#but i managed to comPLETELY loose track of time and crank this out in one night soooo

[waterfallofspace]

Sooooo, I tried a comic format for the first time!~

I knew I wanted to do something with the little A/ku sketch, aaaand this is what ended up happening~

(loosely) based on ~this wav~ that was a birthday gift for the incredible @goodlucksnez so please take this as a second gift, a little past your birthday so let's just call it "brainrot feeding" <33

[jazz-miester]

Lying is supposed to be easy. So why do you make it so hard?

Pairing: Optimus Prime X Reader

Song: weathers- c'est la vie

Warnings: Bit of angst. Cursing.

An: A character/story idea I may never write. Let me know what all of you think!

A cigarette hangs loosely from thier lips. Unlit. The lighter they had pulled out wove around thier fingers. Y/n's mind still undecided if they wanted it lit or not. Granted, it wasn't a normal cigarette. Herbal. Some sort of lavender and chamomile medley.

They had promised to quite long ago. But some habits die hard and it's easier to find an alternative than fall back on old vices.

Thier hands shook slightly as they finally brought the lighter to the cigarette. On hand curling protectively around the flame and the wind howled around then.

Rain fell heavily down to the earth. The first rain in Jasper Nevada since god knows when. They needed it. Desperate for it.

God's knew they missed it. Some old memory locked away in thier mind. Cobwebs dusted away from thier not to long ago childhood.

They were barely into thier adulthood. Some would say.

It doesn't matter.

Smoke spilled out from between thier lips. Curling around and drifting into the cool air.

Thunder roared from the dark clouds. A sounding trumpet for lighting to follow.

Y/n's old chevy rattled with it. Thier heater sputtering a few times before finally giving up. Soon blasting cool air instead. They cursed. Smacking the dashboard.

"Mother fucker." They hung thier hand out the window. The cigarette almost put out by the wind. "First the fucking tire then this." Y/n hisses through thier teeth. They smack the dashboard one more time. "Last time I let someone else work on you." They turn the truck off. The silence sudden and heavy broken only by the rumbling thunder and rain smacking against the trucks roof.

Y/n checks thier phone. It was six now. Two more hours before nightfall. The tow company said they be here four hours ago. They wonder if the company decided to stay because if the rain. Wait for it to pass. Maybe this wind knocked down a power pole or two.

Or maybe the company was just lazy.

Y/n's stomach growled and they glanced over at the take out in the worn seat next to them. Chicken teriyaki and rice. Should they eat now? Probably. Before it got cold.

They blew out another huff of smoke. The window frame was wet now. As well as part of thier leg. They smashed the end of the cigarette into the ashtray and rolled thier window up. The hand crank sticking momentarily before letting go with a squeak.

They began to eat. Still keeping an eye out for the tow truck in the rapidly dimming light.

Halfway through eating thier phone buzzed. Rattling across the dashboard and onto the floor. Cursing they swallowed thickly and sputtered. Clearing thier throat before answering.

"Hello?" The phone cracked in and out. Reception was spotty this far out if town.

"We..... Can't..... Unable." Thier phone screen lit up. They held it out in front of then. The screen cracked. Obscuring part of what they could see. They looked at the number on the phone. Then to the one on the crumpled piece of paper.

"You have to be shitting me." They tossed the styrofoam back into the seat. The plastic fork falled to the ground. It was the tow company.

The bastards. Couldn't have called sooner.

Fuck it. They'd walk home and tow it themselves in the morning. Before work.

Or at least they would have if it weren't for the rumbling semi heading thier way. It came to a stop next to them. Engine deep and rumbling. It was fake. They knew. Ment to imitate earth's vehicles.

Thier phone rang. An image flashed across the screen with the caller id. Optimus. He had looked all to peaceful in that field to not take a picture.

"Hey Big Guy." They chuckled.

"Y/n. Hello. Is everything alright?" Y/n snorted. Oh fucking peachy they were. First they were late for work. Got yelled at by thier boss for shit they didn't do. Had thier piece of shit phone stolen so they had to go fucking find it. Paid sixty bucks to get it back. Had some dickhead think they didn't know shit about vehicles so they tried to scam them.

And the list goes on.

They looked over at the semi as they spoke.

"I'm fine Prime." Optimus rocked on his wheels.

"Are you sure? I was unaware one could drive with a blown tire." Y/n scoffed. Brows shooting upwards with disbelief.

"You sarcastic-" They cut themselves off. "You here to make fun of me?" The truck rumbled.

"No. I'm here offer help." He paused. "You have been here for over six hours." How. Oh ya. Patrol. They forgot he frequently came through here to and from base.

"I. Ya. I could use the help." They hated admitting that. That they needed help. They knew they could manage and y/n always felt like they owed the person back.

Optimus pulled in front of their chevy. An unspoken "I'll tow you" hung in the air. He would. Optimus knew they would come back shortly to get their truck back. Might as well help so they don't try to do it in the dark.

They were shivering and slightly soaked when they finally got in the driver's seat. Optimus wordlessly turns the heater on. Angling the vents to point at them.

"Sorry for tracking water in." Y/n muttered. Doing their best to wipe off any excess water that got inside.

"There's no need for apologies." The semi pulled away from the side of the road and began to drive. Slightly clicking gears as he rumbles downwards. Rain splattered across the windshield. Wipers working overtime to keep it away. They new it was more for them than him.

His headlights were dim, they noticed. Barley lighting up the old gray road.

It was silent. Comfortable.

It was dark now. Even more so without the full moon. Heavy cloads still cloaking the sky.

"Are the kids home?" Y/n broke the silence.

"Yes. I had to drop Rafael off at home." That's right. Bumblebee has been busy on a scouting mission. He's supposed to be back tomorrow. Short. By cybertronian standards.

It's been almost a month for us.

There's was flashing in the distance. Orange hues erie in the heavy rain. They can make out more shapes the closer they get. A red blob turning into a car. Two small blurs turned out to be a couple.

Optimus stops next to them at their urging.

Y/n hope out immediately. The rain quickly soaking through their thin shirt.

"What seems to be the matter?" Y/n asks. A woman turns around. Hand on her obviously pregnant belly. "Well shit." They mutter.

"Our tire blew out on the way to Jasper." The woman brushes a few strands of soaked hair out of her face. "Me and my son can't seem to get the tire changed. We umm." They look over at their kid. Some tiny teen trying to pull the bolts off the best they could. The car wast quite high enough off the ground either.

"Do you want help?" They already began rolling their soaked sleeves up thier arm. A simple tattoo wove from thier wrist up to thier elbow. A memento from a close friend. The woman nodded vigorously.

"Yes please." Y/n points the woman towards Optimus. They hope he wouldn't mind.

"Please Ma'am. I don't want you catching cold." Her cheeks flush. "The kid can help if they want. But they can get out of the rain if they want." The kid grins at them, missing one or two front teeth.

"I can help!" Y/n chuckles and pulls the tire iron gently from thier hands.

"Well then. Let's get going." They popped the bolts off one by one. They themselves straining despite the fact that could easily toss tires like these around. Y/n lifted weights to get stronger and boxed to defend themselves. Thier muscles flexing beneath thier shirt a testament to that.

"God. Who stuck these fu-friggen things on." The kid laughed.

"My cousin." Well damn.

It took a few moments and a bashed finger later to change the tire. Y/n was thoroughly soaked by the time they finished. Practically drowning from the rain.

They helped the women down and out from Optimus. Both of them none the wiser to the alien next to them.

The two got into the car and drove off. Y/n watches as the car gets smaller and smaller until the rain completely obscures thier view.

They grab into the handle next to Optimus's door and hoists themselves up. Smacking thier boots to get off any mud or debris before getting inside.

"Well now I'm even more wet." Y/n snorts and peels thier shirt off. They had a tank top underneath. It sticks to thier skin uncomfortably.

Optimus hums. The deep sound rumbling in the cab. Y/n pats thier pockets fully intending to light another cigarette before remembering where they're at. More precisely, who, they are with.

Instead they pull out a stick of gum. The minty flavor almost overpowering.

Optimus hums again. A sign they've come to find, was of him thinking. A habit he never broke of even after becoming Optimus Prime. Perks of being his charge they guessed.

They never knew why he did that. Became thier guardian. Y/n was well enough an adult. Had a house, payed the bills. They never understood and didn't plan on it anytime soon. Optimus was Optimus and he does what he does. He was one of the few people they never second guess thier opinion.

They held a lot of respect for the old mech.

More so than a lot of people in thier life. They wondered if he knew that. He could tell them to leap off a cliff and they would. Trusting him to be there to catch them.

It took a lot to earn that trust. And they had given it to him. With shaking palms and to high walls.

'Here'. Their actions said. 'Here is the key. Open the door and you hurt me. Guard it. Please. Because I am unable to anymore.'

And Optimus did. Because Optimus is Optimus. A being to good for this world.

Y/n had a scar that reached from thier shoulder to the small of thier back. It would have killed them if Optimus didn't step in. They got the relic. Optimus got thier trust and friendship.

"You do that often." Y/n head jerks up from where it had been resting against the window. Startled from thier thought.

"Do what, Prime?" Optimus slowed down. Rolling to a general stop at the battered stop sign.

"Help others without question. Despite it often being inconvenient for you." Y/n pops thier gum. Thinking.

They never really thought about it. They just did what felt right.

"And?" They scratch at thier neck.

"Why?" A simple one word question. Might as well been a loaded gun. They knew exactly where he was taking this.

"Because I can. Because it's the right thing to do. Because I'd want someone to do it for my friends and family." Optimus rumbled his engine. Pulling off to the side of the road.

Son of a bitch. He's gonna make them do feelings now?

Last time it was from a simple, yet self deprecating joke. Last thing they will joke about around him again was being dumber than a box of rocks. Who knew the old guy could be so silently, and heavily caring without a single word.

"And what about you? Would you not like help as well?"

The rain lessened to a drizzle now. No way we're they gonna do this shit. Not again. Don't make them face things yet.

Y/n reaches to open the door.

Optimus locks it shut.

"Fucken hell man." They mutter. Not for the last time they began wishing for an actual cigarette.

"Hmm." They sunk down in the driver's seat uselessly pushing at the gas pedal urging for him to go on.

"You can ask. You do know this." Y/n chuckles.

"I did." They wave thier hand at the steering wheel. "I called the tow company. Not my fault they didn't call me till forever later." Optimus sinks down on his tires. If they don't wrap this up now and tell him what he wants to here they'll be here forever.

But he can tell when they're lying.

They both loath and like it.

They can be truthful to him. But sometimes it hurts. Because he makes them feel. He makes them know.

They're people to. And they deserve so much more that they give themselves.

Deserve more than the punishing pace they put themselves through.

"And no one else? What would you have done after?" Y/n shrugged thier shoulders.

"Walked home and make tomorrow me deal with it. They're a bitch in the morning but they get shit done."

Shit.

"And you would call no one? Again?" They shake their head.

"It's just a tow Optimus. Not me bleeding the fuck out." They feel bad. A sour taste in thier mouth as they bite their answer out.

"You where feverish and unable to walk last time." His voice was low. Almost sad. He was upset without showing it.

He cares. Cares so much.

He cares enough about me for the both of us.

"It's fine."

"No."

"I.." I shiver. The heater turns on. "Lying 'spose to be easy. Why do you make it so fucking hard." Optimus rumbles.

"Because you care." He's right.

"And so do I. I am here. Always. No matter what. No matter how trivial you think it is Y/n. I am here. And, as you like to say, I am stuck to your side whether you like it or not." He begins to drive. His words stick to me.

"I know. It's hard." Its hard when you don't think you deserve it. Any of it.

I lay my hand on the center of the steering wheel.

"I know. I know. But I will tell you again and again. Until you truly believe it y/n."

I was lost before him.

God's I hate that he makes me feel. Feel more than I ever have. But he got me to quite one bad habit. And he's working on the other.

[jphbk1982]

Chapters: 5/? Fandom: World Wrestling Entertainment, Professional Wrestling Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Indi Hartwell/Dexter Lumis | Samuel Shaw Characters: Indi Hartwell, Dexter Lumis | Samuel Shaw, Candice LeRae, Johnny Gargano, Austin Theory Summary:

Indi Hartwell finds something that makes her rethink how she is feeling with Dexter Lumis. What will it change? If she takes a chance how will it end up?

If you want to read and review at that link above you can. If not you can read Chapter 5 below. 

“A Lift”

Indi was feeling especially exhausted as she exited the performance center and made her way over to her car parked in the front lot. She fidgeted in her pocket until she found the key and unlocked the door. She sat down and pulled out her phone.

“Wow…” Indi spoke to herself seeing how late it actually was. She had lost track of time as she had been getting some time in the ring and was paying hardly any attention. She was still sore between that and the workout she had squeezed in as well.

Indi attempted to start her vehicle but nothing happened. She crinkled her nose in a moment of confusion before trying again. Still, nothing happened, not even so much as a crank.

“Great,” Indi breathed out in a large sigh. She glanced up to see the only other car in the lot driving away. She fumbled to get out of the car in an attempt to wave them down but they continued to keep driving down the road and out of the area.

Indi slumped her shoulders defeatedly and walked back to look at her car with her hands on her hips as if she could somehow convey her disappointment to the machine. She glanced around one more time for any sight of anyone in the surrounding area but all was still.

The quietness was actually somewhat unnerving so Indi walked back over to her car and sat down in the driver seat. She pulled out her phone and went into her contacts she scrolled down to Candice and nearly pressed the call button. She paused though when her eyes caught the time again at the top of her phone.

Indi shook her head knowing probably Candice would already be asleep along with Johnny. Austin would be up but he was not even in the state at the moment. She sighed with frustration and leaned her head forward onto her steering wheel.

“This is ridiculous,” Indi spoke to herself as she sat back up against the back of her seat. She weighed her phone in her hand for a moment before bringing it back up to look at her contacts. It was then a notification came through from Instagram.

Indi smiled as she saw that Dexter had posted. Suddenly her eyes lit up and she worked quickly to send a text to him.

“Hey, my car won’t start and I am stuck in the lot of the PC… sorry to bother but do you think you could come?”

Indi hit send and settled back in to examine her predicament again. She wasn’t a mechanic but she knew enough to know it was most likely a dead battery, judging by the fact that nothing in the car worked currently so she couldn’t even put on the radio while she waited.

She did have her phone though so she pulled up to check her Instagram and saw Dexter’s post on top. Just a picture of him before he was about to go to the ring captured by one of the WWE camera crew. She grinned as he was bathed in the blue light with smoke all around him. She found her finger lightly tracing his outline as she got a little caught up in her thoughts.

She quickly typed a response on the picture. Simply a heart emoji. She didn’t want to say too much because too much would probably get back to Candice or Johnny and she didn’t want to deal with that again, at least not until she had to.

(****)

Indi had been absentmindedly scrolling social media for some time now. She glanced up at the time to see it was well past midnight now. She lowered her phone and examined the parking lot to see she was still alone. She frowned and then got her phone to go back into the contacts, surely she could get someone to come.

Indi was scrolling when a light tap on her window caused her to jump and yelp. She placed a hand over her thumping heart as she turned to see Dexter lower himself to eye level with her on the other side of the window. Her fear subsided and she hurriedly opened the door for him.

He was wearing blue jeans and a black muscle shirt and missing his trademark gloves and Indi was having trouble not noticing… things. This look was slightly different than she was used to seeing him and he was not the only one not speaking as the silence hung in the air between them.

“Um…” Indi cleared her throat as she made eye contact with him. “It won’t do anything.”

Dexter wordlessly leaned into the vehicle and over her, becoming unbearably close for Indi. She could smell the slightest hint of aftershave on his neck and she resisted the urge to touch his arm as it came to rest hovering over her chest.

Indi watched as he tried to turn the key a few times and nothing happened. He held his hand on it for a moment before returning to his former position of kneeling in the open door next to her.

“Battery?” Indi managed to find her voice. He nodded. “I kind of figured.”

Dexter stood up and backed away slightly to allow for her to step out. She followed his cue and did so. She started to shut the door to the car but he reached up to gently stop her and pointed inside at her passenger seat. Indi’s eyes followed him to see her phone and gym bag still laying inside.

Dexter then gestured to his car parked on the other side of hers. Indi understood he was going to give her a ride so she reached in and gathered her things from the vehicle and stood in front of him. She suddenly felt sort of self-conscious as some of the stray hairs that had escaped from her loose ponytail blew into her face and she was made keenly aware that she was still a bit of a sweaty mess.

Indi turned slightly out of the light and lowered her head. Dexter stepped closer to her and stuck his hand out in an offer to take her bag. She glanced up at him without fully raising her head.

“Thanks,” Indi said as she released the bag into his hands and watched as he walked around her car and over to his. He popped the trunk and placed the bag gently inside. Much more gently than the contents required. He stood up and fastened the trunk and made his way over to the passenger door of his car and pulled it open.

Indi watched as he stepped back to the edge of the door and waited expectantly for her. So she walked over and slid into the passenger seat of his car before he gently shut the door behind her. Immediately Indi noticed how much his car smelled like him and she found it incredibly comforting and sexy at the same time.

Indi glanced around at the interior of the older model muscle car. It was in immaculate condition for an older vehicle. Indi smirked when she saw that it still had an original radio in it without even so much as a cd player, and was devoid of any of the modern amenities that cars seemed to come with.

Indi was still admiring the vehicle when Dexter opened the driver-side door and the dome light came on. She frowned remembering what her face looked like. She turned away from him as he sunk into the seat next to her. She was grateful when he shut the door and the light slowly dimmed before fading to black.

Indi did not consider herself to be very vain. However, it was not exactly ideal for Dexter to see her in such a state. She was sure what little makeup she had on had run and smeared and it wasn’t pleasant. He, however, she noticed as she glanced over at him again had every hair perfectly in place and looked amazing. Certainly, she had not got him out of bed.

Dexter started the car and it came to life in a low rumble. He turned to her for a moment and nodded past her to her car. She somehow knew exactly what he was asking.

“I will just have it looked at in the morning,” Indi dismissively waved at the car. “Just take me home.”

The weight of Indi’s words suddenly hit her as she realized that Dexter would be taking her home to her apartment. A place he had never been. A place she was sure he did not even know where it was. She took a deep breath and sat up in her seat a little.

“Hold on,” Indi pulled up a map on her phone and zoomed in to show him where she lived. “Do you know where that is?”

He glanced over at the phone and moved her hand up closer to him to get a better look. Indi smiled when his hand enveloped hers. After a moment he let go and leaned back with a nod. He then pulled the car out of the lot.

(****)

Indi was struggling. She was trying so hard to not look over him as he drove them along the nearly empty highway to her place. The soft glow of street lights filled the cabin of the car every few seconds and it was then Indi tried to sneak a peek. For his part, he seemed to not notice her or at least not let on as he was keeping his eyes on the road ahead.

“I’m sorry to call on you so late,” Indi spoke, breaking the several-minute silence they had been in. She saw him curl his nose up slightly. He didn’t mind. “Night owl huh?”

He nodded.

“I kind of figured,” Indi replied with a smile and a shrug.

He turned to her and raised his eyebrows.

“I can be as well,” Indi responded, understanding him completely. The look on his face indicated his pleasure with her response. “It umm… is the next right.”

Dexter slowed the car down and hit the turn signal as he approached the turn.

“Ow,” Indi felt a cramp coming in her thigh muscle. A side effect of going as hard as she went tonight. Her noise got Dexter’s attention as a look of concern came over his face. “A cramp.”

Indi went about attempting to massage it out but was having no luck as it persisted. She felt Dexter’s hand on her wrist and turned to him. He nodded to her leg and opened his hand. She understood and moved her hand out of the way.

Indi could not believe it as within nearly seconds of his hand pressing down into her thigh the pain was starting to subside. He was keeping his eyes on the road as he gently kneaded her sore muscle. Soon the muscle had completely stopped seizing and he went to move his hand back across the center console.

Indi was already missing his touch so she reached out and placed her hand in his. The action surprised her nearly as much as it appeared to surprise him as his eyes widened slightly and he glanced over at her out of the corner of his eye.

“You have the magic touch,” Indi stated as she felt him enclose his hand over hers. She studied his face and saw the corner of his mouth raise. They rode this way for several minutes.

“It is right up here,” Indi pointed out the windshield. Dexter started slowing the car down and moved their hands over to the gear shift to downshift the car. Indi smiled as he did so and then turned the car into her parking lot. “It is the one on the end.”

Dexter drove the car down to the far end of the parking lot and pulled it into a parking spot. He put the car in park and turned to face Indi.

She was lost in his eyes, a light at the end of the lot was bathing him in its blueish glow and it seemed very fitting.

“Thank you…” Indi finally spoke. He nodded and closed his eyes momentarily. She reluctantly untangled her hand from his and opened her car door. She quickly stepped out as the light filled the interior of the vehicle.

Indi stood up and saw he too had exited the car and was making his way back to the trunk. He popped it and retrieved her bag before making his way over to her.

“Thanks,” Indi held her hand out for the bag. He nodded with his head up to her apartment. She smiled. “It’s okay… I got it.”

He gently placed the bag into her open hands and stepped back a bit. Indi shuffled her feet slightly, before letting out a small laugh, prompting him to cock his head slightly.

“Johnny and Candice would kill me if they knew…” Indi explained, before laughing again. Dexter studied her for a moment before his mouth curled into a smile.

Indi noticed and stopped laughing. She stepped closer to him and dropped the bag on the ground at her side. She raised a hand up to his cheek.

“You should smile more often,” Indi said locking eyes with him and searching for his response deep within. He ducked his head slightly and she found it to be incredibly endearing. He then shook his head yes.

Indi moved closer and he met her halfway to capture her in a kiss. His arms went around her and she found herself being effortlessly lifted off the ground into his arms as the kiss went further. He eventually sat her back down on the ground and she nearly audibly protested.

Indi placed her hand on his chest and felt his heart racing. She smiled as she felt her own doing the same. It seemed they were competing to see which would go faster. She locked her eyes back into his again.

“I should… probably…” Indi gestured behind her to her apartment. He nodded in understanding and stepped back slightly. She suddenly craved his closeness again but resisted the urge to move into his space.

Dexter retrieved her bag off the ground for her and handed it to her.

“Thanks,” Indi stated before she started backing away from him. She eventually turned and took a few steps before stopping. She turned to him and realized her mess of a self was now bathed completely in the blue light from above but didn’t care anymore.

Her turning back to him had caught his eye and stopped him from making his way around the car. He studied her for a moment. This time it was simply the look on her face that spoke volumes. He walked up to her brushed a few stray hairs out of her face that was caught in the warm night breeze. He rested his hand on her cheek and her eyes danced back and forth expectantly.

Indi watched as his mouth seemingly started to curve into a smile but she was shocked when instead he mouthed the word “beautiful.” She felt overcome and wrapped her arms around his neck as he pulled her close and into a hug.

Indi knew she was falling for Dexter Lumis before. Now, she knew it was past that. She was too far gone to be falling anymore. No. She knew now, standing here in his arms it wasn’t a crush, it wasn’t an act of rebellion, it wasn’t a phase, it wasn’t any of those things. She had fallen in love.

[1988hc]

bright-eyed | 1988 | explicit | 1,988 words

Jonny’s asleep and Pat’s giving him a special gift.

warning: this fic contains rimming, butt plug tails, some conflicted feelings about them, and consensual somnophilia. if that’s not your jam, please don’t read.

Jonny’s asleep. Completely conked out on the bed, dead to the world, face smushed into the mattress. It’s kind of cute. But also kind of hot, because Patrick’s never been able to look at Jonny’s naked body and not want all up in that. Nevermind that he was just that not a few hours ago.

He smirks at the thought, shifting the covers that have mostly slipped off aside a little more, until he can see the full, lush curve of Jonny’s butt. It always takes Jonny a bit, a certain amount of build-up until he’s comfortable letting Patrick close to his ass. Always a piece of work, Jonny. But fuck was it worth it when Pat finally got the go-ahead to bury his face in there, breathing in the musky scent, when he was finally allowed to run his tongue over the soft skin, usually hidden from the world and all the more sensitive for it.

Once Jonny was over that hump, once Patrick’s managed to push past his hang-ups and defenses, it was a sight to behold. Jonny always got vocal, pushing his ass against Patrick’s tongue, arching his back, fingers gripping at Patrick, pulling, moaning loudly, demanding to be dicked down. Pat happily complied.

He shifts, chubbing up a little just from the memories of Jonny clenching around him. Being inside Jonny, sliding his dick in that sweet, sweet ass was like the best feeling in the world. Even if it was a wild ride, Jonny bucking and snarling beneath him, like one of those fake rodeo things Pat had to fight to stay on top.

He grabs the plug, smooth black silicone. Jonny’s skin is warm to the touch, always running hot, and he barely shifts when Pat holds his cheeks open with one hand. Jonny’s still loose, all fucked-out and greedy for more, pushing back when Pat runs the lubed up plug over the tight dark furl of his hole.

For a second Pat thinks about tossing the plug aside and getting in there, finding out how far he could push his tongue into Jonny all loose and sloppy like this, make Jonny come a third time tonight on nothing but Pat’s tongue and fingers this time. It’s fucking tempting, but Pat’s not sure he’s got the stamina for it. They just finished a four day three game homestand, earning themselves two whole days off for their trouble, and Pat’s about ready to pull a Jonny and pass out. They can always pick up where they left off tomorrow.

The toy slips inside Jonny with a minimum of teasing. Jonny breathes out, almost like a sigh, like he’s happy it’s in, keeping him open, keeping Pat’s come securely inside. Pat gives in to one of his sappier urges and presses a kiss to Jonny’s ass cheek, before pulling the sheets up over them both.

***

Jonny wakes up slowly, like he’s underwater and has to fight to reach the surface, his brain still foggy and sluggish. He’s in bed, at home, Pat snoring softly beside him, but something… His whole body feels the kind of sore it does after an intense workout and he stretches, careful not to accidentally kick Patrick and wake him up. He still feels full, like he can still feel the ghost of Pat’s dick, snug against his prostate. Pat had nailed him pretty good last night. But something doesn’t quite track.

There’s something tucked against Jonny’s hip, the feeling different from the blanket, soft and slightly ticklish. He reaches down, even as his brain is frantically fitting the puzzle pieces together, all of it resolving into… His fingers confirm what his mind pieced together just a split-second before.

That’s his tail.

It’s… Jonny clenches his ass, the heavy feeling inside him suddenly making sense as the soft fur of the tail twitches against his thigh. Fuck. He’s wearing his tail.

He can feel the flush creeping up his neck, even though there’s nobody here to see, nobody but Patrick, who’s still sound asleep. Sometime last night Patrick must have gotten it out and slipped it inside Jonny. Just the thought of Patrick going to Jonny’s closet, knowing exactly where to look, slipping out Jonny’s tail from its box, it’s… So much. He can’t fathom Pat’s face as he was carrying it into the bedroom. Did he hold it by the plug, the tail swaying gently with every step? Or did he grip it tight, sinking his fingers between the soft strands? Did he think about what Jonny would look like wearing it?

Jonny squirms, something sharply tugging at his navel from the inside at those thoughts.

He knows Pat’s not… Pat doesn’t get weird over the tail like Jonny does, doesn’t feel the same hot stab of desire at the thought of Jonny wearing it. It’s not his kink. That’s fine. 

Jonny’s always known he’s a freak.

Pat’s cool, had even asked him about it, if Jonny would mind Pat touching it, and Jonny had waved him off, giving Pat blanket permission to get it out whenever. He just figured Pat wouldn’t want to, much less combine it with Jonny’s standing invitation to fuck Jon in his sleep, because they both loved it when Jonny woke up to Pat’s dick so deeply in his ass he felt like he was choking on it, had woken up more than once to Pat gently suckling on his dick. Just never… it never crossed Jonny’s mind as something that he could have, that he might ask for.

His face feels like it’s on fire, the shame and guilt mixing heavy in his gut. He can’t even tell what he’s more embarrassed about, how much he likes wearing it (even if it makes him such a freak, god, he can’t even explain why he likes it so much), or the idea of Pat sliding it into Jonny while he was out cold. It shouldn’t turn him on. He shouldn’t get hard over this. He should just take it out, put it away again before Pat wakes up. The thought sends a wave of dread through him.

Jonny doesn’t want to take it out. He just got it. Pat gave it to him. That means he’s fine with Jonny wearing it, right? But he shouldn’t… Jonny shouldn’t, like, stretch it. Pat was good enough to put it in him, that doesn’t mean he wants to watch Jonny get off on it. Maybe he can lock himself in the bathroom, jerk one out quickly and then put it away again.

He runs his fingers over the soft material, the dark red fur still one of the softest things he owns. Shit, he loves it so much. He’d agonized over it for weeks, browsing the web late at night, pouring over artisan websites and Etsy shops. There’d been so many, so many different varieties to choose from. It’d been overwhelming, almost, clicking through picture after picture, of the most beautiful tails, handcrafted, in all colors of the rainbow. He’d immediately gravitated towards the more natural ones, even though the bright white one with the softest candy cotton rainbow stripes had made him stop and stare for a good while. It was too flashy, though. Not something Jonny could envision ever having the guts to wear, even if it was insanely pretty.

He’d clicked through image after image of cat tails, wolf tails, tiny stubby bunny tufts, extra long ones that would almost hit the ground if Jonny was standing, long enough to wrap around his middle. There’d been two-color ones, spotted ones, a beautiful dark grey one with a white tip that Jonny had dithered over for the longest time. In the end, though, he’d chosen the most beautiful fox tail, one that claimed to be extra fluffy. He’d liked the bushiness of it, the color a burnt orange speckled with darker hairs throughout, attached to a sleek black silicone plug.

Fuck, he loves his tail.

He realizes he’s been running his hand over it, stroking down the length of it, unable not to touch it. His beautiful tail. The day it’d arrived in the mail, Jonny’s heart had been beating in his throat, fingers shaking as he’d carefully opened first the package, and then the storage box it was wrapped in. It had lain like that, open and unwrapped on Jonny’s bedroom dresser for the better part of a week before Jonny had finally worked up the nerve to try it on. He’d allowed himself two glasses of red wine with dinner and then locked the door to his bedroom even though he was alone in his apartment, feeling equal parts ridiculous and excited.

It has lost nothing of its appeal.

***

Pat smiles, watching Jonny fawn over his tail, so absorbed by it he hasn’t yet looked up to catch Pat watching.

“Morning, babe.”

Jonny’s eyes snap up immediately, and Pat has to bite his lip not to laugh at the deer caught in headlights look on Jonny’s face. A second later that look’s gone, though, replaced by wariness, an unease that Pat never meant to put there. Maybe he should’ve feigned sleep, let Jonny have his moment in peace. Nothing for it now.

“Someone woke up bushy-tailed,” he quips, trying to lighten the mood.

“I--” Jonny’s mouth is working, lips shaping words that never come.

Pat’s heart sinks, watching Jonny struggle.

Truthfully, he doesn’t get it, the whole tail thing. Jonny doesn’t like talking about it, clamming up every time Pat’d tried, even though it’s painfully clear how much Jonny adores it. So Pat’s got no idea what it is about the tail that turns Jonny on so much. He doesn’t need to know. If that tail turns Jonny’s crank (and boy, does it ever), then Pat’s content to stay right here, fiddling with the dials.

He shifts closer, closing the gap between them, until he can pull Jonny in enough to press a kiss to his bottom lip, catching it between his teeth. Jonny whimpers, hand catching in the fabric of Pat’s shirt, pulling, stretching out the collar. Pat kisses him deeper.

“You gonna show me, baby?” he whispers, lips moving over Jonny’s, pressing the words right into his skin. “Show me how hot you are with that pretty tail between your legs?”

Jonny makes another noise, choked-off and desperate. Sounding way too wrecked already. “Pat.”

“Yeah, babe. I’m right here.” He pulls Jonny closer, rolls them over until Jonny’s on top of him, knees on either side of Patrick’s hips, weight settled on his thighs. “Touch yourself. Wanna see.”

Jonny’s breathing gone ragged, face bright red, but he does as Patrick’s requested, wrapping a tight fist around his dick. Pat feels like he could get drunk on this, on Jonny’s pleasure, the rhythmic clenching of his thighs as he works his hips, squirming, like he doesn’t quite want to but can’t help himself, falling prey to his own desire.

Fuck. Pat’s gonna buy him all the tails in the world.

“You gonna come for me?” Pat asks, feeling a bit mad himself, reaching around Jonny’s hip, behind his back where Pat can’t see, but he can feel it, right there between their legs. Giving Jonny’s tail a sharp little tug, enough to move the plug inside.

“Aaaah.” Jonny clenches up, whole body going taught, eyes screwed shut as his fist flies over his cock, and fuck, yeah, just like that.

“Fuck, yeah, babe, c’mon, c’mon,” Pat chants, pressing on the plug, pushing it deeper inside Jonny, where Pat’s come’s still in him from last night. God.

Jonny comes with a shout, hard enough that doesn’t manage to catch everything in his fist.

***

“You get any come on my tail and I’ll fucking kill you, Pat.”

***

“You ready to take it out yet, babe?”

“.... no.”

“Uh, you planning on putting on any pants?”

“... no?”

“Well then, I guess we can leave it in.”

[emotionally-imbruised]

The first time i ever went on a date with my bf he purposely played yellow when we were in his car and we had our first kiss to that song, and looking back at it i cant stop imagining harry and yn in that scenario 🥺🥺 like imagine how perfect that would be with him omg

This is the cutest thing ever, and I’ve been freaking out about it since I first read it because I love Coldplay oml. This turned into one of the fluffiest things I’ve ever written I think, and I’m sorry for using a different Coldplay song but ENJOY 💕

The Changing of Winds

“If you love someone, you should let them know…”

The rain falling from the sky outside has your full attention as you watch it softly hit the passenger side window of the car in a calming manner, its downfall becoming steadier as the drive to your apartment shortens with each passing second.

Beside you in the driver’s seat, Harry observes your state of contentment with a small smile on his face —moving his gaze back to the road in from but making sure to send the odd glance your way from time to time. He’s feeling rather at peace himself, and just simply being here with you is making it that much better for him.  

Tonight, the two of you went on your first real date. To define real, this was a planned outing you went on together that didn’t consist of talking to each other loudly in a crowded, not so private, coffee shop like you had numerous times before. It wasn't meeting up to go see a movie together, or even just casually chatting the other up over text message since you first met through a mutual friend a few months ago. This was the real deal, and it scared the hell out of both of you.

It was you who admitted to liking him first, which is what eventually led to this current point in time. The way a constant swarm of butterflies filled your stomach every time you and he were together reached the point of no return when you both were out with a group of friends for dinner about a month ago, and it was all downhill from there… For you, at least.

While at dinner that night, your friend made a comment of how weird you were acting since the moment Harry sat down in the seat next to you. You even gave her the look. The silent plea for her to shut the hell up. But, it was unsuccessful and resulted in you dragging her away from the table to the hallway by that lead to the washrooms; hoping to get the enormous weight you felt since first making eye contact with Harry once he entered the restaurant, off your chest and to finally speak your feelings into existence.

To say your friend was overly ecstatic about your news would have been an understatement. She was the one who introduced you and Harry in the first place, and hearing this made her squeal in delight. Admitting your feelings made you feel pretty damn good as well. However, it was short-lived when the small creak of a loose wooden floorboard sounded from behind you and you immediately spun around to see Harry awkwardly shifting his weight from one foot to the other — not making eye contact with you or your friend, and leaving you to know right away that he had heard everything you just said.

The days after that were odd, to say the least. You and Harry hadn’t texted, which you hated because it had become such a routine for you since meeting him and things stayed awkward for the entire weekend. On the Tuesday morning following the night of your admittance, you went to the coffee shop like you tended to do with Harry each week. It was weird not messaging him about meeting up, but it was something you still felt like doing anyway even if it was alone. What you weren’t expecting when you walked into the shop, however, was to see Harry sitting in the back booth with a goofy grin on his face while he sipped his latte and had a steaming mug of your order sat across from him.

Just seeing him like that made you forget about embarrassing yourself all together as your feet mindlessly led you to the booth, a very similar grin on your lips as you went. The two of you chatted for what seemed like hours and just before you were ready to part ways, he addressed the elephant in the room. He touched on the subject of you liking him so subtly and considerately, you didn’t feel the slightest bit of embarrassment because before you even had the chance to consider those thoughts, he was admitting that he felt the same way.

An instant wave of shock and relief washed over you, but at the same time, one prominent thought plagued your mind. What now? It was as though he read your mind, quickly suggesting that the two of you not change a thing about your current prediction until you both were ready. The two of you could continue getting coffee every Tuesday, going to see movies you were both excited about and going back to texting each other… as friends, which you were more than ok with. But as the weeks went on, your feelings grew stronger and so did his; which led to him officially asking you out, and to you agreeing without any hesitation.

The date he planned out for the two of you was nothing short of magical. It started with a friendly (competitive) game of mini-golf. One that consisted of him trying to show off his skills, but resulted in him sulking in defeat as you somehow managed to get quite a few holes in one while he was unable to get the stupid ball over the stupid bridge without it falling into the small stream of water below. Dinner followed soon after, where you both talked about the things going on in each other’s lives; making sure to poke fun at certain things regarding your friends and just having an overall great time simply sitting and chatting together. You loved hearing his voice, and he adored the way small chuckles would leave your mouth each time he tried to impress you with one of his many dad jokes. Instead of going straight home once you were both done eating, he proposed that the two of you go for a walk in the park across the street; to which you agreed quicker than you intended, really not wanting this night to end in the slightest bit.

You walked side by side in comfortable silence, admiring the way lights and sounds from the city surrounded the park, but right here, the two of you were in your own peaceful little bubble. You enjoyed his presence already, but this brought it to a whole new level.

It was as the two of you were walking over a small footbridge that Harry gently, but hesitantly, linked his hand with yours. The gesture caught you off guard at first but soon caused the biggest grin on your mouth to form as you looked up at him and gave his hand a small squeeze. A few moments later, thunder rumbled from the sky above; soon followed by a flash of lightning and the eventual downpour of rain.

“Guess we should head back now, yeah?” He muttered while shrugging off his jacket to wrap around your already shivering figure.

“Harry,” you protested. “You’re going to freeze.”

“I’ll live.” He replied smoothly before reaching out to hold your hand again just as you both broke out into a sprint to get back to his car so you wouldn’t get too soaked.

A smile dances across your lips as you think about how perfect this night was. Even though the rain dampened the mood a little bit, you were completely content with how it played out. As a few more moments pass, you let yourself sink into the heated leather seats of his car — watching the rainfall from outside and feeling extremely pleased just by being near him. You still have his jacket wrapped around your shoulders, sighing pleasantly as his scent consumes you and before you know it; he’s turning onto your road.

The unwelcome feeling of dread enters its way into your body at the thought of your little date night coming to an end, your smile melting into a frown as the car comes to a stop right outside of your apartment building. You don’t make eye contact with him as you awkwardly look down at your hands resting in your lap, finding them very interesting all of a sudden. The only sounds that can be heard are an Eagles song softly playing from the stereo, and the rain outside. You really don’t want to leave, but he isn’t making a move for you to stay, so you take that as a hint that maybe you should get going. “Uhm, thank you for tonight.”

The sudden sound of your voice catches him off guard, and you can’t help but chuckle at the way he jumps slightly from it. “S’no problem. I uh, I had a really good time, Y/N.”

“I did too,” you smile, shyly tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear in an attempt to hide the very evident blush that is heating up your cheeks. Harry doesn’t say anything else but rather adverts his attention to the stereo as the last minute or so of the song continues playing from it. You take that as a cue to leave, shifting in your seat awkwardly as you move to open the car door.

“Wait, Y/N…” His voice surprises you, causing you to turn right back around to face him.

“Yeah?”

Your gaze locks with his, and you can swear you see the slightest tinge of a blush burning his cheeks as well; but as quick as it appears, it vanishes as he glances down at his hands. “I- we should do this again sometime. Well, only if you want too.”

“I’d love that,” you tell him honestly. His face lights up at your words but is soon replaced with an unreadable expression — one that seemed like he was having an internal conflict of some sort. Another moment passes, and you decide that you will actually get out of the car now to go inside. A sudden wave of confidence crashes into you and causes you to lean over and place a soft peck onto his cheek before pulling away and opening the passenger side door to climb out of. “Goodnight, Harry.”

With a smug grin at his shocked expression, you shut the door and start making way to the staircase leading to your apartment building. You’ve only made it a few steps when suddenly an all too familiar piano riff starts playing from the speakers of his car, causing you to stop in your tracks as Harry obnoxiously cranks the volume to its maximum. Chris Martin’s distinctive voice begins singing the lyrics of Everglow, a Coldplay song you and Harry have expressed an immense amount of love for on multiple occasions; and you find yourself turning around to shake your head at Harry and his antics.

However, before you can express your disapproval, your actions halt at the sight of Harry climbing out of the car and rushing over to you. Your eyes widen at the way he just leaves the door open in the pouring rain and lets the music fill your quiet street, becoming anxious at the thought of your neighbours climbing out of bed to see what all the commotion is about. “Harry, what’re you-.”

“I forgot something,” he cuts you off, and you look at him oddly.

You rake your mind for things he could’ve possibly forgotten and register that you’re still wearing his jacket, a small gasp leaving your mouth at the realization. “Oh! Your jacket, I’m sorry.”

“Not that,” he responds with a small laugh, your eyes immediately moving up to lock contact with his. “This.”

Without allowing you the chance to respond, he’s gently placing his hand on your cheek and leaning down to connect his lips with yours. The kiss surprises you, but you soon find yourself melting into how good his lips feel pressed against yours as you mindlessly wrap your arms around the back of his neck; tangling your hands into the curls at the nape of his neck as his arm snakes around your waist to pull you even closer. There’s no need for him to ask for permission to deepen the kiss, seeing as your already granting it and moaning at the electric feeling of his tongue softly dancing with yours.

After a few moments of making out in the rain, you pull away as a car drives by on the street, and you’re harshly brought back to reality. You bite nervously down on your lip as you consider your next move, coming to a quick conclusion as you feel him staring at you intently. “Would uhm, would you like to come inside?”

A huge grin stretches across his lips, and he sends you a quick nod before leaning down to catch your lips in another quick kiss. “I’d love that.”

A smile and blush stay evident on your face as you link your hand with his again and allow him to lead you back to his car to grab his keys and turn off the ignition just before the song can come to an end. As the two of you are walking back towards the building, you silently sing the rest of the tune as you lean against his arm and make your way up the stairs; loving the feeling of being this at peace with someone you really care about.

“Oh, the light that you left me will everglow.”

[theyearoftheking]

Book Twenty-Seven: The Tommyknockers

“Late last night and the night before, Tommyknockers, Tommyknockers. Knocking at the door. I was crazy and Bobbi was sane But that was before the Tommyknockers came...”

Last night at dinner, I was explaining the plot of The Tommyknockers to my family, and told them the book completely jumped the shark when a soda machine killed a guy. 

My husband innocently asked, “What kind of soda?”

Me: “It was a Coke machine.”

Slow blinks all around the table. There’s a deep metaphor for you, wrapped in just a hint of irony. 

Guys, The Tommyknockers was a shit show, and I really hated reading it. It dragged on forever, I wasn’t even sure what was happening until almost the end, and all of the characters just melded together into an unappetizing blob. The last few pages gave me the closure I needed, and I will be happy to never crack the spine of this book ever again. 

The only redeeming, interesting thing about this book, was how many other Steve universe references there were. Ready for the list? Because yeah... I kept track...

The town of Cleaves Mills (The Dead Zone)

Multiple mentions of Derry (It)

Ka: (Dark Tower)

Jack Sawyer* and The Alhambra (The Talisman)

*Jack discussed his mother dying in a drunk driving related car crash. Soo, that’s an interesting update. 

“Sometimes he would lie in the dark and think he heard chuckling noises coming from the drains...” (It)

“...he heard the story of a fellow named John Smith, who had taught in the nearby town of Cleaves Mills for a while. Smith had been in a coma for years, had awakened with some sort of psychic gift. He went nuts a few years ago- had tried to assassinate a fellow named Stillson...” (Dead Zone)

These easter eggs were fun, but not enough to justify reading this book, or picking it up ever again. 

The Tommyknockers is a weird convoluted story about writer Roberta (Bobbi) Anderson, who lives on her uncle’s secluded farm in Haven, Maine. She and her beagle, Peter, are out for a walk one morning when she finds a rounded metal edge sticking up out of the Earth. 

Beagles... to know them is to love them. This book should come with a trigger warning for animal cruelty. Just throwing that out there.

Meanwhile, Bobbi’s friend and former lover, Jim Gardener is making a drunken ass of himself after a poetry reading, and manages to offend most of his collages, before he’s eventually kicked out of the party.

He wakes up hella hungover outside The Alhambra, and hitchhikes to Bobbi’s place. He finds Bobbi looking thin and unhealthy, Peter the dog is dead, and all her appliances are running on battery power instead of electricity. Oh, and she cranked out an entire novel (maybe the best one she’s ever written) in three weeks. It’s like she’s on battery-operated meth. 

Bobbi tells Gardener about the strange metal thing she found in the woods, and they spend all their time digging it up. Gardener has a metal plate in his head, so is immune to the strange energy this metal thing puts off, but Bobbi keeps getting thinner, her teeth are falling out (meth!!), and her skin is getting translucent. 

The other folks in town are soon drawn to the strange metal disc in the woods, and random shit starts happening in town. The most heartbreaking is when little Hilly Brown conducts a magic show and makes his brother David disappear... and he can’t bring him back. The adults assume he was abducted, but Hilly is hysterical and no one will listen to him. 

But the people in town are very protective of their new metal meth machine, and kill any outsiders who try to come into town and find out more about it. This includes Bobbi’s sister Anne; a formidable woman coming to drag her sister home for their father’s funeral. 

The townspeople finally get the metal meth machine unearthed, and they find out it’s a UFO... with a bunch of dead aliens inside. And the aliens look a lot like the townspeople of Haven: translucent skin, no teeth... od’d on meth. My favorite was when one of the male citizens of Haven smears himself with his wife’s Max Factor make-up in an attempt to look human again. 

I’m slightly unclear about this part, but there’s a shed where they keep dead bodies for energy? Or something? But Peter the dog, and Anne the sister are both strung up there, along with some murder vacuums. I don’t know. 

Eventually, Gardener starts Bobbi’s whole property on fire, and flies the saucer out of Haven. I think. And most of the meth-ed out townspeople end up killing themselves. The end was a little loose. I won’t spoil the last two pages, because that was really the best part of the whole damn book. 

It was a mess. I don’t recommend it. If I wasn’t participating in this challenge, I would have just chucked the book, and moved onto something else. But here we are!! You’re welcome, constant readers! 

Total Wisconsin Mentions: 16

Total Dark Tower References: 22

Book Grade: D-

Rebecca’s Definitive Ranking of Stephen King Books

The Talisman: A+

Misery: A+

Different Seasons: A+

It: A+

The Shining: A-

The Stand: A-

The Drawing of the Three: A-

Skeleton Crew: B+

The Dead Zone: B+

‘Salem’s Lot: B+

Carrie: B+

Creepshow: B+

Cycle of the Werewolf: B-

Danse Macabre: B-

The Running Man: C+

Thinner: C+

The Eyes of the Dragon: C+

The Long Walk: C+

The Gunslinger: C+

Pet Sematary: C+

Firestarter: C+

Rage: C

Cujo: C-

Nightshift: C-

Roadwork: D

Christine: D

The Tommyknockers: D-

Next up is a lovely palate cleanser of a book: Nightmares in the Sky. I flipped through it while on a boring compliance call yesterday, and it was the perfect brain break. If I had a coffee table, I’d put this beautiful book on it. Stay tuned for that review in about an hour...

Until next time, Long Days & Pleasant Nights,

Rebecca

[ask-corvo]

I drew a scene from an RP we had with @dishonwhored .

I might upload it one day to AO3 but for now, you can read it here. Or click on “Read More”.

My Website and Commission Info.

Daud already lost count of how many nights he had to spend out on the rooftops soaking in rainwater just to clean up some messes and tie up loose ends. Daud was a man of circumstance but he was not a man of chance; everything had to be executed in a way that didn't leave much wiggle room for things such as misfortune to interfere with his plans. There was no such thing as bad luck. Only miscalculations.

One such miscalculation was the fact one of his men stationed across the city of Dunwall was caught and apprehended by the Abbey of the Everyman. That of course meant being tortured or killed on the spot, and Daud knew that each Whaler had the fear of death trained out of them; they'd rather die than betray their Master. Because of course they would. But Daud wasn't as cruel as to completely ignore his men when they are in need of his help. And so he stalked the religious lunatics until he had located the stray Whaler. Poor bastard was the only one left of that particular patrol group.

Daud crouched down, still a safe enough distance away from the wailing and screeching of the Overseers' music box, but it reached his ears regardless and gave him a slight headache. He always hated dealing with those. Life was easier before the Abbey figured out how to tinker with machinery. Sometimes he swore they didn't even know how to prepare the most basic meal. The assassin counted the amount of heads that need to roll through his eyepiece and exhaled, rainwater dripping down his pursed lips. He wanted to get this over with quickly and go back home.

Sliding from the tiled rooftop down onto a nearby balcony Daud transversed around the dimly lit alley until he found a good enough vantage point from which he would take down the bastard with the music box that was now scrambling his brain like eggs. He had to be precise and grit his teeth through the pain though because it will do neither him nor his Whaler any good if they'd both end up captured or dead, all because of this idiot cranking a  cog wheel. Daud decided to take a direct approach instead of a stealthy one. Maybe it was impatience and irritation that drove him this time but he got the job done regardless, coming up behind the Overseer with the box and effortlessly snapping his neck before the others even managed to draw their swords. Once the box ceased emitting its headsplitting chime Daud had quickly cut through the remaining Overseers with a few transversals and swift hands.

He didn't waste too much time getting to free his captured underling, merely muttering some chastising words and ordering the man back home. He'll deal with this mishap later. All he knew for now is that the Overseers were dead and he could breathe easy, if only for a moment.

Teague was watching from the shadows as the Knife of Dunwall cut through the Overseers moments after the mind-numbing music ceased in its play.

From the very beginning, he's told the men to keep guard and interrogate the assassin quickly, but if you wanted something done right, you cannot trust anyone to do it but yourself. At the same time, Teague needed not answers from a mere assassin when Daud was there right in front of his eyes. His mismatching hues didn't detach from the older man when Snow shifted in his position, ready to pounce.

Every muscle in his body was tense and ready to act just like the wolfhound by his side. No other Overseer would have the chance to take Daud down. It had to be him. And he had to have some questions answered now. There wouldn't be another perfect opportunity as such.

Go for the masked one. Teague ordered, and Snow dashed for his target, while he was to draw his sword and sprint at the red-coated Whaler.

All it took is a fraction of a second for Daud to turn sharply and face the oncoming threat. The rain obscured their assailant's footsteps and he had hoped the Overseers' wolfhounds would have a harder time tracking his scent in this weather, but one was charging right at them, white as snow, with its owner right behind him.

Daud's body acted on instinct. He stepped right in front of the wolfhound's maw and shielded the Whaler with his gloved arm, allowing the hound to latch onto him instead. Not a particularly wise move considering he momentarily compromised his sword arm while there was another person sprinting towards the Knife with his own sword drawn, but seeing as his left hand was free, Daud raised it and time stopped altogether, raindrops suspended in the air surrounding them.

But that was about all he managed to stop besides the hound. The other man was still moving in his direction with all intent to strike. All Daud managed to do was buy himself a few extra seconds to free his right arm from the hound's clutches and ready himself for whoever this bastard was.

One of Teague's suspicions was confirmed. With it, was another.

The first one being if the Knife was truly marked by the Outsider just as he, the other that he was capable of playing with time. It was a silly speculation in a sense, as there was no other way a man would decapitate, butcher so many people and disappear from the scene before any of the bodies would hit the ground.

With his very own mark on the back of his hand, it was barely any inconvenience. However the moment Teague noticed Snow was affected, he's reached out to him with his left hand - the purple mark glowing brightly against the dull scene and in the blink of an eye the two switched their positions. Snow was now mid-air as he was when Daud shoved him off and Teague in his place up close with the Big Knife, slashing their blades together.

Daud was caught completely off guard when the dog and its owner switched places in the blink of an eye. Daud reacted fast, albeit staggering in place a bit and briefly losing his footing, by blocking the other's sword with his own, the sound of metal clashing with metal piercing his ears like gunfire. It forced him to refocus on what was happening.

They both had someone to lose in this fight, and Teague had no intention of having his companion and friend hurt just as Daud wouldn't let him land a blow on his assassin.

It was fine, he figured. Daud was the one he wanted anyway.

His body already felt weird in this time-capsule, without the voice of Snow in his head, without his ever-present companion by his side. The only times they were obscured from each other so were when the music boxes grit in their ears.

No, he wouldn't aim for the assassin. He would pay him no mind. Snow would take care of him if he'd dare try anything; he knew. This would be a fair fight.

This man was an Overseer, no doubt. He had the Abbey's insignia plastered all over him and carried their assortment of weapons. But he was also marked, and dressed way different than his brethren. Was he truly on the Abbey's beck and call? Or was this a mockery of their doctrine, a facade worn by a mercenary to tease and humiliate?

Daud grit his teeth and glared directly into the supposed Overseer's mismatching eyes, one as black as the void itself and the other a contrasting violet. He planted both feet firmly onto the cobblestone floor and pushed the man back just as time resumed and with it the roaring rainfall and the hound's pained cry.

The Whaler quickly got up on his feet and drew his sword despite his confusion. Daud ordered him home, but it was before they were assaulted; he figured Daud would forgive some slight misdemeanor if it was for a good cause. They were both on the same exact boat though.

Neither knew who this man was or why he wanted Daud's head on a stake so badly.

Teague took three steps back after being repelled, protecting Snow with his body while the wolfhound landed behind him and snarled. His fur was heavy from the rainwater like the fabric of Teague's trimmed uniform. His sword was raised on his shoulder level, tilted sideways while his left hand was on his hip's level, the glowing mark turned to face the two heretics.

Snow?

I'm alright...

The wolfhound licked at his bared teeth and gave a shake to his coat, though he got soaked once again almost immediately. The rain was loud, almost louder than Teague's heart beating in his ears as he scanned Daud with a quick glance.

He was taller than him, and possibly heavier too. But Teague was flexible, and a sword wasn't his favorite tool for battle - so he was more than ready to engage with just his body at the Knife. Sucking in the cold morning's air, the marked Overseer bent his knees ever so slightly, similarly to his tense wolfhound. His mark had a dim glow to it, and so did Snow's purple eye.

"You look a little shocked, my dear Daud."

Daud retained the same position as the Overseer did; ready, tense, defensive, but most importantly viciously protective of the Whaler behind him, similarly to how the Overseer shielded his hound with his body. Neither was willing to sacrifice their companion, human or not. Daud obviously didn't give it much thought at the moment and he probably wouldn't at all, but the Whaler was thankful. His Master - as calculating as he may be - often resorted to the bare fight-or-flight response comprised purely of instinct, and like a wolf, one of those instincts was to protect his pack.

The Whaler composed himself and glanced at his Master, tilting his head slightly while attempting to decypher Daud's expression. He did not dare speak, and simply waited to be given orders. For now, though, while the Knife remained silent, the Whaler stood still.

Daud on the other hand had his eyes transfixed onto the Overseer, hardly even acknowledging the hound. He studied the other's features, body language, attire; wracking his brain for the best assessment he could make at the moment in an attempt to understand what he was up against. The Overseer was slimmer and lighter in weight but he was agile. He worked in perfect coordination with his canine companion which Daud found to be bizarre; no matter how well you bonded with an animal it was still an animal, unable to understand you beyond some trained vocal cues. Daud had to acknowledge the hound now as a threat equal to the Overseer if they were so well-synchronized.

At long last the assassin spoke, tightening his grip on the hilt of his sword. "Who are you? I would have hoped to hear of a Void-touched Overseer before I got to meet him face to face."

Teague chuckled, but his expression remained unchanged. It almost appeared as the wolfhound by his side made a similar sound in reaction to Daud's words, before he was to shake his coat a second time and snarl.

The Abbey of the Everyman was trying to keep him hidden from the public eye for reasons quite obvious. It was not in their wish to flaunt with the weapon they have in their hands. Approved by the High Overseer or not, a heretic was a heretic and they didn't want to give anyone the wrong idea.

Back in Morley, his fellow Overseers have gotten used to him, Snow, and their complicated relationship. But here in Dunwall things were a little different - what with the rat plague, everyone was on edge more than the usual. In a way, he couldn't wait to be finished here and return to the place he could call home, along the people he could call family.

Those Overseers in Dunwall were twisted by something.

Maybe it was because of their closeness with the High Overseer...

"I like to keep to myself, unlike you. You're Daud, the Knife of Dunwall who no one else would survive an encounter with to tell the tale. It is quite the name you've made for yourself; I would like knowing I made this place safer once you perish and return to the black-eyed bastard."

Daud sneered and scoffed in response to the Overseer's taunts. Sure, he may be marked, but Daud was confident that he'll be the one leaving back home in one piece. He did so for decades after all. How would a marked Overseer be any different from his contracts? He was simply a target that could put up a fight, but a fight Daud would win. Or at least that's what he hoped for.

"Having a reputation helps, sometimes. Most people understand fear better than they'd understand respect." Daud didn't remove his gaze from the Overseer and kept glaring daggers at him as he spoke. "The Abbey of the Everyman is no different from me in that regard."

"Their time too will come." Teague immediately replied, twirling the blade in his hand. The Abbey and the High Overseer will be dealt with eventually, he knew. If not by him; then by the Spymaster and the Empress. Coming from Morley he heard his fair share of talk about Jessamine Kaldwin, and the first-ever official Spymaster on her side.

He might have been resentful for the Kaldwin family, but she was no fool. If the High Overseer was truly suspicious; she and her "Royals" would sniff him out eventually. Teague only had only one purpose currently, and it was to find the cause for the rat plague and eliminate it.

The man who held the city trembling in its place with a chain of faceless assassins would be a good gamble to begin with.

"If you were to assist me in my mission, I would perhaps look the other way - just today." He remained still and tense. "I've heard enough about you to know you're always hungry for knowledge."

"Oh, am I now." Daud made sure the cynicism in his voice was apparent and clear. The Whaler behind him had to muster all of his willpower to stifle his laughter. He only made a faint noise barely audible through the pouring rain, biting his lip beneath the mask. Daud only spared a fraction of a glance at his direction before refocusing on the Overseer.

If Daud understood correctly, he thought, then the strange man was the Abbey's secret weapon against people such as himself. Witches and heretics that were being publicly persecuted, sometimes through baseless accusations and mere cruelty or boredom. If the Abbey employed a so called heretic to flush out the others then they really were desperate. It made sense given the state Dunwall was in, but Daud couldn't help but wonder if the decision to fight fire with fire was made by the Empress herself or by the High Overseer, independently of Jessamine Kaldwin's decrees. Her so called Royal Spymaster could also have been involved in this.

What a disaster.

"You should have also heard, then, that I'm not exactly the Abbey's best friend." Daud added to his previous remark with a slight frown. "Why should I assist you or them? What's the catch?"

"I want to leave this wretched city and return and return to the place where I belong. Luckily for the both of us; that place isn't Gristol."

Teague didn't have an accent to him, and the Void altered his apperance enough to make him almost appear Tyvian, but in reality he didn't care if the Knife of Dunwall knew where he was from. He just needed to know that it's far.

What he didn't need to know, is that Teague planned on eliminating him whether he was tied to this mess. Just not now. The rat plague was killing more than Daud would, and unlike the Big Knife; the plague wasn't selective.

The plague took the good and the poor before it took the rich and cunning. It needed to be eliminated first.

"The sooner matters are taken care of, the earlier my departure would be - and so also your trouble with me. I cannot speak for the Abbey however, those fanatics are a hivemind as you probably know; I would truly hate to be responsible for them." He hissed, then clicked his tongue. "I know you have a rich taste for coin but I have none. Maybe knowing that your precious gentlemen won't drop like flies to the plague would be enough?"

"I'll take my chances." Daud snapped back at the Overseer almost as soon as he uttered the last syllable to his response. "If there will be no nobles left to kill in Dunwall then we will simply migrate elsewhere. There isn't a shortage of them - or coin - in places beyond this wretched city." The Knife's answer was definite and left no room for negotiation; he did not trust the Overseer no matter how much he cursed the Abbey. It might as well have been a script, or a bluff, that he rehearsed or made up on the spot to win Daud over. But it'll take much more than pretty words to convince him to work alongside an Overseer. Some of his men were former Overseers gone rogue, sure. But it took them way longer to earn Daud's trust than it took the rest.

As Daud was preparing himself for either battle or retreat, the Whaler behind him broke his silence for the first time in this conversation. He cleared his throat, as if to be polite, and crossed his hands behind his back. "I think it's worth considering his offer, Master. We're running short on medicine and food as it is, and the rat plague isn't making it any easier for us to find work, or even merchants to sell us those supplies, since they've been- well- dying one by one."

The Whaler spoke monotonously and didn't exhibit much emotion if any in his voice, but that jab at the end made Daud turn his glare onto his own disciple next. In a sense he was correct; they have been struggling to stay afloat ever since the plague hit, especially when their turf was now being swarmed with the afflicted- Weepers they called them- as well as infected rats and insects. Business wasn't exactly booming and it wouldn't be the first time he overheard his men complaining about his decision to remain rooted in Dunwall. This one simply did it directly.

Daud took a deep breath and filled his lungs with cold air, running his tongue over his teeth in slight irritation, but reconsidering his answer nonetheless. He looked back at the Overseer and rolled his shoulders restlessly, forming a tight fist with his marked hand before relaxing his muscles and opening it back up. He had to swallow at least some of his pride in order to give in, albeit only partially.

"Fine." Daud almost groaned his answer as if it physically pained him to speak it. "But I think we're both aware that you can't fully guarantee my men's safety, let alone their health."

Daud lowered his weapon but didn't sheath it. He wanted to show that he's willing to cease his hostility but not lower his guard.

"There are other ways you could repay me. Like stealing from the Abbey you claim to hate so much, perhaps." Daud shrugged. "Surely you wouldn't mind handing me coin that isn't necessarily yours, correct? You would be doing good by robbing them of their gold."

Teague, as if mimicking the taller man's behavior, slowly was too lowering his armed hand, the tip of his blade still pointed at Daud's chest. The dim glow coming from his mark ceased as he raised it to smooth his wet hair back, the mismatchcing eyes refusing to look away from the two targets.

"Of course, this would be a lovely idea. I'll consider it once I figure out where Campbell stashes his treasures." He was sarcastic, but also bitter. The High Overseer was supposed to be an example, and live as he preached. Instead he was pampered and treated like the Lord Protector himself; that was nothing the Abbey believed in. "But wouldn't they like to blame the heretic once things start disappearing?"

Teague tilted his head back to sweep his hair one more time, and then idly swayed his hip. The wet fabric only got tighter around his body with the weight of the rain, sticking to his inner thighs and exposing shiny pale skin.

His eyes turned momentarily to the Whaler mask before they were to return to Daud, and then to his side towards the music box resting on the still chest of his fellow Overseer. He stepped towards the horrible machine and raised a boot to step on it, to crush that thing to ensure it would neve be singing again.

"There's other things that could benefit you but coin, Daud. Stopping the plague seems like a hassle, but it could save you expenses, manpower, and eventually -" He grunted. That scrap metal was sturdy. "- We can talk about material goods as well."

Daud stepped away from the Overseer and the music box, wary of both. The Whaler followed suit, but he was admittedly less tense than his Master was. He didn't really care if he'd die of the plague or not; he would rather live, of course, but if he had to die while serving his Master, then he wouldn't put up resistance. He lowered his head and stared at the wet cobblestone paving the street. He hoped he didn't just get them in more trouble than they were already in.

When he was at a comfortable enough distance from the Overseer and his hound, Daud allowed himself to sheath his sword, and with his now free hands he crossed his arms over his chest. "I would take a day or two to reconsider whose side I should be on if I were you. I'm sure you know the Abbey only sees you as a tool. A means to an end." Daud spoke matter-of-factly but with no real concern for the Overseer's fate or wellbeing. Just because they were both marked didn't make them friends.

"All I'm saying's that I'd put my wages elsewhere."

It took some effort, but after having crushed the music box into the ground through the crushed ribs and spine of the Overseer below it Teague could be sure it wouldn't be used again. He turned his head to glance at Snow - which sat attached to his grounded leg - and turned to face Daud once again. His eyes went back to the Whaler moments later.

"I was born to be a tool to men, and so will I leave this world. I am a toy for the black-eyed boy, an object and weapon for the Abbey, and a sack of coin for the Knife of Dunwall." He snarled, almost if he were the dog inbetween the duo. "I'm not on their side. Blind, lunatic mutts, that's what they are - the Abbey long forgotten what it truly stood for and worshipped -" Teague cut himself off in the middle, scoffing. "But you don't care."

He shook his head and inhaled, the cold air soothing him.

"You're busy blindly following a dead boy, with blind followers of your own." He sneered. "Let's just stick to business and not try converting me."

Daud listened to the Overseer's rant stonefaced but he had to admit that he did feel sorry for the man. It seemed like he was completely aware of his predicament but accepted that he's powerless to do anything to change it, or, alternatively, figured that fighting back would be worse than simply gritting his teeth and letting things go as they do. Judging by the Overseer's clothes Daud could only imagine what other "uses" this man had and what other nuances the word "toy" carried. It made him nauseous. A good portion of his own men used to serve as slaves for such depravity until Daud either freed them or they begged to be taken in. But none of it showed on his features. He remained as still and stoic as before.

"The life my men were granted is far better than the one they had before joining my ranks." Daud said flatly. "You're free to criticize me all you want. Really, go ahead." He gestured at the Overseer with a theatrical wave of his hand. "But whatever it is you think you know about me better be laid to rest. You don't know jack shit."

Daud spat that last bit with venom in his voice. It made the Whaler raise his head and look at him once more. He was concerned, but knew better than to step in front of his Master's temper. He tensed up a little but still stood quiet.

"If this is how it's going to be then we really are better off just sticking to business." Daud turned on his heel to leave, and his Whaler remained rooted in place for a moment, stunned, but quickly followed after regaining his composure.

"I'll send one of my own to meet with you tomorrow and take you to a comfortable rendezvous point of my choosing. And for your sake I hope I'll see you both and not just one."

With that, Daud transversed out of the Overseer's sight, as did his Whaler. He had a feeling that tomorrow's going to be an even longer day endured on only a couple hours of fitful sleep.

[grunkle4d]

Jersey Devil

@obscurushydrae (i put it under a readmore cause lord help me it went long)   

The worst part about encountering the jersey devil was never the nightmares the followed the event, but rather the fact that nobody ever seemed to believe Ford when he said he’d seen the thing. His brother saw it, but his brother was the one person who would have believed him even if he hadn’t. Those rotten sibling brothers had seen it as well-- but he’d never partner with them, not even to get an article published in the local newspaper.

His only hope of proving to Glass Shard Beach that they should be afraid of the Jersey Devil was to gather evidence of its existence himself. He tried to recruit his brother, but Stanley promised him a raincheck-- Daisy Bradford had asked him to teach her how to use her new roller skates, and he was sure he was going to “score.” Nevermind the fact that he didn’t even know how to roller skate himself.

With his camera tethered around his neck and his backpack full of all the monster-hunting essentials (trail mix, a bottle of water, butterfly net, extra film for his camera, his monster hunting notebook, and a pair of plastic handcuffs just in case) he takes the bike he and his brother share out to the edge of town to begin the hunt. How hard can it be to find a monster that big?

As it turns out, very hard. Perhaps the reason nobody has seen it is because it’s so darn elusive. Ford does everything he can think of, setting out bait (does the Jersey Devil even like trail mix?) waiting sneakily in trees it took way too long to climb, and tracking every kind of animal print he can find. It’s starting to get dark and cold, he’s almost out of trail mix and he’s honestly starting to get bored without Stanley around to liven things up. But just before he decides to turn in for the night, he hears a strange bleating sound that sends a shiver up his spine, and he walks his bike over a hill, following the sound of rustling.

Nothing could have prepared him for seeing the Jersey Devil for the second time. The first time he’d been pumped full of adrenaline and even half-doubted his own eyes, but seeing the thing in its full glory, casually chewing on the corpse of a mangled chicken sends ice running down Ford’s back. He immediately drops to his belly and shimmies under a bush, crawling forward on his elbows with his camera raised and ready to take a picture. Taking a deep breath, he points the camera directly at the beast, holds it, and presses the button.

To his horror, he’d forgotten to take the flash apparatus off the top of the camera. The devil’s head pops up, gory and furious, and it lets out a sound between a roar and a bleat that Ford will never forget as long as he lives. But before instinct can even catch up enough with him to yell in fear, a massive net falls down over the creature, snaring it instantly. Ford clamps both of his hands over his mouth in terror, watching with wide eyes as some adults he doesn’t recognize enter the clearing, cheering about how they’d managed to “snag it at last” and one scolding another who thought “the chicken wouldn’t work.” He shimmies forward far enough to watch the writhing, screaming creature get hand-cranked into the back of a truck, a pulley gathering the ropes connected to the net until the beast is tugged into a tanker labeled “GREENE SEPTIC” on the side. As soon as the doors are closed, the side of the truck is banged on to let the driver know it’s safe to start moving, and Ford waits another few moments before scrambling out from under the bush and collecting his bike.

His little legs pump as hard as they can as he follows after the truck. It’s getting darker by the minute and he knows he’s going to get in trouble for being out this late, but he can’t pass up the chance to see where the devil is being taken. He chases the truck for what feels like miles, almost losing it a couple times before he follows it up into the hills. It finally enters some kind of campus through a security gate that Ford is going to have to figure out how to infiltrate later. It just looks like a factory, but as Ford grips the bars of the fence and watches the truck until it wends out of sight, he knows he’s onto something.

Ford decides not to bother his brother with it the next day, he’d ranted for hours about how Daisy Bradford held his hand like he’s god’s gift to girls or something, while Ford sketched himself a map for how to get back to the factory, beside diagrams of the devil that were as accurate as he could remember.

As soon as he could shake his brother without suspicion, Ford took their bike back out and pedaled back out to the same location. He half expected to get there and for the entire campus to be gone, because that seemed like the spooky kind of thing that would happen, but sure enough the whole thing is still laid out. He walks his bike down the fence, looking for any kind of weak spot that he can find, any gap wide enough for him to infiltrate. He finally finds it in the form of a loose bar that he wiggles out of place, and leaving his bike leaned against the gap to mark where he can climb back out, he cautiously wedges himself through the fence and darts into the foliage surrounding the factory. He doesn’t know how many people work here, but he has a hunch what kind of work they’re doing, if they’re out there collecting jersey devils and hiding them in trucks nobody would ever want to look inside.

Luckily the trees and bushes are thick around the outside of the campus, giving Ford plenty of cover to move in, unseen by whoever might be in one of the many windows of the facility. He’s jogging along, his gaze so fixated on the building that he completely doesn’t notice the person squatting in the dirt, trying to catch a frog. He stumbles into them and they both tumble down a short grassy hill, sprawling at the bottom.

“I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry!” Ford scrambles backwards into an awkward crab-walk, sure that he’d been caught by an adult and he’s about to be in the biggest trouble of his life. But when he fixes his glasses back up his nose, he finds himself looking at a girl, about his age, with bright red hair and wide eyes-- apparently just as startled at being tripped over as he was doing the tripping.

“Oh-- um, hi. Did you sneak in here too? I promise I won’t tell if you won’t tell.”

[dr-m-r-ma]

Electric Shock

Part 17/30

Genre: drama, romance Rating: PG-13 Group: Monsta X Summary of previous chapter: Hyo-jin gets ice cream with Monsta X. Shownu is confronted by his manager about his feelings towards Hyo-jin. While walking back to their van, Wonho suddenly stops walking and Shownu crashes into him.

Disclaimer: This is 100% fictional and my own story. It is unrelated to the actual events and real persons of Monsta X and Starship. Hyo-jin Lee is a completely made-up character that I created for this fanfic. Parts will be written in Korean with English translations. I did not major in English/Korean, nor was I ever strong in English/Korean grammar, so there will be grammatical mistakes. This is also the first fanfic I have ever written, so please overlook small mistakes. This fanfic is written in third person and past-tense for ease of writing.

Wonho, who was walking in front of him, stopped walking and Shownu's head crashed into Wonho's back. Shownu growled, " 야! 갑자기 멈추면 어떡해?! " (Translation: "Hey! Why'd you stop suddenly?!") Wonho pulled Shownu's arm, which made Shownu look up in wonder.

There stood a man, with a dirty baseball jacket and run down jeans, holding some kind of stick loosely in one hand and a mask in the other. Everyone stopped dead in their tracks and wondered why he was just standing there, staring at them. Shownu squinted and tried to gauge the man's expression or face but he was standing under a flickering street light, so the shadows hid his face more. All of a sudden, Shownu heard I.M. call out,

" 저기요. 이효진씨. 이효진씨! 괜찮아요? 왜그래요? " (Translation: "Hey. Miss Hyo-jin. Miss Hyo-jin! Are you okay? What's wrong?") Alarmed, Shownu rushed to Hyo-jin's side. She was staring deeply at the man, almost as if her eyes were filled with terror but at the same time empty at the soul, and trembling. One hand was clutching onto I.M.'s jacket and she seemed to struggle to stand.

Shownu blocked her view of the man and grasped her shoulders, knocking her ice cream down along the way. He called out to her,

" 이효진씨. 이효진씨. 제 말 들려요? 어디 안 좋아요? " (Translation: "Miss Hyo-jin. Miss Hyo-jin. Can you hear me? Are you not feeling well?") He shook her, trying to wake her from her stupor, but she continued staring blankly at the same spot the man stood. He leaned forward, leveling his eyes to hers, and whispered,

" 제 말 들리면 저를 봐요. " (Translation: "If you can hear me, look at me.") Hyo-jin's eyes flickered and the life in her eyes seemed to come back. She looked at him and he sighed in relief. Her legs gave out immediately and she nearly slipped out of his hands - he just barely caught her before she crashed onto the icy ground.

" ㅇ-어어 어어어어 --! " (Translation: "U-uh uhhhhh--!")

" 저 사람 여기 오는 것 같은데--! " (Translation: "That person seems to be coming over--!")

Minhyuk and Kihyun yelled simultaneously, and before Shownu could react, Hyo-jin pushed him out of the way. With her knees growing cold on the icy ground, she - and the others - stayed still and watched the man walk closer to them. He dragged, what was now visible, a baseball bat on the ground as he approached closer. His other hand gripped tightly at a mask, which Shownu recognized.

" 설마... " (Translation: "No way...") Shownu mumbled. He glanced over at Hyo-jin, and she seemed to recognize him. He wondered, '기억이나나? 아까는 완전히 까먹은 것 같았는데...' (Translation: 'Does she remember? She seemed to completely forget previously...') He looked back at the man. The man had stopped walking towards them and stood a short distance away from the group. Shownu peered at the man and noticed he had an empty look in his eyes, but the opposite of Hyo-jin's empty eyes. It was empty and dead, but it was filled with rage at the same time. Wonho and Minhyuk whispered,

" 우리 빨리 가자. " (Translation: "Let's hurry and leave.") I.M. reached over to Hyo-jin and tried to pull her up. Right then,

" HEY HYO. "

Everyone looked at the man, as his voice boomed. He dropped the mask, a clown mask, and swung his bat back and forth from one hand to the other. I.M. looked down and asked,

" ... do you know him? " Everyone's heads whipped back and looked down at Hyo-jin, having understood I.M.'s question. Minhyuk asked in a panicked voice,

" ㅁ-뭐야. 아-아는 사이에요? " (Translation: "W-what. You guys k-know each other?")

Hyo-jin stayed silent, staring at the man. Her eyes were filled with so much terror that the others couldn’t bring themselves to question her, but Minhyuk leaned down and whispered in her ear,

" 아는 사람이면 왜 저렇게 무섭게 다니냐고 좀 물어봐요! " (Translation: "If you know him, ask him why he's going around scarily like that!")

Shownu yanked Minhyuk away from Hyo-jin and growled, " 그러지마. " (Translation: "Stop that.") Minhyuk gaped and frowned at Shownu in betrayal. Shownu crouched down and looked at Hyo-jin, who had tears spilling over her eyes that still stared blankly at the man. His hand reached over to her face and his thumb grazed her cheek, catching a stream of tears. Shownu worried since she didn't react at all to his actions. She seemed like an empty shell cranking out tears endlessly, frozen in place.

" HYOOO ~ "

The man crooned loudly. He slung the the baseball bat over his shoulder and took a few steps closer while the other members inched backwards. He yelled out again,

" HYO~ I THINK WE NEED A TALK, DON'T YOU THINK? "

Hyo-jin quivered at the question and Shownu tensed up at her reaction. She croaked out, " R..Ryan... how..."

" I CAN'T HEAR YOU. YOU GOTTA COME CLOSER. LET'S TALK OVER THERE. "

The man, Ryan, pointed at a small street, an alleyway, near him. He cracked a toothy smile and Hyo-jin shuddered at the sight. She hesitated, then shook her head. She wiped her tears with her numb hands and with a shaky voice she replied,

" H-how... Why are you here? "

Seeing that she wasn't going to follow him easily wiped the smile cleanly off Ryan's face. He glared at her and his eyes flashed to Shownu. In that moment, Shownu felt a chill running up and down his spine. When Shownu met his glare and glared back, he felt the man's threatening and chilling aura.

Ryan started walking towards Shownu, swinging the baseball bat loosely. He yelled,

" HEY, DO YOU THINK THIS GUY NEEDS A WARNING... OR NAH? "

Shownu flinched, belatedly realizing this dangerous man was coming closer to him and threatening him. He looked around and noticed the fear implanted in all the other members’ eyes. An arm wrapped around his body at this moment and he arched backwards, realizing a few beats late that Wonho grabbed him and was dragging him away.

" NO! "

Hyo-jin ran in between and stood firmly in front of the man. Her arms were outreached on each side as if to block any force towards Shownu. She no longer swayed nor did her legs wobble, and she held her ground strongly while blocking the man from walking anywhere near Shownu. However, all Shownu saw was a trembling girl who tried hard to stand strong. He looked over her shoulder and straight at the man, who had fire rapidly growing in his eyes.

Ryan leaned forward and rasped, " Aren't you protecting him well... " He spat on the ground and glared at Shownu again.

Having used most of her energy to yell previously, Hyo-jin whispered,

" Let's talk. Leave these people alone. "

" Hmm... only if you're obedient. " Ryan turned around on his heels and walked away. Hyo-jin let her arms fall down to her sides and started following him.

Shownu frowned at the sight and violently broke away from Wonho's grasp to run and grab Hyo-jin's arm. He pulled her back and asked,

" 잠깐만, 어디가요? 어디 가려고 저 사람 따라가요?! " (Translation: "Wait, where are you going? Where are you going that you need to follow him?!")

Before Hyo-jin could answer, Ryan stopped in his tracks. Without turning back to face them, he called out in a taunting manner,

" I don't know what that bastard is saying but if you don't come here right now, I'm gonna kill everyone here. "

With that, Hyo-jin yanked her arm out of Shownu's grasp and stepped back to stay out of his reach. Minhyuk and Kihyun murmured to each other, trying to comprehend his threat. She grabbed Wonho's phone, dialed 119 (*911) and handed it back to him without pressing the call button. She quietly instructed him,

" 10분 이따 부르세요. 경찰 불러서 상황 얘기하시고 그냥 가세요. 근처에 오시마시고 그냥 가세요. 경고하는데 따라오면 큰일나요. " (Translation: "Call in 10 minutes. Tell the police the situation and leave. Don't come near and just leave. I'm warning you, if you follow it'll be bad.")

Wonho stuttered, " 잠-잠깐 아니-- " (Translation: "W-wait no --")

She whispered, "그 어떤 소리가 들려도 경찰한테 맡기고 그냥 가세요. 아셨죠??" (Translation: "No matter what you hear just leave it to the police and leave. Got it??")

" HYOOOOO you know I don't have patience~~ "

Hyo-jin shouted back, " I'm coming, I'm just telling them not to follow!! "

Wonho stood frozen with the phone in his hand and Shownu stood still, not understanding quickly enough as to what was being said and what was going on. He reached for Hyo-jin once more, but she had already stepped back even further. Still facing Monsta X and their manager, who were petrified in their places, she bowed once and turned to run back to the man. They watched Hyo-jin catch up to the man, turn into a small street and disappear from their sight.

Wonho panicked and turned to their manager, asking " 어떡해 어떡해 저 사람 위험한것 같은데 경찰 지금 불러야 되는거 아니야?? " (Translation: "omg omg that person seems dangerous so shouldn't we call the police now??") He started hyperventilating while Minhyuk, Kihyun and Hyungwon plopped down as their legs gave away. The manager worriedly looked after the members, with one hand on Minhyuk and the other patting Wonho to calm him down.

On the other hand, Jooheon and I.M. approached their leader quietly. Shownu was still facing the path Hyo-jin took to follow the man. I.M. paused. There was something eerily off about Shownu. Before he knew it, the leader started walking in the direction Hyo-jin left. He frantically ran in front of Shownu and yelled,

" 형! 안돼! 가면 안돼! " (Translation: "Hyung! Stop! You can't go!")

" 아니, 나.. 나 가야돼, " (Translation: "No, I... I have to go,") he whispered. He trudged forward, pushing I.M. out of the way. I.M. ran back to block Shownu again. This time, I.M. slammed his body against Shownu to force him to back off. I.M. knew that it would be impossible to stop Shownu without using force -- Shownu was basically a human bulldozer. When Shownu geared up to fight back, he felt a sturdy arm hold him back. He yanked his arm out of the hold and walked menacingly towards I.M., ready to shove him out of the way. However, now a set of firm arms had wrapped around and locked over Shownu's torso and pulled him away from I.M. Shownu desperately tried to pull the arms off, but to no avail.

" 셔누형. 그만. 경찰 불르고 기다리자. " (Translation: "Shownu-hyung. Stop. Let's call the police and wait.")

Shownu halted. He stopped squirming and lifelessly stood, not believing that Jooheon was holding him back with such strength and force. Jooheon held firmly onto Shownu while speaking in a calm, low voice,

" 걱정되는거 아는데 경찰이 형보다 더 좋을거야. 그냥 여기서 기다리자. " (Translation: "I know you're worried but the police are going to be better than you are. Let's just wait here.") At that, Shownu slowly slid down and sat on the icy concrete ground. Jooheon also sat, behind him, and pat the leader's shoulders to comfort him. Shownu closed his eyes and covered his face with his hands, trying to erase the sudden wave of anger and violence that thrashed inside of him. He opened his eyes and looked at I.M., who was noticeably startled by Shownu. I.M., and the other members, had never seen Shownu grow this agitated and angry.

Shownu murmured, " 미안하다 막내야... 내가 돌았나봐.. 진짜.. 미안하다 창균아. " (Translation: "Sorry maknae... I must've been crazy.. Really.. sorry Changkyun.") I.M. simply nodded numbly.

The manager came over and said, " 경찰을 좀 미리 불렀으니까 더 빨리 올거야. 걱정하지마, 괜찮을거야. " (Translation: "I called the police a little early so they'll come quicker. Don't worry, it's going to be okay.")

Then, they waited in silence.

*** TBC ***

[burn-your-face-upon-the-chrome]

My Writing Schedule For Nov - Dec

Heads up, this gets kinda lengthy because I over explain everything. What I'm vomiting onto this blog will pertain heavily to my dumpster fire of a fan fiction series which centers around Slit the Trash Lizard and his Scavenger Country friends. Yes, he's paired with and OC in it. Am I ashamed? No. Are we delving into why I'm not ashamed? Also no, we don't have time for that, because that's what I'm here to talk about today. Time.

I have incredibly poor time management skills when it comes to anything I'm not being paid to do. Essentially, what I want to do today is lay out a two-month plan for the About a Lizard series and squeeze into the following twelve months time for other fiction endeavors which include two original stories, a fanwork in the Aliens versus Predator universe, and a crossover with I'mRobin on AO3.

Normally, I post vague updates on the progress of the next chapter in the top notes of my submissions on AO3, I haven't been doing that because lately, my head is in ten different places at once.

The plan for AAL is to take all of the notes and information about loosely planned chapters for the current installment of the story (We can call it book two) and break down those chapters further by summarizing individual scenes within them. I already do this but I only do it one chapter at a time as I work, and then I tend to abandon a fully summarized chapter for weeks on end while I putter around procrastinating.

When I write these summaries, they generally contain a list of concepts that need to be addressed at a precise point in time along with character actions and an idea of the content of dialog between the characters. For an example of what this actually looks like in a summary: “Dune needs to lament about the potatoes she was trying to grow and how more than a month without steady watering has probably killed the spuds. Maybe have her dig around in the pots (old tires) to check for survivors.”  

It's basic stuff and the above line of quoted text is the substance of an entire small scene. Many of these summaries are much longer but even these tiny ones are incredibly helpful. They help to keep me on track with where I want a chapter to go, what I want it to cover, and it helps me to enforce self-control in keeping from wandering off in my head and indulging in unnecessary info-dumpery. Once this small scene is finished, I know exactly where I need to shift my attention because I already have that information at my disposal in the next summarized scene.

Knowing where you're going helps more than you think. I know the trajectory of the story as a whole, but getting from point A to point B within individual chapters is easier said than done. As an example: If you're writing a story about a girl named Jane who finds a magical singing rock in the woods, but you need her to travel across a country to find a wizard to explain the significance of the singing rock, then you need to have something happen during that journey. If this journey is to be concise enough to fit into a single chapter, you'll need minor conflict and resolution within that chapter, and it can be as extreme or subtle as you want, but it still has to exist and that requires thought and planning. Alternatively, you can take that cross-country trip that Jane goes on and turn it into the flesh of an entire story, where the journey itself is the story, not so much whatever is going on with the singing rock. I'm trying to avoid letting the minor plot interfere with the primary plot. Using Jane and the Rock as a euphemism for minor plot sequences: I want these “trips to find the wizard” to be consistently contained within one chapter without becoming arcs of their own which would interfere with the primary plot.

Phew! Now that you know what I mean by summarized chapters and scenes, and have probably realized that I am completely out of my mind, I can get to the point of this. I'd like to summarize scenes for all thirty-three planned chapters of “The Road to Nowhere” as soon as possible. Why would I want to do all of this work when I could simply be flat out writing? Because if I do this and get the bulk of the planning out of the way, I will ultimately be producing chapters at a far faster clip. If every chapter consists of between seven and ten scenes and I can flesh out one scene per day, that means I could publish one chapter approximately every ten days versus one chapter every month or several months. This better executed organization process would see the fic finished in a little under a year. I don't want to do the math and find out what that time-frame looks like if I continue on at my current pace. It probably looks something like six years, UGH!

Organization matters and at the moment, I don't have it. I can probably summarize the whole dang fic scene-by-scene within a couple weeks if I really apply myself to it. I may get only small way into this process before I say “Screw this!” and continue work chapter by chapter as a good little fic pigeon, but even if I only plan out three or four chapters at a time, I'm still coming out way ahead of the game. That's important to me. So, that is what is going on with the About a Lizard thingy. The following is a bullet point of dates and plans for November - December regarding About a Lizard and other projects

The next piece of writing I'm likely to crank out is an update chapter for the crossover titled Unlikely which I am working on with ImRobin over on AO3. I would like to publish this by the 15th of November at the very latest but I’ll probably be able to manage it far earlier. It is incredibly well structured because two people are working closely to hack out dialog and actions for each character to prevent out of character sequences and to give both parties as much creative control as possible in each chapter. It should not take long if I can sit for a few hours without interruption to work on it.

Chapter 4 of The Road To Nowhere is already started and I'm slowly scratching out the first draft scene by scene when I feel like writing. That will probably pop up on AO3 shortly after my half of the update on Unlikely, so expect it by the 17th at the very latest.

Once chapter 4 of The Road to Nowhere pops up on AO3, I will be summarizing and planning the rest of the chapters as much as I can with the goal to plan all scenes for all thirty-three (or more) chapters by mid-December. Once this is done, I'll be able to focus effort in a more meaningful way and lay the foundation for a routine where I flesh out one scene per day and hopefully begin submitting a chapter every ten to fifteen days instead of every month or two.

Chapter 5 of The Road to Nowhere should appear by the end of December.

If I can get this rhythm to work, I may take periodic breaks every five chapters to do work on a few original short stories I've had in my head for years but not enough organizational skill or confidence to execute. These may turn up on AO3 as well.

In short, to my best knowledge, updates will appear in the following order. Keep in mind personal schedules prevent me from knowing exact dates when future Unlikely chapters will get written.

11/13/18 – 11/15/18: Unlikely will update

11/16/18 – 11/17/18: The Road to Nowhere will update

11/17/18 – 12/15/18: I will be working solely on summarizing scenes for TRTN & Unlikely

12/25/18 – 12/30/18: The Road to Nowhere will resume with the submission of chapter 5

All chapters of The Road to Nowhere thereafter will be scheduled for submission within ten to fifteen days of each other.

[medleyofswag]

You know those videos of [ first kisses - social experiment ] between strangers on YouTube? There are a million of’em so this link is just a random one.

Well I really like’em and I imagiened Sam and Rafe in one while I made this edit. So. Naturally. I drabbled it- hope ye dig! 

Safe as Strangers. 

A sweet woman pointed him toward a spot in front of lights and cameras. There were soothing tunes in the background, which accompanied the two shots of rum nicely, to calm his nerves. If you’d ask him this very moment why he’d sign up for this experiment, he couldn’t say. Some extra merit, some experience, something different? Who knew.

If you ask him why now, about five seconds later, he wouldn’t know what to say becuase he simply didn’t care. A tall man, ruggedly handsome, brown-haired, frankly gorgeous stranger walked up to stand with him in front of the cameras where they were to be recorded. Or already were being recorded that very moment. Who knew, who cared, look at this man.

A minute of staring seemed appropriate enough, and he stuck a hand out for the stranger to take. Who eagerly took it. Cool. “Hi, I’m Raphael. Or, Rafe.” The smile wouldn’t stop pushing up, so who was he to try and push it down. “Hey. Hi Rafe, I’m Samuel. Or Sam.” The handsome stranger mirrored, displaying pearly whites.

“Hi Sam” Rafe let his smile loose, then.

Another second passed. His hand was so warm. Comfortable.

“You’re very tall.” The smaller man observed intelligently, chuckling with nervous waves in the sound, he started letting go of the other’s hand reluctantly. Sam all but wheezed with similar nervous levels. “Thank you, yes, I’ve grown all by myself.” Both grinned and shuffled slightly, seemingly unable to stand the hell still. Rafe knew exactly what he was doing there. He was there to be recorded while kissing a stranger and see what happaned. He knew, yet it struck him just then that this handsome length of hunk was who he had been assigned to kiss. He watched Sam looking at him, seeming equally aware. And equally pleased. Cool. Cool.

“So…” Rafe smiled still, while pushing his hands in his own back-pockets, tilting his head to the side. “Ever kissed a guy before?” He swayed a little back and forth forming his lips into a line. Sam chuckled shyly before pulling a hand up to scratch his neck. “Ah, well uhm, yeah. I dated a guy. Long time ago.” He shrugged at the information. He didn’t think that telling this, earily beautiful stranger that he usually only had flings and one-night stands and that his relationship-count could amount to about, three serious ones.

“It was actually the first guy I came out to as bisexual, and uh..” He clicked his tounge, glancing from his shoes to Rafe. “Yeah, we were pretty young. It was good, but he moved away.” He felt like every word came out flimsy and like this story had no relevant red string what so ever. Might be the very mezmering, distracting eyes, gazing at him curiously. “I get that.” The shorter man suddenly acknowledged, nodding.

“I came out to my best friend, as gay” He gestured toward himself as if self-explanaroty. “who replied with ‘me too’, though she’s a girl, so nothing more exciting happaned with that info.” He huffed a laugh. The tall man chuckled deeply, giving a few nods of his own. This guys was so easy to talk to. Huh.

“Uh, so, uh,” Sam fumbled a little. He turned to some of the crew, just a couple that payed attention to them, while the rest went around and about doing stuff to make the situation feel more natural. “How uh,” Sam held a thumb toward Rafe to gesture between them. “How much are we allowed to talk? I mean, do we ruin it if we talk to much?” One of the people behind the camera simply shaked their head and waved toward them, telling them to have at it, let it feel natural.

“So, it’s your first time in a.. stranger’s experiment too, I’m assuming?” Rafe continued, pulling up his hands, clapping them a little. “Uh yeah, yeah I- I mean I’ve met a lot of people, strangers, through work, which involves documeting a lot, but uhm,” He threw a look towards the machines filming them. “This is very different.” He huffed in laughs again. “Yea, I know what you mean. I meet strangers for a living but..” He dropped his hands to his thighs, smacking lightly.

Sam suddenly watched him with wider eyes, something looking like shock. Then it hit Rafe, who threw a hand up to his mouth to cover it in realization. “Oh god.” He muffled through the fingers. Sam started showing teeth again in an slowly-growing amused manner. Both of them felt blood rushing, faces easily heating and giggles hard to surpress when minds flew head-first towards innuendos in the company of a stranger.

“I’m in antique-sales business,” Rafe voice pitched, sounding defeated. “I mean I meet a lot of strangers and I have to find a bond with them in order to- I, oh my god” He flailed with both hands while speaking, though giggling the whole time, hands eventually stopped to rest and cover his whole face.

Samuel looked down at the smaller man shaking in snickers, adapting the happy shaking to his own shoulders too, his arms hanging at his sides until they moved up to cross his ribs. “I mean, I suspected but I don’t actually judge, so” His grin left his jaw ajar after speaking. Rafe dared to look up, and let go of his face. He sniffed and wiped under an eye. “Well that’s great, becuase I’m making a great impression here.” Even if he had been working in any type of escorting business, that would be a weak way to introduce it. The taller looked at him still grinning. Expression full of fondness. Rafe let his hands stay under his chin, fingers twirled together, looking up at Sam. 

He cleared his throat, licked his lips.

“So uh, what do you do?” He let his hands fall down, fingers still twirled. “Well, Hey- ironic,” Sam gave him a look and his mouth made small smack after swallowing. “I’m somewhat of an archaeologist, not fully-licensed yet, but finding antique stuff isn’t unusual for me.”

Rafe let a looped grin fall into place. Meeting someone his won age who understood anything at all about his own work was extremely rare. “Wow.” He managed. “Yeah, I… I’ve been doing it, pretty much my, uh, whole life. It kinda runs in the family.” Sam managed to continue, a little lost of words from looking back at Rafe like that. Rafe tore his eyes away eventually and threw a look to the crew again, then tried whispering. “..you think they did this on purpose?” He gave the taller a suggestive look, pointing inbetween them. “Well to be fair, I really wouldn’t mind if they did, either way.” Sam raised a brow in a suggestive look of his own. It made the shorter snort lightly. “Me neither.”

They shuffled and fidgeted a little more. A little lulled from the high of letting a stranger know they were allowed to kiss you. A stranger who made you feel safe, for some reason.

“Uh, am I allowed to ask how old you are?” Rafe suddenly looked puzzled. “Not that it matters, but uhm, curiousity.” “I think so,” Sam threw a look to the people around but noone payed any real attention to them right now. “I’ll be a rebel and tell you anyway,” Sam winked, which made Rafe’s face tint a little. “I actually turned 30 last month.” Sam let his under-lip push a little pout, unintressted in his own age. All he recieved at first was a blank face at that. It took Rafe a moment. “I don’t know wether to congratulate you or call you a liar, 30, really?!” Rafe looked next to bewilired. “You look like 26, atleast.” He shook his head in disbelief. Sam threw him a side-look. “Is it a compliment if I say you look about 26, too?” Sam leaned back a little and made a braced face, cranking a wink. The other man just snorted again. “Yeah, why not. I’m almost 25, so looking older than I am is still kind of a sexy thing. Or irrelevant, you know, whichever.” He shook his head again, not actually minding who thought he looked like what.

“Almost 25 huh, I’d say 'that’s a great age’ but that makes me sound like 60, so..” The taller ended with a 'pffft’ sound.

The shorter man made a face at him, smile reaching his eyes. “That is kind of a grampa-thing to say.” “My little brother does more-or-less call me a grampa.” He frowned, shifting from looking at Rafe to the roof in thought. Rafe chuckled again, it was a great sound. Beautiful. It made Sam look at him with that fondness again, grinning in success for helping that sound leave those lips.

And he kept looking. Rafe looking back. A beat went by.

“Your laugh is amazing-” “Your eyes are gorgeous-”

Both stopped in their tracks, catching up what the other had said and broke out in grins. Rafe tilted towards the floor again.

The taller man licked his lips and moved to take a hold of Rafe’s hand. His thumbs caressed softly. The action made the younger look up. Sam met his eyes with much more intent now. Not that he hadn’t been watching him carefully this whole time, but his eyes held a deeper meaning suddenly. He was visibly leaning. There’ wasn’t any confusion to being here. He knew what he was looking for, what he was doing. He was on a mission, searching. “You know you’re eyes are, insane.” He announced in realization. “Like- stunning. Insanely stunning.” Mission complete. Now he’s free to admire his finding. In fact, finding it impossible to look away.

Rafe looked like he’d just seen a star fall for the first time. Or a winter-wonderland. Or a red moon. Or a clear double-rainbow in a rainforrest or something equally amazing to put him in awe. 

He inhaled, taking a step closer. It caused Sam to streach his back up again, and it almost entirely closed their distance, just half a foot remaining inbewteen them.

Air started to come a little shorter.

Rafe reached slowly toward the older stranger. 

“Uh, I,” Rafe whispered, a hand hovering over Sam’s ribs. The latter reached in return towards Rafe’s hips, guiding him to come closer. In response Rafe did, and let his own hands rest on each side of Sam’s ribcage.

The shorter man let out a little sound when their bodies nudged. The scent of cologne, something like gasoline from a vehicle and a hint of smoke suddenly very strong. Very alluring.

“Do you, uh…” Rafe tried again, looking down to the man’s colorbones. The hands on his hips were gentle. Inviting. Distracting.

“You smell very good.” Rafe finally breathed. Finally daring to look up at him again. Sam met Rafe’s eyes. “So do you.” He tossed a glance to his lips. 

“I really wanna kiss you.” He said quietly. Voice steady. A beat. “Kiss me.”  The other whispered.

His tummy felt tight from fluttering. That exciting kind, like when the roller-coster is about to send you flying down after feet upon feet of rolling upward.

Sam leaned in. By instinct eyelids closed just before the first touch. Almost nothing but a tickle, followed a second later by a soft, gentle push. 

The flutters in Rafe’s tummy released into a million pieces, now all bouncing around in there. 

He inhaled through is nose. One of his hands automatically pulled up instead, behind Sam’s head, holding his breath until he felt the taller man move again. The kiss pulled off slightly, lips never completely parting before pushing close again. A tounge carefully pecking, as if asking if a visit was okay. Rafe parted his lips along with his own tounge darting forth in search of the new companion.

Sam made a sound when they met.

He tasted sweet, but not too sweet. A tad bit of coffee. A hint of ciggarette and, something minty or citrus-y. Maybe from gum.

Bodies pressed closer, movements grew more freely, quiet grunts and breaths let out. Sam held Rafe tighter around his back when the kissing resulted in Sam practically dipping him. The following kisses lingered. They slowed down. Parting to get air became essential eventually. Even if they didn’t part more than an inch or two at first. They stood up properly, still flushed close together.

Maybe they were shaking a little. Maybe their shaky breathing gave it away. Maybe they would need a moment, or several, before they could fully part.

“… uhm.” Rafe breathed. “So,” Sam started, smiling lazily, dazed from the man in his arms. “Call me?” Rafe asked with a hopeful tone. All inhibitions be damned. “Friday?” Sam lit up brighter than a ray of summer sun. “Yeah!” Rafe nodded, pleased and excited. 

Flutters going wild in his chest.

In retrospect, if the whole studio had gone quiet or not during their encuonter, the two men who’d been recorded would never be able to answer. Atleast that’s what they told them three years later in an interview for the experiment-partaking couples who are still dating.

[isaacdesignforperformance]

Design Matrix

Example of contemporary text staged

List of external references:

IRA

Location

Food

The Troubles

British rule

The croc myth

Alcohol

Who is actually in the play?

Physically there

Referenced

Character Descriptions/What changes to their appearance over the play

List of Props:

Recurring/what changes/Uses/Relationships With Characters

ALANNAH: Cigarettes, and chips for ALANNAH

FIANNA: Wreath around FIANNAS neck Muddy Boots

Set:

Start: Hot dead of night, air is oppressive, a thunderstorm threatens to break.

The kitchen  of the Devlins isolated Farmhouse is refurbished in the very late 70s/ very early 80s style;

ACT ONE:

Lose tile, cupboards opened

Window broken in, class over kitchen top

Changes to space

Physical Characteristics

References

Layout

Lighting:

Reference to changes in lighting (changes in lx)

Atmospheric lighting outside of frame

Artificial natural light

Film/Media references

Rain/Storm

Music

Film

Sx

Language

Northern Irish Slang/phrases

Thematic tracks

Character Arc, when we first meet them, how they develop, Character development.

ALANNAH - CLEANING STOVE, glances at hallway, dislodges loose floor tiles, tuts scolds herself, ducks into a cupboard to munch on a stash of Tayto cheese and onion crisps staring at the floor tile grudgingly.

After a few moments dashes to the floor tiles loosens it again, removes a pristine packet of superking menthol cigarettes and some incense. Ritualistically she lights the incense as she shuffles to the door, a frog croaks unnoticed by ALANNAH.

Allannahs attention is slowly drawn ever fearfully outwards as she becomes aware of someone singing “Some say the devil is dead” by the wolfe tones outside.

FIANNA: singing in background

Alanna approaches door

FIANNA: MORE SINGING

ALLANNAH swings the door open to reveal FIANNA DEVLIN, a wreath around her neck and a smile on her face.

Allannah Shuts the door in her face

Fianna disappears Allannah peers through the letterbox. She sighs. Says a small “thanks be to god”. A rock smashes through the kitchen window.

ALLANAH AND FIANNA DIALOG

ALLANAH GOES BACK TO CLEANING STOVE

Fianna inspects incense and extinguishes it

MORE DIALOG BETWEEN ALANNAH AND FIANNA

ALLANNAH GOES ABOUT SLICING SOME BREAD

MORE DIALOG

ALLANNAH painstakingly slots bread into toaster

FIANNA DIVES INTO THE CUPBOARDS to ALLANNAHS discomfort

ARGUMENT BETWEEN ALANNAH AND FIANNA

THEY STARE AT EACH OTHER, THE BREAD BURNS, SETTING OFF FIRE ALARM, ALANNAH SHUTS DOWN PANICKED, FIANNA SWEARS AND TRIES TO JOLT ALANNAH BEFORE EVENTUALLY CLAMBERING ONTO THE TABLE AND VIOLENTLY RIPPING OFF THE ALARM FROM THE  CEILING.

DA SPEAKS FROM ABOVE

FIANNA GRUNTS

ALANNAH TODDLES TOWARDS THE HALLWAY, FIANNA GRIPS HER

ALANNAH AND FIANNA FIGHT

FIANNA IS SHAKEN

ALANNAH EXPLAINS HER SITUATION, FIXING HER HAIR

ALANNAH EXITS, FIANNA PICKS UP HER THINGS  GRABS THE LOAF AND HEADS FOR THE DOOR, FROG CROAKS, SHE STOPS IN HER TRACKS. THE PHOTOGRAPH OF THE FAMILY STARES DOWN AT HER.

FIANNA TALKS TO PHOTO

FIANNA GETS ANGRY PULLS OUT A GUN AND COUNTS THE NUMBER OF BULLETS SHE HAS, POCKETS IT, STORMS TO THE CUPBOARD GRABS SOME CHIPS, ROLLS A CIGARETTE, AND PERCHES ON THE WORKTOP BY THE SINK

ALANNAH ENTERS

ALANNAH STARTS ARGUING ABOUT SMOKING INSIDE

ALANNAH SNATCHES THE BAG OF CHIPS FROM HER MUNCHES FURIOUSLY

FIANNA AND ALANNAH START TALKING, FIANNA BEING MORE REASONABLE, ALANNAH STILL ANGRY

FIANNA PULLS OUT A BOTTLE OF RUM

ALANNAH MAKES A GIN AND TONIC, EXACT MEASURES, SLICING A LEMON AND AN APPLE WITH PRECISION

FIANNA GRABS A WINE GLASS

ALANNAH HANDS HER A PLASTIC CUP

FIANNA DEFINITELY POURS THE RUM INTO THE WINE GLASS, ALANNAH MUDDLES HER DRINK FURIOUSLY

FIANNA MOVES TOWARDS THE HALLWAY

FIANNA EXITS. ALANNAH DRINKS DEEPLY SAYS A SHORT SILENT PRAYER. A FLUSH OF THE TOILET SHE FREEZES LISTENS, NOTHING FROM UPSTAIRS. BREATHES. FIANNA BOUNDS IN WITH A CASSETTE PLAYER

ALANNAH AND FIANA ARGUE

SHE GOES TO PUT THE TAPE IN. ALANNAH RELUCTANTLY RUSHES HER

THEY FIGHT LIKE KIDS ALANNAH GETS HURT

ALANNAH GETS A DIG IN

FIANNA GOES FOR HER. THEY CHASE AROUND THE ROOM

A KNOCKING FROM UPSTAIRS. FIANNA WINCES. A WEE MOMENT

ALANNAH AND FIANNA TALK MORE ABOUT DA

SILENCE. ALANNAH TOPS UP HER DRINK AND SLICES AN APPLE. FIANNA STROKES THE CASSETTE PLAYER

ALANNAH SHAKES HER HEAD

FIANNA PUTS IN HER TAPE. AFRICA BY TOTO PLAYS

FIANNA HARMONIZERS

ALANNAH SHRUGS, AND RETREATS INTO HERSELF

THE CHORUS KICKS IN THEY BOTH SING

SHE LOOKS AT ALANNAH PUZZLED AND BEMUSED

FIANNA STOPS THE TAPE

ARGUING ABOUT LYRICS

ALANNAH FIXES A G&T FOR HERSELF, FIANNA WATCHERS HER, SCRAPES HER NAILS ON THE TABLE

ALANNAH FLASHER HER A CHEEKY SMIRK FOR THE FIRST TIME ALANNAH IS RECOGNIZABLE

FIANNA HITS PLAY AND THE REST OF AFRICA BY TOTO PLAYS FIANNA FINISHES HER DRINK

FIANNA TESTING PICKS UP HER STUFF

FIANA SNORTS

ABIT MORE ARGUING

SILENCE. ALANNAH GETS ANOTHER PACKET OF HER SAD CRISPS FIANNA GLARES AT HER

FIANNA JUMPS ONTO THE TABLE WITH THE CASSETTE PLAYER, CRANKS UP THE VOLUME AND HITS PLAY, CUM ON FEEL THE NOIZE BY QUIET RIOT, PLAY FROM JUST BEFORE THE LINE “SO YOU THINK I GOT AN EVIL MIND” SHE SINGS AGGRESSIVELY

UPROAR FROM ABOVE

ALANNAH MANAGES TO GET THE CASSETTE PLAYER.

ARGUING ABOUT THEIR PASTS AND HOW THEY GOT TO BE WHERE THEY ARE

A MOMENT

THE ROOF HAMMERS, UNNOTICED IN THE FERVOUR. FIANNA STARTS TO OPEN ALL THE CUPBOARDS

ALANNAH SHOUTS AT FIANNA TO STOP

FIANNA DIVES INTO THE CUPBOARD GRABS THE CRIPS, OPENS THEM ALL OVER THE FLOOR AND JUMPS UP AND DOWN ON THEM. ALANNAH SCREAMS. THE ROOF HAMMERS. CHAOS. FIANNA COMES TO A BREATHLESS END. SHE LIGHTS A CIGARETTE.

THE ROOF HAMMERS AGAIN SHE GOES OUT. ALANNAH IS TRANSFIXED BY THE CHAOS OF THE KITCHEN MURMURS ARE HEARD ABOVE AGGRESSION HEARD, ABOVE ALL ELSE A GUNSHOT.

SILENCE.

ALANNAH FREAKS OUT.

SHE WALKS TO THE TELEPHONE PICKS IT UP PAUSES PUTS ITT DOWN ROBOTIC INNER TURMOIL. FIANA ENTERS ON EDGE AND POURS HERSELF ANOTHER DRINK SILENCE

FIANNA CHUCKS A PIPE ON THE TABLE

ALANNAH AND FIANNA TALK

ALANNAH SHAKES  HER HEAD

A STOMACH CHURNING SILENCE. ALANNAH GRIPS ONTO THE NEAREST SURFACE. DURING  THIS DISGUST THE FROG CROAKS

THE THUNDERCLOUDS BREAK FIANNA PUTS HER JACKET ON.

FIANNA EXITS. ALANNAH WRETCHES. SHE SITS DRINKS. PUTS ON A PAIR OF MARIGOLDS. REWINDS THE TAPE. PLAYS A SECTION OF AFRICA BY TOTO. LISTENS, LOOKS AT THE PHOTOGRAPH FOR HOPE IT DOESN’T WORK.

SHE SWITCHES IT OFF. FRANTICALLY PREPARES ANOTHER GIN AND TONIC. THE LIGHTS FLICKER.

FIANNA ENTERS, WITH A CHAINSAW

ALANNAH RAISES THE RUM

ALANNAH TAKES A SWIG FROM THE BOTTLE OF RUM. FIANNA STARTS TO LAUGH

THE LAUGHTER CONTINUES

ALANNAH BEHINDS PICKING UP THE  SMASHED UP CRISPS AND EATS THEM.

THE LIGHTS FLICKER.

FIANNA GOES TO THE FREEZER

YOU'LL NEVER GET AWAY FROM ME, BY TONY BENNETT PLAYS.

ALANNAH DOES SO, STILL NOT TAKING HIM IN FULLY

ALANNAH SHAKILY DOWNS HER DRINK AND LIGHTS A CIGARETTE

ALANNAH PUTS THE CIGARETTE OUT

FIANNA AND ALANNAH EXCHANGE A GLANCE

ALANNAH SHAKES HER HEAD, SMALL. DA CLAPS HIS HANDS AT FIANNA

ALANNAH HANDS HIM THE PIPE. A MOMENT OF STILLNESS AS HE PACKS IT DOWN

ALANNAH OBLIGES, SHAKEN, WATCHING THE FLAME

DA LAUGHS AND BREATHES SMOKE FROM HIS PIPE INTO ALANNAHS FACE. SHE CALMLY STABS HIM.

ALANNAH TURNS TO HER, COVERED IN BLOOD

THE LIGHTS FLICKER.

BLACKOUT.

PAUSE

Stage directions

Night time

Oppressive air

Thunder storm about to break

Kitchen

Isolated farm house (Irish Farmhouse) early 80s

Cream laminate cabinets

Pale tiles

Wooden textures

Modest stove

Front stage right:

Entrance leading to hallway

Staircase and hallway covered by curtain

Little Telephone table with a mirror hanging above it

Upstage over the sink there is  a large window which stares out over the clammy darkness

Stage left

Is a doorway with a small telephone and table

Middle stage

Window

Helicopter stage

Search light outside on the fields

Uncomfortable clean

Old photograph of a happy family

Various male heavy religious figureines

National theatre collection

Waiting for godot

Circa theatre

Complete reading + close reading of play

Couple paragraphs on thoughts on play/theme

Summary: Northern Ireland, 1989. A farmhouse window smashes, and rebellious Fianna Devlin crashes back into the life of her pious sister Alannah. Together for the first time in years, when they're forced to confront their tyrannical father's hideous legacy, all hell breaks loose. Fuelled by Taytos, gin, 80s tunes and a chainsaw, Meghan Tyler's surreal Crocodile Fever is a grotesque black comedy celebrating sisterhood whilst reminding us that the pressure cooker of The Troubles is closer than we imagine

Characters:

ALANNAH DELVIN, early thirties

FIANNA DELVIN, Late twenties - tattoos, leather, big hair, denim

PETZER “DA” DELVIN, mid fifties

BRITISH SOLDIER, mid twenties

CROCODILE

The play is set in rural camlough, south armagh, Northern Ireland, August 1989

[letspretendfictionpressworks]

body language 16

When I wake up, Trevor is doing crunches on the floor. His face is flushed and he has a light sheen of sweat on his skin.

 “What time is it?” I mumble.

 He pauses to pull out his phone and check the time. “Seven-thirty,” he says as he resumes his crunches.

 “How long have you been up?” I stretch and try to shake off the desire to curl up and fall back asleep.

 “Since four,” he says.

 I’m momentarily confused before I remember. Trevor has the odd routine of waking up before dawn to sprint around town like he takes part in a daily Olympics competition.

 Trevor seems content to finish his daily workout without much comment, so I slip into the bathroom to use the toilet and swipe a finger across my teeth with some toothpaste. And because I know Trevor is likely to forget about the laundry, I return to the washer to throw the clothes into the dryer. While I’m not fond of the idea of playing maid, I’m less fond of the idea of returning to visit Trevor’s apartment if it’s covered in trash, dirty dishes, and dirty laundry.

 I don’t like how many options the dryer has. Instead of a crank nob, there are numerous push buttons. I notice that when I press one of the buttons, it lights up a different option or a different setting.

 I have no idea what the settings or options mean, though I can’t imagine it makes a difference which I use, so I select one at random and turn it on. Then, I load up the washer with another load of dirty clothes and do the same.

 I have no idea what to do with myself, so I go into the living. And I stop in my tracks.

 “What are you doing?”

 “Well, we never did finish that game of Monopoly,” Trevor tells me, clicking a house onto a tile of the game board. “Figured we could try to finish it. I… think I remember how the board looked?” But he doesn’t sound completely sure and peers down at it. “Did you own Pennsylvania Avenue, or was that one mine?”

 I am not prepared for another round of that game. I will never be prepared for another round of that game. I act swiftly.

 “What are you…?” Trevor asks when I advance.

 I kiss him. Trevor makes an appreciative noise and his hands come up to pull me closer. I let him. His mouth moves from my lips to my jaw and I tilt my head to encourage him. His lips go down my neck and I return the favor, mirroring what he does as best as I can, unwilling to let him break free of my distraction.

 It works. He guides me away from the living room, into his bedroom. He pushes me gently onto the bed, and we pull ourselves free of clothing. I may have been disgruntled at Trevor’s lack of sexual knowledge before, but he proves to be a quick study. He manages the condom and lube much better this time.

 And after, Trevor nuzzles against me, kissing my forehead. “Was it good?”

 I nod, feeling slimy and gross.

 “Should I do something differently or anything?” he asks.

 I’m confused. I shake my head.

 “But it was good?” he presses.

 “It was fine,” I tell him.

 “But I…” He drifts off, a contemplative expression on his face. “Actually, hang on,” he mutters.

 Trevor gets out of bed, puts his boxers on, and leaves the bedroom for a moment. When he returns, he has a paper in one and a pen in the other. He hands them to me.

 I have no idea what I’m supposed to do with either.

 “For you,” Trevor clarifies.

 I look down. The paper reads “Your satisfaction is the number one priority” at the top. Below that are a series of questions. It looks like someone scribbled out certain words and wrote a new one to replace it over the original.

 What can be improved on your next visit encounter? Did you receive special attention from an employee Trevor? What is your overall satisfaction level? On a scale of 1 (not very likely) to 10 (very likely), how likely are you to recommend our brand want a repeat performance?

Am I supposed to answer these?

 Trevor must notice my baffled expression. He clears his throat. “Well, I don’t know much about this gay sex stuff, but I want you to be happy, you know, in bed. This one product we sell is American and comes with a questionnaire and people usually fill it out and I was just thinking… maybe I could tweak it so I could give it to you to fill out? About our”—his face turns a rosy shade—“you know… Maybe it was stupid. But I’d like you to try to fill it out.”

 I do not even know what to say. Trevor is looking at me expectantly. I fumble with the pen. When Trevor doesn’t look away, I awkwardly scratch out some answers to the questions and hand the paper back to him. He takes it excitedly, smiling as his eyes scan over it.

 His smile slowly drops away.

 “What can be improved… you said ‘no.’”

 I did, yes.

 “And for the question about ‘did you receive special attention,’ you just wrote in ‘yes.’”

 I’m not sure why he’s reading my answers off to me.

 “That’s all?” he asks. “Just ‘yes’? You could put something specific that you liked, though.”

 He looks at me pleadingly. I shrug, feeling awkward and on the spot. After a moment, he drops that issue to move onto the next question on the paper.

 “Your overall satisfaction level is yes?” he asks.

 “I was satisfied,” I tell him, in case he needs clarification.

 “And I scored an 8.” He pauses. He looks up at me, wounded. “What did I do wrong?”

 “Well,” I fumble. “Um. Always room for improvement, right?”

 “But what did I do wrong?” he presses. “What should I do differently? Do you want me to—” He cuts himself off to gesture towards my lower half. I frown, confused, and he says, “I can, you know, go down on you or something.”

 Oh. I shake my head quickly. “No, it’s not that. It was good.”

 Trevor is more and more distressed. “But good should always be improved to ‘great’ or ‘excellent.’”

 This conversation is exhausting me.

 “We should shower,” I cut in, trying to derail this mess as quickly as I can.

 “Will you at least think on it?” Trevor asks as I stand up. He still sounds distressed. “So I can find things to improve on?”

 “Sure,” I reply, though I’m not sure at all. I just want to dive out of this conversation as fast as possible.

 “Okay,” Trevor relaxes. “You go ahead and shower and I’ll go get some clean clothes. You can borrow some of mine, if you want?”

 Normally, I’m not sure I’d like to wear someone else’s clothes. But my mind whispers the word boyfriend, and I remember I’m not really strangers with Trevor anymore.

 “Yeah, that’s fine,” I say.

 I take a quick shower and towel off. Trevor slipped in at some point and put some clothes on the closed toilet for me. I’m relieved he didn’t ask to join me this time. I’m not sure what boyfriends are supposed to do with each other, but I still like taking a shower by myself. I’m also relieved that they aren’t the workout shorts and sleeveless top he tossed at me last time. These shorts are looser, more comfortable looking, and the shirt is a simple T-shirt that’s well worn and soft.

 When I come out of the bathroom, I find Trevor in the open area of his living room. He’s flexing his arms and admiring himself.

 Why?

 “What are you doing?” I ask.

 He stops and turns to me. “My shirts shrank,” he says.

 “How?” I ask, frowning.

 “I think there’s some kind of setting the dryer has to be on to dry cotton. Lower heat or something? Otherwise, I guess it all shrinks down. Or maybe it was that the washer was supposed to be on a certain setting, so it uses cooler water? Or both?” He screws his face up as he thinks. “I’m not sure. But everything shrank.”

 I feel a sense of horror.

 “Also, all my white clothes are pink,” he goes on. He says it rather casually, but…

 I feel my sense of horror increase.

 “The… shirt you’re wearing,” I say, “was it always pink?”

 “It was white before we washed it,” Trevor says, looking down at his shirt in question, which is now a soft rosy shade.

 “I…”

 It’s too little, too late, but I now remember being told at some point that it’s imperative to separate white clothes from those with color—especially red—to keep the white clothes from soaking up loose dye while they’re washing together.

 “How many shirts did I ruin?” I ask, my horror morphing into stress.

 Trevor shrugs. “You didn’t really ruin them. I think they’ll stretch out again and besides—”

 “But how many?” I ask again.

 He shrugs again. “Maybe a dozen? I got most of them cheap on sale or something, and I can get more. I’m not worried about it, though.”

 I cast him a dubious look.

 “Well, look,” he says, flexing his arm again. “They’re super tight now. I can show off all this muscle I’m building!”

 I’m not sure why I didn’t expect this type of reaction from the guy who has such a ridiculous daily exercise routine.

 “I’ll still replace them,” I say. “They’re pink.”

 “It’s just my workout shirts that were white,” Trevor says. “Besides, you missed the part where they shrunk down so much that they show off my muscles!”

 He flexes his arm again. I suppose if I were a vainer person, I would actually appreciate what I’m looking at. The shirt is very tight on Trevor’s body, and if I hadn’t known he liked to work out, I would definitely know it after seeing him in this shirt. The fabric is pulled so tight over his stomach that I can see the grooves of his abdominal muscles.

 Trevor raises an arm to flex again and offers me a sly smirk. “I look good, right? Half the joy in getting muscles like these is showing them off. Best thing for that is tight clothes.”

 Despite my agitation, I give him a small, amused smile.

 “It should only take a thousand pushups or so to stretch it out, anyway,” he goes on casually. “That’s pretty easy.”

 “A thousand pushups?” I echo, horrified at the sheer immensity of the number. “You do that many?”

 “Oh, yes,” Trevor says. “Wanna see?”

 I can only stare, still not sure he’s serious.

 “Hey,” Trevor says, “if you want to see what a thousand pushups look like, I’ll happily show you. No need to be shy about it.”

 “I… I guess,” I say. I’m less interested in seeing someone do a thousand pushups than I am being able to say that I know someone who could do a thousand pushups in one session.

 Trevor wastes no time. Immediately he starts, counting off as he goes.

 “How do you have the energy to do that many?” I mutter, more to myself.

 Trevor hears and answers anyway. “I’m not sure that—sixteen—it has anything to do with—seventeen—energy, honestly. Once you—eighteen—have the upper body strength—nineteen—to do pushups, it’s—twenty—easy to do a lot—twenty-one—at once.”

 I’m amazed how he can speak, do his pushups, and keep count of them all at once.

 “This isn’t actually—twenty-five—much of a challenge—twenty-six—and I like a—twenty-seven—challenge. You could—twenty-eight—sit on my back—twenty-nine—if you want.”

 I’ve never heard anything so ridiculous.

 I must say that out loud, because Trevor says. “Not really—thirty-two—ridiculous, honestly. I—thirty-three—see people do it—thirty-four—all the time for—thirty-five—strength training.”

 I’m still not sure.

 “Well, we could—forty-one—figure out who had—forty-two—Pennsylvania Avenue—forty-three—and play Monopoly—forty-four—if you prefer.”

 I do not prefer. I quickly step towards him and watch as his rises and falls, rises and falls.

 “Just… climb on your back?” I ask to make sure.

 “Yeah, just—fifty-seven—climb abord the—fifty-eight—flex-machine.”

 I snort at the term and tentatively sit on Trevor’s back. At first, I sit like he’s a bench. It’s not very comfortable, so I shift my position to find something that is.

 In the end, I’m laying across his back, my head tucked between his neck and shoulder, my hands folded on my stomach. Below me, Trevor continues his pushups, keeping count of them.

 I don’t really have a lot more to say to him, so I stay mostly quiet. He says a few things, mostly near the beginning of his routine.

 “Counting aloud also—eighty-eight—helps with lung—eighty-nine—capacity and—ninety—breathing technique.”

 I’m not sure I understand how, but I don’t argue the point. I’ve never seriously worked out a day in my life. I’m a scrap of a person, thin and slender. Who am I to question Trevor’s logic?

 By three hundred, he falls quiet, save his counting.

 By five hundred, I’m dozing off and on.

 By eight hundred, my stomach growls and it helps keep me awake.

 When Trevor hits a thousand, he lets his body drop to the ground, lying on his stomach, arms spread around his head in a loose circle.

 “Not so hard, see?” he says. His breathing isn’t labored, but it also isn’t quite unaffected.

 “Only took an hour and a half,” I tease, rolling off of him to lay next to him on the ground.

 “What?” Trevor looks at me in offense. “I thought it took closer to an hour.”

 I shake my head and Trevor mutters a curse.

 “Guess my new goal is a thousand in an hour,” he tells me.

 The idea seems ridiculous to me. “Seems impressive enough to me that you can do it at all.”

 Trevor rolls over onto his back and looks at me. “I’ve never tried before,” he admits, “but like I said, once you have the upper body strength to do a pushup, it’s just a matter of endurance to be able to do so many at once. But I think I might’ve overdone it.”

 “You think?” I mutter.

 He smiles. “I can already feel my muscles getting sore.”

 “Can’t say I’m surprised.”

 “Well, that’s just my muscles’ way of talking to me, right? I'm just flattered they put forth the effort to communicate with me.”

 I’m not sure about that.

 “Take out for early lunch?” he asks me.

 “Same as ever,” I agree.

[spiderwritings]

Lethal Love Part Two~Spiderman-Imagine

PAIRING: Peter/Spider-Man x You

WORDS: 1467

WARNINGS: mention of knives, death

A/N: Sorry if this isn’t as exciting, i’m hoping to crank it up a notch in the next part (if you guys want it). Thanks for all the love on part one! Keep sending me suggestions and requests! love ya babes ;) enjoy!

     Peter ran towards his closet, frantically pawing through his clothes in an attempt to find a tux for the New York Gala tonight. May had mentioned the Gala casually after hearing about it on the news when he had gotten home from school, and he instantly knew he had to go. He was almost positive you would be at such a huge gathering of New York’s wealthiest. He silently cursed himself as he realized he had ditched his tux on the night of homecoming last spring. He was running out of time, so he decided to do something risky and probably wrong, but it was for the greater good...right? He quickly stripped off his sweater and jeans, replacing it with the red and blue suit and adorned himself with his mask.

     He stood on his fire escape, considering what he was about to do. Was it even worth it? Would he even be able to stop you if you even were at the gala? He had tried his hardest to stop you last time...well, admittedly not his hardest, since he did fall victim to your seduction and manipulation, but still, it was a valiant effort for any teenage boy. Though on your part, the kiss was all a plan to escape and handcuff him to a freaking pipe, (which he will never get over) he still couldn’t get you out of his head. It was driving him crazy. He initially started tracking you as a way to protect seemingly innocent lives, but he couldn’t deny that he a small bit of him just wanted to see you again. But now, he was out of leads and out of luck. You kept working your way through the worst of the rich and powerful leaders of New York and he was kept busy with purse snatchers and calculus homework. He missed the excitement of being with you, so he decided the risk was worth it. He held up his hand, shooting a web at a nearby building and jumped into the night.

     He eventually made his way to the closest men’s clothing store and swung into the open door, causing a bigger commotion than he intended as he knocked racks of shirts onto the floor in his grand entrance,

     “What’s going on here?” a man in a uniform walked over, who Peter presumed was the manager. He stared at the racks of clothes on the floor with a confused expression that was quickly replaced with shock as he spotted the superhero guiltily standing over the mess. “Spider-man!?”

     “Uh, hey! I need your help.”

     “You need...m-my help?” the manager stuttered, pointing to himself in surprise.

     “Yes! I need a suit, and I need it fast.”

///

     “Thank you,” you politely accepted the flute of champagne from a waiter who happened to be walking by. You knew in this mission that appearance was everything, so you fruitfully sipped at the alcohol he had granted you. Aside from calming your nerves, it would also help you blend in with the dozens of other people around, all laughing and drinking like they ruled the world, which they essentially did. You were surrounded by New York’s elite: the businessmen, the politicians, the heirs and heiresses to huge fortunes, all filling up the grand banquet hall in their finest gowns and suits. You were proud to say you fraternized well with the group, as your polished vernacular and red ball gown made you analogous to the prestigious crowd, at least from the outside. Though, in your mind, you were like a caged animal, scratching to find a way out of this situation. You just needed to do your job and get out, but that was proving to be very difficult as your target was nowhere to be found.

     As the night went on, the knifes in the holster on your thigh seemed to grow colder and colder, sending chills down the skin underneath it. You were desperate to find your target and complete your mission, but in all your mingling with New York’s finest, you had yet to find him.

     Your target was Harrison Fox, a cunning business man who had made his fortune at the expense of his childhood best friend and former partner, Lloyd Montgomery, who had contacted you into the mission. He claimed that Fox had stolen his idea for a new company then brandished the profit for himself, (as well as just being a cruel and unforgiving man) but it wasn’t your job to ask questions or judge. In this line of work there is no room for doubt.

     Halfway through the event, you noticed a man in the corner of your eye, but not the one you had hoped to see. He was young, maybe eighteen at most, likely the son of a wealthy businessman, and he was staring at you. He had brown hair that was combed back neatly and a crisp black tux that seemed like it had just been taken off the mannequin. He walked over to you where you were chatting with the governor’s wife and politely interrupted.

     “Excuse me, ma’am, may I interrupt for a quick dance?” He asked, his hand motioning towards the dancefloor where couples were slow dancing in the center of the banquet hall to a well-known jazz band.  

     “I’d be honored,” you turned away from him and excused yourself from the conversation you were in and walked toward the dancefloor with the man’s hand on your back guiding you. You knew you couldn’t draw suspicion towards yourself by declining the dance and there was a better view of the entrance from the dance floor, so you mentally adjusted your plan of action as you grabbed onto the man’s shoulder with your right hand and clasped his hand with your left and began to sway back and forth. His grip was strong and his hands were rough and callused, which only could be acquired from years of extreme use of them. This set off an alarm in your head; no son of anyone at this gala should have worked a day in their life.

     You looked up at him. There was something very familiar about him, his voice, his lips. Your mind worked quickly, connecting all the loose ends and you stifled a gasp, your red lips parting as you gaped up at him. He looked down at you, noticing the look of surprise and realization on your face.

     “I’m impressed,” he chuckled. I really didn’t think you’d figure it out that fast. You look great by the way. I like the red dress much better than the cat suit.” You narrowed your eyes.

     “Why are you doing this? Aren’t there more pressing matters than me in all the crime of New York?” His eyebrows furrowed.  

     I-I don’t know. I just...feel the need to stop you.”

     “Stop me? What, are you upset I bruised your precious ego?” You smirked at him, loving the red blush that crept over his cheeks.

     “It-It’s more than that!”

     “I’m not a dangerous criminal, spidey,” you retorted, causing him to flinch at the nickname. I’m an employee. I’m taking out the bad guys, just like you. Trust me, I won’t pull a trigger unless I believe the world will be better off because of it.” He smirked down at you.

     “Oh, sweetheart,” he leaned down and whispered in your ear, sending chills down your spine. “You made it very clear that I should never trust an assassin.” You were about to reply when your gaze shifted from his face to a man with salt and pepper hair entering the room through the large doorway behind your dance partner: your target. Peter looked down at you, noticing the darkening in your focused eyes. 

     “Hey,” he said softly, cupping your cheek with his hand. “Don’t do this...kill, I mean. This isn’t the right way to go about things, take it from me.” You gazed up into his warm brown eyes, seeing the innocence you once possessed. You hesitated for a moment, getting lost in his eyes, then remembered who you were and what you had to do. You did not take orders from anyone, especially a man who parades around in red and blue spandex. 

     “Yes,” you shot back. “I really do. And if you get in my way again, you’ll be next on my list.” You stepped away from him, your heels clicking on the marble floors, and followed after the man you came here for, leaving Peter standing in the middle of the dancefloor alone. He watched you leave, your red dress draping behind you like a cape. Peter stealthily followed you to where you had managed to get your target alone. Peter frowned, anger flooding into his mind. He knew he wasn’t done with you quite yet.

[capricornus-rex]

Balouve Mine moments (FFXV hc)

Found the post from @chocobro-hijinks and thought that I could make one of the HCs listed 😂

HC used: “when one or more of the bros gets hit in the face with a mining cart in the balouve mines”

The retinue enter the starting cave where a rusty elevator sits at the corner of the Balouve Mines.

“I can smell the rust from here.” Prompto comments.

Gladio sniffs for proof, “You’re right. Kinda makes you nauseous.”

“The scent lingers due to age. Take a deep breath, everyone.” Ignis adds.

“Alright, let's see how far can this rust-bucket take us. All board, guys.” Noctis.

Noctis pulls the lever, the door of the lift struggles to crank itself open, the Prince lets his brothers enter the elevator first.

“Noct, shouldn't we split up by floor? I have a feeling that this thing might break down at any moment soon.”

“You worry too much, Specs. You tend to overthink things too.”

Ignis sighs, remembering that Noctis is way too chill, “I suppose this wouldn’t, despite my calculations.”

“Welp, down we go.”

It may not be the smoothest elevator ride, but they managed to land in one floor that’s trailed with cart tracks. They assumed it to be the deeper level of the mines, 3rd floor perhaps.

“I guess this is our stop.” Noctis.

“Choo-choo.” Prompto adds playfully.

“Take caution. We don't know how loose the tracks and the cart are.”

“Always the concerned mother.” Noctis groans.

“Mum’s the word.”

Before they could even take the another step, Goblins spring down from the ceiling of the mines—possibly waiting for prey while hanging on like bats—immediately the retinue draw out their weapons.

“Not ideal to throw daggers in tight spaces.” Ignis mutters.

“Then just use a lance.”

“Grand idea, Noct.”

The Goblins may indeed be a horde waiting for prey, but they were surely singled out by the retinue—who weren’t exactly their much-awaited meal.

“We sure took them down!” Prompto sighs in relief.

“We sure did.” Noctis replies.

They go forward—up to the slightly-inclined path, following the tracks—and in the silence, Ignis’s ears pricked up as soon as he picked up the faintest sound in the distance of their general direction.

“Do you hear that?”

“Hear what?”

“It sounds like… a mine cart rolling down in this direction.”

“Really, a mine cart? You must be hearing things, Specs.” Noctis denies, he feels the gradual vibration of the tracks underneath his boots.

“I suppose I’m not seeing things too.” Ignis nonchalantly says as he points something ahead of him.

Noctis turns his head to the direction where Ignis is pointing. Yep, Ignis surely isn't seeing things: the mine cart’s headed for them—and they’re standing in the way of the tracks.

“Oh great…”

Noctis groans. The impact of the speeding mine cart caused Noctis and Prompto to be thrown into the cart as it violently picks up speed and momentum—lousily making turns and curves in the entire floor until they were heading to a broken track with a gaping hole in the middle.

“Wheeeee-hooooo!!!” Prompto shouts in excitement, literally throwing his arms up as if this thing was a fucking roller coaster.

“aaaaaaAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!” Noctis, however, doesn’t share the same enthusiasm as his best friend.

They fall into the gap but miraculously landing onto another set of tracks until they end up stumbling into the center of an intersection with the wheels of the cart shoveling the dust and the impact completely disturbing the slumbering daemons residing in that area.

The cart comes to a halt at last.

“Whooohooo!! Let’s do that again!” Prompto squeals delightedly while lightly pounding his best friend’s shoulder as if convincing him for another ride.

Noctis grumbles, he quickly his head to Prompto and shot him an exasperated look while sporting a purple spot on his face.

“Ooh, you got… uh,” Prompto—confused and conflicted on how to put it—points a finger on his own cheek, “You got a little something on your face.”

“What?”

Conveniently there was a puddle of water near the cart, Noctis leaned over the cart and saw his reflection on murky puddle water. The young prince groans both in pain and annoyance.

“Oh great, Ignis is gonna kill us both when he sees this. You got a purple patch too, you know.” Noctis taps at Prompto’s right temple and he winces.

“You know what, I got a potion—I knew this’ll come in handy!” the blond pulls out two Potions and with a firm squeeze the blue mist immediately heals his bruise, he then squeezes the second one near Noctis’s bruise and the same mist makes the black-and-blue disappear.

“There!”

“Well, don’t you two looked like you had a good time.” Gladio—and Ignis—suddenly comes out of nowhere.

Both the Crown Prince and the Royal Best Friend jump at the sound of their team dad.

“I never expected Prompto to be this prepared. Almost as if he planned the whole thing.” Ignis blurts.

“Hey, I didn’t plan everything! I always pack a few potions with me.” Prompto defends.

“Come on now, you two, time for another elevator ride.” Ignis says as he gestures the two to catch up.

[7fics]

yugbam sneak alcohol from the hyungs and get really drunk one night and bambam ends up really really sick from drinking too much and yugeom gets so scared bc he doesnt know what to do he thinks that bambam is dying or something and he has to go wake up junior or jb or someone and yugeom starts crying and stuff-- fluffy and funny and cute omg

warnings: drinking? and one swear word from jinyoung, naturally

author: Kay

word count: 1.9k

a/n: To be honest, this is my first time writing something based on Yugbam (and first time doing something other than JJP/Markson). Hope you enjoy the pure platonic fluff :)

BamBam was a lightweight.

Based on his thin frame and inability to turn down a drink, it shouldn’t have been a surprise to anyone, especially Yugeyom. But what he wasn’t expecting that night was for BamBam to suggest a risky act that could get both of them caught and in more trouble than either was comfortable dealing with. While BamBam was a wild child, acting on his first impulse, Yugyeom was observant and somewhat cautious, willingly following along with any plots BamBam could imagine only after he decided if the possible consequences were worth the fun.

When BamBam had suggested dipping into Jaebum and Mark’s “hidden” stash of chilled soju in the back corner of the dorm’s shared refrigerator, Yugyeom was immediately against it, knowing that their leader had a way to know his things were being touched without even looking and based on their track record, BamBam would be the first accused, Yugyeom dragged along as his partner in crime. It wasn’t like they weren’t old enough to enjoy it alone, but the older of the pair seemed to prefer the difficult road, taking what wasn’t his and causing a problem, creating a ruckus for no other reason other than for fun.

With all of that having been said, Yugyeom still managed to find himself in the room he shared with BamBam, one bottle of soju already completely empty, both boys lounging on one bed as they attempted to play video games on the small set atop a dresser. It was like any other night together, however there was a subtle buzz building, BamBam playing the game recklessly as he tossed his controller away, scoffing loudly as it fell to the floor with a crack.

“How is this fun?” BamBam asked, arms crossed as he stood up, gesturing at the television. “I thought drinking while we did this would make me play better and instead it made me worse at the game. How is that possible?”

“Aren’t most video games based on a lot of multitasking and hand-eye coordination?” Yugyeom asked, the statement implying heavily that he was right. “How would drinking help any of that?”

“Video games were a stupid idea anyway,” BamBam insisted, sitting back down and grabbing two more bottles of the pirated booze. “Let’s just enjoy the fact that we don’t have to share this with anyone.”

“Alright,” Yugyeom nodded, the two opening their own bottles and beginning to down the contents quickly, Yugyeom’s inhibitions about the master plot slowly fading with every sip. It was just like him to put up a fight early only to give in later, always wanting BamBam to feel like he had it all figured out. If it was weird to look up to someone only six months older than him, Yugyeom would accept the label, wearing it proudly with his arm slung tight around BamBam’s narrow shoulders.

One bottle each quickly became two, music cranked up to a level that was loud enough to fill their room without disturbing the others, BamBam demonstrating the latest viral dance craze for Yugyeom to imitate, the younger picking up on each move with ease. Feeling loose from the mixture of soju and American music, Yugyeom cracked open yet another bottle, taking a sip as his feet glided across the tilted floor of the dorm. hips swaying and popping back and forth, grooving to the beat. BamBam watched in awe as he usually did, cheering him on and eventually joining in, creating his own simple version of Yugyeom’s spontaneous routine.

Lost in his own world, Yugyeom continued to dance and drink, eyes closed as he felt the rhythm and melodies of every track, feeling up his own body. He was drunk and he didn’t care, happy to be in the safety of the dorms instead of out at a club with too many sweaty bodies and obstacles to having fun. All he needed was a random playlist pumping from a shoddy speaker and his best friend who had suddenly gone quiet, Yugyeom’s eyes popping open at the realization.

One quick scan of the room verified that BamBam had exited at one point, leaving Yugyeom to dance like an idiot all alone, a too common of an occurrence to really shake his nerves. However, BamBam never went anywhere quietly, always forcing everyone to listen to his purpose and destination before doing so, and he certainly hadn’t clued the younger in on his future whereabouts. That fact left the tipsy boy to panic, nearly tumbling to the ground as he scrambled to start his search, opening the door to the main shared living area first. Eyes searching around before he quietly started looking through blankets and pillows on the couch, Yugyeom had little luck, checking in the kitchen as well before heading right back to the room empty handed.

If Yugyeom was BamBam, where would he go? Certainly not to one of their hyung’s rooms knowing they would interrogate him regarding his sobriety, letting him self-incriminate before actually addressing the situation. With the dreary weather outside, Yugyeom crossed that off the list as well, knowing BamBam wouldn’t be caught dead in even a slight drizzle, whining when even a gentle splash from a puddle touched the edges of his designer boots. He was running out of options, pacing back and forth in their bedroom before noticing the sliver of light peeking out from under their bathroom door, Yugyeom hitting his forehead in disbelief of his own stupidity. Knocking on the door lightly before turning the knob and walking in, Yugyeom didn’t expect to see BamBam already leaning over the toilet, face buried in his arm as he groaned dramatically.

“Are you okay?” Yugyeom asked, eyes wide at the sight in front of him. “You look terrible!”

“I had… a little too much… to drink,” BamBam waved his hand in the air, clearly still at a high level of intoxication as his words slurred. “It’s fine, I’m fine! Totally… totally fine.”

“You don’t look fine,” Yugyeom stared down at his friend, the worst thoughts coming to mind as BamBam held his stomach, whining in pain. “Aren’t you going to throw up or something?”

“I can’t,” BamBam pouted, looking up at Yugyeom, face pale and eyes slipping closed. “Too… too drunk to throw up.”

“What?” Yugyeom questioned, not in his right mind, but certainly doing better than BamBam. “You’re… you’re starting to freak me out.”

As BamBam continued to lean over the toilet bowl, barely moving from his position as he whined in pain, Yugyeom tried to think of the next logical step, not made out for taking care of his older friend, already panicking as to what could possibly be wrong with BamBam. Did he drink too much too fast? Was there something else in the drink that made him this way? Did their hyungs purposefully place decoy soju that would tear them up from the inside out?

“I’m getting Jinyoung,” Yugyeom decided, not thinking of the possible consequences that would come with it. “Stay here.”

Without listening to the rush of protests from BamBam, Yugyeom tried to rush to Jinyoung’s room, knocking without a second thought. After waiting and getting no answer, the knocks became louder, whining and fretting, imagining BamBam doubling over in even more pain than before. Just at the thought, tears began to prick along his eyes, some rolling down his cheeks as Jinyoung answered, the older man visibly annoyed at the intrusion.

“Do you know what time it is?” Jinyoung snapped before looking at Yugyeom’s twisted face, tears steadily streaming from his eyes. “Yugyeom-ah, what is going on?”

“B-Bam… BamBam is dying,” Yugyeom blubbered, his level of intoxication finally catching up to how much soju he had consumed, his feelings bursting from his chest. “He’s going to die in the bathroom and I don’t want him to die, hyung! You have to help him!”

“He’s not dying,” Jinyoung hardly missed a beat, holding Yugyeom’s shoulder. “Look at me, okay? It’s late and you woke me up, so we’re going to fix this.”

“He’s dead, I know he’s dead,” Yugyeom whined, missing Jinyoung roll his eyes as he slid his slippers on and left the doorway.

“Show me where the body is then,” Jinyoung deadpanned, following the emotional mess that Yugyeom had become to the bathroom. As the youngest pushed the door open, Jinyoung peered inside, letting Yugyeom wipe his own tears as the blubbering ceased. Just as he thought he had done the right thing, a firm hand smacked the back of his head, shaking him back to the current scene.

“Yah, he’s not even in here, you idiot,” Jinyoung complained, motioning around the empty bathroom. “Are you both fucking with me?”

“No!” Yugyeom countered, shaking his head as he wiped his eyes dry. “I swear, he was bent over the toilet and squirming around in pain. I swear, Jinyoung-hyung! I saw it with my own eyes!”

“Sure, I believe it,” Jinyoung rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest as he left the bathroom. “How drunk are both of you?”

“What? Us, drunk?” Yugyeom shook his head more, trying to put on a more sober face. “We don’t even have any alcohol here, hyung. How would we get drunk?”

“Be honest with me and I won’t snitch on you to Jaebum and Mark, okay?” Jinyoung smirked, peering over Yugyeom’s shoulder into their room more, nodding his head in the direction of the beds. “Maybe that lump on the bed will admit to it before you will. BamBam-ah, how are you feeling?”

Yugyeom watched as Jinyoung slid past his shoulder, making his way over to a slumbering body under a few blankets in BamBam’s bed. Could it have been possible that BamBam had miraculously recovered in the bathroom during the short trip Yugyeom took to get someone to help? It didn’t seem like a likely outcome with the way BamBam was whining in pain, but as Jinyoung sat on the edge of the bed, checking the boy’s forehead for any sign of extreme warmth, Yugyeom joined him, sighing as he realized he may have possibly overreacted - just a tiny bit.

“Take some aspirin and drink a few glasses of water before you both go to sleep,” Jinyoung calmly explained, both of the younger boys nodding in order to avoid a stronger fight. “I’ll take the empty bottles and explain the situation to the others if you both give me double the value of what you drank. Got it?”

Nodding again as he watched Jinyoung move from the bed and collect their trash, Yugyeom glanced over at BamBam cuddled up under the blankets, sighing in relief.

“Are you okay now?” Yugyeom asked, a pang of worry on the edge of his words. “I didn’t know what to do…”

“Better now that I threw up,” BamBam giggled softly, turning on his side to face his friend. “That was still fun, though.”

“I guess so,” Yugyeom lounged back, BamBam shifting over to make room for him on the small twin mattress. “You really scared me.”

“Sorry,” BamBam smiled softly. “I thought you’d be used to my dramatics by now.”

“I should have known better,” Yugyeom smiled, stealing some of the covers for his own use, the two friends a tangled mess of arms and legs, a position that went back years and years to the beginning of their friendship.

“To know that I was being dramatic or to listen to any of my dumb plans?” BamBam giggled again, Yugyeom shaking his head as he laughed under his breath.

“The first,” he replied. “I’ll always like your dumb plans.”

“Thanks,” BamBam grinned, patting Yugyeom’s head. “You’re a good friend.”

“I know,” Yugyeom stated proudly. “The best.”