#i know the air is poisonous but im not drawing masks

[tiiyro]

The Na'vi would love the crew on the Enterprise

[fanaticsnail]

Hi! This is anon with the doctor oc.

I have not a request but just a thought. Imagine Doc revealing to the crew that flowers can be edible (I think it can be new info for most of them) just for it to backfire immediately because someone is trying to eat a poisonous flower the next minute

What Did You Eat, Bubblegum?

Hey Doc Masterlist Here

Word Count: 1,600+

Synopsis: Sharing your passion has ended in un very foreseen circumstances, but leaving you a little upset regardless.

Themes: Platonic!Bubblegum x gn!reader, Platonic!Killer x gn!reader, softness, little bit of flirting, allergic reaction, poisoning, venting, swearing, medical practice, patient x doctor, terms of endearment, reader is referred to as "Doc" - the doctor of the Kid Pirates

Notes: As someone who has a basic guide for foraging on edible weeds and native plants in my home country, this is very dear to my heart. I use flowers in most of my cooking, especially as garnishes. Onion Weed (three corner leek) is my favorite edible flower. Screengrab from this clip.

Tag List: @mfreedomstuff @daydreamer-in-training @sinning-23 @gingernut1314 @i-am-vita @indydonuts @feral-artistry @since-im-already-here @sordidmusings @nerium-lil

“Oh, come on,” you whisper beneath your breath, hastily rolling back the sanitary lining sheet for your treatment cot to house its next victim. 

“Hey Doc," the voice of the hulking first mate called over from the threshold of your office door, "Got another one for you.” Bubblegum was heaped over his shoulders, his face three-times what it ought to have been. 

Bubblegum was hastily placed down in a heaping thud, his head immediately flopping backwards and his mouth hastily gasping and gulping for air. His skin was blotchy and donning the same vibrant hue of purple as his lengthy hair. 

“What did you eat, Bubblegum?” you gently coax your sensitive crewmate, noticing the rise in welts and pus-filled boils forming beneath the surface of his skin. Bubblegum attempted to smile at you, his teeth drawing back to reveal a sheepish grimace. 

“Wih wahs’ah fauwah,” he muffled past his abnormally puffy lips. Your puzzlement was depicted on your brow as you looked to Killer. He sighed, rotating his head on his shoulders and donning the 'hat' of 'muffle-translator.' 

“It was a flower,” he nodded to you, gently walking to perch his hips against the back of your office chair. 

“And where did you find it, sweety?” you asked Bubblegum as you donned your hands with latex gloves. 

“Doun bai n’dah wayah n’ groien’ i’da reyds,” you nodded along to Bubblegum's muffled words before looking over to Killer. 

“Down by the water and growing in the reeds,” Killer bobbed his mask along with each nonchalant explanation. You nodded, looking over to Bubblegum and readying an aloe-based balm for his itching skin. 

“And what color was it?” you bit back your growing smile as you added, “Be as descriptive as you can, sweetheart. It helps with every detail to know how to treat you.” Killer rumbled a soft growl below his breath as Bubblegum began to explain himself. 

“N’ah sem ehz woit n’dah pels ‘er ewow,” you sucked your entire bottom lip into your mouth as you turned away from both men, overcome with the ridiculousness of the encounter, and stifling a laugh with knowing Killer would have to translate for you. “N'ah miwow ehz weyd n’deyre wahz bwaek speirz grewin’ aouda n’dah senn’r. D’ehr wayah wah’z pewlin’ inah cwoiyew ahda boyum.” 

Without missing a beat, you straightened your back and bore your eyes directly into Killer's mask and waited for his translation. He huffed back a guttural growl, inhaling deeply as he translated for you. 

“The stem was white and the petals were yellow, the middle was red and there were black spikes growing out of the center,” he uttered concisely, “The water was pooling in a coil at the bottom.” You nodded, gently mincing up a remedy with your mortar and pestle and bringing up a drawstring bag. 

“Mm-hmm,” you nodded along, placing down your mortar and pestle and removing a portion of the creamy aloe concoction and pasting it on his features, “And what did you learn?” Bubblegum’s face blushed a soft hue of pink as he widened his eyes to depict his innocence. 

“Notta gow fowahjin’ ithow m’hawaht doktnar,” he uttered sorrowfully. You smiled down at him as Killer translated for you. 

“Not to go foraging without the ship's doctor,” Killer uttered nonchalantly with a soft shrug. 

“My hot doctor, you mean,” you nod back at him over your shoulder, finishing off with Bubblegum and giving his shoulder a soft squeeze. “Use this balm until the itching, swelling and bruising goes down. Okay, sweet pea?” 

Bubblegum nodded along and gave you as much of a close-lipped smile as he could muster. The purple-haired crewman exited your office and closed the door behind him, prompting you to exhale while removing your latex gloves with a curt ‘snap.’

Just as you began to relax, two arms snaked around your waist and tugged you back into the wall of flesh and muscle behind you. You shrieked in response, your whole body growing tense with fright. 

“You little shit,” a husky pur called down into your ear, forcing lighting to surge from your coccyx up to your cranium in a fizzling crackle, “You could understand Bubblegum the whole time, couldn't you?” A small squeak was pulled from your throat. 

His arms felt like everything all at once, overwhelming your senses. Secure and welcoming, taunting and warning, strong and intimidating: all of the things you knew Massacre Soldier Killer to be. You lulled your head back on his chest, looking up at his mask adorned face and giving him a coy, pouty smile. 

“I didn't want anything to get lost in translation,” you shrugged in his arms, clicking your tongue up at him with a mocking taunt painted on your lips, “Didn't want to miss an opportunity for you to use that pretty voice I love so much, big guy. It's always a joy to fuck with you a little bit.” 

“Oh, you're a little bratty today,” he purred down at you, the hue of his icy blue orbs gazing dangerously down at you through the several holes in the mask, “What's got you in such a shit mood, hm? Wanna tell Daddy about it?” You refused to pay his comment any mind, instead shrugging out of his arms and tidying up your work bench. 

“You know, if you keep using that one slip up against me, it's gonna lose its charm,” you scoffed at him, ridding the cot of the sanitary lining and throwing it into the trash compartment beside the bench. You spray down the leather lining to sanitize it, wiping it down and casting away the disposable material in the same trash compartment. 

Killer continued to watch you, eying you off and reading your body language with ease. 

“So you don't want to talk about it?” he offered you, spinning your desk chair around to watch it rotate with a soft squeak at the metal base, “Gonna do that thing you do and pretend you're fine until you explode?” You huff out a puff of exasperated air and turn back around to him. 

“Look, I'm just a little pissed that my idea of fun turned around and detonated in my face, is all,” you pout at him, folding your arms and glaring at the trash compartment at the side of your bed. “When I borrowed that book on edible plants for remedial purposes from the Blackleg chef, I should've known it'd turn to shit. Sometimes I forget the crew I serve with, I should've known better.”

“You shouldn't feel apologetic for your enthusiasm,” his tone was solid and baring a hint of warning, “We love your enthusiasm. I-... I love your enthusiasm.” His stutter caught you off guard, prompting you to arch your brow at him. 

“I'm fully aware of how much you all enjoy my enthusiasm,” you arch your neck and look down your nose at him, your pout still evident on your features, “I just wish you'd all check in with me before eating random shit you find on the side of the bay.” 

Killer’s soft, high-pitched giggle prompted you to drop your pout and offer him a soft, half-smile. His laugh continued as you joined yours alongside his, softly reaching forward and placing your hand on his scarred, left forearm. 

“Alright, alright,” you squeeze his arm and teeter off your joint laughter, “Let's get back to work, yeah? I've gotta do some paperwork correspondence with Trafalgar.”

“Trafalgar?” you could hear the audible arch in his brow, his disdain depicted in his tone, “Why?” 

“He was asking about something, is all. Something to do with my dissertation paper back when I graduated,” you shrug, gently releasing his arm and turning back to your desk. “I don't get to geek out about my thesis often, and getting his questions via Den-Den made me feel passionate about my studies again.” 

Killer nodded along with you, slowly returning your desk chair back towards your desk and gently coaxing you to sit down in it. 

“Dinner’s in about about thirty to forty, if you're coming,” he uttered beneath his breath. As he turned away, he felt your hand clutch his wrist and hold him in place. He gently glanced down to look at you, your face not leaving your desk as you withheld your growing fluster. 

“Thanks, Kil,” you continued to hold your eyes fixed on the desk in front of you, “For listening to me, I mean. It means-... It means a lot to me.”

He leaned down, his mask brushing it's brow gently against your temple. 

“I'm happy to be on ‘Doc Diffusal Duty’ any time,” he whispered softly before pulling away, “You wanna talk, know I'm here, alright?” 

“You're the best, big guy,” you give his wrist two rapid squeezes before letting go of it, returning back to your writing. Killer halted at your door, glancing back at you and watching as you returned to scratching and marking your journal and shifting through the papers. 

“It's paella, by the way,” he called back over to you, “Just in case you were wondering.”

“I'll have an epinephrine on standby for Wire,” you called over your shoulder, “We both know there's no holding him back from your cooking.”

“Oh, Doc,” he clutched his heart in feigned dramatical emphasis, “You flatter me, but there's really no need.” You paused, cocking your head to the side and your brows knit in puzzlement. Killer giggled softly before his regular baritone cadence returned. 

“I used chorizo as a substitute for shellfish, just to give you a bit of a break.” 

Before you had the opportunity to turn the entire way around, you noticed Killer was already away from darkening the threshold of the doorway. Your bottom lip quivered at the thought that he changed the menu just to suit both Wire’s anaphylaxis, and to give you a break from playing disciplinary warden and watchdog. 

You were definitely going to volunteer for washing up duty as payment for his thoughtfulness.

[purgatorypoetry]

the sun never rose yesterday i stayed under cover of darkness, this morning claws through the curtains to meet my weary eyes and i have this need to -run- but, im still too tired to stand; too afraid to rise because when i do i get oh, so tall, i teeter-tot through whitewash oblivion at times i cant even see my feet through the poisons in the air; eyes play now-you-see-me, mask plays now-you-dont, and you keep drawing lines with your finger across your throat and i know; everything here works on a grid, i am a streetcar bouncing twixt the then and now and i dont know how to kiss without biting but you know that already; i watch alexandria burn, her citizens screams drowned out by the silenced voices of millenia groaning from the ash and rubble of her libraries and i know nothing lasts forever; i watch atoms decay and electrons pull away from one another as the fabric of everything tears into shards of absolute zero and i know i have not yet truly tasted the cold

[crypticalwitch]

A Halloween night! Bloody Code Au (Part 1)

Ok, this is crossposted (i really hope im using it right) to my wattpad, but there its a songfic to Victorious by Panic! at the Disco, but i removed that here, because i liked it alot. also this is a cliff hanger that i will update to add the link to the second one later. Also some bad language, booze and blood and vomit. not graphic or anything, just wanted to mention! 

Part 1/ Part 2

Grian smiled. Halloween was always one of his favorite holidays, since it was excuse to cause trouble, and a halloween party at a night club was definitely going to be fun. The costume He and Scar chose was also very fun. While most might have just bought something, they had two advantages over everyone else, 1) Demise ment they had the best ghost costumes, with little to no make up, only using it to bright colour to scar tissue, which is why the pair were grayscale while walking down the road, and 2)Vex and Fairy, enough said.

And so Grian and Scar walked down the road toward the club. Grian had brought his vex mask, while Scar had made sure to have small stash of regen potions incase someone over did it on the drinks.

“SCAR GRIAN!” Rens familiar voice called out from down the road. Grian began to run closer, Scar on his heels. 

“HI REN!” Grian yelled. Ren was dressed up a stereotypical wolf man, though he only had the wolf ears,tail and clawed gloves. 

“Ready Scar?” Ren asked, jumping up and down slightly.

“You know it!” Scar smiled, “Cub already inside right?”

“Yup!” Ren cocked his head to the side. “What are you guys dressed up as?”

Grian smirked.

“Were Dead!” Scar giggled

“OH!” ren seemed to notice the grey skin, the X-ed out eyes, and the scars. The outline of grains skeleton was highlighted, and scars lips and hands were a pale yellow-green.

“Well, lets go!” grian said, his impatience beginning to show.

“Yeah!” Ren smiled and began to pull the pair to the entrance.

The club was bright, loud, and chaotic, in a very different way than Hermitcraft, and Scar wasn’t sure how to feel about it. Grian seemed to enjoy the loud music and immediately went off to the dance floor after seeing Iskall, who was dressed up as a mad scientist. 

Scar met up with cub, who was dressed up as a vampire, and got a comfortable seat close enough to the bar and the dancefloor, but wasn’t two crazy.

Things were fine at first. None of the group really drank too hard, and Scar even went out to dance with grian for a while. And then the coughing started.

It was only a small cough at first, occasional and something he could ignore. And then he coughed something up. A very familiar taste, the taste that ended his Demise run. He grabbed a napkin and spit it out, the pale yellow color staining the paper.

Grian was in a similar boat. The scars from the blast always itched slightly, even when he was alive, but at some point in the night, the scars began to inch and ache like crazy. It wasn’t until he rubbed one of the markings and his hand came away bloody that he realise something might be wrong.

Scar ended up in the bathroom, Grian at his side, Coughing and retching up poison and blood while Grian slowly dripped blood from his arms and legs.

“Feeling better?” Grian asked, rubbing his boyfriends back.

“A little.” Scar smiled, pulling back from the toilet “has the bleeding slowed any?”

“Yeah, its done I think.” Grian giggled, “Could you imagine if someone saw us?”

“In the same bathroom stall? Or coughing up blood and poison?”

“Yes.”

“Grian that makes no sense!” Scar laughed, 

“Ready to head back out?” Grian smiled, wiping the blood from his hands off on toilet paper.

“Yeah,” Scar smiled. “I think so!”

Grian and Scar slid out of the stall, right into a very confused Ren standing in the doorway.

“REN!” Grian blushed

“Uuhhh how long have you been standing there?” Scar asked, blushing under the grey.

“Long enough to know you two were in the same stall, but not long enough to know why!” Ren said, followed by an awkward laugh.  

“Really nothings happening.” grian began to spitball. “Its all fine. Nothings happening. Everything's FINE.” Scar facepalmed.

“We’ll explain later.” Scar smiled, “But not right now.”

“I guess thats fair my dudes.” ren smiled.

“Im just gonna,leave.” Grian carefully moved past ren, and entered back onto the dance floor.

Grian almost didn't notice the man dressed up as the grim reaper among the sea of costumes, but the reaper certainly noticed him. When grian got a drink, the man watched from a corner of the dance floor. When grian joined up with iskall on the Dancefloor, the man watched from the corner of grian’s eye.

“YOU!” he shouted, his voice gravely, as if he had been decomposing.

“Me?” Grian felt his face go warm.

The man stepped closer, and drew a scythe from his long tattered cloak. He growled, “You…”

Grian was finally able to get a good look at him. 

“Grimdog?” grains stomach flip flopped over and over again.

“Hehe” He nervously chuckled as the reaper apoached, flipping the sythe expertly around, so that the point was up, and placed it to Grian’s neck. “No hard feelings, remember ol’ buddy?”

The reaper growled.

Grimdog removed the point from Grian throat, before giving it a hefty swing into grian’s torso area. Grian lept back, the bone blade only landing a light scratch across Grian’s chest.

“Ok, got it, hard feelings.” grian joked, before pulling his mask off its chain. “If its a fight you want Grimdog,” Grian smiled, placing the mask on his face. “Then its a fight you’ll get.” Grian shouted voice took on an echoy quality,like many hims speaking at once.

Across the club, Scar, Cub, Iskall and Ren hear this, though only one recognised Grian’s voice.

“Oh no…” Scar murmured into his drink, non alcoholic as usual.

“Has someone already started a fight?” Iskall swirled his glass while he leaned back in his chair.

“Sounds like it.” cub smiled, slightly buzzed, “Wonder whats it over.”

“Somthin dumb probably.” Ren said. “Scar are you ok? You look nervous.”

 “IIIIIII, recognise that voice…” Scar said, nervously drawing out his words. “And if im right….”

“...WE should probably leave the building.”

“What?” Iskall sat up in his seat properly. “Why?”

“Cause if he’s any sort of involved with a fight…” Scar blushed as Grian-vex cackled along with the clang of bone and metal. People began to rush towards the exits “Shits about to hit the fan.”

The table stared for a moment, suddenly serious. 

“Welp.” Cub stood up,  putting on his cheep vampire cape, “Scar swore, The sky is Green, Grass is blue, and i'm getting the hell out of dodge.”

“Ditto.”

“Right behind ya.”

The four only got a few blocks down the road when the sound of bricks exploding echoed through the streets.

“SCATTER!” Scar screamed, Cub and Iskall began running down alleys as Ren and Scar continued running the main streets.

“OH COME ON GRIM!” the voice laughed. “I thought you’d be better at using that thing!”

“really?” scar muttered, “taunt the reaper huh?”

“Is this guy really brave or really stupid?”

Scar rolled his eyes. “Both.”

“Oof”

The fight had made it to the pair, and scar pulled ren into an alleyway. Giving ren the first view of this mysterious man.

The man’s skin was a pale grey-blue color. His dark hair had many curls were supernaturally sharp, a look that didn't sit right with Ren. His eyes and mouth didn't help. Both were glowing white-blue, his eyes eerily pupiless and his mouth filled with sharp teeth, pulled into a frustrated and menacing smile. Behind him, a pair of white wings glowed, and in his hand, a loosely held an axe.

The Reaper, if he even was human, was worse though. His eyes were pitch black, and everything about was salow and decayed, like he had just risen from the grave. He was covered with a swirling cloak, and carried a large scythe that appeared to be the jaw bone of some large animal.

Ren looked up at Scar. Scar watched the battle with an nervous air. The pair were stuck. Ren didn’t know who to hope for. The Reaper with the Scythe or the Spirit with an Axe.

“I-swear-if-i-die-dressed-as-the-world-most-effort-put-into-bad-halloween-costume-i'm-going-to-haunt-someone.” he whispered, semi-serious.

The reaper and Spirt help up their weapons and charged at each other.

[ephemeral-afterlight]

Hngh I want to know what happens next in superhero au so bad

previous part

they have a lair. they have an actual, real life lair. a superhero lair hidden underground about a mile outside the city, underneath an old factory that virgil wouldn't have looked twice at had he not been lead by the others through the gate. in the doors, down hallways, through yet another gate, down a long, long flight of spiral stairs, into a dark room, through a locked mechanical door that whirs open courtesy of codebreaker, and into the huge room that looks like something straight out of a science fiction movie. they have a lair, in 2019. virgil feels like he's just stepped straight into an alternate dimension.

"sit," the ringleader tells him as he walks by, cane tapping and echoing in the huge room at slow, uniform intervals. virgil’s wide-eyed wonder draws a giggle from the medic, of whom comes up to him with a hop in his step and peers at him with knowing eyes. he leans forward with his hands clasped behind his back, rolling back and forth from the ball of his foot to the heel in giddiness. his skirt swishes with the motion, seemingly just as lively as the man himself is, and virgil finds it almost comforting despite the simultaneous annoyance at the cheery disposition.

“want some nutrient-infused water? it’s got lots of vitamins and stuff that’s good for you in it! and it tastes like strawberries!” the medic asks, not stopping to wait for virgil’s answer before producing a small bottle the size of his palm from the inside of his cape. at first, virgil wonders incredulously if he keeps little water bottles hidden in tiny cape pockets for spur-of-the-moment use, but then the medic sticks his fist out to drop the bottle into virgil’s hand and his cape flutters open to reveal something that looks like a fanny pack strapped to his chest just above the bottom of his ribcage. it has a heart and cross symbol identical to the ones on his waist and shoes, and virgil realizes that it must be some sort of first aid kit or medical pack.

“oh, uh--” virgil starts, about to decline, but the small frown that forms on the medic’s face makes him feel too guilty to pass it up. with a laboured sigh, virgil accepts the bottle, bringing it up closer to his face to examine it. it looks pretty normal, like water that’s lightly tinted pink. the bottle itself is more like a vial, just without the rounded bottom. this could easily be poison, but they are superheroes, and virgil doubts that heroes would go as far as to try to kill him, even if they’re not completely convinced he’s not their enemy. 

as virgil pops the cap off sinks into the chair the ringleader provided him, the scent of the water wafts up toward him almost immediately. it’s potent, but it doesn’t smell bad, necessarily. artificial strawberry assaults his senses, overpowering him in a way that reminds him of the awful, cavity-inducing candies he used to steal from his grandma’s purse and munch on when he was younger. it’s not exactly like how he’d expect poison or chemicals to smell, but then again, a lot of poison isn’t supposed to smell like anything, so.

even though he really, really doesn’t want to drink this stuff, the medic is staring him down expectantly, bright blue puppy dog eyes boring into his soul. it’s like those eyes have picked him up and laid him in clouds, pulled a warm blanket over him and wished him goodnight. a crackling fireplace, hot chocolate and marshmallows, fuzzy socks and hardwood floors and fluffy rugs. it’s like looking into his eyes washes all of his worry away, like they pull out all of his sorrow and hardship and leave him with only pure warmth, and virgil realizes with a jolt that he’s already downed the whole bottle without even feeling it.

upon seeing the now-drained bottle in his hand, empty save for a few trace amounts of leftover liquid, virgil winces. he waits for something to go wrong, to feel a burning in his throat or a headache or to faint or even for him to just flat-out die, but there’s none of that. just the effluvious tang of an offensive mockery of strawberry flavouring coating his mouth and throat. virgil wrinkles his nose and glares at the clear bottle as if it personally threatened him.

“hey, med, come check the counter with me, ‘kay?” the prince says suddenly, an unreadable look flashing in his golden eyes as he watches the two of them before being masked by friendliness when his gaze meets virgil’s own. virgil’s suspicion goes nowhere, seemingly dissolves into thin air when the medic lays a comforting hand on his shoulder through the dark cloak. his touch almost burns with warmth, infuses him with calm, and virgil’s lashes flutter under the weight of his sudden onslaught of sleepiness. then the medic is gone, disappears through another one of those weird high-tech spaceship doors with the prince, and the haze over virgil’s mind slowly begins to clear.

“you say you are not the storm. who are you, then?” the codebreaker suddenly speaks up, smooth voice drifting over from his spot at some sort of panel. it glows brightly, so blinding virgil can’t make out any kind of images or words that it might display, and yet codebreaker somehow seems to be interacting with it effortlessly. he floats there in front of it despite there being a chair right beside him, back hunched and knees pulled up to his chest. his head is tilted, rests on his shoulders as if he’s too weary to hold it up, and his eyes only flit to virgil once before returning to observe the panel in front of him through his hologram face-screen thingy.

“don’t look at the console for too long. it’s not healthy. code-y over there is the only one who can actually see what’s on it. his holovisor has some sort of light filter, or something,” the ringmaster remarks to virgil’s left, leaning on his cane with an air of boredom that virgil doesn’t think is very fair to display. he inspects his nails like he has somewhere better to be, but he’s wearing gloves, so it just ends up making him look weird. then again, the michievous look in his eyes has a hint of knowing to it, so maybe he’s trying to look stupid on purpose just to fuck with him. 

“i’m… my name is virgil. im just a guy, man. like i said, i work at a shitty job and still live with my parents. i’m not some… crazy evil supervillain,” virgil tells them, and funnily enough, that desperation he’s been feeling this entire time seems to have completely vanished. he’s wary, but not afraid, which is completely different to how he was feeling just thirty minutes ago.

“virgil altera, born to a liliana altera and a harold whitman. mother is an authour who hasn’t been published in nine years, father is the ceo of an insurance company. you were kidnapped from a local park at age four and stayed missing for five years, until you randomly turned up wandering along a highway outside of a town hundreds of miles away. you were badly beaten and starved, yet were somehow able to walk almost perfectly despite your dangerous condition. you remembered nothing about where you had been, and there was no trail to determine the assailant or where they took you. the case went cold, you returned to your parents, and you were enrolled in middle school by the next year. you graduated from high school with no notable achievements, started working as an office temp, and have been presumably been doing the same thing ever since. an odd story for someone who claims to be a ‘normal guy’, don’t you think?”

okay then. so the codebreaker can just somehow get his whole life story in a matter of seconds. it’s fine. this is fine.

the ringleader raises his brow, the one that’s visible, and lets out a disbelieving snort. “kidnapped? beaten? starved? sounds like a villain backstory to me.”

“yes, well. i suppose we should hear from virgil first before making any rash decisions,” the codebreaker says, finally looking up from the screen and straight at him. virgil draws in on himself, pulse quickening with the amount of information they have on him this easily. the chair is hard underneath his legs, of which are slowly going numb, and virgil can feel the air slowly getting colder as his panic increases. neither of them seem to notice, or if they do, they don’t mention it. the ringleader taps a foot impatiently while virgil just stares, silent and fidgety as he tries to figure out what to say.

“i… i don’t really remember any-- any of that stuff. well, i kinda remember walking on the highway, and someone taking me to a police station, but not the-- not anything before that. i’ve tried so hard to remember but the most i got with my therapist was the word ‘hens’ printed on some sort of paper. that’s really all i remember, i promise,” virgil mutters, swallowing hard under the ringleader’s icy look. the codebreaker says nothing, only narrows his eyes slightly as if he’s contemplating something, and then he turns right back around with his coat flapping behind him as he resumes his position at the bright panel. the ringleader huffs once and rolls his eyes, leaning forward and hoisting himself up onto the raised platform the console resides on instead of walking around to the other side and using the set of stairs there.

the two seem to talk in hushed tones to each other, ignoring virgil’s presence completely, something that both irritates him and relieves him. although he wishes they’d stop being so secretive and just tell him what’s going on and how to fix it, he much prefers the disregard than the intense scrutiny. it gives him a moment to breathe, to try to rein in his frustration and panic. instead of speaking up, he decides to look around the room again, takes in the rows and rows of screens and buttons and switches. it all looks extremely high-tech, futuristic, almost, like he’s just boarded an alien spaceship and is now seeing the ship’s control room. glowing blue light comes from everywhere, enhancing the dim atmosphere with something clandestine.

“alright. if you’re not the storm, then why do you have the same powers? how’d you deflect my whips?” the ringleader asks loudly, snapping virgil out of his reverie. his face is mostly neutral, but there’s a hint of annoyance underneath that suggests a bruised ego. virgil jumps to  his feet and stands at attention, something in the ringleader’s tone making him afraid of what will happen if he doesn’t pay attention. “because from what we saw, the storm was fighting us like normal, and then suddenly stopped in the middle of an attack and just dropped out of the sky. we thought it was a trick, so we all fell in and approached together. but instead of an ambush, you were just standing there on the ground not even acknowledging us. i tried to attack, you blocked it, and then instead of dodging princey’s punch, you cowered. so if you truly aren’t the storm, then why do you look like him? why do you have the same body, the same clothes, the same face and voice? why can you use the same powers?”

and virgil honestly doesn’t know what to say. he fell out of the sky? how is he even alive right now?

“i… i don’t know, okay?! all i know is that i woke up standing on that street. you tried to hit me with those glow-y whip thingies, so i tried to put my hands up so it wouldn’t hit my face, and then fucking lightning came out of my hands! i didn’t do it on purpose! how the fuck am i supposed to know? if i did, i wouldn’t have walked this whole time with these stupid bandages on my feet instead of shoes! and now my feet have rocks in them and i’m bleeding and i think my leg is hurt somehow and i feel like i’m gonna pass out any minute and i’m just tired! i want to go home! i want to go back to my stupid boring desk job and live my stupid boring life! i’m not a villain! i’m not… i’m not a killer,” virgil chokes out, voice breaking before he can truly end his rant. and it’s true, his feet do hurt. they feel blistered, sore, sting with the specific type of pain reserved for a cut. his right leg is throbbing, shaky like it could give out any minute, and his arms are so weak he can barely raise them above waist-level. he’s hungry, and angry, and he just wants to sleep. he probably looks like a zombie right now, and he feels like it too.

“wait! you’re hurt?! why didn’t you tell me? that water just isn’t enough to heal you,” the medic’s familiar voice comes as a worried exclamation from the direction of the door he and the prince disappeared into, and virgil turns to see both of them re-entering the room. the prince looks confused, and the medic immediately jumps into action, fretting over him with small touches here and there that alleviate just a little bit of the ache. virgil is pushed gently back into the chair, and then the medic’s gloves are tapping indeterminable patterns into his blood-stained pant leg. it hurts for a moment, feels like a burning sensation as the little hearts on the pads of his glove fingers glow, but then he can feel an odd numbness taking over everything else. he can feel his skin stitching itself back up, his muscles releasing tension, the nerves calming down. it leaves him exhausted, the medic perhaps even more so, what with the way he lets out a strained breath and wobbles to fall down to sit back on the floor. the prince immediately shoots over and kneels behind the other superhero, propping him up to sit at a more normal angle while he catches his breath, and virgil almost feels kinda bad that he sacrificed so much of his energy to help him.

“hey, are you-- are you messing with my emotions?” virgil asks, and the medic looks at him inquisitively from where he’s sitting on the floor in front of the chair. his skirt is spread out around him, draped over his legs and the glassy, reflective black floor. virgil doesn’t really know how a skirt is practical in battle, but he’s not exactly the expert here, so.

“of course! that’s what i do. you were scared, so i made you relaxed instead!” the medic tells him, happy eyes and happy smiles and despite his previous calm, virgil feels annoyance prick at his chest.

“don’t do that. that’s not cool,” virgil says, voice hard, and this time, he feels even more guilty when the medic shrinks in on himself meekly. the prince narrows his eyes dangerously, posture raising in warning, and virgil doesn’t pay him a single bit of attention despite his own fear. “i get that you’re trying to help, but i don’t want you to do that to me without my permission. it just confuses me and makes me tired. please don’t do it unless i say you can, alright?”

his voice is much softer this time, less accusatory, and his gentler approach is obviously the correct one. the medic perks up again, eyes wide as he nods vigorously, and he squeaks out a small “sorry! i’ll be more careful!” before placing his fingers on another bruise and repeating the process of healing all over again. the prince slumps back, still on guard but less confrontational, and the quiet resumes.

eventually, after a couple more rounds of this, filled with the medic ‘tsk’ing at every scrape and gasping at the state of his soles, virgil feels like he can actually stay conscious again. the medic looks a little rough, like he could pass out any second, so the prince picks him up bridal-style with ease and says something about “saving the damsel in distress”. the medic’s weary giggles echo all the way down the corridor for a few long moments after the two of them leave, presumably to rest elsewhere.

“i have come to the conclusion that you are the villain known as ‘the storm’,” the codebreaker says stoically once the noise completely vanishes. the ringleader’s head snaps over to look at him, surprised enough to stumble a bit on his cane, although he rights himself and resumes his put-together appearance as quickly as possible anyway. the words are like a knife through virgil’s heart, an electrified death sentence. they didn’t listen. they didn’t believe him. there’s no way he’s making it out of here. he’s gonna be a prisoner the rest of his life, paying the price and enduring the punishment for a crime he didn’t commit. “the evidence put together all suggests that you are the storm, and you do have powers. you admitted to using them yourself, albeit unintentionally. by all accounts, you are a powered individual and the villain we have been fighting for the past three years.

“however, i don’t believe that this is the full story. i think there’s more to it, that there has to be something else we’re missing. although i have not come to an agreement within myself on whether i believe you are completely innocent yet, i believe that you believe what you are saying, and that you think your version of events is the truth. if you truly do not remember this, remember being the storm and fighting us and wreaking havoc, then many questions have been raised that must be addressed. why do you not remember your villainous activities? why were you unaware that you have powers in the first place? is this the work of someone else? if so, then who? what is their goal? why are they using you as an intermediary for their influence? there is much to think about, and i cannot waste any more time just standing around,” the codebreaker finishes, ramblings coming to an abrupt halt as his holovisor drops open in front of his eyes again and he starts swiping and tapping at the bright console for the third time. virgil wants to know exactly what it is he’s doing over there, but he doesn’t really think he’s in the position to ask at the moment.

“for now, i’d like you, prince, and medic to train him. show him how to use his powers, and how to fight. he could be a viable asset and potentially act as a stand-in to fight villains while i work,” codebreaker commands pointedly at the ringleader, of whom opens his mouth as if he’s going to say something, but decides against it and simply nods.

“alright. virgil, right? come with me. i hope you don’t have anyone waiting for you at home, because you’re staying here for the time being,” the ringleader tells him, a snarky grin plastered on his face as he turns to stride over to the same door that the prince and the medic left through. virgil just stands there, mouth agape, unable to process everything that’s happening. he’s staying here? in the weird superhero lair? he’s gonna live underneath an old factory in this weird sci-fi spaceship bunker until they… what? figure out why he’s the storm, why he has powers? are they going to help him finally figure out what happened to him when he was a kid?

“are you coming?” the ringleader asks, voice low and seductive, but not in the way virgil is used to hearing from his misogynist coworkers in the break room. his voice doesn’t promise sex, or money, or fame. it promises adventure, promises answers, and virgil groans internally when he realizes that there’s absolutely no way he could ever say no to that.

small taglist: @illogical-anxieties @kazykazu @sharp-as-hyalus @bookwyrminspiration @thekitchenpan @bunny222

[gojngdown]

why every tøp song is for the gays

there’s at least one reason for each tøp song as to why it’s for the gays. so please enjoy. if i missed anything please feel free to add it in. written by a disaster nb lesbian.

SELF-TITLED

implicit demand for proof: the first time i heard this song, i was in world history class. we were learning about ancient greece at the time. ancient greece is literally the gayest place on the planet. implicit demand for proof is for the gays.

fall away: the backing vocals of “la da da da da” are just . it’s Gay. fall away is for the gays. also there’s that one live video of fall away with an epic trumpet solo and i watch it religiously and i’m gay. fall away is for the gays.

the pantaloon: i am too lazy to draw it out but the rhythm of this song is roughly the same as “mama” by my chemical romance. if mcr isn’t for the gays, i don’t know what is. the pantaloon is for the gays.

addict with a pen: this is my crush’s favorite song. addict with a pen is for the gays.

friend, please: this song is so meaningful and powerful, just like gay rights. friend, please is for the gays.

march to the sea: this song mentions spaceships. space is gay. march to the sea is for the gays.

johnny boy: simply because it is a Huge Bop that also has really relatable lyrics, johnny boy is for the gays.

oh, ms. believer: one of the prettiest songs tøp has ever wrote. you know who else is pretty? GIRLS. oh, ms. believer is for the gays. snow is also super cool just like gay rights. oh, ms. believer is for the gays.

air catcher: this song flows with passion, just like me when i see any girl ever. air catcher is for the gays.

trapdoor: “everyone gather around for a show.” show = theater. theater is gay. trapdoor is for the gays.

a car, a torch, a death: again this is one of the prettiest songs tøp has ever wrote. and who else is pretty? GIRLS. a car, a torch, a death is for the gays.

taxi cab: the live performance of this song absolutely knocks everyone off of their feet. this is also one of the safest songs on the planet. it’s also my favorite song off of self titled and i’m gay. taxi cab is for the gays.

before you start your day: “put on the glitter that your soul hides behind” can be alluded to closeted gay/trans kids having to hide who they are because they’re closeted. before you start your day is for the gays.

isle of flightless birds: “we put our worth in giving birth and stuff” single-handedly, this line makes the whole song for the gays. we put our worth in heterosexual intercourse when the most important thing is to be gay and do crimes. isle of flightless birds is for the gays.

REGIONAL AT BEST

(i did the songs on rab that are not on vessel!)

slowtown: “i put my socks on my feet.” a beautiful, meaningful line. also a very very gay line slowtown is for the gays. also this song mentions pokemon and pokemon is for the gays. slowtown is for the gays.

forest: the whole chorus is just,,, it’s so gay. like bringin all ur friends out and just singing songs in the middle of a forest there’s no heterosexual explanation for that. forest is for the gays.

kitchen sink: this is @serainechor’s favorite song and sera is a LGBTQ+ ICON. kitchen sink is for the gays.

lovely: the ending. that’s just. it’s. words fail. lovely is for the gays.

anathema: the whole last rap part is from no phun intended, aka For The Gays. anathema is for the gays. also it’s the song playing during that one scene from dreamers at best by @vialism u all know that scene yep. anathema is for the gays.

ruby: “UR AN ANGELLLLLLLLLL”- me @ girls. ruby is for the gays.

be concerned: “where’d you go, HUUUUUUH?” that line is so gay like u hear it and u just Know. be concerned is for the gays.

clear: so many good puns and misheard lyrics can be made out of this song, and we all know memes are for the gays. clear is for the gays.

VESSEL

ode to sleep: literally half of this song is from npi which as we all know is a Gay Album. ode to sleep is for the gays. also this song practically SCREAMS be gay do crimes. ode to sleep is for the gays.

holding on to you: tyler held up a gay pride flag during the live version of this song. holding on to you is for the gays.

migraine: AMM I THE OOOOONLY ONE I KNOOOOOOOW that’s gay that’s so amazing and Gay Culture also i listened to this on repeat on the way back from a band field trip and band field trips are gay. migraine is for the gays.

house of gold: this is the first ukulele song tøp ever released. it’s common knowledge that playing the ukulele is gay culture. house of gold is for the gays.

car radio: just the fact that tyler screams half of this song makes it for the gays. also during the alter ego festival, tyler said “peace” after this song which is gay. car radio is for the gays. also josh takes off the mask at the same time as tyler but no one notices and that’s also very meaningful just like gay rights. car radio is for the gays. tyler illegally climbs a lot during this song and once he literally built his own tower which is chaotic and gay. car radio is for the gays.

semi-automatic: hope is ur friend!! that is very gay and very powerful also keep telling me those sun metaphors those are extremely gay. semi-automatic is for the gays.

screen: another uke song. ukes are for the gays. screen is for the gays. “excuse us while we sing to the sky” is a Gay Line. screen is for the gays.

the run and go: DO DO DO DO DO DO DO DO thats just the grandest gayest lil tune what a Bop also tyler called josh baby on stage during this song “oh hello josh! hello josh”. the run and go is for the gays.

fake you out: this song is very sad and very real- just like me. i’m gay. fake you out is for the gays. “i have committed dirty crimes” HEY BE GAY DO CRIMES. fake you out is for the gays.

guns for hands: turn ur guns into a fist. rise against the homophobes who spread hate. guns for hands said gay rights. guns for hands is for the gays.

trees: the live performance of this is everything and is enough of a reason as to why it’s for the gays. trees is for the gays.

truce: a meaningful yet simple song about staying alive. fantastic as Fuck. it’s also in the key of G aka the best key ! truce is for the gays.

BLURRYFACE

heavydirtysoul: THERES AN INFESTATION IN MY MINDSIMAGINJDHDJDNDBSJBBSBM. heavydirtysoul is for the gays. also the drum tabs are chaotic just like the gays. heavydirtysoul is for the gays.

stressed out: this is the tøp song that so many people heard first. as we all know, the clique is very very gay. stressed out is for the gays.

ride: once again, a song that a lot of people heard first. and the clique is like, SUPER FUCKING GAY. ride is for the gays. during alter ego fest, tyler said during this song “save the best for first” aka the most chaotic and gayass thing i’ve ever seen. ride is for the gays.

fairly local: the contradiction between the first and second verse is gay. fairly local is for the gays. also YEEEEEEEEEEAH is gay. fairly local is absolutely for the gays.

tear in my heart: this song is about jenna. tear in my heart is for the gays. it’s also the first tøp song i ever heard and i’m a gay icon. tear in my heart is for the gays.

lane boy: the riff on this boi. i mean Wow. lane boy is for the gays. “will they be alive tomorrow” he’s talking bout the straights that shit on the awesome lgbtq+ community i don’t make the rules. lane boy is for the gays.

the judge: i listened to this song on repeat when i first got my gay haircut. the judge is for the gays. tyler did a mashup of this and holding on to you (quite obviously for the gays, of course.) on the ukulele (a gay instrument.) the judge is for the gays. the simple act of screaming “JOSH DUN!” is gay culture. the judge is for the gays.

doubt: “don’t forget about me” me @ my crush. doubt is for the gays. no to be completely serious i interpret this song as a message to god and i feel like a lot of lgbtq+ ppl can relate to that sort of interpretation. doubt is for the the gays.

polarize: this is @poisonous-vibrations’s favorite tøp songs. ty is a LGBTQ+ ICON AS WELL. polarize is for the gays.

we don’t believe what’s on tv: tyler once dedicated this to josh. wdbwotv is for the gays. it’s also a ukulele song and the uke is a gay instrument! wdbwotv is for the gays. “YEAH YEAH YEAH” is gay. wdbwotv is for the gays. this is my brother’s favorite tøp song and my brother is a gay icon. wdbwotv is for the gays.

message man: this song just slaps u in the face and screams GAY RIGHTS. message man is for the gays. also the sleepers version of this is on the ukulele a gay instrument. message man is for the gays.

hometown: THE SLEEPERS VERSION OF HOMETOWN WAS MADE FOR THE GAYS I DONT MAKE THE RULES. hometown is for the gays.

not today: the brassline in this is absolutely gay. not today is for the gays. JUST BECAUSE I PLAY THE PIANO DOESNT MEAN IM NOT WILLING TO TAKE U DOWN im sorry. that’s the gayest and most chaotic thing i’ve ever seen Hello???? not today is for the gays.

goner: tyler screaming is gay culture and he screams a lot during this song. goner is for the gays. “i wanna be known by you” me @ my crush. goner is for the gays. to be serious this song is so meaningful and powerful and raw and i love it so much. goner is for the gays.

TRENCH

(there isn’t a yellow this is home of phobia)

jumpsuit: tyler screams in this one too and that’s gay culture. jumpsuit is for the gays. i feel like anyone who joined this fandom before july remembers exactly when and where they were when this came out. and of course, the clique is very gay. jumpsuit is for the gays. also throwing yellow flowers on ppls head is gay culture. jumpsuit is for the gays.

levitate: tyler fuckin rapping a mile a minute non stop is the epitome of gay culture! levitate is for the gays. also vultures = clifford. clifford is a gay icon. levitate is for the gays.

morph: every line of this song is gay! i don’t make the rules. morph is for the gays. (gorph is for the mays) the simple act of morphing to someone else is a metaphor a lot of gay/trans kids can relate to. morph is for the gays. “not done not done not done josh dun” is the gayest thing ive seen in a while. morph is for the gays.

my blood: this one is all about family and friends. a lot of lgbtq+ people have a chosen family, and i feel like my blood emulates not only family by blood but your chosen family as well. my blood is for the gays.

chlorine: ned is a gay icon. chlorine is for the gays. the arpeggio in the second chorus is gay culutre. chlorine is for the gays. red carnations were used by the gays to tell other gays they were gay. chlorine is for the gays. josh wearing a bucket hat is my aesthetic and i am gay. chlorine is for the gays.

smithereens: this song is about jenna. smithereens is for the gays.

neon gravestones: neon has a very important message. 100% for the gays. also it’s a very pretty song and i know ive said this twice already but who else is pretty? GIRLD. neon gravestones is for the gays.

the hype: the second verse is all about not caring what others think of you! the hype is for the gays. a sample in this song is from the two piece video and that is ... :((((( the hype is for the gays. the bridge has a uke in it and ukes are gay. the hype is for the gays.

nico and the niners: EAST IS UP im fearless when i hear this on the low EAST IS UP wearing rebel clothes is gay culture. nico and the niners is for the gays. flying from a fire is also gay culture. natn is for the gays.

cut my lip: “though i am bruised face of contusions know i’ll keep moving” gays have always persisted thru prejudice and u can totally take that line as 100% gay. cut my lip is for the gays.

bandito: this song is all about the fans. the clique is so gay y’all have no idea holy fuckin shit. bandito is for the gays. also it’s such a pretty song ,,,,, repeat after me ,,,,, who else is pretty . GIRLS ! bandito is for the gays.

pet cheetah: THE BOP OF THE CENTURY. absolutely gay culture. pet cheetah is for the gays. also josh takes his shirt off right before this song so. pet cheetah is for the gays.

legend: me and sera were talking abt how ned is a legend and we referenced this song. two gay icons talking abt a gay icon. legend is for the gays. also !! ukulele song. ukes are gay. legend is for the gays.

leave the city: i have no words to describe this song other than that.......... it’s definitely for the gays. <3

SINGLES/UNRELEASED SONGS

heathens: once again a song that brought many more gays to the clique. heathens is for the gays. the piano intro to this song live makes u ascend to heaven. heathens is for the gays.

cancer: this is a mcr cover. my chemical romance is gay culture. cancer is for the gays. this song is also super frickin pretty and girls are also pretty. cancer is for the gays.

two: so eerie and pretty at the same time. just,, really hard to describe. but definitely , definitely two is for the gays. me and sera are gonna do a two piano duet when we meet and we’re both gay icons. two is for the gays.

time to say goodbye: this is my favorite tøp song . the song i DO NOT SHUT UP ABOUT. as such, it’s automatically gay culture. ttsg is for the gays. also it was the first tøp song josh ever heard i’m not crying you’re crying. ttsg is for the gays.

in conclusion: every tøp song is for the gays and i just proved it.

thanks for reading this whole thing i really hope u liked it this took me two hours but hey . Gay Rights.

[redmxnn]

Lewis Redman Imagine- New Years Eve

Request/Summary: Friends with benefits kinda thing. New Years Eve party ends in a steamy situation (im sorry i suck at summaries)

A/N: this is what happens when i listen to britney spears

Warnings: It’s a little steamy fam

You were invited to a party at Cal, Cal and Harry’s flat to celebrate the end of the year. As soon as you received the text you smirked knowing just who would be there, Lewis. You and Lewis had been friends for a while, well everyone would describe you as friends however the pair of you had other names for each other. Friends with benefits was a common term you both used to easily describe the situation you winded up into.

You and Lewis had been ‘seeing’ each other for a few months. It started after a somewhat regrettable drunk hook up. The morning after was filled with awkward air when neither of you admitted how good the night before was. The second time it happened, the pair of you agreed on a plan. Neither of you wanted the responsibility of a serious relationship but the pleasure of the sex was too good to pass up on. So friends with benefits you became.

The both of you loved to test the secrecy of your relationship, always teasing and dropping hints around your friends to see who could resist the urges. Every party you both attended only your favourite outfits were worn just for the other person. Hands subtly roamed bodies under dark lights, testing each others will power.

You inhaled a quick and sharp breath, reached up to the door and knocked. Your heels were subtly squishing your toes, your jeans were so tight that they showed off every inch of your legs, your top dipped just low enough on your chest to draw attention. The door swung open to a loud group of people dancing and drinking. You emptied your lungs as the host of the party came into view, calming your nerves.

“Welcome y/n” Callux smiled already a little buzzed from the alcohol. You smiled in return and began walking into the apartment. Your heels quietly clicked on the hardwood floors with every purposeful stride. The door was shut and in turn so was the rest of the world. The large, normally empty apartment was packed with dancing bodies radiating of each other. Lights flashed across the walls and music pumped from the speakers.

You shyly walked towards the kitchen, feeling awkward being alone. Your mouth twisted and turned as you gazed over the bottles of alcohol in front of you, trying to decide what liquid poison to drink tonight. You had poured your drink into a red solo cup when you exited the kitchen aiming to return to the main party.

“Y/n” Freya called out with her arms already reaching around your shoulders. “I’m so happy you’re here” She slurred looking into your sober eyes. “Nice to see you too” You giggled at her state and toasted your cup against hers. “Come dance with me” She excitedly spoke as she pulled you into the mass of sweaty bodies.

The music poured into your ears as you danced to the beat. Hands flew into the air as you swayed your hips. You and Freya sang the lyrics to songs you knew and laughed when you failed to songs you didn’t know. Your hair whipped around in the light as a thin layer of sweat began to glow over your skin.

As the DJ was transitioning between songs you took a moment to readjust your hair to cool off your face. You turned from Freya as she was still happily partying. Your eyes searched over the crowd watching the movement from within. You stopped your search as you noticed a pair of eyes on you. That simple lock of sight was all you needed. You smirked as you turned around and continued to let loose.

After hours of dancing and laughing with your friends you were definitely a little bit drunk, more than a little. You stumbled away from your group of friends towards the kitchen. A hand reached out and grabbed your wrist and you quickly whipped around to see who it belonged to. You smiled drunkenly at the person who stood before you. “Took your time” You taunted at Lewis who was putty in your hands. “You did good tonight” He replied smugly.

You reached over to a bottle of vodka opening the gap, Lewis’ arms ran down your waist and hips sending tingles up your spine. You drank straight from the bottle, the horrible taste masked by your drunken state. “Careful” Lewis whispered into your ear as he pushed himself right against you, your bum against his crotch. “Don’t you want to be able to remember what’s about to happen?” He teased causing you to whimper out.

“Who said anything was about to happen?” You scoffed back as you spun in his arms, facing him. His smile broke at your words before he noticed your smirk. He suddenly forced his lips to yours, kissing you passionately. His hands grabbed at your hips as yours resided to the back of his neck, slightly pulling on his hair. His tongue swiped across your bottom lip causing a moan to escape from your mouth.

“Wait” You pushed him away from you gently, “Not here” You said not acting as drunk as you were. Lewis’ lips quirked into his infamous smirk as he grabbed your hand and headed towards the front door. 

You stumbled into the all too familiar apartment with Lewis’ hands chasing up and down your body. Your lips smashed against each others, tongues fighting for dominance. Lewis’ hands grabbed at your bum and upper thigh indicating for you to jump. So you did. Your legs hooked around his waist as he began walking to his bedroom with you in his arms. 

You fell back on to the bed, your hands wrapped around his neck pulling him down on top of you. Heavy breaths escaped the both of you as the room heated up. “Wait” You said pulling apart for air. “What?” Lewis asked placing his hands next to you, balancing.

“What time is it?” You asked moving away from him to reach for your phone. Lewis rolled his eyes, annoyed the situation you were in had suddenly stopped. You had rolled of the bed searching in your bag while Lewis sat on the end of the bed silently watching you. 

“Why is this important?” He asked, you turned around a wide grin on your face. “It’s New Years Eve” You scoffed, “And,” you continued holding up your phone, “It’s nearly 12 o’clock”. Lewis smiled up at you out of fondness as you walked towards him. He adored how a simple date could make you so excited.

“Mmm,” Lewis hummed as you stood between his legs. “And what would you like to be doing to bring in the new year?” He asked smugly. You giggled as you locked your arms back around his neck in their familiar place. Lewis’ hand roamed around your back and hips as he leaned back pulling you with him.

Lewis began softly kissing your lips, tasting the sweet alcohol that had previously graced your lips. He was normally not this gentle as your hook ups were out of jealousy and frustration. Your fingers tugged on his hair as he moved to your neck, sucking on a sweet spot causing you to moan.

He smiled up to you and whispered “Happy new year love” The night was filled with hands roaming every inch of each others memorable bodies and pleasurable moans that were sacred to each other. 

[airanke]

(( Context / story / extra under the cut.

Link if on mobile? ))

Vol’jin had been stabbed after he had rushed to Prince Anduin’s aid - a Felguard would have killed the boy had he not. While he was preoccupied, and the others were engaged in chaotic combat, another Felguard struck him through the abdomen. It was only a matter of time before he collapsed, but not after dispatching of both.

Anduin had struggled to drag him to safety until another human - Tyranthan Khort, I believe is his name - rushed to the troll’s aid. They knew not where they were, only that the Legion had made a preemptive strike while the leaders of the Alliance and Horde were all convened in one area.

Their powerful mages - Jaina Proudmoore, Rommath, and Aethas Sunreaver - accidentally tore open a portal to my world. Without much thought, they had all retreated inside, landing themselves in the middle of northern wood elf territory.

And with them, came the Legion.

It was after this that Vol’jin had sustained his injury. Tyranthan helped him limp away, and passed him off to Baine Bloodhoof, before turning to assist the others with fighting off demons. It wasn’t long before Varian Wrynn ordered everyone present to run, and run they did - they ran until they had finally cleared the forest, but the Legion pursued them still.

By this time, I had already been on my way, several of my mages pursuing me with haste - you see, as the King of Mages, I had sensed the portal opening. Naturally, I would go to it, because surely it could not be true. I have not been to Azeroth for over fifteen years, at the very least.

In fact, it is difficult to relay this to you without finding myself distracted by the need to ramble about Jaina.

But, back to my story.

The wood elves are not fond of other races. To say that they are borderline racist would be accurate.

This is not the case for all of them. As it would be, none other than Balder came to their aid; I knew of him. He was described as compassionate for his kind, helping where he could, and even fighting if it was necessary  - unheard of, for at least ninety percent of the wood elven population. They are pacifists to a fault.

But Balder shot out of a nearby tree, and single-handedly stopped the demons in their tracks. Choked them to death with the roots of the trees - and need I mention it, that the wood elves are powerful, especially when the situation is dire. Demons or not, they need to breathe. Balder’s appearance forced those not caught up in the roots to withdraw - and who wouldn’t, when you see a Pit Lord dangling lifelessly in the air?

The Horde and Alliance were beside themselves. Baine, and Thrall both on the verge of tears, and to my knowledge, some others shedding some. Vol’jin was not doing well. The poison had spread within minutes, and Balder, being a wood elf, knew he could heal the poisoning.

But upon touching the wound, was horribly burned, and withdrew his hand with a hiss.

By this time, I was half-way there.

Other wood elves, whose names I do not know, emerged from the trees, watching the scene with disinterest - particularly Balder’s sister, Marie. I know with certainty that she did not even bother to look at the Azerothians, and if she did, it was likely with disgust.

Various leaders tried to inform Balder of the weight of the situation. The language barrier made that difficult, as most wood elves do not know Common, nor have they ever shown an interest in learning it. Balder tried, however, learning Vol’jin’s name. I know that they tried to explain that Vol’jin was the Warchief, but Balder could not comprehend these words, and with so many of them speaking to him at once, he was only further confused, and no less panicked.

It wasn’t until Sylvanas Windrunner spoke, calmly, earning Balder’s attention, and telling him that Vol’jin was a “very important king”. Naturally, this would be confusing to the other leaders, but Balder knows the word king.

He was determined to heal Vol’jin at that point, even though he knew, he knew the moment that he had touched Vol’jin’s wound that it would kill him.

As he was about to heal the troll, his sister exclaimed that it was not worth it. That he would die, and before she could say anything further, the wood elves present told me that Balder had snapped. He had snarled for her to “look at them”, for her to really look at them. To see the panic on their faces, to see the tears of those who could not keep themselves together.

And then he told her “I love you, goodbye”.

Wood elves are exceptional healers, and poison is highly effective against them. High doses can easily render them immobile, if not outright kill them. It is the one sure way to take down a wood elf, because most other ways - outside of fire magic - are a slow and arduous process.

I was stunned to hear that Balder would do this. He turned his hands to roots, and rooted his hand in Vol’jin’s wound, drawing the poison to himself, and healing Vol’jin at the same time, returning the troll’s sight with ease.

No sooner did the poison reach his elbow did Balder begin to gasp for air. The Alliance and Horde have informed me that this was not what they wanted. While they were desperate to save Vol’jin’s life, they did not want it to be at the cost of another. Malfurion Stormrage informed me that upon regaining his strength, half way through Balder’s healing, Vol’jin attempted to rip Balder’s hand out of his abdomen; Malfurion had stopped him, because it was already too late. The arch... druid knew this for a fact.

I arrived shortly after Balder finished pulling the poison from Vol’jin’s body, his entire arm blackened, veins becoming more prominent and black, a sickly green apparent as bits of his skin flecked off. He collapsed, convulsing violently, gasping for air.

My feet threw me off the earthy platform I had propelled myself on - I took the brunt of the fall to my left shoulder, rolling to my feet, and my legs carried me to Balder. Of course I gathered his convulsing form in my arms, soothing him as best I could - and I cried, of course I cried, we sunstaren are known for being empathetic to a fault. It was all I could do to rock Balder in my arms, to make sure the last thing he knew before he died was warmth. A squad of my mages, and my Advisor, arrived shortly after this.

I had expected his final words to be to his sister, but instead, they were to the Warchief.

He smiled.

Then he was gone. I wept.

Vol’jin was furious, I could tell; it was clear that he would have preferred to die himself than have Balder take his place.

It wasn’t long after this that Eli, the Prince of the Woods made his appearance. He was shocked, as he would be, to see one of his own die to take the place of another. As I stated prior in this letter, the wood elves are not known for their willingness to help other races.

One of the other wood elves had alerted him to what had happened.

I made to ask him what would be done with Balder - because you see, the wood elves normally plant their dead. They sprout into beautiful trees, and judging by Balder’s necklace, he would grow into a cherry blossom tree. In any other given situation, I would have asked the question in Arachnedian, but I glanced at the Horde and the Alliance, and saw their distress, and instead, asked the question in Common.

“What do we do? Do we plant him?”

“No,” Eli responded, pulling the mask off his face to reveal his heritage, “we burn ‘im.”

Of course. It makes sense. Tyrande Whisperwind had attempted to argue with Eli over what to do with his own dead. Eli handled it well, though he could have watched his tone. He sarcastically informed Tyrande that sure! Let’s plant him, an infected tree, so that he can infect everything else around him!

He re-emphasized that we would burn Balder, and flatly stated that he would not be told what to do with his people.

In Tyrande’s defence, they had no idea that he was the wood elven Prince at this point.

I must go now, we are making the proper preparations for Balder’s cremation. Vol’jin has made it clear he wishes to honor Balder, and I was asked by Eli to see to it that Vol’jin is properly outfitted with the honorary robes - the other Horde leaders too, wish to honor him, particularly Baine, and Tyranthan has expressed a similar wish.

Yours,

Za’hal Sasodon, King of the Sun Elves, and King of Mages.

[suulphr]

ALL HAIL TO THE BLACK IN TOMORROWS NIGHT, THE NEXT IS FORTH AND FORWARD, THE BLACK IN MY EYES IS TURNING CORDLESS UPWARD, SKYWARD

HIGH TO LOW AND TIDES RECEDING, RECOILING AS THE METAL FALLS UNSTABLE AND EXPANDS HOT AND DE-SHAPES THE LAND THAT IS SOAKED AFTER HUNDREDS OF MILLIONS OF YEARS OF BLOODSHED THAT LEADS TO FLOODING AND EATS THE STORY ALIVE. THIS IS THE STORY OF BLOOD.

THE PACK OF HUNGRY LIONS HEARS THE DISTRESS CALL OF A YOUNG GIRL AND HER YOUNG BLOOD IS RECTIFIED AND MOVES CAREFREE BUT CAREFUL AND STEPPING AROUND INNOCENCE UNTIL SHE IS ALONE, THE LIONS FOLLOW HER TO THE ROAD. THE SOULLESS MEN LEFT UNREMEMBERED AND BLOODY IN THE WOODED JUNGLE TURN COLD.

WHY ARE YOU HAUNTED? YOU COULD WANDER FOREVER, JUST WALK RIGHT OFF THE EDGE.

BLUE LINOLEUM AND PINK GLASS MILK PITCHERS CIRCA 1991

SANDCASTLES TOPPLING IN LIVING ROOMS,

HOODED GLOWING EYES UNDER HOODS RIDING DEATHLESS ON HORSEBACK TO THE BLACKENED NIGHT-VEIL

A CAMOUFLAGED COLLAGE OF FRESH RED MEAT AND TEETH BARED TO THE GROUND OVER TAPE-DRAWN BODIES OUTLINED AND BLOOD SPATTERED PATTERNS MIMICKING OVERFLOWING RIVERBEDS SWELLED TO LAKES AND COOLING LAVA

//OUR SANTA MUERTE, O GREAT LADY OF DEATH, WHO WILL COME FOR US ALL, KIND AND GENTLE BE YOUR KISS. WHEN YOU COME TO END MY LIFE, MAY I BE FREE OF ANY REGRETS. THANK YOU FOR THIS DAY, ONE MORE BEAUTIFUL DAY, THAT I MAY HAVE IT TO LIVE, LOVE, AND LAUGH MY OWN WAY. AMEN. - -

THAT MAYBE IF MY ENVIRONMENT IS WORKING WITH MY AMBITIONS TO STAY CLEAN AND HEALTHY, THERE STILL MIGHT BE A POSSIBILITY THAT THEY’LL SAW CLEAN THROUGH THE HINGED-FRAME OF MY SNOW-COLORED SKULL LIKE GIFT-WRAPPING OVER A HARD-COVER BOOK AND MY THOUGHTS COULD STILL BREATHE FREE, CLEAN LIKE POEMS DOTTING THE EDGES OF LINED PAPER LIKE FLOATING SINGING PRAYER FLAGS LIGHTING UP IN THE WIND AND SUNNED-STRETCH SHOW OF SHINING SNOW BLANKETING HIGHTOP MOUNTAINS WHILE STUDENTS OF THE UNKNOWABLE AND DIVINE REALMS LEAVE THEIR BLOOD AND BODIES AND COME BACK FROM OVERLOOKING INFINITE WORLDS BELOW.

PRAYING FOR PEACE, AND NOT TO BE EATEN ALIVE, AT LEAST NOT WITH THIS MUCH HATE FOR THE IGNORANT WHO KNOW NOT WHAT THEY DO AND ACID-DAMP-COLD-BUT-BURNING FLESHING OUT THE UNTIMED MOVEMENTS TRYING TO CLEAVE A SPACE FOR ANYTHING BRIGHT AND TEMPERATE, NON-EXTREME, SO I DON’T HAVE TO PASS DOWN THE CONFUSION AND SOMEONE STRUGGLES TO GET THE POISON OUT OF DIRTY NAILS, UNBITTEN BUT UNKEPT AND TOO-BUSY SCREAMING TO FIND THE RUBBING ALCOHOL AND NOT EDUCATED ENOUGH TO KNOW WHETHER IT WILL HELP OR NOT.

YOU CAN PUT ISOPROPYL ALCOHOL ON AREAS OF THE SKIN TOUCHED BY POISON IVY TO AVOID A RASH BUT IF YOU PUT IT ON A SNAKE BITE IT WILL SLOW THE HEALING PROCESS, MOVING AROUND WILL MAKE THE VENOM SPREAD FASTER THROUGH THE BODY. A SNAKE CAN MISTAKE ITS OWN TAIL FOR PREY AND ACCIDENTALLY POISON ITSELF, WHILE SOME SPECIES HAVE BECOME IMMUNE TO THEIR OWN VENOM.

“It never gets easier, you just get better.”

CALM DOWN, WALK LIGHT OVER THE GATE, OVER THE BRIDGE, UNDER IT ON TOO-HOT DAYS, VISION BLURRING OR MELTING AS THE WIND PICKS UP, FATED, SOMETHING ILL AND NUMB STIRRING IN THE EYES-SIDING ALONG AND SILENTLY PRAYING FOR DEATH.

The Sumerians told a story that said while Enki and Ninmah were setting to create the earth, as lesser gods, they were burdened by the task and complained to the primeval mother, Namma, about their hard work. She then urged Enki to create a substitute to complete the work for them, she took up clay to knead and gave birth to the first humans. Enki was then tasked to “educate” them. I AM SELFBORN FROM THE THE HEART OF THE MOVING LAND. I REMEMBER THE DAY STRANGE MEN LOOKING TORN FROM THE HIGHER DENSITY DESCENDED FROM THE SKY TO ALREADY FERTILE LAND LOOKING FOR SOME FALSE EXPANSION THEY BROUGHT OVER FROM ANOTHER STAR SYSTEM. HOW MUCH WEIGHT IS MY FLOATING BLOOD WORTH IN MONOATOMIC GOLD AND WHERE DOES THE SEA TURN INTO THE SHORE AND WHATS THE LINE BETWEEN THE SHORE AND THE SAND.

DON’T BELIEVE EVERYTHING YOU SEE, IF LIFE HAS NO GUARANTEE THAN DEATH IS JUST ON VACATION AND I’M RECITING ANCIENT POEMS THAT ARE TUGGING INFINITE AND MERCILESSLY ON THE ROPES HIDING, DESCENDING BELOW THE RING-EDGE OF THE WELL SWINGING MY HEART DRUNK ON BLOOD AND HOW SILLY THAT I USED TO THINK NO ONE WOULD REMEMBER ME AND HOW NOW I AM RE-READING WORDS WRITTEN SOFTLY BY FIRELIGHT A HANDFUL OF STRETCHED CENTURIES-WORTH OF LETTERS AND POSTCARDS AWAY FROM ME WHERE I AM AND BY HANDS NO LONGER MOVING WITH THEIR BLOOD BUT IM GLEAMING, SMILING WIDE ON THE INSIDE AND THINKING ABOUT REVENGE AND CONSEQUENCES AND BARRIERS AND BORDERS AND RED ROOMS, RED SHOES BURNED BLACK AND TURNED ASH, RED HARD-COVER BOOKS AND PAINTED-WHITE BRICK CELLS A HOP OVER FROM THE IDEA OF THE FUTURE NEXT TO A BURNING HASH BUSH AND FALLING REGIMES MASKING DECAY LIKE A DEATH DECOY.

OLD TAPES AND OLD BOOKS DESTROYED.

I’M THINKING SOFTLY ABOUT LEAVING AND NEVER COMING BACK AND THEN RABBITS FOOT SCREECHING GOOD-LUCK DREAMS AND ROOTS AND SKIES AND SEEDS AND SEA-CLEAN-SUN-VISION-REEF-OF-LIVING-SCENES. I’M BREATHING FOR FREE.

BLACK AND WHITE PHOTOS HIGHLIGHTING THE STRUCTURAL CONSISTENCY OF CHAOS AND HOW NATURE BENDS ITSELF FOREVER UPWARD TOWARD LIFE, FOREVER CIRCLING DOWN TOUCHING SOIL TO SOUL TO ROOT AND SAP-BLOOD CASCADING LIKE ANY OLD PIECE OF AMBER POLISHING A RACKET INSIDE THE TUMBLER AND FINDING MOVEMENT AGAIN ACROSS OPEN ROADS AND SHADE AND LIGHT CUTTING THROUGH THE WINDOWS.

I NEVER THOUGHT THAT I WOULD GET HERE TO WHERE I AM NOW, HAPPY AND LEANING INTO IT STILL NOT EXPECTING ANYTHING, STRETCHING COLD BUT GETTING THERE AND IM TRYING NOT TO BURN EVERYTHING I TOUCH BUT I FEEL THIS LIGHT HEAT-CRACKING THROUGH ALL THE SCARS IN MY SKIN. VOICE TAPPING UNSURE AT MY THROAT AND I STILL HAVE HOPE BUT ITS NOT MUCH BUT I GUESS I AM MAKING IT ENOUGH.

I SEE EYES MILES AWAY GLOWING THROUGH DENSE DARK TREES, TIME-TRAVELING STANDING STILL TO 1977 IN FRANCE FOR THE LAST PUBLIC EXECUTION BY GUILLOTINE, HE DIED 12 DAYS AWAY FROM HIS BIRTHDAY AT 27 YEARS OLD AFTER KIDNAPPING AND MURDERING HIS 22 YEAR OLD GIRLFRIEND. HIS DEFENSE REVOLVED AROUND THE AMPUTATION OF HIS LEG SIX YEARS EARLIER WHICH HIS LAWYER CLAIMED HAD DRIVEN HIM TO ALCOHOL ABUSE AND VIOLENCE, “TURNING HIM INTO A DIFFERENT MAN.”

I PICTURE A BEHEADED GHOST WALKING AROUND CARRYING HIS HEAD AND TRYING TO FEED HIMSELF RED-WINE AND IT JUST FALLS THROUGH THE EXPOSED WINDPIPE. HE INTRODUCES HIS HEADLESS BODY TO THE BODY-LESS HEAD AND THEN ASKS HIMSELF HOW DID HE GET SO AT CHEST-LEVEL?

PICTURE OF BLOOD CLIMBING THE GRAVITY FROM THE THIRD-STORY CRASHED WINDOW TO THE FLOOR BELOW.

SOAKED-RED MEDICAL TOOLS, LACE-WHITE DOILIES MUTING THE DARK METAL CLANK OF THE GUN SET AGAINST THE WARM WOODEN NIGHTSTAND, NEXT TO THE CERAMIC-WHITE CHERUB STATUE AND THE OFF-WHITE LAMP LIGHTING THE GREEN ARMCHAIR. CHRISTMAS COLORS A NAIVE SENTIMENTALITY CONTRASTED AGAINST THE HALO OF BRIGHT BLOOD AND BRAIN-MATTER PAINTING THE WHITE WALL RED AND TURNING MY LUNCH INTO SICK OPEN-AIR GREEN. THE CARDINALS SINGING IN THE BRANCH-SHADE-COOLING-BUT-LIGHT-SKIP PEPPERED ORGANIZED CHAOS OF PINE TREES PROTRUDING SPIKED AND EVERGREEN FROM THE COLD AND WARM GROUND. THE SOUND IS CLEAN.

THE COMPLICATED OVER-GLORIFIED MOLTOV COCKTAIL TURNS-MISSES THE CROWD AND HITS ARMORED POLICE.

THE FIRE TRANSMUTES INTO GOLDEN-POISON-ORANGE FROM THE PAINTED IMAGE OF ARMY GREEN, CRACK-POP-SPARKLING THE METAL LIKE REMEMBER HOW YOU GOT THIS SHAPE, THE SUN BOILED THE WOOD FOR THE PENCIL TO DRAW THIS BLUEPRINT OF IMPOSING PUKE-GRIME-SALT-AND-SCUM-OF-NATURES-HYBRID-DEATH-TALKERS HAILING A COLOR AND STALKING BLOOD AND DROWNING IN IT WHILE TRYING TO CAMOUFLAGE INTO THE HEAVY WOODLAND, DODGING GREEN SWAYING TREES, NOT REALIZING RED IS THE DIRECT OPPOSITE COLOR ON THE PAINTERS WHEEL MEANING CONTRAST HIGHLIGHTS IRONY AND THE NIGHT IS BLACK LIKE CLOSING YOUR EYES. MOVEMENT IS EASIER TO DEFINE THAN COLOR. THE SOUND IS CLEAN, THE POISON-ORANGE SPARK REVERTS-OPPOSITE IMPRINTING THE SPOT TURQUOISE TO THE FLESH OF THE EYE. THE SILENCED FOOTSTEPS ARE HEAVY WITH THE QUIET UNCLEAN PAUSE-BEAT OF TWILIGHT SEARCHING FOR SMALLER, QUIET VOICES TRAINED ON THE SHAPE OF THE LIGHT FIXTURE, FOCUSED PATIENT ON FLESHY GREEN ROADS LINED IN CONSISTENT LEAVING AND ALMOST LEAVING AND SOMETIMES COMING BACK FOR A CAMERA SUSPENDED TRI-LEGGED AND SHUTTER OPEN 30 MINUTES TO GET THE SHAPE OF THE LIGHT BENDING EXTENDED AND JUST MOVING ALONG BRANCHES AS THE LINE BETWEEN THE DAY AND THE NIGHT FADES FROM INKWELL, TO DARK END OF THE OCEAN, TO FOREST-FIRE-SMOKE YELLOW-GREY, TO POTENT-CLEAR BUT NOT SATURATED LILAC, THEN MORNING HEAT MELTING THE AIR INTO COTTON-CANDY BLUE UNTIL ITS TOO STUCK-STICKY-SWEET TO KEEP SLEEPING. YOU HAVE THE PICTURE AND NOW YOU HAVE THE DREAM OF RUNNING THROUGH THE DARK JUNGLE HEARING THE TREES WHINE AND SING WAR SONGS OUT OF STANDARD TIME WITH THE PARADE-LINE. THE IMPACT SITE OF BLUNT FORCE TRAUMA TO THE LEFT RIBS SETTLES AND BRUISES INTO THE SHAPE OF A SKULL AND HERES THE CROSSROADS: IF IT IS A WARNING OR A WINK FROM FALLEN BLOOD. LEARNING TO FALL RIGHT, STEPPING IN FRONT OR FALLING TO THE FLOOR, SETTING TRAPS AND GUARDING WATCHING, WAITING FOR THE BLOOD TO MOVE OXIDIZING SKYWARD AND BROKEN, VERSUS GETTING OUT WHILE YOU STILL CAN AND REMINDING YOURSELF OF BLACK SILHOUETTES STANDING SKYWARD WITH ARMS RAISED OVER RAGING FIRES.