#arsonist au

[colormepurplex2]

Play With Fire | JHS

▻ Play With Fire ↳ Arsonist!Hoseok x Criminal!f.Reader ⤜ Crime AU ⤜ Infatuated Lovers ⤜ WC: 8,170 ⤜ Rating: MA🔞 ⤜ Summary: Together forever- a promise. I'll never leave you- a guarantee.

Like a moth to the flame, you were drawn in from the moment you laid eyes on Jung Hoseok. Clouds of smoke and ash billowed around him, dark smudges on his cheeks and a wild, manic grin on his face. You had just finished emptying out the safe in the back office when some psycho threw a molotov through the front window of the convenience store. As you scrambled through the window you used to enter, you made the snap decision to run after the pyromaniac.

Little did you know you'd catch fire in an instant and burn hotter than hell. But, you're not the only thing burning. When a job goes sideways, you both vow to make the world burn...starting with the asshole that's betrayed you. He wants to play with fire; so you'll see to it that he burns. This is the first installment for a new mini-series, Burning Up. ⚠️  Blowjob, theft, dark thoughts revolving around arson and petty crimes, Yoongi is a crime kingpin that you and Hoseok work for, talk of murder, outdoor sex, sub/dom tones, manhandling, fire play, creampie, orgasm denial/edging, praise, restraints, fingering, guns/someone gets shot, blood, it’s all a little dark. Each part will have specific warnings at the top.

Chapter 1. Strike A Match

Chapter 2. Going Up In Smoke

Part of the Bangtan Writers HQ February 2023 “Hearts On Fire�� Writing Event.

Can also be found on: Ao3 | Wattpad

◅ Back to Master List ©️   2023-02-07   ColorMePurplex2  

[ozymandian-hymn]

You're not coming back from shit! Thrashing around in that high-conductivity state of yours, bumping into things and acting like a clown. Who are you kidding?

[bxnnie-bxwl]

had the potenial idea for evil!bonnie au that helpi (not evil) acompanies the rebel gang but is of course very by the book and is a bit against evil!bonnie just walking around freely and destroying things JHSDFGD

[onionninjasstuff]

a little villain!PB&J au ive been working on because they deserve to go insane together

separated in childhood, raised by draxum, lost a couple of limbs, gained a couple of limbs, currently planning to nuke the earth

the comic

[what-have-i-unleashed]

one of the mtt is a serial arsonist and i can't decide who it is.

[writermai05]

Arsonist's Lullabye

Prologue: All you have is your fire

Summary: Zuko’s bad day gets a bit better after an encounter with an unfamiliar face. 

Pairing: zuko x fem! reader (Live Action or Animated) 

A/N: I am delusional, and when I had the idea for a zuko x reader modern AU where he works in Iroh’s boba tea shop, I had to follow through with said idea. Let’s see if this goes anywhere, and feel free to leave comments or suggestions on how the fic could play out maybe :) 

Word Count: 773

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Avatar: The Last Airbender, I am merely a nerd who hyperfixates a lot.  This is a modern AU that takes place in the avatar world. Bending still exists. Zuko and the gaang are in college in this series !!

TW!: Physical abuse, burns, Ozai in general, Zuko’s backstory is so sad. 

Zuko knew it was going to be a long day as soon as he opened the shop at 12pm. 

Within the first two hours, he had run out of tapioca pearls, dropped a container filled with matcha on the floor (which by the way, was a pain in the ass to clean up,) and slipped on the floors he had just mopped. Perhaps he was just born unlucky. Perhaps, most people in life didn’t have to struggle the way that he was, the way that he always had. It wasn’t all bad. He was lucky enough to be here, working in his uncle’s tea shop in the Earth Kingdom, rather than in his father’s company back in the Fire Nation. 

The Jasmine Dragon was beloved by many. People from all over the city came to have some of the shops' amazing teas and pastries. It wasn’t too busy, having only three people come in today.  perhaps because school at the University of Ba Sing Se hadn’t quite started up yet, outside of the students who had moved in early. The shop was particularly chilly today, but the atmosphere managed to maintain the same warm and cozy feeling, with the dim atmospheric lighting and the sage and emerald hued furniture. Zuko had a second to just relax in the stillness. 

 He appreciated these quiet moments the most.  The moments where he could stop worrying about the shop, and overthinking the worst things he had ever done in his life. Such as when he lashed out at his uncle, multiple times, or about the people he had bullied in high school. He was almost able to forget it all. Forget the fact that his younger sister, Azula, was still stuck in a house with his abusive father, or even forget the feeling of his father’s hand, burning the flesh of his face, leaving a scar in its wake, as well as a near complete blindness in his left eye. His demons may be restless, but boy did Zuko keep them on a tight leash. 

Zuko’s reverie was broken by the sound of the door’s bell chime. He immediately snapped out of his thoughts, waiting patiently for his assistance to be needed. 

“Um, excuse me,” 

A girl, who seemed to be around his age, was standing right in front of him. She wore a navy blue dress with a pale blue lining and detailing around the edges. A belt of the same color was around her waist, with a brown leather cord connecting a bag onto her hip. Her black jacket was cropped to about rib length, with brown leather cords fastening it closed, as well as matching black pants and brown boots. 

“This is my first time here…Is there anything that you’d recommend?” She asked politely. 

There was something about the way her kind eyes twinkled in the orange lighting that made Zuko fluster. He cleared his throat before opening his mouth to talk. 

“Well, Lychee juice is a customer favorite. But personally, my Uncle Iroh’s jasmine green tea is the best in Ba Sing Se.” 

“The best in Ba sing Se?” She raised her eyebrows inquisitively.

“The best.” he nodded. 

“I’ll take it.” She said, reaching to the tote bag slung over her shoulder. Zuko interrupted her actions with the wave of his hand. 

Zuko shook his head. “Don’t worry, It’s on me.” he said, as he began punching numbers, into the register. 

“Oh no! I can’t let you do that-” She protested. 

He shrugged, a blush beginning to warm his cheeks.  “For a first time customer.” 

“Thank you so much…” She trailed off, waiting for him to tell her his name.

“Zuko.”

“Zuko. I’ll be sure to come by again. And I fully intend on paying that time.” She said with a playful glare. 

The boy smiled slightly.

“Your tea will be ready shortly.” 

Zuko had Iroh bring the tea over to the girl. He wasn’t confident in his ability to steadily bring the tray of hot tea without causing more burns to cover his body. The older man made sure to give the girl a complimentary fruit tart to enjoy, but not before looking at his nephew with a teasing glint in his eyes. Zuko groaned. 

“Not a word, uncle.” He said as he walked through the staff doors into the shops’ kitchen. 

After about 20 minutes had passed, Iroh came into the kitchen, clutching what looked like a napkin and some paper Yuan bills. 

“Zuko! The girl left this on her table after she left!”

Zuko carefully took the napkin from his uncle’s hand, reading the message. 

“Thanks for the tea! - y/n.” 

[stabbyfoxandrew]

arson Neil, if you'd like. Happy Wednesday!!

WIP Wednesday (9/25) | Arsonist Neil / Firefighter Andrew AU (Part 240)

"He is not my boyfriend." Andrew laments.

"Then what? Lover? Partner? Gentleman caller?" Boyd asks. At Andrew's look, he shrugs. "We watched Golden Girls last night. What do you call your mystery man, Minyard?"

"I don't call him anything. We're not. We just... We talk." Andrew thinks his face is probably fire engine red. He could go downstairs and check if he wanted, but Kevin's shit-eating grin confirms it. "And yeah, it's for him. He's a fan of yours for some reason."

"Maybe because I'm an all-star professional Exy player—"

"Yeah, yeah. Maybe. Will you sign it or not?"

"Of course. Should I write a message? Who do I address it to?" Kevin asks, sliding the picture in front of him. Andrew blanks. He can't tell all these nosy fuckers that he doesn't know 10's name. And he's not going to have Kevin sign it to '10', that's ridiculous. After a few seconds, Andrew just huffs.

"I'm not telling any of you his name. Ever. Just sign it, Day."

Kevin pops the cap off the marker and holds his breath as he scrawls his signature along a bit of empty space. When he's through, he drops the marker and holds the picture up. Then blows the ink before passing it over to Andrew with a sigh. "I can't believe you're using me to impress a guy. You owe me."

"Kevin Day, I paid off every debt I'll ever owe you, with interest, back in college."

After a moment of consideration, Kevin nods. "You're probably right. Hey, tell your boyfriend—"

"He's not my boyfriend. I don't do boyfriends." Andrew reminds him. Kevin of all people shouldn't need to be reminded, but alas.

"Tell whoever he is that Kevin Day says "Happy Christmas". Maybe that will get the ball moving." Kevin says with a smile. Andrew doesn't need any balls moving— Er. He shakes his head.

"Whatever," Andrew says, snatching his now-autographed picture. He takes it and his plate with him downstairs to his car. He puts the photo in the passenger seat and glares at it until he's finished his lunch. 10 will like this. Andrew thinks he'll even get a frame for it. He wonders what color to get. Black, probably.

Yeah. That'll be fine. And it doesn't matter that much anyway. Because he and 10 are not dating. Andrew doesn't do boyfriends and 10 doesn't... do attraction at all. He's explained his life story to Andrew, in bits and pieces, and it's a long, sad one.

10's mother beat attraction out of him, that's what he said anyway. Andrew's not sure it's possible. Surely if it were, he wouldn't be attracted to men. But he's not here to debate anyone's sexuality. He's here for work. So he gets out of his car and heads back upstairs.

[shadowjokerao3]

Happy new years everyone!

From left to right

Mike Pines by @soniccrazygal

FoxTrap be me

Plush Mike by @kiramorganpotatoqueen

Into The Pit Mike by @pixlokita

And Rockstar Lolbit by @inkspottie

Of course the only ones enjoying a party are Plush and Lolbit

[lxvepup]

"When I was a child, I heard voices. Some would sing and some would scream.

You soon find you have few choices.

I learned the voices died with me."

[annestie]

Some fanart of @crystalskies42's fanfic, Arachne. This is Herbert the Roomba, my darling dearest, love you even with what you've done ❤️

(Highly recommend the fic)

[noodle8]

Really proud of this one!! Spike (guy on the left) belongs to @zaxlover !!

[colormepurplex2]

Play With Fire | Going Up In Smoke

↳ Arsonist!Hoseok x Criminal!f.Reader ⤜ Infatuated Lovers ⤜ Rating: MA🔞 ⤜ WC: 4,079 ⚠️ talk of murder, outdoor sex, sub/dom tones, manhandling, fire play, creampie, orgasm denial/edging, praise, restraints, fingering, guns/someone gets shot, blood    

⇽Previous Chapter ◅ Back to chapter list

M continues, “The marriage is purely business, of course. But, now that our annulment period is over and her uptight accountant has finally signed me on as the sole benefactor of her estate, I don’t find myself much interested in actually being married to the withering old bitch. She stays in the loft above the boutique during the week, so she’ll be there tonight.”

Well, that’s news. “So, are we talking about a lot and luggage, then?” Hoseok asks. You know he and M have their own job-related lingo when it comes to things like this. You’ve pieced together some of it over the years. Lot on its own generally means a building and lot and luggage is a building plus any occupants.”

M is nodding before Hoseok finishes the question. “Lot and luggage. Once the job is done and you’re back from your little vacation, I want you both to consider coming on full-time. I’ll offer you a quarter of Maudette’s estate to split between the two of you.”

That’s big. M keeps a tight circle and it’s a rarity for him to invite someone inside. This is…you’re not even sure what words to use. “That’s— M, that’s a lot of money.”

“It’s inconsequential.” The dismissive way M speaks infuriates you sometimes. “Do the job, take your time off, and think about my offer. Ping me when you’re back on the radar and we’ll discuss it more then. For now, get the fuck off my boat.”

Just like that, you’re dismissed. You know you don’t have to ask about the money, it’ll be in your account, split between you and Hoseok, before you even set foot back on the dock.

“What do you think?” you ask Hoseok once you’re both back in the Chevelle.

A slow smile curves his lips. “We’ll talk about his offer later. Right now, I think you owe me a fuck on the roof of the car and then once the sun goes down we’re going to light up that boutique like it’s Christmas.” You can’t help but mirror his smile at the idea.

There is a perfect spot right off the highway on the way back into town. It’s secluded, a small pull-off over a bluff. You can easily miss it unless you know where to look, as it’s tucked away just after a curve in the road. This spot has easily seen more of your bare ass than an actual bed has.

On the drive, you teased Hoseok by pulling off all your clothes to don the red silk dress you snatched earlier. You loved the way he could barely keep his eyes on the road. There was a hunger in his stare and the way he kept licking his lips. With the car parked, his attention is now fully on you. It has you burning from the inside out.

“Grab the blanket out of the back,” you tell him before slipping out into the chilly air. The sun is setting, taking its mild warmth with it. Being in a strapless, short silk dress has chill bumps dancing along your exposed skin. It feels good, just on this side of painfully cold.

The hood of the Chevelle is still warm. Hoseok stretches out the fleece blanket across the shiny candy apple red surface. He let you choose the color the last time the car got a makeover. It’s a classic color, one that reminds you of fierce passion and dangerous chemistry.

“Get your ass over here,” Hoseok growls, grabbing one of your wrists and tugging you toward himself so hard that you let out a huff of air when you hit his hard chest. “You’re in serious trouble, baby.”

You poke out your bottom lip in a faux pout. “Aw, what did I do?” you simper playfully. You reach up and twist a hand into his dark hair, bringing the one still clamped in his grip to his chest. “Haven’t I been good?”

Hoseok lets out a dark laugh. “Oh, no, baby. I don’t think you could ever be a good girl, not when you’re filthy as fuck…just the way I like you.”

Using the hand in his hair, you force his mouth down to yours. He makes an obscenely primal sound in the back of his throat, more animal than man. His teeth catch your bottom lip in a savage bite making you suck in a stilted breath of surprise. Hoseok takes his free hand and slides it up under the skirt of your dress, trailing his fingers along the inside of your thigh.

“Mmm,” you moan, finally managing to rip your lip from between his teeth. “Fuck me,” you demand. Hoseok shakes his head, a rueful smile on his face. He shoves you around until your back is to his chest. You have no choice but to pull your hand from his hair and use it to brace yourself on the hood of the car when he shoves you forward until the tops of your thighs hit the front grill on the Chevelle.

“I can never decide what I like best; when you mouth off and get demanding or when you poke out that bottom lip and act all demure and shit.” His hands land roughly on your hips, pressing you harder against the car as he slides up your dress to expose your bare ass. The bite of cold steel burns against your thighs with your dress rucked up around your waist now.

You wiggle back against him, teasing. “How about you shut up and fuck me already.”

The blistering smack of his open palm against your ass has all the air leaving your lungs in a whoosh. “Say it again. I dare you.”

There is already arousal pooling along your slit. Your heart is pounding so hard you can hear the rush of it in your ears. “Fuck. Me.” You enunciate the words, taking the bait because you know it’ll be worth it.

Hoseok shudders behind you. You hear the faint hiss of the zipper on his jumper sliding down. His slender fingers glide over the curve of your ass before sliding between your lower lips. “Your pussy is already weeping for me, it knows it’s about to be punished.”

You can barely hear him over your own ragged breathing. But, you’re so familiar with this song and dance you know what he’s saying without needing to hear the words clearly. A cry is wrenched from your throat as those toying fingers thrust inside in one quick motion.

The rhythm he sets is brutal. The air around you quickly fills with the smacking wet sounds of your body under assault from Hoseok’s touch. With his free hand, he gathers your wrists and pins them to the small of your back. You press a cheek against the fleece blanket, loving the way Hoseok dominates your body with both physicality and pleasure.

“No,” you whimper in protest when he suddenly pulls out his fingers, stealing away the orgasm that was quickly approaching.

Hoseok tuts softly, the sound coming out reminiscent of a purr. “What’s the safe word, baby?” he asks softly, rubbing his thumb over the sensitive skin of your wrists still pinned behind you.

“Burn,” you respond instantly. If Hoseok is asking for your safe word you know things are about to blur some lines.

You pant against the blanket, anticipation adding to the delightful ache between your thighs. There is a rustling of fabric behind you, what sounds like something being pulled against something else. A moment later you feel a length of fabric being wound around your wrists. The belt from Hoseok’s jumpsuit abrades the tender flesh with a gentle heat.

He pulls the knot tight, jerking your shoulders slightly. Satisfied, he hums in amusement as you begin to wiggle and test out the binding. “You’re not allowed to cum until I say you can. Do you understand?”

It takes you a moment to work enough moisture around your tongue to answer him. “Yes, sir.”

“Remember your safe word,” he says into the silence, like what he’s about to do requires a reminder so soon.

The distinct schick sound of a match head dragging along the strike strip on a matchbox is loud in the silence that follows his reminder. This is where the lines can blur. When you both ride a fine line between what you should do and what you actually want to do. You both want to experience the adrenaline rush that comes from the subtle kiss of a flame, but neither of you ever wants to hurt the other.

You feel the warmth from the match, smell the sulphuric burn in the air, before you hiss a breath between clenched teeth from the pinprick of pain as he snuffs the match out between one of your ass cheeks and his hip bone. You groan in unison, shuddering as you both get a hit of dopamine and a rush of endorphins.

The straining head of his cock bumps against your arousal-covered core. You can feel his quick breaths against your back as he lines himself up and then kicks his hips forward. Your forehead drops to the hood of the car and your scream is muffled into the blanket. From this position, Hoseok feels impossibly big. You love it.

Hoseok grips hard onto your hips, immediately setting a domineering pace that has you up on your toes and tears welling along your lash line.

“Oh god, oh god!” You bite into the blanket to keep from crying out too loudly.

“God doesn’t belong here, baby,” Hoseok grunts with a harsh laugh. “Nothing but me, you, and the devil inside of us.” Your walls flutter around him as you fight off the first wave of pleasure that threatens to make you cum. “Don’t you dare,” he admonishes, giving an extra brutal swivel of his hips before practically coming to a stop. “Fight it. That’s my girl.”

Pain meets pleasure and you ride a knife's edge between coherent thoughts and insanity. The intensity of Hoseok knows no bounds. Your ass aches, the small blister from the match getting repeatedly rubbed with every thrust as he renews his efforts once your struggle with control passes.

Though, you’re quickly back on that edge. “Hoseok,” you plead his name. “Please!” The second wave is harder to fight off than the first, your walls pulse in unison with his cock moving along them. He hits you just right, his thick head sliding against a spot that has your eyes squeezing shut. The way his hips press you forward has delicious pressure applied to your clit.

“Not yet, baby, not yet.”

Your response is a sobbed, “Please!” You dig your toes against the asphalt beneath them, never having bothered to put your shoes back on before getting out of the car. It’s a delirious feeling, trying to keep your body from a natural response like an orgasm. With every thrust, you slowly lose the battle. Just when you think you can’t take it anymore, Hoseok finally relents.

“Cum for me, let go!” he moans loudly, hips jerking against your ass as his cock surges inside you. You can feel every pulse of his cum, deep within your undulating walls, making your own orgasm shudder through you. The pounding of your heart thuds heavily in your ears, mixing into a sultry melody with the breathy pants from Hoseok as he drapes over your back, boneless and spent.

You lay like that for several minutes, enjoying the comforting feel of each other. “You’re so good to me,” you murmur as he leans back enough to release your wrists from his belt.

Hoseok helps you to turn over so you’re sitting on the hood of the car, heedless of the cum dripping out of you onto the blanket. He takes each of your wrists and gently massages the red marks left behind. “I’m going to show you just how much you mean to me over the next two weeks, I swear it.”

He leans forward and presses his forehead to yours. You can barely see his eyes in the dark since the sun has long since disappeared beyond the bluff and horizon. What you can see, though, is endless adoration and glittering promises. You press a lingering kiss to his lips before smiling.

“I’m going to be kind of sad to see Ricque’s go up in flames. You think we’ll have time to grab a few things before we torch it?”

That makes him laugh. “Absolutely,” he assures, sweeping you into his arms and carrying you around to your side of the car. “Anything for you, baby.”

The street is mostly dark at this time of night. Restaurant Kim is dark save for the dim recessed lighting above the hostess stand. Park Hotel’s lobby is brightly lit, but you see the night guard is nowhere to be seen. It makes you wonder if M is at work here, ensuring a successful hit on Ricque’s. He holds that kind of power, that kind of sway over an establishment. You’re also fairly certain M is in bed with the Parks or vice versa. The underground rumor mill never ceases on the topic of M.

You changed out of the red dress, draping it delicately over the tiny backseat of the Chevelle before pulling on some black jeans, a long-sleeve navy shirt, and your bomber jacket. The short-heeled boots you wear are comfortable and easy to run in if needed. Hoseok is still wearing his white jumpsuit, but it doesn’t stand out nearly as much as you thought it might.

“Best access point will be between the hotel and Ricque’s, we can go in through the back entrance.” Hoseok talks in a low whisper as you both survey the area around the boutique.

“She went to bed well over an hour ago,” you think aloud. When you and Hoseok pulled up down the street, you watched the lights in the loft flip on and off as Maudette moved between them until all that was left on was a small lamp in what you assume is the bedroom. Then, that too went out. “Should be good and deep in a sleep cycle by now.”

“Let’s go. I say we have about two hours to get this done before the city starts to wake up around here,” he estimates with one last glance around the quiet street.

It’s a casual thing, approaching the building. You and Hoseok act like you’re just a couple out on a late-night walk, your arm linked through his and grins curving your lips. To anyone that might see you on the off chance, you’d just be another faceless couple on the street.

When the service alley between the hotel and the boutique comes up you both easily slip into the shadows and skirt your way down to the backdoor of Ricque’s. It’s still appalling just how little security there is here. No camera above the door, no bars on the windows, no sensors or alarms to sound when Hoseok jimmies the lock open and pushes inside. Like stealing candy from a baby. Not that you’ve ever done that, you prefer bigger targets and better prizes.

“I know exactly what I want,” you murmur into the dark back room. “Get started and I’ll be back in less than five.”

You leave him there, unloading the small satchel that contains bottles of accelerant. It’s impossible to ignore the small money chest you know Maudette keeps under the front counter. The lock pops easily and you shove the handful of stacks into your jacket pocket before moving on to your main target; the jewelry.

As much as you’d like to grab another designer dress or a blouse, maybe even a new pair of jeans, you know you need to stick to small items that you can grab quickly without worrying about digging through the racks to find your sizes. The jewelry case is near the front windows, so you approach it with added caution.

The faint sound of Hoseok emptying the cans of kerosine carries to you from across the boutique, followed by the familiar yet pungent oily smell you associate with it. You know he’s coating the walls and shoving a few glass bombs—homemade contraptions involving mason jars with spark detonators attached to the bottoms of the lids—in the overhead ductwork. That’s something you both discussed at length, how best to destabilize the structure of the building to do max damage. Taking out the ceiling support tends to do the job most effectively.

Getting the jewelry case open is easy, it’s not the first time you’ve breached it. There’s easily a quarter of a mil in gold and jewels that go into your pocket opposite the stacks of cash. Ecstasy is a fine word to describe how this kind of stuff makes you feel. The thrill, the danger, it’s as intoxicating as Hoseok is.

“Psst, baby, ready to go back here,” Hoseok calls to you in a whisper-yell.

You shut the jewelry case door out of habit but don’t bother with the lock. The leather of your gloves creaks as you flex your hands, taking one last glance around before heading back to Hoseok. Something out of the corner of your eye stops you in your tracks and you backpedal a step, eyes focused out the front window from where you’re crouched by the jewelry case.

“Oh fuck,” you whisper. A cold rush of panic douses the thrill from before. “Hoseok, we got to go!” Not wasting time trying to remain hidden, you spring into action dashing toward the back of the building. You hear shouts from outside following you.

“What’s wrong?” Hoseok asks, dropping the whispers as you have.

Before you can respond to him you see a distinct red circle light up in the center of his chest. You let your momentum carry you further, a small scream escaping as you hear the front glass of the boutique shatter and the echoing crack of a gun.

Bright white pain tears through your side, matching the bright flare of fire that ignites behind you. You land sprawled on top of Hoseok who’s yelling at you. “What the fuck! The lighter! Oh god, you’ve been shot!” His hands are all over you, tugging at your jacket and shirt.

Despite the blaring pain, you can tell it's superficial at most. “Just got clipped, I’m fine,” you hiss, shoving up into a crouch. The fire roars to life, quickly licking up the wall and leading right to one of the overhead vents. You cup your side, feeling liquid warmth soaking through your clothes. “We have to leave. Now! Before the roof comes down on us. That’s S.W.A.T outside, whatever happens…just go, please.”

Hoseok gives you a wild look, like the idea of getting separated or leaving you behind is ludacris. You know he’d rather die. It’s all or nothing. Together forever.

“I’ll never leave you,” he growls, fisting a hand in your hair and jerking your mouth to his for a quick, searing kiss. “Let’s go, baby, out the office window. That’s the best chance we’ve got.”

The front windows implode as you both scramble into the small office. With the front of the boutique open to the night air, the fire surges and consumes, fueled by the added oxygen. Heat beats against your back as Hoseok shoves open the small overhead window in the office. Smoke billows around you, making you cough and wheeze. Your side aches and every step you take makes you want to scream.

A rumbling crack shudders through the building, the ceiling supports moaning in protest to the fire eating away at them. “Go, I’ll be right behind you!” you have to yell over the roar of the fire and the yells from the S.W.A.T team and screaming horns from the fire engines out front.

You watch Hoseok disappear through the window just for his hand to reach back through for you. A smile momentarily graces your face before it’s replaced with a grimace as Hoseok helps hoist you up. Your side flares with a new wave of pain. A cold sweat breaks out along your forehead and your heart pounds with renewed panic when Hoseok finally gets you out of the window and onto the small roof of the maintenance shed beside the boutique.

“Two,” Hoseok whispers to you, nodding down toward the alley below. “I’ll get the one on the right if you can get the one on the left?” There’s a mild panic in his own eyes that you can tell he’s trying to ignore for your sake. He’s worried about you, you can see it in the way his eyes periodically flick to where your hand is clamped to your side.

You nod, using your free hand to pull out your switchblade. “Together,” you breathe.

“Together,” he echoes.

Killing people isn’t exactly something you enjoy. But, you don’t hesitate when it comes to your or Hoseok’s life for theirs. Hoseok executes a perfect drop-in, landing right on the shoulders of his guy and silencing his startled gasp by effortlessly snapping his neck. Your attack is slightly less graceful, but despite your bad fall, you make sure your blade lands true; right between the bottom of the guy's helmet and the top of his vest. His spinal cord shreds like damp paper beneath your blade.

Both guys fall with muted thumps to the ground. “Go!” you urge again. Hoseok wastes no time grabbing your free hand and hauling you along behind him toward the only viable escape now, along the backside of Restaurant Kim. The Chevelle is parked a few blocks away, thankfully in the opposite direction from the cacophony of activity and emergency vehicles.

“Stop or I’ll shoot!”

You’re pretty sure this is one of those piss-your-pants moments they talk about in movies. Though, your body is so high-strung with panic and adrenaline that you’re certain it’s lost all ability to function as it should. Hoseok doesn’t stop. You don’t want him to, either. But, you can’t help casting a glance back at the person who called out. If you’re going to get shot, again, you want to at least see who’s pulling the trigger.

“J.” His pseud comes out in a whisper but you might as well have screamed it. You’d recognize that hulking mass and stoic jawline anywhere. He’s dressed in full gear, a rifle raised in his hands pointed right at you. It’s silly, but you can feel his finger on the trigger, you know what’s about to happen.

But the shot never comes. Your gaze snaps from the gun back up to J’s espresso-colored eyes and you see at that moment he has no intention of pulling the trigger. That moment of hesitation is all you and Hoseok need to disappear out of sight.

The shouts of others joining J behind you carries faintly down the alley, barely heard over the pounding of your and Hoseok’s feet. He half-drags you all the way to the Chevelle. There are no words exchanged, just quick and near-panicked movements as he turns the engine over and peels away from the curb.

“Fuck!” he curses, slamming a hand against the steering wheel. “Baby, are you okay?”

You make a noncommittal noise because you, in fact, aren’t sure if you are okay. You’re pretty sure the bullet only clipped you but the pain in your side says it might be worse than you thought. Not life-threatening, though, unless infection sets in. You can’t go to a hospital. The small first aid kit in the trunk will have to do. But first, you both need to get as far away from here as possible.

Hoseok keeps driving, veering down another street, heading toward the outskirts of town and the coastline. When he slows down to take another turn, you glance out the window and meet the intense stare of M through a lowered car window. You can see the hatred there, flaring brightly as he realizes who he’s looking at.

“Hoseok,” you say softly into the quiet din of the car but loud enough to be heard over the rumble of the engine. “It was M.”

“What?”

“M must have ratted us out. The guy that almost got us in the alley was J and we just passed a car with M in it. It can’t be a fucking coincidence.” It’s hard to keep a level head and not scream at the top of your lungs.

Hoseok shifts in his seat. “I’ll kill him.” His hands tighten on the steering wheel, making the leather creak and groan.

“We will kill him.” You say with barely restrained reverence. All the years of loyalty and big-brothering? Nothing compared to the betrayal you feel now. “He wants to play with fire? He’s going to get first-hand experience as to why they say when you play with fire you’re bound to get burned.”

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◅ Back to Master List ©️       2023   ColorMePurplex2

[nicnsmth1]

vampire au!! this is one of my reincarnation fic's aus so it is angst🏃🏻‍♀️🏃🏻‍♀️since it's nearing halloween, I decided to draw them

[roostertuftart]

[greenninjagal-blog]

Smoke and Mirrors

Hi :D Who's ready for this monster? Welcome to my Big Bang for this year! Special thank you to @tss_storytime for putting this together and giving me the opportunity and @dragonsarecats for being my amazing fantastic artist partner who created this cover art!

Summary: Roman and Remus don't have and never have had reflections. Logan has been betrayed by someone, but he’s not sure who. Patton's been dead for sixteen years and counting.

Somehow, all of these things are related.

Words: 3637

Read on Ao3 || My General Writing Master List

“I’m just saying—” Remus says, almost sounding excited at this new revelation of his, “—the next step would definitely be an apartment building! Think about it, Roman!”

“I am thinking about it,” Roman says, tiredly. “I don’t want to be thinking about it, but I am.”

“So many people live there, you know? There’s, what, sixty units in your building, right? At least twenty of them have got to be families with little brats, then old people with their pets, other college students with friends over. On a Friday like today there’s got to be, like, over two hundred people. And then you have the narrow staircases, which Grandma and Grandpop can’t get down in a timely manner, and I bet with all the mold in the walls—”

“Remus,” Roman says, tilting his phone so that the microphone clearly picks up on how incredibly not-amused he is with the conversation.

“...the elevator is basically already on its last legs. Remember how it shook when I jumped in it last time?”

Roman remembers it really well actually, probably better than Remus, since Roman actually has a healthy dose of self preservation. Remus had just been finishing laughing his nasally, crackling chortle when the elevator doors opened again finally on Roman’s floor, and the sight of the bruising on Roman’s face when he saw him again was enough to set him off periodically throughout the rest of his three hour stay. 

Still, Roman knows that Remus has a point. Not that he’s going to admit it before he’s actually in a casket, because Remus would never let him live it down.

Roman side steps out of the way of a cyclist who seems to think the whole sidewalk belongs to them, and readjusts the strap of his bag on his shoulder that is currently cutting off the circulation to his fingertips. The city isn’t entirely busy, nor the weather too terrible, but Roman is regretting choosing to do the hike back to his apartment building. His knockoff vans are hella cute today, but they were not made for long distance walking, and there’s a rock in his left one that he hasn’t managed to get out no matter how many times he’s stopped to take it off and shake.

“I’m just saying,” Remus repeats, “If I were—” 

“I hate to be the voice of reason here,” Roman says, “but you are not a serial arsonist, Remus!” 

“I could be. You don’t know everything I do in my free time.”

“You don’t have time to be an arsonist. Between all your comic deadlines and the various licenses you have accrued, you don’t spend enough time on this plane of Earth in order to have set fire to anything other than your toaster,” Roman rolls his eyes. “And that’s only when you remember to eat, Rem.” 

Remus blows a raspberry back at him directly into the receiver so that Roman can hear exactly how wet it is and cringe away from it. 

Remus had a talent for getting himself into trouble and trying new things that skirted the edge of legality, but he’d given up fires back when they were tweens. Whoever or whatever was doing it now seemed to be doing it with much more intention: a rental car in a half full parking garage, an abandoned warehouse in the industrial area already set to be demolished, a newly built, still for-sale two-story house in the suburbs (casualty: one, injured six). The most recent event had been two days ago when a department store nearly exploded right as it was closing, killing two employees, three customers, and a firefighter and injuring far more. The fires were slowly getting bigger and gaining more traction, as if gearing up for a grand finale and the news hadn’t been taking it easy.

The police and the FBI were apparently hot-on-the-case and the tip number line was almost engraved into Roman’s retinas from how it was plastered all over the place, begging for Cyra City civilians to stay aware, keep a close eye on things, and report anything that seemed suspicious.

So far no actual details about the whole thing had been made public (on the very valid worry of copycats), but the lack of information had left people far more options to gossip about it. So far Roman’s physical chemistry class was split between it being a handful of rowdy teenagers “rebelling” and it being a serial murderer winding up for an enmasse attack that would go down in history along with the “greats”. Most of the stores had started selling mini fire extinguishers in the checkout lines and Roman’s mom had called last week to see if he had already bought himself one, and Roman wasn’t embarrassed until he answered yes.

But Remus already knows all that, and had texted him a string of mocking emojis until Roman had asked if he should sell it. 

It’s currently sitting in his apartment next to his bed, in easy access if he spontaneously catches fire while sleeping. ((His last hook up had called him prepared, and well… Roman had been eager to show the guy just how prepared he was.))

Luckily, his beloved apartment building is around the corner and he can feel his second wind coming at even the thought of taking his shoes off and collapsing face first into his bed. He starts patting through his pockets for his keys, stalling his walk behind two older women in jogging outfits, and switches his phone to his other hand so he can check through his bag frustratedly. He’s found at least three chapsticks he thought he lost months ago, and his extra hairbrush, and about twenty seven receipts (one of which has the number of the cute barista and he makes a mental note to put that in his phone later). There’s a crumpled flier for some niche religious group that that Roman accepted partially because the guy handing them out looked a bit desperate for interaction, but mostly because they were outside of the boutique Roman likes, blocking the entrance. He tosses that one in the nearby trash can as he walks by.

Roman pins his phone between his cheek and his shoulder, using both hands to sift through his bag. His brain tumbles through the previous conversation trying to remember what they were talking about. 

“Did you eat today?”

“Huh?” Remus says, which is a Remusian for ‘What day is it?’ “Hey, how many people do you think I could murder and get away with?”

“Remus.”

“Probably like fifteen right? At least to start. Once I figured out how to do it. Gasoline and a lighter and I could probably get a full apartment building—”

“Honestly, going from no murder, to a few murders, to about a hundred is an insane jump. Even for you.”

“Well it wouldn’t be a full hundred. At least a few people would get out, right? Unless I barricaded the front doors, or like… chain-and-padlock-ed it closed.”

“The point still stands that— and I can’t believe you’re making me argue this— you didn’t set those fires and you aren’t going to set them in the future!”

Remus makes a disagreeable tone and Roman smiles graciously at the women nearby who probably just overheard that whole conversation and might call the police on him for it later. Lovely. He turns away quickly leaning into his phone.

“In fact, right now I bet I can guess exactly what you are doing!” Roman continues. “Sitting in your drawing chair, with both your computer monitors on. The left one has the sketches for the next page of your comic, half lined, and the right one has the character sheets for Anton and Pryce and the Dragon Witch. Your drawing pad is in front of you, and you’re spinning your pen in your hand aimlessly while we talk, and everything is the same way it was this morning.”

“You forgot the part where there’s a super hot stripper giving me a blowjob right now,” Remus says with the tell-tale clack of him putting down his digital art pen, which is as good as him admitting to it all. Roman pauses just enough to roll his eyes so hard he’s certain that Remus gets the vibe from his own apartment.

“Damnit,” he huffs, checking his pockets again. “Why can’t I find anything today?”

“Are you still looking for that compact mirror?” 

“Keys, now,” Roman says. “But I swear I had that mirror this morning when I left the apartment. I was late because I was cleaning it!”

Or well. Because he was trying to put on makeup via guesswork, but he didn’t need Remus knowing that was the real reason. 

“You know you could have made the jump with the right angle at the windows in your fancy science school, right? No one would even have noticed. All too busy being boring lame losers with no life, just like you.”

“I don’t like traveling without another mirror.”

“Um, hello? Phone screen!”

“I’m not going to leave my phone behin— found it!” 

“The mirror?”

“My keys,” Roman twists his keychain around his hand, and waves at the other college students loitering at the corner before he heads towards the entrance to his apartment building. “Look, Remus—”

“Yeah, yeah, homework, physics, blah blah blah, you’re not getting laid, blah blah—”

“Between the two of us, who walked in on the other in the middle of—”

“Between the two of us who forgot to return my copy of 2005′s Just Like Heaven and made me come get it myself?”

"You didn’t even like it!"

"I don’t like you either," Remus says. "And jeez for someone who looks exactly like me there are some startling fucking differences. Like length—”

“Tony didn’t have a problem with it.”

“I thought his name was Kyle?”

Roman frowns, pulling his key out of the door and catching it with his knee, thinking that night over. “No. He was definitely a Tony. His hair was… you know, Tony hair!”

“The fact that you had to rely on his hair is sad,” Remus states. “You get how that’s sad, right?”

“I’m hanging up—”

“Wait, wait! Just… you’re sure that…you’re not going to, like… burnaliveinafire?”

Roman blinks, and swallows back the ridiculous amount of softness that appeared out of nowhere, and hits like a sucker punch right through his ribcage in a way that is so very Remus.

“I’m not going to burn alive in a fire,” Roman says.

“… promise to jump over the second anything looks sketchy."

"There's, like, nine other apartment buildings and two hotels within walking distance! And like ten others around this district in the city!" Roman says, just short of whining because inside the building there are people who recognize him and he does not need them thinking all he does is whine and complain. At least the air conditioning in the lobby is running, offering relief from the horrible ten minute walk he was forced to endure. He does not get how normal people do this, all the time, every day!

"Fourteen, actually. I looked it up this morning and I don’t need your fancy math degree to know that’s a one in twenty-five chance. That’s a non-zero percentage," Remus counters, with that mocking tone that borders on awe because even after all this time he can’t imagine how Roman had gone from center stage to knee deep in calculus problems, willingly. He’d only made the mistake of asking Roman once, and since then both of them pretend that Roman had always dreamed of solving differentials. 

“It will take hours to find something that’s close to your apartment,” Roman says instead.

“At least you’ll be alive,” Remus says.

“Fine, fine….are you still wearing those dog tags?”

Remus makes an affirmative noise and Roman sighs. They had been polished relics of their childhood: something their parents had insisted that they have at all times for emergencies and that Roman and Remus had complained about endlessly. They hadn’t been allowed phones until they were nearly twelve years old because every argument of “we need it for emergencies” was countered by “you have necklaces that allow you to travel miles in a handful of inches”.

"And don’t use the elevators at all,” Remus adds. “I’m serious about this. They’re deathtraps in a fire. I’ll come over there and hide all your mascara.”

"Yeah, yeah," Roman stifles a yawn. "And if something happens, meet at that ugly gas station at the state border between us, don’t tell anyone where we are going, and don’t accept any rides from strangers."

"Don’t make me sound like Mom."

"Nag me a little less."

"Bitch."

"Dick."

"Dork."

"Geek."

"Loser."

"Dumbass," Roman says, far more affectionately than he meant it to come out as, and so he clears his throat quickly and he heads towards the elevator. “I’m hanging up now. Remember to eat something and I’ll see you in two days.”

“Two days? What’s.... ah, fuck me,” Remus says. There’s a loud creak of leather and Roman imagines Remus throwing all his weight back in his chair and staring at the ceiling as if he’s personally challenging fate itself. He breathes out heavily in a way that ironically mirrors how Roman’s own bones feel at the realization.

“Another year,” he says.

((He does not ask if Roman ever thinks it will get easier to bear. Roman does not answer him that no it probably won’t ever. It doesn’t make either of them feel better.))

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Roman says, forcibly shoving away the deary aura that descended on them as easily as he could. If he takes a breath and swallows away the lump in his throat he could pretend that they were talking about visiting each other for a birthday celebration.

He might not ever get to be an actor, but he’d always had a passion for acting. Is it any wonder? When he’s playing a part, he can shed the skin of a no-named nobody from somewhere so remote no one thinks it's a real place, and he can be someone with a name standing on center stage.

Roman breathes out so heavily that he almost misses Remus’s quick response.

“I already attempted to swan dive off the roof into a spoon today,” his twin says, flippantly. “Bruised my eye and split my lip and probably broke my collar bone.”

“Wait, what—” 

“Later, Prince Charmless.”

“Remus, you did what?!”

But by then he’s talking to the end call screen on his phone, staring into the picture of the flaming dumpster that he used as a profile picture for his idiot brother, with his heart racing. Logically, he knows that Remus is joking.

Probably.

Uh, maybe? 

Roman suddenly remembers a lot of leaping off the backyard shed until Dad came out screaming at them red in the face with worry, followed by tag games that ended with a leap through a window wrong and three hours worth of sitting still to get the glass shards pulled out of his arms, and then racing through the upstairs hall to jump the stair railing into the strategically placed hand mirror to make it to school on time.

In all honesty, Roman bets that Remus did try it, as part of a morning routine that their parents hadn’t been able to beg out of him. One would think the first time the jagged edges of a break had shredded his skin, Remus would have learned to be more careful, but somehow it seemed that Remus had fallen in love with webbed cracks in his mirror.

Roman sighs, placing his phone into his pocket. And then he presses the elevator button and leans against the wall next to the panel to take off his shoe and look for that stupid rock again. 

His keys jangle in his other hand, annoyingly loud in the otherwise still entrance alcove. It’s times like these that he can appreciate that most of his neighbors dislike the other people in the building and therefore make extra effort to not be caught outside.

The only person Roman really ever has to worry about is the guy on the third floor who he thinks might be a weed dealer and is constantly hinting at giving Roman a first time discount. Great guy, really! He just always manages to catch Roman right next to a reflective surface. It’s pure coincidence that he hasn’t noticed yet.

The elevator dings and the doors roll open with a gentle rumble that does not betray any of the unreliability of its innerworkings. Every other week it’s out of order and Roman’s pretty sure at least 80% of the building has complained to the owners about it, but the solutions never last more than another few days.

Roman doesn’t even usually take the elevator! But the walk was long, and he lives on the top floor, and serial arsonists aren’t going to set fire to his apartment building in the two minutes it will take to get to his floor. 

It’s fine.

Roman slides on his shoe and hobbles into the elevator, breathing in the musty stench that smells like it’s coming from the corpses that might be buried under the building. Part of Roman entertains the idea that ghosts haunt only the elevator, sadly floating around and gaining their small enjoyments from watching people get stuck in between floors when it inevitably breaks.

Roman hasn’t done anything to annoy the spirits recently, at least to his knowledge, so he should be okay. 

He leans back against the railing just in case though.

It takes another long moment for the elevators to start closing again; definitely long enough that Roman gets the impression that he shouldn’t have gotten on at all. The longer it stays open the more likely it is for someone else to suddenly show up and want to get on as well. There are only about three things Roman can think of that are worse than being in an enclosed space, with a stranger, while his compact mirror is MIA. 

Last time something like that happened, the other person got agitated enough that Roman had seriously thought they were going to attack him. Roman knows he’s unsettling to be around; it’s not simple to catch what is off about him at first, but most human brains can pick up that something is distinctly wrong. Knowing something’s wrong with a situation, but not being sure what and being trapped in a small compartment without a sure way to defend yourself? Yeah that’s a recipe for disaster. 

Across the alcove, the door to the stairwell opens just in time for Roman’s heart to leap right into his throat: his brain screaming that oh hey! People to join you inside your small box that Remus just told you not to get into! Even when it wouldn’t make any sense to go down the stairs just to take the elevator back up.

There’s three of them, all dressed in the very uniform pest control jumpsuits that make Roman’s insides shrivel slightly. He’d been meticulous about keeping his apartment clean and if he saw a single cockroach, Roman would be turning into the next arsonist, no other incitations required.

They’re all carrying various equipment items: a thick duffle back with the pest control logo (an ant ironically burning under a magnifying glass), a bulky backpack that nearly doesn’t fit through the doorway, and a thick leather briefcase that seems out of place. The first guy is saying something in a language Roman doesn’t recognize, with a smile on his face that is very charming, despite him being at least a decade older than Roman, as he holds the door open for the others. The second rolls her eyes, tugging the brim of her hat lower over her head.

The third has a scar from running from the middle of his left cheek all the way down his face to his neck in a way that barely seems more than a few months healed. When he makes direct eye contact with Roman, the man’s thin lips twisting into a grin, like he knows how fast Roman’s heart is beating at the sight of him. He waves and Roman catches sight of a cheap industrial bike lock in his other hand.

Please please please, don’t suddenly realize that needs to go back upstairs, please don’t get in here, pleasedonotcomecloser—

But in the end the doors close fitfully, locking out that man and his smile and his friends, and Roman sags against the railing. He presses a hand to his chest trying to regulate his panicked heartbeast back to something manageable and sustainable. 

Say what you will about Remus, but he knows best how to make Roman paranoid for the rest of the day.

The gears shudder, and the mechanical whirl of the elevator fills the whole area as it begins its ascent. Roman pulls out his phone again, swiping through the notifications that he accrued during the walk. A few responses to his Snap Chats streaks, three emails (two junk and one from a classmate asking about studying together for the test, which would be great, if Roman hadn’t already turned her down twice), a reminder to play one of his mindless phone games, and something must have happened in the group chat he has on instagram with a few other Math majors. Roman double taps the notification and swipes in his passcode (it’s an R, it’s always been an R. Remus has been able to hack into his phone since they were eleven, but Roman is horribly, secretly afraid that if he changes it now, he’ll forget it by tomorrow). 

The elevator shudders. 

And somewhere, distantly, Roman thinks he smells smoke.

[Next Chapter? Find it on Ao3 now!]

[mortyinc]

Have Arsonist and researcher's paths ever crossed?? Evil Diane??

I’ve been thinking for a while on this one but I think the best way I can answer this is just by writing it out for future reference when I do publish fics about it.

The Arsonist is Researcher Rick’s “revenge era.” Arsonist is a widower to “Evil” Diane.

For this au of Diane I called her evil because of what Evil Morty had said about his own name: “… If you’re sick of him you’ve been evil too.” I know this was in reference to Mortys specifically, but I felt like that rage suited her. Other than the circumstances of her life and death, awareness of other Ricks, and probably personality, she’s pretty similar to c-137’s Diane.