#flicker writes

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Energia Potencial (Você não vai dizer essa frase)

Ordem Paranormal: Desconjuração - Rafael "Cellbit" Lange, Gabriela "Bagi" Catuzzo / Grief Lessons: Four Plays by Euripides - Anne Carson / Rainer Maria Rilke / Train Crash - lone-pine-poetry / Ordem Paranormal: Calamidade - Rafael "Cellbit" Lange / unknown / O Segredo Na Floresta: Parte 2 / What I could never confess without some bravado - Emily Palermo / Esperança - Redd, Akirariel / inanotherunivrse / O Segredo Na Floresta: Parte 1 / Slay the Princess - Black Tabby Games / Strawberry Wine - Noah Kahan / Sue Zhao / unknown / pencap

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somehow my first enigma of fear fic is canon compliant yaoi. they make me so sad though so. ow. feel bad with me. engima of fear spoilers even in the tags so be aware.

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im back in the hfhvau building! this one is longer so it's ao3 only :3

Hax navigates being a superhero, being a supervillain, and having chronic pain and migraines--it's a delicate balancing act sometimes, an unavoidable nuisance sometimes, but something he's willing to work to get right. He's never going to give up trying to affect the world with his power, so he might as well get used to it. (2 times Hax goes into the field, surrounding 3 times he wasn't able to. Also an indirect exploration of his morality and companions over time.)

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hfhvau fic... i fear that the brainworms finally got to me.

"You're on patrol," Hax observes, then grabs Infume unceremoniously by the shirt and drags him into the cramped doorway. "What are you—" Infume starts again, then gets shushed with Hax's finger pressed over his lips. He bites back an undignified squeak.

Infume finds Hax getting up to something suspicious, but is immediately and thoroughly distracted.

Slightly different vision of the typical hfhvau: what if they're all superheroes, but Hax is planning to betray the Guild? Haven't totally thought through the implications here but now that I've let the brainworms in they've got a bit of a grip on me, so... who knows if I'll think about it more, LMAO.

Read on ao3 or below the cut! (1266 words, teen, first kiss)

"Hold on." Infume holds a fist up as he says it, still barely fresh enough to mix verbal signals with Guild hand signs. The patrol behind him stops without comment. "You guys hear that?"

Silverr and Emerald—Mercury and Portal while they're on patrol, Infume reminds himself—are still for a moment, straining to listen. In the quiet Infume hears the same sounds more clearly: breath, fabric brushing against fabric, a quiet set of clicks and taps, the very low but unmistakable buzz of electricity.

"Nope, just you," Mercury says. He doesn't need to add that they trust it's there anyway—Infume's heightened senses are taken for granted by teammates who know him already. "Where?"

"Down that way somewhere," Infume replies with a gesture down a side street ahead of them. "Not quite sure where, yet."

"We can check it out," Portal offers—Infume turns back to them discuss, content that the sounds aren't getting closer. "If you think it's something."

"Nah, it's probably nothing." Infume shrugs. "Just somebody with an RC car or something." That can't true—the buzz of radio waves is different than just electricity—but he doesn't elaborate. He'll go see, it's not anything important, and then he can report back. "I'll take a look, catch up with you guys later?"

Mercury shrugs right back. "If you're sure, dude."

Some prickle of defensiveness has Infume's shoulders drawing upward. He hasn't choked on patrol in a long time—that's reserved for even more serious situations now, he thinks with sarcastic sharpness—but he still feels the vestiges sometimes, old shame he's still trying to live down.

"I'm sure." The words land hard and he's sure that behind his mask Portal is raising his eyebrows. "You guys keep on the route, I'll catch up."

He turns before anyone can object, following hissing electricity around the corner.

It's not an RC car; he knows that. Besides, they're in the back alleys of downtown—Infume giggles to himself at the idea of some businessman staying late at the office then stepping out to direct an RC car over the sidewalk. Out of sight of his teammates, the sound leads him to an even smaller nook, the delivery door of some office building, and—

"Ha—Frostbite?" The surprise nearly startles Hax's real name from Infume's mouth. "What are you—"

"Hey Sunshine," Hax chirps in return.

Infume could not be more grateful for the fabric mask over the lower part of his face. "Not my alias," he mumbles. It's Lumin, really, and only Hax nicknames him Sunshine—because you're just so bright, Infume! Also the sunglasses—not that Infume is complaining, of course. Well, he is complaining. But Hax knows he doesn't mean it.

"You're on patrol," Hax observes, then grabs Infume unceremoniously by the shirt and drags him into the cramped doorway.

"What are you—" Infume starts again, then gets shushed with Hax's finger pressed over his lips. He bites back an undignified squeak.

He desperately hopes Hax can't feel his heart pounding. They're pressed flush against each other by brick walls, one of Hax's hands still gripping his shirt and the other against his mouth, oh my god, close enough to hear Hax's breathing clear as day. Deeper into the shadows next to them, electricity hisses away in uneven bursts.

He hears footsteps, presumably Mercury and Portal, echoing around the hard walls to them, and has no idea whether Hax can hear the same. Infume debates calling out that he's okay, it's just Hax back here, but with Hax still shushing him and a heavy feeling like a band around his chest he can't make a sound. Hax is grinning like a maniac up at him, obviously delighted to have him pinned like this.

Because Hax has to know Infume likes him, right? It's not like Infume can play it cool around anyone cute, and Hax is no exception. Feinberg of all people teases Infume about it, and that guy took years to notice how Couri looked at him.

So obviously Hax knows. And appears to enjoy tormenting Infume. Which is fine, Infume guesses.

The footsteps retreat into the distance and Infume's missed his chance.

"Are they gone?" Hax whispers—so he couldn't hear them, Infume notes.

"Um—yeah." Infume sounds a little strangled. Maybe Hax will think he's just getting pressed into the wall too hard.

"Good job." Hax giggles. Infume can't find anything to say. "Who is it?"

Infume swallows and his mouth is still dry. "Mercury and—Mercury and Portal. They're, look, they're expecting me to catch up."

"It's fine," Hax almost whines, drawing out the last syllable. "They walked past, didn't they? They forgot about you, Sunshine."

"Frostbite," Infume says back sharply. Hax is only half in costume, and shouldn't be on shift, but it's close enough to Guild business that Infume would rather keep things professional. "What are you doing back here?" He's… building something, he must be. Putting together a machine or a bomb or something like that. If he were supposed to be here, his Guild tracker would've pinged when Infume, Silverr, and Emerald got close.

Hax giggles again, a rough wild sound that still isn't an answer, and shoves himself up on his tiptoes to slam his mouth into Infume's.

A thousand questions ram through Infume's head at once. There's a layer of cloth between them; even though he gasps on instinct he just tastes fabric. With one hand on Hax's shoulder he pushes him away.

Hax stutters something that might be Infume's name. His brown eyes are wide, terrified—oh, god, he thinks Infume's rejecting him, doesn't he? That's not—that's the farthest thing—Infume can't get his brain in order enough to talk. He tugs his mask down to pool around his neck and shifts his hand around the back of Hax's shoulder to drag him back in.

He feels Hax tense at the motion, relax in relief, then press in with the same urgency he brings to everything. Infume can only let him.

He's a whirlwind. He's a live wire, a bolt of lightning overloading Infume's circuits. His kiss is more eagerness than finesse—their teeth clack together and Infume flinches back into the wall and Hax follows the motion closely enough he can barely breathe—and almost more desperation than eagerness, one hand buried in Infume's hair and closing tightly enough it hurts. Infume returns it with the same vigor. He can't even say how long he's been thinking about this and it's better and more than he could have imagined.

They separate by a fraction of an inch to gasp for breath; Hax is laughing directly against Infume's skin. Infume stares at him, nook dark enough he doesn't feel the need to squint for once, mind empty from shock and joy.

"Holy shit," Infume breathes.

Hax meets his eyes, mercifully not teasing him for once, and brings them back together. Shorter, this time, but no less intense; Infume is left breathless leaning against the wall at his back.

Hax presses two fingers over the pulse point of Infume's neck and just laughs. Like it's a punchline, like it's the funniest thing he's seen all day; he rests his weight on Infume's chest as if it's all too much to even stand up. Confusion and want and something close to shame churn in Infume's gut.

"Alright, pretty boy," Hax says, recovering himself. He draws his hand up to Infume's chin, turning his face to observe it, grinning in victorious joy, and that expression brightens the feeling choking Infume. "Let's get you back to HQ."

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im on a quest to make f/f the top category in Godzilla: Singular Point fanfic on ao3, and im starting out with Someone Special written with an audience of mild freaks in mind

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hi guys i have. oc fiction. not even canon to their actual plot i just wanted to make dolls kiss and think about gender. um. if you read it i will love you forever okay thanks bye. twelve hundred words.

"Whatcha thinking about?" I glanced over at Michael to find him already looking at me. We were on the couch, staring at the black TV in silence. I'd been half asleep, to be honest—I don't think I'd even been awake six hours, but I was already thinking about a nap.

"Uh." Michael's startled wordlessness lasted only a second. "Oh, uh, y'know, nothing much. Just, kinda, thinking my thoughts. Lotsa thoughts in here, or y'know maybe not so many. I'm kinda tired. If you got me sick you're gonna have to cook for me, by the way. That's the rules."

"Sure." I figured I owed it to him, and besides I didn't mind so much. There was something magnetic about him that made me want to stay nearby.

"Yeah. No takesies-backsies."

I giggled, then realized that Michael had barely answered my question. It wasn't like him to hide his opinions like that, and even less like him to lie to me—although I remembered my moment in the hallway, the one I was trying to ignore, and put a mental asterisk next to his honesty.

"What are you thinking about, though?" I pressed idly—I was used enough to him, somehow, already, that I could put his being Magpie out of my head and want to know him. It joined the background buzz of everything else I was frightened of.

And I think I judged him correctly, because almost instantly he replied, "You're kinda cute."

I stared.

"You are! I dunno, I mean, you don't have to do anything about it. But you're pretty cute."

"Like…" I barely cut myself off from asking if he like-liked me, because that's stupid. I said, "Like you wanna kiss me?" instead, which is also stupid.

It's a testament to Michael's shamelessness that he hadn't blushed until now. "I guess," he muttered. "Like, a little."

I thought about it and found my answer was shockingly simple. "Alright," I decided. "I like you too."

Michael let out a loud breath. "Okay that's good because I lied, I want to kiss you a lot which is weird because you're not a girl. But I do. So."

There was a lot I could have tripped over in that sentence. And a lot of objections and reasons I could have given. I was still sort of sick, and exhausted, and not thinking clearly. I obviously looked like a mess, my hair greasy and my breath stale, in the same sweatpants I'd been wearing for a week. Michael was getting sick too, also tired and honestly a little incoherent at the best of times anyway. He'd just told me that he was straight in the same breath as admitting he was into me.

Unfortunately, none of that even comes close to explaining what came out of my mouth next.

"I could be a girl."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Michael squawked.

I recognized that if I were Michael, this would be the part where I start rambling until something halfway sensible came out or someone told me to shut up. I'm not Michael, so I hesitated another several seconds before saying, "If you like girls, usually. And, uh, if you like me. We could pretend I'm a girl? Or something?"

Michael burst out laughing, and I tried not to want to crawl out of my skin. I was too exhausted and dehydrated to really make ice, but I could feel my body trying.

"If you wanna be a girl that bad, you can just do that—you know that, right?" His laughter was softer, now. Like I should be in on the joke. Maybe there was something in my face, though, because he carried right on into, "But we could pretend! If that's what you want. That's fine, totally fine, whatever you want. You'd be cute—I mean, you are cute, but I mean you'd be good at being a girl. Uh, a woman. Because we're grown up."

I wasn't sure what to do with any of that. I didn't want to think about it—the idea, being a woman, being Michael's girlfriend, felt magnetic just like Michael did and I didn't want to touch it. But I still echoed his words to myself, you'd be good at being a girl, and tucked them somewhere safe in my ribcage.

"This would be easier if you'd just kiss me," I said, then immediately buried my face in my hands out of sheer embarrassment.

Michael laughed again, but he also put his hand on my shoulder and said, "Hey, I like that! Straight to the point, that's awesome," and I dared to glance out from behind my hands and he was right there, face close to mine, grinning like he always is and so, so close to kissing me.

I was the one who leaned in. If I never do anything else in my life, if I never feel that bold again, at least I will have this: I leaned in to kiss him.

I'm the first to admit that it felt more than a little awkward. Both of our lips were chapped, our hands uncertain. I wasn't sure if I should hold my breath or not as we sat there, lips pressed together in quiet thought for a long second. I'd never kissed anybody before, if you hadn't guessed by the way I am, and I could tell Michael hadn't either—a bit more of a surprise, to be honest.

It felt right, though. It felt warm and friendly and like the sort of quiet romance that I had always envied on TV.

When Michael pulled back he just looked at me for a long second with honest-to-god stars in his eyes. I might've found the only way to actually shut him up, I thought, and giggled.

"What?" Michael whined. "Something on my face or something?"

"Nah, nothing like that," I replied, apologetic. I explained my thought and he twisted his face up in annoyance.

"Ugh, whatever. Still a good kiss though, right? Good experience? Five star rating, would recommend?"

"Yeah, pretty much," I agreed. The undersell got me the exact indignant expression I wanted to see. "I mean, I'm pretty sure you're supposed to, like, open your mouth. Lick each other or something."

"Ew," Michael declared with all the confidence of an eight-year-old boy rather than the twenty-year-old he was. "Don't say it like that, like, it sounds like a dog." We were still sitting on the couch with our shoulders pressed together, but he raised his opposite hand near his chest like a little paw. "Arf arf? What?"

I patted him on the head with a grin. "Good boy."

"Oh, fuck you." He turned his paw into a middle finger and rolled his eyes.

I retracted my hand solemnly. "No, bad boy. Good dogs don't swear."

Michael, in response, gave me the most dejected and plaintive, "Arf?" that I've ever heard.

And of course, because I'm me, because he's Michael, I broke instantly. "Aw, hey, I'm sorry. Puppy can get one swear, as a treat."

"Hell yeah!" He pumped his fist with a grin way too bright for the situation. "Puppy gets to swear."

I laughed but buried my face in my hands again. "Okay, now you're making it weird."

"What, puppy's not allowed to have fun?"

"Shut up. Let's just rewatch Terminator and take a nap or something, you're impossible."

"Ooh, okay," he chirped. "You've gotta put the movie on, though. I'm puppy." He gestured at me with both hands as paws.

"Spoiled brat," I shot back, already reaching for his remote.

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hi hiii :) if you've got any more info about it i would really really love to hear more about your stranger avatar branzy au..!! i've never listened to tma beyond the first few episodes so i'm curious. @kenzypierce

oh hi! yeah of course i love to talk about my aus always. i'm gonna assume you're okay with spoilers for the sake of explaining the situation (i went into the magnus archives with equivalents of these spoilers and still loved it, for the record)

so... my tma au has Lifesteal as a streaming media company and Branzy as a stranger avatar and a marketing director. the Stranger is an eldritch entity representing the fear of things pretending to be human or pretending to be someone they aren't, and avatars are humans who got either hunted down or too invested in a specific fear and became living representations of some aspect of it.

i don't have branzy's like origin story nailed down yet which means i don't know his precise niche and what situation he comes from specifically. my general idea is that he's the knowledge that something's wrong with someone, but being constrained by social scripts not to say anything. you know he's Off somehow, but he controls the situation and you can't do anything about him. physically i describe him as sort of plasticky/mannequin coded, again just kind of Not Right but it always feels rude to call him out for being inhuman. also i definitely think he holds conversations with real mannequins

anyway, he shows up in this fic to play "my hunt avatar could beat up your hunt avatar" with couriberg, and really shines here in an... unconventional teambuilding retreat :D more to come in the future probably

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um. if yall will let me be a little bit gothic for a moment here

Viceroy

The factory will eat him alive. The universe will do it, pull him back to nothingness. He is not playerkind; the realization works its way under his skin and stays there. The world will not be an ally to him.

The viceroy is a North American butterfly. It was long thought to be a Batesian mimic of the monarch butterfly, but since the viceroy is also distasteful to predators, it is now considered a Müllerian mimic instead.