#this is how it feels to throw insect content at ye continuously

[brella-boi]

#this is how it feels to throw insect content at ye continuously #<3 #shitpost #insects #bugblr #bug #damselfly

[toyybox]

Spiderwebs #26: Attrition

Masterlist

content: immortal whumpee, captivity

• —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Things had gone very, very wrong. This was bad. She had almost died. She had felt true terror, deep and pure, for the first time in a long time. Jackie had always seemed harmless to her, but people did strange things when scared. Perhaps she had overestimated her control over him.

She hadn’t actually planned to peel off his skin. She planned to remove quite a bit, yes, but completely skinning him was a step too far, even for her. And she would have stopped after he decided to apologize, of course. She wasn’t a monster. Maybe she went too far with the threats, or maybe she underestimated how much he hated her—good Lord, how he hated her. She saw it in his eyes, piercing and serrated and burning bright like fireworks in the night sky. Popping, hissing, searing through her. Straight through her. It was like he could see straight into her soul. God might forgive her, but she was sure Jackie never would.

Heather leaned against the wall, because she was certain she’d faint if anything else went wrong. She was still lightheaded. Her throat hurt even then, long after Jackie’s grip had left it. When did he get such a strong grip? Her lungs felt like hell, and every breath felt like rusty nails down her chest. The energy had drained from her, along with the blood in her face. It was either his reluctance or exhaustion or mercy, but she was lucky he didn’t think to use the scalpel—thank each and every star, he didn’t think to use the scalpel.

The door was locked. She checked, then double-checked. She shoved a heavy table against it, just in case. When that was done, she went to the living room and collapsed onto the sofa.

She was starting to think that imprisoning an immortal in her basement wasn’t a good idea. Especially one she had taunted many times over, more than she probably should have. He was immortal, but she was not. He would get the last laugh.

She shuddered. It was like she could still feel him, still feel his hand on her throat. Heather had never felt that way, never in her entire life. She’d lived a sheltered life. To be on the receiving end of violence was new to her.

The phone rang. Heather jumped.

It continued to ring. It couldn’t be her old boss. He stopped calling her months ago. Who else, then? Most of her relatives left her well alone, and she didn’t have any friends. It could only be one of her old colleagues.

She walked over to the phone, careful not to stumble and fall on her shaky legs. She picked it up. “Hello?”

“Hi. Is this Heather?”

“Y—Yes.”

“I’m Ravi. Are you okay, by the way? You sound awful.”

“I’m fine, just…” She swallowed. “I had a bit of a shock, that’s all. Hi, Ravi.” He was one of her old colleagues, yes. They had worked together on a research project for epilepsy. He was nice enough. Very bright, too, one of the most talented people she’d ever met. They got along, which was more than Heather could say for most people.

“Sorry to hear that. I called because I’m doing a study. I know you’ve done excellent work on the nervous system. I’ve spoken with Eleanor, as well—I don’t know if you ever met Eleanor—”

“I know her, yes.”

“Oh! That’s good.” He was always excited, as far as she remembered, or he just spoke that way. “It’s a short project, only three months. Would you be interested in coming? I will understand if you’re busy—”

“No,” she cut him off quickly. “I’m free. I can come right away.”

“Oh! Good, good. I’ll send you an email?”

“Yes, thank you, that will be fine.”

“Great! Uh—see you there!”

He hung up. Heather set the phone down. 

This would not solve any of her problems, but it would distract her, which was just as good. The only issue was Jackie. He would not vanish like smoke, and she could not throw him out the second storey window like a fuzzy, yellow insect. Not unless she wanted to go to jail. She didn’t want to go back into the basement, either. Not after all that. She had guns and knives, but some sudden and stupid fear made those weapons sound pathetic. She couldn’t leave him down there… could she?

Well. She could…

Not forever. Obviously. She wasn’t a monster. 

But… three months. Just for three months, just until the research project was over. Long enough for him to settle down, burn out a little. Long enough for her fear to fade.

 It was decided. Heather went to bed. She slept fitfully, waking up in bursts and pauses, but she slept. The next week, she started her work, and her life returned to what could be considered normal. 

• —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

It was surprisingly easy to slip into, normality—it was all she had known four months ago, after all. She’d wake up, cook breakfast, look over her papers, get ready and out the door. She’d make the commute. She’d do her research, complete her work. She’d come back home and fall asleep. It was quiet. It was routine. Predictable and familiar. However boring it was, she knew she would be safe. It was nice to be so sure of something.

That was not to say that her problem in the basement went away completely. It was easy to forget about him, but he made his presence known. 

For the first three or four days, there was nothing. He became restless afterwards. He spoke to her. Usually, she could only hear him if she passed near the basement door, but sometimes he became loud enough to be heard from the upstairs bedroom. Cursing like a hissing animal, telling Heather to get back down there and face him and not hide like a coward. His speeches were not always so eloquent, but that was the gist of them. Sometimes there would be pleading, as time went on, once Jackie realized that threats wouldn’t work. He’d knock the furniture over, bang at the door, hit at the walls. He’d say every vulgar thing he could think of. Heather never answered. She ignored him and carried on.

After the first month, they slowed, got quieter. She heard them less and less, until she didn’t hear them at all. After the second month, there was only silence. 

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Taglist:

@theelvishcowgirl

@lthrboy

@whumpy-wyrms

@yassifiedinformation

#whump #whump writing #my writing #Spiderwebs toyybox #immortal whumpee #I can't believe it's Friday already #anyway this is the end of part 1 of the series #even more wacky hijinks are planned for part 2 so stay tuned

[casspurrjoybell-29]

Frayed Ties - Chapter 19 - Part 2

*Warning Adult Content*

The tunnel felt different with just the four of them.

Danya felt more vulnerable of course, on a purely intellectual level but having fewer people's energy distracting him only enhanced how weird the tunnels felt to him.

Almost alive but... different.

Something else.

"Okay, here's how we're going to do things," Simon said. "Lucas, Danya, I want you two to stay back as much as possible. Neither of you have armour and though you can shield, Danya, I'd rather you save your energy so that you're not too tired to come and save our asses if we really need it."

Danya nodded.

"I can do that."

"Make sure to keep things well lit," Hamish added. "We need to see what we're doing when we're fighting far more than vampires do. If we get completely swamped, we might incapacitate a vampire and throw them to you behind us, finish them off. We can mow through them more quickly if we don't have to make sure each one is totally dead before moving to the next."

"And Danya, I'm sure this doesn't need to be said but tell us if you feel anything," Simon said.

"Still just the tunnel, feeling weird," Danya said.

Hamish spun in a slow circle as they walked, looking at the walls.

"Is that how moss usually feels?"

"No, not really," Danya admitted. "Plants are like... background noise. If you took away all my other senses I could tell you if we were in a forest or a grassy plain or a city but the energy is subtle. It doesn't usually stand out like this."

"So why'd you think it was the moss?" Lucas asked.

"Because it's everywhere. Only a plant could be spread out like that. Or... insects, perhaps?" Danya stopped and leant in to examine one of the walls.

He squinted.

Did he just see something move?

He reached out a hand to touch the wall.

Danya abruptly jerked back, clutching his hand to his chest as something... something...

He had thought he was experiencing pain but now that he'd had time to process the sensation he realised that wasn't what it had been.

Just... energy.

Intense and much too direct.

Simon pulled Danya's hand away from his chest and examined his fingers.

"Are you okay? What happened?"

Danya slowly shook his head.

"I'm fine. There's... something there. Something powerful."

"Not moss?" Lucas asked.

"Definitely not moss."

And then something definitely did shift in the wall and a soft blue light began to emanate from it.

Lucas took a step back.

"I'm not the only one seeing this shit, right?"

Simon held his sword out in front of him and moved to stand between the glowing wall and Danya.

"No you are not."

"What is that?" Hamish asked.

"I don't..." Danya began to say but he fell silent as the light flew down the wall, further into the tunnel ahead of them.

And then it began to emerge.

It wasn't until the shape lifted its head that Danya realised what it was.

Or... what it was trying to be.

It looked like a person but it was made of that soft blue light and completely featureless.

A representation of a person, shaped out of energy.

Suddenly, Danya knew exactly what this thing was.

"Uhh..." Lucas said. "Is that a ghost?"

"No," Danya said. "That's the fae."

"The fucking fae," Hamish breathed. "Are you sure?"

"I... yes, fairly sure," Danya said. "I've never seen one before but I've read about them."

"What does it want?" Hamish asked.

The light man... the fae ... took a step further into the tunnel, then turned back to look at them.

"I think it wants us to follow it," Danya said.

"Uh huh," Hamish said. "Why?"

"I guess it wants to show us something," Danya said. "Maybe where the vampires are? Or where Lynna is?"

Simon took a single step in its direction.

"I guess we follow it, then?"

"Yeah, sure, following the fae, what could go wrong?" Hamish asked, but he was already walking towards it.

When the fae saw that they were following, it continued down the tunnel.

It's legs moved in a walking motion but it was jittery and didn't really match the pace it was moving at.

The fae didn't have physical bodies.

This was merely a friendly shape it was projecting for their sake.

"Do you think it knows we're all friends here?" Hamish asked after a couple of minutes. "I mean, it's not going to try and rescue you two from us or anything, is it?"

"I don't know," Danya admitted. "They don't think like us."

"I've never heard of them trying to liberate a slave before," Simon said. "I think they were reluctant to intervene again after the war was over. There wasn't much left."

"They're hardly seen at all these days," Hamish added. "To the point that some people think they don't even exist anymore. So... maybe they do get what's going on here? Maybe that's why it's letting us see it?"

"We're close to the border," Danya pointed out. "I think they might mostly live on the other side of it now. Outside of human territories."

"Yeah, I guess I wouldn't blame..." Hamish started to say, and then fell silent when Danya held up a hand.

Danya could feel that now familiar screaming, angry energy, and it was heading in their direction.

He gestured ahead of them with a nod of his head.

"Vampire."

As the vampire passed near the glow of the fae, it faltered, confused.

It swiped out its claws but the fae didn't even move as they passed right through.

A low, rumbling growl came from the vampire as it focussed its sights on more tangible prey.

Danya gripped his knife and held up his free hand, ready to strike or to shield as needed.

The vampire was on them in an instant and struck out at Simon but its claws scratched ineffectually down the tough armour protecting Simon's chest.

It pulled back, hissing, its fingertips red and raw where they'd brushed over the silver studs.

Simon swung his arm guard at the vampire's face, it dodged and then it froze and choked and as the sharp force of its energy faded away Danya noticed the sword Hamish had thrust through its chest from behind.

Hamish wrenched the sword free and the vampire dropped to the ground.

Ahead of them, the fae started moving again.

They followed.

"That fight was over a lot quicker than I expected," Lucas commented.

"With vampires, it has to be if you want to win," Hamish said as he wiped his blade clean with a rag. "The target is to get them down within five seconds. They don't get tired and winded. The longer the fight goes on, the more of an advantage they have."

"And the more of them hit us one at a time like that the more of an advantage we have, which is why the routes we drew up took us around the outer edges first," Simon explained. "But this fae seems determined to lead us straight to the heart of this place, so that'll be... exciting."

Danya held his hand up and they all fell silent and slowed.

Despite knowing exactly where the vampire was, it still startled him when it suddenly leapt out at them as they approached a bend in the tunnel.

Simon and Hamish were ready for it, though.

Danya counted in his head this time and by the time he reached three the fight was over.

Lucas stepped around the body of the vampire.

"So, do we just sort of stand here and cheer you guys on?"

"I mean, I'm not hearing any cheering so far and I feel like that would really help my morale, you know?" Hamish said.

"You'll get your turn," Simon promised.

By the third vampire, Danya was beginning to see the strategy Simon and Hamish used.

Simon, who was slightly taller and broader than Hamish, would stand a step ahead and engage the vampire first.

Hamish would then find his way behind it and strike a fatal blow while it was distracted.

Each time, the fae would pause, wait for the vampire to be taken care of and then continue as though nothing had happened.

The fourth vampire noticed what Hamish was doing before he could strike and spun around to slam him against the side of the tunnel but Simon took advantage of the opportunity and drew his sword across the side of its neck.

Lucas stared down at the vampire, his features pinched in disgust.

It twisted and gurgled on the ground, its neck half-severed.

It was a relief when he stabbed it through the eye to finish it off.

"There you go," Hamish said. "You participated."

"Hmm," Lucas said. "I feel like that was more a favour I did to the vampire than anything else."

"Nah. I bet it could have gotten back up, if you'd given it a minute. As long as you don't sever the spine, cuts to the neck usually aren't nearly as devastating as you'd think. They don't really suffocate or bleed out like a person would. When it comes to vampires, always finish the job."

"Gross."

"Every year, when there are a bunch of fresh new recruits, sixteen year old kids, the men training them will capture a few vampires, light up a spot outside at night and cut them up," Simon said. "Slice off their limbs, almost entirely severe their heads, repeatedly stab their torsos in non-vital places. It sticks with you."

"Yup," Hamish said. "I think I'm still traumatised from that but after you see a limbless torso still trying to murder someone you sure do always remember to finish off downed opponents."

Danya lifted his hand again.

"Another?" Hamish spun his blade in a circle to loosen his wrist.

"Can't they see we're trying to have a conversation here?"

[morganaspendragonss]

would you write a fic with carlos wiping tks tears away please

thank you for the prompt! this came out fluffier than my initial thoughts were, but once i had the idea, i couldn’t resist! hope you like it, anon!

ao3

TK grins, recognising the dirt trail Carlos has turned the car down. He looks over, quirking an eyebrow at his boyfriend. 

“So, this is the big surprise, huh?”

Carlos almost jumps out of his skin, the car jolting a little as he glances sharply at TK. He swears under his breath, hastily turning back to the track and getting them on course. “What are you talking about?”

“Come on, Carlos.” TK laughs. “You’ve obviously been planning something for days, and then you put me in the car with no explanation on our anniversary and bring us here? You’re such a sap.”

He smiles as Carlos brings the car to a halt in almost the exact spot they were in two years ago. It’s incredible to think how far they’ve come since that night under the stars, when they had finally decided to give them a chance. TK can’t imagine what life would be like if he’d never taken that leap, and he doesn’t want to; he has everything he could ever dream of right here.

“Only for you,” Carlos says softly. He reaches over to the back seat and produces a large blanket. “Fancy a picnic?”

It’s a clear night, the barest hint of a breeze in the air, only the sound of chirping insects disrupting the quiet. TK sighs happily as he stretches out on the blanket, watching Carlos unpack the food. His eyes go wide when he spots the contents of one tub, and he reaches over to practically snatch it from Carlos.

“Are these chocolate-covered strawberries?”

“Those,” Carlos says in fond exasperation, taking the container back, “are for later.” He sets the tub to one side and presents another one to TK. “Have a tamale first, I didn’t slave over these for you to ignore them in favour of chocolate.”

TK pouts. “Spoilsport,” he mutters, but accepts the tamale anyway. He doesn’t bother to censor his moan as he bites into it, and looks Carlos dead in the eyes the whole time.

Carlos just rolls his eyes. “You’re a menace.”

“You love it.”

They eat in silence, pressed against each other on the blanket. Carlos half-heartedly complains when TK insists on holding hands, citing the difficulty of eating one-handed, but he only holds on tighter at the suggestion of letting go. As Carlos stares up at the sky, TK studies him, even in the darkness able to map every line of his face. A rush of love overwhelms him, and he wonders how he could have possibly gotten this lucky.

“Hey,” he says, catching Carlos’s attention. “Thanks for bringing us here. I love it.”

Carlos smiles, squeezing TK’s hand. “I know it’s not as beautiful as last time, but -”

“Says who?” TK demands. “As far as I recall, the most beautiful thing about last time is still sitting right here with me.”

Carlos flushes adorably, his gaze dropping to their linked hands. “Now who’s the sap?” he teases.

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.” Carlos smiles, then, without warning, his entire demeanour changes, an obvious nervousness coming over him. TK frowns, but before he can get words out, Carlos continues, “At least, I hope you don’t, else this is about to get really awkward.”

“Carlos, what -” TK cuts himself off, his mouth hanging open in shock as Carlos moves away from in, shifting onto one knee. “Are you serious right now?”

“As serious as I’ve ever been.” Carlos takes a shaky breath, then pulls a small box out of the picnic basket, opening it to reveal a simple silver ring. Tears spring to TK’s eyes and he can’t keep the smile off his face as Carlos begins to speak.

“I love you so damn much, TK Strand. I love how you’re never a morning person, yet you’re always the first one asleep every night. I love how you wear your heart on your sleeve and care so deeply about everything. I love the way you make me feel so loved every single second of every single day that we’re together. You are the best thing to ever happen to me, and I plan to keep on loving you for the rest of my life, if you’ll have me.”

Carlos pauses, smiling almost shyly. “So, will you?” he asks. “Tyler Kennedy Strand, will you marry me?”

TK stares in stunned silence for a moment, before letting out a choked sob, surging forwards to kiss his boyfriend - no, his fiancé. Carlos laughs into it, pulling away to frame TK’s face in his hands, gently wiping away the tears on his cheeks. It’s not very effective; new ones quickly replace them, but they’re both crying at this point, so it doesn’t really matter.

“Can I take that as a yes?” Carlos asks wetly.

“Of course it is, you idiot.” TK lets Carlos slide the ring on his finger, then kisses him again. He throws his arms around him, hugging him tightly, and moves his lips to his ear, whispering the only thing he’s known to be true over all these years.

“It’s always been yes.”

#911 lone star #911 lone star fic #tarlos #tarlos fic #tk strand #carlos reyes #tk x carlos #lone star #911ls #fanfiction #my fanfiction #writing #my writing #this is longer than i thought whoops

[smalltragedy]

* natalia dyer, nonbinary + she/they | you know philomena carmichael, right? they’re twenty-one, and they’ve lived in irving for, like, a day? well, their spotify wrapped says they listened to oo-de-lally by roger miller like, a million times this year, which makes sense ‘cause they’ve got that whole wind whipping around your hair, the gentleness of decomposition, a naked blur dancing around the flames of an everlasting fire thing going on. i just checked and their birthday is april 20th, so they’re a taurus, which is unsurprising, all things considered. ( james, 22, est, they/them )

hiii im back ... tentatively .. looks at u all ominously

CANCER, TRAUMA, DEPERSONALIZATION / DEREALIZATION, DEATH, GRAPHIC MENTION OF DECAY, INSECTS MENTION TW.

mini playlist.

oo-de-lally / roger miller, wonderfully bizarre / bendigo fletcher, dust in your pocket / glass animals, gecgecgec / 100 gecs, nantes / beirut, cherry-coloured funk / cocteau twins, not allowed / tv girl, space song / beach house, dog food / 100 gecs.

statistics.

full name: philomena brontë carmichael

nickname(s): philly, phil, mena, etc.

birthday: april 20th, 2000.

zodiac: taurus sun, scorpio moon, aries ascending.

temperament: improvisor / phlegmatic.

label: the halycon.

sexuality: demisexual.

pinterest.

biography.

a middle child belonging to christopher and imogen carmichael - two stanford professors. christopher specialized in british literature whilst imogen specialized in the classics. hence the name.

the order of siblings goes as such: lysander, elektra, juno, philomena, and twins orion & valora. the deal was that everybody had a greek (or in juno’s case, roman) first name and a middle name inspired by a piece of british literature circa 1800s and under. a family of nerds, if you will.

so, clearly - right off the bat, their parents are … eccentric. they’re both in love with their respected topic, and with each other, and with their kids. the carmichael family is a happy family.

they each have their own quirks and whatnot - though philly’s always been particularly dreamy - even as a child, she’d spend hours watching clouds or caterpillars or the leaves blow in the wind rather than play with other kids. she wasn’t a shy kid - she just had her own interests.

hardship doesn’t hit the family until philomena is five and starts having splitting headaches. they’re slow at first - but as soon as she’s seeing spots and unable to walk in a straight line, doctor appointments are made.

cancer tw // it doesn’t take long for them to discover the tumor, though the official diagnosis of malignant ependymoma comes a month later.

it’s grade ii but slow-moving, small enough to not be as much of a threat as worried, but big enough where removal is necessary. philomena earns a scar and brings it in for show-and-tell. for two months afterwards, philly’s at radiotherapy monday through friday.

they’re lucky - philomena’s considered cancer-free by the next year. she’s babied at first - handled delicately, as if she could break if touched - but with five other children … it doesn’t last for too long. end of cancer tw //

and life continues as normal.

her personality doesn’t shift much over the next few years - she’s awfully independent for a kid, and awfully quiet - when she speaks it’s about faeries and bigfoot, about how the sky is so blue and if you listen quietly, you can hear the leaves whisper their secrets to each other. this is not odd.

she’s close to all her siblings, but she idolizes her older sister - elektra. elektra’s six years older and dyes her hair whatever colors she wants. elektra bought a knife off a seedy guy downtown. elektra threw away all of her heels and renounced god. elektra is god. her music is loud but it’s not heavy - it’s florence and the machine.

they’re opposites - elektra’s boisterous and feels loudly, philomena’s softer and feels…less. when elektra sneaks out, philomena keeps watch. they are a duo.

philomena is smart - but she’s fifteen and hates school. hates sitting inside all day. hates the same routine - day after day - it’s all the same. her parents’ routine is the same, philly feels contained and she wants to live.

elektra’s twenty-one and just bought a brand new spanking (used but not falling apart) 19-something volkswagen … van - using her entire savings account. she says she’s tired of routine, she’s leaving the next day.

naturally, philomena stows away in the back and isn’t discovered until they’re two states away and she’s got to pee. elektra nearly crashes the van in shock.

it’s an argument - philomena vs. elektra, then them vs. their parents, then their parents vs. the school, the state - it’s an ordeal. philomena switches to an online program in the end.

it hurts christopher and imogen - lysander’s not having any of their nonsense, juno’s betrayed and alone - the twins are twins. in the end, it’s alright. the carmichael family is a happy family.

philomena and elektra take their time - it’s not a road trip, it’s their new life, permanently on the road. they stop and explore often - they do odd jobs in whatever town they settle in. they dine-n-dash, they shoplift. they survive in their own way.

during particularly desperate times, they two resorted to identity theft & credit fraud - getting away with it only by ditching the cards once they’ve made it out of state.

she drops out of high school officially when she’s seventeen - they have to drive all the way back to california to deal with the wrath of their parents and to deal with paperwork, but it’s done. philomena doesn’t know what path she wants in life - but it’s not that.

depersonalization / derealization tw // it’s during this time that the episodes occur - philomena’s outside her body, philomena’s wrapped in cotton, her memories are not her own. she’s looking in the mirror and she doesn’t recognize herself. they take shelter in a city for six months, long enough for her brand spankin’ new therapist to figure out what’s wrong with her. she’s diagnosed with depersonalization / derealization disorder - they think it’s stress. philomena doesn’t get stressed. they think it’s trauma. she laughs - she never laughs. depersonalization / derealization end of tw //

death, decay. maggots tw // there is trauma though, deep-rooted but somewhere inside - you just have to look for it.

you. just. have. to. look. for. it. look for it. look for it. look for it look for it look -

you were ten and she was thirteen, an off-trail hike in familiar woods in a familiar town, safe and familiar. it was your idea, to stray from the carved out paths, down creeks and up hills and round, and round again. you’re the one who spotted the scarf first, sticking up from the dirt and dancing in the wind like the beginning of reincarnation. it was not reincarnation, it was discovery. it was ruin. with curiosity drawn, you skidded down - with compliance, followed juno, followed your sister - clumsy in her steps and tumbling down quicker than you. you saw the corpse, but juno felt it. decaying flesh and maggot. end of death, decay, maggots tw //

and she left juno, just like that - just five years later, when juno had finally gone to the end of her wits. philly up and left. abandoned her.

philomena and elektra leave the city after that therapy session. they do not return. she’s always been good at hiding her secrets.

after ending up with warrants from their arrest in florida (after running from the law in texas), philly and elektra have wound up at irving <3 partially hiding from the law and partially bcos their trusty van’s broken down and they haven’t got the money to fix her up yet.

personality & facts.

she’s quiet but she’s confident - her voice sounds like rustling leaves, if leaves smoked a pack of cigarettes a day.

often underestimated - philly’s petite and looks like she’d fall over if a plastic bag blew too close to her. she’s independent - for the most part. elektra is the only person philly takes orders from.

has always been considered odd - weird, strange. still talks about the trees as if they’re listening, as if they’re old friends. she’s vague and doesn’t elaborate on the things she says.

believes in pretty much any superstition you throw her way. luck is very important to her. if you ask her if the earth is flat, she’ll say probably. believes strongly in bigfoot and the lochness monster. has personally seen aliens, and loves ghosts almost more than herself.

she can be amusing - whether you ‘get’ her or not, her outlook is often bright - she talks about the negatives the same way she talks about the positives. can be seen as naive or gullible, but she’s plenty smart. even if half of her education has come directly from google.

philly doesn’t laugh. a smile, yes - often, in fact - not always reaching her ears, or bearing teeth - but these are not indicators of her happiness. philly is consistently content. she thinks many things are funny - she still will not laugh.

her voice is often monotonous - she doesn’t sound dreary, she sounds far-away. her voice carries. her emotions are often unknown to others.

is apathetic in most situations. she’s hard to bother - she’s incredibly patient and enjoys the company of most - tolerates them at the very least. it’s hard for her to express her emotions, because she feels them so little that it’s very nearly not worth it. her affection is not verbal - it’s small touches and gestures of kindness, love in her own way.

is a fan of knock-knock jokes and bad puns. she won’t crack a smile while telling you them, nor does she expect you to laugh. she just enjoys them.

she owns a motorola razr covered in puffy stickers - hasn’t ever had a smartphone. she’s a fan of emoticons. her favorite is :o)

has a lot of bruises and scratches and scars - she’s often getting herself into pickles. there are always, at the very minimum, three bandaids on each hand.

she has insomnia, so she’s awake often. is often seen wandering town - even when she shouldn’t be, even when it might be dangerous. her intuition is delayed. when she does sleep - her dreams are vivid and fantastical.

keeps a box of memories - sentimental bits and pieces she’s picked up over the last few years. there are a lot of buttons and postcards, but any teeny tiny object will do.

her style changes every week - most, if not all, of her clothes are thrifted. one week she’s baby spice and the next she’s lydia deetz. she combines pieces from different styles often - she looks like a barbie clothed by a child. she feels most comfortable like this.

will either patch-up the clothes that get too worn or reuse them in some way. sometimes donates the clothes she gets tired off - isn’t minimalistic, but she’s learned to keep only a small amount of possessions.

the only consistency is her lucky ribbon - it’s pastel yellow and silky and as thin as a shoelace. she ties it onto her outfit of the day, everyday. if she loses it, she’s lost. elektra has a matching ribbon.

has no problem with minor theft - she only takes bare minimum, puts herself and elektra first and that’s how it’s always been.

currently living in florence, their van, with her sister elektra <3 currently residing in lilac ridge.

they used to live in motels on the occasion, the cheapest room, and more often than not they’d both go home with strangers for a comfier bed and a hotter shower.

it was a common occurrence - she didn’t sleep with them - but somehow, she weaseled her way into their homes anyway. has come out mostly unscathed, on most occasions. this has been a practice ever since they’ve been on the road.

really, truly - has not slept with anybody, had her first kiss at thirteen with a frog. this doesn’t bother her. (smirks at leo)

will consume anything you put in front of her - isn’t picky.

listens to whatever they’ve picked up along the way but she likes instrumentals the best. her second favorite genre is 1990′s and 2000′s top hits. they’re nostalgic for her. third favorites? florence, of course. fleetwood mac. the bird and the bee.

loves storms - will go out in the rain and will risk her life for it.

owns a pair of roller-skates and is often skating rather than walking. unless she’s on grass - then she’s walking barefoot.

has many hobbies, and gets bored of them often. her favorite hobby is welding. she’s not certified.

also, juggling.

also, accordion.

the kind of girl who’ll do any job you give her. odd jobs are her favorite jobs. babysitting is her least favorite - but she does it anyway. has lost children before. have they ever been found? not by philly.

dyes her hair blonde often and cuts her own hair - bangs included - finds it cathartic, likes the itchiness of bleach.

everything she does is often in pursuit of feeling free, alive, and meaningful.

( like her frequent visits to the woods, late at night when the moon is high and full. it’s freeing to dance around a fire, stark naked in the cold. builds immunity )

comes and goes wherever she pleases, nothing & nobody can stop her (besides elektra).

has a certain knack for getting animals to like her. has too many ‘pet’ rats that reside with her, alongside a baby raccoon & a few crow pals. has a new animal companion everyday, but she doesn’t contain them or force them to stay.

wanted plots.

speaking through my third eye ... ;; philly is new in town n shes very strange. constantly lives in a state in which she does not exist (at least on the same plane). this is her harassing the locals. this is her slipping thru their fingertips as they attempt 2 understand her. they get close smtms bt philly jst. whisks herself away.

hollows of our eyelids ... ;; perhaps there is smbdy jst as strange as philly. i’m out here calling fr all the weirdos. lets be friends. lets hv philly n co go on adventures n discover horrible sites n uncover ancient secrets tht lie deep below irving. mayb nt tht. bt im jst saying. this is fr the dreamers. da weirdos. the jugheads. LHKDSHFSADLKGFHLSKADG fr those who also feel as if they r not real.

bills n aches n blues... ;; ya this is my call fr all negative plots. bills (catching philly be a thief and a fraud), aches (mayb heartache? unrecruited feelings or w/e theyre called?), n blues (ooooh so sad... so sad ... angst ...) obviously i am a genius. i wldnt say tht philly is here 2 make enemies bc philly doesnt care much abt ppl bt perhaps tht cld b an issue. tht she doesnt care much abt others. mayb ur muse is jst like. cn u pls care. n philly is like. i am incapable. sry. sucks.

n also ,, ;; like. anything i’ll. take anything. philly is weird lets come up w surreal plots tht verge on the edge of like. nt being correct fr this verse. suddenly theres vampires? or so they think ... smirks. anyways. shes been 2 jail n been in the circus n dances naked in the woods n hoards animals n treasures. we hv a lot to work with here obv.

#irvingintro #cancer tw #death tw #decay tw #maggots tw #dissociation tw #depersonalization tw #derealization tw #trauma tw #:D

[the-lady-writes-what]

Walpurgisnacht

Since I saw this name first, I’m writing this with Hizashi Yamada (Present Mic). Walpurgishnacht is the German equivalent of May Day, or in the pagan/Wiccan/witchcraft communities, Beltane, which is on May 1. As you might be able to guess throughout this work, Beltane is a holiday centered around fertility, sensuality, and celebrates the beginning of summer. I probably should have written this way back at the beginning of the month, but my personal philosophy about the “witches’” wheel of the year, AKA Wiccan Wheel of the Year, is that dates are kinda arbitrary and I’m not really bound to follow a calendar invented by a random British dude in the 1950′s. I also wanted to include the full moon as a theme because of today’s super rare “Flower Moon.” But enough rambling, I guess. 

e/c--eye color

Content: outdoor sex, semi-public, cream pie, praise kink, slight voyeurism on reader’s part, drunk sex (but both participants are still able to consent), also the reader isn’t wearing anything under her dress

Beltane

Lá Bealtaine. Calan Mai. Rudemas. May Day. Floralia. Walpurgisnacht.

Call it what you like, but whatever its name, it gathered local witches to a wild field surrounded by a forest made green with newly sprung leaves. Birch, hawthorn, and oak. Pine and rowan. All made up the woods ringing around the field of weeds, daisies, and grass that stood up to mid-calf. A band of fiddles, drums, and pipes played nothing but rowdy tunes as the sun set low beyond the hills and played louder when the moon, the full moon, rose up and took the sun's throne in the sky. A bonfire was set in the middle of the field encircled by rocks painted with symbols of fertility, joy, and whatever the witch desired most for the coming summer. Because of the ruckus humans were making, the woodland creatures, except for the owl, stayed away from the revelry. Attracted by the bright light, moths fluttered in and around and into the dangerous fires and were sometimes consumed by it once they got too close. 

In the shadows, the Maypole stayed erect, bedecked in ribbons of different colors. Green, white, and red were the most popular. Decorating from top to bottom with bells, feathers, leather, and felt bags of herbs and spices, ahem, and phalluses, it was a strange juxtaposition of innocent Christmas colors and pagan heathenry. There was no time to think about Christmas or winter or autumn for that matter. Each and everyone was in the moment, dancing, singing, hopping, jumping over the broom, and kissing one another. 

No kids allowed. There were blankets laid out in the shadows, cooled by the damp earth. While nobody was outright having sex in front of everybody present, there was undoubtedly couples, and at least one group of three, enjoying a heavy make-out secession or heavy petting. The smell of sex and sweat was just as pungent in the air as the wine, smoke, and summer fruits. Your cheeks were warm to the touch, whether from the sights before you or from drinking too much wine, you could not tell. Barefooted, you stood, tapping your foot. You watched dancers go round and round the bonfire in a frenzy. It was like watching an ancient Bacchanal. And there you were without shoes, in a red dress resembling a Greek chiton and a flower crown of ferns, blackberry stems, and primroses. What more, you lacked a couple of other things too, not that you were going to explain to the whole company partying it up in the woods what you weren't wearing underneath that red linen dress. 

So, you stood there awkwardly. Not dancing, not engaging in conversation, not passing kisses to strangers, just observing. You sipped from a golden cup, not real gold, of course, but made to look like it. The wine ran down your throat. It warmed your throat, your cheeks, your head. The wine settled nicely in your full belly after a day of eating on meat, vegetables, stew, and whatever everyone brought to the table. It didn't go straight to your head, though you slowly started to feel the effects after two cups. This, your third, was already halfway gone. You continued to watch everyone else have fun, but for yourself? A swarm of butterflies crippled any chance of introducing yourself. This community, too large to be a coven, was brand new to you and you to them. They knew you about as well you did them. They were strangers one and all, and you'd been tempted to stay at home and hold a private Beltane in your kitchen, attended only by you and your hearth spirits. 

And yet, here you were. Standing off to the side and seemingly content to watch rather than participate, but you were there. That should have counted for something, right? An evil, annoying thought crept into your brain and squatted there. The only reason why no one was paying attention to you was because they were too drunk and absorbed in each other's touches too much care for what you were doing. If they suddenly became sober and stopped making out with each other, then they'd be busy staring at you and wondering why you bothered to come at all. You shivered despite the wine in your system and the waves of heat rolling off the massive bonfire. Your toes curled up in the grass and dirt. 

You turned to find a quiet space to collect your thoughts when your eyes met with someone else's. A pair of emerald-green eyes met your (e/c). The man was tall, lanky, and had golden blonde hair flowing down his shoulders. You saw a drink in his hand, a cup similar to yours, which explained the pinkish glow in his cheeks. You caught his eye from across the field. He handed over his goblet to a dark-haired man with an unshaved face. The man with the green eyes bobbed and weaved his way in between the dancers, narrowly dodging a swinging arm to the face. When he, at last, stood at arm's length from you, he smiled at you. You looked behind you and to either side of you. You pointed your finger at yourself. 

"I noticed you standing off by yourself. My name is Hizashi Yamada." He held out his hand towards you, a silent request for you to take it. 

You took a long swig from your cup and emptied the rest of your wine down your throat. Throwing the cup down, a rush of excitement fogged your mind. You not only reached for his extended hand and took it, you shook his hand vigorously as the alcohol made the blood in your temples throb. Your heart beat like an excited bird in a cage. 

"Y/N. That's my name. Y/N L/N."

"Would you care for a dance?" Hizashi bowed from the waist. His hair cascaded off his shoulders in a golden waterfall. 

You bit your bottom lip. You looked at Hizashi, then at the dancers. The butterflies in your stomach nearly burst out of your belly. Finally, you swallowed hard and answered, "Yes."

Hizashi took you by the hand with a gentle hold and guided you to the band of revelers. He also kept you within touching distance to not lose you or have you fall on your face. It took a couple of songs before you threw yourself into the dance. Energy seemed to stem from the earth beneath your feet and reach up deep inside of you. Sweat beaded down your neck, face, and arms, but all it did was to help you become more comfortable with whatever it was that entered your body. Hizashi helped you slow down when the players switched to a softer melody. You managed not to step on his feet during the next couple of slow dances. How you did it, you wouldn't be able to say, considering how you kept your eyes on him the whole time. 

The butterflies disappeared to but a few. You and Hizashi were staring into each other's eyes even as the band picked up again. Those dancers who hadn't collapsed asleep or paired off and wandered into the woods started again. The two of you, however, stood still among the chaos. The wine had been beaten out with sweat and dancing, but you wondered if it was gone altogether. For it wasn't like you to want to kiss the first stranger you meet at a party. Hizashi wore doeskin leather pants, a flowy white tunic, and a green vest. Both his shirt and vest were opened to give you a good view of his chest. Your eyes fixated on a particular bead of sweat making its way down the plain of his muscled stomach. A treasure trail of blonde hair led to the hem of Hizashi's tight pants. Unconsciously, you licked your lips. 

"Would you like to take a break?" Hizashi asked. 

You swallowed hard, then nodded. "Yes. I could use a break from dancing." You were panting for breath as Hizashi once again took you by the hand. This time, he led you away from the swirling crowd of dancers still going at it even though the night was running short. He guided you past the couples laying out on blankets kissing and snuggling beneath the moon. You craned your neck to see that silver disk rising high in the sky, almost cresting in the middle of the star-strewn blanket of night. Hizashi led you under the outstretched arms of the trees and finally stopped to rest beneath an oak. You both sat at its roots. You could barely see the dancers, musicians, and couples through the trees, but you could still hear them. Crickets and other insects joined the chorus of the party. 

In your revelry, you hadn't noticed how the strap of your dress slid off your shoulder. You thought a moment about pulling it to its correct position, then reconsidered. You leaned against Hizashi. Sitting together, watching everyone else through the brush, you could catch your breath. Away from the crowd and the bonfire, the coolness of the night settled around and on you. You were sobered up by the time you reached for Hizashi's sleeve and gave it a little tug. He turned to you. Your faces were a hairs' breadth apart. Just as you started to lean in for a kiss, another noise caught your attention.

It was two people, a man and a woman. You got up to investigate, and Hizashi followed you. Together, you crept through the woods towards the strange sound. You stepped a little further than the bonfire's light could reach. Your eyes had to adjust to the darkness but then fastened on the small glowing light of a flashlight on the ground. With the flashlight somewhat discarded, the other pair was bathed in moonlight. You hid behind a tree to watch them. 

The man buried himself all the way to the hilt inside of his lover, who clawed at his back. You couldn't see their features, but you could see their bodies writhing against each other. More to the point, you could hear them a little too well. He was grunting as he rutted into her and scraped his lover's back in return against the trunk of the tree. Beneath the swollen moon, the woman howled in pleasure and panted. Warmth spread in your lower belly. You never watched two people fuck before; you never watched porn before. Slick began to pool between your legs. 

Hizashi's hand found its way to your shoulder. You jumped a little at his suddenness, then just as quickly regained yourself. Hizashi pulled himself closer to you until his chest was against your back. His other hand came to your bare shoulder. Hizashi flexed his fingers on your joints and pressed his fingertips into your flesh. He tucked his chin on your shoulder like he was trying to get a better view of the other couple. The wet slaps of skin against skin silenced everything else. It drowned out the far-away music. You stood there watching those to rut and listened to their moans. You didn't stop Hizashi from kissing the side of your neck nor when he pressed his hardness against your backside. 

"It looks like they're having fun." Hizashi chuckled. His laugh rippled along your skin as he pressed his mouth on your neck. 

"Y-Yeah," you said. 

"Wanna join them, sweetness?" He toyed with the strap that hadn't fallen off. 

"Gods, yes," you half moaned. 

Before you could realize it, Hizashi spun you around. He kissed you full on the mouth. He toyed with your tongue and explored the cavern of your mouth until he turned you into a moaning mess. Hizashi slid between your legs, forcing the dress to hike up to your hips. His knee brushed against your clit, making you gasp louder than you intended. Hizashi grazed his hand along your hip as if feeling for something that wasn't there. 

"Oh my. You're shivering pretty little thing. Aren't you wearing anything underneath that flimsy dress?" 

You shook your head. You bit your lip because you were too ashamed of saying such things out loud. You arrived without any underwear at all beneath your dress. Hizashi's arms lowered you to the twig and grass-ladened ground and nudged your opening further with his knee. You gasped again, louder this time even though you saw it coming and could have prepared for it. By the light of the moon, you saw Hizashi's golden brow shoot up, and his mouth bore an impertinent smirk. 

"You naughty little thing!" Hizashi bent down and kissed your neck, and left a fiery trail to your breasts. 

He lay flat against you, almost to the point of smothering you. Hizashi was careful not to do that. His hands ran up and down your torso; his fingers hugged and gripped every curve they could get a hold of. Your nipples pebbled through the linen fabric of your dress. Hizashi pulled down the straps and the front of your clothing to present your heaving chest to him. He kissed, licked, and nibbled on your breasts until you were pretty sure you were going to melt, thanks to his affections. 

"Harder, harder. F-Fuck! Oh god, you make me feel so good. Fuck me harder!" The woman cried out. 

The man grunted loud enough for you to hear. Your fingers knotted into Hizashi's long hair as he suckled on your breast like a newborn. He looked you in the eye after letting go of your nipple with a wet pop. 

"Would you like to continue?" He asked. 

You rubbed your thighs together and found them soaked. The other couple started moaning louder than before. The man was pounding into his woman harder at her request. Hearing them edge towards their climax only made you hungry for your own. 

You nodded and added, "Please."

Hizashi sat on his knees. He ditched his shirt and vest (not that they were doing him a disservice, to begin with). His fingers untied the front of his pants, laced up instead of a modern button and zipper. You watched in awe as his finger flew through the knot and lacing. Unlike you, he wore a pair of black boxers. Hizashi shoved down his pants and boxers together to pull out his long, hard cock. A bead of pre-cum leaked at the blunt head. He grabbed the back of your knees and shoved your legs open. There was little preamble when he slid inside your tight heat. 

"Sweeting, do you feel good?" Hizashi asked with a strained voice. You looked to see his face scrunched up as if in pain. It must be taking everything for him not to savagely rut into you. 

"So good," you whimpered, but it was a pleasing noise. You never felt so full. 

"I'll be moving, okay?"

"Okay."

Your single word was all Hizashi needed. He held the back of your knees still as he pulled halfway out then pushed back into your cunt. Your panting returned as soon Hizashi moved in earnest. Each thrust of his hips earned him a moan or a whimper from you. The sound of you fucking joined with the other couple's. 

"That feels good, doesn't it?" Hizashi 

"Y-Yes!"

"G-Good, good. You feel good to me too. You're so wet. Can you hear yourself? How naughty you sound down here?"

A wave of heat passed over your face. Hizashi was right. You were overflowing down there, and each thrust of his just accentuated the sound. You wrapped your legs around his waist. Hizashi's hands landed on either side of your head to grasp at the dirt. He fucked you faster and faster. Both of your bodies were quivering of each impact. Hizashi was reaching deep inside of you. The couple just beyond the trees hadn't stopped either. Four wanton people were fucking their respective partner's brains out, and nobody was disturbed by the fact. You clenched around Hizashi's cock, pounding away at you.

"Damn, girlie. Does being fucked into the forest floor get you hot and bothered?" Hizashi husked next to your ear. "Or is it the fact that you got all excited after watching another couple getting it on?"

Your only reply was dragging your nails down his back while he continued pounding your cunt. Your back ached because of a twig rubbing against your spine, but that was the least of your concerns. Hizashi leaned back on his haunches, grabbed your hips, and fucked you harder. The new angle reached inside of you deeper than before. His cock found your G-spot. The moment Hizashi hit it, you screamed all the more. Beyond the trees, the other couple responded with a few grunts and cries of their own in reply. Hizashi smirked at knowing where the special button was. With that knowledge, it was easy to hit it over and over again to make you scream again for him. 

You felt Hizashi's eyes trail up your body from where you were connected to him. He placed a palm over where he was currently buried, inside your warm cunt. You were sucking him in and gripping him tight with your walls. His fingers trailed over the bunched-up linen fabric of your dress and plucked your nipple. Your breasts bounced with each thrust of his and kept his attention for a moment. Hizashi watched them bounce with every rock of his hips between your legs. You were getting tighter, and he was so close himself. He could explode right then and there, but he wanted to see you come undone first. He had been wondering since the moment he laid eyes on you what you looked like in complete ecstasy. 

Hizashi moved his hand back down and flicked your clit. His eyes searched your face. Your eyes were made glassy; he flicked it again. You knocked your head into the ground, moving it side to side. Hizashi kept fucking you and moved his fingers along your clit. 

"Yeah, yeah. You're going to come soon. Fuck, babe, let see your pretty face when you come. Let me look you in the eye as you come," said Hizashi. He thrust deeper, faster, and harder into you and moved his fingers at the same pace against your clit. 

"That's it! Fuck, fuck, fuck, I'm coming!" The other woman shouted. The man came with a loud, animalistic grunt, which caused his woman to howl in return. Her cries died off into whimpers that you could still hear. 

"Fuck, baby, there's so much," the woman whined. 

"And don't waste a fucking drop of it either," said he.

The image of cum dripping down your cunt was more than enough to yank you off the edge. Your back arched like a bow. You dragged your nails down Hizashi's back, only this time drawing blood. Hizashi shuddered as you clawed at him like a cat in heat. The sting made his eyes screw tight. He let out a hiss, then he grunted. Without warning, he was spilling all over your insides. His pulsing cock was entirely inside your cunt when Hizashi painted your walls white. You had another orgasm, albeit a smaller one. Arms wrapped around each other as Hizashi flopped down on top of you, unable to pull out and roll over. He was stuck. 

There were giggles and rustling leaves. Footsteps approached, but you both were too exhausted to care about who saw you and how you might have looked. Whoever they were, they quickly moved along without saying anything about you or to you. After a while, Hizashi finally regained enough strength to pull out. Luckily, he carried a handkerchief in his pocket. It came in handy when it came time to clean up the mess he made between your thighs. You thanked him and offered a bashful smile. Hizashi helped pull you to your feet, and you walked back to the celebration hand in hand. 

The bonfire continued to burn until dawning. When the first morning light began to shine, announcing the first day of the new summer season, you found out that you and Hizashi, as well as that other couple weren't the only ones to have taken advantage of Walpurgisnacht's sensual energy. A bit of slick down your thigh that Hizashi missed when you finally parted and made your way to your car. As you put on something a bit more decent than a linen dress, you couldn't help but wait until the next sabbat to see Hizashi again.

#my hero acadmia #mha #mha fanfiction #mha smut #smut #boku no hero academia #bnha #bnha fanfiction #bnha smut #18+ only #fem!reader #y/n #reader fic #hizashi yamada #present mic #Hizashi x fem reader #present mic x fem reader #Hizashi x reader #present mic x reader #witch AU #sabbat #sexy sabbat #Minors begone #minors do not interact #minors dni

[berrykook]

can’t bear it (y!hs)

set in the overtime universe

in which hoseok is just trying to help you understand that he knows what’s best for you and you feel yourself start to slip

contents: yandere!hoseok, kidnapping, “gaslighting” / manipulation, vomit, gore / mutilation, good/bad little girl rhetoric

word count: 3.7k

a/n: thanks for the request !! i had fun writing it heheh

i’m tagging gaslighting in quotations because i feel like hoseok is like,, KiNdA gaslighting but pretty lightly

also idk why my mc’s always be throwing up LOL it’s just for a second i swear

my inbox is open for yandere requests! i do not write non-con, hitting (punching, slapping, etc.), or ddlg / ageplay (in this fic i included good/bad little girl rhetoric because i thought it would make hoseok seem more spooky but otherwise i do not write ageplay --- use of word daddy is ok)

lmk what u guys think!

*☆*ﾟ ゜ﾟ*☆*ﾟ ゜ﾟ*☆*ﾟ ゜ﾟ*☆*ﾟ ゜ﾟ*☆*ﾟ ゜ﾟ*☆*ﾟ ゜ﾟ*☆*ﾟ ゜ﾟ*☆*ﾟ ゜ﾟ*☆*ﾟ ゜ﾟ*☆*ﾟ 

Your stomach softly growled as you stared down into your takeout box of noodles and studied the way the sauce doesn’t cling to some vegetables. Hoseok ordered your favorite again, but you couldn’t remember ever loving this dish. He must have been referring to the time before he brought you to live with him (an incident in which your head was hit very hard).

Hoseok stared at you like he always did, refusing to eat until he saw you take the first bite. He sat with his hands folded, watching you and your hazy mind work through dinnertime. All you had to do was pick up your chopsticks and eat, but something in you could not bring yourself to do so.

“Baby, what’s wrong? Not hungry?”

Whether it was intentional or not, Hoseok’s tone never came out of the woods. He spoke slowly in low tones as if he was always ready to pounce on you. You wondered if he spoke to his employees the same way.

You gingerly picked up your chopsticks.

“You haven’t been eating well lately. Is something wrong?” Hoseok is wringing his hands now. You began to stare back at him.

You remained silent for a long moment before saying clearly, “Yes. I don’t feel well.”

Hoseok clicks his tongue, rising from his seat across from you to sit next to you instead. He rests his hand on yours. Hoseok wasn’t overly affectionate which you were lucky for at the beginning of this relationship, but you now felt touch-starved and undesirable. He held an immense amount of power over you and he knew it too.

“What’s wrong? Talk to me,” he mumbled, placing a palm against your forehead. “You’re not warm. I seriously doubt you’re sick, you never are. Tell me what’s wrong, please.” He leaned in closer.

You held back a huff of frustration, knowing how angry he got when you weren’t his perfect little girl. Hoseok knew exactly how to get under your skin and scare you shitless. If you weren’t careful and deliberate with every motion, every phrase, every word, he would catch on in a heartbeat and do whatever it took to show you he owned you. It only took three days in his basement for you to confess your love for him and start begging to be let out.

You fidgeted nervously, quickly glancing at the front door behind Hoseok. He hadn’t let you out in nearly six months and as much as you loved him, you were beginning to get antsy.

Hoseok was scary, but treated you well. He thoroughly explained on several occasions how much you needed him and how he loved you so deeply that it was in his very nature to keep you protected from the world like this. He even let you free from being chained in his basement after only a couple weeks, which was awesome! Hoseok never called himself your boyfriend, but you figured he was close enough. He fed you when you weren’t being bad and he recited his love for you often. It terrified you when you first met that time you woke up in his basement, but with time you found yourself believing him more and more. This was not living, but you were becoming so far gone from your past that it seemed like perhaps this sheltered life was what you were meant to receive.

Hoseok studied you deeply, noticing immediately how your eyes darted behind him at the front door. He sighed, mentally preparing himself to pull out all the stops to get the idea out of your pretty little head.

“Mm, baby, are you bored? Did you want to go outside?” He smiled a bit, stroking the back of your head and looking at you sweetly.

Immediately, you furrowed your brows and gripped his hand tighter. You opened your mouth to protest, but he cut you off.

“You must be tired of being cooped up in the house all day...don’t you want to see what’s out there?”

Hoseok stood up, placing a hand on your back to guide you up as well.

“H-Hobi, I don’t need to. I don’t mind staying inside…” you said bashfully, tugging his hand to lead him back into his chair.

His smile was wide like the Cheshire Cat’s. He reached to hold your face by your chin.

“No, I’m sure you must be going crazy being in here all day. Let’s go outside. Maybe you can run around a bit so your appetite can return.”

You weren’t stupid. You saw from the windows that Hoseok lived in a deep forest and made a lengthy commute each day to the city for his work. Perhaps Hoseok was feeling particularly sadistic today. You had been on your best behavior as of late - you listened well, ate when you didn’t feel ill, wore what he chose for you, told him you loved him and cuddled him and let him kiss you. His obtuseness came completely out of left field. You were the best little girl you could be - it made no sense.

“Hobi, I’m really hungry now. I would like to eat.” By the end of your statement, you were whispering fearfully as he was now leaning in close enough to kiss you.

“Don’t be silly. I saw you looking at the door. Come on,” he tugged you along, bending to tie your shoes for you.

“Hoseok, I really think I should go eat, please. I don’t want to go outside, it’ll be cold and dark and we’re in the forest, pl-”

“You know you want to leave. Don’t you? Wasn’t it only a few weeks ago you were saying you wanted to leave me?”

You’re crying now. “No! Please, I don’t want to leave, I love you, I swear! Hobi, I’ve changed!” Hoseok ignores your cries, pushing you out the front door with a smack on your ass.

“Be back in an hour, sweetheart. I don’t want the wild animals to find you.”

He slammed the door in your face and you began to hyperventilate for a moment. You knew he didn’t retreat from his spot at the door and he could clearly hear your cries. How did just looking at the door for a moment lead to this?

You spent a few minutes on your knees, bawling into your hands on the front porch. The tall forest prematurely made it nightfall at the ground level. After another few minutes, something caught your eye deeper into the woods. You stood slowly, hoping you were correct.

It was a car. A parked red van within walking distance of Hoseok’s house. Your legs moved on their own towards it. You were certain it didn’t belong to Hoseok as you kissed him goodbye from outside his black sedan each day. The drive to get away from Hoseok kicked in like a horse as you began running towards this car, desperate for help or some more information on where in the country the house was. If you were lucky, somebody would be in the car.

You were close enough to read the license plate when a searing pain shot through your leg and burned every cell in your body. You fell forward, coughing up a bit of your stomach after. You screamed for a moment, but then your body stopped taking in air effectively and you were left on the ground like a fish out of water.

You sobbed, desperately searching for a switch or button to release the contraption stuck around your ankle. Just a few yards from the car, chained to a tree was a steel bear trap that you stepped into perfectly. The claws dug well into the flesh on your leg, pouring blood over the forest floor as your heartbeat became erratic. Its jaws were locked far too strongly for you to pry apart. The house was barely visible to you now as the sun set completely and you were utterly stuck by this soccer mom van in the middle of god knows where.

The clock continued to tick as your hour of “freedom” was coming to a close. You wanted to throw up again at the sight of yourself. You nearly called out to Hoseok for help, but restrained yourself quickly. He was right - he always was. He was right for keeping you inside the way he did. You couldn’t even run half a mile into the forest without getting caught in a bear trap. The clinking of metal chains reminded you of your time in Hoseok’s basement and how cold it was and how hungry you became. You were hungry now as well, even through the nausea, and you let out a sad cry as your stomach growled angrily again. If Hoseok ever saved you again, you would eat everything he put in front of you with gusto. You leaned your head against the thick trunk of the tree you were chained to and watched the bugs on the floor crawl by. Your heart twinged as you missed Hoseok after just an hour apart. You felt you were no better than the insects you were watching. 

The pain in your leg was unlike anything you had felt before. You knew it was unrealistic to die from a bear trap, but you felt like you were at the brink. You had long since given up trying to claw the trap apart, stopping when the third of your fingernails split. The blood from your ankle made its way all over the white sweater Hoseok had picked out for you that morning. Hopefully an actual bear would come by and put you out of your misery before Hoseok could come by and chastise you for getting your clothes dirty.

Eventually, you heard his voice through the trees. “Sweetheart!” His voice sang and you panicked at the thought of how angry he would be that you got yourself hurt. You saw a light coming from the direction of your house and you braced yourself to soon be found.

You didn’t have the energy to yell back at him, so you waited for him to find you instead. Hoseok was smarter than you would like to admit and he obviously already knew that you wouldn’t make it far. Yet, he took his sweet, sweet time searching for you.

Eventually, his flashlight landed on your chest and you looked away, nervous to see him. He sighed.

“Oh, baby...look what you did,” he tsked. He stood above you with his hands on his hips, shaking his head. He made a noise of disdain when your lower lip began to tremble. “Hurts, doesn’t it? I would help make it all better, but you’ve been such a bad girl lately. I thought you knew better than to go outside, but I guess you just couldn’t listen to me.”

You covered your mouth to hide your snivelling. “I’m s-so sorry!”

“I know you are, baby. See, if you listen to me and stay inside like a good girl, then these things won’t happen. What am I gonna do with you?” Hoseok bent down to face level with you, still sitting against the tree trunk shivering in immense pain. “I don’t want to force you to do anything you don’t want to do, and earlier you sure made it clear that you don’t want to be in my house with me…”

You sobbed, reaching to hold his shoulders. “No! I want to go back home and be with you. I’m sorry for being ungrateful, I just want to be with you!” Hoseok clicked his tongue in disapproval.

“Is that really what you want, baby? You really want to come back and live with me?” Hoseok spoke slowly, letting you marinate in the ache of your calf. He knew you loved him. Putting you in solitary confinement for the first two months was more than enough for you to worship the ground he walks on. Some days, he just needed to tease you a little.

“Yes, please. I’m sorry, I’ll never leave you, I swear.” Hoseok stared at you with a smile before taking your face into his hands and kissing you for a long moment.

“Good. Jin-hyung is going to help you with your leg, okay?”

Hoseok fishes in his pockets before pulling out a silver key and unlocking the chains around the tree.

“Wow, baby, you must have really run into this trap for it to have closed on you so hard...we better take it out in the house.”

You stared at him in shock. “This...this trap was yours?” Hoseok smoothed the top of your head.

“Everything on this land is mine,” he hissed with a sweet smile. 

“B-but, I’ve never seen you drive this car. And why do you have bear traps!? You don’t hunt, Hoseok!” You are steadily becoming more hysterical and Hoseok sighs, hugging you to him. You holler at the pain of him shifting your leg.

“Baby, this is Jungkook’s car. You remember him, right? He’s taking his fianceè to Busan soon and they’ll need a car to hold their kids someday. He’s keeping it here because his apartment only gives him one parking space.” Hoseok kisses your cheek, rubbing your back when your crying intensifies. Ah, he’ll need to bring you back home soon before you lose too much blood. “You can understand that, can’t you?”

Hyperventilating on top of a foot caught in a bear trap had you lightheaded. You rested your cheek against Hoseok’s shoulder. “How am I supposed to get this off my foot?” You sobbed.

Hoseok cooed, rubbing your back a little harder. “I thought you knew what’s best for yourself...since you’re such a big girl and you always take ca-”

You cut him off with a wail. “Hoseok, please help me! I’ll die here, please!” He hissed at your yelling on his shoulder.

“Shh, stop that! Ah, I guess I can try and help you get back to the house. I thought you didn’t need someone like me…” Hoseok got started on unchaining the trap.

“No, I-I do need you! I’m sorry, I’ll never act out again…” you mumbled ashamedly. Hoseok heaved you up with a pained scream from you. He kissed your cheek in a lame attempt to calm you.

“Yeah? Are you going to be my good girl and stay inside the house?”

You cried a bit harder when he said this, remembering how you bawled on his front steps after he shut the door on you.

“Yes, I promise,” you whimpered.

“Good. Jin-hyung will be here in an hour to help fix you. Shh, don’t cry, I know it’s a long time,” he whispered to you. You cried all the way to the house and all the way down the concrete stairs to Hoseok’s basement.

“I don’t like it here, Hobi, please...can’t we go somewhere else?” Hoseok calmed your weeping by playing with your hair.

“This is what’s best. I’m here with you, my love...remember I love you so much.” He kissed your forehead softly. “We’ll get you out of this mess.”

You wrapped your hands around the sheets of the bed Hoseok placed you on and writhed in agony.

“It hurts,” you mumbled, still crying softly.

Hoseok cooed, “Aw, my baby…”

The anger within you began to rise like a tidal wave. Perhaps it was being back in this bed under Hoseok’s house, or perhaps you were finally understanding the lengths Hoseok would go to in order to claim you. The throbbing in your ankle aligned with a new throbbing in your head. Hoseok lay with you on the bed you woke up chained to all those months ago when he first took you. It took three strokes to the top of our head for you to snap.

“You did this to me,” you whispered, turning your face away from him.

Hoseok stopped stroking your hair as if he had just been doused with cold water.

“Huh? Say that again for me, baby, I didn’t quite hear you.” Hoseok tangled his fingers in your hair. You braced yourself for a harsh tug.

“This is your trap. I didn’t even want to go outside. I wasn’t even being bad.”

You didn’t force yourself to look at him as you spoke. You couldn’t even remember the last time you had stood up to him...was it recent? Wasn’t it during those first three days in his basement? It felt like a dream.

“I’ve been perfect these last few months. You kidnapped me yet I have been perfect for you! I didn’t deserve this!” You were steadily becoming hysterical. It felt good to let yourself become unraveled after weeks of living complacently in his clutch. Hoseok still hadn’t said anything, still keeping his hand gently against your scalp.

“How could you do this to me? I’ve done everything you’ve asked of me and you put me in a bear trap for what? Not eating my dinner? I didn’t eat because you make me sick!”

At this point, Hoseok began calmly rising from the bed and making his way over to your trapped foot. You barely noticed, too wound up in your angry rant. You didn’t care anymore. There was just no right way to be Hoseok’s victim, and there was no hope for escape either. You were surrounded by miles of forest and the only communication with other humans was Hoseok’s equally repulsive friends and two of them were moving across the country soon. You envied them and their stupid red van and happy little life. You had only met Jungkook and his fiancèe once, but they seemed to love each other deeply. You once wished for something like that, at least before Hoseok came into your life.

“You stupid motherfucker! Piece of shit! Fix my fucking leg, you asshole!” Hoseok watched you yell with blank eyes before cracking a slight smile. He chuckled, adoring the way your tongue was so sharp.

“Are you done, sweetie?” He massaged your calves. The pain in your foot almost felt as hot as the rage bubbling through your veins at the moment.

“You’re going to burn in hell for what you’ve done to me. Son of the devil,” you hissed.

Hoseok grinned wordlessly again before placing his hands on both sides of the bear trap and releasing its jaws with a manly grunt. A scream ripped through you, dying into dry sobs after a moment. You supposed it was good that he did it when you were furious and the adrenaline was pushing you off the edge.

Hoseok was panting heavily. “Baby, did you know that some animals gnaw their own limbs off to free themselves from bear traps?” You watched with a glare as he fiddled with the contraption. You prayed that he would be offended enough to just kill you already. “I haven’t seen it happen myself. Some hunters find bear traps inhumane for that very reason. I understand. The animal has done no wrong, correct?” The shoddy lighting of his basement cast a shadow over his face.

“I can’t imagine how it would feel to be so helpless like that...so scared and alone...you must have felt that way back in that forest, huh? Baby?” You refused to entertain him any longer. Hoseok was being oddly soft-spoken and gentle with his tone. It wasn’t often that he brought out this voice.

“You must be so upset, huh? Scared, maybe even suicidal. You might even feel like a lost cause.” The trap snapped back into its original open position with a clang. “I’ve never viewed you that way. All I’ve ever seen you as was my perfect girl, even when you weren’t being so good. I never lost hope in you. All I’ve ever wanted was for you to snap out of it and love me too and fucking mean it.” His tone turned angry for a second, but he quickly shut it down. You stared at how he held the open trap with such expertise.

“You might think you were being so careful and good, but I see right through you. I just know you so well, baby. I knew deep down, there was still a part of you that defied me, even though I just wanted you to be your best self. I knew there was still some part of you left for me to crack apart and mold to include me with it.”

You were much more dizzy now.

“I’m doing this for your own good. So we can be happy together.”

You caught on with a start, sitting up quickly. You couldn’t even get one word out before Hoseok swiftly grabbed your good foot with a heavy hand and positioned it on the plate of the open trap. He jumped back, successfully evading the teeth of the trap which were now clamped around your other foot.

You let out a gut-wrenching scream. Not only did you scream from the pain of the bear trap, but also from the pain of the cold basement, the pain of the thick woods that surrounded the house. Hoseok watched you thrash on the bed as if you were possessed. Both of your ankles poured out blood and soiled the white bed sheets you lay on.

“Honey, be careful! Look at what happened to the sheets,” he tsked. “Ah, look at what you’ve done. How did my silly girl manage to get caught into two traps in one day? What am I gonna do with you?”

You began bawling again as Hoseok remained standing over you. His voice remained sickly sweet and you found yourself yearning for him to taunt you with his usual nasty tone.

“I want to die,” you weep. Hoseok seemed affected by this for a second before reverting back to his calm stance.

He silently came back around the bed, placing a kiss on your forehead once more before making his way up the concrete stairs. You thought about calling out to him for a moment, but ultimately decided not to. Hoseok shut the door behind him, not bothering to lock it. You wouldn’t be able to walk anyway. He made his way to the kitchen, stretching as he did so, and opened a cabinet in search of some tea. Your cries were barely audible over the hum of the microwave heating his water.

#yandere hoseok #yandere!hoseok #yandere!bts #yandere bts

[shikakunaras]

36 or 57 for shikashino if that's ok?

I chose 57.) Heart eyes when the other talks, sings, dances, argues, does literally anything especially things which others make fun of them for or find annoying

It’s in Shino’s POV but Shikamaru has the heart eyes I promise. It’s another long one. I like this pair tbh. 

Ao3 Link

“What insect is that again?” Tenten asked, leaning closer to Shino. 

“Not an insect. A bug. There's a difference between the two.” Annoyed Shino immediately regretted joining everyone for dinner. They were all piled in a private room waiting for the food to arrive. 

He really only came for Shikamaru, who surprised everyone by showing up. He felt comfortable next to the Nara. Like he knew that if Shikamaru was there, someone would be listening. 

“Either way they’re gross.” Ino shivered at the sight of the insect on the table.

“I just squash them. It makes Shino sad but it’s a reflex.” Kiba frowned, he already wanted the bug on the table dead. 

“Please don’t hurt my beetle. I’ll put him away.” 

“Him? Do you name them?” Lee asked, meaning well but it just made the table erupt in laughter. All except Shikamaru. He looked at Lee and rolled his eyes. 

“You name your weights. What’s the difference?” 

“You got me there Shikamaru!” Lee sat back and smiled. “I have several weights and it’s easier to name them. I don’t know any other way to organize them.” 

“By size?” Neji snorted. “Or by color? Maybe?” 

Shino let out a sigh of relief as the conversation shifted to Lee. He always felt like a monster when they discussed his collection. They have no issue when they save them but he’s used to it. 

The food came and Shino’s appetite left him. He just watched as his teammates ate. He was going to make an excuse, anything so he can leave and not come back. 

Someone tapped the table in front of Shino, throwing off his thoughts. 

“What’s the difference?” Shikamaru asked. Shino furrowed his brows and tried to understand the question. Shikamaru didn’t roll his eyes or let out a long sigh like others do when they have to repeat themselves. He just smiled and reworded his question. “Between insects and bugs, what’s the difference?” 

“Oh. Uh, insects are of a different class. They usually have six legs and three visible sections in their body.” 

“Like ants?” 

“Yes, like ants.” Shino smiled. Shikamaru was engaging in the conversation. “Bugs are also separate from arachnids.” 

Shikamaru shivered. “I’m sorry Shino but I hate them.” 

“Not many do.” Shino’s appetite came back and he added a few pieces of beef to the grill. “I’m trying to find a certain beetle, it’s rare but not extinct. Our clan wants to revive them.” 

“What does it look like?” Shikamaru waited patiently for Shino’s meat to cook before he added his own pieces. He seemed to be listening so Shino continued the conversation. 

“They are small and have a metallic shell. They are good for tracking chakra sources on a smaller scale.” Shino’s bugs can only feel for chakra if it’s in large quantities. 

“Still talking about bugs?” Ino huffed. “I’m trying to eat. At least save that for after dinner.” She usually spoke for the whole table. 

“Kiba talks about eating dog food and no one bats an eye.” Shikamaru matched Ino’s glare. 

“Dog food is different.” 

“How?” Shikamaru asked and then held his hand up. “Don’t elaborate. Whatever.” The Nara looked at Shino and smiled. “We can talk about it later. That bug sounds familiar.” 

The rest of the dinner dragged on. When the separate bills came Shikamaru snatched Shino’s and paid for his food. He didn’t fight or argue, instead he accepted it. 

The Nara walked next to Shino on their way home, allowing Shino to talk more about the elusive bug. 

“I know I’ve seen something like that but I can’t remember where.” Shikamaru rubbed the back of his neck, sounding apologetic. 

“It’s okay. They were around a lot more when we were kids.” Shino stopped in front of his house and turned to Shikamaru. “Why are you being so nice? You don’t owe me anymore for leaving me behind for that mission.” 

Shikamaru shrugged. “I think it’s fucked up how they treat you sometimes. I like when you talk about bugs because you smile and you look genuinely happy. I might not understand the love but I like you so I’ll listen” Shikamaru’s eyes drifted away from Shino’s face and towards the ground. The sun was setting but Shino could still see the faint blush creeping on the Nara’s face. 

“Thank you.” Shino smiled wide and placed a hand on Shikamaru’s shoulder. 

“It’s no problem.” The Nara laughed and then waved goodbye. Shino wandered into his house and to his room, his mind empty of all thought. He landed face first in his pillow and let out a cry of happiness. 

~~~~~~~

“Hey! Shino!” Shikamaru shouted at Shino, stopping the bug user in his tracks. The Nara was holding a box that looked suspiciously like a specialty bug box. The clear plastic was catching the sun’s reflection, blocking Shino’s view of its contents. 

“Shikamaru?” 

“I remembered where I saw them. My Clan forest has a few. They hang around a tree I like to nap by.” Shikamaru held out the box for Shino to grab. Sure enough there were a few of the rare beetles sitting inside. 

Shino looked up and Shikamaru who was still smiling about his find. The Aburame couldn’t help it. He kissed him right in the middle of the street. 

“I’m glad you like them.” Shikamaru laughed when Shino pulled away. 

“Sorry I should’ve asked.” Shino’s embarrassment was written all over his face. 

“Hey, it’s okay.” Shikamaru’s face was just as red. 

They stood around, not really knowing what to say to each other. Then Shino got an idea. 

“Since you paid for my dinner, let me pay for lunch. You can tell me how to play shogi.” 

Shikamaru raised an eyebrow. “You sure? It’s boring as hell. I put Ino to sleep once.” 

Shino just smiled and nodded. “I want to hear about it. Maybe we can play a round or two.” 

The Nara laughed and led the way to Ichiraku’s. Shino felt elated, finally having the bugs in his possession and Shikamaru. 

#Shikamru #Shino #shikashino #ask games answered #anon #Anonymous

[minghaos-pet]

sucker punch (1/?)

eventual smut

group: ateez

member: fighter!jongho

word count: 3k

warnings: violence, language, sexual suggestion, drug use, fear???

“Can you not drive any smoother?” Jongho groaned beside you, clutching his side and wincing each time you drove over a bump or pothole.

“I’m trying my best,” you glared at him for a short while, “it’s not my fault the roads are fucked up.”

“You could at least try to avoid them,” he spat, “I’m fucking dying in your passenger seat.”

“No you’re not,” you clenched your jaw trying to look as steely as possible, but deep down you had to admit you were a little worried he actually was dying in the seat next to you.

“Fuck,” Jongho cursed amidst a sharp exhale as the road beneath you turned from pocked asphalt to straight gravel and sand. The car bounced violently along and your face was practically pressed against the windshield trying to see the road in front of you enough to avoid rocks.

“I need to turn the lights on,” you reached for the knob when his hand shot out in protest, “I can’t see a goddamn thing on the road, Jongho.” All he could do in response was whine, too agonized and exhausted to form words. Regardless of his lack-of-response, you didn’t turn the lights on, knowing that if you did your chances of being stopped by any stray cops would raise tenfold. An injured-Jongho was one thing to deal with, having someone dig through your car in the middle of the night was another. “Are we--”

“Stop the car,” he interrupted and swung the door open as you slammed on the brakes, practically throwing yourself across his lap to prevent him from rolling out of the car as he vomited outside the open door. After a minute or two he righted himself, wiped his mouth with his sleeve, and pulled the door closed.

“You good?” You looked at him with (mostly fake) disgust.

“Fuck you,” he smiled weakly as you pressed on the gas, “I think I ruptured my spleen.”

You bit your lip and kept silent, continuing to drive the last couple miles to your destination. A ruptured spleen, or any other medical malady that could bring Jongho practically to his knees hurling onto a dirt road was far from good. You knew the medic you were visiting could fix up some lacerations, a broken rib or two, but something more internally damaging was out of the question as far as you were concerned. “Jongho…” your voice was quiet and riddled with anxiety, you looked over at him, his forehead drenched in sweat, lip split, and bloody knuckled pressed tightly against his right side, “should I take you to a hospital?”

In the darkness you could see his eyes soften as much as they could, “I’m fine, baby,” you could hear the effort he was making to hide the pain in his voice, “I’m just being a bitch, is all.”

You hummed in acknowledgement and refocused on the road, scared that if you tried to speak your voice would crack. Your relationship with Jongho was complicated, and definitely not one that either of you filled with emotions. You found him a year ago when he needed a manager, someone to allocate his earnings and pay-off his debts, patch up any injuries, someone to fuck if the occasion called for it. For 13 months you’d done exactly that, he paid you relatively handsomely (but you always snuck a little extra cash if you could) and it got you out of the depressive post-grad hole you’d been trapped in. It was mutualism at its finest.

When you pulled up to the house the lights outside were off. They were supposed to be on. You parked the car in the driveway and watched Jongho swing the door open and struggle greatly to exit the vehicle, if the circumstances weren’t as pressing you might have laughed at him and thought it was cute. “Do you need help?” You asked.

“No, y/n, I can exit a fucking car on my own,” you watched him struggle for a few more seconds before he turned to you pouting, “...yes, please.”

You sighed and slammed your door behind you, walking around the front of the car to Jongho; “where can I not touch?” 

“Avoid my entire right side if you can, and my shoulder’s a little rough too, but not as bad.” You wrapped your arm around his back and under his shoulder as gently as you could, preparing for his weight as you helped him slide out of the car, “you might have to help me walk too,” he said sheepishly as you did your best to close the door behind you and lock the car.

“Anything for you,” you rolled your eyes and sarcastically smiled at him, hoping he was smiling back in the dark. When you reached the door of the mobile home you knocked quietly, not wanting to wake up any neighborhood dogs. You were about to knock again when the porch light flickered on and the door opened slowly. “You’re late. I thought you died along the way,” the gruff man in front of you said to Jongho, ignoring your presence entirely...not that you were complaining; it was better to be invisible in situations like this.

“Yeah,” Jongho shot you a glance and in the yellow light you could see the blood caked on his cheekbone, “she can’t fucking drive, I guess.” You transferred Jongho to the man in front of you, relieved to let your shoulders and back have a break. The house was small and poorly decorated. A box of medical supplies set on a dining room table next to a glass of water and a picture of an old 1970s grandma. Jongho collapsed into the pulled-out chair and you helped him take off his shirt while the other man washed his hands. “So what’s wrong with you this time? You look like shit.” He asked from the kitchen. “I think I have a broken or bruised rib and maybe a ruptured spleen,” Jongho kicked his shoes off under the table, “but nothing too serious other than that. Might need to pop my shoulder back in though.”

“Can’t do anything for a ruptured spleen,” he responded, “needa go to the hospital for that one or you’ll bleed out internally in a day or so.”

You gulped, feeling the anxiety raise in your body once more. You stood awkwardly in the corner of the room, disappearing nicely into the ugly floral wallpaper. You could have sworn Jongho’s eyes flicked up to you, but you weren’t completely sure.

“Well then,” Jongho placed his hand on the table, “I’m sure there’s no ruptured spleen here.”

“If you get nauseous or pass out you should be worried.”

The doctor--could you call him a doctor?--stitched up Jongho’s face and looked at his side, pushing slightly on the purple flesh as Jongho’s face screwed in pain. Surprisingly, he was quiet though, a glaring contrast to the whiny, annoying mess you drove for an hour and a half through the dark. You wrung your hands, wondering if you should tell the doctor more details about what happened; surely it would allow Jongho to get the care he needed, even if it wasn’t pertaining to his bruised ribs or cut up face. “Um,” you squeaked from the corner and cleared your throat to speak clearly, “he did throw up on the way here...could that be a spleen-thing?”

Jongho looked up at you and gave you a look that told you you should have kept your mouth shut.

“Next time don’t bring your mouthy girl,” the doctor glared at you for an instant, “I don’t like people telling me how to do my job.”

“Not my girl,” Jongho said flatly, “woulda left the bitch at home anyway if I could move without feeling like I was gonna keel over dead.” He looked at you while he said it, his voice monotonous but his eyes apologetic. You crossed your arms over your chest, you knew he didn’t mean it, but it still didn’t feel good to be disrespected like that.

“What’s her name?” The doctor asked Jongho and looked you up and down more thoroughly.

“Don’t--”

“It’s y/n,” you cut him off, receiving the harshest warning look from Jongho. He shook his head slightly, but you didn’t pick up on it. The doctor pushed his chair back and stood up, walking slowly towards you while you sunk further into the wall, Jongho went to move as well, but his condition left him glued to the chair.

“How much?” He asked Jongho, but his focus maintained on you, his eyes sweeping over your face.

“Not for sale.” You could hear the resentment drip from Jongho’s tongue. A twisted part of you wished you could see through the man and watch Jongho get angrier, the way his fists balled up and his jaw set.

“Then get out of my fucking house,” the doctor backed away from you and made his way back to Jongho.

“W-what?” You were confused and a little frightened, even though you knew better.

“Get out of my fucking house,” he repeated, “unless you having something to offer me I’m not in the mood for guests.”

“Just wait outside, y/n,” Jongho said exasperatedly, “I’ll be done soon.”

You gave him one last look before crossing to the door, dragging your feet over the threshold and onto the small porch. Moths fluttered around the porch light and you could hear insects in the trees behind the road, you sighed deeply as you squatted down, your back against the laminate siding of the mobile home. You reached into your coat pocket for your phone before remembering you left it in the car...the locked car. The key to which was on the dining room table of a man who kicked you out of his house to sit outside alone in the cold. “I’ll never hear the end of this,” you said quietly to whatever creatures were listening in the dark. You should have gone in with no questions asked, no words spoken and stood against the wall quiet until everything was done, but why should you have? You weren’t Jongho’s girlfriend, you weren’t some naive teenager, you were his manager. In technical terms, you were the one in charge, not Jongho, not the sleazy, illegitimate doctor. You contented yourself on the porch for the next few minutes, fuming and running over the various ways you would chew Jongho out when you got in the car in just a few minutes; until the light shut off.

You weren’t sure if it was automatic or if the doctor shut it off purposefully, but regardless of the intent or lack-thereof you were in the dark. Sitting on a strange man’s front porch in a backroads neighborhood with no car keys and no phone. “It’s okay,” you whispered to yourself in reassurance, planting your butt on the ground and pulling your knees to your chest, “it’s already been like fifteen minutes,” you wrapped your arms around your knees. Fuck, it was cold. “Jongho’s probably already done and he’s just talking shit with the doctor.” You could see your breath now that it was dark, the grey clouds of condensation hanging in the air momentarily every time you spoke. You hummed to yourself to keep track of time, going through songs you remembered one by one until seven had passed. “Jongho…” you whined quietly in the dark, “it’s been over twenty minutes, just leave already.” Another seven songs, another twenty minutes. Your heart began to race slightly, blood pressure rising as you wondered why you couldn’t hear anyone talking inside while your brain conjured up countless horrible theories that involved one or both of them being dead. Should you stand up and knock on the door? Should you go inside? You wrapped your arms tighter around your knees, knowing that if you went inside and something had happened to Jongho there would be no way for you to defend yourself. If anything, your best bet was to wait outside until morning and find someone to break into the car, or maybe someone from another house nearby would help you. Your breathing slowed a bit, anxiety evening out as you formulated a plan just in case what you feared came to fruition. You sat there like that for another few minutes, running over new plans and courses of action; managing the situation, even though you usually handled other peoples’ affairs. You were mid brain wrack when the porch light clicked back on and you heard footsteps towards the door, and you unfolded yourself from your position and stood up, preparing yourself to run until you heard Jongho’s voice from the other side of the door.

“There you are,” Jongho hobbled out of the doorway smiling, obviously feeling much better than he had before, “I was getting a little lonely in there without you nagging me every 30 seconds.”

“I just gave him some oxy,” the doctor said to you, pushing Jongho out of the door towards you, “there’s more in his coat to take later, he’s gonna need it.”

“Thanks,” you forced yourself to say, not wanting anything to do with the man who kicked you out of his house in the middle of January, “did he pay you already?”

“Don’t give him anymore,” Jongho put his hand on your shoulder, steadying himself on his feet, “the motherfucker already cheated me out of everything I had.”

“The Blues are gonna kick in soon,” the doctor ignored him and backed up back into his house, “get him in the car before you have to drag him.” The door closed behind you and the light shut off once more, affirming your earlier suspicions that he had deliberately left you in the dark.

Jongho shuffled down the steps and through the dark to the car, head lolling onto your shoulder as you neared the passenger side, “keys?” You lifted your arm to get him upright again.

“In my pocket,” he mumbled, “my arms are asleep.” You reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a handful of assorted pills, but no keys. You sighed and shoved your hand into the front pocket of his jeans, and wrapped your hand around your pepperspay keychain. Almost instantly he shot away from you, eyes wide, “damn, y/n, can’t it wait until we’re in the car? Fuck.”

You scoffed, “here I was thinking it was perfectly acceptable to grab your dick in the middle of this bumfuck neighborhood,” you pretended to aim the pepperspray at his face and lightly smacked his butt, “I’ll just settle for this I guess.”

Giggling, Jongho’s hand came down heavily with your lower back, sending you jolting forward, you pulled the door open for him and rubbed your back with the other, knowing it would bruise, “you missed, you fucking asshole,” you muttered and shoved him into the car.

“I can’t help it baby, I’m high as shit right now.” The drive to Jongho’s apartment was peaceful, primarily because he was knocked out the entire hour and a half. By the time you pulled into a parking space you could see the sunrise peeking through the dark; you unbuckled your seatbelt and rested your head on the steering-wheel, glad to finally have a break. You turned your head to face Jongho who was still asleep, his mouth formed into a pout and his head slumped forward to rest on his chest. Regardless of the narcotics he’d taken, you knew he was exhausted. Normally a fight night ended with him walking home from the gym after splitting the money and you driving safe, comfortable, and a little bit richer to your apartment. You reached under the driver’s seat and pulled out the ziplock bag of cash, you loved this--even if it wasn’t all your money--but the thrill of being able to hold a few hundred (or sometimes a few thousand) dollars every few nights was indescribable.

“Jongho,” you poked his cheek, hoping he’d wake up easily, “Jonghoooo,” you poked him harder, not wanting to have to carry him up the stairs of his apartment.

“Mmmmwhat,” he hummed and peeled his eyelids open.

“We’re at your apartment,” you tucked the money into your coat pocket and reached over to unbuckle his seatbelt, “wake up so you can go to sleep in a real bed.”

Jongho groaned once more in protest, but didn’t press the issue any further, even in his altered state. You were not above leaving him to sleep peacefully on the curb outside his apartment building, and he knew that. You had your arm wrapped around his back once more, but it was mainly to make him feel more emotionally secure as you both stumbled tiredly up the stairs; if he legitimately started to fall backwards there was no way you’d be able to catch him--break his fall, maybe, but you’d rather one of you be seriously injured than both of you.

When you reached his door you punched the code and practically pushed him inside, he uttered some sort of complaint about you knowing his lock-code, but you were too exhausted to open your ears to him anymore.

Arms hanging loosely at his side, he beelined straight to his bed, collapsing onto it with nothing more than a slight squeak of discomfort. You sat on his bed next to him, leaning over to take his shoes off, “you can’t get in bed with shoes on, Jongie,” you smiled at the nickname, knowing that if he was in his right mind he would have thrown a fit hearing you call him that, “that’s gross.” After tossing his shoes out of the room and into the hall, you worked on the rest of his clothes; his shirt was soaked with sweat and some blood, and you cringed at the thought that he had so willingly gotten into bed in them. You made a mental note to remind him to wash his sheets in the morning.

“Take yours off too,” he mumbled and grinned to himself while you pulled on the hem of his shirt, “it’s not fair that I get to be the only naked one in this house right now.”

#ateez fic #ateez #ateez writing #ateez x reader #ateez smut #ateez angst #jongho fic #jongho x reader #jongho imagine #jongho smut #jongho angst #jongho ateez #ateez jongho #kpop smut #kpop imagine #kpop writing #kpop angst #yn

[desiraypark]

Earth Angel

Continuation of SATURDAY NIGHT SPECIAL Characters: Flip Zimmerman x Mae (OC - Blk/F) Content: Fluffy/romantic; then a nasty lil’ quickie (PIV sex; FeedFlipSomeTiddies1975) Inspiration: Me telling some friends that this photoshoot (particularly the shirtless with hand in pocket photo) gave me “fuck you in the back of a Volkswagen on the way to Woodstock” energy lol

January 2, 1975 Dear Mae, I hope you had a good New Year’s Eve. And day. Also hope these letters haven’t been too much. I just think about you a lot I just enjoy talking to you. But anyway, I was thinking about my New Year’s resolutions. I’ve never really been big on them but thought 1975 would be the year I give one or two a try. Before I knew it, I got the crazy idea to go on a road trip. From Colorado Springs to Miami, perhaps? Shouldn’t take more than a few days--depending on how often we stop. Before I start stalling and using up this entire sheet to talk about bullshit, I’m going to come right on out and ask if you’d like to join me. I know it sounds crazy. But it would be nice to have some companionship and I can’t think of anyone else I’d like to see the country with. Let me know. Call me a fucking fool if needed.  Best Regards, Flip _____________________ January 16, 1975

Flip Honey, 

I’m definitely going to call you a fucking fool. You ARE a fucking fool. But God looks out for babies and fools, or however that phrase goes. I thought long and hard when I got your letter and you’ve got your answer: yes. I’d love to go on a road trip with you. Because I’m a fool, too. Spend a little change and call me when you get this, honey. You know the number. Better Regards, Mae

FEBRUARY 1975 Flip flew Mae out to Colorado Springs--her first plane ride. He’d temporarily exchanged his truck for a friend’s Volkswagen Transporter and filled it with supplies, dry foods, and toiletries. 

He was like an excited kid at the airport, waiting for Mae to walk through--and boy, did she! She wore a heavy red coat with some kind of fur at the collar and had her hair pinned up like a Park Avenue socialite. She had on a navy skirt or a dress, and some black high-heeled boots. “Look at you!” she said, meeting him halfway.  “Look at you,” he responded, wrapping his arms around her. “Looking great, as always.” It was about 4:30 when she and Flip arrived to his house. They’d picked up a pizza, sat in front of the television with it, and talked until they fell asleep. Eventually, they moved to the bedroom.  “No funny business, now,” Mae had said. Flip laughed. “You’d be too tired to keep up.” But they didn’t try a thing. Even with Mae’s perfect ass against him, and Flip’s strong arm holding her close, they didn’t try a thing. They slept through the night and hit the road for St. Louis (and whatever was in between) at 6:00AM on the dot. They got to St. Louis at about seven in the evening and stopped at a diner. 

“Thank you for saying yes to this, Mae,” Flip said before biting into a crispy chicken sandwich. She nodded.  “Thank you for askin’, Flip.” The lamp above them was dusty, but it made Mae look like an angel. Flip looked over her face. Every inch of it. And Mae felt him staring. The blood rushed to her cheeks and she looked down at her seasoned fries. “Why are you acting shy?” he asked. Mae shrugged. “Because you’re lookin’ at me all...I don’t know...”  Flip’s chest bounced, but no sound came out. Only a grin formed on his face--he was slightly amused by the sight. A woman who’d bounced up and down on him every night in Miami, suddenly blushing and averting her eyes over dinner. But he knew what had her blushing. They both knew that the air was different between them. And it wasn’t just because of the St. Louis cookin’. 

They finished off their food, got some gas, and found a motel to stay in. Even though they both know good and well they wanted to fuck each other’s brains out, the ride had worn them down a little. Especially Flip. Once again, they climbed in bed (well, on top of the bed, because Mae didn’t trust the sheets), and drifted off. ____________________ The Next Morning Flip and Mae hit the road just before sunrise. The road was empty and as much as Mae wanted to see the beautiful morning sky, she fell back asleep. Eventually, Flip turned the car radio on and hummed the songs to himself. Soon, the disk jockey decided to take him back about twenty years--when he was a tall, lanky kid who had nothing to get into but trouble. “Eaaarth angel, earth angel...will you be miiiine...my darling dear, love you all the ti-ime...” Flip perked up, turned the volume up and sang quietly to himself. He even tapped his thumbs against the steering wheel. “I'm just a fool, a fool in love with you...” he sang along. He glanced in Mae’s direction. She was slumped in the seat, the top of her head facing him. One of the buttons of her flannel shirt had popped open because her tits were so damned big. He looked back at the road and shook his head at his own self. He knew what was happening. Passion rushed his veins. His brain was foggy with adulation. Then, he looked gave her one more glance. She looked so good. Flip scanned every road sign he drove by for the next few miles--hoping for an indication of a truck stop or something. And there it was--a park en route! He followed the signs to the public park and drove through in search of a place to park. It took little time for him to find the park’s most discreet area--a wide open circle of dirt adjacent to a seemingly endless forest. 

It was early in the morning. No one else was there. Just the birds and insects that flitted and flew from tree to tree. Flip parked the van and tapped Mae’s thigh. Her eyes popped open quickly. “Mae?” “Yeah?” she asked yawning. “What’s wrong?!” “If I don’t get your tits in my mouth right now, I’m gonna lose my fuckin’ mind.” _____________________ Mae was nothing but nerves as her and Flip climbed into one of the back seats. Mae started undoing her pants, but Flip grabbed her shirt and ripped it open, sending the buttons flying. “Flip!” she cried. He grunted and pushed the cups of her bra up--causing her breasts to spill out. Then, he wrapped his lips around her left nipple, massaging the entire breast in the process. Mae ran her fingers through his hair, and watched him feast like a starving man. He held onto her breast as though it were going to run away from him, and moved his mouth to the other one--also giving the nipple a hard suck.  “Shit, Flip,” Mae whispered. “I missed you so much...” “Me, too Babygirl. Me, too...” he mumbled. 

He devoured her breasts for a few minutes before removing his belt and undoing his jeans. Mae lifted her leg--pulling it closer to her, and unzipped her boot. Flip grabbed the heel and pulled it off. They repeated the process on her other boot--which was hanging over the back of the seat. As Mae worked at her own jeans--pushing the denim and her panties down to the floor simultaneously--Flip pulled out his wallet, yanked out a condom and slid it on. He sucked his index and middle finger and shoved it into Mae’s pussy. She let out quiet moans as he worked her open, preparing her for him.  “I want you to get on top. You think you can handle that?” he asked.  “You know I can.” Flip bit his bottom lip and pulled his fingers out. Jeans stuck around his knees, he sat up and pressed his ass down on the leather seats. Mae sat up, straddled him, and gave him a hot, wet kiss. Flip held her hips and slowly--carefully--eased her down onto his rock-hard length. “Fuck...” they both groaned. Mae worked over him a little--trying to find comfort as he split her open like a log for firewood. Then, she began to bounce. He grabbed her hips and stared at her face. He couldn’t stare into her eyes--she had then squeezed shut, and was biting her lip.  “There you go, beautiful,” he mumbled. He gave her ass a slap.  “Mmph!” she hummed. She rested against his chest and wrapped her arms around his neck--groaning and clenching her teeth every time his tip hit the right spot. “Are you holding your moans in?” he asked. She was. But she wasn’t conscious of it until he asked. Suddenly, she realized the van was also bouncing and squeaking. Her eyes popped open and she scanned their surroundings. “There’s nobody out here,” Flip said, moving his hands directly onto her ass. He guided her up and down, and up and down--harder and faster. “Shit!” she shouted. “That’s right. Make all the noise you need to. Don’t hold that shit in. Didn’t I tell you in Florida?” he asked, his gruff voice booming so close to her ear that it made her temporal lobes feel like they were vibrating. “I’m gonna make you scream my name every time.” He smacked her ass hard. “Every...time.” “Oh, God...” Mae moaned. She fell against his chest again and closed her eyes--temporarily removing her own sense of sight so that touch was enhanced. She felt Flip’s chest moving up and down under hers; the calloused flesh of his large palms holding and kneading her ass cheeks; his dick dragging along her walls. Then, a hand moved away from her ass. He shoved it into the tight space between them and found her clit.  “Fuck!” Mae shouted. She sat up and stared into his dilated pupils. Her breasts smacked his chin until he stuck his tongue out and was able to capture one her nipples again.  Mae’s bouncing slowed down. She leaned across him once more, lifted her lower body just before the head of his dick came out of her, and expertly slid back down. Flip let go of her breast to let out an expletive.  “Do that shit again,” he said, throwing his head back and staring up at her. She did as requested--lifting off of him almost completely, then sliding back down. She did it one more time, and before she could lift a fourth time, Flip wrapped his arms around her waist, kept her down, and began to thrust up into her. “Aaah!” she cried. He dug deep inside of her, making her feel every pulse and every drag against her velvety walls--reminding her of what she hadn’t been getting for months. His pace was moderate, but each thrust was deep. He abruptly paused his stroke, grabbed her hair, and tilted his chin up. “You feel that dick deep inside of you, baby?” he whispered freakishly low. He pressed into her deeper. Deeper than she realized was possible. “Yes...” she squealed. Her nails dug into the nape of his neck. “Does it feel good?”  “Yes, Flip, yes...” she mumbled, shaking her head in disbelief. Flip gripped her scalp and banged into her one hard time. “Can’t hear you...” he said, his voice going above a whisper. “YES! FUCK!” she began to grind into him. “I wanna come, Flip. Please, make me come. Please!” Mae pleaded. Flip picked up his pace again, and Mae met his thrusts.  “Lean back and let me see you rub that pretty clit,” he said. “I’ve got you.” Mae leaned back and Flip held her with a palm against her lower back--making sure she didn’t fall backward. As she bounced her squelching pussy on his length, she rubbed her clit with the pads of her fingers. In no time, the heat began to build up in her belly. She tightened around him, and worked herself toward her release, screaming to the van’s ceiling. As she came, he drilled into her hard. “Fliiiiip! Yesssssssss!” she squealed, breasts bouncing all over the place. “Fffuuuuck!”

Flip began pumping shallow thrusts up into her--surrendering to the rush that soon fell over him. Mae looked down with a sweet (and pleased) smile as she rode out her wave--enjoying the spurt of warmth that filled her up. She could tell that it was a lot, too. Only a thin layer of protection keeping their sweet saps from merging and creating something more. 

Flip pulled her back to him and devoured her mouth. Then, they took a few minutes to catch their breath. Soon, they put their clothes back on. Mae had to dig in her suitcase for another shirt. Despite the place still being empty, Flip discreetly tossed his condom in a large garbage bin nearby. He climbed into the van and looked over at Mae. She returned the glance and burst into laughter, and he did the same. 

“Need me to drive, big boy?” she asked smirking.  “No. You just sit back and look pretty for me,” Flip said. He slapped her thigh and started the Volkswagen back up. 

They left the park warm and satisfied, and made their way down to Tennessee. 

____________________ TAG LIST @aloneandsleepless @tsarinastorm If you’d like to be on any of my tag lists, please leave a comment on my Tag List Request post!

#flip x mae

[kylorengarbagedump]

Impulsive and Idiotic (NSFW)

Read on AO3.

Summary: In your memory, there was a massive, crater-sized hole in Hux's chest, smoke billowing out of it in pillars. But you knew that couldn’t be true--after all, in this same memory, you, a complete stranger to him, rushed and crumbled at his side, and pressed your hand to the wound, seeking out life in his eyes.

Words: 3800

Warnings: Face-fucking

Characters: Armitage Hux x Reader

A/N: I had promised my very good friend @tonictransistor a fix-it fic if Hux ended up possibly biting the bullet in Episode IX. So, Tora, here you go. This is the scene that ended up on the cutting room floor, along with all of the other good parts of the movie, probably (hyuck hyuck hyuck).

I love you so much. I hope this eases your pain, a bit. And I hope any other Hux lovers enjoyed it, as well. <3

“I found the mole.”

You weren’t sure if you heard the blaster go off before or after those words. Adrenaline had fueled you so completely you couldn’t even reconstruct the minutes prior to the shot--who was there, what they had been saying to you. All you can recall is watching, stone-still, as General Hux was blown back, collapsing in a limp, sparking heap only feet away from you. In your memory, there was a massive, crater-sized hole in his chest, smoke billowing out of it in pillars. But you knew that couldn’t be true--after all, in this same memory, you, a complete stranger to him, rushed and crumbled at his side, and pressed your hand to the wound, seeking out life in his eyes.

“Sir!” You cupped his cheek, forcing his line of sight in your direction. “Sir, are you okay?” 

The General groaned, hissing through clenched teeth and struggling to focus on who had come to his aid. “What are you doing?” His voice was decibels above a whisper. “Get me out of here, already!”

Heat searing your face, you nodded. “Yes, sir, General.” 

The control room had already resumed operations, the rest of the officers seemingly content to continue with duties while a body of a General lay on the ground. Allegiant General Pryde had discarded thoughts of Hux seconds after shooting him--you could no longer even find him in the room. Glancing around, you seemed to be the only person on the Steadfast remotely concerned. You held your breath, forcing your hands under Hux’s shoulders, hoping to guide him to his feet, but he growled.

“No,” he said. “Not like that. Drag me. Let them think I’m dead.”

You balked. “Uh, General--”

“Drag me.”

“Yes--uh, yes, sir.”

At that, Hux went limp. You grasped his wrists, bending at the knees to make your job a little simpler, and pulled. He winced--the blaster shot hadn’t killed him, but it didn’t look comfortable, either. To your surprise, he was lighter than you anticipated, but still functioned as Lighter-Than-Anticipated dead weight. After a few seconds of pulling, your grip slipped, and you squealed, tumbling onto your ass. 

“General, please…”

Hux’s face twinged. Panicking, you scrambled to your feet, snatching his wrists again--this time, his hands grabbed your wrists, too. You weren’t sure how much blood needed to flood your face for it to change color, but at this point, you had about half of your supply there. 

Steeling yourself, you pulled again, throwing most of the work to your legs, and Hux glided across the glossy floor--within seconds, you’d both crossed through the blast doors, into the emptier hallway, where you continued to drag him.

“We’ll be at the medbay in a few moments, General,” you whispered. “It’s only--”

“Don’t be stupid,” he said. “We’re not going to the medbay.”

You swallowed. “We’re not?”

“No.” His voice was tight. “Get to an emergency pod.”

“Oh,” you said. “We’re escaping now, sir?”

“Pryde... doesn’t know what he’s doing,” Hux replied. “I’m not going to--argh--stick around and watch him fail at my own expense.” 

“Right.” You didn’t want to make him talk any longer than necessary. But there was one last thing. “So, uh, where are the emergency, like, escape ships, again?”

Hux’s neck twisted when he tried to meet your gaze from the ground. “You don’t know where the escape vessels are?”

Forcing a smile, you shook your head. “No?”

He looked toward the ceiling with a sigh. “Of course, my only ally is an imbecile.”

You blinked. Was he serious? “Oh, I’m sorry, General,” you said. “Next time, maybe you can just drag yourself out of being shot point-blank.”

“I’m perfectly capable of it.”

“You’re perfectly capable of dragging yourself?” you replied, continuing to drag him in a random direction. “You sure seemed like it.”

“Let me go.” Hux jerked away, but you clutched hard to his arms. “Let me go!”

Gritting your teeth, you released him. “Fine!” This wasn’t going as you anticipated. You knew Hux to be prickly, but this was beyond stubborn. 

Hux huffed, rolling over and seething as he balanced himself on his hands and knees. The bandage on his leg continued to darken with his blood, and his torso seemed as if it had been seared, blackened. He must have been in incredible pain. Yet you wouldn’t know it--he steadied himself in silence, wobbling while he brought himself to two feet. 

You watched, mouth agape, unable to avoid staring at his red hair falling, tousled, across his forehead, the flushing of his cheeks that so resembled what you’d imagined many times prior to this moment. His lips, full and soft, were parted in a mixture of effort and frustration, his eyes wild with determination. Those eyes met your own, immobilizing you, and he smirked.

“I didn’t request your help, offi--” Hux stumbled before he finished his sentence, cursing himself as his knees hit the floor.

You sighed. “Come on, General,” you said. “I’ll get you there.”

“I’m fine.”

“Oh, yeah, obviously,” you sneered. And then, softer: “Please, sir.”

Hux leered at you, grappling with the smooth steel walls, bringing himself to stand again, and you were at his side, his arm draped over your shoulder. This closeness churned your stomach with some form of insect. Butterflies seemed inappropriate. You balanced him, curling an arm around his waist. He stepped, and you followed. To his credit, he was mostly correct--for the extent of his injuries, he was depending very little on your support. 

“Escape vessels are located on every floor, near the turbolifts,” he said. “We’ll use my code to access them.”

You nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“Do you know how to fly a ship?”

A pause. “Uh…”

“Do you know anything about your job, officer?”

“Of course I do,” you replied, frowning. “But I only started on the Steadfast a few…” You paused. As anxiously as you wanted his approval, for as long as you’d been pining for it, you weren’t willing to get it by justifying yourself. “Is part of your job description getting shot, General? If so, you’re really exceeding expectations today.”

Hux tensed against you, but said nothing. “The vessels are mostly auto-pilot.”

“Yes, sir,” you said. “Just tell me where to set it for when we get there.”

The both of you hobbled together, Hux’s labored breathing filling the halls. You glanced at his torso. His black uniform hid the severity of his wound--but the gleaming of the fabric under the ship’s lights told you all you needed to know. It was wet. A terrified breath shivered in your chest. For the few weeks you’d been on the Steadfast, you’d grown… attached to the General. A crush seemed too childish to describe it, but the reality of your distant admiration seemed to leave it as the only appropriate term. It wasn’t just his beauty--though, of course, that had been a factor. It was his cunning, his wit. His sense of humor was dry and sharp, his expertise undermined by Pryde and Ren. 

You couldn’t believe you were so close to him, now, that you were the one escorting him to escape. Of course, you trusted his judgement--but the level of damage he’d sustained concerned you. It would be awful to have to watch him die.

The next corner you turned, you were greeted by a massive, locked door with an emergency warning plastered over it. How had you missed these? Hux grunted, flinging himself off of you and against the wall, gasping for air as he typed away at the security pad. You winced, reaching for him, but he swatted you away. He finished, and the lights in the hall flickered red, turbolifts on either side of you stalling as their alarms cut through the air.

“Uh, General?” 

Hux growled. “They killed my access.”

“What?”

���Don’t make me repeat everything I say.”

“What are we going to do, though, sir?” You peeked around the corners--two lines of troopers were marching toward the origin of the alarm. “Sir?”

“What?” he snarled, shooting you a glare. 

“Troopers are coming.”

Hux turned back toward the pad, typing in something else. “You must enjoy pointing out the obvious.”

“Oh, is that obvious?” you replied. “Incredible eyesight you have, General.”

“Of course it’s obvious, you fool.” He finished another code--nothing happened. “Troopers are trained to respond to any unsanctioned use of an emergency pod.”

“I have a feeling you weren’t expecting this to be unsanctioned.”

A muscle in his jaw tensed. “Every one of my codes is decommissioned.” Gaze narrowing, he slammed his fist against the wall. “I’ll just use Ren’s.”

Your eyes widened. “The Supreme Leader’s?” you asked. “You know his codes?”

“Of course I do,” Hux replied coolly, typing them in. “What kind of mole would I be if I didn’t?”

Concern nagged the back of your head. “Aren’t you worried about when he finds out you used his codes to escape?”

He snorted. “He’s as likely as the rest of us to end up dead before the end of this cycle.” With that, he hit enter, and the alarms stopped. 

The door whined when it opened, revealing the interior to a tiny, cube-shaped pod with multiple seating options. You glimpsed around the corner again--the troopers were closing in--seeing your face, they started running. One of them shouted out to you, ordering you to stop. Grimacing, you grabbed Hux’s shoulder, ignoring his protests, and pulled him into the ship. You both toppled on one of the rows of seating, and you clambered to the control panel, regarding it with complete resignation.

“Hit the button.” Hux crawled toward you, hampered by the wound in his chest.

“What button, sir?” There were a dozen buttons in front of you.

“Stop!” 

You turned around--the troopers had you in their sights, their blasters raised. 

“The button!” he said, pointing to a huge red button in the center of the console.

“Don’t move!” a trooper shouted.

You looked at Hux and dove, slamming your palm on the button--the doors flew shut, and you were thrown as the ship jettisoned forward, peeling away from the Steadfast using the two massive thrusters at its sides. The Star Destroyer became miniscule within a blink, and then the thrusters fell off, leaving smaller ion drives in control. The pod’s systems beeped, lights on the console awakening, and a prompt on the dash requested to know a destination.

“Where are we going, sir?” You glanced at Hux, who had deflated into his seat, face pale. Heart skipping, you leapt to his side, nudging him gently. His eyes, tired, met your own. “General?”

“I’m fine, officer.” His jaw was firm. “Just set a course for Arkanis.”

“Where’s that?”

He groaned. “Must you constantly remind me of how ignorant you are?”

You were growing weary of his snark. “I don’t have to put in anything on that prompt, you know.” 

“Discipline must be lacking in your unit,” he replied with a frown.

“If it is, it can only be the fault of those above me.”

Flouncing, you moved to the console and answered the prompt. The ship accepted it, and the engines whirred in response, controls moving independently. A long, quiet breath leaked from your nose, tension leaving with it. There was a desire to sit, but you resisted it, still too nervous to make yourself vulnerable. Why did you keep bickering with him? Fear nagged that you were driving him away; the silence in the ship worming its way into your mind. You were alone with General Hux, now--and you could swore you felt his stare sticking to you.

“Tell me your name.” 

Blushing, you spun, meeting his gaze. “Uh…” His curiosity seemed sincere. So you gave it to him.

He repeated it--somehow, it sounded superior on his tongue. “You’ve been serving the First Order for how long?”

“A few years, now, General.”

“Hm.” He paused, attention dipping to the floor and then back to you. “You may call me Armitage.”

You nodded. “Yes, sir, uh, Armitage.” Pinching your lips between your teeth, you shrugged, sitting an arm’s length from him on the bench, trying to ignore his wound. “Do you want me to look for medical supplies, or…” 

He rolled his eyes. “No.” A sharp breath left him, and he winced. “This requires more than a few pitiful salves.”

“You want to be in pain?” 

Armitage’s expression was as hard as iron, and even colder. “There are worse trials than physical pain.”

The intensity of his gaze sent goosebumps racing over your skin. You swallowed, sitting back. “Well,” you said. “I’m glad that I, uh, could help you.”

“Your reaction was impulsive and idiotic.” He held your stare for a moment, then dropped it. “But I suppose that without you, I’d be in danger of being blown up along with everyone else on that ship.”

You tried to suppress your smile. “You really think everyone’s about to get blown up?”

He sneered. “I don’t think,” he replied, “I know. Ren is a reckless fool. Pryde is too arrogant to see past his own brown nose.” Armitage settled into his seat. “Even if there was, by any measurable degree, a victory, neither of them are prepared to wield any level of power. Ren would self-destruct, and Pryde would split his own skull trying to stop it.”

A surge of attraction pulsed through you. You’d spent hours fantasizing about exactly this--sitting near Hux, hearing him speak, being entrusted with his thoughts. Yes, you’d had some verbal spats--but some part of you suspected that he liked it. A blessing. You liked it, too.

Face burning, you scooted nearer, and he hesitated, regarding you with suspicion. His eyes flickered over your frame, and after a moment, he softened. You inched toward him again, now close enough to touch his face.

“You know,” you said, looking between him and your hands, “I always thought it was ridiculous they installed Pryde as Allegiant General when they have you.”

Armitage’s lip twitched, almost imperceptibly. “It was because Ren didn’t trust me.” His gaze shifted to the wall. “But, like almost everything else he’s done since he became Supreme Leader, it’s hollow. Pryde is no less power-hungry than Ren is himself.”

You cocked your head. “How did he become Supreme Leader, anyway?”

“A coup,” he replied. He made it seem so simple--but you still couldn’t understand. Noticing your confusion, he continued. “Ren killed Leader Snoke while I was out cold. I had no say in the matter.”

“He… killed him?”

“Yes, though he fancies himself a good liar.” Armitage smirked. “Leader Snoke was just as flawed.” He finished his thought with a slight shrug. “None of those cretins have any clue how to run an effective government. The First Order would’ve tumbled into flames with any of them at the helm regardless.”

Discussing his criticisms of the Order was bringing life into his face--and you relished it. “You should’ve been Supreme Leader.”

At this, he froze. He locked you in his stare, jaw stern, brow drawn. You were paralyzed, chest tightening, mind fluttering with panic. What had you said that was so wrong? Averting his eyes, you made to distance yourself, but his hand shot out, seizing your wrist. 

He swallowed. “Say it again.”

Mouth dry, you blinked. “You… should’ve been Supreme Leader?”

A shiver rippled over his body. His lips trembled. “Say it. Again.”

“You should’ve… been Supreme Leader.”

Armitage tugged you closer, scrutinizing you, ferreting out evidence of deception. “You truly believe that.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Supreme Leader should’ve been mine.”

“Yes, yes, sir.”

He brought his mouth inches from yours, examining every detail of your expression. His breath tickled warmth over your skin, his grip on your wrist crushing. “Perhaps you’re not as ignorant as I presumed,” he murmured.

“It’s about time I heard you say that,” you replied.

“Would’ve been easier to determine if you hadn’t spent all your time floundering around.”

“Says the man with multiple blaster wounds in his body.”

Armitage drew even closer. A slight shift, and your lips would meet. Your throat was thick, heart thrumming loud in your ears. If you remembered to breathe, it would have been a miracle; your full attention had focused on the angles of his face, the turbulent green of his eyes, the coppery lock of hair still crested over his forehead. Palms sweating, you went to speak--and were silenced, hungrily, by his mouth. 

A whimper escaped you, and you melted into his grip, returning the kiss with a desperation that almost embarrassed you. His teeth scraped your lower lip, his tongue fighting its way into your mouth as you moaned. Armitage was furious, voracious, consuming you like a sunburst--hot and sudden and fast. His hand moved from your wrist to your face, weaving through your hair only to tug it like reins. You squeaked in pain--and he did it again, now eliciting a wail. This would’ve, in theory, broken the kiss, but his ferocity consumed you, swallowing your cries like a storm. He nipped your lower lip again and released you with a gasp.

“Tell me you need me.”

Nodding, you replied, “I need you, Gene--”

“No,” he said. “Call me Supreme Leader.”

Heat crashed over you. “I need you,” you whispered, “Supreme Leader.”

Growling, he kissed you again, attempting to push you back--but he flinched and retreated, grasping at the wound on his chest. It was only then that you were able to see how ruddy his cheeks had become, how flush with desire he appeared--and you saw, too, the tent between his legs, the evidence of his need for you.

Armitage grunted, drawing in a long breath through his nose as he waited for the quakes of pain to subside. He looked between his hidden erection and you, pausing, before tearing at his pants, pulling free his thick, throbbing cock. It was bigger than you expected--and far prettier than you had imagined. It curved like a scimitar toward his abdomen, the head pink with blood and shiny with cum. You swallowed again, mouth watering while you pictured running your tongue along the shaft. 

Shoulders swelling with anticipation, he fisted his member, soft pants escaping his chest while he jerked himself. His eyes, glittering flames of emerald, watched you burn for it. “I can tell from looking at you that you want to suck me off,” he said. “Don’t you?”

You squeezed your thighs together, putting pressure on your aching clit. And yet, you couldn’t resist. “I don’t know,” you replied. “Are you sure you trust me with such a complicated task?”

“Don’t be a tease,” he growled.

Holding your breath, you dipped low, careful to avoid any of his wounds as you hovered over his length. “I’m not sure,” you said, and brushed your lips across the tip. “Is this how you do it, Supreme Leader?”

“Stupid girl--” Armitage hissed, clawing at your scalp. He held you still, trying to fuck up into your mouth, but his very first thrust had him keen in pain.

Snickering, you were somehow elated. “I’m just too stupid to figure out how to suck your dick, sir.” You dragged your tongue up the underside of his member, grazing your lips on the head, cleaning the drop of pre-cum that had beaded there. “Am I doing it right?”

“Brat.” He curled his fingers in your hair, driving your head down. “Be good and suck your Supreme Leader’s cock.”

With a smirk, you relented, dropping your jaw and sliding his cock into your mouth until the head hit the back of your throat. Humming against him, you wrapped your lips around the shaft and groaned, his flesh hot silk on your tongue. You felt his heartbeat thump at the base of his length, like a drum tracking his desire to cum. He controlled your movements, bobbing your head up and down, pushing you deep onto his dick and pulling you up for air. 

You focused on your breath--you wanted him to whimper, wanted for him to shudder with pleasure, wanted for him to know how long you’d dreamed of this. Twisting your neck, you fought to seek his eyes, but the angle and his grip on your hair made it impossible. Instead, you moaned--loud and lewd, slobbering globs of spit with each squelching thrust, gagging for effect, matching and exceeding the speed of his hands. Armitage tried, in vain, to slow you, but you were driven by lust, fingers wiggling between your legs to tease your clit, groaning again when your nerves lit up like lightning.

“F-fuck--” he sputtered, “slow down.” When you failed to obey, he ripped you off of his dick, and you heaved in a breath, forced to meet his gaze. “Slow. Down.”

“What is it, Supreme Leader?” You grinned, drawing your tongue over your lip. “You can’t handle me?”

Baring his teeth, Armitage said nothing, instead choosing to shove you onto your knees. His hands squeezed you steady, and he sucked in a breath before standing, a quick sob of pain escaping his chest before he rammed his cock deep into your mouth. He grunted, fucking your face, lip curling in a twist of fury and greed, watching your eyes fill with tears as drool dribbled down your chin. You retched, sniveling while you endured his onslaught, fighting to relax your throat so that you didn’t actually vomit.

“That’s right...” His voice was ragged, tattered with pleasure and pain. “Fuck… fuck--”

You slicked your fingers over your clit again, and hummed in delight, fluttering your lashes-- and somehow, this was enough. Armitage gasped, driving into you, dick twitching and pulsing on your tongue as he spilled hot cum down your throat, his legs quaking with the effort. You swallowed, waiting for him to release you--and he finally crumpled, falling into his seat, lungs gulping down air. Sweat beaded his brow, his hair mussed now beyond repair, but on his face, there was a wash of relief. Of freedom.

Wiping your mouth, you snuck a seat next to him, watching as his mind returned to the reality you both occupied. Sighing, a smirk crept onto your face. “I’d say you’re having a decent day for someone who’s been shot twice.”

Armitage glanced askance at you, but you kept your grin, too pleased with your own joke. After a moment, his facade cracked, and the hint of a smile flashed over his face. He caught himself and cleared his throat, pushing fingers through his hair.

“Well,” he said, “you’re likely not an imbecile.”

“Really!” you replied, laughing. “I’ve redeemed myself.”

His face relaxed, and he nodded. 

“You have,” he said. “You have.”

#armitage hux x reader #armitage hux imagine #hux x reader #hux imagine #armitage hux #hux #armitage hux smut #star wars smut #impulsive and idiotic #I actually wrote a hux fic #it was driven by love!!!! #never say never I guess #nerd whinings #fanfiction problems

[unholyhelbig]

Bellmare | Chapter One

Ship: Beca Mitchell/ Aubrey Posen 

Read on Ao3 here 

Summery:  Aubrey Posen is used to the brutal cold of the city- so after an attempt is made on her life and she has to forcibly relocate to a small southern town seemingly stuck in the 1950s, she's surprised to stumble upon a new case, and an annoying clingy FBI agent who she can't seem to shake.

Aubrey Posen hated the crown molding in her apartment. It clashed abrasively with the dull gray that slathered the walls and descended in four even steps. She thought it was ugly when she found the place but the hardwood floors made up for the inconsistency in eras. So she ignored it and signed the yearlong lease. She never tended to look up anyway, so what was the harm?

The crown molding was the only thing that she could focus her stare on now. She had read through the paperwork and she couldn’t take a sledgehammer to it even if she wanted to. It made her angry, and she thought she was frowning but couldn’t be sure, because that hideous crown molding wouldn’t be the last thing she saw before everything went dark.

She could smell the greasy odor of the sesame chicken she had ordered from the restaurant down the street as it wafted from the counter. It mixed nicely with a new metallic kind of scent- and Aubrey didn’t’ realize what it was at first.

Getting shot didn’t hurt.

Not the pure action of a lead bullet entering the soft area of her stomach, or the one that hit her knee. It felt like the time right before Christmas when her family took photos on the beach, before dusk. There were horseflies that had no mercy for them- and their bites stung, but they weren’t debilitating. Not in the slightest.

But now her stomach burned and her mouth filled with blood, and she was staring at that stupid crown molding. So it wasn’t an insect with a vengeance, not in the dead winter in New York City. It couldn’t be; so the logical connection was that she had been shot. Twice.

There was broken glass from her balcony and a draft. She felt cold and tired and the front door was left open to the hallway because that was the way that the man had exited. He had missed her the first time, but she was an easy target, standing still in nothing but shock.

She flexed her fingers and wiggled her toes and realized that she wasn’t paralyzed. She could feel every breath move through her lungs and the discomfort of her spine pressing against the wood floor. Aubrey was in and out of consciousness and she couldn’t’ tell for how long. Not initially.

Aubrey had memorized her neighbor’s habits; what times she came and went from classes at the local community college. It wouldn’t be long before she padded up the stairs, refusing to take the elevator, no matter how secure, and found her door open. But she wondered half-heartedly if she would make it that long.

Had she done everything she hoped for in life? She had gotten good grades, had gone backpacking around Europe a year after she graduated college with a bachelor's, traveling was always good. And she had powered through all three years of law school. She hadn’t gotten married, but that was fine. Not many people do, and nowadays something like that didn’t last.

Aubrey had graduated to a prosecuting attorney and had convicted so many people; including the Ripper of Manhattan- that was her golden case, the one that put her in the running to become a DA. One more case and she had it in the bag, one high profile case.

She supposed, as she lay on the hard wooden floor staring at the spotty architecture, that this was a possibility. Something that wasn’t quite a robbery, something that was intentional. Aubrey Posen wasn’t dense, she knew that she had made enemies, that this last court case was a rough one, the whole city was watching.  

Her consciousness wavered again and she felt a cold puddle of blood soak into her shirt. She had hung her blazer against the back of the chair. But she was oddly content- tired if anything. But she was sure that had to do with the 60 hour work weeks.

There was a jingle of keys and the muffled sound of music. Jessica was home and she had removed a headphone. The girl was probably staring tentatively at the open door and Aubrey hoped desperately in her solitude that her fingers were visible. That any part of her was.  

“Bree?” She called out, her words strung together. “I have mace!”

Mace. Aubrey would have scoffed if she could, but everything was becoming harder to do and that acid burn in her abdomen hissed with every breath. She listened as her neighbor walked cautiously into the apartment. It wasn’t long before she spotted her.

“Holy shit, Aubrey!” She felt Jessica drop to her knees, felt her hands, cold from the winter night, on the side of her face, and then on her neck as she pressed for a pulse. She didn’t mind the blood or the fluttering of Aubrey’s eyes “Help! We need help in here!”

She scrambled for her phone, dialing 911 fast. There were more footsteps and the scent of chicken still lingered like a bad hangover. Jessica stayed by her side, and a male voice countered her own. She swore she felt someone pushing down on her chest but latched onto the familiar voice instead.

“…719 East Ord Street- yes, we’re on the second floor. My neighbor has been shot I don’t know how long she’s been here I just found her. Yes, she has a pulse, it’s weak. Please- you have to hurry.” There was a hand on her shoulder, squeezing “You’ve got to keep your eyes open for me, okay? Someone will be here soon.”

When was this place built? The molding shouldn’t be this out of style. It doesn’t match the stainless steel of the appliances or the nice wooden floor. It clashed with her throw pillows, and she’s bought at least seven different ones just to make it acceptable. But nothing was.

           She doesn’t remember waking up. It’s not something Aubrey put too much thought into until it came into question whether she would or not. There was an uncomfortably bright light that buzzed like a trapped fly above her head and a television in the corner of the puke-colored room that played soap operas.

Aubrey could tell from the bad acting and the grainy quality of the scene in front of her. She knew she was in a hospital room; the beeping of the monitors and the IV that was taped roughly to the top of her hand gave that away. They could never find a vein in her arm because it was right on top of a nerve. She hated getting blood drawn, and hated ones lodged into her tendons even more.

She blinked a few times, focusing on the dotted ceiling tiles as she moaned. Not so much from the pain, which was ever-present, but from the stiffness of her body. The heart monitor picked up, and whoever had turned on the television in the first place flicked it off.

“Easy,” Jessica’s voice came from the side of the bed, and an instant wave of calm washed over her body. “You’ve been through a lot.”

Her bed was somewhat propped, facing the busy hallway. It must be evening, she assumed. From the lack of nurses at the station directly across from them. There was a guard sitting in a metal chair in front of the glass windows, skimming through a magazine that she couldn’t’ quite read.

A cynical part of Aubrey expected more people to be here. There was a vase of purple flowers on a side table that had begun to welt and a card that had her practices logo on the side of it. Jessica had her laptop open to a school assignment- and she didn’t’ know what else to expect. She didn’t’ have very many friends in the city unless the wardens at the prison counted. She became well acquainted with them each time she walked through the doors to speak to a client.  

“Where am I?” She asked, regardless.

“A Hospital in Baltimore, you had an accident.”

An accident? She supposed that was the simple way of putting it. It had been no accident, though. Someone was sitting on her couch when she walked through her front door. They knew where she lived when she would get home. Who she was, and they easily raised a 9mm and fired off three rounds.

“How long have I been here?”

“Three weeks.” Jessica frowned, trying to remember the exact time “You’ve had twelve surgeries. It’s a miracle that you’re even here right now.”

Aubrey didn’t’ think it was quite a miracle, but she still held her life in her hands. What a life it was, so focused on trial after trial. She lifted her chin weakly at the guard “Who’s that guy?”

Her neighbor hesitated and then let out a small breath “He’s here for your protection. They still don’t know who shot you.”

There was a thick form of tension in the room and Aubrey felt her fingers curl around the fabric of the bed. The needle in her hand tugged so she unwound them. “What are you not telling me, Jess?”

Her neighbor stepped away from the bed and flicked on the television again. This time she changed the channel to the news; a generic reporter stood in front of their apartment building. His eyes were dark and tired, a hat pulled down over his hair, and his nose red and raw. She struggled to focus her eyes on the moving text at the bottom of the screen. It used to be so easy to listen to the monotone words and the flashing subtitles.

MANHATTAN PROSECUTOR FOUND SLAIN. KILLER STILL AT LARGE.

She didn’t’ understand; the television continued to drone on but she wasn’t listening. Had this been a serial attack? Was she a lucky one out of all of the lawyers in the city? She wasn’t aware of anyone else in their building having a background in law.

Her heart monitor must have picked up its pace because Jessica’s hand was wrapped around hers, calming and warm and grounding. “Hey, hey, relax. You’re here, okay?”

“They’re talking about me?”

She nodded “Aubrey, you were the last on a long list of people. The case you’re working on, all of the witnesses… they weren’t as lucky as you.”

She swallowed the cotton taste in her mouth and made a small noise. There was always a danger to her job, angry people with access to firearms. She didn’t flinch at the profanities shouted at her as she walked down the halls of the state facility, or the horrible articles spread about the people she put away being innocent. But she never expected this, never wanted this.

“I don’t understand” She whispered, frowning.

“They needed to make it look like you died, Aubrey.” Jessica explained, her voice was soft and sad “for your protection, you can’t stay in Manhattan. Not anymore.”

#Beca Mitchell #Aubrey Posen #Mitchsen #mitchsen fanfiction #Pitch Perfect #Pitch perfect au #pitch perfect fanfiction

[adulttrio-imagines]

190. “I think I may be slightly more drunk than I thought.”  With Hisoka haha

 This word is far too short for us, it has only four letters, too sparse to fill those deep bare vacuums between the stars that press on us with their deafness. It’s not love we don’t wish to fall into, but that fear. this word is not enough but it will have to do

- Margaret Atwood

The taste of bile lingers at the back of your throat, even after you down your second can of lemonade. It burns, leaving an unpleasant aftertaste on your mouth, no matter how much lemonade you try to force down. You sigh for the umpteenth time, the alcohol pounding on your head as the world spins, blurring into hundreds of colorful splotches as you curse yourself once again for your lack of self-control. Hisoka sits beside you, serenely sipping on a bottle of champagne he nicked from the party as you both overlook the small hill.

You sneak a glance at him, stomach fluttering for reasons beyond the alcohol as you trace the high peak of his nose to the curve of his lips. He was an enigma, representing everything you couldn’t understand. From his colorful attire to his oddly painted yet attractive face, he stood at the top of an existence that was beyond your comprehension, a sense of freedom and purpose that drove you to him like flies to honey, running in circles to understand the meaning in the world he seeks. You should have been mad at him for turning up at the event unannounced, making a fool of the both of you, causing a ruckus and gotten you both kicked out, though not before inciting a mass panic. But, for some stupid, inexplicable reason, you just couldn’t. You bitterly dump the empty can right next to the pair of heels you had carelessly thrown off, quietly cursing when it bounces off and rolls down the hill.

“I did tell you not to drink too much, darling. Now look where you got us.” The magician sings, looking very much like a cat who stole a prized canary under its owner’s nose, tugging a few wayward strands of hair behind the crook of your ear as you sulk, the places his fingers brush tingling long after you push them away. His voice is light and airy, they remind you of wind chimes in the summer, easily carried by the afternoon wind. You don’t appreciate how condescending he sounds but struggle to hide the smile in your voice.

“Says you. You stole a whole bottle of champagne, you’re probably worst off than I am.” It’s a lie. It’s an unusually warm Octobers night, and your bones creak with a familiar sense of exhaustion as you feel your consciousness slip between cracks.

Hisoka hums, pale cheeks appearing more flushed than usual; you force yourself not to stare at the pair of high cheekbones that have always intrigued you. “Maybe, but at least I don’t deny it.”

You try to punch him in the shoulder; you trust your physical capabilities as a hunter, but even alcohol intoxication remains a threat to you, and in your current inebriated state, miss him completely, and almost fall forward from the momentum. Faster than you can think, he grabs you by the shoulders, steadying you back into an upright position, smile never leaving his face as the heat at the back of your neck slowly creeps up your cheeks.

“I think I may be slightly more drunk than I thought.” You finally admit, wrapping your arms around yourself after brushing his hands away (you miss the way he narrows his eyes), denying that slight twinge of happiness you felt when he reached out to grab you. It burns where he held you, and fills you with conflicting thoughts. 

His smile doesn’t falter but you see a malicious glint in his eyes.

For a moment, everything remained upright, but a sudden shove from your back upends the delicate balance you had tried desperate to remain. You scream, toppling over, but not before grabbing his arm and dragging him along with you, gleefully squealing as you both roll haphazardly down the hill, landing clumsily at the base in a tangled mess of limbs. 

“That wasn’t fair.” You struggle to contain your laughter at his childish whining, he’s immature tone not at all suiting his larger than life build.

“Well, you started it.” You throw a fistful of grass at him, rolling your eyes and bursting into laughter as he pouts, tuffs of grass mixing in with the fiery orange of his hair. You collapse into the grass, the earliest of dew drops soaking into your clothes, the grass stains would be a pain to clean up, but being drunk off copious amounts of alcohol under such a calm night, you release a contented and stretch into a more comfortable position.

Hisoka huffs from his spot, a tick of annoyance radiating off him in waves, the few remaining blades of grass hanging mockingly to his shirt, but he crawls over to you, eyes dripping with mischief. Before you can process anything, he drops all of his six foot three inch glory into your lap, knocking the air out of you, face twisting into a cheeky smile as you struggle to escape his hold.

“Hisoka-! Get-get off, me!” You splutter, trying to shove him off the best you can with what little coordination you have left. He grins lazily at you instead, reclining into you in such a way that his head rested in between both of your breast, making sure he could see your struggled expression from any angle. If it wasn’t for his literal weight on your being, the act itself would have sent you careening off into the moon from embarrassment.

“Nah, I think this is just too comfortable. Also consider this payment for making me wait for you.” He hums, purposefully burying deeper into your chest, and you curse your past self for buying a dress with such thin fabric that each movement he made tickled the sensitive skin of your breast.

“I can’t breathe!” You protest, wriggling desperately under him, but you suspect he had bungee gummed himself to you, and not for the first time, curse his nen ability.

“Oh? Hmm..?” His smirk is infuriatingly smug, and you would have lashed out to punch him square in the jaw if your arms weren’t plastered to the ground. He rests his chin on his hands, elbows digging into your stomach as he pretends to think about the issue for a moment, ignoring your continual struggle beneath him, “Nope, I don’t think I care.” He shoots you a Cheshire smile, boops your nose and flops right back down on you. 

You groan in defeat, throwing your head back against the grass, the fresh dirt pillowing the force. It’s difficult but you try your best to ignore how sweet he smelled, or how warm he felt spread on top of you, or how your nose tingled at his touch, praying that the darkness of the night hid your steadily reddening face. 

“Fine,” you huff, shooting him a dirty look. “I guess I’ll just choke on my own puke and die here then- Woah!” 

Strong pair of arms grab you on either side, one firmly holding you close while the other gently supports the back of your head. Too shocked from the sudden change, you can only whelp as he rolls backwards, sending dandelion seeds floating off into the night sky as he lands on his back, reversing your previous position where you now lie helplessly on top of him with your head resting right below the dip between his collar bones, perfect for hearing the steady beat from his chest that is so starkly contrast your own rapidly beating heart. 

“We can’t have that, can’t we, sweet thing? I can’t lose you that fast.” Hisoka chuckles at your reaction somewhere above you, his right arm straddling you feeling very pleasant against the skin as he grips your thigh while his left thumb runs smooth circles over your knuckles, and your alcohol-induced mind squishes any sort of logical restraint you usually would have had. His fingers are calloused and the texture surprise he pasted over them don’t hide the nicks and scars you feel beneath the flimsy barrier. He leans in closer still, breath hot down your neck. “The fun hasn’t even started yet.” 

“No. No. Not here.” You object, immediately sobering up, praying that he couldn’t hear how loud your heart was thumping right now as you push his arm away and start to get up, only to be held back by the incredulous look he shoots you that almost cracks your resolve as you fumble for an excuse, “too many bugs!”

He scoffs, clearly not convinced by your answer and you feel him tighten the grip on your fingers. “Are you afraid of some small insect?”

You run a hand through your already messy hair, shaking out the remaining remnants of streamers from the party, trying to ignore the very chiseled abs pressed against your thigh. “Yes. No. Well, it’s more like we don’t know what’s been here and I don’t want to get an infection, and-and….” 

You trail off, letting the frosty silence settle between the both of you. There were no illusions about the type of person Hisoka was. You slid off his chest, letting the darkness hide your face as you stared blankly into your hands. In the faint moonlight, it’s easy to forget with his charming smiles and playful wit that this was an indiscriminate murderer; who comfortably held lies at the tip of his tongue and could effortlessly crush a man’s skull with his bare hands, who snuffed the light out of many for simple fun, who reeked of blood and violence as he clambered insistently for your undivided attention, painting the walls in your house a gory red. You look at his hands, tracing the delicate tips of his nails to the high ridges of his knuckles, wondering if they would one day wrap themselves around your neck as well. 

He was a danger manifested in human form, a demon who held strength that shook the earth masquerading as a mortal, you knew exactly what he represented, but couldn’t stop yourself from crashing deeper and deeper into his magnetic vortex. You twist the stem, easily plucking the lone dandelion off, it’s a nice night, perhaps you should-

“Come. Lie with me.” You blink at the tone of his voice; it’s not a command, but a request. The words stay by me are left hanging precariously between the both of you. As if he senses your internal conflict, he gently tugs at your hand and after a moment of hesitation, your defenses are whittled to non-existence and you sigh but lay down next to him, breathing in a mixture of spiced liquor, sweet candy and wet grass, fingers still interlocked together as you both stare at the vast expanse of darkness that was the cloudless night sky stretched endlessly above your heads, with clusters of stars flickering brightly off into the distance, accompanied by a solitary half moon that acted as a weary guardian. They shine delicately, as if someone had painstakingly created each of them individually before carefully hanging them in unseen patterns, painting a canopy of ever dancing light. You begin to relax, enjoying the rare circle of comforting silence created solely for such a purpose, saying nothing as you stared at the vast multitude of stars sitting at the high heavens above, all too aware of his slow breathing, the heat radiating from his bare arm and the feeling of your hand in his.

“Do you know what that constellation is called?” Hisoka says suddenly, lifting your joined hands to point at a small collection of stars somewhere off to the left.

“Uhm… is it Ursa Minor?” You guess, the urge to slide your hand off his fighting your urge to hold them closer, instead you cock your head to the side. 

He laughs, and under the faint moonlight his expression is soft (it shines brighter than anything you’ve ever seen) and he dons a surprisingly boyish grin on his face (you didn’t know that devils could smile like that), looking years younger and resembling an unruly teenager more than the wild being he existed as now. “No, but close. That’s Cassiopeia. Now, that is Ursa Minor.” He answers, pointing at another group of stars at the right. 

“What? They’re nowhere close to each other!” You rest your intertwined hands on your chest, (they weigh your down like anchors, dragging you all the way down to the depths of the ocean floor, chaining you) the warmth an unfamiliar but welcomed comfort. 

His smile is small (you heart crumbles to a million pieces, it hurts, hurts, hurts) and you have to fight to just smile back (you squeeze his hands tightly, wondering if he can feel how hard they’re shaking as you dig your fingers into the ground). He leans into you so that his head rested directly above yours. “It’s a good try. Here, how about this one?” He asks, pointing with his free hand.

“Hmm, is it the Big Dipper?” You return his smile with a grin of your own. (The cracks in your resolve deepen, fracturing off and collapsing into itself.) 

Is it really alright….

“Well, you’re somewhat right. The Big Dipper is the group of stars contained in the Ursa Major. It itself isn’t a constellation.”

…. for me to stay by your side?

“Ahh, I see.” Tranquility falls between you both again, and a strange combination of guilt and relief seeps its way into your being. It would be easier to end this all now, but the stillness of the night ties your tongue in knots, extinguishing your voice for reason with a few strokes on your thighs and warm fingers curled around yours. Instead you say,

“You like the stars a lot, don’t you.” You instantly regret your words, his smiles sliding off his face like melted butter, for reasons beyond your understanding. He’s silent, and for a split second you hear his pulse thunder furiously.

I guess you can say that.” He pauses, gaze aimlessly tracing the constellations hanging above, as if they held secrets untold. Pangs of guilt roll in waves, eating away at you for conjuring such bitter feelings. 

“When I left the Yorbian desert,” his lips unwind, and for a split second, you see a small lone figure, broken and desperate, forcing his way through mountains of sand, “the only help I had was from the stars. They tell many stories, you just have to know how to look.” He claws his way past the sand dunes, gasping for breath as the night sky led him on. 

He clams up, and the boy collapses, silent screams coloring the dessert. For once, words evade him and he struggles to form coherent words to paint the horrors he saw, but you’ve seen how his twists in his sleep, the wordless stream of screams that subsequent each kill, his manic laughter when he returns to you, thick with murder and bloodlust as he creeps into your room. It’s easier to smile and pretend the bad things don’t exist, easier to pretend everything is fine, easier to remain comfortably broken than lose your head in the process of piecing every broken piece together and try to make sense of the horrors.

“Tell me more about your stars.” You whisper, placing your hand on his cheek. You’re alive, you’re don’t have to go back anymore, you’re here and fine, and everything is going to be alright, alright, alright-

He turns to you, resting his free hand over yours, pair of burning suns piercing right through you as the world slows its spinning for just one moment. 

And as if a switch is flipped, something greater than the sum of all your thoughts blooms in your heart, creating tiny explosions that blast into a thousand suns, as if in that moment, a new universe was created inside of you. Heart fluttering, you become all too aware of the heat that colors your cheeks, the steady beat of his pulse as you curled into the nape of his neck, and your own close proximity to him. The smell of honeysuckle permeating the air as the cloudless night sky shone in all its radiance, the autumn breeze carrying the distant smoke of firewood from the distance, your heart full and warm with contentedness.

Your breath hitches, and you believe in that moment that he’s more beautiful than all the stars that are and ever will be in the galaxy. More than stars, you see supernovas of pure chaos and energy radiating from his orbs that burn brighter than even the fiercest of suns, confident and blazing in every way, and of course it’s impossible to tear your gaze away from the brilliant cluster before you. 

(My heart wavers on, oh where will you go, where will you go?)

Your hands are shaking so hard that nothing you do can stop them. His fingers clasp themselves in yours, dispelling any shred of doubt you had left, stilling your thoughts and filling the gaps perfectly as he brings them up to his lips, kissing them with unknown tenderness. 

Stay by me.

Stay be me.

Stay by me.

He was a beast pretending to be human, a demon barely holding on to its mortal form, who dwells in the pits of Tartarus and pretends to exists among ordinary man, but yet, even after everything he has done, he’s beautiful in a way that hurts when stringing your thoughts into tangible words, because when you finally press your lips against his, the very foundation of your being breaks and under the blanket of stars do you both spiral into something too terrible and beautiful for either of you to fathom. 

#hunter x hunter #hisoka #slight angst #slight fluff #my writings #headcanon prompts #asks #here you go anon! #finally got it done #i just wanted to write something happy for once

[brutal-nemesis]

EoS: Wrong Door

LORD I finally finished this boi. I’m excited to finally share “real” whump with y��all :D Please let me know if you have any LoreTM questions! 

←Previous - Masterlist - Next→

Ingredients: hand/arm nailing & gore (idk how bad b/c I’m desensitized af so just be careful yeah?), barbed wire, paralyzation, dehumanization, restraints, needles, acid

Three, two, one, pull. Three, two, one-clink! The chain holding his right arm finally snapped. Jairus had finally freed both of his arms from the chains holding them up thanks to the unnatural strength of his draconic left arm. He wasn’t able to get the metal cuffs off his wrists, but he could at least take the weight off his aching shoulders and sit down instead of kneeling upright. Now all that was left was the collar leather strap around his neck. Like hell he was wearing that thing any longer than he needed to. Instead of breaking the chain, he used the claws on his left hand to slice through the leather. It took a few tries and he scratched his neck in multiple places, but it was worth it to get that thing off him. 

He was finally able to stand up, a little unsteady after kneeling for so long. There wasn’t anything else in the room, not even the rest of his clothes, since all he was left with were his shorts. He wasn’t exactly embarrassed to be without a shirt, but the fact that Einn or one of her underlings had removed it while he was unconscious was infuriating. He’d make them pay once he got his spear back. He had to focus on finding it and escaping for now. Revenge could wait.

The door wasn’t even locked. This is almost too easy, Jairus thought, and then was immediately proven wrong as he peered outside. Down the hall, two wrath demons and a greed demon were rushing towards him, alerted by the sounds of the chains breaking. Without a second thought, Jairus turned and bolted towards the door at the other end of the hall. If he had his lance, he could kill them easily, but without it, he couldn’t even use his lightning magic. To make matters worse, he was terrified of greed demons, and seeing one scampering towards him on its short, stubby legs with its four unnaturally long arms reaching out made his bottled-up fear come bursting out. He almost slammed into the door, wrenching it open and diving inside without thinking. He slammed the door shut and locked it behind him, then stopped to rest his head against it and catch his breath. He couldn’t rest long, he had to…

A sudden, sharp pain emanated from the back of his neck. He tried to reach up and identify the source, but he couldn’t move all of a sudden. Jairus collapsed to the ground as his legs gave out, and he found himself staring up into the coal-black eyes of a pride demon. Setting down the needle, the white demon that had rendered him powerless shouted over its comrades’ relentless pounding on the door, “Quiet, worms! Everything worked out as expected.” It reached over and unlocked the door. “Get in here and help me, this stuff doesn’t last long.” The other demons came into the room as the pride demon reached down and yanked Jairus up by his hair. “So eager to start, aren’t we? Don’t worry, all of us are as excited as you.” It  sneered at Jairus’s expressionless face, before letting Jairus’s head fall back to the ground with a hard thunk. Jairus tried to move, tried to fight, but his body wouldn’t listen. He couldn’t lose again, he was the dragon hybrid, dammit. There was no way that this was happening.

There was no way, even as the other demons came in and lifted him onto the wooden table in the middle of the room (that greed demon’s awful hands all over him). There was no way, even as they removed the broken restraints and chained him to the table. There was no way, even as a crumpled rag was shoved between his teeth. There was no way, until he felt something sharp in his left palm. His eyes, the only part of him that would work, rolled over to see a giant metal spike, dripping with a liquid that burned his scales, that one of the wrath demons was pushing down into his dragon hand. Terror ran through him like lightning, he didn’t want this, he didn’t want this-

DING. The feeling of the metal driving through his flesh caused a cry to echo in his throat, the only reaction his limp body could give. DING. He could feel the bones in his hand breaking as the nail was driven deeper. DING. Each whack of the hammer hurt more than the last, which he didn’t even think was possible. DING. The nail had pushed all the way through his hand now, biting into the table and widening the hole in his palm. DING. Why did they have to keep hitting it? DING. Their laughing faces swam in front of his eyes. DING. He could feel his cries humming in his throat, trapped behind the gag. DING. Was this his punishment for running off by himself and leaving his friends behind? For thinking he could defeat Einn without them?

The hammering had stopped. He didn’t want to, but he had to open his eyes and look. Once he did, he really wished he hadn’t. There was something sickening about the sight of the nail sticking out of his hand. He fought the urge to throw up, which would be doubly unpleasant since the gag in his mouth meant it had nowhere to go. The pride demon leaned over him, a wicked grin showing off its fangs, “We’re going to make certain that you can never move that cursed arm of yours ever again. Let any hope of escape die along with your sanity.” He turned to the greed demon as he unscrewed a medium-sized bottle. “Get the soul-muting band.”

“The fun part’s finally here then, Zariel?” The greed demon said as it reached one of its four long arms to the instrument-laden table by the wall and grabbed a metal band set with a dark green gemstone. 

“Indeed it is.” Once the band was secured around Jairus’s upper right arm, Zariel began to pour the contents of the bottle over his nailed-down left arm. It didn’t exactly hurt his scales, but Jairus felt them softening, and the pain came once they began to crack and the acid came into contact with the skin underneath. Liquid fire was seeping into his flesh, every cracked scale allowing more and more of it to burn him. He bit down on the rag in his mouth, almost grateful that it silenced his cries.

Jairus’s draconic features always healed quickly thanks to the bond between his soul and the lightning dragon one that had been fused to it. But the band seemed to be blocking that connection, preventing his corroded scales and burned skin from repairing themselves. His arm was left damaged, with its black scales dissolving and cracking, showing patches of the bright yellow skin lightning dragons possessed, mottled with orange-red burns.

The greed demon then handed Zariel a long, thin knife, brandishing its own in two of its hands. “Let’s ruin this damned arm of yours now, shall we?” Zariel purred. The knife slid through his acid scorched scales with frightening ease, hitting bone before Jairus had properly registered the pain. He gasped into the gag as the blade continued along his bone, peeling off the flesh of his arm in one bloody strip. No, no, he couldn’t look any more. Couldn’t watch as his ruined black scales gave way to the pinkish white of a bone drenched in his blood. Couldn’t look at the wicked grins of the demons carving him up. But he could feel. Feel the knife gliding so effortlessly through his muscle that the pain started out as a quiet whispering before ramping up to a full-bodied scream. Feel the cold air wrapping itself around the bone, a sensation that isn’t supposed to be felt, swirling up and up around and everywhere. 

Then there was nothing left of his arm save for his hand, still pinned to the table with a jagged spike, and some flesh around his shoulder. The rest was all gone, just frail human bones with bits of muscle clinging to them here and there. And he couldn’t help but stare. His flesh always grew back, it did, but no matter how much we willed it to heal, it wouldn’t. Zariel leaned over him, a devilish smirk on its face.  “You think that’s the worst of it, worm? You’re in for a treat.” He brandished a coiled mass of...was that barbed wire? 

Yes, yes it was, and it was being wrapped around his left arm now. It wasn’t painful since there were really no nerves left, but he could feel the echoes of the metal scraping against his bones as it was wound around and around. And he hated, hated that feeling, especially knowing how much it was going to hurt once his arm came back (it was coming back, right?). But when they removed the band and his flesh began to regrow, he almost wished it wouldn’t.

Healing always came with a horrible itching pain that made his flesh feel like it was being stretched out, and having it push into the barbed wire and wrap around it added sharp, scraping pain to the mix. It was like the time it had healed around a piece of broken glass but magnified to a maddening degree. It felt like his arm was being pulled and stabbed and scraped and there were thousands of insects crawling all over it itched it hurt oh god it hurt make it stop-

And then everything went dark.

When he came to, she was standing over him. Her green eyes lit up the moment she saw he was awake.

“Well there you are, little hybrid. I heard you’re still harboring delusions about escaping. Let’s rectify that, shall we?”

#whump #gore #cw gore #cw nailing #cw paralyzed #cw needles #cw dehumanization #cw acid #cw barbed wire #lord i hope i got everything #my stomach is full of worms #i think it's cuz i'm really proud of some parts of this >_< #i didn't realize how many italics i used until I had to go add them back in oof #i wrote something #jairus #zariel #i wrote the first half of this like a year ago fun fact #had to bring it up to Canon #one more fun fact: they used to shove broken glass into his arm instead of the barbed wire #am i just adding tags to put off posting this? #mayyyybe

[bayern-moni]

Pair Questions part 1/2 featuring Gin and Aizen

This time no ship intended, but it will be rectified in another post. Enjoy ~

Who steals the covers at night?

Gin. He's a cold blooded creature, literally and metaphorically. His skin always feels too cold not to bury himself in the covers for all the span of that goddamned season. He doesn't care if his claim on the covers leaves his unfortunate bedmate damned to a frosty fate all night, nor does he have problems to brutally kick out of bed whoever tried to make fun of him by putting a cold foot in the vicinity of his own. He is selfish like that and doesn't know remorse. Or maybe, he could feel sorry if that other person were the cute Izuru-chan (but then his most sadistic part would revel in the wait until his too respectful Lieutenant'd overcome his qualms and actually start to fight for the covers) or he could decide to suffer himself the cold and leave the blanket to Rangiku like he did when they lived in that shack as kids, but if that other person happened to be Aizen, then he'd have absolutely no qualms about it. The dark-haired shinigami could and would die of frostbite before Gin actually accepted to give up that pleasurable warmth. After all, the wannabe god is too superior to actually lower himself to start a pillow fight to get it or start listing actual reasons why he had a greater right than his second (stressing that word too much for his taste) to be covered by the blanket, wasn't he?

But ... was he?

Who cooks normally?

Aizen. There'd be a cold day in hell before he let this change. It took him too many years to get his little Lieutenant to understand the difference between 'survival food' and 'actual food' to afford now to have him fall back into his old habits. And the Rei-o knows what he'd do If he decided to purposely mess with the first kind of food to get a good laugh at Aizen's horrified face. Again. How could he forget that time when, during the first days of his training under Aizen's tutelage, Gin decided to thank him for his supposed generosity with a 'sumptuous lunch' (his words)? Go trust that little hellchild. Aizen's stomach wanted to vomit only at the memory of it. When the pest put the plate full of mice and insects, "killed just for the occasion" said proudly the child, in front of him he was torn between the the strong impulse to throw up and the need to examine closely Gin's body language to discern if he sincerely believed that was a satysfing meal or if he just exploited his Rukongai upbringing to make him suffer. Probably the latter.

... And those awful dried persimmons...

When he looked at the genuinely expecting and just a tad mischievous look the kid was giving him, he understood it was a balanced mix of the two. Right then, he decided two things:

Gin would never be allowed to get close to his kitchen again without a real, convincing and absolutely necessary life-or-death reason;

He had to take the problem in his own hands because: first, no way that the future king of the three worlds will ever eat something like that, ever, and, secondly, it was his duty to bring that too scrawny and bony hellion to health.

He could not have his future second in command be weak or die because of the consequences of starvation before he could make himself useful to him. It was a pragmatic matter. Regardless of all the times that moron of Hirako made fun of his attempts because "aren't you too old to play family, Sousuke-kun?" or "did you really adopt the kid, don't you? How 'cute'!". It was just that. But then he continued to encourage Gin's insatiable appetite until he was satisfied with his now not dangerous weight and even found that he really liked cooking for both of them, it was a relaxing hobby for his abused patience. Kaname's recipes and passion for cooking helped, too.

Nickname for each other?

Hellion. Wanna-be-God. Reptilian calamity. Overdramatic narcissist. And so on. Not very difficult saying who's what.

What would they get each other for gift?

Kamishini no Yari's poison A guide on "how to survive your obsessed fangirls and still look cool". A set of dried sweet potatoes to thank him for the time Gin raided his fridge of all its contents and filled it with 12 kilos of hard-boiled eggs. How he managed to put them there without making the fridge explode was beyond him, but still. He'd be sure to make Gin pay for it.

What would they do if the other one was hurt?

It depends. On what, you'd ask. It's quite simple. It depends on who is responsible for the other's wound/hurt. If it were each other, then they'd be perfectly cool with it and not bother too much for it, just plot a gruesome revenge (the other isn't so weak and unproud to make a big deal out of something so trivial like hurt, isn't he? And if they were, it'd mean that they're not worth of the other's attention like they believed). If the culprit were not one of them, though, that person would probably be eviscerated or severally maimed before they could even complete the thought "I did it!". Because only they had the right (and the power) to wound or kill the other. None of them would ever let someone else in the way of this challenge between them.

Who remember things?

Both. They have entire metaphorical archives full of blackmailing material in organized folders against each other, carefully collected for more than 109 years. Aizen-taicho hates boiled eggs, Gin felt betrayed by sweet potatoes, Aizen would never go out without having checked the exact angle of his hair lock at least twice at minute, Gin becomes skittish every time Matsumoto or that bratty Lieutenant of his come in the picture, Aizen secretly fears Hinamori's obsession with him, etc...

They both made a mental note to remember that each of these things could be useful, sooner or later.

Their thoughts on the whole Fangirl and ships topic?

Disturbing. Fascinating and distur - Hinamori! For the umpteenth time, I'm fine and no, I don't need anything. You did a great job and you can go now! - bing.

Who cusses more?

Surprisingly enough, Aizen. Actually, Gin is the one that cusses frequently, steadily and on daily basis, but only for the fun of annoying Izuru's, Aizen's and Kuchiki-taicho's noble sensibility. But when he's in that mood that makes other people cuss, he'll communicate it with icy glares, a sharper edged grin or a overall crueler behavior. On the other hand, Aizen is the one that pledges himself as above things like annoyance, rage and (especially) a "crude language so beneath my godlike status caused by irrelevant emotions like irritation", as Gin decided to put it to make fun of him. But when he's really pissed like when Urahara doesn't take action, ruins his plans or Gin writes obscene kanjis on the board during his calligraphy lessons, he'll lose all control on his legendary composure and start cussing like a sailor. Hopefully, Kyoka Suigetsu prevents people from noticing it.

How often do they fight?

As a serious fight? Once every hundred and nine years, but it's "until death do us part". As just a way to kill time? Very very often, but it's never beyond a good deal of verbal jabs. You could almost consider it as their own fond way of saying hi to each other.

Are there any foods that make their stomach upset?

For Gin, no, there aren't. At least, Aizen has been conducting a research on the topic since the infamous lunch with still no result worth of notice. Ichimaru hates some foods, doesn't like others, but, by now, his stomach's completely anesthetized even to Rangiku's cooking after being subjected to it for so many years. And that's saying something, as far as Aizen is concerned. Not that he meant to imply anything about Matsumoto's cooking abilities, of course. Overall, he'd gulp down anything if needed.

Aizen instead is very picky about his food. He's a perfectionist here, like in every other aspect of his life. There's nothing able to upset his stomach, though. And even if there was, he'd never tell a soul. Ever. Gin had not to be encouraged to do anything stupid against him, no matter what.

Who's the most irritable during an hungover?

Gin. Aizen doesn't drink anything but his beloved tea and the occasional sip of fine wine. But Gin during an hungover is something Aizen wouldn't wish on anyone, not even Yamamoto or the Rei-o. A hissy, horribly-moody, vengeful cat you just woke by stepping on its tail is a cutie puppy in comparison to him. Really, it happened once and Aizen swore Gin should never end up with nothing more alcoholic than a glass of water, never again, for his own sanity's sake. Fortunately, Gin found that if he ate a dried persimmon after the drink he shared with his dear Rangiku, he couldn't get hungover. Still to this day, Aizen wasn't entirely convinced of the scientific accuracy of this theory, but given that it didn't happen anymore, he was willing to give him credit for it.

Have they ever tried to ruin the other's dates?

Life in Soul Society is particularly monotonous. This is a fact everyone agreed with and what's at the core of the matter. So, yes, they did, but only when paperwork became so painstakingly boring that it could be seen as something funny to do. Particularly, Aizen loved calling secret meetings between himself, Kaname and Gin as soon as he knew, because he did know, that Gin was in the middle of an especially good moment during a date with Rangiku (or even during a friendly walk with that Kira) just because Aizen could. On the other hand, Gin loved making fun of Aizen's utterly missing and more-dead-than-Omaeda's love life, despite the fact that half of shinigami and the recruits desired him and the other half either belonged to Byakuya fanclub or were just lying to themselves. So, he did not so much ruin Aizen's dates as he did try to set him up with absurd dates with psychotic and obsessed fangirls and fanboys that always left Aizen baffled at how much he had underestimated people' crazyness. An "I care about your love life, taicho, I try to find a good date for you because we can't have you become an old grumpy overlord with a dog as your only company at night, can we?" my ass. Bratty moron.

#bleach #gin #gin ichimaru #aizen sousuke #aizen #tosen #kaname tosen #rangiku matsumoto #izuru kira #shinji #shinji hirako #headcanon #character meme #truth or dare challenge

[smalltragedy]

* natalia dyer, nonbinary + she/they | you know philomena carmichael, right? they’re twenty, and they’ve lived in irving for, like, a day? well, their spotify wrapped says they listened to the leanover by life without buildings like, a million times this year, which makes sense ‘cause they’ve got that whole wind whipping around your hair, the gentleness of decomposition, a naked blur dancing around the flames of an everlasting fire thing going on. i just checked and their birthday is april 20th, so they’re a taurus, which is unsurprising, all things considered. ( james, 22, est, they/them )

hi thank u all fr being so patient w me as i rapidly switch out muses n figure out wht the fuck im doing atm <3 also sry fr my rare presence work hs been kicking my ass like lets jst say i deserve 2 b smbdy’s housewife (misogny wins this time sry) so i nvr hv to work in my life <3 DFSLKSDHKGLFSHLKAGHLKAHLKSG this is a joke 2 clarify. anyways. this is philly she’s old bt she’s one of my very favorites ever. this intro is also old sry its nt in my usual. style. LKDFKHGLKGF

CANCER, TRAUMA, DEPERSONALIZATION / DEREALIZATION, DEATH, GRAPHIC MENTION OF DECAY, INSECTS MENTION TW.

mini playlist.

the girl who stole my tamagotchi ;; hot sugar / i dropped out ;; and the kids / pork soda ;; glass animals / wonderfully bizarre ;; bendigo fletcher / (dream) ;; salvia palth / alien blues ;; yundabar / dust in your pocket ;; glass animals / warm honey ;; willow / bela lugosi’s dead ;; bauhaus / gecgecgec ;; 100 gecs / blinding ;; florence and the machine / nantes ;; beirut / cherry-coloured funk ;; cocteau twins / not allowed ;; tv girl / oblivion ;; grimes / space song ;; beach house / dog food ;; 100 gecs / the leanover life ;; life without buildings.

statistics.

full name: philomena brontë carmichael

nickname(s): philly, phil, mena, etc.

birthday: april 20th, 2000. 

zodiac: taurus sun, scorpio moon, aries ascending.

mbti & temperament: infp & improvisor / phlegmatic. 

label: the halycon.

sexuality: demisexual.

pinterest.

biography.

a middle child belonging to christopher and imogen carmichael - two stanford professors. christopher specialized in british literature whilst imogen specialized in the classics. hence the name.

the order of siblings goes as such: lysander, elektra, juno, philomena, and twins orion & valora. the deal was that everybody had a greek (or in juno’s case, roman) first name and a middle name inspired by a piece of british literature circa 1800s and under. a family of nerds, if you will.

so, clearly - right off the bat, their parents are … eccentric. they’re both in love with their respected topic, and with each other, and with their kids. the carmichael family is a happy family.

they each have their own quirks and whatnot - though philly’s always been particularly dreamy - even as a child, she’d spend hours watching clouds or caterpillars or the leaves blow in the wind rather than play with other kids. she wasn’t a shy kid - she just had her own interests.

hardship doesn’t hit the family until philomena is five and starts having splitting headaches. they’re slow at first - but as soon as she’s seeing spots and unable to walk in a straight line, doctor appointments are made.

cancer tw // it doesn’t take long for them to discover the tumor, though the official diagnosis of malignant ependymoma comes a month later.

it’s grade ii but slow-moving, small enough to not be as much of a threat as worried, but big enough where removal is necessary. philomena earns a scar and brings it in for show-and-tell. for two months afterwards, philly’s at radiotherapy monday through friday.

they’re lucky - philomena’s considered cancer-free by the next year. she’s babied at first - handled delicately, as if she could break if touched - but with five other children … it doesn’t last for too long. end of cancer tw //

and life continues as normal.

her personality doesn’t shift much over the next few years - she’s awfully independent for a kid, and awfully quiet - when she speaks it’s about faeries and bigfoot, about how the sky is so blue and if you listen quietly, you can hear the leaves whisper their secrets to each other. this is not odd.

she’s close to all her siblings, but she idolizes her older sister - elektra. elektra’s six years older and dyes her hair whatever colors she wants. elektra bought a knife off a seedy guy downtown. elektra threw away all of her heels and renounced god. elektra is god. her music is loud but it’s not heavy - it’s florence and the machine.

they’re opposites - elektra’s boisterous and feels loudly, philomena’s softer and feels…less. when elektra sneaks out, philomena keeps watch. they are a duo.

philomena is smart - but she’s fifteen and hates school. hates sitting inside all day. hates the same routine - day after day - it’s all the same. her parents’ routine is the same, philly feels contained and she wants to live.

elektra’s twenty-one and just bought a brand new spanking (used but not falling apart) 19-something volkswagen … van - using her entire savings account. she says she’s tired of routine, she’s leaving the next day.

naturally, philomena stows away in the back and isn’t discovered until they’re two states away and she’s got to pee. elektra nearly crashes the van in shock.

it’s an argument - philomena vs. elektra, then them vs. their parents, then their parents vs. the school, the state - it’s an ordeal. philomena switches to an online program in the end.

it hurts christopher and imogen - lysander’s not having any of their nonsense, juno’s betrayed and alone - the twins are twins. in the end, it’s alright. the carmichael family is a happy family.

philomena and elektra take their time - it’s not a road trip, it’s their new life, permanently on the road. they stop and explore often - they do odd jobs in whatever town they settle in. they dine-n-dash, they shoplift. they survive in their own way.

during particularly desperate times, they two resorted to identity theft & credit fraud - getting away with it only by ditching the cards once they’ve made it out of state.

she drops out of high school officially when she’s seventeen - they have to drive all the way back to california to deal with the wrath of their parents and to deal with paperwork, but it’s done. philomena doesn’t know what path she wants in life - but it’s not that.

depersonalization / derealization tw // it’s during this time that the episodes occur - philomena’s outside her body, philomena’s wrapped in cotton, her memories are not her own. she’s looking in the mirror and she doesn’t recognize herself. they take shelter in a city for six months, long enough for her brand spankin’ new therapist to figure out what’s wrong with her. she’s diagnosed with depersonalization / derealization disorder - they think it’s stress. philomena doesn’t get stressed. they think it’s trauma. she laughs - she never laughs. depersonalization / derealization end of tw //

death, decay. maggots tw // there is trauma though, deep-rooted but somewhere inside - you just have to look for it.

you. just. have. to. look. for. it. look for it. look for it. look for it look for it look -

you were ten and she was thirteen, an off-trail hike in familiar woods in a familiar town, safe and familiar. it was your idea, to stray from the carved out paths, down creeks and up hills and round, and round again. you’re the one who spotted the scarf first, sticking up from the dirt and dancing in the wind like the beginning of reincarnation. it was not reincarnation, it was discovery. it was ruin. with curiosity drawn, you skidded down - with compliance, followed juno, followed your sister - clumsy in her steps and tumbling down quicker than you. you saw the corpse, but juno felt it. decaying flesh and maggot. end of death, decay, maggots tw //

and she left juno, just like that - just five years later, when juno had finally gone to the end of her wits. philly up and left. abandoned her.

philomena and elektra leave the city after that therapy session. they do not return. she’s always been good at hiding her secrets.

after ending up with warrants from their arrest in florida (after running from the law in texas), philly and elektra have wound up at irving <3 partially hiding from the law and partially bcos their trusty van’s broken down and they haven’t got the money to fix her up yet. 

personality & facts.

she’s quiet but she’s confident - her voice sounds like rustling leaves, if leaves smoked a pack of cigarettes a day.

often underestimated - philly’s petite and looks like she’d fall over if a plastic bag blew too close to her. she’s independent - for the most part. elektra is the only person philly takes orders from.

has always been considered odd - weird, strange. still talks about the trees as if they’re listening, as if they’re old friends. she’s vague and doesn’t elaborate on the things she says.

believes in pretty much any superstition you throw her way. luck is very important to her. if you ask her if the earth is flat, she’ll say probably. believes strongly in bigfoot and the lochness monster. has personally seen aliens, and loves ghosts almost more than herself.

she can be amusing - whether you ‘get’ her or not, her outlook is often bright - she talks about the negatives the same way she talks about the positives. can be seen as naive or gullible, but she’s plenty smart. even if half of her education has come directly from google.

philly doesn’t laugh. a smile, yes - often, in fact - not always reaching her ears, or bearing teeth - but these are not indicators of her happiness. philly is consistently content. she thinks many things are funny - she still will not laugh.

her voice is often monotonous - she doesn’t sound dreary, she sounds far-away. her voice carries. her emotions are often unknown to others.

is apathetic in most situations. she’s hard to bother - she’s incredibly patient and enjoys the company of most - tolerates them at the very least. it’s hard for her to express her emotions, because she feels them so little that it’s very nearly not worth it. her affection is not verbal - it’s small touches and gestures of kindness, love in her own way.

is a fan of knock-knock jokes and bad puns. she won’t crack a smile while telling you them, nor does she expect you to laugh. she just enjoys them.

she owns a motorola razr covered in puffy stickers - hasn’t ever had a smartphone. she’s a fan of emoticons. her favorite is :o)

has a lot of bruises and scratches and scars - she’s often getting herself into pickles. there are always, at the very minimum, three bandaids on each hand.

she has insomnia, so she’s awake often. is often seen wandering town - even when she shouldn’t be, even when it might be dangerous. her intuition is delayed. when she does sleep - her dreams are vivid and fantastical.

keeps a box of memories - sentimental bits and pieces she’s picked up over the last few years. there are a lot of buttons and postcards, but any teeny tiny object will do.

her style changes every week - most, if not all, of her clothes are thrifted. one week she’s baby spice and the next she’s lydia deetz. she combines pieces from different styles often - she looks like a barbie clothed by a child. she feels most comfortable like this.

will either patch-up the clothes that get too worn or reuse them in some way. sometimes donates the clothes she gets tired off - isn’t minimalistic, but she’s learned to keep only a small amount of possessions.

the only consistency is her lucky ribbon - it’s pastel yellow and silky and as thin as a shoelace. she ties it onto her outfit of the day, everyday. if she loses it, she’s lost. elektra has a matching ribbon.

has no problem with minor theft - she only takes bare minimum, puts herself and elektra first and that’s how it’s always been.

currently living in florence, their van, with her sister elektra <3 currently residing in lilac ridge.

they used to live in motels on the occasion, the cheapest room, and more often than not they’d both go home with strangers for a comfier bed and a hotter shower.

it was a common occurrence - she didn’t sleep with them - but somehow, she weaseled her way into their homes anyway. has come out mostly unscathed, on most occasions. this has been a practice ever since they’ve been on the road.

really, truly - has not slept with anybody, had her first kiss at thirteen with a frog. this doesn’t bother her. (smirks at leo)

will consume anything you put in front of her - isn’t picky.

listens to whatever they’ve picked up along the way but she likes instrumentals the best. her second favorite genre is 1990′s and 2000′s top hits. they’re nostalgic for her. third favorites? florence, of course. fleetwood mac. the bird and the bee.

loves storms - will go out in the rain and will risk her life for it.

owns a pair of roller-skates and is often skating rather than walking. unless she’s on grass - then she’s walking barefoot.

has many hobbies, and gets bored of them often. her favorite hobby is welding. she’s not certified.

also, juggling.

also, accordion.

the kind of girl who’ll do any job you give her. odd jobs are her favorite jobs. babysitting is her least favorite - but she does it anyway. has lost children before. have they ever been found? not by philly.

dyes her hair blonde often and cuts her own hair - bangs included - finds it cathartic, likes the itchiness of bleach.

everything she does is often in pursuit of feeling free, alive, and meaningful.

( like her frequent visits to the woods, late at night when the moon is high and full. it’s freeing to dance around a fire, stark naked in the cold. builds immunity )

comes and goes wherever she pleases, nothing & nobody can stop her (besides elektra).

has a certain knack for getting animals to like her. has too many ‘pet’ rats that reside with her, alongside a baby raccoon & a few crow pals. has a new animal companion everyday, but she doesn’t contain them or force them to stay.

wanted plots.

speaking through my third eye ... ;; philly is new in town n shes very strange. constantly lives in a state in which she does not exist (at least on the same plane). this is her harassing the locals. this is her slipping thru their fingertips as they attempt 2 understand her. they get close smtms bt philly jst. whisks herself away.

hollows of our eyelids ... ;; perhaps there is smbdy jst as strange as philly. i’m out here calling fr all the weirdos. lets be friends. lets hv philly n co go on adventures n discover horrible sites n uncover ancient secrets tht lie deep below irving. mayb nt tht. bt im jst saying. this is fr the dreamers. da weirdos. the jugheads. LHKDSHFSADLKGFHLSKADG fr those who also feel as if they r not real.

bills n aches n blues... ;; ya this is my call fr all negative plots. bills (catching philly be a thief and a fraud), aches (mayb heartache? unrecruited feelings or w/e theyre called?), n blues (ooooh so sad... so sad ... angst ...) obviously i am a genius. i wldnt say tht philly is here 2 make enemies bc philly doesnt care much abt ppl bt perhaps tht cld b an issue. tht she doesnt care much abt others. mayb ur muse is jst like. cn u pls care. n philly is like. i am incapable. sry. sucks.

n also ,, ;; like. anything i’ll. take anything. philly is weird lets come up w surreal plots tht verge on the edge of like. nt being correct fr this verse. suddenly theres vampires? or so they think ... smirks. anyways. shes been 2 jail n been in the circus (shoutout 2 kirby) n dances naked in the woods n hoards animals n treasures. we hv a lot to work with here obv. 

#irvingintro #death tw #decay tw #maggots tw #dissociation tw #depersonalization tw #derealization tw #cancer tw #trauma tw #zooweemama #anyways. kira's will b up soon