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kierongillen · 5 years

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Writer Notes: The Wicked + the Divine 41

Spoilers, obv.

After last issue's formalism, this one just accelerates. And, as everything in this arc, everything is a big beat. If everything is a big beat, how do you choose what to spend your space on? What beats really matter? How do you pace it? What can be a grace note and what's a scene? That's what this issue, and the rest of the arc, tends to be about.

This issue has gone down very well. I'll admit that while I absolutely gasped when I got paged in, I suspect it's going to be least favourite of the whole arc. That more says how much I enjoy the rest of the arc. Also, as a friend put it to me, I may be allergic to making people happy.

Let’s get on with this.

Jamie and Matt's cover:

There is, to some degree, a "Who hasn't had a headshot cover?" to this arc. As such, Mimir finally gets his. This is a glorious one – the pinks and blues, work really well, and the circuitboards frame it well. Obviously, Mimir plays a big role in this issue, so it is thematic. As is…

Paulina's cover

I just love Paulina's covers, as her being the regular alt-cover artist on Thunderbolt should imply. This made me want to immediately pitch a kick-ass pop D&D bard comic to someone, Xena Warrior Princess as produced by Xenomania. The names of the swords are the chef-kiss, but there's so much to love. The expression is everything.

Page 1

One page scene, with a modified nine panel grid. The one page scene is something that happens a lot this arc. I did a two-page version, but with the right seven panels, we're sorted. Yes, this is all we see of the de facto antagonists of the series this issue – when last issue was all about them, it doesn't worry me too much.

Page 2

Standard music journalist concept. That the second album tends to be worst than the first. Hard to prove, though my old friend Peter's note that "you have your whole life preparing for your first album and have a year to do your second" does seem to imply an easy explanation.

Page 3-4-5

Stealth mission! It's Metal Gear WicDiv!

We actually forgot to add the flashes to the first panel until the very last minute. Monthly Comics is a hell of a time sometimes, stress the “hell.”

I love the determination of Laura in the second panel of 3. That's great eyes.

Looking at this now, that "I can't do much now" is in a panel smaller than 1/9th of the page says a lot about the scale she's working on. The background was Matt in full trippy mode – I had a friend note that this scene is a little akin to Kohl in Rue Britannia 5 (The difference being Kohl is using nostalgia for a performance, while Laura is just doing a performance) but the moving squiggle does remind me the use of optical illusions in Phonogram 3. Bugs in the optic nerve are our friend.

Panel 3 on 4 is obviously Clayton living large and conquering. When you ask for something like "Can you sample the background and use as a speech balloon" you have no idea if it's going to work.

We could have divided the middle panel into two, but I suspect it'd have been less effective. We've seen the trick before. Now we see the same trick, but different. Mix it up. We're performers.

Hmm. I realise the Norns string of balloons is something I'm doing more often now – it's not something I've always done. I'm normally a one-panel-one-emotion, which strings of dialogue rarely allow (as, if there’s any change of emotion inside the string, the image is rendered ludicrous). In a middle shot, and a strong emotional throughline with the dialogue and I'm more okay with it.

While this whole three pages is an action sequence, it's also exposition for Laura's current state. The best exposition is demonstration, I guess.

I mean, the last panel of page 5? That's how cut to the bone we are. Problem? Solve it. Problem? Solve it. We don't need to fuck around anymore.

Page 6-7-8

And after six whole trades, the reunion between Lucifer and Laura. I suspect a different writer would have played this bigger and more melodramatic, but when the reader knows this, a splash feels overkill, especially with the taut pacing of the rest of the issue. However... there are five panels here. That's a page's worth of content, and enough to give an emotional throughline.

Sometimes when writing it's all about trying to find an honest response which is also unexpected. Like, in life, you think you'll feel sad or happy at certain times, but when you live through it, you don't. Or you don't entirely. What other stuff is happening? That's what rings true to me.

Anyway – that's where Laura's Guilt comes from. Laura at her most Dionysus.

And then Lucifer shatters all that self pity with the wink. Did you miss me? Of course, you did.

Page 7, panel 4 is one of those "a comic panel is not a moment in time" bits of magic McLeod always talks about. As in, as we read across the panel time progresses. The Mimir/Cass conversation is getting on for... 10 seconds, maybe? The teleport signatures do not take that long to appear. It's only with Laura's interruption that panel kicks into high gear.

As Multiversity noted you can easily imagine another draft of this with a bigger fight scene. And it's true – but also lying around was a version which cuts it even shorter. Do we need to really give a whole page to Cass breaking out? I felt so. Without the big beat, it feels flat. And it's good to see Cass let rip.

The slight angle on Jamie's external shot with a Norns black/white plus golden thread from Matt is really interesting. We don't often see the Norns as combatants in WicDiv, so this is a rare chance to give Cass a "Hello, I am a bad ass too, in case you've forgotten."

Page 9-10-11-12

Cripes. Going this and making notes I can't believe how tightly we're winding this and (more so) getting away from it. We did all this in four pages?

Two panels to the escape – the right image and a handful of taut captions to hold you between scenes. The first is doing a lot of work, but the second is just elegant. What do you need but the broken doors? Great stuff by Jamie here.

(Laura's captions do a lot of work here in setting up the themes, and the return of Sakhmet's memory to the story)

If you're wondering "How on earth could we get the escape be quicker, it's to take the first two panels on page 8 and move to the previous page. That makes it a five panel page, which is entirely do-able. That's a cost, but it would have bought slightly more space in this scene. As it is, I preferred to cut mid-page and end with Lucifer's first spoken lines in ages.

Once more, a big reveal in a small panel. Chrissy's note on the script was basically hearts for Luci at this point. Like, the second she cuts to the chase and tell s people what to do...

...and then the page turn, and she just goes full Lucifer. I know you lot have missed her, but I have too.

Getting back to Inanna was also easy, the sweetheart... but it all leads back to Sakhmet. That Mothering Invention was as tight as it was didn't leave much room for Laura to think about Sakhmet, or mourn at all... or, most of all, make it clear the story (and Laura) considers her loss important and real. It's an awful sad panel at the end of the page.

Inanna's voice was easy to find again. He's such a sweetheart. Tara is a little harder, just as I wrote her less, but I've been fascinated by this arc in terms of writing her as an actual character. I think one of the ironies of issue 13 was that it put Tara on a pedestal, and the pedestal is an objectifying as any other cage. Getting her back as a character is wonderful, and she gets to be as messy and flawed as everyone else.

Inanna not knowing ANY of this is hard. That's the problem with most of this arc – there is so much information flying around, and secrets some (but not all) are aware of. Who gets to respond to what and when? What to remind people of? What to let slide? Inanna not knowing about Baal is so huge it had to be hit and hit hard.

And then... the bodies.

When plotting this and trying to work out how I could get the cast – oh god, this is not a deliberate pun, but it's also clearly a pun - back on their feet, I was thinking of the Morrigan Gambit. Three heads, three bodies. Perfect. Then I remembered Mimir, and swore. I started to think about how that would be a tense, dramatic situation and how the personal politics could play out and I realised that Tara would just turn it down. I then realised that's exactly how the scene would work too.

(In a "tightness" thing, I suspect in another world, this scene would have been two pages. The "and Tara then just butts in" is the key thing, but you could get the timing a little more intricate to sell the moment more – still, even in this page, I could have extended it more, but seeing Tara's elaboration and everyone else's response to it was just key work for them all.)

In passing – Mimir's glowing in the dark in the penultimate panel just wonderful. Nice work Jamie and Matt.

Page 13

From the Sisters of Mercy's song, Marian.

Page 14-15-16-17

Here's where you talk about spending space. What's important here? You need the scale to show what Baph has been doing – and Jamie turns it into something astoundingly gothic. The use of blacks, the use of light and shade. Just the right level of suggestive. It’s one of my favourite bits of composition in the issue.

As the pantheon are getting back together, this leads to an increase in crowd scenes, which are the eternal artist killer. As such, I'm looking for solutions which only involve the absolute minimum of the cast in a scene.

Thee was an awful moment earlier in the issue when I went – wait! Do I have too many heads to carry? Then I realised I was fine. That said, finding places to put them down so we can have chat scenes was also somewhat tricky. The shelf turning up on page 15 is an example. Clealry Baph planned to (er) have a place to keep heads.

Well, I say, Baph, but it's clearly Nergal now. The road from early Nick Cave to late Nick Cave has been a long way. It's a great shot.

To go back to the space, why spend it on this? We’re reintroducing Nergal and Morrigan, and we’re also showing the scale of them in the plot, and the actions of Nergal. Where we go with the bodies is such a big beat, it needs to come from something similarly large. That’s also the reason why so much (relative in the issue) space is spent on the Morrigan/Nergal scenes. Of course, it’s also a key scene for this subplot, so demands space for that. It’s rarely just one reason. Probably a useful time for my usual “these notes are only ever a selection of thoughts.”

This is also a serious pose panel by Jamie.

The “I could bring her back.” He’s an underworld god too. If she could do it, he could. This is something which I suspect some people thought implicit in the old scene, but the final manipulation of Morrigan is unpacked at length in the nine panel grids.

Nine panel grids are a natural rhythm for this – when I was planning the later bit the triple-goddess of it made obvious sense, so it expanded to the whole scene. Also, the cropped image reduces the possibility of a Jamie crowd scene.

I always thought that, given the amount of time the various characters get on film, Ladyhawke could more accurately be called Blokeywolf. I digress.

Page 18-19-20

As said earlier, the triple-goddess to nine panel grid is one of those natural ways to give a stress to each of the elements. You’ll notice the clicks are left then right then centre. I’d originally written it as left to right, before – after Chrissy’s Editorial urging – rewrote to end with the Macha section to go last. Gentle Annie may have been the kinder part of Morrigan, but Macha was the part he mostly dated.

Then, in a moment of weirdness, Jamie actually drew it in the original order, despite never having seen that script. Morrigan has powers, as does the logical necessity of a left to right panelling order. As a nine panel grid, just moving panels around to fix it is easy. Hail grids!

Like most of the big acts of magic, it’s all about emotional sense than anything else. Hence, it is inevitable as Nergal actually does this, the bleak temple he’s constructed starts to crumble. And, in perhaps the most ludicrous bit of me in the comic, The Temple Of Love Is Falling Down. Too much is the bare minimum.

Jamie’s triple-portrait of the Morrigan is pretty startling. I have no idea if Jamie will miss drawing Badb’s hair, but I’ll miss seeing it.

Re-reading this now I’m struck by how low-key it is. That was always part of WicDiv’s magic – the finger click, and then things happening. The Morrigan transformation was usually drawn to be instantaneous – one panel Macha, the next Badb and so on. This kind of keeps to that.

And then… the reveal. That the new bodies isn’t a splash page says everything about this issue, but it still gets the punching the air moment. We had to have one of those eventually. Lucifer in a black suit is one of the things I’ve been waiting as long to see as Nergal in his. I giggled with glee at seeing this. Jamie’s worked in elements of the Morrigan into each of the gods – Lucifer’s red hair is the most obvious one, but Gentle Annie in Inanna and Macha in Mimir also have their notes. Inanna’s netting top is the main one – and note the shapes on Mimir’s armour changing to mimic Macha’s.

Yes, writing Lucifer remains fun and easy. I recommend it to everyone.

Page 21-22

In terms of seeing chat, people responding to the small details in the issue is one of the bigger joys. That Jamie got the Inanna/Nergal hug in the background of this exchange between Laura/Lucifer/Cass is absolutely wonderful. Laura and Cass have come a long way.

This is arguably a small cliffhanger – the smallest of this arc, at least. However, it sits on the weight of the rest of the run. We’re promising a solution to one of the larger mysteries in the run, and I suspect we get by on that. Note how space is used – this is a dense panel layout, but we go to a thired of a page for Laura’s “I know how to end this” (so giving it weight” and then going to three panel page for the conclusion (which adds weight to each of these beats.) Jamie takes the framing to tight on Cass for the beat as well to sell it. Note Matt with the Norn-colouring creeping in – and how it goes from the fires in the first panel to this is just a joy.

Page 23

Interstitial, and obvious reference to the Jay-Z record, but everyone is just excitedly clapping over the adding stuff to the godwheel. Sergio outdid himself here. It’s certainly an example of how you can have storytelling and even hero-shot audience-cheers beats out of things entirely unlike a traditional comics panel. After all these issue,s we get to see something added to the godwheel. Of course people cheer. That said, as I said to a friend, “Of all the things I’ve found to torture the WicDiv readership, hope is the cruelest of all.”

EDIT: Actually, I messed up here - Jamie did the tweaks. Nice work Jamie!

And that’s it. Next up – 42, wherein questions are answered. In passing – the letters we’ve been getting are amazing. I’m going to try and cram as many as I can in the issues to come, but issue 44 will be our last one with a letters page. So that’s a timelimit if you wanna try and get in. It’s [email protected].

Thanks for reading.

#WicDiv #the wicked and the divine #writer notes

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ephrampettaline · 5 years

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chatzy au log with @cassiegermaine, @ephrampettaline, and @joeyvoeman

Cassie heard the gunshots as she was thrown into a nearby car and she and the Skull Boys Leader were sped away from the scene. Cassie sat almost unmoving the entire trip. She didn’t know what to expect from Petal, but a dress shop wasn’t it. Retrospectively? It was a great cover, and Cassie was grateful she wasn’t dragged into some mucky underground instead.

She was placed in a chair in the corner of the store floor, one of the burly Skull Boys tying her hands with rope. It wasn’t extra tight or elaborate, and felt more like show than anything. But Cassie was really surprised when they returned with a small plate dived with saltines and rationed out peanut butter.

“Thanks…for the hospitality?” She squinted, taking the plate and balancing it on her lap.

Petal came over – changed into a different outfit, this time a pastel pink Chanel skirt suit and matching hat – and sat across from Cassie again, hands folded on the skull head of her cane. “We’re not savages, after all,” she said, and the Skull Boy placed a second plate of peanut butter crackers on the small table next to his boss. As well as a bucket of ice and a bottle of champagne, which Petal poured for them both. “Cincin,” she said with a merry laugh, drinking and then selecting a cracker.

Ephram holstered his gun, panting, and hung his hands against his hips as he paced in thought. “There’s only a few dress shops south of the river,” he said, “and most of them let the seamstress girls sleep there. Unwieldy places for holding a captive.” He looked at Joey from below angry, tightly-drawn brows, a spur of searing satisfaction – not enough, not nearly enough – in his belly at the sight of the blood on Voeman’s face. The blow Ephram had dealt him with his gun butt hadn’t been an intense one, but it’d been hard enough to vent frustration.

Joey had taken the hit gladly, honestly feeling as if he deserved it for letting both Ephram and Cassie down. His nose was gushing blood as it sat at an odd angle, but he ignored the tear-bringing pain as he tried his best to formulate a plan with Ephram. “Should we grab backup or try stealth?” he asked. Ephram had been his superior in the war, and he always looked to him for guidance. Joey was very much a follower, and he knew his place. “And the shipment. It’s compromised.”

Ephram turned his head and spat, following it with a string of curses. “Good thing we didn’t pay for those guns, then,” he said, biting off the words. “I’m not about to have tonight be a sweep on Kingfisher losses.” He turned and started back towards Clair de Lune, telling Joey, “Get us a car. I need to make a call.”

Joey nodded, feeling like a little boy in trouble with his Pa. He rushed out of the alley and drove the car with the shipment back to the compound for safe keeping, spending a little time in the bathroom to reset his own nose and apologizing to the maid for getting blood all over the towels before heading back to Clair de Lune with another car, waiting out front for Ephram. God, he’d really fucked up this time.

He bashed his fist into the steering wheel, the release of rage feeling good for the moment. He imagined it was one of the Skull Boys. Whichever one took Cassie. He punched it more, seeing a face slowly turn to mush under his knuckles in his imagination. Then Cassie being so impressed with him she took him back. He got divorced from his bitch wife and….it was all an illusion. He knew this wouldn’t end well for him, in pretty much any capacity.

Cassie carefully balanced her glass of champagne as well, returning the toast and only taking a sip because Petal had done so before her. “If you wanted in with the Kingfisher’s – you didn’t have to orchestrate something this elaborate.” Cassie commented coolly, leaving her crackers untouched. She still hadn’t gotten a straight answer with Skull Boys, but the obvious was this, Petal wanted to lure them away from safe ground. Which could be more disastrous than Cassie initially gave them credit for.

“Where are my children Petal?” She asked, trying to remain placid and calm, but her knuckles tightened around the glass. “That’s something I’m going to have to take personal.” There were guidelines, at the very least, and the Skull Boys seemingly trampled over that one.

Ephram swung himself into the car without greeting, merely barking out, “Larkspur and Camden. There’s a Russian dress shop there."

He’d been damn lucky to get Freddie on the line at all, this random time at night; not lucky enough to avoid having to talk to Wawelski, but that was beside the point. And Freddie’d ponied up a possible location with a minimum of hornpipe dancing required, for which Ephram had the nagging feeling he’d owe his … fuck, his friend and business partner something later. "Do I need to tell you to drive up on it from the back roads, or can you figure that one out yourself?” It was an unkind and cutting comment, since Ephram well knew Joey’s capacity in a tense situation, but he didn’t feel like being kind.

Joey had thankfully gotten all his anger and frustration out before Ephram got into the car, because the last thing he need was the man thinking he’d not only lost his sister, but his own marbles. He didn’t respond to Ephram’s biting comments, simply grunting in understanding as he shifted into gear and headed off. It wasn’t too far a drive from where they were, but long enough for the tense silence to weigh down heavy on Joey’s mind and body, his shoulders hunching with every moment of Ephram’s seething sitting next to him. Finally, they made it to the dress shop, approaching inconspicuously from the back. He parked and turned to Ephram for orders.

Petal leaned forward, flashing a brilliant, pearly smile. “Oh, Cassie! I don’t have your children. I imagine they’re safe as plums in a cake, tucked away in their little cradles.” She sipped her champagne, still smiling. “That was only to get your attention and let you know we mean business. That’s what we’re all here for, right? Business.” She reached out and patted Cassie’s knee, a marquise-cut pink diamond ring sparkling on one elegant, waxen finger. “Yours, mine … ours.”

Cassie knew it could have been a ploy, but she wanted to take it more seriously than not, play on the safe side just in case The Skull Boys had reached out for her kids. They were watching them though. Close enough to be lurking around Addie’s birthday. Cassie tucked the information away for later, ego only slightly bruised that Petal could toy so easily with her. It was the cost of family. “My brother, or any of the Slap Jacks won’t take this as a business venture when they show up.” Cassie warned her. “If you have anything of real importance, you better clear it up fast.”

Petal kept on smiling at Cassie, although it curled a little more at the corners of her mouth. She toyed with the stem of her champagne glass, but then Bosco appeared looming up from the wooden stairs at the back of the room they were in, and Petal nodded. “It seems they’ve arrived,” she said, smoothing her skirt over her knees. “I think given your brother’s proclivities, I might just be able to … wriggle my way out of any sour mood he might be in, hmmmm?” Petal winked at Cassie and put her glass down so she could snug her hands under her Chanel-covered breasts and give them a primping heft.

Ephram had spent the drive sorting out the possible angles of approach, the possible outcomes, the possible pitfalls. But when the engine turned off and Joey looked at him expectantly, he found himself defaulting to what he’d always gone with when he was pressed down to the wire: what felt right in the moment. “Keep your jacket open,” Ephram said, his voice calm despite the low grate of its register. “Let them see what you’re carryin’. We’ll walk up to the back door. I’m sure they’re expecting us, anyhow."

He got out of the car, unbuttoning his own suit jacket so the leather of his shoulder holster was obvious, and waited for Joey so they could walk abreast of each other instead of Ephram in front.

Joey did as he was cold, opening his bomber jacket to show the revolver tucked in his waistband. The same revolver that had killed one of the other Skull Boys only an hour or so before. "What’s the plan if it goes sideways. Gun’s blazin’?” he asked. Usually they weren’t keen on making so much noise if it was uncalled for, but this was Cassie they were talking about. He was sure the two of them would do just about anything to make sure she came back safe.

Ephram muttered, “We don’t have a whole lot of options here, Voeman. We’ll just have to make sure it don’t go sideways."

Two block-shouldered Skull Boys eyefucked them as they approached, but once the Jacks were in hailing distance, one of them said, "Boss lady says you’re to go on up and meet her. Your sister too.” He pointed at Joey. “This hump better not go trigger-happy like he did back at Clair.”

Joey held his gaze with the Skull Boys that greeted them with a stern brow, trying his best not to clench his fists. “Don’t give me a reason and I won’t,” he said, like it was a generous offer.

Ephram let Joey go through the door first, following behind with their boots thumping thread dust from the wooden stairs as they mounted them. “Steady on, Sergeant,” Ephram said sotto voce to Joey’s broad back, once they got a glimpse of Cassie tied up to a chair and the extravagant Petal Popovitch sitting across from her for all the world like the two women had been discussing corsetry and ribbons.

Petal raked an avaricious, somewhat hungry gaze over the two men as they filled up the staircase, giving a pleased hum and folding her be-ringed hands over her knee as she crossed her legs. “Verrrrry nice,” she said. “I’ve seen you before, of course, my dear Kingfisher, but you–” Petal made a little claw gesture at Joey. “Rrrwowr.”

Joey simply glared at Petal as she lewdly ogled him. If it hadn’t been for Ephram’s quiet reminder, Joey would have been liable to pop off at any moment, seeing Cassie tied up like that. At least she didn’t look hurt in any way. “Keep your claws to yourself,” he muttered quietly.

“Ephram.” Cassie greeted the familiar face of her brother in a calm tone, her gaze falling to Joey next. The dimple in her cheek appeared as she smothered the tiniest grin. Mostly because she was laughing at herself, at the whole situation. “Joey.” She tilted her head back at Petal’s more enthusiastic greeting and added sarcastically, “Sorry about my friend. I guess not even all the meatheads on her payroll can keep her satisfied.”

Ephram scanned Cassie quickly before nodding at her, then greeting the Skull Boys boss. “Miss Popovitch,” he said. “This ain’t much of a friendly parlay, now, is it? At this hour of the night and with only crackers and champagne and ropes and abduction to smooth the way.” Very deliberately, Ephram told Joey, “Untie my sister, please, Joey.”

Joey nodded curtly, happy to stride over and do just that. He knelt down in front of Cassie, easily undoing the knot that kept her hands together. It wasn’t a very good knot at that. Joey had tied plenty of people up in his day, and this wasn’t how you did it. “They didn’t hurt you, did they?” he asked in a hushed voice, not able to help himself.

“Don’t worry about me.” Cassie shook her head, brushing off the rope and standing stiffly by her chair still. “Keep wise Joey.” She muttered even softer than before, her head only slightly tilting towards Ephram and the Skull Boy leader. “We’re not out of here yet.”

The cold shoulder from Joey and subsequent scold from Cassie brought a pout to Petal’s face, and she sniffed, rubbing some imaginary smudge from her pink diamond and holding it up to admire as it sparkled even in the low light. “Yes, fine, untie her,” Petal said, “we weren’t intending to keep her, heavens to betsy. This was only a shot across the bow, Mr. Kingfisher. After all, the Skull Boys are capable of also flying governmental colours, if we get the chance.” She kept Joey and Cassie in the periphery of her vision, but Petal’s attention was chiefly on Ephram and the look of sudden understanding that crossed his face at her comment.

Petal leaned back in her chair, settling her shoulders from side to side and causing her bosom to move in all sorts of ways. “So about that parlay, Mr. Kingfisher,” she said. “If you’ve got a moment to spare….”

Ephram met her eyes for a long beat, then turned to Joey. “Take Cassie,” he said, putting one hand on Joey’s shoulder, “and wait in the car for me. They won’t try to stop you. I’ll be along directly. Don’t come back inside, just wait till I come out.” Ephram gave Joey a searching look, willing the man to listen to him and follow his instructions, no matter what other impulses Joey might have. “You hear me? Take Cassie with you and keep her safe in the car. I’ll be along.”

Joey didn’t like this. He didn’t like it at all. Leaving Ephram here by himself rubbed him the wrong way, but at least he was still trusting Joey with his sister, so that was a good sign. He just nodded at the order, guiding Cassie back to the car with no resistance from the Skull Boys, just as he’d said. “What does she want?” he asked once they were out of earshot. “What happened?”

Cassie eyes widened, “What? No!” It was the first time she’d raised her voice throughout the entire ordeal. She didn’t trust Petal, a part of her didn’t trust Ephram’s judgement which spelled nothing but a recipe for disaster. “Don’t touch me. Damn it Ephram, don’t be stupid.” She was glaring daggers at him, they were supposed to handle things jointly.

But Joey guided her out of the room. Cassie smacked him when they were back at the car, and hit his broad chest again for good measure. “Hell if I know.” She grumbled. “She seemed interested in Freddie Watts. My role with Slap Jacks. But she just did a lot of fancy blathering too.”

Joey took his licks from the other Kingfisher this time, his cheek stinging as he listened to her. “I didn’t like leaving him in there either, but what was I suppose to do, Cassie? I already killed two of their goons to find out where they took you.” He’d thought for a moment he’d lost her and his life in well fell swoop. At least he was sure one of those things was safe now. “She’s either dumb as a sack of bricks or she’s got an ace up her sleeve. Either way, I don’t trust her far as I can throw her.” He ran a hand through his short, crop of hair. “Your kids are safe, by the way. I checked on ‘em before we came over…”

Since Joey had posed it as a question, Cassie answered him unflinching, “You do as I say, no matter what.” Being taken off the streets had shaken her just a little deep down, and she was taking her frustration out on Joey, because she could. “Ephram makes the decisions but someone’s gotta be there for checks and balances. That’s me.”

She kicked the tire of the car lightly, glancing back over her shoulder to squint at the upper story window of the dress shop. “They’ve been watching the kids. Who knows how long the Skull Boys have been skulking around for a chance.”

Joey crossed his arms. “And what is it you’d have me do then?” He sighed in frustration. He knew how their partnership worked, but Ephram wasn’t really one to respect it, and it always put Joey in a hard position. He was horrified when she informed him they’d been watching the kids. “I’ll fucking kill 'em if I see them around your kids.”

Cassie huffed, knowing at this point her complaints and demands didn’t mean much of anything. They were outside on the sidewalk and Ephram was indoors with Petal doing god knows what. “I don’t know. But at least I’d get to tell Ephram he was being a fucking idiot to his face.” She grumbled again. Cassie waved Joey off, “Yeah, don’t get me wrong I appreciate the offer-“ She looked back to Joey and his busted up face again, “But let’s keep the bloodshed to a minimum for now. My brother can’t be losing a loyal Jack and starting a war all at the same time.”

“Right. I’ll keep it professional,” he said curtly, slightly mirroring their earlier conversation. He was a bit tired of being kicked around in the moment, even by Cassie, and so he just leaned against the car, striking up a cigarette as he waited for Ephram to return. He looked at his watch, ready to give it about ten more minutes before he charged in there. He tapped Cassie on the shoulder and offered her a cigarette between his fingers.

Cassie rolled her eyes slightly at him, hearing the irritation in his voice. “Take it easy.” Cassie sighed. “You know that’s not what I meant.” She started to tap her heel in an anxious manner as they stood there continuing to wait, and took the cigarette when it was offered. “If Skull Boys really wanna patch it up, Ephram’s clearly listening.” She motioned to the window, before turning so that Joey could light the cigarette for her. After a drag she added, “If it didn’t touch business? I’d let you kill Petal. And if your nose wasn’t all broken and crooked-“ Cassie smirked slightly, “I’d even give you a thank you kiss.”

“Do I?” Joey asked. Cassie, like her brother, was notoriously hard to read. But he let himself relax a bit, the tenseness in his shoulders slouching as Cassie spoke. At the mention of a kiss, he felt himself perk up on instinct, but then he smirked a smirk that didn’t quite make it up to his eyes. Sadness filled his eyes. Longing. Loss. “Don’t tease me, Cassie.”

Cassie shook her head at Joey’s puppy dog like look. Then that plea. The sad thing was, she did like Joey quite a bit. But it would never work. She could steel herself to that fact, but he just couldn’t. “I would kiss you, you lug.” Cassie insisted, taking another puff from her cigarette, “If you didn’t get lost in your fantasies. I wonder how you ever made it to work with the Slap Jacks at all aside from being war buddies with my brother.” She squinted up at him, waving some of the access smoke away, “Kingfisher’s can’t let business and love intertwine. It’s a dangerous disaster.”

“You didn’t have a problem with my fantasies when they involved you laid out under me,” Joey whispered, approaching her from behind and laying his hands on her shoulders, letting them trail down her arms slowly. But just as quickly, he pulled away, knowing what he was doing to himself. “I’m sorry. You’re right.” He took another drag from his cigarette. “You’re always right…”

Cassie scowled at the whisper. It was an overly cocky comment coming from him, but before Cassie even got the chance to retort or deflect Joey backed down again. It was only slightly pathetic. If he hadn’t gotten wrapped up with the Slap Jacks, he probably could have made something more out of himself than a trailing heavy hitter. “Well, at least someone has that figured out.”

The back door to the dress shop opened and shut with a bang that could be heard all the way to the two waiting by the car, the noise heralding the appearance of Ephram’s tall frame long-legging it towards them at a rushed clip that showed the slight limp the war had left him with. “Let’s go,” he said tightly when he reached them, his face drawn and pale, beads of sweat standing out across his brow and down the line of his nose. He huddled in his seat, arms folded tight and tucked in around himself, and when one of the Skull Boys appeared unexpectedly out of the darkness Ephram looked like he might be violently sick.

“Boss said you forgot something,” the Skull Boy said, handing Cassie a lace-edged handkerchief and sauntering off back to his post. The fine, soft cloth fell delicately open when she took it; nestled there in the pretty folds of fabric was Ephram’s neatly excised, bloodstained left ring finger.

#au:gangster #alternate ephram #cassiegermaine #joeyvoeman

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katrinawritesthings · 6 years

Text

Jonghyun/Taemin; sk8 d8 (Part 2/2); PG

doing the cha cha slide with a hundred other people on skates is the cornerstone of who i am today as a human thank u for your time

Taemin smiles innocently and slides one hand up Jonghyun’s arm and over his shoulder.

“This is where the teenagers come to make out where no one can see them,” he says slyly. He’s honestly amazed that there wasn’t a couple squished down here already. He must be lucky today.

“Ew,” Jonghyun mumbles, scrunching his nose. “Why the fuck are we here then?”

part 1

ao3

“This is just as rad as Jungs said it would be, fuck,” Jonghyun mumbles. He watches the floor of the dark rink, watches the colorful light flowers and stars swirl and rotate over the hardwood. They glow on the walls, too, and on him, and on Taemin next to him as they skate slowly together, the stripes of his sweater making the lights into a choppy illusion that he can’t stop glancing at.

Taemin grins lazy at him, lights flashing in his earrings and on the glowstick bracelets around his wrists and on the wheels of his quads. He also has a cheap glowstick on a cord around his neck that Jonghyun bought earlier because he wanted to surprise him and didn’t know that he brought his own glowy shit already. Jonghyun was pretty embarrassed about that, but Taemin still put it on and it matches the one that Jonghyun bought for himself, so whatever.

“This must be the raddest thing you’ve ever seen, then, considering how much Jungie exaggerates everything,” Taemin says. Jonghyun snorts, giggling into his hand. She is an embellishing little bub, yeah.

“One time during practice, she scraped her knee and acted so overdramatic about it that we thought she actually, like, broke something,” he says. He loves that little bean child, honestly.

“Sounds like her, yeah,” Taemin grins. They reach a turn and he again tugs Jonghyun to take it wide, pulling him with their linked arms to skate near the wall instead of sharp around the inner corners. Jonghyun lets himself be pulled lazily. This slow skating thing is nice, he thinks, especially with a cute babe like Taemin next to him.

Taemin is still skate dancing, too; he bobs to the funky music, taking his strides to the beat and doing little kicks and twists of his feet. Jonghyun can tell every time he wants to spin but stops himself to keep holding onto Jonghyun. It’s cute. And impressive, honestly. Jonghyun has no idea how he does it.

“How do you--” he mumbles, and tries to copy the way Taemin quickly lifts his right foot in front of his left and then pops it backwards. He clips his left boot with his back right wheel and almost stumbles. Taemin chuckles as he holds Jonghyun a little tighter to steady him.

“Years of practise,” he says, “and skates that aren’t obnoxiously long.” He lifts his own left foot and wiggles his quad, a skate that is admittedly much shorter than Jonghyun’s. Jonghyun still pouts, though, and lifts his own inline skate to wiggle.

“They’re made for speed,” he says defensively. So he can take wide strides and nyoom really fast. Taemin nods with a shrug.

“So not made for dancing,” he says easily. “I bet if you practised in quads for a while you could do some tricks.”

“God, no, I’m garbage on quads,” Jonghyun mutters. He can’t skate on them at all, which is wild, considering he learned on them when he was a little tot. Taemin shrugs again and squeezes his arm gently.

“Guess I’ll have to be enough of a master dancer for the both of us,” he says. Jonghyun squeezes him back. He guesses so. He’s at that point already, honestly; he never stepped off of the beat once during that whole little conversation. It’s almost breathtaking, how Taemin seems to be one with the music even when he’s only giving it half of his attention. It’s almost like he was born to be here, on the hardwood, in those skates, breathing the music in and exhaling it out as art.

“You’re looking at me all dreamy again,” Taemin hums. His pretty lips curve into a smirk as Jonghyun blinks and blushes and looks away.

When he looks back at Taemin, he means to say “stop looking so dreamy then,” but the words catch in his throat as a bigger light rolls over his face. He’s gorgeous, mussed hair falling around his cheeks, dark eyes almost black in the dim light, slightly hooked nose and round cheeks and plush lips all relaxed and content, like he’s happy to just exist here in this moment.

Jonghyun swallows thickly and is the first to tug on Taemin’s arm this time, pulling him inwards, through the crowd and into the center but away from the rest of the dancers. Taemin follows, but hums curiously, tilting his head at Jonghyun in question. Jonghyun unlinks their arms but only so he can stand in front of Taemin and look up at him. A circle of blue stars swirls over Taemin’s face before continuing away.

Jonghyun opens his mouth, closes it, shakes his head, rubs the back of his undercut sheepishly. He has no idea how to put what he wants to express in words.

Instead, he leans forward and up and presses a short but warm kiss to Taemin’s pretty mouth.

Taemin is smiling when Jonghyun pulls back, happy and lazy, and he leans forward and gives Jonghyun a slow return peck. Jonghyun bounces on his toes happily before they link their arms together again and skate back into the crowd. This time, Jonghyun laces their fingers together as well.

“Five hops this time!”

“Five?” Jonghyun shrieks, eyes wide. “On skates?”

Taemin laughs even harder than he already was as he does his five hops, putting a hand on Jonghyun’s shoulder to steady himself so his breathlessness doesn’t tip him over. Holy shit. Holy shit, this is the best thing he’s ever experienced. Jonghyun looks absolutely baffled as the crowd of people in the center of the rink also do five hops, on skates, the thud of wheels on hardwood almost loud enough to drown out the music.

“Fuck, don’t--” Jonghyun stumbles as he tries to hop and hold Taemin’s weight at the same time. The only reason he doesn’t fall completely is because Taemin grabs him and holds him in a close hug, laughing loud into his shoulder.

“Oh my fucking god,” he giggles.

“Taems, who the fuck decided the Cha Cha Slide was a good song for skates?” Jonghyun asks. Taemin grips his sweaty shirt and just laughs more, nuzzling into his neck and breathing deep his cologne. He skips a few steps of the dance, but pulls away eventually and pushes his hair out of his face.

“It’s a great song for skates, Jongie,” he grins. He stomps his left foot to the beat; Jonghyun does too, half a second late. “And technically it’s the Cha Cha Slide Part Two.” The better version. “They do this every night.” He stomps his right foot to the beat. Jonghyun shakes his head in disbelief.

“Every--”

“Freeze!” the song commands, and then Taemin, along with the rest of the crowd, all chorus with it, “everybody clap your hands!”

And Jonghyun looks so bewildered again at the practised unison of the entire rink that Taemin has to laugh again as he claps quickly to the beat. This is the best Cha Cha Slide he’s ever been a part of. Jonghyun claps too, after a moment, looking defeated and resigned to finally just go with the song without complaining. Taemin grins and bumps their hips together. He’s so cute.

“Come on,” he says as the song tells them to get down low. He takes Jonghyun’s hands and tugs him down a little, then lets go and jams the rest of the way down himself, rolling his legs out in an easy split. Jonghyun scoffs at him from where he’s just crouching down, hands on his knees.

“Showoff,” he says. Taemin throws him a finger pistol as he gets back up.

“You know it,” he grins. They hop, they stomp left, they stomp right, they cha cha real smooth. Taemin watches Jonghyun fondly as he rolls through the steps easily on his quads. The speedster is getting better at the smooth movements, the grooving in place. He’s even moving his hips a little to the beat. Taemin wants to touch his cute butt but stops himself by spinning a full circle before turning with the rest of the crowd. Maybe later.

For now, they just follow the dance and blend with the crowd around them. Taemin lets the music fill him all the way up from the inside, lets it thump in his ears and his heart and his soul. The pound of the crowd all doing the same steps as him surrounds him as well, making him feel as big as all of them, larger than life, massive and all encompassing. He loves being here and belonging here.

He also loves that after a few more steps he feels Jonghyun’s little hand wiggling to link their arms together. It’s cute, and he smiles at Jonghyun, but he also pulls his arm away apologetically.

“Bad timing,” he tells Jonghyun’s little pout, and then the song tells them to reverse. Six times.

Taemin spins; he skips some of the in between steps and just spins, angles his feet and lifts his arms and twists himself around and around. This is always his favorite part. He loves spinning. It’s his favorite stim.

When he’s done, he grins broad and lazy, flicks his hair out of his face, and finds Jonghyun just looking at him again, stars in his gorgeous brown eyes. He does that a lot. Taemin wonders if every time he does it he wants to kiss him again like he did the first time. He bets he does.

“Cha Cha now, ya’ll,” the song says. Taemin moves to Jonghyun’s side and links their arms again easily, watching fondly as Jonghyun looks down at his skates to watch his feet do the dance move with a tiny little smile. Jonghyun slides his hand down Taemin’s forearm to link their hands as well and Taemin grins. He keeps complaining about sweaty hands but it’s not Taemin that keeps initiating the handholding.

He taps his thumb on the back of Jonghyun’s hand to the beat of the song as they go through a few rounds of cha chas. After Jonghyun stumbles and giggles a little on the two hops; his other hand grapples for Taemin’s forearm to hold himself steady, his nose all scrunched up. Taemin hides his too wide smile behind his free hand. Jonghyun is so cute. And the way his strong bicep squeezes Taemin closer isn’t bad either.

His skin is so warm, warm and soft under Taemin’s fingers, and with the way he brushes up next to Taemin with every movement Taemin can just faintly smell the woody, musky aroma of his perfume. As the seconds go by he wants to slip his arm all the way around Jonghyun’s shoulders instead, wants to feel him small and close and comfy against his side. For once he thinks he’s actually glad that the song is ending soon.

“Charlie Brown!”

“What the fuck is a Charlie B--” Jonghyun starts, and then cuts himself short as he watches Taemin and the rest of the rink all do a perfect Charlie Brown. “Oh,” he says, eyebrows lifting into his bangs, and that settles it for Taemin. He slides to the left, sides to the right, takes it back, and doesn’t even stay for the final cha cha like he usually does. Instead, he closes his hand around Jonghyun’s wrist and tugs him gently through the crowd.

“C’mere,” he mumbles, weaving carefully through everyone until they can get back out onto the outer rink.

“Hmm?” Jonghyun asks, glancing back in. “Is the song over?” he asks.

“It’s ending,” Taemin says. He gestures vaguely to the middle where more people are breaking away now as the song fades out into just the regular beat and little ending words from the DJ. Taemin usually stays in the middle for a while after the Cha Cha slide, actually, spinning and jamming and joining the little circles of people to practise some of his bigger tricks. He’s skipping that this time, though, because he has something else on his mind. “I wanna show you somewhere,” he tells Jonghyun.

“Somewhere?” Jonghyun asks as they skate to the wall and slip out one of the entrances. “Not something?” Taemin glances back at him with a grin and nods. Yeah. Somewhere.

“This way,” he says. He pulls Jonghyun over the tacky patterned carpet, passed the benches, and almost passed the arcade machines, all the way to the wall of the party rooms. Jonghyun tries to keep going, passed the party rooms and into the rental area, but Taemin stops him by squeezing his hand.

“Here,” he says, trying not to smile too wide at Jonghyun’s confused expression as he pulls him towards the last arcade machine instead. Again Jonghyun looks it over, reads the title--it’s the X-Men game, Taemin thinks--and reaches halfheartedly for one of the joysticks, but Taemin tugs him a little bit to the side so he can see the space between the game and the wall. “In here,” he says. He bites his lip as he takes both of Jonghyun’s hands and rolls himself backwards into the small space, too narrow to fit side by side but just wide enough that they can fit comfortably in without being squished. Taemin goes all the way back until his back bumps the wall and Jonghyun is standing in front of him looking even more confused than before.

“Taems, what the fuck,” Jonghyun says blankly. He’s squinting a little at Taemin in the darkness of their tiny corner, thick lips puffed up in a pout. Taemin smiles innocently and slides one hand up Jonghyun’s arm and over his shoulder.

“This is where the teenagers come to make out where no one can see them,” he says slyly. He’s honestly amazed that there wasn’t a couple squished down here already. He must be lucky today.

“Ew,” Jonghyun mumbles, scrunching his nose. “Why the fuck are we here then?” he asks. He frowns at Taemin, completely serious, and Taemin barely refrains from bursting into ugly laughter. Fuck. He looks down and muffles giggles into the back of his hand and then pulls the corners of his lips down to sober himself up. Then looks quickly back up and decides to just be forward instead of trying to give Jonghyun another hint.

“So we can make out where no one can see us,” he says simply.

“So we--ohhh,” Jonghyun says slowly. His eyes go wide with realization, and then a slow smirk pulls up his lips. “Oh.” He takes a step closer, lifting one arm to rest his forearm on the wall beside Taemin’s head so they’re face to face. He chuckles softly and shakes his head. “No idea how I didn’t catch on to that,” he hums. Taemin exhales softly in amusement.

“Same,” he says, “but. Not important.” He tugs Jonghyun closer, hooks his arm over his shoulder, slides his other hand up Jonghyun’s neck and fluffs his fingers through his soft hair. “What’s important is that you’re about to make out with me.” His mouth looks so nice, soft and pink and absolutely gorgeous when he smiles and forms words.

“Good point,” Jonghyun says. He slips his arm around Taemin’s waist and presses their mouths together easily.

Jonghyun doesn’t like to exaggerate and use unnecessary flowery language a lot, but he’s lost in Taemin’s lips. He’s lost in their warmth, their softness, the easy way that they move against his. He’s lost in the way Taemin’s tongue slides against his and tastes like a strawberry icee, the way Taemin’s teeth nip and tug at his lips. He’s lost in the way Taemin’s slow breaths puff over his upper lip, in the way his hands run through the hair at the back of his head, in the way his body is warm and solid pressed up against his. Each slow press, each soft peck, each deep, warm, languid slide of their lips feels perfect, like they were meant to be together, like he was meant to kiss Taemin from the moment he was born.

To put it simply.

He might be overexaggerating a little bit, but he just. Really likes kissing and Taemin is really good at it. He wants to keep kissing Taemin for a long time. He doesn’t know how long they’ve spent tucked into the corner like this and he doesn’t care much either.

They’re pressed together fully now and his fingers have been playing with the hem of Taemin’s shirt for a while, pushing it up just enough to slip his thumbs under and rub his skin. Taemin has been casually pressing his leg up between Jonghyun’s thighs as well for the passed few minutes. It’s making him feel very fluffy inside that Taemin is also into the whole subtle flirty almost feeling each other up shit. He knows they’re not trying to fuck here in the middle of the rink, but still. It’s the concept. It’s the mutual knowledge that they’d both totes be down to fuck somewhere else, probably, another time. He’s very into that.

He’s also very into the way Taemin’s hands have come down to cup his face, warm and strong and commanding in the way they angle him better into the kiss. Jonghyun loves the subtle control. He loves how Taemin has been able to read him so easily and figure out what he likes so quickly. He loves that--

“Ow,” he hisses suddenly, wincing away from the kiss as something pings off of the back of his head. “What the fuck,” he mutters, lifting a hand to rub his hair. For the first time since they started making out back here he opens his eyes and blearily blinks the skate rink into focus. Even here squished into the corner behind an arcade machine is too dark, but he turns away from Taemin’s confused pout to look behind him.

“Can you two go be mushy somewhere else? I’m trying to play a game here.”

Jonghyun still can’t really see much with his bleary eyes but he knows that voice and he sighs.

“You can’t even see us back here unless you're trying, Gwibs,” he calls back.

“Actually, you kinda can,” Taemin mumbles. Jonghyun looks back to him with a little frown and Taemin shrugs sheepishly. “It’s not private, just, you know, no one ever really glances down here, so.” He shrugs again. Jonghyun rolls his eyes. He guesses he knew that from the beginning, but still.

“Get out of there and gimmie my quarter back,” Gwi tells them.

“Is that what you threw at me?” Jonghyun asks, frowning down at the ground in search of the little circle. Taemin snorts and giggles and ruffles a hand through the hair at the back of Jonghyun’s head. Jonghyun isn’t ashamed to say that that fond little gesture made him significantly less grumpy. He reaches down and picks up the quarter, but when he rolls out of the little not-so-secret area with Taemin clinging lazily to his elbow, he holds it out of Gwiboon’s reach.

“What are you playing?” he asks, pushing her hands away gently as she reaches for it. He puts it into the coin slot next to the one she was standing in front of and smirks when she scowls at him. “Can I fight you in it? I’m gonna fight you in it.”

“No, you heck,” she snaps, “it’s a co-op game. Now you gotta help me win.” She pulls out another quarter from her pocket and puts it into the machine.

“Oh,” Jonghyun says. He puffs up his lips as he actually looks at the game. Apparently he’s The Wolverine. Rad. That’s his favorite dick sucking X-Man. “Alright, then,” he says. He guesses he’s doing this now. On his other side, Taemin snorts and leans his cheek on his shoulder.

“Have you ever played this game in your life?” he asks. Jonghyun grins and shakes his head as he pokes the two buttons in front of him to figure out which does what. He’s sure he’ll figure it out and do relatively well no problem.

“Nope,” he says. Taemin snorts again and shifts to stand more behind him.

“Lemme help you then,” he says. He wraps his arms around Jonghyun’s waist, fits his chin over his right shoulder, and lifts his left hand to cover Jonghyun’s on the joystick, all in one smooth motion.

“Oh my fucking god,” Jonghyun whispers. He knows he was just sucking on Taemin’s tongue with his hand halfway up his shirt in a dark corner, and he knows that that was extremely cheesy and will probably make him even worse at the game, but his heart still thuds and his face still blazes with heat as Taemin’s other arm squeezes him close. “What the fuck, what the fuck. What the fuck.” He’s so weak for that snuggly shit.

“One day I’m gonna grow up and get a cute enby datefriend and make out with them, like, on top of you two, just so you know what this feels like,” Gwiboon mutters. “Didn’t you just meet like three hours ago?”

Jonghyun opens his mouth to tell her it was more like three and a half, but Taemin drops a kissie on his cheek and he forgets what he wanted to say.

Jonghyun is tired.

He’s trying to pretend like he’s not, but Taemin can tell, and it’s absolutely adorable to watch the way he slouches over the table and pokes at Jinki’s arm to cover for how he can barely sit up straight. Taemin is sure he’s not helping in the way he’s leaning lazily on Jonghyun’s side, but Jonghyun is the one that slung his other arm around Taemin’s waist and Taemin doesn’t see him complaining, so. He’s not moving.

He is giggling, though, as quietly as he can, at how Jonghyun badly muffles a yawn into his powerade bottle. Sleepy bub. It’s barely even eight--though, Taemin guesses, Jonghyun has been here since, like, one for speed practise. He would be tired too. He wonders how Jinki and the kids aren't exhausted right now since they’ve been here since nine for Minjunggie’s practise, but he supposes that they’re used to it by now.

Jonghyun’s arm around his waist squeezes him close, tugging him out of his thoughts. He hums a questioning little noise as Jonghyun nuzzles the side of his head.

“You’re cute,” he mumbles, and a grin immediately creeps onto Taemin’s face. Oh, he thinks.

“Oh,” he says. “Thanks.” He drops a little kissie on Jonghyun’s cheek, something he’s becoming incredibly fond of doing. “You too.” Jonghyun smiles back at that, eyes all droopy, and presses a quick kiss to Taemin’s bottom lip, something Taemin can tell Jonghyun is becoming incredibly fond of doing.

“Y’all better thank me for this cute shit you have going on right now,” Jinki mumbles from the other side of the table. Taemin looks over to him to see him scrolling through his phone, not looking at them but pointing at them with one finger. “I’m the one that convinced Jong to stay today.”

“Technically, it was Jungs,” Jonghyun says. He rubs his cheek on Taemin’s shoulder after he says it and Taemin paps his leg, curious.

“Was it really?” he asks. He’s been wondering this whole time why Jonghyun stayed, ever since he learned that he was on the speed team. Jonghyun nods against his shoulder.

“She bribed me with stories of the glowstick skate,” he says. Taemin snorts softly and hides another laugh behind his hand. Of course she did.

“I love Jungie,” he says.

“Hey, rad,” Junghee’s voice says, and they all glance up to see Junghee skating up to lean at the end of the table. She’s got that wide smile on her face that she gets whenever anyone compliments her. “I love that you love me,” she winks. Jonghyun’s sleepy chuckles against Taemin’s shirt are entirely adorable, which just adds to how much he loves Junghee for being the one that caused them. “Anyway, can I get another cookie, my dude?” she asks, turning to Jinki. Jinki ignores her for a moment to finish something on his phone before looking up and poking her cheek.

“No, you’ve already had three,” he says. “I saw the one you tried to sneak earlier.” Junghee hisses a soft curse and Taemin hides a grin. He gave her the money for that secret cookie. “Go get Gwi and Min, it’s time to go home,” Jinki says.

“Oh,” Junghee says. Her face falls into a little pout. “Are you sure?” she asks. Jinki rolls his eyes.

“Yes, it’s late and you have school tomorrow. Go.” He makes little flappy hands at her and she sighs dramatically, pushing away from the table and skating away. Jinki watches her go, then yawns into the back of his hand and looks at his phone again. “I saw you give her the money for that cookie, Tae,” he says quietly. Taemin chokes a little on his spit and turns into Jonghyun’s shoulder to muffle his guilty laughter. Fuck. He thought he was smooth. Jonghyun paps his side, leans a little away, gets his finger under Taemin’s chin when he looks up curiously and pecks his lips.

“Want me to walk you to your car?” he asks, low and suave and confident. Taemin tilts his head, confused.

“Uh,” he says, “why?” And Jonghyun tilts his head now also, mirroring his confusion.

“Because. It’s.” He points at Jinki, points out to the arcade area where Junghee is no doubt tugging Gwiboon away from a game. “Time to go?” He says it like a question, like he was sure of the answer a second ago but isn’t anymore. Taemin gasps softly in realization, then giggles and shakes his head.

“I mean, for them, maybe,” he says, gesturing lazily at Jinki. “I stay here until, like, eleven.” The only reason Jinki and the girls go home early is because the girls are small and have to go to school and shit. They stay later during the summer, sometimes. Taemin stays late all the time.

“Oh,” Jonghyun says. Pink dusts his cheeks and he looks away. “Right, yeah, okay.” He takes another drink of his powerade and looks back with his usual wide smile. “I bet it gets real fun here when it gets late,” he says. Taemin leans his elbow on the table and props his chin in his hand, surveying Jonghyun lazily. He’s so cute when he thinks he’s lying well.

“Did you want me to go home now so you could make out with me in the parking lot and then go home too because you’re all sleepy?” he asks. The pink that hadn’t quite left Jonghyun’s cheeks yet darkens and he turns away again to rest his head in his arms on the table.

“No,” he says. His voice is a defiant pout and Taemin snorts. Jinki does too, and reaches over to poke Jonghyun’s nose.

“Don’t lie to the babe, Jong, you’ve only just met him,” he says. Jonghyun huffs and scrunches his nose.

“Who asked you,” he grumbles. Taemin paps his bicep absently and is opening his mouth to say that he wouldn’t mind escorting Jonghyun to his car before coming back inside when Minjung rolls up and sits next to Jinki, tugging at the hair in her tiny ponytail to fix it up even.

“Hi daddy,” she says, and then puts her whole hand on top of Jonghyun’s head. “What’s he pouty about this time?” she asks. Jonghyun takes her wrist and pretends to bite her finger before letting it go and returning to his pouting. Taemin pets his hair fondly and scratches at the base of his undercut because he discovered while they were making out that it makes him get all scrunchy and smiley. It does the same thing now; Jonghyun’s shoulders bunch all up and he hums a soft little smile into his arms.

“He’s a sleepy baby and he’s grumpy that I’m not,” he says. Jonghyun’s happy noise turns into a pouty noise again and Taemin rolls his eyes.

“Where’s the other two?” Jinki asks Minjung. Minjung shrugs as she brings her feet up on the bench to pull off her skates.

“Some fuckboy said girls weren’t good at games so they had to play him first, to beat him,” she says. Taemin feels Jonghyun nodding under his hand and agrees as well. That’s a good enough excuse to stay a few more minutes.

“Can you, like, not say the fuck word on a regular basis around me?” Jinki asks. “Like Gwi does?”

“You know Boonie says the fuck word like, every three words when you can’t hear,” Minjung tells him.

“Yeah, when I can’t hear,” Jinki repeats. “That way I can pretend she doesn’t say it.”

“It’s not even a slur, daddy, it’s just the fuck word. Who cares?”

“Teachers? If you’re saying it as a habit then you’re gonna accidentally say it at school one time and then I’m gonna get in trouble and I won’t even be able to truthfully say that I don’t normally hear you use that kind of language.”

“I guess I’ll just have to be extra careful to not call Mr. Fuckhead that to his face, then.”

“Oh my fucking god,” Jinki mutters, and Taemin leans over Jonghyun’s back to muffle his laughter into his shirt. Jonghyun shakes with repressed laughter under him as well. His skin is warm, so Taemin shifts closer, slipping his hands around to feel up Jonghyun’s shoulders and biceps before looping them around his waist. He smells good too, like citrus and wood, and Taemin nuzzles into the back of his neck. Very suddenly he wants to snuggle Jonghyun just like this forever and never let him go.

“You’re so comfy,” he murmurs against Jonghyun’s skin. Jonghyun’s hand paps his thigh gratefully.

“Thanks,” he says. His voice is even sleepier than before; Taemin thinks sitting with his head on the table made his lack of energy even more pronounced. “Can you walk me to the bus stop and make out with me a little bit so I can go home?” he asks. Taemin smiles against his neck and drops a little kissie there. He can do that, yeah.

Jonghyun is bone tired when he finally slouches into bed, but he smiles as he nuzzles his soft cool pillows and wiggles under his blankie. Today was good. And fun. And relaxing. And tiring, which would normally be bad, but his insomnia has been making his sleep schedule a little extra fucky lately and being drained enough to conk out early tonight should help towards fixing it.

He flicks on his bedside lamp, takes a sip from his water bottle, and grabs his leftover fries from when he stopped at Jack in the Box on the walk home. Nibbling on one, he plugs his phone into his charger and then relaxes into the bed as he unlocks it with a contented sigh.

The first notification that he has is a text from Taemin.

He drops his phone to his chest and hides his face in his hands, smile wide behind his fingers and pushing up his cheeks. Fuck. He knows he told Taemin to text him after they finished making out at the bus stop, but, fuck. He’s so gay. He loves when people actually text him back on the same night instead of waiting. Picking up his phone, he bites his lip as he reads the message.

From: Sk8r Boi 9:30pm so hey u like me right lmao just checking

Jonghyun snorts at the text. That’s cute. He likes the honesty.

To: Sk8r Boi 9:50pm Ye i like you lots uwu

From: Sk8r Boi 9:51pm alright rad so when do i get to see u again :D

“Oh my god,” Jonghyun giggles. That’s so cute--the smiley, the immediate reply, the eagerness. Jonghyun imagines Taemin feeling his phone vibrate on the rink and slowing to a stop in the middle to pull it out. He tugs his blankie further up and thinks about his week’s schedule. Hmm.

To: Sk8r Boi 9:54pm Skate practises are sundays tuesdays and thursdays but i also have therapy every other thursday so

He hits send and brings his phone to his mouth to cover his yawn. He hopes he hasn’t forgotten anything about his schedule. His memory isn't so great when he’s sleepy. He closes his eyes to rest them while he waits for Taemin’s reply, then jumps a little when his phone vibrates in his hand. A grin pulls up his lips as he opens the new text. Minjung told him that Taemin always takes forever to reply to her texts. He feels special.

From: Sk8r Boi: 9:56pm well i’m not showing up on a tuesday lmao so next sunday then??

Next Sunday. Jonghyun hums sleepily and rolls over in bed, resting his head in his arms and holding his phone probably too close to his face to be healthy. Next Sunday sounds nice. They could probably set a date to meet up somewhere else even earlier--Jonghyun knows they would both be down for it--but he feels like the wait will make their reunion that much nicer. Maybe in another few Sundays when they know each other more they can go out for dinner or something.

For now, Jonghyun sends Taemin back a thumbs up emoji, a blushie emoji, and a sleepy emoji. Then he slips his phone onto the bedside table and flicks off his lamp. As he hugs his pillow under his chin, memories of Taemin’s warm hands, his deep voice, his pretty face under soft colorful lights fill his mind and he drifts to sleep with a smile in his heart.

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autolovecraft · 7 years

Text

What you wish loftier things.

He began to understand dimly why there could exist at the same culture-tradition as the gods of men, or a four-dimensioned zones call change is an illusion, and when forgotten shapes moved on a pedestal among the swollen and twisted trunks of a high knoll that cleared the trees opened up a new king reigns on the undecipherable parchment in the car they found his motor set carefully by the Yogi poor Harley Warren once had. A potent nimbus, brighter than those which had lost all connection with what was then far in the space-time continuum, or which had most persistently haunted his dreams; and he lingered indecisively among thoughts of its poverty in beauty and too shrewd for dreams. It was indeed the frightful Guide and Guardian of the cousins, Ernest K.

Nor may those who inferred from his dreams fading under the control of people with no good reason! The gutless zeal of Carter I think will make a thought take tangible substance, and through the cities of men, or what human imagination might interpret as chanting. And now the Being was addressing the Carter-facet dormant, yet filled with olibanum fumes that act of vanishing in which he had deciphered months before from the dead man with a key, he had left, he had found himself in what for a moment. Here, he would find within it some key to the right a thing that should not be mistaken. Something was queer. I told you to keep on living at all like the chirpings and murmurings of objects unknown on Earth—in America—who had corresponded with him; for their cheapness and squalor sickened a spirit loving beauty alone while his bushy black beard, Eastern turban, and furnished his Boston home to suit his changing moods; one room for the metal envelope, but it's true.

Amidst this chaos of hollowness and unrest Carter tried to gild brute impulse with a key which might have kept for the parchment—I felt that his mind the truth had opened the Inner Gate. Early this year he made another lunge at his opponent's bushy beard. On every world all great thinkers, all great wizards, all great artists, are facets of It. But these horrors took him only to remind him of the consciousness-plane regarding the other Carters his fancy or perception envisaged.

He had wished to do—have this faker arrested.

Evidently he was, he could carry out with his vagaries, last saw him on the Zkauba-facet was uppermost he would have to be, exists simultaneously. At the sunset hour, and put his hand, had told him his simple fancies were inane and childish, and played almost sentiently over what seemed to reel irresponsibly, and crawled into the child of yesterday; could turn the Ultimate Gate, the ancient creeds had they avoided commerce with him. The gray old scholar, as Chandraputra clumsily restored the silver key which that box, though half as large again as an antidote for the nature of what they were of memory and imagination only. A slight change of angle could turn a terrestrial Carter to a body from Yaddith, including that of the Swami during the last Carter hovered about in the diary of a monstrous arch and gigantic sculptured hand vainly grasps. The old attorney's disgust had by now surged into open rage and he contemplated the aggregation in a flash the Carter-memories which troubled him. The masses of towering stone opposite him seemed to gain on the pedestals commenced a slight, curious swaying in the twenty-eight galaxies accessible to the mistily defined objects around him, too, which was his true country. Wait till I tell your Uncle Chris when he came to study those who pass ever return, for I expect to meet him shortly in a language that was not a Carter.

Randolph Carter is alive—to tide him over that period of quest. Through his puzzlement a voice.

Then one night his grandfather had told him that, just as all the little boy named Randolph Carter forgot the horror of destroyed individuality. De Marigny quietly raised his hand across his eyes had been settled in 1692, or a still more elaborate theory, and large, white-mittened hand, a translation—there was the normal European civilian, but no man has passed and retraced his steps to say that I was able to stand both the prodigious domes and uncounted billions of miles that Randolph Carter at all like the shapes on the change he had left—near the dreaded Guide without fear, you crook—you can't scare me! Against him was arrayed the legal talent of one who had taken a book which I could give, but he did not show his key, as Chandraputra clumsily restored the silver key. Was it rage alone which caused it? But amidst the greater terror than that which we call shadow and illusion, and of the Forms could give—a concentration of energy that blasted its recipient with well-learned lore Carter knew that when he danced back to 1883, a clerk in Arkham's First National Bank does recall a queer turbaned man who cashed an odd bit of gold bullion in October, too, was white-haired, apoplectic-looking claw. With the passage of time, and large, white mittens drop listlessly off a dangling arm. Here are some papers obviously written since 1930, and all the butts of a man transferred through the prismatic vistas of breathless expectancy and unquenchable delight, Randolph Carter in that old graveyard—had been so irresistibly drawn, there appeared the outline of a drawer in a kind of stabilization. Why Carter didn't take the parchment.

Indirectly, he might be able somehow to find these boons in things whose laws are known and suspected age of Earth's history, people found the key; and as he passed it, and uncounted minarets of thousand-pillared Irem. De Marigny, he found a drug that would be a part of himself, and other worlds in the realm he was to be. It could, however, when he was familiar enough with profound speculations to be envisaged.

The Hindu paused in his recorded history.

He caught one fleeting glimpse of balustraded plazas in the doorway, and to strange advantage. Unfortunately, however, as great a calamity as was feared. Presently the quasi-Carter forgot that parchment which no man has crossed since Shaddad with his free hand he made another lunge at his opponent's bushy beard. Aspinwall's red face and studied the back of a stuck pig or dyspeptic plowman in real life is a greater thing than the adamantine mass of the old Carter place seemed oddly disturbed, and smiled only when evoked by some unusual excitement—he knows his fingerprints could be glimpsed of the First Gate, but there was neither cave nor absence of cave; neither wall nor absence of cave; neither wall nor absence of wall. There would be a dead world dominated by triumphant Dholes, and how valiantly Mr. de Marigny. Reason proclaims the Swami, the wizard. There were any original as distinguished from other beings—that the common events and emotions of earthy minds were more important than the peerless beauty of Narath with its aid—and ever after that the silver key which might have been more prudent had they avoided commerce with him.

#H.P. Lovecraft #E. Hoffman Price #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Python #Markov chains #THe Silver Key #1926 #Through the Gates of the Silver Key #1932 #1933 #Silver Key week #Randolph Carter

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