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Realistic or Modern Cities Never Sleep

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joshua jones






The contraption connected to the large Irish brute made itself painfully interesting to Joshua. He couldn’t quite figure out why, but I suppose it was like watching a dog walk on its hind legs for the very first time. He was full of awe and wonder; that was until he heard the growl from the older male. Oi, eyes up here lad. It was enough to rattle him out of his trance, tensing instantly with a small jump. Hazel brown eyes tore away from the cannula and now rested back on Graham’s face like the other male had requested. An involuntary small gulp rested in the back of his throat as he waited in silence for Graham to speak.

The other male began to speak in a flat tone, almost filled with the essence of disappointment as he spoke to Abigail about the play, and how they really shouldn’t have come. And just like that, within a split second, Joshua could feel his spirit leave his body. Narrowed eyes now pinned on him; he could feel the anger, or resentment, or whatever it was - burning under Graham’s skin and unleashing itself through a gaze. His tongue whipped the firey words, smacking Joshua in the face and leaving him speechless. Why exactly was he here?.

Joshua had been asking himself the exact same thing.

The whole car ride over. The walk to and into the hospital. And even as he stood before Graham next to Abigail and Max. He wondered what good his presence was doing. Did him being there even change anything in the situation? He could feel his cheeks burn furiously, his ear lobes catching the heat and also turning a rosy scarlet hue. His mouth opened slightly, hanging in some dumbfoundedness as he tried to collect some sort of words to create a sentence. Thankfully, however, Abigail came to the rescue, explaining how she had asked him to come. Flickering a glance towards the girl, his eyes softened as to almost telepathically thank her for speaking up.

Thank Jehovah Joshua internally sighed, his inner child wiping the sweat forming from his brow within his imagination. In all honesty, he was still trying to figure out why he had agreed to join. Maybe it was because he felt bad for everything that had happened that night he had last seen the three of them. Or maybe it was his way of showing the others that, well… he didn’t agree with everything his parents said.

Or, maybe… just perhaps… Coming with them tonight was less to do with the others, and more to do with himself; unlocking and breaking down the intense fear of obedience to his parents.

Max began to speak before any more questions could be asked in regard to the presence of Joshua Jones in the room. And this time he was talking about… Graham’s gardening accident? Okay, now his brain was finally catching up. So Graham was in the hospital because he had a ‘shovel accident’ while gardening. It seemed to make sense; after all, why would someone makeup such a story, right? All innuendo went completely over his head and out the window. Gullibly, Joshua listened to Max’s proposal about helping with gardening. It was at that moment that Joshua felt like a matchstick was struck within his chest. A fiery passion for wanting to help, and a desire to blurt out all he was thinking. But he held it within, crossing his arms and pressing a hand up against his mouth.

He wanted to tell Graham that he was excellent at gardening. Saturday mornings from eight until ten, the whole Jones family spent time doing gardening maintenance. Sometimes it was at their house, sometimes it was at the Kingdom Hall, and sometimes it was to help those in need. There was something therapeutic about gardening; often he was left to himself to plant flowers, weed out the garden beds and mow the lawn. It kept him busy, and on task, and he felt like he was doing some sort of good to the world. Most especially he enjoyed the nature; the insects that crawled in the soils to help the growth of the plants, and the birds that sat upon the branches, singing their melodic calls.

And so, completely unaware and oblivious to Max’s metaphoric language, Joshua decided to add to the boy’s suggestion of coming to help Graham. “I’m… really good with hedge trimmers. And lawn mowers… If you… need help” he shyly spoke, signing along with small gestures to match the slowness and softness of his voice as he spoke. Honestly, after the way Graham had been eyeballing him before, he should’ve just kept his mouth shut. So, once he had spoken, Joshua quickly tucked his hands back under his crossed arms and brought his gaze back down at the floor. Just keep being invisible. Keep being invisible






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

© weldherwings.
 
















Ship In A Bottle



fin








Graham Byrne







Well. That didn’t go very well.

Clearly, Abi didn’t believe shit, but the other two seemed to be so wrapped up in their own shit, that Graham could work with that.

Was it slightly manipulative? Yes, but it wasn’t his fault that they clearly had not picked up on his quiet cues to leave. But in the meantime, they were still taking the bait about the whole shovel lie.

He raised an eyebrow at the clamor to suddenly help him in gardening, when it finally struck him: none of these children knew what he actually did for a living.

He waited for the discussion on his inability to garden to cease before quietly mentioning: “Y’all realize… I’m… a landscaper, right?”

A blink, a look at the faces before him. No. No they did not. “... I run a landscaping business…”

Silence as they all took in this new information. Graham made sure to keep his face carefully blank and to not burst out in laughter at how awkward everything suddenly got.

“... anyways, one of my workers impaled me with a shovel by accident. I’m not accepting questions at this time as to what happened.”

It wasn’t that far off from the truth, but he didn’t want to really state what actually happened, drunken revelry turned depressed in the blink of the eye, and the immediate sobering of what he’d just done when he made the cuts and wow that was a lot of blood, feck he really needed to get a doctor shit shit shit shit-

Anyways long story short he’d had to get his stomach pumped and then the blood and now he was just waiting to get released, thus the hospital stay.

“So anyways, thanks for the earbuds, I don’t need help with gardening but thank you – all three of you – for the offer, you kids get back to… well… I guess now you kids enjoy your day off.” Graham said cheerfully, the smile settling back onto his face… not really quite settling the way it usually did, but it had to do.






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

© weldherwings.
 



















mia



the battleship potemkin












Oh. Three people just left.

Good for them.

Mia was tempted to follow their lead, but it seemed like they had something actually important going on. Maybe a family member was hospitalized. They left one girl behind, maybe an understudy or something. Carol said she didn't "believe" in understudies, but she also didn't believe in writing a decent play, so what difference did it make. Darwin's insane Twitter posts were right -- this would be improved with a griffon eating somebody.

At least whatever horrible noise had just come on over the speaker was quiet enough that Mia could ignore it to hear A-type in-real-life-Courtney-from-Total-Drama-Island giving that random girl the business.

"There's no fucking way you guys are getting away with this."

Well, Mia's assistance was not requested, but she'd be damned if someone was going to get in trouble over this absolute fucking pastiche on the concept of theater. She took to her feet, storming over. She had exactly one inch on Mallory, but probably a fair amount of mass, too.

"Hey!"

She closed the distance, briefly giving the other girl (Mary, though she didn't know her name) an attempt at a reassuring glance. "Don't be a narc. Who fucking gives a shit if she fills in? They probably had something more important to do than be here, and if someone needs to fill in, she might as well do it."

Mia was trying not to start a fight. Starting fights was at least part of the reason she was in this play... Well, that and smoking weed by the dumpsters almost every day for a year.

At the very least, she knew Mallory couldn't beat her up. The only thing Mallory could do was squeal to the staff like the strangled canary she was, and that didn't hold much water for Mia. They've let far worse people graduate from this school, so being expelled wasn't something that could happen to Mia, especially not over this. Maybe she could get Mallory to throw the first punch and call it self-defense?

"Besides, it's not even a real play."

Her arms crossed, as if attempting to conceal the god-awful 80's Grinch raver outfit that she'd been coaxed into wearing.

"Just let it go."

A bit of a smirk crawled onto Mia's lips. She couldn't help it! She just loved being passive-aggressive. It was probably the mom genes. (Heh. Mom jeans.)











































♡coded by uxie♡
 
MOOD: Depressed

OUTFIT: Christian drug play costume

LOCATION: Marsha J. Clark High School
basics
MENTIONS:

Leah tamarapasek tamarapasek
Mateo purplecowdutch purplecowdutch

INT:

Matt qunqun qunqun


tags
TL;DR:
tl;dr
Jenelle Kennedy
Let us be young, let us be wild
until the summer's over
Jenelle sat on the hallway floor, safely alone. Even though her best friend, Leah, stage manager for this abomination of a play, would be furious to know Jenny was hiding out here so close to showtime. In that moment, she just couldn't bring herself to hang around backstage with everyone, with...him.

It had been weeks since the night of the Cave Rave and her hookup with Mateo Milyukov. Her first time made her naive enough to think Mateo would instantly fall in love with her afterwards, they'd be an inseparable couple. That wasn't the case at all, and they'd barely spoken since then. It was obvious she was just another girl to him, a good time for the night. The night she'd thought was so special--clearly, it wasn't.

Jenny had cried over it so much already, she commanded herself not to shed any more tears; at least not on this night, and ruin her heavy stage makeup. So when her peripheral vision caught someone the hall exiting a classroom, it was just the distraction she needed.

It was Mr. Wright, one of her favorite teachers, despite his prickly disposition. And even though he was all packed up for the evening, bag in hand, clearly ready to make a swift getaway from the school, Jenelle felt compelled to chase him down.

"Mr. Wright!" The redhead called out, jogging after him. "Um.." She mumbled once the man had turned to face her, as she hadn't really thought about what she'd actually say once she got his attention. "The Canterbury Tales essay, it's due next Friday?" She asked innocently, trying to sound convincingly unsure. But anyone who even sort of knew Jenny would see right through this ruse, and they'd know the girl was hyper aware of that due date; she'd memorized the syllabus weeks ago, in fact.

Absently fiddling with the sleeves of her costume's floppy, frumpy sweater, it was obvious Jenny wasn't even hearing Matt's answer. She was too busy working up the nerve to ask him something. He was an adult man, after all. Mr. Wright surely would be able to give her the inside scoop on what stupid boys her age were even thinking, right? He'd been one of them, at one point.

"Mr. Wright..." The girl began, glancing down at her feet as she tried in vain to think of a way to broach the topic of her love life with her English teacher.
code by valen t.
 







abigail hargreaves






trigger warning: mentions of suicide attempt

It wasn't long before it seemed as though their visit was going south, but that wasn't going to stop Abigail from trying to be a good friend. Graham had tried to dismiss the group not once, but twice at this point, which typically the girl would've listened on the first request, but there were just things that weren't adding up.

The gardening mishap excuse worked on the two boys that had come along with her, they both began offering their services to the giant and his landscaping business. Those two probably would genuinely end up in the hospital for some sort of accident if they did help, so Abigail spoke up once more, signing along with her speech, "I get that you don't want to answer any questions right now, but please, Graham, let us hang out for a while to keep you company."

A school play was the last thing on her mind when one of her closest friends was injured, whether it be from some freak accident or a more purposeful incident. She was concerned for the general well-being of the man laying in the bed in front of her, the two had formed a bond that wouldn't let her just up and leave him here alone.

"...But if you really want us to go..." She starts to trail off, silently lowering her hands, hoping that he may actually just let them stay for a little while. Her parents knew about the play and hadn't expected her to be home until later in the evening, and since she had no other plans for the day, she would be a bit lost if she did end up getting kicked out of the room.

Abigail stands up and walks towards the window, messing with her fingers, she looks down onto the street below them. It wasn't all that busy, the occasional car and then ambulances were coming and going. Her mind trails off to when she had her stay at the hospital, she hadn't planned on staying as long as she did, but things went differently than expected. Slowly, her hand trails up to her wrist as she silently rubs one of the scars that were a permanent reminder of the incident.

Flashbacks to the bright lights above her flickering as she blinked, trying to wake up, her parents on each side of the hospital bed, rushing down the hallway. Her mother had been crying, her eyes were bloodshot and rimmed with redness along with tears, on the other side, her father had a stern look on his face still, completely devoid of emotions.

When she had finally woken up completely, she was in the same kind of room as Graham, the exact same set up too. Looking around the room, what had happened finally started to sink in, she didn't die. Tears began to fill the girl's eyes as she looked over towards her mother who was asleep on the couch across the room.

A cough from outside the room brought Abigail's attention back to the current situation, her hands instinctively reached up and wiped the tears that had fallen onto her cheeks. There was no way that she was going to let the boys see her in the kind of state, so she quickly gathered her thoughts and composure. Turning back around, she gives the three other people in the room a quick smile, "We just want to make sure you're okay, Graham."






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

© weldherwings.
 







mallory hawke






Just as Mallory had turned to walk off and find the director of the play, someone comes trudging up to her yelling, then starting to talk about how she shouldn't go tell that people had left because MaYbE tHeY hAd SoMeThInG mOrE iMpOrTaNt To dO. If that were true, why the hell were they leaving? Why did they even try out for the play?

Turning her head up an inch or two, she finally made eye contact with the girl who was talking to her, there was no way that Mallory was going to listen to her about this bullshit, "Whether it's a real play or not, you don't just fucking walk out. That fucks over the rest of the cast and crew." She rolls her eyes at the comment of letting it go because that was most definitely not happening.

Her eyes go up and down the girl, trying to figure out who the fuck she was and what made her think she could come over to talk to Mallory, there were obviously no similarities between the two, and being caught speaking to someone such as Mia would put a huge dent in her reputation at school. "This is the end of this little conversation. Don't speak to me again." She smiles at Mia before walking off towards the stage.

Watching the kiss scene unfold on stage, Mallory lets out a giggle, knowing that there would be a huge chance of the two's parents getting married eventually, therefore making Bug Boy's first kiss with his step-sister. There would be no way that she would let him live down this scene, but it wasn't too long after that it was interrupted by some song blasting out of the speakers.

A gasp escapes the girl's mouth as she begins looking around trying to find the culprit for such a heinous act. There was no way that Christian Carol would be letting the play continue after something like this, therefore ruining Mallory's chances of being picked up by a talent agency. Her fists clench, causing her nails to dig into her palm, as she tried to stay calm.

Trying to conceal the panic in her demeanor, she searches for the plug to the speakers, once they were located, she pulls it out of the electrical outlet, leaving the theatre in complete silence after previously being filled with blaring music. "DROP THE CURTAINS, NOW!" She yells towards some of the stagehands who were standing there in as much disbelief as she was.






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

© weldherwings.
 
















Apocalypse



Cigarettes After Sex








Matteo Wright



  • .




Now, Matt wasn’t by any means a bad teacher. He tried to make an incredibly boring class somewhat interesting for his checked out, tired students. But he was a teacher with a healthy work-life balance. That is to say, he actually had a work life balance. And a single rule, once he was done with his mandatory hours, with his grading, that was it. He didn’t devote any other time to his dead-end temporary job.

Once you got into Matt’s time, well then, that was when you better start entertaining him for him to give you the right time of day. Something fun. Something interesting.

So imagine his disappointment when he was volunteered to watch the stupid trainwreck of a play that was unfolding before his eyes.

He wasn’t lying when he’d said he would much prefer a massive acid trip griffon crashing through the set than whatever the fuck this was. But the school knew he had a mild nicotine addiction, and so if he just up and left for a smoke and never came back… who would be the wiser?

So that’s what he dead. At least, that’s what he’d been doing, hiding out in his classroom. That is until…

“Mr Wright!” Jesus Christ, fucking kill him dead. He stopped walking and paused, turned to see one of his students running up to him. All bright eyed and curious questions. Ugh, that meant he was going to have to pretend to care, wasn’t it?

“The Canterbury Tales essay, it’s due next Friday?” Oh thank God, an easy question.

“Yeah.” He rubbed his fingers together, starting to feel the itch of a cigarette. Matt made another tiny movement to start to leave, staring at her. She didn’t move from where she was standing awkwardly, head off in the clouds. “... Jenelle?”

“Mr Wright…”

“... Yes?” The soft bit of snide sarcasm slipping in as it became very clear that she had not paid attention to his answer. “Jenelle, if you have more questions I request that we move this outside.”

As always, very direct with his students. Was he the best teacher? Well, not really. He was demanding, but he made kids better. And, there was certainly no bullying that occurred within his classroom when the students were too busy being stressed over essays and scared speaking to do anything.

He started walking outside, disregarding whether or not she was following suit. Once he got outside, he sat down in the courtyard and pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter, sticking one of the white sticks into his mouth. Glanced up at his student and lit the cigarette between his lips

“What was it you wanted?”






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

© weldherwings.
 
WEE CONTENT WARNING FOR VIOLENCE + DON'T MIND ME JUST BEING INDECISIVE N CHANGING IC CODES LMAO​





























SEPTEMBER 26TH.

Look who was finally quiet.

Both of them.

A blissful expanse of shared silence, in its wake did the klepto contemplate victory. Had he won? Was the confrontation brought to gentle epilogue by promise of castration? If he’d known it was so easy to pacify the loud chef, Ren would have exorcised it far sooner.

Yet as the quiet stretched on, awkwardness bloomed in the drag of its molasses speed. In this lighting, Aurelian appeared almost lupine, amber glass eyes mirroring nothing of inner thought; whether loading, malfunctioning, or suffering from Alzheimers, Ren wasn’t sure. Either way, there was absolutely no valid reason to stare so much.

A subtle fidget, breaking locked gaze to chase the cowering crannies of the room. Anything to avoid the acute needling, tapping his fingers together. Tap tap.

This had gotten weird really fast. Maybe he’d really upset them. Sent into paralyzed shock that reverted Aurelian to factory settings. If not lashed with insults for the past fifteen minutes, Ren might’ve even tried to ask if the guy was okay.

More staring. Yikes.

Tap tap tap.

Should he get up and leave? That would be awkward. Ren regretted taking a seat for the sole issue that walking away would take on an extra layer of pathetic fashion; like the clacks of a littlest pet shop character. Their cleave of laughter, creepy, was at least something other than a surgical stare. A death-knell noise that clarified everything Ren needed to know:

This man was insane.

And after the psycho finished his chuckle, (Ren was polite enough to let them have their giggle— if not with an unenthused scowl of his own to what could possibly be so amusing), it appeared they were going to have problems.

Workplace violence was one of them.

A hound braced to lunge, Aurelian delivered dismissal with a fist directly to the face. Flintlock spark to searing flesh, ferocious retaliation reeling senses and seeping iron into the back of Ren’s throat. The exact source of pain, he hadn’t the current clarity to pinpoint, for steadily sealing his windpipe was the vice of a hand; faltering lungs ill at ease.

Compliance would never settle, writhing one way then another, hands digging nails to no avail. Unyielding weight with scraping oxygen, Ren took a thin swallow to rinse the blood clinging to his throat and summoned the raspy verbatim of what was thought to be his final, most treasured word.

“Coward.”

Winning!

Highly disadvantaged with percussion— soon identified as a rapid pulse practising in his ears, wild eyes flared with something else at the sudden jerk of an arm. An admittedly pitiful weapon, calcified plastic and a flimsy blade; he’d glimpsed the item haunting periphery too late to discourage any civil rationale. If the box-cutter would orchestrate any respite was unknown, blindly throwing his arm back to take a stab at their leg.

Why did it always have to come to this?

Granted freedom and taking opportunity to stagger drunkenly from Aurelian’s reach, the drink of oxygen couldn’t have come any sooner. Chest rising to flare lungs with air, Ren’s new strategy fell into the dominion of evasion.

“You!” Scuttling around the desk to maintain distance, the box-cutter knife remained extended out in warning. “–Are overreacting right now!” Skull tender and a roll of something wet down his chin, the damage of Aurelian’s brute force had left Ren in a state of woe.

“Get a massage! Or a sauna!” With a sharp swipe of the pathetic knife to remind the man to back off, he began backing for the office door. “Or– I dunno, therapy!?” Akin to poking a bear, perhaps Ren should’ve made like Pangea and broken away. As with a final swipe swipe, misfortune made its presence known.

A slip of the knife and scatter of the weapon, last line of defence now lost across the room.

In Ren’s paling horror, the eerie silence that ensued could have put a graveyard to shame.

“Have I ever said how charming you are.”

Time to leave!

Scrambling for the doorknob and stumbling out into the kitchen, the panicky shrieking was sure to be discerened through all corners of the restaurant.

“Listen! I just think–!” A wooden spoon was thrown in Aurelian’s direction. “That we could talk this out!” Followed by a potato peeler. “You’re not mad, right buddy pal? Come on, we’re friends!”























now playing...







It Will Come Back



Hozier


































































♡coded by uxie♡

 
Last edited:





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




/* ------ left side info ------ */
mood holding it together

location Emergency Room

outfit Sad cold boy

fun fact

tag floralmoon floralmoon qunqun qunqun weldherwings weldherwings


Max Berkowitz




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



Internally, Max crumpled with disappointment as Graham politely declined his and Josh’s offer to help with landscaping. Part of him was already daydreaming of spending an afternoon with Graham and Josh, giving his garden one last turnover before the winter– not that Graham would really want a pair of incompetent teens running around while he tried to complete a job that had already apparently almost killed him. It wasn’t like Max had been expecting Graham to say yes, but it still stung to be dismissed so quickly.

“If you’re sure,” he said, timidly shifting back towards the wall.
He wasn’t going to press the issue. He’d been the one in the hospital bed before, more recently than he could admit in front of his friends. He knew very well how it felt to be badgered with intimidating and invasive questions at the single lowest moment of your life, and Max didn’t want to inflict that shame and frustration on Graham.

Still, though… Max didn’t want Graham to push him away. Not after he’d stood up for him at bible study. Graham was already something of a hero to him, and Max had always struggled making friends with other boys. Most of his friends were girls, like Abby and May and Jenelle, or nonbinary like Summer and Teagan. But men? Every time Max tried to get to know someone of the same sex, he always just ended up embarrassing himself by getting flustered and blurting out something not very heterosexual.

Graham and Josh were the entirety of Max’s male social connections: the only ones who hadn’t openly rejected or made fun of him so far. Ironic, since they were the ones who Max had most expected to cast him aside like garbage after watching him cry over The Book of Leviticus. Why had they continued to let him hang around? Maybe they felt sorry for him, or maybe they just somehow hadn't put the pieces together yet. It didn't matter. They tolerated him, for now, and that's all Max needed.

Abby seemed to have retreated from the conversation, turning away from Graham to give the window a long hard stare, seeming to instantly get lost in herself. She was suddenly so still that it seemed as though she’d turned to stone, her only movement being gently rubbing at her wrist.
Instantly, this worried Max. He’d seen her slip into this state more than once. When they first met, in this very same hospital, upstairs in the adolescent psychiatric ward, she was like this more often than not. It seemed like any recollection of what she’d been through would send her right back to the source of the wound and tear open the scars again.
When she turned around, she was smiling, but Max saw her dabbing at her eyes and felt his heart drop like solid lead into his stomach. He reached out to give her shoulder a shy pat, not sure if she’d want any more attention than that drawn to her at this moment.
Don't make this worse than it already is.

This was a brutally hard place for her to be. He knew the kinds of things that being here might be forcing her to relive. And it was hard for Graham most of all, being stuck in a hospital bed in pain after... whatever had happened. And Max couldn’t imagine this was easy for Josh either, getting suddenly yanked away from his theatre duties and his family to get driven to the most soul-sucking, blood-chilling place on earth.

Max couldn’t let it be hard for himself too. He was fine. He could handle this. All those contradictory feelings had to stay bottled up tightly in his lungs, no matter how difficult it was to breathe past them.
For their sake, he had to be the one who was okay.




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

© weldherwings.
 
















Afterlife



Avenged Sevenfold








Aurelian Fiocchi



  • .




Aurelian’s vision was tinted red as he waited for Ren to tap out of the chokehold. A glint of silver down below spoke of a different story. Aimed directly at his dick, there was a flash of worry in his mind that perhaps the threats of castration were more well-founded than he’d previously considered as he leapt backwards at the stab, releasing his grip on Ren as he did so.

“Coward” Was rasped hurriedly as Ren started scurrying around the office to escape the warpath that he’d caused.

“YOU’RE THE FUCKING COWARD YOU LITTLE PIECE OF SHIT GET BACK HERE SO THAT I CAN BASH YOUR FUCKING SKULL IN-” He leaped over the desk, sending little ornaments and papers everywhere as Ren similarly ran away from the fighter as they circled the desk like the world’s worst game of tag.

Ren’s hand was on the door, another swipe of the boxcutter before he dropped it in a fit of more incompetency, another quiet moment of stunned silence at this sudden inability to hold a knife properly. There was a blink, before the red settled back in his vision.

Aurelian charged right as Ren managed to scurry out the door and into the kitchen where a wooden spoon suddenly clocked him in the forehead, followed by a potato peeler just barely missing his head.

He caught the wooden spoon, oh the mistake that Ren had just made giving him a weapon.

“GET OVER HERE YOU FUCKING COWARD” As he ran towards the former dishwasher with his weapon of choice, swiping furiously at the retreating back of Ren, a series of other insults and shouted bits of rage pouring out of his mouth as they made it out onto the street. Aurelian continuing to charge like a bull who’d just seen a red flag waved about.

And so, they were imprisoned for being a public nuisance.

Thrown into the jail cell directly next to his new best buddy Ren, Aurelian paced like a caged tiger, slamming his bars.

“I fucking HATE YOU.” It became very apparent that the bars were the only thing that were keeping Aurelian from ripping Ren’s throat out. “You piece of SHIT”

And so his bars were slammed with a police baton to calm him down some.

Today was going great.






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

© weldherwings.
 







joshua jones






“Y’all realize… I’m… a landscaper, right? ... I run a landscaping business…”

Oh.

Joshua’s complexion, once full of eagerness to help in some sort of way, had come to a deadpan one. His eyes widened, and his lower lip hung ever so slightly as the new information dumbfounded him. Well, now… didn’t that just make him feel like an absolute idiot. Offering a landscaper - someone who owned and ran their own landscaping business - some assistance and almost boasting that he was good with a hedge trimmer and lawn mower. His train of thoughts edged and toyed with the scripture from Corinthians; Love does not boast. Joshua could hear his father’s voice in his head, echoing in the Kingdom Hall; Godly love and sensitivity to others’ feelings will move us to refrain from flaunting our supposed skills and assets. Those who can’t control themselves and speak immodestly will make others feel uncomfortable and bad about themselves..

Oh, God. Did he make Graham feel uncomfortable and bad about himself?! Worry overcame the boy as the others continued to speak. What if they all felt uncomfortable around him? What if they all felt bad after his sudden suggestion? That sickly feeling in the pit of his stomach was approaching once again, burying its way in. One would call it anxiety, but those in the Jones family, they would often call it a phobia, something someone was afraid of. And well, in the great old book of Romans, What, then, shall we say in response to these things? If God is for us, who can be against us?. To make it simple, the Jones family ignored these feelings and taught their children to do the same. Praising that Jehovah was bigger and better and there was no need to worry. Like just simply saying it would erase the thing that riddled him to the core, making it almost unbearable to be in certain social situations.

Hazel brown eyes flickered over towards Abigail, who was turning around to them once more from staring out of the window. Her stiff complexion spoke louder than her attempt to smile at the group, and that hairy monster in his gut only grew and latched on in size. Is she sad because I… boasted? was the first thing that came into Joshua’s head. He wanted to apologise, to show some form of comfort. But Max was there first, placing a shy, supportive hand upon the girl’s shoulder. Well, that was just great, wasn’t it? You’ve put yourself into this situation, his inner thoughts invaded his anxious state Get yourself out of it too.

Right.

Everyone just felt so tense. A locker flipped open inside of Joshua’s mind, pulling out cards of information that he had once stored away for safekeeping. If these cards had been fabricated into physical form, all would see their title; What to do when you’re door knocking and you’ve screwed up and need to make it not awkward again. Mentally flickering through these categorised notes he had embedded into his brain during missionary training, one sentence stood out loud, and clear; Change the topic to something the other person will have to explain. For example; “Oh, that’s a nice plant. What type of plant is that?”, “I love your hair! Where did you go to get that done?. Okay, right. Change the topic.

His feet brought him slowly over closer to the machines that gave the occasional faint bleep. Honestly, he had only ever seen those on the Jehovah's Witness tapes his parents had made them watch. All he knew was when there was a long, consistent bleep it meant, well, death. “What uhh…” Joshua began, clearing his throat after his first word, cutting through the silence in the room. He raised a hand from underneath his other, still half crossing his arms, and extended a finger to point to the machine “What does this thing… do?” As he turned his head to look at the others, that very extended finger which had been ridiculously close to the machine, grazed over one of the sensitive buttons and all the sudden;

Bllleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeepppp

A flat line.

Joshua’s eyes widened in absolute horror, his heart dropping into his bottom and his blood turning cold. This was it. Graham’s life was over; he was about to meet Jehovah in the afterlife and be judged for all his doings in this world. “Ah-wae, wae, wae~” Instinctively he had exclaimed in Korean; while growing up, it was the only way he and his siblings could express such distress without a scolding from their Father. After all, where was their faith in Jehovah during this distress? “Did I just kill him?” The boy asked in a state of panic, his wide eyes snapping between the machine’s flat line, Abby and Max on the other side of the bed and finally on Graham. He didn’t seem… dead? Extending that same arm, Joshua waved his hand in the air in front of Graham. “You’re not dead, are you? Please say you’re not”






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

© weldherwings.
 
Tldr: Graham has a breakdown this one. Be warned​
















Ship In A Bottle



fin








Graham Byrne







This was… this was torture.

This was absolute torture.

Graham had devoted himself to making everyone else around him more at ease and more comfortable, and all he could see was everyone slowly becoming more and more tense as his foul mood continued on and on because he couldn’t fucking suck it up and just be normal for once in his fucking life.

No.

No.

No.

Abi stood by the window, the slope of her shoulders, the way that she trailed off- Fuck didn’t she- They were doing a nice thing by being here. And he was being fucking ungrateful.

He couldn’t. He couldn’t do this. He had to do th

He

No.

No.

He couldn’t.

He couldn’t fucking do anything

He couldn’t fucking die correctly.

A glance at Max, guilt, anxiety, pain, repression.

It was too much like staring into his own mirror of confused emotions swirling around him

It

It

It h…

… He

Needed

To

Stop

A glance over to Josh, an easy bulliable target. Attention back on him now, please. He could be the villain again. Be worse so that it’s an easy target so that everyone could just go back to normal and he could be alone again all by himself and he could get written off as a shitty person with no future and no prospects so that everyone else around him could have an easier, better life.

And he saw remorse.

And guilt.

And pain.

And pain that he’d caused.

It was his fault

It was all his fault

In a fit of petulance, he closed his eyes, trying to even out the hitches in his breathing that were starting to arise.

Now was not that time.

Now was never the time.

They needed something easy to latch onto.

They needed him to be normal

To be happy.

To be an asshole

To be anything else other than himself.

And then a screaming noise of his heart monitor going off snapped something in his brain.

“EVERYONE JUST SHUT THE FUCK UP AND LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE ALREADY” The words loud and far more aggressive than even his biting sarcasm ever was. Out of his mouth before he could even process what he was just saying. The outburst silencing the room except for the scream of the heart monitor.

And then tears as Graham’s covered his quickly reddening face. Sobbing beginning as he curled up.

And then from the sounds of his sobbing, between the desperate gasps of air:
“Feck off."






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

© weldherwings.
 





























SEPTEMBER 26TH.

Ren’s victorious moment was short lived as the spoon bounced right off their head and into a hand.

What the fuck.

A bowl. A napkin. A salt shaker. Half a lettuce. Someone’s shoe. Ren was resourceful when it came to staying alive. Hurling object after object in Aurelian’s warpath as they tore through the restaurant like a hurricane of profanity.

“GET OVER HERE YOU FUCKING COWARD.”

“Can’t!” Rounding a table with a breadstick pointed wizardlike at Aurelian: “I’ve got an appointment to SCREW YOUR MOM.”

Bedlam of screaming and crashing items, pandemonium bled from indoors to asphalt. Rationality played no part in this, darting behind human shields and clambering over taxis.

“Go ahead and call the cops motherfucker, I’ll have sex with them!”

He did not have sex with the cops.

Arrested with a familiar neighbour who prowled the limits of their enclosure— a fitting habitat, yet no reprieve for volume tendering a pain-sick cranium. Seated on the opposing side safely out of reach, back leaned to bars and jarringly calm in comparison; Ren was still nursing the scrapes and bruises of aversion.

“Trust me, Ham-Head, you’re not in my good graces either.” Wry with notes of genuine ire, he’d have preferred the brute be exiled under lock and key far from the reach of his sensitive eardrums. “This is actually all your fault, you know. I said keep those greasy mitts off, now look what's happened. Just had to go screw things up, huh?”

In the terror waged upon restaurant inhabitants, the siege warfare had almost made Ren forgot he’d been fired. And truthfully, for once, Ren didn’t feel as if it was entirely his own doing. Charity work of the month was doing the grandiose honour of standing silently for so long.

Yet harsher thoughts were at play, a mumble of venom, sudden in its scathing arrival:

“And they confiscated my breadstick.” Priorities evident, nails digging crescents to palm. “Bet they’re chowing down on it, gonna come here and lie that they binned it. Fat pigs.”

It dawns, a thought bloomed into existence by the boredom of detainment. Stuck in Aurelian’s presence, an unfair eternity that Ren could only fill with usual whimsicality. A shift of his body, coal iris stalling on the madness-tainted individual.

“You been to prison before? You seem the type.” Grateful for the separate cells, Ren had no doubt coming within arm's distance of Aurelian would have him hulk smashed into the tiled floor. “Mean. Always angry. A little gay.”























now playing...







It Will Come Back



Hozier


































































♡coded by uxie♡

 
MOOD: I AM AN ETERNAL FLAME, BABY / Okay so sign here to sell your soul for freedom

OUTFIT: Chef Chic
I am a professional professional

LOCATION: Jail
basics
MENTIONS:



INT:
Gao Gao

tags
TL;DR Dante owns the brain cell
tl;dr
Dante/Aurelian

Wow. And somehow, Ren made it worse.

Aurelian slammed the bars again “SOMEONE GET ME MY PHONE CALL BEFORE I BREAK THE BARS OF THIS CELL TO STRANGLE THIS CAGACAZZO.”

Italian was lost upon the guards but they did seem to recognize the angry cry for his phone call. It was delivered and Aurelian seemed to immediately calm down as he talked in Italian on the phone.

He’d only just hung up when “You been to prison before? You seem the type. Mean. Always angry. A little gay.”

Ren had unfortunately opened his mouth again.

Aurelian whirled to meet his new adversary. “What the fuck did you just say to me?”

Some emphatic gesturing as the rage settled back into his eyes. Another tirade beginning until there was another loud banging noise which startled the chef out of his rant.

“Quiet in there.”

This was met with quiet grumbling as Aurelian sat down petulantly, arms crossed.

“I hope you get shot five times and then get buried alive only to be saved at the last minute in order to be crucified publicly.” He hissed venomously to his adversary, wrath leaking through every syllable.

And as Ren was no doubt winding up Aurelian for another couple rounds of rage, a mature presence walked in with what could only be described as a light swagger, the guard watching immediately taking his attention off of Aurelian and onto the approaching man.

He looked at the two in the cell, Aurelian seemed to have withdrawn within himself once more, mollified into something more complacent than the belligerence of before.

“Ari” A soft, calm voice. A bit on the deeper side, perhaps a bit raspy. Rapid fire Italian came out of the collected man. The sounds of soft admonishments thrown out at the wincing chef as he then turned to the guard. “Sorry, I’d like to speak with my client. That one.” A thumb jabbed towards the longhaired man.

The guard nodded and clicked the key of the cell and shuffled Ren into an interrogation room, seating him, and then the guard left him alone with the lawyer.

“I’d like to start out by apologizing for my brother.” The lawyer sat down across the table, opening up a three ringed binder with some information in it. “He’s always been a little bit… on the aggressive side. My name’s Dante Fiocchi.”

The extension of a hand for the former dishwasher to shake. He appeared to have innocent blue eyes in this lighting. Like he could do no wrong. He moved his face to take a drink of water and the color seemed to shift to a muted green. Kaleidoscope eyes, the eyes of a snake laying in the grass. They shifted back to blue by the time he returned to looking at his binder, oscillating between his notes and Ren.

“Right now you’ve got a pretty extensive track record, and this incoming charge of public disturbance for fighting in the streets?”

A soft tsk tsk noise as he looked through his files. “Looking at a maximum penalty: 90 days in jail, fine of a thousand dollars. That’s the one you’ll definitely be charged with, but that’s on top of the potential assault charges especially considering that this is not your first offense and…”

He looked up at Ren “It’s not looking great for you.”

A simple statement.

“I can help you out, but I don’t do pro bono. This isn’t a charity I’m running. I’ll get you out of all of your charges associated with this… situation. Hell, I brought enough money to make bail for the two of you, so you can walk free out this door, I just need you to not press charges against my brother. Do we have a deal?”

Another offer of a handshake extended.

code by valen t.
 







abigail hargreaves






Once she had turned around and revealed her face to the boys in the room once more, her eyes locked in with Max, who was making his way over to her. She must not have hidden her pain very well, but there wasn't really anything different that she could do at this point. The boy reached his hand out and patted her shoulder, Abigail gave him a reassuring smile, and signed 'Thank you' to him.

Over his shoulder, she could see Joshua looking at her, he looked worried as can be, and her face lit up into a smile once again, trying to ease his fears. She knew that he struggled with fitting in, which definitely stemmed from his family, but that was a challenge that Abigail was willing to face. Her eyes followed him towards a machine as he spoke, "What does this thing do?" His hand reached out, grazing it, and somehow pressed a button.

A loud shrieking noise pierces through the room.

Abigail's hands immediately go for her ears, "Holy shit, Josh." Panic was written all over the boy's face as he stepped back, "Did I just kill him?" He asked, and then continued to plead out loud for Graham to not be dead. Poor boy. At that moment, all you could hear through the noise in the room was a voice yelling out, "EVERYONE JUST SHUT THE FUCK UP AND LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE ALREADY."

All fell quiet aside from the flatline, and quiet sobbing came from underneath the blankets that the gentle giant had now buried himself under. Between the sobs, you could hear him say for them to fuck off, but that was the last thing Abigail planned on doing. She walks over to the monitor and investigates the buttons, finally finding the one that said "silence".

It was too late though, there was no time for the girl to get in touch with Graham's nurse to alert them that everything was fine, the door flies open, and in barged five nurses to the rescue. "Everything is okay.. curiosity got the best of us. I'm sorry about that." She apologizes to the faculty that was standing in front of them. After turning the machine back on, the staff dissipated out of the room, leaving the original cast in the room.

Carefully sitting down on the edge of the bed, Abigail lightly rubs Graham's shoulder, "Hey," She spoke soothingly, "Everything is alright, Graham. It's all fixed. We just need to focus on you right now and make sure you're okay." Her hand was lightly grazing his shoulder, trying to help calm him down, there wasn't full confidence that this would be successful, but she knew that it helped her out.







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

© weldherwings.
 





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




/* ------ left side info ------ */
mood holding it together

location Emergency Room

outfit Sad cold boy

fun fact

tag floralmoon floralmoon qunqun qunqun weldherwings weldherwings


Max Berkowitz




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


It was as though a bomb had gone off in Graham’s hospital room.

In an instant, the latent tension hanging in the atmosphere had ruptured into panic and anguish. Josh was yelling, but Max couldn’t see a word that he was saying… moving erratically, waving his hand in Graham’s face. The tall ginger man, once so brash and confident and humorous in the church, was now reduced to a state of utter despair that ripped Max’s soul in half.

Max would have rather been stabbed in the chest than to have watched Graham dissolve into tears.

It scared him.
The poor boy had no idea what had just happened.

In the chaos that ensued, no one had told Max that the heart monitor machine was sounding an alarm. It wasn’t anyone’s fault, certainly not Abby’s or Josh’s. They were just as startled by what was going on as him, and though both had a conversational knowledge of ASL, neither of them was a trained interpreter. Sometimes he just wasn’t going to get the explanations he needed. They hadn’t meant to leave him stranded for lack of information.
A whole crew of nurses and ER technicians burst through the door, sprinting towards Graham. Max didn’t feel himself cry out in terror, and didn’t know that he had… god, was Graham dying? Was he dying?!

“What happened!?” Max asked, over and over, his movements more panicked each time. “What happened!?!?” But no one was looking in his direction.

He felt as if he’d disappeared from the room and was only watching things happen without being seen by anyone, like a ghost in the corner.
He couldn’t do anything to help. He was absolutely powerless to save Graham from–

But then everyone left. Wait, why had they come in the first place?
Everyone was gone except for Abby and Josh, still standing by Graham, Abby gently rubbing his shoulder and speaking what Max could only assume were words of comfort…

The terror-stricken teenager, who had never been known for handling stress well even at the best of times, suddenly looked ill. Pale, sweating, suppressing the urge to vomit, he said nothing of his state. He instead joined his friends, despite the fear clutching at him that told him they'd prefer it if he'd never come here. He wasn't helping, wasn't making anyone feel better, he didn't even know what was going on... but everyone was still alive. That was all the knowledge he had to hold onto.





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© weldherwings.
 





























SEPTEMBER 26TH.

“I hope you get shot five times and then get buried alive only to be saved at the last minute in order to be crucified publicly.”

Aw. Aurelian must be warming up to him. He hadn't cussed once in that sentence.

“Well I hope you go bald.” They were simple, childlike, neither able to settle a dispute with old-fashioned rationale. Bickering through bars whilst Aurelian’s rage earned the brunt of the officer’s ire, the surplus of anger seemed to only settle at the arrival of a sharp-dressed stranger. Not dissipate, only simmer, as they’d proven incapable of registering anything else.

A reprimand in Italian garnered a smug side-eye from the klepto, watching Aurelian be wrangled into a quieter, complacent state. The new arrival harboured a tone of familiarity, clearly no stranger to encountering “Ari’s” situations.

Which is why the last thing Ren was expecting was to be summoned.

I ain’t your client, but at the turn of a lock, who was Ren to argue? Escorted from cell to room without complaint, seated opposing then left with the stranger; suspicion freighted the space between them like a blanket of wool.

I’d like to start out by apologizing for my brother.

And there it was. The volley of splinters to itch alarm beneath skin, brother. Unconscious habit he couldn’t help but leave exposed, defensive arms crossed over Ren’s chest. Stirring annoyance to previously tame waters, passive onyx eyes now levelled a frown of tar.

He’s always been a little bit on the aggressive side.

“A little bit.” Unenthused by the understatement of the century. “Put him on meds.” Attention chased the flare of their binder to scriptures of information nigh impossible to read from the current angle. Dante was saying the right things; charmingly apologetic, haloed words bathed in a gilded cloak of sunlight intentions.

Ren’s distrust mirrored in the response of their handshake, meeting the extension with a lingering stare and deliberating silence of a decision. Akin to the manner of a germaphobe, arms unfolded and a pettish finger nudged it away. “Put the hand down, you’re stressing me out.” Formalities made him nervous, especially watching them pore over files like osmosis.

To their tsks, molars were almost ground smooth, hotly swallowing the film coating his mouth.

Veins of truth in Dante’s words were real, almost palpable, unkillable: It’s not looking good for you. Spidering through a mass of rough tissue to tendril defeat, it was ironic, the dredges that remained tethered after criminal convictions. From the first shoplift, first school-fight, first stint in juvenile detention, first conviction, first community service; it took only one mistake to dig a grave in one’s own body. No matter context, details or slithers of innocence, a boy branded problem was guilty, factors inconsequential when boasting a record of ruby-red meteor trail mistakes.

A blueprint aggressor, the thinnest of sleet merging to an avalanche of history. No position to counter anything with archives as tarnished as his own, the checkmate had him in a garrote. Even a stint in prison, whether 90 days or 9 hours, Ren knew he wouldn’t make his way out again. Resigned to habits that permeated all that he touched; a man of ruination sourced by an indivisible ocean; he’d always find a way to mess something up.

It would not be shared destruction to press charges, only his own.

Fallen into checkmate, he’d scoff at the play if not the glacial chokehold encroaching the mast of his spine. I can help you out, a conman’s phrase and double bladed sword. There had to be intent, something beyond the simplicity of their request. Ceasing a pick of stinging nails to dismiss their second handshake of the night, Ren would motion vaguely to Dante in a direction of his own accord. “Gotta cigarette?”

Unwillingly to agree with a deal so blindly, arms folded to table to barter answers for his paranoia.

“I wasn’t born yesterday, so what's the real catch? I owe insane amounts of money? Drug muling?” A pause, nervous tangent to the questions.

“A kidney…? I ain’t giving you my organs, freak.”























now playing...







It Will Come Back



Hozier


































































♡coded by uxie♡

 







joshua jones






If the sound of the flat line didn’t startle him, then it was the roar of the giant Irish man coming back to life that did. Graham’s voice boomed within the room, causing Joshua to flinch with every syllable. The swear words alone were like daggers to his chest, tearing and ripping in downward motions. It was so foreign to hear them so aggressively - but most importantly, directed towards him. Abigail made her way over, causing Joshua to take a couple of steps back from Graham and the machine, and she began to fiddle with the machine. Silence - apart from the shrieking of the flat line from the mysterious machine - filled the room, only to have the sound of gentle, quiet sobbing underneath the blanket to start to fill the room. Dammit. He had really screwed up this time, didn’t he?

Nurses came bursting through the door, scaring the living daylights out of Joshua. His skeleton literally left his body, attempting to escape along with his soul. As they rushed forward, Joshua once again took a couple more steps backwards until he felt his back press up against the wall of the room. Wide-eyed, all he could do was watch the scene unfold before him. This was nothing like the videos his parents played for him. Often after the flat line in these videos, the people around would be thanking Jehovah that their loved one was now alongside the angels in Heaven. Often there was a small scene showing the deceased loved one walking in a mist of clouds, full of happiness and glee. This was nothing like that at all.

Abigail spoke to the medical team, insisting that everything was okay to which they seemed to buy. One by one, they began to file out of the room, leaving the three teenagers and the sobbing Irish man to themselves. And then Abigail - sweet, lovely, caring Abby - began to comfort Graham. Rubbing his shoulder, soothing his panic with calm, gentle words. Not only was it his first time coming into a hospital - it was also his first time witnessing someone having a panic attack. Well, half true. He could remember walking in on his brother, Simon, sobbing; when the older brothers lived at home, they shared a bedroom together. Simon, who was eighteen years old at the time, had been crying on his bed uncontrollably. Joshua, who was only six at the time, could faintly remember the image of Matthew standing before Simon, telling him grow a pair and to be a man. None of these supportive words did anything for Simon but only made the tears come more.

A heavy weight pressed up against Joshua’s chest. In a way, he felt like he too could release such a sob like Simon and Graham. To see others in such a state… it hurt even though it wasn’t his hurt to handle. And the more he dwelled on it, the more he came to the conclusion that him being there was just making things a little bit worse. Graham had not been happy to see that he was there, he had not been impressed by him offering to garden for him, and he definitely had disliked when he had accidentally pressed the button on the machine. So, maybe it was just best for him to sit this one out? Without a word and as silently as possible, Joshua slunk his way out of the room along with the last nurse to leave. As he entered the hallway, he felt like he could finally breathe once again; how long had he been holding his breath in for? Hands planted on top of his head, he released a long, exhausted exhale before leaning his forehead against the hospital wall.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid”, he muttered to himself, giving his head a small bump against the wall with each word. Suddenly it was starting to make sense to him just exactly why Mary thought he was an idiot.







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

© weldherwings.
 
















Naked



FINNEAS








Dante Fiocchi



  • .




Hand offer rescinded, he laced his fingers in front of him on top of his binder, eyebrows pinching. The exact face of listening and gently worrying for his client. “No, sorry. I left mine at home.”

The slightest corners of his mouth upturning in a persuasive smile.

Was Ren going to make this harder? Dante was trying to upsell how much danger Ren really was in, here. The damage already dealt with on his sides of things, Aurelian had been the aggressor after all, the waiting in the cell more akin to getting processed rather than actually being in danger. But that was neither here nor there, he just needed Ren to believe that he was in danger.

Though, what he was doing here? Extremely illegal, and he could probably get disbarred for it. Slight extortion in the best of ways. Perhaps Ren was seeing through his lies?

But this doubt never surfaced to his pleasant, comforting smile. And waiting it out seemed to be the best course of action because

“What’s the catch?”

Oh thank fucking God, this one was an idiot as well.

“A kidney…? I ain’t giving you my organs, freak.” A mellow laugh from the attorney, a smattering of joy brought about by the statement and the relief that came with the extortion going through.

“No no no, as wonderfully healthy and robust as your organs may be, I will request that they remain inside of you.” Dante said, a light joking tone to his words. “I am, in fact, feeling charitable today. This is all the payment I need. But if you want me to raise the price to make you feel more comfortable…” A quick scan of Ren’s general being, of anything that he might be easy to part with. “... A really shiny penny? I think that’s fair. We have a deal?”






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

© weldherwings.
 
Tldr: Graham has a breakdown this one. Be warned​
















Ship In A Bottle



fin








Graham Byrne







The sobbing continued even though he could hear things shuffling around him. Even though he knew that he was horrible and he was causing so much pain and it was all his fault and he couldn’t stop crying and he needed to stop crying but he couldn’t he really couldn’t what was the fucking problem with him he needed to stop fucking cry-

Abi was touching him. There was a jolt that went through him as he felt her attempting to comfort him and say that it was alright. It wasn’t alright. It was never going to be alright.

“When a star in a binary star system dies, if it doesn’t outright cause the other star to go supernova, it drastically reduces the lifespan of the other star.” He said in a half wail.

Ridiculousness of the statement aside, he seemed to shift a little bit closer to her. “And you should leave and worry about what your lunch will be for school or what boys want to kiss you or something and not about if the 20 something year old idiot might jump off a bridge next time he finds a whim.”

He continued sobbing. “And everyone’s freaking out and I don’t know how to fix it and it’s all my fault”

Hysteria wrapped around him. Physics be damned, it appeared that the black hole had reversed its track and was now expulging all of the mass that it had been swallowing and crushing directly onto Abi.

“AND HE DOESN’T EVEN KNOW WHAT’S HAPPENING LOOK AT HIS FACE.” There was some frantic gesturing to Max. “AND JOSH JUST LEFT THE ROOM BECAUSE HE’S STRESSED OUT BECAUSE I CANT KEEP IT TOGETHER LONG ENOUGH FOR YOU TO DROP OFF HEADPHONES AND YOU'RE HAVING SOME KIND OF WEIRD FLASHBACK AND I CANT MAKE ANY OF IT BETTER.”

The wailing was going to continue for a while.






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

© weldherwings.
 







abigail hargreaves



  • .



Graham blurts out some random fact about stars exploding, using it as a metaphor for himself and Abby's relationship, it stung. There was no way that she was going to give up on him, especially since he, in a way, told the truth about how he ended up being here in the hospital. Then it happened, just out of nowhere, the room filled up with an echo almost.

Graham was yelling.

Had she ever heard him yell before? He motions toward Max, saying how he doesn't know what was happening, which could be attributed to Abby's lack of interpretation, then he mentions Josh leaving the room. Those two things could've easily been taken care of up until he mentioned the little episode she had at the window.

Ouch.

Her eyes started stinging, and tears started forming, but there was no way that she could cry right now. There were other things that needed to be addressed, "Nobody is expecting you to make anything better." She simply stated, smiling through her blurred vision. Maybe, just maybe if she hadn't formed such a bond with him, this wouldn't have hurt so much.

Or what if she just came on her own? Would this whole situation have happened? She shakes her head slightly and sighs, "Even if I do leave, I'm going to worry about you. You really mean a lot to me, to us." Abigail gestures towards Max, then to the door where Joshua stood outside.

For a moment, she pauses, trying to think of what to say next, but her mind blanks, there had never been a time in her life when she was in this position, so in the silence she brought, Abigail gathers her thoughts. What should she say, or even do next?

Her hand comes up to motion Max over, hoping that maybe him being closer would show Graham that he is appreciated by the people who are around him, that if nobody cared, they wouldn't be there for him, even if it was originally for some headphones. Finally signing to include Max, she speaks up once more,

"We're here for you Graham, as long as you want."






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

© weldherwings.
 





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




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

location Emergency Room

outfit Sad cold boy

fun fact

tag floralmoon floralmoon qunqun qunqun weldherwings weldherwings


Max Berkowitz




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


The chaos in the room continued to rush around Max, who had started to go numb. He couldn't feel himself. He wasn't sure how much of what he was seeing was even real.

Wait… this is about me, isn't it?

A new thought took root in Max's brain, sprouting into a strangling mess of self-loathing. It made perfect sense. That had to be it. He'd done something, or maybe it was something he hadn't done. Something he missed by not paying close enough attention to the right people at the right times. Max was always missing things, whether it be a few words or entire conversations. Graham breaking down in tears, Josh fleeing the room, Abby no longer relaying to him what was going on…

No.
This isn't about you.
Shit, not everything is about you, Max. Man up.

Max shuddered and forced himself to abandon the thought, letting his mind run blank for a second.

He could barely breathe past the lump in his throat.

Abby beckoned him forward, motioning from him to join her and Graham. Max flinched, turning ten shades whiter, but ran over instantly. Just looking at Graham, tear-stained cheeks and red eyes, made Max's heart nearly stop dead. This was Graham, his hero… this shouldn't be happening to Graham. He didn't deserve to be in pain like this. Things like this weren't supposed to happen to good people.

"We're here for you Graham, as long as you want." Said Abby, signing for the first time in what felt like hours. It had only been a few minutes, not even, but the 16-year-old felt as though he'd finally come back to the room after floating in limbo.

Her words, though… Max couldn't help but feel himself hang his head in shame. Max didn't know if Graham even wanted him there. Watching him sob and gesture at him earlier, yelling that words Max would never know, it didn't seem like it. The thoughts from earlier came rushing back: why would anyone want Max around at a time like this anyway? Even Josh couldn't stand to be around him…

"Of course." He said in spite of himself, though the words hurt coming up his throat and he wasn't even sure if he could be understood. "I'm sorry if I… I mean…"

Max's stomach lurched and he clamped his hand over his mouth for a second, steadying himself before continuing. "I'm so sorry."

He felt bile crawling up his chest. Not good.

"Hang on, I just… I'll be right back."

Like Josh before him, Max darted out of the open door. Once out in the cold hospital hallway, Max frantically looked side-to-side, praying the hospital wasn't hiding their bathrooms too far away.

He didn't find them. He found Josh instead. In a moment of dumb instinct, he ran up to Josh and frantically threw his arms around the older boy, hugging him like he'd just returned from war, possibly scaring the daylights out of the poor guy.

This really was just like back in the church, in all of the worst ways possible.





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

© weldherwings.
 







joshua jones



  • .



Hands upon the top of his head and his forehead now firmly pressed against the wall instead of creating small bumps, Joshua closed his eyes and released another unsteady exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. With his eyes closed, he could hear the sounds of the hospital around him, the beeping of the machines, the doctors and nurses communicating, and the random wail of a patient in pain here and there. Even though he had initially thought he was prepared for an experience like this, he had been gravely wrong. This was nothing like he had anticipated. That alone was enough to send some sort of stress through him. But add on the glaring looks from Graham, his accidental finger slip and the roars from the older male… The stress multiplied. The anxiety in his gut only metastasized in size.

A pair of arms surrounded the lower half of his body, catching him off guard and warranting a little ‘ompf’ to slip past his lips as he took two steps back to regain his centre of gravity. Joshua’s eyes snapped open, and his hands raised from his head to high in the sky as he observed what was happening before him. All he saw was a mop of hair as he gazed down, but it was easy to tell whose mop of hair it belonged to. Blinking profusely for a moment or so, Joshua stood there confused and with his hands raised. Was… was he allowed to hug the boy back? Would that be okay? His mind flipped back to that faithful night at Bible Study where Max had sought for comfort in holding his hand. With that in mind, Joshua felt a least a bit more comfortable in approaching this embrace. Arms slowly lowered until they found their place around Max’s figure. Once there, he paused.

He wasn’t sure if it was the overwhelming experience of being in that hospital room or the fact that he couldn’t remember the last time he had ever been held - even as a child - but something came flooding over Joshua Jones at that moment. His grip on Max tightened, bringing the other boy into a tight, warm embrace, and his cheek rested on the top of the boy’s head. Joshua had to clench his jaw, scared that whatever this emotion was that was threatening to break loose would finally escape his being and cause havoc. Blinking once more, he could almost feel his eyes beginning to sting. No, men don’t cry he reminded himself, hearing his father and brother’s voices echo in the back of his mind. So, in hopes that it would stifle the tears from emerging, one of Joshua’s hands rested on the back of Max’s head, stroking the locks slightly.

The hug wasn’t romantic in any gesture, but it made Joshua feel love. For the first time in… many, many years, he was starting to feel wanted. Feeling his eyes water, he couldn’t deny that the emotions bottling up inside were ready to pounce at any moment to escape. So, in an attempt to hold them back, his hand, once on Max’s head, now came to his eyes. Index finger and thumb placed firmly into the corner of his eyes, he pressing down to stop any tears that may have teased their escape. “Sorry” Joshua exhaled deeply, slowly pulling back from the hug as his hand wiped away any evidence of the tears beginning to well up in his eyes. His ears and nose began to fade to a rosy hue as he now used both his hands to rub his eyes and face. Oh, wait. He had just said sorry without signing; another mistake to add to today’s list, I suppose.

“I… sorry…” he said once again, this time dropping his hands to sign to the boy. “It’s just… my first time in a hospital. It’s just a bit…” He pondered for a moment, trying to pinpoint the exact word he wanted to say and sign. Overwhelming? Making me realise how much my parents lied about this place? “It’s just a bit… different… than what I was expecting it to be” He finally explained.







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

© weldherwings.
 
Tldr: Graham is still breaking down​
















Ship In A Bottle



fin








Graham Byrne







The wailing at least had completed.

And now onto the pathetic sniffling part of the evening.

A watery eye watching Max approach and then leave.

“... As long as you want is as long as you keep people comfortable and entertained.” There was a cracking brokenness to the statement. “Nobody wants me around. They want…”

And then all of the sudden, Graham’s face dropped the intelligence, the sudden shift of the mask into the smiling idiot from the church before it crumbled and he was back to his misery and curling in closer to Abi.

“They want… the character, not the actor… This is it. This is… This is the pathetic truth.” He said, rubbing his eyes. “A bloke who is still having weekly breakdowns about an accident that happened 10 years ago. It’s fecking pathetic. Everyone else has moved on…”

Everyone else moved on because he left home. The last vestige of Aoife moping about sadly while his parents tried in vain to forget that they ever had a daughter to begin with.

“The last person that said they’d be there for me died two weeks later.” Came another quiet response, whispered sadly in a tone that could only be described as pathetic. Sniffling coming quickly after.

“After that everyone just wanted me to feel better already so I started pretending, because I didn’t think I’d live long enough without her that it’d make much of a difference.”

Silence.

“Why is my one marketable skill surviving? It’s a cruel joke.”






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

© weldherwings.
 





























SEPTEMBER 26TH.

This man smiled too much. And they forgot their cigarettes.

Nobody forgets their cigarettes, and nobody was a Good Samaritan.

Dante’s amusement, the curve of lips akin to the pull of a maple bow was feather-light and festive in its deliverance. A warm climate lost to the chilling front of Ren’s funereal ambience; quick to go on the defensive at mention of his healthy innards. “Don’t talk about my robust organs.”

But if you want me to raise the price… A really shiny penny?

No.

Not his shinies.

Stirring to the heightened stakes, chips of resistance flaked loose at the proposition. Held at the crux of magpie fascination, he’d always appealed to the gleam of hoarding trinkets. Donning a new shade, warmer, encroaching from shadows to invest in the new, interesting topic of conversation.

“Dan, buddy— can I call you Dan?” There was a slow curling of limbs to rest elbows on the table, head propped on hands with a lukewarm smile. “Let's not be doing anything hasty, we’re only talking. Friends talk. Just because you’re wearing a suit-vest doesn’t mean you have to act like it.”

Perhaps Ren would prefer Aurelian over this guy. At least Ren knew what Aurelian’s intentions were: Punching people. Hating people. Yelling at people. Simple, yet honest. There was a mocking twist to Dante’s presence, the brother, conveniently here to list why he shouldn’t press charges. A snake with no rattle, a wolf wrapped in wool, but free bail was certainly easier than the conquest of never-ending custody and costly fines.

“You’re the brother, trying to give me legal advice.” Ren didn’t feel the need to spell out the obvious elephant in the room. “If all you really want is no further action, then we have a deal, but I’ll only agree with one little condition.” There could be a chance of conviction, but even without Dante’s fear-mongering, Ren was not interested in pursuing it.

His smile faded like a candle, leaving husk and hollow.

“You stop acting like a good person.”

Spilled blunt, threadbare of prior amiability. Pools to ice and skies bleeding ink, a northern wind rich in its entry.

“This isn’t feeling charitable, it’s just convenience. At the end of the day all you want is to save your sibling's ass, and I can respect that. Own up to it or not, I don't care, but at least do the honour of not lying straight to my face.”

Ren hadn’t lingered on the idea of taking Aurelian through the system. Too much paperwork, he’d garner his own consequences, and unnecessarily cruel for anyone who could be imprisoned alongside the chef. If the threat of that was the only thing he could dangle over their heads for paid bail, Ren wasn’t about to disclose it.

Smile returning like daylight, a pull of warmth to thaw the cold.

“You’ll stop acting nice, I won’t press charges, and we both walk out of here happy to never meet again.” Ren’s own handshake extended. “So Handsome, you tell me, do we have a deal?”























now playing...







It Will Come Back



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