#Painting instead of studying Gang rise

[xanzusx]

YA, I've already showed this on Insta but LOOK AT WHAT I PAINTED LAST NIGHT SINCE I'M PISS POOR AND CAN'T AFFORD OFFICIAL MERCH

[tarithenurse]

Living at night

Fandom: Original work, still Y/N reader Word count: 1925ish Content: Vampires, werewolves, ghouls, gore, near death experiences, memory loss. Future chapters: smut, healing, drama...stay tuned for individual chapter warnings! THIS HAS NOT BEEN BETAED – sorry! A/N: Yeah, I know, this is probably a bad idea but I’m sick (okay...recovering now) and I had this really realistic dream and my feverish brain was all like “WRITE IIIIIIIT!” and so I did and now I might as well post it just to prove that I’m alive. Is it any good? No clue, please let me know what you think. Tags are available in exchange for comments and/or reblogs.

1.

A memory flashes: darkness before opalescent moonlight. But it has to give way to the blurry buildings of the town as you stumble through the deserted streets. A single thought in you mind, whispered repeatedly and echoed by the one person next to you. Matteo. Your mind is too blurred to really know who Matteo is except it’s equivalent to safety. Matteo.

You’re scared. Confused. You don’t even remember the name of the person next to you who is promising to get you to where you need to go. But she’s familiar enough with the overdone makeup trying to cover the slightly gaunt, pale skin.

Then it happens, of course: rounding a corner, you rush past the door of a bar just as a group of men exit. Barely scraping one of them, it’s enough to set him off in a drunken slur of profanities as he lashes out against you. A wide swing of his arm that you surprisingly easily dodge...but the look of pure hatred on his face has you stumbling and you aren’t as lucky when he next strikes. The blow catches you across the cheek, sending you sprawling in a puddle.

“Filth,” he snarls, and his friends echo the distaste. “You’ve come to the wrong part of town, sucker. This is Matteo’s neighbourhood!”

“Matteo,” you whimper, making them laugh and jeer.

One of them pushes to the forefront, still keeping his distance, he gets low to study you in the light still spilling from the open doorway. “Lads...this is bad.”

“Hells yeah it’s bad...” the leader of the men cackles, “for her!”

“Matteo. Matteo?” It’s the only word from your lips, now a prayer for safety although you’re not sure if that’s based on reality.

A new whimper rises in your chest, long and whiny as the guy apparently in charge of the bullying pushes his own friend aside to step closer still. Crawling backwards away, you’re scrambling for a way out, only too late discovering that you’re in an alley with only one exit: the way you came in. Past the group.

“Matteo!”

“Hear that fellas? She’s begging for the boss to come finish her!”

Not once has he taken his eyes off of you, as though expecting you to fight back. But you’re so tired. Every limb in your body is aching. And still you can’t help but blink in astonishment at the spectacle that’s beyond the tears of fear: vibrant colours that put the gaudiest paintings to shame and it’s late into the night still. You can pick out green flecks in the man’s eyes, every hair in his scruffy moustache that doesn’t quite suit him – his jaw is too weak for it. You sense the wet air, and the stench of dog wafting from him.

Then the senses are blocked out by blinding terror as he is upon you, a strong hand around your throat.

“Matteo!” you cry out in panic.

His lips curl to bare his teeth. “That’s right, sucker, call for him. Give us an awoo, why don’t you?”

“This is a bad idea, Jack,” the only cautious member of the gang warns, standing off to the side as if wanting to witness it all anyways.

“One eensy, teensy awoo?” the guy called Jack simpers, slackening his grip on your throat.

It is teeny. More of a whimper or even a question, the thin howl barely makes it past your lips on the first try but it’s enough to make them all laugh. Except that one reluctant guy. When urged to try again, you manage a bit more volume at first but the sound dies as Jack lifts his hand and you see that instead of nails, he has claws.

It’s a nightmare! It must be.

“Matteo,” you still sob, desperate to be saved or woken up.

The shadow is preceded by a low rumbling growl and you have the delicious chance to witness a man’s face transition from smugness through surprise to resignation before Jack drops you on the ground. He never gets as far as to turn around or even stand up, though, before something tears through him.

You know, maybe more clearly than you want to, that the image of a man torn limb from limb will be forever burned into your mind...still you’re relieved because the figure that takes his place is one that you know you must recognize: Matteo.

Your saviour looks tall from your prone perspective. Heavy coat hanging open from broad shoulders and shortish hair almost vibrating with the pent-up rage that’s oozing from him. His a strong guy, a sinewy bulkiness honed by hours of work as a lumberjack, you think. Shack leader? You aren’t sure, but obviously his presence puts him in charge regardless and everyone has instinctively taken a couple of steps back.

Whimpering, as if it’s the only sound you know how to do, you stretch your hands towards him. You’re not sure if the hesitation on his behalf is real, but you know the scent that welcomes you by heart and he leans down to grasp your hand, pulling you to your feet, although there’s a hint of dog that you’ve never noticed before. Maybe he’s gotten a pet since last you saw him? When was the last time you saw him? You don’t remember and your spiralling thoughts are curbed as he pulls you close behind him, rounding on the group of men.

“Off limits. She’s not one of them,” Matteo growls, making the once so tough guys shuffle sheepishly. Then he rounds on the only guy that had tried to stop Jack: “Make sure it’s taken care off. Meeting tomorrow night.”

You know the words are not meant for you, but you can’t help but feel that they’re caused by your presence. Your existence. Still, you don’t ask any questions as Matteo rushes you out of the alley and in a zigzag pattern towards his home. He seems annoyed that you have a hard time keeping up with him but he stays quiet about it, merely adjusting his pace after a grunt of surprise.

Perhaps your slow pace is the reason the hesitant guy catches up on the two of you. You notice it just as quickly as Matteo, but where his instinct is to pause briefly to allow the other man to fall into step, yours is to rush on, only halted by a strong arm about your waist.

“It’s okay,” Matteo whispers to you only, “it’s Al, you can trust him.”

What other choice do you have?

From then, there’s little way to go. A jangle of metal alerts you to keys being passed to Al so he can rush ahead and unlock the door, holding it open for you and Matteo.

“Basement,” your saviour grunts, now almost carrying you – and you’re thankful for it as your legs are threatening to give out from under you. You’ve never felt so weak before. “Cage.”

Perhaps the word should worry you, but you’re too tired to even register anything else than the soft bedding that smells deliciously of Matteo. You don’t even stir as something clangs next to you.

Mumbled voices to the side. Something about a “bait-bag” that makes no sense. Then retreating footsteps before Matteo comes to sit on his haunches as close to you as the metal bars allow.

“Who did this to you?” But you don’t know. Can’t recall. It doesn’t matter anyways – not anymore. “Shit, Y/N, you need to drink.” You are thirsty. Parched. Starving actually but in a weird way that you don’t recognize. “Well, I’m no good for you, so hang in there.”

It takes a moment more before the sound of Al coming down the stairs makes Matteo sigh in relief. Then a plastic bag is shoved into your hands and you manage to peek a glimpse from under heavy eyelids.

Donor blood. Like some sick joke.

Here you are, thirsty like fuck and they give you that all of things? Maybe it’s just a look alike, wine instead of blood or maybe some juice...but no, every instinct tells you this is the real deal. Groaning, you push the bag aside.

“No. You gotta drink, Y/N,” Matteo admonishes, “need to rebuilt your strength. Knife.” The last word is aimed at Al who complies, handing your friend (is he your friend?) the tool so he can cut off one of the stoppers. Tossing the knife aside, he grabs you by the neck through the bars so he can tilt your head upwards, mouth agape and slowly, gingerly begin to pour the contents into you.

You should be revolted. And at first you do gag but that also means swallowing a bit of it and you swear to everything in existence that it’s the best stuff you’ve ever had. Still too weak to lift your arms fully, you only manage to hang on to Matteo’s wrist as he feeds you every last drop. And with each ruby bead of liquid, you feel strength return.

“That’s it,” he coos, “just a bit more.”

That bit is gone too soon, but now you have the power to sit on your own, eyes taking in every detail of the cage you find yourself in. Heavy metal with scratches and notches. The floor is padded with blankets. The place is almost as high as you, just missing a foot or two and it’s perfectly cubic.

“Sorry about that, Y/N,” Matteo smiles wryly, motioning the metal bars, “at least they were not intended for you...but you’re gonna be wild the next couple of weeks at least.”

“What’s...? Why did...? I don’t understand,” you finally manage.

Matteo sighs. “Yeah...this will be a longer explanation. Get comfy.”

He tells you story of monsters and myths, most familiar yet impossible. This story features a small town of supernatural beings that have manages to live under some sort of truce or cease fire, where the minority of “normal” humans are wonderfully unaware.

Until now.

You shouldn’t believe Matteo...but you do because something tells you that this isn’t just some weird vivid dream that you’ll wake up from any moment. You wish you could: sitting in a cage in the basement of the only person you can remember, splattered in drying blood...yeah, that’s not anything that’s been on your bucket list.

“You don’t remember who sired you?” Matteo asks not for the first time. Shaking your head, all that you can recall is walking home after a long shift. Exhausted as always these days. “Well...maybe once you’ve rested up. Better get you cleaned up anyways, I guess. I’ll head to your place for some spare clothes and stuff...anything you want from there?”

“Why can’t I go with you?” You don’t like the idea of him leaving. Or rummaging through your place.

“We’ve been over it: town’s split in three and this is the Wolves’ Den. Vamps are on the other side of Main.”

There’s nothing condescending in his voice, just cold fact that reminds you that yeah, you did just down a bag of blood.

“How long?” You motion to the bars.

“Depends how quickly you calm down.”

“I’m calm.”

Matteo scoffs. “You just fed, of course you’re calm. Let’s see how you’re doing when I come back,” and with that he gets up and leaves, taking Al with him and locking the basement door behind him.

[chaseatinydream]

sly san who sacrifices (i) || c.s (atz)

➳ pairing: reader x choi san (ateez)

➳ word count: 2396

➳ genre: badboy au; fluff; angst

➳ synopsis: to the school, he may be a bad boy, the worst of the worst, but to you, he’s choi san, father of three cats, your best friend and ultimately, the boy you love.

>>>

San has often been called ‘catlike’.

It’s no surprise, given his near obsession with picking up strays from roadsides and giving them a home in his family’s third mansion, where he lives, and his behaviour does remind you of a cat’s. There’s something distinctively feline about him, from those uncannily sharp eyes to his whimsical, distinctly teasing personality. Some find it off putting, citing him as arrogant and aloof, but you know him better than that.

He’s your best friend, after all.

Honestly, you’re not very sure how the two of you became friends. It’d started this way on the first day of term with him seated at your side. Within the first three minutes you had known each other, he’d ripped off his tie, called it ugly and flung it across the room, all while ranting to you that the colour scheme was an abomination and how the school should have at least hired a competent designer to do their uniform.

You had merely stared at him in wide eyed shock and nodded along with everything he’d said.

And that… was how it’d just happened.

You like to think that you understand him, but it seems a humanly impossible task. Choi San toes the line between sweet as cotton candy and cold as ice like a professional tightrope walker, a double faced enigma that you can never predict. One second, he’s cradling a baby bird in his hands, cooing about how cute it is to you, and the next moment, he’s in a fist fight with another student, your hands pulling on his sleeve as you desperately beg him to stop with tears in your eyes.

Sometimes, you don’t know why San is your friend. All the rest of his gang – ATEEZ, as they call themselves – are what one would label as bad boys, terrible influences, a stain on your school’s otherwise pristine reputation. The two of you are polar opposites, you’re everything he’s not and he’s everything you would have steered clear of.

But here you are, in this strange, peculiar situation, with Choi San still seated at your side two years after your first meeting, his head resting against your shoulder as he dozes off in class.

You jab his side with a pen.

“Psst, San.”

Your best friend cracks open one eye lazily, feet propped up on the table. He’s wearing slippers today, you groan mentally, together with school issue pants and one of his self-designed shirts. Not the typical bad boy image he usually goes for, but then again you know that San had been out clubbing in town till the wee hours of morning, so it explains his state of casual dress. Still, if he was just going to sleep the whole lesson away, he should have just stayed at home!

“Wassgoinon?” San mumbles sleepily into your shoulder and you puff out your cheeks in exasperation, ready to lecture him on how he should be paying attention to the teacher instead of sleeping his life away like an actual cat.

But then one look at how peaceful and serene he looks with his eyes closed has something melting inside and you momentarily falter, chewing on your bottom lip as you struggle to chide him.

Stupid pretty face. Stupid jawline. Stupid dimples.

“If you were just going to sleep you should have just stayed home, you know?” You mutter, running your fingers through the red streaks in his hair that he just refuses to get rid of. He mumbles absentmindedly under his breath, curling into your side like a large cat and your breath hitches in your throat.

You turn to study him a little more intently. He looks tired, with purplish-black bags under his eyes that remind you of bruises, his flawless skin a little more sallow than usual. Frowning, you press a hand to his forehead… and yelp when you realise how feverish he is.

“San, you’re sick!” You whisper worriedly to him as you sit up a little straighter, hand touching his neck, where his leather choker lies. Yup, he’s burning up, alright. Concern shoots through you and you immediately speak your mind. “You should go home.”

But he merely bats your hand away, grumbling incoherently under his breath as he shifts into a more comfortable position against you. “But I wanna stay in school…”

Your eyes widen in horror at the words that have just left his mouth. The fever must have fried his brain, turned it into a smoking pile of mush, because San never wants to stay in school. Truly on the verge of panicking now, you turn towards the teacher at the front of the classroom and raise a hand desperately, trying to grab her attention.

When she does turn to look at you, you gesture at the pouting boy next to you.

“Professor, can San go home first? He’s sick.”

Your best friend doesn’t have the best reputation with the professors, in fact, most of them are scared stiff by him. San is a wild card, you’re never sure what hand he might play when dealing with him, so you can’t really blame the teachers for being terrified of him, but you can’t leave him be like this in class.

The class abruptly falls silent, tension settling over the room like a thick, unbearable smog.

The teacher glances over at the pair of you, looking nervous when her eyes flit over San. “Well, of course Mr Choi can leave-”

“I don’t want to go.” San growls from next to you, starting to rise from his seat with darkening eyes. The teacher actually shrinks back in fear, colour draining from her face at the potential ticking time bomb on her hands. Instead, you smack your best friend over the head, the charms on your bracelet jingling as you scold him for his bratty behavior.

“San, you’re sick! You need to go home and rest!” You chide, but San merely gives you the best puppy dog eyes he can, a complete opposite of the terrifying glare he’d been projecting earlier.

“I’ll go home if you come with me.” He whines like a petulant puppy, tugging at your sleeve and you groan in exasperation, jerking your head in the teacher’s direction.

“San-ah, lessons are still ongoing! You know I can’t just leave class like that-”

“You can leave too! Please!” The teacher near begs and you scowl at San, who quickly paints the gaze of an innocent angel over the smug, victorious grin on his face. Scowling, you shove your books into your bag before you reach over and grab him hard by the ear, yanking him out of the classroom as he yelps in pain behind you.

“Ow… ow ow ow!” San squawks as you haul him out of the building to the main gate, whipping out your phone with your other hand and speed dialing San’s chauffeur. Honestly, you love San, but sometimes he’s just... ugh.

Ring, ring, ring.

“Good morning, Young Miss. What has Master San done this time?” The dry, monotonous voice of San’s chauffeur and personal assistant comes over the phone and you snort at his opening gambit, both of you all too used to San’s shenanigans.

San flails and struggles against your vice grip on his ear and for a moment you’re afraid that you might actually tear the piercing out of his flesh, so you let him go and he stumbles to the ground dramatically, groaning as he cradles the abused appendage with both hands.

“Surprisingly, nothing. He’s just sick today.” You tell Claude honestly and you can practically hear the stoic man’s eyebrows rise from over the phone.

“He has not? Please, wait for a moment while I check Young Master’s room for him. The one at your side now cannot be the real Master San-”

“You know I can hear the two of you, right?” The topic of your conversation slings an arm over your shoulder, pressing his face into the crook of your neck. You shiver at the feeling of his warm breath against the juncture of your shoulder and raise a hand to smack him in the face, but he dodges to the side with ease. “And Claude! I’m supposed to be your master, you know? Could you stop talking about me like a mutt that keeps pissing on the carpet?”

The man draws in a deep breath to counter. “Well, Young Master, perhaps I would have reason to if you behaved more like a young master instead of a dog-”

You shove San away from you and press the phone to your ear once more. “Anyway, Claude, could you please pick up San from school? He’s at the main gate now.”

There’s the purr of the engine over the call, sleek and velvety as you hear the car pull out of the driveway. “Anything for you, young miss. Please keep Master San under containment until I reach the venue.”

San grabs the phone from you in fury and shrieks into the receiver, voice reminiscent of a dying cat. “Stop talking about me like that! And I’m your master, not her, you know-”

The call hangs up abruptly.

You dissolve into fits of laughter at the look of stunned shock on San’s face and pluck the phone from his hands, while he merely continues staring blankly into the space where the mobile device once was. Bopping him once on the nose to snap him out of his daze, you grin smugly at him and wave the phone in your palm. “I told you that Claude likes me more than he likes you. Honestly, sometimes we have tea chats over the nonsense you get up to.”

Your best friend sputters incoherently.

“Preposterous! Unbelievable! Unacceptable!” San’s face is red with disbelief, almost the same hue of crimson as the coat he wears. Giggles nearly spill forth from you at the comical look on his features as you fight to keep your laughter in your chest, admiring the way his flush makes his cheeks like blossoming roses. “I’m going to fire that traitorous little bastar-”

He breaks off into a coughing fit.

“San!” You yelp in horror, dropping all pretense and rushing to his side to support him. Your arms wind around his shoulders and pull him close to you as he bends over still coughing, waving you off with a raspy ‘I’m fine, I’m fine– ’.

“You shouldn’t lie, Young Master.”

Whirling around in surprise, you see Claude standing there, sleek black limousine behind him, posture perfect like a statue, not a thread on his impeccable suit out of place. San had designed it for him with his very own hands, from the sketching of the outfit to the selection of the material, explaining to you every bit about how all these would come together eventually to form a suit perfect for Claude’s thirty seventh birthday gift.

You had strongly vetoed San’s idea of making the suit canary yellow, but that had been one of the experiences that had really bonded the two of you together. You remember staying over at his house till the wee hours of the morning, curled up in his bed with Darong as you watched him work the sewing machine through sleepy, half lidded eyes. When you did fall asleep, you would often wake up a few moments later to see San on the floor of his room, head tilted against the bed in a manner that must surely not have been comfortable, his long fingers wrapped loosely around your wrist and Puchi in his lap as he snoozed away before you.

Innocent and vulnerable.

Your heart softens at the memory.

“What? How did you get here so fast? I swear you’re like… Usain Bolt in disguise or something.” San grumbles as he tosses his backpack with the force he can muster at the chauffeur, the older man catching it easily with the same, unruffled, serene smile on his face.

“Usain Bolt is a respectable Olympic Sprinter, I merely have a very expensive car provided to me by your father. Also, I did tell you this morning that you were sick and needed to stay at home today, but you refused to listen to me and walked all the way here on your own.” Claude answers as he holds open the door to the backseat. San’s face turns even redder at being exposed and your eyes widen in shock.

“San, you walked all the way here this morning? It was pouring buckets!” You exclaim angrily, now thoroughly furious and also confused by why San was so determined to come to school today. There was nothing especially exciting or interesting going on in school, so San’s behavior was completely counter intuitive. “You’re sick and you don’t carry an umbrella! So that’s why you were so wet this morning! Stay at home next time, you dummy!”

Instead of defending himself, something in San’s eyes soften at your little outburst, the dimples in his cheeks appearing as he gazes at you. “Cute.” He hums under his breath and you recoil a little in confusion, a frown pulling at your lips. San has been doing strange stuff like this recently, dancing hot and cold around you, saying strange things. You chalk this one up to his fever – it must have really fried his brain – and turn your head away to hide your flush.

“I’m just worried, okay?” You mumble, a little embarrassed by his words but you push them out of your mind, forcibly shoving San into the backseat of his car. He nearly trips, stumbles a little, and falls into the leather seat with a yelp. “There! Now, I’m heading back to class–”

His fingers close around your wrist and tug you in after him.

“Choi San!” You shriek in indignation but San merely chuckles tiredly, sagging against your side with his head resting on your shoulder, eyes already sliding shut. You’re about to push him off, but you falter when he sighs gently, his warm breath fanning over your collarbone.

You nearly shiver at the feeling, but keep a hold of yourself.

As Claude closes the door after you and slides into driver’s seat to begin the drive back home, he glances at the interior driver’s mirror to see the peaceful expression on his young master’s face.

He smiles knowingly to himself.

[maxwell-grant]

Vincenzo: The Gentleman Villain Reborn

Long before there were loudmouth buff guys in spandex, there was the gentleman villain.

There once was a time when the gentleman villain, whether a gentleman thief in the Raffles or Lupin mold, or murderous arch-criminals like Fu Manchu and Fantomas, organizations like Les Vampires, and even in-between figures like Rocambole and Judex, was the coolest thing in the pop culture block. The figures right around the corner of Baker Street, when Nick Carter and Sexton Blake and any billion old serial detectives weren’t quite cutting it. Their time was not to last long in the spotlight, as the pulp heroes consolidated domain in the 30s and then the superheroes took over, but every now and then, they return in various forms, never fully gone. But I’d dare say I’d never seen a gentleman villain story quite so bold, so modern, so dynamic and so gloriously over-the-top in pride over it’s existence, until I began watching Vincenzo.

Vincenzo is BADASS and I don’t use the term lightly. Not just the titular character, but the show itself. It’s currently a couple episodes short of the finale and you should stop everything you’re doing or watching and go watch Vincenzo. It’s been an utterly glorious ride from beginning to end with no shortage of great characters, terrific writing, great relationships and jaw-dropping moments as every episode succeeds in topping each other in WOW HOLY SHIT factor. It’s a shot of adrenaline and storytelling excellence to the eyeballs and you don’t have anything better to be doing right now than watching this.

I mentioned a while ago that Black was a show that, besides being also terrific in quality, captured my interest as a Shadow fan specifically because I saw in Black what I believe is the heart of The Shadow as a character: an embodiment of evil, motivated and created and warped by social catastrophe and strife, set loose to punish true evil in order to protect humanity. In that regard, if Black is where I find the heart of The Shadow, Vincenzo is where I find the spirit of what I like about The Shadow as a series: Cathartic urban fairytales where an extraordinary agent of change, armed with incredible cunning, sleight-of-hand and combat skills, rises above a dark background to command a folk brigade of ordinary people who reveal themselves to be extraordinary through their newfound purpose, to right the wrongs of society’s predators, by being better at their tactics than they are and turning their tools against them. 

I’m gonna spoil it a bit under the cut but please go watch it. I cannot praise this show enough and I’ll do my best to try.

Vincenzo centers around the titular character, Vincenzo Cassano, an Italian lawyer who works for the mafia as a consigliere, adopted by it’s Don at the age of eight. After the death of the Don and an attempted betrayal by his son, Vincenzo flees to Seoul and ends up taking residence at a ramshackle building called Geumga Plaza. Geumga Plaza is the hiding place of a gigantic stash of gold hidden by one of Vincenzo’s former clients, and he intends to retrieve it to rebuild his life somewhere else. Naturally, not only is the hidden room completely impenetrable, but the building is occupied. by residents who are being forced out of it by criminals working for the Babel corporation, which intends to take possession of the building. And thus, Vincenzo has to put his skills into working out progressively bigger problems, as his efforts to uncover the gold turn into a fight against Babel and it’s lawyers, as the problems take on bigger and bigger proportions. 

Vincenzo’s got a lot of what you’d expect from a k-drama at first glance. The leading man is a dashing young man, the leading lady is headstrong and stubborn, you see their romance coming a mile away and they take their damn time getting there, there’s emotional backstories that take a long time to be revealed, lots of wacky side characters and comedy interspersed with the darkest moments, a focus on corporate corruption, and so on. But it’s got an intrusion of elements brought by Vincenzo’s inclusion, such as mob drama, tonal and cultural imbalance, and the gentleman villain tropes that Vincenzo brings, as the catalyst of change whose antics backflip through action hero, romantic hero, super hero and super villain, cunning puppetmaster and gun-toting warrior alike, and start to have an effect on the world around him. His allies become stronger, more determined and effective, and the villains grow smarter and more horrid as they desperately try to avoid their own downfalls.

On paper, Vincenzo is almost a textbook example of how to craft a villain protagonist. He’s a mysterious foreigner with a hidden past and incredible skills who shows up uninvited in “our” world, who starts terrorizing and manipulating people into doing his bidding. He’s got a hotheaded and foolish investigator chasing after his every move, and frequently employs misdirection and sleight-of-hand to fool the authorities. He commits crimes and employs underhanded methods in the service of stamping out people worse than himself. He never really makes any claim of being a hero and actively rejects the notion he’s fighting for justice, but instead states he’s doing it as a matter of principle. One of the characters early on even states he gives off the vibe of a movie villain, even Vincenzo himself tells Hong Cha-Young, the female lead, that he’s teaching her how to be a proper villain. In another series, Vincenzo would be the hypercompetent sidekick to the main villain, or secretly the main villain, the lone badass that the action hero would have a tough fight against before defeating and moving on. But Vincenzo does not allow himself to be dismissed so easily. 

On the first episode, when we’re introduced to him in Italy, he’s painted as the badass to end all badasses. But the minute he arrives in Seoul, he falls for a trick at the airport and is mugged by two cabbies, and has to walk around penniless and without dignity, shouting curses in Italian that nobody understands. He has to sleep in a broken down apartment, his “taking a steamy shower with classical music playing” fanservice scene keeps being interrupted because the shower doesn’t work, and a pigeon chattering outside his window keeps ruining his sleep. 

The tenants of the building are all introduced as varying levels of unsympathetic and useless, or downright creepy. The tailor screws up his favorite suit, the chef who claims to have studied in Italy is a total fraud, there’s tenants who scare us by passing as ghosts and zombies, and Hong Cha-Young is introduced as an unlikable stooge for Babel. Vincenzo is a villain protagonist who is forced out of his grand mafia epic film, where he conducts business around lavish manors while classical music plays, and stumbles onto a korean drama, a world that operates by different rules and where no one has any reason to take him seriously at first, and gradually finds out that the difference between both worlds is not as big as he’d imagined.

It’s only at the very end of the first episode, when the neighborhood gangsters show up to terrorize the tenants, that Vincenzo starts to kick ass again, and he has not stopped so far. In fact, not just him, ALL of the tenants have gradually started kicking ass with him. Hong Cha-Young severs all connections to Babel and proves to be, as his main partner in crime, just as cunning, twice as driven, and three times as batshit and kooky. The tailor who ruined his suit turns out to be an ex-gang member capable of fending off groups of thugs with only his scissors. The creepy piano girl reveals herself a hacking genius, the zombie impersonators become incredible actors, the failed wrestler and badass wannabe becomes his most active field agent along with his equally strong wife, the chef improves his cooking and lends his restaurant as a meeting center, all of the characters, EVERY SINGLE ONE OF THEM gradually become incredible, competent, resourceful people, really no different than they were before, it just took a little courage and pushing. 

The headstrong and foolish agent pursuing Vincenzo becomes 100% smitten with him and quickly becomes one of his greatest allies. Even the neighborhood gangsters, after being left to die by Babel and forced to start anew, quickly become some of his most loyal allies, and gradually redeem themselves in the eyes of the tenants to the point they become friends. In departing from his old family, Vincenzo forms a new one, even if never by his intention. They even all get matching suits.

This incredibly potent, human core surrounding the antics of an extraordinary figure of action is part of what used to make the Agents of The Shadow such a special, meaningful and beloved part of the series, and something every adaptation since then has been 100% poorer for neglecting. But Vincenzo does it, and does it right. I could watch a billion adventures with these people and never get sick of them. 

Vincenzo is a slick, modern take on the gentleman villain that takes many of it’s oldest conventions and provides blueprints for making them work in modern times. His plans often take a performance art-edge as he employs tactics both old-fashioned and modern, like using social media to stage an event in front of the Plaza so the bulldozers set to demolish it won’t be able to pass, or copying files and passing them to his police contact while keeping the real ones when said police contact inevitably betrays him. The tenants put all of their skills to use, no matter how unusual or seemingly useless. Every episode lays the groundwork for a smashing finale where all of the threads come together and we bare witness to a grand tapestry of karmic retribution.

The villains themselves are no slouch, and also have that modern edge that gradually ramps up. They stage discreet assassinations involving gas leaks and watches meant to burst into flames. They stack the deck impossibly against all characters. They employ masked goons by the dozens, armies of lawyers to smudge any connections between themselves and their actions, and every sector of society in covering them, from journalists publishing pro-Babel propaganda to police commissioners. The assistant of the main villain does zumba classes amidst ordering assassinations, and is often likened to a snake and a witch with her "Crystal Ball” (the name she uses for ordering assassin contacts by the phone), complete with a cowardly, scheming assistant she bullies at every turn. The CEO of Babel has a dual nature not out of place in a Jekyll & Hyde/Dorian Grey kind of story. 

The main villain is often painted as a slasher villain backed by massive corporate power, murdering people with hockey equipments and even outright named “Jason” at one point, with a tense string theme song accompanying his deeds. The show hides the villain at plain sight by using one of the most familiar set-ups of romantic dramas and the tension never stops even after he’s revealed. 

Mobster films tend to paint an idealized version of it’s protagonists, not necessarily because of a genuine love or interest with mobsters (I mean, it really goes without saying that real life mobsters are obviously not admirable figures), but out of a sense of displaying a “this is what it could be” fantasy, a fantasy where the mafioso is a dark hero who will still ultimately do the right thing and stick up for the little guy, in a similar way to how superheroes often function as police officers except, y’know, actually dedicated to protecting people. 

Vincenzo does go to great lengths to address the imbalance of putting such a dark figure as it’s hero, through showing how the situation can only be addressed by the intrusion of a figure such as Vincenzo. There’s a scene where Vincenzo and Hong proceed to explain extremely succintly to their cop ally why the “bad apples” argument is horseshit.  One of the show’s characters, someone who’s spent his entire life being the best person he could, and dedicating himself 110% percent to fighting evil even at the expense of connecting with his own family, someone who absolutely should be the hero to take down Babel, admits shortly before dying that it wasn’t enough, that it was never going to be enough, and that what the situation calls for isn’t a hero, but a monster. That monster being Vincenzo, who is not only powerful and monstrous, but commands the loyalty of people high and low class alike, criminals and law enforcement agents, to fight Babel. In his words, “the ultimate monster”, something even the world’s biggest badass cannot defeat by himself. 

On most other set-ups, Vincenzo would be pretty unmistakably the villain. But here, when he’s set up against a starkly realistic depiction of how corporations actually function in our world, depicts that Vincenzo’s ability to clear his way through goons John Wick-style is nowhere near enough, and to that end, he’s gonna have to fight impossible battles using his brains and his allies. And in the end, he defeats them, time and time again, and proves that they were not that impossible after all. 

One can only hope he’s on to something.

Oh yeah and THE PIGEON BY HIS WINDOW ALSO KICKS ASS and I will not explain how, just watch the show, I can’t do it justice no matter how much I talk about it.

[theimpossiblescheme]

The Rebirth of Lupin III

(I was rewatching Part 4, and this plot bunny took me hostage after watching Episode 14, “The End of Lupin III”.  After what was probably Lupin’s most harrowing near-death fakeout yet, I couldn’t help but wonder about the aftermath, and before I knew it I’d written this.  I hope everyone enjoys it!)

It wouldn’t have been the first time Lupin the Third “died.”  Hell, given his track record, it probably wouldn’t be the last either.  But damn if he hadn’t put on one hell of a show.  Old Pops had been wrapped around his little finger the entire time—the discarded meals, the weakened voice, the repeated talk about the end being near… that final scene with the shared cigarette… the genuine sorrow in Zenigata’s voice, even moreso than all the other times… it was his finest performance yet.

It might also have been his stupidest.

Turned out skipping meals for multiple months, only eating what he absolutely had to in order to finish the painting on the cell floor… that kind of stunt tended to really negatively impact your health.  Go figure. The amount of times he’d blacked out midway through mixing his makeshift paints, or he’d felt the acid from his own empty stomach rising into his throat as he worked… he’d honestly lost count.  Walking made him dizzy, and that last cigarette tasted like nothing so much as burning tar on his lips, even as he forced himself to finish it.  That final scene, hearing his ears ring as Pops spoke and feeling his hands shake under his blanket, really did feel like one.  Empty stage as Lupin collapses before he can even unveil his master plan. Before he can live up to Pops’ faith in him.  Lights out. Curtain.

It had been an honest to God miracle he’d made it farther than that.  Standing to gloat over his victory as Zenigata finally opened the cell made his legs teeter dangerously, and his throat still felt raw, but if he was going to live to see the finale, by God he was going to make it an unforgettable one.  He’d managed to walk away smiling as Pops could do nothing but laugh in hysterical disbelief, and Lupin felt a bit of that hysteria bubbling up in his own lungs, too.  He’d actually pulled it off… damn, somebody up there must really like him.

Somebody out on the bay liked him, too, apparently.  As soon as Rebecca and Robson’s motorboat sped into view, Lupin wasted no time leaping into the water after it.  Finally, another familiar face—even if his limbs felt like they might snap at any moment, he was still going to make it out to them.  To know that Rebecca had made it out alive, that she hadn’t given up on him even after so long.  When she hauled him up into the boat, his head lolled onto her shoulder against her neck, and he noticed her perfume had changed.  Some new label must have sent her fresh samples… she smelled nice, like a fruity cocktail on a summer day…

Rebecca brushed a lock of hair out of his face, and he suddenly became very aware of how long he’d let it get.  “You look terrible,” she said with a very faint smile.

Lupin managed a wheezing chuckle in response.  “Yeah, probably.”

And then he blacked out again.

*

When he came to, he was in an actual bed.  With sheets and a pillow.  What a difference it made on his neck—sleeping on concrete had done him no favors.  On the endtable beside him was a bowl of stew, still hot, and a cup of what smelled like lemon tea.  Not his favorite, but beggars and choosers and all that, and Robson really didn’t have to go to the trouble.  Besides, after so long actively avoiding any food provided him, it smelled goddamn delicious.  Even with his arms and legs still feeling like matchsticks, Lupin still managed to sit up and help himself.  The stew was gone in nothing flat, and the tea was half-finished and cooling by the time Lupin felt strong enough to stand up.  The Rosselini’s guest rooms were comparatively plain next to the rest of the house, but they could still stand up respectably with any of Fujiko’s favorite upscale hotels.  

(Where the hell was Fujiko… or Jigen or Goemon for that matter… best not to think of that right now. He’d only just woken up, after all. There was still time… there was nothing but time now.)

And of course, the décor was hardly the highlight.  Propping himself against the wall, he turned the latch on the window and opened it, letting the morning breeze waft in and the sun warm his face for the second time in God knew how many days.

San Marino was still beautiful.  A jewel too big to pocket, but not too small to admire.  Lupin stood for a long moment drinking in the view before turning to the guest bathroom.

The sight that greeted him there was less than beautiful.  He still had the damn beard and long tangled hair, but that wasn’t the worst of it.  His cheeks had hollowed out into nothing, and his skin had gone so grey and cold from darkness and malnutrition it may as well not be there at all.  A skull framed with dark hair stared back at him from the mirror, and it took all of Lupin’s self-control not to hurl the half-digested stew and tea into the sink.  Of all the times he had to actually almost die, it had to be when he didn’t even look like himself.  A disguise would be one thing—his true face and body would still be underneath—but this…

This wouldn’t do.

Luckily, a razor and shaving cream had been left on the counter for him.  Lupin immediately snatched them up and began to fill the sink with hot water, actually tapping his foot impatiently as it didn’t fill fast enough.  He needed to see his face again, needed to know that it was still him under all this. When the sink was full, he wet the razor and hurriedly slathered the shaving cream across his chin and cheeks, even carelessly getting some into his hair.  This would be fine.  He’d be fine. Good as new, even.

If only his hands would stop freaking shaking…

He lifted the razor to the underside of his chin and instantly felt his hand slip.  A few seconds of panic preceded the bolt of pain as he felt blood drip into his fingers.  Damn it all… dammit dammit dammit, why’d he have to let it go this far?

“Lupin?”

The voice didn’t come from the door, but instead the window.  Lupin barely even processed that before wheeling around, knees weak and face burning with embarrassment.  He couldn’t let anybody see him like this, not even—

“Goemon!”

His samurai still had one leg out the window as he climbed through, but he froze in place upon seeing Lupin framed in the bathroom door.  A hundred different emotions warred in his eyes, and Lupin wanted so badly to run over and hug him before Goemon’s face settled into its usual stoicism. “Is this where you’ve been all this time?”

“Ah… not exactly,” Lupin said sheepishly, reaching a hand to the back of his neck and internally cursing the cold sweat that had gathered in his hair.  “I’m not really sure how long I’ve been here.  Rebecca and her butler came to get me after I got away from Pops.”  Another poor excuse for a chuckle wheezed out of him.  “Lemme tell you… they don’t half kid around locking somebody up here if they want ‘em locked up… it’s a lot worse if you don’t have the key.”

“I can see that.” Goemon finally drew closer, studying Lupin intently.  “You don’t look like you had an easy time of it.”

“Honestly, does anybody have an easy time in prison?  That’s why I try to stay out of it, y’know.”  But it was hard to keep even a weak smile in place, looking at Goemon now… God, he really could have died.  He could have never seen him again, or any of his gang.  Faking a grand exit for the benefit of Interpol, knowing he could return when the coast was clear, was so much different.  And Goemon looked so healthy next to him—he’d even put on a bit of weight for once, which told Lupin that Jigen must have found him a nice Japanese place outside San Marino.  Hell, compared to Lupin’s sorry state, he looked downright beautiful.  It felt like it had been years… Lupin could stand there staring at him for even longer than that.  How must Jigen and Fujiko look at this exact moment?  Were they worried about him?  Were they okay?  All at once, he wished they were all here, together, and that he didn’t look like the freaking Crypt Keeper when he went to greet them.

Goemon reached up and touched Lupin’s cheek with his fingertips, and Lupin tried very hard not to lean into the touch as he had with Rebecca.  “I’m not sure if the beard suits you, though.  Or the long hair.  You look a bit like something else crawled onto your head and died.”

That got a stronger, if extremely wry, smile out of him.  Nice to know both their senses of humor were intact.  “Yeah, not a fan myself… I don’t suppose you could…?”  He raised his eyebrows.

“I’m not using my sword to give you a shave, Lupin.”

“No, not with Zantetsuken, dummy—just use the razor.”  There was the arch, fussy side of Goemon… he had to admit, he’d missed that, too.  Nodding as if he’d understood all along, Goemon picked up the razor and washed away the blood before cupping a hand around the back of Lupin’s neck and letting him lean back as he worked.  His hands were much steadier, almost gentle in their grip, and he was always a few degrees warmer than Lupin himself.  Endless physical exercise would do that, Lupin supposed—ironic, considering how much time he spent under freezing cold waterfalls and out in the snow. Fujiko’s hands were always just on the comfortable side of cold, but she avoided that kind of exertion if she possibly could.

“Where are the other two?” Lupin asked, trying to move his jaw as little as possible so he wouldn’t obstruct Goemon’s work.  “Are they--?”

“They’re both fine.  Fujiko had rented out a beach house on the Italian mainland to wait for you, and Jigen had been spending time at one of the casinos. When I called to let them know you’d escaped, they told me they were on their day—they should be here this evening.”

Thank God…  “So you finally figured out that phone I gave you, huh?”

“I’m not actually from the Sengoku Period, Lupin—I know what a cell phone is and how to use it.” He paused to wash off the razor again, and a very light pink stained his cheeks.  “Fujiko also helped a great deal.  Especially our first night in San Marino.”

“Oh, I’ll bet.”  For once, Lupin hadn’t meant it with any lewd intent, but it didn’t stop Goemon from yanking his head back a trifle harshly as he found a new angle with the razor.  “They’ve gotta be pretty pissed, too… that I took so long.  I know I would be.”

“They’re upset, certainly. But no more than usual for you.” It wasn’t said with any real malice, just as a blunt statement of the truth, but it still stung.  Did it make it any better or worse that for once—out of all the times he’d faked his death—he actually feared it might be for real? Instead of just an act he’d strung them along on for the sake of the greater plan?

Probably worse.  At least all those other times, the plan was to come back.

“I’ll do better next time.” And he really did mean it. Although he’d probably stave off the “next time” for as long as he could—one impregnable prison cell full of rotten uneaten food was enough.  “And I’m definitely not gonna let it go this far.  Believe it or not, the beard isn’t even the worst of it.  With my hands the way they are, I’d hate to think what’ll happen when I need to pee.”

“As long as Jigen doesn’t have to hold you up.”  There was no smile on Goemon’s face, but there was one in his voice.  “And I know for a fact he’ll hold you to that promise.”

Lupin couldn’t help but grimace.  As much as he’d love to see his gunman again… “Yeah, not looking forward to that conversation.  Not just ‘cause I’m gonna bruise like a banana if he punches me.”

“I’ll do my best to separate you.” There was the smile—it softened up the prematurely harsh lines of Goemon’s face as it always did, and Lupin had to remember to keep his head still and resist the temptation to kiss his cheeks until his lips went numb.  Rinsing off the razor again, Goemon tilted Lupin’s head slightly to his right.  “I might be at this for a while—please promise me you’ll never grow a beard again.”

“You got it, man.  And I got all the time in the world.”

[lumilasi]

Finished her pretty quick, I just got an idea surprisingly fast. Also this confirms Ryuu has a type: Redhead, intelligent, wears lot of black and red lmao. Also her pose is a bit wonky, but eh. it shows her outfit well enough.

....This reminds me, I should rewrite Reidou’s bio somewhat, I don’t quite like her BG story yet. 

Anyway, further info below:

Age: 27 (she was 20 when she met Ryuu)

Sexuality: Bi

Ezuko’s QUIRK EXPLAINED

BASICS (Pros in normal, cons in bold)

Quirk name: Living ink

Ezuko is able to create ink-like substance into any surface she touches, basically allowing her to create tattoos and art pieces without needing tools. She just needs to imagine what she wants the picture look like, or have a reference to look at. She can also turn liquids into this inky substance.

Ezuko tends to need more time and proper focus if she wants to create larger and more intricate designs. For her to create these images or change a liquid into ink, she does need to be touching the object/liquid.

TATTOOING/ILLUSTRATING

She can easily create tattoos for people with her ability that is pretty much pain free, or graffiti or even basically change the color and design of an entire building, piece of clothing, etc.

The image she’s made, she can shift and change and make move however she wants, even after a long time. She can use these moving images to even temporarily blind people by making the image shift around their eyes.

The process in some cases take even longer than doing the same tattoo traditionally would take, at least if the image is complex and large, and she doesn’t have proper references for it.

For her to be able to make the pictures move, she usually requires having been touching the object/person minimum of five seconds.

Her quirk ultimately is not meant for combat, and she can’t really use her drawings in a fight, only disorient them to either flee or find a chance to use her liquid shifting ability.

LIQUID SHIFT

Ezuko’s ability to change liquids into ink can allow her (accidentally or on purpose) to turn a person’s blood into ink and basically poison them to death near instantly. 

She can neutralize liquid based attacks as well by turning them to her ink, which will automatically start to listen to her commands.

She is immune to most acids and poisons (non-digested ones) because she automatically turns these things into ink when they touch her. It’s not her quirk being passive however, but rather a survival reaction she has developed. 

In order to do this, she needs to be able to touch the liquid she wants to change, which means in a case of a fight, she needs to either make the person bleed (or get them to spit or whatever, she prefers the blood as its “easier.”)

PERSONALITY SUMMARY

Ezuko tends to be fairly blunt, no nonsense type of person. She’s mostly pretty calm and level headed even in tight situations, but when her temper flares it can be pretty bad. She’s gonna let you hear where you screwed up exactly, in other words. 

Ezuko tends to not like people with “strong” quirks by default, because the whole obsession over quirks let to her family disowning her for not having a “good enough” power and wanting to do something else than be a hero or have some other profilic career. She can change her mind about you (like she did with Ryuu) once she gets to know you better, and sees you’re not putting all your value as a person on your power. 

She’s quite intelligent and enjoys reading and learning about a lot of different things, partly because it helps her imagination run wilder and thus makes it faster to create her images. 

BACKGROUND STORY (A quick summary, details may develop)

Ezuko was born to parents who were all about status, and quite disappointed to find out her quirk wasn’t suitable for heroism. They then tried to push her for something else that could rise their wealth and standing in society. Ezuko herself didn’t want to do this, dealing with a lot of arguments and abusive language from them, up until she moved out at age 18, heading to study arts. After that her family basically disowned her, refusing to even answer her calls. Ezuko quit trying to reach them, figuring she’d be better off without.

Then, when she was doing an apprenticeship in a tattoo parlor, she ended up having to deal with an abusive customer one evening, where he started harassing her. In a panic, she ended up discovering another, unfortunate side-effect of her quirk, where during the struggle she managed to make the guy bleed, and then swiftly turned his blood into ink, killing him near instantly. Some local residents came to see the commotion, and instead of asking her side of the story just automatically began to call her a murderer as the customer was a regular, forcing her to flee the scene. 

The local press and everybody around there started to exaggerate her temper and further paint her in a bad light, forcing Ezuko to flee the place altogether. She tried to reach for her parents for help, but they refused to help her, believing the media that she’d done it on purpose.

Sometime during her runaway spree she ran into Ryuu, who’d only recently gained lot of notoriety, though the girl was unaware of this. He helped her in a fight against some thugs, and she brings the injured Ryuu into her hideout to fix his injuries. They stick together for a bit, and Ryuu even brings her to a person he knows that generally tends to help out with people like her - a broker named Giran. Giran let’s her work in his bar, also making sure that everybody knew not to bother her as that’d be a bad idea. He even helps her to get a place to stay in eventually. Sometime during these years, she hears rumors about “Frostbite” having potentially died, which makes her a little sad initially, though Giran cheers her up be stating that there was probably more to the story than that.

Some years after that, she finds out about Ryuu being alive through Giran, as he sends her to bring something to “an old acquaintance” as the man put it. This said acquaintance turned out to be Ryuu.

Few more extra details;

- She’s the only person out of the people around Kain who actually understands his more scientific talk. They can end up having long conversations about a subject that none of the others have a clue of.

- Her name translates to “Paint” (Pandoru that she pronounces as pandora) and “illustration lake.” (Ezuko)

- The world she lives in is based on my fic Reanimate, which basically means there’s no league of villains, as Tenko never became “Shigaraki.” Giran is the only important member (outside of afo) that is still a criminal in this AU. Because of Kain’s dimension hopping ability, this doesn’t mean she doesn’t get to interact with the more villainous versions of the gang, though. 

- Ezuko made Ryuu’s dragon tattoo as a thank you for helping her.

- Her surname is bit of a pun, as it’s written as “Pandoru” aka paint, but after leaving home and her parents behind, she began saying it as “Pandora” referring to Pandora’s box as a bit of a darker joke about her choosing to go against her parents and thus unleashing a lot of bad things into her life. This proved to be even more accurate after the parlor incident. 

- Her parents wanted her to either find a way to become a hero with her quirk, or go into some other highly respected profession for status and money, when Ezuko just wanted to do something artistic.

- Ryuu actually didn’t start crushing on her until after they met again years later after their first meeting, when he and Kain returned from another eventful dimension hopping trip to visit their little sanctuary corner and friends, Wasabi and his mums. Up until then he’d seen her just as a friend/acquaintance

- Wasabi digs her a lot because they have similar hairstyles.

- The vine tattoo represents her quirk and spreads around her arms and shoulders more when using her quirk. When using it in extreme amounts (Like turning a large body of liquid into ink for example) her skin around those parts gets so covered it looks like she just has one large pitch black tattoo covering those areas, and you can no longer see the vine details. 

Also, the ref sheet base was made by yourultraarchive as usual

[fairymadnessyeah]

Piss Off your Parents

Shigadabi week day 5

AO3 Link

Summary: Tenko is tired of being treated like a kid. He knows that his dad is worried, but he is an adult and it's time his old man understands that. Luckily, he has a hot new boyfriend who is more than willing to help him.

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Civilian / Steampunk / Teamwork

"YOU GOT TO BE FUCKING KIDDING ME!" Tenko cried as a moving company placed his furniture on the UA teacher's dormitory.

Tenko had always been an unlucky bastard. He was born with a destructive quirk that made him dangerous to others and valuable to villains. Or, more specifically, one villain. All for One. The man wanted to grab hold of him since he was a child and had his first accident with his quirk. He had luckily been found by a hero instead of the super-villain though. Loud Cloud, or Shirakumo Oboro had come across the scared, skinny, bloodied child and helped him out. The two, along with his friends Aizawa Shota and Yamada Hizashi, had learned that he was the grandson of Nana Shimura, the mentor of All Might.

Suddenly, he had gone from murdering his family to being adopted by the cloud hero and gaining three hero uncles and one hero aunt. His life had gone from nightmare to dream-come-true in a matter of seconds. And after years of taking care of him and being the best possible dad he could have asked for, the man who saved him was stabbing him in the back.

"Tenko, this is only temporary," the cloud haired man says trying to calm him down. "You only have to stay here for a few months, until it's safe for you to live alone again," the hero teacher explains.

"I have my own life now, dad. I have art classes and friends and a life outside of UA, unlike you," Tenko hadn't followed on his new family's career. He didn't want to be a hero. After everything he had gone through, he just wanted a simple life. And he almost suceeded.

He might have gone to UA, but only because his father and uncles worked there and he went to General Studies. Once he graduated, he got a scholarship for an Art course of studies in a good university, he sold commission pieces of his drawings on patron and got his own apartment. It was not the luxury and excitement of a pro-hero, but he was happy. He had a great neighbour, Twice, who introduced him to his gang of misfits and outcast where he fitted perfectly.

There was Giran, Twice's boyfriend, who ran a Personal Manager office. Magne, one of the girls who worked there. Toga, an upcoming idol who the office represented. Spinner, a friend of Toga's. Mustard, Giran's intern. And Dabi, another one of the represented clients of their office and his boyfriend.

How had he gotten that? Don't ask him. One day, Jin was introducing the two to each other, and the next Dabi was taking him out on dates. Tenko had never had a boyfriend before, and his relationship with Dabi was rather new, so he hadn't told his dad yet. For the most part, he didn't want to freak him out. Oboro had grown very protective of him with having a crazy super-powerful villain going after him. But with how things were going, he was starting to not care that much about it.

"It's already been decided, Tenko," Oboro sighs. "You have to stay here..." Oboro tried to place a hand on his hair, but he quickly moved away and stomped inside.

"Fuck you!" he cried at his dad first. "And fuck all of you too!" and he continued with the rest of the faculty members hanging around in the Common room before heading upstairs to what will be his new place.

If he was honest, he didn't care much about living for a few months in UA. He loved his dad and his uncles and didn't really mind spending more time with them. But they couldn't keep treating him like a child. They couldn't take such a big decision for him believing that they knew better. He was an adult now. They had to talk things over with him and understand that he could make his own responsible choices. Usually Shouta, Hizashi and Yagi would have his back, but with their paternal instincts turned on again with the arrival of Midoriya and Eri, there was no such luck.

He stomped all the way to his room and once inside, flopped face down on his couch. Unlike the students dormitories, UA faculty members had bigger quarters. Instead of a one-bedroom, they had a private bathroom, a separate bedroom and a main lounge area. It was better than his apartment, but the fact that it had been his and this wasn't, made the entire thing pale in comparison to his eyes. But maybe it was just his anger. He was still pissed at his father, and it frustrated him that screaming at him wouldn't help the situation. He wanted to get back at him somehow, teach him a lesson. But how?

His answer came in the form of text message. His phone pinged in his pocket, and when he checked who it was, he couldn't help but smile.

Dumbass <3

Why are ppl taking stuff out of your home?

Are you moving out?

No

Dad is worried and made me move with him

Well, Fuck

And I had a plan to surprise you with cooking and a nerdy movie...

Guess we'll have to wait

X(

Don't cry, babe

We can sneak you out.

I am an expert, after all

An expert?

What? Did you sneak out of your house late at night to go to some concert or some shit?

Like the rebel that you are?

Hell yeah,

I'm the disappointment your parents don't want you near

That's right...

You are a disappointment

Okay... Rude

Do you still want to help me with my body-art project?

Sure

Are you free tomorrow? It might take a while

I thought you were going to paint over me and take some pictures.

How long can that take?

A lot

We might get distracted~

And I want to reward you after such a long day of work~

...

I have a clear schedule on Friday.

Good

It's a date!

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"What the..."

School had just finished, and the teachers were just returning to their dormitory. Thought the sight that welcomed them wasn't one they were expecting.

It had been a couple of days since Tenko had moved in with them. The rest of the staff didn't see a problem with it. They knew the kid, and he was a polite and responsible young man. That morning, for example, he had asked all of them if he could use the Common room of the dorm for one of his art projects and if they were alright with somebody else coming too (Apparently he needed help with the project). It was a good change, though. Lately, the art student had been in a foul mood, ever since he moved. But that morning, it had been as if he was a whole other person. Oboro had been glad his son's mood had improved. He thought once he could focus on his art, it would happen. Boy, was he wrong...

When the teachers entered their new shared home, Tenko was there with a plastic rug covering the floor, some paintbrushes scattered around and kneeling in front of a half-naked person. It was definitely not what they expected.

"Oh, hey," the nudist greets them with a nod.

The sound makes the man kneeling turn around, revealing the other was not fully naked, but wearing underwear thank god and Tenko was painting near his crotch area. Aizawa, who was holding Eri and covering her eyes, and the rest of the teachers, let out a relieved sigh, except Oboro. He is still staring in disbelief and surprise, not understanding what is going on. Why is his son with this stripper stranger? Why was he so close to him?

"Sorry about the mess, I didn't know this would take so long," Tenko apologises as he goes back to painting on his live canvas.

Said canvas was a tall red-haired man with blue eyes who couldn't have been a few years older than Tenko. The guy had painted on patches of black ashy paint on half of his face, his neck, arms and shoulders. He probably had more on his back and legs, but the teachers couldn't see that. His front was left bare, but Tenko was making a weird patterns that were rising through his abdomen and chest, leading to a giant rainbow heart in his left pectoral.

"What type of classes are you taking?" Yamada asks.

"This is for my Alternative Art and Style class," Tenko explains. "Now, could you not bother me? It's a delicate process, and I don't want to start over again. Pretend we are not here," he calls them off.

The teachers do, and so he continues. Once he finishes with the chest, he takes a weird tool with a round end and dips it in water. He gently starts to trace patterns on one of the black patches, revealing a multitude of colours behind it. It's rather magical, seeing the colour come to life on the other's skin. Eri, who had become too curious and escaped Aizawa's censoring, even asks if she could try. Tenko lets her, and she does a small heart in the behind the redhead's ear.

An hour later, Tenko is done, and he and the live canvas start to take pictures of his work. The teachers are not paying it too much attention now, letting the student finish in peace as they grade papers, sometimes glancing back at them from the corner of their eye. All of them but one, who was too busy glaring daggers at the canvas. Oboro can't help but notice the weird tension between his son and the naked man. There's something in the way their gazes cross, and their touches linger that is making him mad. He used to be able to read his son like an open book. There weren't any secrets between them. But now, he is not so sure.

After a few shots with the guy spread-eagle against one of the white walls, the two left towards another room to take more pictures. Oboro fought against all his instincts telling him to stop them, to go with them, to not leave them alone for a second, and stayed with the rest of his co-workers and friends. He didn't know why, but he felt as if he had let his son walk straight to hell.

"Finally," Snipe sighs relieved once the two younger adults leave.

"Yeah, Shirakumo-san, you didn't tell us your son had a boyfriend-," Thirteen comments.

"He doesn't!" the delusional man interrupts. "That guy is not- he isn't- Tenko would tell me if he had a boyfriend, alright!?" he tries to convince them or himself, he isn't sure at this point. Shota hums by his side, in that ' I agree, but we both know you are wrong'  tone.

"Honey, the only reason why they didn't jump each other is because we were there," Nemuri goes straight for the punch, covering Eri's ears and giving him a little wink.

"No! No, no. NO." he splutters before going back to paperwork. Shota hums again.

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

They don't see Tenko again until after dinner. They were cleaning the table when the young man came down wearing a new set of clothes. Instead of the dirty sweatpants and tank top he used for painting, he had a black pair of pants and a black hoodie that was too big for him. The neckline didn't cover one of his shoulders and the sleeves pooled in his wrists. The hoodie also had a fire design on the back with blue flames.

"Hey, you missed dinner," Oboro tells him as he dries while Yagi cleans. "There's some leftover the fridge, if you want them," he tells him.

"No need, there's still some pizza left from my lunch with Dabi," he says and starts taking out what he needs.

"Dabi?" Yagi asks. "That's the name of the model who wore your art today? He seemed familiar,"

"Yeah, he's a professional model, maybe you saw him in a billboard or something," Tenko explains and starts heading out of the kitchen.

"You might wanna take another shower, Ten, you still have paint on your neck," Oboro points out.

"That isn't paint, dad..." Tenko grins as he disappears upstairs.

CRASH

"Oboro-san! The plates!"

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

Saturday morning at UA always started slow. The weight of the week was still present, and the usual energy was not there yet. The staff of UA began their day with a quiet morning and a cup of coffee. Not all of the teachers stayed though. Some returned to their homes for the weekend, like Hizashi and Shota with Eri. They would take turns to stay with the students during Saturdays' and Sundays'. This weekend, Oboro, Nemuri, Snipe and All Might stayed.

"Fucking married fools..." Snipe groans as he arrives at the Common room.

"What are you complaining about now?" Nemuri asks, confused as the rest of them also come down.

"Last Night, Yamada and Aizawa," he grunts and spreads on the couch. "I know that they are married and that they love each other, but can't they keep it down?" he moans tired, making everybody confused.

"What do you mean? They left yesterday with Eri, they didn't even spend the night here," Oboro tells the hero, voicing everybody confusion.

"But then who were the ones having sex yesterday in the room on top of mine?" Snipe asks baffled.

"Sorry about that," a low voice comes from the kitchen. The teachers all turn towards it and find the model from yesterday leaning against the kitchen door with two steaming cups of coffee one was Tenko's favourite one, Oboro noticed and no shirt.

"What- Why- What are you still doing here?" Oboro asks, fearing the answer.

"My baby was lonely, and he never says no to Daddy's attention," Dabi grins and walks back upstairs.

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

"So, how long are you going to torture your dad?" Dabi asks his boyfriend, giving him the steaming cup in his new bed before he lays down next to him.

"For a while," Tenko hums and sips his sugar monstrosity he referred to as 'coffee'. "I'm guessing in a month, he'll finally get tired of it, learn his lesson," Dabi hums as he sips with him. "You don't have to follow along if you don't want to. I know what I'm doing is stupid," he says, lightly scratching his neck.

"Are you kidding me!? I love every second of it," Dabi chuckles. "How about on winter holidays you came to my family's home, and we do the same to my old man?" he suggests, a mischievous grin forming in his face.

"Are these going to be our dates from now on? Pissing off each other's parents?" Tenko rolls his eyes at his boyfriend's daddy issues.

"Hell, yeah. We are a team, aren't we? If you succeed, then so do I," he kisses him in the cheek, making the younger man's cheek turn pink. "Speaking of which, I need to leave more marks on you, babe," The brunette traces a path with his lips to the crook of his neck.

"Dabi..." the artist moans. Suddenly, the body besides him steps away from the bed, taking the heat with him. "No, don't leave..." he pouts and watches as his boyfriend rummages through his overnight bag. A second later, the taller male drops a dozen lipstick tubes on the bed and a box of make-up removing tissues on the bed. He then sits in the mattress again, in front of him, making the new objects bounce. "What are those for?"

"A game I know. Pick one," Tomura looks between the object and his boyfriend, trying to decipher what he was planning on doing. With a shaky gloved finger, he takes the tube nearest to him. Dabi takes it from him and spins it open, displaying a hot pink colour and applies it rapidly on his lips.

He is about to ask him something else, but he is interrupted by a pair of wet lips connecting with his. After his mouth, Dabi kisses his cheek then his jaw, his neck and collar bone before once again returning to his lips. He then separates from him once again and reaches for one the wipes, leaving Tomura panting. "Pick another one," he is instructed as the brunette takes off the pink lipstick. Without taking his eyes off Dabi, grabs another tube and hands it to him. The man on top opens the new one, a deep red, applies it and goes back to Tenko's lips. This time though, instead of continuing on his neck, the other dips down lower and tugs his shirt upwards. He starts to outline a straight line from his hip to his heart before returning to his lips again. "Another one and take that shirt off, I plan on making you a masterpiece," Dabi softly whispers in his ear before wiping off the make-up.

Colour after colour, Dabi stayed true to his word. His collar and neck ended up pink, his chest had three lines of kiss marks in red, purple and blue, his shoulders and wrists got green and yellow on his right and left and his crotch covered in black. He would start and end with his lips, making them swollen and full of colour. Dabi kissed him slowly and sensually everywhere, tearing him apart with every touch of his lips, smearing make-up all over his body. He felt his affection and care, leaving him breathless and dizzy. They didn't do anything overly sexual, his bottom was still sore from yesterday, though Dabi did blow him.

As the two laid next to each other after it, Tenko couldn't believe how happy the other made him. Dabi was his first relationship, and the man had been nothing if not patient with him. He let him set a pace he was comfortable with, teaching him the ropes and calming his anxiety whenever he got nervous. He even went along with his petty scheme. Tenko knew he was falling for the guy and it terrified him and thrilled him at the time. The fact that he could just be next to a person and be happy and content was new. He could stay in this bed forever, staring back into those blue eyes, and be in peace.

Suddenly, a phone rings in the background, interrupting the moment. Dabi huffs annoyed and picks up the phone on the nightstand. "What, Giran!?" he answers the call. "What? No, I'm busy. Can't you postpone it?" he says after a second. "Yeah, yeah, I know, I know. But I'm with Shirakumo right now," he moans and sighs once he gets an answer. "Alright, alright, I'm going. I'll see you there," he hangs up the phone and sighs again.

"You have work?" Tenko asks him.

"Yeah, the photoshoot for that new perfume brand, 'Angel's Tears', got moved to today. They want to release the product earlier, to win against a rival brand," he explains annoyed. "I don't wanna leave..." he moans and hides his face in the crook of his neck.

"You can come back later, I don't want you to miss work," he tells him, stroking the model's naked back. Dabi groans in protest and cuddles closer, hanging on to hin tighter. "Come on, you lazy bum, get up," he tells him and tries to get out of his hold.

It takes him a minute, but he is able to get out of bed and go into the bathroom. When he is in there, he gets to look at the end piece of Dabi's game. His body is a battlefield of lip marks of different colours in a chaotic yet very eye-catching way. He had a lot of issues like a LOT of issues and his dislike for his body was one of them. But looking at himself like this? With the clear evidence that someone loved his frail, pale form, it made his stomach flutter. Taking advantage of his new-found confidence, he goes for his phone and takes a picture in the mirror. As the camera goes off, Dabi appears behind him, placing his arms in his stomach and his chin in his shoulder. He takes another one.

"I told you I would make you a Masterpiece," he whispers in his ear and then kisses it.

The two try to get presentable, or at least Tenko does, covering the lipstick with clothes. The make-up is dry now, so the wipes don't take much of it off. He might need to take a shower once Dabi leaves. Once the two are ready, they go to the gate hand in hand to wait for Giran. The manager is going to drive the model there, since he doesn't have a car.

They depart with a kiss and a promise to call the other once they're free again.

Once he is gone, he makes his way back to the small dormitory-apartment, where he sees his dad sitting in one of the couch with his face in his hands. Yagi by his side, was trying to comfort him. He ignored them, but he can feel their eyes in his back and neck. Especially on the make-up he yet had to remove. He is feeling a little bad for his dad. He knows it's very pitiful what he is doing. But he guessed for now he learned his lesson. He could back down a little and attack once he went back to his habits. He was prepared if that happened. Unlike his dad, whose strategy was unplanned and sprung in the moment, he had a hot-blooded boyfriend he could use as very effective ammo.

He took a shower when he got to his room, which took him while. The lipstick was a pain to scrub off, and it made him question how worth it would be to do it. But then he remembers how good it was to be kissed stupid by his boyfriend and how he would love to do the same to him, and thinks that maybe it's worth the mess. He steps out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist but stops in his tracks.

"Dad!? What are you doing with my phone!?" he yells when he sees his dad there, messing with his phone.

'Quick, Oboro, act stupid!'

"...what's a phone?" the older man utters. 'Not that stupid!'

Tenko feels like he's about to explode with anger. Screw going on the defensive! Screw his dad and his overprotective nurture! Screw being treated like a child or an innocent teenager! This meant war and his dad was going to relive hell on earth!

Tenko takes a deep breath to calm down first. He isn't wearing his gloves right now, and while his control is pretty good, he doesn't want to accidentally decay his phone or his possessions in a fit of anger. Or worse, his dad.

"I'm going to change, and then  you  are going to apologise for disrespecting my privacy," he tells him in his meanest and darkest tone. "Also, if I were you, I wouldn't open the camera roll," he warns as he enters his bedroom.

The scream he hears once the door is close is strangely satisfying.

[blackfemmecharacterdependency]

BFCD Story Concepts by Nesha

Story Concept 01: No Saviors in the Wild Pt. 3

Read Pt 1 | Pt 2

Notes: Not writing out an entire cohesive story, but just hitting y’all with lore and the occasional scene is refreshing for me, but also like... I feel like I leave out so much since I’m not painting the full picture of it. So, because this is an installment of when they “met,” figured this is the good place to tell exactly what they look like. Sure, Birgundi Baker is too old to play the roles she plays and Shani is 16, but Birgundi’s look is perfect, so she is Birgundi at a 16 year old version.

Atlas, has no FC, because the image doesn’t exist in Hollywood, as far as I could find: Brown eyes, red hair, a freckles/acne collab skin type - this kid is covered in freckles - and will have acne his entire life, broad shoulders, tall, large ears, hands, feet, and Adam’s apple. Generally scowling. Has an overbite when he smiles and it's the only thing he's really self conscious about at first because when he does smile, it seems to be the thing that people's eyes move towards.

* Shani tells him it's because they're so used to boring, perfect teeth that a smile with character gives them the wrong reaction. "It makes me smile bigger," she adds, with a little shrug. He blushes and tells her to shut up.*

@shslargue​ @jacksope-lives​  Thank you for putting up with fragments of an idea that I wish I could mold into a world for you both.

A Savior is Born: The Rise of the Rebels 01

Shani: Objective problem solver, analytical mind, sometimes mistaken for being cold or detached, overthinker who doubts herself and tends to worry that she’s potentially acted or reacted without thinking with her heart.

Her field of study is communications, with special interest in linguistics, because comm can get her a media job and this is one of the careers that can make for a comfortable life in their society (lucrative, if she can handle various languages and/or several fields of communications). She’s focused on intercultural and multilingual communications at the start of the story and has a bunch of stuff about language and speech in her brain.

School is only available for pay, and Shani has applied for a program to work for her schooling - which includes lodging, clothing and food, but is extremely expensive. Students in said programs typically only have time for school and work, having to work an equal amount of hours to process payment for courses and meals, and having to put in a certain amount of hours per dollar amount of clothing, food, and class resources. She has everything available for her education accessible, but in the event that she can’t work for it, she loses that access.

Shani has been working her way through this school system since she was 10.

Prior to that, her parents struggled to pay for her to have a bright start, and also homeschooled, when they could, with outdated publications of any books that they could find, to stimulate her mind and figure out what she might excel in, because they couldn’t afford testing and she wasn’t on the successful track that kids with money were put on. Being a smart child and excellent student, Shani soon earned the right to apply for the scholarship. 

At that point, she moved into the dormitories, ate in a cafeteria that was typically full of students BUSY studying, as study hall was more expensive than at home study, and many of them had too many work hours to get a decent amount of study time in. 

Shani rarely struggled with taking in information, performed tests extremely well and didn’t take too long to complete homework, as to not interfere an extreme amount with her work schedule. A lot of the kids who were barely hanging on resent her for it, and one particular event that occurs when she’s 16 between herself and a few students who were being removed from school due to grades or insufficient work hours (both of which, at the time, Shani had the displeasure of having to be record keeper of), she was jumped and while she only shielded herself to prevent maximum damage, the aggressors had a matching story that she was involved in a fight with them and she received her sentence (and lesson that kids like her better know their place), along with an academic probation and a fine from the school. 

It was taken into consideration that for all 6 years of being in the program, she made excellent scores in all school assignments, performed admirably in all job assignments, and held perfect attendance. She wasn’t removed from the program during her sentencing, but would have to complete her courses remotely while serving her time, or repeat her semester later (having to work to pay off both the “abandoned” one and the one that she would have to make up. So, she chose to continue remotely, through her sentence.

She’s the only kid enrolled in school for the sentencing assignment and that automatically puts a target on her, from the other kids, particularly because she also clearly doesn’t belong here. They can just *tell* that she didn’t earn the sentence she’s serving, and (as always in her life when she gets into a group setting), others resent her for being where she “doesn’t belong.” The rich kids did it in class. The less adept kids did it in the dorms. These kids did it during assignments. She was used to it. But, she was actually terrified of these kids. 

They were criminals! Especially, that one. 

He was tall and imposing. Not… dangerous looking, really. He didn’t ever smile, but that didn’t mean much in a place like this. What was there to smile about? She noticed him before anybody else, even though he was quiet and not rambunctious like some of the others were on the bus ride to the worksite. She noticed him first because of his hair. 

It was bright red, but she didn’t think it was dyed. She had seen red hair before, but not as bright and it definitely wasn’t common. She’d read that it was rare, and had only gotten more rare as time went on. She could think of maybe 3 redheads that she had seen in her life, and none of their hair had ever caught her attention that way. He was covered in freckles. Every visible part of his skin that could harbor freckles appeared to. She couldn’t remember if she knew anybody with freckles, but she liked them. She could stare at them and pretend to make little images by connecting some of them. Her brain imagined a series of patterns while she looked at his arms, slightly less vivid red hairs coated them. 

And on his face, he had severe acne. She was a little entranced by it. She found herself also mentally tracing patterns in the bumps, sometimes even incorporating freckles for accent. Up until the point where her brown eyes met his and his were not as dark, but way more mean. She smiled uncomfortably, and his expression didn’t change. She made prayer hands and awkwardly turned away. She could feel him glaring at her, though. She could feel it for the rest of the ride to the woods, and didn’t dare to glance his way when they unloaded. 

They wound up standing next to each other as the chaperone took roll call, and verified their identities and sentences. Shani only looked at him again whenever the chaperone read his sentencing as “aggravated robbery.” 

He didn’t even blink. He just said, “Allegedly.” Shani noted that although he wasn’t muscular or that solid, he was even taller than he seemed on the bus… maybe 6’1 - 6’3. He was nearly a foot taller than her, at 5’5, but not quite. Still, with his broad shoulders, his brooding expression, and the collar on his neck (the consecutive crimes collar); she felt very unnerved not just being next to him, but being on this site with him. Aggravated Robbery was SERIOUS. You couldn’t even purchase an education with that type of charge. Of course, Shani WOULD be thinking in terms of education. She didn’t even know this boy. His education wasn’t her business... 

Next, the chaperone read her name, and stated, “First time violent offense?” And she read it like it was unbelievable and all of the kids looked at Shani as the woman continued, “Judging from your record, I’m assuming that you’re here because of a misunderstanding?”

Shani felt her face grow warm with everyone staring, including Mr. Collar, but she explained, in a low voice, “All I did was try to shield myself. I’ve always read that if you never attempt a hit, you can plead self defense. There were multiple assailants, therefore, my defense was futile and the judge sided with my aggressors, that it was a fight instead of a gang attack.” She heard groans and snickers. She looked at the redhead. He shook his head in disbelief. She didn’t know why, but it made her feel very insignificant. She didn’t realize that the last thing that she should have done in that moment was tell everyone THAT. The chaperone gave her a sympathetic smile and moved on. Mr. Collar scoffed, laughed a little and turned away from her. She studied his profile. His eyes drifted over, checking to see if she was looking at him. Whenever he turned to face her again, she quickly looked away, her face hot from being on the verge of being caught staring again. 

Whenever she glanced back, he was still staring. He didn’t look as mean as on the bus. He seemed to be... studying her. She would have loved to know what he was thinking. Whatever it was, his brown eyes were softer than before, at least. She offered a smile and he didn’t return it, but at least he wasn’t glaring. He turned away very suddenly, like something had happened. She noticed that he looked like he was turning red. That was... interesting. Imagine somebody tall and dangerous blushing over one little smile. Her own face grew warm at the thought. He might be... whatever the records alleged... but he was a tall boy with features she liked, too.

[mileycyprus-hill]

Has anyone else thought of this? If not, hear me out for a second!

What if, instead of Arthur sleeping with Eliza after his breakup with Mary...he sleeps with the reader? And gets her pregnant instead? 🙌🏻Strap in folks, we’re going for a ride.

Arthur x female reader

Mistakes

warnings: small mention of suicide, smut, smut, smut, cursing, drinking.

You’ve been a part of the gang shortly after John joined in. Age wise, you’re in between John and Arthur and are really good friends with both of them. Perhaps more so with Arthur.

You come back to your camp outside Blackwater after a successful hunt. You were away for about 12 hours - shorter than usual - as the antelope are flourishing in your area. 

The gang is fairly small in numbers, but very close with each other. You treat Dutch and Hosea like your adoptive fathers, and you seem to be the only one Ms. Grimshaw truly gets along with. She’s still hard on you when it comes to chores. But whenever there’s lady issues, you can trust her to be kind and understanding.

Everyone seems to be settled in camp, except one person who seems to be missing. You look around and don’t see Arthur anywhere.

It’s not uncommon for him to be gone on a job or a lead, but he’s been gone for at least three days. Normally, he calls on you to go with him on long trips for support. Whether that’s moral support, or just another helping hand to carry robbed goods. He knows he can trust you. 

As you look, your eyes spot John carrying hay over to the horses at the corner of camp. You quickly walk over to him as he drops the bale.

“Hey John.”

“Hey, Y/N.”

You don’t beat around the bush.

“Hey, where’s Arthur been? I’ve barely seen him these past few days.”

“I saw him yesterday coming through. You must’ve been gone ‘cause he didn’t stay long.” John answers. “I guess he only stopped by to grab some things and then he ran off.” John points over to Arthur’s tent as he speaks. “He looked in such a sour mood. So I didn’t say nothin’.”

“He’s always in a sour mood, isn’t he?” You joke.

John laughs. You two were like twins, despite you having a couple years over him. Arthur was always the big brother who loved pestering the both of you. As the three of you grew together, the closer you became in different ways. With John, it turned from an intense sibling rivalry to a close brother/sister bond. With Arthur, it turned from relentless fighting to a budding romance - at least on one end it felt that way.

“Ask Hosea...” John says. He must have noticed the worry on your face. 

Was it that obvious?

“...I saw Arthur talking to him before he ran off.” John continues.

You reply, “Thanks,” and slap his shoulder gently. John smacks your hand away playfully. The two of you snicker as you separate. You walk over to Hosea.

Hosea must’ve heard you walking over to him, as he keeps his nose in his newspaper, “Y/N! How’s things?”

“Alright,” you answer. Plopping down on a chair in front of his table. Resting your elbows on the table, you fidget with your fingernails. There’s an uncomfortable silence.

Hosea, being the ever-loving parent, doesn’t need to look up from his paper to sense your worry. You hated that he could see right through you at times. You couldn’t keep anything from your adopted father.

“Something on your mind, dear?” Hosea asks.

You take a breath, trying your best to hide your concern for Arthur. You didn’t want to come across as clingy, but unbeknownst to you, Hosea already knew about your feelings for Arthur.

“Just...you seen Arthur anywhere?” you answer nervously.

Hosea finally drops a corner of his newspaper to peer over at you. An eyebrow raised. It drove you crazy seeing him look at you that way, like he already knows what you’re about to say.

But then his expression changes. He folds his newspaper and sets it neatly on the table. His eyebrows now furrowed and his mouth turned to a slight frown.

Hosea sighs, “Figured you should know by now that things are done between him and that Mary Gillis.”

You immediately sit up straight at this news. Your eyes have gone wide. Your mouth drops open to ask, but Hosea already answers.

“Yep.” Hosea sighs again. “Guess she finally came to her senses...Or perhaps daddy made up her mind for her.”

Hosea reaches into his pocket to grab his pipe and fills it with tobacco.

“Seems our little Romeo and Juliet are no more.”

He looks out to the horizon as he speaks. You can tell he truly feels bad for them. Not everyone may have agreed with their relationship, but Hosea only wished for Arthur’s happiness. Much like you did.

Your heart broke for Arthur. You were jealous of Mary, but you didn’t despise her. You just hoped she could give Arthur the happiness he deserved.

You often hoped you could give him that happiness.

“Is...he ok?” You finally ask.

Hosea looks to you fondly, “Well, for someone who’s just had their heart broken...I’d guess he’s alright. Just needs some time to get through it.”

“Where is he now?” you ask. You know having your heart broken can cause you to make some foolish decisions. You just wanted to make sure Arthur wouldn’t do anything he’d later regret. Much like he probably regrets his prior engagement to Mary right now.

“He told me he’s camping on his own nearby...Said he wanted to be alone for a little while.” Hosea stares at you as he utters that last sentence, hoping to emphasize it for you.

You scoff a little and shake your head.

“Please.” You say. “I just wanna see if he’s okay.”

Hosea lights his pipe and studies you across the table.

“He went North,” he finally says, pointing his pipe in that direction. “Not too far out. Several miles, I’d say.”

“Thanks,” you say as you rise to your feet.

You turn your back and begin to walk away when Hosea calls.

“You’re a good friend, Y/N.”

You turn to Hosea, and he gives you a wink. You smirk and start walking over to the horses to saddle your own. John has already finished unloading the last bale for the horses and is resting under a nearby tree.

“Where’you goin’ now?” he asks, tiredly. For a scrawny young man, he sure tires easily from physical labor. But he still works hard, unlike Uncle. 

“Nowhere,” you lie. Heaving your saddle and horse blanket onto your steed. 

Your horse is a beautiful black thoroughbred you stole from a rich stable owner, one who trains racehorses. Your horse was supposed to be the man’s prize stud, but his temperament was so unruly, he was gelded and trained to run the tracks. That horse never made it to the tracks though because of you. You wanted him. After successfully stealing him with Arthur’s help, you decided to name him König. 

Arthur wouldn’t stop making fun of you for that.

“Kahn-nig?” Arthur reads the etching on his leather halter, “What kinda name is that?”

“It’s ‘coo-nic’ you dummy,” you laugh at him, lifting your chin and tapping your throat, “nic, in the back of the throat. ‘nich’. ”

“Kooo-nick...Well, what the hell is that?” Arthur asks. 

You laugh again, “It’s German. It means ‘king.’ My grandma only spoke German. Remember?”

“Yeah, I remember. ‘Member her being a wild, crab-ass of a woman too,” Arthur drawls. 

You slap his shoulder with the back of your hand as he laughs boisterously, yourself hiding a smile. 

You’re jogged back from your memories as John gently pushes you. 

“Liar,” John calls you, smirking.

You try to smirk back and jeer at him in response, but you’re distracted. Your thoughts are only on Arthur.

“Helloooo.....Y/N! What’s with you?” 

You cinch the girth of the saddle and look to John, “Sorry. I- I’m just thinkin’.”

“ ‘bout what?” he asks. Your horse is saddled and bridled as you walk to your tent to grab the rest of your things. John walks alongside you. 

“Arthur...’m gonna go see if he’s alright,” you respond. 

John stops with a annoyed groan and looks up to the sky, rolling his eyes. 

“Let him go, Y/N. He’s just out there brooding as usual. He’ll be fine.” he states. “He’s probably in a mood ‘cause of Mary.” 

“Well that’s just it,” you look to him as you grab your bedroll and supplies from your tent. “It is about Mary. And I know if someone broke my heart, I’d want someone to talk to. I got you, but... Arthur doesn’t have anyone else.”

John sighs in defeat, “Whatever.”

You walk past him towards König, putting on your satchel.

“Just give him one of these for me,” John punches you hard in the arm.

“Ow!” you yell, rubbing your arm.

“Tell him I said ‘Hi’. ” John laughs and jogs away from your retaliation punch. 

“Asshole!” you yell to him, your arm still sore. You hear his wheezy laugh in the distance and turn back towards your horse. 

It only takes a couple of hours to find Arthur’s little camp. The sun sets and the sky is painted in strokes of beautiful pink, orange, and purple ribbons. You look above the tips of the emerald trees and view the clouds reflecting the wonderful hues. It makes you feel so small looking at the vast sky. Taking in the scenery, you trot König towards the low plume of smoke from Arthur’s fire, hidden within a patch of trees and shrubs.

At the sound of hoofbeats, Arthur quickly stands with his hand hovering over his gun belt, ready to draw his revolver. 

“Arthur?” you gently call out, hands raised, as if trying to avoid spooking a wild animal. “It’s me. Y/N.” 

You see Arthur relax a bit, but he doesn’t look pleased. 

“What’r you doin’ here?” he gruffly asks, the timbre of his voice like rich black coffee poured over gravel.

You halt König by a tree next to Arthur’s horse and dismount, patting him on his massive neck.

“Figured I’d check on you to make sure you didn’t kill yourself,” you say as you approach his fire.

Arthur plops onto the ground next to his fire, eyeing the small dancing flames.

“Perhaps I should,” he responds, “Be best for everyone if I do.”

You stand at the fire, looking down solemnly at Arthur. He throws a pebble into the fire, sulking.

“You don’t mean that.” you say gently.

Arthur looks up at you, but quickly looks away. In that brief moment, you could see his bloodshot eyes. You could see he was in pain, though he attempts to hide himself beneath his hat. A wet sniffle reaches your ears as he shrugs his shoulders in response. You step over and sit down by him near the fire, the dirt is soft and warm beneath you. 

“You wanna talk about it?” You ask him carefully. Arthur is like a trap: you try to avoid reaching him in a way that causes him to close up, making it harder for you to pry him back open...if you can at all.

Arthur quietly shakes his head, fumbling with the toe of his boot. He grabs his neckerchief from around his neck and wipes under his nose with another harsh sniffle.

“You’d feel better if you do...instead of bottling it all up. You’re bound to explode if you don’t.” You reassure him. “But, you don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

Silence.

You don’t push any further. Instead of forcing your way in, you wait patiently and let him come to you when he’s ready, like taming a wild dog.

A few moments pass as you both sit in silence. The sunset now gone as the sky is blanketed in stars. You take off your satchel and dig through its contents.

“Here,” you pull out a bottle of rum. “Want some? There’s not much left, but it’s enough.” You shake the bottle gently, swirling the contents inside.

Arthur scans the bottle in your hands. “Shoah,” he whispers. You hand him the bottle and hear the cork slightly pop with a *fwoomp* as he opens it.

The two of you hand the bottle back and forth to each other. Neither of you say a word, only taking another shot of rum. The only sounds coming out of your mouths are the hisses you make at the warm sting of the rum.

You finish it rather quickly, as it was only half-full. But still a decent sized bottle. Tossing it into the fire, you sigh. Your body feels warm and loose, wrapped in a spiritual cocoon of cotton and distilled molasses. You feel ultimately relaxed.

You look up to see Arthur laying another dead log on the fire, stirring the embers as golden sparks dance into the air like fireflies. He returns to his spot next to you, sitting closer.

You continue looking over at him and notice his eyes are now slightly hooded behind his eyelids. He seems to have relaxed a little as well, but still has a gloomy look on his face. He looks to you from the corner of his eyes. You notice and quickly avert your gaze to the growing fire in front of you. You decide to move closer to the warmth of the flames as the chill of the night air gets to you. It still amazes you how cold it gets when the sun goes down in this arid climate.

Pulling your knees to your chest, you rest your arms on your knees, your chin on top of your arms. 

“Got a spare blanket?” You ask him, still gazing into the fire. You can feel him stare at you, so you turn your head to him, now resting your cheek on your arms. 

His features are softened in the orange glow of the fire. You can’t help but smile a bit at how handsome he looks. He always made your heart flutter when he winked at you with those gorgeous eyes. Or when his nose crinkled as he smiled and laughed at your jokes. You would give him anything and everything to make him happy. 

“No...” he finally answers, breaking eye contact and looking over to his shelter. “But’chou can have mine.”

Despite your protest in taking his only blanket, he slowly gets up and walks over to his small tent. It’s more of a lean-to than a proper tent. The effects of the rum rush to his head as he loses his footing a bit, showing his slight inebriation. 

You didn’t think that the rum would hit him that hard, as you only feel tipsy yourself. 

“Have you eaten anything lately?” you query.

“Besides whiskey and that rum of yours? No,” he mumbles. “Ain’t hungry.”

After handing you his blanket, he plops down next to you again. His leg brushes against yours as he clumsily adjusts himself to sit comfortably.

“I should get you something to eat, Arthur. Otherwise, you’ll be sick in the morning.” You ready yourself to get up and walk to your horse until Arthur grabs your wrist.

“I said I ain’t hungry!” he pulls you back down angrily. His nostrils flaring as he looks at the fire, avoiding eye contact with you.

“Ow, geez! Alright, Arthur...god.” You hiss. He nearly popped your elbow out of place when he pulled you down. You rub at your wrist, the knees of your trousers are rubbed with dirt. Arthur hadn’t been physical like this towards you in years. It was only when you really pissed him off, usually during your shenanigans with John to get under his skin.

Suddenly, you notice Arthur huffing, breathing in short heavy breaths through his nose. In the firelight, his eyes have turned glassy. He appears to be holding back tears.

His voice is hushed, “I just don’t understand.”

You look at him silently, letting him gather his thoughts to continue. He continues staring at the fire, like he’s speaking to it instead of you.

He looks up to the stars with a sniffle, “I thought she was gonna marry me...said she would, but...”

His breaths are ragged as he holds himself back, biting his lip.

“We’ve been fightin’. Fightin’ so much lately. And then she told me that–that she can’t live with someone like me. That...if I can’t change –won’t change –” he pauses. He can’t bring himself to continue.

A moment of silence passes and you rest your hand on his knee. You caress the fabric of his jeans with your thumb, feeling the bone of his knee beneath the material.

Normally, Arthur would tense at the touch. But this was you, he trusts you. You were always there to comfort him, like the good friend you are. When it comes to fighting, you’ve seen Mary and him argue from time to time. Mary never liked arguing though. She would always recoil and shed a small tear, asking Arthur to ‘be considerate’. Arthur liked arguing, with anyone and everyone. Including you. Sometimes you’d get him riled up on purpose; say something to him that you knew would get him pissed. You liked getting him mad, and he knew it, and he’d do the same to you, much to Mary’s dismay.

She was always trying to cage the bear in him, but you regularly let him loose.

Arthur continues to explain, “She said...a lady of her standing has to think of other prospects. That she has her family’s reputation to uphold...whatever that means.”

Finally, you speak. “It means she wants you to change but isn’t willing to do the same for you.”

Arthur finally looks to you, “Well, she has. I mean...look at what she’s done with us.” He tries to defend. Even in heartbreak, he still sides with Mary. She really did have a hold on him.

“Really, Arthur?” You question him, holding his his gaze, his eyebrows furrowed, lips pursed tightly. He’s rethinking their whole relationship, dropping his head at the realization.

“I love her,” he says defeatedly. He rests his head in his hands, rubbing at his eyes.

“I know, Arthur.”

Truth be told, your heart breaks too. You never had a chance to tell Arthur how you feel about him. Once he was with Mary, you thought your opportunity was gone forever. Now that you have a chance, you still can’t bring yourself to do it, to tell him that there’s someone else waiting for him. Someone else who is willing to take him for who he is. But it’s too soon.

Arthur sighs, his voice breaking, “I wish I can forget about ‘er. Make the pain go away.”

You sit there thinking, “Well, I know something that could help.”

Arthur turns, staring at you like you’re a magician ready to turn a trick.

“It’s not like you’ll forget her forever, but at least for a moment you can. You wanna come with me to town? Get some drinks at the saloon?”

The idea of getting drunk with you in town made Arthur give you a teary smile. You are best friends after all. You always were a good time...when you weren’t fighting with him.

Arthur nods his head, “That sounds good.”

“On one condition,” you point, “You gotta promise me you’ll eat something.” You give him a wicked smirk.

Arthur chuckles, his eyes still bloodshot. His expression is a bit more cheerful. “Okay,” he mumbles.

You help Arthur tear down his shelter and fire and mount up on your horses. Before riding into town, you head back to camp to tell Dutch and Hosea. The last time you didn’t, you caused a ruckus in town and Dutch chewed your asses out for days. That was tame compared to the tongue lashing you both received from Hosea when he bailed you out of jail. It took you both a month to get the money to pay him back.

Luckily, Dutch and Hosea let you go to town. But only if you two promised not to cause trouble again. They threatened they wouldn’t bail you out this time.

Making it into town, you both step into the saloon. Arthur saves the both of you a table at the far, dark corner of the building, as a precaution to stay out of trouble. You’re left at the bar to order drinks, and a simple meal for Arthur. He must’ve lived off of nothing but whiskey for the past few days because he didn’t appear to sober up. Which means you’ve got some catching up to do. You sneak a double shot of whiskey before walking over with your beers and a humble bowl of stew.

“Here,” You say, sliding the porcelain bowl in front of him, grabbing his hand and wrapping his fingers around the spoon as if he’s a child learning how to eat.

“Eat that, and I’ll let you have a beer,” you bargain.

Arthur sighs with a frustrated huff. He wasn’t one to break promises, but he loved disobeying you. He’d always claim he didn’t have to listen to you because he’s older. But time and time again, you prove him wrong on so many levels. He didn’t want to resist you tonight, he’s far too hungry, but far too proud to admit he’s hungry. So wordlessly, he shovels the beef and vegetable stew into his mouth, holding back groans at the delicious taste.

Time has quickly passed throughout the night, along with several jaunty tunes on the piano, and a table full of beers between you two. You’re entering the twilight hours as the number of patrons begins to filter out like the candlelights on the walls, but the night is still young for you. You both find yourselves chatting about everything and nothing. From an outside glance, it’s as if the pair of you haven’t seen each in other in months, and are now catching up and relishing in each other’s stories. Somehow, the topic of conversation veers to the subject of “who has had the best sexual conquests”...

“Nuh-uh! You and Mary?” You pretend to be shocked. You’re only slightly shocked at the knowledge that he and Mary were physically intimate. She would be a fool not to sleep with Arthur. You just didn’t want to believe in the thought of the two of them in bed.

In fact, the image made your blood boil.

“Yup.” Arthur replies, popping the ‘p’.

“She was real good too,” he continues to boast.

“Pffft! Yeah, right,” you scoff, taking another swig of beer. You hold a belch in your mouth.

Arthur is offended at your scoff.

“She was!” He defends. “She would—” he laughs. “She would sneak outta her room and meet me in the barn. We’d lay down in the straw, real nice and...Y’know.” He waves his hand to make his point.

“Do tell,” you say to him, resting your chin on your hand as if you’re entranced by his story.

“Shuttup...” he replies. He can see right through your façade. He knows you’re mocking him.

“She’s the best woman I ever had.” He says lovingly. He stares down at his bottle, only a swig of beer left. He guzzles it down.

“She knew how to please me,” he smiles.

“Doubt it.” You cut in, holding the tip of your bottle to your lips.

Arthur’s head snaps up at your jest, looking at you in disbelief. That familiar look of annoyance paints across his face.

“What?” he asks, his voice rising an octave.

“I guarantee you she was not the best lay you ever had,” you state with confidence. “If anyone knows how to please a man, it’s me!”

Arthur is speechless. He looks at you with his jaw dropped, swaying back and forth slightly in his seat from the booze. His world is spinning.

“I bet she’d just lay there like a dead fish and just take it. Hmm?” You ask.

Now perhaps you’re taking things too far.

“I bet she was too ladylike to do it out in the woods, y’know? Ride you like a bronco...”

The resonance in your voice drops to a whispering, sultry tone, 

“Out in the wilderness at your camp. By the fire, naked...out in the open. Howling so loud that the coyotes join in.”

Without realizing, you’re holding the neck of your bottle between your index finger and thumb and began stroking. You’re too busy staring down Arthur. 

At his lack of response, you take your chance.

“I’ll bet you that I can do a better job in just one night, than she ever did with you.”

What the fuck are you doing?

You silence your conscience.

Arthur’s eyes run up and down your face. You could swear that he even sneaks a quick look to your breasts, your silky skin exposed through the open buttons of your blouse. You forgot you undid the top three buttons in the heat of the crowded saloon.

“You really think so?” Arthur asks softly, the gruff of his voice causes the hairs on your neck to stand straight up. 

You reply slowly, “I guarantee you...that I can make you cum faster than she could.”

Arthur eyes you with hooded lids, giving a devilish smirk. When he leans across the table, you can faintly detect the smell of yeast from his beer breath.

“Prove it.” He growls.

Your heart is beating frantically. You were joking, of course.

But, every joke has a kernel of truth.

You keep your composure as you don’t want to ruin this moment. You know Arthur is calling your bluff. But this is your only chance at finally getting him to yourself. Your chance to finally get what you want.

“Alright,” you say coyly. “Gimme a second.” 

You rise to your feet, not very gracefully, mind you. The beer is dulling your senses but you continue to the bar. You pay for a room upstairs.

You leisurely strut back to the table with confidence, thanks to the beer. Arthur watches you the entire time, not breaking eye contact. When you reach the table, you barely falter your stride and lightly grasp his hand, “C’mon,” you beckon him. You hold the key to the room in your other hand, leading Arthur up the stairs to the door of the bedroom.

You can’t help but tease him as you softly moan while slowly inserting the key into the keyhole. Arthur steps closer to you as you turn the knob. You can feel his heat behind you as you step into the room. If you were to bend over right now, your ass would brush against his crotch, perfectly. You turn to him, he silently closes the door behind him. Neither of you has uttered a word yet, just staring into each other’s eyes with mischievous smiles.

Your eyes wander down to his muscular neck, his shoulders, the dip at the base of his throat exposed by the open button of his shirt. Taking two steps forward, you gently push him into the door, placing both hands on his chest. Your fingertips brush against his exposed skin, your faces mere inches apart, the smell of beer and rum now strong in your nostrils. The tips of your noses faintly touch, as you both breathe heavy, calculated breaths. 

Arthur’s hands are now at your waist, resting on your love handles. The touch of his bulky, calloused fingers send goosebumps to your skin. You’re lazily unbuttoning his shirt as he explores your hips with his massive hands. You tip your chin up and brush your lips against his. His hands now wandered to your upper back, and he pulls you closer to him. Your hands are pinned between your bodies, and you feel his luscious, wet lips against yours. They feel so soft compared to the coarseness of his beard. Arthur may hate dealing with his facial hair, but you love it. The way his follicles scratch against your upper lip and cheeks make you wet.

Your bodies are now pressed against each other. Reaching down past Arthur’s belt, you feel for his cock. It’s now bulging against his jeans. You lightly squeeze and rub over his pants. Arthur gasps, his tongue in your mouth. You chase his tongue with your own. Your teeth click against each other awkwardly in your drunken stupor. You’re ravaging him, pinning him against the door and continuously grabbing at his thick bulge.

Arthur moves his left hand from your back to your breasts, his right hand is on your supple rear. He grips your cheeks tightly, pushing your groins together. Continuing to moan into your wet kisses, he grabs at your breast and squeezes. You gasp and moan into his mouth, eventually breaking the kiss to take a breath.

Moving to his brawny neck, you litter it with kisses, teasing him with bites and suckles that leave behind marks. Your hand still on his bulge, you feel his cock pulsating as his blood continues to rush south. You decided to free it from its confines. The sound of his belt clinking as you unbuckle it is the most beautiful sound in the world, like you’re opening the gates to heaven. His gun belt drops the floor with a heavy *clunk*. Continuing to his fly, you unzip it, brushing off his suspenders at the same time. You pull your head away from his neck to look down at his cock.

“Oh my god,” You breathe.

“What?” Arthur asks with genuine concern, bless his heart.

“It’s...so big.” You exclaim.

It’s so thick and hard in your hands.

You wrap your fingers around it, but it’s so fat that you can barely connect your fingers. It’s like stroking a fleshy rod, it’s so hard.

You admire it. While it seems to be the same length as most men you’ve been with, there was something special about it. Gently pulling back his foreskin as you stroke him, you notice the girth of his cock bows out, starting right below the head and straightening out again further down the base.

Arthur stops massaging your breast and leans his head back against the door with a gravelly moan. You continue stroking his fat cock from base to tip until you see that glorious pearly bead of pre-cum on his tip.

I wonder if his precious Mary has ever done this? You think to yourself as you drop to your knees and pull Arthur’s trousers down to his ankles. Using the tip of your tongue, you lick the bead of pre-cum off the tip, causing his penis to throb.

Arthur sucks in a breath, “What’r’you doin?”

You look up at him, licking your lips seductively, his cock in your one hand and his balls massaged in the other. Compared to the men you’ve seen, Arthur definitely has the biggest set of them all. They feel so soft and warm as you admire them in your hand. You almost need both hands to cup them.

“Hasn’t anyone ever pleased you like this before, Arthur?” You wink at him as you lick the head of his cock again, then enveloping your lips on it, giving it a sloppy kiss.

“N-n-nooo.” He tries to groan out the words.

“No?” Your voice rises in surprise. “Tsk. What a shame,” you groan.

You don’t even give him a second to breathe before completely taking him in your mouth. You notice it’s been a while since he bathed as you taste him- a hint of saltiness- but you don’t mind. You moan, sending vibrations through his cock as you slowly bob your head. Looking up, you see Arthur’s eyes are now squinted shut in intense pleasure, breathing short shallow breaths, his hands hovering by your face, afraid to touch you. You wonder how long you could go on sucking him. You can handle all of his length no problem, but the issue was that bow in his girth. You could already feel your jaw getting sore, worried his thickness could pop it out of place.

It doesn’t take long though.

You continue to slurp along his cock, roaming your tongue upon his veins, relishing in the quiet moans and hisses coming from his plump lips. You take both hands and explore beyond his muscular hips and thighs, going around to grab onto his ass cheeks, feeling the dimples on the sides of his cheeks along the way. You continue sucking him hands-free, looking up at him, and he finally looks down at you. Seeing himself inside the mouth of a beautiful woman must have set him over the edge, as he involuntarily thrusts into your mouth. You sense he’s about to cum.

Immediately, you pop your mouth off his cock, denying him his release. Arthur gives a loud, rough groan at this denial and looks at you with passion in his eyes. You rise to your feet and feel his bulky hands grab harshly at your waist, yelping and giggling in surprise. Arthur rests his forehead against yours, his hands returning to grope your rear. You’re secretly begging for him to rip your trousers off and take you, as you’re soaking in anticipation. His mouth moves to your ear.

He whispers in a low growl, “Go lay down.”

You obey and step backwards, hitting the bed with the back of your knees, causing you to fall back gently onto the soft mattress. The springs squeak as you land. Meanwhile, Arthur kicks off his boots and removes the rest of his jeans that have pooled at his ankles, never breaking eye contact with you.

Lucky for you, there’s a full moon tonight, and the window curtains are torn, allowing the moonlight to shine into the dark room. Arthur stands completely naked before you, his skin glowing in the pale moonlight, the shadows accentuating every dip and curve of his muscles. He looks to be made of marble or porcelain, as if he’s been carved by Michaelangelo himself.

As he approaches you like a prowling wolf ready to strike its prey, your heartbeat races with excitement. You watch his dick lightly bounce up and down with each languid step he takes. He hovers over you on the bed, the springs of the mattress groan under his weight as he places both hands on either side of you. He moves to kiss you again. You can faintly taste the rum, now overpowered by beer and a hint of beef broth from the stew.

He’s much more aggressive with his tongue now, slipping it into your mouth and demanding control. You feel a warm hand slip under your shirt, caressing the skin of your stomach before stopping at your silky, soft breasts. In one smooth motion, Arthur pulls your shirt up over your head and tosses it on the floor, exposing you to him. For a moment, you feel self-conscious as he stops and stares at your naked torso. You begin to wonder if it’s not good enough for him, but you’re quickly mistaken as he drops his head to your chest and devours you, sucking and twirling his tongue on your left nipple while kneading the other with his hand. You let out a surprised and pleading moan at the sensation, the room filled with your raspy ‘oh’s’ and ‘ah’s’.

You let Arthur take more of you into his mouth as you arch your back off the bed, tenderly holding his head with both hands, pushing your breasts together as you do so. Arthur moans, sending a wonderful vibration onto your sensitive nipple. He picks his head up slightly, lips still latched onto your nipple, continuously sucking until it pops out of his mouth. He moves over to your other breast and repeats.

Writhing beneath him in pleasure, you desperately want to take your pants off, as they must be soaking wet by now. You move a hand from his luscious locks of hair and lower it between your bodies. Slipping your hand beneath your waistband, you rub a finger towards your opening and feel the juices pooling.

Arthur notices and straightens himself up, still straddling you and sitting back on his heels, his huge set conveniently resting on the fly of your trousers. He moves a burly hand to your crotch, unbuttoning the fly effortlessly with his lengthy fingers, the other slowly stroking his cock. A gasp escapes your lips at the feeling of his rough fingers exploring your vagina, his thumb hovering your clit. He slips a finger tenderly into your opening...then another.

“Damn, Y/N.” he sighs, “You’re soaked.”

You grin and bite your lower lip. Arching your hips, you wordlessly give Arthur permission to remove your pants, raising your butt off the bed. With both hands, he effortlessly slips your trousers off, taking your boots off with them, leaving you completely naked as you lean back on your elbows. 

Arthur returns to hover over you on the bed, both hands on either side of you on the mattress.

“You gonna show me how you please a woman?” you whisper provocatively.

“Thought the deal was you pleasin’ me?” he cites with a wink. His nose brushing against yours.

“Alright then.” You answer, and playfully bite his lower lip. “Lay on your back” you order gently, he gives you a confused look.

“Let me please you,” you assure him.

Arthur obeys and rolls off you to lay on his back. His hands laying idle on his chest. Swinging a leg over, you straddle him, looking down at him. His hands move from his chest to gently grasp your hips, softly rubbing your skin with his thumb. His eyes are gleaming in the bright moonlight. You no longer see sorrow in them, but pleasure. You reach down beneath you to grab his cock and stroke it gently, watching his eyes flutter shut and his lips open to allow a small moan to escape.

Lifting your hips, you lean forward and tease the both of you by rubbing his tip along your clit- the feeling of his sleek head sends a tingle to your core. Placing it right on the edge of your opening, you continue rubbing his cock along the outside of your vagina to lube him with your juices.

Arthur jerks his hips impatiently, so you take your cue. Adjusting your hips, you guide him into your opening, your slick wetness allowing him to slip perfectly inside you. Your breath hitches as you feel the entry of his tip, then comes the stretch of your walls as he slides his girthy member further. You both gasp at the sensation, freezing in place as you make it all the way down the base of his cock. You look into each other’s eyes, your body trembling, lips quivering as you relish in the feeling of his thick cock filling up your tight pussy.

“Oh, Arthur,” you whine.

Arthur tightens his grip on your hips, sinking his fingers deep into your flesh.

You straighten up and begin to steadily grind on his cock, allowing him to stretch your walls out further. Arthur’s eyes roll back in his head and the sound of his guttural moan beckons the return of goosebumps to your skin...like the low rumbling growl of a grizzly bear.

You begin to pick up the speed with his cock deep inside you, Arthur’s hips moving with you in sync. You lean forward on his chest and let him wrap his arms tightly around you, holding you close to him. You feel Arthur’s knees raise as he readies himself in a new position, his feet planted on the bed. He thrusts up into you, hard and quick. The sound of your skin clapping together echoes across the room.

“Oh...God!” you breathe, “You feel so good.”

Arthur groans and tightly shuts his lips.

“So do you,” he finally moans.

He continues to drive his hips upwards at a rapid pace. God, you’ve never laid with a man with so much strength, so much power.

You look up at the ceiling and cry out. You no longer care if anyone hears in the saloon below. You, m’lady, are getting pounded by Arthur Morgan, and you don’t give a damn who hears your screams.

You don’t want it to end. You want this moment to last all night.

“Hang on,” you say. Arthur pauses and releases his grip on you, allowing you to sit up.

Laying a hand on his chest to steady yourself, you bring your knees up and squat on your feet. With Arthur still inside you, you sit on him in a low, frog-like crouch. You bring both hands to his shoulders for stability while you slowly bounce up and down off his cock.

Arthur’s eyes go wide at the sight of you hopping up and down, seeing his penis disappear into you. This position is an amazing new discovery for him. Never has he had a woman ride him like this. The feeling of your lovely bottom smacking against his pelvis, the power of your thighs and calves holding your weight up as you raise and lower yourself on him...it’s enough to make him faint.

Yourself though, you’re quickly losing strength in your legs. You power through the burning in your calves, the twitching in your thighs. You focus your attention on the feeling between your legs, the divine feeling of Arthur’s cock inside you. Luckily, the curls of his pubic hair tickle your clit wonderfully as you hop up and down. You feel so close, and Arthur sounds like he is too. Suddenly, he grabs at your hips again and retakes control, relieving your tired legs. He thrusts upwards and pounds into you at a much more frantic pace, leaving you screaming.

“Oh, Arthur! I’m so close! Cum for me baby!” You shout, your voice high-pitched in ecstasy.

His thrusts falter as he drives himself in you as deep as he can, the two of you gripping each other tightly as you orgasm simultaneously. Explosions of color flash brightly behind your shut eyelids. Your body releases a rush of endorphins, wave after wave like an electric circuit. Once you’ve been released from your orgasms, you’re both left a panting, sweaty mess.

You roll off of him and lay back with a satisfied sigh, breasts heaving with every pant. Your eyes look to the ceiling as your head swims and the room spins.

“I never came like that before,” you confess, slightly embarrassed. Here you were bragging about being the greatses in bed, when you never even got your own rocks off by a man. Most were two-pump chumps who’d leave you high and dry. Well, more like wet and unfulfilled and with stains on your skirt.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Arthur turn his head towards you.

“Really?” He asks inquisitively. You turn to look at him and see a crooked smile on his face. He looks so pleased with himself. Turning back bashfully and laying your forearm across your eyes, you chuckle out a “Yeah.”

“Can’t say I have either,” he admits softly.

Quickly, you turn your head back to him and cock an eyebrow.

“So...I won the bet?” You ask with a big grin.

Arthur stays silent, only shrugging his shoulders and smiling as he rolls over on his side to wrap himself around you. He was never one to admit he’s been proved wrong. So you accepted your victory in silence, rolling to your side to let Arthur spoon you.

It may already be a warm night, but you enjoyed the heat from his body huddled close to you. You feel safe and secure in the weight of his arms, though you worry if you need to pee you might not break out of his heavy embrace. Nevertheless, your eyelids quickly pull down like weighted curtains on a stage, as you fall into a deep sleep.

[newstfionline]

Thursday, April 8, 2021

Study: Drought-breaking rains more rare, erratic in US West (AP) Rainstorms grew more erratic and droughts much longer across most of the U.S. West over the past half-century as climate change warmed the planet, according to a sweeping government study released Tuesday that concludes the situation is worsening. The most dramatic changes were recorded in the desert Southwest, where the average dry period between rainstorms grew from about 30 days in the 1970s to 45 days between storms now, said Joel Biederman, a research hydrologist with the U.S. Department of Agriculture Southwest Watershed Research Center in Tucson, Arizona. The consequences of the intense dry periods that pummeled areas of the West in recent years were severe—more intense and dangerous wildfires, parched croplands and not enough vegetation to support livestock and wildlife. The study comes with almost two-thirds of the contiguous U.S. beset by abnormally dry conditions. Warm temperatures forecast for the next several months could make it the worst spring drought in almost a decade, affecting roughly 74 million people across the U.S., the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration said.

Survey: Even as schools reopen, many students learn remotely (AP) Large numbers of students are not returning to the classroom even as more schools reopen for full-time, in-person learning, according to a survey released Wednesday by the Biden administration. The findings reflect a nation that has been locked in debate over the safety of reopening schools. Even as national COVID-19 rates continued to ebb in February, key measures around reopening schools barely budged. Nearly 46% of public schools offered five days a week of in-person to all students in February, according to the survey, but just 34% of students were learning full-time in the classroom. The gap was most pronounced among older K-12 students, with just 29% of eighth graders getting five days a week of learning at school. With the new findings, President Joe Biden came no closer to meeting his goal of having most elementary schools open five days a week in his first 100 days. Just shy of half the nation’s schools offered full-time learning in February, roughly the same share as the previous month.

Off Grid (Pew Research Center) Despite increasing access across the country, still 7 percent of U.S. adults say they do not use the internet, according to the latest survey from the Pew Research Center. This includes about 25 percent of people aged 65 and up, about 14 percent of people in households earning less than $30,000 per year and about 10 percent of rural households. In 2000, 48 percent of Americans said they didn’t use the internet, which fell to 32 percent in 2005, 24 percent in 2010 and 15 percent by 2015.

Global COVID-19 death toll surpasses 3 million amid new infections resurgence (Reuters) Coronavirus-related deaths worldwide crossed 3 million on Tuesday, according to a Reuters tally, as the latest global resurgence of COVID-19 infections is challenging vaccination efforts across the globe. Worldwide COVID-19 deaths are rising once again, especially in Brazil and India. Health officials blame more infectious variants that were first detected in the United Kingdom and South Africa, along with public fatigue with lockdowns and other restrictions.

Devastation From Storms Fuels Migration in Honduras (NYT) Children pry at the dirt with sticks, trying to dig out parts of homes that have sunk below ground. Their parents, unable to feed them, scavenge the rubble for remnants of roofs to sell for scrap metal. They live on top of the mud that swallowed fridges, stoves, beds—their entire lives buried beneath them. “We are doomed here,” said Magdalena Flores, a mother of seven, standing on a mattress that peeked out from the dirt where her house used to be. “The desperation, the sadness, that’s what makes you migrate.” People have long left Honduras for the United States, fleeing gang violence, economic misery and the indifference of a government run by a president accused of ties to drug traffickers. Then last fall, two hurricanes hit impoverished areas of Honduras in rapid succession, striking more than four million people across the nation—nearly half the population—and leveling entire neighborhoods. “People aren’t migrating; they’re fleeing,” said César Ramos, of the Mennonite Social Action Commission, a group providing aid to people affected by the storms. “These people have lost everything, even their hope.”

Leaders of Russia and China tighten their grips (AP) They’re not leaders for life—not technically, at least. But in political reality, the powerful tenures of China’s Xi Jinping and, as of this week, Russia’s Vladimir Putin are looking as if they will extend much deeper into the 21st century—even as the two superpowers whose destinies they steer gather more clout with each passing year. What’s more, as they consolidate political control at home, sometimes with harsh measures, they’re working together more substantively than ever in a growing challenge to the West and the world’s other superpower, the United States. This week, Putin signed a law allowing him to potentially hold onto power until 2036. The 68-year-old Russian president, who has been in power for more than two decades—longer than any other Kremlin leader since Soviet dictator Josef Stalin—pushed through a constitutional vote last year allowing him to run again in 2024 when his current six-year term ends. He has overseen a systematic crackdown on dissent. In China, Xi, who came to power in 2012, has imposed even tighter controls on the already repressive political scene, emerging as one of his nation’s most powerful leaders in the seven decades of Communist Party rule that began with Mao Zedong’s often-brutal regime. Under Xi, the government has rounded up, imprisoned or silenced intellectuals, legal activists and other voices, cracked down on Hong Kong’s opposition and used security forces to suppress calls for minority rights in Xinjiang, Tibet and Inner Mongolia.

US military cites rising risk of Chinese move against Taiwan (AP) The American military is warning that China is probably accelerating its timetable for capturing control of Taiwan, the island democracy that has been the chief source of tension between Washington and Beijing for decades and is widely seen as the most likely trigger for a potentially catastrophic U.S.-China war. The worry about Taiwan comes as China wields new strength from years of military buildup. It has become more aggressive with Taiwan and more assertive in sovereignty disputes in the South China Sea. Beijing also has become more confrontational with Washington; senior Chinese officials traded sharp and unusually public barbs with Secretary of State Antony Blinken in talks in Alaska last month. A military move against Taiwan, however, would be a test of U.S. support for the island that Beijing views as a breakaway province. For the Biden administration, it could present the choice of abandoning a friendly, democratic entity or risking what could become an all-out war over a cause that is not on the radar of most Americans. The United States has long pledged to help Taiwan defend itself, but it has deliberately left unclear how far it would go in response to a Chinese attack.

Myanmar teeters toward state collapse and civil war (Washington Post) On Tuesday, protesters spilled metaphorical blood on the streets of Yangon, Myanmar’s biggest city. They sprayed and splashed red paint on roads, pavement and bus stops across town to mark the death toll exacted by security forces on demonstrators standing against the Feb. 1 coup carried out by the country’s junta. At least 570 people, including more than 40 children, have been killed in two months of unrest. More than 2,720 politicians, activists and civil society figures have been detained by authorities. At least 25 journalists are in detention, while others covering protests have been brutalized by state forces. On Tuesday, police and soldiers in Yangon carted off Zarganar, the country’s most well-known comedian, in an army vehicle on unspecified charges.      Last week, authorities further tightened curbs on broadband access, ordering private providers to suspend wireless data services. According to one research firm, Internet shutdowns over recent months in Myanmar may have already cost the local economy close to $1 billion. That’s a price the regime appears happy to pay to deter protesters from coordinating their actions and disseminating further information. Undaunted, dissidents have taken to older forms of communication, launching rogue radio stations and spreading leaflets urging a national boycott of next week’s official state celebration of Thingyan, Myanmar’s traditional new year.      Still, the resilience and determination of the protesters “is not unambiguously good news, because the military junta also will not give up, no matter the cost, leaving little hope of salvaging Myanmar’s political liberalization, economic reform, and development progress during a decade of civilian rule,” wrote Thitinan Pongsudhirak, an esteemed political scientist at Bangkok’s Chulalongkorn University. “Instead, the country faces the imminent threat of economic collapse, state implosion, and internal strife—perhaps even full-fledged civil war.”

A Murky, Violent Limbo in Syria (NYT) Among the millions of Syrians who fled as the government bombed their towns, destroyed their homes and killed their loved ones are 150 families squatting in a soccer stadium in the northwestern city of Idlib, sheltering in rickety tents under the stands or in the rocky courtyard. More than 1,300 similar camps dot Syria’s last bastions under rebel control, eating up farmland, stretching along irrigation canals and filling lots next to apartment buildings where refugee families squat in damaged units with no windows. On a rare visit to Idlib Province, examples abounded of shocked and impoverished people trapped in a murky and often violent limbo. Stuck between a wall to prevent them from fleeing across the nearby border with Turkey and a hostile government that could attack at any moment, they struggle to secure basic needs in a territory controlled by a militant group formerly linked to Al Qaeda. Few of them are likely to return as long as Assad remains in power, making the fate of the displaced one of the thorniest pieces of the war’s unfinished business. “The question is: What is the future for these people?” said Mark Cutts, the United Nations deputy regional humanitarian coordinator for Syria. “They can’t continue living forever in muddy fields under olive trees by the side of the road.”

Israel hits Iranian ship (Foreign Policy) An Iranian military vessel in the Red Sea was damaged by an Israeli mine on Tuesday in the latest naval confrontation involving the two countries. The incident follows a number of attacks against Iranian vessels suspected of shipping oil to Syria. Iran has responded with strikes of its own, hitting an Israeli container ship in March. Iran’s Revolutionary Guards said the ship struck in Tuesday’s attack had been stationed in the Red Sea to combat pirates in the area.

[seekpaleblooddd]

Pop Culture is Culture!

       A circle-jerking gang of people choose to define "pop culture" as opposed to "culture" by slapping an extra word in front of it. I argue they are one and the same! I argue that in the future, historians will look at the start of the twenty first century and speak about Hollywood, Instagram, perhaps even Tumblr or DeviantArt. They will praise them as the great revolution they were and the influence it had on people and art and they will swipe galleries of conceptual photography and experimental theatres plays under the rug, branding them as niche and irrelevant events. 

       There are no more class differences when it comes to the consumption of culture. There was a difference, until some years ago, between what the rich and the poor could consume, a difference which separated folklore from high culture, yet that difference is nowhere to be seen. Centuries ago, you would have had to pay a string quartet to play for you if you wanted to listen to them. A decades ago, you needed to afford to buy an album if you wanted to look at paintings. Now, the rich and the poor alike pay a few dollars a month to browse Netflix, the difference between them being only the size of their TV. The millionaires and the poor students alike scroll on Instagram. In the West, everybody owns a smartphone, a laptop and can afford an internet connection. All that remains to separate the culture consumer to the indifferent man is mere interest … An interest so strong in all of us that is shook entire industries through the rise of internet piracy! 

       Popular does not mean facile. Nothing is worse for an artist than to be understood by everybody! The highest forms of art are those filled with nuance and many layers of meaning, while those who appeal to the lowest common denominator gain popularity! Except … that is not what is happening. 

       As the best example, the most popular series of all time, Game of Thrones, gained its place not because a gang of self-proclaimed intellectuals adored it, but because most people did! They loved it because it did not assume its audience to be stupid. Dozens of Youtube channels rose to hundreds of thousands of subscribers just because they were theorizing on the damn series. And when the series took a turn to more facile and to lack of depth, people lost their shit. 

       We underestimate humanity in general and its ability to read into things, forgetting that everybody grows up with films, and grows up accustomed to film language, forgetting that everybody in school must learn about literature and art. And, most importantly, we forget that … 

       Art must make itself understood. 

       And that started with the mesopotamian reliefs, where the king was made to be bigger than the others, so that everybody looking at the work would understand which one he is. It continued with the Renaissance, with the development of perspective and descriptive geometry, in their struggle to represent the world as it is. It continued with Hitchcock , who experimented with montage so that he could convey ideas through editing, in a way that everybody could understand. It was further theorized by men such as Rudolf Arnheim, who studied the psychology of art, to teach other artists on how they can express themselves without needing further explanation. 

       Why is it then, that we praise art that makes no effort to be understood by everybody? Why do we call it 'high' and 'elite' instead of simply calling it as it is … niche! And why are we so hypocritical in praising certain mediums or genres over others? Nobody considers Black Metal to be high culture (alright … perhaps some Black Metal fans would), despite it being impossible to understand without having listened to some Heavy Metal first. Or, for example, I would not condemn somebody living in the USA for not understanding a Romanian movie about communism! 

       We are suffering from a collective Imposter's Syndrome, where we consume art every single day, yet we demean ourselves by calling it pop culture. We take great movies, whose every single shot was directed and meticulously composed and we shove them in the same category as sports and reality TV. But I also argue that as centuries will pass, the books will speak about Instagram as they speak now of the Impressionists; people will note the day in which the fanfiction platform Archive of Our Own received a Hugo award  and our grandchildren will learn about the great democratisation of art and they will study authors who they will only know by username. 

[nawcelest]

Legacies rewrite

There is no salvatore Boarding school instead Alaric is principle of Mystic Falls high and that is where Lizzie, Josie, Hope, Landon, Rafael, M.G, etc go. 

Witches and Vampires are rare within mystic falls. 

The Lockwood estate was transformed into a commune for werewolves. 

Hope spent most of her childhood and preteen years in New Orleans. 

She barely practiced Magic as Hayley distrusted the witches. 

While Freya spent most of her time trying to find a solution to the Hollow problem. 

She hasn’t triggered her werewolf curse. 

Hayley sends her to mystic falls for a normal high school experience. Away from the New Orleans politics. 

Hope moves to Mystic falls for her Sophomore year at Mystic falls high and stays with a family Friend. 

Lizzie and Josie skipped a year and are now Freshman at Mystic falls high. 

Lizzie and Josie grow up ignorant to the Supernatural world and their Siphoned abilities. 

M.G is a newly turned Vampire figuring things out on his own. 

Rafael is a newly triggered Werewolf who is also a Psychic. 

He triggered his curse after he accidentally killed an entire football team by giving them a telepathic aneurysm.

 Landon is a nephilim. Which are humans who were experimented on via magic.

 Alaric is hiding a dark town secret. 

Bonnie and the Mystic falls gang alongside some of the New Orleans gang has been experimenting with magic in Mystic falls. Even experimenting on living things. 

There were some unforeseen consequences resulting in these things needing to be sealed. 

They sealed these things away in another Dimension and Alaric acts a gatekeeper sending anything that gets out back in.

 Nephilims were banished from Mystic falls by the Council which Alaric is apart of. 

Landon wants to release these creatures. 

The Salvatore Boarding house is transformed into an armory containing powerful and deadly artifacts. 

Some Supernatural creatures introduced and some backstory on Origin:

Fairies: Human Butterfly/Moth Hybrids. Freya used a transfiguration spell to give a group of humans Butterfly wings. In turn they were all given an enchanted Wand curved from a Hawthrone or Ash tree embeded with a rare gemstone that contained the power of a certain element/Concept such as Water/Fire/Plants/Air/Minerals/Metals/Emotions/etc. One Fairy desired more power and persuaded Davina to create a Dark wand that held Dark Magic. In turn the Dark wand turned her butterfly wings into moth wings and warped her mind. She craved even more power and thus used the wand to absorb Pain, Misery, death, etc to empower herself. The other Fairies eventually banded together and combined their wands to create the Elder wand which was powerful enough to overpower the moth Fairy and transform her into an old Hawthrone tree.

An Episode focused on Lizzie and the Miss Mystic Falls Ball. Lizzie accidentally siphons the magic imprisoning the Fairy. The Fairy in turns offers Lizzie a deal. If Lizzie could snag her Dark wand she would turn Lizzie into the Cinderella of the Ball. Lizzie desiring to win really bad ends up stealing the wand from the fault Alaric keeps it in. The Dark Fairy grants her wish but adds a twist. She add an irresponsibility spell to the dress which would make men drawn to her, so much so that they would want to devour her by literally ripping her limb by limb. The Slippers would slowing siphon her life force making it hard for her to run away. The ear rings would make women envious of her so much so they would want to kill her. To save Lizzie, Hope and Josie have to travel to the Fairy realm to get the Elder wand to undo the Dark Fairy’s spell. However getting to the Fairy realm and back requires a tremendous amount of magic. They go to Landon for help. Maybe his nephlim powers boosted by Hope’s magic will be enough.

Dijinn: Birth from the ashes of a meteorite. Bonnie created them by infusing the meteorite dust with Mystical Dark Matter particles, Dark Magic, Expression energy, Spiritual Energy and the traditional elements.  As one of the most powerful beings on earth they can do and achieve anything. However they are limited to only using their powers for others and they can only grant others three wishes. However nature also created a balance. To gain something you most lose something. After three wishes your soul is the Dijinns to take. 

Episode focused on  Hope. Will cleaning the art supply closet she comes across a painting. She accidentally cuts herself and her blood falls on the painting summoning a Dijinn. In turn the Dijinn offers her three wishes of her hearts true desire. While reluctant to use the wishes she accidentally uses all three wishes and her soul is taken and imprisoned in the painting. She now acts as a servant for the Dijinn. Now it is up to Landon, M.G, Lizzie and Josie to get her out of the painting. The only way to destroy the Dijinn and save Hope is to burn the painting in Psychic Hellfire. Besides the fact to find Psychic hellfire to burn the painting in they now have to find the painting as it is missing. Who Stole it? and Who even placed it in the art Closet anyway?

Demons: A Woman whose children were slaughtered by vampires pleaded with Davina and Bonnie to resurrect her children. Each offered the women a vial of blood. Davina’s containing Dark magic and Bonnie’s containing Psychic Dark matter particles. Each told the woman to spill the blood over her children graves and they would be reborn. She did so and her children rose but not as themselves. Instead of rising from Bone and ash they rose from dirt and Mud with new vessels. They became known as the first demons each possessing a unique ability. The woman then decided to use it on other children graves in the grave yards and they too rose with new vessels.In order to contain them Davina and Kol bound each one to a book. They called it the library of Solomon.Each book contained a summoner, binding and banishing ritual along with information on the demon. Bonnie and Freya then created a Dimension for them to reside as their presence created chaos in the world. 

Episode focused on Josie. When Josie is in her father’s study looking for a book she sees an interesting book titled Valefar: The Demon of Thieves. She takes it to read. Intrigued she summons the demon and binds it. She demands the demon steal the answer sheet for an upcoming test she has. She thens ask it to steal back some clothes she leant Lizzie. The Demons tempts her to steal more and more. The more she steals the darker her thoughts become. She accidentally breaks the binding agreement and the Demon steals her and takes her to the demon realm. Lizzie, Josie and M.G Work to get her back but the only way to get to the demon realm is by passage of a Demon. Hope instead reworks the spell to take her to the demon instead of bringing the demon to her. Can they bring Josie home? or is Josie to far gone?

More Episode ideas to come.

[mystic-kitten-writer]

Limerence [M] ︳27

Pairing: Zuko x OC

AU: Adult-Verse

Genre: Romance, mainly fluff with smut, and if you squint hard enough - you’ll find some angst.

Rating: SFW

Words: 6500+

Notes: Thank you, everyone, for the lovely comments, follows, and just overall support. Take care everyone, and stay safe!

Masterlist ︳26 ︳ 28 ½

❤ Buy me a coffee? ❤

Limerence: (English/n.) the state of being infatuated with another person. The moment their eyes locked they knew - the flames within him twisted while the water within her turned. It was a connection, a connection that would lead to love, adventure, and drama.

Appetence

(French/n.) a longing or desire; a natural tendency or affinity.

~ Ying Yue Jiang ~

            My hands were trembling, so much so, one would have thought a damn earthquake was happening. A small huff left my lips, frantically seizing whatever laid on the vanity and dresser; and throwing it in the suitcases. Whatever my eyes fell upon fell into the bags – and quite chaotically might I add.

            Zuko’s stern voice resonated in the unfinished house, speaking with the guards outside in the kitchen. Even with the door closed, I could make out a few words, their soft mutters as they discussed amongst each other. His voice was different, no hint of compassion or warmth – taciturn.

            And I found myself stopping, just remembering the look on Zuko’s face when he took in what I said. It was Mai – she was snitch, and I knew it killed him to hear that. She was a childhood friend, and for someone that close to turn against you…I could only imagine how hurt he must be. My eyes lined up with the floor, looking at the mess I left.

            Photos scattered of Azula, Zuko, Mai and Ty Lee. They were children, innocent. Smiling away with not the slightest idea of how things would have turned out in the future. That now, they were at war with each other. I sighed. The pain, of fighting with your flesh and blood…

            I let the remainder of things drop from my hands, picking up the scattered photos. I should probably put these away before Zuko sees these…another droned out sigh fleed my lips as my fingers drew along the images. I was a fool – how did I not clue in that the maid wasn’t a maid but Zuko’s sister? But how was I supposed to know that his sister was crazy…?

            Crawling on my hands and knees, I picked up the rest of the photos, tossing them to the bottom of the box. A few stuffed animals laid at the top of the box, I wanted to wash them, place them in the children room. A plan for a later day…

            The door creaked - opening slowly. It caught me off guard, rushing to get back on my feet, brushing my curtain of hair behind my shoulders. Zuko stepped inside, the door sliding shut as he studied my frazzled posture and suitcases, “What are you doing?” He enquired, voice low.

            “I-I was packing to head back home…” I whispered, anxious. The way his face seemed pale, eyes dim as he huffed, “Don’t bother.”

            “What?”

            But he didn’t speak.

            With shaky steps, Zuko walked over to the side of the bed, sitting down with shoulders slumped. The bed dipped, a drained sigh escaping him and I hesitantly stepped forward, eager to ask more.

            But as I inched my way towards him, he weakly patted the plush sheets of the bed, “Come.” He muttered under his breath, and my brows pinched together. I strolled over, ready to take a seat next to him, but as I made a move, Zuko shook his head, “Sit in the middle of the bed.”

            I frowned, what’s going on with him?

            But I didn’t utter a word, the way his head hung low, voice gruff – he wasn’t in the mood to argue, and I wasn’t going to test him. I lifted up my light summer dress, deciding that since the romantic vacation of ours is long gone, might as well put on decent clothes and brush my hair.

            I sat with my knees bent in the center of the bed, staring at Zuko’s broad back with uncertainty, “Uh, now what?” I awkwardly muttered, expecting some damn magic trick to happen, but instead, he dropped like a rag doll.

            Zuko’s raven hair spilled over my lap, his head dropping flawlessly between my legs as he squeezed my knees like a teddy bear – my cheeks turning a bright red at the gesture. The way he groaned, eyes closed as he snuggled closer to me, legs pulled tight into a ball.

            My eyes softened, hands instinctively falling over his head and combing through his locks, “Zuko…” I whispered as he sighed achingly. Zuko wanted comfort, to feel safe – and I smiled because it was heartwarming to know that Zuko trusted me this much. To be so exposed as he was now. “I should’ve known Azula was involved in this.”

            “How? You thought she was gone…”

            “No, I wished she was gone, gone for good. But now she’s back, and Mai-” I found myself cringing at the mere mention of her name, “I knew we weren’t on good terms, but-but I didn’t think…her brother almost got hurt in that incident, why join Azula? It just doesn’t make sense.” Zuko hissed, hands covering his face as he vented.

            I sighed listening to him rant before I let my hands fall over his and pull them down. His eyes were dark, lips chapped as he fumed underneath me, “None of this makes sense Zuko. Why would Mai join Azula? Why is Azula targeting me if she’s trying to get at you? There are so many unanswered questions…” I huffed, letting Zuko’s hands rest on his chest as he gazed upwards to me.

            My fingers stroking through his hair once again, watching as his silky strands of hair slipped through my fingers with ease.

            “Because the best way to get to me is through you.”

            I stopped. My eyes fluttering back to Zuko, our eyes locking.

            Defeat – that was the look that painted his face. I lamented and closed my eyes, letting myself fall into his figure, feeling his warmth as his hand brushed through my hair, “I promise after everything is done, I’ll take time off. A week, a month, as much as you want.  I owe you.”

            A soft smile flickered, pulling away slightly and looking down at Zuko, determination in his statement, “A month, me and you. We could start working on that baby.” I teased. And for the first time since he walked through that door, Zuko chuckled. Shaking his head as his hand trailed down my face, his thumb brushing my lips.

            His touch was divine, a calming effect that made my breathing ease and heart relax. “Zuko…”

            “Yes, love?’

            “Why did you tell me not to pack?”

            “Cause we aren’t leaving.”

            I frowned, brows pinched together as I looked down at him with a look of bewilderment. Not leaving? What? That makes no sense-

            “I don’t understand…” I muttered, trying to study Zuko’s expression, “It’s risky. We don’t know who is helping Azula and how many people. If we try to leave, and we get caught mid-way through transport, we’re at a disadvantage. So the gang is meeting us here, at Ember Island.”

            “The gang is coming?” I blurted, jumping up as my eyes widen in shock. Zuko nodded, “I need them, they know how dangerous Azula is. I sent word to them, they should arrive in a few days.”

            It was a horrible mixture of emotions – happiness to see everyone again, but how I wish it were on better terms, “Is…Azula that dangerous?”

            “It’s her lack of moral boundaries that’s the most terrifying.” To think that I met her far too many times without realizing her strength, her power. But if she was so mighty…why did she seem frightened by me the other night? She could have easily overpowered me if she was indeed powerful.

            “Yue…” My head snapped downwards, surprised to hear Zuko refer to me by my name. At this point, it was always pet names, names I’ve learned to love and respond to. His lips were pressed tight, thinking about something, struggling to form the words. “What’s wrong, Zuko? Spill it.”

            “I-It’s just…”

            What does he want to ask? Why does he seem hesitant? Fearful?

            “How did you know it was Mai? You said you got into an argument, but I don’t remember you telling me this…” Zuko muttered, and I lowered.

            Not so much at the fact that I may have to come clean soon about the whole fist in the face thing, despite Iroh’s efforts of keeping it under the radar. But because that wasn’t the question Zuko wanted to ask. I could tell.

            The way Zuko’s eyes shifted shouted curiosity – and I would know that look, it, unfortunately, has been the cause of my many downfalls. He’ll ask me his real question… eventually, I won’t pressure him.

            I let my hand run down Zuko’s face, tracing his lips. “Zuko, you need to rest, don’t worry about it.”

            “If she tried to start something with you…” Oh, she did start something, but he doesn’t need to know that I dealt with it.

            “Zuko, close your eyes, rest…you’ve had a rough day…” I cooed, letting my hand caress his face. And although he wore a scowl, I grinned, because his eyes did flutter close, “I can’t – there is so much to do, to plan-”

            “Zuko…” I whispered, letting my fingers fall over his closed eyes, humming the same tune he has hummed to me countless of times. And just like his breathing evened out, his chest rising and falling at a steady pace, his lips parting. And I smiled, he looked at peace – finally.

            And I sat there, with Zuko fast asleep on my lap, watching him so at ease. I’m such a creep, I’m literally watching Zuko sleep. But I couldn’t help it – it was rare for him to snuggle up to me. Usually, it was me cradled in his arms. I kind of like being the bigger spoon for once…“I love you so much…” I hummed softly, studying his features. I can stare at him forever-

            A soft knock on the door caught my attention, speaking softly as I covered Zuko’s ears, “Come in…”

            The door slowly opened, a head peeking through, it was the head construction worker. His wrinkled eyes fell upon Zuko’s relaxed figure, his expression soft, “You got a magic touch.” He chuckled, nudging his head to Zuko, and I smiled, “Do you mind passing me the blanket over there?”

            He nodded, carefully waltzing in the room and letting the blanket slip from his grip and onto the bed, “Is there something you need?” I asked, and he shook his head, “I actually came to ask you for permission.”

            “For what?”

            “The maids and workers were thinking of leaving early, the guards will stay put, but we think you two need some time alone. I can imagine this is a tough time, for you both…” He muttered, and I sighed. Both of our eyes falling upon Zuko, “Was their relationship that bad?” I asked.

            He winced, “You can’t pick family.”

            I nodded, I knew what he meant by that.

            “Thank you for giving us space. It means a lot…” I whispered, and the man nodded, “We’ll leave, the guards are in their posts, something about formation 12 and 17…” He grumbled, a hint of confusion in his voice, “Don’t worry, I’m just as lost as you are.” He sniffled in a laugh, walking back to the door, “Have a wonderful evening, Ying Yue – make sure you two eat dinner.”

            “We will - see you tomorrow.”

            He shut the door behind him, my hands leaving Zuko’s ears as I started placing the light blanket over his body. I could hear a bit of shuffling, the front door closing, meaning it was just Zuko and me, and a few guards at position 12 and 17 – whatever that means.

            Carefully, I got Zuko’s head off my lap, swiftly grabbing my teddy bear and placing it over Zuko’s chest. I giggled tenderly, watching the way Zuko instinctively hugged the bear to himself. My eyes gazed around the room, what to do now.

            I was torn.

            We were stuck here for a few days. What are we supposed to do? Carefully, I got out of the bed, making sure to shut the bedroom door delicately to not disturb Zuko. And with a successful click sound, I let out a long huff.

            The house was empty.

            What do I do now? Do I sit for the rest of these days, waiting for the gang to come? Do I act like nothing is wrong, continue on in vacation mode – we’re here anyway. I frowned, running my hands through my hair as I waltzed into the kitchen, noticing the maids left behind seasoned meat. They’re literal spirits.

            I could cook the meat in the oven, cook some vegetables…yeah, I can probably do that without setting the whole house on fire. And without a second thought, I grabbed the cutting board, washing a few vegetables before mincing. “What do I do…” I hummed.

            Zuko and I dealt with stress differently.

            Zuko indulged in more work when stressed, while I tried to meditate, take time to myself to think. And if we were back at the kingdom, and this happened, I would’ve had an idea as to what do. But it was different, we were at a vacation house. I can’t sit here, waiting, for something to happen. Gosh, I would go insane. But it feels wrong to relax, go to the beach and swim like nothings wrong.

            I stopped chopping, huffing as I stared at the raw vegetables, “If only you could talk and give me an answer…” I grumbled but quickly chuckled, “Actually…good thing you don’t talk, I’m literally butchering you at the moment. Oh my gosh, am I actually talking to vegetables?” The knife slipped out of my hands, and I slapped my face. I’m going insane. I’m talking to vegetables.

            A large pot sat over the stove, and I began filling it with water, ready to boil the vegetables. The water dripped from the tap, the liquid splashing about as I absent-mindedly watched. Water…

            That was another issue. I had to train – genuinely train.

            I couldn’t avoid it like the plague anymore. I had the skills, and my confidence has grown. The thought of bending didn’t frighten me as much anymore, and I had to thank Zuko for that. He was patient, and whenever I did bend, he cheered me on. I smiled softly, shutting the tap and turned on the burner.

            Zuko would help me train, I knew he would – he told me countless times how he would help me. I knew what I was doing, but I needed to refine my skills. I was rusty, and while I could definitely untangle my way out of a sticky situation – it would be better if I were prepared. If Azula was as strong as people said she was, I needed to be ready.

            I slipped the roast into the oven, letting the vegetables slowly cook as I grabbed the nearest baking ingredients – a simple plan coming to mind. I could cook dinner, train with Zuko for a bit, and have a few sweets ready for us for the night. A delicate balance between work and relaxing. And I smiled to myself, I got this.

            The smell of the meat cooking, the soft sounds of the boiling water while I whisked away. So lost with what I was doing, I didn’t hear the bedroom door opening, and a grumpy Zuko waltzing into the kitchen. His gruff voice caused me to jump, not realizing that a bit of time already passed between baking, setting the table, and washing a few dishes, “Are you baking?” Zuko asked. A hint of exasperation in his voice.

            I pouted, placing the batter to the side to rise while we eat, “Sweets for later tonight. Dinner is almost set, I figured after dinner we could train for a bit?”

            But the look on Zuko’s face wasn’t what I expected.

            The way he scratched his head, still a bit drowsy as he had just woken up, “What are you making for dinner? We don’t need a feast.” He fussed, and I grimaced. Zuko had a certain attitude in his voice, and I could feel my skin itch. He’s stressed Yue – don’t let it get to you.

            “It’s just a roast the maids left for us and a few vegetables. It’ll be ready in a few more minutes-”

            “And that’s time wasted. Something simple would’ve been enough. We have things to do.”

            “I don’t think three minutes of waiting is going to be a life or death situation.”

            Zuko rolled his eyes, snickering at my words and I bit my tongue. “You aren’t taking this seriously at all.” He snarled under his breath, but loud enough for me to hear. My eyes widen, letting my hands rest on the counter, “I am. And if we’re going to train, we need to eat. A good meal.”

            “And we need sweets too?” Zuko seethed, chining the bowl I set to the side. My fingers pressed against the marble countertop, relax. Zuko is just under pressure. Breath. “I figured after training it would be a nice treat. To unwind.”

            “I can’t believe you’re actually in vacation mode after finding out that my sister may hurt you,” Zuko growled with crossed arms. I bit my lips, nails digging into the palms of my hands as I glared, what is wrong with him? Why is he such an ass? “I’m not. But I also know we can’t lock ourselves up inside this damn house and just wait for something to happen.”

            “Obviously you are if you’re baking.”

            “It’s a damn treat Zuko for after we train! I’m sorry for wanting to help you de-stress from a stressful day with a damn muffin!”

            “I’m stressed because you aren’t taking anything seriously!” Zuko shouted back, and my breath hitched. He was furious at me at the moment, and I didn’t understand why. “What are you trying to say Zuko?”

            Zuko stomped forward, breathing uneven as he narrowed his eyes, “I’m saying I’d appreciate if you’d fucking stop playing house for a minute and realize we have more important things to do than fucking baking!”

            “Playing house? It’s DINNER Zuko and a damn SNACK. We can train after we eat.”

            “We need to train now. I don’t want to babysit you during a damn battle.”

            My body trembled. Hands into fists. “Babysit?” I hissed, moving away from the counter. Breath Yue, just breath. He didn’t mean it, he’s under stress. Don’t let him-

            “You’re weak Yue. I can’t always come running to your damn rescue all the damn time.”

            I lost it.

            “Come to my rescue? I’m sorry confiding in you is me being weak!” I cried.

            Zuko’s eyes widen at my tone. The way his face paled, seemingly recognizing how out of hand this bitter argument has gotten. But I was passed the point of being understanding – he said things that he knew would trigger me. “Yue you know I didn’t mean it like that-”

            “No Zuko, you did. And you know what, you’re wrong. Because the truth is; I punched Mai in the face, and I loved it. I almost killed Kayto during our damn walk, but I kept it a secret. And last night, I had your sister cowering away from me. So if you want to be next on my list, keep on talking.”

            Zuko rose his hands, a grimace on his face as he dubiously stepped forward, “Baby, I didn’t mean it-”

            I pulled away from his reach, my chest heaving as I shuddered. His eyes were soft, almost pleading, and it was then I realized I was crying. Fuck me and being such a damn crybaby, no wonder he thinks I’m weak. Maybe he’s right – I’m just a damn burden to everyone. “Leave me alone, Zuko. Dinner’s almost made, eat by yourself-”

            “Babe no, I’m sorry, I’m stressed and-”

            I shook my head, turning on my heel - storming away as I flung the door open, “Where are you going? Yue!” I ignored Zuko’s shouts, and also ignored the fact that I wore nothing but damn house slippers. The sand stuck to my bare feet, a few random pebbles jabbing into my skin, “Come back, please-”

            The sound of his heavy footsteps on the wooden floors behind me, as I furiously kicked the sand underneath me, “Yue, where are you going?”

            “Away from you!” I shrieked, turning around to face him. Zuko stood at the front entrance, face dropped, and I irritably wiped my tears, “I just wanted to help you relax while getting things done, and all you do is get mad!”

            At this point, a few guards heard my shout, hesitantly watching, unsure whether to get me back into the house. “I’ll do anything for you, Zuko – I just want you to be happy!”

            “You do make me happy-”

            “Obviously not if I’m stressing you out!” And with that, I turned on my heel and stomped away.

            I didn’t know where in the world I was going, and I didn’t care. I needed to get away, get from this crazy life I ran myself into.

            I could hear Zuko shout after me, but he didn’t dare chase me, and for that – I was grateful.

            The setting sun cast mellow dramatic hues of red and yellow along the water, the foam sticking to my feet as I savagely kicked the ground over and over. I knew he was stressed, I knew he didn’t mean those things, but it hurt.

            And it didn’t hurt the same way when Mai said it or his sister, even Kayto – it hurt more. Because Zuko meant everything to me.

            Another sob bubbled up, and I dropped to my knees. Crying in my hands as my body quivered. My eyes hurt, nose runny as I wailed like dying animal. He’s right – I’m weak. I cry over everything. I cry whenever I get frustrated or happy or angry. And sitting here alone as I wept made a longing that I’ve pushed away for years come back.

            I wanted mom and dad.

            Their touch, their laughter, everything – I missed it all.

            Dad’s terrible jokes, mom’s stubborn attitude. If only I didn’t listen to dad that day –running away like how he told me to, and I stayed with them. If I fought.

            Would they be alive? Would I still be living in the Earth Nation – with them, happy? But I wouldn’t have gotten the chance to meet Zuko-

            I hissed under my breath.

            “Why did you say those things to me?” I hiccupped, only then raising my head to look around. The beautiful white house of ours long in the distance. How long did I walk for? I sighed, my feet hurt and it’s getting dark out…

            “Here-”

            A white handkerchief appeared right in my face, catching me off guard as I tumbled backwards. My eyes widen, sniffling as the hand followed my fall. I sat on the ground, speechless, meeting a pair of stunning blue eyes, “You need it more than I do.” A man murmured under his breath – voice rough and strained.

            He was older, skin tanned and brown hair pulled back into a tight bun, “Take it.” He hissed, and instinctively, I grabbed the napkin from him – his tone demanding.

            My fingers brushed against his coarse skin, bringing the clean cloth to my face as I wiped my tears, “T-thank you.” I muttered, still taken off guard. I didn’t hear him come in front of me. Was I crying that loud? Gosh, I probably look terrible.

            The man sighed, stopping my thoughts as he sat down next to me, looking conflicted with himself. The way he tapped his stubby fingers on his knees, watching the waves ease up the sand, and then back into the vast body of water. Stealing a few seashells along the way.

            And being myself, I shamelessly studied him. His dark coloured blue robes. He didn’t dress particularly fancy – rather plain. Simple slacks and shirt, no accessories on him or any ink or piercings. Maybe he lives in the town? Going for an evening stroll…I would do that same if I lived in such a lovely town. But it was his eyes that really had me mesmerized.

            They were a deep blue, and they lacked life.

            Void of emotions – and based on the wrinkles and scars that ran across his exposed skin, I could tell he lived a hard life. He couldn’t be old – maybe early thirties? But his indifferent expression made him seem older. He abruptly turned to face me, his thin lips pressed together as he stared at me.

            His gaze was intense, having me cowering away internally, “What happened?” He blurted. My eyes widen, frowning as I shrugged my shoulders, “N-nothing.”

            “I ain’t stupid little girl. Boyfriend issues?” I coloured, looking at the water, was it that obvious? He let out a long sigh, running his hands against his pronounced jawline as he watched me, “Y-you like nature?”

            But this time his tone was a bit different. He stuttered for a minute before finishing his sentence. I smiled, nodding my head, “Y-yeah…my mom used to take me sightseeing.” His expression hardened, nodding at my words.

            Silence…

            My breathing relaxed, playing with the fabric between my fingers. I knew Zuko would kill me if he found out I was sitting on the beach with some random man and his handkerchief. But…he didn’t seem like a threat. Just scary looking.

            And I laughed under my breath.

            “You’re right…” I wheezed, bringing my knees closer to my chest, the breeze kissing my skin and causing goosebumps to appear. The man snickered, shaking his head, “What did he do?”

            “What makes you think it was his fault?”

            “Something tells me your boyfriend is an idiot.” I snorted. Whoever this man was – had no idea who I was. If only he knew that he was insulting the Fire Lord. “He’s not an idiot…he’s just…”

            “An idiot?”

            We both snorted, laughing softly as he bared a soft smile. A smile that oddly suited him. “Well – it’s not like I have anything better to do with my life. So enlighten me – what happened.”

            I looked at him, “You want to hear about my relationship problems?”

            “Like I said; I have nothing better to do at the moment. So amuse me, little girl.”

            “I’m not little…” I grumbled under my breath, and the man rolled his eyes, “Yet you cried like a child.”

            “H-hey!” I gasped, and the man grinned, seemingly enjoying the rose he got out of me. “Just because I show how I feel doesn’t make me a child.”

            “Wouldn’t know, I don’t do emotions.”

            “You can’t not not do emotions. They just come.”

            “Does this face look like a face filled with emotions.”

            The way he looked at me, face stone cold with narrowed eyes, and I giggled. “You know, just because you don’t show your emotions so obviously, doesn’t mean you have none. You seem like someone who cares…but…they’re good at hiding it.” I spoke, not really taking account that I just met this stranger.

            He scoffed, rolling his crystal coloured eyes as he picked up a few tiny seashells. The way he flicked them off his palm, like some sort of game, “Do you pick apart your boyfriend the same way?” I smiled, looking at the water as I thought of Zuko.

            Zuko was probably one of the frustrating and fascinating people I’ve ever had the honour of knowing.

            He was sweet and harsh, handsome and cute, just the embodiment of opposites. You never did know what you were getting. And while most people would get annoyed dealing with someone, someone who couldn’t go a damn hour without running off to attend some political matter – I could.

            Because now that I saw through that façade of Zuko’s – I realize Aang was right. Zuko was rough along the edges, but Zuko was a good guy. The things he said, the way his eyes glazed over and screamed my name as I stormed off, “He said mean things to me…he’s stressed and I know he didn’t mean it but…”

            My voice trailed off. Looking at the different tones of white sand that we sat on. I knew Zuko didn’t mean those words, but I was still upset. Just with everything going on, a large pout formed on my lips as I huffed.

            “You love him?” The man beside me grumbled, shaking his head as if loving someone was something to be disappointed about.

            I nodded, biting my lip as I brushed my hair behind my ear, “I love him a lot…” The man snickered, shaking his head at my words. “Do you love someone?” I asked, curious to learn about this strange man. He scoffed, and I rolled my eyes, “Let me guess – you don’t do love.”

            The man glanced at me with an amused look as he scratched his chin, “Depends. Some would say I’m driven by love, while others would say I’m driven by everything but love.”

            He watched the way I pouted, ready to ask more questions, but he glared, “You’re a curious one.” I reddened, looking back at the water. “Yeah…my boyfriend tells me all the time.”

            In fact, Zuko tells me tons of things.

            He always says how smart I am, how beautiful I am and how he wants a family with me and- “Thank you.”

            The man turned his head to me once again, brows pinched together as he looked at me with a puzzled look, “For what? I gave you a napkin.”

            “For helping me feel better about the fight with my boyfriend.”

            The man rolled his eyes, starting to shift in the sand as he stood. I followed his lead, dusting off the sand that stuck to my summer dress. I have to wash my feet for sure, I hate the feeling of sand between my toes.

            I held the napkin, turning to the man, “Your handkerchief…” I mumbled, and the man scrunched his nose. “Keep it…” And I realized why. It was kinda dirty because of me. I pouted, pulling the fabric to my chest, “If you come tomorrow in the morning, I can give it to you washed-”

            “Don’t bother.” He mumbled, crossing his arms as he huffed, “Go, little girl. It’s late.”

            I nodded. But despite knowing that the sun was almost set and I had a bit of walking to do, my feet didn’t leave. I studied the man in front of me. He was tall, a large build, sharp features, but I was once again absorbed in his eyes. His blue eyes, they reminded me of someone, and I smiled softly.

            “You’re a really good person.” I hummed, and the man’s eyes widen. The way his thin lips parted, shaking his head, “Only for today.” I tilted my head at his words, puzzled. He seemed to be speaking in code this whole time. “Why only for today…?”

            “It’s my birthday.”

            My eyes widen, jumping upwards as I clapped, “Happy birthday! I hope you got to spend it with family and friends.” He nodded, shrugging his shoulders, “…I did – family.”

            I took a few steps back, smiling and waving, “I’m glad, and don’t forget – everyone has a bit of good and bad in them, but it’s up to us to decide what side we want people to see.” The man smiled, arms crossed as he nodded his head. A smile, it really did suit that grumpy face of his.

            “Hope to see you soon, mister!” I chirped, before turning on my heel to go back to Zuko.

            I didn’t know who that man was, but he had some good in him. He looked scary, and he spoke roughly, but he seemed kind. I held the handkerchief closer to my chest, skipping back to my beacon, home.

            The lights from inside the house glistened against the white stone, the sky dark and the moon shining. A few guards spotted me, their faces bearing soft smiles and relief. But they never approached me, just gave me hidden smiles. I really shouldn’t have left like that, I probably made everyone worry.

            My hand reached forward, turning the knob with ease, surprised it was left unlocked. I pushed the door slowly, my head peeking through and letting my body slip inside with ease. The house was eerily quiet, but it didn’t take long for my eyes to spot Zuko. It was like a natural skill of mine, being able to detect that man from miles away.

            He slouched in the couch, face in hands, grumbling to himself and I frowned. No matter how upset I was, it hurt seeing him like that. My fingers glided along the door edge, trying to shut the door soundlessly, but the clicking sound caught Zuko’s attention.

            His head shot upwards, eyes wide the moment he spotted me.

            I didn’t get a chance to breathe, let alone think.

            Zuko jumped from his seat, hastily running to me. The way his arms wrapped around my body, pressing me so close to his chest, stuffing his face into my neck. I gasped, wincing at his tight grip but he didn’t loosen – instead, he hugged me tighter.

            “Z-Zuko I can’t breath.” I groaned, but he just scoffed, ignoring my pleas as his hands ran up my hair and back, “I thought you left me.”

            My body stiffen, inching away slightly to look at his face. His eyes were glossy and red, and it clicked. Was he crying? I really frightened him- “Zuko,” I whispered, my hands reaching to cradle his face. Was he insane? He thought I would leave him? Sure we fought, but I wouldn’t leave him over a damn argument.

            I wouldn’t leave him because things in life were starting to get tough. I loved him – and that meant through the good and bad times. Because that was what love was.

            “I shouldn’t have said those things – I just took everything out on you for no reason and-”

            “No Zuko I’m sorry for leaving like that. I know you’re stressed and I’m sorry for-”

            But Zuko pulled away, a scowl on his face as he looked at me with bewilderment, “Why are you apologizing? You did nothing wrong! It was literally all me.” He huffed, staring at me with such disbelief. I frowned, biting my lip, “Because I know you didn’t mean anything you said, but I let it get to me and-”

            “There’s no and Yue. I hurt you, I should be the one on my knees begging for you to stay, for your forgiveness.” And I grimaced because the look on Zuko’s face killed me.

            He looked so worn out, hands running through his hair as he stared at me. “I just get so fucking scared. I know you can handle yourself, everyone tells me how strong you are but just the thought of something happening makes me sick to my stomach.”

            I opened my mouth to calm him, but he was faster. The way Zuko’s hands grabbed my hips, pressing me up against the front door. His forehead against mine, cheeks flushed, as we stared into each other’s golden eyes. “I don’t know why I said those things, I just get so overwhelmed whenever things involve you. I-it’s like I change. I ruled this Nation for years without an issue, and you come along, and the thought of tying my damn shoes overwhelms me.”

            The way Zuko spoke, words flowing out of his mouth in a jumble. His cheeks were glowing, forehead scrunched upwards as he struggled to breathe. “I love you – and I’m sorry I couldn’t be there for you. For when Mai said whatever she said to you. When you fought with Kayto and my sister-”

            My hands cupped his face, feeling his fair skin underneath my fingers. “And Yue…you’re not weak. I never meant that. You’re the strongest person I’ve met. The most patient and beautiful woman I know.” My cheeks flushed hearing his words, trying to look away as I bit my lips, tears threatening to pool over. Because hearing those words slip out of those precious lips made my stomach flutter and heart pound.

            But Zuko's hands trailed upwards, cupping my face in his hands and forcing me to gaze at him once again. The way his thumb trailed along my lips, my lips parting as we stood so close to each other. “I promise, tomorrow, we train. And you can kick my ass all fucking day.” I cracked a smile, laughing softly. The way Zuko chuckled, his breath tickling my lips.

             I let my fingers trail along Zuko’s jaw, his eyes studying my lips, and my eyes staring at his. The way Zuko’s chest rose, his thumb rubbing my bottom lip tenderly. “I love you, please don’t leave again. I-I’ve had so many people walk out of my life, and if you walk out to I-” With an affectionate peck, I shut Zuko up.

            I knew of the pain.

            The loss.

            The want.

            My eyes fluttered close, feeling him press me up against the front door as I hummed softly. His plush lips against mine, the way we danced to a sweet tune – a single song that only we shared. Zuko groaned, his hands intertwining with mine, spreading them against the wall behind us. I gasped, the kiss turning from a sweet dance to a possessive want – a need.

            “I love you, Zuko.” I gasped, hands held against the wall, loving the feeling of being completely engulfed by Zuko. His lips turned upwards, my eyes fluttering open as he playfully rubbed the tip of his nose against mine, “Go wash up, I’ll heat up dinner to eat.”

            “You didn’t eat yet?”

            The way Zuko looked at me, surprised that I would even ask such a question. “Of course not, not without you. I’ll set the bath and heat the water for you, and while you bathe, I’ll set up dinner.” I smiled, his hands untangling from mine, watching him step back. And before I knew it, my mouth opened. Asking him a question that had been itching my mind the moment I got here, “Zuko…were you crying?”

            The way Zuko tensed, looking over his shoulder with the brightest red tinge. He looked like he got caught red-handed, holding a flustered look as he struggled to speak, “Hurry up and get that cute little ass of yours inside that bathtub before I change my mind of heating up the water for you.” He grumbled, shyly walking away while rubbing his head.

            A grin painted my face, giggling as I eagerly skipped behind him.

            I got my answer.

Copyright © 2019 Mystic-Kitten, inc. all rights reserved. No reposting, modifying, or translations of any kind allowed. Thank you for your cooperation.

Disclaimer: I do not own any Avatar characters portrayed in this story besides Ying Yue Jiang, Lia, Kima, and any future creations.

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[risottostitties]

I love your headcanon posts! what are some of your headcanons (backstory and personality) for the rest of La Squadra?

Oh boy, these got kinda long. I hope you enjoy my dumb rambling about La Squadra (also my bias towards Melone and Sorbet+Gelato is showing I’m so sorry) I added the songs I used for inspiration on Sorbet and Gelato’s stands so that’s something lmao

Also also I’m still trying to figure out formatting on tumblr I’m so sorry.

Also also also I have so many dumb headcanons for the inner bureaucratic workings of Passione and what each ‘position’ in the gang entails and how Passione became a dominant force in Italy and oops I’ve slipped them in here a bit my b.

Fromaggio

-        He got his start smuggling. Drugs, weapons, people, Little Feet made that a breeze.

-        The thought of being an assassin never crossed his mind, because it seemed like a lot of work. More so than smuggling which was basically just getting stuff from point a to point b without getting caught.

-        Fromaggio was a confident dude, laid back and easy going with an agreeable personality that most people enjoyed.

-        He’s not exactly details oriented though, and that’s what came to bite him in the ass.

-        He was working with one of the few groups not affiliated with Passione and it was only a matter of time before the operation was busted.

-        Fromaggio never really asked many questions about his jobs, nor did he care very much who or what he was smuggling. He met with a man in Malta seeking entrance into Naples and was willing to pay handsomely. So of course, Fromaggio agreed.

-        If he’d been paying more attention, he would have recognized that man as Prosciutto.

-        Fromaggio brought the assassin right into their main warehouse and it was game over from there.

-        Prosciutto took interest in Fromaggio’s stand and decided against killing the man, instead bringing him to Risotto to see what the Capo thought about his abilities.

-        When offered a choice between dying with the rest of his old associates or joining Passione, the choice was obvious.

-        He really, really enjoys gambling. Prosciutto supplements his income with Fromaggio’s gambling habit.

-        Fromaggio gets along well with all of La Squadra. He’s always been an agreeable dude and he’s willing to give just about anything a shot once. So he’s at least passingly knowledgeable about the interests and hobbies of other members.

-        Fromaggio, Prosciutto, Pesci, Ghiaccio, and Melone make up the main ‘kill squad’ of La Squadra where Illuso, Sorbet, and Gelato handle clean up and intel gathering.

 Illuso

-        Illuso does very little killing himself. For the most part, he deals with disposing of evidence. The mirror world is great for that.

-        Because of this he has the lowest kill count out of all of them.

-        He is Sicilian like Risotto, and they converse in Siciliano when it’s just the two of them. Neither of them is particularly chatty though.

-        Ghiaccio and Pesci didn’t know he was a member of the squad for weeks because he rarely ever leaves the mirror. He doesn’t even have a room in their hideout, he just sleeps in the room of whoever forgets to cover their mirror.

-        Most of the time its Pesci’s room because he feels bad

-        I hc him at about 27

-        He joined La Squadra after Ghiaccio and was more or less ‘gifted’ by Polpo because of his quiet demeanor.

Ghiaccio

-        He’s baby (24)

-        His first kill was at age 18 when he was working in a chop shop and beat someone to death with a wrench.

-        Melone was the one to bring him into La Squadra, his bike was getting some work done in the shop and he was there to see Ghiaccio snap.

-        Risotto wasn’t keen on letting someone so young join La Squadra and initially turned Ghiaccio away. Which pissed the boy off enough for him to seek out Polpo, demand a trial, and come back with White Album.

-        He had never skated in his life, but White Album gave him the instinctive ability to do so.

-        He can only skate while wearing White Album. Without it, he actually had to learn.

-        He reflexes and balance also improved greatly after gaining White Album

-        He’s the only one not ‘trained’ by Prosciutto, instead Risotto took over his ‘training’. The Capo wanted to personally make sure he was equipped to handle the life that comes with La Squadra.

-        Risotto and Ghiaccio are quite close. Risotto was initially intrigued by White Album and Ghiaccio liked Risotto the most because he was the only person who was careful with his words.

-        He’s got a keen eye for detail and an eidetic memory. He enjoys taking apart electronics and seeing how they work (and how he can improve them)

-        Ghiaccio enjoys working with cars, but doesn’t like all the oil and grease.

Melone

-        I hc his age at 28

-        He was always too inquisitive for his own good, and very curious as a child. Most people found him annoying

-        Melone has absolutely zero respect for personal space. If he likes you, he will hang off you without a second thought.

-        And if someone retaliates jokes on you he think’s its hot.

-        It is possible to make him angry, but he won’t let it show out of spite. You really gotta be angling for it if you want to piss him off, and if you’ve put in that much effort into getting a rise out of him he’s not going to give you the satisfaction.

-        His mom was like Giorno’s, a party girl who resented her children for holding her back

-        He has an older half sister who took care of him when he was younger. They were extremely close.

-        From her he learned to paint nails, braid hair, and they both really enjoyed looking at horoscopes and other astrology/pseudoscience things.

-        She was 10 years older than Melone, and when she married Melone went to live with her (he was about 12 at the time) and he never really got along with his brother in law.

-        Her husband was in Passione, a low ranking Soldato but an ambitious one. She was aware of her husband’s occupation but decided the risk was worth the reward (and the financial stability)

-        Her eventual pregnancy led to Melone’s fascination with pregnancy and childrearing.

-        She died due to complications with a late term miscarriage when he was 16

-        After this Melone and his brother in law stuck together. Melone joined Passione, receiving his stand from Polpo’s Arrow.

-        The pair of them had a pretty good scheme going on but eventually his brother in law bit off more than he could chew, and Risotto was called in to clean up the mess.

-        Babyface proved to be a challenge, and instead of eliminating Melone as he was working with the target Risotto decided to offer him a choice.

-        Self-preservation won out and in a show of loyalty Melone had Babyface kill his former brother in law. At best, he tolerated the man because his sister loved him and after she died he was a good meal ticket so when his life was on the line it didn’t take much prodding for Melone to turn on him.

-        It took a while for Risotto to trust him because of how easily Melone’s loyalties shifted but once that trust was earned Melone never gave Risotto a reason to regret it even if his impulsive decisions (such as dragging Ghiaccio into Passione) caused him some trouble occasionally.

Pesci

-        Pesci is actually, genuinely, a sweet guy. He’s respectful of his superiors, polite (if not a bit awkward) to strangers, will offer help if he sees someone struggling with a heavy bag or something on a high grocery shelf, the whole nine yards.

-        He has a habit of second guessing himself and apologizing often but is quick to offer reassurance to people if he sees they’re having a bad day.

-        He also has a hair trigger temper and killed a man by snapping his neck with his bare hands.

-        That’s what landed him in jail.

-        Its like flipping a switch with this guy.

-        Risotto personally bailed Pesci out of jail and brought him into his team because of his brute strength. It was novel, to see someone so capable without a stand.

-        He received his stand from Polpo’s arrow.

-        Pesci is the newest member of La Squadra, but not the youngest (that honor goes to Ghiaccio) and I personally hc him at 25

-        His ‘training’ mostly consists of shadowing Prosciutto and observing how he does things. There is a lot to be learned from watching another stand user work, even if their stands are vastly different.

-        He lacks real strategy, which is another reason he was teamed up with Prosciutto (who winds up ‘training’ most of the new recruits anyway)

-        He’ll be considered a full fledged assassin once he completes his first job on his own (with Illuso or Fromaggio tailing him to observe, depending on the abundance of mirrors)

Sorbet and Gelato

-        Of the two, Sorbet is the most talkative. He’s got a pretty good sense of humor, and a natural charisma about him that puts people at ease if they don’t already know him

-        Gelato and Prosciutto are both card sharks and they keep their skills sharp by practicing on each other.

-        While no one would call any of them selfless, they would lay down their lives for each other without hesitation.

-        They have so many words unique to their relationship that people listening in would assume they’re talking in code half the time.

-        Sorbet and Gelato are the oldest members of La Squadra. Sorbet was 36 when he died, and Gelato was 41

-        Sorbet got his start in Passione, Gelato was part of a ‘merger’ so to speak.

-        The previous syndicate Gelato was a part of was assimilated by Passione after Diavolo returned to Italy. He was familiar with Pericolo as they had been part of the same group.

-        Sorbet and Gelato both have stands, although they were both born stand users.

-        Gelato’s stand is called Mack the Knife and it allows him to eat anything regardless of size (and his stomach acid has a ph value of 1.3). On top of this, it also gives him sharp and study teeth. If for some reason something he eats breaks a tooth he has more in reserve, like a shark.

-        Sorbet’s stand is called Fortunate Son and essentially it hides the user and anyone they touch in plain sight. They’re not invisible, but you must be consciously looking for Sorbet in order to find him when Fortunate Son is active.

-        They joined La Squadra before it was ‘La Squadra’ Risotto (being green himself at the time) wanted more experienced people on his team but had little to no luck recruiting people until these two.

-        They’re well known in the gang for their unorthodox (putting it gently) methods of doing things and kept most people from approaching them.

-        Primarily they ‘interview’ people for information on Squadra targets, but those interviews always turn deadly.

-        While they enjoy killing more than anyone else in La Squadra, they don’t typically get kill jobs because they’re just good at interrogating people. They make do with that just fine though. Neither of them enjoys leaving loose ends.

-        Before Illuso joined, Gelato oversaw clean up and disposal.

[blancheludis]

Tagging: @tokky231

Fandom: Marvel, Avengers Characters: Tony Stark/Steve Rogers, James Rhodes, Pepper Potts, Bruce Barton, Steve Rogers Chapters: 30/?, Words: 166.584

Summary: Tony meets his soulmate under the worst possible circumstances. It is not just a kidnapping gone wrong. It turns out Steve and his gang picked him on purpose and they want some personal revenge. If only he had managed to say the words written on his soulmate’s arm before they threw him back out into the streets.

—

They have a table in the back of the restaurant where fewer people can watch them. With everything that is happening at Stark Industries, the press is hounding Tony more than ever. If he had not thought that a public setting would help Steve and him relax, he would not have ventured out of the tower at all. Being in an open space where someone could be listening in does wonders to one’s countenance, and while Tony does not think they are going to start an outright argument during dinner, it is better to be prepared.

Also, Rhodey would not have stopped hovering had they stayed in the penthouse. He might have even found an excuse to call Pepper up, and then they would not have had an opportunity to talk at all.

Tony knows the owner of the restaurant. They should be safe here. The rest is up to them. That does not make him any less nervous.

The first moment of confusion happened right in front of the restaurant when they both tried to let the other go through the door first. That just worsened the awkward tension between them.

Now they are seated, neither of them ordered any alcohol to go with dinner, and are waiting for their food while working through a conversation.

Steve is talking about some exhibition at the MoMA, which Tony finds interesting right up to the point where he realizes that, at some point during this entire mess of Tony’s life falling apart, Steve took the time to go to a museum. It might have been before they snatched Tony off the street, of course. He is not petty enough to ask, but it does leave a bitter taste in his mouth while he listens.

On unspoken agreement, they have decided to leave all discussion about their future for later, at least until after the main course. Tony is already not very hungry, but the food here deserves some consideration at least.

“Why didn’t you become an artist?” Tony asks when Steve begins to trail off, obviously fishing for something else to say. Up until now, Tony has not made it easy on him. Keeping a conversation alive when one party mostly just listens passively is always hard.

And Tony wants to make to most of this evening. He has Bruce and Thor’s story in his head, who first got to know each other before they made any kind of decision. Playing the long game might be a bit too much for him, but that does not mean he needs to brush Steve off either.

“I tried,” Steve says, a hint of red creeping up his neck that Tony sees even in the dim restaurant lights. “Turns out nobody wants to give an artist without a degree any work that’s enough to pay the bills. And I didn’t have the money for college.”

He looks as if he expects Tony to laugh at him. Money has never been a problem for Tony. People have described him as over-indulgent and wasteful. He has too many fast cars. Every house of his that he has spent longer than a week in has a state-of-the-art lab. He always looks meticulous when stepping out the door. And he used to throw the wildest parties, no expenses spared.

The thing is, Tony needs money to fund his projects, and life is so much easier when he does not have to count bills. He likes to think that he could do without all those zeroes in his bank account. But he never had to try, so he can hardly offer his perspective on Steve’s situation.

“So you enlisted to get the Army help with tuition?” Tony asks, careful to keep his tone neutral.

He does not think less of Steve because he did not grow up with money – he has real reasons for the distrust between them - but he realizes that any reaction of his could be seen as unfavourable.

Steve hums in response and picks at his pasta. “Didn’t work out too well.”

“Why?”

It looks like Steve would prefer to change the topic, but this is important. At some point, he decided to stop being an artist and found a mob instead. If they want to go anywhere from here, Tony needs to know whether Steve has just been waiting for an opportunity to abandon the boring day-life as an artist – or anything else really that does not involve crime. In his opinion, people do not just go from painting pictures to chasing criminals instead.

“I started college,” Steve says but trails off, staring at his plate until he drags his eyes up. His lips twist into something too bitter to be a smile. “Bucky did not do well after we came home from our last tour.”

The way Tony sees it, Barnes is not doing so well now either, but he wisely does not say that out loud. He does not need to start another argument right now.

“So you gave up your chance to study art for him,” Tony says, nods his understanding. If needed, he would do a lot more than that for Rhodey. If Rhodey had not been so adamant that Stark Industries is Tony’s, Tony might have never followed Obadiah’s call back.

“Yes,” Steve answers simply and waits. He must see the thoughts racing in Tony’s face.

And Tony, fork hovering in the air over his plate, looks at Steve. “Just like you betrayed your alleged morals when you let him and Barton beat me up in the hopes of him getting some peace of mind back.”

This time, Steve hesitates for a moment, his expression utterly defeated, but he does not deny it. “Yes.”

Tony exhales slowly. He is not sure he is allowed to be upset when Steve is being honest with him. “Did he at least feel better?” Tony asks with some urgency, unsure why it is important. That does not make his ribs heal faster or softens his memories. “Before he knew I wasn’t the one he wanted?”

They both know the answer. It is written all over Steve’s face, just like Tony could read it in the crooked letters of Barnes’ postcard.

“No.”

It does not feel like a relief but a knot loosens in Tony’s chest. He will not ask about Barton since he is sure the answer will not be in his favour.

“Great,” he sighs, resolutely tucking his fork back into his food. “Glad we could clear that up.”

Across from him, Steve does not move but keeps watching him with that careful expression, almost waiting for judgement.

“I’m sorry, Tony,” Steve says, sounding dejected in a way that just spikes Tony’s irritation.

“That’s not where I was going with that,” he says, more harshly than intended.

Apologies will not get them anywhere. They are already beyond words, and Steve’s face says it all. Looking back, the sheer panic and fear that Tony felt through the bond in the warehouse told their own story too. This is not just about being sorry and making up for their mistakes anymore. Somehow, they have gotten invested in each other. The mere thought is scary.

“I still am,” Steve says and, this time, Tony just accepts it with a nod of his head.

They both have a cluster of one-sided information about each other, painting them as villains. It will not be easy to pick out the good parts in between all of that. To see the person beneath all of that.

For a few minutes, they eat in silence, while Tony is second-guessing his reason for being here. He sneaks in glances at Steve and pretends not to notice when Steve does the same. Going out with someone has not felt this awkward in years. Usually, he knows very well what he wants and what the other person wants from him. With Steve, he is at a complete loss. It is not even a battle between head and heart anymore. His feelings are all over the place and he cannot begin to make sense of them.

“Your USB drive,” Steve speaks up when the silence becomes too much. “There were a lot of great ideas on there. A lot of things that weren’t weapons either. Why didn’t you pursue them?”

“Because my board of directors said no.” Tony laughs, still bitter about the fact that Obadiah held his entire life in hands with no intention of giving him any leeway. “My name might be on the side of the building but I can’t just make all the decisions on my own.”

His problems from before appear insignificant compared to the mess of dealing with his godfather. How often has he heard the word no and countless of reasons why his ideas were not feasible? He knew he could have done it and made them all richer in the process as well as doing something good for the world. If only he had not listened to Obadiah.

“You shut down the weapon manufacturing,” Steve remarks, appearing genuinely curious about why he could do that but not market one of the many projects he has already planned out.

Tony takes a bite of his food and chews it slowly, giving himself some time to answer. “And that’s a giant clusterfuck we’re not even close yet to figuring out,” he finally says. He managed to anger just about every investor and contractor they have, which makes rising up out of their own ashes unsurprisingly difficult. “Not without firing people, which I absolutely refuse to do. They’re not at fault that Obie abused the company as his personal piggy bank.”

Right now, his board is just interested in saving their own hides. Now that Obadiah is gone, Tony will have to watch them closely anyway. Everybody who knew what was happening or even aided with the dealing will have to go. Without Pepper, Stark Industries would already be nothing more than a rotten wreck, completely unsalvageable.

“But why go into weapon design in the first place?” Steve asks, still without accusation, although Tony feels like there should be some. All of this could have been avoided if Tony was not such a pushover. “You studied robotic engineering, right?”

How careless his MIT time had been, how happy. At least until Howard died and Tony went completely off the rails.

“Amongst other things, yes,” he answers, keeping his tone even. “My Dad never approved. After he died, I wasn’t going to touch the company at all. Obie got me back into the fold.” He shrugs as if the mere mention of his godfather has him not wanting to curl up and hide from the world – and to check his hands for the blood he washed off but will never be able to unsee. “At that point, it was easier to just do what he thought best. I didn’t want to lose anybody else.”

More than that, he did not care. Stark Industries still was mostly his father’s company then. Obadiah first asked for a few designs, then for some appearances where the press could see them. He did not just come out and ask Tony to come back but pulled him slowly back in until Tony was so entangled with the company again that there was nothing else to do but make it official.

In one way or another, Tony has always allowed himself to be a pawn of other people. He is done with that. Done with letting anyone else decide where he is going and what he is doing.

Silence engulfs them as they finish their meals. Sooner than Tony would like, his plate is empty. With exaggerated care, he puts down his cutlery and takes a sip of water. Only when he is done does he look up at Steve.

Compared to the past weeks, the bond has calmed down. It is vibrating with worry, but nothing so loud that he cannot concentrate on his own thoughts. Making sense of those thoughts is a completely different problem, however. Every time their eyes meet, it gets worse.

“What’s going on, Tony?” Steve asks, his expression tighter than it has been all evening.

And Tony gulps around the sudden tightness in his throat. He wants to look away but he owes it to Steve to not hide from this. “I’m not sure this is going to work.”

He watches Steve’s eyes narrow in confusion before they are blown wide. “What?” he asks, voice raspy. “Us?” Then he shrugs, bashful more than dejected. “I didn’t think it was an option.”

That is not the complete truth. Tony knows that even without the bond flashing warnings at him. Steve wants more. As it appears, he has at least learned to recognize reality for what it is, though.

“It’s not. Not like this. But you –” Tony interrupts himself, searching for the right words. He did not ask Steve here just to put him down but to find out what is best for them. “You’re not a completely bad guy. And I thought the intensity of the soul bond would lessen, but –” He trails off, certain that Steve is as aware as he is of the constant burning of their arms and twisting of their emotions.

“It doesn’t. I thought that was just me,” Steve says, nodding as he glances down at his arm. Almost as an afterthought, he adds, “There is medication for that.”

The words wash over Tony like a bucket of ice water has been upended over his head. It appears like Steve has been one step ahead of him all this time, already looking for ways out. He is sure that should not make him feel as irritated as it does.

“I’m not going to take drugs because my tattoo is tingling.” Tony snaps. The medication has side effects, which is partly wanted because rejecting one’s soulmate is not the natural course of things. He cannot afford to take anything that slows down his thinking.

A much smaller part of Tony is also aware that, all of a sudden, Steve is so willing to give up. It would make things easier on the both of them if they did not fight each other, but all this time Steve refused to leave and now he wants to take the easy way out?

“It’s more than that, though. At least to me,” Steve says, putting his hand over where Tony’s words sit on his arm. “Perhaps it needs more time.”

Of course, it is more than tingling. It is an invasion of their thoughts and emotions. It is a pull towards another person they do not really know, who might not good for them.

“Perhaps,” Tony echoes tonelessly. Bruce told him the sensation would fade. They can deal with this for a few months, surely.

His tone must have been off enough for Steve to perk up, watching him with new interest. Almost as if he knows that Tony is not as glad for that simple solution to get rid of Steve as he pretends to be.

“But?” he asks, waiting patiently for Tony to get his footing.

Tony should just shrug it off and tell Steve there are no buts. That might be better for everybody involved. He does not like giving up, though. At some point over the past weeks, he has gone from being afraid of Steve to seeing him as an ally to clinging to him when he was emotionally vulnerable. Things are not as simple anymore as saying that Steve wronged him and now they are doomed forever.

“You helped me with Obie,” Tony says slowly, measuring each of the words. “You saved my life.”

He stops speaking abruptly when he notices that Steve’s face has closed off completely.

“So you asked me to dinner because you think you owe me?” Steve asks, sounding offended. He is leaning slightly away from Tony as if he needs to distance himself from the very idea.

Within a span of seconds, everything has gone wrong again. Tony should have kept his mouth shut and agreed that the pills would solve their problem just fine. Instead, they are facing off again, and he has somehow offended Steve by trying to say his opinion of him has changed.

“No,” Tony replies dryly, not bothering to hide the bitterness in his tone. “Ask anyone, I’m the selfish type.”

Steve winces but it is too late. “You’re not –” he tries to say, but Tony shakes his head.

He does not even know anymore what they are doing here. Are they trying to work something out how they can stay in each other’s lives? Or are they looking for the best way out?

“Stop that,” he says, colder than he intended. “You don’t know me. I don’t know you. That’s the thing. All we know is the negative things.”

The weapons and the kidnapping and the stubbornness. Neither of them will come out of this smelling like roses.

“I know –”

“Let me make my point,” Tony snaps, cutting Steve off again. “You’re not responsible for Barnes and Barton beating me up. Yes, they might not have done it if you hadn’t given your okay, but it’s equally likely that they would have. Just later. Also, then I might have never found out about Stane selling my weapons.” He takes a shuddering breath, trying to sort through his thoughts. “I’m not saying I’m okay with what happened. You’re still a mob boss, and I’m not going to let you drag me into that, but maybe we should –”

“No,” Steve says suddenly and Tony falls silent immediately, caught off guard by the vehemence in Steve’s voice. “I can’t give up the Avengers.”

Tony’s expression tightens, even while he exhales with some relief. This is it then. His solution served to him on a silver platter.

He is not afraid of the Avengers anymore, although he would not want to be left alone with Barton. They are efficient and they may have done some good in the world. He has just learned that good intentions do not weigh out bad results. For years, Tony has built weapons, and while he knew they were used to hurt and kill people, he was convinced he was doing it for the good of his country, his people. Instead, they had just taken lives on all sides. Good or bad do not matter in that equation.

He does not see much of a difference where the Avengers are concerned. They have made themselves into weapons and they have hurt innocents just like Tony did. Perhaps just as unwittingly but it happened. If they are not going to change anything, if Steve is not even willing to take a step back and think about what happened, they are done.

“That makes it really easy then,” Tony says, slipping into a formal tone. Years of practice allow him to hide his feelings, although he is certain the burning through the soul bond betray that he is upset. “Thank you for meeting me. I wish you a good life.”

He is already in the process of getting up when Steve reaches out to him. His hand falls short of actually touching Tony, but it makes him stay where he is anyway. He is not going to ignore the plea written all over Steve’s face. Not while he is yearning for another kind of resolution of this himself.

“Tony.” Steve’s lips form Tony’s name with more care than he is used to, like it is something precious. “You can’t make me choose.”

The Avengers as they are now is not something Tony can allow into his life. Not while he is still caught in this mess.

“That’s exactly what I’m doing,” Tony says, although he just wanted Steve to consider changing things. “I know you think you’re fighting the good fight, that it doesn’t matter that you’re hurting people as long as they’re the bad guys, whatever that means. But it’s not okay. You’re no better than them.”

He takes no satisfaction when Steve flinches, looking at him with wide eyes.

“That’s not true.”

That denial just there is why they will have a problem with each other. Tony might not be responsible for what Obadiah did, but he feels like it. He feels responsible for every misplaced bullet, every wound, every death. Steve, on the other hand, is too practised at pushing all blame away and marching forward no matter what happens.

“Tell me, Steve,” Tony says, leaning forward. He wants to get this over with. “You have a Stark gun, right? Yet, no gun is registered in your name. Where did you get it? Did you steal it? Did you buy it on the black market, meaning you aided the very shady business you hated me for?” He shakes his head, openly showing his disappointment. “Your morality doesn’t add up. You’re not even in the grey area anymore, you’re just changing what’s right and what’s wrong based on what you currently need.”

His arm is burning, and Tony is not even sure anymore whether that comes from Steve or whether his own anger is taking over. It was ridiculous to think that they could just sit down and talk things through. That they could come to some kind of solution in one evening, talking about art and ignoring the bigger issues looming over them.

Steve is staring down at the table, biting his lip so hard that Tony expects to see blood any second now. When it becomes obvious that he is not going to say anything, Tony clears his throat and waits until Steve looks up.

“I don’t think you’re a bad guy, Steve,” he says, making his voice as gentle as he dares without making it seem like he is taking back what he said before. "But I’m not going to be your friend, much less anything more while you’re running a mob.”

A noise breaks out of Steve that is half laughter and half frustrated groan. He looks more alive than he did during the entirety of dinner, although in a non-flattering way.

“So what,” Steve asks, the words as clear as they are ugly, “you want me to abandon my friends on the off chance that you’ll stick around?”

That is the crux, Tony can admit that. He knows he will not start anything with Steve while he goes around doing his shady business. At the same time, he is not sure he can guarantee more even if Steve agreed to change. Everything is messed up and tangled inside his head. More than anything, they need to get to know each other, but that is not going to happen while Steve is someone Tony does not want to know.

“You don’t have to stop being friends,” Tony argues, knowing how uncompromising he sounds. “I would obviously prefer if the Avengers got some official, legal work, but you’re my soulmate, not any of them.”

He sees they are getting nowhere, not while they are both upset and lost.

“I don’t –” Steve tries to say, but Tony cuts him off.

“Go home, Steve,” he says, softening his expression and tone. “I don’t expect you to make a decision right here, but those are my terms. If you want me in your life, in whatever capacity we’d manage with time, you can’t have the Avengers in tow.”

Looking at Steve, he does not see any admission there, anything but the chaos of grief and howling sense of injustice echoed by the bond.

“I know what my answer will be,” Steve says, voice as tight as his face, withdrawing further from Tony with every breath.

Tony smiles. He can see that this throws Steve, but he simply nods. “Well, at least you’re dedicated.”

That is not a consolation. He knows the Avengers are important to Steve. He knows what he is asking.

He gets to his feet and reaches for a jacket, letting his eyes roam over Steve again. This might be the last opportunity he has.

“Tony –” Steve tries but trails off, sounding helpless even while he is unwilling to concede his point.

“Good night, Steve,” Tony says, wondering whether the tightness in his chest comes from the bond or whether that rejection is real. “You have my number if something important comes up.”

He is not even sure what he means with that. Is he going to wait for Steve to change his mind? Does he offer his assistance if Steve is ever in danger?

His thoughts are going too fast, fighting against the panicked current of emotions filtering through the bond, to make sense of it. With a last look at Steve, taking in his dejection and the way his shoulders slump, Tony leaves. Head held high and steps measured, he walks out of the restaurant, pushing some bills into a clueless waiter’s hands. All the way to the door, he can feel Steve’s eyes in his back, like a weight settling on him.

It is impossible to say whether he has just made the right decision. Cutting Steve out of his life is certainly not a bad thing, considering their history. He left him a backdoor, though. More than that, really.

It is perhaps unfair to ask Steve to give up the team he built without making concessions that things will work out with Tony if he does. Especially after said team saved his life. That is the best he can do, however. He sees the mistakes he made and he is striving to do better. Is it not his right to ask Steve to do the same?

[silentexplorer18]

First Dates and Distracted Snakes: A Jughead Jones Short

Summary: As Jughead’s attention to you wanes, you allow yourself to pursue other romantic interests.  Although you try to have a good time, you realize that bad guys lurk throughout Riverdale.  Can Jughead brighten your thoughts?

Paring: Jughead x Reader

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of rape and sexual assault, some depressing thoughts.

Read it here on AO3.

Masterlist

His dark hair fell into his eyes as his little hands reached for your own dainty ones.  “(Y/n),” he said softly, “will you be my girlfriend?”

You squeezed his hand gently, but shake your head, small smile adorning your lips.  “Juggie, we’re too little.  Ask me again when we’re older, and I’ll say yes, okay?”

He didn’t seem too forlorn from your answer, squeezing your hand back and pulling you toward the swingset.  “Okay, just as long as you’ll say yes.”

It has been ten years since that day when you and Jughead Jones were children, acknowledging that you had something more than what ordinary best friends would.  Despite growing up together, his asking never again graced your ears, as much as you would have wholeheartedly said yes.

Over the years, you and Jug had found a comfortable rhythm that flowed through your lives.  Every day, you would get up and meet him on your porch, sharing breakfast before you set off on the walk to school.  Always, always walking together, you would engage in small talk or comfortable silence, either one being something you both enjoyed.  Then came classes.  Those that you shared, you were hip and hip in; those that you didn’t were never that enjoyable.  At lunch you would sit together, and in the student lounge.  After school would come long sessions at Pop’s, where the two of you would share food and work in a state of symbiosis.  He would write usually, fingertips fluttering over the keys like his life depended on them, like he couldn’t quite get the words out fast enough.  You would work on homework, read, or even doodle sometimes.  The spans of silence would be broken by the click of his laptop and the eventual conversation that would spur when you gave him your attention and he gave you his.

You’d been the one that pushed him toward writing this book about Jason Blossom’s death, knowing he needed a true outlet for his hyper alert, clever mind.  When he started into the investigation, you supported him wholeheartedly, ordering him late night milkshakes to feed his creative mind, dragging him from the diner when it got so late he would cease to be able to function the next day if he didn’t go to bed, and helping him investigate as he saw fit.  Although he was your best friend and you inarguably his, you began to notice your late nights at Pop’s together dwindling as he and the rest of the Scooby Gang, most notably Betty Cooper, began to find themselves intensely rooted in the investigation.

You tried to be positive despite the gnawing disappointment in your stomach every morning he wasn’t there to walk with you to school and every night Juggie would forget to meet you at the diner.  Your study dates and biweekly dinners soon faltered from their normal schedule, and you had no idea if or when Jug would show up.

So here you were again on a Friday night, sitting glumly in your signature booth sipping a vanilla milkshake halfheartedly.  Jughead was always supposed to meet you on Friday nights, another tradition.  You would share a meal and discuss the events of the week, any new leads he’d found, and sometimes would conclude the night watching movies in your room.  He hadn’t shown up, though, hence why you were on your second milkshake of the night.  You didn’t want to admit that saving yourself the social strain of making lots of friends was proving to be a monumental mistake, but it was.  Jughead had hardly talked to you in weeks, and you realized gloomily that you’d fallen lackluster to the amazing Betty Cooper and Veronica Lodge.

Picking at your straw, you jumped when a body slid down in front of you.  Half expecting it to be Jughead, you looked up in excitement only to realize that the beanie clad boy was not the person sitting in front of you.  Instead Chuck Clayton gazed back at you with a half attractive smirk.  “Out alone?” he asked, trying to avoid commenting on the crestfallen look you gave him when you realized he wasn’t the boy you wanted him to be.

You sighed a little.  “Yeah.  My friend forgot, I think.”

Chuck sympathized with you, carrying on a conversation for the next hour.  Although he wasn’t the most charming or intelligent boy in the world, he did make you laugh, ask you about your day, and acknowledge your existence, all of which were worlds above Jughead who wouldn’t even respond to your text asking if he was okay.

That night of subtle flirting and fry sharing turned into one of many more to come.  The next week, Chuck would stop in, chatting you up since Jughead couldn’t find the time to talk to you.  By the end of the week, he’d asked you out on a date, stating that one of his football companions was throwing a party that he’d adore accompanying you to.

Your first instinct was to hesitate.  You’d never been to a party before, and you’d also never been on a date before.  Not officially, anyway.  You’d been saving yourself for Jughead, just like you’d promised, but the sweet little Forsythe of your youth was the only boy to ever have asked you out.  Jughead had never asked again.  It was clear now, though, that he had no intention to, mind wrapped around Betty Cooper in all her charming glory.

With a blush rising to your cheeks, you accepted his invitation.

The next evening was another Friday, and you were adorned in your usual bluejeans and a Bulldogs tee shirt.  You’d curled your hair lightly, applying a tiny bit of makeup to spruce up your features.  You met Chuck at Pop’s Diner, blushing against his compliments as he led you down the streets of Riverdale toward your first date.

Inviting you inside, you didn’t expect the night that would follow.  Chuck was quick to drink, trying to force alcohol down your throat as well.  You weren’t one for the drinking, trying to suggest that maybe you should go home.  Chuck pouted, trying to guilt you into staying.  “Just one more dance.  Please, baby?”  His words made you uncomfortable, but you relented, agreeing to just one more.  You wanted this date to be labeled as a success, afterall.

So you stayed, and his hands clamped against your waist, travelling rapidly down to your ass.

“Chuck, what are you-” you shouted, his lips shoving against your own to silence your protests.  He pushed you up the stairs, several of his teammates trailing.

The rest of that night was a blur as his hands traveled up your body and touched every square inch.  His lips met your neck, hips snapping against your own as you thrashed against his teammates’ weight.  You tried to scream but someone’s lips were forced against your own, tasting like liquor and the salt of your tears.  Chuck didn’t take you home; shaking, you wrapped your tattered clothes around your quaking frame and stumbled down the streets to your house.  Your parents were traveling on business and would be gone for at least another month and a half, so you were free to let the hot tears of shame trickle down your cheeks when you entered the home.  Ripping off what was left of your clothes, you hopped in the shower, letting the hot water burn your flesh clean of the horrors it had experienced in the darkness.

That weekend, you were holed up in your bed the whole time, ignoring the occasional buzzing of your phone even through Monday and Tuesday morning.  By six Tuesday night, you were finally hungry, dragging yourself up and dressing in fresh clothes.  On Saturday, you’d witnessed the photo spread across Instagram and Snapchat, flitting into group chats and ruining any chance of secrecy you’d had at keeping what happened under wraps.  A photo of you barely clothed, the jocks closing in around you in a sweaty, hormonal mess.  Chuck Clayton was branding you as an easy fuck, the girl who threw her virginity at him.  From the photo, you just looked like a slut, not a girl who’d been raped by the team.  Only people that knew you would know the lies behind the image.

But still, you needed to eat.  So you drug yourself to Pop’s, perched in the farthest seat from the door, sipping on a vanilla milkshake, no cherry  or whipped cream - you didn’t deserve it.  Pop’s had brought you some sympathy fries that you nibbled on here and there, but for the most part you just sat quietly, dreading the days to come.  Lost in thought, you didn’t notice Jughead’s approach until he’d slammed down in the seat in front of you.  Your eyes flickered up to him, clearly startled.  His face was hard, impassive.  “How could you?” he said harshly.

“What?” you asked softly, confusion painting over your tired eyes.

“You gave your virginity to Chuck Clayton of all people?  Why would you go on a date with that guy?”

Hurt flashed across your face, but your defences were up as his judgemental gaze looked down his nose at you.  “Maybe because he was the only guy to ask me out,” you said incredulously, trying to ignore the pain pooling in your heart.

“But you screwed Chuck.  Of all the disgusting, filthy, low level things you could have done, you did that.  You jumped the first guy that offered.”  He tried to keep going, describing how low screwing Chuck Clayton was, but you didn’t hear him.  You were rushing up from your seat, tears flooding your cheeks as your feet led you to the door.

You felt someone collide with you as you pushed through the door, Betty and Veronica staring sympathetically at you as you stumbled by, obviously flustered and emotionally unstable.  You stumbled toward home while they entered the diner, making a beeline for Jughead.

“Jug, what happened?” Betty asked as she and Ronnie slid into the seat you’d been sitting in.

“She slept with Chuck,” he mumbled out, clearly angry.

Veronica rolled her eyes, “Not by choice, you nitwit.”

“What?” he asked, brows furrowing at her words.

Betty, pale and concerned, began to explain what happened, Ronnie turning her phone around to reveal the photo of your broken, defiled form.  Jughead went white, grabbing his bag from the seat and rushing away from the booth, muttering an, “Oh, no,” as he went.

You’d locked the door when you’d gotten home, climbing up the stairs and falling into your fluffy sheets, tears dripping onto pillow as you realized that Jughead was right, you were a dirty slut.  You’d asked for it.  It was all your fault.  You’d went out on a date.  You were to blame.

Jughead knew your house like the back of his hand, pulling the spare key from its hiding spot and slipping into your house, locking the door behind him.  He knew you’d be in your room; that was always your go to when you were feeling sad.

He ascended the stairs quietly, stepping gently into your room.  His heart broke when he saw your weak figure sobbing into your pillows.  Bending down, he enveloped you in his arms.  Your first instinct was to panic, thrashing against his body until you heard his soothing voice in your ear.  “Hey, hey.  It’s okay.  It’s me.  You’re safe, (y/n).  You’re safe.”

Just as quickly as you’d started thrashing, you stilled, tears still dripping from your puffy eyes.  “Juggie, I’m so sorry,” you whispered against his chest.

“What?  Why?”

“It’s my fault,” you whispered, tears starting to rapidly fall again as your breathing hitched.  “You were right.  It’s my fault.  I was low and dirty and bad.  I’m so sorry, Jughead.”

“No, no, no,” he murmured, holding you close to his chest and shushing you.  “It’s not your fault.  None of it was your fault.  They hurt you, and they shouldn’t have, and I’m so, so sorry I wasn’t there to protect you.”

You stayed nuzzled in his arms for a while, hiccupping and sniffling as he whispered soothing words in your hair.  “Why’d you come here?” you croaked out after a while, looking up into his eyes.

Jughead rested his forehead against yours, his sigh fanning across your damp cheeks.  “You shouldn’t be alone right now.  And I’m the fool that got you into this, so I should be the one that helps you through it.”  You looked at him quizzically, and he knew what you wanted to ask before you had the chance to say it.  “I should’ve asked you out,” his voice grew low, and his demeanor shifted from comforting to shy.  “If I had, you never would have been in the situation you were.”

“Juggie,” you sniffled, “it isn’t your fault.  I should’ve waited.  You were always the one that I wanted.”

“(Y/N), would you be my girlfriend?” he whispered softly.

You smiled, an equal grin forming on his lips.  “Yes.  I’d love to, Jughead.”  After a pause, you flopped back on the bed, letting out a sigh.  “But I’m so dirty, Jug.  How could you want me?”  He started to protest, but you cut him off.  “I lost my virginity to Chuck Clayton,” you groaned.

“Did you want to?”

You looked back up at him.  “Of course not.”

“Then it’s settled,” he said, taking your hand.  “You’re just as clean as ever, (y/n).  You didn’t give your virginity away, you had a part of you taken.  But you are still as pure as untouched snow.  Don’t think for a second you’re dirty for not giving yourself away.”

Reaching up to his shoulders, you pulled him down next to you, snuggling into his chest warmly.  “Can we just stay here?”

He hummed softly.  “Yes, but we’ve gotta go to school tomorrow,” you let out a whine.  “It’s okay.  I’ll be right by your side the whole time.”

Gently, he kissed your forehead, wrapping his comforting arms around you as the two of you drifted off into a safe, protected slumber.

The next morning, you put on a pair of jeans, a black tank top, and pulled a baseball cap over your head.  You tried to look in the mirror, feel comfortable in your own skin, but you still felt out of place.  Jughead stepped up behind you, his reflection revealing everything strong and brave you wanted to be.  “I just don’t feel brave enough, Juggie,” you whispered.

“Hey, you are,” he comforted gently, pulling his signature flannel from his shoulders and sliding it over your arms, the finishing touch to your armor.

That first day back wasn’t easy, the whispered words of Riverdale High swirling around you like a cloud of smoke.  But despite the hungry stares of Chuck Clayton and the hateful gaze of Cheryl Blossom, you clung to the notion that you were enough, catching Jughead’s eye in every hallway to give you strength.

You may have been cheated your first kiss, your first time, but that didn’t matter.  Chuck was just a nasty memory that you could push away and forget with time.  Jughead, he was forever, and now you didn’t have to wait for forever to come.

A/N: Thanks for reading my story!  I hope you liked it.  Let me know what you think and shoot any questions or requests my way! :)  Hope you all are doing well.

Also, if you have experienced rape or sexual assault, know that my character is 100% wrong, making you wrong.  It is NOT your fault AT ALL if someone violated you comfort or privacy.  Never blame yourself for that experience.  Hindsight is 20/20, you couldn’t have known what was going to happen, and you ARE NOT at fault.