#love spell no go au

[scoops-aboy86]

Love Spell No Go au is complete

This is the feedism epilogue that a handful of folks have been waiting for, but if that's not your jam you can just stop after the "Summer" chapter. Otherwise, enjoy!

Now on ao3 in full.

Months pass, and Steve makes sure Eddie still sticks to his regimen of physical therapy exercises. As he gets stronger, closer and closer to where he’d been before Spring Break, he also watches Steve get back to what he thinks of as normal with a warmth in his chest. 

(And yeah, between his legs, but they’re dating now, it’s allowed, even if that technically didn’t stop him before.) 

That warmth never quite goes away, even when they’re apart. Sometimes he calls Steve and can hear the crinkle of snack wrappers or chip bags in the background like the pre-Starcourt days, and feels lit up from the inside. When Steve comes over, Eddie makes sure to have pre-rolls and quarts of ice cream ready and waiting, in case Steve wants to indulge—and more often than not, he does. 

It’s a much different Steve than the boy he fell for back as underclassmen. Yes, he has the same hair (softer to the touch than Eddie had dared imagine and as thick on his chest and legs as on his head), the hazel eyes (deep with an ocean of trauma from four years of coping with monsters… and the demo-things those monsters had unleashed on the world, too), and that cute dazed look when he’s surprised (or sleepy, or stoned, or full). There’s a clarity of self that hadn’t been there before; the person Steve has grown into knows so much more of who he is and wants to be, and that pulls Eddie even more firmly into his orbit. 

Steve says he’s thinking about becoming a school counselor, and Eddie would move literal mountains to help make that happen. Although, Steve has asked him not to use magic to help, because he wants to prove that he can make it on his own merits. Eddie, fresh out of finally graduating high school, can respect that. 

Steve offhandedly says he’s getting hungry and Eddie is already up and headed towards the kitchen to grab or make him something, the phone to order in, or his van to make a grocery run. It’s just… He wants to take care of him, give him whatever he wants after all that silent suffering. His boy, his sweet Stevie, looks so happy with a treat in his hand, nibbling or sipping something or both while they cuddle on the couch half watching, half talking through a movie on the big tv at the Harrington house. 

And he doesn’t know how to bring it up. Steve eats, and Eddie encourages it while watching the results settle on Steve’s belly and ass (and legs and arms and chin and…), biting down on the urge to let his hands roam over those parts of him constantly. Which is to say, he still does it, just… fleetingly. He doesn’t want to make it a whole thing if Steve might not be comfortable with that. 

Still, he can’t help giving in a little and coaxing Steve into wearing his battle vest again as an excuse to see and touch his thicker arms. Sometimes just the vest so he can see the difference from that first time in the-place-which-shall-not-be-named. Never missing an opportunity to fervently admire his boyfriend, to fall at his feet in private and use his mouth and hands to wordlessly convey his devotion. 

The words, he figures, will come to him eventually. For now, he focuses on making Steve as happy as he can. 

~

It had been nearly a year since Starcourt, and for a long time Steve had forgotten. Maybe remembered in little moments when Eddie called him big boy in the RV or brought him lunch at Family Video that time, but those had just been glimmers. Pale reflected light, like the moon barely peeking through cloud cover, nothing like the real thing. 

He remembered when Eddie was feeding him his chocolate pudding from a hospital bed. Steve had apologized after realizing he’d finished it off, but the words were a little hollow because he’d felt like he’d finally found sunshine again. 

Now that he remembers what he likes and how much, and it opens floodgates that he wouldn’t dream of trying to close. 

So he eats whatever and however much he wants, and Eddie indulges the habit, always sharing his food with him when they have dates or when it’s just them and Robin. Always passing him more at larger get-togethers and smiling when Steve accepts, sometimes doing that thing where he tugs hair across his mouth and watches Steve with big eyes like he can’t believe he’s real. It’s clear that Eddie is happy with his significantly relaxed workout schedule and that he isn’t policing himself when he eats anymore, which… Steve had known it at the time that neither of those things were particularly healthy of him to do. When his parents had come back briefly in between business trips and made approving comments in passing about the weight he’d lost, a part of him kept beating against the inside of the mask he wore and screaming, I have nightmares every night, I am not fucking okay! He’s glad to be free of that mask now, and it’s reassuring to be with someone who feels the same. 

When Eddie touches him, more and more he lingers where the muscles Steve had worked himself to the bone for are becoming less distinct. A sweeping touch from his pecs downwards lingers on his belly before continuing on is a benediction. Steve lives for those touches, same as the way he lives for Eddie grabbing his ass or kissing the scars on his neck, leaning into Eddie with a responsive shiver because oh, he likes that. 

“And,” Robin adds cheerfully when Steve tells her about it, “you don’t look like I could play the xylophone on your ribs anymore, which is great!”

“What?” He blinks, then lifts the bottom of his shirt to inspect himself. “You could not—” 

She takes the opportunity to poke his side—where his ribs never showed that much, he’s sure, but definitely aren’t visible now—and cackle, and Steve chases her around her room with a pillow trying to whack her over the head. 

It feels good. 

~

Not everything is good. The first anniversary of Starcourt sends him into a tailspin for a while, kicked off with the sound of fireworks cracking the warm night air. 

Even amidst the nightmares and panic attacks, Steve feels bad about it coming so close on the heels of Eddie’s long awaited graduation from Hawkins High—though when he breaks down and admits as much one night, Eddie pets his sweaty hair and kisses his equally sweaty temple and tells him not to worry about it. 

“Sweetheart,” Eddie replies patiently when he keeps trying to apologize anyway, “you threw me two big parties and officially relieved me of all remaining shreds of my virginity. I felt thoroughly celebrated, believe me, and all the traumatic shit you’ve been through rearing its ugly head right now doesn’t take away from that. Now, how about we turn on every light in the house on our way to the kitchen, and I’ll whip up some frozen hot chocolate and whatever you want for a midnight snack?”

Steve whines in his arms and holds him tight, face pressed to his neck. They’ve never talked about it, but he thinks Eddie might be mixing little spells to help him get back to a dreamless sleep in that hot chocolate. If the suspicion were ever confirmed he’d never be able to thank him enough, so he doesn’t ask. “I don’t deserve you…”

Eddie hums in disagreement and kisses the top of his head. “Right back atcha, sweet boy.”

Eventually Steve stops waking up screaming that he works for Scoops Ahoy. Sometimes he only tosses and turns a bit, waking up hungry enough to slip out of bed to get his own midnight snack. And more often than not, when he does that, Eddie will wander sleepily in and wrap both arms around him from behind, mumbling that he missed “my Stevie,” a pet name that never fails to stoke a warmth in his chest. 

The days when Steve would work off his panic with excessive running or swimming laps are long gone, and he doesn’t miss them. Nor does it escape his attention that Eddie’s arms don’t overlap across his stomach as much as they used to. 

It feels like healing. 

~

Eddie shouldn’t have worried about how to broach the subject. It happens naturally, starting with his battle vest over Steve’s bare skin and Eddie’s inability to stop staring or keep his fingers out of Steve’s chest hair. 

“Hey,” Steve chuckles, batting his hands away for the upteenth time because they keep bumping his milkshake cup. “Come on, man, let me finish my lunch.”

“But I’ve finished mine,” Eddie retorts, totally not whining, nope, nuh-uh. His burger and medium Mountain Dew had been nothing compared to Steve’s order of two bacon cheeseburgers, large fries, extra large Coke, and a chocolate milkshake, especially since Steve has saved almost all the fries to dip in said milkshake. “I’m bored, and you’re sitting in my living room looking like that—what am I supposed to do, sit on my hands?”

Steve smirks. “You could.” Popping several chocolate-dunked fries in his mouth, he adds around them, “The more you mess with me, the more I’m gonna end up dripping on your vest. Is that what you want?”

With a roll of his eyes, Eddie reaches over—bumping the cup again, which makes Steve snort in exasperated amusement—and pushes the pin-laden denim to either side of Steve’s chest. “There, problem solved.” 

(It’s not like milkshakes are harder to wash out than blood stains, but he doesn’t mention that out loud because Steve still tends to try and apologize for bleeding on it… As if blood stains aren’t metal as fuck.)

Steve scoffs, but there’s a gleam in his eyes. “Okay, but now what if…” And he very intentionally scoops way too much milkshake out with another cluster of fries, dripping all down his front in a not quite fast enough shove towards his mouth. 

Jesus, Eddie can feel his eyes dilate. He hasn’t even smoked today but he feels like a part of him is floating as he ducks automatically forward and, eyes sliding shut, laps the cool, creamy liquid from Steve’s chest hair and tantalizingly warm skin, and that’s… God, he thinks as he inhales through his nose, that’s his favorite smell ever. He licks again, lapping at Steve’s chest to get it all, but once he’s done he doesn’t want to pull away. Moves his mouth to one of Steve’s nipples instead and licks that too, bites it a little until it starts to perk up at his attention, cupping the side of that softening pec the more into it he gets. 

“Eds,” Steve sighs, hand coming up to cradle the back of Eddie’s head. Probably getting his hair greasy, but Eddie so doesn’t mind right now. He moans and guides Eddie to the other side of his chest so he can do the same to his other nipple. “Baby, yeah…”

Eddie sucks and then releases him with a wet pop. “You like that, big boy?”

“‘S good,” Steve confirms breathlessly. 

“You want more, sweetheart?”

The whine Steve lets out literally makes Eddie’s dick twitch it’s so slutty and desperate, Jesus H. Christ. “All of it, I want… everything.”

Everything, it turns out, means the rest of his fast food, a party-sized bag of chips from the pantry, Eddie’s mouth roving over his chest and neck, and Eddie’s fingers working him open while he eats. At least until he’s lubed and stretched and so full it’s a struggle to finish his chips; then he begs for a joint, too. 

“Easy sweetheart,” Eddie murmurs, holding the joint against his lips as Steve greedily sucks, makes the tip flair as cherry red as his exposed cock. “There’s plenty, don’t have to rush it. You can have it all, baby, it’s all yours.”

The smile Steve gives him is loose and wreathed in smoke. His eyes are drooping and red like the quickly fading cherry of the joint, slow in his head. His body and breath move like syrup, sluggish but inexorable as he reaches for the chip bag again, bringing it close to his face where he’s splayed on the couch, movie completely forgotten in the background. Eddie is sitting at his hip, legs angled almost parallel to Steve so he can see him, ready to bring the joint or his drink to his mouth as needed. 

“I know,” Steve tells him, nearly whines. “But I miss it. I want it back.”

“Want what, baby, you want another hit? Want my fingers again?”

He shakes his head. “Nooo, I used to have…” Cramming another mouthful of chips past his lips, he rubs his free hand over his distended stomach. His touch drifts lower to the give below his navel, and he swallows. “Used to have a real belly. It felt good when my shirts got tight around it, I want that again.”

There’s something fragile and nervous in his eyes, beneath the high, as he says it out loud, but he doesn’t break away from Eddie’s gaze. He”s never mentioned it before, but Eddie has seen the basic shape of it for a while in the way Steve eats, and the way it’s echoed in how much Eddie likes watching it happen. 

He studies his boyfriend with his head slightly tilted to one side, the tip of his tongue tracing over his bottom lip. “Do you remember the first time we smoked together?”

Steve chews his next bite with a nod and an affirmative hum, eyes wide. 

“Yeah, and you chased me down with food in your hands. How much of that extra large pizza had you eaten, Stevie?”

Steve smiles up at him with heavy-lidded eyes. “Almost all of it, ‘cept what I gave you.”

“Mm. I watched you eat the last two slices, and you looked…” Eddie bites his lip, reaches and helps guide the next chip to Steve’s mouth. “I thought about it later that night,” he admits. “You had those two slices folded together so you could eat both at the same time, and I wondered how much more you could take. What would’ve happened if I’d grabbed them from you and told you to open up, then shoved it in as far as it could go and more. And you were still taking regular bites, you know? Even though it was two slices, twice the food, and you looked so… happy, just chewing.”

Eyes drifting closed, Steve chews and lets the high and Eddie’s words wash over him. 

“I wondered how far your cheeks could bulge out,” Eddie continues, voice dipping lower and smooth like silk. Hand dipping back to Steve’s ass, legs still spread wide for him, and a single finger circling his slick hole—and they haven’t gone further than fingers yet, but he knows Steve is curious to try it. They’ve talked about it a few times, but it’s starting to feel like tonight’s the night with how Steve bears down on his every touch. “How much would fit before you struggled to close your lips around one huge, impossible bite. I fucked my hand thinking about you swallowing, baby.”

Steve moans and brings the chip bag up, tipping the crumbs into his red and waiting mouth. Breathing heavily through his nose as he reaches capacity, maxes it out, gasps out a slur of jumbled words as he goes past it into a zone he hadn’t even realize existed… and that’s when Eddie shoves his own pants and boxers down to replace the teasing tip of his finger with the head of his dick. 

“Okay, baby?” Eddie pants. He wants nothing more than to slide inside, is actually trembling where he’s perched on the couch from having to restrain himself. 

“Full,” Steve gasps, eyes still closed and hands reaching to feel tenderly over taut skin. “So… Oooh my god…”

Eddie wants to whimper at the display. “Too much?”

“No!” He reaches out blindly with one hand and finds Eddie’s bony hip, chip bag still dangling off the edge of the couch from the other. “Need you, need it, please—”

So Eddie gives him what he’s begging for, filling Steve up that last little bit with one languid slide that makes them both moan. 

He comes with his tongue in Steve’s mouth, sucking on it, rolling his hips slow but steady so as not to jostle Steve’s stuffed stomach too much and it’s good, it’s so fucking good, better than he’d ever dreamed. And once he’s filled him up, Steve’s eyes roll back as he shakes apart, spurting rope after rope of cum between them. Most of it lands on his belly, and without a second thought Eddie pulls out so he can scoot down and lick Steve as clean as he had of milkshake at the start. 

When he finally lifts his gaze, it’s to find Steve staring down at him, dazed and still panting with an open mouth. 

“Was that too much?” Eddie asks, suddenly self-conscious. 

“Nnn.” He shakes his head, eyes unfocused, and slurs out, “So good. ‘Sjust a lot. New. Di’nt know I could… could do that, fuck.” 

He could mean taking it up the ass, but Eddie knows better. 

With the way Steve’s hands absently rove over the start of softness at his waist and his packed-solid gut, cradling it as though it’s a source of excruciating bliss, Eddie knows it’s all of it. 

Everything, like Steve had said earlier. 

If there’s a spell out there that can help make all of Steve’s dreams come true, Eddie doesn’t know it. But there’s no need, not when all they need is right here at their fingertips, in the way they live and breathe and love. Luck has nothing to do with it; this sweet, overflowing happiness has always been in their grasp. 

And it always will be.

Tag list:

@hotluncheddie @lawrencebshoggoth @sofadofax @hickeysgodcomplex @oatmilk-vampire

@wheneverfeasible @hamiltonswiftie @grtwdsmwhr @yesdangerpls @theseaofdespair

@8em-em-em8 @anaibis @connected-dots @zombiethingy

[starry-bi-sky]

*points at bruce and danny in 'late at night when the nightingale sings'* THESE TWO MFERS MEAN SO MUCH TO MEEEE

no thoughts head empty just these two socially inept fools finding family in one another. like yes you go you funky little death omens stole that one from a comment on the fic, so if you see this you know who you are, discover that family isn't only tied in blood.

bUT onto less mushy stuff: these two being shenaniganizers; tomfools. Bruce realized that Danny didn't actually know he was Bruce Wayne and instead of going "oh actually im bruce wayne" he went; "hrm... how long can i keep this going until he realizes...."

like. i think they deserve to be the sillies. just utter goobers the both of them. like, danny makes the wittiest side comments, dry quips, under his breath towards Bruce while they're out in public (Danny covering his face with a face mask) and Bruce is trying not to laugh. Meanwhile if Bruce makes one sly comment about someone to Danny, Danny's gonna collapse with laughter.

Bruce plays straightman in most of their bits, he has the best fucking poker face. But also I firmly believe he does actually enjoy Danny's puns. Look me in the eyes- look me in the eyes. Try and tell me that a man that willingly agrees to call a car "the batmobile" even after his eight year old ward grows up (thus negating the need to go along with his antics) doesn't enjoy a good, well-placed pun. Look me in the eyes and try to tell me that. That's right you can't.

He's gonna spit out a well-placed pun in the driest, most boring Batman Voice Ever one day while he's getting ready for patrol, and Danny's gonna fucking die of laughter. He's gonna lose his mind. Bruce is going to have a half-dead sickly teenager laughing his lungs out in the chair. That's a new core memory right there, every time Danny thinks about that he's gonna start giggling.

just!!! these two making each other laugh! That's so important to me. So so much. I nEED Danny to get Bruce to smile and laugh and I need Bruce to make Danny do the same. Danny's all snark and sass and Bruce is all deadpan and dry quips. Do you all see my vision.

[raindropren]

I love DL!Pearl because She's Sad. Because nobody in the situation that caused her Loneliness was completely in the wrong. Scott and Cleo had their Reasons for not wanting to be with their soulbound/mates and while I would personally disagree with those reasons, that's not my choice to make, y'know? and to me, Pearl understands that in a way, but She's still sad, maybe alittle mad but more at the situation then truly at them. She plays up the anger slightly cause it's more fun to jokingly be angry and unhinged then just actually be sad.

Pearl was never in the wrong at first she was Sad, less-so angry at them, even if she had a right to be.

She's Sad, She's Lonely.

I love DL!Tilly(DL! instead of just Tilly cause my AU has her being a bigger part of everything) because to me, Tilly is the Mad one. They're Loyal. She's Loyal to Pearl and doesn't exactly like how Not-Angry Pearl is at the people causing her sadness, and Thus, is Angry for her. To me Tilly considers What Scott did as Pearls Soulbound to be a betrayal, and as an inherently loyal creature, That's maddening to them already.

[lunarharp]

revamped looong mermaid orufrey au :')

[funkyfreshinthebuilding]

look at this TERRIBLE drawing i made3!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! also i hate jax and definitely have never drawn him

[fineapplequeen]

Just a lil silly thing.

[ladytauria]

Oh I see what we are doing now *ahem*

-Abyss left the ask box-

-Person with the most perfect Mustache you've ever seen-

*Strokes it* Trick or Treat my fine lady

*squinting* that’s a very fine mustache you have there, dear, but I SWEAR I’ve seen your face before

hmmm… well. while there are still several ideas hidden in my documents for some reason I feel compelled to give you my OTHER idea I had for my dear friend @deepwithintheabyss

jumping into this one without a lot of worldbuilding to try and curb the length dfghjk also this is a little rough/messy… i’d love to flesh it out a little more perhaps. call this a first draft version haha

It’s not until after Zatara has left that Tim gets to process how odd all of this is.

Alvin and he stand across from each other in Tim’s living room. It’s almost like looking in a mirror—both of them dressed in the same loose sweats, the same ratty Gotham Knights sweatshirt.

Alvin tilts his head. “So… are we going to fuck?”

Tim chokes. “What?” Of all the questions he could have broken the silence with—

“You can’t tell me you haven’t thought about it.” Alvin’s lips twitch. “I know better.”

If Tim is always this smug-looking when he’s right about something, he can understand why Steph says he has a ‘punchable’ face. “You don’t have to be so blunt about it,” he grouses.

His objection is mostly on principle. In a world of alternate universes and time travel (proven multiple times over now, Bruce), it’s hard not to consider, to think about, what might happen if Tim was faced with another version of himself. Hell—Tim has met another him. Though, granted, that meeting didn’t go particularly well.

But. There was always the possibility of meeting another him, someone who wasn’t a fascist asshole. Someone, well—

Someone more like Alvin.

A magical doppelganger, created by an artifact related to Tim’s latest case. A perfect copy of him, down to his last memory at the time of creation. It answered a lot of questions Tim had—but more immediately… it opened up entire realms of possibilities.

Alvin steps closer, and then closer still, until they're almost touching. “Do you really want to keep arguing?” His voice is low. Husky. Tim has heard himself sound like that before, but always—always from inside his own head.

No. No he doesn’t.

But Alvin knows that already.

There is no hiding from him, Tim realizes. Alvin knows him better than anyone ever has—or ever will.

The thought is equal parts terrifying and thrilling.

Rather than answer, Tim steps even closer, crossing the distance between them. He tangles his fingers in the hairs at the back of Alvin’s neck, gripping his nape. Their mouths crash together, both of them making the same soft sound. They almost harmonize. Tim feels his belly tighten—his nipples harden, rubbing against the soft cotton of his sweatshirt. He shivers, his skin tingling.

Alvin’s hands slip under his shirt. Tim gasps. Alvin’s fingers are cool against his skin; his grip steady, firm.

The slide of their lips is slow, unhurried. It’s good. Not the best kiss Tim has ever had—their lips are chapped in just the right way to catch against each other. But… even despite that, it stokes the steady warmth growing in his belly, making him sigh against Alvin’s mouth. He gives into the urge to lick into Alvin’s mouth and Alvin lets him, slackening his mouth so Tim can lick into him and taste.

Alvin tastes like nothing at all.

It would be disappointing if it the reason why wasn’t so thrilling. Of course Alvin’s mouth doesn’t taste like anything—it’s Tim’s mouth.

His grip tightens in Alvin’s hair. Alvin moans. He sucks on Tim’s tongue, pulling an echo of the sound from his own chest. He steps forward, slotting his leg between Alvin’s. His thigh presses against his groin. He can feel the shape of Alvin’s cock, hot and half-hard, through their sweats. It makes his mouth water. He swallows—Alvin’s tongue chases his back into his mouth as his hips roll, grinding against Tim’s thigh and groaning. His nails bite into the skin of Tim’s waist, and Tim gasps.

“A-ah—” He has to break the kiss to pant.

Alvin takes the opportunity to bury his face in Tim’s neck, biting at the delicate skin there. Tim is sure that he’s leaving bruises. It’s something he loves on a good day, but the idea that the bruises would match the shape of his own mouth—

“Fuck,” he says, his twitching, cock rutting against nothing, nothing at all.

In all of his elaborate fantasies, Tim had never imagined rutting against his doppelganger like he’s still a teenager. But now that it’s happening—

Why not?

Why not get off just like this?

Like Alvin is thinking the same thing—and fuck, he probably is, because they’re the same—he slots his own leg between Tim’s. They’re tangled together, pressed so close they’re almost one person.

Alvin bites—Tim shouts, his hips stuttering forward, and moans breathlessly when this time, he meets the hard muscle of Alvin’s thigh, the friction sending a wave of feeling skittering over his nerves. He pulls at Alvin’s hair, good and hard, the way he knows makes his nipples feel tight, his scalp tingle. His other hand drops down to Alvin’s ass, gripping the swell of it, pulling him forward to rub against Tim’s thigh.

Alvin gasps, moans. He scratches at Tim’s back, his waist, and abruptly, Tim needs to be naked. He lets go of Alvin to grab the hem of his sweatshirt and pull it off, over his head. He tosses it aside carelessly. Nothing crashes, so wherever it landed is probably fine. Alvin makes a soft, eager noise, then he follows suit.

They’re identical, of course. Lean and wiry and covered with a dark dusting of hair, thickest at his belly. Scars litter their skin—some of which only they can see, too faded for anyone else to find without serious exploration. There’s a mole next to one of his nipples. Tim’s only really ever seen it in the mirror before; it’s too far down for him to pay much attention to when he’s lying in bed, touching himself.

Right now—

Right now, it’s like his vision has narrowed down to it, and he shoves—gently—at Alvin, until his knees hit the back of the couch. Alvin lets himself fall, lets Tim crash on top of him, gripping at his shoulders while Tim trails a rough, wet path from his neck to his chest. His knees hit the floor. Alvin’s legs lock around his middle, ankles crossing at his back.

He knows just how to touch himself… with his hands. With his mouth—

With his mouth it’s clumsier, messier. He doesn’t know quite how roughly he can bite, how hard he can suck. But he figures it out, letting the gasps and moans Alvin makes guide him. Alvin’s fingers find his hair. He tugs, that perfect way that Tim likes, and he moans. His hips rut forward, against the couch.

He feels dizzy with want.

It reminds him of his task, just a few moments ago. He pulls off of Alvin’s nipple and shucks his pants. The position makes it awkward, clumsy. He would feel embarrassed if he didn’t know that Alvin was just as messed up as he is.

He reaches for Alvin’s pants next. Alvin’s belly tenses, showing off the muscles in his abdomen as he lifts his hips, letting Tim slide them over the swell of his ass and then down his legs. Tim doesn’t bother with their socks, climbing back up to plaster himself against Alvin instead. They move, the two of them, until they’re horizontal; Alvin lying under him, his head propped up slightly on one of Tim’s throw pillows. The other one is kicked to the floor. He can feel Alvin’s cock against his belly, hard and hot and leaking precum.

Alvin looks up at him, his face flushed, his eyes dark, hazy. This is what Tim looks like when he’s having sex. His cock pulses. He needs— He needs to see what he looks like when he comes.

He holds his hand up to Alvin’s face. He doesn’t have to say what he wants—Alvin knows, licking over Tim’s palm, holding his gaze as he does. Tim’s mouth is dry.

As soon as his hand is wet, he shoves it between their bodies, wrapping his hand around both of their cocks. They moan in perfect unison; the exact same breathless, desperate pitch. Tim starts slow, smearing spit and precum over their cocks until the glide is slick and smooth. Then he speeds up.

If he was masturbating alone, he would alternate between slow and fast; keep himself hovering over the edge until it was almost too much to take. Then, and only then, he would let himself cum.

Later, he’d be more than happy to test both of their limits. To act out every filthy fantasy they’ve ever had, but never had anyone else to to try it with.

Right now, though—

Right now, he’s getting an outsider’s perspective of his own orgasm and he wants nothing more than to see it through. So he does, hitting that perfect speed, that perfect tightness, twisting his wrist—pulling out all of the stops until he can almost taste his peak. Alvin writhes under him. He claws at Tim’s back, leaving streaks of red over the smooth skin there. Tim will look at them later; compare the spread of his fingers to them and flush at the idea that anyone else would look at him and think he’d found some random hook-up to take home.

Only Tim would know the truth.

Well.

Tim and Alvin.

“C’mon,” he whispers. “C’mon, baby—wanna—I wanna see you cum.” He shifts slightly, bracing more of his weight on his knees. He gets his other hand involved, then; tugging and twisting at his nipples, starting with the neglected one from earlier, the one without the mole.

Alvin grips Tim’s shoulders so tightly Tim is sure he’s drawn blood, and then—

He arches, mouth opening, panting their abdomens in white. Tim barely refrains from following him over the edge—staying as present as he can as he drinks in every detail. It’s not the same as watching himself on video. Even his highest definition camera can’t capture the rush of blood under Alvin’s skin, the glisten of sweat on his skin, the way his eyes move under the lids and his lashes flutter against his cheeks.

He gentles his hand, stroking Alvin until he collapses against the couch, chest heaving as he pants. He looks up at Tim with hazy eyes—his expression lazy, fucked-out. If Tim cared to psychoanalyze himself, he’s sure he could think of several interesting notes about the way he leans down to capture Alvin’s lips in a kiss.

Tim isn’t interested in digging that deeply.

Not this time.

Alvin only lets the slow, lazy kiss continue for a few minutes before he threads a hand in Tim’s hair and tugs him off. His lips curve upward, and then his legs tangle with Tim. He’s suspended in the air for one breathless moment before his back hits the couch, knocking the remaining air out of his lungs.

“Your turn now.” Alvin’s voice curls around the words in a low, dark promise.

Tim shudders, arching into his touch.

He can probably get away with taking a few days off. If anyone asks— He can just tell them it’s for science.

[possibilistfanfiction]

for surgeons au.,, perhaps some hurt/comfort :,)

[hbd @gohandinhand. sorry but tbf... u asked for this lol (also so many of you asked for 'what if bea gets hurt' bc we all share one collective grey's anatomy-ass braincell // also on ao3]

//

‘dr. silva is still in the tumor resection?’

it’s only, like, your fifth week being a doctor, so there are so many things you don’t know all the time; you add dr. villaumbrosia asking this question to the list. still, she’s kind of the scariest person you’ve ever met in your life — unflappable and a little mean to everyone but her patients and their families, talented and whip-smart beyond belief, willing to take on the hardest cases — and so you answer anyway with a nod. you only know this because zaire promised he would come find you just after he’d finished with dr. silva — to celebrate at the bar down the street and hopefully more than that too — but you don’t add that; you don’t think dr. villaumbrosia would appreciate it all that much.

‘okay,’ she says, more shaken than you’ve ever seen her.

‘is something… did something go wrong, or?’

‘with ava’s surgery, no, i don’t think so.’ 

ava is new; you’re not embarrassed to admit that you and basically your whole intern class has been keeping track of who’s with whom amongst the attendings, so you know they’re all either dating or friends or some kind of family. still, dr. villaumbrosia never uses first names at work. 

‘there’s a trauma being flown in,’ she continues. ‘there was an avalanche, and dr. choi was skiing in the backcountry today. i don’t — i don’t know more details.’ she worries her hands for a moment. ‘she hasn’t answered her sat phone.’

‘oh,’ is the best you’ve got, disarmed by the obvious fear that lingers around every inch of her.

‘dr. silva can’t know, if she does come in. not until after he’s finished the hardest part of the procedure and can pass it off.’

not that you were going to be the one to randomly decide to go to dr. silva’s OR and say any of this, but you nod. ‘of course.’

‘i need you to go check on tai; she’s in daycare.’

‘uh, i don’t — i’ve never —‘

dr. villaumbrosia waves you off. ‘she’s cute. looks like choi, acts like silva.’ 

when you don’t respond immediately, dr. villaumbrosia just glares. ‘yeah, of course,’ you hurry to say.

‘and then i need you to go to the ER for the trauma. dr. masters already knows you’re coming; you’re going to see what’s going on and tell me and no one else. got it?’

‘yes, dr. villaumbrosia. will do.’

‘great.’

to be honest, you have no idea where the daycare even is, and this certainly isn’t what you went to a bazillion years of school for, but whatever. maybe this will get you on dr. villaumbrosia’s good side. 

‘and dr. al-najjar?’

you nod.

‘i know this seems ridiculous. but dr. choi is — she’s my favorite person. it’s important.’

you understand in your own way: you facetime your little brother every day, no matter how tired you are, no matter how late or early it is for you. ‘i’ll tell you everything as soon as i can.’

‘good.’

/

tai is, apparently, a fourteen month old, very cute toddler, who really does look like dr. choi. when you explain, very briefly, to one of the daycare teacher that dr. villaumbrosia sent you to see how she’s doing, make sure she’s okay, she nods and shows you over to an area of the room with soft mats and some wooden blocks. tai smiles at you, all baby teeth and big cheeks, and says mostly nonsense but a few words — blocks, doctor, mama — and then promptly knocks over her block tower with definite glee. 

you snap a nice, cute picture of tai smiling in her little giraffe hoodie and send it off to dr. villaumbrosia. you’ve never been a baby guy, and you’re certain she isn’t either, because there’s no way you could ever possibly choose her specialty if you were, but she loves the photo anyway — the first and only time she’ll ever respond to a text from you like that, you’re absolutely certain — and it makes you smile, just for a moment. when you wave goodbye to tai she laughs, and you hope, very concretely, that she goes home with both of her parents tonight, or soon, at least, that her family stays as full and happy and warm as it had been this morning.

/

you feel genuinely nervous and way too invested: you’ve met dr. choi in passing a handful of times, and she’d assisted on one of dr. villaumbrosia’s surgeries once that you’d gotten to hold a retractor for, but according to emma — the best gossip and also dr. choi’s favorite intern, allegedly — says that dr. choi is kind and quiet and a wonderful teacher, patient and skilled and efficient. you’d been looking forward to being on her service soon, honestly, and, even in the past few weeks, you’re starting to understand that the people here, that you spend so much time with, are starting to feel like family.

dr. masters nods at you, her braids already tucked away beneath a cap, trauma gown on. you’re on peds, so you don’t know if you’re really here to help with anything — dr. villaumbrosia wasn’t called down for any consults, still set for the routine bowel repair she’d been scheduled for this afternoon, so you’re fairly certain there weren’t any children coming in — but she gestures toward the gown and gloves anyway.

‘just in case we need more hands on deck,’ she says as way of explanation. ‘there’s four people, and we don’t really know the extent of their injuries.’

you nod — what else is there to say — and things are very, very still until dr. masters gets a page and then everything is moving — loudly, organized, seamless — and you’re in awe, for a moment, of dr. masters’ ER. you love trauma surgery and she’s, like, kind of the biggest badass in the country, and it’s pretty fucking cool to watch her very quickly get everyone exactly where they need to be in the amount of time it takes for her to walk to the elevator that leads up to the helipad.

the wind whips from the blades when the doors open, rainy and miserable, and your heart is caught in your throat when the door opens. you see dr. masters’ hands shake, although you’d never, ever mention it, locked behind her back in tight fists, until dr. choi’s face — a bruise along her jaw, a scrape that runs underneath her eye, all the way into her hair, the tip of her nose and the tips of her ears a painful red, probably from frostbite — comes into view.

dr. choi, strapped into a stretcher, covered in a blanket and hooked up to an IV, immediately starts talking, before the stretcher is even fully out of the helicopter. ‘the three coming out,’ she starts, ‘i dug them out as much as i could. i did an emergency thoracostomy on david, you need to push a ton of antibiotics. anna needs to go to the OR immediately for her pelvis, make sure cam —‘

‘—beatrice,’ dr. masters says, rushing to her side and, if you were to bet, wanting to sink to her knees in relief. ‘oh my god.’

‘i’m fine,’ dr. choi says, annoyed at being made to stay on the stretcher. ‘i properly deployed my avalanche airbag. but mary, listen —‘

dr. masters holds dr. choi’s face in her hands and then kisses the top of dr. choi’s head. it’s tender, and you wonder how long they’ve known each other to afford that level of intimacy, that level of care. ‘i got them, bea. i promise. we gotta take care of you too or ava will kill me.’

dr. choi relaxes, just minutely, but you can tell — maybe because you would trust dr. masters with your life or anyone else’s, maybe at the mention of dr. silva, maybe some combination of both — and she nods.

dr. masters rolls her eyes and kisses the top of dr. choi’s head once more. ‘stupid hero. let me go make all your hard work worthwhile.’

dr. choi smiles, definitely reassured now. ‘you better.’

/

you’re not surprised, exactly, that chief superion is waiting to take over dr. choi’s care, but you are a little surprised when dr. superion squeezes her shoulder gently and smiles, a little sad. 

‘ava is still in surgery, so let’s get the worst of it taken care of before she’s done, yes?’

dr. choi nods, growing more exhausted by the minute. which is fair, you think, as she tells dr. superion — and you, because you’re stuck in this room until you have a real report for dr. villaumbrosia beyond the text you’d sent that just said Dr. Choi is talking and moving, no head or neck injuries — about how the avalanche airbag had worked, even if it was frightening; about how her transceiver, according to SAR, had helped them get there faster than they would have otherwise.  

‘ava always teased me about how expensive the gear was, but look who’s laughing now.’

‘well, to be fair,’ dr. superion says, looking at dr. choi’s x-rays, ‘i don’t think either of you are laughing.’ 

‘oh, yikes,’ dr. choi says, looking at the films too. she’s on a fair amount of pain medicine at this point, but she’s right: there’s a few nasty fractures along the bones in her left wrist. but, other than those and a few cracked ribs and some mild frostbite on her nose, ears, and the tips of her fingers, it seems like it’s just cuts and bruises: nothing she won’t heal from, and far better off than the others who came in with her.

‘i, uh — sorry,’ you say, feeling like you’re interrupting, but they both just shake their heads, waving off your apology. ‘dr. villaumbrosia sent me to see if you’re okay, and i’m supposed to go talk to her once i know. which, i guess i know now.’ not your best work, and in front of the chief, but oh well.

dr. choi smiles fondly. ‘thank you for telling me. i’ll never let lilith forget it.’ 

dr. superion doesn’t smile, but it seems like she wants to. ‘go ahead, dr. al-najjar. you can tell her that we’re admitting dr. choi to ortho; dr. alvarez will operate tomorrow, once the swelling has gone down.’

‘and tell lilith i love her too.’

‘i — uh—‘

dr. superion laughs. ‘go, dr. al-najjar.’

/

you’ve just finished your report to dr. villaumbrosia — in the middle of a surgery, but it’s clear her shoulders relax immediately, continuing to operate smoothly — when dr. silva flings open the door of the OR.

‘hello ava,’ dr. villaumbrosia says, not even looking up from the stitch she’s putting in. ‘she’s okay.’

dr. silva, breathing so hard her mask is getting sucked into her mouth and nose, doubles over, her hands on her knees. ‘i gotta do more cardio, oh my god,’ he mumbles, then takes a deep breath and stands. ‘you’re sure?’

‘yes,’ dr. villaumbrosia, ‘i had dr. al-najjar make sure personally. he also checked on tai; she’s doing great.’

‘very cute,’ you say and then debate just quitting residency here altogether, but dr. silva smiles at you.

‘thanks man,’ she says. ‘sorry you missed this surgery.’

‘the bowel was perforated,’ dr. villaumbrosia says. ‘it was quite disgusting, to be honest.’

‘well then,’ dr. silva says, ‘hey, you’re welcome! you got to see my adorable kid and my sexy wife. who, as lovely as your company always is, lil, i’m gonna go see now.’

‘she deployed that avalanche airbag, dug three other people out, and did a field chest tube by the time SAR got there.’ 

‘hot.’

‘insane, actually,’ dr. villaumbrosia says. ‘but give her my love.’

/

two days later you’re back on shift — after drinks and truly, genuinely great sex with zaire that still ended up happening despite everything, god bless — and you swing by ortho before you go up to peds. you’re not friends with dr. choi or dr. silva, but you do want to see how things are going anyway. your mom always says it’s better to be kinder than necessary, and you’re starting to believe it.

they’re an adorable family, you think, tai showing dr. choi her lion stuffy and babbling excitedly, sitting on the hospital bed between her legs, turning every now and then toward dr. silva in a chair by her bedside. dr. choi, her arm in a brace and a sling, looks pretty good overall: her eyes seem clear, the bruises along her jaw are already starting to turn green and yellow, a great sign of healing, and the redness on her nose and ears has lessened considerably. 

also, she’s sitting up and talking animatedly, clearly happy with her daughter and her wife there. from her chart — you looked it up in the system before you came, whatever — you’re pretty sure she’s going to get to go home today, which you suspect is what the small duffle bag by dr. silva’s feet is for. 

‘all i’m saying,’ you hear from dr. silva, ’is that your nose could’ve fallen off.’

‘ava,’ dr. choi says, exasperated and laughing.

dr. silva sits back and pouts, exaggerating with crossed arms. 

‘i will be more careful,’ dr. choi concedes, but it doesn’t feel much like a concession the way she smiles at tai and then runs a gentle hand over her wispy hair. emma — who is an incredible gossip but you’re starting to think she also just has a giant crush — had told you and zaire that dr. choi is, like, an experienced outdoors person with certifications in all kinds of different safety courses and activities; you know she and dr. villaumbrosia have done stints with MSF together too. 

‘good,’ dr. silva says. ‘because lord knows i cannot raise tai by myself.’

dr. choi frowns, then offers her good hand to dr. silva, who scoots closer and takes it with a kiss to her scraped knuckles. 

‘plus, while i would deal, obviously, you’d probably be less hot if your nose fell off.’

‘“probably”?’

dr. silva shrugs. ‘i love you.’

‘i love you too.’

‘would you still love me if my nose fell off?’

‘ava.’

/

‘good morning, dr. al-najjar,’ dr. choi says when you knock lightly on the open door of her office. it’s impeccably neat, a few pictures of dr. silva and tai on her desk. she’s wearing the brace on her wrist still but no sling; her bruises and frostbite have faded. in her scrubs and white coat and clogs, a fresh buzzcut and a cup of coffee in her good hand, she looks exactly the surgeon you’ve looked forward to working with. 

‘good morning, dr. choi. welcome back.’

she smiles and closes her office door, starts leading you down the hall. ‘thank you. and, apologizes in advance that you won’t have any surgeries with me for the next two weeks until i’m officially cleared.’ she rolls her eyes. 

‘that’s okay,’ you say. ‘more sleep, honestly.’

‘true. and,’ she says, opening a door to the most incredible, brand new lab you’ve ever seen, ‘i can promise that the research we’ll get to work on will be worth it.’

‘i always thought i would go into trauma,’ you tell her, ‘but i think i just fell in love.’

she grins. ‘the heart wants what it wants.’

you pause a moment but then you can’t help yourself: you laugh.

‘in that case,’ she says, ‘let me show you around, and let’s get to work.’

[hylianane]

I know it doesn’t have the same drama or canon-backing as the idea of Zoro being trained and even raised by Mihawk since young, but I’m still a little surprised that there’s practically no fan works playfully referencing the fact that Zoro was originally going to be a Buggy pirate. Walk with me here. Here’s how we could make this AU fall in line with Zoro’s final, canon characterization.

Yes, Zoro was hesitant to become a pirate with Luffy at first because being a criminal would limit his freedom of movement in his search for Mihawk. However, let’s look at the reason he ended up joining anyway: blackmail and the fact that Luffy was offering a real, tangible way to achieve his dream

Crazy thing is, Buggy is kind of the only other pirate in the East Blue who could offer him a similar thing. Though he would rather die than freely discuss his connection to Shanks, he is a pirate with connections (and a connection to Mihawk even this early in the story isn’t too much of a leap if we take in his interactions with Buggy and Shanks, as if they go way back). Buggy could very much use this fact to get what he wants. And what does the cowardly Buggy want? Protection, of course. Security in his place as the top dog pirate of the East Blue. A spot that the arrival of an upstart demon bounty hunter could threaten if he doesn’t play his cards right. And of course, his troupe could use a sword swallower.

Now, would Buggy be genuine in offering Zoro an easy way to reach Mihawk? Probably not. I mean, I’m sure he’d fail his way upwards into making it look that way so Zoro stays around, but what I’m getting at is that he wouldn’t have to be. Because Zoro, specially bounty hunter Zoro who only has himself to lose, can be just a liiittle bit naive. Because he has so much pride in his own word, he takes other, less deserving men at theirs. We see this when he expects Helmeppo, despite all his faults, to honor their deal. He’s genuinely shocked when the deal doesnt go through and he’s stuck tied up in ropes. We even see it a little with his blind faith in Luffy from day one. Yes, Luffy is a more than worthy Captain, but also for someone who had to be swindled into swearing himself to Luffy’s side, Zoro’s sense of honor and honesty led to him going to immense lengths to protect him before he really started to prove that, specially considering he’s someone who was already causing him way too much trouble within days of knowing him.

And mind you, it’s not like Buggy would give him no reason to stay loyal, either. His influence over the East Blue wasn’t anything to scoff at, and even though as a man he’s pretty corrupted, as a Captain he’s kind of brilliant. It’s a running gag how much the Buggy pirates are in love with him. He’s got wits and charisma and ways of gaining loyalty. He and Zoro wouldn’t be too bad a match.

And when Luffy does make his way to this Buggy Pirate Sword Swallower Zoro, and is taken in by his skill, determination and overall cool factor? Baby that’s the most exciting part about this. We’d get rivals to lovers Zolu but Zoro is dressed like a clown

[dapper-nahrwhale]

Sad that I cannot find my old old old post Abt leverage but DND world anyways. Here I go again:

They are all different subclass of rogue multiclassed with other things.

Sophie is a Dispater tiefling bard college of eloquence (wordplay and theatrics) and an inquisitive rogue (disguise, lying, and perceptive). Bigger focus on character and backstory (or lack thereof) than build. Definitely has disguise self.

Nate is a high elf former investigative rogue turned mastermind rogue (manipulation and misdirection tactics) and eventual multiclass of undying warlock (makes a risky pact).

Parker is a classic lightfoot halfling thief rogue (sneaky and quick) and a battle master fighter (multiple attacks to deals lots of damage). Absolutely optimized build.

Hardison is a half elf alchemist artificer (support with creating useful magic items) and a swashbuckler rogue (charisma). His comms are definitely magic items he made.

Eliot is a mountain dwarf turned slightly undead former oath of vengeance paladin (strong offence and damage) turned oath breaker paladin (harms anyone) and assassin rogue (infiltration and sneak attacks), turned way of the long death monk (defensive tanky and damaging) and assassin rogue multiclass.

Breanna is forest gnome a battle smith arcane trickster rogue artificer.

Harry is a human inquisitive rogue multiclassed with something, idk what yet.

[passive-nightmaresans]

I. I don't have to stay within the chains on canon... I CAN LIKE THE FANON VERSION ALL I WANT!!! ITS... ITS POWER!!!!!!!!

[scoops-aboy86]

Speaking of writing (I say to the crickets in my brain), I am going to finish the love spell fic by the end of the year if it kills me.

[saphstories]

I think Droid Sonic deserves a service animal after all he's been through

(Angst warning ⚠️)

Since Sonic fell into the Android Copier, the Cyber components and software were not matched to his brain and nervous system correctly.

Sonic's nervous system is not compatible with the Droid components now fused to his body. They don't interface and work together, which lead to glitches, and in worse cases, short circuits... better recognized as blackouts and fainting spells. Sonic could be standing perfectly still, and in the next second, his body fails him, and he's on the ground, out of it or unconscious. The short circuits affect his heart rhythm, leading to an arrhythmia and low blood pressure, which causes the fainting. It's difficult to tell when these episodes occur, as the 'misfires' happen seemingly at random.

Then Sonic experienced an episode out in public one day. A service dog in training alerted to the danger accordingly and was able to prevent Sonic from getting more injured when it happened. Since the dog had successfully alerted to the medical emergency, it gave Team Sonic the idea for a service animal for future events until Tails can successfully turn Sonic back.

Sonic now has a service dog, a gorgeous basset hound called Daisy.

[emily-mooon]

Imagine if Stacey and Neil actually met in high school except they didn’t go to the same school: they met through Kid Chameleon.

One night, Scott brings Stacey to one of their shows and it just so happens that Stephanie (or Steph) brought Neil with her.

Since they were both the youngest people there (Neil’s 17, Stacey’s 16 till December), they decided to talk to each other and they hit it off.

Stacey also develops a bit of a crush on Neil and would always ask Scott if Steph was going to bring her brother with her again, as she wanted to see him and didn’t know if there was another way.

Then one morning, she discovers that they take the same TTC bus and from then on they talk before and after school and become sorta friends. At this point, Neil also starts developing a crush on her.

Things stayed like that for about two months until Neil and his mom moved places (as I agree with the headcanon that the Nordegraf siblings have divorced parents) so they would no longer take the same bus in the morning or after school. They still have Kid Chameleon shows to meet up and talk at right? Ha ha wrong cause at New Years, the famous break up between Scott and Envy happens which in turn, also breaks up the band.

That whole break up was the nail in the coffin that strained Neil and Stacey’s kinda friendship. They didn’t have the others phone number cause they were both too shy to ask and also cause they both kept forgetting.

There also wasn’t a whole ton of opportunities to ask either of their siblings for their phone numbers so they just gave up and went on with their lives.

But then why didn’t they recognize the other in the like three times there were in the same room together? Easy answer: Stacey was distracted by everything around her to even notice Neil, who in turn, was slowly disappearing into the crowd and fully did by the time it was Lisa’s going away dinner.

So when they see each other again properly at the Chaos Theater, something clicks and they fall back into where they once were two years ago. To them it felt like a decade, but no it was just two years. They catch up on what they missed in the others lives on the walk home.

After that these dorks start dating cause the feelings were still there, just buried deep, left dormant, and forgotten. They came back but slightly different as people change.

[atlasas45]

Even after years, the beasts may start another fight. That's why we must always be ready until that time comes.

[Below this text are their recent to old concept sketches bc I feel like sharing it too :p]

FIRST OF ALL, HONESTLY...... I'm still unsure on how they both would looked like 😭😭 Though I'm quite proud with the art on the top of the blog, but I still feel like I can add more to their design while still thinking with the colors aha-

Anyway, since I've been thinking of more concepts with my AU, I feel like I'm getting closer to how I wanted the story would went, and with how my ocs would looked like in the story. But for now, I will just show you these pretty recent to old (like some years ago aha-) of the Two Dragons sketches 💥💥💥

I'm unsure when I would draw Astaroth's non-dragon version, but he would use an outfit that is inspired by Hanfu Robes with hidden Rope Dart as his main weapon :]

And Rhys... Idk what I'm doing with his design nor really think about how he will looked like haha so uhh I just slaps and combining both outfits he wore and calls it a day 🔥🔥🔥

[Explaining this one based of my Sky AU] How to tell it... Hmm well actually, since both in-game and in my AU are more focused with Light rather than Darkness, I just think that they literally have different beliefs and styles that are not or cannot be seen by us, as they are not allowed to interact with each other. So I decided to make new whole outfits, cultures, use of magics, creatures, etc. To make differences for Darkness with Light, well at least in my AU :p

[weirdenbyferret]

ANYWAY just gonna put my shock because of err recent events aside, new au. Another mafia au

So in this au, animatronics are still considered just that and dont have any rights or anything. Though the industries that have them have definitely grown.

But there is one thing that no one has really noticed.

There is a casino in a big city that is mostly a normal casino, other than the fact that the performers are animatronics with several different themes, controlled and owned by a mafia.

But it isnt known that three of the animatronics performers have taken the role of the boss.

This came from the thought 'what if mafia boss but mafia boss who people dont know is a mafia boss and wears cutesy clothing and is a performer.' Anyway wip of Eclipses ref lmaaoooo