#if anyone has any tips to draw black hair or features better throw em over to me

[latenightsleeper]

“ Hey there dude!! “

“ Huxley!!!! <3 “

Huxley, my beloved, my favorite earth elemental!! My himbo <3

[thiswasinevitableid]

#3 indruck for the supers prompt please? Feel free to play around with it!

Here we go! It got a bit angstier in the middle than I initially planned, but don’t worry, it all turns out okay.

3 Okay so when they wink at me after a great comeback, is that just their charismatic arrogance or do they maybe like me back?

“Guess I really am a ‘bright beacon of hope’ cause you keep comin to me like a moth to a flame.”

The Bear winks at him and Indrid, who saw the trap coming and stepped into it anyway because he really wants those blueprints, finds himself surrounded by the rest of the Pine Guard.

Or

“Oughta call yourself Luna Moth, cause you’re driving me crazy.” This the Bear growls after Indrid gets off multiple successful strikes of his sonic disorienter wrong-footing the enemy. 

“There is no correlation between the lunar cycle and insanity.”

“It was a joke Agent, oh fuck where’d he go?” Was the last thing Indrid heard as he took flight off the roof.

Or

“Was gonna ask you back to my place, but it looks like you’re all tied up.” This was whispered in his ear as he struggled in the grasp of The Bear’s strange, whip-like sword. It took a headbutt to get free of that one, the split lip aggravatingly increasing the appeal of The Bear’s face.

That incident was a mere hour and half ago. Were Indrid thinking clearly, he’d be pondering why he Bear had put them so close together when he knew full well Indrid had escaped that exact same scenario several times before.

Instead, he’s just cum across his bedspread imagining exactly what the bear could do to him in his hideout, Indrid tied up all the while (though not by that unpleasant sword). Imagining a strong, warm hand around his cock and his throat (he hasn’t been able to keep warm since the accident), coaxing him to surrender to pleasure. 

This is not an unusual post-battle activity for him lately. The Bear has grown more flirtatious in his banter. It doesn’t help that the hero is exactly the kind of man Indrid pursued and bedded in happier times. 

What’s stranger is that The Bear isn’t terribly arrogant otherwise, so the winking truly feels less like gloating and more like a come-on.

Indrid hasn’t been too bothered by his desires these past months.

Until now. Because this time, as he lays panting into the black flannel pillows, his mind continues spinning. But instead of his grocery list or new invention ideas, it wanders straight back into muscular arms. He wonders if The Bear is a cuddler. That would be nice, as he looks so very soft in places. And his drawl is probably comforting, hushed and close under the covers. Indrid, who hasn’t had a good nights sleep in two years, pictures himself drifting off peacefully in a tender embrace.

“What in the hell?” He mutters, shaking his head as he sits up. The lights in the bathroom highlight the sickly red glow of his eyes, the black of his claws, the strange white of his pointed teeth in an otherwise human face as he address himself in the mirror

“Get a hold of yourself, Cold. You are slipping.” 

He washes his hands, splashes cold water on his face, looks at his reflection, “There is no explanation beyond him toying with you. You are a monster.” 

He flexes his ragged, black wings for emphasis.

“You are enemies. No matter how charming he is. No matter how many times he’s-”

Saved your life?

Spared you capture?

“He’s a hero, that is what hero do.”

Offered you help?

Spoken to you more than fought with you?

This is pathetic. He’s allowed the Bear too much power over him. Had he meant to give it, he would feel differently. But now he’s in a freefall, eyes shut in hopes someone else will keep him from hitting the ground . 

He has to regain an edge. 

The futures roll through his head, unbidden. But he’s learned how to control them, he knows how to find what he needs in them. Concentrating, he sorts through them instant by instant and soon he has exactly what he’s looking for.

He looks into the mirror, and his reflection grins, horror movie wide, back at him. 

------------------------------------

 It’s only The Bear who comes for him the next time. He makes sure of it by choosing a low level crime that will still bring the hero running. 

“Really, Emperor Moth, a forest fire? Do I even gotta say how I feel about those?”

“No. And I have decided that after years of trying to prevent disaster and being scorned, I am ready to bring them upon those who did not listen to me.”

“Damn, that’s dramatic even for you.”

Indrid huffs, drawing himself up to stare at the hero, “Begone, ursine irritation, or I will end you and put your stuffed body in my mansion.”

“You don’t have a mansion. Besides,” that cocky grin is back, “other ways of stuffin a bear that I like a lot better.”

He can’t stop the blush, even as he sees his chance for the upper hand.

“There’s also more than one way to catch a Duck.”

The hero freezes.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He says in the voice of someone who knows exactly what it means.

“I mean, Duck Newton, ranger in this very national forest, that you do not have the upper hand you think you do.” 

“Shit, your powers-”

“Yes.” Indrid snarls lunging forward and knocking Duck backwards. The other man drops easily, doesn’t move a muscle when Indrid traps both hands beneath clawed fingers, “There are so many things I know because of them. But there’s one I do not. And I intend to learn it.” 

His grin spurs Duck to move, thrashing ineffectively. Indrid uses Duck’s momentum to his favor, lets the hero flip himself onto his stomach, offering Indrid the chance to use the one hold Duck has trouble escaping even with all his strength. 

“Ah ah, none of that. It’s high time you and I had a discussion.”

“Fine,” Duck spits into the ground, “do your worst. Just, just promise me you’ll leave the others out of it.”

“Excuse me?” Indrid sees the futures resetting and his self-loathing doubles.

“The other heroes, Lady Flame and The Crooked Man and all them. And, well, anyone who ain’t a hero who I care about. Promise me you won’t go after them.”

“Is that truly what you think of me?” Indrid whispers, releasing his hold. 

Duck flips back over with enough force to throw Indrid several feet away, “You just lured me into the woods to brag about knowin my name, what the fuck else should I think?”

“You’re right, that is a logical conclusion.” Indrid says weakly, sitting up, “And you answered my question. I knew you couldn’t possibly feel anything fond towards me.”

Crickets chirp and fireflies flicker in the space between them as neither speaks for a two second eternity. Indrid looks down, ashamed.

“Hold up, you were tryin to figure out my...feelings for you? What, uh, what makes you think I even got any?”

“Oh please, you’ve grown increasingly flirtatious during our fights. You’ve shown me mercy when many others wouldn’t have. And please don’t attempt to lie. We both know how that goes.”

“Yeah.” Duck scratches the back of his neck, sheepishly, “See, I knew folks had tried to talk you into comin over to our side before. But no one had tried, uh, romacin you over.”

Indrid’s fingers curl in the grass beneath him, “Were you trying to seduce me over to your side?”

“I mean, that was part of my original plan. But you gotta understand there was more to it than that. I knew that before you started bein a villain, you were an artist and sometimes citizen scientist. And then-”

“Yes, yes” Indrid rubs his temples, “I experienced an accident that lead to the development of my future seeing capabilities and changed my appearance. Every book, blog, and news story that’s included me in it repeats that, there’s no need to rehash it here.”

“You didn’t let me finish; I also know you were the fella that tipped off the EPA to the fact that GenTech was pollutin the water.”

Indrid blinks, “How?”

“I was workin the ranger station the day a fella named Indrid Cold asked Juno to come out an look at some frogs. Mutated ones, ones he’d been watchin and drawin since they were tadpoles. Heard him say he was gonna do somethin about it. Then suddenly the nice, cute, quiet fella with the silver hair ain’t shown up in two weeks, when normally he comes by every few days to draw in the park. And the CEO of GenTech is on T.V sayin how pleased he is that the EPA investigation went nowhere because the informant 'skipped town.’“

He shudders as the memories close in with each word of his confession, “They released a toxin. In my apartment. I’m certain they thought it would kill me. I woke up to my wings splitting through my skin, a cacophony of futures in my mind. I was so frightened, I kept screaming for help. They’d had their goons pose as emergency personnel, evacuating the building for a ‘gas leak.’ No one came to help me. I passed out in pain and confusion, only came to when they chucked me into the lake, weights tied to me. Thank heavens for my claws.”

He doesn't want to keep speaking, eyes stinging and throat as tight as it was the night he lay gasping on his floor.

Duck’s drawl is soft when he, mercifully, continues his story rather than pressing Indrid for more of his, “Then another two weeks go by, and I get a funny phone call at the station, warnin me that there’s gonna be a downpour that sends a mudslide into one of the most crowded campsites, killin twenty five. Thacker and me evacuated. No one died. Found out later lots of other folks got calls like that over the course of a few weeks, but most ignored ‘em, thought the fella was crazy. Six months later the calls stop and Emperor Moth kidnaps GenTechs CEO. And, well, you know our history from there.”

“You’ve known who I was this whole time?”

“Had a hunch. Started payin closer attention to you when we met, and recognized your features, even with the glasses and the changes from the toxin. Remembered you talkin with me at the station, the way you’d laugh, how excited you got when you saw it was me workin. Thought maybe I might be able to win you back.”

Indrid tucks his knees to his chest, rests his forehead against them

“You ain’t a monster Indrid. Hell, you ain’t even much of a villain.” Fabric scuffing along grass and dirt signals Duck coming closer, and Indrid wraps his wings around himself. 

“Whoah, hey now, I ain’t gonna hurt you. Far as I’m concerned, unless you haul off and punch me or somethin we got a truce.” Warm fingertips press the edges of his wings and he retracts them stiffly, nerves too taut with leftover adrenaline and buried memories for his body to relax. 

“Indrid?” 

He looks up simultaneously hating the concern on Duck’s face and dying to throw himself forward to beg for forgiveness, for comfort. For Duck to say his name again.

“No one’s called me that in two years.” 

“Always liked it. Was distinct, same as you.”

“Not nearly as creative as Duck.”

“It’s a nickname.”

“It’s a good one.”

Duck continues stroking the edge of his wing, “You wanna come back to my hideout?”

“You’d show me? Just like that?”

A shrug, “You tellin me you wanna jump right back in to bein the scary villain who wants to hunt me down.”

“No.” Indrid replies meekly, “I want, ah, hmmm, honeslty I want to bury myself in the earth like a cicada can come out in a few decades.”

“Den’s underground. How about you plan on layin low there for a bit, takin some time to sort things out and rest?”

“That’s a start, wait, did you seriously name your hideout-”

“The Bear Den? Yep.” Duck helps Indrid up, loops his right arm through Indrid’s left and guides him towards the south end of the forest. 

“By the by, I know that weren’t gasoline you tossed everywhere. Thanks for waterin the plants.”

“You’re welcome.”

They hit a frontage road and follow it, “I’m sorry if the flirtin messed with you at all. Didn’t mean for it to. But I meant every word. You look damn good in black.”

“Thank you.” Indrid chuckles, “You look striking in many shades of green.”

“You know it. Here we are.” 

“This is a cabin.”

Duck bends over and puts his hand on the cellar doors. There are three distinct clicks, and then the faux wood panels slide back.

“Oooh, very nice.”

“Pretty pleased with it. Took a few designs to get the camouflage right.” He takes the first step down, turns and offers Indrid his hand. When Indrid takes it, rough, gentle lips meet the back of his hand. 

When their eyes meet, he’s grinning like a lovesick teenager and Duck’s eyes put the fireflies to shame.

“Welcome home, Indrid.”

Indrid would like to say that he spent his first night pouring out his soul, atoning for all his wrongs, and taking stock of his life and needs.

But the truth is that it takes only a few minutes before he’s staggering into a warm, cozy bedroom and burrowing beneath covers of the large bed. Duck takes up a spot beside him, reading contentedly as Indrid settles in. Then Indrid curls up against him, and as a kind, comforting hand caresses his wings and hair he falls hard and gratefully into a peaceful sleep.