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bella-goths-wife · 20 days

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how did the Vs pet die? i’ve seen it briefly mentioned in a few posts but i haven’t found a direct answer and i’m really interested!!

i also remember you mentioning that there was “hours of interrogation” from the Vs to get the reader to talk about her death, and i would looove to hear more about that of you wouldnt mind ^^ !

How did pet reader die and end up in hell?

Warning: description of death, drug use, reader hooks up with people, reader does objectively bad things

You were always a party person

You had been since you were young, having snuck into your first party when you were fourteen

You liked how they helped you escape your own mind, they took you away from the things that had to always be in control over and offered you a way to let go of the reigns for a few hours

But your favourite type of party was a rave

Something about the fun outfits and the way the music would thump and vibrate through your whole body just made something in you feel complete

You quickly became obsessed attending raves and you even dated a DJ to get into raves for free for a brief time and he taught you how to use the turn tables

But growing up in those types of environments screwed you up and made you chase a high better then drugs, a freedom that your family just didn’t allow you to have

You craved the nights of out of control drinking and dancing until you were a panting mess

You tried everything to replace the high you got from going to raves, you screwed people when you were bored and you did drugs with your friends but nothing replaced how free you felt when you were partying

So you chased your high and went to any raves going, and consequently dragged your friends with you

They didn’t really feel as addicted to partying as you did, so when you came to them and pleaded with them to come with you to the latest sketchy rave you found

After enough begging they came with under the condition you wouldn’t stay there all night

You partied for hours and hours before a stranger offered you some pills in exchange for cash

You had a weird relationship with drugs, you weren’t addicted but you did find yourself craving the euphoria they brought

So you bought enough for all your friends and begged them to do them with you

Your friends wanted to refuse and claimed that they didn’t wanna get caught by security

You got mad and then desperate as you pleaded with them to just do the pills with you, too scared to go home and face what’s waiting for you and just wanting to keep the party going

You offered to show them underneath the DJ stage so they could all do the pills without getting caught

Your friends hesitantly agreed mostly because they didn’t want you to do anything stupid

So you went under the stage during the rave and took your pills, unaware that the last show of the night was about to play

The constant vibrations from the music had caused the stage to become more unstable as the night went one, and you were all stood directly underneath it as you did your drugs on the muddy ground

Your friends had tried to warn you, but you were too high and too focused on the music to listen

They started screaming when they saw the foundations begin to shake and cracks begin to form in the cheaply made stage

But you didn’t listen, did you?

The metal of the stage hit your friends before they hit you, trapping them to the ground and killing them quickly as the metal poles pierced their chests and faces

You were more unfortunate in that case, as the metal poles only incapacitated you as they they pierced the skin of you arm and pinned you to the ground

The rubble of the stage fell close to your face and scarred the sides of them as you bled heavily but you still were not put out your misery as you screamed from pure agony

The turn table came next as it fell directly on your chest and broke your ribs, you can still hear the crack of the bones late at night when you fool yourself into thinking you could sleep

But still it was not enough to kill you, as you cried out in pain and your friends blood from their dead bodies mixed with the mood beneath your body

It was like god was trying to punish you for your selfish actions, trying to show you what happens to stupid, selfish little girls who disobey the warnings of their mothers and hurt their friends

You saw a large metal sheet hand above your head at the very top of the stage, it’s razor sharp edge glinted in the moonlight tauntingly at you as you spat up your own blood

You could hear the people surrounding the stage scream out at the realisation of the damage that the collapse had caused

You looked at your dead friends as their lifeless eyes started back before looking back at the sheet of metal daringly

You thought about all the mistakes of your life, all the things you could have been and all the things you should have done

You thought about your friends families receiving the news that their children were dead, all because of you

“Do it” you dared the sheet with your mind before your daring turned into begging “do it please, I deserve it”

The sheet fell in a dramatic motion and the razor sharp edge removed your head from your body in seconds

You remember waking up in hell and being afraid, but the memories of your death made you know that you deserved to be here

You deserved all the bad things that would happen to you, that’s how you saw things

You rarely talked about your death out of shame and anger, but the Vs forced the truth out of you quickly

The topic became something they either used to mock you with or stayed away from out of concern that it would cause a breakdown where you would hurt yourself again

Your reasoning for allowing their behaviour became very clear to them after finding out about your gruesome death

You felt like you deserved every harsh word or cruel punishment, you felt like it wasn’t enough payback for your actions

They used this to their advantage as they reinforced the idea that yes, you did deserve it

And you knew you did deep down

But Charlie didn’t think so, and after she was told your story she’s more determined to have you redeemed then ever before

This is probably trash but I’m sick and here we are 🤷‍♀️

Tag list so far:

@lilyalone @repostingmyfavs @buttercupfangirl @fandomaddict505 @hazbinhotelxreader @perkypeony @idontreallyexistyet @sparkleyfishies @the-faceless-bride @corvid007 @ivebeenthearchersstuff

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justaninchident-f1xreader · 3 months

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max verstappen x reader part5

(incase you missed part4- https://www.tumblr.com/justaninchident-f1xreader/740310543064317952/max-verstappen-x-reader-part4?source=share )

themes-

ferrari female driver jealousy enemies to lovers possible spice (i will put the warning accordingly)

warnings- spicy thoughts? not really tho, so don't worry lovelies

chapter 5 - elevator meetings

The elevator doors closed with a soft ding, trapping Y/N and Max in a steel and glass cage. The post-race buzz still clung to the air, but the carefree laughter had evaporated, replaced by a charged silence thicker than Monaco humidity.

Y/N felt Max's gaze burning into her back, tracing the curve of her dress, lingering on the telltale mark below her ear. She spun around, a defiant fire in her eyes. "Something you need, Verstappen?"

He took a slow step forward, his eyes narrowed. "I'm just curious about that souvenir," he drawled, his voice low and dangerous. "Is it from the 'friendly congratulations' or did tinder dates get too…exhilarating?"

Y/N's jaw clenched. She wasn't about to explain, not to him. "Maybe it's none of your damn business," she spat, but a flicker of doubt betrayed the heat in her voice.

Max smirked, a cruel twist of his lips. "Right, the rookie who wants to play with the big boys. But remember, darling, in this game, secrets have a way of burning you."

He took another step, closing the distance, his shadow swallowing her whole. Y/N's heart hammered against her ribs, a primal fear battling with the intoxicating thrill of his proximity. Her breath hitched as his hand slammed onto the emergency stop button, plunging the elevator into sudden darkness.

Panic rose in Y/N's throat, but before she could react, Max was upon her, pinning her against the cool metal wall. His eyes burned in the dim light, a mixture of possessiveness and fury.

"Play me, Y/N," he growled, his breath hot against her ear. "But choose your games wisely. Because when I win, the prize isn't a trophy. It's you."

His words sent a shiver down her spine, a delicious mix of danger and forbidden temptation. Y/N's anger evaporated, replaced by a burning curiosity. Max Verstappen, the ice prince of the grid, consumed by jealousy? It was intoxicating, a heady cocktail she couldn't seem to resist.

Their faces were inches apart, the tension so thick it crackled. Y/N could feel the heat radiating from his body, his scent of victory and adrenaline washing over her. Her lips parted, a breath escaping in a silent question.

But just as their lips were about to touch, the elevator lurched back to life, the sudden light shattering the intimate darkness. Max, caught off guard, stepped back, the storm in his eyes replaced by a mask of cool indifference.

Y/N straightened, a new fire smoldering in her gaze. "Game on, Verstappen," she whispered, her voice laced with challenge. "See you on the track."

The doors slid open, and Y/N walked out, leaving Max trapped in the elevator, the taste of unspoken desires and unclaimed victory stinging on his tongue. The battle had just begun, and the Monaco night, though silent, echoed with the promise of a much fiercer race than any they'd ever contested on the tarmac. The next lap wouldn't be about pole positions or checkered flags. It would be about claiming the elusive prize - the fiery heart of Y/N L/N. And in this dangerous game of love and rivalry, only one could emerge victorious.

#max verstappen x reader #max verstappen smut #max verstappen #max vertsappen #formula 1 #y/n #red bull racing #ferrari #jealousy

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peachesyeo · 1 month

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obsession ── minjae, yechan broken doll

💌 parings: childhoodfriend!yechan x fem!reader x childhoodfriend!minjae 💌 genre: yandere, oneshot 💌 contains: suggestive, non-con elements, implies but no smut, manipulation, mention of violence, a little bit of stockholm, your writer needs help. 💌 word count: 0.8k words.

:̗̀➛ 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐧𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 + 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 :̗̀➛ 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭? :̗̀➛ 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐩𝐚𝐠𝐞? :̗̀➛ 𝐣𝐨𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭? (for all works)

you were laying on the couch, with yechan clinging onto you as the both of you watched the cartoon movie that he was so excited about. he insisted that you lay your head on his thigh, and he would stroke your hair, occasionally letting out gasps and groans at the cartoon movie. you stared at the screen, the lights emitting from it reflecting off your orbs.

you were dressed in one of minjae's oversized hoodies. the hem falls right down to your mid thighs. but the exposure doesn't matter to you, anyway.

"yechannie, dinner is ready!" you hear minjae shout from the kitchen, and yechan straightened his back up. you slowly got up, looking at yechan expectedly.

"hyung, i think baby deserves dinner today, she's been a good girl." yechan spoke, while minjae came out of the kitchen, his gaze immediately landing on your face.

no matter how badly cut, swollen or bruised your face is, minjae would still find you to be the most beautiful woman he has ever seen in his life.

right now, you were staring at him with big, pleading eyes. your neck was littered with marks and hickeys, and both your wrists and ankles were held on together with bandages.

"were you a good girl today?" you nodded your head urgently. your eyes kept travelling over to the dinner table, and your stomach could not help but let out a loud rumble.

you have been starving for three days, since your last failed attempt to escape from this house. minjae was furious when he caught you, and yechan literally shattered the bones in your ankles, before minjae locked you into the basement once more. it was only today when yechan carried you out of the basement, dressed you and bathed you.

there was a clinking sound, and you feel yechan tugging the metallic restraint on your ankles. you pushed yourself upright using your chin, and extended your hands to yechan.

his eyes darkened. yes, just like this. rely on us.

he made a step towards you, but someone else beat him to it. minjae's hands snaked around your waist, pulling you up easily into his arms. your arms immediately wrapped around his neck for support, and yechan followed behind you, holding the chains like a leash.

minjae sat you on the chair, while yechan attached the chain to a little pole. your eyes landed on the food on the table, and your lips quivered in anticipation. minjae disappeared into the kitchen and reappeared with a bowl. he set the bowl in front of you, and your face fell.

a small bowl of porridge. you look back at minjae, who was shredding bits of boiled chicken for you. yechan had already started to help himself to the fried chicken wing, and you slumped into your chair, disappointed.

"you can't eat too much, baby. one step at a time." minjae got a spoonful of porridge and lifted the spoon towards you. you leaned forwards, swallowing the porridge. you were expecting it to be bland, but it was actually quite flavourful.

minjae and yechan both saw your eyes light up, and the younger pouted. "hyung always cooks the best for you."

"just like the old times, right?" minjae's voice was light. you paused slightly on his words, memories of the past clouding your eyes.

minjae, yechan and you were childhood best friends. the three of you grew up together, and were practically inseparable. that is, until the day yechan confessed to you.

you were surprised. you thanked him for liking you, and you told him that you only saw him as a younger brother.

and his reaction... was not what you expected.

his smile was gone, replaced with a snarl. he grabbed you by the shoulders, questioning you repeatedly. he asked whether you liked minjae instead, to which you denied. you told him that you too see minjae as an older brother, and yechan stomped off.

the both of you didn't talk for days. minjae noticed the tension, but he said nothing. the three of you carried on as per usual, the only difference being both you and yechan being a little bit more distant than before.

until the day of yechan's 21st birthday.

he contacted you first, breaking the ice between both of you. he told you that he was sorry, and that he invited both you and minjae to his house to celebrate.

and then, everything went downhill from there. yechan spiked your drink. you were dragged into his room by the hair. you screamed for minjae to save you, but to your despair, the childhood friend you had was gone.

replaced by a man with lust, obsession and indifference.

you'll never get out of here.

yechan stared at minjae, who was feeding the porridge to you gently. his eyes trailed up and down your body, and the corners of his lip raised.

you're our perfect, broken doll.

➳ pernament taglist: @wonwooz1 @kwanienies @yeodeulz @enhacracy @leyittara @lonewolfjinji @sousydive @joshuahongnumbers @devilzliaison

#☁️by k #xikers #xikers fanfic #xikers oneshot #xikers x reader #yandere xikers #xikers drabbles #xikers imagines #minjae #yechan #kim minjae #lee yechan #xikers minjae #xikers yechan #kpop yandere

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raised-u-fr0m-perdition · 2 months

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𝚍𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚜 | 𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚎!𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚗 𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛 | 𝟷

Summary: Ivonne Rainer hadn’t met Dean Winchester in 2006 after he was hit by a car. No, this time, this universe, they met in 2010, when the whole Apocalypse deal started and Dean was made leader of one of the only remaining survival camps in America. Little did he know, one random raid would change everything.

A/N - I’m writing this in tandem with the main series, so by the time we get to this point, you’ve got a gist of what’s going on :)

MASTERLIST

SURVIVAL

Dean had been having what was a more than rough day. He’d lost four soldiers in the past week to the Crotes, and he had no Sammy to turn to. No Bobby either, and it killed him. His hand struck the table, a curse leaving his mouth as he did so, bent over and wondering where to hit next.

It had barely been a year since Sam had agreed to Lucifer, saying the big ‘yes’ when he realised that his brother was no longer gonna be there for him. Since then, things were spiralling. Lucifer won. The only immune people were dead and they all turned out as psychos, if you don’t count that Andy kid who didn’t deserve to go out the way he did.

None of them did.

“Damn it.” His eyebrows furrowed in concentration, trying to make heads or tails until he spotted a place they hadn’t covered yet that could be promising. He picked up a marker, circling it haphazardly as he ran a hand through his hair. “Hey, D’Marco!” He yelled out, and one of his men poked his head through.

“Yeah, boss?”

“Rally the squad. We’re hitting Jersey City.”

I jumped over the hood of a car, taking out my machete and swinging as it caught a Croat by the neck, its head thudding to the floor. My eyes glowed red, a metal pole flying up and jabbing straight through the skull of another while I elbowed a third in the neck, going in and shooting point blank.

“God, I hate it here.” I growled, then I got clawed in the arm by one, familiar pain stinging my arm as I shot the assailant in the eye. I’d been fighting my way through this for close to a year, and I’d simply needed to raid the convenience for supplies and I got myself in this blasted mess. “This sucks ass.” I quickly disarmed an approaching Croat with a glow of my eyes and flick of my hand, taking its head and snapping its neck, an animalistic whine, almost like an injured dog, leaving it’s mouth before it flopped like a ragdoll onto the floor, and I breathed a sigh of relief.

“It’s a goddamn wasteland out here!” I heard someone yell, followed by rapid gunfire and yells of something that could be pain or stress. I got down before realising it wasn’t aimed at me, so I got back out, immediately pounced on by a Croat that I quickly put down by shooting it. I got up, replacing the clip. I needed to get back to my base and fast, otherwise whoever these guys were could be raiders.

Raiders were asses. They took what they wanted and didn’t care whose lives got lost. It sickened me. I growled under my breath, moving behind a building as I spotted the license plate of a Jeep.

“These are dead Croats, boss. Every last one of them.” A voice called out, followed by footsteps that were made more monstrous by the sound of crunching gravel. “Somebody was out here, killing ‘em.”

“Someone that good? C’mon Joey, be realistic. It has to be another team.” The group chuckled at the joke made by another member of their team, and I frowned in annoyance. I’m sorry, do they see anyone else out here? Actually, they could only see me out here, so it was a given. I peered around the corner, and saw that all of them had their backs to me. I crept up, careful not to crunch on the gravel until I reached the guy at the back, instantly hooking my arm around his neck and yanking him towards me, pressing the muzzle of my gun to his temple.

“Don’t move.” I warned, getting their attention. They spun around with weapons up, but the moment that they saw me with a gun to one of their own, they faltered slightly. “Tell me, who are you? Raiders? Those ragtag asses who think that this is a good thing? Speak up, one of you, now!”

“We’re survivors.” One of them spoke up, his voice gravelly. He looked rougher than the rest of them, his dirty blonde hair up on end in the face of danger and his green eyes stern. “Now let my man go, or I swear to God-”

“You’ll what, tough guy?” I scoffed. “You’ll what?”

“You’ll be dead before you hit the ground.”

“Try me.” I growled, pressing the muzzle tighter to my captive’s head. “I dare you.”

“Pretty thing’s got lip on her.” One man scoffed, but one glare from me shut him up.

“Pretty little thing’s got a gun and one of your men, so better keep your mouth shut.”

“Who even are you?” The gravel-voice dude spoke up, a frown creasing his forehead. I looked him in the eye, my gaze steely.

“None of your damn business.” I replied aggressively, my finger tightening on the trigger.“Who’s askin’?”

“Dean Winchester, now let my soldier go, damnit!” I put the gun down, releasing his teammate as I decided that these guys could be ok. Then his teammate spotted the claw cut on my arm, and all hell broke loose.

“SHE’S INFECTED!” He yelled, and as all of them raised their guns to shoot me, I held out my hands in surrender, panic striking me for a moment.

“WOAH, HOLD ON, I’M IMMUNE!” I shouted, panting heavily. “I’M IMMUNE, OK?! I’m… clean.”

“You’d need to be some psychic freak in order to be immune.” Dean Winchester frowned, stepping forward and raising his gun, pointing it at me. “What kind are you? Actually, I shouldn’t even be asking that, cause all the psychic jackasses turned out to be whacked out of their gourds. What says you ain’t?”

“This entire graveyard is my doin’.” I reasoned, gesturing to the Croat’s bodies. “All me. I don’t know how I got my powers and why, but I’ll tell you one thing for damn sure and it’s that it’s kept me alive out here.” I paused to chuckle nervously. “Look, restrain me if you have the stuff to, but there’s no way in hell I’m stayin’ out here.” They took a moment to think, then Winchester pulled out a pair of handcuffs from his utility belt. My eyebrows twitched, a small smirk on my face as he did so. “Damn, you have them on you, you kinky son of a-”

“Put them on.” He ordered while handing them over, his gun pointing to the cuffs then back to my face. I scoffed, laughing a bit as I clasped it over one wrist.

“Chivalry is dead, I see.” I snapped it over the other wrist, then held my bound wrists up for the other men. “Mysterious girl, bound so she can’t hurt you guys. What a relief. Now, uh, are we gonna book it or what?” I was promptly taken by the arm by Winchester, but I snatched my arm out of his grip with a grimace. “I can do it myself, we have no need for the manhandling type of chivalry.” I stepped up onto the Jeep, flopping down onto a seat as the rest of them got in. Winchester sat down in front of me, gun trained on me by chance I made a move. “Chill, Manchurian Candidate, I’m not gonna bust the spirit of Chuck Norris out and start kicking your ass on a moving car while handcuffed, I’m not stupid.”

He just stared at me.

“Alright, we’re gonna keep doin’ this until you give me a name, you hear me?” Winchester growled, and I shrugged, leaning back against my chair.

“And I think we’ll be here a while. Screw. You.” I retorted, obviously aggravating him as he ran a hand through his hair, glaring back at me.

“I told you my name, why won’t you tell me yours?!”

“I can’t trust you!”

“I saved your ass!”

“Oh, hell no, I saved my ass.” I scoffed. “Like I have been since this thing started. You’d have blown my head off otherwise.” He opened his mouth to contradict, but I shot him a look. “Don’t lie to me, I know what people look like when they’re on the verge of killin’ someone. How do I know? I see that goddamn face every day, sometimes in the mirror. M’not that easy to fool, Winchester.” I chuckled cynically, shaking my head. “Idjit.”

The look on his face changed, and he picked up his gun and held it to my forehead. “Where did you get that?!”

“The hell is wrong with you-”

He grabbed my face with one hand, forcing it up roughly. “WHERE DID YOU HEAR THAT?!”

“My uncle used to say it, goddamn it!” I snapped. “I don’t know where he is, but we were separated in Sioux Falls.”

“Bobby.” Winchester whispered, and quickly let go of my chin, swallowing and looking away. “You’re Ivonne Rainer.”

“Not even gonna apologise?” I scoffed. “Well, I figured you wouldn’t.”

“He talked about you. Bobby.” He scanned me for a moment with something close to bitterness. “My dad did too. John Winchester. Came home one day when I was fifteen talking about the daughter of his hunting partner Michael Rainer, who’d showed up on a vamp hunt to help exterminate a nest in Louisiana. Bobby said you were one of the best hunters he’d known. That you?”

“Sounds like me.” I nodded. “John Winchester, yeah, I remember him. Real pompous ass.”

“Watch what comes out of that mouth of yours.”

“No, I don’t think I will.”

“At this point, you’re askin’ to be slapped.”

“But you won’t.” I smirked, obviously provoking him further. He got up close in my face, teeth gritted.

“I will not hesitate to put a bullet through your brain, you hear me? You’re just one more arrogant dumbass, you don’t mean anything to me. Besides, how’re you planning to fight back? You ain’t in no state to fight, not cuffed, so cut the attitude.”

“Might want to rethink that last statement.” I held up my hands, showing that I was free as the cuffs dropped from my wrists. He stared at the fallen handcuffs, shocked as I sharply pushed him back, standing up and rubbing the chafed skin where the cuffs once were. “What, think I can’t handle myself?” I tilted my head, smirking a bit. Then my gaze went to his gun, and my eyes glowed blue, the clip falling out as I flicked my hand down and zooming into my hand. Winchester stared at me again, his eyes flicking back to his gun occasionally as he tried to process what I’d just done. “Look, man, I ain’t no psycho. If I wanted to hurt you, I would have, no questions asked.”

“You spared me?” He scoffed, looking disbelieving.

“Bet your ass I did.”

“I don’t trust you.”

“Then don’t.” I shrugged, looking him in the eye. “Cause I don’t give a damn whether you do or not. I care about survivin’. Actually livin’. And me being honest, I’m one of the last people left on earth who can actually protect all of you.”

“I just need you to stay out of my goddamn way.” He growled, fists clenched.

“Then… fine.” I raised my hands in mock surrender as I started retreating to the flap. “Like I said, don’t give a damn.” I dropped the clip of his gun, leaving.

Dean stared the spot where I just was, his teeth gritted before he slammed the table, yelling out.

“DAMN IT!”

#dean winchester #supernatural #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #spn #dean winchester x oc #spn masterlist #dean winchester x you #supernatural oc #endverse

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bit-odd-innit · 1 year

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Fic: Somewhere That’s Green

[based on a post I made about Eddie’s future]

It’s a hole in the wall just off the main drag, the kind of place you can’t find unless you know to look. In a previous life it had been a pizzeria, which explained the bright green vinyl awning Eddie had no intention of replacing. He’d kept the pick-up window, too, used it to host “office hours.” (“Office hours” was supposed to mean “deliver personalized music recommendations to interested passers-by.” Now it means “help harried, double-parked parents reschedule music lessons.”)

He’d also kept the apartment upstairs. They have a house now—a nice one, with a wrap-around porch and a big backyard and a cluster of hedges Steve always insists are “a mess”—but when Eddie trips into an inventory hole and loses track of time, it’s nice to have a place to crash. If it’s not a school night sometimes Steve joins him, and they’ll relive the halcyon days of their early twenties, buoyed by cheap beer, diner curly fries, and giddy infatuation. (The infatuation has only grown and flourished even as his tolerance for salty food has withered. Acid reflux is a bitch.)

He’s happy they kept the apartment. He happy knowing that if someone needs it—someone scared, broke, desperate for a lifeline and a scrap of no-strings-attached kindness—it’s something he can provide.

Initial plans had been to focus on music, just music. It was supposed to be the utopic all-metal record store of Eddie’s nightmares. But as he started to build stock, he remembered how hard it had been to find merch for the things he liked. How a pin or a patch or poster he’d dug up at a garage sale four towns over made him feel more seen than anything on offer at the local mini-mall. How he wanted to be a hub for the weird shit not everyone liked, but the people who did loved. His horrible little magpie brain fluttered from shiny thing to shiny thing, and by the time opening day rolled around the store was a one-stop shop for all things music, merch and whatever wacky knick-knacks tickled Eddie’s fancy. Or horrified Steve. Or both. Both was best.

The Corroded Coffin guys slotted in easily. Francis always liked doing promo for their gigs, was good at it, too. But by the early 2000s, his methods were apparently so outdated his daughter begged to let her take over. (“He’s stapling fliers to telephone poles, Uncle Eddie. You don’t even have a website.”

“What is a telephone pole covered in fliers if not the working man’s web-ed site?”

“Oh my God give me your credit card I’m buying you a domain name.”

“A what?”)

Jeff got his CPA and took over the financials, reeling Eddie in whenever he was struck by the urge to make a impulsive, outlandish purchase. (“I genuinely don’t understand how you make money.”

“It’s cause I don’t do my taxes.”

“I do your taxes. At a great personal expense.”)

Gareth was instrumental (heh…) in building up the music program—soundproofing the basement and hiring instructors and coordinating concerts and organizing payment plans, all the nitty-gritty non-music stuff that made Eddie’s head spin. At some point it just made the most sense for Eddie to cede control, let him operate it however he saw fit. (“This is your baby, dude. It’s a baby that took form within my own, much larger baby. But it’s yours.”

“I’m touched by your words and appalled by your phrasing.”

“That’s the only way I could have said it.”)

(Gareth also once described the store as an “Elevated Hot Topic.” Eddie still hasn’t decided when he’s going to kick his ass.)

 Momentum grew. Ideas compounded ideas. A kid asked how to sew a patch to his backpack and it snowballed into the Build Your Own Battlevest Workshop. Wayne suggested knocking out the connecting wall between the walk-in freezer and the pantry, and now thrice weekly Eddie runs table-top games for varying age-sets and skill-levels. (At Steve’s request, the elementary school group is called H-E-DOUBLE HOCKEY STICKS FIRE CLUB. Not because he thinks it needs to be censored. He just thinks it’s funny.) (He’s right.)

It was supposed to be a record store but now it’s so much more. Now there are listening parties and movie screenings and little league teams with his store’s name on the back of their jerseys and and and—

Eddie used to think, if he got lucky, he’d last a year. Now he’s closing in on 30. He was profiled by the local newspaper. They called him “a pillar of the community.”

Wild.

It’s a warm, sunny April morning. He’s sitting at the takeout window, sipping coffee from the bottom half of a teapot-teacup combo that reads, in a menacing blood-red font, THIS FREAK DRINKS TEA. His hair is gathered in a loose braid, the ends still damp from his post-run shower. (Sometime in their mid-thirties Steve tricked him into maintaining a consistent cardio routine, and now he’s the type of person who gets out of bed at the crack of dawn to knock out an “easy three.” He’s a monster, a husk of his former self. A husk with a much-improved lung capacity and thighs that can juice a watermelon but nonetheless HUSK.) The middle school is about a half mile from the shop; he pulls faces at all the students filtering past. (Steve’s kids, current and former, refer to Eddie exclusively as Mr. Munson’s Husband. It never fails to thrill him.)

He’s leaning back to flip the record piping through the store’s speakers (“Dustin I don’t care if it’s ‘easier’ to ‘create a Spotify account,’ whatever that means. We play vinyl only! Let me be pretentious about this one thing!”) when he hears a meek, polite cough coming from just beneath the window. He peers out and on the sidewalk stands a girl. She’s small, too little to be one of Steve’s. She clutches the strap of her backpack, blue eyes huge with nerves and determination.

“Hail and well met, weary traveler!” He’s speaking in what Steve calls his Dork Voice, the slightly tuned-down version he uses to put shy kids at ease. “How might I be of assistance?” The girl purses her lips, sets her shoulders, shakes her shaggy bangs out of her face. Eddie thinks suddenly of Nancy and Robin and his heart clenches.

“Do you like games?” She asks.

He smiles softly. Drops the act. “Yeah.” He rests his scarred cheek in the cradle of his palm. “I like games. Do you like games?”

The dam breaks.

“Yes!” She replies at once, breathless with enthusiasm. “My family plays a lot of board games, like Game of Life and Monopoly, and they’re okay but kind of boring, but my brother taught me how to play Settlers of Catan and I really liked that, and my friends and I played Werewolf at a sleepover but we made up a bunch of extra rules to make it harder, and my cousin showed me this video game where the ending changes based on what choices you make and that’s so cool—”

“Alright, slugger.” Eddie can’t help but laugh. “What game are you looking to play?”

The girl collects herself. “Okay,” she says. “Okay, so. So I like it in games where there are rules, but also you can make stuff up? And you can do something weird that might ruin everything but also might pay off? And sometimes you have to work with other people to accomplish your goal, but alliances can break?” Eddie nods. “So there’s this one game. It sounds like so much fun, but nobody I know plays it. They play it on this show I like, well, okay, it’s not really a show, it’s, uh, okay do you know what a podcast is?” Eddie beams.

Steve swapped study hall coverage so he could pop in for lunch. Tonight is parent-teacher conferences, which means Steve’ll be home late, which means Eddie will get absorbed in a project and either crash upstairs or stumble home well after Steve’s gone to bed, which means they’ve got to snatch the time together they can get. They split a sandwich, a salmon burger from Costco Eddie threw in the air fryer and smashed up with avocado and grilled poblano pepper. (”It’s heart healthy!” “You’re heart healthy.” “Aw.” “I meant that as an insult.” “I’m not taking it as one, mwah mwah mwah.”) Eddie eats too fast, as he often does, and drags his nails over the veins of Steve’s forearm to distract himself from his gastrointestinal tract turning inside out.

“🎶Myyyy babyyyy myyyyyy babyyyyyy,” he hums against the shell of Steve’s ear. “You’reeee my babyyyyy sayyyy it to meeeeee🎶.” “Alright,” he huffs, tapping his fingers to the knobby bone of Eddie’s wrist. He presses a kiss to the underside of Eddie’s jaw and rises. “I gotta get back.” He slings his messenger bag over his shoulder, gathers the papers he’d promised he’d grade but didn’t. Eddie watches him readjust, watches him smooth down the salt-and-pepper hairs dusting his temples, watches him push his glasses up the bridge of his nose. He catches Eddie watching and asks, slyly, “What?”

Eddie wants to say, I love you. He wants to say, you’ve made me happier than I ever thought I could be. He wants to say, I’m so grateful I built this life with you.

But he’s still himself, so what he says is, “Those khakis make your ass look great.”

Steve scoffs, and with a bitchy eye roll he sinks his weight onto his back foot and says, “I KNOW,” and there he is. There’s the man he married. He looks over his shoulder before he leaves, his honey-warm eyes liquifying Eddie’s spine.

“Hey,” he murmurs. “I love you too.” Eddie kisses him and kisses him and kisses him. Pretty good life.

#steddie #stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #my fanfic

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armpirate · 1 year

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The Only One || Snippet

Pairing: Mafia!JK x reader

Fanfic Coming Soon

Ever since he saw you in that club, swaying your hips with grace, and fixing your filthy eyes on him whenever you turned in his direction while your legs were wrapped around the metallic pole, he knew he had to fuck you. He needed to get a taste of you, he craved your body as if it were the most essential thing in his life.

But when he fucked you later that night…

He suspected you’d be addictive, but didn’t think it’d hit him so fucking hard to the point he was even doubting of returning back to Korea in a few hours.

Your body was made for him. He was convinced of it when he first thrusted into you and your pussy took him so easily, as if it had been waiting an eternity for his cock, as if it had been molded just for him. And him only.

The mere thought of him leaving for Korea, and thinking of you sharing that delightful body of yours with someone else was driving him crazy. How would anyone else dare touching your body the way he did, making your legs weak from pleasure? How would you dare making someone else cum the same way you made him explode that night?

You couldn’t. Just one night, and he knew you were his. And he’d do anything, whatever it took him, to keep your body from anyone else, but him.

As for you, you were surprised by the electricity that ran through your body whenever his fingertips caressed your skin, and the way your body reacted every single time he filled you. You enjoyed every second when you reached your high, cumming for the first time with a client.

For the first time since you started working on this, you actually had your fun instead of just making the other cum so you could get your money and leave to clean yourself. But that’s all it was.

You got a good fuck and fresh cash.

And that’s exactly why when he showed up in the same room again, sitting on the edge of the bed, you smiled wide.

Your pussy throbbed with excitement, just for it all to disappear and be replaced with confusion as a pile of sheets were handed to you.

“If you sign it, your body will belong to me only” he whispered, his legs crossing.

Oh shit.

And when you saw the amount of money he was willing to pay only to fuck you (Or, better said, for you not to fuck with anyone else when he was away), you didn’t hesitate to accept the offer.

It was the easiest job ever since you joined the club. Being paid twenty grand, just for you to wait for him. Like that silver cutlery you rarely use, because it’s so unique and expensive you only use it for important occasions.

You were going to be his new most exclusive Ferrari, parked inside his garage ever since he bought it, knowing he’d rarely drive it, but being proud that he had such a unique product that nobody else had. Only he had that privilege.

When your eyes shined, and you picked the pen he offered you, he knew what your mind was working on. Jung Kook read through you so easily, he didn’t need to know how to see the future to be sure of what your next move would be.

Too bad you didn’t read the small print of the contract.

#jjkvibe #fanfic #ff #jungkook #jeon jungkook #jungkookxreader #jk #bts #wattpad #kookie #smut #jungkook smut #mafia!jk #snippet

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4me2knowandyou2wonder · 6 months

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Teeth Headcanons for Modern Warfare characters

As the winner of our first pole, we will be starting with everyone's not so, maybe sometimes favorite baby man...

Graves!

Yep. Graves was the braces kid. He just was.

At 13 his American ass was told by the dentist to go to the orthodontist. His mother dragged him there despite his protests and he was put in big metal brackets. (He had some normal crowding and a healthy underbite) Graves was awful at wearing his rubber bands, just awful and had braces for 3 years. Almost all his teen pictures have that metal smile on display.

Graves also was the type to not know what color brackets look good and constantly switched them around so half his photos not only have a metal smile but also have a candy-colored metal smile - Blue, green, yellow, and red all clashing on his teeth. (You know he did red white and blue at least twice)

His wisdom teeth were removed at 18 because his mouth is too small for them. His mother made a video of him on the anesthetic drugs as he says all sorts of things. He definitely cried a few times. Graves swears the video has never seen the light of day - he’s wrong and his shadows can prove it. Mercenaries can always find a way.

After getting his braces off, Graves never truly wore his retainer. He lost it within the first year he was prescribed it and never let his family replace it.

Today, It shows in his teeth. Their crookedness and original setup has all but fully returned. Graves has genetically yellow teeth (fig 1) and they're going to be that color even though he brushes them 13/14 times he’s supposed to. (this success is mainly because his shadows will comment if his breath stinks.) lastly, Graves does not floss and refuses to with the conviction of a man with toxic masculinity.

NOT LASTLY I just rewatched some graves scenes on confirm his underbite and not only is it *really there* its there because he is shoving his jaw up and out like he’s chewing tobacco (fig 2 & 3). Which made me realize… this bitch probably chews tobacco! So put dozens of cavities, worn away enamel, and early tooth loss on your Graves bingo cards! Figures under the cut

Please excuse the quality I took this with my phone camera off my computer screen while binging the cod games. It was snapped in moments of excitement over teeth and not meticulously clipped from the videos for posting purposes o7

(Fig 1)

(Fig 2) these next two were screen shots from a not 1080p video and you can tell. But they do their job. Also, hi ghost!

You can’t tell me this man hasn’t chewed tobacco before … look at the way he hold his face !

(Fig 3)

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ectonurites · 11 months

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a madwheeler pre-s4 wip for today ✨

text under the cut

“So, you said you’d show me whatever’s in there,” she changes the subject, nudging at his backpack with her sneaker.

Relief seems to flood into him at the change of subject, “Oh, yeah, here,” he leans down and unzips it, pulling out a… street sign? So she’d been right, she had felt a piece of metal when she'd picked it up before. She’s honestly sort of surprised he’d gotten the sign to fit inside.

“Did you steal this?” She can’t help but laugh.

“Uhh… Sorta?” He smiles back, “I saw it on my way here, the whole street pole had been knocked down. A car must have hit it or something,” Max would bet money on it having been Eddie, she’s seen how recklessly he pulls into the trailer park, she can only imagine what he’s like out on the road, “And it was… loose. They were probably just gonna replace it anyway.”

She shakes her head, not quite in disbelief—something closer to amusement. When he sets it down between them, she reaches out to trace over the words with her fingers, “What one way are you trying to go, exactly?”

He shrugs, “I don’t know. My parents are always saying I need some sense of direction in life, maybe this’ll help me with that.”

“Aren’t they gonna wonder where you got it?” She pushes it towards him and he stuffs it back in his bag. He pulls out his math notebook, throwing it haphazardly onto the table, before zipping his bag and shoving it off to the side.

“I think I could count on one hand the amount of times in the last year anyone set foot in my room long enough to notice anything,” he says it like a joke, something that’s supposed to be funny.

But it just sounds kind of sad.

“I forget you have your own room sometimes,” she matches his tone, trying not to make it weird, “I’m still not entirely convinced there’s more to your house than the basement.”

#max mayfield #mike wheeler #madwheeler #miwip wednesday #byler #<- ik this isn't byler here but the actual fic when it's done will have background byler (+ background lumax). also target audience #wip wednesday #stranger things #sam writes #sam doodles

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bellamybellamyblake · 24 days

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OBX Rock Band AU (headcanon)

Characters:

jj maybank, john b routledge, pope hayward, kiara carrera, sarah cameron

Word Count:

~700

A/N:

i have no idea if this has been done before but the idea came to me the other night in the shower lol. i’m in a band so you can guess what i loosely based this on

JJ - Drums

is my opinion biased on this one? probably

my favorite band member and character

the one with the most problems

drinks a little too much, stoner

personal life in shambles most of the time

once he found the drums as an outlet he dove into it, eventually becoming an intensely devoted musician

that drum set has seen some things

jj lets his anger out on that poor, innocent drum set

all the different pieces have had to be replaced so many times because he beats the living shit out of them

the one that got john b into rock music and the rest was history

he's not one of the chill drummers who just shows up and does their thing, this man is a show-off

so many tricks

long solos whenever the chance arises for one

flirts with the entire band

music genres: rock, grunge, alt, metal

bands/artists: Sex Pistols, Led Zeppelin, AC/DC, Nirvana, Guns N’ Roses, Def Leppard

John B - Lead Vocals/Rhythm Guitar

a no-brainer. this is practically canon

no i will not be hearing opposing opinions at this time

he's the frontman

the one most people's eyes are drawn to right away

controls the vibe in the room

him and jj put on a show

stoner

is naturally a gifted singer, but had a vocal coach for a little while to get some pointers

rhythm guitar because most rock songs need at least two guitars and he's played guitar since he was a kid just for fun

music genres: country, rock, alt, pop when jj isn't around

bands/artists: The Rolling Stones, Paramore, Fall Out Boy, Aerosmith, Taylor Swift, Johnny Cash

Pope - Lead Guitar/Band Manager

he's just there to vibe but also an incredibly skilled guitarist

the one that tries extremely hard to keep everyone on track, but can't because no one listens to him

also the one that found kiara and Sarah

he's classically trained, but he only did classical as a kid because that's what he thought the smart kids were supposed to do

he plays like Slash: relatively controlled body language, but his fingers fly back and forth on the frets

music nerd

everyone can tell he loves what he's doing

manager because who else would manage these fools?

music genres: rock, alt, indie rock

bands/artists: Falling in Reverse, Foo Fighters, Arctic Monkeys, Green Day, Hozier, The Killers, The 1975

Kiara - Bass

i will not be accepting arguments on this one

she 100% grew up on cello, but wanted to rebel against her parents as a teen and switched to rock but realized she fucked with it

this girl is hot as all hell and knows it, but has nothing to prove

she's one of the more responsible members of the group but also super laid-back

stoner

effortlessly keeps everyone in check

she just wants to vibe and play some songs

flirts with the entire band

weird, hippie, earthy screams bass player

music genres: indie rock, r&b, pop punk, anything from the '60s and '70s

bands/artists: Janis Joplin, The Strokes, Young The Giant, Hozier, Paramore, Joan Jett, Whitney Houston

Sarah - Backup Vocals

she was definitely an attention seeker in her young years and would've hated backup, but now she's perfectly content chilling in the background with some killer harmonies

she has a few songs she leads in the set when john b needs a rest

she absolutely KILLS them

but she loves playing with the melody and adding a harmony on something that you wouldn't expect

this girl has perfect pitch so harmonizing takes about 3% effort from her

if a song is too low for her or too high for john b, she transposes everything (perfect pitch and all)

she will. not. touch. an electric guitar with a 10-foot pole.

don't ask, i have no explanation for that one

on the occasion a song needs keys, she's the go-to

music genres: she's a retired theatre kid so she listens to just about everything under the sun except country

bands/artists: Taylor Swift, The Beatles, Queen, Marvin Gaye, Stevie Knicks, Amy Winehouse

#outer banks #obx #obx headcanon #john b routledge #jj maybank #pope heyward #kiara carrera #sarah cameron #obx fanfiction #obx imagine #obx cast #obx fic #obx x reader #rock music #rockband au #alternate universe

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aerodaltonimperial · 11 months

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(Here I go writing crap that like 5 people will be excited about, sigh, oh well, feel free to unfollow if I'm not producing what you want anymore but I just wanna write stuff that makes me excited y'know? Anyway here's a little tease of AN ACTUAL AU - surprise surprise - that is another spooky romp tailored entirely to things that I like)

March 4

The air is cool: crisp, the sort that bites at his cheeks. Spring hasn’t rolled in enough to provide real warmth, and on the skateboard, with the wind beating against his face, it’s even colder. But it’s a straight downhill shot to the shore, taking the road that winds around in sharper turns than most cars are prepared for, and Darby’s heart is hammering hard enough against his chest to replace some of the stolen warmth.

Out in the fog, cutting through the mist that hangs over the full stretch of where the sea whips against the coast, the lighthouse is blinking.

Shit.

He takes the next curve with too much speed and almost flips his skateboard, barely managing to stay upright. It takes some adjusted distribution of his weight to remain moving. The last thing he needs right now is to smear himself along the pavement and break something. One more curve, the longest and laziest of the hill, and the road deposits him down at the coast-hugging old highway lit by a few sporadic street lamps. He hops the curb, twists, and continues down the painted yellow line until he reaches the stone pathway that leads back into the old keeper’s house and, beyond that, the tower itself.

There’s a figure already there, standing by the metal fence erected solely to keep curious tourists out. Darby kicks off his skateboard, heart in his throat.

“It’s not doing anything,” he says, without greeting, a knee-jerk response.

Two hands go up in the air, a neutral surrender. “Neither am I. Danhausen just came to check.”

Okay. Relief starts to curl through Darby’s veins, though his heart rate stays elevated. He slides in beside Danhausen and they stare out into the fog for a few moments with only the sound of the wind sighing along the rocks to keep them company. It’s a rocky slope down to the ocean, the sort of beach useless for anything other than fishing; this stretch though, no one travels down to with their poles. The locals all know better.

After a minute, Darby sighs. It’s a painful exhale. “Don’t—”

“Danhausen already said he wasn’t doing anything.” Danhausen shrugs, his mouth thinned. “But if things go poorly…”

“Yeah, I know.” He does. He’s so very aware. Darby throws an arm back to scratch at the nape of his neck. “It’ll be fine. Coast Guard is enforcing the no-sail space. And tourist season won’t pick up til June. We’ve got months to calm it down.”

“Can you?” Danhausen asks. The question rings genuine, and that’s probably the worst part.

“I’ll figure something out. Just don’t…” He doesn’t gesture at the pathway out to the lighthouse, to the bricks that they had carefully reassembled in the still hours of the morning all those years ago. He’s still afraid to draw attention to the failsafe, just in case. Just in case the tower has more eyes than they’d ever anticipated.

“Danhausen will not do anything until it’s unavoidable.”

Darby nods. “Thanks.”

“But,” Danhausen begins, turning to face him. He must have noticed the glow as he was taking his face paint off, because there’s a swipe of it along his jaw still, overlooked. His eyebrows hike high. “This is probably a bad sign.”

“Everything with you is a bad sign.” Darby sighs again. “Fuck.”

Danhausen doesn’t admonish him for the language—he knows better, learned it’s useless. “Darby, look at the lights. You can’t—”

“Yeah, I know.”

Danhausen shakes his head, then glances back to the fog and the yellow light piercing through the murkiness, on and off. Short, short, long. Long, short. The glow reflects on his face, illuminating his features. Normal. It’s always amazing that he looks so normal. Sometimes, Darby even forgets.

Until times like this, anyway.

“Well,” Danhausen says, and pushes away from the fence. “Keep the tourists away.”

“It’s fine. It’s only March.”

“Spring break,” Danhausen says.

Fuck. Darby hadn’t factored that in. “Who would come here, anyway? Boring fucking place. No beaches. They all go south. Hit Mexico. Get in the bars underage.”

“Don’t stay here all night,” Danhausen warns.

Darby nods. “I won’t.”

Danhausen leaves Darby standing by the fence alone, and Darby curls his fingers in through the twined wires, his forehead settling against the barrier. As the lighthouse starts up another round, he taps the pattern against the metal. Four short. Two short, one long. One long, one short. Two long, one short. Short, long, short. Long, short, long long.

Fuck.

He pushes back, but keeps his eyes on the glow as he grabs his skateboard again. Fuck. Darby starts off down the old highway, kicking at the pavement to get speed, but his thoughts stay behind with the tower perched on the surf-beaten rocks and the word repeated, over and over, blink by blink.

H-U-N-G-R-Y

#its spooky fic time!!!!!#i know i know people dont come to fandom for sprawling horror AUs #but i just want to write stuff that makes me excited haha

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shywhumpauthor · 1 year

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The Merry Whump of May—Day 17

“Going down in flames”

Pole | Regret | Fireplace

Surveillance Masterlist || Merry Whump of May Masterlist

Closely following this, not sure by how long. Maybe a day or two

(Special thanks to @enigmawritesstuff for the idea!)

Cw: noncon drugging, torture, branding, creepy/kind of intimate whumper, wound care

Noah hadn’t passed out.

Not as he felt the flesh melt from his back, an awful stench curdling into the air. Not as his legs have out and he fell, hanging only by his wrists, the iron still pressing roughly into his back.

Not after the red hot metal rod had cooled back to its regular black color, and pulled away, taking bits of burned skin with it. There was no blood, but the mark was worse than any knife could scar.

He had stayed conscious the entire time, until the guards let him down hours later, letting him fall to the floor without bothering to remove the cuffs chaining his wrists together, leaving the medics to tend to him with their cold, emotionless stares and much less than gentle techniques.

There hadn’t been much for them to do, besides pick at the wound to get rid of any debris and cut away worst bits of the burns.

After they had finished, they had left Noah there. Lying on the floor on his stomach, bound arms trapped beneath him already gone numb, struggling to breathe. And even then, his mind still hadn’t let him surrender to unconsciousness, remaining awake and aware long enough for the room to flood with the chill of the night as all heating systems were shut off in the lower floors, leaving only the December air to rush through the vents.

Despite how they shivered, shaking horribly as the cold ate away at them slowly, the fire against their back didn’t seem to lighten in the slightest, not at all, burning nearly as bad as it had when they were first branded.

Someone had eventually come to collect him, by the time they did, it could have very easily been the next morning. Two guards, armed with a syringe that had been stabbed into Noah’s neck. A sedative, he knew long before his eyes fell shut. He couldn’t help but be grateful, even when in his last fleeting moments of consciousness he was dragged up by bound arms and carried away.

He woke up some hours later, body braced on something soft, head turned to the side and propped delicately on a pillow. Soft light drifted across his face, prompting him to open his eyes after long minutes of being unable to move.

He blinked, willing his vision to focus.

He was looking at a window. A large window, stretching wide and tall. Sunlight cast the room in a soft glow, he could tell just by the gentleness of the rays that it was late afternoon, sun edging towards the horizon just enough to tint the edges of the sky pink, reflecting off the thin dusting of snow that covered the world outside.

He was in Declan’s office, laid stomach-down on the sofa. He noticed, blinking heavily, that it was not the same as the last time he’d been in there. A new couch, now long enough to lay on, cushions softer rather than decorative. There was a blanket draped up to about halfway up his back, soft threads woven together.

Confusion hit him like a slap, sharp and stinging, drawing him from the drug induced haze in moments.

The fireplace to the right was lit, a small gate blocking the hearth as it crackled softly. The artwork on the wall had been replaced, changed from sharp monochromatic lines to curves of color, a careful disorganization to the pattern.

That wasn’t the only things that had changed since he’d last been in there. It looked less like an office now, Noah thought faintly, glancing around as much as he could without moving his head. There was a plump armchair in the corner adjacent to the windowed wall and the one with the fireplace, a lamp fit snug besides that, and no one other than Declan himself sitting in the chair, legs crossed with his laptop balanced in his lap.

Noah didn’t remember making any sort of sound or movement, but as if led by some sixth sense, Declan looked up the moment Noah’s eyes fell on him, and he paused his work.

“Noah,” the man smiled, greeting him as one would an old friend. He clicked a few last keys, and then closed the laptop, reaching over to set it on his desk. “Do you like how I redecorated? I thought it was time to bring some more color in here, hm?”

Noah’s throat was painfully dry, even as he breathed feeling the air against his tongue, like sandpaper in his mouth. Even if it hadn’t been, he wouldn’t have spoken, having no answer to the question he’d been asked—if it even was that. Rhetorical, he supposed.

“I had it done just for you, my friend. I knew you must be sick of the grays and steel by now.”

Declan stood up, and Noah blinked, trying to swallow to bring some moisture to his mouth, but it caught in his throat, nearly choking him before he coughed.

“Oh, I’m sure you must be thirsty,” Declan paused, taking a small step back to his desk, pulling open a drawer and grabbing out a small plastic bottle, the kind that could be bought in packs of twelve or twenty-four, a brand wrapped around its middle. “Here, can you sit up?”

No, they couldn’t. And yes, it was completely for lack of trying. Noah’s limbs felt heavy just laying there, making even the idea of movement exhausting. Declan didn’t seem to mind, though, walking over to the couch and dropping to a crouch so he was just above eye-level with Noah.

“Lift your head,” he ordered softly, twisting off the cap before his free hand moved to Noah’s jaw, pulling his head up away from the pillow before pressing the bottle to his lips.

For a moment, Noah debated defiance, perhaps spitting the water out back straight into the bastard’s face. They’d spent weeks, their dignity and self-respectable stoicism slowly chipped away, silence and civil crumbling to a cursing and fighting defiance. They were going to be hurt regardless, why bother being quiet? At least this way, even with achievements as small as making Declan frown, it felt like they had done something, not just sit and quietly take the abuse they were handed.

But the moment the water touched their lips, any idea of such a thing dropped from their mind as they realized just how dehydrated they were. A trickle of water dribbled down their chin, which might have been humiliating at a different time, but now all they could think about was how good it felt, easing the scratch in the back of their throat, breaths coming just a bit more naturally.

All too soon, the bottle was pulled away, and Declan twisted the cap back on.

“Ah, none of that,” he quickly silenced Noah’s groan of protest, but the usual bite of authority was softened behind his voice. “You’ll get the chance to earn more in a bit, so long as you stay nice.”

And with those words, Noah sobered again, blinking away the desperation as he fell back into the dynamics of the situation.

Earn water. Fucking asshole, Declan.

Still, he couldn’t help but ask, the word coming out a low croak. “Whh’y?”

Why, there could have been a thousand things he was referencing, but of course, Declan knew exactly which. Noah couldn’t help the shiver as the man’s hand raised, pressing to the side of his head, gently tugging through the strands knotted with blood and grime.

“Must you always question things? Would you rather I treat you like traitorous rat you are?” Declan’s tone dropped, and he took the slight widen in Noah’s eyes as answer enough. “I didn’t think so. Now, to answer, I’m in a good mood, which is quickly fading, so I suggest you simply stay quiet and accept my generosity.”

Noah gave a hesitant nod after a moment, and Declan seemed satisfied, fingers carding lightly along Noah’s scalp before pulling back, tracing down the back of his neck.

“You behaved well yesterday. I’m not heartless, I will deal rewards when you’ve earned them. And for this,” his fingers traced over the brand, touch barely ghosting but it made Noah hiss, hands curling into fists. “Well, it certainly doesn’t dampen the mood. Would you like to see what it looks like? I’m sure you will appreciate it just as much as I do.”

No, no Noah did not want to see it, but Declan’s hand had already pulled away from his back, digging in his pocket for his phone before opening it to the camera app, standing so he could take a picture of their back.

“When it heals, it’ll be just perfect,” Declan murmured, turning the screen so Noah could see.

Noah felt sick.

The skin was destroyed, blackened and blistering. The brand was centered against his upper back, stretching to the edges of his shoulder blades, but it wasn’t the burns that made the bile creep up his throat.

It was what the brand said.

Big, thick letters stretched across his skin, so clearly visible even with the fresh burns.

Property of D. Madlouck.

——————————————————

@themerrywhumpofmay

Tag list: @pickleking8 @blood-enthusiast @t0rture-me @sparrowsage @enigmawritesstuff @whump-me

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kidflashimpulse · 6 months

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honestly in terms of the treadmill i assumed that it was wrecked beyond repair (it's not like they can get MORE 31st century tech to replace certain parts) and that when Baby showed up at the north pole they just brought it with them so they could dispose of it themselves later because Bart was like "there is NO WAY we're leaving this here". like let's be real. Bart's original time machine was never even brought up again after Bloodlines. for my sanity i'm assuming this is a similar case lol

i guess i associate seeing wreckage as something visibly being beyond repair (like the legions sphere) so when the cosmic treadmill was in essence spat out by bioship (lol) even though it glitched i didn’t think it looked bad as it was in one piece. But I think ur point is reasonable and good to consider to pace my expectations (and like u mentioned sanity 🥲)

the biggest reason i was thinking it’s something to consider for hypothetical (oh this hurts 😂) future plots is because of what it is, i.e the cosmic treadmill, something that’s quite a major thing to speedster lore, like what the fortress of solitude or phantom zone is to superman lore or what the utility belt as equipment etc is it to batman, lasso of truth, bracelets to wonder woman etc

basically something so iconic to the related lore that it’s crazy (painful 💀) for me to perceive it as a one time thing.

also, the thing that separates it from something like the time sphere or his original time machine being irreparable is that it’s something bart built in the present, not his original timeline of 40 years in the future of an alien post apocalyptic earth (assuming that the time/alien element gave him more sophisticated components to work with despite it being the apocalypse) nor something that is built from a thousand years in the future. he built it in the now (with the assumed help of current day tech (total side note, i assumed that the stolen zeta core he stole from the Watchtower inventory was for building the treadmill/a spare component)), knows exactly what’s going on with it and can work with tech of the present for it. His OG time machine was explicitly built as a one time thing, because as sophisticated as its base technology might be, it was also a little scrappy in design, assuming that he really worked with what was available to his immediate surrounding (like scraps of metal), so it was only natural it would essentially be “fried” by something like time travel.

for the treadmill it seemed to be built as something pretty durable for its intended long term use like space travel.

i’d just assume that the components of the 31st century especially from something like the time sphere that he managed to salvage from are a little more durable than his OG machine (the parts that he managed to save from being intentionally damaged by Lor). Combining that with it being built in the present, it really didn’t cross my mind that it was something beyond repair or even remotely properly damaged in the first place.

when he was the first to leave the Arctic i felt like it was such an emergency (fighting the zods) that he didn’t really think twice about anything. then the rest of the heroes were split between Dick and Mganns team (with LOSH) also hurrying, and those who were tending to the wounded. I didn’t really think about this part any further tbh but I’d assume that the medical team portion would collect it or something. But just the image of bioship spitting it out it’s like she wouldn’t want it anywhere near her 😭 lmfao. So team LOSH and co maybe managed to “quickly” take it with them (also considering LOSH knowing what it is) but the urgency of the situation just had me thinking initially it was abandoned at the pole at the time 😭

also something that is only the result of me entirely overthinking things is the way the treadmill was designed in YJ. The fact that it’s compatible with bioship/baby makes me think that if YJ wants to do serious time traveling throughout the season in the future, rather than in S2/4 where it’s more of a plot device than a used tool (atleast for the heroes, Lor was the one who used it the most in S4), i can imagine the treadmill being somehow used for it. Like originally it was built for space travel, but this is time traveler bart we r talking about here lol i don’t think it would be impossible for it to be redesigned for its original comic purpose. Also more importantly, it allows big teams of people to travel with it, rather than just bart running on it.

So yeah, this is all the mess of thoughts that makes it appeal to me as an ideal checkhovs gun for future seasons, but honestly with all things YJ who genuinely knows at this point 😭

Anyway, thanks for sharing i love reading about ppls thoughts on these things <3

#yj asks #bart allen #young justice #impulse #kid flash #yj #dc #young justice phantoms #renew young justice #cosmic treadmill #the flash #flash #save earth 16

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whumpflash · 1 year

Text

cw: slavery, dehumanization, noncon strip/nudity (nonsexual), adult language, alcohol mention

previous ///// masterlist ///// next

×××

The sun was rising when they reached the slavers' camp. The journey has dampened Judd's unwanted hangover enough for him to focus, and he made an effort to determine their direction of travel.

East. Right into the fucking sun.

He angled his head to avoid the light, doing anything he could to lessen the pounding in his skull.

Fucking wine. He almost wished Skye would've just kicked his ass instead of resorting to creativity. It had been almost a whole day since he'd had any water, and the booze only served to rush the dehydration process.

Water first, he thought. Then I'll get the hell out.

The slaver camp was a lot smaller than the site Judd called home, just a few makeshift buildings and a public area protected from the sun by a tarp. There was a weapons rack, and a pile of what looked like spare speeder parts. Tools he could use to escape, or fight his way out when the time was right.

He tried to ignore the other objects in the area. Shackles. Whips. A metal pole with a length of chain welded to it, and a small rusted cage a foot away from that. Cage and manacles were both empty. He'd find no allies here, but there didn't seem to be many enemies either. Aside from the two that had snatched him, there were only a handful others, coming out of their huts or getting up from cleaning their weapons to see what their buddies had returned with.

Judd was dumped just shy of the shade, struggling to lift his head as a pair of boots came into view. They were attached to a woman, well-muscled and covered in freckles.

"Brought me back a treasure, eh?" she said, lifting his chin with the toe of her boot. He jerked away, falling back onto the cracked dirt, and wincing as the movement drove a fresh spike of pain through his head.

"Wreck was deserted by the time we got there, but this idiot made the mistake of sticking around," Rika replied.

Sticking around? Yeah, picking on the kid had been a mistake, but Judd wasn't fucking stupid.

"What do you think, Sonora?" Rika's partner said. "Good haul?"

"Should make us a pretty penny," the other woman said, approval in her voice. "Get it settled in."

It. He was already written off as an object to them, something that had no value aside from a price tag.

The pair moved to obey her, dragging Judd under the tarp and into the marginally cooler shade. His arms—by now well past aching—were freed at last from Skye's bindings. Rope was swiftly replaced with metal cuffs, each one connected to a long chain that trailed upward, wrapping around a beam that sat a few feet above his head.

Not just a beam, he saw, noticing gears on either side of it, interlocking all the way down to hip height, where a handle jutted out. Some kind of mechanism, probably designed to shorten his leash whenever they saw fit.

Clearly the group had way too much time on their fucking hands, but if nothing else, the machine told him this was their permanent base.

Good. When he got out, he'd come back here with a hoard of scavs. Burn it down.

"Let's get a look at it," Sonora said, and Rika moved to the handle, confirming his suspicions as she cranked it until the chains were taut and his arms were suspended above his head. Maybe it was procedure, maybe she'd just made up her mind to give him misery, but she didn't lock the mechanism in place until Judd's feet were barely touching the ground.

He cursed through the gag, shooting her a hateful glare that was pointedly ignored.

Sonora selected a knife from the weapons rack and closed the distance on him. He did his damnedest to jerk back as she set the blade against his chest, but she didn't cut him, instead slicing through the fabric of his shirt.

Judd let out a muffled yell of protest as she moved to his jacket, a fancy sun-reflecting thing he'd paid out the ass for. She didn't seem to care what it was, cutting it away without hesitation and discarding it at his feet.

His pants and boots followed it, but Sonora didn't stop there, slicing away in cool-eyed silence until he was stark naked.

Judd tried to reign in his pride and breathe steady through the gag. If he let the frustration, the humiliation, get to him, it would just make his headache that much worse.

Nudity didn't bother him. Water was too scarce for showering to be a private affair, and scavs were generally too pragmatic to find a lack of clothes taboo.

This was different. This was being put on display, stared at by his captors while they figured out how much he was worth.

I'll break out. Pick the locks. They'll be sorry.

"Hm," Sonora said, and he flinched as she ran a finger across his abdomen. "Strong enough for the pits, pretty enough to be a pet. What do you think?"

Rika snorted. "I think it's the highest bidder's choice."

"So it is." She stepped back, kicking away the remains of Judd's clothing. "Go ahead and let it down. Can't put it up for auction half-dead."

Rika pulled back on the lever, and the chains went slack. Judd cried out as he hit the ground, pain shooting through his knees as they took most of the impact. It was becoming more and more difficult to want to get up, but he did, pushing himself to a sitting position with a groan.

Sonora had reappeared beside him, a canteen in her hand.

Water.

She was close enough that he could probably grab her. Get her weapon, use her as a bargaining chip. But he was too thirsty to try.

She reached behind his head, untying his gag and removing it from his bone-dry mouth.

Despite the burning urge to start cussing her out, Judd held back. Drink first. He reached for the canteen, but Sonora took a quick step back.

"Ah ah. You get what I give you or you get nothing," she chided. "And I only give what is earned."

Because of fucking course she did.

"Kneel," Sonora continued. "Hands on your knees, head bowed. Show me you can be obedient."

As debasing as it was to follow her commands, Judd wasn't about to give up the water. He moved to his knees, glaring up past sweat-damp hair.

"That snarl could use some work, but we have time," Sonora said. "Good boy."

All reason fled his body at her words, his head snapping up. "The fuck did you just call me?"

Behind him, Rika let out a short laugh. "Told ya it had a mouth."

"It just needs to learn some respect," Sonora said, looking vaguely annoyed.

"My name is Judd," he spat.

"You don't have a name anymore," she replied, not flinching as he lunged forward, the chains halting his movement before he got within a foot of her. The sudden stop, combined with his bound ankles, unbalanced him, and he landed gracelessly on his side.

He saw Rika reach for a whip, but Sonora held up a hand to stop her.

"It has enough scars as is. We don't need any new marks before auction."

"My name is—" He was cut off by a boot to the gut from Rika.

"Bruises will heal," she said, in response to the stern look from Sonora, who sighed and shook her head.

"I'm sure they will. You and Bo go ahead and get some sleep. I'll take it from here."

As Rika and her partner disappeared into one of the huts, Sonora moved to the mechanism Judd was attached to, adjusting the upper bar until it was level with the ground, then reeling in the chains until he had no room to move, arms once again restrained behind him. Once that was done, she left.

Judd let his head drop, drawing his knees up to his chest. Maybe he was stupid. Letting his anger get in the way of fucking survival.

She'd be back, wouldn't she? They'd gone through the trouble of taking him, they wouldn't just let him die and miss out on their payday.

He pulled at the cuffs. Just needed to wait until Sonora tried again. He'd choke down his pride and comply. Get her to drop her guard.

It hadn't been long before she returned, still holding the canteen. She knelt in front of him, much closer now that he was locked up tight.

"Good boys get water," she said, but held the canteen to his lips anyway.

He drank so quickly he almost choked, feeling relief wash over him as the liquid ran down his throat. It wasn't until he'd drained the entire thing that he noticed the strange aftertaste.

Sickly sweet, like something on the verge of rotting.

He knew what was coming then, the kind of bullshit these people would resort to in order to keep him down. Sonora smiled at him as she capped the canteen.

"Bad boys get Compliance."

×××

tag list:

@kira-the-whump-enthusiast

#whoops forgot to add tags #whump #whump writing #judd harlow #tw slavery #tw alchohol mention #tw noncon drugging #nonsexual nudity #tw violence #tw adult language #forced stripping #tw dehumanization #defiant whumpee #it as a pronoun

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97-liners · 2 years

Note

how about a sensory prompt + and au?? either 1 or 15 from the prompt list + supernatural? for....mingyu -.-

1. watching a meteor shower | 15. the taste of salt on the tip of your tongue | supernatural au

Tonight when you meet Mingyu in your dreams, it only comes as half a surprise. He doesn’t usually do this unplanned, no matter how many times you tell him you’d always be happy to see him. Even tonight, when you open your eyes and find yourself back in the warm little kitchen of your shared apartment, under the yellow lamplight shining down on the wooden table, Mingyu greets you first with an apology.

“Sorry for taking over your dream,” each word crashes into the next as he rushes into an explanation, “but I missed you a lot, and you didn’t pick up my call, and I was worried.” Mingyu chews the inside of his cheek, like you’re going to chastise him, even though you’re the one who should be apologizing.

“No, don’t say that, Mingyu,” you reach out and place your hand on a tense forearm soothingly, “I should be the one saying sorry. I should have texted instead of going straight to sleep.”

In the background, you hear the click of the electric kettle turning off. Someone in the apartment next door flushes a toilet, and the accompanying groan of the pipes in the wall whispers over the sound of the stand fan in the corner. If you didn’t know better, you might have believed that you were back home again, settling in for a late night mug of tea with your fiancé. Mingyu had always been good at this.

“I know I shouldn’t be worried.” Mingyu looks away, but his muscles relax under your touch. “But I can’t help it. And,” he adds, “I really do miss you.”

“I know.” Your job as a cursebreaker tends to take you across the world on long trips, and although you’re good at what you do, it’s still a dangerous job. This is the longest you’ve been away yet— four weeks in London for a particularly tricky assignment, and Mingyu’s anxiety is evident, stretched taught under his skin.

You reach out and cup his cheek, and he tilts his head into your hand, like you were made to hold him. “A few more days,” you promise, “and I’ll be home again.”

“I know.” Mingyu reaches up to place his hand over yours, covering it with his large rough palm. “Do you wanna see the rest of the dream?”

You laugh. “Mingyu, there’s more?”

He nods, almost eagerly. “I wanna show you one thing, and then you can get back to sleep and rest up.”

“Okay.” You grin as he entwines his fingers between yours against his cheek and pulls your hand away, standing to lead you to the balcony. You follow, walking in those light footsteps that always seem to come so easily in dreams.

Mingyu slides open the glass door and tugs you outside with him. “Oh, Mingyu,” you breathe, leaning over the metal railing. Instead of the usual view of concrete and glass, tangles of telephone line strung up between steel poles weaving through the cramped side street of Seoul, your apartment now overlooks a beach. Waves of saltwater crash over the black volcanic rocks jutting into the ocean, sending their spray into the air. You know this place. It’s the beach in Jeju where you and Mingyu first met, back when you were just an apprentice taking a weekend off between lessons and he was a miserable, overworked sous chef at one of the many beachside resorts. This is the beach where, five years later, Mingyu would propose to you, his sweaty hands trembling as he tried to deliver the diamond ring from the little velvet box to your finger without losing it in the sand.

“Look up,” Mingyu nudges you, and you do. The purple-orange sodium vapor glow of Seoul is gone, replaced with endless sky, black velvet sprinkled with glitter. The stars glimmer, shifting in the air, and then they start falling in tiny streaks of silver.

“A meteor shower,” you laugh in delight, leaning into Mingyu’s warm shoulder. Below you, the sea continues to wash over the shore and sparkle in the moonlight. “I love you, Mingyu,” you squeeze his hand.

“Love you too.” You feel him press a kiss to the top of your head. “Good night,” he says, as the scene in front of you begins to blur and the familiar warmth of sleep threatens to overtake you.

“Night,” you mumble, feeling your eyes close.

“Sweet dreams.”

#not sure what the word count is bc i wrote it on my phone but it’s gotta be less than 1k #97.yn #mingyu scenarios #97.drabbles #97.writings #neonun au #ask #seventeen scenarios

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mayfay · 1 year

Text

Saw a post by @waterfire1848 talking about blood bender villainization and had a brief hyperfixation rabbit hole about their uses (came up with a whole lot less than I’d like but still some fun stuff to build off of).

I don’t know much about blood bending aside the facts it’s an easy form of bending to learn and it’s users are apparently villains so fun AUs/headcanons (I’ve only recently watched season 1 so there’s probably an inaccuracy that breaks all this but still)

1. It becomes a banned practice and used as a figurehead for anti-benders and war mongers

2. Blood benders are forced underground to keep their lives and have a mini-renaissance now that they aren’t under the years of traditions all other benders operate under, leading to advances in non-combat uses (we know bending has a ton of applications beyond “move element” people just ignore considering water tribe healing and sub-bending techniques (like metal bending) and I like to attribute that to tradition holding people back from experimenting).

3a (got side tracked and rabbit holed into theory land). So to start with this is assuming what we see as water bending healing is actually the spirit or power or whatever that powers water bending applies to bloodbending and the healing in both is actually protecting the targets body and selectively speeding up/controlling the body’s healing process since we see stuff that should scar (kataras burns on its introduction episode) not scar while Zuko can’t have his scar healed . According to google scars are caused by the stuff healing it and the scar tissue that develops, so if all the stuff in there is sped up to naturally reproduce and replace the stuff hurt and scar tissue development is slowed you get fully healed skin rather than a scar. This would make the healing super selective and reliant on the bodies natural functions though while offering some small protection against infection (which could be done by boosting immune cells production and somehow making sure they don’t mutate and become cancerous or attacking the targets own body (possibly by also boosting other parts of the immune system that counter this)). I don’t know if anyone gets tired from water healing but if anyone does then the body is being given energy from that person to support the sudden production of body stuff as well as the energy needed for movement and such from those cells (namely immune cells). If no one is getting tired then the energy comes from whatever force allows bending in the first place, likely weakening them cause conservation of energy which has long term implications for the world at large if that source doesn’t have a way to produce more power. Also worth noting the reason older stuff can’t be healed is cause scar tissue has already formed, indicating to the body to not bother fully reforming that part (though scars can fade so I bet healing could be used to make scars a lot fainter, but wouldn’t remove the scar tissue). Fun fact following this headcanon healing would be a super itchy and possibly painful process as nerve endings grow back unless they know how to dull nerves to keep them from sending those signals (which might be possible for super skilled healers but limits it’s use in battle as sudden pain or itching would be a major distraction)

3b. Bloodbending might not have as many applications as other bending techniques but I feel like healing’s an obvious one (especially since while water bending healing exists it was probably isolated to the poles and not super common even there so traditional medical practices were definitely developed elsewhere and blood bending would be an excellent skill paired with that stuff). Getting more complicated blood has 5 main parts I’ll focus on: red/white blood cells, platelets, plasma, and collagen (collagen (the stuff that makes scar tissue) isn’t actually in blood but it’s in veins and interacts with stuff in blood so I shouldn’t include it but shush).

3c. Red blood cells primarily carry oxygen throughout the body so I’ll be treating some theory’s about them as if the body’s getting more oxygen (the body makes more hemoglobin, the stuff in blood that nabs the oxygen, when the body needs more oxygen so I’m not just pulling that out of my butt). So a little more oxygen can help with focus and memory but if you add to much for to long then you start to get high but also oxygen toxicity (pressure also plays a role but that’s super variable) which causes (deep inhale) headache, irritability, anxiety, dizziness, disorientation, hyperventilation, cold shivering, fatigue, tingling, visual blurring/tunnel vision, tinnitus/hearing problems, nausea, twitching, tickling/burning sensation after breathing, coughing, coughing up blood, difficulty breathing, fever, reddening skin in some areas (namely inner nose) due to more blood, Retinopathy of prematurity in infants (causes white pupils, abnormal eye movement, crossed eyes, and nearsightedness), blindness in infants, swelling in part of eye causing blurry vision and potential vision loss, cataracts under long term exposure, chest pain, coughing, potentially fluid in lungs, and hiccups (the most dangerous symptom) (release). There are also some rarer secondary effects but I don’t understand the terms the study uses so I’ll ignore that for now, just know tons of other symptoms exist. Moving onto the effects of actual higher blood count you can get high blood pressure but there’s a lot of overlap with oxygen toxicity. Considering all of this bloodbending could be used for studying and anything needing a sharp mind but has tons of drawbacks if used to much, at high pressures, or if to high a oxygen level is achieved. When looking at other uses my first thought was the potential for using the iron in blood to mimic metal bending and eventually maybe even be able to control small amount of metal elsewhere, but doing to much research then should’ve been needed blood is about 40% red blood cell and 95% of those cells are hemoglobin (they even spit out their nucleus to carry more), which carry oxygen with iron. Now you might think that that means they’re packed with oxygen, But No! Hemoglobin only makes up about 0.34% of DRYED blood cells. Stupid science ruining my cool iron blood bender ideas.

3d. Platelets make up less than 1% of blood but clump together to form scar tissue when they touch collagen in blood vessels (which I’m including as part of blood bending cause if water bending gets magic healing I’m getting my collagen). While their make up isn’t super usable for fun stuff running off the theory that bloodbending is able to selectively reproduce cells like water bending healing blood benders could make and design their own scars to make edgy tattoos. With their control of blood bloodbenders could make these scars change shades of red/white by controlling blood flow and while painful could even scrape off scars and regrow regular skin over the old scar (zuko scars newest fashion statement. Also allows for the healing of older scars through painful scrapes but wouldn’t work for major injuries like limb loss).

3e. White blood cells are almost exclusivley useful for medical stuff so I’ma gloss over them but plasma is super useful. Blood plasma makes up 55% of blood and holds salt, minerals, and water including some waste products from cells. While I doubt benders could duplicate these things as they aren’t cells seeing as water benders can’t make more water (ooo actually I bet people who get healed suffer from dehydration as cells require water but they can’t make more out of nothing, though I guess firebenders bring that into question but if earth benders can’t make earth I’m going to say water benders can’t make water). While it might seem like the fact they can’t replicate the stuff limits their use they could extract parts of blood for resources from people semi-regularaly to make up for that since people self regulate pretty easily and their healing makes sickness less worrying so people might be willing to trade blood for healing or cash. The water in plasma could really only be useful in the desert or areas without much clean water but the salts/minerals are apparently liquified and good at conducting electricity so they could be useful for science stuff or lightning rods (especially since science is definitely gonna go crazy after a century of war time economy followed by a cultural mixing, the discovery of sub-bending, and the early/mid stages of the industrial revolution). Still might get outclassed by metal benders but I’m sure liquid conductor has its own uses and metal bending is probably pretty rare so the competition might not be to fierce.

Sources: https://www.hematology.org/education/patients/blood-basics#:~:text=It%20has%20four%20main%20components,to%20prevent%20excess%20blood%20loss

https://www.mayoclinic.org/symptoms/high-hemoglobin-count/basics/causes/sym-20050862#:~:text=A%20high%20hemoglobin%20count%20occurs,the%20lower%20oxygen%20supply%20there

https://liwli.com/surprising-health-benefits-of-fresh-air/#:~:text=It%20can%20give%20you%20more%20energy%20and%20mental%20focus.&text=Higher%20oxygen%20levels%20mean%20more,to%20concentrate%20and%20remember%20information.

https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/books/NBK430743/#:~:text=Extended%20exposure%20to%20above%2Dnormal,hours%20of%20breathing%20pure%20oxygen.

https://my.clevelandclinic.org/health/symptoms/17810-high-red-blood-cell-count

https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC2823260/#:~:text=The%20development%20of%20hypertension%20is,leading%20to%20further%20pathological%20complications.

https://givingblood.org/about-blood/blood-components.aspx#:~:text=Red%20blood%20cells%20are%20disc,40%20percent%20of%20your%20blood.

https://www.britannica.com/science/blood-biochemistry/Red-blood-cells-erythrocytes

https://pdf.sciencedirectassets.com/778417/1-s2.0-S0021925818X70495/1-s2.0-S002192581872406X/main.pdf?X-Amz-Security-Token=IQoJb3JpZ2luX2VjEMz%2F%2F%2F%2F%2F%2F%2F%2F%2F%2FwEaCXVzLWVhc3QtMSJGMEQCIFv1BX3NnOyTX12TBMvHZ64VaiuciquHCWsq1VZz9AttAiARDem2DlEqu1yaSlhfYPlkE2542vdosVyHPJ17XtvsaCq8BQiU%2F%2F%2F%2F%2F%2F%2F%2F%2F%2F8BEAUaDDA1OTAwMzU0Njg2NSIMKpor6Fm8nSX3bkamKpAFQFF09nnnlQcHQwtz2qoQFXMgAipk2q6q3U9G12XZaxIDuFdVxUb6EZfHwY5C2465fJYFqex9MfNHYroew0Tf0Fyf2e%2FNcZNItrvybdHedCB8bNQPo7uYNNkAXQNCX6L4AOUzEYqylRFjI04ks2WVVVR2upn3yws2FD6Hx3gfO%2Bbm5Ov6RUJjvwF0qxyOllruOqyhJMDcGjIE%2BiqESx4m7ObAzbN1l1klm%2Fn%2BjRNOc6Sy5MgAtUu5TBHUKVp2GInGLQOIuyIvqRIsHQ6P%2Fm%2B%2FFXWuCxNeJ4yqMzzaFOUTCYFbiLzBz2DPJmGTZbqjmwRGnBfD%2BQgCOdTB4kqUDmIXTHkn%2BBIErdzdr8SgiZHLID473TUzKSsTCx4s8IheV2ztMFUp12PlnqzYri2l7CuX2Ou%2BomxQpCqpMrRasnYPgtmNcAA8f1FbqJSX60HcFOZnwBU9vIxeqruwM1xQYYld444zzaYPr3fTZ%2Fp3SsMisV%2F2RIrqrE%2BlLlsuWiaqsJCNezdVuDwoBAdl3xD%2B%2FezNUjDKXXo3%2BJY8a8m8rnkjtEuK2h0UoG8IpcYCEkrXchpYO1E9U%2B0sAXXaUPJnV%2B%2BIGQNAvY3QtJeCk%2Fu7q%2FGFdDEe%2BnMGeY4E8tpCg6cRPPCpQwy9JNbQz8slmhhBgdtlymb0FEo553WZFd6lFHgT%2BhLDSExaDMFwiJHOVwJAzJRYQq%2BKPuesgR8h7Rwzu%2FB%2BzPefR7vPvpRy%2BEvCTbif%2FtoSL9J1x6qfabNIPN%2Boo3bMhedVM1IJaV1SZAztRjDQXx17H8OvQNtk3ab69Edipc6b%2FUr0U7yVaigfhjh7onOlq2ghwL%2BBybjyk4lXMqlLMeUmx88qOASwlOyblHyffGEwuYXooAY6sgHjPC7SWhEm9650xfsLDE3zjdZkGmN6P9n9jBX7nq%2B2tbSoO2x2SffHs605w1oAtOIRxLB76mcildLmZfK94jyoR3Md9k0CQm6bwW9lGWPlMdtanaBuobdEs2vjjHThFpA8XitbBk9BJ%2B4yqTcXJTCUeTS305cBrsgfVnJ8pJcLCdNL%2BNe2BbaJ%2BR1o%2FecpeEelA9rjv2Brs9i8m6zgay12tSmwKLuw3F%2FXQZWyu9c8xypV&X-Amz-Algorithm=AWS4-HMAC-SHA256&X-Amz-Date=20230321T200638Z&X-Amz-SignedHeaders=host&X-Amz-Expires=300&X-Amz-Credential=ASIAQ3PHCVTYQGGJ3TRS%2F20230321%2Fus-east-1%2Fs3%2Faws4_request&X-Amz-Signature=076755dae7db895d040e628c1c48d2f7aa57921e2c9f52a2c6639586eda5ce6a&hash=06e824188f39d4bb1b093ea7199580e6b0d7e988d6342a4879fb70309b27581a&host=68042c943591013ac2b2430a89b270f6af2c76d8dfd086a07176afe7c76c2c61&pii=S002192581872406X&tid=spdf-bf5652df-1661-4071-a79f-cae68e0456e2&sid=72983c2666e484447549e925c6d0c8b5e6e6gxrqa&type=client&tsoh=d3d3LnNjaWVuY2VkaXJlY3QuY29t&ua=13105902065f00535500&rr=7ab8d10a790032e2&cc=us

https://pubmed.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/22119493/#:~:text=The%2030%2Dminute%20rule%20states,removal%20from%20controlled%20temperature%20storage.

https://my.clevelandclinic.org/health/symptoms/17810-high-red-blood-cell-count

https://my.clevelandclinic.org/health/body/22879-platelets#:~:text=Platelets%20and%20white%20blood%20cells,tens%20of%20thousands%20of%20platelets.

https://www.bhf.org.uk/research-projects/collagenlike-peptides-synthetic-tools-to-investigate-vascular-cell-function#:~:text=Collagen%20is%20a%20structural%20protein,blood%20which%20causes%20blood%20clotting.

https://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/abs/pii/S0049384810701511#:~:text=Platelets%20play%20a%20central%20role,and%20glycoprotein%20(GP)%20VI.

https://newgelplus.com/blogs/newgel-blog/reason-why-scars-change-color#:~:text=In%20the%20initial%20stages%20of,to%20help%20the%20healing%20process.

https://www.urmc.rochester.edu/encyclopedia/content.aspx?ContentTypeID=160&ContentID=37#:~:text=Plasma%20carries%20water%2C%20salts%2C%20and,this%20waste%20from%20the%20body.

6 notes · View notes