ic contact for maskormenace

[pillz]

Text/audio/video OK.

Up to R for language, individual threads/comments to be marked with warnings accordingly in the subject header if you plase.

Comments

[pillz]

What? You thought I'd be bleeding out on the fucking table? [kavinsky sounds amused more than anxious. disdainful a little, maybe, in an offhand and playful kind of way. the effects are subtle. he doesn't register exactly what this is doing to him, but it'll come back later, slowly, like the very first person to ever experience caffeine withdrawal, before they finally took that sip of delicious joe.

he'll want it again, someday.

but right now, he merely stretches his arms out like he's decorating a crucifix, chest open, wiggling his fingers in the free and open air. he feels better than he has in awhile. but it's quiet. subtle, not the spiky ecstasy of cocaine or the madness of dreaming. so he doesn't think it.] But we should do this again some time, [he says.]

[inmyothertights]

No, I mean I thought it would be more precise. Like if I took it out there would be an immediate reaction or something.

[Billy huffs a little, but he nudges Kavinsky just a bit.]

If you let me experiment on you with my magic, you're probably crazy, but you're also going to quickly turn into my favorite person.

[He starts to lower them. His temper has abated. He feels better. It's stupid and weird to feel better after removing another human's soul but Billy Kaplan has never really been normal.]

But let me know anytime you want to mess around.

[Magically, he means.]

cw homophobic language

[pillz]

[magically, he means, but kavinsky's smirk is wry and inevitable. he doesn't comment on it, entirely because he is distracted by what he just saw today. a wee, pessimistic voice in his head j'accuses billy of some form of deception, but most of him is too certain that it had been true. so many subtle cues and changes.

so much weird light. and fingers inside his chest.]

I'm a cunt, but I'm a cunt who likes weird fucking magic tricks, [kavinsky says, cheerfully. not-so-subtly, he runs a hand up his own chest, assuring himself that his ribs and nipples are where they used to be, and nothing in that way is amiss.] Come on. Let's go back and write a pro-faggot slogan on the sand.

[inmyothertights]

[He laughs.]

Okay, deal.

[And from then it's an easy float down, a night spent doing stupid things, maybe, but Kavinsky'll make Billy smile. Maybe that's enough.]