#also I love the little human touch of that little bend in his fucking sleeve cuff when he says avaunt

[bowtiepastabitch]

Let's talk costuming: Avaunt!

So I think we can all agree that Aziraphale looks his most traditionally angelic in the Job minisode, no? In fact, all of the angels' costuming increases in drama for this particular episode. This is, obviously, a very deliberate choice on the part of wardrobe, so let's discuss.

On a technical level, the biggest thing that stands out to me about this fabulous robe is the draping. Oh, the draping. It feels like a classic angel 'fit because on a very fundamental level, it is. A lot of what we think of as angelic draws on Renaissance artists' depictions, with flowing robes, fluffy wings, and glimmering halos. In art from this era, there is a strong attention to detail on the natural flow of fabrics that makes Renaissance sculpture so breathtaking, such as here: (The Ecstasy of St. Teresa, Bernini, 17th century CE)

It's this ability to make solid marble look like fine silk rippling with movement that leaves such a strong impression in my mind when I look at these kinds of works.

In painting, too, there is a similar effect. Something about the material culture of the Renaissance really lent itself to this style, perhaps fueled by the rise in new textile luxuries that occurred in vaguely the same period. This is seen especially strongly for angels, such as in the sculpture above, and in this painting: (The Annunciation to the Virgin, Botticelli, 15th century CE)

There's a stark contrast between the dress of the two figures. The virgin Mary is no less ornamentally or expensively dressed, but her style is rather minimalistic next to the angel's voluminous robing. It paints a very clear impression of angelic dress, and the designers for Good Omens would have been aware, in at least a small way, of the art history precedence for such a thing.

The poof of the sleeves, the tucks down the front, the little belt with the train tucked in, the gathers, the weight of the fabric, everything about this robe is constructed to carefully recreate the rather fantastical imagery of renaissance art. It's not necessarily an easy texture to nail down, given that the artists themselves had no concerns of gravity, comfort, or the way it would look in actual 3d motion, while our brave costumers were dealing with all three as well as a budget, time constraints, and the constant consideration that white fabric just gets dirty so easy.

Here's some of the other angels as well, so you can see how theirs reflect those same dramatic themes.

And then, of course, when costuming a show you have a second question: What does this mean for our character? Or rather, we know how, but WHY did they make him look so traditionally angelic?

Well, thematically, the Job minisode centers around Aziraphale's struggle with being a good angel and Crowley's struggle with being a good demon. Aziraphale is learning how to be an angel that follows along with heaven as far as we can, and he's so terribly torn up about it. He spends a lot of his time fretting about doing what's expected demanded of him, even if perhaps he doesn't believe it to be the right choice. Natural, then, that he should look the part of the perfect angel whilst sorting out these ethereal woes.

Crowley even draws attention to it himself, giggling a bit at the suggestion that Aziraphale, with his fluffy hair and flowing angelic garb, could possibly become a demon. And it is a rather silly mental image; the garment itself would be comically silly in really ANY other context at all. In the same manner, his performance of angelic archetype borders on excessive:

He's trying so desperately hard here to be the angel he wants to and is supposed to be. He's dressed the part, he's using his big scary angel voice, but deep down he's clinging to an identity that doesn't quite fit.

(You'll notice in this shot the distinct difference between his and Crowley's dress on the level of silhouette as well as color. We see this a lot from the two of them, but with the points I made above it felt worth pointing out in this particular scene)

Here at the end, as he's coming to terms with the cracks in his heaven-given identity, his robe is largely in shadow, blurring out its startling whiteness. We do not see him dressed this way again. (He continues to wear white, obviously, but from here on out his style of dress mimics the human trends of the time rather than that classical angelic imagery)

#good omens analysis #art history #sometimes I am an academic weapon but only when it doesn't count #aziraphale good omens #job minisode #costume design #good omens #good omens costumes #aziraphale #michael sheen #historical clothing #good omens 2 #neil gaiman #also I love the little human touch of that little bend in his fucking sleeve cuff when he says avaunt #like that's a fully real piece of clothing that he's wearing not something animated and sometimes you just have to sit and appreciate it #it just makes me laugh a little #I'm sure someone somewhere agonized over it and wishes they'd fixed it but it just feels so human to me

[itsbeaconhillsbaby]

the way I love you // tom holland x reader

a/n: hello my lovelies! it’s been a little while since I posted something, this piece has fully been kicking my butt but she’s finally here and I hope you like her even if she is a little rough around the edges. as always, love to know what you think. also, I will do an official post regarding rules but from here until I close them my * REQUESTS ARE OPEN * my 10th piece of writing (WHAT) is a requested piece that I'm so excited to share with you guys and the lovely human who requested it, so stay tuned for that but in the meantime, sending all the love, and I hope you're all staying safe out there, please enjoy! x 

word count: 2.1K warning: swearing, lil bit of angst if you squint summary: your best friend tom is helping you move in, but you have a secret and it’s been making things difficult. it’s time to fess up. 

The rain thumped against the windows, droplets eagerly chasing each other to the bottom. The wind whistled, branches reaching out as the trees shook. Soft wispy curtains were pulled tight to keep the cold, stormy weather locked outside. Yet the sounds of cars speeding through the flooded roads could still be heard from the storeys above. The room was almost bare, the orange glow of the streetlights casting warm shadows upon the wooden floorboards. A couple of unopened cardboard boxes were stacked up against one wall. One section of the room was lowly lit with battery-operated soft, twinkling fairy lights and flickering candles. The floor was decorated with a few cosy blankets and pillows. Half eaten cartons of sushi sat abandoned alongside a takeaway pizza box full of cheesy crusts. A laptop balanced precariously on one of the boxes, movie already playing. “Happy move-in day,” a voice whispers, just grazing past your ear. You lay on your front on the floor, wrapped up in an exceptionally fluffy blanket. Your best friend is sat semi cross-legged with his knees up, arms hooked around them, the pair of you only a breath apart. You turn your head lazily in his direction, unable to hide the grin from your face as he cocks his head, mimicking you with his own cheesy smile - noses almost touching. “Thanks for helping me out. Have I ever told you that you’re my favourite?” “Oh, not nearly enough.” He nudges your side, wiggling his eyebrows dramatically. You laugh, causing his face to soften at your expression before you focus your attention back to the small screen. Tom frowns slightly as you turn away, keeping his eyes on you as he drinks you in slowly. Your hair was almost completely dry from the rainstorm, and had begun curling at the ends and around your hairline, one piece had fallen across your face which he ached to tuck back into place behind your ear. You had a light flush across your cheeks, eyes shining bright as your face slackened, concentrating on the film. He let out a soft sigh before swallowing, dragging his eyes away from you and back to the movie. **** It hadn’t taken long for you and tom to gravitate closer to each other, a chill making its way through the apartment as you were yet to install a new heating system. You were tucked into his side, head resting gently against his shoulder, breaths synchronising. You shifted slightly, yet Tom kept a protective arm around you. A black screen took over the laptop as the credits started rolling. Tom let out a yawn, rubbing his eyes with one hand as he slowly sat up, bringing you with him. “I better go, it’s late and I have a bunch of meetings tomorrow. Plus you still have unpacking to do…” he teases, collecting some of the empty cartons. You nod, wrapping the blanket around your shoulders and gathering it around your waist as you hit pause on the laptop. Stretching your body out, you could already feel the twinges in your back from sitting on the hard floor. The sky had darkened considerably, storm worsening behind the curtains, rain lashing down hard. You glance across at tom, watching as he steps foot into the kitchen, tiding up the rubbish into a neat pile. You bite your lip slightly as you give him a once over. His hair was unruly, eager for a styling from Rachel as it attempted to curl against his forehead, and you could see where he’d been running his hands through it all day. You loved how relaxed he looked in your presence, allowing himself to be slightly unkempt and messy. You watched his mouth and eyebrows twitch animatedly as he cleaned up the kitchen, the sleeves of his oversized hoodie rolled up his forearms. Suddenly he looked up, eyes directly locking with yours and your felt your face flush. “Stop staring at me you div,” he teased, as his face breaking out into a grin, eyes creasing at the sides, still locked with yours. “Calm down movie star, you ain’t all that,” you laugh nervously, internally berating yourself for getting caught in a trance as you pick up the rest of the rubbish and join Tom in the kitchen, blanket slouched around your shoulders and trailing behind you. Truth was, something had changed during the last film Tom had been away filming for. Tiny butterflies would dance in your stomach whenever your phone pinged with a new message or silly photo he’d sent you. You brushed it off at first, thinking you were just missing his company. But by the time he got back, you felt nervous and giddy around him and everything was weird. It wasn’t until one day you found yourself waking up with a start as he began to infiltrate your dreams when you realised you were feeling very differently for your best friend than you’d ever felt before. “This place is nice, but I still don’t know why you turned us boys down though? Harrison said he asked before I came back and you said no?” he wondered aloud, miming an arrow through his heart as the pair of you make your way downstairs. You laugh at his antics but wrap the blanket that little bit tighter around yourself, finding the floor of your building suddenly extremely interesting. “Don’t tell me you’re sick of us lot already? We’ve been together too long for you to ditch us all now.” He gives you a little nudge in the arm with his elbow. You took a deep breath, shaking your hair out of your face. “I’ll still be round all the time. I literally live on the other side of the park,” you laugh as he pouts, “Tom, it’s not even 20 minutes away.” “Still doesn’t explain why you won’t move in with us?” You sigh, your frustration building. “Just leave it,” you snap, adding a quieter “please” after a beat. There’s a stifling silence as you both walk down the concrete staircase, you twist the mechanical lock on the front door and wait for the buzz as it clicks and opens up to the world outside.

Tom whistles at the torrential storm as he steps outside, trees were bending over, leaves billowing in the wind. The steps up to the building were gathering puddles of water and you could already see the road ahead was beginning to flood.

“Oh my god.”

The pair of you quickly throw the trash into the bin that was sitting at the bottom of some basement level steps.

“Listen, but I only ask because...it’s just, you’ve been a bit off since I came back from Atlanta. if it wasn’t for Harrison telling me he couldn’t make it today, you wouldn’t have even asked me to help you move in? What’s up with that?” he asks, standing behind you, shielding you from as much of the rain as he could.

“I just thought you’d be busy, y’know. What with being away for so long.”

“And? It’s not like that’s ever stopped you before. Seriously though, did I do something wrong? Did the boys? Because you can tell me.”

“Tom it’s nothing. Seriously, quit it.” Avoiding his stare, you shake your head and turn on your heel in an attempt to push the door back open but it stays firmly shut. You twist the handle multiple times as it jangles in response, remaining firmly locked. You freeze in immediate panic, feeling your pockets for your keys which were still sitting on your kitchen counter.

“Oh my god, no. No fucking way.”

“What? What is it?” He reaches a hand over your shoulder and gives the door a shove, “Is it stuck?”

“No tom, it’s locked! The wind must’ve closed it! I’ve left my apartment open and the keys are on the kitch – fuck! I’m such an idiot.”

“Hey it’s fine. Calm down. Hey, maybe if you lived with us we wouldn’t be having this problem…” he joked, pulling off his hoodie as thunder rumbled in the distance, the rain bouncing down onto the two of you.

“Now is really not the time Tom!” You exclaim, feeling your heart-rate spike, anxious about being locked out on your very first day living alone.

“Would you calm down, we’ll sort it. Your doors just unlocked, it’s not like you left it wide open.” 

“If you hadn’t been asking so many stupid questions, I wouldn’t have forgotten my keys in the first place!”

“Really?! You’re blaming me for caring about you? Alright listen, I just wanted to know what’s going on with you. I know you, and I know when something’s wrong! Why won't you just tell me?!”

“Oh my god, fine! You want to know so badly? It’s you, okay!” You shout, whirling around now standing chest to chest, you could feel your eyes burning with the tears you were fighting back, “You’re the reason I can’t move in with you guys! Because I hoped that this feeling would go away. If I avoided you it would go away and things would be normal and nothing would change. But that’s not the case!” You gulped in a breath, refusing to look into the deep brown eyes that were staring at you, so wide and confused, “That’s not the case, because every time I’m with you I feel like my heart is going to beat straight out of my chest. I get these stupid knots in my stomach whenever you so much as send me a fucking text. Sitting together in there side by side, alone together, casually watching a film and all I can think about is god, I wish he’d just kiss me! I don’t want to fall in love with you because this,” you gesture between the two of you, “what we are, it’ll all be gone and I’ll have ruined everything. And I can’t Tom. I can’t deal with that. So, there you go. I’m in love with you, and I hate myself for it. So, what? Are you happy now?! Does that clear everything up for you!”

Tom froze.

Your chest heaves, the tears that you let fall mixing in with the rain, leaving you sniffling. You push your soaking wet hair out of your face, roughly wiping your cheeks as you turn and hit the buzzer for the apartment block, banging your fist on the main door. 

“C’mon!”

Tom stood silently, still frozen outside your apartment entrance, the rain so heavy it was bouncing off of his clothes. His curls were flattened, droplets dripping from his hair, his nose, his eyelashes. his t-shirt was already drenched by the rain, fabric clinging to his frame. He blinks, once, twice then once more, his jaw unclenching.

He reaches forwards, fingertips lightly caressing your hand, his featherlight touch pulsating through your entire body.

You tear your hand away from him, a gasp letting loose, “Don’t.”

He perseveres, pulling you round, more forcefully this time until you are nose to nose again.

Your body shivers in the cold, wet air as you stare at the ground. Tom’s firm grip around your wrists.

“Look at me,” he says, his voice soft and gentle.

You squeeze your eyes shut, shaking your head as you exhale breathily.

He lets go of you, your hands curled into small fists at your sides, nails digging into your palms.

One hand lifts your chin to his level, his thumb softly collecting the mixture of tears and rain from beneath your eyes and brushing them away.

“I wish you’d just told me. It would’ve saved you all this hurt.”

His left hand comes up and tucks the soaking wet pieces of hair that has been whipping around your face in the wind gently behind your ear. Stroking the stray strands. 

Your teary, glistening eyes connect with his. They were alive with such care and concern. Before you knew it, that feeling was back in the pit of your stomach, pulling and twisting in knots as you stared into the eyes of the boy you loved. 

You blinked, eyelashes fluttering when all of a sudden, the hand that had brushed your tears away cradles the side of your head, bringing your faces together, the other hand lightly fluttering to your waist, pulling you in closer. 

The rain continued to fall, the two of you completely oblivious as your lips brush, foreheads pressed together. It’s soft and slow, almost uncertain at first before immediately intensifying, the two of you pushing your bodies against each other. You take a breath as he strokes your cheek and your lips with his thumb, pulling you back in for another gentle kiss with a hand to the back of your head, tangling in your soaking hair as he presses your faces closer together. 

The pair of you pull away, both your chests heaving as you exhale. 

“Why did you do that?” you ask, voice raspy. 

“Because. that’s the way I love you. Not just as a friend. And for years, I sat on it, too scared to ruin what we have.”  You shake your head, as a couple of bubbles of laughter spill from your lips. Tom’s face brightens up quickly, those little creases that you loved so much appearing at the outward corners of his eyes as he whispered, “C’mere. I got you.” 

He pulled you in, your arms immediately wrapping around his waist, his body cold under your hands. You could hear and feel his heartbeat, still in perfect time with your own. He tucked his chin so it was resting atop your head. His arm hadn’t moved, still cradling the back of your head, pressing you ever so carefully into his chest, the two of you just resting in each others embrace as the rain eased up slightly around you.

There was a beat, as you both relaxed into each other. 

“So, I'm glad we solved one problem, but you do know we’re still locked out, right?” Tom says as the pair of you burst out laughing. 

#tom holland #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland fanfic #tom holland imagines #tom holland blurb #tom holland fluff #tom holland x y/n #tom x reader #friends to lovers #lisa writes #this has taken me a ridiculously long time and gone through 12483 rewrites istg but I really hope you guys like it #I always get so nervous posting my work AHH

[jungwonenthusiast]

PHEW FINALLY A WRITER WITH OPEN REQUESTS--- so i have been kinky asf EBEGHDFJC and i was imagining maths teacher jaehyun x english teacher reader x science teacher yuta.... THAT'LL BE SO HOT HWBGSEJFNFVH IM SORRY I'D LOVE IF U DO THIS,, with jaehyun having size kink and yuta having corruption kink and reader with thigh riding kink + also do it only if u want to im not forcing mwah take care.. <3

warnings: threesome (mxmxf), unprotected sex, oral (m and f receiving)

A/N: hi ofc!! i’m sorry for this taking forever lol I've had family visiting (also this has not been proof read so forgive me for any mistakes)

“I’m gonna need the library today,” you hear Mr. Jung say to you as you sip your morning coffee.

You furrow your brows. “I told you last week that I was gonna be using it.”

He shrugs. “Principal administered a presentation about college for the kids, there’s nothing I can do.”

You resist rolling your eyes and walk over to Yuta. You two had been friends since high school and enjoyed gossiping about the other teachers over a glass of wine.

“I can’t stand him.” you scowl.

“It’s Mr. Jung isn’t it?” Yuta asked. “What did he ever do to you?”

“I told him that I needed the library today last week and he took it anyway.” you complain.

Yuta chuckles. “I think you’re just mad at him for taking your place as hottest teacher.”

You elbow him in the side, giggling. “Fuck off. He isn’t that hot anyway.”

“That hot?” Yuta raises an eyebrow. “So you do think he’s hot.”

“I can admit when another human is good looking alright? It doesn’t mean anything.” You shrug him off and he nods.

“Whatever you say y/n.”

You enter the principal’s office after school to complain about the library situation only to meet Mr. Jung there. You side eye him a bit.

He sighs. “What your deal Ms. y/l/n? I’m sorry I took the library but it wasn’t my choice.”

You ignore him.

“Come on,” he says. “I’ve been nothing but nice to you. I’m only here to make sure you get the library tomorrow.”

Your ears perk up at that. “Really?”

He nods. “Mhm. So are we good now?”

You cross your arms. “I suppose.”

He smiles. “Wanna go for coffee? Now that we’re friends?”

“Who said we were friends.” You cock an eyebrow.

He chuckles and leads you out of the office.

You drive separately and meet him at a nearby cafe.

You sit down in front of each other and order lattes and scones.

“So when did you start working at the school?” He asks you”

“About a year ago,” you reply. “how about you?”

“A couple months ago.”

You nod. “What made you want to become a teacher, we don’t get paid shit.”

He chuckles while adjusting his watch. “I taught my little sister how to read and write when I was in middle school and those are some of my favorite memories. What about you?”

You shrug. “My mom was a teacher.”

He chuckles again. You notices his Adam’s apple bob up and down.

You take a sip of your latte, trying to ignore the silence.

He clears his throat. “So what’s with you and Nakamoto?”

“Yuta?” you ask and he nods. “We’ve been friends from highschool.”

“Ahh okay.” he hums. “I bet he was a stoner.”

You laugh.

“I’m right huh?” Mr. Jung smiles.

“I mean you’re not wrong.” you take a bite out of your blueberry scone.

He points at your chin. “You got a bit of-“

You swipe at your face, trying to get the crumbs off but he reaches over and wipes them off himself. You struggle not to roll your eyes again. What a Disney prince prick, you think.

You converse about everything and anything for maybe half and hour.

“Really Ms. y/l/n?” he asks.

“You can call me y/n.”

He smiles. “You can call me Jaehyun.”

Jaehyun, Jaehyun. You roll the name around in your head. It suits him.

“Shit,” he says suddenly.

“What is it?” you ask.

“I think I left my phone in the principal’s office,” he says. “do you mind coming with me? I don’t know where the key is.”

You sigh and nod.

You meet him at the school and scavenge around your desk for the key.

He’s leaving against your door frame and you can’t help but notice how good he looks.

You want to touch him so bad. Feel the muscles under his dress shirt.

You bend over to look into one of your drawers, pointing your ass towards him on purpose only a little.

“I’m not sure where they are.” you groan and stand up. “Let’s check Yuta’s room, maybe he has them.”

You walk over to Yuta’s class with the only sound being your shoes clicking against the floor. You can feel him behind you though, a little closer than usual.

You push Yuta’s classroom door open to find him sitting at his desk grading papers.

“You’re still here?” you ask as he looks up at you. His eyes dart over to Jaehyun.

“Yeah,” he says. “I have some tests to finish grading, what’s up?”

“I need the key to the principal’s office, Jaehyun left his phone in there.”

He gives you a look that says when did you start calling him Jaehyun?

Yuta hands you the keys and runs a hand through his hair. “Have fun.” he says and you scoff.

“I hate you.” you say as you walk away.

“You know you love me.” he calls after you.

You and Jaehyun walk back to the office and snoop around for his phone.

“I can’t find it.” you say.

“Neither can I.” he says. You turn to him and notice that he rolled the sleeves of his shirt up. You swallow thickly. “What wrong?”

“Nothing,” you say quickly. “let’s keep looking.”

You bend over to check under the desk when you feel him bump into you. You almost giggle, he’s not even subtle with it.

“Excuse you.” you tease.

“Sorry, sorry.” you can hear the shyness in his voice. “I actually didn’t leave my phone here.”

You turn to look at him. “Huh?”

He’s rubbing at his wrists. “Yeah.”

“I don’t get it.” you put your hands on your hips.

“I just-“ he hesitates. “wanted to get you alone.”

“Oh?” you say. “Well that’s a little...”

“Creepy yeah I know I just didn’t know what else to do.” he says hastily. “I like you y/n.”

You smirk and subconsciously take a step towards him. “Really?”

“Yeah,” he whispers and dips down to kiss you.

Your arms wrap around his waist.

He kisses you softly like you’re a blooming daisy. His hands run down your body and he picks you up, hooking your legs around him. He sits down in the office chair and when he does you can feel his length against you. He got hard so quick, you think, I wonder how long he’s been thinking about this for. You shift your weight onto his thigh and grip onto his shoulders before rolling your hips. You can tell he’s a bit taken aback. You smile and kiss at his neck. It doesn’t take him long to take control though. He wraps one arm around your waist and keeps the other on your hips and he grinds you against him. You feel a whine escape from your mouth when you’re disrupted by the sound of a door opening.

“Whoa,” it’s Yuta.

You shoot up and adjust your top. “Uhm hey.”

He scoffs. “Don’t mind me, continue what you were doing.”

You raise an eyebrow. “What?”

“You heard me,” he says, crossing his arms. “I wanna watch.”

“What? No.” you say sternly but you feel your heart thump a bit when he starts walking towards you.

“Come one angel,” he says in a sultry tone you’ve never heard before. “for me?”

You start to feel a heartbeat somewhere else.

He pushes you back intro Jaehyun’s thigh but this time your back is facing him.

Yuta kisses you. “Ride his thigh y/n.”

You hesitate.

“You should do what I say, you don’t want to be punished right?”

Jaehyun grips your hips again and pushes you against him.

Yuta holds your face in his hands. “I never knew you were so dirty like this my precious y/n. It makes me wonder what you’ve done with all of your boyfriends over the years.”

You tug at his belt to get him to stand up and he does. You palm him through his pants.

He pets your head before picking you up and laying you down on the large empty desk. He tugs your to the end of the desk and spreads your legs.

“Can I?” he asks and you nod vigorously.

Jaehyun leans down and gives you a kiss. He starts to unbutton your shirt as Yuta tugs your pants down.

“Look at you,” Jaehyun coos. “so small and pretty under me.” he pulls your bra off and starts kissing your chest.

You breathing becomes labored as Yuta’s fingers rub your clit. You squeeze his hand.

“Please?” you ask him.

“Of course.” he pulls your underwear to the side and gives you an agonizingly slow lick before diving into you.

You gasp a bit and grip at Jaehyuns arms. “Fuck,” you moan.

If I knew he was this good I would’ve done this a while ago, you think.

You hear Jaehyun unbuckle his belt and you’re eager to reach up and stroke him.

You soon take him into your mouth and suck him slowly, circling your tongue on his tip over and over. But soon your technique becomes sloppy as Yuta’s tongue on your clit starts to take over your mind.

You feel your legs begin to tremble and Jaehyun pulls out of you. He gives your neck softly.

“Does it feel good?” he asks and you nod. “What a naughty girl, getting that pretty pussy eaten on your boss’s desk.”

He kisses your chest again, leaving blotchy red marks.

“Fuck her now.” he tells Yuta.

Yuta pulls away from your pussy and wipes your juices off with his finger before holding them up to your mouth.

“Suck.” he says.

You open your mouth and take his fingers as deep as you can.

“Good girl.” he says. That makes your thighs clamp together. Yuta smiles. “Do you like when I call you that?”

“Yeah,” you say quietly.

“Then listen to what we say and you’ll be hearing it all night.” he unbuckles his belt and gives himself a few strokes. He rubs the tip over your clit a few times before pushing into you.

The whine and grab onto Jaehyun’s arm.

“You love getting your pussy stretched huh.” he says while reaching down to run circles on your clit.

“Yes,” you say pathetically. You whine. “fuck that feels good.”

Yuta thrusts into you slowly a couple of times before snapping his hips into yours.

Your loud moan is muffled by Jaehyun’s hand over your mouth.

“Hush my love, don’t want to get caught do we?” he says while giving your nipple a small pinch.

Your whines and whimper grow louder as Yuta continues to pound you.

Jaehyun leans down and gives you a kiss. “Are you close sweetheart?”

You nod. You can feel your eyes starting to tear up.

“How badly do you want it?” Yuta asks.

“Really bad,” you exhale. “please make cum.”

Jaehyuns fingers on your clit start to fasten.

“You can do it,” he says lowly. “cum on that cock.”

You grip onto Jaehyun for the hundredth time of the night as you finally climax. Your eyes roll back and you’re embraced by euphoria itself.

“Fuck that’s hot.” Jaehyun growls.

Yuta pulls out of you and watches his cum drip onto the desk.

Jaehyun peppers your forehead with kisses as Yuta grabs napkins to clean you up.

“I never thought you’d be down for something like this.” he says while helping you pull your underwear up.

“Me neither to be honest.” you giggle.

“Next time I get to fuck her.” Jaehyun says and you tsk him.

“I’ll be the one to decide that.” you say.

#nct #nct smut #jaehyun smut #yuta smut

[jay-and-dean]

Sweat and Dirt and Cum

Demon Dean x Reader

Summary : Calling Demon Dean because you miss Dean... Bad bad idea.

Warnings : SMUT (yeah you read the title), like kinda dark (it’s Deanmon !), hair pulling, Dom!Deanmon, total marking kink, mh... blood ? A hint of dirty talk and anal play ? I think that’s it. Swearing of f*cking course.

Note :  This is my part of @holylulusworld​‘s 11k Celebration. I know it’s a big drabble... I promised you a round 3 Lulu... I wasn’t kidding. Congratulation again.

Also this is my first Demon Dean fic.

Wordcount : 1.2k

My MASTERLIST

——————————————————————

Tugging at the too short dress of your angel costume, you shiver. The night is cold and, out here on that parking lot, you can barely hear the loud music playing inside of the bar so no one would hear you call.

“That was a bad idea” you mutter to yourself, licking the liquor on your lips and looking in the dark surrounding you in a mix of fear and excitement. “Bad… bad idea.”

It was the worst idea indeed.

You Miss Dean painfully, yes… But he is not himself anymore, he is not your boyfriend. He is the monster he always fought now. And he proved it when he abandoned you, like Sammy, with that stupid note : “Let me go.”

“An angel, Y/n… Really ?” a voice makes you jump and your phone falls on the floor in a cracking sound that makes you hiss.

Then your eyes eagerly search the shadows behind the reach of the pallid street light above your head. Your body is shaking and a cold drop of sweat is running down your spine.

Dean is dangerous, a trained killer with torture skills. You never really thought of it when he was human, because he was a good man, but now, he’s a knight of Hell. And you texted him your location…

“Where are you ?” you ask shakily, not knowing in which direction to talk.

A shadow moves, black on black, and his silhouette tears itself away from the dark, entering the street light.

Your body shivers, your stomach is hurting with terror, but every cell of your body is screaming for him. Your love, your obsession, everything you have been missing for the pass months.

“You didn’t invite me to your little Halloween party… Angel” he smirks with an expression on his perfect face that you never knew before.

“Why would I ?” you say, trying to swallow the tears in your trembling voice. “You left.”

“So why did you call ?” his eyes turn black.

That’s when you notice the blood on his sleeves, the blood on his shoes, fresh… Everywhere.

“Oh God…” you let out a terrified sob. “What were you doing…”

“Angel, why did you call ?” he insists, taking a few steps closer that look totally threatening.

“I don’t know” you cry, honest. “I was at that party and drank a little and…”

Now standing in front of you, he lets his hands gently go up your naked arms, and touch, with the tip of his bloody fingers, the feathers of the white wings you’re carrying in your back. You sigh at his touch, tears still rolling down your face.

You missed him so much, and you need him like crazy, so you lean on his caress, ignoring the pitch black monstrosity in his eyes.

But all of sudden, his hand fists your hair brutally, making your head go back in a pained gasp.

“Why. Did. You. Call” he groans, closer to your ear.

“I…” you sob with no more tears, but his strong arm tugs even harder at your hair, so much that it hurts your neck. “I MISS YOU !” you finally let out in a desperate scream.

“Oh I miss you too Angel” he chuckles darkly, his tongue darting out to lick at your neck. “Put your little hand on my cock and feel how much” you don’t really move. “Hand on my cock, now.”

Not able to look down because of how hard he’s holding your hair, you let your hesitant hand grab his crotch, and feel liquid fill your panties.

“On my cock, Angel, not on my jeans” he groans, biting your pulse point hard with his perfect sharp teeth.

You cry out, tugging at your own hair to get free of his cruel grip, but he won’t let go.

“Dean…” you whimper, torn, scared and needy. “Stop those games, take me please… I miss us…”

A dreadful laugh comes out of his chest.

“How fucking desperate” he mocks you, his other hand playfully spreading blood on your cleavage.

You open his belt with trembling hands, push the zipper down and slip inside of his pants, finding no underwear, only his hard cock pushing at the rough fabric of his jeans.

“Dean…” you moan, your walls clenching around nothing, again and again, begging for him.

“Make me want it, Angel” he smirks, forcing your mouth open with his bloody hand to lick inside it.

You start pumping his length, moaning at the feeling of his veins and silky skin, going down to his balls occasionally. He groans in your neck sucking a hickey somewhere it can’t be hidden.

“More” he orders as he crushes you against the cold and soot darken wall behind you.

Your neck still slightly angled back, you close your eyes, trying to ignore the blood on him and the pain in your scalp, to focus on the smell of Dean, his skin, and everything you ever loved. Your other hand joins the one working to focus on the head of his twitching cock.

“Fuck yes” he moans. “You want me that bad, you’re pathetic.”

When he lets go of your hair, you gasp in relief, the burning feeling wetting your eyes.

He turns you, crushing your face on the tiles, and once again your inner walls throb in anticipation. His hand roughly cups your sex.

“I feel you fucking clench through your panties !” his bloody fingers start rubbing from your entrance to your clit harshly, sending your craving body close to the edge already. You can feel his nails scratch the wet fabric against your swollen clit and you know you’re soaking his hand.

“Please…” you whine, panting with your face against the dirty wall.

A cold feeling on your butt makes you look back and you jump in sudden fear. The First Blade.

“Sh… I won’t kill you, Angel” he lets out with a vicious chuckle. “I want you alive…” the blade cuts your panties easily, and they fall at your ankles. “I want you to walk back in that Halloween shit” his fingers come back to your folds, spreading your wetness from your aching clit to your asshole. “And I want you to walk funny when you look for my brother” his fingers tease your entrance and you try not to think of who’s blood it is on it. “Your pretty wings and dress all bloody, skin bruised and covered in hickeys” he moves to tease your other hole, making it pulsate under his expert fingers. “All filthy with sweat and dirt and cum.”

With that, and without any other warning, he bends you more and pushes his so desired cock inside of you in a sharp and brutal thrust that makes you cry out loudly.

“W-wait…” you gasp, needing a second to adjust. “D-dean.”

His face comes closer to yours, eyes flashing black again. Your thighs shake hard as you try to delay the orgasm already threatening to crush you.

“There is no waiting” he thrusts again so hard your body bangs on the dusty wall, a feral growl makes his chest vibrate on your back. “You take me, Angel. You take me everywhere and in every ways, then you can sit in my car, dripping on the seats while Sammy drives you home.”

_______________________________

FEEDBACK IS MY FUEL

(send an ask if you want to be tagged)

Tags : @parinarain​ @mogaruke​ @masterof-agony​ @rainflowermoon @tftumblin​ @deans-baby-momma​ @roonyxx​ @thefaithfulwriter​ @vicariouslythruspn​ @emeow1496​ @daryldixonandfrogs​ @holylulusworld​  @cocklesbelli​ @sandlee44​ @screenchingartisancashbailiff @donnaintx​ @stormchasingchick32​ @akshi8278​ @magssteenkamp​ @sister-winchesters99​ @neii3n​  @lyss-dw79​ @im-a-shrub @sadwaywardkid​@hopelesslydevotedtoyou1912 @slyqueenj​ @i-love-superhero​ @waywardsisterandpie @sunsetsandbooks​​ @fangirlxwritesx67​ @mrspeacem1nusone​​ @stylesismyhubs​​ @deanwanddamons​​ @jawritter​​ @peridottea91​​ @chelsea072498 @chocolateheart​​ @vicmc624​​ @teresa-67​​ @jessie-michael​​ @doctor-hp-mcu​​ @hawkerz12​​ @mariaenchanted​

#supernatural #Supernatural Dean Winchester #SPN #spn fic #dean winchester #deanmon #demon dean #dean x reader #spn dean x reader #dean x y/n #deanmon x reader #demon dean x reader #Smut #hair pulling #dom dean #dom demon dean #marking #pwp #jay and dean

[leviaju]

𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚎-𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚜𝚗𝚊𝚌𝚔

beelzebub x gender neutral reader

nsfw

1.6k+ words

anonymous asked: Can I request a oneshot or Drabble of Mc sitting in beels sweater and then he loses it n ends up cockwarming them cuz they’re so cute? >\\< ily -🌸

oooOOOOOOO an anon after my own heart!!!! love cockwarming, just so intimate!! this one is on the softer side, but still nsfw for obvious reasons

also i changed the title from 𝚌𝚘𝚌𝚔𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐 cuz i realized that anyone who saw a notification on my phone would know that i’m actually secretly a hoe! 

“Baby.”

The sound comes in a low hum, reverberating through the chest that your head rests on. You snuggle in closer, hands trailing the warm skin underneath you. For a few beats, all you can hear is the two of you breathing, and the lift of his chest every time he takes in air.

“Cupcake...”

He sounds a bit more imploring now. The arm that had been holding you against him loosens a bit, and you whine, gripping him tighter. Above your head, you can hear a low chuckle, and you tilt your head up. His hair is a mess still, thanks to your hands tugging and carding through the roots, but it’s the blush on his face that captures your attention more than anything else. The highs of his cheeks are still a pretty pink colour, dyed by exertion, and your heart swells. Beelzebub leans down, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

And then you hear, and feel, a loud grumble from his stomach.

“Dumpling, I really love you, but…” Beelzebub trails off, looking abashed as he smiles shyly. As much as you hate the thought of letting go of him and losing your heat source -- your room is so cold, why is it always so cold? -- you know he can’t help it. Laughing quietly, you slowly slide yourself off of him, already missing his presence despite him not even leaving your bed yet.

“No worries. Can you bring me back something too?” You hum at his grin, and can’t help but smile back. Beelzebub crawls out from under your bed covers and walks over to the other side of your room, searching for the boxers he has discarded early on in the night. Whistling as he bends over to grab them off of the floor, you bury your bare body further under your blankets. The bed is already cooling down without his heat. Beelzebub laughs softly, shaking his head before making his way to the door.

“Of course. I’ll be right back,” he smiles, shutting the door behind him quietly. Everything is too quiet now, without his breaths, without his heartbeat against your ear. Especially after the extended intimacy of the night, you’re desperate to fill yourself to the brim with him once more, craving the touch of his skin. Not only that, but his body heat as well. Even for a demon, who naturally have higher body temperatures than humans, Beel runs hot; it proves extremely beneficial, especially because the House is always kept so damn cold. What that also means, though, is that at times like this, you’re left even colder than you’d started.

Soon enough, however, your saviour comes into view. While you much prefer to have Beelzebub at your side, his sweater will do. You’ve always loved the sweater; it looks so good on him, and is worn down just enough so that it became one of the comfiest things that you’ve ever worn. It’s also big, even on him. What this means was that when you put it on, you can practically swim in the soft fabric. You don’t get to wear it often, as it’s his favourite and therefore always on his body, but you’ll be damned if you’re going to pass up this chance. Psyching yourself up for a moment, you prepare to bear the cold air with no protection from your blankets. Okay… okay.

First, you decide to slowly peel the sheets out from under you. Nope! Nope. Bad idea. That draws it out and makes it worse, and already your nipples are getting hard from the chill. Okay, no… gotta do it like a bandaid.

Damn it all.

Quickly, you pull the blankets from your body. The movement causes cold air to fan against your body and you curse, but manage to waddle as fast as you can towards the sweater, despite the initial shaking in your knees when you climbed off of your mattress. Beelzebub is always kind to you in bed, and the soreness is a delicious reminder of what just occurred, but it still inhibits your ability to move very fast. Nevertheless, you manage to lift his sweater off of the table in your room, where it had been thrown haphazardly, and tug it on. It’s cold from being left alone for so long, but the scent that fills your nose makes up for it tenfold. Pushing the sleeves up so that they bunch at your wrist, you zip up the sweater, and once again find yourself completely surrounded by comfort. For a moment you stand there, relishing the feeling, but it doesn’t take long for you to notice the chill air on your legs causing goosebumps, and you sigh. Now just to make your way back to bed, and…

“I didn’t know what you wanted, so I grabbed all of it.”

You can hear the smile on Beelzebub’s face through his voice, and can’t help but smile back. Turning around to face the door, you see a stack of various snacks, some with bites taken out of them already, completely hiding your boyfriend’s face. Beel walks over to the table in your room and sets the snacks down, before casting his gaze on you.

“Do you want some of…” His voice quiets to a murmur and you tilt your head, walking up to him. As soon as you’re within arm’s reach Beel pulls you in, holding you close against his body. Already, against your leg, you can feel something semi-hard prodding your thigh.

“Beel?’

“Sorry,” he mutters into your shoulder, arms tightening around your waist. “I was thinking about you the whole time I was in the kitchen, thinking about what we did.”

His voice takes on the low tone that he only ever uses in bed, and once again your legs shake. You’re not sure how much more you can take.

“You’re insatiable,” you laugh, wrapping your arms around him. “I don’t know how much more I can handle, though. We’ve already done it more than usual.” Your reply is honest, and even though Beel tries to hide it, you can feel him deflate a bit. To make up for it, you squeeze him for a moment. He’s quiet, thoughtful.

“Could I just be inside you? Wanna be close. You’re too cute.”

Your heart pounds at the thought, and you take a few moments to consider. There’s no harm, right? And with little Beel poking at your leg, growing bigger by the second… who are you to say no?

“Alright. Yeah, okay. That sounds g-- ah!” Breathe evades you for a moment as Beelzebub lifts you without a second thought, carrying you in his arms. He takes a step towards the bed, hesitates a few moments, then grabs a few snacks from the table to place on your nightstand. Despite how exhausted you are, your body responds to the thought of him being inside you once again, twitching subtly. You’re still… prepared. He’d wiped you down afterwards, but that doesn’t change the fact that he came in you almost every time, leaving your insides wet and weeping. Even now, he can just slip in and not be met with any resistance, and the thought itself is delectable.

Ever so gently he places you on the bed, and you roll to your side. He tugs off his boxers before making his way into bed behind you. Already, you can see he’s fully hard, and it takes all you have not to bite your lip at the thought. He’s so fucking big. Maybe you’re up for one more round?

The ache in your body as he pulls you closer says otherwise, however, and you sigh. This might be enough, then.

“You’re so cute,” Beel murmurs against the back of your head, one arm slipping its way under his… no, your sweater, to wrap around your waist. The other, you feel, is positioning his tip against your entrance, and you find yourself clenching around nothing in anticipation. You can hear Beel lick his lips.

Your body shivers.

“So adorable,” he murmurs half-mindedly, pushing in the tip agonizingly slowly. A shaky breath finds its way into your lungs, and you slip your arm under the sweater, placing it over his and squeezing gently with your hand. He hums.

“I love seeing you in my clothes, did you know that? Makes you look so small and cute.”

He pushes in another inch and, as you expected, is met with no resistance. The multiple rounds before had prepared you well. “And makes you smell like me.”

You can feel him smile against the back of your head as he tightens his grip on you momentarily. His hips stutter, and he swallows hard.

“And makes me smell like you, too. Afterwards, I mean. When you give it back.”

This is something you’ll always appreciate about Beelzebub. Despite knowing you’re more than ready to take him quickly, he makes sure to go slow, lifting his head to check your expression to ensure you weren’t in any pain. When he notices your furrowed brows he worries, but the flush of your cheeks and redness of your bottom lip tells him otherwise, and he leans down to press a kiss to the shell of your ear.

Finally, he’s fully seated inside you. You sigh, almost grateful that he doesn’t have to move anymore, and allow your body to fully relax. Now, you can fully appreciate the feeling of him inside you, how big he is. Beelzebub presses a gentle kiss to the back of your neck, and you feel him move his lips to speak a few moments before any sound comes out.

“... Are you sure you can’t go another round, Muffin?”

You laugh, and the feeling causes him to shudder. As much as you’d like to… you’re tired. Your body aches and your eyelids are so heavy it’s hard to keep them open. Without you answering, Beel knows. You reply anyways.

“Maybe later. For now, just hold me?”

And who is he to turn you down?

#no beta we die like men #obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me beelzebub #obey me fic #beelzebub #om! swd #ju writes #obey me smut #obey me x reader #juwrites

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Welcome to Backwater ch.9 (spicyhoney)

Summary: Stretch is getting a chance to meet the local Sheriff and to say he is not excited would be an understatement.

Read chapter 9: ‘Addressing the Public’ on AO3 

or

Read it here!

~~*~~

For his first day off from the grocery, today sure seemed like it was determined to make its mark so he couldn’t possibly forget it. At this point, it was about burned into Stretch’s memory, for sure.

First there was Doris who added her clues into his trick r treat bucket, then the town assholes showed up for their serial killer practice. Then, as a treat, he got to have the double punch of a lunch with Edge, a sweet and sour mixture of possibly flirtatious revelations coupled to an unwanted chat about his own traumas, served warm over some delicious pie.

Now it looked like he was about to get a sequel to the Assholes: Part Deux, the Assholes’ Revenge, in the form of a sheriff filled with blustering indignation and accusations, and all Stretch had was a mouthful of pie to defend himself. Worse, his only witness had already paid the bill and left.

Stretch swallowed his last bite, chasing it down with water when it tried to stick in the back of his throat as he went over possibilities. He could try to explain the situation, but if there was one thing he’d learned from living in Ebott, it was that if a Monster was talking to the cops, it was best to keep it short, sweet, and polite. Don’t try to explain or admit to shit, ‘cause they’d be more than happy to add another line to the list of things to harass you about.

Seriously, he missed being able to shortcut, this whole facing trouble head-on thing wasn’t for him.

The sheriff huffed again, loudly, and it fluffed up his broad mustache like a human-shaped walrus. He propped fists about the size of a baby’s head on his broad hips and growled out, “So? Is that it? You’re here startin’ some trouble in my peaceful little town?”

Stretch looked up into those mirrored sunglasses. If they were standing, Stretch would probably have a couple inches on the guy, but sitting here in the booth the sheriff loomed over him ominously, his own distorted reflection showing back his nervous face.

“no, sir,” Stretch said politely. Stick with the basic, that was good for a start, and hopefully Red would be willing to bail him out if that became necessary. At least Red wouldn’t have far to go.

The rest of the diner was staring, not a single fork was engaged as they watched the latest scene in the town drama unfold. Not that he blamed them, this was probably about the most action they’d seen in weeks, but he did sort of wish someone would be a little concerned rather than eagerly interested. Waiting to see if maybe the local sheriff was gonna slap on some cuffs so they could whip out their phones for a nice tiktok video while he was getting read his rights?

“No?” the sheriff demanded. His sunglasses reflected the overhead light, making Stretch wince back. “I heard you were out there riling up the corn yesterday. And today you were playing dog days with the doggerel boys?”

That was true, except how it wasn’t, and a trickle of sweat was winding its way down Stretch’s spine despite the air conditioning. Before he could wheeze out another ‘no sir’ or any other answer at all, a sudden, booming laugh filled the entire diner, loud enough to echo from the greasy grill before rolling back out to rattle the windows. The sheriff hooked his thumbs into a belt with a buckle so big that could probably double as a satellite dish, guffawing loudly, “Aw, you ain’t in any trouble, I’m just joshing ya, boy!”

Oh. Ohhhh, this was only a little goodnatured small-town hazing, that he could deal with, if he managed to swallow his quivering soul back down where it belonged. Stretch tried on a smile to match the sheriff’s ongoing laughter and found that it fit pretty well, all things considered.

“can’t be joshing, my name is stretch,” Stretch said with cautious humor. “but i guess stretching me would be an entirely different meaning. think they gave that one up in the middle ages.”

The sheriff bellowed out another laugh that practically shook the silverware, actually bending over to give his knee a loud slap. Around them rose other chuckles around mouthfuls of pie and how strange was it that he could feel the difference between people laughing at him and laughing with him. There was a certain fondness in that laughter, in the warm expressions coming his way from townsfolk that he sort of knew; these were people who’d bought their toilet paper and fresh apples from him on any given day, who’d give him waves and smiles when he passed them on the sidewalk and maybe it was an unusual form of kindness, but their humor still made unexpected tears prick in his sockets.

Stretch grabbed his napkin and dabbed hastily at his face as if he were wiping away sweat before anyone could see and misunderstand. How could he explain to them that in all his life, he’d never felt such a wash of overwhelming fondness from anyone except maybe his own brother.

(Not even from the person who’d told him so often and so tenderly that he loved him…until he didn’t, fucking hell, he wasn’t thinking about that right now, he wasn’t.)

The sheriff was obviously no fool and already his expression was softening into remorse, maybe coming up with an apology that Stretch desperately did not want, not for this. Rescue came almost too late and from an entirely unexpected source. Granny Collemore was so short Stretch could only see her steel-gray hair piled up in a messy bun over the top of the booth as she approached, but he heard her hollering well enough.

“Buford, you let that poor boy alone!” There was a smacking sound of a cane hitting flesh and Stretch couldn’t see where the blow struck, but the sheriff, Buford, let out a yelp, hopping on one foot as he frantically rubbed his shin.

“Sam Hill, granny, I was only playin!” he grumbled. He pulled up the leg of his trousers to examine his granny-inflicted wound. There was a reddened welt on the skin, already shading to purple.

“You hush yourself,” Granny huffed, “I’m half-past give-a-shit today and you may be the sheriff in these parts, but you ain’t too old for a hiding!” Granny shuffled into view, her cane hooked over one arm. She reached out with her wrinkled hands and Stretch leaned over obediently to let her to cup his face gently in her palms as she clucked with concern. “Does he look like he’s up for your shenanigans?” she groused loudly, “‘specially since this feller is working over at the grocery with Red, bless his heart.”

“That a fact?” Buford pushed his hat up and offered a crooked smile. “Must be a brave soul, then. Well, you tell that sonavabitch I’m gunning for him this Sunday. He better be there with silver bells on and you tell him that whatever aces are up his sleeves, better make sure they ain’t spades, ‘cause that’s the reverend’s favorite cheat.”

“i’ll do that,” Stretch agreed, a touch bewildered. Hell, he’d thought Red was joking when he said the sheriff was his poker buddy.

That sounded like an exit line, it was starting to look like Stretch was going to make it out of here unscathed, and he might have if Granny hadn’t put in, happily, “Anyhoo, Buford, you just miss seeing Edge. He was here sharing a slice of pie with our new fella.”

Dark eyebrows rose up over those mirrored lenses and Buford hooted a laugh, “Oho, that how it is. On a date with our Edge, were ya.”

Great, that was exactly what he didn’t want getting back to Red. Enjoying a little flirting was one thing, but not if it started the wheels of the gossip train turning. With his luck, it would crash right into a dumpster fire. “uh, no, no dates, just pie.”

He did not expect Buford to suddenly look a little offended, those eyebrows drawing down into a frown behind his glasses. “Why in the Sam Hill not? Ain’t he your type?”

“Uh.” Stretch looked around a little wildly, away from Granny and Buford to see the rest of the diner was still watching them with interest. No, not just interest, there was an awful lot of sly looks there and whispering behind hands, along with soft expressions and doe-eyes…

Oh. Oh, shit, it was worse than he thought. They were invested, everyone in this diner was taking sides and they were choosing the romance option, this was bad, this sort of thing was infectious and the last thing he needed right now was an entire town of matchmakers trying to hook him up with the local hottie. It was like an unsolved Agatha Christie took a sudden, sideways turn into a Hallmark Gyftmas movie.

Buford and the rest of the diner were all waiting for him to explain why he and Edge weren’t dating and Stretch was sitting here, fumbling around at the pass.

“we’re not dating, we’re just—” Stretch coughed awkwardly, hesitating. The truth was ‘it’s complicated’ was probably most accurate, although ‘barely met acquaintances’ was a close second, or even the generic, ‘he’s my boss’s baby bro whose ass i am definitely not staring whenever i see him but also his smile is really nice and—' “—friends,” Stretch finished, lamely.

Buford nodded like he’d offered not a nugget of wisdom, but an entire ten-piece with the tangy sauce. The light reflected in his mirrored gaze as he said, kindly, “That ain’t a bad thing.”

Relieved, Stretch let out an unsteady laugh, “kinda surprised you don't think i'm a cousin or something.”

Buford snorted loudly at that, “Son, you boys don't look a thing alike.”

And that there was another surprise to add to his daily total. In Ebott, Stretch was constantly getting mistaken for Papyrus or Sans, even his own brother once or twice. Half the time, people either didn’t know his name or didn’t care to, and Backwater was a strange place, no question, but that sure didn’t mean it was bad.

Buford didn’t seem to notice his shock as he went on, “Now there’s a boy who could use some en-ter-tainment. Works too hard, damned if he don’t.”

Now that was a clue looking him right in the face and Stretch took the Velma leap and pounced on it, trying for a little discreet nonchalance, “yeah? what does he work so hard at?”

A shame Buford seemed to be pretty quick on the draw. He gave Stretch a shrewd look, “He ain’t told you?”

“no, sir,” Stretch sighed glumly. Seriously, he was the worst Velma ever.

Buford went ahead and poured salt into the open wound with another short laugh, “Naw, I’ll ain’t stepping in that cow pie. I’ll let him talk to ya about that. But see if you can’t get him to slow down for another--” Buford gave him a sly wink and actually hooked his thick fingers into air quotes, “’friend date’, wontcha?”

Then he grunted as Granny Collemore jammed her elbow into his soft gut, tutting loudly, “You never did shake the ants outta your pants did you, Buford! Let those boys alone, they'll go at their own pace.” To Stretch she offered sunny, toothless grin, “Come on, and walk an old lady out.”

“yes, ma’am,” Stretch said. Hey, he might be an idiot, but he was no fool. He stood up, ready to make his getaway, halted only briefly by Buford snatching up his hand and giving it an enthusiastic shake, though his grip was gentle on the delicate bones.

“Welcome to town, Stretch,” Buford told him. For once he was completely serious as he said, low, “and don’t you worry about those boys.” He tapped the side of his nose, his broad finger reflected in his sunglasses. “I know what happened, it’ll be taken care of.”

“i appreciate that,” Stretch said, and he meant it. He turned and followed after Granny, only dodging ahead to hold up the door so she could shuffle out.

“Thank you, sonny,” Granny huffed as she made her slow way through the door. “These old bones ain’t as spry as yours. You should head on home now, there's a storm a’comin'."

Stretch looked up into the cloudless sky in confusion, greeted by endless blue.

“Oh, you can trust me," Granny grimaced and rubbed at her hip, "these joints don't lie."

“i will,” Stretch agreed. After his lesson with the corn, he was taking the townsfolk at their word and if granny said a storm was heading this way, he expected to see clouds blowing in any minute now.

He left Granny to make her way home and headed back to the store. Red only grunted when he came in, didn’t even look up from his book as he hooked an absent thumb towards his apartment. There was a bag sitting on the table and when Stretch looked inside, there was a sandwich neatly covered in plastic wrap, a bag of chisps, and a bottle of juice. He was still full up on pie, but it would make for a nice, simple dinner, good thing he had Red up there looking after him. Maybe he should suggest to Red that he get a tattoo, a nice heart engraved on his arm with ‘Mom’ in the middle, since now he had one.

Stretch took the bag upstairs with him and opened the window. He took a moment to breathe in the already cooling air, a herald to the coming storm.

The book was sitting where he’d left it last night when he’d dragged himself off Red’s sofa, limbs spaghettied from sleep and his mind noodly mush. He’d brought the book along without even thinking about it and now the hardcover seemed to mock him with the necessary knowledge hidden somewhere within those pages.

Welp, there was only one way he was gonna get the info out of it and that didn’t mean beating it against his skull until the words shook out. He picked it up and settled to sit cross-legged on the bed, bracing himself for what might well be hours of boredom as he turned it to the first page.

And frowned. At the top of the page was a family name, ‘Anderson’, along with the date, ‘1884’. There was a short selection of first names beneath it and next to each was what looked like a telephone number and an address.

“what the hell?” Stretch muttered. He flipped to the second page and it was the same thing, only the name was ‘Armstrong’ and there were a lot more first names to go with it, someone was getting busy on the weekends, for sure.

Stretch flipped to the next page, and the next. All of them had the same thing, a last name, then a collection of firsts with a number and an address. Finally, he flipped back to the title page. There, right underneath the scrolling text declaring the book ‘The Informal History of Backwater’ was a tiny addition he hadn’t noticed before, stating in a small, stark font, ‘Municipal Directory.’

For a long moment, Stretch could only stare at it, until the words started floating in his sight. Laughter bubbled up suddenly, fizzing in him like a shaken soda. "sonofabitch," Stretch burst out, snickering madly. The damn thing was a glorified telephone book and Edge had flat-out given him his damned address already, practically gift-wrapped it! And he'd almost refused to take the damn thing! Guy wasn't only sexy, he had jokes and if he wasn't already a treat to the senses, that would have upgraded him to a bone-ified snack.

Address had to be in here, all Stretch needed to do was find it. The book was bigger than he would’ve thought from a small town, but from the look of it, they never took anyone out, only kept adding on. Occasionally next to a name he saw an abbreviated ‘dec.,’ so maybe this was a bit of town history, after all, kind of a family tree, anyway.

It still took him awhile to find their names, flipping through the book. The names were alphabetized, but that didn’t help much when the family he was looking for didn’t have a last name. Finally, under the surname ‘Skeleton’, he found them.

“should’ve tried that to begin with,” Stretch muttered. He read the entry, following along with his finger, only to pause in confusion when it came to the date recorded neatly by their names. It listed them as arriving in town over a decade ago and if that was when they came to Backwater, then whoever printed this needed to proofread a little better, because that was impossible. Monsters had only been on the surface for a couple years, not quite three now, so it had to be a mistake.

Except, Edge struck him as the kind of guy who was pedantic enough that there was no way he wouldn’t bitch until it was fixed; anyone who ate their pie like it was a military maneuver wouldn’t be able to stand such an egregious error. And he’d made sure to give Stretch the book, so he damn well knew he’d be seeing this. So what the hell did all this mean?

What did any of this mean?

Stretch sank back against the wall behind him, tipping his head up so he could stare at the ceiling. There was a crack in the plaster in one the corner, spidering off into a shape like a lightning bolt and that was exactly what Stretch felt like he’d been struck with.

What the hell was this place? Some kind of fairytale, where one day in town was a week on the outside? If he hopped on another bus and made his way to the next town over, would the papers tell him it was next Tuesday or the next century?

It was enough to inspire him to check his messages. Stretch fumbled for his phone, opening the text app for the first time in days. The amount of alerts made him wince but it was the last message that roused that endless ache in his soul back up to true pain.

I understand that you’re hurting, brother. You don’t have to tell me where you are. You don’t even have to call. All I ask is you send me a message every once in a while to let me know you’re all right. Please.

Stretch closed his sockets and swallowed against the sudden knot in his throat. Before he could rethink it, he typed a hasty, i’m all right and sent it, then lurched over to shove his phone into the nightstand drawer, slamming it shut.

Even so, he couldn’t help listening, straining to hear but there was no vibrating buzz, nothing to indicate a return message.

Good enough.

Stretch took a deep, shaky breath, then dragged the book back over and studied the entry again. Red’s address was the store, no surprises there, but Edge was listed under 637 Wood’s End Drive.

Wood’s End. Seriously?

Welp, it was one mystery solved, anyway, even if he’d skipped the meddling kids part. Now all he needed was to plan a field trip.

A sudden flash of lightning lit the room, putting the fake bolt on his ceiling to bitter shame and the sky outside seemed to burst, rain pouring down and pelting through his open window. Stretch scrambled over to slam it closed, shaking away the damp on his hands. All the sunshine from earlier was gone, the sky darkened into angry, swirling storm clouds as the downpour drenched the parched earth.

Yeah, field trip was postponed on account of rain, but not for long. He’d get there and maybe once he showed up on Edge’s doorstep, he’d finally get some real answers.

For now, though, all Stretch wanted was a towel.

tbc

#spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underfell papyrus #underswap papyrus #welcome to backwater

[batfam-chaos]

[timkon one shot] home

home

[rating: T | 2,381 words]

Tim returns from a mission exhausted and with a new stab wound. Luckily, Kon is there to take care of him.

read on ao3!

read below:

Tim grits his teeth as he walks through the front door of the apartment that he shares with Kon. He drops his duffel bag down on the rug next to the sofa before allowing himself to finally collapse into the beautiful invention known as cushions.

Letting his head hit the back of the sofa, Tim sighs and contemplates the sharp, unwelcome pain in his ribs. In his experience, getting stabbed will cause things such as pain. Despite being well-acquainted with the sensation, it isn’t exactly pleasant.

Jason stitched the stab wound up for him in addition to giving him a handful of advil that Tim only took two of before stashing the rest in a random drawer in Jason’s apartment while his back was turned. He doesn’t like the way that painkillers make his head feel slow and warm, like it’s wrapped in a blanket of fog. After all, somebody needs to type up a report to inform the Green Lanterns that somebody in Gotham has access to illegal alien tech. Considering how Jason had been up for the past thirty-six hours for their stakeout while Tim has only been awake for the past twenty-four, the choice is obvious.

Bending over to retrieve his laptop from his duffel bag causes the wound in his side to flare with bright, searing pain like his insides are being barbecued on the surface of the sun. Tim gasps and just barely manages to yank his laptop out of the bag as his vision goes spotty.

He takes a moment to let the pain subside into angry throbbing before he opens his laptop, squinting at the sudden onslaught of bright light. Tim unlocks his laptop before pulling up an empty document so he can begin typing his report.

After entering the date and location of the stakeout, he frowns. Didn’t the arms smugglers refer to the alien tech by a particular name? Tim leans back into the couch and stares pensively up at the ceiling. What was that name? He closes his eyes as he plays back each step of busting the arms smuggling ring. There was the initial infiltration, the first time he and Jason were allowed into the warehouse, the excruciating stakeout, and they were finally able to raid the warehouse….

Sometime in the space between one thought and the next, Tim falls asleep.

“Babe,” a familiar voice whispers.

Without opening his eyes, Tim grumbles a response that means something along the lines of please let me continue to fucking sleep. Still, the voice doesn’t relent. “Babe,” it repeats. “Tim. C’mon, you’re going to be sore if you sleep on the couch.”

Tim opens his eyes and finds his boyfriend staring back at him. There’s a slight crease in his brow that means he’s concerned but not overly worried.

“Hi, sleeping beauty,” Kon says with a goofy grin. “I’m just gonna move you to the bed so you can actually sleep.”

Tim grunts in assent and Kon slips his arms around him, preparing to pick him up. However, as soon as Kon’s arm presses against the newly-stitched wound on Tim’s side, Tim gasps in pain and instinctively flinches away.

Kon immediately steps back, snatching his hands back. “Shit, I’m so sorry. Are you hurt?”

Pressing a hand to his side, Tim waves Kon off. “A little. It’s fine.”

That little line in Kon’s brow deepens. “That doesn’t sound like a little.” He kneels in front of Tim, looking up at him worriedly. “Are you okay?”

“It’s not that bad, in the grand scheme of things,” Tim rasps. “I was only lightly stabbed.”

“Lightly stabbed.”

“Yeah, just a little. Didn’t even hit any organs or anything.”

Kon glances at Tim’s computer, which is sitting on the coffee table and still open. “And you were planing on working more?”

Tim shrugs. “I have to type up a report.”

“I’m going to suggest an a different idea. Are you ready?”

Raising one eyebrow, Tim gestures for Kon to proceed.

“See, I was talking to Clark the other day and he said the darndest thing,” Kon begins.

Tim can’t keep himself from snorting. “The ‘darndest thing’?”

“Yes,the darndest thing, hush. He said that humans do this absolutely wild thing, you’re never gonna believe it. It’s called sleeping in a bed,” Kon explains, raising both of his eyebrows. “I’m thinking, hey, why don’t you try it?”

“It’s funny that Clark was the one to say. I’m pretty sure that at least twenty percent of his sleep comes from napping in patches of sunlight on the floor,” Tim remarks. “Also, I do sleep in a bed.”

“When did you last sleep in a bed?” Kon counters.

Closing his eyes, Tim hums loudly. “Sorry, Tim is unavailable right now. Please leave a message after the beep. Beep.”

Laughing quietly, Kon places one warm hand on Tim’s knee and rubs circles into it with his thumb. “If I carry you over with my TTK, will you sleep in a bed?”

Tim cracks open one eye. “Depends.”

“On what?”

“...Will there be food in bed?”

“I can heat up some leftovers and bring them to you.”

At last, Tim nods and shuts both of his eyes. “Very well. Bring me to this ‘bed’ you speak of.”

Laughing, Kon stands up and easily scoops Tim up with his TTK. He’s wrapped up in a gentle pressure, but, noticeably, there’s nothing touching his injured side. Tim lets Kon lace their fingers together and lightly lead Tim by the hand as he floats him into their bedroom. The TTK gently deposits Tim on their bed and he opens his eyes as the mattress dips next to him.

“Hey,” Kon says, smiling down at him.

Tim feels himself smile. “Hi,” he replies, and then Kon leans down and kisses him.

“I missed you,” Kon murmurs against Tim’s mouth before planting another kiss on his lips. Leaning into the kiss, Tim tangles his fingers in Kon’s curls. It’s soft and warm and feels like coming home. When they finally pull away, Kon is breathless and smiling crookedly.

“I missed you too,” Tim tells him, and Kon’s smile widens.

“I’ll go reheat something for you, but I wanna check your side after you eat.”

Raising one eyebrow at Kon, Tim pokes him with his foot. “You just want to see me shirtless.”

“That too,” Kon replies, grinning.

Rolling his eyes, Tim nudges Kon with his foot again, earning a laugh as Kon stands up and heads into the kitchen. Tim closes his eyes again and drifts drowsily until Kon returns with food. Only then does Tim finally heave himself upright, wincing at the way that the motion pulls uncomfortably at his stitches.

Kon flops down in bed next to him, tossing his jacket onto the chair in the corner and scrolling through his phone as Tim eats. It looks like some kind of casserole-- one of Ma Kent’s recipes, no doubt. Tim is hungrier than he thought, so he eats quickly and lets Kon float the now-empty dish onto the nightstand.

Sitting up, Kon sets down his phone and turns to face Tim. “All right, let me take a look at your side?”

Tim nods and starts to pull off his sweater, but the motion tugs painfully at his side. He ends up with his head stuck in his sweater and his arms lost somewhere inside the sleeves. Turning to where he assumes Kon must be, Tim shoots him a despairing look through the fabric. “Help.”

“Sure thing, babe.” Giggling, Kon reaches over and carefully frees Tim’s head, then his arms, from his sweater. He tosses it onto the laundry pile in the corner before turning back to Tim. “There, I saved you from the deadly sweater.”

“You saved my life,” Tim deadpans. “However shall I repay you?”

Kon leans in and wiggles his eyebrows. “You can kiss me, you know.”

Smiling, Tim leans in and kisses Kon. “There you go. Happy?”

Kon kisses him once more before drawing away. “Very. All right, let me take a look at you.” He leans back and his eyes flash white as he activates his x-ray vision. “Well, it didn’t break any bones, so that’s good….”

Tim leans back on his hands and holds still as Kon peers at his side.

“Who did your stitches?”

“Jason. Considering the amount of sleep he’s gotten, they’re pretty good.”

“Must be the bat training. Lesson one, how to lurk ominously. Lesson two, how to stitch yourself up. Lesson three, how to punch things.”

“Actually, we didn’t learn how to do stitches on people until later. Alfred had us practice on oranges first.”

“And how did that go?”

Tim grins. “Poorly.”

Kon laughs quietly and pats Tim’s thigh. “It doesn’t look like any stitches tore. You’re right, it didn’t hit any major organs either. Congratulations, you’re still in one piece.”

Yawning, Tim slowly lays back down. “Great, that’s a dream come true.”

“You’re a dream come true, babe,” Kon replies, settling down on his side next to Tim.

Tim turns his head so he can smile at Kon. “That was a cheesy one.”

Grinning, Kon pecks him on the forehead. “I know. Hey, how sore is your side? Think it can stand some light cuddling?”

“Definitely, get over here.”

Kon wriggles closer and carefully throws his arm over Tim’s waist before pillowing his head on Tim’s shoulder. As always, it’s amazing to watch Kon curl his tall frame into a ball as he clings to Tim.

With a soft sigh, Kon nuzzles Tim’s neck. “I love you.”

Tim kisses the top of Kon’s head. “Love you too,” he murmurs.

They stay like that for a minute as Tim closes his eyes. Without opening them, he asks, “What’s the likelihood of you falling asleep on me within an hour?”

“Pretty high. I found you on the couch right after I came home from work, so I’m pretty tired and you’re a good pillow. I could conk out right here.”

Tim hums. “How was work?”

Even without looking, he can tell that Kon is making a face. “Somebody brought in this bike-- this really nasty piece of work, let me tell you-- and wanted me to fix it up. The thing is, the cost to repair it was almost as much as the bike was worth. I told the customer, hey, it’s not worth it, and he got all up in my face about it.”

“Aw, I’m sorry,” Tim murmurs, carding his fingers through Kon’s hair. “You were only trying to help.”

“Exactly! We ended up fixing it up anyways, but the customer was a jerk when he came to pick it up. It freakin’ sucked,” Kon grumbles into Tim’s chest. “I was just trying to be nice!”

Humming, Tim continues running his hands through Kon’s hair. Kon grows quiet and leans into his hand with a pleased sigh. For a few minutes, Tim pets his hair in silence until a familiar rumble fills the air. Smiling, Tim listens to the soothing sound of Kon’s purring and lets the sensation reverberate around his chest.

“Ah, so you’ve started the engine,” Tim remarks casually.

Without lifting his head, Kon grumbles something in reply but continues purring nonetheless.

“For the record, I still think that your purring should be measured in Konpower, not horsepower.”

Kon opens one eye and snuggles closer to Tim before closing it again. Laughing quietly, Tim kisses the top of his head before settling back onto the bed. He closes his eyes and absently pets Kon’s hair as he purrs.

“Hey, babe,” Kon murmurs when Tim is just beginning to drift. “You know that I’m proud of you, right?”

Tim opens his eyes. “Yeah. Why do you ask?”

“I mean, you’re out there doing all of the superhero stuff alongside us, but you can get injured,” Kon says softly, gazing up at Tim. After a moment, he glances away. “I don’t know. I guess it’s just on my mind because you’re hurt, and everything.”

Tim frowns. “And you’re proud of me for getting injured?”

Shaking his head, Kon’s grip around his waist momentarily tightens. “What I’m trying to say is that you put yourself in danger every time that you’re out there, and that takes guts. That’s all.”

“You can get hurt too,” he says softly. Reaching up to cup Kon’s face, Tim runs his thumb over his cheekbone and watches as Kon’s eyes flutter shut. They don’t often speak of those months when Kon was dead. It happened years ago, now, but Tim still remembers the pain of his loss like a phantom ache in his chest.

Kon inhales a shuddering breath and places his hand over Tim’s. His skin is warm like a miniature sun. “I know,” he whispers. For a moment, the room fills with silence, save for the sound of their quiet breathing. Finally, Kon says, “Still, the way that you run around throwing yourself into every fight you see… I dunno, babe. Seems pretty heroic to me.”

A smile spreads across Tim’s face. “When have you ever known me to back down from a challenge?”

Kon buries his laugh in Tim’s shoulder. “I know, I know. You’re a feral little creature with no fear of god.”

“Exactly.” Tim kisses the top of Kon’s head. “But really, I just want to do the right thing, and sometimes that involves getting into a fight or two. That’s all.”

In response, Kon pushes himself onto his elbows and kisses Tim. When he pulls away, he gently rests their foreheads together. They stay like that, just breathing each other’s air as Tim cups Kon’s face with one hand.

“I really am proud of you,” Kon says at last. “I hate seeing you get hurt, but the shit you do… damn.”

“Somebody has to do it,” Tim replies.

Kon kisses him again before settling down against his side. “You should get some sleep.”

Glancing down at his sweatpants, Tim shrugs. These will do as pajamas. Stifling a yawn, Tim wraps an arm around Kon and pulls him closer. It doesn’t take long for them to fall asleep, all wrapped up in each other. Between the sound of Kon’s soft breathing and his familiar warmth curled into Tim’s side, Tim can finally relax. He’s home.

#holy text post batman! #timkon #tim drake #conner kent #kon-el #fic talk #fic: home #one shot #fic: one shot #do i have a new chapter of birds fly for you? no. #but do i have fluff and tenderness? yes.

[welllpthisishappening]

21 for the kiss prompts. because I am me LOL

Alright, so, full disclosure, this is not CS fic. I was going to write CS fic for this. i was! I had this vaguely angsty Emma gets hurt and Killian loses his mind thing happening, but then—I didn’t write that. Instead, here’s Will Scarlet gets hurt and Belle French loses her mind and it’s hockey. It’s 2,000 words! I don’t know how that happened. Anyway, the prompt here was “bloody kiss” and I love Will Scarlet with the force of a thousand suns. If you guys want to send more kiss prompts, I’m still waiting for people to respond to my emails.

“You’re mad.”

“Your powers of deduction are truly unparalleled. What gave me away, exactly?”

Will bit his lower lip. Let his teeth dig down until he tasted blood and, well—more blood, he supposed. Six stitches later, though, and there wasn’t much blood left on his face, just a pair of narrow eyes doing their best to glare a hole through his cranium and he didn’t think that was entirely possible. 

Biology had never been his strong suit, really. Unless you counted hauling off and punching some rat-faced bastard on the Caps who couldn’t keep his goddamn mouth shut about a possible offsides that had maybe happened two periods before and they’d been winning and it was fine. Totally fine. This was his job. Punching and bruising up assholes. Just a little bit, to remind them who they were playing and what was on the line and—

It was entirely possible Belle’s eyes were not entirely human. 

His face flushed. Heat raced through either one of his cheeks, threatening what he could only assume was the structural integrity of his own eyes because Will couldn’t remember when he’d decided to widen them, exactly. Just that they were starting to dry out a little bit and Ariel was going to kill him. 

She’d made that very clear post-game. 

There might be a two-person line to wreak havoc, now. 

“You get this little pinch between your eyebrows,” Will said, leaning forward until the top of his head nearly hit the bottom of her chin, “makes it easy to tell.”

Belle huffed. Crossed her arms. Nearly punched him in the face, which would have been something close to the peak of irony at this point, and then maybe Ariel wouldn’t threaten to kill him again. No, that was wishful thinking. 

It’d be a miracle if they were allowed uptown later. Ariel had probably sent out an APB, or whatever the culinary equivalent of that was. No admittance until the blood had dried off his forehead and he laid prostrate at her feet, begging forgiveness for the error of his ways. 

Like hell, he would.

This was his job. He was the—

Fuck, maybe he was a goon. He hadn’t scored in a while. Not even a secondary assist, or anything. Skating at the edge of the blue line on a fledgling power play did not an All-Star make, and, well, now that he thought about it, maybe Will had started jawing first. There were mumbled insults, at least. 

From him, specifically. More than once, actually. 

“I don’t think you’re supposed to be back here, y’know.”

The pinch got—

Pinchier. Deeper. Like a tiny, little crevice between what Will was starting to realize were meticulously cared-for eyebrows and maybe he should get a CT scan or an MRI or something because it had taken him this long to notice she was also wearing his jersey. Too-long sleeves grazed the slight bend of her knuckles, looking as if she was actively stopping herself from fisting her hands at her side and that thought wasn’t supposed to make him smile. 

Still. 

Will’s lips tugged up. His eyes thinned. Nose crinkled ever so slightly. Something that had been growing increasingly familiar in the last few months of the season jumped between his ribs, like little flutters of wholly imaginary wings, and she kept wearing his jersey. Kept coming to games, and that was good because they’d gotten past the labels and expectations, all of which were sky-high on the NHL’s most romance-prone hockey team. 

God, maybe he wasn’t just a goon. Maybe he was a complete and total asshole. 

“This is Cap’s fault,” Will announced, and he’d been ready for the pinch. He was less prepared for those eyebrows he was starting to become a tad obsessed with to soar up Belle’s forehead, past the swoop of bangs that regularly messed with his cognizant reasoning. 

She scoffed. “Are you fucking with me?”

“No, but maybe when we get back to—”

“I will kick you in the shins, Scarlet, I swear to every God you can think of.”

He tried not to deflate. Really, he did. But his name seemed to crack out of her, punching the bridge of his nose like Belle had actually pulled her right arm back and her scoff was more like an exhale that time. That had never happened. 

Even before. Before the labels and the attempts at setting up Killian and watching that entire season and how often he stared longing at Emma, before Regina and Locksley continued to be parents extraordinaire and the jealousy started to eat away at him. Slowly, but surely and he never talked about that, but he figured she knew because Belle knew everything and—

“Bet you twenty bucks you could name more gods than I could.”

Another sigh. A tilt of her head. It made her bangs shift. He wasn’t sure what was happening in his chest. Expanding and contracting, a painful rhythm that hurt way more than the stitches or the shitty metaphors and he was glad she’d snuck into the locker room. Will didn’t want her anywhere else. 

Naming conventions, aside. 

“I’m sorry—” “—I love you.”

He almost fell over. Impressive, since Will was still sitting down and his feet didn’t entirely reach the floor from that position. His jaw dropped. He hated that. Partially because it hurt and mostly because he should have been way cooler, wanted to be way cooler, but there were dots of red on his girlfriend’s cheeks and teeth digging into her lower lip, now, and he resolutely ignored the ache in his calves when he slid back to his feet. 

Curling an arm around her waist, he didn’t think much about the precise way he yanked her. Forward. Directly into his chest and that didn’t leave much room to bend his knees, but Will was less concerned with specifics and the staging of this than actually getting to the good part. 

The kissing part. 

Plus, Belle pushed up on her toes. So, that helped. 

He groaned. Loudly, like embarrassingly loud. As soon as her head tilted and he could get his mouth on hers and they were all hands and lips and whatever she was doing with her tongue, tracing the lip he’d been so intent on biting through just a few moments before. Bending his knees did give Will some more leverage. To pull her even closer, moving his arm and ignoring her soft protests. 

Most of them died when he managed to get a hand under her left thigh. 

She groaned. Something to be said about symmetry, Will assumed. Although he also didn’t really...care. About the saying, mostly. Not when he was melting and falling, dropping into the deep end of a pool that was a shock to his system and the best thing that had ever happened to him and she was the best thing that had ever happened to him. Bar none. 

Especially when she did that tongue thing. 

Closing his eyes, he knew he had to tilt his head. Had to breathe and stay conscious and he didn’t want to think about the medical requirements of a professional hockey player at a time like that, but he knew consistent awareness of his surroundings was probably fairly important and the roar of triumph blaring through his brain made that a little difficult. Breathing would have to be enough for now. 

“I can’t—” Belle’s shoulders heaved. Fingers dragged across the back of Will’s neck and he had to admit he was fairly impressed with her balance. Her right foot wasn’t on the ground. “Shit, I—” He pulled her lip between his teeth, tried to memorize the next hitch of her breath and he was about five-point two-three seconds away from losing his mind. Rocking his hips up was a very bad idea. He did it anyway. “Babe, I can’t think when you do that.”

Everything was spinning. He was spinning. No, that wasn’t true. He wasn’t spinning. He was standing and touching and there was barely any color left in Belle’s eyes. 

Pride prickled at the back of Will’s brain. Until pain joined the fray, making a glorious and unwelcome return at the precise moment he realized there was moisture on his cheek again. Warm and red and Ariel was going to kill him. 

“Cap and Emma were making out in the hallway,” Will explained, “pre-game. Nothing they don’t normally do, and I don’t even think they knew I was there.”

“Is any of this supposed to make me feel better?”

He nodded. “I love you, too. Like it’s ridiculous how in love with you I am.”

Silence. As much as there could be in a locker room, at least. Water fell from shower heads a few hundred feet away, the low murmur of questions and Lucas-approved answers, squeaking sneakers and clacking heels, and the familiar sound of wheels rolling across linoleum as the equipment hampers moved down the hall. 

Will took a deep breath. 

Slowly, through his nose. Keeping the nerves off his face was harder than he expected, and even more ridiculous than whatever he’d just proclaimed because Belle had proclaimed first and it was entirely possible they were both colossal idiots. That put them on even ground, though. 

He appreciated that. 

“Why were you mad, ma moitié?”

There was the pinch, again. “Why do you think?” Will shook his head, brushing hair away from her eyes and he knew he didn’t imagine that sigh, either. Softer. More content. All that previous even ground. “Because I—” Belle started, and the color hadn’t left her face yet. “I know you think you’ve got to be this guy. Out there defending, not just the goal but the people and that’s...I’m super into that.”

“But?”

“But it makes me so nervous, I could spit.’

Will genuinely had no idea what noise he made. It might not have been human, really. Tearing out of his throat, his eyes bugged and he bent over without really meaning to, forehead finding Belle’s shoulder like that was the only reasonable landing place. He was still bleeding. Or bleeding again, whatever. 

“Say that again,” he mumbled. Into her jersey. His jersey. Whatever, part two. 

“Spit,” she repeated, making sure to enunciate every letter, “because I know you can hold your own in a fight, and that’s how you think you make a difference on this team, but—”

“It is that’s why.”

“Was my shin-kicking threat not threatening?”

He kissed exactly where his lips were. “Not really, no.”

“‘Cuz I’ll totally do it, I swear. To all those gods and goddesses and then they’ll descend from on high and tell you that they also think you’re an idiot who should know that letting some rat on the ice get under your skin is exactly what they’re trying to do. Plus, it’s way better when you check them, y’know?”

Lifting his head didn’t hurt. Made him a little nervous, anxiety churning his gut and this was not the way Will thought this would happen. Maybe he could get Belle to kick Killian too. For the making out. And the unspoken frustration. He was definitely an idiot. “Is it just?”

“Don’t make me say it.”

“Don’t have to. You’re very easy to read.”

Belle lifted her eyebrows. More. “That so?’

“You think it’s super attractive when I check another dude.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Didn’t have to. Also, I love you.”

“You mentioned that before, yeah.”

“And I am sorry for freaking you out.” Sigh number three wasn’t quite as resigned as the others, but it still left guilt rising in the back of Will’s throat and every single inch of him froze. As soon as Belle leaned around him, grabbed a far-too-large handful of gauze and started wiping blood off his cheek. “That’s way too much, babe.”

“Ariel can deal.”

“Ya gonna kick her too?”

“I’ll consider it,” Belle mumbled, back on both feet again. For, like, two seconds. Before she pushed back up on her toes, kissed the corner of Will's mouth, and added, “Don’t do that to me again, ok?”

“Aye, aye, Cap.”

He had much better reflexes than her. Pulling her back to his side before either one of her shoes could land a blow was easy and bordering almost close to joyful and that was a strange thing for him to be, but it was also easy and somehow even more simple and Ariel let them into the restaurant that night. They stayed for all of fifteen minutes. 

And Will told Belle he loved her once every five minutes on the cab ride back to his apartment. 

He timed it, and everything. Just to make sure the color stayed in her cheeks.

#kiss prompts #blue line one shots #WILL AND BELLE SUPREMACY #this was becuase the rangers won last night and i was feeling hockey-prone #so it's really the rangers fault #optomisticgirl #laura rambles

[imma-potatoo]

Blond Janus Darkside Headcanons

I noticed how I haven't written down any info on the dark sides (Wrath, Apathy, Depression, Remus and pre-AA Virgil). More will be added.

Masterpost

Taglist:

@mother-snake, @writerstrashbin, @psychedelicships, @cryptidwriterdotcom (ask to be removed or added)

Wrath

Leader of the dark sides

Can induce a blind rage

When the rage is happening the recipient cannot control what they say or do and react simply on their first thought

The rage becomes stronger the more angry the person becomes

Wrath can't bring someone out of the rage. He can induce it but the person has to come out of it themselves

He has almost no control of Apathy because of that due to his lack of emotion

Likes to wear a partial suit. Finds that the coat is restricting and makes more complex movements hard

Still owns the coat. Just never wears it.

Symbol is tattooed on his left wrist

Orange and black color scheme. Like this:

Immediate reaction to almost anything is to yell.

Loves huge parties

If he's going to make a point, he makes it loud and clear. Often in front of other people so they can see what happens if you step out of line

Rules the dark sides more like a dictatorship then a family or of equel footing

Believes that they have to bend Thomas to their will and that the light sides are complete fools who will only destroy Thomas life

Wants Thomas to take what he wants and not to worry about who he leaves behind

If Thomas has to kill a politician to get what he wants? Sure go ahead. As long as he gets what he wants

When angry, Wrath is ruthless

He'll take your deepest fear and taunt you with it until you snap under the strain and comply to his every whim

He refuses to take no for an answer

Because of his hatred for the lights; he takes it out on Janus

He's big on public humiliation

If Janus would step out of line; well, he doesn't need all of those scales does he? He's sure Apathy would love to see the reactions if you rip some off

To aid in the control of the others; Wrath has complete control over the food supply

When the others are listening and followings orders. Good, they get to eat properly

When they don't? Your options are moldy bread or cheese that has been out in the open for about a month.

Him and Apathy eat like kings while the others decide between food poisoning and starvation

Likes to take words of affection and make them have a negative meaning (ex: the word Love.) after beating the hell out of someone, he would make them look directly in his eyes and says that he loves them... And he makes them say it back

He hates it when the others cry

Says that they're doing it for attention and that they should shut the fuck up

Apathy

Second in command

Can nullify peoples emotions. Leaving them feeling like an empty shell. The effects normally break after an hour

If Apathy knows your name he can control you like a puppet

White and black outfit. White shirt with black suspenders and pants.

Doesn't show where he keeps his symbol (its on his right ankle, its more like a tattoo then a patch)

Has a deep obsession with fire

Owns a zippo (a lighter that flips open)

Often feels empty due to his function. The fire makes him feel warm, feel more human (as human as the sides can be anyway)

Doesn't quite understand emotion. He understands the basics of it (cry = sad, laugh = hqppy, yell = angry.) but the more complex reactions confuse the hell out of him. Crying out of happiness is one of the things he will never understand.

Because of his lack of understanding of emotions; Apathy tries to understand through making others feel said emotions

Wants to know how someone would react when you break a precious item? Time to find a couple photos.

Will someone scream when you waterboard them? Hm well, only one way to test that.

Opinions change like a flip of a switch

One day he'll help you make dinner with a plastered on smile. The next he'll knock you out and burn you with his lighter with that same smile

Has only properly laughed twice

The first time was when Thomas accidentally laughed at someones funeral (he couldn't cope that the person was gone and his default reaction was to laugh)

The second was after the three of them (wrath, depression and him) shut off the heating to Janus' room and locked him inside

In order to understand things he doesn't know; he does experiments

He's not allowed to experiment on Wrath and Depression has no fun reactions. So he has his fun with Janus instead

Kinda likes it when blood stains his dress shirt

Because its warm. The warmth that once came from the person now belongs to him and it eases the cold empty feeling only slighty and temporary but its warm

He's indifferent on the lights. They're a little too perky for his tastes

Depression

Third in command

Doesn't really get a lot of say with decisions

Can erase certain memories (he doesn't use it very often)

Wears a medium blue dress shirt, brown leather suspenders with a black bowtie.

Normally keeps his sleeve rolled up

When crying; his eyes leak black

If the tears hit your skin, its a 10% chance that you could collapse and start spewing your insecurities while your eyes leak black

Symbol is on the back of his neck

Doesn't really mind not having the control that Apathy and Wrath have

Less work for him to do anyway

Couldn't care about the other twos blatant abuse of Janus

He sees it as a way to keep Janus in line

If Virgil wanted to play father figure he can go ahead. But that doesn't mean he has to be kind

Respects and looks up to Wrath

Normally just follows the lead of the others

He's the epitome of the duckling following the leader

Wrath has steak and potatoes for dinner? Depression also wants that too

Wrath says that they need to bend Thomas to their will? Well duh! Of course!

Wrath says that Janus has been out of line lately? Well why don't we break his leg again to show him a lesson

Most of the time, the food restrictions have no effect on him bc he listens to Wraths every word

Virgil

Was the second in command before he left

Opposed Wrath on his more extreme tactics

Has the ability to control shadows and others own Anxiety

Hated the dress code that Wrath insists on having. What kind of person wears suspenders and a dress shirt daily anyway?

Still wears the stupid things anyway because Wrath said to and he's not in the mood to get beat

Symbol is tattooed on underneath his shirt. The left side

After adopting Janus he lost his position as Wrath's right hand

Kinda pissed him off when he got demoted. Not bc of the loss of power. But bc he couldn't protect Janus as well

After adopting Janus he became the 4th in power (after Depression)

Remus

Is the epitome of don't give a shit

He has the power to conjure things and cause intrusive thoughts

Half the time he ignores the dress code completely

Typically opting for his normal clothes but does own a uniform as well

(if anyone has a better photo of this outfit pls pls pls DM me. I've looked through hundreds of photos and this is the best dark green dress shirt with suspenders I got)

Symbol is tattooed on the swell of his back

Gets practically no opinion on dealings or decisions with plans

Remus is a indifferent party. One moment he'll help you. The next he'll stab you in the back

He mostly just works with who can give him what he wants the fastest

He actually feels pity for Janus

Not like he'll ever act on that but he still feels a bit bad for the guy

Remus is kinda like that uncle at family get togethers that no-one talks to or cares about but he's always there

Janus

Oh boy, where to start?

Has the lowest rank out of every other side

His power (the ability to make people unable to talk) can only be used on the light side of the mind

He is also unable to heal immediately on the dark side

Meaning that he has to treat his wounds the old fashioned way

Doesn't really like the dress code

Only gets to wear his normal outfit when he's visting the light sides

Blond hair (wow! Really? Not like its the the name of the au!!)

His patch isn't a tattoo

This boi has the biggest fucking sweet tooth you could ever imagine

He is also so fucking short

His shoes have lifts to make him taller

He's cold blooded

When he gets focused, he bleps

This is turning fluffy-

He is literally covered head to toe in scars

Almost no skin was left untouched

Lying is a defense mechanism for him. He's deceit! He can lie his way out of anything!

Heavily disagrees on Wraths views

Thomas should get ahead, of course he should. But that shouldn't come at the price of someones life or the cost of his reputation

Hurting someone to get ahead in the short-term is only going to harm you in the long term

To hide the bruses, he applies thick layers of makeup and illusions if he's on the light side

Hasn't gotten a good sleep in years

He's terrified that someone will break into in bedroom while he's sleeping and finish him off

Or that they'll cut the heating again and he'll slowly freeze to death

Or that they'll drag him out of his room and chain him up somewhere to become nothing but a punching bag

He has agoraphobia (fear of open spaces)

Hasn't had positive touch since Virgil left

He has venom. Its very lethal and only activates when threatened

When angry, his eyes glow yellow and his canine teeth grow sharp and long that they stick out of his mouth slightly like fangs

Was meant to be a light side and function as Validity and Societal Self Preservation. But the dark sides found him first and brought him back with them

Virgil is his father figure

Doesn't really know how to feel after finding out that he's not a dark side

He does feel really really lied to and betrayed

But... Virgil is his dad. Virgil raised him

How could he be upset?

Writes down all of his thoughts and complaints in journals that he keeps in his room

He started writing journals when he was very young, so there is hundreds of them

Honestly doesn't know how to feel about him being a light side.

He's mad at Wrath. He knows that. But he can't do anything because his powers don't work on the dark side

He might as well be powerless.

When on the light side (so when all his powers work) his powers include: silencing others, the ability to repress sides/ make them unable to appear to Thomas and illusions.

His title is technically Validity with the added function of societal self preservation

Still goes by Deceit anyway

----

Has three brands burned onto him via Apathy

Is on his left ankle. Its his snake symbol. About the size of your fist

On his right bicep. The word "monster" in bolded writing. About two fingers in thickness.

Left chest, above his heart. The words "Property of the Dark Sides" in cursive text. The writing sits in a box.

All the brands are extremely painful for Janus if touched. Brand #3 is the brand he hates the most

His scales are more in patches then a perfect 50/50 split down his body

More will be added in the future.

#Blond Janus AU #janus sanders #sanders sides #deceit sanders #unsympathetic dark sides #sympathetic virgil #sympathetic remus #sympathetic deceit #sympathetic janus #remus sanders #Unsympathetic dark side ocs #abused deceit #abused janus #sanders sides headcanon #headcanons #headcanon #my writing #tw blood mention #ts janus #ts deceit #ts virgil #ts remus #ask to tag #swearing tw

[iimaginebts]

The Milkmaid // pt. 7

+ Paring/ Wolf! Jungkook x reader ( milkmaid )

+ Genre/  Fluff , romance, eventual smut :)

+ Summary/ Having milk in your breast ever since you were born got you outcast from the human world but accepted in another. When you met Jungkook, your life was completely flipped over, would you choose to stay with Jungkook or part ways with him…..?

A few minutes after Jimin had left, Seokjin returned with a bowl of oatmeal, topped with banana. You thought he was going to untie you so that you could eat but instead, he sat down beside you and fed you slowly, making sure you finish the very last drop. When you were done, he reached out to start the machine again before leaving. The aching feeling was back immediately, groaning, you had to breathe slowly to calm yourself down. 

You started to think of whatever plan Jungkook had in mind. Jimin didn’t tell you specifically what had happen to Jungkook’s mother, so you don’t know how serious everything is, but based on the words bringing the kingdom down, it sounded pretty dangerous. Whatever it is, you silently prayed that Jungkook will be safe. 

You glance around the room, looking for a clock as you have no idea whether it’s day or night time. The room was quiet, apart from the constant beeping coming from the machine. You felt your eyelids grew heavy as you heartbeat steadies, before you know it, you drifted off to sleep.

When you woke up, you realized that you were in a different room. The room had a white and brown walls, with warm sunshine shining into the room. You look up as you see a chandelier swinging ever so lightly, creating a soft music.  You pushed yourself up into a sitting position, trying to see the room through the bed veil. You glance down at your body, realizing that you were in nothing but a night gown. Your hard and swollen breast were poking through the soft silk of the gown as you bring your hands up to cup it to massage for a few minutes. 

You heaved yourself out of bed as your foot touches the cool tiles. You wander in the room for a few minutes before heading for the door. You turned the handle, expecting the door to open but it didn’t. Of course, what were you thinking? Surely, they won’t let you go off wandering down the hallways, trying to find Jungkook. 

Sighing, you walk towards the window instead, feeling the sunlight on your face as you relax, looking at the forest outside the window. You lean against the glass, wishing you could be there, feeling the nature. How you wish you could go back to the little cottage you live in, safe in the arms of Jungkook you missed the most. Deep in your thoughts, you failed to notice the rattling of keys before the door unlocks. 

“ Noona? “ 

Your head immediately shot up to the familiar sound. “ J-Jungkook?! Am I dreaming? “ 

You watch as Jungkook ran towards you, lifting you up in the air, his bunny grin showing. You hugged him back tightly before you crash your lips onto his. After a quick two minutes of making out with Jungkook on the bed, you had finally noticed Jimin at the door, shyly trying to avoid his eye contact with you two. Blushing, you quickly pull away from Jungkook. After you recovered from the lack of oxygen and regained composure before questions came tumbling out of your mouth. 

“ What are you guys doing here? How did you find me? Isn’t it dangerous? What if the guards caught you? Have you fully recovered? And what is your plan kookie, tell me please. “ 

“ Whoa slow down noona, how am I going to answer all these answers at once? “ Jungkook answered with a teasing tone, staring at you with his big round eyes and pouty lips. God you missed this boy so much. You bend down and peck his lips, unable to stop yourself, “ Just answer me already “ .

Smiling, Jungkook turned back to face Jimin, before giving him a nod as Jimin walked out of the room. He then secure his arms around your waist, pulling you towards him and placing you on top of his lap, cradling you. 

“ Where is Jimin going? “ you questioned

“ He would be guarding the door outside, while I explain everything to you so if anyone comes, I’l still have time to leave. “ he watches you as you nod to yourself before continuing, “ Jimin is a guard, so it would be natural for him to ask the other guards where you are. As soon as we got the information that you were here, we wasted no time to come find you. It is lunch time now, so the guards are more relax hence the risk is reduced. But whats fun without danger right? “ you look up to see the glint in his eyes, before shaking your head and hitting him on the arm playfully. Jungkook groaned, before the playful hint in your eyes turned to worry as you gasped. 

“ Kookie, I’m so sorry, does it hurt ? “ You frantically push up his sleeve to inspect him. You felt his hands on your chin as he tilt your head to look at him. 

“ I’m joking noona, I’ve recovered fully. Apparently, my blood heals three times faster than normal humans “ you pouted as he chuckles, placing a kiss to your forehead “ I missed you so much noona, every minute without you felt like years. I wish I can just hold you like this forever. “ 

“ Me too, kookie. I just want to go back to the old days, just you and me, in that very cottage.” you replied. 

“ Noona, “ Jungkook’s tone suddenly turned serious, “ I promise, I promise you we’ll go back to those days. Tonight, I will bring this very palace down. I will bring you back with me, and we will be able to finally live in peace. But first I have to revenge for my mother. “ 

“ Kookie, what exactly happened to your mother? Can you tell me? “ 

You watch as Jungkook immediately tense up, his eyes narrowing, “ My father originally had a Queen, who was Taehyung’s mother. But he also fell in love with my mother, and kept her as maid. By the time the Queen found out, my mom was already pregnant with me, that’s when the Queen realized a useful thing about her, breast milk. So my mother was caged up and pumped daily for her milk. The fact that the King fell in love with a mere human humiliated the queen, so she lashed out her angry by torturing my mother. On the night my mother gave birth to me, Jimin had helped her escape to where she found you. However, the Queen had realized her absence and sent the guards to look for her. They managed to find her eventually but not me. Jimin told me that the Queen requested to be alone in the room with my mother. But no one knew what happened before the room was on fire, with both my mother and the Queen dead. And the whole fucking time, the King didn’t even step up to help my mother. After that, Taehyung wanted to finish whatever his mother started, but the King stopped him. But he knows that my weakness is you, noona, that’s why he has been keeping you separated from me and threatening me with you. He wants me to go insane- “ 

You hugged Jungkook tightly as you stroke his hair lightly, feeling his whole body shake, “ Calm down, Jungkook, I’m fine. See, I’m right here.”  You assured him, placing small kisses on his knuckles. He seemed to clam down a bit, holding you tighter. 

“ But what is your plan kookie? When are you doing it? Can’t we just leave the castle silently instead? I don’t want you to get hurt. “ 

“ It’s tomorrow night, noona. Don’t worry, Jimin and his team will help me. I’ll make sure you’re safe away from the castle before I carry out my plan, your safety will be my top priority. “ 

“ But Jungkook- “ you were about to protest before Jimin burst into the room.

“ We need to leave now “ his voice was hard. 

“ Noona, take care of yourself okay? I’ll try to come find you again tomorrow. Until then, please stay safe. “ Jungkook say quickly, as he plant a longing kiss on your lips before standing up and darting out of the room, with Jimin following closely behind. 

===========================================================

Hope you guys enjoyed! Feel free to comment or dm me if you think I can improve in any areas!

Part. 8

#bts #smut #bts smut #bts fanfic #hybrid #yandere bts #yandere #kpop yandere #kpop smut #kpop #btsxreader #bangtan #bangtansonyeondan #bts x reader #jjk #jk #jkxreader #jk x reader #jimin #taehyung #jin #jungkook #jk fanfic #bts imagines #the milkmaid #milkmaid

[missinghan]

「 what am I // stray kids 」

❖ genre : sci-fi; superpower au; platonic relationship au

❖ word count : 3,9k (bullet points only)

❖ warning : explicit language, most likely ain’t scientifically true at all

❖ summary : superpowers manifest in certain individuals once they hit puberty and naturally, those odd abilities will vanish as soon as adulthood occurs; but how will those teenagers protect themselves from the curiosity of science?

❖ a/n : this isn’t a proper fic since I don’t think I’ll actually write smth decent out of this but I don’t want the idea to rot inside my dungeon either- so yea, bear with me through this character intro post(?)

— bang chan ↠ locating ability-wielders & teleportation

· sometimes when he’s running errands for his parents, chan can feel a distinct ‘zing’ ins his bones if someone else with unusual abilities is nearby and can describe their power perfectly to the t; he ignores it at first but learns to make do with it eventually; can teleport another person with him and also needs to calculate carefully before teleporting because he once ends up in the middle of a freeway instead of school resulting from lack of sleep.

· looks intimidating but is the first to talk to a new kid in class and show them around as he’s president of the school’s student council; smiles and laughs a lot once you get to know him, and is also very caring, reliable.

· he wishes to apply for a music production company after his college graduation but his family turned the idea down almost immediately and sent him to a boarding school in Europe.

· chan starts taking notice in strange things at his new school after the first few weeks; for example: how they unreasonably force students to have a daily health checkup, how their food taste like medicine most of the times, teachers don’t really seem to care about what they’re teaching and some of his classmates mysteriously ‘move away’ whenever security shows up at their dorm in the middle of the night.

· after finding out where they actually are via photos of students being locked up inside cells, arms and legs chained up like domestic animals, injected with odd substances on a daily basis which were taken by an anonymous individual, chan secretly packs his stuff and decides to ditch this so-called boarding school for good.

· he works hard to hide his identity ensuing flying back to his hometown for a solid three weeks and the fact that there are more people cursed with supernatural abilities begins dawning onto him; cutting off contact with his family completely, moving from one crusty apartment to another every month, chan tackles this crazy idea of assembling a group consisted of extraordinary people to give him a hand with creating a safe environment for the ‘gifted’ youths.

— lee minho ↠ collapse

· law major, quite the loner, raised by a single mother; didn’t have much since little but his mother’s love and affection make up for everything.

· looks intimidating, is actually intimidating; the only person he talks to in college is his dance coach, doesn’t like school nor has many friends; his slightest glare is as cold as a wife trying to win custody of her children in court.

· minho can make his surroundings crumble and fall apart with his mind, which shouldn’t be confused with telekinesis since he can’t physically move objects to his will; this deadly power is triggered whenever he’s experiencing extremely negative emotions like fear or anguish and he’s not (still isn’t) very good at getting a hold of it.

· a group of suspicious men shows up at his house one day as he returns home from dance practice; they claim to be an agency looking for up and coming talents but by the way that his mother is staring at the ground nervously with her legs trembling, his institution tells him that something’s off.

· he firmly declines their offer with a stiff “I’m uncertain that I’m the talent you gentlemen are looking for, but you should know that when the cops are here to fill out their reports, I’m gonna be very helpful, as helpful as possible.”

· “what other random merry of fucking misdemeanors are going to pop up once they go through your records? domestic violence? illegal substances and weapons possession? human trafficking?”

· with a gun to her head, his mom scrambles to her knees and begs him to go with them, admitting that she’s already signed the contract; if he follows their orders and agrees to become an experimental subject, she won’t have to worry about any financial problems for the rest of her life.

· in the heat of the moment, they ultimately force him to activate his power for the very first time; as a result, his house collapses, the death of his only family and the group of men following suit.

· “I’m too late.”

· chan manages to find minho under the aftermath, severely injured and is hanging by a string of life so fragile that can only be saved after undergoing a twelve-hour operation at the hospital.

— seo changbin ↠ sound waves manipulation

· a good student, reputable within his social sphere at school, and comes from a pretty well-off family.

· changbin is able to bend and control sound waves to his advantage; whether it’s simply for his musical instruments or moving objects around, he can also use something as minor as his own heartbeat when he’s emotionally unstable; using the ability continuously for too long can give him severe migraines and potentially damage his brain to a degree if he’s not mindful of it.

· he stays up late at night to write and produce his own songs, keeping it a secret from his parents; posts his own songs on a SoundCloud account, or performs even live at a random underground club under the alias SpearB if he has the chance to.

· an organization full of outlaw scientists comes across a video of his performance on the web, analyzing how he can enhance the beat, his vocal cords without the help of any form of technology, and just like that, he easily tops the list of their targets.

· having no choice but to do what they want when those men hold his parents hostage inside his family’s mansion, changbin gets sent to the same boarding school as chan but they’re being observed in different buildings for his power is on the more useful and dangerous side; hence, his classes consist of a smaller amount of students and they are put through checkups more constantly.

· he doesn’t really pay attention to the skepticisms that reek off all over the place as he’s too busy being homesick and studying because he fully believes that the harder he works, the more obediently he acts, the sooner they’ll let him go; all hell breaks loose when those photos are scattered everywhere, from the hallways to the bathrooms; changbin takes advantage in the riot to get himself out of there as quickly as he can possibly run to the airport.

· changbin swears to never trust anyone again until chan and minho find him sleeping inside an abandoned grocery store with a pistol inside his sleeping bag, two daggers concealed in his sleeves at all times.

· “are we seriously going to contain some headass who was this close to blowing my brain out of my head?”

· “huh, funny, last time I checked, you almost smothered me to death under a gigantic block of cement when I was trying to save your life.”

· “who are you guys and how the hell did you get in here? I don’t recall not locking the door.”

— hwang hyunjin ↠ permeation & memory manipulation

· a true theater kid, meaning he knows almost everyone but every single student at school knows him; naturally, becomes the Prince after playing one too many male lead roles because of his godly features; rather well-mannered and diligent though he doesn’t look like it.

· mistaken to be a player by every new batch of freshmen that only ever gets to watch him practicing his lines from afar, swooning tremendously whenever he ties up his hair; always carries a camera around, doesn’t like to have too many friends but if you get close enough, he’s probably the most fun to be around, won’t ever judge your questionable life choices.

· hyunjin’s ability allows him to walk right through walls as well as any other solid matters but it will drain his stamina painstakingly, causing him to run short on breaths after using his power to change his costumes faster between scenes; the thicker the wall is, the more strength it takes for him to pass through completely.

· he can also erase a certain chunk of memory from someone’s mind but he needs to physically touch them; has only used this ability one time to wipe his existence out of a childhood best friend’s mind before moving away from his hometown. 

· his interest in photography sparks the moment his uncle comes back from a business trip and gives him a toy camera, it’s nowhere near the real ones but the ten-year-old hwang hyunjin sure takes it very, very seriously; after a decade or so, he has replaced it with cameras that actually work and developed quite the talent for taking photos of sceneries and people (jisung is his number one victim but he can’t care less as long as he looks decent and that hyunjin won’t save any crack ones to blackmail him).

· suddenly gets a sketchy summer scholarship to a boarding school in London (the same so-called school that Chan and Changbin went to), his mom encourages him to go after looking it up on the internet without knowing the chances of her own son being exploited for twisted science is shockingly high.

· and the culprit who takes those photos during a wandering around school after curfew is none other than hyunjin himself; he knows damn well posting those photos means getting himself into trouble but heck, his conscience forbids him to leave this hell-on-earth place without alerting these innocent people.

· so the night before those photos are spread everywhere, in every corner, every edge of the building, hyunjin smashes his camera completely with a baseball bat and burns the broken bits in the school backyard; he tries getting through those sleep-deprived men in their fifties who aren’t likely paid enough with his ability and flees.

· surprisingly, he comes rushing into his best friend’s house right after his horrendous flights only to find him being surrounded by three mysterious men.

— han jisung ↠ plunder

· the jokester of the class, takes great joy in stressing the living daylights out of his professors with irrational questions that aren’t necessarily relevant to the lesson, procrastinates, and sleeps through lessons like there’s no tomorrow but still keeps that shiny ‘A’ on his report card nonetheless.

· being friends with hyunjin results in occasional admirers here and there for him but he does kinda have his own fandom base after being pulled upstage out of the blue in the middle of last year’s spring music festival, musing him an opportunity to show off his rapping skills; because of that event, he takes writing music more seriously with the stage name J.One.

· if jisung is being honest, he hardly uses his power since it’s basically taking over anyone’s body and mind for a maximum of five seconds meanwhile his own body is immobile; and if any physical effects occur (for example, a basketball hits him on the head spontaneously), he’s obligated to endure that pain for that person until they become conscious of their own body again.

· he’s not a creep, he swears.

· and who knows? what if his body gets kidnapped within those five seconds?

· hyunjin and jisung know about each other’s ability but don’t really discuss nor talk about them because they don’t find walking through walls or temporarily possessing someone’s body cool.

· well, that’s that until chan, minho and changbin show up at his house the same day when hyunjin returns from his summer exchange program with a cut lip and bruised knuckles. 

· “han jisung, you’re going to have to come with us unless you want to live inside a cage for the rest of your life.”

· “I’m sorry, are you threatening me?”

· “we’re trying to protect you, smartass, you’re far too dangerous to be roaming the streets so freely.”

· “....me? I’m dangerous?”

· jisung not knowing the slightest bit about his own ability downright baffles chan—he’s only scratched the surface of it at this point; his true potential is if he’s taking over another ability-wielder’s body, he will then take their power for himself; and jisung can’t remember the last time he properly uses it either.

— lee felix ↠ imperfect invisibility

· initially lives in Australia but after finding out about his ability, he moves to Seoul with his parents to live a quieter, more covered-up life without being surrounded by too many relatives.

· an absolute sweetheart, smart, kind, honest, a little slow to read in between the lines at times; can concentrate relatively well on an empty stomach, but gets drowsy quickly after eating, especially big meals. 

· lix is also homeschooled up until high school in order to avoid any unwanted situation; later on, applies for a course that can be taken online for the most parts at an average-ish university to not draw so much attention. 

· since he stays at home most of the time, he spends lots of time playing different video games, experiences random cooking recipes without burning the house down, and teaches himself how to dance through online tutorials, getting awfully good at it fast partially thanks to his natural flexibility.

· he can disappear from a single person’s field of vision for as long as he wants to but it’s still limited and considered flawed since felix can only disappear from the sight one person of his choice at a time; although it can come in quite handy whenever he gets shoved into a dark alleyway by random people varying from cheap pickpockets with a box-cutting knife to muscular men dressed in black.

· learns boxing during middle school so he can still kick asses to preserve his own life.

· felix once punches jisung in the gut and slaps hyunjin in the face with a cabbage after seeing them follow each and every one of his movements the moment he steps out of the supermarket—he’s got used to listening to people’s footsteps over time. 

· “okay, first of all, ow, and second of all, why did I get the punch and he got the cabbage?!”

· “oh, don’t be such a baby.”

· “you two don’t look like those balding dudes in money-dripping black suits...what are you on? crack? what do you want from me? money? food?”

· “of course we’re not balding men in their forties! I take personal offense to that! and please, who do you take me as? a total creep who only ever knows how to follow people with his stupid sidekick tagging along for background noises?”

· “HEY! I NEVER AGREED TO BE YOUR SIDEKICK!”

· “well, it’s time you fucking did then, han.”

· “you know, I suppose this is the part where you two put me to sleep with some kind of drug and bring me back to your excuse of a headquarter.”

· “oh, did you bring the anesthetic pills?”

· “I thought Changbin gave it to you, no?”

— kim seungmin ↠ time-leap

· born in a middle-class family, very studious but also enjoys playing baseball during retreats, takes time to open up to people so he has more acquaintances than close friends but he doesn’t mind, that way he has more time for himself. 

· definitely and never will be the kid who lets his classmates take advantage of his wit, he does do a good chunk of every group project but makes sure everyone has at least one decent thing to do (low-key loves bossing people around); can be pretty distant at first, but he just weirds people out after getting closer and doesn’t hold grudges.

· seungmin is capable of bringing himself back to a specific past event to alter the future outcome though it won’t work most of the time unless he really, really has to for safety purposes or the situation gets out of hands; time-leaping won’t activate if he wants to retake a test but works like a charm when he tries to save a kid on the street from a car accident.

· actually does deep, proper research into other ability-wielders and often stays in school during nighttime to read the news, articles or anything that he can find on the web to learn about how that one cryptic boarding school in Europe that’s accused of abusing their students got shut down all of a sudden, the students never return and family members never bother to look for them. 

· hence, he adapts to hiding his ability and himself fairly well—never takes the late-night buses, doesn’t try to become close and bond with other people, asks his parents to change the door lock every month, burns bills each time he purchases something but he tries not to go out as much as possible. 

· seungmin has seen hyunjin use his power once by accident but decided to say nothing about it; eventually finds chan’s headquarter (which is just his crusty apartment) by following jisung and hyunjin after their practice hour, baffles them all a little but joins in no time. 

· after asking hyunjin to erase his parents’ memory about himself, seungmin gives everyone a hand for their plan of building a school and campus, completely safe and under the radar for other ability welders until their adolescence is over; he time-leaps back to back in order to collect as much information about lottery tickets as he can.

· another flaw occurs when he travels to the past for the third time: his eyesight gets weaker and weaker every time he time-leaps so he starts wearing glasses as a temporary resolution but chan stops him when he tries to do it for the fifth time, saying that they would rather work hard for a little longer than have seungmin lose his vision forever. 

· after over a year or so, they successfully repurchase an education organization and officially establish an exclusive academy for ability-wielders, reaching out to those individuals before scientists can get a hold of them. 

— yang jeongin ↠ superhuman speed

· the quiet kid who most likely won’t talk unless the teacher asks him to answer a question or someone tells him to let them copy his homework; has his earbuds in most of the time to pretend he can’t hear what people are saying so he won’t have to interact with them. 

· joins after you when chan finds him hitting a wall head-on at an abnormal speed while trying to save a kitten in the middle of the streets. 

· jeongin has extremely enhanced agility and reflexes but he still lacks accuracy for he is naturally a clumsy person; therefore, changbin tells him to wear a protective layer under his uniform so even in the worst-case scenario, he can jump off a building and make it out with minor scratches. 

· reluctantly buys lunch for every member of the student council (aka 00 liners + you) on a daily basis although he can’t really see which kind of sandwiches he’s grabbing at and they end up being mushy most of the time. 

· and for those people who say his resting face is scary, he’s mainly just frustrated because of his friends. 

· also usually is the one who returns with the most injuries because of his own ability—he always flees like his life depends on it to save jisung’s ass from being hit by a truck and hyunjin’s camera from being crushed (the sole purpose of the student council will be explained more thoroughly later).

· has single-handedly saved everyone inside a bookstore when a sudden fire breaks out. 

· minho scolds him and felix a lot for spending too much time at the arcade after school instead of doing their required tasks. 

· acts all tough and mature since he’s the youngest of the squad, loves to make fun of jisung for his height but still is and probably will always be a complete child who hates eating vegetables with a passion; gets yelled at a lot whenever there’s a BBQ party since he only ever eats meat. 

· “corn? why are we raiding the Asian market for corn at one AM?”

· “an outdoor, wholesome BBQ isn’t complete without corn, duh.”

· “do you want to get us caught?!”

· “oh please, they’re going to show up either way.”

· “YOU’RE NOT MAKING ANY SENSE!”

— y/n (reader) ↠ telepathic manipulation

· president of the student council, stubborn, slightly less bossy than seungmin, appears to be apathetic and cranky mainly because you can’t sleep that well; with that being said, you don’t feel too tired during ungodly hours when people are tossing around in the comfort of their bed but snap at irritating people a lot in the morning if they’re making too much noise. 

· your ability allows you to control people to your will, from something as meaningless as slamming their head through a wall to life-threatening actions like forcing them to point a knife at their own throat; it’s somewhat similar to jisung’s power though you don’t have to physically feel what your target is going through and you don’t need to worry about taking over their body.

· the only downside to it is that you easily fall asleep the moment you set your target free.

· minho is the one who gets you out of the laboratory where your parents were working on a huge, secret project about individuals with supernatural abilities for an unknown organization; you’re unfortunate enough to become their first-ever experimental subject which only nourishes resentment slowly, gnawing at your sanity while you’re dreading each day behind those cold metal bars. 

· perhaps joining the student council is what makes your life less depressing, perhaps; you’re far too busy facepalming at the beautiful monstrosity of their friendship and feeding them ensuing returning to the dorm after school since those boys only know how to eat, cooking is too much for them to comprehend (albeit felix).

· when your family was still… normal, your parents sent you to martial art classes every weekend so like felix, you don’t actually need your power to save yourself from some random mobsters on the streets.

· you’re also the only person who eats vegetables properly and even tries to incorporate more fiber into their diets but as always, they never listen, especially hyunjin when it comes to green onions.

· don’t have the best reputation in the academy because the idea of letting the new girl with a seemingly useless ability become president of the student council isn’t very appealing to many people, and it doesn’t help when every member of the council is exclusively allowed to drop out in the middle of a class to ‘collect’ any ability-wielders that chan manages to locate that day since he’s always worn out with changbin and minho from boring paperwork as well as other businessy stuff.

· even when your ability is considered almost perfect, you’ve only used it once when you thought minho was going to sell you off to another place and almost made him put a bullet through his own brain; you’ve refrained yourself from using it since that day.

#skzwritersclub #inkidz #stayshub #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #stray kids fanfic #bang chan #bang chan imagines #lee minho #lee minho imagines #seo changbin #seo changbin imagines #hwang hyunjin #hwang hyunjin imagines #han jisung #han jisung imagines #lee felix #lee felix imagines #kim seungmin #kim seungmin imagines #yang jeongin #yang jeongin imagines #skz x reader #skz x you

[yikesharringrove]

i’m dying to read some harringrove college stuff, so what about the boys being in some frat party, meeting each other for the first time. Billy would be doing some drinking game or something and Steve would be watching him. even tho Steve’s ”dating” this guy (fuckbuddies) who’s arms are around Steve, he still takes an interest on Billy. Billy would also see Steve, all pretty and long legs and would love to get piece of him after getting that guy off him. then they fuck somewhere in the house 👀

Modern. Nb Steve ayoo.

Read on aothree

Under the cut

Billy shouldered his way into the party.

He was trying to find the kitchen, looking for a drink. He ended up just grabbing the drink out of some douchebag’s hand as he walked behind him.

He met up with his roommate, one of the other pledges from the frat he was rushing, Scott.

“Billy, you motherfucker! Play beerpong!” Scott pulled him to the table, shoving a pingpong ball into his hand.  Billy looked up, his brain shorting out as he saw the other team.

Across from his was a huge douchey-looking guy, in a muscle tank with the sleeves ripped off, and a backwards hat. Billy knows he dresses like a fuckboy on a good day, but at least he’s not like this asshole.

But what this asshole had, was the most beautiful person Billy had ever seen in his entire fucking life. All long legs, and big eyes. They were wearing a pretty bodysuit, a dark purple color with a deep neckline, lace trimming the spaghetti straps, the neckline, the low back. They had a little pin on their little denim shorts that read They/Them.

Billy watched the jock asshole, tuck them under his arm, whispering something to them, making their eyes crinkle so sweetly while they giggled, batting their big fake eyelashes at him.

Billy played the game making eyes at the pretty little thing on the other side of the table.

But the thing was, they were good. They sunk almost every throw, giving Billy a smug little look each time. It only made Billy fall harder. But then the game was over and the shitty jock tucked the perfect darling under his arm and disappeared into the party.

“Who was that?” He was standing with Scott in the kitchen, finally found it to make themselves some drinks, taking a few shots each.

“The asshole in the trucker hat? That’s Chad Weathers.”

“No not-wait, his name is fucking Chad? There are actually humans named Chad that exist on this Earth?”

“I fucking know. Can you believe? Imagine just being like, hi, my name is Chad.”

“Is he a douche because his name is Chad, or is his name Chad because he was always predisposed to be a douche?”

“Definitely the second. You can’t damp pure asshole like that.” Billy turned, seeing the perfect beerpong sweetheart from earlier, pouring some vodka and raspberry lemonade into a solo cup.

Billy laughed, holding out his hand.

“Billy.”

“Steve.” They shook hands. Their hand was warm and soft, fingers slender and long.

“You really called your boyfriend a douchebag just now, huh?” Steve gave him a look.

“Not my boyfriend. We just fuck sometimes. Usually when he’s drunk enough to not be weird about my dick, and when I’m drunk enough to talk about my dick to strangers.”

Billy just leaned against the counter, making sure to put on his I WILL eat your ass and you’ll THANK me for it smile.

“Well, I know all about your dick now, so we’re not strangers anymore.” Steve just laughed, touching Billy’s upper arm gently. They moved just a hair closer to Billy. He was totally in.

“So, Billy, tell me about yourself. What are you studying?”

“Guess.” Steve raised an eyebrow.

“Um, you’re a big dudebro so like, business management. Something to get you through while you play football on scholarship and party with your frat.” Billy sucked in some air through his teeth.

“Hate to break it to you, but you were only right about one thing. I’m rushing a frat, but I don’t play football, and I’m not studying fucking business. I’m studying social work. And I’m here on academic scholarship.” Steve was grinning.

“So you’re like, a sensitive dudebro. Good for you.”

“What are you studying, then? Art?” Steve rolled their eyes.

“Just because I’m all queer doesn’t mean I’m studying art. Why didn’t you guess theater.”

“Well, as a fellow queer I just meant you seem like an artistic soul.”

“I mean, I am really great at crafts.” Billy laughed. “But I’m studying education and early childhood development. I wanna teach little kids.” They had this soft look on their face.

“God, you’re just as sweet as I thought you’d be.” Steve raised an eyebrow again, a smile tugging at their lips, painted the same deep purple as their bodysuit.

“You think about me often?”

“Well, you’re just about the only thing I’ve thought of this whole conversation.” And then their hand was trailing down Billy’s arm, tugging him in closer by the wrist, they leaned into Billy’s space, just close enough to be heard.

“You wanna find a room? Think of me some more?” Billy slid his arm around their lower back.

“Lead the way, sweet thing.”

Billy started openly at their ass as they led him up the stairs, hips swaying. The first room they checked was locked, the second unlocked but occupied. But, third time’s the damn charm apparently.

Billy pushed Steve inside, locking the door behind him.

It was some frat bro’s room, shitty basic posters on the wall, a lot of beer cans lined up on the window sill like it was decor.

But Billy wasn’t too focused on their surroundings, not when Steve was getting naked, right then and there in the middle of the room. They tossed a condom from their pocket at Billy as they stepped out of the shorts, sliding the bodysuit off after. Billy groaned.

“Fuck. You’re so fucking sexy.” He placed his hands on their hips, sliding them back to grope at their ass, pulling them forward into him. “Gorgeous.” He figured the deep lipstick was smeared everywhere between by now, but honestly, he really couldn’t find it within himself to care as Steve pawed at his shirt, clumsily undoing the few that were still done, pushing it off his shoulders.

Some base heavy song was playing as Billy kicked out of jeans, pressed against Steve until they were at the edge of the bed, turning them around and bending them over. He pressed sloppy kisses down their spine.

“Can I eat you out?” He heard them groan, hips canting back just a little.

“Fuck yeah.” Billy grinned, spreading them slightly, getting a look at their tight little hole before diving in, licking and sucking with wild abandon. He could barely hear their soft noises over the music of the party, the wet sounds of his own mouth.

He pulled back, spitting one last time before pressing one finger inside, watching as he fucked it in and out.

“There’s, there’s some lube in my pocket.” Steve had turned their head, was looking over their shoulder at Billy, gesturing wildly to the shorts on the floor. Billy leaned back on his knees, kept his one finger pumping in and out of Steve while he got the shorts, finding a few packets of lube and condoms.

“You really came prepared tonight. You go to every party with all this one you?”

“Well it’s mostly just in case.” Billy laughed, muttering MOSTLY just in case under his breath, tearing open the lube with his teeth, pouring some over his fingers and Steve’s hole. He pressed two fingers inside, curling and stretching them expertly.

Steve was whining, fucking back onto three of Billy’s fingers. He still had one hand keeping them spread open, watching his fingers.

“I’m fucking, I’m ready. Just fuck me.” Billy pulled his fingers out, slapping their ass once.

“Brat.” He rolled on the condom, giving himself a few strokes as he did. He lined up, pressing into that tight little spot. He threw his head back, groaning as his hips pressed flush to Steve’s ass, grinding deeply. Steve was face down into the mattress, taking shaky little breaths. Billy dragged a hand up their spine, settling it on the shoulder, the other on their soft hip, using them as leverage to just fuck.

He was slamming into Steve, fucking them with a punishing pace, their skin slapping together. Billy bent over Steve, pushing one arm under their hips, angling them perfectly to slam against that sensitive little spot.

“Oh my God. Whatever the fuck you’re doing right now, don’t fucking stop.” Billy just huffed a laugh, going even harder, slamming their bodies together. Steve wormed a hand beneath them, stripping their cock quickly, bucking their hips forward and back.

Billy groaned when they came, tightening around him lie a fucking vice, crying out.

He kept going for a moment or two, grinding in deep to finish. He pulled out, slumping on the bed next to Steve, flopped in his back. They looked over at him, smiling lazily.

“I’m gonna have to get your number. That was good.” Billy laughed, batting awkwardly at their shoulder.

“Not so bad yourself.” They stood up slolwy, wincing slightly as they got re-dressed, Billy following suit.

“Seriously, I’m gonna be like, actually sore. Haven’t felt like that in a minute.” They were looking the mirror on the inside of the closet door, had just pulled it open like they owned the place to fix their mussed hair. Their makeup was somehow perfectly intact.

They flung their phone over to Billy.

“Put your number in.” They didn’t have a passcode on their phone which was bold, gave them a kinda Fuck with me. I DARE you. I have NOTHING to hide vibe. Billy liked it.

He put his number in under Billy Delta Phi party, so that Steve knew, would see the number and remember the night, the way Billy fucked them so hard they hurt.

“Just shoot me a text sometime. I’ll kick my idiot roommate out.”

“No need, I have a single room. The university was gonna put me with some guy, but my loving mommy and daddy don’t trust me not to be a slut.” Billy raised an eyebrow, cocking his head a little.

“You have a single room and we’re not there right now?” Steve just smirked, a challenge in their eyes.

“You askin’ for another round?”

“Long as you’re not too sore.” Steve took his wrist, dragging him out of the party and down the road back towards campus.

#yikes writes #harringrove #steve harrington #steve harrington x billy hargrove #billy hargrove x steve harrington #billy hargrove #harringrove fic #harringrove ficlet #harringrove drabble #nb steve harrington #heyyo #harringrove modern au

[adarlingwrites]

Restraint

noun: control over the expression of one's emotions or thoughts

Given the circumstances of their relationship, with Charon being the Lone Wanderer's patient, and the Lone Wanderer being Charon's employer, acting on any attraction they had for one another would be out of the question.

Still, they kept each other in their thoughts.

I - Control

(Part II)

Being someone’s boss isn’t something Percy is used to.

Usually, it’s she who followed orders, either from her father when she’s assisting him in his clinic, or Jonas, if Dad left him in charge. So when she buys a mercenary’s contract from that bastard of a ghoul in Underworld, she doesn't know what to do.

Charon is… complex. Percy wasn’t quite sure what to make of him the first time they met. Oh, she was definitely intimidated, though. A ghoul that tall would make a small girl like her shrink further. Hell, normally she’s pretty gutsy, but when she first spoke to Charon? She stammered and fumbled with her words. Percy would be lying if she didn’t find the ghoul interesting, if not strangely attractive, for his gruff demeanor and imposing size.

When Ahzrukhal, Charon’s former boss, told her that he was brainwashed to follow anyone who owns his contract, she had wanted to set him free. Free-thinking and defiant, she couldn’t imagine being in his shoes. This girl naively and recklessly pitied him. So she bought his contract, with every intention of freeing him from it.

But of course things never were that simple.

He definitely needed help, but it’s gonna take a lot more than just tearing the contract to shreds for him to outgrow his conditioning, so she’d save that for later, when she’s sure he won’t kill her for destroying that stupid piece of paper.

The best she can do now is make him feel as comfortable, cared for, and human as possible.

And what better way to do that than to make him some food, right? Who wouldn’t appreciate food? She used to make her dad and Jonas  dinner after long shifts at the clinic, and they loved that.

After spending some time cooking, Percy washes up and puts on a clean shirt, tying her vault suit’s sleeves around her waist. Light footsteps patter against the metal flooring of the stairs. Clearing her throat, she knocks on Charon’s door.

“Charon?” she calls out to him. She hears rustling and shifting from the other side of the door.

Her bodyguard emerges, and for a brief moment, she feels a hot wave pass through her body. Charon stands there, towering her, broad-shouldered and imposing, his muscles straining under his shirt.

“Miss. What do you need?”

Percy made the mistake of looking below his hips. Blood rushed to her cheeks.

She wasn’t supposed to see that.

Or rather, she shouldn’t be affected seeing that. She’s a doctor in training, for fuck’s sake.

“Lunch is ready,” she said, speech terse. The vaultie whirls around quickly and descends the stairs, hoping that the ghoul mercenary doesn’t notice her embarrassment.

That sight lingered in her mind for days.

Then the days turned into weeks.

Now, she’s laying on her bed, trying to get off using the skin mag she found while scavenging, but its novelty had worn out. No matter how much her fingers worked her clit while staring at the pictures of women in scanty clothing, it didn’t do anything for her now.

Percy tried imagining people she was attracted to in the vault. Amata. Butch. Jonas. She only felt awkward; Amata rejected her, Butch hooked up with Susie while they’re together, and Jonas is... dead.

Shit.

She needed something- or someone else.

She imagines Billy Creel, that fairly attractive guy with an eyepatch who hangs out in the saloon, but she’s not really that into him. Plus, his hair color reminds her of Butch’s.

Percy tries thinking about another hair color. She always found red hair intriguing; there are not a lot of redheads in the vault. It’s a recessive trait too, so it’s pretty rare even in the wasteland.

Her mind wanders to Moira. She’s pretty cute, despite her eccentricity. But she felt more like an older sister she never had, so Percy turned the imagery off. Then her mind goes to Nova. But just like Moira, the bond they share is more sisterly than sexual.

Dammit. Nothing’s working. Maybe she should just think of an imaginary lover.

But wait, who else has red hair?

Charon.

Oh no.

She’s not about to touch herself thinking about her bodyguard, who she also gives medical treatment and psychological counsel to, isn’t she?

The mental image of seeing him with morning wood came back to her psyche and she almost slaps herself for allowing that to happen again.

However, the thought of it finally did get her juices flowing after several failed attempts….

Percy decided that she’ll probably never get the chance to act on it, given the nature of their relationship, so she might as well indulge herself. Fuck it, she’s gonna masturbate thinking about her employee and patient. It’s so wrong on so many levels, but the taboo aspect of it made her heart race. It doesn’t help that he’s a ghoul too.

People found her strange for not finding them revolting. Ghouls piqued Percy’s interest both as a doctor, and a person who never saw one in her life. She never found their condition disgusting; hell, she was in awe when she found out that their bodies adapted to radiation instead of being killed by it. She wanted to know how ghouls’ skin felt like too, but she was too shy to ask Gob, the first one she ever met. He’ll probably think she’s weird.

Percy finally got that opportunity when she started travelling with Charon. Their touches were brief, and it usually happens when she’s patching him up or if he needs to carry her, but she’ll take what she can get.

Spreading her lips apart, Percy works her fingers against her clit, imagining that it was Charon’s instead. Her eyes fluttered shut, and she imagined his face; skin missing from some parts, muscles exposed, but damn, she found his bone structure and those piercing blue eyes lovely.

The vaultie thinks of her bodyguard looking at her with those intense eyes, and using his other hand to tease her hardening nipples. Those lips of his look rough, but Percy still wants them pressed against hers, imagining the texture it must have. Slowly, he would trace her jaw with them, down to her neck, and it would replace his fingers on her chest, eagerly sucking at her tit.

Holding back a moan, the walls were thin after all , Percy imagines Charon’s cock. From what she had gathered from seeing it bulging against the fabric of his pants, it would be thick, long, and heavy. She only ever took dicks in her mouth and her ass in her life in the vault, but nothing the size of that thing between Charon’s legs.

Fuck, would it even fit any of her holes?

Still, she imagines running her hands all over the pulsing flesh, eager to please him. Charon had once told her that some of his former employers used him for their entertainment. She shudders, thinking about how awful and traumatic that must be for him.

She wanted him to be in control of his own pleasure for a change.

So, she imagines Charon, with that gruff, delicious baritone ordering her to get on her knees and suck.

Percy would run her tongue all over his length and try to take him as far as she can, and he’ll grab her short, jet-black hair and shove it down her throat harshly. The thought of choking on him made a moan escape Percy’s lips, and she quickly covers her mouth and stops, listening for any reaction from the other side of the wall.

None.

Good.

Pausing her little self-love session, Percy grabs a handkerchief from her drawer and shoves it in her mouth. She doesn’t return to her bed, however.

In her head, Charon would order her to stand up and bend over the desk, and she does as she’s told both inside and out of the fantasy. Cold metal of the desk against her breasts, Percy ran her finger against her slit, gathering her wetness, and continued to circle against her clit, imagining Charon’s fingers in place of hers.

But then, he will pause, demand that she stays still, and kneels, flicking his tongue out against her slit. His tongue would penetrate her entrance, then go back to circling her clit, and his rough hands would paw at her ass and strike it.

Damn, she can hardly contain herself now.

This imaginary Charon would give a satisfied smile against the skin of her thigh and proceed to shove his length into her, claiming her. He’d be the first man to do so, and God, she’d hope that he would be the last.

She hoped that he would be the last.

Percy lets out a soundless cry as she neared her climax, rubbing herself desperately, glasses fogging from her breaths.

As she reached her climax, foolishly, recklessly, Percy choked out his name.

A few moments later, he was outside her door.

“Miss? You called for me?”

Oh shit.

Not even done coming down from her high, she throws an oversized shirt on, and wipes her essence against the handkerchief she retrieved from her mouth.

With caution, she cracked the door open, hoping that he wouldn’t notice her flushed and dishevelled appearance.

“Charon. Hey. I was wondering what you’d like for lunch tomorrow,” she near-whispers.

The ghoul gives her a blank stare.

“Mirelurk cakes, miss.”

Percy gives him a faint smile.

“Right. I’ll keep it in mind. Good night.”

Percy closes the door and lies on her bed, unable to sleep.

Yeah. It’s no use denying it any further.

She has it bad for him.

But she needs to exercise restraint.

#nsft #lone wanderer #female lone wanderer #charon #charon fallout 3 #fallout 3 charon #charon fallout #fallout charon #charon x lone wanderer #oc: percy zhou #fanfic: restraint #series: through river acheron #writers on tumblr #fallout fanfic #not beta read

[imdoingthismspaintadventure]

Worm Interlude 2 -- In which two sisters clean up a street

There were very few things, in Victoria Dallon’s estimation, that were  cooler than flying.  The invisible forcefield that extended a few  millimeters over her skin and clothes just made it better.  The field  kept the worst of the chill from touching her, but still let her feel  the wind on her skin and in her hair.  Bugs didn’t splat against her  face like they did against car windshields, even when she was pushing  eighty miles an hour.

Time for an interlude, it seems we will be getting these between arcs! From the point of view of different characters, to flesh out the world and the story. I always love when stories do that, put us in a point of view different from the main character. If done right, it adds so much richness to the setting.

It seems our interlude protagonist has the power of flight, plus some sort of force field that actively shields her against friction and particles. We learn this in the same paragraph where we also see how much she enjoys using her flight, so we both get characterization and powers at the same time. Nice!

Spotting her target, she whooped and plunged for the ground, gaining  speed where anyone else would be slowing down.  She hit the asphalt hard  enough to crack it and send fragments of it into the air, touching  ground with her knee and foot, one arm extended.  She stayed in that  kneeling position for just heartbeats, letting her platinum curls and  the cape that was draped over one of her shoulders flutter in the wake  of air that had followed her descent.  She met the eyes of her quarry  with a steely glare.  

Superhero landing!

I would certainly be intimidated if she landed in front of me like that! She gives me lots of superhero vibes in terms of her overall alignment.

She’d practiced that landing for weeks to get it right.  

Pfft. Okay she’s also a bit of a dork, and very human.

The man was a twenty something Caucasian with a shaved head, a dress  shirt with the sleeves rolled up, jeans and work boots.  He took one  look at her and bolted.  

You, sir, look like an underling of someone, and the way he nope’d out of there also gave me mook vibes.

Victoria grinned as he disappeared down the far end of the alley.  She  rose from her kneeling position, dusted herself off and ran her fingers  through her hair to tidy it.  Then she raised herself a foot off the  ground and flew after him at an easy forty five miles an hour.  

Classic superman-like superspeed / flight / superendurance is such a nice power to have. I bet you feel like a god.

It didn’t take a minute to catch him, even with the head start she had  given him.  She flew just past him, grazing him.  An instant later, she  came to a dead stop, facing him.  Again, the wind made for a dramatic  flourish as it stirred her hair, her cape and the skirt of her costume.  

She’s really theatric with all this, and I kinda love it. I feel like this guy is thoroughly outmatched.

“The woman you attacked was named Andrea Young,” she spoke.

The man looked over his shoulder, as if gauging his escape routes.

Grunt attacked a civilian and they sent the superhero cavalry to make him super regret it?

“Don’t even think about it, fugly,” she told him, “You know I’d catch  you, and trust me, I’m already pissed off enough without you wasting my  time.”

“I didn’t do anything,” the man snarled.

“Andrea Young!” Victoria raised her voice.  As she shouted, she  exercised her power.  The man quailed as though she’d slapped him.  “A  black college student was beaten so badly she needed medical attention!   Her teeth were knocked out!  You’re trying to tell me that you, a  skinhead with swollen knuckles, someone who was in the crowd watching  paramedics arrive with an expression bordering on glee, you didn’t do  anything!?”

Oh so he’s neonazi filth. Ugh.

I was already kinda unsympathetic to him from the start, but now he can choke.

Fuck his shit up, Victoria.

“I didn’t do nothing worth caring about,” he sneered.  His bravado was  tempered by a second look over his shoulder, as though he’d very much  like to be elsewhere right that moment.  

Fuck this guy. He’s also cowering like a little bitch and trying to look all brave in front of no one, like an idiot.

She flew forward, her fists catching him by the collar.  For just a  moment, she contemplated slamming him up against a wall.  It would have  been fitting and satisfying to shove him hard enough against the brick  to crack it, then drop him into the dumpster that sat at the wall’s  base.  

Taunting a girl who can absolutely ruin his fucking life, maybe not his best idea.

He almost got literally dumpstered.

Instead, she pulled up a little, bringing the two of them to a stop.   They were now just high enough above the ground that he’d feel  uncomfortable with the height.  The dumpster, mostly empty, was directly  below him, but she doubted he was paying attention to anything but her.  

Ah, threatening him with falling from great heights! The batman strat! Or one of them anyway.

“I think it’s a safe bet to say you’re a member of Empire Eighty-Eight,”  she told him, meeting his eyes with a hard stare, “or at least, you’ve  got some friends who are.  So here’s what’s going to happen.  You’re  going to either tell me everything the triple-E’s have been up to, or  I’m going to break your arms and legs and then you’re going to tell me everything.”  

Empire Eighty-Eight huh? Since the last time I heard the name, I’ve been informed about the 1488 dogwhistle, which I had never heard in spain. So yeah this guy is definitely part of some neonazi group, and is all around human garbage.

The group seems pretty big if it has a lot of unpowered mooks, kind of reminds me of Lung and his boys. I bet them and these guys wouldn’t really get along.

As she spoke, she ratcheted up her power.  She knew it was working when he started squirming just to avoid her gaze.

“Fuck you, you can’t touch me.  There’s laws against that shit,” he blustered, staring fixedly over one shoulder.

She turned up her power another notch.  Her body thrummed with current – waves of energy that anyone in her presence would experience as an emotional charge of awe and admiration.  For those with a reason to be afraid of her, it would be a feeling of raw intimidation instead.

Oh so she not only has superman-like powers! She also has an intimidation factor! That is fascinating. It makes her enemies afraid and everyone else feel awe at her presence. ...That sounds a little creepy if it influences normal people but I see how it can give a massive advantage against villains and criminals, in conjunction with her other powers!

“Last chance,” she warned him.

Unfortunately, fear affected everyone differently.  For this particular asshole, it just made him dig in his heels and become obstinate.  She could see it in his body language before he opened his mouth – this was the sort of guy who reacted to anything that spooked or unsettled him with an almost mindless refusal to bend.

“Lick my hairy, sweaty balls,” he snarled, before punctuating it with a spat, “Cunt.”

It makes sense that someone like him would get defiant in a moment like this. Still probably not the best judgement. Fear (even this artificial one) is usually there for a reason.

She threw him.  Since she could bench press a cement mixer, though it was hard to balance something so large and unwieldy, even a casual toss on her part could get some good distance.  He flew a good twenty five or thirty yards down the back road before hitting the asphalt, and rolled for another ten.

He was utterly for still for long enough that Victoria had begun to worry that he’d somehow snapped his neck or broken his spine as he’d rolled.  She was relieved when he groaned and began to pull himself to his feet.

Damn, with a power like hers she really has to be careful to not accidentally kill someone. If she can throw a grown healthy adult like that, sending him flying across the street, she could just as easily end anyone who doesn’t have super-endurance.

I wonder if that is actually a problem in this world? Accidental manslaughter via a missuse of super-strength.

“Ready to talk?” she asked him, her voice carrying down the alley.   She didn’t move  forward from where she hovered in the air, but she did let herself drop closer to the ground.

Pressing one hand against his leg to support himself as he straightened up, he raised his other hand and flipped her the bird, then turned and began to limp down the alley.

....what is this guy even doing? She just yeeted your ass to the other side of the street! Since when is pissing dangerous superheroines a good idea??

What was this asshole thinking?  That she would just let him go?  That, what, she would just bend to his witless lack of self preservation?   That she was helpless to do any real harm to him?  To top it off, he was going to insult her and try to walk away?

....he IS probably counting on you being a “good guy”, yeah.

But by the way her internal thoughts are going, he may have made a liiitle mistake with all this.

“Screw you too,” she hissed through her teeth.  Then she kicked the dumpster below her hard enough to send it flying down the little road.   It rotated lazily through the air as it arced towards the retreating figure, the trajectory and rotation barely changing as it knocked him flat.  It skidded to a halt three to five yards beyond him, the metal sides of the dumpster squealing and sparking as it scraped against the asphalt.

...did she just throw an entire dumpster on top of him? Like, as a projectile weapon??  Is this poor asshole still alive???

This time, he didn’t get up.

“Fuck,” she swore, “Fuckity fuck fuck.”  She flew to him and checked for a pulse.  She sighed, and then headed to the nearest street.  She found the street address, grabbed her cell from her belt and dialed.

Oh fuck she might have gone and done it. Used excessive force and super-murdered a suspect. What even happens in cases like this, then?

She seemed to be panicking but then calmed down when she checked for a pulse, so he’s probably still alive, even if knocked out.

It seems to have spooked her enough to make a phone call though.

“Hey sis?  Yeah, I found him.  That’s, uh, sort of the problem.   Yeah.  Look, I’m sorr- ok, can we talk about this later?  Yeah.  I’m at Spayder and Rock, there’s this little road that runs behind the buildings.  Downtownish, yeah.  Yeah?  Thanks.”

Victoria returned to the unconscious skinhead, checked his pulse, and listened intently for changes in his breathing.  It took a very long five minutes for her sister to arrive.

“Again, Victoria?” the voice disturbed her from her contemplations.

She called her sister for help! Does her sister have superpowers too? Maybe some sort of healing or stasis power, so they can avoid him dying, if he’s in a really critical state?

Again, huh? Oof, is excessive force a thing with you Victoria? She might not be as “purely heroic” as I thought. Seeing a lot of gray here as well. Trigger-happy or reckless heroes can be VERY dangerous in certain settings.

“Use my codename, please,” Victoria told the girl.  Her sister was as different from her as night was from day.  Where Victoria was beautiful, tall, gorgeous, blonde, Amy was mousy.  Victoria’s costume showed off her figure, with a white one-piece dress that came to mid-thigh (with shorts underneath) an over-the shoulder cape, high boots and a golden tiara with spikes radiating from it, vaguely reminiscent of the sun’s rays or the statue of liberty.  Amy’s costume, by contrast, was only a shade away from being a burka.  Amy wore a robe with a large hood and a scarf that covered the lower half of her face.  The robe was alabaster white and had a medic’s red cross on the chest and the back.

Oh I like both of their designs a lot! And the contrast between them!

Victoria is a white and gold goddess with statue of liberty and/or divine motifs, which matches up with both her demeanor so far, and the power itself, especially the fear/adoration part.

Amy, on the other hand, reminds me of a final fantasy white mage, so the possibility of her being a healer is even higher (she even wears a red cross!). Also, just by visual design alone, she may be more introverted in comparison to the extroverted nature of her sister. She is like a star radiating light, while Amy is hiding herself with her clothes.

“Our identities are public,” Amy retorted, pushing the hood back and scarf down to reveal brown frizzy hair and a face with freckles spaced evenly across it.

“It’s the principle of the thing,” Victoria replied.

“You want to talk about principles, Glory Girl?” Amy asked, in the most sarcastic tone she could manage, “This is the sixth – sixth! – time you’ve nearly killed someone.  That I know about!”

“I’m strong enough to lift a SUV over my head,” Victoria muttered, “It’s hard to hold back all the time.”

Ooh interesting! Ok so a couple of things:

1) Amy looks cute, with her frizzy hair and freckles, in comparison to her sister’s more traditionally “beautiful” look.

2)Their identities are public??. Sooo....is that a thing particular to them, or to a group they belong to?? Cause I don’t remember very well, but I think Armsmaster kept his identity secret, didn’t he??

It’s very interesting that there are superheroes with public identities! I suppose that turns them into celebrities, even in their private lives, but isn’t that dangerous? Aren’t there villains who would attack their homes or families?

3)It seems Glory Girl is indeed a bit sketchy with the way she uses her super-strength, having six close calls with killing someone just because of an excess of force. I wonder if she can learn to regulate just how hard she needs to hit, because that seems dangerous!

“I’m sure Carol would buy that line,” Amy said, making it clear in her tone she wasn’t, “But I know you better than anyone.  If you’re having trouble holding back, the problem isn’t here -” she poked Victoria in the bicep.  “It’s here-” she jabbed her sister in the forehead, hard.  Victoria didn’t even blink.

“Look, can you just fix him?” Victoria pleaded.

“I’m thinking I shouldn’t,” Amy said, quietly.

“What?”

“There’s consequences, Vicky.  If I help you now, what’s going to stop you from doing it again?  I can call the paramedics.  I know some good people from the hospital.  They could probably fix him up alright.”

Seems Amy is fed up with her sister dodging responsabilities for her recklessness, and wants her to learn the consequences of her behaviour and hopefully excercise more caution. This also confirms that Amy is indeed some kind of healer. Also is Carol their mother or caretaker??

Hey, hey, hey,” Victoria said, “That’s not funny.  He goes to the hospital, people ask questions.”

“Yeah, I’m well aware,” Amy said, her voice hushed.

“This isn’t, like, me getting grounded.  I’d get pulled into court on charges of aggravated assault and battery.  That doesn’t just fuck with me.  It fucks with our family, all of New Wave.  Everything we’ve struggled to build.”

On the other hand, facing the consequences could mean that their whole family takes the blame.

New Wave...it seems Amy and Victoria have a whole family of superheroes, like The Incredibles! Is New Wave’s gimmick that the identities are public? The fact that excessive force threatens the founding purpose of the group leads me to think that revealing their identities is an attempt to gain the trust of the general public.

Amy frowned and looked at the fallen man..

“I know you’re not keen on the superhero thing, but you’d really go that far?  You’d do that to us?  To me?”

Amy pointed a finger at her sister, “That’s not me.  It’s not my fault we’re at this point.  It’s you.  You’re crossing the line, going too far.  Which is exactly what people who criticize New Wave are scared of.  We’re not government sponsored.  We’re not protected or organized or regulated in the same way.  Everyone knows who we are under our masks.  That means we have to be accountable.  The responsible thing for me to do, as a member of this team, is to let the paramedics take him, and let the law do as it sees fit.”

So, New Wave is not government sponsored, like the protectorate is!

On one hand, we have the Protectorate, which is a state-funded professional justice league, with secret identities and constumed antics and such.

On the other, we have New Wave, which is a freelance family of heroes with their identities public and emphasizing accountability and probably a more modern, refreshing approach to superheroing (which kinda goes with the new wave name)

I really like the world building we’ve got going on here. It doesn’t seem to be going that well if Victoria here nearly killed a crook due to an excessive use of force though. At least it seems Amy is more level-headed and wants her sis to also be more careful.

Victoria abruptly pulled Amy into a hug.  Amy resisted for a moment, then let her arms go limp at her sides.

“This isn’t just a team, Ames,” Victoria told her, “We’re a family.  We’re your family.”

Heh, what Victoria is pulling here is the exact sort of emotional manipulation that a spoiled family member pulls when trying to get away with something scot-free. They’ve got a sister dinamic, that’s for sure!

The man lying just a matter of feet away stirred, then groaned, long and loud.

“My adoptive family,” Amy mumbled into Victoria’s shoulder, “And stop trying to use your frigging power to make me all squee over how amazing you are.  Doesn’t work.  I’ve been exposed so long I’m immune.”

Oh wow, seems like Victoria was trying literal emotional manipulation by way of her powers, but Amy has been exposed for so long she’s inmmune. So.... one can build an inmmunity to that aspect of her power?

Also it’s a bit disturbing to think of Victoria using her emotional powers to make her family subtly like her more.

And Amy is adopted! She did look very different from Victoria, based on that description we got earlier.

“It hurts,” the man moaned.

“I’m not using my power, dumbass,” Victoria told Amy, letting her go, “I’m hugging my sister.  My awesome, caring and merciful sister.”

The man whined, louder, “I can’t move.  I feel cold.”

Amy frowned at Victoria, “I’ll heal him.  But this is the last time.”

Victoria beamed, “Thank you.”

The bastard deserves it, but it’s kind of funny how nonchalant they are being with his continued pain in the background.

Seems Amy has finally caved-in to her demands and will heal this badly wounded piece of shit. (Victoria totally acts like a spoiled brat who broke a toy during all this, which is a bit terrifying with a power combination like hers)

Amy leaned over the man and touched her hand to his cheek, “Slingshot break to his ribs, fractured clavicle, broken mandible, broken scapula, fractured sternum, bruised lung, broken ulna, broken radius -“

“I get the point,” Victoria said.

“Do you?” Amy asked.  Then she sighed, “I wasn’t even halfway down the list.  This is going to take a little while.  Sit?”

Victoria crossed her legs and assumed a sitting position, floating a half foot above the ground.  Amy just knelt where she was and rested her hand on the man’s cheek.  The tension went out of his body and he relaxed.

Holy shit, Victoria really pummeled him badly! I guess that’s what happens when a superwoman toys like that with a normal human.

Also Amy can analyze and diagnose what a person has wrong in their body with just a touch? And can remove all pain, also with a single touch? On top of some form of healing?

That is ...incredible. She could revolutionize the world of healthcare and be an incredible professional doctor! Just the analysis part of it alone! It’s just ...so good.

“How’s the woman?  Andrea?”

“Better than ever, physically,” Amy replied, “I grew her new teeth, fixed everything from the bruising to the scrapes, and even gave her a head to toe tune-up.  Physically, she’ll feel on top of the world, like she had been to a spa and had the best nutritionist, best fitness expert and the best doctor all looking after her for a straight month.”

This power is astonishingly good.

She (and other powers like hers) would save so many lives, just by doing normal medical work.

Can she only heal injuries like these, or can she also do things like grow half a person’s body back, or even make someone younger? The posibilities with her are endless!

“Good,” Victoria said.

“Mentally?  Emotionally?  It’s up to her to deal with the aftermath of a beating.  I can’t affect the brain.”

“Well-” Victoria started to speak.

“Yeah, yeah.  Not can’t.  Won’t.  It’s complicated and I don’t trust myself not to screw something up when I’m tampering with someone’s head.  That’s it, that’s all.”

Well it seems she couldn’t cure dementia or parkinson’s disease or any of these blights on humankind. But she’s still amazing!

It’s very interesting to see that it’s not just bam, you’re healed, with her power. She has to actually perform the healing herself. So her power would be ...what? Body scan and manipulation? Organic manipulation? Using the inherent healing sistems of the body as a tool?

Victoria started to say something, then shut her mouth.  Even if they weren’t related by blood, they were sisters.  Only sisters could have these sorts of recurring arguments.   They had gone through a dozen different variations on this argument before.  As far as she was concerned, Amy was doing herself a disservice by not practicing using her powers on the brain.  It was only a matter of time before her sister found herself in a situation where she needed to do some emergency brain surgery and found herself incapable.  Amy, for her part, refused to even discuss it.

Victoria has a more reckless demeanor than her sister. It’s true that Amy being able to cure brain diseases would be incredible, but how would she practice? Would there need to be people used as basically experiments until she gets the hang of it? It seems it would require some not very good means.

Also, Amy does use her powers to do medical stuff it seems! That’s good. I wonder how much certain powers have benefitted humankind in this series.

She didn’t want to raise a sensitive issue when Amy was in the process of doing her a major favor.  To change the subject, Victoria asked, “Is it cool if I question him?”

“Might as well,” Amy sighed.

Victoria tapped the man a few times on the forehead to get his attention.  He could barely move his head, but his eyes lolled in her direction.

“Ready to answer my questions, or do me and my sister just walk away and leave you like this?”

“I… sue you, he gasped out, then managed an added, “Whore.”

“Try it.  I’d just love to see a skinhead with a few broken bones go up against a superheroine whose mom just happens to be one of the best lawyers in Brockton Bay.  You know her, right?”

“Brandish,” he said.

Hmm I feel like there is an ethical conversation to be had here. Both in ransoming the healing and in flaunting that they could get away with it because their mom is a lawyer.

Would the Protectorate be ok with doing something like this? Would the citizenship be ok with something like this?

Again, it could be argued that he’s a neonazi scumbag, but what about in more general cases? Or is getting information out of him instrumental in protecting the people and saving lives, and does that justify one’s actions?

Interesting questions to be had, all in all.

“That’s her name in costume.  Normally she’s Carol Dallon.  She’d kick your ass in court, believe me,” Victoria said.  She believed it.  What the thug didn’t understand was that even if he lost the case, the media circus that would be stirred up would do more damage than anything else.  But she didn’t need to inform him of that.  She asked him, “So do I get my sister to leave you as you are, or are you willing to trade some information for relief from months of incredible pain and a lifetime of arthritis and stiffness in your bones?”

So Carol is indeed their mother, and also the superheroine Brandish! ...I don’t have any idea what her powers are based on that name alone.

“And erectile dysfunction,” Amy said, just loud enough for the thug to hear her, “You fractured your ninth vertebra.  That’s going to affect all nerve function in extremities below your waist.  If I leave you like you are, your toes will always feel a little numb, and you’ll have a hell of a time getting it up, if you know what I mean.”

The skinhead’s eyes widened a fraction, “You’re fucking with me.”

“I have an honorary medical license,” Amy told him, her expression solemn, “I’m not allowed to fuck with you about stuff like that.   Hippocratic oath.”

“Isn’t that ‘do no harm’?” the thug asked.  Then he groaned, long, loud and with the slightest rattle in his breath, as she removed her hand from his body.

Okay I’m kinda enjoying the way they are messing with him, ethical questions aside. Amy going straight for the erectile dysfunction! And a version of the “If I was an undercover cop, I would be obligated to tell you” kind of gambit.

Would the removing the anesthetic hand to make him comply be considered torture? Hm.

“That’s just the first part of it, like how freedom of speech and the right to bear arms is just the first part of a very long constitution. It doesn’t look like he’s cooperating, Glory Girl.  Should we go?”

“Fuck!” the man shouted, then winced, tenderly touching his side with one hand, “I’ll tell you.  Please, just… do what you were doing.  Touch me and make the pain go away, put me back together.  Fix me?”

Amy touched him.  He relaxed, and then he started talking.

Looks like they got him to talk! Not so cocky in the end, against these two.

“Empire Eighty-Eight is extending into the Docks on Kaiser’s orders.   Lung’s in custody, and whatever happens, the ABB is weaker than it was. That means there’s territory for grabs, and the Empire sure ain’t making progress downtown.”

Seems like Taylor accidentaly created a power vacuum! Due to Lung no longer being there, the ABB is left much weaker and other gangs are rising up to the occasion.

Kaiser huh? That’s the leader of these neonazis? Named after german emperors, so it really fits.

“Why not?” Victoria asked him.

“This guy, Coil.  Don’t know what his powers are, but he’s got a private army.  Ex-military, all of ’em.  At least fifty, Kaiser said, and every one of ’em has top notch gear.  Their armor’s better than kevlar.  You shoot ’em, they’re back up in a few seconds.  ‘Least when you shoot a pig, you can be pretty sure you broke a few ribs.  But that’s not the fucked up thing.  These guys?  They’ve got these lasers hooked up to the machine guns they carry around.  If they don’t think bullets are doing it, or if they’re after people who are behind cover, they fire off these purple laser beams that can cut through steel.  Tear through any cover you’re standing behind and burn through you too.”

More competition! In the same way that the ABB seems to have an asian theme, and the Empire are neo-nazis, these guys seem to be some sort of paramilitary militia armed to the teeth with high-tech gear, including ...laser weapons?? So these guys are less about superpowers and more about collective strength, tactics and formations? They sound awesome.

Coil makes me think about tesla coils, so maybe some electricity power to go along with the high-tech motif and weird technology?

“Yeah.  I know about him.  His methods get expensive,” Victoria said, “Top of the line soldiers, top of the line gear.”

The thug nodded weakly, “But even with money to burn, he’s fighting us over Downtown territories.  Constant tug of war, neither of us making much headway.  Been going on for months.  So Kaiser thinks we should take the Docks now that the ABB are on the outs, gain some ground somewhere easier.  Don’t know any more than that, as far as his plans.”

Seems this Coil group and the Empire are about equal in power, with the ABB being now weaker but maybe stronger than both of them previously?

“Who else is up to something?  Faultline?”

“The bitch with the freaks in her crew?  She’s a mercenary, different goals.  But maybe.  If she wanted to branch out, now would be the time to do it.  With her rep, she’d even do alright.”

“Then who?  There’s a power vacuum in the docks.  Kaiser’s declared he wants to seize it, but I’m willing to bet he’s warned you about others making a play.”

Another new player! She’s a mercenary, with a bunch of ...freaks? Are these like mutants, where the powers change their appearance and they are discriminated against? Seems like an interesting group. Faultline.... maybe some earth or earthquake-related power?

The skinhead laughed, then winced, “Are you dense, girl?  Everyone’s going to make a play.  It’s not just the major gangs and teams that are looking for a slice of the pie, there.  It’s everyone.  The Docks are ripe for the taking.  The location’s worth as much money as you’d get downtown.  It’s the go to place if you want to buy black market.  Sex, drugs, violence.  And the locals are already used to paying protection money.  It’s just a matter of changing who they pay to.  The Docks are rich territory, and we’re talking the potential for a full scale fucking war over it.”

He looked up at the blond superheroine and laughed.  Her lips set into a firm line.

Dear god Taylor what have you done? Now we have a full-scale gang war that could spread to the whole district thanks to your actions that day. You certainly caused a big splash!

It kinda reminds me of Doflamingo’s speech in One Piece, where there is a power vacuum that is going to make everyone fight in the near future, only that is much much more high scale than this. Still, what a way to change things.

He continued, “You want to know my guess?  Empire Eighty Eight is going to take the biggest slice of the Docks, because we’re strong enough to. Coil’s going to stick his thumb in just to spite us, ABB is going to hold on to some.  But you’re also going to have a bunch of the little guys trying to take something for themselves.  Über and Leet, Circus, the Undersiders, Squealer, Trainwreck, Stain, others you’ve never heard of?  They’re going to stake out their ground, and one of two things is going to happen.  Either there’s war, in which case civilians get hurt and things get bad for you, or there’s alliances between the various teams and solo villains and shit gets even worse for you.”

Woaah a loot of even more new names! This is worldbuilding, the chapter!

Uber and Leet ...I think they vaguely mentioned them once..? But they apparently were small-fries

Circus is maybe a carnaval or clown-themed villain? Those are always ...fun. I expect a lot of circus gimmicks as their powerset.

The Undersiders are that group of totally innocent teens of which Taylor might or might not be a part of now, and might or might not be planning to eventually betray.

Squealer sounds ...weird. Maybe something animal-based?

Trainwreck maybe summons trains to crash against you. That seems too silly though. (Yukari-approved! )

Stain is obviously from Mha and I don’t know how he jumped to here. On a more serious note, I have no idea what he could be about.

All of these (including our undersiders) seem to be small timers, at least compared to the big three of the ABB, the Empire and the supersoldiers. And also Faultline, which even though she was a mercenary was considered high enough to be counted outside of the smaller ones.

We’re getting to know our underworld landscape here!

He broke into laughter yet again.

“Come on, Panacea,” Victoria said as she stood up, touched ground with her boots and brushed her skirt straight, “We’ve gotten enough.”

“You sure?  I’m not done yet,” Amy told her.

“You fixed the bruises and scrapes, broken bones?”  Everything that could get her in trouble, in other words.

“Yeah, but I didn’t fix everything,” Amy replied.

“Good enough,” Victoria decided.

“Hey!” the skinhead shouted, “The deal was you’d fix me if I talked! Did you fix my cock?”  He tried to struggle to get to his feet, but his legs buckled under him,  “Hey!  I can’t fuckin’ walk!  I’ll fucking sue you!”

Victoria’s expression changed in an instant, and her power flooded out, blindsiding the thug.  For an instant, his eyes were like those of a panicked horse, all whites, rolling around, unfocused.  She grabbed him by the shirt collar, lifted him up and growled into his ear, her voice just above a whisper, “Try it.  My sister just healed you… most of you, with a touch.  Did you ever wonder what else she could do?  Ever think, maybe, she could break you just as easily?  Or change the color of your skin, you racist fuck?  I’ll tell you this, I’m not half as scary as my little sister is.”

Seems the skinhead was still being a pest faking not being cured and Victoria had enough. Damn she can be scary, and that’s aside from the ability to literally make him feel fear. I think part of the scary factor to her is that she could very easily break you and she doesn’t really have that much impulse control. Imagine facing down someone like that and thanks to her power having that fear you feel towards her amplified until she is the worst thing in your world.

And that all pales in comparison to her sister. Oh god I hadn’t considered that application of her power! She has organic manipulation, not healing. Healing is just what she chooses to use her power for! She could unmake you with just her continued touch, or give you any sort of illness or deformity. She has one of the greatest and scariest powers so far.

She let him go.  He collapsed in a heap on the ground.

As the two sisters walked away, Victoria pulled her cell phone out of a pouch on her belt with her free hand.  Turning to Amy, she said, “Thank you.”

“Play safe, Victoria.  I can’t bring people back from the dead, and once you’ve gone that far…”

“I’ll be good.  I’ll be better,” Victoria promised as she dialed with one hand.  She put the phone to her ear, “Hello?  Emergency services?   Requesting special line.  New Wave, Glory Girl.  Incapacitated criminal for you to pick up, no powers.  No, no rush, I can hold.”

Seems this situation concluded with a minor big problem averted. Glory Girl really should be grateful for the free healer she has to get her out of her excessive use of force! They are cleaning nazis from the streets so they aren’t bad or anything, they are the good guys, just a bit too dangerous sometimes!

Looking over her shoulder, Victoria noted the thug, still floundering and half-crawling, “He’s not going to get up?”

“He’ll be numb from the waist down for another three hours.  His left arm will be iffy for about that long, too, so he’s not going to move unless he can drag himself somewhere with just one limb.  He’ll also have numb toes for a good month or so, too,” Amy smiled.

“You didn’t actually…”

“No.  Nothing was broken, and I didn’t screw up anything, beyond a temporary numbness.  But he doesn’t know that.  Fear and doubt will complete the effect, and the suggestion becomes a self fulfilling prophecy.”

“Amy!” Victoria laughed, hugging her sister with one arm, “Weren’t you just saying you weren’t going to mess with people’s heads?”

Heh, I really like Amy. And Victoria too, to a degree. She’s a lil bit spoiled, but I imagine getting such awesome powers at a young age warps your perception of things.

We set up a lot of things this chapter, and it seems our protagonist may have destabilized all of the city with her first night in costume! She’s certainly off to a good start!

#Worm #worm parahumans #parahumans liveblog #liveblog #arc 2 #worm interlude 2 #wildbow #parahumans

[teacupfulofstarshine]

the crossroad of our destinies book two: fire

CW: mentions of fantasy ableism, character death of minor background OCs, cursing, mentions of war crimes, atla-canon-typical fantasy violence, mild angst, injury, brief blood mention, mentions of murder

word count: 9708

book one: earth // read it on ao3! 

“So you really can’t bend at all?” Roman asks. 

Virgil stiffens, rolling his shoulders back to try and relax the tension gathering there. He knew this question would come up sooner or later, and he has spent an inordinate amount of time preparing his response. “I don’t bend.” 

It’s not a lie. Virgil would lie outright, but Roman had tried that a couple of weeks ago only to have Logan immediately bust him. (As if he needed another reason to be the most terrifying twelve-year-old Virgil has ever met: his earth bending makes him a human lie detector.) Instead, Virgil answers with technical truths. They’re not the answers Roman is looking for, but they’re not going to earn a “Falsehood!” from Logan, either. 

“What’s it like?” Roman leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees and resting his chin on his hands. “Not being able to bend? I know that every type of bending feels different, but I don’t know what it would feel like to not bend at all.” 

“It’s not so bad, not bending,” Virgil says. “I mean, bending might make my life easier, but it also might make my life more difficult.” 

“Have you ever seen it? Water bending, I mean?” 

A beat of silence. “Yeah. Yeah, I have.” 

“What does it look like?” 

“It’s . . .” Virgil searches for words that won’t betray his secret. “Have you ever seen dancers?” 

“I’m an ex-Fire Nation prince, Virgil. Of course I’ve seen dancers.” 

“But have you seen ribbon dancers? The way the silk arcs through the air, rippling and elegant, controlled and powerful . . . that’s what water bending looks like. To me, anyway. Snow and ice bending are different, and of course healing is different, but water bending . . .” Virgil’s throat chokes up. “It’s beautiful.” 

Roman is quiet, subdued. “I know my father. I know what he did to the water benders of the Southern Pole. I . . . I’m sorry.” 

“They killed my father,” Virgil says softly. “My mother died giving birth to me, and my father . . . he died protecting me. They killed him instead of me.” Roman gently places a hand on Virgil’s knee, all traces of joking gone, and Virgil whines softly.

“I am so sorry,” Roman murmurs, “that my father has destroyed your life.” 

“It’s not your fault,” Virgil says. Before starting this journey, he never could have pictured himself saying something like that to a fire bender, much less a former prince. But Roman isn’t just some prince, some foreign enemy. He’s Virgil’s friend. “You didn’t kill my father, and you didn’t give the orders to the general that did. It isn’t your fault, Roman. You’re not responsible for your dad and his tomfuckery.” 

Roman snorts a little at the swear. A whip of air smacks Virgil’s arm. “Virgil!” Patton says, scandalized. “Watch your language!” Virgil just laughs, and Roman laughs with him.

*~*~*~*~*

Virgil is hesitant to enter Fire Nation territory, even if it’s just the outlying colonies. Roman assures him that nothing will go wrong, that they’ll be safe, but he isn’t quite sure if he believes him. “My father rarely visits the outlying colonies,” he tells Virgil. “My people are suffering under such a harsh regime. They will not aid him.” 

They still force him to stay with Remy and Thomas in the woods when they venture into town for supplies. “I know the Fire Nation better than any of you!” Roman protests.

“And the Fire Nation knows you,” Logan tells him firmly. “Stay with my brother and Remy. If something goes wrong, you’ll have to protect them and get Thomas out of here.” 

“Nothing is going to happen to you,” Thomas says firmly, gripping Logan’s shoulders. Logan reaches up and covers his brother’s hand with his own. “Promise me, Logan.”

“That is not a promise I can realistically make, Thomas. I cannot control the actions of others,” Logan says. “But I can promise you that I will do my best to avoid unnecessary confrontations and keep a low profile.” 

“You duelled Roman into the ground, like, two and a half weeks after you met him,” Thomas laughs. “I don’t think subtlety is in your nature.” Logan scoffs at him, but he doesn’t push Thomas’s hand out of his hair when he ruffles it. 

Patton ties a strip of fabric around his forehead, obscuring his air bender arrow tattoo. When they first met him, he was bald, but now that he’s been on the run with them for so long, his hair has grown back in. It’s a tousled mess of coppery curls, and they match the bright copper freckles splattered across his nose. 

“Do you think you’re going to keep your hair or shave it off again?” Roman asks. Patton reaches up to touch his hair. 

“It’s strange to get used to,” he says. “I’m used to feeling the wind on the skin of my head. It’s so weird! But I kinda like the way it looks. Do you think it looks weird?” 

“I think it looks nice,” Roman says. 

“I think you look fantastic,” Logan says dryly. 

“Thank you, Lo!”

“Roman, however, looks like a drowned platypus-bear.”

“Hey!” Roman squawks. “Why does Patton get to look good?” 

“Roman,” Logan says, slow and patient like he’s talking to a toddler, “I can’t see either of you. I”m fucking blind.” Roman throws a fireball at him, which Logan easily dodges, laughing. Patton flicks a hand up to extinguish the fireball before Roman can set the forest ablaze. 

*~*~*~*~*

The Fire Nation is loud. 

It’s much louder than Virgil’s village ever was. The air is sharp and sweet, smelling like spices and sweet incense and wood ash. Virgil sticks close to Logan as Patton bounces happily in front of them. He reaches down and takes Logan’s hand in his. 

It’s so small.

“I do not need you to hold my hand,” Logan says testily. 

“This isn’t for you,” Virgil hisses, gripping Logan’s hand tightly. “This is for me.” Logan turns to him, face scrunched up in confusion and annoyance, before exhaling softly.

“You’re telling the truth.” He keeps holding Virgil’s hand as they follow Patton through the bazaar, and Virgil exhales in relief. 

*~*~*~*~*

Roman squeals in excitement when they bring back the little pastries he had requested. “I love them!” he squeals. “They’re my favorites, I -” His eyes go misty as he unwraps the parcel. “On our birthday, Remus would always get to pick out the cake. I was happy as long as the chef made a tower of these.” 

He takes a bite, and the tears spill down his cheeks. “They’re just like I remember.” Before any of them can offer any sort of consolation, Roman is wiping at his eyes and offering his pastries to them. 

“We can’t take them,” Patton says gently. “They’re your special piece of home.” 

Roman shakes his head and pushes the parcel towards them. “Please, I insist. I want to share with my friends.” Virgil is the one to break the strange, motionless silence, breaking off a corner. The pastry is layered with a thick, syrupy honey that leaves sticky residue on his fingers. When he pops it into his mouth, a sweet spice explodes across his tongue. There’s a slight, residual burn that tingles through his mouth as he swallows. 

“I know, right?” Roman says, reading something in Virgil’s facial expression. Virgil nods, licking the honey off his fingers. His obvious enjoyment is enough to encourage the rest of the group to start snacking on pieces of the treats.

*~*~*~*~*

Roman keeps every letter that Dragon brings him tucked against his chest. Under his shirt is a leather pouch that he attaches to his chest by tying it with strings, and inside he keeps the scrolls that he receives. “Remus and Dolos probably can’t keep my letters,” he tells Virgil. “They’ll have to burn them to make sure that no one else sees them.” 

“Why?”

“If the crew finds out that the exiled prince is sending messages to them, they’re in danger. Remus is already toeing the line by keeping Dolos aboard the ship. Discovering that they’re in contact with me endangers our lives and theirs.” 

Virgil wants to ask why Roman bothers putting so much care and effort into the crafting of his letters if he knows they’re going to get ruined. He spends so much time staring off into space, thinking of the perfect words, and then he sketches out elaborate doodles. Remus’s are always weird and kind of deranged, but Remus sends them back in kind. 

Dolos’s letters all have intricate, elaborate borders of twining flowers on them, and more than once Virgil has caught Roman doodling sparrow-snakes onto the letters for his love. “He loves them,” Roman tells him. “I promised him a pet sparrow-snake as a wedding present.” 

“Why would you do that?” Virgil asks, pulling one of his knives from his sleeve and examining the blade’s edge for imperfections. 

“Because it would make Dolos happy,” Roman says, looking up with an uncharacteristically fond expression. “I love Dolos. I want him to be happy. But I also want him to be alive, so . . . so I have to sacrifice his happiness and mine to keep him that way.” 

Virgil sets his knife down and reaches out to touch Roman’s shoulder. “I know that you love him,” he says softly. “And I know that he means so much to you that you would kill to keep him safe. You’d do anything for him.”

“Not anything,” Roman says. 

“What, then? What wouldn’t you do?” 

“I wouldn’t sacrifice you,” Roman says, eyes burning and serious. “I wouldn’t sell you and the others out to my father, even if it meant he would take me back. I love Remus and Dolos, I do, but you guys are . . . you’re my friends.” The way he says that word, friends, has a heavy finality about it. It carries a gravity that Virgil didn’t expect. “I wouldn’t be worthy of Dolos if I sold my friend out. And anyway, I like you guys too much to let you die.” 

“How touching,” Virgil says dryly, smacking Roman’s head with the flat of his blade. The only part of Roman that’s damaged is his pride. 

That doesn’t stop him from squawking in rage and chasing Virgil all across their campsite. 

*~*~*~*~*

Dragon lands on Roman’s outstretched forearm with ease, even though Remy is still coasting through the air. Roman coos to the bird, stroking his back as he reaches up and nips at Roman’s hair and ear. 

“Doesn’t that hurt?” Thomas asks, eyeing the bird suspiciously. 

“Not that bad,” Roman says. “When he nibbles my hair, it only feels like a light tugging, and he never bites my ear hard enough to hurt or bleed. It’s like a pinching feeling. I’m fine with it. Besides, he’s a good little birdy! Isn’t that right, Dragon? You’re a good little messenger birdy!” 

Dragon wraps his massive talons around the reinforced sleeve of Roman’s jacket and coos. Roman unties the scroll from his leg and spreads it out on the back of the saddle. Virgil carefully drops little weights on the corners to keep it spread out without blowing away. “What’s the intel?”

The intel, as it turns out, is a map of the Fire Nation, with a few small islands marked in red and black. “These are all sacred fire bending sites,” Roman muses, slowly tracing his fingers over the map. “And this is the code Re and i used when we were children. We used to write secret messages to each other.”

“What does it say?”

“He’s marking which islands are safe.”

“None of them are safe, because they’re in the middle of the Fire Nation,” Virgil mutters. Roman glares at him. “What? It’s not a comment on you personally, Princey. I know you love the Fire nation, I know it’s home for you. But it’s currently under the thumb of your tyrannical father, who’s a notorious jackass that wants all of us dead.” 

Roman lets his fingers skim over the ocean. One of the islands, the only unmarked one, is surrounded by drawings of monsters. There is writing above the island drawing, the only neatly-printed script on the entire map. It looks like Dolos’s handwriting. Roman smiles. 

“What does it say?” 

“It says ‘Here there be Dragons.’ It’s an old Fire Nation children’s story - that island is, supposedly, where the last of the dragons was slain. The water is so rough and choppy that there’s not a single chance of a ship being pulled into that island.” 

“And we’re supposed to be able to get to it?” 

“By air, we could,” Roman says. “Remy could fly us in. There are pretty regular storms, but if we go on the heels of one we’ll make it before the next one hits. No Fire Nation battle cruiser is getting to that island - but we will. We can. It’s the safest place in the whole Fire Nation, probably. It would be a good base of operations, at least for a little while.” He splays his fingers over the island. 

“You miss home,” Logan says gently. “You want to be back on Fire Nation soil more than anything.”

“Not anything,” Roman says. “Not more than your safety. If I thought it wasn’t safe, I wouldn’t suggest it. But as far as I know, it is safe, and . . . and if we’re there, it’s mostly rock. There’s no chance of us setting fire to a forest and attracting unwanted attention.” 

“That sounds like it’ll work,” Patton calls, turning his head around just enough to glimpse them without taking his eyes off the sky. “I’m on board with it.” 

“I trust Roman,” Virgil says. “If he thinks that island is safe . . . I’m with him.” 

Thomas studies his face. Virgil maintains a calm expression, despite his nerves. “Alright, then. Fire Nation it is.” 

“Yip yip!” Patton calls. Remy swishes his tail irritably, but he turns anyway.

*~*~*~*~*

It gets hard to find water in the Fire Nation. 

It has to be there, obviously, because sustaining life without water is impossible. But when compared to the flowing rivers of the Earth Kingdom forests and the ever-present oceans and ice of the South Pole, the Fire Nation is practically a desert. 

Still, Virgil finds that their group is drawn to the water almost instinctively. Realistically, it’s because Remy needs to drink and to keep himself clean, and while they can all make do with a little waterskins, he needs a large body of water. Virgil still finds it like fate or destiny to be able to find so many little places to connect with his element, given where they are. 

The river nearby is smaller than any he’s seen before, full of large, mossy rocks that he can easily fall and hurt himself on. He carefully removes his shoes and steps into the water. It takes a minute to find a spot where he can achieve a normal bending stance, but once he does, he inhales. 

“Vee?”

Virgil nearly falls as he whirls around, seeing Logan standing in front of him. “Is - that is Vee, isn’t it?” 

“Y - yeah, Lo, it’s me,” he calls. “You weren’t sure?” 

“You’re standing in the river,” Logan says. “The water fucks with my earth bending, so it obscures my vision a little bit. I knew someone was there, but I didn’t know who it was . . .”

“It’s me,” Virgil says. 

“Why are you out here in the middle of the river?” 

“I miss home,” Virgil says. “We don’t have rivers like this, but we have water everywhere. We’re surrounded by ice and ocean and . . . and there’s just water, no matter where you look. And that’s why I’m here.” 

“I understand,” Logan says, sitting at the edge of the river. “There is earth all around me, but all earth feels different. This is nothing like the earth that I knew at home. It’s full of ash and volcanic overflow, which makes for rich soil that nourishes plant life well. But I miss the rocks of my home village.” His voice is quiet. “I do not think my home village exists anymore.” 

“Why not?” 

“They knew that the Avatar had been born into an earth bending family. They travelled through the Earth Kingdom, searching for the Avatar . . . Thomas and I ran in the middle of the night. I could not let him leave alone. As we ran, I smelled the smoke, but Thomas . . . he must have seen the village go up in flames.” 

Virgil hadn’t even considered that as a possibility. “Is he . . . okay?” 

“I assume so,” Logan says softly. “He never tells me otherwise. Then again, I doubt he would say anything to me if he was. He doesn’t like to worry me, which is stupid, because he’s my brother. I’m always worried about him. Especially when he goes and hides shit from me.” 

“You curse a lot for a twelve year old,” Virgil tells him. Logan throws a rock at him. 

*~*~*~*~*

The island is beautiful, Virgil thinks. It’s all tall, imposing mountains with scraggly trees clinging to the cliffs and shining black-sand beaches. As Remy descends, Virgil spies a glimpse of a gleaming golden building hidden in the mountains. “What’s that?” he asks Roman. 

“It’s a Fire Nation temple,” Roman tells him. His eyes are wide and shiny as he stares at the island, even as the waves crash down onto the beach. “Fire Sages would study there, calling on the spirits and seeking their advice. This temple’s been abandoned for who knows how long, since it’s virtually inaccessible these days.” 

“Is that where we’re going to study?” Thomas asks, leaning over the side of the saddle. 

“We can study anywhere on the island,” Roman responds, “but yeah, we probably will spend a fair amount of time there. It’s a traditional place to train in fire bending.” 

Remy touches down on the beach, and almost immediately a dark, choppy wave crashes down over his tail. The flying bison snorts loudly, irritated, and lurches forward off the beach. “Easy there, boy,” Patton soothes, reaching to pat at his head. 

“Where are we going to camp?” Logan asks. 

“We’re on the beach right now,” Thomas says, “but I don’t think we can stay here. The ocean is too unpredictable, not to mention ships could spot us. I think it’s best if we move inland, try to camp out somewhere in there.” 

“That sounds good,” Roman says. He jumps off of Remy’s back and sinks to his knees, digging his hands into the black sand. “Oh, I’ve missed this . . .”

“What is it?”

“Volcanic sand. It’s formed from lava, there’s no feeling like it!” Roman happily begins to roll around in the sand, laughing like a little kid. Virgil watches him indulgently for a couple minutes before he starts harassing him to lead them inland.

*~*~*~*~*

They set up camp at the base of one of the large mountains. Logan and Thomas earth bend some shelter structures out of the rock, and Logan hollows out a campfire pit. Roman goes and finds good firewood, easily bending a campfire to life. Virgil settles down next to Logan as Roman begins to talk about fire bending to Thomas. 

“You know how to do this,” he says. “Not consciously, of course, but you’re the Avatar. You were a fire bender in some of your previous lives. The memory of bending is somewhere inside you. We just have to unlock it.” 

“And how do we do that?” Thomas asks. 

“We start with the bending stances,” Roman says, “and we work our way up from there. A word of caution - I can only teach you some of fire bending.”

“What do you mean?” 

“I can’t bend lightning.” 

“Fire benders can bend lightning?!” Thomas gasps. 

“Not all of us,” Roman says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Remus and I had training in lightning bending, since we’re princes, but neither of us mastered it. To the best of my knowledge, anyway . . .” 

“That’s really cool, though,” Thomas says. 

“You know what’s really cool?” Roman says. “Redirecting lightning. If bending lightning is rare, redirecting lightning is crazy rare. It’s not really a fire bending technique, I don’t think, cause Uncle Emile’s the one who pioneered it. He told me he used water bending techniques to develop it.” 

That perks Virgil’s interest. “Water bending?” 

Roman nods, explaining the way his uncle had developed the redirection technique in between instructing Thomas and adjusting his bending stances. Virgil listens, quietly taking mental notes in case he can use any of these stances in his own bending practices. 

*~*~*~*~*

The ocean is so different to the one at the South Pole. 

Virgil creeps away at night, after they’re all asleep. Patton is snuggled up to Remy, tugging the flying bison’s tail over himself like a blanket. Logan and Thomas are pressed close together, Logan’s quiet breaths obscured by Thomas’s snores. Roman is sprawled out on his stomach like a starfish, face totally obscured by his growing mop of wild curls. It’s warm enough in the Fire Nation that no one feels the need to huddle up to him for warmth, letting him spread out the way he apparently normally does. 

As he makes his way to the ocean, Virgil hums to himself, an old lullaby that he remembers from his childhood. It’s an old tale about spirits and balance and the moon, and it comforts him. The Fire Nation island is dark, but the moon overhead is bright and full. Virgil can feel it pulling on him as he creeps ever closer to the ocean. He steps out from the shadow of the sparse forest lining the coast onto the black sand of the beach just as a massive wave breaks against the shore. The water is black as pitch, and the moon gleams overhead like a jewel, reflecting beautifully on the water. 

“Hello,” Virgil whispers. The black sand is unlike anything he’s ever felt; it glides smoothly over the skin of his bare feet, slipping between his toes as he digs them in for balance. He understands why Roman missed a beach like this. 

Virgil knows that he isn’t strong enough to bend the ocean. Water is one thing, but the ocean is under the control of the spirit La, and Virgil doesn’t want to mess with spirits. For once, he isn’t out here to practice his bending. 

“Tui, Spirit of the Moon,” he says softly, “you gave me the gift of water bending, and taught me to wield it for defense. From your example, I take my lead. I thank and honor you.” Reaching into the small bag tied at his hip, he pulls out a piece of fruit he’d saved from their dinner, one of the two finest. “I offer you this sacrifice in thanks and adoration.” A wave rolls in, and he carefully sets the fruit down on a large, broad leaf. It’s carried out to sea, like a tiny boat, and Virgil quickly loses sight of it. He doesn’t bother to try and keep track of it; he has another sacrifice to make. 

“La, Spirit of the Ocean, you gave me the gift of the water I bend, and taught me to wield it for healing. From your example, I take my lead. I thank and honor you.” He produces the second piece of fruit he’d saved. “I offer you this sacrifice in thanks and adoration.” Another wave rolls in, and Virgil watches another leaf-boat disappear into the ocean. 

He’s done this spirit sacrifice every full moon that he can remember. Even on this journey, he’s done it, setting the sacrifices of the nicest parts of dinner he can save into the nearest body of water. He hopes that the rivers will carry his sacrifices out to La.

Traditionally, the spirit prayers are meant to be said in the plural. Virgil’s father had told him stories of the past, when all the water benders of the tribe would gather and sacrifice and pray together, thanking Tui and La for their gifts. Once the Fire Nation raids had begun, they had stopped. 

Virgil makes a point to do it every single full moon. Bending is a precious gift, and deserves to be treated as such. He steps closer to the ocean, bending down to dip his fingers into the waves. The water is chilly, but it’s nothing compared to the burning cold of his home ocean. He lifts his hand to his mouth and gently licks his fingers, grinning. 

He’s missed the taste of salt water. 

*~*~*~*~*

It takes Thomas almost a week to be able to produce fire. 

At first, all he can produce are puffs of dark smoke and the occasional spark. Roman seems ecstatic with this progress. “It’s good!” 

“It’s not fire,” Thomas says dejectedly. “It’s not anything.” 

“Most firebenders start out with smoke,” Roman says. “At least it’s dark! That’s a good sign! Dark smoke is always better than pale smoke. Remus’s smoke was pale for the first two months that we practiced.” 

“So . . . I’m not a failure?” 

“Of course you are not a failure,” Logan says, smacking his brother’s shoulder. “Do not say stupid things. It is beneath you.” 

Virgil snorts, laying out his array of knives. They gleam in the strong Fire Nation sunlight, and the edges are freshly sharpened. “You’re the fuckin’ Avatar, Thomas. You’re not a failure.” 

“Yeah!” Roman says, trying to be helpful. “Hey, at least you can bend!” 

“Roman!” Patton hisses. Logan glares at him disapprovingly, and Thomas frowns. Virgil is confused for a second, until he sees Patton glance at him sympathetically. 

Oh. 

They think Roman was making a dig at him, because they think that he can’t bend. 

Roman looks at him in confusion, and then immediately claps his hands over his mouth. “Oh - shit - fuck, Virgil, I didn’t - I wasn’t trying to - I’m so sorry -”

“Don’t apologize,” Virgil says, waving a hand dismissively. “It’s all good.”

“It’s not all good, though,” Roman says. “I never meant to imply that you’re not as important as us just because you can’t bend, I -”

“It’s all good, Ro, I mean that,” Virgil says. “I don’t bend, but that doesn’t mean I’m defenseless. I have all of these to keep me safe, and that’s not the only trick I have up my sleeve.” 

“What do you have up your sleeve?” Logan asks him. “Besides many, many knives, anyway.” 

“Water bending can be used for healing,” Virgil says. “There are plenty of scrolls about it in my home village. Different types of bending use different energy pathways, and if you know where those pathways flow, you can cut them off.” 

“You can take away someone’s bending?” Roman whispers. 

“Not permanently,” Virgil says, picking up one of his knives and fiddling with it so that he doesn’t have to look at anyone. “It’s only temporary. It leaves them weak and semi-paralyzed, and unable to bend, but they recover after half an hour or so. I try not to use it unless I have to, cause I know how much benders rely on their abilities.” 

“That’s a pretty powerful skill,” Thomas says quietly. 

“I guess. But you’re the Avatar, so you’d know all about power, wouldn’t you?” 

Thomas nods, but there’s still something strange in his eyes. 

Virgil goes for a walk by the ocean. When he comes back, the strangeness is gone. 

*~*~*~*~*

“Why am I the one who has to go get firewood?” Virgil complains. 

“Because I did it last time, and Patton did it the time before that, and Thomas and Roman are off doing fire bending practice somewhere,” Logan says. “It’s your turn.” 

“I can go,” Patton offers. “It’s not that big of a deal!” 

“No, Logan is right,” Virgil sighs, rolling to his feet. “It’s my turn to go get the firewood, so I’ll go get it. It’s not really that big of an imposition.” He pats his tunic, boots, sleeves down to make sure that he’s fully stocked with knives in case something happens. “I’ll meet you all back here, alright?” 

He tightens the straps of his boots and heads off inland in search of firewood. 

The island is very pretty, Virgil will give it that. The forest is almost non-existent this far inland, but there are plenty of small, woody plants and shrubs that he can gather wood from. He has an armful tucked against his side when he hears the noise. It’s a pained cry, and for a moment he thinks it’s Roman or Thomas. 

Quickly, he shakes his head to clear it and refocus. Thomas and Roman are training closer to the shoreline today, so they wouldn’t be this far inland. And the cry he’d heard . . . it wasn’t quite human. 

The cry echoes again, but there’s something different about it. Virgil ties the firewood together and throws it over his shoulder, scrambling off towards the cry. “I’m coming!” 

He realizes that this is kind of a stupid move. He realizes that he could be running straight into danger. What if it’s a trap? What if he gets himself killed? Despite his fear, there’s something in him pulling him forward. The cry sounds real, and it sounds pained. Who or whatever is making it needs help, and Virgil will not stand idly by and let someone suffer because of his fear. 

He makes his way to a cliff, and he can hear whoever’s crying on the other side. The cliff is tall, but not unscalable. Virgil’s used to climbing glaciers back home, and while ice is slippery and more perilous than rock, he can rely on his bending to keep himself steady. Here, he’s climbing with no support. 

Virgil pulls off his boots and knots the laces together, slinging them around his shoulders. Going barefoot will ensure that he has a better grip on the cliff as he climbs. The sun gleams sharply on the dark rocks, and Virgil goes slowly to make sure he doesn’t accidentally grab a sharp rock and slice his hands open. He hasn’t had to climb like this in quite a while, but he enjoys it, despite the reason for his climb. 

When he finally pushes himself up to the top of the cliff, he gasps. He’s found a small valley, hidden in the large, dark mountains, and tucked inside is a building. It’s built almost into the shadow of the mountain from dark brick, with a dark red tiled roof and gleaming golden accents. This must be the Fire Nation temple he’d spotted when they flew in, he realizes. 

The cry echoes again, and Virgil realizes that it’s coming from the temple. He quickly pulls his boots off from around his neck and tugs them on, knotting the laces securely. The cliff slopes much more smoothly on this side, like the curve of a bowl. Virgil backs up and then leaps over the side, pulling water out of the waterskin hanging at his side with his hand. He bends it and freezes it beneath him, creating a flat board that he can surf down the hill on. 

Virgil makes it to the bottom of the hill in record time, leaping off and bending his ice board back to regular water, which he quickly bends back into his waterskin. The temple hadn’t looked huge from the top of the cliff, but up close and in person it’s enormous. It’s clearly suffered from neglect; the door hangs ajar from the hinges, the gold is flaking off of the roof and the statues, some of which are missing arms and legs and noses and ears and even heads. Still, the temple is undeniably beautiful. 

A pitiful whimper sounds from the temple, and Virgil exhales softly. “I’m coming,” he says softly. “I’m coming.” 

The temple is dark inside, but Virgil can see rows of torches on the walls. He assumes they’re meant to be lit with fire bending, probably meant to be eternally burning, but he’ll have to make do. He carries flints with him in his shoulder bag, and he quickly pulls a torch off the wall and lights it. As he progresses slowly through the temple, he lights the other torches, and they cast a warm, ambient glow over the whole room. There are pictures decorating the entire length of the hallway, telling stories of the Fire Nation. They tell how the dragons taught the people of the Fire Nation to bend, to harness the warmth and strength of fire. 

Looking at these pictures, Virgil can’t fear fire bending. It looks peaceful; there’s strength and power there, but there’s also love and light and warmth. 

The hallway narrows and narrows and narrows, and then it widens abruptly into a large central chamber. This is the most intricately decorated room Virgil has ever seen - the walls, the roof, the floor, the pillars, everything is absolutely covered in decoration, but he can’t focus on any of it.

All he can focus on is the dragon in the middle of the room. 

It’s enormous , a long, serpentine body winding around the columns. It’s a brilliant red, scales flecked with gold, and a row of orange gold-tipped spines running down its back. Its wings are spread out over the floor, and its head has golden horns and spines and whiskers. The dragon lets out another pitiful cry, and as Virgil inches closer he sees it - a massive wound in the dragon’s side. 

It looks like an old wound, one that hasn’t healed properly. Even from afar, Virgil can tell that it might be infected, and the dragon’s breathing is heavy and labored. He creeps closer, and the dragon’s head snaps around to stare at him. Its eyes are a bright, unnatural blue, with slitted golden pupils, and when it stares at him it feels like it’s staring directly into his soul.

WHY HAVE YOU COME, CHILD? Virgil nearly drops the torch to cower and cover his ears. The voice is only in his head, and the dragon’s mouth does not move to speak, but he can feel it resonate against his sternum. HAVE YOU COME TO KILL ME, FINALLY?

“N - no,” Virgil manages, voice catching in his throat. “I heard you crying out.”

I AM IN PAIN. I HAVE BEEN IN PAIN FOR QUITE SOME TIME. I FEAR I AM NOT LONG FOR THIS WORLD.

“I - I might be able to help you,” Virgil says. 

WILL YOU KILL ME, CHILD? PUT ME OUT OF MY MISERY?

“No,” Virgil says. “I - no ! I will not kill you! I want to try and heal you.” 

YOU THINK THAT YOU CAN DO THIS, CHILD?

“I’ve never tried to heal a creature this big or a wound this serious,” Virgil admits honestly. “But I’m going to try. I won’t just let you suffer without trying.” 

THAT IS ADMIRABLE.

“Can I come a little closer?” Virgil asks. The dragon rests its large head on its forepaws.

YOU MAY.

Virgil slowly climbs over the coils of the dragon’s body, settling himself down cross-legged next to the massive wound on the dragon’s side. It looks like an old burn wound, and the dragon’s flank rises and falls shallowly as it breathes. He gently lays a hand next to the dragon’s wound. 

“Oh . . . what happened?” 

IT WAS DRAGONS WHO TAUGHT THE FIRE NATION TO BEND. WE GAVE THEM THE GIFT OF FIRE. THE FIRE LORD TURNED IT ON US. HE SLEW ALL THE DRAGONS THAT I KNEW. I AM THE ONLY ONE LEFT. I AM THE LAST OF MY KIND. 

Virgil presses his free hand over his mouth. “That’s . . . that’s so horrible . . .”

I AM NOT THE ONLY ONE WHO HAS HAD THEIR LIFE DESTROYED, I SENSE.

Virgil winces. “My . . . my dad. They killed him because they thought he was the last water bender of our tribe. He died lying to protect me.” 

I AM SORRY, CHILD. THAT IS A FATE NO ONE SHOULD SUFFER.

Virgil exhales shakily. “No one should suffer your fate, either. I will do my best to heal you.” He pops the cap off of his waterskin and bends the water around his hands like a protective covering. The water begins to glow as he places his hands just above the dragon’s wound, letting his water bending give him information. What it tells him isn’t good; the wound is old, and it’s infected as he’d thought, and he suspects that the dragon has some form of blood poisoning. 

He’s never tried to heal something this big, or this serious. But he promised he would try, and try he will. He’s lucky that the full moon was the other night; that’s when water benders are at the height of their power. With luck, he’ll be strong enough for this task.

IF IT IS TOO MUCH FOR YOU, CHILD, DO NOT PUSH YOURSELF. I HAVE SURVIVED THIS LONG. I WILL ENDURE.

“No,” Virgil says, narrowing his eyes and clenching his jaw. “I’m not giving up. I have to try.” He presses his hands against the wound, and the water begins to glow even brighter. He focuses on the flow of energy moving throughout the dragon’s massive body, pulling out the infection surrounding the wound and trying to push healing energy into the dragon in its place. 

The water quickly becomes murky and infected as he heals. Virgil takes breaks to dispose of the tainted water and fetch some more clean water from the stream outside. The more he works, the shakier he gets, and he’s worried that he won’t have the energy to finish healing the dragon. 

DO NOT HURT YOURSELF, LITTLE ONE, the dragon rumbles. ALREADY I FEEL MYSELF IMPROVING. YOUR KINDNESS HAS DONE SO MUCH FOR ME.

“I - I can keep goin’,” Virgil slurs. “Almost done . . . one more should do it . . .”

He presses his hands against the wound one last time. It’s shrunk down considerably, all the infection pulled out and purified and disposed of. He’s working on the final part of the healing now, re-growing the torn and burnt muscle and skin and making sure the dragon’s scales grow in properly. 

Finally, he pulls his hands away, and the wound on the dragon’s side is no more. It stands up, shaking itself out; all of the scales rattle as they realign, and the dragon roars. THANK YOU, LITTLE ONE. YOU HAVE HELPED ME IMMENSELY. The dragon begins to glow bright blue, and Virgil’s exhausted brain manages to connect the dots: the dragon is a spirit. He’s just healed a spirit. 

YOU HAVE EARNED MY GRATITUDE THIS DAY, the dragon spirit tells him. REST NOW, LITTLE ONE. KNOW THAT THE SPIRITS ARE WITH YOU, AND ONE DAY YOUR GOOD DEED WILL COME BACK TO YOU TENFOLD.

Virgil’s vision blacks out and blurs around the edges. The last thing he sees as he falls backwards is the dragon spirit’s head coming forward to catch his body.

*~*~*~*~*

“- isn’t he waking up?!”

“What if he’s dead?” 

“He is not dead, I can hear his heartbeat. It is strong and steady. He will survive.” 

“But what if he doesn’t wake up?!” 

“Geez, Roman,” Virgil groans, lifting a hand to his head. “I never knew you cared.”

“Virgil!” He winces at the shout. “Oh, shit, sorry -” A hand presses against his forehead, warm, and when Virgil opens his eyes (only halfway), Roman is leaning over him, eyes bright with worry. 

“What . . . happened?” 

“You were taking forever to come back from firewood, so we went looking for you! We thought you had been ambushed and captured!” Patton explains, twisting his hands with worry. “We found you at the foot of a cliff, there was a rock next to you! We think there was some kind of rock fall that caught you unaware, you must have hit your head! We don’t know how long you were unconscious!” 

“How long has it been?” 

“We found you a few hours ago,” Thomas says. “It’s evening now.” Virgil slowly sits up, wincing when his head pounds. Logan is sitting beside him, and he offers him a waterskin. Virgil takes it and quickly gulps down a few chilly swallows.

“I thought you were dead,” he says softly. “I could feel your heartbeat, I could hear you breathing, I knew you weren’t, but when we found you, I - I was terrified, and I . . . I thought you were - I -” 

Virgil gently touches Logan’s shoulder. It’s easy to forget that he’s only twelve and a half, with the mature aura he generally projects, but sometimes it’s painfully obvious that he’s just a child, thrust into a war against his will. Logan will lose what’s left of his childhood to this conflict, and Virgil will be damned if he forces Logan to grow up any faster than he already is. 

“I’m sorry, Logan,” he says. Logan turns his face towards Virgil, and his eyes are wet. He hasn’t let any tears fall, but his hand is shaking when he places it over Virgil’s. “I didn’t mean to scare you, I - I didn’t mean to make you think you’d lost someone else. I’m okay.” 

Logan is silent for a moment. “You’re not lying,” he whispers. “I’m still mad at you, though.” 

“That’s fine,” Virgil says. “I’m sorry that I made you mad.” 

“Smart answer,” Logan says, but there’s a hint of a smile on his face. He sniffles once, loudly, wiping at his eyes. “You saw nothing. I was not crying.” 

“Of course not,” Virgil teases, gently ruffling Logan’s hair. He squawks loudly, but he makes no attempt to dodge Virgil’s hands. Virgil assumes he’s been forgiven. 

*~*~*~*~*

The stars seem a little brighter that night. Virgil is on his back, hands beneath his head, staring up at the stars, when Roman flops down next to him. “What’cha doin’?” 

“Looking at the constellations,” Virgil tells him. “They’re nothing like the ones back home, so I’m making up my own.” 

“Do you wanna hear about ours?” Roman offers. He seems uncharacteristically shy, but Virgil just smiles at him. 

“Sure, Ro. I’d love to hear about Fire Nation constellations.” Suddenly, the stars alight in Roman’s eyes. He lays next to Virgil and starts to trace lines between the stars, telling stories about the pictures he’s creating. At some point, the rest of their group shows up and settles in around them. Thomas lays down next to Virgil, Logan slots up against his brother’s side, and Patton stretches out beside Roman. 

It’s good. It’s . . . peaceful.

*~*~*~*~*

The first time Thomas produces a flame on purpose, they all stop and stare. 

Roman has arranged the kindling around the firepit, but he’s refusing to light it. “You’re going to light the fire,” he tells Thomas. The Avatar shakes his head. 

“Ro, I’ve never made more than plumes of smoke and the occasional spark. I can’t light it.” 

“You’re going to have to,” Roman says, “because I won’t. We can’t cook dinner without the fire, so you’re gonna have to figure something out and fast. The sun’s setting.” Thomas huffs. 

“Roman, you’re being ridiculous.” 

“You’re the Avatar. The fire is in your veins the way it’s in mine. You just have to convince it to come out.” Roman crosses his arms and raises an eyebrow impassively at Thomas. Even though he’s only met the man in passing, Virgil is reminded of Roman’s Uncle Emile. 

Thomas drops into a fire bending stance and thrusts his hand forward. A puff of dark smoke appears, but no fire. He growls in frustration and throws his hand forward again, and again, then his foot, then another hand. He’s copying Roman’s bending stances, but no fire appears. 

“You have to try harder than that.” 

“I’m trying the hardest I can!” 

“If that was true, you would have lit the fire five minutes ago.” Roman’s eyes are hard as steel. “Do better.” 

“How?!” Thomas pants, wiping the sweat off his forehead. 

“Just do it.” 

Thomas screams and thrusts his hand forward in frustration. A massive jet of fire roars forward, licking up the sides of the pit and engulfing all of the kindling. Within seconds, it’s reduced to ash. Before anyone else can react, Patton bends a vortex around the fire and siphons out all the air, extinguishing the fire. Thomas stares at the pit in shock, breathing heavily. 

“You did a good job,” Roman says, and his eyes are warm again. 

“What was that?!” 

“Fire benders often have to be pushed to a strong emotional extreme to create their first flame. Once you do it, though, it gets easier. We’ll work on being able to call your fire more reliably, and then we’ll work on tempering your control.” Roman touches Thomas’s shoulder and smiles. “I’m proud of you, Thomas.” 

Thomas smiles. Roman sweeps fresh kindling into the firepit. “Again.” 

Virgil backs up several feet. 

*~*~*~*~*

It takes about ten days for Thomas to be able to call his fire reliably. Roman needles him through the first few attempts, poking and prodding until Thomas screams in frustration and incinerates whatever’s closest to him. Eventually, however, he gains the ability to bend flames without fifteen minutes of Roman’s prompting. 

“You did well,” Roman tells him. “Now, we work on training that fire. Producing it is one thing, but controlling it is another. For that, we go inland.” 

“What? Why?” 

“There’s a Fire Nation temple on this island,” Roman says. “It’s not, like, strictly necessary to go there, but I always found that being connected to the tradition of fire benders before me helped sharpen my focus.” 

“Sounds cool,” Thomas says. Virgil thinks back to the temple where he’d found and healed the dragon. He’s glad they won’t be walking in on that fiasco. “Are we the only ones going?” 

“I want to go!” Patton says eagerly. “I’ve never seen a Fire Nation temple before!” 

“I would also like to visit an example of Fire Nation architecture,” Logan offers. “I am sure it will be fascinating.” 

They turn to face Virgil. “Vee? You coming?” Virgil’s already seen the Fire Nation temple, but he’s not too proud to admit that it was beautiful. He wonders if there are other secrets that the temple holds, secrets that will only reveal themselves in the presence of a fire bender. 

Plus, he’s not exactly keen on everyone else going off on an adventure without him. 

“Yeah, of course I am.” Roman grins. 

*~*~*~*~*

The cliff is much easier to scale the second time around. Before any of them can attempt to problem solve, Logan steps forward. Within a minute, he’s earth bended a set of stairs leading up the gleaming cliffside. “Will these suffice?” 

“Nicely done, Rocky!” Roman says, ruffling Logan’s hair. Logan hides his pleased smile, but Virgil catches a glimpse as he heads up the stairs. 

The temple is just as beautiful the second time around. Logan and Thomas bend a chute in the cliff, allowing them all to slide down to the entrance of the temple. “It’s beautiful,” Roman breathes. “It’s been neglected . . . forgotten about . . . but it’s still beautiful.” He reaches out towards the front door, carefully places his hand on the intricate wooden panelling. “There was one of these in the palace, but it wasn’t so intricately decorated. My father didn’t believe in taking care of temples like this, in honoring tradition. He only believes in power.” His voice is shaking. 

“We know not all fire benders are like that,” Virgil says softly. “We know you’re different.” 

Roman takes a deep breath. “Let’s go inside.” 

Once they step inside, Patton frowns. “It’s pitch black in here!” 

“Oh, no,” Logan deadpans. “How terrible, to not be able to see anything. How frightening.” Patton winces guiltily before Logan snorts and socks him in the arm. “Kidding. I do not take offense.” 

“Don’t worry about that,” Roman says. Virgil can barely see his silhouette in the dark, but then a flame arcs through the air, following the path of Roman’s foot as he bends. The flame dances along the rows of torches, illuminating the hallway. “Shall we?” 

Roman trails his fingertips over the murals carved into the walls as they walk. He’s vibrating like a little kid, but there’s something solemn and reverent in the way he touches things. “These murals tell the history of my people,” he whispers. He doesn’t need to, but Virgil feels the atmosphere of the temple the way he’s sure Roman does. It feels like a place for whispering. “They tell how the dragons taught us to fire bend. I wish I could see one . . .”

Virgil thinks of the last time he was here, and prays that they don’t see another dragon. 

When they enter the central chamber, it is empty and darkened. Roman steps into the center, humming softly to himself, before glancing upward. “I think I can open it . . .”

“Open what?” 

“All Fire Nation temples have a hatch in the ceiling that opens to let the sunlight in. That’s the source of our bending powers, is the spirit of the sun. There’s an intricate set of bending steps you have to do to open the hatch, it’s considered sacred. Fire Sages are usually the only ones who can do it, but they teach it to royalty as well.” Roman frowns. 

“What is it?” 

“Typically, you need two fire benders to open the hatch . . .” 

“I can help,” Thomas offers. 

“No, you’re not skilled enough outside of the Avatar state to do it. I can try and do it on my own, but I’m not super optimistic.” 

“You have to try!” Patton cheers. Someone snorts derisively from the darkness of the temple. Roman narrows his eyes, shifting to an attack stance. Virgil lets a knife drop into his hand; Patton and Logan shift into bending stances; Logan steps in front of Thomas, who settles into an earth bending stance of his own. 

Something crackles as white lines begin to trace in the dark. Roman’s face shifts from caution to shock. “Get down!” he shouts, moments before a lightning bolt sails over his head and slams into the wall. It fizzles out harmlessly against the stone, and Roman shifts back to a bending stance. “Show yourself!” Virgil’s blood runs cold. Another fire bender. They’ve been found.  

Another lightning bolt shoots out of the darkness, heading towards Roman. He doesn’t move, and Virgil is about to shove him out of the way when the lightning bolt strikes the stone right in front of Roman. Virgil frowns; Roman said lightning bending was rare, something only skilled fire benders could do. Whoever’s bending in the dark has missed them, not once but twice. Either they’re a terrible shot, or . . . 

They’re missing on purpose. 

Roman takes a step towards the darkness, and then another. “Show yourself,” he repeats, voice just a little softer. 

“Bad idea,” Virgil warns, voice low. Something shifts in the darkness, snarling, and then a dark blur throws itself onto Roman. It tackles him to the ground, knocking him flat on his back. Roman lets out a winded noise as he rolls with his attacker, trying to pin them down. Virgil slips a throwing knife into his hand, pinning it between his index and middle fingers, but he can’t get a clear shot on Roman’s attacker to throw it. 

Finally, they stop moving. Roman is on his back, his attacker perched proudly on his stomach. Virgil is ready to attack, but freezes when he sees that Roman isn’t staring up at his attacker with fear or anger or concern. His face is soft, and open, and looks almost . . . hopeful. Virgil’s eyes slide to Roman’s attacker, and he does a double take. 

Roman is being pinned to the ground by . . . himself?

A few more seconds clears his vision; the boy pinning Roman looks very similar to his friend, but there are differences. He has a white streak of hair in his bangs, the wispy beginnings of a mustache, a gap between his front teeth. There’s something slightly unhinged glinting in his eyes as he grins. 

“Remus?” Roman breathes. The name rings a bell. Remus. Roman’s twin brother. The one who told them about this island.  

“The one and only!” Remus crows. He hops up off of Roman, eyes settling on Virgil and the others. He bows exaggeratedly, crossing one foot behind the other, grinning up at them with something just shy of mania. Roman rolls to his feet and yanks Remus into a hug. 

“Rem!” Roman’s fist grips Remus’s shirt so tightly that his knuckles are turning white, and Remus holds his brother just as tightly. “You’re okay! After I left, I was so worried Father would do something to you, are you - are you okay?!” 

“I’m okay,” Remus says softly. “I’m okay, Ro, and Deedee is too. He’s safe.” 

“Is he here too?!” Roman gasps hopefully. Remus shakes his head. 

“He’s not strong enough to leave the ship’s quarters. Father did a number on him. But he’s alive, and he misses you. A lot.”

“I miss him too,” Roman says, eyes watering. He pulls back from the hug just enough to study Remus’s face. “Your hair - what happened?” 

“Lightning mishap.” 

“You can bend lightning now?! You absolute fucker!” Roman laughs, dragging Remus back into his arms. “I can’t believe you figured it out first!” Remus grins, hugging his twin. “How did you get here? We flew in, but -”

“I took a rowboat.” 

“Are you crazy?! You came in by sea? You could have been killed!” 

“I know! It would have been so exciting!” Remus chirps, bouncing and flapping his hands. “But I knew you were gonna be here, and I missed you!” 

“That was a stupid risk!” 

“Saving the Avatar and his baby brother from Father’s wrath was a stupid risk, too. Must run in the family.” 

Roman punches his brother in the chest. Remus laughs, rolling with the blow and kicking Roman’s feet out from under him. Roman lands flat on his back, laughing breathlessly. Virgil lets his knife slide back into its sheath. Remus still sets him on edge, but Roman looks more at ease than Virgil’s ever seen him (with the possible exception of when his Uncle Emile tumbled out of those bushes). 

It’s nice to see him relax.

*~*~*~*~*

Later, after Remus and Roman have performed and intricate series of dance-like fire bending steps and opened the roof hatch, letting the sun come pouring in, they all sit together. Remus and Roman are pressed close together, literally joined at the hip. 

“I can’t stay much longer,” Remus says regretfully. “I’m going to have to head out today if I’m to make it back to the warship before the sea becomes unnavigable.” 

“Why risk it at all?” Roman asks. 

“We’re checking all the outlying Fire Nation islands for you. Your flying sky beast was spotted by some locals on the shore. I volunteered because I knew it was the most dangerous island to look for. The crew thinks it was a noble gesture, they don’t suspect me.” 

“But if they do,” Roman says, “what will they do to you?”

Remus grins, sharp and unhinged. “I can do worse back to them, tenfold. Trust me. And they won’t find anything out.” 

“Why come yourself?” Virgil asks. “Why not send your Uncle?” 

Remus’s grin fades. “I missed Ro. We’ve never been apart this long, it’s . . . I hate it. It’s like someone ripped my arm and leg out and then beat me over the head with it.” 

“I hate it too,” Roman says. He grips Remus’s hand tightly. “I’m so sorry that I left you.” 

“Hey, if Dee and I coulda escaped with you, we would have,” Remus shrugs. “You know that, right?”

“Yeah.” 

“Someone has to take care of him until you get back. And Dee’s cool, I don’t mind.” Remus turns to regard Thomas, tilting his head to the side. “So how good of an Avatar are you?” 

“I’ve mastered earth bending,” Thomas says. “Roman is teaching me to master fire. Air is next, then water.” Remus winces. “What?” 

“You might wanna hurry that time table up a little. There aren’t any water benders left at the South Pole.” 

“I know,” Virgil says coolly. “I’m from the South Pole.” 

“Father is planning something,” Remus says, gripping Roman’s hand back. “He keeps meeting with dignitaries from the Air Nomads, and I’m not sure why. He told me before I left that he was trying to broker peace, but -”

“But Father has never brokered a peace in his entire life,” Roman finishes. “That’s suspicious.” 

“There’s more. I think once he finishes with whatever he’s doing with the Air Nomads, he’s planning an assault on the Northern Water Tribe.” 

“How is he going to do that?” 

“With the Air Nomads’ help?” 

“My people would never aid in something like that,” Patton spits. Remus shrugs. 

“I’m not accusing you of anything. I’m just saying, you don’t know what Father is capable of the way that Roman and I do. He’s capable of atrocities beyond your comprehension. He took Mother away from us. He took Roman away from me. He’s - he’s taking everyone I’ve ever loved.” 

“He won’t take me,” Roman promises. “We might not physically be with each other, but as soon as the war is over I’ll come home.” 

“You’ll have to kill Father for that to happen,” Remus says. “You’ll have to win the war.” 

“We will.” Roman’s eyes are blazing, and Remus stares into them for a moment before nodding. 

“I believe you.” 

“Good.” Remus stands up. “Don’t accompany me to the shoreline. The ship’s crew are watching through the onboard telescope, and if they see you they’ll storm the island. Wait until after sundown, we’ll be long gone by then. If plans change, I’ll send Dragon.”

“You better be taking care of him. And Dolos.” 

“Please, Roro. I’m not taking care of anyone. Uncle Emile is keeping us all alive.” Roman heaves an exaggerated sigh. 

“I don’t know why I expected better.” He stands up as well, gripping Remus’s shoulders. “Promise me that you’ll be careful?” 

“I’m never careful, brother,” Remus laughs. They pull into another tight hug before Remus is disappearing down the hallway like a shadow. Roman watches him go with a wistful, hungry expression on his face before turning around to stare at Thomas with renewed fire. 

“You heard my brother. We have a lot of work to do.” 

#starshinewrites #avatar!au #sanders sides #ts deceit #ts remus #brotherly creativitwins #background romantic roceit #virgil sanders

[wang-xians]

that went a little too far

SPOILERS FROM EP 17 to 20

Chusheng flirts with Tong Li in an attempt to make his boyfriend jealous.

(basically to explain why our asshole of a Qiao Chusheng flirted so shamelessly in ep 19 and 20)

read on ao3

or below:

It starts when Qiao Chusheng pushes open the doors to his office to see not only his sister, but his boyfriend freezing their asses off on his office couch, looking up at him as if he was terribly wronged.

He follows after Lu Yao to wash up before they travel to the crime scene and the moment they are alone, Lu Yao drapes himself dramatically across Chusheng’s front to bemoan in his ear about how everywhere hurts and that Chu-gege should kindly soothe his aching muscles or he wouldn’t even be able to walk! Let alone accompany him to the crime scene.

Qiao Chusheng pries him off with little difficulty. “Why did you not come and stay with me then?” he asks, smoothing Lu Yao’s bed hair into something marginally more acceptable. No one else should be allowed to see him in this state, not even his sister.

“Youning was there too! You saw that,” Lu Yao pouts, moving to fold up his sleeves before running his hands under the water.

Qiao Chusheng steps closer and stops before he touches Lu Yao. “I don’t care, bring her along too,” he breathes into Lu Yao’s ear.

Lu Yao shuts his eyes to resist a shudder before he shrugs Qiao Chusheng away. “I can’t do that. What if she finds out about us? Her father already refers to me as his son-in-law!”

Qiao Chusheng sighs before he wraps a gentle arm around Lu Yao’s waist. “Even more the reason to make them give up,” he replies, passing a handkerchief to him.

“And how do I do that?” Lu Yao snaps. “Get a fake girlfriend?”

Qiao Chusheng’s eyes flash dangerously. Before Lu Yao can escape, Qiao Chusheng had already gripped his chin roughly in his hand and gave him a bruising kiss. Lu Yao finds himself dragged along by the ferocity of his kiss, matching his anger with passion and desire, bite for bite. It is only when Lu Yao couldn’t help but moan and press against Chusheng that Chusheng releases him with a shove.

“Enjoying this aren’t you?” Qiao Chusheng asks, wiping the blood roughly off Lu Yao’s lips.

“Hmm. I love it when you’re jealous. You always fuck me better—”

Qiao Chusheng shuts Lu Yao up with his lips before anyone overhears.

When he pulls away, even Chusheng is slightly out of breath. “One of us has to get a fake girlfriend, right? I’ll do it,” he growls against Lu Yao.

Lu Yao’s eyes light up with mischief. “You can try.”

The corner of Chusheng’s lips lifts. “You’re going to be jealous.”

Lu Yao turns his nose up and flicks his head. “Not going to happen.”

Qiao Chusheng lifts an eyebrow to stare at him challengingly.

“That watch is mine if I don’t get jealous,” Lu Yao says, pointing at the watch on Qiao Chusheng’s wrist.

Qiao Chusheng sighs and suppresses an endearing smile, already aware that the watch will be his whether he gets jealous or not.

-

Qiao Chusheng realises a little too late that he is in trouble.

Lu Yao has been pointing out to him every young and relatively attractive woman he lays his eyes on ever since the morning of their exchange, endlessly asking him: “Is that the type you like?” that Qiao Chusheng nearly gives up. Several times his fingers had moved to remove his watch but every time he catches the triumphant glint in Lu Yao’s eyes, he stops and returns with a goading stare of his own.

Until he lays his eyes on Tong Li.

His mind whirrs. At least she is relatively attractive and looks smart and capable enough that she wouldn’t get on Chusheng’s nerves every time she opens her damn mouth. Not a bad candidate to fake date for a while. He takes in the look on Lu Yao’s face.

Not a bad candidate to make his dear boyfriend jealous either. Not bad at all.

An amused smile makes its way onto his face.

-

“Qiao-tanzhang, good morning.”

“Good morning, Tong-xiaojie,” Qiao Chusheng replies. Great timing, he thinks as he hears Lu Yao slam the door to his car. He could hardly keep his amused—and a more… lewd—smile off his face as he thinks of all the things he wishes to do to his San Tu when he’s done messing with him.

But of course. Of course, he had greatly underestimated his boyfriend’s greed. Qiao Chusheng had already decided to reject her offer the moment she has spoken about Bai Youning in that manner but of course his idiot of a boyfriend has to light up at the mention of two hundred silverdollars that his plan is completely thrown off.

It wouldn’t hurt to mess around a little more.

-

Lu Yao looks from Tong Li’s retreating back to the smile on Qiao Chusheng’s face and feels a burn in his chest. He resists his urge to slap himself in the face—or the mouth—as he narrows his eyes at his boyfriend. He is aware that Qiao Chusheng is putting up an act to play along with him, and he refuses to be the first to back down.

But even he has to admit that when he caught the look on Chusheng’s face when Tong Li left? He almost surrendered. Surrendered so that he could drag Chusheng to his room to have his way with him.

-

Lu Yao eyes the character that Chusheng traces on the table with the puddle of water and frowns. “She’s really the type that you like?”

Qiao Chusheng sighs in exaggerated disappointment. “I wish to marry her.”

Lu Yao holds back a grimace.

“But I can’t. Because she is Youning’s rival,” Qiao Chusheng continues, wiping away the character. It seems to ridicule him, asking him ‘are you really going this far?’ Chusheng admits that he is beginning to regret his decisions, knows that all he wants to trace on the table, on Lu Yao’s skin, is a character made up of three ‘tu’.

“So what? You are also human, you too, have the right to pursue your own happiness!” Lu Yao argues, all righteous and serious, the subject of their conversation forgotten in the heat of the moment.

Qiao Chusheng slides him a look from the side and asks in amusement, “You think so too?”

“Ya,” Lu Yao replies, before his gaze shifts guiltily, knowing exactly what Chusheng meant by his expression. To cover up his slipup and play along with Chusheng, he babbles on about some nonsense and does what he does best—ask for the two hundred silverdollars. He was even magnanimous enough to let him have the woman!

Lu Yao doesn’t mention how much he hated the image of Chusheng and Tong Li in red wedding clothes, and Chusheng doesn’t mention how the image in his mind was that of Lu Yao in a red wedding dress. Completely enamouring and equal parts hilarious.

Qiao Chusheng goes to the date that night to keep up with the appearances, but stays as he becomes increasingly suspicious of her.

-

“Qiao-tanzhang, back from your date yet?” Lu Yao asks as he throws open the door to Qiao Chusheng’s room.

Qiao Chusheng looks up from the papers strewn across his table to raise an eyebrow at Lu Yao. “Why are you here? I thought you didn’t want Youning to know about us?”

Lu Yao sighs and slams his hands on Qiao Chusheng’s desk, leaning down to tilt his head over Chusheng’s. “She passed out from drinking too much, we don’t have to worry about her until tomorrow morning.”

“Oh good, want to help me pick a place for my second date with xiao-Tong?” Qiao Chusheng asks, staring back at Lu Yao without backing an inch.

Lu Yao squeezes his eyes shut and sighs. In that split moment, he decides that enough is enough, and tries to hoist himself across the table to straddle Chusheng.

The result is that he knocks his knee against the edge of the table and falls onto the ground with a very inelegant yelp.  

Qiao Chusheng bursts into a stream of laughter and makes his way to the other side of the table where Lu Yao lies groaning and rubbing his back.

“Are you alright?” Qiao Chusheng asks, holding out a hand for Lu Yao to take.

Lu Yao takes one look at his outstretched hand and turns away, groaning even louder. “Aiyah, Chu-gege it hurts so much that I don’t even have the strength to lift my arm!”

Qiao Chusheng feels his heart almost burst in affection for this idiot of a man, and replies gently, “What do you want me to do then?”

Lu Yao pouts and stretches out his arms. “Carry me to bed.”

Qiao Chusheng raises an eyebrow and eyes his arms. “I thought you said that you don’t have the strength to lift your arm?”

Lu Yao purses his lips and drops his arms immediately, “Ah now I feel weak all over again!”

Qiao Chusheng sighs and bends down to take his boyfriend into his arms, ignoring the pain over the wound at his chest as it splits open at the exertion. “What do you want me to do next?” he asks softly after he places Lu Yao on his bed.

Lu Yao raises a finger to press over his lips. “Never talk to anyone else with that tone again,” he says with a frown between his eyebrows.

Chusheng nods indulgingly and runs his thumb across the crease to smoothen it. “Mn, I won’t anymore.”

Lu Yao loops his arms around Chusheng’s neck to pull him onto the bed. Chusheng follows agreeably and shifts to settle over Lu Yao. “Never flirt with other women,” Lu Yao continues. “Or men,” he adds as an afterthought.

Chusheng smiles and brushes Lu Yao’s hair out of his eye. “Mn. Will only flirt with San Tu.”

Lu Yao presses his lips together and looks away, humming. “Never smile at other women.”

Chusheng raises his eyebrow at Lu Yao.

“Okay, okay. Not that smile,” Lu Yao concedes, sliding his hand down to cup Chusheng’s face with his hand. Chusheng shuts his eye and presses into Lu Yao’s touch, not failing to note how soft Lu Yao’s hands are. Hands that have not endured hardships. Chusheng wishes to keep them that way.

“What smile?” Chusheng asks, flashing him the very smile that Lu Yao was talking about.

“That! That smile!”

“Why?” Chusheng presses on, his smile widening.

Lu Yao groans and covers Chusheng’s mouth with both hands, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Why?”

Chusheng flicks his tongue across Lu Yao’s fingers and takes one into his mouth, nibbling hard enough to hurt.

Lu Yao sucks in a deep breath and snaps his eyes open to stare at Chusheng.

“Tell me, or I’m going to stop,” Chusheng teases, releasing Lu Yao’s finger.

“That smile makes people want to fuck you. Only I am allowed to see it,” Lu Yao growls, snaking his arms back around Chusheng to pull him down for a kiss.

“Does that mean you want to fuck me?” Chusheng asks after mouthing at Lu Yao’s neck.

Lu Yao lifts his head and his shirt slides down his shoulder. “No. It means I want you to fuck me.”

#my roommate is a detective #民国奇探 #chuyao #一路楚垚 #楚垚 #a writing jane #not beta-ed not proofread I typed this out in a rush before I watch ep 21 and break my heart all over again. #I AM DEVASTATED #title is what i want to say to MRIAD producers for the queerbait