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your-stoat-stands-unopposed · 2 years

Note

I hope it's not too much to ask for NSFW P03/Male-genital reader headcanons or oneshot?

Another Kind Of Game.

Pairing: P03 x amab!gender-neutral!Reader

Warnings: 18+ only for explicit content. Reader is not referred to by gendered pronouns but has certain body parts. Also: handcuffs are involved and P03's a smug tease.

Summary: "Whoever finishes first... my cute, needy challenger... is the loser."

You'd grown attached to P03 during his time as your game master, you had to admit. You'd grown to find that smug attitude of his charming, you'd grown to find his undeniable skill at the game admirable; and, most of all, you'd grown to find him enjoyable to speak with. You didn't want to make any assumptions, but it seemed the feeling was mutual; the two of you now spent around about as much time just chatting and joking around together as you did actually playing the bot's Inscryption campaign, casual flirtations that had grown less veiled and more overt over time making the atmosphere in the factory positively electric. (...Metaphorical electricity to go along with the literal electricity, of course.)

"You know," P03 had said to you one day, leaning slightly over the table and closer to you, monitor displaying an eyebrow-wiggling animation that was equal parts funny and... enticing, "I ought to treat you to... another kind of game sometime."

You'd wiggled your eyebrows right back.

Honestly, you desperately wished that he would make good on that statement... but surely he wouldn't.

Just a silly dream from a stupid human, surely.

------

When you wake on the floor - 'oh, excuse me, I wasn't aware factories built by and for robots were meant to come with human beds,' P03 had snarked at you when you'd brought up the issue long ago - you immediately find yourself unable to move your arms, which are somewhere above your head. Frowning with confusion, you wriggle your arms a bit, to no success...

"Good morning, sunshine." P03's monitor peeks into your vision from your left side, wearing his most smug expression. Your mouth opens in an attempt to say something, but you find yourself too flustered to do so; which he seems to notice, giving a synthesised chuckle as he hovers just in front of you.

"Don't try to act like you aren't into this. Back when I first put these on you, I distinctly remember the blood just rushing to your face when you noticed."

Your heart flutters, and you swallow lightly. Dammit, he's right... He's always right, and he always knows it; it's equal parts infuriating and alluring...

You're flushed again now; you can tell when P03 places the cool metal of his claw-like hand against your cheek, sending a very pleasant shiver down your spine.

"You're such a... weird human." It's not the first time the bot has told you as much, but it's the first time he's said it so... fondly. So warmly.

(It's definitely the first time he's said it while he's had you handcuffed beneath him.)

The hand trails down your neck, your chest, brushing one of your nipples that eagerly harden beneath your clothes. "Look at you. You're needy."

Your breath hitches as his hand closes around the bottom of your shirt, not at all gently shoving it up to expose your chest. Being so vulnerable in front of him... being in this position, the culmination of so much tension between the two of you... Your hips are squirming, your length twitching in your pants by now.

For a moment, P03 doesn't say anything; which is new, because there's usually not a moment when P03 doesn't have something to say. There's an ellipsis displayed on his monitor, and you aren't sure, but you're sure you can hear the motors inside him whirring louder than usual. "Wow..."

That hand slides up your stomach, and you gasp as its pleasantly cold metal caresses your warm skin. Your back arches, your body desperate for his touch, for-- for more.

"I've never seen a naked human before," he finally speaks again, restoring his expression; though his display is... flickering just a little. Idly, hopefully, you wonder if that's a sign that he's as excited about this as you are.

He explores you; caressing up and down your stomach, over your chest, teasing a nipple in slow circles before moving to lavish the other one in the same attention. By this point, you can't keep yourself quiet; you're moaning, whimpering softly as his cold touch blesses the most sensitive parts of your chest, arching your hips and--

"Oh... Oh wow. Did I excite my little challenger that much? Huh?"

--oh.

Oh, you'd bumped the bulge between your thighs against P03, hadn't you.

Oh, he surely isn't going to let you live this down...

His synthesised laugh sounds, and his hand trails down your stomach once more, trailing between your legs as he smirks at you.

"I barely even did anything to you. Are all you meatbags so sensitive?"

You can't respond; your mind is so hazy, so fuzzy. All you can really process is that hand teasing your cock, and the fact P03 of all people is the one touching you... You've wanted this for so long; you're not convinced that you aren't still dreaming...

"Eh, doesn't matter."

Slowly but surely, he tugs at your pants; shimmying them down your form, letting your erection spring free at last.

"You're the only meatbag who's got my attention."

...That's somehow the sweetest thing you've ever heard him say to you. You feel your heart get warm.

The bot shifts, floating just above your crotch now; and he smirks, his hand closing around the base of your length. "While I'm learning things about your body... you may as well learn things about mine too, right?"

He pushes down just a little, just a tiny bit; just enough for you to feel the tip of your length nudging against a hole that you hadn't quite realised was there. The whirring sound seems to hitch, and you're sure you saw P03's screen glitch out, but it's only for a moment.

You moan softly, pressing yourself against the bot's entrance. You're a desperate, hard, twitching mess by now; and you need this, you do...

"Pfft. Needy little thing."

(His playful chastising sounds just as needy as he's accusing you of being, though.)

"Alright... Time to get our new game underway, then."

He pushes down on you, and you cry out in utter ecstasy, not sure if your vision is blurry with sweat or tears or what. Your length sinks into P03 effortlessly thanks to how much you'd leaked; his entrance is warm around you, vibrating lightly from the mechanisms working inside him...

You didn't know robots could moan, but he does as you fill him up completely, his display definitely glitching out this time. Slowly, agonisingly slowly, he raises himself up and lets himself sink back down on you; a lusty, teasing laugh escaping him as your hips cant upwards and he rides you in time with your movements.

"Whoever finishes first... my cute, needy challenger... is the loser."

#spicy #inscryption #inscryption p03 #p03 #p03 x reader #inscryption spoilers #answered asks #the idiot gamer writes

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sisterspooky1013 · 3 years

Text

Goodnight and Go by SisterSpooky1013

Part of the inspired by songs series, this work is inspired by “goodnight and go” by Imogen Heap.

2219 words, read it here on AO3

His knock was always a welcome interruption. The soft rap rap against her door seemed to have a direct line to her lips, quirking them into a secret smirk that she invariably erased before greeting him. She was, after all, an accomplished avoider, hider, and suppresser of emotions. She had become so adept at concealing her visceral response to him that she found she was unable to let it be known, even now that she felt ready for that part of herself to be seen. Nearly dying from cancer could do that to you; make you rethink why you ever built walls around your heart in the first place. What was meant to protect you from hurt and vulnerability also served to prevent you from having the type of true connection that made life worth living in the first place. And so when she learned her fate, that she would live, she decided to make a change, to let him in, only to discover that she didn’t actually know how. So, brick by brick, she was deconstructing her own defenses. Sometimes that looked like not suppressing a smile, or making a sexual innuendo, or sitting a little closer than was absolutely necessary. It was tedious work, but the progress was continual. What she had not anticipated, however, was how quickly Mulder would respond to the change in her, and how affected she would be by his response.

Mulder had always been affectionate towards her, tender even at times. His broad hand at the small of her back, the occasional stroke of her cheek, a kiss to the top of her head now and then, these were expected and appreciated gestures. Her own demeanor or their sometimes tumultuous relationship never seemed to affect whether he interacted with her in this way; it was simply a given. But the first time she reciprocated, returning his coy smile with a toothy grin of her own instead of a suppressed smirk, she saw his body respond to the feedback. Something shifted in his eyes, or maybe it was more like a subtle wave that traveled down his body, or a spark that sputtered from his fingertips. Whatever it was, she felt it from several feet away, electric and thick and heavy between them, and it hadn’t abated since.

Rap rap.

She felt a flush spread from her chest to her fingertips, and her tongue darted out to taste the smile that stretched across her lips. She wouldn’t push it away this time; she wanted him to see how happy she was to see him. Pulling the door open, she greeted him warmly with a “hi” and he grinned in return, setting off a fluttering in her belly that had previously been reserved for high school crushes. His snug jeans and grey T shirt hugged his muscular body in all the right places, and she decided then and there to pull down her brick for the day, to chip away at part of the wall. Still smiling, she let her gaze float down his body, taking in the hard swell of his pecs and the soft bulge in his pants before she met his eye again. It felt gratuitous and overt, but in reality it was nothing more than a flicker; something he might have missed had he looked away for even a moment. But he hadn’t missed it. She knew because he inhaled deeply and she saw his eyes darken as his pupils expanded, his nervous system unable to suppress its natural response to the flush of dopamine he experienced as a result of her leering.

“Come in,” she said, stepping aside, ignoring the blush that she felt warm her cheeks. She couldn’t suppress her body’s natural response to what felt dangerous and exciting any more than he could. “Can I get you something? Coffee, beer?”

She had been working on not asking why he was there, or what he needed. She wanted to eliminate the pretense that their relationship could exist only as it related to a case or a task, so that they could simply be together without a reason for doing so. Maybe if she stopped asking him to justify why he came over or called, he would do so more often, just because.

“Sure, beer sounds great,” he replied, slipping off his shoes and making for the couch. He had nothing in his hands, seemingly no agenda, and that fact both thrilled her and made her uncomfortable. The discomfort, she knew, was part of her defense mechanisms, and so she chose to ignore it. Another brick fell away with a THUNK as she plopped down beside him, on the middle cushion rather than the opposite end as she normally would.

“What have you been up to today?” She asked, handing him his open bottle while taking a swig of her own. His thick fingers brushed over hers as he took the beer from her hand and she caught his eye briefly.

“Not much, I’ve just been over at the gunmen’s, playing Monopoly of all things.” He pivoted his body towards hers, draping an arm over the back of the couch behind her head, which felt like some kind of embrace though they weren’t touching at all.

“Ah, who won?” She asked, curling her legs underneath her torso so that she could also face him, the side of her body leaning on the back of the couch, his arm close enough that she could smell the soap on his skin.

“Nobody, we just stopped playing. I don’t think I’ve ever finished a game of Monopoly, actually.” He shifted slightly and she felt his fingertips brush over the back of her neck momentarily, sending a shiver up her spine.

“What? How can you just stop without anyone winning?!” She was genuinely incredulous.

Mulder chuckled good-naturedly. “Not everyone is as competitive as you, Scully. We were just playing for fun, it doesn’t matter who won.”

She shook her head in disbelief. “That approach would not fly in the Scully household.”

“I’m suddenly getting an idea of why you never played sports in school,” he teased, touching her neck on purpose this time, squeezing gently. Without allowing herself to think about it, she leaned into his touch like a cat, or a flower seeking sunlight. Encouraged, he threaded his fingers into the hair at the base of her skull and kept them there.

“No,” she replied, though her voice was a little softer, her breath a little less even, “I never played sports because I’m terrible at them.”

“Really? I was under the impression that there’s nothing you aren’t good at.” His eyes were on her lips, studying them as though he was seeing them for the first time. In what was an unconscious tick, her tongue slipped out and ran along the seam of her mouth. She saw his eyebrows jump almost imperceptibly.

“I don’t like doing things I’m not good at, so I generally avoid them,” she answered, trying to ignore the way his fingertips whispered against her skin, and the resulting throb between her legs.

“What are you bad at, other than sports?” He asked, and she was momentarily lost in the flutter of his eyelashes and the green flecks in his irises as they traversed her face, cool and serene and without nervousness. He always seemed so comfortable and in his element, unflappable in a way that she often envied. His eyes fixed on hers and she realized she was staring, but forced herself not to look away.

“Puzzles. I suck at puzzles,” she finally answered, and his mouth quirked into a smile that she mirrored, just because his smile made her happy.

“I’ve seen you do puzzles, Scully. Difficult ones.”

She nodded, humming at the feeling of his fingers rubbing against her scalp with the movement. “Once I start I have to finish it, but that doesn’t mean that I like it, or that I’m any good at it.”

“Ah, yes, that sounds like the Scully I know,” he said, slipping his hand away from her and returning his arm to the back of the couch. “Maybe we should play Monopoly sometime, see it all the way through,” he added, not seeming to notice the fact that every atom in her body was straining towards him, desperate to feel his touch again.

“I’m not sure that’s a good plan. We may not be friends when the game is over, regardless of who wins. Perhaps something lower stakes, like Candy Land,” she said with a smirk.

Mulder shook his head in mock-doubt. “I dunno, Scully, I can just envision you getting the cupcake card when you’re up by chocolate mountain. You’ll flip the table.” She screwed up her mouth but didn’t deny it. “How about strip poker? There are no losers in that game.”

She imagined Mulder peeling off his boxers after a bad hand, unable to conceal his arousal. Or maybe it would be her, revealing herself to him bit by bit. Her nipples tightened at the thought, and she saw his eyes dart down to her chest, noticing. Of course she wouldn’t be wearing a bra when she wasn’t expecting company.

“Isn’t the person who ends up naked the loser in strip poker?” She asked rhetorically, the verbalizing of nakedness a thrill in itself. Not that they hadn’t both seen each other naked before, but they seemed to have an unspoken agreement that incidental eyefulls during times of medical emergency didn’t count.

“Technically speaking, yes, but if they aren’t particularly opposed to getting naked in the first place, that too can be a win.” He took a swig of his beer, and Scully suddenly remembered hers existed and did the same. “So you’d last, what,” he looked over her body, calculating how many items of clothing she was wearing, imagining not only what he could see but what lay beneath, “Four rounds at most. You don’t have socks on, that’s a disadvantage.”

She took a deep breath, summoning courage. “Only two, actually. You caught me at a bad time, strip poker wise.” She took another drink to cover her shock at her own admission.

Mulder’s eyes narrowed as he appraised her again. Pants and shirt. Oh. He shifted a little.

“Do you make a habit of not wearing underwear, Scully?” He ventured, the pitch of his voice one she was not well acquainted with. His mouth held a playful smirk, but his eyes betrayed his true reaction to what she’d said.

“Why do you ask?” She returned, question for question.

He smiled like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Just curious,” he said, heat rising in his cheeks.

She nodded, then diverted the focus to him. She’d had about as much as she could handle. “You’ve got about…6 losing hands to work with?” She asked, guesstimating. “Unless you’re also not wearing underwear,” she added cheekily.

“On the contrary, I’m outfitted in my favorites,” he said, leaning forward to set his beer on the coffee table before he leaned back and pulled up his shirt, revealing the ripples of his abdomen and a trail of soft brown hair that disappeared into his jeans. Scully suppressed a moan. He tugged the waistband of his boxers above his jeans to reveal a pattern of tiny cartoon Elvis’ on a black background.

“Those are very adult underwear, Mulder,” she teased him, and he tucked them away but stayed reclined like that, hands folded on his belly. There was still a sliver of flesh visible between his shirt and pants, which she pointedly avoided looking at.

He tilted his head up to look at her, their faces closer now in his reclined position. “I’d ask to see yours, but…y’know.” He arched his eyebrows and flicked his eyes over her body quickly.

“Maybe some other time,” she replied, a coy smile on her mouth.

“May-be,” he returned.

They were quiet for a moment, which turned into a minute, and felt like an eternity. It was the kind of silence that demanded action, shit or get off the pot kind of silence. She felt the hairs on her arms stand up, anticipation pricking her skin like a sunburn. Do something, she told herself. She parted her lips to speak, but no words came out.

“I should get going,” he said abruptly, and sat up. It felt like a bucket of cold water. Had he interpreted her hesitation as disinterest? She stood dumbly and followed him to the door. “Thanks for the beer,” he said, hand on the knob, and she nodded.

Just before he was about to pull the door closed behind him, he stopped. “Hey, next time I go to the Gunmen’s for game night, you wanna come with?”

She smiled tightly, “yeah, that sounds fun.”

He heaved a sigh that sounded like relief and smiled. “Great, I’ll let them know. Though I really recommend you wear underwear going over there. Never can be too careful with Frohike around. You know how he feels about you.” She chuffed a small laugh, and he added “can’t say I blame the guy.” Giving her one more glance from head to toe, he left.

Brick by brick. Slow progress, but progress nonetheless. One day they would get there.

Tagging @today-in-fic thank you!

#the x files #txf #dana scully #fox mulder #gillovny #msr #sculder #x files #angst #fluff #UST

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writcraft · 5 years

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Hullo Writ I would actually like to ask you about a fandom that I remember you mentioning an age ago but like, have never really talked to you about. But I remember you mentioning queerdom in fandoms and one of the fandoms you mentioned was stranger things - since the new season just dropped it seems espec relevant, would you please share some of your thoughts on stranger things? if you have time and want to of course!! thank you :D D

Hellllllo!!!!! Thank you for this ask, ily. In the interests of full disclosure I’ve never really dabbled in Stranger Things fandom as I don’t really ship anyone in it, but I’ve published on the queer subtext which is definitely something I’ve been following throughout the seasons. I put this under a cut because there are spoilers, although not many. I haven’t waffled on tooooo much, LOL.

feeling chatty

One of the first things that struck me about the first two seasons (which a lot of people picked up on) apart from the nods to 80s pop culture was how queer coded characters seem to experience the Upside Down in a particularly violent way. That then led me off on a path thinking about Reagan Era America, and how unsafe it was during the AIDS epidemic for LGBTQ+ people and other marginalised groups, which is where I ended up focusing my research. Amidst all the fun pop culture treasure trails there’s always this sense of something lurking in the darkness, which makes it ripe for a queer reading contextualised by the politics of the period the show covers.

More broadly it made me think a lot about nostalgia, how the pleasure of remembering can distort how we remember the past. I think Stranger Things plays with that in a really interesting way, wholeheartedly and lovingly embracing that very recognisable era with nods to Stephen King’s Loser’s Club, Stand By Me, E.T., Freaks and Geeks, Lost Boys and so many other things that shaped pop culture, set to a soundtrack that firmly situates it in the 80s, but cautioning that things aren’t as lighthearted as they seem. There’s a pervasive eeriness that’s literally everywhere and there are forces at work which threaten the characters we come to love. It also seems to me that references to the political landscape have become increasingly overt, which you start to see in the Season 2 trailer (as per the sign in front of the house below) and even more explicitly in Season 3 where politics is a big feature.

I think nostalgia has been hugely influential in today’s politics and considering Reagan used the ‘Make America Great Again’ line in the 80s, the way nostalgia operates in Stranger Things seems to me to have particular relevance in Trump Era America, with his use of MAGA to build this smoke and mirrors myth of better days, of going ‘back’ to something - a sentiment that was also influential in the context of Brexit. Of course this idea of going back to something ‘better’ turns on the question, better for who, and it is marginalised groups that are most vulnerable to this quest to return to something past. I think Stranger Things really explores and I’m really curious to see where they go with it all.

On a general less deep note, I find the show enjoyable, though I liked the third season less than the first two. I can’t see myself writing fic or anything in the fandom because I don’t have the same sort of fannish feels about it as I do with other shows, but I really like watching it and I love the way it makes me ponder on things.

#asks #stranger things #stranger things spoilers #sort of #candybarrnerd

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magpiewritingthing · 5 years

Text

the road that leads me back to you (i thought would lead me somewhere less fucking stupid)

Series: the barbershop quartet of bullshit

Summary: Why does Riot keep Venom around?

Sex, one would suppose. Mostly that. And the fact that Venom is actually good at what they do, whether it’s total and overt destruction, or covert subterfuge.

Not that Riot would appreciate nuance.

Warnings: sexual content (not overly explicit), unhealthy relationship gore, alien cannibalism mention, typical symbiotes-eating-their-hosts dealio (including children)

Other notes: giftfic for hauntedjaeger (saellys) on ao3, with a nod to their version of Blue & Dora surviving; more of a slice-of-life fic from Blue’s pov; rewritten a tad

Hosts are needed, more often than not, for survival. It would figure that every other planet they’d taken to feast on would be oxygen-rich, which can fucking kill them. Yellow had lamented this many a time, and had also derailed onto tangents about their supposed frailty. Blue has, so far successfully, shut them up before any of the others caught wind and... misinterpreted what Yellow meant.

Well, misinterpretation of the comment wouldn’t be the problem. It would be the interpretation that Yellow just wasn’t fit for it. Shit’s harsh, but Klyntar must eat. And eat. And eat.

That’s actually annoying, if Blue thinks too hard on that. But that’s just how it is.

Thinking too much about it -- about their need for hosts, and allergy to oxygen, and constant need to eat -- is more trouble than it’s worth, and what good are they if all one does is bemoan their lot in life? Certainly gets you no favours, and it’d only get you rounded up by the likes of Riot. Which -- no, Blue hadn’t done a damn thing, never said a peep, but wherever Yellow was, you’d be sure to find Blue. Inseparable, more or less. And Riot’s decided to keep them on a short leash, as if they knew about Yellow’s misgivings. So if Riot decides to lead a mission (and very often, they do), then Yellow follows, and so does Blue.

So does Venom, for that matter. At least Venom’s not a tattling little bitch whenever Yellow complains about potential oxygen-induced death on every planet they come to devour.

Riot’s bitch, however? Yeah, that seems likely. And so keenly that, as well.

Why does Riot keep Venom around?

Sex, one would suppose. Mostly that. And the fact that Venom is actually good at what they do, whether it’s total and overt destruction, or covert subterfuge.

Not that Riot would appreciate nuance. Doesn’t appreciate much besides the feasting and destruction.

Or maybe that’s just the impression Blue got from them. Because, instead of farming and maintaining a steady food source, it’s all gobble-gobble-gobble, slurp, and wash-rinse-repeat. Hey, don’t get them wrong, Blue loves a good feast, and is always hungry, like every other, but it’d make sense for Klyntar to, you know, spread out a bit. Some here, some there, the food source is steady and not-so-finite.

Then again, Blue loves some destruction as well. Sometimes it’s just plain funny. Ever circumvented natural aging, forcing the unaware host to watch the majority their loved ones die as they stayed the same for two hundred years? And then gobbled up all their organs from the inside before taking over another relative? And then high-jacking a spacecraft to reach another planet, endangering the crew and alerting your own people to the planet you’ve been living on? Blue’s done that. Fun! Funny!

... Maybe that’s why Riot’s keeping them close, too. Gone too long, never know what “funny ideas” Blue might’ve had. Might end up like Venom. Vulnerable to attachment.

As if.

(They did miss Yellow, though. Sometimes thought about them. Wondered if they’d died. If they’d been left behind, or cannibalised.)

(Worry is weakness. Love is weakness. Anything that isn’t eating and destruction and manipulation is weakness.)

Riot got off on being the leader, whether in their own gooey form or when possessing some other life form, and oh boy, did it show.

A leader of a space-faring cruiseship? Riot gets that one, and points at the direction of the leader’s supposed spouse or second-in-command for Venom to control. Blue only ever got the second-in-command if there wasn’t a spouse, or lover, or fuck-buddy, at all. For Yellow, it was anyone’s guess -- an animal, another member of the crew, the child of leader-and-supposed-spouse in one case (Yellow would not stop gossiping about that to Blue, despite them trying to block out the details; fucking weirdo was still surprised by Riot and Venom’s... whatever they had).

In any case, at least Yellow hadn’t seen the utmost bold and brazen that Riot could be on that mission. Probably because they were gobbling one child and transferring to another. In private, of course.

Blue, piloting an errand-boy (Luk, the name might’ve been, or perhaps just the word for errand-boy, or some other term), had been wanting an update. What’s the plan, Jan? Is it a straight-up all-you-can-eat feast, or a leisurely lumber? The cruise-ship was far smaller than a planet, and last less than a year in... whatever the species was, their definition of a year. But Riot, control-freak, and Venom, bond-seeking-freak, were nowhere to be found. If they’d jumped bodies, they would’ve let Blue and Yellow know by now, surely -- they knew where the break-room was, and the children's quarters--

Maybe it’s the private quarters, seeing as leader (captain) and spouse were supposedly all over each other, even before their mission. Cute couple, apparently. Blue had filed through the boy’s mind, bored and frustrated with the lull, to pull up a map of the ship, pinpointing where Riot and Venom might be.

They’d regretted it almost immediately upon stepping through the door. Should’ve paid the noises some mind, the errand-boy thought at them, mild with his chiding.

Perhaps so. But Blue still took a spiteful bite out of an internal organ that the errand-boy didn’t immediately need.

“No wonder I couldn’t find the two of you,” they'd said, errand-boy’s mouth moving with both his and Blue’s insectoid voices.

Riot, metal-grey form overlaying the captain’s, was hunched over Venom, in a similar state of being. It was an odd thing to watch, and not particularly titillating to Blue’s mind -- to others’, perhaps, like the errand-boy’s (and it showed), but not theirs -- but fascinating in a purely scientific way. Yellow might’ve called it some fucked-up form of high art, whatever that is.

“What is it?” Riot’s voice was entirely their own; Riot’s mouth entirely their own. The only hint of the captain at all was forming as the solid structure that Riot leached off of.

Grey hand on back of black neck, pushing down. Grey hand on black hip. Claws. Teeth.

“WHAT IS IT?” A particularly hard snap of hips, body to body, like vibrations of a quake underground. A howl from a toothy mouth, overly long tongue stretching out. The pillows were shredded to ribbons.

Blue had gotten distracted. It was fascinating to watch. But not titillating.

“What’s the plan here? Do we eat them all now or do we wait until we reach another planet to freak them all out?” They could feel the errand-boy shake with fear, dull as it was; Blue had completely taken over, trying to regain control over the body and shoo away the errand-boy’s erection. Turned-on despite inevitable death? What a weirdo.

Riot only snarled in response, then seemingly rolled back their eyes, then snapped forward to bite into Venom. The squeal didn’t reach the deadly pitch, but it was close enough that Blue took the hint and shuffled out of the bedroom. Sheesh.

Later, Riot snarled at Blue again, but at least informed them that they’d wait until another planet. Then Riot asked why there was blood on the front of Blue's host's pants.

“I cut his penis off.” They’d cauterized the wound; blood loss would be fine so long as the host didn’t die too early and ruin the surprise for everyone.

To be fair, Blue thought it’d make them laugh. If nothing else, Riot’s sense of humour was something they could appreciate. But not even so much as a suppressed huff of a chuckle. Damn.

“Clean it up.”

Double-damn. Bordering on a hissy fit, right there. At least the surprise when the ship docked made up for the weirdness in the quarters. And no, Yellow barely got a peep out of Blue.

Bored and waiting for the oncoming ship to come by the meteor -- their little home away from home -- Blue took it upon themselves to bother Venom. Specifically, about Venom and Riot. That shameless display from the cruiseship was a good several decades before (by Earth’s rotations, anyhow; the mathematical mind belonged to Yellow), but it’s never really left Blue’s mind. Haunted it, actually. Difficult to shake, considering Riot had kept all four of them in that fucked-up little barbershop quartet of bullshit going on for way too fucking long.

Some room to breathe would’ve been nice, is all.

(Blue had thought about... Riot dying from a result of their own hubris. Just go on, go, die, please leave. But then they’d probably be sent elsewhere, under someone else's control. Probably split up. Yellow might be taken to task for their constant bemoaning of their lot in life. Venom might be cannibalised -- all bets going to Carnage, really -- and although Blue wouldn’t care as much, it’d be a shame, because Venom is actually good at what they do. It’d be a waste.)

You and Riot. They start, having nudged the black Klyntar to get their attention. Smart of you.

A hard, destabilizing slap was the answer. Blue almost fell down into a shallow crater. Wow, OK.

I meant you’re smart to not be starting shit with Riot.

Barely a grumble and Venom started slinking away. Maybe all four of them were dumbasses -- Venom’s a loser, Riot’s got no foresight, Yellow doesn’t shut up, and Blue doesn’t know when to let something go.

Blue follows. I’m not saying you're Riot’s bitch.

No?

No. Thinking it, but not saying it. No. I’m just saying -- again, you stubborn popped slimeball -- that you're smart, getting in with Riot. Considering you don’t actually like them.

Venom started to slink away faster. Blue’s always been quicker.

How good does actual intercourse have to be to for you to do that? It’s not that Blue thought Venom deserved the jab, but the relationship -- if it could be called that -- boggled the mind. And Yellow had seen something recently between the two. A melding, was their wording. Hostless melding. Yellow wouldn’t stop talking about it, how weird it was. How strange. How... Blue had slapped them before they started getting ideas.

Venom stilled. Turned.

Silence.

Then a snort, of sorts. It’s beyond what you know. A pause, theatrical (something they must’ve learned from a previous host), and added, Perhaps you should talk to Phage about it. You talk to them a lot.

It’s one of the few times that Venom’s managed to sound smug and superior, and it dug into Blue. There is nothing between me and Phage.

Isn’t there?

Blue lunged. Venom was prepared, and laughed as they batted Blue back, sending them tumbling down a deeper crater.

Once hitting the bottom, Blue was greeted by the sight of Yellow spread out across the crater floor. Neither one said anything. And when Riot came to round them up, they still said nothing.

Yellow, after all the shit they’ve all been through, is somewhat relieved to be back in a jar. They’re waiting for Rosie Collins; she owed Dora. Blue had noted the long silences and stutterings, and filed that away as a sign of guilt, as did Dora. There was something else under that, but Blue isn’t interested in that right now. There’s always time for later.

They carry Yellow’s jar to the living room, and all three sit in front of the TV. News channel. Carlton Drake is dead. So is Riot.

As far as they know, Venom is in limbo.

(Later, they here of criminals being eaten alive in San Francisco. Exit limbo.)

#mine #my writing #mw: venom #wc: 1000 – 2000 #series: the barbershop quartet of bullshit #ch: venom #ch: riot #ch: blue/toxin #ch: yellow/phage #nsft

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