#I'LL BE RIGHT BACK BECAUSE I HAVE MUCH MORE TO SAY HANG TIGHT FOLKS

[forestofsprites]

Orpheus and Eurydice

There are some very Orpheus and Eurydice themes in the narrative of Ed and Stede that do indeed make me feel many things. For the record, I'm using one specific take on the myth here (specifically not the one in Symposium), but as is standard for myths, there are many different opinions on the nuances- this is merely one of them.

First and foremost, we need death. Stede endures this in a more literal sense- legally, he is now dead. An act of devotion, perhaps, as he seeks to cultivate a fresh start with his love. Equally, however, Ed himself undergoes a death. Not only does he gift Stede a disordered burial at sea, but he invokes one for himself, too. In episode ten, he lets the red silk representing his heart sail steadfast across the ocean. Anyone who's familiar with the ending of Orpheus' life will know that upon his death, his head and dutiful lyre were sent floating down the Hebrus River, straight out to sea. While Ed is alive both literally and legally, he sacrificed his heart- washed to the ocean much like Orpheus himself.

Next up, we travel to the crux of the myth. The quintessential theme of mournful love. The deep and burning sort, the kind that drives you to the underworld in an attempt to rectify what was so tragically lost. In OFMD we need to backtrack to episode nine, to Edward and his act of grace declaration; a show of all he'd lose, all he would risk, to keep his love safe. He accepts the journey, perils and all! Stede mirrors this in episode ten by not simply closing the door on his past, but by going so far as killing himself off, playing with death, in order to truly live life alongside his love. Much like Orpheus, this poignantly speaks to the boundaries that need to be crossed- both that metaphorical death and journey, but also the literal treck he'll be undertaking as he pursues his lost love.

Orpheus finds himself underground because of this simple, grief-driven hope that death cannot be final- it must be negotiable. He brings his lyre, performing a most dismal tune, and the gods presiding over the Underworld are so utterly moved by his performance that a glimmer of hope is provided. Go on then, find Eurydice, but here is your caveat: have trust, have faith, know that she is there and do not allow your eyes to wander. It's the backbone of all relationships epitomized to the highest stakes. You need to trust in yourself that your partner will be there, to have that faith that when you make it to the Overworld, they'll be right behind you.

For Ed and Stede, this is episode nine. Edward returns from the Underworld, preparing for a new life- for them to enter the Overworld together- but his love is not there. This doesn't follow the myth's narrative to a T- but it does bring us back to the idea of trust and faith- both in your partner and moreso, in yourself. It's the nagging fear that this is too good to be true- that the excitement can snap back to grave reality in a heartbeat. Both Edward and Orpheus turn around with buoyant hope, and in doing so, they are instead faced with their worst fear.

(One possible reading of the myth could be that in season two, Stede will be making his journey to the Underworld, seeking out his lost love. All the while, Ed has already made his trip downstairs, lost his love, and had his heart utterly grief-stricken in the process. There are so many ways to slice up this myth, but the themes are wonderfully applicable!)

#check the tags for more rambling about this myth #OKAY THIS IS A LOT #AND WE CAN MAKE ARGUMENTS FOR BOTH ED AND STEDE BEING BOTH ORPHEUS AND EURYDICE #BUT THAT'S THE WHOLE POINT!! I'M GOING FOR THEMES AND NARRATIVE HERE- NOT KIN-ASSIGNING CHARACTERS TO GREEK MYTH #I'LL BE RIGHT BACK BECAUSE I HAVE MUCH MORE TO SAY HANG TIGHT FOLKS #our flag means death #ofmd meta #orpheus and eurydice #ofmd #rambling #our flag means death meta #I mentioned this in paragraph one but I'll say it again: there is no such thing as a right myth #myths are wonderful because they change with time and society- one original myth can offshoot into 500 variations and none is less or more #valid than the other. One may be more original- might date earlier- but at the end of the day they are myths and they are unique to #their time period and culture! I go with perhaps the classic telling of Orpheus and Eurydice- but Plato's edition spins it in another light #and so on and so forth! #You can very basically break it into two camps: Orpheus did it out of love versus Orpheus did all this and it proved he didn't truly #love her. The gods were playing a trick and we all laughed except Eurydice who was very dead. Their #argument there is a very classical Greek perspective of: if you loved them and they died- the solution is to kill yourself to join them #by trying to bring them back to life you are making a mockery of both death and the gods. etc etc etc #and that theme could be applied to Ed and Stede too!!

[less-than-three-3]

Lies of P might be the best souls game I've played

this is only half a joke tbh

There's so much talk about how yeah it might be one of the best soulslikes out there but it still can't reach the quality of the Fromsoft games and I'm just like... no, Neowiz has really got the baton and delivered a really great evolution of the linear Souls "genre".

There are definitely some rough spots (but so do the Souls games) but what they've presented and improved on is truly magnificent. It's not Bloodborne x Sekiro (PLEASE STOP SAYING THIS OML), but it is very much its own thing and does what it sets out to do very well, in a lot of aspects. Full ramblings below, some spoilers likely.

I want to preface everything I am going to say by reiterating that, though this delivers a lot of Souls elements excellently (and some not), this is very much its own game, and not only stands on its own two feet but runs a mile with them. I feel like a lot of folks play Soulslike games (even by Fromsoft themselves lol) and expect all their skills and knowledge to transfer over, or expect mechanics to work and present themselves just like in Souls games, and it's because those are the golden standard for many people. I get it, but it's still kind of meaningless - not because "the games can't compete/compare with them" but because they do different things and excel at providing different experiences; they may be "souls-like" in nature but there are so many different directions one could take with the genre.

And so I was elated to really get to know the mechanics of Lies of P (I'll refer to it as LoP). I won't lie, when I played the demo, I didn't really get it yet, so I definitely felt a little frustrated, but once you get the hang of it, the controls are so satisfying the whole way through (like the Souls games! wow!). I think maybe a lot of people forget that this learning curve is a huge part of what makes the Souls games tick, because they've put in so many hours into "getting good", and so when they have to go back up the curve, they feel frustrated again.

The main thing is, obviously, the parry system, which is pretty much the mechanic LoP really uses to separate itself from the From catalogue. Is it like Sekiro? Yeah sure yes both games use perfect parries to build stagger, but I contend that it is even still very distinct from Sekiro's parry system. In Sekiro, the game is the parry system, it's more or less how you actually kill most bosses, with Vitality only acting as a way to make progress to help you build up stagger.

In LoP, there's two big things that make it very different. The first is obvious as soon as you fight that first big dude with the parry tooltip - attack patterns are not nearly as rhythmic and fast paced as in Sekiro, mostly. Long windups and big tells make some aspects of getting used to parrying easy, but at the same time the timings can be very tricky and can demand a lot of attention. This alone really contributes to a very different game feel, even though they are both, nominally "perfect parry" systems.

Another thing is that the parry timing window is quite tight. Some would say it's too tight, but I honestly think a lot would be lost if the parrying were too easy. In Sekiro, the parry window is actually quite wide, but locks you out and heavily punishes you for fishing for parries, forcing you to be methodical and patient even if fights get hectic. In LoP, it's quite the opposite - there's a lot of time between attacks often, and it forces decision making and risk/reward between attempting to parry, blocking (and taking the rally-able damage), dodging, or hitting them (and maybe having time to parry or dodge still).

The delicate balance between these options is very important; if parrying were always the right option, then yeah it would just be Sekiro - that's not interesting. But perfect parrying is not the only way to build stagger which makes all options at least somewhat useful, and you can even build your p-organ (lol) and whetstone to help you build stagger with just attacks, more like Elden Ring's charged R2 stagger fishing. Sometimes if you aren't comfortable with a parry timing, then the right play is to dodge or block. Insisting there is only one right answer for approaching any given boss is inherently antithetical to this game's design - and I'd argue to Souls games in general.

And this brings me to another common complaint - the dodge isn't that good, and upgrade should not have been locked behind p-organ. I also really disagree with this, in part because I didn't actually really think the p-organ upgrades were that game changing. But it is also in part that if the dodge is too strong, like a DS3 roll, then again that balance is thrown out of wack and dodging becomes the right answer too often. This is still a "parry game", and if dodge becomes preferable to parrying, that's an issue. Parrying shouldn't be the only answer, but it also shouldn't be much weaker than other options. Additionally, having an especially weaker dodge at the beginning forces those stubborn Souls players to stop mashing the dodge button and force them to actually learn and engage with the parry mechanics - nudging you to learn without blatantly telling you to.

I did really enjoy the p-organ as a way to express and expand a player's build choices, though I felt like some nodes and slots were just completely useless, and the choice for which 2 nodes to go for was too obvious. If it were, for example, +1 heal, improved dodge, increased stagger damage, and damage mitigation, or something, that's a very compelling choice to do. But I don't use the cube and I don't think the stagger window is too short, etc., so I felt like some slots were just not that interesting. Phase 4 is a great example of a very compelling node choice, and I wished all of them were like that.

Though speaking of build choices, holy fucking shit this game's build options are SO COOL! I absolutely loved the modular weapon system, and I respecced a good few times to play with various different weapon combinations. The boss weapons were a little disappointing to me but that's ok because goddamn the weapon customization system carried the hell out of the game. I do wish the slash vs. stab proficiency wasn't as prominent but even with that, I was able to make so many silly weapons. Big sawblade baton/cleaver (which carried a lot of my playthrough), rocket wrench, crit dagger spear, etc.

Being able to use a blade I liked, keeping its upgrades, with a new handle that has a new moveset is just such an incredible idea that I can't believe From never thought of something like it. Each part also has their own weapon arts, and while they were a little homogenous at times, this kind of system has huge potential, especially if you can make it Ash of War-like and become a third layer of modularity. For a build diversity fanatic this was a goldmine, and I can see myself replaying it to get the other endings with a bunch of other weapon combinations and builds. For me, this was easily the best part of the game.

Something else I really liked that I think maybe would go under the wayside in discussions is how they present the story and quests. Souls fans might not like it if it feels too "handholdy" but I really appreciated the game telling me "yeah this NPC has shit to say to you right now". And the story itself was honestly pretty impressive, with some Souls-like "world discovery" moments but also mainly straightforwardly presenting moments and arcs, however intertwined. I did not expect what outwardly just looks like an edgy Pinocchio adaptation to have so much interesting lore, history, and plot moments. Probably one of the biggest surprise hits of the game for me.

But for as much as they really took the Souls formula and ran with it and elevated it, there are definitely some things I wished were improved on. The map design, both visually and in layout, was pretty disappointing. It's aesthetically good for sure, but nowhere near what From delivers. And in terms of layout, the maps are really quite linear, sure with twists and turns but hardly any exploration or branches to check out - map design elements I have come to know and love from playing the Soulsborne games.

Boss design I also felt was just a bit too inspired from Souls. Don't get me wrong, I think the boss quality is actually quite high and fits very well generally with the game's mechanics. But there are some bosses where I'm just like, ok I get why you wanted to include this because Souls has a habit of doing these, but you really didn't have to. There are a couple of bosses with extra appendages that swing after attacks (one especially takes after Gael, which I know people love, but..), and that's just really annoying to try to parry and I feel like I either end up bsing the parry, or I just eat the block chip damage. There are couple gank bosses... woo... I guess... But I did really enjoy most of the bosses (though nothing is breaking my top 10, probably). Just, I could really tell that this sure is a love letter to the Souls games from the boss design lol.

The music is actually quite good - boss themes and especially the records you collect are beautiful. But I am once again pretty disappointed by most of the game just being silent, which is a carry over from the Souls trilogy that I really wish did not carry over. Especially because there are segments that do have music that I really loved - notably the final area and the church with the organ music playing that fades out as you get further away from the main chapel. I dunno, it's not really worse than in the Souls games, but it just stings that much more that there is some really great music that they kind of just confine to the record player, which shows to me that they can make great ambient music but just didn't want to make any for the actual areas.

But despite that, overall, I truly loved playing this game. I think I honestly enjoyed it more than the Souls trilogy for sure, and maybe even more than Bloodborne (Sekiro and Elden Ring are still solidly near-perfect experiences and hard to beat). It plays nothing like Bloodborne, and is very distinct from Sekiro and the Souls games; it very boldly and excellently carves its own space within the genre. And with that post-credits scene (for which the big reveal was fucking hilarious), I surely cannot wait for what they make next, either a sequel or DLC, and the improvements they'll bring, as they expand this fairy-tale-verse (lol).

#lies of p

[listieshadows]

Listie babbles about her CD haul (2024/01/14)

Yesterday I walked into my local Sunrise Records with the intention of purchasing The Beatles' Yellow Submarine Songtrack to complete my collection of Beatles albums featured on a picture I've had of their discography that's been hanging on my wall for years. However, unfortunately, it wasn't there, and in a fit of "Well, since I'm here," I impulse purchased a bunch of other albums. And since I wanna talk about music more, hey, I'm gonna take a sec to talk about them! I hope nobody who sees this on their timeline minds the self-indulgence.

Green Day – Warning (2000)

One of my top five favorite Green Day albums. Probably even top three. I really liked this brief folk punk turn for the band, and tunes like "Misery", "Macy's Day Parade", "Waiting", "Church On Sunday", "Minority"... Aw, it's just great stuff.

I've been meaning to get more Green Day stuff, anyway. For years the only albums of theirs I've had are American Idiot and Revolution Radio, and I'd like to have an unbroken line of their discography from Kerplunk to 21st Century Breakdown. After that, with stuff like the "Trilogy" and Father Of All... Eh, I'll pass. And we'll see about their new album when that comes out. For now, I'll say that I did also consider picking up Dookie while I was there, but all they had was the anniversary box, and I didn't wanna add an additional $92 onto my purchase. But speaking of anniversary editions being my only option...

Elton John – Honky Châtaeu (50th Anniversary Edition) (2023)

This is currently my second favorite Elton John album, behind Goodbye Yellow Brick Road. I mean, come on, side one is a killer. Aside from having "Honky Cat" and "Rocket Man", it's got "Mellow" and "Susie (Dramas)"... Come on! Of course side two is great as well—"Amy", "Hercules", all that—but "Mona Lisas And Mad Hatters" has just never done it for me, honestly? Plus, sometimes I forget what "Slave" sounds like, so there's that, too.

Now, if I could've avoided it, I wouldn't have paid $32 to own the two disc anniversary edition. But that was the only version they had there, an', y'know, that just sucks a little sometimes, right? Like, you just want the darn album and not all of the extra demos and live recordings they're charging you more for, but that's your only option unless you wanna go trawling around Discogs or eBay for a more standard edition. And if I didn't love physically browsing so much...! Although that's probably what I'm gonna hafta put up with anyway if I wanna get Yellow Submarine Songtrack, so...

Iron Maiden – Powerslave (1984) and No Prayer For The Dying (1990)

I'm pairing these two together for a specific reason, and I'll get to that in a second, but first lemme get my opinions out of the way. Powerslave might be my favorite Iron Maiden album—at the very least it's in solid competition with The Number Of The Beast. I find there's hardly a moment wasted on it, and of course the big hits are all fantastic: "Aces High", "2 Minutes To Midnight", "Powerslave" and the incredible "Rime Of The Ancient Mariner". In terms of Maiden's "epic songs," I like "Empire Of The Clouds" better, but "Rime Of The Ancient Mariner" still holds a very high second place.

No Prayer, meanwhile, is an album I only first heard last year, and I can sort of tell why people don't like it so much. After the innovations of Somewhere In Time and Seventh Son, it's a big step back; and even for fans who preferred the earlier sound to the synths, the songs just aren't as tight as Killers or Number or any of them. Fear Of The Dark later on was an improvement, but only so much because of its bloated track list. Still, I've listened to the From Fear To Eternity compilation enough times that I have a spot for "Tailgunner" and "Holy Smoke", plus I think "Mother Russia" is kind of neat as well.

But why did I get both of them? You might not be wondering that up until I tell you that I've already owned a copy of Powerslave for years. In fact, it was the second or third Iron Maiden album I'd ever bought. So what's, uh, the deal, then? To put it in short, there was a box set released in 1998 called Eddie's Head which had their first twelve live and studio albums, from their eponymous debut all the way up to Live At Donington. At some point they were all released individually, and those were the copies I was collecting. After all, their spines formed a picture of Eddie. I had to have a full collection!

But I had one stipulation in mind: I knew that No Prayer was considered the worst Dickinson album, so I wanted to get that one last. That meant if I wanted to finish my collection, I had to find a copy of Live At Donington. Though no matter how many times I looked at HMV or Sunrise, I could never find it. It was only years later when I finally checked Discogs and saw how much a copy was going for these days that I realized, "Oh, they're not selling this at chain stores anymore." And in fact, they're not selling any album from this release anymore. They've all been replaced by the 2015 remaster, so I couldn't even get an Eddie's Head version of No Prayer even if I wanted to.

So I just gave up! I picked up the 2015 remaster of No Prayer so I could finally have an unbroken studio run from their debut to The X Factor, and I got Powerslave alongside so it wouldn't look stupid sitting all by itself. Will I ever get the rest of them? I mean, if that's the only option for the Iron Maiden albums I'm still missing, sure, I guess. I like their spines, too, so I'm getting that out of this whole ordeal at least.

(And in looking up a picture of the Eddie's Head spines to link to, it seems like I was also missing A Real Live Dead One as well? So... Oops! Guess that's two albums I would've had to get!)

Prince – Come (1994)

The first time I heard this album, it was because of a podcast I'm making my way through: Jukebox Zeroes. The whole concept of the podcast is that it sees the two hosts plus guests reacting to and reviewing what's considered the worst albums from famous artists, like Metallica's St. Anger or Madonna's American Life, for example. Come was the album they'd selected to cover Prince, though by the end of the episode they admitted that they should've picked, like, Rave Un2 The Year 2000, 'cuz Come really isn't Prince's worst, or even a bad album. Frankly, it's rather something that Prince considered this "lesser material" that he threw at Warner Bros. just to get out of his contract with them.

I think they largely singled "Dark" as their favorite song on the album, but for me, it's "Letitgo". I absolutely love that synth melody that Prince sings along to for the chorus. The pre-chorus is really fun, too, I think. For, like, a month or two afterwards it was in my frequent rotation, usually played alongside Angela Aki's cover of "Still Fighting It" for some reason.

Ultimately, I prefer the album he put more attention into and wanted to have released at the same time, The Gold Experience (which I've had for months longer), but I don't think Come should be skipped. I mean, at the end of the day, it's still a Prince album. It's rare he makes bad music, and Come doesn't fall into that. Well, maybe "Solo", but your mileage will vary, of course.

And as a little divergence, can I just say that, before I got Come, it was really funny that I had the Love Symbol album and The Gold Experience sitting right next to each other on my shelf? Jus', one where Prince used the symbol as an album title, and then one where he used it as his name. It's great.

#text #long post #rambling #music #album haul #cd haul #green day #green day warning #elton john #honky château #iron maiden #powerslave #no prayer for the dying #prince #prince come

[kiridarling]

𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐘 𝐈𝐍 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐒

izuku midoriya | ft. ceo!au + praise + exhibitionism + breaking and entering + body worship + f!reader + more! minors dni.

— 3.8k words

“When I saw you this evening, in that ballgown, I knew I just had to have you. But I can't be a gentleman for much longer, as much as I'd like to."

You’ve always hated Chopin.

“L’œuf mimosa, Madame?”

After turning down the poor waiter whose arms quiver under the weight of the plates, you turn back to your red wine and people-watching. The ballroom is full of golds and reds, the amber lighting illuminating the intricately decorated walls. And you sit in the middle of it all—you and your 147 billion net-worth, with a ball gown that’s caught at least half the aristocratic asshole’s attention, not that they were very loyal to their wives in the first place.

You're not here for their attention, though. You’re strictly here for business—and frankly, you want to do nothing more than sock these fat business moguls in their chubby faces until their teeth fall out and demand they pay their taxes. But, seeing as you’re the only woman here who isn’t a gold-digging wife, you bite your tongue.

You’ve always dreaded black tie events, but as you’ve said, duty calls.

A whine filters through the speakers, followed by two amplified taps and a clear of a throat. The murmur down as the auction's owner takes the center of the stage, stilling in front of the next piece of art—hidden behind a black veil—before adjusting the tie to his business suit.

“I’m glad that you all could be with us tonight. I have both a great privilege and honor to host this event,” he announces, bulbous head already growing damp under the heat of the stage lights. “Now that we're almost at the end, I'm sure you won't be disappointed. Saving the best for last, as one does."

He includes a casual wave to his comment and the audience erupts in a flurry of chuckles, though not for long. As he walks over to the piece, hand raised and ready to reveal, silence seizes the room by the neck.

"Well. Shall we?”

The audience balances on the edges of their seats, with millions of wide eyes and thrumming chests in anticipation. A smooth flick of a hand and the black sheet is removed, and there sits the only piece you’ve had your eyes on all night. She’s even more beautiful up close.

“El Bacio, The Kiss. Francesco Hayez, 1859.”

The grip around your glass tightens. The brilliant blue from the woman’s dress in the oil painting may as well burn your eyes, and the surrounding murmurs peak with your interest. You know it's yours without question, though—you can outbid almost anyone in this room. Anyone that matters, anyway.

“This is the original version, originally commissioned by Count Alfonso Maria Visconti of Saliceto. It was donated to the Pinacoteca di Brera in 1886 and went missing in 1937. Starting at ten million.”

You try not to scowl. The fucker jacked up the price by two million.

“Twelve million,” the man says as he recognizes whoever lifted a hand. You sit tight, your hands throbbing in your lap for the right moment as you survey the room for anyone who could possibly pose a threat. You find none.

The bidding continues. The price elevates from twelve million to fifteen to thirty to fifty. You raise a hand, finally, fingers splayed wide and confident to signify a five.

“Fifty-five million.”

The room falls silent; you try not to smile. You know for a fact no one wants this painting more than you do, and you’re determined to have it.

“No one else?”

His eyes scan the room but no one makes a motion. It’s yours.

Until there’s movement from your peripheral.

“Sixty million!”

You eye whoever had the audacity to raise their hand, only to be met with a rather peculiar sight—a man, roughly your age, with slicked-back green hair and a hand twice the size of yours, lifted lazily in the air.

With a huff, you find yourself thrusting another five into the air.

“Sixty-five millio—Seventy million!”

You know that green-haired (probably) trust fund baby has got to be doing this for fun because the poorly hidden smirk hidden behind the hand he rests his chin on is more than obvious.

You dislike him already, immediately categorizing him with the rest—another sleazeball.

“Seventy-five million!”

“Eighty million!”

“One hundred million!”

In your defense, you were getting frustrated.

Either way, the green-haired stranger backs off with a nonchalant shrug, and it makes you burn this discontent. The business mogul-turned-auctioneer steps off the stage for another twenty-minute intermission and folks turn to one another for conversation. You sigh, simply satisfied that you’ve gotten what you came for.

You find yourself faintly puzzled by the boy with the green hair, and you're sure it's solely due to his age. Frankly, you've been the only one under thirty in the Top 100 Richest People since you achieved such a feat, and the fact that you haven't heard of him is...puzzling. But it doesn't matter. Clearly, he’s just another fellow looking to put another pretty thing in his foyer—you doubt he knows a thing about art, and definitely not an appreciation for it. You find solace in the fact that it's the new addition to your precious art collection instead, and will be owned and taken care of by someone who actually enjoys it.

“Good evening.”

You jump. Wrapped up in all of your inner turmoil (complemented by inner bragging, naturally) you fail to notice the greenette cross the expanse of the ballroom and make himself comfortable in the open seat next to you, despite your lack of approval.

“Hello,” you say, unsure of why he's here. He offers a hand to shake, Rolex glinting under the golden lighting.

“Izuku Midoriya,” he introduces, and you suppose shaking his hand won’t hurt.

“Your name?” He snorts, raising a cocky eyebrow. You scowl.

“Does it matter?”

“Not particularly.” Izuku rests his forearms on the table as his evergreen eyes rake your figure up and down. “But if you prefer to remain nameless, be my guest.”

“[Y/N].”

“Hmm?”

“My name,” you clarify. “It’s [Y/N].”

You’re not exactly sure what possessed you to tell him your name so easily. Maybe the fact that most already know who you are, and the fact that this man—this stranger—doesn’t know who you are, irks you a bit.

Okay. It irks you a lot.

“Well, Miss [Y/N],” Izuku tilts his head sideways. “I think that’s a very pretty name.”

Your body betrays you with a light gasp. Stupid thing.

“Well. I’m bored,” Izuku announces childishly, relaxing against the chair. “Lets go somewhere.”

You roll your eyes at his asserted dominance—in no way does he expect you to go with him, does he? You raise an eyebrow.

“No.”

Izuku clicks his tongue as if it were a buzzer, and more importantly, as if you were wrong. “Why?”

That has you scoffing. “I don’t know you.”

Izuku’s eyes flash with a challenge and it’s gone just as quickly. He leans forwards, crowding your personal space yet again.

“I told you my name, no?”

“You did,” you say, crossing your arms over your chest and straightening your back. You feel too small. “But I know nothing about you.“

“Well,” Izuku places an inquisitive finger on his lips, and it’s almost mocking, the way he takes a moment to think about it. “My name is Izuku Midoriya. I like...katsudon and hero movies. I’m here because I have too much time and money on my hands, and I’m, most importantly, bored.”

Your eyes narrow. “What do you do for a living?”

Izuku’s lip curls, and it’s downright sinister, “I'll tell you if you come with me."

You roll your eyes, and he takes both your hands in his. You don’t pull away, but you don’t reciprocate it either.

“Where?”

Izuku shrugs, “Wherever the wind takes us.”

Your stomach growls loudly, interrupting your fairly intimate conversation and dying your cheeks pink. Izuku raises an eyebrow.

“I heard they’re feeding us escargo for dinner.”

“Ugh,” you sigh, shoulder sagging. “Looks like I’m not eating, then.”

But there’s a glint in his eyes, and you’d be lying if you said there wasn’t one in your own. There's an ebb in the discourse, a beat, before Izuku's nodding towards the exit.

“Fast food?”

Wendy’s hits different during a Parisian midnight.

“—and so I had to be like: No Kacchan, you can’t hotwire his car to blow just because your food was, and I quote, lukewarm.”

You snicker behind a fist, digging your fancy heels into the grimy cement sidewalk, Wendy’s frostee in hand. Izuku hasn’t let go of your hand since you two left the fast-food joint, and for some reason, you haven’t pulled away.

"Violence seems to be a reoccurring theme with your friend," you say, laughing when Izuku nods in agreement, eyes stuck on the full moon hanging high in the air.

"You remind me of him, actually."

You raise an eyebrow, unable to see the correlation at all, "Because I'm a loud and angry and I like to blow things up."

"Or, because you're strong—independent. The type of woman to make men turn tail and run, you know?" Izuku turns to you with a lopsided grin.

You hum, averting your eyes to the moon. It's a stupid question, one that's all too loaded yet empty at the same time, and you hate that you hesitate to ask it.

"Why haven't you ran, then?"

"Easy." Izuku lets a smooth shrug roll off his shoulders, "I like strong women."

He continues to pull you to an undisclosed destination, the two of you stumbling through the heart of Paris with his suit jacket around your goosebump-ridden shoulders. People stare, but for the first time in forever, you find that you don't care much.

Finally, you two reach Izuku's "big reveal." You gaze at the magnificently lit french building in confusion, the golden under lights contrasting both of your beings against the navy blue sky.

"The Louvre?"

"Mhm," Izuku says, and he looks more than giddy. "Have you been?"

"Once," your voice is weary and you're sure he senses it, his grip tightening around your own. "For a fundraiser...but it's midnight Izuku, ho—"

But he's already tugging you to the right, dipping between columns and arches until you reach the back of the building. Izuku turns to you and whispers:

"Watch this."

It's hard to tell what he did exactly, especially with no light—it's just a bunch of jingles and ticks. Though, the moment you can't escape the sense that this is beyond sketchy, a lock clicks, and a door whines open.

"Hurry. And take your heels off," Izuku whispers, tilting his head towards the entrance. You hear the crunch of a leaf and see the beginning of a white flashlight curl around the building and fuck, this place has to be crawling with security guards, doesn't it?

"Don't tell me what to do," you grumble...as you take off your shoes. (Because you were going to do it anyway.) You enter and he closes the door behind the two of you, submerging you both in complete darkness.

"Security's only on the outside," Izuku grins. "They don't expect us to get inside, so as long as we're quiet, it should be fine."

"Until we have to get back out again," you say, huffing. Your heart pounds from the adrenaline because frankly, you've never been one for adventures, and breaking into a historical french museum is miles out of your comfort zone. "Seriously, did you think this through at all? What happens when we get caught?"

Izuku sighs, turning to you with a pout before grabbing your free hand again. "Women worry too much. C'mon—I wanna explore."

"You—let go, you misogynistic assho—"

You're cut off by a finger to your lips. Izuku bends down so he’s looking at you straight on, eyes dark as he sternly whispers, "Do you want us to get caught?"

It's not the prospect of getting caught that makes you falter, though—it's the way his stare pins you in place, voice swollen with that air of dominance you claim to hate. You have to tighten your grip on your heels to ensure they don't hit the ground.

"Now," Izuku‘s strangely childish manner returns, tugging your hand once your panicked whisper-yelling ceases, "Shall we?"

You roll your eyes, but your bare feet patter against the cold Louvre tile anyway. And you've got to say, the museum is much nicer when it isn't crawling with people.

"Mona Lisa's forehead is bigger than I thought," Izuku observes with a finger on his lip. He's on the wrong side of the railing, his nose close to kissing the glass protecting the piece. You snort, dropping your head to pinch the bridge. He turns to give you a weird look.

"What?"

"Nothing, just," you shake your head, the cool wood of the railing digging into your forearms. "Did you actually want that painting?"

Izuku frowns. "Which one?"

"El Bacio."

"Mm," the greenette hums as he thinks, blinking to the corner of the room."I suppose. You seemed like you wanted it more, though."

You roll your eyes, "So you cap at eighty million?"

Izuku shrugs, hopping the railing. Seems like he's finally done insulting poor Lisa, "I capped when you started to sweat."

You huff, but stomping instead of walking isn't so intimidating when you're barefoot. "I wasn't sweating."

You see a hidden smirk on Izuku's face once you catch up to him, and it's frustrating and insulting, to say the least. Both of you proceed down a hall of statues. "You're much easier to read than you think, Miss [Y/N]."

"And you're not as perceptive as you think, Mister Midoriya."

Izuku chuckles at that, shaking his head. "Well played, Miss [Y/N]. Well played."

You're not sure why your chest swells, but it does, and it takes both you and your limited lung capacity off guard. But you don't have much time to sort it out—Izuku's grabbing your hand again, and redirecting your attention to the last statue in the hall. You recognize it and frown.

“Cupid and Psyche?”

The silver moonlight pours in through the window, spilling down Cupid’s tipped wings and the softest points of the Psyche’s curves. Izuku hums in confirmation, hands sliding to encompass your hips as his chin hooks on your shoulder.

"Well done, Miss [Y/N]."

His voice deepens—it's coarse and heady, and gets your blood rushing in a way breaking and entering never could have.

"Amore e Psiche, Psyche Revived by Cupid's Kiss. Antonio Canova, 1793."

You fail to understand why this statue stood out to him compared to all the others, but the circles Izuku’s thumb presses into your hips signifies that you’ll find out soon.

"Cupid represents desire, and Psyche, the human soul," Izuku says, running his hands up your sides. "Together, they make the perfect union."

Dipping his nose into your neck, Izuku inhales, and the hands around your waist tighten, if the smallest bit. "Psyche was the prettiest woman in the world; so pretty she rivaled Venus' beauty with her own. It didn't matter if it broke rules—Cupid knew he had to have her."

The gentle nudge of a neck evolves into a set of butterfly kisses, tracing the column of your neck until his mouth reaches your ear. A hand slides to gently cup your breast, and the other to your thigh.

"Miss [Y/N], when I saw you this evening, in that ballgown, I knew I just had to have you. But I can't be a gentleman for much longer, as much as I'd like to." Izuku groans into your neck, hips gently grinding forwards. "So, it's up to you what we do next—I could drop you off at your home to probably never see you again, or...”

Izuku shifts, and you can feel his hardening cock against your back. “I can bend you over right here. Your choice.”

You hesitate, determined to think this through—but Izuku's wandering hands and rutting hips prove to be too much of a distraction.

"Fine," is all you say, before whirling around, grabbing the greenette by his dress shirt, and slamming your lips onto his.

Izuku kisses back with a grin—like he knew you were going to say yes—and places his hands around your waist yet again, backing you up against the marble statue.

"Sit on the platform," he breathes into your mouth. You frown.

"Like, the platform to the statue? Caus—"

"Yes on the statue, now sit," Izuku demands, but he doesn't give you much room to protest, forcing you onto the marble platform. Hiking your dress to your waist, Izuku's calloused palms slide up your inner thighs, spreading them apart to make room for himself in between. He pauses.

"No panties?"

You flush red—from the exposure or the comment, you aren't sure—but you huff in defiance nevertheless, determined to stand your ground and keep some of your dignity. (Though you're positive Izuku can feel you shaking already.)

"I'm wearing a dress," you defend weakly.

Izuku hums behind a bitten lip, lying a heavy thumb on your clit. It's enough pressure to make your thighs tense but not much else, until it flicks downwards.

"I wanna taste you," Izuku growls with dilated pupils once he finally tears his gaze from your exposed body. "Can I?"

Heat surges through your veins, and you let him pry your thighs apart as you respond with an unsteady, "Yeah—yeah, that's fine."

Izuku's chest rumbles with a growl as he closes in on your pussy, hands gripping underneath your thighs. You whimper when he trails butterfly kisses down your inner legs, the grip you have around the skirt of your dress tightening.

"So pretty," Izuku groans, chuckling when you shiver as he flattens his tongue against your slit, "My Goddess."

With that he dives in, almost sending you toppling with the force. The moonlight dyes his green locks a navy blue, and you can't resist seizing them into a fist when he pushes a finger in.

"Feel good, Gorgeous?" Izuku says with a knowing smirk on his sinfully glossed lips. Another digit enters and it has your toes curling as you nod. “Shit, you’re tight.”

Izuku spits on your pussy and it’s downright dirty, before looks at you under forest green eyelashes, the other hand finally letting go of your thigh in favor for pulling at the top of your dress.

“Izuku, wha—“

“I wanna see your tits,” he huffs. You’d laugh at his enthusiasm if you weren’t so aroused, and you find your hands joining in the flurry. The moment they’re free, Izuku’s mouth latches onto your breast in an instant.

“F-Fuck, ‘Zuku—“

“You sound so good when you moan my name, sweetheart,” Izuku groans, and you jolt as he tweaks a bud.

“Say it again.”

He pinches your nipple and clit at the same time, and it has your legs kicking as you squeal his name again.

The Izuku growls and it's nothing but feral, and another yelp of his name has him pulling you to your feet to the point where your noses almost touch. Aggravated from being so close before the greenette ripped his fingers away has you scowling.

"Wha—"

"Can I fuck you?" His breath ghosts your lips. You hide your shock by a roll of your eyes.

"Do you always ask stupid questions?"

Izuku hums in contemplation before grabbing you harshly by the jaw, to the point where your cheeks squish into your eyes and your lips pucker. "Say it, Bunny."

"I just sa—"

"Say 'I want you to fuck me, Izuku,'" he says with a cruel snarl. "’Hard.’"

Your eyes dart from his heavy gaze to the statue, and you can't help but feel more fragile than glass. "I litera—"

"Say it, brat."

"I—" you try but nothing comes out, and you blame that darkened stare of his, "I w-want you to fuck me. Izuku."

Izuku inhales sharply, the fingers cradling your face tightening before he speaks again.

"Good girl."

He spins you so your hands lay on the statue's base, yanking your hips back and flipping your dress so your bare ass is exposed to the cool air.

Izuku's palms caress your behind, kneading both globes before he pulls you against his bare cock. (When he took off his pants is beyond you.) He slaps his cock against your clit until you huff in frustration, turning around to shoot him an angry glare.

"Today, Izuku."

The greenette blinks out of his absorbed gaze on your behind in favor of glowering you down. You waver under his glare despite your best efforts.

His cock kisses your entrance and then all of it is in you at once, and his size is enough to make your inner thighs ache from the stretch. You bite your lip in an attempt to muffle a moan, but that crashes and burns fairly quickly.

"O-Oh shi—"

"You said today, didn't you?" Izuku rasps, before pulling out and stuffing you full at a quick and steady pace. Your hands scramble for proper purchase against the statue—without breaking it, for gods sake—but the harder he fucks you into it, the harder it is to stay upright. "Quiet, baby. We're not supposed to be here, remember?"

You nod frantically, teeth digging into your bottom lip. The thought of getting caught, you, of all people, while being railed against a marble statue—

Izuku moans in your ear, a hand moving between your thighs to rub at your clit. "Oh, you tightened when I said that—you like the idea of getting caught, Bunny?"

You respond with a choked moan, thighs quivering with an impending orgasm. Izuku groans as you tighten around him again, but they quickly turn into shushes.

"Bu—"

"I-I know," your voice cracks and it's absolutely pathetic. "But I can't—"

Izuku's hand wraps around your mouth to the point where his fingertips just barely brush your ears. You whine, eyes fluttering as the new grip adjusts the angle ever so slightly, and pushes him so much deeper.

"You're gonna kill me," Izuku says, wheezing out a laugh. "I—fuck Bunny, I'm close."

You whimper behind his hand and nod as if to say me too, and you're sure Izuku understands from the way he groans before he speeds up in all aspects. "Good. G-Good—cum for me baby, I know you can—"

Your toes curl into the marble floor as the coil in your gut snaps, knocking the wind out of you and sending you thrashing in Izuku's arms. You hear the greenette curse and shudder behind you, stuttering hips slowing to an eventual stop. Both of you stand there for a moment, comfortable interrupting the silence with nothing but your heaving breaths.

"You okay?"

You chuckle. It's dry and scratchy, and your lip throbs from biting it so hard, but it isn’t...aggravating, per-se. "You sound worse than me."

Izuku laughs at that, though it waters down as he pulls out with a hiss. "I don't think worse is the correct adjective here, Miss [Y/N].”

You snort. Back to “Miss [Y/N]” it is, then.

Your ears catch the distinct wail of ever-increasing sirens, but you don't think much of it until the side of Izuku's face starts flashing blue and red. Both you and the greenette falter, sharing a look.

"Police! Hands in the air!"

i wrote this while watching a hysterectomy in physio aah (also yes, the french police speak in english leave me alone skjdhfgk) — sun

#— 𝐈𝐙𝐔𝐊𝐔 #izuku midoriya #deku x reader #deku smut #izuku smut #midoriya smut #bnha smut #mha smut

[sweetpxxches]

To tame a beast.

MAG!Hank x AFAB Reader

Reader uses gender neutral pronouns

This fanfic contains the following:

Smut

Gore

You guys asked, and even held me at gunpoint, therefore HERE IT IS, FOLKS! I hope you guys enjoy this shot. Because honestly why wouldn’t you.

The sounds of steel being scratched by heavy claws was one of the first things you heard down the halls of the AAHW building, you were looking all over for Hank in hopes that he hasn’t went too far ahead of himself again. You paced down the hall as the sounds of screams and splattered blood grew louder, knowing that Hank would be the one responsible for it. As soon as you slid into a stop at the broken sliding door, you saw Hank in the corner, ripping an agent by his throat with his metal jaw and canine teeth. To most people, this would of been a horrific sight to see, but for you, this is nothing new. Instead of a shriek in fear, you only shouted out at Hank. “Dammit, Hank! This isn’t where we’re suppose to be right now!” You stomped your way at him, and as you approached he slowly held his head up, dropping the meat of the agent out of his maw. He snarled at you, speaking up to you. "Who gives a shit? I'll do what I want and right now I want to fuck shit up." You squinted, grabbing the scruff of his jacket. "No, we need to go and look for Sanford and Deimos!" Hank shoved you off, towering over you. "Fuck off, I want to do what I want to do, and it's not that! They're probably still alive for all I know." Hank stepped away from you, and you got yourself up, dusting yourself off. "Hank, you usually act like this when something is bothering you." You started.

Hank paused, his head turning to you. "What do you mean by that?"

You crossed your arms. "You want something out of me." Hank faced you completely, unsure of where you were going for. "Where are you going with this..."

You stood your ground, looking up at the monster before you. "Hank, be honest. Have you been rebellious with your attitude because you want my attention?" As you asked, you knew the awkward silence will fill in. Hank made a frustrated hum, and you only squinted further. "Hank..." You spoke up, and Hank grunted. "Fine, fine! Fuck! I just got frustrated because you've been ignoring me too much!" He barked back at you, and you raised a brow. "What in the world are you going on about? I'd never ignore you on purpose!" You walked up to him, tugging on his arm. "Come on, Hank. We don't have time for this-" You huffed, seeing his isn't budging. Sometimes you hate it when he's stubborn, because it wouldn't be easy to convince him to do what you want him to. The MAG side of his mind has turned him more demanding, somewhat selfish to himself since now he desires to 'work' more often, so you have to try and think ahead so you can figure what you can do to have him satisfied. You sighed, looking around the room to see what you could use to lire him out. But with not much you could offer, the last thing you had at the back of your mind was...

Ah, no. You'll regret it if you do it, just look at him. He's a ruthless brute who would destroy you in seconds. And yet... it's not like you wouldn't like that. Hank was already making his move down to the next room, but as soon as he stepped away, you grabbed his arm again. "Wait! I think I know what will convince you to listen to me."

He turned his head to you, staring. "And what do you think will make me take orders from you like some dog?" You blinked, and grew awkward, humming in place of thought as you gulped. "Do you want to just use me? For today? Maybe that will give you something good to feel?" That was an even more awkward approach. He didn't even know what to say at that request, other than a simple head tilt. But he seemed curious, and even faced you completely as he stepped up towards you, towering over you. "You're seriously asking that? Of all places?" He questioned, and you began to step back from the plan, embarrassed and thinking you made a mistake, but the moment you attempted to, Hank's large claws gripped onto your hips and held you into place. You held your breath, assuming Hank was getting annoyed with you, but you saw him lean close to level his face with yours, you can see the glint in his eye.

Yes, yes he does want to. And now you'll have to endure his strength. "You know, I'll make it worth while. Let's just hope your legs last." He teased, as he picked you up and placed you by the wall, bending you over which had your upper body against it as he gave you a lift up on your hips. It seems he didn't want to waste time, seeing how he practically ripped away what was on your pants and undergarments. You cursed under your breath knowing you'll have to walk around with your ass out now, if you'll even be able to walk after this, that is. Though, the feeling of being exposed like this hit a certain need within you, and his snarling only grew louder as he had a tight grip on your ass, spreading you open to have a taste of you. You tried to have a grip on the brick wall against you, but it wasn't as easy as it seems, especially with the fact that Hank was eating you out. Though, it wasn't a long session to your dismay, for all he was attempting was to lube you up for what's coming. You looked over from behind, puffing your cheeks at him. "Oh, come on, not even going to do it more on me?" With that statement, he curled his fingers around in your hair, and pushed you back against the wall, shutting you up. "This is my choice and I'll do whatever the fuck I want to do here, understand?" He snarled into your ear, and just with that alone made you drip with anticipation. Hank didn't want to keep wasting time, with how you are now, and his hard on only growing he needed you now. You bit your lip as you heard the pants zipping, and it wasn't long until you felt a familiar thing making it's way against your slit. Eyes widened however, as the moment he slid inside your cunt, it felt as though he was stretching you out. You made a moan that ended with a yell, realizing that his size was far more challenging than his original. Though you can tell this bastard was smirking from behind, knowing you were having a bit of a hassle trying to have it all fit inside you.

"Th-This isn't going to fit..." You shuttered, hands against the wall.

Hank could only chuckle, his hands sliding down back to your hips to hold you. "Then I'll make it fit." As Hank stated that, he slammed his whole length of his cock within you, reaching at your limits against you. At this point the Agents from the twelfth floor probably heard you, because as that moment his cock hit you against your cervix, you felt your mind break, almost as though Hank has turned something on within you. Your eyes lifted up, tongue hanging out as you felt Hank thrust into you, your walls already clenching at his efforts. But you knew he wasn't gonna stop until you get your fill. Hank could feel a bulge forming every time his shaft hit against your edge, knowing you're enjoying every single second of it. You couldn't help but move your hips with him, and he laughed lowly as he sees you helplessly ask for more. "Whatever happened to you being the one to order others around, huh? It didn't take long until I made you my bitch." He leaned over and bit your shoulder, making you smile through the pain and pleasure that waved through. "Remember your damn place next time, and maybe I won't break you." He lifted you up by under your thighs, you gasped as he had you in the air. He leaned against the wall, and continues to thrust inside you. Your cunt began to reach it's climax, coating his cock with your own cum. He growled at the feeling, your scent alluring him. "You couldn't even last long... pathetic." He huffed, though he didn't stop, and he wouldn't stop for something as minimal as that.

You felt his cock throbbing eventually from what felt like days, you noticed he was picking up the pace. His growls only to ene it with a roar, slamming you down on his cock balls deep inside you, filling you to the brim. His warm cum forming a bulge inside you, and as soon as he lifted you up off his cock, his seed poured out of you. You couldn't even mutter a word, you were dazed. He could tell that you had enough, as well. It was a moment of silence, and he placed you onto the floor, seeing that you were trying to keep up with your heart racing.

"Hah, maybe you'll need help out of here now, huh? Wait-" It clicked.

You just tricked him into being convinced to get you out of this place. And he squinted down at you seeing you had a smirk under that mess of hair covering your face. "You bitch. Fine! We'll leave! But only because you have to anyway." He muttered and cursed under his breath, lifting you over his shoulder as he stormed out the building.

In the distance however, two agents were standing there with plate sized eyes after witnessing whatever the hell happened there.

"... So how are we gonna explain this to the Boss without it sounding like a porno?"

#smut warning #hank x reader #hank x you #afab reader #mag!hank #hank wimbleton #gore mention #I FINALLY FINISHED THID #OFF I GO

[rickandmortygetschwifty]

So as a prompt if you’re up for it: Rick fucking Morty while Beth is on the phone to him after she called him. Or he accidentally calls her and she’s on the other end of the phone listening to them fuck. :) 😂

Ooooh thank you for the wonderful prompt, Ghosty!  I took a few liberties with it. I hope you don't mind the unusual format XD enjoy!

Rest of ficlet under the cut:

~~~~~~~~~~~~

You have one (1) new voicemail message. Press one to play.

-Beeeeeep-

Rick:  (whispering) ... so keep it quiet, Morty, o-o-or else you can bet your ass that there won't be a repeat of this tomorrow. I doOOUUn't  even know why Beth even wants me to talk— t-to call her.

Morty: (groaning)

Rick:  (whispering) Making calls. Psh. I-I-It's a relic of a bygone era, if you ask me. Why would anyone want to call when texting is so much easier? I-it eliminates all the need for excruciatingly dull social interactions, l-l-like, I don't know, calling? W-why would she even want to—

Morty: M-m-maybe she just wants to check that y-you're not exposing me to any bad influences? Y'know, like being a good mother for once?

[Sounds suspiciously like pillows being shoved over a teenager's face]

Rick: What did I just tell you? Quiet!

Morty: (unintelligible)

Rick: What?

Morty: (muffled voice) My phone. I-I-It's recording us. Say something.

[Rustling noises]

Rick: Wait. Recording—?

Morty: Y-you called mom right? It went straight to voicemail?

Rick: Oh, fuuuuck— uh... hi, sweetie! It's your dad. I'm just calling to tell you about tonight.

Morty: It's me a-and Rick! He— he wants to say we can't go to dinner. Yeah.

Rick: We can't make it.

Morty: Y-y-yep. We can't. Because of... uh...

Rick: ... reasons. Our adventure's gonna run a—UUUURP— a bit late, so we might not be back until after. Don't  worry, we'll be home before midnight.

Morty: A-and I've done all my homework!

Rick: Morty's finished with his homework. So just go ahead and... and have dinner without us. Don't worry, we, uh, Morty's got enough to eat over here.

Morty: (snickers)

Rick: Y-y-you and your preteen humor. Grow up, Morty.

Morty: Fuck off, Rick. Give me that.

[Rustling noises]

Rick: That's  enough, we can hang up—

Morty: Hey mom, everything's okay. Rick isn't  being a dick to me. Yet.

Rick: M-m-morty let me handle —

Morty: You know what, scratch that. He's —he's a— he's being a complete asshole, but nothing to worry about, I'm safe!

Rick: Morty!

[Grunts and growls emanating from one irritated old man and one annoyed adolescent]

Morty: W-w-wait, I still have something to say!

Rick:  God, Morty, give it to me. She's heard everything she needs—

[Grunting]

[Loud clatter]

Morty: Ooh geez, that was my phone!

Rick: Now y-you've  done it, Morty. I-I told you your clumsy ass has to sit still while I was talking! Fuuuu— here. Take your useless phone back and keep it. I'll just use mine to—UUURP— give Beth the stupid call she wants.

Morty: (mumbling) I bought this with my allowance...

Rick:  For fuck's sake— Morty, I-I-I can fix your phone in ten seconds! But you know what's  worse? Now I haOOOUUGHve to go back to the ship to get my phone. Thanks for wasting the precious two minutes I have to spend portalling to the ship when I could've used them on something more productive. Like, maybe, helping you finish? Good luck with that.

Morty: W-w-wait, what?

Rick: Y-you heard me, Morty. Have fun jerking off y-your— your tiny little sad sausage all alone.

Morty: What the fu— wait!

[Rustling noises]

Morty: Wait, Rick! Rick!!

Rick: What?

Morty: D-don't leave me like this! I don't want to get blue-balled. Not after last time!

Rick: Too bad. My phone—

Morty: I'll help you. I-I-I'll— I'll take responsibility for it. If mom asks, I-I'm the one who wanted to stay late. I'll cover for you.

[Silence]

Morty: Just don't  leave. Please. Rick, I can't...

[Short silence]

Rick: Fine. I'll do it. But just because you loOOOUUk damn pitiful right now. God. Have some dignity, Morty.

Morty: Yes! Thanks, Ri— HOOOOOOH what are you doing?!?

Rick: Y-y-you didn't  think I'm going to go back to jerking you off, did you Morty? I expect some repayment for fixing that sorry excuse of a phone for you.

Morty: What? But I'll— I'm already covering for you! You said you'd help me get off! How is a finger up my butt going to— mmmffff!!!

[Wet smacking sounds]

Morty: Mmmmm—

[Sounds of wrapper crinkling, followed by a mechanical whirring noise]

Rick: Y-you really talk too much.

Morty: Wait— oooooh geez—

[Whirring noises resume, but strangely muted]

Rick: Better?

Morty: (groaning)

Rick: I bought this off the Rick in dimension F9. He's a-a... a real kinky bastard. You won't  believe what he's  got dooOOOUUUwn in his garage, Morty. I-I-I wouldn't even touch half of what was in there. This is one of his tamer ones. How's the vibration? Do you want it stronger? Do you need me to reconfigure the shape?

Morty: (unintelligible groaning)

Rick: Wow. You really are a bitch, Morty. But you're MY bitch.

Morty: Hoooo... fuck...

Rick: Clench up more tightly, M-morty, it's coated in a powder that's  supposed to dull any painful sensations. Trust me, y-you're going to need it later.

Morty: P-pain?

Rick: Y-y-you really want me sticking my cock up your virgin asshole without any prepping? Your call.

Morty: (hoarse voice) Who said anything about—

Rick: You. Didn't  y-y-you say you wanted to fuck?

Morty: W-w-well, I, uh...

Rick: Y-y-you meant the other way around, didn't  you? A-a-and what made you think I was going to let your unexperienced dick anywhere near my UUURP poor ass? Don't  you think you need some lessons from the master first?

Morty: But...

Rick: I'm already done stretching you out. Just shut up and lie still.

[Whirring noises cease]

[Short silence]

Rick: (staggered grunting)

Morty: Ooh— Oh my god—

Rick: Oh, God. You're tight, Morty. Fuck—

[Creaking noise]

Morty: Nnnghh—

Rick: Oh yeah. Just like that, baby.

Morty: Y-you're  fucking huge!

Rick: Thanks.

Morty: Th-th-that wasn't a compliment you—

[Creaking noises resume]

Morty: Hooooh geez! Ohhh— Oh my god!

Rick: (laughs)

[Creaking noises quicken]

Rick: Ya like that, bitch?

Morty: (moaning)

Rick: I'm not hearing anything.

Morty: (moaning) Ugh... yes, fuck yes, Rick! Faste— OH GEEZ!

Rick: What is it this time?

Morty: Do that again, FUCK—

Rick: Wow. Y-you like it that way, huh?

[Rustling followed by more creaking noises]

Rick: Better?

Morty: (moaning)

Rick: Geez, you're easy to please.

[Harsh slapping sound]

Morty: Hooooohh...

Rick: Knew you'd like that, M-morty, you kinky son of a bitch. Y-y-you know, I should introduce you to F9 Rick sometime. YoOOUU might get along with him and we can get a discount when we buy those toys of his. Ever— ever heard of a gimp mask, Morty?

Morty: (groaning) Piss off.

Rick: Aww, baby, don't be like that. After everything I've done for— wait. What was that?

[Short silence]

Morty: I-It's just my phone, Rick. Bet I just got a new text or something. Can we go back to what we were doing now?

Rick: Morty, y-y-you complete imbecile! I thought you dropped it? That means your phone's not broken!

Morty: Huh. But the screen's all black? What's  wrong with it then? I'll just—

Rick: NO! MORTY, DON'T PRESS ANYTHI—

-Beeeeeep-

End message. To replay, press 1.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ask box still open for prompts! Send 'em in folks ;D

#rickmorty #c-137cest #rickorty #rick x morty #es answers #my writing #whoop this marks my official comeback to the fandom #yeah baby #sorry im slow as snails getting to the prompts #i haven't forgotten dw!! #oof dont you love it when tumblr messes up the format

[all-or-nothing-baby]

Would love to see you do U with Destiel

Mini-fic prompt-fill. The letter U is "Coming Home".

@avidbkwrm For you, Spencer... here you go, my friend <3

_____________________________

The Last Time

Tags: Dean POV, Modern AU, Drug and Alcohol Misuse, Prostitution, Hurt With Comfort, Angst With A Happy Ending.

_____________________________

Getting back to his shitty apartment afterwards was always the worst part.

It wasn't the peeling wallpaper that bothered Dean. He didn't care that there were only bare floorboards splashed with spilled paint in the bathroom. Couldn’t even give a shit that the wet rot, in the corner above the sofa, was probably the cause of his perpetual cough. And yeah, okay, so he knew the fuck-ton of weed he smoked, on top of the booze, didn’t exactly help. And no, it didn’t exactly make him forget, either. But it did help him to give less of a shit about how shitty he felt.

...until the next time.

Cas was a drug. Dean had known it from the start, had known he shouldn’t get involved. Known he’d end up losing people too, if he did. And he had. But fuck, after that first time? He was hooked. A junkie. Now, he was so far fucking gone it was scary because being with Cas was better than anything Dean had ever had. And whenever Dean wasn’t tangled up in sheets and smiles, all sticky, with him? He was in hell. Especially right afterwards… the instant craving was unbearable. Still tasting his sharp citrusy taste; smelling of bubble gum and baby wipes, just like him; running his rough fingertips over the pink and tender places he'd been claimed. Yeah, Cas was the drug Dean didn’t know how to quit. And Jesus, he didn’t want to, which was worse.

Yet still, at first, he'd swear every visit was the last.

…until the next time.

Dean had lived all over, growing up. Cheap hotels and motels, trailer parks. And worse. Never knew what it was to settle and lay roots. Cas told him he'd been raised the polar opposite: huge family, a single home his whole life. Until his folks had found out he liked dicks not chicks and tried to bible-bash it outta him, quite literally. Cas had left and never contacted them again. And it turned out, being where he was now was better than being on the streets.

Really don't know why I'm telling you all this, he'd said to Dean after only the second time. Maybe it's just those kind eyes? he'd smiled. But I'm sorry, you're not paying to hear about my screwed-up life in a sob-story… want me to fuck you now, baby?

Dean had never gone with a sex worker before. Hated the idea—not for him, exactly, but for them. The idea that some people thought they were worth so little that they'd sell themselves? It horrified him. But walking out that bar that night and seeing that dark, unruly hair and those blue, blue eyes heading straight for him, coming for him...

Hey, beautiful, wanna spend the night with an angel?

No such thing, Dean had tried. But it had come out as a question, a challenge. An almost prove me wrong, please—and with a smile he couldn't have helped if he'd tried.

The man—dressed in a long coat, black boots and tight jeans; the crispest of white shirts with a low slung tie; and an eight o'clock shadow Dean instantly craved to leave a tingle on his inside thighs—had smiled back and said, that's your problem, beautiful. You have no faith.

By the time Dean had left the No-Tell room later that night—left Jimmy, as he'd called himself back then—Dean was born again. His belief suddenly so strong, he'd gone back to his apartment and goddammit he'd prayed.

But for the days that followed, the guilt was overwhelming. Dean had hoped beyond hope he'd be strong enough to stay away from the stranger he now wanted to help; to take away from this dangerous life, this mess Jimmy had gotten himself into... No. Dean told himself he wouldn't go back. It was wrong, on so many levels. Shit, he didn't even know the guy from Adam and yet, what, he wanted to save him?

Dean actually did actually managed to keep his distance, for a time. For a little while, he thought sense had won out.

...until the next time.

After that, Dean became fucking devout. Being with Jimmy—with Cas—very quickly became more than a one-sided thing… it became about not just fucking, but enjoying each other. Them tasting and devouring each other. Holding out for one another. Worshipping each other. Had the tables now turned? Was Cas really the angel he'd said he was and Dean, the sinner who needed saving? For the two hours a week that Dean could barely afford, Dean was happy. They'd often spend time just talking, tracing patterns on the others skin. As contradictory and ironic as it was, being with Cas? It honest to God felt holy. Dean was a better man when with him. Wanted to do better because of him. Felt more himself than he ever had before. And soon, inevitably, every time he'd leave Cas, it was ten times harder than the last.

...until the next time.

The night Dean saw the bruises was the night he'd started thinking seriously about it.

Doesn't usually happen, Cas had promised. Like it was nothing. Dean called bullshit, his voice tinged with anger. But he was mostly completely fucking heartbroken. He felt helpless. Dean had kissed each purpling mark with gentle lips and stroked that untamable hair for over his allotted time slot. Paid the extra. Told Cas dumb jokes that Cas laughed at regardless. They watched some TV together on Dean's phone, tied up like a pretzel.

Turned out Cas had... refused to fulfill some specific act and the disgruntled john had complained to Cas' twisted pimp, Naomi, who'd then set her muscle on him. They were supposed to just scare me a little—well, a lot, Cas had smiled sadly. Maybe swirlie me or choke me out, you know? They weren't supposed to beat him. To mark him. He'd admitted, the clients don't like that—well, most of them, anyways. Some were sicker fucks than others. After ten months, Dean knew that by now.

Soon after, Dean had started working longer shifts at the restaurant, always asking for overtime. It meant they sometimes couldn't meet, or maybe only had an hour together instead of two, what with Cas' workload being not exactly flexible. It was tough. And maybe not just on Dean? Cas almost seemed disappointed whenever Dean told him he wouldn't be seeing him as usual. Or maybe that was just wishful thinking on Dean's part. He'd thought they'd had a connection but... Dean didn't have the words to ask. So he'd just hoped Cas understood. He seemed to, mostly. But sometimes, he'd get that look in those baby-blues. The one that said, you've lost faith in me Dean. And, at one point, Dean worried this just couldn't work. That maybe he'd lost what little faith he had in himself. That Cas probably had no faith in Dean to begin with.

...until the next time.

Dean wasn't sure if it had been a slip. An accidental admission. He'd been so close, so many times, to uttering the words himself. But he'd never imagined Cas letting his guard down in that way. And honestly? Dean had stopped allowing himself to think about the possibility of it being a reality at all.

I love you Dean, Cas had whispered in a breath. And then Dean found that he couldn't breathe at all, the air in his lungs leaving in a rush. Time stopped and for a moment everything was the way it should be. Just them and this…. and then Dean realised, Cas probably just needed the money. Wanted Dean to start coming back more regularly because he always paid well. Dean treated Cas well, too. And what if the other clients were rougher, meaner? Yeah, these things. Dean knew they were the real reason Cas had said what he'd said. Not some accidental slip.

But it didn't really matter, not to Dean. He'd already made up his mind. So, he'd said nothing. Pretended he hadn't heard.

...until the next time.

Dean packed up the few things he owned. Left all the crappy furniture he'd accumulated in the equally crappy apartment he hated, got in his car and didn't look back.

They made love, because he knew it would probably be the last time. Dean savoured every second with Cas. Hoped his long licks and trembling bites, soft moans and desperate squeezes told Cas everything Dean knew he still had to say, so he wouldn't have to… but, as astute as his angel in a trench coat was, Cas couldn't read minds.

So, Dean dressed. Then, chewing at his bottom lip, emptied the bag he'd brought with him onto the bed. Cas' eyes blew wide at the sight of all the bills that spilled from Dean's largest duffle.

I can't do this, Cas, he blurted. Can't let my decisions be controlled by some high and mighty less-than-human asshole anymore. So I'm... leaving. And I ain't comin' back... and he only stopped to take a breath, steal his courage, because there was more to the speech he'd planned—but Cas cut him off there.

It's okay, I was waiting for this. Knew it was probably coming, Cas said flatly. Then he spat, but, Dean, do you really think I want your fucking money? God, I was so foolish to think that maybe you... Just, please leave, Dean. Leave and let me keep the ounce of dignity I'm managing to hang on to. Cas turned away from Dean now. Wouldn't let him see those pretty blue eyes.

Then Dean said it. Cas, I want you to come with me. Don't know where, but I wanna get you outta this.

Dean knew he had to do more. Say more. Cas needed the words neither had really spoken; had rarely been said to either of them. Hell, Dean needed to say them just as much.

Not able to look directly at the man who meant everything to him—too scared, too cowardly—Dean said, I love you, Cas. Like nothing else. And I know you only said it to me 'cause you thought you had to... but it's okay. I don't mind that you don't. I just wanna… I gotta help you be safe, man. Away from here. Please let me. Then you can go wherever you like, do whatever you wanna and I'll—

A small sob cut Dean's speech short. He looked up at Cas as, terrified his words had maybe had the opposite effect. But Cas flew at Dean, threw arms around Dean's neck and held onto him, speaking quiet yes, yes, yeses, into the shoulder of Dean's leather jacket.

They left via the fire escape.

...it was the last time.

Dean drove them into and through the night, Cas gripping his free hand tightly, not letting go. Not even once.

After two more days on the road, when they were about to leave the state, Dean asked Cas, where to?

Cas said, take me home.

Unsure of what it meant but sure about this—about them—Dean asked, where is home, sweetheart? because he knew he'd do whatever it took to be with this man.

Cas looked out of the window for a moment and smiled. Then, laughing gently, he looked back at Dean and told him, anywhere you take me, baby.

#destiel #destiel fic #deancas #deancas fic #modern au #tw: mentions of drug misuse #tw: alcohol #tw: prostitution #hurt with comfort #angst with a happy ending #long post #the last time #my words #lucy's writing #all-or-nothing-writes #all-or-nothing-baby #ask prompt #prompt fill #for my lovely friend

[magnuslightwood-bane0414]

Passed down like folksongs, our love lasts so long

Read on a03

Mornings with Malec because Taylor Swift makes me want a love story likes theirs 🥰 this was supposed to be tooth rotting fluff, and most of it is, but you can thank Alec for loving his husband so much he makes it a bit angsty. I had no part of this 😉 let me know what you think!! Prompts are open!

Alec wakes up alone in bed, which is practically a sin. Alec grumbles and reaches over, his hand flattening against Magnus' side of the bed. The sheets are still warm, but his adorable husband is nowhere to be found within them.

Alec slips out of bed, searching the floor for his clothes that were shed by Magnus' magic after a date night last night, but he can't find those either.

So now he's without clothes and his husband.

Alec grabs Magnus' kimono robe that was hanging from a chair, and slips his arms through it, tying a messy knot that rests against his stomach. Then he braves the cold of the open balcony doors to search for Magnus.

He finds him in the kitchen, pressed against the oven, wearing just boxers and a hoodie. He's humming gently and mixing a bowl of something. Upon closer inspection, he's making blueberry pancakes. Alec's favorite breakfast food in the whole wide world, which makes a smile spread across Alec's face as he moves closer.

"Why'd you leave me alone in bed?" Alec whispers, pressing a lazy kiss to Magnus' earlobe and setting his chin against his shoulder, wrapping tight arms around his toned waist.

"Because after all the calories we burned last night, I figured I should get up and make my wonderful husband some blueberry pancakes."

"You have magic for that." Alec grumbles, relaxing against the warmth of Magnus' back.

"I do," Magnus admits, "But aren't you always telling me I should embrace my inner mundane and do things by hand?"

"Not when it involves cuddling your touch-starved husband."

"Oh, I see." Magnus murmurs, turning around to press a chaste kiss to his lips, "Still feeling neglected even after last night?" Alec still finds himself blushing when Magnus brings up their rather adventurous nights, and last night certainly fit in that category.

"I'll always feel neglected from your touch. You're just too damn gorgeous and it's sad that I can't have you all to myself."

Magnus hums happily at that, and runs his free hand up Alec's arm, pausing when he feels the silk sleeves of his robe.

"Is that my robe?" Magnus flips the pancake over and then snakes his hand further up Alec's arm.

"Yeah..." Alec blushes, "You somehow misplaced both my shirt and pants last night so I found this lying on the chair and just decided to put it on."

Magnus hums, "I would never just misplace your clothes on purpose, must've been a grave mistake. However, your body is attractive enough without clothes, so honestly that can't be considered a mistake..."

Alec scoffs and chuckles, saying, "Magnus, how could it have been anyone other than you? You're the one who wanted to rip my Henley off as soon as you saw it last night." Granted, that's how many of their nights end these days, with fiery passion that stills feels like a dream or a scene from a movie. But it's not, it's just Magnus and Alec, which feels so much better than his wildest dream.

"Can't blame me for wanting to enjoy the view. But darling, lavender looks stunning on you. It is officially yours, now."

"We can't share?" Alec pouts. He dips a finger into the batter and then licks his finger, smirking when Magnus gasps.

"I've corrupted you. But back to your original question, love, I suppose we could share. As long as you keep wearing it through breakfast."

"We have a deal." Alec says sweetly, sliding onto the counter beside the stove, gripping onto the string of Magnus' hoodie.

Magnus goes back to concentrating on his pancakes, placing one on the plate and then pouring a cup of batter onto the sizzling pan. Alec is content to just watching him, studying how relaxed he is in Alec’s presence, and how the rising sun holds no candle to Magnus’ own brilliance.

He would never get bored watching Magnus, but his eyes catch the sunlight hitting the exposed skin of Magnus’ golden thighs, and he gets an idea.

"Too many clothes." He mumbles, grabbing the seam of the hoodie and beginning to lift. Magnus laughs and swats his hand away playfully.

"Maybe you just have too few clothes on." Magnus counters, winking and adding a handful of fresh blueberries to the plate of pancakes.

"Now you know that's simply not true. Especially after what you said earlier." Alec leans closer and nuzzles Magnus’ neck, breathing in the scent of sandalwood.

"Shush and stop distracting me, I'm trying to finish breakfast. Here’s your plate, I will join you in one moment.” Magnus hands him a plate and gives him a gentle shove.

Magnus presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth in a silent thank you as he slips off the counter and sits down at the table.

With a lazy wave of Magnus’ hand, a bottle of syrup and a glass of orange juice appears beside Alec’s plate.

Alec waits patiently as Magnus finishes the last of his pancakes, turns the stove off, and joins Alec at the table.

Alec leans over the table and squeezes Magnus’ hand, saying, “Thank you for breakfast. It smells delicious.”

“Well, by all means, don’t wait for me to dig in.” Alec smiles and cuts into one of the fluffy pancakes. He always loves anything Magnus makes, because it’s made with love and mouthwatering flavor.

They sit in comfortable silence, save for the scraping of forks and sounds of delight at just how tasty the pancakes are. Alec finishes one of his pancakes within five bites, and looks up to see Magnus glancing at him with a fond smile on his face.

“I knew you were hungry. If we stayed in bed you would’ve been complaining within ten minutes about how hungry you were.” Alec blushes and glares at Magnus, but doesn’t deny his statement.

Both Magnus and Alec has the entire day off, and Alec is enthusiastically prepared for a lazy day, with movies and cuddles and more junk food. It’s been awhile since they’ve been able to have something as domestic as a day off with just each others company, but it is one of Alec’s favorite things in the entire world.

“I never want anything different than this.” Alec says, causing Magnus to pause and tilt his head in confusion.

“What do you mean, my love?”

“I just...I want this forever. I want lazy mornings like this. I want wild nights like we had last night. I want to love you, and be loved by you, forever. We learn about heaven and the afterlife in the Academy, and it’s supposed to be perfect, but I feel like this is as perfect as it gets. I never want to let this slip out of my grasp.”

“Alexander...” Magnus starts, feeling tears well up in his eyes. He sets his fork down and gets up, the need to be touching his love too strong to resist. Alec normally gets reflective and romantic during simple mornings and late nights, and Magnus knows this, but it doesn’t help prepare his old warlock heart for whatever sappy thing Alec says.

Alec scoots back, opening his arms as Magnus climbs onto his lap and rests his cheek against the top of Alec’s head.

“I want that too, Alexander. I want that more than anything.” Magnus whispers, closing his eyes as warm tears fall down his cheeks.

No matter how much we want it, we can’t have it.

Those are the words that are left unsaid by either of them, but they’re still spoken in the emotional silence.

Alec wraps an arm around Magnus, holding onto him with a grip that’s strong but necessary. “We’re going to have that, Magnus. I promised you that in my vows when I said I am and will always be your loving husband. I promised you that in Edom when I said I’m never leaving you again. And I don’t break promises.” Magnus sniffles and Alec moves away slightly, to take Magnus’ face in the palms of his hands.

“Alexander, even though I wish you could, you can’t promise that.” Magnus shakes his head, his heart screaming at his mind to believe it, but happiness has never had permanence in Magnus’ life.

It is the closest it has ever been now, but with the weight that one day it will end, it still drags him down to only temporary, fleeting bouts of joy.

“I can. You’re going to be able to take me on dates all over the world for as long as you’d like. You’re going to be able to tease me about the things I wear and the dumb things I say until you get tired of it. You’re going to have me for as long as you want.” Alec says resolutely, speaking like the very words spilling from his lips are being written in stone.

“Even forever isn’t long enough with you, darling.”

“But it’s a good start.” Alec says, with wet eyes and a sad smile. Even after a poignant revelation that left them both with red eyes and sadden hearts, Magnus thinks he is still the most gorgeous man that has ever walked the Earth. And he is all Magnus’, which is a revelation in of itself.

“Alexander, I would be the last person to stop you and your passionate heart after chasing something you want.” Magnus smiles back, his hand playing with the hairs at the nape of Alec’s neck. “So, yes, Angel, forever seems like a good start to me.”

“Well, then we’re going to make it happen.” Alec declares. In regards of their differing lifespans, for the first time Magnus feels a sense of peace wash over him with Alec’s words. After all, Alexander Gideon Lightwood-Bane has been known to blow up the very ground he stands on to make something right.

And if Magnus is sure of one thing, it’s that Alec and Magnus are unexplainably and wholeheartedly right together.

#malec #shadowhunters #alec lightwood #magnus bane #malec fanfic #malec fanfiction #kinda angsty #mostly fluff

[areluctantsblog]

My first fill for the starker bingo is ready! It's for the young!Tony square. You can read it on ao3.

Today we escape

Summary: Tony and Peter's lives change forever when they are outed as gay and as a couple.

Warnings: homophobia, mentions of violence and blood

Words: 1.5k

***

"Tony!" It's his boyfriend's voice but barely recognisable. It's breaks as soon as he gets his name out and he can hear him sobbing.

Tony jumps up in the middle of robotics lab and runs out to the corridor, his chest tight with worry.

"What happened? Peter? Talk to me," he pleads.

"It's… It's…" Peter hiccups, unable to form words.

"Where are you, baby?" Tony asks, whispering.

At that Peter only cries harder. Anguished, Tony waits.

"It's Flash," Peter chokes out. He takes a few deep breaths and manages to continue. "Took my phone. Posted a picture of…" his boyfriend's voice breaks again, but Tony doesn’t need him to say anymore to figure out what happened.

"Where are you?" he asks in a firm voice.

"Home," Peter whines.

"Pack your bags. Lock your door. I'll pick you up in ten minutes," he says, already returning to the classroom for his bag.

As soon as he opens the door every eye turns to him. They saw. Tony doesn't react in any way. He packs up his project, grabs his backpack and walks out without a word.

"You still there?" he asks as soon as he's out of the classroom.

"Yeah," Peter breathes. He seems to have stopped crying but he sounds shocked.

"We've got to go," Tony says hurrying down the corridors. "You know that, right?" That photo is going viral in their town as they are speaking. Maybe it's already reached the sheriff's office. Even if it hasn't, they have very little time to escape.

"I… Yes, yes, I know…"

Tony isn't mad for the hesitation in Peter's voice. Their life as they know it is over. Tony remembers the paralysing fear and shock that comes with it. He felt it when they did what they did to Harley. Tony knew ever since that he was only biding his time, waiting for high school to be over and to leave this town and never look back.

"We'll talk about it, I promise," he says, revving up the car.

"Are you driving?" Peter asks. "Let's hang up."

"Nevermind that. I'll talk to you if you need me."

"I'll be seeing you soon. I… I need to pack anyway," he says in a trembling voice."

"Fine, baby. I'll be there in five," Tony promises.

***

Tony doesn't have any trouble climbing up to Peter's window in the middle of the night, so broad daylight only makes it easier. Peter is waiting for him just inside. He looks a right mess. Tony pulls him into a fierce hug as soon as he's inside.

"I'm here, I'm going to take care of you," he whispers soothingly.

Peter breaks down with sobs again but by the time he pulls back, he's got it under control. He points to the two packed bags on his bad.

"Are you sure?" he asks Tony in a pleading voice.

"You remember Harley," Tony says.

Peter sighs and nods.

"I do."

"It's horrible that it's happening to us, but I can't risk them coming after you," Tony argues.

"And you."

"They wouldn't stand a chance. Sheriff Stark would lock me up before they could get their hands on me," he says bitterly. Then he adds in a more pleading voice. "Peter we have to go. We have to get out of this jurisdiction before he closes it down. We'll stop and talk this through as soon as we are safe, I promise."

Peter straightens himself and nods, picking up the bags.

***

"My mother is in the living room, sobbing," Peter says in a distant voice, staring back at the house as Tony pulls out of the driveway. Tony reaches out to hold his hand and gives him a reassuring squeeze.

They drive in silence for a few minutes, when Tony's phone buzzes. It's his mother. He only hesitates a second before picking up.

"Sweetheart?" she asks, sounding out of breath.

"I'm here," Tony croaks, mouth suddenly dry.

"Where are you?"

"On my way," he says with a hint of defiance.

"Good," she says. "Which way are you headed?"

"Best if you don't know."

Silence. "Can you make it to the old gas station by 86?"

"Why?"

"Because I'm your mother and you can't run away without any clothes or money."

Tony's throats tightens and he lets out a shaky breath. It's enough for his mother.

"I'll meet you there," she says before hanging up.

Tony chances a glance at Peter. He's watching him with tears in his eyes.

"I wish I got a chance to say goodbye."

Tony's heart breaks and he can't find anything to say, so he just laces their fingers together and keeps driving.

***

The sirens of the approaching police cars in the distance do nothing to lift their spirits even though the county border is already behind them. Tony wonders what story his father cooked up to warrant his persecution. Everyone must have seen the picture by now and yet the good town folk will lap up the lies their beloved sheriff tells them.

Tony looks at Peter and feels a surge of hatred for Howard at the sight of his tortured expression. After a moment's deliberation, he pulls over.

"What are you doing?" Peter cries.

Tony gets out of the car, walks over to the passenger side and opens the door.

"Come here," he says, extending his hand.

Silent tears start running down Peter's cheeks, but he goes.

"I'm sorry," he sobs into Tony's shoulder.

"It's not your fault."

"He came over to borrow a book and as I turned to fetch it…"

Tony tightens his arms around Peter. He's always seen Flash as an annoying, obnoxious douchebag and wanted to kick his ass oh so many times for bullying Peter. But now, now the things he would do to him… He shudders.

"Shh, baby," he whispers, aiming for a soothing voice. "You've done nothing wrong," he adds more firmly.

"I love you, Tony," Peter says after a few minutes.

"I love you, too. And I'll take care of you, no matter what."

"And I you," Peter glances up at him, tears glistening on his lashes.

"I know, baby," Tony says, cupping his face and kissing him.

They get back on the road in a few minutes. The sirens are still not far enough.

***

Peter dozes off soon after. At least that what it seems like, but Tony can't see his face. When he stirs he looks around in confusion.

"86 isn't this way," he exclaims.

"No, it isn't," Tony says grimly.

"Why?"

"He could have been there."

"Oh, Tony…" Peter whispers, reaching out for his hand.

Tony swallows hard to steady his voice.

"I have a separate bank account that they can't control. I don't have too much on it, but it will get us through the first week. We'll have to find jobs."

"Of course," Peter says. "But where are we going?"

Tony made this decision a long before today but he's never shared it with Peter. He told himself stuff like waiting for the right time and seeing how things between them work out, even though he knew he loved Peter and he knew that Peter would understand. He squeezes his eyes shut and takes a deep breath before speaking.

"New York."

"What?!"

"We can disappear there. Get jobs, make our own way."

"But it's so far. And it's not safe! Is it?"

"Right now it's a hell of a lot safer than any place where we have a chance to run into the same people twice."

Peter doesn't reply just stares out of the window.

They keep driving for almost an hour in silence.

"My aunt lives there," Peter says as if continuing the conversation they were having.

It's Tony's turn to be surprised. "What?"

"We are not in touch. Some trouble between mum and her, I guess," he shrugs.

"Can she be trusted?" Tony ventures.

"I have no idea," Peter admits.

It would be so much safer to have an adult to turn to, even though they are both eighteen, but Tony is very reluctant to trust. He has no idea what to say, so they slip back into silence.

"Harley is there, too," Tony whispers hours later in the middle of the night. He clings to the memory of his best friend as he fights his exhaustion. He drives, so that he can see the bright smile Harley used to wear on his boyfriend's face again. So that they can be free like Harley wanted to be.

"Do you want to visit him?" Peter asks and Tony's surprised that he's awake.

"I never want to see him again," he says, the first drop of tear that day running down his face.

He's fought against the memory of Harley's blood stained face for years. He never wants to see his best friend paralysed and comatose. He keeps him alive within him and hopes that it's enough.

"We'll thrive," Peter affirms. He sounds older than this morning. "For Harley," he adds, voice cracking, "and for us."

#starker #starker bingo #starker bingo 2019 #tony stark x peter parker #peter parker x tony stark #young!tony #angst #a reluctant writes