#<- the use of neon red thread. anyways

[tomssobbingcorner]

you promised me you'd be here forever

#all finished! ⭐ #lifesteal #lifesteal fanart #mapicc #BACK ON MY BULLSHIT 🔥🔥🔥🔥 #cw eyestrain #<- the use of neon red thread. anyways #yeah. sewing patches of your dead friends clothes so they stay with you is a normal activity. and seeing ghosts! #caption lowkey from gaburger. lowkey from the song unfathomable pain. #okay! yay! #hope the cool lifesteal people following me like this one . 1 million hammer attack on my body from looking at this atm ngl #the solution? this is the finished product

[chaotic-goodsir]

@ashturns30 Happy birthday week! I hope it's okay for me to join in with this challenge, even if I cheated by only making something for one day and posting it a day late 😅

Your fic Remember You Like A Song - which everyone should go read first if they haven't, because it's brilliant - is THE fic that got me invested in MacNaCross in the first place. This was going to be just a short, extremely fluffy pre-portal drabble-thing inspired by it, but I got carried away and it ended up longer than planned. I hope you don't mind me posting something inspired by your fic, but no worries at all if you do for any reason - just let me know and I'll take it down.

Anyway, thank you for hosting this challenge and I hope you have a great birthday week!

***

What Was The One You Always Loved?

The highway outside is a river of speeding taillights in the dark, reflecting red and green and yellow in the rain that runs down the diner's grease-streaked window.

Steam rises from the mug of black coffee in John's hands as he waits for it to cool, soaking in the warmth. The caffeine fix should, in theory, keep him awake long enough to reach the motel PIEP have booked for them without collapsing on the side of the road.

Two pairs of motorbike gloves lie on the table, beside his wallet and an almost-empty pack of cigarettes (he'll have to pick up more at the gas station before they leave). Across the booth, Wilbur frowns at his strawberry milkshake, stirring it with a red-and-white striped plastic straw.

'I swear they used to put more sprinkles on these.' There's a solemn gravity to his tone that few people but Wil could apply to the matter at hand. 'Used to be more colours as well. Half of these are just red. What's that about?'

'Is there a difference?' John asks. 'Surely they all just taste of sugar?'

Wilbur scoops a piece of cream and eats it from the end of the straw, the actual spoon lying ignored on the table.

'Its about the principle, Johnny' he says, stabbing the straw into the air between them like a teacher illustrating a point. 'If they're gonna call them 'rainbow' sprinkles, there oughta at least be an even ratio of colours.'

John smiles, taking a sip of still-too-hot coffee.

'Duly noted, Lieutenant Colonel.'

'Don't give me that cheek, MacNamara,' Wilbur says, grinning. 'You lectured me on the flaws of digital watches for half an hour yesterday.'

'Yes, because I can't in good conscience let you waste your money on such an abomination. Time is-'

'-a precious thread in the fabric of the universe, deserves respect, sure, I get it. And sprinkles are a precious thread in the fabric of a good milkshake.'

'I'm not sure the metaphor works quite so well in this case.'

Predictably, a dollop of cream is flicked his way. He dodges with practiced ease, laughing. It hits the back of the booth, earning them a scowl from a passing waitress that's probably deserved.

The diner is quiet, save a couple of fellow travellers and a few employees unlucky enough to be working late. There's a jukebox in the corner - a classic, vintage one with that archway shape and faded neon lighting - but the scrap of paper taped to the front reads Out Of Service. A cheap plastic radio on the counter provides the alternative, courtesy of some local station's late-night show. The host sounds as though he'd rather be at home in bed. John can't help but sympathise.

A familiar sequence of strummed chords catches his attention. He taps his fingers silently against the coffee mug and listens, remembering last year on the drive back from Shenandoah National Park. (Almost a year ago, now, though it doesn't feel it. Time, for all it's importance, is a wily creature that slips away if you lower your guard.)

*

It was late summer, the tail end of a slow August. The road wound it's way like a silver snake through a sea of green just beginning to turn gold, and Wilbur was leaning against the window on the passenger side, explaining to John why he should learn to ride a motorbike.

He made some good points, but John was only half-listening, distracted by the song playing on the radio. It had seemed to fit the drive, the scenery, the whole weekend, so perfectly that it had buried itself in his brain in a way that music usually doesn't. He's heard it a few times since, always fondly picturing the same memory. And yet he's never managed to catch its name.

*

He tests the temperature of his coffee again, the burn on his tongue bringing him back to the moment.

'You good?' Wilbur asks, reaching a hand across the table. John puts the mug down and takes it, lacing their fingers together.

'Just tired.'

'You look half-dead, darlin'. No offence.'

'Coffee should help. Do you know what song this is?'

Wilbur tilts his head a little, listening.

'This one? Nah, I don't. Why?'

'No particular reason. I just like it.'

That earns him an odd sort of look, followed by a pause and a quiet 'huh' that's half a laugh.

'What's funny?'

'S'just I think that's the first time you've expressed an opinion on music that I didn't ask you for.'

John opens his mouth to protest, then closes it again. He knows he's told Wilbur how musical theatre makes him uncomfortable, and why loud music in grocery stores should be banned (it's distracting, there's no need for it, they're awful places already with their fluorescent lighting and endless rows of too many options...) - but those are probably not the kind of opinions Wilbur is talking about.

John's never had a favourite song - it's Wil whose CD collection takes up two shelves of the bookcase in their living room - but if you held a gun to his temple and demanded he choose, he'd probably pick this.

'I think I've heard this before,' Wilbur is saying now. 'It's cute, all that kiss me stuff. Very romantic. Didn't know that was your kinda thing.'

John turns his face to the window, a little embarrassed. It doesn't help his case that the singer is crooning something saccharine about fireflies.

*

The night before the drive home, the lightning bugs had surrounded their campsite, like miniature fallen stars hovering in the dusk. They were part of the reason John had wanted to come out to Shenandoah. After a week spent handling an a gruesome case, he needed the reminder that the world was more than just horror and paperwork. That sometimes it could also be beautiful.

Wilbur stood behind him on the slope of the hill, arms wrapped around John's waist. He was talking, of course. This time about watching fireflies in his parents backyard as a kid.

'They looked like this, mostly. But sometimes you'd get these weird green ones...'

'Green?' John asked.

'Yeah. Bright green, like... neon, or somethin'. They moved differently, too. Made this weird noise, sorta like whispering. Never seen them anywhere else.'

'You're sure they were fireflies?'

'I don't know,' Wilbur leaned forward, resting his chin on John's shoulder. 'Probably just imagined it. I was a weird kid. No one believed me then, either.'

John took a drag on his cigarette, careful to angle the cloud of smoke away from Wilbur's face.

'Whatever you saw, I'm sure it was real. Many things exist in this universe. There's room in the scope of infinity for green fireflies.'

Wilbur had pulled him closer, kissing him on the cheek.

'See, this is why I like ya so much. Don't matter how crazy I sound, you'll still give me a chance.'

John had laughed at that, watching the ordinary, yellow-gold fireflies form constellations around them, a million tiny fires to match the glow of his cigarette. He'd had the sudden, irrational urge to suggest they stay - pack up their tent tomorrow, leave the car behind and keep walking into the wilderness. Become their own unsolved mystery. Abandon PIEP and everything it demanded of them. Hell, even go looking for green fireflies.

He didn't dare mention it. The concept itself was less terrifying than the thought that Wilbur might agree.

'Mmm,' he'd answered instead. 'I wonder what that says about the both of us.'

*

The song fades out, lyrics first and chords trailing after. The DJ's bored monotone takes over. To John's mild irritation, he's managed to miss the name of the song yet again.

'...thank you to Jodie for requesting that one - I hope you and your husband have a wonderful wedding anniversary. So, next up we have...'

Wil stops tracing lazy circles on the back of John's hand and glances towards the radio with an amused smile.

'What?' John asks, raising an eyebrow. 'You're plotting something.'

'Me? Never. Just thinkin' I'm gonna need to find out what that song is called, since you like it so much. For future reference, y'know?'

He winks.

John frowns back, awaiting an explanation.

'For when I get round to marryin' you. Assumin' you'd want me?'

John almost spits out the coffee he's making a third attempt to drink. Several responses run through his head at the same time, none of them especially coherent.

Wilbur just laughs, and finishes the last of the milkshake.

'Don't look so scared, Johnny. When I'm really askin' I promise I'll do a hell of a lot better than that.'

#trying to do my part for the macnacross agenda #ashturns30 #macnacross #crossnamara #hatchetverse #hatchetfield #wilbur cross #john macnamara #my writing

[party-gilmore]

To PROPERLY follow the tradition of Die Hard, considering Violent Night is of course the spiritual sequel bastard love child of it and Home Alone, we now of course need a sequel with higher stakes.

May I propose: Jingle Hells.

[spoilers for Violent Night below]

During the events of Violent Night, an ancient enemy of Nicumond the Red, sleeping/locked away, deep within the earth/ancient vault prison, begins to stir.

His enemy has spilt blood again, for the first time in millenia... He can feel it. The stains of his past seeping into the frigid ground, vibrating the threads of destiny tying the two together.

Enraged, not so much at the fact that his enemy still lives and breathes but more because Nicumond has dared to pretend to be something else, to have hung up his hammer for so long, to have run from their eternal struggle...

After an X year long struggle to free his bonds, fueled by a renewed and raging thirst for vengeance, he BURSTS forth from the earth and streaks across the sky through the glimmering trail of the aurora borealis and a conduit, looking to all like a red comet burning away all the glimmering blue and green.

Santa is unprepared, unready. His adventure a few years past, he is no longer actively repressing his memories and accepts that they are part of him, but has still tried not to tap into the violence any more than absolutely necessary. Perhaps a scene or two of Mrs. Claus recognizing the restlessness in him now that it's been awoken, and doing her best to help him express it - pulling him away between breaks for axe throwing and mead, or some fun flirtatious sparring, a couple of other cute couples scenes that are just... sliiiightly violent. in adorable ways (with I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus playing in the BG) - so that he exercises it a little and gets it out just enough it doesn't bottle up and explode.

But it's not enough to fend off his ancient enemy with multiple millennia's worth of rage and vengeance.

After a brief battle, he's dragged down between the cracks in the earth, between the thin slots in the very dimensions themselves, molten rock sizzling and hissing as the craggy ravines begin to seal themselves up behind to leave only the corpses of his elven color guard littering the room as evidence - but not fast enough to avoid Mrs. Clause, jovially entering the room with a tray of cookies.

The platter clatters to the floor, cookies crumbling and scattering everywhere. She takes in the scene, hand to her heart, eyes darting as her brain processes just what's happened.

Then we hear the music change and see her eyes grow stony cold and those low drums from the Nicumond The Red score on the original OST pick up but it's a slightly different melody/song used for her theme and we get the dramatic montage of her braiding her hair and putting half of it up and now for the first time we see the shaved and tattooed side of her head and strapping her Good Boots on and swapping out the floofy dress for war leathers and furs and she grabs her husband's hammer in one hand and her own ornate axe in the other and it's full on silver haired visible buff strength under rotund fat and I can not stress this enough sexy as fuck

Anyways that's the plot of the second movie, she's gotta fight his minions through a couple layers of Holiday Hell to save her husband being held captive by Some Guy He Literally Hasn't Thought About In Millennia And Honestly Kind Of Forgot About And Can't Even Remember His Name, But Who Is Convinced They Are Archenemies With Massive Beef.

Layers include but are not limited to:

Black Friday at Walmart

Creepy Desatured Foggy Massive Christmas Tree Forest Canopy With Ornament Rigged Up Ass Shrapnel Grenades That Explode in Puffs Of Bright Neon And Shattering Glass And The Sound Of Bells, Having To Leap From Huge Branch To Huge Branch As She Fights With Nothing But Eternal Dark Fog Below Shoild She Fall

Silent Hill Style Abandoned Mall Christmas Village

A Distorted Memory Of A Happy Family Christmas Dinner Designed To Try And Trick Her Into Stopping, To Lure Her With A Dream Promise Of Peace And Happiness And Family And Everyone All Okay And Back Home Together (something something tragic child related backstory? a lost sheep son seeming like he's finally come home? a daughter who fell in battle?) That She Has Manage To See Through And Then Kill Everyone She Loves Even Though She Knows It's Not Real It's Not Real Its Not-

Inside A Snowglobe That Keeps Getting Jostled and Shaken And Turned On It's Various Sides For Sick Matrix Style Gravity Changing Fight Scenes

Interspersed with increasing comical scenes of meanwhile back at Hell HQ, Santa is tied up and bloody and frantically wracking his brain and trying to ask leading questions to figure out who the FUCK this guy torturing him IS without clueing the obvious megalomaniac into the fact he's... got no fucking idea.

The big key point the MOST important part of the movie is the way Santa's face lights up and the way he looks at his wife when she kool-aid man's through wall to save him all bloody and clothes torn and hair in disarray and wild eyes, just the biggest brightest most utterly devoted 'I love a woman who can kick my ass' expression possible in the history of time and space.

#violent night #violent night spoilers #violent night sequel #(fan plot) #jingle hells

[fel-mi-er]

The Weather Outside Is Frightful (But the Yarn Is So Delightful)

Epel wasnt sure if this was a good idea.

Ever since the students of Nightraven University had been uprooted from their dorms and crammed into Ramshackle, he hadn't gone a day without hearing complaining. It was too hot, too cold, too dirty, too crowded. Too this that and the other. But every so often, as he'd pass by one of the common areas on his way to his new room, he'd see a boy with green hair so silently suffering.

It was pretty obvious. He was shiverin harder than a chihuahua in an earthquake, despite bein under all them jackets n gloves. But Epel still never heard him complaining.

He could understand that. Nightraven University wasn't an environment that welcomed vulnerability. Still, other people were complaining about the conditions of Ramshackle dorm all the time! Though, none seemed quite as affected as this guy, not that Epel had seen anyways.

He saw him so often that he had begun to wonder what the guy's deal was, even when he was in his room doing something else. He looked like he was from Diasomnia. Was it that much hotter over there? There was a lot of green fire, or so he had heard... Had he forgotten to bring his blankets with him in the move? He saw him in the same jacket all the time too, maybe he only had the one (though it was very possible that that was just coincidence).

He thought of him so often in fact, that he had found himself thinking of him whilst knitting. Epel was a stress knitter, a habit he had picked up from his meemaw. He just liked to have something to do with his hands, and burn off all that troubling energy. As he weaved the fabric into uniform knots, the knots in his psyche, too, would ease away. And it was useful, too-- anything he made he could give to family, either for them to use themselves or for them to bring to markets to sell. They could use the extra money, unfortunately...

And one evening as he lay on his bed, knitting up a storm before his roommates came back (he had plenty to be stressed about latley), he wondered... should he make that guy something? Would that be weird? Maybe the guy would think he was a weirdo, like 'Woah stalker much? Stop watching me shiver, and take your creepy blanket back while you're at it, creep'. Epel would die. Yeah, bad idea, bad.

But still, though... he found himself thinking about pattern ideas, he found himself picking up shades of green yarn, spools of green thread. It was frustrating, but he had to see it through. He didn't have to give it to him! He could just send it home, like all the others, right? It would be a shame, though...

In the end, he had to try. If he got a bad feeling from it, if his gut told him to bow out, he would. But he had already made the darn thing, so... damn it! He would at least assess the scene.

Behind his back, he toted a red plain looking gift bag with his hand knit blanket inside. It was predominantly this shade of pale green that sort of matched the guys hair, called 'On Top Of Old Smokey', and it had a big lightning bolt in the center made up of a yarn called 'Radiancy Divine' that was like the bright neon on the Diasomnia uniforms. He had done it in a stockinette stitch with a garter stitch border, so that the ends wouldn't curl up on him. He was kinda really proud of how it came out, and really hoped that the guy liked it. If he decided to give it to him, that is...

The guy in question was sitting on a ratty old couch in a Ramshackle common area, and no one else seemed to be around. If there was a time to approach him with the gift, this was it. He still looked mighty cold, too...

Hands [and bag] behind his back, he tried to act casual, walking up to the seating area like he was also there to wait for someone, or pass the time, or whatever. But instead of sitting down, he stood in front of the cold guy. Epel was adequately apprehensive for the situation- he didn't know if his gesture would come off as weird or creepy, he didn't know how the guy would respond. But no alarm bells were ringing, he didn't get a bad vibe from the guy, the guy didn't look mean. So he decided to proceed.

"Um, hi."

( @zigvoltage )

#the yarn is so delightful #threads #ic #its past 3 am cjjcHJSFKKAJDKKVKVKA #ALSO SORRY THIS IS SO LONG I JUST HAD A LOT TO SAY orz #starter

[alsjeblieft-zeg]

344 of 2023

WHAT WAS YOUR LAST:

Beverage = Coca Cola.

Phone call = my husband, from work.

Text message = something from my bank.

Song you listened to = My Way by Limp Bizkit.

Time you cried = in April, when I heard bad news from work.

HAVE YOU EVER:

Dated someone twice = I don't really understand this question, dating is utterly baffling to me.

Been cheated on = yes, by my first ex. He was even open about it.

Kissed someone & regretted it = no, not really. I rarely kiss people anyway.

Lost someone special = yes, my grandma. She passed away from lung cancer.

Been depressed = yes, I had one serious episode when I stopped getting up from bed.

Been drunk and threw up = no, I don't throw up.

LIST THREE FAVOURITE COLOURS:

black

neon green

purple

THIS YEAR HAVE YOU:

Made a new friend = not really. I maintained all old friendships, though.

Fallen out of love = no. My love is very stable.

Laughed until you cried = many times. Last time from the thread on this forum, about replacing one word in a song title with "fart" 😂

Met someone who changed you = no. It happened many years ago.

Found out who your true friends were = no, I found it out earlier.

Found out someone was talking about you = yeah, quite a few times.

Kissed anyone on your fb friend’s list = I don't have Facebook.

GENERAL:

How many people on your fb friends list do you know in real life = I don't have FB, but if I did, I wouldn't add random strangers.

Are you happy = in general, yes. With some details of my life, no.

Do you have any pets = yes, two cats.

Do you want to change your name = no, I like my name, even though it's boring and common in my area.

What did you do for your last birthday = existing and getting older :P

What time did you wake up today = before 7am.

What were you doing at midnight last night = sleeping.

Name something you CANNOT wait for = another vacation, or another road trip.

Last time you saw your Mother = in July, we live pretty far from my parents.

What is one thing you wish you could change about your life = I'd have a perfect health.

What are you listening to right now = nothing, just watching a domcumentary about buying houses in TV.

Have you ever talked to a person named Tom = Yeah, but probably not in person.

What’s getting on your nerves right now = nothing in particular.

Most visited webpage = priyom.org, sigidwiki.com, kiwisdr.com, Tumblr and two forums.

Nicknames = Jelle or Jelle-tje.

Relationship Status = married.

Zodiac sign = Taurus.

Gender? = male.

Elementary? = yes.

Middle School = yes.

High School = yes.

Hair colour = natural brown, currently red.

Long or short = short.

Height = 180cm / 5'11

Do you have a crush on someone? = kind of, but I don't think it's romantic. 48: What do you like about yourself? = I'm not judgemental. 49 Piercings = eight in total: three in left ear, two in right ear (one removed, though), snakebites and left eyebrow.

Tattoos = two, one on each forearm.

Righty or lefty = kinda ambidextrous, used to be left-handed, but then I got a nerve damage so my right hand took over some functions.

FIRSTS :

First crush = one male rapper lol. He's Dutch.

First piercing = left ear.

First best friend = a girl named Martina.

First sport you joined = basketball, I used to be a semi-professional player.

First vacation = can't remember.

First car = never had a car on my own, but Renault Clio IV.

RIGHT NOW:

Eating = nothing.

Drinking = nothing.

I’m about to = chill because I have too much time today.

Listening to = some TV program.

Waiting for = having the possibility to see this man.

YOUR FUTURE :

Want kids? = no.

Get Married? = I'm already married.

Career? = the same as I have now, heavy rolling stock electrician. I love my job.

WHICH IS BETTER :

Lips or eyes = eyes.

Hugs or kisses = hugs, if ever.

Shorter or taller = doesn't matter.

Older or Younger = doesn't matter.

Romantic or spontaneous = spontaneous.

Nice stomach or nice arms = who cares.

Sensitive or loud = a bit of both maybe?

Hook-up or relationship = relationship, I'm not a hook-up person.

Trouble maker or hesitant = a bit of both, too.

HAVE YOU EVER :

Kissed a stranger = no.

Drank hard liquor = yes.

Lost glasses/contacts = yes.

Sex on first date = no.

Broken someone’s heart = yes.

Had your own heart broken = yes.

Been arrested = no.

Turned someone down = yes.

Cried when someone died = yes.

Fallen for a friend? = yes.

DO YOU BELIEVE IN:

Yourself = not much.

Miracles = yes.

Love at first sight = nope.

Heaven = I'm doubtful.

Santa Claus = lol yes and no :P

Kiss on the first date = I believe in kissing when you're ready for it.

Angels = yeah, in form of some humans. And cats <3

ANSWER TRUTHFULLY

Had more than one bf/gf?= yes, I had three relationships.

Did you sing today? = no, unless singing in my head counts :P

Ever cheated on somebody? = no. I can't even imagine doing it.

If you could go back in time, how far would you go, and why? = before 2021 so maybe I could prevent my brain damage.

If you could pick a day from last year and relive it, what would it be? = 24th July I think, going for our vacation :D

Are you afraid of falling in love with somebody else? = no. My love is not really romantic anyway, or at least I think so.

Posting this as 100 truths? = pff.

#survey #q&a survey #categorised survey

[fluffy-critter]

#crosspost #busybee

[crymeariveronceagain]

kotlc character's favorite colors!!!

because I want to idk guys

Sophie Foster: Red. All the way red. She has a lot of clothes in red, a lot of accessories. She has red ribbons that she threads through her hair, and back with her human family she had those weird bobby pins that have pieces of red fake hair attached that they give out as party favors. She loves it because it's the color of roses and of love and of anger. It's a strong color, a proud color, a color that you can't ever miss. It's really rare to see her not wearing something that's red.

Fitz Vacker: Dark blue. He has dark blue spread throughout his bedroom like Sophie has red spread throughout her life. He has dark blue on his walls, a dark blue bedspread, dark blue paintings, and dark blue dried flowers tucked into a blown glass vase that sits on the edge of his dresser. He's got lighter blue clouds and a moon painted on his ceiling, but the blue of the room itself makes the whole room a dark cave. It's probably a good thing that he has such huge windows, because otherwise his room would be too dark. But it's calm, and it's quiet. It's a certainty and a quiet sort of calm that he cannot find in any other color.

Keefe Sencen: Yellow. Keefe has different connections with every color, mostly because emotions as you sense them with empathy are so closely rooted with colors. Anyways, he doesn't like just any yellow. It's a very specific, soft, warm, yellow, bright and radiant. It's the color you find in childish pictures of the sun, the kind of yellow that litters the ground in the spring by cloaking dandelions in it. He has a very specific reason for liking that color, and that color to those specifics. That yellow is the color of happiness. And whenever he sees that color, he feels the weight in his chest get a little lighter, and a little happier.

Dex Dizznee: Blue. Any blue. He likes all blues. It's so cool, and it reminds him of his mom. Their house is coated in blue. His siblings are sick to death of blue, and he just... he loves it as much as his mother does. He smiles, and there's a tiny gap between his teeth that's straight up adorable, his face brightened by the soft blues, and the turquoises and the sapphire colors. He also thinks blue really brings out the color of his eyes, and Biana has repeatedly told him he's right. He always seems a little more confident, with the blue tunic, or his dark blue cape. His eyes shimmer a little extra, and when he feels confident in himself, he's the perfect embodiment of "Do no harm, take no sh*t," and he's spectacular. We love him. That is all. We stan.

Biana Vacker: Purple. Purple, purple, purple, purple. Purple. Have I said purple enough times? Biana loves this color. Not for the reasons you'd think. She doesn't like it because it reminds her of something, or how it makes her feel. She likes it because of what the very social connotations of purple are. Purple is currently a feminine-coded color. But not as close to feminine as pink is coded. It's practically pink, but it's not. It's the secondary color, the one little girls don't usually pick. "Do you want the pink or the purple?" Biana used to hear, everywhere she went, because she was pretty, girly, and a little one. No one really expects little girls to pick the purple. Most little girls want the pink. They offer the purple as a back up. Biana really, really, really likes purple. And when people looked surprised, or said things like, "Oh! You're the first little girl today that's picked purple!" Something excited lit inside of her. And she smiled brightly, and took her purple pencil. Then, later on, she found out that purple was the color of royalty. There was no going back from that. 89% of her possessions are purple.

Tam Song: You're all thinking you know what I'm going to say. You think this kid likes black. I think you're right. This kid definitely likes black. But there's one color he likes more. And that color is Neon Green. He never wears it, he never buys anything in that color. But that's his favorite color. It's sharp, painful to look at, and bright. Blindingly bright. And in a world that's always seemed so dark to him, he likes that. Also, neon green is a generally disliked color, because it's so loud, so toxic, so dangerous. He relates to it, on a personal level. He doesn't think he's a nice person. He doesn't think he's easy to handle. He thinks he's dangerous, sharp, and loud. That, and neon green always looks better on a black background.

Linh Song: Rose pink. It's soft, gentle, everything she thinks she isn't. Everyone will say that it embodies her, but that's where you're wrong. It embodies what she wants to be. She wants to be graceful, beautiful, soft. She always sees herself through the lens of guilt, anger, and broken shards. But when her room is the soft color of roses and soft petals, and you feel like you've fallen into a cloud at sunrise, you can't think that she's caused so much destruction. She wants to be soft, beautiful, and when she wears soft, beautiful dresses, gently draped in Rose Pink, she feels that maybe, just maybe, she's getting there.

Marella Redek: Emerald Green. It has a blaze to it, a streak of power and royalty. It reminds her of jewels, of the forest, and of the green fire around the center of her eyes that Linh always insists is there. Green is the color of life, and fire is alive. She loves it, she wants to swim in a bath of green, wants to be surrounded by green. If she ever dyed her hair, it would be this color. She'd paint every room green, dwell in a green house, cloak herself in green and live and die in green. There's a power, a strength, a life to it that Marella has never found in anything but herself. Green is her color, not because it looks particularly amazing on her, not because it reminds her of anything in particular, but because it is how she sees herself.

Stina Heks: Burgundy. It's dark, strong, and it reminds her of wine, brushes of paint along the walls, and deep, beautiful flowers. It breathes of ancient powers, queens, velvet smoothness and shimmering luxury. It's the softness of curtains and the whisper of pillow talk in the diamond-crusted royal palaces. Burgundy shimmers, burgundy shines, and it makes her feel like a queen upon her throne when she slips into the dress, and walks down the hallway with a confidence that she never has to force to the surface. And, on top of that, it brings out the warmth in her skin, lights up her eyes, and softens her features. What's not to love?

Maruca: White. Light, powerful, looks spectacular with her skin tone, and her eyes. She likes how versatile it is. She loves how light it is, how bright. It reflects every color, so it is every color. It's the equivalent of rainbow, in her mind. It reminds her of snow, and of sheets drying out in the sun in the summer. White reminds her of ice, white reminds her of clean countertops. It reminds her of Nike Shoes and the force fields that stream out of her fingers. She's got white flower crowns, and a white dress that lurks in her closet for when she needs it. And, y'know. She's one of those people who would look absolutely badass in a a white pantsuit. Just. Badass. White is badass. Maruca is badass. Logic.

#kotlc #kotlc keefe #kotlc sophie #sophie foster #keefe sencen #kotlc heacanon #headcanons #headcannons #kotlc headcanons #kotlc headcanon #kotlc tam #kotlc linh #kotlc biana #kotlc fitz #kotlc marella #kotlc maruca #kotlc stina #kotlc dex #kotlc biana vacker #biana vacker #dex diznee #dex dizznee #marella redek #maruca chebota #linh song #tam song #fitz vacker #biana is sparkly #and we stan

[ibis-gt]

I honestly would love to read about the first time Cam finds out Luther is shrinking because he has feelings for him. In that hanahaki disease au.

ask and ye shall receive.... cam figures it out. just shy of 2000 words.

~~~

“Aaaand… there,” Cam said, and gave the screwdriver one final twist. He pulled on the little contraption in front of him a few times to test its stability and sat back on his haunches, finally satisfied. “You’re all set.”

It is one of four little rope and pulley elevator systems that he’d set up around Luther’s apartment. It consisted of a small wooden plank that Luther could stand on and use the rope system to raise or lower himself. Each one was operable at height ranges between about a foot and a half to four inches. They let him get up onto his sofa, his bed, the kitchen counter, and the bathroom sink.

“You really didn’t have to do all that,” Luther protested from his position just behind Cam. “I mean, I don’t get that small that often, I probably won’t use them that much.”

Cam laughed and pushed a stray wisp of hair out of his face, looking up at Luther. “What are you talking about? You’re always shrinking around me. It’s okay, I’m happy to help. That’s what friends are for.” He watched the usual blush spread across Luther’s face, the telltale shiver run down his spine, and smiled as Luther shrank another inch. He’d lost some height here and there during the installation process as they chatted, and had gone down to about five foot even, if Cam had to guess. “Anyway, you let me know if you have any trouble with these, and I’ll be over to fix ‘em as soon as I can. And there’s the bells if you’re in any real trouble - those strings there, see? They’re hooked up to a bell in my apartment, ring that and I’ll come right over.”

“My cat’ll have a field day with them,” Luther murmured, brow furrowing. “Maybe we should do something other than string.”

Cam chewed on the end of his screwdriver in contemplation. “Hm. Good point. I’ll figure something out later.” He slipped the screwdriver in his toolbelt and slapped his hands on thighs as he stood up. “Well! I’d better get back to my place and start dinner. You’re coming over, right?”

“Oh! As long as it’s not an imposition? I mean, I don’t want to be any trouble…”

“Nah, s’alright, you’re always welcome. Spaghetti and meatballs tonight. See you in an hour?”

Luther’s blush deepened and he lost another two inches. “S-see you then,” he managed.

Cam chuckled fondly to himself as he left. He tried not to think of Luther’s condition as cute or funny, because when the shrinking was really bad it put the poor guy in danger. But he couldn’t help but find it amusing when Luther lost just a little height, ending up just a slightly shorter version of himself. And when he went on one of his long rambles and shrank a little bit at a time all throughout, it put Cam in mind of a deflating balloon, which was just too silly not to laugh at. And when he ended up really tiny, and he was just like a little doll, and fit so perfectly in the palm of Cam’s hand…

Cam shook his head to clear his thoughts. No, that was too far. He shouldn’t think like that, no doubt it was terrifying for Luther to be so small and vulnerable. He sighed as he shouldered his door open, hands full of leftover wood and string. He set them on the little table where he kept his keys by the door, then unbuckled his toolbelt and hung it on the coat rack, lost in thought.

He’d been puzzling over what caused Luther to shrink for a while now. Was it just at random? Was it like an allergic reaction, and some kind of food or environmental thing kicked it off? He had a brief vision of Luther sneezing and instantly shrinking down to bug size. No, knock it off, he chastised himself, not funny. A little funny. But don’t laugh at it.

Anyway, he hadn’t seen Luther ever sneeze when he shrank, so that probably wasn’t it. What were the symptoms? He’d make a list, that would help him narrow it down.

Cam slipped an apron over his head - one of the novelty ones his sister kept getting him, he didn’t bother to read the witty joke about buns printed on the front - and started on the dough for his spaghetti. Whenever possible, he liked to make things from scratch. Besides, having something to do with his hands let his mind work better. He worked the problem around in his mind just like he worked the dough in front of him, kneading it, pushing it around, looking at it from different angles.

So. What were the warning signs? Luther tended to get awkward and shy just before he shrank. He’d blush, stammer or trip over his words, either avoid eye contact or stare like he couldn’t look away, and of course the final sign was that signature shiver right before a loss of height. A lot of those symptoms could be attributed to anxiety as well - was that what triggered the shrinking, just whenever he was anxious? But that couldn’t be it, Luther had been anxious plenty of times without shrinking. Not to mention he worked a high-stress job, waiting tables at a local diner, and wouldn’t be able to make it through the day if anxiety made him shrink. So that wasn’t it.

Cam rolled the dough out flat and cut it into strips. He hung the fresh noodles up to dry and put water on to boil, then opened the fridge and pulled out the meatballs he’d shaped that morning.

His brain kept chugging along on the issue as he worked, hands going on automatic. He came back to the present long enough to taste the sauce he’d made, hem and haw, and add a little more garlic, then went right back to it. There was something tugging at the back of his mind, trying to get his attention, but he couldn’t quite grasp it.

A sound startled him out of his thoughts - the ringing of a bell.

“Shoot,” Cam hissed, dropping the sauce spoon. It clattered onto the stove and left little pools of sauce cooling on the glass surface. He’d deal with that later though, Luther needed him now. He switched the burners to low and headed for the door.

Luther’s door was locked, so he had to duck back inside his apartment to grab the spare key. He opened the door slowly and called out.

“Luther? Was that just the cat, or do you need me?” Cam scanned the room, looking for that distinctive neon green jumpsuit. It clashed horribly with everything, but it was useful for spotting him when he ended up tiny. Sure enough, there he was by the strings for the bell, waving an arm to get Cam’s attention. He was easy to spot, as far as things went, standing about a foot tall. Cam hurried over.

“What’s wrong? Are you hurt? Do you need help?” Cam took a knee in front of Luther and leaned in close, inspecting him for injuries. Luther took a step back, startled by the sudden rush of worry, and Cam made himself pull back as well. It had to be scary to have someone looming over you like that, he told himself, give him a little space.

“I-I’m fine,” Luther said. “I just… well, this happened, and now I can’t really open my door, so I was hoping you could give me a lift over for dinner? Sorry, I shouldn’t’ve used the bell. I could’ve texted you.”

The tension flooded out of Cam and he laughed in relief. “No, that’s fine, I just jumped to conclusions. I can give you a lift, sure.” He cupped his hands and held them out to Luther, who climbed on and settled in, sitting down with his legs crossed. Cam rose slowly, being careful not to jostle Luther, and began to amble back towards the door. A thought occurred to him.

“What did it?” Cam asked.

Luther looked up, startled. “What did what?”

‘“What made you shrink this time? I’ve been trying to work it out on my own and I’m just not getting it. There’s gotta be a common thread, right, you’re not just shrinking at random?”

Luther stared at him in open-mouthed shock, face growing steadily redder.

“I mean,” Cam continued, “if you were just shrinking at random, it’d be hard to hold down a job, y’know? Do you ever shrink at work? And anyway, didn’t you say - ” His eyes widened as that thing that had been nagging at him finally became clear. “You said you don’t shrink all the time! But you shrink pretty often whenever I’m around. Am I doing it, somehow?”

“No, no, no,” Luther said hurriedly, but Cam could feel him getting smaller.

“Oh, liar!” Cam chortled. “Nice try, Pinnochio, but I’m literally holding you right now. Is it actually me?”

“It’s - it’s not - not always?” Luther was practically cowering away from him now, and Cam realized he’d been a little harsh.

“Oh shoot, I’m sorry. Look, we don’t have to talk about it, okay? It’s your business, I shouldn’t’ve pried.”

“No, I… I’ve been meaning to tell you for a while, it’s just… hard to say out loud, um…” Luther fidgeted with the collar of his jumpsuit, avoiding Cam’s eyes. He was red as a tomato, mouth drawn up in an adorable little pout, and so small and cute that Cam’s heart ached. Then it clicked.

“Oh. Is it me, like… because you like me?” Cam asked. “Like, you have a crush on me, is that it?”

Luther let out a sound like a tea kettle whistling, shrinking down at an alarming rate to only five inches tall. Cam couldn’t help himself. He laughed so hard he snorted. When he finally got a hold on himself again, the wounded look on Luther’s face sobered him instantly.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, but you don’t know how long I’ve been trying to work this out, and the answer’s been right in front of my face the whole time! I swear I’m laughing at myself, not at you. Anyway, you wanna go out sometime?”

Luther gaped up at him for a long moment. His mouth opened and closed a few times, but nothing came out. Finally he shut his mouth and nodded furiously. Cam grinned.

“Or this could be like our first date, right? I’ll get some candles and dim the lights. We could even 'Lady and the Tramp' it with the spaghetti! Or - okay, okay, sorry, I’ll stop.” Luther had started to shrink again, and Cam didn’t want his cooking to go to waste just because his guest was too small to eat it. “Hey, I joke a lot, but I want you to know I’m being serious here,” he said gently. “I’d like to go out with you, if you’re alright with it. Is it going to cause problems, though? Like are you going to shrink every time we’re together?”

Luther shifted and looked away, finally finding his voice. “I - I don’t know. The doctor said if I told you about how I felt, it would get easier. But he didn’t say it would go away entirely… if that’s not something you want to put up with, we don’t have to - ”

“No, no, that’s fine, I don’t mind it. Just if it was a problem for you, is all. I like you a lot, Luther. I’d love to be your partner, if you’ll have me.”

Luther looked back up at Cam with a huge, genuine, relieved smile on his teeny tiny face. Cam’s heart melted.

“I’d like that.”

#asks #writing #gulliver's hanahaki #not me best but i am at peace w/ it

[queenoftheworldisdead]

Lap Dance

Warning: 18 + Only, hand job, lap dance and sex

Note: This is my late entry for @fineanddandy 's 1k challenge

Summery: Taika lays low and takes a night off from directing.

Taika x Reader

---

The club was a buzz. Everyone in town was excited about the movie being filmed in the city. Why they chose this random piece of earth you weren't sure, but every strip club did their best to lure the cast and crew to their club.

A lister's getting paparazzi pics outside their club meant good business for at least a week. You scoffed at Ricky when he told you be ready. This club was not in anyway getting that caliber of clientele.

The old heads that ran the club were not up on social media trends enough to know that the bodies in this club wouldn't be bringing in the likes of them.

You didn't mind too much as they waved their dancer fees. Allowing you to come in late and run rick shaw around the club.

----

While on stage you noticed someone in the corner. He waved off the other girls and you squinted as you wondered why. Most of the men here weren't picky. A little attention and they almost thought you were in a relationship.

Finally off stage you were bored. Looking around the not so inconspicuous stranger still sat in his spot.

"So.. bad day huh?" you question the hooded stranger. Flopping down next to him you whistled loudly catching the attention of a waitress. "Two -" you looked at his drink "Lite's on his tab" she nodded in understanding before turning back to another patron. "So come here often" you joked. You didn't care if he left. You didn't mind if he got mad. Broc was within ear shot and would step in if you gave the signal. The customer tipped his brim lower, trying to act as if you weren't there. But you were bored, so you fucked with him. Ricky hated that. You had several complaints about fucking with people. And even one refund which you were personally proud of.

"So what's a pretty thing like you doing in a club like this?" You teased. He scoffed and you bit back a laugh of your own. "Oh come on honey smile." You joked as he ignored you and took a sip as the waitress approached.

Taking your beer from her you took a big swig of the foamy brew. "Look honey I'm bored and I don't want to make my rounds." You motioned to the half empty club. "So you tell me what girl you like and I'll bring her here. Or you get me drunk until you have to go back to your -" you hesitated as you tried to look at his ring finger. "Girlfriend?" You said unsure of yourself.

When he looked at you, you smirked at him. "I didn't know that you, women, were so aggressive in the states." His accent through you off. You were used to accents, but this one was like the ones you saw on t.v.

You placed your elbows on the table and stared him down. He looked like he was from these parts, but that accent told you other wise. And then it hit you, your eyes could not hide the surprise.

He smirked taking another sip as you whipped your head around. Looking at everyone on the floor slack jawed that they hadn't figured it out before you.

"So you figured me out then?" Taika asked almost cocky.

"Hey dude I'm chill. I will leave you alone. Sorry I was just bored." You made a move to leave when his hand signaled you to stop.

You shifted sitting towards him. "You know if they know your here you will get all the bells and whistles." You cocked a brow right back at him.

"Naw I'm alright here with you."

You recognized that look. You weren't one to fraternize with guest, but he had this chill vibe that flowed with your own.

'Welcome to the jungle' played in the background as he stared you down. You stood and he followed your movements. "You don't have to do that"

"Well if I don't. I'm gonna get chewed out by management " you sarcastically shrugged. "Can only sit and chit chat for so long before I have to move around." With your hip you pushed the table back. He gave a nervous giggle and leaned back in the booth.

It was a lie, you were just feeling frisky. You straddled him and through your g-string you felt him immediately. You stared him boldly in the eye. "Well I guess I like you too?" you smirked down at him. Looking over your shoulder you made sure the floor managers were far away before you got too cocky. Lifting off his lap slightly your hands went to his zipper.

Taika stared up at you in shock. "You look so cute like that" his lower jaw started to slack as you began stroking him through his zipper. He looked around nervously, biting his lip as he contemplated if he should stop you.

"What's the matter? Scared your gonna get in trouble if you touch me? Hmm" you teased.

You pulled your breast free with your other hand as you continued to stroke him. He wet his lip with his tongue watching you hungrily.

Leaning forward, you wrapped your arms around his neck as you nuzzled into his ear. "You want to give them a show or go somewhere more private" you purred.

-----

Taika was hesitant when you pulled him toward the private room. He took the seat before the stage as you locked the door. The main floors music flooded into the room while the red neon lights illuminated the room.

You walked up behind Taika. He waited patiently for you to get up on the half stage, instead you threaded your fingers through his salt and pepper hair. Gripping it you yanked his head back harshly, smirking down at him as he hissed and looked up at you.

You released him, walking around tweaking your nipples before his hungry eyes. He flattened his palms on his lap, mindlessly rubbing his jeans as you lowered on your haunches.

You reached and took his wrist, guiding his hands to your breasts, keeping your eyes locked on his. Taika cursed under his breath as he palmed you.

He enjoyed himself while you leaned in and unfastened his belt and took him out once more. "You're such a bad girl" he smirked down at you. Taika felt big when you played with him earlier, but pulling him out was a sight to see.

"Don't be shy now" he taunted, helping you up onto his lap.

You hadn't realized you were wet until his tip swirled around your juices. Taika's mouth found your breast, sucking and licking around as he pressed against your folds. You bit your lip as he angled up with your cunt.

You gasped suddenly when he pushed you down. Taika held you down to enjoy the look on your face.

"Not so cocky with my cock stuffed in your tight little cunt" he grunted.

"Shit" you cursed as you gripped his shirt.

"Fuck I might have to take you home with me." He confessed as he rocked your hips. "I don't think I ever want to leave this."

You leaned in to kiss him to hide your moans. You didn't want the guard at the door to know you were getting your brains fucked out by a client.

He swallowed every moan and mewl as you bounced on his cock. "Fuck I'm not goin ta last long in this tight cunt" he growled pulling back to look at you. You smiled cocky, playing with your breast as he admired you.

Taika took control of your hips, forcing you to ride him harder. He was making it hard to keep things a secret. You felt your walls tremble signaling the end was near. And you could tell by the way he manipulated your body he was almost there too.

"Taika! Shit! Fuck!" You shouted unable to contain yourself any longer. Coming around his cock harder than you had ever come in a while.

Taika held you down on his lap tightly and you felt his warm seed paint your walls. "Fuck!" He chanted.

Through the haze of your climax you stared at him deeply smiling at him with your arms wrapped around his neck. "Fuck. your coming home with me. I hope you have your passport."

#taika x reader #taika x black reader #black writer #taika waititi x reader #Taika waititi x black reader #Taika waitit x black!reader

[feral-dumbass]

Speak of the Devil

James “Bucky” Barnes/ Female Reader

Summary: You tag along with Bucky to a undercover reconnaissance mission at a goth club. Smut ensues. 

Includes: Degradation, Choking, little bit of slut shaming, unprotected semi-public sex, hint of cockwarming, dirty talk, oral

Words: 4,307

A/N: This is my first fic I have ever posted on here. I hope I included all the warnings correctly. Not sure if I need to include fingers in mouth, but that happens. Title credit goes to the Misfits. Tagging @gagmebucky​ and @babybluestan​. Thanks for giving me the guts to post this! I am so thankful for you guys. 

Masterlist

The bass of Molchat Doma vibrates the walls as you search for Bucky. When you stepped into the goth club on 66th street, you were more nervous than you liked to admit. The club had recently gone under new management and is rumored to be a place for arms trafficking. It is ingenious, actually. Under all the makeup and leather, anyone could hide their identity. Take Bucky for instance. Tight jeans, a black t-shirt, some eyeliner, and a leather jacket down to his calves, Bucky is unnoticeable. Also, helps that the most identifiable thing about him is covered under gloves. Don’t even get started on the leather band and silver chain wrapped around his neck. You need to fan yourself just thinking about it. 

You also look quite different from your usual lab coat and safety goggles and Bucky has certainly noticed. He could not keep his hand off your thick fishnet covered thighs the whole way here. 

With a kiss to your cheek, Bucky had left you at the bar to check out the area. That had been twenty minutes ago and sadly, people were starting to notice you too. 

You felt eyes on you as you mindlessly scrolled through the meme group chat. Peter and Shuri were having an entertaining fight on who sent the best memes. You couldn’t handle the creepy feeling anymore. You were ready to show this creep the pretty switchblade Bucky got you for your birthday. Chin raised, your eyes met with green ones across the bar. You tried to give your best resting bitch face with dead eyes, but he only smirked and took that as his cue to swoop in. You slammed cash on the table for your blood red drink and slipped into the crowd before he could make two steps in your direction. You went down a hallway in the back which led you to your latest predicament. Where the fuck is your thick ass boyfriend? 

You have enough PHDs under your belt to know not to yell out Bucky’s name. Searching for his wide frame under the neon lights is the only option you have left as you pass the restrooms. You think finding a 6’2” man would be easy, but apparently, every alternative person wears 5 inch platforms. Not like you can really blame them. If they weren’t so expensive, you’d be Bucky’s height too right now. 

As you fill with envy for people that can fit into knee high platforms, an arm wraps around you and yanks you into a unisex bathroom. “It’s me.” Bucky’s deep voice assures before you can even start going through the defense attacks he taught you. You slip out of his hold and turn around to face him. Ignoring the fact Bucky has taken off his jacket and his muscles are now stressing the seams of his long sleeve shirt, you cross your arms. 

“Where have you been?”

Bucky blinks confused before finding his answer. “Bugging this two floor building. Why? What’s wrong?” You will tell him sooner or later. Might as well do it now. 

“Nothing. It’s just, uh, a skeevy man was staring at me far too long. We made eye contact and he tried coming over.” 

“Did he hurt you because I will-” Bucky’s already heading for the door before you squeeze his arm. 

“Bucky,” you laugh astounded that he’s so ready to fight for you. You didn’t even give him a description. Bucky lets you pull him back to the center of the room. “I slipped through the crowd before he could try anything. I’m fine.” 

“Promise?” 

“I promise. I’m fine.” You stand on the tip of your toes to kiss Bucky’s cheek but he turns his head to kiss you instead. He kisses you deeply just long enough to leave you wanting more.

“You still have your knife right?” 

“Yes, you dork.” He visibly relaxes at the confirmation. You take a hold of his chin and turn his face towards you. “You do realize you have cut on your cheek right?” It’s not too bad. A medium cut surrounded by bruising. Super serum is probably at work already healing it, but it doesn’t hurt to be careful. It’s not like you’re left with the best of first aid in the bathroom. You head to the sink to wet a paper towel with soap and water. 

“I was hoping you wouldn’t notice.” You glare at Bucky through the mirror. “I don’t suggest going three doors down. A couple of guards are sleeping on the clock.” He walks over and cozies up to you, wrapping his arms around your waist as he kisses your shoulder. “Is that really necessary. I think there’s more pressing matters to attend to.” He rolls his hard on into your ass as he kisses across your shoulder and up your neck. 

“Really?” You pry as you wring out the paper towel.

“I have been hard since you walked out in the commons.” Your face gets warmer at his confession. “I mean-” Bucky groans as he looks down at your fishnet covered legs. 

“While we’re on the subject, the eyeliner is working for me.” You’ve piqued Bucky’s interest. He meets your eyes through the mirror again. “You should wear it more often. You look so much like-”

“If you say Chase from the Covenant, I’m leaving.” Life drains from his eyes as he speaks.

“Like a man who can get into my pants.” 

“Nice save.” 

“Anyways, I say fuck it. Let’s do it.” Bucky’s eyes light up with excitement. “But clean the blood off your face first.” Bucky takes the paper towel out of your hands, scrubs the line of dried blood off his cheek, and throws it in the trash can before you can blink. Bucky turns your face to meet his lips not even a second later. He kisses you even deeper than before slipping his tongue in your mouth. You lift your hand to thread through Bucky’s hair. At the feel of your hand in his hair, he breaks away. 

“No. No. Keep your hands on the sink. I think this could be fun.” He grabs both of your wrists and places your hands on the edge of the sink. He’s moving your hair off your neck before his lips connect with it. “So pretty, baby. Is this all for me?” He mumbles before placing a hickey on your neck. His hands squeeze your thighs before snaking up your torso and kneading your breasts through your top. Lost in the pleasure only Bucky can give, you assume his question is rhetorical. You learn it wasn’t as he stops his ministrations. “Is this mine?”

You scramble to find your words. “Yeah.” Your voice cracks. “Yes.”

“Good girl.” He looks directly into your eyes through the stickered mirror as he unzips the front of your top. Bucky brings his gloved hand up to your mouth. “Bite,” He mumbles before planting multiple kisses on your neck. 

You bite down on his index finger and he pulls his hand away, leaving the glove in your mouth. He quickly takes the glove, stuffing it in his back pocket, before his right hand is kneading one of your bare breasts. You sigh at the feel of his calloused hand on your soft skin. You get a moment to enjoy the feeling until Bucky is lifting his other gloved hand toward your mouth. You get the memo without having to be told. You help tear off his glove for his metal hand and he’s stuffing it in his back pocket again. Instead of going for your other breast, two of Bucky’s metal fingers tap on your bottom lip. 

It is not like you to deny him. You take his fingers in his mouth and suck on them, giving them the same attention you’d give his dick. Bucky leaves the growing patch of hickies on your neck to growl at the sight. “Such a fucking tease.” His metal fingers press down on your tongue making you take his fingers deeper. He let’s up when he knows you are about to choke. “Can’t wait to get inside you, but first I want to see you cum on my fingers. Would you like that, honey?” His right hand leaves your chest and plays with the hem of your short skirt. 

With his fingers still in your mouth,  you nod, widen your stance, and back your ass up into his crotch. He chuckles lowly right next to your ear before his right hand is yanking up your skirt. Your skin tight skirt barely budges with one hand. 

“You gotta be kidding me?” Bucky takes his metal hand out of your mouth and uses it to yank up your skirt. You pray to whoever’s listening that your horny boyfriend doesn’t rip your bottoms off. It’d make getting out of the club a lot more messier. “This skirt is annoying me. You’ll just have to be naked for a week to make it up to me.” Thankfully, your skirt moves up your body to bunch at your waist. You don’t have time for a witty retort or to even think about how you were airborne for a second before Bucky is digging his metal fingers into your sex. At the feel of fishnet over wet folds, he pauses. “Wait, are you-”

“Not wearing panties? Yep.” 

He lets out the longest groan to date. “You’re gonna kill me.” Bucky tears open a hole in your stockings at the apex of your thighs before massaging and digging into your sex with vengence. “That’s what you’re gonna do. Forget all the highrisks missions. The stupid fucking guards. I’m gonna die because my girlfriend can’t wear a fucking decent pair of underwear.” Bucky groans and he’s… he’s being unfair as two of his thick metal fingers slip into you. He knows how much you love it when he uses his metal hand. Bucky is using it against you to sear his touch into your brain. You throw your head back onto his shoulder as he reaches sensitive depths inside you. His right hand goes back to kneading your chest.

“Wearing panties makes it harder f-for… for you to fuck me. Need to be prepared for your horny ass 24/7.” You pant in between words. Bucky raises an unimpressed eyebrow. The speed of his pumping fingers quicken to the point where the both of you can hear how wet you are over the distant music. “W-when are you not… horny?”

“I’m not even going to entertain you with an answer when I have this wet pussy to play with. ‘Sides, I’m not the one who sounds horny right now. “ Bucky’s metal thumb rubs your clit. “I’m not the one desperate enough for my boyfriend’s cock that I'll spread my legs in a public bathroom. Honestly, you just went with it? No second thoughts?” You’re too overwhelmed with pleasure to even bother a response. Bucky clicks his tongue. “That’s not good girl behavior. More like slutty behavior.” Bucky’s eyes light up with an idea. “Be a good slut and cum for me.”

“Bucky,” you gasp pleadingly. 

“C’mon, you heard me. Cum for me. It’s the least you can do.” He’s sucking on a pulse point on your neck when you go rigid underneath him. You cry out as you reach your euphoric high. 

“God damnit, you’re so gorgeous when you cum.” Bucky makes you feel the full effect of your orgasm as he continues to pump his fingers and rub your clit. You have to practically tear his metal arm off you to get peace. Both of his hands leave you and you can hear the tell tale sound of his pants being undone. 

You get a small amount of reprieve before Bucky is rubbing his dick through your drenched folds. His thick cock stimulating your sensitive nerves. Bucky’s steel toed boot nudges your stance wider and he’s dipping into your entrance just enough for you to start to feel the intoxicating stretch of him. You’re arching your back at the burn when he pulls out suddenly. You sputter as you try to find your words. 

“I don’t think you really want my cock.” He goes back to spreading your folds over his cock. The tip runs across your sensitive, overworked clit every once in a while.

“I’m literally on display for your fucking dick right now.” 

“Then say it.” Bucky nuzzles your neck and blows cool air on the patch of hickies. 

“Bucky, please fuck me. I’ve been wet since you mentioned you had to wear a leather jacket. Let me have it.” 

Bucky snorts at that. “My sweet slut. Always so ready and willing for my cock.” 

“Only a s-slut-” Bucky slides into you slowly making you feel every massive inch of him  “- f-for you.” You whimper at the feel of him as your back arches. You're trapped in between Bucky and the sink. No choice but to feel all of him. 

Bucky rumbles right against your back. “My own little whore. I like the sound of that.” He tests the waters by thrusting shallow. You’re convulsing around his cock. It always takes a few to get used to the initial stretch. He groans. “Always so fucking tight. My own personal heaven.” He hasn’t been able to stop his little thrusts, addicted to the feel of you. 

“B-Bucky,” you gasp strained. “P-please, move. Do something.” 

“Look at you so desperate for my cock. I love it. Such a good whore.” He pulls out and you could cry until he’s thrusting back in, knocking the wind out of you. You gasp, collecting enough air for him to knock it out of you again. Again. And again. It’s not before long, Bucky is setting a brutal pace and all you can do is take it. You are going lax as the pleasure makes your extremities tingly. Bucky is pretty much the only thing holding you up as he brings three of his right fingers towards your mouth. He doesn’t even have to tap on your lips. You open your mouth for him to slip his fingers inside and suck on them. Bucky’s eyes zero in on your pretty lips wrapped around his fingers. 

“What a good slut. Such a good girl. I love you so much.” His metal hand gently wraps around the base of your neck. His index finger and thumb stroke the skin right underneath your choker causing goosebumps to break out. “This looks so pretty on you, baby.” He kisses the spot your jawline and neck connect before continuing. “I think we both know how much better my hand is wrapped around your neck though.” He gives a light squeeze, slightly cutting off your blood flow, and grins at you. A broken moan leaves you as drool pools around his fingers starting to drip down his hand and your chin. “So fucking stunning. Should have got out my phone before we started.”

A light, airy feeling starts to creep into your head, kind of like your floating. Bucky’s pace never lets up and you’re close. So, so close.  A few more thrusts and Bucky is reaching new depths. You’re knuckles strain as you grip the sink hard. 

“Shit.” He grunts. His fingers press down on your tongue not give a fuck if you gag. Your eyes widen as his warmth floods you. Bucky’s pace slows and he’s pumping his hips shallowly while he cums.

 As much as you love the bare feel of him, you’re pissed. You were so close to an orgasm and he stopped. It was without clittoral stimulation too. It was gonna be groundbreaking. You actually gag on the pressure of his fingers down your throat and smack his wet wrist. He quickly takes his fingers out of your mouth and apologizes. You can’t believe you're stomping your foot while still on your boyfriend’s dick, but there’s a first for everything. You’re actually pouting as you cross your arms over your bare chest and jut out your lower lip. 

“Bucky!” You wait for him to take his eyes off your ass and meet yours through the mirror. 

He smacks your ass, squeezes it, and hums, mildly distracted. “Yeah?” He glances up and does a double take. “You’re pissed?”

“Uh yeah. Do you know how close I was before you ruined it? I-” Bucky takes his hand off your throat and uses both to dig his thumbs in the dip of your back as he shushes you.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’ll make it up to you.” You’re frustrated and slightly on edge when Bucky slowly pulls out. “Don’t get more upset, but that was literally the hottest thing we’ve done. You have never looked hotter.” 

“Why would I get upset when I feel the same.” You begrudgingly agree. 

“Oh my god, you’re gonna hold not letting you come against me. You’re such a baby.” You open your mouth to defend yourself, but Bucky turns you around and lifts you on to the edge of the sink before you can start. Butterflies erupt in your stomach at that manhandling and you ignore it. While you avoid his eyes and glare at the wall over his shoulder, he wipes some of the drool off your chin. You melt on the inside and try not to show it. If you look in his eyes, you’re going to forgive him. If you look into his eyes, you’re going to forgive him. “This is ridiculous. When have I ever left you hanging? Don’t you think maybe I had a plan?” Your eyes slowly slide over to his. His eyes, still darkened by lust, bore into you. “I don’t want to see you cum on my cock through the mirror. I want you to face me, eyes rolled back, mouth gaping as I repeatedly reach all the sensitive spots inside you.” 

“You’re the one that’s the fucking tease.” You smack his broad chest. He takes your hand and kisses each knuckle. His hand then goes to knead your thighs dangling off the edge. 

“So, what do you say? Second round?” 

“I can’t believe I am saying this, but I’m sexually frustrated and still slightly mad. Fuck me before someone comes in.” He wedges himself between your thick thighs. Bucky leans down to kiss you and you thread your fingers through his hair at the nape of his neck, happy to get to touch him.  He eventually stops kneading your thighs, just feeling the texture of the mesh stretched across your skin. 

Bucky groans as you nip at his lips when he pulls away. His head drops down and shakes it in disbelief.  “You need to wear these more often.” He looks very serious at you and you would snicker if you weren’t about to fuck. You do smirk at him though and swirl his hair between your fingers. 

“You gonna fuck me in public more often if I do?” You wipe some of your burgundy lipstick off the edge of his bottom lip as you ask. 

Bucky’s Adam’s apple bobs as he gulps. “I-is that what you want?” He’s grabbing your ass and pulling you closer to the edge. You can feel his hardening cock against your hip. You’re so close to Bucky, you lean in just a few inches to press your chest against his and whisper sultry in his ear.

“I am constantly ready for your cock. Twenty four seven. Name a place and I’ll spread my legs. So fucking big. Feels so damn good.” You kiss right underneath his ear and then move a few inches down to suck hickey on a soft spot of his neck. With super soldier recovery rate, it won’t last long, but it sure does rile him up. He moans and it echoes off the linoleum poster covered walls. You love the vibrations underneath your lips as he tilts his head to the other side. You know his eyes are fluttering as you can’t help but to give him a few others hickies next to it. 

You lean back to admire your handiwork. Purple blotches litter his neck in between smudges of burgundy lipstick. You’re pretty sure you’ve wiped off all your lipstick on Bucky. His blown out pupils watch you like a hawk, hands digging into your ass. He’s rubbing his hard on into the crease of your stomach and thighs and he doesn’t even know it. “C’mon, I want to feel the ache of you tomorrow. Fuck me like the whore that I am.” You feel a chill run down his spine before he finally takes action. 

He rolls up his sleeves and of course, because your chest is now facing him, he needs to leave a few hickies on them. As he guides his dick to your entrance, you wrap your legs around his waist. Bucky momentarily ceases the hickies to watch your puffy folds easily accept his wide cock. Both of you are groaning at the feeling. 

“Your pussy’s so wet for me. Fuck.” Bucky’s too turned for a filter. You keep your edging comment to yourself and kiss his sweaty temple. The edging thoughts stewing inside are knocked out of you as Bucky fingers trace the place you two are joined. He uses the excess of your combined wetness to rub your clit. Pleasure makes your toes curl. 

“Not what I meant when I said fuck me, Bastard.” You can’t get Bucky to move his hips without falling on your ass. He seems perfectly fine to have you warm his hard dick as he kisses and leaves hickies along your collar bones. Your free hand grabs his bicep and you’re close to coming already. 

“Yeah. Your bastard.” You can feel him grin against your skin. You’d comment if you weren’t about to cum. 

“C-close. Please don’t stop.” You gasp out, begging as the rise of your orgasm hits. You’re squeezing Bucky while in your peak. He almost groans as loud as you’re moaning.

“You’re so gorgeous. Love when you convulse around my cock, honey.” He kisses your cheek momentarily before going back down to your chest. He starts pumping his cock in and out of you. This time literally knocking the wind out of you. You’re oversensitive from your orgasm and he never truly let you come down from it. Bucky is certainly making his promise. You’ll feel him in your guts for the next few days. Your hands run through his hair and pull on the ends. His mouth finally detaches from your chest as he moves with your hand. He lets out a full blown out moan that makes your heart pound. Bucky always lets out the filthiest moans when you pull his hair. You fucking love it. His metal hand leaves your ass. He grabs a hold of the edge of the sink as he pace picks up. 

As much as you love filling all your wet dreams with the hottest audio ever, you don’t have the strength to keep your arm up for long. Your hand drops to his back. His muscles ripple underneath your fingertips as you dig your nails into his back. Both of you panting into each other's ear. Your legs shake at the approaching orgasm. 

“I know you’re close. Be a good whore. Cum on my cock. I’ll wait for you.” He rubs your clit even faster. 

“FUCK.” You’ve never been happier for loud music blasting through the club’s speakers. An intense orgasm takes over you. White dots fill your vision as tears collect at your waterline. With how hard your gripping his cock, Bucky isn’t far behind. He can only get in a few more thrusts before he’s cumming again. He bites into your shoulder and groans. Shivers wreck down your spine as his warmth fills you for the second time tonight. Bucky lets the sink carry his weight as he grips it hard. 

There’s a groaning protest before a chunk of the sink falls off. You’re there to block him from falling. He pulls out and moves you closer to the other edge, away from the crime scene. You look over your shoulder. Thankfully, he didn’t break off any of the major plumbing parts. Water spraying everywhere would make looking yourself presentable a lot more harder, but maybe that could have been your excuse. Oh well. 

You turn back to Bucky. He’s still holding on to the broken piece of sink. Both of you break out into giggles as he throws it in the trash. 

“I can’t believe you did that.” You’re grinning ear to ear as he tucks himself back into his boxers. 

“I can.” Bucky shrugs. “I don’t think you get how tight you get when you cum. Me breaking things during sex is not new.” 

“My back. Our nice bed frame. The ottoman in the commons… Can’t forget the multiple tables. Shout out to Tony’s dented Acura hood.” You pull Bucky’s shirt to get him closer to you. You kiss him before he speaks. “Are you trying to seduce me?” 

“If you fuck me again, there won’t be a sink left.” 

He hums and rubs your thighs. He’s definitely addicted to the feel of the fishnets stockings. Good luck trying to get his hands off you for the rest of the day. “You have a point.” He drops to his knees. 

“What are you doing?” He’s spreading your thighs wide in front of his face.

“I can’t let my cum drip down your legs out there. That would be irresponsible of me.” That's all the explanation you get before he’s burying his face in between your legs, stubble scratching your inner thighs. You gasp as he licks a stripe from your entrance to your clit. Fuck what he said. You’re the one that’s gonna die. Bucky is truly your horny bastard. 

#time for the tags #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky imagine #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky/ reader #bucky barnes/ reader #bucky barnes/you #bucky barnes smut #marvel fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #my writing #almost made the club on 666th street #seemed too much tho #marvel smut #goth!bucky

[cletuscortlandkasady]

CARNAGE: FAMILY REUNION

PROLOGUE

Check out the tag for further context.

“Frances.” The voice belonged to Dr. Tanis Nieves.

“I know you can hear me, Frances.” The voice was her therapist’s, but it sounded nothing like a bleeding heart.

"Won’t you open up, Frances? Won’t you open up for an old friend?"

*

“Frances,” the doctor’s voice was hoarse, her heart was in her throat. And it was bleeding into her stomach. If she were to throw up, Frances was sure it would be a sick mix of blood and bile. “What have they done to you?”

"You're the doctor, so you tell me," Frances found it in her to speak, but she couldn't find it in her to shriek. 

Not after they forced her to face it. Not after they shoved her in that see-through sphere next to its own. Not even after they took her out of treatment to watch what was left of Cletus Kasady gyrate inside the glass ball like threads tumbling in a washing machine. 

Even after all of that, Frances couldn't find it in her to shriek.

"You signed off on it," she spat. "And there I was, the stupid bitch who bought all that bullshit about the stages of grief. What stage is this anyway? At what stage do I have to watch my dead boyfriend's dead skin dry?" 

"I didn't," the doctor's voice cracked and she might've even been crying for all she knew. And, as long as her eyes burned behind her lids, strained from the psyching flames she'd been forced to feed the symbiote, Frances would never know. "I couldn't. I wouldn't."

"Then get me out of here," she shivered under the straps of the journey. "Get me away from Hall Industries. Get me away from it."

*

"Frances, let me in."

Again, she denied the symbiote. Again, the symbiote scratched at the sealed doors of her mind. 

"No."

"Frances," it spoke in her therapist's voice, a voice that guided her out of the darkness and into the light. Or a blinding neon lightbulb. "Let me in."

She stood back, her body slumped over the seat and her thoughts seeping out of her sphere and into the symbiote’s. "No," she denied it. Again.

"Shriek." It spoke in the voice she used to dream of in the daylight, the voice she used to hear haunting her late at night. "Shriek.” Even with her eyes shut, she could still hear the smirk. His smirk. 

"N-no."

"Don't leave me hangin', Shriek," it spoke in his voice, the lilt she was loath to love licking at the shell of her ears. "Let me in."

"I can't," she shook in her seat, the stream of her thoughts and the symbiotes now crossing. "Dr. Nieves said I can't. I can't let you in again. I can't let you hurt me again."

"Light of my life," his disembodied words were warm as the symbiote pressed them against her overheated synapses. 

And no sooner did her mind begin to melt that she saw herself outside of her own body, beyond her lids and through his eyes. She was shining brighter than a summer's day, her braids a halo around her head as she opened her mouth. Everything around her dimmed and there she was: Shriek.

"Fire of my loins."

She was standing by his side, sweat sprinkled like glitter on her dark shoulders after another battle won. Everything around her blurred and there she was: his Shriek.

"The itch in my crotch."

She was lying underneath him, her chest heaving and her thighs trembling. Everything around him was wet and warm. She welcomed him inside of her. She welcomed him home.

 

"Won't you let us in?"

"Dr. Nieves said-"

"Fuck Dr. Nieves," it spoke without a voice. Like her mother's razor, it cut deep and broke her resistance like the thin skin of her wrists. Like her mother's razor, it relieved her. "That fuckin' shrink doesn't know how good it hurts when we're all together. She doesn't know how good it hurts when you let us in."

"S-she said-"

"She doesn't know how bad they hurt us," it said without words. She felt the symbiote's pain at being skinned off of its host instead. She felt its pain at being pulled away from him. She felt the pain of parting as if it were her own. Because it was. 

It - no, not it. Her. It was her. It was Red. Red had been ripped away from Cletus Kasady as she held onto him for dear life. For his life. She had almost killed herself keeping him alive. She almost died coming back to Earth. Coming back to her.

"Shriek, she doesn't know you like I do," Red said with a voice as strange as it was familiar. It was Shriek's, not Frances'. "Let me in."

"Yes," she called out to her, kayaking along the stream of their shared consciousness. They were tumultuous waters, but they were all theirs. The two of them, together again. 

"He needs me. He needs us."

"Come on in, Red," Shriek's eyes opened. This time, she wasn't blinded by the neon lights. She burned brighter than all of them combined. And, when she shrieked and shattered the sphere surrounding her, she was louder than Dr. Naives’ words of warning ringing in her ears. "Let's go get our man."

#shriek #frances barrison #the red symbiote #carnage: family reunion #cletus kasady #carnage #shriekingcarnage #the unholy trinity #fanfiction #tanis nieves

[janekfan]

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https://archiveofourown.org/works/28016568

This was all Jon’s fault.

He should have known; he’d just brought about an apocalypse for christ’s sake! Of course it was too soon! Of course Martin would be upset at finding him rifling in the dark like an addict. What if there was something worse hiding away in another one and there he was, walking in on Jon pawing through the box for a goddamn snack?

But after the panic and questions and shouting at a sky that only looked on silent and steady, the shakiness was back. The ache. The draw that came from knowing they were here and whispering to him, beckoning to him, promising to ease the hurt building up in his bones as the Eye continued to take and take and take when the well had long since run dry.

And now Martin was alone. Holed up in the bedroom, their(?) bedroom, and it was Jon’s fault. He was alone again and it was because he was too selfish to think beyond feeding the monster he’d become. All because he couldn’t wait, couldn’t give him even a moment to try and forget about Jon’s dietary needs and the pain they caused. There was no way it was easy on Martin, knowing that Jon required.

This.

Worse still was the disappointment, the devastation rolling over him like the rain laden clouds of a storm as he backed away, anguished betrayal pooling in his eyes, even as Jon reached for him, excuses pouring over his lips like ink from a pen.

The mug in his hand seemed like such a paltry offering. Martin deserved infinitely more than this and Jon would never be up for the task if he kept relying on his more monstrous half. Like his resolve, his hold on the ceramic tightened. If Martin wanted him to hold off, or, or prove that he was better than his thirst for fear, then he would give that to him.

Anything for him.

“M’Martin?” He called through the door rather than knock, holding his breath while the decision to let him in or not was made. He couldn’t help but count the seconds, forty seven, a small eternity. Jon fought the impulse to apologize again, Martin said he did that far too much, likely thought he didn’t truly mean it because he never seemed to fix his mistakes. Patience. Wait.

It was not his forte.

“Come in.” Good lord, Martin sounded so tired and when Jon stepped into the room he could see him curled up on the bed facing away from him, the slope of his shoulders defeated. The desire to express remorse all but choked him and he swallowed it down with difficulty. It wouldn’t be for Martin anyway, not really, just another selfish attempt to assuage his own guilt.

“I’m. I brought tea?” Another step closer, watching Martin sit up slowly, elbow rising up as he swiped at his eyes. “O’of course it, it could never hope to m’measure up to yours. I’m afraid I’I’ve never been a deft hand.” He was babbling, rounding the frame so fast that liquid splashed over his fingers. “Mm. B’but here? It’s warm?”

“Thank you, Jon.” It shouldn’t have mattered but the lack of an endearment he’d become so used to was like a blow. Still, he accepted the tea, taking a measured sip before setting it aside and glancing up with red rimmed eyes.

“I. I wasn’t thinking.” To prevent himself reaching for more, Jon plucked at the bottom hem of his, of Martin’s jumper, picking and pulling at the stray threads.

“I was. Surprised, I guess? That you could even look at--” He shook his head, “it’s not important.” And while Jon didn’t agree considering how insensitive he’d been, he welcomed Martin’s arms around him.

“Can’t it wait, Jon?”

Caught.

As he tried to steal away up the stairs with his prize, all too aware of the inherent chicanery.

All too aware of the exasperation in Martin’s voice as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

Exasperation with him.

“I can’t exactly...avoid you in here.” He gestured absently to the small space of the cabin made smaller by fear of leaving and they both knew well there was no way Martin wouldn’t be able to hear him. It physically hurt to replace the yellowed paper back into its watermarked manila folder.

“S’sorry Martin. Of course it can wait.” But it was worse for having held it in his hands, for having been so close and the Eye was railing at him now, shouting in his mind for his denial and dizzying him with its volume. Instead Jon settled for stumbling over to the couch to burrow into Martin’s warmth, sighing when he draped a heavy arm across his aching shoulders and dropped a kiss into his messy hair. Beneath his ear Martin’s pulse beat loud, nearly drowning out the yammering want and sluggish and thick, Jon responded in a sleepy hum to Martin’s questions, sinking into a doze when he began to pet through his tangled curls.

Without a dose of second hand fear it only became worse, to the point where his scars screamed out whenever he moved, breathed, and Jon found himself losing large tracts of time even when he wasn’t sleeping. The inside of his skull was stuffed full of candy floss and digging through any of it for a spare thought was far beyond his ken.

Martin didn’t leave anymore.

For very good reason, but Jon couldn’t find a moment alone to, to, to.

Eat.

Even old and stale they would provide a reprieve.

“Martin.” His own voice sounded as though he were hearing it through the walls of a submarine, muffled and strained, and he wasn’t totally certain of his volume. “I. I need to read. To read a statement.”

Please.

The disbelief knitting Martin’s brow almost made him want to cry. It. He’d waited so long. Tried to sneak, be out of the way, to ask.

“The world just ended!” Martin avoided saying just who ended it but it was there in the set of his mouth and Jon winced irrationally at the volume; he wasn’t being yelled at, just about. “And you want to read a bloody statement now?” Incredulous, and at his tone, Jon folded himself into a small origami shape on his spot on the sofa, sharp at all his corners and hopefully harder to hit.

“No! I mean, I--”

“I don’t understand.” His voice was soft now, imploring. "Did you forget what caused this in the first place?" Oh, but he knew the answer to this question. It was good to know.

“M’me?” When Martin sighed, the disappointment captured in it stung.

“Yeah, I mean, no. It’s not your fault you were tricked into reading--look, I just think it’d be better if we waited. At least until we have a plan?” That made sense and he said so, words tripping up in a jumble on his tongue. “Jon, are you alright?”

No. He was hurting and upset and couldn't decide which was the greater ache.

“Yes. Just tired.”

“I’m ready for a kip after the staring contest I had with the sky earlier.” That would be nice. Martin was warm and soft and it didn’t all hurt so much when he was asleep.

His scars pulsed with a feverish ache, twisting, burning, smoldering embers in a body crying out for relief, thoughts disconnected, disoriented, disjointed, knotted up past, present.

He hated this. Hated himself, hated how nothing made sense anymore, all a vast landscape of, boiling, melted wax running together in a kaleidoscope of color.

Martin must hate what he is, hate that he ruined the world and want him to know it. Maybe once he’d learned to be more careful, more thoughtful Martin would let him have one. That's all, he just had to be patient. He still held him, kissed him, loved him, this was just a, a lesson. That's all. When he told him the right answers, when he figured them out, he’d be allowed to read and fill the emptiness eating him away from inside out.

He’d rather Martin than a statement any day.

Just a bit longer.

“Jon.” Martin left him in bed this equivalent to morning in hopes it would stave off whatever he’d come down with but enough was enough. “You can’t spend all day sleeping, love. We need to figure this out.” You can’t ignore what you’ve done and leave me to clean up your mess. Uncharitable, the thought came out of nowhere and Martin was thankful he’d kept his frustration to himself. He knew it wasn’t his fault. Breaking it down to blame wouldn’t help anybody, least of all the entire world. Magnus was old and he’d taken the time to plan this, manipulating them all into place, and asking Jon to carry the whole weight of that wasn’t fair. Fading in and out, thick and syrupy, Jon’s unsteady voice rose from the mountain of quilts.

“Nnn...n’feeling...very well.” He looked dreadful, flushed and fevered, and not for the first time Martin wondered if this was a leftover side effect of the ritual. “S’so cold…” Taking pity, Martin curled around his too thin and shivering frame where Jon panted harshly into his neck, the brush of overheated air humid at his throat.

“What’s wrong, darling?”

“Hur’s.” Worry flooded Martin’s chest, constricting and tight. There were no doctors here, no ambulance he could call on.

“Where?”

“Ss…” With difficulty he flexed his burned hand.

“Scars?”

“Ah.”

“Alright, I’m here.” Gently Martin ran a light hand along the seam of his spine in the hope it brought Jon some measure of comfort if nothing else.

Idiot.

It took him too long to put the pieces together. How big did a neon sign have to be before he could read it?

Selfish. Foolish. Stupid. And the one paying dearly for it was Jon.

“You need to come awake for me, love.” He’d already heaved him up once only for him to swoon and this time he bullied him to his feet where he stood swaying dangerously but Martin needed him to be awake, to get his blood moving and stay that way.

“Mma’tin…” agonized, breathless, what had he said earlier? About hurting, his scars? God, Martin, you just watched him fall apart in front of you and did nothing. Worse than nothing. “Sstop…”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart.” For so much, for not listening, for thinking ever that Jon would keep seeking out statements for anything other than necessity. “You’re doing so well, so, so well.” To think he nigh accused him of wanting to Know and nothing else; childish and angry. “But you need to wake up, you need to be able to listen.”

“Am...am.” Marble mouthed, dark lashes like strokes of ink fluttered, obscured the unnatural green glow always seeking. “Lis…” he broke off into a low, shaky moan, curling into himself, trying to sink to the floor, and Martin wanted to cry, worried that if he left him alone for even a moment he wouldn’t be able to wake him again. So he swept him into his arms instead, heart shattering when Jon bit off a sharp sob as his palm ghosted over the gap in his ribs, sore and sensitive and even so, he turned his face into Martin’s chest, twisted trembling fingers into wash-worn wool with a keening whine. He'd hurt him, accused him, berated him.

And Jon still turned to him as though he were the sun.

“Shh, soon now.” Shallow and short, Jon’s chest hitched as he pressed his fever hot forehead hard into his shoulder and swallowed with a wet click.

“Mmah…” around another convulsive swallow and it was barely warning enough to get him over the sink where he coughed up the tea Martin forced into him earlier. Strung tight and painfully wound, Jon exhaled in relief when Martin let him slide boneless down the cabinetry to the floor, cheek pillowed on the cool painted wood. Lifting his chin, Martin brushed back sweat soaked curls, pressed a promise into fiery skin.

“I’m going to fix this.” As quick as he could Martin ran to the closet and grabbed the whole box, returning to find Jon sprawled out on his back, limbs twisted and loose where he fell. “Oh, Jon.” There was no time to make him comfortable, not when for all Martin knew he was dying because he’d refused to see what was right in front of him, what Jon had been trying to tell him. Because it meant that Jon truly wasn’t human and clearly part of Martin wanted to ignore that.

And now.

“Jon, darling, please.” In his lap, listless deadweight, face turned unconsciously toward the statements. “Open your eyes, Jon, which ones haven’t you read?” Martin clawed through the folders, skimming titles, trying to remember if he’d heard any snippets, but no. He didn’t like listening to them, didn’t want to hear the horrors of others. If he’d stayed with him would he have been able to stop Magnus’ plan? “Jon!” Listing numbers, names, until the floor around them was tiled in paper. Hitching him higher, Martin kissed his pulsepoint when his head lolled, slow and sluggish. “Jon.” Which one?

“Mmm...”

“This one?” He read the first sentence, shuddering already at the chill running up his spine. “Jon?” Another paragraph and uncoordinated, his arm struck out, reaching blindly. “Okay, alright. Are you listening?” The tiniest nod, Martin wasn’t sure if he imagined it or not, but began to read, steady as he could, sick with himself when the tremors eased and tight, spasming muscles unspooled under his worried hand. When the tears came he had to force himself to keep on, beside himself that he couldn’t comfort him. With the great gasping breaths of a man half drowned, Jon swung his arms around Martin’s neck when the strength came back to his arms as it all drew to a close.

“Th’thank you.” Damp spread over his skin, his words tinged with desperate relief. “M’sorry, m’s’sorry.”

“For what?” He clutched him back, the sound of paper crumpling in his fist sharp in his ears and punctuated by Jon’s frantic apologies, his uneasy gratefulness.

“Th’thank you, Martin, thank y’you. Won’ a’a’ask again.”

“Jon.”

“Can wait.” The quake in his voice was shivery and small and devastation pooled in Martin’ stomach.

It sounded too much as though--

“Oh darling, oh no, no. I.” He had to pause, to swallow the tangle of emotion clotting up his throat and gathered him closer. “I didn’t understand. That’s all. I would. Jon.” Gently he shifted him to get a look at his tear streaked and exhausted face, swiping at his own eyes before cupping his cheek and drawing his thumb over the too-prominent bone there. “Never, I would never h’hurt, or punish--I didn’t know. I didn’t listen.” The first statement’s reprieve was wearing thin and Martin settled Jon against his chest where he laid still, head resting on his shoulder as he reached for another envelope.

The light never changed, no matter the time, but it was softer now. Here.

Pastel behind his eyelids as if swimming through a twilight consciousness into the soft sensations of waking. The knit strands of Martin’s cardigan threaded between his tangled fingers and he shifted closer, so warm, the fever chills he’d suffered for days a thing of the not too distant past. Jon wanted to collect this feeling, this safety, bottle it up for when Martin finally figured out that the only thing he knew how to do was take. Holding his breath, he tried to stay in this moment and absorb the feeling of Martin’s body pressed against his own, slotted perfectly together like a pair of puzzle pieces, the heat generated beneath the quilt comforting, intoxicating.

Even though Jon could tell you more than most that stealing scraps of affection never amounted to enough.

Soft kisses rained over his skin, over every scar, because he’d been unable to cry quietly enough to leave Martin undisturbed. He pulled away, scrubbed his face with the heel of his scarred hands.

“Sorry.”

“Please, don’t be.” And he wanted to believe him, that he could have this even with what he was. That he wouldn’t ruin Martin like he’d already ruined so much. “Come here, love.” Patient. Martin was so patient with him even when the uncertainty had to show in his face. “It’s alright.” And Jon dove back in, hands not so much brushing against each other as colliding when he reached for more, more, more, taking, taking, taking. Hiccuping with sobs, burrowing close, closer, the closest he could be, where Martin’s kiss was a soft promise pressed between them, told to his mouth rather than his ear but a message of love and protection and tenderness all the same. Tears he forgot he’d been crying were thumbed gently away, so carefully it was as though Martin worried he would break under the weight of his touch.

Sated, the Beholding a murmur lost in the rhythm of Martin’s heart, Jon allowed himself to be lost, to let someone else, someone he loved and who loved him in return, carry it all just for a little while.

“How’re you feeling?” He approached with a cup of tea, inadequate though it was for an apology, passing it off to Jon’s eager, steady hands. His color was better, the flush faded, and he’d stopped moving like there were needles wedged in every joint.

“Much better, thank you, Martin.” Whyever would he thank him? But here he was, eyes closed in appreciation of the first sip, patting the cushion next to him in open invitation.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” After a beat of silence Jon set aside the mug and folded his hands in his lap.

“I thought you knew.” His fingers flexed and Jon forced himself to look Martin in the eye. “I thought it was what you, what you wanted.” And the confusion in his expression, that he had possibly miscalculated, was painful. But isn’t that what he’d learned time and time again? Tim, Basira, Melanie, Daisy, even Martin himself! That when he made mistakes, made wrong choices, when he’d done something they didn’t approve of he’d been yelled at, ridiculed, threatened, terrified, hurt, abandoned. He laughed, a bitter, deprecating huff. "I did end the world after all. You've a right to be upset."

“Wha--no! Jon, no! If I’d--” speechless, that Jon just accepted so easily being hurt this way, accepted that Martin, even accidentally, wanted to see him punished for his part in bringing about Magnus’ plan.

“When I, I asked. I. It made you so angry.”

"Jon. No matter how angry I am, I never want to hurt you or punish you. That’s not okay."

"But--"

“I should have never made you feel--” He grit his teeth, calmed his voice. There was no part of him that wanted Jon to interpret his anger at himself as anger pointed towards him. “Please, if I do this again. Please, love.” For a moment Jon looked like he wanted to argue and Martin tugged him into an embrace, overjoyed when it was returned, his response muffled in his jumper.

“Alright.”

#I'm still working on prompts #don't worry! #tma #the magnus archives #hurt comfort #jmart #jonmartin #statement sick #statement hunger #starvation #miscommunication #unreliable narrator #sickfic #sick jon #guilt #pain #scars #jon's grandma sucked

[quicksilversquared]

Move to Safety: Chapter 4 (of 6)

After Adrien just happens to spy Nooroo in his father’s office, he’s sent into an panic. His father is Hawkmoth, which means that Adrien is in serious danger.

Thankfully the Dupain-Chengs are more than willing to step up to the plate and lend a helping hand.

links in the reblog

"Ooh, I like this one!"

Marinette laughed when she spotted the bolt that Adrien was holding up. He had gotten back to the house after the mural dedication, they had gotten a bite to eat, and then the two of them had headed out to the fabric store for a bit of a distraction. It hadn't taken long for the two of them to get neck-deep in fabric. "Kitty paws? Why am I not surprised?"

"It's Chat Noir fabric!" Adrien glanced at the label, unsurprised to see that the neon-green cat paws on a black background were, in fact, designed to invoke Chat Noir. Thankfully, there wasn't a corresponding price mark-up on it. "You said that you needed black, right?"

"I do, yeah." Marinette stepped closer, inspecting the fabric. There was a small frown on her face. "The only problem is that it's a pretty prominent pattern and it's usually a better idea to not have the background fabrics be quite so, uh..."

Adrien glanced at the pattern in her hand, then back at the fabric. He could see what she was saying. "Oh. Darn."

"We could use it as the backing fabric, though!" Marinette said quickly. Then she spotted something else in the rack of fabric bolts and grinned, ducking down and reaching way back to grab another bolt and wriggle it out. "Though here's another option that I suspect you might like."

She pulled out anther bolt, and oh, he should have suspected that there would be a Ladybug fabric as well. It had a black background like the Chat Noir one, with little ladybugs scattered across the fabric, small pink and red flecks between them.

...he really liked that one, too.

Adrien dithered between the two choices, honestly torn. He loved the thought of being wrapped up in his Lady's colors, but he also really, really liked the Chat Noir fabric. It was a nod to his role in protecting Paris, and once his father was defeated, it wouldn't be overly dangerous to have superhero references around him.

Not that it was super suspicious at the moment, really- after all, all of Paris loved the superheroes- but everything would be safer with their supervillains gone, and it wouldn't have been smart to do anything to make his father suspicious even if he hadn't been Hawkmoth.

"Actually, I could do large patchwork blocks of both of them on the back," Marinette said while Adrien was still deliberating. "Like a checkerboard."

Adrien perked up. "Ooh, yes, please!"

The front of the quilt was going to be mostly blues and greens and black, and Adrien had plenty of fun picking through the racks to find something that stuck out to him. Subtle patterns were better for not overwhelming the overall design, and he wanted this to be a quilt that he would be happy with for years to come. It took longer than he had anticipated to make his choices, though Marinette didn't seem at all surprised by that as she wheeled their cart to the cutting counter and took a ticket.

"We're not going to get any studying done today, are we?" Adrien asked with a laugh as they lingered near the counter, keeping one eye on the ticket number being served. "Or at least I'm not, what with the dedication this morning and then this now."

"We'll have some time this afternoon and then this evening!" Marinette protested with a little laugh. "And all of tomorrow. Maybe we should have waited on the fabric errand a bit, but I thought it would be relaxing."

"And better now than after, y'know, the arrest," Adrien said, dropping his voice to a murmur on his last couple words. "I probably won't be able to go out as myself unless I want to get mobbed."

Marinette stiffened. "If people dare go after you-"

"I was thinking reporters, mostly." It was inevitable, really. They would want to know if he had known, if he was surprised, what he would do now. "Hopefully I'll get cleared pretty early on."

"If the superheroes tell the police that it was Adrien who told them who Hawkmoth was, I think they wouldn't question you that much," Marinette murmured, loud enough for him to hear but quiet enough that the other customers nearby wouldn't hear them. "You wouldn't tell on him if you were working with him, obviously, so if they knew that you were the whistleblower..."

Adrien nodded. That made sense, and while he didn't know if he necessarily wanted that to become public knowledge- there would probably be people who would scoff at him turning his father into the police and wonder if he had no loyalty if even family bonds meant nothing to him, never mind the whole supervillain angle- letting the police at least know would probably save him a world of trouble.

"I'm looking forward to not having to sneak in and out of your house," Adrien said instead of continuing that conversation. This wasn't the best place for it, anyway. "Especially the sneaking out. I hate having to climb over you in the mornings."

"You've been great at sneaking out," Marinette assured him quickly, flashing him a smile. "I haven't been woken up at all! Quiet as a cat."

Adrien laughed at that. "Thanks, I try. But it's more of a- it just feels creepy to climb over you when you're still asleep. Like, I'm going into your bedroom while you're asleep and climbing up to your bed and it's just- like, I know that we're comfortable with each other now, but..."

"I know that you're there, though. It's not like you don't have permission." Marinette bumped his side gently. "Honestly, it's fine. As long as you don't take any pictures of me drooling in my sleep, you're good."

"You don't drool," Adrien blurted before he could stop himself. "I mean, not that I look- I try not to, but I have to make sure that I don't step on you, so I guess I do kind of look- but you do sprawl out like a starfish when you sleep and it's cute and oh my god I'm going to stop talking now."

Marinette was giggling. "It's fine!"

"Stupid runaway mouth," Adrien grumbled, trying not to hunch his shoulders and hide behind Marinette when a couple women glanced over at them. "Sorry. I promise that I'm not trying to be a creep."

"Like I said, it's fine." Their number was called, and Marinette led the way to the cutting counter, placing the bolts of fabric that they had selected up on the counter and listing off how much she needed of each. "We could have tried to find a different window, I suppose, or- or something. I just thought that the balcony would look less weird."

Adrien decided to just nod at that point. He had an inkling that opening his mouth again would just result in more embarrassment on his end.

It didn't take long to get all of the fabric cut, and then Marinette took a quick detour through the quilting section to pick up batting, thread, and a couple other supplies before heading to the checkout. As the stuff was for the quilt was rung up, Adrien couldn't help but wince.

He had known that quilts took forever and a half to make, but he hadn't known how freaking expensive they were to make. Adrien opened his mouth to offer to pay for the materials, but a sharp look from Marinette had him closing his mouth just as quickly.

He would just have to get her some really, really nice presents for her birthday and Christmas, then.

...would it be excessive to compose Marinette a song on the piano to express his appreciation on top of whatever he bought for her? After all, she was going to be putting hours and hours into the quilt, and composing something on the piano... well, that was the closest that he was going to get to putting in a similar amount of effort.

"I can't wait to get into this fabric," Marinette said happily as they exited the store. Adrien had managed to snag the bulkiest of the bags to carry, figuring that that was probably as much as she would allow him to do. "I've only made a couple quilts before, mostly lap ones, and it was so much fun. And the pattern that you picked out looked really interesting, too."

"Ah-ah-ah, no sewing until exams are done," Adrien chided. He grinned. "See, I thought I remembered someone swearing that having the fabric in the house wouldn't be a distraction."

Marinette groaned. "I could do it as a study break! I've done that before, I just set up a timer so that I don't accidentally spend too much time sewing."

Adrien glanced over at her as they walked. "Is that really a good break, though? I've always been taught that I should get up and move around and maybe get a snack or something during study breaks so that I'm not still hunching over or focusing on anything. I'm just watching out for your health, Mari!" he added when Marinette groaned. "Seriously, let the quilt wait! Then you can go absolutely wild with it once exams are over."

Marinette dithered, then frowned. "Fine."

The bakery wasn't a super-far walk from the fabric store, so Adrien took the opportunity to enjoy the just-warm-enough weather, turning his face up to the sun to bask in the warmth. If his father were here, he would probably be scolding Adrien for not having put sunscreen on first so that there wouldn't be any chance of him getting any sort of sunburn.

Adrien pushed that thought out of his head. His father wasn't here, and he was going to be in jail soon enough that Adrien's complexion would no longer be any of his concern.

"Aha, I sense an incoming project," Mrs. Cheng commented as soon as the two of them reached the bakery and stepped inside. It was late enough in the day that the crowds had subsided, with only a few people milling around to pick out what they wanted. "New quilt?"

"Adrien insists that I wait to start it until after exams are over," Marinette told her mom in her best long-suffering voice. "Something about not distracting myself from studying and not being all hunched over fabric during study breaks."

"Aha, someone who has some sense," Mrs. Cheng said with a laugh, beaming at Adrien. "We've been trying to keep her from bouncing back and forth between studying and sewing for ages. You'll have to keep an eye on this one."

"Maman!" Marinette groaned, just as Adrien said, "I will."

"Oh, not you, too," Marinette complained. "I can self-regulate!"

Mrs. Cheng laughed. "Dear, we had to go out and buy creams for you to put on your back when it hurts too much from you hunching over. And then when you went to that chiropractor, she said that you need to work on straightening up and stretching on a regular basis when you're working on homework or sewing. I'm thinking that your self-regulation could use some work."

Marinette just groaned some more and headed for the door to the apartment. Adrien laughed and followed her, giving a cheery wave good-bye to Mrs. Cheng as he left. She beamed at him before turning back to her customers, greeting the next person in line cheerily.

"Not to pile on or anything, but right before exams doesn't seem like a great time to risk back problems flaring up," Adrien commented as he caught up to Marinette on the stairs. "Seriously, it can wait. Think of the quilt project as a reward that you'll get at the end of the week!"

Marinette flashed a smile back at him. "I know. It'll be something to look forward to. We... i mean, we'll probably want a distraction by then, too."

Adrien tilted his head to one side, momentarily puzzled, and then it hit him. Right. His father would be returning from his summer fashion preparations at the end of the week, coinciding with the end of their exam week. That was when he and Ladybug were planning on attacking his father- well, depending on when Mr. Agreste decided to send out an akuma, at least.

Funny that he had managed to forget about that when he and Ladybug had literally just been discussing it. Clearly the errand to the fabric store with Marinette had been a good distractor.

Honestly, the company had probably had a lot to do with it.

"Yeah, a distraction then sounds good," Adrien agreed, smiling back at her. "But for now, let's get the bags put away and get some studying done."

  Exam week arrived too fast, just like it always did. Everyone- or almost everyone, at least, there were always some exceptions- was serious, hunched over books and notebooks or quizzing each other between classes.

Most years, Adrien would have spent most of his time out of school with a personal tutor hired to help him study, with a personally customized study plan based off of his strengths and weaknesses. This year, though, Adrien had managed to persuade Nathalie that it was unneeded, and that he had learned enough about study skills and how to figure out his weak areas that he didn't need a tutor this year. In fact, he had argued, having to create his own study plan could be beneficial. He would have to be more involved and that could mean that he remembered the lessons better.

Nathalie hadn't been entirely convinced, of course, but she had agreed to let him try it this one time. If his grades slipped from what they had been in the past, though, she had warned, he would be getting tutors for all future exams and there would be more summer tutoring than before.

It had been a pretty motivating threat, at least before Adrien discovered his father's secret and, by extension, Nathalie's. Now, unless Adrien decided that he actually wanted a tutor, there wouldn't be any more.

That was fine. There wouldn't be any more akuma attacks disrupting his classes, either, so Adrien figured that it would all even out. Besides, it had been easier to study when he was in Marinette's house, for some reason. Maybe it was because he wasn't antsy and on edge all of the time. They kept him busy and distracted when he wasn't studying, which kept Adrien from getting caught up in his own worries about what would happen once his father returned.

A couple times, Adrien had fallen asleep next to Marinette on her floor while studying. It had been comfortable and they had woken up in a tangle of limbs. It could have been a bit awkward, honestly, but somehow it wasn't. They were comfortable enough with each other now that it was just something that they did.

And then exams were over, and Mr. Agreste returned to the city. Adrien was half-convinced that his father would notice that something was off, but Mr. Agreste just made a brief appearance to inquire how Adrien's exams had gone, then retreated to his office to keep working.

Honestly, that was just the way Adrien liked it, particularly now that he knew his father's secret. The more distance between them, the better.

Nathalie dropped off Adrien's schedule for the start of summer, then headed out the door for her four days of vacation and general unwinding. Adrien watched her go, then immediately headed over to the Dupain-Cheng house to keep Marinette company and help her cut out the hundreds of pieces for his quilt.

And with that, the countdown was on. Ladybug had distributed the Horse to Seabiscut and the Bee to Hornet, and she had decided to use the Snake herself during their final battle. Adrien was rather relieved about that, honestly, since he was likely to be at little emotionally compromised during the battle and it was one less thing for him to have to remember to bring. His role was to-

Was to-

Well, to provide backup where needed. To join Ladybug to take down the final akuma, after Hawkmoth was defeated. To help keep the arrest under wraps, since Nathalie would still need to be captured and they didn't want to tip her off ahead of time, in case she was keeping her Miraculous on her.

It didn't sound like a whole lot, if he was being honest, but then again, the takedown was planned to be simple and straightforward. There wouldn't be a whole lot to do, not if things went to plan. And with the Snake in action, things should go to plan.

It didn't take long for Adrien's attention to wander while he watched Marinette pin and sew, so he headed downstairs to help out in the bakery. Mr. Dupain seemed to know without asking that Adrien needed a distraction, so he herded Adrien over to the sink to wash his hands, then started teaching him how to do different jobs. The croissant roller was easy enough to operate and hard to mess up, and of course it was hard to mess up loading the dishwashers. He didn't get to do any actual mixing of ingredients, because it would be too easy for him to mess up if he got distracted by his thoughts (or had to leave because of an akuma attack), but Mr. Dupain had promised that he would teach Adrien how to bake- abet in smaller batches first- once things were more settled.

Adrien was looking forward to it, though he couldn't deny that it was a bit intimidating. He hadn't done a ton of cooking- he helped with prep, sure, but not cooking by himself- and baking just seemed even more complicated. There were more things that could go wrong, Adrien was pretty sure, what with the yeast and rising and trying to bake all the way through and not overbaking and-

Well, it was a delicate process, that was for sure, and not something that Adrien wanted to be learning about when he was on edge waiting for an akuma attack.

Thankfully the wait wasn't too long. Two days after Mr. Agreste returned to Paris, an akuma alert lit up Adrien's phone. He muted it, suddenly feeling ill and regretting the sandwich that he had just eaten for lunch.

This was it. It was actually happening.

Adrien had spent the past week- longer, really- trying to ignore what Hawkmoth's defeat would entail. But that time was past now, and part of Adrien- the part that hated change, that didn't want to give up on the last bit of his family (his aunt and cousin, of course, not included)- wanted to put it off, even if the rest of him just wanted the whole Hawkmoth thing to be over with. There was a lot of mixed feelings there, and Adrien know how he was even supposed to start sorting them out.

Adrien's racing thoughts were promptly cut off by a tight hug.

"You'll be okay," Marinette promised, resting her head against his shoulder. "We're here for you no matter what." She looked up at him, her chin resting on his collarbone. "And we can do whatever you want when you get back. If you want distractions, we can do distractions. If you want to cuddle and watch a movie and drink hot chocolate, we can do that."

Adrien swallowed hard, nodding. "Yeah." He hugged Marinette back, then pulled back, patting his pocket to make sure that his lucky charm from Marinette was still there. "Okay. I've got this."

"You do. And you have Ladybug and the rest of your team there for you, too." Marinette beamed at him. "You aren't alone."

"Okay." Somehow Marinette always knew just what to say. Adrien squared his shoulders, then flashed a smile- maybe a little weak around the edges, but still a smile- at her. "Plagg, transform me!"

With a flash of green, he was transformed. Chat Noir gave Marinette one more hug- for good luck, and to remind himself that he was still going to have a home and an amazing family even after his father was arrested- and then was off, heading for the abandoned building that Ladybug had picked out as their meeting point.

Soon it was all going to be over. He could only hope that he was actually ready.

#Miraculous Ladybug #my writing #Move to Safety

[litwitlady]

to make the desert bloom

The first time Michael pawns off a few feet of stolen copper wire he makes $68. He’s been totally swindled - the wire easily worth more than double that. But it’s enough to pay the remainder on his cell phone bill so he’s thrilled with the transaction.

A few months later Michael risks stealing a small spool of wire. He’s wised up about the wire’s worth, but still accepts a criminally low cash offer. But alongside the cash, he’s also negotiated a broken power drill. He has it fixed within the hour and that’s how his tool collection starts. 

Word gets around about the kid who practically gives away copper for nothing more than a few crumpled bills and some rusty old tools. Michael happily accepts broken wrenches, bent screwdrivers, and even a table saw with the cord cut off. He makes enough money to put gas in his truck and keep food on his table. And collects enough tools to supplement his income with various side-gigs.

By his twenty-first birthday, he’s even got $400 saved in his new bank account. His crime completely victimless, as far as he’s concerned. Old Man Sanders never once showing any interest in the piles of copper in the makeshift garage shed. What Sanders doesn’t miss can’t hurt him. And what Sanders doesn’t miss has saved Michael’s life on more than one occasion.

No one but his customers are aware of his scheme. A conman playing easily into the hands of lesser grifters. Until the day he overspends on one of Isobel’s birthday gifts.

She opens the newspaper wrapped box and immediately shoves the gift back into Michael’s chest. ‘You’re stealing now?’

He frowns down at the handwoven scarf. Realizes his mistake. And sighs. Because yes, he’s stealing now.

‘It’s not a big deal, Iz. Just some copper wire no one’s going to miss.’ He tries to give the scarf back to her, but she folds her arms across her chest and levels him with her deadliest glare.

‘Return the scarf, Michael. Give the money back to whoever you stole the wire from.’ Her face softens and she reaches out for his knee. ‘If you need money, I have more than I know what to do with. And we’re family.’

He kisses her cheek, shrugging off her offer. ‘I’ll be okay.’ 

She settles against him, interlocking their elbows and leaning her head on his shoulder. ‘You know I love you, right?’

‘I know. Me too.’ And it’s the truth. But he’ll never take her money.

That’s the last time he steals anything from Sanders for a long time. Until Alex Manes comes barrelling back into his life after his longest absence yet. 

They crash back together like always. Shacking up in his trailer for hours at a time, rediscovering each other’s bodies. And Michael allows himself to believe that they will finally make it happen this time. But then Isobel arrives with a bag of bagels and wakes him from his dream.

Once he’s able to shoo her away, he watches Alex practically fall out of the airstream in his haste to get away. Michael holds up the bag of bagels, but Alex shrugs him off and climbs into his Explorer. The engine whines - needing a new timing belt - as he flees from the junkyard.

Michael eats all six bagels and then steals the largest spool of copper he can find. It’s almost like he wants Alex to catch him. You’re wasting your life, Guerin on a constant loop inside his head.

And maybe he is. Wasting his life. On a boy he’ll never be good enough for.

That night at the drive-in he plays out the final act of their charade. Stupid alien movie and grease-soaked food, hands brushing accidentally as they both grab for a new beer with the anticipation of sex heavy between them.

A dance with Jesse Manes. 

A trade with Renly Thomas.

He makes the most he’s ever made that night. Almost twice what the copper is worth. But he ends the evening in red regardless.

Eventually, he confesses the whole scheme to Sanders. Promising to pay him back. Sanders turns down the offer, but Michael starts saving the money anyway. It’s what he imagines his mother would expect of him. 

He starts taking classes at Roswell Tech. He stops drinking. 

One night, a recently single Alex sits on the stool next to him at the Pony. Leans his elbow on the bartop and turns to Michael. ‘I need a favor.’

Michael drops his hat onto the bartop and snorts. Raises his glass of water to his lips but doesn’t drink. ‘A favor?’

Alex scratches at a divot in the chipped wood bar. Avoiding Michael’s gaze. ‘I need a few feet of copper wire.’

He’s convinced he’s heard him wrong. ‘What?’

‘Three feet. Three feet of copper wire. Heard you were the guy to talk to.’ His lips quirk up at the corner. And Michael suspects he’s being played.

‘Fuck off, Alex.’ There’s no bite in his words, just a sad sort of ruefulness. He slides off his seat and drops his hat back on his head. ‘You can afford to buy your own copper.’

He stalks out of the bar, too sober to stay and argue with an ex who will always be more than an ex. 

The sky is dark and near moonless. Broken glass splinters beneath his boots. A couple arguing loudly distracts him as he walks out to his truck parked near the highway. Unaware that he’s being followed.

When he finally looks up, he stops dead in his tracks. A large dark object sits in the bed of his truck. And it definitely wasn’t there when he’d last climbed out of the Chevy. 

He squints, trying to make out what the object could be without getting any closer. But it’s no use. A voice from behind startles him.

‘Won’t work without the wire.’ 

Alex.

Michael sighs and turns to him. ‘What won’t work?’

‘The sign I made.’ He motions to the back of Michael’s truck. ‘Electrical connections aren’t complete yet. Guess you’ll have to take it home and fix that.’ He hands Michael a brand new reel of copper wire. ‘Let me know how it goes.’

Michael gives him the dirtiest side-eye. But Alex only laughs and turns away. Michael ignores whatever the sign is and slides behind the steering wheel. Riding back to the junkyard in silence.

He sits inside his trailer for a long time. Doing his best to ignore what’s still in his truck. It only works for an hour before he’s back outside and threading the wire through the back of the oak sign. Completing all the electrical connections and yawning through several dramatic sighs.

Once the wiring is finished, he plugs the cord into his power pack and watches as a soft neon glow lights up the night. He stays behind the sign. Protecting himself from whatever it says.

At some point, Isobel arrives. Walks slowly towards him, purples and blues lighting up her face - brow deeply furrowed. ‘Um, Michael? Is there something you want to tell me?’ She motions to the sign and his fear increases tenfold.

He shakes his head, hops up onto the worktable behind him, and carelessly swings his legs back and forth. Trying for nonchalance. ‘Nope. Just fixing Alex’s sign.’

Her mouth falls agape and her eyes go wide. ‘Alex made this?’

Michael nods. 

‘How the fuck are you this calm?’ She’s frantically waving her arms in a decidedly un-Isobel like fashion.

‘Don’t care what it says.’ He’s nervous though. Slips off the table and grabs the leftover copper. It’s probably more than what he stole in the first place. Tosses it onto Sanders’ stack. Suddenly very suspicious about Alex’s intentions.

‘Michael. Come here, right now.’ Her arms are crossed. Death glare back in place. But then she dissolves into high-pitched giggles and he’s never felt a fear so great in all his life.

He bites the bullet and goes to stand beside her. The first thing he notices is how pretty the lights are - pastel neons with a haunting glow. Very reminiscent of the alien tech on his console. 

The words take a minute to form in his mind. He struggles with them. Blinks rapidly several times. Shakes his head and tries again. But each time he lands on the same phrase.

MARRY ME.

‘It’s a joke right? Gotta be.’ Michael swallows hard and stares at the words until they grow fuzzy, losing all meaning. ‘We’re not even dating, Iz.’

Isobel wraps her arm around him and hugs him close. ‘I think you’ve been dating since you were seventeen. Maybe not in the conventional sense - but dating all the same.’ She sighs at the romance of it all. ‘And now he wants more than that.’ She pinches his ribs. 

‘Ow! What was that for?’

‘I can already hear you trying to find some reason to reject him. I will not let you ruin this for me, Michael. Do you understand me? I have a wedding to plan.’ She pulls out her phone and starts flipping through her calendar. ‘Spring or fall?’

Michael rolls his eyes and turns at the sound of tires on gravel. Isobel squeals when she recognizes Alex’s Explorer. Michael’s heart starts to race.

Alex climbs out slowly. Eyeing the sign over Michael’s shoulder. ‘I couldn’t sleep.’ As if that’s all the explanation required. ‘Phone was too quiet.’

Isobel flies into Alex’s arms, nearly knocking him over. But his eyes never leave Michael’s.

‘Give him some space, Isobel.’ She pulls away and looks back and forth between the two of them. Smiling so wide it’s contagious. ‘I’ll call you in the morning.’ She kisses both of them on the cheek and leaves them to their fate.

She stays up all night preparing mood boards.

Back at the junkyard, Alex shoves his hands into his pockets. Feeling naked under Michael’s intense gaze. He waits anxiously for Michael to say something - to say anything.

‘I guess I just don’t understand. Where did this suddenly come from?’ Michael leans against an old junker, watching Alex fidget.

‘Honestly?’ He looks up at the stars and then back down to Michael. ‘I’ve been sort of miserable lately. And one day I looked at my reflection in the mirror and asked myself why.’ He shrugs his shoulders and laughs softly. ‘Got dressed and went to the hardware store.’ 

Michael studies the perfectly formed tube lights. ‘Quite the talent you got there. And completely new to me.’

Alex grins, his anxiety easing a bit. ‘I had help.’

‘And this isn’t a joke?’ 

‘Not a joke. Not remotely a joke.’ He takes several steps towards Michael. Stopping an arm’s length away. ‘I don’t mean tomorrow. Or next month. Hell, maybe not even next year. But one day. When we’re both ready. That’s what I want.’

Michael nods and pushes off the junker. Now only half an arm’s length away. He looks back at the sign. ‘I’m ready whenever you are.’ Drags his eyes slowly back to Alex.

They smile at each other, still able to blush after all these years. And regardless of who moves first, they both land in one another’s arms. Haloed by the sign’s luminescent proposal.

#malex #malex fic #alex manes #michael guerin #trash fluff

[themattress]

My Top 30 Favorite Video Games

Inspired by @ultraericthered’s Top 30 Favorite Anime post. 

Although I’m doing mine in countdown form, ‘cause it’s more fun that way!

30. Super Mario Bros. - Arguably the first “blockbuster” game to be released, not only does Super Mario Bros. still hold up over 35 years later but it’s a gift that keeps on giving with how many different incarnations, remixes, fan games using its assets, etc. that we have now.

29. Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney - OBJECTION! While I cherish the entire original Phoenix Wright trilogy of the Ace Attorney franchise, I’ll always be the most partial to the original outing. The sheer audacity and hilarity of the concept, which is grounded by endearing characters and compelling mysteries, shines brilliantly in this little, easily accessible game. 

28. Trigger Happy Havoc: Danganronpa - While similar in many ways to Ace Attorney, Danganronpa boasts a variety of more actual gameplay than mere point-and-click text scrolling. But what really makes this stand out, beyond gameplay or even the strength of its concept, story and characters, is the atmosphere it creates. For good and for ill, traversing the pristine, neon-lit hallways of the abandoned Hopes Peak Academy looking for clues as I’m forced to play by Monokuma’s twisted rules is an experience that will stay with me forever.

27. Star Fox 64 - Beyond all the entertainment this game provides through memes, it’s really just a fun, reasonably simple but just moderately complicated enough game that’s accessible to any player even if they usually don’t go for aerial shooters. It’s also one of the earliest console games that I ever played, so of course it’s going to hold a special place in my heart.

26. Batman: Arkham City - It’s an impressive feat when an open world game can still feel so claustrophobic in all the right ways, and that’s what Arkham City accomplishes. This game is essentially The Dark Knight to Arkham Asylum’s Batman Begins, escalating the action, suspense and sheer Batman-ness, providing unlimited opportunities to enjoy yourself playing as Gotham’s defender and facing down the greatest Rogues Gallery in comic book history.

25. Red Dead Redemption - Look, I know that Red Dead Redemption 2 is technically the superior game. But its complicated story, sprawling cast of characters, and vast canvas of a world can be pretty daunting, whereas I feel like the original Red Dead Redemption struck a much better balance. Allowing open world freedom within the confines of the straight-forward story of John Marston’s redemption really makes you feel like you’re in an old Western film, and the way that choices you make as a player impact the way that film ultimately turns out is one of the strongest arguments for video games being worthy of consideration as true art.

24. The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim - So, ten years ago an open world adventure video game series releases its fifth entry...and to this day, we’ve had no sixth, in favor of expansions and updated re-releases of said fifth entry. But that’s not a sign of laziness; it’s a sign the developers know they hit such a peak in quality that they have no need to rush anything further out the gate, as Skyrim is a gift that keeps on giving. Addictive in how unlimited in possibilities it is, with each playthrough never being the same as the one before, Skyrim is a gaming masterpiece that I don’t think I’m going to get bored with playing anytime soon.

23. Super Paper Mario - This may be an unpopular opinion, but I vastly prefer this game’s action-platform-RPG hybrid gameplay style to the prior installments’ traditional turn-based RPG style, which feels more at home in stuff like Super Mario RPG and the Mario & Luigi series. But gameplay aside, I think this has the strongest story of any Mario game, trading in the usual “save the kingdom/princess” fare for saving all of reality, with legitimate emotion and drama and even character development. It’s one of the Wii’s shining gems, to be sure.

22. Epic Mickey - This game’s graphics are by and large unremarkable, its gameplay is fraught with issues (that camera is unforgivable), and it’s nowhere close to the best on its system or genre. But Epic Mickey is a case study in where the effort put into crafting the game’s world and story, not to mention the obvious love and respect for the material being worked with, pays off. Any Disney fan will love this game for its story, which puts Mickey front and center as an actual character rather than a mascot and dives deep into his history as he meets his “half-brother” Oswald the Lucky Rabbit, and its mystical, unique atmosphere - what the graphics can’t deliver, the fucking music more than makes up for. All of the game’s flaws mean nothing compared to the sheer heart on display, and I treasure it greatly as a result.

21. Batman: Arkham Asylum - I already mentioned that Arkham City is the superior game, but as was the case with Red Dead Redemption and its sequel, personal preference strikes again. The simpler story and narrower confines of Arkham Asylum just appeal to me slightly more, and I feel like the borderline horror atmosphere this game has could never fully be replicated by all of its sequels and spin-offs. Also, you can play as the Joker in this. WIN.

20. Metal Gear Solid - And on the subject of Arkham Asylum, it owes much to this game, which created the template of a lone badass hero having to use stealth and weaponry to liberate a government-owned island from the lunatic terrorists that have taken over. Hideo Kojima famously never wanted this game to have any sequels, and I can definitely see his point, as it’s a complete and wholly satisfying experience in of itself and I don’t feel like it’s ever been topped. At the very least, it’s certainly the most enjoyable of the series to me.

19. The Legend of Zelda: Majora's Mask - Also, speaking of “borderline horror atmosphere”, we have the freakiest game that the Legend of Zelda series ever put out. What was supposed to just be a gaiden to Ocarina of Time mutated into this beautiful monstrosity that’s become just as iconic. Nobody who plays this game is ever going to forget that fucking moon and all the constant jumping back and forth in time across three days as you try to prevent the apocalypse of Termina. It’s the kind of gaming trauma that’s well worth experiencing.

18. Kingdom Hearts: Chain of Memories - Like Majora’s Mask, this game is a case study where you can take a bunch of recycled assets and gameplay, and then make something unique from it if you have a well-crafted story with a dark and disturbing atmosphere. It’s hard to experience or appreciate the transition between Kingdom Hearts and Kingdom Hearts II without playing this midquel, which takes the narrative and characters to deeper levels without being pretentious about it and sets the stage for the proper console sequel perfectly. And if you can’t get into it being on Gameboy Advance, then just play the PS2 remake (which is arguably the superior version anyway) and you’re good! Just...don’t mind the cards, OK?

17. Sonic CD - And now we have another game about jumping back and forth through time to prevent an apocalypse! See the common threads at play here by this point? Sonic the Hedgehog is at his best in 2D gameplay, and I personally enjoy this the best out of all the 2D games in the series. As obscure as the Sega CD was as a system, it was powerful enough to take the blue blur’s speed to its maximum level, set alongside beautiful graphics and a kick-ass soundtrack (well, two different kick-ass soundtracks; and I actually prefer the US one). 

16. Pokemon Black & White - While there were advancements made to story and graphics and gameplay features in the third and fourth generations of the Pokemon series, nothing felt as truly ground-breaking as the second generation games until the fifth gen with its Black & White games. This was arguably the game series’ peak in quality on all fronts, but its specifically the story that lands it on this list, as its well-written and paced, subverts many formulaic elements from the previous games, is set in one of the most unique regions in the Pokemon world, and has a timeless message that has only grown more relevant with age. 

15. Super Smash Bros. Ultimate - The whole series could really go here, but fortunately the most recent entry is the perfect embodiment of said series, with every playable character there’s ever been and then some. The sheer variety is unmatched by any other fighting game out there, and its story mode, “World of Light”, is quite possibly the greatest video game crossover in history given how many characters are featured as both fighters and spirits.

14. Super Mario 64 - I’m pretty sure this game used to be higher in my favor, but replaying it on the Nintendo Switch recently has made me aware of how, as the first game on the Nintendo 64 and the first 3D platformer, it’s poorly aged in several areas. However, I must stress that it is still a very good game. The fun of going to the various worlds within paintings in Peach’s Castle hasn’t changed, nor has how smoothly and seamlessly Mario managed to make the jump from 2D to 3D. Just like Super Mario Bros., the number of games that owe something to this one is too great to count, and that’s an achievement that remains timeless.

13. Dark Chronicle - Also known as Dark Cloud 2. I hadn’t heard a damn thing about this game before renting it on a whim many years ago, and I was caught off guard by just how good it was. It’s got a simple but effective story and likable characters, a timeless atmosphere, beautifully cel-shaded graphics, dungeon-crawling gameplay, action-RPG combat gameplay, literal world-building gameplay, and even a fishing minigame! This game can actually stand besides the Zelda series without shame; it’s truly an underrated gem.

12. The Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess - Oh, speaking of Zelda, this game goes full Lord of the Rings-style epic fantasy with it and it is glorious. Between the near perfect gameplay, beautiful 3D graphics, and one of the best stories in the series (with one of the best characters: Midna), Twilight Princess’ most prevalent complaint from critics all the way up to its own developers is that it wasn’t even MORE expansive and awesome given how long it was hyped, and if that’s the biggest issue with the game then I’d say it’s in pretty good shape.

11. Super Mario Galaxy - Super Mario 64 may be held back a little by how its aged, but no such thing is holding back Super Mario Galaxy. Super Mario Odyssey might be as good or possibly even better, but I just don’t hold the same feelings of amazement and respect toward it that I do for this game. From the blitzkrieg-style attack on the Mushroom Kingdom by Bowser to the discovery of Rosalina’s space station, this game had me hooked from the first few minutes, especially with it blaring that awesome orchestral score the whole way through. To this day, I maintain that this is Mario’s greatest 3D adventure. It’s simply magnificent.

10. Final Fantasy X - Ha! See what I did there? This game has caught flak for some of the awkwardness that comes from being the first fully 3D entry in the series, but I think that’s tantamount to nitpicking when compared to all it does right. To me, this was the last really good installment of the main Final Fantasy series, with a story and world so brilliantly developed that the game earned the immediate breakthrough success and acclaim that it found in its native Japan. 20 years later and, as the HD remaster has shown, it still holds up as one of the most engaging JRPG experiences I’ve ever had the pleasure of having.

9. Banjo-Kazooie - At the time, this was basically Rare’s copycat version of Super Mario 64, although considered about as good. Now, however, there’s a difference: the aging issues I mentioned for Super Mario 64 don’t apply for Banjo-Kazooie. Whether replaying it on the Nintendo 64 or on whichever Xbox you’ve got, this game is still just as fun, imaginative and hilarious now as it was back then. It’s quite possibly the greatest 3D platformer ever made.

8. Pokemon Crystal - The definitive edition of the Gold & Silver games of Pokemon’s second generation, taking what was already a phenomenal advancement and improvement to the first generation and making it even better with additional features such as the ability to play as a girl for the first time and a more clearly defined storyline centered around the legendary Pokemon featured on the game’s box art. Pokemon had been written off as just a passing fad up until this point. This was when its staying power as a video game juggernaut was proven.

7. The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild - Talk about a win right out of the gate for the Nintendo Switch! This game returns the Legend of Zelda series to its roots while also applying all that has been made possible in video games since the original game’s release, and the result is an enthralling, addictive, open world masterpiece that has set a new standard of quality for both the Zelda series and for many modern video games in general.

6. Kingdom Hearts II - The Final Mix edition to be precise, although in this day and age that’s basically the only edition people are playing anyway. This game is the apotheosis of Kingdom Hearts as both a video game series and as a concept; filled to the brim with Disney magic and Square Enix RPG expertise and paired with some of the most refined action-based gameplay there is. And when it comes to bringing the original Kingdom Hearts trilogy’s story to a close, does this game ever stick the landing. The series could have ended right here and I would have been completely satisfied (and its reputation would be a lot better off, too!)

5. Pokemon Yellow - While I maintain that this game, the definitive edition of the original first generation Pokemon games, still holds up as fun to play even now, I’ll admit that it’s pure bias that it ranks so high. It was the first proper video game I ever played, there was no way I was leaving it off the top 5! Its blissful nostalgic atmosphere is always such a delight to return to.

4. Banjo-Tooie - Remember when I said Banjo-Kazooie was “quite possibly the greatest 3D platformer ever made”? The “quite possibly” is because its in stiff competition with its own sequel! And personally, I’m in Banjo-Tooie’s corner; something about how inter-connected its worlds are and the addition of so many things to do all while maintaining your full moveset from the original game is just beautiful to me. Both it and its predecessor are like obstacle courses that I never tire of running through, which is the hallmark of brilliant game design.

3. Kingdom Hearts - Another case where the sequel may be the superior game, but my own personal preference leans toward the original. And in this case, it’s a highly personal preference: this game and my memories of playing it for the first time are so very dear to me. The characters and worlds of Disney put into an epic crossover RPG was like a dream come true for me and no matter how far the series it spawned has deteriorated, nothing can detract from the magic of this game. It’s got a certain, indescribable feel and atmosphere that’s never truly been replicated, and that feel and atmosphere still holds up whenever I revisit it. The gameplay may not be the best, particularly when compared to Kingdom Hearts II’s, but the charm of the story and the characters and the world and the very concept more than makes up for that. As far as I’m concerned, it’s one of Disney and Square’s greatest masterpieces.

2. Final Fantasy VII - I was aware of the hype this game got and was totally ready to call it overrated, but damn it, it got me! I don’t know what it is about this game with its blocky early 3D graphics, poor sound quality to its excellent soundtrack, and frequently mistranslated script that proved to be so gripping and enjoyable to play through, but man did it ever Limit Break its way into my heart. This is considered a JRPG classic for a damn good reason.

1. The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time - Do I really need to explain this one? It’s famous for being frequently cited as one of the greatest video games ever made, and like Final Fantasy VII, its hype is well-deserved and totally justified. Whether you’re playing it on the Nintendo 64, the Gamecube, the Wii, the 3DS, and hopefully the Nintendo Switch in the future, there is a magic quality to this game that permeates through every step you take in its fully 3D world. It’s a triumph that has stood the test of time, cementing the Zelda series as truly legendary.

#Video Games #Opinion #Analysis

[bird-in-a-cage]

Cocktober Prompt #3 - Freaky Friday

The plaid walls were a dead giveaway something was wrong. The soft sheets and too many pillows were another. Billy blinked at the ceiling a few times, tried to place where he’d woken up this time. It wasn’t anywhere he recognised. And he hadn’t had more than a beer the night before so couldn’t blame alcohol.

Things just felt, weird. 

Usually when he woke the first thing he craved was a cigarette, to get out of the house as fast as possible, hopefully before Neil was up so he couldn’t be dragged into another one sided lecture about being a model citizen. But this morning he didn’t. His mouth tasted different too. Both toothpaste and mouthwash still lingering around. Not a trace of nicotine.

It was only when he looked at his hands getting out of this strange new bed did the panic set in.

They weren’t his hands. Not by a long shot. Far too slender and femanine almost. No rings. No bruised knuckles. Skin smooth and pale. He tripped over his feet finding a mirror in the closet and just stared wide eyed at what was in front of him. Moved arms and jumped and blinked to check the releflection was real.

The person staring back was Harrington. Every inch of him. Billy pinched this body he was in and it hurt, kicked his shin against the edge of the door hard enough to leave a bright red mark and that hurt too. So this was definitely real. Billy was frozen, looking at himself trapped in another form. Internally he was panicking. Of course he was, he’d just woken up in, presumably, Harrington’s house in his damn body like it was a Halloween costume. Logical thoughts weren’t exactly easy to make happen.

He was 100% certain he wasn’t going to work today though.

Billy ran his hands over his new body, walking his fingers over moles that dotted the skin, across his new stomach and over his hips and chest. Stretched his arms out in front of his new self. Nothing felt as thick as before, but there wasn’t a lot of weight difference. It wasn’t as if Billy felt he’d now be able to jump higher or dance or whatever. He feathered his fingers through his new hair and okay, it was soft. So so soft. Like touching through a cloud even first thing in the morning. No wonder Harrington always looked like he took so much time on it.

There was one other thing he needed to check. Just out of curiosity. Hidden under the boxers on his hips. Billy had seen it before in the showers but this was the literal sense of up close and personal. And if this was all the weirdest fever dream then it wouldn’t matter anyway, he’d wake up at some point and be back to his regular old self. And really, what else do you do when you wake up in someone else’s body? It's practically a step in the body swap handbook.

With a new grin Billy kicked the shorts off and stood naked before the mirror, turning slowly from side to side on the balls of his feet. He knew Harrington was hung but having it attached was something else. For a laugh he spread his feet a little in the shag carpeting and worked his hips, his new cock swinging back and forth like a damn bell. It wasn’t that Steve was bigger, Billy definitely had the girth, Harrington was just longer. And liked to keep his bush trimmed from the looks of it. Least that part made sense. The boy was so meticulous with his look everywhere else. The panic that had been bubbling up inside melted away as Billy moved back to the bed, licked over the new teeth in his mouth, and settled up amongst the pillows.

Let’s see what makes Stevie boy tick…

Billy spat on his palm before taking a hold of his new dick, slowly spreading the slickness up and down. It felt nice to hold, not as good as his own but still, nice. It responded in kind, quickly getting hard with the attention and every drag of foreskin down over the blush pink head and back. Billy hoped this wasn’t a dream anymore, he couldn’t go back to now knowing this was how Harrington felt when he jacked off in bed, how he looked. How he somehow still had space to grow until it was downright not fair. How his thigh muscles got tight when Billy stopped stroking long enough to give the balls some attention. He couldn’t help but grin around a moan that sounded so forgien but Billy would be lying to himself if he didn’t admit he sometimes thought about hearing it. Of course Harrington liked his balls being played with. How very middle class. Every tug and squeeze sent pleasure rocketing through his spine and down to his feet. It quickly became a two handed operation, slipping down the bed until Billy was flat on his back, pumping his fist in earnest over his cock.

Steve was fucking sensative that was for sure. It felt like barely any time at all before Billy was right on the edge, that feeling never changing in theory but Harrington’s felt different. Starting down in his toes and creeping up inch by inch, making Billy’s brain foggy and his mouth slack as the room became engulfed in the sounds of heavy breathing and slickness from both spit and precome that was beading at the slit. Billy only really paused to look down, to watch Harrington’s cock weep and twitch and push out another wet pearl, practically begging for release. To be swallowed. Shit, oh he’d have to convince Harrington to do this again. If he ever got back into his own body. He needed to know what it was like to do this to Steve, now he knew some of his soft points. Places to give the most attention too. Bet the guy would fucking scream getting his balls sucked on.

Three more pumps and Billy came. Hard. it crashed through him like a tidal wave, taking over every inch, rendering everything else in that moment utterly pointless and unimportant. Yeah, he would definitely need to find a way to make Harrington feel that under his regular body. Somehow. Billy panted in the bed, his chest splattered with cum. He licked at a drop that landed near his lips. Steve didn’t taste too different, maybe a little sweeter from all that ice cream.

He had done Harrington a favour and cleaned himself up in the bathroom, which was about the size of Billy’s living room, put pants on, and was busy just looking at Steve’s face staring back in a mirror. Poking and prodding at cheeks, thumbing around the shells of new ears, tonguing over his gums, when the door suddenly popped open. Buckley was stood there, that girl Steve worked with in the mall, looking beyond stressed out and panting, holding onto the doorframe like she’d sprinted all the way across town to get here. It also appeared she’d gotten dressed in the dark. Mismatched shoes, almost comically high waisted jeans and a bright neon sweater that was definitely too big.

“Are you Billy?!” She demanded, cheeks red but eyes on fire. 

Okay well this day just, somehow, got even weirder. 

Billy just blinked at her reflection. Apparently that was enough of a confirmation for her to disappear down the hall and come back not even moments later and toss a shirt at Billy’s head.

“Put that on! We’ve gotta go!”

“Go where?” Billy asked, putting the shirt on as he was dragged out of Harrington’s mansion of a house he didn’t even have time to properly explore yet. There were so many cabinets and cupboards unrifled. He didn’t even have time to think about searching through Mrs Harrington’s jewelry box... 

Parked out haphazardly on the driveway was Billy’s camaro. He froze seeing himself sat in the front seat, hands gripping the wheel so tight they were white. Buckley tugged at Harrington’s arm to get Billy to move but he stayed stock still.

“What the fuck is happening?” Billy demanded. “Talk Buckley or I’m not leaving. How am I in my car?”

Buckley’s eyes darted around. She started biting at her thumb. Even though Billy had only been to Scoops when she was there a couple of times, neither of those things seemed like anything she would do. Billy took a moment to really look at her. Past the weird fashion choices and bird’s nest of hair. Past the no makeup and desperation plastered all over her face.

“Look, I… I kinda fucked up. I can explain everything just, can we do it in the car please?” She spoke in more hushed tones, still tugging at Billy’s arm to get him to move even another step. It wasn’t going to work like that though. Billy needed to know exactly what the hell was happening before he was about to be kidnapped by himself. He glared down at Buckley, or whatever his glare looked like now. Apparently it didn’t do the trick.

“God I look dumb doing that…” she muttered under her breath.

That’s when it all clicked. The penny dropped and shattered through the glass ceiling.

“Holy shit… Harrington?” 

Buckley blushed. It was clear even through the redness already on her face. Steve was stuck as Buckley. Billy was stuck as Harrington. Then by the process of elimination…

Oh shit, this would be fun.

Billy smirked and walked calmly over to his baby, engine still purring, leant down to look at himself sat behind the wheel. Fury was clear over his features, just staring straight ahead at the end of the culdesac and the turning spot to get out of Harrington’s fancy neighbourhood.

“Well, well, well...” Billy started. “The chick has a dick.”

“Get in this fucking car before I kill us all. Dingus is already hanging on by a thread, don’t think I won’t do it,” she spat out through gritted teeth. Apparently she didn’t know how to dress either, clearly just grabbing what had been on Billy’s bedroom floor before probably racing out of that house.

Billy couldn’t exactly blame her on that one.

With a shrug he climbed into the back over the passenger seat, Buckley got in the front, knees pulled tight together, hands not knowing what to do with themselves. The car had barely set off again before Billy couldn’t hold it back any longer.

“Either of you two wanna tell me what the fuck is happening?”

Buckley went to open her mouth, his mouth?, but it was Hargrove that spoke. Practically roared over the sound of the engine working overtime because it was in the wrong gear. It was painful to Billy’s ears.

“This asshole found one of my mom’s spell books and thought oh wouldn’t it be such a fucking great idea to go saying incantations without knowing what the fuck he was doing?! So now I’m stuck as you, Steve is stuck as me and you’re stuck as him until we can get to my aunt’s place in Indy to fix all of this! And once she does I never want to see either of you ever again!”

Billy blinked a few times just trying to process all that information. It sounded weird being said in his voice for a start but, spell books and incantations? God the midwest was full of weird bitches.

“I didn’t mean to. I didn’t think this would happen, did I?” Buckley spat back, peeling away from being pressed up against the door in shame for the first time.

“You didn’t think at all Steven! You never do love spells on a full moon without knowing what you’re doing. God if you weren’t me I’d punch you!”

The grin that grew on Billy’s face was palpable. A love spell huh. Maybe when they were all back in the right bodies that could be something to be worked on. For now they were pulling onto the highway towards Indianapolis, finally in the right gear. Billy just sat back and listened to them bicker like an old married couple. He’d enjoyed being Harrington for a few hours. And if it was true he was stuck like this because maybe Harrington had feelings well, Billy maybe wouldn’t say no to giving that a try too. After this, anything was possible.

#cocktober #harringrove #billy x steve #my writings #im not gonna do all of these but this one was a total must #enjoy penny!