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Realistic or Modern Cities Never Sleep

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abigail hargreaves






Max had complimented Abby on how she was going to be great in the play, and then he said she looked hot, she laughed at his comment. He wasn't wrong, she was hot, but not in a physical appearance way, it was because it felt like 1,000* in the auditorium between the lights and all the people talking. "Don't apologize, I am hot, I look like I jumped into a swimming pool because I'm sweating so much." She signed back to him, trying to ease his worries.

Their moment of silence, really all their moments were silence considering they never actually spoke to each other, was broken by someone turning the corner around the boxes the two were hiding behind. Abigail's head whipped around and saw that it was Josh, a smile appeared on her face, she hadn't seen him since the incident at the church.

He spoke up, signing with one hand since the other had a boot in it for some reason, "Are you guys okay?" Without hesitation, Abigail spoke up, her hands trailing along so Max could be included in the conversation as well, "Just a little nervous, that's all."

Without speaking another word, her hand dropped down with her index finger out, pointing at the boot that he was holding. A look of curiosity was on her face, as she didn't know what he needed with the shoe, as he already had two on his feet. "What's that for?" Her previously pointing finger was now signing again, she wasn't sure if he would be able to read the confusion on her face, so Abigail thought it would be best to vocalize it.

That was when you could hear someone speaking from the other side of the curtain, introducing the play, had it already been ten minutes? Abby shook her head, there was no rush for her to be on stage yet as she didn't have to go out until the sixth act. It was a blessing in disguise because it meant that she could take that time to catch up with Josh and try to relax.






/* ------ credit -- do not remove ------ */

© weldherwings.
 





/* ------ left side ------ */




/* ------ left side info ------ */
mood nauseous

location MJC School Auditorium - Backstage

outfit Sad cold boy

fun fact around 77% of the population has Glossophobia, fear or anxiety around public speaking and performing.

tag floralmoon floralmoon weldherwings weldherwings


Max Berkowitz




/* ------ right side ------ */


Max flinched and looked up as Josh joined them in their little hiding place, immediately turning bright red and apologizing. It had been a few weeks since Josh had been around him, and Max had begun to ache for his presence so badly that it scared him.

He wasn't supposed to feel this way about a boy.

“Are… are you guys… okay?” Josh asked, signing so Max could understand, but he couldn't bring himself to respond. He just stood and stared, feeling a familiar rush of hormones and excitement and shame all at once.

In an odd sort of way, Max was starstruck.

Something about the outline of Josh's bare arms…the smooth toned surface looked warm and inviting, and it lulled Max into a dreamy haze.

He immediately looked down, biting his lip, shoving his hands in the pockets of his uncomfortable jacket.

He wasn't supposed to be talking to Josh. He wasn't even supposed to be looking at Josh.

He wasn't supposed to look at boys that way. Especially not boys like Josh.

He couldn't believe Josh had even come back here to find them…

Did he want to talk?

Max swallowed hard, forcing a shy wave. "Hey Josh. Everything is okay. I… I wish I was still just doing stage hand stuff with you." He said, with voice alongside his native signing. His voice had a hoarse, overextended sound to it, but he couldn't hear himself to correct for the odd tonality. "And I'm… I'm still sorry about last time. I didn't mean to embarrass you in front of your front of your church."

He glanced back at Abby, praying she'd know what to say next



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© weldherwings.

[/QUOTE]
 
1661640626146.png


Lilly Wainright​
As far as plays went, Lilly did not think this current production was the next Shakespeare. For one, not enough dick jokes for it to be a true Shakespearian masterpiece. And two, was acting out ones trauma's on stage really such a good idea? Lilly was no therapist, but surely that was something you weren't supposed to do right? Relive your traumas? Especially in front of others, who could be triggered by it? Amazing how another so-called good Christian woman was willing to do everything it took to help troubled youth, except get them the mental and medical attention they so very much needed.

Lilly stood backstage, where she had painted so, so many wooden cubes the blackest of black. Each cube she had painted had her own little personal touch. A small penis painted in white somewhere on it. That would give any of the kids who saw it a smile. She watched people bustling about, not really sure what she was supposed to do now. Afterall, she had only helped with sets. Did they really need her anymore?

Regardless, Lilly stayed. She wanted to be of any help if it was needed. Earlier that day, while at the grocery store, Lilly had spied the first signs of Halloween with those tasty take-n-bake cookies that had little shapes in the dough. Lilly had purchased one of every design. Ghosts, bats, and haunted houses. She baked them, then set them out on a disposable platter backstage for any of the kids to take part of. Even if this play was hell for them, the least she could do was give them some cookies.


Location: School Auditorium
Interactions: None​
 







joshua jones



  • .



There was an annoying little voice in the back of his head that was telling him to run away. That both Abigail and Max wanted nothing more to do with him; that the whole situation at the Kingdom Hall had destroyed any chance he had had with becoming friends with them. After all, he wasn’t meant to have friends anyways. It was probably for the best. But when he saw Abigail’s smile, it was like it repelled those voices. His insides melted into a pile of goop, and he couldn’t help but lightly reflect her actions as a small smile formed upon his own, his lips curling at the sides. Anxiety? She was long gone as soon as Abigail’s face lit up before him.

She spoke, and her words barely made it to his ears. His eyes were so transfixed on her smile that had provided such warmth, and her lips that - She was pointing. Why was she pointing? Did he have something on him? Was his fly down or something? Hello, Anxiety. She was making her triumphant return. Finally, it hit him; the boot. “Oh…” he paused, placing his other hand upon the shoe, so he held it with both hands “Oh! Uh… Someone left i-” He paused. Max. He quickly tucked the boot underneath his arm, his bicep pressed against it to ensure it would stay in place as he signed. “Something left it behind. I’m… uh… trying to find its owner”

The sound of an announcer declaring ten minutes until the curtains rose for the performance cried out from behind the other side of the fabric. Automatically, Joshua turned his gaze toward the source of the sound before turning to look at Max and Abigail. Right. He had ten minutes to find the owner, or he would be held responsible for a boot for the rest of the night. Talk to them. Apologise for what happened that night. a gentle, quiet voice hummed to him in the back of his mind. They won’t hate you at all.. But as quickly as that voice came so timidly like the gentle breeze, another came thundering over and showered over. No, don’t talk to them. You know you’re not allowed to have friends. What’s the point of talking anyways? They hate you. They hate your stupid guts. Just go and find the owner of the boot-

Max began to speak, signing along as he did so; and it drowned out the voices that swayed in the back of his mind. He was… apologising for what happened at the Kingdom Hall? Joshua’s mouth began to hang lightly as he tried to think as hard as his little brain would allow him, trying to figure out exactly what Max was apologising for. He was in no way at any sort of fault, so there would be no need to apologise, right? “You don’t need to apologise, honestly.” Joshua was quick to speak and sign back to him. Well, I suppose it was now or never, right?

“I’ve been… actually… Been trying to figure out how to talk to you. To both of you.” He added in, glancing at Abigail before looking back at Max “But uh… I don’t know I just… I couldn’t find the perfect time or the right words to say but uh…” He could feel his lips begin to dry, prompting him to rehydrate them by licking them. “I just want to… Really apologise for what happened that day. What my family did and what was said was just… I just… I’m really sorry if it made you feel uncomfortable in any way.” There. He had finally spit it out. Joshua could feel his heart begin to thrash around, attempting to sprint the one kilometre within seconds. He felt on fire and like he could continue on with actually letting out his thoughts. “And it was wrong. And I’m sorry if anything I said made you feel uncomfortable or hurt you. It’s just…”

He wanted to spill it all out there and then. To tell them how there were so many things that his family believed in that he thought were just plain crazy. That he felt like his belief system didn’t align with theirs. That he was honestly just doing all these things he was told to do to honour his family like he had been trained raised to do, or face the consequences behind closed doors. But how was meant to say all that? For someone who didn’t speak until he was four years old and spent most of his days just standing back quietly observing, he sure had many things to say. But instead, he decided to wrap it all into a nice, neat package. Three words, eleven letters, to translate into all this burden he was feeling upon his life thanks to the Jones family.

“It’s just… hard.”







/* ------ credit -- do not remove ------ */

© weldherwings.
 







abigail hargreaves






Josh began to apologize to the two for how the night at the church went down, Abigail didn't really know much of what happened since she had run off to the bathroom with Graham, but she knows that it was hard for Max since when the two had returned he was in tears clenching onto Josh's arm.

"It's just hard." This Was the summary the two were given by the boy, she wasn't going to question exactly what he meant by that, but she could somewhat understand what he was saying. Parents can put a lot of pressure on their children, and with Josh having a religious family, she was sure that there was a lot more pressure than she could fully comprehend.

Quickly patting her hand on his shoulder, she pulled it back to sign then spoke up, "Don't stress, the past is the past, we can't change it. All we should focus on is who and what we have in the present." Abigail gave him a reassuring smile, her anxiety levels had begun to drop down slightly since she was around some of her closest friends.

A buzz comes from her phone, whipping it out, she notices the name, Graham. The smile was still on her face as she unlocks her phone, happy to hear from the ginger once again. Her happiness didn't last very long as she read the text message she had received, "Oh... Oh god.." Somehow the words managed to slip out of her mouth.

The phone slipped back into her pocket as she tried to wrap her head around the situation at hand, there was no time for speaking, even if she could manage it, so her hands start forming sentences almost a mile per second. "Graham is in the hospital. He asked if I could bring his headphones tomorrow, but I'm bringing them today. Let's go."

One hand dropped down to her side and the other reached out for Max's hand to drag him along with her. Abigail's eyes looked up to Josh, the question of whether he would come with them or not formed in her mind, the chances of it happening were low, but she decided to ask him anyways. "Do you want to come?" There were so many thoughts flying through her mind at the moment, a second one had popped in just as fast as the first.

"Also, we need to tell Mary she's taking over my spot in the play. I know she has it memorized, she was at all the rehearsals." Her feet started leading her to find the young girl who she would be bestowing the role on, there was no way Abigail would be sticking around for this dumb play when her chosen brother was in the hospital.






/* ------ credit -- do not remove ------ */

© weldherwings.
 





/* ------ left side ------ */




/* ------ left side info ------ */
mood panicked

location MJC School Auditorium - Backstage

outfit Sad cold boy

fun fact around 77% of the population has Glossophobia, fear or anxiety around public speaking and performing.

tag floralmoon floralmoon weldherwings weldherwings qunqun qunqun


Max Berkowitz




/* ------ right side ------ */


"No no no, it's fine. I wasn't uncomfortable at all."
It was painfully clear, through both the languages Max spoke in, that he was lying.

That night at the church had practically traumatized him. When Josh said he couldn't be friends with someone who was gay, that interacting with Max at all was against his religion, the poor boy had broken down. It felt sinful to be talking to Josh at this moment. Max, despite his forced smile and polite replies, looked inches away from breaking down in tears again.

He couldn't believe Josh was here with him now instead of avoiding him as though he were a filthy plague-ridden rat. Wasn't he at all afraid that spending too much time around Max would sway him from his faith???
If Max was a good person he would've walked away and saved Josh from sin. Selfishly, Max stayed.

“It’s just… hard.”
Josh said, knuckles swiping across each other in a pained motion. Max nodded. He knew exactly what Josh meant. It was hard, living every day feeling like a freak of nature inches away from being abandoned by everyone... but that was just being a teenager, right? Max had no room to complain. He had it easy. Sure, his family lost their house, his dad lost his job, and he was trying to bury his developing sexuality under an increasingly weak web of lies, but he was fine. He wasn't like other people, who had real problems.
"It is. It really is."

Abby gently patted Josh's shoulder, and Max took a step back and shied away, trying not to be jealous of the touch. Seeing others give and receive physical affection only ever reminded him of the relationships he'd never get to have because of the way his stupid backwards brain made him feel. He was cursed out of ever having a chance at intimacy.

While he was stewing over that, though, Abby had stopped talking to Josh to briefly flip through her cell phone when she stopped, visibly gasping. Words flew out of her mouth and Max failed to see what they were, but in an instant she had grabbed his arm."Abby? What's wrong?" He asked, out loud, the stiltedness and slurring of his words suddenly more apparent.

"Graham is in the hospital. He asked if I could bring his headphones tomorrow, but I'm bringing them today. Let's go."

The hospital.
Max's heart dropped into his stomach.
"What--" his free arm started to sign "what happened" but he couldn't get the sentence out in time. Abby was on the move, dragging him stumbling along after her as she marched across the backstage, looking for someone, something... Max didn't know. He had no idea what was going on, but Graham was hurt, and that sent a surge of panic down Max's spine. Graham had practically saved his life back at the church, bursting into that Bible Study group and scaring all the Jehovah's Witnesses into letting him go. But what happened to him today? Terrible possibilities raced through Max's head: Car accident, overdose, street fight, gang violence...

All he could do was wave at Josh to come along, silently pleading that he would.
Oy, why was he so obsessed with having Josh around?
Especially now that Josh knew...
Dirty.
Perverted.
Disgusting.

They could never be friends. Max should just stop trying.




/* ------ credit -- do not remove ------ */

© weldherwings.
 







mary jones



  • .



Mary stood there in the wing, in awe of the stage before her. Ten minutes until show time; other stage hands were preparing the last-minute stage items, and the technical crew were looking into their final preparations. She inhaled deeply, closing her eyes for a moment and allowing the scenery around her to truly fill her and sink in. Just as slowly, she released a heavy exhale, opening her eyes once more. All her dreams were right before her, and yet here she was… sitting in the sidelines and watching someone else take it from her palms. When would it be her turn to stand in the spotlight? According to her parents, it was sinful to desire such a thing. But it was what her heart yearned for. What could be so wrong with it?

“Mary!”

Her annoying brother’s familiar voice came calling. Instantly she could feel the disgust fill up her tank and the tension in her shoulders. Joshua. It wasn’t like Joshua was a hard brother to have. Not at all. In fact, he always kept to himself and his own space. He had his own bedroom (the lucky jerk) while she shared her bedroom with Martha, so he was often hiding away in there if not with the family. But there was always just… something about her brother had annoyed her. Maybe it was the lack of a backbone. Maybe because he had many opportunities to stand up for himself as their older brothers would. Or maybe it was because he just had this overall weak appearance about himself. Whatever the reason, there was one thing Mary had to conclude; she had no respect for him.

Mary rolled her eyes, turning her head in the direction of Joshua’s voice, giving him a deadpan expression. However, as she noticed Abby and Max following behind him, she perked up instantly. Standing straight, a wide grin and joyful complexion on her face. Now, here were two people she could respect. “Abby! Max!” she said with glee, moving her hands to sign to the pair “You guys are going to be awesome tonight! You both did so well in rehearsal!”

“Mary,” Joshua puffed slightly, causing Mary to turn her attention to her brother, absolutely dreading the stuttering and mumbling that was going to be thrown her way. “I uh… We… have a favour to ask you”

A favour? Her brow cocked, intrigued. “What is the favour?” she asked, crossing her arms in a defense manner.

“Abby needs you to take her role in the play”

Wait, what?

Mary stared at her brother as if he had just grown a second, third and fourth head. “Wait… What do you mean?” she asked, her eyes wide in both concern and potential excitement

“Abby needs to go to the hospital. Graham - that tall Irish guy? He’s been admitted. So, Abby and Max need to go now. You know all the lines. I know you do - we all know you do.”

There was a moment of silence. Mary stood there with her arms still crossed, glaring at her brother like this was some sort of joke or challenge. And when she did cut the silence, it was in a form of a hiss towards Joshua. “How do I know this isn’t a trick?”

“It’s not a trick”

“Yeah, how do I know it’s not?”

“Mary, why would I trick you about something like this?”

“You’re just going to tell Umma and Papa”

“I won’t”

“And how do I know you’re going to keep your word?”

He paused for a moment, looking back at Abby and Max for some sort of emotional support before turning back to his younger sister. “Because I’m going with them”

Well. Mary had not been expecting that. Her mouth widened in shock, and she had to blink her eyes a couple of times to ensure she was awake. Did her spineless brother actually grow some sort of vertebrae? “Y-you’re….you’re going with… them?” Wow, look who was stuttering now.

“Yes. And… I won’t tell Umma and Papa if you don’t.” he declared, extending his hand to make a deal with his sister. “I’ll go with them, you get to do the play and… Umma and Papa will never know this happened.”

“Joshua Gideon Jones. Are you suggesting we lie to them?”

She could see the redness of her brother’s cheeks grow. His ear lobes, already bright red, swelled with anxiety and fear. This was the last thing in the world that she would’ve expected her brother to be capable of. And with those rosy cheeks radiating such warmth, it confirmed things for Mary; she was actually starting to gain respect for her older brother. A grin spread across her face, turning towards Abby and Max with excitement gleaming in her eyes.

“Help me get dressed and ready” she squealed with excitement to the other girl, signing along the way to include Max in the conversation.







/* ------ credit -- do not remove ------ */

© weldherwings.
 
Last edited:
















Ship In A Bottle



fin








Graham Byrne







He was tired. He was so tired. He couldn’t… He didn’t want to put up the mask. And he didn’t have to for nurses.

He heard outside whispers.

“I’m glad that you guys are here. I was worried he has nobody”

Sad feck, glad that the nurse wasn’t pitying him for not having anybody show up.

And then they walked into his room. The nurse giving him a horrible smile that was full of pity.

Oh, guess he was the sad feck. Okay. This was fine.

It was almost funny.

He made an attempt to try to brighten up at their appearance, though scarily his green eyes remained absolutely dead while he smiled.

“I thought you were coming tomorrow.” He said, his accent rougher than it usually was from… Well. Nearly dying to death. “How’s it go-”

And then Max walked into the room. Shit. He didn’t want the smaller child to have to take on the emotional burden of knowing that he’d really fucked up this time.

“Oh you brought Max with ya, hm?” He said, trying to keep up the cheerfulness.

And then Josh walked into the room.

His eyes narrowed at the boy.

He would not bully children.

He would not bully children.

He would not-

“... Hey.” Flat. Uninterested. Not even trying to bring life back into his voice. Because Josh didn't deserve his attempt at normalcy after the fuckshit peddling that the boy had taken to. Not after making Max cry. Not after making them attend Bible Study. He didn't need to be preached at right now. He didn't need people to speak at him about what was right and what was wrong and what he'd done to fuck up in his life and the black hole that had taken root in him that was slowly and slowly expanding and expanding until it threatened to swallow his entire being with anybody in the general vicinity along with him

And so after the conversation stopper, he didn't speak again.






/* ------ credit -- do not remove ------ */

© weldherwings.
 



















bug



creepy crawly creature












"Chastity Moore, where on earth have you been?" Carol tapped her clipboard. "The show's on soon and you're late."

"It's really not that big of a deal."

"NOT THAT BIG A DEAL? This is my LIFE'S WORK." She 'harrumphed' and stormed off. Bug rolled their eyes and briefly adjusted their baseball cap. This play was a sham. A sham! If someone REALLY wanted Bug to take part in a theater program, they'd put on something good, like The Pirates of Penzance. A cool opera which is super funny AND super rad. Not that Bug is much of an opera singer, but they also weren't much of a rapper.

They looked like a day-glo nightmare, but it was honestly kind of a neat get-up. Jesus probably would wear this. And Bug was playing the role of Jesus. Carol struggled to find anyone to properly fit the role as the cast mostly consisted of kids caught doing drugs and therefore lacked Christ figures. So the onus fell on Bug.

Tonight, you're Jesus, baby.

Okay, well, it was technically "Jesse", not Jesus, but he was clearly supposed to be Jesus. Bug had proposed a few biblically-accurate ideas, like getting in an argument with a fig tree or getting crucified or something, but they were all turned down. Carol even somehow didn't remember the fig story, which blew Bug's mind, because that was a certified hood classic. In fact, this was all pretty familiar territory, though their family was Catholic, so they hated fun and happiness way more. Notice how Catholics never put on funny Christian plays or write silly Christian songs? Yeah. It's because they're miserable.

Regardless of denomination, Bug was only committed to one religion nowadays: Mischief.

What sorts of havoc can I get into tonight?











































♡coded by uxie♡
 





/* ------ left side ------ */




/* ------ left side info ------ */
mood gleeful

location MJC School Auditorium - Backstage

outfit artsy black turtleneck

fun fact Sometimes teenagers shouldn't be left alone with unsupervised sound equipment

tag Twin Fantasy Twin Fantasy


Ivy Dawkins




/* ------ right side ------ */


Just as the play had begun, the audience settling into their seats and the lights darkening, backstage had been swallowed by a hushed silence that Ivy found to be instantly and suffocatingly boring.

Luckily, entertainment came to Ivy in the form of Bug, her wonderful evil insectoid companion. Once she spotted her partner in crime lurking the backstage area, she hyperactively scuttled her way over like a spider and practically leaped onto their back.

"What's up, cactusfucker?" She greeted warmly, as friendly and cordial as she could ever expect to be. "Dang, you look like you get drunk off of diet soda." Bug's costume was, in fact, an atrocity to the eyes. One of the worst in the entire cast. The kid looked like a rainbow on methamphetamine. They looked like a unicorn threw up and the puke converted to Pentecostalism. They looked like an advertisement for whatever the opposite of blood pressure medication was. It was glorious. "Just like 8 scenes to go until my Oscar-winning, or like... Tony winning I guess. Tony is for stage shit. Anyway my monologue is going to be fuckin bomb. I'm honestly mad, though... wouldn't it have been better to have a scene of me getting shoved out of Ashley's cooter? Like the virgin mary or some shit, if the virgin mary was banging turtle boy." She made an ostentatious gagging sound to express her disgust and horror at the idea that anyone would be engaging in procreative acts with the school's nerdiest nerd. "But noooo, instead I have to do this shit from back here and be all dead. Fuckin turtle boy, ruining everything."

"Yo, but wouldn't it be funny if--" Ivy had to stop herself to burst into a fit of diabolical laughter before continuing on. The idea that had just popped into her head was too brutally good. "If we fuckin uh... if we played some shit over this thing" She pointed to the live microphone that was currently hooked up for her to use to perform her monologue from backstage, casting her disembodied voice out over the audience. Theoretically, it could be used to broadcast anything into the auditorium. Fart noises, swear words, inappropriate music... the possibilities were endless and the dopamine rush was imminent. The power was right at her fingertips.

"You got a phone or an iPod or something? This first act better be spicy. They'll never even know we did it"




/* ------ credit -- do not remove ------ */

© weldherwings.
 







abigail hargreaves






The group found their way to the nurse's station in the hospital to ask for the room Graham was located in. With the earbuds in hand, Abigail took charge and started making her way to room 401, following behind the nurse. As they got closer to the room, the nurse spoke up to the group, "I’m glad that you guys are here. I was worried he has nobody.” This statement received an eye roll from the girl, just because he came in alone, didn't mean he was a nobody.

As they entered the room, Graham started to greet Abigail, then Max followed and it seemed like he was worried about his presence in this type of situation, but he didn't falter in the conversation. That was when Josh entered the room behind the other two, this was when Graham completely shut down, only letting out a short "Hey." to him.

A sigh left Abigail's mouth, "I was going to bring them tomorrow, but I really wanted to just bring it today and make sure you were okay." She walks closer to the bed, getting a better look at the ginger giant in the bed, draped in the thin hospital blankets that didn't seem to ever warm you up. Looking around the room, she takes in a visual of all the machines he was hooked up to.

"I know you didn't really expect all of us to show up, but I know that it's nice to have visitors when in the hospital." She sits the earbuds on the table next to him and continues speaking, "Do you need anything else? I can bring you whatever you need." Concerned could be heard in her voice, this man was like a brother to her, so seeing him in a situation like this made her a little upset.

Her eyes look up at Max, realizing that in her worried state, she had forgotten to sign in order to include the boy in the conversation. Her hands come up and start signing alongside speaking, "I'm sorry, Max. I didn't mean to exclude you, it's just a lot to take in." She tries to give him a reassuring smile, the same as she did earlier backstage in the auditorium.






/* ------ credit -- do not remove ------ */

© weldherwings.
 





/* ------ left side ------ */




/* ------ left side info ------ */
mood self-conscious

location Emergency Room

outfit Sad cold boy

fun fact

tag floralmoon floralmoon weldherwings weldherwings qunqun qunqun


Max Berkowitz




/* ------ right side ------ */


Max didn't remember a lot of the last time he was here in this emergency room, 10 months ago. What he did remember came back to him in snapshots and flashes as he and Abby and Josh rushed their way through the waiting room and towards where Graham Byrne was being held.

He remembered the smell, mostly: sterile alcohol wipes and sanitizer, latex gloves, lingering sweat. Sharp and unpleasant. He remembered the bright florescent lights overhead, blindingly white and flickering ever so slightly so as to give his tired eyes odd visions of slithering creatures. He remembered his parents, traumatized, his mother stroking his hair and his father holding onto his hand while a cold IV dripped into his vein.

He remembered the pain. The aching, throbbing, pounding pain…

It was much different to be the one standing awkwardly in the doorway of the room and not the one trapped in the bed. As soon as he saw Graham lying prone under the white sheets, Max instantly felt nausea crawl up his throat. This felt wrong in millions of tiny ways that he couldn't bring himself to describe.

He wanted to run in and throw his arms around the redheaded giant and promise him that this would all be over soon.
He stood back, though, giving Graham some space, too shy to give anything more than a silent wave hello.

Max could feel Josh beside him, the last one to enter the room, and he was grateful for his presence. The two teenage boys standing awkwardly to the side as Abby talked to Graham gave each other a little shred of peace in this unforgiving scene. Max couldn't even attempt to read Abby's lips, standing behind her, so whatever it was she was saying would forever be a mystery to him.

It wasn't like Abby to leave him out. Whatever she was saying, maybe she didn't want him to be aware of it. Max and Abby had met here, in this very hospital… but maybe she was regretting bringing him along this time. Maybe having him here, her old psych ward friend, was only adding to the trauma. Max's eyes glanced up to Joshua, wordlessly asking for reassurance that he wasn't unwanted.

God, Josh just had the prettiest eyes…

Maybe Max was standing a little too close.

When Abby caught his attention again, to apologize for excluding him from her conversation with Graham, he jumped back a bit but managed to wrench a reassuring smile back onto his face long enough to say "It's fine" yet again, in what was becoming a repetitive habit of his.

"Sorry, I… I know I'm maybe not the best person to say this, Graham,"

Max seemed to be trying to escape inwards at the same time he was speaking, clenching his hands still to remind himself which language he was communicating with.

Did you even say his name right?

"I mean, I've–"

No. Stop it.
Don't make it about yourself.

"It… it gets better."

Wow. The most cliche shit imaginable.
Way to go Max.


"...Better from here, anyway." The last bit of Max's sentence was lost in breathless muttering, his face bright red and eyes darting back and forth. It was typical of him to not be particularly smooth, and Graham had certainly seen him this panicked before. They seemed to only run into each other in the most awkward and painful of circumstances. Max wasn't actually sure if Graham had ever seen him say anything calm and normal, but at least this time it wasn't him having the crisis.

And this time, no one was going to say one word about Jesus.

"Whatever you need right now, I'm here."




/* ------ credit -- do not remove ------ */

© weldherwings.
 







joshua jones



  • .



Was he really doing this?

The car ride to the hospital had been surreal. None of this was about him; but it didn’t stop the fact that he could feel his heart pounding in his chest and the blood rushing to his ears. An overwhelming sense of dread and doom, unsure if his sister would spill the beans to his parents and confess everything that had transpired. Or even worse, if someone from the church was to see Mary on stage and tell their parents. If his sister took the blame of everything that had happened today. He felt sick to his stomach, feeling the burden weigh down in the pits of his gut. So, as he sat in the back of the car, Joshua Jones closed his eyes and, for once in his life, thought a genuine prayer. He prayed that everything would be okay. That his parents wouldn’t find out about the switch-a-roo. That Graham was okay (and to be completely honest, Joshua was still unsure of why the giant Irish lad was in the hospital). That Max and Abby were filled with a sense of peace.

Once at the hospital, all that dread and doom was long gone. Instead, his senses were in overdrive. The sounds of people chattering, the machines beeping and the wailing of concerned families and friends. The smell of sterile equipment and alcohol wipes. The sight of bright lights, pristine white walls and floors bleached until no mark was left behind, and people rushing back and forth to their stations. Walking through the hospital, Joshua could’ve easily been compared to a child experiencing the world for the very first time. His mouth hung ever so slightly as he was left in awe of his surroundings, looking around himself to take in everything. He had only ever seen hospitals in the videos his parents would play for him. Those videos were usually about visiting sick people in hospitals to pray for them or to ask them to accept Jehovah into their life before passing. But this was nothing like those videos.

One by one, they entered the room. Abigail and Max were welcomed warmly; Joshua, on the other hand, was the receiver of a bland, hey. Well, I suppose he deserved it in a way. Unsure of how to respond, knowing that his presence was obviously not completely desired, Joshua simply responded by lifting a hand to wave hello with no motion. He watched from a distance, next to Max, as Abby began to talk to Graham. All the while, random items in the room caught his attention and piqued his interest. What does that do? he wondered as his eyes caught sight of the bed’s remote control that was hooked over the side.

Joshua was drawn back into the conversation happening in the room as Abigail apologised to Max. Wait, why was she apologising? Stop daydreaming he hissed at himself internally, turning his gaze to Max in an attempt to try and stay focused. But how could someone not be intrigued by everything in the room? Max began to speak - well, muttering here and there as he did so. And while Joshua tried his hardest to concentrate on what Max was saying, his eyes were drawn to the tall metal contraception that was holding onto a bag of liquid and connected to a tube that was… in Graham’s arm? His eyes widened slightly; but what was that. He wanted to pull Max or Abby to the side, ask them what exactly was wrong with Graham, and what was the hospital putting into him? But, considering the mood and atmosphere of the room currently, it didn’t seem to be the smartest thing.

So, for now, he just did what Joshua Jones did best; stand there, be quiet and try to remain invisible. Which he did… Just… all the while eyeballing the cannula and drip that was currently connected into Graham as he laid in bed before them.







/* ------ credit -- do not remove ------ */

© weldherwings.
 
















Ship In A Bottle



fin








Graham Byrne







The horrible thing about being in this situation was that Graham had no pretense about even trying to be the stupid idiot that he’d presented himself as in the Bible Study. And perhaps this was quite jarring for Max and Josh, after all he was very good at faking brainlessness.

No instead, previously carefully vacant green eyes flickered back and forth intelligently with an unreadable expression as he stared at all of them, despite the pale tiredness that exuded from a face that usually maintained a rosy glow of stupidity. Visibly thinking and processing as he seemed to read everyone’s emotional state in the room at once.

He looked more tired than he did on a normal day. Perhaps it was the smile that he always painted on that kept people from noticing the darker lines under his eyes.

A pause as Abi asked him what he wanted. Eyes flickered over to Josh. Staring.

People wanted him to be simple. People wanted him to be flirtatious. People wanted him to be an asshole. It was a lot easier to file him away into whatever little box that people wanted to file him into if they thought that he slotted easily into a role. The easy role of being a flirt. Being a fuckboy. Being an asshole.

But he’d already shown his hand by trying to get rid of them as quickly as they came. They knew now that he was actively thinking about things behind his smile and his flirtatious nature.

It would be easier, though, for him to write off Graham’s simpleness as a fluke.

So, Graham’s smile came back as he maintained eye contact, equal parts arrogant and flirtatious.

“Nothing now that you’re here.” But equally curt and dismissive. And then there was a rare flash of genuine emotion in his eyes. Anger. Rage. He stared down Max as his foreign sign language was translated to him. Then, another stare right at Josh.

Look at me if you’re going to stare you piece of shite.

“I had a gardening accident with a shovel.” Deadpan towards Max as he then turned to Josh.

“Oi, eyes up here lad.”

Perhaps a small part of him did in fact feel bad for not being the most agreeable of personalities, but everything was painful and he really just needed them to leave at this point.

“Anyways, I’m fine. I’m great. All good. Need for nothing, except maybe a pint, and you can all go back to-to… Wait didn’t you guys have a school play. Why the feck are you here.” The flat tone was back. Disbelief perhaps tinged in it. And maybe disappointment. "You really shouldn't blow off school to keep me company."

Another pause. And then his eyes narrowed as he stared at his bed sheets as he took in their answer, and then his head whipped back up to stare at Josh once more like the boy was some kind of strange alien from outer space that he was studying..

"Okay, but why the feck are you here?"






/* ------ credit -- do not remove ------ */

© weldherwings.
 







abigail hargreaves



  • .



Graham had mentioned the play, which honestly had completely slipped Abigail's mind."Well yeah, we did have the play, but Max only had one scene and I got someone to take over for me." Her hands fall down to her sides after finishing her statement, the mistake of already excluding Max once wasn't going to happen again. Quietly, she slips into the chair across the room from the giant, focusing on him, trying to read the emotions that are completely void of his face.

All she could think about was his "accident" with the shovel, what was he even doing in order to get sent to the hospital? Does he even garden? Many questions went through her mind as she tried to figure out what could've actually happened. Her eyes dart around the room, looking at all the machines that he was hooked up to. They all looked so familiar, but who's to say that this isn't the same get-up that everyone gets when they're in the hospital?

Abigail's train of thought was interrupted by Graham narrowing his eyes at Joshua, asking him what he was doing there. She knew exactly what he was doing there, she and Max had basically dragged him along, though, the boy could've denied tagging along just like he did that night at the church. The disappointment on the ginger's face was clear as day, he wasn't happy that Joshua had come with them. Especially after having sat idly while Joshua's family practically forced Max into tears, which was possibly one of the worst nights ever.

It had been a while since then, so Abigail had forgiven Joshua, but that doesn't mean that the rest of them had. Her focus comes back to Graham, speaking up before Josh even had the chance to, "I asked him to come, we're all here to support you with your... gardening accident." She began weighing the other options of what may have happened, thinking of how he was acting the last time she saw him. He seemed.. alright? There was definitely something on his mind that he wasn't speaking about though.






/* ------ credit -- do not remove ------ */

© weldherwings.
 





/* ------ left side ------ */




/* ------ left side info ------ */
mood trying to be cheering

location Emergency Room

outfit Sad cold boy

fun fact

tag floralmoon floralmoon weldherwings weldherwings qunqun qunqun


Max Berkowitz




/* ------ right side ------ */


"I had a gardening accident with a shovel."

Abby translated Graham's explanation, and for a moment Max wasn't sure if he'd understood correctly.
An accident with a shovel?
Max's brain wouldn't bring up a believable image of how a life-threatening shovel accident would play out. Back when Max and his family owned a house with a yard, he had his fair share of landscaping mishaps, but none had involved shovels or spades.

Maybe if someone else had swung a shovel at Graham as a blunt weapon, but…
Max let out a dejected exhale, not allowing himself to consider the possibility that Graham might not be telling the truth.

An accident.
Of course.
Why had he assumed that it was…?

This whole situation reminded him too much of his own experience. Max was just projecting, wanting very badly to feel as though somehow he understood what Graham was going through.

"The play won't miss us." Max followed Abby's lead and reassured Graham, looking almost as though he were hurting his own feelings by dismissing his importance to the production, "Josh's sister Mary is a really good actress, and… no one needed me there, anyway." In truth, Max hadn't wanted to be in the play at all and was insulted to have been forced into it, but at the same time he had a desperate need to feel wanted and included, and ditching the play wasn't helping that at all.

Abby moved to sit in the chair opposite Graham's hospital bed, but Max stayed with Josh near the door. He leaned against the wall in a way that made it painfully obvious that he was trying and failing to seem casual, occasionally looking up at Josh and trying to copy his posture. The two of them, Max and Josh, made what could have been an intimate and emotional moment between Graham and Abby into an off-beat group huddle over a tragic shovel accident.

It seemed that Graham was already not keen to talk about the gorey details of.the "shovel accident", though, so maybe Max and Josh were helping somehow. Lightening the mood, perhaps?

Max wasn't used to being a mood-lightener, but he knew one thing for sure: no one ever wants to be in the emergency room. This was a situation that, by its very nature, required some cheering up.

"Hey… I hope this isn't coming at a bad time," he motioned, trying to both give Graham an anchor for his lie and steer the conversation in a direction that might not be so painful, "But maybe when you get out of here, when you get better… I could help you with your gardening. I'm pretty good with plants. And shovels."

Was he trying to hint at something just then? Maybe he was.
Maybe this was all just a weird convoluted metaphor for...
He'd let Graham decide what.



/* ------ credit -- do not remove ------ */

© weldherwings.
 







船井 蓮
















mood.


AHHAA,, HA, HI.






location.


A KITCHEN!






OUTFIT.


CLICKY







tags.


qunqun qunqun
















SEPT 26TH.
It had been a little over two weeks since the cave-rave encounter. After agreeing and inevitably failing in arm-wrestling the brute of a man, Ren handled the pathetic loss like all mature adults did.

Took the rings off his right hand and stacked them on his left.

Woe, Ren was painfully pedantic when it served to his benefit.

Yet in light of recent changes, a job had somehow fallen into his orbit. Hibernating aches in the slope of his neck and submerging discs into palpable soft bubble grey, hours spent smothering grease from porcelain and swallowing grimaces in the demanding faces of staff. Like all reiterations of Ren’s work history, it had not taken long for newborn ire to take root; apron now a tether to a blessing spiralled curse.

Skimming at the cold mind like a flat sun-stone, rippling scintillia disturbances into repercussive waves of childish spite; authority was company the klepto did not keep, had never kept, permeating distaste with each subtle guideline.

Renew the water every half-hour.
He’d renew it every 20 minutes. Hot water kept his hands toasty. Purr.

Your break lasts fifteen minutes.
He’d push it to seventeen. He had cigarettes to smoke and Fruit Ninja to play.

Positive attitudes are everything to us.
Alas, Ren was the spirit of a burning hag.

Derogatory, the dangle of paychecks and company values above to expect him to obediently heel. To be viewed expendable, just another corporate-poisoned item, how the thought soured his outlook and entire personality.

Connoisseur of ruination seeking comfort in what he knew best: risk and reward, history leaked to fill lagoon voids. Small in phenomenon, large in principle, he’d stolen a spoon today. The first of hopefully many, a silver (particularly shiny) utensil slipped right into his very pocket.

Sometimes he’d think trying almost had an impact, the ephemeral intoxication of feeling beneficial, legal income a testament to no longer being a sooty smear on society. Believing he could be a pious man, carving something righteous and honest from a soft-flesh cadaver of mistakes, something saintly, salvageable. Yet blades grow dull, and in their subdued edges did it brew, eerie as the suspicion of being watched.

Something was wrong.

The shift in ambience was felt, seen, as soon as he entered through the back. Returned from his spitefully timed 17 minute break to find the kitchen silent as a grave, anxious eyes drilling holes into countertops and walls.

Oh. Menacing.

Had he finally been caught?

The creepiness had a prickle of unease traversing the mast of Ren’s spine, a situation that must require, if nothing else, careful tenterhook steps if he wished to retain this job.

They knew.

But Ren was not known for doing anything carefully.

They knew what he did.

"Listen," he'd begin conversationally, the start of a poorly rehearsed excuse. “The broken plates hidden behind the freezer weren't me.”

And if he just… went to tiptoe peacefully over to his station… everything would be fine. Right? Right.





窃盗狂


♡coded by uxie♡
 
















Afterlife



Avenged Sevenfold








Aurelian Fiocchi



  • .




Rage boiled in Aurelian’s blood. It was there, seeped in it. One of the few respectable gigs that he’d managed to pick up over the years as a chef and he wasn’t going to let anybody blow it for him when everyone’s eyes were on him.

His mean temper made for great fear mongering among his employees, though they quickly adapted to the flashfires that came across his temper whenever he was in a particularly foul mood.

A piece of white flashed before his eyes, the shattered plates squirreled away shelves of stocked food in the freezer. Rage boiling under his blood, alive in his core as he found more evidence of wrongdoing. Plates that hadn’t been properly washed in a lazy bout of cleaning.

Jeopardizes the entire line. The possible health and safety infraction cutting through his mind like a knife. This was not how his career shuttered to a halt – with a shitty dishwasher.

“Who left shattered plates in the freezer.” The tone was always soft at first, with all the fake niceness of the purring of a cat before it struck. The kitchen immediately fell silent. “And who left all this shit over their plate when they were supposed to clean it.”

A hold up of the dirty dish.

A longhaired man entered at the very back of the kitchen, coming back from his break a whole two minutes late.

The rest of the crew, dead silent, and pointedly, obviously, not looking at Ren.

Shifty eyes and a faltering lie set his rage into a boil as little bits of venom seeped out dangerously, the rattling tail of a snake as he coiled to strike.

“You.” Dangerous step towards Ren.
“Have.” Another. Amber eyes flashing in warning of the hatred boiling under the surface.
“The.” The other cooks were in various levels of cringing and fear as Aurelian’s fury was about to be unleashed.
“Most.” He was now in Ren’s face.

“SIMPLE JOB IN THIS ENTIRE FUCKING KITCHEN.” Aurelian shouted, the beginnings of a massive tirade being flooded onto Ren’s poor ears.

“IS THIS HOW YOU CLEAN YOUR FUCKING DISHES AT HOME?” Was a line in it. Followed by “I HOPE THE FUCKING RATS THAT LIVE IN YOUR CUPBOARDS HAVE CHEWED SOME OF YOUR BRAIN BECAUSE THAT IS THE ONLY WAY I CAN POSSIBLY SEE THAT YOU COULD BE SO FUCKING STUPID.”

And then it got personal.

“DID YOUR MOTHER TEACH YOU HOW TO WASH DISHES THIS SHITTILY? YOU’RE A FUCKING DISGRACE.”

After a full ten minutes of shouting about dirty dishes and how they were a liability onto the entire restaurant and a stain upon Ren’s character as a person, he took a second to take a deep breath. He seemed to realize where he was again

“You lot, stop fucking standing around and get back to work. You are coming with me.” Shark toothed smile as the rage filtered back into his entire being. A harsh grab as Ren was pulled into an office.

“The broken plates I found in the freezer.” He said, another soft purr before the strike.

And so another tirade began.

This was going to take a while.






/* ------ credit -- do not remove ------ */

© weldherwings.
 
MOOD: Nervous/Irritated



OUTFIT: bad girl costume!!! leathers! hair feathers!



LOCATION: Backstage
basics
MENTIONS: Qwertycakes Qwertycakes



INT:

Chimney Swift Chimney Swift
tags
TL;DR Sed fermentum tortor nulla, vel sodales nibh bibendum eu. Maecenas a lacus a libero blandit commodo. In lobortis aliquam urna, id tempor ex semper at
tl;dr
ashley park
I'm not that nice, I'm mean and I'm evil, don't call me nice


This play was the single most iconic thing that had ever happened in Ashley Park's short little existence. Everything from the cheesy script, to the fact that she got to be the leading lady, the face of this entire anti-drug movement, filled her heart with excitement. And quite frankly, rehearsals had been a welcome distraction from what was waiting for her at home. Crying babies, douchey fathers, irritating new girlfriends, and Dustin being........well the same dumbass who she could barely talk to after their awkward exchange like a month ago. For a few hours, she got to not think about anything connected to Chalamet, and instead cackle at the absurd script with Sister Bestie. The two girls had been cast as Mother and Daughter, and as avid Carol stans, were eager to perform this masterpiece to the best of their capabilities.

As stagehands and actors alike dashed around her, checking scripts for the last time and making sure everything was in place, she felt a certain thrill run down her spine. The fact that in less than 2 hours, the cast would take their bows as the audience stared back at them dumbstruck, filled her with glee. This would change lives. And although it may be diva-ish to think so, Ashley liked to believe that her and Oliver's parts would be one of the most deliciously horrifying for their audience. Or at the very least, Ashley would give birth to Ivy and be partially responsible for that god-awful fetus monolgue.

Prepared to hunt down Sister Bestie, Ashley turned to find Oliver crying out her name amidst the horde of bustling performers. She frowned, finally turning around. She found herself face to face with her durag wearing friend who held an incredibly distressed expression on his face. "OLI?" She called out, managing to grab his arm and pull him aside, away from the tight compact group that was beginning to form. She sighed, glancing over at him. "What's up?" She questioned, fully aware there was likely to be some problem as per usual, but not sure what it was. Despite the frequency of these issues, Ash felt a certain sense of obligation to make sure he was okay.

"Well? How ya feeling? Spill it." She ordered the nervous boy, though a slight hint of laughter was evident in her tone. Unbenkownst to the girl, if Ashley had paid closer attention to the shit Oli was talking about on Twitter and in group chats, it would be obvious what was on his mind. But despite wanting to help him, and being willing to listen when he was distressed, Ashley tended to go into autopilot mode with Oli. Making a few one-liners, reassuring him that the shit he was worrying about wasn't even that likely, stuff like that. She could remember his major fears, such as crabs, but the minutia totally escaped her. Even more so nowadays, as she found herself more wrapped up in irritation with her Dad, new living situation, boy woes, and all that jazz that made her a pretty inattentive friend.

So her best guess was honestly him worrying a crab had made it into the theater. Which was actually possible, considering she was pretty sure his mother was going to show.
code by valen t.
 





/* ------ left side ------ */




/* ------ left side info ------ */
mood 💋

location MJC School Auditorium

outfit dear god someone help this kid

fun fact Only 1 out of 100 baby sea turtles hatched ever makes it to the ocean.

tag tamarapasek tamarapasek


Oliver Dreyfuss




/* ------ right side ------ */


"Well? How ya feeling? Spill it."
For several seconds, Oliver struggled to answer Ashley. After finding him, she had pulled him away from the mob of actors and crewpeople backstage, and she was laughing at him a little bit as she looked him over. Oliver noticed this and frowned, muttering to himself before he came up with how he wanted to express how he was feeling.

"I don't know how to kiss people!" he whispered very loudly, bouncing up and down on his heels like a shaking chihuahua. "I'm-- I'm gonna do something dumb, I just know it. I feel like... I feel like a turtle that's going to d-die on the beach 10 minutes after hatching, along with 98 of my siblings." Practicing metaphors in Mr. Wright's AP English class evidently wasn't going very well. That didn't make any sense. As if a switch had been flipped inside him, Oliver was off on another turtle rant.
When Oliver was feeling anxious or distressed, he usually ended up fidgeting with his hair, but right now all his messy dark brown locks were pushed away under a stupidly ridiculous skull-and-crossbones durag that had to have come out of some kind of thrift store clearance bin in the 80s. So instead of tugging at strands of his hair, he was just repeatedly tapping the sides of his head, like he was trying to wake up his brain.
Oliver just didn't look like himself without his hair practically falling over his eyes, and he didn't feel like himself either...
The only thing that was reminding him of who he was right now was turtle facts.
He felt like he was going to lose himself in this insane drug dealer character.
"I won't actually die." He clarified, afraid that Ashley might take his attempt at figurative speech as a serious cry for help, "But I feel really really bad, and--"

"Places!"
Carol's shrill voice echoed through the space.
It was time for the play to start. No more time for comforting chats.
The next time Oliver saw Ashley, she would be Becky, his soon-to-be girlfriend.
"Goodbye," he said hoarsely, like he was getting dragged off to be shot, wandering away to take his place to enter the world of the play.

The first 2 scenes were pretty simple: characters introduce themselves and their vices, through weak writing and pathetically obvious dialogue. Oliver stumbled through his lines and blocking with as much charisma and stage presence as he could muster, which wasn't very much, and going through the motions felt even worse now that a crowd of people was sitting staring at him in the silent, darkened audience. They got to the third scene of the play, where the black wooden cubes had been dragged downstage to pitifully represent Ashley's character's bedroom. This was it, the scene that would kick the play into action.

Oliver walked out on stage, trying to embody a hardened tough-guy attitude befitting of the role. Instantly, he heard muffled laughter and whispers in the audience.
Nobody had properly prepared Oliver for being in front of a live audience, or the things that might happen while he was up on stage, so it was hard to blame him for being startled out of character.
He blinked under the blinding stage lights, staring out into the rows of seats. More people had come to this thing than he thought...
He caught sight of his mother, in the middle of the second row.
Her hand was in John Park's lap.
They locked eyes, only for a second, but it felt like an hour.
She glared. He froze.

It was Ashley who pulled him back into the scene, as Becky, with her next line. She grabbed his arm the way a distraught girlfriend would, saying something that seemed to get lost in the silence onstage.

The silence lingered for one, two, three, four, five, six seconds...
Oh no.

Oliver had forgotten his lines.

He had to say something like "you're the only thing that gets me high, you red-hot crack baby" .... or was it "the only thing that gets me high is you and crack, baby" ... or maybe "I'm high on crack and you're the only thing that gets me hot, baby" ??

What Oliver actually ended up saying, more to the audience than to Ashley, was "I'm high on crack."

Then he kissed her.

Hooking his arm around her waist like a vampire about to bite Ashley's neck, Oliver pulled her towards him until her mouth touched his mouth in a way that instantly activated his gag reflex. He suppressed the urge to cough and retch, his eyes frozen wide open and staring out into the audience.

He saw his mother gasp, her mouth dropped open and her finger pointing in his direction, like she was about to yell curse words at him, but she didn't. She was silent. As long as he stayed up on the stage, kissing Ashley like his life depended on it, his mother couldn't hurt him.




/* ------ credit -- do not remove ------ */

© weldherwings.
 



















bug



creepy crawly creature












Bug grinned at Ivy. "Not much, Shitwipe Stevens." They stuck their hands in their pockets, nodding at the comment about their outfit. "Good news is, I can re-use this outfit for Halloween. I can be Rad 90's Guy."

They nodded as Ivy discussed her role in the play.

"I'm actually pretty stoked, I get to be Jesus. Like the script says he's not Jesus, but he totally is, right? It's a metaphor. I'm the metaphor. I might flub my lines on purpose, say like... 'Have gay sex and do cocaine' or something. That'd get me in DEEP though, they'd be able to see me..."

Ivy shared her plan. The beginning riffs of the play performed by new student May Gu were a little bit distracting, clearly way longer than they were intended to be. But they got the gist of it. The backstage sound system contained a port that could be used to plug in an MP3 player, and it just so happened that Bug was packing a sleek, green iPod Nano with upwards of 400 songs on it, each one as lecherous as the previous.

It was genius. Nobody would be able to see them doing their magic.

"You're amazing." They grinned, tooth gap staring out wide and black into the abyss of the backstage area. "We gotta wait for the right time, like..." They grabbed their script and pointed at it, eyes scrunching with joy. "...like when turtle boy kisses Ashley."

They dug around in the piles of wires for various sound equipment before finding something to connect to an MP3. They vaguely remembered Darwin Hooper using this for a poetry reading before being unscrupulously chased offstage by staff when he read his spooky-ass death poems over a Skinny Puppy track. Apparently a few children cried. Bug wouldn't know because they weren't there, but it was a big scandal.

Another scandal was just underway.

They scrolled through their music, preparing a track for just the right moment. Plugging it in and fiddling with a few buttons just to make sure it was going to play through the auditorium speakers. Their hair a shock of green as they knelt beside the soundstuffs looking like a tuft of grass.

"It's just about time..."

Then it happened. Oliver uttered his line, or like, half of his line, and Bug hit the button.

Immediately the screeching sound of electric noise came over the speakers as Wriggle Like A Fucking Eel by Whitehouse began to play.

"YOU BOY!
HOW'D YOU LIKE TO WET YOUR FEET IN A COLD SWIMMING POOL?"

The auditorium came alive with the hideous combination of electronic fuzz and the screaming voice of William Bennett blasting through the speakers. Even at a low volume it was intense, and Bug felt like the Tyler Durden of school plays, only far less subtle. It blasted forth, barely even music and drowned out the sound of almost anything else. They wondered if Ashley would get so startled, she'd bite turtle boy's lip off.

"ANOTHER TUBE, ANOTHER TUBE OF SHITPASTE
SQUEEZED OUT, SQUEEZE OUT THAT LONG BROWN HAIRGEL SQUIRT,"

This would blow Darwin's gay little poetry incident out of the water. With the sound dampened slightly by the auditorium curtain, Ivy could probably hear Bug laughing their ass off like a demon getting gently tickled. And did we mention this song is around five minutes long? It REALLY just keeps on going like this.

"I HAVE NO FUCKING IDEA WHY BOY'D BE PROUD
OF ANOTHER CASE OF THE FLU,
FACE THE FEAST OF POWDER! FACE THE FEAST OF POWDER!"

"See, the 'feast of powder' is cocaine. It's totally thematically relevant." They spoke between giggles, laughing so hard their stomach began to painfully ache.











































♡coded by uxie♡
 
JUST A WEE CONTENT WARNING FOR CUSSING​





























SEPTEMBER 26TH.

After valiantly clearing his name— and believably so, he’d garnered attention from one staff member in particular. The hostility of their approach sent Ren into a tango of avoidance.

“You.” They would seethe.

"Me.” Ren would respond.

“Have.” They took a step closer.

"Have.” Ren took a step away.

“The most.”

"Hair? Yes–”

“SIMPLE JOB IN THIS ENTIRE FUCKING KITCHEN.”

The dishwasher stared at the man. Rude. Looked them up and down in the usual judgemental procedure. Some are born with incredible amounts of audacity.

“That’s subjective.”

Aurelian didn’t think so.

Lashed by a northern wind that flayed indifference and spun disorient to features, Ren had been taken off guard. Very rarely did he find himself on the other side of such bristling rage, delivering a strange flavour of karma to the roof of his mouth. Blinking as if to displace any debris that had been blasted in the cataclysmic shouting, rattle tendered the temples of his volume-hammered skull.

Clearly someone needed a mango.

Beneath the ranting prattle, coal iris slowly, disrespectfully, drifted past the man's face to eye other kitchen inhabitants with a silent inquiry. Are y’all gonna do something about this. All catacomb-esque in their silence, vividly uncomfortable and shying from the display, cowardly, affirming this wasn’t a weirdly misplaced joke or uncommon occurrence.

Languid in Aurelian’s warpath, he’d take annoyances and stash them away from his mind’s focus. Consume them in shadows to stew over at a later time; a time where employment wasn’t at risk. Not the first occasion Ren had been insulted as such, certainly not the last, but he could try to muster self control and not punch the man square in the throat.

Features tilted, allowing foul-worded retorts to ebb on the tongue.

Yet the mention of his mother unfurled nettle between ribs, coveting for action. Serpentine twists, the silk shrug of control rendered down to crude gossamer threads. A delirious fever familiar in its affliction, reserved inside days and nights of hurt that could be argued out of, Ren always found solace in the protective shell of his temper.

For the swell of their shouting, the klepto was elsewhere, weighing the risk and reward of striking the man. Anger a snare to the jugular, thin bone of his jaw aching in protest to the tension wiring it shut. Molars collecting an ivory wall, teeth sunk to tongue in crescent moons as a replica of the fingers spading scorching nails into palmar creases.

Deaf to how those surrounding earned their warning, the brief reprieve of Aurelian’s wrath and intent to be sequestered elsewhere managed to surface Ren from a monologue of hate.

“You are coming with me.”

“Like fuck I am.” Protest mattered naught, as through Ren’s bickering he’d been wrangled from kitchen to office for the next portion of his reckoning. More admonishment.

Mango-less behaviour.

Syllables saccharine before dissolving to the regularly scheduled rage, ears and patience had grown tired of the assault. Passion for plates was not shared, and in a blatant display of arrogant dismissal, Ren’s wandering brought him to the desk, where he promptly took a seat in the authoritative chair. Habitual, instinctual, atavistic. Brewing with vermillion broth, surely divinity would shudder at the two, a visage of sea waves meeting a river current, ruby ice spidering with fractures beneath them.

Languorous, Ren kicked shoes up onto the desk and expectantly stared at Aurelian.

What will you do about it.

Akin to a cat slapping shit off a shelf, eye contact was maintained as he slowly emptied a cup of pens onto the floor. Then obnoxiously smacked the cup on the desk like a Judge abusing their gavel.

“USE YOUR FUCKING INSIDE VOICE.”

Now they were both shouting. Excellent.

“You can shut up already! It’s just a few plates!” Dauntless in his resolve, Ren had met a pinnacle where there’d be no turning back. A hymn that shook skeletal and held a bruised pulse in the throat, he'd found himself in these circumstances hundreds of times before.

“Now listen up, Ham-Head, ‘cause I’ll be telling you once.” Tossing the cup aside, Ren would settle further into the chair as an image of nonchalance.

“Bozo is gonna back the fuck off before I decide to wring his neck like a washcloth." Voice sharp as a spindle, there was tremor in its controlled level. "Ever seen a hydraulic press? That’ll be your jugular.”

Syllables hissed as fragmented glass, intended to split flesh and sever veins, the beginning of the end:

“Secondly, put those greasy mitts on me again and I’ll make it my personal goal to castrate you. Shouting might scare everyone else in here, but that shit ain’t gonna work on me.”

“And thirdly.” And most importantly, fingers steepling like a calm business proposal. “Fuck you.”

Content, he’d almost salivate at the respite to finally share his thoughts.

“So now that's outta the way.” Seated like a demigod of Loki, air freighted with the tendril of a smile and scalding question. “Are we gonna have a problem?”























now playing...







It Will Come Back



Hozier


































































♡coded by uxie♡

 
Last edited:
















Afterlife



Avenged Sevenfold








Aurelian Fiocchi



  • .




The need for air eventually cooled Aurelian’s rage enough for him to be able to falter as he took deep breaths of air to continue his tirade. But, it seemed, that the dishwasher had taken this faltering as an opportunity to interject with his own venting frustrations, and if this had not been while Aurelian was in a particularly venomously foul mood, perhaps he would’ve taken Ren’s actual comments to heart and tried to rearrange his mindset.

Unfortunately, this was not this time, and Aurelian’s fists clenched and unclenched in a demonstration of slowly escalating rage throughout Ren’s outburst. Slowly boiling in the kettle as he stared at the other man petulantly sitting in his chair. Perhaps, if either of them had been slightly more socially aware, they could’ve seen the rage about to explode everywhere and attempted a deescalation.

But in fact, Ren had other ideas.

“And thirdly, fuck you… Are we gonna have a problem?”

Silence.

Dead silence

A stare of light brown eyes - perhaps yellow in their barely concealed rage.

Silence.

Staring.

Teeth showing as his lips pulled back in an awful grin. A couple of soft chuckles escaping him. A whole minute laughter as he turned away from Ren before the sudden dropping of his laugh.

“You’re fired.” Finality broached before he pivoted and punched Ren in the face. As Ren reeled back in Aurelian’s chair, the chef followed up by grabbing him by the back of the neck and shoving downwards onto his desk. A soft squeeze applied to start choking off air supply.






/* ------ credit -- do not remove ------ */

© weldherwings.
 







mallory hawke



  • .



The night had finally come, there could be someone out in the crowd scouting for a talent agency, the night of the play. Although to the girl's dismay, she hadn't gotten the starring role, Christian Carol was basically the casting director, and of all the people she had who were good, which weren't many, if any, she had to skip over Mallory when choosing who was playing the lead.

There were only a few minutes before the play would start, and people were running around, basically yelling at each other backstage, trying to get things in order at the last minute. Most of the cast were still worrying about their roles or even trying to memorize their lines. They had at least a month to get their shit together, and they waited until the last minute to do something about it? Dumbasses.

While walking around, Mallory noticed three people shuffling off out the back door, at first she couldn't recognize them, but once the setting sun hit their faces, she figured out who the mysterious figures were, Abigail Hargreaves, Max Berkowitz, and Joshua Jones. Two of which were cast IN the play, and the other was a stagehand.

This would leave an important role open, one that was needed for the play, but who would've taken that spot? Her eyes dart around, searching for the possible suspect. That's when her focus landed on Mary Jones, who looked awfully excited to be working backstage. She hones in on the younger girl, looking like a wildcat stalking its prey, and quickly approaches her.

"What just happened? Where did those three run off to?" Mallory begins to question Mary, there wasn't a chance for the girl to answer the questions before more spewed out of the blonde's mouth. "This is an important night and you guys think you can do a little switcharoo? There's no fucking way you guys are getting away with this."

Turning on her heel, almost whipping Mary in the face with her hair, she was on the way to find Christian Carol to let her know what had just happened. If Mallory couldn't get a good spot in the play after auditioning, but some nobody can get it because someone decided to abandon ship then nobody would get to truly enjoy the play.






/* ------ credit -- do not remove ------ */

© weldherwings.
 
Raevlyn
Darrow
Take me to space~
https:///www.raevlyn-darrow.com
/sugarinspace

Raevlyn Darrow didn't want to do this, they didn't even want to get out of bed today. Not only did they force Raven into a role in this stupid christian drug play, ironic enough, but they made them the main role, front and center, and they were terrified, to say the least, even with Saturn by her side, the nerves we're reaching their boiling point as a few pills, courtesy of their best friend Drew, slide down their throat, chased by a sip of their secret rum-filled water. As they pushed themself off the floor of the bathroom stall, they felt themself lighten, their thoughts clear and their confidence spike, as if someone had turned on auto-pilot mode. With a few hits of their vape and a run of their fingers through their hair, long and black, they told them to dress "normal", which was vaguely insulting, and Raven felt a little out of touch looking at their reflection, not recognizing the person looking back. They appeared at the stage just in time, catching the dirty look Carol shot them well enough, but still, they marched on stage, the plaid skirt of the schoolgirl outfit they'd given to them, which of course they modified, that skirt was far too long, swishing around their legs. Theyre lines came out like second nature at their blood pressure spiked and their high peaked, the stage lights becoming bright, making the black haired teen feel like she was glowing up there, under the prying, predatory eyes of the audience. It was going well, they were dramatic and expressive, bordering on sarcasm with every line, and then-
"Oh my fucking god."
Raven had lost control of their body as they keeled over, cackling, unable to stop as they observed the faces of the audience, confused, horrified, laughing, and especially Carol, the panic, the anger, the confusion as she scrambled to figure out what to do, figure out how to make it stop, but Raven couldn't care less, they knew exactly who did this and how this happened, but their lips were sealed, or atleast too busy laughing to get out a coherent word anyway.
coded by reveriee.
 
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