#draft from a while ago edited bc | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

astro-nomaly · 5 months ago

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Sword and Shield (greenflower)

jfc i feel insane. i had to get this au out of my head so i wrote this first draft thing in two days anyways this is probably all i'll write at least for a while bc i don't have an actual set storyline and i really need to write tkal lmao. this is technically 2 chapters but whatever they made sense together

anyways @morroodle this is for you dude and uh sorry if this crashes anyone's browser. no cw for this. Edit 3/2/25 @highbookwormofthecentury here you go man have at it

Brad Tudabone is 17 years old – almost 18 (if ‘in seven months’ counts as ‘almost’) - and is currently climbing the tallest mountain in Ninjago.

Now, the Realm has its fair share of mountains. The Golden Peaks of the West (the existence of which is not confirmed) in the Endless Sea are supposed to be taller than the sea is deep. Less impressively, the Shintaro Mountain range in the Southern Province stretches dozens of miles high, and the Caves of Despair are the most treacherous peaks in the world. But Brad is conquering something a little more difficult - the Mountains of Impossible Height.

Honestly, the name was an exaggeration. It was, at best, the Mountains of Incredibly Dangerous Do Not Attempt for Fear of Death. Brad had only almost died, like, five times. And his arm was probably fractured, but whatever.

He huddled against the cave wall, wincing as the sharp edges dug into the thin fabric of his shirt. Dammit, he should’ve brought a coat. He scowled at his fraying boots, one cold toe poking through. Should’ve brought better boots, too. Who knew climbing the world’s tallest mountain was such hard work?

Brad was taking shelter in a small cave carved into the side of the Mountain of Impossible Height, which was a mouthful, waiting for the rain to pass. This high up, a light shower could kill him. He was already freezing.

Brad shuffled a little closer to the small fire he had going, huffing into his hands. Next time, he would bring gloves that covered his fingers. Man, fingerless gloves looked so cool though! Though, it’s not like anyone else he knew wore them.

To pass the time as he warmed up, Brad pulled an ancient scroll from his bag of assorted supplies, most of which he needed more of. Climbing mountains sucked.

The scroll was fraying, yellow and browning around the edges. The thing was only a few decades old, but hadn’t been preserved well. Brad had found it only a month or two ago while poking around a half-destroyed museum, courtesy of the Oni army.

Ugh. Brad hated the Oni. They’d shown up, what, fifty years ago? So far, the army had been kept at bay by the holders of the Golden Weapons - weapons people didn’t know even existed - and Wu, the son of the First Spinjitzu Master – supposedly. No one knew if the god was real or not, but the dragon demigod of creation pointed to ‘yes’. The army had come out of a strange portal from the First Realm, a place no one was sure even existed before the arrival of the four-armed demons. They were led by yet another legendary figure; Garmadon, the Oni demigod of destruction and the first son of the FSM.

There was a running theme here. Fifty years ago, several ancient legends were confirmed to be true as magic and elements were thrust into their realm. So, Brad felt confident about this legend as well.

The Sword of Sanctuary. The scroll Brad scavenged from the museum rubble illustrated a lustrous golden sword surrounded by elegant text. The sword was, supposedly, the legendary weapon of the FSM himself, and super powerful to boot.

It made sense, didn’t it? If demigods of creation and destruction were real, and other realms were real, and the elemental Golden Weapons then didn’t it stand to reason that the guy who made those weapons and fathered those demigods existed? If the FSM was real, then the sword was too, and that meant it could be useful.

Everyone Brad reported his theory to – his overworked mom, his friends, the cops – laughed in his face. After fifty years of war that went almost nowhere, no matter how many dragons showed up to help, people were tired and low on hope. Every day the Oni army got closer to capturing the capital city, and if they did, they’d have easy access to the other four provinces. People needed practical solutions, not fairytales.

But Brad knew that this wasn’t a fairytale. The sword was real, he just knew it. Was it a little presumptuous to assume that he could use it? Maybe. Brad was a normal guy – he played basketball, he gardened, and he was self-taught in using any kind of weapon. He didn’t know a single martial arts form, and his go-to for winning fights was the kick the other guy in the crotch and run. (Which, by the way, totally worked.) But even if Brad himself couldn’t use the sword, couldn’t someone else? One of the elemental masters, or even Wu? It didn’t matter who had the sword - if Brad found it, he could find someone to use it and win the fight.

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t want the sword, though. Brad hated feeling so useless all the time. His mom worked day and night to keep their apartment and put food on the table, half of which Brad grew in their own house. All his friends were either enlisted or contributing to society somehow. But Brad... didn’t really want to be in the army. Sure, fighting demons sounded cool, but he wanted adventure, not barracks and boot camp.

If Brad found the Sword of Sanctuary, not only could the humans win the war, but Brad would be a hero.

Besides, how cool would a magic sword be? Brad’s thinking lasers.

He traced the thin letters around the illustration. He should, if the scroll isn’t lying to him, find some sort of temple at the top of the mountain, and the sword inside. Just like the last few days on this mountain, the scroll strengthened his resolve. He wasn’t just doing it for the adventure – though, if Ninjago weren’t in such dire straits, he would probably still do this – he was also doing it for Ninjago. For his mom, for Gene, who worked all the time trying to develop better technologies, and for all the citizens of Ninjago City who wanted just one good day.

He tucked the scroll back into his bag, careful to make sure it wouldn’t crease or tear, and settled on his side. The rain wasn’t letting up any time soon. Might as well sleep.

Brad dreams of Green. Not green, like the color, but Green. It’s life, it’s beauty, it’s the forest floor dappled in sunlight and the tall field grass swaying in a gentle breeze. It’s the shine of a bright grin and the adrenaline of a race. The Green is everywhere, all-consuming and shining like a star. Sheer gold peeks through the cracks, brighter than the sun itself.

It’s crying.

“Let me out,” the Green and Gold begs. The words don’t exist. They’re a compilation of feelings, hopes and dreams and everything else the universe can’t quantify. It’s like Brad has been granted a window into the soul of the realm itself, only to find that it was looking back.

The words come in a melody, sweet and bright and lulling him to an even deeper sleep despite the sheer desperation leaking through.

“LET ME OUT!” The Green and Gold screams, but Brad can only dip further into sleep.

For the rest of the night, he dreams of darkness.

Brad hates mountains. He’s been on this damned mountain for five days, ran out of food two days and has been random fruit since, and has no idea where he is. He briefly entertains the thought of dying up here before shaking it from his mind. He knows he’s getting closer – this mountain can’t get too much taller, can it?

He shivers, clutching his arms as he stalks up the natural pathway. It’s overgrown and treacherous, but he’s lucky nonetheless that a path exists at all. It only supports his mission – at some point, people were here.

“’Course, they probably had coats,” he muttered. He’s been talking to himself lately, which isn’t ideal, but whatever.

He cut through a particularly nasty bramble patch in his way with his katana. It was an old, chipped thing, supposedly belonging to his father at some point. He didn’t have any attachment to the guy; he died before Brad was born. Still, a sword was a sword.

Not as cool as the Sword of Sanctuary, though.

Surprisingly, though, today seems to be a good day for Brad. For the past five days, the mountain had only gotten more and more treacherous, trying its best to kill him at every turn. He’s had to dodge wolves, evil birds, navigate horrendously narrow pathways and climb vertical cliff faces. Nothing so far has been easy – except now. The path levels out, the jagged rocks become smooth-

Water.

Brad laughs in disbelief. There’s a river! Oh, he’s missed water. He bends at the bank, scooping water in his mouth. It’s cold as it slides down his throat, and he drinks greedily.

He wipes his mouth, sated, and takes another second to look around. The mountain is starting to level out, and greenery fills the area. The trees are lusher than they have any right to be, bearing fruit that definitely isn’t in season. It’s warmer now, too, which is weird so high up. The ground is crawling with bright green vines, flowering in shades of unnatural gold.

“...huh,” he says. The Mountain of Impossible Height has been inhospitable to a fault so far. Why is it suddenly so nice? A refreshing river, fruit-bearing trees, smooth pathways?

“Either something is horrifically wrong or terrifically right,” Brad said, adjusting the strap of his bag as he stood. He followed the path, holding his katana cautiously. But nothing came out at him. Birds literally sang in the treetops, a few does bound through the increasingly thick trees, hell, a butterfly literally landed on his nose at one point. It was as if he’d crossed a threshold.

Brad soon came to an actual pathway, made up of cobblestone overgrown with moss. He followed the winding road, growing more and more excited as lamps began to dress the grass along the path.

Then- a monastery.

Brad gaped at the sight. A large red Torii gate stood before him, and further down the path, a grand monastery. It was gated by a tall solid stone fence, overgrown with flowering vines and moss. Brad whooped, running along the path until he reached the entrance, throwing the double doors open with a laugh.

He came into a courtyard with a golden dragon statue in the middle. If he wasn’t sure of this place before, he was now. This had to be it. The home of the Sword of Sanctuary.

He stepped forward carefully, looking around the courtyard. It was wholly abandoned and overgrown in greenery. It was beautiful, yes, but eerie as well. Like a school at midnight, or a graveyard at night. Otherworldly.

“Hello?” He called, just to be safe. He didn’t want to upset a possible deity or something.

Nothing. He shrugged and poked around on the wrap-around porch. He slid open the doors inside and recoiled at the smell of dust. Yeah, this place hadn’t been touched for a while.

He stepped inside, feeling as though he’d come into another realm entirely. Yeah, this had ‘school at midnight’ vibes. The halls were dark, lit only by the fading sunlight that shown through the aged walls and grimy windows. Every step he took made the floorboards creak and groan.

He followed the hall, humming nervously. He poked his head in every door he came across but just found abandoned bedrooms and bathrooms. There was a large kitchen, a couch and TV – weird – and a small armory. He made his way around the entire monastery, and didn’t find anything of note.

He sighed, flopping down on the couch. Dust rose up around him, settling on the disturbed surface.

“Think, Tudabone,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair, pulled back by a red bandana. There had to be something here that would lead him to the sword.

“A basement!” He exclaimed, smacking his forehead. Of course! Who would leave a mega-powerful legendary sword laying around for anyone to nab? There had to be a hidden room or basement or-

“Or not,” he said, staring at the ceiling. Outside, he’d made note of the way the roof accommodated what seemed to be two extra rooms stacked on each other above the entrance doors, featuring round windows.

He vaguely recalled a faint light coming from the very top window, what he’d assumed to be sunlight.

Well, he’s looked everywhere else.

Brad quickly ran back outside, looking up at the extra two stories, rising into a tower. The sun was going down now, but the golden light remained in the uppermost window. He grinned and looked for a way to get up to it. The stone around the double gates was crumbling, revealing convenient footholds.

He crossed the courtyard, hauling himself up the wall until he stood on the narrow shingles, balancing carefully. He slowly put one foot in front of the other, making his way over to the wider part of the roof. When he did, he scrambled over the roof to the second story, holding the red column that supported the roof.

Brad stretched on his toes, trying to grasp the edge of the second story’s slanted roof. He was a tall guy, but damn! When he finally got his fingers over the edge, he jumped the extra few inches to grab on with his other hand. Brad breathed heavily, swaying lightly from the roof. He grunted as he pulled himself up, using the shingles as leverage until he could awkwardly kneel on the second story roof. The third story was small, and the window was too grimy to see through. But up close, he could definitely tell that the golden light was emitting from this room.

He fumbled with the round window, searching for a latch. The latch was on the inside, but a little jiggling got the run-down window to slowly creak open. Brad tumbled through, landing on his knees and cutting up his palm with splinters. He hissed, drawing his hand to his chest.

Inside the room, he felt warmth as golden light bathed his body. He looked up just for his breath to catch in his throat with a gasp.

The Sword of Sanctuary.

Brad didn’t need to reference the scroll to know that this was the sword. It gleamed in the sunset, emitting a soft golden light from its spotless blade. The blade seemed to be painted with every color of the waning and rising sun, thrumming with light. Warmth emanated from it, bathing the room in honey. The hilt curved inward elegantly, and in the middle rested a magnificent green gem. Brad couldn’t tell if it was emerald – it seemed too ethereal to come from the earth.

The sword was held downward by a statue. The statue was a simple androgynous person with intricately carved feathered wings draping their body like a chiton, and a crown resting upon their brow. Otherwise, they were bare. Their eyes were closed, and their expression seemed to leak with sadness as they clutched the sword by the hilt.

Brad stepped forward, enraptured by the sight of the sword. The green gem, originally inactive, pulsed and light up with light like it had sensed him. Brad stopped, holding his breath. The gem simply continued to glow.

“Right, right,” Brad whispered, strangely short of breath, “watch out for boobytraps.” He looked around for tripwires or plates but found nothing. The walls were decorated with woven tapestries of the Golden Weapons, and behind the statue on either side were an Oni and a dragon. Otherwise, the room was empty.

Okay. No boobytraps – maybe it was a test of character? He’d seen books like that.

“Hey... sword,” he said, feeling a little dumb, “I’m not going to use you for, like, evil. I’m here to save people, so please don’t kill me.”

He left his katana and satchel on the floor, slowly walking toward the statue. The green gem, somehow demanding more attention than the ethereal blade, thrummed in time with his footsteps, glowing brighter as he got closer. He hoped that wasn’t a bad sign.

Brad hesitated, reaching for the sword. His hand curled, hesitant, before he used both hands to grab the sword by the curling hilt. The second he laid hands on it, the sword lit up even brighter, shining brighter than the sun.

Brad shut his eyes against the onslaught of light, grunting, but didn’t let go. The sword was hot, now, but it wasn’t painful. It was like a melty cookie, or a space heater – warm, comforting, soft.

He squinted, and tugged. The statue’s hands held the sword tightly. Brad braced his feet, trying to adjust for more leverage. “Come on,” he said, tugging again. “Please,” he whispered, “I need you.”

With each increasingly hard tug, the sword somehow became brighter and brighter. It was audibly humming now, filling the air with a strangely familiar melody. The smell of flowers filled the air, wafting in the dusty room. Wind ruffled the tapestries as Brad pulled at the sword harder and harder.

He grit his teeth, tightened his hold, and pulled as hard as he possibly could.

The stone hands around the sword cracked and fell, releasing the sword. With one final burst of light, the sword fell forward, and Brad toppled from the momentum of his pull.

He stumbled back, breathing heavily, as the sword dimmed, slowly ceasing the thrumming and humming. The wind died down, and the scent of flowers settled with the dust.

Brad stared down at the sword, its blade gleaming like new, breathless. He laughed, little bursts falling from his mouth. “I did it,” he whispered, disbelieving, “I did it! I got the sword!”

The winged statue crumbled to pieces. Brad flinched, jumping back, as the stone fell away in chunks. “Ooh,” he winced, “that’s... that’s not a great sign.”

He waited for something else to happen, but nothing did.

“...huh. Okay." He looked down at the sword. “You're not going to disintegrate me, right? We’re chill?” The sword did not respond.

He grinned, readjusting his grip to hold the actual handle. He noticed, belatedly, that the pommel is a second, smaller green gem encased in gold. He holds the sword up high, tilting it back and forth to catch the fading light.

“Heh,” he laughs, swinging it in a slow arc through the air. He hears an audible swish, and laughs again. He feels so cool! Him, regular old Brad Tudabone, wielding the legendary Sword of Sanctuary with ease! He even feels stronger for it, like he could sprint a hundred miles or punch straight through a mountain. “This is so cool,” he says, cutting another arc through the air. He twirls the sword, taking it the way the light creates a kaleidoscope.

Brad wonders what the sword can really do. Does it shoot lasers? Is it telekinetic, somehow? Or- ooh, he saw an anime where the sword duplicated itself once, that would epic. He traces the blade reverently, imagining everything the sword could possibly accomplish against the Oni. He notices soft green vines, thin and fragile, curling up from the golden hilt against the sunset blade. He smiles.

“I bet someone was real lucky to have this,” he thinks aloud, “you’re going to help so many people, y’know. Ugh, I wish you could talk. I want to know everything.”

As if he’s said some kind of code word, the blade begins to shudder. Brad makes a startled noise, holding the sword at arm's length. The green gem begins to glow brighter than ever, thrumming violently. The blade itself warps, the previously soft hues becoming eye-scorching shades of burning violets and yellows. Brad feels nauseous just looking at it, but he can’t seem to let go.

“No, no, no-” he gasps, arms shaking from the strain as the sword grows more violent by the second, “please, stop, no, no, no-” he begs, but the sword isn’t listening anymore. It’s gone from elegant and soft to nauseating as colors blend into each other. The hilt itself begins to warp, curling inward as the metal melts into itself. Glowing cracks emanate from the green gem as bright, scorching cracks appear in the sword. Brad gasps, frantically shaking the sword as if he can make it stop.

Then light like a flashbang overtakes the entire room, blinding Brad, and he falls on his butt.

Brad comes to slowly, still blinking rainbow spots out of his eyes. He’s pinned to the floor by something on his stomach and legs, and quickly realizes that the weight is moving. He rubs his eyes, propping his upper half up.

There is a person on his lap.

Brad gapes, once again speechless. By now, the moon is up, framing the person in a halo of cold light that only accentuates the sheer warmth leaking off of them. They have long golden hair that curls down to their shoulders, fluffy and soft and shining. A light gold and green diadem rests on their head, secured in their thick hair. They’re dressed in a white, sleeveless sort of shirt, ruffled and flowing at the end. The top folds over their shoulders, lined in green and tiny little emerald gemstones. Their legs are covered by a long white cloth that’s secured by another silky material with a gold chain. Their legs are otherwise bare and freckled. Their skin is a soft tan, golden in the moonlight.

They’re really, really cute. And they’re on Brad’s lap.

Okay Tudabone, don’t mess this up.

The person groans softly, face twitching. Their eyelashes are as golden as their hair, and underneath their eyes are soft golden markings, curly and elegant. He can respect the color scheme.

Brad watches as their eyes flutter open, confused and dazed. Their irises are a beautiful emerald green, shining in every shade Brad can think of. Their pupils are shaped like miniature twinkling stars, again golden. Golden pupils – strange. As they slowly adjust, making confused noises, their pointed ears twitch rapidly.

That’s really cute, Brad thinks, face hot.

They seem to realize that they’re sitting on Brad, and stare up at him with giant green doe eyes. Brad’s face gets even hotter the longer they make eye contact.

“...hi,” they whisper softly. Their voice is oddly familiar, like a melody he’s heard before.

He swallows thickly. “Hi,” he responds softly, not willing to break the strange spell over the room.

The blonde looks around, and they don’t seem to recognize their surroundings. “Wh- who- where-” they mutter, and Brad starts to get concerned. He holds them by the arms gently, trying to corral them up off of him.

“Are you okay?” He asks. The person nods vaguely, slowly wobbling to their feet. Brad notices that their feet are bare with a grimace. They could easily cut their skin on splinters.

They stare down at their own freckled hands, inspecting their skin. Now that Brad’s had a few seconds to get his bearings, he’s getting really freaked out. Ten seconds ago, he was holding the Sword of Sanctuary when it suddenly began warping and glowing. Now there’s a blonde person dressed in oddly ancient-looking clothes, acting as if they've never seen their own hands before.

“Hey, are you okay?” He asks again, because he might be freaked out, but this person is obviously not okay. They hum, twisting around to look at him with those giant green eyes. They’re practically glowing in the moonlight.

“Where are we?" They ask. Brad blinks, surprised.

“The- the Mountain of Impossible Height. Seriously, are you feeling alright? You seem confused.”

They touch their forehead, eyes shutting like they’ve encountered a sudden headache. It draws Brad’s attention to the strange golden tattoo imprinted on their forehead like a little tiara.

“How- who are you?” They demand.

“Brad,” he answers gently. “Look, I don’t mean to push, but twenty seconds ago I was holding a magic sword. Now you’re here. Where did you come from?”

“A sword?” They’re suddenly staring at him with intensity. “What do you know about the sword?”

Brad holds his hands up, trying to calm them. “Hey, I just found it here. It freaked out and boom, here you are. I’m just as confused as you. Here, look.” Brad scooped his bag off the floor, brandishing the worn scroll to the stranger. “Look, this is what I was looking for.”

They snatch the scroll, eyes raking over it. “...does anyone else know about this?”

“No, no one else believed me. Why? Really, you just came out of no... where...” Brad trails off slowly. The sword was golden, inlaid with green gemstones that seemed to come from the stars themselves.

This person speaks with a melodious voice, just as soft and ethereal as the sword. They’re dressed in white, yes, but marked with golden tattoos. Their eyes are such a pure, glittering green that Brad can’t stand to look at them for too long.

His eyes inadvertently lock onto their chest. Two sparkling green gemstones are imbedded in their skin, softly thrumming.

“You’re the sword,” he says dumbly.

They stiffen, eyes wild like a deer in headlights. The two stare at one another, frozen. The blonde – the Sword of Sanctuary who is a person – goes from a terrified stare to a glare. “What do you know about this?” They demand, waving the scroll at Brad. “Why did you come looking for me?”

“I just found it!” Brad defended, “I was looking for the sword- for you because you’re supposed to be really powerful! Look, you belonged to the First Master, right?”

“I don’t belong to anyone,” they snarled. Brad nodded.

“Okay, okay. But still, you’re all about justice and whatnot, right? Look, there’s this huge Oni army, and they’re hurting people. I came looking for you because you were supposed to help.”

“Oni army?” They ask, their gaze intense.

Brad nodded. “Yeah, and they’re close to taking over Ninjago City. Can’t you do anything?”

They hum, tapping the parchment. “How long has it been?”

“What?”

“How long has the army been in Ninjago?”

“Oh,” Brad hummed, “about... fifty years, give or take. It’s been a while.”

Their eyes grow huge, pupils shrinking. “Fifty years?!” They cry, their harsh grip creasing the scroll. Brad nodded, confused. They clutch at their hair, breaths suddenly coming in sharp gasps. “It’s been fifty years?!” They whisper to themself.

Brad steps forward, but they recoil as if he’d threatened them with a knife. “Don’t touch me!” They shriek. Brad freezes as they shake in place. Tears begin to grow in their eyes, and their shoulders fall as their face crumples.

“Fifty years...” they mumble, holding their face in their hand.

“Have... have you been in that sword this entire time?” Brad asks incredulously. “Why?”

They shake their head. “I didn’t have a choice,” they mumble miserably, shoulders shaking.

Brad makes an affronted noise. “Somebody did that to you? Why?! Did you do something evil?”

“No, I’m not evil!”

“Then I’ll punch them in the face,” Brad decided, punching his fist into his palm and looking around like the culprit would suddenly appear.

They let out a startled laugh through tears. “Y-you definitely can’t do that,” they say, wiping their eyes. Brad scoffs. ��

“Yeah? Why not?”

“He’d probably kill you,” they mutter. Their expression crumbles all over again, misery etching their face. “Fifty years...” they mumble, sniffling. “And nobody came for me. Not my uncle... not my brothers and sister... nobody except you.”

Brad grimaced. “...I do my best?”

They make a sound between a laugh and a sob. “I-I’m sorry. Brad, right? You probably want an explanation.”

He shakes his head, reaching out tentatively. When they don’t freak out again, he rests his hand on their arm. “It’s okay,” he says, “you’re upset. You don’t have to explain anything. Actually, I can just fuck off if I’m stressing you out-”

They shake their head, wiping away any lingering tears. “It’s okay. You came all this way.”

“Well... okay,” Brad pulls them to the floor so they can sit down. He lets go of their arm once he’s sure they’re not going to topple over. “So, how are you a sword? Or, I guess, how is a sword a person. Which came first, the person or the sword?”

They shake their head, mixed between amusement and that ever-present misery. “It’s not like that,” they say, “I wasn’t always a sword. I used to be a person.”

“Oh,” Brad says, “so someone turned you into a sword. But if the sword belonged to that Spinjitzu guy, shouldn’t you be... older?”

“Nice to know I look young,” they joke. “But yeah, I’m only sixteen. I wasn’t turned into a sword so much as I was fused with it. Like a curse, kind of.”

Brad nodded. So, this person, whoever they were, was fused with the FSM’s sword? Why the hell would anyone do that just to leave them in some dusty monastery? “Well, if you’re a person first, what’s your name?” Brad asks, tired of not knowing. They blink, surprised, like they hadn’t conceived that Brad would care to ask for a name.

“...Lloyd Garmadon.”

Brad gaped. “Garmadon? As in Emperor Garmadon?!”

Lloyd made a face. “Is that what he’s calling himself? Ugh, my dad is cringy. Yes, I’m the son of Garmadon. He’s... actually the one that fused me with the sword.”

“His own son? That’s- really fucked up,” Brad didn’t even know how to react. Who does that to their own kid? Was it some sort of twisted immortal being punishment? What could Lloyd have possibly done?

Lloyd drew his knees up to his chest, resting his head in the soft white fabric of his tunic. “It’s complicated,” he mumbled, picking at the fine golden threads lining his clothes. “My dad was banished to the First Realm when I was four after he tried to steal the Golden Weapons. I grew up with my uncle and his students, the elemental masters. I became the Green Ninja when I was fourteen, and Garmadon returned when I was sixteen.”

“You were a ninja? What’s your element?” Brad leaned forward.

Lloyd smiled wistfully. “The Green element.”

“What... what is that.”

He laughed, and Brad blushed at the sound. “I can’t explain it to you. The words don’t exist in a language mortals can comprehend. The closest thing is... energy. The energy within everything.”

“Wow,” Brad breathed, “it must’ve been epic.”

“It was,” Lloyd agreed, “it was incredible.”

Brad hummed, picking at the floor. “If you were so powerful, though, how did Garmadon... swordify? Is that the term? How’d he swordify you?”

Lloyd’s face spasmed in a mix of embarrassment and regret. “It was my fault,” he mumbled, eyes downcast, “Uncle Wu didn’t want me to fight him. He wanted me kept far away from Garmadon. But after months of no progress, I... I confronted him. I thought I could get him to listen. Instead, he put me in a sword.”

“But... how?”

“I was stupid,” Lloyd said, “I refused to fight him. I let myself get tricked, and he... it doesn’t matter,” Lloyd fiercely wiped at his face, erasing any sign of tears before they could appear. “M-my uncle saved me, that’s the point. He stole me back, and changed the curse. Uncle Wu made sure that nobody could use the Green Element, and so long as I’m here, I have free will.”

Brad’s face screwed up, confused. “Free will? What does that mean?”

Lloyd’s expression spasmed again, and he stared at the floor, eyebrows furrowed. “I- okay. My father turned me into a sword to use my element. When he did, he stripped away my free will. Basically, whoever picks me up as a sword becomes my wielder, and they control whether I’m human. I physically can’t disobey them.”

Brad struggled to wrap his head around it. “Like... Ella Enchanted?”

“Excuse me?”

“That movie! The girl has to obey everyone, and can’t say no. Like, the stepsisters-”

Lloyd let out a dry laugh, sniffling. “Actually, yes. Except only my wielder controls me, and they turn me into a sword. I can’t switch by myself.”

Brad snapped his fingers, “hey, doesn’t that mean that your uncle was your last wielder? Why’d he leave you like this? What a dick.”

Lloyd shook with laughter. “Good question. Maybe he wanted to protect me, or make sure I didn’t run away again. Not that I could. If I get too far away from a wielder, I just turn back into a sword.”

“Speaking from experience?”

Lloyd bit his lip and nodded. Brad scoffed. “I’m going to punch Garmadon in the face.”

“Good luck with that,” Lloyd said, smoothing out the creases in his tunic. “I, for one, would love to punch my father.”

Lloyd’s words gave Brad a sudden idea, and he shot to his feet, pacing back and forth. Lloyd watched him from the floor, somewhat wary, but Brad was too caught up in his head.

“That’s it,” he muttered, running a hand through his disheveled hair, “wait, that’s it!”

“What is? Punching Garmadon? I’m all for it, but-”

“No- well, yes, but no,” Brad turned back to Lloyd, who’s head was tilted to the side in confusion. Brad blushed briefly at the sight, before shaking it away. “Lloyd, I’m your new wielder, right? I picked you up, I think I made you human-”

“It doesn’t work in here,” Lloyd snapped defensively, crossing his arms over himself protectively. “You can’t order me around in the monastery, and I’ll kick your ass if you try.”

“No!” Brad waved his hands, “No, I wouldn’t do that! I mean, if I’m your wielder, and someone can only control you if they pick you up as a sword, what if I just never turn you into a sword? Loophole!”

“For what?” Lloyd asked, exasperated. Brad grinned.

“If no one – especially Garmadon – can ever steal you, then you’re free to use your element without anyone controlling you! I get that you can’t get too far away from me – so we’ll stick together. I’ll take you to Ninjago City, and you’ll kick Garmadon’s ass with your epic element! I can cheer you on in the background, it’ll be great!”

Lloyd’s eyes grew big as his face went straight back to miserable. “I- I can’t.” He hugged his legs to his chest, looking at anything but Brad as if he was ashamed. Brad deflated, staring down at him.

“But... why? You’re a ninja, aren’t you? Isn’t fighting evil emperors your whole thing?”

“No, I can’t use my element,” Lloyd corrected in a small voice. “My element was sealed away in the sword. And since Uncle Wu made it so that nobody could use my element, that means that the Green Element is gone. Nobody, not even me, can use it anymore. I can’t even do Spinjitzu.”

Brad’s shoulders fell as his excitement flew out of him. “...oh. Well, that sucks.”

Brad sat back down across from Lloyd, who was curled into himself as if he could hide in the white swathes of clothing. Brad felt kind of silly, now. Like, no duh! Why would an evil warlord leave his prisoner’s power unchained?

Lloyd sniffled. “I’m sorry, Brad,” he said quietly. “I wish I could help. But I- I can’t leave and let people use me. I can’t just give up my body so people can swing me around and kill people with me. I just...”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Brad said, scooting closer to Lloyd. He laid a hand on Lloyd’s freckled shoulder, and froze when Lloyd fell into him, leaning on his side. Hesitantly, he wrapped his arm around the demigod, letting Lloyd leach off of his warmth. Lloyd himself was warm to the touch, and Brad’s skin reflected the glow, ever so faint.

Brad sighed. He was fucked, wasn’t he? Well, at least this wasn’t for nothing. He looked down at Lloyd, and let a smile cross his face. At least Lloyd wouldn’t have to be trapped inside of that sword forever.

“We might still win anyways,” he mused aloud, mostly just to fill the silence, “I mean, dragons show up all the time to help out, and we still have the Golden Weapons. We’ll be fine.”

Lloyd hummed, tracing the wood of the floor idly. “Still... I hate to let you down.”

“No let down here! I came here for a sword and found a friend. Uh... are we friends?”

Lloyd turned his face up to smile at Brad, green eyes crinkling. The tattoo on his forehead glowed briefly, like Lloyd’s smile couldn’t be contained to his mouth. “Yeah,” he said, “we’re friends.”

Brad’s face grew hot, and he coughed, looking away before he spontaneously combusted. Lloyd didn’t seem to notice, and drew himself up, dusting off his tunic.

“Hey, I know I’ve been kind of disappointing-”

“Not at all!” Brad jumped to his feet, and immediately felt stupid for yelling. Lloyd froze, eyes wide, before he laughed, a light blush covering his cheeks.

“Anyways. Stay for a while? It’s lonely up here.”

Brad hesitated. He’d left his mom, who was surely wondering where the hell he was, and Gene was probably worried as well. But looking at Lloyd’s hopeful expression, he couldn’t say no.

“Sure. You have a garden?”

Lloyd’s bright golden smile made it all worth it.

Lloyd led him through the monastery, introducing him to a bedroom that once belonged to Cole Brookstone, the Master of Earth. Brad was astounded to learn how long Elemental Masters truly lived – the same ones Lloyd grew up with over 60 years ago were still kicking, wiping Oni ass.

“Sorry for the mess,” Lloyd said, gathering the dusty comforter up, “ugh, I hope the washer still works.”

Brad chuckled, shaking dust off of the pillows. “We’ve got some cleaning ahead of us. I can start on laundry.”

Lloyd seemed surprised at the offer, before his eyes crinkled in a smile as the little gemstones imbedded in his chest glowed, twinkling like happy little stars. Brad couldn’t help the pink that spread across his cheeks. Man, if Lloyd continued smiling at him like that, Brad thinks he would do anything for him.

Oh wow, he was whipped. Gene was going to make so much fun of him.

That is, essentially, how Brad spends the next several days. He and Lloyd unearth ancient cleaning supplies and do their best tackling the dust and grime settled over the monastery. Lloyd, surprisingly adept with technology, tackles the appliances and power while Brad curb stomps the overgrown garden into submission. They both spend hours in the sun and crisp breeze cleaning the courtyard, and every night they do dishes together.

Just two weeks ago, Brad was adrift. He didn’t know what he wanted from life – just that he wanted more. Now he spends his days in a monastery on the world’s tallest mountain with the oddest boy he’s ever met, and it’s the happiest he’s ever been.

Lloyd is funny. He’s wry, and sharp, and through his hesitance is cheeky humor that Brad can’t help but find endlessly endearing, even when it’s used to dump buckets of water over his head.

Somehow, Lloyd Garmadon has made this one of the best weeks of his life.

Even if he has to leave soon.

Brad splayed over a sofa in the library, idly flicking through scrolls and books. Lloyd was in the courtyard practicing katas and what Brad thinks might be Spinjitzu – minus the magic tornado.

His thoughts are all over the place. On the one hand, he has to go. His mom and Gene will be worried, and he hates worrying them. On the other, all Brad wants is an adventure. Lloyd is quickly becoming a close friend, despite them not really sharing that much about themselves. Brad is just so easily drawn to him – or maybe that’s his raging ‘cute boy’ radar.

He groaned, staring at the ceiling. If he left, he’d be doing more than leaving behind a close friend – he'd be leaving Lloyd all alone. In fifty years, Brad was the only person to come up here. Who would Lloyd talk to about Starfarer, or beat in Mario Kart, or do the dishes with? He’d be up on this tall mountain all alone.

He wished there was a way to give Lloyd freedom. He saw the way the demigod looked at into the distance sometimes – like there was nothing he wanted more than to run out of this monastery as fast as possible and never look back.

“I’m so punching Garmadon,” Brad grumbled, picking up the random scrolls he’d been looking through. Boring stuff, honestly. As he was setting them back in their respective nooks, his eye caught on one, seemingly disturbed. Curiously, he unfurled it.

A sketch, done in quick, fluid pencil, of the four Golden Weapons. Those things were old news, but what interested Brad was the Sword of Sanctuary in the middle. His eyes roved over the words, and startled as he made out the characters spelling Lloyd’s name.

“Holy shit,” he whispered, rereading the text in astonishment. He laughed, bouncing in place. “Lloyd! Lloyd, holy shit!”

A few seconds later, the doors to the library slammed open, and Lloyd burst through the door with his fists up. He deflated when he saw Brad with the scroll.

“Is... something wrong?” Brad grinned, holding out the scroll.

“Lloyd, you’ve got to see this. It’s the solution!”

Lloyd took the scroll, reading carefully. His eyes widened the more he read, clutching the scroll tightly. “This... oh, grandfather.”

Brad grabbed Lloyd’s wrists, causing the blonde to look up at him. “Lloyd,” he breathed, “this is our answer. We can cure your curse and beat Garmadon.”

“The Golden Weapons... can break the curse,” Lloyd whispered. A small, hesitant smile grew on his face as hope shined in his eyes. “They- they can get me out of the sword.”

Hypothetically. The scroll was vague, and seemingly all hypotheticals, but it was hope. Hope for Lloyd, and Ninjago.

Brad held Lloyd’s hands to his chest. “Then let’s go get them,” he urged. Lloyd shrunk away a bit.

“But if I leave...”

“Lloyd, please,” Brad begged. “I’m your wielder, aren’t I? Well, I promise, I will never make you shift. I won’t ever order you around, and I won’t ever ignore you if you don’t want to do something.”

“But...”

Lloyd was terrified of losing his free will. From his perspective, Brad could be lying. His words didn’t mean much when they’d known each other for a week.

“Do you really want to wait around for your uncle to do it?” Brad pressed, desperate. He felt bad for pressuring Lloyd, but he also knew that if they could make this work, then Ninjago would be safe. “Lloyd, we can do this, can’t we? One kickass demigod and a swordsman!”

Lloyd gave him an unimpressed look. “Are you even trained?”

“I am... self-taught.”

Lloyd drew back, staring down at the scroll. Brad sighed, and retracted his hands. “I won’t make you,” he said softly, “If you really don’t want to, then I won’t try to make you. But don’t you want to be free?”

“And how do I know you won’t just turn me into a sword the second I step out that door?” Lloyd demanded. His voice cracked. “It’s what anyone would do! I- I'm not even a person to you.”

Brad crossed his arms. “Okay, rude.”

“What?”

“Rude! Man, when I have acted like you’re not a person? I mean, you’re a mega powerful demigod, but that’s different than ‘not a person’. I mean it, Lloyd – I won’t force you to do anything.”

Lloyd furrowed his brows. “I make a pretty kickass sword,” he warned, “you’ll be very sorely tempted. Not to mention all the people that will be after me.”

“They can’t do anything to you,” Brad reminded with a smile, “not if I never turn you into a sword. Which I won’t, because you’re my friend.”

Lloyd hummed thoughtfully. “...I’ve been wanting to kick my dad’s ass for a while,” he muttered vindictively.

“Come on,” Brad said, “adventure of a lifetime!”

“We’ll have to cross the entire continent.”

“Road trip!”

“We’ll be facing down my father’s worst soldiers, and neither of us have powers.”

“We’ll be crafty. You’re a ninja, aren’t you?”

Lloyd hesitated, and Brad could tell he was on the precipice. He softened his gaze. “Lloyd,” he said quietly, “you could wait for someone else to come along and free you... or you can free yourself.”

“Why?” Lloyd muttered. He seemed genuinely curious. “Why risk your life for me like this? You realize that you’ll be in constant danger.”

“Dude, why wouldn’t I? We break your curse, you get your powers back, and boom! Garmadon defeated, Ninjago saved. Besides,” he blushed, “an adventure? With you? Sign me up.”

Lloyd fell quiet, his green eyes calculating. The gemstones on his chest betrayed his growing excitement as they began to light up, thrumming with their own melody.

“Okay,” Lloyd breathed, his eyes brighter than Brad had ever seen them. The sight took his breath away.

“Okay?” He said. Lloyd nodded vigorously, bouncing in excitement.

“Yes! Let’s do it!”

Brad laughed, tackling Lloyd in a hug. The shorter blonde startled, letting out a surprised laugh.

“I am,” Lloyd said when they pulled away, “so ready to leave this monastery.”

They find themselves, hours later, at the gate of the monastery. Brad shoulders the bulk of the bags, full to the brim with clothes and food they’d hurriedly packed. They were both itching to get out now. Maybe Brad hadn’t thought this over enough – but how could he deny the chance to stop the Oni army? How could he pass up such a big adventure?

Lloyd hesitated on the steps, just within the boundaries of the monastery. Brad wordlessly held out his hand for Lloyd to take, smiling softly.

Lloyd looked down at him, framed by the sunlight shining through his golden hair like a halo. He took a deep, shuddery breath, and grabbed the hand.

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nyarados · 1 year ago

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what the.... the way doing nanowrimo is really helping me with this bc I'm just trying to get the story on the page now and I'm not thinking about actually updating the fic online.... like I'm only 4500words in (I should have hit 18k+ today 💀) but I'm still doing better than I was previously....

UGH I am so not into the ch1 I posted of my fic.... I like ch2 tho but i can't post that without updating ch1 first which is why I haven't touched either in months

#''first draft is always bad'' i KNOW but the immediate serotonin from validation of posting online.... 😔#but this one didn't do well when I posted it probably bc ch1 sucked ASS 💀#<- I can say this bc I wrote it and know it to be true #<-<- and then bc I was so disappointed in ch1 but since I posted it I couldn't edit it while posting ch2 #bc I wasn't sure it wouldn't come out bad again #anyway point is: I'm not winning nano this year BUT i might actually finish a solid first draft for my fic that started 5yrs ago 👀#journal

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worldstarz · 9 months ago

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persona 3 spoilers (part 2!)

pairing: shinjiro aragaki x fem!reader

tags: angst

a/n: continuation of this post. i will edit this as soon as i wake up in the morning but i told myself i will not go to bed until this leaves my drafts bc it’s been marinating for like five days. also what is the title of this two part thing??

HUGE SPOILER WARNING FOR OCTOBER IN PERSONA 3 !!!

———

it still smells like him.

the room is barren. shinjiro never wanted to leave his mark on the world, trying to erase his own existence. but, as you lie on the sheets that have yet to be changed, the subtle musky scent engulfs you.

“it still smells like him,” you repeat your thoughts aloud, as if by addressing it would make it permanent.

maybe this was weird. if he were here, standing before you, he would be staring down at you with a quirked brow. “what the hell are you doing?”

why did he come to your room that night? what purpose did he have, knowing his own fate?

you try not to cry. you’ve cried enough already, and the image of shinjiro in your head would certainly scold you, telling you to just get up and get some food with him.

but he’s not here.

sure, it’s not what he would’ve wanted, but you make yourself comfortable on his bed. it’s the least he could do after confessing his desire for you, knowing he would die the same day.

lying on your back, you allow your mind to wander. why does it feel like you’re the only one stuck in the past? how has everyone been able to bounce back so quickly? hell, akihiko is basically his brother and he’s already moved on. speaking of moving on, amada’s completely—

fuck, what is wrong with you?

for the past few days, you tried to block these festering thoughts. being open minded was what lead you to be so close to shinjiro. akihiko just processes his grief differently, while amada was just a kid blinded by revenge.

but still…

you sit up abruptly. he wouldn’t want this.

you swing your legs over the edge of the bed and plant your feet on the ground. he wouldn’t want this.

you stand up, smoothing over your clothes. he wouldn’t want this.

but what the hell do you even know about him? how do you know what he would want? you couldn’t even become close enough to figure out what plagued his mind during his every waking moment. maybe if you did, you would’ve been able to stop—

no. he wouldn’t want this either.

just like how he would want akihiko, amada, and everyone else to come together and move on. he would not want you beating yourself up over something you weren’t involved in.

you take a deep breath in, then out. in. out. okay. you’ve got this. this is your last day to be in his room before everything is moved out. all that will remain is the memory of him. everyone else already got a turn a few days ago, so this is your last chance to preserve whatever fragments of him are left in here.

the drawer to his desk is slightly ajar. out of respect for his privacy, you begin to shut it, but something oddly familiar peaks out.

is that…?

with wide eyes and shaky hands, you reach in.

it’s a photo of the two of you, back when shinjiro still went to school, before you had any ideas about why he came to class everyday all beat up.

you’re smiling, holding up a peace sign, while shinjiro glared at the camera. it was a picture taken to commemorate the end of junior high school—one that took a lot of convincing for him to agree to.

on the back, sprawled in your handwriting, you wrote;

“shinjiro,

i found this picture of us from the last day of junior high! it’s weird how much time has passed.

have you been eating well? how is your sleep? are you still growing out your hair? i know you’re not feeling well, but as soon as your health improves, we should hang out again.

also, i miss seeing you in class. hurry up and get better! i need someone to talk to!

-[name]

11/04/08”

it takes you a second, but you do remember writing this. judging by the date, it was roughly a month after he took his leave of absence, citing medical issues. you didn’t have much contact with him outside of school, so you relied on akihiko to transport the photo to him.

you crouch down, trying to get ahold of your emotions. you’ve done enough crying. he wouldn’t want you to waste so many tears on him.

but haven’t you been ignoring his wishes already?

you bury your face in your hands in a pathetic attempt to muffle your sobs. physically, nobody was in here. but for you, shinjiro was everywhere. in this room, in the hallways, in the lounge, on the streets, at school—he followed you everywhere. your morale bent under the weight of his memory.

only now do you realize there will come a day where you will have known the grief longer than you have known him.

but this pain is better than never knowing him in the first place.

shinjiro, who secretly cooked meals for koromaru.

shinjiro, who never let you go to bed on an empty stomach.

shinjiro, who tried to push you away, but failed.

shinjiro, who held you close hours before his death.

shinjiro, who didn’t want to leave his mark on the world, but left a mark on you.

the grief will never go away. you will carry it with you wherever you go, and the weight of it will never diminish. but, you can grow around it. you will grow around it.

because that’s what he would’ve wanted.

#shinjiro aragaki #shinjiro aragaki headcanons #shinjiro x reader #shinjiro aragaki x reader #persona 3 #persona 3 reload #shinjiro aragaki headcanon #p3 shinjiro #i’m so tired #i hope this doesn’t look like a dumpster fire when i wake up #outing myself as an amada apologist #he wanna be thorfinn so bad

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elvenbeard · 9 months ago

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Opening some Sketch Commissions!

I put out a small interest check for commissions in this style a while ago, and now I'd like to open 15 slots for starters due to some unexpected expenses recently.

In general my usual [Terms of Service] apply, with some slight adjustments for this special format. By commissioning me you agree to the above terms and as follows:

When your slot is confirmed you receive an invoice from me over the full amount that needs to be paid upfront before I get started (there is no draft that needs to be approved bc these sketches are basically what my drafts look like, just a little more color)

You get the chance to request edits once the drawing is finished!

You can request a slot only by filling out the following google form:

https://forms.gle/vVAfDtXUQcnc64f59

The end product is not a polished or very high resolution drawing, the above doodles are examples of what the final result could look like, but my style here is a lot less consistent compared to full illustrations. I'd still be super duper happy to draw some blorbos, OCs and canon characters alike, fandom or original (as long as you have a photo or screenshot reference I can work with!). You can request multiple slots for multiple portraits, but it is always going to be only one character per portrait!

Reblogging is as always greatly appreciated 💜Looking forward to hearing from you all and drawing your characters and faves :D

#artists on tumblr #commissions open #small artist #art commissions #oc commission #open commissions #commission sheet #digital art commissions #commission info #fingers crossed the form works if not pls let me know xD

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wondrluv · 4 months ago

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♫ phone call ; ice bound

➪ summary: trevor is at his wits end trying to fit in in the nhl causing him to lash out on chloe, ending whatever relationship they might have had

➪ warnings: trevor yelling at chloe and insisting they were just hooking up, broken glass (picture frame), illusions to blood ('red staining the thin material of her socks')

➪ word count: 0.7k

➪ emma's notes: purely bc I am such in angst mood. i didn't feel like writing any more tonight so I just went back and edited this and now we're here !

Trevor had been acting off since the middle of April, almost like he was trying to distance himself from her. Chloe had noticed how tense he got whenever she would mention her brothers or how fidgety he got when they were out in public together. His texts were less frequent, same with his calls, but she had expected that when he got called up.

But now it was a week before her birthday and she hadn’t heard from him since the Ducks left for their Midwest road trip which was about a week ago. Her text were left on read and her phone calls were left unreturned.

So when she was in her dorm and drafting lyrics to a new song, she wasn’t expecting her phone to light up with a call from him. Giddiness flooded through her as she reached over and clicked accept, bringing the phone to her ear, “Hi Trev! How’s the trip going?”

She heard him sigh, she could feel the irritation and hear the slight undertone of sadness in his breath. She furrowed her eyes, tugging her bottom lip between her teeth, “Are you okay?”

“I need to talk to you Chloe.”

She blinked at the use of his name, the slight coldness in his tone made her skin crawl. She was used to him calling her Chlo or some cringe-worthy nickname, she wasn’t use to him adressing her by her full name, it was unnatural for him.

“Talk about what?” Chloe fiddled with her pencil, tapping it rapidly against her notebook as she shifted on her chair.

“We have to stop this.”

“Stop what? What do you mean?”

“What I mean…” he huffed slightly, trying to convince himself that this was what he actually wanted, “is that we should breakup.”

She trembled slightly but held her self together. She didn’t know where this was coming from, they had been doing so well, or at least she thought they were. She tried to rack her mind for a time where she had done osmething wrong or said something wrong but she came up empty.

“I need to focus on hockey, Chloe,” he continued, taking her silence as a sign to move on. “And I cannot do that while I’m worrying about my best friend finding out I’m hooking up with his twin sister.”

“Hooking up? Is that what we are- were?” His words were like a dagger to her heart.

“I can’t, Chloe.”

Her voice turned harsh, she wasn’t going to let him dowthis without a decent explanation. She had been fucked over too many times already, “Can’t or won’t? Trevor I don’t know what you’re thinking about right now. Is it about the season? It’s going to get better, it did for Jack-”

“But I’m not Jack, Chloe! Don’t you get that? What if it doesn’t get better, what if I don’t get better?”

The two both held their phones, hands shaking slightly, eyes glassing over as silence consumed them. She could hear a shout form the other line and seconds later was mumbling, “I gotta go. Don’t call me or text me… please.”

He hung up, leaving Chloe to sit in her dorm room more alone than she already was. She looked over at the picture frame on her desk, it was a picture of her, Trevor, and Jack. She was in the middle as both placed their arms around her shoulders. She reached over and held it, fingers rubbing over the wooden frame.

All the happiness she used to feel when she looked at the photo faded away as Trevor’s words echoed in her mind, turning that happiness into a deeper melancholy feeling. Anger flooded through her as she threw the picture to the ground, glass shattering and scattering around the wooden floor of her room.

She couldn’t even find it in herself to be fazed as she placed her feet down fully and the glass cut through her feet, red staining her the thin material of her socks, a bitter, raw emotion coating her voice, “Happy 19th, Chloe.”

꒰ ICE BOUND TAGLIST ꒱

@winterbarnesblog @fantillisgirl @bunbunbl0gs

ICE BOUND MASTERLIST ; AU'S

TAGLIST ; NHL MASTERLIST ; NAVIGATION

#*｡✩ ꒰ wondrluv's writing ꒱#⋆·˚ ༘ * ꒰ fics ꒱#♫ ice bound !#♫ chloe and trevor !#trevor zegras #tz11 #trevor zegras x oc

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missjanjie · 1 month ago

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WIP Wednesday

i hope i havent overhyped this im just really excited!!! this is from my theatre au which ive finally titled 'curtains up' (bcs i already have a fic called 'the show must go on' for another fandom lmao)

“Okay, Kori,” Lydia prompted, walking backward down an empty hallway as she filmed her girlfriend, “where are we and what are we doing?”

Kori laughed softly, trying to split her focus between answering the question and making sure Lydia didn’t walk into anything. “We are in the studio for the first rehearsal with the full cast and crew, get into it.” She stopped in front of the door to the room they would be using and tapped on the sign. “Call time is at nine, it’s currently 8:45, let’s see when everyone actually shows up.” She looked at the sheet and chuckled. “Of course, our stage manager, Jackie, got here five minutes ago.”

The two of them went into the room, the center empty with tables and chairs pushed off to the sides. There were sections for wardrobe and tech, but most things were in boxes and Jackie was standing beside a stack of them, scribbling on her clipboard and muttering to herself with the occasional nod of approval. She looked up, startled when she realized the phone was pointed at her. “You’re starting that already?”

“I take my job very seriously, Jackie,” she replied. While the social media manager position wasn’t critical to the show itself, it was essential for establishing its presence in the social consciousness, which would hopefully reflect in ticket sales. Lydia wasn’t hired to work with her, but everyone had developed a fondness for the unofficial assistant manager, and the two quickly became a package deal.

The door opened moments later and two of the actresses – Jan and Marcia – walked in. “8:49,” Kori noted, writing it down so she could edit it later.

8:51 - Rosé and Onya arrive one after another. Two minutes later, they were joined by the choreographer, Denali.

8:55 - Suzie opens the door for Anetra, carrying in her tech equipment with help from Daya.

9:00: Lana and Jewels arrive. Like Jan and Marcia, the pair were roommates and made the commute together.

9:02 - This is the first time Symone has been late, but she brought donuts, so she gets a pass.

9:05 - Lexi runs in frantically, desperate to not be the last person to sign in. Being the last cast member bothers her, but she will be over it by lunch.

9:12 - Jasmine thought rehearsals started tomorrow. She is very sorry.

Once all of the cast and crew were signed in and ready, rehearsals went underway. At this stage of development, lines had been learned, songs had been scored. All of the pieces of the puzzle were there, now they had to turn their rough draft of their concept – a popular show with an all-female cast and crew – into something fit for a Broadway stage, and they had about a month to do it.

#wip wednesday

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starry-sophrosyne · 17 days ago

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Started stressing out abt this idea when I read through crashing's and eldette's reblog of my reblog of pen's post (GO READ IT IF YOU HAVEN'T BTW /srs HERES THE LINK.) so I'm gonna make this post for my own sake; and yes, even though it was so long ago, it's never left my mind.

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I'm also gonna put this under a cut, despite my original plan not to, bc I've seen everyone sharing the same ideas about this whole "we might get found out" notion. However, this still is a conception abt/for myself that I sincerely want people to see and understand/to talk abt, even it's not directly related to the "rpf community exposure" itself, so yeah. While this post is definitely unnecessarily long, esp considering how long it's been since the incident that prompted me to write this, I still think it's worth posting; Especially considering the fact that I don't think the "rpf-community-exposure-situation" will get better from here. Either way, thank you guys for understanding and reading. /srs /gen

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I've been pretty scared to reveal my really negative side within this community just bc of how I try to come off as/get perceived - i.e. the reason I use emoticons - so I haven't ever really fully crashed out in a post like I did previously. Even seeing Eldette's and Crashing's reblogs, they definitely put it a lot nicer than I did, which is fair and also credit to how probably they are irl; It's just that I think I'm very different regarding which parts of myself I expose to others, and you guys in particular, especially regarding my anger. I'm not going to edit that post because I think it's the blunt truth in the most unapologetic way possible, which is truthfully the way I am, but I hope that you guys understand that my negativity in those kinds of posts is not the same personality i have when I go about posting my regular things about the guys n stuff :_)

For that matter, I hope y'all don't see me differently or have a warped/changed view on personality/character. What I mean by this is that I'm hoping you all still like me despite seeing the bad parts of me. However, it's also something that's unavoidable, for people to not like you once they get to know the more uglier sides of you; So I guess what I want you guys to do more than genuinely like me is, that regardless of what y'all think now, you guys are all honest with me and yourself. If you don't wanna see "those" posts of mine bc they're a little extreme for you, but you wanna continue interacting with my other posts, that's fine, please do! I don't plan to post those seriously negative posts frequently at all. However, if you really find yourself really uncomfortable by those posts, esp knowing that I might slip up into that sort of personality in the future, please feel free to block me. I've blocked some pc crit blogs that I really wanted to see certain posts of theirs, but I couldn't stand seeing other posts they made, so I made a decision that was better for the both of us in the end, because I knew it wouldn't be worth it to continue interacting with them if that was how I truly felt. Either way, I won't take it personally if you do the same at all, because the truth is, if you don't like me, you just don't. Nothing I'm gonna do to try and change that, because more often than not, it's something that can't be helped. So uhh.. yeah- :,)

TLDR: If me crashing out in posts like this makes you uncomfortable, feel free to stop interacting; I won't be like that often but I do plan to let my true personality show a little more, hope you all still accept me despite what may be a very unnecessary fear of mine :)

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This is a side tangent that was written after the initial post was drafted, it's more relevant to clearing up my identity and the differences between me, my personas and my self-inserts in aus. It's too complicated to be TL:DR'ed, however, so read at your own will; it's not as important for ppl to fully understand either as the previous point, but extremely important to me and my definitions. /gen /srs.

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I've decided to label this alternate emotional state of mine (serious & comes out when talking about stuff regarding the pc rpf community, mainly as a whole/regarding the incidents that have and will continue to happen) as Rosyne, but not in relation to the april fools joke I did as "Rosyne". The personality of that "Rosyne" while blogging is more or less the personality of "Rosyne" as a character, rather than myself or my persona that's changed in regards to my self insert. I know that's all super confusing so let's just clarify:

Starry and Rosyne, by themselves, are just me; both part of my identity. Rosyne is my personality when I’m addressing serious stuff. Starry is my personality when I’m posting about anything else, aka my neutral state, and is (therefore) the name I go by on this blog. Starry and Rosyne, as self inserts, are representations of myself within fics/aus. They might have jobs/roles that are entirely inaccurate regarding my actual jobs/roles (or personal interests) irl, but they only have these in order to fit the narrative. Starry and Rosyne, as self inserts, are also two entirely different individuals, as it makes more sense than one person with two different identities. Either way though, they are supposed* to be genuine representations of myself, through and through. Starry and Rosyne, as general personas, however, are the designs of my identities; They still represent me, only giving me the ability to alter my appearance in a way I can't irl. However and more importantly, they also connect my self-inserts in aus to my identity, as they are the base design/reference for the self-inserts' appearances (which change depending on the au). I do have my general persona designs for both Rosyne and Starry, along with several self-inserts designs for diff fic aus, I just haven't posted them yet.

*This is where I've found this issue of some sorts. You see, I feel as if I've started to turn Starry and Rosyne into actual characters rather than my self-inserts within my writings about aus/fics. Especially Rosyne, although to a reasonable fault, as it's hard to characterize the part of you that only talks abt the actual pc rpf community issues. Either way, the writer side of me has become so obsessed with making them narratively-fleshed out that they don't really feel like direct representations of myself anymore; They feel more like ocs whose experiences & preferences are heavily influenced by the ones I have irl, and whose names are related to me, but they're unrealistic to what a direct 1-1 self insert/representation of myself would be.

I still plan to write about them, especially in regards to this post, but not only are "the-things-they've-experienced" not accurate to the things I've actually experienced irl, but they are also a bit more dramatized in general just for the sake of narrative/creative writing. Not to say that"the-things-they've-experienced" aren't influenced by my own personal experiences, of course. After all, aren't all of our ocs reflections of ourselves/our irl journeys/stories? Just expect me to continue anxiety tagging "dont-take-this-too-seriously!-(´ ᗣ ` )՞" in all my upcoming posts/drabbles about my TTOS "personas"-

#is this an overreaction? probably.#but i have crippling anxiety and i thought abt this whole thing for WEEKS while not posting it mainly bc everyone moved on #from the initial situation and i was trying to find a good time to post it- idk its better now than never at this point #(i shouldve posted this in regards to a post i talked abt with eldette but that was also weeks ago so whatever man-)#its just social anxiety getting perceived wanting to maintain friends while being true blah blah blah #exsistential fear of ppl genuinely not fucking with me anymore after seeing that side of me is real and i hope that its either unnecessary #or that it does help those who may actually have some semblance of this uncomfortable opinion about me now-#again it's just something that I was brought to think about during that whole situation and then i COULDNT get it out of my mind #so now weve all ended up here-#serious starry posts #pc rpf #rpf #pc rpf community #i also needed to post this regardless bc of what i said abt the definitions #bc of an upcoming post i have about my persona which im finally getting around to showing off-#shes been in work for a while so yeah #im honestly cringing at this brick wall of text that's probably so uneccesary but god if i didnt spend an hour writing it-#im posting it and jst leaving it EXCEPT for the second part which im gonna reference a ton in the future but im not seperating the two #bc they are technically related between my negative personality; rosyne as a depiction; and then my struggle with my self inserts #anyways yeah just gonna leave this here and dip-#starry's sona(s)

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theharrowing · 1 year ago

Text

Collateral 🗡️ POV: Hoseok

Hoseok lets Seokjin break him a little before he picks of the pieces between the family men. Handling everyone's bullshit is a full-time job, but Hoseok does it well.

❗ THIS IS A CHARACTER POV CHAPTER!!!

if you do not wish to perceive any POV that is not the main character, please feel free to skip this one!

🗡️Seokjin x Hoseok

🗡️ word count: 6.8k

🗡️ mafia au, established relationship, smut, angst, fluff, nsfw, explicit, 21+

🗡️ warnings: bottom & submissive Hoseok, top & dominant Seokjin; i don't know if i need to include "bathing one's lover" but idk it feels like a warning bc it's somewhat erotic and feels a little like body worship; shower sex (hair tugging; rough blowjob; use of the word "whore"; using anal toys to stretch oneself; rough anal sex against the wall; cum getting everywhere; mention of safeword; Seokjin's dirty talk is kind of nuts; ass eating; cum eating; a touch of aftercare); mention of drug running activities, creation of weapons, and the acquisition of firearms. some poolside making out.

🗡️ notes: mc is referred to in 3rd person (she/her) pronouns for this chapter! more slice of life, mafia style! this takes place so long ago, it feels cute revisiting this point of the story. enjoy!

🗡️ early draft beta read by @blog-name-idk - with minor unbeta’d edits done since.

🗡️ posted april 2024 - originally may 2023 | read on ao3

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Hoseok's morning begins the way they often do: waking up moments before Seokjin's alarm blares. He blinks awake slowly and stretches his arms over his head, rolling away from the body over which his arm and leg had been draped, and onto his back, tugging their blood-red comforter as he moves.

A small whine escapes Hoseok's lips as his muscles tug through the stretch—a gentle hint of discomfort blending with sweet release—and as he lets out a slow, peaceful huff of air, the shrill sound of an alarm screams, making Hoseok wince.

With a grumble, Seokjin reaches and shuts the alarm off, then he rolls onto his back and quickly onto his side, wrapping all his limbs around Hoseok with his eyes barely open. Hoseok feels a warm, deep affection as Seokjin's naked body engulfs his, and he buries his face into Hoseok's neck. The hot breath that wafts from Seokjin's lips tickles enough to make Hoseok grumble and attempt to shove away despite not wanting to leave the tight warmth of his embrace.

"Ho-wah," Seokjin mutters, a familiar nickname that is hardly passable as a word, and Hoseok hums in response. "What are you doing today?"

Now that Seokjin is settled, Hoseok hooks his legs around an ankle and a hip, and he relaxes with his eyes closed while he hums once more, a long pensive sound as he considers all that he has to do today. It is not much, but events and meetings within the family rarely go as planned.

"Gotta meet Ggukie," Hoseok responds through a yawn, making Seokjin yawn, as well. "And then Namjoon. Yoongi and the cub are taking the terror twins to the gun range, so the only person unaccounted for is Jimin."

"Ah, Jiminah," Seokjin grumbles, "what has he been up to?"

"Working," Hoseok responds, though he is not entirely certain. Jimin tends to be the outlier within the family, pursuing his own goals and staying out of trouble as best as he can. It is rare that he requests assistance from any of them. "Perhaps playing. Who knows."

"I miss him," Seokjin says after a few silent seconds. "We should have him back here soon."

"You miss him, or you miss his ass?" Hoseok asks playfully.

Seokjin chuckles as he mutters, "Same thing," with a shrug.

Hoseok supposes he misses Jimin, too. The thought had not occurred before, but now that he is faced with it, he concedes. Jimin is good company, and the way his body melts in tandem with his and Seokjin's really is something special. Not to mention, his pain tolerance is impressive.

"What about you?" Hoseok asks, using his leg to pull Seokjin's leg impossibly closer. "Anything not too unspeakable on the docket?"

"Meeting with Yoongi later," Seokjin says simply, and Hoseok nods in understanding, knowing that more information likely will not come. He adds, "A brief meeting. He might have to go to Hong Kong to chat with The Tigers, so we are finalizing some details."

Hoseok is only somewhat aware of the goings on in Hong Kong with the new guys, having been given the same information as everyone else, which is that Yoongi is going to be using another crew to handle some of the tasks he is no longer interested in being in charge of. Chiefly, drug running, which Hoseok is tasked with having a conversation with Jeongguk about later. If there is one thing the youngest hates, it is change.

"Shall we?" Seokjin grumbles as he begins an attempt to roll away, but Hoseok pulls him close and hugs him tighter.

"We shall not," he whines, taking his turn burying his face in Seokjin's neck to breathe in the faintly soft musk of his skin and hair. "I still have an hour, and you evidently have nothing for a while. Stay here a bit longer."

With a burst of mocking laughter, Seokjin says, "If you want me to fuck you, just say so," and although it was not necessarily what Hoseok had in mind, the idea does excite him.

"Gotta be quick," Hoseok warns; Seokjin loves to take his time and, frankly, an hour is nowhere near long enough.

"Are you being bossy, puppy?" Seokjin responds in a sharp tone, sending a chill through Hoseok that makes his breath fall ragged.

"No, sir," Hoseok responds automatically, body relaxing as Seokjin begins to pull away from their embrace.

"How about we fuck in the shower?" Seokjin offers, voice soft and sweet, giving Hoseok's heart whiplash. "That way we can take care of both activities at once."

Hoseok likes the idea—thrilled at the prospect of having his cheek pressed against cold, hard tile as Seokjin knocks every last bit of air from his lungs.

"Yes, please," he mutters, thrilled when Seokjin sits up and pushes the blanket from the two of them, making Hoseok shiver from the air on his bare skin.

Seokjin swings his legs over the edge of the mattress and lifts his phone briefly from the bedside table, presumably to check for notifications, then he gets up and walks past the length of the bed and around the end toward the ensuite. Hoseok stretches once more before following behind, feet touching down onto a soft burgundy rug over which he wiggles his toes before quickly joining Seokjin.

He shivers when he reaches the en suite and his toes hit cold, white tile, and he quickly prances to the shower stall where Seokjin is busying himself with turning on the various overhead nozzles.

With his toes on another soft red rug, Hoseok stands and crosses his hands in front of him, arms hanging relaxed, waiting to be instructed. He loves handing over control even before they have begun to do anything. It excites him.

"Puppy?" Seokjin calls as water sprays from above and steam fills the pristine white-tiled room.

"Yes, sir," Hoseok responds softly.

Seokjin reaches for a pale pink exfoliating cloth that hangs just to his right, then holds it below a bottle that sits on a waist-high shelf set into the tiled wall and pumps a dollop of clear soap onto it.

"Come," Seokjin says.

Hoseok obeys, stepping into the steamy room to join Seokjin, standing behind him. He takes the towel and begins to wash Seokjin's neck and throat—slowly but thoroughly—before working his way down to Seokjin's shoulders. He washes the right arm first, then the left, making sure to get in between each finger and use his thumbnail to clean under each of Seokjin's fingernails.

Something about bathing his love always feels so ritualistic and calming, and it brings him comfort knowing that Seokjin enjoys it, too.

Where Seokjin stands, there is a small pad that is suctioned to the floor, and as Hoseok makes his way down Seokjin's back and torso, to his legs, he slowly sinks to his knees. He tends to the right leg and then the left, lathering soap and getting lower and lower until Seokjin lifts each foot one at a time for him to wash.

Hoseok stays on his knees as Seokjin steps away to rinse off, and when he returns stroking his pretty, thick length, Hoseok tosses the rag aside, clasps his hands behind his back, and sits up tall to open his mouth like the obedient puppy he is. Without a word, Seokjin takes Hoseok by the back of the head, gripping firmly to his hair, and slides his cock into his mouth.

The weight of Seokjin on his tongue, stretching the corners of his lips, feels like home, and Hoseok sighs happily, fighting the urge to let his eyelids flutter closed. Seokjin likes it when Hoseok keeps his gaze wide on him, and as mist from the shower gets into his eyes, he blinks it away, letting it blend with his building tears.

Seokjin fucks Hoseok's mouth, hitting his throat so rhythmically, Hoseok does his best to swallow around him to build his pleasure as quickly as he can. And it does the trick, making Seokjin squeeze and tug at his hair. Under enough pressure, Hoseok can make Seokjin cum in under five minutes—sometimes even three—and he does his best to press his luck, forgoing breathing until it makes him gag.

With a deep, needy groan, Seokjin pulls out, gripping Hoseok's hair enough to hurt, and Hoseok smirks as best as he can with his mouth hanging open and his tongue lolled out. Anger and arousal burn in Seokjin's gaze, which is precisely what Hoseok wants.

"Trying to make me cum already?" Seokjin groans, yanking on Hoseok's head, making him gasp and grin as he nods.

"Yes, sir."

"Such a greedy little whore."

"Yes, sir."

Without warning, Seokjin shoves his cock back into Hoseok's mouth and slams it deep, causing his throat to constrict and attempt to gag. Hoseok lurches as he breathes through it, doing his best to let the air pass through his nose while his eyes pool with tears. His hands clench and flex behind his back, and he blinks, keeping his eyes as wide as he can manage while Seokjin leers down at him.

"If you're so eager to make me cum, then do it. Let's see how fast you are."

Seokjin pulls out, giving Hoseok a chance to heave in air, and then slides himself back into his throat, setting a quick pace of fucking as deep as he can. Hoseok relaxes his jaw and attempts to swallow around him, fluttering his muscles somewhat frantically. It is not his best work, but it is honest work, causing Seokjin to squeeze his hair and rut unevenly against his face.

It takes no time at all for Seokjin to unravel, and Hoseok hums and moans to vibrate his throat around him, causing Seokjin's own hums and moans to grow louder and more desperate.

"So good," Seokjin whimpers, "fuck, I'm gonna cum."

Hoseok loves these tiny moments of hearing Seokjin becoming completely gone. His voice cracks and breaks, and his body spasms, handing full control for a few glorious seconds over to Hoseok, who takes over, eagerly sucking him off until his hair is being squeezed so hard, the pain in his scalp is white-hot.

Without another word, Seokjin cums, trembling as spurt after spurt of release hits Hoseok's tongue and trickles down his throat. He does his best to swallow in order to avoid the sensation tickling too much, and he continues to suck until Seokjin is overstimulated and muttering for him to stop.

"Up," Seokjin commands, voice fucked up and weak as he tugs roughly at Hoseok's hair. "Stretch yourself for me. I want to watch."

Hoseok gets up with a groan, knees having grown accustomed to being bent against the cushion, then he takes his place against the wall, face pressed into cold tile as he uses both hands to spread himself wide and prod at his hole for Seokjin's amusement. There is a shelf to his right dedicated to Hoseok's stretching ritual, and he wastes no time squirting lube onto a metal toy and working himself open with it, hissing and moaning from the stretch.

Seokjin rubs his hands up and down Hoseok's thighs all the while, squeezing at the soft flesh and cooing at him for being so pretty and perfect, all for him.

Once Hoseok is stretched around the toy—legs trembling fiercely—Seokjin stands and takes his place behind him, cock hard once more and ready for him. Hoseok loves days like these, when they do not have time to fully, properly prep him before they fuck. He loves the intense, blinding sting of Seokjin working him open, forcing him to accommodate his size.

The pain is so intense Hoseok holds his breath, quickly becoming lightheaded from the steam that wafts around him, frantically placing the toy back onto the shelf where it lives. He could die just like this and be the happiest man in hell.

"Too fucking tight," Seokjin groans against Hoseok's neck, shoving him against the tile wall as he trusts into him way too soon for it to feel good.

Hoseok lets out a weak, "Ah!" dragging his lips against the wall, which is streaked with droplets of condensation from their forgotten shower.

"No matter how much I fuck this little hole, you are always so god damn tight."

Hoseok's hands slide up to rest against the wall beside his ribs, and he digs his fingertips against the grout between tiles, desperate for purchase of any kind. But it is senseless; there is nothing to get a grip of once Seokjin sets a pace and begins using him properly; all Hoseok can do is chase his own high and hope he does not fall.

He has never fallen, yet; Seokjin would never let him.

With a slam of his hips, Seokjin knocks what is left of the air from Hoseok's lungs, forcing Hoseok's cock to uncomfortably hit the wall. The squeeze between his body and cold tile is painful—just as he likes it.

Seokjin sets a punishing pace working Hoseok open, making his screams and sobs echo loudly through the room. The white noise from the shower running behind him causes Hoseok to zone out and fall pliant for Seokjin, who allows him to rest his head back against his shoulder.

Seokjin is merciless with the way he fucks, sending waves of pleasure-pain rocking through Hoseok's body, from the base of his neck down through his fingertips and toes. Hoseok's sobs become voiceless gasps and hisses, and he closes his eyes, letting all the world fade away, leaving only himself and the ruthless, wet slam of Seokjin's hips.

Without warning, Seokjin reaches around and begins to tug at Hoseok's cock, making him scream—ripped from his warm, floaty euphoric place back to reality far too soon. It only takes a few strokes to send Hoseok to the edge, forcing him to paint the tile with his release, and then Seokjin shoves him against the tile to slide against his own goopy cum while he continues.

It is absolutely disgusting the way Hoseok's torso becomes covered in sticky release. How he manages to shoot it so high up is beyond him, but he can feel the cum against his chest, causing him to slide up and down the wall.

The painful squeeze of overstimulation takes over suddenly, and Hoseok begins to claw once more at the thin strips of grout, desperate for relief. But relief does not come—not yet. Seokjin uses him past the point of overstimulation, mocking and cooing while Hoseok begs him to finish.

"Please," Hoseok squeals as Seokjin's cock drills him painfully hard and deep, "please, it's too much. I can't—sir, I can't! Cum for me, please, please!"

Sir, I can't is not Hoseok's safeword, and his pleas go ignored, falling on deaf ears.

Rather, Seokjin just encourages him to keep screaming.

"Fuck, listen to your desperation, baby. That is gonna make me cum. Keep begging me to stop. You sound so fucking good."

The urge to revolt and become petulant rises despite the pleasure that courses through him, and the heightened emotions assist with causing his cock to expand once more. At this rate, if Seokjin manages to pull a second and third orgasm from him, Hoseok will surely be lost to the world for the rest of the day, and he needs to be coherent to meet with Jeongguk.

But reasoning with the man while he is balls-deep and mocking him is impossible. And Hoseok would be unable to find the words, anyway, already having used up his last few working brain cells to attempt to beg his lover to cum.

"Sir," he mutters mindlessly between loud sobs, instead, "please. Pleasepleaseplease."

"Sounds so pretty when you cry," Seokjin coos gently as his hips rut hard and fast.

Seokjin's fingers hold tightly to Hoseok's hips, undoubtedly adding to the dots of bruises already there. If Hoseok had more wits about him, it may even hurt a little to have Seokjin dig into past marks, but instead, the area is hot and tingling, feeling a bit numb.

"You're lucky we don't have all morning," Seokjin groans against Hoseok's neck, dragging his lips and teeth over the skin, sending a shiver down his back. "You're lucky I can't use you until you really are begging me to stop. I would gladly fuck this tight little asshole until you are inside out and falling a-fucking-part."

God, Hoseok loves it when Seokjin becomes sadistic, saying the most deranged shit while buried deep inside him. He practically changes his tune and begs him to fuck him until he is completely broken, never to be used again. He feels exhilarated and incapable of being reasoned with.

Seokjin yanks Hoseok's ass back, pulling him off the wall, and ruts impossibly faster, causing Hoseok's back to arc, frozen in pleasure while he trembles from the pain. Hoseok does his best to stay in place, feet planted on a little mat below so that he does not slide, and Seokjin uses him until his hips become uneven and he fills him with his release.

The sound of Seokjin moaning echoes loudly off the walls, voice pitchy and ripped to shreds. Hands caress Hoseok's sides and back, over his shoulders and down his arms, and affection blooms throughout him as Seokjin's hips quake and he pulls out.

As the hands slide down to Hoseok's hips and ass, Hoseok widens his stance and presses his chest once more into the wall, shivering as his skin hits the cold, hard surface. Seokjin spreads him wide and begins eating him out, licking, sucking, and prodding at his hole, pushing Hoseok close to his second orgasm.

Seokjin is loud as he devours him, slurping and humming as if his own cum is the most delicious meal he has ever had. And when Seokjin is finished, he takes Hoseok by the hips and spins him around, making Hoseok giggle as he stumbles until his ass hits tile and his cock is swallowed whole.

The sensation makes Hoseok double over, placing his hands on Seokjin's shoulders for stability. Seokjin wastes no time sucking like his life depends on it, squeezing his cheeks tight and pushing Hoseok deep into his throat. Hoseok is unable to find the words of warning, voice breaking on scrambled vowels and consonants as he shoots his cum into his boyfriend's throat.

When Seokjin releases his spent cock and sits back on his knees, Hoseok finally lets out a large gust of breath he had been holding onto. He feels exhausted and used in all the best ways, hole achingly empty.

Seokjin gets onto his feet, grabs a blue cloth from the wall, and lathers it with soap, then begins to wash Hoseok much the same way Hoseok had washed him earlier. His movements are a bit rushed, but he is thorough, and for that, Hoseok is grateful. He really could stand in this shower all day and bask in the attention of his lover. What a shame he has to meet with Jeongguk so early.

* * *

Dressed in his standard blacks, Hoseok makes his way to Jeongguk’s front step, taking the steel door knocker in his fist and firmly slamming it into the door three times. He is six minutes behind schedule, but only Seokjin and Yoongi care about tardiness. And anyway, he sent Jeongguk a text when he left to let him know he was on his way.

Jeongguk opens the door just enough to unlock it, and Hoseok places a palm over the dark wood and presses forward, letting himself in.

“Sorry, hyung,” Jeongguk grumbles as he walks quickly from the door toward the kitchen. He wears a long black tee and black joggers, and his hair is a wild, dark mess.

Hoseok snickers and kicks from his shoes, curious whether Taehyung is lurking somewhere. Then he makes his way through the mostly empty space, past a couch that is shoved too close to the television for anyone to actually sit at, and the punching bag that takes up the center of the room. He finds the youngest at the stove, stirring something.

“Have you eaten?” Jeongguk asks without glancing over his shoulder.

Hoseok grabbed a bite of a blueberry muffin that Seokjin had been enjoying before leaving, but otherwise, he had not found the time to have breakfast.

“I have not.”

“Good,” Jeongguk responds, continuing to stir.

The smell of peppers, onions, and butter wafts into his senses as he slowly and carefully has a seat at Jeongguk’s dining table. His stomach growls loudly.

“I wanted to have it done before you got here, but I was…uh…distracted.”

“Is your distraction still here?” Hoseok teases, curious because he is unsure whether Taehyung has clearance to overhear their conversation.

“He went home,” Jeongguk simply responds as he begins plating the food.

Hoseok sits back in the wooden chair and watches as Jeongguk takes out two glasses for water and one for coffee. He fills the coffee cup, leaving it black the way Hoseok likes it, and brings it over while cradling two water glasses in his other hand.

“I can help you,” Hoseok offers, knowing Jeongguk does not accept help but eager to be polite.

“You relax, hyung,” Jeongguk insists as the drinks are set down, and he returns to the counter where the plates have been left, carrying one in each hand.

Jeongguk has made omelets with a scoop of rice and kimchi on the side, and Hoseok watches with bated breath as the plate is set before him, picking up utensils, eager to dig in.

“Eat well,” Jeongguk says as he rounds the table and takes the seat in front of him.

Once Jeongguk is settled down, Hoseok digs in. He wonders if, in another life, Jeongguk would have taken up cooking as a profession. Everything is seasoned perfectly and cooked just right, as always.

“This is amazing, Ggukah,” Hoseok mutters with a mouthful of food, chasing it back with a gulp of perfectly brewed coffee. “Thank you.”

Jeongguk hums in response, eating quickly, as if his life depends on it. It is always this way with Jeongguk—he always seems in some great rush to finish his food.

Hoseok, on the other hand, takes his time, savoring each bite while waiting for Jeongguk to be ready to talk. When the youngest finally does shove his plate away with a satisfied groan, Hoseok pats at the sides of his mouth with his white cloth napkin and places it gently beside his half-empty plate.

“About this transition of duties,” Hoseok begins, winning him a petulant whine from across the table that makes him chuckle softly. He decides to tease the guy, instead. “Are you really this sour about giving up drug running?”

“It’s not about the drugs,” Jeongguk insists for what he clearly believes to be the hundredth time, based on the dramatic look of exasperation that he pulls. “It’s about—“

“The principle of the thing,” Hoseok interrupts, taking the words from Jeongguk’s lips. “You will have more responsibilities as one of Yoongi’s right hands.”

“I'm sure he needs more right hands since his current one is busy fucking his fiancée,” Jeongguk grumbles, not missing a beat.

Hoseok cannot hold back the laughter that bursts from his chest, winning him a glare from across the table. Jeongguk's audacity never fails to crack Hoseok up.

“His fake fiancée,” Hoseok corrects as he lifts his coffee to his lips and savors a warm, bittersweet gulp.

Jeongguk rolls his eyes, clearly already fed up with this conversation. And Hoseok cannot blame him; things seemed fine before Yoongi set his sights on the cub. Why he decided to complicate their lives and hers is still beyond him. The money her ex owes him is hardly enough to be concerned over—certainly less than they usually shake a man down for.

“Namjoon still performs all his duties,” Hoseok continues, feeling a sudden urge to defend his friend.

He really does feel for Namjoon—the man is so desperately in love with Yoongi, and he did struggle at first with feelings of being replaced when their little darling moved in, especially when he had to start sleeping in his own bed again. “Yoongi is simply tired of being a drug lord. He makes enough to afford a middle man, and The Tigers are a good fit.”

The Tigers are a group currently operating out of Hong Kong. Should they accept the responsibilities of Yoongi’s drug operations, they would have income flooding in. Two of their associates are stationed in Taiwan, tripling their efforts. All of this has been explained to Jeongguk, of course, yet he refuses to listen.

“I could use a hand with weapons,” Hoseok says, trying a new tactic of swaying him. Truth be told, he really could use some help with both the acquisition of firearms, the building of incendiaries, and other pleasure projects. Ryujin has been a bit too quiet these days, and if she gets word about Hyunjin, they may need to be prepared for anything.

Jeongguk hums, nodding once while avoiding eye contact, the way he does when there is something on his mind. Hoseok has an idea of what may be bothering him, but he waits to see if he will spit it out while he has a couple more bites of his cold breakfast.

When he does not, Hoseok chases the food with water and asks, “What is it?” before shoveling more food into his mouth. Jeongguk really is a phenomenal cook.

“I just…” Jeongguk begins.

Then he finally lifts his face, and Hoseok sees all essence of the man stripped away, leaving behind the wide-eyed boy he knew back when he joined the family. The look in Jeongguk's eye is one of worry, making Hoseok’s heart ache, and he sets his utensils down and places his hands in his lap.

“Nobody is replacing you, Jeonggukah.”

Jeongguk frowns. “That’s not—“

“Are you sure?”

With a sigh, Jeongguk shakes his head. Then he points his gaze, squinting at Hoseok.

“Has Seokjin hyung told you something?”

This makes Hoseok chuckle, further furrowing Jeongguk’s brow.

“Jeonggukah, Seokjin is not conspiring anything. I know you tend to be wary of him, but although there are plenty of things only he knows, he is not hiding anything.”

“Hmm,” Jeongguk responds, folding his arms over his chest. “We’ll see.”

With that, Jeongguk leaves the room, and Hoseok cracks a smile before finishing his plate of food. The sound of velcro adjusting cuts through the silence of the room, and Hoseok savors the final bites of omelet and kimchi. Then he drinks back the rest of the coffee and leaves the dining space to join Jeongguk.

He hears the sounds of glove-clad fists hitting a punching bag before he sees Jeongguk boxing—hopping lightly from foot to foot and pretending to dodge between punches.

“I meant it when I said I could use help,” Hoseok calls loud enough to be heard over Jeongguk’s fists striking leather.

Jeongguk says nothing, but Hoseok can see in his eyes that he is considering the offer. The man is smart and having someone like him on his team would be invaluable.

And, perhaps with his closeness in proximity, Hoseok can help the guy cope a little better with his demons. He thinks no longer having first dibs on all of the best cocaine in Seoul will be good for Jeongguk.

Hoseok stands a while longer and watches Jeongguk box. Everything from his stance to his strikes is calculated and precise; showmanship at its finest. Really, everything Jeongguk does amazes Hoseok, when he thinks about it.

Finally, Jeongguk stops. Even though not much time has passed, he is panting and glistening with a sheen of sweat. He rolls his shoulders back and nods to Hoseok as he speaks.

"What have you been building?"

Hoseok perks up and considers this a win, smiling to himself as he runs through a mental list of all the latest gadgets and weapons he has been in the process of manufacturing.

"One of my latest toys is a hubcap with blades that extend out, so you can ram the car next to you and slash their tires."

Jeongguk's mouth and eyes widen comically, then he blinks from his thoughts and shakes his head, laughing as he asks, "You're joking, right?"

"Nah," Hoseok responds, also laughing because Jeongguk is absolutely precious. "We've been working on them for several months."

With another shake of his head, Jeongguk mutters, "That's some James Bond shit," and Hoseok laughs even harder, bending at the waist and placing his hands on his knees for stability.

"You have no idea," he says, thinking of all the other James Bond-type contraptions and weapons he has been working on, making Jeongguk laugh harder.

Moments pass, the laughter dies, and Jeongguk nibbles on his bottom lip while his eyes trail around the room. He screws up his face the way he does whenever faced with a choice, then nods his head and says, "Alright. I'll consider joining you."

This makes Hoseok's heart soar, and he claps his hands while shouting, "Oh, good!" and making Jeongguk laugh some more.

* * *

Jinnie Might have to head to Busan and oversee Hyunjin's escape. Care to join me?

Hoseok As exciting as that sounds, I think I would rather stay home and enjoy a nice warm bubble bath.

Jinnie Preemptively scheduling a bath without knowing which day I have to leave?

Hoseok You know me, always prepared for anything!

Jinnie Suit yourself. I expect pics, baby.

Hoseok Of course, sir. ;) How was the meeting?

Jinnie Brief. Yoongi and company came back from the range drunk, and they all convened in the pool. Could hardly capture his attention for ten minutes.

Hoseok Did he forget about the meeting?

Jinnie Likely, but that's fine. I just needed the green light to start pulling Hyunjin out. I have a feeling he doesn't actually care how I do it as long as it gets done.

Hoseok Anything involving Busan is a sore spot.

Jinnie It's ridiculous, honestly. How many years will it take for him to move on?

Hoseok I wanted to speak with him, but I guess it can wait. Coming back home?

Jinnie Walking up the path right now, baby.

Hoseok Movie night?

Jinnie Sounds perfect.

* * *

Hours earlier, after his meeting with Jeongguk, Hoseok sent a text to Yoongi asking when a good time to meet up and have a little chat might be. He is surprised to find Yoongi responding, given that Seokjin said he was drunk earlier. He wonders if it would be wise to check in with his friend at a time like this.

Credits roll on The Matrix, and Hoseok sighs as he leans forward to place the empty metal popcorn dish onto the table, careful not to stir Seokjin, whose head lies in his lap; as soon as the film began, it had taken approximately twenty minutes for him to fall fast asleep.

Despite his efforts, however, Seokjin grumbles and rolls onto his back, stretching as best as he can, given he is lying on a long mauve velvet couch with his head resting on a thigh. Hoseok gently runs his fingers through Seokjin's hair, smiling at the man who blinks away sleep with a lazy smile.

"Yoongi messaged a bit ago saying I could stop by for a chat, so I think I may."

With a sound somewhere between a hum and a yawn, Seokjin asks, "Mmm—what time is it?" while curling onto his side toward the back of the couch with his face buried against Hoseok's stomach.

"A little after seven," Hoseok guesses, given it was around five when they started the film.

"What are you gonna talk about?" Seokjin mutters, voice muffled in Hoseok's black t-shirt, huffing warmth through the fabric and onto his skin.

"Just gonna touch base and let him know how my talk with Jeongguk went. I have a feeling Gguk hasn't said anything about it."

"Likely not," Seokjin grumbles.

"We've also gotten some offers from a Russian contact for some machine guns, and I am curious whether that is something he may want."

Seokjin nods and rolls onto his back before sitting up with a groan, seeming reluctant to lose the lap that so dutifully acts as a pillow. He yawns again as he asks, "Kalashnikova? Vityaz?"

Hoseok lifts his legs straight and stretches, then slides to the edge of the couch and stands, feeling the tired ache of limbs that have sat unmoving for far too long.

"My, aren't we a nosey one," Hoseok teases, avoiding the question because he does not like discussing firearms in the comfort of his home.

Stepping in front of Seokjin, Hoseok takes his face in both hands and plants quick, sloppy kisses against his cheeks and forehead until Seokjin gets frustrated and attempts to push him away.

"Excuse me for taking an interest in your work," he pouts.

Hoseok smiles and concedes, giving Seokjin space and letting him breathe. Then he walks over to the entrance, grabs a black bomber jacket from the rack beside the front door, and slides his feet into a pair of black leather loafers.

"See you soon, Jinnie," Hoseok calls, glancing back to the couch to find no sign of Seokjin—he must have laid back down.

A grumble from the couch confirms his suspicions, and Hoseok smiles as he makes his way out the door, into the cool evening air. Just to be sure that Yoongi is still available to meet, Hoseok gives him a call, making his way down the path that leads to the back gardens of the main mansion. He enjoys taking the long way.

"Ah, there he is!" Yoongi announces, bypassing any greeting, and Hoseok can already tell that Yoongi is definitely still drunk. He thinks he can hear the terror twins shouting in the background and wonders if they are all still at the pool.

"Here I am," Hoseok responds, eyes on the gravel and dirt path ahead. "I'm heading over now, assuming this is still a good time."

"Ah, I would have told you to wear a bathing suit!"

Hoseok chuckles and shakes his head despite there being nobody to see him. "I'm not in the mood for a swim, but I appreciate the gesture. Who is with you?"

The longer of the two paths that connects the two properties opens into the shrub maze in the back of Yoongi's gardens, and Hoseok walks around it, taking the shortcut along a path between the outermost hedges and the wall of trees that enclose the property. From this distance, he can see lights shining above the pool area.

"Joonie, Tae, and Ggukie," Yoongi mutters.

"You sure your hands aren't too full?" Hoseok teases as he passes through an archway, into the larger garden, walking past the Greek statues and fountains.

"Never too full," Yoongi responds with a chuckle. "You know I love to be overwhelmed at all times."

Hoseok knows all too well that this is the case; it is part of what worries him.

"Is the pool entrance open?" Hoseok asks as he approaches; there is a gate that leads directly into the pool from the garden, making it easier to get to than walking through the mansion.

"Joonie!" Yoongi yells, muffled slightly as if his hand is over the microphone of his device. "Be a dear and let Seokie in through the gate!"

Hoseok approaches in time for the large wooden door to swing open, and he stops in his tracks when he is greeted by Namjoon glistening wet with a dopey smile, wearing black swim trunks that cling to what little they manage to cover.

He has all but forgotten about his call with Yoongi, and he glances at his phone to find that the call has already been ended. With a chuckle, he slides the device into his pocket, bows his head at Namjoon, and mutters, "Thanks, Joon," as he enters the pool area.

Something sexy and downtempo plays over the speakers, and there are champagne bottles scattered from the diving boards to the pool beds that are tucked away under awnings. Hoseok finds Taehyung and Jeongguk making out in the deep end by the diving boards, with Jeongguk pressed against the wall and Taehyung looming over him. It takes a moment to notice that on the far end of the space, Yoongi is reclined in the hot tub.

"Right this way, sir," Namjoon says in a mock butler voice, guiding Hoseok toward Yoongi with a stiff, open palm, making Hoseok laugh. They walk side by side, Namjoon with a bit of a sway in his step.

"Where's the sweetheart?" Hoseok asks, noticing her absence.

"She ran off a while ago," Namjoon responds, and Hoseok notices the little grin that blooms on his face. "Got overwhelmed by too much attention, I imagine."

Oh, this is interesting, indeed. "Attention, hmm?"

Namjoon chuckles and softly mutters, "Taehyung made some offhand comment about her and Jeongguk hooking up, and I don't think she has recovered."

"Is that wise?" Hoseok asks before he can stop himself. And although Namjoon seems unaffected by the question, he adds, "Sharing with Taehyung, I mean?"

With a shrug, Namjoon mutters, "Come on, hyung; you and I have both been there before," and he breaks off to round the hot tub from the opposite side where a set of steps are, to wade over to Yoongi.

"Champagne?" Yoongi asks, and Namjoon's eyes widen as if he had forgotten something.

"Ah, right!" Namjoon responds, "I got distracted and brought you something else."

Hoseok grabs a pool bed and pulls it over to where Yoongi is reclining, dragging it until he can sit within his eye-line, then he has a seat and leans with his elbows on his knees.

"Hoseokah!" Yoongi shouts with a similarly dopey grin as he sits up, and Hoseok laughs.

"You're drunk, boss. Should we talk another time?"

Yoongi shakes his head and frowns. "More tired than drunk. But you have my attention."

Although he expects that they will be having this conversation again at some point, Hoseok begins anyway.

"Jeonggukah doesn't quite seem sold on The Tigers yet, but he has agreed to help with my team if that is something you are interested in allowing."

Yoongi hums and nods, and Namjoon says, "Seokjin has also recommended him for House of Cards, and Jimin has asked about him working the brothels. But I feel like your team could use his brainpower more than the others."

Hoseok is not surprised that Seokjin has jumped on the chance to ask for him, but he is a bit taken aback by Jimin asking for help. Jimin likes his things to be his and only his; he has rejected plenty of offers by the family men and Changbin's security crew to help in the past.

"I agree that Hoseok's team could use him the most," Yoongi says, voice sounding surprisingly clear considering how tired and inebriated he seems. "But I like the idea of him being sought after. I will find out what the others may need from him, and we can see about having him become a floater."

"I think that's best," Namjoon agrees.

Hoseok hums and nods his head; the more people are chomping at the bit to have Jeongguk around, the more distracted he may be from whatever plagues him. And he will be less inclined to let his abandonment trauma seep in and make him feel like The Tigers are stepping in to replace him.

"Alright," Yoongi says with a sigh as he begins to sit up. "I need to get out of here before I become any more lightheaded. Let's run the idea by Jeongguk, and then I am going to get some sleep."

"Sounds good, boss," Hoseok says, standing from the pool bed. All of this could have been negotiated as a phone call, but at least he got plenty of fresh air today.

Hoseok drags the pool bed back to its rightful spot and joins the others to run the plan by Jeongguk. Taehyung reluctantly stops pressing the youngest into the pool wall, and when Jeongguk turns to face Yoongi, Namjoon, and Hoseok, his gaze is fucked out, and hickeys cover his neck. Hoseok laughs, watching as the poor guy's face turns beet red, and then, after some berating from Yoongi and Namjoon, they begin their conversation.

This is nice, Hoseok thinks.

The nights are becoming cooler but still temperate enough to handle without bundling up—although Namjoon and Yoongi are shivering into towels that they have draped over their shoulders.

Despite light pollution, a few bright stars are visible as the sun continues to fully set, and everything seems…calm. Peaceful. Happy.

Hoseok holds onto this moment and tucks it away. He hopes that everything within the family can stay this good for a while.

* * *

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