#Doug Flicker

[bettyweir]

[charlottecutepie]

Now that you’ve watched Animal room, maybe a Doug x Reader? maybe public sex or creampie ?

⋆౨ৎ˚ A real animal (Doug Van Housen x fem!reader)

author notes: hey love! so here it is, thank you for the request, it was interesting to write about this character :) although I dont really know how well it turned out, i still doubt it tbh, im so sorry if it sucks, tho i tried harddd….in any case, ill be glad to receive new requests for this character

tags: nsfw, smut, vaginal sex, fingering, thigh fucking, rough sex, possessiveness, fingers sucking, spanking, hair pulling, public sex, unprotected sex, creampie, dubcon, a little praise, degrading, mean!Doug

Doug kisses you like it's the end of the fucking world. He's groaning into your mouth, and his huge hands aren't hugging you at all, no, they're squeezing you as if he intentionally wants to break your bones. To break you not only as a person, but also as a body. Your bones, your skin, every hair on your body, every cell in you should belong to him. Doug Van Housen hates and loves you, and his every action is imbued with this poisonous and caustic mixture of madness. You seem to like that you are tightly pressed between a cold wall and his hot body, but at the same time you're afraid of what comes out of his mouth, you knew that he was far from a sweet and gentle person, you knew what you were going for, according to Doug himself.

“My fucking slut,” he growls into your neck and makes forward movements, rubbing against you. There's a lump in your throat and blood froze in your veins, you didn't expect that you'd be fucked right in this corridor, right fucking now. You wanted to invite him to your place, well . . . to watch a movie first, and then lie down and cuddle. But don't you know Doug? It's just not about him. If you dream of such an affair, then why are you dating someone as him? Doug's madly amused by you. Are you really that silly? “I'm gonna ruin you.”

“Just wait—” you can't stay still, putting your dignity at such risk, damn it. You cling to his shoulders and look into his eyes, trying to find at least some echoes of common sense. However does it make sense to look for it in a man like Doug? “Fuck, Doug, enough!”

Looking at your desperate plea, amusement flickers across his eyes. The hallway filled with the echo of your words as he pulls away slightly, raising his eyebrows. He laughs. “Someone is too cocky. Don't worry, I'll fuck this arrogance out of you. Or what? You don't like me anymore?” Doug grasps you by your hips tightly, slowly grinding into you as he nips softly at your neck. “You must have a fucking adrenaline rush, baby. I don't think you'll be as brave in a few minutes.”

“Uggh—” you groan almost in pain as he bites on your skin. “Can we at least do this at home?” you try to keep your voice quite, but Doug doesn't give a fuck so he makes a damn loud moan when you pull his black hair. You definitely don't expect this so you quickly let him go and glance at his face for signs of pain. There is silence for a second. Doug looks at you with his mouth open and breathes heavily, and then bursts into laughter.

“Was that supposed to stop me?” you stare at him wide-eyed as his laughter reverberates around. “Look, sweetie, I won’t care if we fuck in a pool of acid. The only thing I care about is claiming what’s mine. . . You're going to take me any way possible until there's not a drop of your fucking arrogance left inside you.” his lips descend upon yours fiercely; they consume your mouth entirely while he tangles one hand in your hair and grasps your hip harder. It all feels so animalistic, so brutal that it scares and excites you at once — two emotions mixing into an insatiable hunger for more from this twisted game between you two.

You're barely recovering from his rough kiss, your lips are flushed, as are your cheeks. “Doug. . .” you don't really know what you're saying, you just want to repeat his name over and over like a damn prayer. “Doug, Doug, Doug—” you whisper as he can't get enough of your neck, kissing every inch, although it's more like he's devouring you like an animal. His hands find your ass and squeeze it roughly through your clothes, which responds with a reddening of the skin and your sharp sigh.

“Oww, what a pathetic sight,” he taunts you when his fingers finally get under your clothes, pulling them down to your knees with impatient jerks, leaving you in only your panties. Before you can say anything, his finger makes its way to the sweetest spot between your legs. Doug rubs your pussy through your underwear and, feeling how wet you are, sighs contentedly and smiles, baring his teeth. “So fucking wet, look what I've done to you.” he pulls your soaked panties to the side and slips one finger inside you. So fucking slow and gentle, all the time staring into your eyes, just to tease and mock you. It's just one finger, but you can already feel your knees getting weak. “Don't faint, pretty, stay with me, yeah?” Doug hums in approval as your pussy clenches around his finger — a clear signal that his girl is desperate for more.

“Please. . .” you feel so weak to him.

He watches your pleading expression and raises an eyebrow. “More?” he asks, smirking as his second finger joins the first inside you. He starts pumping slowly while rubbing your clit in rapid circles with his thumb. Your hips jerk forward desperately and your lips part in deep sighs. Seeing you begging him like a desperate little slut makes him proud. “Pathetic, ain't you?” when you just get used to his two fingers, he abruptly plunges them even deeper into you. You gasp loudly, clinging on Doug for support as you nearly fall.

“Ohh—! No, fuck, that's—”

“Too much?”

“Yes, t—too rough, wait!” his smile broadens at that. And. . . Then he pulls back suddenly, leaving you panting heavily, your legs trembling.

“You taste heavenly,” he slides his wet fingers into his mouth as he savors your taste, watching your embarrassed face. “take off my fucking belt, baby,” he tells you before pushing two of them against your entrance once more, this time fingerfucking you faster. You don't know what to do, your body doesn't obey, while Doug roughly fingers you, tearing incoherent moans out of you. You try to grab his belt, but his fingers are moving inside you so fast that your hands are shaking. “i said take off my fucking belt.”

He knows you're about to cum as your pussy clenching around his fingers, but he doesn't let you, instead he slows down so you can finally take off his belt. You sigh and Doug takes his fingers out of you, which makes you look at him in shock, brows raised and eyes wide.

“Bu—!” he pulls your panties down and slips his painfully hard cock between your thighs, your soft skin making him groan loudly.

“Mhhm— You feel so fuckin' good, doll,” Doug thrusts forward, rubbing his dick between your damp folds. His length sweetly slides against your slit, every inch of it coated with your wetness. “my good fucking girl.” he wraps one arm around your waist and pulls you closer, not letting you fall.

His hips rock against you in a fast, sinful motion, teasing your cunt with the tip of his cock. He lets out a low groan, his shaft sliding across your folds and over your clit. “Ahhnn— ohh, im close!” you can’t help but whimper softly, you cling to him, fingers curling into fists at his shoulder, hips rolling instinctively with each slide of his dick through your wet folds.

“Cum for me.” Doug fucks your thighs faster, hitting your sensitive nub repeatedly. His breathing deepens as he thrusts harder between your thighs, spreading your wetness around his cock. “My little slut. . .” he hides his face in your hair. “cum for me.” he demands, you feel the delicious tension building in your belly, spreading through your core until it becomes all-consuming. Your whimper as you grind against him helplessly, your hole clenching around nothing.

When his tip slides over your little aching clit, that makes you shudder, a loud moan escaping your lips as you finish. You nearly scream, but your sounds muffled by Doug's chest.

“Good girl.” he praises you. “now I'm going to fuck your brains out and claim this little pussy.” Doug doesn't waste any time to prove his promises. With a ruthless determination, he flips you around, your face against wall. You gasp in surprise, your eyes widening as his dick presses urgently against your entrance. “Thaat's it, you stupid little girl.”

Doug slips inside you, bending his knees to be on a level with your ear and breathing loudly into it, mumbling what a tight cunt you have. You don't want to admit it, but his cock feels perfect. And although his sharp and rough thrusts hurt you, because he immediately began to push into your warmth, you find yourself enjoying this. You're still sensitive after orgasm, but it's only to his advantage as he moves his hips, driving his cock deeper.

”Fuck—fuck! Slow down, ohh” you yelp as he rails your pussy, he doesn't give a fuck that it does hurt you, just like he doesn't give a fuck if anyone sees you. The sounds of skin slapping wildly arouse you, as well as the fact that he's manhandling you and uses you the way he wants makes your legs buckle. “Hahhh, Doug!”

“I won't, you feel too good.” he groans, fucking you harder. “Ughh, you know you want this, your cunt ruined and filled with my cum, yeah?” he growls, feeling your walls tightly squeeze his cock. “Yeah?” he repeats in his mocking manner.

You don't answer his question, so his hand lays down on your ass, and a loud smack echoes down the hallway. “Y—yes! Yes, please, Doug!” you cry out.

Doug grabs a handful of your hair, yanking your head back so your eyes meet his. “Stupid brainless doll made just for my cock.” his heart beat like crazy, feeling your tight and wet pussy wrapping around his shaft as you take him. He pumps deeper into you with every thrust and reaches forward, he slams one hand against the wall beside your head. “You're mine, all mine.” he murmurs, looking down where your ass meets his hips, smile faded from his face. Your whines and moans sounds way too pretty and broken, your eyes burst with tears.

“Hnnhg. . . Slow down!” you tell him like he cares, like he's going to stop. “Doougg”

Your head fuzzy as you feel his cock reaching way really too deep, where you almost feel him in your guts. Doug ignores your words and pleas, knocking the air out of your lungs with his rough pace. He feels you on a completely different level, not only because he's balls deep inside you, he feels the madness that covers his eyes like a veil. Hatred, anger and arousal merged together.  And your “ohhh god, Dougg!” which slips from your lips only inflames him even more.

“My pretty slut, my little girl, mine, fuuuck, just like that,” Doug's lost just like you, fucking you like an animal, a crazy one. “Thank me, thank me for fucking you.” after these words, he puts his long fingers in your mouth, as if trying to pull out your tongue. They penetrate so deeply that you feel sick. He runs his fingers over your mouth, wetting  them in your saliva. You're almost suffocating.

“Thh. . . Nkkk—” that fucking bastard, you know why he's doing this. He wants you to realize what a helpless, pathetic, but wonderful little ragdoll you are. If his dick wasn't pounding your dripping pussy right now, you'd definitely slap him in the face for it. “Aankkk yo— Ahh! Ouhh”

He chuckles, literally fucking your mouth with his fingers as he hears your babbling. “What was that? Didn't hear you.” you want to cry hysterically, want to bite off his fucking fingers. But his voice is so hot, so damn beautiful. Even though he tries to sound normal, you still catch these little groans and breaths, his voice shaking. And it only makes you wetter. “Hard to talk with your mouth full, baby?”

He takes his fingers out of your mouth, all in your drool, and you almost calm down, but then you arch your back and yelp when you feel them touching your little clit. He rubs your bundle in tight circles, what makes your cunt throb around him. “Fuck, thank— Thank you! Thank you, Doug—” you're moaning so loudly that your throat is already dry.

“Mhmm, such a good girl, that's it,” he cooes, grunting. “so fucking good for me. A slut who needs nothing but my cock.” your chest rises and falls from increased breaths, blood running hot, a mess he loves to see.

He lost his sanity a long time ago and therefore does the same thing to you, making your brains melt as if under the scorching sun. You don't feel yourself, you only feel Doug, everywhere, in your pussy and in your subconscious, your brain and your heart. You even forgot that you're in this fucking hallway.

“Wanna feel you cum all over my cock, pretty.” he leans closer to you, his fingers never stopping rubbing your clit. He brushes his lips against your neck, sliding his tongue on your fresh hickeys and bite marks.

“I'm gonna c—cum, ohh,” before you know what's going on, your body shaking and you feel like you're already falling. Although this would have happened if Doug's hands hadn't been holding you all this time. You cum hard and he follows, burying himself even deeper inside of you as he grits his teeth and groans, his seed spills inside you in thick ropes as your pussy greedily milks him dry. He breathes heavily and moves his hips, fucking you much more slowly to make sure that every drop of him fills you, you moan as you feel his cock twitching inside you.

Doug doesn't take his hands off you, holding you possessively still. But he notices that you're trembling, and his grip soon loosens as he puts his hands on your waist. He kisses your neck, whispering something.

A pair of eyes looked at you two from the darkness of the corridor, and their owner took a deep breath.

[fountainpenguin]

"Though we both know one day there'll be blood on the floor... but which one will betray the other more?" (x)

New Fairly OddParents 'fic today!

Rated T - 6,900 words

50 Words of Dale and Vicky

📖 Read on FFN || Read on AO3

🌃 City Lights AU

✨ More Fairly OddParents 'fics

🎲 Randomlists.com's 50-word generator

50 scene snippets about two inseparable BFFs and a string of bad decisions. Predates lemon pit torture.

OR, Dale and Vicky were friends when they were kids.

(First 5 prompts under the cut)

50 Words of Dale and Vicky Friday August 14th, 1992 - Friday April 14th, 1995 Summer of the Pink Star - Spring of the Small Sunflower

1. Balance

Even Dad raised an eyebrow at the redhead who took the mutton bustin' like a piece of sticky tape. The sheep charged through the Dimmsdale Dimmadome's mucky arena, the girl thumping up and down on its back. With every second she clung, the crowd surged higher and higher with excitement- cheering already! Did she sew her sleeves to its wool or something? 6-year-old Dale, safe behind the chute fence, braced his arms a little straighter; craned his neck a little higher.

"Whoa… She's cruisin' like a roadrunner."

One flump of a small body later, the little girl went tumbling through the muck. But she won, of course (and scored the traditional belt buckle emblem plus a set of 4 family tickets to Wave 'N Rage to prove it). The girl cheered into Dad's microphone and jumped up and down. Watching some black-haired woman and a redheaded guy (who must be her two parents) fawn over her, Dale had to wonder… if she had any siblings.

That was wicked…

Her name was Vicky Aingeal. And he was about to be the best friend she never asked for.

2. Cattle

The next time he saw her, it was at the state fair. The scruffy scarlet ponytail hadn't changed. She wolfed down a funnel cake at a table, her parents to either side (and sharing their own). Powdered sugar smeared her lips and fingers. That stuff had to be so greasy… but it looked delicious. Dale, who had already been a Bright Young Man and a Very Well-Behaved Good Boy (semi-interchangeably) for the past 5 minutes while his dad talked about cows and bovine and steer and heifers with Mr. So-'N-So (Cue laughter; they were friends), decided he'd finished standing in the hot sun, bouncing on his toes. He darted his gaze between Vicky and the back of his dad's head. Another 20 seconds flickered by. This time, Dale's stomach even growled. And if that wasn't a sign, what was?

"Dad-"

Dad didn't stop talking, but he did move his hand to Dale's shoulder and gave a quiet squeeze. Not now, said the gesture, so Dale went quiet. He played with the big brim of his hat, staring at Vicky and her funnel cake until she stopped eating and raised her head. Their eyes flicked across each other. Dale jumped and glanced away. Back to the cattle. The Dimmadomes showed fat and healthy cows every year at… the cow-showing event. "Open dairy," Dad called it with his friends (SO awesome; all fancy). Dale never remembered the name except this time of year, but he definitely knew cows.

"Dad," Dale tried again. But dad kept talking, squeezing his arm again, so Dale went quiet for real and softly picked at his nose. The grown-ups talked cows, milk, and hormones… And when that all wrapped up, Doug scooped him up and set him on his hip in one shwoop.

"Now, what's all the fuss, son? What's got your knickknack paddy whacking?"

"Dad, I want a funnel cake."

Doug Dimmadome (owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome) threw an unreadable glance at the table where Vicky and her parents ate. It might've been unreadable because Dale was only 6. "Too risky, kiddo. It's probably got dairy. Now come on, son- You wanna lead the herd with me?"

3. Instrument

"Huh," was the first thing Vicky said when she came across the refrigerated butter sculpture. Seriously? Three giant cows playing in a band? "Pretty weird." It was a huge amount of butter and that was kinda impressive all in all, but… did it serve any purpose? It wouldn't last. Who would want to keep that thing cold for months? Even winter wouldn't get cold enough to not melt it. She looked for a price tag, a card- anything that indicated it might be for sale. Was this thing just donated? Free of charge? I wouldn't want it either, but that feels like a waste. I'm sure SOMEONE would buy it. Some kind of stupid, rich…

She was still there, leaning so close to the clear case, her nose could've touched the nearest instrument, when someone tapped her shoulder. She yelped, hit the case (with her face), and spun around. "Who-? … Oh." That weird kid who'd been staring at her while she ate lunch. When Vicky blinked at him, he pushed the brim of his big hat up with one thumb. He even smiled.

"I saw you at the mutton bustin'."

"The what?"

"You rode the sheep? Most people don't stay on that long."

"Oh, yeah. That sheep was a loser."

The kid blinked, like he actually cared about some random sheep's feelings or something. Honestly, with a name like mutton bustin', whoever was in charge of that thing probably cooked it up and ate it by now. "Well," said the kid, pretty slow on the word. He put out his hand. "I'm Dale… Donovan. And you're Vicky, right?"

"Uh, are you following me?"

4. Sheet

He showed her the chicken tent, the pigs, and the cattle (with their parents trailing behind, of course- Dad had a lot of business to talk and Vicky's parents didn't seem to mind he was there, even if Vicky still gave him weird sideways looks like she couldn't decide just what to make of him). But little by little… those shoulders that looked like tall fenceposts started coming down like a gate sinking underwater.

Then he showed her something super interesting over her shoulder while he tore down the sheet with the name Dimmadome scrawled across it. Look… Is it so wrong to want a friend who likes you without asking about your dad getting rich?

He ignored the confused looks the cows shot him as he bunched the paper in his hand.

5. Resonant

Y'know what? There was something REALLY funny about watching the awkward kid jump about 10 feet in the air (skeleton practically leaping from his skin) when a piercing whistle carried through the air.

"Th-that's my dad," Dale stuttered. "I have to go. Um. 'Bye."

Huh. So, did he not like to add the 'good' in 'good-bye' either? Maybe he's more self-aware of the crushing weight of existence than I thought. Not the worst quality in a friend.

Read on FFN || Read on AO3

[alphawolfstabs]

[Everyone Blame Cleav3rrr for this idea guys. It’s totally his fault-]

Imagine Doug Van Housen meeting Billy Loomis..

This will be something like- Billy being in the Animal Room timeline suddenly, and he’s meeting Doug and it’s hhhh

Anyways

——

Title: The Vexation

Word count: 2648 Rating: Mature? CW: knives, blood, fighting

____

Billy's awakening was accompanied by a relentless pounding in his head, one of the most excruciating pains he had ever experienced. The throbbing beat against his skull, rendering even the slightest movement a daunting task.

His entire body seemed to be in agony, and the awareness of this discomfort hit him almost immediately. Everything hurt, and the pain in his head took center stage, amplifying his irritation. Slowly, he rolled over onto his side, his eyes barely opening. Something felt amiss. Something was undeniably wrong.

With a sudden jolt, he sat up, a hand instinctively clutching his head as a surge of pain swept through him. The room he found himself in was alien, a stark contrast to the familiarity of his own space. Taking in his surroundings, he noted every detail that distinguished this room from his own. It was different—disconcertingly so.

As he rose from the bed, a distinct thud resonated on the floor. Glancing down, he discovered his knife, the trusty switchblade that Stu had gifted him. Stu. The mere thought of his friend intensified the disorientation. Where was Stu? Did he exist in this unfamiliar realm?

Picking up the knife, Billy set it on what appeared to be his dresser, contemplating the mysterious circumstances of his surroundings and the conspicuous absence of Stu. The room held a strange atmosphere, and Billy couldn't shake the feeling that something profound had shifted.

Billy felt a wave of nausea threatening to overcome him as he sluggishly moved around the unfamiliar room. He needed to find some sense of normalcy, something grounding. Spotting a plain t-shirt and jeans, he hastily threw them on, trying to shake off the unsettling feeling that lingered in his gut. Where the hell was he?

Once dressed, he instinctively pocketed his trusty knife in the front pocket, a small yet familiar comfort in this disorienting situation. Memories leading up to this point were a blur, leaving him with a disconcerting sense of amnesia. All he knew for certain was that this place was a far cry from his usual surroundings.

Descending the stairs, he noted the eerie emptiness of the house. A heavy quietness hung in the air, casting a somber mood. His eyes fell on a note resting on the kitchen counter, and he carefully picked it up. The message, 'don't forget to go to the animal room today,' stared back at him, devoid of any signature. A vague recognition flickered in his mind, suggesting that the handwriting resembled his father's. Yet, the idea of his parents being present in this strange place seemed implausible.

His thoughts raced, and the nagging question kept piercing through the confusion: Where the fuck was Stu?

Frustration boiled within him, and he crumpled the note before tossing it aside. What the hell was happening? The uncertainty gnawed at him, leaving him with more questions than answers.

A curse escaped Billy's lips as he stepped outside, a strange compulsion tugging at his stomach, urging him forward. It felt like an instinct, a force guiding him through the unfamiliar surroundings. Succumbing to this unseen pull, he followed it, his senses heightened by an odd sense of purpose.

Upon arriving at the school, two distinct observations struck him. First, this place was vastly different from Woodsboro. The architecture, the atmosphere—all of it bore no resemblance to the familiar surroundings he knew. The second observation concerned a tall figure surrounded by several guys and one other individual.

Dressed in dark clothes with equally dark hair, the tall figure's face caught Billy's attention. It was an uncanny resemblance to Stu, yet something was amiss. This person exuded a deranged aura, a darkness that Billy couldn't associate with the Stu he knew. The observation unsettled him, but rather than approaching closer, Billy chose to keep a distance, at least for the time being. There was an air of caution, a hesitation to delve into the unknown.

Billy surveyed the unfamiliar surroundings before deciding to enter the building. Although he couldn't recall ever being here, an inexplicable knowledge guided him, directing his steps. A subtle internal voice suggested that he didn't have to be here yet, but an insatiable curiosity compelled him forward. He wanted to see, to understand, and to meticulously note every detail.

Navigating through the hallways, he encountered an anarchy symbol on the wall, triggering a vague sense of déjà vu. It was as if he belonged here, and that feeling only intensified when he noticed a guy dozing off in a chair. Rolling his eyes, Billy descended into what seemed to be a basement, a place that, on the surface, appeared to be a hellhole designed to isolate certain individuals.

To his surprise, the atmosphere down there exuded an eerie sense of normalcy. It was a paradoxical thought—how could a place that seemed like a hellhole feel so commonplace?

As he explored further, another striking realization dawned on him: Stu didn't exist in this strange realm. Instead, the mysterious guy from earlier was present. Intrigued, Billy felt an urge to learn more about him, to unravel the enigma surrounding this unfamiliar counterpart. It was a necessity, a gut feeling urging him to comprehend the dynamics of this peculiar place.

Billy's fingers traced over the surface of one of the desks, and he decided to claim a seat. His legs stretched out, ankles crossing, and a semblance of relaxation settled over him. Several minutes passed, and more people filtered into the room, none of them paying any attention to him. That sense of anonymity pleased him.

He observed the dark-haired figure, one of his companions addressing him as 'Van Housen' while another simply called him Doug. Doug Van Housen. The absurdity of the name almost tempted Billy to snort, but he restrained himself, biting his tongue.

The room buzzed with the flickering light of a TV as someone switched it on, broadcasting something that failed to pique Billy's interest. Instead, his focus honed in on Housen, and he meticulously noted every detail—the shoes chosen for added height, the clothing, and the palpable irritation emanating from him.

Though Housen appeared to radiate a dangerous aura, Billy's instincts were driven by a desire to prod, poke, and unravel the enigma before him. He wanted to see what made Housen tick, to uncover the reasons behind his seemingly menacing presence. It wasn't about fear; it was about understanding, peeling back the layers to reveal the truth about this mysterious figure who bore an uncanny resemblance to his boy- his.. friend.

Billy contemplated the idea that he could easily kick the leg of Housen's chair to gain attention, but for the moment, it felt unnecessary. As conversations unfolded around him, Billy remained observant, catching shadows moving behind the door labeled as the exit. He recalled the guy asleep in the chair and speculated that there might be more of them, silently watching.

An uneasy feeling settled in Billy's stomach as the alarm bells rang in his head. The notion of being watched by unseen observers didn't sit well with him.

Amidst the ongoing chatter, Housen's voice carried irritation and impatience. Everyone continued talking, seemingly oblivious to the potential danger lurking behind the door. Billy's attention shifted back to the shadows moving again.

When he saw Housen's hands inch toward the desk, Billy was quick as he stood and reached over and grabbed his shoulder, his voice low and meant for Housen alone. "Not yet. They're waiting, just for you. Wouldn't want them to actually have a reason to mess with you today, would you?" A sly smile played on Billy's lips as he touched a mark on Housen's jaw. "Especially not after this."

Tension gripped Housen under Billy's grip, but as he met Billy's gaze, a fiery determination burned behind his eyes. Billy reveled in the intensity, wanting to stoke that flame.

"What?" Housen retorted in a hushed tone.

Billy motioned toward the door. "The shadows under the door. They move whenever you speak even remotely too loud. They're waiting for you to do something."

Housen blinked, swatting away Billy's hand, but the fire in his eyes seemed to dwindle. He glanced at Billy, then at the guy beside him, commanding, "Beat it." The way he spoke had an immediate and powerful effect, causing everyone to stop. It made Billy twitch, craving more. Housen patted the chair after the guy left, and Billy sat down, anticipating the unfolding dynamics of this peculiar place.

Billy wasn't in the business of making friends, especially not with someone who wasn't Stu. Nevertheless, this guy intrigued him in a peculiar way.

Housen directed a question at him, his tone probing. "What are you here for?"

Billy casually lolled his head to the side, feigning disinterest as his gaze rested on the TV. "Secrets, secrets," he replied nonchalantly.

Housen emitted a noise of acknowledgment, turning his attention back to the TV. The room resumed its chatter, eyes off the two of them. "Why does everyone look at you like you're a threat?" Billy inquired, seeking answers.

Housen shot him a scowl this time. "What was it you said just now? Secrets, secrets?"

Housen sighed after that, seemingly only a willing to share. "Most people don't live; they exist. Yet, I've shown people what living is."

Billy snorted at the analogy. "What a dumb fucking analogy."

A sizzle of irritation began to form in Housen's gaze. "What?"

Billy grinned mischievously. "'Oh, people exist, they don't live!' Come on, man. Be more creative than that." The exchange was laced with a peculiar blend of tension and amusement, as Billy continued to toy with the mysterious Doug Van Housen.

Housen blinked at Billy, a subtle acknowledgment of the inevitable irritation that lay ahead. "Well, you're obviously going to get on my nerves."

Billy rolled his eyes. "Could say the same about you. What's with the fucking clothes, by the way?"

Housen looked at him again. "Style," he answered, the word delivered with an air of simplicity. The response tempted Billy to snort, but he managed to restrain himself this time.

Billy sensed that he wouldn't particularly like this character, yet there was an undeniable allure in the challenge of trying to unravel him. It promised a momentary diversion, a puzzle to solve in the peculiar environment they found themselves in. The dynamic between Billy and Housen, though laced with tension, held the promise of an intriguing dance of personalities.

__

As a day or so passed, Billy continued to navigate the intricate undercurrents of the peculiar environment surrounding him. One noteworthy observation concerned Housen's peculiar fixation on a particular individual—someone named 'Arnie Mosk.' Arnie seemed like an ordinary kid, grappling with everyday issues, perhaps even a drug problem. However, for reasons unknown, Housen harbored a distinct issue with him.

One day, Billy happened to be passing by the bathroom just as Housen and his entourage emerged, a few of them sharing hearty laughs as if they'd just witnessed something uproariously funny. What caught Billy's attention, though, was the unsettling look in Housen's eyes as they briefly scanned over his face. The glance was devoid of anything good.

Deciding to investigate further, Billy entered the bathroom and found Arnie on the floor, his face soaked with vomit. Sighing, Billy approached, offering assistance. He urged Arnie to report Housen's actions. When Arnie questioned him, Billy skillfully shut down the inquiry with an easygoing demeanor.

Now, the time had come for Billy to address Housen and the unsettling dynamic he seemed to harbor.

Billy positioned himself in the hallway, strategically near a classroom not currently in session. Hidden from view unless one approached closely, he readied himself for what he intended to do.

Taking out his switchblade, he deftly opened it, using the blade to clean dirt from under his nails. The minutes ticked by, and then the unmistakable sound of boots approached—Housen's boots. Billy heard the slam of a body against a locker, confirming that Arnie was the unfortunate target.

Billy shifted his grip on the knife handle and stepped out from his concealed position, moving carefully to avoid triggering Housen's awareness. Uninterested in the exchange of words, he acted swiftly, lunging forward. A firm hand clamped around Housen's head, covering his mouth, while the other pressed threateningly against his neck.

"Don't try anything. I'll make sure you bleed out right now," Billy hissed, low and menacing. He then directed a gaze toward Arnie. "Go, and don't say anything." Arnie blinked for a moment before swiftly making his exit.

Billy emitted a primal noise before issuing a directive. "Let's chat in a more private area." A forceful kick to Housen's foot set him in motion, and Billy guided him toward the bathroom, preparing for the private confrontation that lay ahead.

In the confined space of the bathroom, Billy wasted no time asserting dominance. He forcefully shoved Housen, relishing the satisfying thud as his face collided with the stall. A smirk played on Billy's lips as he scratched his head with the butt of the knife.

"You know," he began, the mockery evident in his tone, "I knew you were insane. What I didn't know was that you seem to move without reason."

Housen touched his nose, inspecting the blood on his fingers before locking eyes with Billy. "You have no idea what you've gotten yourself into."

Billy tilted his head, his smile widening. "You sure?"

Housen took a deep breath and advanced toward Billy. However, Billy, anticipating the move, sidestepped and expertly tripped Housen with a swift kick. He taunted, "Not very good without your little boys, are ya?"

Billy, well-aware of the dynamics within Housen's group, knew that his followers did most, if not all, of the heavy lifting. Housen was more of a barker than a biter.

As Housen lay on the floor, Billy applied pressure with his boot on Housen's back. Bending down, he grabbed a handful of Housen's black hair and pulled, prompting a pained noise. The knife tapped mockingly against Housen's exposed neck.

"Are you living now, Doug Van Housen?" Billy asked, reveling in the role reversal.

Housen emitted a noise akin to a growl. "If you want my blood, then take it, it's yours," he gritted out. His words hung in the air, causing a momentary pause for Billy. It felt like a challenge, an invitation, but also a statement that echoed eerily in his mind. His?

Growling in response, Billy couldn't resist the temptation. He cut a long line into Housen's arm, feeling a surge of aggression. "Don't fucking say that."

"Why not?" Housen breathed out. "Doesn't it make it fun for you?"

"Not at all," Billy retorted, releasing Housen's hair and pushing him to the floor. The desire to inflict further harm waned, replaced by a strange feeling that he couldn't quite define.

As Housen touched his face, he posed a curious question. "How pissed would you get if I said you were like me?"

Billy rolled his eyes. "You'd be a liar if you said that."

"Wouldn't I?" Housen smiled, and the next sequence of events blurred for Billy. Suddenly, Housen was on him, and the knife slid away from both of them.

"You curse someone in your life. As do I. My question is, who is it you curse?" Housen looked down at Billy, and a memory stirred in his mind, prompting a laugh.

"You did not just fucking ask me that. What? Did you read the story of Job and how he never curses God?"

Housen grinned. "You're knowledgeable."

Billy shook his head. "That was an easy fucking guess. What about you? Who do you curse? Mommy or Daddy? Or! Better yet, is it-"

Before Billy could finish his sentence, Housen cut him off with a hard punch to the nose. He felt the warmth of his own blood, and a twisted smile spread across his face, relishing in the sensation.

The room seemed to spin, and Housen's words became distant echoes as Billy's head lolled to the side. His eyes scanned the floor, fixating on the glint of his knife. The instinct to retrieve it surged within him.

In a hazy, almost detached state, he focused on the weapon, his mind tuning out the words that continued to spill from Housen's mouth. The need to reclaim the knife became an urgent, singular thought, overshadowing everything else in the room.

-End for Now!-

[gatorbites-imagines]

The request

“Hey! I think your doing him so if not just ignore this but could I get a Corey Cunningham x male reader we’re the reader is already a slasher and it’s basically like what happened with Michael and him but with the reader instead as well as them ending up in a relationship together?”

Corey Cunningham x Slasher male reader

Headcanons

(This gif makes me go feral omg)

Halloween ends spoilers, don’t want spoilers? Don’t read

Reader replaces Michael in this universe, the reader is still older than Corey just not as much. I might have really embraced the whole, Michael Myers is fear itself in this.

Tw for slasher things, like murder, blood, gore, that kinda stuff

-          Michael Myers still exists in this universe, but he dies before Halloween Kills, and instead if you who take his place. You couldn’t explain why you did it, you just felt like it was your duty to continue where Michael Myers left off.

-          You had been a normal person once, maybe too normal. Normal education, normal family, normal job, normal house. Everything was like… normal. You worked a job that paid not too little but not too much, and you lived alone after finishing university with normal grades.

-          You grew empty and felt nothing. You were empty and hollowed out of everything that made you human. That’s when you hurt yourself on accident. You had sliced a large cut across your palm when making dinner, and the sight of blood had flickered a spark in your chest you thought you had lost.

-          From then on you started hurting yourself just to feel something, and soon that wasn’t enough. You tried to hurt animals, but it didn’t give you the same spark as yourself. That night you killed your first human, and it was like what little was left of your humanity vanished.

  -          You put on a mask you had leftover from last years Halloween, a blank mask that had a shape that reminded you of an owl, sharp at the bottom with large round dark eyes.

-          That Halloween you massacred more people than you could count, and you didn’t care to count in the first place. The action of killing others made you feel alive like you never had before.

-          Your fun was cut short though, when you were attacked by the mob and they beat you, and ripped off your mask. Amongst the crowd of people, you saw your family, who all looked at you in fear and distraught, seeing their son become the cities new boogeyman.

-          You beat you and stabbed you until you could be nothing but dead, and as most people left you rose to your feet once more, killed the few people still there and dragged yourself away, the non-human feeling in your chest spreading throughout your entire body. Slowly you dragged yourself into the sewers and disappeared, your fire subdued as you went to lick your wounds.

-          What you didn’t know during your time in the sewers was that your future partner was born that night, during an accident.

  -          They called you many names, The predator, the Owl, the Bird of Prey. They never used your name, like rejecting to name you removed you from who you once were and made your old self into one of the Owls many victims.

-          Your family left Haddonfield and disappeared, not able to put up with the shame and disgust that was given to them by the rest of the city after what you did.

-          Things continue like the movie, and you end up dragging Corey in the sewers, watching from your crack in the wall as the curly haired man slowly woke up and staggered around. As he staggered past you, you lurched from the shadows and grabbed him by the throat, your hand covering most of his throat as you choked him.

-          Corey looked deeply into the bottomless shadows that were the eyes of your mask, and you saw the fears and deeply buried darkness in him. As you dropped him, he fled, and you felt it when he killed the homeless man, the acting sending a shiver through your body as if you had been the one to do the kill.

  -          It continues like the movie and you both kill Doug, Allyson’s boss, and her coworker. You couldn’t help but feel what must be jealousy whenever Allyson is mentioned, or you kill for her. And as Corey falls further and further into his darkness his attraction to Allyson disappears.

-          Instead, the two of you are drawn more and more together. Instead of stealing your mask, Corey gets your help in killing the bullies who gave him the cut on his hand, whilst Corey wears his own mask, it’s like a higher quality scarecrow mask, more like a sack pulled over his head with dark bottomless eyes and a sewn-on smile.

 -          That Halloween Haddonfield doesn’t go into chaos like the movie, and Laurie and Allyson are left alive. Even the radio guy is still alive. As morning comes the two of you retreat to the sewers for another year, neither of you human enough anymore to need sunlight, food, or water.

-          Down in the darkness of the sewers you and Corey hold each other, your masks pressed together as if your lips could meet through the material. Corey runs his tongue over the inside of his mask, some part of his brain knowing you are doing the same and shivering at the action.

-          In the past you might have removed your masks, but now it didn’t feel right, like taking the mask off was the biggest wrong one could commit in the world.

-          And so, you spent the next year with only each other, in the darkness, hands running all over one another and grabbing and pulling, your masks pressed together in some type of kiss, as you waited.

-          Waited for the next Halloween, where the Owl and the Scarecrow would descend upon Haddonfield once more, and rake in all the sacrifices they wanted before disappearing until the next year once again.

[murderandcoffee]

I need someone else to understand how batshit clawing-at-the-walls-of-my-enclosure insane hera wolf 359 makes me

specifically, her part in episode 11 "am I alone now?"

"[my mind is] outside the station, noticing a small flicker in my periphery. somewhere, 13.7 million light years to the left, the final gasping breath of a star reached us, then went away forever. some days I wonder if I'll miss you after you go away forever, doug."

"there's a beautiful storm outside the window. [...] there's solar winds swirling around the sunspots, leaving streaks of color in their path. it almost looks like brush strokes. I'd tell you about it, doug, but you wouldn't be able to see it. it's all happening on a part of the electromagnetic spectrum that the gelatin in your skull can't process. [...] I'd describe it to you, if I could. but I can't. I don't have the words. you didn't even give me the words."

it makes me cry every time I listen to it

[wildlife4life]

Hi for the wips I wanna ask for true heart and strength in tragedy

True heart is another witch Buck and werewolf Eddie fic, but they are not fireman and Buck is well over 400 years old. The basis of this fic is that Buck's heart remains outside his body and Eddie comes across it and immediately knows it belongs to his true mate. Eddie then spends a fair amount of time trying to court the very old witch, who is doubtful about the whole true mate thing. Here's a snippet:

Bobby’s gaze flickered around the office, taking in the pinned black wolf, the flying papers and crow, and a very terrified Chimney.  Then his eyes landed on the jar that sat on the desk and they went comically large.  “Howard Han what the hell have you done?!” “Can we discuss my ideocracy at a later time?!” Chimney screamed, “Just get Eddie to calm down and stop this damn wind!” Bobby huffed, “The wind is Buck’s doing and you know there is nothing I can do to stop it! As for Eddie.” The older man gave his attention to the snarling wolf, fighting hard to get at the halfling, “Why is he reacting like this?!” “I-I think he’s trying to protect Buck! Or at least Buck’s heart!” Chimney replied pointing at the jar. ‘You took what is mine!’ The wolf snapped in Eddie’s mind as he tried to surge towards Chimney again with all the strength within him. Bobby dragged a hand down his face, frustration and irritation pouring off him, “Apologize! Then give Eddie the damn jar and release him! Buck will be here any minute-“

Strength in Tragedy is an a/b/o verse with a major canon split in season 2 and mpreg Buck. Instead of kidnapping Maddie, Doug is interrupted and escapes alone. Buck and Maddie run away to keep her safe, discovering later on that Buck is pregnant after spending his last heat with Eddie. Doug finds a very pregnant Buck because of Shannon (who lives and moves back in with the Diaz's after Christmas) and kidnaps him. Its very angsty and a little dark, but I do promise a happy ending. Snippet below:

He missed Buck. The need to find him, be near him was becoming overwhelming and recently Shannon was pushing the matter of his very late rut.  They hadn’t had sex in weeks, Eddie was too angry and just didn’t want her touch.  He figured it went both ways, but for a short time now, Shannon had been all over him, convinced that she could get him to go into the primal state. But all Eddie wanted was Buck. His omega, with his crystal blue eyes that Eddie could stare into for hours, soft golden curls he loved to run his fingers through, and strong body that went pliant beneath him with a few soft kisses, even though Eddie knew the omega could easily toss him off. Buck wasn’t his. Eddie told himself repeatedly that he wasn’t, but his inner alpha screamed that he was. That Shannon felt wrong. And he didn’t understand why. Then Eddie opened his door and there stood Maddie. “Doug’s taken Buck and I need your help to get him back.” Maddie blurted as soon as the door was open.

WIP Tag Game

[peppermintquartz]

Matrix AU

*

Buck always felt something was wrong with the world, but he didn't realise how wrong until he manages to survive a lightning strike that he's supposed to die in. And the world around him has changed. Sometimes he sees flickers of green numbers and symbols running over surfaces. Walls, cars, food, clouds. People. Everything seemed to flicker between what's there and what's computer code.

Then one night he gets a call.

"It's no longer safe for you. We will extract you tonight. Don't open the front door to anyone."

Buck doesn't listen, of course. And Agents show up to capture this one anomaly.

But he's saved by three men, who take him to a place with other people, all of whom have a predilection for leather, apparently.

"Chopper, get us out," the one they call Cap says on a cell phone.

They get Buck out.

*

Cap is the leader, and he says he used to be a firefighter captain. Chimney is the wiry, quippy guy with sass twice as large as he is. Eddie doesn't go by a nickname, though sometimes Chimney calls Eddie "Stache". There's also their operator, Ravi, who was born in the real world. He has an uncanny ability to find the resources they need, and bemoans real world food the most out of the crew even though he's never tasted anything created by the Matrix before to make the comparisons.

On board the Hephaestus, there's a medical officer Hen who doesn't like entering the Matrix. Her wife is still in there, Hen explains, with their kids. And Hen can't guarantee that the family she left behind want to come out to live a difficult and dangerous existence. She hopes Karen has remarried.

Chopper is their pilot. He's taciturn, almost aloof, but Buck soon discovers Chopper's dry sense of humor. Chopper has walked away from a one-on-one fight with an agent, twice, once with Eddie's help. Buck learns how to fight from Chopper and Eddie. With Chopper more when the ship is grounded - Eddie spends every moment not on the ship with his son Christopher.

Chopper and Buck grow closer, to the point they end up sharing a room (both in the city and in the ship). Still, Chopper doesn't make a move on Buck, and Buck doesn't really know why he bristles whenever someone tries to belittle Chopper.

When they go back into the Matrix to visit the Oracle, Chopper and Buck are separated from the main group, and they find an agent is on their tail. This is Agent Sal. Agent Sal calls Chopper "Thomas Kinard". Both Chopper and Buck fight off the agent and escape together. When they make it to the Oracle, she smiles and tells Buck "you have found your tether". To Chopper, she says, "Not everything of the past needs to be buried."

They get into another huge chase, ending up in a literal chopper, and they fly into a building where they grab the landline and come back to the real world.

That night Buck asks about the name. Chopper says that was who he used to be. Buck says he was Evan. Chopper admits that he misses being Tommy, and Agent Sal is out to torture Chopper specifically, because it's wearing the face of Chopper's first lover.

Buck gets super protective and furious that Chopper is targeted. In his bluster he talks about himself being an Evan of four Evans, so Buck is just a way to differentiate himself. Chopper says that, up here, on the Hephaestus, there's just one Evan. Buck listens to the way Chopper says his name, and then Buck says "Tommy", and that's when they kiss. They move into the same cabin, freeing up a room.

And with one room free, Buck tries asking Cap if they can go back down to retrieve his sister. They get Maddie out, Buck shooting Doug several times in the face each time he turns into an Agent, and she's so happy not to have to face her abusive bastard of a husband again that she refuses to even learn in a controlled environment how to exist in the Matrix. She would rather be just an operator like Ravi (and she does, she's a quick study) and she has an iron stomach so she can help Hen also.

Maddie and Chim fall in love and after she becomes pregnant, they decided to stay in the city as ground support. They end up having Jee and she's a darling.

Chopper and Buck live together, under Cap's leadership, freeing a dozen people within a year. Only they call each other by the names they grew up with. They don't advertise their relationship but anyone with eyes can tell.

After a while, Eddie becomes part of them too, when they offered comfort after he witnesses his wife turning into an Agent and he had to help Buck and Chopper throw that Agent off a highway bridge into traffic. They become the trio assigned to accompany the One when it comes time to challenge the Matrix head on. And the Matrix is sending its sentinels to destroy humanity.

But somehow Buck knows that this will be a one-way trip, and tries to convince the One to remember that there are many others out there who deserve to live. That Jee is just a kid, and there are so many kids.

The tragedy is that the One will remember, and he will choose the logical option.

But he asks for and gets one extra day, and he tells Buck to make full use of it, and Buck uses that one final day to love as fiercely and brightly as he can, and he doesn't let any of them go back to fight a futile battle, doesn't let them go back to see the destruction of the place they call home, doesn't let them leave his embrace even as humanity is consumed by the Matrix once again.

[filmnoirfoundation]

ASK EDDIE returns Thursday, June 22, 7:00 PM PT to our Facebook page, https://www.facebook.com/filmnoirfoundation/live

FNF prez Eddie Muller responds to film noir fan questions fielded by the Foundation's Director of Communications Anne Hockens In this episode, we discuss LGBTQ+ characters in noir, the best noir cinematographers, “Executive Action”, author John D. MacDonald, circumventing the Hays Code, and more. Plus, we settle a debate regarding the portrayal of women in noir for a viewer. We wind up with a discussion of our fantasy casting for noir brothers and noir sisters. Stay tuned to the end for a special furry guest star.

Want your question answered in a future episode? We solicit questions from our email subscribers in our monthly newsletters. Sign up for free at https://www.filmnoirfoundation.org/signup.html

Everyone who signs up on our email list and contributes $20 or more to the Film Noir Foundation receives the digital version of NOIR CITY Magazine for a year. Donate here: https://www.filmnoirfoundation.org/contribute.html

Can’t join us on Thursday? No problem! A recording will be up on our YouTube channel, @NoirCity, on Friday, April 7: https://www.youtube.com/user/NoirCitySF

Note: Eddie will not be able to answer questions posted during the livestream nor ones left on our social media accounts

This week’s questions:

1.       I’d enjoy hearing from both of you about LGBTQ+ characters in Noir.

Marjorie (from the poor part of Connecticut)

2.       Are there any Film Noir Foundation restorations in the Flicker Alley pipeline this year?

Michael, Post Falls, Idaho

3.       Have you ever considered The Orpheum Theater in Phoenix, Arizona for a NOIR CITY showing? Also, are there any great film noirs from the golden age that are not readily available?

Vince from Arizona

4.       In a recent ASK EDDIE, you said that "The 13th Letter” is unavailable for showings because of rights issues, Are there any other noirs that similarly cannot be shown because of rights issues?  

Bill Miller, Chicago

5.       Who do you consider the best cinematographer of the classic film era?

Harry, West Chester, PA

6.       I recently engaged in a debate with someone about the concept of film. I wanted to get your perspective. The other person posits that the femme fatale trope was a sexist derivative of men's postwar angst of women taking their jobs and workplace. I argued that men and women in noir are oftentimes equally culpable, equally shrewd and equally guilty in their indiscretions. What are your thoughts on these arguments?

Andrew, Clayton, North Carolina

7.       TCM showed “Not As A Stranger” and I thoroughly enjoyed it. IMDB says that movie is a Film Noir.  I can’t see it. What do you think?

Stephen, Allen, Texas

8.       I recently saw the Italian neorealist film “Bitter Rice”, which has many film noir characteristics. Can you recommend other neorealist films that might also be regarded as film noir?

Ron

9.       It's hard to think of a movie more detested, shunned and now ignored than "Executive Action," a 1973 political drama, directed by David Miller and written by Dalton Trumbo, that blames the assassination of President John F. Kennedy on a right-wing capitalist conspiracy. I'd welcome any comments you have about "Executive Action."

Paul from "Fargo" land

10.   I recently watched “Journey into Light” (1951) starring Sterling Hayden and found it surprisingly emotionally moving.  Are there any film noir movies that you find especially moving? Also, do you consider this movie a "religious noir"?

Dan

11.   One great American crime writer you've never mentioned is John D. Macdonald, the creator of Travis McGee. Macdonald considered Victor Nunez's 1984 adaptation of his novel “A Flash of Green” to be the best film version of his work. What do the two of you think of Macdonald's work? And have either of you ever seen “A Flash of Green”?

Doug, Silver Spring, MD

12.   One of the many pleasures of viewing classic films noir is spotting the various ways in which the filmmakers circumvent the Hays Code and express graphic violence, et cetera, despite the limitations forced upon them, with clever filmmaking techniques. Can you think of any other good examples of this sort of Hays Code circumvention, in which a film is able to express graphic content without explicitly showing it?

Sam from Iowa

13.   Where is it that you tape introductions for NOIR ALLEY?  Are you given a blooper reel each year?  Have you ever finished it in one single take.  Do you have a favorite hotel you stay at when in L.A. or do you not stay at same place each visit?  

Alan, San Anselmo, CA.

14.   I came across an excellent book called “San Francisco Noir” which shows real locations from SF movies and proves interesting anecdotes about the locations and the films themselves. At the end of the book is a description of the Danger and Despair Knitting Circle, which sounds like an elite private showing of various noirs.  Does this still exist, and do you have stories about this group?

Phil from Boston

15.   My question addresses some fantasy casting as well as historic casting.  Who would both of you cast as Noir Brothers and Noir Sisters. What would be the best combustible pairs?

William from Lafayette

[acertainmoshke]

🧥 🍎 and 🌙 for the October ask game!

Ooh these are some good ones, thank you! I'll start with Cold Iron for this ask. And under a cut because, predictably, this got long.

🍎 apple: let’s talk about friendship in your wip. do you have any favorite friend/platonic dynamics? any friendships gone sour?

You know that scene in Leverage where Parker and Elliot are trapped in an ice cave having a deep conversation about how they have a darkness Hardison doesn't share because of who they are, what they've been through, and the things they have to be willing to do? That's basically Shakatra and Doug. By the time they meet, both are considerably more likely to kill casually and, while not exactly enjoying it, both understand it as a necessity so their better friends can be safe. Shaka introduces him to the idea of wandering deep into a rain-dripping forest and screaming at the top of your lungs, and Doug takes them to seedy bars to chill for once. Both of them are usually the most dangerous person in the room (Doug is human so of the two, Shaka is much more of a danger but compared to other humans Doug is awful fast and mean). They can both be kind of dicks in a very much not joking way, but it's refreshing that neither of them is bothered by the general grumbling, complaining, and insulting.

There WILL be some friendship drama but I'm not nearly far enough to know what it is yet.

🌙 moon: do any of your OCs have dark backstories or secrets they’re trying to keep?

Oof, does Shaka ever. This is actually my really self-indulgent darkness hit here. Not only were they an unwanted changeling child (in the early 1900's!), but their mother determined that rather than abandon them to die it was better to punish them for the loss of her real daughter. So they were abused and bullied throughout childhood, struggled as an autistic inhuman kid in school, got beat up by older brothers until they were old enough to strike back. But they stayed, even after they met Kris and understood that leaving was an option, they stayed because of their baby brother Richard. He was the only one who actually liked them, and they took care of him and protected him back.

What they're trying to hide is that they killed him.

They didn't, of course. Probably. If I really want to go dark I'll make it accidentally their fault, but as of right now what happened was he accidentally fell off the fire escape in a fight with his mother, and Shaka wasn't fast enough to save him. Both of them fell 7 stories. They weren't human, they survived with only bruises (and the general idea that they were unkillable and should test that theory as much as possible). He...did not. They ran away after that, and as of book 1 it's the only thing they haven't been fully honest with Kris about.

In later stories, they are also trying to hide who they were back at the beginning of the series as they learn to be less violent and have more compassion, they don't want to admit who they used to be.

🧥 warm coat: share a happy or fuzzy scene from your wip!

There haven't been a lot of these so far, but I'll do my best...

Ok, there haven't been any so I'm just going to write something. This takes place towards the end of the first book.

It was good to be home, but the platform seemed smaller than before. I took the stairs two at a time and spun on my bare feet at the bottom, letting my body fly into the nearest wall. The air stirred slightly and I raised my hand instinctively to catch the box of cigarettes. Kris, holding Jack on one hip, winked at me. I flicked the first one and the end sputtered into glowing life. I let myself take a long, comfortingly familiar, drag on it before flicking another one to life and placing it carefully between his lips, on the side away from where Jack snored against his shoulder. Maggie looked around and dropped Cassie's hand. Cassie, released, swayed until she almost collapsed, stumbled, and blinked up at the flickering lights. Maggie adjusted her glasses. "Think we could get some fire or something in here?" I went to share a glance with Kris, something like We've never needed one before, but he was already moving. There was a pile of paper bags in one corner with paper wrappings flung on top from all our diner meals. There may have been a trash can at the bottom of the pile at one point, but it was impossible to tell anymore. He tossed several into a small mound in a more central part of the platform, under a light. And then he threw his cigarette in the middle. Maybe it was the oil that soaked through the paper in big greasy stains, but it worked surprisingly well. Soon the fire flickered up almost to my eye level, the smoke drifting lazily up the stairs and down the street. "I'm really tired," Cassie said, yawning. She was leaning against the grubby tiled wall, in stark contrast to her blue silk gown, and tugging idly at one dark pigtail. We settled the kids into our old nook. They had enough room to burrow under the blankets until both vanished entirely. There wouldn't be room for two kids and three adults, but that was a problem for future us. The fire blazed. Warmth crept into my fingers and toes for what felt like the first time in my life. I lay my head on Kris' shoulder and he didn't pull away. He was huddling into the circle of heat and turning to ask Maggie if she wanted to try our diner tomorrow, which was definitely better than the one we met her in. I still didn't understand why this made her laugh, but things were good again and we were home and safe and actually warm and for just this moment that was all that mattered.

Tag list: @pga-books

[cursivebloodlines]

☕️  - for dougie :)

🍎 ｡:*• ─ IT’S CHRISTMAS TIME !     ›    ( a symbol meme for muses who want to do something special and fun together this christmas / holiday season.) | @overnightheartbeats

send a symbol for our muses to: ☕️   ─  drink something warm and/or festive ( either at home, at a coffeeshop, christmas market, etc… )

Christmas had been Dougie’s favourite time of the year ever since he was a little boy. He loved it all: the bustling markets packed with treats and trinkets, sampling the drinks and delicacies said markets had to offer, watching the glimmering Christmas lights as they brighten the neighbourhoods, wrapping up warm in cosy jumpers, watching Christmas movies, the music (yes, he was one of those people who would declare it being Christmas as soon as Halloween finishes and immediately blast Christmas songs - he was like this from childhood, before it became The Thing), buying gifts for the people he loved and just the atmosphere. How magical it all felt, even when life itself could feel like a downer or a drag. It never failed to lift his spirits up especially when he needed it most. To quote that one famous song: he wished it could be Christmas everyday.

So naturally, it was his idea to suggest venturing to one of the many Christmas markets and explore what they had to offer this year. Perhaps going out and doing festive activities with his ex-girlfriend wasn’t the brightest of ideas but he didn’t care - there was nobody else he would rather do these things with. Besides, how else were they going to try and navigate this tricky part of their relationship, being friends and starting over, if they didn’t actively hang out and do things together? His feelings for her were all over the place but the more he thought about it, the more he realised he would rather have her in his life than not at all. Dougie already lost her once; he didn’t want to lose her again. There’s a part of him unsure whether he could survive losing her all over again. Despite this, trust was a vital necessity needed to rebuilt for them to have any kind of relationship. Romantic or platonic, and honestly…the line between the two could be a struggle at times.  But there was a time and place where he could dwell on them. And being here, spending time with Laurel was no place he would rather be. 

They idly chit-chatted as the meandered throughout the hustle and bustle, buying random little trinkets from the stalls, or taking photos of each other or selfies together whenever an opportunity presented itself, taking it all in as the sight of something caught Dougie’s attention: a couple walking past, hot chocolate filled to the brim of their cups, topped with plenty of whipped cream and sprinkles. His eyes lit up like a little kid, and he turned to face Laurel, a twinkle in his eye that made it very clear on their next plans. Before she had the chance to potentially object, he took her hand in his and followed the pair with the lovely drink in each of their hands. “Hi, excuse me? Excuse me please - er, sorry… Sorry…hi,” Doug uttered sheepishly as he raced to stand in front of them before they could walk off. The cold could be to blame, but his cheeks burned red, like it was embarrassing to randomly approach a couple of strangers all just to discover where they could get their hands on the mouthwatering delight in front of them. “So sorry to bother you,” he once again couldn’t help but apologise (some things never change), fingertips unintentionally squeezing Laurel’s hand gently. The action feeling like the most natural thing ever, just like old times. When he looked at her, amusement twinkled in her eyes, probably at the way he was starting to babble word vomit. Despite this, the smile she was trying to hide, he didn’t feel like quite the idiot he must’ve looked at. In fact, for some reason or another, he felt more assured. Like it sent a flicker of encouragement, like her mere presence offered him comfort in a time where he’d be feeling really silly or probably wouldn’t have even approached these random people to ask about their hot chocolate in the first place. Maybe she was just rubbing off on him, he liked the thought of that, it brought a smile upon his own lips. Momentarily getting distracted by being too busy admiring his ex-girlfriend, he cleared his throat to break his own thoughts as he glanced to the people in front of him, a timid, awkward smile gracing his lips. “I’m sorry to bother you but those hot choccies just looked too tempting and I had to ask - would you mind telling me… us um,” Doug paused to clear his throat before trying to finish his question. “Could you tell us or point us in the right direction so we can get one of our own? Please?” Was it possible to get redder and redder as his rambling continued? He could blame the cold but all of them probably knew otherwise. Getting flustered was his biggest talent. However, the people were lovely and helpful, advising where to go. With this newfound knowledge in tow, he thanked them profusely, wished them a very Merry Christmas and continued their quest to find the hot chocolate stand!

A few minutes later, lo and behold, they finally reached it. If it hadn’t been for Laurel pointing it out to him, he probably would have walked straight past it. Approaching the stand, he bought them both a hot chocolate each, customised to their contentment. Dougie, being Dougie, when posed with the difficult choice of deciding, he was stumped. Looking blankly from all the choices and endless combinations…To save time, he opted for everything. Which didn’t save time at all, considering that it took time for them to add all the toppings. They even asked him if he was sure which made him a tad uncertain, but with a bashful smile and an affirmed nod of his head, they obliged. His hot chocolate looked like a colourful, eclectic bundle of chaos. So much whipped cream, sauces of different flavours, ones he had no idea of what they were, topped with marshmallows and sprinkles and who knows what else. What can he say? He always had a sweet tooth. Besides, it was Christmas - there were no limitations at the most wonderful time of the year! There was probably more ‘everything else’ and probably less hot chocolate. To put it simply, his definitely looked more appealing in his head than in reality, and if he put a side by side view of expectations versus reality there probably would’ve been a biiiiiit of a difference, maybe he went a bit too far with everything else but he didn’t mind. Lesson learned, and he was going to drink his bloody hot chocolate! Paying for the drinks and offering a polite thanks, Dougie passed Laurel her hot chocolate with gleaming eyes and a bright smile and they found the perfect spot to sit and enjoy their drinks. Away from the hustle and bustle of it all but still in the vicinity, beautifully decorated with pretty lights and a massive, decorated outdoor Christmas tree in the centre of it all. A perfect view for them to sip away at. “Thanks for coming here with me, doing all… well, uh, this. It’s been great. Really lovely, and I’m hoping you had fun too,” he said, his eyes unable to contain the amount of love he still had for her. Lifting his cup up slightly, he added, “Cheers,” with a warm, lighthearted laugh, before clinking his cup against hers. Like the Cheshire cat, he could not wipe the smile off of his face if he tried. In an imperfect world and situation, this moment felt like the most perfect thing he’d experienced in years. He raised the cup to his lips, briefly blowing on it to cool it down - albeit what good would that do since the drink itself was covered by the various toppings - as he took a sip of his drink. A thoughtful hum left his lips.

“Huh. Better than I thought actually, bit sweet but not overly sweet, considering…” he mused before offering the drink to her whilst Laurel was in the middle of drinking hers. “Do you want to try? Go onnnnn, you know you wanna,” he persuaded, wiggling the cup in front of her face as if it would tempt her some more. Doug’s grin widened as she passed her cup to hold in the mean time, and he swapped it for his for her to try. He was transfixed on her, his eyes full of love and adoration. It was the happiest he’d been in a long time, and it felt relief knowing how they could simply…be. How despite their situation, this was the most normal he’d felt in a long while. Normal, but also not normal. It was too odd to explain, but either way. Here? Now? This moment? This moment was everything. “How was it? That taste alright?” Dougie laughed as Laurel returned his drink to him, handing over her drink back. She was just perfect. The smile she gave him, the sound of her laugh. She was truly mesmerising, he’d never been so in love. His gaze travelled down to her lips as he realised some of the cream had stuck to her. Chuckling softly, he gestured to his own face as an indicator. “You’ve got um,” he said, the doting smile etched across his face growing wider as she seemed to miss the spot every time. “It’s okay. Here, um, let me,” his voice was soft, gentle. Like part of him was unsure but he went anyway, leaning in a little closer to make sure he got it. His thumb gently swiping against her lips, his tongue darting out to wet his own lips as he resisted the temptation to replace his thumb with his mouth. Swallowing thickly, as if that would eliminate all thoughts he had, it only made the urge stronger. Dougie considered it as he retracted his thumb, his eyes meeting her then glancing down once again. If only, if only. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t kissed her before. But this was different, they were different. And they were doing good. This was going well. He was too much of a coward, but it was hard to think straight when his heart was pounding in his chest, his stomach filled with the flapping wings of butterflies driving him crazy. How was he able to focus on anything when she was so close to him? When his thoughts were suddenly swimming and his stomach doing flips? Why did it feel like falling in love with Laurel for the first time all over again? 

“Got it,” he simply said, trying to steady his breathing pattern, trying to conceal the fact that every thought swirling around in his mind was just about her. Only her. “All better.”

[sunlightcalibur1996]

[Lucky The Rabbit]: - <<< SEES DOUG HOUSER FROM A DISTANCE/HIS ARMS CROSSED TOGETHER/LOOKS & GLARES AT DOUG HOUSER/SERIOUS-EVIL FACE >>> - "Hangry's not himself when he's hungry, Kind of loses control around fresh meaty ribs….Ya know what I mean? Goes a little crazy." - <<< CURIOUS-EVIL FACE/PLACES HIS INDEX FINGER ON HIS CHIN >>> - "But aren't well all a little crazy?" - <<< EYES CLOSED TO OPENED/EYES FLICKERED TO RED/INSANE-CRAZY-EVIL >>> - "After all….It's a mad, Mad world." - <<< LAUGHS-CACKLES/TURNS AROUND/RUNS THROUGH THE HALLWAYS TOWARDS THE DOOR >>> -

[alphawolfstabs]

Hiii I'm back for more LoomHousen because KHBISBDIHZ

I actually told my girlfriend about this fic, and she really loved the plot (We're both down bad for Doug Van Housen haha) so now I have even more questions!!! Here, have a list!

- How did Billy end up in a totally different dimension? Have an idea or is it a total mystery?

- Why would Billy end up in the Animal Room?

- What is the mark on Housen's jaw? A scar? Did I miss it in the movie, or is it something you added?

(Billy asked so many interesting questions that are never answered, so I'm asking them for him lmao)

- So, who does Doug curse? Mommy, daddy, or..? What was supposed to be after the "or"??

- How many people experienced Doug? And most importantly, will Billy be lucky enough — or unlucky — to experience him? In one way or another (👀)

- basically, will my two favorite boys kiss in the future?

- Will there be a future?! Are you planning on making another chapter? (If yes, there are obviously questions you don't have to answer to if you don't want to spoil the rest of the story!)

- Stu! What about Stu? Did Stu notice that Billy is gone? Will Billy mention Stu to Doug? Is Stu real, or is Woodsboro just a dream?! Or the other way around, is Doug real or is this all just a nightmare Billy will soon wake up from?!! Will Billy see Stu again?!! Too many questions involving my boy Stu!

I probably have more, but that's already a lot more than I thought- Thank you for answering last time, and I hope you'll have fun with all those new questions, because I sure can read more about this fic for hours without getting bored!

Have an amazing day/night, and thank you for feeding my new hyperfixation!

<3

HELLO HIII!!

I’m very very glad you’ve enjoyed it and have shared it!! I got my Boyfriend to watch Animal Room and we came up with the crackship together, so it’s very special and very dear in my heart. I started it not thinking other people would like it but it’s SOOO much fun chatting with you, Anon!! Now! Questions, list will be in order of the question <3

• how did Billy end up there? Good question. I’d like to say, he somehow was teleported there, him and his ‘family’. So his dad exists here too. Who teleported him and why? No clue for that one, but yeah- the magic of teleportation

• Billy ended up in Animal Room specifically because I wanted him to be able to see Another Matt Lilly character, someone similar to Stu but darker, more in control. Because Doug wouldn’t let Billy be in charge, And I like the idea of Billy losing his control and just not having a good time in any way, shape, or form.

• THE SCAAAAR! That’s something I added. Canonically he does have Eyebrow Scars, but the Jaw scar is something I added that will be talked about In The near future.

• so in the fic, when Billy say “mom? Dad? Or-” and then gets decked [he got punched right? I can’t remember and I wrote it uhhh whoops-] he asks it purely to piss off Doug. He was going to say “Or perhaps it’s both of them.”

Who does Doug curse? In this fic, I’m gonna go with Doug cursed both his parents. This is purely based off the misfits scene when he’s about to sandpaper the ground [teehee ya get it?-], Will be more in depth in the near future

• Who I think have Experienced Doug, Is his little gang and Billy. Now, I would say Billy has somewhat Experienced more of Doug than the others, from the bathroom scene when something flickers across Doug’s face but it’s unreadable. Also, Billy will be experiencing him in more ways than one

• YES! They absolutely will! I need them too, so yes, it’ll happen. Promise

• As soon as I get done with my Animosity Stuilly Fic, I will be Updating The Vexation one, so that will be happening super soon I promise!

• Oh Stu Stu Stu.. I’d imagine in the Scream timeline Stu does notice, but no one else does. It’s like- The only people who’ve taken Notice to Billy’s sudden appearance OR absence, is Doug and Stu. Everyone else seems unphased. Like he’s always been there/been gone.

If Billy were to see Stu again, it would have to be at the very end of the Fic, but I’m gonna play it safe and Say both Doug and Stu are real. Woodsboro is real- it’s all very real.

Im glad you enjoy my writing!! Makes me very happy to hear! Let me know what you think of my answers and as always, I will answer more questions HEHEHFKEBF I like talking about my crackship a lot 🩵‼️

Good day/night Sweet Anon

[leavetheminshreds]

WHO: @fractixluna​ WHERE: the streets between sycamore hills & greenhaven WHEN: 6:33pm

Douglas was on his way back to the house. Street lights flickered on as the sky lit up with hues of reds and purples as shadows began to darken the streets. He’d stayed out much longer than he meant to after visiting Kalana. Every sound he heard in every alleyway made the hair on the back of his neck bristle instinctively, a reflex to growl waiting in the back of his throat.

While he anticipated something ambushing him at any moment - knowing that he’d already made a few enemies within the city - he jumped at the sound of someone saying his name from behind him. Douglas turned immediately, every muscle tensing like he was prepared to fight when his eyes settled on a familiar looking face.

Immediately his eyebrows furrowed together, a confused look painting his previously vacant expression as he searched his memory to match a name with the man. “Do I know you?” Douglas asked, his pool of people he knew being very small, he had to dig deep. He looked even more puzzled when it clicked. The color from his face drained, heart jumping into his throat as he couldn’t believe his eyes. Doug’s jaw set tightly, tensing abrasively as this was the last person he expected to ever see again. “...Arthur?”

[ladyswillmart]

Some Saturday Morning Portal Fic

Yeah, I don’t even know where this one came from. It’s called Little Blue Thing (yeah like the song, maybe I was inspired) and it just kinda sprouted up overnight like a patch of mushrooms around an old stump. It’s a meandering vignette about Chell in her Relaxation Vault (circa 1999-2000 or so), mulling over a number of loosely related things, as one does when one is lying in bed, trying (or so totally not trying) to get to sleep before Stasis Mode kicks in.

Actually, the impetus for this short fic came from a comment someone left on my last fic, which recalled a scene where Doug Rattmann met Chell on an elevator shortly before the latter went into stasis. Basically they asked: Would Chell have recognized Doug when they encountered each other again way after the end of Portal 2? And me being me, of course I had no satisfying answer. 🥴 But as a reminder I headcanon them as fraternal twins, separated at birth. So... No shipping happening here! Sorry!

Y’know I'm still not sure if I have an answer to that question yet even now, but here's me thinking about it!

~~~📺~~~

Thank you for watching Aperture Relaxation Television, an affiliate of Aperture Laboratories Access Television! This concludes today's scheduled broadcast. Our studio and transmitter facility is located in Aperture Laboratories Headquarters, sector Whiskey Newton. We broadcast a variety of live and pre-recorded programming, with all original content furnished by the Aperture Laboratories Public and Media Relations Department, whose offices are located in sector Bravo Ampere. Programming provided by our outside affiliates does not necessarily reflect the opinion of Aperture Laboratories, nor does it represent an endorsement by any individual member of our executive staff. For continuing information and entertainment, we invite you to tune in to 85.2 FM for our 24-hour radio service. From all of us at ART, we bid you a good evening and a successful stasis period.

And now, the Aperture Laboratories Corporate Anthem—

—Thwip.

With the push of a button—whose remote was tethered to the nightstand, natch—the television flickered off, leaving naught but its negative afterimage, a little blue thing floating in total darkness.

Chell reached for another button, this one positioned beside the switch for her bedside lamp, that would activate Extended Relaxation Mode after a ten minute timer. Then, she snuggled a little deeper into her bed, loudly.

Who snuggles into beds loudly…?

Beds aren't supposed to be loud but the ones in Extended Relaxation had these weird mattresses made of some kind of memory foam, and were lined on the bottom with this brittle and unusually vocal vinyl. The kind of thing used in public-facing institutions where making a bed was a calculated risk, one that involved a variety of unmentionable substances. It crinkled and smelled and forced her to reminisce about sharing cheap motel rooms with her dad and stepmom and stepsister during family vacations.

Come to think of it, they never went anywhere fun, not really. Disney World was for other kids. Hell, they couldn't even sneak a Six Flags in there every now and then. For Kid Chell, summers held the promise of nothing but that sweltering drive from Joliet to Kimberling City, MO, to visit her stepmom's mom.

So, step-grandma…?

Chell was instructed to call her "Nana" which she did, forsaking her own feelings about it to spare those of an old woman. Nana was a nice enough lady but she made a hobby of growing kumquats in her backyard and they tasted absolutely disgusting but Chell would have to choke down like a whole punnet of them every time her family came to visit. And then, one night out of a week already stuffed to bursting with tedium and cousins and indigestion, they would all load into Nana's red Aerostar and trek east to the big city—Branson!—for dinner and a show, always bland and oily and vaguely unsatisfying.

Before the ghostly knot of summers’ past could germinate in her stomach, Chell flipped onto her back and stared at the ceiling, the chiaroscuro of the room developing like an old Polaroid as her eyes adjusted to its darkness. The first thing she always did was triangulate the location of the room's Aperture Laboratories We-Don't-Know-What-It-Does-Precisely-We-Just-Know-It's-Some-Kind-Of-Detector Detector on the ceiling. Maybe it detected smoke. Probably not. But it had a tiny red light on its side that glared inexorably through the night.

This time she glared right back at it. She wanted to stay awake. Just once she wanted to feel it when Extended Relaxation Mode kicked in, to see what happened.

Kinda like trying to keep one's eyes open when sneezing.

Maybe she would succeed this time. Her brain seemed unstoppable tonight, ruminating on its own punnet of kumquats, determined to chew each one to a barely edible pulp that tasted of the body spray her classmates used to fumigate the girls' locker room after gym class.

"How did I get down here?" she asked herself (frequently, but especially now). "How did this happen? Why did this happen?"

You were looking for dad, read one kumquat.

Dad always told you not to worry about it—his job, whenever you asked him why his bosses at Aperture made him travel up to their HQ in Michigan every month, read another.

"Who's worried?" you'd always tell him, even if you did worry, even if you worried a lot, read another.

Because then one day he went up there and never came back, read another.

Aperture wouldn't say what happened to him, not exactly what happened to him.

They said it was an accident.

They said they were not responsible for it.

They said nothing more about him ever again after that.

And you said

"Bullshit!" Chell shouted her whisper into the void.

So you tried to get closer. Closer to the truth. Closer to the black hole without getting sucked in.

There is a hotly disputed theory in quantum mechanics that information entering a black hole is lost forever. Chell tried to count herself among the disbelievers; after all, even now she could see that red light on the detector on the ceiling and the little blue thing still floating around her headspace. She remembered the announcer thanking her for watching television that evening, and where Aperture Laboratories Access Television's transmitter was located. She knew that, for what it was worth, she was still Michelle [EDITOR'S NOTE: Curiously, there was once a surname printed here, but the ink has since smeared to the point of illegibility. Our sincere apologies for any narrative inconvenience this may cause].

But did anyone Out There know that she was In Here? Did anyone remember her name, who she was, what she looked like, what she liked and disliked, who she loved, who loved her?

You got a B.S. in Mathematics and a minor in Music (tuba) and a specialist certificate in Applied Scientific Modeling, her mind chewed on and on.

You turned down an offer from Black Mesa to try to get a job here at Aperture.

Aperture wouldn't hire you, but they wouldn't say why.

So you tried to become a test subject.

You got rejected, but they wouldn't say why.

"So then I… Ugh."

Chell didn't want any more kumquats. She shifted gears, flopping onto her left side this time while pulling the bed's comforter over her head. To the hand, its fabric was scratchy and deeply specific—the kind of thing with a lengthy tag sewed to one hem explaining how well it repels fire or bodily fluids while promising swift and severe justice to anyone (save the actual consumer) who would dare cut it off. To the nose, the blanket was only human and needed laundering. Meanwhile, the air conditioning unit beside the vault's approximation of a plate glass window kept chugging along, blasting out its penetrating draft and freon musk, softly rattling the vertical blinds in a sort of atonal plastic lullaby.

If she closed her eyes—she didn't dare, but if she did, it would be so easy to imagine hearing her stepsister's quiet snoring beside her, and feel the sporadic kick of a phantom foot.

Rather, she rewound to a less distant past.

This happened god knows how long ago in Real People Time, but by her own measure it was only a few bad sitcom episodes and half-eaten tubs of 100% REAL in the past—that day in mid-June, 1999, when she was taking the elevator down to the Vaults and that weird guy slipped through the doors at the last second. She remembered his face to photographic precision but the photograph was another one of those old Polaroids, kind of poorly exposed, dreamlike, obscure. He wore a white lab coat and necktie like everyone else who worked there, but he was so gangly and awkward that he looked like he was playing dress-up with Dad's stuff from work. Chell reckoned it was the bandages that made him truly memorable, all those bandages wrapped around his head but they didn't do quite enough to hide every trace of trauma, of blood or bruise.

Through another passenger, she learned his name was Douglas.

"Yeah, this happened here," was Douglas's diffident revelation about his head wound. "But it was an accident, so, no big deal."

Aperture Laboratories apparently did nothing on purpose.

Furthermore this Douglas had an uncanny quality to him. Politely paranoid, Chell recalled. He spoke softly but seemed to radiate this intense nervous energy like a rapidly decaying isotope. A real live wire, like in that one Talking Heads song:

Fa-fa-fa-fa, fa-fa-fa-fa-fa, fa, better Run, run, run, run, run, run, run away

He wasn't paranoid, he was trying to warn you about the contracts, read a sudden kumquat—the worst kind.

He was trying to warn you about the vaults, read another.

He was trying to warn you about the event horizon, read another.

He looked at you with eyes just like yours, pale and frozen furious, read the last one.

Well. One eye was pale and frozen furious. The other one he kept hidden underneath all those bandages. Assuming he still had it.

Well. Maybe he was trying to warn her about something. Maybe he was too afraid to speak of it so directly on company grounds. Maybe he too laid up at night wondering if verging too close to a black hole might put even the memory of one's existence at risk.

Well. In the end, he told her not to worry about it.

"Don't worry about it," he said. Exactly like that.

"Who's worried?" Chell muttered to herself and closed her eyes, momentarily pacified by the sensation, distant but distinct, of mutual remembrance.

[princesslightgiggles]

Letting go

It was a quiet night on True Love, Pacey’s boat, anchored in a secluded cove just outside Capeside. The stars twinkled above, casting a gentle glow on the water, and a soft breeze rustled through the sails. Inside the cozy cabin, Pacey and Joey lay entwined in each other’s arms, basking in the rare tranquility of their shared moments.

Pacey couldn’t help but reflect on how far they had come. From high school rivals to best friends and now lovers, Joey Potter had always been a constant, a beacon of hope in his tumultuous life. He adored her, and she, him. But there were still parts of his past that haunted him, small shadows that flickered at the edges of his happiness.

As they lay there, Joey’s fingers traced lazy patterns on his chest. She loved these moments, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath beneath her touch. Her fingers wandered absently, finding their way to his ribs. Suddenly, Pacey jolted, a reflexive twitch he couldn’t control.

Joey’s eyes sparkled with mischief as she noticed his reaction. “Pacey Witter, are you ticklish?” she asked, her voice a mix of curiosity and amusement.

Pacey stiffened, a frown crossing his features. Memories of his brother Doug and sister Gretchen’s merciless tickling assaults flooded back, bringing with them a surge of irritation. He had always hated being tickled, feeling powerless and exposed. It was a childhood torment that had left its mark. The joys of being the youngest child.

“Jo, don’t,” he warned, his voice tense.

But Joey, ever perceptive, saw the fleeting pain in his eyes and softened her approach. She gently kissed his frown away, her lips brushing against his skin like a whisper. “It’s just me, Pacey,” she murmured. “I won’t hurt you. I promise.”

Her words, tender and reassuring, began to chip away at his defenses. He took a deep breath, willing himself to relax. Joey’s fingers resumed their gentle exploration, this time moving with deliberate slowness, giving him the chance to acclimate.

It was different with Joey. Her touch was soft, unhurried, and filled with love. There was no malice, no intent to overpower. She was inviting him to trust her, to let go of the past and embrace the present. Despite his initial reluctance, he found himself responding to her touch, a reluctant smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Joey’s eyes lit up as she noticed his change in demeanor. She giggled softly, her laughter like music to his ears. “See? It’s not so bad, is it?” she teased, her fingers dancing lightly along his sides.

Pacey squirmed, the ticklish sensation making him bite his lip to stifle a laugh. “Okay, okay, I get it,” he said, his voice filled with reluctant amusement. “Just… be gentle.”

Joey’s heart swelled with affection as she continued her playful ministrations. She knew how hard it was for Pacey to let his guard down, to allow himself to be vulnerable. His willingness to trust her with something so intimate and painful from his past was a testament to the depth of their love.

Joey’s fingers wandered further, tracing light patterns along his ribs and dipping to his stomach. Pacey’s muscles tensed involuntarily, a mixture of laughter and groans escaping his lips. “Joey, seriously,” he gasped, “this is torture.”

“Not torture,” she corrected with a mischievous grin. “Just a little fun.” She moved her fingers to his sides, skimming just above his hips, eliciting a helpless burst of laughter from him.

“You’re… impossible,” Pacey managed between laughs, trying to squirm away but finding himself caught in the playful trap of her touch. His body jerked with each gentle stroke, and he felt both the unbearable ticklishness and the sweet intimacy of the moment.

“Admit it, you like it,” Joey teased, her fingers now dancing over his bare feet.

The moment her fingers touched his feet, Pacey’s reaction was immediate and explosive. His entire body jerked, and uncontrollable laughter burst from his lips. “Joey, no, not there!” he begged, his voice high-pitched and desperate.

Joey, however, couldn’t resist the opportunity. “Oh, this is even better,” she said with a playful grin, her fingers lightly skimming over the soles of his feet.

Pacey’s laughter became frantic, his body thrashing as he tried to pull his feet away. “Please, Jo, I can’t take it!” he cried, his eyes watering from the intensity of his laughter.

Joey paused for a moment, her eyes softening with affection. “Alright, alright,” she said gently, easing her touch but not completely stopping. “Just a little more, okay? I promise I’ll be gentle.”

She continued her gentle tickling, her fingers tracing delicate patterns over his arches and the tips of his toes. Pacey’s laughter, though still desperate, took on a different quality. Amidst the unbearable ticklishness, there was a sense of surrender, of letting go.

Pacey gasped, his laughter mingling with groans of both pleasure and torment. His body shivered under her touch, and despite the intensity, he found himself enjoying the closeness, the intimacy of the moment.

Joey’s eyes were filled with love as she watched him, her heart swelling with affection. “See? It’s not so bad,” she whispered, her fingers slowing to a gentle caress.

Eventually, Joey’s fingers stilled, and she snuggled closer to him, her head resting on his chest. Pacey wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight. He had never imagined that something as simple as a tickle could bring them even closer, but with Joey, everything felt different. Everything felt right.

“Thank you, Jo,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

Joey lifted her head to look at him, her eyes filled with love. “For what?”

“For showing me that not all tickles are bad,” he said with a wry smile. “And for being you.”

She kissed him softly, their lips meeting in a sweet, lingering kiss. “Always, Pacey,” she murmured against his lips. “Always.”

And in that moment, under the starlit sky, Pacey knew that no matter what shadows the past held, with Joey by his side, he could face them all.