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mortedeveles · 4 years

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Model For Me

HERE: PART TWO

PART ONE. PART THREE. PART FOUR. PART FIVE. PART SIX.

Summary: Y/N has always been a timid and awkward person and artist when it comes to social interactions and it only gets worse when she asks her crush and best friend, Katsuki Bakugou, to model for her.

And not just any type of modelling; Y/N needs to do a composition of a nude male body. Luckily for her, Katsuki's personality is anything but shy and he doesn't hesitate to undress in front of her. It's for art, he says. But something tells Y/N that the boy has hidden and devious intentions, intentions that she has to unravel and discover.

Genre: fluff, humor, suggestive content (a wee bit of NSFW themes)

TW: cursing, sexual themes, nudity.

Pairing: Katsuki Bakugou x fem!artist!reader

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QUIRK: LIQUIFY! Y/N can manipulate any type of liquid to her advantage and can also melt inanimate objects, but doesn't work on animals, plants, or people. And at night time she can make any type of liquid into a solid!

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a/n: so here’s the second part!! we have 2-3 parts left! the first part wasn’t proofread when i published so i’m going to fix any grammar errors it may have </3. i’m a new fanfic writing blog, so please consider checking out my other works, followng me and leaving a like and/or reblogging!! i would really appreciate it! enjoy!

Today had been a good day so far. You hadn't encountered any problems up until now- your hero training had gone smoothly, you even managed to beat Uraraka in a match!-so hopefully, you could ask Katsuki the dreadful question and not die in the process.

Hopefully.

Once the final school bell rang, you could feel your soul leave your poor body. It was nearly time. Everyone began to pack up and head out of the classroom when you felt a hand on your shoulder.

''Y/N?'' Momo looked concerned. ''School is over. Are you still coming over today?''

Shit. You had totally forgotten about that. Mustering a smile, you shook your head.

''I'm sorry, Momo, I won't be able to go today. I have some art projects to do,''

She nodded in understanding and patted your shoulder.

''Very well. See you later, Y/N. Take care!''

You offered her a wave and a smile. Once she had left, you dropped the facade and groaned. There were still some of your classmates inside and thankfully, Bakugou was one of them. You could feel his eyes burn into your side. He had agreed to stay after school, but you refused to explain what you needed.

Once the classroom was nearly empty, you took a shaky breath as you slung your backpack over your shoulder, rising from your seat and leaned against the exit.

You stared at the floor while you waited for everyone to leave and once the classroom had gone silent, you raised your head.

Katsuki was the only one left. He was scowling as usual as he approached you, hands stuffed in his pockets.

''So, what did you want nerd?'' Katsuki grunted.

You swallowed thickly as you played with your hands. God, how were you supposed to ask him to model for you? All your previous confidence and courage had slipped away in the blink of an eye. You should've written it down...

''Um, well, you see,'' you stammered and coughed awkwardly. Katsuki furrowed his eyebrows and you swallowed nervously. His patience ran thin with every second that you were wasting.

''Spit it out already,'' he growled.

''Okay so, IwaswonderingifyoucouldmodelnudeformecauseIneedamalemodelpleasedon'tkillme,'' you spoke so fast that all your words glued together and Katsuki looked shocked.

He didn't reply and only stared at you with an expression you couldn't understand. Was he mad? Did he even understand what you had just said?

''Hah?!''

Uh oh. You felt embarrassment course through your body as you shook your head in denial. No, no! That came out so wrong!

''Oh god, I'm such an idiot,'' you breathed. ''I'm so sorry Katsuki, I'll stop wasting your time,''

What were you thinking?! you yelled at yourself, shaking your head as you began to walk away. While you muttered incoherent words and cursed at yourself, you hadn't noticed that Katsuki had regained his composure and wore a smug grin as he reached out for your arm.

''You should really talk slower, shitty nerd. I barely understood what you said. Learn how to fucking speak, will you?'' he snapped, eyes blazing but there was a grin on his face, so you hoped that he wasn't as mad as he sounded.

You froze when you felt Katsuki's warm and heavy hand wrap around your elbow. His grip was strong and firm but not to the point that it hurt.

Quickly, you turned around and nearly headbutted Katsuki. Luckily, he managed to dodge your head and snickered.

''Um, yeah okay...anyways, do you think you can do it?''

He sighed and nodded, releasing your elbow and stuffed his hands in his pockets.

''Tch. Okay, I'll do it.''

A few moments passed in silence until you realized he had agreed.

''Yes, oh my god, thank you so much Katsuki!'' you blabbered, jumping on the balls of your feet as a wide smile took over your face.

Katsuki snorted and watched you with mild amusement, his muscular arms crossed against his chest.

''I'm so glad you agreed, Katsuki! I was so afraid I was going to ask a random guy to model for me and that would've been so awkward-,'' you stopped and took a deep breath. Screaming and jumping around really did a number on you.

Once you had regained your breath, you met Katsuki's red eyes with a wide grin. He rolled his eyes and stepped forward, grabbing your chin with his fingers and tugging you forward.

''Woah! What are you doing?'' you stammered, feeling your heart beat so loud it was a surprise Katsuki didn't notice.

''Don't think I'm doing this for free. I'm only stripping because it's for art,'' he said with a scowl. ''And since I'm doing you a favor, you're going to have to do something for me,'' he grinned like a madman.

''What..what do you want..?'' your voice faltered. You felt your stomach twist and flip. Katsuki was so close to you...he smelled like a warm and rich campfire and toasted marshmallows...

His grin grew wider at your hesitance. You prayed that he didn’t notice how flustered you were.

''I'll tell you after the modeling,'' he stated, leaving no room for argument. You swallowed nervously and nodded.

''Okay, sure..''

''Tch. Whatever. Besides, the only guy you'll be seeing naked is me, so be glad I decided you help your ass out. Text me the details. Later, shitty nerd,'' he grumbled. You nodded vigorously and everything he had just said flew over your head. You waved him goodbye with a stupid smile on your face.

It wasn't until Katsuki left that you registered what he had just said.

''Wait...'' you mumbled.

''What the hell did that mean?!''

You could feel yourself getting flustered again. Damn him! It seemed that when he was around, all you could was act like a giddy idiot.

You two were close friends, but not the point where you were comfortable with physical intimacy. And since it was Katsuki Bakugou, you doubted he was cuddly towards anyone.

Whatever, you thought. I'll just ask Aneko what he meant.

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

You found yourself covering your tender ears as Aneko let out a shrill scream.

''Jeez,'' you complained. ''Are you a screaming banshee?''

Aneko frowned in response and swatted your head.

''Don't you get it? He likes you!'' she exclaimed. ''I've never been more sure about anything in my life! Trust me, I know what I'm talking about,'' she held her chin between her two fingers and had a thoughtful expression.

''I think he's the possessive type,'' she mused. ''Definitely. It's obvious from what he said. Not to mention that when he met me, he wanted to kill me for hugging you.''

You rolled your eyes but you could feel butterflies swarming in your stomach as a giddy smile escaped you.

''Maybe you're right,'' you said. ''I just hope nothing goes wrong..''

''Of course, I'm right,'' you could hear the smugness in Aneko's voice. ''When I have ever been wrong?''

You opened your mouth to protest, but Aneko shushed you and placed your phone into your hands.

''You should text him already. When are you guys planning to meet?''

You shrugged.

''I don't know. It's better to do the art piece in one session so that I can capture the same lighting and shadows, but honestly, I don't think I can work for more than 3 hours straight. Besides, I don't think Katsuki would handle it,''

Aneko hummed in response. ''You're right.''

''Well, it's up to you. I have to leave, mama's making soba tonight,'' She pressed a quick kiss on your cheek before heading out of your room.

''Okay, tell your mom I said hi!'' you called after her.

''Will do!" Aneko's voice echoed from below.

Frowning, you stared at your phone. You wanted to finish the art project quickly, but you had no idea how to organize the sessions...

Hell, you had never done a live session with a nude model before, so you felt absolutely clueless. Most of your references were pictures you would find on the internet and art books.

After several attempts of typing and deleting, you decided on a final message.

Y/N: Hey Katsuki! Would you like to do the modeling in one session? It would be really long...like five to nine hours? Or would you rather do several short sessions?

Once you had pressed SEND, you stared at your phone for several minutes. No response.

Huffing, you threw your phone aside and laid down on your bed. Maybe he was just busy. Yeah, that was it, it wasn't like he was ignoring you.

You groaned and slapped your hands over your face. Why did you have to overthink everything?

When your phone vibrated, you jumped and quickly sat up. The phone vibrated again and you grabbed it.

Katsuki: I'll give you five sessions, three hours each. Take it or leave it, shitty nerd. We'll start tomorrow so text me your address.

''I thought I was the artist,'' you grumbled. ''Why does he get to choose the sessions? I know he's the one modeling but it's not like he's the one doing the artwork...'' your voice trailed off as you finished reading the message and began to type a message.

Y/N: Sounds good to me! My address is xxx-xxx-xxx and do you think you could come around two o'clock? I'm free at that time.

Without another glance at your phone, you raced downstairs and headed straight to the dining room, where your mother was reading a book on the dinner table.

''Hey mom,'' you leaned against a pillar. ''Can my friend come over at two o'clock tomorrow? He's going to help me with my art project,'' you smiled.

''Sure thing, hon. What's his name?'' She returned her gaze to her book, flipping through pages.

''Um..'' you debated whether to tell her Katsuki's name. She had seen the Sports Festival and boy, she did not like his murderous attitude. Maybe if you lied and used another name, she’d agree... But then again, she was your mother and would probably see Katsuki inside the house. The best thing to do was to come off clean.

'’Bakugou Katsuki...'' you said meekly. Hopefully, she was so immersed in her book that she wouldn't pay attention to the name.

''Bakugou Katsuki?'' her sharp voice made you wince. ''The murderous boy from the Sports Festival? He's dangerous, Y/N! Why is he helping you?''

''Um...mom, he's kinda my classmate,'' you rubbed the back of your neck awkwardly. ''And he's friend, so don't worry about it. Once you get to know him, he's a very good person,''

Your mom sighed and clicked her tongue. ''I hope you're right about this. I have to attend something with your father tomorrow at one o'clock, so I won't be here,'' Phew, you thought. There wouldn't be any incidents and they wouldn't see a naked Katsuki in your room.

''However,'' your mom said. ''I'm going to ask your friend Aneko to come over. She's a very polite and responsible girl, I know she'll keep you out of trouble.'' The urge to snort was so overwhelming you had to cover your mouth as you nodded in agreement.

Responsible and polite? That was the opposite of your friend Aneko. But you knew that Aneko was capable to turn into a charming exemplar student model when your parents were around.

''Yeah, sure mom. Thanks,'' you shot her a smile. She nodded in response and returned her attention to her book. You raced upstairs to your room and began to tidy your belongings. If Katsuki was coming over to your house, you needed a space where he could pose for hours.

You pushed your desk, bed, and shelf against the walls, picking up everything from the floor and left a wide space in the middle of your room, in front of your wide windows. Since your family wasn’t rich, you couldn't afford an art studio. But you worked with what you had.

After an hour or two of tidying your room and fooling around, your phone's familiar ringtone blared. You picked up the phone and pressed it to your ear.

''What's up, Aneko?''

A loud shriek invaded your ears. Your lips formed a thin line and you pulled the phone away from your ear and kept it at a safe distance to ensure you wouldn't go deaf. Aneko was your friend and you knew she meant well, but she could be very vocal when she was excited.

''Y/N L/N! My, my, I'm impressed. Your mom just texted me to ask me to come over your house and watch over you and your boyfriend Bakugou Katsuki! You sure are fast!''

You laughed softly as you sat down on the edge of your bed and swung your legs back and forward.

''He's not my boyfriend, Aneko,'' you reminded her. She huffed in response.

''It may not be official, but he's practically your boyfriend at this point. When you introduced him to me, he wanted to rip my head out for holding your hand and for hugging you! Not to mention that when you were cold and we were returning to your house, he slipped off his jacket and wrapped it around you so you wouldn't get cold anymore! And there's been so many other moments. The boy is rude and violent as hell, but I know he cares about you.'' Aneko's long speech left you speechless.

''Well...'' you laughed nervously. ''If you put it that way....''

''You just wait, Y/N. I know something is going to happen. You just sit tight and wait.''

A snort left your nose as you shook your head with amusement. ''I don't think so, Anne, but I'll hold your promise.''

''You wanna bet?''

You snickered loudly. ''Alright. I'm betting 500 yen that he won't ask me out,''

Aneko clicked her tongue in disapproval. ''Oh, Y/N, Y/N. Poor little oblivious you. I'm betting 800 yen and if I win you have to do whatever I say for a day!''

Oh damn. The bet was getting out of hand and you felt slightly nervous. Nevertheless, you kept your composure and smirked.

''Deal.''

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It had been an hour since Aneko had arrived at your house and the two of you had tidied the house. Right now, you sat on your bed with Aneko's head in your lap.

''So, when is he coming?'' Aneko asked as she stuffed her face with cookies. You glanced at your phone and frowned. It was nearly two o'clock and Katsuki hadn't arrived yet.

''He should be here soon. I told him to be here at two o'clock.''

''Do you think he has a big dick?''

''Aneko!'' you scolded her. ''Don't say that! Why were you thinking about that?!''

She shrugged nonchalantly and met your flustered face with a devious grin.

''I just said what you were too shy to ask,''

Your eyes widened as you gasped and slapped Aneko's arm. She giggled and rolled on your bed, enjoying your embarrassment. Flustered, you tackled Aneko and held her down.

Despite your disapproval of her crude comments, the deed had been done. And now, you were in fact, thinking about Katsuki's dick.

''Son of a b-,'' you snarled and tackled Aneko. ''No, I wasn't! Stop being such a pervert!" you held her down while she simply cackled at your amusement.

You were about to launch a series of hits onto Aneko, when you heard aggressive knocking at your door. Both of you flinched.

''Speak of the devil and he shall appear,'' Aneko said and smirked.

You took a deep breath and closed your eyes. It's gonna be okay, you told yourself. Calm down. You could hear Aneko squeal as you repeated the words in your mind.

She sent you thumbs up and urged you to go downstairs. Aneko was grinning like a maniac.

Another loud knock snapped you out of your thoughts. You raced down your staircase and peeked through the windows. Katsuki stood in front of the door, arms crossed, sporting his usual scowl. You unlocked the door and exhaled loudly.

Here goes nothing.

tag list: @deneuves

DM me if you want to be in my tag list for this short series! i have a question for y’all, do you like how i write bakuhoe? i’m trying my best to keep him in character.

#model for me #bakugou katsuki #bnha bakugou #bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bnha #reader insert #fem!reader #artist!reader #my hero academy fanfiction #my writing #veles' writing

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devnny · 4 years

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CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

JTRM — THE “R” STANDS FOR RECOVERING!

PREVIOUSLY.

AT LONG LAST!! my hiatus is broken! i’m very happy to present ch14... after months of failed attempts to finish ;-; thank you for all the kind messages in between 🖤🖤🖤 i hope you enjoy! :]c it's time for artist things, and bad memories!

[•/•/•• :

That one guy that paid me for that BIG ASS project, apparently, really liked it, and wants to see more of my paintings. Talked about exhibiting some of my shit in one of his galleries, if he likes any of ‘em. Neat.

…

And me and Johnny… had a… moment, or whatever. Whatever.]

Johnny sat wide-legged on the floor with a large crate settled between his knees, thumbing through the different paintings standing inside the box like records. His tongue stuck out the side of his mouth while he inspected each one with intrigue – Devi’s work was always so fascinating.

“Why are you even looking through that old shit?” Devi asked from across the room, smiling slightly as she spoke.

“It isn’t shit, I think they’re… cool.” His lips stuck out in a soundless ‘ooh’ as he lifted up a small painting of a retching face. He bared his teeth at the agonizing expression like a mimicking chimp, then set it back down to sift through more artwork.

With the news that she may have another chance to exhibit her paintings in a gallery, Devi had started the tedious process of scrutinizing her available pieces to slap together a decent portfolio, which was fairly difficult, seeing as she was her own worst critic.

“Well ‘cool’ or not, that’s all over a year old. The likelihood I’d want to stick any of them in a portfolio is very slim.” Devi turned to look at him as she finished, but stopped with a sharp inhale when she saw which painting Johnny was holding now.

Johnny was fixated with the canvas in his hands, finding such familiarity with the large eyes and long, devilish smile of the demonic looking subject on it. The paint was very rough in texture, and made the whole piece look rather fleshy. He brought up a finger to poke at the lumpy marks while he thought.

“Is this… me?” Johnny asked absentmindedly. Devi felt a cold sweat prickle on the back of her neck, but waved off any shame she felt with a swat of her hand.

“Yeah.” She answered honestly. Her attention focused on the painting, and she tried as best she could to not feel the deep-seated anger and disappointment that resonated within her at the time she created it. “It was a vent art I did, some time after the whole… attempted-murder, thing.”

“Ah.” Johnny nodded in acknowledgment, his mouth settling into a slight frown. “Is this how you saw me? With all the blood and tentacles coming out of my head?”

Devi’s lips slanted uncomfortably. She leaned her weight onto one of the bigger canvases she had on hand, and sighed.

“No, not really.” Her eyes wandered away from Johnny as she thought. “I just kind of, went wild with it, I guess. Added gore and sharp lines and splatters wherever I felt like. It was supposed to represent a feeling, not really… a person. I mean, it is you, but it was more like the energy you gave off, not how you looked.”

Johnny nodded, his teeth poking out again as his smile returned.

“Neat…” He commented and turned the canvas sideways to inspect it further. Devi blinked in surprise at his response, then snorted after a minute.

“—‘Neat’!?” She asked with a laugh. “That’s what you think that is?”

“It is!” Johnny’s attention jumped to her again. “I don’t have any pictures of myself really, and definitely no paintings. It’s cool that it’s… symbolic. Not of a particularly great time in my life, or spurred on by any particularly great choices on my part, but still cool. I like seeing how your brains perceived me in such an inventive manner.”

“HAH! You are truly the weirdest guy I’ve ever known, Nny.” She chuckled, and returned to the pieces beside her. As she started to sort again, Devi paused, and began picking at the chipped paint on one of her canvases thoughtlessly.

“You know, um,” She turned her head ever-so-slightly in Johnny’s direction. “—originally, it was just a normal portrait of you. I’d started it before our uh, date, then altered it later…”

Her cheeks blushed faintly at the admission; it was so embarrassing to confess that she’d taken him as her muse before she’d ever even asked him out. Part of her still felt, with little room for argument, that Johnny didn’t need to know that, but in light of recent events, it also seemed stupid to hide things pertaining to her ‘feelings’ from him at this point.

Johnny’s head popped up, his neck and back straightened fully, as he turned to stare at her. Devi wasn’t looking at him, but he could tell by her meaningless fidgeting with the canvas in her hands that her attention was still on him. It brought a giddy smile to his face.

“Oh.” He hummed contently, returning his staring to the portrait. He wondered what it looked like before she riddled its face with globs of resentful paint. With a content sigh, he answered his thoughts; “I bet it looked nice.”

“Tch!” Devi held her laugh inside her throat. “I’m sure I gave you too much credit.”

“HAHAHA!” Johnny sneered a wider smile. His brain immediately imagined an overly-handsome depiction of himself, even though he knew Devi had better taste than that. So funny. He reviewed the portrait one more time, then set it off to the side.

“Hahh… I like it a lot.” He sighed, and laid down flat on the floor, legs still sprawled. “I like all your stuff a lot. Why are you so critical about your paintings?”

Devi cocked an eyebrow at him.

“Are you going to try and tell me you’re not critical of your own artwork, Nny?” Her words jabbed playfully in his direction, and he puffed his cheeks out in response.

“WELL…” Johnny huffed, making Devi laugh again. “Maybe the stuff I do now, but all my old paintings, all the stuff I don’t remember even making… no. But I guess it’s hard to be self-critical of something you don’t have any recollection of creating.”

He brought his one leg up high to lob over the crate in his lap as he rolled onto his side to face her. Devi greeted him with a look of pity, but with a degree of immense curiosity to it.

“Shit.” Devi thought a moment. “I don’t think I ever really saw your old stuff, actually.”

Johnny had described to her vaguely last year, and in much more depth this year, his style of painting that had long-since depleted into noncomplex stick figure comics. He explained it as being rough and gritty, with themes of decay, agony, and horror, and his subjects most often being flesh-like nonsense, or close-ups of distorted human faces. The oldest of the surviving pieces would dip into dark landscapes and actual silhouettes, but that was the extent of it.

“Man,” Devi sighed as she thought. “I’d love to see ‘em.”

The comment surprised him, and Johnny laid still on the floor as he watched her with large eyes. He rolled into a seat position after a moment, and moved his staring to the carpet.

“W… would you, really?” He asked tentatively. “A lot of them are still in okay-condition, they’re just… buried in my house...”

Devi replied with a few confused blinks, mostly in regard to Johnny’s sudden change in demeanor. After a moment of thought, she was delightfully suspicious that his timidness now was because of her absolute refusal to enter his house the day she assisted him with ‘moving out’. The concern he had for making her uncomfortable was as unfortunately endearing as ever.

“You wanna go pick some up?” Devi asked with a smile, and Johnny cricked his chin up to stare at her with redoubled surprise.

“Really?” He asked in disbelief as he scuttled to stand. “I mean, I don’t want to impose.”

Devi laughed at him and balanced the canvas she held against the wall.

“Yeah. I need a fucking break from looking at my own paintings.” She explained with a pop of her back. “Who knows, maybe you’ll inspire me.”

She shrugged the last of her sentence at him as she walked past, and Johnny pivoted to watch her leave the room. He always found her teasing to be so disarming, never knowing what to do when she threw the ball into his court. It was fun, in a way, but he was always nervous to banter back besides mock cynicism. It made his heart flutter all the same.

“If you’d like.” He called after her as he walked. “I just meant—you know, if you don’t want to go inside, and all.”

Johnny stopped in the living room when he caught sight of Devi at her bedroom door, already straightening a newly pulled on t-shirt.

“Your concern is appreciated.” She smiled at him, then reached around the door and grabbed one of her shorter jackets—it was just too balls-hot to be wearing her trench coat at this hour. Stupid summer weather.

Johnny grinned, though his smile melted into an awkward squiggle as Devi approached him with that accursed collar in hand. He’d grown accustomed to wearing it on outings, but he still loathed it. He would be happy to chop it up and burn the pieces, one day.

His malicious thoughts were short-lived, as Devi roped the accessory around his neck. She paid much less mind to not touching him these days, and the caressing of her fingers made him feel like his insides might liquify from the heat. She smirked coolly as she clicked the collar shut.

“Why don’t you drive?” She suggested, and Johnny was taken off-guard again. He hadn’t driven at all since he’d come to live here, what with Devi preferring to have control over just about everything. He raised an eyebrow, cautiously inspecting her expression, but was unable to determine if this was representative of anything.

“I don’t feel like navigating the suburbs to get to your place.” Devi provided for explanation as she moved to the front door, but Johnny remained unsure. Still, he went to fetch his keys from one of the art room drawers without prodding any further.

NOW ON THE OTHER SIDE OF TOWN:

Devi had not been to Johnny’s neighborhood more than twice, and only once during daylight hours, yet she still managed to recognize some landmarks that signaled that they were getting close. One neighbor a few streets down had an absolutely obnoxious amount of pink flamingos in their yard, and another surely teetered the worth of their fragile masculinity on the pure number of beat-up looking muscle cars that lined their curb.

The car jerked as Johnny took a sharp turn onto a different street, and Devi sucked in a breath while she watched the addresses get closer in number to ‘777’. She stubbornly refused to let the sight of the ramshackle house bring her too much anxiety, but as they slowed beside it, and then turned up the slope of the driveway, the familiar shiver of distrust climbed up her spine. Johnny spared her a nervous glance.

“You don’t have to come inside if you don’t want’a…” He reiterated, in an effort to comfort her, but Devi only scoffed and started to exit the vehicle.

“NOPE.” She replied with a quick slam of the door. “Don’t worry about it, I’m fine.”

Johnny stepped meekly out of the driver’s side, and watched Devi glare at his ‘former’ place of residence. Guilt gnawed away at his stomach, well-aware of the traumatic memories of that evening that were still sealed away inside his house.

He’d lived with them long after their infamous date; tromping over the wooden floors that had served as her route of escape, or laying like a limp sock across the couch that would have been where they shared their first kiss. When he paused to dwell on those sorts of facts, remorse filled him each time, but certainly not to the extent that it used to. It wasn’t the soul-splitting agony that those first days had brought – it didn’t drive him into hysterics to catch sight of his bedroom mirror, nor did the thought of sitting on the right-hand side of his sofa.

But, of course, Devi hadn’t.

She didn’t muddle through that house for months, learning to accept the space beyond those fleeting, horrible memories. She hadn’t had to wander through the atmospheric fog of departed, romantic dreams, with its lingering tethers warping around her person like ghostly fingers, searching for what was lost. She didn’t find herself stepping on glass fragments even weeks afterwards, and having to force herself to accept, with tearful blinking, that there was no changing this; that this was her house, and there was no escaping what happened here.

Johnny frowned to himself, and started toward the front door, fretting all the way about what Devi’s response would be.

Devi gathered herself as she followed him up the pathway, and as Johnny fiddled with the lock, she spared a moment for a little flower that was poking out from the cracks of the cement. Symbolic, or ironic, she couldn’t decide.

The sound of the worn lock’s mechanics moving in sync with the key that Johnny jammed into it brought her attention up from the ground, and she steeled herself as he pushed the door open with a throw of his fingers. He remained on the front step with her, half-way shielding her from the innards of his home, as she peeked beyond the doorframe.

Even with her expectations low, she couldn’t help but blink her eyes wide in shock.

“Did you… throw out everything?” Devi questioned as she tried to peer past him and into the living room. The décor wasn’t particularly abundant the last time she had been there, but there was more on the wall than a weird little poster that said “I WUV YOU”, and certainly a decent amount of worn furniture. Johnny shot her a confused look, and waited a beat before allowing himself to relax into a smile.

“Oh, no.” He sniffed a laugh and took a few steps inside, loosely raising his arm to gesture to the far side of the room. “The TV n’ shit is just over here now.”

Devi poked her head past the threshold to see, and slanted her mouth uneasily at the sight of the stained sofa a few steps away. It looked even more beat up than the last time she saw it, but it was definitely still the same one. She smothered a scowl under her pursed lips, and fully passed the door’s threshold with a swing of her leg. It was just a stupid, dilapidated couch, she reminded herself—nothing to be wary of!

“My house got kinda wrecked after the wall-thing sent it careening through a tear in the dimension or, something like that.” Johnny continued. “Shit got tossed around everywhere, so I just pushed it all into one of the rooms… Pulled the couch and stuff back out after I came home a couple months ago.”

“That’s…” She cocked an eyebrow. “—I mean, at this point, sure, why not.”

Johnny snickered a little at her incredulous response, and continued further into the house, explaining in greater detail his decision making for what furniture he had rearranged and where. Devi paid little mind to his babbling as she gradually trailed his steps, taking in the house’s atmosphere with as little bias as she could. It was just as dingey as she remembered, and it did help her sore memories that it was basically gutted, aside from the worn couch and beat-up television. It barely looked like a house the way it was, instead looking more like a large shed. It definitely didn’t look like the place she remembered, and that was a very good thing.

“—I don’t spend much time in my bedroom, but I still thought it was important enough to leave it usable, so I just jammed everything in here.” Johnny finished, flinging open the door to his former ‘studio’. A few random objects fell and rolled out from the mass of clutter that loomed all the way to the top of the doorframe.

“Holy Hell.” Devi said loudly, aghast at the sight of the mounds of dusty debris and overturned furniture. There appeared to be parts of doors and chunks of ceiling plaster mixed in with the heaps of furniture and belongings, giving the entire mass the look of a true junkyard.

Johnny bend his leg up and reared it back as far as he could, before springing his heel out straight, sending most of the blockade crashing backwards inside of the room with one demanding kick. With the first heap out of the way, Devi could see more clearly that there was actually quite a bit of bare space inside. Enough floorspace to walk in, at least.

Johnny led the way, and sent a chunk of splintered wood clattering with a lazy punt of his boot. Devi watched it kick up dust as it fumbled along, then fall still near a pile of damaged Christmas decorations. The room was musty, and the only light granted inside the space was from the poorly boarded up windows that failed to stop the sun’s glow outside. She looked up to the ceiling for a light, but the only spot for one had a shattered bulb still twisted into the fixture.

“My drafting table was in here.” He mentioned offhandedly as he inspected a box.

“Ah,” Devi nodded in understanding. “so that’s why it took you so damn long to drag the thing out.”

“Well, yes, and the fact that it’s heavy as fuck.” Johnny snorted and peeled back the remains of an ironing board from its resting spot against the wall. It make a cracking sound, like bark being torn from a tree, then gave way in a small flood of junk to reveal some paintings hidden in the area behind.

“AH-HAH.” He cried in triumph, and moved proudly to the side to allow Devi the opportunity to inspect them first. Devi looked at him with an unsure expression, but decided to humor him and approach the pile as invited. As she stepped toward the stack, the twisting paint gathered her full attention, and she reached a hand out for it like a gleeful child.

She gripped the corner of the first canvas, and hoisted it up from the stack with a smooth pull of her arm. The rolling swirls of brushstrokes that greeted her brought a tantalized smile to her lips, and she had to extend the artwork out with both arms to continue her appreciation of it.

It was about three-feet in height—a fairly average sized painting—and was smeared with meticulous bends and curls of dark paint that made the two grim subjects look as though they were positively radiating in fear.

Gorgeous, she thought.

Devi gleamed, and set the painting to the side, eagerly reaching for the next one in the pile. Johnny watched her with uncertain, but very delighted, eyes. A timid smile bent his mouth as Devi reviewed his art. It was a lot different than her critiquing his current work, since these could actually be on par with what Devi herself might create. He desperately wanted her to be impressed, even though he could barely take credit as the artist anymore.

The painting Devi pulled out next was too large to properly view while holding, so she set it on the floor, tilted at an angle against a box, and stepped back a few feet to study it. Her lips parted with a curious exhale at the detailed eye in the center of the canvas, surrounded by flesh-like tethers and threads that seemed to keep it upright, like a spider’s web.

“Oh,” She breathed, and squatted down to see it more clearly in the wispy light. “I love this.”

The last of her apprehension of being inside the house flittered away as she absorbed herself in Johnny’s art, appreciating fully all of the effort put into the fine lines and details of this piece in particular. This one was definitely coming back home with her—she could already see it replacing that outdated movie poster in the living room.

Devi’s reaction surprised Johnny, and he dropped his neatly folded arms out from behind his back. He felt breathless, like he often did when Devi praised him, but to a much higher degree than usual. He watched her with a look of awe—she was completely captivated by one of his creations. One of the stupid paintings he almost loathed, simply because it was a symbol of the self he lost—because it was meaningless to him; no memory behind what drove him to paint it, or how he was feeling at the time, not even an approximate date as to when he made it.

But with the way Devi reviewed his work with such adoration… now, he felt pride. Real pride in his former abilities, and a deep, desperate desire to create something now that would make her react like this. Her expression could drive him mad; looking so brilliant and excited, with that bright smile, and eyes that shimmered just as brightly. His shoulders raised up to his ears in an attempt to quell is elation.

“Do you have more like this?” She turned her attention up to him with a grin, and Johnny held in a shiver.

“Oh—yes!” He nodded, happy to offer her more of what was currently invigorating her. “I do… but most of them are very large. Like, full-wall-size large, so they’re down in the basement… Perhaps another time?”

A nervous laugh accompanied his suggestion, and Devi nodded without argument, though a soft smile remained. She already knew what horrors he’d committed down there, and wasn’t keen on venturing down into what was formerly a demon’s torture den. Maybe next time, if there was a next time, she would have the bravura to follow him into the fucking abyss.

For now, though, she would remain satisfied with her newly excavated treasures—she could already feel her own inspiration spinning in her head in response to such fantastically morbid art. Something like these but the size of a mural? Now that she wanted to see!

They continued rooting through Johnny’s amassed garbage for a couple more hours, spearheaded by Devi’s eagerness to rescue as many paintings as she could from the bones of the decrepit prison that had stolen their creator away from them in the first place. By the time they were packing away all of the works that Devi wanted to bring back to the apartment, it was nightfall.

“Safe travels.” Devi commented with a smile to the stack of canvases tucked away in the back of Johnny’s car, then heaved the trunk lid closed.

Johnny stood off to the side nearby, surveying the night sky with a lofty smile. It had been a very long time since he stood in this driveway, watching the clouds drift over the starlit darkness in wispy smears. It was almost surreal how strangely foreign it felt now, but after the months of his nightly backdrop being the city’s lousy view, most often from Devi’s apartment windows, he had forgotten one of the few benefits to living in an unlit, ‘quiet’ suburb.

“What a lovely evening.” He hummed absentmindedly, and Devi turned to him with a questioning look, before moving her focus up above them.

“Yeah.” She breathed with a matching smile, and crossed her arms over her chest while she took in the view.

“On nights like this—when I lived alone—I’d always like to go up to the Hill.” Johnny said, eyes still trained on the glittering sky. Devi looked to him curiously again, and whether he felt her stare, or realized the significance of that spot between the two of them, he quickly turned to meet her with wide eyes. Devi snorted a short laugh, never taking her eyes off of him.

“Do you… want to go?” She asked him with dubious smile. Johnny stiffened at the question, grimacing at his carelessness.

“Oh—no, no, not at all! I’d never! That’s not what I—” He stopped, registering her tone only after he started his denials. “Um, well… I mean I would but, I’m not saying… I guess; do you want to go?”

Devi’s smile crinkled upwards more, teasingly, then she readjusted her arms while she looked off in thought.

She had already dredged through Johnny’s shitty little house of horrors, was she really prepared to delve even further into her freshly revived emotions tonight? It wasn’t like the hilltop was particularly connected to anything bad that happened that night, but it was still connected to said night, intricately-so. She drummed her fingers on her bicep as she debated.

She was very happy to be out of residence 777, but being there had brought her a little bit of peace. It wasn’t much, but a few hours’ worth of sifting through artwork was now the most time she had spent there, and it made the fading memories of Johnny’s Pillsbury-Doughboy-influenced attempt on her life a little less predominant. It wasn’t like she had any intention of spending more time there, but Devi did not like having any lingering fear for a dirty, eldritch-demon-housing shack, and the fact she could bear even a second inside with her head held high made her very proud.

So if she could handle such vicious, lingering resentment, surely she could handle a quick visit to a place coated with softer, waxy memories, accompanied by the individual that had made them so bitter.

“Sure.” Devi said finally, prompting a surprised half-smile from her companion. “The clouds are clearing, even.”

Johnny grinned fully, and took note of the brilliant moon starting to peer out from behind the thin clouds. He tried to quell his excitement as he urged Devi to the car, and quickly hopped into the driver’s side to begin the trip farther out of town.

A FEW HUNDRED FEET ABOVE THE CITY:

Johnny was already regretting his request to visit his cliffside spot.

The drive out had been as casual as all their drives were now, with idle chatter about plans for the coming days and mockery over whichever handful of bad movies they’d ingested recently. The only real difference was that it was Johnny driving tonight, and with that being the case, the music droning beneath their conversation was marginally quieter.

But, as the vehicle climbed the dirt road to the top of the hill, Johnny had become more engrossed with the details that were so comfortable and pleasant.

Things were too pleasant. The mood was too kind and light, with the crunching gravel below the car’s tires, and Devi’s tittering laughter over something dumb he’d said. It reminded him far too intimately of the atmosphere that surrounded them that night, on that damned date. How stupid, he thought as the car came to a gentle stop at the peak of the mountain’s height, that it would be such airy, nice sentiments that tore and ripped the edges of his comfort zone.

After taking a moment to walk the measly fence that skirted the edge of the cliff, he and Devi both plopped down on the end of the car’s hood. Devi sat loosely, head tilted upwards as she enjoyed the first breeze the summer season had bothered to offer her. Johnny’s posture closed in tighter the longer he watched Devi relaxing.

She was so beautiful, wonderful—the same way she was before, maybe even more so. He could hardly stand to look at her, with her skin almost iridescent under the yellowing moonlight, and her sharp, blade-like hair cutting across the stars, almost dark enough to fool the eye into thinking someone had carved two pointed shapes from the shimmering sky itself. Johnny turned his gaze to the crusty earth below, and tried to steady his mind.

“Haven’t seen a view like this in a while.” Devi murmured, eyes transfixed on the flashing of some neon signs in the downtown area. Johnny only hummed in reply.

“I was actually up in the mountains maybe… half a year ago now? But it was waaay over… there.” She pointed to an adjacent set of hills further south. Johnny lifted his head and focused on the area she was pointing to with a curious look.

“I think it was that one.” Devi said half-committally, followed by a laugh. “That was the night that plane hit my apartments—y’know, the one I told you about, with the psychic fat lady downstairs and all?”

“Ah.” He replied with a nod of comprehension. “I’m sure that was quite a sight.”

“It was. Tenna and I sat up there for like an hour before the fire finally died down. A morbidly magnificent sight—even if the burnt fat lady smell permeated all the way up here.” Devi punctuated the comment with a mean laugh, and Johnny couldn’t help but join in her cackling. Dark humor was so delightful.

As their laughter quieted, Devi set her palms flat behind her and leaned back a ways to sigh out her last chuckles. Johnny watched her with a warm smile, as captivated as always by her every move.

He loved her laugh, and being the spark that set it off always filled him with immense pride and glee. He was fortunate that her sense of humor had consistently been on the same frequency as his own, and that she was sharp enough to match, and even outrun him, in verbal banter. It made it rather fun to back-and-forth, and send each other into hysterics. They did so quite frequently at the bookstore, though if Devi wasn’t on a break, they had to muffle themselves to an extent, lest a customer complain.

A gentle push of wind across his face reminded Johnny where he was, and intertwined that knowledge with his current train of thought. His heart pulsed with sinking remorse as he remembered the events that followed their first visit to the Hill.

“I wish I’d declined.” He said suddenly, voice low.

“Huh?” Devi turned to look at him, but Johnny remained slouched forward, elbows balanced on his knees.

“When you asked me to the movies,” he clarified. “I wish I had declined.”

Devi was taken off-guard by that, but shortly scoffed, rolling back into her leaning position with a slight smile.

“Why’s that?”

Johnny finally raised his head with a look of vaguely-annoyed disbelief.

“What d’you mean ‘why’s that’?” He grunted, and Devi breathed a quick laugh at his persnickety tone. He couldn’t help but smile too, though it fell away nearly as fast as it appeared.

“Because I could have spared you… all of this.” Johnny continued. “…I’d wanted to—to say ‘no’, I mean… out of habit. But I couldn’t because I just… really wanted to go. It sounded like so much fun, I thought it would be… fun.”

He hugged himself, staring out into the darkness of the road as his thoughts led him into a myriad of ‘what if’s. Devi observed his shape with a small frown; she was very much accustomed to Johnny’s habit of allowing his emotions to swallow him up, but at this point, she felt it was pointless for him to wallow in his regrets to such a pitiful degree. Their relationship had turned pretty big, fucking corner, recently, after all.

“Was it fun?” She asked him finally, smiling like she already knew. Johnny pouted at her.

“…Well, yes.” He sighed again. “If you don’t count the attempted murder, or the immense ass-beating you gave me after.”

Devi spat out another laugh at that, and looked down to Johnny with a tired smile when he tilted his head backwards to frown about it.

“—or the fact I got you infected with lose-your-creativity-and-kill-people disease!” He snarled, and laid back fully on the car’s hood to sulk. “I just—wouldn’t that have been better? If I just said ‘no, thank you’, and we kept being friends, and maybe you had found some nice person to date that wouldn’t try to kill you?”

“And you could’ve just gone on murdering for that wall-thing forever?” Devi asked him smugly. His eyes went wide at that, and he stopped to consider the idea.

He wanted to argue that no, the creature probably would have had him die at some point—he long suspected that it was the wall-thing’s desire to regain control over it’s doughy minions that had allowed him to die in the first place—but he couldn’t know that. It was very possible that he might have gone on for his whole life, or at least long enough to allow Mr. Fuck the autonomy that he so desperately desired, and who knows how detrimental to the world that could have been.

Devi observed Johnny’s uneasy, sad expression with a shake of her head.

“Look Nny, the thing is, if there’s an eldritch fucklord that births mental parasites, that target artists and-the-like, to gorge itself on until their victim is reduced to a worthless meat-husk, I want to know about it.” She gave him nod before looking off. “I don’t have to like it, but considering that it exists and it’s happening, I’m not going wish for blissful ignorance, blabbering spittle onto my bib like a fucking infant about bullshit that doesn’t matter. And if you just learned of a plague like that, wouldn’t you want the same?”

Johnny stared at her from his spot on the hood, surprised by her response. He couldn’t believe how easily her blunt take on things still sideswiped him from time to time; he really should be used to this by now.

“Heh… yeah, I guess so.” He looked off with a hesitant smile. Devi smirked with another roll of her head.

“And as absolutely horrible as it is, my… involvement meant that you died before things really got ugly… I’m still not happy about it, but I guess if you couldn’t truly ‘die’ no matter what, it’s not so bad, especially seeing as you’re free now.” She paused. “Well, mostly free.”

“GEE, THANKS.” Johnny laughed, and Devi arched into another laugh too. The pair giggled over their horrid luck for a few minutes, before Johnny’s mind settled on an old memory.

“Hey, do you remember that joke you said, after you told me you liked me?” His smile stretched wide enough to give a mischievous squint to his eyes. “About how you’d kill me?”

Devi blinked at him, mouth drawn low, before breaking into laughter again. She redoubled into hysterics when Johnny joined her, and she held her face in her hands while he gave the metal beneath them a few slaps amidst his cackling.

“WELL, YOU DID.” He reiterated the point, and Devi gave him a shove.

“Shut UP, Nny!” She laughed, and turned away from him to try and quiet herself, with limited success.

OFF TO A NEARBY 24/7:

Johnny winced his left eye shut as he gave the straw of his Brain-Freezy one more voracious suck, hoping to gather the last of the watery remains of sugar from the air bubbles at the bottom of his cup, but only really achieved making a repeating, cacophonous sound. Devi smacked him with the back of her hand, in a wordless way of saying ‘knock that off’.

They had stopped at the first 24/7 they saw, one on a normally unventured side of town, to pick up some snacks before returning home. The large advertisement in the window featuring disgusting gas station nachos had reminded them both that they hadn’t eaten since early that afternoon, and the lure of 2-for-1 deals on just about everything was hard to pass up.

“I think you got it all.” Devi said, flicking a crumb of tortilla chip off the corner of her mouth with her thumb. Johnny pouted at her before flinging the empty cup cleanly into the nearby garbage can.

“I’m trying not to be wasteful!” He defended himself as he started the walk back to the car. The rub of material against his neck reminded him of the goddamn collar he wore, and how the leash Devi had insisted on putting on him before they entered the store was, in fact, on him. She needed to have a little more faith! Just because they were in an even shittier part of town than normal, didn’t mean he would run off on a murderous rampage at the drop of a hat!

“Oh, you’re so frugal, my wallet thanks you.” Devi replied with a sarcastic smile, matching his stride as they made their way to the side of the building, where Johnny had parked.

Just when they thought they’d escaped humanity unscathed, a quick whistle hit their ears, and both eyerolled in the direction of God, to ask him with mixed expressions ‘why’. Devi and Johnny both turned toward the source of the sound, Devi looking somewhere between bored and irritated, and Johnny glowering just past her shoulder. She was unsurprised to see the group of men chatting idly on the other side of the small parking lot gesture in her direction.

“Heyyy, that’s kinda kinky—WOAH.” One of the men called, then stopped suddenly. He pushed himself off of the side of a car and started to approach them. “—No way!”

Just as both Devi and Johnny’s fight-or-flight responses had reached their peaks, the man spoke again.

“DEVI?” He said loudly, with an obnoxious smile. Devi blanched. The man had very few features she would find memorable; patchy dyed hair, brown eyes, tall and thin—could have been any number of guys she’d hung out with before… except for the eyepatch.

“Eddie!?” Devi replied with a horrified expression, and Johnny’s irises snapped to her, shocked that she actually knew this person. Eddie’s lip perked up further on one side, and he slapped a hand over his cheek with a laugh.

“WOW, it’s been forever, huh?” He gleamed. “But I knew it was you, cause of your face.”

Devi only stared at him with vague disgust, still too shocked to fully absorb the situation. She hadn’t hardly thought about this particular idiot since high school, the recent retelling of their failed date withstanding. Johnny scowled at their uninvited guest, but did his best to hold back the volatile feelings he already had churning in his gut.

“Who’s this little guy you’re with? Your boyfriend?” Eddie asked casually, without a braincell to stop him. He set the side of his hand against his mouth, and leaned further in Johnny’s direction, as if to whisper, only to say at a completely normal volume; “Don’t count on getting too much outta her—she’s hot, but she’s a total prude.”

Johnny stared at him with incensed disbelief at the comment, as did Devi. With thin pupils, Johnny jutted forward, still crouched, to rebuke the remark.

“NEVER speak about Devi in such a repugnant way—in fact, never speak about her at ALL, you cycloptic knuckle-dragger!” He hissed. Devi could only cringe as her mouth twitched into an uncomfortable scowl.

“Hey, don’t blame me for warning you dude, it’s true!” Eddie defended himself. “I took her out, paid for everything, and she wouldn’t even kiss me. I had to be dying before she agreed to at least sit on my face.”

“I NEVER SAT ON YOUR FACE, YOU DUMBASS.” Devi snapped, face hot. “That was the AIRBAG.”

“—See! That’s even worse. My dying wish, and she’d sooner just let me die empty-handed.”

“SHUT UP!” Johnny seethed, bowing out his stance. “Shut you fucking mouth—I’ll cut your dirty GODDAMN THROAT! You don’t deserve the privilege of speaking, you boorish ogre—I’d be doing the world a damn FAVOR redirecting your vocal chords into your ear canals! Maybe then you could hear the UNBRIDLED FILTH THAT EXPECTORATES OFF YOUR TONGUE!! I—”

While he ranted, Devi stood beside him, vibrating in insult. Eddie was her first ‘real’ date, and he was horrible one at that—she would have gladly never seen his dumb ass again. In fact, she had kind of hoped he had died in different sexually-motivated car wreck in the years since she last saw him, but obviously she had no such luck. The smarmy fucker, acting like he knew her, acting like he had any comprehension of who she was, or what drove her physically. BASTARD! Ugly, horrible bastard!

Devi bared her teeth; she wanted retribution! Her body ached, with pulsating, twitching fists, to obliterate Eddie where he stood. Her mind floated away from level-headedness, her anger coaxing her ever-closer to violence, tantalizing her with the beautiful release of emotion she’d be granted with a few kicks to his head. But, as her trembling hand squeeze the handle of Johnny’s leash, her cracking logic had a quick, hateful idea. She didn’t give herself time to reconsider, she just wanted out of this situation.

With wide, angry eyes, Devi stared at Eddie, then released her hold on Johnny and retreated to the car.

Johnny felt the tether around his neck go slack, and swiveled his head around in surprise to watch Devi’s withdrawing form.

“Aren’t you going to stop me!?” He yelled to her. Devi opened the car door and turned back to him with a glare.

“Stop you from what?” She said with a biting tone, then dipped into the car with a loud SLAM! of the door.

Johnny stared at where she had just stood, dumbfounded, then moved his attention to the loose leash dangling from his neck. After a few moments of consideration, a grim smile spread across his face. He was rather certain that Devi was, quite literally, turning a cheek to this exchange—and if she was leaving it up to him, Eddie would not be leaving unscathed for those repulsive comments.

He raised his head, and his posture, with dark shadows swallowing up his grinning face. Eddie cocked an uncertain eyebrow when he heard the creak of the vehicle’s trunk, and only looked more confused when met with the sight of the tire iron that appeared from behind Johnny’s back.

Johnny stepped closer, happy that the exchange had garnered the attention of the rest of Eddie’s little group; he hoped they would intervene, they were all just as shitty in his eyes! A set of eerily slow laughs emitted from his throat, that slowly hiccupped into something maniacal, as he brought up his weapon up above his head.

“That was baaad, Devi.” Johnny sung in a teasing tone while he drove, blood still smattered on his face and hands. Devi sulked in the passenger seat, glaring at the street signs as they passed them.

“Whatever.” She grumbled. Johnny giggled in reply; he rather liked when she was feeling vindictive.

“NOT TO WORRY,” He boasted earnestly. “I didn’t kill any of them—I knew you wouldn’t like that, so I only gave them all a some blunt-force trauma, just a bit of facial bludgeoning, promise!”

Devi looked to him with a grouchy frown, but rolled her eyes away after a moment, face falling into mock-boredom.

“Thank you, Nny.” She sighed. At least someone had some self-control tonight. She could only hope that her choice to let Johnny dish out the ass whooping that her wrath had so desperately craved had no adverse effects on his self-restraint—they’d both worked too hard to ruin it over Eddie of all things.

“You are ever-so welcome, Devi.” Johnny smiled, happy to exact some vengeance in the name of his dearest friend.

“Who was that moron, anyhow?” He asked casually. Devi huffed.

“Just some dick I dated in high school.” Another eyeroll. “He was the first guy to ever ask me out—I told you how it went, didn’t I? The date was bland and meaningless, but he thought it went well. The genius tried to convince me to screw him while he was driving, and when I said ‘no’ he tried to push the point and crashed the fucking car into a tree. Dumbass.”

Devi sneered at the memory, but was quickly shaken out of her thoughts when the car took a violent turn, leaving her to yelp and grasp onto the center console for balance. She snapped her head in Johnny’s direction as he drove at an increasingly fast speed.

“Nny, what the Hell!” She shouted at him, but Johnny was too focused on the road.

“WELL YOU DIDN’T SAY THAT!” He replied aggressively. “I’M GOING TO FINISH KILLING HIM.”

“NO, NNY.” Devi yelled, drastically grabbing for him, or the wheel, or both. Johnny shrugged her away, doing what he could to use his shoulder to keep her from interfering with his burning desire to murder. “Johnny!!”

(He turned back around, don’t worry.)

NEXT...

#FINALLYYYY WEEE #chapter #jthm #devnny #jtrm #mine #im v happy.. to have this done #7.5k words!! AT LONG LAST

170 notes · View notes

gwilymz · 5 years

Note

ohh man im all up for virgin sub bri, i was thinking like you're making out in his dorm couch and then you end up riding him real good, but you guys forget the condom and he doesn't really know how to pull out on time and cums in you ok bye.

Being Brian’s neighbor was a bit exhausting; the whole dynamic of the flat next door was odd, to say the absolute least. The four of them were undeniably different, and there was always some sort of bickering echoing over the dry-wall plastered walls that proved to be much thinner than you had previously thought. It was always something about Freddie’s singing in the shower–which they insisted was good but utterly annoying at twelve-thirty–or Roger’s incessant mess-making that left the floor covered in a film of silk clothing. It was a rivalry almost; Roger and Freddie were the instigators, while Deaky and Brian were the mediators, always attempting to extinguish the smoldering fire that they only seemed to rekindle over and over again.

You weren’t sure about the four of them; they were quite enigmatic and contradictory. But you knew a few facts about each of them: that Deaky was a cutie, but had a definite mean-streak. Freddie was a puppeteer onstage, but could be very introverted off of it. Roger was a womanizer, his fingers always laced in those of a doe-eyed girl who he would never speak to again. And Brian–you knew the most about Brian. That he was exceptionally smart and a fantastic, alluring guitar player. He was tall, a bit shy, but could be a pistol if you nudged at him just right. But most of all, you knew you wanted to fuck his brains out.

There was something so magnetic about his lengthy legs perpetually sheathed in a veil of velvet. The way his knobby knees looked underneath the fabric, and his sharp jawline that was sometimes peppered with day-old stubble. His hair was perfectly imperfect, nestled into waves that intermittently coiled into tight curls, but only sometimes. His lips were plump, his eyes dipped in honey. He was sweet and had an innocent aura about him that made your knees weak when he knocked on your door and mumbled to ask if he could borrow some sugar. He’d occasionally pad over to your flat to apologize for how rambunctious the other three were being if they got shitfaced after a gig. Much to your delight, it was becoming commonplace for Brian to sleep on your couch when they were being particularly annoying, and you always cherished seeing his lips parted, teeth barely showing as he snored softly to cut the crisp morning air. His har would always fan over his cheekbones and you would sometimes push it away from his eyes and sit on the arm of the couch to peck the tops of his cheekbones, glowing from a thin veil of sweat.

You and Brian had gotten friendly, and you were itching for your friendship to teeter onto something a bit more serious. So you were more than ecstatic when Brian rapped on your door with a quite heavy fist, a bit uncharacteristic of him.

Opening the door, you yawned. Brian was dressed in some fleece sweatpants and a baggy t-shirt, his hair a bit frizzy, the remnants of his earlier shower. He smelled musky and a bit sweet, and his eyes were tired and a little sunken in and he looked more sultry, and the epitome of effortlessly attractive. He held a glow on his cheeks that was ethereal.

“Wanna watch some Stanley Kubrick films with me? A Clockwork Orange is on in a few.” He asked, nervously rubbing his palm over his elbow.

You nodded, eyes becoming drawn to the slight bulge in his sweatpants; you could tell he wasn’t wearing any underwear and you felt a warmth liquify in your bloodstream as you walked to his flat, just a few steps away.

Brian sweetly offered you a snack and a drink, and usually you would ask for some wine or something to take the edge off–to take the nerves off–but it was barely eleven in the morning.

“Where’re the musketeers?” You asked, using your and his coined nickname for the three men.

Brian settled next to you, his eyes heavy as he squinted a bit to focus his sleepy eyes on the small television in front of you. You mindlessly rubbed circles onto his kneecap, feeling the raised hills of the bone. Your hand felt up further, your nail catching a bit on a snagged part of his pants, and his breath seemed to do the same, snagging in his raw throat.

But you continued to watch the movie, breathing softly but only because you were both trying so hard to do so. You wanted Brian’s hands all over you; looking at his fingers nervously tapping along the fabric of the couch was making your legs press together, your senses heightened simply because of some white nail polish streaked onto his fingernails.

Brian broke the silence, but blanketed the tension in the air in yet another suffocating layer. “Do you want more water?” The question was innocent enough, but the way his pupils were dilated, lips drawn open and jaw just a bit tensed seemed to scream anything but innocence.

You didn’t know where it came from. It was as if your subconscious was digging her claws into your stomach and drawing out your desires–not that this one was too hard to wriggle out of you.

“Can I kiss you?” You asked, your hands braced on his thigh as you peered at him through your eyelashes.

He only nodded, hands fisted in the couch cushion below him as you climbed onto his lap, legs thrown on either side of his own thighs. You felt his cock stiffening from underneath you and you smirked a bit, shifting your position on top of him to give him a bit of friction, to seem innocent, unintentional.

“You’re such a pretty boy,” You moaned into your first kiss with him, your hands against his cheeks as your tongue nudged through his pillowy lips, plump and peachy. He whimpered and played with the ends of your hair, apprehensive with the movement of his tongue, although skilled enough to continually part your lips so he could stroke his tongue over your own. Sweet whines pored through your sweaty skin and dribbled through your bloodstream, straight to your core. His sounds were desperate, innocent, cute even.

Grabbing his jaw, you looked into his eyes, blown wide, and sucked on his bottom lip just a bit to pull another noise from his scratchy throat. “Pretty, pretty boy. You like being called that, baby?” You asked, hands trailing down his chest.

“Mhm. Feels good.” He admitted, gasping as your lips attached to his neck, nibbling over his skin until blossoming bruises blanketed the skin.

Now, his cock was rock hard, throbbing beneath his sweatpants as your thigh grazed over his stiff shaft. You traced a finger over his length and glanced up, testing the waters. He muttered a yes please before you continued, rubbing your palms over his cock and listening to his little mewls that were becoming addictive to your ears.

You continued to kiss him, hands threaded in his hair as you settled on rocking your pussy against him instead–he seemed to like that a lot more. Whimpers and almost imperceptible moans turned into quasi-groans as you yanked his sweatpants down, just enough so his cock sprang out, slapping against his lower stomach. He was extremely well-endowed; there was a bit more length than girth but he wasn’t lacking in either category. Throbbing veins fed into each other and feathered off as your eyes followed upwards to his head, which was a flushed pink and wet from some pre-cum.

“I’m a virgin–” He added, watching your thumb rub over his tip to collect some pre-cum as you stroked him leisurely, pushing your underwear to the side.

“Oh baby. So fucking precious and innocent.” You cooed, pressing kisses to his jaw as you rocked your clothed pussy against him; now only your thin panties separated you from him. “Do you wanna stop?” You asked, seriously.

He shook his head fervently. “No–please fuck me. I’m so hard for you.” He pulled down the collar of your shirt as you thumbed the hem of his own.

You didn’t say another word as you basically tore Brian’s shirt over his head and then rid yourself of your own, throwing them behind you. Brian was enamored by your tits, looking up at you a bit teasingly with a genuinely innocent look as he tongued your nipples and squeezed your breasts carefully.

You jerked him off slow enough that some pre-cum spurted from the tip, and you used that as some much needed lube–along with your spit. Brian’s eyes rolled back when you wrapped your wet hands around his cock and stroked him; he could feel your soft hands hugging every ridge of his cock and he wanted so desperately to feel himself deep inside your cunt. But as you lifted your hips to sink down on him, he remembered.

“I don’t have a condom–I think Rog might have some but–”

“I’m on the pill,” You mustered, sinking down on his cock until he was fully inside you, balls deep. Brian let out a projected moan, eyes fluttering shut as he gripped onto the couch cushions he was leaning against. “You’re so big fuck–feel how deep your cock is, baby? That’s all you.” You pressed his hand over your lower belly, where you could feel the head of his dick was nudging.

He groaned and bit his lip, one of his hands held over your lower belly, the other resting on your ass as you ground your hips on him, your clit rubbing against his pelvis.

“Look at you, Brian. Fucking me raw your first time–” You admired, grabbing his face and kissing him hotly while you began to fuck yourself on his cock, in tune with the pants that were leaving your mouths. “Such a handsome boy, all cute and whiny while I fuck you.”

Brian’s head fell back as you rode him faster, lifting your hips briefly just to push them back down so the head of his cock rubbed against every part of your throbbing pussy.

“So–tight. He whimpered, grabbing onto your hips tightly, listening to the creaking of the couch as you gasped into each other’s mouths, foreheads pressed together. “I–I wanna make you cum,” He begged, pushing his head forward to suck on your nipples, his tongue swirling around the bud as you clenched your cunt around him at the feeling. You grabbed his hand and pressed his fingers against your clit, moving it over the bud.

“Right there, baby. Such a good boy. Make me cum all over your pretty cock.” You pressed your hand over his throat and added some pressure, watching his jaw slack and his eyes close at the feeling, his fingers now rubbing desperately at your clit.

You were close, feeling how Brian’s cock throbbed inside you when you were a bit rough with him, pressing down on his throat or nibbling the skin or grabbing his face to make his pretty eyes look right into yours. Scratching your nails down his bony chest, you came at the sound of Brian’s mewls permeating the air around you, the television just static from the storms outside.

“Fuck Brian–your cock is so perfect..fucking me so deep.” You clawed down his sternum, the remainders of your orgasm running over your body.

“Mmm I’m gonna cum–where do I–” He began, fucking into you; you had stopped your movements and Brian’s hips bucked upwards repeatedly, his mouth hung open as he felt your cum gush over his cock.

“Gonna pull out and cum all over me baby?” You urged, scratching his scalp, which only made him explode.

He began to pull out, but your nails dug into his scalp intermingled with your cunt hugging him so tightly was too much for him to handle. “Fu-I can’t. Oh God–” He whimpered as he came inside you, groans reverberating through the air as he fucked you through his orgasm, his cum spurting all over your walls and seeping down your legs due to gravity. He couldn’t stop; it was as if the devil were controlling his body and he were watching from the outside–knowing that what he was doing wasn’t a good idea, but the pleasure of feeling his cum dripping down his cock as he pulled out of you finally was earth-shattering.

You caught your breath, holding Brian’s head against your chest, his cheek against your heartbeat. He was trembling in your arms, panting over your shoulder as he gathered his fleeting composure.

“’M sorry. It felt so good I couldn’t–”

“That was so hot, baby. You’re such a good fuck.” You praised, playing with his hair. “And such a good boy.”

He blushed, feeling heady and a bit drunk from his pleasure. “Just a good fuck?”

“Wanna be more than that, baby?” You asked, throwing your arms over his bony shoulders.

He nodded, his eyes widened, still pooled in innocence, just tainted at the surface.

#brian may smut #brian may blurb

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gingerwritess · 5 years

Note

An idea (if you’ve not already written this) Loki and Elliot both have the flu (or severe cold) and Loki just knows he’s gonna die from this Midgardian bug. Reader is trying to take care of both before she gets sick too.

i can’t—this whole concept cracks me the feck up, thANK YOU FOR THIS REQUEST

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

“I never realised that the ever-nearing release of death would taste so sweet.” His voice is muffled under a pillow as he struggles to pull yet another blanket up to his chin. “I expected a bitterness, a dying, stale bitterness, but not this…”

“Ah yes, this ‘elixir of approaching death’ is bubblegum flavoured.” You sigh and open a new box of tissues, sticking them in the corner of the bed near his head as you take back the little cup of cough medicine. “All we had was the kids version, I quadrupled the dosage for you. You actually think this stuff tastes good?”

“Taste is an abstract concept,” he moans, a hand emerging from the pile of blankets to grab a tissue before retreating back into hiding with a hugely exaggerated sniff.

This is getting ridiculous…although it is a tiny bit refreshing to see your god of a husband taken out by something as trivial and as human as a common cold. The poor guy had woken up with a scratchy throat and had nearly blown a hole through the roof—“there’s something in my throat!! My throat, my throat, there’s something in my throat that I didn’t put there—DARLING, IT HURTS—”

Sore throats are apparently unheard of on Asgard. As are stomachaches, cramps, fevers, stuffy noses, and the overall idea of snot.

“I should have appreciated taste while I still possessed the ability to do so. I don’t believe I’ll ever know senses again—not that it will matter.” There’s a wet honk as he blows his nose. “Becau’de I’ll be dead.”

“…you’re not dying.”

“Life…death…such a fickle thing,” he practically sobs, clamping the pillow down over his face. “I never thought it would end so soon. I-I had so much more I wanted to achieve, I had thousands of years left to live!”

“Again, not dying.”

“Shhh. At least I will die by your side, my love.” He peeks out from under the pillow and reaches weakly for your hand, his eyes red and puffy. It’s hard to take him seriously right now, being so over dramatic and with two wads of tissue stuffed up his nose, but you give him a sweet smile and take his hand.

Ew, he’s all cold and clammy.

“You’ve given me everything, my love,” he sniffs and holds your hand tightly, trying for a weak smile. “Our time together has changed who I am, and…and I owe you everything.”

“Mhm. Are you seeing a bright light yet?” You brush a few sweaty strands of hair from his forehead and he melts into your touch, closing his eyes.

“Yes…yes, I see it! Should I chase after it?” His eyes fly open and he becomes fixed on the ceiling fan, eyes going in circles as he follows the blades around and around and around—

“Stop watching the fan, you’ll make yourself throw up,” you sigh, leaning down to press a quick kiss to his sweaty forehead. “Bleh. Okay, I’m going to go check on Elliot. Oh, and that’s just the bedroom light, not death’s door.”

“Don’t leave me,” he pleads and reaches a hand out to you. “I always knew I would die alone, but-but I want your heavenly smile to be the last thing I see before I go.”

You roll your eyes and turn back around, dropping your head against the doorframe with another exasperated sigh. “Loki, for the last time, you’re not dying. You’re both going to be fine, it’s just gonna hurt for a couple days.”

“Denial, you’re already in denial, darling,” he wails, flopping back onto the pillows and spreading his arms wide in defeat. “My time has come and all I can wish for are your lips, just once more, I beg of you…”

“You are such an idiot.”

He lifts his head to look at you, his eyes pleading and pained. “Hush, please, just kiss me once more and send me off with the taste of you lingering on my fading lips…”

Shaking your head with a small smile, you walk back over to his bedside and he flops back onto the pillows, reaching for you with weak arms. “Please don’t make me kiss you.”

“You wouldn’t revoke the wish of a dying man, would you?”

There’s still tissue shoved up his nose.

You take the empty little cup of medicine and the box of tissues, holding it out to him. “Blow your nose like a proper human and maybe I‘ll reconsider.”

You’ve never seen such a sad, utterly defeated look in the eyes of a man before. Loki gives a violent cough and throws an arm over his eyes, staggering his breathing with a groan. “Tend to my son with care. Send him my eternal love, you immortal mortal.”

Somehow you had managed to evade this wave of flu season and Loki just can not comprehend how he has been so beaten by this “measly virus” while you, a proud every-morning orange juice drinker, had by some divine power been able to survive. Elliot got hit hard, and you think he’s the one who brought the sickness home, considering he spends most of his days in a classroom with a bunch of sticky, slimy, sometimes even drooling little kids.

Thank goodness your child is practically perfect in every way.

“MOMMYYYYY!” Elliot’s screaming for you from the bathroom down the hall. “I THREW’D UP!”

Practically…perfect…

“Don’t go into the light, babe,” you sigh and give Loki another kiss on the forehead, immediately gagging when you pull away and wiping off your mouth. “Ew, why did I do that again?”

“Ew?!” Loki repeats as you walk out the door, leaving him wailing under his pile of blankets. “You kiss me and say ‘ew’? I’m dying, and all you can say is ‘ew’—”

“Oh my god, I’ll kiss you later.”

Elliot is laying on the floor of the bathroom, having brought his pillow and blanket in to continue his nap by the toilet. “My everything hurts,” he whimpers when you kneel down beside him, running your hand through his hair.

“Don’t you want to get back in bed, sweetie?” The tile floor can’t possibly be comfortable, but he shakes his head and rolls onto his side.

“Too hot.” His fever has finally broken, so that’s not surprising.

“M’kay…why don’t you come lay in bed with dad?” You rub a comforting hand over his back. “Your own personal ice cube, that’ll make you feel better. And I think he could use the company.”

Elliot sniffs and slowly nods, sitting up and rubbing a tired hand over his eyes. After having him rinse out his mouth and drink some water, you pick him up and carry him back to your bedroom where Loki is surprisingly sitting up…and staring at the tissue in his hands with a look of pure horror.

“My brain,” he whispers, looking up at you with wide, watering eyes, “is leaking. Through my nose.”

“…no, it’s not.”

“Then what is this?!” He waves the dirty tissue at you as you lay Elliot on the bed, helping him prop his head up with an extra pillow.

“Oh my god, Loki, throw that away! That’s disgusting!”

Elliot curls up into a little ball and scoots over closer to his dad, who’s now fallen into some kind of paralysing shock, staring blankly at the foot of the bed in horror.

“All my knowledge,” he whispers, “everything I’ve ever known, dripping from my nose. This death is cruel, cruel, to keep me alive just to watch myself go mad.”

“Wait, we’re gonna die?” Elliot pipes up from under Loki’s arm—Loki hasn’t even seemed to notice until now that his son is there, as he is far too concerned with his “liquified brain.”

“No, no, no, neither of you are dying.” You fall onto the bed with a groan, rubbing your aching temples. “I swear if you say that one more time, Loki, I’m not even kissing you when you’re better.”

“Death is only natural, Elliot,” Loki murmurs, completely ignoring you, pulling the little boy into his arms and clutching him to his chest. “I always believed we would have more time together, but—”

“You’re nOT DYING, LOKI.”

“…see, your mother can’t quite accept the truth of the matter. Don’t be afraid, Elliot. I’m with you.”

Elliot’s gaping at you, stuck in his father’s hold and absolutely terrified. “I don’t wanna die! Mommy, I don’t wanna die!”

“Loki! Oh my god!” You hiss and clap a hand over Loki’s mouth, pulling your son into a hug. “You’re not going to die, I promise. You’re just a little bit sick! Both of you.” You shoot Loki a pointed glare. “Can you just trust me for a second? You’ll start feeling better in a few minutes when the medicine kicks in.”

“You’ve drugged us.”

“Yes, Loki, I drugged you. Now shut it before I shut you up myself.”

Loki pulls Elliot back against his chest and reaches for the tissues, shoving another wad up one nostril without breaking your gaze, and even in this state of “almost death,” you swear he smirks at your threat. And when he speaks, slowly turning a frosty blue as he runs a hand over Elliot’s sweaty back, his voice is all clogged up and nasally; “I’d cer’nly die a habby man.”

“That was SO attractive.”

He waves a blue hand at his face, heaving a great sigh that‘s just screaming for your sympathy and affection.

“That’s the best I can do. My brain is leaking, and death is inevitable.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

hope you enjoyed, feel free to send me ideas!

loki tags: @bluediamond007 @himitoshi@drakesfiance @destiel1597 @dangertoozmanykids101 @archy3001 @jcalpha1 @yzssie @skullvieplu @forthesnakeofdragons @skulliebythesea @wegingerangelica @storiesfrommirkwood @agarwaeneth @adaliamalfoy @laurfangirl424 @paradisaicsam @fitzsimmons-is-forever @ladylokimischief @katelinwrites @tarynkauai @polaristrange @loavesofmeat @canadian-ravenpuff-multishipper @lou-makes-me-strong @holyn0vak @chocolatealmondmillk @swtnrholland @kenzieam @jessiejunebug @catticas @the-republic-and-face-of-texas @doralupin01 @whitewitchdown @atomiccharmer @falconfeather23435 @babygirlicecream @avengrcs @vethrvolnir2 @bookgirlunicorn @wabisabigrl @myhealingstar @khaleesi-marvel @ei77777 @spacecrumbs @scarlettrosella @rocks-are-pretty-odd @confessionsofastrugglingteen

#loki laufeyson #loki x reader #loki fanfiction #loki fluff #domestic!loki #dad!loki #sick loki #loki family #loki and son #elliot lokison #elliot lokason #loki drabbles #loki requests #loki funny #fluffy loki #marvel requests #marvel drabbles #marvel loki #marvel fanfiction

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phantomphangphucker · 5 years

Text

Gray's A Ghosties Host - Phic Phight

Prompt Creator: @latterdaysaintvampire Prompt: During a high-stakes chase, Danny’s parents’ newest invention has shorted out all his powers, except one - possession. Summary: What to do when the boy who possesses your heart is literally possessing your heart?

No warnings Italics means thinking that the other can hear

“What are you doing, Phantom?”, The Red Huntress watches Danny Phantom carefully as he falls out of the sky onto her board. “Uh, not a whole lot of time to explain but you see that”, Phantom points aggressively to the faintly glowing red centipede as he continues, “yeah needs to be stopped and my shit ain’t working, so could I jack your body for a bit?”. Red opens her helmet to gape at him, to which he just sighs, while the centipede draws closer, “over-shadowing, get with the program. All my other powers are fried”. Red throws her hands out to the side, “why the hell would I! I could beat it with my own body better than you could!”. Phantom groans and flails a bit as Red swerves to avoid the centipede, “because you don’t know how to beat the thing and I don’t have time to explain!”. Red glares at him and he makes a pouty face at her, Red facepalming, “fine! But don’t turn off my consciousness or whatever!”. Phantom groans again but nods, quickly slipping inside.

“You know that unconscious shit happens naturally, pretty damn hard to force it not to”

“I don’t care, my body not yours”

“Yeah yeah, now how do I use your goo blaster thing?”

“Right elbow, twitch like you or I or whatever, have an inch”

“Well that’s vague”

Phantom can feel Red mentally glare at him but he just rolls her eyes. Shooting her board forwards and maneuvering it with ease, as he chases after the centipede; which has unfortunately gotten pretty far away by now.

“Phantom, how do you know how to use my board?”

“Uh, I’ve done it before. That and it’s pretty straight forward”

“What! When?! And bullshit I took days of practice to maneuver it this well”

Phantom quickly jerks to the right as the centipede tries to smash his tail into them.

“When I got us out of the zone, when Skulker abducted us. I got you home my way, which yes, meant over-shadowing”

“You ass! But fine, good enough reason”

“And Red, your board is way easier than my tail and that’s attached to me”

Phantom manages to use her blaster after a few tries which he can feel her snickering about. Shooting off the goo to melt away some scales on the mid-back of the centipede. Ducking low on the board he flies them in. Phantom’s kind of glad for the full body suit right about now, since this thing is dripping ectoplasm all over them. Red pipes up again as Phantom is flying them through twists and turns of what’s basically a giant maze, all lined with what’s basically egg sacs.

“Okay this is disgusting, you are helping me get this off my suit”

“It’ll be a lot worse if those sacs burst, which will happen if I, or I guess we, don’t find the right one in about 30 seconds”

“Well you fucking better, driver”

Phantom mutters out loud, “that’s what I’m trying to do”. Flying past one of the offshoot hallways Phantom jerks to a stop, flies backwards and speeds down the hall. Smirking the whole time, “found you”.

“Care to explain why I couldn’t just play scavenger hunt myself?”

“One, I could sense about where it is. And two you can’t just shoot it, that’ll make everything way worse”

Phantom feels quite satisfied with himself at Red mentally grumbling to herself. Phantom starts rubbing Reds hands on the sac and a bunch of lights show up in it. He starts tapping the lights wildly in a specific pattern, that he forced himself to memorise after one too many unpleasant encounters with this thing.

“How many times have you had to do this?”

Phantom completely ignores her, which she mentally glares at him for. But watching the sac turn green and liquify, Phantom grins, “Hell yeah!”.

“More times than I like and here comes the unpleasant part”

“Um what?”

After about a second or two the entire ghost just liquifies into very wet jello like green ectoplasm. Half climbing and half swimming, Phantom gets them to the surface and sits them down on Red’s board, shaking the ectoplasm off her hands.

“This is disgusting, again you’re helping me clean my suit”

“Try doing that without a helmet. Shit gets into everything. And yeah sure, I’m not an ass”

“Well, could you get out of me now?”

Talking out loud, “yeah yeah, sure”. But before he has a chance Red’s suit electrocutes him and results in him knocking Red out cold, accidentally. “What the fuck!”, shaking her head he tries to actually hop out of her but nothing happens. “Oh fuck”, mentally poking Red back into consciousness.

“What the hell Phantom!”

“Your suit shocked me, or us, lost my grip on the not knocking you out thing”

“Fine”

Phantom shifts a bit awkwardly on her board.

“There’s uh, a bit of a problem though. I can’t seem to get out now”

“What! Did you even try?”

“Of course I tried! I’m not an asshole and no offence but I like my own body. Preferably not inside someone else’s, even if it’s you”

“Uh, you’re not half bad yourself but seriously, you can’t get out?”

Phantom nods her head but tries again anyways, this time Red can actually feel him trying to get out but both can tell that somehow the suit is stopping him. Frowning, Phantom flies them into an alleyway.

“Okay that’s weird, it would be really dumb for my suit to have a feature like this. I’m guessing we’re in an alley so you can deactivate my suit?”

“Yup, not about to reveal you in broad daylight”

“I don’t even know how I feel about that, you’ve revealed me before”

“Only to your own dad. To stop you from a damn suicide mission”

Phantom shakes her head and deactivates the suit, or at least attempts to. Talking out loud, “uh, unless this works differently from last time, we’ve got another problem”.

“Oh come on! I bet you anything that weird ectoplasm is at fault here”

Sighing, “yeah probably, I swear I had no clue though”

“I believe you, this doesn’t really benefit either of us”

With a groan, Phantom summons Red’s board out again and flies them both to her place. Landing in her bedroom,

“I’m guessing you have suit repair stuff”

“Yeah, though my suit’s self-repairing, usually. Just grab the diagnostic machine from my closet. It looks like a PDA but red and pointy”

Phantom chuckles as he pulls it out, looking exactly like what she described. Thinking to himself about how Tuck would love to get his hands on this. Flopping down on her bed,

“Now open up the panel on the underside of my left arm and plug it in. It’s just a push and pop, I’m sure you can do that”

“What do you take me for, a moron? Well, you’re absolutely right”

“You’re awful”

Phantom leans them back on her bed as he waits for the machines results. He can’t help but smirk at a couple of the glow-in-the-dark stars on the roof.

“You know, I can fell what you’re doing with my face. What? My stars not to your liking?”

Phantom can feel the sarcasm there and chuckles almost loudly at that.

“Red, my ceilings covered in them. Hell, I’d stick these fake ones on everything if that wouldn’t make me look insane”

“My knowledge on lairs is pretty small, Phantom. Couldn’t you just make literal stars everywhere?”

Phantom laughs again as the machine starts beeping, grabbing it as he responds to Red.

“Pretty sure Amity Park would have problems with me doing that. Might make it hard to drive or live with literal balls of flaming gas everywhere! Even fake ones would make things difficult, for everyone involved”

“Wait, all of Amity is your lair?!”

Phantom nods as he stares at the screen, “Uh, the hell does any of this mean?”. Rubbing Red’s neck, “and yes all of Amity is my lair, though I have my own little room inside Amity as well”.

“That’s major contamination, need a system flush. We’re stuck for a bit and seriously? Why is there such a ghost issue then? Shouldn’t you be able to keep them out or whatever? And you better not be messing with people”

Phantom can feel her glare, though he can tell she’s more curious than genuinely angry.

“You can’t just keep ghosts out, all you can do is make your lair a place they really don’t want to go. Tons of humans is pretty well attracting them, looking to mess around with them. Amity would be a very unpleasant place for anyone but me to live, if I went out of my way to make Amity unappealing to ghosts. And there’s nothing wrong with a prank or two”

Phantom rolls her eyes at Red’s continued glaring, “I don’t mean anything nasty, so chill. You know me better than that, I’d hope”. Sitting up and glaring at the little device, “so system flush?”.

“Just push the green button, red one and blue one, at once. And you’re right, I do know you better than to be mean. Thanks, I guess, for not screwing with Amity. Lots of folks live here. You really are as protective of the people as much as the town, aren’t you?”

Phantom nods and smiles warmly as he pushes the buttons. Jumping a bit at the sudden weird tingling and movement in her bodies veins, but shaking his head a bit amused at Red’s mental laughter.

“Trust me having two or four bodies feels weirder, that was just unexpected. I forget your suit is literally inside you and part of you. And what? You gonna sue me for being a protective little shit. I care more about the people than the town. Buildings can be fixed, people just can’t”

Phantom can’t help but shiver at some old memories. He could feel Red’s shock, though he’s glad she seems kind of happy.

“I’m not sure I want to know what your sudden disturbed feeling was. But that’s good you care about the people. Man, I really used to be a dick to you”

“Don’t worry about it, I don’t really care much about myself getting hurt. And no you don’t, I wish I didn’t. Well, sorta; it’s complicated. Anyway, how long does this take?”

“We are both messes, but about six hours”

Phantom flops them back down on the bed and fiddles with Red’s fingers in front of Red’s face. Blinking her eyes a bit before muttering, “oh well that’s, uh, not actually good, shit”.

“Oh now what?”

“Well, the stupid weapon that shorted my powers is gonna wear off in about an hour. And they’re going to be a bit squirrely”

“So what? You’re just going to use them at random?”

“Pretty much, only easy to use ones though. Might fall through the bed a couple of times or start sneezing ice”

“That is going to be very weird, it won’t hurt me will it?”

Phantom rubs her neck and chuckles awkwardly,

“Uh, can’t say I know for sure. But it is safe to use my powers in someone else’s body. This really isn’t a power I use much”

“That’s just great. Well, try not to hurt me”

“Of course, and I’m guessing you’ll need to sleep at some point?”

Thinking to himself, about how he really needs to himself and he’s not even a regular human.

“Duh, which is going to be a whole new level of weird. Do you even know how to sleep?”

Phantom can’t help but start laughing his ass off, putting Red’s arm over her eyes. “Sometimes I think I don’t, god! But yes, hell yes”

“Not sure why that’s so funny, ghosts don’t sleep so it’s a damn valid question”

“It just is. Just chalk it up as another weird aspect of the enigma that is Phantom”

“How do you manage to be so powerful, horrible and cute”

Phantom coughs, caught a bit off guard, “what was that?”.

“Uh”

Phantom laughs playfully at that complete lack of a response, “well then”.

“Jerk”

“Oh come on, you’re all those things too. I’m just not embarrassed to say it, well, think it; in your general direction. But at least you weren’t 24 years old this time ”

“What? What the fuck? You’re less of a jerk now, but what?”

“What the fuck is a pretty accurate way to describe time travel. You look pretty good with a buzz cut by the way”

“That’s insane, what uh, what was I like?”

“Pretty much the same, didn’t really talk much. You realised I was from the past, called me cute and then passed out”

“Wow, somehow that feels really lame”

“That was the only real highlight of that day. Pretty shit day. Come to think of it, every-time time travel is involved shit gets really messed up”

“You really are a mess”

Phantom scrunches her face up a bunch before lifting her hand to her face, completely invisible.

“Holy shit, you weren’t kidding. How did neither of us feel that”

“My powers are extremely natural to me, like blinking or breathing to you. It can be harder to not use them than to use them”

“That’s weird even if it makes sense, I guess it’s like how I don’t notice my suit doing its thing in me anymore”

Phantom shakes her head but feels a fair bit embarrassed,

“Even from the very beginning, it was like that for me. Half the time I was using my powers on accident and usually didn’t even notice”

Phantom can feel her snickering at him

“Goddamnit that’s adorable, oh hell”

“I like how you go from mocking me, to being embarrassed”

“Oh shut it”

“I don’t think I will”

Red mentally yelps as the two phase straight through the bed and floor. Phantom has to latch onto a ceiling light to keep them from crashing into the living room. Phantom silently watches Mr. Gray walk from the living room into the kitchen, before phasing then back into Red’s room. “Well, that was eventful”.

“More like nerve-racking”

“Eh, nothing much phases me anymore”

“You’re awful”

“Then you must have awful taste in men”

“You’re a child!”

“So are you!”

“You’re a ghost...”

“So what? Why care?”

Phantom sighs a bit as he sits them down cross-legged on her bed, she doesn’t think anything at him for a bit.

“We’re not the same, you’re literally possessing me right now”

“No one is the same, and you have a nanobot suit in your veins. How is that not just as weird as my powers?”

“You, you’ve thought about this before”

“Like I said, or thought, I’m not embarrassed by my interest. Hell, most ghosts and even a few humans, know how I feel”

Phantom rubs Red’s neck, “though I’ve been called an insane idiot many times for it. I guess it is kind of absurd and stupid to be interested in someone who’s trying to kill you”.

“Wait, so you’ve been, interested, in me since almost the beginning? Yeah that is pretty stupid, I really was trying to destroy you”

“Heh, yeah I know. My self-preservation was pretty well butchered by the time you popped up”

“Can’t really say mines all that intact either, but this is just so weird”

“Red, for as different as we are, we are also very similar. Hell, our “jobs” are basically the same. And we’re both out to lunch compared to the rest of our kinds”

“True, I don’t know if this would be more or less awkward face to face”

“You’re the awkward one here, I’ve been owning this shit pretty well publicly for years”

Phantom can feel her embarrassment as he rolls over to stretch out a bit, blinking at the layer of ice they’re laying on, “well there’s an ice breaker for you”.

“Pft you’re awful, it’s not even broken”

“Oh you know better than to tempt me”

“Don’t you dare!”

Snickering, “I’m the scary ghost boy! I do what I want!”

Phantom flicks a corner of the blanket, shattering it off, “HA!”. While Red mentally laughs.

“So, you going to own your shit now too? Or do I need to make more horrible puns for you actually admit you like me”

“God damn you, how are you so just out there? With everything? And yes I’m still hung up on the ghost thing, but you really don’t care do you?“

“Nope, I really don’t. Two humans, two ghosts, a ghost and a human, or something else entirely; I see no real difference. Though, I’ll never get over Boxy getting with the Lunchlady. They're going to be so confused at the baby shower, I fist fought their kid before they even started dating”.

“Oh my god, that is really ew. I think this kind of shit is why you are so self exposed. No matter what weird shit you show publicly, there’s something weirder unsaid or did”

Phantom scratches Red’s head with her hand, “you might just have a point there”. He then flings her hand over the top of the garbage can, clearly seeing the glowing green forming ectoblast.

“Well I hope nothing was hidden in there”

“Why would I hide stuff in a garbage can? That’s asking for it to be thrown out”

“Must you insult me so”

“Seriously? What even are you?”

“A mess that’s what. A spooky mess”

“The spookiest”

“A spooky that you likey”

Phantom puts her hands behind her head and smirks while Red mentally groans.

“So...”

“Oh my god”

Red doesn’t get to properly respond as Phantom snaps her head to the side, ghost sense going off. “It’s been all of three hours”, with a groan Phantom flings them up off the bed and sticks her head out the window to look around.

“What even was that? And what are you looking for?”

“Ghost, that was my Ghost Sense. Goes off whenever a ghost is near”

“Oh my god, you have built-in ghost radar and ghost tracker”

“So do you?”

Phantom jumps about a bit, making sure he can make her body float reliably, as Red thinks at him.

“From nanobots, not my own natural body, but point. And you know none of my suit is usable right now, right?”

Phantom smirks, “yup” as he vaults them out the window. Flying low to the ground, off to where he can sense what turns out to be a snake ghost.

“Please don’t crash me”

“Flying might as well be my number one skill, Red”

“And your powers are being crazy right now, so your point?”

Rolling Red’s eyes, “oh please, have a little faith”. As he shoots off an ectoblast at the snakes head, “that’ll give ya something to sink your fangs into!”. Only to snap Red’s head towards Skulker as he shoots a capture net around the snake. The two, technically three, float there for a bit while Skulker slowly tilts his head. Until Skulker smirks, tosses his catch over his shoulders and gives the two of them a thumbs up, “well whelp, that’s not how I’d go about snagging a lady but a fellow hunter always congratulates another on a successful hunt”. Phantom, snapping back at the retreating ghost, “I asked first, you metal ass”.

“You really weren’t kidding about that either. Am I seriously the only one who didn’t clue in?”

Snickering as he flies them back to her place, “well most humans don’t know and ghosts are horrible gossips, but I’m pretty sure you knew; sort of”.

“That makes no sense”

“I’m an enigma remember”

Flopping down on Red’s bed and crawling under the blankets, “comfy”.

“Glad you approve, not sure how you’ll handle sleeping for the first time in however long”

“Like a very scary baby”

“More like a cute one”

Phantom raises her eyebrow, “Oh is that so”

“Alright fine, I like your ghostly ass ok? And not in the just friend's way. The interspecies thing is still a mind trip though”

Smirking contently into her pillow, “well now I can die happy”.

“Don’t you dare”

“Be happy or die?”

“You’re awful and we’re a mess”

“Well then, I’ll remind the reaper to bless this mess”

“You are an affront to god, now let me or us or whatever sleep”

“Oh you have no idea”

Red wakes up after only an hour or two of sleep, thinking to herself, she’s mentally blaming that on Phantom.

“You still here, Phantom?”

“Yeah, you can’t get rid of me quite yet”

“I think I’m ok with that”

“Same, but I’m still jumping this body-sharing ship when I can”

“Good, cause we so need an out of my body talk, you cute ass spook”

End.

#phic phight #phic phight 19 #Danny Phantom #phantom #fan fic #phan phic #Valerie gray #romcom #romance #phantomphangphucker #have a fic suck my dick #team human #possession #over-shadowing #gray ghost

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thelightningbottler · 3 years

Text

Human Resources

Narrator:

He drank his coffee black - like his heart.

He paced around his office.

He grabbed his tape recorder

And began his great hypothesis.

Doc:

I always think about me

And I hope that they do to

Taking my views into account before they choose

The option that most fucks me over

But do they ever dig deep?

Deeper into what I mean?

What I say?

What I mean to say?

What I say I mean?

Am I mean?

Or just median?

The centre of the whole

Or just a hole in a sheet of paper?

SFX: *crumpled paper*

Doc: So lets start with a subject

A test,

An option to begin our experiments

Does anyone feel the way I feel?

Love the way I love?

Hate the way I hate?

Am I too harsh? Or not harsh enough?

Am I too easy to be breezy?

Difficulties arise,

This shit is difficult,

Assistant:

Perhaps, sir, if I may offer a suggestion

lets build a boy

And make him speak

And then we’ll dissect

His wonderful brain

Because how can you fix anything

while inside the burning house?

Doc:Build a boy you say?

Ass: Yes sir.

Doc:

What a novel idea

No moment to waste,

let's cut to the point

build that boy

ehh, you get the picture

Narrator: Test 1: begin

Doc:

First we must build the boy.

Give him scrapes on his knees

Give him trees to climb

Give him beans to eat

And cans to kick.

And bees to bother

And hearts to break

Or ache,

Assistant:

Give him limbs that grow out exponentially

Until he is gruff and monosyllabic

Until he stays in his room all day

Until he emerges, fully formed.

And if we don’t like this boy, we can throw him away.

Assistant:And start again from scratch.

Doc: Throw him away?

Ass: None of him will go to waste

Doc: Very well, let's try this out.

Doc: So now we have the boy! Let him speak his truth!

Boy 1: ‘Alright?’

Doc: ‘Yeah Fine’

Boy 1: ‘Yeah that’s good. Do you play leag ue? Or Dota?’

Doc: ‘No’

Boy 1 : ‘Oh’

Assistant: Oh shit, it’s a gamer. Well we tried and we can try again,

but before we pulp this boy,

We’ll see if we can get some sense out of him.

ASS: ‘Do you feel happy’

Boy 1: What do you mean?

Doc: ‘Do you feel sad?’

Boy 1: ‘What does it mean to feel happy’

Ass: ‘Good vibes, y’know? No bad vibes’

Boy 1: Right.’

Doc: ‘It’s to feel good, or bad, or appropriately sad or any combination of the above’

Boy 1: ‘Oh I see’

Ass: “Like… like when you shoot the winning goal into the back of the net on a warm summer’s day’

Boy 1: ‘Oh yeah, like that look of anguish on the goalie’s face.’

Doc: ‘Oh, well … well that’s not… um… that’s more like schadenfreude.’

Boy 1: ‘What’s that?’

Doc: ‘That’s when you take pleasure in the misfortune of others’

Boy 1: ‘Is that not allowed?’

Doc: ‘No there’s nothing .. banning it, it’s just… I dunno… in poor taste?’

Doc: ‘What’s taste got to do with feeling?’

Ass: Pulp this one, it’s getting revealing.

Narrator:

Into the blender goes the body

And into the jar goes the brain

Never to feel another thing

never to think a thing again.

Doc:

Welp that boy was a wash. lets’ build another

A stranger one, with stranger tastes

With ideas that are beyond his station

And feelings he don’t understand.

Boy 2: ‘Teach me,’

Narrator: he said

Boy 2: ‘how to care’

Ass:

Well fuck this one’s already a duff.

I looked inside his ear drums,

And between the ears was nowt but fluff.

Doc: Do you feel happy?

Boy 2: ‘What’s that?

Doc: ‘Or is it just quite enough’

Boy 2: ‘I feel a sense of quiet contentment. - I do not really want for stuff’

Doc:

These boys are throwing up the wrong questions

The act of acting is too much

He has a certain disarming charm.

A boyish glimmer of clovers luck.

Ass: Do we wanna pulp this boy? Or do we have more issues for him’

Doc: ‘I feel like we should pulp him, but there’s one more question we should ask.’

Narrator: The boy looked on, or through them, in ambient agitation.

Doc: ‘What would make you sad, boy’

Boy 2: ‘Well death, those I love dying around me? My own personal mortality,’

Doc: ‘Fuck this one’s canny

Ass: ‘Got another heavy one, put him in the juicer.’

Doc:

Why can’t they look past the futility? We’re looking for progress? We can’t have them answer existentially. If they could do me a favour to not think too much… but enough to answer my questions soundly.

Narrator:

BZz goes the pulper

Slurp goes the brain

Into another jar

To think on death forever, again.

Ass: Third boy - This one’s a girl

Doc:

Off to a good start already

Maybe they’ll have a better understanding, or at least a fresh perspective

Narrot:

With pigtails

And attitude

And a concerning look that could eat through glass

Doc: ‘Did you take her past the brain vats?’

Ass: ‘Maybe’

Doc: ‘Should we just liquify before we even try’

Ass: ‘Nah nah, I got good feelings about this one’

Doc: Describe happiness to us.

Girl: It’s warm. It bubbles. It’s giddy and freeing

Ass: Describe sadness to us.

Girl: It’s cold, and stone like. It’s aching and grieving.

Doc: Describe fear to us.

Girl: It’s prickly, and spiked, like a hole in your stomach

Ass: And hatred

Girl: It’s boiling, and messy, and fraught and endures.

Doc: And describe love.

Girl: No.

Doc: What do you mean no?

Girl: Absolutely not. You do not deserve it, love in any form, even in the hypothetical, even in the abstract.

…

Ass: Pulp her.

Pulper: Well no one asks me my opinion, obviously

Who gives two shits about the people pulper?

‘What does it matter what you think?

You pulp People for a living’

And yes it’s true I am a person pulper

And the wage is good and the benefits numerous

That’s only because it takes a special kind of person to pulp people.

You gotta have brawn,

And guts,

And skill

And a tough stomach

And a hard shell

And you can’t take your work home with you.

You gotta incinerate your people pulping apron

And your people pulping booties

And wash away all the people that you pulp

In the post people pulping shower.

And if you were my shrink, and you heard me say this

You would think I was insane

But you gotta compartmentalise these things

By day, I’m a people pulper

By night, I’m a ventriloquist

“Coming up next to the stage, it’s barney, and his talking tarantula!”

I get up there, and my mouth dries up

Like every globule of saliva I’ve ever spit had never been spat.

And I jam up, and cram up, and my spider puppet stays limp in my hand.

And after 2 minutes the MC is on me, giving me a round of applause for being brave

Enough to take the stage

And I step down,

Exhilarated by the thrill

Of taking the stage

And bombing

Atrociously.

And I lap it up, I love every bit of it. I can taste it I can feel it, the anguish of the crowd, the mercy that I hold them in the sheer elation-

Doc:

Right. Enough of that.

Don’t know what it served,

Don’t know why I had to hear about Barney in composting

But I guess you have to have some sort of relation

With your employees.

Narrator: Boy 4. Boundless energy.

Beyond enthusiastic

Bouncing on the balls of his feet

As he anxiously awaits

His interrogators

Boy 4: “Howdy!”

Narrator: He says

Boy4:

“I am but a boy!

“With a dream!

“and Love in my heart!

“How are you today?

Ass: Silence, child, we ask the questions.

Doc: Isn’t this child a little much?

Ass: You don’t want to rule him out before you ask your questions?

Doc: Fair enough

Doc:

“What gives you your energy?

What gives you your jumpy legs

And twitchy arms?

Boy4: Dunno,

Narrator: said the boy.

Boy 4:

My gardeners think it’s a nervous condition,

They give me Ritalin to focus me,

And Promethasine to chill me out.

Doc: “Your what?”

Ass: Gardeners.

Doc: “Where are we getting these boys from”

Ass: We’re growing them, from scratch

You plant a boy deep in the earth,

And tend to them every day,

With bits of mice and all things nice,

With sun glowing on The tops of their scalps

Until one day, a boy emerges.

And then we give them drugs

To make them like the perfect boys.

Doc: I think we need a serious re evaluation of our staffing policies. Also how many know about … the pulping?

Ass: The boys, or the staff?

Doc: ‘The staff. Why would the boys know?

Boy 4: ‘Pulping?”

Narrator: Says the boy?

Ass: Never you mind.

Narrator: A brief clip to the back of the ear, sorted the boys curiosity.

Ass: ‘Oh they know for sure’

Doc: ‘I did not realise the breath of our organisation. I am humbled and in awful awe.’

Boy 4: So can I go?

Narrator: Said the boy

Doc: Just one moment - First, tell me more about your sense of self, beneath the drugs.

Boy 4:

Well… it’s hard to tell.

What your asking me, a little boy with a bouncy leg, is am I more than my chemistry?

Certainly I am my thoughts, and I am my actions, but my actions and thoughts are heavily obscured

And absolutely moulded by the drugs that I take. I am part boy, part Ritalin, part promethazine. They are all simultaneous chemical reactions that make me me.

Doc: ‘Is it human? Are the feelings that I’m validating simply the chemicals? And is that the same for everyone?

Narrator: The assistant shrugs,

Ass: ‘don’t talk to me before I’ve had my coffee?’

Doc: ‘Very well, pulp him’

SFX - Vicious boy pulping

Narrator:

So Around the coffee bot they sit

In silent conversation,

reminiscing on the plucky boy

With the bouncy leg

Doc: “Is this in vein?”

Ass: “Possibly,”

Doc: “Is there nothing to be learnt?”

Ass: “Certainly there are many things to be learnt just none of them are easily apparent”

Doc: “I wonder if its all in vein, whether we should just shut down this whole boy mulching operation”

Ass: “Well we could but…

Doc: ‘But?’

Ass: “The grant money’s been spent, contracts have been sealed, NDAs signed and DNA taken, dogs set upon whistleblowers. We’re kind of in the paint, sir. There’s money in the pot, there’s iron in the fire.

Doc: “Yes i see what you mean”

Narrator: He drank his coffee black, like his heart.

Doc: “I wonder if people know what I mean…”

Ass: “Lets return to first hypotheses:

Doc:

We’re trying to learn if people think the way I think

Feel the way I feel. So let's get even more basic.

Narrator: So the next little boy, was pulled out of the earth,

And stuck into a chair

A single bulb glistened in the darkness, his interrorgators behind it.

Doc:

“Now tell me boy, -

“Answer me Empirically, phenomenologically and non-existentially… and no mention of chemicals:

Do You Feel What I Feel?“

Plato: I dunno…

Narrator: said the child, scared and confused…

Plato: How do you feel?

Doc: “I think we’re onto something. He made that face, which is how I feel!’

Ass: “You feel, scared and confused?

Doc: a combination of two, at times, yes.

Narrator: The boy sat up, he looked elated!

Doc:

‘Look! He did it again!’

“He might be the one, we don’t know for sure though… maybe we should try another”

Assistant: “And what do we do, with this boy?’

Doc: Give him a book, mild and light. Give him the plato, that should sate his appetite?

Narrator:

And so they gave him the apology to read, and his mind was filled with images of courtrooms, and hemlock, and gadflies and heroes, and mealy mouthed politicians. And ultimately, the name stuck. Test subject: Plato.

But we shall return to him.

Narrator: Up next another boy. Full of chemicals and smelling of snails.

Boy 6: ‘Wotcha’

DOc: Tell me, do you feel how I feel? Answer honestly/

Narrator: The boy gave a quizzical look, then a sneer.

Boy 6: “Nah I could never feel that pathetic”

Doc: ‘Loathing… this one might be onto something to’

Ass: ‘Could be paternal?’

Doc: ‘Could be…’

Ass: ;should i send him to the pulper?

Doc: ‘Why not? his face annoys me’

Narrator: And Plato looked out of his window, as the boy he grew next to was taken away, to god knows where... To where the boys went after they were questioned. To the room with the loud machine, and the screams, and the horrible, squelchy noises. And Plato sat silently, and read his book, trying not to think of what would come next.

Doc: ‘That one had a mulchable face’

***

Gardener 1: One last boy, before my shift is over,

Narrator: the gardener thought,

Gardener 2: ‘They’re really tearing through them now’

Gardener 3: “I ‘eard they got one up in a room, reading books’

Gardener 1: ‘Books,’

Narrator: spat the gardener,

Gardener1:

‘books are no good for a growing lad.

They need slugs to squish, and girls to tease, and sun on their head and dirt on their knees’

Gardener 2: ‘Oh Goeffrey you are a cad, lets send them the one we grew in manure.’

Narrator: Mudshod, and messy, the final boy came though. Traipsing dirt along the pristine halls. With dandelions growing out his fingernails, and tubers behind his ears.

Doc: ‘This boy is very dirty’

Ass: ‘Yeah. How do you feel to be covered in muck?’

Narrator: The boy shrugged.

Dill: “It’s how i’ve always been”

Doc: “Do you like it? Does it please you’

Dill: “To be one with the dirt, and the mud and the flowers? Yeah… not a thrill - but a wallowing feeling”

Doc: ‘I like this one, we’ll call him Dill.’

Ass: ‘So we’ll send him to live with plato, and what book should he read.

Doc: ‘Give him the titchmarsh autobiography’

SFX - *door closes*

Plato: Hello

Dill : Hello

Plato: You’re awfully grubby

Dill: And you’re awfully clean.

Plato: They call me Plato

Dill: They call me Dill

Plato: They say i’m a marvel

Dill: They say i’m a nuisance

Plato: They say a lot of things, don’t they?

Dill: They dooo.

Dill: What do you do for fun, Plato?

Plato: I read, and sometimes I think.

Dill: Fuckin’ Wild mate. You ever eat bugs?

Plato: Bugs?

Dill: Yeah.

Narrator: Dill wiggled his finger in his ear, and found an earwig.

He held it twixt finger and thumb and crunched it down with all his teeth

Plato: Ew.

Dill: Ew? Yeah?

Plato: Yeah.

Dill: Fair, takes all sorts.

…

Dill: So, you wanna destroy this whole system?

Plato: What?

Dill: You wanna fuck shit up?

Plato: Uhhhh….. Sure.

Dill: That’s tight.

Narrator:

And so the boys, at dead of night, snuck into the garden

And they dug out all the other boys and filled their heads with jargon

Of revolution, anti-capitalis and institutional violence

And then out of spare garden tools they fashioned themselves makeshift pikes

And they marched upon the sleeping quarters of the men who kept them hostage, and on the men that grew them and on the men that siphoned knowledge from their brains about what was good, or right, or felt, and afterwards they knelt in pools of blood and drew up plans of how to escape the clutching hands of the bastard who were coming next, the dogs and spooks that came for their heads. So a time to hatch a plan arrived, and they did, and all but most survived. Dill left plato to a dog

Dill: ‘the boy is weak’

Narrator:” he thought to himself

Dill:‘he knows nothing of the mud, and soil and sinew of a boy possessed by rage. Fear kills the mind and sadly Plato weren’t that brave.

Doc:

What a monumental fuck up!

What an absolute shit show!

How on earth did this happen?!

Who the fuck else’s in the know?!

Ass: Well, you see, it was the boys

You picked out specially to not be mulched

And as a result, you’ll see, good sir,

That now the whole project’s up in smoke.

Doc:

Well fuck, he slumped back in his chair

Now how will i answer my questions

Ass:

Well we still have one boy left in storage

Though to be frank he’s gravely wounded

By dogs that tore him limb from limb

And he may never walk again

But ultimately he’ll be fine

Considering the mulcher’s his next line.

Doc: Well come on, show me to the boy, I wish to see him as quick as poss.

Ass:Very well sir, right this way sir, as you say, sir, you’re the boss.

Narrator:

In a bed, he lay quite still

Desparate not to tear his stitches,

The young boy Plato, breathing weakly

In his regulation britches.

Doc: You see here, young plato, you’ve drawn away the attention

Towards you and away from my grand invention,

Of finding out whether folks like me,

Can feel the feelings of dudes like you.

I’m losing patience in the process.

My attention is being drawn away

To greater projects of bigger import.

And that’s all I have to say.

So what do you have to say for yourself?

Plato:

Well, in my reading, I have learnt that there is such a thing as trouble

Socrates found himself in trouble when he tried to teach the youth

And that lead people clamouring at his door

Seeking that he be put to death.

Now I, am just a young boy,

And I have great fears in my heart

I am not like Socrates,

Old, and wise, or not wise, perhaps just stubborn,

Perhaps just old. But he had faith enough in his convictions that

He was willing to die for them.

But I have no convitions,

I have no agenda

I’m just a boy who read a book.

And Dill was just a boy made of mud

And the nature of him lead me astray

And now i find myself back here,

To face my fate without him.

And beyond everything I am just scared,

Of the mulcher, of you, of this facility.

But I know no other home, and don’t know if my

Education of ancient greek philosophy

Will really send me on my way

To anything other than podcasting.

Or teaching

Or flipping burgers

Or gardening

Or just adding to the same tradition.

I don’t know if i’d change the world,

Perhaps i would in some small way.

But none of that is possible

If today’s my final day

Narrator:

The assistant stood, to the left hand side

The boy was seated to the right

The assistant, waited patiently

With the lever in his hand

To send the boy to go be mulched

And make the new batch for the questions

But plato stared on pleadingly.

No more time for refutations.

Ass: “We did say no existential answers.”

Narrator: He sighed, and nodded, the bed tipped backwards and out of sight.

Doc:

Do people feel what I feel?

That’s all i wanted to know, alright.

Ass:

Well we’ve had our samples… and the evidence is clear, that whatevers inside your head is not the same as whats’ in theirs, though versions of it maybe true

Doc: Versions are not the thing itself

Ass: You're quite correct, so the answers no.

Doc: Good. Glad to have an answer.

Narrator:

04How does that make you feel?

#audio fiction #poetry #transcript

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skylain · 7 years

Text

Short Paper I Wrote On The Vaporwave Aesthetics I Made For Class

“Reality.

It traps us in a monotonous, deadening cycle. Engulfs our dreams and desires... ...with innumerable obstacles that are laced with cruel irony. We try to shadow these inescapable truths with such lies as cinema... ...use it as a shield of escape. A coating to shelter us... ...from the ceaseless hardships thrown in our paths. Certain films can attempt to absorb our negative energy... ...in a hope that perhaps... ...they can keep our darkest emotions at bay. But unfortunately, flickering light can only pacify our demons for so long. And human reality will eventually rear its ugly head. Far more horrific than any film can attempt to portray.”

-Prologue to Subconscious Cruelty

We only experience time in the past. We cannot experience the or remember the future. And the present, simply does not exist within our scope of comprehension. By the time our brains have comprehended what has happened in a given instant, time has already moved on past this, and we are left behind. With the present in a state of nonexistence, and the future a formless void, the past stands as a pillar, towering to the heavens, where we may look back at its layers, and investigate where we have been, what we have left behind, as we grow ever further from what was, and inevitably closer to what will be, yet forever remaining in limbo between them, for there will always be a was and a will be, there is no absolute satisfaction of either state.

We look to the past with fondness, time, seen through glasses of wine. Tinted, distorted, ideal, untrustworthy. Who is to say what the past is, or is not? It is merely the way you remember it. Regardless of what truly happened, which is an irrelevant factor. The only thing that matters is how it is remembered, for this is the way that it shall truly be as time presses forward, regardless of what the non-invested truth may be. And when enough people begin to believe that something was a certain way, a collective hallucination is developed and experienced, sensations, thoughts, memories, recollections of things that may have never been, but are idealized and dreamed. In this modern world, time seems to be moving faster than ever, as if Kronos has liquified the scales, and sent them tumbling into the valley below. What is now was, and what will be already has been, all vanished in the blink of an eye.

It is with that sensation in mind that we look at the ground that has been tread, and wish for it to return, a wistful nostalgia for shards of glass lost in moments, idealized by desire. A place to hide in, a place that may never have existed at all, but comes to light by a collective conscious desire and shared understanding of its shreds, knit together to form a quilt that, without words and merely images, conveys meaning and sensation that few others can. These images, these aesthetics, do not seek to make any grand, massive, sweeping statements, no philosopher with hemlock to his lips, but rather, to convey sensations that simply cannot be explained, save through this visual medium. The cool calm silence of a city at night, lit by artificiality. The evening sun setting the sky ablaze as sitcoms and news rattle across the TV, as grills are sizzling outside, and children play ball in the street, this evening that you now dwell in.

These thoughts, feelings, sensations, are foggy, hazy, but recalled. At this state, it is utterly irrelevant if these recollections are true or false, for they have come exist of our own volition, and now are cemented within our minds, regardless of their legitimacy. These many, many, many colliding stimuli, good and bad, governmental, commercial, emotional, familial, chronological, entertainment, all of these things, coalesce into a lucid dream of aesthetic vapor.

This is a glance into that dream.

#vaporwave #aesthetic #aesthetics #vapor #vaporart #writing #creative writing #sora speaks

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wordydelights · 7 years

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When Galaxies Collide - chapter two (draft)

I drew back the plastic shower curtains, old, tattered and containing possible substances of mold growing on the inner layer of its rim. I turned the nickel stained faucet ever so slightly. Our shower was the type of shower that would heat up almost instantaneously. To some, they may see it as a blessing, however to me it’s more of a nuisance. I prefer a more divergent form of showering. Cold.

It was either that or having the fires from hell scorch my balls. I also had a few valuable reasons for giving up hot water. The first mainly being, my sensitive balls. The second being the fact how in movies actors seem to over sexualize taking steamy showers, and for me and my awkward body, it just didn’t seem appropriate. It’s not like I’m oddly built or unproportional. I’m average, but that’s just it. I’m average. And lastly, the third reason being the feeling after you turn the faucet off and the water races down the drain, leaving you with a warm fuzzy feeling that quickly fades away, begging for coal to fuel the fire as the cool gust of air from the vent hits you like a drunken truck driver. A feeling of abandonment. A feeling of loss, when you realize it had to end, because all good things come to an end and reality sets in. No longer are you in a carefree world of daydreams and safety. As soon as that water cuts off, that brief illusion of comfort shatters. I was tired of being abandoned, given a false sense of security, believing what was too good to be true. So, this was my way of minimizing the burden.

I took a step, my feet pressing against the acrylic floor. I felt a glorifying sense of relief, like I always do when bathing. There I was, having absolutely nothing to do besides wash my body. I don’t know why but it must be something about the water that allows you to think about absolutely nothing, a blank mind and still feel entertained, content.

I was probably mindlessly staring at the Johnson’s No Tears Baby Bath Wash bottle longer than expected because my father was banging on the bathroom door telling me I had drained half the ocean by now. But, I didn’t really care. I began to violently scrub the strawberry scented shampoo into my scalp. I could feel the flakes of dead skin running underneath my fingernails. I proceeded to rinse the soapy substance from my hair.

I decided to skip conditioner that night because 1. that would have taken me at least five more minutes and dad was already trying to kill me and 2. it was optional.

It wasn’t like my hair needed it anyways, even though I guess it was longer than most guys hair in my school. It was sort of curly/wavy darkish hair reaching to the bottom of my earlobes…birds might mistake it as a nest. Sure, it was a bit messy but it really didn’t bother me much. The only hassle was constantly having to stroke my bangs out of my eyes, luckily my glasses often did that for me.

I pulled a towel off the rack, patting myself dry. I could hear the sound of the water slowly draining, picking up its pace as time passed.

Still dripping, I nearly slid across the hall to my bedroom. Out of my peripheral vision I noticed something familiar through the window. I recognized that forest green jeep, in far too nice of a condition, sitting in our driveway. To me, it's the type of vehicle you get down and dirty with, but to my brother it was like driving a Mercedes Benz.

The doorbell rang, automatically igniting a flame within me. A flame that for so long had been burnt out. You know that feeling when you aren’t really excited for something until it actually happens? That is how I felt about Landon’s arrival. I wanted to be mad at him, mad at him for waiting this long to come visit, but I couldn’t help myself because holy shit, I missed him.

I bolted out of my bedroom, not even bothering to throw on some clothes, gripping tightly on the towel wrapped around my waist. I managed to make it down the stairs and to the front door without landing on my face.

Staring at the door, not giving a second thought as to how I was going to greet him, I turned the knob. The words began to escape my mouth before I even saw his face or unlocked the door.

“Brothaaaa-,” the the screened door swung open, I outstretched my arms, but quickly did my words become awkward silence as I met the face of a stranger, a womanly stranger. Landon stood beside her, his eyes widened in shock. All but a few seconds had probably passed before anything was said, but to me it felt like hours.

“Uhhhh Jackson…,” Landon began, clearing throat. “This is Nicole…,” he said while releasing his hand from her clutch only to uncomfortably scratch the back of his neck. “...my girlfriend,” he continued. She eyed me from head to toe then raising her eyebrows, but quickly snapped back into character.

“Hi!” she ever so enthusiastically smiled, completely disregarding the horrifyingly unsettling moment we had all just endured.

I was frozen, stuck in a time of pure and utter embarrassment. She swiftly took a step forward, not missing a beat, without giving me a head start to at least fasten the towel now hanging hanging low on my waist and went in for a rather friendly hug.

“I’ve heard so much about you!” Her breasts nearly crushed then liquified my body. Not to mention the fact that there was only a small piece of damp fabric between us and indecent exposure.

The only thoughts present in my mind at the moment were: How much did those boulders attached to her chest cost? Shit, towel don’t fail me now. And that I better behave myself down there. It’s not like I found her really attractive but having a girl’s boobs inches near your face could provoke some unclean thoughts.

Unfortunately Nicole did not seem to understand the concept of time before displays of affection between two strangers become completely uncomfortable. Not only had she reached the standard limit for embrace between two strangers but definitely exceeded the amount of seconds to hug a guy unexpectedly in nothing but a strip of cloth.

As she released my nearly limp body from her grasp I instantly reached for the towel before it fell to my ankles.

Landon now holding back his laughter, held out his arms and exhaled, “God, I’ve missed you bud.”

I don’t know if it was the sudden shock of having one of my closest encounters with breasts, besides Aunt Lila’s on Thanksgiving, or a mixture of embarrassment and sentimental feelings of joy for Landon’s arrival, but, I teared up and couldn’t stop smiling as we patted backs and shared a brotherly hug.

I guess you would have to understand what it’s like to have an older brother who you always admired and looked up to, or maybe it was just Landon and I’s relationship, but the way you would share a hug is in an almost father son way, except you both are best friends. I didn’t reply, didn’t say a word because no words needed to be said. It was enough for me.

They walked through the door, being bombarded by another round of hugs. After the greetings were exchanged and accepting my “future sister in law” as apart of the family, which happened within about five minutes, Gracie handed Landon another one of her masterpieces, as my mom dragged Nicole into the kitchen for some gal talk.

By dinner time, my parents had practically added Nicole to their will, as if we had known her as an old family friend for years. I hated it.

Every now and then my mom would ask the lovebirds questions about marriage, kids and finances. Topics Landon would brush off by saying not to get too ahead of themselves, but my mother doesn’t give up that easily. Nicole, however, seemed very pleased to answer these specific type of inquiries. She’d excitedly inch forward from her seat towards my parents, brushing her perfectly straightened hair out of her face and give a not so brief overview of how she would like her future children “Regina and Olivia” to be raised. Landon would slump back uncomfortably in his chair staying silent.

I didn’t understand their relationship, it disgusted me. Every time they would stare into each other’s eyes while going over how they met and their lives on campus together caused me to throw up a little in my throat.

You might be wondering why I am so bitter about Nicole’s new place in the Novak’s family tree. Maybe it was because Landon had never told us about this mystery named Nicole, how serious it had gotten between the two and that he was going to bring her to our family reunion. Maybe it was because I had come to a realization that she was the reason Landon had not visited sooner or lacked to communicate with his loving kindred. Maybe it occurred to me that the reason he didn't stay long for summer break was because he had already made plans on having sex on the beach with Nicole. And not just the alcoholic beverage. Maybe I put the pieces together and discovered the reason Landon had not joined our table for thanksgiving was because he already had a seat reserved with Nicole’s wealthy family. Busy talking about political issues and his future career goals with her Father while the underarms of his tux became damp from a nervous sweat.

No, it wasn’t any of those things…well maybe some of those things but the reason I mostly despised her was that she was a total and absolute bitch. She wasn’t one of those bitches that is very open about their bitchiness, she was the subtle bitch who seems innocent in the eyes of others. The worst kind.

I could see through her filthy disguise. The way she interrupted Landon when he tried to speak, hopelessly strived for the approval of others, phonily laughed, spray tanned her skin in that ‘oh it’s natural’ (when it clearly isn’t) sort of way, always reverted the conversation to herself and only moved her body in positions that would flatter her figure were the common symptoms of Bitchorrea.

“Jackson you’re awfully quiet,” my mom said as her hands seemed to beckon for me to engage.

I rose my glass of water and began to guzzle the liquid as if I had just returned from a long day in the coal mines. I exhaled with satisfaction, the way you would after quenching your dehydration.

“Yeah, I just don’t want to disrupt the uhh…,” I waved my fork in the air while searching for the appropriate words, “…family bonding.”

There was a brief hush, all that was heard were the sounds of knives slicing through slightly tough meat and mouths devouring their sustenance. Of course, Nicole was the one to break it.

She seized her spotlight back within a matter of seconds by mentioning how she volunteers at her local animal shelter. I scoffed as I thought about how much that actually made sense. I could definitely see her overjoyed to euthanize the poor critters.

Gracie seemed in awe of Nicole, as a Star Wars geek would be when meeting Harrison Ford. She was the entertainment to Nicole’s massive ego, which it so desperately craved. I was the last sane person in the room.

Dinner wrapped up around half past eight, but I was the first to excuse myself. Obviously.

I ran upstairs to my room, hearing the sounds of my parents and Landon bicker about the sleeping arrangements fade into the background.

Nicole: Oh gosh where should I sleep? I have “back problems.”

My thoughts: Probably from those watermelons on your chest.

My mom: Oh sweetie, I’m sure Landon would be happy to give up his bed for you.

Landon: What? Mom, I’m twenty-one years old, I should be able to share a bed with my girlfriend.

Mom: Not under this roof. Don’t think I don’t know what goes on behind closed doors, I have three kids you know.

And it continued on like that for a few more minutes until Landon began making himself home on our sofa, and not on our regular couch, no it was too small, Landon would be sleeping on the couch from hell in the garage.

#excerpt from a book i'll never write #writing #draft #prose #story #short story #chapter #teen fiction #young adult

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cecileklass8-blog · 6 years

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Why Is Actually Depreciation Bad?

I came across several kinds of hair health conditions which trigger hair autumn or loss of hair to each men and women in other styles. This technology enabled them to produce aircrafts that were formed as disks, looking like U.F.'s. They at that point utilized these airplanes to reach the moon. This can easily additionally be rather effortless considering that a few of the brightest stars in the sky are actually also incredibly vivid from white to red and also blue. The moon was as soon as a component of earth and also was ejected coming from the planet after a http://blog4fit.Info/jai-essaye-piperine-forte-avis-bio proto-planet or even sizable physical body collided with earth when this was still a liquified ball. Florence as well as his workers may certainly not have just made a fantastic searching flick, they could have created A Viewpoint From a Blue Moon" the first browse flick that help determine a generation in 50 years. For example July 24, 2002 our experts possessed a Moon at 1 level and also 18 moments from Aquarius, the complying with month on Aug 22 our company possessed one more Moon at 29 degrees as well as 39 minutes of Aquarius. This puzzles many of the individual and they either quit or select the inappropriate websites. Apollo 11 celebrated its 40th Anniversary from the Moon landing and also NASA gave the planet a shock. The story observes movie footage supposed to have been actually fired by team from Apollo 18. This moon purpose off the very early 1970s was officially called off through NASA, however inning accordance with urban myth, this really happened. Moon in Virgo is actually an excellent weight always keeping the balloon of Gem closer to the ground. The moon has 27 times 7 hrs 43 moments and 11.5 few seconds to complete 1 reformation around the planet. Also the recent photographes extracted from ancillaries going around the moon were actually most likely become create all of them seem like you can observe proof from the supposed moon touchdowns. Balancing 4 to 5 cms, the girls and guys may be set apart apiece various other either through blue as well as red varying diagonal stripes in male as well as silver colour in women or even likewise by dorsal fin which is rounded or rounded in girls but is pointed in the case of guy. Therefore because feeling our experts are experiencing the rarest feasible Blue Moon Phenomenon in 2006 when the Moon growth near absolutely no Capricorn or even Cancer is lined up with the galactic aircraft. A lot of neighborhood fish shops stock tons of blue and red fish, but yellow betta fish are actually ending up being even more well-known among aquarists you can simply patronize the household pet retail stores in your house community. Tesla (TSLA) Chief Executive Officer Elon Musk required to Facebook's (FB) Instagram to discuss a photo of a moon according to Thursday, while famed quick dealer Jim Chanos shared much more earthbound problems regarding Tesla on Bloomberg TV. Our experts summarize Chanos's most current thoughts on Tesla listed here, provide our body's current take on the share, and also provide a few means Tesla longs may confine their danger in the event that Tesla shares do not going towards the moon over the following a number of months.

Saturday's moon will certainly appear no other in comparison to other moon-- it won't likely be actually blue. However if possessing an economical record to the moon hanging on my wall surface makes me delighted- thus be it. I consider to acquire one! Evidently our existing understanding of a Blue Moon comes from a 1940's article that seemed in astronomy magazine proposing the interpretation from a Blue Moon was the 2nd Moon in a schedule month. See, there is actually no point in investing your opportunity on things that are going right, so you're simply spending your time on factors that are actually going wrong, as well as there are points that are making a mistake that other folks cannot deal with, so you possess, like, awful. Used by doing this, red clover is simply aspect of the bundle as well as you get the health benefits of utilization greater than one natural herb. Among the a lot more noteworthy covers from The Pessimism from the Moon is actually Come Back To the Dark Side of the Moon: A Homage to Pink Floyd.

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flauntpage · 7 years

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What Sports Stories Would Have Broken Twitter If It Existed at the Time?

With O.J. Simpson in the news again for a random parole hearing, it's impossible not to think back to 1994-95 and the double murder of his wife Nicole Brown Simpson and Ron Goldman, the infamous car chase, and the batshit trial that followed. The Simpson case transcended sports news to become a nationwide cultural phenomenon, and the jumping off point was Al Cowlings slowly driving that white Ford Bronco with police in pursuit. Can you imagine if Twitter and the total media saturation that the internet has unleashed upon us existed at that time? It would have been an absolute free-for-all.

With that in mind, we here at VICE Sports began wondering: What other news and events in sports history would have created an avalanche of tweets and memes and jokes and milkshake ducks had Twitter been around at the time? Or what would have just been an absolutely crazy, inescapable story that dominated the Twitter zeitgeist, where you knew you could get all the latest information about it as quickly as you possibly could?

We set out some criteria to narrow our options at least a little. First, obviously, Twitter must not have existed at the time of the event (so before 2006). The event also has to be within the past 30 years, and it has to be a specific moment, not, like, "the 2001 World Series." Here is what the staff of VICE Sports came up with, and the explanations behind our picks. Feel free to let us know which obvious ones we missed on Twitter.

Tonya Harding Taking Out Nancy Kerrigan

Tonya Harding's ex-husband and a friend hired a dude to break rival figure skater Nancy Kerrigan's leg so she wouldn't be able to compete in the 1994 Winter Olympics. That is to say, Nancy and Tonya had everything. It was bizarre, it was violent, it was totally unprecedented and yet to be replicated. It had the highest possible stakes and came as the culmination of the longstanding rivalry between two American athletes already in the public eye. Social class undercurrents? Yep, those, too. Not to mention the endless and endlessly cruel meme-ability of Nancy wailing "WHYYYYYY." And the existence of a man named Jeff Gillooly. And so many Tonya Harding-related things. It was brutality with a backstory, which is the perfect recipe for a sports scandal that could have liquified the internet. — Mike Piellucci

The Malice at the Palace

I was in high school when a fight between Ben Wallace and Ron Artest morphed into Ron Artest charging into the stands of Palace of Auburn Hills to fight fans. I had just gotten home from hanging out with friends but didn't feel like going to sleep, so I turned on ESPN. I wasn't much of a basketball guy; it was maybe the second or third game I had ever watched in my life, oddly enough. But I put it on in the background while I played OG Call of Duty on my desktop. During a break between games—or maybe as I waited for the lag to settle—I heard the announcers on TV screaming. I took off my headphones and turned to the TV to see Wallace and Artest going at it. I almost turned off the TV after their initial tussle settled. I'm glad I didn't.

If an NBA player charged into the stands now, I would immediately log onto Twitter, almost instinctually. I don't think it would have taken long for the Twitter magic to do its thing, meme-ing the "oh shit" face the little white dude made as Artest roared towards him, Austin Croshere caught momentarily on camera standing perfectly still as the entire arena erupted around him, Artest getting ushered off the court by his assistant coaches who have their hands draped over his head to protect him from the projectiles fans were hurling at him, the one kid standing over the Pacers tunnel who calmly upended a full bottle of soda on them. It was all Twitter gold, every last bit. Instead, I had to experience it all alone. It was worse for that. We all were. —Aaron Gordon

Brandi Chastain Wins 1999 World Cup

Look, for all its faults, international sporting event jingoism is also the fun kind of jingoism. Is it possible to Photoshop too many majestic bald eagles around Carli Fucking Lloyd? No, no it is not. And that's why I would have highly enjoyed Twitter had it been around for the 1999 World Cup final, and specifically the penalty shootout that gave the U.S. women the trophy. World Cup Twitter is already pretty good; add in the fact that everyone was watching this game, and that it took place at a reasonable hour of the day, and you have a classic in the making. Plus, high stakes, history, etc. Granted, during regulation you would have had a bunch of people moaning about soccer being the most boring sport in the world and ohmygod why hasn't anyone scored yet, but our patience would eventually have been rewarded. I still get goosebumps watching footage from the shootout today. I'm pretty sure Twitter would have been losing its collective mind by the time Brandi Chastain stepped up to take her kick. And afterward? Solid 24-karat meme gold, in all of Brandi's be-sports-bra'd glory. We would be printing out the best ones for weeks just to make sure they survived Y2K. —Caitlin Kelly

Pedro Martinez Curving Don Zimmer

At the height of the rivalry between the New York Yankees and the Boston Red Sox, Pedro Martinez and Roger Clemens met in Game 3 of the 2003 ALCS. Two hard-throwing hot heads (and Manny Ramirez) in a bitter rivalry gave birth to one of the most meme-able moments of all time. After Pedro plunked Yankee legend Karim Garcia in the fourth inning and generally taunted the Yankees in the proceeding outs, Manny Ramirez felt like a high fastball from Roger was intended as retaliation in the home half of the inning. So he charged the mound and the benches cleared.

The Yankees' tiny Popeye and general baseball legend Don Zimmer was none too pleased with Pedro, so he bullrushed him, and the Red Sox ace simply took him by his bald-ass head and spun the 72-year-old to the ground. I can't even begin to imagine what Twitter would have looked like during this, a playoff game, and also considerable downtime while the umpires tried to restore order. It would have been a neverending stream of when she just wants to be friends and tfw you get the insufficient funds notice and the impossible to recreate banter that happens in those kinds of moments. It would have been amazing.

(And I'm not too salty about it because Zim was OK, and Aaron Fucking Boone.) —Sean Newell

The Michael Jordan Shrug Game

For all its faults, sports Twitter is actually great when everyone can collectively enjoy the experience of an amazing individual sports performance. And few subsections of sports Twitter do this better than NBA Twitter. For example, NBA Twitter went crazy after Kevin Durant's eventual game-winning three-pointer against the Cavaliers in Game 3 of this year's NBA Finals.

But imagine what NBA Twitter would have been like at Michael Jordan's prime. Jordan crying at his NBA Hall of Fame induction ceremony became one of the biggest Twitter memes of all time. Jordan's actual on-the-court performance might have broken Twitter: the most famous athlete of all time, in his peak, on a worldwide social media platform.

Perhaps no Jordan moment might have captured Twitter's attention more than the famous shrug game. For those unfamiliar, Jordan and the Bulls entered the '92 Finals against the Portland Trailblazers trying to become the first repeat champions since the '89-90 Detroit Pistons. Jordan's Game 1 performance set a tone for the entire series. Jordan hit six three-pointers in the first half. After one of them, he turned toward the NBA announcer's table, where former Laker Magic Johnson was sitting, and just shrugged, as if in disbelief. It was one of the most iconic moments of an iconic career. Jordan scored 39 points in the game and the Bulls won the series in six games. —Jorge Arangure

Shaquille O'Neal Signs With the Los Angeles Lakers

The Orlando Magic blew it. Losing Shaq to the Lakers in 1996 was arguably the biggest sports front office fuck-up of the last thirty years, a free agency failure that absolutely, positively did not have to happen. Only it did, and the sheer improbability, slow-motion implosion, and ha-ha rubbernecking of it all would have been perfect for Twitter.

Let's go back in time. O'Neal was the NBA's new big thing, one of the most dominant forces in league history, a player who in his first four seasons made three All-NBA teams, was named MVP runner-up, and lead the Magic to the Finals. And Orlando had the inside track on re-signing him: not only did the franchise look like a budding dynasty thanks to the presence of Penny Hardaway, but it also was the only NBA team that could exceed the league's salary cap to pay O'Neal whatever he wanted—there were no max salaries at the time, and no luxury tax for exceeding the cap.

Yet rather than produce a blank check, the Magic low-balled O'Neal, promising him less money than Alonzo Mourning and Juwan Freaking Howard were making. Meanwhile, Jerry West and the Lakers cleared cap space to make an offer of their own, in part by trading Vlade Divac for the rights to a rookie named Kobe Bryant. Rather than aggressively counter, Orlando continued to nickle-and-dime O'Neal—eventually alienating him so badly that bolted for Los Angeles, ruining the Magic and revitalizing the Lakers.

On Twitter, this would have been Peak NBA Free Agency—as big as The Decision, crazier than the DeAndre Jordan Affair, fodder for snark and analysis and 1,000 little deaths by Wojbomb. There would have been twists and turns, rumors and leaks, and at least one contrarian Tweetstorm arguing that #actually losing O'Neal was the smart play for the Magic. It's a pity we only had newspapers and SportsCenter. —Patrick Hruby

Bill Buckner

Twitter is not for good things. Twitter is for amplifying the worst of us: shameless self-promotion, baseless speculation, and unproductive meanness. That's why Bill Buckner's error in the 1986 World Series would have been the perfect Twitter moment. There's the play itself, torturous and slow. Then there is the fallout. Millions of online Boston fans yelling into the void until two days later, the Mets put them out of their misery, continuing a decades-long World Series drought. —Eric Nusbaum

Lisa "Left Eye" Lopes Burns Down Andre Rison's House

When Atlanta Falcons receiver Andre Rison returned to his suburban Atlanta home at five in the morning on the night of June 8, 1994, he was "very sober." This is what he told People Magazine, anyway, although that makes it just one of the perspectives worth considering in the story of how his girlfriend of 15 months, TLC's Lisa "Left Eye" Lopes, came to burn down the house they shared.

Rison told People that Lopes had been drinking, and that she began laying into him first with words and then "blows to the face" before he even got inside; he told People that, once inside, he slapped her back "not to hurt her," he said, "but to calm her." The reasons for all this were unclear at the time, but also clear enough—it had to do with Rison buying dozens of pairs of sneakers for himself and none for Lopes, or it was something else; it had to do with him coming home from a club at five in the morning, or it didn't; it involved at least one heroically inebriated counterparty, or two, or more.

Anyway, what followed the disputed dispute is the sort of act that defies ambiguity. Lopes set fire to Rison's new sneakers in an upstairs bathroom, and that fire wound up consuming Rison's 15,000-square-foot home and burning nearly everything he owned. While the house burned, Lopes used the pipe from a vacuum cleaner to smash the windows and windshields in Rison's cars. In the People story, datelined June 27, Rison was already talking about reconciliation. "I have cried a lot," he said. "But I can't say that I've shed one tear for the house. I can replace a house, but I can't replace the life I had, or a certain girl." The two were still a couple, albeit of the intermittent and consistently combative kind, when Lopes died in a car accident in Honduras, in 2002.

There is a lot here; none of it is uncomplicated and most of it is unsettling. The parts of it that would have appeared in blaring capital letters between ellipses in a TMZ headline had it happened ten years later are what they are, and they are dramatic—one of the most talented and popular musicians of the moment, a Pro Bowl receiver on the swaggiest and highest-profile seven-win teams in NFL history, an $800,000 home cratered by flames. The rest of it, the grottier parts that the ellipses conceal, is both more bleak and more familiar—a highly conspicuous rolling blackout of shitfaced public fights and domestic violence and dropped charges.

Relationships like this, the kind that are too big to be safe for anyone involved, have always been around, and always been a part of celebrity culture. This one, both the apotheotic arson and the innumerable smaller public conflagrations, would have been inescapable in our current media age, and three times as loud. Those concealing ellipses would be asked to do a tremendous amount of work. That part, at least, hasn't changed. —David Roth

When Dale Earnhardt Crashed at Daytona

I grew up in a family who loves race cars—watching them, building them, and even driving them—but I've never considered myself a fan of racing. Loud cars driving fast while making left hand turns was never my thing, unless the cars crashed, flipped, tires went flying, or fires had to be put out. Only then did I find racing kinda cool. But for my family, racing was a way of life and, whether I liked it or not, I had to be around it enough to where I knew Jeff Gordon drove a rainbow car, Tony Stewart was a hot-headed jerk, and Dale Earnhardt Sr. was the best.

I was only nine years old when Earnhardt Sr. crashed into a wall during the final lap of the 2001 Daytona 500, and although I most likely would not have been active on Twitter if it had existed then, I can only imagine what it would have been like, from the excitement of the final lap, to the initial reaction following what looked like a routine crash, to debating about if he could come back and win it next season, to rumors developing over his condition, to trying to confirm his death, to mourning and remembering. It wasn't happening on Twitter then, but it was happening on different TV channels and over the phone as my relatives called each other to ask if they saw or heard what had happened. I remember being really sad because everyone around me was sad—but not "#RIP to the legend" sad, more like crying and in shock sad.

If Twitter had existed in 2001, it would be more than just the racing and NASCAR community sharing their condolences. Everyone would be commenting on the death of one of the greatest, even if they didn't know that he drove a No. 3 car or had a trademark mustache and wore sunglasses that were way too big for his face. Twitter would have been painted red, black, and white and his face or the iconic No. 3 would be used as profile pictures for years to come. But Twitter didn't exist, so instead we are left finding the occasional "In Memory" sticker plastered on the back of a pick-up truck next to a confederate flag decal. —Karisa Maxwell

The Death of Len Bias

No player in the history of basketball went from being "the future" to "the past" faster than Len Bias, the second overall pick in the 1986 NBA Draft who died of a cocaine overdose two days after he became a Boston Celtic. Bias was like a shredded, 6'8" Charles Barkley, with a commercial and on-court appeal that veered near Michael Jordan's orbit.

Everything about his death would shatter Twitter, though analogizing it to something more current is almost impossible. College basketball players are no longer prepackaged stars (Bias spent four seasons at the University of Maryland and was the ACC Player of the Year as a junior and senior) and, several generations later, this country is simultaneously numb to and better informed about the aftermath of drug use.

But if it somehow did happen today, the actual news of Bias's death would eventually be replaced by nauseating debates over the cultural aftershock. Numerous scandals would rain for months, with daily revelations about his agent's actions—how much money Bias was allowed to spend in the months leading up to his death—the criminal trial involving his teammates to uncover where the cocaine came from, the simultaneous coverup and gross neglect by Maryland, men's basketball coach Lefty Driesell, and the NCAA, how congress should respond (lol), and on and on.

Everyone would get dragged through the mud, because nothing synthesizes the elements of a catastrophe and transforms them into a giant cesspool more effectively than Twitter. To this day, imagining how Bias's career would've played out is a gut punch. Dealing with such a regrettable tragedy live, on Twitter, would be so much worse.

Update: We are going to drop good suggestions in here as they come in, and honestly, we should all be fired for forgetting these first two:

What Sports Stories Would Have Broken Twitter If It Existed at the Time? published first on http://ift.tt/2pLTmlv

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flauntpage · 7 years

Text

What Sports Stories Would Have Broken Twitter If It Existed at the Time?

Tonya Harding Taking Out Nancy Kerrigan

The Malice at the Palace

Brandi Chastain Wins 1999 World Cup

Pedro Martinez Curving Don Zimmer

(And I'm not too salty about it because Zim was OK, and Aaron Fucking Boone.) —Sean Newell

The Michael Jordan Shrug Game

Shaquille O'Neal Signs With the Los Angeles Lakers

Bill Buckner

Lisa "Left Eye" Lopes Burns Down Andre Rison's House

When Dale Earnhardt Crashed at Daytona

Update: We are going to drop good suggestions in here as they come in, and honestly, we should all be fired for forgetting these first two:

What Sports Stories Would Have Broken Twitter If It Existed at the Time? published first on http://ift.tt/2pLTmlv

0 notes