motorkink | PROMPT POST

General Rules

motorkink has zero tolerance towards prompts and comments containing personal attacks on other community users and private individuals, including bullying, kink shaming, and hate speech. Comments violating this rule will be deleted.
If your comment is deleted/screened/frozen and you don't know why, it is up to you to PM a mod or make a comment in the Ask the Mods page. ALSO: If there is anything in the kink meme that breaks the rules/requires deletion, don't self-mod, please alert a mod and we'll take care of it.
Plagiarism will result in an immediate deletion.
Dreamwidth FAQ: Why does my anonymous comment not display the way I want it to?
Dreamwidth account holders have the ability to edit/delete their comments. Keep in mind that if your original comment breaks the above rules of plagiarism or attacking other KM users, and you have edited it, I will freeze/screen/delete it regardless of what you've rewritten and if needed, will ban your account from the comm.
Character limit for dreamwidth comments is 16,000, which is roughly 3,200 words.
If you link to anything that is NSFW, add a nsfw warning (and if needed, add trigger warnings).
Would just like to remind everyone that asking/suggesting if enjoying a kink is 'bad' or 'makes me a bad person' is a soft form of kink shaming. This is the internet. You are never ever ever "the only one" who has some sort of kink, and blanket statements such as those above imply that others who share your kink are wrong as well. Please refrain from making such statements.

TL;DR: Be nice to one another, this fandom is already pretty chill, let's keep it that way.

Prompting Rules

One prompt per comment.
Please follow the correct format (see below).
Include trigger warnings in the subject line.
Gen or otherwise not 'kinky' prompts are welcome too.

Format of Prompts (for Subject Line)

Alphabetize pairings/threesomes/moresomes to streamline archive tagging/searching. (e.g. Chuck/Mike/Texas)
For crossover prompts: "[Crossover], Motorcity Character(s)/Other Character(s), [Fandom]" (e.g. [Crossover], Kane/Tarrlock, [Legend of Korra])
Put [GEN] before GEN prompts.

Fills

Link to NSFW images/videos. Don't embed.
Trigger warnings still apply, you must add them in regardless if the prompter did so or not.
Fills may be posted anonymously or not.
Fills can be anything: fic, art, vid, fanmix, podfic, etc.
For fic fills, make sure to have the fill be viewable on the kink meme itself. Linking is fine, but for the sake of permanency/archiving, please put it in a comment as well.
All prompts are open to fills at all times, multiple fills are more than welcome.
If you prompt something, please try to fill your fellow anons' prompts as well!
Whether you have a work in progress or completed fill, post a link to it in the fill post.

**Spoiler Policy**

Any prompt that includes spoilers for the latest/leaked episode should have a spoiler warning in the subject line.

7/16/2012: GOOD NEWS! Your fellow anons, S and B have graciously ARCHIVED EVERYTHING, and did a stellar job at that too! Now you can look up for prompts to fill, completed/wips/artfills in the meme, and look up stuff by character, pairing, and kinks/genres! We also now have a new mod,

boyshort! She'll be on board to help out with archiving full time and mod things. \o/!!

8/3/2012: There is now a daily km update comm,

archivefastarchivefree! Man, people in this fandom love being organized. This is awesome. :'D

8/7/2012: POM over at Titmouse has reached out to MC fans to help them fill out a brand marketing survey for Disney XD, let's help them out!

8/25/2012: Help out the world while you're surfing the KM (and the internet in general). Donate your unused computing power toward solving important, world-impacting problems by way of World Community Grid. Process data that are looking to find the cure for muscle dystrophy, track human activity patterns that can lead to sustainable water, come up with a drug to fight malaria, and more!

9/4/2012:

archivefastarchivefree now has a tumblr mirror, for those without dreamwidth accounts.

11/06/12: Soldier on. In the meantime, fyeahmotorcity has a bunch of links to click on, so pick your protest of choice.

AS YOU WERE.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

In ancient times it was said: it's not the destination, it's the journey. For all that Chuck was concerned, they might have been one and the same.

By internal clock, it had taken him at least twelve hours. By the side of the lake, at an unremarkable access point with nothing but the bones of a pier to hint that yearly summer pilgrimages from civilization might ever have occurred here, Chuck toed off his shoes and threw them aside, half hysterically, practicing carelessness. Mike never wore shoes. He wouldn't need them again. Socks, too, were cast off into the breech, dirty now and worn. The shirt came off, and his pants, but some unfathomable modesty in the vast emptiness of the undercity wilderness compelled him to leave his boxer shorts on. If this went wrong, he thought, at least whoever found his bloated corpse would be saved the sight of him naked from the waist down.

Head tipped back, Chuck brushed the hair out of his eyes, and waded out into the water, thinking of nothing and no one, feeling only the parched earth turn to silt and mud beneath his feet. The water was cool, and dark, and deep; black and sucking. In Deluxe grade school, they'd been shown pictures of all the antiquated things that had come before, like democracy and dinosaurs, and fascinated, he'd read between the lines and found the forbidden things, the whispers of the La Brea tar pits that pockmarked parts of California. The animals, big dumb grazing beasts, had seen the sheen of sun against the thin line of water atop the tar, and when they'd stepped in to drink, found themselves stuck, no more able to free themselves than bluebottles to flypaper. And then the dire wolves had come, drawn by the scent of the struggle, and been caught themselves, howling and dying, animals in pain.

Chuck stepped forward and felt his feet sink into the rich, irradiated bottom mud. No minnows nipped at his heels, no water plants tore and tangled through his toes. This lake was a mere bowl of water, dead, the bloated body of an ecosystem that made its grave where it had lived. If Chuck squinted, he fancied that he could see stars, cold like diamonds, watching him.

Another step, another deep breath, and he was in it up to his knees. What was the nature of this miracle compound that had transformed the Burners? Was it acidic? He felt no tingling on his skin save for the bite of chill water, so probably not. It would need a mucosal membrane, then, something permeable, meant for osmosis. An open wound, a pus-filled sore that had swollen and burst, a mouth, an eye, an ear, the inside of his nose. If he stayed with his legs only in the water, he would be safe. Unchanged. He could turn back now.

He took another step, and the bottom fell away slowly, leaving the water lapping in gentle pulls against the bottom hem of his boxers. Biting his lip, Chuck hooked his thumbs below the worn elastic waistband, fixing to bend down towards the water, towards his perfectly human reflection, and roll them off.

Instead, someone far back behind him gave a discreet cough that carried, amplified as it skimmed over the water, and Chuck froze, failed to breathe, practicing the cottontail rabbit theory of enemy deflection: if you are still enough, perhaps they will think of you, too, as a thing already worthless and dead.

"Chuck. Buddy." He knew that voice. Warm and rich and deep, and something distantly mournful. "Chuck." He braced himself for any number of things: berating, disappointed, disgusted, ashamed. Instead, "Are you sure?"

Chuck had never been sure about anything in his life, except that no one had ever made him feel so good and so bad simultaneously as Mike. He could have turned and run up the bank and hugged him, clung tight, dripping, and been folded in strong arms and never let go. He could have smacked him, and Mike would have accepted it calmly, taken it as a due. But the anger was Chuck's to own, and he knew it was the poison of his own concoction that had been brewing for sixteen years, now about to boil over. His answer came quiet, but he knew that Mike would hear.

"Come on back to shore, then," Mike urged. "Let's talk about it." When Chuck didn't move, he went on. "I want to tell you something. I want you to have all the facts, and then you can make up your mind, and if you decide you still want to do this, then I won't stop you. I'll give you the choice, because nobody gave me one. Nobody ever let me know."

And Chuck went, because there was no choice: back to Mike, who stood back from the road a little, leaned up against the sleek frame of Julie's 9 Lives, which had snuck up on him quiet as a cat. Mike came out to meet him, as he approached, and saw him shiver, mistook it for cold; wrapped him in his jacket without a word, spreading the battered ream of cloth over Chuck's narrow shoulders and letting him fold himself in it. "They thought I was a Burner," he said, to himself, and winced at the admission, because of course he knew already what Mike would say.

"Because you are. And you know that." The tone was not chiding, but obvious-- Because the sky is blue. And of course you know that. Chuck sat gently on the hood of Julie's car and tried not to cry. "Being a Burner isn't about appearance. But that's not-- I don't want to lecture you. I'm told I do that a lot. Sorry. Let me start over."

Mike wound up beside him, and neither of them had to look to the other. Their hands were just close enough to touch, too far away to hold, and that millimeter was five hundred miles. "What I want you to know is that pain changes people. And sometimes it hurts for the better, and sometimes it just makes you worse. When I turned, I was as lost as I think you feel now, Chuck. I'd been betrayed, I cast myself out, and suddenly everything I knew was wrong. My old friends, my mentor-- everything was gone. So that was one kind of pain, and I don't think that ever goes away, entirely. You have to learn how to carry it with you, but not let it become you. Pain can't be your identity.

"But it hurt, the change. I don't think I... made that clear enough, before. Have you ever broken a bone?"

Chuck nodded, shallowly, and unconsciously rubbed his synth-polymer wrist, flexing his flesh-and-blood right foot.

"Right. It was and wasn't like that. Can you imagine your face breaking, from the inside out? My jaw snapped in three places. My nose broke. The plates of my skull shattered and scraped my brain and rearranged, and that was alright in the end somehow, but at the time it felt like five days of death. My ear canal sealed up and I couldn't hear anything but the beat of my heart for half a week. My eyes blurred. My vocal cords ripped-- did you know there's a bone in there? And everywhere something snapped, the bone grew, and healed, and broke again, and grew. My hands were so weak I couldn't hold a fork for a month after it was over. And the tail-- that was the worst part. My skin split open there when the bone grew, and I'm lucky, mine's short. I think Texas' was the worst, you saw how it curls."

It wasn't obvious whose hand had moved to cover the other's: now they were entwined, and it had always been so. Chuck found his voice. "But you're better now. You love the Burners, you love your pack--" that cliche tripped off his tongue awkwardly, but Mike did not contradict "--you're... happy." That word was ground out bitterly. "You're happy, Mike. How could I not want to be like you?"

Mike clung to his hand with a vice grip, and cupped Chuck's cheek with his free hand, forcing him to look, to see those eyes that burned intensely. Love was foreign, compassion unheard of. But Chuck remembered his father's hands on his shoulders, and his mother clutching him to her chest, and this was something like that, not too far removed. "I don't want you to be like me," Mike told him. "I want you to be like you. I want you to change, if you change, for you."

A moment came, lingered too long and too quickly, and passed. Chuck winded up slumping forward, his forehead lain against Mike's shoulder, shivering from everything but the cold.

It took them half an hour to find his right sock, waterlogged, floated halfway out to sea. They never did find his second shoe.

PROMPT POST

Mutts (6.2/?), "werewolf" AU, Mike/Chuck and Julie/Texas