#this bullshit script: ficlet

[kueble]

I Like the Taste of Blood When You're Tearing Me Apart

Another Call of Duty fic! This was meant to be a short, sweet little ficlet about Ghost nesting. Guess who went nuts again? haha.

Explicit. Warnings: Intersex Omegas, A/B/O, Mating Bites, Mild blood, breeding kink, knotting, vaginal fingering/oral/sex. 5,300 words.

Ghost/Soap

---

“This is bullshit,” Ghost growls, and Price just holds up his hands palms out at him.

“I agree, but it’s out of my hands,” he says with a shake of his head. “And honestly Ghost…Simon, this isn’t healthy. You’ve been on blockers for fifteen years, and no one is cleared for more than a year without a break. Medical won’t let you back in the field unless you come off them and have your heat. I’m sorry, but I don’t want to lose you to this.”

“Fifteen years and I’ve been perfectly fine,” Ghost argues even though he knows he won’t do any good. Price he may be able to convince, but the bastards down in medical won’t even talk to him about it. There’s a reason why he prefers to take care of his own problems. “If I refuse?” he asks in one final attempt to get out of it.

“Honorable discharge.”

“Fuck. Fine. I took my last one last night, and I’m sure they’re not going to refill my script until I go through with this. I have leave for it? A room on base?” he asks, clenching his jaw at the thought of being locked in one of the heat rooms, cooped up like an animal as he rides out his heat.

“Room’s been booked and you and MacTavish both have the week off for it,” Price tells him with a nod.

“Johnny?” Ghost asks, blinking in confusion.

“Yeah, unless the paperwork you both filed naming each other partner was wrong, you’re in this together. Mates take rut and heat leaves together. You know this,” Price says with a frown. “And if this is about the lack of bite on your neck, don’t be an idiot. We all know you belong to each other. First heat in fifteen years might be the right time to make it proper.”

“All due respect, Sir, fuck off,” Ghost mumbles, but his mind is already reeling from the implications. They’re as official as it can be without a mating bite, since a bite won’t take with the meds running through his system. This is a truly fucked up situation, but maybe some good can come of it. Still, he won’t bring it up if Soap doesn’t mention it first.

“See you in a week,” Price says with a snort. He holds out a set of keys to Ghost and adds, “Room two. You know where to find it.” Ghost pockets the keys and nods sharply before stomping out of his office.

—

“So this is…less than ideal,” Soap says, and Ghost just snorts at him.

“You fucking think?” he grunts out before running a hand over his face. He inhales deeply a few times, exhaling each breath as slowly as he can, and feels himself settle down a little. It helps even more when Soap moves closer, wrapping his arms around his waist from behind and putting his head between Ghost’s shoulder blades.

“Let’s go to bed. There’s nothing to be done about it tonight, so let me just hold you for the night,” Soap suggests, and Ghost sighs.

“I don’t need taking care of,” he mutters, and Soap just hushes him gently.

“I know you don’t, but let me anyway? It makes me feel good,” Soap explains, and Ghost can hardly deny him that. He nods and Soap kneels down, carefully untying Ghost’s boots and sliding them off his feet. Then he walks over to the closet and grabs a pair of his sleep shorts and an oversized cotton tee that’s nearly worn thin from use. “Go get ready for bed,” Soap instructs, and Ghost grabs the clothing before ducking into the bathroom to comply.

He leaves his mask on the edge of the sink and takes time to wash his face carefully, making sure all the grease is gone from around his eyes. It’s not like he’ll need to hide in the heat room anyway. It’s just him and Soap for the next few days, and he hasn’t kept any part of himself from Soap for months now.

By the time he leaves the bathroom, Soap has stripped down to his shirt and boxers and is holding the covers up for Ghost to join him. It should rub him wrong, how easily Soap takes over his room, but instead it makes something warm light up in his chest. He shoves that aside and slips under the covers.

They end up with Soap on his back and Ghost curled up against him. Soap runs his fingers through Ghost’s hair, humming softly because it’s physically impossible for him to be completely silent. Ghost doesn’t purr, but he gets damn close as he lets Soap dote on him.

Then of course his idiot boyfriend has to stir up trouble.

“What do I smell like to you?” Soap asks, and Ghost blinks in confusion, tossing the question around in his mind.

“Why?” he settles on.

“Humor me,” Soap mumbles, and Ghost can feel himself give in.

“You smell…calm, which is ridiculous given your personality,” he says, laughing when Soap swats him playfully. “It’s a combination of earl grey tea and the air right before a rainstorm, with a bit of citrus mixed in.” Soap hums happily, but he can tell there’s more to the conversation. Ghost sits patiently and waits for him to continue, and eventually he does.

“I haven’t ever been around you without blockers, what’s your natural scent like?” Soap asks, and he bristles in response. He’s more than an omega scent, more than his stupid slick, more than just a pretty little mate.

“Baja blast,” he spits out, and Soap blinks at him before nodding awkwardly.

“Sorry, I’m just…we’ve been dating for months and there’s so much I still don’t know,” Soap explains softly.

“You know me better than anyone, what I smell like doesn’t change a god-damned thing. Hell, I don’t even remember. My father put me on the damn blockers right after my first heat. I could smell truly fucking awful,” he says with a sigh.

“I’d still love you if you smelled like rotten meat,” Soap says helpfully, and it serves its purpose. The tension breaks as they share a laugh, and Ghost lets himself lay on Soap properly now, crawling on top of him and just wrapping around him like an overgrown octopus.

“It’s a stupid thing to be upset about,” Ghost mumbles into Soap’s shoulder. “You’re stuck with me, even if we’re not mated.”

“Yet,” Soap says quickly, causing Ghost to snap his head up and look at him.

“Yet?”

“You honestly think I haven’t wanted to tie myself to you in every way possible? I know a mating bite won’t stick with the blockers, so I was going to bring it up at some point soon anyway. I’m yours if you want me,” Johnny tells him softly.

“I do,” he whispers back, smiling as Johnny’s expression softens.

“No take-backs,” he says seriously.

“No take-backs,” Simon echos.

And suddenly it’s too much, too much panic, too much talking, too much existing for today. Thankfully Johnny gets how he works and just presses a kiss against his temple and rubs his back until they both fall asleep.

—

Ghost is lounging on his bed - definitely not brooding - and trying to figure out how the next few days are going to go. He can already feel his body changing, everything a little bit more at the moment, and it’s not something he can ignore. His heart beats slightly faster, his body running just a little hotter, and there’s an odd smell in the air that he is shocked to realizes is his own fucking scent. He’s about to spiral, but thankfully the door flings open and Soap kicks it closed behind him before holding out a handful of items at him.

“What’s this?” Ghost asks as he climbs off the bed. Soap sways from foot to foot, practically dripping with nervousness, and Ghost studies him closely as he walks over. With his heightened senses, he can practically feel Soap’s heartbeat in his ears, and it’s rabbiting in his chest like a wild thing.

“I, er, I took the liberty of securing you some things from the team,” Soap tells him slowly. He hesitates for a brief moment before shoving the armful of things at Ghost. “There’s something from Price, Gaz, and a few things of mine. You know…for your nest.”

Ghost startles as he looks down at the bundle of clothing in his arms. He can spot one of Price’s stupid bucket hats right away, half wrapped in a pair of sweats too small to be anyone but Gaz’s. Soap added a few of his workout shirts, practically dripping with his calming scent. Ghost stares down at everything and starts to panic that he’s out of his league here.

“I…I’ve never made a nest,” he admits, and Soap gasps at him. He feels stupid, but his first heat had been a rush, his father throwing a fit and locking him in the basement until it had run its course, and there hadn't been anything to sleep on let alone nest with.

“We can figure it out together. I mean, you can figure it out and I’ll be there to catch you when you inevitably freak out, much like always,” Soap says with a soft laugh. Ghost rolls his eyes but feels a bit better already.

“Am I supposed to collect things on my own?” he asks, already at a loss of how the process goes. He’s pretty sure omegas ask their pack for nesting supplies.

“I figured you’d be too proud to ask the other guys, so I’d help out. Price and Gaz were really excited to help! But I can give them back. It’s not a big deal,” Soap says, and immediately something clenches in Ghost’s chest. He growls at him, eyes narrowing as he clutches the items to his chest. The familiar smells of his team, his pack, surround him and he opens his mouth before his brain catches up.

“No! They’re mine now!” he grunts out, and Soap’s eyes widen as he nods quickly. Ghost sighs and takes a deep breath to calm himself. He can already feel the fight or flight response kicking in over something as stupid as an armful of clothes. “I…I think my hormones are already fucked up.”

“I would say you’re right,” Soap chuckles softly. Ghost ignores him in favor of burying his face in the clothing, the comforting scent of his pack washing over him. He didn’t even realize he needed this, but of course the alpha did. He’s a good choice. He winces at the way his instincts have taken over at this point, but he feels too good to dwell on it.

“We’ll go to the heat room later and I can put everything together. One more thing I need, though,” Ghost says hesitantly. Soap looks eager to give him anything so he presses on. “Go get all your bedding and bring it back. I want to sleep with everything tonight.”

“On it,” Soap says, offering a mock salute as he turns to leave. Ghost reaches out and slaps his ass for the insubordination, and they’re both laughing as he heads towards his own room. Ghost isn’t sure why they haven’t combined rooms already, since they’re always together at this point anyway. If they do go through with the mating, they’ll be able to move in legitimately. Normally mated couples are given larger space, but Ghost’s rank already affords him more than enough perks.

—

“Johnny, wake up,” Ghost says, tapping him on the shoulder. Johnny wakes up swinging and lets out a loud shriek.

“What the fuck? What time is it?” he spits out, sitting up and rubbing at his face.

“02:00,” Ghost tells him, and Soap looks at him like he’s deranged. Which, come to think of it, Ghost realizes he probably is. He can already feel the pre-heat raging through his body, and he knows he’ll be in full heat by morning.

“Is there a reason why you woke me up?” Soap asks, still blinking the sleep out of his eyes.

“I’m not about to let everyone see me dragging my fucking nesting materials across base. Get up and grab the bedding. We’re going now,” Ghost informs him, and Johnny snorts but does what he’s told.

“Let me put on a shirt at least,” he mumbles, grabbing one from Ghost’s drawer. It hands on his frame, and he looks adorable in it. Ghost can’t help shifting his duffel bags to one hand and reaching out to cup his cheek. He leans in to kiss him softly before pulling back and smiling.

“Gonna make you take it off as soon as we get to the heat room, anyway, but I like how you look in my clothes,” Ghost murmurs before gesturing at the pile of bedding Soap yanked off the bed. He bends down to gather it all in his arms, and Ghost leads him out the door.

The walk to the heat and rut corridor is silent, but Ghost is constantly on alert for anyone who might be fighting the insomnia that claims him far too often. Thankfully they don’t run into anyone, and soon enough they reach his assigned room. He uses the key Price gave to him and ushers Soap inside.

“Stay by the door,” Ghost orders, and Soap blinks slowly but nods, pressing his back up against the door without question.

The next few minutes are a flurry of action. Ghost dumps the clothing - scented by his team but mostly Soap - onto the large bed and starts shaping it into a proper nest. He may not have done this before, but instinct and his military-instilled need for perfection take over. The bedding he and Soap have spent the last few nights on gets woven into the pile, and finally everything smells right, smells like home.

“You’re adorable, you know that, right?” Soap calls out from across the room and Ghost can feel his cheeks heating up under his balaclava.

“Fuck you,” he mumbles, which only makes Soap chuckle.

“Think it’s the other way around, love,” Soap tells him gently. Ghost flips him off but still starts undressing, suddenly desperate to get into his nest.

“Keep your dick to yourself before my heat kicks in. I’m gonna need you well-rested,” Ghost says before tugging off his mask. He tosses it onto the bedside table and then crawls onto the bed.

“Clearly the best way to ensure that is to wake me up in the middle of the night and drag me across the base,” Soap says, laughing as he climbs in next to Ghost. He darts in and kisses Ghost quickly before turning onto his side. Ghost curls up behind him, slinging an arm over his hips and pulling him tight against his chest. Alpha or not, Soap is his little spoon.

His last thought before drifting off is that he hopes they both survive this.

—

Simon wakes up on fire, his body burning up with the full brunt of his heat. Johnny isn’t awake yet, so he takes a moment to assess his situation. He’s so wet that slick is dripping down his thighs, and there’s a deep hunger inside him that only one thing will cure. He’s glad they stripped down before bed, because he’s not sure he’d be able to do it now.

“Johnny,” he whines, shaking the man currently wrapped around his side. He stirs with a sigh, wiping the sleep out of his eyes as he looks over at Simon.

And then his nostrils flare wide, his gaze turning feral as he grins at Simon. He runs a hand through Simon’s hair, tugging gently and drawing a moan out of him. “You smell so fucking good right now. Need my help, love?” he asks, and it’s all Simon can do to nod, his body already making him needy and half-drunk on it.

"Fuck me," Simon begs, his voice cracking as another gush of slick rushes out of his cunt. Soap runs a finger through it, gathering some up before sucking it off his fingers.

"Steamin' Jesus, you taste divine like this. Gonna go down on you for hours once the fever breaks, but I'll take care of you. Don't worry, love," he murmurs before lining up and slowly sinking into him.

Simon is half mad with it, his head full of cotton and static, but he whimpers at the stretch of Johnny's thick cock filling him up so good. Reaching up, he drags him down, their mouths meeting in a harsh kiss. He's too far gone to do much but growl into Johnny's mouth, but it still settles him, even just a little.

"Need your knot," Simon whines, beyond caring how fucking needy he sounds. All he needs is his alpha's knot - his mate's knot - and the fever will break. He feels like clawing at his skin, so he runs his blunt nails down Johnny's back, leaving red scratches in his wake. Johnny just fucks him harder, pounding into his cunt with so much force that he nearly bucks Simon out of his carefully constructed nest.

"You smell so amazing, so perfect for me, so ripe," Johnny murmurs against his neck, and he tilts his head to the side, offering his neck for the mating bite. "Not yet, don't want to end this so soon."

"But you will? You'll bite me?" Simon asks, panicking at the thought his chosen mate might not keep him. He knows it's stupid, because they've talked about this, agreed to it already, but the fear still hits him hard. Hormones are so fucking stupid.

"Aye, I'm never giving you up. Gonna be stuck with me til the end of our days. My pretty little omega," Johnny tells him, and Simon grumbles at him. He's not pretty. He's rough and haggard and deadly. "None of that," Johnny tsks him, "you're pretty if I say you are. Now let's see how much this perfect little cunt of yours can take."

And then they're moving, bodies slamming together as Johnny fucks him roughly. Even as out of it as he is, Simon can feel Johnny’s knot swelling up, can feel the base growing as his alpha plows into him. His poor neglected cock is trapped between them, leaking uselessly against his stomach. Digging his heels into the small of Johnny's back, he tries to change the angle, tries to get a little more friction on it.

"I got you, sweet thing," Johnny tells him, somehow working a hand between them without breaking his rhythm. Simon hisses at the nickname, but his inner omega is preening even if he denies it. He feels his orgasm building up and offers his neck again, desperate to feel Johnny's teeth in his skin.

"Need you. Do it!" He cries out, and thankfully Johnny doesn't make him wait again.

They both come as soon as Johnny's sharp teeth break through his skin, bonding them together with a flash of pain and blood. Simon shouts his name, sobbing as his climax rushes through him. His mind snaps, and all he knows is Johnny, all he feels is the weight of his alpha, the stab of his teeth and the blunt pressure of his knot finally slamming home.

Johnny grinds against him and paints his inner walls with his hot seed. Simon knows it won't take, not with his meds, but part of him wishes it would, wants to be round and full and properly bred.

"Fuck, Simon, you're gonna kill me," Johnny laughs breathlessly and nips at the curve of his jaw. "I'll breed you so good, pump you full of pups the second we retire." Simon hadn't even realized he was talking out loud, and he hides his face in his mate's neck.

Johnny rolls his hips, grinning his knot into him, and Simon gasps as another orgasm crashes through him. He clings to Johnny and rides it out, feeling another burst of Johnny's come flood into him as he clamps down around his knot.

"We can't possibly keep this up all week," Johnny mumbles against his chest, and Simon laughs at him, the fog clearing from his heat-addled brain.

"Biology says otherwise, but I'm glad for the break," he admits.

"Well I'm properly drained, so just let me lay here scenting you until you need me again," Johnny laughs before lapping at his bond mark.

"What do I smell like?"

"Like peat and the seaside, and a touch of bomb smoke," Johnny whispers. "Some of my favorite things."

"You're bloody insane," Simon tells him before nuzzling into him more. He feels another wave of come fill him, but is too exhausted to do anything but lay there.

"You didn't bite me," Johnny says softly, and Simon nearly bucks him off with the speed he tries to sit up.

"You want me to bite you?" He asks, eyes wide as Johnny shoves him back down.

"Course I do, but I'd also like to keep my prick right where it is. Don't move again until my knot goes down," he says with a snort.

"Most alphas don't let their omegas bite them," Simon reminds him quietly.

"Most alphas are stupid fucks, then. I want your mark just as much as I want to see mine on you. Make us equal, Si. Claim me," he orders.

Simon doesn't waste time, sinks his teeth into Johnny's scent gland the second he tilts his head. The coppery flavor of blood bursts across his tongue, and he bites harder, making sure his mark will last. When he’s done, he laps at the bloody wound, sighing happily at how warm he feels now.

“Gonna sleep until it hits me again,” Simon murmurs, and Johnny just holds him tighter.

—

“I can’t,” Johnny whines, sounding like he is barely able to move. Simon agrees, because it feels like they’ve been fucking nonstop for months now. He is without a doubt the horniest omega that ever existed. He can feel Johnny’s come dripping out of him, and yet his body still wants more.

“Medical said it could hit me hard,” he whispers, and Johnny fucking cackles at him.

“You’re telling me,” he says between laughs. “My dick is down for the count for at least a couple hours, but I’ve been meaning to get my mouth on you. Laying between your thighs will be good for my knee, anyway.”

“You didn’t tell me it was bothering you!” Simon chastises him, but Johnny just shrugs it off.

“Wasn’t really thinking about it until now. Turns out it’s hard to pay attention to the rest of your body while you’re getting your dick wet,” he says with a smirk. Simon rolls his eyes at him, but the concern quickly takes over..

“Well tell me if it gets worse. I think my heat should let up soon,” he says hopefully. But then a wave of cramps rolls over him and he breaks out in a sweat again. “Fuck me,” he mumbles.

“Like I said, give me a few hours,” Johnny tells him before sliding down the bed and sprawling out between his thighs.

Simon’s tiny cock is hard and leaking against his belly, and his cunt throbs, trying to clench down on nothing as he stares down at his alpha. Johnny just spreads his thighs wider and dips his head down, licking a wide stripe up Simon’s folds. He makes a sound like he’s gagging for it, and Simon figures he is. He looks up at him with dark blue eyes, and Simon can tell he’s smirking against his cunt.

Johnny looks completely unhinged, and it’s the hottest thing he’s ever seen.

He thinks Johnny will start slow, but after the first lick he’s like a man possessed. He flattens his tongue and licks the length of him again before reaching up to take hold of his cock. It’s small, barely a handful, but Johnny looks at it like it’s the best thing he’s ever seen. The first little kitten lick at the head of his cock has him grunting, and Simon has to fight to keep his hips on the bed.

Only Johnny pulls back and murmurs a quick, “It’s not more than a mouthful, which makes it easier for you to fuck my face. Take your pleasure, love.” He looks so wrecked, face red and eyes blown dark, and Simon can’t help falling a little more in love with him. He reaches down and rubs his thumb over the bite mark on Johnny’s neck, proof of his claim on his alpha. They both silver at the touch, and Simon grins down at him before bucking up into his mouth.

Johnny moans like the slut that he is, eyes struggling to stay open as Simon fucks into his mouth. He was right, his omega cock isn’t much, but it still has Johnny fucking gagging for it. He grunts and bucks his hips, feeling his cunt clench tighter as he works himself in and out of Johnny’s spit-slicked mouth.

“Need more,” he hisses, his body feeling overworked and yet so so needy. Johnny understands him - he always does - and pulls off his cock before catching his gaze and licking it one last time.

“I got you, Simon,” he reassures him, and Simon just nods, knowing he’d follow this man into hell itself if he asked him to. He trusts him to always take care of him, to always have his six.

Simon wants to say something profound, something soft and sweet to let Johnny know how gone for him he is, but his head is floating and he can’t do more than slap a sweaty palm weakly against his cheek. Johnny turns into it, smiling as he kisses the center of his hand. And then he pulls back, looking completely feral as he spits on Simon’s dripping cunt. He whines, and Johnny does it again, his gaze heavy before he slides back down.

He laps at his dripping hole, tongue thrusting inside as his scruff roughs up the insides of Simon’s thighs. He nips at Simon’s rim, sore from days of abuse, but the little sting of pain just makes everything so much more. He tightens his hold on Johnny’s hair, tugging roughly and dragging a moan out of him. It sends shock waves of pleasure through his core, and his hips slam up on their own accord.

Johnny goes with it, eating him out like his life depends on it, even as Simon is grinding against his face. He feels two fingers at his entrance and sighs as they push inside, his body begging for the knot he knows it won’t get. No, he’s thoroughly wrecked his mate, and yet Johnny is still doing his best, still taking care of him.

He’s pretty fucking perfect.

Time has no meaning, nothing does when all he can focus on is the rough slide of Johnny’s tongue over his folds and the thick press of his fingers inside of him. He’s burning up, sweating hard enough to cover them both, but Johnny just keeps lapping at him like he’s dying for it. The third and fourth fingers burn a little, and he’s absolutely shocked that his hole isn’t gaping after being knotted so much.

But there’s something amazing about his mate, this strong, mildly terrifying alpha who chose him. Simon knows it's his instincts, but he feels like they’re meant to be, are completely made for each other. The way Johnny’s fingers are fucking him so well only solidifies his crazy thoughts. The calloused pads of his fingers drag against that spot inside of him, and Simon loses all thoughts. All he knows is Johnny, the press of his fingers, the warmth of his mouth as he swallows his cock back down, the combined scents filling the room. It’s filthy and obscene and he can’t get enough of it.

And then there’s something else pressing at his hole. Simon nearly loses it when he realizes it’s Johnny’s thumb. He’s going to ruin him, but what a fucking way to go. He groans as Johnny’s thumb strokes the sensitive skin around his opening, his tongue fluttering around the head of his cock at the same time. He can multi-task like a fucking pro. Simon falls back, barely able to keep his eyes open as Johnny guides him towards his orgasm.

Simon keens, his back arching as Soap slips the thumb inside of him. The stretch is perfect, as close to a knot as he can get without Johnny putting his whole fucking fist in him, and isn’t that a fun idea to bring up later. He slams his hips up, and Johnny moans around his cock. His thighs are trembling, and he knows he’s nearly there.

“Close,” he whines, and Johnny starts fucking him faster with his hand, the bottom of it too wide to fit inside, but it feels like a knot about to pop, and Simon explodes. He probably crushes Johnny with his thighs, but he’s too far gone to worry about it. He spills down Johnny’s hot throat, his entire body shaking as he climaxes.

Johnny sucks him through it, curling his fingers the best he can and working over that spot inside of him. It’s earth-shattering, his cunt being so fucking full and his softening prick buried in the hot heat of Johnny’s mouth. He’s screaming, not sure if it’s words or primal nonsense, and his body feels like it’s coming apart at the seams.

He’s pretty sure he blacks out, because suddenly he’s blinking his eyes open and Johnny is leaning over him, grinning like he won the fucking lottery. His face is soaked in Simon’s juices, and there’s a bit of come stuck by the corner of his mouth. Simon raises a weak arm and runs his thumb through the mess, panting as he feeds it to Johnny.

His cock gives a twitch, but he’s spent for the moment. It feels like he just ran a marathon, and he feels like he could sleep for a week. “So good for me,” he murmurs and Johnny hums happily.

“You are so perfect. The best omega I could imagine,” Johnny whispers before catching his mouth in a quick kiss. They’re both too exhausted for more right now. Simon preens under the praise and rolls Johnny onto his side so he can spoon him. He’s filthy, covered in both their come and nearly a week’s worth of sweat, but he’s happy.

A deep rumble fills the room and Simon takes way too long to realize that it’s him. The last time he purred was when he was little and life hadn’t fucked him over yet. Hell, he didn’t even know he still could. But this insane man in his arms apparently makes him happier than anything else, and he vows to hold onto him the rest of his life.

“That’s it, purr for me, love,” Johnny mumbles as they drift off to sleep.

And when they stumble out of the heat room a day later, the rest of the 141 claps them on the back in congratulations, not a single person questioning their healed bond bites. Johnny moves into his room, and for the first time since he crawled out of his own grave, Simon is able to envision a future, a life outside the service. They discuss it in hushed tones in their shared bed, making plans and trading kisses while the rest of the base sleeps.

It turns out home can be a person instead of a place.

[whetstonefires]

it's been a while since you wrote it, but i still keep and adore the piece of meta on captain america as a disabled man in an abled body-- it actually heavily inspired me to write a ficlet on the topic, and i wanted to say thank you very much for showing me the character through a different lens!

oh that's rad! can i read it?

yeah i have a lot of feelings about all steve's expectations and understanding of the world and himself, up into his 20s, being formed as a disabled person in an overtly eugenicist society.

this is variably applicable to his comics characterization ofc because cap has had so many writers and so many backstory rewrites, but i think chris evans did pretty a good job keeping a lot of the associated character threads (about things like how you determine the value of a life, and his relationships to his physical limits and to death, etc) running in his portrayal, within the increasingly bullshit limitations of the scripts he was given, which makes the mcu steve an especially fun version to read into on this theme.

[kaizenkhaos]

Back on the Kinktober prompts ^^ I've been falling behind recently due to a darn cold which is messing with my breathing and leaving me so darn tired.

But given it's nearly spoopy day itself, have a small Ficlet featuring a bit of body worship and some mirror sex

Content includes brief mention of Stancy, mentions of alcohol, the obvious NSFW content as mentioned above and brief mentions of internalised homophobia. No cheating though; I'm treating the bathroom scene as Nancy and Steve actually breaking up

Day 21 and 25 (Body Worship and Mirror Sex)

Tina's Party, Halloween, 1985

He shouldn't be back here. This place freaking reeks of sadness and now he can feel his cheeks burn, his tears tugged into slits to stop himself from completely embarrassing himself as his hands grasp onto the counter. He can't even look at himself right now, even as he hears the guy behind him taunt him. Huffing over and over as he continues to rail himself into the side. His breath ragging just as strongly as he tried his best not to snap. To not break. To not flip the script and tear Hargrove apart.

He never should have come back here but it's not like he could take it back now.

How did he get here? Well…now that was a bit of a story.

Earlier that night….

"You don't love me?"

The words had felt like glass, shattering onto the ground under his feet as it felt like the whole world had shifted on its axis. He was bullshit. She…she didn't did she? Had she….. everything that had happened in the recent moments, the times leading up to this, seemed to battle for head space as he pushed himself out of the room. She didn't…..she didn't love him. Was it because….of everything with Barb? The way he'd been with her? He'd not known what to do, what to say. They'd had to keep quiet hadn't they? The whole government and the …. Was it because of Byers? Why….why had she done this? Why had he done this?

Why?

But one of the reasons why, he'd realised after this, was exactly what he'd just done. He'd not thought about her, the fact she was drunk and would need a way to get home, regardless of their situation. He'd just wanted to get out, get some air, when he'd made his way outside of the house. Trying to catch his air through his mouth as he pinched onto his nose. Making sure that the tears that wanted to come never made it up to his tear ducts. Deep breaths….one, two….

"Well, well, well…if it ain't the King…"

Fuck….really? Right now…

It had to be him didn't it? It apparently wasn't enough that he'd just swanned into school and snatched the crown off his freaking head, but now it felt like one of the worst days in his life and of course Billy freaking Hargrove had to be here to witness it. And oh boy, did that make him *angry*

"Yeah, yeah it's me," he spat, straightening up and glaring at his rival.

The same guy who'd battled his way across the darn room just to come and see him. Steve having to focus on his eyes to not blatantly stare at that shining and perfect chest. Pecs out there on display, framed with a black jacket which clung to Hargrove like his very own skin.

It had been one, what two weeks since that movie had come out and yet here he was, doing that... character or whatever the hell. Making it look just as good as those tight jeans and jacket the guy strutted around the school in. Ratty mullet seemingly to be the hair style of the moment according to the girls, who wouldn't shut up about it, or Hargrove in general.

Nothing worse in hearing how you were down the pecking order than just hearing everyone have someone else's name on their lips and not your own.

But it wasn't like he didn't get it. His own eyes had after all, been increasingly on the guy. His own thoughts slowly eroded from him and Nance to him and...well Hargrove. As much as the thought had made him so uneasy at times. As uneasy as it had done when he'd realised his feeling about Tommy H didn't just class as things guys just felt for their friends. He'd not known how to handle it then and he wasn't sure how to handle it now. Not when he had his thoughts about what Nance had been up to, when his own mind had been betraying them instead.

Maybe this had been part of the problem. And it was about to become a whole bigger problem.

"What do you want Hargrove?"

"What..do *I* want....interesting choice of words Harrington...."

That certainly got Steve's attention.

Watching the other teen stride across to him, as if he'd not downed more keg and beers than anyone else in the house and still seemed to be relatively upright. Even if the guy was understandable buzzed. That freaking smirk riding across his face as he stood too close to Steve for comfort. Plucking the glasses off the top of his head and then put them over his eyes. Grinning. The feeling of a stare casting over him making him feel like an art exhibit. Everyone just there to stare.

"What I want Harrington is to see King Steve. But it looks like I ain't gonna see him tonight. Not with the way you just turned tail back there."

Pushing him against his car, in which Steve had been about to get into before Hargrove had made his appearance, Steve could only look into those glasses, seeing his own widening eyes as Hargrove leaned over, pushing their bodies together and making it real obvious as to where this was about to go.

"Wanna hazard a guess pretty boy?"

So that's how he'd ended up back up here. Nancy had dumped his ass after all and now...well his ass was being put through something completely different. Hands under his shirt as he took a deep breath, moaning under the fingers that played with his nipples.

Feeling his jacket being slipped off before his shirt was ridden up his back. Pushed halfway up as a hand made its way up his back. Mesmerised and finally looking up at the mirror, he saw that Hargrove wasn't concentrating on where he thought he might be. But staring down at his own hand, tracing it up and down his back as the other hand worked on pushing his shirt further up his front as well now.

"God...you really are somethin' Harrington."

The pace slowed a little for a moment, their eyes then meeting in the mirror. A look before it broke. The familiar mask on Hargrove's face as two hands went onto his hips and another shove caused a puff to shoot out of his mouth. Seeing the other lean over and stare into the mirror back at him. His lips soft against his ear as he said, a smirk even in his voice.

"You don't need a priss like that. Let me take your mind off her pretty boy....."

[somebodyhelpthenotdeadfreds]

Constangreen The Proposal AU! I had to crank out a moodboard and ficlet for this idea. Dedicated to the lovely @agentmarymargaretskitz who needs a little fluff right now and the lovely folks at the Constangreen server. Love you guys!

Gary was late.

He’s slept through his snooze button, and so he barely had time to take a quick shower, dress, and attempt to fix his hair into something presentable. He was held up at this stupid pretentious tea café six blocks out of his way that his pain-in-the-ass boss just HAD to get a lapsang souchong with exactly one sugar cube in it, and it took forever due to how busy it was. But finally, with tea and his own black coffee with cream, he hurried to the publishing office, where he had to wait for the elevator to take him to the ninth floor. Of course, the elevator had to stop at EVERY. SINGLE. FLOOR.

“Cutting it close,” the receptionist Mona whispered to him as he passed her desk, and he shouldn’t have turned to reply ‘I know’ to her before Gary collided with Nate, spilling the tea all over the floor.

“Seriously?!” Gary exclaimed as Nate tried to apologize, sighing at the tea on his pants and on the floor, setting his coffee on the side of Mona’s desk and wiping up the mess. “Just great, he’s going to lose his-“

The elevator door opened again, and John Constantine walked out with purpose, eyes hidden behind sunglasses but his glare could still be felt through them. Nate quickly darted off and Mona went back to her phone. Gary sighed again, picking up his coffee and turning to John as he approached him.

“Good m-“

“Is Sharpie coming in today or not, darling, she didn’t answer her bloody email yesterday.”

“Ms. Sharpe is coming today, the meeting’s in three hours,” Gary said, keeping pace with him as the other coworkers dodged out of their way as they headed down the corridors. “I have your reports for it already in your box on your desk. I called your lawyer over the copyright claim, it’s being sorted out and she should be back with results by Thursday. Hey, um, so, you know the book I’ve been working on, the one that I gave a copy of to you? I was thinking-“

“Did Rory turn in the manuscript for the sequel yet yet, it’s over two weeks late. Wanker keeps that shit up again, tell him to get a new publisher because we’ll sell o-“

“No, he sent it in yesterday, that’s on my desk. I’m just bringing this up because I’ve been working for you for five years and you said I get one favor from you, so I was thinking-“

“I might have gotten up to more than I thought I would last night, have you-“

“I know, I already called your PR guy last night, John, they’ll spin it wasn’t you drunk in a pub crawl on a Monday night.”

John shoved his hair out of his face, breathing out and then grinning, “Fucking brilliant, Gary.”

Gary suddenly perked up, breaking out into a wide smile. “Oh, thank you! So, does that mean you’ll look at my- oh hey, no, that’s my c-“ he started to say when John took the coffee from his hand and drank from it before spitting it out into a cubicle trash can, then dumping the poor innocent Styrofoam cup in there after it.

“The hell is that, where’s my tea?”

“I don’t have it y-“

“I’m hungover, I feel like I’m gonna hurl on your desk, Rory hasn’t sent in his script, AND you don’t have my tea?! What do I pay you?!” John nearly yelled at him, and Gary rolled his eyes, shoving Rory’s manuscript against his chest.

He hissed, “Not nearly enough. Here’s the script, take it already.”

“What about my-“

“I’ll get you your tea,” Gary muttered, sitting at his desk and answering the ringing phone. “John Constantine’s office, how can I help you?”

He took down the message and watched out of the corner of his eye as John unscrewed his water bottle and took an Advil from Gary’s container on his desk. As soon as Gary hung up the phone he asked, “Need you for an event and the like this weekend. That an issue?’

Again, Gary sighed, “I was going to ask off to go see my family for my Aunt Stacy’s 90th birthday this weekend, so-“ John’s face didn’t change, Gary could see his eyes peeking out from behind his sunglasses, so he finished his sentence with a tired, “-I’ll cancel, I’ll cancel, it’s fine.”

“That’s the same lot that tells you to quit, yeah?”

Gary put on the fakest smile possible, picking up the phone and cradling it between his shoulder and his neck. “Every single day, boss.”

He nearly fell forward in his chair as John clasped him hard across the back with a laugh before heading back to his office.“Thanks, darling, don’t know where I’d be without you.”

Gary’s smile dropped and he rolled his eyes hard as he dialed the number, muttering under his breath, “Probably dead in a ditch. Or a bog of some sort.”

Mona came over after dropping off a tea to John’s office, leaning against Gary’s desk with a sympathetic smile. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Gary said around the red pen cap in his mouth. “You know his hangover days, you get used to them after time.”

“I don’t see how,” she sighed, shaking her head. “I’m amazed you haven’t snapped.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Gary grinned at her, removing the cap and showing her the document open on his personal laptop. “Sadly, a blonde British warlock was the first to die at the hands of the monstrous hellhound.”

Mona laughed. “How’s the book going?”

“I’ve got it all mapped out, the first book is done, midway through the second.” Gary shrugged. “Only problem is getting it published, ironically enough.”

“He should owe you a favor by now.”

“The nicest thing he’s ever done for me is pay for a new suit when he threw up on mine,” Gary laughed, answering the phone and waving Ms. Sharpe and another woman into John’s office and getting back to his own work.

He didn’t think anything of it when he heard a loud crash from inside the office, too dull to shock caused by his boss at this point.

                                                        *******

“…what did you say?” John gasped, coughing on his words and taking his sunglasses off to rub his eyes.

“I’m terribly sorry, Mr. Constantine,” Federal Agent Gideon Ryder told him, not sounding sorry in the least. “But your worker’s visa from the UK has expired. I’m afraid you’re subject to deportation, as I’ve told Ms. Sharpe.”

John collapsed back into his chair. “It’s only over a few weeks or so since I forgot the paperwork, give me some time to go over-“

“I’m afraid the window has passed.”

“Then I’ll continue my work back in Liverpool, can do all communications online until-“

Ava’s mouth was in a pressed line. “John, when you’re deported, you can no longer work for an American company.”

John rolled his eyes at her, “All this work I’ve done for you and you’re hanging me out to dry, pet?”

“I’m not getting wrapped up in potential fraudulent behavior, John, you know that.”

John leaned back in his chair further, propping his feet up on the desk and rubbed at his temple. He chewed on the back of a pencil, wishing he could get up and smoke on the balcony, but he didn’t feel like another primary grade lecture on the danger of tobacco effects on the body from Ava.

This was bullshit.

He was fully content to sulk in his chair with his arms folded across his chest until five o’clock rolled around, when there was a knock at his door and then the office door opened and Gary stuck his head in. “Pardon the interruption-“

“We’re in a meeting, Gary,” Ava began, voice crisp and blunt, but John shushed her.

“Hey, hey, don’t snap at ‘im, pet.”

Gary rolled his eyes. “Yeah, that’s your job, after all.”

“Darling, as much as I hate proving her wrong, I’m in a meeting at the-“

“I’m aware you’re in the meeting I arranged for you, John. I’m just letting you know that when you’re finished you need to call Snart on his cell number.”

“Tell him I’m busy,” John argued, chewing on the eraser portion of the pencil until grit was between his teeth.

“I DID, John, I didn’t transfer him to your line right NOW,” Gary insisted through his teeth. A typical morning. “I told him you had a prior engagement. If you’re done arguing like a child, I’d like to get back to-

Engagement.

John tossed the pencil aside and mouthed, ‘you’re a bloody fucking genius, Gary’ at the man and gestured for him to come in. Gary sighed, but let himself in as John stood up from his desk and made his way over to him. “Thank you, for letting me know the situation,” he stated evenly to Gideon, standing right beside Gary. “But, don’t have to worry about that little expiration.”

“Why not?”

“Because - we-” John started, putting an arm around Gary’s shoulder and turning to smile at him. “-we’re getting - married.”

The room went silent.

Gary blinked at him once, then twice, then put on a usual corporate smile. “Hmm?”

“Getting married, yeah,” John smiled back at him.

“Who - who’s getting married?”

“Us, darling, You and me,” John laughed, sounding forced as he squeezed Gary’s shoulder hard, harder than necessary. “True love, he’s the one, the whole lot, ya know? So - we’re clear, all good, Sharpie, yeah?”

Ava looked like she was about to burst out laughing, a rare look on her. “You know what, John? You make it legal, we’re a-OK. Right, Gideon?”

Gideon’s lips were tilted up into a smile. “That would be correct, a legal marriage to a US citizen will allow you more time to restore your visa.”

Gary was too frozen to even think about moving, didn’t even think about it as Ava nudged his other shoulder on the way out with Gideon, laughing about ‘saving her an invitation’ and ‘of course you’d one-up me by getting married first’ before the door closed behind the two women. Then he shoved John’s arm off of his shoulder and hissed at him, “WHAT DID YOU SAY?!”

“We’re getting married, pick out a tux,” John said offhandedly like he was asking Gary to pick up his lunch for him that day. “Hey, d’ you swipe my pack again, dyin’ for a smoke right n-“

“I’m not - I’m NOT MARRYING YOU,” Gary snapped, snatching the pack out of John’s hands. “There’s not enough alcohol in the world.”

“Then be unemployed,” John snapped back, reaching for the pack only for Gary to move it away from him. “Because I get deported, you’re out of a bloody job, and you’re not making editor yet.”

“Low blow,” Gary scoffed, this time holding the pack up high over his head, standing on his toes just out of John’s reach. “You hit me, I’ll call HR.”

John sighed, rubbing his temple. “Holding my fuckin’ pack hostage, cruel.”

“Deal with it, I’m not marrying you.”

“Pretty please?”

“Hell no, my personal life can’t revolve around you like my professional one does.”

“You have one?”

“How would you know, everything’s been focused on YOU for five years!” Gary nearly shrieked. “I thought the worst thing I’ve ever done for you deal with your drunk ass after Stein’s retirement party, I will NOT do this for you.”

John worked his jaw as Gary started to leave the room, his hand on the doorknob. “Wait! I - your book.”

Gary paused. “What about it?” 

“I can get you a deal, I can run it through the higher-ups,” John bargained. “I’ll handle everything, darling, I promise you that.”

Gary sighed, turning around to lean against the knob. “Are you serious?”

“Deadly, love.”

“This isn’t going to work out.”

“It only has to for about seven months.”

“SEVEN MO- no, that’s too much of you in my-“

“Your book. Published. Can draw up a deal right after the honeymoon.”

“Ew, I’m not - I’m not ‘honeymooning’ with you, I’ll catch something from you.”

“First, rude, I’m clean. Second, not what I was implying, for once. Third, we’ll shake on it,” John declared, sticking a hand. “Swear on my life, let’s do it.”

Gary stared at his hand, then looked back up at John’s face, a grin spreading across his face. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Then I’d like to be asked.”

“I just asked.”

“Nope, you didn’t. I’d like to be asked the right way.”

“Oh, for fuck’s s-“

Gary waved the cigarettes in front of his face. “You get these back when you get on your knee.”

“I’ll call HR on you for that, Gary Green.”

“Wh- no! That’s not-“

John laughed, grabbing a paperclip from the desk and bending it into a circle, getting on one knee. “Fine. Gary Green, marry me.”

“That wasn’t even a question, that was a request.”

“You cheeky fu- would you please marry me?”

Gary pinched the bridge of his nose. “You promise you can get me that deal?”

“Promise, Gary.”

“….then....yes, I’ll - I’ll marry you.”

John stood right back up from the floor, shoving the bent paperclip ring onto his finger and clapping his hand across his back again. “Fucking stunner you are, darling.”

Gary rolled his eyes again. “Am I allowed to go back to work, now?”

“Pass the pack.”

Gary was so glad he had terrible coordination, he hit John square in the twice-broken nose with it. John grabbed it, sending Gary a look before opening a window. “You’re dismissed.”

“Thanks, sweetie pie,” Gary muttered bitterly, stealing his stapler from his desk. “Don’t talk to me the rest of the day.”

And with that, Gary left the office and collapsed into his desk chair, resting his head on his arms with his desk. He didn’t get to rest as long as he would have liked before he heard Mona’s voice. “Got your Chipotle order.”

He picked his head back up, cracking his neck, and smiled at her. “Thanks, Mona.” His smile faded slightly when John left his office to grab his order from Mona’s bag.

“Thanks, love,” he told her, already opening the lid and sticking a fork in it. Cigarette smoke still clung to his clothes and assaulted Gary’s nose as he turned around to face him. “Darling, I have a conference call, put my other calls on hold. Run my inbox for me, too, gotta run now. We’ll talk after, yeah?”

And then the door was closing behind him again, and Gary rubbed at his temple again.

“What a prick,” Mona whispered, laughing at her own comment. 

“I know,” Gary nodded, absently twisting the paperclip around his finger. “Can’t believe I’m marrying him.”

He was glad he’d taken to leaving an extra shirt at work, as Mona ended up spitting guacamole-slathered rice all over it.

[waitedforgarridebs]

The Garridebs fix-its mission is still on btw

Yes. My overview page with the infamous 500+ headcanons is still broken (x) - for those of you who don’t know, one day Tumblr decided it wanted to remove all the links :) - but:

I am now working on something better.

The old page was a mess. Honestly. You know it, I know it, and maybe it really was time to do something. When I started collecting, I never dreamt that it would grow that big, and now I’m finally working on the right infrastructure for exactly that.

The now 650+ posts will soon be filterable!

Episodes, genres, ficlets, fanarts, meta, general discussions, crack posts, ... I have the code for a working filter now (finally!), that means all I still have to do is go through all the posts and make a database with the right tags - she says optimistically, as if she wasn’t knowing that this is a lotta lotta work... T_T 

If you want to try out the code, I put my JSFiddle script up on my blog: (x)

And, on a more general note:

Please do continue writing/drawing/etc fix-its! (I also do encourage discussions about how TFP might have been someone’s John’s hallucination while dying or any other meta explanation on how ^this Garridebs was the most bullshit ever to air on TV.)

There has been a terrible lack of Garridebs at least on my dash lately... We have proven that we are better at this than Moftiss, therefore lets keep going! Garridebs is ours now - even if “all we want is to see John getting hurt”... well. Then so be it. 

Let’s go for 1.000 posts! ♥

[stageplayhero]

Theatre: Selected

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"Perfect. I do love a good play. This will give it a meta spin." Mark claps his hands, and the sound stage dissolves into milling extras, a dimmed interior, and colourful posters.

"I suppose you enjoyed our last trip to the theatre. It got… out of hand, I'd say, but I assure you I'm not allowing any interruptions." He looks around, nods approvingly. "I think we can do a dress rehearsal. You remember your character, right?"

His demeanour shifts in an instant. "I'm so happy we got the chance to do this. You're going to love the show, I promise! There's these two new plays, a musical romance, and a spooky science-fiction." He gestures to the two stylized posters. Each glitch, momentarily, seeming to gather more depth than they should, before they quickly shift back.

Trick of the light, perhaps?

"I've heard really great things about each of them, so it's up to you," Mark continues with a smile, unaware of what happened behind him. "This was your pick, after all."

[stageplayhero]

Let's Wait a Minute: Selected

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"Let's what? Do you not see the endless black void all around us? Waiting isn't an escape plan! You wait here if you want to," Mark says, half turning, "while I look for a way out."

Ringing fills your ears, your sense of the air gets heavier, and by the time Mark is fully turned around he's standing face to face with another near perfect image of himself. The figure is also dressed in a suit, but there's no colour to it, outside of the red and blue echoes.

Is this who you were hoping to see? Do you remember them? Damien, Celine?

"Dark!" Mark steps back, seems to think better of it, and steps forward again challengingly. "You've got a lot of nerve luring us in here."

"Luring?" Dark's head tilts at a sickening angle, although you think their expression is more annoyed than actively threatening, for now. "Don't pin your problems on me. If anyone lured you here, it was them." They focus on you, then, neck realigning to stand at their full height. "The only question is the motive. Were you looking for a continuation of that date?"

Mark scoffs. "Please. Like they came all the way here to see you. We're leaving."

"You don't get to choose for them." Their anger is apparent, now. Earsplitting. "You're always giving the illusion of choice, while you pull the strings behind the scenes."

"Like your options were any better! And you - your eyeshadow looks stupid."

As Dark goes on about how mature Mark is being, you get the strange impression that they're going to throw a bag over each other's head and wrestle to the undeath. There's only one thing left to do.

[stageplayhero]

🥁 - A special Christmas memory , for rue or damien ?

🥁- A special Christmas memory: Christmas drabbles/starters!

(Originally this was going to be a retaliation to the sword fight, I have no idea what happened-)

Mark does his best not to think about him too hard, most of the time. Considering he's pretending to be Damien, his successes in this endeavour are impressive, a testament to his lack of remorse. Or remorse buried too deep.

Other times, memories catch up to him before he has a chance to stop them.

The Christmas tree in the centre of the city is truly a sight to behold. Stretching to the sky, and adorned in enough twinkling lights and ornaments that it's impossible to go unnoticed. Mark has only just gotten a chance to look at it in the middle of chatting with the citizens.

———

It's similar to an earlier December evening in some ways, and in others not similar at all.

The tree had been no less grand, no less decorated. Damien was swamped with mayoral conversations as well. Mark took one look at the situation and decided it was time to enact a rescue mission.

Not that he thought Damien was particularly annoyed by his visitors - he had chosen this as his job, after all - but he hadn't seen him take much of a break in a very long time.

When there was a lull in the conversation, Mark seized his opportunity.

"Excuse me," he said, in an obviously official, obviously serious voice, "I'm sorry to interrupt, but the mayor is needed elsewhere for some very important business. I will bring him right back to you in a moment."

Hence the reason Damien was taken to a quieter area to view the display. Mark ran off, and returned with a couple of hot chocolates, smiling innocently.

"I'm terribly sorry for the abduction, Mister Mayor, but it couldn't be helped." He handed him one of the drinks. "It's Christmas. Even you need to take some time off."

———

Mark draws a short intake of breath, and glances away from the tree. Maybe he'll retire for the night.

[stageplayhero]

Dark Tunnel: Selected

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"Oh, uh… are you sure? I mean, there's a light at the end of the other one. Doesn't it look enticing?"

You point towards the dark tunnel insistently.

Mark shifts in place, glancing in the same direction. "I know I said it might have some good hiding spots, but we don't even have a flashlight."

You whip out a flashlight in record time. He blinks in its beam, and smiles tightly.

"Great! You're so resourceful! We might as well get going, then."

The flashlight casts his shadow against the walls of the tunnel as he walks in front of you, making his opinions of this tunnel known. Dark and dingy and creepy, he complains, but aside from his voice, there seems to be no sound at all.

You aim your light up and down one of the walls. There's a newspaper article pinned there, with a similar photo to the poster the guard had been holding, its headline reading: Famous Actor Mark I.plier Arrested

Mark wastes no time in ripping it down. "Somebody must be messing with us." He throws the crumpled up paper away, and continues down the path. "The press tried to make a huge deal out of it, before I pulled some strings. You try to take care of a conspiracy group one time and suddenly charges are being pressed against you and-"

He takes a deep breath. "Sorry. I'm slipping out of character." Turning back, he hands you a heart shaped lollipop. "Happy V.alentine's."

The situation seems a little ridiculous, but you pocket the lollipop. As you walk, you come across another, older, newspaper, with a photo of the Manor on the front. Mark rips it down without saying a word. The more agitated he gets, the more newspapers appear along the path, even as he begins to hiss "cut" under his breath over and over.

Your flashlight flickers and goes out. Plunged in total darkness, you reach out to get a sense of the space, but where the tunnel wall had been a moment before is only air.

You look lost.

You don't know if Mark heard the voice, too, but he sounds worried enough to assume that he did. "We need to get out of here. Now. I'm open to any ideas."

[stageplayhero]

Dig: Selected

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Mark grins, and pulls out a spoon. “I was hoping you would say that. Stand back.”

You take a few steps backwards, as much as it is possible to in the space, while he kneels and begins scraping at the floor. There is just enough time for you to shake your head in frustration before he gets one large scoop of dirt thrown across the cell, leaving a sizeable enough hole for you to escape.

“I still have it.” Proudly, he stands, brushing debris from his suit. “Quick, let’s get out of here before the guard gets back.”

He takes a step forward, and falls down. It’s a long time before you hear a soft “ow” from below. How deep did he make this thing? You hesitate, but ultimately make the plunge.

Whispers float past your ears as you fall. There’s been a horrible incident at the I.plier Manor-

The impact when you land knocks the air out of your lungs. Mark helps you readjust, looking relieved, or some close facsimile of relieved. “You made it. We made it! Good. I don’t know what that was all about, but it’s over now. We just have to find our way out.”

A series of tunnels stretch out before you. It almost feels like you’re back in the sewers. Dark and murky.

“About earlier…” Mark draws your attention back to him, but his eyes are focused off somewhere else. “About what happened, with the cut. Don’t worry about it. I have this under control. It’s best that we just stay in character for now, okay?”

Mask pulled back up, he faces the closest tunnels. One seems to have a light at the end, while the other is too dark to see down.

“It looks like we have another choice to make. You do, anyway. Which path do you want to take? The dark one might give us more places to hide if the guards come after us, but the light one probably has a better chance of an exit.”

[stageplayhero]

Musical Romance: Selected

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"Good idea! You can never go wrong with a musical. It even fits the theme." Mark leads you deeper into the theatre, excitedly waving his hands. "By the way, are you going to eat that?"

He plucks a piece of popcorn from your container, and only then do you look down to see yourself holding it and a ticket. Jailbreak Lovers is printed in cheerful letters.

You get seated among the other audience members. "I've heard there's some great music in this play, you know. Oh, it's starting!"

A few actors dressed in prisoner garb step out onto the stage, and the band strikes up the opening number. Among them is a tattooed singer with a very similar face to the man sitting beside you, who begins crooning about his lost love being stuck in a cell on the opposite side of the building.

All is going well, until a police officer storms into the audience. They're holding a poster with Yancy's - Mark's? - face on it, and their voice carries along with the melody. "You're under arrest! It's true, I'll attest!"

Yancy protests immediately. "Youse said I was allowed to-"

"Not you. You two." They're already grabbing you, and moving you with a surprising strength.

"This isn't part of the script! Cut!"

For a moment, everything freezes at the sound of Mark's voice, and you think you might return to the sound stage. But the glitching returns, and you pass through the theatre immediately into a prison setting. Mark is silent, and slightly pale.

You're thrown into a cell and locked in together. No amount of shouting from either of you that they hadn't said what they were arresting you for seems noticed, and when they leave you alone, Mark runs a hand down his face.

"So much for a smooth sailing date." He catches your eye, and puts on a confident smile. "Don't worry. This is nothing we can't get out of. I could dig us a hole, or - or maybe we can ambush one of the guards walking by. But I'm really good at digging holes."

[stageplayhero]

You've found yourself in a sound stage. How you came to be here isn't important. Even less important, is that there's a man standing across from you, wearing a grey suit and a red tie. He smiles. You know better than to trust him, don't you?

"Bonjour!" his voice booms in the space, and the actor gives a small bow. "Oh, don't tell me you forgot. It's almost the anniversary of our first date! I thought we'd do something special to commemorate the occasion. Don't worry, it will be different this time." Were his eyes always that red? "I'm not on parole this time."

He waves a hand to encompass the sound stage. "But I can't do all the heavy lifting. You'll need to help me plan. Life is ours to choose, is how it went, yes? So, tell me: which do you think will make the perfect story arc for a date? The theatre, or the amusement park?"

[stageplayhero]

Mark has been hard at work.

There’s so much to do, and he’s running out of time. Who knows what the targets of his scheming are thinking by now. They’re likely suspicious. He’s disappeared too often, giving his best excuses, and knowing there's a chance they see through him anyway.

But graduation is coming up soon. He would rather shoot himself in the foot than not throw some sort of celebration. He will joke later that the party had been mostly for himself, when, really, he organized it as a surprise for Damien and the Viewer.

The decorations have been gathered, hidden away from any prying eyes. There’s still some food and drinks left to acquire (he may have quizzed them both relentlessly on their preferences). The guest list is set, invitations sent out secretly. It’s a smaller get together than he would normally throw.

Maybe they would simply play games of poker, for old times sake.

[stageplayhero]

five times happy:     ( five times the sender made the receiver happy. )

( and / or — )

five times angered:      ( five times the sender made the receiver angry )

( from @rabbitholewritten ! )

five times drabble prompts: five times happy (five times the sender made the receiver happy) + five times angered (five times the sender made the receiver angry)

(Both? Both. Both is good)

When you're five years old, everything is blown out of proportion. Especially, especially, when you're being held at sword point by your best friend.

At stick point, anyway.

"That's not fair!" Mark exclaims, with a small stomp of his foot. "You cheated!"

Rue isn't one for cheating. Mark pouts, but his exaggerated anger is forgotten not long after.

"You made it!" Mark tugs Rue by the hand across the threshold, a bright grin and bounce in his step. "I knew you would, I told Will so. I have so many games we can play."

As difficult as it was for their parents to schedule, of course they got an invitation to his birthday party.

He'd been so excited at the chance to see them.

———

"I'm not talking to you," Mark says. He reclines in his chair, arms crossed, and eyes averted from Rue. He knows they hadn't meant to spill anything on his script, and knows he's being unfair.

He hopes they can tell he's mostly trying to make a pain of himself.

They say something that makes him laugh until his stomach aches, doubled over on the bed and fighting tears. The two of them had been doing their best to be quiet up until that point, voices only carrying in whispers, but the attempts were all for nothing, now.

Someone else in the dorm comes to complain about the noise. Mark goes to the door with Rue and apologizes, although he doesn't think the smile makes him look too serious.

———

Mark wouldn't be able to name what made him snap at them, after. All he remembers is the anger, his harsh voice, some argument that friends would have from time to time.

Rue isn't as quick to anger as he is, and after the event, he feels ashamed.

"I'm sorry," he whispers in a softer tone.

There's the sound of applause and the feeling of excitement as their performance reaches its end. Mark takes his bows with the rest of the cast, and then it's a battle to make his way through a sea of people.

Rue came to the show. They have been waiting for him. He smiles, and waves, and doesn't stop talking the second he reaches them.

———

They don't know what happened. They even try to contact him. But Mark is unaware of it all, and amidst all the anger and sorrow he's steeped in, some of it finds its way to Rue.

Had they known? Had they known and never told him? Of course not, says a voice. YES, says another. Anger and betrayal and hurt directed at them, none of it deserved.

Mark finds a dusty photo of the two of them sitting in Rue's office. It's his office now, technically. Their life was stolen from underneath them in the blink of an eye.

It's sitting amongst others of their friend group, and he picks it up surprisingly delicately.

Why does he feel so heavy but so light?

———

Rue made it out.

Rue made it out. They got their freedom. The situation they're in can hardly be called that, not really, but it's closer than they were before. They fought their role, fought the Entity, and from what Mark can tell, they won.

He should be angry. He knows he should be angry, and frightened, and he is: all that work towards a "perfect villain" is worthless if they won't fully enact their part.

And yet when he sees them with the blue in their aura clearly overpowering the red, he feels the strange and unexpected urge to smile. They're still there.