#shake it up and make it fucking fizz this shit killed me

[chcrryade]

YOU’VE GOT TO TWIST YOUR BODY, TWIRL IT ALL AROUND! ⠀⸻⠀ meet the members!⠀⠀cw mentions of suicide, death.⠀long post !!!

Born in February 1998 to a small town in Daejeon, DOYEON had a relatively quiet life growing up. It was a place where everyone knew everyone, where people met up on weekends in town halls or community centres to share coffee and cake and pour over puzzles. There wasn’t much excitement, but DOYEON didn’t mind. He liked afternoons spent playing with his younger brother, or helping his mother in the kitchen. He didn’t need much entertainment to keep him happy, and was perfectly content as he was.

Or at least, he thought he was. The restlessness started to fester at around the age of thirteen, and it was a slippery slope from that point onwards. He’d seen all the movies in their singular cinema more than twice over, had tried every position there was possible without hurting himself on the swings in their tiny park (at one point he could hook his legs over the top bar and let himself hang, using it more like a gymnast than a bored child), and was sick to death of the jigsaws he helped with every weekend. He felt lost for a while, stuck still on his feet without an end destination in sight, retreating into his shell and keeping his head down—until he saw an rerun of Inkigayo playing on the old tv strung up in the corner of the café he had grown to like, and then all of a sudden he had brand new dream, a brand new goal to strive towards.

It was more the dance than the whole idol thing that DOYEON was interested in, and he enrolled himself into a few classes the second he was able. Dancing was all he did for the next few months. On the way home from school following whatever rhythm he was making up in his head, in his bedroom copying along to various choreographies, even while sitting down his feet would be tapping along to a beat no-one could hear but him. He was obsessed, poured everything he had into it. It felt like he’d finally found his true calling, and one day in 2015 while walking home from a lesson a FNC scouter seemed to think so too. He was introduced, handed a business card, and had shaken the man’s hand before he was gone again and DOYEON was left dazed and with a new opportunity tucked into his hand.

An opportunity he took, of course. His mother was worried about the move to Seoul, but DOYEON assured her he would call every week, ruffled his younger brother’s hair just to watch him complain, and boarded the train to his new trainee life. One that, once he was finally able to debut with SLOW MOTION, would have a rather sad end a little over a year after their 2019 debut. There was no egregious scandal or vicious fight between the five members that tore them apart, but instead they just.. Fell flat. With nothing to do, and not much chance to dance in front of adoring crowds like he’d wanted since he was young, when JAGUAR approached he was biting at the bit to take the chance.

⠀⠀ യ ‹ ⠀BASICS

STAGE NAME⠀DOYEON ( 도연 )

BIRTH NAME⠀KIL DOYEON ( 길도연 )

BIRTH DATE⠀11 FEBRUARY, 1998

PLACE OF BIRTH⠀DAEJEON, SK

HOMETOWN⠀DAEJEON, SK

ETHNICITY⠀KOREAN

NATIONALITY⠀KOREAN

⠀⠀ യ ‹ ⠀CAREER

OCCUPATION⠀IDOL

COMPANY⠀FNC ( 2015—2019 )⠀JAGUAR ( 2019—PRESENT )

YEARS TRAINED⠀FOUR

POSITION⠀LEADER, MAIN DANCER

DEBUT DATE⠀12 MAR, 2019⠀╱⠀1 AUG, 2021

⠀⠀ യ ‹ ⠀PHYSICAL

FACE CLAIM⠀JI CHANGMIN

HEIGHT⠀175 CM ( 5’9” )

WEIGHT⠀56 KG ( 123 LBS )

JALEN was born on a late spring evening in April 1997, to a nightclub-owner of a father and a karaoke-loving office worker mother—right in the very heart of Beijing. Music and dance and the raucous laughter of the young partygoers as they drunkenly tottered down in search of the next club to hit, shoes clattering on the uneven cobbles of the city streets that sat right outside his little flat’s bedroom window, were something he grew up with practically ingrained in him.

With no siblings to keep him company, and not many friends at school to bunk off classes or mess around on the walk home with, JALEN turned to music instead. At first it was just his hesitant accompaniment of his mother whenever she made use of her weekend off to enjoy a couple of hours at their local KTV, but from there it started to spiral. He loved singing with everything in him, really, but he also wanted to try and make some of his own. He was mostly self-taught, watching tutorials late into the night and messing around on his phone, starting with only simple mixes of his favourite songs, and then at around the age of seventeen/eighteen was when he started picking up DJ sets in his father’s club to really try his hand at the craft.

Becoming an idol was never really part of the plan. He would’ve been happy to work at the club for however many more years he saw fit, until his mother sat him down and pointed out that he could go so much further if he tried to get deeper into the industry rather than simply scratching the surface of Beijing’s nightlife scene. METRONOME was never at the top of his list either, but the auditions were the closest, and so on a hot summers day in mid 2015 the freshly eighteen year old JALEN packed a bag for the four-hour bullet train ride to Shanghai and performed the best he could for the panel before him—a simple song and dance routine he’d learnt back-to-front.

It was apparently deemed good enough for them to take him on, and so he made his move to Korea and the next three years were spent training until the eventual debut of ALGORHYTHM. But it only took a single member leaving for them to fall apart and for JALEN to be left with nothing else to do other than make beat after beat on his shitty laptop that he stubbornly refused to upgrade and then make up the routines for them in his head afterwards—until, of course, JAGUAR happened, and his life began to pick up speed again.

⠀⠀ യ ‹ ⠀BASICS

STAGE NAME⠀JALEN ( 잘렌 )

BIRTH NAME⠀DUAN JIEYANG ( 段揭阳 )

BIRTH DATE⠀27 APRIL, 1997

PLACE OF BIRTH⠀BEIJING, CN

HOMETOWN⠀BEIJING, CN

ETHNICITY⠀CHINESE

NATIONALITY⠀CHINESE

⠀⠀ യ ‹ ⠀CAREER

OCCUPATION⠀IDOL

COMPANY⠀METRONOME MEDIA ( 2015—2019 )⠀JAGAUR ( 2019—PRESENT )

YEARS TRAINED⠀THREE

POSITION⠀MAIN VOCALIST, LEAD DANCER

DEBUT DATE⠀16 JAN, 2018⠀╱⠀1 AUG, 2021

⠀⠀ യ ‹ ⠀PHYSICAL

FACE CLAIM⠀QIAN KUN

HEIGHT⠀176 CM ( 5’9” )

WEIGHT⠀60 KG ( 132 LBS )

Hailing from the very centre of Gangnam in the cold month of November 1999, with a near-supermodel mother and talent agent father, HAEIL had grown up vaguely in and around the rich and the famous. And while his older sister basked in the spare attention they naturally got as a result, HAEIL himself wasn’t too keen. The camera flashes made his eyes sting, the microphones shoved in his face by reporters with leering grins on their faces as they asked him—a child, barely nine or ten or twelve or whatever age he was when they did it—how it felt to have such wonderful people for parents made him want to turn and run back to his room, and the general feeling of being watched made his skin crawl, made him want to lash out and start yelling until it all stopped.

But it turned out he didn’t know how good he had it. Late 2011 was when his life came crashing down, so fast it almost felt like a blur. One day he was stopping in the corner shop to buy lunch for himself before school, and the next he was standing stock still in front of the newspaper stand staring at his mother’s debauched face streaked with makeup and mouth open in an angry scream at whoever was taking her photo. ‘Model caught in cheating scandal,’ read the fine print underneath, and then he was snatching a copy and running out of the store, back to the apartment, ignoring the yells coming after him. He reread the story until none of the words made sense anymore, until his father found him in his room and snatched it out of his hands.

The cameras and the microphones and the reporters got worse after that. His mother was nowhere to be seen, his sister didn’t revel in the attention so much as despise it, his father was a silent shell of who he used to be, and HAEIL himself wanted to scrub his life off of his skin, start over completely. That chance came only a year later, when he was approached on the tube of all places, on the way to school. The METRONOME representative had to tap him three times on the shoulder to get him to take his headphones off, and the first words he spoke to him were “Would you like to be an idol?”. It was his chance to make his name be associated with something other than his mother, wrapped in a bow named ALGORHYTHM, and HAEIL could do nothing but agree.

Alas, his chance didn’t last long. All his years of training turned out to be useless after ALGORHYTHM fell to the wayside after the departure of LEVI. He wanted to be known for something other than having a mess of a mother, but all that got him was being known for being in the group that couldn’t cope with one less member. He was desperate for a third chance, a final opportunity to make a name for himself, and so when JAGUAR rolled around he practically couldn't say yes fast enough.

⠀⠀ യ ‹ ⠀BASICS

STAGE NAME⠀HAEIL ( 해일 )

BIRTH NAME⠀JEON HAEIL ( 전해일 )

BIRTH DATE⠀15 NOVEMBER, 1999

PLACE OF BIRTH⠀GANGNAM, SK

HOMETOWN⠀GANGNAM, SK

ETHNICITY⠀KOREAN

NATIONALITY⠀KOREAN

⠀⠀ യ ‹ ⠀CAREER

OCCUPATION⠀IDOL

COMPANY⠀METRONOME MEDIA ( 2012—2019 )⠀JAGUAR ( 2019—PRESENT )

YEARS TRAINED⠀SIX

POSITION⠀LEAD VOCALIST, LEAD RAPPER

DEBUT DATE⠀16 JAN, 2018⠀╱⠀1 AUG, 2021

⠀⠀ യ ‹ ⠀PHYSICAL

FACE CLAIM⠀GOO GUNIL

HEIGHT⠀172 CM ( 5’8” )

WEIGHT⠀53 KG ( 116 LBS )

Born in the busiest part of Chongqing in January 2001, as the youngest to two older sisters and a branch-manager mother far too busy for her own good, YIJUN didn’t have heaps in common with his family growing up. His friends from school were fine, but it was all skin-deep. None of them ever wanted to hang around after classes were over, or go to the cinema when the latest flick came out, or hit the shopping streets whenever they had a bit of pocket money to spare on weekends. He was left to his own devices for a large amount of his younger years, and more often than not that translated into him being led awake at three in the morning with his phone propped up on the pillow before him while he led and watched music show reruns all night.

Rap had always been something he was interested in. It was a genre that stretched far beyond his imagination, and he wanted to learn every inch of it: how to go fast, how to slow it down, how to keep to a beat and make it sound good at the same time. How you could mumble, words barely intelligible, and still make something worthwhile—however niche the audience for it might’ve been. He liked it so much he started to try it out for himself, bit by bit. Always in the quiet confines of his own bedroom, always with only himself to hear whatever words came out of his mouth.

He practised until he thought he was good enough, took to taking free sample beats from SoundCloud and rapping over them before uploading them on his own account even if a grand total of only 12 people listened to them. He practised until a calm summer day in 2016, when he was walking home from school and watched as a poster came drifting to the floor from where it’d been hastily plastered onto the side of the graffiti-covered bus shelter, one that simply read JAGUAR AUDITIONS with the time and place in fine print underneath. And while he’d never really believed in anything spiritual, the ‘divine interferences’ his oldest sister seemed to be marginally obsessed with, it was as if it had been placed there specifically for YIJUN to find it, and he wasn’t going to ignore such a glaringly obvious sign like that.

So he skipped school one early winter day, caught the train armed with his phone and the clothes on his back and barely enough money for a ticket, and walked into the auditions room like he owned the place. From there it was pressing play on the track he’d cobbled together in the weeks leading up to that very moment, looking them all dead in the eyes, and trying not to lose his nerve.

It worked, and he was moving out as soon as he got the chance. His mother accompanied him on the long plane ride over, gave him a short hug for the first time in what felt like years, and then he was left to his own devices once again, to get used to his new routine at JAGUAR. He was over the moon when he was given a chance to be in a group named BONSOIR, but all that excitement disappeared after the addition of JAEHEE—a blatant outsider, someone who didn’t fit in the slightest. YIJUN didn’t care all that much about the article that was known to many as BONSOIR’s downfall because, to him, BONSOIR wasn’t a group at all if JAEHEE was there. He wasn’t all that happy when given the offer of debuting with CHERRYADE, either, but he did it anyway—if only to terrorise JAEHEE some more.

⠀⠀ യ ‹ ⠀BASICS

STAGE NAME⠀YIJUN ( 宜君 )

BIRTH NAME⠀QIAO YIJUN ( 喬宜君 )

BIRTH DATE⠀26 JANUARY, 2001

PLACE OF BIRTH⠀CHONGQING, CN

HOMETOWN⠀CHONGQING, CN

ETHNICITY⠀CHINESE

NATIONALITY⠀CHINESE

⠀⠀ യ ‹ ⠀CAREER

OCCUPATION⠀IDOL

COMPANY⠀JAGUAR ( 2016—PRESENT )

YEARS TRAINED⠀THREE

POSITION⠀MAIN RAPPER, CENTRE

DEBUT DATE⠀22 OCT, 2019⠀╱⠀1 AUG, 2021

⠀⠀ യ ‹ ⠀PHYSICAL

FACE CLAIM⠀ZHONG CHENLE

HEIGHT⠀176 CM ( 5’9” )

WEIGHT⠀58 KG ( 128 LBS )

On a sticky summer night in Chiang Mai was when GOGO was born, June 2002. Despite his Thai hometown, he was born to two Korean parents (an eccentric traveller of a mother and a stay-at-home father who would willingly follow wherever she wanted to go next), and grew up having to juggle between speaking one language at school and another at home. This didn’t last forever, though, because at the age of eight their family of four (extended by the original three when his younger brother was born, when GOGO was seven and very much against the prospect of a wailing, screaming, wriggly thing he’d have to call his sibling) packed up and moved to Yangsan, in a country that was technically his homeland but didn’t at all feel like it.

Yangsan lasted for barely a year. Just when he’d been settling in, learning how to talk like the boys at his school did, how to leave his tie loose the way they did, how to act like they did, they were handing in their final rent payment and making the move to Jeonju. And just when he was finally making closer friends, getting to know the twists and turns of the neighbourhood like the back of his own hand, they were packing up again, and then Suncheon was his newest home at age 11. he almost didn’t dare to breathe, worried to say a singular word to his classmates in fear he’d get told the next day they had a new apartment waiting for them in another city far away, and he was right for it. Ulsan came a month before he turned 12, and it was where he and his family—the only people that hadn’t changed, his father and mother and irritating younger brother—finally settled.

So he adjusted. He blended in. He made friends, got comfortable, and soon it was like he’d been there since the day he was born all over again. His days were spent joking and laughing and play fighting, slipping out of the school gates before the first bell rang to the nearby arcades and basketball courts and crowding up against each other with someone’s phone propped up on a bench while they tried to learn the latest EXO choreography, then lying through his teeth back home about all the things he’d supposedly ‘learnt’ that day in lessons. His audition came about in a similar way—a mild September afternoon in 2015, while he and his friends were bunking off, wandering down the city streets, one saw a sign advertising SM walk-in auditions and hit him on the shoulder to grab his attention. “I dare you to go in there” was what he said, and GOGO could do nothing but agree. It seemed his mostly-freestyled routine to the tune of EL DORADO playing out of his phone speakers was enough to impress, or at least convince the people sitting in front of him that he had some potential, because the next thing he knew he was being told he should be expecting a callback. Then came the goodbyes, the moving into dorms, and the practice, day in and day out. 

He was perfectly content there, happy with his members and the group and the multiple sub-units he was given the chance to debut in—until he wasn’t. GOGO himself didn’t really know what changed, he just didn’t feel right there anymore. Didn’t feel like he fit. So when JAGUAR reached out with a request for him to join their little roster for a new group set to debut in 2021, it was all he could do to agree. He doesn’t regret a thing, and would do the exact same even if he was given a chance to go back.

⠀⠀ യ ‹ ⠀BASICS

STAGE NAME⠀GOGO ( 고고 )

BIRTH NAME⠀HWAN MINHUI ( 환민희 )

BIRTH DATE⠀16 JUNE, 2002

PLACE OF BIRTH⠀CHIANG MAI, TH

HOMETOWN⠀CHIANG MAI, TH

ETHNICITY⠀KOREAN

NATIONALITY⠀KOREAN

⠀⠀ യ ‹ ⠀CAREER

OCCUPATION⠀IDOL

COMPANY⠀SM ( 2015—2019 )⠀JAGUAR ( 2019—PRESENT )

YEARS TRAINED⠀FOUR

POSITION⠀MAIN DANCER, LEAD VOCALIST

DEBUT DATE⠀8 AUG, 2019⠀╱⠀1 AUG, 2021

⠀⠀ യ ‹ ⠀PHYSICAL

FACE CLAIM⠀YEOM TAEGYUN

HEIGHT⠀176 CM ( 5’9” )

WEIGHT⠀54 KG ( 118 LBS )

Suwon was where JAEHEE was born, in the month July 2002. As a child he only had his mother, his father having parted ways with the two in exchange for a new job in America. He was content with just the two of them until 2009, when his mother remarried and he was suddenly made to make nice and live with his new older step-brother and younger step-sister. It was a hard change for JAEHEE, and more often than not he felt left out, isolated from the new family of four as the forgotten middle child. He started to retreat into himself then, not going out unless it was to go to school or when sent on errands. There was nothing much to do except watch dramas all day, and it was then that he came to the quiet realisation that he wanted to try it out. The idea of pretending to be a different person, even if it was only for an hour or two in a school play, was something JAEHEE found he liked the idea of quite a bit.

He began acting by joining the drama club in school, and threw his all into it immediately. There he wasn’t the quiet JAEHEE, the one that barely greeted his mother and step-father when he got home before rushing up to his room, but instead he could be the sociable one, the one that greeted everyone with a smile and always had friends hanging off of his arms. He first got asked whether he wanted to be a real actor in 2015, and couldn’t be happier. From there it was a lot of forms and paperwork and older, far more important people than the talent scout he’d first been in touch with asking about where he wanted to go with his career, and him having to leave all of his school friends behind to enrol in a proper acting school, and lessons on etiquette and respect and a whole load of other things that made his head spin. Still, he loved every minute of it, and isn’t too ashamed to admit that he cried when he landed his first role—a minor one, with only a handful of lines, but a role all the same.

The want for change came around three years later, early 2018. It wasn’t like he’d lost his love for acting, but more that he felt he wasn’t going anywhere. It was background character after background character, extra after extra, and he was starting to get sick of it. He wanted something different, a complete cleanse. A challenge. That thought process was what led him down a year-long spiral that eventually landed him at JAGUAR in December, where he had to take a moment and ask himself if the life of an idol was what he really wanted.

But, at the end of the day, he didn’t think it would be too much of a high hurdle to jump over. He already had the whole pretend-to-be-a-different-person act down to a T, and the rest could be learnt and improved on with time. So he signed the form, started training, and it was then decided he would be debuting with BONSOIR. JAEHEE was wary, aware of the single they’d already released as a four, and for good reason—it was like they all couldn’t stand the sight of him, bar maybe HYEONMIN on good days. It was like walking on broken glass barefooted every day with them, and when the article that ripped back the curtain on how he was treated was released he could admit that he was a little relieved. And that relief only grew when he was told he was then going to be in a shiny, new, group—even if YIJUN (the one who, without a doubt, hated him the most) was going to be right there him.

⠀⠀ യ ‹ ⠀BASICS

STAGE NAME⠀JAEHEE ( 재희 )

BIRTH NAME⠀AHN JAEHEE ( 안재희 )

BIRTH DATE⠀8 JULY, 2002

PLACE OF BIRTH⠀SUWON, SK

HOMETOWN⠀SUWON, SK

ETHNICITY⠀KOREAN

NATIONALITY⠀KOREAN

⠀⠀ യ ‹ ⠀CAREER

OCCUPATION⠀IDOL, ACTOR ( FORMER )

COMPANY⠀JAGUAR ( 2018—PRESENT )

YEARS TRAINED⠀ONE

POSITION⠀LEAD RAPPER, VISUAL

DEBUT DATE⠀22 OCT, 2019⠀╱⠀1 AUG, 2021

⠀⠀ യ ‹ ⠀PHYSICAL

FACE CLAIM⠀CHOI HYUNWOOK

HEIGHT⠀181 CM ( 5’11” )

WEIGHT⠀70 KG ( 154 LBS )

HASUN wasn’t born into any sort of stardom—far from it, actually, with a mild-mannered librarian father and a mother that passed away a mere few months after he was born into a quaint neighbourhood in Incheon, August 2003—but he was very close to it. His father’s sister just so happened to be the mother of one CHOI YOONHAE, who in around 2015 would reach his peak as JAGUAR’s most successful (and only) soloist, claiming his place as reigning king over the quickly deteriorating duo JUST4U. His older cousin was what inspired him to want to be an idol in the first place. He wanted to sing just like him, dance just like him, succeed and soar to heights that at the time felt unattainable just like him.

Singing was where he thought to start. In the shower to instrumentals of his favourite songs, under his breath while studying or doing odd jobs in the library his father worked at, at the noraebang after school with his friends, belting out the lyrics louder than all of them. It was like his lifeline, and he was biting at the bit to be able to audition for JAGUAR. His father finally let him a month after his thirteenth birthday in 2016, on the strict condition that YOONHAE and his younger sister, EUNHEE (who had just recently started to work at the company also) were to watch over him any time they got the chance to make sure he was settling in alright. He painstakingly chose a song to audition with, practised it until he could sing the verses in his sleep (with a little dance to go along with it, a number he did so many times he almost wore out the soles of his favourite trainers), and his father came with him to the audition hall to cheer him on and treat him to hotpot afterwards.

When he finally got the news of his acceptance, he nearly cried out of joy. Despite it being a generally well-known fact that trainee life wasn’t always the best of experiences, HASUN loved every minute of it—turning up to every practice with a grin so wide it looked as if his face hurt from the force of it. Even when he was deemed not the right fit for BONSOIR did he become disheartened. He just kept on going, smiling all the while.

That was, until YOONHAE was found to have taken his own life in his penthouse apartment on a cold morning in December 2018. However much JAGUAR tried to sweep all news of it under the carpet, keep as much press away from it as possible, it still happened. And the worst part of it was the 15-year-old HASUN was standing outside the very block of flats the morning it was discovered, EUNHEE by his side as they stared on in silence. He almost went through a complete personality shift then, withdrawing into himself completely. There was no sunny smile anymore, and no laughter either.

But despite all of this, the tragedy that had befallen his family and himself, HASUN stayed. It took a good year or so after YOONHAE’s death for it to happen, but he started to gradually improve again, small smiles making their appearances again and mood seeming to brighten up, however slowly it was happening. He’s certainly not the same person as he was when he was thirteen, but he’s trying his best.

⠀⠀ യ ‹ ⠀BASICS

STAGE NAME⠀HASUN ( 하선 )

BIRTH NAME⠀LEE HASUN ( 이하선 )

BIRTH DATE⠀7 AUGUST, 2003

PLACE OF BIRTH⠀INCHEON, SK

HOMETOWN⠀INCHEON, SK

ETHNICITY⠀KOREAN

NATIONALITY⠀KOREAN

⠀⠀ യ ‹ ⠀CAREER

OCCUPATION⠀IDOL

COMPANY⠀JAGUAR ( 2016—PRESENT )

YEARS TRAINED⠀FIVE

POSITION⠀MAIN VOCALIST, MAKNAE

DEBUT DATE⠀1 AUG, 2021

⠀⠀ യ ‹ ⠀PHYSICAL

FACE CLAIM⠀LEE SOHEE

HEIGHT⠀176 CM ( 5’9” )

WEIGHT⠀52 KG ( 114 LBS )

#⠀⬦ ⠀˚⠀⠀ALL ABOUT ME⠀⠀⸻⠀⠀profile.⠀ #shake it up and make it fucking fizz this shit killed me #fake kpop oc #fake kpop group #fake kpop bg #fictional kpop group #fictional idol group #fictional idol community #kpop male oc #male oc #idol oc

[hp-hcs]

I just had a Crazy thought. Idk if I’ve EVER read a Ton Riddle x ftm Reader before and now I’m CURIOUS. Pls （＾ν＾）

yk, i dont think i’ve ever seen one either 🤨 which is some BULLSHIT if you ask me

ANYWAYS i have no idea what this is but yk i actually finished something so that’s pretty girlypop. also GODDAMNIT i need more tom using 40s slang

phoenix tears (chapter three of phoenix tears) — 40s! tom riddle x ftm! dumbass! granger! reader

he’s babygirl i don’t make the rules

problem solving by creating more problems, a case study by harry potter and y/n fr

glad to see all of the ftms have found my acc, i love all of y’all mwah

TWs: ‘40s era homophobia; couple of outdated homophobic slurs; i guess tom misgendering reader? but he like, doesn’t even know what being trans is so-

requests? please? i beg??

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

“What’s this?” You pulled a wrinkled old book out of Harry’s trunk, sitting down on the wood floor of his dorm, crisscross applesauce.

The cover must’ve once been very fine leather, but it was now warped with water damage and age. The pages were brittle and seemed liable to disintegrate at the lightest touch. But the most prominent part of the book was that there was a charred black hole right through the center.

“Huh? Oh- Tom Riddle’s diary. His very first horcrux,” Harry glanced up at you from where he was also sat on the floor, desperately trying to organize all of the shit that was in his trunk to begin with.

“Is it dangerous?”

“Nope, not in the slightest.”

You opened the cover, the leather creaking and cracking under the slightest pressure. You were surprised to find that the diary was completely blank inside. You flipped through a few more pages; nothing. It was totally empty.

Unless Tom Riddle had only written in the center of where the odd, charred hole was. Which was, y’know, pretty unlikely.

“How’d you destroy it?”

Harry frowned to himself, trying to decide if Runes homework from two years ago should go in the keep or throw away pile. “Basilisk fang. Has Ginny seriously never told you?”

You shook your head, eyes wide. He grinned at you, handing you a stack of various important-looking documents mixed in with past homework assignments to go through, and immediately dove into his story of shallow teachers and secret chambers and blood on the walls.

You gaped at him in awe as he finished his story. “But wait- if Fawkes’ tears were all you needed to like…heal and not die, would the same work on the diary?”

Harry paused, looking up at you. “That’s…a good question.”

“Think we should try?” You asked. “Maybe Teenager Tom could talk some sense into Adult Tom?”

Harry seemed to genuinely consider it before shaking his head. “Ach, but Hermione would kill us.”

Your shoulders dropped and you frowned as you think about your sister. “But…she’s at the Burrow tonight, remember?”

“Well,” Harry said slowly, still on the fence. “If Hermione’s not around to scold us...”

~~~ “This was a terrible idea this was such a terrible fucking idea-”

The diary smoked and hissed, writhing around on the floor. The book flapped open, the pages ruffling around and fizzing.

Scrambling backwards, you clung onto Harry, praying Slughorn wouldn’t walk in. Or worse, Filch.

You’d snuck into the Potions classroom after curfew, hidden under Harry’s invisibility cloak, with the intent of finding phoenix tears. After going through Slughorn’s potion cabinet, you'd found the vial all the way in the back. Which, of course, had led to you two deciding to test your theory about the diary right then and there.

The diary suddenly made a pop noise, like someone cracking bubblegum. It then stilled all of its movement, lying open at the center of the book, when a dark liquid, ink, began seeping out from it. The ink pooled around the book, turning all of the pages black and heavy.

You mentally cursed the stain it would leave on the flagstones.

The diary then erupted with a bright light, rattling against the floor with the exertion of whatever magic it was using.

Harry pushed you back behind him, forcing you to sit down and throwing his invisibility cloak over you, then pulling out his wand. Taking an offensive stance in front of where you were hidden, he waited, every muscle in his body coiled like an animal waiting to lunge.

The light seemed to grow thicker, like honey, and started taking a corporeal form. Then just like that, the light vanished, and the form—a person, by the looks of it—crumpled on the floor in a rather undignified heap.

The person staggered to its- his feet.

Tom Riddle, you thought, holding your breath.

God, he was pretty.

He started laughing, seemingly unaware of neither you nor Harry’s existence. “O Lord and butter, now we’re cooking with gas!”

You blinked. All of that was English, but not a single word of it made sense.

How old was Tom Riddle?

Harry took a tentative step forward, hiding his wand behind his back. “Are…you alright?”

Tom whirled around, startled by the sudden voice. He looked Harry up and down appraisingly before a wild grin spread across his face. “All reet? A schnook done brought me back!” He laughed rather maniacally, eyes gleaming. “What’s your name then? I oughtta thank you.”

Harry’s lips thinned. “We’ve met before, Tom.”

Tom’s eyebrows raised. “We…have?”

Wordlessly, Harry pushed up his fringe.

Tom drew in a sharp breath. “Potter.”

“Riddle.”

“So what, you’ve brought me back to kill me again?” He sneered. “There’s no basilisk around to save you this time, Potter.”

When Tom took a step towards Harry, you gasped quietly—evidently not quietly enough though, because Tom’s head swung around towards you.

He stared straight at you. You held your breath again, praying that he’d go back to threatening Harry, or something.

Instead Tom stepped closer to you, mumbling a quiet Revelio. He smiled and leaned down, tugging the cloak off of your head.

“Well well well, what’s this? A spook?” He pulled the cloak off of you completely, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “Hm. Well aren’t you a bit of a scrag, cookie?”

“I’m…sorry…?” You questioned, baffled. “I don’t speak old.”

Tom’s eyes narrowed. “You’re a bit plain and homely, doll,” he said with a mock-apologetic look on his face. “In the nicest way possible.”

“Aw, shucks,” you said dryly. “I was worried the genocidal maniac who’s killed a bunch of our friends might think I’m unattractive.”

He raised an eyebrow at your sarcasm, looking you up and down again. “Ah. Or are you a swish?” He asked, tilting his head. “Can’t quite tell.”

“A swish?”

“You know, a queer. One of those.”

You cringed. “Harry, make him go back in the fucking diary.”

“Did I hit a nerve, doll?” Tom asked with a smug smile.

“Not really, but I have a feeling that if I have to deal with your ancient ass any longer, you will.”

“Ooh, well ain’t you got moxie, little thing? Tell me, you a dame or a fella?”

“Ah yes, the two genders,” you mumbled under your breath, causing Harry to snort and cover his mouth with his hand. “I’m a uh…‘fella’.”

“You sure look like a gal to me.”

“Yeah, and you sure look like an asshole to me.”

Tom’s eyes narrowed. “Oh, I see. You’re a mudblood, aren’t you?”

“Lot of sass coming from Mr. Pureblood over here.”

Tom took a striding step towards you, his teeth gritted and his fist raised.

“Wow, resorting to Muggle fighting? Wouldn’t expect that from you, Thomas Marvolo.”

His cheeks flared red with anger. “I oughtta-”

“It really sucks being made fun of for your blood status, doesn’t it?” You asked casually.

Tom paused.

He took a step back.

“All reet. I’ll admit, you got me there.”

Harry scowled. “Look, we wouldn’t have brought you back unless we had good reason. And Old You is now indiscriminately killing Muggles, which seems like a pretty fucking good reason, if you ask me.”

“Ah. Yes. That does seem to be an issue,” Tom acquiesced. “But why me?”

“We figured you could reason with Old You?” You jumped in. “Or at the very least, you’re the least corrupted; you have the most soul left.”

Tom shrewdly glanced between you and Harry, then back at you. “What do I get in return?”

You shrugged. “I dunno. What do you want?”

“Not to go back into that damned diary,” he said vehemently. “Never again.”

You glanced over at Harry. He shrugged. “We can try…?”

“Hipper dipper,” Tom replied dryly. “Where do we start?”

~~~

“Well that’s a barney old game the old coot’s been making you play, huh?”

“You’re just saying words,” Harry mumbled, resting his chin on his hand as you all sat at one of the Potions classroom tables. “Not a single part of that was comprehensible.”

“He basically just said that you’re fucked,” you shrugged. “You’ve been doomed to die since you were born. Dumbledore’s been raising you like a lamb for slaughter.”

Tom looked at you, surprised. “Well…yes.”

You rolled your eyes. “Smarter than I look, Thomas.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“I’ll stop as soon as you you stop calling me a fairy.”

He furrowed his brow. “Why’s that bother you so much?”

“It’s a fucking slur, Thomas. This ain’t the forties, or whenever you’re from; people are allowed to be gay now.”

Tom froze, eyes wide. “W-what?”

“Yup.”

“Well, cut off my leg and call me shorty,” he murmured, amazed.

“Wait’ll he finds out you’re trans,” Harry mumbled, snorting.

You elbowed him in the side, rolling your eyes.

“Trans…?” Tom questioned.

“We don’t have that much time, Thomas. Focus up.”

“Natch, all reet,” he shook his head. “Are we ready then? Plan all set?”

You nodded, a sly grin spreading across your face.

“Let’s go fuck some shit up.”

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

chapter four

#harry potter #fuck jkr #hp #hp x male reader #x male reader #gay #x reader #tom riddle x male reader #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle #transgender #trans reader #trans

[alastor-the-demon]

*He fades into his radio station*

Salutations! Today we are going to be reading a transcript of everything that was said between Charlie and Adam's first conversation!

Adam: 'Sup!

Charlie: Holy, shit!

[Charlie immediately fell down after getting surprised by the sudden appearance of two angels in the room. She gets back up and readjusts herself to introduce herself properly.]

Charlie: Hi, I'm Charlie. My dad asked me if I could meet you.

Adam: Yeah, I know.

Charlie: Okay, well.

[Adam eats his rib like a buzzsaw]

Charlie: It's nice to meet you.

Adam: Totally. It's nice to meet you, too.

[Adam reaches over to give Charlie a handshake, and as she was about to shake his hand, her hand slips right through, revealing him to be a hologram, fizzing on and off after being touched, which freaks Charlie out.]

Adam: Ha! I fucking got you. *turns to Lute* Did you see that?

[Lute nods once.]

Adam: Ha. Good shit.

[Charlie was trying to get something straight with Adam being a hologram.]

Charlie: Uh...so, wait. You aren't here?

Adam: No, you think I'd come down there? *laughs* No, I mean, I love the vibe, totally, I love your tunes. Pretty fucking hardcore, don't get me wrong. But! it's such a bummer! man. Everything down there's just so "eugh", ya know? *chuckles* Ew.

Charlie: Right. So, I'm happy we've got this opportunity to meet. There's a project that I've been working on that I really want to talk to you about-

[Adam puts his finger on Charlie's lips to quiet her down for a moment.]

Adam: Hey, hey, hey, hey, slow down. We've got time. How about we get to know each other a little. Mmm. How about lunch? You hungry? I got you.

[Adam takes a plate of ribs he's been eating toward Charlie.]

Adam: Here's my personal favorite. You'll love it.

Charlie: Uh...thanks.

[Charlie went to take a piece of a rib, but her hand past right through them, also revealing to be a hologram, as they fizz on and off from the touch, and Adam laughs.]

Adam: I got you again, bitch! *laughs* Fuckin' hilarious!

[Charlie makes a small unamused chuckle alongside Adam's hyper laughter.]

Adam: So, I was playin’ this gig, and for some fuckin’ reason, this virtue chick was diggin’ on the drummer, and it's like, “do you know who I am? I’m fuckin’ Adam. I’m the original dick!” (pointing to his penis down the table) All dicks descend from me. You think you want drummer dick? (Lute shaking her head) No way! I’m the Dick-fuckin’ master! (eats a mouthful of ribs sloppily) So, anyway, then we fucked, and it was awesome. What’d you do this weekend?

Charlie: Wait, your name is Adam? Like the first man Adam, that means you…Oh….

(Charlie puts the pieces together, realizing this is the reason why her mother left him, making her wince.)

Charlie: (low voice) That explains so much.

Adam: I know. I fucking rock. (Held a rock pose)

(Charlie brushes off the awkwardness from Adam and gets to her subject of matter in hand.)

Charlie: Well, Adam, sir. Mr. Adam, sir.

Adam: Call me, Dickmaster.

Charlie: Adam. You seem like a smart (paused) well, stand up guy.

Adam: (picking his teeth) Uh-huh.

Charlie: And I know you are the leader of the angels. And you are a big thinker, a revolutionary. A— A genius!

Adam: I mean, your words, babe.

Charlie: Who would really love to put his name on something.

Adam: Fucking love putting my name on shit! Shit's the best!

Charlie: It’s a solution to our biggest problem!

Adam: Oh, Herpes. Yeah, that’s a bitch.

Charlie: No! Our... other biggest problem.

Adam: Oh…uh..ugly people? Math? Global Warming? Nah, wait, that’s Earth’s problem.

(Charlie stares at Adam with deadpan annoyance at how ignorant he is.)

Adam: Ummm...

Adam: When you take her out for the fifth time and she still expects you to pay the check but you're like, (high pitched-voice) "Hey, I thought you wanted equality."

Charlie: NO! our shared problem of overpopulation in Hell!

Adam: Ohh, well that's not a problem! We got that covered! (turning to Lute) Lute, how many demons did you kill this year?

Lute: Got a good 275 this year, sir.

Adam: 275? Woah! Badass! Awesome job, danger tits! Pound it.

[Adam raises a fist for Lute to make a fist-bump, which she did.]

Charlie: Uh no, not awesome. Those are my people, you know that right?

Adam: Oh yeah. That must suck for you! *bursts into laughter*

Charlie: But these are souls...Humans souls just the same as the ones you have up in heaven.

Lute: (coldly)  They're not the same. They had their chance and they earned damnation.

Charlie: You're wrong. Sinners made mistakes, sure, but everyone makes mistakes.

Lute: Angels don't make mistakes.

Charlie: You really think that.

Lute: I know that.

Adam: Yeah, I've never made a mistake in my fuckin’ life.

[As Lute comes around the table, the scene turns slightly darker with ominous red.]

Lute: The only reason you're still here is because daddy gave you and your hellborn kind a pardon from an exorcist blade. How does that feel, to know how little you matter?

Adam: Oops, almost out of time. Guess we should get into it.

Charlie: Oh fuck!

[Charlie rushes to present her plan as fast as she could.]

Charlie: Okay I've got a lot to get through and not a lot of time and I feel like you weren't hearing me before so here it goes.

[Charlie coughs as she starts making a fast-talk, which is close to singing as she gets all ofer stuff out in the table to show them what she means.]

Charlie: ♫ I know Hell's population is out of control. ♫

♫ It's a bad situation. ♫

♫ It's taking a toll. ♫

♫ If we rehab these Sinners. ♫

♫ And cleanse all their souls. ♫

♫ At my Hazbin Hotel—♫

[Charlie rambles through the stacks of paper to get something.]

Charlie: Wait, I'm getting ahead of myself!

♫ Right! Extermination! ♫

♫ I know you guys fly down. ♫

♫ Just to kill once a year. ♫

♫ And it must be annoying. ♫

♫ To schlep all the way here. ♫

♫ If they join you in Heaven. ♫

♫ That trip disappears! ♫

♫ You can wave that chore farewell. ♫

♫ (deep breath) It'll be a happy day—♫

Adam: ♫ Let me stop you right there. ♫

Charlie: Oh

Adam: ♫ Save us all precious time. ♫

Charlie: Okay...

Adam: ♫ If what you're suggesting. ♫

♫ Is letting them climb. ♫

♫ Up the ladder. ♫

♫Oh, they'd rather cross the Pearly Gates? ♫

Charlie: Well, uh—

Adam: ♫ Sorry, sweetie. But there's no defyin' their fates! ♫

♫ 'Cause Hell is forever. ♫

♫ Whether you like it or not. ♫

♫ Had their chance to behave better. ♫

♫ Now they boil in the pot. ♫

♫ 'Cause the rules are black and white. ♫

♫ There's no use in tryin' to fight it. ♫

♫ They're burnin' for their lives. ♫

♫ Until we kill 'em again! ♫

Charlie: Okay, but—

Adam: ♫ Just try to chillax, babe. ♫

♫You're wasting your breath. ♫

Charlie: Hehe...

Adam: ♫ Did I hear you imply. ♫

♫ That they don't deserve death?

♫ Are they Winners? ♫

♫ Are they Sinners? ♫

♫ 'Cause it's cut and dry. ♫

Charlie: Well, actually, if you take a look—

Adam: ♫ Fair is fair, an eye for an eye! ♫

♫ And when all's said and done (Said and done) ♫

♫ There's the question of fun (Fun) ♫

♫ And for those of us with Divine Ordainment. ♫

♫ Extermination is entertainment! ♫

♫ Bow-now-now-nownow ♫

Adam: Guitar solo, fuck yeah!

♫ Oh, da-ah-ah now-now-n-now-n-now-n-now-n-nownownow. ♫

[After Adam throws Charlie’s papers at her, she gets so angry that she turns into her demon form, making growling noise]

Charlie: Ugh...

Adam: ♫ Hell is forever. ♫

♫ Whether you like it or not. ♫

♫ Had their chance to behave better. ♫

[Four golden mirages of Exorcists appears, surrounding Charlie from all sides.]

(Charlie: Where the Hell did you people come from?!)

♫ Now they boil in the pot. ♫

♫ 'Cause the rules are black and white. ♫

♫ There's no use in tryin' to fight it. ♫

♫ They're burnin' for their lives. ♫

♫ Until we kill 'em again! ♫

♫ Fuckin' Hell's forever. ♫

♫ And it's meant to suck a lot. ♫

♫ So give up your dumb endeavor. ♫

♫ 'Cause you don't have a shot! ♫

♫ Long as I've got your attention. ♫

♫ I guess I should probably mention. ♫

♫ That we made the determination. ♫

♫ To move up the next Extermination! ♫

Charlie: What?!

Adam: ♫ Can't wait a whole year. ♫

♫ To slaughter those little cunts. ♫

♫ I know it's just been a week. ♫

♫ But we'll be back in six months! ♫

[Despite being a hologram, Adam grabs Charlie and throws her right out of the door.]

Charlie: Um, wait, you-you— Ugh, SHIT!

[Before Charlie tries to get to Adam, the door closes while he continues to do a guitar solo shredding. Defeated, Charlie slams a fist on the door before the scene cuts to black.]

[Copy paste my beloved]

#hazbin hotel #alastor #hazbin alastor #alastor the radio demon #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor radio demon

[assortedvillainvault]

Disney Villain Polycule Posts Part 4 - DV'Cule SQUAD UP

Holy shit welcome to over 1500 words of actual prose becuase the muse has a glock to my head and won't take no for an answer. This is the first time I've written actual prose since I graduated...three years ago?! MAN. DV'Cule stops for nobody.

Mal's been snubbed politically, and her partners assemble to plan VENGANCE. Enjoy! Under a cut because jesus christ I'm not going to kill your dashboards like that.

“You’re kidding me.”

Jafar shifted in place, eyes locked somewhere in the dark beyond the Underworld throne room. “No.”

“You. Are kidding me.”

“Hades. I like to think I wouldn’t attempt to frame this as something so trivial as a joke.”

Said God of the Dead made to roll his eyes, but Jafar could see the way they kept flicking over to the darkness he himself was trying so intently to parse. He hoped a Cthonic God could see further into it than him.

“I just- what purpose does that serve, y’anno??” He gestured wildly as he spoke, and Jafar can’t help the habitual appreciation for Hades’ long, thin, expressive hands even as most of his energy is aimed toward attempting to fix the situation they’d been dumped into this morning. “It’s so cliché! It’s a repeat so stupid even Snoring Beauty wouldn’t have thought of it! I just- Just- What the hell was the aim here??!”

A cold draft and echoing breath comes from the stairs to their right. “The aim is of no importance.”

They turn toward the Horned King as he ascends the final steps, the foot of his robe sodden with Styx water. “The intent was to insult and it was...successful. What matters-” Jafar narrowed his eyes as bits of charred fur fall from the back of the matted stole. “-is how we move forward from here.”

“Well we know that!” Hades huffed and threw himself onto the raised dais of a throne, snapping his fingers for a flame so the King could begin drying off. A small ‘hmm’ of thanks came from the lich’s chest as he began to gently steam.

Jafar takes the moment to take a deep breath in and out, turning from the window. He makes contact with the King’s eye sockets and finds he can’t even muster up the energy for their usual biting commentary. By Allah, what a day. “...How is she?”

His Majesty sighed. “I suspect it is worse than we initially thought.” Both god and sorcerer suppressed a wince. “She had already destroyed several chambers by the time I was able to reach her. By the time I did she would not acknowledge me, nor respond verbally.”

“Fantastic.” Jafar rubbed at his temples, feeling a migraine coming on.

“...She also seemed to be stuck between forms.”

“Well Shit.”

“Language.” He can’t stop the reprimand before it slips out, an incredible sticking point from being forced to help raise a bratty little princess that made his teeth grind.

Luminous yellow eyes narrowed. “Fuck the Mouse and Fuck You, this is my home and I’ll swear when I feel it’s appropriate. Which is now!” Hades flame roared orange for a brief moment before smoothing back to blue. Jafar doesn’t miss how it remained several feet down his arms and robes.

He feels the fizz of magic under his suddenly forked tongue and makes the effort to swallow it down before he starts spitting venom in the literal sense. No need for that towards his allies. Lovers. Confidants. All of that and whichever.

Hades finally takes notice of the burnt back of the King’s robes. His eyes widen. “Fuck. She, uh, she didn’t..?”

Jafar knows that that is as far as any of them are willing to ask, but holds his breath anyway.

He can’t describe the relief when the King started shaking his head almost immediately. “No, no this was...” he grimaces. “...accidental.” He seems to gather himself, almost as if bracing, and growls. “Part of the ceiling came down. I flinched. Stumbled backward into a brazier and caught alight.” he folds his arms, and Jafar feels his face twist as he catches another whiff of the Styx all but pouring off the lich, ice cold and faintly ringing with voices. “She flung me into the river to put me out. May have miscalculated the force. I was almost thrust upon the shores of Acheron.”

Jafar feels more than sees the air escape Hades lungs and lets him slump back on the throne with no further comment.

That part of their contract is written in blood and stone – they may be villains, but to raise magic, hand and/or weapon against each other would be an instant nullifier, and Jafar knows he’s not the only one afraid that their entire partnership would unravel if but one of them turned on another.

They aren’t good, and they’re well aware of it. One can only hope that keeping this arrangement mutually beneficial keeps it stable. For now, at least.

“I assume Charon was able to fish you out?” he asked. The bony boatman seemed able to materialise out of the river at will.

The unmistakable sound of squelching and popping heralded their final arrival. “Oho no, angelfish, that was all me.” Ursula hefted herself gracefully over the windowsill, tentacle arms braced against the stonework. “His Highness swims like a rock. All that fur doesn’t help.” She snickered. Said undead royalty raised his shoulders in the approximation of a shrug.

“I stopped being able to float about five centuries ago. Were the current not so strong I would have walked back along the river bed. The banks are too sheer to climb up.”

“That’s by design.” Hades grumbled. “You have any idea how many schmucks used to climb out and wander off?? It was a nightmare. The imps used to have to herd them all into the floodplains so I could blast them back in four times a week.”

“Regardless.” Jafar strode forward, before stopping suddenly. “The throne room is twenty stories high. Ursula. Why. The stairs are right there.”

The sea witch inspected her fingernails. “Stairs are for two legs, walls are for eight.” She smacked her lips and grinned. “And I’m not wasting magic on shapeshifting when I can get here and look good at the same time, sweetheart.”

Jafar tried very very hard to not imagine Ursula latched to the ceiling like some kind of vast, malicious, be-tentacled bat and resolved not to walk near to any of the underworlds walls for fear of ambush. Ursula finally seemed to bore of her fingernails and slid further into the room.

“Anyway, I can confirm what the tabloids are blowing bubbles about.” At this her grin dropped. “Invites for the newest arrivals welcome have been issued to everyone.” She glanced at the King and emphasised. “Everyone. Except our Dragon.”

They reabsorb the news with a background of malcontent and dash of something vile.

Maleficent had been seen by the general populace and, eventually, the forces of good as the de facto leader of the Disney Villains for decades. This wouldn’t nearly have rankled so hard if no villains had been invited – that would just be a moral difference and a wish for a quiet party, which they could have left alone.

No. Someone had gone out of their way to not only invite every villain under the sun, including those ignored for decades (no offence to the Horned King, but he kept to himself and when thought of it tended to be with horror), but specifically exclude Maleficent. That’s personal. That’s petty.

That’s downright stupid given that the disrespect shown in exactly the same manner regarding the royal christening of Aurora led to a 16 year curse.

It’s a great big, giant flag absolutely daring her to do something about it.

Jafar gripped his staff so hard his knuckles cracked. “She’s being baited.”

The Horned King’s eyes were already beginning to take on a faint scarlet glow. “The situation requires caution. If she reacts, especially violently, she will lose face, and so will we as a faction.”

“And if she does nothing it tips our hand to our enemies and invites a repeat.” Ursula snarls. The King growled, but did not back down.

“...A united front then.”

They turn to look at him. “The other villains have already seen the jab and will be expecting a riposte. Failing to do so highlights weakness and opportunists within our ranks will not hesitate to explore the new power balance, which is tedious to put down.” He twirls his beard around one finger, not missing the way Hades eyes light up as the elder god cottons on to his line of thinking. “We have kept the nature of our...arrangement obscure enough that reacting as a unit highlights our allyship without revealing anything more than is strictly necessary.”

“It also demonstrates that we are not as separate as the heroes would like to believe, even in matters that do not seemingly concern us individually.” His Majesty nodded. “I am willing to continue with this course of action.”

Hades clapped his hands together, flame crackling. “Get in, cause a scene, block the doors, get some popcorn for Mal’s next level retaliation. Heh, if I didn’t know any better I’d say this is the best date you’ve ever suggested, Jaffy!”

“Don’t call me Jaffy.” His face betrayed him, he can’t stop smiling. A manic thing that made him look wrong in all sorts of lighting. He knew made his partners weak in the knees.

“Aaaalright then.” Hades cracked his knuckles. “HK, Ursie, call up your mens! I’ll get the word out to Sephie and Facilier – feels like Mal’s on the move towards Asphodel so I’ll head out that way and lay out the plan to her, see if she wants us to do anything extra juicy.” He licked his fangs and dropped his voice and Jafar wasn’t going to get weak knees while plotting, he wasn’t, he wasn’t-

“Alright then.” He chuckled, drinking in three faces full of vitriol and malicious compliance. “Let’sssss crash thissss party.”

#they gon' WRECK SHIT #disney villains #the DV'Cule #the horned king #hades #maleficent #Jafar #Ursula #hee hoo I love my terrible bastard group and their terrible bastard ways #I also love it when the group acts as a unit #of course they're image focused and think of politics like a battlefield #they've got backache from holding up their entire source materials! #This is the 'core' polyam group since they're all seeing Maleficent #Their extended loves aren't quite as plot critical #I should clarify that while HK and Ursula both have a partner not present #Jafar is dating both Hades and Maleficent #and has an on-off thing with Facilier #who is more consistently dating Hades and Oogie #Persephone is besties with Jafar and more than willing to be an Olympic double agent in order to support her hubby

[one-sad-human]

•Dinner First• Vince Neil

Pairing: Vince Neil x Reader

Requested? Yes! By an anon

Theme: Angst(?) to fluff

Warnings: Language, drinking, peer pressure

Word Count: 1.3k

A/N: Just when I was starting to post consistently. Sorry! I took a break from writing for a little, but I’m back now! Also, did you guys here that new GnR song? Tell me your thoughts!

You grimace, pulling Nikki's hair back as he pukes into the toilet. You're in the cramped bathroom of a tour bus, wishing you were literally anywhere else.

"Alright, I think I'm good now," the man says, contradicting his statement when he starts heaving again a moment after.

This isn't the first time you've been in this position, you doubt highly it'll be your last. You've been in similar situations with all of the men in Mötley Crüe, although Mick usually handled himself.

You're something that could be compared to a babysitter, except instead of taking care of children, you watch over almost constantly intoxicated men on tour. Their manager had hired you to do so, as you're one of his old friend's children and the most responsible young person he knows.

You don't drink or do drugs, you wear put together clothes, and— in the nicest way to say it— are a tad stuck up. You're a goodie two shoes, you don't have a rebellious bone in your body.

You're the perfect person to take care of the Crüe. You're paid to make sure they make it to all their shows and don't overdose or do anything equally as stupid. The job isn't glamorous, but you get to tour the world and get paid along the way.

"Ok, Nik. Time for bed," you say, a mockingly sweet tone to your voice. Nikki nods, going along with it and leaning against you heavily as you walk him to his small bed. You make sure he takes two Advils before passing out.

You sigh, rubbing your temples as you feel a headache brewing. You take some pain relievers yourself before stumbling over to your bunk and passing out shortly after.

The morning comes too quick, and you heave yourself up. You half walk half shuffle over to the coffee machine, moving on autopilot to make a fresh pot of pure caffeine.

"Mornin' good lookin'," says Vince, the blonde leaning on the counter next to you.

"Good morning," you say, ignoring the nickname. "You're up early."

"Heard the coffee machine," he lies. He wanted to talk to you alone without anyone bothering him. "Listen, we have the day off in a new city. I was wondering if maybe you'd want to—"

"Coffee, outta the way," Nikki says, shoving past you and Vince. There goes that.

Vince has been desperately trying to get a date with you for months, ever since the tour started. It seems like every time he works up the nerves to do it, he's interrupted.

"Sorry, Vinnie, what were you saying?" You ask, patiently waiting for Nikki to get his coffee so you can. The blonde shakes his head, waving a hand to dismiss the question and walks away.

"Nothing," he says and walks to sit in a small booth. Vince has never feared rejection like he does with you, usually he has all the confidence in the world. Vince is usually the definition of cool confidence. He isn't sure what there is about you, but it makes him nervous and gives him butterflies.

"Day off, no gig, what're we doing?" Tommy asks, now coming to join everyone to get coffee.

"We're in fucking New York, we're hitting CBGB!" Nikki says, nursing his cup of coffee you can only guess he made Irish seeing as his eyes have opened all the way.

"Fuck yeah!" Tommy speaks up. Vince sighs, knowing he won't get a date and you'll end up taking care of all of their drunk asses by midnight.

     You sigh into your cup of soda, swirling it around and watching the bubbles fizzing and popping. It had ended up like every other night, in a bar with overly obnoxious, head pounding music playing.

     "Having fun yet, Y/N?" Tommy asks, doing that weird trick where he sticks the cigarette in his nose. You make a disgusted face, rolling your eyes before agreeing.

     "You're such a fucking buzzkill. Would it kill you to just live a little? Have a drink! Here!" Nikki chimes in, sliding a shot of liquor. You slide it back.

     "No thanks." He rolls his eyes.

     "They don't want to drink, Nikki. Just leave them the fuck alone," Vince says, narrowing his eyes at the bassist. Mick takes his leave and ventures into a darker corner or the club, not wanted to be apart of the fight that is sure to ensue.

     "Well, excuse me!" He says snootily. "I'm just trying to get Y/N to have fun! All they ever do is breath down my neck. Makes me fucking nervous."

     "Nikki's right Y/N! Have some fun with us!"

     "I'm not here to have fun, this is my job," you say, you're face getting flushed and hot with anger. "I'm just here to make sure you live to see your next gig."

     "Killjoy," Tommy mutters. "Just one shot? I'll do it with you!"

     "Shut the fuck up!" Vince suddenly yells, his fist hitting the table and making the glasses and bottles rattle. "Leave them the fuck alone, all you're doing is making them upset. They said no, so stop badgering them."

     "It's alright, Vinnie—"

     "No it's not! They're constantly pestering you and I'm fucking tired of it!" Vince suddenly stands up. "Come on, lets go."

     You hesitantly stand up, grabbing your coat and following Vince out the door. You're already embarrassed for them causing a scene, you wouldn't want to stay behind where you're sure to get strange looks.

     "Where're we going?" Vince shrugs, protectively putting an arm around your shoulder and leading you farther from the crowed club. It sends tingles all the way down your spine, and you have to be extra careful walking to make sure your knees don't give out.

     "Away from those dicks. I hate the way they try to pressure you into shit all the time." You raise a brow and turn your head to look at the handsome blonde. The street lights bounce off his tanned face in an angelic way, his light locks of hair swaying in the warm breeze.

     "Why did it bother you that much?" You ask him, your voice low. Vince suddenly looks nervous.

     "Because," his voice is quiet and shakes with nerves. "I like you, Y/N. A lot." He stops walking and turns to you. "You're always so cool and chill, you always have an answer to everything and you're put together. You so goddamn smart, if I have a problem I know I can always go to you because you'll have a solution. It pisses me off when they think you're some weakling who'll do whatever they say."

     You're shocked into silence. Your mouth opens and closes a few times but no words form. You had no idea Vince had any feelings for you, you always thought he just liked that you made sure he didn't kill himself doing something stupid.

     "Seriously?" You ask once your mouth and brain start to function again. "You really feel that way?"

     "Would I lie to you about this?" You answer him by pressing your lips to his, your soft plump lips moving against his slightly chapped ones slowly and lovingly. His lips taste of cheap beer and cigarettes but there's a shadow of minty toothpaste. Vince has had his share of make outs, but nothing has ever felt this close and intimate.

     "I really like you, too." You smile when you pull away, your head dipping down slightly with a blush tinting your face. Vince smiles back and places his hands on your hips.

     "What do you say to heading back to the bus? It's empty." You shake your head, and Vince deflates instantly and disappointment floods his eyes. Maybe he got his thoughts up too soon, maybe you don't like him as much as he likes you.

     "Dinner first, and if you're nice and gentlemanly, and only if you're nice and gentlemanly, I'll think about going further," you say, and Vince laughs a little in relief before nodding. "Deal?"

     "Deal."

#classic rock imagine #motley crue imagine #motley crue x reader #motley crue #vince neil x reader #vince neil imagine #vince neil #80s

[ivyaugustetc]

the dead poets at hogwarts: a headcanon from hell

@aedan-mills @charlie-dalton-simp @pretentious-strikes YOU ENCOURAGED THIS BEHAVIOR SO YOU'RE GONNA HAVE TO LIVE WITH THE CONSEQUENCES. also i love you a lot but THAT'S BESIDE THE POINT.

also @aedan-mills i found out that some of the wand stuff is related to their birthdays and i am much too lazy to look all that up and figure it all out, but anyone else is welcome to lmao. sorry to disappoint but alas it's summer and i don't want to research that much. but other than that, please listen to me flex my extensive knowledge on harry potter :)

neil (half blood): i'm sorry,,,, can you say gryffindor? this boy would get up there and in a second the sorting hat would have him all figured out: big dreams with the will to pursue them, but not ambitious enough to step over others to achieve said dreams? sounds like a gryffindor to me. i just know he'd thrive at hogwarts, probably going on to play quidditch (def a chaser) and would excel in charms class. as far as pets go, i feel like he'd stay simple and classy with a chill barn owl he'd name after a famous broadway actor. he would kind of be a mix of james and remus, in which he's wild and crazy but still manages to get good grades. the teachers love him simply because they don't know much about him outside of class. he would absolutely LOVE going to hogsmeade and going batshit crazy at zonko's and honeydukes. he'd have a whole phase where he gets addicted to licorice wands and everyone else thinks they're disgusting but he simply cannot buy enough of them. he'd play a bunch of zonko tricks on the rest of the poets, saving the most harsh for charlie and the most wholesome for todd <3

todd (muggle born): ugh see i can see him being both a hufflepuff and a ravenclaw, but my heart says hufflepuff so i'm gonna go with that. he would absolutely HATE the sorting ceremony with a burning passion. getting up in front of everybody only to have a hat judge u??? no thanks. HAHAHA CAN YOU IMAGINE HIM ON A BROOM. i can't either because he would simply never get on one, probably referring to them as "flying death traps" more often than not. "hey todd, you think about joining quidditch?" "no thanks, i'd rather keep my limbs intact ;)". but he would love muggle studies a lot, even if the teacher was boring as hell. snape would scare the hell out of him for sure, resulting in his lowest class being potions. he would excel in classes that are more learning out of the book rather than in practice. for a pet, he'd want something that could not possibly turn on him and would just be sweet and loving, so ima give him a toad :) he'd name it something fancy and british, like nigel or sumn. and because of nigel, he'd love chocolate frogs because hey they're twins!!

fanon knox (pure blood): hogwarts fuck boy. okay well maybe not f boy but like...his favorite part is the fact that this is a co-ed school rather than an all-boys school so he can spy on both genders equally yknow. hmm i get hufflepuff vibes from him because he's a big romantic, sucker for cute relationships, etc. he would enjoy whichever class his current crush is in, although I feel like he'd do well with classes that involved spells and wand work mostly lmao. he'd want a really fucking cute pet, so i'd give him a kneazle (it's like a cat but a bit more lion like). he'd give it a strong sounding name, something german idk. but he'd love the shit out of that kneazle, i can tell you that much. i feel like he'd try out for quidditch his first few years, not make it on, and then make it on to the team around fourth year and somehow end up team captain in seventh (and that proves kids, that you too can have a redemption arc in sports). as far as candy goes, ima say he likes the super sour candy like acid pops n shit. like i feel like the others would dare him to each as much sour candy as he can and then he wouldn't be able to taste for a week. but he'd think it was worth it :)

cameron (muggle born): good god this boy just wants to learn. magic just fascinates him, what with growing up in a big muggle family (bestie he is the weasleys if they were all type a). he's a ravenclaw, no questions asked. he would love classes involving preciseness and attention, things like potions and transfiguration. i feel like he'd have a cute, stable relationship along the way ofc because he deserves so much love and happiness and UGH he's a baby. he'd stick with a lil ginger cat, naming it after one of the famous wizards he's read about. he would love spending christmas at the school and going places when the ground are nearly empty, enjoying the scenery. for candy, he'd go plain and simple with chocolate frogs. can't go wrong with those. he'd still have fun with his friends, but he'd skip a lot of parties for some studying (don't judge, i do it too lmao). would not play quidditch but would enjoy it, end of story.

charlie (pure blood): slytherin. don't dispute it. think the weasley twins but even more flirtatious. he would be a regular at every single party that happened, flirting with the guys and gals shamelessly and drinking butterbeer like it was water. look me in the eye and tell me he would not absolutely fucking HATE GILDEROY LOCKHART WITH EVER FIBER OF HIS BEING. he'd do spot-on impersonations of him though. teacher's worst enemy. like when he walks into class on the first day, every teacher collectively mutters "bloody hell not this kid again". asks the most incredibly stupid questions ("okay but is there a spell to turn my eyebrows green? just the eyebrows though, not my hair"). he would be the most aggressive beater on the slytherin team, though he would never deliberately try to hit someone, just distract the shit out of them ("put the fear of god in them and fate will do the rest"). he'd want a loud, aggressive pet but he'd probably end up with a mean cat that hisses at everyone. he'd give it the most adorable name that just. does not fit the personality. something like priscilla. for candy, he'd take his chance with bertie botts' every flavour beans and just roll with the punches. he's chaotic like that.

pitts (half blood): ASTRONOMY IS HIS JAM. he fucking loves that class. he tutors the entire ravenclaw house in that class. he's the guy that little first years who are terrified of the class go to when they're completely lost and don't understand what's going on. besides that, i feel like he'd just be everyone's cool older brother yknow? like he'd be in charge of helping all the first years figure out where stuff is and giving them advice to help them and stuff. he would be a die-hard quidditch fan although he would not play the sport (maybe recreationally on the weekends and holidays and stuff, but the fact that it's so fucking dangerous just does not appeal to him). he'd like the candy that does tricks and stuff, like fizzing whizbees and stuff. he gives me charlie weasley vibes, where he's hardcore in certain areas (in his case, astronomy) and just flipping chill in anything else. cool older brother vibes, man. it fits.

meeks (half blood): i've said it once and i'll say it again: nonproblematic ginger dumbledore. also a hufflepuff <3 this dude just wants to fucking coast along, getting good grades and not participating in the dumb shit that could probably get him killed (even though he would in a heartbeat if his friends were in danger. duh). he'd be a teacher's favorite, probably having conversations with his favorite teachers during free time. okay ik this isn't technically at school, but i swear to god he would be dumbledore one day. like he would be the chill ass headmaster who gets shit done while also being very la di da life is nice flowers are pretty type of person. that being said, his favorite candy is and has been lemon drops ever since dumbledore got him addicted to them. his favorite classes would be potions (he'd surprisingly get along well with snape) and he'd just be great and mixing shit right and just knowing how much of stuff to add in ("how much powdered root do i add?" "about three and a half shakes." "that's not a measurement, meeks." "*shrug* it works"). he'd stick with his small friend group and love them to death, but he'd be a friend to all really. he'll help anyone that comes to him asking for help with homework (and though he won't admit it, he gets super prideful when it's someone a few years ahead of him).

stick (muggle born): harry potter if harry potter could've been more harry potter. like he would just be a part of everything and end up being part of some prophecy that demands he'd save the world and at first he'd be like HEY i'm just a small boy but then he'd grit his teeth and finesse the shit out of this preventing the end of days stuff. he'd definitely be a gryffindor, and fucking proud of it. he'd be the seeker on the quidditch team because he is so short and small and yeah he'd fucking kill it there. he'd kind of be the shy one no one expected much from, but once he starts absolutely wrecking the shit out of the other houses' quidditch teams, he'd become sorta popular? like people would invite him to parties and stuff and he's too nice to say no, but he'd mostly just hang around the outskirts, saying hi to the other poets if he saw them and mostly talking to chris and ginny (danburry, not weasley). he'd like defense against the dark arts and minerva mcgongiall would become his literal mother i can't explain it. he'd have an owl as a pet and treat it like it was his own child, telling it thank you every time it brought his mail or took his mail. as for candy, he'd like drooble's bubble gum because the bubbles are all magic and shit and i just feel like that would make him so happy <3

chris (pure blood): the older sister lesbian <3 she'd be a sweet hufflepuff who would be friends with everyone while also being the greatest socialite the school has ever seen. you know that party that practically the entire school attended and talked about for months on end? she planned that shit. she'd be like pitts in the respect that she'd help all the first years find their way in the school and in life in general. she's just such a warm and kind person that everyone would love her. she's have a little pink pygmy puff to match ginny's purple one, and she'd give it such a perfect, human name like lila or something. she'd be great at muggle studies and all the teachers would love her. also every one is so invested in her relationship with ginny it's adorable. he favorite candy is acid pops even though they make her eyes water like crazy. she'd make pretty good grades, every once in a while getting one slightly lower than she'd expected, but she always manages to bring them up to her satisfactory level :) she would not play quidditch, but she would go all out to support ginny, even though they're in different houses. that's what i call love, baby.

ginny (half blood): the mom lesbian <3 she's a ravenclaw and also one of the sweetest people in the whole school. while chris helps other with the social aspect, ginny will help anyone in any subject they need help with (she and meeks are a help duo on this). she's quieter and less social than chris, but she's one of the best chasers the ravenclaw quidditch team has ever seen. she'd end up team captain by fifth of sixth year. she'd be like oliver wood in that she is sO invested in the team's success that at sometimes she'll go a bit crazy, but chris is always there to help her put things back into perspective <3. she'd make stellar grades of course, being good friends with all of her teachers. her favorite candy would be the sweetest things like fairy floss. as previously stated, she'd have a purple pygmy puff to match chris's pink one, and she'd also give it an adorable human name like lisa or something. ginny's just sweet to everyone, especially neil and his friends.

I DID IT. IT TOOK FOREVER AND A FEW HAIL MARYS BUT I DID IT. enjoy besties <3 love u all

#dead poets society #dead poets society headcannons #todd anderson #neil perry #gerard pitts #charlie dalton #nuwanda #knox overstreet #steven meeks #stephen meeks #richard cameron #james stuchelli #ginny danburry #chris noel

[glitterge1pen]

Hello? I Am Calling To Remind You Of Your Local Skating Rink.

Kyōtani Kentarou x reader, sfw, fluff, 1,686 word count 

"I have a question"

Kyotani never answered or called with a "hello" or "hey". He would immediately get to the point of the conversation.

"Yes?"

You respond with, trying to be light hearted, unsure what Kyotani was going to say next.

"Do you...do you, shit, fuck, uh"

When he had called you, you had been taking a break from the show you were watching to grab a drink from the fridge. Upon hearing his nervous line of questioning you perk up in interest, propping yourself up on the open fridge door.

"Yes?"

You say again, unable to hide the slight teasing nature of your voice.

"Listen, I swear to God if you laugh I'm going to kill you just so I can piss on your grave,"

"Okay , okay, I give in, I promise I won't laugh"

You hear Kyotani sigh, he sounds very small when he finally chokes out his words.

"Do you know how to roller skate?"

☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

At 2:00pm on a weekday the rink is mostly empty. You had managed to weasel your way out of work to indulge Kyotani. You had met him outside the rink. He stood underneath the rotting neon lights that didn't hum during the day. His hands shoved in his pockets, his gaze scanning the parking lot looking for you. When he saw you approaching he turned away, a look of regret and embarrassment on his face. But you did your best to reassure him before going in.

"I'm not gonna let you fall or anything, and I'm sure you'll be good at it anyway,"

Kyotani pays for both of you even when you try to shove the five dollar admission fee into his palm. A nostalgic feeling takes over you as you take in the rink. The bright patterns dancing on the black faded carpet, the sound of kids slamming on top of the prize counter, the whiz of skates gliding over the floor, the butter smell from the popcorn, the flashing lights of the arcade cabinets.

"What size skates do I get?"

Kyotani says leaning close to your ear so that no one else can hear his question. You point out the size chart that rests behind the skate counter. You get the skates for both of you while he leans on the wall of the rink. Watching the one young family, two teenage girls, and one lone adult, move around the pond of concrete. You place the skates onto the white painted brick with a heavy thunk.

"You need help with those too?"

You say a laugh spilling through your teeth.

"Shut up,"

Is all he says as he begins to lace up. While he puts the skates on you throw your belongings into a locker with his. You toss the key to him, telling him not to lose it.

"You ready?"

You ask, hand extended to his. Kyotani sits with his hands pulling at the fabric of his jeans. His knuckles white, his face scrunched up in determination and fear. When he finally puts your hands together, he pulls on you so hard that you tumble down onto him.

"Hey, hey, calm down, not so hard"

You say as you untangle your arm from his shoulder, maneuvering your face so that you don't have to look at him. One of your arms propping you up on the bench he had been sitting on. You regain your stance and extend your hand to him one more time. He's not as rough, pulling only as much as needs too in order to stand.

"See, not so bad right?"

Your words hit the floor with Kyotani because as soon as he's on his feet they slip out from under him. You pull up on his hand, trying to keep as much of him in the air as you can. His eyes are wide, his mouth pressed into a tight line like he's trying to keep in a scream. You decide maybe talking isn't the best. Kyotani is stiff as stone once he regains his compurse. Refusing to scoot one bit from the position next to the bench. Well maybe giving him one little shove wouldn't hurt.

"If the team is going out roller skating, doesn't that mean Tsukishima will be there?"

Kyotani moves. Or rather he grabs hold of your arm, his chest clinging to your shoulder, his head next to yours, like the more of you he can touch the less of him will fall.

You pick up your foot, hovering it just barely over the carpet. Kyotani does the same. You put your foot down and so does he. Then you very slowly push back, rolling the slightest.

You and Kyotnai do this over and over. Eventually he can stand up straight again. But his grip is still tight on your wrist. You try to pull away from him, you want to show that he is more than capable of skating. Each time you lean away he follows like a magnet chasing after its other half. So you let it happen.

"Do you wanna try getting on the floor now? The carpet really drags you down when you skate on it. You think you ready for the real deal?"

Kyotani shifts his eyes from you to the flashing lights that graze over the rink floor like cows in a field. Hues of green, red, blue, lines of pink that fizz to nothing in the air. From the distance you're at now the bass of the music is just distant tremors and waves, you're sure that on the floor it's booming.

He nods.

You guide him to the step that drops onto the smooth concrete. The family that's two toddlers and their parents stick to the middle of the ring, not making full circles, while the two girls move slowly, their arms chained together as they talk and skate. The other adult there moves so gracefully that they are practically invisible as they weave between nothing and twirl around the edges of the rink.

You stumble just a bit when you meet the surface of the rink, the texture so different from the carpet. Kyotnai also fumbles, but his misstep is more drastic. He falls onto you this time, his body weight catches you off guard, you bend your knees as best you can barely stopping the two of you from toppling onto the ground.

"I fucking hate this,"

Kyotani says with a groan as he tries to separate himself from you. But his arms are shaking just a bit, his legs not yet having fathomed skating. He'll pull away, only to pull back to you. For the first time the uneasy expression he's had since he got there, is replaced with frustration.

"Hey, you're skating!"

You tell him with delight. He freezes. Suddenly forgetting what he had been doing. You start dragging the wheels of your skates on the floor, his hands clasp onto your wrist at the movement. He lets you tow him across the length of the rink. At the turn, you pry one of his hands from you, forcing him to lead into the next bend.

He teeters a bit. When he successfully makes the turn his arms raise in accomplishment. Lost in his own excitement he has let you go. You stay put waiting for him to notice. He takes two and half steps without you. Once he realizes that you are no longer by his side, he whips his head around to find you, which is the same time he falls right onto his ass.

You drift over to him. Offer your hand. He grabs it, the Kyotani you normally see having emerged. He is no longer afraid or timid, he looks like him. He says nothing to you once he's back up. A fierce glimmer in eyes, one you recognize from the moments before he scores a point or spikes a ball.

Kyotani staggers in his first few steps. But then he's fine. He wobbles around the corners of the rink, he definitely shouldn't join a derby team any time soon but he’s sufficient and beyond satisfied. You will sometimes pull ahead of him, not on purpose you are just better on the skates still. You'll wait on the wall for him to catch up.  

"Stop doing that I hate it"

"What?"

"Waiting for me, just skate"

"It's no fun that way though"

"Then let me do that thing again"

"That thing?"

You ask confused. Kyotani huffs, seemingly annoyed that he has to explain himself. He grabs onto your arm like how he had been doing before. Now that he has better grasp on skating you two make easy laps. You still guide and steer. Reminding him to keep his knees bent, and if he doesn't listen you knock into him with your hips, trying to prove your point. Occasionally he will trip only the smallest bit and you still rush to try to hold him, trying to pinpoint where you should grab on to him.

Eventually time is up though. The bright overhead lights flicker on. The DJ booth cuts the music short. You blink trying to adjust to the sudden change in scenery. Your body feels hollow without the buzz of the music and the click clack stomps of your skates hitting the floor.

"Thanks for doing this"

"No problem-"

You're cut off by your back wheels not making it over the step that leads to the carpet. Kyotani instantly reacted when he heard the hitch of your voice, his arm straining to grab the nape of your neck, luring you closer to his chest. His other hand holding onto the brick wall that lines the rink.

"Don't do shit like that! That's like the hundredth time you've fallen today"

Which is an absolute lie, because the only times you wiped out where when you were trying to save him.

"And how many times did you fall?"

You say shoulder checking him as you glide past slowly over the confettied drawn carpet.

"Not once"

He tells you with a confident smile.

☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

A/N: Did somebody say circumstantial physical touch? Me. I did. De La Souls ‘Saturday’ and Fantaisa’s ‘Hood Boy’ were crucial for writing this because IMAGINE SKATING AND THOSE SONGS COME ON????? Got a new phone case and put my Zuko sticker that Ive been saving for like six months in it. Got a paper cut today???? Lots of sunlight today so I liked that. Anyways I need to go to fucking bed. 

#kyotani x reader #kyōtani kentarō #kyoutani kentarou #haikyuu!! #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x gender neutral reader #kyoutani kentarou x reader

[wthtorke]

I read your "Swimmer's tide" fic and I'm absolutely in love with your writing style. Here because I got worried about you not updating it for a while, and hoping that things get better for you. Thank you for writing such a delightful fic that made my morning ~

Hi Anon, I haven't updated that fic since literal June of last year-, but your comment made me happy, so I wrote one more lmao hope you enjoy it, thanks for being sweet ❤

Swimmer's tide, chp 6.

Shaking his head at the, yet again, passed out human in his hands, AP walked at a steady pace back to the ship. He would be in a hurry if he had doubts of his mate's health and safety, but he knows what a human that's sick looks like, just as he knows what they look like when they black out from fear, and this was just the case.

So, he had come find him, eh? Brave little thing. Stupid, very much so, but brave. He wouldn't accept any less for a mate. The man was...a man, and that alone already put him at a disadvantage. Fuck, if he wasn't so -interesting-.

AP had been taught from a very young age not to play with his food. He was taught to eat it while it was fresh, while it was hot. Not to waste it. To savor it. 

All his plans of savoring his mate went down the drain with his decision of coming to find him. 

Nothing that a little talking wouldn't solve, though. As ironic as that sounded.

The only talking he ever did to humans was taunting, threatening and then laughing at their dismay. It sure was going to be interesting.

A soft mumble made AP look down at his arms again, to the limp figure resting against him as he walked. His face was a mixture of confused and troubled, even asleep. AP couldn't blame him, he knew he was terrifying. He liked it that way.

But you couldn't be terrifying to your own mate, could you?

Well, not to a human one, anyway.

As much as AP wanted to feel bad for acting on his instincts and seeking this human out, he didn't. He changed this man's life forever and he couldn't find it in him to feel guilty, he was selfish.

And possessive.

Decades and decades for him to finally find connection only to leave it behind? Because his mate happens to be human and lives in a shithole? With a shitty society? Not happening.

AP could and would give him anything. Any material possessions, anything he wanted killed, skinned, dead. Anything. And, he could also be soft for him, just for him.

The whole package. 

Who could say no? 

As AP neared his ship, he clicked a few times, his dogs running inside, straight to their kennels. AP himself lazily strutting inside, tapping the close button on his way in, not looking back as the door closed behind him.

Focusing on the human at hand, quite literally, AP walked over to his resting chamber, lowering him to his bed. The backpack was strapped to him, which AP quickly set to work, claws easily pressing against the rather primitive 'lock' that connected both strap ends on his chest, hearing a rather satisfying 'click' as it came undone.

AP held him upright as gently as he could, pulling the backpack from him, carefully taking each arm out of the loops, resting them on the bed again. Looking for any reactions, AP laid him out again, looking at the backpack in question one more time. 

Shrugging, AP unzipped it, going through the contents in it as his mate had yet to wake. He found water, his "cellphone" communication device and a medkit, no food.

No food? 

AP looked back at the sleeping form, eyebrows set in a questioning, mean look. No wonder the idiot fainted. 

Shaking his head, AP dropped the backpack to the ground, uninterested in it now. Resuming his waiting time, stretching before making himself comfortable. 

Hours later, he stirred. Feeling his head pulsing with pain, he moved a little, feeling around before daring to open his eyes.

He laid on something soft, surprisingly soft, considering he'd been taken by a monster. Oh God, the monster. Slowly cracking an eye open, just barely, he surveyed his surroundings. No monster on sight. No moving, no dogs, nothing. Just him and in a very big room with very big very, oversized furniture.

Sitting up, he looked around, taking in all the details. He was sure whatever took him was an alien now, everything was so strange, so otherworldly. The metal on the walls, the reddish hues from the lighting, the foreign feeling fabric underneath him, so soft but sturdy as he pulled on it. 

He should be panicking, he really should. But his backpack wasn't with him, he had no means to call for help, to say anything to anyone, it was just a matter of time until the thing knew he was awake and came for him. He had seen too much, now in the gut of the thing's ship. Was he even on earth, still? What alien would take the time to take him to space just to kill him, right?

The more he thought about it, the more puzzling it was. The thing had been stalking him, that was clear, from watching him at the pool to breaking into his house, to watching him at the pool again-, and almost give him a heart attack, and a bruised knee-, to now make him all nice and comfortable on its -own bed-, what the fuck was going on?

Head snapping back as a fizzing sound came around the corner, he saw the end of a metal like door slide up, some smoke coming off of the other room. Swallowing dryly, he watched as the thing's leg came into view, muscles flexing as it walked inside its own room. Gaze running up, he locked eyes with it, watching as its expression somehow resembled one of satisfaction. Like it was waiting for him to come to.

"Shit." He moved up on his knees, the thing taking a step forward, making him stumble back into the bed, crawling backwards until his back hit the cold wall behind him, the creature stalking towards him.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck-, no, no, no! Stay back-, stay where you are!" He yelled, standing up on wobbly legs, pressing against the wall behind him, trying to either fuse with it or go through it like a ghost, god knew he looked like he'd seen one, "Holy shit-, you're a big bitch, fuck-" He rambled, his brain doing whatever it could to talk a not-from-here being into stopping dead in its tracks.

It somehow worked, it stopped, only for it to start….laughing. At him. 

Big bitch? He called him a big bitch, first thing after waking up. After realizing he was alone in his very ship, nowhere to run to. AP laughed in a way he hadn't in a long time, shoulders shaking and tresses covering the sides of his face as he did. This sure was going to be interesting.

-

Yall can read the other chapters on my ao3 (and somewhere in here, too) but the links here and on my bio, along with the other stuff-,

#its short but its something lmao #yalls kind comments really do give me life #yall have no idea #yautja #predator #alien #yautja/human #the predator #human/yautja #alien relationship #headcanon #aliens #predators #male reader #ap predator #ultimate predator #assassin predator #upgrade predator #swimmers tide

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Can we pleaaaaaase have some chris freakout and kauri looking after him? Like maybe the first time chris ever really has a meltdown near kauri and kauri helps him or just freaks out himself just ahhhh i love these two

CW: Description of gunshot, PTSD flashback to parental death, meltdown, panic attack, some references to conditioning/pet whump, negative stimming

It’s just some asshole kids playing with fireworks, that’s all. That’s all it is, and Kauri would have been more careful, but he hadn’t known there was anything he needed to be careful for. 

He’s sitting on the grass at a park sending Jake texts to distract him from studying, playing a game they do sometimes where they tell a story with emojis alone and then the other one records a voice-text trying to guess what the story is, and then the other one says how much they got right. 

He brought Chris here because he discovered this park has a whole wood-and-metal adult playground, with uneven bars like the ones in the videos of gymnasts Chris watches on Jake’s laptop sometimes, plus a climbing wall and all kinds of things.

Chris is swinging back and forth with an easy sort of confidence, smiling to himself and occasionally checking to see if Kauri is looking as he swings himself up and over the bar, seems to hang in the air for a second despite the pull of gravity, and then back down again.

Like a pendulum, Chris swings for momentum, and then he lets go and catches the next bar, laughing, throwing his boundless, endless energy into the movements his body knows even though his brain doesn’t, and Kauri takes a second to watch him switch directions and swing back up onto the higher bar, throwing himself full-throttle, and he’ll come home scraped up and probably bruised and Kauri will have to explain to Nat that it’s impossible to want to stop him when he’s like this, all his soft nervousness shed in the pursuit of something that makes him - simply, and uncomplicatedly - happy.

Especially when he’d started out so sad.

In the parking lot nearby, a bunch of teenagers not much younger than Chris have been fucking around with fireworks the whole time. Boys with knobby elbows and an awkward self-consciousness bragging about who does the stupidest things, girls with long legs and braces laughing together, shining hair mixing in red and brown and blond as they lean into each other. 

Chris looked at them, when they first showed up, eight people stuffed into somebody’s two-door sports car climbing out like clowns at a circus, and Kauri saw the look on his face and knew it for what it was, the longing for a life he can’t get back.

He’s just a kid, and these are just kids, but there’s an ocean between them that Chris can’t overcome.

Even though he looks like them, has the same awkward gait, the same way of hunching his shoulders as if trying to be invisible, the same heavy, woe-is-me sighs and eye-rolls when he feels safe enough to push back at Nat and Jake like any other kid would... even though he looks like them, he isn’t them. 

He’s a teenager, and he has more in common with Kauri than he does anyone else. He and Kauri have a shared wealth of pain, and all he has in common with those kids now is that, once upon a time, he might have been like them.

But he wants to be like them still, it was written all over his face. 

Kauri hadn’t said anything. He’s not-... he’s not good at that, at bringing Chris out of himself. He’s not Jake, who Chris will rip himself open for, let out all his thoughts and let Jake rearrange the jumbled parts.

He’s not Nat, who can simply sense Chris’s need for a mother and give him one.

He’s not even Antoni, who can show his care somehow in simply the depth of feeling in his slightly narrowed eyes, the well of emotion he keeps there, that he doesn’t have to speak to show. 

He’s just Kauri.

He’s just here.

So he just let Chris have his moment, watched the wistfulness work itself across his expression, his soft slight rocking, listened to his low quiet hum. 

Kauri watched Chris make himself be silent, and go still, until the desire to fit in passed. He should have had an answer, some ready-made platitude or piece of comfort, but he didn’t. 

After a moment - two moments - three... Chris turned and went to the exercise equipment. It had taken a while, but he lost himself, eventually, in the movement, the swing of his body from one space to another, the strain of muscles pushed to their limits in ways he still loves.

Kauri watched him forget, after a while, and find happiness in what his body could do instead of what his brain can’t.

The kids had brought out fireworks from the trunk of the car, and Chris’s climb up a fake rock wall had a soundtrack of hissing and fizzing and pops. 

They must have pulled out the big stuff, eventually. 

Kauri’s lost in grinning as he looks at a return text from Jake when there’s suddenly a sharp, deafening crack in the air that makes Kauri jump nearly three feet, scrambling onto his feet out of sheer surprise.

He doesn’t hear the thump as Chris, mid-swing from one bar to another, tenses, misses the catch, and hits the ground flat on his back.

The teenagers cheer, clapping each other on the back, yelling fuck yeah do it again, and as Kauri catches his breath a second one goes off, a third, a fourth. They’re too close together, and there are people yelling at them to cut that shit out.

The kids laugh and shout and flip off the adults telling them to stop, emboldened by the adrenaline rush, by the sheer number of them, by the way a few other people are cheering happily, too.

Kauri’s heart races for reasons he can’t fathom and he snaps, “What the fuck, at least warn us, you little shits!”

“Fuck off!” A boy yells back, but he’s not the one who catches Kauri’s eye. One of the girls off to the side isn’t smiling anymore, but staring outright behind Kauri, eyes widening, and it’s not at the fireworks.

Another one goes off, the crack making Kauri’s ears ring all over again, but this time he hears the sound of a high-pitched cry of fear behind him and recognizes the voice.

Chris.

“Oh, shit,” The girl says, and it’s her voice that kills the sharp laughter of the boys, who look even as Kauri turns to see for himself. 

Chris, lying on his back on the ground, gasps for air that he can’t pull into his lungs, his hands up to his throat as if clawing at-

At his collar-

Kauri isn’t anything big - he’s not Jake, the hero who can hold off the terror of the light with the sheer size of his body, who will come home with a black eye and a broken rib and carry Chris up the stairs anyway. He’s not Nat with her hugs and blankets and ready dark spaces. He’s not Antoni, he’s not Leila he’s not Krista he’s not anything but Kauri, who can’t do anything, who breaks all his promises who can’t be trusted to be where he says he’ll be who isn’t a good person who isn’t trained for this-

Nobody is trained for this, Kauri hears Nat say inside his mind. She wasn’t talking about Chris, then, but-

Nobody has a map for how to walk out of hell, Kauri. But you’ve still got your compass. Go north.

He runs for Chris even as he hears other people start to notice, as Chris finally pulls in air and rolls onto his stomach, curling into a ball, hands over his head, as the first croaking breaths become louder and louder moans, rocking back and forth on the ground.

On more of the fireworks goes off and Chris screams, clapping his hands over his ears.

“Oh shit. Oh shit oh shit oh shit-” One of the teenagers says from behind Kauri, but he doesn’t even bother to tell them to go fuck themselves, he just drops to his knees next to Chris and puts a hand to his back. “Oh shit somebody’s gonna call the cops, what���s the fuck is wrong with-”

“I don’t know!”

“‘m sorry, I’m, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, sorry sorry sorry sorry, I’m, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t, I moved, I, I, I I I-I, I moved, I moved, moved, shouldn’t move, no, no no no, no, no, no...” Chris’s voice is barely his own, it’s higher and lower at once, alternating between crying and the low moans, and he shudders at Kauri’s hand but doesn’t pull away. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, sorry, I’m, I’m I’m-I’m, I didn’t-”

“It’s okay, Chris,” Kauri whispers, but Chris doesn’t seem to hear him or react. The back of his shirt is layered with dirt over the black fabric, and it comes off on Kauri’s hand as he rubs frantic circles there, not knowing what to do, how to pull him out of himself. “You’re all right, nothing to be sorry for, come on, let’s, let’s get up-”

“Hey, is he, uh, he gonna be okay?” One of the teenagers has nervously edged up next to him, a boy with scraped up knees and long stringy hair. “We didn’t-... we were just screwin’ around, we didn’t think-”

“No, you sure fucking didn’t think, did you?” Kauri snaps, and the boy flinches back from the violent anger in his voice. Kauri doesn’t do angry, he’s scared of angry, but it bubbles up inside of him and he can’t stop it. “Did you think for a fucking second that you’re not the only assholes in the world? Huh?”

“Woah, um, we’re-... we’re sorry, dude, but-”

Chris groans and bangs his head into the ground, smacking his hands palms-down into the earth beneath him, wailing and Kauri has never heard him sound like this before. The words he was stammering before have somehow devolved entirely into the sounds, and Kauri’s heart pounds as he watches Chris pull so far into himself in fear that he has no idea how to get him out.

“Is he-... is he okay, or-”

“Does he fucking look okay?!” Kauri’s voice is so loud he’s suddenly scared of himself, and fights the urge to soothe, calm, appease, apologize, moving to get ahold of Chris’s hands as he pulls at his hair, holding them tightly, feeling the way Chris’s hands shake under his grip, trembling long fingers.

“Sorry,” The kid mumbles, and backs away to his friends, but one of the girls hasn’t run but come closer, and Kauri looks up to see there are people staring at them, men and women watching them, and Kauri-

He should run.

He should leave Chris here and run, this is a risk, people might call the cops, the cops might unclip his bracelet, he might get turned in. He should leave Chris here and call Jake to come get him and hide, and get away, and keep himself safe, and-

He tightens his grip on Chris’s hands and fights his own rising panic as hard as he can.

“Can I-... can I do anything to help?” The girl asks, leaning over with his hands on her knees, watching them. “To help him?”

“I don’t-... I don’t know,” Kauri answers, helplessly. “He’s never done this with me before. I don’t know what to do.” 

Chris rocks back and forth, not pulling away from Kauri’s grip, and looks up. His forehead is smeared with dirt from banging his head on the ground and his eyes are full of tears and fear and guilt. “No,” He moans, closing them again, tears cutting tracks through the dust and dirt on his cheeks. “No, no, no... no, no... no, no, no...”

“I’ll... I’ll get-... I’ll get a damp cloth or something,” The girl says, hesitantly. Her friends are loading back into the car in a hurry, and they call out to her but she ignores them, her own jaw set, running for some public bathrooms a hundred feet away and pulling her hoodie off as she goes.

The car full of kids pulls out, all but spinning their tires in their hurry to escape the consequences. But two others have stayed, one boy and one girl, and they move to Kauri’s side, too.

A man and woman who were walking their dog come over as well, and Kauri feels them pressing in on all sides, closing off his avenues of escape. He could still run. He could still go. He can still leave-

But he can’t leave Chris.

“The sound of the fireworks did that?” The man with the dog on a leash asks, and Kauri nods, not trusting himself to speak, letting go of Chris so he can take his face in his hands, and Chris looks at him but doesn’t see him. 

He’s not Jake. He’s not Nat. He can’t do this. He doesn’t know how to help anyone else, he can barely take care of himself, he doesn’t know anything and he’s the stupidest fucking person Chris could ever need help from-

You have to stop letting his voice sound like yours, Kauri.

“Chr-... Chris,” Kauri manages, his voice trembling. Anyone could call the cops of them, anyone could suspect. His body screams at him to run, to get away, to leave Chris, to go to find somewhere new to find somewhere safe to hide. It takes everything he has to stay right where he is, rubbing Chris’s cheekbones with his thumbs. “Chris, can you hear me?”

Chris, eyes still closed, leans into the touch of his hands, and it’s not an answer, but Kauri has to hope he’s trying. 

“Okay. We-... we need to get out of here, Chris, okay? I need-... I need to get out of here.”

No, this isn’t what will make Chris feel better. He can’t do this.

He has to do this.

“You’re okay. Um, um, can you-... can you open your eyes and look at me?”

There’s a long pause, and Chris’s coppery eyelashes rise, wide green eyes stare past Kauri with terror and only slowly seem to focus on him. “I’m, I’m so sorry,” He whispers, lips pulling back from his teeth, face reddened and dirty. “’m so, so, so so so so, so, so-... so, so sorry, so, so sorry-”

“Sssshhhhh, it’s okay. You’re all right. It was just some fireworks, it’s okay.” The girl reappears with the sleeve of her hoodie soaked with water from the water fountains, and Kauri takes it when she holds it out with a faint smile and uses the sleeve to wipe the dirt from Chris’s face, to cool the flush of his skin. “I know you’re scared. I’m going to call someone to come get us, all right?”

“No, no, no, no-no, no, no one’s, no one’s c-coming,” Chris whispers, whimpers really, and he moves forward to collapse against Kauri, rocking into him, burying his head into Kauri’s shoulder, the crook of his neck. “I, I, I waited all, all, all-all night, no one’s coming, no one, no one’s c-coming, nobody, no one, and they g-got-... so c-cold-...”

Kauri hitches in a breath and slides his arms around Chris, letting the girl take her hoodie back, aware - too aware - of the growing crowd around them. Chris’s words devolve again, fall apart into moaning sobs, tears soaking the fabric of Kauri’s t-shirt, his fingers twisting and clutching into the cotton, pulling, rocking, in constant motion even now in the guilt twisted up in his fear. 

“They, they got s-so cold,” Chris whispers, and Kauri looks slowly up at the man with the dog, who is staring wide-eyed down at them. “So, so, so, she got so, she got s-so cold-”

“Holy fuck,” The woman next to the man says. Her face is ash under her skin, gray around the edges.

Anyone could call the cops of them right now. He doesn’t know that they haven’t yet. Sirens could start any moment, or maybe WRU will just come themselves with a big white van and needles and it will all be over, everything he fought to build of himself, because of Chris.

No. That’s not fair.

He chooses to care, that’s what he does, that’s who Kauri is. He cares, and he... has to be stronger than he is scared.

Kauri steadies his voice, holding Chris as tightly at he can, trembling against him. “I need you to call a number for me,” He says, carefully. 

The man nods, pulling a cell phone out of his pocket. “Yeah, uh, sure. What’s-... what number-”

“Call...” Kauri closes his eyes. “Call 555-4467, and tell the person who answers that... that Kauri needs her here now. And... that it’s not for me.”

Jake’s too far away, an hour even by car from one side of the city to the other, and he doesn’t even have his own car, yet, he’s still saving. Nat’s too far away, the safehouse is a half-hour at least. The only person he can think of on this side of town...

She won’t help, she’d never, she’d-

Nat’s voice, in his mind, a memory of her calmly reminding him, you have a compass, Kauri, and it’s gotten you this far. What does your intuition tell you?

His experiences tell him to run and don’t look back.

His fear tells him she’ll hang up the phone.

His intuition tells him she’ll come.

The man nods and dials, and Kauri closes his eyes and holds Chris tightly, listens to his words, lets him wail into his shoulder as the man and woman warn everyone else away, the remaining teenagers get Chris drinks of water from the water fountain that he takes with only the barest sense that he even sees them there at all. 

It takes twelve minutes from when Jenna gets the call to when her car pulls up at the park.

She walks out to them, over the grass, and Kauri has himself tensed and ready for the latest barrage of loathing, but all Jenna says is, “Can you get him to stand up on his own?”

“I-I don’t know,” Kauri says, and slides his hands under Chris’s arms. Chris clutches him more tightly, shaking his head, refusing to let go, and Kauri takes a breath and slowly shifts back onto his heels, half-standing, half-pulling Chris up with him. The man with the dog rushes forward to help, and so does one of the teenagers. “He heard those really loud fireworks and just... lost his shit, I just-”

“Yeah,” Jenna says, voice flat and pointedly uncaring. She gets Chris’s other side once he’s up, and Kauri thanks the people who stayed with them, tells the teenagers he hopes they get home safe.

The girl who first saw Chris only shrugs. “Not a thing. I’ve got a phone and a mom, we’ll get home, she’ll come get us.”

Chris hiccups and whimpers, and Kauri and Jenna move him to Jenna’s car. They get Chris to lay down in the backseat with his head on Kauri’s lap, Kauri’s hand running through his hair. Kauri closes his eyes, and says, softly, “Listen, Jenna, I wouldn’t-... wouldn’t have called if-”

“Don’t worry about it,” Jenna says, pulling away from the parking spot without looking in the rearview mirror, without looking to see Kauri in her backseat. 

“I... I really wouldn’t have called you but nobody else is on this side of town, and-”

“I said don’t worry about it.” Jenna rolls her eyes. “Back to Nat’s place? That’s where this kid is staying, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Chris sniffles against him, and Kauri shushes him softly, carding fingers gently through his sweaty hair. Jenna drives, taking the long way, the winding curves around the city to throw off anyone who might try to follow them. Kauri’s phone vibrates and he wonders, suddenly, how many texts Jake has sent that Kauri never answered. 

“So I guess you can be s-something other than a bitch when you want to be,” Kauri says, voice shaking, as close as he can get to a thank-you with her.

Jenna snorts, and briefly meets his eyes in the rearview mirror. “Bitches don’t get taken back,” She says, firmly. “We stay free. I’d rather be a bitch to Romantics than a pet, get it?”

“Got it,” Kauri says, but this is still probably the nicest she’s ever been to him, and he calls it a victory. “Why are you-... why did you agree to come?”

“Because of what that guy said. He mentioned it was fireworks. That’s why I’m here.”

Kauri’s eyebrows furrow. “Yeah... fireworks set him off. The big ones that crack really loud.”

Jenna is silent for a while, and then says softly, “Gunshots.”

“What?”

“There’s gunshots in that kid’s head. If he doesn’t remember them when he comes back, they’re from before, from whatever got him to sign himself up.”

“How do you know?”

Jenna makes a turn and drives over the big bridge through the center of the city, sunlight shining on water on either side, the swooping cables of the bridge making curving shadows inside the car. 

“Because,” She says, heavily, “There’s gunshots in my head, too.”

---

Tagging: @burtlederp , @finder-of-rings , @endless-whump , @whumpfigure , @slaintetowhump , @astrobly @newandfiguringitout , @doveotions , @pretty-face-breaker , @boxboysandotherwhump , @oops-its-whump @moose-teeth , @cubeswhump , @cupcakes-and-pain @whump-tr0pes @whumpiary

#whump #ptsd tw #recovering whumpee #chris the strawberry blond romantic #erase to control #jesus jenna #ptsd flashback #flashbacks #flashbacks tw #parental death tw #referenced death #brief pet whump #guns tw #only in memory but still #negative stimming #meltdown #panic attack tw #trauma recovery #box boy #box boy universe #box boy multiverse

[itsmydreamlifethings]

First Time Sex After Baby (Henry Cavill X Female Reader)

Warning: Smut and fluff. 18+ Do not post my work anywhere else. Reblogs on Tumblr are fine.) @thereisa8ella Thanks for the prompt, love. Hope you like it! It’s long, but you know....after 6 weeks of no sex taking it slow is important LOL! 6 Weeks. 6 long, damn weeks before you can have sex with Henry after giving birth to your perfect baby. You both love your daughter so much. Henry’s smitten with her and is a devoted father already. But...the sex deprivation between you, especially since you’re used to going at it damn near every day, is killing you both. You both marked this day on the calendar. Six weeks, not one day more, not one less. Tonight, it is on. It’s been way too long, and you both need some physical release. You’ve been stealing lustful glances at each other, and he’s been staring at your full breasts. A great perk of having a baby is the size of your boobs has increased even more.  The only issue is that you’re not ready for a random sitter. Leaving your precious girl at only 6 weeks old is tearing you up. Henry knows this and just like you, he doesn’t want to separate from the little one for long, especially with someone who isn’t family. After many conversations, you both decide to let his mom watch the baby at her home. You both trust her and she has other grandchildren, so she is a pro at it. You drive back from your mother-in-law’s home, and you’re sniffling. This is the first time away from your baby girl, and you’re so upset. Henry places a hand on your thigh. 

“Should I turn back, love?” he asks, concern filling his voice, both for you and for himself. He misses her too already.

You shake your head. “No, she is fine. Your mom adores her and I trust her. It’s just...I am not used to being without her...”

“I know, Y/N. It’s going to be okay,” he says and gives you a reassuring smile. “I think it’ll do us some good to be alone for a bit.”

You smile back and wipe away a tear. “I do miss you, Henry.”

“Me too, baby. I adore how great you are with our daughter. You are the best mother I could have ever asked for my child. But not going to lie, baby...I miss some attention too.” He returns his attention to the road, but leaves the hand on your thigh, stroking it slowly.

You know what he means. You miss your hunk too. And right now, you can’t wait to show him just how much you’ve missed his sexy big muscles wrapping around you, his lips on your neck, and his grunts and moaning when he’s unraveling inside you. The thought alone makes you wet already. You get home and get inside. Henry tells you to wait in the living room and tells you to stay there for a few.

“I thought we’d be going into the bedroom...” you say, confused.

“Just...wait.” He beams one of his smirks, making your knees wobble. 

You wait on the sofa for what seems an eternity and finally, he returns. “Okay, come.”

You follow him to the master bedroom but he leads you into your bathroom. The lights are off but the soft glow of dozens of candles cast a beautiful golden light everywhere. The oversized garden tub is filled with water, and you can tell a bath bomb is fizzing away. Rose petals are scattered around the tub and the tiled floor. You stare in awe. You can’t even remember the last time the two of you had enjoyed a romantic romp in the tub.

“Oh my gosh, Henry,” you nearly weep. “This is so amazing.”

He comes over and starts peeling your top off. His entire demeanor has changed from casual and talkative, to silent and intoxicating. His fingers brush against your flesh as the shirt comes off over your head and it sends tingles over your entire body.

He unzips your jeans and peels them down. You’re aware that your figure is a bit different than pre-baby, but Henry has done nothing but tell you how gorgeous and sexy you are the entire pregnancy and even the last six weeks. The way he looks at you in the black bra and panties tells you he means it too. His breathing becomes heavier and he unclasps your bra. With your bare breasts freed, he begins to caress them softly. “Fuck, baby, I miss you so much,” he whispers.

You moan, already feeling like you could come from his touch and voice alone. He slips your panties down so incredibly slow that the pleasure you feel may kill you. You already want him inside you, railing you, but it’s been a long time and you want to savor this night of freedom you have and take your time. He draws back and takes your hand, then leads you to the tub.

“Get in,” he orders softly. You step into the warm water, heaven filling your pores. You sit and get comfortable, already feeling all tension leaving your muscles. You’ve been devoting every minute to your daughter, who you love so much and would take care of for the rest of your life, but it has taken a toll on you physically or mentally. This bath and alone time with Henry is well overdue. Henry starts undressing. Fuck, he’s been working out, even more, to deal with the lack of sex and his pent up frustration, and his muscles are bulging even more. He’s fully naked, his organ already erect and begging to be near you. He climbs in the tub and shuffles behind you, so that you are sitting between his legs.

He begins rubbing your shoulders, his hands massaging you smoothly. He then trails down your back, kneading and massaging. You moan quietly, the tension trapped in your muscles fading away.

His lips begin planting kisses all over your back, while his hands caress them do your sides. He continues kissing as his arms circle you from the back and his hands find your breasts already. He cups them and begins kneading the nipples, which are sensitive from nursing. He takes his time, really feeling them in his big hands and showing appreciation.

His touch is getting you high, and being this close to him makes you want to lose your mind. You swivel around, your eyes locking. His blue eyes are full of impatient lust and you’re pretty sure yours are too. He pulls you close as you straddle him. His lips crash against yours and his tongue wastes no time. You lean into him, taking his kiss and the roughness of it. He is passionate and all of the build-up of the past weeks is evident as he hungrily bites your lower lip. “Baby, I need you now,” you say, pulling away for air. You shuffle on his lap to align to his hardness.

“So it’s okay to do it...right?” he asks, concern on his features. “Will I hurt you or something?”

You giggle, even as your own breathing is labored. “Wait is a precaution. And we were good.” You kiss him again, the tip of your tongue teasing his lips as you pull back. “We waited like the doctor said.”

“I’ve been a good boy,” he smirks, his hands cupping your ass and pushing you up. You release a whine as you settle right over his hardened tip. “A patient one.”

“You have been,” you coo. “Time to reward Daddy for being so patient.”

As if unleashing all the frustration and lust bottled inside of him, he grabs your hips and brings you down slowly onto his erection, the tip slicing through you and filling you halfway. The new sensation of having him back inside you seems like the first time you ever slept with Henry. You whine loud, already feeling your core grip tightly around his erection. Then he thrusts up, completely filling you to the hilt. You both enjoy this first thrust, just letting him settle there.  Your eyes are closed and your head leans back in ecstasy. Man, you’ve missed this feeling so much. Just having you so deep inside you, your souls mixing, his flesh merging with yours. This is what made your baby. Your soul connection and the incredible way your body just fit together like puzzle pieces.

You savor this moment but the need is too strong and overdue and Henry needs you more than ever. He brings your hips up, his hands tight on your hip bones, but you welcome the pain. Then, he slams you back down on him again, forcing a loud moan out of you. Instead of settling into another long moment, he looks at you with those “Gonna fuck the shit out of you” blue eyes.

You use your knees to ride him, matching the rhythm of his thrusts in no time. It might be a while you’ve had sex, but you reconnect immediately, your bodies reading one another perfectly. Your drape your arms around his neck as he keeps thrusting up, his speed becoming faster and you impaling yourself deeper on him.

“Fuckkkkk,” you scream.

Water splashes out of the tub, and you know there’ll be a flooded mess on the tile. But who gives a shit?

Henry surely doesn’t, because he leans forward, his back peeling away from the tub. He positions you better on top of him, so that he can control your body with each thrust. One of his hands wraps at the back of your neck and he fucks you deeply, pumping you up and down, his grunts filling the bathroom.

You know you can’t last long. You both cum at the same time, an explosion of overdue lust that is now culminating. He releases inside you with a loud groan, You are not far behind and as he gives you another slamming thrust, your walls clench and tingle, till the orgasm takes over.

Minutes later you’re both enjoying the last of the warm water, leaning back as he cradles you into his arms.

“Man, I missed this so much,” he whispers into your hair.

You nod. “As have I....but...”

“...you miss her too,” he finishes with a smirk.

You look up at him sheepishly but he smiles. “I do too,” he replies. “Let’s do it again then go pick up our sweet angel.”

#sexyhenrycavill #henry cavill #henry cavill x female reader #henry cavill smut

[fakefeltflowers]

Howdy, I rewrote Sam's back story for something unrelated and though to put it on here. Sam's full name is Sam Orion and they live in a small town known for it's spooky happenings. Also, warning for animal death, namely chickens and cattle.

---

The Orion estate is a patchwork quilt of crops and fields for livestock, passed down from generation to generation, growing like a benign tumor.The estate itself was just about as old as Sarton itself and became a fixture of the community, for better or for worse, and with the estate came the hunters. Back when the estate was little more than a ramshackle hut that leaned at a 45 degree angle, there had been hunters. When Sam was a child, they only had a vague understanding of the family’s history and the rumors. They knew that ‘back in the old days’, whenever that was, their family had been known for being reclusive and cagey. The old family shot at any animal or person that had the gall to come too close to the fence that encloses the scraggly wheat fields or to the miniscule coup. But that was back then, not like that was something that happened now. Then Sam turned 16 and the chickens began to die.

During the dog days of that summer, Sam was supposed to take care of the chickens. As far as anyone could tell, Sam had done a fairly good job, they even managed to raise a few chicks themselves. You could understand why they’d be concerned at the sight of a dead chicken just outside the coup. Fearing the worst, Sam rushed to survey the damage, but instead there was nothing. The remaining chickens were stressed and refused to come out of the coup, but otherwise fine.

Confused, Sam went back to observe the carcass, eyes raking over claw marks and feathers matted with a sticky black substance that burned their eyes. There were bite marks but there wasn’t anything eaten. It wasn’t the kill of an opportunistic predator, it was too sadistic and there was too little eaten. But the other chickens were fine and the carcass was disposed of. Still, Sam couldn’t stop themselves from crying all morning.

“Kiddo, they’re just chickens. We still have eight of them left, just leave it be. I’ll take care of it,” said their father, Arthur. He said to himself that it would just go away on its own, of course he was lying to himself and Sam.

8 chickens became 7, 7 became 5, 5 became 2. The cattle followed suit, one by one their blood mingled with the poisonous black fluids and smeared a trail through the grass leading to the woods that stood on the edge of the estate. It was a mocking trail of bait made specifically for the impatient and the naive Sam. So, they resolved to fix the problem, like they would ‘back in the old days’. Armed with a hunting rifle that had been just a little too big for them, they clambered out of their bedroom window. Following the trail of dead grass to the entry into the Whispering Woods. Then Sam waited, refusing to let the tiredness that weighed their eyelids down over take them. Eyes glazed over, Sam watched the warm wind shake the leaves that obscured their forum. They watched bugs lazily flutter by. They watched the unmoving dark lines of trees. They watched and they watched and they watched-

Sam woke with a start at the sound of snapping twigs. The moon hung high overhead as they scanned the tree line for the source of the sound. Hidden among the towering trees, a shaggy beast with a pale face paced along the forest floor, it’s long body blending in with the tall grass that bordered the treeline. Of course, not that Sam was paying much attention because at that point Sam had fired the rifle in the woods, shattering the nighttime silence. In response the beast galloped into the dark of the night, a taunting laugh echoing behind it. The hunt had begun.

‘How long has it been?’ thought Sam, a thought that had at first started as a dim whisper that only grew louder as Sam’s legs began to protest and thorns had cut through their jeans, staining their calves a rust color. The trees had managed to weave together so that barely any of the moonlight was able to illuminate the forest floor. Sam’s knuckles were white from clutching the rifle, the cold steel of the barrel sapping any residual heat from their body. They realized that they had begun to shiver despite the warmth of the summer air.

‘It’s too dark out here. I shouldn’t even be out here, what was I thinking-’

“Sam?” a voice called out, cutting Sam’s clarity short. Who was that? It almost sounded familiar, but it was hard to make out.

“Sam?” the voice repeated. Sam unconsciously began to follow the voice, it was their father after all. They needed to go home, they were so tired.

“Sam?” the voice called out, even deeper into the woods.

“Sam?!” the voice became panicked, ‘He’s hurt,’ Sam thought as they started running. The voice repeated their name over and over, becoming shrill and panicked, to a certain point it barely sounded like Sam’s father, but at that point it didn’t matter. At that point Sam was too scared to rationalize, too scared to think of anything but home.

“SAM!” the voice called out one last time before it suddenly stopped. Sam found themselves at a clearing with a creek running through it that was otherwise empty. A dawning realization was replaced by fear as they heard the rustling of leaves above them, shortly followed by the sound of something heavy softly landing behind them. Sam whipped around and locked eyes with the beast, its hollow eye sockets swimming in a sea of dirty white canvas and sharp teeth. Sam knew that they were too close to aim the rifle but nonetheless the barrel belched out a wisp of smoke with a pop of light. The bullet that was haphazardly spat out whizzed by the beast and lodged itself into a tree just right of the beast. Momentarily distracting the beast, the shattering wood gave Sam enough time to twist their body so that the beast’s long claws only managed to graze the flesh underneath their sweater.

The icy water that soaked through their jeans would be shocking if the gun hadn’t slipped from their grasp. Then the icy fear in their veins was replaced by a burning hot pain that radiated from Sam’s chest. Their vision began to blur as Sam saw their blood began to oxidize into a thick black substance that burned their skin and eyes.

The beast began stalking towards Sam, that familiar mocking laugh fell out of a maw filled with sharp teeth as Sam began to choke on the taste of hairspray and apple seeds.

Suddenly, the maw of teeth shattered with a deafening gunshot, abruptly jerking the beast’s head to the side. Sam scrambled to their feet, grabbing the rifle and aimed at the beast, shooting wildly until they ran out of bullets. Then they realized that there was still another gun firing, attached to their father, who was entirely focused on the beast. Of course, at that point the beast was little more than a shadow of its former self, it’s jaw hanging loosely by a scrap of canvas and its fur was slick with the stinking black that seeped out of Sam’s chest. Eventually, Arthur’s gun had run out of ammunition, causing the beast to chuckle lowly and began to back away.

“‘I’ll take care of it,’” the beast said in Arthur’s voice, though that didn’t distract him from reloading. But before the shooting could resume, the beast had already disappeared into the woods.

---

The sound of fizzing hydrogen peroxide was the only thing disturbing the dense silence in the kitchen. Sam did their best to not cry out as Tayna gently blotted the reddish-grey foam off their chest, instead they hissed in reply.

“I’m gonna clean this out with some alcohol, this might sting a bit,”

“Fuck!” Sam jolted away as the throbbing pain sharpened into a stabbing pain, “just, lemme do it,” they said as Tayna muttered an apology. As Sam gingerly blotted away at the claw marks on their abdomen, Arthur stared them down with an indiscernible mix of anger, disappointment and something else Sam couldn’t quite place.

“What the hell were you thinking?” he said as Sam began to dress their wounds.

“Arthur-” Tanya began, but was cut short.

“No, really Sam, what the fuck is wrong with you? Sneaking out at night with a gun like a moron, I told you I’d take care of it!”

“But you didn’t,” Sam said, avoiding eye contact with their father.

“What?” The clock above the stove top read 3:52 am, but Arthur’s voice continued to rise, “You have no right to go out in the middle of the night like that. Not only did you disobey your curfew-”

“No, you don’t get to make me the wrong one here, you knew damn well that what was killing the animals wasn’t normal!”

“And it would’ve killed you-”

“What if it went after Jack?”

“Don’t you dare bring up your brother in this,”

“I can’t believe you hid this shit from me after refusing to do anything about this, you’re supposed to take care of us!”

“I can't believe you have the gall to come into my house after nearly getting your ass killed, acting like I’m the bad guy,” the two’s voices overlapped, escalating into a shouting match. At this Tanya has joined, attempting to be a peacemaker, but it only added to the chaos, eventually waking up the whole house.

Every family member that lived in the house stood in the kitchen, tired, angry and confused. Even littlest Jack, who was only 5 years old at that point, stood at the bottom of the stairs that lead into the dining room with bleary eyes. They all stared expectantly at Arthur and Sam, who was beginning to put their shirt back on so they could avoid making eye contact with anyone in the room.

“Listen Sam, we’ll discuss this in the morning proper. Go to bed, all of you.” Arthur finally said, and people began to filter into their bedrooms, with Sam being the last one to fall asleep at the ripe hour of 5:30.

---

The sound of croaking magpies woke Sam up the next morning, though at this point it was closer to noon. Every fiber of their body screamed in protest as Sam rolled out of their bed. Not to mention the feeling of their bedsheets clinging to their still sticky body as residual sweat and blood coated their body. Unfortunately, the shower and the new set of clothes did little to ease the nausea.

The rest of the morning was less a blur and more a haze of events, a confirmation of some rumors, a disproving of others. Some monsters were real and others were made up to sell t-shirts and keychains and others were a little bit of both. A vague introduction to a house on the edge of the estate, a bed, a wall of weapons. Something about never trusting strangers and that the monsters would keep coming.

“Are the monsters ever gonna stop?”

“No, Sam, they aren’t. But you have to try,”

#yeah the quality is low but that's okay #i'll also publish this on wattpad or something for archival purposes #so yeah this version is a bit different #I originally imagined Sam meeting Splendor right off the bat but I think it's more interesting this way #also sorry for the anti climatic ending I was getting really burnt out plus I was using this for a rp fourm backstory #crunch and all that #sam scraps #creepypasta oc #creepypasta au #eyestrain #kinda #red #oc #writing #animal death #creepypasta

[angelspenance]

Prompt: Subaru created by Deus, Teana Diary User

Subaru has a knack for getting into trouble and being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Teana has a thing for perfectionism and taking note of everything in case it should help her achieve her life’s goal so the second she gets her diary assigned by a dying god she gets one of the Better ones and is a skilled, albeit ignorant of her own safety to the point of near fatal results, rival. And Teana often falls fault to easy mistakes caused by her own sleep deprivation that leave enough of a trail for Subaru to take notice of given the fact that their admittedly cute classmate who’s had their attention for… a little bit, to say the least, being at the center of so many crime scenes it just feels like it should warrant a Little bit of concern and curiosity in their mind. So Subaru follows her whilst on rollerblades and manages to swoop in behind her while her phone was away to manage to completely sweep her off her feet and ask “So what’s your deal, hot stuff” and GOD the second it leaves their mouth they feel their face BURN and Tia can tell off the bat that they’re not a diary user because they run almost directly into a stop sign after that little sentence. And they still have the audacity to go, with their skates over their head and their back on the ground, “my names Subaru, and yours? Wait never mind, you’re ms ‘head in phone top grades super ambitious’ Teana. You mind if I call you Tia?” And Tia just stands there gobsmacked before her phone fizzes and a knife flies inches away from her face and as a face emerges from the bushes Subaru goes “holy shit I know that guy, that’s Nove—“ and they quickly get up to their feet and scoop Tia up into their arms again but not without a cocky “let’s try this again” and Tia complains the whole time she’s not screaming because god 9th’s after the both of them at the moment and after they finally lose them if not for a second Subaru manages to dust themself off, place Tia down, and go “Lets try this again, the name’s Subaru Nakajima and I think you might just need me to be a permanent part of your life” and Tia just stares at them for a solid five seconds before whipping out her phone and going “fine, I have reason to trust you but know if you pull any shit—“ “you’ll what? Get me with your little diary” “just so YOU know my diary can tell the futu— FUCK” “what are you in, some kind of killing game?” Silence. “Oh you have GOT to be shitting me—“ Tia puts a hand over Subaru’s mouth and whispers “shut the fuck up if you want to get out of this alleyway alive” as she brings up her phone and guides them into an unlocked empty building and from that moment on Subaru knows she’s Not Kidding. About a month and several untimely deaths later Tia starts spiraling under the weight of “oh god oh fuck what would my brother think all I want is to bring him back but I’ve killed all these people— no I can bring them back too. I HAVE to no matter what I HAVE to become god I HAVE to bring everybody back Subaru” and she’s grabbing them by the shoulders to the point where Subaru feels like she’s going to draw blood so Subaru laces her water with something to knock Tia out for a while before they go to see the only stable user besides their now borderline found family in Nove; Fate at the orphanage. And they and Fate confront Deus about whether or not the dead can truly be brought back and of course the answer is a no. But that’s not all. The second Fate leaves Subaru’s life is on the line. And of course God himself dismantled them to the best of his abilities and asks what their strongest emotion was in their brief lie of an existence and god of course they say their love for Tia. And they make it for the time being. And they don’t even have the time to process the “I’m not even human” because any second now Tia’s going to be waking up any second now she’s going to be demanding answers and trying her best to steel herself for killing Fate and Nove. And Subaru is going as fast as they can to get back to their and Tia’s hideout because they need to tell Tia not one but two things

Before she decides on the path she’s about to take. And Subaru arrives just in time to Tia waking up and they grab her by her shoulders and go “Tia you can’t bring back the dead you can’t it’s too late, even if you do become god” and Tia just starts SHAKING in emotion anywhere from rage to shock to disgust with her actions to downright fear and then Subaru grabs her shoulders a little tighter to try to bring her back as they say “there’s something else I need you to know before we go any further” and they kiss her.

#I think. this got long enough but oughhhhh baby Nanoha future diary au is now a Thing in My Mind… #*me voice* one of two things happens after this kiss given future diary canon vs Subatea #ME GETTING THIS ASK LAYING IN THE FLOOR FOR A MINUTE BEFORE GOING ‘OH MY GOD.. TIA LOSER MC MOMENCES…’ #asks #anon #writing tag

[charlieism]

The Horror Of Staying Alive

AU where Owen murders Curt in their final confrontation on that staircase.

Read on AO3!

Excerpt: This is the end result of all Owen's suffering, plotting and patience; this is the ideal outcome; this is the plan gone right. Owen should be celebrating, or fizzing with joy, or at the very least feeling vaguely relieved or successful.

So why does he feel numb, staring at the mess of splayed limbs and the steadily increasing puddle of blood on the floor at the bottom of the stairs?

It's an awfully familiar sight.

--

"Taking your advice," Curt says, and takes a step closer, the barrel of his gun lining up perfectly with the centre of Owen's forehead exactly the way Owen knows he was trained to do. Owen... Owen didn't expect that, actually. For a second he suddenly thinks that perhaps Curt has changed, in those four long, painful, bitter years apart. Owen, it appears, is no longer one step ahead. Curt has taken the lead; his grip is steady on the gun even as his hand trembles, his eyes are staring directly into Owen's as if he's trying to burn their exact shape into his memory (Owen never forgot what Curt's eyes looked like; they haven't changed at all, they're just shining with some unfamiliar emotion now) and Owen barely has time to tense as Curt's fingers tighten on the gun until his knuckles fade to white. Owen prepares himself for the pull of the trigger—for a scarlet flash of blood and brain he won't be alive long enough to see—and keeps his eyes open. He can't bring himself to look away from the American agent. He hates him so much, rage burns like molten rock behind his ribs just at the sight of the man, of the bastard who is responsible for all Owen's pain and suffering and agony these last four years. The scars of old injuries burn and the phantom ache of long-broken bones resurface, just from looking at the person who broke Owen's heart by leaving him equally as broken under that fucking staircase.

Owen thinks there's probably poetry in the fact that their final confrontation is also on a set of stairs. He's probably meant to see it as some grand metaphor, or whatever. Mostly he just hates it. Hates everything. Hates this entire shitty situation. Hates the fact that Curt's about to kill him—is this really how his story ends? He just hates Curt. Hates him more than he's ever hated anything in his soon-to-be-over life. Hates the fact that he can't tear his eyes away from Curt's gaze, even as he hears his shaky inhale, even as the gun trigger practically creaks. Hates the waiting, why the fuck is it taking so long? Owen doesn't want to die, but his brain should've been blown out seconds ago. Curt is hesitating, taking too long to act. Owen knows the other man is four years out of practice, but this is just sloppy.

His eyes flicker down to Curt's grip on the gun of their own accord. It's... shakier, than it was before. Less sure. He looks back up, and Curt's eyes are suddenly brimming with unshed tears.

"Damn it," the American grits out through clenched teeth, and... huh.

It seems that personal history truly does have its benefits.

 Owen's always been the better spy. He sees an opportunity, he snatches it without even having to think about it; that's what MI6 and Chimera have trained him to do. Moments before Curt's resolve can return and his handle on the gun can strengthen, before he can shoot the killing bullet, Owen darts forward. He grapples with the gun, twisting it from Curt's fingers with a cry of pain and shock from the other spy and yanking it towards himself, effortlessly spinning it and levelling it at Curt's head (not his heart, this time. If there was poetry in that one, Owen wants it ripped up, shredded, burned, and never ever read). Owen takes another step back, rising to a higher level than the other spy. There's probably also something metaphorically important there; he couldn't give less of a shit right now. He's too focused on Curt's reaction.

Curt's hand is still outstretched, but he pulls it back to cradle his fingers. He's still staring at Owen, those infuriatingly familiar eyes wide and swirling with emotion. Even after all these years Owen can read him like a book. Curt's surprised, angry, intensely sad (heartbroken, pipes up a little voice in Owen's head that he always ignores), and... something else. Something flat, and tired, and aching.

Acceptance, Owen realises.

Resignation.

"You almost got me, old boy," Owen automatically forces a cocky laugh, trying to recover the situation with blustery bravado and his confident persona. "But, alas, I'm still the better spy."

"You always were," Curt whispers softly, sadly, and— Owen's almost confused. The Curt Mega he knows would never have admitted that.

"Glad to see you finally realise it, at the end of your life," Owen spits. Curt just watches him. Owen frowns, shifts, tightens his grip on the gun. "What, no fancy last words? No last witty retort from the great Agent Curt Mega?" he sneers. He's not— unsettled, he's just... well, the plan is back on track, but the situation was derailed for a moment there and he just needs to get back to grips.

"I kind of already gave my heartfelt speech back there," Curt says, "and it did nothing. And you already got my gun back, so really, what else can I do? How can I convince you to stop?" he asks, and his tone turns pleading, begging. It's satisfying to hear. It's not enough.

"I'll never stop. I'm going to fix this corrupt shithole of a world, and I'm going to start with you." Owen hisses. Curt opens his mouth as if he's about to argue (typical, predictable), but then he just... stops. Closes his mouth. And then closes his eyes.

 Owen doesn't like that at all. It's the first time Curt's broken eye contact since he batted the British man's gun away. Owen doesn't know why but it irks him, tugs something sharp and vicious loose in his chest.

"Don't you get it, you idiot? I'm going to kill you!" he rampages, fury bracing his voice with steel. It works, though, as Curt's eyes flutter open.

Hazel. Tired, gleaming, grieving. Familiar. Owen knows the exact shade, hue, and shape of those old eyes.

"Better you than anybody else," Curt says quietly. Owen is too well-trained to let his grip loosen on the gun; not again. But...

"What?"

"With everything we've been through with one another, with how our history is weaved together... if anyone is going to kill me, Owen, it makes sense that it's you. You're the only person I can see doing it. And I... I don't win here. And it's not okay, but it's. It's how this ends. And it's my fault. And for what it's worth... I'm sorry," Curt says simply, and Owen—

Owen rages. His chest burns with fury, gut roils with disbelief, hand trembles with the amount of pure hatred rushing through his veins. How dare he. How fucking dare he! He's apologising?! After all this time, all this pain, all this— after every 'evil' thing Owen's done, Agent Curt Mega is apologising to him?! Curt Mega is a brash, self-centred brute and he never apologises, because he's never wrong even when he is, so what the hell is this?! Owen can't— Owen hates him.

He hates him, he hates him, he hates him.

Curt is staring at him, but it's not a hopeful look. He doesn't look like he's attempting one last-ditch effort to convince Owen to leave Chimera or, trying to lure him back to Curt's side. No, his gaze is just... wide-eyed and taking Owen in.

Owen is shaking.

This was not a part of the plan.

 Owen has been planning to kill Curt for so long now. He has the final words he'll say to Curt planned out, flowing scripts written in his head, a million options for a million different situations with a million different outcomes. He's learned all his lines over and over, has righteous speeches scratched into his very bones, vicious parting words scorched into what's left of his heart.

And yet, in this moment, he can remember none of them. Points and feelings and words he'd thought had become an essential part of his very being have disappeared, chased out of his head by the man they were planned for himself.

Owen doesn't know what to say, so he pulls the trigger instead.

It means he's watching as Curt's glittering eyes, still staring into his own, lose the vibrancy of life. He sees the spray of crimson blood, white bone, and grey matter explode outwards, watches Curt's corpse tumble backwards and down, rolling and knocking against each step until he's lying at the bottom of the staircase, crumpled and broken and very much dead.

Owen's been waiting four years for this moment. The picture of Curt's death was what he had lived for. His traitor ex-love, his mortal enemy, his arch nemesis, finally beaten and gone. This is the end result of all Owen's suffering, plotting and patience; this is the ideal outcome; this is the plan gone . Owen should be celebrating, or fizzing with joy, or at the very least feeling vaguely relieved or successful.

So why does he feel numb, staring at the mess of splayed limbs and the steadily increasing puddle of blood on the floor below him?

It's an awfully familiar sight.

He rips himself away from the scene and holsters his gun as he stumbles away. He doesn't vomit, but it's a shockingly near thing.

He should finally be happy.

So why does he feel as dead inside as Curt Mega finally truly is?

Chimera wins. They topple the spy agencies, and Owen feels nothing when he should feel elated. He thinks, deep down, that maybe if he gave himself the chance he would feel something, but he's afraid to linger on what those feelings might be. (They'd be the wrong ones.)

Everything is going according to plan, except for Owen.

Curt Mega haunts him, his presence lingering on just as strongly in death as it did in life. Owen can't stop thinking about their final encounter: about how Curt had acted; the things he'd said; the way he'd managed to surprise Owen again and again. There's a horrible, ever-present thought hovering in the furthest back corners of Owen's mind. Had Curt changed? If so, how? What was he truly like, after those four terrible years apart? Owen had thought he was still predictable, and in a way he was, but he'd also seemed... different, somehow.

Owen doesn't like to think too hard about it. He's afraid of the consequences of doing so.

He sees Curt's eyes in his final moments every time his own eyelids slide shut. The way they'd shone and stared and swirled with emotion was imprinted onto Owen's retinas. He tortured himself trying to decipher exactly what Curt had been thinking and feeling in those last moments; he could pick out most of Curt's emotions in those final few minutes, but there had been something strong in his eyes that eluded him, that Owen wasn't able to place. It was frustratingly, painfully, horribly familiar.

(Love, the tiny part of his brain screamed, and Owen screamed hoarsely back at it before boxing it up and forgetting it completely. He refused to think about... he refused.)

Owen followed Curt's lead and began to drink. He drank too much, too often, just because it meant he could forget. Forget that he'd seen Curt Mega die, watched the culmination of all his dreams for four long years come true and have it bring him no joy; forget the way that, despite the numbness, he was still feeling too much. He could forget how he was still hurting. He could forget everything.

In some sick, twisted way, he understands Curt better now.

He wonders what would've happened if Curt had done what he'd been about to and killed Owen right then and there. Wonders what might have happened if neither of them had stuck to the plan, and Curt had arrested Owen instead. He asks Cynthia Houston about it, once they've broken down the United States Secret Service. She spits at him and screams at him and cusses him out; her outrage almost manages to make him feel sad, surprisingly enough. He'd liked her, once.

She names him a traitor and evil and the scum of the earth, and right before he kills her she calls him out for what he did to Curt. Her whip-like tongue cuts into him for all the pain he caused, for how dirty and low-down what he did was, for how long her best agent mourned and ruined himself with grief. That punches through the nothingness encompassing Owen and hurts. It shouldn't, but it does.

Her death brings no satisfaction either.

He shouldn't care about what she says, anyway; she was the head of the United States’ Secret Service, was in control of the entire American spy agency, and Owen knows that the spy agencies are the real enemy.

That makes him wonder, though, on rare occasions, how much of the blame he pinned on the single American spy should've instead been thrown at the spy agencies. If his hate was directed to the wrong target the whole time, if that's why he feels like this. If what he felt had even been hatred.

He drinks so he doesn't have to think like that anymore.

It doesn't work.

Owen Carvour hates Curt Mega. That hatred was his entire existence for four long years, except it wasn't just hatred. Curt had made Owen feel so many different things, bad and good and somewhere in between, for so long that Owen doesn't think the words to describe those experiences even exist.

He hated Curt so violently. He did. But did he really? He was so angry and hurt and betrayed, what else could he have possibly felt towards the other man, after all that had happened?

(Love, the voice cries, and Owen cries with it.)

Owen watches the world burn in a fire his own hands helped spark, and feels tired. He's exhausted, and sad, and can't even dredge up the will to be angry anymore. That anger died with the other spy. After all this time, all this pain, he's been broken.

The realisation that it was Curt goddamn Mega's death that finally broke him is a hideous twist of cosmic irony that makes Owen laugh until he's crying and staring at the bottom of a bottle.

Owen looks at the new, open world; thinks about Curt Mega and their personal history; finally lets himself feel all the conflicted and complicated and strong feelings he has towards the other man; and wonders if Curt would've ever forgiven him.

Then he thinks about the look in Curt's eyes right before Owen shot him and knows, deep in his heart, that the other man already had.

Owen will never see those eyes again, and it's his own fault. He shouldn't crave forgiveness from a man he murdered. He shouldn't hate the world that is the result of his own plans coming to fruition. He shouldn't miss Curt. He should feel good.

But in the end, he just feels heartbroken.

There's probably something symbolic in that; Owen mainly just thinks it's cruel.

#spies are forever #saf #curtwen #curt mega #owen carvour #tin can brothers #tcb #joey richter #jay rambles #jay writes #fanfiction #cynthia houston #lauren lopez #starkid #agent curt mega #tatiana slozhno #fanfic #angst #me? using too many italics? its more likely than youd fix #anyway this is NOT a fix-it

[heli0s-writes]

Surprises

Summary: You and Bucky babysit the Barton clan. Pairing: Reader x Bucky Barnes A/N: Silliness, little angst at the end. TW: Mentions infertility.

Bag of Tricks One-Shot Masterlist

You are surprisingly good with kids.

When you visited the Barton farm for the first time, all of Clint’s kids loved you. After the initial excitement over Captain America, Thor, and Auntie Nat, they always came back to you. You’d be plopped down on the couch, flipping through the channels, and Clint’s daughter would find her way into your lap with a picture book.

To be polite, you had read it to her the first time, accidentally becoming very invested in the Lorax’s plight for environmental justice and the next thing you knew, your voice was loud and booming, rising and falling with the cadence of each line. The boys had shown up, too, clapping and cheering at the end and requested another book.

Clint never let you live down reading his kids four books that evening. And building a blanket fort. And rolling yourself up in the blanket and hobbling after them.

The next time you returned, Lila had moved onto chapter books, and you were happy to help her read those as well. She had a lot of questions about volcanoes and dinosaurs, and you would answer them to the best of your ability. She knew quite a lot for a 2nd grader, so you ended up asking her quite a few questions about volcanoes and dinosaurs as well (who the heck knows how to pronounce Deinonychus anyway?)

At the end of the night, she was curled up in your lap while you braided her hair. You were glad she fell asleep because it was quite honestly a travesty that all 7 braids were different sizes and shapes.

“You ever think about raising your own kid?” Clint asked later that night. “In this business? Pfft.”

So, you settled on being the Barton’s babysitter when they needed one. And on one dark October night, you enlist Bucky Barnes’ help.

-

“Can you braid my hair while we watch the movie?” Lila asks as she settles in next to you on the couch. Cooper and Nate are down on their bellies in front, squished pillows underneath them to soften the hardwood flooring.

“Lila,” You sigh, “You don’t remember this, but last time I braided your hair… you looked terrible.”

“It’s okay.” She giggles, “It just feels nice!”

Bucky is on the other side of the couch, gaze attached to the slasher movie you had been told specifically not to put on for the kids. With a slight kick to his knee, you ask him for help with your eyes. Lila doesn’t know, but you can’t braid worth a shit—most of what happened to her hair last time had a lot to do with sheer dumb luck. And it was still a travesty.

She might say that she doesn’t care, but you know any eight-year-old girl cares about what their hair looks like. Even if it’s just a night in with her brothers.

He sends you an annoyed look back, because you dragged him to bumfuck middle of 80 acres of nowhere and he’s watching Planet Terror with a bunch of children. Barton is going to skin his ass when he gets back.

“Bucky, can you braid?” You whisper as Rose McGowan fires her fucking machinegun leg and the ricochet shudders through the T.V.

“Yes.” He replies.

“Help a girl out, man.” You motion to Lila, who has now covered her eyes as red sprays from an enormous wound. Bucky grimaces at the way your fingers have separated three locks. Already it is a tangled mess and you haven’t even started.

“What are you trying to do? Give the kid dreadlocks?” He scowls, slapping your hand away and scooting over so that she’s now mostly in front of him and you are squished and diagonal, pushed away by his shoulder. In mere minutes he makes short work of the herculean task you had tried to take on.

It’s a perfect fishtail braid, and he’s even used strands of her hair to wrap around the elastic neatly. You stare open-mouthed at him as Lila pats the back of her head and happily squeals at what he’s done. Bucky grunts in reply and then sinks back into the sofa, crossing his arms.

“I gotta turn this off. This can’t be good for the kids.”

--

“EARTHQUAKE!” You scream, grabbing the edge of the dinner table and rocking it so hard all the pieces of the board game fall over. Cooper is out of his seat, throwing his hands up in the air as he yells, “CHEATER!” And Nate looks like he’s on the verge of tears.

Lila could care less, still enamored by her beautifully weaved locks.

Bucky puts his face in his hands as you expertly dodge the metal dog and thimble piece Cooper is throwing at you. It’s bad enough that you had been massively in debt to the bank but shaking the board because you were losing is a new level of low. The kids chase you around the house and throw pillows at you when you climb too far out of their reach. Pastel strips of Monopoly money lay scattered all over the house.

Bucky hisses your name as you perch on the hutch in the dining room. “Get down from there! Christ!”

Nate tosses a cushion up that you swat away easily. Cooper throws a cookie that you catch in your mouth. “I’ll die before I come down.” You mutter, “Stupid, capitalist, Monopoly-monocle’d, pocketwatched motherfu—”

A pillow to the face muffles the rest of your complaint and Bucky points at you in a silent scolding. Thank God he has good aim because if the Bartons come home from date night and little Nate was calling someone a motherfucker, Laura would skin his ass.

“You are terrible with children!” He whispers when the kids leave the room to find something else to do.

Slowly, you climb down and pat his shoulder. “My favorite part about kids is the part where I give them back to their parents.” You admit. “I didn’t think they’d take this long.”

From the corner of the dining room, Nate and Cooper rush forward screaming at you. Pillows are raised high above their heads as they leap and pummel you with the fluffy squares. You shriek and fall down and make a huge show about it—something about melting and turning green and flying monkeys. It’s all too much, but the kids love it and tell you it’s what you deserve for being a cheater.

But then Nate and Cooper yelp as you snatch their ankles in your hand and stand tall, holding them upside down. It’s easy to forget that you have super-human strength because you certainly don’t look like it. But it’s on display now as you spin around on your heels and take the boys circling with you.

Nate’s head misses the corner of a wooden chair by centimeters and Bucky thinks he might fucking faint. Lila takes this opportunity to try and jump on your back to save her brothers, but she’s just a fraction too slow and your arm crashes into her instead, sending all three siblings tumbling and you as well.

Bucky sighs severely as he stands over the mess in the kitchen. One adult (tentatively labeled), three children, rubbing their heads and limbs, pouting like babies. There is a swelling mark underneath Nate’s hairline and he rubs it gingerly, whimpering when his fingers touch it.

You run to the refrigerator for an icepack before he can burst into tears.

-

Forgiveness is earned after three hurriedly made root beer floats—extra whipped cream piled so high that it overtakes the entire glass and the kids stick half their noses in it to try and lick some off. You slump heavily in a chair and dig a spoon into your own glass of fizzing cream and soda.

A single cherry is plopped on top of the bubbles. Bucky peers down at you, licking the syrup off his finger with a smirk.

“I guess you’re not so bad with kids.” He says, glancing over at where the three previously dour Bartons sit, now giddy with cheer as they slurp their desserts. Cooper has stuck his finger in his glass, scooping up the last remnants of sweetness before turning over and eyeing Nate’s half-full container.  

You throw the cherry into your mouth and grin, “Yeah. I’m kind of a miracle worker.” And then your tongue pokes around in your mouth and you shut one eye as if in intense contemplation. When you stick your tongue out again, the cherry stem has been tied into a little knot, glistening with spit.

“Woah!” Lila yells, “How’d you do that?”

“I wanna learn!” Cooper rushes forward, peering at the stem between your fingers, and then all three kids are screeching, “me too!” and jumping in circles around the table. Bucky puts both his hands up when you start explaining what to do because he—an actual, reasonable, adult—does not think teaching three kids to tie a cherry stem into a knot is a good idea.

Before he can do much else, the Barton children are shoving each other and arguing. Then they break out into laughter and take off into the living room. All Bucky hears next is screaming and the sound of six feet jumping on every cushion there is. They tumble, wrestle, run, and in general act like little hazards. Nate screeches at the top of his lungs—just because, apparently.

Bucky takes your spoon from your mouth and scoops a big chunk of ice cream for himself, resigned to getting skinned. When Clint and Laura come home and find their kids cracked out on sugar at—he checks the clock—good fuck, half past midnight, they are going to kill the both of you.

The spoon is still in his mouth when he mumbles, “You are terrible with kids.”

--

“Huh.” Clint says when he enters the living room and finds all five of you settled in comfortably with the children sound asleep. Laura’s cheeks are a bit peachier than you remember and there’s a lazy little smile that graces her features as she peers down at her children.

“Sorry—they fell asleep during the movie and I didn’t have the heart to wake ‘em up.” You say with a sheepish grin, tilting your chin up and watching him upside down.

“That’s okay, kid.” Clint grins, hand on his hip. “Jeez, you really wore ‘em out. What’dja do?” He gives Bucky a curious look but doesn’t say much else. The two of you are sharing a blanket in the middle of the floor, heads propped up by one couch cushion. Lila is to your left with her head on your arm, fishtail braid bursting apart, strands of hair flaying about around her head like a halo. Cooper and Nate are on the other side of Bucky, mouths open and snoring softly.

They’re even changed into their pajamas, teeth brushed and everything.

Slowly, Clint picks up Lila and Cooper and Laura does the same to Nate. They go upstairs to put the kids to bed while you and Bucky peel the blanket off, quietly making your exit.

Before you can reach the car, the front door swings shut and Clint is stepping out with his hands tucked in his pockets. “Hey.” He calls, “Thanks for the night. Laura and I haven’t been out alone in months.”

“Don’t mention it.” You beam. Behind you, Bucky scoffs just enough for you to hear.

“You sure you don’t want any kids? You’re damn good with ‘em.”

Bucky snorts louder, kicks the dirt beneath this boot and puts his hand on your shoulder, “Her favorite part is giving ‘em back.” He announces before you clamp your hand over his mouth. His eyes twinkle under the moonlight as Clint waves goodbye and retreats into his home. The screen door clicks quietly, and you watch the yellow glow of each room turn off until the cabin is just an afterimage against the darkness.

“You think brushing twice was good?” You mutter with a sigh as Bucky pulls out of the dirt driveway.

“No, which was why I suggested mouthwash.”

A silence passes before you suck on your teeth and say, “Hey, check it out.”

Peeling your lips back, you show him the cherry stem from earlier in the night, now neatly tied with another knot next to the first one. Bucky scoffs and snatches it from your teeth.

“I swear to all fuck, how you got them fooled is beyond me. Fuckin’ Planet Terror, then shaking the goddamn Monopoly board, and then teaching fuckin’ kids how to tie--” he throws the stem back in your face, “and then ice cream at midnight.”

“Hey! They had fun!” You cry, dodging him.

“They threw up!”

You cackle, because they did all throw up, and it was really funny. Bucky groans and rolls his eyes because you would absolutely be the worst mother. Your kids would grow up in the most chaotic household. But, he thinks, they’d be loved. So maybe you wouldn’t be the worst. You also had them help you clean up the house and were firm with them when they didn’t want to. Bucky feels a smile grow on his face. Maybe you are good with children.

“You’re pretty responsible, Buck. You think you’ll ever have kids?”

It’s a quiet question. Suddenly your demeanor is sullen as you turn to gaze out the window, peering at the full moon and he knows where your mind has wandered to.

Clint has something the rest of you can only dream about. You might crack jokes about being terrible with children, but it’s no secret that domesticity is something you long for. A baked apple pie in the windowsill, running under summer sprinklers, hanging the sheets up to dry, dancing through the living room barefoot, kind of life.

There are mobiles of stars and paper airplanes in your dreams, swaddling cloth with giraffes and moons. Gerber Baby food jars and baby-proofed corners. There are nights when you think about what the gene experiments did to your body and all you can do is stare silently.

The irony of you being so good with children is not lost on him.

A warm hand clamps itself over yours. Bucky links his flesh fingers through your smaller ones, holds onto the wheel with his metal hand.

“Nah.” Bucky says, “My favorite thing to do with kids is give ‘em back.”

A short laugh escapes as you grip his hand tighter, letting the moment pass on by like it always does. Usually you ride the wave on your own, crash on your own, and awaken the next morning in disarray on your own. But this time, his warm hand is holding you steady as the pain crests and ebbs away.

“Hey.” You say, rubbing your thumb over his in a surprising show of affection. Bucky feels his heart pick up a faster beat as you worry your lip with your teeth. Then, because you’re always full of surprises, you stick your tongue out where the cherry stem has collected another knot. “Check it out.”

He laughs, a deep, rumbling, genuinely joyful sound as he squeezes your hand. “You’ll have to teach me that some time.” He jokes-- anything to keep you from looking so sad.

Your lashes flutter as you blink slowly in contemplation. Bucky’s heart picks up again when you turn to him and shyly say, “If you pull over, I can teach you right now.”

#marvel #mcu #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #self insert #fanfiction

[youngblizzardglitter]

Outed

The sun was bright so bright it woke up Terry in a few moments. He hated it with passion and turned over only for it to still be in his eyes.

Terry sighed getting up from his bed his back ached and his head pounded. He had spent the night packing their stuff to move back to their home town. And like usual his younger brother forgot to pack and he had to do it.

He's gonna miss me when am dead. He thinks moving past his boxes to close his window. His boxes wide open go see his stuff he had stopped halfway too tired to continue.

"Your up?" He asks seeing the younger boy putting on his shoes. He was never up this early and usually woke up at ten or eleven.

"Your not." He laughs mentioning his hair wrapped and tired face. Terry rolled his eyes. "I am meeting with Valerie remember?"

"Your girlfriend?" Terry jokes leaning on the stairwell smirking at his pink face.

"No!" He says looking back at his shoes. "She invited me to a party and her friends couldn't come. And I want to be ready."

"What kind of party is so early?" He looks over to the clock that read 7:50.

"It's a long drive from here. The family is rich or something." He shrugs that's what Valerie had told him he didn't know the family either.

"What me to make you something?" He says walking down stretching. "Or do you want to wait for the drive?"

"I don't know may-Hey!" He says as Terry ruined his hair. "I worked hard on this!"

"Okay." He pulls out some milk and cereal. "You want some eggs or?"

"Naw I'll take a sandwich." He says looking for his coat. "Where's my-"

"Upstairs to the left of your bed." He finished knowing he never remembered where it was.

"Thanks." He said running up the stairs to get them.

"Where's my-"

"Up." He says remembering he put his sunglasses there. He really is going to miss me when I die.

"Thanks." He said looking out the window. "There he is!"

"You forgot something!" He says taking his headwrap out. He promptly came back and kissed Terry's cheek.

"Your sandwich you idiotic freckle!" He says as the girl in the car laughed at the nickname Ace stuck his tongue out embarrassed and the older Tornado happily returned the gesture.

But he did take his sandwich ad he would consider it a win.

He quickly needed to get a shower and put on some old clothes he needs to pack he couldn't believe how long this summer had felt.

The death of their uncle had taken a bit of a toll on the both of them he was always busy but he did make efforts whether or not they were needed. He left Terry everything in his estate. So he decided maybe a change of paste and place would help him.

He didn't have such luck. He had to be ready for a call every day about something. He had to do a funeral, a will reading, getting custody of Ace and on top take care of him.

It wasn't like he didn't already he practically raised Ace after their mom died. He still missed her despite not knowing her much.

And hate the bastard that killed her. He thinks closing a box angrily. He had his face burned in memory.

And if I ever have to-

The doorbell rang knocking him out of his daze he didn't even shower yet and someone was at the door. Geez, why is the world so up?

"Terrac-" a big man started. He wore a black suit and had glasses like any businessman. This should have been sign one it was bad along with his government name.

"Terry." He corrects instantly leaning by the door. Everyone always knew after a bit not to call him that.

"I have a letter for you and it's urgent matters we need to discuss." He started to be cut off.

"You have a warrant?" He asks quickly he was smarter than that.

"Am not coming in I just need to make sure this was delivered."

"And read." He hands him a card. "Call me when you do it seems like you have a lot to do." He was judging the state of the house.

Bitch. Terry slammed the door close.

Is it a government letter? No, it's never this serious. Is it the court telling me that I can't adopt Ace? No am almost 18 it's cool.

Then who the fuck was that? Is this blackmail?! What the fuck have I done now?!

Terry breathe and open the letter it can't be that bad, can it?

"Where the fuck is he?!" A voice screamed through the house. Everyone paused hearing it they knew who that was they didn't know why he was here.

Steve's head snapped away from Cree towards an angry Terrence Tornado who had papers in his head. His eyes were dangerous as they glowed purple and that was a bad sign. It meant he was pissed.

"Where the fuck is your father?!" He screams marching towards him.

"Outback why do you-" He couldn't even finish his sentence when the hardest slap he ever got in his life it threw him into the wall. "Ow!" He screams dropping his punch to hold his face as it burned as Tifa asked him if he was okay. His teens and their parents stood in shock knowing the uninvited teen came to start something.

But what?

"Terry what the-" He looked around not finding him.

"Fernando you little bitch!" He screams walking down the staircase that lead to the party for said, man. "What the fuck?!"

Steve quickly went to the balcony to watch as did his teens. His father stood shocked holding his mother's hand who eyes broadened at the sight of purple eyes. So did a few others knowing what they meant.

"Terrance?" He asks as his guests looked at the scene playing before them. Their eyes fixated on how angry Terry was. The way his eyes light up and his face of pure rage.

"What are you doing?"

"I could ask you the same thing!" He pulls the letter open and unfolds it."What the fuck is this?!"

"Paper?" A glass got thrown at his head for that perfect aim. A few gasped when Terry threw it as it nearly hit Rose.

"No a court order for custody of your son." He says looking back on it. "You never claimed him when he was born what's your motive now?!"

"What-"

"How are you pull up to me?!? Tell me " Oh I wanna see my kid so bad am taking you to court for it" like you dont owe him fucking thousands of dollars of child support?!"

He screams walking close to them as they walked back people wondering if they should call the cops.

"I swear on your life if you don't get your head out of your ass and cancel this court date I'll sue you right for negligence and abandonment!"

The air got silent quickly at that. Terry's face didn't look like he was messing around. Mr.Fizz took a sip of the champagne they were serving at his party.

"Terrance-"

"Don't you fucking dare." He snaps knowing he was egging him on. He of all people should know he hated that name.

"Fine Terry. How about we go inside and-"

"And what? Lie to me? Blackmail me? Like you did my mom?" He says not letting him finish people began to whisper.

"I never-"

"Yeah, you did you piece of shit." He says nonchalantly. He wasn't even mad very at that just disappointed.

"Why I never!" Mrs.Dickson announced holding Rose's hand. "What a rude ill-mannered boy. Whatever this is is being blown out of proportion. Did you really need to come today and ruin it?"

Macy Dickson always was a hard-spoken woman she always said what was on her mind. She wouldn't allow her best friends twenty-five marriage be tainted.

Terry looked back at her ready to curse her out and then saw a banner reading: "Happy Anniversary Fernando and Rosetta Fizz."

He didn't have the reaction you'd expect he didn't become sheepish or have a moment of realization he smirked with malice intent.

"Oh, so you didn't tell Rose this party is basically a lie?" He laughs like he was told a joke.

"Terrance-"

"Because you fucked my mom a decade ago? And hid your affair child?" He laughs shaking his head. "She could do better."

"Wait what?!" Steve said from the balcony everyone glanced to see his shocked face as if he been slapped. As his cheek was redder than his shirt. "Dad what's he's talking about?!" The realization of something hitting him hard.

"You a bastard! Your so lucky people are here so I can't kill you!" He stepped forward. "Kinda the way you killed my mom!"

"I-"

"Yeah, you fucking did! I heard that phone call!" He stepped closer again as his wife removed herself from this display completely distraught.

"Was she not enough?! You wanna take Ace from me too?!"

"I swear to God every time our families meet someone from mines dies! What do you want this time?!"

"I don't want-"

"Speak for fucks sake-!"

"Then let me!" He screamed back. He coughs quickly realizing he too now was causing a scene.

"I don't know much about this just yet this was sprung on me a few days ago. Whatever this is can be over promptly."

They stood there looking at each other unfazed waiting for the other to make their move everyone knew the air was tense and that they shouldn't butt in. Two minutes passed before Terrence moved.

"Dear Terrace Max Tornado, We hope that this letter finds you in good health as we recently became aware of you taking custody of your younger brother Alejandro Ace Tornado after the recent death of your uncle Ice Tornado."

Mr.Fizz gapped knowing he was backed into a corner everyone became speechless as they heard intensely Steve leaned in hearing from far.

"But we the court of Virginia state are sorry to inform you that you cannot as his biological father Fernando Burno Fizz wishes to also get that right and demand custody of Alejandro the least fifty percent."

Terry looked back at him testing him.

Say something I dare you. His eyes yelled smirking. 

"Your court date is the first Tuesday of next month. Please being a lawyer and any paperwork that helps with your case as we cannot continue with your demand for custody of your younger brother. While it is unusual to allow it to you at the recent age of sixteen."

"Please contact us or your lawyer for any questions."

He stopped reading looking back on him testing him. His eyes no longer glowing but we're deep purple signaling he was still angry. Mr.Fizz looked down at his glass knowing he was deep in a hole now.

"I haven't even opened the second one you bitch." He snaps putting the letter back. Everyone mouth was open even Macy's

"Terence is it?" His wife asks getting close to him. "Terry." He corrected taking his eyes off him he could sense she wasn't mad.

"What don't you go inside? I want to have a few words with you about your brother." She asked placing her empty wine glass and coming towards.

"Rose this isn't -" Her husband tried he was then giving a hard slap to the face knocking him in the pool people gasping when she poured her champagne on him. Terry put a hand over his mouth as she screamed obscenities in Spanish his way.

"Come on honey." She says quickly shooing him into her kitchen away from the eyes and talk. "You don't have to worry about him anymore."

"Now can you tell me about Ace?" She asks closing the windows

"Don't you want to deal with that?" He asks hearing commotion and Mr.Fizz's voice.

"He made his bed." She says taking off her fancy clothes and heels. Terry looked away for a moment and she looked completely different when out of fancy clothes she still had her makeup.

"Am beautiful I know." She makes a gesture and smirks as Terry softly laughs. They stared at the table not knowing where to start.

"Can I see the letter?" She asks reaching for it."If you will let me?"

"Go for it. I haven't read the other one." He says handing both over. He had been so pissed he flew over with his powers knocking over some cars and mailboxes he hoped no one saw it.

He looked intensely at her as her face went through so much yet not one tear. She then looked back at him and the letter he suddenly felt awkward.

Did she not know? Did I miss read her? Oh God, she didn't know any of this, did she?

Mrs. Dickson was right I just ruined her whole marriage. But I am right she could do way better.

Maybe I shouldn't have barged in and embarrassed her.

"Here." She says dropping a glass of juice. "It's early and you looked like you haven't eaten yet."

"Am good." He says not wanting to overstay his welcome she nods and drinks it.

"So want to discuss?"

"Sure."

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

Steve winced again when a new layer of ice was put on his face. Chad raised an eyebrow at him annoyed.

"Sorry but this hurts." He says remembering how he got the wound. Terry was stronger than he remembered.

"I still say you fight him or something," Cree said disapproving of him. "He just slapped you like it's nothing important he can't get away from that he assaulted you!"

"I'll talk to my mom about it." He said remembering his mom taking the angry teen to her personal kitchen even he wasn't in. They had been there for hours.

"Is what he saying about your dad true?" Jushtin asked confused. "Or is not?"

Steve thought back to something that happened a few months ago.

"I'll do my best Estaban." Those words echoed in his head as he thought for a second.

"Hold the fuck up." He says getting up and running the stairs. "Hold the fuck up?"

"What's this about?"

"Does mom know?"

"Who is that?"

"Terry?!"

"Dad!" He says coming into the room only to see his dad on the phone.

"Remember a few months ago?"

#knd #Steve #Ace #terrance #Rose #Mr.Fizz. #Family drama

[tisfan]

I Hear You Call My Name

Title: I Hear You Call My Name Written by: @tisfan (3023) Square: S1 Kink: Sex Magic Rating: explicit Pairing: IronStrange Triggers/warnings: barebacking Tags: anal sex, oral sex, sex magic, plot what plot Created for: @tonystarkbingo Word count: 2,240 Link https://archiveofourown.org/works/22204078

Summary: Stephen needs a little extra oomph for a spell. Tony really needs to get laid more than once every two months...

 “You know, when I said I was willing to help you with a magical experiment, taking a bath in some sort of herbal sauce wasn’t what I had in mind,” Tony complained. The water was tepid, the herbs were smelly, and he was naked and up to his nipples in Stephen’s tub. It was a nice tub, when the water was warm. And preferably when Stephen was in it with him.

“You need to be purified,” Stephen said again, dropping another few flowers into the water and murmuring words. Sparks of light glittered down from his fingers, limning the petals and then fizzing out with another spell.

“That might take quite a while,” Tony pointed out. “Do you have to do this, too?”

“I already did,” Stephen said. Well, that explained the floral hug hello, at least. 

“When?” Because this had taken an hour already and Tony was cold and uncomfortable. And Stephen had called to ask for help and Tony was locked in a heavily perfumed embrace within ten minutes.

“I cheat,” Stephen reminded him, tapping the Eye with one long, shaky finger. “I can get all my prepwork done in only a few seconds.”

“So why aren’t you doing that for me?”

“Who says I’m not?”

“Oh. Are we almost done?”

“Just a moment,” Stephen said, then he knelt by the tub. He put one hand in the water and murmured another spell.

By the time he’d finished speaking, the water was to the point of just a little uncomfortably warm, the steam fragrant as it rose off the surface. 

“Kiss me,” Stephen told him.

“You sure, because I have some really impure thoughts--” 

Stephen’s mouth came down on his, gentle, but insistent. His lips were soft, firm, and he parted Tony’s without so much as a by your leave. Which Tony would have given him anyway. He always liked kissing Stephen. Lips moved over his, Stephen’s tongue slipped inside, and Tony moaned eagerly, pushing up and into it, his arms going around Stephen’s neck.

He could almost hear the Cloak’s offended sigh as it slithered off Stephen’s back and fanned itself out, trying to get rid of the water from the bath.

He was smiling too hard to kiss back after that.

“Are you ready?”

“You still haven’t explained what we’re doing,” Tony said. But he let Stephen give him a hand out of the tub, and a towel to dry off with. The room was warm enough, and Stephen didn’t seem to have brought in a robe. Nudity was the choice of the day, Tony supposed.

“Nuptive prayer,” Stephen told him and drew him into the bedroom. Stephen’s rooms in the Sanctuary were laid out in a circle. Bedroom to bath, bath to sacred space, sacred space to living room, living room to bedroom. Tony had supposed they’d go the other way.

“I don’t know what that means.”

“Sex magic,” Stephen said. “I need-- I’m experimenting with soul-sexive energies to power certain abilities.”

“You what?”

“I need a double orgasm to power a spell, Tony,” Stephen said. “From someone, and I quote capable of intense mental, volitional and affectional energy, combined with perfect sexive and orgasmal ability.”

“And you thought of me, I’m flattered,” Tony teased.

“Well, truth, you do have one flaw that might make it difficult,” Stephen said, and he started to disrobe. “Once I light the candle and we begin, you cannot talk. And we must achieve orgasm within forty-nine seconds of each other.”

“That’s gonna be tricky without some sort of communication. Also, I hope moaning is allowed, because really, I’m not cut out for the quiet sex thing. I’m a screamer.”

“I know. Wong knows it. Hell, half the initiates know it,” Stephen said, and Tony felt his cheeks heat, just a little. He wasn’t ashamed, but-- well, it did explain the looks he’d gotten from Wong from time to time.

“You’re hilarious,” Tony told him.

“Yes, darling, I know,” Stephen said. “But we can communicate. When you get close, open and close your right hand.” he demonstrated, opening his fingers, crooked and scarred and shaking, and then making a fist, and opening it again. “If I cover your hand with mine, hold off until I let you go again. We will meet there.”

“What if we miss?” Because he’d been around for a few of Stephen’s failed magic spell attempts and they were often explosive, sometimes involved angry demons, and nothing he really wanted to face while naked and mid-coitus.

“Don’t miss,” Stephen said. “But if we do, we merely have to wait a period of time and try again.”

“Wait?” He peered at Stephen suspiciously. 

“Forty-nine days. Until we can try again. Until we can have sex again.”

“At all?” Tony’s voice spiraled up. The hell he was going to wait almost two months to have sex. He hadn’t been celibate-- 

“Not even masturbation,” Stephen said. He tugged off his shirt and kicked aside his trousers.

“You’re shitting me.”

“I’m not,” Stephen said. “Don’t miss.”

“Yeah, okay, are you-- are you sure you want to do this? I might mess it up,” Tony stammered. 

“I’m not going to ask someone else to help me with it,” Stephen said. “I require the necessary energy requirements.”

“Where’s the energy going?”

“Into the candle,” Stephen said. “I’ll explain the rest of it later, when we’ve achieved the double crises.”

Tony almost protested, but then decided it wasn’t going to make any more sense if he thought about it. Magic, by nature, didn’t.

Mostly.

Sometimes.

And Stephen’s hands were on him, anyway, stroking his skin. It didn’t take long to send his pulse racing, his body craving. “Was there… saffron in that herb mix,” Tony wondered, because Stephen had used it before, to increase libido.

“And fenugreek and red ginseng, and a little maca root,” Stephen said. “I’m not leaving anything to chance. For my benefit as well as yours. We’re neither of us young.”

“Speak for yourself,” Tony said. “You’re the one with grey hair.” Tony ran his fingers through it, the lines of silver at Stephen’s temples. He liked it, actually. It was sexy.

“I know.” Stephen pushed him down onto the bed. “Now… no talking.” With a flick of his finger, he lit the candle.

Tony almost said something immediately, because, well, it was Tony and he’d never been one to do things the easy way. 

But Stephen was already touching him, light, shaky fingers stroking Tony’s skin. He nudged Tony over onto the bed, picking up a bottle of lube -- sometimes Tony wondered why Stephen didn’t just magic it up, and then decided he wanted to ask that question, but later -- and raised an eyebrow. 

Going right for the goods, are we, Tony thought really loud. Stephen probably couldn’t hear him, but supposed the expression on his face would get the point across. 

Stephen rolled his eyes a little, then tapped his wrist. Tick tock, tick tock.

Tony gave a shrug, leaning back on his elbows and spreading his thighs. He knew he made a pretty picture, even without the warm, admiring look that came over Stephen’s face. Good looks were mostly a matter of good genes and ridiculous amounts of skincare. But it was nice to have all that work appreciated.

Stephen crawled on the bed after him, cradled himself in the vee of Tony’s knees, and lowered his mouth for a kiss.

Tony was happy to give them, even if he couldn’t quite stop smiling enough to kiss seriously. Stephen was often too grave, too serious, and it was one of Tony’s favorite things to do was get him to laugh when he was trying to be Great and Mighty Wizard.

The smile disappeared in an open-mouthed, silent gasp as Stephen cupped Tony’s cock, hand warm and fingers making a loose circle. Stephen knew all the tricks to get Tony wriggling and pushing up against that hand. The way Tony liked to be stroked, the twist at the top, the squeeze at the base. As soon as Tony’s hips moved, Stephen pushed Tony’s knees further apart, slithered down his body and took the head of Tony’s cock into his mouth with a single, eager movement.

His tongue lapped along the broad head, and Tony had to bite his lip to keep from swearing. How the hell was he supposed to be quiet, not tell Stephen how good this was, how amazing, how--

Tony rocked up into that soft, heated wetness, feeling Stephen’s tongue on him like a lash, swirling one way, then the other, drawing his length in.

Tony reached a hand down and touched Stephen’s cheek, feeling the way his own cock bulged in Stephen’s mouth, the way it pushed obscenely at the jaw.

God, that was hot.

Stephen didn’t -- pardon the pun -- dick around. He was going straight for the kill, sucking Tony back like a pro. He dropped one hand between his own legs, tugging himself off, and Tony leaned up on his elbows to watch. He couldn’t really see very well, but he got the idea, and Stephen’s mouth on him, combined with an active, healthy imagination--

And probably the herbs that Stephen was plying him with…

Well, Tony never really did have a huge problem with going from zero to sixty in any sort of manner.

It wasn’t long before he was closing his fist, and then opening it again.

Stephen popped off Tony’s cock with a wet slurp, gave him a sweet, knowing grin. Took Tony’s hand and drew it down Stephen’s body.

Well, Tony had played that game before, so he found the lube -- they were going to need it soon anyway, he might as well get started -- and slicked his boyfriend up, stroking him with steady, easy rhythms, watching as Stephen’s eyes glazed a little, as his jaw clenched and let go.

Perfect. You are so beautiful.

Stephen arched into it, all but shoving his cock against Tony’s hand, fucking up into that tight, slick grasp.

Tony knew Stephen probably as well as Stephen knew him. Knew the way that Stephen’s breath hitched and held when he was getting close.

Tony was tempted, briefly, to make Stephen work for it, but he also didn’t want to test Stephen’s resolve about not getting laid for almost two months, either.  When he sensed Stephen was getting close, he drew back.

Stephen backed off a little and Tony flipped over, grabbing the pillows to prop himself up. Doggie style wasn’t his preferred -- Tony liked to be able to look at Stephen’s face when they made love. Riding, or face to face, but he had to admit, for sheer ability to come quickly, doggie style was easiest.

One hand on Tony’s hip, Stephen lubed him up, and then himself, hissing air between his teeth as he was already oversensitive.

The head of Stephen’s cock nudged at his entrance, and then it was burn and press and squeeze.

Tony let himself bend more in the middle until his chin was buried in pillows, until he was biting at his thumb, and--

Oh, god, there...

He couldn’t talk, and it was making everything that much more intense, that much more powerful, that much-- both better and worse, because he was having to think about keeping his mouth shut, and then the rhythm would get to him, he’d sink back onto Stephen’s cock, feel the way he was stretched and filled, and, oh, oh, god.

He clenched his fist, opened his hand again, soon, oh, Stephen, come on….

Stephen’s hand came down on his, palm against the back of Tony’s knuckles. Tony nodded, reached back with his left hand, face all but planted in the pillow and tugged his cock like it was a race.

And it was, because Stephen’s steady rhythm was dissolving into excited bucking, their thighs slapping together like applause and it was so, so good, he was--

Tony spilled over, emptying himself onto the bedsheets with a breath that was not quite a moan, clenching down, and then Stephen stiffened behind him-- rhythm faltering into stillness.

Sometimes Tony couldn’t feel it, when Stephen came. He could tell, because Stephen jerked and groaned, but Tony couldn’t usually feel the actual moment of release. 

This time was different, somehow. He felt Stephen’s spend, like a gush of heat and wet, and--

The candle flickered out.

Tony lifted his head, wanting to ask and not knowing if he was allowed to talk yet.

“That was supposed to happen,” Stephen said, softly, then ran his hand down Tony’s trembling, sweat-damp thigh. “That was just right. Perfect, even.”

“Did it work?” Tony wondered, his voice a little strained. Not, he told himself, because he was dreading the no sex for two months, but because he was honestly interested in his boyfriend’s magical studies.

“I think it did,” Stephen said, and he pulled out.

Ew. Tony’s thighs were almost instantly wet. It was the one thing about condoms that he liked. No mess. But sex magic; well, he imagined that it had to be done bareback. Probably some hokey voodoo shit. He’d ask Stephen about it.

Later.

“Good.” He let himself move a little to the side -- he hated laying in the wet spot, and flopped. “I’m not moving. For like, a week.”

Stephen snuggled up behind him, resting his chin on Tony’s shoulder. “Now, you getting more than six hours sleep? That’d be a real magic trick.” 

#tonystarkbingo2020 #IronStrange #Tony Stark x Stephen Strange #plot what plot #sex magic #lemon