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legends-live-in-memories · 3 years

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Super-Rockin’ Wedding of the Century

AYO! Day 2 of MGI Trope Tussle! Team Enemies-to-Lovers for the win. I bring you another oneshot. but this time i used 3 prompts like a dumbass.

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Daminette Oneshot 4.3K words (no warnings except slight cursing)

Summary:

“Marinette is invited to the Super-Rockin' Wedding of the Century and she needs a date. Alya is both her best and worst wingman.”

Day 2 of MGI Trope Tussle, I used 3 prompts to make this thing: 1. "You don't have to like me, you just need to pretend you do." 2. "I like your costume. You look very cute." "Are you making fun of me?" 3. 'Write about a very unusual wedding proposal.' this is the culmination of all my efforts.

without further ado:

It was the biggest news on the internet. Global sensation, international rockstar, Jagged Stone, was officially engaged to childhood friend turned manager, Penny Rolling. Memes and fan theories stormed every corner of the web. Trending topics including #rockstar_wedding and #RollingStone permeated every social media platform. Guest lists were speculated, dress designers were tagged in every post that even mentioned the words ‘wedding’ or ‘bride’. It was total mayhem but none felt it worse than up-and-coming Parisian designer, M. D. Cheng, privately known as Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

The young adult was up to her neck in design templates, and was drowning in half-baked ideas and sketches. While the internet has only heard about the proposal for a solid two weeks at this point, Marinette was in the know for six months. Jagged Stone had contacted her in advance because he needed her help with the proposal itself.

And what a proposal it was.

Jagged had outlined his idea in simple terms but it was still so mind-boggling that Marinette needed him to draw some visual aids to completely convey his idea. Initially it sounded simple enough but the more the man spoke, the more Marinette felt her brain fry at the mental picture. It first involved recreating a scene from Penny’s favourite movie. Which sounded rather romantic, if you ignored the fact that her favourite movie was Bride of Chucky. Then it involved Jagged dressed as the Tinman from Wizard of Oz. Oh, and the proposal had to happen on Halloween because that was the anniversary of their first date apparently, and based on everything else this plan entailed it might as well have been. Marinette’s role in all of this was to simply re-make the white wedding dress Chucky’s bride, Tiffany, wore because Penny already had the leather jacket to match. Of course she did. She didn’t even want to know how Jagged acquired the Tinman suit. Not her barrel of monkeys.

While many thought Jagged was the eccentric one of the pair, due to his loud personality and being an actual rockstar, the more Marinette worked for the two of them over the years, the more she learned how absolutely wrong they all were. It turned out it was Penny’s idea for Jagged to dye his hair purple, and she was the one to ask him out on Halloween all those faithful years ago. Her calm and collected demeanor was an impressive cover for the absolute weirdo she actually was. And Jagged had planned a proposal that was undoubtedly perfect for her. Regardless of how abso-fucking-lutely bizarre it was.

To each their own and let’s move on.

The set-up for the proposal started with Jagged, dressed as the Tinman, playing the part of Chucky, who begins the body-switching chant from the movie. Everything from that point on was resting on Penny’s love for the movie. Without hesitating, Penny, dressed as Tiffany, and playing her part, knew the lines by heart and immediately began reenacting the scene with Jagged. Her lines involved telling ‘Chucky’ to kiss her while she reaches for a knife that’s supposed to be in his pocket. Instead, as Jagged was still dressed as the Tinman, Penny pulled out a slip of paper. On said paper, the words ‘All the Tinman wanted was a heart’ were written in Jagged’s almost illegible chicken scratch. When Penny was distracted with the piece of paper, Jagged had gotten down on one knee and pulled out the engagement ring. The actual words of his proposal were never actually said because, upon seeing the ring, Penny flung herself into the man, clipping her chin into his metal-plated shoulder, but she wasn’t complaining.

So that was how the proposal went.

Wedding planning started almost immediately since the newly engaged had already picked a theme. And this is where Marinette began to regret every life choice she has made since she was thirteen; starting with opening the mysterious box she found on her desk and ending with agreeing to being the main designer for the Rockin’ Wedding of the Century. One thing that wasn’t well-known but not a secret about Jagged was that he was a superhero fan. He grew up enjoying the fictional ones in his childhood comic books and he adored the real ones he witnessed in his adult life. His song that he dedicated to the teenage Ladybug was only one part of his… appreciation. His hero-worship went so far as to beieve that a hero-themed wedding was appropriate. Or he didn’t, but also didn’t care about adhering to societal propriety and went with that theme anyways. So the Rockin’ Wedding of the Century was now the Super-Rockin’ Wedding of the Century. And twenty-three year old Marinette was incharge of the entire wedding party’s outfits.

Perfect.

As a small mercy from some god, both the bride and groom to-be had a rather short list of people in their parties. Marinette was also able to design appropriate hero-themed outfits for all of them and scheduled them for fittings in the coming weeks. That, surprisingly, was the easy part as there were plenty of heroes to draw inspiration from. However, that wasn’t the cause of her current crisis right now.

No. Marinette was up to her neck in unnecessary designs and ideas because she’s been avoiding one particular contingency in her acceptance of the wedding invitation.

She needed a date.

She needed a date because she had promised Penny that she wasn’t overworking herself and to prove it, she would bring a date to the wedding. Rather than call any of the people who expressed interest in her at some point in time, she designated herself to wallow in her situation and distract herself with designs. In the midst of her one person pity party, her phone rang under the sea of ripped out pages. She scoured for the device and hastily answered before she could accidently send the caller to voicemail.

“Hello?” She didn’t check the caller ID and was delighted at the sound of her best friend answering her.

“Marinette! How’s it going over there?” Alya’s voice was mixed in with the busy street life of Metropolis. She had moved there immediately after high school, snatching an internship with the Daily Planet and attending the local community college. She and Marinette don’t call often due to time differences, but when they do it’s like they’ve never parted. She always looked forward to her calls.

“It’s going great, Als,” if she ignored her current dilemma, then yeah, everything was perfect. “But you wouldn’t happen to have an available bachelor willing to be my date to the ‘Super-Rockin’ Wedding of the Century’ in your back pocket, would you?”

Alya’s answering laugh was both comforting and teasing and Marinette felt herself missing her even more. What she said next, however, took Marinette by surprise.

“Actually I do.”

“Pardon?”

“Well,” she took a pause to build suspense. “I know a guy who knows a guy. But it’s nothing shady, I swear.”

“That’s not comforting.” Oh god. What has she unintentionally signed herself up for?

“You know my coworker, Jon? The guy who does the photography for all my field work?” Alya had met Jon as soon as she had started her internship. Both of his parents were top journalists at the Daily Planet so he volunteered to act as tour guide for all the new interns. He and Alya, from the exasperated stories Marinette has heard from Nino, got along like a house on fire. If he was involved, Marinette was starting to doubt even further that this was going to end well for her.

“Yes, I know Jon. How is he by the way?”

“He’s fine, but I remember him telling me how he tried to set up his best friend on several dates over the years and how they all ended poorly. He’s as approachable as a brick wall; not just a prick but the whole damn cactus. Or so Jon says.” How does that sound like someone Marinette wanted to bring along with her to the wedding? “But he’s totally your type so I could ask Jon to wrap him up in bubblewrap and send him your way whenever you want.”

“How,” and Marinette said this with a lot of feeling, “is he my type exactly?”

“Green eyes with daddy issues.”

“ALYA!” Marinette was absolutely floored at her bluntness. She wasn’t even sorry about shouting into the receiver.

“Am I wrong? You have a type and he fits that type. Jon mentioned how this guy and his dad hit several roadblocks when they first met. And I’ve seen pictures of him so ‘green eyes’ checks too.”

“That is not my type of guy.” She can’t believe this was how this conversation was going.

“Adrien.”

“I didn’t even know who his father was at the time, Alya.”

“Felix.”

“His dad is dead! That doesn’t count as ‘daddy issues.’” She can feel her cheeks flaming as the call went on. Any hotter and she was going to set her sketchbooks on fire. “Besides, I dated Luka so he doesn’t fit the criteria.”

“He’s an outlier and that’s only because his eyes are blue.” Okay, fine she had a type. “And besides, you don’t even have to date the guy. You only need him to accompany you to the wedding and you both go your separate ways after. No harm, no foul.”

Right. That was true. No strings attached. She could do that.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this but,” she held her breath and let it out loudly, ignoring Alya’s chuckle at her dramatics.” Give Jon my number to give this guy. And send his number to me.”

“Wahoo! Look at you, girl,” Alya was hooting and hollering over the speaker and Marinette found herself going along with the theatrics. “Okay, I will. But I gotta go, my cab is here. Bye!”

“Bye! Stay safe. Oh before you go, what’s Jon’s friend’s name anyways?”

“Uh, Damian, I think.” The call ended before Marinette could respond, but it was okay she mused. Tossing her phone onto her couch, she flopped down onto her floor and stared at her ceiling contemplatively.

What could go wrong?

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

When Alya had described this Damian guy as ‘not just a prick but the whole damn cactus,’ she was right. Marinette had been texting back and forth with Damian for a month, and the guy was making this idea seem less and less worth it by the day. Whenever Marinette tried to learn more about the guy, he would ghost her for days on end before replying with a half-assed response at best. She knew nothing about him other than that his first name was Damian and that he was from Gotham. She had no idea how the ball of life that was Jon was even friends with someone like Damian. She asked as much to Alya in their most recent call.

“How did they even meet?” She was pacing the floor plan of her apartment, ready to tear her hair out. “Did Damian bully him in school or something?”

“Apparently their dads knew each other and introduced them,” Alya sounded half awake, stifling a yawn; probably because Marinette had called her at 1 am, Metropolis’s time. “Their brothers being friends also forced them to get along.”

“And that’s another thing!” Marinette had paused in her pacing and was now staring intently at a potted plant in the corner of her living room. Any more rage in her glare and the plant would have wilted and died. “He doesn’t tell me anything about him. I don’t need to know all his personal information, but if he’s going to be flying out to Paris on my behalf, I think I at least deserve to know his last name.”

“Hey, M,” another yawn echoed through the speaker, “I love you, truly, but maybe this could wait for holier day time hours?”

“I guess,” a vindictive part of Marinette felt like this was payback for all those inopportune calls when Marinette was busy with clients. “Sorry for interrupting your sleep.”

“It’s no big deal. But have you tried talking to him about it? If he’s ghosting your texts, try calling him. If he ignores you then too then maybe you should try finding another person to be your plus one.”

“The wedding is in two weeks, Alya!” Marinette partially regrets waiting so long to vent her frustration about the situation but she had tried to tough it out. “I would have much preferred if you were my plus one. You sure there’s no way to convince your parents to skip out on the family trip?”

“Sorry, M. Once the news about the proposal hit the internet, I tried everything. I even tried to use work, saying that I could cover the ceremony for the newspaper. My folks won’t budge though. My dad’s aunt is important to him and he wants us all at the funeral.”

“Right, right, I forgot about that.” Now she felt like an ass. “Send you dad my condolences when you see him again.”

“Will do. Good morning, Marinette. And don’t worry too much about the guy. Everything will turn up great. I can feel it.”

“Thanks, Alya. Good night, get some sleep.”

The line went dead and Marinette let out a rather weary exhale. She had no idea how this was going to work. She pulled up her contacts and searched for what she had Damian saved as.

‘Douche’ flashed on her screen and she hit the call button without remorse. She didn’t care that it was also currently 1 am in Gotham. He didn’t deserve that much consideration from her.

“What?” His voice was gravely and deep. And also really pissed if his clipped tone was anything to go by.

“Damian? Hi, this is Marinette, the girl you’re accompanying to the wedding in two weeks?” Her voice was pitched as if she was dealing with an irritating customer. Fake and polite.

“I know who you are. Why are you calling me at this unreasonable hour?” Fair, but Marinette was still aggravated at him so she wouldn’t concede.

“I’m calling because we need to talk.” She heard him scoff over the line and she felt her blood boil even hotter. She took several calming breaths to reign her temper in. “Don’t hang up.”

“Look,” She didn’t give him a chance to refuse and kept talking, getting everything off her chest. “This wedding is important to me and I promised the bride I would bring a date. After that you can delete my number and we never have to speak to each other ever. You don’t have to like me, you just need to pretend you do.”

“Whatever,” he sounded less annoyed from when he first answered the phone. “I will act as cordial as the situation requires, and nothing more. I also have my attire secured for the wedding and accommodations in Paris already prepared. I will see you at the wedding.”

“Than—” The sound of the call ending interrupted her and her frustration was back tenfold. With a cry in anguish she flung her phone onto her couch and stomped into her kitchen to channel her rage into baking.

Three loaves of bread and a dozen eclairs later, Marinette felt calm enough to finish the final touches on her outfit for the wedding.

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

It was the day of the Super-Rockin’ Wedding of the Century. The Rolling-Stone’s, as they were asking to be called, had kept the ceremony small. Relatively. Only two hundred invited guests, few of which were asked to bring a plus one. Marinette was over the moon at the array of outfits people were sporting. Some chose full-on cosplay while others, like herself, went for more subtle nods to the heroes. In honour of a previous Ladybug, Hippolyta, Queen of the Amazons, Marinette based her outfit off of Wonder Woman’s uniform, Hippolyta’s daughter. A navy blue sequined halter top bodice that flows into a blood red A-line skirt. She paired it with a thick silver belt, silver gladiator heels rather than boots and broad silver arm cuffs. It was simple but effective. Besides, all attention should be on the bride and groom today.

A tap on her shoulder caught her attention and she turned only to come face first with red with black spots. Ladybug. Someone chose her as inspiration. How flattering. Looking up to see who was wearing the Ladybug-themed suit jacket, she stared at a pair of deep forest green eyes and a sneer to ruin that ridiculously handsome face. She recognized him from the photo Alya had sent some time ago. Damian.

“Hi, Damian,” at least one of them had to be civil and Marinette knew it was going to be her. But the idea that of all the heroes for him to choose from he chose her sent her into poorly stifled fits of giggling. Images of him going ‘Lucky Charm’ and ‘Miraculous Ladybug’ were almost too much to bear.

“I don’t know what’s so amusing about my choice of attire,” his face was starting to flush in similar shades to his jacket and that made Marinette laugh harder. “Ladybug is a well respected heroine and I thought it appropriate to pay homage while in her home city.”

“No. No no. There is nothing wrong with it. I like your costume, you look very cute.”

“Are you making fun of me?” His irritation was rather cathartic for the still giggling woman.

“No, I just didn’t think you would have put that much thought into your outfit for today. You always gave me the impression that you were ready to back out at any time.”

“I made a commitment and I had all intentions to see it through the end.”

“Could have fooled me.” And her snark was back. Now was not the time to pick a fight with the guy, he did fly all the way to Paris on her behalf after all.

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” and Marinette wanted to know how he managed to sound so condescending with that statement. “How did you even get an invitation to this wedding anyways? You’re not a celebrity and you don’t look like family either.”

“Actually,” she said it with more force than what was probably necessary but his slightly accusatory tone was just so irritating. “I am the lead designer for the wedding party,” her chest was swimming with confidence at the chance to talk about her job. “I’ve worked with the bride and groom for years; M. D. Cheng, Marinette Dupain-Cheng.”

Marinette will deny to her grave the rush of satisfaction at the absolute gobsmacked look on Damian’s face. A real fish out of water. Mouth open wide ready to catch flies. She wished she could capture this moment forever.

The moment was over too soon because Damian was regaining his composure and slipping into his default stoic expression. He cleared his throat and fixed a look at Marinette. It was rather intense.

“I believe I owe you an apology then.” He looked put-out at admitting something so menial. “I believed you were nothing more than a socialite chain climber.”

“A what?”

“When Jon reached out to me saying that a friend of one of his coworkers needed a date for an event, and when that event turned out to be the wedding of someone of such popularity, I figured you were only trying to increase your own social status by showing up with me on your arm.”

“And you said ‘yes’ anyways?” Marinette was confused but pieces of the mystery that is Damian were starting to fit in place. But something else stuck out as odd to her. “Also, how would you being my date increase my social status anyhow?”

He scoffs before answering. Bitch.

“What? It wouldn’t be the first time one of Jon’s set-ups ended that way. Besides, we’ve had an agreement that I can’t turn down an offer until meeting the person face to face.” Weird deal but some friendships are just like, Marinette supposes. “And being seen with me is enough to make anyone more popular.”

“...And you are?”

“Damian… Wayne…” He spoke as if he was talking to a small child. As if it should be obvious who he was like he was some celeb— Oh shit.

A name had flashed into her mind. On the finalised guest list, Marinette had only seen it once in passing, there was a name that belonged to someone Jagged was rather excited to see. He said the friend was an old college buddy. She remembered that much. She had completely forgotten that ‘a billionaire playboy’ was also attached to the name. Damian was the son of Bruce Wayne. Suddenly everything in the past few months made perfect sense. The cold shoulder, the ghosting, and his prickly disposition. He was overly guarded because he had justified reasons to be. Now she felt like an ass.

“Oh.” Real intelligent, Marinette.

“Oh? What, you didn’t know?” He sounded incredulous at the notion and he had every right to be. Marinette could only shake her head. Words were failing her now, her brain trying to rewrite the memories of every interaction the two ever had.

She was saved from further mortification by a call for everyone to find their seats. The wedding was about to begin.

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

The ceremony was beautiful. Penny’s dress was a silver grey, tied back with a golden belt. Instead of a long train, Marinette had attached a black cape that shimmered in the right lighting. Penny wore a tiara with two peaks to imitate the ‘bat-ears.’ A Batman-themed wedding dress was not something she ever saw herself making, but she was proud at how beautiful and confident Penny looked in it. Jagged was adorn in a royal blue suit with bold red lapels. He also had a matching red cape. His hair was styled in the familiar sleek way Superman wears it. The two made quite the pair.

The reception was a lively affair. Jagged had dedicated several songs to his new wife and they dazzled the crowd on the dance floor. Marinette didn’t pay much attention to the speeches beyond a quick glance at Damian when his own father stepped up to the podium. He had buried his head in his hands, looking like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole. A courtesy pat on the back was all Marinette gave to him.

The two hadn’t really spoken much since the revelation that they had completely misjudged each other. The awkward tension was almost palpable. As Marinette was gathering the courage to speak to him, to try and officially clear the air, she was being dragged by one of the bridesmaids onto the dancefloor. It was time for the bride to throw the bouquet. All the unmarried women were being corralled into a tight cluster and Marinette got swept up in the tide.

Marinette wasn’t focusing on the actual game, trying her hardest not to get trampled, when she saw something move in her periphery. Years of being Ladybug had left her with finely honed instincts so she could not be blamed when she immediately jumped and caught the incoming object. The bouquet. She had caught the bouquet. Oh that was just her luck. Deafening squeals of delight brought her out of her own head and she was suddenly being embraced in Penny’s arms. She returned the hug, sharing in her delight, before breaking away to sit down.

“Nice catch.” His voice had surprised her, she hadn’t expected him to speak to her for the rest of the night.

“Uh, thank you. Just lucky, I guess.” Damian didn’t get the chance to respond because he was being dragged by his own father to join all the bachelors in catching the garter. Marinette was equally uninterested in this spectacle and had let her mind wander to other things.

A loud uproar caught her attention again and her eyes zeroed in on Damian holding the tossed garter. He made his way back over to her, dropping himself into his seat gracelessly. The two sat in silence, contemplating the implications of them both catching the garter and bouquet. The games were done purely for tradition’s sake, with total disregard of what it was supposed to symbolise. Still. One’s mind couldn’t help but wander. Minutes ticked passed and Marinette was beginning to wonder if someone was going to talk about the elephant in the room.

“So,” Damian’s voice was slightly strained, like he wasn’t used to being this flustered. It was kind of endearing. Wait what?

“So.”

“While marriage seems far out of reach for right now,” Oh god. He was going to talk about it. “How does dinner sound, next Friday?”

“Wait,” he wanted to spend more time with her? After their disastrous first impressions? “Really?”

“Really. I believe we started off on the wrong foot,” he let out a soft chuckle, almost self-deprecating. “Which isn’t really new for me, but it’s not everyday I meet someone who doesn’t recognise me at first glance. I think you’re someone who I would like to get to know better. If that is something you are also interested in.”

“Yeah,” Marinette knows all about wanting to get acquainted with someone who she’s had a bad first impression of. Just look at her past relationships. Wow, she really does have a type. Damning thoughts for later. “Friday works for me. Seven pm?”

“Perfect. I’ll text you the details then.”

“Wonderful, I can’t wait.”

The rest of the evening was spent in companionable silence with small bouts of conversation in between. They shared a couple dances on the floor and parted ways at the end of the night with budding anticipation for Friday.

As Marinette was preparing for bed that night in the comfort of her apartment, she sent a text to Alya that her friend would see later in the day.

You were right, I do have a type :(

#maribat #daminette #maridami #mgi trope tussle #mgi- server event #enemies to lovers #speedrun #i #like a dumbass challenged myself to use three prompts and i delivered #i hope #i hope yall enjoy #tumblr do me a solid #dont hide my posts #please #im begging #ml x dc #mlb x dc #tumblr please stop hiding my posts #no beta this is tussle

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chiapetirl · 2 years

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It had the ugliest face Ichigo had ever seen before.

Orange goop leaked out of its eyes and onto the severely stained table. Its teeth were jagged, not quite how he'd wanted them to look, but sharp enough that one could get the point. Orange flesh slopped everywhere; on the blade, on his shirt (and it had been washed that morning, Yuzu wouldn't be happy), and some had even gotten on the wall. It was an absolute crime scene.

"Karin, why'd you want to do this again?" Ichigo asked, staring down his freshly made jack 'o lantern with mild disappointment. "It's not like you to be so… seasonal ."

Grunting, Karin pushed out the triangle she had carved into her own pumpkin, the piece of the gourd falling into the decently cleaned-out, hollowed cavern. "It's not for me, nimrod," she answered, tossing her pumpkin guts into the shared pile on the table. "We're doing this for Grimmjow."

Looking away from the crooked, gnarled grin of his pumpkin, Ichigo had to stop himself from rolling his eyes. "Why, though? You know Hollows don't celebrate holidays." He paused, then adding, "Or anything else, really."

"You were the one who wanted him to get used to the World of the Living." Karin wiped her hands on a paper towel, looking back at her masterpiece. "So, I figured why not have a bit of Halloween fun this year. It's the perfect holiday for him if you ask me."

"Don't tell me we're having a Halloween party."

"Nope. Urahara's throwing one."

Urahara? That took Ichigo by surprise, an eyebrow raising. "He never told me about a Halloween party." Then, as if it dawned on him, he did a double take. "Wait, how'd you hear about this before I did?!"

Staring at him dead in the eye, Karin said, "You're not the only one who goes to Urahara's shop, you know. I have my own business with him, too."

"What the hell does that mean?!"

"None of your business, that's what." She stood up, placing the top on her jack 'o lantern before picking it up off the table. "The point is you need to be there, too."

Instinctually, Ichigo wanted to push back. "I… Karin, I don't even have a damn costume," he retorted halfheartedly. "I didn't even know this was happening until today! There's no way I can-!"

" That sounds like quitter talk I’m hearing! "

Before Ichigo could dodge his impending doom, Isshin's arms wrapped around Ichigo's neck, pulling him into a headlock. "Don't tell me you're chickening out on us, my boy! This is all but required! We're all going, and that's final!" He looked up, noticing Karin's pumpkin. "Now that's a good-lookin' Jack 'o Lantern!"

Ichigo wrenched himself away from Isshin, sputtering as his face started to go pink. "D-dammit, old man, you almost gave me a heart attack!"

But Isshin only gave him a devilish smile. "You remember what I always tell you, son: always stay alert! You never know when danger's comin' for you, especially on...!" He paused, his expression becoming comically dark, his shoulders hunching as he tried to make himself look scary. " Halloween, when the spirits come out to play !" He wiggled his fingers for emphasis, giving off a goofy ooOooOOOoooOo under his breath.

"Dad." Karin glared at their father, shaking her head at his over-the-top display. "Spirits come out every day."

" I know ," Isshin loudly whispered, raising a hand as if to hide what he was saying from Ichigo. " I'm just trying to get him in the mood, you know? "

Karin smirked. "Yeah, I don't think that's why Ichigo doesn't want to go to the party."

Hearing that teasing tone in Karin's voice, Ichigo immediately tensed up. "Dunno what you're trying to imply there, Karin," he shot back, "but you don't know what you're talking about."

Slightly confused, Isshin straightened up. "What… am I missing here?"

"I think Ichigo's afraid of hanging out with his new buddy." Karin's smile grew almost as wide as her pumpkin's, deviousness oozing from every pore. "Isn't that right, Ichigo?"

Swallowing hard, Ichigo rolled his eyes. "Not sure what you're talking about," he muttered, picking his Jack 'o Lantern up off the table. "Just… don't really feel like going."

"Yeah?" Walking past him, Karin left the dining room table with her back turned. "Well, it looks like you're really not getting a lot of choice in the matter."

Before Ichigo can retort, Yuzu rounds the corner, a plastic bag in hand and a large smile plastered on her face. "Alright! The costume's here! I think I got the right size, but we'll need you to try it on before tonight, Ichigo!"

"W-what?" Ichigo took a step back, his eyes widening in slight terror. He was beginning to feel like a cornered animal, his dad behind him and Yuzu running towards him. "Guys, I don't-!"

But his words fell on deaf ears, Yuzu's hand grabbing his and yanking him behind her. "Now don't be like that, Ichigo!" she chastised, shoving the plastic bag into his hands. "We don't have much time before we have to get going. Try this on, and if it doesn't fit, just run back to the store and hand them the receipt and they'll get you the right size." She looked down at her watch, eyes widening in realization. "Oh gosh, I still need to get my costume together! Plus I've got that thing in the fridge!" She turned away before Ichigo could say a word, scampering to her room. Before she shut the door, however, she called out, "Hurry it up, Ichigo! We gotta get moving!"

This is all… happening way too fast. Resigning himself to his fate, Ichigo looked down into the plastic bag at the folded costume, his brows furrowing. What the hell kinda costume did they even get me, anyways?

Read more of When the Ghouls Come Out here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/34844146

#bleach fanfiction #grimmichi #hollowzine #halloween themed fic #grimmjow jaegerjaquez #ichigo kurosaki #kurosaki family #bleach #tite kubo #ao3 #this one was fun to write #shapooda

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howwelldoyouknowyourmoon · 3 years

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Lawmakers welcome a guy to Congress – and the messiah shows up

youtube

Who Is Rev. Moon? ‘Returning Lord,’ ‘Messiah,’ Publisher of the Washington Times

John Gorenfeld – PoliPoint Press

The following is an adapted excerpt from John Gorenfeld’s “Bad Moon Rising: How Reverend Moon Created the Washington Times, Seduced the Religious Right, and Built an American Kingdom” (Polipoint Press, 2008).

The video is from a 1997 Washington Times party where Moon said he founded the newspaper to save the world. In it, he also demands that his employees rid the world of “free sex,” meaning sexual intercourse beyond the purifying influence of his mass weddings.

One chilly Tuesday evening, strange things were afoot on Capitol Hill. The U.S. Senate was hosting a ceremony at the request of a wealthy, elderly newspaper publisher who wanted official recognition as a majestic, divine visitor to Washington. The Dirksen Senate Office Building made for an unlikely temple: a formidable seven-story block of white marble, looming on a street corner diagonally across from the Capitol Dome, its marble pediment is inscribed, “THE SENATE IS THE LIVING SYMBOL OF OUR UNION OF STATES.”

On March 23, 2004, U.S. lawmakers were filmed here in a conference room, paying tribute to the enigmatic Reverend Sun Myung Moon, then eighty-four, and his wife, Hak Ja, sixty-four.

As the cameras rolled, two congressmen presented the Koreans with matching royal costumes. Wearing the burgundy robes and shining crowns, which crested into jagged golden pinnacles, the married couple smiled and waved for the cameras.

Who was this self-proclaimed monarch? In the 1970s, the evening news had presented Moon, the ranting, middle-aged business tycoon who wore flowing robes on special occasions, as Korea’s answer to L. Ron Hubbard, someone for college students to avoid, luring thousands of young Americans into a cult in which they sold carnations on the street and married spouses he chose for them. But the media had moved on to other nightmares, leaving Moon, forgotten, to reinvent himself. Now time had wizened him into an elderly patriarch, wearing an ashen face for his coronation. An orange Senate VIP name tag remained pinned to his gray suit, peeking out from between rows of curly gold filigree, as he stood on stage at the head of a red carpet.

The King of Peace, the Lord of the Fourth Israel, the Messiah, they called him now – and the publisher of the Washington Times. Though over a dozen congressmen attended his pageant, no one spoke a word of it to the press, not at first. By the time the secret was out, and ABC News was broadcasting the strange sights, it was three months later – summertime – and school was coming soon to the States. Soon grand parade marshals would drive teen queens and their bouquets around football fields, and the helmets of varsity teams would crash through banners. And homecoming would not be so different, insisted the two hapless congressmen, from the Reverend Moon’s rites, which had become a scandal.

“People crown kings and queens at homecoming parades all the time,” the liberal Chicago representative Danny Davis (D-IL) said.

“I remember the king and queen thing,” said Rep. Roscoe Bartlett (R-MD). “But we have the king and queen of the prom, the king and queen of 4-H, the Mardi Gras and all sorts of other things. I had no idea what he was king of.”

Yes, they admitted, it was them on camera, walking in the procession with slow, worshipful steps, bowing to the stage where the Moons stood. Those were Davis’s hands, wearing white gloves to avoid defiling the embroidered pillow he carried, a crown bobbing on it, to be lain on the brow of Mrs. Moon; that was Bartlett carrying the burgundy cape for Mr. Moon’s shoulders. Neither seemed embarrassed.

The “throne room” itself belonged to the U.S. Senate, whose Rules Committee, under Republican senator Trent Lott (R-MS), had the final say in who booked rooms and whether visitors could be anointed kings in them. And a senator had to sign off on that. The name of the senator, said one of the evening’s hosts, the defrocked Catholic priest George Stallings, was “shrouded in mystery.”

“There are moments that best play straight,” CNN anchor Aaron Brown said after I discovered the pageant. “So here goes. Lawmakers welcome a guy to Congress – and the messiah shows up.”

The coronation had been disguised as a Washington awards dinner, sponsored by a conservative, pro-war senator who had modestly kept his name out of the picture. The party began normally enough, serving portions of chicken and fish from the buffet and windy politicians’ speeches from the podium. But through a bait and switch – and a strange internal logic – room G-50 of the Senate office building, all marble and eagle seals, changed during the course of the evening into a fantasy throne room, complete with long red carpet, for the stern monarch of the Washington Times, the influential conservative newspaper that warns of immigrants and threats to Christmas – and who also controls United Press International (UPI), the formerly great news agency.

Moon walked from the chilly evening into the marble building dressed in a suit with bow tie and rose corsage. When he got up to deliver his keynote address, it was in a gravelly northern dialect of Korean, a farmer’s accent. Gripping the podium, he gruffly admonished the crowd, which included members of Congress, to accept him as “God’s ambassador, sent to earth with His full authority.”

With a printed copy of the speech before them – headlined Declaring the Era of the Peace Kingdom – guests listened to an English translation in radio earpieces. “The time has come for you to open your hearts,” Moon said, “and receive the secrets that Heaven is disclosing in this age through me.” To prove his credentials, he spoke of testimonials on his behalf – from the lips of the dead, with whom he claimed the power to converse. “The five great saints,” he said – meaning Jesus, Confucius, Buddha, Muhammad, and the Hindu prophet Shankara [Socrates] – “and many other leaders in the spirit world, including even Communist leaders such as Marx and Lenin, who committed all manner of barbarity and murders on earth, and dictators such as Hitler and Stalin, have found strength in my teachings, mended their ways and been reborn as new persons.”

His boasts were underscored with whoops and cheers from his followers, who had the good seats. To their church, the moment was a shining vindication for years of hardship: for being treated in the press as predators and for seeing their Christ-like hero, the Reverend Moon, forced onto the witness stand by U.S. tax attorneys, Sen. Bob Dole, and others between 1975 and 1984. Behind the gavels of government, these Pontius Pilates had pronounced Moon an enemy of the American family and the advance man for a South Korean dictator. The Reagan Justice Department had even sent Moon to prison [for tax evasion and document forgery]. But now Moon was active in family values politics, and members of Congress were as submissive as puppies. Moon prevailed.

Believing they were saving the world, Moon’s men had faced desperate pressure to arrange the awards dinner. The Senate event’s emcee was Michael Jenkins, leader of the American Unification Church, a white, middle-aged, blandly enthusiastic spokesman for the cause. In the autumn of 2003, Jenkins recalls in a sermon found online, the Reverend Moon had instructed him three times, first in a low voice, then louder, that unless the world enacted Moon’s plan for world peace, millions would die in a new Middle East Holocaust. “Not six million,” Jenkins said, “but six hundred million.” That fall the Times publisher fished for hours on his boat, while his apostles begged him not to strain his health. “You tell me to rest,” Moon retorted, “but I’m determining the course of history.” When Moon goes reeling off the coast of Kodiak, Alaska – where the church-owned True World Foods cannery annually ships out over twenty million pounds of salmon and other seafood – his followers believe his fishing also mends the wounds of the Cosmos. One day, the elderly fisherman accused Jenkins’s American archdiocese of taking the mission lightly. Far from it, Jenkins proclaimed from the pulpit. “Our American members are willing to die,” he said. “They’re willing to die. Once they understand God’s will, they’ll die.”

Had the Reverend Moon’s crowning at the Dirksen Senate Office Building not been filmed and photographed from seemingly every possible angle, and broadcast on ABC’s World News Tonight and Fox, and giggled at by The Daily Show’s Jon Stewart, and compared in a New York Times op-ed with an act of the Roman emperor who nominated his horse to the senate, it might have remained a mad whisper among Senate aides.

▲ Sun Myung Moon and Hak Ja Han are wearing Korean shaman crowns with symbolic antlers and trees (the seven branches represent the seven levels of heaven with the Moons enthroned at the top).

Continue reading here

______________________________________________

Bad Moon Rising: How Reverend Moon Created The Washington Times, Seduced the Religious Right, and Built an American Kingdom by John Gorenfeld

Sun Myung Moon – Emperor, and God

Shamanism is at the heart of Sun Myung Moon’s church

Sun Myung Moon: The Emperor of the Universe, transcript and links

#John Gorenfeld #messiah #Sun Myung Moon #Hak Ja Han

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dakotacrisis · 5 years

Text

Transferred (7)

Kagami and Marinette are adorable besties and no one can change my mind.

---

Today was the day! Marinette was going over to Kagami’s house to work on their project. She had been rehearsing what all she was going to say to her when she got there. Marinette really wanted this to go well. Now if only she could keep her cool and not get tongue tied while speaking and everything should be fine.

Marinette arrived at the address Kagami had sent her. It wasn’t what she had expected. It was a rather modern looking house with smooth pristine white walls and large windows. It didn’t really seem to match the brick and wrought iron architecture of the rest of the city. She rung the door bell and waited until Kagami answered.

“Good afternoon, Marinette, I hope you didn’t have trouble finding the house.” Kagami smiled at her. She was dressed in a pair of dark grey sweatpants and a t-shirt with a cartoon character’s face on it. Seeing how casual Kagami was Marinette was starting to think she was overdressed in her sundress and ankle booties.

“Hey, Kagami, I found it just fine.” She stepped inside, “Wow it looks so much bigger in here.”

The house was simply designed with lots of open space in all directions. Some pictures lined the walls and a couple of houseplants rested in the corners but besides that it was pretty plain.

“Can’t have too much stuff crowding the hallways for mother.” Kagami said, “Oh, can you take your shoes off? I have a pair of slippers you can wear.”

“Not a problem. My mom used to try to implement the same thing at our house but with how much running in and out we do she gave up.” Marinette stepped out of the ankle booties she had put on and wiggled her feet into the slippers Kagami had handed her.

“Can I ask who that character on your shirt is?” Marinette asked.

“Oh that’s Pucca. She’s the main character from this TV show I was obsessed with as a kid. Kinda still am.” Kagami looked at Marinette with a chuckle, “Kinda looks like you with the dark hair tied up in red ribbons.”

“New Halloween costume idea.” Marinette followed Kagami into the living room and sat down.

They started unloading their project materials. “What is up with that empty room we passed on our way in here?”

“Practice room. When the weather is bad it is where I practice fencing. It was where I usually practiced all the time before I convinced mother to let me start training outside at different parks. Had to convince her the open air and city noise was better for getting me accustomed to fighting in front of noisy crowds.”

“Got a pretty short leash as a kid, huh?”

“That was last year.”

“Oh,” Marinette shifted in her seat, “Kagami, I am so sorry. I didn’t--”

“Don’t be. It was a short leash.” she made a little choking gesture that made both of them laugh. “Now, where were we on the project?”

Marinette relaxed and looked over her checklist of project hit points. “We finished the list of laws and regulations in class and were starting on the essay. At some point we are also going to draw the map of the island.”

“You’re the more artistic one if you wanted to do that part and I’ll construct the essay from our notes.”

“But that seems like so much more work for you.”

“If we collaborate on it then I feel our different styles of writing may clash and it will look a lot less neat than one person writing it consistently. Also, don’t take this the wrong way but, I wanna make sure it gets finished on time. Your schedule of chaos may impede that.”

Her mouth dropped open. “My schedule is not chaotic.”

Kagami arched a single eyebrow at Marinette. “Sure. What are you doing after we finish up here?”

“Go home and finish the rest of my homework, research water flowers, finalize the design I want to paint on my blouse, call Nanette, eat dinner, I need to get back to Jagged’s assistant Penny about if I can help design a new t-shirt for his tour, I haven’t watered my flowers yet today too, then I…” When she listed it all out like that is did seem pretty packed, “Okay I see your point.”

“Don’t worry about the essay. We’ll write down what the values and culture of the island is like and then I’ll piece it together.” She assured her. “Sound fair?”

“I suppose.” Marinette still felt like she was getting off easy in terms of the workload.

“Also, Marinette,” Kagami said, “Don’t overwork yourself.”

Marinette smiled at her and the two got to work. Kagami was a very diligent and straightforward worker. No surprise there seeing how she is in life. Which made it almost impossible to find a place to bring up the Adrien issue.

Marinette cleared her throat and turned fully to Kagami, “Hey, I wanted to say something.”

“Go ahead.” Kagami kept her gaze down on her notebook.

“You got a bathroom around here?” Marinette kicked herself for chickening out.

“Down the hall, first door on your right.” Kagami pointed, not looking up from her notes.

“Thanks.” Marinette got up and went down to the bathroom. After locking the door she opened her purse to let Tikki out.

“Is something the matter?” Tikki asked.

“No, just wanted to chat.” Marinette leaned against the sink. “How you been? Anything new?”

“Marinette,” Tikki flew up to eye level, “You’re just putting off talking to Kagami about Adrien. There isn’t going to be any better scenario to do it so you might as well go out there and bring it up now. The sooner you Ladybug-up, the sooner it’ll all be over.”

“Ladybug-up? Is that supposed to be like man-up or--”

“Marinette!” Tikki poked her nose.

“Alright! I’m going!” Marinette snapped, “You know you are really cranky when you miss your after school cookie.”

Marinette left the bathroom and walked back to the living room. Kagami was still working ever steadily on the project. “Ladybug-up,” Marinette whispered to herself and entered the room again.

“Hey, Kagami,” Marinette sat down next to her, “Can we talk about something?”

“Get lost on the way to the bathroom?” Kagami smirked.

“No, nothing like that. And it isn’t about the project either.”

This grabbed her attention. Kagami stopped writing and diverted her entire attention to Marinette. “You have my attention.”

“Okay, perfect,” Marinette took a deep breath, “Well, the thing is, I um--I wanted to say--it’s not a big deal or anything but uh...drat.”

Kagami was patient and didn’t push her to get to the point which was appreciated.

“Alright, there’s no easy way to segway into this so I’m just gonna go for it.”

“Please do.” She nodded.

“You and I both like Adrien and every time someone mentions him things between us get weird and it makes me really uncomfortable because I really like you and I don’t think a crush on the same guy should ruin the friendship we have.” Oh by the powers above Marinette felt like that simultaneously took three years off her life while also lifting a huge weight off her shoulders.

Kagami wasn’t saying anything. Her composure seemed to have slipped a notch and her big brown eyes were blown wide. ‘Please say something!’ Marinette screamed in her mind. ‘Anything!’

“Well,” Kagami looked away, “That was...not what I was expecting you to say. But I’m glad you said it.”

“Really?” Marinette didn’t dare relax yet.

“Yes. I’ve been thinking about it a great deal too.” She tugged at the hem of her t-shirt, “I know that you and Adrien have known each other longer and he thinks a great deal of you. He got so concerned at the ice rink when you left. Seeing how quickly he came to your aid made me a tad envious.”

“He’s like that with everyone really.” Marinette tried to keep her emotional distance, “He’d be there in an instant for one of his friends.”

“But when one of those friends has a crush on him?” Kagami probed.

“It’s not like he notices.” Marinette clenched her hand around her pencil, “In truth, it got to be more hurt than it was worth at one point. I almost gave up on him completely in terms of romance.”

“Why?”

“You.” Marinette felt her face grow hotter, “You two get along so well and have a lot in common. When he came up to me asking for advice on how to ask you on a date it crushed me but I said yes because I want to see him happy. Whether that be with me or you or someone else.”

“It probably also helped that you had a cute older guy mooning over you the entire time we were at the rink.”

“Luka. It is a lot easier with him, that’s for sure.” Marinette shook the thought from her head, “We’re getting off track. We were supposed to be talking about how our crush on Adrien is affecting our day to day interactions.”

“Right. Yes.” Kagami straightened, “If we’re being brutally honest then I should say that I feel a little threatened by you in that regard. I’ve done everything short of confessing to Adrien and still I feel like he keeps looking back at you.”

“Threatened by me? How? You’re so confident and cool all the time. Not to mention that you’re insanely pretty. You’re like Mulan made real!”

“Are you kidding?” Kagami scoffed, “How many passions do you excel at? You can create just about anything and already have major professional contacts in different industries. Also, you wanna talk about pretty? Have you looked in a mirror recently? You little blue eyed, button nosed, cream puff! How am I supposed to compete with the definition of a cinnamon roll?”

The two girls stared at each other before bursting into laughter.

“Oh, wow,” Marinette held her belly, “A cinnamon roll? Seriously?”

“Are you serious? Confident and cool all the time?”

“You are!”

“I can’t even muster up the courage to talk to my classmates in a social capacity half the time. For class or fencing I have no problem but if it is just me trying to be casual then…” Kagami trailed off. Their laughing fit flitting away into a dark hole of insecurity and awkwardness.

“Kagami, look at us,” Marinette rested a hand on her shoulder, “We’re friends. Nanette and Quinn and Adrien are all your friends too. There is nothing for you to be nervous about. Not in front of us. Not in front of anyone.”

“We are friends.” Kagami sniffed, “And I don’t want Adrien to come between us.”

“Neither do I.”

“But I also don’t want to stop pursuing him.”

“I don’t want you too either. Just like I don’t want to stop my pursuit of him. But I think we can rope that off as its own entity.” Marinette could see the light at the end of the tunnel.

“You mean the both of us keep on crushing on Adrien and try to date him but keep it civil between us.”

“Exactly. No sabotage. No jealousy. And if one of us does get to date him then we will back off and be happy for the other. Sound good?” Marinette stuck out her hand.

“Sounds perfect.” Kagami shook it. “I am so glad we got that out of the way.”

“You cannot even imagine. I was so stressed about bringing it up because it never seemed like the right moment and I didn’t want to run the risk of making you angry or ruining things further.”

“And I didn’t want to scare you off. I know I can be intimidating sometimes but I like you and I just wanted this whole uncomfortable part of our lives to disappear.”

“It’s over now.” Marinette cast her eyes down to the coffee table littered with their project supplies, “Unlike this major project we have to present in a couple days. We should probably get back to that.”

“Oh geez, I didn’t realize how long we were talking. Hand me the notes you made on the culture of our island.”

Now panicked and pressed for time before Kagami’s mother came home the two girls raced to make up for the time they had lost. By the end all that was left to do was for Marinette to take the rough draft of the map they had constructed and make it neater while Kagami ironed out their essay. They said goodbye and Marinette made Kagami promise that the next night they had free they were having a sleepover.

Marinette caught a bus home and took a few minutes to relax in her room before she jumped onto the list of other things she needed to do.

“I’m glad you worked things out with Kagami,” Tikki was sitting on Marinette’s knee munching on a cookie, “I knew the two of you would make great friends.”

“I’m more thankful that it’s over with. I never want to have a conversation like that again for at least the next year.” Marinette reached for a cookie off the tray by her computer. “Hm…”

“What is it?” Tikki perked up again. “Wave of inspiration?”

“Sorta,” Marinette booted up her computer and started searching. “Kagami is gonna love this!”

---

“And you’re sure that we can do this?” Adrien was on the phone with Chloe. Usually at this time he was talking to Marinette but Chloe had brought something to his attention that was pretty dire.

“When have you ever known me to fail?” Chloe bragged.

“It’s not that I don’t doubt you, Chloe.” Adrien was pacing his room, “But are you sure there isn’t anything I can do to help?”

“I’ve already explained your part in this, Adrikinz. Don’t worry about a thing and keep Dupain-Cheng’s nose out of this. I’ll call you when I have an update.”

“Can’t I at least hint at it?”

“Adrien,” Chloe’s tone was warning.

“Fine. I’ll keep my lips sealed. Goodnight, Chloe.”

“Sweet dreams, Adrien.”

They hung up and Adrien slumped onto his couch. He didn’t like the idea of keeping things from Marinette but this was a pretty big deal. Hopefully it would all work out in the end.

---

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (8)

#miraculous ladybug #marinette dupain cheng #kagami tsurugi #transfer au #salt fic #writing #adrien agreste #chloe bourgeois

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gwilymz · 5 years

Text

D’yer Mak’er

Brian May x Fem!Reader

Summary: You and your roommate Brian are losing sleep because of your neighbors’ loud sexual endeavors. What begins as a payback to annoy the couple ends in the eruption of years of tension, lust, and love. (Prompt idea from @okqueenie ;) )

Word Count: 6,933

Warnings: cuteness, pining, sexual tension, unprotected sex, oral, handjobs--VERY filthy oopsie (btw it’s late and im too lazy to proofread so sorry!) p.s sorry national geographic for defaming your brand :/

Your arm was tingling, your nerves needle-like, shooting through your bicep, then threading towards your elbow, down into your fingers which felt numb, prickly, and in pain. Your head rested upon your desk, your hair fanned out in front of you, covering your book--an awfully boring paperback of Hamlet that Brian, your roommate, so kindly let you borrow. You were groaning when your professor assigned the reading; Shakespeare’s language wasn’t one you spoke. So, Brian, being the sweetheart he is, shuffled to his room, his wool socks staticky against the wooden floors. He traced his elegant fingers along the spines of his books--all of them neatly arranged, from tallest to shortest. His fingers halted at a thin paperback, yellowed and dusty, with a cracked spine. He plucked it from the shelf and ran back into your room next door.

“Found it!” He tossed it to you, catching you off guard. The book fell open on the floor, a sepia dust bunny escaping from between the pages.

You picked it up apprehensively, holding it by the corner so dust wouldn’t latch onto your thick knit sweater. “Thanks?” You shook the book, jumping back as more dust fell from the copy, like a desert storm tumbling from sand pages. “But I already have a copy.” You cocked your head towards your desk, where a pristine, non-dusty copy sat, untouched.

“You don’t have Brian May’s copy though.” He grabbed the book from you, not caring about the particles that danced upon the sleeve of his blue zip-up hoodie. “Be ready to be amazed, Y/N.” He patted the spot next to him on your bed. Your comforter was piled into the corner, your sheets crinkled and cold from the winter air seeping through your window that never seemed to close completely. Instead, you sat on his leg, and he winced, his leg pulling away slightly.

“Your arse is cold as hell.” He looked up at you, his thumb marking the page he was going to show you--it must have been a good one.

“Shut up.” You motioned to the book, scooting yourself into a comfortable position which seemed to fare impossible; his leg was much too bony. “You know my ass is hot.” You wiggled a little, and he grabbed your waist reflexively, quickly turning to the page. He looked flustered, his eyebrows knitted together as he squinted at the text, the book tiny in his hands.

“See?” He ran a finger down the golden yellow page, tracing over countless translations and ideas he had written in the margins, some in smeared pencil, some in deep black ink.

You grabbed the book, squinting at the barely-legible handwriting that bordered the pages. “Too bad I can’t possibly decode what the hell this says.”

Brian rolled his eyes, his jaw tensing, just barely. “Forget about it, then.” He turned his nose up, yanking the book from you and softly pushing you off of him, getting up to return it to its rightful place in his own room.

“No!” You reached out, grabbing his leg and pulling him back to sit on the bed, but he slipped, and fell promptly on the floor, his tailbone smacking against the hardwood.

“Fuck!” He rubbed at his ass, wincing in pain, hissing at the ache that was climbing up his spine, tingly and sharp.

“I’m sorry, Brian!” You ruffled his hair, jumping up to get him an ice-pack, or really, a freezer-burned package of frozen vegetables which you and Brian would forever be too lazy to prepare. But instead, he grabbed your ankle, making you stumble to the ground like he did, catching yourself, your open palms tingling as they hit the floor. “Okay, I’m not sorry anymore.” You sat up, leaning against your bed like Brian was, grabbing the book from him and trying to read the margins. In reality, his handwriting wasn’t too difficult to decipher; you had known Brian for so long, it became second nature to read his chicken scratch. It was almost a test to see who was closest to Brian--it seemed only his bandmates and you could make out his convoluted lettering.

You shook your arm as you recalled the memory, lifting your head from its spot on the desk. Your ankles were crossed under the chair you were sitting at, and you realized Brian shoved a pillow between your back and the chair, which relieved some of the pain. Your neck hurt though, as it hung--almost lifelessly--for the entire night. You wiped some drool from your chin, grimacing at the gross sensation; it was semi-dry and crusted on your face. “Ew,” You sat up straight, your back cracking slightly as you maneuvered it. Brian’s copy of Hamlet was face down on the desk. You had actually been reading it pretty easily--thanks to Brian’s annotations--but you were exhausted from the antics of your neighbors.

For months now, you had been lacking sleep severely, waking up in the wee hours of the morning, your bed shaking from the arrhythmic banging of your neighbors’ headboard against the plastered walls. You always resorted to covering your head with your pillow, groaning and rolling your eyes and suppressing laughter at times--the couple’s moans were so fake and contrived. And every time they had sex--which was often--it seemed to get worse; more pornographic and less passionate--if that were possible, with the lack of chemistry these people seemed to have. There were plenty of times you had surrendered to your curiosity and held a cup against the wall, cringing as you heard screams that sounded more panicked than pleasured. Sometimes you would yelp as a firm, assured slapping noise would ping off of the walls, echoing in your ears even though they remained squished and completely covered by your pillows.

You had noticed Brian becoming more restless too; his eyes had become more sunken, his lips in a perpetual pout. Whenever he shaved, there was an uneven patch or two that he would forget to touch, and you would laugh at him, stroking your fingers over the thick, almost black hair, confused as to how he could have possibly missed it.

“Brian, come here.” You wiped your hands on your jeans as you chewed some buttered popcorn, your feet on the green coffee table, which didn’t match the design of the flat at all. You and a few friends were watching a soap opera, curled under Brian’s favorite knit blanket. You could tell he was mad you were using it, because he rose his eyebrows at you, cocking his head to the side as he sat next to you on the couch. There wasn’t much room for him, so he sat awkwardly on the edge, looking like a small child waiting for instructions of what to do next. You traced your fingers along his jaw, scratching at the dark stubble that was juxtaposed by the completely bare, hairless skin on the rest of his face. “You missed a spot.” Brian’s hand slapped yours away. “Just a smidge.” You tilted his head to the other side, seeing that the same spot on his right side was hairy as well.

“Stop!” He rolled his eyes, pinching your leg as he got up, pulling his hoodie over his head, mussing up his hair in the process. “I’m tired from rehearsals. Plus--” He shook his head, opting to leave his thoughts unsaid. He yanked his blanket off of your body, folding it neatly and tucking it under his willowy arm.

“What? Spit it out.” You and your friends looked at Brian inquisitively, all cocking your eyebrows at him, almost synchronized.

“The neighbors.” He mumbled, bending over the coffee table to straighten a book your foot had moved off-kilter. Brian’s body obscured the television, and you lightly pushed him back, your foot pressing against his hard stomach.

“Move,” You ate more popcorn, watching your program. “What about the neighbors?” You obviously knew what he was alluding to, but you wanted to see him flustered; you loved to tease him.

“You haven’t heard them, you know--” His voice faltered, falling a few decibels. “Doing it?”

“Oh God, Brian.” You giggled, a piece of popcorn falling onto your lap. “Grow up, man. ‘Doing it?’” You mocked him, and he tickled your foot, making you yelp, your head falling back as he scratched a nail on the underside of your sock-covered foot, knowing you were ticklish there. He grinned, canines exposed, his cheeks lifted. He took some popcorn from your bowl and walked into his room, giving you and your friends a quick wave before shutting the door softly behind him.

A few hours later, your legs were resting on Brian’s lap, your head laying against the arm of the couch. Brian was flipping through a National Geographic magazine, examining the wildlife pictures, like he always did when a new issue came out. You were reading Hamlet--still--but you were almost done, thanks to Brian, who happily analyzed the scenes for you, even insisting on pointing out some far-fetched allegories that made you second-guess trusting his far-fetched ideas.

“I don’t think that’s true, Brian.” You peered over your book and nudged his leg with your foot. Brian finished reading a particularly riveting line about the anemone in the Great Reef, holding a finger up until he was done reading.

“Hmm?” He bookmarked the magazine with an old receipt, throwing it on the coffee table.

“I don’t think that the costumes represent--” You started, before hearing a crashing noise next door--like metal pans clashing together, then falling twenty seven feet into jagged rocks. It was piercing and utterly startling, so your foot accidentally dug into Brian’s balls sharply.

“JESUS!” Brian tossed your legs off of his lap and held his groin, hissing in pain.

You hushed him, apologizing by stroking his hair a bit as you sat on your knees, leaning towards the noise. “What are they doing?” It sounded like they were in the kitchen; their apartment was a mirror image of yours, so everything was just a bit flipped around.

“I dunno.” Brian crossed his arms and picked his magazine back up, grumpy from lack of sleep and the dull pain stagnant in his balls. He picked a piece of lint from the page he was reading, flicking it onto your stomach, covered by his hoodie.

“I think they’re having sex in the kitchen this time.” You whispered for some reason, as if it were possible they could hear you. You braced your hand on Brian’s shoulder, the knobbed end of his collarbone hard against your touch.

“It’s weird to listen in on them.” Brian announced in monotone, flipping the page of his magazine, his eyes gleaming as he saw an article about space exploration. “Did you hear about thi-” Brian began to ask, before you interrupted him, which he registered as quite rude on your part, with a sharp inhale.

“Listen in on them?” You scoffed. “Bri, we haven’t slept for weeks because they’re fucking each other so loudly. We aren’t spying on them.” You shoved his shoulder a little, watching him as he nibbled at his lips as he attempted to focus on what he was reading. You could tell he was being stubborn, that he was curious like you, but he acted unfazed, shifting in his spot as his eyes scanned the glossy pages in front of him. Plus, he thought it was a little odd, listening to a middle-aged couple have sex with his roommate-slash-best friend.

You scooted your body closer to his, leaning forward to press your ear against the wall that the couch was leant against. Brian gulped and looked away, seeing your pajama shorts ride up a bit, the curve of your ass prominent from under the cotton fabric, lace trimming adorning the hem. He loved when you wore those, and he may have accidentally-on-purpose washed them extra frequently so they would shrink, just a bit. He moved the hair away from his eyes and tapped his fingers along the page he was reading--or attempting to read--before he shoved it in between the cushions and joined you, the peculiarity of the situation next door trumping his interest in space travels for the time being--no matter how pathetic that sounded to him.

The sides of your arms touched as you both listened, the sounds barely subdued by the layers of drywall in between you two--and the blood thumping, rushing towards your hot ears. It sounded like their sink had turned on in the process of their endeavors, and Brian, feeling cheeky, banged on the wall with a closed fist. “Turn off the bloody water! You’re wasting it!” He turned to you for approval, almost. You shoved him playfully and banged on the wall with him, cackling together as you heard the husband’s skin slapping. It was obscene and inappropriate, but you looked at Brian menacingly.

“OH ALLEN!” You moaned dramatically, coming up with an arbitrary name on the spot. It was completely fake-sounding, and Brian giggled, rocking on the couch to bang it against the wall repeatedly. You nodded at him, determined, doing the same thing that he was, rocking your bodies forward then backwards to push it against the wall forcefully. Your pinkies touched as your elbows did too, completely and utterly focused on annoying them just as much as they had you. Brian lifted his arms up and banged them against the wall again, his shirt riding up enough for you to see his stomach, toned and still tanned from a short-run of being a summer gardener--your idea to bring in more rent money. Your own stomach flipped and you turned away.

“PLEASE DON’T STOP AMANDA!” Brian moaned facetiously, pushing his knees into the back of the couch, his hips bucking forward dramatically. You looked at him questioningly, mouthing Amanda? Really?, as he smiled at you, his knuckles raw from beating on the wall.

And as suddenly as they began, the noises stopped. The pans halted their clanging, the grating sound of the metal fizzling, dissipating from your ears. You both sighed in relief, and Brian plopped down on his knees, taking a deep breath that ghosted just barely over your neck. You shivered, the aftershock of the odd situation making your breath hesitate as you also fell to your knees on the couch, the springs creaking as you both moved, unsure of what to say or do next.

Brian was panting, a coy smile on his lips. He was a bit sweaty, his neck was glistening, and his fingers fiddled with his silver necklace, the metal of the ring he was wearing clinking against the thin chain, the small tinkling pleasant in your ear after the horrible noises that had just stopped minutes before.

“Are you hungry?” Brian asked, pulling his legs out from under his butt, slipping his socks off. He saw you grimacing at him and clicked his tongue at you, his jaw twitching. “What? I’m sweaty.”

You feigned a gag as he held the sweaty socks in front of your nose, swinging them like a pendulum, soaked with body odor. “Gross!” You tried to smack them out of his hands, but he held them higher, just out of your reach to tease you. “Get your dirty socks out of my fucking face, or I swear to God--”

“You shouldn’t say that, Y/N!” He bit his lip and gasped dramatically as you tried to knock the socks out from in front of your face again. His voice was deeper than usual, and you grabbed his wrist as you fell forward; the couch cushions were unsteady. Brian fell backwards, his head hitting the arm of the couch opposite of you. His hair bounced, the ambient lighting shining against his brilliant curls. You had convinced him to embrace his natural hair, and it looked good on him, accentuating him, his look. Your thigh brushed against his crotch, and Brian hissed, sitting up quickly, shaking the curls from his eyes. “I’m going to get us some takeout. Chinese?” He rubbed the back of his neck, stretching as he stood up, the buttons of his shirt threatening to pop as he extended his long arms towards the humming ceiling fan.

“Yeah, sounds good.” You curled up on the couch, opening your book again, your eyes skimming the page, but not encoding a thing. You noticed Brian shifting his trousers, wincing as his hand brushed over the front of them. He grabbed his keys from the table, his magazine strategically placed in front of his groin as he said goodbye, waving at you, his keys tucked under three fingers.

“The usual?” He peeked his head through the door, his curls getting caught by a raw splinter of wood sticking out from the door frame. He pulled the strand from the sharp edge, waiting for your response.

“Yeah,” You nodded, tilting your head back to give him a grin. “But get extra white rice. You always forget.”

He began to shut the door, his large hand wrapped around the brass doorknob, shrouded by a dulled stain.

“Wait!” You jumped up, bracing yourself on the coffee table as you slipped. Brian flinched, lunging forward reflexively.

“You ok, sweets?” Brian lifted a brow, pulling fallen strands of his hair from his hoodie. You smiled at the nickname, standing up straight, adjusting your sweater that was becoming increasingly hot and heavy. You revealed a pen from behind your back, pulling Brian towards you by his hands which were warm, and very soft. You wondered if he had been using lotion more often--and then you coughed, registering the innuendo. You clicked the pen, poking your tongue out slightly as you wrote the note on his hand, underlining it twice, the scrape of the pen against his hand making a sharp white line appear, just momentarily.

“Don’t forget.” You looked up at him, noticing a faint droplet of sweat dripping down his neck, pooling into the hollow space where his collarbones protruded.

Your throat was dry when you woke up, and you didn’t know if it was because of your and Brian’s acting the day before, or the spicy kung pao chicken that Brian brought home in a greasy paper bag, beaming as he pulled out a giant takeout carton full of white rice, some of it spilling from the top. You swallowed, feeling a burn perfuse down your esophagus, wincing and coughing as you sat up. Your neck was still achey; your head automatically positioning itself in the position that allowed the least amount of sounds to pass through your ears--perks of having awful neighbors.

You pulled on a sweatshirt--one you stole from Brian’s room. It was red, and had that fresh, clean softness that proved it hadn’t been washed too many times. It was comforting; Brian’s scent pervaded the fabric, and you relished in the earthy, almost sweet smell of him, rubbing your hands together as you pulled your door open. You walked to the kitchen, where Brian’s guitar case was laid on the counter. You sighed, rolling your eyes. He knew you hated when he did that. You didn’t even have a reason for loathing it--you just did. Both you and Brian had little things that made you tic. The first time you ever heard Brian really yell was when you found out one of his--he despised disorganization. He was at a gig the year before, and the venue was a few hours away, so the boys slept in the van, half-drunk and a bit dizzy, weaned off of adrenaline highs. While he was gone, you rearranged all of his books. You flipped some so the pages faced forward, and kept some of the spines facing out. You took all of his pants from one drawer, and then all of his shirts from the other--then you switched them. You could have done more, but you didn’t hate Brian. So you fell asleep, curled into the corner of the couch to let Brian in more easily when he came home--he could never interpret how to work a key and a lock when he was drunk.

He wasn’t drunk when he returned, though. He opened the door discreetly, slipping through, taking his clogs off as he sat down, hunched over to be as quiet as possible. When he saw his bookshelf, he exploded.

“Y/N!” He slammed his duffle bag on the floor, his pins from all of the different cities he’d visited scratching against a raised floorboard. You jumped up, patting your hair down as you turned the floor lamp on, the warm light ambient and mellow.

“Brian? You’re home already?” You glanced at the clock; it was seven in the morning, so it made sense for him to be back.

“It’s seven.” He confirmed. “Can you explain this?” He crossed his arms over his chest, his forearms were veiny, bulging from his sleeves; one was pulled all of the way down, one was rolled up halfway.

You laughed softly. “The books? I just thought it would annoy you.”

His eyes hardened, and his jaw protruded as he sucked his bottom lip, before releasing it with a pronounced pop. “It worked. Don’t you have better shit to do than mess with my personal fucking belongings?”

You scowled, stepping closer to him. For the first time since you had met him, his tall frame wasn’t languid--it was intimidating. The shadow of a beard was forming on his cheeks, pebbling down his elegant neck, where two necklaces were layered, resting on his collarbones. “It’s not a big fucking deal, Brian.” You turned around to leave, but he grabbed your wrist, holding onto it so hard he could feel your pulse racing.

“Fix it.” He looked at you sternly, his eyes glaring into your own. You expected him to laugh and ruffle your hair a bit, but he didn’t. He just stormed into the bathroom and slammed the door; you heard the shower faucet creak a minute later. Your legs shook as you bent down to fix the books, trying to ignore the warmth pooling at your core.

You were reaching into a cupboard, trying to find a glass for some water, when you heard crashing in the bathroom and the shrieking of the shower curtain rings scraping at the curtain rod.

“Y/N!” Brian yelled, almost hopelessly.

“Hmm!” You scurried to the bathroom door, pressing your ear against it. You could faintly feel the warmth emanating from underneath the door.

“I forgot to bring a towel in with me. Can you get me one?” You could hear him gathering the fallen shampoo bottles and setting them on the ledge.

“What do you say?” You challenged.

“Please, would you so kindly fetch me a towel, Y/N?” He pleaded, half sarcastically.

You got him one, wiggling the doorknob to the bathroom as you held it underneath your arm. “Open up, Bri!”

He quickly unlocked the door, peering through the crack, reaching a soaked hand out. His wrist was dripping with steamy water, his arm a lot more defined than you remembered it being in the summer. He pulled the towel from your hands, quickly turning around so he could wrap it around his waist. You saw his ass for a split second, and you attempted to stifle your laughter, to no avail.

Brian shut the door, re-locking it as he dried his hair and got dressed for class. He had a denim button up on, and black velvet trousers that hugged him nicely. His hair was still sopping wet as he left the bathroom, but he softly dried his locks with the towel; you told him to be gentle with his curls.

You were biting your lip, trying to suppress the laughter which was bubbling up into your throat and quickly threatening to spill over. Brian looked at you, knowing that meant you were about to make fun of him for something.

“What is it? Lay it on me.” He sat down, resuming his reading of his National Geographic, his eyes roaming the pages quickly. He turned the magazine sideways, squinting at a picture of the stars that filled the entire two-page spread.

“Your butt.” You sat down next to him, poking at his ass as he attempted to focus on his reading.

“You saw my arse? Big deal.” He feigned to be uncaring, but you could see his cheeks flushing into a scarlet that seeped down his neck.

“It was small! Your butt is tiny.” You tickled at his hips, and he flinched, his teeth protruding from underneath his pink lips, forming the beginnings of a smile. “Tiny butt.” Brian rolled his eyes, turning his head to face you. He closed his magazine and crossed his arms, resting his legs on the coffee table.

“So what if I have a tiny butt--hey! That rhymed!” He realized, leaning his head on the cushion behind him.

You heard a crashing sound--the unfortunately familiar sound of clashing pans crossing your threshold, even between Brian’s Led Zeppelin vinyl and two--albeit thin--walls. “They’re fucking at it again!”

You both groaned, following the sounds like a labyrinth of awful moans and grunts swirling into one epicenter. “Wait.” Brian halted, holding his arm out, as a signal for you to stay still. “I think they’re in the shower.”

Sure enough, you heard their shower running, then panting, then the sound of someone’s body being slammed against the wall. “Ouch!” You looked at Brian, amazed. “That must’ve fucking hurt.” You leaned against the kitchen counter, Brian’s guitar leant against it; you smiled a bit, realizing he moved it off of the counter, knowing you hated when it was there.

The room was quiet, save for your and Brian’s breathing. The heel of your foot hit the wooden paneled column of the counter every once in awhile. You heard heavy panting, groans and whimpers from next door, and you and Brian just looked at each other, as if saying: Are we really gonna do this again? You both understood each other’s almost subliminal looks, and nodded simultaneously. You raced back to the couch, both of your socks making you slide against the floor, and you both braced your inevitable falls on the arms of the couch, climbing over them.

Brian held up three long fingers, then two, then just one, before giving you a firm nod, eyebrows concentrated, solemn looking. “Oh FUCK! RIGHT THERE!” He knelt on the couch, scooting forwards and backwards to imitate the harsh banging noises they so often made next door.

“THAT FEELS SO GOOD! OH GOD!” You did the same as he was; you two were synchronized, breathing heavily as you began to grunt and whimper, Brian clapping his hands to simulate skin-slapping sounds, and you rose your eyebrows, giving him a thumbs up. Nice touch, you mouthed, and he bowed a little, his hair bouncing, messy from his movements.

The couple was relentless though, continuing their desperate, obviously bad, sex. Brian held a finger up, before stepping off of the couch and kneeling in front of it. He gripped the bottom of the furniture, his wrists flexing from the weight, pulling it forward and slamming it back against the wall--with you still sat on top of it. He continued to do this, the grunts coming organically from his lips, from the exertion. You were panting, your chest heaving quickly from the yelling, from the odd exhilaration you were feeling, from the wetness you were feeling in your pajama shorts, which Brian couldn’t help but notice were riding up your thighs; he could see the hem of your lace panties from his position underneath you, looking up.

“Fuck, you look so pretty like this, baby.” Brian moaned loudly, looking up at you. His mouth was hung open, hot breath fanning over your body. You returned the gaze, falling to sit on your feet in front of him, facing him.

“You’re fucking me so good!” You cried, cringing at the words, your mouth agape as you watched Brian’s forehead begin to sweat. Neither of you were laughing anymore. The air was dense, and tension-filled--wet almost. You sat down in front of where he was knelt, his hair matted a bit from the sweat, and still wet from his shower. You spread your legs, and your feet hung off of the couch, resting near either side of his head. He grabbed your ankle, looking at you with wide eyes as your fingers played with the elastic of your shorts, fiddling with the ties, the ends of them tickling at your inner thighs. Brian stared at the soft flesh of them, at a small freckle you had where the hem of your shorts laid. Your cheeks were flushing, your heart thundering in your chest, and Brian’s sweatshirt was becoming an actual sweat shirt. Your ankle was almost glowingly warm from Brian’s firm grip. His other hand grabbed your free ankle, which was noticeably colder, aching for his touch. His fingers began to ghost up your legs, inching up your shins, making you whimper softly from the anticipation of Brian to touch you more and more. His pupils were dilated and you noted how pretty his eyes looked, the yellow light shining into them. Brian was a beacon of allure, lust, love. You untied your shorts, watching as Brian’s eyes widened, his grip on you tightening, almost constricting, but in the best way possible. You pushed your hand down the shorts, slipping through your underwear to rub at your clit. You were soaked for him. Brian’s nails dug into your ankles as he pulled you forward on the couch, so his body was in between your legs, kneeling in front of you, on his knees. He ghosted a finger over your lips as you pushed a finger into your wet hole, gasping as you grazed against your clit. He breathed against your neck as he stroked your hair, kissing at your shoulder, his forehead resting upon it. He moved to kiss up the column of your neck. They were sloppy, open-mouthed kisses; he was desperate, rocking his cock against the couch as he held your waist, your fingers now deep in your pussy. You held his head, threading your fingers in his semi-dried curls, gasping as he sucked hickies on your collarbones, nibbling at the sensitive skin enough to make your hips jerk slightly. You pulled his head back by his hair, thick in your hand, kissing him on his bruised lips. He was fiery and passionate. He was making you dizzy, suffocating you from fresh air with passion-infused sucks to your bottom lip, his tongue massaging yours. Brian whined, his cock rubbing against the textured velvet of his trousers, leaking with precum, just for you. You pulled your fingers out, which were a bit pruned from the slickness which was staining the couch now, deepening the grey of the taut fabric. You held your fingers to his mouth, watching at his tongue swirled around your digits, sucking your juices from them.

“Taste me.” Your eyes were hooded, blown with desire. You felt like you were on the verge of fainting, or that you were experiencing a hypnagogic dream--like this was all altered from reality, not real. But the feelings--the sensations--you were experiencing in that moment, with your best friend’s tongue lapping up your wetness from your soaked fingers now coated with his saliva--were anything but a dream.

“So good.” He moaned, looking at you innocently. His chest was heaving as he grabbed your wrist, pulling your fingers from his mouth. He pulled at your shorts, his fingers shaky as he slid them down your legs, keeping your underwear on. “I love when you wear these fucking shorts, sweets.” He kissed your knee, scratching softly at your inner thighs, as you pulled at his hair. He threw the garment on the floor, scooting forward on his knees, yanking your underwear to the side. You gasped loudly at hearing his usually innocent nickname for you in such a dirty connotation. He ran his fingers up your neck before rubbing them along your soft lips, the calloused pads of his long fingers tickling the pink flesh barely. You sucked on his fingers this time, swirling your tongue around them, whimpering at how dirty this was, at how good it felt to feel Brian.

“Fuck, Y/N,” Brian’s fingers left your mouth, dripping with your spit. He trailed them up your leg, before pulling your legs over his shoulders, kissing at your inner thighs and softly biting the skin.

“Brian, oh my god.” Your hand grasped at his hair, desperate for his mouth to latch onto your clit--anywhere. He looked up at you, his eyes hooded, his nose nudging at your clit. His hand snaked around your waist, holding your hips down, his fingers splayed across your lower stomach. Then he began to lick at your folds, pointing his tongue and licking upwards, directly on your aching bundle of nerves. “Fuck, Bri!” Your heels dug into Brian’s upper back and he hummed in appreciation before sticking his tongue out and delving into your hole. You ground against his tongue, desperate for your orgasm, which proved to be approaching quickly.

“Cum on my tongue, honey.” He poked his tongue out, tilting his head to look at you. He was idle, and you realized quickly he was waiting on you to grind on his tongue. You did, holding his hair with one hand as the other grasped at the couch cushion. Your hips moved up and down repeatedly, his tongue sliding against your clit, the stimulation making your eyes water.

“Oh my god--” You were mewling, completely at his mercy. “Brian--your tongue feels so good.”

“Does it baby?” He batted his eyelashes, his curls tickling against your skin as you ground against his tongue faster.

“Fuck, it feels so good!” You screamed, your breaths becoming laborious as you came on his tongue, your wetness dripping down his chin. You had barely recovered from your orgasm before you pulled Brian’s mouth to yours, wrapping your legs around his waist, his body now hovering over yours, his knees resting on the edge of the couch. You scratched your nails at the nape of his neck, kissing at his stubble on his jaw. You both were starved--two years of friendship and a blindingly close proximity to each other in your entireties was being released by fervid kisses, frenzied touches. Your hands traveled down his chest, your fingers popping open a few buttons on the way to his cock, which was achingly hard and prominent in his trousers. You unbuttoned them, immediately shoving your hand down the front of his briefs, massaging at his balls.

“Fuuuck.” Brian let out a drawn-out moan, and it echoed across the room, making a tingle sprinkle down your shoulders and to your core. You dragged your nails softly up the shaft of his cock, and he buried his face in your neck, whimpering your name. Your hand held onto his hair as you pumped him, precum leaking onto the junction between your thumb and forefinger. “Jesus christ, more.” He whined, the couch hitting the wall forcefully as he thrusted into your hand.

“You’re so needy, Brian.” You pulled him forward. “Thrusting into my hand.” He nodded, a choked moan breathy against your lips.

“I need to fuck you, sweets.” He pushed his forehead against yours, digging his fingers into your hips. “I’ve needed to fuck you for so long.”

You exhaled, tightening your grip on his cock as he lazily thrust into your hand. “I need you so bad, Brian.” You pulled at his necklace, kissing him deeply. You felt his hips stutter, a low whimper tumbling from parted lips.

You shook your head. “Not yet.” Brian nodded, kissing your neck, just once, before he grabbed you by your waist, turning your body so your body laid across the couch, flat. He grabbed a throw pillow, putting it beneath your back. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him forward by your locked ankles. Your arms grabbed at the arm of the couch as Brian spit in his hand, stroking his cock--which you noticed was a lot larger than you originally thought. The tip was bright red, still leaking, his shaft veiny and impossibly thick. You shifted beneath him, your entire body sheathed in sweat and a scarlet blush.

“Condom?” He asked, his thumb running over his tip, massaging his slit carefully.

“I want you raw, Brian.”

“Jesus Christ.” He hitched your legs up onto his hips, dragging his cock against your folds, the ridges of his veins blissful against your clit. “You’re so fucking wet for me.” He dragged his hands up your torso, touching the fabric of his sweatshirt, damp from your sweat. His thumb and forefinger found the zipper, pulling it down agonizingly slow, groaning when he saw your bare chest revealed from underneath his hoodie. “Dirty girl.” He bit at his lips, and you sat up, shrugging the hoodie off. He pulled the sleeve back up over your shoulder, shaking his head. “No. I want you to keep my jumper on while I fuck you.” He held your chin as he said this, and you slipped his thumb into your mouth, making him twitch against your thigh.

Then he was thrusting into you--deep into you--his thumb stroking at your chin as his pelvic bone was flush against your inner thighs. You screamed, holding onto the arm of the couch as he pulled out, pushing himself back in immediately. “God, Brian it hurts.” He was stretching your walls, and your cheeks were blotched red from the dull pain--but it was a pain so akin to pleasure that you writhed underneath him, moaning.

“ ‘m sorry sweets. I’ll go slower baby.” He held onto your thighs, still wrapped around his waist.

“No. Fuck me.” You sat up, resting on your elbows as he obliged, Fucking into you at a brutal pace, his hand snaking up your torso, squeezing at your breasts. Your moans were breathy, hot, passionate--true. They were the antithesis of the sounds your neighbors were still making next door, opposite of the ones you and him were making seemingly seconds before. Brian was angling his hips up, thrusting deep inside of you as his thumb massaged your clit, savoring your noises, the way you arched into his every touch. Brian’s breaths were interwoven with impassioned moans, and the paradox of them sounding so angelic yet so sinful was making your orgasm near. He began to slow, his thrusts becoming erratic but far-in-between, his eyes rolling back as his voice cracked with a long groan. You began to fuck yourself on his dick, panting, the couch scooting loudly, creaking against the floor. Brian’s other hand trailed its way to your neck, his delicate fingers, wrapping around the hot skin, just touching. But you grabbed his wrist, tightening his grip around your neck, both yours and his moans becoming more primal and raw at the sensation.

“Brian--” You threw your head back, your legs unable to support themselves on Brian’s hips. He thrust harder, snapping his hips as he repeated your name, panting into the muggy air around you. A bead of sweat ran down his neck. His hair was wild from your pulling, his lips a deep pink from bruised kisses. Hickies adorned his collarbones, which his necklaces were bouncing upon with every yearning thrust. His hand was still wrapped tightly around your neck, pushing gently upon your throat, your hand gripping at his wrist.

“Good girl.” he gasped, as you clenched around him, involuntarily. “You’re so fucking tight, I’m gonna cum.” He tilted his head back, somehow pushing deeper inside of you; he was completely sheathed inside of you. “Fu-I’m cumming!” He announced, barely pulling out before he came inside of you, the feeling bringing on your own release as you screamed his name, your walls clenching. He spurt more of his cum inside of you, hissing at the overstimulation as he pulled out, watching his seed spill out of you. He didn’t know what to do; and in a panic, he grabbed his magazine placing it so the cum leaked onto it and not the perfectly good couch you had. You both were panting, but you furrowed your eyebrows. “Now your magazine has your cum all over it.”

“I know, I’m not too happy about it. That was a good issue.” He said from the kitchen, wetting a cloth to clean you up with. He sat down next to you, pulling his National Geographic from under your ass to wipe you clean. “It’s cold, sorry sweets.” You winced at the cool water, but his warm touch on your lower belly acted as a needed equilibrium.

He kissed your collarbone, and you pulled him in, locking your lips with him as he zipped your--his--hoodie up, pulling the hood over your hair and yanking at the strings. He pulled your panties up your legs, and then your shorts, before he slipped his briefs back on, laying on his stomach, in between your legs, which were still shaky. You pet at his hair and noticed how normal this felt--you and him together like this. Brian, reading your mind, lifted his head and kissed your nose, pulling the hood down.

“I’m in love with you.” He confessed, hugging you tighter, anticipating your response.

“Hi, I’m in love with you, nice to meet you.” You picked his hand up, shaking it firmly. “Funny, because I’m in love with you too!” Brian laughed, muffled into your stomach as he kissed the fabric, his eyes fluttering shut.

taglist: @silencedleviathan @alexfayer @ledger-kaos @ma-ntequilla @discodeakky @richiethotzierz @thisloveisreal1 @heartsarecompatible @thelondondreamer5 @brian-may-brian-may @okqueenie @gailymlee @trickster-may @bubblypenguin123 @queensdarlingg @soloosunflower @dvndermifflinassociate @fredthelegend @miez-lakatz @arrowswithwifi @mouse507 @mespetitestortues @yourstateofdreaming @pamoreno @helenathe3rd @allie-of-asgard @deacytits @hystericallyqueen @missqueeniewrites @bulsarahutton @paper-queer-plane @xilann (message me if i forgot you/you want to be added!)

#brian may #brian may fanfic #brian may smut #brian may x reader #gwilym lee #rami malek #borhap #bohemian rhapsody #queen #fanfiction #smut #au #freddie mercury #roger taylor #john deacon #ben hardy #joe mazzello

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ducktracy · 5 years

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bob clampett’s daffy

i hated daffy as a kid. i thought he was annoying, unnecessarily rude, bitter, and mean. and he was. and now i’m going to preach to you about why he’s my favorite character in the franchise, and how bob clampett totally changed my view of him.

although tex avery was the father of daffy, bob clampett was the first director other than tex to use daffy in a cartoon. clampett’s 1938 “what price porky” pins daffy as the dictator and leader of a group of ducks who are currently in a war with a group of chickens, with porky in the crossfire.

daffy’s head is a perfect circle with no feathers, and he’s considerably taller than other appearances. he’s a bit more rotund too, making him seem more malleable and easier to manipulate with gags. notice how his eyes seem like they could continue to wrap around his head. we start to see what will stay in his design for years to come and what will go, such as lacking the trademark white ring around his neck. what he DOES have, however, and for the first time, is his trademark lisp.

his next appearance in a clampett cartoon is “porky and daffy” (1938). this is truly where his daffiness is allowed to shine. porky enters daffy in a boxing match against a burly, undefeated chicken. the match includes (but is not limited to) daffy acting like a lion tamer, riding an invisible bicycle, and hiding in the beak of a pelican. the short is really just daffy being daffy, but we get to see how he interacts with porky.

his eyes are much taller and skinnier than they were in “what price porky”, and his head and body have been slimmed down. the ring around his neck is jagged, something that would make a few appearances in his design for the next 2 years.

in around 1939-1940 daffy was drawn with a light colored “mask” around his eyes and the ring around his neck a zig zag. there’s a definite difference between these two pictures (left: wise quacks, 1939, right: porky’s last stand, 1940). on the left daffy’s eyes are rather skinny and tall like the rest of him, the mask around his face taking up half of his face, whereas on the right daffy’s eyes are shorter and wider (again, like the rest of him) with the mask taking up less room. interestingly to note, porky’s last stand would be the last short to feature daffy looking like that, aside from a few advertisements in the early 40s.

both continue to prominently feature daffy as unhinged, off the handle, giddy, and, well, daffy. he was truly the epitome of ignorance was bliss. he was oblivious and didn’t have a clue, but he didn’t care. he had such an energy to him that’s so addicting to watch. of course, nothing but screaming HOO HOO! CAN get old over time, but the way clampett just makes him so enthusiastic and such a firm believer in whatever he’s currently preoccupied with is contagious. it’s hard to be in a bad mood when daffy’s jumping around all corners of the screen screaming in your ears.

clampett’s “the henpecked duck” (1941) is really the first short that would dictate how daffy would look in the rest of clampett’s cartoons. his eye mask is gone and the ring around his neck isn’t jagged, and he’s considerably taller and skinnier. his head is still rather short and round, but he’s really starting to take shape.

daffy’s personality also changes in this short. previously he was just a prop, truly a daffy duck. but now “the henpecked duck” opens with daffy and his wife (yes, he has a wife in this short) in the courthouse in front of a judge porky, with his wife angrily demanding to get a divorce. daffy is depressed and devoid of energy, not for a quick, breathless joke, but for suspense. in his previous shorts he’d shown bouts of anxiety or anger, but typically they blew through for a punchline. now something serious is going on, he’s actually depressed, he’s something other than wacky.

the majority of the short is a flashback. daffy is supposed to be laying on an egg as his angry wife is out for the day. because he IS daffy, boredom strikes and he eventually does magic tricks with said egg, making it disappear, reappear, disappear, reappear, disappear..... disappear. the egg is gone and he freaks out, and suddenly we’re back in the courtroom. all eyes are on daffy as he does one last cautious “alakazam....” and the egg is back in his hand and his marriage is saved.

it’s a strange and goofy premise, sure, but it’s surprisingly riveting, primarily because this is when we really get to see daffy express some real emotion. he’s a very versatile character. clampett prioritizes his daffiness, but that’s not to say he’s purely daffy. he can be angry, anxious, upset... he expresses such a wide range of emotions which is what i love about clampett’s characterization. he’s so versatile and UNPREDICTABLE. you don’t know what you’re going to get. it’s an element of surprise. it’s formulaic, but at the same time it isn’t at all.

two years later in 1943 we have “the wise quacking duck” with daffy taking on a role he hadn’t assumed for quite awhile: prey. in it, we have “mr. meek”, a dopey, meek, balding man who tries to appease his “sweetiepuss”’s hunger by serving her duck for dinner. daffy, of course, is said duck.

the short is just daffy teasing mr meek (quite literally, there’s an infamous scene where he does an actual strip tease) by throwing eggs at him, pretending his head was cut off, hitting him in the face with pies and coffee creamer, etc. it’s another “daffy daffy” short, but it’s so energetic and fun. there’s a method to daffy’s madness, and at the same time there isn’t one at all. you know he’s going to do some crazy stuff, but you don’t know what exactly he’s going to do.

daffy’s appearance is pretty solid from here on out. skinny, oval shaped head, long, slender bill, pear shaped body. i really like this design to him, he still looks like a duck. chuck jones draws a great daffy, but i just like clampett’s daffy more. it might be the bill. clampett’s cartoons make a point of daffy’s lisp, making him spew spit everywhere and his tongue has a life of its own. it’s great. they really took his physical qualities and had as much fun with it as they could.

in 1945 we have “draftee daffy”, about daffy getting drafted into the war and frantically trying to evade it. this is a personal favorite of mine, the energy is boundless. in a matter of seconds daffy is happily marching around, singing about how he was drafted, and all of the sudden he screams and breaks down into sobs. what an unpredictable mess! that’s why i love clampett’s daffy. he’s messy. a matter of seconds and facial expressions later he can act like a totally different person (or duck). again, he’s a firm believer in whatever scheme he’s riding the high on currently, whether that’s one-upping bugs, seducing his way out of becoming a roast duck dinner, or trying to dodge the draft. not much to note on his design here.

you knew this was coming! 1946 gives us “book revue” in a slew of continuous great shorts just before clampett left WB. i love how ridiculous daffy is in this. he’s not even in half of the cartoon, maybe topping out at about 3 minutes max, but he’s what makes it so memorable.

the short is another “books come to life” cartoon, a theme that had been popular in the late 30s and early 40s (another clampett cartoon starring daffy and porky was 1941’s “a coy decoy”, pertaining to this theme). as various book title pun related characters are playing a rousing rendition of frank sinatra’s “it had to be you”, daffy pops out of nowhere and throws on a zoot suit, wig, bad russian accent and danny kaye impression, and suddenly has disconcerting teeth. he screams at everyone to shut up, demonstrates his poor vocabulary by talking about sitting on balalaikas (a guitar like instrument), and sings “carolina in the morning” while rolling every “r” possible.

basically he encounters little red riding hood, warns her about the big bad wolf (by scatting), and the cartoon ends with the wolf chasing daffy around until the cops book him and the wolf, wooed by frank sinatra, passes out and literally goes to hell and tells everyone to stop celebrating his departure.

daffy’s just so good in this. he’s so in character and out of character. yes, i could see bugs putting on the same costume and same shtick, but it would be a bit predictable. funny? absolutely, but bugs is known for his costumes. what costumes has daffy ever worn? his wardrobe isn’t nearly as expansive as bugs’. it’s a nice surprise. just how out of character he is proves how in character he is.

“baby bottleneck” (1946) is next, one of my all time favorite cartoons. porky and daffy make such a great pair, they’re so different. daffy’s just completely off the handle in this one. i’ve rambled about this one a lot and repeated myself many times, so i won’t go too in depth here, but daffy’s unpredictability really carries the cartoon. he says he’ll sit on the egg. he doesn’t. he fights porky in a battle of strength and (lack of) wits. you just don’t know where the cartoon is going to head next, it’s packed with gags and so much action, i definitely recommend it. the jokes are nonstop.

and finally, saving the best for last... 1946’s “the great piggy bank robbery”, possibly my favorite clampett cartoon (just above baby bottleneck by a frog’s hair) and really one of my all time favorite cartoons in general.

the short starts off with daffy pacing around his mailbox impatiently (to the tune of raymond scott’s “powerhouse”—maybe that’s why i like this short and baby bottleneck so much, anything that uses powerhouse is automatically great to me) until exploding “WHY DON’T HE GET HERE!”

his attitude changes from pissed off to eager as the mailman arrives, slowly puts whatever daffy’s expecting in the mailbox, and walks away. we never see the mailman’s face or what it is that daffy is expecting, furthering the suspense. daffy tears through his mail and grabs what he was looking for and dashes over hill and dale before hugging his package, a comic book, and throwing himself upon it.

it’s a dick tracy comic, to which daffy declares “i LOOOOVE that man!”. what’s funny is that after this short i was watching frank tashlin’s “porky pig’s feat” (1943) and the antagonist gets his face pushed in by daffy, to which daffy looks at the camera and says “look, a dick tracy villain! pruneface!”. foreshadowing? 🤔🤔🤔

daffy reads to us the comic in excruciating detail (or lack thereof. he’s just manically sputtering out words. the change in emotion is what makes it so funny, from celebration to apprehension to despair, all in a matter of seconds). he celebrates the victory of dick tracy, saying how he’d love to punch those goony criminals, before punching HIMSELF in the face.

this is how we meet duck twacy, on the hunt for a case of stolen piggy banks (“it’s a piggy bank crime wave!”). daffy finds the case juvenile and a waste of his time... before he finds that his OWN piggy bank was stolen. he goes on a hunt for the culprit, kicking sherlock holmes off the streets, riding a trolley driven by porky for about 5 inches before arriving to the gangster’s hideout. he encounters a barrage of weirdly awesome villains, complete with a manic, breathless, and spitty narration of who is who. even though he thinks he’s about to be killed, you can tell that he’s totally eating up the fact that he’s in dick tracy’s shoes, that he recognizes all of these villains. after shooting all of the villains, he finds his own piggy bank and caresses it and kisses it. we’re now back in the real world where he’s kissing a barnyard pig who kisses him back and bashfully declares “i just love that duck!”, with daffy HOO HOO!ing off screen.

i should add, aside from the pig saying “i just love that duck!” and one of the villains grunting “guess who?”, no one in this short talks except daffy. and that’s why i love it so much. he carries the WHOLE thing. it’s all him and him alone. no one for him to upstage, no plans for him to ruin, we get to see his own motivations and his own personality.

i could ramble on forever about bob clampett and daffy, but i’ll try to summarize it the best i can here.

i love bob clampett’s daffy because he’s predictably unpredictable. his zaniness is prioritized above all else, but he’s able to feel emotions other than daffiness. he CAN be cynical, he CAN be depressed, he CAN be anxious, he CAN be happy... his emotions feel very believable, as zany as he is. you can go into each bob clampett daffy short knowing that he’s probably going to do something wild, but that’s it. you don’t know what he’s going to do. clampett keeps you on your toes with how he portrays daffy. daffy is TRULY unhinged in the best way possible.

thank you for reading! i’m sure i repeated myself and even contradicted myself dozens of times, but i love daffy and i love bob clampett. the best way to see for yourself how great he is is to watch some of these shorts. (i recommend the great piggy bank robbery, baby bottleneck, book revue, draftee daffy and the wise quacking duck, and the daffy doc and the henpecked duck are some really entertaining black and white shorts)

#analysis #long post #lt

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awigglycultist · 9 months

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OMG JAG IS STILL IN THE CHICKEN COSTUME

#bb25

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sitabethel · 5 years

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Don't have a lot of energy rn, but I had to write at least one prompt for @deathshippingweek so I picked the AU. Fluff below, but you can find the extended, spicy version on AO3 (ch60 in the Lemonade Stand)

******

Amir’s eyes rounded in delight and his mouth fell open as he stepped into the room where they created their set designs and props. Severed limbs heaped on top of the tables. Bones stuck out of each foot and hand, splintered and jagged as if split with a cleaver not sharp enough for bone. Buckets of blood sat near the tables, entrails slopping over the sides. Chains, shackles, and hooks rusted over with dry blood hung from the ceiling. They clinked as Amir walked past. A shiver shot through him. One table boasted an entire torso, ribcage exposed to the air and maggots stuffed between the bones. Amir leaned over, swearing he could see the grubs squirm.

“Don’t. Touch. Anything. I’ve hardly slept all week to prepare for this.” A voice warned from behind, adding as an afterthought, “Please.”

Amir spun and saw Ryou standing behind him. His long hair was twisted into a sloppy bun, and shadows clung around his eyes. He held a cup of coffee in one hand and a bloodied hacksaw in the other.

“It’s gorgeous,” Amir blurted out.

Ryou raised an eyebrow. Amir’s face burned, and he started again—this time attempting to stay coherent. He gestured to the gore around them. “The props. I can almost smell the rot.”

“It’s possible you do. I’d created a demon heart for the final act by sewing together some chicken livers and pork belly, but the smell got a little rank, so they forced me to toss it.” Ryou sighed.

“Did you get a picture before it had to go?” Amir asked.

With a slight grin, Ryou pulled out his cellphone. Amir leaned close, catching the faint, spicy scent of old cologne clining to Ryou’s clothes as Ryou pulled up several photos.

“Swipe right for gore.” Ryou laughed.

“Oh my god. Dude, that’s sick.” Amir stared at the six-chambered demon heart. “Can you make a fake one?”

“Yeah. I’m waiting until the end, though. It set me back on my schedule.”

“Do you need any help? You know I’m not squeamish.”

“Is that why you’re sneaking around?” Ryou smiled. “You wanted to get blood on your hands?”

“Of course.” Amir grinned. “And get a sneak peak before the dress rehearsal.”

“I saw your costume. You’ll make quite the horrifying killer.”

Amir licked his lips and winked at Ryou. He normally didn’t hang around the theater nerds, but when Ryou told him they were doing a horror production for Halloween, the temptation was too luscious for him to resist, and he’d been cast as the killer the day after his audition. Ryou always designed the props for the plays, but this time he hadn’t shown up for game nights the past two weeks, so Amir decided to seek him out.

“Actually, if you really want to help, I was about to add some clear coat to this crate of organs. They need multiple coats each so they look wet when the stage lights hit them.”

“I am at your service.” Amir bowed.

“Oh no, you’re starting to act like an actor,” Ryou teased.

“Nah. The theater nerds are way more dramatic than I am.” Amir laughed.

He pulled a chair up beside Ryou and grabbed a brush. They used a small fan to pull the fumes away and covered their mouths with paper masks. After painting one coat onto the organs, they splattered blood on a pile of old clothes. Then they added a second coat to the kidneys, hearts, and spleens before Ryou wiped the sweat from his forehead and sighed.

“I think I’m done for the night. What time is it?”

“1 AM.”

“Oh no. I’ve kept you up more than half the night.”

“I wanted to help.”

“Well...I appreciate it.” Ryou’s cheeks tinted pink. They turned off the lights and walked out of the prop room together.

“Meet back here tomorrow after classes?” Amir grinned.

“I don’t want to take up all your free time.” Ryou shook his head.

“Are you kidding me? This is my idea of a dream date.”

“Oh? Was this a date?” Ryou twisted a loose strand of hair as he dug his toe into the linoleum of the hallway.

Amir’s palms grew clammy, but his mouth was dry. Hiding his nervousness behind a grin, Amir leaned close and lidded his eyes. “Do you want it to be?”

“Hmmm...tempting. I mean, not many guys would help me splatter blood all over clothing for a first date. You might be a keeper.”

“I also give amazing shoulder massages.”

“Is that an offer?” Ryou placed both hands on Amir’s chest, tilting his face and parting his lips.

“Yes.” He leaned in and brushed their lips together. A sigh escaped him because of how sweet Ryou’s mouth felt against his own.

“Then let’s stop and grab a bite to eat.” Ryou play-nipped the bottom of Amir’s lip. “And then we can finish this date by me inviting you into my dorm room for coffee—and shoulder rubs.”

They laced their fingers together and walked hand-in-hand toward the campus food court.

#deathshipping #deathshipping week #can't put it under the cut b/c I'm on my phone #also every time I try to add the link to ao3 tumblr crashes #fuuuuuuck uuuuuu tumblr #long post #fake gore

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nalufever · 6 years

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Naluween, All Treat, No Trick

All the Naluween 2018 prompts assembled into one shot form ^^ with extra bonus omake!

"Boo!"

Lucy looked up from the pile of material she was fashioning into a Halloween costume, narrowing her eyes, she said flatly, "What?"

Happy stood wearing a white sheet, with jagged eyeholes and his paws in the air. Claws out in a threatening manner, he shouted, "Be scared Lushi!"

"Of you? Ha!" Lucy returned her attention to her needlework.

Happy stomped over to Natsu where he reclined on the couch, eating handfuls of popcorn. "Natsu! Lucy's being mean!"

"Hey, buddy, Lucy's too strong to spook so easy!"

"But I'm a scary cat!"

Lucy rolled her eyes. "Loke's got you beat. Natsu, the pumpkins aren't going to carve themselves." Lucy set down her costume and hurried over to Natsu, grabbing the last bit of popcorn before he could. She tossed it in her mouth and chewed with enjoyment. "You insisted on getting all these and they're so big - I want them out of my apartment and standing guard on the door."

"I was waiting for you to be free," whined Natsu, "you're so good at creative stuff." He pouted his best efforts at Lucy. "And maybe Cancer can help with the cutting."

"I knew it. Natsu, you're not weaseling out!" Lucy crossed her arms and let out an annoyed sigh. "I need you to carve the pumpkins now so I can get the candy ready."

Stomach rumbling loudly, Natsu smiled. "That's a lot of candy. Lemme help so I can eat some too! You'll get a stomach-ache if you don't share."

Happy thrust his ghost costume at Lucy. "Extra bleach, extra starch!"

"Excuse me?" Lucy rubbed her forehead - her headache was on the verge of becoming a migraine. Eyes flashing dangerously, Lucy pointed at Happy. "Do your own laundry." She looked at Natsu. "Get more candy and I'll share. And you, Happy. Get...out." Lucy held up her hand to forestall any whining. "Leave while the getting is good."

Happy let his eyes go big, shiny with crocodile tears. "But what about my laundry?"

Natsu snorted as Lucy took the white sheet and pitched it, smacking Happy in the face. He loud-whispered, "Buddy, Lisanna will do it for you."

"She at least loves me." Happy gave Lucy a glare, lifting his nose in the air.

"C'mon Happy, let's buy some candy!" Natsu jumped up and ran to the door. "Or else the kids get nothing when they say, 'trick-or-treat'!"

Carrying bags full of candy, Natsu and Happy took an alley short-cut on the way back to Lucy's apartment.

"N-n-natsu! We're lost!" Happy shivered as he whipped his head left and right - wisps of fog curled around his feet. "Since when was there a cemetery here?"

"Buddy, there aren't any cemeteries near Lucy's place! Don't ask me why, but I looked into it - and there aren't any."

The fog lifted and revealed tombstones, churned earth and corpses.

Agnes and Phyllis continued to decorate their front yard and laughed as the young man and his cat ran away screaming.

Natsu and Happy burst through Lucy's window and started to drag the couch to the window - with Lucy on it.

"What crazy spell are you two under?"

Natsu stumbled to Lucy and clapped trembling hands on her shoulders. "We found tombstones and dead bodies!"

Happy grunted as he tried to haul the couch by himself. "We gotta barricade so zombies don't get us!"

Lucy broke into hysterical laughter and shook her head. "Near the Blackberry short-cut?"

Snot ran from Happy's nose and Natsu didn't look so brave either; they nodded.

"You dorks, Agnes and Phyllis always decorate for Halloween."

"Oh." Happy and Natsu looked at each other. Embarrassed, they began to whistle and shove the couch back to its proper place.

"Humph." Lucy decided to ignore their foolishness. "Let's get to bagging the candy and then everybody carves the pumpkins."

Natsu upended the bags of candy onto the coffee table. "Yosh! Lookit our great loot!"

"Hot tamales? Spicy lollipops? Habanero jelly beans? Ghost pepper flavoured pop rocks?" As Lucy sorted through the candy, her voice got louder and louder, her face scrunching into a deadly frown.

Happy shivered dramatically. "Oh-oh Natsu - Lucy's some kind of candy snob monster!"

"Tell me you got at least some normal candy, Natsu." Lucy took a deep breath and let it out slowly, glaring at Happy who wisely stayed silent. "I can't hand out treats that could hurt little kids!"

"I know that!" Natsu grinned. "This is candy for me!"

Rubbing her forehead, Lucy tried to explain her disappointment. "Natsu, I sent you out to replace the candy I knew you'd eat as we made treat bags." To herself, Lucy muttered, "If only I had a crystal ball, I would've seen this coming…"

"All this is so I don't eat the other candy."

"Oh." Lucy slumped. "Sorry, Natsu."

"What about me?" Happy jumped around and clapped his paws. "I'll forgive you once you wash my costume! Don't forget the extra starch!"

"What?!"

"Buddy, I can hear Charle calling you."

"I gotta go!" Happy flew out the window.

"I'm sorry -"

"Don't worry about it. I'm always eating your food, so I understand." Natsu pointed to the sacks of candy that Happy had brought. "Those are regular Halloween candies."

"Ugh! I've acted like a real witch." Lucy wrung her hands. "How can I make it up to you?"

Natsu winked. "I have an idea."

><><Omake><><

Lucy shyly asked, "Um, what did you have in mind?" as she twirled her hair around her finger. "Whatever you want - name it."

"Can you call Virgo right now then?"

Lucy's growing smile died. "Sure. Do you need her to dig something up?"

"What?" Natsu lifted the costume Lucy had spent so many long hours lovingly crafting. He held it in front of his body like he was modeling. "I'd look great in this or a guy's version."

"Oh!" Lucy brightened and clapped her hands. "You want Virgo to make you a set of spirit clothes!"

"Yeah, but not just yet." Natsu carefully set down Lucy's Halloween outfit and turned to face his best friend. "I want a special Halloween treat - no trick."

"Candy? Fire chicken? A nap in my bed?" Lucy couldn't stop the bitter tone in her voice. "You want Cancer to carve all the pumpkins?"

"Nope." Natsu hugged Lucy and whispered into her ear, "I want to have whatever you want me to have - it's up to you."

"Me?" Lucy shivered. "I d-don't know what you're talking about."

Natsu squeezed Lucy again before letting go, sitting on the couch and patting the spot beside him. "It would be easier to show you than explain, but you need to sit and relax. I'm not gonna bite you."

Lucy blushed and did as bid - Natsu's grin was making her stomach do flips. She turned to face him, hands firmly on her knees. "Okay, what're you talking about?"

"The whole point is I'm not good with words," said Natsu, "not as good as you are, but there is one thing I understand. How you make me feel." Natsu paused and set his hands overtop Lucy's. "Happy, excited and confused at times, but always better when we're together." Heat surged under Natsu's skin; his nerves steadied and he forced his flames back into slumber.

"I like being with you too." Lucy licked suddenly dry lips. Her breath caught in her throat as she tracked Natsu's eyes focusing on her mouth. "A lot." Admitting how much she cared was scary but exhilarating. And watching Natsu lean closer was speeding the flips in her stomach.

His eyes flicked from her lips to her eyes. Natsu inched towards Lucy. "I don't know how to say what I want all pretty, so I'm gonna muddle and make mistakes, but I want you to know I'm trying my best."

"You always do, Natsu." Lucy angled her head and let herself lean towards Natsu. "You don't need to change who you are or what you're like for me. So go ahead and show me what you meant."

"You sure?"

"Yeah." Lucy read hesitation in Natsu's eyes - a hesitation that cleared into determination.

Natsu kissed Lucy, a slow and careful brush of lips on lips. He pulled back the slightest amount and said, "Lucy, I really -"

Lucy surged into the gap and kissed Natsu, pouring all the passion she felt into the kiss. "Natsu, I really -"

"Want to kiss more?"

Lucy blushed and nodded, her hands caressing his chest. "Hells, yeah."

Tagging @indayiashow @ravendaydream @petri808 for your interest in the omake ^^ and @impracticaldemon @hidetheremote @sovay-says @themorriganfae

#naluween #naluween2018 #all prompts #fairy tail #nalu #natsu #lucy #Natsu x Lucy #Halloween #Halloween fun #one shot

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