#coming from a recreational boxer: It Is Dude

[iinryer]

sorry for bringing stupid shit here but i saw people on twitter talking about how they don’t understand how people could like lena. like, oh you don’t like the abrasive woman? why is that. quickly

[mistahgrundy]

If you’re new here this is a reminder that my main thing I do is my own webcomic named String Theory. It, unfortunately, had quite a lengthy hiatus that just ended due to various real life stuff I don’t want to talk about.

Instead here’s a handy dandy primer for new and old!

Comic is about this butthole:

I’ve been drawing this comic for over ten years so he used to look like this.

Dr. Schtein was a little baby child genius that graduated from college with a doctorate super early and then proceeded to just sort of flounder and do nothing of importance but still maintain a “look at me I was a child genius” chip on his shoulder. He had a massive drinking problem. Still has a smoking problem and a drug problem (though these aren’t as bad as his drinking was). The substance abuse problems really ramped up (they were already there) after his wife left him about 13 years prior to the comic starting. If you do the math he got married when he was 20. Which is. not usually the best idea. I mean hey it can work out, but it did not for Dr. Schtein. He was divorced about two months into the marriage. He’d just turned 21.

Anyway he’s made some dumbass decisions that landed him in prison for most of a year recently. He pissed off the wrong people and he was being held without charges and everyone on the outside believed he was dead. He’s now out and about and kinda mad about it!

He’s in love with this woman, Delia Osgood, even though she’s 11 years his junior and frankly isn’t sure how she really feels about him. Also she could kick his ass.

Delia is also a physicist, but hasn’t finished her doctorate yet. She’s currently working in a crime lab for a super secret project for the government.

Delia moved to the US when she was in her late teens from London. Her mother is a librarian and her father is a former boxer, Winston Osgood. She has two brothers and one sister. She loves trashy metal and trashy romance books. She’s prone to making bad decisions in the romance department.

Phineas is a serial killer who’s been enployed by the mob in the past and present. While he was in prison Dr. Schtein met THIS horrible asshole. Unfortunately their lives are now a little bit intertwined. Schtein would really rather they weren’t, Phineas is of no use to him, but he’s the son in law of the guy Dr. Schtein is super fucking mad at, the guy who’s been screwing with his life for a year, so they’re going to keep bumping into each other.

Phineas is really obsessed with getting his wife back, who he hadn’t seen for a decade before recently as they were incarcerated separately. He’s not really capable of love, but he thinks of her as HIS.

This is Dr. Schtein’s best friend, Laurence, they’ve known each other since college. You’d think given the age difference that Laurence would have taken on the mentor role to the younger Schtein, but Laurence ended up being in the more submissive role, letting Schtein bully him into situations he would have normally avoided. They were not good influences on each other at all. They still aren’t, but they’re all each other has.

Laurence dropped out of college after Schtein graduated early and joined the navy (where he got those gnarly leg scars). From there he was kicked out, did a little bit of time in a military psych ward and then was homeless for a few years. He managed to get off the street working his way up the crime ladder, petty crimes, sex work, protection jobs, then working for Eliza Thanatos and then finally for her father, Darius. He was recently fired from that, so he’s at a bit of a low point right now.

Orville von Schtein, Dr. Schtein’s grandfather, who used to be a really respected geneticist. He did a lot of work for the government, he helped cure a virus that was destroying the US, after that he was working in a secret lab creating super spies for the country. He managed to create a handful before the project was scrapped and deemed irresponsible. These would be Cain and Abel, and the less powerful Judith (the frog lady), Eli (the disgusting goo guy), Frank (fire guy), Darren (lightning dude), and others who likely won’t be in the comic only mentioned here and there (a few of them are dead)

Orville’s weirdly sentimental and attached to these people, thinking of them as his own children. Which is odd since he basically put them through hell. The treatments to make them how they are were not pleasant. Judith thinks of him like a father, so with at least one of them the feeling is mutual. Abel extremely hates Orville and is genuinely scared of him.

After that he was working for a company in Chicago on some kind of weird ass fungus that was supposed to have therapeutic properties when he realized he was being framed for something within the company and he flipped his lid and released a modified version of the fungus killing almost the entire city (which was quarantined before the fungus could infect more people) and transforming himself into some kind of mycological lich. He is now basically immortal and having been alone for over 15 years isn’t too mentally stable.

He has recently left Chicago.

Darius Thanatos has been trying to get Orville to come work for him for YEARS now, Orville has been refusing until recently.

Darius Thanatos is pulling a lot of the strings behind the comic, he employs Abel, He’s the one who had Dr. Schtein busted out of the prison he’d been funding. Funding intended to funnel prisoners into his secret research labs as his own scientists futilely attempted to recreate Orville’s work.

Darius is a former mobster who owns a private security company. That’s the public friendly cover, anyway. His company supplies cities and businesses with police forces, does weapons research and manufacture, crowd control, you name it.

He has three children, Denise, Eugene, and Eliza (the baby of the kids). He’s not the world’s greatest father. His wife has been separated from him for over ten years, she lives in Rome. Denise’s mother, his previous wife, is long deceased.

Darius’ health is failing.

[blackmissfrizzle]

Playing Games

Summary: The reader uses her best seduction techniques on her man.

Pairing: black!reader x Florian Munteanu

Warnings: Smut and creepy dudes 

A/N: Based on this video of Florian admiring some food. 

It was all fun and games until you had to pay up. For his next big fight, Flo had sworn off sex and sweets. At first you thought you could manage and be the supportive girlfriend, but your libido and taste buds were saying, “Hell no!”

Florian said you didn’t have to give up sweets with him, but he wouldn’t budge on the no sex. He wanted to pent up all his energy for his opponent who kept talking shit.

Unfortunately, you only lasted a couple of weeks before the sex ban was getting to you and making you petty. First, Flo thought it was cute how you would flaunt and brag about the delicious goodies you were eating. It wasn’t the first time he gave them up and it wouldn’t be the last time either, but now you were starting to get disrespectful.

It all started when you saw his instastory of him at his favorite bakery, admiring all of the baked goods he couldn’t have, when an evil idea popped into your head.

Florian was frustrated. He hasn’t had any sweets, alcohol, hookah, and most importantly sex in weeks. Also, his opponent up’d his trash talking by talking about how Florian couldn’t handle all the ass you had, and he probably wasn’t dicking you down properly. Never had he ever wanted to beat the living shit out of someone before.

Right now, he needed a reprieve. All he wanted to do was shower, eat dinner, cuddle up with his girl and watch a movie. But once he stepped into the kitchen, he knew he wasn’t laying one finger on you.

When he entered the kitchen, he was greeted to the lovely but torturing sight of you eating a cake from his favorite bakery, dancing in your lacy black and red lingerie set.

Tucking his hands inside the pockets of his gym shorts to keep from reaching out to you, he tried his best to keep his face expressionless as you started to moan at the decadence of the dessert, knowing he was watching you intently.

“Like what you see Mr. Munteanu?” You teased before licking excess icing from your lip.

“Not particularly.” Flo smirked, pushing off the doorway, leaving you in the kitchen pouting.

You followed him up the stairs, admiring his broad back and reminiscing the good times when you used to claw at it.

He turned back at you, raised an eyebrow at you following him and then proceeded to your room. Flo dropped his gym bag with a loud thump and immediately began stripping.

Sitting in the middle of the bed, cris crossed applesauce, you enjoyed the show.

“I know what you’re doing Y/N and it’s not gonna work.”

“Whatever do you mean?” You played coy, your voice going a tinge higher, eyelashes fluttering.

Florian leaned on the bed towards you, he captured your lips in a heated kiss, no longer able to resist you. “I’m frustrated too, baby. But you can’t try to seduce me into sex. Now put on some clothes.”

Jumping from the bed, you stood in front of the giant, trying your best to intimidate him. Florian was the first man to make you feel small, which was hard to do. “What’s gonna happen if I don’t?”

Clenching his fists, Florian did his best not to wrap his hand around your throat because he knew that’s what you wanted. So instead, he glared at you like one of his opponents in the ring and brought his face dangerously close to your face. “Keep on, princess and you won’t walk for a week once this match is over.”

Your dumbass should’ve listened, but you didn’t. Knowing you had to no immediate consequences made you act a fool. Your loungewear got skimper and skimper with each day closer to the fight.

Flo almost got your ass after a night out with your girls, that time wasn’t your fault, but you knew he wanted to out that sexual frustration to use.

Arielle wanted to go out because she just broke up with her trifling ass ex, everyone else was stressed from work, and you were just sexually frustrated. So, naturally alcohol and some ass shaking were in need.

You and the girls were twerking and shouting a bunch of ‘ayyy’, ‘yasss’ and ‘get it, bitch’ when you heard, “Damn I bet Florian don’t know what to with that fatty.”

Whipping your head around you saw that it was Bryan ‘Steelo’ Henderson, the other boxer Flo was fighting, creepily leering at your ass. “Boy, go on somewhere and don’t worry about me and my man. Worry about your upcoming loss,” you eyed him up and down before flipping your hair and dismissing him.

“Nah, your man thinks he’s hot shit cuz he was in one movie, but he ain’t laying a hand on me. I’m knocking him out and then I’ll give you some of this daddy dick and show you how a real man fucks.” Steelo gripped your arm to turn you to him and on instinct you threw your drink in his face.

“Nigga, who the fuck you think you talking to like that?” You were heated and was ready to fuck this Godzilla looking motherfucker, but you weren’t trying to catch a case, so you stuck to cussing his ass out.

The constant buzzing of his phone pulled Florian out of his conversation with Masias. He thought it was Y/N’s friends alerting him that she was drunk, acting a fool and that he needed to come get her.

Instead people were ating him in a live Instagram video of you pointing your fingers in Steelo’s face, arguing with him.

Him his crew hurriedly paid for their unfinished dinner and rushed off to the nearby club. During the whole ride couldn’t stop watching the live and its comments.

Damn, it looks like she about to swing on this nigga.

Florian now you really got to beat his ass now.

Shittttt, I don’t blame my man Steelo shooting his shot. Do you see that wagon????

Oh, I’m buying the fight now. Shit’s about to be WWIII!

“You good, bro” Masias asked from the front, noticing Florian’s leg bounce up and down.

“Yeah. I just don’t know if I’ll be able to hold back once I see him. I’m kinda hoping Y/N gets to him first.” Flo admitted, without looking up from his phone.

A small smile formed on his lips as he watched you argue with Steelo. He knew you weren’t too far away from hitting him. You were a recreational boxer with a short temper and quick hands. If Steelo wasn’t careful he would be catching a quick fade.

When the car pulled up to the curb, Flo jumped out of the car before it could completely stop. Entering the club, he saw everyone circle around Y/N and Steelo filming the entire encounter.

The club got quiet after a girl yelled, “Hey, Big Nasty is here! Shit is about to pop off!”

After hearing the girl, you smiled at your man pushing his way through the crowd. Him in his SAMCRO hoodie and gold chain made you forget about Steelo and ready to jump his bones.

Once you were within arm’s reach, he gently shoved you behind and stood toe to toe with Steelo. “That’s the last time you put hands on my girlfriend, do you understand?”

Steelo rolled his shoulders as if he was preparing for a fight and pointed a finger at you. “You need to teach your bitch some manners and if you can’t I’ll volunteer to do so.”

Simultaneously, both of you crooked your heads to the side, trying to figure out if this fucker really said what you thought he said. Florian was quicker on the uptake, but you were right behind him and were able to grab his wrist before his fist went flying towards Steelo’s face.

With the strength of an Amazonian goddess, you pulled Flo away and out of the club. Meanwhile, Steelo kept running his mouth, “Yeah run off like a little bitch! I’ll have your ass knocked out in the first round.”

On the ride back home, Florian said nothing, but he held your hand in his, silently letting you know he wasn’t mad at you.

As soon as you were through the threshold of your home, Flo was on you. He ripped your dress down the middle and didn’t look the least bit sorry.

All he kept murmuring was he needed a little taste as he stripped you down, but his trainer had called to check on him fucking ruining your chance at some type of sex with Flo.

From that night on Flo slept in the guest room to resist temptation and your seduction. He wouldn’t even budge when he heard you loudly moan while touching yourself. All Florian knew was that as soon as the fight was over, he was gonna have his way with you.

Florian’s ban worked it’s magic because Steelo was ko’d within the first minute. That’s what that motherfucker gets for talking all that shit.

Karma was a bitch and just like Steelo, you knew you had to pay up. With the adrenaline from the fight pumping and all his pent-up sexual frustration, Flo was keeping his answer short in the post fight interview. Usually, he was friendly during those, but you could tell he was itching to get to you.

Looking down at your pussy, you patted her and gave her a pep talk. “Okay, girl we’re in it for the long haul. This is what we trained for. Get ready because Daddy isn’t gonna take it easy on us for the next couple of days. Thank God I took a vacation from work!”

“Bitch, I know you not talking to your coochie,” Arielle interrupted you.

“Hell yeah, I am! I’m debating should I be praying that I’ll still have my walls after tonight. Florian is about to wreck my shit! Oh, imma die,” you panicked. Teasing Florian was fun until you remembered it would catch up to you eventually.

Arielle laughed at you and gently pushed your shoulder. “I told you stop playing with that man like that. Now I gotta speak at your funeral and say, ‘Here lies my best friend because the dick was too bomb.’”

You glared at Arielle about to cuss her out when you saw him. Everyone was moving out of his way and exiting the room, because they could sense some shit was about to go down.

Noticing your eyes change from annoyance to fear and anticipation, Arielle turned around to see Florian making his way to you. She turned back at you and smiled before she followed everyone else out. “Good fight, Flo. See ya’ll later or never,” she mumbled the last part.

“Thanks,” he grunted, watching Arielle walk out.

Running to meet your man halfway you jumped into his arms. Even though you knew he was about to ruin you, you still had to congratulate your man. “Baby, I’m so proud of you! All your hard work paid off.” You nuzzled yourself into the crook of his neck and kissed alongside it.

Flo said nothing, he just backed you into the wall and bunched up your dress around your waist. Steadying one hand around your waist, the other went to your dripping core. “No panties, tonight?” Flo ticked his head to the side. “Huh, I guess you knew Daddy needed easy access tonight.”

Pulling his shorts down, his dick sprang free, bobbing up and down against his stomach. Your mouth watered at the sight, its been so long since you saw it and you wanted it in your mouth. Clutching to your boyfriend, you begged him, “Please let me suck it, Daddy.”

Florian moaned at the sound of you begging and he wanted nothing more than to fulfill your needs, but he was under a time constraint. “Not now, baby. When we have more time you can, but right now I’m about to pound my pussy and it has to be quick. That okay with you?”

Shaking your head yes, Florian kissed you and you moaned into his mouth as he savagely thrusted into you. Both of you broke the kiss once he started getting into his rhythm. “Fuck, I miss this pussy. Daddy’s so sorry for neglecting you.”

“Daddy, please,” you pleaded, already wanting to cum, not even ten strokes in.

“Not yet,” Flo gripped your chin to get you to look at him. “I hope you got all your rest earlier, because I’m fucking this pussy all night long and getting you pregnant tonight.”

Florian was digging in your pussy so well; you didn’t care about the wall scratching up your back. And to get back at him for making you feel so good, you tighten your walls around his dick.

“You naughty little girl,” Flo grunted, wrapping his hand around your throat. He started thrusting into wildly until he stilled, shooting his load into you. Before you could cum, he pulled himself out, fixed your dress, and tucked himself into his shorts.

Standing there shell-shocked, you were surprised Flo didn’t take care of you. He chuckled at your expression and pressed his lips to yours for a quick kiss. “What? You thought I let you get off easy? Baby, you should’ve known not to play such dangerous games. Now make sure, you don’t let go a drop of my cum while I take my shower. Then, I’ll fulfill my obligation for my appearance at the club and then I’ll fill my baby for the rest of the night.”

Your boyfriend kissed your forehead before heading to the shower, leaving you there contemplating if all your little games worth it. You smiled to yourself and thought, Hell yeah, I’m about to get the best dick of my life. Game on, Mr. Munteanu.

  Tagging: @honeychicana @crushed-pink-petals @titty-teetee @thickemadame @munteanhore @twistedcharismaaa @thottyantics @songficsbyrissi @writtenbymar @autumnsoidier​ @blackgirlreadsfanfic​ @lovelymari4​ @lotusss-flowerbomb​ @dumbchick​ @chaneajoyyy​

[connorspiracy]

Not The Kind of Snacc I Had In Mind || Connor & Luis

TIMING: Current PARTIES: @connorspiracy and @ontheluis  CONTENT: Recreational drug use, NSFW SUMMARY: Connor and Luis decide to meet up after chatting on a dating app and absolutely nothing goes wrong. 

Grindr dates were weird. Connor was far from opposed to a simple shag, but he usually felt like he was supposed to not be so blatant about it, to try and be a gentleman. Was it customary to clean the house before a Grindr hookup came over? He wasn’t sure, but he did what he could to make the place presentable; ran the roomba, made the bed that he was sure would be messed up again pretty soon, lit some Yankee Candles. He’d showered, changed his clothes, brushed his teeth, and was debating starting on a beer when the buzz of the doorbell stirred him from the couch, indicating his date’s arrival. Connor answered, giving the other man a smile in greeting. He’d had no clue this was wolfbane-dude when he’d proverbially swiped right, but seeing the young man in front of him, he put it together. Not that it mattered. He was still certainly curious, but seeing the profile pics come to life before his eyes gave him little desire to revisit that conversation anytime soon. “Hey, Luis, right? Come on in, I was just about to grab a drink if you want one?” 

The cold freshness of the Whye River single lingered in Luis’ nostrils even after the water had dried off his skin and hair. Bathing in the river outside his date’s upscale neighborhood might not exactly be classy, but the brutal pragmatism of Luis’ new life had weaned him off feeling embarrassed about trivial things. Piers’ place reminded Luis of the houses along Boca Chica, eliciting a sharp prick of unwanted remembrance amidst the more arduous thoughts in his head. 

Connor turned out to be just as gorgeous as his profile picture, and Luis had another pang of guilt for placing yet another innocent person in danger of being eaten just for the sake libido and company. But the less human part of Luis brain, the aspect of himself that was all primal instinct and cold pragmatism, didn’t see why that danger should get in the way of shelter, sex, and free food?

The corners of Luis' mouth drew up into a knowing smirk as he closed the door behind him, enjoying the randy tension in the coy game these types of meetups often started. “Sure.” Luis placed his backpack against the wall by the door. “Hey uh....are you the ghostuber dude by the way?” 

If it hadn't already been obvious from the risque Grindr conversation, then the grin tugging at the edges of Luis' lips confirmed to Connor that this lad was well up for it. He doubted it would take them too long to get down to business. "Right, we've got got beer, shots, cider, whatever you want, mate." He helped himself to a White Claw, handing Luis whatever he'd chosen. "Heh, Ghostuber dude," he chuckled. This was why he didn't send dick pics with his face in them. He didn't want it to end up on twitter or reddit once someone realised who he was. "Y'know what? I like that. Might nick it for my instagram bio.” He gave him a little grin. “I wanna ask what you do for work but I don’t even know how much you wanna talk and stuff. I never know how personal folks wanna get.”

“I mean there’s part of me that just wants to jump your bones,” Luis confessed as he leaned forward to accept a White Claw with a wink, the werewolf perhaps being a bit more literal then the words necessarily implied. But Luis didn’t necessarily want to give that primal part of more leeway over his life then it already had.

“But I don’t mind talking,” Luis admitted helping himself to a seat on one end of the couch. “I’m hiking cross country,” was a rather selective version of the truth. “So I’m just taking whatever work I can find along the way here y’know?”

In spite of being in media and in the public eye just enough to receive decently regular flirtation, Connor wasn't always the smoothest at this. He gave a kind chuckle, toasting their White Claws together. "That's very flattering, but yeah, we can talk. Come on." He gestured for Luis to follow him, heading onto the deck and lighting up the fire pit and sitting on the outdoor bench. "Figured this'd be a bit better than watching telly," he snickered. "So are you in White Crest for long then? Just passing through?" 

Luis had been an easygoing and social person before his life had become a runway train of carnage. Connor definitely had the sexy British angle for him, and a sinewy muscularity to go with the baby face, but perhaps was a bit blunt for coy games. Though Luis couldn’t (or didn’t want to) explain why, his sense of hearing and smell had sharpened to the point of being painful at times. He caught the fragrance of the soaps that Connor had used in the shower as his host passed by and listened to the steady background noise of his heartbeat. 

As they went out on the deck Luis looked out over the East End evening. The sun was sinking like a golden torch in the Whye River's horizon, staining the tufty lines of Stratocumulus clouds ablaze with bright magenta against the deeper blues and violets of the upper atmosphere. East End’s upscale houses and shops trailed off at the harbor where ships slept on a liquid mirror of the sky, seeming to bob up and down on cloudy stained glass. Boat masts and pier poles stood out stark like thin black columns against the prismatic sunset.  

But though Luis’ couldn’t see most of those colors anymore, the shadows of the sunset city strangely didn’t impede his sight at all. Luis glanced to smile playful at Connor, the fading light briefly reflecting off the tapetum lucidum blue in his eyes in a flare of electric blue. 

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” Luis admitted as he leaned his elbows on the deck rail, breathing in the faint scents of fish and smoke on the chilly autumn air. “Got this gig at a fighting ring, doing Cutman work and whatnot for the fighters,” he mused. “Guess we’ll see how well that pays huh?”

"Bit of an amateur boxer or something, are you? That's pretty hot," Connor said with a smile. Most people's Grindr photos didn't leave that much to the imagination. There was usually at the very least a topless selfie in there, maybe a post-workout pic, complete with sweatpants bulge. Luis had a casually athletic build, more compact and slightly bulkier than Connor's slimmer frame. He imagined Luis being able to hold his own. "I... couldn't fight my way out of a paper bag. Have to talk my way out, hope they fall for the accent. This is all for show." He looked at Luis' bright blue eyes with a self-deprecating smile. 

"Well, this place is fuckin' weird, which is why I'm here, but it's not for everyone." In the back of his mind, he was still kind of suspect about the eating wolfsbane thing, but Connor left that alone. He actually wanted to get off with the bloke tonight, not scare him away by interrogating him. "Smoke?" he asked, pulling out a pack of tobacco and everything else he needed for a good joint. 

“Luis shook his head with an aimable wrinkle of the nose at the notion. Learning to fight hadn’t been something he’d willingly picked up or enjoyed, but it came naturally to the less human part of him, way too much so honestly. “A cutman is just the dude who makes sure the fighters don’t bleed out too much,” he explained, finding it wiser to not going into detail what sort of illicit fights would just hire some rando off the street who knew his way around an enswell. “I try not to get into fights if I can help it,” said the fellow whose rap sheet contained a bit too many charges of manslaughter for that claim to be entirely plausible. “You’re better off avoiding it honestly dude. Like...I dig some macho dom vibes much as the next guy, but that aggro life isn’t worth it,” confessed Luis, having woken up too often amongst grotesque carnage to glorify violence.

“It is weird,” Luis admitted with another look out at White Crest’s innocently picturesque panorama stretching out beyond them. “Guess that works for a ghostuber though?” Luis didn’t believe in spirits or magic, but a metaphysics argument wasn’t he wan’t to get up to with Connor tonight, so he just let that be. 

Then it turned out Connor knew the way to heart: weed. “Duuude, you must be into some weird shit if you’re buttering me up this much,” he teased with an assenting nod.

“Oh,” Connor said with a chuckle, feeling just a little bit stupid. “I guess that makes sense. It’s in the name.” Hearing that Luis avoided fights if he could help it only made Connor more attracted to him. He had no patience for that toxic masculinity bullshit. Knowing someone could defend themselves was one thing, being good at a sport was another, but seeking violence for violence’s made someone the type of person best avoided, even for a one night stand. “Yeah, couldn’t agree more. Save the macho dom vibes for the bedroom,” he teased, rolling them each a joint with a grin. 

“The views are fucking gorgeous too, I mean, look at this ocean.” He gestured to the sand and sea that spread out before them, glistening under the moon and stars. “And I never run out of stuff to film.” Even if sometimes, the thing he happened to film was someone being murdered in the woods. That’d be a mood killer, though. His grin only widened when Luos accepted his offer of some light recreational drug use. “What can I say? I like being a good host.” And once he handed Luis the rolled joint, he leaned in for a brief kiss, lips brushing against Luis’ and lingering for barely a moment before he sat back to light up, handing Luis the lighter too. 

The lighter’s flame was a momentary spark against the oceanic sunset as Luis breathed deep. Substances had come to be Luis’ escape from the train of violence his life had become, and the unwilling werewolf closed his eyes and breathed smoke into the night for a time, letting it soak into his blood and cloud out unwelcome thoughts. “Definitely gorgeous,” he affirmed, before turning away from the sea. 

Luis gently lowered himself down to straddle Connor’s lap. He looked down into Connor’s eyes for a moment with a questioning raise of tawny brows, silently asking if this was ok. “So what made you want to do youtubing stuff,” Luis asked with an unconvincingly innocent smirk as he ran both hands up the front of Connor’s shirt. Luis played it slow, his splayed fingers consciously tracing the lines of Connor’s body beneath the fabric, traveling up until he caressed the bare skin of the Brit’s neck. He leaned forward from his perch on Connor’s lap to meet his host’s lips in a long kiss, taking time to just savor the take and smell of him before parting with a breath chuckle. “So were you legit born in England,” he asked in a murmur, pulling down the front of Connor’s shirt slightly to press his lips to the firm skin of Connor’s pectorals. “Or are you actually some Cali-boy whose doing the Brit thing for sex appeal.” Luis continued to lay exploring kisses up the curves Connor’s upper chest and neck as he glanced up. “Won’t mind either way,” he assured with a grin. 

Connor closed his eyes for a moment as he inhaled the joint and blew out the smoke, watching it dissipate into the night. He took another sip of his beer, not expecting the next events that unfolded, but certainly appreciating them. His breath hitched in anticipation as he felt the warm weight of the other man's body on top of him. He lifted his hands to wander over Luis' upper legs and waist. "Started to video journal for myself," he answered, closing his eyes again and sighing as Luis' hands and lips caressed his skin. He curled his own fingers into Luis' sides, sliding them just beneath his shirt. "Ran out of space on my hard drive, started uploading them to YouTube," he snickered. "And the rest is history." 

Thankfully the neighbours' houses weren't right on top of them and there was a bit of space between the houses along the beach, so he didn't feel too self-conscious about the display they were putting on. At least for now. "I'm a born and raised South West London boy, darling," he whispered, playfully exaggerating his own accent. "What about you?" he asked, fingertips tracing tiny lines along Luis' abs. "Hispanic?" 

“Chicano,” Luis confirmed with a nod, closing his eyes for a moment and just letting Connor touch bring on a trembling flex of his abdomen that brought a hitch to his breathing. “South Texas chico my dude,” he elaborated in a teasing imitation of Conner’s phrasing, as if the Coastal Bend was somehow on the same cultural tier as an ancient city of eight point nine million. Luis shrugged off his white cotton shirt onto the deck, ignoring the chilled autumn air as it brought goosebumps along his bare skin. Luis’ shoulders and chest rose and fell with deepened breaths as drank in the scent of Connor and the taste of his lips with a hungry insistence.  

A voice in the part of Luis' brain warned that he needed restraint. He needed to not lose control here.

“So why ghosts,” Luis asked as he reluctantly parted from Connor. He kept running one hand affectionately though his date’s hair while leaning back to take another drag from the joint he’d left on the railing. “You could easily get internet-famous with other stuff,” he pointed with, exhaling smoke at one end of a smile that left the ‘other stuff’ ambiguous. 

Connor’s stomach tightened and he felt himself becoming more and more aroused, especially as Luis pulled off his shirt. His own was unbuttoned all the way down to the navel, so he unfastened the rest of it, letting it hang open to reveal his chest and stomach. For a moment, he thought they were going to shag right there on the decking, but thankfully (at least for the neighbour’s sake), Luis pulled away to take another drag, smoking from his position straddling Connor’s lap. “Right, you’re one to talk about sexy accents then. You can get anyone to drop their trousers by saying romantic shit in Spanish,” Connor teased, continuing his own beer and joint. 

“Why ghosts?” He repeated. It felt like he was about to open a can of worms, so he did his best to put the pushy, opinionated part of him aside, at least for the sake of getting his dick wet tonight. “Ah, well, suppose you’re either a believer or you’re not. Hard to believe in ghosts when you can’t see them. I just happen to be someone who can.” His fingers absentmindedly continued drawing shapes on Luis’ forearm as he spoke. 

The claim about his ability to make people drop drow with Spanish elicited a snorting laugh from Luis, who’d endured less complimentary claims about his background in the past. He pressed his lips to the skin about the hem of Connor’s pants, laying teasing kisses along the muscled v-shape below the Brit’s abdominals, toying with his tongue down the very edge of the curve before relenting. 

“Te voy a joder los sesos guey,” Luis promsied with a soft murmmer in Connor’s ear. 

Connor’s answer clearly brought Luis up short, confusion mixing with the more straightforward lust on his features. Luis wasn’t particularly good at it, but could pick up sometimes when people lied sometimes. The beat of their heart changed. Even though they were skin to skin Luis hadn’t heart any falter in Connor’s aroused pulse. Maybe Luis wasn’t really in any headspace beyond screwing this guy, but it sounded like he thought he was telling the truth.  

Luis sat up on Connor’s lap for a moment and looked at him with reflective blue eyes that grew brighter at the darkness deepened, lips in cast in a half frown of vexation and both hands lifted behind his head. 

“Shit, don’t even know what to fucking make of you Con,” Conner mumbled after a while, the frown broadening in a toothy smile. Luis stood up and reached down for Conner’s hand with a come-hither look that made clear Luis’ personal suggestion to resolve this quandary. 

“Oh, bloody hell,” Connor murmured under his breath, jeans tightening as he got hard when Luis kissed and licked along his pelvic bone. He’d had a few flings in town, and it hadn’t exactly been that long since his rendezvous with Nell, but there was something incredibly alluring about Luis, the way he took what he wanted, unapologetic and confident, just a little filthy, behind a blue-eyed cherubic face you could take home to your mum. “You’re the kind of lad I could take home to family dinner and give you a blowjob in the bathroom after,” he chuckled. 

Connor ran his fingers through Luis’ light brown hair, tugging it gently as his fist clenched with arousal. “I have no clue what you just said, but it was sexy as hell,” he snickered, practically pulling Luis back to his lips so he could kiss him more firmly, more deeply, more desperately. When their lips parted, his breath caught in his throat, and he twisted the joint out in the ashtray. “Why don’t we go inside and you can make whatever you want of me?” 

Luis let himself be led back to Connor’s bedroom, putting up coy resistance at times, pretending to look around the house with wide innocent eyes but wearing a cruelly teasing smirk. One hand in Connor’s and the other tracing the lined of the cool-colored walls, Luis let the adrenaline of anintipation buoy him up like a chemical tidal wave. For a little while he was just a normal guy horny out of his mind and climbing into a hot brit’s bed. 

There came a cracking sound from somewhere outside the room, like a piledriver being used as a nutcracker. 

Luis jerked up instinctively as it hit his lupine hearing like a gunshot, looking around. “Did you...”  But the sound had stopped or maybe hadn’t existed. Fuck it. “Nevermind,” he murmured, busying him with trying to make out with Connor and get unzip his pants at the same time. 

Connor headed inside, kicking off his shoes and leaving them deserted somewhere in the hall. He threw his shirt on top of the laundry basket, climbing on top of the bed with Luis. He heard nothing, ears not as keen as the werewolf, and let himself be in ignorant bliss for a while. They continued to kiss, leaving him with tousled hair and pants half-unfastened, blood rushing between his legs as they got hotter and heavier. “What?” he whispered against a jawline that could cut glass, but whatever Luis had heard, he’d quickly forgotten. 

He whispered compliments, sighs and groans against Luis’ skin, hands wandering his torso. Their bodies were warm against one another as Connor pressed into him, haphazardly reaching to unfasten his belt before he heard it, an obnoxious sound, miniature saw blades gnawing away beneath him. “What the..” he mumbled, narrowing his eyes and looking at Luis as if to question if he was losing his bloody mind. He rolled over, begrudgingly separating himself to look under the bed. “Oh, FUCK.” Connor scrambled back on the bed, scrambling for the closest object to throw on top of the creature. He was trying to get his rocks off, and there was a fucking demon rat under his bed. 

“Dude…please...” Luis moaned, breathing fast and craving release with all this built up tension. He tried to pull Connor back down to him, skin flush and burning with the raw need that turned every nerve into a livewire. 

But before either batter or pitcher could make the final run towards home base, one corner of the bed vanished in a cloud of sawdust. There was the sound of claws scaping up wood, and Luis choked on another flurry of dry sawdust in his mouth, dust clinging to the sweat on his skin 

Luis found himself face to face with an obese beaver-shrew the size of a dog at the ruined end of the bed, and wondered for a surreal second if he’d gone insane from sheer Blue-Balls. 

“What….holy shit….whu…”

Connor really, truly would have preferred to just stay in bed and take the rest of Luis’ clothes off, doing unspeakable things to one another for the next several hours before having another cigarette and maybe sneak in some cuddling. White Crest, however, had other plans. “Bro! What the fuck--” He scrambled to fasten his pants, willing his boner to go down, which thankfully wasn’t too difficult “You little bugger, I rent this house!” He didn’t know if it was dangerous or not, so he instinctively grabbed for Luis to pull him away, then scrambled for the nearest pair of flip flops. “We gotta go, dude. I have no idea what that thing is.” 

Why...how did this rat have horns? Even while gagging on sawdust and woodchips Luis could smell that this thing wasn’t a dog, rat, squirrel, shrew, or beaver. His rational mind recognized it was impossible that a person could smell that well, but his instincts just sorta knew on a gut level that this wasn’t any animal he’d ever seen before. There was a moment of confusion as his brain and gut disagreed on what was going on. But as usual when shit went down, guts won out. 

Luis let Connor pull him away and he rolled off the side of the bed not occupied by a giant woodchipper on legs. Stumbling into the shoes he’d shed at the bedroom door, he sprinted with Connor through the house and out the front door, the frigid outside air extinguishing the amorous fire in his skin. 

Great. This was just great. He’d found a nice, handsome, and incredibly seductive boy to take to bed, and now he had an infestation of God-Knows-What chewing on his furniture. Connor shook his head, more annoyed than panicked. “I’m so sorry. This is--not what I planned for tonight. I have to call an exterminator.” Or a hunter. “But… this was nice, before it got ruined. I’ll call you, okay?” And with that, he pulled out his phone. 

[gatortavern]

Johnny Jhonny in: A Christmas Calamity

A STORY/IT’S DONE!/ FOR @pjmaxsson ! Happy holidays from your @pnatsecretsanta, and apologies that this was sent out so late! (also as a PS, PJ gets his own gift in an epilogue, which will be coming soon!)

Johnny Jhonny In: A Christmas Calamity

“ARGH!”

Johnny Jhonny kicked one of the small snow piles haphazardly placed along the sidewalk. The holiday season, as with most things in Mayview, had been bizarre so far, with a mild snowstorm being followed by a mild warm front. Only a thin layer of snow remained, save for the large dirty piles left by the snowplows.

“Out of anyone I coulda gotten, I had ta’ get Isabel Guerra? That chick’s impossible to get information on!”

“Well if it’s any consolation, she probably won’t murder you if you get it messed up. Pretty sure Lisa knows I got Violet ‘cause she’s been giving me that creepy smile for the past three days. Plus, I don’t think RJ even got someone from our grade,” Ollie chimed in.

RJ nodded in agreement, their furrowed brow hidden by their hood.

“None of this would even be a PROBLEM if Mr. Garcia had handed out these assignments earlier!” Stephen cried out, waving his hands in an exaggerated motion. “THREE DAYS to deliver a Secret Santa present?! We’re gonna have to do our investigations separately!”

              The group, sans RJ, groaned at that. Gift giving for them was nothing to be taken lightly; each member of Johnny’s Gang would meticulously search for, or more often create, something for their target that would have some kind of personal connection for them, a tactic that extended to any poor fool that they got saddled with for a Secret Santa. This, of course, could take a bit of time to gather enough information to make such a gift, which the boys (and RJ) preferred doing together. That plan was now ruined thanks to Mr. Garcia sleeping through the day he was supposed to hand the slips out, on top of his continued forgetting.

              There was a nudge on Johnny’s arm, and he swerved to see where RJ was pointing. At the base of the hill they were slowly traversing down was his target, a maroon sweater barely peeking out under a stone grey jacket, mahogany hair lightly nestled at the shoulders. There’s no way Guerra wouldn’t suspect an ambush if the four of them went down, a thought Johnny saw reflected in his compadres’ eyes.

              “Go get ‘em, slugger!” whispered Stephen with a shove that was anything but soft, sending Johnny stumbling nearly a quarter of the way down the slope before he caught his footing. Halfway down the hill, Johnny stopped and gave a quick glance at his pals, who gave waves of encouragement and thumbs up as a response.

---

About three feet in, Johnny was able to gather one bit of information on Isabel Guerra:

She had really weird ideas for recreational activities.

After a few close calls, he had managed to tail her into a weird-looking cave mound. The damp walls seemed to eat up any light, as Johnny had soon found it hard to see even a foot in front of him, and the soft ground obscured any sounds he could have used to follow her. The paths were wide (he surmised that Ollie could easily walk beside him) and winding ever downward, and the bully soon realized that there were multiple sprawling paths. Johnny silently cursed himself for not charging his phone the day before. At least there would have been a small light source if he had.

The small, uneven muttering up ahead caught his attention.

“Oh geez. Oh man. D-did I go the right way? How are there so many paths? What if Mr. Max is hurt? What if that thing comes back? Ohhh…”

Slowly, Johnny crept up to the voice, hearing it fret over many things. He squinched up his eyes, trying to think. This definitely wasn’t Isabel-her voice could command the room, confidence would ooze from every sound she made.

“I can’t stay here worrying about this! Mr. Max needs me! But…”

“Who the heck’re you?”

              “WAAAUGH!”

Johnny could just barely make out the hazy shape of a boy about his age in front of him, quaking intensely. He wouldn’t have enough time to ruffle this one up, he figured. Got too far away from Guerra already. He’d have to make this quick in order to catch up to her and hopefully hear her let something slip.

“A’ight fella, this is the way it’s gonna work here. I’m feeling pretty generous t’day. Gotta make sure I get the deets on somebody real fast n’ stuff. I’m not even gonna stop ta’ beat ya’ up right now, my mood’s that good. Just tell me where the Guerra chick went.”

“Uhhh…I…don’t know who…that is..?” came the hasty reply.

“Er.. Isabel Guerra? Brown eyes, long brown hair, gray jacket? ”

“…Oh. OH!” The boy seemed to perk up a little upon hearing that. “That’s the scary girl’s name? The one from that weird dodgeball game, right?”

“Hitball, yeah, she was t’ other captain. Besides me.”

“O-oh, okay. I, uh, wasn’t paying too much attention to the game…mostly just watching Max. Ah! Are you the guy Max blocked that ball for?”

That one stung a little. If there was anything that made Johnny Jhonny uncomfortable, it’s someone taking a punishment that should’ve rightfully been his.

“Yeah…that’s me,” he said, the agitation creeping into his voice. “You gonna tell me where the girl went now, or are ya gonna stand here and waste my freakin’ time?”

“Well…I dunno where…Isabel, right? Went exactly…but if she’s in here, that means she’s going to help Max too! Which is good, because this place kinda scares me..”

Great. This kid wasn’t any help at all, Johnny thought to himself as he began to storm off. Well, as best as he could storm in this place, anyway, as the ground muffled all his footsteps.

“Uh, mister sir, you’re heading into a wall,” the boy provided helpfully right as Johnny smashed his face into a bed of dirt. “Are you able to see in here? Because it looks like you’re squinting pretty hard…”

“Oh, so you can see where yer’ goin’ in this pitch black mess?”

“A-a little, mister sir. This place has a lot of weird turns and forks and dead ends. If you can’t tell where you’re going, you could get pretty lost.”

Johnny suddenly had an idea.

“Right then, it’s settled! I can’t see a foot in fronta’ me, and yer’ too scared to fight…whatever it is you came in here fer’, so you get ta’ do the lookin’ and I’ll do the fightin’! I’ll let ya’ pay me back for it later.”

“Uh…ah…oh…kay”, came the uneasy reply. “There’s a path to your left. It’s straight for a while after that, from what I can see.”

And with that, the two set off.

---

Johnny couldn’t tell how long he’d been walking in silence for. At least with the Ed ambush a few days prior, he’d been able to gauge some method of progress by seeing just where Ed was and what he was up to. But here there wasn’t anything to see ahead of him. He could barely hear his own footsteps on the ground if he paid enough attention, but he couldn’t hear the other kid’s at all, even though with a glance he could see the kid steadily at his side.

He wasn’t scared, of course. It was just a dark silent cave, that’s all. Nothing that pathetic could scare Johnny Jhonny.

He was, admittedly, just a little creeped out. He needed something to keep his mind off of this. Besides Guerra, of course. No sense chasing Guerra with some hyped up senses that’d give him away.

“So what’s your deal, anyway? If yer’ so scared of everything, whatcha even come to a spooky cave for?” he asked.

The sad little laugh’s proximity made him jump.

“I was trying to go around with Max a little bit, to see the town again. I thought maybe I could become a little braver, maybe even help in a fight...but then a big spirit came up and grabbed him! I followed it here, but then Max dropped his bat trying to get out of its arms, and I rushed in to help and give it back to him. He can’t fight real good without it… but this is a big cave, and I can’t get the bat to him without going through it, and it’s dark and I got scared…”

Johnny stared at the kid with only the slightest expression of disbelief. “You wanna learn how to fight?”               “I have to be able to help out when he gets attacked! So I can have his back! Because that’s what friends do!”

There was a sense of conviction in the kid’s voice that wasn’t there before. A conviction immediately lost when the floor shook and a deep rumble emanated from below, if the higher pitched wailing that came from his position was anything to go by.

Once the rumbling stopped and Johnny confirmed that he could not beat the earthquake into submission, he turned and gently slapped his hand over the general area of his partner’s head. Although he missed his mouth entirely, it still worked wonders in stopping the kid’s terrified babbling.

“Tell ya what, ya picked a good day ta run into me. I’ll whip ya up into ship-shop shape so you can wallop all yer problems while I’m out nerd hunting. A’course, you’ll have to pay me back with interest…”, he said, cracking his knuckles for effect, but secretly impressed that the kid was trying to take initiative.

He was not expecting a shaky, uncertain “thank you” as a response, but it filled him with a weird sense of pride, and soon an exchange of stories began.

----

To the timid kid’s credit, he had kept his end of the bargain.

Johnny soon realized the kid was a good eavesdropper, since he mentioned that he only knew the girl for a few days. He would’ve quicker taken Isabel to be a dog person afraid of spiders than the other way around. Apparently she was close to her spider too, the one that she’d lost recently. Called it a friend. Johnny could relate; the loss of his boxer four years ago still hurt to think about somewhat. She was also Max’s friend, so of course she’d be into the freaky flipping and jumping around he did constantly. Between her and that spiky nerd dude, freaky movements seemed to be something of a requirement for being that kid’s buddy. He made a mental note to himself to practice some moves with his pals later to show him up.

Some of the facts were a bit harder to make sense of. According to him, she had come with some “scary guy with glasses” to help sort out a…evil whale frog the other day? Riding a paper horse? With the kid’s luck he probably found that weirdo history teacher that’s always wearing shades, but with the kid’s track record of jumping at the smacking sounds of Johnny’s hands, he could’ve been scared of pretty much anyone.

And if what the kid was saying was true, he had somehow managed to punch a teacher in the face for “being evil”. Not a bad start to a fighting career, even if he said that he ran and hid behind Max immediately after.

On his own side, Johnny had launched into relaying many of his and his gang’s bouts over the years, placing emphasis on each blow, duck and dodge. What started out as giving advice on which attacks are what, when people are giving them and how to take/sidestep them quickly derailed into making as great a story as possible. Johnny was just too used to framing these stories for his pals. His partner didn’t seem to mind it too much, though, and every hushed “wow” and question of what happened next only served to hype him up further. He told of turf wars and stakeouts, of the gang catching up to a group of cyclists that had bought the last of the candy that RJ had been looking forward to all week, even his battle with Ed and the Great Starch Hunt.

“’An then he gave us stars from his own pocket for beatin’ him, and Ed took off for greater quarry. Gotta meet up with him later to get RJ’s stuff back…an’ mine too, come ta think of it. Then we got thrown inta’ detention.”

“Wow, mister sir, you sure do get into a lot of adventures.”

“Whoa whoa, knock it off with the ‘mister sir’ crap, yer makin’ me feel old.”

“I don’t think you’ve told me your name though.”

“Wha-you don’t know my name? After everything I just told you?”

“S-sorry…”

“The name’s Johnny. Johnny Jhonny. Forget it and I whack ya.”

“Ah, okay mister Johnny.”

There was a small back and forth about not using “mister” and the kid’s inability to get it through his head, followed by a weird silence, until a small question piped up from the compatriot:

“So you were always good at fighting the bad guys and…other guys, huh? I hope I can be that fearless someday.”

Johnny paused. The image of an angry Jeff from a few days before surfaced in his head, mocking him for protecting his buddies and promising a permanent scar. He remembered how that ball came sailing towards his pals and how much it’d hurt them if he moved. How people kept taking shots for him that weren’t meant for them: Dimitri, Max��

…and how readily RJ and Ollie were to take them, too.

“…That ain’t it. Listen, it’s not about never bein’ scared. That Hitball game where everythin’ went nuts? I acted all brave to calm down my buds, but…I was shakin’ inside. But I took that fear and threw it right back at that little punk. You just gotta take all that terror that’s buildin’ in your chest and put it in your fists instead. Pick up all that fear those jerks put in ya and make ‘em take it back tenfold.”

“How do you do that, Johnny sir?”

The “sir” wasn’t much better, but Johnny brushed it aside for now. “Well, you know how you keep screamin’ whenever somethin’ spooks ya? Make it louder. Make it a war cry! Bellow and yell in their face and make em’ pay for makin’ that sound come outta’ your mouth! And when you think maybe you should book it, or get worried that you can’t take the fight, you think of how your friends would be in the same spot as you, and how they’d get hurt instead, and then you beat up that foe for daring to put that image in your head!”

There was a pause before he spoke again with as much mentorly conviction as he could muster.

“Ya’ don’t let those punks hurt your friends. Ya gotta stand by your pals, fight by their side, so they don’t take blows that ain’t their due.”

“Because that’s what friends do.”

“Exactly.”

A few seconds passed without any words. Johnny then piped up again.

“Y’know, I don’t think you ever told me your name neither.”

“Oh. Uhm..it’s PJ. I’m PJ.”

Johnny couldn’t really see the kid’s face at all, but he could feel the smile from where he was standing. Or maybe that was just the small smile creeping up on his own face. He wasn’t sure, but the area felt calmer, the silence almost welcoming.

That didn’t last.

Another rumble cut through the air, and the quakes nearly threw the bully to the ground. Then another noise, just loud enough for Johnny to make out, bellowed from below.

“KKKKKKKREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!”

“That’s the spirit that got mister Max! It’s close!” shouted PJ before a third rumble sounded. Johnny felt loose soil fall into his hair and vigorously ran his hands through his ‘do. He wasn’t exactly sure what a “spirit” meant, or what could’ve possibly made that noise, but it wasn’t going to stop him from following Guerra. He charged ahead.

Straight into a wall of dirt.

“Ahh! The path is blocked off! It must have touched the soil again!”

“Wha..?” came the muffled reply.

“The spirit can touch things! It moved the soil around earlier when I was making my way in!”

Johnny felt hands on his shoulders for a brief moment before he was catapulted backwards. His hands quickly found soft fabric and the two sped away back up the hallway, swerving and curving to avoid pieces of the ceiling falling down around them. The tremors intensified, and Johnny swung back, bracing himself to punch an enemy he couldn’t see.

KLANG!!

It took a minute for his ears to stop screaming at him, but the vibrations underneath him seemed to halt. His foot slipped for half a second over a pit that he didn’t think was there before. As the ringing subsided, his head pieced together what that noise could have been.

“Hehey, that sounded like a solid hit! Looks like ya got more punch than ya thought, lil slugger!”

“Uh…I didn’t actually swing at it…it came up from underneath me and hit the bat with its face…”

“A solid hold then. You held the bat steady while it came at ya.”

“I was more frozen in fear…”

“Dude, take the compliment before I shove it down your throat hole.”

“OK, Johnny sir.”

“NO, it’s just—you don’t have ta—ah, forget it.”

Johnny turned back and felt around the edges of the hole with his shoe. Whatever came up from the ground was huge, as it took him a while to find a part of the soft earth that wasn’t sloping into the pit. He had half a mind to try throwing something in it to hear how deep it went, but the way the ground was, he wouldn’t be able to hear how far something went anyway.

With no other options, the two started backtracking farther up the cave.

---

“Hey, come ta think of it…PJ, are you in your pajamas?”

“Oh. Yeah, I guess so.”

“Why’d you come down here in your pajamas when it’s this cold out? You lookin’ to catch a flu or something?”

“I can’t really…touch anything unless it’s possessed. …or a spirit… …or Max…or people with special powers.”

“Whaddya mean you can’t touch things? You’re holding Max’s bat. You just touched me like five minutes ago!”

“This is Max’s special weapon with special powers! I can touch it because it’s full of magic.”

“Yeah, well I ain’t no freaky jumpin’ wizard with wizard tools, and ya touched me, so there. What the heck are you talking about with ‘spirits’ anyway? You saying this cave is full of ghosts or something?”

“I don’t think spirits are the same thing as ghosts… they’re weird. They can be really big, or small, and they all have powers, and they can have legs.”

“Ha! Now I know yer’ bluffin’! Stephen told me that ghosts look like super see-through people with a faint bluish tint on ‘em. Only the ones from other places don’t got feet.”

There was an awkward silence. Johnny couldn’t see the face of his partner beside him, but he could tell that the look on his face was one of confusion.

“…You’re new to this, aren’t you?”

Before Johnny could ask him what the heck that was supposed to mean, the rumbling returned. The large, soft chunks of dirt rained down on Johnny’s shoulders, and the ground beneath him quickly lost stability. Small hills of soil quickly piled up near his feet.

The place was caving in.

Johnny quickly found PJ’s arms (though there was little need, as his hands had already found Johnny’s wrists as soon as the rumbles had begun again) and booked it back up the path. He soon found it hard to block out the burning running up his side, or his lungs crying out for air, or the urge to remove all the dirt from his hair, but the twists and turns the path soon divulged helped distract him ever so slightly.

There was only one brief stop, when two other shadows crossed their path, one yanking the other forward in a similar manner. The long hair fluttering into the other shadow’s face was a dead giveaway for Guerra, but when Johnny tried to follow her, he ran into another wall. The place must be coming down fast if he was blocked off that quickly, he thought, and scrambled back as fast as he could to get the heck out of Chrysler.

After more twists and turns and dodges, a blinding light made its presence known. Johnny raced forward, the screaming in his sides unmatched by the crumbling walls becoming more evident from the light. As the exit loomed nearer and the snowy woods came into focus, he noticed the archway begin to buckle. He forced himself forward as fast as he could muster as the shiny white window to the outside became polluted with fallen sediment. He could feel the cool air on his skin and in his lungs, soothing his aching….well, everything. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the roof give entirely. He threw both of his arms forward in desperation, only dimly realizing that the grip he’d felt on his arm had vanished.

Suddenly he felt a hard shove from behind, and everything went white.

---

Johnny lied on the ground for a few seconds, allowing the small layer of snow to soothe his burning limbs. Each inhale brought both pain and relief. Slowly, he got back up to his feet, rubbing tiny patches of nearby snow underneath his pant legs to numb them ever so slightly and surveying the ground.

For the most part, the woods looked about the same as when he had entered, though he hadn’t been paying much attention to the ground at the time. Every track in the snow looked fresh, so it hadn’t snowed any further after he had entered the cave. A massive gouge in the frozen fluff confirmed that someone had been dragged into the mound, and he could see his shoeprints from his stalking mission, his wavy treads trailing just behind a far smoother and slightly smaller boot print.

He paused, then looked around the marks again. There were only two types of prints in the snow. Unless the kid had trod over the haphazard gouge, that was one type too few.

A small gleam caught his eye, and as he registered what was giving off such a glare, his eyes widened.

Lying three or four steps away from his position was an aluminum bat.

His head quickly snapped up to the cave’s entrance. The once great gaping maw that had lead down to the damp dark underneath had been entirely filled with moist brown soil.

There was no sign of life nearby.

He tried to scream for his cave companion, but his voice flickered in and out like a match refusing to light. Within seconds he was at the cave’s entrance, frantically clawing out bits of earth, searching for an opening, his trembling legs and pinwheeling arms providing the howling his throat could not produce.

As he opened his mouth to attempt crying out a fifth time, another scream filled the area for him.

“KKKKKKKREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!”

Johnny stumbled over onto his back, scrambling back into the snow while keeping eye contact with the thing. It was a gigantic mantis, about a few heads taller than a bus, with glowing white eyes the size of the globe Mr. Garcia had in his room. A viscous purple permeated its form and gleamed in the light as if it was made of Jello, and it shimmered like some form of mirage.

It noticed him instantly. Quicker than he’d ever expect a mantis to move, it raised a violet-tinged talon and swung its biological guillotine towards him. The light streaming through the bug caused Johnny’s eyes to water, and he braced himself.

Another familiar sound struck through the air, and his ears cried out in protest.

Johnny blinked away the tears to see another purple shape floating just a few feet in front of him. While the consistency still looked around the same, this one took the form of what looked like a twelve year old kid. A squint revealed what looked to be some form of shirt with a collar and wrist cuffs. There were no sign of legs; instead, the torso tapered off to a wispy serpentine tail. As Johnny stared at the apparition with a quivering mouth and eyes wide as saucers, the purple boy struggled to retain his position. The redhead mentally shook himself and peered beyond the kid; the mantis’s front claws had locked on to the bat the kid was holding and was attempting to push it out from underneath him.

“Aaah! The spirit’s too strong! I can’t keep this up!” the ghost exclaimed as the mantis lowered its head to his eye level, chattering large mandibles that would look less out of place on an ant. Its voice sounded familiar, Johnny thought, and oh sweet merciful Punch why did it sound so familiar, it couldn’t be--

“Please, mister Johnny! Heeelp!”

Johnny glanced from the purple boy to the purple bug and back a few times, his breathing becoming more erratic. It was then that his voice finally burst through in full force.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!”

For a brief second, the boy turned his head just a bit to look at Johnny. He had the same glowing eyes the bug did, as well as a small curl of hair sticking from his top. A look of panic and confusion soon snapped into realization, and the boy turned back and joined in the din.

“RAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!”

It was barely audible above the combined noise of Johnny’s and the bug’s screams, but it was a valiant war cry nonetheless.

Through the wails, Johnny noticed the ghost slowly pushing back upwards against the mantis. The redheaded rogue shot himself to a sitting position and shoved the ghost forward, and the insidious insect buckled. The cold metal of the bat reunited with the behemoth’s face, and as it reeled backward, PJ raised his volume just a little bit, pitched his arms back, and swung the bat right into the creature’s eye. After another round of shrieking, the mantis waved one arm in front of them, and with a tepid “peh”, it retreated back into the earth.

Johnny stared at the spot the mantis had been a second ago in shock, only turning back to the ghost as it floated back in his direction.

“We did it! We beat the bad guy with …uh…violence! And friendship! And violent friendship!” PJ exclaimed as he neared Johnny, his grin somehow resting on the verge of just off-looking enough to be intimidating.

The bully tried to get up, or scramble away, or anything, but his body betrayed him. A fist slowly and haltingly tried to meet the ghost, but even that only made it halfway to its destination before stopping, the limb quaking uselessly in the air. The seconds passed as the ghost stared at the shaking fist until finally he clasped his hand around it.

Johnny’s voice failed him once again, only letting out a small squeak. He could only stare.

After a few minutes, the pajama-clad lad let out an “Oh!”

“I think that’s Isabel and Max over there!”, he exclaimed. Johnny barely managed to turn his head to see a large smoky red arrow a few yards away. “I have to hurry home too, I sort of didn’t tell Lefty where I was going again and he’s probably going to be real mad if he finds out I left.”

“Bye Johnny! Thanks for everythiiiing!” the ghost cried as he flew away.

Johnny just stared forward for a few minutes, his body completely spent. His head tried to come up with reasons for what just happened, but to no avail.

It took about ten minutes for his legs to finally work again, and as he made his way back home to complete his mission, the thoughts nagged at his mind.

He fought…something. With a ghost. He had Friendship Fused with a ghost.

He had befriended a ghost.

He shook his head back and forth to try to clear his head. He got what he needed out of the…ghost…and now it was time to put his newfound knowledge to good use.

Operation Season’s Beatings was a go.

---

All things considered, the Activity Club had a rather uneventful morning. Early patrol had consisted of dealing with one minor spirit with a compulsion to spread gift wrap everywhere, and Isaac’s small kicks of wind made quick work of the litter.

The lunch bell rang, and Isabel hurried to her locker to put away her books. The four of them had promised to eat lunch together outside and possibly share what they had gotten with the others. She thought about how Isaac would try to play it off as if he hadn’t looked at his gift yet when he had been keeping the plush ninja bunny really badly hidden in his jeans pocket all morning and grinned.

Upon kicking the locker door open, she was greeted with what looked like a shoebox with red Santa wrapping paper awkwardly balancing above her books. The spectral quickly glanced around to see if she was being watched and just barely caught a glimpse of red retreating. Shrugging it off, she grabbed her prize and headed to the schoolyard.

Unsurprisingly, Isaac was gushing about the bunny, his eyes reminding her of those “canine eye inflation disease” posters her grandfather had put up in her room. It was a well-crafted rabbit, from what she could see, and the black ninja garb combined with a small metal headband was a nice touch.

“Oh man Izzy, you’re gonna love what Max got,” Ed chirped as she plopped down beside the three.

“I’m serious, whoever told my Secret Santa about this is dead,” Max groaned as he revealed a model train set from his box. Isabel laughed heartily. “My dad is never going to stop running this thing! It’ll be puffing around upstairs until Halloween!”

“How long did it take Stephen to figure it out, by the way?” she asked Ed, who mirrored her devious grin.

“Two periods and I’m pretty sure Ollie was in on it.”

“Do I even want to know what awful fate you brought upon that fool?”

“Hey, when I told him the alien was right behind him, I wasn’t lying. And the Velcro stuck pretty well, all things considered.”

After hearing Isaac gush about the bunny some more (she recalled a scant few times where his voice reached that high of a pitch) and watching Ed reveal his gift of some art supplies and an Optimus Prime robot, the kids turned their attention to Isabel’s red box.

“The tag just says ‘Guerra!’ on it with no sender, so we’re off to a good start already”, Max said dryly as she carefully tore at the paper.

Isaac complained that he wanted to use that paper for later, so Isabel removed it carefully as to make it as whole as possible. Soon the box was bare, and the kids shot each other gleeful looks. Isabel ripped the box open.

Everyone paused. The boys shot uncertain glances at their friend, who stared at the contents with the blankest look on her face any of them had ever seen.

The box was filled with spiders of various sizes, colors and materials. Felt spiders with pom-pom bodies and googly eyes stared innocently upwards, a drawing of a spider eating a dog was taped to the side of the box, and spiders crafted with pebbles and glue stubbornly stuck to the bottom.

There were three origami spiders scattered throughout the box, each done in a different style. One of them had red eyes, saw-tooth fangs and an oddly misshapen head.

There was a handwritten note taped to the lid.

“Guerra,

I heard you lost your spider pal. Having somebody you love leave you stings something awful. So I made you a bunch of spiders that will never die on you ever. Plus to give you something to remember your friend by.

-

PS. They eat dogs”

“They didn’t even write their name on it?” Isaac murmured as Isabel picked up the red-eyed origami spider, slowly turning it in her palm.

“Izzy?” Ed asked gently as his friend traced an hourglass shape into the spider’s body. She stole a glance behind her of the red-haired idiot she’d seen earlier, propped up against a tree just within her line of sight, doing what looked like his best not to fall asleep. “You OK?”

She turned to her friends with a small smile, tucking the odd spider into the deep pocket of her jacket.

“Yeah. I’m just fine.”

[pnatsecretsanta]

Johnny Jhonny in: A Christmas Calamity

A STORY!/ IT’S DONE!/ FOR @pjmaxsson! Apologies for getting this out so late, I hope that this little tale brings you a bit of belated Christmas cheer, and more! Without further ado, here is:

Johnny Jhonny in: A Christmas Calamity

“ARGH!”

Johnny Jhonny kicked one of the small snow piles haphazardly placed along the sidewalk. The holiday season, as with most things in Mayview, had been bizarre so far, with a mild snowstorm being followed by a mild warm front. Only a thin layer of snow remained, save for the large dirty piles left by the snowplows.

“Out of anyone I coulda gotten, I had ta’ get Isabel Guerra? That chick’s impossible to get information on!”

“Well if it’s any consolation, she probably won’t murder you if you get it messed up. Pretty sure Lisa knows I got Violet ‘cause she’s been giving me that creepy smile for the past three days. Plus, I don’t think RJ even got someone from our grade,” Ollie chimed in.

RJ nodded in agreement, their furrowed brow hidden by their hood.

“None of this would even be a PROBLEM if Mr. Garcia had handed out these assignments earlier!” Stephen cried out, waving his hands in an exaggerated motion. “THREE DAYS to deliver a Secret Santa present?! We’re gonna have to do our investigations separately!”

               The group, sans RJ, groaned at that. Gift giving for them was nothing to be taken lightly; each member of Johnny’s Gang would meticulously search for, or more often create, something for their target that would have some kind of personal connection for them, a tactic that extended to any poor fool that they got saddled with for a Secret Santa. This, of course, could take a bit of time to gather enough information to make such a gift, which the boys (and RJ) preferred doing together. That plan was now ruined thanks to Mr. Garcia sleeping through the day he was supposed to hand the slips out, on top of his continued forgetting.

               There was a nudge on Johnny’s arm, and he swerved to see where RJ was pointing. At the base of the hill they were slowly traversing down was his target, a maroon sweater barely peeking out under a stone grey jacket, mahogany hair lightly nestled at the shoulders. There’s no way Guerra wouldn’t suspect an ambush if the four of them went down, a thought Johnny saw reflected in his compadres’ eyes.

               “Go get ‘em, slugger!” whispered Stephen with a shove that was anything but soft, sending Johnny stumbling nearly a quarter of the way down the slope before he caught his footing. Halfway down the hill, Johnny stopped and gave a quick glance at his pals, who gave waves of encouragement and thumbs up as a response.

—

About three feet in, Johnny was able to gather one bit of information on Isabel Guerra:

She had really weird ideas for recreational activities.

After a few close calls, he had managed to tail her into a weird-looking cave mound. The damp walls seemed to eat up any light, as Johnny had soon found it hard to see even a foot in front of him, and the soft ground obscured any sounds he could have used to follow her. The paths were wide (he surmised that Ollie could easily walk beside him) and winding ever downward, and the bully soon realized that there were multiple sprawling paths. Johnny silently cursed himself for not charging his phone the day before. At least there would have been a small light source if he had.

The small, uneven muttering up ahead caught his attention.

“Oh geez. Oh man. D-did I go the right way? How are there so many paths? What if Mr. Max is hurt? What if that thing comes back? Ohhh…”

Slowly, Johnny crept up to the voice, hearing it fret over many things. He squinched up his eyes, trying to think. This definitely wasn’t Isabel-her voice could command the room, confidence would ooze from every sound she made.

“I can’t stay here worrying about this! Mr. Max needs me! But…”

“Who the heck’re you?”

               “WAAAUGH!”

Johnny could just barely make out the hazy shape of a boy about his age in front of him, quaking intensely. He wouldn’t have enough time to ruffle this one up, he figured. Got too far away from Guerra already. He’d have to make this quick in order to catch up to her and hopefully hear her let something slip.

“A’ight fella, this is the way it’s gonna work here. I’m feeling pretty generous t’day. Gotta make sure I get the deets on somebody real fast n’ stuff. I’m not even gonna stop ta’ beat ya’ up right now, my mood’s that good. Just tell me where the Guerra chick went.”

“Uhhh…I…don’t know who…that is..?” came the hasty reply.

“Er.. Isabel Guerra? Brown eyes, long brown hair, gray jacket? ”

“…Oh. OH!” The boy seemed to perk up a little upon hearing that. “That’s the scary girl’s name? The one from that weird dodgeball game, right?”

“Hitball, yeah, she was t’ other captain. Besides me.”

“O-oh, okay. I, uh, wasn’t paying too much attention to the game…mostly just watching Max. Ah! Are you the guy Max blocked that ball for?”

That one stung a little. If there was anything that made Johnny Jhonny uncomfortable, it’s someone taking a punishment that should’ve rightfully been his.

“Yeah…that’s me,” he said, the agitation creeping into his voice. “You gonna tell me where the girl went now, or are ya gonna stand here and waste my freakin’ time?”

“Well…I dunno where…Isabel, right? Went exactly…but if she’s in here, that means she’s going to help Max too! Which is good, because this place kinda scares me..”

Great. This kid wasn’t any help at all, Johnny thought to himself as he began to storm off. Well, as best as he could storm in this place, anyway, as the ground muffled all his footsteps.

“Uh, mister sir, you’re heading into a wall,” the boy provided helpfully right as Johnny smashed his face into a bed of dirt. “Are you able to see in here? Because it looks like you’re squinting pretty hard…”

“Oh, so you can see where yer’ goin’ in this pitch black mess?”

“A-a little, mister sir. This place has a lot of weird turns and forks and dead ends. If you can’t tell where you’re going, you could get pretty lost.”

Johnny suddenly had an idea.

“Right then, it’s settled! I can’t see a foot in fronta’ me, and yer’ too scared to fight…whatever it is you came in here fer’, so you get ta’ do the lookin’ and I’ll do the fightin’! I’ll let ya’ pay me back for it later.”

“Uh…ah…oh…kay”, came the uneasy reply. “There’s a path to your left. It’s straight for a while after that, from what I can see.”

And with that, the two set off.

—

Johnny couldn’t tell how long he’d been walking in silence for. At least with the Ed ambush a few days prior, he’d been able to gauge some method of progress by seeing just where Ed was and what he was up to. But here there wasn’t anything to see ahead of him. He could barely hear his own footsteps on the ground if he paid enough attention, but he couldn’t hear the other kid’s at all, even though with a glance he could see the kid steadily at his side.

He wasn’t scared, of course. It was just a dark silent cave, that’s all. Nothing that pathetic could scare Johnny Jhonny.

He was, admittedly, just a little creeped out. He needed something to keep his mind off of this. Besides Guerra, of course. No sense chasing Guerra with some hyped up senses that’d give him away.

“So what’s your deal, anyway? If yer’ so scared of everything, whatcha even come to a spooky cave for?” he asked.

The sad little laugh’s proximity made him jump.

“I was trying to go around with Max a little bit, to see the town again. I thought maybe I could become a little braver, maybe even help in a fight…but then a big spirit came up and grabbed him! I followed it here, but then Max dropped his bat trying to get out of its arms, and I rushed in to help and give it back to him. He can’t fight real good without it… but this is a big cave, and I can’t get the bat to him without going through it, and it’s dark and I got scared…”

Johnny stared at the kid with only the slightest expression of disbelief. “You wanna learn how to fight?”

               “I have to be able to help out when he gets attacked! So I can have his back! Because that’s what friends do!”

There was a sense of conviction in the kid’s voice that wasn’t there before. A conviction immediately lost when the floor shook and a deep rumble emanated from below, if the higher pitched wailing that came from his position was anything to go by.

Once the rumbling stopped and Johnny confirmed that he could not beat the earthquake into submission, he turned and gently slapped his hand over the general area of his partner’s head. Although he missed his mouth entirely, it still worked wonders in stopping the kid’s terrified babbling.

“Tell ya what, ya picked a good day ta run into me. I’ll whip ya up into ship-shop shape so you can wallop all yer problems while I’m out nerd hunting. A’course, you’ll have to pay me back with interest…”, he said, cracking his knuckles for effect, but secretly impressed that the kid was trying to take initiative.

He was not expecting a shaky, uncertain “thank you” as a response, but it filled him with a weird sense of pride, and soon an exchange of stories began.

—-

To the timid kid’s credit, he had kept his end of the bargain.

Johnny soon realized the kid was a good eavesdropper, since he mentioned that he only knew the girl for a few days. He would’ve quicker taken Isabel to be a dog person afraid of spiders than the other way around. Apparently she was close to her spider too, the one that she’d lost recently. Called it a friend. Johnny could relate; the loss of his boxer four years ago still hurt to think about somewhat. She was also Max’s friend, so of course she’d be into the freaky flipping and jumping around he did constantly. Between her and that spiky nerd dude, freaky movements seemed to be something of a requirement for being that kid’s buddy. He made a mental note to himself to practice some moves with his pals later to show him up.

Some of the facts were a bit harder to make sense of. According to him, she had come with some “scary guy with glasses” to help sort out a…evil whale frog the other day? Riding a paper horse? With the kid’s luck he probably found that weirdo history teacher that’s always wearing shades, but with the kid’s track record of jumping at the smacking sounds of Johnny’s hands, he could’ve been scared of pretty much anyone.

And if what the kid was saying was true, he had somehow managed to punch a teacher in the face for “being evil”. Not a bad start to a fighting career, even if he said that he ran and hid behind Max immediately after.

On his own side, Johnny had launched into relaying many of his and his gang’s bouts over the years, placing emphasis on each blow, duck and dodge. What started out as giving advice on which attacks are what, when people are giving them and how to take/sidestep them quickly derailed into making as great a story as possible. Johnny was just too used to framing these stories for his pals. His partner didn’t seem to mind it too much, though, and every hushed “wow” and question of what happened next only served to hype him up further. He told of turf wars and stakeouts, of the gang catching up to a group of cyclists that had bought the last of the candy that RJ had been looking forward to all week, even his battle with Ed and the Great Starch Hunt.

“’An then he gave us stars from his own pocket for beatin’ him, and Ed took off for greater quarry. Gotta meet up with him later to get RJ’s stuff back…an’ mine too, come ta think of it. Then we got thrown inta’ detention.”

“Wow, mister sir, you sure do get into a lot of adventures.”

“Whoa whoa, knock it off with the ‘mister sir’ crap, yer makin’ me feel old.”

“I don’t think you’ve told me your name though.”

“Wha-you don’t know my name? After everything I just told you?”

“S-sorry…”

“The name’s Johnny. Johnny Jhonny. Forget it and I whack ya.”

“Ah, okay mister Johnny.”

There was a small back and forth about not using “mister” and the kid’s inability to get it through his head, followed by a weird silence, until a small question piped up from the compatriot:

“So you were always good at fighting the bad guys and…other guys, huh? I hope I can be that fearless someday.”

Johnny paused. The image of an angry Jeff from a few days before surfaced in his head, mocking him for protecting his buddies and promising a permanent scar. He remembered how that ball came sailing towards his pals and how much it’d hurt them if he moved. How people kept taking shots for him that weren’t meant for them: Dimitri, Max…

…and how readily RJ and Ollie were to take them, too.

“…That ain’t it. Listen, it’s not about never bein’ scared. That Hitball game where everythin’ went nuts? I acted all brave to calm down my buds, but…I was shakin’ inside. But I took that fear and threw it right back at that little punk. You just gotta take all that terror that’s buildin’ in your chest and put it in your fists instead. Pick up all that fear those jerks put in ya and make ‘em take it back tenfold.”

“How do you do that, Johnny sir?”

The “sir” wasn’t much better, but Johnny brushed it aside for now. “Well, you know how you keep screamin’ whenever somethin’ spooks ya? Make it louder. Make it a war cry! Bellow and yell in their face and make em’ pay for makin’ that sound come outta’ your mouth! And when you think maybe you should book it, or get worried that you can’t take the fight, you think of how your friends would be in the same spot as you, and how they’d get hurt instead, and then you beat up that foe for daring to put that image in your head!”

There was a pause before he spoke again with as much mentorly conviction as he could muster.

“Ya’ don’t let those punks hurt your friends. Ya gotta stand by your pals, fight by their side, so they don’t take blows that ain’t their due.”

“Because that’s what friends do.”

“Exactly.”

A few seconds passed without any words. Johnny then piped up again.

“Y’know, I don’t think you ever told me your name neither.”

“Oh. Uhm..it’s PJ. I’m PJ.”

Johnny couldn’t really see the kid’s face at all, but he could feel the smile from where he was standing. Or maybe that was just the small smile creeping up on his own face. He wasn’t sure, but the area felt calmer, the silence almost welcoming.

That didn’t last.

Another rumble cut through the air, and the quakes nearly threw the bully to the ground. Then another noise, just loud enough for Johnny to make out, bellowed from below.

“KKKKKKKREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!”

“That’s the spirit that got mister Max! It’s close!” shouted PJ before a third rumble sounded. Johnny felt loose soil fall into his hair and vigorously ran his hands through his ‘do. He wasn’t exactly sure what a “spirit” meant, or what could’ve possibly made that noise, but it wasn’t going to stop him from following Guerra. He charged ahead.

Straight into a wall of dirt.

“Ahh! The path is blocked off! It must have touched the soil again!”

“Wha..?” came the muffled reply.

“The spirit can touch things! It moved the soil around earlier when I was making my way in!”

Johnny felt hands on his shoulders for a brief moment before he was catapulted backwards. His hands quickly found soft fabric and the two sped away back up the hallway, swerving and curving to avoid pieces of the ceiling falling down around them. The tremors intensified, and Johnny swung back, bracing himself to punch an enemy he couldn’t see.

KLANG!!

It took a minute for his ears to stop screaming at him, but the vibrations underneath him seemed to halt. His foot slipped for half a second over a pit that he didn’t think was there before. As the ringing subsided, his head pieced together what that noise could have been.

“Hehey, that sounded like a solid hit! Looks like ya got more punch than ya thought, lil slugger!”

“Uh…I didn’t actually swing at it…it came up from underneath me and hit the bat with its face…”

“A solid hold then. You held the bat steady while it came at ya.”

“I was more frozen in fear…”

“Dude, take the compliment before I shove it down your throat hole.”

“OK, Johnny sir.”

“NO, it’s just—you don’t have ta—ah, forget it.”

Johnny turned back and felt around the edges of the hole with his shoe. Whatever came up from the ground was huge, as it took him a while to find a part of the soft earth that wasn’t sloping into the pit. He had half a mind to try throwing something in it to hear how deep it went, but the way the ground was, he wouldn’t be able to hear how far something went anyway.

With no other options, the two started backtracking farther up the cave.

—

“Hey, come ta think of it…PJ, are you in your pajamas?”

“Oh. Yeah, I guess so.”

“Why’d you come down here in your pajamas when it’s this cold out? You lookin’ to catch a flu or something?”

“I can’t really…touch anything unless it’s possessed. …or a spirit… …or Max…or people with special powers.”

“Whaddya mean you can’t touch things? You’re holding Max’s bat. You just touched me like five minutes ago!”

“This is Max’s special weapon with special powers! I can touch it because it’s full of magic.”

“Yeah, well I ain’t no freaky jumpin’ wizard with wizard tools, and ya touched me, so there. What the heck are you talking about with ‘spirits’ anyway? You saying this cave is full of ghosts or something?”

“I don’t think spirits are the same thing as ghosts… they’re weird. They can be really big, or small, and they all have powers, and they can have legs.”

“Ha! Now I know yer’ bluffin’! Stephen told me that ghosts look like super see-through people with a faint bluish tint on ‘em. Only the ones from other places don’t got feet.”

There was an awkward silence. Johnny couldn’t see the face of his partner beside him, but he could tell that the look on his face was one of confusion.

“…You’re new to this, aren’t you?”

Before Johnny could ask him what the heck that was supposed to mean, the rumbling returned. The large, soft chunks of dirt rained down on Johnny’s shoulders, and the ground beneath him quickly lost stability. Small hills of soil quickly piled up near his feet.

The place was caving in.

Johnny quickly found PJ’s arms (though there was little need, as his hands had already found Johnny’s wrists as soon as the rumbles had begun again) and booked it back up the path. He soon found it hard to block out the burning running up his side, or his lungs crying out for air, or the urge to remove all the dirt from his hair, but the twists and turns the path soon divulged helped distract him ever so slightly.

There was only one brief stop, when two other shadows crossed their path, one yanking the other forward in a similar manner. The long hair fluttering into the other shadow’s face was a dead giveaway for Guerra, but when Johnny tried to follow her, he ran into another wall. The place must be coming down fast if he was blocked off that quickly, he thought, and scrambled back as fast as he could to get the heck out of Chrysler.

After more twists and turns and dodges, a blinding light made its presence known. Johnny raced forward, the screaming in his sides unmatched by the crumbling walls becoming more evident from the light. As the exit loomed nearer and the snowy woods came into focus, he noticed the archway begin to buckle. He forced himself forward as fast as he could muster as the shiny white window to the outside became polluted with fallen sediment. He could feel the cool air on his skin and in his lungs, soothing his aching….well, everything. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the roof give entirely. He threw both of his arms forward in desperation, only dimly realizing that the grip he’d felt on his arm had vanished.

Suddenly he felt a hard shove from behind, and everything went white.

—

Johnny lied on the ground for a few seconds, allowing the small layer of snow to soothe his burning limbs. Each inhale brought both pain and relief. Slowly, he got back up to his feet, rubbing tiny patches of nearby snow underneath his pant legs to numb them ever so slightly and surveying the ground.

For the most part, the woods looked about the same as when he had entered, though he hadn’t been paying much attention to the ground at the time. Every track in the snow looked fresh, so it hadn’t snowed any further after he had entered the cave. A massive gouge in the frozen fluff confirmed that someone had been dragged into the mound, and he could see his shoeprints from his stalking mission, his wavy treads trailing just behind a far smoother and slightly smaller boot print.

He paused, then looked around the marks again. There were only two types of prints in the snow. Unless the kid had trod over the haphazard gouge, that was one type too few.

A small gleam caught his eye, and as he registered what was giving off such a glare, his eyes widened.

Lying three or four steps away from his position was an aluminum bat.

His head quickly snapped up to the cave’s entrance. The once great gaping maw that had lead down to the damp dark underneath had been entirely filled with moist brown soil.

There was no sign of life nearby.

He tried to scream for his cave companion, but his voice flickered in and out like a match refusing to light. Within seconds he was at the cave’s entrance, frantically clawing out bits of earth, searching for an opening, his trembling legs and pinwheeling arms providing the howling his throat could not produce.

As he opened his mouth to attempt crying out a fifth time, another scream filled the area for him.

“KKKKKKKREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!”

Johnny stumbled over onto his back, scrambling back into the snow while keeping eye contact with the thing. It was a gigantic mantis, about a few heads taller than a bus, with glowing white eyes the size of the globe Mr. Garcia had in his room. A viscous purple permeated its form and gleamed in the light as if it was made of Jello, and it shimmered like some form of mirage.

It noticed him instantly. Quicker than he’d ever expect a mantis to move, it raised a violet-tinged talon and swung its biological guillotine towards him. The light streaming through the bug caused Johnny’s eyes to water, and he braced himself.

Another familiar sound struck through the air, and his ears cried out in protest.

Johnny blinked away the tears to see another purple shape floating just a few feet in front of him. While the consistency still looked around the same, this one took the form of what looked like a twelve year old kid. A squint revealed what looked to be some form of shirt with a collar and wrist cuffs. There were no sign of legs; instead, the torso tapered off to a wispy serpentine tail. As Johnny stared at the apparition with a quivering mouth and eyes wide as saucers, the purple boy struggled to retain his position. The redhead mentally shook himself and peered beyond the kid; the mantis’s front claws had locked on to the bat the kid was holding and was attempting to push it out from underneath him.

“Aaah! The spirit’s too strong! I can’t keep this up!” the ghost exclaimed as the mantis lowered its head to his eye level, chattering large mandibles that would look less out of place on an ant. Its voice sounded familiar, Johnny thought, and oh sweet merciful Punch why did it sound so familiar, it couldn’t be–

“Please, mister Johnny! Heeelp!”

Johnny glanced from the purple boy to the purple bug and back a few times, his breathing becoming more erratic. It was then that his voice finally burst through in full force.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!”

For a brief second, the boy turned his head just a bit to look at Johnny. He had the same glowing eyes the bug did, as well as a small curl of hair sticking from his top. A look of panic and confusion soon snapped into realization, and the boy turned back and joined in the din.

“RAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!”

It was barely audible above the combined noise of Johnny’s and the bug’s screams, but it was a valiant war cry nonetheless.

Through the wails, Johnny noticed the ghost slowly pushing back upwards against the mantis. The redheaded rogue shot himself to a sitting position and shoved the ghost forward, and the insidious insect buckled. The cold metal of the bat reunited with the behemoth’s face, and as it reeled backward, PJ raised his volume just a little bit, pitched his arms back, and swung the bat right into the creature’s eye. After another round of shrieking, the mantis waved one arm in front of them, and with a tepid “peh”, it retreated back into the earth.

Johnny stared at the spot the mantis had been a second ago in shock, only turning back to the ghost as it floated back in his direction.

“We did it! We beat the bad guy with …uh…violence! And friendship! And violent friendship!” PJ exclaimed as he neared Johnny, his grin somehow resting on the verge of just off-looking enough to be intimidating.

The bully tried to get up, or scramble away, or anything, but his body betrayed him. A fist slowly and haltingly tried to meet the ghost, but even that only made it halfway to its destination before stopping, the limb quaking uselessly in the air. The seconds passed as the ghost stared at the shaking fist until finally he clasped his hand around it.

Johnny’s voice failed him once again, only letting out a small squeak. He could only stare.

After a few minutes, the pajama-clad lad let out an “Oh!”

 “I think that’s Isabel and Max over there!”, he exclaimed. Johnny barely managed to turn his head to see a large smoky red arrow a few yards away. “I have to hurry home too, I sort of didn’t tell Lefty where I was going again and he’s probably going to be real mad if he finds out I left.”

“Bye Johnny! Thanks for everythiiiing!” the ghost cried as he flew away.

 Johnny just stared forward for a few minutes, his body completely spent. His head tried to come up with reasons for what just happened, but to no avail.

It took about ten minutes for his legs to finally work again, and as he made his way back home to complete his mission, the thoughts nagged at his mind.

He fought…something. With a ghost. He had Friendship Fused with a ghost.

He had befriended a ghost.

He shook his head back and forth to try to clear his head. He got what he needed out of the…ghost…and now it was time to put his newfound knowledge to good use.

Operation Season’s Beatings was a go.

—

All things considered, the Activity Club had a rather uneventful morning. Early patrol had consisted of dealing with one minor spirit with a compulsion to spread gift wrap everywhere, and Isaac’s small kicks of wind made quick work of the litter.

The lunch bell rang, and Isabel hurried to her locker to put away her books. The four of them had promised to eat lunch together outside and possibly share what they had gotten with the others. She thought about how Isaac would try to play it off as if he hadn’t looked at his gift yet when he had been keeping the plush ninja bunny really badly hidden in his jeans pocket all morning and grinned.

Upon kicking the locker door open, she was greeted with what looked like a shoebox with red Santa wrapping paper awkwardly balancing above her books. The spectral quickly glanced around to see if she was being watched and just barely caught a glimpse of red retreating. Shrugging it off, she grabbed her prize and headed to the schoolyard.

Unsurprisingly, Isaac was gushing about the bunny, his eyes reminding her of those “canine eye inflation disease” posters her grandfather had put up in her room. It was a well-crafted rabbit, from what she could see, and the black ninja garb combined with a small metal headband was a nice touch.

“Oh man Izzy, you’re gonna love what Max got,” Ed chirped as she plopped down beside the three.

“I’m serious, whoever told my Secret Santa about this is dead,” Max groaned as he revealed a model train set from his box. Isabel laughed heartily. “My dad is never going to stop running this thing! It’ll be puffing around upstairs until Halloween!”

“How long did it take Stephen to figure it out, by the way?” she asked Ed, who mirrored her devious grin.

“Two periods and I’m pretty sure Ollie was in on it.”

“Do I even want to know what awful fate you brought upon that fool?”

“Hey, when I told him the alien was right behind him, I wasn’t lying. And the Velcro stuck pretty well, all things considered.”

After hearing Isaac gush about the bunny some more (she recalled a scant few times where his voice reached that high of a pitch) and watching Ed reveal his gift of some art supplies and an Optimus Prime robot, the kids turned their attention to Isabel’s red box.

“The tag just says ‘Guerra!’ on it with no sender, so we’re off to a good start already”, Max said dryly as she carefully tore at the paper.

Isaac complained that he wanted to use that paper for later, so Isabel removed it carefully as to make it as whole as possible. Soon the box was bare, and the kids shot each other gleeful looks. Isabel ripped the box open.

Everyone paused. The boys shot uncertain glances at their friend, who stared at the contents with the blankest look on her face any of them had ever seen.

The box was filled with spiders of various sizes, colors and materials. Felt spiders with pom-pom bodies and googly eyes stared innocently upwards, a drawing of a spider eating a dog was taped to the side of the box, and spiders crafted with pebbles and glue stubbornly stuck to the bottom.

There were three origami spiders scattered throughout the box, each done in a different style. One of them had red eyes, saw-tooth fangs and an oddly misshapen head.

There was a handwritten note taped to the lid.

“Guerra,

I heard you lost your spider pal. Having somebody you love leave you stings something awful. So I made you a bunch of spiders that will never die on you ever. Plus to give you something to remember your friend by.

-

PS. They eat dogs”

“They didn’t even write their name on it?” Isaac murmured as Isabel picked up the red-eyed origami spider, slowly turning it in her palm.

“Izzy?” Ed asked gently as his friend traced an hourglass shape into the spider’s body. She stole a glance behind her of the red-haired idiot she’d seen earlier, propped up against a tree just within her line of sight, doing what looked like his best not to fall asleep. “You OK?”

She turned to her friends with a small smile, tucking the odd spider into the deep pocket of her jacket.

“Yeah, I’m just fine.”

[mainly-kpop]

Drunken Confessions

She took a deep breath squinting at the canvas, paint layered on in swift, strong strokes with her old reliable brush, some brash and quick allowing paint to splutter and fall off the canvas, others gentle with so much care and detail. She glared a the canvas bending her body forward keeping her feet grounded about 2 feet away from the canvas itself, she was looking for any slight imperfections, something every creative person beats themselves up for. However, unable to spot any thus far she scribbled her quaint signature on the bottom right corner in a black fountain pen, she would allow the canvas to dry before coating it.

Gathering up her brushes she headed to the kitchen sink. This was the most satisfying part for her watching the colours quickly drain from the old worn brushes stained blue from the years of use, it was always a blue tint, the paint pallet she cherished looking like the art she wished she could make on purpose, splatters of colour here there and everywhere dollops of red and blue mixed with black strokes from trying desperately to thin the paint on the brush. It was the most beautiful sight to her but she could never recreate it. She rinsed the brushes setting them to the side and began cleaning up her art room. 

Taking one last look at the drying canvas she smiled, he could never see this, it was one of the many paintings she would keep to herself and hide away. The canvas had his face smack dead in the middle smiling slightly with his sweater paws up at his cheeks, eyes closed tightly as he let her take the photo, she had copied the photo, every detail of the man she loved painted by her hand. His fluffy pink hair which she knew he loved her playing with, even if he never said it out loud. His little cheeks pushed up by his hands making them seem so much chubbier than they were, plush lips pulled up into the sweetest smile and light blue sweater with the smallest specks of pink laced through it pulling the entire work all together. He truly was an angel. She sighed flicking the light off and closing the door gently behind her.

Snapchat from chim chim

She picked up her phone and smiled at the notification. Opening up the picture message and rolling her eyes, He was shirtless holding up a horrible orange and blue t-shirt with a quizzical look on his face captioned 'should I wear hyungs shirt to get drunk tonight?' She clicked off the photo sighing slightly knowing exactly what the rest of the night had in store. Giving in as always she pressed reply smiling as the photo snapped typing out a casual response, well as casual as she could with him snapchatting her shirtless. 

'oh yes, you'll get all the ladies' She sent back throwing her phone down. When Jimin went out drinking one of two things always happen, he ends up calling her to come get him because he's too drunk to call a taxi. Which when she thinks about it must be an excuse, he always goes out with the guys so why wouldn’t they call a taxi? Anyway eventually they end up snuggling all night and never talk about it again. Or he calls her to pick him up and they talk about feelings and cry until they pass out on the couch covered in popcorn and tissues, she confessed how she felt one night just before they fell asleep, but they never spoke about that again either so she decided to pretend it never happened and continue on. However she could never just pretend her feelings weren’t there, the rest of the boys could see it so why couldn’t he? She would guess that's why she drops everything for him, anytime he calls she's there. Like a little lost lamb looking her flock. It would be a matter of time before he called, all she had to do was wait.

'She says I would get all the girls in your shirt.' Jimin repeats to the eldest. Jin rolls his eyes looking at the younger man smirking.

'We all know there's only one girl you want jimin, now put your ugly shirt on and stop sending her nude Snapchats.' Jimin huffed flustered screaming after Jin slipping the shirt over his head.

'I WAS NOT NUDE!!' Jimin rolled his eyes running after him throwing the ugly shirt over his head. ‘I had boxers on...’ He trailed off walking behind him sulking. 

‘I don’t know why you don’t just tell her how you feel dude its so obvious how you both feel, the only people who can’t see it are you blind bats.’ Yoongi spoke smacking him across the top of his head. Jimin wanted to tell her, he really did, he remembered the words she spoke that night, the small confession falling from her lips before she could stop them. He remembered it all, he wished he had said something that morning, wished he had kissed her softly and told her, sober, that he felt the same way. He didn’t, he just pretended like it never happened. 

Call from chim chim

'Hello Jimin what a wonderful surprise, I wasn't expecting to hear from you tonight at all!' She speaks voice laced with sarcasm, she gets herself up from her bed and throws on her shoes and a jacket grabbing her keys and walking out her house. She climbed into her car and started the engine heating up the car while she waits, all she could her was him rambling on and some girl in the back screaming over the music at how good of a dancer he is. She rolled her eyes huffing out a sigh, could this girl just maybe back off? 

'Oh my godddd don't be such a meanie you know I love you. OMG get off of my arm I don’t even know your name, there’s a weird person touching me help.' He shouts over the music slurring 90% of his words, She let out a laugh at his predicament. Jimin never liked the thought of a nigh club or bar hook up, thought it was sleazy and dangerous, but he would never tell the rest of the boys that. 

‘I don’t know Jimin, are you sure you want me to pick you up? You seem like you’re quite pre-occupied...’ she held in a giggle as she heard him whine down the other end of the phone. 

‘Please, i’m begging you, get me out of here, i’ll give you so many hugs and kisses you’ll want me to go please.’ her heart skipped a beat, she knew he was just saying it so he could get out of there, but it didn’t stop her hoping.  

'where are you tonight Jimin?' She placed the phone on speaker placing it on the dashboard and reversing out the driveway.

'Me!?! You'd come and pick ME up that's so sweet of you!' as if he didn’t just beg her to remove him from this damn girls clutches. He slurs out the name of a sleazy bar and she set off towards it hanging up on him without another word.

She could never understand his obsession with going out every other day they get off, she could never understand what he got out of it, never understood why he always called her instead of just going home with everyone else. At the end of the day, maybe she just didn't understand him. Park Jimin was confusing, and that is the only thing she was certain of.

She pulled up getting out her car and stepping into the bar finding him in the usual place, the middle of the dance floor. She spotted the rest of the boys and gave them a small nod as they shot her a pained look. She walked over to Jimin as he whispered in the girls ear, she looked around at her, stomped her heel and walked away, Jimin reached out for her arm and pulled her in for a quick cuddle. 

‘I told her you’re my girlfriend, looks like shes disappointed.’ He whisper shouted oh so casually in her ear, it gave her goosebumps down her spine and she knew fine well he could feel her shudder under his grasp, she pulled away looking at his face he was smiling from ear to ear giggling innocently at her. She rolled her eyes and pulled at his arm to lead him off the dance floor and into her car.  

‘WAIT can we stay for one dance?’ He made puppy dog eyes as he looked at her, she melted under his gaze him towering a few inches above her, however she shook her head and dragged him away and out sending one last wave to the boys. 

‘Why did you do that, I wanted to dance with you!’ he shouted, she turned around with the most fed up look she could pull together. He was like a five year old most of the time and honestly she couldn’t understand how she had fallen head over heels for this idiot. 

‘Jimin, i’m going to get a ticket if we don’t leave come on, we can dance when we get home.’ He stomped to the car sliding into the passenger side crossing his arms like a child, she let a little snort fall out as she looked at him sitting all grumpy in the car. She slid in too, starting the car and driving them both home.

'Can you stop pretending to be in a huff at me please, it's rather boring.' She spoke keeping her eyes on the road. Jimin looked at her flabbergasted, how dare she insinuate he was pretending!  

'how do you know I'm pretending I could be really angry right now.' She took a quick glance at him just to make sure he wasn’t really mad, when she saw the side of his face she smiled knowingly. 

'you push your lips out too far when you pretend and you have a little smile pulling at the corner, you're such a faker Park Jimin and you know it.' He let out a little giggle and she knew she had cracked him, they pull up at her house and she locks the car before following a stumbling Jimin up to the front door.

'take a seat on the couch, I'll make us some toast or something.' He ran off to the living room as she went into the kitchen. The toast was finished quickly so she carried two plates through to the living room to find jimin no where in sight, instantly she thought the worst placing the plates on the coffee table she bolted to the spare room which she converted into her art space, Jimin wasn't there and she puffed out a breath of relief. Closing the door gently and slowly behind her she turned around to continue searching for him to find him standing right behind her trying to peer into the room. 

'Whats in there?' Jimin slurred, she jumped about a foot in the air placing her hand over her heart trying her best to steady her pulse. Jimin had caught sight of a painting hanging on the wall, it looked like flowers but nothing he had seen around before. Tae was really into art so if it had been popular or famous, Jimin would probably know about it. Although, his vision was still rather hazy, so it could have been damn butterfly for all he knew. 

'nothing, eat your toast you brat.' Jimin pouted but sat down on the couch none the less. 

'you never let me in that room, I don't understand what could be so bad, I saw a painting are you an art thief or something?!' He spoke with a mouth full of toast, she looked at him disgusted as crumbs and food fell out his mouth onto his jeans, rolling her eyes she began eating hers too.

'it's nothing bad Jimin it's just no one's business, also if i was an art thief don’t you think i would have a better house than this?' Jimin shrugged his shoulders. Usually she would let him see. He had been nagging her for a while about it, but she remembered the beautiful painting of him sitting on the canvas fully dried by now, he can't see it. He shouldn't see it. He wouldn't reciprocate it. He wouldn’t understand why she had painted him in such detail, why there was drawings and sketches, doodles and paintings of him everywhere in that little room, especially in his inebriated form.

'I'm your best friend! How could you not want to show me everything!' Jimin spoke flicking the TV on, he wasn't really bothered. Not all that much, its not like he didn't have secrets too, but curiosity would get the better of him eventually I mean the room is right there, just calling out to him. It would really be a shame if he was to just slip in there at some point... a real damn shame. 

'and what if I don't want you to be my best friend anymore? Hmm what if I think you suck?' She challenged him smirking at his face, mouth hung open in shock. He quickly gathered himself head still fuzzy from the overwhelming amount of alcohol in his system.

'I really like you, do you know that? The boys keep making fun of me, just tell her, tell her Jimin she might feel the same, funny huh? I couldn't do that I'm too shy.' He rambled, her eyes popped out her head for a second it was a random time to say it and then she realised. This happens every time. One of the many things that broke her heart, she would let it pass again, just like she always did.

'Ah Jimin, if only you remember how many times you've said this...' she said as far under her breath as she could, Jimin heard it. He always meant it, but like he said he was always so nervous around you, you made his hands sweat and his mouth dry, he couldn’t say something as stupid as 'oh hey you're cute wanna date?' god he wants to smack himself at the thought.

'Do you want anything else?' She spoke standing up with both plates in hand, Jimin shakes his head before turning back to the television. She placed them down on the counter and headed to the bathroom to turn the shower on, he stank of sweat and alcohol there was no getting passed it. She gathered a towel and a change of clothes for him and placed them in the bathroom shouting him through.

'is this a hint to something!?' he spoke raising an eyebrow trying to take off his shirt, she knew what he was suggesting and she was tempted, oh so very fucking tempted, alas she restrained placing her hand over the hem of his shirt pulling it back down the inch it had been raised, she rolled her eyes. 

'yes, you smell of sweat, women's perfume and alcohol. Get in the damn shower' She closed the door behind him letting him shower in peace. She began cleaning what needed to be done busying herself as much as she could instead of thinking about the naked man in her shower. She grabbed blankets and pillows putting them on the couch, walking through to the kitchen cleaning counters until she heard his feet come tapping down the hallway. 

'I love coming here you treat me so well y/n' He spoke in a low voice, he was still fairly drunk, that's why he had so much confidence to come into the kitchen in only a towel holding his old clothes in one hand and the clean ones in the other. 'can we wash these they smell too.' she turned around at the sound of his voice looking down his body, the water droplets falling from his hair rippling down his chest picking a path through his Abs. She always knew he was physically fit under all those clothes but she had never really seen it all that much, despite being friends all this time.

'you seem to like what you see.' He stated, no sass just facts. She cleared her throat grabbing the smelly clothes from his hands throwing them in the machine avoiding his gaze at all costs. He obviously knew the effect he had on her, and it was going to make him intensely annoying if he remembered any of this later. 

'I'm just wondering why you don't have clothes on Jimin, seems a bit rude to walk around someones home naked.' He frowned at her as she made eye contact once again trying her best to keep her eyes on his.

'on the contrary my love I'm not naked I have-' He snakes his hand around his hips pulling the towel off completely she covers her eyes instantly wanting to at least leave something to the imagination. 'boxers on! You ninny you thought I'd show you all of this, in your dreams!` she rolled her eyes smacking his chest and throwing the clean clothes at him.

'get dressed and join me on the couch you idiot, there's blankets and pillows there already.' walking through to the living room plopping herself on the couch she waited for Jimin. He put on his t-shirt grabbing a glass of water, he was starting to sober up a little and his head was going to start hurting very soon. He joined her on the couch shuffling as close to her as he could pulling the blanket over the top of both of them. He loved her company, the way she rolled her eyes everytime he said or did something dopey or how her hair falls perfectly without her having to do anything to it, how she smells like lavender and coconut and how no matter what she radiated heat, Jimin wanted to be close to her at all times. He took a quick glance at her out of the corner of his eye

She had her finger in her mouth, chewing on it gently, not enough to break the skin or her nail but enough to leave little Teeth marks. Eyebrows knitted together concentrating on the show they were watching, one Jimin had not payed the slightest bit of attention to. Hair pulled gently to one side so he could see her full side profile, she was beautiful, way out of his league if anyone was to ever ask, but no one would, everyone just assumed she liked him back, she never gave any reason to assume so recently. 

'I'm going to the toilet tell me what happens.' Jimin nodded as she scurried off out the room, now was as good a time as any, Jimin stumbled drunkenly towards the forbidden room. This might break the trust of the friendship, he knew this but he needed to know. He quickly pushed the door open so she wouldn't hear it creek open he closed it gently behind him and flicked the light on. Looking around all he saw were paintings beautiful ones at that, why would she want to hide these? Landscapes painted with blues and greens, trees and flowers dotted across it carelessly but beautifully. Self portraits and random scenes, he was mesmerised wondering what the most recent one she had painted was.

Then he spotted it maybe a little too late but he spotted it. Clear as day no mistake, it was his own face staring back at him, he remembered the day so vividly he wanted to hang out, she was feeling poorly and didn't want to go anywhere. Jimin had dragged her out to the nearest coffee shop and forced some random ass tea down her throat 'it's to heal you' He had said as if it was some magic tea. His face was all the healing she ever needed, he made her smile and made her so happy there was nothing she wanted more.

He stroked his hand gently over the colours on the painted sweater, careful not to smudge the paint, pinks and blues making the pinks of his cheeks even brighter, he was in awe at the painting he almost didn't hear the door swing open behind him.

'Jimin what are-' She began before she was instantly interrupted.

'did you do this? I mean not just this one, all of these?' he spoke softly, almost like if he spoke above a whisper something would break, his voice would crack something. He didn't look at her, not just yet, to busy eyeing up the paintings and the portraits of him, all the boys, her, pencil drawings thrown on the desk, coloured pencil sketches half finished. Paintings drawings, canvases and paper, it was messy but he felt there was so much more to look at so much he hadn't seen yet.

'yes.' she spoke if he wasn't waiting for an answer he wouldn't have heard her.

'They're beautiful, all of them.' Her eyes shot up to him watching his body move around the room. He didn't mind, he didn't mind she obsessively drew him, she let out a breath she was holding relieved.

'wait... You're not mad?' he turned around eyebrows knitted together in the upmost confusion, he was tipsy still but what could he be angry about?

'mad? Mad about what?' She walked further into the room closing the door behind her, she shut out her way to run away from this, she needed to face this head on, now or never.

'mad that I'm drawing you, I mean it's not just that one... There’s more... So much more.' She still avoided eye contact with him looking at the doodles of Tae or the doodle of Yoongi and Jimin looking at something on Taes phone. He put his finger under her chin, standing so much closer than he had been before she looked up at him pulling her lip between her teeth thinking about whether she should show him or not. He looked down at her lip putting his thumb on the top of her chin pulling the lip out from between her teeth. He watched the way it fell from their grasp, watched the way the blood rushed back to her lip and up her cheeks dusting them in the palest pink. She moved to what would have been the closet pulling the door open letting him see the canvases sitting on shelves and stacked against the walls, she stood aside letting him rummage through them.

Paintings of Jimin from coffee days out and shopping trips. When he was drunk on her couch or the pictures they took together painted on almost all canvases.  A few landscapes also thrown in the small closet that couldn't fit in the room anymore. Jimin picked up some of the notebooks he found flicking through them. Pencil drawings of her family, of the boys, drawings of Jin laughing and Jungkook smiling oil drawings of Namjoon dancing and Jhope scowling at his wrong moves, Jimin let out a giggle at that one. He picked up another book seeing his name scribbled on the front he frowned, she had retreated back to the canvas of him skimming her eyes over it trying to pretend Jimin hadn't seen it. Hadn't looked at it. Meanwhile Jimin was stuck on one drawing, in coloured pencil like she had coloured as she went. It was a picture of Jimin dancing in the practice room, he had been practising the spring day routine and she had caught a picture of him just as he had pushed his body up from the ground, the look of concentration drawn perfectly in his face.

'hey can I keep this one?' he questioned softly pointing at the drawing she raised her eyebrows In shock, I mean it was a decent drawing but she had done better, so much better.

'That one? Really?' He nodded softly smiling she walked over taking the book out of his hands, skimming through it gently, deciding she didn't really need any of the book she placed it back in his hands.

'keep it, it's my favourite one, but I'd like for you to have it.' He looked up at her surprised. ‘Actually take what you like, i’m sure the boys might enjoy some of it too.’ 

'you're something else you know that?' He whispered placing a small kiss on her forehead, she looked up at him eyes fluttering closed as she placed a small gentle kiss on his lips. His lips were soft and plump against hers, she pulled away quickly realising what she had just done, she cleared her throat quickly and backed away slightly. He panicked, he didn't want it to end, he didn't want her to just stop, he didn't want this all of this to just stop. Jimin was sober enough now to know what he was doing and what he wanted. Sober enough to say what he wants and mean it, he grabbed onto her wrist and pulled her body into his, her hand slamming onto his chest to stable herself. He pushed her head up to look into his eyes.

'I wasn't kidding about what I said earlier, even if I was rambling, even if I was drunk, I like you, and I don't want to go back to just being friends, I can't do it, not again.' He put his hand on the back of her neck pulling her in gently, pushing his lips back onto hers. She pulled away smiling, finally getting what she had been waiting on this whole damn time. 

‘I like you too you idiot I’ve been telling you for years..’ She whispered closing her eyes and resting her forehead on his chest. Jimin placed a small kiss on the top of her head smiling.

‘I know, I was just an idiot. Now what can I take home with me?’ 

[kootenaygoon]

So,

Becca had diamonds on her fingertips. 

I’d known her long enough to understand that everything she touched turned to magic, so it didn’t surprise me the way Slocan Lake seemed to sparkle as she let the water tumble from her hands. She pleaded for me to come for a swim while I sat stubborn on the beach in my boxers, smoking my third joint of the day. The lake in front of me seemed as vast and incomprehensible as the sentient ocean in Solaris, that George Clooney movie, and I was scared if I dove under the surface it would claim me like those four kids back in 2014. 

Becca had flown out from Victoria to visit at the beginning of July, and now she was splashing around the shallows in slinky black underwear. Earlier that weekend I’d introduced her to Brendan and the kids, who absolutely loved her. We’d found a few opportunities to have the sort of sex that long distance couples know well, where each encounter is getting mentally indexed for the coming time apart. She was vivacious, eager and unapologetically hedonistic. 

“Do you want to do those mushrooms now?” I asked. “Cuz I’d be game.”

She looked back over her shoulder, wiggled her bum seductively. “Not yet. I only have enough for each of us to take them once, so I want to pick a really special moment. Something perfect.”

I grimaced. “Now seems pretty perfect, to be honest.”

“You still have to drive for another hour. You’d end up tripping in the car and killing us both in some fiery car crash. No thanks.”

“Don’t they take a while to kick in?”

“Be patient, William.”

I’d been feeling low all weekend. On Friday evening I’d taken Becca to see John McKinnon’s sculpture forest in Blewett, which blew her mind, and the plan was to take her to a concert in Lakeside Park that evening. Instead I started drinking in the early afternoon and ended up so shit-faced that I had to call in sick to Tony’s that night. The next day we hiked Pulpit and went out for food at El Taco, but I ended up napping a chunk of the day away while she went exploring solo. I didn’t feel like I was being a very good host, but now at least I was scoring her a free ticket to a music festival I was covering. I was taking her to Kamp.

“You ever see someone and just know that they’re gonna party themselves to death?” I asked, emptying my lungs then taking another drag. “You just see them and you’re like ‘yup, you’re going to kill yourself’.”

“That’s morbid. Why are you asking me this?”

I motioned towards the song coming from my parked RAV. It was “Jump Around” by House of Pain. “You recognize this? From Happy Gilmore?”

Becca smiled, water droplets gleaming like sapphires against her newly pink chest. “Everyone knows that song.”

I smiled, reminiscing. “Well, when I was in Laos seven years ago, I went to this little town where everyone would tube down the river every day. It was out in the middle of the rice paddies, all surrounded by mountains.”

“I’d love to hit Southeast Asia.”

“Well, one day I’m partying with these Brits, heading down the river, and we stop at one of the bars that’s been set up along the riverbanks. And they’re selling whiskey with rattlesnakes coiled up in the bottom of the bottle, or tarantulas...or bees.”

“What’s that all about? Sounds gross.”

“I think the idea is the poison, or the venom, or whatever it is that’s in the whiskey, will get you more fucked up. They gave away those poisoned shots for free to anyone brave enough, and it got people proper sloshed so they would spend more money.”

“What does this have to do with somebody killing themselves by partying too much?”

I laughed. “Well, I was sitting there on the edge of the river enjoying my beer on this soggy dock, right? There was a funnel of water coming down in a shower and all these girls in bikinis were dancing under the stream. There was music coming from the speakers, like night club shit. And while I was sitting there, I spotted this dude on the other side of the waterfall who was in rough shape. All clammy-skinned and half-conscious, wearing one of those cheap singlets with board shorts and flip flops.”

Becca threw some more water, and it gleamed in midair. I’d taken all kinds of pictures of her, but I’d never been completely satisfied with how they turned out. There was a special effect she rocked in person that was difficult to nail down.

“Anyways, around town people were starting to get pink eye from the dirty river, right? So I noticed this guy’s one eye is all swollen and oozing this white pus, hidden behind his sunglasses, and then on top of that one of his arms has this giant infected scab from road rash that went from elbow all the way to shoulder,” I said.

“Ouch.”

“Then the crowning detail: he’s on crutches, with one of his feet bandaged up like he broke his ankle. And there he was, taking sips from his beer and watching these girls dance with the horniest fucking expression on his face. He had this gross Magnum P.I. moustache too.”

Becca began breast-stroking in a lazy circle, trying to keep her hair above water. “This guy sounds like a winner.”

“That’s the point. I mean this guy was absolutely fucked up in every way imaginable. I’ve never seen someone so in need of a screaming intervention. Like I don’t know how he was planning to maneuver his inner tube the rest of the way down the river, but he didn’t seem worried. And then ‘Jump Around’ came on by House of Pain and guess what he did.”

She giggled. “He jumped around?”

I stood up to recreate the scene for her, miming the crutches. I could see the far-off cliff faces, and the oxen working the fields. My joint bounced between my lips as I resurrected those party kids for my own entertainment, watching the Brit girls giggle and shout in slow-motion. Becca breast-stroked to the edge of the water and mounted herself on her elbows, her hanging cleavage mind-altering. I’ve been all kinds of people in my life, channeling both friends and enemies, but there have been too many times when I’ve allowed myself to become that irresponsible Laos dude for no good reason. There was just something inside of me that longed for self-destruction, that flirted with oblivion. With the opioid and fentanyl stuff going on, it was becoming increasingly obvious how much fucking danger I was putting myself in. But for now? I was dancing. 

Becca shook back her long blond hair so that it hovered in the wind. I jumped in the sand rhythmically on one foot, pumping the crutches into the air and shouting the words like they were gospel: “Jump! Jump! Jump!”

The Kootenay Goon

[kappasigmalife]

Eternal Purgatory: Chp 1, welcome to campus

Eternal Purgatory: Chapter one

Welcome to AU

 Today marks the worst day of my life, joining a frat. My dumbass dad is forcing me cause I can't stand to alone forever in my room with my books and writing, even going as far as to take my tuition away if I don’t. my name is Christopher Matthews and I come from a long line of assholes controlling the mass market of industry, and as the next head of the family corporation, he expects me to be part of his alma mater and brotherhood. God do I wish for death right about now.

Christopher begins talking on the phone with his father

“dad you can’t be fucking serious about this, they want me in an initiation and you know frat guys will do something really heinous and I don’t think I can handle that.”

Christopher’s father Joseph talks to him pretty pissed off about the situation.

“Oh I’m so sorry that I’m paying for college while you spend all your time writing those weird stories and keeping yourself locked from the outside world. Get over yourself, you have to venture out on your own and get used to society, how else are you going to take over the company?” Chris responds

“Yeah that’s right dad I got to do everything you want, no use in arguing with it anyhow, I know your minds made up, but rest assured I don’t condone this and something will happen, I know it.” Joseph on the other end

“Jesus Christ again with you bitching about taking risks, hows about you stop trying to be such a little bitch and do as your told, not that you ever proved yourself before.” Chris sighs before hanging up

“Love you too dad.”

Chris looks outside his window seeing a bunch of people crowding around in frat sweatshirts and gets a knock on his door.

Chris rolling his eyes

“gee I wonder who it could possibly be, not that I would know.”

As he opens the door a bunch of guys rush him placing a bag over his head dragging him off. As he has the bag taken off his head, he finds himself feeling bitter cold and notices they are in the basement of the dining hall on campus. The frat guys come forth and welcome chris and several other young college students to the freezer.

Frat guy

“welcome maggots to the initiation, tonight you venture into the freezer for one hour wearing only your skivvies and when the hours up, you’re going to be brothers.”

Chris glares at them and asks

“So you want us to strip down and go into freezing cold as you guys get drunk and wait?” Frat guy

“yes that’s exactly what we want.” Chris strips off his clothes and walks in flipping off one of the frat guys staring at him

“Yeah I know I’m covered in scars get over it, just let us out when your done waiting.” Frat guy

“okay just for that kid, two hours for you”

Chris thinking to himself.

“Yeah I’ll be waiting with bells on.”

Chris looks at his watch as he shivers in the cold, noticing it’s been well over two hours and the frat brothers haven’t come for him. More time passes and Chris notices the lock turning, showing that the dining hall has been closed. Shivering in the back, Chris contemplates what he said and knew the brothers forgot about him and he told his dad so about the risks to going for the brotherhood.

“I told that asshole, I told him I didn’t want to do it, but he made me anyways, god I’m fucking freezing.” As Chris finishes thinking he closes his eyes waiting for help.

As he awakens he notices hes in his boxers in the quad and looks around

“huh, guess I was able to make it out after all, I wonder who let me…, this is not my campus”

Chris looks around quite a bit more seeing different toned people walking around heading to classes glaring at him

“What the hell, it’s not even Halloween, what’s up with the floating and scarred people… oh fuck I’m dreaming.”

As Chris ducts into the bushes he notices a  set of feet walking towards him and the person is wearing gold boots that are bejeweled and stands waiting for him to come out.

“Its okay, you can come out, there isn’t anything to be afraid of.” Chris crawls out of the bushes and notices a hulking man with piercing blue eyes and blonde hair slicked back in gold armor carrying a straight sword on his back and lending his hand out to help Chris up. Chris looks at him and immediately questions everything

Chris blinking and seeing if its all true

“okay did I stumble to a renassaince fair, cause your in armor and carrying a qhat I can only presume is the blade Excalibur, nice workmanship btw.” The man stares back at him and shakes his head.

“young man I am Dean Arthur, and this is not a replica of Excalibur, it’s the real thing, your in purgatory.” Chris’s eyes widen and looks around.

“so I’m dead, your king Arthur, and this place is a school.” Arthur

“Yes you died before your time came and so you will continue your education here, at Afterlife University.” Chris sighs and face palms contemplating the situation.

“good god I am in an never ending hell.” Arthur brings chris to his office registering him for classes as chris looks outside and sees a fat guy smoking a bowl outside the window. Arthur looks out and opens yelling at the young man.

“Mr. Stone, I have told you repeatedly no marijuana on the campus, recreational use may be legal, but only off school grounds.” Mr. Stone puts out the bowl exhaling his smoke in the air.

“Sorry, I keep forgetting, I’ll be sure to keep that in mind but had a test coming up and the nerves you know.”

Arthur looks at him getting annoyed.

“my boy, your so bright but yet your careless and lazy, why not be more like the new student, straight A’s and responsible.” Chris looks at Arthur and raising his eyebrow.

“actually after all the stuff that just happened, I could go for some of that.” Stone looks at him up and down.

“honestly dude, I can set you up with my dealer, hes super chill, but maybe get some clothes first.” Chris looks down at himself wearing only his boxers.

“Oh god that’s right, anyway I can get some pants.” Arthur looking at him in embarrassment.

“Apologies I didn’t expect this to happen, most come to purgatory with clothes on.” Chris with a blank expression

“well I didn’t, so get me some clothes before I freeze to death, again.” Arthur gets Chris a blue flannel shirt with a pair of brown cargo pants and has him change. After getting clean clothes on Chris is given a registration number for classes and an address for his housing off campus. Arthur tells him that he is going to meet a lot of nice people around but to be wary of a few unwanted figures. As he walks he notices a bunch of game characters, historical figures, and even people from canceled tv shows hanging around.

Chris looks onward to see everything around him from the students to the teachers

“Huh, so everything that dies comes here, even fandoms, that explains a lot.”

As he walks he suddenly bumps into a chubby goth boy with a black goatee and wearing a dark maroon flannel and jeans.

The boy he bumps into looks at him.

“geez man could you be anymore clumsy.”

Chris dusts himself off and looks back at the young man who looks upset.

“apologies, im new and I gotta get used to things around here.” The young man looks back at him glaring up and down.

“Whatever country boy, just watch your step.”

Chris questioning what he meant.

“do you mean you’ll hurt me, cause I won’t take that lying down.” The young man widens his eyes responding.

“oh no I mean watch your literal step, if you don’t focus, youll fall down the stairs over there.” Chris looks at the spiraling staircase going off campus and sees the point.

“Oh thanks, again im sorry to bump into you but I gotta go move in to my new place.”

as he walks away the young man in the maroon flannel covers his pants with his books.

“damn it hes cute.” An incarnation of link from legend of Zelda comes over seeing what occurred.

“so Brendan, got a nice little surprise there.”

Brendan glares at link with his hair getting fluffed up.

“shut it elf boy, I highly doubt that he plays for the same team.”

As Chris reaches the house he looks at his cargo pants that tore lightly.

“that chubby goth boy owes me a new pair, or a date.” as he opens the door he notices the same fat guy who smoked a bowl outside Arthurs and another man who comes in wearing a Naruto headband and a Tokyo ghoul mask over his face. Stone walks over and offers chris a joint and a shot of rum to welcome him to the home.

“hey there, im paul and this is Robby, looks like you’re the new roommate, your rooms down the hall next to mine, just clean up after yourself and don’t touch my stash.” Chris shakes his hand taking the joint and lighting it up.

“trust me, thank you so much for this I cant believe the day I’ve had, I don’t think I need any more surprises”

Robby takes the mask off tripping over some stacks of naruto manga trying to talk.

Chris looks down at him and sees if hes alright.

“so is this something you get used to at all.” Paul takes a controller out and begins playing call of duty.

“not a chance, just happy to have two new moneymakers in the house.” Chris helps Robby up only to quickly turn around.

“What do you mean two moneymakers.”

Paul just playing his game answering,

“don’t worry about it.”

The door opens to reveal a young woman wearing a pale green tee-shirt, black jeans and brown hair tied in a ponytail walking in.

“well, this is the address and it looks like… OH MY GOD.”

Chris’s eyes bulge out of his sockets and stares at the girl.

“HELEN!!!” “CHRIS!”

The two stare at each other and watch as a robed figure comes out with a clipboard. Checking some papers for the day.

“Paul, can you tell me when the new students arrive…. Oh their here, hmm as yes Christopher Matthews age 22, died of frostbite, Helen Monroe, age 24, died of accidental overdose, my names reefer welcome to the house, er are you listening.

The two of them glare at each other only to say the same thing as they contemplate the situation.

“I’m gonna fucking kill dad.”

[shin-hoseokk]

color theory

Title: color theory

Word count: 2788

Ship:  wonkyun (wonho/i.m)

Description: 

“Very good, Changkyun, you don’t usually paint with red do you?”

“No Sir, red never appealed to me, until now”

Tags: alternate universe - college/university, art school, minor character death, infidelity, mild smut, angst, changkyun is an emo art student, wonho is his stupid boyfriend

cross-posted to ao3

The air in the field was warm and pleasant. Hoseok and Changkyun lay side by side, surrounded by lush, green grass and fragrant, yellow daisies. They were only a couple miles from their college dorms, but it felt like a completely different world.

Changkyun turned his head to look at the boy next to him, he had dragged him out of his dorm with the excuse of “looking for inspiration”. In reality, he had just wanted to spend time with him. He reached for his hand. His rough, paint stained hands colliding with Hoseok’s smooth, un-calloused skin.

“Is this a date?” Hoseok turned to face him.

Changkyun bit his tongue and thought for a moment. The smell of grass and sunshine was intoxicating, pushing him to be bolder than usual.

“Yes, I suppose it is. Is that okay?”

“Yes”, Hoseok smiled.

That night, Changkyun painted daisies, cheerful, bright and warm. He never usually painted with yellow, but the memories he made in field brought new meaning to the color.

-

The sun shined through the grimey windows of Changkyun’s bedroom. He woke with a yawn and rolled out of bed. The beams of light illuminated the dust that danced through the air like fairies. He clumsily reached for his phone and found it on the stack of old textbooks he used as a bedside table.

He padded out the the bathroom he shared with his roommate. He was momentarily blinded as he flicked on the florescent lights in the cramped bathroom.

“Mmph….. Too early”, he mumbled and reached for his toothbrush.

He brushed his teeth and quickly rinsed out his mouth with water. He stepped out of the bathroom and made his way into the kitchen. He was pouring milk into his bowl of rice puffs, when he noticed the note stuck to the cracked marble counter.

Had to dash to class, I didn’t want to wake you up

Last night was fun….. Wanna get lunch?

-Hoseok

Changkyun held the note in his hands and grinned down at it.

“Woah.. dude are you okay?”, his roommate, Jooheon, who was crashed on the couch, called out to him.

Changkyun looked down at himself, apart from wearing nothing but a pair of boxers and one sock, he seemed fine.

“Your neck dude, you might wanna get that checked out”, Jooheon smirked and resumed watching the TV.

Changkyun looked at his reflection in the microwave door. His face and neck was covered in dark purple hickeys and bite marks. Suddenly last night’s events came rushing back to him.

Leaving the bar with Hoseok, struggling to get home because they were both too drunk to coordinate their steps with the line of the pavement. Stumbling into his bedroom and being pushed onto the bed by Hoseok’s warm hands. Hoseok’s fingers in his hair, in his mouth, inside him. The pleasurable burn of being stretched open and the addictive rhythm of Hoseok’s hips slamming against his ass.

“Changkyun? You alright dude?”, Jooheon’s question pulled him back to the present.

He grinned sheepishly as he rushed to the bathroom to check the rest of his body for any more memories from last night and left his bowl of cereal forgotten on the kitchen counter.

He held onto those memories and took them all the way to his art class that afternoon. His brush was dipped in a rich, seductive red. He tried to recreate the passion and urgency with his careful strokes. His art teacher walked behind him and made a noise of approval.

“Very good, Changkyun, you don’t usually paint with red do you?”

“No Sir, red never appealed to me, until now”

-

The shrill sound of Changkyun’s ringtone blared throughout the lecture theatre.

“Uh, sorry guys”, he took the phone and switched it onto silent mode before checking who was calling.

It was his mother. His mother never called him during the day, unless it was an emergency. Changkyun gathered his books and quietly slipped out of the theatre. He dialed his mothers phone number and held the phone to his ear. The glass screen of his phone was cold against his flushed cheeks.

“Changkyun”, his mother answered, sounding panicked.

“Mom, what’s up?”

“Its your father, he was in an accident” she said

“What do you mean?”, Changkyun’s breath became short and quick.

“I know it’s a lot to ask, but you should really come to the hospital tonight”

He paused and sucked in a deep breath of air. The phone in his hand was no longer cold, but instead warm and slightly sweaty from the heat of his palm.

“Okay mom, I’ll see you soon”

One over-priced uber later, Changkyun was sitting in the florescent lights of the hospital waiting room. His mother was wearing down her shoes, pacing up and down the linoleum floors. He held his head in his hands, shaking with nervous energy. The constant electrical hum of the building kept him awake.

He reached for his backpack and pulled out a sketch pad. Most of the drawings in it were rubbish, but drawing soothed his nerves. He took the pencil out of the spiral and flipped to a new page. He began sketching a portrait of his dad, soft grey lines creating the familiar shape of his eyes and the cheerful curve of his smile.

He looked up around the room, the color grey was everywhere, the cushion chairs, the hands on the clock, the nurse’s desks. He usually avoided the color when created art, the neutrality and uncertainty of it scared him. He glanced back down at his drawing. The grey outlines of the pencil were more daunting than ever. Was his dad gonna be okay? Would he die in this lonely hospital? Changkyun didn’t know, he didn’t have the answers. The color was mocking him, bringing new doubts and uncertainties to the front of his mind. He ripped out the page and closed his sketch book.

-

The priest’s voice echoed through the church. Changkyun sat in the first row of pews next to his sobbing mother. His black suit tie was too tight, he felt like he was suffocating.

It was a small funeral; his father didn’t like many people. He was a quiet man and he always preferred the company of a beer and the evening news as opposed to friends or workmates.

Sitting above his father’s coffin was a bouquet of white roses and green leaves. The vibrant hue of the leaves stuck out against the black canvas of the roses. The more he looked at the leaves, the more calming they became. The leaves were a mix of a dark moss color and lighter, pea green. They fell across the coffin like a table cloth. He focused on the composition of the leaves and suddenly he didn’t feel like he was choking anymore

That night, Changkyun sat himself in front of a canvas and painted. He painted until his fingers hurt and his formal dress shirt was stained with green-tinted spots. The color calmed his over-active mind and momentarily soothed his anxieties. His mother would scold him for painting in his suit, but art was his escape, it was the breath of fresh air he so desperately needed, and that made it all worth it.

-

Changkyun unlocked the door to Hoseok’s apartment, the warm air and familiar smell of his boyfriend welcomed him like a hug. He slipped off his coat and his shoes and made his way to the kitchen. He was greeted by the beautiful sight of Hoseok leaning over the stove, broad shoulders complemented by a tight black turtleneck, stirring a pot with a wooden spoon.

Hoseok looked over his shoulder and grinned at him.

“Changkyunnie, welcome home”, he abounded his cooking and padded across the wooden floor to wrap his arms around Changkyun’s waist. Changkyun’s arms found purchase around Hoseok’s neck, and his face pressed into the soft juncture between his neck and shoulder.

“Did you miss me hyung?”, He shifted to press a kiss right below Hoseok’s ear. He felt his boyfriend shiver and moved his hands to slide into the back pockets of Changkyun’s jeans.

“Of course, it felt weird coming home and not being covered in secondhand paint stains”

Changkyun let out a small laugh and leaned up to kiss Hoseok properly.

He melted against the taller man immediately. Their lips slotted together like puzzle pieces, a perfect fit. Hoseok’s lips were warm and soft, a touch Changkyun had craved for a month as he was staying with his mother, caring for her after his father’s untimely death. Sure, they had texted and called almost everyday, but nothing compared to feeling of security and love Changkyun felt when he was wrapped up in Hoseok’s strong arms.

Hoseok tilted his head and deepened the kiss, his tongue slipping into Changkyun’s mouth. Changkyun tighted his arms around Hoseok’s neck, pressing their chests together.

He pulled away momentarily to look at his beautiful boyfriend. Hoseok’s thick lips were slick with spit, his soft brown eyes were hooded with lust, or admiration, Changkyun can’t tell. He pushed Hoseok’s hair back, the blue tipped strands felt like silk between his fingers.

“Your blue has faded”, Changkyun stroked the hair at the back of Hoseok’s neck.

“I like it better this color”, Hoseok stated, “Its calmer, it doesn’t make me look like a jellyfish”

Changkyun kissed him quickly on the lips before tightening his fingers in his boyfriend’s hair.

“Show me how much you missed me hyung”

Hoseok grinned down at him and obliged, sliding his hands to grip Changkyun’s ass and lift him on to the kitchen table. He stood in-between Changkyun’s parted knees and moved his hands up his thighs.

Changkyun arched his back to press against Hoseok’s chest and moaned softly when he felt Hoseok’s lips attach themselves to his neck. He tilted his head to give Hoseok more access and slipped his fingers under the hem of his turtleneck.

“It feels like years since I’ve touched you, have you been working out more?”

Hoseok let out a hum as he lifted his arms, letting Changkyun strip off his sweater.

Changkyun was always stunned by Hoseok’s body, he swears his boyfriend was sculpted by the gods. Changkyun has tried to paint Hoseok countless times but a combination of Changkyun’s heated stares and Hoseok’s wandering hands meant they had always gotten carried away.

Changkyun admired the body in front of him, Hoseok’s sculpted abs, firm pecks and strong arms never failed to turn him on. He smoothed his hands up his toned abdominals and pressed his thumbs into Hoseok’s nipples.

He smirked when he heard the quick gasp Hoseok emitted. His smirk disappeared when he noticed the faded purple bruise just above his collarbone. He pushed Hoseok away from him slightly so he could see it clearly. Suddenly it made sense why Hoseok was wearing a turtleneck when it was so warm in the apartment.

Changkyun slipped off the table and placed his feet firmly on the ground

“Are you kidding me?”, he asked plainly, although the anger was evident in his eyes.

“What are you talking about Kyunnie? I thought we were having fun”, Hoseok looked genuinely confused and Changkyun felt bad for a second, but one look at the hickey on his boyfriend’s neck quickly dismissed those feelings.

“Don’t play dumb with me Hoseok, I know I didn’t leave that there”, he pointed accusingly at the mark.

The color drained out of Hoseok’s face and his eyes became big and watery

“Changkyun please, let me expla-“

“Who was it, Do I know them?”, He cut him off completely, not wanting to hear any bullshit excuses fall from Hoseok’s quivering lips.

“Changkyunnie calm down, let me talk to you”, the desperation was clear in his voice.

“Don’t call me that, tell me who the fuck it was”, Changkyun felt a ting of guilt as tears rolled down his boyfriend’s cheeks.

He knew Hoseok was a sensitive soul, he cried at the end of children’s movies on a regular basis. Under all the hard muscle he was a big softie and that is what Changkyun loved about him, but now, the shivering man in front of him only pissed him off.

“Hyungwon”, he sobbed out.

Changkyun was shocked. Hyungwon was a good friend of his, they were roommates in Changkyun’s freshman year. He was the first person Changkyun felt he could really trust. Well, the joke was on him because he was completely wrong.

“You’re fucking kidding me, Hyungwon?”, he pushed Hoseok away from him before he had a chance to answer. He stormed out of the kitchen and back to the entrance, where he gathered his coat and began to put his shoes on.

Hoseok followed him out, “It wasn’t even good sex, Changkyun, I was just lonely and I missed you”

Changkyun snapped, “Oh, so it didn’t count because it was bad sex? My father was literally dying while you were fucking my friends. Letting them mark you up and thinking that I wouldn’t notice? Fuck you, hyung.”, He reached for the door and took one last look at Hosoek. Hoseok and his soft eyes, thick lips and his unique blue hair. The face that he had touched and kissed and loved for six months.

He twisted the handle and stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

The walk home was cold and windy, Changkyun tried so hard not to burst into tears when Jooheon had opened the door and asked him what was wrong.

“Its nothing hyung, don’t worry about it”, he pushed past him and locked himself in his room.

He rummaged through all his art supplies and found every tube of blue paint he had. He flicked the light switch in the bathroom.

Changkyun looked at himself in the mirror. He looked like shit, hair mussed by the wind, cheeks and nose tinged red from the cold and eyes threating to spill over at any second.

He unscrewed the first tube of blue paint and squeezed the entire thing into the sink. He watched with sorry eyes as the paint bled into the drain, the color lightening as it mixed with the water. He recalled the contrast between Hoseok’s red eyes and light blue locks as he unscrewed the next tube and squeezed it into the basin.

He continued until every paint tube was empty and his face was streaked with tears. He collapsed onto the floor and let himself drift into a fitful sleep, completely emotionally exhausted.

Changkyun dreamt of waves, swirling currents of blue and green, threating to sweep him up and carry him far, far away. Engulfing him into a cerulean hell, but the water filling his lungs felt like a warm hug.

He woke with a start and checked his phone

1:34 am

He stretched out his limbs and removed himself from the bathroom floor. Eyeing the mess he had made in the sink, he turned on both taps and watched the blue paint swirl down the drain.

- Changkyun slipped the key into the new lock and twisted. He pushed the door open and let a grin fall over his features as he stepped into his new apartment. Jooheon followed behind him, carrying a cardboard box with him.

Jooheon set the box down, “I’m not gonna lie dude, I’m pretty upset we wont be living together anymore”

Changkyun let out a heart laugh, “Don’t worry man, I’ll still be around”

He had worked countless double shifts at the campus coffee shop to earn enough to rent a nicer, newer apartment off campus. He figured he deserved it, he had had a rough year. He had his first serious relationship, his first serious heartbreak, his dad had died and he was starting his final year of college.

Jooheon smiled and gave him a slap on the back, “These walls are looking a little bare, I’m sure you’ll fill them up with some of your art work though, right?”

Changkyun looked up at the walls. They were eggshell white and they stretched out like the huge, expansive canvases he used for his art class. It was like a clean sheet of sketch book paper. The white was a bit bleary, but for Changkyun, it symbolized a new begining. A new chapter in his life.

He glanced at the wall one more time, and then back to Jooheon

“Nah hyung, I think they look great”, Changkyun smiled.

This year, he had learnt the colors happiness, bright, cheerful and warm. The hot shades of passion and the varying hues of depression. He understood what grieving looks like, and then what healing looks like. And now he was learning the colors of a new beginning.

[one-more-spn-fan-girl-blog]

Doing It Like Dean Winchester- Jensen Ackles x Reader feat Jared Padalecki

For: Party Like It’s Pawnee Challenge Prompt: Andy Dwyer 3. When I get bummed out I take my shirt off because the bad feelings make me feel sweaty.

Jensen was home from filming, he was resting on the couch shirtless in his boxers watching tv. Parks and recreation was on and it was one of his and his wives favorite shows. Y/n came in and sat by him, "what episode is this babe" she said, "When I get bummed out I take my shirt off because the bad feelings make me feel sweaty" he said. "You and Andy Dwyer, why do you like him so much" Y/n said, "I don't, I just love that line" Jensen said. Y/n giggled and got closer to her husband and put her head on his bare chest. They watched a few more episodes before there was a knock at the door. "You relax baby, I'll get it" Y/n said kissing his lips before walking towards the door. Y/n looked out the window near the door and saw it was Jared, she opened it "hey, Jared come in" she said. Jared walked in following her into the living room and immediately saw him. Jensen in his boxers and nothing else "dude why don't you have anything else on" Jared said. "I'm doing it like Dean Winchester" Jensen said laughing. Y/n sat down next to her husband, "well as long as your in between us it's okay" Jared said.

Tagging @hannahindie @lucilepiewhiskey @justanotherdeangirl @reedusmorgan @honeyrollins95 @gummybearsandjellybeans @wwe-spn-twd @uniquewerewolfsuit @notnaturalanahi @queencflair @samwinjarpad @leatherwhiskeycoffeeplaid @wheresthekillswitch

[anarchetypalarchive]

we must be miles up

aka that ninja ship party (brian/danny) post-concert whippets fic for the wonderful @egocentrifuge‘s birthday rating: m for non-specific dick grabbing  content warning for recreational drug use (nitrous), unironic use of the word ‘tubular,’ and excessive pining on ao3 excerpt:

“Hi,” Danny says, like he doesn’t have his arms full of bright, neon-colored balloons. “How was your shower?”

“Did you rob a clown,” Brian says flatly.

“I have drugs!” Danny singsongs in reply, stepping into the room and letting the balloons tumble out of his arms and go rolling in random directions.

“Are those drugs LSD, and did you take them ten minutes ago?”

Danny laughs at him and scoops up one of the balloons, pops it into the air in Brian’s direction. “No— The concert, remember? You were asking about whippets. And here they are. I made whippets appear. I’m the goddamn whippet king.”

“Ah,” Brian says, letting the door swing shut and catching the balloon before it hits the floor. “I remember. And then I said, ‘after the concert, why don’t you go out in your boxers and buy drugs?’ That was my favorite part of the conversation.”

“These are indeed my drug-buying boxers,” Danny says, agreeably and without hesitation.

Look, Brian is—Brian is hip with the kids, okay?

Really. He spends most of his days playing video games and writing songs about dicks. He regularly performs for crowds of twenty-somethings. He has an instagram.

But sometimes—very occasionally, once in a blue moon��he has to outsource information about hip things to somebody more knowledgeable.

Unfortunately, that somebody is usually Danny.

Danny is, somehow, the youngest old person Brian knows—which is some hell of a feat, honestly, because he includes himself in that list of young-old people.

Meaning Danny regularly squeals with unbridled joy over Skittles, and Danny is incapable of encountering a chair or couch without sitting on it sideways or backwards or upside down, and one time Danny pushed aside a room of eight year olds to get a turn at hitting a Dora the Explorer piñata, and then again to grab several handfuls of cheap dollar store candy.

But Danny is...worldly, or whatever, and perhaps more intune with all things “cool,” not that Brian would admit it. Brian is cool. Brian is hip! He has a phD, okay, he knows things.

What he doesn’t know is why the hell a few handfuls of people in the crowd at their concert are holding inflated balloons.

They stand out like a sea of multicolored jellyfish, or like Bozo the Clown got drunk and wandered into a concert and forgot how to make balloon animals. Brian stares at them from backstage where he and Danny are waiting for the opening band to finish their set, and he wonders if this is the new version of holding up lighters or the lit screens of cell phones.

He says as much, wondering aloud, and glances over in time to see Danny blink at him in surprise before he breaks out into giggling, snorting laughter.

Brian tries to be insulted. Which is—not easy, to be honest, because mostly he’s just appreciating Danny’s face and the way he squeaks when he laughs too hard.

As it is, Danny doubles over and ends up with his ass on the stage floor, legs bent, head between his knees as he, in Brian’s frank opinion, overreacts completely to a totally reasonable question.

“You know, you’re really harshing my quest-for-knowledge mellow right now,” Brian says dryly.

Danny visibly struggles to quelch his giggles. “Sorry,” he says, not looking particularly sorry at all. “They’re, uh, balloons filled with noz, dude.”

Brian gives him a look he’s hoping isn’t as blank at it feels. “Okay.”

“Nitrous,” Danny clarifies, and then, “They’re whippets, man.”

Ah. That one hits. He wasn’t aware that shit was still popular since, hell, the early nineties. “They look like they got lost on the way to a bar mitzvah.”

“My bar mitzvah would’ve been a hell of a lot cooler if these guys showed up.” Danny pauses. “And creepier, seeing as though it was filled with a bunch of dorky twelve year-old Jews.”

“You do it before?” Brian asks, curious despite himself.

“It’s been a while. Used to at concerts and shit. It was…really fucking good, actually.” Danny’s eyes drift like he’s remembering something sublime. “Why,” he asks, reaching up and making grabby hands at the air until Brian rolls his eyes and takes his hands to haul him to his feet, “you interested?”

And that—that’s actually an interesting question. Brian’s instinct is to say no, just on the basis that huffing gas out of a gross balloon in a city he’s never been to before just feels like a less than exciting endeavor.

But the way Danny had looked in his reminiscence—that’s something to consider. And, anyway, Brian is hip, remember, he’s cool, he’s willing to entertain the idea of huffing gas out of a gross balloon in a city he’s never been to before.

“Sure,” he says, shrugging. It’s not like it’s going to happen any time soon; they’ve got a full schedule for a majority of the night. It’s not like they have time to go looking for a balloon dealer in the middle of a crowded concert.

Danny opens his mouth to respond, and then Brian registers the fading applause and the squeak of microphone feedback as their band is introduced. Danny lights up, bouncing on his feet a little. Brian smiles at the fact that Danny’s excitement over an imminent performance hasn’t lessened since their early days. If anything, it’s gotten even greater.

Then Danny’s throwing an arm around Brian’s shoulders, and they’re walking out on stage as they jostle each other in little hyping-up actions, and Brian’s half-blinded by the lights as applause fires up again, and he forgets about much of anything other than the crowd and the stage and Danny.

——

There’s an energy that remains long after the end of a successful show; it usually means Brian and Danny spend far too long meeting with fans, signing scraps of paper and fanart and random objects (a dildo, once, that was memorable) until their well-meaning manager ushers them back to their hotel. By then, they’re near-dead on their feet.

Danny’s got his arm around Brian’s shoulders again as they walk unsteadily down the hallway towards their hotel room. This time, he holds up his phone. Brian smiles tiredly until Danny explodes into an improvised thank you commentary to their fans with enough glee that he’s clearly amused at Brian’s confusion.

Brian gives Danny a small shove and steals his phone from him to add to the video, grinning as Danny swears and stumbles against the wall. They scuffle a little for the phone good-naturedly, shouting over each other at the camera (“Thank you all—” “Well, I thank you all more—” “I thank you all the most—” “Times infinity—”) until a disgruntled hotel guest throws open his door and snaps at them to shut the hell up, people are sleeping here.

The video ends with Danny giggling out an apology over his shoulder as they finally reach their room at the end of the hall.

Brian fumbles with the room key, having to slide it a few times with increasing impatience until the light turns green and he can push the door open.

And then Danny’s crashing into him from behind, shouldering past him into the room. “I call first shower!” he sings out, voice hoarse from the toils of the concert but no less delighted for it as he tosses his bag down haphazardly in the entryway, charges into the bathroom like a conquering general, and pulls the door shut behind him.

“If you think that’s going to stop me from coming in there with you,” Brian starts, struggling to keep the laughter from his voice in favor of a faux-menacing tone, and then he gives up and grins when he hears the unmistakable click of the lock of the bathroom door sliding into place. “A celebratory bro shower,” he calls out over the sound of the water turning on. “Like football players do after the big game? Probably? Dan?”

He’s mostly talking to himself at this point, moving further into the room to claim a bed. The only benefit to Dan commandeering the bathroom is that Brian can now be a supreme asshole and take the bed Dan’s going to want—the one closest to the door, farthest from the AC, because Danny always ends up freezing his skinny ass off in hotels.

That might have something to do with the fact that Brian turns the air down to ‘Hypothermia for Dan’ levels on the totally legitimate pretense of it being scientifically better for the health of specifically and only your balls if you sleep in the cold.

(“You can’t use your PhD in fucking theoretical physics as an excuse to pretend to be an expert in everything,” Danny complained once.

Brian had taken that as a personal challenge and then, well, here they were.)

So Brian takes the bed closest to the door, farthest from the AC, and tosses his duffel bag down before he collapses onto the plush sheets. He’s still buzzing with post-concert adrenaline, with the two encore performances that had left Danny with a hoarse voice but grinning wide, the both of them squinting against the stage lights out into the crowd as the final strains of “Wish You Were Here” drifted out and bled into applause that rumbles and hums in the center of his chest even now.

This is Brian’s life.

Yellow light from the parking lot filters in through the thin curtains, and maybe it’d feel tepid, lonely, if not for the muted white noise of the shower running and steam rolling under the crack of the bathroom door and Danny’s gentle humming, changing keys on a whim with little hoarse post-show voice cracks that shouldn’t be so endearing.

This is Brian’s life and it’s surreal, sometimes more so in the gentle aftermath of a concert than in the heat of one.

Not that the shows don’t have their moments. Danny gets so caught up in the energy sometimes that it’s like his emotions can’t stay within him. More often than not, that manifests as Danny sprinting across stage to wrap Brian in a bear hug after their final song and kissing him so hard on the cheek Brian thinks—hopes, sometimes—it’ll bruise.

But Brian remembers the first time, early this year, that Danny’s traditional end-of-show kiss landed directly on his mouth.

There’s a photo some fan took that’s made its rounds on social media—it’s the split second after Danny kisses him and pulls away: there’s the blur of Danny bouncing back to center stage, and there’s Brian, wide-eyed, hair mussed, mouth open slightly. During the show, he’d managed to compose himself pretty quickly, but Danny discovered the picture within a few days and was so delighted by it he still sends it to Brian sometimes.

And so now sometimes Danny half-tackles him at the end of shows and ambushes him with a kiss—a real one.

And it’s—it has to be an adrenaline thing, a celebratory thing, a raw energy reactionary thing, because Danny never makes a big deal out of it and it never lasts more than a fraction of a second and he never mentions it after.

And Brian doesn’t ask about it.

And it’s fine.

It’s just a thing they do.

Brian kicks off his shoes and lets them drop from the bed to the floor as he tugs his phone from his pocket, pulls up the Instagram app to watch the comments start pouring in on the video they just uploaded.

One day, maybe he’ll get used to their popularity and the virtually instant feedback it provides, the outpouring of support and love; for now he smiles at the generic i wish i could’ve been there! comments, the i was there and it was fucking incredible, the come to my city next!

He huffs out a laugh at someone’s i’m calling the police. danny’s making me confused about my sexuality and can’t really stop himself from typing out a quick Get in line in response.

A few minutes later, he rolls his eyes at someone’s reply of Danny and Brian sitting in a tree, F-U-C-K-I -N-G. Rolls his eyes harder when he sees the comment came from Ross.

He’s about to reply to that, really gearing up for a stupid, satisfying back-and-forth, when a rush of steam billows out from the bathroom as Danny pushes the door open. He emerges from the cloud of steam, skin wet and flushed from the heat of his shower.

Brian is, somewhere in the back of his mind, aware that he’s staring—and, fuck, he’s never going to learn any better than this, is he; he’s never going to end up anywhere but here, watching Danny like he’s on the outside looking in, like Danny’s not tangible for him, like the way he looks at theorems he can’t touch.

Danny catches Brian staring and grins, striking a dramatic pose that nearly dislodges his towel and almost gives Brian a fucking heart attack. “How do I look, stud?”

“Like a demented Towel Wizard,” Brian deadpans.

“You’re goddamn right I do,” Danny says proudly, pulling a shirt on over his head. He drops his towel to pull on a pair of boxers, and Brian—doesn’t pretend to leer, doesn’t make a joke, just glances away and doesn’t look back until Danny’s towel hits him in the back of the head.

Brian snorts and finally hauls himself out of bed, gently shouldering Dan out of the way and tossing the towel on top of Danny’s damp poof of hair as he goes to take his own shower. “If you used up all the hot water, the police will never find your body.”

“Uh. I gotta— I gotta go, you know what, we need ice, I’m gonna go get ice.” Danny’s laughing as he ducks out of reach of Brian’s annoyed, swatting hands and grabs the ice bucket before darting out of the room barefooted.

The only consolation for the lukewarm shower is that he’s almost positive Danny left without grabbing his copy of the room key, and Brian’s not going to be in a hurry to finish showering to let him back in when he has to do the Knock of Shame.

Surprisingly, Brian gets in and out of the shower with no sign of Danny returning, and it’s only when he emerges from the bathroom with his hair wet and plastered down to his head that he hears—well, not a knock. It sounds more like Dan is kicking the door.

“Property damage,” Brian calls out, and takes his sweet time letting him in, throwing on an undershirt and a pair of sweatpants and fuck you, Ninja Brian likes to go commando sometimes.

He’s not expecting to open the door and see Danny with his arms full of bright, neon-colored balloons.

“Hi,” Danny says, like he doesn’t have his arms full of bright, neon-colored balloons. “How was your shower?”

“Did you rob a clown,” Brian says flatly.

“I have drugs!” Danny singsongs in reply, stepping into the room and letting the balloons tumble out of his arms and go rolling in random directions.

“Are those drugs LSD, and did you take them ten minutes ago?”

Danny laughs at him and scoops up one of the balloons, pops it into the air in Brian’s direction. “No— The concert, remember? You were asking about whippets. And here they are. I made whippets appear. I’m the goddamn whippet king.”

“Ah,” Brian says, letting the door swing shut and catching the balloon before it hits the floor. “I remember. And then I said, ‘after the concert, why don’t you go out in your boxers and buy drugs?’ That was my favorite part of the conversation.”

“These are indeed my drug-buying boxers,” Danny says, agreeably and without hesitation.

And, alright, sure, Brian had asked about the balloons, had expressed interest in trying inhalants—he’d try anything with Dan, the definition of succumbing to peer pressure, the archetype of the teenager doing anything to get a smile from his crush, and it’s not like he’s a goddamn straightedge, hello.

He just imagined getting high with Dan for the first time to look like—fuck if he knows, just something different than a dark, strange hotel room in a dark, strange city, balloons floating in air-conditioning flurries over the carpet.

Danny ducks down and scoops up a bright green balloon, reaches out and bobs Brian gently on the head with it. “So. You ready for this, Daddy-Mack?” he asks, which—that’s not really fair, actually, because aside from the fact that daddy just came out of Danny's mouth, whatever the form, Brian’s still trying to psyche himself up.

You have to give a man the proper psyching up timeslot before encouraging him to inhale copious amounts of nitrous. That’s just polite.

What Brian intends to do is give a deadpanned intonation of “You better believe it, baby.”

He’s pretty sure what he actually ends up doing is giving Danny a deer-in-the-headlights look and blurting, “What.”

This is because Danny blinks at him in surprise, and his tone is concerned when he asks, “You’re not, like, nervous, are you?” which basically makes Brian want to go outside onto the balcony and find out if it’s possible to die from a fall from the fourth floor.

He struggles to save face, to smooth things over with sarcasm. “Nervous? Who’s nervous? Frankly, it sounds like you’re just accusing me of being nervous because you’re nervous. Nice try, Avidan. Of course I’m ready. I’m cool, okay, I’m hip, I do this shit all the time. Let’s go rail a couple lines of coke after this.”

“Brian—”

“But not off of my body.”

“Brian, hey—”

“I know you want to, but this chest is just too hairy and manly, okay, it’s for your own good. We’re just going to have to kick it old school and do it off a questionably-clean bathroom counter.”

“No, hey, c’mon,” Danny says soothingly. “It’s okay that you’re nervous. It’s like you’re actually being honest for once.”

And Danny says it to make him feel better, Brian knows, and he wants to feel better, but for some reason it’s frustrating.

He wants to say, That’s not me—the fear, I’m not that, I’m just standing here behind it wishing I could kiss you.

Instead, he says, “I resent the implication that I’m not always one hundred percent genuine with you at all times.”

Danny snorts. “Yeah, okay, Captain Deflection.”

“Hey, don’t get all psychoanalytical on me. Which one of us has the PhD here?”

“You can’t use that as an excuse to pretend to be an expert on—oh my god, never mind, forget it, can we just do drugs now.”

“Just a minute; I have to update our Twitter. ‘About to suck down mass quantities of nitrous and also dick.’”

“No— No, give me your phone, dude!”

The scuffle for Brian’s phone ends with a balloon clinging to Danny’s hair via static electricity, Brian half buried under pillows and bedding, and the Twitter update reading About to suck mass quantities of dick, so Brian counts it as a win overall.

“You suck,” Danny informs him, reaching up to grab the balloon and pull it from his hair.

“Mass quantities of dick,” Brian reads from his phone agreeably, nodding. “The internet doesn’t lie, Danny.”

“I hate you.”

“Duly noted. Are we going to do drugs now, or do you want to keep putting them in your hair?”

“Don’t say drugs in that stupid voice, holy shit, you make it sound like we’re doing high-quality crystal meth.”

“And yet we’re doing cheap-ass inhalants, which, frankly, I find insulting. I’m not a cheap date, Daniel.”

Danny looks at him fondly. And that—that’s been happening a lot, the ‘Danny responding to flirting with anything other than exasperation or awkwardness’ thing. Brian’s not sure how to handle it. It’s easy to flirt with Danny until Danny stops taking it as a joke.

“Aw,” Danny coos, jumping into bed with Brian and bopping him with the balloon. “I’m sorry. You’re right, baby. Lemme buy you something nice.”

“I want a statue of a dick in my own likeness created with pure crystal meth,” Brian says dully, batting at Danny’s hands before he can get hit on the nose with the balloon again. Jesus, maybe he is Captain Deflection.

“We could probably make a song based on that,” Danny says thoughtfully, his eyes doing that middle-distance thing they do when he’s thinking of possible song titles.

His fingers are working at the knot of the balloon in his hands, and Brian’s gaze is drawn to them the way it always is when Danny’s fiddling with something, unable to keep from watching the pads of his lithe fingers brush against the rubber, his blunt nails tugging at the knot.

God, he wants those fingers in his mouth.

“Ninja Brian’s Crystal Dick!” Danny bursts out suddenly, triumphantly, and Brian startles, torn from his reverie.

He manages to laugh, shaking his head. “I’ll add it to the list.” Along with ‘Ninja Brian Regularly Thinks About Sucking on Danny Sexbang’s Fingers and That’s Not Something He Should Be Thinking About A Coworker, Probably.’

Danny finally manages to work the knot free, and his thumb and forefinger pinch the opening of the balloon closed. “Alright, you watch me first.”

Brian looks at him dubiously. “Right,” he says, “otherwise I might get confused and try to stick the balloon up my ass.”

Danny laughs and bops him with the balloon again. “So stupid,” he mutters. “Just watch, okay?”

Brian puts his hands up in surrender and slides back on the bed until he’s sitting with his back against the headboard. “Teach me, oh great Whippets Guru. Should I take notes? Do you have a PowerPoint?”

Danny’s already bringing the balloon to his mouth, fitting his lips tight over the opening. He flips Brian off with his free hand and then appears to let out the air in his lungs through his nose before he inhales deeply from the balloon. He pauses, then breathes back out into the balloon before inhaling again. He does this a couple more times, each breath getting more shallow, and then he pulls away, pinching the opening closed with shaky fingers as he holds his breath.

His face is flushed, and his eyes flutter closed.

Brian realizes he’s sitting silently, still, attention rapt. He swallows. “Danny?”

A few long seconds pass before Dan lets out the breath in a shuddery exhale. His first breaths of real air come in short, shaky gasps, and when he opens his eyes, they’re glazed over slightly, almost unseeing.

He looks—he looks like he’s waking up from a wet dream, or being tenderly asphyxiated, or coming, and either way Brian’s holding his breath and aware that he’s half-hard in his sweatpants.

Going commando feels, abruptly, like it had been a bad idea.

“Fuck,” Danny says, voice thin and breathy. His gaze lands on Brian as it clears, and he smiles dreamily, contently, the way you’d smile at a lover.

Brian is going to die.

“You okay?” he croaks out.

“God, yeah, I’m... I forgot how good that is.” He twists around a little where he’s sat and then reaches down to snag another balloon off the floor. “Your turn,” he says cheerfully, holding the balloon out to Brian.

“I mean, I—could just watch you again. That was—informative,” Brian says, stilted.

Danny laughs. “C’mon, dude. Time for baby bird to take flight.”

“Why are your metaphors so weird.”

“Just take the stupid balloon,” Danny commands, brandishing it half an inch from Brian’s nose until Brian snorts and takes it.

“Peer pressure turned me into a drug addict,” he intones, grinning when Dan swats at him. He fumbles with the knot of the balloon for a minute until he finally manages to free it up, and some of the gas escapes for a fraction of a second before he manages to pinch the opening shut.

“Don’t overdo it,” Danny says seriously. “You’re gonna get lightheaded, but stop when you feel like you need to. There’s nobody to impress here.” He pauses, smiles impishly. “‘Specially since I’m never impressed by you.”

Brian cheerfully gives him the bird and only hesitates for a second before he bows his head to take the opening into his mouth. He keeps his lips tight, not letting any of the gas escape until he’s ready, and then he follows Danny’s example as well as he can remember.

He lets his breath out through his nose slowly, like he’s doing the opposite of pre-show breathing exercises, and then he inhales.

The gas comes in quicker than he expects, and it takes a moment to figure out the right amount of tension to keep so he’s not overwhelmed.

It’s a bit anti-climactic, not that he really knows exactly what to expect—just like taking in air that doesn’t manage to satisfy the beginnings of a burn in his lungs, the ache for oxygen.

He looks at Danny, who gestures encouragingly.

The burn increases when he breathes in again, and then it happens abruptly, where he suddenly wants to gasp for breath, his brain sending signals that something’s not right, that he’s breathing but it’s not giving him any air.

A fuzzy sort of hum seems to shoot up from his chest into his head, the breathlessness blossoming into an intense head rush, all the small sounds of the hotel room going loud and reverberating, like he’s standing too close to a concert speaker taller than he is.

It turns into something all-encompassing, something more like a rushing tremble that goes straight back into his chest, into his heart.

Brian pulls away from the balloon to gasp desperately and shuts his eyes. Warmth buzzes into his fingertips, and he’s vaguely aware of his hands twitching minutely, and fractal patterns spread outward in a variety of mixing, spilling colors behind his eyes.

It’s almost overwhelming.

He realizes, belatedly, that he’s shaking, that it’s hard to catch his breath, that he’s opening his eyes and seeing without seeing, that when he finally focuses in on Danny that Danny is watching him with faint concern and fondness and—

“Brian,” Danny says. “Hey, Bri, look at me, you’re fine.”

And Brian does look at him, and it’s practically second nature to match the rhythm of Danny’s carefully controlled breathing.

And then—then Brian’s not entirely sure he’s not dreaming, because Danny leans in and cups a hand around the back of Brian’s neck and draws him in to kiss him slowly and deeply.

(Later, Brian will realize that Danny is probably working to coax Brian to match his breathing, to get him to stop hyperventilating and to enjoy the high, but for now—)

As Brian gasps for breath against Danny’s mouth, he’s relieved, somehow, that Danny has kissed him for the first time (truly kissed him, teeth and tongue and no applauding crowd to distract him from it) just after they’ve both inhaled nitrous—it gives him the excuse to be breathless, to be wide-eyed and slack-mouthed and staring at Danny like he's born technicolor in a grayscale universe.

Brian doesn’t want it to end, but eventually Danny breaks away, leaving Brian’s lips buzzing, the rush gradually cooling down. “So?” he asks, smiling at him fondly from where they’re touching foreheads and breathing hard. “What’s your consensus, cool guy?”

“Tubular,” Brian breathes out, dazed and grasping for Danny with weak hands.

Danny blinks once and then bursts into soft laughter, nose scrunching, eyes creasing up. Brian can’t really force himself to be insulted, not when Danny looks as incredible and addicting as he does. “Yeah,” Danny giggles, taking Brian’s hands in his own, pads of his thumbs rubbing at the backs of Brian’s hands like a worry stone, like a security blanket. “Yeah, it is.”

Brian’s pretty sure he’s in love.

“You kissed me,” he says stupidly.

Danny blinks at him. “Yeah,” he says, a small smile tugging at his mouth, like he’s amused. “Further bulletins as events warrant, Reporter Brian?”

Brian gestures vaguely in a way he hopes conveys what the fuck but probably just comes across like I have no fine motor control! “You kissed me,” is what his brain offers up, like a broken record.

Danny’s starting to look somewhat concerned. “Yeah,” he says again, slower. “I kissed you earlier tonight. And, like, last month.”

“Those don’t count,” Brian tells him, and he’s starting to get frustrated, because Danny knows this, of course he knows this, he has to know this.

Dan smiles again, but this time it’s confused. “What do you mean, those don’t count?”

“I mean—” Brian breaks off with an annoyed sound. “I mean they don’t count, Danny, what the hell— Those are just, they’re, you’re just...celebrating,” he says.

Danny’s frowning now. “Says who?”

“Says—” Brian breaks off again, brow knitting. He stares at Danny, trying to understand.It’s like a physics problem he’s stuck on—all the evidence is there, but he just can’t see the answer. “Says… I don’t know. You never make a big deal out of it. I just figured...”

“What was there to make a big deal out of?” Danny asks, looking bewildered. “I like you. I wanted to kiss you. You never make a big deal out of it, either. Figured you were cool with it.”

“I am cool with it,” Brian says hastily, mind working feverishly to catch up. “I am— I’m the coolest with it, I am ice cold with it, trust me, I have no complaints.” He pauses when he realizes Dan’s starting to laugh. “Alright, well, that’s not necessary, it was an easy mistake to make—”

“Shhh.”

Brian blinks. “Did you just shush me?” he demands, incredulous. “Did you just—”

“Shhh,” Danny hushes again, eyes still creased with amusement as he leans in.

He’s not expecting the warm press of Danny’s mouth against his own again.

A faint noise rises unbidden in him, and he hesitates, caught up in the fact that Danny is kissing him for the second time, hesitates because he’s not supposed to be so lucky, hesitates because he’s expecting to wake up.

He feels the wet heat of Danny’s tongue tease at his lower lip, and instinct kicks in: his mouth opens, and he tips his head to make the angle better, allow them both to press in closer. He’s breathless again soon in the best way, like he’s high again but better, because Danny’s nudging his legs apart and shifting into his lap and letting his hand slide from his jaw down to his neck, his collarbone, his chest.

He hears an embarrassing, protesting sound and staunchly refuses to believe it comes from his own mouth, except he’s definitely trying to pull Danny in again as he breaks away, and Danny’s definitely laughing at him again.

“I don’t want to take advantage of you,” Danny says solemnly.

Brian stares. “What.”

“You know,” Danny stage-whispers, wide-eyed. “In your state. You’ve been doing drugs, Brian.”

“Oh, shut the fuck up,” Brian says, and their next kiss is punctuated with Dan’s laughter.

He’s content to do this for hours, making out with (mostly) innocent roaming hands like necking teenagers; he’s so overwhelmed by just this, by his luck, that he’s not expecting more.

He nearly chokes when Danny slides a hand under the waistband of his sweatpants.

“Why am I surprised you’re not wearing any underwear,” Danny hums in between open-mouthed kisses along Brian’s jawline.

“That’s purely coincidence. Also, not that I’m complaining, but why is your hand—on my dick,” he strangles out suddenly when Danny’s hand shifts.

Danny pulls away to look at him. “Well, Brian,” he says, “sometimes, when two assholes love each other very much—”

“Shut up.”

“I mean, do you want me to draw you a diagram, or.”

“Shut up, I meant— I didn’t know you wanted more than…” He gestures.

Danny looks fondly amused. “Can we just set a blanket statement that I want to do conceivably everything with you?”

Brian has to admit that feels fucking incredible to hear.

Still: “Conceivably anything?”

Danny’s expression is wary. “Yes?”

“Raising alpacas in South America?”

“What.”

“Melting down twenty-thousand dollars worth of quarters to make life-sized metal busts of ourselves?”

“What is happening here.”

“Stealing those gay penguins from that zoo and smuggling them back to Antarctica.”

Danny kisses him again, presumably to shut him up, but it’s a kiss with fondness and intent and wandering hands with a destination—

And Brian can’t really find it in himself to complain.

[ylla]

Friday Night Gurus - Chapter 3

Series: JJBA Ships: josuyasu, koichi/yukako (others will eventually happen too, but im tagging as i go) Tags: au where theyre famous, modern au, pining, recreational drug use (smoking that wacky tabaccy), some angst in this one lads Rating: M (eventually there will be sex, so that rating will keep climbing)

AO3 link

i have never not been ready to be murdered by my own two hands.

“Oh fuck,” Josuke moaned, white knuckling his kitchen counter as he was thrust into over and over again. Rough hands were gripping his hips hard enough to leave bruises, and by God, Josuke hoped they did. He had always been way too loud during anything remotely sexual, and right now was no exception. The right spot was hit, Josuke felt like electricity was passing through his body, “God, right there, I’m close—“

One of the hands on his hip reached up for his hair, pulling up him with a gentle, yet firm grip, causing him to arch his back against the person behind him.

A mouth pressed against his ear, breath hot and voice harsh, “Beg me.”

“Please, please, please let me cum, please—“

Josuke’s earlobe got caught between teeth, while the hand tugging on his hair moved to his dick, roughly jerking him off. He was seeing stars, his voice going up a few octaves as he neared the edge, “Fuckfuckfuckfuck.” Josuke’s eyes rolled into the back of his head, inhaling sharply as he started to orgasm, “Oh fuck, Oku—“

“PEOPLE’S ELBOOOOW.”

Josuke woke up to a sudden, crushing elbow to his gut, shrieking in a totally manly way. It was completely dark in his room, but he could make out the black outline of a hulking man rolling around on his bed, snorting like the piggy bitch he was. “Man, I wish I would have turned on the light so I could have seen your face,” the big asshole wheezed, his laugh almost coming out in a stereotypical French ‘honhonhon’.

“JEAN PIERRE POLNAREFF, I’M GONNA LITERALLY MURDER YOU,” Josuke roared, struggling to sit up to push Polnareff’s muscly ass off of him.

Polnareff cackled like a witch, jumping up before Josuke could start punching him, “Up and at them, Josuke. It’s time for our run. I’ll be waiting downstairs.”

After Polnareff retreated, Josuke flopped back down, heart still racing. Waiting for his heart rate to return to normal, he grabbed his phone to check the time. It was 6 o’clock in the godforsaken morning. He regretted many things. He regretted giving Polnareff a key to his house. He especially regretted the dream he woke up from and the puddle of cum that had pooled in his underwear.

He put his pillow over his face and screamed. What a fuckin’ mess.

Three hours later, at a much more acceptable time to be awake, Josuke found himself sleepily watching Pol sashay around his kitchen while making omelets. Polnareff was a nutritionist, gym owner, fitness model, and Josuke’s personal trainer. He’d met Polnareff when he was introduced to his father’s side of the family so many years ago; he had been Jotaro’s roommate in college, and Holly, Josuke’s sister, basically considered Pol to be a second son (much to Jotaro’s chagrin and Polnareff’s delight). So not only did Polnareff wake him up at an ungodly hour twice a week, he got to nag and annoy Josuke at all other times as well.

“I have to say, I’m surprised that I didn’t see your friend in there with you this morning. You two are together a lot.”

Polnareff was keeping his tone casual, but Josuke knew exactly where this was headed, “Me and Oku don’t hang out all the time—“

“Josuke, this is the first morning in almost three months that I have walked into your room to wake you up and didn’t see him,” Polnareff pointed a spatula at him, “Can’t argue with the facts.”

He couldn’t, and Josuke despised it.

Ever since the first night he came over, Okuyasu had kept his word about making sure Josuke wasn’t lonely. Between Arrowhead slowing down their activities between their last tour and recording their next album, and Josuke taking a yearlong vacation, they both found themselves with a lot of free time. So, Okuyasu was stayed the night at least three or four times a week. They got high, played videogames, watched stupid movies, took late night drives together, ate food that was terrible for them. Slept in the same bed, and basically cuddled every night they watched a movie together. You know, normal friend stuff.

People like Okuyasu were so rare in Josuke’s life. He never put him on a pedestal like Josuke was some untouchable god or free ticket to fame. He was so grateful to have a friend that saw past all of his fame and fortune, and saw him as he was: just Josuke. It was wonderful and so refreshing.

However, there was one caveat.

Josuke had found himself head over heels in love with Okuyasu, and had to physically restrain himself from making any moves onto his friend. The better he got to know him, the worse it became. He had a sharp ache in his chest whenever he thought about his feelings, and his brain shrieked KISS HIM KISS HIM KISS HIM anytime Oku’s face got remotely near his, or whenever Oku would look at him with a shy smile, or even when Okuyasu cried over something like shelter animals or sad movies. It was all so endearing and Josuke couldn’t get enough of him. For all his flirtations, and for all of the content in his songs that implied that Josuke was some kind of suave, smooth talker, he couldn’t bring himself to risk the first real friendship he’d had in years.

“So what? We hang out a lot, it’s not a big deal,” Josuke forced his voice to remain neutral, “Didn’t you use to bitch and moan at me about never hanging out with anyone besides you assholes, Jolyne, and Koichi?”

“Ignoring your hurtful words, yes I did complain,” Polnareff flipped both omelets onto separate plates; he placed on in front of Josuke and then sat across in the table from him, resting his chin on the top of his water bottle, “But that’s not my point.”

“Then what is?” Josuke arched an eyebrow at him, daring Polnareff to say what he was thinking.

Polnareff was quiet for a few moments before answering, “You should tell him that you’re in love with him.”

Of course Polnareff knew how Josuke felt. He had been the one who had barged in on Josuke lovingly pushing stray hairs out of Okuyasu’s face while he slept one morning. Josuke blurted out everything in a panic while they went for their run, begging him to not speak of it to anyone, especially Okuyasu.

“Absolutely not,” Josuke said flatly.

“You are fucking up, my friend, but it’s your decision,” Polnareff sat up straight and pointed at the omelet in front of him, “Eat that before it gets cold.”

The rest of the conversation was Polnareff talking about some kind of nonsense, Josuke was only paying half-attention because he was still really tired, hungry, and slightly irritated at the earlier conversation. Yeah, like it was so easy to tell your best friend that he was hot and you wanted to kiss him all over, and you were in love with him, haha, full homo bro—

Josuke was pulled out his thoughts to the sound of his text notification going off. His heart did some weird somersault when he saw that Okuyasu had texted him (Josuke finally got his number when Oku put it in his phone for him):

Oku: mornin dude :D

Oku: u doin anythin tonight?

Josuke: nah I aint got anything going on, why?

Oku: were playin a secret show at echoes bar tonight. u wanna come?

He wants me to come see him play, Josuke wheezed inwardly. He responded immediately:

Josuke: HELL YES I DO

Oku: :D hell yeah dude

Oku: i think yukako is gonna invite koichi too, so ill let hazamada kno that yall are gonna be there. he’ll have ur backstages passes ready.

Oku: also word to the wise, wear shorts and a tanktop. the bar gets super hot during shows. ull die in anything else

The rest of their texts were directions, Josuke saying he was excited, and an abundance of smiley face emotes from Okuyasu.

“Oi! Josuke! Stop ignoring me!”

“Oh shit, sorry dude,” Josuke had completely forgotten Polnareff was there, “Did you ask me something?”

Polnareff pouted, “You are so rude to me. I was asking you if you wanted to get dinner with me, Noriaki, and Jolyne tonight. Jotaro is still out in the field and Mo is doing some college thing, so it’ll just be the four of us.”

 Josuke couldn’t stop himself from breaking out into a huge grin, “Sorry, I got plans tonight.”

The upside to having a signature look was that if Josuke had his hair down or in a ponytail, no one recognized him. So when he stood in the very back of Echoes with Koichi, trying to not get trampled by the massive crowd, no one bothered him.

Not that they would’ve anyways. What was happening on stage was infinitely more interesting.

The music was so loud, Josuke could feel it vibrate into his chest. His ears were starting to ring a little, but he didn’t care. Oku’s voice was amazing when he recorded in a studio, but listening to him live was almost like an out of body experience. His voice just crashed over him like the tide, and Josuke wanted it to sweep him out to sea.

Oku hadn’t been lying when he said the club got too hot; all four members of Arrowhead were various states of undress. Josuke could only see half of Yuuya, but he looked like he was naked behind his drum kit. Yukako had her hair up in a high ponytail, wearing ass eating shorts and a cutoff tank top. Keicho was shirtless and in shorts, hair down out of his normal…whatever he had going on there. Oku was dressed more or less the same, but the difference was Okuyasu was infinitely more attractive. Josuke could see the band of his boxer briefs peak up over the waist of his shorts, and licked his lips unconsciously.

Okuyasu was sweaty, loose hairs from his ponytail were falling his face, and looked like he was having a blast, giving all he had and then some. Josuke didn’t think it could’ve been possible, but he fell more in love with him as he watched. All he wanted was to find out what skin that stretched over his hip bones tasted like.

“Koichi, I’m gay.” Josuke moaned.

“What did you say? I can’t hear you,” Koichi called back.

“I said I’m gay!”

Koichi just gave him a very confused look, clearly not understanding what he was saying.

“I’M GAY!” Josuke hollered, grabbing Koichi by the shoulders and shaking him for emphasis.

“Agh! I get it, I get it! Stop!!!”

Yukako noticed them first. After they finished a song, and was in the process of swapping guitars out, Yukako grabbed Okuyasu by the bicep and whispered in his ear. He looked over to the corner Josuke and Koichi were in, and his face lit like the sun. He waved excitedly, which Josuke couldn’t help but wave back, matching his enthusiasm and smile. Okuyasu walked over to a short, sallow looking dude and pointed over towards them. A few minutes later, the roadie appeared beside them, “Here’s your passes, follow me.”

The backstage was kind of cramped, filled with at least a dozen good looking women. Josuke tried to stand away from them, half afraid of being recognized and half wanting to avoid hearing about which band members they wanted to fuck.

When the show ended, the groupies rushed at the bandmembers as they filed off stage. Yukako lips curled into a snarl and elbowed her way over to Koichi; when in front of him, the ice melted and she gave him a sweet smile before planting a kiss on his lips. Koichi froze momentarily before returning the smooch. Josuke had asked Koichi a few weeks ago what was up with him and Yukako. All he got in response was a shrug and a “We’re dating??”

Keicho and Yuuya were wrapped up in all the attention from the groupies, who were fawning over all over them (Yuuya wasn’t naked, and Josuke thanked his lucky stars he didn’t have to see Yuuya’s penis). Girls were too busy playing with Keicho’s hair and rubbing on Yuuya to notice that Okuyasu had quietly slipped in behind them. Good, Josuke sighed with relief, He’ll keep it lowkey.

Which he immediately ruined by shouting, “JOSUKE!” and pounding over to him, nearly knocking Josuke off of his feet with a hug, “YOU CAME!”

Okuyasu was too warm and sweaty, and if there was a god, he would prevent Okuyasu from feeling how hard Josuke was getting from feeling his bare chest press against him. Josuke returned the hug with ferocity, “Of course I did, I said I would.” He pulled back to look Okuyasu in the face, and also prevent his errant boner from rubbing up against him. “It were fantastic, I’m so blown away! You’re amazing, Okuyasu.” Josuke beamed at him, and the tears that filled Okuyasu’s eyes made his stomach flutter.

“You mean that?” he croaked.

“Yeah!”

“Pinky promise?”

Josuke hooked his pinky with Okuyasu’s, “Pinky promise.”

Okuyasu gave him a watery smile before hugging him again, “Thanks. That means a lot, coming from you,” Oku whispered against his shoulder.

If there wasn’t a million pairs of eyes on him, Josuke would have said ‘fuck it’ and kissed Okuyasu right then and there, but he was too chicken. “You’re welcome, Oku,” Josuke pulled away again, “Go shower and then we’ll get out of here.”

“Oh shit,” Okuyasu rubbed the back his neck, looking sheepish, “Sorry, I got like super sweaty and gross.”

Josuke gave him a friendly punch in the arm, “S’fine dude, I don’t care. I’m gonna go smoke, so just come outside when you’re done.” Okuyasu made an assenting noise before jogging off to go shower. Pointedly ignoring Yuuya’s waggling eyebrows and some indecipherable look from Keicho, Josuke swiveled on his heels and left.

It was late summer, but the air felt a 1000x times cooler than it did inside. Josuke had been enjoying his few minutes of peace and quiet while he sat the backdoor’s staircase when he heard someone walk out behind him. He almost greeted Okuyasu, but an unfamiliar voice spoke.

“Why are you here?”

That was not Okuyasu.

Josuke turned to find a still shirtless Keicho peering down at him, hair hanging in his face, unlit cigarette in his hand. “Oku invited me,” Josuke replied, not liking the look on Keicho’s face.

“Why?”

What fuckin’ kind of question is that?? “Because we’re friends? And I told him I wanted to see you guys perform sometime?”

Keicho lit his cigarette and took a drag, his eyes never leaving Josuke’s, “Why?”

Josuke was about .3 seconds away from losing his temper, “Why what?? What the fuck are you asking me, dude??”

“Why are you friends with him?”

It was a huge effort to not start shrieking into the night, “Because he’s a cool guy? And funny? And I enjoy his company? What fucking kind of question is that?” Josuke snubbed out his cigarette, drawing himself up to full height, “What exactly are you trying to say here?”

“Okuyasu doesn’t have friends, and I don’t trust you,” Keicho responded coldly, “I wanna know what you’re after.”

“I’m just after his friendship, you clown!” Josuke exclaimed, rapidly losing his patience, “Is that so fuckin’ hard to believe??”

Before Keicho could retort, the door banged open. “Keicho, you got girls here who wanna inflict terrible things upon your penis, you better get in here and give ‘em what they want,” Yuuya grinned, leaning against the door frame. Purple bruises marred his neck and Josuke could hear whining from behind him.

Without another word to Josuke, Keicho dropped his cigarette, ground it out with his heel, and shouldered past Yuuya. The door swung closed, and Josuke exploded, “What the fuck is his deal??”

Yuuya shrugged, “That’s just Keicho.”

Josuke pointed at Yuuya, “No, that’s just being a cock goblin. I’ve never done anything to that guy, why’s he being such a dickhead??”

“I’ve known Keicho and Okuyasu since I was about 12,” Yuuya started, “There’s a lot of reasons why they’re both the way they are. Good or bad, right or wrong.” He kicked an empty cigarette pack off of the stairs, “Keicho’s got this thing about controlling things and people,” Yuuya took a seat on the top step, “Oku being with you all the time prevents Keicho from having his brother under his thumb.”

“With the way Oku talks about him, it sounds like Keicho fuckin’ hates him.”

Yuuya shrugged again, “Keicho makes it a point to be an absolute bastard to Oku most of the time. Though, he did take a knife to the gut when Akira tried to stab Okuyasu, so that’s something.”

Josuke was thoroughly confused, “Why?”

“Obligation to their mom, I imagine. Keicho got really drunk once and told me that before she died, she made him promise that he would always look out for Okuyasu. So he does, in some way or another.” Yuuya sprung up to his feet, “I will say this, Josuke…it’s nice that Okuyasu’s got a friend not linked to his brother in one way or another. Good for him, ya? But,” He stared Josuke down, all friendliness gone, “I’m pretty perceptive on how you feel, so no need to try and deny it to me. It’s obvious to everyone save for Okuyasu himself and probably Keicho. So, this is a warning: Don’t hurt Oku, or I will find you and whoop your ass. We clear?”

I rather die than hurt him. “Crystal.”

Before either of them could say anything else, Okuyasu walked out of the backdoor with a bruised right cheek, bloody knuckles, and a nose dripping red, “Ready to bounce?”

“Dude, super fuck your brother.”

Okuyasu sat in Josuke’s kitchen while Josuke did his best to doctor him up. He waved a hand, “S’fine, we do this sometimes. He gets too mouthy and I gotta stand my ground,” Okuyasu hissed when Josuke sprayed antiseptic on his oozing knuckles.

“You still haven’t told me what he said.”

As he rarely did, Okuyasu evaded the question, “S’not important. What matters is that I shut ‘em up and he won’t be running that big, stupid mouth of his for a while.”

According to Oku, Keicho walked away from that scuffle with a split lip, black eyes, and probably bruises all over his chest. Not that would’ve deterred the groupies from trying to touch his dick anyways, Okuyasu had theorized on the way to Josuke’s house (Josuke had insisted on driving and went extra slow in fear that he would fuck up Oku’s baby), so Keicho couldn’t be too sore at him for long.

Instead of pushing the matter any further, Josuke took to wrapping Oku’s knuckles, “Tell me if I’m not doing this right.”

“Wrap it a little tighter, and you’ll be aces.”

After he finished, Josuke got up and took an ice gel pack out of his fridge. Thank God Polnareff had insisted he buy one a few months ago, “I’ve been in a fair amount of fights, but that’s the first time I’ve ever had to bandage someone else’s hands.”

“Somehow that doesn’t surprise me,” Okuyasu flexed his fingers, pleased with how the bandages felt, “You did good kid, I used to wrap ‘em up like this when I did bare knuckle boxing matches.”

Josuke walked back over to him, cold compress wrapped in a dishtowel, “You used to box?”

Okuyasu winced as Josuke pressed it to his right cheek, “Yeah, I did underground fights for money. Helped rent out the studio when we recorded our first demo.”

“That’s unsurprising,” Josuke sat on the edge of his table so he could hold the pack to Oku’s face without getting too tired, “You still box?”

“Nah, not really. When I hit the gym, I just beat on the punching bag instead. Keicho’s good practice too,” he snorted. Josuke rolled his eyes; Okuyasu yawned and then gave him a lazy smile, “Josuke, why am I so sleepy right now?”

Josuke peered down at him, eyebrows raised, “Oh, I don’t know. Could it have been the fact that you just played a show in a cramped, hot bar, and then got into a fist fight with your older brother?”

“You may be onto something, boss.” Okuyasu exhaled, closing his eyes and pressing his face slightly into the cold pack. After a few minutes of quiet, he spoke softly, “I know I said this earlier, but m’really glad you came tonight…meant a lot to me…I ain’t never had a friend who actually cared enough to come to a show jus’ for me.” Okuyasu raised his bandaged right hand and placed it over the hand that held the compress to his face, rubbing circles into the skin, “Thanks.”

Josuke does the stupidest thing he has ever done in his entire 24 years of living: he leans over and kisses Okuyasu right on the mouth.

It feels like time stopped before Josuke pulls away. Okuyasu’s eyes are wide open, face glowing red like he has a sunburn. He stands up, startled, “I—I gotta go, I-“ he’s tripping over himself, the chair, and hightails it out of the front door.

Josuke’s brain takes a minute to grind back into motion, and he runs after Oku, “Wait! Dude I’m—“

By the time he gets outside, he can make out Oku’s taillights buzzing down the road.

He stands on his front porch for a long time, staring out into the street, hoping, begging to see Oku’s car return. For him to jump out of his car and holler, “IT’S JUST A PRANK, BRO” before bounding up the steps to return Josuke’s kiss with gusto.

Rain starts falling, and Josuke remains rooted the spot. Dimly, he registers that he is now soaked to the bone, and Okuyasu was not coming back. He did it. He ruined his friendship, because he couldn’t fucking help himself. He couldn’t just be satisfied with how things were.

In a numb haze, Josuke walks back inside, closing the door and locking it behind him with a soft click. He turns the shower on the hottest setting he could stand, sits in the floor as hot water pours all over him, and just trembles.

When the water runs cold, he finally steps out. Mechanically, Josuke pulled on some old sweats and his favorite t-shirt. He can’t bear to look at his bed, let alone sleep in it, knowing that it was bound to smell like Okuyasu, and that was something he couldn’t even begin to handle.

The couch it was. Josuke checked his phone, hoping to have missed a call or text from Oku, but nothing greeted him; he turned it off and threw it across the room. Curled up under a blanket, he listened to the rain pelt the windows, and finally allowed himself to cry.

Something was banging against the front door.

Josuke jerked awake, feeling awful. It took a few seconds for his brain to process where he was, and when he remembered, he had to quickly wipe his tears. He had to keep it together.

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Josuke mumbled to no one, cocooning himself in his blanket. The banging was incessant; Josuke figured it was a drunk Tamami who had forgotten his key to Josuke’s front door back at his apartment. It was something that occurred more regularly than it should. As he passed the entrance to the kitchen, the oven’s clock blared the time: 3:24 am. He was going to murder whoever it was.

He unlocked the front door and jerked it open, ready to snarl something at whomever made the mistake of waking him up, when he came face to face with Okuyasu.

Oku looked fucking awful. Soaked to the bone with chattering teeth, red-rimmed puffy eyes; it made Josuke die a little on the inside to see him in such a sorry state, “Jesus Christ Oku, how long have you been out here??” Josuke reached to pull him inside, but Okuyasu smacked his hand away. Tears threatened, and anger rose up inside him like bile, “Why did you come back?” he asked, placing his head into his hands so Okuyasu couldn’t see his face. After what feels like an eternity stretches on, Josuke half-contemplates just slamming the door closed, so Okuyasu would be spared the trouble of having to devastate Josuke anymore.

“Kiss me again.”

Slowly, Josuke lowered his hands to look Oku in the face. He could see that Okuyasu was crying, tears running hot down his scared face. “I’m sorry for leavin’, I’m sorry for runnin’. I’m a fuckin’ idiot fool,” the words burst out of Okuyasu like a dam had broken, “You’re the most perfect thing on this stupid planet, I’ve been crazy over you ever since we first met. I didn’t know if you were makin’ fun of me or somethin’ when you kissed me, so I got scared and ran, but I just ended up making you upset, which is—“ His breath started hitching and he was crying even harder, “The last thing— I ever w-wanna do is hurt y-y-you. Y-you m-mean everyth-thing to me.”

Josuke also had tears running down his face; he pulled Oku into a tight hug and ran his fingers through his hair, shushing him softly, “It’s okay, don’t cry.”

“I’m sorry,” he wailed, face buried into Josuke’s neck, “Please forgive me, I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

“I forgive you, it’s okay. You came back.”

“It’s not okay,” Okuyasu pulled himself away to look Josuke in the eyes, “I hurt you.” Hesitantly, he wiped the tears off of Josuke’s face. Josuke couldn’t stop himself anymore; he pressed his lips against Okuyasu’s. This time, his kiss was returned enthusiastically, and it made Josuke’s very soul sing. Taking great care to not trip over something, Josuke lead Okuyasu into the house without breaking their kiss, closing the door behind him. Josuke couldn’t get enough of how Okuyasu tasted; the kisses were sweet, chaste, and everything Josuke imagined it would be like.

“Do you wanna stay the night?” Josuke murmured against Oku’s lips.

“Yeah, if that’s okay with you.”

Josuke pulled away and kissed the tip of Okuyasu’s nose, took his hand, and led him upstairs.

After Okuyasu’s quick shower, they found themselves tangled up in each other’s limbs, kissing just as slow and gently as before. “Hey Josuke,” Okuyasu’s whispered, voice raspy.

“Yeah?”

“M’really tired and stuff,” Oku stifled a yawn, “so I dunno if we should talk about this now or—“

Josuke brushed a thumb across Oku’s cheek, “I think we should wait until tomorrow morning, after we get some sleep. Okay?” He pressed a kiss onto Okuyasu’s forehead, which turns warm underneath his lips.

“’Kay,” he mumbled, pressing his hot face into Josuke’s neck, “Uhm, I do got one question though, and I don’t wanna wait to ask.”

Josuke pulled back to look him in the face, “Yeah, what’s up?”

Okuyasu was blood red, looking rather meek. “Are we boyfriends now?” he asked softly, as if he scared to hear a rejection.

Butterflies had taken up permanent residence in Josuke’s stomach, and it was taking everything in him to not start wiggling around like an excited puppy, “Do you want us to be boyfriends?”

He got an enthusiastic nod in reply; Oku was too shy to say it out loud, but he did grab one of Josuke’s hands so he could kiss his knuckles.

A grin spread across Josuke’s face, “I guess that makes us boyfriends then.”

The smile that lit up Okuyasu’s face would be one that Josuke wanted tattooed to the inside of his mind, so he could remember it forever.

The slow, lazy kisses they traded relaxed him enough that sleep was moments away. Faintly, before succumbing, Josuke was certain he heard “I love you” whispered into his ear.

[nosebleedtakes]

I am by no means a sex expert, but I’ve planted enough parsnip, and watched enough film so I’m no novice either. You can tell a lot by a person’s favorite teams, so here I am dissecting, and breaking down what your favorite NBA team says about your sex life.

Golden State Warriors

If you root for the Warriors you’re the person who hears from 4 or 5 people how great the sex is with this person, so you decide to join in on the fun. You don’t think for yourself and just plow whatever field your friends are plowing, you’re a follower and have probably tasted your bros at one time so let that sink in for a moment.

Cleveland Cavaliers

How are you handling the breakup? You’re probably smuggling grapefruits in your boxers waiting for the rebound to blow your wad onto/into. It ain’t happening anytime soon. Stock up on plenty of Jergens, Kleenex’s, and keep that private browser handy because it’s going to be a long drought. Sure, you can and probably will lower the standards eventually and end up in back alley behind your local dive bar giving Large Marge the business, but you don’t have to do that, just wait for that perfect someone to come along cough*Colin Sexton*cough. Until then keep it in your pants outside of your home, and beat your dick like it owes you money in the comfort of your own room. We’ll check up on you in a few months.

Toronto Raptors

                                Regular Season vs Playoffs

Regular season you’re getting more strange than you can handle, you can’t handle all of..but yet somehow you are. You’re tapping into the reserves now, as your dick is dry heaving on its way to the finish line. You’re so burned out on sex that once summer rolls around you crumble in crunch time, and are left with a wet noodle all summer long. Shoulda, coulda, woulda, did things differently, better luck next year.

  San Antonio Spurs

All I have to ask is why? Plenty of other fish in the sea, and yet your constantly hate fucking each other. Move on there’s plenty of others out there that you can take pleasure in dirty dancing with, it’s not healthy. Cut your losses and move out before you end up recreated for a special on Investigation Discovery.

Boston Celtics

Us I mean those Boston Celtics fans are the best of the best, ladies (or dudes) lock them down, 100/10 guaranteed best you’ll ever have or your money back! They’ll have you screaming “hardah, hardah, hardah” and saying the Lord’s prayer every time you lock horns in the sac with them. These fans are sculpted from the Greek God’s themselves and are real stallions, definitely no bias here just clear objective opinions.

Didn’t mention your team or fan base? It’s because you are all a bunch of missionary having, once a week planning, hurry before the kids get home, foreplay skipping loves and aren’t worth the carpel tunnel.

What your favorite NBA Team says about your sex life! #NBA

[afishwithfeathers]

Journey to Microwavia

If you've never seen "The Wizard of Oz" or "Lord of The Rings," then this will be unlike anything you've ever seen before. 

Once upon a time, there were two children.  Sally was 10, a free spirit, and the only girl in America who enjoyed eating lima beans.  Phillip was 15, a handsome lad known mostly for his overuse of the semi-colon.  

One day, the two children were playing together at home.  They had set up a series of treadmills in the kitchen, and had tried to recreate the famous Ok Go music video “Here It Goes Again,” with disastrous results.  The two children had gone flying across the room and fell into the open microwave oven.

Passing through a vortex, they landed in a dewy meadow, in a world unfamiliar to them.  It was a magical fairy tale land filled with elves, unicorns, dragons and podiatrists.  The first creature they encountered was a fairy named Ethan.  He explained to them that the name of this magical and wondrous fantasy land was Microwavia.  

Sally was fascinated by the strange new world they found themselves in.  Her older brother, as always, refused to believe in fairy creatures and magic.  There were two reasons for this.  The first was that, as he had grown older, Phillip had lost the ability to believe in magic and wonder.  The second reason was the only a brain damaged idiot would believe such horse shit.  

Phillip had trouble believing he was speaking to an actual fairy.  Only a month before, Phillip had attended a stage production of  “Peter Pan” with his parents and sister.  In the second act, there was a scene where all the children in the audience were supposed to clap, if they believed in fairies.  Phillip's parents had caught him not clapping.  The media later blamed Phillip personally for Tinker Bell's subsequent death.  

But here he was, in the magical land of Microwavia.  And despite his reservations, Phillip and Sally befriended Ethan The Fairy.  

Ethan told the children how years ago, an evil witch had placed a horrible curse upon all of Microwavia.   Because of this curse, all the people in Microwavia spoke in pop culture references that were painfully dated.  

“That witch is more annoying than Steven, the nerdy teenager dude from the Dell computer commercials,” Ethan said.  “See how awful we have it here?”  

Ethan led them on a journey through the strange and magical lands of Microwavia.  Everything in Microwavia was strange and magical.  And if it wasn't magical, it was strange.  And if it wasn't strange, then you could be damn certain it'd be magical.  Everything was strange and magical and magical and strange, and by the end, you just wanted to fucking puke. 

Ethan brought the children to meet Goz, the great wizard of Microwavia.  He was a wise old man with a long flowing robe and white beard.  Goz was famous throughout Microwavia for his sage wisdom, his magical powers and his creepy propensity for asking attractive young men if they wore boxers or briefs. 

Goz immediately recognized Phillip as the chosen one, the leader whose coming had been foretold for many generations (also as a briefs man). The good people of Microwavia had waited many generations for a savior to come along, one who would lead them into glorious battle against the evil witch.  This savior would have to be a person of unblemished character, and Phillip was just such a boy.  Phillip always told the truth, believed in equality for all, and had never gotten to second with a girl. 

But Phillip rejected his destiny as the chosen one, preferring instead to go water skiing.  The old wizard grew sad upon hearing Phillip's decision.  “Is that your final answer?” the wizard asked, referencing the long since cancelled game show “Who Wants To Be A Millionaire?”  Phillip said it was, but when his sister called him a coward, he reversed his position. 

“I'll help you; it's the least I can do,” Phillip said. 

Phillip led the good people of Microwavia into battle against the evil witch and her armies of the night.  Goz the wizard died on the battlefield.  Phillip was emotionally devastated by the death of the wizard, whom he had met for the first time an hour earlier. 

The battle raged on.  Phillip personally fought with the evil witch, clashing swords in a duel to the death.  Phillip fought valiantly, but the witch had taken fencing lessons at the local community college, and was the better swordsman.  When she knocked the sword from the boy's hand, it appeared that the good guys had lost.  But Phillip suddenly discovered his magical powers, and was able to magically create a new sword made out of tin foil and used duct tape. 

They continued their duel for the fate of Microwavia.  Suddenly, the old witch made a stunning revelation to the boy. 

“I am your mother!” she said.  But Phillip wasn't having any of it. 

“There's no way my dad was that drunk!” he replied, and stabbed her through the heart with his sword. 

Phillip and the good people of Microwavia had won the battle!  And Phillip had learned a valuable lesson:  The power of magic can always conquer evil, and it can also come in handy when trying to get a tough stain out of a carpet.   

Upon viewing the dead body of the witch, Ethan said, “That witch is deader than Hillary's Presidential run.”  At last, the curse was lifted, and all of Microwavia rejoiced.   

Phillip and Sally were both moved and surprised to see Goz the wizard magically resurrected.  The wizard explained that he had not really died in battle.  He had only pretended to be dead, to avoid paying his cable bill. 

Phillip and Sally decided to remain in Microwavia forever.  They would live out their lives in a world filled with magic and wonder.  Plus, they wouldn't have to take gym.