#vapor rats shirt?

[env0writes]

Our Souls Long For New Conquests 3.10.23 “Thunder Fieldslone”

That rolling celestial bowling alley strike Flashing lights calling victory to order Returns me to the middle school fields Midwest humidity stifling my clothes, sticky to skin A heated panting breath before the rainfall Emerald clouds twisted like whirligig grass Oh, how the world could have ended there And I’d thought of it too But I must roll on, persist like the thunder Release my cry against the torrent of rain Each droplet a day of doubt Batting against my victorious call To arms and hopeful well wishes Oh, were that I was, what I am, will I be Too long have my ears been scorned of grace Of heavy handed words and harder handed storms I still hold fast to my fleece, fearful The falling clattering drum, haleful din Flashing bright light, fright lights, dead of night lights Some strikes hear the rat-tat-tat Amidst the blaring storm-horn siren Today is not Wednesday This is not a safety, safely tested sound But here I sit, beside the window, still No cursory, nursery rhyme to ease Flooding thoughts dam up and jam up My own waterworks frozen like the soil Wishing at pipe dreams, pipe bombs, Making that same rolling thunderclap Snap! I’m running home grass-stained and pained Wet, weary, bleary eyed between the wind Tugging at my shirt to cross the meadow Wet-socks stumbling through puddles, running As if to Oz, I’m pulled by cumulative cumulus vapors Tapering off to cyclonic touchdown There is a siren still blaring in my ears Calling me to home Away from curled up hallways and empty fields I want sheets of fleece not sheets of rain To hold me warm and tight This red bricked up bare bones building A sign of safety soon, But not within those linoleum floors and educated walls I let out a whisper, with breath marred against the window This too is a victory My thunderous sound alight

@env0writesC.Buck Ko-Fi & Venmo: @Zenv0 Support Your Local Artist! Photo by @mynamemeanscloud

[krsive-writes]

I Will Follow You Into The Dark

Rickorty Week Day 2, prompts are Alternate Selves and First Time

Title: I Will Follow You Into The Dark

Author: krsive

Rating: M

Tags/Warnings: Angst, Mental Sex, Alien Sex

The setting didn't inspire confidence, really. There was some kind of green scaly rat in the alley feasting on a discarded Morty Hut pizza. It must have rained before they portaled in because the petrichor still hung in the air, though it was pungent with the scent of garbage. The asphalt was gritty and damp. Morty stuck close to Rick the whole way down to the steel door which was apparently where they were headed.

“This is a-already the worst birthday gift ever, a-a-and it hasn't even started yet!" Morty complained.    He didn't like the solemn disregard in Rick's expression.

"You're about to have a once in a lifetime experience, Morty. You're about to have the ultimate sex tourism ride. A little gratitude would be nice." Rick knocked a pattern on the door.

"We c-could have just had sex in a nice hotel. This place is too creepy."

"We can't have sex like this anywhere else. Didn't I tell you this was gonna be special? Even I've never done this before. Jesus, Morty. Always bitch, bitch, bitch."

"I—“

The door opened and a gruff Rick beckoned them inside. The room was large enough to feel airy though there were no windows. In one corner were two hospital beds and two huge bell jars, connected to one another by a mess of wires and tubes. It seemed a little menacing, but Morty couldn't dwell on it because something even stranger made itself known. Two swirling shapes like small cumulus clouds hovered in the air before him. One was a cool, dusty blue, and the smaller one was a dandelion yellow.

"Met Rick and Morty U-2571," Rick introduced.

"Um. H-Hi." Morty raised his hand in shy greeting.

You're late, C-995, said a Rickish voice, though there was no actual sound—just a distinct alien thought in Morty's mind.

"Of course we're late; we're Rick and Morty. You expect any level of personal organization?”

''W-we're sorry," said Morty.

At least your Morty has some manners. Let's get started, the blue cloud ‘said.’

Everyone seemed to know what to do but Morty, who was shooed towards the equipment in the corner. He didn't protest, though, until he was instructed to take his shirt off.

''Wait, though. What’s going on, here, Rick? I thought we were gonna…'' He darted a glance at the others. "You know…"

"We are. But it's gonna be like nothing we've ever done before. We're gonna swap bodies with these guys and have cloud sex."

"What?! I-I don't want to swap bodies with a smoke monster!'' Catching himself, he twisted his fingers together. "N-No offense."

None taken.

"Morty. Do you trust me or not? This is gonna be right up your alley. All intimate and shit. I chose you to try this with, you little ingrate. It's my first time, too."

That gave Morty pause. The two of them had been fucking for months, but Rick still seemed to be allergic to intimacy as a concept. Every time he began to share his heart with Morty, he ended up shutting down afterwards. If this was a true offer of vulnerability, Morty couldn't just turn it down.

''Fine,” he sighed, shoulders heavy. “Ok. Let's try it."

The gruff Rick set it all up, applying diodes and dialing in settings. The clouds went into the bell jars. Morty was asked to calm the fuck down and lower his heartrate, and eventually Rick had cooed him through it. Then came a moment of unspeakable pain, and every thing changed.

His new senses weren't senses at all, not in any way that Morty could understand. He saw without seeing, heard without hearing. It was like he just knew things about the world around him, his thoughts made of something invisible that he couldn't define. The bell jar opened and Morty understood that he was to exit in his new vaporous body. He was aware of the others, of the two beings borrowing their original    bodies, the gruff Rick opening a private tent. And, especially, he felt his own Rick, his presence like bright neon in his mind.

This slaps. Rick's voice wasn ’t a real voice, but it made Morty feel good.

What now? Morty returned, though he didn't quite understand how he was speaking.

In the tent. I thought you ’d want some privacy.

Morty was surprised to find that he could intuit how to move with great precision, and he followed Rick into shady privacy.

Wh-What are they doing with our bodies? he asked.

Hedonistic flesh shit. Stop thinking about them. Rick crowded in on Morty. We're here for us.

Morty had begun to worry about his normal body, but everything changed when a wisp of Rick's vaporous body mingled with his cloudy self. The jolt of alien pleasure hit him like a bolt of lightning, and all other thoughts fell away. It was like his mind had become a sex organ. He saw, without seeing, a vision like a steel gate shaking, as if a battering ram was pounding against it. Running on desirous instinct, Morty pressed forward. Their smoky bodies mingled further, turning green as they mixed. Morty made a wish, and the gate turned to sunflowers that toppled to the ground in a heap.

Instantly overwhelmed by the swirling shared mindscape, Morty reached for the shape of his grandfather. And he was here to be found, joy of joys! Here was Rick as Morty liked to think of him, relaxed and laughing on the couch. Rick as a small child, crying and crying over a lost balloon. Here was Rick in a tuxedo, turning the wedding ring over and over in his pocket while he tried to remember how to breathe. Rick with his nose broken and bloody, glaring at his smug father. Rick in a hospital gown—but no.

Not yet . Rick's voiceless voice surrounded him.

It felt so good. Morty ’s very being tingled, like his soul was about to orgasm. Rick sounded like he was close, too. Morty could sense tremulous desire in him.

Look.

Inside their shared soul, Morty saw Rick's love, large and shimmering in unnamed colors. He knew without knowing how to proffer his own in return. He held it out, and Rick's wrapped around it. Rick's love opened like the Marianas trench, with depths unfathomable. Morty had no choice but to drown in it. Pleasure suffused him utterly.

I th-think I'm coming, said Morty. Can we come like this?

Rick's voice caressed him like a sweet spring breeze. It's sex, Morty. Of course we can come.

I want more.

They swirled together and Morty saw a strange sight, like their human bodies were combining and recombining in horrifying ways, faces and limbs changing, fading in and out, growing and shrinking. It continued without slowing, like a shimmering mirage flickering.

We were already one, Rick's phantom voice was hushed, awed. I never understood.

Morty's pleasure mounted as the grisly display went on. He let Rick's words carry him away until ecstasy exploded within him and swept it all away. Nothing existed but the thick whiteness of his orgasmic Nirvana.

Now he was a child, an infant, and Rick was holding him to his breast. Hush, little baby, don't say a word...

Is this real? Morty asked.

There are no lies here.

I don't remember this.

I do.

Who's my special guy? Rick asked the infant. Baby Morty blew spit bubbles.

The scene changed. Now Rick was small, Maybe four years old. A man stood over him, wire clotheshanger in hand.

No! Rick said.

The vision blurred for a moment, but didn't disappear. The man whipped Rick's little calves again and again, swearing all the while. Toddler Rick wailed, but the man didn ’t care. Morty felt himself growing bright, so bright that he burned the man right out of the scene. Rick moaned as the light of Morty enveloped his small self.

I love you, said Morty. He kissed the child on his brow.

Don't stop, begged Rick.

Morty hugged Rick more tightly and swallowed his body inside of his own. The pleasure was unbearable. They were the same, lonely children who only found love in each other. Suddenly Morty was an old man and Rick was a youth and his back ached but they kissed and Morty could feel Rick coming apart in his hands. They exploded into twinkling silver star, became the glorious heavens together. These orgasms were beyond anything Morty could have imagined.

Keep going. keep looking, Rick said, desperation quivering inside him.

You love me.

So much. Keep looking.

Morty, in his incorporeal self, took steps into the dark. He saw his grandmother, young, a spotlight turning her hair golden. She was weeping endlessly, and Mort knew with great assurance that Rick believed this was something he should never be forgiven for.

Not there, said Rick. Deeper.

I still love you.

Deeper. Morty. There's something...

Somehow Morty just knew what Rick meant.

He found himself in front of a castle covered in thorns. On the plants hung tortured versions of Morty, ones he recognized from bad memories together. With Rick panting and gasping in pained pleasure, Morty searched for the door. He tried to push it open, but it wouldn't budge. He uncovered a key hole and looked around.

You still don't trust me?

I'm afraid. Rick's honesty was at least refreshing. Please. This is why...

Then show me the worst thing. Show me the worst thing you ever did. You'll see, then. I'll still love you.

Morty could feel his hesitation, but this space was free from dishonesty, so a vision sprang to life before the door. It was a scene that Morty knew so well. He often thought of it at night to keep him warm. In the vision, Rick was hovering over Morty, hand cupping his cheek.

I couldn't stop myself, said Rick in the present.

They found each other in the vision, fell into a heated first kiss.

I ruined you. I love you but I did this to you anyway. I'm so ashamed. I'm selfish and disgusting. I ’m a fucking pedophile.

I know. Morty couldn't deny that in this space. But I love you, still. I love you. I'll always love you.

You shouldn't.

But I do. Look, look at me. I can't lie to you here. I forgive you f-for fucking up. I forgive you for ruining me. I'll forgive you every time. I'm in love with you and I ’ll never stop.

You mean it.

Morty found that now he had a key in his hand, and he hurried to unlock the door before it could vanish.

Here, again, was Rick in a hospital gown, sitting on a gurney. A doctor with a solemn affect stood before him.

''The metastasis is worse than we'd feared. It's spread to your lymph nodes, your bowel, and your brain. ”

Rick stared down at his hands. ''How long?"

"Even with treatment, I'd say six months at most.'' The doctor wore a gentle frown. "I'm sorry, Mr. Sanchez. It's time to make arrangements. I can have my office call you with recommendations for hospice..."

No.

No no no no no no

NO!

The vision vanished and Morty was in Rick's arms, thrashing to break free.

I couldn't say it out loud, said Rick.

Get off! Get off! Y-You have to fix this!

At this point I'm just a walking bucket full of tumors, Morty. Even citadel medicine can't save me.

No!

And Morty was crying with his entire bare soul. Rick joined him; they wept the same tears with the same eyes. Morty had always been so proud that he had inherited Rick's beautiful eyes. They both pulsed with distressing heat. Everything felt like worms squirming slickly around both inside and outside of him.

B-But 100 years...

Guess I'm a liar.

Operation Phoenix—

l destroyed all the healthy bodies, remember? If I try again I'll just make clone after clone with the same cancer. I could only buy myself six months at a time, and die painfully over and over.

It's not f-fair!

Morty became so tiny, a bird inside an egg. The shell made him safe, but it made him lonely. He felt the warm weight of mama bird Rick all around him. The heat was like the embodiment of his yearning.

I wanted to do this with you before it was too late, said Rick. I wanted to give you this.

There were no more words for Morty. He was in a pain without possible expression. Rick would be gone soon and there was nothing he could do. His heart went limp, his soul greyed out and paled. Changing shapes with no control. Morty let Rick cradle him in many forms. They were an artist and his muse, they were father and son, they were the sun and the tender crops, and they were the singer and the song. He fully lost track of time while Rick soothed him with an endless lullaby. He didn't understand what he was feeling, nor which thoughts were his own and which were Ricks. He wanted to stay this way.

l'll die, too, said Morty, when you go. I'll throw myself in the grave and they'll bury me, too.

No, said Rick. Morty could feel how certain he was.

I can't live without you.

You will.

I ’ll never love again.

Rick seemed to grow more solid. Good. Don't.

Forever.

Forever. You're only mine.

Will you wait for me when you get to hell? Morty wrapped his mind around Rick's tightly.

Morty saw himself through Rick's eyes, annointed in holy light. Morty finally saw himself the way Rick saw him, unbearably beautiful.

l'll break out just to find you.

They basked in the light together, swirling through one another. Morty had no more words for his pain, nor Rick's pain, nor their joint fear. The hurt had turned so beautiful that he thought it might kill them both and end all of this. Morty couldn't bear it, but he felt an obscene pleasure in the way they blurred, blended. This was true intimacy, feeling the same things with the same mind, without bodies or words to get in the way.

l love you, they said with one voice. I love you.

It was the only thing that mattered anymore.

[subiysu-chan]

MC-chans for each colors (all Snow Covered varients)

Now, black mana has creatures such as avatars, nightmares, undeads, rats, wraiths, specters, imps, dauthi, and grimlins, shade, thrulls, bats, and zombies.

In gameplay, Black has a lot of recycling from the graveyard, deathtouch, menace, lifelink, evasion, weaknesses and sacrifice.

Now, the Black magical girl would have a...Viking aesthetic, because that's what you have for Black Snow decks. She would be quite tall with long white braids and crimson eyes, fully human.

In magical girl form, her wings would be those of a cold, grey vapor looking almost like cloth. Her magical girl form would look like a viking dress, modified to have a short skirt and bare shoulders and detached sleeves.

In her civilian form, she would wear a blouse and poofy skirt, with mary jane shoes and white socks.

The magical boy version of this would have a similar concept of traditional viking clothes modified to have bare shoulders, but the pants would be replaced by shorts. He would wear a guillotine haircut. He would also have some vapor/shadow wings.

In human part, he would wear a dress shirt, some simple pants and a cardigan, with oxford shoes.

[suicidesuicidesuicidesuicide]

[ilkkawhat]

glove up

He had worn the mask, as instructed in the protocol when sorting out evidence under the fume hood. 

But…perhaps the fumes were too strong. Perhaps the mask was up too high, digging into the bags under his eyes. 

Perhaps it was the quick look into the glass in front of him that reminded him how he was trapped in a box just like those baby rats were, writhing and tearing his shirt apart to self-suffocate, just like he did with the mask, to prevent the infiltration of ants and the life threatening venom they would inject into him at the price of the free flowing air that he nearly shot himself in the foot to get—though given that it was that shot into the light that caused the ants to come marching into the box, he still ended up shooting himself in the foot anyway. 

Or perhaps, he was just simply annoyed as he flung the mask off, tossed it aside and found that the air wasn’t tight, and wasn't poisonous. The fumes were contained and he had nothing to worry about.

“Those look like rat droppings.”

Though, not according to Hodges. 

“That’s because they are rat droppings, man,” Nick suddenly regretted calling Hodges, realizing he was now going to complain the whole time, but he had no other choice.

“Are you familiar with the hantavirus?”

Well, he could have called Archie. Or Bobby. 

“Carried by rodents, transmitted to humans when they inhale vapors from contaminated urine, saliva or feces.”

Greg was working with them on this case, and could have called him, too.

“That crap will kill you—!”

“Hodges!” Nick cut him off. “Glove. Up.” 

“If I start bleeding from my eyeballs, I’m blaming you.” 

Nick had to roll his lips in to trap a smile, his annoyance had faded into amusement at Hodges’ protests…

But he helped Nick anyway. 

“It’s just some shredded paper and a few pieces of shit, Goose,” Nick told him as he watched Hodges, slowly and exaggeratedly at length, sift through the contents of the box.

“Weren’t you the one who freaked out at very miniscule amounts of uranium, ricin, bats in a cave…”

“Yeah, well, there are worse things you can die from. And we’re sure as hell ain’t gonna die from something as small as a few turds,” Nick held one in between gloved fingers to make his point. 

Hodges stepped back, rolling his eyes.

“Would you just! You’re not invincible, man. A-and Grissom isn’t around to save you this time if it goes haywire, which it always does with you.” 

“Whatever. I miss him, too.” 

“I know. You got to hug him, after all,” Hodges teased and Nick shot him a look that shut him up, for a little bit at least. 

Despite the back and forth, Hodges pulled through and still helped. The case was closed. And he didn’t die.

A week later, however, he felt like he was going to die. 

There was an equation that he added up the anchor of exhaustion dragging at his feet, the swirling feeling that he was being flushed down the toilet of his stomach by someone he trusted never to pull the lever, and the shuddering chill that made his hunched shoulders feel colder as he walked out of the lab away from what he felt all equaled to the symptoms of just a really bad day. 

It wasn’t until he got home that he threw up the first time, all over his coffee table after he tried to settle into his couch to watch some mind-numbing television to unwind.

The second time, all over the wall of his carpeted hallway as he staggered to get a towel to clean his mess up. 

The third time, onto the cold tile of his bathroom that he knelt into as he hung over the toilet. 

Something was raining down into the toilet out of his eyes.

And it wasn’t tears. 

“Hey. Changed your mind, huh?” Warrick chuckled with an air of buzzed smugness on the other line. “I’m hanging at the—”

“War—cuh-cough-rick…” Nick gasped sharply before falling into a fit of coughs.

“You at home?” Warrick’s tone suddenly changed. 

“Yuh-huh,” he gulped. He retched. His throat ripped.

“I’m coming, you stay there, you hear me? Unless your ass is in an ambulance.”

Warrick didn’t wait for a response, Nick heard the clattering and crashing of glass before he hung up. 

His mouth watered, he could have really used a drink. 

Until the anticipated bitter taste of booze made him throw up again.

Just the cherry on top, he thought, and he tried to think of other things, non-vile inducing images like the splatter of blood that’s sure to come out of his lungs with every cough that rattles his lungs, the loss of color in his skin as the life is sucked out of him in tiny phantom pinches from tiny phantom teeth, the way that he was left in the bottom of a swallowing pit by people he thought he could trust with his life—

His nausea didn’t get any better but he had stopped vomiting long enough to start to crawl on the ground like the vermin he was to get a change of clothes. 

“Jesus, Nicky,” Warrick’s voice startled him and he flipped over, throwing himself against the wall and his head bounced off the doorframe to his bedroom. “What the hell is going on?”

“I don’t know,” he cried out in between heavy pants. “I-I think I’m getting better…Stopped…pukin’.”

“Let’s get you cleaned up. You eat something bad? Had a shot of something?”

“No, no, nothing…I wasn’t…Haven’t been feeling good since I left the lab,” Nick admitted. “Wasn’t feeling good at at the lab either, but I thought that was just…the case.” 

“I told you to let it go, man. Gonna get yourself sick like this if you work yourself up—”

“Like I don’t know that already!” Nick brushed Warrick off as he staggered to the bathroom. His joints cracked. His knees were about to buckle again. 

Warrick lifted him up again, kicked down the toilet seat and sat Nick on it. The cold ceramic did nothing to soothe his clammy skin, his head pulled back and leaning against the wall, he suddenly missed the cushion of the hair that he shaved off.

“I’m not a child, Warrick,” Nick whined as Warrick wet a rag and started to clean his face. 

“You sure as hell acted like one throwing a tantrum and stomping out of the lab.”

“It was not that dramatic, dude,” Nick laughed coldly. “Plus, you were angry about it all, too.”

“It’s just a job, man.”

“A job that’s life or death,” Nick grabbed the rag from Warrick and started to clean his own mess up. 

“You think I don’t know that?”

“Yeah. ‘Pparently ya don’t,” Nick snapped. He winced as he bent over to wipe up the floor before sinking onto it and leaning against the wall. 

Warrick left the room, and he didn’t bother calling after him. 

He didn’t need his help.

He was fine. He thought he would be fine. He’s going to be fine.

He heard his front door open and slam just like it did minutes ago. Heard a car starting up. 

He laughed absurdly, just another person he pissed off in what was nothing more than a job. 

He was foolish to think that they were anything more than just co-workers. Foolish to think he was anything more than Catherine’s subordinate, Warrick’s best friend. One day Grissom was going to leave for good and never come back and he’d never see or talk to him again because he was nothing more than his boss, and bosses retire and move on and never go back again. 

All the times they helped him, they were just doing their job. Suiting up, gloving up. Following the evidence. 

Recovering the body.

The body that at that moment, started to feel compressed, like he was melting into the concrete of the wall behind him and his lungs were drying and shriveling up. It was as if the rag never left his face, gagging his mouth and if he didn’t act soon, something would close his nose too; maybe the dust of the drywall that was pulling his bones out of his skin.

Every breath felt like his last.

He needed to get out before he became a skeleton behind the wall for the graveyard shift to recover.

The thought was powerful enough to somehow find the strength to pull himself up, get to his feet. He nearly fell into the bathroom sink. 

He needed help.

He needed somebody he could trust. 

Maybe he could catch up to—

“Got your head outta your ass now?” Warrick asked, leaning against the front door with his arms crossed.

“What are you still doin’ here?” Nick swallowed a threatening retch.

“My job. Being your big brother.”

“I’m older than you.”

“Yeah, by a month and a half,” Warrck laughed wryly. “You good?”

As if on cue, Nick collapsed like his lungs did and he fell to the floor. Looking up, he reached a hand out towards Warrick.

“I think I need to go to the hospital now,” Nick’s lips quivered.

“Got the car runnin’,” Warrick nodded.

On their way, they passed by an inflatable rat staged at the side of a street amidst a sea of protesters and sympathetic tourists. 

“Rats…Goddamn rats…”

“What?”

“Hentavirus,” Nick moaned. “Hodges…warned me ‘bout it…gotta say sorry.”

“When did you work with rats?” 

“Wasn’t…directly, it was…fume hood…pieces of shit…”

“You wore a mask, right?”

Nick shut his eyes, his head lolled against the passenger’s side window.

“Right?” Warrick asked again, jostling Nick’s shoulder to keep him awake. Keep him breathing. His hand lingered and Nick pulled up his hand to fall on top of Warrick’s, incidentally barring his own arm over his neck.

“I-I couldn’t breathe…Quick or slow…” Nick mumbled under Warrick’s sigh.

“Alright, alright…it’s okay, it’s gonna be okay,” Warrick soothed him as he felt Nick start to panic, his body twitching and trembling and his breathing becoming tighter and hyper. 

“I got you,” Warrick reminded him. 

Nick couldn’t respond if he wanted to, lost in his own reflection in the glass of the window, wondering when he’d ever be able to escape the transparent coffin.

[neonponders]

Okay I’m in this Flayed!Steve thing now. Here’s part 2 for this post ~

It’s the angsty middle (I don’t know if I’m doing a part 3 so this might just be angst with no conclusion LOL) so I’ll put it under the cut.

• • • • • • •

Billy frowned at Max’s gaggle of weirdos from atop his lifeguard throne. She had a pass to the pool - courtesy of his job - so the extremely obvious sneaking around was even weirder than that herd of freshmen usually behaved.

Whatever. It’s summer. It’s closing time, and Billy’s got plans to be nowhere in Hawkins tonight. He’s got a concert ticket burning a hole in his locker, and he can’t help but touch it fondly after he finishes his shower -

The lights go out.

He wants to slouch and tip his head back like Max does when she’s just over it. But since he’s the boss around here, he puts strength in his legs and barks, “HEY! Lights on and get out!”

When nothing changed, he quickly yanked on his jeans, t-shirt, and shouldered his backpack - ticket safely locked within an interior pocket -

Billy’s mouth opens to bellow, but someone else beats him to it.

“MAX!”

The voice is familiar but he can’t place it. Or rather, it’s out of place, so he doesn’t believe it until he sees Steve Harrington for himself.

“Max! Get out of the freaking sauna! I’m not interested in smelling like old men.”

Billy frowned. There was only one sauna, and women didn’t use it. A mild warning bell moves through Billy’s head at why Max could possibly be in the sauna at all, but instead he chooses to intercept the guy yelling for his stepsister.

“Hey, Harrington.”

It was convenient that Billy stood behind him; he got the full view of that Scoops Ahoy uniform as Steve turned around and -

Got a sandbag in the stomach. The pool staff used those to weigh down signs and traffic cones on busy days in the parking lot, but for the life of him, Billy had no idea where it had just come from. They weren’t stored anywhere near the locker rooms or sauna.

Billy gaped as the guy vocally coughed and flew backward. A good bit of spit got knocked out of him on the way into the sauna, and then the door slammed shut.

Freshmen swarmed around Billy, running at the door to bar it shut. Byers’ brother read the thermometer on the wall. “Almost at two hundred!”

“Max.”

Her red ponytail flew around her head as she looked at him and his confusion. “Billy, I don’t have time to explain.”

“You might!” Lucas intercepted. “We don’t know how long this will take!”

A new voice asked, “How long does it take?”

Billy analyzed this new person’s sailor uniform. “Who are you?”

“Robin. Who the hell are you?”

“I work here!” Billy growled. “What the hell are all of you doing after hours?”

“Steve’s possessed by something,” Robin said.

Billy’s voice went deadpan. “It’s July.”

She grimaced, “So?”

“So take your Halloween bullshit out of here - ”

Slow...quiet laughter turned their heads to the sauna door. Yet...the laughter didn’t match the sobbed, “Bullshit. My life is bullshit. Bullshit. Bullshit.”

“Two-fifteen,” Byers narrated by the thermometer. As if connected to the temperature, Steve got louder, wailing an atrocious sound that made even Billy wince.

“We’re all getting arrested for this if you don’t let him out - ”

“We can’t let him out!” Wheeler shouted. Jesus, the kid was just as bullheaded as his sister. “The Mind Flayer’s inside of him. Maybe you might be bored enough to let this thing take over our dimension, but we’re not!”

“Mike, he doesn’t know,” Max said as if trying to soothe the situation, but Billy’s eyes were on the sauna window. Steve had stood up. And Max stood too close to the door.

A fist broke the glass and gripped her hair the same time Billy dove for her. Max screamed as they both landed against the sauna door. Everyone was yelling, but through the chaos, a hand entered Billy’s vision and Steve flew away from the door as if pulled by a rope behind him.

Billy dragged Max away, but not without seeing how Steve landed on the floor, broken tiles following him from the wall. A girl stood beside them, but Billy didn’t know her. She had a nosebleed but didn’t seem to care. “Steve. Fight it. Fight.”

No laughter this time, but the sound of Steve crying was...hard to listen to. Billy and Max slowly returned to the others, all of them peering into the sauna at Steve slumped on the floor.

“I can’t. I’ve been trying. I can’t anymore. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

He held his bleeding hand, but all of him sounded broken. Billy heard himself ask, “What’s wrong with him?”

“Mind Flayer,” the girl said.

“Yeah, that doesn’t mean anything to me,” Billy remarked.

“It’s a creature from another dimension,” Byers said...a bit too calmly. “It possessed me last year.”

“You seem fine,” Billy retorted, even though Byers was pale, skinny, and for some reason stayed true to that ridiculous bowl cut.

“My mom and brother got it out of me, but it won’t be as easy this time. All of the flayed people have been eating chemicals. Steve’s house is a mess.”

Robin pointed at the window, “Does that look all right to you?”

Billy refocused on Steve...and all the black veins on his arms, his face.

“Two-forty,” Byers said.

The curly-haired kid...Dustin, Billy remembered from some locked cabinet of his brain, said, “The human body can’t survive past one hundred and ten.”

“What if he’s not human anymore?” Lucas said quietly, like a secret.

“Steve’s still in there!” Dustin yelled, even though his tone was soaked with doubt. “Steve, you gotta fight it, man. Come on! I know you don’t have the best track record, but this is a fight you can’t lose!”

“I ALREADY LOST!” he screamed. Max was crying in Billy’s arms. He hadn’t realized they still held onto each other. Steve cried, “I lost. Soon as this thing’s out of me...I’m dead. I’m so thirsty. All he drinks is bleach. I’m not okay. There’s no way I’m okay. I’m sorry. Robin. I’m sorry. I tried. I tried so he didn’t see you. I tried every time...”

Billy didn’t know what the hell was going on, but Steve’s veins were black, all of them bulging beneath his skin as he began to convulse. Will moved, gasping and weirdly riveted to Steve vomiting something that looked too thick to be saliva.

Then he deflated. “That’s not it. That’s not enough. Two-fifty.”

“What’s it look like?” Lucas asked.

“It’s a cloud - a vapor. It’s - ”

“A shadow.”

Like rats scattering, they retreated from the window where Steve stood again. Except the girl remained, gazing steadily back at him as he reached through the window...not to grab her, but to test the distance.

Steve smiled. Billy felt cold. “Limited human parts.”

Her jaw stiffened as her hands formed into fists at her sides. Opening. Closing. Opening. Closing.

Opening, and rising to point her palm at the window. “When the spider leaves, the web dies.”

Billy couldn’t believe that Steve moved because of this girl, but he landed against tiled wall again...and again.

Dustin was shrieking as Lucas and Mike held him back. “You’re killing him! Stop! Please!”

The girl sobbed through the blood dripping past her mouth -

A guttural hack of a sound wrenched out of Steve, and the sauna went dark. Not like the lights going out...but like dust out of a vacuum. Soot from a faulty firework making Billy squint and then dodge out of they way of Lucas wielding a lighter and hairspray.

To Billy’s horror, the soot cloud moved. Dodging and evading the hairspray flames - some of it even catching light and moving like cinders.

Lucas, Mike, and the girl chased it out of the building, but Billy and the others looked at Robin wrenching the sauna open. Steve lay unmoving inside.

“Steve? Steve! Oh...god. We need a hospital.”

They didn’t have a hospital. But they did have a lifeguard.

“Move. Let me see him.”

Billy still had no functional idea of what the hell was going on. All he knew was that he didn’t get paid enough for any of this, and his CPR training told him: when in doubt, keep compressions going until better helps comes.

“Max, call an ambulance. Then stand outside to flag them down. Robin, help me move him out of here. It’s too hot.”

For all of Max’s faults, an unsteady head was not one of them. She took off for a phone and Robin was thankfully nearly as tall as Steve and Billy. They lifted Steve with ease and got him to a locker room bench. Dustin and Byers put cool-soaked towels underneath Steve’s armpits as Billy began chest compressions.

Both boys flinched back at the sound of bones snapping. Dustin exclaimed, “That’s not right! That can’t be right!”

“I have to break the sternum off the ribs to compress his heart. Stay the hell out of my way.”

Maybe it was the sound, or the sound coupled with Steve’s sweat and slimed-drenched face, but Robin finally broke. She ran for a toilet and heaved. Then both boys held onto her, crying as Billy gripped Steve’s hair and jaw to open his windpipe and breathe into him.

It was gross. It was terrifying. And it felt like nothing was happening. Steve was cold and unmoving. He tasted strange. Soft lips made acrid and sharp.

Voices echoed in Billy’s ears but he didn’t stop. He counted to thirty and breathed for Steve twice.

Thirty.

Breathe.

Thirty.

He still counted even after an EMT ripped him off of Steve, and left him standing vacantly in the lot as the firework of a truck sped away.

[mostlycompetentwriter]

Pacemaker

F/M Pairing: Y/N x Bang Chan (SKZ)

Warnings: Let me be clear: this is a very dark narrative. I have lots of warnings for my readers, including explicit smut, vulgar language, toxic relationships, voyeurism, choking, sadism, smoking, and drinking.

Word Count: 8.2K

Genre: Sugar Daddy AU; Established Relationship

Summary: Y/N had made a lot of bad decisions throughout her life, but signing up for that stupid Sugar Daddy website? The worst of them all.

A/N: The title makes more sense in the end, but I can tell you that pacemaker’s are used to control arrhythmia's - and Seungmin might just function that way for the reader! Also, I’m really sorry for making Chan such an asshole.

Seungmin was a good best friend, even if he was determined to ruin his lungs with expensive cancer sticks. 

I had once tried to help him break the bad habit - stealing the cigarette boxes that he bought from the store and tossing them into the trash. But Seungmin made it rather difficult to break his addiction, and when I found him digging through the trash one evening, trembling fingers bringing the lighter up to his lips, I stopped trying to help him. And it might seem like a shitty thing for a best friend to abandon, but I was really tired of seeing my efforts die in vain when Seungmin made it loud and clear that he wasn’t willing to relent.

However, I was probably the worst person in the world to preach against his vices, especially when mine were far more consequential. Ironically, if I was to compare our biggest slights, then I might find a lot of similarities between our horrible habits. For instance, we were both prisoners to something toxic, and it was hard to push out those dark shadows when they had already snuffed out most of the light.

But at least Seungmin still had some control over his autonomy whereas I had allowed a single man to dictate every aspect of my existence. He decided the clothes that I would wear to his fancy office, and the things that I was allowed to do to my own person. He enacted so many rules that I could barely keep up with them, and he frequently reminded me that I was supposed to comply with whatever he demanded because I signed a foolish contract.

In the end, it was my fault for becoming so involved, but I could always rely on Seungmin for companionship when I felt another bout of existential dread. Because Seungmin was a good listener, and he made an effort to understand my problems even when he didn’t agree with my decisions. It was one of the things that I liked most about him, and I watched him with indifferent eyes as he stomped out his cigarette against the sidewalk.

Thereafter, his breath vaporized against the frigid air, and it was the only reminder that it was cold because my body had already grown numb to the sensation. “What happened this time?” Seungmin asked, raising a brow in question.

It was a deceivingly simple question because there was no straightforward answer that I could offer him in response. Instead, I shrugged while trying to collect my thoughts. Because I still wasn’t really sure how I felt about my latest rendezvous with him, but I knew for certain that it had affected me more than the other times.

“It was different,” I replied, and Seungmin nodded.

“Did he hurt you?” Seungmin asked.

“Yes, but not the kind of hurt that you’re thinking about,” I said. 

“Well, that’s still fucked up,” Seungmin said. “Tell me everything.”

Oh, but there was so much to tell him, and my mind instantly brought me back to the very beginning when I signed my name on a contract that promised so much only to deliver nothing but pain.

Six Months Ago

The worst decision of my life was predicated on my desperation for cash, and I was almost at the point where I would do anything to see another zero on my bank statement.

When I first moved to California, I had a lot of big dreams, and I was so excited to secure a scholarship to a highly-accredited University. It seemed that the world was finally on my side, and I left my home on the east coast to start a new life with more opportunities. Everything was going according to plan, and there was nothing preventing my success.

Except for me, of course. 

And it happened during the events of a single evening when I decided to attend a fraternity party on campus that my roommate recommended. The music was loud, the alcohol was unlimited, and any prior inhibitions had been thrown out the window much to my own detriment. I forgot all about my responsibilities, and I made one careless decision after another until I ended up in bed with a stranger.

I don’t even remember his name, but he was just one of the students who got busted by the police that night. Apparently, someone next door ratted us out, and they discovered a bunch of under-age students drinking alcohol without any supervision, including myself. But when the University found out, my scholarship was taken away, and my parents refused to send me extra money for tuition because they were determined to bring me back home.

But I wasn’t about to let one night ruin everything, and it was my roommate’s idea to suggest the stupid website. “It’s like a Sugar Daddy thing,” my roommate giggled. “All you have to do is sign-up, and then they’ll email you if there’s any interest.”

“Interest?”

“Well, they’ll probably want something from you in exchange for money.”

“How much money?”

“I guess that’s up to you to decide.”

Tragically, I was too desperate to consider the consequences, and I signed up without even thinking about the potential for disaster. And within a week, I got several emails from old misers offering me loads of cash in exchange for services that ranged from a private escort request to more explicit favors. But none of them stood out to me, especially in comparison to the young CEO who claimed to only be 28-years-old, but I could hardly believe his profile.

Still, I decided to entertain him, and I organized a meeting at a neutral location just in case anything funny happened. But I was still shocked to see the same man from the pictures waiting for me inside the coffee shop. And he was just as handsome as he appeared online: long, curly blonde hair, deep brown eyes, and a broad smile that took my breath away.

“Y/N?” he asked when I cautiously approached the table.

“Mr. Bang Chan?” I returned, and he laughed while rolling up the sleeves of his shirt to reveal strong, muscular arms.

“That’s me,” he said. “You can sit down if you want.”

“Of course,” I said, feeling rather foolish after standing there for so long. “I’m sorry, but I was really surprised because I honestly thought you might by lying about your age.”

“Why would you think that?” he asked, and I easily detected an accent carrying his words.

“Uh, considering the circumstances,” I said with a wince. “I feel like you could have any woman you want.”

“Oh?” Chan asked while raising one brow suggestively. “Maybe I just want you.”

“R-really?” I stuttered while wondering if I had made a good decision when I wore a skirt that afternoon. “You can probably tell that I’ve never done this before.”

“That’s alright,” Chan reassured me. “I don’t have much experience either.”

It seemed too good to be true - like there wasn’t any logical explanation for why this incredibly sexy businessman had signed up for some Sugar Daddy website when all he had to do was blink in my direction and I was already falling for him hard. “So, I guess you expect something from me.”

“I like how you do business,” Chan remarked. “We can skip all the formalities, then?”

“If you want,” I said, still feeling a bit sheepish as I glanced down at the table.

“From you, Y/N,” Chan continued. “I want a partner.”

“In what sense?” I asked. “Are you talking about something...sexual?”

“I’d really like that,” Chan said with a seductive smile. “But only if you’re interested.”

“Definitely,” I quickly agreed, throwing all caution to the wind as I surrendered to his ridiculous charisma.

“In return, you can have whatever you want,” Chan said. “Money isn’t an issue for me.”

“I really just need money for my tuition.”

“Is that all?” Chan scoffed as if he was in disbelief. “There’s got to be something else.”

I hesitated for a moment, wondering why it was so hard to ask him for those extravagances when the entire premise of our meeting rested on the basis of one exchange for another. “My apartment,” I said. “I plan to get a job in the future, but I’m struggling with rent.”

“Fuck the job,” Chan said. “I don’t mind paying your rent.” He smirked as he leaned back against the booth with a sigh. “I used to be a college student, Y/N, and I had problems paying for those things too.”

His attitude was nothing but nonchalant, and our terms were settled without a single complaint. Eventually, the deal was finalized when I met him later that evening at his lavish penthouse apartment, signing my name at the bottom of an exclusive contract that I hadn’t even taken the time to read. 

“It’s done,” Chan declared, and I watched his forearms bulge as he applied pressure to the official stamp. “We can have some fun together,” he added, and the look he gave me was nothing short of predatory. “Tell me, Y/N. Are you a virgin?”

“No, sir,” I said, watching him throw the contract aside onto the coffee table. 

“Good,” he purred while slowly unbuttoning his shirt. “Do you take birth control? I hate fucking with condoms.”

“Yes,” I whispered, and there wasn’t an ounce of shame in my entire being when I studied the hard planes of his upper torso once his chest was exposed to the room. 

Did I really just a sign a deal with a real-life Adonis?

“I’m gonna have a taste of that sweet cunt tonight,” Chan said, and one hand palmed himself over the front of his pants. “Bend over the couch for me, and keep your legs spread.”

“O-okay,” I agreed, hesitating because I wasn’t expecting him to move so fast, but I also knew that it was a foolish thought. What else should I have anticipated? There’s only one thing he wanted from me, and it’s not like it proceeded a romantic dinner or a long walk on the beach.

But it was still jarring to feel someone else’s hands on my hips - someone older and far more experienced. And his hands were proof of that confidence, perfectly assured in their motions as they drug my panties down my legs, fingers prodding against the folds of my labia. “You’re not wet enough,” Chan remarked, and I blushed because I was afraid that I had been doing something wrong. “We’ll just use lube.”

I flinched when I heard a loud POP! echo throughout the room when he opened a bottle from behind me. Then, I startled when something cold penetrated between my thighs because I wasn’t used to the overbearing sensation, and the flex of his fingers were incredibly thorough as they explored the private walls stretched around his intrusion. It felt nice, though, feeling him moving around, brushing against sensitive zones that had me moaning against the cushions.

“What a good slut,” Chan said, and I found myself whimpering at the derogatory term. “Let me use my cock instead.”

I gasped when his fingers disappeared in the middle of my approaching orgasm, leaving me clenching desperately for something to fill up the places that had left empty. But the sound of Chan shuffling out of his pants was reassuring, and he was nothing but teasing when he slid the head of his cock up and down my entrance. Spreading his pre-cum while prodding against me with the tip of his erection. 

If I hadn’t been wet before, then I was positively drenching from the surprisingly playful foreplay. “Please,” I whined, and he must’ve been feeling merciful since it was our first meeting because he pushed himself the rest of the way inside between my walls with a grunt. Satisfying that persistent ache which demanded some sort of satisfaction from the fat cock splitting me with every aggressive plunge against my g-spot.

“There we go,” Chan hissed, and his fingernails dug into my skin while he rolled my hips back onto his cock - repeating the motion with a sensual rhythm that was slow but fulfilling. Deep and full. Pounding into my hips with every thrust and chanting obscenities into the air while the smell of sex hit me with as much force as his thighs knocking against mine. “Feels so good around me.”

I moaned at his husky tone, and slid further down the armrest of the couch because my clit was rubbing deliciously against the furniture that he had bent me over, and I focused on the addicting friction and the impression of his cock drilling inside my pussy until I came with a loud moan. 

“Shit,” Chan cursed when I clenched even tighter around him, and the pleasure was like a dramatic rise - a climactic high - and I fell back into the moment with my heart pounding against my chest while Chan continued to plummet his cock into the stimulated entrance of my cunt before I felt his cum trickle down the inside of my legs. 

“Good girl,” Chan said, and he landed a sharp slap to my ass before he was walking out of the room, stuffing his cock back into his pants while I looked down at my hands and wondered what I was supposed to do next.

And several long minutes passed before I realized that Chan wasn’t coming back, and I tried to ignore the sensation of his cum drying on my skin as I pulled my skirt back on over my sore hips. 

Is this how it would be every time? 

I grimaced at the thought, but I knew it was still a better alternative than returning home to my disappointed parents. Because Chan would at least help me stay in school, and he wasn’t really asking for that much in return. 

Right?

But my heart was aching when I left his penthouse around midnight, returning to the shared apartment with my roommate and slinking into the shower while doing my best to remain quiet. Unfortunately, my thoughts were starting to become more rampant - louder than the prevailing silence - and I couldn’t stop thinking about the encounter with Chan. Because it was the second time that a random stranger had fucked me without consideration, and I would never forget how I felt in that moment, scalding my skin under hot water while scrubbing insistently with my fingernails scratching across my arms.

And I went to sleep that night thinking about the future for the first time since I lost my scholarship. For instance, how long would I have to keep doing this? Can it really end after my graduation?

Needless to say, I was unable to reacquaint myself with the familiar comforts of sleep, and I woke-up the next morning feeling like a much weaker version of myself. It was both a literal and metaphorical description for my current state of mind and physical being, and I forced myself to endure my regular routine so that I could leave for class on time.

But even as I was starting to feel better again, savoring the cool air of the morning as I walked through campus, everything was ruined when I received an unanticipated phone call from Chan around lunchtime:

“Can you come into my office today?” Chan asked, and I checked my watch.

“I can be there in twenty minutes.”

“Perfect,” Chan said, and I hung up the phone before jogging to the bus stop.

The Voyeur

Chan’s office building was extravagant, and I had trouble finding his company because it seemed like there was no end to the numerous corridors. Thankfully, a polite worker was willing to steer me in the right direction, and I greeted Chan’s secretary with a nervous exhale of my name.

“He’s waiting for you inside,” she said with a bright smile. “But make sure to lock the door behind you.”

“Oh, sure,” I said, puzzled by the strange request, but I entered the room with a dismissive shrug, glancing back to turn the lock before stumbling in my steps when I realized that someone who was not Chan stood in the middle of the room.

He was a younger associate, and his hair was slicked back with some kind of product as he observed me with the faintest hint of a smirk. “You must be Chan’s newest plaything.”

I gasped at the stranger’s words. “Chan-” I attempted to call for him, but cold fingers wrapped themselves around my throat in warning.

“Shhh,” Chan whispered into my ear, and I trembled when one of his hands went down to the waistband of my skirt. “You’re right on time, Y/N.”

“Sir,” I said, trembling when he found my clit through the fabric, applying rough circles with a growl.

“Go sit on top of the desk for me,” Chan said. “Take off your skit and panties.”

“But there’s someone else-”

“Did you not hear me?” Chan interrupted, and there was an intimidating warning in his eyes that I found myself unable to ignore.

“Yes, sir,” I said in compliance, and I tried not to think about the situation unfolding in front of me. Instead, I carefully walked around the unfamiliar man without making eye contact, even though his gaze was focused on me the entire time. “Is this what you wanted me to see?” the newcomer asked, and I startled at the sound of his voice as I slipped out of my clothes.

“I think she’s your type,” Chan said, and he nonchalantly strolled through the room with his hands tucked into his pockets. “This is what you like, Jisung? Sit back and relax.”

Jisung pursed his lips as he found a comfortable position on one of the futons, and I gasped when I realized that he had unzipped his pants, fishing out his cock while casually stroking the full length of his erection, gaze fixed on the place where Chan was standing in front of me.

“Bend over, whore,” Chan growled, and I turned around in an instant, shivering when he forced my legs to spread even further apart, applying pressure to my lower back as I arched even higher for him. “Have you ever seen a prettier cunt?”

“Finger her for me,” Jisung requested, and I closed my eyes when Chan penetrated three fingers inside at once. Because it was a distant shout from his treatment the previous night, and I found myself enduring the pain from being aggressively handled. 

“Is this to your satisfaction?” Chan asked, and he was moving lightning fast, thrusting his fingers so fast that my body wasn’t sure how to process the rapidly growing pressure building with every curl of his wrist.

“Fuck her then,” Jisung said, and I could hear the slick sound of his hand moving on his cock to match the pace of Chan’s motions inside of me.

“No problem,” Chan said, and his cock replaced his fingers with one harsh plunge, forcing my hips to collide with the side of his desk as he started an unrelenting pace, hands holding tight to my waist as he treated me as nothing more than his personal cock-sleeve.

My pleasure wasn’t a concern, and I could tell because he never once asked me if I was feeling good. Instead, he panted like a dog into my ears, groping along my chest while rolling his hips up into mine - grinding his cock as deep as he could manage. 

“Chan...” I trailed off at one point because there would surely be bruises once he was done with me.

“Is there a problem, Y/N?” he asked, and I quickly shook my head even as he started thrusting even harder, forcing his cock even deeper inside my gaping core - brushing against previously untouched places that awakened something almost feral.

“No, sir,” I managed, choking around a moan when his fingers tightened around my throat again.

“He likes to watch,” Chan whispered, slowing down to a sensual grind while he spoke to me. “It gets him off every time.”

“I didn’t know,” I said in return, even though no response was really warranted.

Especially when Chan leaned back once again, picking up from where he had left off from before, and there was a stuttered hiccup to the way he moved - like he was nearing his own breaking point. His fingers curled themselves into my hair, forcing my head to the side to meet Jisung’s unwavering gaze.

“Jisung,” Chan said, and the voyeur himself looked up at the two of us with lust reflecting in his eyes. “Is it everything you wanted?”

“Keep going,” Jisung simply said in return, and Chan was laughing in the moments preceding his orgasm, spilling his seed between my convulsing walls before pulling out with a groan.

“You did good, Y/N,” Chan said, and he reached down for my discarded skirt.

Meanwhile, I glanced around Chan to see Jisung reaching for the tissue box on the table. “Thank you for the show, Mr. Bang.” Jisung said, and he cleaned off his cock before tucking himself back into his jeans.

The Sadist

That unexpected situation should’ve been the first and only sign required for me to break off the engagement with Bang Chan, but I was starting to grow addicted to the ostentatious gifts that he sent me.

Because on that same afternoon, I returned to my apartment to find a brand new SUV waiting for me outside my complex. It was the newest model, and my roommate was hysterical with excitement as she jumped around the front lawn and told me all about how a random man had brought the car to our apartment asking for me. 

“I don’t know who you’re seeing,” my roommate remarked. “But if he keeps doing this kind of thing...”

“Yeah,” I agreed with a faint smile, and there was still an active part of me that thought I could put up with Chan if it meant receiving things like this in return.

Plus, I somehow deluded myself into thinking that everything was fine, and I guess my lectures on argumentative writing must’ve worked too well because I convinced my stubborn brain to endure the arrangement for a little while longer. 

It also helped that Chan hadn’t spoken to me much in the week following our little date in his office, and I was able to forget about the encounter with Jisung. Plus, my tuition was paid, my bank account was full, and there were always expensive things allowing me to take advantage of a lavish lifestyle.

It was hard to argue against the current trajectory of my situation, but there was still a painful reminder of its price when Chan eventually called me the following Friday with another request:

“I’m having a guest over tonight,” Chan said. “And you’re the entertainment.”

I swallowed hard at his brusque tone. “Entertainment?”

“It’s nothing to worry about,” Chan reassured me, and I could only process his words while the dial tone played in the background.

But maybe I could handle the addition of a guest, especially if it was just Jisung or someone watching again. That hadn’t been so bad, and the worst part was the initial shock of seeing another man in the same room. 

Maybe I was just overreacting, and this would be a regular night where Chan would fuck me in his bed and I would limp home and sleep on the brand new satin comforter he had bought for me.

Unfortunately, my initial enthusiasm was dulled when I knocked on the door to Chan’s penthouse, and he answered my summons with another man lingering in the background. But the other man wasn’t Jisung, and a single chill rolled down my spine when Chan’s guest turned around to look at me for the very first time. “You’re early,” Chan said with a pleasant smile. “We were just pouring ourselves some drinks.”

“That sounds nice,” I said, allowing Chan to take my coat before he led me into the living room.

“This is my associate, Lee Minho,” Chan said, nodding in the direction of the freshly identified man who was unreasonably handsome as he sat down across the room.

“The pleasure is mine,” Minho said with a smirk, and I had no words to match his arrogance, but Chan pulled me into his lap and I took some strange comfort from his embrace.

“Minho and I have been friends for years.”

“What a tragedy,” Minho remarked, and the simple jest was met with a chuckle from Chan who wrapped an arm around my waist.

“He was really excited to meet you as well.”

“Especially after listening to Jisung run his mouth,” Minho said, and I froze at the mention of the other man because that was the moment when everything started to plummet, and I could see the change in Minho’s gaze as he lowered his eyes to my chest.

“Can I see her tits?” Minho asked, holding his glass of scotch in one hand while the other disappeared down the front of his pants.

“Of course,” Chan said, and he didn’t seem to care at all about his friend’s vulgar request, pulling me back against his chest as his fingers worked apart the buttons on my blouse. “She doesn’t mind. Isn’t that right, Y/N?”

I shook my head, paralyzed by Minho’s impenetrable gaze as he inhaled sharply when Chan removed the shirt from my arms. “Those are nice.”

“Aren’t they?” Chan agreed, and his fingers tweaked my nipples. But I shivered at the pressure, nearly jumping in his lap from the sudden stimulation as his thumbs rolled across the hardening buds.

“You ever fucked them before?” Minho asked, parting his lips around the rim of his glass.

“No,” Chan said, and his tone reflected his disappointment. “I guess I’ll have to try that in the future.”

“They’re a good size,” Minho remarked, and I couldn’t help but feel humiliated because they were talking about me in such a vulgar manner - like I was just a piece of meat on display for them.

“I like her tits,” Chan agreed. “But I think her ass is my favorite.”

Minho scoffed at that. “Isn’t that always your preference?”

“Why do you think I like fucking her from behind?” Chan laughed, and Minho smiled before draining the rest of his alcohol.

“Where did you get her?” Minho asked, and I watched as he removed his expensive suit jacket.

“Do you remember that website Jisung showed me?” Chan smirked. “It’s probably the best idea that he’s ever had.”

“Mhmm,” Minho agreed, and his lecherous eyes continued to openly stare at my breasts. “Has Changbin seen her yet?”

“No,” Chan said, and then he sighed. “I’m afraid to introduce them.”

“She’s exactly his type,” Minho remarked. “He’ll want to fuck her for sure, and I doubt you’ll tell him no.”

“He’s convincing,” Chan said, and he smirked while his lips pressed wet kisses against my neck and his hands massaged my breasts. “What would you want to do with her?”

“Me?” Minho chuckled, and his dark eyes were appraising. “I’d probably fuck her mouth, and then maybe cum on her tits.”

“That sounds reasonable,” Chan said, and then he was shoving against me from behind. “Get on your knees,” Chan growled into my ear, and I shivered at the guttural sound before falling from his lap and into the floor.

Meanwhile, Minho continued to watch me while stroking his cock, tongue darting out to wet his lower lip. “Is this an invitation?”

“Take her mouth,” Chan said, and he reached out for his discarded glass of brandy. “I don’t think she’ll mind.”

Minho smirked in response, and he pulled the occupied hand from his pants long enough to stand up from the couch, taking another step forward until his crotch was level with my face. “Is that true, little girl?” Minho asked, and I held my tongue when his fingers traced across my lips. “Do you want to suck my cock?”

I could feel Chan’s eyes on me, and I knew better than to disobey. “Yes,” I whispered, and Minho closed his eyes around a groan.

“Channie picked a good little cocksucker,” he said, and he quickly undid his pants, pulling them down his thighs along with his boxers. I inhaled when his cock was freed from the confines of his underwear, slapping against his stomach with a bead of pre-cum waiting on the tip. “Go ahead,” Minho said. “Let’s see what you can do for me.”

I swallowed hard, and I decided to start with a few strokes of his hardening erection - feeling the length of him under my hand because I knew that it would be painful to fit him inside my mouth. “Don’t tease,” Chan said, and I shivered at his harsh tone.

“I’m sorry,” I said, and I decided not to waste another moment before I was parting my lips around the head of Minho’s cock, tasting the gathered pre-cum on his tip. It was bitter because it was overwhelming, and my jaw was already aching as I hollowed my cheeks and tried to prevent my teeth from scraping across the sensitive underside of his erection.

“Harder,” Minho growled, and he reached down to grab fistfuls of my hair while forcing the remainder of his cock down my throat - triggering my gag reflex with the sudden motion. 

“I guess she’s not used to it,” Chan remarked - like it wasn’t a big deal that I could barely breathe around the intrusion, and spit was dripping from my lips as he proceeded to use me like I was nothing more than a warm space to fill with his cock.

“I’ll teach her for you,” Minho said, but it wasn’t a kindness to feel the tip of his cock hit the soft palate of my mouth, dragging between my lips as he ground his hips while moaning around a curse. 

But I still tried my best, sucking at the skin and using my tongue to trace against the ridges. I also kept my hands firmly behind my back, trying my best not to reach out for his thighs because I was afraid that he wouldn’t appreciate the feeling of my nails digging into my skin. Not that he seemed to be extending the same courtesy - fucking my mouth with loud grunts and tugging on my hair with enough force that my scalp was screaming for me to intervene.

“Does it feel good?” Chan asked.

“Oh, fuck yeah,” Minho said, and his eyes were glossy from the alcohol settling into his system and the approaching orgasm which I could taste as I tried my best to swallow around him.

And it was almost disorienting when he pulled himself free, keeping one hand in my hair while the other stared to stroke the length of his erection with rapid jerks. “Look at me,” Minho growled, and I forced my gaze to meet his own. “I’m gonna cum on your tits,” Minho snarled, twisting my hair as I did my best to nod around the impossible hold.

“Shit, that’s hot,” Chan whispered, and I closed my eyes when Minho finally came, spraying his hot cum across my chest as his thighs trembled from the effort.

“Damn,” Minho said, and he took a strategic step back to survey me from afar. “She looks better this way.”

“I definitely agree,” Chan said, but I only felt disgusting as I sat there on my knees with their eyes observing my wilted figure. 

The Participant

For an entire week after my encounter with Minho, every time I spoke, or did something as simple as drink or eat with my friends, I was reminded of him. 

It wasn’t necessarily the worst thing that had ever happened to me, and I couldn’t deny that there was a small part of me that had been aroused at the idea of Minho’s rough treatment. But the problem emerged from the lack of disclosure from Chan because he seemed to take impressive liberties with the contract. And I didn’t mind having sex with the older man since I gave him my full consent, but these surprises that he sprung on me when I wasn’t expecting them? I wasn’t entirely happy about those.

In fact, the more that I thought about the incident with both Minho and Jisung, the more infuriated I became, and I couldn’t help the brusque tone that I used to greet Chan over the phone when he randomly contacted me the following weekend.

“Someone’s having a bad day,” Chan said, and I didn’t appreciate his accompanying laughter. 

“It’s just my classes,” I offered as a response, pinching the bridge of my nose to try and prevent an oncoming headache.

“I hope it’s not too bad because I’d like for you to meet me in the office,” Chan said, and I agreed without really thinking about the consequences. Because the last time I went to Chan’s office, I found myself being fucked on top of his desk with an executive watching in the background.

But I guess this was what I had literally signed up for, and Chan couldn’t possibly know that I hated our most recent encounters because I still wasn’t able to find the confidence to tell him. And maybe it was better this way since our arrangement was nothing but a superficial agreement between two consenting adults - we were both getting something out of it, and I didn’t want to risk losing the invaluable funding that he sent to my stunningly healthy bank account.

Instead, I put on my best smile for him when I walked into his office, greeting him at his Secretary’s desk as she offered me a courteous welcome. Does she know what’s going on? I wondered to myself when Chan took my hand and led me to the giant executive desk where he worked.

He chuckled when he patted his lap, and I dropped my bag onto the floor before dropping myself down between his strong thighs. “There you are,” Chan said with a smirk, tracing the pout of my lips with his thumb. “You look sexy today.”

“Thank you,” I said, and I hated to sound so timid in front of him, but he was still beyond intimidating, and I never knew what to expect from someone who continued to surprise me.

“I’ve missed you,” Chan said, and I hesitated when his hands found the hem of my t-shirt, crawling along the skin of my torso to hold me in place. “Last time was really fun.”

“Yeah,” I agreed, but it wasn’t very convincing. Thankfully, Chan didn’t seem to notice, and he brought me in for a sloppy kiss so that I could taste the mouth wash on his tongue.

“Let’s take a walk around the office,” Chan said, and I agreed because it seemed relatively normal in comparison to what he usually asked from me.

It was also startling domestic to hold his hand as he walked me through the maze of cubicles, talking about taxes and the stock market and whatever else he found interesting. In response to most of his conversation, I found myself nodding because I couldn’t comprehend his big text jargon or the complicated explanation when it involved his return on investment numbers.

“How about some lunch?” Chan suggested, and I agreed even though my stomach had twisted itself into knots during the ride over here.

However, when Chan reached out to hit the button to call for the elevator, he paused when he made eye-contact with someone walking out of the conference room. He sighed as he turned me around. “This is awkward,” Chan said, and I noticed that the tips of his ears were bright red. “I may have shown Changbin some pictures of you and....” Chan trailed off with a smile. “He really liked what I showed him.”

“Changbin?” I questioned, and Chan jerked his head to the side to indicate the exceedingly handsome gentleman who was lingering outside of the conference room with his eyes glued in our direction.

“Changbin really likes you,” Chan whispered, smiling as he allowed one hand to fall down and palm my ass.

I heard a sharp intake of breath, and I felt my entire face flush when I realized that it had come from Changbin. He was brazenly eye-fucking me from where he was standing, and I couldn’t even imagine the dirty thoughts running through his mind.

“He wants to fuck you,” Chan continued as if we were having a conversation about something as casual as the weather. “And I kinda want to see him pound this little pussy.”

He then audaciously cupped the heat between my legs and I squirmed around in his arms because we were in public. “What are you doing?” I asked, and there was every reason to panic when anyone could see us like this - when Changbin was already looking at us like we were incredibly interesting.

“He’s got a really big cock,” Chan added like that was supposed to convince me. “But I know that you’ll do it for me, right?”

I hesitated at his request, glancing back over my shoulder at Changbin who was still watching the two of us with a predatory gaze. “When?”

“Tonight,” Chan said before pressing a surprisingly gentle kiss to my lips. “I’ll have something nice sent to your apartment. Wear it for us, won’t you?”

“Of course,” I agreed, and the response sounded robotic even to my own ears.

True to his word, Chan had sent over a rather scandalous pair of lingerie to my apartment - a matching set of underwear that included a red thong and delicate bralette with lace elegantly lining the comfortable padding. There was also a very short black shirt in the package and a thin camisole which wasn’t meant to cover much of me. And I grimaced at my reflection in the mirror when I realized that I looked like someone out of Chan’s wet dream.

But instead of walking through campus with such an appearance, I had wrapped my scantily-clad form in a long coat when I greeted Chan that night outside of his apartment, hoping that he wouldn’t question my desire to ride the bus in something more appropriate for public viewing. But maybe he was too turned on to scold me, dragging me inside his apartment and closing the door before opening the front of my coat.

“Fuck,” he growled when he saw me in my outfit. “You look so good in this.”

“Thank you,” I whispered in return, and Chan tossed aside my coat while reaching down for my hand.

“There’s no reason to delay tonight’s fun,” he commented. “Changbin’s already waiting in the bedroom,” he said.

I swallowed hard the mention of the other man, trying to piece together my disorganized thoughts when Chan invited me inside the lavish bedroom that was the exact same size as my entire apartment. But I also wasn’t surprised by the ostentatious reminder of his tremendous wealth, especially when I realized that there was someone waiting inside just as Chan had promised. The same man from earlier at the office was sitting in a chair near the corner of the room, dressed in his work suit and looking at me from beneath a fringe of blonde hair while his fingers tightened around his whisky glass.

“You were so patient, Bin,” Chan remarked as he reached down to remove his shirt. 

“I think she’s worth it,” Changbin replied, and I tried not to squirm too much under his impenetrable gaze.

“What do you think of her outfit?” Chan asked, and he smirked while squeezing my ass through the skit.

“I’d rather see what’s underneath,” Changbin said, and his attitude was so nonchalant that I couldn’t deny that a small part of me was attracted to his eagerness.

“That can be arranged,” Chan agreed, and I held perfectly still as he removed my tank top before jerking my skirt down my thighs. 

He didn’t even need to tell me to step out of the offending piece of fabric, sliding it across the floor as I stood in front of Changbin in nothing more than the skimpy lingerie that Chan had chosen for me. “Damn,” Changbin grumbled, and one hand slid down his chest before settling on top of the obvious bulge in his pants.

“Shall we start?” Chan grinned, and I watched as he walked over to the bed to make himself more comfortable on top of the mattress before holding out his arms for me. “Come here, Y/N.”

I nodded, crawling over the silken sheets while Chan whispered compliments into the silent bedroom. “She’s so fucking hot,” Changbin remarked, and I held my breath when Chan used his raw strength to turn me around - bringing my back flush against his chest as one arm wrapped itself across my chest. I shivered in response to his impressive muscles, pressing myself even closer to him while his other hand crept down to remove my panties

“Look at this,” Chan whispered, ripping the fabric and exposing my bottom half for Changbin’s eyes. “Such a pretty cunt.”

Changbin inhaled sharply at the exposed skin, and he stood from the chair to walk over the edge of the bed. I closed my eyes because he was shameless, palming his erection over his pants while his eyes glued themselves between my thighs. “Spread her legs for me.”

Chan nodded, and I could feel the way his fingers parted the wet folds of my labia before he drug his thumb along my sensitive clitoris. 

“Oh, fuck,” Changbin growled, and his eyes were bright with lust as Chan continued to tease my throbbing sex while mouthing kisses against my throat.

“Do you see something you like?” Chan asked his friend as if the question was even necessary.

“Let me fuck her, Chan,” Changbin snarled, and I watched as he unzipped his suit pants before dropping them to the floor along with his boxer shorts, fisting his cock in one hand while the other worked at the buttons on his shirt. 

“I don’t know...” Chan trailed off with a teasing tone. “I’m not really in the mood to share.”

“We both know that's a lie,” Changbin said with a humorless laugh. “Otherwise, I wouldn’t be here right now.”

I bit my tongue to hold back a moan when one of Chan’s fingers penetrated my tight walls, putting on a show for Changbin as he maintained eye contact with his business partner. It was like they were engaged in some sort of competition over me, and I was melting from Chan’s ministrations, feeling him move around with his fingers curling against all the right spots. He also started to scissor his fingers to stretch me out in preparation for whatever else might happen, and Changbin whimpered as he continued to stroke his hand up and down the impressive length of his throbbing cock. 

“I guess you can have it,” Chan said, and I yelped when he shoved me off his lap, tossing his legs over the side of the bed. “Hands and knees,” Chan barked, slapping my ass for good measure before he walked over to the same chair in the corner of the room. “You’ll be a good slut for Changbin.”

I whimpered at the rough treatment, and I tried to avoid Changbin’s gaze as I positioned myself on the center of the bed, dropping down onto my forearms while I raised my ass high in the air. I was breathing hard against the sheets, feeling my pulse skyrocket when the bed dipped beneath Changbin’s weight as he mounted me from behind. 

“Are you ready for me?” he asked, and I shook my head when he started to grope my ass, pulling apart my cheeks as his fingers prodded against the dripping entrance to my cunt. “Say my name, slut!”

I nearly screamed from the force of the slap he landed on my ass, and I took a deep breath to manage the pain. “Please, Changbin,” I sniffled, and there was nothing but blinding hot pleasure when he rubbed the tip of his cock up and down my slit.

However, he wasn’t nearly as patient as Chan, and I was shaking around the abrupt intrusion of his cock. He also wasn’t gentle, holding my hips with a bruising grip before he fucked his cock inside my wet heat, leaving me no room to breathe before he was driving his hips against mine like there wasn’t enough time in the world to split me open for him. “Shit,” Changbin hissed, and I was powerless when he shoved my face down into the pillows, forcing me back into an even deeper arch. 

“Play nice, Bin,” Chan said, and I could barely spot him from the corner of my eye. “You know I don’t like it when you break my toys.”

“Can’t help it,” Changbin grunted, and I could feel the fat head of his cock brushing against my cervix. 

“She feels good right?” Chan asked, and I finally located him, following his voice to see that he was rubbing his erection through the tented fabric of his pants.

“Her cunt is tight,” Changbin agreed, and he wasn’t even thrusting anymore; instead, he was manhandling me up and down his cock, slamming his hips against mine and filling the room with the sounds of wet slaps and crude moans as he chased his own pleasure.

He was fucking me like a madman, breath hot on the back of my neck. Everything was fast and hard, and the sound of the headboard hitting the wall was especially loud. “Fuck,” Changbin muttered, and I thought he might be slowing down, but he just adjusted his grip and set a brutal pace and fucked me even harder.

It was all too much, and I wasn’t expecting to come, but when he lifted one of my legs for a better angle, I felt a sudden wave of arousal drip around Changbin’s thick erection because he was scraping across my G-spot with every stroke. I moaned at the direct stimulation, and it felt like there was an impossible pressure building at the center of my abdomen, stretching and stretching until my vision nearly blacked out from the intensity of my orgasm.

“Yes!” Changbin groaned when I inadvertently squeezed around his cock even tighter, providing enough pressure to trigger his own orgasm. And I could feel his warm cum as it decorated the cavern of my pussy, escaping the place where we were connected with a squelching sound when he eventually pulled out.

“What a mess,” Chan groaned.

“Such a good little whore,” Changbin purred, reaching down to stuff his cum back inside where it belonged. I whined at the over-stimulation, but Changbin growled in response and slapped my ass hard. “I want one more round,” Changbin declared, leaving me lying on the bed as he rolled over to the side. 

“Sure,” Chan agreed, and I felt his hand soothing along the side of my face as he wiped away my tears. “How long do you need to get it back up, old man?”

“Shut up,” Changbin muttered. “Give me ten minutes.”

‘Well, that’s all I need,” Chan remarked, and I whimpered when he took his turn to mount me from behind, twisting his fingers into my hair as he slid his cock inside with one hard thrust, grinding his hips in long, sensual circles while whispering the filthiest words into my ears.

Present

It wasn’t very much like me to reveal all those intimate secrets, but something about Seungmin’s presence was safe and comforting. “What an asshole,” Seungmin remarked, discarding a fresh cigarette that he hadn’t even bothered lighting before returning his attention to me. “You deserve so much better than him.”

“He pays for everything,” I said. “He pays for my tuition, and he sends checks for the rent...”

“So?” Seungmin scoffed. “I can help you get a job at the diner where I work. You can make enough money to pay for those things without him.”

“It’s just so hard...” I broke off with a sudden exclamation, and my emotions were spilling out despite my attempts to suppress them, holding Seungmin even closer by the collar of his jacket as I sobbed into his shoulder. “He owns me.”

“No, he doesn’t, Y/N,” Seungmin said with a firm tone. “Do you understand me?”

I shook my head. “I signed a contract!”

“Every contract has a loophole,” Seungmin said. “And I’m sure it expires at some point, or you can negotiate your way out of the terms!”

“He’s a businessman,” I argued. “There’s no way I can win.”

“Not with that attitude,” Seungmin said with a fierce look. “You’re not alone, Y/N. I’ll even help you figure out how to leave him, but that’s what you need to do because this relationship is not good for you!”

“I kept telling myself that I didn’t care,” I whispered, sighing when Seungmin carded his fingers through my hair. “I guess I cared too much.”

“It’s alright,” Seungmin said, holding me close as he spoke reassurances into my stubborn ears.

“I’m scared, Seungmin,” I told him, and he nodded.

“I’ll give you all my strength,” he promised, and the sincerity of his words triggered a fresh wave of tears, and I cried while thinking about the difficult situation that I found myself in. 

The idea of Chan’s arrangement had once been enchanting because everything he promised seemed like a dream come true. But the reality was nothing short of a nightmare. And I was suddenly desperate to escape.

[jeeperso]

D&D Quotes Without Context

Ravenloft, Hazlan Arc, part 5

"It’s cool. They stole it." "And you know this how?" "Magic." “90% of Ravenloft deaths are mysterious vanishings.” "Why does everything come out covered in glitter and … is that …" "Lube. I’ve got a few theories." "Please don’t share them."

OOC: This is a plan that ends with Strahd having fewer brides, his castle is in flames, and he’s lost his cape.

OOC: Our team consists of a horny pyromancer, a gnome who can fillete you in five seconds, an HP lovecraft protagonist with actual magic backing them up, a literal slab of iron with a face, and a guy with a "I went to the eternal city of Ryleth and all I got was PTSD and this lousy T shirt". Gorbash smashing his shield into their face: "Have! You! Considered! Therapy!" OOC: Good news is you guys will no longer be the most conspicuous guys at the masquerade now. Jonni: Challenge accepted! "Nyx, the bounty on stealing his fake mustache is still on."

"Lets see, gonna make Jonni Deathlock six, gonna make the cleric a Huecuva, the Dragonborn a skeleton warrior, make a wight with the gnome.... I don't think I can make an undead with the big guy but pretty sure Hazlik wants him personally." Gorebash is offended. "I beat the shit out of the witch-slaying sentient hammer that was trying to gank you and all I merit is a Skeleton Warrior! That hurts Nima. I expect CR3 or better or I'm taking my corpse business elsewhere." "I'm not powerful enough to make you a death knight, Sorry." Jonni: "Wow, Hazzy, you need better minions. We should kill her." OOC: Point is, if you can make liches or Death knights, Hazlik's already killed you and written his name over your grad thesis.

Jonni: "NOPE! No fey queens. Not after last time! Well… maybe just a few times…"

“Hey, I need to ask for some magic stuff, but also I need an outfit for a royal dinner. Something that says, I’m an ostentatious adventurer visitor to your lands, but also that I plan to spending this dinner in the cloak room with one or more of the serving maids.”

As it is most gauche to appear before a darklord with a warpick sized hole in the middle of one's chest.

"... This place has made green things seem ominous to me."

"A giant beanstalk, this is the most unique wizard's tower I've ever seen."

On that note you also notice behind the Beanstalk is what seems like a huge lagoon of bubbling green ooze. Edmund leans to the side to get a good look... Several zombies are working tossing corpses into it, as the corpses hit the ooze they dissolve into it. Edmund leans back to get a less good look before knocking.

"Since he hopefully can't hear us, Your boss is kind of a self absorbed egomaniac... if he didn't have so power I'm sure someone would have thrown a brick at him by now." “I know where we can find bricks.” "Supply of Bricks is not the issue, Jonni." “Everyone says that until the revolt starts. Pays to be prepared.”

“That explains it. You’re about the research, your boss is about applied power of dickery.”

“I hung around a magic school once to let the grad students study me for their thesis.”

“Oh, good fascist wizards. Why can’t we kill him again?” "Phenomenal cosmic power."

"Oh crud, the ooze someone merged some of the corpses together and brought them back to life as a new being. At least that is my wild guess as to what happened here." Willow blinks. "Um, this is unprecedented." “Nah, but usually you need lighting and some grave robbing.”

"I mean I grew a toe out of corn." Willow says, "Its not that far fetched."

"You think, therefore you are. Freedom is your right." “Weird, that magic red self driving wagon I met once said something similar.”

"The Elder Brain will deal with you eventually. You will never escape it." “Clan chief told me that the day I stole his mammoth after he found me with his daughter. Pretty sure that loser is still freezing his tiny grimbas off on fuck-stick mountain.”

at supper, to Mama: "I am forbidden from your kitchen for good reason, but I may require your assistance with my culinary dark arts for the feast." Mama gives you a dirty look. "Who are you trying to kill?" "Not kill, on purpose anyway, just a severe enough food coma."

"Yes, I already reminded the others we can't fake our deaths again." "Yeah that only works so often," Sergei says. Edmund lost a perfectly good watch that day.

OOC: THE FUCKING LENG FOLK HAVE UFOS! MOTHER-FUCKERS!

"Plus we owe you for sending the Sullivans our way. That was a well paying job." "Yeah, except I got those fleas on me and hallucinated I was a pawn broker sign. That was a weird afternoon."

As side effect of the dark cookery, Marshal's armor is well-oiled throughout the day, though Mama insists he be kept away from Jonni or pregnant women.

...you can see ominous black clouds of smoke coming from the wagon all that day. The rats and roaches circling it with anticipation. With the occasional black speech of "Double it." Mama comes rushing out after a bit, holding a rag on her face. "That.. is very ominous." “We’re gonna have to cast this back into the fires of its creation eventually.” "Marshal may serve the gods, but when he cooks he's channeling Asmodeus himself." OOC: The meal must be cast into the deep fryers of Mount McDoom. Only there can it be unmade.

Marshal's player: *rolls natural 20 on cooking check* GM: Congradulations, it's edible. Marshal: "It...is done..." "By all that is holy..." The chocolate is so dark, light cannot escape it’s surface. 50 pounds of butter per square inch. OOC: It occurs to me this is basically a more fucked up retelling of Snow White.

“Gor, going with plan C cup. You know what I like if he starts thinking he’s cute by offering choices of rewards.” "Try not to do anything that requires a rescue."

Marshall is clearly trying to spontaneously multiclass into psionics the way he's trying to vaporize Hazlik with his stare.

"I will draw." Hazlik smiles, places the cards before you, then steps the hell back. Jonni pat Edmunds shoulder and shakes his hand. “It’s been okay knowing you. You were one of the least dickish dudes I ever met. And part of a select few I didn’t want to punch in the balls.”

“You will. Briefly. That’s a promise from Jonathana, She Who Makes Torches of Men. Daughter of Eloise Wolf Slayer, outcast of the Mammoth Tribe, and consort of the 37th Princess of Fuck Mountain.“

OOC: Nima is someone we can actively reach to strangle to death. Dark lords are a bit out of choking range.

OOC: But.... and this is important: Will Edmund ever get pants? OOC: Strahd will consider it.

OOC: Like this is the dark powers going "He looked at me crossways, PUT HIM N THE HOLE."

OOC: If Ravenloft is a jail/prison, this is the equivalent of getting thrown in solitary confinement. OOC: Without pants.

[twink-frank]

🩸 🎸 🧛🏿‍♂️

& 🔮 what are lyrics from anything mcr/mcr adjacent that you think genuinely helped you/saved you/just made you feel a little less alone in your struggles, if you have any

Thank you nathan <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

🩸: do you have a memory associated to the first time you listened to each of the mcr albums? Not really? usually whenever i listen to an album in full i just kinda sit down and do it. and its been so long since i heard any of their songs or albums for the first time that those memories are nothing but blurs. 🎸: what’s your favorite song by ray toro? Oooogghhh can i say the entire remember the laughter album? its literally such a masterpiece and the fact that ray produced the whole thing himself with almost no help just makes it that much better. ray toro is in fact a musical genius and his compositions make my fucking monkey brain go oohh aahhhh and i feel like he deserves way more recognition than he gets, 🧛🏿‍♂️ : what’s the most rewarding thing for you about being an mcr fan? (finding friends, experiencing shows, etc.) i’ve been into mcr since i was like 8 years old, and ever since then its always been about the community for me. i heard their songs when i was a young kid being bullied and harassed and found out that i wasnt alone through their music. like the messages they put out i intensely connected with. and i think that was their intention, to let people who were a little fucked up know that its Okay to be a little fucked up.

🔮 : question of the anons choosing im gonna stick to mcr lyrics that helped me and made me feel a lil less alone bc if i went into mcr adjacent things we would literally be here all day.

I went a lil crazy so my answer is under the read more <3

“The boys and girls in the clique / the awful names that they stick / you’re never gonna fit in much kid / but if you’re troubled and hurt / what you got under your shirt / will make them pay for the things that they did.” ~ Teenagers

“Back home, off the run / signing songs that make you slit your wrists / it isnt that much fun, staring down a loaded gun.” ~ Cemetery Drive

“But nobody cares if you’re losing yourself / am i losing myself? / Well i miss my mom! will they give me the chair? or lethal injection or swing from a rope if you dare? / ah nobody knows, all the trouble i’ve seen.” ~ Prison

“Well mother what the war did to my legs and to my tongue / you should’ve raised a baby girl, i shouldve been a better son / if you could coddle the infection they can amputate at once / you should’ve been, i couldve been a better son.” ~ Mama

“She said, You ain’t no son of mine / For what you’ve done they’re gonna find / a place for you and just you mind your manners when you go / and when you go don’t return to me, my love.” ~ Mama

“Do or die you’ll never make me / Because the world will never take my heart / Go and try, you’ll never break me / We want it all, we wanna play this part / I won’t explain or say i’m sorry / i’m unashamed, i’m gonna show my scars / Give a cheer for all the broken / listen here, because it’s who we are / I’m just a man, i’m not a hero / just a boy, who had to sing this song / i’m just a man, i’m not a hero / I don’t care.” ~ WTBP

“I see you lying next to me / With words i thought i’d never speak / awake and unafraid, asleep or dead.” ~ FLW

“I am not afraid to keep on living / I am not afraid to walk this world alone.” ~ FLW

“Preach all you want, but who’s gonna save me? / I keep a gun on the book you gave me / Hallelujah lock and load. / Black is the kiss, the touch of the serpent son. / It ain’t the mark or the scar that makes you one, and one, and one.” ~ Venom

“Trust, you said / who put the words in your head? / Oh, how wrong we were to think / that immortality meant never dying.” ~ sorrows

“And now, the red ones make me fly and the blue ones help me fall / And I think i’ll blow my brains against the ceiling. / And as the fragments of my skull begin to fall / fall on your tongue like pixie dust, just think happy thoughts.” ~ Headfirst

“And in this moment, we can’t close the lids on burning eyes / our memories blanket us, with friends w know, like fallout vapors / steel corpses stretched out towards an ending sun / Scorched in black, it reaches in and tears your flesh apart / as ice cold hands rip into your heart. / thats if you’ve still got one thats left / inside that cave you call a chest / And after seeing what we saw / can we still reclaim our innocence? / And if the world needs something better / lets give them one more reason now.” ~ Skylines

“Sometimes I think I’ll die alone, I’d think I’d love to die alone / Just take me down / Just take me down / I think I’d love to die alone.” ~ Cubicles 

“As lead rains, will pass on through / Our phantoms forever / Like scarecrows that fuel this flame / We’re burning forever and ever / Know how much I want to show you / You’re the only one / Like a bed of roses / there’s a dozen reasons in this gun.” ~ Demo Lovers

“I’m sick, down from the bones to the other side / Red-mob we insects hide / King rat on the streets in another life / they laugh we don’t think it’s funny / If what you are / is just what you own / what have you become / when  they take from you almost everything?” ~ Destroya

[returnn-of-the-mac]

Thank you so much for the CFS reaction! I got one last ask before I quit bugging you (I'm greedy, I know). How bout companions in an Art vs Art situation, but it's synth, and human Sol? How would they identify the real Sole, and what do thet do with the synth? Thanks for all this, it means a lot to me! xx

You’re not bugging me in the slightest; I love writing reactions! I always get excited when i get a new request—the more, the merrier! Please enjoy!😊

oh yeah side note: i usually like to make “silent soles” so you can lut yourself in their shoes, but i kinda had to give Sole dialogue in this one.

FO4 Companions React: Real Sole vs Synth Sole

Sole and their companion were leaving Walden Pond when they noticed a person nearby. A person who looked identical to Sole. The pair approached the individual, and the two Soles began bickering about who the “real [name]” was:

Hancock

“I’m too sober to deal with this right now,” Hancock stated, “I’m just gonna hit some Daddy-O real quick

“Take your time,” Sole 1 stated.

“Don’t you dare, Hancock,” Sole 2 warned, “You know how you get with that Daddy-O shit.”

Hancock immediately took out his knife and stabbed Sole 1. He approached Sole 2, the real Sole.

“Can’t have two of you running around. I can barely manage one,” Hancock teased. “Imagine all the trouble two of you would cause…I’m glad you don’t have a twin!”

Piper:

“Oh jeez. Why do these kinda things always have to happen to us?” Piper complained. She thought for a moment and then had an idea. “Hey! The real [name] would know the special nickname I gave them. What is it?”

Sole 1 blinked. “Uh…buddy?”

Sole 2 smirked, “Blue. Because I lived in Vault 111.”

Piper beamed. “Ding ding! We have winner,” she exclaimed. She looked at synth Sole.

“So you’re the synth, huh? You got nowhere to go?” Piper thought for a moment. “I would let you crash at my place in Diamond City, but if word gets out that you’re a synth…I don’t even want to think about it.”

Sole 1 frowned.

“How about you come with us for now, okay? We’ll get you situated.” Piper promised.

Gage:

“Oh damn. Oh shit. I‘m no good at these find the difference games,” Gage panicked. He then had an idea. He quickly adjusted his fingers and threw his hands in the air.

“What’s going on?” Sole 1 asked.

Sole 2 did another hand motion and Gage smiled. He looked at the fake Sole.

“Gang signs, ya poser.” Gage explained just before gunning down Sole 1.

Gage then shifted his attention to Sole 2, “And ya said these signs were stupid. I sure showed ya, didn’t I?

Danse:

Danse looked back and forth between the two Soles. “I’ll return momentarily,” the Paladin began, “I’m going to find Cutler

and get his opinion. He has a good eye for these kinds of situations.”

“Should I wait here, or do you want me to come with you?” Sole 1 inquired.

“Isn’t Cutler…” Sole 2 hesitated, mindful of their companion’s PTSD, “…not…not alive right now?”

Danse whipped out his laser rifle and vaporized Sole 1. The real Sole smiled and approached the Paladin.

“I knew you would catch on, soldier.” Danse commented, “You’re much sharper than that synthetic vermin.”

Preston:

“This is tough…you both look the same,” Preston hesitated, “But I need to pick the right one. Marshal, can you help me out?”

“No problem Preston,” Sole 1 began, “I have been there for you and the Minutemen through thick and thin. Always fighting for the people. It would be a shame if you lost all of that by shooting me instead of that imposter over there.”

“Marshal?” Sole 2 asked, “Did I get a promotion?”

Preston immediately stared at Sole 1. “You’re the imposter,” Preston said, “Now what?”

He thought for a moment and then nodded. “Would you like to join the Minutemen?” He asked the synth. Sole 1 nodded. “Excellent. You can follow us back to Sanctuary Hills and we’ll get you acquainted with everyone over there.”

Nick:

“Alright, synth. Let’s see how sly you really are,” Nick challenged, “Give this old detective a run for his money.”

Nick approached the two Soles and scanned them. After about two minutes of careful examination, the detective walked up to the synth Sole.

“You’re the synth,” He stated plainly, “You have one of two options: live an honest life and don’t cause trouble for the sake of my friend here, or die right here, right now.”

Sole 1 shuttered, “The first option. I won’t cause any problems—I promise!”

Nick solemnly nodded, “Then you’re free to go.”

The panicked synth swiftly ran off into the distance.

Sole stared at Nick in disbelief and the detective chuckled.

“The Institute sure is good at making carbon copies of people‘s physical appearance. Fortunately, they haven’t quite nailed replicating idiosyncrasies yet,” Nick smirked, “I know you never take that wedding ring off. Your clone over there didn’t get the memo, apparently.”

Cait:

“God dammit, these synths are sneaky little rats, aren’t they?” Cait studied the two Soles and scratched her head, “I can’t deal with this shite right now. I’m goin to take a hit of psycho.”

“Wait, Cait! Hold on,” Sole 1 pleaded. “This doesn’t have to be hard. I swear, I’m the real [name]!”

“Why?” Sole cried in frustration, “We just busted our asses getting you cleaned up in Vault 95 and you’re just going to throw it all away?”

Cait took put her shot gun and shot Sole 2. She approached the real Sole, who now looked distraught. She looked at them sympathetically.

“I would never, darlin. It was just a test. And you passed,” she reassured, “I’m sorry for hurtin ye like that.”

MacCready

“Two [names], huh? This is gonna be fun,” MacCready smirked and held out his hand, “My most prized possession. Give it to me.”

Sole 1 scratched their head as Sole 2 promptly placed a toy soldier in MacCready’s hand.

“Thank you, friend,” MacCready beamed, looking at Sole 2. He then whipped out his gun, “And goodnight imposter,” he stated, sniping Sole 1 in the forehead.

He walked over to the real Sole and smiled, “I hope you didn’t think I wouldn’t be able to tell the two of you apart. I could’ve figured it out even without the soldier.”

X6-88:

X6 looked at Sole 1, then at Sole 2.

“Alpha-9-3-Beta.”

Sole 1 immediately collapsed, and Sole whipped their head to look at their companion.

X6 approached them. “I’m a professional Courser, [sir/ma’am]. You don’t have to worry about rouge synths fooling me.”

Deacon:

“Two’s a crowd!” Deacon exclaimed, “Guess it’s time for comedy hour!” He dramatically cleared his throat: “Two Brotherhood of Steel soldiers are sitting in a tank,” he began.

Sole 1 looked interested in the joke, while Sole 2 rolled their eyes.

“One soldier tells the other: BLUB BLUB GLUB BLUB GLUB. The other soldier drowns.”

Sole 1 immediately started laughing while Sole 2 shots daggers at Deacon.

Deacon knew instantly who was whom. He pulled out his gun and aimed at Sole 1, “Sayonara!” He shouted.

Sole 1 braced for impact, but nothing happened. They looked at Deacon.

“I’m just messin with ya,” he began, “As long as you promise not to go screwing up my pal’s reputation, I don’t have any reason to kill you. In fact, you could probably be a valuable member of the Railroad if you wanted to join our cause.”

Sole 1 nodded and Deacon grinned.

“Great! Why don’t you start heading down to the Old North Church then. There should be a secret door and the password is Railroad. Let them know Deacon sent ya.”

As soon as Sole 1 left, Deacon looked at the real Sole with a goofy smiled plastered across his face. “Now back to what we were talkin about before…I know you’re a huge fan of my jokes. Wanna hear another one?”

Strong:

“Why two human?” Strong asked, scratching his head. “Was only one this morning.”

“That’s because they're a faker.” Sole 1 said, pointing an accusing finger at Sole 2.

“Shut up. No you’re not. I am!” Sole 1 retorted.

“Human fight with clone. Yes. Interesting.” Strong commented, “But Strong want to smash clone.”

The Sole’s were silent for a moment before Strong spoke again.

“Human know this. Who Strong’s favorite au-thor?”

“You don’t read…do you?” Sole 1 asked.

“William Shakespeare.” Sole 2 answered confidently.

“That real human,” Strong said, pointing at Sole 2. “Goodnight, clone,” Strong stated as he bashed the synth with his super sledge.

Curie:

“Oh my…” Curie mused, looking back and forth between the two Soles, “I…I don’t know who’s who!”

“I’m the real [name]!” Sole 1 pressed, “How can you not tell the two of us apart? We’re best friends”

“[He/She]’s lying!” Sole 2 swore, “I’m the real one!”

Curie frantically looked back and forth between the two Soles when she suddenly had an idea.

“Both of you turn around and lift up your shirt.”

The two Sole’s obeyed and Curie examined their backs. Sole 1’s back was smooth, but covered with a few cuts and bruises. Sole 2’s back was also slightly bruised and cut, but unlike Sole 1, they had a large, stitched up laceration that ran from one rib to the other. It was an injury they had received upon fighting a Mirelurk King with Curie.

She approached Sole 2. “You, you’re the real [name]! I’m so glad I was able to tell.” She then looked at Sole 1. “It must be fun looking like one of the most fascinating people in the Commonwealth.” Curie remarked. “But we can’t have you running around and pretending to be [name]. I’m so sorry…”

“Wait,” Sole 1 pled, “I won’t cause any problems. You have my word.”

Curie smiled. “Well, I’m glad! If you promise you won’t do evil, you are free to go!”

Sole 1 thanked Curie and Sole for sparing them as they rushed away.

Longfellow:

“I am one confused sea cucumber right now,” Longfellow stated, scratching his head, “I’m too old for this shit. Dammit, [name], why would you do this to a senile old man?”

The two Sole’s stared at Longfellow.

“Only one way to find out who the real deal is,” Longfellow pulled a fiddle out from seemingly nowhere and began to sing:

“Oooooh-! What you’re gonna do with a drunken sailor?

What you’re gonna do with a drunken sailor?

What you’re gonna do with a drunken sailor…?”

Sole one raised an eyebrow while Sole 2 beamed.

“Early in the morning!” The latter finished.

Longfellow smiled and shot the synth Sole to the ground. He then approached his real companion.

“I know that’s your favorite sea shanty, [lad/lassy]!” He exclaimed, “My pleasure to have rid the world of your evil clone.”

Ada:

“The two of you look identical. It’s going to be hard to tell who the imposter is, but I have an idea.” Ada declared. She suddenly lit up and projected an image onto the ground. It appeared to be an empty checkbox with the words I am not a robot written next to it.

“This high-tech projection is touch-sensitive,” Ada explained, “So who is going to try to check the box first?”

Sole 1 stepped forward. They tapped the box with their foot and nothing happened. They then tried again with their hand. They then stomped on it, and jumped on it. The box would not check.

“This stupid thing isn’t a touch screen!” Sole 1 complained, “Don’t lie!”

Just then Sole 2 stepped up. They lightly tapped the box and a check appeared.

“That answers our question, then.” Ada declared. “It looks like she is the real human being. I am sorry.”

Sole 1 slumped a bit, “Now what?”

Ada thought for a moment. “Well, I think I know someone who could use some company. Her name is Isabel Cruz. She should be located at the Robotics Technology Facility in East Boston.”

“Thank you,” Sole 1 stated, as they turned and ran away.

Codsworth

“Oh bother…” Codsworth mumbled, looking back and forth between the two Soles, “you both look completely identical.”

“It’s me, I’m the real [name]!” Sole 1 shouted.

“No, I am!” Sole 2 hollered back.

The two continued to bicker until Codsworth spoke again, “Only the real [name] would know the answer to this question!”

The two Soles perked up.

“What name did the [hubby/wife] insist on giving me before you settled on Codsworth?”

Sole 2 immediately answered, rolling her eyes at the memory “Mr. BB-8 But Floating and British.”

“Correct!” Codsworth cheered. He then turned to Sole 1. “I’m not going to harm you, [sir/ma’am] so long as you do not cause any trouble in [name]’s body.

The synth hastily nodded and ran away.

Codsworth then floated over to the real Sole. “You know, I never really did have the chance to properly thank you for changing my…unique name,” he stayed, shuttering, “So thank you. I am very grateful.”

[curious-minx]

Heat Lamp vol. [i]

A how-to guide on harnessing the very best light for your under-lit overly priced hovel! In Style!

“Lighting is everything, you goon!” spits Magda Marlene, and, of course, she’s absolutely correct.

“Don’t call me a goon, Magda! I’m trying my best. Have you ever tried shopping around for the best possible lights? Of course not. The challenge of conceiving of wattage and luminosity in the abstract blue light tech etching our basic human retinas will never compete with the likes of you. “ Elroy wipes away the trail of verbiage slipping down his prominent jawline. He attempts to grab at Magda to make her take him seriously, but it was impossible, because after all she is enshrouded in light. She is the kind of bruising overwhelming beauty that is perpetually well lit. Magda has endured a panorama of over stuffed suits of testosterone tossing off a clip of one-liners about her “lighting up a room,” because she had already brightened her entire surrounding vicinity. Light seeping out as far as several stories above and below whatever apartment is lucky enough to grace her presence. You had to alert your local neighboring Vampire’s of someone like Magda coming around. To forget would be akin to a hate crime. 

“I do take pity on you sallow beef man. You are close, so close I can nearly taste your success, but this lack of suitable lighting! This will  be your ruin. That’s what all the Entertainment and Arts are all about-,”

“Yes, the lighting! The wonderful bright, but not too bright lighting. I know Magda. Ugh! I much prefer if we go back to when you would stick to sending me laymen articles on the anatomy of human eyeballs and the latest breakthroughs in light-based therapy, but now all I hear is your dogmatic barking.” 

“You sure do talk a lot for a layman. Why did you want to touch me? Don’t tell me you’re starved for human contact!” 

“Of course not! Don’t be foolish! You know I’m not attracted to you. It’s the only reason why you even bother gracing me with your infernal light. Why won’t you sell some of your light source already?”

“Oh no no no, not this this again. I will have no further discussion about the selling off of my light.” 

“You won’t share your light, you won’t sell your light, but all I ever hear you go on and on about is the importance of light! Don’t you think you’re being a little selfish?” Elroy tries sizing Magda up and all around with his big soulful hazel  brown dopey puppy dog eyes. 

“What is this, ‘on and on’ slander? That’s a complete and total falsity! I barely even talk to you! You asked me to come over and help you pick out a new light. Yet here you stand insulting me and everything I represent. I knew all men were trash! I really wanted a reciprocal  easy going friendship receptacle. Like the ones you see on flashy American sitcoms, but no! Instead you reek of man boy desperation. You are not Easy Elroy, nor are you sleazy enough to warrant a pass. Good day!” And with that Magda leaves Elroy in his room. A room that is painted a banana baby sick off-scrambled eggs shade of yellow that made Elroy think of himself as a “warmed over Simpson” whenever he looks at himself with his overhead lights on. Magda leaves him behind so that she can go attend a life devoid of preening men devoid of any elevated levels of cognitive stimulus. Magda had a strong feeling deep inside that being eaten out by Elroy would feel either like the confectionary sugar clinging to a beater or a cow pondering the universe with a cud.  Magda has bigger prospects to attend such as the purchasing of a new Ultrasonic Television, a television for people too interesting to own a regular television. Now this is a process more grueling than picking out some sort of pathetic LED lights set out to emphasize poor life choices. 

Magda’s candles burn ferociously for the scented perfume wick of her occasional beaux Hillary. Oh sweet sister Hillary.  Magda flips a dizzy spell as she gets behind the wheel of her space craft. In the driver’s seat she grabs and teases pinching caresses onto her sides, hands running underneath her shirt and imagines Hillary’s hazy visage.  Magda turns on The Quick’s Mondo Deco, the album is lodged into the fourth track already, “Hillary.” The porto-phrenetic ASMR zipper crunch! The perfect symmetry of a song making sense for the right woman in the right space and time. Magda wishes she could be some special somebody’s Kim Fowley. She knew she has the making of a Valkyrie companion. Mostly a bottom, but occasionally there’s a switch…a candy striped hypnosis stick being cradled in Magda’s hand turns her space craft into autopilot. The space craft assumes a sensible soaring speed, sharing the sky with all the other avians and sky ships. Magda lands onto the fetid grassless knoll where she finds the manor of Scent Maven Monique. A west coast equivalent of a Hobbit Hole in the Hills. Except instead of a 5,7” English gentleman it is a 5,7” Black American bohemian scientist woman. Magda lights up one of Monique’s Pixie Stix a jolt of nicotine, THC, estrogen, nootropicals, and most importantly caffeine. Cigarettes that don’t make you smell like cigarettes, that don’t make you smell like anything, but a hint, a wink, a whisper, and a prayer of exotic bubblegum. 

A Vaping Assassin is prowling on her rooftop. Antonia, The Daycrawler, of course. A woman so intimidating in strength and beauty that all law officers around the country worship at her talon toes. Lines of swat teams, cops, and military official personally see fit the they get their asses beaten by Antonia’s hand each and every year at The National Cop Christmas Party. Monique is constantly alienating, offending and inspiring everyone she works with, but they usually only send soft assassins like Soy Hands Flannigan or the Detangler. Magda believes that this must be the opening salvo of a new killer regime. 

“Quit your daydreaming Magda Marlene! Are you really about to let me red rover your special number one gal? I am dropping through the ceiling now! Catch ya later!” Antonia is always narrating her actions to her blind brother Donovan who makes glass sculptures for an assassin’s memento. Some assassins keep locks of hair, some assassins keep emails, some assassins bond and indulge their impotent’s brother pop art. The giant blocky neon green rotary telephone with each notch designed with a mysterious suggestion of a dreary person. A lot of guilt trips about being sent to  mental institutions and the occasional rainbow clamshell birth control pill case. All glass blown by the Daycrawler’s blind and naive brother. Monique doesn’t stand a chance! 

“Oh no,” mouths Magda. She’s going to be vaporized by that tall Nordic pillar of mayhem. Quentin Tarantino might as well be hanging himself up here on Monique’s roof turning himself into the human satellite, beaming this impeding cyclone of beautiful woman on beautiful woman violence for all of his cronies to see. “Not today,” mouths Magda. With a flick of her wrist, bracelets of light begin forming and overlapping. Discs of light coursing up and down Magda’s forearm. Magda then hides her arms underneath her long and flowing cherry blossom trench coat. Magda’s light does not instantly light up the rest of Monique’s abode. Antonia is hiding her frustration and she looks around Monique’s mostly spacious and poorly lit living quarters. Seeing only a completely stainless steel coated mini-kitchen and a chest level table top. No chairs. No other furniture or trace of personality. Magda hopes that this cat and mouse game will grow less cheesy and the Daycrawler will soon leave irate and hungry. 

“Aha! You got me good Light Bright. Of course you knew she wasn’t here and distracted me. For such good work I will personally see to killing you myself. I haven’t murdered anyone in over twelve hours. Do you know how rusty an assassin can get in that time? First, I must take a shower. Surely this lab rat has some sort of hose or bucket and pulley system to wash herself?”Antonia begins sizing up the space, trying to squint a bathroom into existence. 

“I believe her bathroom is right next the front door. You must have accidentally passed in when you were getting yourself worked up into this bloodlust.” Magda suddenly feels completely at ease. Yes, she could easily blind and frankly obliterate this toned and blonde killing machine. Doesn’t matter though, because Magda realizes that she has this whole ordeal in her pocket and it’s only a matter of Antonia getting into that shower. Magda goes to raise her fist in conquest but then meets resistance. Antonia’s silent rope snakes! They are giving Magda the world’s most cold blooded group hug. Magda knows she must submit to the plan. She grimaces feeling the ridges of her teeth and wait to unleash her light show. 

////

Antonia has been in the shower for over and hour and half. Magda is only now starting to bruise because the rope snakes have grown lethargic and weak ever since the water started. The rope snakes are clinging on to Magda out of obligation and lethargy. The water stops and a shrill elongated sigh is heard from the bathroom. Antonia, the Daycrawler, emerges from heavy plump clouds of perfumed steam. Magda thinks she can detect a hint of Ceylon Cinnamon and gun smoke, but you can never tell with Monique and her smells. Antonia is a lot drier than you would expect for someone who has ostensibly been bathing for the past two hours and she is wearing an oversized clumsy kimono with her hair wrapped up in a towel. 

“Alright, where is she?” Antonia asks in a voice that is almost saccharine and faint. 

“She’s clearly not here. Let’s revisit the fact that you were going to behead me as a house warming gift. How about instead you rob me of one of my kidneys? They are oozing with glow-stick fluid, but they never stop glowing! Please don’t kill me!” Magda says fully aware that Antonia is not going to kill, at least not while she’s so fresh out of the shower. 

“That’s what I need to talk to her about. I suddenly no longer have my urge to kill! Not you, you, or anyone else ever again!”says Antonia breathless like she is hearing her voice for the first time.

“I thought you were killing out of profession?”

Antonia crouches down and is almost blushing as she asks, “Why are you still on the floor like that? Can’t you not fry us up some rope snake snacks? Or wait! Are you like me and need the sunlight to fully operate?” Antonia begins opening up every window and even trying to create new windows in Monique’s house to let the light in. 

“Fine! I’ll do it! You made me do it!” Magda unleashes her light that sets off as a retina unfriendly supernova. The light charged specifically around her arms were even still lit up and racing to be shot off as blades of light into the nearest surface. 

“See? That’s wasn’t so bad! Why do you get so…so conservative about using your light whenever you’re around me?”

“I don’t want to end up blinding or hurting anyone.” Magda says still on the ground facing onto Monique’s steel plated sterile floors. 

“Even someone who was moments ago trying to kill your friend and you for the thrill of murder?”

“Your an easy target Daycrawler,” Magda gathers herself back up into a standing stance,” You are exactly the type that would change your mind if given half a chance. I still feel like you could plunge your famous ribbon blade into my personal generator… ” Magda trails off realizing that Antonia is no longer listening to her. She is still running her reformed(?) killer’s hands through her honey flaxen unwieldy tower of hair that only a towering murderess could support. 

“That shampoo it’s, it’s going to help a lot of people. I’m waiting to see the catch. Like with her cancer-free candy cigarettes they’re too good to be true, right?”Antonia takes in another long inhalation of her own hair and takes one lock and flecks her tongue only at the tip of the follicle. The one blank wall inside Monique’s apartment spins around revealing Monique on the other side who steps up and says without missing a beat:

“They’re called Pixie Stix!” Monique fully emerges from her illusion wall hiding the hint of a laboratory.  She lights up a Pixie stick of her own which begins flooding the spartan space. Who needs furniture when you bask in a smell this sweet? Magda lets her guard down and lights up the rest of the space turning the formerly drab and empty hovel into a chic and spacious boutique. “Lighting!” Continues Monique, “With the right lights and an overwhelming pungent odor reveals the path to an enveloping inner peace. No matter how small or unfashionable your home or hovel happens to be there could possibly be an outlet for a chosen few people that the three of us could use to build our own society or something?” Monique turns on music by malodorous mall core cyborg nu metal pop band called Neon Betty Degenerates. Antonia goes over to Monique and gently forces Monique’s bangled and gloved clammy hand into a boisterous hand shake. A Kashmir blossom shaped pin attached to Monique’s vegan leather newsboy cap opens up and contracts. The blossom is spraying out a mist invisible to the human eyes, directed into Antonia’s face. Antonia then immediately releases Monique and she turns away from the gangly scientist, she unravels the towel from her hair and starts sprinting outside of Monique’s house. Antonia begins climbing up the lone ancient hundreds of feet tall redwood tree watching over Monique’s property. Antonia climbs up to the tree in record time, she is nothing but a blur of momentum and rustling branches. Antonia, the Daycrawler, jumps out into the sky with the grace of a flying squirrel leaving her nest, and she’s reached enough height so that she can use the heel of her shoe to write, “I’m sorry! <3 I will work on respecting your personal space” in a cloud-based font. 

Magda turns to Monique who has completely flipped open her furtive laboratory, revealing the glow of scent analysis technology calling out to Magda begging her to crank up the wattage. Before submerging back into her lab, Monique turns to Magda and tells her, “Antonia is seemingly the only person my Perfumed Personality is working on. Do you think that will be enough?” Monique directs this question more to the ether than to anyone in particular. 

“Looks like it’s really working on her though. Oh right, before you leave. I am going through this really tough crush on someone and was hoping that you’d have some-“ Magda stops talking. Monique enters her lab leaving Magda behind in the empty kitchen and the lingering vapors of the ethical strawberry and lavender pacifist shampoo. Magda knows that she probably won’t see Monique emerge back out from her work for another two weeks at the latest. Magda shivers and steps outside and all of her pent up light energy continues bursting forth from her navel, banners of light shooting from her forehead, spotlights dancing out of each of her fingertips. Magda’s light even causes the clouds that Antonia used as calligraphy to break into a sweat. The extreme daylight and the small patch of rain causes a family of foxes to burst forth from out of the ground and carry on a quick and sweet wedding. Magda climbs on top of a dune and watches the wedding ceremony from afar. She remembers Hillary and groans, a sticky and somber sound. Magda has her revery broken by the sound of a voice calling from below the dune.

“cOuld yOu pleeze take Our picha, lamp lady? Da lurvely cOupa wOuld be sO grateful!!” The source of the voice is coming from an approaching silver fox who has a slight wobble in his gait. Magda looks at the silver fox further and notices that he also has two plastic and springy legs. Magda not wanting to seem judgmental, sighs and takes the fox’s hefty Kodiak bridge cam and without even taking time to focus the lens takes the picture. The newly wedded couple and the silver fox open up the camera’s finder and look at the results and start panting in approval. They have never seen themselves look so well lit before. 

“Daddy! You must pay this kind lady Beacon mucho ancient coins! I’ve never looked this good!” Magda smiles and shakes her head and puts her hands into her pockets, leaving the foxes behind. She readjusts her trench coat and puts on a large wide-brimmed blackout hat she keeps in a box shaped fanny pack. Even while wearing her light suppression accessories each and every passing streetlamp emits a powerful sphere of light that dims with each of Magda’s passing step. Most of the houses in Magda’s neighborhood are heavily tranquilized and sleeping in deprivation tanks so the dramatic light fluctuations don’t bother most. One overhead apartment pulls back its drapes and an angry shirtless and chiseled man has taken out a mirror and trying to reflect the light back down at the street. The power of the light’s heat creates another pothole into the road, which causes the man to start swearing and yelling incoherently. Magda kneels down onto the empty sidewalk and rubs her palms together causing the street lights to dim back down to their normal level. Magda’s face looks pale and she begins moving at a slower pace.

“Damn…I’m so close. Being mindful of so many people really sucks. I think I’m going to lie down in this pile of moss and maybe I’ll wake up back in my bed.” Magda hums a lullaby to herself and begins folding herself into a ball of fading light. Magda is blacking out.

///

She opens up her eyes as soon as she registers motion. Magda is being carried in somebody’s arms! Magda almost cranks up her internal light furnace but then she smells the tangy coconut cologne of Elroy. 

“What did I tell you about picking up tramps?” Asks Magda with a yawn. “Put me down you goon!” Elroy immediately does so and gives Magda her space.

“Of course, I’m sorry Magda. I was out scouting shoot locations for a new headshot this week and saw your abandoned space craft on the side of road. Knowing you as well as I do I had a feeling that you were probably enjoying one of your unnecessary sojourns. Thankfully you left it in one of the bougiest possible neighborhoods so I think you’ll be fine with picking it up tomorrow. I’ll leave you be. Clearly you are wanting some time alone.” Elroy brushes off a twig out of Magda’s hair and starts walking back into his own shabbier Electric Hover Desert Rabbit.  

“Any luck with your lamp search?”asks Magda causing Elroy to stop in his tracks and turn around revealing an excitable grin.

“I found this Ponce de Leon Torchier that promises to age and de-age me based on what kind of bulb I put into it. There’s  this audition for a movie about a man breastfeeding his own child I got. The role comprises of both the child and the father, it’s a student film but the kid directing is supposed to have a real stash of connections.” Chatters Elroy, clearly trying to regain a sense of joviality between him and Magda. 

“I have actually never really bothered playing with light in that way before. How are you so good at online shopping? And here I was about to actually consider giving you a droplet of my very own light” sneers Magda as she enters through the lamp shaded gate of her parent’s compound. 

“What?! Really! Wait Magda I’ll gladly take some of your light off of your hands! Come on, come back!” Magda leaves Elroy behind once again and a roving street sweeper pushes him up the current of streaming sidewalk leading deeper into the Energy District. He calls out to Magda yelling her name as he’s being street swept away. Magda turns copper green with regret with even toying around with the idea of sharing any amount of light. Especially with a total goon like Elroy! The family leopard spotted moth, Sapphire, comes whooshing up to Magda giving her a silky kiss. Magda grins and brushes the silk away from her face and picks up a floating torch, lights it with her finger and tosses it as far as she can throw, which due to the pent up hormonal surging emotional cycle Hillary has gotten Mega into, turns out to be quite far. Sapphire flap flap flaps her wings into a column of speed and chases after the floating torch. The outside ladder leading to her room has been rolled up. 

“Because of course!” Sighs Magda as she slips off her cycling light up shoes, the tongue of her shoes light up with a balloon showcasing the amount of miles Magda has walked from Monique’s house, nearly fourteen, if only Elroy hadn’t gotten in the way. Inside both of her parents are stationary as always. Wires running from the back of both of their heads so that when they glance over at the door in unison you can see the pulses of light traveling at the same speed from both of their skulls. Magda parents disgust her and she really tries getting up stairs into her room as fast as possible. 

“Magpie! Get your cute little grown ass over here and tell me about this nice young man you’re considering giving up your light to!”

“Journey,” Magda says addressing her mom by her proper name which causes her mom to feign a twinge,”Why must you two always insist on watching the security feed whenever I am coming home. Every. Single. Time. Do you two expect me to be still be living here until either one of you finally burn out? Just so you can always have a little show of someone else’s lives to watch? You’re almost as much as a goon as that ‘boy’ you are referring to. You know him already, that’s Elroy, we’re just friends.”

“See Enterprise? What did I say?” Journey says peering directly into her husband Enterprise’s vacant light producing sockets. 

“Aw dawlin looks like I owe you thirty pulses! I knew I should have betted on our Magpie giving her light away to some respectable enterprising lesbian. You’re donating your light to science right Magpie? That’s why you left today?”

“I am not donating my light to anyone! I am not anyone’s generator ready to be milked and sapped away for all of my worth.”

“Magda you know your light is strong enough that you could be a really successful crime fighter, or you could even be just another lamp builder like your lil brother and sister.” Coos Magda’s father, Enterprise.

“Or, she can be nothing too! Fine by me! Keep on going missy, I can see how much you are burning to get back into your precious room. All I ask is that at some point tonight please help your siblings make some kind of dinner. Your dad and I are going to be all tied up for the rest of the night running double concurrent shifts. Those damn strikers! We don’t need em! Ow ow ugh I’ve got to be quiet and focus.” Journey rubs her temple which emits a spark. 

“Relax my love. This is just a rough patch. Once there is a serum manufactured we’ll be able to import more workers and we can recharge for the next decade. Maybe even more.” Enterprise says this to Journey and they hold each other’s hands not even minding that they are becoming entangled within one another’s connecting wires. Magda hears the quiet scrape scraping of her younger brother and sister’s lamp and neon shop that takes up most of the second floor. Magda ascends up one more floor and reaches her bedroom at the end of a hallway adorned with family portraits. Mainly of her siblings Gidget and Chester selling lamps around the world. See Gidget and Chester in Bali with a lamp made from resurrected coral reefs. There’s a picture of Gidget, Chester and both of her parents soft shoeing on the grave of Thomas Edison. See Gidget defile the Tesla’s tomb. Chester burning an effigy of Musk. There’s one picture of Magda and Sapphire, Magda is only visible as a beam of light. Magda opens up her bedroom and finds Antonia, the Daycrawler waiting for her, suspending herself from the ceiling. Rotating around like a monk’s slimy finger circling around the lip of a singing wine bowl. 

“Hiya there Miss Shiney! I brought you a present!” Antonia says this in her persistently chippier and bubblier voice that has not  subsided since taking her shower with Monique’s personality shifting scented shampoo. Monique raises her right eyelid causing  one of her dimmest overhead lights to come on. The light reveals reveals the sight of a  tied up woman sporting a bouncy pompadour sprawling out across Magda’s bed. Soy Hands Flannigan! 

“What am I supposed to do with an assassin? All I want to do is curl up and shop. God I sound pathetic.” Magda says attempting to hide the  anxiety spiking through the roof of her dome  coursing down to her toes. 

“She knows how you can find Hillary!”

That’s all it took. All Magda needed to hear was her name. The utterance of Magda’s one and only Hillary causes each and every one of Magda’s three hundred and eighty five lights adorning her bedroom to flare out bright beams of all encompassing light. The kind of light that only glows for a woman once thought lost and dead to the world soon to be rediscovered. Maybe, thinks Magda, having a reformed violent and dangerous assassin as a companion wouldn’t be so bad after all. 

[crooked-sleep]

Day 12 - Beginning of the End [Pt. 2]

hello!! last gift today (anonymously, at least) — man i can’t believe it’s over! i have had so much fun this year and it’s honestly been so great, and i really hope we can become friends after this!!!

warnings: nsfw; top!dean and bottom!sam; more fluff than you know what to do with. apologies if there are any formatting errors, btw, i wrote this one in my notes app because my wifi is total shit today and i’m leeching off my dad’s hotspot.

—

Dean is putting the finishing touches on the chicken he’s just taken out of the oven when he hears the characteristic rumble of the Impala’s engine. Good, Sam’s home. and hopefully he remembered the pie and the beer. The rest of the grocery Dean can go without — who needs that much milk anyway? — but pie and beer are absolutely crucial.

He hears the bunker door clang shut, and a moment later Sam calls out, “Dean?”

“In here!” Dean yells back, sprinkling the last of the garnish on the chicken.

Two seconds later Sam appears in the entrance to the kitchen, hair messy and cheeks pink from the wind outside. He’s got two brown bags balanced in one arm and a plastic-covered platter of pie in the other, and Dean immediately makes grabby hands at it. “Gimme!”

Sam hands it to him, rolling his eyes, and Dean sets it down on the counter before taking the rest of the bags from Sam. Sam clears his throat expectantly, tilting his head, and it takes Dean a second to remember what he’s supposed to do. “Right, yeah,” he mumbles, and then kisses Sam’s cheek.

Sam beams, satisfied, and then says, “Chicken looks great.”

“It better, the seasoning was a pain in the ass,” Dean says as he puts the grocery away. “How about you go get rid of your coat and then we can start, huh?”

“Um,” says Sam, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “I’m good, man, I’m starving. Let’s start now.”

Dean frowns. “You sure, man?”

Sam nods so quickly his hair flies. “Yeah, yeah I’m sure,” he rambles. “Chicken looks amazing, man, why wait? Let’s have it right now.”

Dean narrows his eyes at his brother. “Yeah?” he says. “I don’t know, man, I’m smellin’ a rat. What did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything!” Sam says at once.

“I don’t believe you,” Dean tells him squarely.

And then Sam’s coat meows.

There is silence for a few moments, during which Sam’s face goes from “I am innocent please believe me” to “Oh no I see you getting suspicious” and finally settles on “okay okay fine I might be a little guilty.” Dean narrows his eyes further and crosses his arms, waiting Sam out. Sam bites his lip, eyes impossibly wide and soft, and Dean feels himself beginning to go weak at the knees.

Don’t, he tells himself. He wants you to give in. Resist, dammit!

But fuck, not even the most monstrous creature on the planet could resist Sam when he looks this fucking sweet and innocent, and Dean is only human.

He’s just about to give in when Sam’s coat meows again, and that, for some reason, makes Sam cave first. “Okay, okay, fine!” he says, and pulls out an honest-to-God kitten from his coat pocket. It’s so impossibly tiny that Sam’s hands cover it completely, almost as if he’s afraid Dean’s gaze will vaporize it.

“Sam?” Dean says, deadpan. “Were you seriously trying to smuggle a whole-ass kitten past me?”

“I couldn’t not rescue him, okay, he’s so small!” Sam says defensively, cradling the kitten to his chest. “It’s so cold outside and he was all alone and I didn’t see his mom anywhere and I felt bad, okay!”

“Sammy,” sighs Dean. “You brought home three dogs last month. The month before that it was a fucking rooster. And now a cat? You wanna make our home a zoo? Is that what this is?”

“He’s so tiny, Dean,” Sam says earnestly. “He won’t survive on his own. I couldn’t just leave him.”

The puppy eyes have been upped to 11. Dean hadn’t even thought that possible. The last time Sam had looked like this he’d been literally five and begging for ice cream. Dean’s knees are weak again, dammit, even though he’d told himself a rooster and a puppy ago that he was going to be stronger the next time.

“Please?” Sam says, and has the audacity to stick his bottom lip out a little. “I promise he won’t bother you, Dean. You won’t even know he’s there.”

“That’s what you said when you got Alan,” Dean reminds him, referring to the rooster. “Now he wakes me up every morning by screaming. It’s also what you said when you got Harry, Ron, and Hermione. I didn’t say a thing when you gave them all geek names, and now there ain’t a single slipper unchewed in this house.”

“Well, Bruce won’t scream or chew your slippers, I swear!” Sam says.

“Bruce?” Ahh, fuck it, Dean is disgustingly weak. “You named him after Batman?”

Sam nods. “Yeah. Wanna see?” He holds his hands out, letting Dean look.

The last of Dean’s resolve crumbles at the sight of the kitten, so damn small and — fuck it, adorable. He is so dark that he looks like a little piece of the void, resting in Sam’s hands, tiny body rising and falling with each breath. His eyes are bright green, and despite himself, Dean finds himself falling in love.

“Can we keep him?” Sam asks softly.

Bruce looks up and lets out the tiniest of yawns before stretching and settling again in the palm of Sam’s hand. Dean notices the look on Sam’s face as he watches the kitten, and sighs inwardly. No way he can refuse something that makes Sam look like that, so genuinely carefree and happy.

“Yeah,” he says in the end. “We can keep him. But no more strays,” he adds.

“Promise,” Sam says at once, and then beams at Dean. “Thank you, thank you so much!” Covering Bruce with his other hand, he leans in and puts a messy kiss on the corner of Dean’s mouth.

“Yeah, yeah,” says Dean, already knowing that this isn’t the last stray, not by a long shot. Damn Sammy and his soft spot for all lost and helpless things. “That cat better behave, or it’s your ass on the line. Come on now, let’s eat before it’s cold.”

—

Dean’s lying in bed reading when Sam enters. Without looking up he asks, “Everything all right?”

“Yeah,” Sam answers softly. “Alan and the dogs love Bruce.”

“Good,” says Dean distractedly, still mostly focused on the article he’s reading about Chevelles. “You gonna come to bed now?”

Instead of responding, Sam plucks the iPad out of Dean’s hands, locks it, and puts it aside. That succeeds in getting Dean’s attention. He looks up, and immediately his mouth goes dry.

Sam is naked, hair damp and curling around his face, and he’s got that soft, needy sort of look in his eyes that Dean can never resist. Without waiting for Dean to respond, he climbs up on Dean’s lap, straddling his thighs, and hooks his fingers in the waistband of Dean’s pajama pants.

“Can I?” he asks, before going any further.

Dean swallows, and nods.

Sam smiles down at him, and pulls down his pajama pants. Dean raises his hips a little to help Sam. His cock is already half-hard, his body responding to Sam’s weight on him.

Sam leans in and kisses Dean, hands already working on stroking Dean to full hardness. “Thank you,” he whispers between kisses. “You never say no to me. For anything.”

“Can’t,” Dean confesses, placing his hands on Sam’s waist and stroking his thumbs up and down Sam’s hipbones. “Never could say no to you, baby.”

Sam smiles, small and intimate, and kisses the bridge of Dean’s nose. “I appreciate it, you know,” he tells Dean. “I always do.”

“I know,” Dean tells him with a crooked grin. “That’s why I’m getting laid right now.”

Sam laughs at that. “No, that’s not why,” he tells Dean, and then puts his hands on the headboard, bracing himself as he raises his hips off Dean’s lap.

“Wait, don’t you need prep?” Dean asks, hands still on Sam’s waist as he positions himself.

Sam shakes his head. “Did it already,” he tells Dean, and then sinks down, taking all of Dean in one go. Dean moans at that, head falling back against the headboard. “Wanted to be ready for you,” Sam says, and wriggles a little.

“Too damn good to me, you know that?” Dean groans, tilting his head forward to kiss Sam’s collarbone. “Always know what I want, what I need. I never haveta say a damn word.”

Sam rolls his hips, earning a bitten-off groan from Dean. He’s tight, always is, just the way they both like it, and no matter how many times they do this, to Dean it never stops feeling like he’s coming home. He trails his hands upwards from Sam’s waist, caressing his sides, and brushes two fingers lightly over one nipple. Sam sighs at that, his entire body flushing. All these years and it never ceases to amaze Dean how sensitive Sam still is to his touch.

“Dean,” Sam says, sounding a little breathless. He hasn’t stopped moving since he sat down on Dean’s cock — rolling his hips, bouncing a little, arms bracketed on either side of Dean’s head. His cock rubs against Dean’s shirt, leaving a damp trail of precome that Dean just can’t bring himself to care about.

“Yeah, Sammy,” he says, grabbing Sam’s waist again and holding it so he can thrust up and meet Sam halfway. “Yeah, baby.”

Sam presses his lips together as he bows his head, hair falling into his face. He bites out a moan when Dean thrusts up into him again, and that’s how Dean knows he’s hit Sam’s sweet spot.

“Again?” he asks.

Sam nods. “Please,” he says, so close to begging already. “Please, Dean.”

Dean kisses him, long and slow and absolutely filthy, pressing his tongue into Sam’s mouth and taking control. Sam lets him, his hands falling to Dean’s shoulders, and Dean lightly flicks one of Sam’s nipples, grinning when Sam moans into the kiss.

He could gladly do this all night, he thinks dazedly. Just sit here and tease Sam, coax these lovely reactions and those gorgeous moans from him, inch him to the edge until he’s sobbing Dean’s name and begging to come. They’ve done it before, on lazy days and lazier nights, no hurry and no rush, no obligation to the world outside or even any awareness of it. These moments always make Dean feel like the two of them are the only people in the world, and no one else matters.

No one else could ever matter, he thinks, compared to Sam, his beautiful, sweet Sammy. For the rest of their lives, for all the rest of eternity.

He steadies Sam with a hand on his hip and then thrusts up hard into him, taking control of their movement. Sam lets him, giving himself over completely, and Dean tangles his free hand into Sam’s hair, pulling a little as he fucks into Sam. His little brother loves it, head thrown back as he moans, loud and uninhibited, and the sound goes straight to Dean’s cock.

“God, Sammy,” he breathes out. “So beautiful like this, you know that? So damn pretty.”

Sam doesn’t look capable of replying with words. His hands tighten in the fabric of Dean’s shirt at his shoulders, and his legs are shaking, thighs quivering around Dean’s waist, and Dean knows he’s close.

“It’s okay, darlin’,” he tells Sam, kissing the side of his neck. “Come.”

“I’ll ruin your shirt,” Sam gasps out. His eyes are closed and he seems lost in pleasure, cheeks flushed and nipples hard, lips bright red and parted.

“Mm, don’t care,” Dean tells him, fucking him hard and fast and taking care to hit the spot that he knows will make Sam come apart. “Come, Sam.”

And Sam does, spurting hot and sticky in the space between them, making a mess of Dean’s shirt as he predicted. His whole body seems to contract, tightening further around Dean, and that’s more than enough for him — one thrust, two, then three and he comes too. Sam whimpers at the sensation of Dean’s come inside him, Dean’s hand still in his hair, and then goes boneless, collapsing on top of Dean.

“Hey,” Dean chuckles, wrapping his arms around Sam and kissing the side of his head. “Get up, Sasquatch, you’re heavy.”

Sam mumbles something inaudible but he rises, sliding off Dean’s softening cock and off to the side. Dean takes his shirt off, using it to clean up Sam’s belly, thighs and ass, and then throws it to the ground. “C’mere,” he tells Sam as he slides down the bed so he’s lying down, and wraps an arm around Sam from behind, pulling him into his chest.

Sam lets himself be wrapped in Dean’s embrace, his fingers tangling with Dean’s on his belly. His body is loose, relaxed, his head heavy, and Dean knows he’s half-asleep already. That’s one thing that has never changed in all these years — there’s no better sleep aid for Sam than some good old-fashioned fucking.

There’s one thing Dean wants to know, though. “Hey,” he says.

“Mm?”

“You said this wasn’t just to say thanks,” Dean reminds him. “What was it for?”

“‘S our anniversary,” Sam tells him sleepily.

Dean frowns. “No, that’s not today.”

“No, not us,” Sam clarifies, wriggling backwards until there’s no space between his back and Dean’s chest. “Retirement. Been a year.”

“Oh.” Dean blinks. He had no idea it’d been that long already. “Man, time really flies, huh?”

“Mm-hmm,” Sam hums in agreement. “Let’s hope we get many more.”

“Yeah,” says Dean, and tightens his hold on Sam. He doesn’t say it out loud, but even if Billie were to come for them tomorrow — or, hell, right this instant — he’d die a happy man. He’s lived his life, he’s done his part, and now he’s got nothing to do but live. And maybe this isn’t the conventional apple pie life he wanted, but it’s real, and he gets to spend it with the love of his life, his damn soulmate — and that’s better than anything he could ever have asked for.

—

And he doesn’t reconsider it even when Sam brings home a fucking parakeet two months later, though he’s sorely tempted to. Still, he figures, watching in resignation as Sam tries to train Joshua the parakeet to say “Cristo” — it’s still perfect. His life, despite the alarming amount of animals in it now, is perfect.

And then Sam catches him looking, and smiles, wide and so beautiful and bright and radiant, and Dean thinks, fuck it. There’s not a damn thing he would change about any of it. There’s not a damn thing that needs changing.

They’ve got all the time in the world.

—

so there it is!! i’m not gonna say the end, because i really do not want it to be. instead i’m just gonna say thank you, for all the fun i’ve had and for how much you’ve made me smile with your wonderful comments and your general sweetness. i really truly hope we can continue to be friends even though wincestmas has now come to an end.

lots and lots of love, wincestmas anon (who will soon not be anonymous at all) ❤️

____

@thelegendofwinchester MY FRIEND! I’m so glad we found each other! This was the most amazing end to Wincestmas that I could have asked for!  I just need one thing. What did Bruce look like? Was he orange and striped by any chance? (I’m j/k. But really, I DO want to know.)  

This has been the MOST fun! I’m so glad we became friends on this amazing journey. You are stuck with me forever. And now, of course, I’m going to write a “just because” fic for youuuuu. (So let me know what you like!)

This was honestly the sweetest thing and I’m so happy that I participated in this challenge. Thank you, thank you, thank you for making my start to 2020 so fun and Wincesty! ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

[lokomotives]

Dead by Daylight Chapter XIII: Stranger Things headcanons

-Ash calls Steve both "Steve-o" and "Skipper" (darn you Scoops Ahoy uniform!). Steve Does Not Like these nicknames and calls Ash every variant of "old man" he can think of. This leads to a nicknaming war bewteen the two. Steve is currently "Captain Nemo" while Ash is "Geezer".

-Nancy surprisingly gets along really well with Danny (Ghostface) because of their shared interests in journalism. They can gush for hours over eachothers writing (Nancy) and photographs (Danny). Nancy is a little freaked out when Danny is revealed to be a serial killer, but the friendship stands firm.

-The Demogorgon. My word. Imagine the first reactions of the Survivors who were expecting the Wraith or Spirit? I just played a match where Claudette was so startled by me that she DC'd.

Meg *hears heavy breathing while working on a Hex totem*: "Okay, okay. That was a good stalk. I let you get a hit in."

Demogorgon screeches towards her.

Meg: "WTF????!!! You're not one of my regular stalkers!"

-The Killers are Terrified of the Demogorgon. First time they meet it, the Demogorgon tried to eat all of them.

Philip: “Oh hey, you’re the new! You came in with those Indiana kids right?”

Demogorgon: *starts nomming on Philip’s head*

Demogorgon’s teeth can’t do much because of Philip’s bark-skin.

Philip *perturbed but not surprised*: “Why do I feel like you and Kenneth will get along?”

-WHAT IF THE DEMOGORGON IS DART???

-The Demogorgon being Dart would make some sense. The Demogorgon in game seems to be "weaker" than the OG one and has no connection to the Mind Flayer. The "Mews guts" add-on refers to the poor cat as a victim - but Mews wasn't killed by the OG!Demogorgon... she was killed by a hangry Dart.

Demogorgon: *runs screeching towards a Survivor*

Steve: *also screaming*: "A fcking Demogorgon!?"

Demogorgon: *Screeches to a halt. "Sniffs" air. Smells Steve* *happy alligator noises*

Steve: "...Henderson's fcking Demogorgon!???"

Dart: *Extremely happy alligator noises!*

*Dart starts licking Steve's face with it's weird flower-mouth*

The other survivors arrive to see Steve with a giant-ass monster acting like a big lap dog to him.

-Mews appears in the Fog as a completey normal cat... save for the nekomata Jibanyan-like two glowing tails and tummy bandage. Mews loves everyone except Dart. It's hilarious to see this tiny ginger cat completely smack the shit out of a Demogorgon, and for Dart to run away yipping like a pomeranian.

-Mews can and will interupt Trials became she felt like it. She is a yokai now afterall.

Michael: *stalking a Survivor*

Mews: "Mew!"

Michael: *Gasp!*

Michael spends the rest of the Trial petting Mews. He doesn't care if everyone got away; he cuddling that chubby kitty.

-Dart has been chased up a tree by Mews before. Think of the image of that black bear cowering atop a pine with a tiny ginger cat at the base. Thats Dart and Mews.

-The Entity will not hurt Mews. Mews is an endless source of joy and hope, so the Entity will not harm her. If anything DOES hurt Mews, the Entity will vaporize them.

-EVERYONE all take one look at Steve's little sailor outfit and just start howling with laughter. Some characters think it's legit adorable tho.

Evan: "Aww! I had one of those outfits as a babe!"

Sally: "He's just so precious!"

Rin *trying her best not to giggle*: "Why a middle school uniform?"

Kenneth: "What ship were you stationed on? The Good Ship Lollipop?"

Steve (hanging by the shirt on a clothes peg): "Just Mori Me already."

Danny: *snaps a photo* "Oh yeahhh, I'm making a copy for Nancy and the Legion."

Michael: *physically shaking from silent laughter*

-Where is Dart getting all these pumpkins? Did he bring one from Hawkins and get Max to plant it for him? The mental image is hilarious.

Max: *tending to his cows*

Dart: *Appears out of nowhere*

Max: *raises hammer defensively in case Dart is trying to eat his cattle Again"

Dart: *is holding a Rotten Pumpkin*

Max: "???"

Dart: *drops the pumpkin at Max's feet*

Rotten Pumpkin: *smashes onto the ground, making a huge mess everywhere in the cowshed*

Dart: *Screechy noises*

Max: "??????????"

Dart: *points at pumpkin seeds*

Max: "oh ok."

-There Are Rats In The Hawkins Lab. They are biomassed into hooks. Anyone of the gang who hates rodents is screaming.

Anna (picks up Bill): "To the hook Dedushka!"

Bill: "Aw nuts!"

*The hook starts squeaking*

Anna & Bill: "....."

*Hundreds of glowing eyes appear on the hook*

Anna (starts hugging Bill): "Dedushka, I'm scared."

Bill: "So am I Annie."

Anna: "Do we have a plan?"

Bill: "We're gonna need those doors closed, one of those axes, and a whole LOT of bears traps."

-I feel like with the Upside Down leaking through to The Fog, whats stopping the gang from accidentally contacting the Other Side.

The Stranger Things Kids: *doing their own damn buisness. Playing Dnd in Dustin's house*

Christmas lights: *start flickering*

The Kids: *scramble to set up a code wall*

The Lights: "HENDERSON YOUR FING DOG WON'T STOP LICKING ME"

The Kids: "???"

-And so on...

[violetnuisance]

Wake Up

pairing: Sal Fisher/Larry Johnson

rating: T

words: 3,224

summary: Sal rambles to Larry while the brunet’s in a coma.

a/n: Hi, my Sally Face discord server has monthly art/writing challenges. July’s theme was “Hospital,” so this is my submission. Here’s the link to the server: https://discord.gg/kYtz72e

Sal stood awkward, one hand clasped around the bouquet of peonies he had spray painted black while the other hand tightly gripped a “Get Well Soon!” card, no doubt creasing it. His mind felt numb as he stood and stared at his best friend who laid unconscious in the hospital bed that dominated the tiny room. Larry had definitely seen his better days. His hair was unkempt, sticking up every which way, and the dark circles underneath his eyes only seemed to worsen as his stay at the hospital progressed, having lasted two weeks already. Despite the doctors and nurses reassuring a stressed Lisa and Sal that Larry was in stable condition and would most likely make a swell recovery, the bluenet was still worried. Every day that passed that Johnson didn’t wake up, his stress only skyrocketed.

 What if Larry had severe brain damage that the doctors didn't notice? What if he woke up in a vegetative state? What if he didn’t wake up?

Sal tried to shake the thoughts and padded over to the small nightstand beside Larry’s bed. An array of wilted flowers and still-enveloped cards littered the desk. Sal tried not to think about how most of the bouquets would be dead by the time Larry woke up as he set his own down. The falsely black flowers stood out against the pink ones everyone else had left, and Sal felt a sort of sick satisfaction. Larry had told him about how someone needed to genetically engineer a solid black flower. He couldn’t remember the context of the conversation, but he remembered how much they had laughed about it. A smile threatened to tug at his lips from beneath his prosthetic, but the urge was quickly destroyed. He shouldn’t have left Larry alone that night.

Sal laid on his stomach on the treehouse’s splintered floor, a lit cigarette between his lips and his prosthetic at his side. Larry laid on his back beside him, shirt pushed up, exposing his stomach, as he stretched. The sun outside was quickly setting, but that didn’t mean Sal couldn’t still make out a trail of soft brown hair that disappeared beneath the waistband of the other’s jeans in the treehouse’s dimness. The sight made him itch, curiosity lighting him ablaze. He smushed the notion quickly forming in his head down and took the cigarette from his lips, blowing a trail of smoke. Larry looked at him, a dopey grin on his face. Something had piqued the brunet’s interest, and he rolled onto his side, facing Sal.

“We should shotgun, baby blue,” Larry laughed, voice airy and light. Sal rolled his good eye at him. 

“No one shotguns cigarette smoke,” Sal stated. His fingers brought the stick back up to his mouth. Over the years, he had become a master at hiding his reactions from Larry’s random quips. The brunet had the worst habit of cracking jokes that made Sal’s heart pitter-patter pathetically in his chest. Still, at the thought of Larry’s lips on his, he could feel the tips of his ears growing warm. Before the brunet could notice the pink tint, Sal turned his head and blew smoke into the other’s face. The bluenet let out a snort as Larry wrinkled his nose in slight disgust. “You act like you don’t smoke a pack a day.”

“Doesn’t mean the smell has grown on me,” Larry rebuffed, rubbing the back of his hand across his nose. Sal shook his head, bangs bouncing against his forehead.

“Are you trying to tell me I stink?” Larry laughed again, and the sound rumbled through Sal’s chest. He had always been especially fond of his friend’s voice, and Larry’s laughter always caused a weird sense of nostalgia to fall over him, like he was returning home after exploring the world for years. The brunet took the cigarette from Sal while he was lost in thought.

 “Don’t worry, we can stink together,” Larry assured, a wolfish grin on his face. Sal watched silently as Larry placed the cigarette between his lips before sucking gently. The bluenet should’ve seen the next action coming, but he really hadn’t.

“Oh, c’mon dude,” Sal groaned as Larry blew the smoke into his face. He waved a hand around dramatically, trying to clear the vapor. “You’re such a… such a rat!”

“Your vernacular never ceases to astound me, bluebird,” Larry mocked, passing the cigarette back to Sal. Sal took it in hand, watching in slight interest as Larry sat up before standing and walked over to the mini fridge he had hooked up. The shorter male’s interest turned to dread as his lanky friend pulled out a bottle, caramel liquid sloshing inside of it. 

“I thought you were stopping that,” Sal complained, the words pushing out automatically. His eyes narrowed as Larry used the end of his shirt to help pop the cap off the bottle. Immediately, the sickening cat-pee smell of beer assaulted Sal’s senses.

“I said I’d try to stop, and I did try,” Larry corrected before bringing the bottle to his lips. Sal cringed as he watched the other’s adam’s apple bob, swallowing the drink down. The shorter male grimaced and reached for his prosthetic. The brunet watched as Sal stubbed the cigarette out against the floor, leaving a burn mark. Larry had chastised him about it multiple times before, but Sal didn’t care at the moment. “Where are you going?”

Sal stared at Larry as he clasped his straps into place at the back of his head. “You know how I feel about your drinking problem,” he chastised, moving to his feet.

The bluenet had never been a fan of alcohol. Before his mom had passed, both of his grandparents on his dad’s side had been raging alcoholics. His mom wouldn’t let them see their grandkid unless they tried to recover. They chose the bottle. And then, after his mom’s death, his father had fallen into the same state. He drank his days away until Sal found him passed out on the floor from alcohol poisoning. After a few days in the hospital, his dad sobered up. As soon as they got back home, they both equipped themselves with plastic trash bags and threw out all the alcohol. Sal thought that would be the last he’d ever have to see of alcoholism, but now Larry was running down the same reckless path. The bluenet didn’t know why, and the other refused to open up to him.

“It’s not a problem-”

“Yes it is, Larry! How do you not see that?” Sal was fuming, his hands balled into fists at his sides. The brunet stood stiff, surprised by the emotional outburst. “There’s a difference between responsible drinking and alcoholism. And you, my friend, crossed that boundary months ago.” Sal’s voice came out quieter now, a tremble in his tone. He didn’t know if he was angry or despairful, but he knew the tears would start flowing either way if he didn’t leave. 

By god, he had hoped Larry would stop him on the way out, but the brunet hadn’t, and the next morning Sal got a phone call from Lisa, explaining that her son had gone into an alcohol poisoning induced coma.

Larry’s chest rose and fell with his breaths, and Sal wished the brunet would crack his eyes open and offer a coy smile, saying this was some prank all along. Of course, nothing of the sort happened. Sal’s gaze traveled to the plastic chair sitting at the bed’s side. Lisa had been sitting there before Sal came in, talking to the unresponsive male. Apparently the nurses had told her that stimulating Larry’s main senses could help rouse him, so the woman had done everything in the book. She rambled to him about her day every time she visited after work, constantly held his hand and kissed his cheek every time she left, and she had even brought and lit candles in the room from their apartment. Before she had given Sal privacy with Larry, she urged him to talk to the brunet. Sal had denied the notion, saying he wouldn’t stay that long, but now he felt himself sitting down in the uncomfortable chair.

For a moment, he just sat, not knowing what to say. But soon enough, the words flowed smoothly. “You’re such an idiot,” Sal whispered, feeling uncomfortable breaking the silence. He glanced around, half expecting a nurse to come in and chastise him for being loud. When that didn’t happen, he continued. “I hate to say ‘I told you so,’ but I told you so. I read you an online article of this exact thing happening. My dad’s binge drinking wasn't even this bad. God, I can’t believe you cut off the oxygen flow to your brain, and still, somehow, survived getting severe brain damage. Lisa thought you were dead when she found you!”

Sal felt his cheeks wetten as he continued to rant, everything surging up at once. His eyes glanced warily around the room. The only window was a small one in the door. Taking a chance, Sal took off his prosthetic and set it in his lap. He hated how the material would cling to his skin when he was sweating or crying. “I don’t know what happened to you. You were obviously using it as some sort of coping mechanism, but I have no idea what for. You became so closed off, and you scared me. I thought you would eventually discard me. I guess you’re still going to disappear from my life for at least a month or two. You’re going to a rehabilitation center after you wake up,” Sal paused, voice growing meek, “God, please wake up.”

Once more, silence invaded the room. Sal blinked, trying to clear his vision from where it had grown blurry from tears. He could still feel a few wet trails rolling down his face, but he felt better. Most of the torrent had been released. 

When he could see again, his gaze trailed to Larry’s hand. It laid at the brunet’s side, black nail polish mostly chipped off. Sal took in into his hand without thinking. He guided Larry’s fingers to interlock with his own. “Let’s make a deal. I’ll tell you a secret right now, and you'll wake up and tell me why you were so committed to destroying your life.” Sal paused. Despite Larry not being able to hear him, he still felt like he was putting his heart on the line. Both of his hands clasped at Larry’s hand, grounding himself.

 “I really, really like you Johnson. Don’t let that inflate your already bursting ego because you absolutely don't deserve the compliment right now. But everytime you laugh and show off that stupid ass toothgap, I want to punch you because in those moments I just want to lean over and kiss you, and I know I can’t. Maybe if you wake up, we can try shotgunning cigarette smoke before you leave even though that’s the most idiotic idea you’ve ever come up with,” Sal laughed before bringing Larry’s hand up to his mouth and pressing a kiss to the back of the brunet’s hand. “If you can’t wake up for yourself, please wake up for me and Lisa.”

It was the next day when Larry came to. Sal had been getting ready to shower when Lisa called him. He had been ready to come right away, grime and all, but Lisa stopped him. Apparently Larry was in a minimally conscious state. He’d wake up for a few minutes, confused as to where he was, and then pass out again. The grogginess would most likely wear off after a few days, and Lisa promised to call him again when her son was alert enough to carry out a conversation with someone.

The two day wait between the initial phone call and the second were absolute Hell to Sal. Even his father had picked up on his nervous energy, ordering a pizza and renting a movie the first night to help Sal calm down. The second night was when Lisa called again, and Sal made it to the hospital in record time.

When he arrived, he was delighted to find out that Larry was still in tact. There would be no outstanding injuries except for a headache. However, he couldn't barge in and tackle Larry right away because Lisa was still visiting him, so Sal sat in the waiting room, legs bouncing. He could’ve cried in relief when Lisa walked into the room, twenty minutes later. He made himself wait and speak to the woman before making a break for it.

“Sorry for taking so long, but I have the Mom Privilege to get to see my son first,” Lisa joked, a warm smile on her face. Sal stood upon the greeting, his body swaying from side to side in anticipation. “But I can assure you he’s excited to see you. Yesterday, every time he woke up, he always mentioned your name. Just try not to over excite him.”

“Yes ma’am, I’ll try my best.” Lisa’s smile broadened before she pulled Sal into a hug.

“I’ve told you, just call me Lisa,” she chastised before breaking the embrace. However, her hands still gripped Sal’s shoulders. “Oh, I almost forgot to tell you! Larry remembers what was said to him during his coma. He doesn’t remember every conversation explicitly, but he definitely remembers the gist of everything. I hope you didn’t insult him while you visited him the other day.”

Sal was too excited for Lisa’s words to sink in. He just mumbled out a quick, “oh, okay,” before taking off to Larry’s room. Lisa had left the door open upon her exit, so the blunet could just slip right in and close it behind him. As soon as the door shut, Larry perked, sitting up. 

“Fisher!” Larry’s hair was an absolute bird’s nest, hair enveloping his head like a lion’s mane. His eyes were also red, an indicator that he had been crying recently. Sal supposed Lisa’s talk with him couldn't have been entirely sunshine and rainbows. He, too, was sure that he’d berate Larry later, but he was too happy to see that his friend was alive and well to do it right away.

“Larry!” Sal ignored Lisa’s desire to not over excite Larry for the time being and barreled halfway over the bed’s railing, enveloping the other in a hug. The brunet let out a surprised chuckle before wrapping his arms around Sal.

“If you pushed yourself any further onto here, you’d practically be laying on the bed with me,” Larry teased, his grip around Sal tightening.

“Shut up, I missed you, you oaf,” Sal mumbled, voice muffled by his prosthetic, and the fact that his face was pressed into Larry’s shoulder. “Don’t you ever scare us like that again!”

Larry didn’t say anything at the remark, and Sal didn't press. He was content to just hug the other for awhile. However, the cramped position wasn’t allowing him to breathe all that great through his prosthetic, so he pulled away. Larry stared hard at him as he dug his fingers beneath the prosthetic’s surface, pulling it away from his skin a little to get some fresh air. “You should just take it off,” Larry advised.

Sal looked from him and then back to the door’s window. “But someone could see,” he opposed. He had already risked it once, and he wasn't sure if he wanted to do that again.

“I highly doubt it. Your back’s to the window, and I could tell you if someone was coming in,” Larry countered, a sudden fierceness to his voice. Sal hesitated. “I mean, only if you want to. You obviously don't have to.”

There was a second more of hesitance before Sal decided it'd be okay to shed the prosthetic. Larry looked at him like a giddy puppy as he undid the straps and set the device down on the table. The brunet held his arms out for a hug again, and Sal couldn't help the small smile that graced his features. “You’re such an idiot,” Sal quipped, holding his own arms out.

“I know,” Larry smirked as Sal leaned over the bed again. Instead of the hug the blunet was expecting, the other grabbed his forearms and pulled him down closer, planting their lips together. Sal jerked back as if electrocuted. 

“What-”

“Did Mom not tell you?” Larry’s gaze was searching, hands still clasping onto Sal’s arms. Sal shook his head, confusion etched onto his face. “That I could hear you when you talked to me?”

“Oh,” Sal simply responded. Lisa had told him that, but he had been too dense to realize what exactly that entailed. As it dawned on him, he could feel a blush travelling up his neck.

“Oh,” Larry mocked, over exaggerating his facial features. Sal glared at him, and the idiot had the audacity to grin, tip of his tongue poking out from between his teeth. “I can’t believe baby blue has a crush on me! When were you going to tell me?”

“Oh, shut up,” Sal complained, the tips of his ears a vibrant red. He felt like he was back in high school, blushing every time Ash happened to look in his direction. He didn’t appreciate it.

“Make me,” Larry teased back, bushy eyebrows wagging. He looked from Larry’s eyes to his lips and then back up again. He still needed two things confirmed.

“You like me?” Larry rolled his eyes at the first inquiry, and Sal swallowed the urge to throttle him.

“I wouldn’t be offering to kiss you if I didn’t,” he answered, tone matter-of-fact. Sal couldn’t help but smile before dampening the mood with the next question.

“You’re going to actually try this time, right? You’re going to try in rehab, right? I can’t have you having another episode and actually lose you,” Sal whispered. Larry faltered, tongue dampening his chapped lips. The bluenet could see the other’s eyes dampen again, not quite shedding tears, but he needed to know. 

“Yes, I promise,” Larry replied. His hands tightened around Sal’s arms, trying to prove his earnesty. “Now can I have my kiss?”

Sal nodded, leaning down again. Larry met him in the middle and gently pressed their lips together. It was just a quick peck before they pulled away, but then the brunet had Sal by the collar of his shirt, dragging him in for another kiss. The bluenet let him, his own hands coming to rest against the sides of Larry’s face. Sal had always thought that if the chance of Larry touching him- kissing him -ever came up, the sensation would be overbearing and set him alight. However, the action just sent a welcome warmth through his body, much like the same feeling he got when listening to Larry laugh.

“We have to do that more often,” Larry murmured as they pulled away, eyelashes fluttering and cheeks red. Sal thought it was cruel someone could be so beautiful. “But when are we going to shotgun cigarette smoke? You did say we could do that if I woke up.”

The mood was effectively broken. “Oh god, I hate you,” Sal whined, causing Larry to chuckle.

“I love you too, Sally Face.”

[vxldemar]

𓆣𓆣𓆣

some are born for what they do. 〖 a concept backstory scene for quaestor valdemar. 〗

a child with big brown eyes and light brown skin, adorned in white; a ruffled shirt, cotten pants, and black flat shoes, stares through the firm, great iron gate of a dull school. if you asked them, they’d say the exact details of such a place are much too hazy to remember. it’s a large gate, it’s an obstacle meant to tame whatever they have inside of them, so details don’t matter. they wistfully brush over it with their fingertips.

this gate stops others, and normally it’d stop them.

in the distance, past the rich green that lies outside the gate, along a country path, across the grey cobble streets, like the details of a journey in some childrens fable, there is an edge to this paradise that someone so small could only dream of touching.

a card was handed to everyone at birth, and it had a man on it, a man with a dog, dressed in white.

on this side of the school, it is quiet. they know that. but they never expected to be taken this far by their own legs, they’d never sat here alone, with no other children or teachers around. it was a chance, it was an opportunity, some may even see it as fate.

with tiny talons, they rake through the dirt, and they’re good at it. too good at it. they’d find it easy to dig through any surface with such force and drive, even coarse sand on a sad islands seashore. even through the ashes of bone. desperation fills them. this tiny prisoner, then, makes it to the other side.

even while wearing shoes, the grass feels more lush here, it is fresh, it’s breathing and it is alive. they can smell it. but this isn’t what they’re looking for.

they begin to walk, head in the clouds.

some people actually navigate using the sky. pirates. those who travel by sea. but not by cotton on a blue backdrop, they strung all the stars together and made a system out of it. this didn’t require that. they didn’t need a map.

high in the air, a single thin murky cloud of smoke in the far distance; a grey slit against the bright blue sky. even if it wasn’t there, they somehow felt like they’d know the path anyway.

walking and walking, nothing, for once, filled their mind. it was books, it was letters and numbers, perhaps too much for someone who can’t be over the age of 10, yet this was what they were, and here is what they are becoming. hopefully, they would have a mix of thought and instinct in that head of theirs when this was all said and done.

until their legs ached, the cobble beneath their feet felt like yet another obstacle, but when you’ve come so far, pain bothers you less, still, their lips narrowed into a thin line as they traversed; yes, you’re a human, you feel pain, but it doesn’t stop you.

approaching, the smoke got thicker, and filled their nostrils. it smelt like cooked meat. suddenly, they felt ravenous. so enthralled in their journey, they had cancelled out the screaming. just as they did when the children playing got too loud.

joy and pain overlap a lot more than one might think. you can confuse the two easily. the truth often overlaps with a lie in a similar fashion, sometimes they become so intertwined nobody can tell the difference anymore.

a set of screams, men, women, a few children, filled the air, fire set brown, wide eyes alight. a series of figures in long robes stood in front of a bonfire, a large wooden spike stood tall and firm in the middle of a messy pile of wooden planks, garbage, and dead farm animals. including a rather large shire horse, it’s eyes open and staring in a never-ending glare of pure hatred. a group of people were haphazardly tied against the spike, in a hurry, it seems. the metal chains ran across their bodies in all different directions, binding them all together, forever, until they didn’t look like individuals anymore. an amalgamation of burning flesh. it almost looked holy. one even had metal covering their eyes, it popped and crackled and melted onto their face as the fire intensified. another had chains that ran past their teeth, across their mouth. they bit down on it to stifle their cries of pain.

the spike, when mirrored in the child’s eyes, created an odd, slit like shape on their dark pupils when combined with the reflection of the flames.

beauty comes in all different forms, maybe a being out there, whatever higher power, favoured those who found beauty in unexpected things. but this was more than beauty. it was art. it was a reason for living.

the fire and its vapors disrupted the colour of the village and the sky surrounding it, everything was tinted in greys and reds, it consumed all around it in a cloud of heavy smoke.

a robed person slowly paced towards the child, who utterly ignored them and stared up at the fire still, not showing any sign of looking away as screams and the furious cackling fire raged through the air around them.

they had a mask on. it was black, filthy, blood soaked through to the inside. among the scent of sizzling flesh, a faint waft of lavender caused the child to break out of their trance, they blinked and turned to face the other with a hardened frown.

“and who are you to interrupt me ?”

their expression eased when they noticed the mask, the black goggles prevented them from making eye contact. the rim around the eye lenses was white, a way to tell this particular person apart from the other “doctors”. a long, long beak almost poked against their cheek as they leaned in further to inspect this irksome, demanding little beast.

“you’re not a peasant.”

turning their nose up at the other, they looked back at the bonfire. the figures had stopped screaming. skin dripped off their face, and the wonderful human skull underneath was visible under heavy coatings of blood.

“what are you doing here ?”

it was the kind of smell you’d remember eternally. the kind of sight you written into the deepest parts of your memory.

abruptly, a large sack of pus from one of the lesser burnt bodies burst, vile yellow liquid stained the cobble in front of the child, and a bit splattered against their face.

they went to step closer, the other raised an arm, the arm and the childs chest crashed together, the younger one growled.

“what on earth are you doing ?” they hissed,

“you can’t get any closer, do you want to burn to death ? or catch the disease ?”

disease ?

“what disease ?”

behind their goggles, the figure blinked owlishly.

“perhaps your school hasn’t told you. i can tell from those clothes that you’re a scholarly child.”

“tell me or i shall bite this arm of yours off.”

the “doctor” stared at the child, and they scowled. their expression was somehow more heated than the flames were. slowly, they lowered their arm.

“this village has the disease, we’ve just burnt another little area like this down recently. damn near all of them have it. it progresses slowly, first it’s a faint coughing and sneezing, then large sacks of pus cover the whole body, they sting, burst, become infected...”

a skull fell off one of the corpses, bashing against the ground and rolling forward, landing in front of the young childs feet, they stared, mouth agape, delighted.

“and then, they die. this is a trade village. can’t just let them cart themselves off to god knows where, can we? still, it does a good job at annihilating all proof that these grotesque little villages ever existed at all.”

a sharp squeak could only faintly be heard over the roaring flames, it scurried up to the skull. filthy, covered in blood, patches of its fur were gone, indicating that it was also diseased. it sniffed around the cranium, nibbling away at sections of remaining flesh.

“i cannot fathom how this is happening though, ah, perhaps─”

as the two gazed up at the fire, the child took a moment to look down once more. the rat itched itself, its clawed hands scratching behind its ears. the pink ears were now blood-red due to the excessive scratching.

they knew how it felt to have an itch you could never quite get rid of.

until now. for they had a nasty little idea about what they could do about it.

a chuckle left the masked figures lips.

“perhaps, this is... a sign from god ?”

people ignore the truth even when it’s right in front of them.

the rat hopped away, it circled past the two of them, and worryingly skittered out past the village onto the dirt path, and it ran as far as it could. in search of people. where there was people, that meant food.

the child wasn’t listening to the others baseless ponderings, the embers flickering in their wide eyes again.

you can cut to a thousand years later, maybe less, maybe more, and the sight can differ in the details, but it’s essentially the same.

there’s a figure, standing in front of a bonfire, with wonder, and a smile, they take in the smell of charred flesh and take in the screaming. it’s like a theater performance ! no no, more than that; it’s art. it’s art and they’re viewing it. it’s the meaning of life, and they’re living it !

some are born for what they do, and thus you change the card given to you.

[agri-art-archive]

Shift  and Shiver

Warnings: This work contains body horror, blood, some graphic descriptions of said body horror, and general ill feelings under the Keep Reading line.  Description: A little drabble of how a certain scene in The Mind at Heart might go down. Really just an excuse for me to explore ideas concerning the Jekyll/Hyde transformation. I wanted to go for “magically getting torn apart”, and this is the first version of what I’m sure will become a series of experiments with how “magically torn apart” could play out. I hope you enjoy!

Shift and Shiver - Written Aug 2019

For a moment, before he opened his eyes, he believed he was back in the med-tent. 

Wind swooshed quietly through a multitude of little rips and tears, the spaces between the ground and flaps of the canvas tent. The air was warm and smelt of spiced fruit, bringing with it the muted buzz of a busy capital shaking itself awake in the dawning sun. 

For a moment he was wrapped in the comfort of familiar memory, quietly making a mental checklist of his tasks for the day as if he were still laying in his quarters.  Stock up on bandages… Check over inventory… Progress report of Ltn. Qwel'lyn, Strongarm, Bomber, Sel'vil…

For a moment everything was warm, right, then the sky splintered apart with a blinding, white flash and a fierce roared. Frigid raindrops hammered against the alleyway, and finally he opened his eyes. 

Dal'styr glanced around, shifting and drawing his coat closer around his body. A ramshackled eve stood as failing shelter between him and the downpour. As the air chilled, a murky fog rose up from the cobblestone and crept slowly down the grimmy alleyway, toward the little nook the Doctor had found crammed between two soot-stained brick buildings. In his desperate scramble away from Lo'dion the night before he'd made the decision to stop and rest, thankful for the small scrap of shelter; now he regretted not pushing on. His limbs ached, and a pressure was building behind his forehead that made his ears ring and soon promised a pounding headache. He hoped the theater would have something to treat the other more serious wounds across his back before they festered too much. He was already counting on the lashes splitting open once more as he started moving, and with the way his shirt clung uncomfortably to his skin- they'd probably bled through and dried to the cloth overnight.  

No use dreaming of a life he'd forsaken.

As he hauled himself up- catching the slimy wall with a hand to steady untrustworthy legs and sending a nearby rat skittering away with a scree- the very last wisp of groggy sleep disappeared. His back burned. Dal'styr started moving anyway, it was only another hour's walk. He could rest better soon. 

It was early enough in the day that the Doctor tried to take it easy, to slow his steps and be careful on his stiff, stinging ankle; however the looming threat of Maestonian Cavalry bloodhounds kept his movements jittery and heart pounding anxiously. 

He held his head down, avoiding the eyes of any equally skittish passerbys hunched against the rain. As soon as he could, he ducked off the garbage-strewn, cobblestone central road and into a putridly sweet sidealley. After a few quick glances around, the Doctor heaved a strangled sigh and rested gingerly against the wall of a Casket Company leaning precariously over the lane, hands pressed on the rough stone to serve as a cushion for his back. It brought no relief. As he'd walked his bones had started to ache, joints seering if he so much as thought of stretching them. His breath came ragged and tore at his throat, despite a lack of much exertion. 

He had to get to the Theater. He'd been told any supplies needed would be there for him. He could rest and start setting up a functional clinic for them as soon as the Cavalry gave up the chase. 

With a wet, rattling cough that left his glove speckled worryingly dark, he pushed off the wall and limped down the grimmy, detritus-littered alley. His ankle had gotten worse, and his other foot stung with every step. 

Hazy with exhaustion and pain, Dal'styr didn't notice until it was too late. A scraggly alleycat, bald spots scaled over with disease and missing half an ear, attempted a jump. It missed. Sending the metal can it had been aiming for to the stoneway. It clattered loudly under the Doctor's feet, echoing against the walls in such a way as to ring in his ears. He tripped; the world spun around him and suddenly cold bloomed down his right side. 

He gasped in surprise and pain, soon devolving into a ragged cough that left his ribs sore. Every movement ground bone against bone and left an uncomfortable warmth in its wake. 

It took three tries to get himself back up, breath coming in mighty, scratchy heaves of vapor that he could see before him. The Doctor stood there a moment, swaying, shivering in the cold and taking stock of the aftermath through muddled senses. His coat, already soaked through in the rain, only got muddy stains from the fall. An iron tang bittered his mouth, tongue thick and resting heavy behind his teeth. He felt ill, beyond ill. Muscles ached as if poisoned, bleeding from the lungs or throat. Head pounding. Bones sore from deep in the marrow, joints aflame. This wasn't limited to his actual wounds anymore, but stood as he was- now moved to rest against the edge of the Casket Company building on his uninjured shoulder- with the world swaying in blurred double vision, he couldn't hold a cohesive thought for more than a head-pounding second. 

Something was wrong. 

It had been building in his chest, in the blood of his bones and fiber of his being for a while now.   At first, immediately after that Night, he dismissed it as stress and exhaustion. Mae knows he suffered both far too often. Then it was dismissed as the flu, something that made him achy all over with the weather and the changing seasons.  Lately however, certain sensations had been pushing his certitude and his sanity. Crawling claws under his skin sent shivers down his spine, the gentlest of scents suddenly felt like fire, bringing tears to his eyes and leading to nosebleeds, sometimes sparking migraines that left him useless. In the quiet moments of day and night, whispered, incoherent and muted voices echoed all at once without there ever being any one there. At times, he was sure he caught glimpses of smokey eyes in glass reflected back at him in his peripheral vision. These days, everything often occurred all at once, starting slow but building into a cacophony that brought him to his knees, clutching his head and clenching his jaw against the hail of maddening confusion. 

Now everything was upon Dal'styr, skin itching uncomfortably and turning his stomach in knots. He couldn't heave- he'd eaten nothing. 

He cast an eye behind him, breath hitching as a wave of nausea swept over him, and forced stiff, uncooperative limbs to walk. He had to get to safety. He'd wasted enough time. 

The Doctor stumbled like a drunk the rest of the way, by some stray will of Mae managing to remain upright. Past dirty factories and clogged ditches, across a crumbling bridge splattered in once-colourful graffiti of at least a dozen generations of gutter poets. He hurried the last stretch of road, out in the open with the distant snorts and yowls of the cavalry's hounds nipping at his heels. Finally, the entrance to the series of back alleys leading into the theater's courtyard dawned ahead of him and soon he was safe; the rain held at bay by wildly untamed ivy and roses, growing thick above and along the sides of the path, abandoned long ago by whoever had first planted them. The last part of his trek passed in silence, relief bringing peace of mind but not of body, the world spinning desperately.

No sooner had Dal'styr set foot inside and bolted the door to the Theater behind him did he collapse, first to his knees and then keeled over to rest on his hands as well. Shadows twirled and swirled magnificently in his vision, the smell of dust, chemicals and blood clogged his nose. 

Everything was wrong. His ears rang.

He wanted to scream, maybe he had- scrabbling to take off his rain-drenched jacket as it clung too tightly to his skin, too uncomfortably. 

Except, it wasn't clothing. It wasn't anything that could be removed- it was his very skin, rippling and sending shudders across his flesh. Writhing movement under his hands as he flung the clothing away from him with a cry, eyes wide, gasping for air between wheezes. He bit down a scream, scorching heat flashing across his shoulders, his forearms, his back and sides.

The anchoring runes. 

A deep, unsettling dread weighed in his stomach, panic clawing at his throat.This was It. Whatever had been slumbering under his skin had finally decided to simply tear through. His mind screeched to a stop, and all he knew was pain. The first bone snapped with a sickening crack, and cry as he might, Mae couldn't reach his unholy soul to save him. In a snap of clarity, he understood all but nothing, small black dots dancing in his vision. 

A body was not built to contain such magic. 

The ink of the tattooed runes across his skin boiled, sight blurring beyond any cohesive thought as violent shreds of purple and black danced in a mind-numbing display around him. No matter where he looked, spinning around only to end up sprawled on his back upon the hardwood floor, he couldn't escape it. His ears rang to the point of pain, building and pressing against his drums until they popped and warmth bloomed down his skull, silencing his whimpers and mangled cries. He was pretty sure his eardrums had ruptured, but the rest of his body ached too much to tell one pain from another. Why hadn’t he passed out yet?

The Doctor tried closing his eyes, but he couldn't escape the overwhelming flashes of incomprehensible purple hues, head pounding in time with his heart.  He felt like he was being ripped apart and devoured, powerless and unable to move against an unknown force that pinned him to the floor. Something had broken under strain, and now unwilled magic claimed his soul, tearing muscle from bone in sharp gouges. Bones splintered and split, twisting inside his flesh. The feeling so sickly, unnatural, he screamed desperately, unable to breathe, to think- It continued on forever. His back arched up, arms pinned to his sides. Sickly purple danced across his vision. He felt heavy, compressed and stitched back together incorrectly. His body shifted and twisted, snapping and sloshing, cracking, gloshing back together. The Doctor felt everything, clawed at his ribs as they fractured, pleaded to all who might hear when his organs ruptured inside his abdominal cavity and subsequently mended with nauseating squelches. He cried when his heart jittered and sputtered, skipping a beat or three and rippling debilitating aches across the core of every muscle in his body. 

Then it ended. 

Skin that had torn and marched its way across his flesh settled, bones mended with sharp hisses. Blood gurgled, stopped pouring from his nose, his eyes, his ears. Throat burning, but everything else settling into low, throbbing soreness along his body, Dal'styr lay on the floor for an eternity, curled in shivering fetal position on his side. Cold settled into his veins. His flesh was not his own, it felt wrong. Wrong and sickening to the stomach. Everything was pressed in, as if he were under the ocean, every breath labored. 

It had ended just as suddenly as it started, not even five minutes ago. 

Dal’styr coughed up blood, slowly coming back to awareness and recognizing the bitter metallic tang in his mouth for what it was. The air was charged in the wake of what… ever had happened. Sharp and brittle, exactly as it was after an extended use of magic. Spots of inexplicable light danced across his vision from where flashes of purple had burned into his retinas. His eyes stung, closing them brought little relief to a bullet-like migraine parading across his brain. He brought a hand up to dab at the cooling, sticky liquid under his nostrils but quickly found his limbs heavy, uncooperative and shaking terribly. 

He tried to take in a deep breath, but his ribs ached and clicked with the last few movements of resettlement, stealing the oxygen from his lungs. His ears were still ringing. He could only hear his sputtering heart and the blood rushing past his temple. His joints took the longest to cooperate, creaking like unoiled hinges, grinding and burning against each other. Once certain his shaking legs could hold him, and with a chair, the wall and a shelf's help, he was back on his feet, swaying with the kind of lightheadedness he might've called blood loss. 

There was a mirror on the counter just across from where he now stood, and bracing himself for the horrifying magic-mangled scars he expected- took a look at himself. 

He did not recognize the face of his reflection.