 8″ depessed seam and you fill it and it melds and color it no is colored and ou sand lightly and spray with provided special gel.  and it fuses solid.  that is the kit.  and al parts for this boat included.  tons of interest.  tons. and the hull is about threq uarters thick and uniform no need to include the bracing etc and coat nope. and runners and all the normal stuff this has too.  but include solid comaprtment doors nothing through hul at all. ecetp the widnows and are solid and solid brass te class is one inch thick.  and yeh olds chol  coast ghard package icn like fire and sound sfety gear.  one more thing have fun on it lol it is a nice boat a ship really.

oh yeah the name Carver

Thor Freya

this sutuff works

Hera

and the kit isi how much we ask. we can ake it the boat fully but for about 45k and sell it for 75k 

bja

the kit is cheaper. and it is easier stuff. holes are prefit and molded. not muchwood. no. coutnertops are solid and easy to install.  all for the layman.  and fast and easy to make.  but really. all the stuff you guys have it.  the boat would be 

15000 for the hull and topsie and deck 

20000 for the reails motors and clips and metal fittings and hoses wires appliances tanks poumps heaters stoves and refer lights and all the insides carpet and roof cieling and accessories. controls and motors and shaft props 

2000 outside package

1500 msc

now tht is a deal bt includes profit.  and for 50,000 price includes factroy profit and a bit more than his cost but no labor and he seells this now for 125k and says  no but yes. and sells a few not tha many. and are nt interseted.  these will sell and to his.  and can be cartd far for only three grand abou t a thousand miles but really ok.  most would move it a hudnred at most. a nd tons want it now. tons.

Thor Freya

Olylmpus

and every time the itchy thing and yes and we sto them and not hey wont and we hit now here. 

and Frank Castle Hardcastle says it we roll the cars sell. and we make ours now. we introduce the Lambada and now.  and to tons of areas and yes.it worked. scanned a few times. and looked at.  th desing is exquisite no wasted stuff. and that is it we do it make it and tons of it and there are eight factoreis

and we made the day tripper and there rare one hundred factorie and ten are like ours five have the sscan adn work to replciate it and fast too.  tons do it no. but they do try to replciat it and ours out tommorrow tons of them and we slell all the memorabiia yes  and we sell the Lombada gear coats hats gloves and dinenr jackets smoking jackets tons of stuff with my signature and ken saw it no will though and by soomeone who can try to duplicate it

Hera

we try it now

mac

sure do

daniel we do ok now ok

all

daniel

we go in firght macs ok now you si back we take the shipos ok 

etrump

be my guest

daniel

#youtube

[komicoshea]

NCS + Families - Molten Man

He may be on a wrong body but today we talk about Liz Allen's Stepbrother, Molten Man

Hey, my fellow Plastic Addicts. Today we finish off our look at the Amazon Spider-man box set with a look at the most controversial figure in the set, Molten Man. I won’t go into it too much as we all know that they picked the wrong body for him. I will say that I have also added a new Molten Men (Multiverse) to the alternate pages. This also allowed me to add the MCU Molten Man BAF to the…

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