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THE BARS WORKSHOP - RAFAEL CASAL & DAVEED DIGGS (2016)
Theater-In-Verse Workshop created by @rafaelcasal & @daveeddiggs at @publictheaterny
Pics by: @barsworkshop
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Whumptober 2024 No. 27- Voiceless | Laboratory
This is another OC snippet- it involves more of Lucien's backstory! You can find more of his story here. Also, this is pretty long so I put it under the cut!
It was the first time in weeks Lucien had left his mansion to go into town. It wasn’t that he needed to hunt for blood or anything, he had willing servants that would provide him with what he needed. No, he just wanted to get out of his coffin for once. He wasn’t sure what sparked the sudden motivation for activity, and truthfully, he was regretting coming outside already.
There were too many people out and about for the middle of the night, shouldn’t they be in their beds? Lucien pulled his hood over his face a little tighter. He didn’t need anyone seeing his pointed ears or his wings.
Lucien passed building after building. The scent of everyone’s blood wafted through, and the fact that his mouth watered made him sick. He was just about to turn around and go home when he walked right into a woman.
“Oh!” the woman cried.
“My apologies,” Lucien said, “I didn’t see you there.”
Lucien went to walk by and let that be the end of it, but the woman followed him, sliding in front of him and blocking his path.
“Wait!” she said, “you seem troubled. Is everything alright?”
Lucien blinked, taken by surprise. Since when did people care about each other in this century?
“I, um…”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“Thank you, but I feel fine. Have a good evening.”
He passed her again, catching the scent of her blood as he went by. He tried to fight off the urge to bite her right then and there.
“Haven’t fed for a while, hm?”
That stopped Lucien in his tracks. He lunged at breakneck speed, pulling the woman into an alleyway. He pinned her against the old brick wall.
“Wow, you really haven’t fed for a while.”
“That isn’t something I like to advertise,” Lucien growled, “and I’d encourage you to walk away now before I decide not to let you.”
“And miss this opportunity?” the woman’s eyes sparkled, “never.”
Lucien felt the pinch before he even noticed her move. His hand instinctively went to his side, where he felt a small pinprick.
“How did you…?”
“Oh, it isn’t easy,” the woman smiled, “takes lots of practice with deception and timing, especially when it comes to your kind.”
Lucien blinked, trying to clear his vision. The world tilted on its axis. Somehow the woman caught him despite her smaller size.
“There there my little specimen,” she said, “everything is going to be fine.”
That was the last thing Lucien heard before falling asleep.
…
Lucien’s eyes snapped open. A wooden ceiling stared back at him. Harsh lights hit him from every angle. There was a slight burning sensation on his wrists and ankles. Silver restraints. His cloak had been removed and his wings were unfolded under him. He seemed to be in some kind of decrepit old laboratory.
“You sleep as though you were dead. I don’t think you breathed once.”
Lucien’s head whipped to the side, where the woman from before stood now. She had a journal and pen in her hands and was taking notes rapidly.
“Pupils dilated, rapid breathing- the specimen seems to only breathe when it’s awake- pale skin- though that is to be expected- are you afraid, Vampire?”
Lucien glared.
“Who are you?” he demanded.
“I am Eliza Morgan,” she said proudly, “and soon the world of science will know my name. And yours too, I’d imagine. What is your name, dear?”
“Like I’d tell you!”
“Hm. I suppose I don’t exactly need your name to complete my work.”
She continued taking notes.
“Tell me, how long have you been what you are? Did you come into the world this way or were you turned?”
“I am not going to answer any of your questions!”
Eliza sighed. She came up to the exam table. She examined Lucien’s wings, his hands, his eyes.
“Heterochromia,” Eliza said to herself, “fascinating.”
She produced a syringe.
“I don’t trust you to keep still for me, but I need to look at those fangs. This will only hurt for a second!”
“What!? No! Stop!”
Eliza didn’t listen. In went the drug, and Lucien slowly but surely began to go limp on the table.
“It is only a temporary paralytic,” she said, “you will be fine.”
She opened his mouth and examined his fangs.
“Good for puncturing. I wonder how many humans you’ve drained with these.” She said.
She extracted some of his saliva in a test tube, storing it.
“Well, once I get you packed up it’s off to London!” she said eagerly, “they will have to let me into university once they see what I’ve got!”
Eliza prepped another drug, she was just about to administer it when there came a knock at the door.
“Oh, who could that be now?” Eliza grumbled.
She went to the door. Lucien could hear the sounds of an argument, then two sets of footsteps.
Eliza seemed quieter than usual. Lucien noted the dazed look in her eyes, and the lopsided smile. A figure came and put a pale hand on her shoulder.
“You’ve been getting into trouble, Lucien.”
Lucien wanted to plead, grovel, beg, but all he could do was lay there and watch. Erythros turned Eliza around to face him.
“Why didn’t you use your hypnosis to protect yourself?” Erythros asked Lucien, though staring at Eliza, “this creature is very susceptible to it.”
Erythros took her face in his hands and twisted hard. Lucien’s eyes screwed shut as he heard the snap, then a thud. The scent of blood filled the air.
When he dared to open his eyes, Erythros was standing over him, removing the silver restraints, not caring about the burns it caused.
“I am disappointed,” he went on, “how can I trust you to be on your own if you can’t even defend yourself against such a pathetic human?”
Erythros lifted Lucien into a bridal carry. He closed his eyes as they passed Eliza’s body.
“Ah ah. Look, Lucien. Look.”
Lucien opened his eyes and saw how Eliza’s neck craned at an unnatural angle, how blood seeped through her nose. How she lay haphazardly on the floor.
“That is what I expect from you. Do you understand?”
Lucien blinked to show he was listening.
“I’m taking you home. Not your mansion, the castle. I’m not letting you out of my sight until I know you can fend for yourself.”
Erythros flew off into the night, his grip tightening on Lucien. He was in so much trouble.
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#whumptober2024#no. 27#voiceless#laboratory#oc#Lucien#Erythros#fic#drugging#kidnapping#restrained#vampires#platonic yandere#vampire whumpee#character death#mcd#vampire carewhumper#rescue#writeblr#writing#creative writing#whump#snippet
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FOLKS. I BEAR THE THING
IT TOOK A FULL WEEK TO MAKE THIS GODFORSAKEN SHIP IN PONYTOWN BYE
#octonauts#the octopod#pony town#i had to get extremely creative bc the ship. as much as i love her. has the most BAFFLING structure i've ever laid witness to#do NOT even ASK about the HALLWAYS i did NOT HAVE THE ROOM FOR THAT NONSENSE#AND DON'T ASK ABOUT THE HQ EITHER OK I DON'T WANNA TALK ABOUT IT IT WAS THE HARDEST PART. LAUNCH BAY BEING A CLOSE SECOND#i had the most fun with the rec room which is fitting bc it Is The Fun Room#bedrooms gave me headache trying to figure out bc ponytown works in a very specific way that the bedrooms (and every other room)#DO NOT AGREE WITH. hEL#couldn't even register i was working on the kitchen until it was done and i looked at it and was like ''oh. that's there now''#laboratory library and medbay were just kinda !! happening. no major opinions with them i just made them and perhaps had fun with it#garden looks the most like Every Other Island in this game which i dunno how to feel about but whatever#and I am just going to PRETEND that the bubble engine room exists. we're going to pretend <33
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Day 241: Macro photography of a fly
link
–This image is part of the public domain, meaning you can do anything you want with it! (you could even sell it as a shirt, poster or whatever, no need to credit it!)–
#public domain#art#copyright#free art#open source#flickr#flickblr#photography#biology#creative commons#no copyright#no copyright image#macro photography#maglev#nemaglev#zerene stacker#stackshot#geological survey#united states geological survey#department of the interior#droege#biml#bee inventory and monitoring laboratory#bug#bugs#canon#close-up#macro#insect#patuxent wildlife research center
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Writing Prompt #36 Breach: Code Red
["I know you understand what I'm saying." You look at one of your captors menacingly. You're in a secure holding cell. You look like a human but the people that successfully created you out of alien and human DNA know very well your not normal. All you want to do is escape this prison.]
Write a short story based on the writing prompt. Challenge your writing abilities and see where your imagination takes you.
#writing prompt#writing#writers on tumblr#dialogue prompt#story prompt#story inspo#story ideas#creative writing prompt#creative writing inspo#creative writing ideas#original prompt#daily prompt#daily writing prompt#writing challenge#image prompts#fiction writing#fiction#sciencefiction#survival#horror#scifi horror#hostile#experimentation#tourtured#laboratory#top secret#alien#escape#created#experiment
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"We're trapped!" The small Sandwing dragonet cried, his wings flapped a few times in fear. His eyes widened with terror. He snapped his head towards his sister, who was just as terrified as him.
She was trembling alongside him. "Don't worry [Name]! I- I will get us out of here somehow!" She said, trying to sound reassuring while the fear in her eyes betrayed her voice.
The two little dragonets suddenly heard a raspy laugh from behind them, they both turned around only to see a caged up Seawing. The Seawing looked slightly dehydrated but not enough for him to be completely insane.
"Sorry little ones...there ain't no way out of this laboratory." The Seawing grunted, he had metal chains wrapped around his neck, his wrists and his torso, practically forcing his wings to stay close. "Once you've entered this forsaken place, you're stuck." He laughed a bit.
However, he didn't sound too happy. The two dragonets looked even more terrified now.
#star prompts#vibe prompts#writing prompts#angst prompts#creative writing#creative prompts#dialogue prompts#imagine your otp#otp prompts#imagine your ocs#wof fanfic#wof prompts#wings of fire prompts#wings of fire fanfic#laboratory prompts#experiment prompts#science prompts#scifi prompts#sci-fi prompts#whump prompts#experimented whump#tw laboratory#tw chains#just so you know I only read book 1 of arc 1 as of this moment#I had not started reading book 2 yet
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Attention:
The Aperture Science Computer-Aided Tumblr Initiative will begin testing shortly. “Follow” to become a part of this test.
#portal#portal 2#GLaDOS#aperture#aperture science#aperture laboratories#aperture desk job#aperture tag#wheatley#wheatly portal 2#cave johnson#rp#roleplay#voice acting#creative#artificial intelligence#ai#test
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Babbo Natale arriva ad Alessandria su una Cargo Bike: sostenibilità e magia in Piazza Santa Maria di Castello
Sabato 21 dicembre, un evento speciale per grandi e piccini con giochi, laboratori e regali solidali.
Sabato 21 dicembre, un evento speciale per grandi e piccini con giochi, laboratori e regali solidali. Un Natale sostenibile: la Cargo Slitta di Babbo Natale Sabato 21 dicembre 2024, dalle 15 alle 18, la magica atmosfera natalizia invaderà Piazza Santa Maria di Castello ad Alessandria con l’arrivo di Babbo Natale su una cargo bike ecologica. L’evento, organizzato da un nutrito gruppo di…
#Alessandria eventi#Alessandria today#Andrea Musso#associazioni Alessandria#attività creative#attività natalizie Alessandria.#Attività per Famiglie#Babbo Natale#Babbo Natale Alessandria#bambini e Natale#Borgo Rovereto#Cambalache#cargo bike#Chiostro Santa Maria di Castello#cioccolata calda#decorazione biscotti#eventi dicembre Alessandria#Eventi Gratuiti#eventi natalizi#eventi solidali#FIAB Alessandria#giochi per bambini#Google News#Inchiostro Festival#italianewsmedia.com#laboratori creativi#laboratori natalizi#Laboratori per bambini#Mobilità sostenibile#Natale ecologico
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"Their solution is to build a decentralized bioeconomy rather than seeing the Amazon as a commodity provider for industries elsewhere. Investments would be made in sustainable, forest-grown crops such as cacao, cupuaçu and açaí, rather than cattle and soy, for which vast swaths of the forest have already been cleared. The profits would stay within local communities."
The Surucuá community in the state of Pará is the first to receive an Amazonian Creative Laboratory, a compact mobile biofactory designed to help kick-start the Amazon’s bioeconomy.
Instead of simply harvesting forest-grown crops, traditional communities in the Amazon Rainforest can use the biofactories to process, package and sell bean-to-bar chocolate and similar products at premium prices.
Having a livelihood coming directly from the forest encourages communities to stay there and protect it rather than engaging in harmful economic activities in the Amazon.
The project is in its early stages, but it demonstrates what the Amazon’s bioeconomy could look like: an economic engine that experts estimate could generate at least $8 billion per year.
In a tent in the Surucuá community in the Brazilian Amazonian state of Pará, Jhanne Franco teaches 15 local adults how to make chocolate from scratch using small-scale machines instead of grinding the cacao beans by hand. As a chocolatier from another Amazonian state, Rondônia, Franco isn’t just an expert in cocoa production, but proof that the bean-to-bar concept can work in the Amazon Rainforest.
“[Here] is where we develop students’ ideas,” she says, gesturing to the classroom set up in a clearing in the world’s greatest rainforest. “I’m not here to give them a prescription. I want to teach them why things happen in chocolate making, so they can create their own recipes,” Franco tells Mongabay.
The training program is part of a concept developed by the nonprofit Amazônia 4.0 Institute, designed to protect the Amazon Rainforest. It was conceived in 2017 when two Brazilian scientists, brothers Carlos and Ismael Nobre, started thinking of ways to prevent the Amazon from reaching its impending “tipping point,” when deforestation turns the rainforest into a dry savanna.
Their solution is to build a decentralized bioeconomy rather than seeing the Amazon as a commodity provider for industries elsewhere. Investments would be made in sustainable, forest-grown crops such as cacao, cupuaçu and açaí, rather than cattle and soy, for which vast swaths of the forest have already been cleared. The profits would stay within local communities.
A study by the World Resources Institute (WRI) and the New Climate Economy, published in June 2023, analyzed 13 primary products from the Amazon, including cacao and cupuaçu, and concluded that even this small sample of products could grow the bioeconomy’s GDP by at least $8 billion per year.
To add value to these forest-grown raw materials requires some industrialization, leading to the creation of the Amazonian Creative Laboratories (LCA). These are compact, mobile and sustainable biofactories that incorporate industrial automation and artificial intelligence into the chocolate production process, allowing traditional communities to not only harvest crops, but also process, package and sell the finished products at premium prices.
The logic is simple: without an attractive income, people may be forced to sell or use their land for cattle ranching, soy plantations, or mining. On the other hand, if they can make a living from the forest, they have an incentive to stay there and protect it, becoming the Amazon’s guardians.
“The idea is to translate this biological and cultural wealth into economic activity that’s not exploitative or harmful,” Ismael Nobre tells Mongabay."
-via Mongabay News, January 2, 2024
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So, I don't have Disney+ out of being a broke artist with currently no paying jobs and also being a tiny bit underage. any reputable **insert sea shanties and that one theme from those movies with Johnny Depp, if you know, you know, here** sites that won't **insert bad guy from above movies here**?
Don't try and send me money. Don't try to get me on Reddit; Tumblr is already enough. I have a chance at getting a paying job at some point soon, but they're competitive and there is a very good chance I might not get it (speaking from experience of only having one currently unpaid-- Kai, you're amazing, and I know you're just a broke high schooler, so I hope this thing we're doing takes off-- job after almost 20 auditions, and I was probably one of the lucky ones). I'm about ready to maybe open up a Ko-Fi or something for my YouTube channel, but I still can't do that because Reasons, so in the meantime, I either need to find a way to get money or to get *insert things above here*. And I'm not paying for the stuff I want to watch on Prime Video.
tl;dr: broke girl woke up and chose to dismantle capitalism because she's tired of seeing spoilers on her dash
#dismantle capitalism#yo ho ho#why does it always have to be like this#want to watch#my favorite#movies and tv#but cant#because paywalls and streaming services#and we don't have the excuse of the strikes to put them on cable#it's complicated#the palestine laboratory#to add insult to injury#means people are telling me to#yo ho yo ho a pirate's life for me#what i want to watch#but i also want to support the creators#it's important#they put their time and energy into things they're passionate about#i know because I am a creative#small content creator#voice actors on tumblr#money problems#terra rants
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youtube
#BARS Mixtape Musical Medley Vol. 1
#BARS is a Rap for Musical Theater workshop in NYC. The BARS MEDLEY is a final project of our first 6-session series, and this is Volume 1.
Some of our students are professional actors, some are performing for the very first time. Visit BARSworkshopNYC.com for more information.
#BARS Created by Rafael Casal & Daveed Diggs.
Film Directed by Carlos Lopez Estrada.
VOL 1 CAST (in order of appearance) Rafael Casal, Daveed Diggs, Sarah Kay, Virginia Cavaliere, Jared Dixon, Perry Young, Sofia Snow, Danny Bevins, Dhyvia Arumugham, Ashley August, Lindsay Meck, Jeremy Sartin, Jon Viktor Corpuz, Nate Lombardi.
COMPOSED BY Samora Pinderhughes Erica Telisnor.
ADDITIONAL ACCOMPANIMENT BASS – Rashaan Carter.
PERCUSSION - Kush Abadey.
#rafael casal#daveed diggs#bars workshop#medley musical#music#public theatre#creative laboratory#Youtube
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ASSAULT ON THE LABORATORY PART 2
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It's good you came alone.
Just one is enough.
HER neck snapped under the pressure.
-
It took only a moment. A moment too long.
The elevator awoke. The floor rumbled beneath the Survivors feet with the descent and a horrible sinking feeling stirred in the pit of his stomach. He hated elevators, he hated the anxious wait before it jolted into action, how his mind struggled to adjust to the change in forces, and the motion sickness that stewed in the bottom of his gut. After the end of the world, when said elevators don't get maintenance in half a decade and the only ones that work seem to lead into forgotten XEDRA laboratories, motion sickness met crippling anxiety and it might as well be a descent into hell. But he'd rather climb down into hell than ride an elevator into it. Maybe he could have taken the maintenance ladder? No, too late for that now. The elevator picked up speed, and inspecting the little hatch in the ceiling, he wasn't sure if he could even pry it open. His anxiety was worsened by frustration.
The humming of the elevator filled the survivors ears and he found himself compulsively checking his watch, but it had only been fifteen seconds. He gripped his M4 tight in anticipation of what lay beyond the thick steel doors. Twenty seconds. Twenty five. Just how deep did this place go? To keep his mind off the anxiety, he wondered about the elevator, what kept it powered and functioning. So caught up in the excitement of finding a mythical laboratory, he didn't pay mind to the more mundane surprises of post-apocalypse scavenging, namely the powered electronics. There weren't any cables or power lines outside, the lab entrance was in the middle of a dense forest and likely off the power grid. The monitor on the ground floor, the elevator, the flickering light above him, he guessed they were all kept active by some sort of internal power system within the Lab itself. Automated? Although presuming power was automated presupposed that the Lab was uninhabited; the Survivor began to dread the opening of the doors. Too many questions. Too many possibilities. The variables that awaited him were literally uncountable. Perhaps he'd find nothing but eerily deserted hallways and ransacked lab rooms, or maybe those halls would be filled to the brim with undead. What if the place is occupied by aliens, and he'd get cut into ribbons by a fucking Mi-Go the second the doors slide open? Or... could it be that the place was still staffed by actual people? And then he no longer wondered, because the movement of the elevator came to a jarring stop. The Survivor squashed all his fears and doubts, instinct and training took control, he raised his rifle in anticipation. Now it begins. With an ear-piercing ding that made him wince, the doors slowly slid open with the grinding of metal against concrete.
Empty. It was a large, eerie room with concrete walls and harsh white lamps, minimalist concrete pillars reached into a high ceiling. Right ahead of the elevator was a wood desk underlit by a flickering lamp, around the room were overturned couches and coffee tables. Sign of a struggle? No blood stains, no bullet casings on the ground either. He didn't move, he just listened intently. Nothing. The silence was deafening and as far as he knew it, he was alone. While he knew that he'd likely run into undead, he hoped deep down that it would be empty, scavenging would be a breeze, and he'd be done in no time, but now it appeared his wish was granted, and an instinctual paranoia arose in him. There wasn't much for it. He took his first anxious step beyond the elevator and walked, slow and precarious, with a death grip on his rifle. His lips peeking out the mouth holes of the balaclava stung at the chilly air, he inhaled and scrunched his nose at the old, stale stench hanging in the room that left a dry taste on the insides of his mouth. With every anxious breath it was like dust was slowly clogging up his throat, and he balled his fist to his lips and let out muffled, hacking coughs. There was a filter mask back in his car and regret swelled in his chest just thinking about it. So much he forgot in the excitement. Whatever. He'll breathe light, scout out this floor and once he heads back up, he'll take it down with him. As he stood alone in the middle, his long shadow stretched under the light of the flickering lamps and then he noticed the door. Out the view of the elevator, a little distance away from the desk, was a laminated glass door, emblazoned with the symbol of an atom in a flask. The door was ajar. He peered into a winding hallway, until a screech filled the air.
The Survivor panicked. He whirled around, rifle levelled, only to watch the elevator doors slowly slide shut with the agonising screech of metal against concrete. The elevator was going back up. For a few moments he listened to the gentle ding, muffled by steel doors and whirring of machinery. All his resolve built up from what Makayla said to him seemed to ebb away as the reality of the situation set in, the sheer reckless lunacy of raiding a mythical Lab, alone, and without backup for what could be days. He was stepping into a tomb. The shadows lengthened in the corners, the stale air made his stomach churn. Just what the hell was he thinking. His eyes focused on the elevator button. Anxiety bubbled in his gut like a cauldron of acid and a tinny little voice in the back of his head urged him to just press the button, call the elevator back before it was too late, and it would be a lie if he didn't consider it. Instead, harnessing the discipline garnered from years of scavenging, he squashed all his doubt and his fears. The Survivor visualised his goals; he turned his mind to Concord. From just an hour spent sifting through the Lab, he knew for a fact he could get wealthier than he could have ever dreamed of and not that merch or dollar bullshit, real wealth. Chemicals, materials, scientific tools, electronics, data — forget living behind the Fence — he could easily buy his way into one of the Old Guards cruise liners or any walled city he liked. And from there on it's a life of safety, splendour and retirement alongside the wealthy and other scavengers that got lucky. This could be the most dangerous job he ever took, but afterwards, he'd never have to work another day again. The risks were unimaginable, but the reward was everything he could ever want. The Survivor turned from the elevator doors with steely determination. He'll make this quick.
The halls were empty, the only sound was his gentle footsteps and the buzzing of the harsh lights. He glanced at the rows of beam lamps that lit up his path and found himself once again wondering about what kept them powered. Blackouts were regular during the riots, the end of the world ensured that the streetlamps would never shine again. Unless it was connected to a reactivated power plant or had its own generators, buildings typically didn't have electricity, much less working elevators. It seemed likely that the Lab had its own power-source, but how could it last so long? He reached the end of the hallway and with the caution of a veteran scavenger, he silently slid the door open. Another hallway, but almost all the lights didn't work. Further from the door, the hall was shrouded in darkness, two distant lamps flickered and buzzed softly in the ceiling, little islands of light in a sea of black.
The lights weren't enough. He let his rifle hang around his shoulder, unclipped his heavy-duty flashlight from his belt, and the dark hallway was lit up. Empty. Steadily he moved further down. A paper poster hung on the wall and it was in tatters. It was some sort of memo but who knew what it said. A red, rusted sign read Always keep your badge on. His flashlight began to dim, he swore softly and fumbled with the old tool, and it glowed bright once more, illuminating a wall that gave way to thick steel doors, a panel of buttons. Another elevator. But the Survivor's attention was caught by the pockmarks, deep and speckled across the wall. And then he noticed the blood. Discoloured splotches of dried blood were smeared across the walls, a dried-up puddle seeped from under the shut doors and formed a shaky line of red further down the hallway. The Survivor crouched down to minimise noise as much as possible, and followed the trail. The trail of blood grew thicker and thicker, becoming red handprints and smears on the concrete floor, leading into a wide and hideous stain against a wall. So much blood, the floor was stained congealed black that no scrubbing could ever remove. The Survivor wasn't an idiot. So there was a blood trail and a stain, but where was the body?
Deeper in the unlit hallway, only now did he notice it. He sniffed, an acrid stench was faint in the stale air, like rotten chicken, so faint and distant, but for any seasoned scavenger it was recognisable from a mile away. A stench that provoked revulsion and dread and set off every alarm bells in his head. He lifted his head up and sniffed deeply in the air. Oh, he knew where the body was. The body had gotten up again. He could recognise the smell from a mile away, and with how faint it was, it feels like he just did. Further down the hallway, the blood trail continued, and it led to the dark end of the hallway. The door was smashed open, only a battered doorway remained, countless shards of glass glimmered across the linoleum tiled floor. The Survivor turned off his flashlight and gripped his rifle.
It was a lab room. Cabinets with doors left ajar and empty sample fridges, tables laden with chemicals in beakers and labelled bottles. Some were toppled over, their contents pooled across the floor and went mushy with age. The lamp was off, and when he trailed his hands across the wall he found the light switch. He kept it off. There was enough light coming in anyway from a glass window out into a branching corridor. He didn't even need to sniff deeply, the smell was now unignorable. The body hadn't wandered off far. The Survivor had a hunch, so he decided to test the waters - he was going to do something very dangerous. He raised his leg and kicked a cabinet door with an ugly THUMP.
The harsh thump echoed through the dark lab room and into the hallway beyond. For a few moments he hoped his hunch would remain just a hunch, but from far down came footsteps, unbalanced, unfocused. His hopes were destroyed as the footsteps grew and grew, and then on the other side of the laminated glass, a man stumbled unsteadily into view.
Not a man.
A decrepit, walking corpse. The remnants of a lab coat stained vile and dark clung to thin arms, exposed bones rotted and discoloured. The Survivor didn't say a word. His decision came to him so quick that it might as well have been instinct. While the corpse stumbled in the light, he crept across the dark lab room, the steel bayonet of his rifle gleaming in the dark, and kept out of sight behind cabinets and workbenches. The single-minded corpse shambled towards the open glass doors, but the Survivor was only a few feet away. They met eyes. He stared into the corpses oily black eyeholes.
All in a moment. He lunged forward with his rifle in one powerful controlled motion and pierced the corpse through the forehead. Yellowed skin burst, a sickening squelch went through the corridor, the bayonet stuck out the other end, and he twisted the rifle violently. He yanked the bayonet out, trailing black gore and congealed blood. One strike was all it took. The zombie went like a puppet with cut strings and collapsed by his feet with the sickening crack of old bone against concrete.
So, the Lab was inhabited after all. Atleast he knew how to deal with it. He stared down at the corpse, nothing but rotting meat, puppeted by the blob, dressed in a filthy lab-coat. He kicked the body to face up. Black gore slowly oozed from the gaping wound in its skull, across the zombies twisted face, he'd gag if he wasn't so used to the smell. He pressed his boot to the skull and nudged it, watching how the sludge stuck to his heel in black strings. It was definitely dead. Unbothered by the filth, he knelt down beside the corpse, because something caught his eye. Something long was bulging in the lab-coat, protruding from where the belly should be. He lifted the vile fabric and it was a dark hilt embedded deep into yellowed flesh. Exerting considerable effort, he pulled the hilt out and something steel glinted in the harsh lamplight. It was a machete. A rusty, filthy machete that had marinated in the belly of a zombie for four years. He inspected the weapon curiously. So that was how the scientist died; he was attacked by something clever enough to use weapons. If it was what he suspected, it didn't faze him, because everyone knew the ferals all zombified years ago. That placed the scientists death almost five years ago, maybe even as far back as the riots. He was half expecting to find signs of blunt force trauma too. Ferals love throwing their stupid fucking rocks.
Under the balaclava, his expression darkened as he remembered an early scavenging trip, when he was once knocked out cold by a rock to the head, but he was torn away from reminiscing as something strange caught his eye. A thin black strip around the zombies neck. The fabric of a lanyard led away from its scrawny neck to the the sheen of a plastic coating sticking out from under the rags of a shirt. He snapped it off - it was an ID card with X.E.D.R.A across the top. Wiping off the blood revealed the photo of a balding man with accompanying information. So this was the corpse of Doctor Donovan, Medium Clearance, Senior Biologist. The Survivor stared blankly. Whoever the fuck that was, he won't need his ID card anymore.
The stench was overpowering. He pocketed the lanyard and held his breath as he searched the corpse for anything else. In the lab-coat pockets was the fossil of an old, blood-soaked notebook; pages ineligible, useless. An old lighter, still working. A few working pens. One packet of cigarettes. Could be sold as memorabilia. Nothing else. The survivor stomped its head in like a rotten watermelon and moved on. Doctor Donovan will stay dead.
-
Modern civilization is a memory but its wealth still remains.
Houses were robbed, supermarket shelves were emptied, gun stores were raided, but not everything could be taken in the initial chaos and rioting. Piled high in dockyards and behind barricaded warehouses, collecting dust in forgotten shipping containers, thousands of tons of consumer goods, clothes, electronics, all would have been sold and used by millions if not for the end of the world. Once ubiquitous and cheap, they now sell for a high, high price, and to get filthy old-world rich, all an enterprising scavenger needs to do is just reach forth and take it. The only problem was that between them and the wealth of the former USA were the untold millions of undead. Sometimes, even more. Fucking Mi-Gos loved plastic. But no matter what, the danger was always worth it. Scavengers dreamt of police stations, hospitals and military outposts, but above all were the Labs. After the secret was blown two years ago, everyone knew what XEDRA was and how they ended the world, and for a short while it sparked a gold rush. Just a short while, because finding a laboratory was like finding the holy grail. To this date, only one had been found, but that one Lab was what made elite scavenger groups like the Gold Squad the legends they are today. There wasn't a single scavenger in the entire former USA who wouldn't kill to be in his shoes.
It's been ten minutes since the first zombie. Throughout his exploration, the Survivor conducted himself like a professional scavenger. He kept track of his route and stuck to it. Every corridor and every blind spot, he checked. He didn't move on from a room until he inspected every nook and cranny. When at a corner, he'd always use a hand mirror to peek around. In everything, he moved as slowly and deliberately as he could, but for all his care, it didn't stop him from encountering more zombies. The Survivor snarled under his balaclava as he stared into his pocket mirror.
A zombie was motionless and alone in the middle of the hallway, and it likely hasn't moved since it first died. He watched it in the mirror. He needed to get past but there was no way to sneak around it, he'd have to fight it head on. That was an acceptable risk. The Survivor walked out from around the corner and faced the corpse from the other end of the hallway. Through a tangle of matted hair, it stared at him with oily black eyes, and it stumbled, frail broken arm dragging uselessly behind it. He approached, bayonet glimmering in the harsh light, and he dismantled the freak. The first stab left it bleeding out on the floor; the second went in the skull and put it down for good. The corpse slumped in a puddle of rancid blood. A cursory inspection revealed another ID card; Doctor Lucy, Low Clearance, Junior Researcher. Chunks of the zombies neck were missing, and its chest was pockmarked with bulletholes. The Survivor's initial assumption was wrong; this wasn't the first time it died, and already he was constructing a scenario. There was a zombie outbreak, the inhabitants of the Lab tried and failed to fight back, they either fled or joined the billions lost, and their dead rose back in their old workplace. Searching the corpse revealed a filthy notebook kept hidden in the lab-coats deep pockets, but this notebook and its pages were laminated, shielded from filth and the rigors of time. He could make out the title; patient treatment records. He flipped it open and was greeted with pale white notebook pages, covered in handwritten notes and printed sheets. He flipped past diagrams and gory details, and the balaclava didn't hide his confusion. The Survivor never graduated high-school, he didn't even have a GED, the medical jargon didn't make a lick of sense but it didn't matter. The notebook was the handwritten notes of a X.E.D.R.A scientist and this was worth its weight in gold. This alone made exploring the Lab worth it. Comparably the rest of the loot was lacklustre, a few more pens and that was it. He put the notebook into his runner pack. Pulp before reanimation then move on.
The Survivor had been a scavenger, a mercenary, a caravan guard; dealing with zombies was his job, and he was good at it. You had to be good if you wanted to last more than a week as a scavenger. The Survivor idly wondered when Makayla would come while stomping the zombies head in. Just a few months ago he was in Manchester with Makayla's company, burning down buildings, killing hundreds of zombies, salvaging what they can. After almost five years of this, plenty of cities were nearly zombie-free, excluding Boston, which remained utterly untouched because the fucking Mi-Gos grew their tower just on its outskirts. Scavenging in Manchester was higher risk compared to other cities due to not just an abnormally high undead population, but the sheer amount of slime that infested the sewers and train lines. Worse, he's heard rumours about a Shoggoth that lives in the subway tunnels. The zombies were the least of their problems, but the most common one they faced, and really they preferred it the most. Typical protocol with the undead was to dig into defensible locations with explosives and anti-infantry weapons, make a hell of a lot of noise, and funnel approaching hordes into kill zones. The equipment and manpower requirements of this task meant that scavengers were universally heavily armed, the largest scavenging groups resembled small armies with armored vehicles, trucks, and a litany of bizarre makeshift weaponry. Hell, by some amazing stroke of luck, Makayla had a fucking construction mech. The Survivor couldn't help but let jealousy stew in his chest as he stomped the zombie's skull into paste. Soon he finished up, and checked around a corridor before advancing. Behind him, the flickering light licked at his blood-soaked boots and the corpse of the zombie, oozing gore across the concrete from the ruins of its skull. Doctor Lucy will stay dead.
It didn't take long for the cramped hallways, dark rooms and sudden turns to gave way to wider spaces. He slid open a door and walked into an expansive office room. Under flickering lights, his boots tracked viscera across the thin blue carpet. He peered over rows of cubicles and under his balaclava came a small greedy smile. Computers, intact computers, printers, papers spilled across the floor, cables and keyboards and USBs, even a tray of laptops in a corner of the room and apart from the age, they might as well have been in pristine condition. Jackpot. Electronics sold well. Very well. XEDRA electronics, who knows how much, especially if they have valuable data on them. In his excitement the Survivor moved towards a cubicle, he swung the little door open with a gentle creak and reached out to turn a computer on. His little smile became a grin as the monitor flickered, the gentle whirring of a fan filled the stale air, and the cubicle was bathed in light. And then from the hallway came footsteps.
His blood ran cold. He ducked out from the cubicle and hid behind its wall as the footsteps grew louder. They came from the way he entered, and he realised they were the footfalls of something very, very heavy. His throat ran dry, he swallowed reflexively as he kept a tight grip on his rifle, and then silence came. Pulling out his pocket mirror, he dared to peek the glimmering edge just around the cubicle wall. A vast shadow stretched across the blue carpet, and just beyond the doorway was the hunched shape of someone huge. With the tiny pocket mirror he couldn't see much, but he saw how it jarred motionless and then continued on past the door. It lumbered with the weight and raw brute strength of a gorilla.
The Survivor was 6,4. 220 pounds, and even before the apocalypse he had more fights than hot meals. All that meant nothing against undead. Getting into a close-quarters fight was out the question. Zombies that didn't even reach his chest were a struggle, fights were won by putting distance between them, and his current method of bayonetting them with a short carbine like the M4 wasn't ideal. Anything larger would overpower him, and that wasn't even going into the different mutations. A zombie hunter would tear his throat out, a brute would just squish his head like a rotten tomato, and that massive thing had to be a brute, a very large brute. Not large enough to be a hulk, and the Survivor hoped to God that wasn't the case. Unable to get a good shot and unwilling to attract the attention of whatever that was, the Survivor took the safer option. He slowly crawled away and took a turn down a different path, sliding the glass door and stalking out into a new hallway. Electronics were not worth dying for. There should be better stuff in a lab, anyway.
He didn't recognise where this was. But he reckoned if he took a left then he'd be able to circle back. It was around now that he began to notice the security cameras. Suspended from the ceiling were little black orbs in their white cases, so small and unremarkable. They never worked because when scavenging electricity was non-existent in most buildings, but they still sold well. The Tower Fortress liked to keep an eye on their people, more than even the Center. He didn't pay them mind at first, until when he passed one by, the camera rotated with him. He froze, watching the lens. Testing the waters, he moved to the side. It moved too. His suspicions were confirmed. What the fuck?
For a while the Survivor just stared into the black lens, and anxiety stewed in his chest. They were watching him. Who? Someone was alive, and someone was watching him. So he decided to communicate. Tearing down a poster about the importance of keeping your badge on, he flipped to its blank side and wrote in blocky permanent marker, ARE YOU THERE? MOVE CAMERA MY RIGHT FOR YES AND MY LEFT FOR NO. He held the poster up and just waited. The camera didn't move. Ten seconds. Twenty. Thirty. Did they not want to communicate? What, couldn't they read? His handwriting wasn't that bad. And then realisation struck; this probably was an automated surveillance system, probably controlled by some robot, and a creeping frustration arose in his gut. Kept powered by the Lab, it was just doing the same task it's done for the last five years; watch intruders. How stupid of him. Amid wonders about what intentions lay behind silicon screens and dark camera lenses, he moved on, and the security camera turned to follow him.
The Survivor's main concern was finding his old path, but cut off by whatever that was earlier, he needed to loop around. His plan was to go left until he found it once again. So, he moved stealthily through a network of dark rooms. Not many zombies around, but the rooms were looted. Cabinets opened, fridge doors ajar with the light on, workstations were empty and bookshelves had nothing but dust on them. It was only a short trip until he snuck into an expansive lab room, keeping crouched behind the counters. He peeked over the counter. Bullet casings littered the tiled floor. Sandbags piled high in one corner of the room around an ajar metal door, where the backlit shapes of undead stood. One particularly bulky one was in a hazmat suit - how the hell do you die in a hazmat suit? The smell was atrocious, he had to force himself not to gag. He turned to the farthest corner and there swayed the source of the smell.
They congregated in their own gore. There stood maybe fifteen, maybe sixteen zombies; Some in raggedy lab-coats with lanyards around their necks, others wore torn shirts and limply hanging Kevlar vests, holsters empty. He could make out the finer details in the dimly lit room. The walking corpses bore wounds that betrayed the cause of death; holes pockmarking their chests, deep bites around their neck and faces. Some corpses, too mangled and brutalised to ever be recognisable, just lay there. Other zombies were too mutilated to stand but had just enough flesh remaining to ensure reanimation, one of those things spasmed softly in a mess of blood. Best not forget about the Crawlers. They hadn't moved and they likely hadn't since their deaths. Which, he's guessing, was some sort of last holdout by the inhabitants of this floor before they fought amongst themselves or Zombies overwhelmed them or both. Nothing stirred within the Survivor. XEDRA deserved everything they got.
Zombies are creatures with no ability to act on their own, only able to react to stimuli such as noise or smell or sight. They have no grasp of object permeance and simply remain in a comatose state, only a rare few such as necromancers, hunters and predators. When working with Makayla's scavenging company in zombie-infested Manchester, it wasn't uncommon to encounter wreckage and the stinking remains of scavengers, too brutalised to be reanimated, surrounded by hordes that haven't moved an inch. They're only spurred into action when they see prey, or smell prey, or hear prey.
The Survivor peered over the counter to the door that led into the light. Potentially, that led down into his path, but how was he even going to get there? Was he really going to try and vault over those sandbags, walk into the light, and attract the attention of every zombie? There had to be a better way. His confidence in exploring the Lab was evaporating and now he started to have doubts. Zombie presence of varying mutations had been confirmed and they exponentially outnumbered him. The Survivor was a risk-taker, everyone was after the apocalypse, but not suicidal, and this risk was intolerable. The mission was a bust; the new goal was to retreat. What the fuck was he thinking trying to scavenge from a Lab on his own? He let greed get to his head and look where it landed him, a dark cramped room filled with the undead. He needed to get back to the surface quickly and quietly, then sit tight in his car and wait it out until Makayla comes. It didn't matter because either way, he'll end up richer than he's ever dreamed of. This room was a deathtrap, and very carefully he turned back to the way he entered, but a zombie was in the way. It stared at him with wide, oozing eyes.
He froze in place. Perhaps it was a blind one. The room was dark anyway. But as the freak stumbled towards him, he remembered that zombies could still smell. He had his bayonet ready. A quick stab to the head would be all it takes. And then, the zombie jarred. Its decrepit leg caught on something sticking out from the shelf. Then the zombie tripped, and clattered down. And the freak brought the entire shelf down on top of it. Smash.
Shit.
The room was in uproar. The small horde spurred into motion, zombie scientists and zombie guards were tripping over themselves, surging towards the noise. Walking corpses shambled around counters and past shelves on all sides, rustling and thumping as they moved, and it became a feedback loop as more and more undead were drawn to the sound, in the textbook example of how a horde accumulates in the outside world. The Survivor immediately ducked behind a desk and scuttled in the darkness, his plan had gone out of the window. He couldn't go back now. Footsteps and the smell of rotting flesh was gagging as walking corpses swarmed where he just was a moment ago.
In close combat, a zombie always had the advantage. With no pain receptors and in a constant state of adrenaline, the constraints on their true strength are lifted. Even the most decrepit, maggot-ridden zombie oozing gore out from its eyeholes has in its bony fingers all the strength of a fit man. Even with a bayonet, fighting any zombie in close quarters is a calculated risk and unless you're a mutant or more machine than man, fighting more than one at a time is a death sentence. Mankind's greatest advantage against the creatures of the new World was its ability to strike from afar. With the M4 against his chest he could clear the room in seconds. But there was the problem of noise. In a desperate move to keep the zombies away from him, the Survivor picked up an empty glass jar from within a cabinet and hurled it to a far corner of the room. The zombies gathered, blindly. Stupid fucking creatures. But that was nothing but a temporary solution to an immediate problem. It granted some breathing room, but now more undead had come, tripping and stumbling into the room. He peeked over the counter with his mirror; ten zombies in that corner. Two behind him. Five in front and shambling towards the corner. A decision had to be made. Now. He could get to a safer corner of the room, then throw another jar at the horde, then make his way back on the retreat.
The Survivor moved from around the desk and glanced behind himself. That move saved his life, for he crawler had seen him and was now following behind. Go away. He was close to the door which he entered, now cleared of zombies, but the corpse had dragged itself in-between him and his escape. No. The Survivor searched for a way around the crawler, frustration clouding his head. Go fuck yourself.
But he didn't panic, despite the little voice in his head screaming alarm bells and begging him to get up and run. His conscience spoke to him.
Don't do that, dummy. That crawler could grab your leg and make you trip. Or you'll run straight into a whole gang of zombies with your big-body ass and then it's over.
The Survivor couldn't move past the crawler, and as it approached he was forced to back away. The situation went from bad to unmanageable when two zombies standing within the smashed doorway saw him in the dark. Where the fuck did they come from? Oh, right. The noise must have attracted them. They sniffed, beheld him with oily black eyeholes, one skinny freak stumbled and walked stiffly forward, decrepit arms outstretched for him. And then the Survivor knew it was over. One zombie was a risk. Two was out the question. Two and a crawler was his death, When one gets their hand on you, they grip tight, and the cold grip of a zombie was nigh inescapable. He had witnessed when just one zombie managed to grab a scavenger. Just one overpowered him, biting and mauling like an animal, him screaming and trying to worm free, and when the other freaks join in, the scavenger joined the billions lost. By the time the Survivor got to him, it was too late. He carried the corpse back with him and now his ashes sit in an old urn in the Tacoma Gravehouse. That won't be him. Because unlike him, the Survivor won't let them get close.
Crawler beside him, zombies infront of him, zombies behind him. A bayonet lunge would open him up to attack from the crawler and the other zombie behind him. The Survivor was cornered. That was it, they pushed his hand, and now the rifle against his chest was the only way out. Understanding that there was no way out of this that wasn't going to bring every zombie in the Lab down on his head. The Survivor swore under his breath. The freak staggered towards him, jaw hanging open, mouth filled with rows of rotted teeth. He no longer used the bayonet. He held the rifle higher, staring down the iron sights. He took aim, took a deep breath, and pulled the trigger.
BOOM
The muzzle flashed in the dark, his ears rang with the deafening noise. One shot was all that was needed. Skull gushing, the zombie collapsed and fell against the wall with a sickening thump. The other freak was next.
BOOM
And then he got moving, because every zombie in the whole floor, every creature had been whipped into a frenzy by the noise. With urgency and adrenaline, they surged towards where he was, gnashing vile teeth, stumbling and tripping over eachother to tear him apart. It was time to make a tactical retreat. Stepping over the corpses of downed zombies, there was no time to prevent their reanimation when the priority was retreating before he's buried under a wave of corpses. He ran out the dark room, following a path he didn't recognise as zombies streamed down the hallway, arms flailing, adrenaline rushing. He still ran, rifle levelled, he fired with the flash of the muzzle under the flickering light and one zombie collapsed into a heap. Another muzzle flash and boom, the next zombie doubled over inches away from his boots. When he turned his head for a brief moment and was greeted with the sight of a horde of filthy corpses stampeding down the hallway, he didn't care where he was going as long as it was somewhere defensible. He sprinted down the hallway, burst into a deserted lab room, dropping its undead occupants, and violently threw an empty cabinet in the way of the door. Then another. Then with considerable effort, pushed a bookshelf into the door with a deafening smash. From behind came harsh banging and crashing, and filthy hands tore at the barricades, reaching through the gaps as his pursuers frantically clawed and tried to force their way in. He used the opportunity to run further.
Shutting the door behind him, he rounded a corner and moved down an unlit office room, rifle levelled. With the darkness, his vision was limited to only a few feet, and when a zombie suddenly shambled from around a cubicle, arms outstretched. Too close to shoot, too close to stab with his bayonet. The Survivor reached for his belt and unsheathed his machete, with one deadly swoop he hacked at the freaks skull. It recoiled, stumbling from the gash on its head, weeping gore across matted hair. He struck twice, then three times, then four times, hacking at the zombie until it slumped against the cubicle and no longer moved. He breathed heavily, rancid blood splattered across his gloves. All this noise was attracting more and more of the zombies, and soon came rapid footsteps.
One zombie came from behind, jaw hinged open, and scrambled towards him with all the ferocity that it's decrepit muscles could propel it with. He lifted his leg, a brutal front kick to the chest turned the zombie into an oversized paperweight and sent it tumbling across the floor. A shot kept it down for good. No longer was he firing. Now, he just ran. He ran from room to room, footfalls echoing. Throwing down furniture and bookshelves in his way, making passage as difficult as possible for his undead pursuers. All that mattered was getting to safety, and now he began to recognise this path. The dark rooms, the slumped corpse of the zombies he killed earlier. Relief revitalised the survivors efforts, he knew he was close to the elevator. This was the path he took to avoid what he saw in the storage rooms. He was going to live through this, for sure. Just a little more. The lightbulb shone through the glass door. He recognised this room! The office room with the working electronics! He ran quicker, and then a vast shape blotted the light out. The Survivor began to backpedal, almost tripping over his feet. The move saved his life. The glass door shattered apart as something vast and black barrelled through. Purely instinctual, he recoiled and raised his arm to shield his face from glass shards, peppering harmlessly against his arm guards. The moment cost him everything.
Its vast body filled the doorway. Standing in the splinters of glass, deformed feet bleeding discoloured blood. The freak lumbered tall, taller than him, a thick festering slab of mutated muscle, fused with a black Kevlar uniform, but the Blob did not stop. Wet tumours and Leisionous bleeding skin grew around and interwove with the Kevlar, until the freaks chest fused with his vest and his fingers fused together, becoming fleshy clubs of disfigured bone and weeping tumours and thick Kevlar. A mauled, stretched-out face, like it was fashioned in clay, twisted in a nightmarish rage, it twitched, and stared with with bulging oozing black eyes. A throbbing vein on its giant neck burst.
And the brute started to run.
-
A/N:
That is all.
I may rewrite the first chapter and then recontinue.
It'll be like Bezerk with guns.
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#writing#creative writing#writers on tumblr#fanfiction#cataclysm dark days ahead#post apocalyptic#horror#alternate universe#science fiction#zombie apocalypse#action/adventure#Assault on the Laboratory#cross posted on ao3#Youtube
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Have a Happy Halloween with NASA
Attention ghouls and goblins of the galaxy! The season for scares and frights is upon us, so we’ve rounded up a few Halloween resources to capture that festive feeling. Read on for craft ideas, free decoration downloads, a creepy soundtrack, and even costume ideas.
Overdid it at the pumpkin patch this year? Get some creative inspiration and some pumpkin-building tips from our Jet Propulsion Laboratory engineers, carve a James Webb Space Pumpkin, or paint a pumpkin with space and weather themed designs. And yes – you can make a NASA pumpkin, too.
Speaking of design, check out our terrifying Galaxy of Horrors posters: decorate your walls with a an illustration of a galactic graveyard or of dark energy prowling through the universe…
If costumes are more your thing, see how the astronauts aboard the International Space Station have dressed up over the years.
Finally, our Sinister Sounds of the Solar System playlist will give you just the right soundtrack for a haunted house or a party – or for scaring yourself all alone.
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See the great thing about Phil Lester is he contains multitudes. He is bottle blonde babe, hotter than boiling water husband material. He is a bossy bitch who can bat his eyelashes and get anything he wants. He is a wildly intelligent and interesting person with two college degrees and a catalogue of fun facts to rival Jeopardy’s database. He’s a creative genius and a brilliant storyteller with a brain that needs to be studied in a laboratory. He is passenger princess girlfailure card carrying silly goose. He’s the sweetest man alive. He’s a loser. He’s a stinky baby. He’s a six on the Kinsey scale. He’s the patron saint of lesbians. He has a fat ass. I’m in love with him. He’s also a horrible evil man and I’m going to kill him with hammers (affectionate). What a guy
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stress relief.
➸ ask: “Heyy <33 | have a req for a jayvik fic, the reader has noticed they've been quite stressed lately and recommends a form of Relaxing they do (Basically just getting high) and convinces both Jayce and Viktor to take part in it.. Can be fluff or smut??” ➸ pairing: jayvik x fem!reader ➸ tags: mdni! drug use, nsfw, smut, pwp, poly sex, double penetration, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, jayvik established relationship, modern au, viktor wears a prosthetic leg, no use of y/n. ➸ word count: 6.3k ➸ a/n: i only realized when writing this, that i don’t have a ton of jayvik x reader fics like i thought i did! so, here’s to more!! hehe <3
Your fingers moved skillfully over a typewriter, a vintage one, which you often pointed out to anyone who admired it. Did it often cause you more hassle than writing on your computer? Of course, it did, but the nostalgic sounds of clicking and the aesthetic had become a part of your routine, even if it meant struggling with it or groaning when you had to pull out the paper to correct your mistakes with whiteout and place it right where you left off. A tedious task for a small mistake, but one that you struggled with no less.
The sounds of your constant typing reminded Jayce and Viktor of your pursuit of passion, sharing your poetry and fiction works with the world. This was a creative field of work, as opposed to theirs, which left them strained and sore after a day’s work.
It’s not that they ever compared the two in terms of struggles, but you were able to indulge in a stress-free environment more often than they could. A luxury in their eyes, but all you had done was master the art of stress relief.
In the form of smoking so much weed that you were able to melt into the couch after a day of writing that left your brain foggy, or sometimes even smoking before work to resurge enough creative energy to finish a chapter. You were nearly done with your first fiction novel since graduation, and your roommates, Jayce and Viktor, were lagging behind in their own professional efforts.
You met them both in college; you were in your second year, and they were in their fourth year of mechanical engineering and far from being done with their post-secondary education. It was the luck of the draw, or so Jayce called it when you stumbled into them while hurrying between classes and accidentally knocking their first prosthetic arm prototype to the ground where the pieces scattered.
Never in your life had you ever felt so bad, quickly dropping to your knees and helping them gather the pieces of their hard work, apologizing every second while the two men told you it would be okay. Or, at least, Jayce was telling you it would be okay.
You still think fondly back on Viktor's look. His eyes narrowed as he stared at you, watching you and Jayce scramble to grab everything before the rush of students stampeded over them into non-existence.
It took one apology and a smile to win over Jayce’s heart and a few days of getting to know Viktor—and a few drinks—to win his. Though, you had been oblivious to the deeper feelings that blossomed in their heart.
Why would you think otherwise? They were the two in the relationship.
It was by your fourth year and their sixth that the three of you ended up in the same apartment together, the rent cheap enough split three ways that you’d all be fools to let the opportunity go to waste. You learned quickly that living with two men, let alone engineers and inventors, was going to be a lot. It took a few long months to get used to, but by the time you resigned your first year’s lease and you were freshly graduated, you could be blindfolded and walk over their disassembled creations without as much disturbing their work.
You were thankful that they were able to find a laboratory on campus, but it left your apartment quiet most days and well into the night. The sounds of their bickering had become the soundtrack to your life; instead, the sounds of your fingers against the typewriter echoed through the otherwise empty apartment.
The only other sounds were the distant television you hadn’t bothered to turn off and your senior cat's purring, which lay atop your bed.
You hummed a quiet melody, a song that you couldn’t name that Jayce had been playing on his phone earlier that morning when he was cooking breakfast. Waking up just in time so you could sneak it and ask him to triple the servings for you and Viktor.
The rattling of the apartment door startled you from your daze, not having realized that you’d been staring at the same sentence over and over for the past five minutes. Your eyes flickered to your phone, a finger tapping the screen to check the time and only then realizing you’d been writing for the past four hours without a break. The moon was high in the sky, and the birds would be chirping in only a few more hours.
Slowly, you got up from your desk, arms stretched above your head and groaning as your stationary position caught up to you, leaving you sore and desperate for a smoke before the night got ahead of you.
“Jesus,” you said as you stepped out of your room, pulling down the sleeves of your sweater over your hands absently as you watched Jayce and Viktor kick off their shoes at the front door. They were so exhausted that they looked like they might fall asleep standing if they didn’t hurry. “This is the fourth night in a row; you guys are digging early graves at how little sleep you’re getting.”
“Maybe that’s why we’re doing it,” Viktor mumbled, struggling with removing the shoe from his prosthetic leg, which Jayce quickly dropped to his knees to help him with.”
“Don’t blame you, all that work and still no grant. Yikes.” You returned with a playful flicker in your eyes, smiling as Viktor rolled his eyes at you. Jayce frowned as he rose back to his feet. “Kidding, guys. It’s called a joke; don’t give me those looks.”
“Yeah, yeah,” the taller man mumbled, scratching at his stubbled jaw as he walked into the apartment, passing you and groaning as he b-lined for the living room so he could collapse onto the couch. Viktor was close behind, leaning on his cane as he walked, but you weren’t far behind.
“Bad day?” You asked sheepishly, regret forming a knot in your stomach when you noticed how stressed they were, both sitting on the couch.
“Bad week,” Viktor corrected as he leaned forward, rolling his pant leg up to reveal the well-worn prosthetic that needed an upgrade. They’d been so focused on their work that he hadn’t bothered to worry about his own needs, knowing that once this project ended, he’d be able to call the final prototype his own. A leg that would finally implant into his limb so he wouldn’t have to deal with the pain of the ill-fitting prosthetics any longer.
You watched as he struggled for a minute, and before Jayce could offer, you were on the floor in front of him, hands already reaching for his leg. Carefully pulling the prosthetic down his thigh until it came clean off, he sighed in relief. This was a common routine that you helped with when Jayce was otherwise busy. Or falling asleep on the couch.
“Thanks,” he murmured, shifting as you put aside the leg carefully.
You returned to the armchair next to the couch, eyes looking between both men who had seen better days. The bags were so heavy beneath their eyes that you feared it would take days for them to finally catch up on their sleep—then an idea sparked.
“You two need a better nightly routine, something to help you decompress from the day instead of passing out in exhaustion the minute you get home,” you said, offering the opportunity for a suggestion.
Jayce glanced at you, raising a curious eyebrow. Viktor was the first to speak, “That doesn’t sound like a healthy habit to you? What a shame. I thought we were the epitome of self-care.”
“Let her speak,” Jayce nudged him with an elbow, eventually leaning against his boyfriend until his face was nearly buried against his neck. “You have anything in mind? I’ll be honest. Sleep sounds like the only good idea.”
“Smoke with me.”
Jayce perked up, peering out from the comfort of Viktor’s warmth as he stared at you with uncertainty, “Like… weed? I don’t know. I haven’t done that since I was a freshman, and let me tell you, it wasn’t a good experience.”
“No one told you to smoke that much, Jayce,” Viktor chided, having been there to witness it firsthand. His amber eyes flickered to you, shining in interest, “I suppose it doesn’t sound like a horrible idea.”
“Because it’s a great idea.” You beamed, sitting up and leaning forward to pet your cat that had made her way into the living room, taking her rounds to each person to receive her nightly pets before nestling away on her cat tree.
Viktor glanced at Jayce, “You don’t have to if you don’t want to, love.”
You watched as the two of them spoke softly to each other, a small smile on your lips at the affection they carried for each other. Even on their worst days, they loved each other with all they had. You hoped for a love like theirs someday.
“Fine,” Jayce huffed, pulling away from Viktor and running a quick hand over his face, “At this point, I’ll do anything to get my mind off of work. I think I’m going crazy,” he snorted a weak laugh, eyes flickering over to as you bounced up from your chair and hurried off to your room to roll.
You returned just as Viktor pulled a sweater over his thin frame, hanging over the sleep shorts he now wore. Jayce had just slipped into some sweats after his quick trip to their bedroom to rid themselves of their day clothes. Two sets of eyes watched as you sat back down, a joint held between your fingers that you showed off like a prized possession.
“Ta-da!” You exclaimed, “As simple as a few puffs, all your worries will melt away. It’s old reliable for me, especially after a long day. Makes for the best sleep of your life.”
Viktor was watching you carefully as you spoke, unsure if it was the exhaustion or lingering feelings that left him admiring you. His hand on Jayce’s thigh dug into the cotton fabric of his sweats, going unnoticed because Jayce was staring at you with the same look. Admiration, awe—affection.
Glancing around, your eyes landed on the balcony where you often spent your evenings with a joint and your cellphone, doom scrolling through social media until you were ready to sleep. You crinkled your nose, looking at the boys, “We need to go outside, or else the apartment will smell like—”
“I don’t care,” Viktor said, gaze flickering to Jayce, “do you care?”
Jayce didn’t answer. Instead, his eyes focused on the joint in your hand, and he was more than ready to say fuck it and let things go how they needed to go.
“No complaining tomorrow when we have to air out the apartment,” you smiled. You’d never been able to smoke in the comfort of your own home before, so this was a treat. Even better than you had been able to wrangle your favourite boys into the mix, too.
Once lit, the joint was passed around the circle three times. Viktor handled it well, having been an off-and-on cigarette smoker throughout the years, usually when his stress levels peaked. Now, it was only when he had enough alcohol in his system. Jayce coughed up a lung each time, and it was the most endearing thing you’d ever witnessed.
Even if it was rather unpleasant for him at first.
You finished the rest, an experienced smoker, so it was almost like nothing to you. The lingering effects of the high made you sink into the armchair, but not before you grabbed everyone some emergency water and snacks, if you could even stay awake.
Fifteen minutes passed, and everyone’s attention was focused on the TV as the shared high began to climb. Viktor was feeling great. His mind was emptied, and the usual pain in his leg after a day of wearing the prosthetic was gone, leaving his body relaxed and eager to sleep long enough to hit double digits.
You glanced at Jayce, seeing the way he sunk into the couch, legs spread wide apart and a lopsided smile on his lips as he watched the trashy reality show play out. You were almost certain you’d never seen them look so damned relaxed, at least since you lived with them.
Jayce caught your stare, head tilting slowly until his gaze met yours, and you felt your heart skip a beat for a brief moment. It had been a long time since you shared a high with anyone, let alone your best friends, so the emotions and feelings coursing through you were new. You couldn’t ignore his half-lidded eyes, staring even as he made room between him and Viktor.
“You look lonely,” Jayce said, a chuckle erupting from his throat, “Come on. When’s the last time you cuddled with us?”
Viktor sighed heavily through his nose, everything around him feeling slow as he watched you slink over hesitantly. He looked at Jayce, smiling, “You say that so confidently; you know she never has before.”
You plopped down on the couch between them, and immediately, your senses were filled in the best way possible. Jayce’s body to your left warmed your body, and you could smell the faint cologne that Viktor used every morning. The scent lingered on his skin.
“That’s not true,” you hummed, looking to the television as you crossed your legs and relaxed back, “Last year when we went to that gala for the university, I got hammered, and somehow I woke up sandwiched between you two in my bed.”
Jayce laughed, a loud laugh that hadn’t warranted that reaction from your words, but everything was funny to him. He could get used to the feeling.
“Ah, right,” Viktor looked at you, smirking, “That was Jayce’s doing, just so you know. He was worried you would get sick, so he wanted to stay with you and begged me to stay.”
“I didn’t beg,” he said through his laughter, “You gave in very easily and enjoyed it. Don’t lie.”
“I did not,” Viktor argued, pale cheeks turning a soft pink. You looked between the two of them as they bickered, a big smile on your face. However, the implications of their words settled into your stomach, and you forced yourself to look back to the TV before you could let your mind wander where it didn’t need to.
There was no need to let yourself build up a desire, knowing very well that it wouldn’t come true.
“Yeah, you did,” Jayce turned to face you both better, easily throwing his right leg over both of your laps, and you were quick to rest a hand over the clothed limb. The touch sent a shiver up his spine and a heat in the pit of his stomach that he hadn’t expected, and he hoped you hadn’t noticed because Viktor certainly had.
“Hardly,” Viktor hummed, unable to feel an ounce of annoyance when his heart began pounding in his chest when he saw how Jayce reacted to your touch. How those hazel eyes were glued to your face, and all of the discussions they’ve shared in the past about you came to the surface.
“Stop arguing,” you whined, pointing to the television, “You are missing the best part of the show. They’re about to answer the ultimatums, and let me tell you that whatever you had in mind is never what happens.”
You were received by silence, and you quickly looked between the two men again, blinking a few times in quick succession as you saw the way they both stared at you. You felt a chill crawl up your spine and absently dug your fingers into the fabric covering Jayce’s leg. Sinking back into the couch, you attempted to force yourself to relax and not overthink it, but it was hard when you could see them sharing looks.
“You know, when you get high, you usually just laugh at crappy television and snack on whatever you have until you fall asleep,” you mumbled, your cheeks burning.
“Mmh,” Viktor hummed, “Where are our manners?” He teased, and his voice sent goosebumps along your skin. He nestled himself against you as he spoke, his cheek resting on your shoulder as he focused on the television. Meanwhile, Jayce leaned back against the nook between the arm and the back of the sofa, his arm extending behind you as his fingers ‘absently’ played with the ends of your hair.
You were on high alert, which was surprising for how much you smoked, but you could sense something was happening. You were just trying to convince yourself that it wasn’t what you were imagining in your head, but the way Jayce brushed his fingers through your hair and how Viktor’s left hand rested over your bare thigh left you wondering if you were dreaming again.
Viktor’s fingers brushed between your thighs, a daring touch that reminded you that this was no dream, and in this reality, the two men were certainly coming onto you.
A laugh bubbled up from you, one that you weren’t able to hold down. Your hands flew to your face, which had begun to burn a bright red, and you avoided their curious looks.
“You guys are being horribly obvious. I hope you know that.” You mumbled behind your hands, refusing to move them.
Viktor chuckled, the sound rumbling deep in his chest, “Or maybe it takes you being high to finally notice.”
You turned your head to look at Viktor between parted fingers, “What do you mean by that?”
Jayce spoke up from the other side of you, smiling rather shyly as you looked over at him, “You’re… pretty clueless, you know that? It’s cute.”
You swore you could hear your heart slamming against your ribs, the feeling overwhelming as you stared up at Jayce and felt your stomach twist in uncomfortable knots. Your eyes flickered back to Viktor, noting the confident smile on his lips as he reached out and tucked some of your hair behind your ear.
“How does it make you feel?” Viktor asked quietly, his reddened eyes scanning your face, “Knowing how we feel about you.”
“Well,” you murmured, licking your lips as you inhaled a shaky breath, “I suppose I don’t exactly know how you feel about me… it’s difficult to answer without knowing.”
Jayce shifted beside you, his leg moving from your laps so he could instead guide you until you were rested back against his chest, his body still turned completely towards you and Viktor. You nestled back into him, sighing at how his body felt so nice and warm like it was enveloping you.
Meanwhile, Viktor shifted and leaned towards you, smiling as he nuzzled himself into you and pulled his leg onto the couch that perfectly fit you three. He buried his face against your clothed chest, peering up just enough to meet your gaze.
“Would you like us to show you?” he asked his eager hand dipping beneath your sweater, thin fingers brushing against the skin of your stomach. You didn’t care if the weed was allowing them to better act on their instincts. All you knew was that the four hands beginning to grasp at your body was enough to make you say—
“God, yes,” you breathed, the sound catching in your throat.
Jayce was quick to act on your consent. From behind his lips attached to the side of your neck, he left gentle kisses that earned you a shiver. Meanwhile, Viktor leaned himself between your spread legs. His eyes were half-lidded and glossy as he stared at you with a knowing smile.
You didn’t have time to question him for staring because he swallowed the words on the tip of your tongue as he pressed your lips together in a bruising kiss. Your lips parted with a gasp, and he took advantage of the opening, his tongue delving into your mouth and tasting the red licorice flavour from the sweets you had indulged. He moaned into your mouth, hands on your hips underneath your sweater and grasping over your flesh, rougher touches compared to the fluttering kisses from the man behind you.
The stubble on Jayce’s jaw tickled your skin as he nibbled on the shell of your ear, his heavy breaths cascading your neck with warmth.
“How excited are you?” He whispered into your ear, a squeak muffling into Viktor’s eager mouth as a hand slipped between your bodies and pushed into your shorts. Thick fingers pushed past the fabric of your panties, easily spreading through your wet folds. “Fuck,” Jayce huffed, swallowing thickly as he circled your needy clit with short circles.
“I told you she’d like it,” Viktor mumbled against you, pulling back as a string of saliva connected your lips. He grinned, lifting a hand and brushing his thumb against your swollen bottom lip, “You like it, don’t you?”
Your body was on fire, Jayce’s fingers toying with your cunt, earning a few whimpers that you tried to muffle, but to no avail. Half-lidded eyes stared at Viktor as you nodded, watching as he leaned back and looked down between your legs underneath the fabric. He could see his boyfriend’s fingers working through your folds, the slick sound loud enough to reach his ears.
Nimble fingers grabbed at your shorts and underwear, yanking them down your thighs until they slipped past your ankles and were discarded to the floor.
Viktor’s eyes sparkled as he watched, licking his lips as Jayce used two fingers to spread you open.
“She’s dripping,” Jayce murmured, the sound of his voice easing your nerves as you relaxed against him, fingers grabbing at his thighs. You closed your eyes, unable to look at Viktor in your flustered state.
“I can see that,” Viktor purred, his fingers toying at your entrance that Jayce had opened for him. You whined as he pushed in a finger, a second one joining much too easily, “So good. Taking my fingers so easily. I bet you’ve dreamt of this, haven’t you?”
Your back arched at his touch, Jayce’s index finger returning to your clit, a ministration that made your hips shake in tandem with Viktor’s fingers thrusting in and out of you. Your mind was hazy, and you couldn’t think straight, eyes fluttering as you fucked yourself along his two fingers that pumped so deep you were beginning to babble out their names incoherently.
Viktor curved his fingers, pushing on the fleshy pad of muscle inside your pussy that coaxed out a strangled cry from your lips. He didn’t relent, the two men wanting to hear more from you as they worked together. They couldn’t concentrate on anything, fixated on the way your cunt tightened around Viktor’s fingers and how your nails dug into Jayce’s thighs as your climax neared.
“Fuck,” you whimpered, a gasp escaping between parted lips. You attempted to push your thighs together, but Jayce was quick and held your thighs apart.
“Be a good girl,” he breathed into your ear.
Viktor’s free hand moved so he could rub quick circles over your swollen clit, fingers still pumping in and out of you at a relentless pace. Your eyes cracked open, hips twitching violently as heat spread down your thighs and up your abdomen. You locked a gaze with Viktor, and your heart lept into your throat at the way he stared at you—animalistic. Hungry.
“Come for me,” he whispered, fingers curling as he did his best to bring you to your release.
It worked well, especially with Jayce’s lips pressing heady open-mouthed kisses to your neck, hands grabbing at your thighs and keeping you nicely spread.
“Oh my god,” you cried, thighs tensing and toes curling as your orgasm hit you hard. You clenched impossibly tight around Viktor’s fingers, hips stuttering as heavy breaths and moans fell from your lips. Viktor kept fucking you with his fingers, a slower pace to meet with your release until you were spent.
Your hands moved to your face, covering your cheeks that were red from embarrassment. You were still twitching, sensitive from their synchronized touches, and you didn’t dare look at either of them.
Jayce smiled, pressing a chaste kiss at your temple, “That was so hot.”
Viktor chuckled, fingers leaving your cunt, and you whined at the emptiness. He noted the reaction, his gut hot and cock twitching under his shorts.
“Show us your pretty face,” he chided you, voice soft as he grabbed at your wrists. He tugged your hands away from your face, smiling at the way you pouted at him, “Since when are you shy?”
“Since my roommates in a relationship decided they’d rather fuck me instead of sleeping,” you mumbled, shifting and feeling a familiar hardness on your lower back. Jayce grunted, his tanned cheeks red as he twitched, the slight friction on his erection making him eager to make your statement come true.
“We haven’t fucked you yet, though,” Viktor hummed, smirking as he lifted his fingers to his mouth, wet with your juices. He licked them clean and sighed, “Do you want us to?”
You answered quickly, a prominent yes. Within minutes, the three of you had made it to their bedroom, rather clumsy in your efforts. Your back fell against the bedsheets that had been tucked into the mattress so neatly, and your clothes were ripped from your body almost instantaneously.
Viktor was leaning back against the pillows, centred almost perfectly in the middle of the bed, and you were on your knees in front of him. Eyes heavy as you tugged down his shorts and briefs while he tossed his sweaters aside. Jayce settled behind you, also on his knees, and he towered over your smaller frame.
Golden eyes watched you both in awe as you felt Jayce’s bare muscled chest pressed against your back and his cock pushing between your thighs—grazing against your still-wet cunt. You could feel how big he was, and as you stared down at Viktor, you noted his, too.
You didn’t want to think about it, wondering how you would take them. You weren’t much of a go-getter in terms of sex, usually relying on your toys late at night when you needed some relief.
“You’re nervous,” Jayce murmured, calloused hands running up and down your sides. They settled over your breasts, feeling the heaviness of them in his hands as he pinched at your nipples until you gasped.
“A little,” you answered quietly, swallowing down the nervous lump in your throat. You leaned to the side enough that you could tilt your head and meet Jayce’s eyes from behind you. His eyes carried a gentle look, different than the fiery gaze from Viktor.
Jayce smiled, ducking his head closer until his lips brushed against yours, “Don’t be. There’s no reason.”
Your eyes fell closed as you eagerly accepted his kiss, whimpering into his mouth as he tasted you carefully. His tongue pushed past your lips, and you opened yours, tongues dancing together effortlessly. He moaned into you, arms wrapping over your waist as you shared a passionate kiss with a bit too much tongue, but gods, you didn’t care.
Especially when you knew Viktor was staring, leaning back and smirking. Cock twitching and pre-cum beading along the tip as he began to stroke himself.
“You’re so beautiful,” Jayce whispered, pulling from your lips and staring into your eyes as your stomach twisted. You hadn’t heard that in a while. “I want to fuck that pretty face of yours.”
And they both did.
Both of them leaned back against the headboard, eyes fluttering as you sucked them both off. Working your mouth along their cocks one at a time, your hand stroking the one your throat neglected.
“Ah,” Viktor whimpered, a hand tight in your hair as he guided you along his cock, amber eyes heavy as you looked up at him, “Fuck, you’re good at this.”
The praises kept you going; it was like a rush of confidence. You took them both deeper than you thought was possible, their cocks fucking your throat until you had to pull back, gasping for air. You could feel how close they both were, and when Jayce roughly tugged your hair back with a growl deep from his chest, you knew you were good enough to be fucked by them.
Finally.
What you hadn’t expected was how.
The three of you were on the bed, with you sandwiched between them and your back pressed against Jayce’s chest. You looked up at Viktor, your leg hooked around his hips and breathing heavily, unsure where this was going but knowing that you’d do anything. You’d take anything; you needed them.
As Jayce kissed over your bare shoulders, Viktor moved closer, hand at the base of his cock so he could direct it to your entrance. You whined when the tip pushed inside, teasing.
“Viktor,” you breathed, your hands reaching out to grab at his waist so you could tug him closer, “fuck me. I need you, please.”
He chuckled, the sound rumbling in his chest, “Mmh, you’ve been so good. How could I say no to that pretty face of yours?” He murmured, closing the distance between your lips so he could pull you into a searing kiss.
He pushed inside you with one quick thrust, reaching the hilt as you choked on your breath, the sound captured by his lips. “Ah, fuck,” you croaked, your cunt stretching from his length. You whimpered into his mouth, licking inside until your tongues slid together, and he gave you time to adjust to his size.
Jayce reached around you, the familiar feeling of his finger on your clit easing you. The pain of being stretched, a remnant of the past, as you pulled from Viktor’s lips, “Keep going.”
He obeyed quickly, panting as he shifted so he could fuck you, pulling out half-way and pushing back in. Careful movements until he knew you could take it, quickening to a hard pace that had you moaning out his name.
You reached back behind you, looking over your shoulder at Jayce as your hand wrapped around his cock, stroking him. You thumbed at the tip, the pre-cum coating his cock as you pumped him in repetition with Viktor’s thrusts. He huffed at the feeling, his forehead pressed against your shoulder blade as the heat in his abdomen tightened.
“Your pussy feels so good,” Viktor’s voice pulled you down from the clouds, a quiet mewl bubbling up from your throat at the praise, “You’re being so good. Taking me so good… can you take us both?”
Both you and Jayce stilled, tensing at the prospect. Jayce’s cock twitched in your hand, and you stared at Viktor wide-eyed, heart slamming against your chest.
“Both?” You whispered, thankful when Viktor slowed his movements, “I… I don’t know. Maybe.”
“You don’t have to,” Jayce murmured into your ear, his breath heavy from your hand that had nearly stroked him to completion, “It’s okay if it’s a no.”
Viktor hummed in agreement, leaning forward and ducking to press his lips against your jaw, gentle kisses. You closed your eyes, lips parting as quiet sounds of pleasure came from you. The idea of it made your cunt clench around Viktor’s cock, both of them inside you at once.
Stretched impossibly thin.
“Yes,” you whispered, eyes fluttering open to look into Viktor’s gold orbs, “I want you both. Fuck, I think I need it.”
Jayce grinned against your ear, your hand eagerly guiding his cock to your already-filled entrance. “Easy now, love.” He said, the pet name making your heart flutter, “One step at a time. I don’t want to hurt you.
Viktor began to slowly push himself in and out of you, slow movements so pleasure filled your senses before you’d be stretched beyond your comfort levels. You squirmed when you felt Jayce’s cock prod at your entrance.
“Let me fuck her,” Jayce mumbled, talking to Viktor, who reluctantly pulled himself out. Your cunt was empty for all of a second before another cock pushed inside you. Stretching you more than Viktor had, but not as long. Gods, you had no idea how you’d make this work.
You leaned forward against Viktor, whimpering as Jayce’s hand grabbed at your hip, digging into your flesh as he fucked you enough to wet his cock.
“You ready? Viktor asked you, his hand caressing your cheek so you were forced to look into his eyes. You nodded, your stomach twisting.
Your eyes closed, and you did your best to relax your body. Your body leaned back against Jayce now as Viktor had to shift his body and position himself until his cock was pushing at your entrance, unsure if this would work.
Then you cried out loudly, choking on a strangled gasp when the head of his cock pushed inside, and your cunt stretched wide to fit him. Jayce was quick to act on your pain, a finger on your clit and lips at your ear, kissing and whispering soft praises in your ear. Anything to calm you, and it worked.
“Shit,” Viktor hissed under his breath, his gaze focused down between your legs, watching as his cock penetrated you and joined Jayce’s inside your tight cunt. You were so wet that it was easy to slide right in, but he was careful and slow, eyes glancing at your face every so often to gauge your reactions.
You clawed at his shoulders, nails digging into his skin and only realized you had been holding your breath until you felt him fit inside you fully. Your eyes fluttered open, looking at Viktor with eyes full of unshed tears.
“Fuck me,” you whimpered, nearly begging. The fullness between your legs was more than you could imagine, but the pleasure was beginning to outweigh the discomfort.
Viktor dove forward, his lips crashing to yours as Jayce moved first. He pulled his hips back, his cock moving out of you slowly and rubbing against Viktor’s, a whine from your lips swallowed down by Viktor’s tongue. As Jayce pushed back in, Viktor pulled out—an electric rhythm that made your head spin.
Both men groaned, breathing heavily as they fucked you slowly. Jayce’s forehead, sticky with sweat, was pressed against the nape of your neck as he focused on his movements. His cock twitched inside you with each forward press of his hips, the sensation of your tight cunt swallowing him while rubbing along Viktor’s had his release close to the edge already.
None of you could speak, the sounds of their slick cocks fucking you in languid movements loud in your ears. Heavy breaths, deep grumbles in their chests, and names rolling from your tongue through pleasured mewls.
Your hips met their rhythms, and not once was your pussy empty. Stretched so deliciously far that you felt your juices dripping down your thighs and wetting the bedsheets beneath your hips.
“I don’t think I’m going to last much longer,” Jayce broke through the silence you shared, his voice shaky as his teeth dragged along your shoulder and focused hard on keeping his release at bay. His finger over your clit had only helped in pushing you further toward your orgasm, fleshy walls clenching tight around the two cocks that took their turns filling you.
“Me neither,” Viktor pulled from your lips, a moan catching in his throat as he stuttered his hips forward, “God—fuck.”
He was the first to fall over the edge, gasping as he buried his face forward against your neck, kissing you as he spilled inside. Jayce was right behind, unable to keep himself from pushing into you, so both cocks stretched you, hot cum sputtering inside you and leaking out as you milked both men dry.
Only a few more tight circles on your clit sent you over, hips twitching and causing both men to groan at the overwhelming feeling of you fucking yourself on their cocks as you rode out your climax. Electricity shooting through your body, loud cries of pleasure falling from your tongue until you were limp and whimpering, shifting so they could both pull out from you.
Once it emptied, you could finally breathe, your body able to relax from the limits you had pushed yourself to.
“You did so well,” Viktor breathed against your neck, hardly able to speak. His mind was swirling, the weed and exhaustion only dizzying him further as he groaned, “Fuck, I’ve never felt better.”
Jayce hummed in acknowledgement, letting out a heavy sigh as he rolled onto his back and ran a hand through his hair. He wore a lopsided grin as he tugged you towards him so you were tucked forward against his side and Viktor followed, clinging to you from behind and burying his face in your hair.
“Maybe we’ll do that again sometime,” he eventually spoke, slurring slightly from the tiredness that had begun to consume him.
“Might have to give me a few business days to recover,” you murmured, your face nuzzled against his chest as the three of you lay atop the sheets. Much too tired to even bother pulling the sheets above your bodies.
Viktor chuckled, inhaling your scent deeply as his fingers traced patterns along your stomach absently, “Maybe I will buy you a strap. You can join me in fucking Jayce one of these days.”
“I don’t know about that,” Jayce argued, half-asleep.
“You get used to it.” You giggled, eyes closed as sleep began to win you over.
You sighed quietly, the sounds of both men snoring softly as they fell into deep slumbers after a week of overworking themselves. Your heart was so full of love as they held you close—it was addicting. Jayce and Viktor were addicting. Whatever this was blossoming into was a dangerous game, but you knew you could trust them with your heart.
Your favourite boys.
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words for users !
ideias de palavras aleatórias para ajudar você a criar seu próprio user;
random ideas of words to help you to create your own user.
core -> aesthetic core
vlog -> daily videos
logs -> daily facts
mp3 -> audio file format
m4p -> apple audio file format
mp4 -> video file format
txt -> text format
jpeg -> image file format
jpg -> image file format
png -> image file format
gif -> animated file format
raw -> uncompressed file format
zip -> compressed archive file format
rar -> compressed archive file format
web -> internet file format
doc -> document file
pdf -> document file
vinyl -> phonograph record
film -> motion picture; photography
user -> person who utilizes a computer or network service
i2 -> "keeping it real"
self -> a person's essential being
itself -> a person's essential being
priv -> private
luv -> love's short form
tale -> a fictitious or true narrative or story
archive -> to place or store (something) in an archive
list -> connected items
tier -> a type of hierarchy
talk -> speak in order to express something
chat -> to have a conversation
post -> to announce or publish something
zone -> a subject to particular restrictions
vie -> life in french
tie -> to form a knot or bow in
on/online -> connected to a network
byte -> a group of binary digits
bits -> a small piece, part, or quantity of something
ram -> hardware in a computing device
8bit -> computer term used to designate either color depth
pixel -> a minute area of illumination on a display screen
data -> things known or assumed as facts
series -> a number of things, events, or people of a similar kind
village -> a self-contained community within a town or city
lab -> a laboratory
lady -> a woman
miss -> a form of address to a woman
mister -> a form of address to a man
error -> something not found
art -> the various branches of creative activity
petit -> small in french
poet -> a person possessing special powers of imagination or expression
thing -> an object without a specific name
stuff -> a vague reference to additional things
vogue -> the prevailing fashion or style at a particular time
tv -> taylor's version and/or television as a system or form of media
media -> the main means of mass communication
topia -> an imagined place or state of things in which everything is perfect
saur -> forming names of extinct reptiles such as dinosaurs
tune -> a melody, one that characterizes a particular piece of music
deun -> melody in deutsch
off/offline -> disconnected from the Internet
gloss -> shine or luster on a smooth surface
fae -> a fairy, in modern fantasy fiction
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