#it looks like an actual deathtrap

[epicfirestormer]

I don't think I can come up with a take about this whole Oceangate situation that hasn't already been said ("fuck the rich", "this was a stupid idea" "its controlled by a xbox controller??", Etc.) But I will say that this has the same vibes of Iron Lung, which is to say "we're stuck in an iron coffin in the deep ocean to look at the remains of dead people" with the only difference is that the people inside were willing to go in the first place.

[thedisablednaturalist]

Literally all the shit rich people have turned into luxuries are stuff many disabled people need (or would need to manage their pain but can't afford it)

Comfy ergonomic chairs

Indoor pool/hot tub (therapy bath)

Massages on the regular

Aides (rich people call them servants)

Yea even a cook who makes you special meals (perfect for people with special dietary needs and for those with severe allergies, as well as people who are in too much pain or are otherwise unable to cook)

Elevators in your house (even small ones just for groceries, my rich aunt has one in her beach house!)

Rich people don't buy these for fun I hope but custom powerchairs are obscenely expensive. It pisses me off when I see another person invent "the wheelchair of the future!" Which then is literally never fucking used because none of us can afford it (and insurance definitely won't pay)

Indoor gyms or even personal exercise equipment. Hard to go out to a gym somewhere else when you're disabled, especially if you are immunocompromised

Outdoor spaces to relax in. It's literally vital for your mental health to at least see the outdoors. I'd rather be bedridden in a sunroom (with retractable blinds) than a shitty apartment with one tiny window.

There's even freaking health retreats these people go to regularly. There's a fibromyalgia retreat in new york where they basically take care of all your needs while trying different treatments and seeing which ones help. Either it's heaven or making money off of scamming desperate people who are able to scrape the money together to go.

Private planes, which I honestly think shouldn't exist, but one that specifically catered to people with disabilities (spaces for wheelchairs/other mobility devices, accessible handicapped airplane bathroom, anxiety reducing tools, trained medical personnel and care team)

Also customized cars, except instead of making gas guzzling racecars to joyride in while everyone else is trying to get to work, cars with electric ramps, lifts, doors, cars customized for someone with limb differences. Those cars where you can roll your wheelchair right up to the wheel. Fuck even self driving cars once they are no longer deathtraps.

Skincare products that are safe for sensitive skin like eczema but also actually work

Nice-looking clothes customized to fit limb differences, access points, look good in wheelchairs, colostomy bags, etc. while also being comfortable and not fast fashion.

Dental care!!! What the fuck why is this shit so expensive!! I don't want my teeth to fall out!! (Disabled people usually need more dental care bc we have a harder time keeping up maintenance)

Rich people go and splurge on all of these even though they don't need them while calling disabled people selfish for begging their insurance for even one of these.

[suguann]

REDAMANCY—JOHN PRICE

✎. You tried not to grow feelings—you really did. Feelings make things complicated, but you can’t help it. | wc. 1k+

tags. fem!reader, getting together, strangers to fwb to lovers, mild smut [18+ only]

masterlist

“John, I…” You hesitate and allow your fear to get the best of you. “We’re friends, right?”

With his sweaty forehead pressed against your shoulder, a tangle of pointy knees and elbows, you can’t bring yourself to ask him to stay. It’s never been about staying or soft-spoken words between the sheets, but things feel different from the first time he picked you out from the crowd in a bar and fucked you up against a dingy bathroom door.

Maybe it’s just you. 

The fluttering in your chest when John stops by your office at the clinic as soon as he makes it back to base, how he wraps his hand in your hair and kisses you in the entryway for everyone to see—two thick fingers in your mouth to keep you quiet as he peels your uniform out of the way to wrap his mouth around a nipple and cup you between your legs.

Perhaps it’s the softer things: a kiss on your forehead before he leaves, another souvenir from one of his missions on your bookshelf, flowers for the vase on your counter.

You tried not to grow feelings—you really did. Feelings make things complicated, but you can’t help it.

John’s just…John.

He’s quiet for a moment, then two, and you wish you could see his face until he nods, whiskers sending goosebumps across your shoulder blades. “Yeah. We’re friends.”

Somehow, you feel like you hadn’t said the right thing as he gets up and slips his jeans over his thighs—the taste of whiskey and cigarettes still on your tongue long after he’s gone.

You hadn’t believed him—still don’t.

Not when he rushes into the emergency room a few days later—some of his tactical gear still in place—right after you get into an accident, panic written all over his face. He glances at your torn scrubs and the bandages across your shoulder, assessing the damage. And when he finds that everything on the outside looks fine (or as fine as a few scrapes and bruises can be), his shoulders visibly relax—if only by a minuscule. 

This is your answer.

"It’s not as bad as it looks. You should see the other guy."

His mouth tilts ever so slightly, worry still etched across his features. "Is that right?" 

The nurse looking over your chart arches a brow at you, and heat blooms across your face, forgetting that you’re not the only two in the room. 

John clears his throat. “Could you give us a minute?”

She smirks. “Of course. If you need anything, I’ll be at the nurse’s station.”

Once the nurse leaves the room, it goes quiet. He slowly approaches the hospital bed like he doesn’t know what to say, picking up the clipboard the nurse left on your bedside table. 

“I was chasing my neighbor’s dog—Gizmo, you remember him; he likes chasing the mailman—when a moped knocked me out,” you tell him, the painkillers turning your thoughts into a tricolor ball of playdough. "Did you know I almost bought a moped once? I can't imagine why. Those things are a deathtrap with tiny wheels."

He makes a grunting noise in lieu of an actual answer.

You watch his eyes shift over your chart, thinking it’s now or never—

"Do you want to go on a date? With me?"

He glances up and stares at you with wide eyes. "Do you want to go on a date?" 

"Well, I…” You lick your lips, glancing wildly around the room. “You don't?"

"I just didn't think you'd want to."

"And why wouldn't I?"

"A number of reasons, actually. One, I'm older than you," he ticks it off like a grievance on his finger.

"So? That's never bothered me.” Then you smile. “Fucking older men is all the hype now, didn’t you know?"

John ignores you and holds up another finger. "And…"

"And what?"

He drags a hand over his mouth. "I, uh, well… I’m not good with relationships."

"That doesn't bother me either."

"It should."

"Why?"

"Because you're young.”

You roll your eyes. "You say that as if you're old. "

"Love, I am old. You can find someone better."

Love. You ignore how that makes your stomach flip pleasantly.

"You know, you play a poor devil's advocate. I’m already looking at the man I want."

He sighs, sitting at the edge of the bed with you. "Okay, let's play a game of what if." When you nod, he asks: "What if I took you on a date? Where would you like to go?"

"Hm,” you hum. “How about I tell you what I like?"

This makes him crack a smile. "That wasn't the question."

"I like music,” you tell him anyway. “Sometimes I like to go to the art district, even though I know nothing about art. I enjoy corny walks on the beach, and I don't mind flowers."

"I already know you like flowers."

“Then it should be easy.” Your lips twitch, thinking of the tulips he brought you the other night still sitting in your kitchen window. "And what if I said yes?"

"I'd say…” he sighs, reaching for your hand to delicately trace around your scratched knuckles with his thumb. “I’d pick you up from your place once you feel better. It'll probably be too cold for the beach, but maybe I’ll take you to this nice place Gaz mentioned a few weeks ago. Then I'd bring you back home,” his eyes trace over your bare collarbones and down to the top of your pants, “and make up for lost time."

You bite your lip, your heart fluttering wildly. Hopeful. Knowing it’s no longer a game.

(Was it ever? Maybe it was two people who never really knew how to find each other—who had to grow together.)

"So, it’s a date?"

“Yeah.” He kisses the back of your hand. "It's a date."

You wonder if you should get used to the pain in your cheeks from smiling so much—not that smiling from being happy is a terrible problem to have.

“Took you long enough to ask.”

“Took you long enough to say yes.”

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

Taking me higher

Written for @steddiesmuttyseptember, week 1

Prompts: mile high club & service dom

Rated: E

Words: 1,232

Tags: Dom!Steve; Sub!Eddie; Fear of flying; Airplane sex; Semi-public sex

Before today, if anyone had asked Eddie what hell looked like, the answer would've come easy. Hell was a blood red sky, parched earth covered in vines, and monstrous creatures with flower-shaped maws prowling the decaying landscape. Obvious, right?

Wrong. 

Hell is a two-hundred-ton sardine can, shooting through the sky at five-hundred miles an hour, the ocean stretching forty-thousand feet below. No, scratch that, thirty-nine-thousand-nine-hundred-and-ninety-nine feet, because the goddamn thing just hit another air hole. 

“Eddie?” 

Next to him, Steve stirs. He looks infuriatingly at ease with his sleep mask pushed up into his hair and his neck pillow and the little fleece blanket with the airline’s logo on it. When he takes in the way Eddie’s fingers are white-knuckling their shared armrest, his brow furrows in concern. 

“Hey, everything okay?” 

“Fine,” Eddie grits out. “Peachy, don't you worry about- shit, what was that?” 

“Turbulences,” Steve shrugs. Like it's fine. Like it's not a big deal. Like they aren't locked in a steel and glass deathtrap moving faster and higher than anything has a right to. “It’s okay, they haven't even switched on the seatbelt signs.” 

“Okay, great,” Eddie babbles. “Perfect, I just- … shit, I didn't think it'd rattle so fucking much.”

“It gets a bit bumpy sometimes,” Steve's hand finds his, prying Eddie’s fingers from the armrest, ghosting soothing touches over his knuckles. “Just relax. Think of them as potholes.” 

“Potholes, right,” Eddie mumbles. “Brilliant comparison, Stevie, so helpful. You know what, if the potholes weren't ten fucking miles deep, that might actually-” 

“Baby.” 

Eddie barrels to a stop. For a second, he's convinced he must've heard wrong, because why would Steve call him that now? Steve only ever calls him that when they're playing, and there's no way-

“You with me, baby?” 

Steve’s voice has dropped to a low rumble, and fuck, all the training they've done must've finally stuck, because the answer is out before he even knows it. 

“Yes, sir.” 

Steve smiles, slow and pleased. His hand shifts to Eddie’s upper thigh. “There's my good boy.” 

And yeah, the training clearly stuck way better than Eddie is comfortable admitting, because the words go straight to his dick. Steve’s hand moves, brushing the shape of him through the fabric of his pants. Eddie gasps and squirms, and that smile goes smug. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” Eddie hisses. He cranes his neck, casting frantic glances at the other passengers, but most of them are asleep in their seats. At the far end of the aisle, two stewardesses are talking and giggling at each other in hushed voices. 

“Shhhh,” Steve says. He cups Eddie’s cock in his palm, a firm and solid pressure. “They haven't noticed. You don't want that to change, do you?” 

“I- … no,” Eddie stammers. Steve’s grip tightens. “I mean … no, sir.” 

“That's what I thought,” Steve smiles, giving the bulge in his pants a good-natured pat. Eddie whines and rolls his hips in his seat, greedy for more friction, more pressure. Steve removes his hand. 

“Oh, come on,” Eddie groans. The lady in front of him grunts and stirs in her sleep. Eddie bites down on his own tongue.

“Now, here's what we're gonna do,” Steve says, lips tickling the shell of his ear, voice trickling down his spine like honey. “You're gonna go into the bathroom and get yourself ready for me. We'll need to be quick about it, so I'll give you … let's say three minutes before I join you.” 

“Wha-” Eddie wheezes. “You wanna-… Is there even room?” 

Steve chuckles. “Oh, we'll manage. I’ll just need to fuck you against the wall, nice and tight, huh?” 

Eddie gawks at him. Steve raises an eyebrow and checks his watch. “I’d hurry, if I were you. Your three minutes start now.” 

*

The bathroom is ridiculously tiny. For some reason, the movements of the plane are even more noticeable here, but Eddie doesn’t have time to dwell on that. Stumbling in on jelly-like legs, he pats his pockets until he finds what he’s been hoping for - a lonely, small package of lube. Ripping it open with his teeth, he yanks his pants down all the way to his ankles. When a few, awkward twists and turns reveal that this won’t do, he chucks off his right shoe and steps out of the pant leg entirely, propping one sock-clad foot up on the toilet bowl. 

He has hardly started preparing himself when the door opens behind him. For a panicked second, he’s afraid it’s a random passenger out for a midnight piss, now faced with the sight of him, two fingers knuckle-deep up his own ass. But it’s Steve. 

“Oh baby, look at you,” he whispers. Eddie hears the door lock, and then one large, strong hand caresses his hip. “So desperate for me? Tell me how bad you need it.”

Steve’s hand is casual and possessive as he cups his ass, the touch of a man taking what’s his. It makes Eddie feel owned in the best possible way. A prized possession, looked after and taken care of. 

“Need it so bad,” he whines, bucking back into the touch, knowing exactly what it is that Steve wants to hear. “So desperate for your cock sir, please-” 

He can’t turn, not crammed together in the tiny space as they are, but he hears how Steve’s belt and zipper come undone. That large, hard cock slaps free, hitting his ass with an obscene sound. 

“My poor, greedy boy,” Steve coos. “Asking for it so nicely. Of course you can have my cock, baby.” 

And then, without further preamble, he pushes in, all the way to the base. He sets a quick, relentless rhythm, not bothering to ease them into it slowly, and Eddie has to grip the toilet bowl with both hands or topple. It feels like his head being filled with fuzzy cotton. It feels the ground dropping out from under him, leaving him floating on clouds, but this time, it has nothing to do with the stupid plane.

It doesn’t take long. After a few hard thrusts, Steve moans and comes, hands digging into Eddie’s hips hard enough to bruise as he spills deep inside of him. Eddie is only seconds behind him, spilling his own release all over the toilet, and Steve shoves his fingers inside his mouth to muffle his scream.

*

“You good, baby?”

Eddie blinks back into reality. The ground and the walls are still rattling, but it doesn’t bother him as much, now that all of his bones have been replaced with warm jelly. Steve has pulled him out of his bent-over position and up against his chest, tucked his neck into the crook of his shoulder, and is peppering kisses over the side of his face and into his hairline. 

“Perfect,” Eddie slurs. “Thank you, sir. Could stay like this forever.” 

Steve laughs softly. “As much as I’d like to, I think we need to get back to our seats.” 

“Aw no,” Eddie pouts. “I thought everyone was asleep. Can’t we just-”

“You’re insatiable, huh?” Steve smacks a firm kiss to his cheek as he disentangles their shaky limbs, pressing a stack of paper towels into his hand as he goes. “C’mon now, be a good boy and clean yourself up. If you make it back in three minutes, I’ll consider doing this again. There’s always a return flight, y’know?” ✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️

More smutty September

[suzukiblu]

WIP excerpt for S; the puzzle trap sex-room. tw: discussion of past dubcon/underage sex, past grooming, unhealthy coping mechanisms. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

"It's fine, Jesus," Superboy says, more than a little frustrated with literally every-fucking-thing at this point. "I mean the pollen and the livestreaming and the deathtrap were all extremely fucking shitty but for, like, the millionth time, it was just sex." 

"Sex with someone that you aren't attracted to who is a gender that you aren't attracted to," Robin says tightly, clenching his fists down by his sides. Superboy does not look anywhere near Superman. 

Goddammit, he thinks. 

"No," he says, just pretending they're alone in this stupid cave because it's not actually cool to make Robin think the situation is any worse than it already is, and Robin's the one who already got upset enough to fucking puke over the situation, so . . . "Like I was kinda annoyed over the hair-pulling thing and you were pretty pushy and I definitely did want a condom involved, but–just, look, that problem is not a problem, alright? Neither of those problems are, uh . . . problems. And what do you care, anyway, nobody's gonna think you're into dick just because you got roofied into oblivion and fucked the only convenient mouth in the room." 

God, though, only he could ever possibly be enough of a fucking loser to end up having to confess to the stupid sexuality crisis he's been having in the fucking Batcave. In front of Batman. In front of Superman! Like–sure, why not, this might as well happen. Why not! 

Robin stares at him. 

"You have a crush on me?" he asks in obvious disbelief. 

"I didn't say I had a crush on you, Jesus," Superboy grumbles, re-folding his arms and very, very firmly still not looking anywhere near Superman. Or anywhere near Batman either, just while he's at it. But admittedly it's mostly Superman he's not looking at. "Ego much, birdboy?" 

"You have a crush on me," Robin repeats, covering his face with his hands again, and Superboy scowls at him and does not blush. "You have a crush on me and I made you go down on me in a deathtrap without even kissing you first." 

"Brush your teeth and we'll talk," Superboy says with a dismissive shrug, since Robin again did very literally just puke in that trash can and all. And like, yeah, the guy doesn't even like guys, but the flippancy is just a reflex at this point. 

Robin splays his fingers and stares at him. 

"Go to therapy and we'll talk," he says. Superboy scowls at him again. Rude. 

“Look who’s fucking talking, Bat-boy,” he says. “Are we all done freaking out about nothing now? Can I go get back to my life, please?” 

“Superboy, if you would be willing to talk to . . . someone . . .” Superman starts in a very careful tone that Superboy immediately hates the sound of. 

“Yeah, no,” he says in exasperation, just–not looking at him, still. “Therapy is for supervillains in Gotham and civilians fresh out of crisis situations, not for perfectly fine active duty superheroes who are just bad at problem-solving under pressure.” 

“You solved the puzzle perfectly, actually,” Batman says, just as neutral as before. 

“How are you making that sound like a bad thing?!” Superboy demands, shooting him a dirty look.

[vintagerpg]

Sea of Mystery (1981) is an interesting Tunnels & Trolls solo. The concept is pretty straightforward: you get on a boat, looking for adventure and, generally, it finds you. In practice, this is essentially another teleport dungeon like Deathtrap Equalizer, its just that the meandering whims of the seabound life obscure the mechanisms a little better.

As I said, you get on a boat. From port there are a number of short adventure paths to follow, some silly, most extremely deadly, one surprisingly horny (I did not realize until this batch of T&T solos how horny this game is, generally). The Sea has some strangely convenient magical properties that mess with your equipment, essentially acting as the rules equalizers in the Deathtrap encounters. Finally, you can exit the solo whenever you hit port, which is a little more plausible than teleporting out with a frog-shaped ring.

Does it work? I think so. The variety in the threads is good. For the most part, you’re kind of stuck in the flow of events, which makes sense being one person on a boat. I like that. It often feels like you’re being pulled to a foretold destiny. Some folks will hate that, but here it feels novel. Most of the variance is down to saving throws. What choices you do have tend to be moral choices on the good/evil binary that remind me an awful lot of a BioWare game, except a little cruder. It’s not bad, though, and definitely interesting.

Ken Macklin’s cover seems a little underwhelming in the context of the whole line, but I really rather like it. It sets a strong tone and gives me Elric, sailor on the seas of fate vibes that feel real good. Interiors are by John Barnes and I love them. Boldly graphical, reminding me of some CYOA illustrations, actually. Good, clean stuff.

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

hi. here's a little over 5k words for the modern human au! entirely unedited, as usual! you'd think this is a full oneshot... ha... no... i actually have some warnings for this one - hospitals, panic attacks, major character injury / discussion of death / clinical description of injury.

in short, my writing comfort zone <3

~

The dial tone plays, and Barnaby looks down at his phone. Call ended stares back at him under Wally’s cheerful profile picture.

“He hung up on me,” Barnaby states. His lips twist and he tosses the phone onto the couch with a snarl of, “That little bastard.”

“Hey now,” Howdy says sharply, frowning at him. “That’s our friend you’re talking about.”

“Like he doesn’t deserve it! All I do is be supportive, understanding, and worry about his damn well being. And then he goes and acts like my very much well-founded concern is an attack!”

Howdy’s frown softens as he watches Barnaby pace, gesturing wildly.

“I love that RV. Maybe not as much as Wally, obviously, but it pains me that it needs to go. And it does need to go! Thing’s becoming a damn deathtrap.” Barnaby pushes his hair back and huffs. He glances at Howdy. “Right? I’m making the right call, here?”

“Of course you are,” Howdy says. “But-”

Barnaby cuts him off. “I tried to be nice about it. I tried to warm him up to the idea of retiring Home, yaknow? And what does he do instead of handling it - he revs up the tin can and runs. Home shouldn’t be started, let alone driven. It’s dangerous.”

It’s extremely dangerous. Wally is skilled at driving it, but no amount of skill will save him if it breaks in the middle of the freeway. What if the engine catches fire? What if a tire pops, or comes loose? Home is old, and wasn’t made to crumple in a crash. Barnaby doesn’t even know if the airbag still works. It’s not safe. 

The thought of Wally bringing Home hurtling down the freeway at ten at night in a - quite honestly - not great mental state turns Barnaby’s stomach. 

“I just wanted him to come back so we could talk about it,” Barnaby says. “I let him keep worming his way out of a serious conversation and now - now he’s -”

“Running away,” Howdy finishes. The point of his pen taps a rhythm against his notepad. 

Barnaby jabs a finger at him. “Exactly. One tough, necessary decision and he turns tail. This isn’t gonna go away if he skips town! Not to mention how he isn’t giving a thought to how this might affect the rest of us.”

“Especially you.”

Barnaby throws his hands up with an indignant look. “Now not only do I have to hunt him down-”

“That would be a we scenario, Barn.”

“But we,” Barnaby concedes, “gotta try to knock some sense into that thick skull ‘a his, and drag him back home - kicking and screaming if we hafta.” 

Howdy’s pen taps faster. “What if he doesn’t want to come back?”

“What if he-” Barnaby stops short and stares at him, wide eyed. 

That’s not. 

That wouldn’t happen, right? Wally would come back in the end. He wouldn’t decide to up and leave entirely, would he? He is in Home… all the essentials he needs are in that RV. Barnaby sits down heavily on Howdy’s threadbare couch. “What if he doesn’t want to come back.”

Wally would have to come back to clear out his studio - he’d never abandon his art. Then they’d have to go through everything inside the house and see what he wants to take, since not all of it is Barnaby’s. A lot of it is shared, so they might have to bargain on who gets what. 

Then they’d all have to watch Wally get into his motorhome and drive away. Possibly for good. 

Barnaby would be alone in that big house with Welcome, knowing that his closest companion is out of his life. Living somewhere else. It's sickening. 

“I’m sure it won’t come to that, Barn,” Howdy says, watching him with furrowed brows and a deep frown - if Barnaby were feeling like himself, he’d crack a joke about him emulating Frank. “I can confidently say that Wally loves you more than that old RV.”

Barnaby snorts. “You sure about that?”

“Unflinchingly. Believe you me, he’s going to wallow for a day or so, and then Home will come rumbling back down your driveway like it never left.”

“I wish I could have your faith,” Barnaby mumbles. He exhales and picks up his phone. No missed calls, no messages. “Maybe if I call him and ask him to just come back, no strings attached, he will.”

“That’s the spirit! Save the talk for another day - tell you what, I’ll help you corrall him so he can’t escape the conversation. I’ll tie him to a chair and bar the door if needed!”

“Good luck with that. Kid’s slippery.” Still, Barnaby hits call again. It rings only a couple of times before a robotic automated message states the caller as unavailable. Barnaby doesn’t enjoy being upset with Wally. However, it feels like his blood is simmering, and the wall is starting to look like great target practice for his phone. He grits his teeth. “He turned off his phone.”

From the corner of his eye he sees Howdy’s eyebrows shoot up as the man turns back to his paperwork. He exhales a controlled breath and writes something down. “I have to say, I’ve never known him to be such a-”

“Pain in the neck?” Barnaby offers.

Howdy clicks his tongue. “You said it, not me.”

“Yeah, well, he’s full of surprises.” Barnaby lets out a frustrated huff. He’s half tempted to run Wally down right now, but he wouldn’t even know where to start. There’s only one freeway out of town, but it goes both ways, and it branches. Wally would have hit one of those branches by now, and who knows which he took. North, south, east, west. Deeper into the woods, or towards the city? To the coast? Somewhere else entirely?

He has to face the facts - there’s nothing to do. He just has to wait until Wally pulls his head out of his ass and realizes how stupid and insensitive he’s being. Those are two words Barnaby would never normally use to describe Wally, but after tonight? They seem fitting. 

Barnaby can’t even muster up guilt for thinking such harsh things. He tried to be nice. He was patient. He’s always kept a lid on it whenever Wally frustrated him, which doesn’t happen often, but it does happen. And what does he get for caring? For being tactful and careful about a shitty situation? 

Avoidance, a shove, and a cut call. Wally left Barnaby’s been left to stew in his own anger and worry. Right now, he’s inclined to lock up that worry in a tiny box in the back of his mind. 

Barnaby pushes himself up with a grumbled, “I’m makin’ some coffee, want some?”

“If you’re offering then I will not decline.”

Barnaby pretends not to feel Howdy’s eyes following him to the apartment’s tiny kitchen. It’s hell to maneuver around in, and the frustration of bumping into something every five seconds only makes Barnaby’s mood worse. By the time the coffee is brewing, he’s ready to punch the cabinets. He won’t, but he wants to. He’d regret it immediately, but he stares at the chipped paint and fantasizes. 

The coffee machine breaks after brewing a whopping single mug. Barnaby stares at it for a long moment, and tallies up the consequences of taking a hammer to it. In the end, he just clenches his fists for a long moment and counts to ten. He takes the mug and sets it in front of Howdy, then goes to the window to brood. Thankfully Howdy is too reabsorbed in his work to notice beyond a mumbled thanks.

For the next hour, Barnaby’s thoughts are entirely composed of Wally. Different scenarios of what might happen next, how Barnaby might handle those situations without shaking Wally for doing something so needlessly reckless, and cruel daydreams of setting Home on fire. Barnaby wants to feel bad about that. He doesn’t. That damn RV has caused two different rifts between Barnaby and Wally - and Barnaby was the one to fix both of them, because both times Wally just left. 

He gets it. He really does - for a time Home was all that Wally had. It’s been with him since Wally was thirteen, and if the thought of retiring it to a dump makes Barnaby sad, he can only imagine how much it distresses Wally. Well, he can do more than make an educated guess. Wally practically told him tonight, if not with words than with actions.

Still. They’re adults - Wally is older than him, if only by a handful of months. When does Barnaby ever ask something of him? When does Barnaby ever push? Why can’t Wally see that Home is becoming a liability, and why won’t he listen? Barnaby can’t make it make sense. 

Wally has always been more inclined to avoid conflict, but this is too far. Barnaby swears, when he tracks Wally down he’s going wring that scrawny little-

His phone is ringing. 

Barnaby lunges for it, relief dousing his anger. He picks it up, ready to give Wally a piece of his mind and then beg him to come back-

“It’s an unknown number,” he says, shoulders slumping. Of course it’s an unknown number. Wally wouldn’t change on a dime and decide to be considerate for once. He exchanges an exasperated look with Howdy and declines. He goes to set the phone down - the number calls back.

“That’s one determined scammer,” Howdy says. He leans back in his chair and holds out a hand. “I’ll deal with ‘em.”

Barnaby is all too happy to hand it over. Let the poor sap on the other end of the line deal with a master swindler. 

“Howdy-hi, how can I help?” Howdy starts with a mischievous grin thrown Barnaby’s way? He leans back in the chair and hums. “Who, may I query, is asking?”

All at once, the ease drains out of Howdy and he stops fidgeting. He sits up, already looking at Barnaby with a paled expression that has something cold slithering down Barnaby’s spine. Something is wrong.

“He’s right here.” Howdy holds out the phone. His throat works uselessly for a moment before he plainly states the obvious, “It’s for you.”

Barnaby takes it, his mouth abruptly dry. Howdy is already up and moving - grabbing his coat, his keys. “Hello?”

“Is this Barnaby Beagle?” a professional feminine voice asks, tinny through the phone.

“B. Beagle, yeah.”

The woman introduces herself as the nearest city’s hospital, and Barnaby’s heart drops through the floor. She asks him to confirm that he’s Wally Darling’s emergency contact. He confirms, his voice sounding distant to his own ears. Howdy takes his arm and gestures to his shoes by the door, spurring Barnaby into motion.

“Is he okay?” Barnaby manages to say. He puts the wrong shoe on the wrong foot and almost curses aloud as he switches it. 

“Mr. Darling was involved in an automobile accident,” is all the hospital employee says. “He was brought in a few minutes ago.”

Barnaby steadies himself against the doorjamb, choking on a whispered, “Oh, god.” 

Keys jingle as Howdy opens the door and pulls Barnaby through, then locks the door behind them.

“But is he okay?” Barnaby asks again as they hurry down the short hallway to the stairs. 

“I’m not at liberty to disclose that information at present.”

It’s bad. It has to be bad if they won’t say anything over the phone. He must be silent for too long, because Howdy takes the phone, tells her they’ll be there soon, and hangs up. He tucks the phone into Barnaby’s pocket before opening the door to the store’s back lot. 

The frigid air slaps the shock out of Barnaby, and sensation comes flooding back in. He grabs the keys out of Howdy’s hand and strides to the car with long, powerful strides that would leave anyone shorter than Howdy in the dust.

“Are you sure-”

“I’m driving,” Barnaby growls, cutting Howdy off.

Howdy makes a disapproving noise, but relents. They get in and Barnaby adjusts his seat with harsh movements, jabs the key into the ignition because Howdy’s car is a dated hunk of junk, and peels out of the parking space before Howdy even has his seatbelt all the way on. 

Howdy clings to the ceiling handle as the car tears down the mostly empty street, going at least ten miles over the speed limit. Barnaby doesn’t know exactly where the hospital is, but he knows how to get to the city. They can figure it out from there. Several people honk as Barnaby brings them flying onto the freeway. 

“Holy Marilyn marmalade!” Howdy screeches as they narrowly avoid side-swiping a minivan. 

Barnaby ignores him and cuts off a pickup to get into the right lane for the interchange. Howdy whispers a string of something high pitched and strained and clings to the handle with both hands. 

It takes him a moment to parse out the constant ramble as, “-pull over pull over pull over pull over-” Two honks and a squeal of tires as Barnaby almost causes an accident, and Howdy yells in a louder and deeper tone than Barnaby has ever heard from him, “PULL OVER!”

Barnaby clenches his jaw and cuts across the carpool lane’s double whites. It only takes a moment to reach the shoulder. Howdy leaps out of the passenger seat as soon as the car stops, marches to Barnaby’s side, and wrenches the door open.

“Out,” he snaps, breathing hard. “Barnaby, I swear to all things priceless, get out. “

Barnaby meets his steely gaze for all of a second before unbuckling and getting out. Cars whip by. Howdy huffs at him and slips into the driver’s seat, muttering about recklessness and disasters and if you would wait to try and kill us until we’re right outside the hospital, if only to save us the ambulance fee-

When Barnaby gets into the passenger seat, Howdy waits for him to buckle in with fingertips drumming on the steering wheel. He merges onto the freeway smoothly and carefully. They go slower than the speed Barnaby had them flying down the asphalt at, and it makes something deeply impatient itch in him, but it’s safer. 

“I know you’re upset,” Howdy says, eyes still fixed on the road, “and I know that you’re scared. But what in hell’s bells was that, Barn?”

Barnaby side eyes him and grimaces, folding his arms. “I don’t know. I’m sorry - I shouldn’t have put you in danger like that.”

“You put yourself in danger too, you know.” Howdy sighs and relaxes his grip on the steering wheel. “We’re of no use to Wally if we get ourselves in a crash. What would he say?”

“Whatever he’d say would be hypocritical,” Barnaby says before he can think better of it.

Howdy glances sharply at him. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“He..” Barnaby’s voice fails on him, and he swallows hard. “He was in an accident.”

Howdy is silent for a full few seconds before he exhales a thin, pained sound. “Oh, Walls…”

He must not know what else to say, which is good and well, because Barnaby doesn’t either. A long few minutes pass of silence. Headlights of passing cars on the other side of the freeway flash over them before plunging back into darkness. The dials on the dash glow. The check engine light is on. They’ll need to get gas in order to make it home. 

“I’m sure it’s not as bad as you’re thinking,” Howdy says. He’s tapping the steering wheel again. “It’s likely just a few scrapes and bruises, at worst a broken bone. Nothing Wally can’t handle, and certainly nothing to be concerned over.”

Barnaby can’t bring himself to agree. Maybe… maybe if Wally was driving slowly… but that wouldn’t matter if someone crashed into him with enough force. Home is a large, sturdy vehicle, but it isn’t invulnerable. Wally certainly isn’t.

Without the distraction of driving, all Barnaby can think about is the what ifs. Yeah, what if he’s only a little bit hurt, but what if it’s worse? All of the worst images Barnaby can think of roll through his mind like a messed up movie reel.

Wally dead on the scene, caught in a hunk of twisted metal. 

Wally, choking on his own blood in an ambulance, dying en route to the hospital.

Wally flatlining on a metal table. 

Wally’s small body covered with a sheet-

“Almost there,” Howdy says, slowing at a stoplight. It bathes them both in red. Barnaby didn’t notice when they got off the freeway. 

Barnaby squeezes his eyes shut and presses his forehead to the cold window. After a moment, a slender hand rests on his thigh and squeezes. It’s such a small, stupid thing, but Barnaby breathes a little easier. 

Despite the drive down the freeway feeling like it took hours, the drive through city streets to the hospital passes in a blink. Before Barnaby knows it the car is spiraling up to an upper floor of the parking garage. The floor is mostly empty - Howdy pulls into a spot right by glass double doors. 

Barnaby gets out a split seconds before Howdy, staring at the pristine white walls just inside the doors. In a moment he’ll find out if it’s not that bad, or if he’s about to have the worst night of his life. He’s been to a hospital twice. The last time was for Howdy, but he went with the knowledge that it was only a precaution. The other time was for Mama’s health scare. 

That had been terrifying. The waiting, the wondering, the too-bright hallways and the staff’s rigid smiles. It ended well, but it had still been horrible, and hospitals took center stage in some of his recurring nightmares. Barnaby never wanted to see another loved one in a hospital bed again.

Looks like he doesn’t have a choice. 

Howdy comes around from the driver’s side and lays a hand on Barnaby’s shoulder. “If you need a moment to-”

“Nah,” Barnaby says, his voice rough. He nods and adjusts his sleeves. “Better rip the bandaid off.”

They go into the sterile maze. The bright overhead lights dazzle Barnaby’s eyes after being in the dim parking garage, and he grimaces at the strong odor of antiseptic and floor polish. Howdy makes a beeline for the nearest receptionist and talks to her in rushed, low tones. 

Barnaby shuffles after him, rubbing his shaking hands together and eyeing every person in scrubs that walks past. Something beeps somewhere. He thinks he hears someone crying. This is a place without color, art, or happiness. 

“This way,” Howdy says, walking past him and tilting his head at the elevator. Barnaby follows, feeling like a lost puppy dropped at the side of the road. 

A nurse gets into the elevator with them and politely smiles before staring at the floor counter and pretending they don’t exist. It’s fine with Barnaby. If he has to make small talk right now, he might actually snap. The man’s pink scrubs are almost an eyesore in the harsh lighting. 

The elevator dings, and they all get out on the same floor. Howdy reads door plaques and wall signs like a hawk, his head turning on a swivel as he reads everything at lightning speed. Barnaby nearly has to jog to keep up with his hurried pace. 

Howdy changes direction without warning and heads straight for a door at the end of a short offshoot hallway. Barnaby reads the sign next to the door.

[can’t remember if it’s icu or the other thing, research later]

It’s bad.

The waiting room is small - longer than it is wide, and there’s a woman sleeping in a chair in the corner. It looks nicer than the emergency room, or where Barnaby waited to see his mama. The benches have colorful cushions, and the walls are a pastel green instead of white. There’s an abstract geometric painting on the wall next to the woman. 

Barnaby slowly takes a seat on stiff cushions, watching Howdy talk to the receptionist from afar. He nods and pats the counter before joining Barnaby. He sits close enough that their legs press together.

“Someone will get us up to speed as soon as there’s news,” Howdy says. “I tried to pry some more out of him, but he wouldn’t give up another word.”

Barnaby nods, staring down at his hands. His nail polish is already chipping, despite Julie painting them only last weekend. Barnaby picks at the bright red on his pinkie until Howdy pulls his hand away and enfolds it in both of his own. 

When Howdy takes a deep breath, Barnaby finds himself mimicking him. Their gazes meet - Howdy’s is unflinching, and steady. He smiles and runs his thumb over Barnaby’s knuckles, soothing the nervous trembling, and Barnaby is struck by how darn grateful he is to have Howdy with him. 

If he had to do all of this alone… Barnaby doesn’t think he could. Either he’d have gotten himself into a crash to join Wally, or he would still be sitting in his car, staring at the hospital doors. He doesn’t have the courage. But Howdy does, and Barnaby loves him for it. 

For once, Howdy lets the time pass in silence, though after a long stretch of indeterminable time he gets up to pace. The bench cushions are high quality, but they start to feel uncomfortable. Barnaby doesn’t dare go for a walk. At least they’re not the usual waiting room chairs - he’d rather stand than try to fit into those plastic, narrow things. 

At some point the woman in the corner wakes up. She startles seeing two strangers in the room with her, but quickly ignores them. Barely a few minutes pass before she leaves, mumbling something about coffee. She doesn’t come back. Barnaby spends a while wondering why - did she go home, or wait somewhere else, or did she receive news in the halls?

Howdy sits down again and starts typing furiously on his phone. When Barnaby gives him a curious nudge, he quietly explains that he’s texting the group chat. Barnaby feels a twinge of guilt at that. He completely forgot to let everyone know that there’s a… situation. Who knows if any of them will see it until morning. 

Message sent, Howdy gets up to pace some more. His rhythmic gait gives Barnaby something to focus on, seeing as the clock on the wall is silent, and the receptionist seems to be sleeping. Barnaby could probably pass time on his own phone, but every second spent distracted is a second he might miss someone coming to tell them…

What? Tell them what, exactly? That Wally is okay? That he can receive visitors? 

That he didn’t make it?

The door opens, startling Barnaby to his feet. Howdy scurries over from the far side of the room and rests a steadying hand on Barnaby’s lower back. A woman clad in blue scrubs enters, reading something on a clipboard. There are shadows under her eyes, and she looks beyond exhausted. Barnaby can sympathize.

“Mr. Beagle?” the doctor asks, looking between them. When Barnaby nods, she smiles thinly, gaze flicking briefly to Howdy. “Hi. I’m Dr. Allen. Before I disclose any sensitive information, I’d like to confirm what your relation to the patient is.”

The question gives Barnaby pause. He’s always had a difficult time putting his and Wally’s relationship into simple terms, because it’s anything but. Wally is his best friend, his dearest companion, the man he lives with and can’t imagine being without. 

“He’s my partner,” Barnaby settles on, because it’s a good umbrella term. Partner can mean a lot of things, and people don’t usually pry for specifics. “We’re as good as family.”

Dr. Allen writes something down on her clipboard. “No worries, I’m not going to kick you out if you’re not - you’re his emergency contact for a reason, after all. It’s just basic information that I’d like to have on hand.”

“Course - so how is he?” Barnaby cuts straight to the chase. He’s not in the mood for niceties. 

“Well, Mr. Darling is certainly giving us a run for our money,” Allen sighs. “He’s not out of the woods yet, but I believe he’s gotten through the worst of it.”

“He’ll make it?”

Allen offers another tight lipped smile. “We’re doing our best.”

Barnaby has seen enough hospital dramas to know that we’re doing our best means no promises, prepare for the worst. Howdy must feel the tension gripping him like a vice, because his hand slips from Barnaby’s back to his hand. 

“What are his injuries, if I may?” Howdy asks. 

“I’m not sure-”

“Please. We’d rather know than wonder.” 

Allen looks between them and sighs again. She flips a page on her clipboard. “Unfortunately, there was a bit of time between the crash and when emergency services were called. Between blood loss and the near-freezing temperatures, Mr. Darling developed mild hypothermia.”

Wally was dying, cold and alone in the wreckage of his home for who knows how long before anyone came to help. Barnaby sways in place, and Howdy helps him sit down on a bench instead of the floor. Allen looks apprehensive.

“Keep going,” Barnaby rasps. He needs to know.

Allen doesn’t look happy about it, but she continues. “Mr. Darling also suffered several low-grade lacerations from shrapnel, some fractured ribs, a compound fracture in his left tibia, and currently unidentified damage to his right hand and lower arm.”

Barnaby swallows a mournful sound. That’s fine, it’s fine. Broken bones heal - Wally will be painting again in no time. 

“He also developed an intracranial hematoma. It’s been treated, but we won’t know the extent of the damage until Mr. Darling wakes up.”

“What is that?” Howdy asks before Barnaby can figure out how to speak again. “Intracranial hematoma - tell me if I’m wrong, but that sounds like a head injury.”

“It is - in layman’s terms, it’s a brain bleed. Head trauma can cause bleeding inside the skull, which puts pressure on the brain. We caught it as quickly as feasibly possible, which should raise his chance of a full recovery.” Allen flips the clipped page back into place. “There may still be lesser complications and injuries we haven’t been able to diagnose or address yet. I’ll be forward with you - this is one of the worst crash cases I’ve seen in some time. Mr. Darling was lucky to be found alive.”

Allen goes on to offer platitudes that Wally is a fighter, and easily answers the flood of questions Howdy has about the mentioned injuries. It all sounds distant. Underwater. The room is too small and the air is stale - are the vents working? Is there a window they can open?

In a blink - and yet the conversation lasts ages - Allen promises to come back with more information as soon as she has it. She smiles one last time and leaves. 

“Barn?” Howdy sounds muffled. “Barn, are you alright?”

What kind of question is that? Of course Barnaby isn’t alright - his best friend is dying, likely on this very floor. There’s a chance he’s already dead. Barnaby might have already lost him, he just doesn’t know it yet. 

Mr. Darling was lucky to be found alive. 

One of the worst crash cases I’ve seen in some time. 

Mild hypothermia - brain bleed - lacerations - fractures.

Lesser complications and injuries we haven’t been able to diagnose or address yet.

We’re doing our best.

“He hung up on me, the little bastard-”

Barnaby is up and out the door before he registers moving. He staggers down the hallways in a blur, everything swirling together into a mess of sight and sound as his lungs struggle to get a full breath. He bypasses the elevator and takes the stairs down to the level they parked on. 

The cold air does nothing to help him breathe. Barnaby chokes on it as he leans against the rough wall grasping at his chest. Howdy is there immediately - he must have been on Barnaby’s heels the whole time. 

“Talk to me, Barn,” Howdy pleads, a hand on the back of his neck and the other over the one Barnaby has on his chest. “What is it - you’re not having a heart attack, are you? Tell me you aren’t, I can’t handle that right now.”

Barnaby doesn’t know. Maybe? He feels like he is. He can’t breathe. He tries to say so, but the ragged gasps his breathing has devolved into doesn’t allow it. Howdy must know something he doesn’t, because he doesn’t run to get a doctor.

“How can I help?” he asks instead.

“Don’t - don’t - know,” Barnaby wheezes. 

“Okay, alright, don’t worry, Barn, I’m here, I’m not going anywhere. Let’s try, ah - what were the steps? I didn’t exactly write them down, though in hindsight I should’ve - that’s not the point! It was… what a time to take after Eddie’s memory-”

It shouldn’t be helping, but Howdy’s constant stream of words grabs Barnaby’s attention. He manages to inhale nearly a full breath before it stutters back out and he’s struggling again.

“Breathing!” Howdy says. “Yes, that was it - Barnaby, I need you to focus on me. Copy my breathing.”

He sucks in a slow, dramatic breath through his nose and exhales just as slowly through his mouth. Barnaby catches on and tries to mimic him, but-

“Can’t, I ca-an’t,” Barnaby says. His chest hurts. 

Howdy presses their foreheads together. “Yes, you can. Come now, Barn, in… out. Simplest thing in the world.”

It doesn’t feel simple, but Barnaby tries. It feels like forever before he manages a full inhale. He butchers the exhale, but Howdy praises the minor win before launching right back into measured breathing. 

Barnaby finally manages a slow inhale and exhale, and suddenly it feels like the pressure filling his chest has vanished. He slumps against the wall, worn out. He puts his hand over Howdy’s mouth in the middle of another dramatic demonstration.

“You’re alright now?” Howdy says, peeling his hand off. Barnaby nods, and Howdy leans next to him with a whoosh. “Thank the stock market - I was starting to get light headed.”

It takes another few minutes for them to catch their breath. Barnaby straightens enough to rest his head on Howdy’s shoulder, breathing in his cheap cologne and homemade laundry detergent. Howdy cups the back of his neck and massages the tense muscle there. 

“This will all turn out okay,” Howdy promises. “Wally is stubborn - I think we both know that well enough. By this time tomorrow we’ll be moving forward.”

Barnaby wants to be that optimistic, but this is real life. For all they know, moving forward means making funeral arrangements. His breathing stutters and he forces it to even out before he can start hyperventilating again. 

A car pulls into a parking space with a gravelly sound. Barnaby pays it no mind until Howdy makes a surprised noise - Barnaby looks up, and his stomach churns.

Frank, Eddie, and Julie are all getting out of Frank’s car. They’re all in various states of dishevelment. Frank’s hair is a mess, and he has what looks like Eddie’s company jacket thrown on over his pajamas. Eddie is in little more than a shirt that says male? lol, more like mail! and boxers - he’s even wearing slippers instead of shoes, and his hair flops over his forehead in soft tufts. Julie’s hair is still in curlers, and though she’s wearing shoes, she’s in a too-long shirt over sweats that don’t belong to her. They’re paint-stained. 

They rush across the parking lot, all worried faces and tired eyes. They’re already asking what happened, is Wally okay, Sally is getting Poppy, they should be here soon, has there been any news-

Barnaby lunges at the nearest trash can and vomits.

[my-makeshift-masquerade]

Hi! Could I request a reader insert for Funtime Freddy? Basically, readers had a harsh week and Funtime Freddy cheers them up? Readers personality is up to you! ❤️

P.S, Love your work!!

Oh. You know I have never written for this fella (fellas?) before. Let’s see how I do? You can’t have Funtime Fredboi without his trusty left hand man BawhnBawhn, so you’re getting a two for one package deal!

Battery Low

“Hello. Welcome back to your existential crisis repackaged as a promising career—“

“Oh fuck off…” You mumbled at nothing. Who programmed that annoying Hand Unit anyway…?

“We value the ideas and feedback of our employees here at Afton Robo—“ The audio glitched out, “—Circus Baby’s Entertainment and Rentals. So, we would like to let you decide which of our friendly cast you want to visit first today. Please enter your selection into the pinpad.”

You looked in the beady googly eyes of that horrible excuse for a pinpad, thinking for a moment. Do you want to get the easiest one out of the way first, or start with the more difficult animatronic? After a second more of deliberation, you begin to type.

B-A-L-7-0-R-4—

“It looks like you’re having trouble with the pinpad. I see what you were trying to type and will autocorrect it for you.” Hand Unit paused, “You entered: Funtime Freddy.”

“What?! No I didn’t, you dumbass computer—” You hissed, kicking the metal stand and wincing at how much it hurt.

“Let’s go see how Funtime Freddy and his best pal Bonbon are doing tonight.”

“Hell no. I’m going to Ballor—“

“Let’s go see how Funtime Freddy and his best pal Bonbon are doing tonight.” Hand Unit repeated more firmly.

“Fuckin— Fine!”

———

You trudged into Funtime Freddy’s area, flashlight in hand. You did not want to deal with any of this shit today, especially not Freddy’s shit. He loved to toy with you and make your job that much more difficult than it already was. It felt like eternity and you were only a week into this purgatory of a job. You get paid at two weeks, if you don’t take the choice of a gift basket, which you weren’t.

Baby said on your third night that you must not value your life too much if you keep choosing to come back here, but frankly you have no choice. You need the money. You need to escape your house for at least some time. Sure you’d even make more doing dishes somewhere, but it wasn’t worth the trouble to keep applying to other places that would reject you for “lack of experience”.

“Ohoho! I hear something!” His shrill voice echoed in the darkness, “Someone’s here to play!”

“It’s only a mouse.” Bonbon’s slightly less annoying voice whispered, “Go back to sleep…”

You took advantage of that to try and sneak back into the vents, but of course, the giant metal deathtrap of a bear had found you before you could scramble in.

“Why hello again~!” Freddy cackled, “See, Bonbon? I told you our friend was here to see us!”

“Hello, night guard!” The periwinkle rabbit waved his mitten-like paw, but paused, “Oh my! You look like you’re running out of battery…”

“Silly Bon! Humans don’t run out of battery!”

“Actually, we very much do.” You snapped bitterly, instantly regretting it as you saw Freddy’s free hand grab a sparking wire nearby.

“Well then! Let us help y—“

“NO!” You dropped the flashlight and put your hands up, “That is NOT how we charge!”

“But when other humans touch it they jitter with excitement!” The bear’s ears wiggled, “They even leak a little on the floor!”

“Look, can you stop being a total fucking sadist for ten minutes?!” You ran your fingers over your scalp, “Please, just— just ten minutes—!”

You sat down on the grime covered floor, shaking as you tried to control your breathing. It was silent apart from the buzzing of machinery for a few seconds…until Bonbon spoke.

“Freddy, I think our friend is sad.” The rabbit spoke, “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing you two can help with…”

“Sure we can!” Freddy stated proudly, “We are the best at making people smile!”

You paused. Actually… Why not just vent your problems to these two robots? It wasn’t like they could do anything worse than torture or kill you…

“It’s… just been a tough week.” The employee began, “Dealing with this new job and other things… I look happy on the outside, but on the inside I am so tired. It’s like my life is passing me by, but I can’t even enjoy it, you know?”

“Boy, we sure know how that feels!” Freddy laughed in an almost unstable manner, “Every day we perform show after show… Then we end up back here waiting to do it all again tomorrow! AHAHAHAHA—“

“Calm down…” Bonbon soothed, “What he means to say is it gets pretty lonely down here… It’s hard for us to keep being happy, too…”

The human looked up at the towering animatronic from their sitting position with a new spark in their eyes. Damn… You didn’t realize the robots would be having the same crisis as you. Now you were curious…

“So…What do you both do at night when I’m not here?”

“Well… We try to get some slee—“

“Wait for someone else to come play with us of course!” The bear cut off the rabbit, “As long as someone is here to distract me, I forget the pain for a little while!”

“That doesn’t always work, Freddy… It helps sometimes, but the best thing we can do is take care of ourselves and rest so we can keep going another day.” Bonbon looked to the guard, “Maybe you need to recharge and sleep too?”

“But that’s boringggg!” The larger funtime groaned, “Can’t we play a game instead?! I want to play chase! That will wake us all up!”

“Freddy, our guard friend isn’t in the mood for games tonight… Don’t you remember how it feels when you’re battery is low and you don’t want to play anymore?”

“…Yes…” The bear answered with the tone of a pouting child, before laughing, “It’s okay though! When that happens the silly voice in the walls says we aren’t performing at capacity and gives us zaps until I feel happy again!”

Wait, is that why he immediately went to try and shock you earlier?! You were surprised by how much his sadistic behavior suddenly made sense given that grim context…

“Sorry, guys… It’s only been a week and I am already slipping…” You growled in anger at yourself, “I didn’t mean to—“

“What are you apologizing for?!” Freddy blinked, becoming cheerful again in an unstable sort of way, “It’s okay to be out of battery! I mean… Everyone runs out eventually, right?!”

“Yeah, I-I guess…?”

“So, take a moment to recharge! Do something that zaps you with energy and makes you feel ALIVE—“

“Or take it slow.” Bonbon added tentatively.

“Slow sounds good…” You nodded, “Can I just sleep in here?”

“A sleepover?! Of course you can!” Freddy beamed, “Baby can make the voice in the walls be quiet too! I can go ask her—“

“It seems my audio is malfunctioning—“ Hand Unit blurted, “I will be offline momentarily…”

“Oh, Baby! She’s always listening!” The bear giggled.

“Shhh. Our friend is already falling asleep…” Bonbon whispered.

You were made uneasy by that last statement about Baby, but you passed out before you could really process the implications of it… God were you really falling asleep in this dangerous place? Yes… Yes you were.

[baenyth]

Bethany's Bizarre Miraculous Reviews Episode 5-21: The Tiger Miraculous 2: YOU THOUGHT YOU COULD ESCAPE JULEKA DISRESPECT!?

Why the worst akuma? Why? Why? Why? Apparently there was a deleted cathartic apology scene and the whole battle was thought about being removed. What the hell?

You're going to London

Damn. Even Plagg is serious.

That feels OOC. I always saw Rose as wanting to be a children's doctor while Juleka, not being like other goths, would want to be a model.

Lila wants to rule the world. I can tell.

Straight to the shredder

Dumbing down Chloe? Really?

They're cooking

Dumb idiot teenagers. Or is this stretching it?

Wait, when did that happen? A few days ago?

There's the damn retcon. You can't fool me, even if you try to say she did it to spend more time with her girlfriend Rose.

Honestly even if you change the power to be more inline with that stuff that traumatized me on Deviantart I still think it'd be better if she caused the Third Impact instead.

Nuclear bomb

Cap

Oh no. Lila's deathtrap.

Even Sabrina is disgusted!

Villain Monologue

Love me a good surprise trap when the villain thinks they have it all!

Damn. Even if it was a few seconds, I'd still rather have that than the [@#!$]

I know we aren't going back to Corrupt Mayor Andre, but a girlie can dream.

And they're admitting Audrey is evil too, right?

Fuck this shit I'm out

I'm classifying this as a retcon. Also Juleka disrespect. She did this back in season 4 as well. And in the English dub she talked in full sentences back in the first three seasons, and I'd argue it's better that way.

I'm thinking about it and yeah, this basically is a middle finger to Crocoduel. The Juleka Respect episode. Were Lukanette and Adrigami not enough to insult that you had to go for one of my blorbos too!?

Wait, he's fired? Does the school board not exist in this universe?

This again? Can we get to Lila's secret lair if it's here?

Oh no. Just another identity.

My theory on Lila is that she's much older than she looks, and is actually a serial killer that kills other students and takes their identities for her own uses. Lila's mother last episode was actually Cerise's considering the same movie excuse, not to mention it would explain the wig: she thinks Lila's putting on the wig for her filming. I also assume Lila's planning on doing the same to Marinette and possibly even Kagami. As for the woman in the season 4 finale, I assume she's actually a friend of Lila's diplomat mother ensured to take Lila to the station, considering how busy Lila's diplomat mother clearly is.

[writemekpop]

Ride | Lee Taeyong

Summary: You challenge biker bad boy Taeyong to a game that he can’t resist...

Genre: Biker AU, suggestive

Word Count: 1k Gif: @bestbubu​

This was crazy. 

No, not crazy, insane. 

You were standing on a highway in the middle of the night, surrounded by sweaty young men. Two banged up cars were waiting at the start line, ready to race each other. The air was smoky and smelled like gasoline. 

Yuta’s face glowed red in their rear lights as he swept his hand over the crowd. “You asked what I do each night after school. This is it!” 

You had a sinking feeling you were about to get run over. “I don’t really feel like losing my life tonight, so I might… head…” 

You spun around. A young man, who you would later know as Johnny, was inches away from you. “Not so fast,” he said, smirking, a cigarette hanging from his lips. “You’ve gotta race. That’s the rules.” 

“I’ll leave the deathtraps to you, actually…”

From behind you, a voice said, “You really think we’re gonna let you leave and rat on us to the police? Newbies race. No argument.” 

You flicked your head and saw that a younger man was speaking, a kid really, hands in the pockets of his leather jackets. “I’m Haechan. New girl… why don’t you race the Ace?”  

Johnny spit out his cigarette in surprise. “You’re joking. The Ace – Taeyong - he’s… insane. The rest of us, we have limits. If I think my life’s in danger, I’ll slow down. But he- he’s not afraid of anything.” 

Haechan grinned. “It’s like he has a death wish. I mean, what do you have to go through to become like that?” 

Johnny bit his lip. “Sometimes… I look in his eyes and… I think he could have killed a man.”

A gruff, sardonic laugh interrupts him. 

Approaching through the red haze is a devilishly attractive man. He’s wearing nothing but a torn up red leather jacket. His dark caramel chest is so chiseled it could have been personally designed by god. Scars criss-cross his body, only adding to his rugged handsomeness.  

Your heart is pounding, and you can’t tell if it’s from fear or attraction. Can you even race someone like that? You should be running in the opposite direction – so why is every cell in your body being pulled towards him? 

Before you know it, you’re in the driver’s seat of a scrap car, and Taeyong’s in the one next to you. 

“I can’t watch!” someone shouts. 

This is it. This is how you die. 

But then Johnny blows the whistle, and the crowd goes wild with cheers, and you’re off. 

As you speed down the dark highway, Taeyong controls his car so he’s level with you. He’s driving, but his eyes are totally focused on yours. 

“Pull over,” Taeyong orders. 

Your heart flutters. Why is he trying to protect you? 

Any rational person would pull over right now, but you feel a strange wave of rebellion. You need to show Taeyong that you’re not the weak little coward he probably thinks you are. You have a strange urge to make him… see you. 

You refuse to pull over, speeding ahead of him. He orders you again and again, he voice getting more urgent each time. 

Finally, in one swift motion, Taeyong squeezes the side of his car against yours, forcing you sideways until you’re scraping the concrete edge of the highway, sparks flying in the dark. Your car squeals to a stop. 

Your heart is thundering harder than it ever has. Yes, you feel like you want to throw up. But you also feel an electric exhilaration, like your blood is singing. 

You hear a car door slamming, then Taeyong is leaning over you. His body is so close to yours in the stifling, sparking darkness of the car. He smells like sweat and burnt rubber… strangely delicious. 

“Are you hurt?” he asks sternly. 

You shake your head, your heart squeezing. Why does he care?

---

Later that night, after a whole lot more races, the whole crowd has moved into a bar, chatter and neon lighting filling the space. 

Taeyong is hunched over the bar, tending a long cut on his muscled arm. 

Just sitting this close to him sets your body on fire. What is he thinking about? Could it be… you?

An expression that, on a normal person could be a smile, comes into Taeyong’s face. “That was impressive.”

You scoff. “Impressive? You ran me into a wall!”

“Still… the way you raced me like that, all that distance? Most newbies would have given up a long time before.” His face darkens. “See, that’s the problem. Talented people like you… they think racing’s so easy. They think it has no consequences.” 

Taeyong leans in close to you, his eyes burning. “Stay. The hell. Out.” 

Again, the rebellion swells up in your chest. You act different around Taeyong. He awakens some bold, daring side in you. 

“What if I don’t want to?” You eye the mysterious scar running across his collarbone. “What if… I want to know more?” 

Taeyong’s jaw clenches. “You don’t want to be a racer. Just take my word for it.” 

“What if it’s not just racing I’m interested in?” you say, your eyes falling on his dark pink lips. You can’t believe the way you’re acting. You’re never this confident. Here, amongst racers, anything seems possible.  

“Can I kiss you?” you suddenly ask.

Taeyong sucks in a tiny breath, the only sign of his surprise. He doesn’t reply, almost as if he knows he should say no, but he leans closer to you anyway. So, you bring your lips to meet his. 

The kiss sets off every nerve in your body, like you’re struck by lightning. It barely lasts a few moments, but it’s enough. 

—

MAIN MASTERLIST

Let us know what you thought in the comments or on anon! 💋

[elacular-kink]

Poly-Techhic 4: Dinner date

Popping back to the present (3.5 B, oops all hiccups, will happen someday, but apparently not today), we will now see Kiran and Susanna go on their first date, for good and for ill.

Character Sheet

TW: Anxiety, Dysphoria (MtF), hunger, Internalized fatphobia, Body Issues, Embarrassment, Snobbish asshole, Emotional breakdown

Kinks: Hiccups, Embarrassment, Hunger, Stomach noises, hurt/comfort?

I was so nervous.

I was so unbelievably, unbearably, incredibly, unimaginably nervous.

Was my dress alright? It didn't look stupid, did it? Did I look feminine enough in it? Had I shaved well enough? Was I growing any stubble? Were my shoes okay? I knew we'd need to walk, so I'd chosen flats, but would they still be painful? Was the restaurant I'd chosen an acceptable distance away? Would it be a good restaurant? Would the food be good? How much should I eat? I wouldn't want to look like a pig in front of her, absolutely not, but I was hungry since I hadn't been able to stomach eating lunch today and—

Breathe. I tried to force myself to breathe.

My stomach growled. That didn't help.

I repeated Olivia's words in my head. "You don't have to be afraid of her. Susanna will tell you if she doesn't like something." And she hadn't told me she didn't like me. She'd communicated that on more than one occasion to people she actually didn't like, so I knew she was capable of it and willing to do it. So if she didn't like the restaurant, she'd say so and then we'd

We would...

Before I could think of an answer to that, I heard her voice. "Hey, Kiran." When I looked, Susanna was approaching me, wearing one of her usual cool black hoodies and a set of loose-fitting khakis. Did this mean I was overdressed? How formal was a strapless pink dress and a white loose-knit cardigan? Especially when that dress was supposed to be a midi but looked more like a mini because I was too tall and too fat and clothes were impossible to find and—"Fuck, you look really cute in that."

"A-ah!" I looked down and saw a soft smile underneath her hood. When she looked up at me I also saw that she had put on some eyeliner (crap, I was barely wearing any makeup, did I look okay?). "Th-thank you!" My stupid hands wouldn't stop flapping. "Y-you look, um—"

Susanna chuckled. "Don't worry. I know I'm not exactly Prince Charming over here. I'm actually dressed a little better than I look right now, but it's fuckin' cold out." Her eyes went down me and I followed them. When I looked down lower, I saw that she was actually wearing dark brown dress shoes. "Speaking of which, I'm amazed you're not freezing your ass off. Let's get a move on." She tilted her head in the direction of the restaurant and I squeaked and nodded. God, how was I supposed to handle a date with someone so cool?

We were walking. I'd walked this path to the restaurant a few times before to prepare, but it still felt like it'd fallen out of my brain. It felt even more like that when Susanna reached over and grabbed my hand. "I have a little trouble keeping pace with other people when we're walking together. Mind if I hang on?" I shook my head, nodded, then decided to communicate that I meant yes by intertwining my fingers with hers as best I could. She smiled at me again. "Cool. Sorry I couldn't get a ride, but Maya'd wanna come in with us, and I love her, but I'm trying to have a date with you here. And there's no way I'm making you sit in Olivia's deathtrap of a car." I'd seen said deathtrap and I agreed that I would prefer to never even touch it, much less enter it, though I certainly wouldn't be saying as much out loud.

"I-it's perfectly fine!" I shook my head. "I really should take more walks anyway. I could really stand to lose some weight."

Susanna frowned at me, her lips pursed. "Nah. Walking's good and all, but not because you need to lose weight. Your body's fine just the way it is."

I couldn't bear to look at her. "You don't need to say that."

"Yeah, I don't need to. But I'm gonna anyway. 'Cause I feel like it."

A little laugh worked its way out of me, and I was able to stop flapping my free hand long enough to brush my hair back. "Well...I suppose that I can't stop you in that case."

"Damn right you can't." For the remainder of the walk, Susanna filled the air between us with talk about her class on sound mixing. The combination of computers and music was something we could both have educated input on, and that helped me pay attention and stay engaged. Eventually, though, we arrived at the restaurant, whose name was something French that neither of us could quite pronounce. Susanna glanced through the windows at the white-sheeted tables within. "Uh...not to be a mooch or anything, but you're paying, right?"

"N-naturally, naturally." That had always been the plan, and I could imagine very few scenarios where I'd want any date to pay for our various activities rather than myself doing so. I may not have had much to offer, but as long as money still mattered, that was something I could treat people with.

"Cool. Then after you." Susanna pulled the door open and gestured for me to enter, and I couldn't help but giggle.

Once I had shaken my laughter away, I took a deep breath and walked up to the maître d'. This was where I had to be the social one, and I'd seen it done enough times to copy the behavior myself. "Mandal, party of two."

The man in the tuxedo looked past me at Susanna as she entered. "We don't wear hoods in this establishment, sir."

"M-ma'am!" I corrected him, blushing.

"It's cool, Kiran," Susanna pulled her hood down and I saw that, rather than laying flat or being mussed like it usually was, her hair looked like it had been styled with gel or spray, a perfect gently punkish messy spikiness to it. As she unzipped her hoodie, I saw that she was wearing a white button-up shirt underneath, the arms having been cuffed up past her elbows in an imitation of short sleeves, and the bottom tucked into her khakis and strapped down with a leather belt. Oh god, she looked so dapper. How was I supposed to cope? "I don't mind what people call me, and I figu—uh..." She'd started tying her hoodie around her waist when the maître d' took it from her and hung it up on a coat rack instead alongside mostly suit jackets. "Uh...yeah. Okay. That works."

The tuxedoed man sniffed and turned. "This way, ma'am and ma'am." He showed us to a small table and placed a set of black leather-bound menus in front of us. "I'll need to see ID if you intend to drink."

"Nah, I'm good. I'll just take water."

"Hmph." He took a note.

My stomach growled. I hoped to god it wasn't audible. The idea of ordering soda in a place like this made my stomach hurt even more. "I-I'll take water as well, please!" The maître d' made a noise I didn't know how to interpret and walked away.

Susanna sighed and flopped against the back of her chair. "Damn. You get taken to intimidating-ass places like this a lot?"

"A-ah...occasionally, yes. L-less often than other members of my family go to them." I kept a death grip on my menu so my hands couldn't flap.

"Man. I dunno how I'd handle it. I feel like the air in here hasn't been circulated since the 70s." She opened her own menu, then squinted down at it. "Uh...okay, do you know what the fu—uuuhhh...the heck any of these are?" Hearing her nearly swear, I choked back a laugh.

When I actually looked at my own menu, I saw that they had, in fact, only included the names and prices of various appetizers, entrees, and desserts. Luckily, I knew what they were, and I forced her to ignore the numbers as we considered the less intimidating spread of appetizers. Once I convinced her money was no object, she ordered canapés and I ordered a salad (hoping I'd grown into enough of an adult to actually eat it).

I particularly hoped I'd be able to eat my salad when my stomach growled very audibly. A small twinge of pain went through it, and I couldn't help but cringe for multiple reasons. "You good, Kiran?" Susanna asked. I nodded, but I couldn't bear to look her in the face. "Right. 'Scuse me, sir." My heart fell into my empty stomach as I saw her call over a waiter. I had no idea how to read the man's face as she requested our appetizers. Our water hadn't even arrived yet. "Right," she turned back to me once she was done. "Hopefully that'll—shit. You okay?" I wasn't sure. Was that polite enough? Had she offended someone? Why did she do that? "Hey. Take a breath, Kiran." Susanna audibly inhaled, then exhaled the same way. When she'd done that a few times, I was able to join her. "Yeah. There you go. Is that, uh..." She glanced back towards the waiter she'd summoned. "Is that a thing I shouldn't do?"

"I...I'm not sure."

"'Kay. I won't do it again. Sorry about that." She put a hand on mine and I saw that she'd painted her nails dark blue. It looked really cute. I wondered if I should try painting my nails.

After a bit too long, I managed to initiate a conversation about that. She told me she'd gone to a friend from one of her music courses for help with it. I was surprised to learn that she actually did used to paint her nails fairly often, but now that she roomed with Olivia, the smells of the polish and remover were too offensive for her to ever use them in their dorm, so she'd given up on it outside of special occasions. I managed to suggest that she could teach me and do her own nails at the same time in my building from time to time, and the smile she gave me absolutely filled my stomach with butterflies.

It was unfortunate that it was only butterflies and not anything else filling it because it kept growling. I felt ridiculous, and it felt like everyone in the restaurant must be staring at me. Why didn't I force myself to eat something? I knew my body got noisy when I was hungry. At least I could take some comfort in knowing that it could be worse.

I then immediately lost all of that comfort when a particularly loud growl was followed by an even louder "*HEEK!*"

Susanna's eyes were on me. I could feel them. I couldn't bear to look at her, but I could feel them. "Whoa. You okay, Kiran?" I didn't dare open my mouth to answer. Please be a "single", please please please please please be a "single".

Of course I wasn't that lucky. My body rocked with a barely muffled "*EEP*" that felt ear-splitting even as I slapped both hands down over my mouth. Fuck, how could my body be doing this to me? God dammit, why couldn't it ever do anything right? "*MMP!*" Even with my mouth completely covered, it was still so loud.

"Oh shit." Her voice was soft, and I heard her get up from her chair. Before I knew what was happening, I felt her presence beside me, her hand hovering over my back for a moment before carefully landing on it and beginning to rub it. "Hey. It's okay. You're okay, Kiran. Do you wanna try drinking some water?" God, did I? Would it help? I had no idea. "You don't have to." I couldn't just sit here and keep making these noises. I at least had to try. So I nodded. "Okay. I can hold your glass up for you, so you don't have to keep your mouth uncovered for too long." 

How could she be so considerate? I opened my eyes back up and saw her lift my glass with one hand. I removed one of my own and helped with it, waited until my next "*MNK!*" hiccup had passed, then put my lips to the water as quickly as I could and drank. I drained my glass as fast as possible, half holding my breath and desperately hoping that my body would shut up and let me continue having this date. But no. As soon as I put the glass down and opened my mouth to breathe, another deafening "*HIUK!*" forced itself out of me. I covered my face, hearing my voice whining with horror. Worse still, even though I managed to muffle my next "*HMK!*" I felt my stomach jolt and heard all of the water sloshing inside of it. God, what was wrong with me? How could my body be so obstructive and gross?"

"Shit. It's okay, Kiran. It's okay." I had no idea how it could possibly be okay, but the gentleness of Susanna's voice and the feeling of her hand rubbing up and down my back made it seem the tiniest bit more believable. "It, uh..." her voice paused in an odd way. "This is happening because you're hungry, right?" I nodded. "You think eating would help?" I nodded again. "Okay. Hopefully your salad'll get here soon. Think about what kind of main thing you'll wanna order, we should tell the waiter about that the next time he comes around."

How could she be so calm? I looked up and saw that her face was actually flushed bright red. When she saw I was looking at her, she quickly turned away. Fuck, she wasn't calm. She was embarrassed too. Of course she was. How couldn't she be?

"Ma'am, you're distracting other diners. Please sit back down in your chair." I heard the maître d''s voice behind us.

"Shi—uh, sure. Yeah, sorry about that." I felt her move away from me and missed her hand on my back, though she gently pulled one of my hands away from my mouth so that she could hold it from across the table.

"I'm sure that your fellow patrons would appreciate it if you would keep quiet as well, ma'am." I couldn't even bear to open my eyes.

"Hey. She can't help it." There was a slight growl to Susanna's voice, and her fingers gripped the top of my hand more firmly.

"Of course." Even I could hear the contempt in his voice as he walked away.

"...asshole. Don't worry about him, Kiran. Fuck that guy." Susanna kept her voice low as she swore, and I couldn't help but laugh. That almost made a louder hiccup come out of me, and even through my hand, I couldn't silence them. Not completely. And I could still hear my stomach sloshing. God, the chair might have even been creaking every time I moved.

Excruciating minutes passed with Susanna gently rubbing my hand, speaking softly to me about random, unthreatening topics, like video games that she was enjoying, or the less raunchy escapades Maya had dragged her and Olivia into. I appreciated it so much, but it didn't do anything for the fact that I just kept hiccupping every few seconds. Not to mention my stomach was growling...everything about me was so big and loud and obnoxious. I hated it so much. Why couldn't I be small enough to just disappear like she was?

"Madams?"

"Uh, hey, cool," I heard the voice of the waiter that Susanna had accosted earlier. "Do you know how long the salad's gonna take? Oh, also, I wanna order for her. Which one of these will take the least time to—"

"I-I'm sorry, madams, but I'm going to have to ask you to leave." My eyes shot open and I looked at our waiter. Unlike the maître d', he looked apologetic enough that even I could see it.

"'Scuse me?" Susanna's voice hardened again, and her hand firmly gripped onto mine.

"Erm, other customers have been complaini—"

"What other customers? This place is mostly empty. If someone's really been complaining, can't you just move us further towards—"

"Other customers have been complaining, and I'm afraid that unless you're able to be less disruptive, we'll have to request that you leave." The waiter's voice sounded nearly pained as he said that.

"Look, if you could bring out her salad or some other food, that should help and she'll—" I couldn't help it. I sobbed. Then I hiccupped. I could feel the eyes of the waiter and Susanna on me, and I felt so humiliated that I couldn't even think. I had no idea whether to cover my mouth or my eyes, and the hand that had been under Susanna's was uselessly flapping instead of doing either of those things. "...fine. Okay, come on, Kiran." I forced my eyes open and saw Susanna, slightly blurry, take a wallet out of her pocket. She glanced at the menu, cringed, then pulled out a few bills and placed them on the table. "Change is a tip for you." 

Susanna grabbed my flapping hand and started dragging me away, pausing for a second to glare at the maître d'. I could hear him sniff as we left. "Don't forget your...jacket."

"...thanks." Susanna paused long enough to grab her hoodie, then dragged me the rest of the way out. "Okay, fuck that place. There's a Wawa just a block away, we'll get you something there, then I'll see if there's any better restaurants nearby where I can get you some real food."

"I'm–*HIUK!*" I choked out more sobs and I could feel tears rolling down my face. Pathetic. "I'm sorr–*EEK!*"

"Don't be." We reached the convenience store. I wasn't sure I'd ever been inside of one. "Okay, think about what kind of sandwich you might want. I'll grab you something quicker." I forced my eyes open and looked around. There were a few people here, and they glanced at me when I hiccuped, but then looked back away. The middle-aged woman behind the counter looked particularly unbothered by me...unbothered by anything, really. And unemotive about anything. Possibly chemically so. "You don't eat meat, right?" I nodded at Susanna. "Got it. Kinda, uh, limits our options, but..." She went to the counter and, before I could stop her, paid for an apple fritter, a fruit cup, and some sort of...bag of pickle slices? How did she know that I'd been craving pickles lately?

However she knew it, when she gave them to me, I immediately started eating, hoping to god that it would make my body stop making sounds. I was still crying, but at least I was doing so mostly silently. When she confirmed that I would be able to eat it, Susanna bought me a large sandwich with cheese, tomatoes, and lettuce. I felt absurd for making her have to order and pay for me, but the fluorescent lights were making my head ache. "Hey. There's a park-type thing a couple blocks from here. It'd be pretty quiet, so you can take a minute and rest. That sound good?" I nodded, and she smiled up at me. "Cool. Come with me."

Susanna didn't hold my hand this time, just because both of mine were full with the sandwich and snacks she had bought me. I was still crying and hiccupping, and it made me feel so ridiculous. My attempts to eat weren't helping. And my feet ached. It was such a relief when we reached the park and she showed me to a bench. There was nobody there, and the street lamps were warm and unthreatening. "Okay. You don't have to try and hold back or hide, Kiran. We're alone here. You won't bother anyone."

Feeling her sit next to me and hearing her say that made me sob again, which didn't help my stupid hiccups. "I'm sorr–*HEEK!*"

"You shouldn't be. You didn't do anything wrong." I did, but I wasn't able to explain that to her right now. Whether or not I did, though, Susanna was rubbing my back again, not seeming bothered at all by the way I would jolt into her over and over. "Hey, I'm gonna call my mom for a minute, okay? Don't worry about being quiet or anything, this won't take long." I nodded. I doubted I even could be quiet, no matter how much I might have wanted to. I heard the sound of Susanna's phone and glanced at her. She'd ended up tying her hoodie around her waist, so she'd unrolled her shirtsleeves, which were now just barely avoiding covering her hands. Her face looked a little flushed, but the lack of light made it hard to be sure. "Yeah. Hey Mom. I need to borrow the Yelp account." She paused and rolled her eyes. "Yes yes, how are you, I'm great thanks, look, can we keep it short right now? I'm on a date...yeah, she's great, Mom." Susanna scowled and rubbed the bridge of her nose. "Fine, I'll call you on Saturday, you can hold me to that. But I need the Yelp account now...because I'm gonna go nuclear Karen on someone's ass and you're the one who actually reviews things...No, I'm not overreacting, they made my date cry!" The genuine anger in her voice was a little scary, and I must have audibly gasped, because she turned towards me and stopped rubbing my back for a moment to gently pat my shoulder. "Yeah. Yeah, that's what I thought...God—...bless it, Mom, you really need to change that password...Well, I ask every time because I'm very polite and respectful." I couldn't help it. I laughed. I laughed and I hiccuped, and Susanna smiled at me. And my heart fluttered. "Okay. No, I don't need your help, I learned from the best...I know, I know, I won't use any profanity. I'll be good...yeah yeah, love you too. Bye." She hung up and exhaled. "Mom says hi. And...I only just now realized that I should ask you about this, so...are you okay with me being a bitch to that French place on Yelp?"

I looked down. "You...*HMK* You shouldn't be. They di–*IC* they didn't do anythi–*INK*–i-ing wrong."

"Bullshit. You're the one who didn't do anything wrong."

"But I did! *HIUK!*" Yelling was a terrible idea, but that didn't stop me from doing it, and my stupid eyes were tearing up again. "I didn't ea–*EEK* eat lunch today becau–*UCK* because I was nervous, but I kn–*HEEP* know that being hungr–*EEK* hungry makes my stomach gr–*UCK* growl and gives me th–*IC* the hic–*CUPS!* I ruined our d–*HUP* our date!"

"Bullshit!" It caught me off guard just how quickly she repeated herself, and she grabbed both of my hands. "You didn't ruin anything, Kiran. Your body did normal human things and that dickhead in the tux was a piece of shit about it. He sucks, that place sucks, fuck both of them. I didn't see any of the other patrons complaining, so I'm pretty sure it was just that prick. And even if it wasn't, fuck anyone who tried to give you shit about it." Susanna closed her eyes and took a slow breath. "You're allowed to take up space, Kiran. You're allowed to be a person and experience the shit that humans experience. You shouldn't have to be perfect. I mean, you'd think they were being assholes if they kicked Olivia out for the same reason, right?"

I blinked. "W...well yes, b–*UK* but...she can't he–*ULK* help it."

"And you can't either. Not right now at least. I don't care if you could have somehow avoided it earlier; the past is the past, now is now. And right now you can't help it." Her face was definitely strangely flushed right now, and she was avoiding eye contact too. "It's not your fault. You've just...you've just got the h-hiccups. That's all."

"Yeah. *HMK*. I'm sorry."

"Don't be." After a moment of hesitant hovering, Susanna got up and hugged me. Her arms wrapped around my neck and she leaned over, so her front was pressed against mine. My stomach jolted with a hiccup and it shook her whole body, and I heard her let out an odd little giggle at that. Somehow, that made me giggle too. "Don't be sorry. You don't huh--have to be." When another hiccup bounced her, it interrupted her voice. "And I don't mind. I'm frie—uh, friends with Oliv---via. Of course I do--on't."

That...made sense. I wrapped my arms around her too, and even though it was embarrassing to feel how my body shook and wobbled against hers, it felt good to have her small form pulled to me and feel how soft she really was. "Thank you. *HMK*"

"Of course."

I didn't really let go. And she didn't really either. So for a few minutes, we were just holding each other while I hiccupped, and....it was okay. It was okay. I apologized when I was loud next to her ear, and she told me it was fine. Eventually, she started wriggling and pulled back. I honestly could have stayed like that all night, but it wouldn't do either of us any good to be greedy. I went back to eating and she leaned against me, somehow managing to type on her phone while I kept shaking her. After a few minutes, she turned to me and showed me the review she'd typed out, which was the politest, most venomous thing I'd ever read in my life ("My mom's white. She taught me their secrets."). With a few small edits, I let her leave her one-star review, and she snickered to herself as she sent it before logging out.

As I was finishing up my sandwich, something occurred to me. "Susanna, *mnk* you didn't actually buy anyth–*IC* anything for yourself, did you?"

"Uh," she chuckled. "Nah. Guess I kind of forgot that."

"Mm. Did you find a re–*uck* restaurant nearby that lo–*HOOP*–nnnhf...excuse me, *mmk* looks good?"

Her lips pursed. "I mean, good to me or good to you? Because there's a diner-type place that I'm kinda curious about but—"

"Then let's go th---there. *mmk*"

She looked up at me. "You sure?"

"Well, my sug---gestion didn't exactly pan ou–*HUP* o-out, so...let's try your inst–*ic* instincts this time. You will be le–*HUP* letting me pay this time, though."

Susanna chuckled and scratched the back of her head. "S'long as you're sure, I guess. I want you to be comfortable."

"I want y–*HUP* you to be comfortable to–*HOOP*–oooohhh..." I rubbed my chest, a bit surprised they were still holding on. I still felt hungry, though. Which was...humiliating, given how many snacks I had just been given, but I did my best not to let it bother me. I decided to be gently self-deprecating instead of aggressively so for a change. "Besides, *hmk*, Olivia's not here to ge–*ulp* get them for you, so we would–*nnkt*–n't want you getting too hu–*UP*–ungry and catching the hi–*IC*–cups like me."

Instead of the soft laughter I expected, I was watching her close enough to see Susanna's face flush bright red. A second later, she laughed far louder than she usually did and scratched the back of her neck. "Y-yeah. Wouldn't want that, hahaha..."

That was...that was odd.

When we got to the diner the woman behind the counter glared at us and threw the menus aggressively on our table, then gave us both free hot chocolate because "it's cold out there, you goddamn kids." There were significantly more people in this restaurant, and I did get brief glances while I still had the hiccups, but only a few. Since we'd been seated at a booth more appropriate for four people, Susanna sat next to me, and I noticed that she leaned against me and took every opportunity to rub my back. Under the less aggressive fluorescent lights, I could see just how much more flushed her face was than normal, and see how it drained back to its usual color when the Portobello burger I ordered finally filled me up and chased my hiccups away. The whole time we talked about our classes, the music we listened to and played ("I used to play piano when I was young! Do you think you could teach me more?" "Maybe. I'm actually better at pipe organ, of all fucking things."), our families, our friends on the rugby teams, the friendships we were developing outside of them, and it was just...

It was just comfortable.

I just felt like myself.

I was a bit overfull by the time we left, and Susanna had poached what was left of my meal into a doggy bag that she would be keeping. As we were walking, I kept an eye on her, waiting for the inevitable as I felt that tiny tension in my chest that I always got after I ate a little too much, until eventually I—"*HEEK!*" hiccuped loudly again. Even though I'd been awaiting and anticipating it, I still felt myself blush bright red and automatically covered my mouth.

Under the street lights, I saw Susanna blush bright red too as she whipped around to stare at me. "Uh—" There was something tense about her voice, and she looked away faster than she normally would. "Y-you good?"

"Y-yes, excuse me." My little stutter matched hers. "I, um, had another one of those 'singles'."

She chuckled. She was bad at laughing on purpose. Even I could tell it wasn't quite right. And since she didn't have her hood on, when I leaned forward, even though she was facing away, I could see the tiny smile on her flushed face. "Don't worry about it, Kiran. I don't mind."

That seemed like it might not actually be true...or that it was, if anything, an understatement.

When we were in front of my house, it wasn't long after my "single", and Susanna was still a little unmoored. Even so, she smiled up at me. "Hey. I had fun tonight."

I could feel myself smiling and realized that my hands were flapping. I didn't have the energy to try and hold them back though. "I-I did too! Sincerely! The..." my hands stilled and I felt the shame of earlier crawl into the back of my throat. "The first restaurant was...bad. But everything else..." I laughed. "Everything else was really lovely. Even with the hiccups."

Red. Her face went red again. She fake-laughed again. She scratched the back of her neck again. "Glad to hear it. So, if we both had a good time..." she looked up. I dodged her eyes, but I already knew she didn't take offense to that. "Wanna try it again another week?"

My hands were flapping again. "Yes! Yes please!"

"Hehey, that works great!" Her smile was so wide. She then hesitated, lifted a hand, lowered it, then lifted it again and placed it on my cheek. I instinctively leaned into her touch. "Hey, Kiran. Think you could bend over a bit for me?"

My heart was pounding in my chest as I lowered myself. "Y...yes. Like this?"

"Yeah. Exactly like that." I felt the heat of her breath against my lips and my eyes shut without me before we touched. Hers were so chapped but so soft. I had no idea what I was doing. But she taught me. She taught me and I learned as best as I could. And we stayed together much longer than a second or two. When we finally pulled back, I was breathing heavily. So was she. Clouds of steam were forming between our lips. "...night, Kiran."

"Goodnight, Susanna."

Our faces were close enough that I felt her smile before I saw it. And then she walked away, only seeming to realize once I was behind her that she could put her hoodie back on.

I made my way back into the empty house, walking past the bedrooms where other students weren't and up the stairs to my own. And once I was curled up in my warm bed, I took out my phone and looked at my messages from what I was mostly sure was Maya.

Queen of Illusion: YOU BETTER TELL ME HOW THIS SHIT WENT WHEN YOU GET BACK PLEASE TELL ME YOU FUCKIN KISSED HER AND THEN KISS ME (IF YOU WANNA)

Kiran (Kiki): Hello Maya(?) Our date went wonderfully.

Queen of Illusion: Youre damn right it did! (And yup its me)

Kiran (Kiki): Before I get into that, though, may I ask you something that might seem a little ...strange?

Queen of Illusion: Bitch I might seem a little strange go 4 it

Kiran (Kiki): Alright.

Before I could bring myself to actually ask, I scrolled back a large number of messages until I found three spoilered ones. I finally clicked the spoilers of the last message.

3: Its something Liv does all the fuckin time

Alright. That made me significantly more confident in what I was about to type.

Kiran (Kiki): With regard to the missing context that you and Olivia have concerning Susanna Would that context possibly be that she has some sort of ...affinity? For hiccups?

Queen of Illusion: ...babe.

Kiran (Kiki): Did I say something wrong?

Queen of Illusion: Babe no You said everything fuckin right. And we are gonna have so much fuckin fun with this OPERATION "SEDUCE THAT BUTCH" IS A FUCKIN GO!

The mixture of excitement and terror in my stomach made me feel like I'd made the best decision of my life and a horrible mistake all at once.

[grosswannabepunk]

Sometimes I feel like I have to leave, pack up and go to the other side of this country (hell empire) and then I can be happy. Sometimes I convince myself that if I can make it to some big west coast city I will encounter a huge community and no longer have to worry about loneliness or rejection. It is not a novel suggestion trans people get, in fact we seem to get it a lot, move to a bigger city and actually find people like you. I've given the suggestion and gotten it enough times to stick in my mind.

It's a suggestion that has merit, I suppose, but is obviously fraught with many of its own problems, questions, and inconsistencies. Sometimes still, it feels tempting to go. If I learned anything from obsessing over Scott pilgrim vs. the world (which was not much in the first place) it's that escape won't happen, it never truly can. The ending of the story isn't the drive over to Toronto, it never was. There's the high chance of bringing the same problems over and trying to run. This post isn't about Ramona Flowers, however, it's about the reality of being transsexual in (given year in the imperial core). You have to live, you have to survive, go through the hurdles. And you can’t outrun having to get a job, you can’t outrun cops cuz they’re fucking everywhere. This isn’t a doom post but a reminder, that escape, whether to the other side of the US or to Canada or to some nice, welfare rich, European country is never going to change the cruelties of capitalism and imperialism. I see people at my school talk about how they plan on making a break for it if things get too bad here. Besides the inherent privelege in having an escape plan like that, I feel disgust, as if I have any ground to stand on.

Sometimes I look at my deathtrap of a car and I think I can do it. Just get it, see how far I can drive and run. On a full tank of gas? She could maybe make it to some Midwest city or a secluded city in Canada and then can break down and die. But I know, in my heart that it cannot happen. Not in any real way, not in a way that will mean I can live.

[deva-arts]

Hey Deva. what do your OC's mouths taste like.

I'M HAUNTED BY MY WORDS...

But okay sure fine I'll answer

First off we have a headcanon from Ritz:

Scrumptious!

Okay here's what I think:

Seraphina: She might not be too romantic, but she has excellent hygiene and doesn't go making out with Nathaniel without being nicely fresh. "It's basic courtesy to brush your teeth for a minute and thirty seconds before each kiss, Nathaniel. I would have it no other wa- ack- wait-" He really doesn't care and will try to sneak in more than a few sweet moments between work regardless. She'd like to say she's not a fan of canoodling during a tight schedule... But she loves that shit.

All this to say she probably tastes like mint. Or just a clean mouth. Sometimes energy drinks.

Nathaniel: Nathaniel is a doctor, but before that he was quite the playboy! Nate's pretty seasoned in the art of romance, especially since he's lived through so many different appearances. (He has to mind the teeth a little now that he is exclusively using this form, though...) He's always keeping nice with cologne and clean clothes, going a little extra on the mouthwash, etc.... Unless he is burning himself out doctor-style, then he... Just tries to keep himself showered and his teeth brushed.

Nathaniel tastes like mouthwash or breath fresheners when he's a spry rooster looking to woo Ser... But when he's tired he just tastes like mouth. He just wants some love. Please. (She stays in that day.)

Sonia!

Sonia makes sure her lips are fruit flavored so that her kisses can be "An experience that'll always make you crave me." Okay Sonia. But to be fair, she is a good kisser. Not only does she smell nice, her chemical synthesis ability essentially sterilizes and monitors the processes in her body, including harmful bacteria in the mouth. She would pleasantly surprise Nate if he ever needed to test a swab.

She tastes like cherry lipstick, the taste in your mouth you get right after brushing your teeth a third time, with a hint of something... lightly spicy? You find out later that it's acid.

Vincent! I'm not looking forward to writing this one WOOO

Vincent is an extremely... Meticulous individual. But only for certain things. For others he has no conceptual foundation and thus does not consider or practice them. He will shower three times a day. He brushes his teeth until his gums bleed. He bites his nails down to nubs.

But he will not moisturize, or do maintenance for the plentiful amounts of scar tissue on his body. His skin is rough and textured differently with every square inch you come across. His lips are chapped my guy. They're chapped bad. He smells a little weird too. Like feathers and gasoline, covered poorly with a plentiful amount of body spray. He also doesn't floss and eats anything under the sun.

His mouth tastes like the aftertaste whatever edible or inedible object he's eaten, with a hint of oral decay. He's a bad kisser the first few goes around too. His idea of cuddling is some rough pats on your back that feel more like the heimlich maneuver. Let's hope you caught him after he's brushed his teeth, at least.

(Human Vincent tastes like Cigarettes, beer, and whatever candy he popped in his mouth in hopes of ridding the taste of ciggies and beer.)

Amon:

The first occupational hazard lies in his teeth. They're very sharp. He has bitten off his own tongue before in several occasions. OW??? The second lies in his nice, plush yet firm body being a MUSCLE DEATHTRAP where he might squeeze you a little too hard and save you money on your next chiropractic appointment. (Actually, maybe still go to the chiropractor.) After that? He's a great kisser. He practices good hygiene (he has to lead Adra by example!) and smells like body spray used tastefully.

Amon tastes like a minty, mouthwashed mouth with a hint of copper. You try not to think about it too hard.

Eric!!

His mouth tastes like... Nothing? And not like mouth-nothing, more like water-nothing. His ability as a state-shifter makes all of the cells in his body convert into the cellular equivalent of a sea salp. Even though his humanoid form keeps these aspects of his body in a dormant state, where they process and function like normal, the green parts still retain that odd texture and quality to them. Of course, if he eats or drinks something that tastelessness is going to change.

Eric might also taste like pizza, cheap alcohol, toothpaste, or... lime Cool Aide?

Strohl!

Kissing a man who is basically a living electrical generator is not a good idea??? He tastes and feels like television static, and sometimes you hear some sparks actually flying on his end. He assures you that he has it under control, but in the same breath tells you not to surprise him if you wear conductive jewelry. Okay. This is fine.

Some say they like the feel of the static. Others take their leave early. He can't really blame them, so they leave, their NDA signed and a digital check bestowed to them. Katya is the first woman who was entirely immune to his power, and that made him feel much more secure with holding her close.

Strohl tastes like TV static, expensive liquor, and whatever dessert he's eaten earlier. He's a fan of sweets despite his workout regimen not permitting them.

Honorable mentions:

Titan tastes like blood,

Cain tastes like raw flesh and he will bite your tongue,

Karin Eris tastes like black licorice and your tears,

General Hayes tastes like your pillow and you realize it was, in fact, your pillow,

Aurelius tastes like a clean mouth that is getting a bit too high in temperature and oh god his power is on- TURN IT OFF! TURN IT OFF!!

Farmer Dev tastes like those crisp root vegetables that have no implicit taste but are still classified as "green" tasting. Also peppermint- she chews a lot of it on the go.

[tobiasdrake]

Well, I was supposed to wake up in a field but instead.....

Some sorta void beyond time and space. Neat. It would seem I have gained the ability to determine for myself how far back to loop.

I credit this new ability to my brilliant decision to touch the timedrop. Clearly, I have absorbed its power and added it to my own through temporal osmosis. I have based this observation on nothing whatsoever but I will hear no argument otherwise.

In any case... I still need to find out who keeps breaking that bread so--

Oh my god you read my Pocket Notes and listen in on my conversations and now you're just being controlling I NEED SOME SPACE LEMONFRIEND

>_< I am in a toxic relationship. With time.

A revelation that wasn't the main goal of dipshitting myself into oblivion but is a welcome discovery nonetheless. At least we know that everyone who's frozen is a) somewhat conscious but b) not in a state where they would be suffering.

10/10 Great service, satisfying experience. I look forward to killing myself again in the future.

Alright. Well. Guess we'll get back to it. Grab the tonics from the side room and my ding ding and then--

No. Fuck you.

I was thinking about my ding ding it could not be helped

Ugh, this place is so rude! I want to file a complaint.

Moving right along. Nothing to see here.

Like those two buildings back in Dormont that are inexplicably locked. Must be some kind of regional locking mechanism popular in this area but I have no idea what.

Oh, there we go. That was easy. So we just need to figure out the pass phrase for any of these doors we find.

I see where this is going. It would behoove me to throw myself on that Tear over yonder and die so I can go get the password.

...but I have the utmost confidence that I'll get myself stupidly killed anyway soon, so I don't need to bother.

In a suspicious place, yes. That sure is a pillar.

I do not trust this pillar, okay?

This pillar is watching us.

Plotting.

It knows I'm on to it.

You say that like we should feel bad for it, Isa. Unfortunately, feeling bad for things is a form of Sadness so I'm afraid all of my sympathy's getting chopped up with scissors.

Along with this boss fight.

Alright, cool. Some kind of key thing that can be used to something something with the tears, so let's keep going and--

...okay so maybe it's actually dangerous to hussle the group past all of the deathtraps I already know about. I may be trapfinding so well at this point that it's putting everyone in danger.

Who would do something so monstrous

Okay now I'm super onboard. King needs to die.

Go on, Bonnie. Take a wok on the wild side. *wok-a wok-a*

Am I... am I supposed to scramble it? Wait, is this a metaphor? Does this key have gender dysphoria that it hasn't quite realized yet?

...so that's a yes. Yes, the key has undiagnosed gender dysphoria.

Cool. I'm happy I caught that. I feel proud of myself for my ability to pick up LGBT subtext.

This philosophy is pretty deep. I took the religion of Change for a silly joke at first but no, this is some serious shit.

Is this whole religion a metaphor for the experience of being LGBT? There is clearly some strong coding going on here with Vaugardian society. In fact, the entire concept of worshipping change is itself so tightly connected to gender and the trans/non-binary experience that--

BONNIE

NO

You take that gender out of your mouth this instant! The experience of self-discovery is NOT breakfast!

*sigh* Kids.

[thewhumpcaretaker]

⚜ 𝓑𝓮𝔂𝓸𝓷𝓭 𝓙𝓾𝓭𝓰𝓮𝓶𝓮𝓷𝓽 - 𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝐼𝐼: 𝐹𝓁𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝑜𝓃 𝒶 𝒟𝒶𝓇𝓀 𝐻𝑜𝓇𝓈𝑒 ⚜

Oops, I guess it wasn't a one-shot after all. Thank you again to @evren-sadwrn for the beta read!

TW: gunshot, car chase, canon-typical violence, John and Vincent bickering constantly

Summary: In the wake of the contract notice, John, Vincent, and Dog must flee the Wick residence.

Vincent was fine, actually. Crying? Someone had been crying five minutes ago? Definitely not him.

So John wanted to help him, presumably out of some deranged fit of loneliness. Who really cared why. This was the best news possible. He would be reinstated in no time.

He reclined on John’s couch as if it had been his idea to do so all along, swinging one leg absently over the side while his host dashed back and forth through the house, packing. This rushing around had started the very moment that Vincent stabilized. They’d already waited too long, probably, to leave. The Table would know that he could only be going to one place if he had come to New York, and they would converge on the location. The Wick residence had just become a deathtrap.

But that didn’t concern Vincent terribly - John seemed intent enough on addressing the issue. He went downstairs with an empty duffle bag, came up with a holster around his waist and the duffle bag full, went upstairs in a t-shirt, came down in a black vest under a matching suitcoat. Vincent contemplated whether it was drab. Maybe not, maybe more like “morose.” But well-fitted, at least.

There was something coming down the stairs after John, something that growled and moved a little too quickly towards the couch, halted only by a leash.

“Hey.” John stopped by the coffee table with a harsh look that brought his bulldog to a sit. “We’re gonna be nice to the Marquis, yeah?” It whined apprehensively, casting a suspicious glance in Vincent’s direction, but stopped growling.

Vincent eyed it back with at least as much suspicion. “Is it trained? I don’t want some mutt biting at my heels in the midst of a fight. We’d be better off leaving it behind.”

That harsh look shifted from the bulldog to the Marquis.

“I need you to listen very closely. This is important. You remember what I did to Iosef, yeah? If that dog dies, you die. I have no interest in your marker if that happens. You do not treat him as something you can sacrifice to save yourself. He IS you, got it?”

“C'est un putain de – [It’s a fucking –]”

“He’s you. A vital body part, like your liver.”

“If you knew how a man who can afford the finer indulgences in life treats his liver, you might reconsider your metaphor,” Vincent shot back, smirking.

“Okay, your heart then. But just. Vital. Okay?’

As he realized the purpose of this conversation, something bitter sunk into his stomach and he felt his cheeks flush. “You don’t need to explain empathy to me like I’m a child. I have dogs, you know that, yes? Cats, horses, swans, a peacock…” He strained to remember the more exotic creatures in his collection. Did he buy that hyacinth macaw, or did he choose the palm cockatoo instead? He hadn’t seen the bird since, so he couldn’t be sure.  “Anyway, you know nothing, as usual.” Already this man was insulting him again. Unbelievable.

John just sighed. “Up. We have to go.” He extended a hand that couldn’t have tempted Vincent any less if it had been coated in live wasps. He gave John a look so icy that it earned another whimper from Dog, and struggled upright on his own.

He didn’t trust himself to speak on the walk to the garage. Every step, every tilt of the shoulders, winded him. Maybe shock had been a blessing - he realized that most of the pain had been numbed. But now it was back, tracing a stabbing, fiery line across the pectoral into the bone. It certainly seemed to be aggravated by certain movements, to get worse, but mysteriously, he could never quite detect a moment when it was better. It was a damn trick of the body that took over his vision with a total miasma of pain.

He didn’t even notice John’s hands on him until he was already being lowered into the passenger seat with surprising gentleness. The bulldog was already in the back. Had he blacked out for a second? Massive, muscled hands gripped either side of his waist securely, those darkly troubled eyes peering into his with such maddening concern. This condescending piece of work buckled…his fucking…seatbelt…for him. “Je te déteste [I hate you],” he managed, almost slurring.

“Good. We need you hateful. You want a grenade?”

“I – what? Yes, give it to me.” That woke him up quickly enough. “I’ve never wanted anything so much.”

John dropped the duffle bag in his lap and circled around to the front seat. The engine purred to life. “There’s already a blockade at the end of the street. We cut through the neighbor’s fence. Grenades go out the back after we’re past them.”

The garage door rolled slowly back and for a few short minutes, everything was okay again. Everything was giddy, in fact. It was just after dusk, the sky greying slowly from indigo to black. A quiet, peaceful evening that Vincent couldn’t wait to rip to shreds. With both windows rolled down, the night air rushed between them in a roaring channel of wind that sent John’s hair whirling. A dark little ball of fire turned over and over in Vincent’s hand, and there were more where that came from. John put the pedal to the floor, the acceleration pressing Vincent into his seat and sending a thrill through him as they shot straight through the neighbor’s white picket fence and left two tire treads in a streak across their manicured lawn.

An orderly line of cars scrambled to turn and give chase, bullets striking the taillight, the back window, the trunk. You think you can open fire on the rightful Autem Imperator? He fixed his eyes on them in the rearview mirror, pulled the pin with his teeth, and let them have all the pent up fury of the past miserable day.

Shattered glass and burning bodies. Orange roses and golden filigree painted against the sky. John flying, gliding lane to lane, firing over his shoulder, blind.

Pin. A moment of stabbing pain from the pec all the way through the throwing arm (suddenly worth it). Unfurling flames. Another pin. Another! Could he get this one through the shattered windshield into this idiot’s lap? Yes. He was laughing despite the way every breath stabbed through his chest, every stab fueling the next throw. He was drifting in John’s polished Mustang as it gave its life for him, slowly being riddled with holes but still kicking as the people who hated him spun out in confusion or died screaming in pillars of fire.

They abandoned it some ten minutes later, and jacked a boring white BMW, partly to avoid being followed and partly because it had rattled to a stop all on its own thanks to engine damage. John looked at the previous vehicle for a long moment as he lingered by the driver’s side door. “I like that car.” A simple thing to say, but so loaded given the circumstances.

“It handled like a dream. But at this point, it’s not worth fixing,” Vincent said casually. “You may as well get something even better when this is all over.” He set the final grenade back in the bag, still grinning at the memory of what he had just done.

“No. I want this one and I’ll fix it.” He put the dog in the passenger seat and turned to Vincent at last. “Get in the back this time. Laying down. Better if you don’t get spotted.”

It did sound good to lay down. “…Fine. But if you try to buckle me in again, I’ll cut off your whole hand to match that finger.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

He laid down across the backseats. It wasn’t a great fit for someone of his height, but with his legs folded, he managed. In the meantime, John was rooting around in the trunk. He found a throw blanket, probably meant for someone’s pet, and tossed it to Vincent. “Put that over your face, so no one sees you through the windows.”

“It smells disgusting.”

“Just do it.” Vincent was in a good enough mood now not to argue. He grinned up at the ceiling, finally allowing himself to relax as they pulled away. “That was rather exhilarating.”

“Yeah.” There was a hint of a smile in John’s voice.

“So. Where are we going?”

“That depends. Who’s on your side?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, we can’t unrun them. You need to solve this. Who would help you with the High Table problem?”

“Are you a simpleton? I’m excommunicated. No one will offer services to me.”

“…Is there really not one person who has a history with you? Who would help you just because of that?”

“Your naiveté astonishes me yet again, Wick. It’s a wonder you’ve survived this long.” The only person who would have helped him for his own sake was Chidi. A pang went through him at that thought. And here was John lording it over him. He swallowed hard and added, “Do you honestly think anyone has helped you just because they’re on your side? At best, people fear you. They see you for the killer that you are and wish to ingratiate themselves to you. No one would want to help you. Maybe you got lucky, found one woman who was confused enough to think of you as worth saving. But look where that got her.”

The car lurched forward with the tiniest increase in speed as John lost control of the gas pedal for a moment in his anger. “Why? Why do you go for the throat like that? I just barely start to have a pleasant conversation with you and then - This is why there’s no one who has your back.”

“At least I know it. I rely on my own strength. You on the other hand - ”

“Forget it,” he spat. “We’ll figure it out in the morning. I’ll just find somewhere to spend the night, next state over.” A tense silence fell between them.

Several minutes later: “…I’m sorry. About your bodyguard.”

Why did this bastard have to be so raw about everything? “…That has nothing to do with anything.”

“Mm-hmm.” The silence resumed, somehow even more tense, but with an entirely different flavor. Vincent found himself holding his breathe, as if John could hear the lump in his throat if he exhaled wrong. Damn him. He was determined not to cry twice in one day.

They took a scenic route into Pennsylvania, avoiding the toll roads. Vincent gazed out of small gap at the edge of the blanket, gradually beginning to shake again. From that low angle, he could see the near-perfect circle of the moon. The radio warbled on about weather next week and love confessions and affairs. He would almost find this moment peaceful, except…there was that horrific, continuous, world swallowing ache from the center of his chest. An ocean of blood no longer restrained. A fracture in the bone at the core of his body. He could not take this kind of pain, he thought. It was an absurd, even a comical amount of pain. He simply could not take it. He should say something to John, perhaps…but he didn’t. And the world began to dissolve.

At last, Vincent de Gramont passed fully into unconsciousness, and dreamed that he was buying a fine show horse. A jet black Orlov, with a star at the center of its forehead. Ribbons of white sheen glimmered down its shiny withers like a freshly waxed autobody. He mounted it for a first ride, eager to inspect his new wares. And as he did so, the spirited creature read something in his motions that was unworthy of trust, something he could neither have predicted nor suppressed. It seemed so unfair… The horse tossed its dark mane, and reared up in terror, and threw him onto the brambles below…onto a jutting tree branch that impaled him through the sternum, far deeper than the bullet had ever sunk.

(Author's note: An Orlov is a Russian horse breed.)

◃ Back ⚜ Next ▹

[theradicalscrivener]

D ☆ Rising

Taking a jump back to a time before Mateo was a racer. An avid racing fan (and an even more avid fan of huge things) Mateo dreamt of being a racer on the orbital circuit. His hard work is about to pay off in big ways.

[First Chapter] || [Previous Chapter]

                It took every ounce of Mateo’s self-control to sit still. This was it! It was finally happening! He had dreamed of this day for… well… as long as there had been orbital races. As a kid, he had a bed in the shape of a racecar. He dreamed of being a racer, but back then, races tended to be held on a closed roadway out in the countryside, and the pilots – drivers they were called back then – drove around in gas-guzzling four-wheeled deathtraps. By the time he got into high school, nanites were just becoming common, and by the time he graduated, orbital races were in full swing. His college dorm was adorned with images of the colossal cocks of the new breed of racers. The collage of cocks on his wall made it hard for his roommates to tell if he was an avid racer or just really fucking gay, but the truth was… both!

                Mateo had suffered through four years of college more for his parents’ sake than his own. He had no need for a degree. All he needed to do was qualify for the races! His daily routine had him spending more time at the gym than the library. He skated by with the bare minimum of effort in his schoolwork. Most of his mental capacity was directed towards studying all the facts and figures of the races that he could! After all, Cs get degrees, and he was far more interested in Ds.

                “Ok. We will begin the process shortly. If you have any questions or concerns, now is the time. Once we start, there will be no going back,” The man said. He was clad in surgical scrubs and a facemask that obscured most of his features. He didn’t even have a nametag on. It was only from the tone of his voice that Mateo could recognize him as the head of R&D for the orbital races. The nanites had been this guy’s brainchild, but whether or not he had intended for them to create an entire sport around supersized schlongs was still anyone’s guess. That was a question for his biographer. All Mateo cared about was getting outfitted with his own “hotrod”.

                “I’ve never been more ready!” Mateo said excitedly, and it was true. He felt like if he had to delay even another minute he’d explode!

                The researcher shrugged and turned back to face the control console once more. He quickly looked over the readouts, made a few comments to his assistants, and pulled the lever.

                Mateo could feel it instantly. There was a warmth coursing through his body. It was like that soothing warmth that hot cocoa made when going down your throat but instead it coursed through his very veins. Soon, the warmth mellowed out and was replaced with a new sensation – a gentle tingle in his cock and balls. This was it!

                Mateo stared down at his package in rapt fascination. He didn’t want to miss a moment of this. This was it! His ascension to orbital racer!

                As the nanites began their work, Mateo’s cock steadily swelled and grew. His once average member quickly doubled in size. Soon his softy dangled halfway down his thigh, and his hefty nuts hung even lower, but it didn’t stop there. His cock and balls continued to grow and grow and grow.

                Mateo ran the numbers in his head as he watched on with manic glee. He had no idea how big he would get, and he didn’t really care. He just wanted to compete! Some of the racers ended up with cocks the size of a motorcycle or a small sedan. Those racers had to be quick and agile to compete in the big leagues, but if that was as large as he got, then Mateo would just have to make it work.

                Mateo had actually met one of these racers back in the early days of the sport. The guy was considered “small” by racer standards, but his dick was so huge that he had to be wheeled to the meet and greet on the flatbed of semi. The dude was completely immobilized atop his truck-sized schlong, but he didn’t seem to mind. If anything, he was excited to regale the fans about the thrill of zooming through space mixed with the rush of blasting gallons upon gallons upon hundreds of gallons of hot jizz through the stratosphere while he was soaring through the races.

Mateo had been on the fence when he heard about the procedure to grow cocks to the size that they could serve as an engine for space travel, but upon meeting these racers (and seeing their phenomenal cocks) in person, he was hooked. The image of a cock that was bigger than he was was mesmerizing! He went to bed that night and images of sedan sized schlongs filled his brain! The morning after, he had had to discreetly wash his own bedding, but it had all been worth it.

                As Mateo lay strapped to the table, he continued to stare on as his cock eclipsed the size of a car. If nothing else, he was big enough to compete! Still… a bit more wouldn’t hurt. After all, his cock already looked so hot…

                Mateo’s cock continued to swell. He was quickly moving up to the next weight bracket! These racers had most of the mobility of the little guys but still had enough heft to them to make them a threat in direct collisions. He had once seen a pilot with a cock the size of a freight train completely launch one of the smaller racers spiraling off course. With his trajectory destabilized, the massive, mobile cock was sent spiraling off into the stars. The spray of jizz firing from his enormous cock forming a milky white helix against the black backdrop of space. Mateo remembered watching that the first time it had happened. The audience gasped in shock. Was this allowed? Was the other racer OK? But while the spectators gasped and gawked, Mateo had been fully boned. Imagine having a dick so huge that it could swat a shuttle from the sky like a gnat! Mateo didn’t necessarily relish the idea of being such an aggressive pilot, but at the same time, it must feel so good to be so huge!

                But even as he fantasized about his racing career in the next weight class, he was rapidly outgrowing it. His cock and balls now filled the hangar that served as his hospital room. His cock had to be larger than a freight train! It was now reaching a size closer to that of a commercial airliner! Cocks this size were rare indeed!

                Mateo could hardly believe it. How lucky could he be! Sizes like this were almost unheard of! Maybe a one in a thousand chance! He couldn’t wait to get out there. Those mid-tier brawlers that he was just fantasizing about now paled in comparison to his own cock. They would be like gnats bouncing off of his cock!

                There was some chatter from the researchers, but Mateo couldn’t make out any of it. He was so lost in the excitement of his future and the orgasmic bliss of the growth that he was barely even aware that the large, circular observation platform that the researchers were working on had detached from the lab and was now hovering above him like an olde-timey sci-fi flying saucer!

                The walls of the hangar folded open and dropped down into compartments in the ground. While it was rare for anyone to reach this size, it was not impossible. It had happened before, and since then, the league had taken steps to save the structure in case a test subject outgrew the walls. The brilliant sunlight was so jarring after being under intense observation in a dimly lit lab, that Mateo had to wince and cover his eyes until his eyes had time to adjust, but when his eyes did finally adjust, he glanced around and noticed that he was seated atop a cock that loomed over the campus like a mountain!

                How huge was he!? He looked around and tried to get a good idea of his size, but he was suspended so high up and was surrounded on all sides by balls and cock. He just couldn’t see his surroundings, but he was easily in the largest weight class. He had outgrown the entire hangar! His cock was now larger than a jumbo jet! In fact, he may now be the largest racer in the league!

                I mix of pride and excitement welled up inside him. Had he ever seen a cock so huge? Maybe once, but never up close. He had seen as many races as he could get to, and he had seen the largest cocks the league had to offer. He had seen dicks the size of massive ocean liners, but his might even be larger!

                What did that mean for his career as a racer? Was there such a thing as too big? The larger a racer got, the more thrust they generated, but the harder it became to turn. At some point, he’d turn into nothing more than an interplanetary battering ram! He’d be invincible on the straightaways, but he’d never manage the sharp turns of the track!

                He worried that his racing career may be over before it started, but even as the worry welled up inside of him, his excitement continued to grow. He was so huge! He was so hot! He wanted more! He wanted to be bigger! Bigger and bigger! There was no limit to his desire! If he couldn’t be a racer, maybe he could be the track itself! Let his own gravity guide the smaller racers to victory! Mateo chuckled softly in spite of himself as an image of massive, cruiser-sized cocks flitting around his dick like gnats filled his mind. How huge would he be at that point, and would it be huge enough?

                As Mateo’s mind raced, his cock continued to swell. Suddenly, red flashing warning lights shone forth from the hovering platform that the researchers occupied. Something was strange. Mateo could feel pressure on all sides. His cock was being shoved inwards somehow.

                Mateo glanced out around him, and even through the haze of arousal and the flashing red lights, he could make out the shimmering hexagonal panels of the hastily erected forcefield.

                He had outgrown the entire campus! His cock now eclipsed a city block! He had seen dicks the size of an ocean liner, but his cock had to be even larger than that! How huge was he? A thousand feet? Two thousand? It was tough to tell since his cock was still swelling, but he was pinned into the perimeter like a sardine in a can!

                The hovering platform touched down atop Mateo’s massive nuts. One of the researchers, the same one from before, quickly hurried over to him and quickly muttered something. It sounded urgent, but Mateo was too far gone to listen. He was so huge. It felt so good. He wanted more…

                The researcher muttered something to himself and pulled out a small injector. He held the gun-like object to Mateo’s neck and quickly pumped the contents into Mateo’s bloodstream. If the first injection had been pleasantly warm, this one was painfully electric. His entire body seized. His veins sizzled with electricity. The nanites in his body shuddered and sparked. For a second, Mateo worried that this may be it for him, but at least he had died trying to fulfill his dream.  However, no sooner had the pain started than it quickly subsided. His muscles ached from exertion and his lungs burned for air, but he felt no worse than he would after an intense session at the gym. The worst sensation was this feeling of emptiness that overtook him.

                He had stopped growing. Sure, he was quite possibly the largest pilot in the league now, but he had wanted more. The orgasmic high of his growth still haunted the back of his mind, but… it was alright, wasn’t it? He could still race at this size. He didn’t really want to get bigger, did he? That would be silly, right? What would he even do if he got too large to move even amidst the near zero gravity of space?

                These are the arguments that he repeated to himself during the weeks of his recovery. It took the league almost a month to get the equipment ready to launch him into space, and during that time, Mateo became a bit of a landmark around town. His mountainous cock and balls were visible for miles around. Getting him orbital was such a monumental undertaking that the league had had to partner with the government and the space program to get the equipment to send him skyward.

                While he waited for his ride to space to be completed, Mateo did the meet and greet with the press and fans. His cock and balls were so massive that he couldn’t even be loaded onto a freight train to do visit other cities. He couldn’t go on the road like some of the smaller competitors, but plenty of fans were more than happy to come to him. As he shook hands and signed autographs as the most talked about new rookie, his excitement to be a racer grew within him once more. As the day of his first race came closer and closer, the joy of finally achieving his childhood dream almost drowned out that dark desire to grow even larger… almost.

                In the quiet moments when the press had died down and even the most ardent fans or curious spectators had gone home, Mateo would lay back atop his own mountain-sized sack and stare up at the stars above. Soon, he would take his place up among the stars as another orbital racer… or another heavenly body.

[First Chapter] || [Previous Chapter]