#Plague is in shotgun and just having a good time.

[knightjpg]

Tending the Garden

Living by yourself on your little homestead gets lonely after your father's passing. And so, when you find a handsome wounded stranger alone and left for dead in the dust, you take pity on him. Oh, he'll leave again someday, you know that. Which would be fine—if only he wasn't so damned sweet.

tags: Javier Escuella/reader, pining, falling in love

part 1 | part 2

Christ, not again. 

“You better not be dead,” you tell the man lying crumpled in the dirt.

He doesn't stir. With a sigh you put your shotgun on your back and crouch down. 

Scrawny, filthy, and bloody. “What a sight you are,” you mumble, checking for a pulse. It's there, however faint. When you turn the man over you see a young, handsome face; black, half-long hair, a nose that's definitely been busted at least once, and a faint scar across his left eyebrow. He's wearing a tattered poncho, its colours old and faded.  

You sling his arm over your shoulder and whistle for Copper, who obediently trots closer. As an afterthought you grab the man's sombrero and push it onto his head more securely. 

“Alright, girl,” you soothe your horse while hoisting the man over her rear. “Let's get home.” 

You were heading that way, anyway, your little hunting trip yielding two fat rabbits in the traps you'd laid out some days ago. You're not used to catching less, not yet; it’s only been a few weeks since your father passed. 

Maybe that's what moves you to take the stranger with you—the strange bouts of loneliness that have plagued you ever since the funeral.  

Fortunately the stranger isn't seriously injured save for the angry, fresh wound around his neck and some cuts and bruises. You wrap him up in poultice and bandages and put him in your father’s bed; the rest is up to him. 

As for yourself, you set to skinning the rabbits and preparing the meat, curing it and hanging it out to dry to add to your stock of provisions in the cellar. Part of it you set aside to prepare for a late dinner, humming as your knife makes quick work of your home-grown vegetables. 

It's a quiet life out here, in the middle of the grassy hills and patches of dense forest. Redwood's less than an hour away by horse, and you go there on occasion to sell your pelts and buy the few supplies you can't fashion yourself at the little homestead you've lived in all your life.

That said... since your old man died you have to admit you're struggling a little managing it all by yourself. 

When you set aside the now finished stew on the old, wooden table you can see the barn from the window across you, and it's not in a good state. You've been meaning to get around to the repairs, just—after the funeral... it's been hard. 

You eat slowly. The crackle of the fireplace, the clink of your spoon against your plate, and the familiar creaks of the house withstanding the blustery winds of spring are your only companions. Your potatoes are doing nicely; so are your carrots and onions. Might be time to get started on those tomatoes soon... Maybe squash this year, too. 

You're pulled out of your musings when the door to your father's bedroom creaks open and two guarded, dark eyes meet yours. 

You reach for the shotgun lying next to your plate. The man's eyes widen and he takes a hesitant step back. “’S alright, stranger,” you say. “Just makin’ sure you don't repay my kindness by tryna slit my throat. How you feelin'?” 

Your tone is gentle, yet the man hovers near the doorframe, clearly unsure of how to proceed. He's undeniably of Mexican heritage; maybe he doesn't speak English too well? You offer a smile, patting the chair next to you. “You hungry? Food?” 

His eyes light up at that and he nods.  

“Alright. Take a seat and I'll get you a plate.” You stand up, strapping your shotgun over your back. Just in case. Don't you trust no one, girl, your father always told you. It's what's kept you alive until now and you're intending to keep it that way. 

The man shuffles forward and slowly takes a seat on the hard wooden chair. As soon as you put a plate down he inhales the food in front of him with such gusto it draws a surprised laugh out of you. “'S that why you were lyin’ in the dirt out cold?” You shake your head. “Poor bastard. Well, eat your fill.” 

You hand him water as well as whiskey, both of which he accepts graciously. Once he's polished his first helping and starts on the second, you ask him his name. He looks up, cheeks near bursting, and your lips quirk up. You gesture to yourself, introduce yourself, and then, with an encouraging raise of your eyebrows, nod to him. 

“My name, Javier,” he says with his mouth full, pointing to his chest.  

“Nice t’meet you, Javier.” You touch your own neck and pat your abdomen in the spot where Javier got an especially nasty cut. “How's that feelin’?” 

He understands, mirroring you by touching his bandaged neck. “Thank you,” he says earnestly, his accent curled thickly around his words. Not exactly what you meant, but you'll take that to mean it's bearable. 

You let him be, then, content to watch him eat until he's satisfied. When he's done your eyes linger on his dirt-stained fingers. Actually, forget his fingers—he's covered in grime from tip to toe.

“You wanna wash up? There's a water pump just outside.” When he looks at you uncomprehending you get up, scraping your chair back over the hard wooden floor, and gesture with your hand. “Come. Outside. What's it called—? Agua.” 

That seems to land. He follows you, and once you work the pump to fill a wooden pail you leave him to it with a nod. After heading back inside you rummage around in your late father's meagre belongings and pull out a shirt and some jeans that will surely be too big on Javier. Well, at least they'll be clean. 

“Javier!” you call out before rounding the back. “You decent? Got you some clothes.” 

His voice carries back to you in some kind of affirmation and you step around the corner of the house. You're not quite prepared to see him shirtless, however, and for a moment your eyes linger on the expanse of his back narrowing into slender hips. You tear your gaze away from him the moment he turns, thrusting the clothes into his waiting still-wet hands. “Here.” 

“Gracias,” he says, his lips curling in an appreciative smile. It strikes you then just how handsome he looks with his hair dripping wet and little rivulets streaming down the hollow of his neck. His dark eyes regard you with a curious intensity in the beat that passes before you excuse yourself and head back inside. 

Javier returns looking much cleaner, sleeves rolled up around his forearms and jeans tucked neatly into his scuffed boots. He allows you to take his dirty clothes from him and you set them aside for tomorrow's washing. Then you gesture him to sit down, checking to make sure his bandages haven't gotten wet or displaced; but it looks like he was careful, and you don't need to redo any of your work. 

“Rest,” you tell him before moving back to the kitchen to clean up the dishes. When he shakes his head and follows you to the sink you raise an eyebrow. 

“Quiero agradecerte por salvarme. I help you,” he says, gesturing. You snort, pushing his hands away. 

“Ain't nothin’ for you to do ‘side from sit pretty ‘nd heal up.” His brow furrows at that, and you smile, nodding to the kitchen table. “Why don't you sit and tell me what happened to you? Y’looked a fright when I found you.” 

When he remains quiet you look back over your shoulder and see a shadow has fallen over his face, his shoulders tense and drawn up. You hum in understanding, drying your hands on a towel before leaning your hips back against the counter. “Where you headed next, then?” you ask gently. “You got someplace to go?” 

He shakes his head, eyes downcast on his hands folded across his lap. 

“Well. I could use a hand with the barn,” you muse. “Reckon I can let you stay a while if you help me out ‘round here.” 

He looks up that, brows upturned in a hesitant, hopeful expression. “Stay?” he repeats. 

“Sure,” you smile. “You help me, and you stay.” 

—

With some rest and care Javier makes a quick recovery, and after a while of having three hot meals a day his strength returns. His scrawny figure fills into lean, wiry muscle, following your every request with an eagerness to please that never fails to makes you smile. 

He helps fix the barn with you, and when that's done he moves onto a leaky part on the roof. He helps plant you tomatoes by day, and during the evenings you help him practice his English. You ask him to teach you Spanish in return. There are several times you both end up laughing by what essentially turns into a strange game of charades. 

“Ah, cómo describirlo... You sit on a horse.” 

“Ridin'?” you offer. 

“No, no... The chair on the horse...” 

You bite your lip to keep yourself from chuckling. “The saddle?” 

“Sí!” a smile breaks through on his face, pleased you've understood. And so on. You talk about anything that comes up; the chores you do, the vegetables you plant, the animals you catch. You lend him the few books you have, once having belonged to your mother, and read to him while explaining the words best you can.  

Javier doesn't talk about his past nor what he's running from, but that's fine. As long as he doesn't lead trouble to your doorstep a man has a right to his secrets. And though he clearly has moments where he struggles with a heavy sadness weighing upon his shoulders, Javier slowly becomes livelier. 

Sweet spring air with its budding green things lifts your own mood, too. Weeks roll into months, and both of you settle into your comfortable new normal; for as long as it'll last. You don't know what Javier has in mind for his future, but you're assuming he'll probably want to move on from here at some point. It's what makes you force yourself to look away from the way he pulls his ever-growing hair back into a ponytail, forearms flexing when he ties it secure. 

It's also to this end that you share your earnings from what you sell in town, insisting he has a right to it; it was a team effort, after all, wasn't it? It's a joy to see him look down at the money he's earned with his own hands, awe and gratitude lining his face. 

Javier's not the best at hunting or tracking, but he takes to fishing, and you're happy your father's fishing kit will get to see some use rather than collect dust in a corner. He's skilled with a knife too, and your usual workload of skinning and cutting is easily halved. 

“You know, I been thinkin',” you tell him one evening, seated across each other like usual on your couch. “’Bout getting some chickens. Lotsa fresh eggs every day. We'd have little chicks runnin’ ‘round, too. What you think?” 

Javier nods. “We have to build a chicken house.” 

“That's right, a chicken coop. You up for it?” 

“Claro. Tell me when we start.” 

It feels natural, to have these kind of idle conversations with him. To plan, to dream a little. With the rising temperatures Javier often works in the garden shirtless, his hat shielding his face from the sun. You're not sure if it's a blessing or a curse. Several times you feel the desire to reach out and smooth your hands over his skin, to taste the sweat a day's work has collected in the nape of his neck. 

One time Javier catches you, and you're not sure he believes the half-coherent excuse you give him. Good Lord, you need to get yourself together. 

There other moments where you swear lightning takes a hold of you. When you climb down the ladder from fixing the roof his hands steady your hips. When you pore over the English books he painstakingly works his way through he's so close you can feel his breath on your cheek. When you harvest the vegetables in your garden his fingers brush against yours.

Has it been that long since you've been touched? 

It gets to the point you saddle up Copper to go into Redwood just to be away from him and the homestead for a day. You go out to town every few months to stock up on a larger amount of goods and supplies; you're on friendly terms with the general store's assistant, Jimmy, and he's always happy to drive you back with a wagon full of things to last you a good while. 

Copper nuzzles your hand affectionately and you stroke her neck, slipping her an apple. Javier spots you and jogs over, smile bright. “Are you leaving?” 

He's wearing a blouse today, the first couple buttons undone. His collarbones dip so beautifully along his shoulders, and when he wipes the sweat off his forehead the fabric stretches around his muscles. You swallow, mouth feeling dry.  

This is the whole reason you have to head out. Clear your head. Talk to some other people that don't have glittering dark eyes and crooked smiles and stupidly attractive laughs. 

You focus on strapping on Copper's saddle while you answer Javier. “Yep. Time to stock up on some things. I'll be gone for the day, so watch the house for me, won't you?”  

“Of course,” Javier nods. “For the chicken house? Ah, coop?” 

“That's right,” you smile. “I'm gettin' us the materials and some chicks to start out with. A rooster, too. So no more sleepin’ in late,” you add with a little grin. 

Javier groans, but it's in good humour. “Monta con seguridad. Ride safe.” 

“Always do.” 

It's wonderful to feel the breeze on your skin as you ride, and once you reach town you find it was the right call. There's plenty to distract you, though Javier never quite leaves the forefront of your mind. When you get to the general store and greet Jimmy, who gets the catalogue ready for you to place your order, you can't help but add a few clothing items you think Javier might be in need of. You've noticed he enjoys taking care he looks nice, fussing with his hair and polishing his boots, and while your late father's clothes are sturdy and durable they don't possess a lick of fashionable flair. 

A bandana, a vest, leather boots with finely stitched patterns, several blouses... You hardly notice how much attention you're pouring into it when Jimmy chuckles and nods to the pages you're so intently poring over. “Never thought that was quite your style, sugar.” 

Your cheeks grow warm. “Oh—No, that ain't it. I've... Well. I got a wanderin’ stranger on my hands, and I feel obliged to him. Helped me out a lot, now that my Pa is gone and all...” 

Jimmy's surprise melts into understanding. “’Course. You look like you're doin’ a lot better though—just be careful of strangers.” 

“Don't worry. Ain't no one gonna get the jump on me.” 

You pick out the rest of your items, and once you're satisfied you have all you'll need Jimmy tells you he'll start loading up the wagon for you. “I'll take a bit, sugar, so feel free to come on back in a while.” 

You take the opportunity to sell your furs and take a stroll around Redwood, noting the subtle changes that present themselves after not having visited for a while. The saloon has a fresh coat of paint; there’s a new butcher in town. Stores have swapped out their previous goods for things more currently in style.

Behind one of the storefronts’ windows a fine, dark bowler hat catches your fancy, and you imagine Javier wearing it along with his crooked little grin. You exit the store only minutes later, feeling foolish and yet helpless when you imagine his delight at your gift. 

After killing some time in the local saloon you find your way back to the general store, pleased to see Jimmy's loading up the last couple items. He helps you onto the front bench of the wagon, and then you're rattling off. Copper obediently follows behind. 

“Saw you got some chicks 'n a rooster, miss. Think they'll do real well for ya...” 

Jimmy's small talk is pleasant, and you're almost surprised at how quickly your little homestead comes into view again. It never fails to make you feel comforted, to see the squat little buildings and the garden nestled among the hills. 

Jimmy insists on helping you off the wagon again; “You're a lady, I gotta treat you well,” and you allow him with a bemused smile. Only when your feet touch the grass again do you spot Javier from the corner of your eye, holding your shotgun and wearing a much darker expression than you're accustomed to seeing on him. 

He slowly steps closer, dark eyes boring into Jimmy's hand still holding onto yours. 

“Javier!” you call out with a smile. “It's alright, put that gun away, now. This is Jimmy; the feller I told you about.” You turn back to Jimmy, thanking him again for taking the trouble with the deliveries. 

Javier's frown doesn't disappear, however, not even when you gently touch his elbow, asking him to take Copper to the barn while you unload. Jimmy hangs back nervously, eyes darting between you and Javier. He helps you unload quickly, and when you ask if he'd like to stay for dinner he shakes his head.  

“I'd best be goin', miss. You take care now,” and with a tip to his hat the wagon rattles off again. You watch him leave, then turn around to raise an eyebrow at Javier. 

“Ain't like you to be so unfriendly.” 

Javier looks away, an unhappy frown tugging at his lips. “This man is touching you too much.” 

You blink. “Jimmy? Oh, he's harmless. Known him for years; he's always been a good kid.” When Javier's frown remains you chuckle, gesturing for him to follow you. “Alright, alright. Come on, let's go inside. I got somethin’ for you.” 

That piques his interest. “What is it?” 

“Un sombrero,” you grin, then think for a second. “...Algo así.” Ain't really a sombrero, exactly... 

“Algo así?” Javier's lips curl upward. “Me estás dando curiosidad.” 

“Just wait till you see it.” The cool interior of the house feels wonderful after riding in the sun and you exhale, removing your hat and running your fingers through your hair in relief. 

Javier obediently lets you direct him to sit on the couch while you sort through the boxes. When he’s presented with the clothes you picked for him you can hardly take your eyes off of him: Javier's whole face is aglow with delight. 

“I might have to make some adjustments to make ‘em fit you well,” you tell him when he holds up his new blouses to his chest. 

“Estos son maravillosos!” Javier beams. He's especially taken with the boots, his fingers tracing the delicate stitching. He looks up at you, eyes softening. His smile is a beautiful thing. “Muchas gracias, señorita.” 

That damn fluttery feeling in your chest... “Now close your eyes, mister. Got one last thing to complete the picture.”  

You're made to eat those words. When Javier obediently closes his eyes it's so tempting to reach out and put a hand to his cheek, to touch a thumb to his lips... It takes real effort to tear yourself away from these thoughts and instead open the hat box, unwrapping the bowler hat from its crinkling, protective paper, and to put it on Javier's head. His hair tickles the back of your hand as you do, and maybe you're imaging it, but you swear there's a little hitch in his breath when your fingertips graze his temple. 

He looks every bit as dashing as you'd pictured. “Well, well,” your smile seeps into your voice. “Ain't you a fine-lookin' gentleman. Here's a mirror—open your eyes, señor Javier.” 

He does, eyes widening in surprise and then crinkling in happy delight as he sees the hat adorning his head. He turns this way and that, admiring the fine make and material in the small mirror you're holding up in front of him. 

“Tell me if it don't please you, and 's no hard feelings,” you reassure him, but that statement is met with such an indignant expression you laugh. Javier gets up from his chair, taking your free hand in his. His mouth curves into a sweet smile, and the fact that it's aimed at you warms your cheeks far too much. 

“Cariño,” Javier murmurs, his tone one so gentle as you've not heard before. “¿Para qué es todo esto? ¿Para consentirme?” 

You scrunch your nose, brows knitting together. “Them's too many words I don't know...” 

To your surprise Javier lifts your hand to brush his lips over your knuckles. “You are very good to me.” 

You let out a soft little “oh,” and when Javier's gaze on you lingers you fluster, pulling your hand from him and turning away, pretending to be busy with the few supplies still strewn across the kitchen table. “Well, I—I just couldn't bear seein’ you wear your clothes to rags ‘s all.” 

All you hear in response is a little chuckle, but it makes you feel entirely too pleased. 

—

“Do you go—often? In town?” Javier asks you over dinner. Mashed potatoes, summer salad, smoked rabbit. It's a lovely spread, garnished with the flavours of your little herb garden. 

“Not often, no. Why? You miss Jimmy already?” you tease. 

Javier wrinkles his nose in distaste, and you laugh. “I do not miss Jimmy.” 

“Well, maybe you'll warm up to him. Most folk in town ain't too bad, really.” 

“¿Te gusta él—Jimmy?” Javier's tone is casual, almost disinterested. But when you look at him he's awaiting your answer with the watchful eye of a hawk.

“Él es un amigo,” you reply easily. “A friend. My Pa was fond of ‘im too.” 

Javier does a little “hm”, then goes back to poking at his food. You nudge his foot with your own, forcing him to look back at you. 

“What's the matter? You were so happy earlier.” 

“I am happy,” Javier rushes to reassure you. His hand reaches out to touch yours, and when you turn your palm up instinctively to catch his fingers he finally smiles. “Nothing is wrong.” 

After dinner and cleaning up you sit outside, side by side. The air is finally starting to cool. Cricket song hums in the air, the dying light of the sun smattering its final red hues on the evening sky. You share a bottle of whiskey between the two of you, exchanging small talk about the garden. 

When the conversation trails off you watch Javier, his expression serious and thoughtful, gaze resting on the horizon. Not for the first time it fills you with a strange, sad sort of feeling. He'll leave you here someday, and that day is bound to come sooner rather than later. 

“Say,” you speak up. “We should get you a horse.” 

It's almost like you want him to leave. Might be better if he did, actually. You're not in too deep, not yet—or so you tell yourself. You can still let him go. 

“A horse?” Javier looks at you, smiling with intrigue. 

You shrug, trying to appear casual. “Yeah. We could go out ridin’ together if you like.” 

“I would like that.” 

And so plans are made for a visit to a ranch just outside of Redwood. You weren't expecting to be returning that way so soon, but oh well. Not like it'll kill you. 

...Actually, no, it might kill you. Javier's strong arms wrapped around your waist to keep steady when you mount Copper are going to be the death of you. He's already seated just behind the saddle, and the way he instinctively reaches out to help you up doesn't help the stutter of your heartbeat in the slightest. 

A puff of his breath tickles your neck, and you're suddenly very glad he can't see your face. Lord forgive you, but his hands... 

“Ready?” you ask, your voice coming out slightly higher pitched than usual. And when Javier murmurs “Ready,” close to your ear you have a hard time suppressing a shiver. 

Thank God for Copper's easy and dependable nature, because even when you're more distracted than usual by your very attractive cargo your journey goes smoothly. Javier's dressed himself up in his fine new clothes, including his new bowler hat, and he polished his boots till they were shining. 

When you arrive at the ranch he slips off Copper first so he can take your hand as you dismount. “Gracias, señor,” you smile, and he grins. 

Your playful smiles slip when you see the way the ranch hand that's coming to meet you is eyeing Javier. In response Javier ducks his head, letting his hat cover his face in shadow and keeping his eyes to the ground. His tension is a palpable thing. You give the ranch hand a curt greeting, not missing the way his eyes flick between the two of you with wary apprehension. 

“We'd like to take a look at your horses,” you say. Best to move the conversation along quickly, now. “Nothing fancy, for ridin’ 'nd workin’.” 

The ranch hand eyes Javier. “For this greaser?” 

Javier looks up at him for a second, brief surprise followed by muted anger. Christ. Of course he'd know that word without you having to teach him.  

“For my friend. You mind your mouth, boy,” you tell the ranch hand in a clipped tone. The man gives you an odd look. You don't care. 

“Alright then... Follow me,” he says, and though he makes no additional comments about Javier, the way the ranch hand glances back at him says enough. 

“We'll be fine from here,” you're all too happy to dismiss him when he's led you to the available horses. Then, turning to Javier in a much gentler tone. “Alright, darlin'. You take a look and see if there's any you like.” 

The endearment slips out so naturally you surprise yourself. If Javier notices he doesn't say anything; he just nods, focusing his attention on the horses. Poor man. Running from God knows what and then shunned because of his heritage. 

You join Javier, watching him walk past the horses with a concentrated little frown furrowing his brow. When he stops in front of a grey-and-white American Paint he finally smiles a little, stroking the stallion's neck. He catches your gaze, and you nod encouragingly. 

“Fine breed. Learns quickly. Just like you—but a lot more obedient,” you smile, eyes soft so he knows you're teasing. Javier turns his head to you slightly, the tension momentarily lifting from his shoulders. A little grin curls around his lips, crooking it in that way that lately never fails to make your heart skip a beat.

“Then I will take him.” 

He pays for the horse himself, looking proud that he's able to. He shushes and pats the horse gently, telling that its name is Boaz, now, and if he'll be a good horse for Javier he'll get some treats when they get home. 

Javier looks so genuinely happy with himself as he rides Boaz you can't bring yourself to mourn the loss of his arms around your waist. This is good; this is a good thing. He has clothes, money, a horse. Everything he needs to get on with his life and leave you behind as a brief but kind memory. 

The two of you ride slowly, letting Boaz adjust to his new owner and to you and Copper. You don't talk much on the way home, letting Javier fill the silence with excited chatter about Boaz. The barn will just be perfect for him, plenty of space, and Javier is sure Copper will be happy to have a friend, too, and maybe once Boaz gets used to Javier he can race you, you know, friendly competition, but if he wins then maybe you could make that apple pie again? 

“Claro,” you smile, feeling both wistful and endeared with Javier's boyish grin. The way his eyes light up at the promise of your cooking. “...I'm sorry ‘bout what happened earlier,” you add in a much more serious tone. “And I'm sorry if I should've left it to you. Ain't like I think you can't stand up for yourself.” 

Javier shakes his head. “It is not a new thing,” he tells you. “Thank you.” 

You wave your hand. “My pa always used to say people's people. Don’t matter what they look like—we all get hungry 'n thirsty 'n tired.” 

Javier hums, seemingly pulled into deeper thought by your words, and the rest of the way home you ride in silence. You're not sure what's on his mind save for that he seems vaguely troubled, his mind miles away. Must be about his past. 

You let him be when you get back, wanting him to have the space without someone prodding at him. He spends a lot of time with Boaz the rest of the day and you busy yourself with your own chores. But you eat together outside in the warm summer evening, as always, even if Javier's still caught in his pensive mood. You don't mind the silence anyhow. You look over the grass waving in the wind, the soft sounds of chickens drifting from their coop. Your eye rests on your garden with a mix of contentment and pride, and absentmindedly you let yourself be pulled into musings of what to plant next and where. Peas do well this time of year. 

You startle when Javier starts to speak. “I came to America because I killed a man in Mexico.” You turn to him as he talks. His eyes are set on the horizon, softening orange and reds announcing the end of another day. “Powerful man. If I stayed everyone I loved would die. I was afraid when I got here—I had nothing except fear. I was starving. Weak. ...Alone.” 

Javier looks at you, finally. His dark eyes are pained, grave. So that's what happened to him before you found him. You'd wondered, of course. The scar around his neck that he hides with his bandana. His wariness, his guarded gaze when he meets someone new.  

So he killed a man. You wonder if you should be frightened of him—beautiful Javier with his sometimes sad eyes, who calls your chickens ‘ladies’ and who hums while he brushes Copper for you; who burns his fingers and his tongue because he's too impatient to wait for your pies to cool, and who fusses over the wrinkles in his blouses. 

You can't bring yourself to be. 

“I thought I'd die crossing the desert. I thought I'd be killed here—instead I was simply starving because nobody cared.” He puts his plate beside him, the spoon clattering against the ceramic with a soft clink. Reaches for your hand, hesitant, slow. “You cared.” 

Without thinking about it you turn your palm upwards to take his hand, and his fingers hold onto you tighter when you do. Compassion and sympathy pinch your brow. “Then I'm glad I found you when I did.” 

“You saved my life,” Javier replies. His tone is so soft, and it squeezes your heart. Oh, the soft feelings pooling in your chest—you can't, you shouldn't. You attempt a smile, trying to force levity into your voice. 

“And you paid me back ten times over with all the work you done ‘round here.” You hesitate. Try to burn the feeling of the weight of his hand in yours into your memory. “...You're free to go where you like now.” 

The way he smiles at you then makes you wonder if he understood what you meant, but somehow you just can't bring yourself to ask. 

[lazyneonrabbitt]

Forest Guardian pt.2

Daryl Dixon x reader [pt.1]

Your second day in the woods goes nowhere near how you thoight it would go, but at least it ends nicely.

Teeny bit of nsfw at the start.

Back behind the curtain to the makeshift sink and cleaning station Daryl took a couple of minutes to make sure you had fallen asleep and unfolded the magazine he grabbed before. Merle insisted in stashing some dirty magazines in his supply drops from time to time. "In case he got lonely."

Not that he really used them, he didn't care for it at all. But now with you hanging around all day and showing him care he felt it affecting him. Luckily he still knew how to behave and not hop into bed to have his way with you.

So he had to make do with the models on the pages to satisfy his urges. If he covered their faces he could imagine it was your nude body he was staring at while he worked himself to his release as quietly as possible. His hand would never feel as good as yours. Or maybe your lips, even if he was kind enough to you. The idea alone was enough to help him over the edge, finishing all over his hand.

He felt disgusting after he cleaned himself up. When he got back he could barely fall asleep, hyper aware of you just a few feet away, sleeping in his cot, on his mattress. Under his blanket.

Morning couldn't arrive fast enough, even his dreams were plagued with images of you and he woke up feeling like hell had finally gotten its nasty claws on him. He needed to busy himself with something, whatever he could find to distract his mind. So he chose to start preparing for today's hunting trip. He'd have you come along to help foraging so you needed a bag for yourself too. And tools for hunting, gathering plants and also for protection. He wouldn't admit it, but he was having fun with it.

Daryl was already up when you awoke, he was quietly emptying a small bag.

You stretched and yawned, sitting up slowly. "Morning.." your voice was scrapy and your back sore. "Man, how do you have a spine left with this bed?"

He turned to face you, a soft huff of a laugh leaving him. "City girl whinin'."

You almost took offense, but shrugged it off, not having the energy to argue right now. You'd have to get used to living with a shitty bed if you were going to stay.

"So, what's the plan? Do you have food?" You were slouched over on the cot, already cranky with how your stomach was actively grumbling for food, and the lack of fancy breakfast and coffee.

"Get up 'n I'll get ya food. Goin' out after."

You worked yourself off the cot and towards Daryl who had moved around and handed you a piece of jerky.

"This is breakfast?" You eyed the slab with caution, turning it on your hands with uncertanty. "I seriously hope this is just wild boar or something." You wiggled the piece of dried meat at him, and before you had a chance to pull your hand back Daryl had snatched the food from your hand. "F'ya don' wan'it I'll eat it."

"What? No! Give it please.." You drew out the wine, pouting at him and got the jerky back, gnawing on it to still your hunger.

When you were finally ready to head out, which took way too long according to Daryl, you two were out the door.

"So, where are we going? You're barely sharing anything here." You were following his steps, a shaking hand still holding onto the bag he gave you.

"Yer gon' need this." Daryl had given you a small crossbody bag earlier and showed you its contents one by one.

A small knife, for foraging. Plants only.

A large hunting knife, for meat.

And a handgun. "Daryl, why am I taking this?"

You didn't even want to touch it, but Daryl made sure to show you how to hold it properly, even if it bothered him to hell and back to have to get so up close and personal with you and keep his body under control.

"Yer goin' out in the woods. Ya need protection." He had placed everything in the bag and handed it to you. "An' I ain't handin' y'a shotgun." He slung his own weapon over his shoulder, a throwing axe strapped to his waist along with his knives and a crossbow in his hand.

"I got you. You got a whole arsenal. Why do I need the gun.." It was clear you weren't comfortable with it. Still you were outside with him, heading into the woods to do god knows what.

Watching your step quickly became watching his broad shoulders move in his tight long sleeve shirt. You didn’t even hear him talk to you until he stopped because of you not responding and walked straight into his back.

“M try’na be nice ‘ere, takin’ y’out the door an’ y’aint even listnin’.” His one good eye stared into your soul, intimidating being an understatement and having you immediately straighten up and nod vigorously. “Yes! No, I'm sorry..” You stared at your shoes and got a pat on the shoulder, leading you to move on.

You were the one gathering the edible plants while Daryl was off but still in view, hunting an animal you didn’t see. Busying yourself plucking the plant as instructed you were caught off guard by a gunshot, a pained grunt and screams of agony that made you shoot up and go check the situation. You saw Daryl first, hunched over and bleeding with a dead guy who had an axe buried in his chest.

A second guy was staring In panic before turning on his heels and running off.

“Shoot ‘em. For fuck’s sake!” You set off in a sprint, hands shaking as you dug for the gun, talking yourself into doing it for real, doing it to save Daryl. You followed his path, having stopped running and looked through the sight as Daryl showed you and pulled the trigger.

You missed.

The shot was close enough to make him jump as lose his footing. You had to do it now, there was no other choice.

You took the shot with shaking hands, but it hit. You did what Daryl asked of you.

Daryl. “Fuck.”

Leaving the body you set out to sprint back to where he got attacked and saw him lay on his back, the shirt he wore torn up to bind his bleeding wound. He saw you come into view and gave you new instructions.

“Merle, get ‘im fer me.” He was in a lot of pain, so you insisted in helping him dit up against a tree. “How? My car is gone, remember?” You had a whole fit this morning before you set out, not seeing your car where you parked it the day before.

“Walkie, cabinet next to the door..” His hand weakly smacked your shoulder to set you in motion, watching you run off in the direction of the cabin.

You found the thing fairy quick, pressing the button and calling out. “Merle? Are you there?”

Answer. Again. “Merle! Daryl needs help for fuck’s sake, answer this thing.”

“Merle!” Your voice was shaking when he answered.

“The hell’s a lady’s voice callin’ on mah brother’s channel. Ain’cha supposed ta be dead?”

Wait, dead? “What the fuck dude? You sent me there on purpose?” You were fuming now, blood boiling but there was no time to fight. “Get your ass over here, Daryl got shot and he needs help”

You wanted to toss the walkie in frustration, but kept it on you as you went through your bag for the simple first aid kit you took and ran back to where you left Daryl.

He came into view in the distance was still sitting against the tree, head slumped to the side. You almost tripped over your own feet as your stomach turned itself inside out and you fell to your knees, puking up that little thing you ate for breakfast. Tears ran down your face and you couldn’t stop the sobbing but you had to get up and move on. Daryl needed you.

Wiping your mouth with your sleeve you got back up and got to his side, unpacking the kit but finding nothing that you knew how to use to patch a bullet wound. You had used up some stuff already to patch his previous wounds that by now weren't even bothering him anymore.

All you could do now was press the leftover gauze to the wound and wait for Merle to arrive.

It didn't take long for the pickup truck to arrive and Merle hopping out to check his brother's wounds. "Gotta load 'im in the back, help me wouldya."

You managed to get Daryl laid in the truck bed, but watched as Merle made his way into the woods. "Where's them boys ya shot? Gotta clean 'em up 'fore we head back."

With a sigh you pointed him in the direction of the one furthest away while you took the one close by. It was a hassle and a half to get the dead weight lifted and thrown into the vehicle on your own, but you managed by the time Merle got back with the other body slung over his shoulder. You followed his movements as he tossed the body in the back with no care at all and closed the latch. "Ya watch him, I'll head to his cabin."

You got comfortable and steadied yourself for the ride, keeping a close eye on Daryl who was still breathing as of now. The ride was a short one and Daryl was on his cot with minimal issues.

You worked on getting Daryl's wound accessible while Merle quickly threw a tarp over the corpses in his truck. When he came back he saw your shaking hands and came to help immediately. "Move over, ya see an exit wound?" You shook your head, realizing you had to go fish it out of him with whatever backwoods methods you had to use.

Daryl stirred with each prod of Merle's tools, your weight barely enough to hold the man down.

"Ya gotta git'yer back into it, girlie! Can't get tha' damn bullet outta him." Merle complained about Daryl's stirring constantly until he had enough and shoved the medical tools into your hands.

"I'll hold. You pry the thing outta his side." He made you swap places and held his brother down with all his might as your shaking hands rested on Daryl's skin, needing a second to steady yourself before you could try yo get the bullet out.

"Ya got this. Slow 'n steady, jus' like tha'." Merle's voice had gone soft and almost comforting in a way, it helped your nerves and after some gut wrenching moments you got the bullet out and leaving a gross, bleeding hole. "Tha's it, now press this on."

He handed you a cloth to press on the wound. "Ya know how ta sew?"

You looked at him with true horror in your eyes while he dug for thread and a needle, but nodded.

“Good! Sew ‘im up ‘fore he bleeds out.” One of his hands moved to hold the cloth in place until you got your nerves in check while to other one handed you the items to close Daryl’s wounds.

With an intake of breath you squeezed Daryl’s flesh together, and pushed the needle through as you breathed out.

In. Squeeze. Out. Thread.

A few more times to close the wound entirely, snipping the thread as Merle worked to patch up the stitches with a gauze and medical tape.

Merle didn’t stick around much long after. He helped you clean up and left some supplies behind for you, giving you something that sounded like an apology before heading out the door.

You were alone now.

Daryl had passed out while you sewed the wound shut and was snoozing away comfortably now. Or at least he looked comfortable.

You went to pull a blanket over his body when you remembered his wounds from yesterday, deciding now that he was out of it anyways you’d tend to those as well. You thanked him quietly for wearing a sleeveless shirt, being able to reach the wound on his upper arm easily.

You unwrapped the bandage and found the wound healed enough to leave it uncovered.

It had been less than twenty-four hours and his wound looked like it had done a week's worth of healing.

You left it as is, and went to unwrap the wound on his torso for an inspection too. That one had the same, one day old and no longer in need of covering up.

'The hell?' You were unsure how to react to what you were seeing. This shouldn't be possible, right? No one has such good health that those'd heal so quick, especially not someone living in the woods. No way that's a side effect of cannibalism.

"Tha's twice ya saved me, now." Daryl's tired voice made you jump up and away from the cot, but his wince as he let out a laugh had you back at his side in a second.

"You should sleep some more, moving's bad for the wound." Your hand rested on his chest, a kind gesture to accompany your suggestion. A deep sigh left Daryl's lips as he got comfortable, laying on his back a bit off to the side of the cot. But not without grabbing a fistful of your sweater and pulling you down against his uninjured side, moving you without any trouble. "Yer joinin' me. 'Msure yer head's goin' crazy after whatya had ta do."

You couldn't protest at all, even injured he held you down with ease, so you chose to settle down beside him.

His chest was so soft, comfortable as a pillow and his whole body ran hot, like your personal heater. It was surprisingly nice to cuddle up with him.

What caught you off guard, though, was the feeling of Daryl's lips softly pressing against your forehead. You didn't dare to move, shock taking over and keeping you frozen in place. You tried to focus on your breathing but all you could focus on was the touch of his lips, the shape of his scars prominent against your skin.

It didn't feel like any other kisses you had ever gotten. Not because of Daryl's scarred face, but because of the feeling it brought you. It radiated a comfortable fuzzy feeling that had you doze off in a matter of minutes.

[ashfae]

Er yes. You seem to have good taste in GO fics. Got anymore faves I can read when I should be working or paying attention to my child? 😝

I'm really flattered you asked! And I also have 50 pages of fics bookmarked and no idea where to begin aaahhhh! So I'll just, errr, lob a bunch onto here: Obviously there's the trifecta of GO fic brilliance, Slow Show, Pray For Us Icarus, and Demonology and the Tri-Phasic Model of Trauma: An Integrative Approach. Everyone knows them, you don't need me to babble.

Other faves in no particular order and of all types because if I try to be organized about this I'll spend months at it and never post it:

Be As You've Always Been - by gyzym

It Was Always You - by mltefry

Truth or Dare - by @kanna-ophelia (also Stay) What God Hath Wrought - by @saretton

What We Make Of It (Shotgun Wedding) - by @charlottemadison42 (this fic made me a better parent, I'm not kidding) (see also Or Be Nice because choosing between them would leave me screaming for weeks)

In the Pocket of the Universe - by @indieninja92

Choose Your Faces Wisely - by @featherquillpen (this fic changed my life in ways I find it very difficult to express)

Dark Roast Espresso at the Purgatory Cafe - by @copperplatebeech

Thieves of Mercy - by @amuseoffyre

Oh Maker - by @voluptatiscausa

Lunacy - by @snae-b

a lighthouse, burning - by @books-and-omens

The Book of Ruth - by @racketghost (the whole Strange Moons series but for me especially this one)

Scales From the Eyes - by @yoites-good-omens-blog

Love in the Days of an Ill-Timed Plague - by @scrapbramble

Of Boxes, Boas, and Bastards - by @hkblack

Saltwater - by @heycaricari

Demon and Angel Professors - by ghostinthehouse (this looks long and intimidating but chapters are very short and entirely worth it)

oh god I'll stop there or I never will even though I've left out SO MANY of my favourites ahhhhhh /smashes post button

[simp-ly-writes]

Chapter Six: Heavenly Stars

Can be read as a standalone: Personal Hell Series (pt.7)

Pairing: (Hazbin Hotel) Lucifer Morningstar x demon overlord!Reader

Summary: You wanted to be alone, to hatefully survive in the hole you found yourself in but when answers come knowing at your door, will you listen to their call even when it goes against everything you have established for yourself in this home?

Warnings: 4864 words, mentions of blood, gore, injury, metal health subjects, drowning, death, and emotional angst.

A/N: Apologies for the wait my Lucifer darlings! But *rubs hands together* we gain answers now.

Masterlist | Taglist | edited.

Hazbin Hotel Masterlist

The grandfather clock ticking away down the hall is the only sound found within the home besides your paint strokes against the canvas. You are multicoloured, covered in paint from head to tone in various shades and hues as you step back and observe the piece you had been working on. 

How long have I been here for? You think to yourself, muscles sore as you stand and move to get a new cup of water for your paint brushes. Since your time in the Gardens and you haven’t been able to sleep since, you cringe while catching a glimpse of your reflection in a window. The usual ringing in your head was all long gone from your past days without rest now your body feeling more energized than ever as you kept yourself busy with old hobbies in this newfound time. 

The sink whines open, a few droplets drip once you close the tap and find your way back to the balcony, overlooking hell's outer rings. That once cure you had found eons ago had come to fruition, now a vast scape of rolling hills and mature trees breathed with life as you felt jealousy stir within your bones, outlining another tree to your composition. Only accompanied by seemingly endless amounts of time, you felt more and more lost in this old and empty house. As if being sat with your old self that stared you down through each object left for dead in this place. It was equally comforting, being near death’s door again, that old self, but that cold loneliness haunted you more than the screams that plagued the back of your mind. 

Just know that when you wish to dream- you will find me here… waiting. Shaking your head of these thoughts you pack up your supplies and go to the kitchen in search of sustenance. A bowl of pristine red apples glowed in your face, begging for attention, for you to take a bite as you stuck your head into the cabinets and finished out the supplies to make a fresh loaf of bread. 

In between paintings and trying your hand with an old shotgun to hunt for food, you would be found harvesting the overgrown crops of your greenhouse. It felt connecting, taking the time to watch your harvest grow, you had forgotten the wait, the patience of it all in recent times, just observing before going in for the grab. You had started journaling once more, keeping track of your sanity, allowing yourself the possible freedom of finally letting it all go….

You wipe the sweat from your forehead, setting the bread to rest on the windowsill as you look out towards Heaven and its sun-like quality in the red sky. You still do not feel tired, the wood of the structure groans, begging for you to rest like a casket but you clutch at the walls, silent tears falling but you cannot escape. You are forced awake, you cannot dare to dream of a life outside of this, finding yourself wearing the same clothes, his jacket resting against your body, a ghost of a hug that has your heart aching no more than your desire to finally burn that bridge for good. 

His voice haunts you. You can imagine his comforting words, his touch, the ghost of his breath falling upon your neck as your hands trail the various seams and buttons along the coat. You do not realise yourself to be smiling through these tears. You do not know yourself to be in the right or wrong- just horridly conflicted with past and present, vice and virtue. Morality calls to not be in vain, you grip your hair, immortality is a silent scream much to your own, crying out for you to be more. I just can’t seem to find a place to start…

--

After an awkward call to heaven, Lucifer leaves the hotel with a seedling of hope that has yet to be watered. A few guards bow to him as he passes down the mirrored maze of hallways and never ending staircases towards your office where he throws himself to the floor. His breathing is ragged, he watches possible futures flicker through his eyes. Blood and tears mix between songs as he brings his knees up to his chin. 

Throwing off his hat, he listens as the gold of his crown scrapes against the hardwood floors before the snake slithers its way over to him, wrapping its way around his throat, he reaches upwards to it, begging for it to release as his body directs him towards the shattered crown before him. He shakes his head, boots scraping against the floors as voices yell out from behind the closed doors. 

In a few hours, Charlie will be in Heaven, in another few days, your general will still not be there, The King thinks to himself as he cries, forcing himself to stand and lean against your desk as his hands grasp over the various maps and journals. The snake slowly lessens its grip as he takes in deep breaths, trembling fingers drifting over your handwriting.

He feels pathetic, smaller than he knows himself to appear. His mind keeps flickering to those last few moments with you, holding your hand, voicing his love for you to only watch you disappear and be set with the ghosts of you in these rooms and down these halls. He swears to hear your feet are running up to him with grand news or a mere correction to the weather report but nevertheless he ears strain to remember you voicing his name once again- to know that you call out to him. Yet he fails to dream any further as he sips cold tea and places signature after signature on the various reports left unfilled. 

--

A tapping at the window has you falling off the couch as your hands feel under the coffee table for your shotgun. Bringing the handle up to your chest, you stalk your way around the archway and make haste towards your front door. Looking through the peep-hole, not a single soul is present- your shoulders only tense as you raise the barrel and twist the door handle. Rushing outside as you check every corner only to hear a squawk, eyes darting downwards to see a Raven dancing its way from being stepped on by your black boots. 

“Shit,” you whisper to yourself, the bird flies up, resting on the barrel as it presents a wax-sealed envelope with your name written in glitter. Shaking your head, the raven transitions itself onto your shoulder as you take the letter from its beak and drop your gun on the coffee table once more, knocking over a stale cup of coffee as it stains the recent newspaper you snuck out to steal from the nearest village. 

The bird chirps in your ear, presenting its neck for a scratch as its wings flutter happily to your physical praise. Filling a bowl with water, you tip your shoulder down to the counter and watch as the raven dips itself inside and takes a drip. Ripping open the letter using a claw, your fingers trace over the Princesses signature, resembling much of the same qualities of her father. A common pattern of letters that you forged oh so many times in Hell's past. 

Your eyes drift over the shaken handwriting as concern etches its way into each wrinkle upon your face. The paper is stained with tears and a droplet of golden blood that has you seeing red- motherfuckers, you spit out, flipping to the next side that houses a simple request. “...I don’t know where else to go, but I need to be away from everyone, could I come stay with you?”

Obvious wear of the page signifies that this sentence had been scrapped and rewritten a multitude of times as you hum out in thought. You saw echoes of yourself in her words and actions, taking the chance to run for a moment, to find freedom from all the decisions that wear a person down overtime. The raven’s eyes pearce through your own that have started to shimmer a yellow hue in the moonlight. You rip a page from one of your journals, listing a simple yes with a request that the bird be the only one who shows her the way here. 

You open the kitchen window, watching as the bird flies up, becoming a mere black speck in the bloodied sky as you lean against the counter, observing your home and omitting a sigh, looking down to your hands. With a singular clap you listen as each scattered object finds its place upon shelves or in the sink beside you. Shoes walk their way towards the closet as your shotgun polishes itself back into its display. Small golden specks flicker and fall towards the floor, lost without a trace alongside the dust between the floorboards, the magic you used now settled as your blood becomes warm- happy that you made use of it. 

You can only roll your shoulder, the jacket appearing to dwarf over your frame as you shimmy it off, resting it against the back of the couch as you make your way upstairs, fighting mentally to come up with a nice outfit to greet the Princess with- Charlie with, your brain corrects you. Hands fly to button up a new shirt as you iron your pants and choose a clean pair of workboots and gloves. You bring up a bottle of wine from the cellar, eyeing the date with a laugh, gods I really am ancient. You think to yourself, this bottle was practically double Charlie's age and you could only reminisce of the sentences Husk would string together at the mere mention of such a luxury bottle of liquor. 

Popping off the lid, you lean your head back on the white jacket, an arm falling onto your shoulder as you swirl your glass, watching as the liquid falls from the walls, clashing back into itself. You can imagine these waves roaring, clashing and becoming one in the end- a pointless battle in the grand scheme of things to only be interrupted by the ringing of a doorbell as a distressed blonde collapses into your arms, their black mascara staining your fresh white gloves as you cradle their head. 

Charlie's glossy red eyes peer into your own as you still, at a loss for words. You had never seen Charlie so down, so utterly miserable as you squeezed the girl that bit harder and picked her up. Flicking your hand for the door to be closed behind you both and led her towards your living space. She looks up as you place her on the couch, conjuring a fresh plate of tea as you extend your hand, offering physical support as she latches on, nails digging into your palm as she sobs out, tears and snot choking her next words as you lean in to hear better. 

“I-I was so excited and then… it all goes to shit. I should have listened to everyone, to you, my dad… my mother…” You open your mouth, about to comment before she continues, eyeing up your glass of wine. “I understand the pain my father went through, now more than ever.”

“Charlie…” you breathe out in concern as you pull the hair from her tear stained cheeks, offering her your handkerchief as she dabs her eyes, looking up towards your vaulted ceilings. “I should have never gone to heaven, held these ‘loft dreams,’” she quotes in her fingers, dropping your hand as she exhales frustration, going to grip her hair, head falling between her knees. “I wanted so much then and now I feel the consequences. Vaggie is not the person I knew her to be- she's an angel and to even think that I admired heaven when these are the tricks they pull!” 

“Charlie-I-” 

“No! It's not fair, and now that motherfucker Adam!”

“Language,“ you state as Charlie flips you the finger, “okay dad/mom,” she states back, picking up her head and showcasing an eye roll as you pull her closer to you, resting her head under your own as you breeze past the title. “I remember Adam,” you state as Charlie looks up at you curiously, “did he declare to come and kill you first too?” 

“Actually-” you start to say while scanning through your memories. 

“You’re joking,” Charlie deadpans just as you shrug your shoulders. The Princesses face falls again soon after as she picks at her nail polish, “I am just as bad as the cruelest list of overlords in hell-”

“No you are not!’ you stand, anger filling your voice as shadows soon emerge from the floorboards before you gain a hold of yourself witnessing the terror starting to rise in Charlie's eyes as you drop to your knees and apologise. “You are not cruel Charlie, you are kind as you are strong. Any overlord in hell… misses those feats,” you state, wrapping her fathers jacket around her frame and pressing a cup of tea into her hands. 

“Now I know better than anyone that all these thoughts lead to nothing but more self wallowing,” you say, taking a sip of your drink before leaning against the arm of the couch opposite of Charlie as she raises an eyebrow. 

“Isn’t that why you are here?” Charlie questions, sneaking a sip of your wine with a small smile starting to form, knowing she caught you there. “Well as I have stated before, you are better than me in many ways,” you retort, shifting the fabric of your shirt to position itself on your elbows as you lean down to pick up a tea cup. 

Charlie laughs out softly, a ping of pride emanates from your chest in managing to cheer her up slightly yet both of your positive reactions soon fall as you summon forth your spear, horns growing out of the top of your head and through your healing hair with the information she presents you. “But that is all besides the point, I need people to fight this battle with me, I need you and I have already made deals-”

“YOU DID WHAT?!” you coldly ask, head tilting, your eyes now slits as you demand answers from the princess. Rank falling from any traditions you held, even with her fathers coat on, you stand at nothing but their utmost safety, even when it comes with disrespect to their pride filled backgrounds. “I made a deal with… well more like through Alastor. He said that I could only accept when I was sleeping so I got him to put me to sleep before coming over to you,” her words come out in waterfalls, spewing at a gallon a minute while you stab a hole into your floors as she continues her story. “A-and I was put in this space with water and a guy who looked a lot like my dad, but he wore these white clothes and called himself the Creator out of all things- I mean I have seen god and god is not him I shall have you know, anyways I-”

“Woah, woah, woah, WAIT!” You comment, racking your brain as horror coats your features, your spear clashing against the floor as you place your hands on her cheeks, moving her eyes to your own as you ensure the seriousness of your next question, “You have met THE god?” 

“He was there for my birth and well… the day of your death. I was too young to remember anymore, you would have to ask dad but…” Charlie conines to ramble, you fade out of reality, feeling your socks becoming yet, clouds flickering in Hell's skies before you drop your hands from her face and grip your head with stress. Becoming out of breath, Charlie soon slows her speech as you pick up on what she has to say once more, “...so I made the deal and now I owe him my dreams till Adam is dead.” She finishes as you grip the back of the couch, eyes starting past her head and into the kitchen window where heaven sits gleaming mockingly in your face. 

“I think it's time for you to catch some rest, I will be there with you in a moment… there's a few words I wish to share with your dealmaker,” you state with vice as Charlie swallows, nodding her head a few times just as the raven flies in through the still opened window, staring between the two of you before making your way upstairs and showing her to your guest room. Charlie clicks her hands together, suitcase flying its way into the room and on her bed as she yawns out, “thank you for letting me stay here,” she says in a small voice while looking down at her feet. 

“Thank you for coming to me when things like this happen,” you reply, pulling her in for one last hug just before you exit your room, once hearing the door close, you exhale a soft breath, a hand of your own trails from your waist, upwards you chest and rests upon your neck- grazing over the golden scar. You step towards your room, hands moving over your journals as you recount each conversation, preparing yourself to enter the dreamworld once again. 

You walk towards your washroom and run a bathtub, knowing you would be unable to sleep in normal ways. Your breath hitches as the tap squeals shut, the bird now taps rapidly against the glass window above your head, beckoning to be let in just as you undress, submerging toes to shoulders in water. You watch the water ripple to intake your form, your hands begin to float in the water as you gradually sink your back deeping into the warm waters.

Snapping your fingers, bubbles fill the tub, flying off towards the window, gleaming in Heaven's light, creating the only natural rainbows to be found in hell. Water now just up to your chin, you take in one last small breath before submerging your head. Your body unconsciously kicks, trying to force more air into your system but you stay, your feet twitch, your lungs scream and just as your nails ding into your skin and a droplet of pain enters your system- you are transported to the otherside. 

--

Your body is wrapped in fine cloth garments, silver patterns are sewn into the fabric in waving lines as you stand at the foot of a bed that houses a sleeping Charlie. You start to move to the side of the bed, raising your hand, just hovering over to tuck her in just as a hand is placed on your shoulder. You stand back upright in an instant, hand dropping and becoming covered in your robes once more as you face forward. Staring off into the horizon as sunlight fades and blues arise from the sea, coating the sky. 

Greetings, the deity calls to you, you feel the warmth of their breath on your skin as it crawls into your ear, making a home in your senses as you become senseless to their powers taking over your form just as the last. Why have you come to the Creator on this fine evening? A smile starts to form across their features, their rosy cheeks taking over your eyes as they expand to hold every pointed tooth in your eyes. 

Why speak, why even think if you already know the answer? You strike back, a hand of theirs now drifting from your shoulder down to your back as they lead you away from Charlie, your feet moving on their own as they spread the very water before you and towards a tea set primed for the occasion. A singular snake following in your robes, teeth latching on to a sleeve as it becomes lost under the waters. You feel its tug but cannot look back as you take your seat beside the deity, their hand now on your knee as they pat it thrice in contemplation. 

Where is the fun, immoral one when another can already speak for me? You roll your eyes in response as the snake now catches the corner of your eye. Its white scales disappear in your garments but hiss towards the man beside you, warning of what you have yet to discover. A question for a question, both never to be answered, you say, gaining control of your head the longer you sit in the waters. The deity still faces forwards, watching Charlie breath, your heart slows realizing the water had been rising but you kept on breathing. 

A choking sound can be heard, you feel yourself thrashing in the bathtub just as Charlie emits a silent scream in her dreams. Stop this, you state, the snake now slithering to rest its head in your hand as your knees begin to shake, you have to stand but their hand still rests on your knee. Their eyes flicker to gold coins, a scoff coming up from the back of their throat. It does not serve you well to beg, dearest, they tut out towards you just as your body shakes in anger. 

You will stop this cruelty this instant, she is young, unknowing in many of the wicked ways we have lived through. You speak, starting to stand, pushing up against the currents as fish swim around our eyes, finns swatting in your face. And just how would you know what I have lived through? They deity questions.

How do you know yourself to be the Creator when Creation itself happened to make you? You question back, their head tips over to you, neck cracking as the night had finally come, the once rosy pinks and orange waters now rich blues mistaken to be black and soulless. Bubbles rise when they laugh, they create waves as Charlie uses these air pockets to breathe. Her arms reach out to you even when she is unable to open her eyes. Her fingers flex and bend in search of comfort and you become distracted. The snake bites into your skin as you hiss out in pain, droplets of gold now rising towards the unseen surface, it glimmers in contrast to the depths of the ocean. 

The snake bites you again, more droplets emerge as they rise above your head and they sliver away with them. Looking upwards, you watch as the snake curls into itself before bursting into the brightest light yet, the supposed god cowers in the display. You take a deep breath in at the sight of the patterns that your blood has created in the darkness you once emerged from. Constellations shown from earth's surface come into view, Orion’s sword and shield fall from the sky and into your hands as you slam the two together. The deity flies backwards from the impulse as you sprint before extending your legs, jumping and crashing into their awaiting fists as the water parts, Charlie falling behind you as she chokes up water. 

Her eyes open, she screams out in warning as the brother rushes up to you, clouds now battle axes as each connection of blades groans on impact. Your muscles ache, your lungs filled with frustration as you fight. Blood drips from their teeth, your smirk seeing their pain as Charlie stands back in horror seeing you so far removed from yourself. She thinks back to the tales her father told her, the depictions of the townsfolk when their version of self emerged in protection of her mother, her father, and now… her. 

Charlie ducks as an axe swings over her head, she watches as your back dips, the blade caressing your chin just as you kick his knee, making him tumble for balance as you place a cut to his arm and later to his chest. Gold pours out in vats as you cry out, cutting through fabric and skin down to bone. Exposing the dead-skin that laid underneath yet you paid no mind to it, even when an emptied hand came to hold your chin as your blade rests under their own. 

You are stunning like this dearest, a true waking dream, their last word echoing as the sky crashes down upon you, sun rises and drying any trace as the ground begins to crack- a desert forming in response to your aching bones as they lay before you, barely able to move. Charlie views the grey skin you had unleashed to the sky, it is a mere replica of the ground she now walks upon, removed of any prior life as fish flap around helplessly at her feet. 

You continuously speak about creations, fate, and now dreams. What are you, for the only object I see now is failure before me. Their eyes close, basking in the light rays just before golden eyes sparkle on their own. They do not show any greed, and promise for truth yet their lips move on their behalf, “I am the spirit of dreams, a heavy branch from the father himself. I twist fate in the most gorgeous of affairs, I bend time on a whim just as I destroy. I can revoke happiness, I can tempt death, I can so I do… until now, until you…” 

Your blade still holds strong against their throat, itching to make the same cursed line to match your own, their hand still rests upon your face, that once comforting feeling now a hollowed caress as they hum out peacefully in thought of their next words. “I have called myself the Creator so as to not confuse you with the many renditions you were before this. We have had a long relationship, a changing one two, you were once my greatest friend, a confidant and even lover…”

A sickness plagues your mind, you don’t recognise the plethora of visions that coat your memory, not feel as your blade shatters against the ground as Charlie moves to hug you, pleading for your return as you stare lifelessly off into the horizon. 

--

You wake in a distant memory. You find yourself in similar robes as you walk along the cosmos, galaxies are your furnishing as they are your being, you drift between them with grace as the stars twinkle and black holes bend to make way for your presence. A hand emerges from the darkened veil of space, a white glove pulls you through and into a home lost to time as a grandfather clock ticks in the background, the hands left unchanging yet it sounds just the same. Teeth smile into your neck, their hands on your waist as you drift between one another and you awake once more.  

--

“NO…” you state, coming back to cruel realities as you hold Charlie's head, comforting the girl by unknotting her hair with your claws as you yourself need to be grounded in some semblance of the current life you live. “Your greatest dream was to always have more time, dearest and I could never deny you of anything in my power. I paused the clocks as long as I could before father came knocking at my door and when the earth went to dream again, I didn't have you to join me. In this all, I had yet to discover my hatred for my brother truly, it was only when I saw you with that ‘King of Hell…’” he speaks the table to such spite as his wounds begin to heal and he stands to full height, hands extended towards you as Charlie blocks their touch with her body. “...I grew that hatred, that jealousy and revoked his dreams. I pleaded for your return and even when I received it… Lucifer always found a way to claw you back into hell, he gave you that extra time when I was unable to...”

“You twist your words…” you say, shaking your head in disbelief as the Spirit of Dreams smile fades to that of a smaller one as their hands drop. “Only when I must, but now I see that there is no longer a need for me to do so,” they say as their eyes drift over Charlie's blonde hair. 

Your eyes begin to feel drowsy as you emit a yawn, feeling exhausted for the first time in weeks and cannot help but feel giddy at the feeling. You watched relaxed as his robes drift off like clouds in the sky once more as a sunset rises from behind you all, an array of reds reminding you of Hell. They chuckle out lightly, their eyes flickering knowingly to your current state as they speak in mere whispers, your eyes fluttering closed. “You are due to wake up any moment now dearest.” 

He nods once towards Charlie, her eyes soon closing once again as she lets out a peaceful sigh, resting on your shoulder. “I am sorry for not dreaming enough for the two of us…” You shake your head at this, starting to fall slowly back into the tub as their voice softly shuts closed their domain. 

Hazbin Hotel Masterlist

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[shmowder]

Your blog is making me want to replay Patho 2 again... I did play once on the intended difficulty, and then I replayed it afterwards on the easiest settings, doing everything and saving everyone and I'm ngl, that was some of the most fun I've ever had even though it wasn't quite in the spirit of the game haha

The so-called spirit of the game is this senior citizen wirh an overgrown 2000s anime boy haircut who shakes his cane at you sassily when you choose to only swallow a handful of razors as opposed to the razor muckbang the game offers.

I finished the game on the hardest difficulty

This was my first time playing the game ever. I straight up went to the intended difficulty, saved everyone, did everything, and never starved for a single day. I had 20+ Shmowders by the end. I was fully stocked on meat, I was fully stocked on homemade antibiotics and maxed the hospital shift each day.

All of that with only 3 Deaths

WHERE IS MY FUCKING CELEBRATION HUH? WHERE IS MY MEDAL? NO ONE THEW ME A PARTY, NO ONE INVITED BELLA HADID >:( MARK WASN'T IMPRESSED.

Fuck you Mark! ONE OF THOSE DEATHS WAS BULLSHIT YOU DUMB SLUT. YOU SPAWNED A GUY ON TOP OF ME WHILE I WAS PICKING UP HERBS, HOW THE FUCK DID HE ONE SHOT ME WITH FULL HEALTH HUH? YOU WHORE.

What I'm saying is. Look, we both finished the game on complete opposite extremes, yet we're both here. In a pathologic x reader blog on tumblr. We both had fun and shared a good understanding of the plot and characters. That's what matters. Everything else is just people patting themselves on the shoulder. You're the only one who will be impressed with the fact you beat the game flawlessly, and you're the only one who will be bothered by the fact you picked an easier difficulty

Because it's really not that different. To me, I have the kind of autism that makes games like pathologic smoother than water for me, I thrived on the ruthlessness of dark soul and did a no death run in darkest dungeon. But also. I absolutely suck at casual games, I can't play Stardew Valley unless I'm fully cheating, I can't for the life of me beat a single platforming game because I have a slow reaction speed.

Play Pathologic however you want! Ice-pick Joe isn't gonna pop from under your bed at 3am to beat you up with hammers. This is coming from the most tryhard difficulty elitism person there is in games.

Buttttt. I do recommend giving Pathologic classic HD a try. I promise anyone who beat Pathologic 2 on ANY difficultly will cuck tf out of the first game. There is no thirst! The vendors have unlimited money, and you can sell all of your trash to them! THE ECONOMY IS THRIVING I BOUGHT FOOD ON THE DAYS THE PRICES WERE SKYROCKETING BC I COULD AFFORD IT. I would've never financially recovered from buying food in P2 on any day that's not the first one. In P1, I rarely slept because I was deepthroating lemons and snorting coffee beans day and night since I could easily afford the health/hunger penalty.

Meanwhile, in P2, I'd save coffee beans to sell to get enough money to save up for army clothes.

The combat is so forgiving, the houses with good loot aren't the infected ones like in P2 but the burned ones! The AI in that game is so stupid you can trick plague clouds into disappearing if you stand still! You can glitch and jump over fences to take shortcuts through the town! YOU CAN SCAM THAT CUNT ANDREY STAMATIN FOR ENDLESS SHOTGUNS.

Lastly don't forget that 90% of the Pathologic fandom haven't even played any of the games at all. 70% probably never watched a single playthrough either and just video essays instead.

In the steam version of Pathologic 2, Only 10% of players who bought the game have ever reached the end.

10% !!! That's us there! Me and You! It doesn't matter how what matters is that we both did it while 90% of people gave up.

And the situation in the classic game is even more dire tbh-

Only 6% ever opened the game and made it through the first day. Only 3% ever made it to the last day.

So, really good on you for finishing the game! Good on me for finishing the game! WE DID IT! YAY! Someone really should give Bella Hadid a call.

Also, please do yourself a favour and ignore whatever the video essayist says about the difficulty of the games. They're good storytellers for building an interesting narrative to watch, but they're not good at videogames assessment. Each of their reasons is very personalised by their own experience and doesn't necessarily mean other people will struggle with the same issues. Don't listen to anyone who tells you picking an easy difficulty ruins the game either, Pathologic doesn't relay on its brutal gameplay to shine, it can more stand on its own as a narrative story walking game. If anything, it would probably shine better on easier difficulties when you have time to dig for context clues and plot without starvation breathing down your neck. I missed some flavour text quests because I was too stressed about balancing different objectives to do them or pay attention when something important was said.

[spiceywawa]

Her

I'll come back and fix this later. I just needed to get this out of my head like neoowww.

You don't know why you always did this to yourself.

This constant torture of this endless cycle, the unbearable double love triangle.

Despite how much of yourself you've given it wasn't enough and all the sacrifices and promises you made led up to this moment.

Going against the people you promised to look after, the people you gave your all to.

The group who was set on killing this man even though it wouldn't change anything. It wouldn't bring jerry back or fill the void we all felt.

You always thought that the coincidence was too great that there was no way. You hadn't heard his name directly until you found the leads yourself.

You found Tommy first through other fireflies in Boston and then Joel's.

Your father's name. Your uncle. Your only family you had left.

That's who she came to kill. That's why you were dragged out here, and they just followed. They kept it from you, knowing it's not something you would want to participate in.

They didn't know at least you didn't think they did. You always suspected abby knew but denied it.

You were so close to turning a blind eye and putting her first again. Putting them first like you always had.

But this time you didn't.

You wanted to give this man a piece of your mind, perhaps doing the job yourself.

You had been plagued with the hatred long enough. You needed this closure, you needed opportunity even if it ended up killing you.

The curiosity of why had always outweighed that feeling of anger and hatred.

It burrowed into your skin, turning into a deep insecurity.

Why did he leave me? Was I not good enough? What the fuck is wrong with you, leaving a woman to raise a child alone! In a world like this?

This was an opportunity to get out.

A chance to get answers or closure and escape Seattle for good. To wipe your hands of this heavy burden you have carried since the day you were born.

To finally tell him how much of a monster he was.

To show him what he missed if he even cared. You wanted him to care. You wanted anyone to just give a shit about you.

You wanted someone to take care of you for once. Like you always did for others.

You are currently staring up into the barrel of the shotgun, putting yourself between abby and Joel.

Tommy grabbed Mel, and half of the group is trying to keep abby from blowing your head off. The other half is trying to get to Mel. But Tommy has the upper hand, and Joel is pointing a revolver at someone.

Joel's behind you on the ground, somewhat dazed from a hit to the head. You're basically standing on top of him, keeping him in your shadow. You have your gun pointed at abby, keeping her at a distance.

"I'm not letting you do this." I practically growl.

The look on her face is almost unreadable she seems so indifferent as if pulling that trigger to get you out of her way is what she's considering.

You reach and unzip your coat to reach into the breast pocket of your shirt. Abby lunches forward.

"Stop!" I shout, putting pressure on the trigger of my pistol.

You pull out a small plastic bag with a photo inside. It was a picture your mom took when her and Joel parted ways. She had given it to you with her writing scribbled on the back.

"Get out of the way" Abby says lowly.

There's noise going on around you.

Tommy is yelling out to get Owen to back up.

Jordan is in the corner with leah keeping a distance inching near the stairs out of the basement.

Manny is behind abby inching towards her, trying to get you both to stand down.

Nora is trying to get Owen to calm down to keep him from making any sudden moves.

Nick is pointing his gun back and forth between joel, tommy, and you.

"Did abby tell you all how big their group is? It's a whole fucking city. You guys kill their people you'll never make it out alive!" I yell not breaking eye contact with abby.

"Shut up." Abby says lurching forward. Manny grabs her pulling her back a little.

I toss the bag next to me for joel to see. He picks it up glaring at me.

"You wont outrun them in their territory, they'll find you." I say loudly all eyes on me.

"You can't kill them without losing someone or everyone. You'll lead them back to Seattle and the WLF." I say letting the information flow.

"You don't get to kill my dad before I get to tell him what been on my mind for the last two decades. You won't take this from me abby. I won't let you." I say looking directly at her.

Tommy's eyes go wide flicking to his brother and then to you.

Everyone goes silent as joel stands up behind you holding the picture of him and his brother from their younger days. With you mothers handwriting on the back,

":Your daddy Joel and uncle Tommy."

Before anyone could move or speak basement door opened and a girl yells out.

Shots fire and all hell breaks loose.

[holedaemon]

ASS RESPECT 3: Garrus and Wrex go to White Castle

It's done. We did it. This weekend Ari (@freakpatrol) and I finished the Mass Effect trilogy. The third game is... massively flawed. There's *a lot* about it that I did not like, but despite that, it had some really profound aspects that I won't soon forget.

THE GOOD

MISCELLANEOUS

Shepard can run much longer now

They brought back weapon mods

The armor system is pretty decent, allows for a lot of customization

You can heal in battle using medi-gel again

Garrus is able to be romanced

ENEMIES

There are three factions you go up against in Mass Effect 3. Primarily, the Reapers & their forces, Cerberus, and to a lesser extent, the Geth. I'm here to talk about the Reapers' forces. In terms of design & background, they are peak. BioWare really went all out with them. They essentially took the idea of the Husks and how they are genetically altered, cybernetically enhanced humans, and applied that to most of the other races seen throughout the series. The process leaves them as former shells of themselves, the origin race barely being distinguishable. It's the perfect body horror and totally up my alley. A few of them that really stood out to me:

Cannibals

Harvested Batarians. They have a tendency to eat corpses they find on the battlefield, hence their name

Brutes

Unique in that they are a combination of Turians & Krogan. They remind me of the Tank from Left 4 Dead. Very fun to rip apart with a shotgun

Banshees

Harvested Asari, possibly specifically Ardat-Yakshi? Wasn't really clear. They resemble the Spitter from Left 4 Dead and function similarly to the Summoners from DOOM 2016. Ari HATES these things. Every time one of them screamed I'd hear "Oh I hate that noise"

SQUADMATES

The only new squadmate that really matters in 3 is Javik. You find him on a colony planet that's been overrun by Cerberus. He's a Prothean that's been in cryostatis for the last 50,000 years; when the Reapers last attacked. This is our first time SEEING what the Protheans looked like, and honestly they're pretty cool. Prothean society draws heavy inspiration from Rome & its structure, so you can imagine what Javik is like. He's a soldier; very cold & calculated, carries a lot of baggage knowing he failed his mission & his people perished, which manifests as him being a total dick, but we like Javik, so he gets a pass. The only thing I find disappointing is how he was included in the story, I'll elaborate on that later.

STORY BEATS

Okay, so let's be clear here: the story in the third game more or less sucks major balls. Turns out that's because the lead writer for the first two games left to work on fucking Star Wars: The Old Republic??? That said, there are some really profound moments throughout the story that I absolutely adore, even if they break my heart.

The first being summoning Kalros to fight the Reaper destroyer on Tuchanka. Before you run in to the arena to set off the hammers, Wrex stops you to say

You've been a champion to the Krogan people, a friend of Clan Urdnot... and a sister to me. To every Krogan born after this day, the name "Shepard" will mean "hero!"

HANDS DOWN my favorite Wrex quote.... Just. Gah. I love his development throughout the trilogy. Going from a grumpy merc with no purpose to the fearless leader of the Krogan people. It fills my heart with joy. He also calls Garrus his friend............ THEY HATED EACH OTHER IN THE FIRST GAME!!! NOW THEY'RE FRIENDS REMINISCING ABOUT THE OLD TIMES. I LOVE IT!!!!!!!!

Still on Tuchanka, this next moment hit me HARD. I can't remember the last time I cried at a video game, but this fucking got me.

Kalros has defeated the Reaper by pulling it fucking underground. We're at the Shroud ready to disperse the Genophage cure across Tuchanka. Except the Shroud has been damaged, it's coming down, and the STG (basically Salarian armed forces) has sabotaged it to prevent curing the sterilization plague. Mordin walks into the elevator leading up to the top of the Shroud, his final conversation with Shepard goes

Shepard: I'm sorry Mordin: I'm not. Had to be me. ... Mordin: Someone else might have gotten it wrong.

Hundreds of feet in the air, amid explosions, Mordin hums the same Salarian scientist tune he sang to Shepard in the second game. He pauses, the sabotage has been overridden, the cure is being dispersed; the scientist looks out over the Tuchanka skyline and smiles. Peace has been made with his fate, he can die happy knowing his wrong has been corrected. He picks up singing his song, but before he can finish the verse, the top of the Shroud explodes. That's the last we see of Mordin Solus.

Compounding the loss of Mordin, during a conversation prior to the events of Tuchanka, he tells Shepard that the Genophage needs to be cured. He does not relent that it was the correct thing to do for the time, but the circumstances have changed and it needed to be stopped. Shepard also asks him what he plans to do after the war had been won. Mordin talks about spending his final days on a warm beach, collecting seashells. The commander retorts saying he would go crazy within an hour, the Salarian responds saying he might run tests on the seashells.

I was really torn up about Mordin for a few days following this LMAO. He really grew on me over the course of the 2nd and 3rd game, hands down one of my favorite characters. Seeing him go sucked a lot, but I'm glad he was able to do it on his own terms. Curing the Genophage was the right thing to do, and I think it really added a lot to his character. He gave up his life so many, many Krogan could live. I love that a lot.

There's one last moment that really stuck with me.

The team is on Rannoch, the Quarian home world. They just defeated a Reaper that was transmitting a signal to control the Geth. Besides controlling the Geth, the Reaper transmission was also upgrading the synthetics. Their consciousness was on par with that of an alive being. Legion reveals to Shepard that he still has this code running in his systems. If he were to upload it to the Geth collective, the entire race would be upgraded to become fully sentient & alive. The commander agrees, telling him to get started, and asking Tali to delay the impending Quarian attack on the Geth. After some bickering with the Quarian admirals, the fleet hold their fire. Legion says

Legion: Error: copying code is insufficient. Direct personality dissemination, required. Legion: Shepard-Commander, I must go to them. I'm... sorry. It's the only way. Tali: Legion, the answer to your question... was yes. Legion: I know, Tali, but thank you. Legion: Keelah se'lai.

Legion falls to his knees in front of the Rannoch sun. In his final moments, he achieved true sentience, evident by his use of "I" instead of "we," as well as calling Tali by her first name. He was an equal, he was a person, he was truly alive. Through his actions, Legion brought on a new era of peace between the Geth and Quarians. In the days following his death, the Quarians had returned to their home planet and started to rebuild with the help of their newfound allies. The Geth's assistance was speeding up the rebuild exponetially. Processes that would have taken years, were taking days to weeks. Some Geth also volunteered to upload themselves into the suits of Quarians, to kickstart their immune systems. This would make the environmental suits the former nomads wore irrelevant in a few short years.

Losing Legion hurts A LOT. He was my precious baby boy. Everything about his death compounded the loss tenfold. The fact that he achieved personhood; the way he fell in front of the sun; his uttering of keelah se'lai as he keeled over... just. UGH. Much like Mordin, his death was not in vain. Had he not done what he did, the Quarians would have been wiped from the galaxy by the Geth. He managed to save two civilization and end a 300 year conflict. This has really, really stuck with me. Genuinely one of my favorite moments & outcomes in any video game, period. I love Legion, I love the Geth, I love what they all stand for & represent, and how they grow over the course of the series. It's fucking awesome.

THE BAD

That's about all I have in terms of good things, now onto the bad.

ACCESSIBILITY

Mass Effect 3 took a step backwards from 2 in terms of accessibility. The second game was perfect; menus were simple and concise. I actually knew what I was doing & where to go. That's not true of 3!!! Shit's back to being convoluted & confusing!!! I look at a menu and say "what the fuck is this?" It sucks!!!!

The other thing is the galaxy map. On the map overview, it tells you the description of missions in certain systems, not the name!!!! So you'll just have shit like "go to Anderson's apartment" appearing over nebula & shit, like what???

Your journal is a disaster too. Missions, both main & side, were grouped together in one tab, so you can't easily decipher which is which. They also decided to remove mission details, rather only giving you a vague description of what you needed to do??? Extremely frustrating.

GAMEPLAY

The movement sucks. It's like halfway to where it needs to be. I gotta give them credit for trying to make it good, but they just fucking floundered. Everything is done with the space bar, and so fucking often when I tried to interact with stuff, Shepard would take cover or do a fucking roll in the wrong direction instead of doing what I wanted her to do. It got genuinely annoying.

Another big issue were missions. For some reason, BioWare decided that missions should expire in this game, except they don't tell you when!!!!!!! SO YOU JUST HAVE TO GUESS!!!!!!! COMPOUNDING THAT, THEY GIVE YOU SO MANY MISSIONS. Literally I had like 20 missions at one point. Most of them were just fetch quests too. The formula for fetch quests is basically as follows:

get mission from random NPC

go to system

ping map to find scannable locations

uh oh, you probably alerted the Reapers. Which means you can't scan in peace without doing a mission.

if you can somehow avoid the Reapers, scan location for random junk until you find your fetch quest item

take it back to random NPC

rinse & repeat 100,000 times

Not a big thing but they... got rid of all of the minigames? There's no more hacking minigames, rather when you need to access an area, you just interact with the door & stand there for a few seconds. Again, not a big deal, but definitely a step in the wrong direction. There's also no resource collection, which I really enjoyed.

Again, this one is less of a problem but just kinda weird. The game is fucking easy. I died less than 10 times in combat. I didn't even know you could heal with medi-gel till the finale. I barely ever had to take cover, I could just run & gun and be fine. Compare this to 2 where I was dying left and right. My performance in the prior game was so dogshit that I think Ari was starting to get annoyed by it, so often would they say "BABE TAKE COVER," meanwhile I'd look like this

SQUADMATES

I was really kinda disappointed with the squadmate selection this time around. The last two games had so many different characters that I really jived with, but 3's selection was pretty lackluster. So as soon as I could, I took Garrus everywhere with me, and would switch between Javik & Tali for the secondary. Not bad, but not ideal. I don't really like human squadmates, so I never picked James or Kaidan. James is just too dude-bro military hot head for me; Kaidan's a whiner & got really annoying. Giving EDI a body was unnecessary, but cool I guess? Her relationship with Joker was cute. Never really cared for her much as a squadmate though. Liara was also just kinda... meh. I think I was really just spoiled by having Wrex and Legion as options in prior entries.

THE CITADEL

Okay this is a quick thing: you spend WAY too much time on the Citadel. This kinda ties back into my complaints on missions, but, I swear a huge portion of the game is spent there, doing side missions. It's fucking boring, man. I really did not enjoy any of the time spent in between priority missions. The citadel is novel at first, but by the end of the game, you've spent at least a few hours just running between the same 4-5 floors picking up quests, turning quests, listening to NPCs. GAH.

THE STORY

Okay, so like I said, Mass Effect 3 has some really good subplots that I enjoyed a lot!!! Overall though, dude, the story is just... weak, the ending especially. Ari and I spent some time reading the Wikipedia article detailing the controversy surrounding this game, and it makes sense. Like, once BioWare lost the aforementioned writer for the first two games, everything just went to shit.

The first thing that really irked me is the child Shepard sees die and his subsequent use throughout the story. Sure, alright, seeing someone so young die is traumatic, but why does it hold so much weight?? Shepard has seen thousands die, personally, she has taken the lives of at least 300,000 people, why does a single kid she never even spoke to for more than a second keep popping up? There's zero substance here. Keep the trauma, keep the dream sequences if you must, but use the people that really matter. Mordin, Legion, Thane, Ashley, I guess, even her fucking parents or squad on Akuze! USE ANYONE BUT A RANDOM CHILD!

Now, let's address the elephant in the room: the ending. That travesty blows shit out of ass, dude. Why is the aforementioned child there? What do you mean there's this intelligence that was created to solve a problem? What even is the problem?? Oh, it's that synthetics and organics don't really truly understand one each other? Okay. Why is that just now becoming the overarching problem of the series? Where was that concept in the first two games? The introduction of this intelligence, the Leviathans, and the "problem" really diminishes the story. It explains away the mystery of the cycle. It diminishes the Reapers a lot! Before, they were these mysterious, almost god-like machines from beyond the veil of reality. Their purpose was unknown & said to be incomprehensible to a normal mind. Turns out they just harvest the universe because it "solves a problem?" Like, fuck off, dude lmao. Giving any context whatsoever to the Reapers and their motives was a bad idea and really killed the magic that they brought.

Anyway, as you finish up talking to the child, you are giving three choices

Control the Reapers

Destroy the Reapers & all synthetic life (EDI, the Geth)

Use your DNA as a template for life to combine & share the same DNA between all species, organic & synthetic alike. (AKA the Synthesis)

Ari & I chose the last option, as it's allegedly the "true ending." Well, when you do that, Shepard jumps in the crucible, turns to mist, a huge explosion of green energy crosses the galaxy through the mass relays (breaking them in the process??), and everyone becomes cyborgs & "understands each other." Reapers & their forces stop fighting and begin to help rebuild the galaxy. Everybody glows green now? It's not well explained and even if it were it's stupid as fuck. Besides that, you're also violating the bodily rights of the entire galaxy?? Forcing change at a DNA level without anyone's consent?? Kind of a weird way to resolve a war. Furthermore, what about the Reaper's abominations? They're all sentient now! They're not fighting anymore! What do you do with them? What they once were is barely even recognizable!!

THE DLC

Alright, last talking point: the DLC. DLC is not a new concept in the Mass Effect games, and while it was not a big deal before, this time really bugged me.

Before I start: the DLC involving Aria & taking back Omega was really fun, I enjoyed it a lot. Anyways.

First off, JAVIK IS DLC????? THE PROTHEAN CHARACTER THAT IS SO VITAL TO THE STORY IS DOWNLOADABLE CONTENT THAT COSTS EXTRA???? REALLY AWFUL DECISION BIOWARE.

Second, the Leviathan DLC. I love the Leviathans, they're really cool creatures in design & concept. But again, their introduction and involvement in the story just Ruined the Reapers pretty much entirely. It sucks. I wish they were better utilized. Also, again, to put something so """important""" to the story in a DLC??? Fucking lame.

Finally, the house party DLC. It was fucking AWFUL. The entire mood of it does not fit the game ONE BIT. Every other sentence is some weird, unfunny quip. Brooks as a character is just fucking annoying. You're running around chasing your clone??? Then YOU HAVE A PARTY??? The dialogue throughout the party is just fucking awkward and forced. Kasumi and Saeed are there for some reason?? It just sucked. I could go on for hours about it but I'm just burned out even talking about this shit.

Overall, a really, really disappointing end to an otherwise fantastic series

Fuck this

[maxwell-grant]

So yesterday was my birthday and I invited a friend over to watch some movies we’d been each putting off. He showed me They Live, which I’d somehow never seen, for the first time, and I repaid the favor by breaking his brain with Speed Racer and letting him see how everyone ever was 100% wrong about that movie at release and it is in fact the best thing ever, but in regards to They Live:

I expected a good time and had a really great one. I knew about it’s central alien allegory, and how it’s been co-opted by anti-semitic memes and right-wingers who think they’re being cute. I knew it inspired dialogue in Duke Nukem, I knew it was a John Carpenter film starring Roddy Piper with Keith David in it, and that was it. I was blissfully unaware of everything else, including the fact that it somehow winds up being a spiritual successor of “The Challenge of the Beyond”, the pulp writer round robin exercise nowadays most famous for it’s H.P Lovecraft - Robert E.Howard parts.

There’s a post on it that floats around regularly and I’ll link here for better explanation, but in short: Lovecraft’s section of this story had the protagonist George faint from terror constantly and go mad after turning into a giant alien centipede, which was followed by Robert E.Howard immediately retconning said madness in his opening line and having the character embrace his new life as a horrid centipede beast in a new planet and go on a conquering rampage of “titanic adventure” as George the Centipede Barbarian. I bring up George the Centipede Barbarian not because it’s funny, but because They Live intentionally pulled off a very similar kind of brutal tonal dissonance.

They Live is very comparable to The Thing in the sense that it is a 50s concept told through 80s filmmaking and distorted accordingly, to the extent that the black and white parts are not just colored differently, but shot differently from the rest of the film in a way that’s far more reminiscent of 50s horror films. Our protagonist is an 80s meathead cowboy who lives in a struggling urban landscape with mysteries and horrors he never quite understood but continue to plague him and those around him, and he has a moment of truth when he puts on magical sunglasses and finds out that he’s been living in a Twilight Zone episode the whole time, and so has everyone. The black and white allegorical terrors won and have been running everything all along, and that is the point the episode should end with our protagonist horrified and broken, “wouldn’t that be fucked up / doesn’t this remind you of something / these horrors are real” message conveyed, episode over.

Except our protagonist is an 80s meathead cowboy, so instead of surrendering to the horrors after finding out everything is a monstrous lie, he fights back with a shotgun and a bag of one-liners. Dude just immediately, like not even 10 minutes after he first puts on the glasses, starts blasting alien cops and bankers and spaceships. I really did not think that “bubblegum” one-liner happened that early in the movie. This dissonance would have been wonderful regardless but it helps that it’s done so intentionally.

I really didn’t expect that the movie was this 100% completely blatantly unsubtle about the true nature of the alien ghouls as bloodsucking capitalists. It’s not some veiled allegory that can be left to interpretation, the movie tells you repeteadly and explicitly what it is about. The film tells you that the aliens are weaponizing communist paranoia to gain control over cops, preceding a line “We'll do anything to be rich” and then a description of them as “They are free enterprisers. Earth is just another developing planet, their third world” is actual dialogue from the film and that’s just before we learn the aliens all wear expensive watches, that most of the cops going around brutally gunning down the resistance are humans who sold out, and get scenes of the aliens and humans standing around in suits congratulating each other on profit margins. I don’t meant this as an insult but it’s frankly cartoonish in how unsubtle it is, it’s insulting that John Carpenter even had to set the record straight with Yes This Was About Capitalism and Reagan and Yuppie Bloodsuckers You Stupid Fucks like the movie isn’t hammering the point constantly.

If you haven’t watched it, did anyone ever tell you that the inciting incident of the movie is the protagonist being radicalized by police brutality? Yeah, funny, nobody ever talks about what happens in the movie before George puts on the sunglasses. The first 20 or so minutes are about the protagonist, George Nada, arriving in the city and struggling to find a job or place to stay and being offered one by Keith David’s character Frank, who takes him to a homeless community. They have a handful of dialogues together where Frank repeteadly expresses a cynical viewpoint towards life under You-Know-What, over opportunities turning into traps and steel mills giving themselves raises by screwing workers over, and George brushes him off stating he still believes in America, he still believes in getting a fair shot.

George is quickly and immediately reduced to horrified bystander as the police storms his community and destroys their church and goes around beating up them up and evicting tents by bulldozer, while George runs around trying to help and save at least one of them. The next time we see him, he puts on the sunglasses and learns the awful truth and starts his rampage (framed in no uncertain terms as an act of revolution) by doing, what else, shooting cops. Or, well, aliens who approach him as cops and tell him that, now that he sees them, they can work out a deal to profit together if he just goes quietly. The movie makes it as obvious as it could possibly make it.

So yeah, watch They Live, it’s Duke Nukem vs The Twilight Zone’s Episode on Capitalism (with Extended “Guys Being Dudes” Action, I’m glad I didn’t know about that alleyway fight scene beforehand). Also watch Speed Racer, it’s glorious, and it has the exact same villains. Had a really great time yesterday with both.

[ryverbind]

Faceless Fixation (Sal Fisher): Viper of Fear [16]

I'm crouched behind the one piece of protection I was able to find in this abyss of unspoken horrors. This battle ground of malice and revenge. 

My heart pounds against my ribcage, a war drum thrumming within my own body. My chest is splattered with the lost hopes and dreams of my enemies. My veins are filled with the icy bite of fear-- fear that strikes with the accuracy of a viper. 

This is a wasteland. What once was is nothing anymore. The ground beneath me held up opportunity mere minutes ago, all for it to be stripped away in a moments notice. And it's all my fault.

The surface beyond my safe space is riddled with the neon blood of my foe. Synthetic shotgun shells cover the floor, acting as hell's very own field of bones. The desert scene that earlier reflected a symbol of goals I never thought I'd achieve now mimics Vlad the Impaler's wet dream. 

I take a shaky breath, adrenaline pumping through every millimeter of my being as I listen to the war waging behind me. I don't spare even a simple glance over the box I'm hiding behind. This box is the stone that Arthur's sword once resided in-- this bitch will never break as long as I believe in it.

My fingers flex around the weapon in my arms, my muscles tense and my mind alert. If I'm not on edge at all times right now, I'll get caught. And getting caught means death. All hell has broken loose amidst the cloud of contentment that blinded me just minutes ago. I should have know that karma and revenge go hand-in-hand. They're best friends. They are a repeated process and know each other good and well. 

I acted on revenge, and karma was quick to collect my debt. 

"You've been hit by..." my heart stops upon hearing that deep, sultry, amused voice. He's having the time of his life, relishing in the screams of his victims. "You've been struck by..." I hear the barrel of his gun snap, releasing a plague of venom upon the person at his mercy. And the sufferer bellows in agony, spreading their unfortunate and horrific fate to me. I sympathize, my heart skipping a beat. I'm trapped in the clutches of hesitance, of terror. I squeeze my eyes shut. "A smooooth Larry Johnson!"

I swallow thickly, a guilty grin quirking my lips. Everyone's fair game to Larry right now. We aren't his friends at the moment, we're pawns in his chaotic chess game.

I set my gun on my knee, wiping my clammy palm against my chest. My hand comes up sticky though, so I look down at it, grimacing at my neon orange skin. I chew on my bottom lip, contemplating the memory of how I became covered in paint.

The issue with my win against Sal earlier is that I expected him to silently fume over his loss. I wasn't prepared for him to throw paintballs into his mag and pelt me with three almost immediately. I was too confident. Overzealous. And... I guess I had it coming.

I can't wipe the image of that moment out of my head, when I finally looked up at Sal to see him stalking over to me with a fire in his pretty blue eyes. As soon as our gazes clashed, he launched into fighting position with his gun up, aimed at me, and at the ready. His finger slammed on the trigger with no regret, effectively slathering me in the ugliest colors I've ever seen. What's worse is that he came at me short-range, so my gut and chest are throbbing in pain. Probably have some bruising, but hey, that's game. This is war.

What I want to know is how the hell Sal and Larry know how to work a paint ball gun. I underestimated my enemies.

First rule of gaming and life: never, under any circumstances, underestimate the enemy. And for fucks sake, double tap! Don't be like me, apparently.

Larry very thankfully moves away from me, probably laying his mayhem upon Ash somewhere else in this tumultuous room.

No one has found me yet, and it's already been about a full five minutes since the metaphorical shit hit the fan. I guess physical shit too, seeing as we've completely wrecked this photoshoot set. I kind of feel bad for The Faces; no one's ever going to give them this opportunity again.

I hear Todd yelp somewhere in the distance and my body stiffens up automatically. I can't afford to feel false security in such a dangerous situation. This box of props isn't my savior, nor will it ever be. I have to be prepared no matter what.

I feel a brush against my leg, so I whip my head to the side half expecting a threat and half expecting me to just have been stupid and hit the wall. Preparation can work or it can backfire, but it's better than walking through the unknown.

But seeing Sal crouched beside me makes me want to bolt into the crossfire that Larry's creating.

And Sal hasn't noticed me yet either. He's simply hiding from Larry too, trying to escape the fiend his step-brother has become. His gun is propped on his knee, his finger hovering over the trigger in fear of being found. His sapphire colored hair is stringy from sweat, sticking to his neck and prosthetic. Dots of neon green and orange are littered along the long strands, his fringe much the same. He pants heavily, probably from bolting across the room as quickly as he could. His chest rises and falls quickly, the action attracting my gaze. And then his eyes that map out the battle ground behind the box we're both hidden behind-- his cerulean gaze that swallows me whole no matter when or how I get to see them. And those beautiful, veiny, bruised hands of his that handle the weapon in his arms like he has the strength and confidence of all the mightiest men in this world.

He glances down at his gun, using his hand to swipe a patch of neon green off of his black gun. But when he looks down, he also spots my boot.

I gulp, the viper of fear sinking its venomous fangs into my skin. It was only a matter of time-- I should have snuck away while he was still distracted. But as I said, karma and revenge work hand-in-hand. 

Sal's head snaps up, shocked gaze meeting my own. As soon as he realizes who he's looking at, the emotion in his eyes flips completely, turning into a horrendous glare. And there's nothing I can really do but wait for him to probably shoot me again. It's better than risking an onslaught from Larry-- I'm actually scared of him. Kinda relieved that Ash and Todd have to face him instead of me. 

"Bitch," Sal bites out quietly, trying to make sure that Larry doesn't find him. "Fuck you."

My lips quirk into some kind of sneer and grin. If this is all he'll do then maybe it's time to repeat the karma-revenge process. I'm about ready to get back at him for bruising my ribs earlier. "Yea," I whisper back harshly, "I bet you want to." 

Sal's piercing eyes narrow and a wave of impending doom and ferocity carves away at my insides. I can feel the sting of murderous intent like flames licking at my skin. Maybe I need to reevaluate my life choices.

He doesn't say a word-- doesn't drone about how much he hates me or how I'm nothing compared to him. He just lifts one hand from his gun and slams it into my throat, his fingers gripping my skin tightly and robbing me of fresh air.

I choke on the sudden pressure on my airways, leaning forward to try and relieve myself even if just a bit, but Sal doesn't let up. He only yanks me closer to him. It's almost embarrassing that he knows what turns me into putty in his hands-- we've only been doing this for two days. But it seems that anger and aggression is his go-to when it comes to me, whether he truly feels it or he's just trying to wrap me around his finger.

I swallow, taking quick and raspy breaths as I look into his eyes that are mere centimeters away from mine. His bright blue irises hold so much intrigue, so much contempt. Every shade of blue, every fleck of golden stardust in his gaze resents me. I'm borderline obsessed with the way he hates me at this point. It's such a strong emotion, to be loathed so deeply by anyone at all. It isn't love, but I don't need love. 

Maybe this is why I didn't move when I realized he was next to me. Because I craved to fall victim to the indignation that constantly radiates between us. He just hates me so good.

I wrap my hand around his wrist, tears starting to form in my eyes as I do my best to hold his gaze. I won't bend to him-- that would be too easy. Nothing about this is easy, and it shouldn't be. He and I both know it.

"You don't want to fuck me," he says condescendingly, raspy voice full of veiled fascination. He hides most of it with his anger, but I know he enjoys the way I react. It's painfully obvious. "You couldn't handle me."

I snort as best as I can with my airways blocked off, a little smile pulling at my lips. Is he really trying to scare me? He should know by now that trying to freak me out only makes me want to show him how wrong he is. "Wanna bet?" I challenge with a scratchy, barely audible voice.

His eyes glance over my face, soaking up the position he has me in appreciatively. "I'll rip you apart," he warns, pretty gaze snapping up to meet mine again.

"Wasn't that always the plan?"

Sal takes a slow, deep breath before cocking his head to the side in an admonishing way. Then he drops his hand and a rush of air abuses my lungs. I choke on the oxygen invading my body and scoot away from him as quickly as possible. He looks away from me, peeking over the top of the box. "If it wasn't the plan before, then it is now. Someone needs to set you straight." 

Oh, that's nice. So when are we fucking? "I don't want to be set straight," I scoff, taking the opportunity to glance around the side of the box too. Larry's been pulled aside by the photographers. And holy fuck, it looks like a neon tornado tore up this entire room. We're in so much trouble. "I want to be reminded of why I want this to begin with."

"No," Sal bites out. "You just need to fucking go to therapy. Bratty bitch-- I'll scare you out of this stupid BDSM fantasy you have."

I turn my head to him, eyes wide. Did he really just blindly read me and guess correctly? "How fucking dare you?" I seethe quietly. "Who are you to tell me I need to go to therapy? What does that say about you, huh? Hypocritical cunt."

Sal looks down at me in return, gaze as wrathful and irritated as usual when it comes to me. "Only delusional people like you think they want to be tied up and fucked into stupidity. But since you won't stop lying to yourself like a dumbass, I'll just have to be a good Samaritan and show you, I fucking guess." 

"Ah, yea," I hum, feigning disappointment while excitement rushes through me. "Such a shame that you have to go out of your way to fuck me hard enough that I lose the last few braincells I have left." Sal rolls his eyes, letting out an exasperated breath. "You're such a hypocrite. You're judging me for being a freak when you're one too," I continue.

"Because it fits me. I've been a freak from the start, why not make it into something I can actually utilize?" He counters, voice still laced with agitation that only continues to grow.

"So no one else can have the same desires that you do? Are you really gatekeeping your sexuality right now?" I hiss at him, adjusting my stance to face him-- anything to be more intimidating than I already am. He's such an asshole involving absolutely everything. Who does he think he is? The bouncer of BDSM? Be fucking for real.

"Only you would take a warning as gatekeeping." Sal runs his paint-covered hand over his prosthetic, realizing too late that his face is slathered in neon. This only fuels his obvious vexation. He grumbles quietly to himself before saying. "You're such a simpleminded moron. Think with your head instead of your pussy. I mean, really think." 

Rage suffocates me like I'm swimming in a sea of way-too-fluffy bunnies. I might be attracted to him in a way that's so down horrendous it makes me question myself sometimes, but that does absolutely nothing to distract me from how awful his personality actually is. I've never wanted to punch someone the way I want to punch him. Every single second I spend with him-- sucking him off or arguing with him-- fills me with some of the most potent emotions I've ever had the displeasure of experiencing in my entire life.

"Sal," I say calmly, turning away from him to watch as Larry turns around and starts calling out all of us. His gun has been revoked. "I say this honestly, and for your own good," I tell the man beside me. I could pistol-whip his ass right now. I'm so pissed. "I think I'll be the one to rip you apart."

That makes him laugh humorlessly, but I don't dare look down to see it happen. If I see him right now, my boot is going to be somewhere on him and it's going to hurt. "I'd like to see you try," he rasps out.

I scrunch my face up, trying to control the anger that radiates off of me in toxic waves. I'm innocent in all of this. Someone needs to set him straight. Not me.

"Try to wipe my handprint off your neck," Sal mumbles, standing up and walking around the box. "If anyone gets any ideas, I'm blaming you."

Asshole. I sneer at his back as he walks over to Larry. I bend down, swiping at my neck and only being able to smear the paint since it's starting to dry. But whatever-- if someone thinks it's a handprint, I'll just pass it off as my own.

"Yea, man," Larry says as I finally start to make my way over to him and Sal. "They aren't pressing charges because they got good pics out of the whole mess, but they are kicking us out. So..." Larry says in a serious tone, one that I don't hear all too often. He almost seems a little timid. "Ash got to talk with them while they stripped me of my fun stick. Thank God she's the bargainer because I would've landed us in jail." Emo buff daddy snorts, trying to smoosh down a little smirk.

So we're given a good reprimanding. I hate this part of getting into trouble because I always feel bad. Mainly since I'm usually the one who was the bad influence and started everything. Some things just never change and Ash can attest to that. 

So many times in my life, I've done things that have landed me in situations where I definitely could have gotten a juvenile record. I've just been lucky all this time-- I need to stay lucky because I don't qualify for juvie anymore. 

There was one time my band buddies and I had the bright idea to carve out the batter head of a school-owned bass drum and trick this asshole kid into crawling into it. Duck-taped him to it in record time and also got caught immediately. We were going to roll him outside of the building. This paint-ball situation reminds me of that time. It's literally almost the same situation-- defacing property, basically. 

I need to stop doing this to myself.

The Faces and I do the walk of shame out of The Venetian, catching a taxi over to Excalibur since they apparently have these giant sword-shaped daiquiris and we all need a drink after what just went down. The one downside is that we're all in tactical gear and covered in neon paint. But, whatever. It's Vegas.

We all stand in line at the daiquiri stand, waiting for our turn to order. It's pretty cool in here, set up like a castle with life size chess pieces lining the front walkway. Not to mention, male strippers are taking pictures with old ladies beside us and, holy hell, no matter the time or day that is just a glorious sight to behold.

Ash and I stand beside each other, giggling over the horny old ladies beside us when a group of people walk around the corner. They're all dressed in old, medieval clothing. All men. Kings, in fact. I think back to what Ash told me earlier about there being jousting tournaments in this casino. I didn't think they dressed up though-- they all look so cool. 

But then there's a straggler-- a man dressed as some kind of dark, medieval knight. His hair is long and curly and he has face make-up on. Black around his eyes. He's hot as fuck and Ash and I both quiet down while he walks by, strutting like he owns the place. He's tall as hell too. Larry's height.

The group of actors crawl into line behind us. I lick my lips, trying to get a glimpse of the dark knight, but Sal's stupid head is in my way.

Ash leans over, whispering not-so-quietly to me. "Did you see that hunk of walking fucking sex? Damn," she says, voice starstruck and eyes filled with hearts. "Men don't affect me all that often but imagine if I could sneak him into bed."

I suck in a breath, standing on my tiptoes to look between Todd and Sal's heads. All I can see is the right side of the knight's face, but that alone is satisfying to me. "I'd sleep on the couch so long as at least one of us got to get with that. He's beautiful," I admit, sending Ash a sideways glance. She giggles, nodding her head in agreement.

"Who's got you two twitterpated?" Larry asks, winking at me when I look over. Good use of new vocabulary, Lar.

I nod to the men behind Larry. "If you look behind us, there's an actor dressed as an emo knight, so to speak. He's pretty hot," I tell him.

I could slap men. They live off of one singular, shared braincell. I'll even include Todd in this statement because all three guys turn so hard that anyone else would think they'd all snapped their necks. Keep in mind, all of these actors are just a couple feet behind us so the staring is painfully obvious. 

Ash and I fold in on ourselves, turning to face the daiquiri stand and grumbling to each other about how stupid they all are. Oh, this is terrible. So bad, in fact, that I'm blushing profusely. Yuck.

Sal's the first to speak, shamelessly saying, "Fuck. He's hot as shit."

"I'm not into guys," Larry says, "But he is pretty."

Todd hums in agreement, deciding to stay quiet since he has a boyfriend, of course.

"Just pretty?" Sal hisses, clearly offended by Larry's response to the knight. "Ash is right. That's walking sex." 

Apparently I have to compete with men now too for a fuck. I can't tell if that's a tad disappointing or fascinating.

"Then go get his number or something if you're so shocked by my taste in sex partners," Larry hums. "You're the eternal rizz master. You get any woman and man you set your eyes on. Might as well bag the dark knight."

"Stop it with the Batman references, Larry," Todd says, giggling shortly after.

Larry groans. "Come on! Stop hating on the game, Todd. That was a perfect opportunity."

I hope this line moves quicker. The longer they talk right in front of the topic of discussion, the more horrified I feel. Ash isn't any better either. She's chewing on her bottom lip, face red as a beet as she finally gets an opportunity to run up to the counter and order us all a daiquiri.

The five of us start walking past the group of actors with giant daiquiri swords hanging around our necks. It's almost comical having to do the walk of shame again, but I'm more terrified of the fact that this poor man probably knows that we were all fawning over him.

We're almost out of dodge but someone calls out to The Faces. We all simultaneously turn, quaking like leaves on dead tress because that definitely came from the group of actors.

And there's Mr. Emo Knight, walking toward us in all his glory with an excited little grin on his handsome face. 

I'm going to vomit.

He walks up to Sal and Larry and shakes their hands, sharing quick introductions. Then the knight looks past them and at Ash, Todd, and me. My heart skips a beat in childlike elation when his gaze lingers on me.

"Oh, hey," he says in a surprised tone. "VioletViolence! I've seen pictures of you online for the past couple days. You're even prettier in person."

My entire body tenses up with excitement and I struggle to hold back the huge smile that wants to rip my face apart. This is phenomenal. Good job, y/n. I don't know what I did to deserve the compliment, but I'm glad I did it.

"Oh, thanks!" I tell him. In a stroke of confidence, I say, "You're pretty, too." 

I want to rip up the floorboards and make a shrine for this guy when a light blush paints his cheeks. To think that I've done absolutely nothing but stand for a picture and he's already blushing over a compliment from me. That's incredibly encouraging.

"Thank you," he says bashfully, pulling his phone out of his pocket. "Could I get a picture with all of you? If you don't mind, of course."

"We don't mind at all," Sal jumps in to say, already moving closer. "You look cool as hell, man."

I narrow my eyes at Sally Face. How do I read this play? Is he jealous or is he trying to steal this guy from me? I can't tell. 

"Thanks," the knight says, scooting in beside Sal so we can all take a picture with him. One of the other actors does the honors, snapping a few quick photos. 

We separate after a moment and Sal breaks the silence by saying, "We should grab a drink so you can tell me about those tournaments. I was thinking about trying out some new things and maybe horses are the way to go."

It's almost fool proof. So good that I choke on the sip of strawberry daiquiri that's halfway down my throat. Larry wasn't kidding. Obviously I'm unfortunate proof of it, but Sal really can pull anyone he wants.

"Ah, I wish I could," the knight says a bit awkwardly. "We have another tournament coming up in about fifteen minutes though."

Oh, that's a burn. I wince over the rejection simply because it's so obvious that the knight is lying. If they had another tournament, they wouldn't be buying heaps of alcohol. 

I chew on the inside of my cheek as Ash's eyes go wide. Larry turns around to face Ash, Todd and I while trying to hold back a laugh, his face perfectly mimicking the red shade of his daiquiri. Todd wiggles his nose, sniffing quietly. That's funny to see-- he's trying to hold back his reaction too.

Sal's lucky he wears a prosthetic because it can hide anything he's feeling. That is, as long as he's able to keep his emotions out of his eyes.

"Yea, that's no problem!" Sal responds, shaking off the rejection like a pro. "You guys have a good night."

Larry's already snickering as we continue our walk out of Excalibur, and as soon as we cross the threshold of the front door, he and Todd burst into uncontrollable laughter. 

"That was bad, bro," Larry cackles, ruffling Sal's hair. The bluenette shoves his step-brother away from him in response, sending him a pair of aggravated eyes.

"It was worth a try," Sal grumbles. "Hop off my dick. It's not the first time I've been shot down and it won't be the last. No pun intended."

I don't quite understand what the no-pun part is about, but the entire group gasps through giggles that they desperately try to squash down into the depths of their soul. 

"The worst part about him rejecting you was that he would've absolutely gone out with Vi. He was so into her," Todd says after a moment, trying to deflect Sal's most recent comment.

"He only called her pretty. Doesn't mean he wants to dick her down or anything," Sal says in response. Poor guy, he's so jealous that I pulled the hot knight.

We're all walking side-by-side along the entrance to Excalibur, making our way down to the strip instead of catching another taxi. It's evening, fun city lights are on as the sky darkens, and we need to pick up dinner. Not to mention, we have loads of alcohol so why not make our trip back to Caesar's palace eventful?

I tip my head forward to get a glimpse of Sal-- more importantly, to meet his gaze so he can see my smug expression. I want nothing more than to bask in his rejection. 

I see the side of his prosthetic instead-- the bottom half of it is lifted slightly as he sips from his transparent pink straw. It's likely stained from the strawberry daiquiri he has in his hands. His pale, scarred jaw and chin are visible to me, but dark from the shadow of night and his prosthetic. No matter how little I see, I still feel a fluttering in my chest because this is the most I've ever seen of his face. It gives me some kind of theoretical rush-- sets me into a daydream.

His lips are probably tinted red from his drink. His tongue must taste like an inebriating mix of vodka and artificial strawberries. And the shape of his lips, if his teeth are straight or crooked, what kind of nose he has, the curve of his eyebrows. What it would be like to taste him, to feel him in ways that I haven't yet. I could go on forever.

But I shouldn't go on because wanting more from a man who's only willing to give me the bare minimum is setting me up for disaster. He told me himself that I shouldn't expect anything from him. One thing he's failed to do is lie to me, so I'll take his word for it and consider Sal-centered expectations to be detrimental. 

This entire time, I haven't wondered about what he looks like beneath his prosthetic-- not even once. It's like a delayed reaction; now I'm overcome with this horrifying yearning to rip the hunk of plaster off of his face and get a glimpse of the real thing. I was fine literally two hours ago, so what's changed? It's not because he's been kind to me because he hasn't shown any emotion that could resemble kindness at all. 

Maybe it's the fact that I'm leaving Las Vegas tomorrow and my brain is just subconsciously reminding me of my dwindling time here. 

"So anyway, since Sal's butt-hurt," Larry says, interrupting the silence that had overtaken the group. And it was never truly quiet, just felt like it. Cars were still zooming beneath the walkways under our feet, people were still bustling about, music still swelled in the air around us-- but we were all caught up in our own heads. "Let's play a game. Vi is the victim since we virtually still know nothing about her."

I swallow, leaning back so that Sal is out of my view before he can turn to look at me with those evil eyes of his. I don't need to be pining after him anyway-- this is just a nice agreement he and I have. That's all this will ever amount to and that's perfectly fine. No strings, no attachments. Just casual sex, hopefully. If we ever fucking get there.

I turn my attention to Larry. "There isn't much to know," I murmur. I have to be worried about this, not Sal. Larry's trying to quiz me because he thinks this is our first time meeting. I have to be careful. "What kind of game do you want to play?"

Larry slurps his daiquiri loudly, gaining the attention of a few people around us. "Got any weird kinks? Guilty pleasures? Fun scars? Creepy interests?"

My eyebrows raise of their own accord. I'm not sure if these questions are an opportunity for him to relate and feel better about his own odd interests, but I'm a little shocked. Where do I start and what do I keep to myself?

"Um, no weird kinks that I know of--" I start to say, but Ash holds a hand up to my face and slaps her palm against my mouth. 

"Liar," she proudly yells. "You are such a degradee."

Heat envelops my entire body. Why did she have to say anything? Keep it in the fucking bag or something-- anything.

"Come on, Ash," Todd huffs. Oh, thank you, sweet angel. If anyone has my back, of course it would be Todd. "We already know Vi's into degradation."

My gaze snaps to Todd and my mouth falls open. So much for trust.

The situation is hilarious, honestly, but also mildly concerning. Am I so submissive that I wordlessly scream it to everyone? Since when have I become this people-pleasing monster? 

I choke on an embarrassed laugh, staring at my feet as we walk. My cheeks are flaming and I really just want Thanos to snap his fucking fingers right now.

"Fuck all of you," I sniffle, eyeing my giggly friends. I can't be mad-- this is all in good fun. Still can't wait to get back to the hotel and disappear until I have to leave tomorrow though... "And Larry, the best I've got for you is that I got my finger stuck in the lock of my classroom door in fifth grade," I proclaim bashfully leaning over and holding up my hand.

Larry's eyes light up, much like a cat's pupils dilate when they're focused. He grabs my hand and exams it. "Which finger?" he asks, all focused and adorable as he takes a quick sip from his daiquiri.

"This one," I chirp, lifting my middle finger with no shame. 

Larry's smile drops immediately. Then his eyes slowly lift to meet mine, absolute numbness in their chocolatey depths. The nonchalance in his pretty gaze makes a little shiver trickle down my spine. It's both scary and entrancing-- he's just... he's hot...

Larry pinches his lips together then yanks me toward him. My eyes mimic saucers when I trip over my own feet before stumbling into the behemoth of a man. My weight slamming into him pushes him into Sal who snaps at both of us, but I couldn't care less about him when I'm trying not to peel cement with my fucking teeth. 

Larry stabilizes us, holding himself up with Sal-- who's still grumbling-- and grabbing onto my waist to keep me upright. 

I take a breath, gripping onto Larry's thick biceps for dear life. And you know what? I hold onto the moment (his biceps) for a good couple seconds and appreciate it because at least I have an excuse to touch the build that this man has going on. 

So after a second of squeezing this poor mans arms and pretending that I'm recovering instead of literally copping a feel, I furrow my brows and look up at emo buff daddy. He's grinning down at me nervously. 

"I swear I just wanted to intimidate you a bit," he snickers, finally releasing me from his hold.

I say a silent, solemn farewell to Larry's arms then huff. "By throwing us into oncoming traffic?" I snort. "That's not intimidation. That's a literal trip to the pearly gates, my brother in Christ."

Larry looks off to the side, upside down smile on his faces as he hides his hands in his pockets. He knows he's guilty.

"But... do you actually have a cool scar then?" Larry asks after a moment, finally falling into step with the rest of us who walk the strip. 

I purse my lips. "Not really. I have scars, just not cool ones," I admit. If I've ever gotten a cut or gash, it's always healed pretty quickly. Most of my childhood scars faded years ago and the ones that stayed have no interesting meaning. "Do you?" I ask, leaning forward to send him a smile. I'm able to see Sal again, but he looks aggravated now. Daiquiri dangling from his fingers as he looks out at the city.

I lick my lips before looking back up at Larry. Ignore the brooding little bitch, y/n.

"Um," Larry trails off, sucking on the straw of his daiquiri in an almost suggestive way. Even Todd looks over to raise an eyebrow. "Me and Sal have matching scars."

My eyebrows raise. That's interesting. "What, was it like a brothers pact?" I giggle. 

Sal looks over now, his eyes meeting mine. He looks angry though, much angrier than he did just seconds ago. Something tells me this is a story that he never wanted out for prying ears. That makes it all the more intriguing. 

"No, it was actually pretty stupid," Larry swipes at his nose and looks off to the side. "Sal hates this story so much because it landed both of us in the hospital."

Hm, hospital tales with The Faces. Sal's reaction was fishy up until Larry mentioned that it was just a stupid little thing in general. I'm a little desperate at this point-- I need to know more. "Tell me about it," I chirp, looking out at the city lights around us. We're walking up to The Venetian now. I have some strange feeling that we're all going to try to sneak past this building pretty quickly after what happened earlier-- especially since we're still in paint-covered tactical gear.

"Hold on," Ash jumps into the conversation, pointing at an Irish Pub a little further down the street. "We're grabbing dinner there. Take out. All the same order. No if's, and's, or but's. I'm ready to get home." She leans over and snatches Todd's wrist. "And fruit roll-up is coming with me."

I watch Larry turn his attention to Ash. "Just as long as you get me some kind of alcohol," he says, grinning all the while. He's going to get so slammed.

Larry is an odd specimen. Of course, we all know that, but he has this kind of aura about him that's so different from the rest of The Faces. He's such a welcoming person-- you look at him and want to trust him with everything. But it's also incredibly obvious that he's devious and chaotic to the core. He'll keep everyone's secrets safe, but he'd probably commit homicide too, I think.

Larry turns to me as Ash rushes ahead of us. There's this gleam in his eyes that screams excitement and focus. 

"So I'm gonna spare you the confusing details because Nockfell is just... in a state of sin constantly. You'd be so lost if I told you why exactly this happened," the man waves me off, smacking his lips and looking off to the side. I look up at him with raised eyebrows, patiently waiting. If I'm being honest though, I want to know the confusing details. What was going on in Nockfell?

"Larry, can you not?" Sal bites out. "You tell this story constantly. Just give it a rest. Not everyone wants to talk about scars."

"Sir," Larry scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest. He looks down at Sal beside him, giving the blue-haired gremlin a 'try-me-bitch' look. "You can go and be insecure somewhere else because I fucking love telling this story. And Vi wants to hear about it, obviously." He turns to me and grins, showing off his sweet, little gap-toothed smile. "Look at that precious face. It's so eager." Larry grips onto my masked cheeks and drags me toward him. 

My heart jumps into my throat when Mr. Metal-Head himself winks at me before dipping his head down to kiss the nose of mask. I can't feel his lips, but just the fact that he's so close to me and showing me this type of care through physical touch makes my cheeks heat up. Makes my fingers go numb. Makes my thoughts race out of my body, skittering along the pavement in excitement-- all with love hearts littered about them. If romantic love were a thing between him and I, things would be much different right now. But this feels more like... I'm a princess and he's my devoted, caring knight. Instead of kissing my hand, he brought his feelings to the very tip of my nose.

This is twitterpated.

Sal and Larry start bickering as soon as the little peck is done and over with. While they do their step-brother thing, I mull over Larry's small token of affection. That kiss meant so much even though our skin never touched. Did Sal feel the same way even though our lips were still separated by his prosthetic? Did he feel like he was cared for, loved? Was he high off the prospect of someone actually wanting to kiss him, innocently or lovingly, just like I am right now? 

I almost feel bad. To have all of that mental opportunity ripped away from him the moment it was revealed that I was VioletViolence. Sal must have felt terrible. Maybe... maybe he's actually justified in hating me.

"So anyway," Larry grips my shoulder, making me flinch in surprise. I turn my gaze up to him, meeting Sal's frustrated, glaring blue eyes for just a moment in the process. I'm going to think about how bad I must have made him feel all the time now. 

"Sal and I were running, right." Larry leans forward, swiping his hand horizontally before us. I follow his pretty hand that's littered with patchwork tattoos. "Midnight, pitch black outside." Larry tilts his head, pinches his lips to exemplify these points. I simply nod. "Nockfell has this giant forest that's super thick, 'kay, thicker than your juicy thighs, in fact." His eyes snap to me and I have to turn away while my mind runs rampant again. I can't stand Larry, but in the best way.

"Before you get to the forest though," he continues. "There's this old fence that's lined with barbed wire. My guess is to protect old farms from predators and whatever. But Sal and I were young and thought we could simultaneously clear this six foot fence like fuckin' track stars." Oh. I kind of get where this is going-- they were idiots, basically. This story also lines up perfectly well with what Sal told me earlier. I'm incredibly relieved to hear that his scar story was true. This also means that I have no unnecessary stress regarding him and his well-being. Not that I should worry about that to begin with.

"So next thing you know, Sal and I are hooked by our calfs and ankles on the top of this fence. Ripped us up. We couldn't get free, so we were just kinda hanging upside down on this fence for like thirty minutes until Henry came to pick us up." Larry breaks off into scattered giggles while trying to finish the story, meanwhile my stomach threatens to leap out of my body. I feel sick.

"Larry, shut up," Sal mumbles again. "You don't have to give so much detail." 

He's so fucking guilty and it shows.

"Come on, bro," Larry chortles, giving Sal a light shove. "It was so stupid, I still laugh about it every time. Look," the man turns back to me and stops walking. He bends down and grabs the edge of his black cargo pants. He yanks them up over his knee and shows off this gnarly, jagged scar on the back of his calf. It's a couple inches long for sure-- must have been deep. "Sal's is on his ankle. We were actually pretty worried he might have sliced his tendon. I remember screaming and yelling at him about how he would never walk again," Larry snickers, pushing his pant leg back down.

I gulp, forcing a smile onto my face. I don't have it in me to laugh at the story. Not when I know that Sal lied to my face about the scars on his thigh earlier. 

I'm battling myself. Sal and I aren't close-- he doesn't have to tell me at all if he wants. His mental health and his scars are his business, not mine. It's my fault for feeling so torn up about it. I feel like it's my job to save everyone, but I forget that not everyone wants saving. That, and I just can't save everyone in general. 

I don't have a God complex, I just have this unbeatable savior complex that I'm still at war with to this day. I need to get over myself-- not everyone is going to trust me with their secrets. Not everyone needs me. Not everyone will like me. Literally, this tracks with Sal and I's timeline. And besides, if he's ever having mental struggles, I'm sure he trusts Larry, Todd, and Ash enough to seek them if he needs help. I don't have to worry.

I catch Ash rushing toward us with her arms full and Todd trailing behind her with a bag full of God knows what.

"That's a silly story," I finally speak up, smiling up at Larry who gives me this devious little grin. I really just need to ignore the conversation I had with Sal earlier. It was never my business in the first place. "I don't have any cool scars, but I did have something similar happen." I shrug, patting the side of my hip. "Got a fish hook stuck in my side. Pulled it out on my own because I was afraid to get in trouble."

I'll actually never forget the day I yoinked my dads fishing pole with the intention of developing my rad fishing skills all to accidentally yoink myself in the end. I'm just lucky the hook was unused prior to getting stabbed into me. The story is mainly to help me forget about Larry's right now though. 

"Perfect timing," Larry whispers excitedly. He crosses over to stand in front of me and my brows furrow in confusion. "I can finally get on my knees for you."

"Nope," I spit out immediately, taking a step away. I'm too insecure and timid for that-- his sweet nose kiss was more than enough. This man needs to have mercy on my hopelessly romantic and decrepit soul.

Larry rolls his eyes. "Fine. But I do want to see. Plus, it's an excuse to finally see your tattoo."

I purse my lips. That's risky. I'll have to lift up the edge of my bra strap for that and I'm a little nervous about being so open.

Ash pops up beside me though. "I just bought, like, thirty jello shots. You fuckers better start throwing some back while I throw this ass back and get laid by a pretty bitch." These words come out in one breath and Ash never breaks her nonchalant facade as she holds a bag out to me.

"Can I be the pretty bitch?" I ask with a smile, sidetracked as I look into the bag to find a plethora of multi-colored plastic containers full of alcoholic jello.

"I thought that was the plan from the start, beautiful," Ash purrs, stealing my attention. I glance up at her, noting the playful little gleam in her bright green eyes and the smirk playing on her full, glossy lips. 

I swallow thickly, frowning at how easily I end up falling into these traps that my friends set out. They're too attractive. 

"Give me one of those," I murmur, fishing out a handful of shots from the bag to distract myself, and hopefully everyone else, from how shy I've suddenly gotten over a little bit of Ash's shameless and effective flirting.

"Yea, share-- but fuck off, Ash," Larry sneers. "Vi's mine. Stay away." He grabs both of my shoulders and walks me a step closer to his chest. I cannot be fucking doing this right now. I feel like I'm snorting coke just from being stuck between two of the hottest people I know-- and I've never even done drugs.

I open the top of an orange flavored jello shot then very quickly down the contents. Sal's hiding behind Larry right now, but I'm still able to see half of him. And he watches me go through all five stages of grief as soon as the flavor settles on my tongue.

I swallow quickly then choke on the leftovers, making the most disgusted face possible. It burns, and it tastes awful. So not worth it. That was a good reminder as to why I shouldn't consume alcohol in the first place. 

"Ash," I splutter, traumatized and betrayed. "These are terrible. I'm sorry but... it's bad. Try one," I say, popping the lid off another and shoving it toward her. This one's green.

Ash doesn't say a word, just wraps her pretty fingers around the container and takes the shot like a pro. She doesn't even flinch. All she does is contemplate it for a moment then shrug at me "Tastes like alcohol." 

I roll my eyes. At least she doesn't care all that much-- the shots won't go to waste. 

I turn to Larry, intent on finally pulling up my shirt for him as we start preparing to walk again. But when he finally enters my field of vision, his arms having left my shoulders a few moments ago, I notice five empty containers stacked in his palm. If pregaming was a person, it would be Larry.

I blink at the man, then look up to see him quite literally tonguing a very clearly empty container. I don't know what more he's looking to get out of it, but at least he has some good work ethic.

Larry catches my eyes and pauses, tongue buried in the plastic like he's looking for water after going days without it. It's pretty comical.

He quickly pulls the plastic away from his face and swipes his hand along his mouth. I press my lips together to hold back giggles.

"Here," I say, lifting the edge of my shirt and bringing it up to right under my armpit before I can think harder about it. The one shot I had isn't even enough to give me a buzz, but assuming it'll have some kind of affect on me later gives me false confidence. I'll walk this fear off like a pro.

I lean over to look at my side, noting the small and uneven crescent shaped scar right under my ribs. Then I grab the very edge of my bra strap and move it, revealing the top half of my tattoo so everyone can get a good look at everything if they so wish.

Larry bends over, hands on his knees as he inspects my bare side. "Nice to know we officially aren't being catfished," he murmurs, eyes glancing over every inch of my skin. He's way too close.

I gape down at him. "Did you really think I was someone else all this time?" I ask, swallowing down that statement when I realize how much of a hypocrite I am. Because I am someone else.

Now that I'm leaving tomorrow, I just suddenly feel so guilty for tricking and deceiving everyone.

I run my tongue along the surface of my teeth, looking at anything but Larry as he lightly rubs his fingertips over the words engraved into my skin. His touch tickles, but I try not to pay any mind to it-- especially when Sal's eyes are glued to my waist from a couple feet away too. He watches me shamelessly, all while I fall apart on the inside. 

"You're bruised here, Vi," Larry murmurs to himself, pressing on another part of my skin that makes me wince. It's sore, for sure. I try to see if Sal has some kind of reaction because we all know it's his fault.

His bright eyes look emotionless from over here. The splashes of neon orange and green on his black tactical gear brings out the cerulean color of his hair and the midnight blue of his irises. He's so pretty in such a unique way. Watching him look at me feels like I'm gazing at something forbidden, like I'm not supposed to catch him with his focus directed at me. It feels secretive.

But all of him feels like this one, giant secret that I'm not supposed to figure out. His prosthetic, his scars, his life story. I don't know any of it and I shouldn't. My brain is hardwired to understand things that confuse me, and Sal really confuses me. He also really pisses me off, but there has to be some kind of reason as to why he's so angry with me to begin with.

I have so much I want to figure out and so little time, so little trust. So little self-confidence. Things are fine right now-- Sally Face is silent, Todd is too. Larry is running his fingers over my skin and Ash is resting her chin on my shoulder, watching Larry. I should be enjoying my time. So why am I regretting my decisions and worrying about someone who couldn't care less about me?

_______

A/N::::::: HIIIIIII sorry it's been so long babies... college :(

i have soooo so much planned for this story right now. i've been writing a lot, i just have to write in short spurts because i also have so much school work to get done. i miss getting to write for hours soooo freaking much!! 

fair warning, next chapter is smutty again >:) i'm excited. I'M ALWAYS EXCITED TO WRITE FOR YOU GUYS AHHHH

anyway, i love and miss everyone so much, so deeply!! have a wonderful morning/afternoon/evening/night <3333

p.s. emo casino knight is actually a real person but we're not gonna talk about that hehe....

[hannahwatcheshorror]

THE NUN (2018)

I wanted so badly to like this movie because the titular lady herself is very spooky, but the thing is, the film is flimsy from start to finish. Jump scares and some interesting acting/script choices await you in this beautiful if not creepy castle (and boy if this movie doesn’t drag). Please don’t ask me how this is connected to ANNABELLE  or THE CONJURING because it barely is. I really like Taissa Farmiga but this is not her strongest role.

⭐⭐

(Trigger Warning Suicide, Nuns)

The year is 1952 and we are in Romania (in which no vampires remain, thank you, King Luan). Our main characters are a hot priest (it’s always a hot priest), a hot nun (it’s always a hot nun), and a hot Frenchman (okay, that one was a surprise). They go to the castle to investigate a nuns suicide but things are really sketchy (like the blood that never dries). Upon further investigation the Abbey is wack as hell (or wack to hell) and there is a big boss mama nun walking around who doesn’t belong but is our main lady, our big baddie. This demon is very powerful, is able to kill a bunch of nuns but I guess not get their souls? I don’t fully get it.

The whole movie is just our three main characters dodging the main evil nun and whatever other apparitions she sends their way. At one point the priest is teleported into a sealed grave and needs to ring the plague bell to get out. The sister (the good nun) is trying to find which grave he is in but all the other bells on all the other graves started to ring… Wack. She eventually finds him and digs him out but still, wack. And I guess the sister daydreams that there are other sisters in the Abbey because all of them have been dead for a long time.

Frenchie uses a shotgun to take down a demon. Okay. Forget about the priest then, I guess, just, “Praise the Lord and pass the ammunition.” I snorted when I saw The Finger™. Seriously, they have a beacon shining off of the statue of Mary’s pointing finger and it is the most obvious thing I have ever seen in my life and the actors are all, “Woah, maybe this could be it?” Shenanigans out the wazoo. I couldn’t stop laughing at this reveal.

Can we just take a moment to appreciate that the relic of Jesus Christ's blood is in a cross shaped vial? Like, who came up with that? Who decided back in 1AD to make the first Jesus Christ Brand Cross merch? This is so silly I can hardly stand it! Remember in Indiana Jones when we find out the Holy Grail isn’t some beautiful chalice? And that makes sense because Jesus wasn’t a wealthy man, he didn’t do greed (no sins, ya dig?) but so many would fail the test because they assumed the Holy Grail would be the most stunning of all the glasses… But The Blood Of Christ is in the fanciest Easter Egg I have ever seen, boy, I’ll tell you. And then they have to use ALL of it to stop this critter? When before the knights sealed the thing away with a drop? They wasted all of the Jesus blood? What are we going to do during The Nun II? Wack.

[emonewtype]

The (not very) Liveblogging of Neo Twewy continues

Got a little bit overzealous between posts and made it all the way from W1D6 to W3D5 with no updates, here are some thoughts:

1: As was expected, pi-face left at the start of week 2. Thankfully he gave his stuff back on the way out, I always get worried about temporary party members stealing gear.

2: I admit I was thoroughly fooled by the masked up "Neku" turning out to be Beat. Though If it was him I would have never stopped complaining about the hair color change. It was the phones that really sold the disguise.

3: On the topic of Beat, I'm not sure if its just him having more voiced dialogue here, not being bitcrushed by the DS, or what, but I don't particularly like his voice here. He doesn't sell being young or being hip very well.

4: Trend I started noticing with Nagi but became really apparent with Beat and later members. New party members coming in with lower stats than existing ones and due to the way food orders work, having no way of fully catching up. Annoying.

5: Love the concept of Homing Rockets as a psych, shame its a bit unwieldy in practice. On the other end of the spectrum, Psychic Shotgun is/was kinda nuts for how versatile it is

6: Motoi turning out to be a bastard was handled pretty well, not much telegraphing him to be actually malicious as opposed to just a fake-deep kind of person before the reveal, but a lot of the time that's how it goes down in real life too.

(playing this part while scrolling past coverage of James Somerton's ongoing meltdown hit a bit different)

7: I don't think I've ever had a boss crowdfund a power up before, real funny gimmick. Despite how long the fight took I didn't take a screenshot for some reason.

8: The whole Plague Noise plot and the way characters talk about it, even Rindo wearing a mask all the time, makes me wonder how much of this game was planned out prior to the pandemic, and how much was intentionally playing into current events.

9:

(I'm no gorowase expert, but even I can tell that Neku's life is Shi-Bu-Ya)

Character starting stats seem to have something funny going on with them, makes me regret not getting a screenshot of any of the other members stats to see whats up there. (if anyone has any insight as to the other numbers or characters, drop it in the replies or reblogs if you want)

10: Mentally kicking myself for not getting any good screenshots of Leo Cantus with his armor on, had me thinking "every so often Square Enix invents Ifrit FinalFantasy again"

11: Between the higher tier noise getting more aggressive attack patterns and the entirely self imposed suffering that is running 4 jinxed point boost abilities, difficulty is really ramping up. I'm starting to fear even singular bear types now.

12: The way people are described being pulled into the UG while alive and what happens to them strikes me as a very Kingdom Hearts-y "memories are a two way street" adjacent thing, and that similarity has me wondering if this entire thing is some kind of "Data but not exactly a Simulation" thing like Re;Coded. Would explain Rindo's power and give an out for Shinjuku to be "recovered" like data on a hard drive being "erased" but not actually overwritten yet, if the story decided to go that route

[thelastspeecher]

Okay, time to talk about Angie in the Olympian Falls AU. My darling daughter. And I'm gonna do a bullet list like I did talking about Stan and Ford.

Angie has two biological dads. Apollo forms a connection with Pa McGucket when he's in a bar one night and decides to have a child with him, despite Pa McGucket very politely and kindly turning him down. Angie is left on the McGucket household doorstep the same day that youngest child Lute is born, and there's no one who knows the details of the birth yet, so Ma and Pa McGucket claim that Angie and Lute are twins.

Ma and Pa McGucket do their best to keep Angie unaware of her abilities and true origins as long as possible. When she's around six, a satyr passing through town sniffs her out and tells them the whole situation with camp. He also says that she's an exceptionally powerful half-blood, so she'll need to go to camp sooner than they'd like. But not yet. She's still too young.

Ma and Pa McGucket contact camp after a Colchis Bull attacks the farm. While not the first monster that has come for Angie, it's the biggest and most difficult to defeat, so they realize the time has come for Angie to go to camp. She's ten.

The first "gift" from Apollo that manifests for Angie is skill with music. She has a flawless ear, helping Pa McGucket tune his fiddle when she's three. She'll pick up an instrument and be able to play it within a few minutes of messing around with it. She's always in key and on tempo. And when playing her fiddle (her preferred instrument), she can magically elicit emotions in people. She can also do this with singing, but still has her hangups around singing in front of people like she does in most AUs, so she doesn't do that often.

Angie is like, pretty damn athletic in this AU. She's strong and tough and fit. But she's not that great at melee style combat. If she finds herself in a melee situation, she has a dagger to use to get away safely. Her real strength lies in ranged weaponry.

She is a killer shot. Pa McGucket teaches her and Lute how to use a gun when he first learned, at around eight or so (with safety precautions in place, of course). Within a few months of a gun first being placed in her hand, Angie surpasses Pa McGucket and becomes the best shot in the entire extended McGucket family. The family is shooketh.

Though Angie's preferred weapon is a shotgun, that's more of a feeling a connection to her mortal family thing. She's just as good with a bow and arrow. She gets claimed by Apollo after she trounces the head of the Apollo Cabin in archery.

Really, anything that gets fired or thrown, Angie's fantastic with. She particularly enjoys javelins.

Angie is a BEAST at dodgeball. She's a serious force to be reckoned with, particularly before she learns to control her own strength (Apollo's kids tend to be stronger than typical for even a demigod). There are some times she bruises opposing teams by accident before she gets her strength under control. Stan loves doing snowball fights with her as long as she's on the same team as him.

Recently decided, Angie can make people sick with infectious diseases (Apollo uses arrows to start plagues). It takes her a long time to catch onto this, but the first time she uses it is actually when she's five. Her older brother Harper upsets her and she gives him chickenpox, despite him already having it before. No one can figure out what happened, including Angie, until years later, when Angie realizes she can make people sick.

Related to Angie's ability to make other people sick, she very rarely gets sick herself. She can get injured, but almost never catches a bug.

Angie doesn't have the gift of prophecy, but she does get "feelings" about things and is more prone to prophetic dreams than non-Apollo child demigods. Her brothers ask her every year who's going to win the Super Bowl and she's right every time.

Of the things that Angie doesn't inherit from Apollo, she still sucks at drawing and other forms of art. She's still good at photography, but isn't sure whether that's from her dad being the god of the arts or not. Her not being good at art extends to poetry as well. She can't write a poem to save her life.

She also doesn't inherit Apollo's healing ability. She's the worst healer in the cabin. After she learns she can make people sick, she gets pretty salty that she can hurt people but not make them better.

[apoptoses]

the mercy in you armand/daniel 3.2k shotgunning/blood sharing/discussion of lowered appetite due to blood sharing

Now on AO3 (thank you to everyone who helped with the ao3 issue, and to @cup-of-lixx for beta-ing this for me!

It was no struggle to look upon his Denis with the cattle farmer’s benevolent detachment, knowing that one day he would die. That Armand himself would give him a good death, and in doing so prevent him from ever suffering the ravages of poverty and plague and the pains of old age.

Denis had been easy. Daniel was a new and delightful challenge every day.

1980

The lights of the fast food sign illuminated Daniel in blue and fluorescent white, carving out the hollows beneath his eyes and the sharpness of his cheekbones in stark relief. He’d always been a slender thing but lately he seemed drawn, worn like a child’s plush toy that had been loved too hard. His hands trembled, crinkling the paper bag as he pulled it open and began to extract the contents, and Armand wondered if he’d been sleeping. He turned the key, cutting the engine but leaving the radio on, and decided once they returned home he’d demand they lie down and watch a film. If he dragged his fingers through his hair the right way surely Daniel would doze off. 

 “You’re gonna give me a heart attack if you keep dragging me through drive thrus left and right,” Daniel muttered as he picked at his fries. “This is the fourth night this week. You speak at the microphone box, food comes out the window, it’s the same thing every time. Even a little kid would find it routine by now.”

 Armand frowned and shifted in his seat, angling to see him better. Even with pale blue grey circles beneath his eyes he was still such a lovely thing, violet eyes still sharp and alert as they flicked back and forth between Armand and the cardboard containers in his lap. 

 “You need to eat, Daniel,” Armand said. “Is there a problem with the taste?”

 Daniel shrugged. “I’m just sick of it. Nothing tastes good when it’s the same thing prepared by different hands everywhere you go,” he muttered. “Not that it really matters. Pretty sure my taste buds curled up and died the week you had me eating nothing but airplane food, even if it was all first class fancy shit.”

 “I don’t understand. How is it that in an age where every type of food imaginable is available at any price you enjoy none of it? In my time-”

 “Yeah, yeah, I know, you had to walk a mile uphill in the snow just for a taste of spice and we’re all so spoiled by having a veritable treasure trove of it in any grocery store. All hail Walmart and the McCormick spice company.” Daniel shook his head. “It just all tastes…synthetic, somehow. Bland. Steak and potatoes is still steak and potatoes whether you get it at a diner or pay out the nose for it, the only difference is whether or not they’ll let you in the door wearing jeans.”

 Ah. That, Armand understood, even though food hadn’t passed his lips in centuries.

 He’d experienced it that first time Marius had given him the blood, when all the world had seemed alight with colors previously undiscovered and mortal needs had ceased to matter. He’d sat with Riccardo at a tavern and marveled at how bread turned to ash in his mouth. 

 He wondered when Daniel would realize it was the blood. Would he care that despite not taking his life in the literal way, Armand was inadvertently taking his mortality from him little by little every time he pressed his wrist to Daniel’s mouth, his mouth to Daniel’s neck? That in meeting Daniel, Armand had begun to learn to be a selfish thing? 

 In all likelihood he would not. It would only be another weapon to add to his argument for giving him immortality. 

 Armand pushed the thought aside and pried into Daniel’s mind. He thought about Thanksgiving dinners, about his mother’s homemade mashed potatoes. All of the butter she mixed in, until they were heart-stopping in their decadence. Such a simple thing to make but so delicious. 

 “You would prefer I cook for you then?” Armand asked. Surely he could do it. Mixing butter and a potato together couldn’t be difficult. Perhaps there was even some machine to do it, something he could order off the television-

 Daniel barked out a laugh.

 “No,” Daniel said. “God no, I’m still recovering from the shit you used to put in the blender and try to get me to taste. You can’t even make a smoothie, you think I’m going to turn you loose with a stove and a sharp knife?”

 “I could learn. We could go to lessons,” Armand said. Daniel shot him a dry look. “Or would you prefer we ask your mother? You have her telephone number in your wallet-“

 An image of how that conversation would go flashed through Daniel’s mind, of him trying to wrestle a phone from Armand’s hands. What a gong show that would be. He grips shit like a vice, there’d be no hope unless I ripped the cord out of the wall. Even then I’d have to call her back and explain to her why my vampire boyfriend is calling at 2am asking how to bake a fucking potato, she’ll think I’m on drugs.

 “Daniel, I would never be so rude as to call so late.”

 Daniel’s cheeks flushed. Great, he heard me thinking of him as my boyfriend, I’ll never get to live that one down. 

 “We’ll go to a class,” he finally said. “Just please don’t call my mom.”

 Armand considered pressing him on what was so shameful about the word boyfriend, but then again Daniel had already derailed the purpose of their evening enough with his arguing. He pushed the still wrapped burger towards Daniel instead. “Eat, beloved. It’s getting cold.”

 Daniel didn’t pick it up. “Jesus, you sure you haven’t called her already? You two are starting to sound alike with the nagging.”

 Armand sighed, soft enough Daniel couldn’t hear. Of course he had to pick the defiant one, the one who required so much care. 

 There was a tin in the glove compartment, meant for mints but Daniel had taken to stashing a joint inside it. Armand took the thing out, placed it between his lips, and without asking rummaged through Daniel’s pocket for his lighter. Daniel jumped but he didn’t protest; he was too used to Armand picking his pockets, and besides he was too curious about what he was about to do. His eyes tracked Armand’s hand as he flicked the switch and brought the flame up, lighting the end of the joint. Armand made a little show of it for him, hollowing out his cheeks as he inhaled, acrid smoking filling his mouth and spilling out into the car when he exhaled it in a steady stream. He couldn’t resist, Daniel was just so easy to impress. 

 His mouth was agape when Armand held out the joint to him. He didn’t take it right away, in his mind he kept replaying the sight of Armand’s lips around it, the way his eyes had closed when he’d inhaled. 

 “You’re staring,” Armand said. 

 Daniel shook his head and finally he reached out. “I just didn’t know you could do it, being dead and all.”

 “I don’t have to breathe but I can. Muscle memory never dies,” Armand said and settled in, back against the car door as he watched Daniel carefully. “And besides, it unnerves people when one doesn’t breathe or blink.”

 Daniel made a quiet sound of acknowledgement as he wrapped his pale lips around it and inhaled. “You do a lot just to keep me comfortable, huh?”

 Armand settled in, back against the car door. Daniel understood so little. 

 It didn’t take long for the thing to do its job and stimulate his appetite. Armand watched him unwrap the hamburger, pull back the bun and take the pickles from it, tossing them into the bag and sucking the condiments from his fingertips. He considered asking him why, if the taste of the pickle doesn’t remain after their removal anyways and if so why hadn’t he told Armand to order it without them, but Daniel was lifting the thing to his mouth to take a bite. He didn’t want to distract him. To distract himself even. It was so easy to get caught up in their conversations and forget Daniel’s needs. 

 He’d never tried to be so careful before. Armand wondered how that had happened. Surely he hadn’t planned for things to go this way. 

 His previous pets had been different. Denis had been an innocent orphan boy he’d pulled from the streets and made into his little ortolan. Kept him in a gilded cage and fattened him on figs and brandy, his entire existence revolving around being fed and then fed upon as Armand handed him life upon a silver plate and then took it right back from his little throat. Armand never had to cajole him to the dinner table and never suffered guilt upon bewitching him into sleep. 

 It was no struggle to look upon him with the cattle farmer’s benevolent detachment, knowing that one day he would die. That Armand himself would give him a good death, and in doing so prevent him from ever suffering the ravages of poverty and plague and the pains of old age. 

 Denis had been easy. Daniel was a new and delightful challenge every day. 

 Perhaps it was because he had never been an innocent, that he’d shown up with the urge to run head on into chaos. That he’d read Faust and the Divine Comedy and the poetry of Keats specifically to debate them with Armand, go toe to toe with him and then dismiss them all with his great modern flippancy. That he’d come to forget that Armand was a powerful, ancient thing and would tell him off as easily as he would any mortal, as if they were truly equals. 

 He’d never treated Armand as a thing, a toy to play with and put down, or as a monster to which he had merely bent and scraped and obeyed, and that was how he’d dragged Armand out of detachment and into the mortifying world of feeling. 

 Perhaps that was how Armand had ended up in a car in some suburban rest stop town worrying about such mortal cares as hunger and nutrition and exhaustion. At the root of it was love after all. 

 Daniel wadded up the empty wrapped and tossed it in the bag, joint dangling from his lips as he hunted for a little packet of salt. Armand watched him, helpless as a butterfly pinned to the board with the realization of just how much he’d learned to care again. 

 “What? Do I have ketchup on my face?” 

 Daniel wiped at his mouth, suddenly self conscious under Armand’s gaze. There was nothing there but Armand rubbed his thumb against the corner of his mouth anyways, just for the way Daniel tilted his face into his touch. He was always so easy for affection, even more when he was intoxicated. 

 His fries still remained but he’d finished his burger. Perhaps he deserved a reward. A pleasant distraction for the both of them. 

 Armand kept his hand on his cheek and took the joint from his lips. It tasted no better the second time around but he let the smoke fill his mouth. In an embarrassingly human gesture he wrinkled his nose at the burn of it as he held in his mouth and leaned in. It took Daniel a second, whether that was from the effects of smoking or because he was busy staring at Armand’s mouth he wasn’t sure. He didn’t bother to rifle through his thoughts to find out, he was too busy sealing his mouth to Daniel’s to care. He was always so deliciously warm. 

 Daniel got the hint, let his lips part so that Armand could exhale the smoke straight into his mouth. He brushed his thumb back and forth on Daniel’s cheek, waiting until he’d breathed in to brush his tongue against his lips. Daniel’s heart was racing again but it was a lovely sound, better still when it mixed with the desperate groan he gave as he clutched at Armand’s shirt and tried to drag him in closer. 

 Armand should have broken the kiss. He should have pulled back and used Daniel’s neediness to convince him to finish his meal. 

 Deep down he’d always been a selfish thing. 

 He stubbed out the joint on the dashboard and hooked his fingers in Daniel’s belt loops. Pulled him across the bench seat and into the narrow space between Armand’s body and the steering wheel, where Daniel settled easily into his lap. Daniel had six inches on him and at least fifty pounds but he made himself small as he hunched to keep kissing him, made himself fit perfectly in Armand��s arms. 

 Daniel’s hands were everywhere on him, tangling in his hair and caressing down his chest, fascinated by the texture of his sweater and the smoothness of his skin. Embarrassing, how weak he was to a pair of broad hands, especially when they touched him like he was such a precious thing. Daniel had only to curl his fingers around the back of Armand’s neck, to squeeze there and groan into his mouth, and already the thirst was building in him. 

 Armand bit down on his lip. It was all he could do to keep from groaning right back, to keep his reactions in check. Not that it really mattered. There was no way Daniel hadn’t begun to realize how he affected him. 

 Daniel shuddered at the pain and pressed harder into it, desperate for Armand to kiss him deeper. He tasted like salt, like sharp and acrid smoke. And then when Armand let his fang nick his tongue came the hot and metallic taste of blood. He sucked at it and reveled in the sound that dragged from Daniel, something close to a whine. 

 Dinner for two, Daniel thought, soft and delirious. Armand pinched his ass for making such a terrible joke and Daniel laughed against his mouth. 

 He’d only meant this to be a little reward. A kiss and a cuddle while Daniel was feeling good. But a kiss turned into Armand’s mouth roaming over Daniel’s throat, sucking marks into his skin like any needy teenager while Daniel clutched at his shoulders. If Armand didn’t have such a tight grip on his waist he probably would have been rutting against his thigh. 

 The feeling of Daniel’s pulse beneath his mouth had him on edge. It would be easy to bite down and drink his fill. Any other night Armand would have, without fear or guilt. But he couldn’t stop thinking about Daniel’s tired eyes, how he’d only just gotten dinner in him and he would drink it right back out and leave him exhausted. Armand rested his forehead against his shoulder and took a deep breath. 

 “Come on,” Daniel murmured against the side of his head, where his face was buried in his hair. His heart was pounding. Armand could barely hear the radio over it. “Do it.”

 Armand caught his earlobe between his teeth and worried at it until Daniel gasped. “Do what?”

 “You know. I know you’re hungry.”

 Daniel rolled his shoulder down, tilted his head. He was practically baring his throat for him and just the sight of his skin bathed in neon light made Armand tighten his grip on him. 

 “You want it that much?”

 “Yeah. It feels good,” Daniel said, unusually honest. Perhaps Armand would have to get him to smoke before dinner more often. 

 It feels like the only way I can truly be close to you. To really be intimate.

 There was no mistaking that Daniel had wanted him to pick up that particular thought. He drew back, craned his neck awkwardly to meet his gaze. 

 The hollows beneath his eyes were deep, smudged dark like he hadn’t had a full night's sleep in weeks, his eyes were bloodshot to match. But his expression had gone soft around the edges. All the self conscious, nervous energy gone and left in its place was something so open and intimate caught Armand off guard.

 “And besides,” Daniel continued, as if he actually had to encourage him. “You’ve had that look on your face all night.” 

 “What look?”

 Daniel shrugged. Caught his lower lip between his teeth and worried at it. “Like you want to devour me.”

 “Oh Daniel.” Armand laughed softly and curled his fingers around the back of his neck to guide him back in. I always want that.

 Daniel worked his hands in between Armand’s shoulders and the seat, was practically hugging him against him when he broke his skin. He tried to be gentle, he didn’t want to jar him out of the hazy trance he was in, but it was difficult when the blood was so hot in his mouth. Armand let out a low, pleased sound at the taste of it, at the way Daniel’s fingers curled against his shoulder blades. Other pets had clung to him as sweetly but with them Armand had never struggled so much to pull away. Daniel’s heartbeat raced to match his. It would be so easy to get lost in it. 

 Sometimes Armand wished he could. But already he knew Daniel’s life was the one he could never bear to take. 

 Armand drank deep, until he felt himself grow warm right down to his fingertips, the drugs in Daniel’s blood transferring to him and leaving him in a pleasant haze. Armand shuddered as he lifted his head, kissing over the wound until it had healed. Daniel was trembling in his arms. He held him there while he caught his breath, absently petting his hair as he listened to the slowing of his heart. 

 Armand glanced over and noticed the fries were spilled across the seat beside him, knocked over when Daniel had climbed into his lap. Right. Dinner. By now they’d gone soggy and cold, and he brushed them off the leather and back into the bag before he helped Daniel off his lap. 

 He didn’t go easily. He was hard beneath his jeans and confused about why Armand was pushing him away. Armand gently pried his fingers from his shirt and guided him to settle back into the seat. He looked so sweet in his disappointment. 

 “Don’t worry, beloved. There’s another restaurant across the street, I’ll get you more,” Armand said, as if he actually thought that was what Daniel was worried about. He turned the key in the ignition and the car hummed to life. “Perhaps if you finish them all I’ll suck you off.”

 He was particularly proud of himself for remembering that modern turn of phrase. Even more so when it got a laugh out of Daniel. He was always so startled and delighted by Armand being crass. 

 “Alright,” he said and scooted into the middle of the seat so that he could rest his head on Armand’s shoulder as he drove. “If I don’t leave any crumbs behind do I get a drink off of you too?”

 “Don’t be-“ Armand paused, trying to think of the word. “What is the modern word for someone who requires a great deal of effort?”

 “High maintenance?” 

 “Yes. Don’t be high maintenance, beloved.”

 Daniel snorted. “Yeah, that’s me alright. I’m the high maintenance one in this relationship.”

 Armand pulled out into the street. It was lined with restaurants up and down each side, and as he waited for the light to change he shifted through Daniel’s memories. He had an array of opinions on the quality of the food at each one, a veritable maze of options to dig through to figure out which one he’d be happiest eating from. 

 He reached up and brushed his fingertips over Daniel’s cheek as the light turned green. Oh Daniel, how naive you are. 

[shebeafancyflapjack]

The Dark Forest

Follow up to The Devil Within. Mary has a talk with Silver (my oc).

Tw: mention of eating disorders and self-harm.

Covering their ears did little to soften the boom from the shotgun blast.

"Damn! Missed the little blighter." Tutted the old man in his tweed coat, a pair of protective ear muffs over his head.

Silver looked up and breathed a sigh of relief as the pheasant shook off the few pellets it had caught from the spread before flying towards the wood.

"Yeah, get away, go on." She was cheering for one side here and it wasn't the rich pricks. "Artemis, protect you."

"Who be Artemis?" Asked the woman at her side.

Silver felt a glow in her chest that she always got whenever someone asked about her deities.

"She's the Goddess of the hunt. And animals and children, nature. She's my favourite." Silver bit her lip afterwards, realising she should have phrased that different so as not to offend the others in her pantheon.

"Oh. But if she a goddess of hunt, won't she bes on the side of them with the muskets?"

The young woman scoffed; "Nah. She only supports true hunters. Those who had to kill for survival. These dickheads? They're just doing this for fun and because they can afford to miss. They could go down Waitrose and buy a turkey without it making a dent in their budget."

And it wasn't even as if they were helping to cull the birds, the only reason Heather had a license was for her Tory friends to come enjoy themselves with their blood sport. Silver was just grateful she hadn't been dead when fox hunting had still been practiced here, which Julian claimed to mourn.

Another bird flew overhead and the posh twat from next door fired his gun. Silver and Mary both covered their ears and flinched as the noise shook the earth. The creature plummeted to the ground, its spirit instantly floating up in a golden shimmer.

"Lucky beast." Mary huffed. She touched Silver's arm; "You sure you donts wanna go be with the others? They be on the other side of the land, near the lake. The poet don't like to be near gunshots so they keeps away."

Silver shook her head; "Kinda feel like I need to be here for the ones that die, you know? In case they don't go up? I know it's silly, they're only birds, but no-one should die alone."

Mary's heart gave a flutter at the girl's compassion.

"You is so much like Robin. No wonder he be smitten with you."

Silver's eyes widened, filling with unease.

"Oh noes, I don't mean in that way, darlin'!" Mary chuckled, touching her shoulder; "In a chaste and innocent manner. I thinks you be his Are-Demist."

"Artemis." That reassured her a little, though she's not sure how she felt being the focus of anyone's devotion. It felt like a lot to live up. She much preferred being the devotee, for as much as she appreciated Robin's care.

The flock seemed to be heading on, aware they weren't safe. The men packed up their gear and began to move further along the fence.

Silver and Mary walked a good distance behind.

"Have you eaten pheasant? Is it even that good?" She asked the older woman.

"It be very gamey but all depends on the seasoning. I used to love tending to my herb garden, oh all the housewives would come asking for basil and rosemary." Mary gushed at the memory; "Yous can make any meat tasty with the right seasoning. Even rat."

"Rat?!"

"Mmm. Times got hard, livestock died in harsh winters." Mary said, matter of fact; "Many a time it came down to a choice between a rat or the cow. And we needs the cow to be alive long as possible."

Made sense, Silver concluded. She supposed meat was meat at the end of the day.

"I'd been trying to go vegetarian before I died." She confessed.

"Oh, there were no such option for that in my days." Mary laughed, not unkindly; "Not enough fruit and veg to go around and if you didn't eat your protein, wells, you may as well have been kissing someone with the plague. No wonder you be such a skinny thing, if you be my daughter, I'd have had you eating five plump rats a day at least."

It took her a few steps to realise that Silver had stopped. She turned and regarded the girl who seemed wounded by her words, her brow furrowed, one hand clutching at her arm.

Mary's stomach twisted with guilt.

"Oh! Oh, I dids not mean to cause offense, little'en." She tried to assure; "S'just I sees the young maidens like yourself today, the 'super models' that these menfolk do bring with them to the mistress' functions. They be but skin and bone and at first I thinks their men be starving them but no! Julian say it be the fashion not to eat, even with more food than those in my time could dream of! I just don't understands it."

"Neither do I."

Mary tilted her head. It was easy to see that she'd struck a nerve for the child. She reached to take her hand, a gesture for her to open up to her if she needed to.

Silver did so, those calloused and well worked fingers folding over hers. She shrugged.

"I didn't care about looking thin. Everyone assumes it was about that." She admitted to the older woman, "But it really wasn't. After my dad died, and when I started getting bullied in school, I just...stopped eating. I dunno why but if I tried to force myself, I just threw it back up. I weren't bulimic, I didn't gorge myself. I just had no appetite. And I didn't even notice how skinny I was getting until I nearly fainted coming down the stairs."

"Oh..." Mary blinked.

"Mum didn't think it was anything psychological. She had her own shit going on. She just bought me a load of these disgusting protein milkshakes and made me chug them down breakfast and evening. They were vile...like liquefied expired beef." She made a show of sticking her tongue out. "I suppose it was her own way of caring about me..."

"You didn't try speaking to her? 'Bout your da? Or the bullies?"

Silver shrugged; "I didn't wanna worry her. Besides, you tell a grown up you're being bullied, they just tell you to ignore it. Not that simple.

"Hmm. Well I'd have said to give them a good wollopin'. That teach them not to mess with you."

"That's also not really allowed. And being skinny as a rake don't really help with the punching."

Mary nodded, she'd been a timid little thing herself, except for the moments she was pushed too far and would explode into a violent frenzy. Her own mother usually lashed her or let her be placed in the stocks on those times.

"Believe it or not, this is...was actually me on the mend. I never used to be brave enough to wear stuff like this when my ribs were poking out." She explained, waving her hands at her own stomach; "After I flunked out of college, I started getting into my Craft more and...I guess the gods became my therapists. They saved me, gave me something to focus on."

That didn't sound like the intentions of demons or false idols, Mary thought privately.

"How so?" She pried, wanting to show the child interest rather than doubt.

"There's this one goddess, Demeter. She rules over the earth, fertility and agriculture. She's also a fucking badass. When her daughter Persephone is kidnapped, she holds the world hostage and causes a famine until Zeus brings Persephone back to her." Silver explained, grinning with adoration; "Anyway, I just imagined Her giving me a telling off for not taking care of myself and accepting all She provides....I guess a bit like you."

"Me?" Mary frowned, fiddling with the laces on her bodice. "I wasn't meanin' to tell you off..." not harshly anyway.

Silver giggled; "I just meant that you showed you care, kinda like a..." She cuts herself off before saying the word; "Just. I dunno if you were a mum, but I can imagine you threatening to let the world rot to save one of your kids."

That deep, festering wound that never seemed to heal, after so many years, thrummed painfully inside her heart.

"Sorry, I...I didn't mean to..." Silver hesitated, catching her wince.

"It's fine, little'en. I did have children...Long time ago. And you be right." She would damn the whole world just to hold them again.

Silver looked down at her feet.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Sure, love. Anything." She was happy to change the subject, to distract her from the past.

The young heathen took a breath; "Did Robin ask you to talk to me?"

"What? No! I means...He might've mentioned you wanted us to walk when you awoke but..."

"It's just that, last time you couldn't stand to be in the same room as me and now you're letting us share these really personal things with each other. I'm just...wondering what changed?"

It was a fair question. And not one that Mary thought she could ever be truly honest with the girl about. She would be right to run away in fear and never speak to her again, nor would the others once they heard the truth.

"It took me a couple of weeks but I came to realise it weren't you I be afraid of." She confessed, honestly. "Sometimes them dark thoughts in our head get worse when we don't have means to starve ourselves...or worse..."

She reached out to brush a finger against a scar she could spot on Silver's wrist. The girl tugged down her velvet covering and blushed.

"I managed to stop that a while back as well...." She mumbled and Mary felt a wave of sympathy.

"Is used to bang my head against the wall. My old man would wrap bandages around it, so heavy I coulds feel my neck strain. Other times I woulds bite the skin around my nails so my mother made me wear mittens, even in summer. I looked like a right daft wench." She shared.

Silver's eyes seemed to light up with the relief of someone else understanding her, of having been through a similar experience.

"I taught myself to give my arm a pinch instead when I felt the urge. I know we don't bleed as ghosts anymore, but it does help. Either that or I talk to my gods." She said.

"'Spose that no different to how I talk to Jesus?" Mary asked.

"Pretty much. You know I don't really worship the devil, right? I don't even believe he exists. I believe in Jesus though."

The older woman looked ready to gasp in joy; "You do?"

"Yeah. I just don't worship him. Same as all the other gods I think are real, but don't pray to. I mean he seems like a cool guy, I just....don't like the church. I mean look what they do to their own followers..." She gestured to Mary; "And trust me, even though they've stopped doing that, there's other stuff they do that's far worse."

"Oh...I be aware." She watched the news on the picture box, she wasn't completely ignorant. "But that not be what Christ wanted, of that I believe."

"I agree." Silver smiled.

"T'is nice to have someone to discuss faith with." Mary admitted; "Fanny be a Christian and we sometimes have discussions, but Is thinks she approves of the unkind things many do in His name. The others don't really pay God much mind, except Robin and his nature spirits."

"Like I said, my faith saved me. In a way. Helped pull me out of that pit I was in. And yeah I died young but....look where I am now." She laughed.

Mary gazed around at the small section of English countryside they were bound to.

"A field?"

"I don't mean the field." Silver laughed; "I mean...you lot. This house. The land too, I guess. I know it's not much and...it pains me to think of all that I'm gonna miss but...I dunno, I just. Feel free, you know?"

When the girl looks at her with that smile, she's reminded all too clearly of Annie. Annie placing her hands on her arms and telling her they be more free in death than in life.

"...Yeah. I knows, little'en." She grinned.

Another bang made them jump, Silver instinctively reaching for Mary's hand.

"Bad luck, Barclay." The chubbier man said to the shorter one who lived a mile down the path.

"Luck won't help you! You couldn't shoot the broad side of a bus, mate!" Silver barked at the old fool.

Mary released a chuckle as the two of them decided to swarm around the men.

"Your wife doth drink like a fish to make you look the least bit attractive, you weeping bubo!" She sneered in Barclay's ear.

"Those pheasants brains are twice the size of yours!" Silver added, the two of them creasing up into giggles.

This was fun, even if they couldn't hear her. It felt like a better release than any harm to her body could give just to scream at them how she really felt about these rich snobs.

Another close bang from the shotgun made them both recoil, but it was worth it. Silver wasn't sure if it was more enjoyable to throw her own insults or get to hear the timid, mild Mary unleash herself and let her imagination run wild with her own taunts and curses. Whichever it was, it kept them both laughing until the men retired back to Heather's living room for tea and scones, and Mary and Silver walked to the lake to check Thomas wasn't too traumatised by the shooting.

It seemed to come all too quick for that final night to arrive.

"You sure you wouldn'ts rather sleep in the house? There be plenty of room." Mary asked her, not having slept that night, feeling an urge to stay awake until Silver's monthly time awake was done.

"Honestly, I love the bed Robin picked. But thanks for the offer." Silver reassured; "It's not like I feel the cold or even the dirt, it's surprisingly comfy. At least, I seem to wake up refreshed and without any bedsores."

That was good, though this month and all the ones going forward, she would assist Robin in visiting the child's vigil and making sure she was resting comfortably.

The horrid memory of her fit and screaming on the new moon haunted her.

"These dreams you has. You says they always be pleasant?" Mary asked, curious if the girl had any awareness of her pain, or the succour Robin had provided.

"Yeah. I mean....It's hard to remember fully. I'm only really left with feelings afterwards. And mostly they're happy ones, but..." She struggled to explain; "They play out a bit like a story. Like a movie or game that I'm the main character of. And there's always a moment in the story where I'm...scared or hurt..."

Oh, dear. Mary held her breath. So she wasn't completely oblivious.

"But then it passes and...in a way, its nice because it makes the rest of my dreams feel even better, if that makes sense? I guess it's my own dark forest."

"Ey? You mean the whole forest be yours?" Mary frowned.

Silver laughed; "No, it's an expression I learned in my English literature class in college. All stories, no matter how light, need a moment of conflict or danger. It's there to make you appreciate the happy ending. Like..." She tried to think of an example; "Like Jesus being tortured and killed, it's a horrible thing but it's what makes him coming back so special right?"

Understanding flicked a switch in Mary's head; "I sees. And like your mother goddess, when she loses her baby girl, her cursing the world be a dark moment but makes their reunion so lovely?"

Silver nodded, grinning a little. To think she'd been so concerned about their clashing religions causing strife between them. But Mary had listened and understood her, as she'd shown respect to her.

"I get why Robin is so smitten with you. And yes, I do mean it THAT way." Silver raised her eyebrows, knowingly.

The very not innocent and chaste way. She did have eyes.

Mary blushed and batted her hand; "Hush up, you cheeky little heathen. You should be getting to bed. The birds be waking soon!"

"All right, all right." Silver looked down at her boots, sheepishly; "...Will you come visit me?"

"'Course I will." Every day, if able.

Silver nodded, gratefully.

"Moonah girl! You ready?!" A gruff voice shouted up to her from below.

She poked her head through the window; "Be down in a sec."

Silver walked up to Mary and touched her arm.

"Thanks...for the talk the other day. I'm glad we're not scared of each other anymore." She chuckled.

Each other? Mary's stomach dropped. The girl had been just as afraid of her?

Oh. Oh...

She pulled her into a hug. The child tensed at first before relaxing into it, wrapping her arms around the larger woman and sinking into her warmth. Just for a minute.

"You tells me all abouts your dreams when you wake. And then we can go cursing the menfolk together some more." Mary sighed, wondering if this was how the pagan goddess felt whenever her daughter did depart for the Underworld each autumn.

Silver nodded against her; "Sounds awesome."

And when the new moon comes, when the pale light can no longer grant the child rest, Mary will be there. She'll split shifts with Robin to cradle the young girl and sooth her head, to guide her through the dark forest and back into happier times.

[jurassicsickfics]

"Call if You Need Me"

Mentions of vomiting and PTSD

*Based Around The Time of Halloween 2018*

It was one of those nasty, foggy and wet mornings. Laurie Strode was just starting to wake up as the morning sunlight filtered in through her curtains, disturbing her less than peaceful slumber. She'd been up half the night, plagued by nightmare after nightmare, a panic attack, nonstop shaking, and a partridge in a pear tree...

She was absolutely exhausted by the time morning rolled around, and as if the situation couldn't get any worse, her stomach felt...off. Although annoying, this was no surprise. After a night of crippling anxiety, a little queasiness was to be expected. Laurie dragged herself downstairs where Allyson was already awake and getting ready for school.

"Morning Grandma." The teenager said, her voice cheerful. Laurie managed a smile. "Morning hun..." she said, pouring herself some coffee before taking one sip and immediately deciding that she was too queasy for that, and putting the mug down. "You feeling ok?" Allyson asked. Laurie faked a reassuring smile. "Yeah, baby, I'm fine. Just...didn't sleep well, that's all."

Allyson gave the older woman a sympathetic look and hugged her. "Well...I've gotta get to school. I wanna have a few minutes to study before my first period test. Call if you need me!"

And with that, she disappeared out the front door. Laurie smiled; she admired how caring her granddaughter was. She made her way to the pantry to try and find something that she thought she could stomach eating.

A few bites of plain toast later, she pushed the plate away and wrapped her arms around her middle, cursing under her breath. Picking up her phone, she checked the weather. It was warm out today, so, Laurie decided that maybe some fresh air and shooting practice may do her some good.

Now changed into a t-shirt and leggings, Laurie stood in the woods, blasting away at her plastic targets. The hope that the fresh air would settle her stomach was quickly dying. After emptying her shotgun into the mannequins, Laurie placed a hand on her cramping stomach and sat down on a stump. Her muscular arms wrapped around her stomach, she glanced to her cellphone on the log beside her, and Allyson's offer flashed through her mind.

"Call me if you need me!"

Laurie reached for her phone, but stopped herself.

"No...don't bother Allyson. She's at school. " she scolded herself. "Besides, she probably just said that to be nice. I'm not gonna call my granddaughter at school because I have a tummy ache." Laurie mumbled aloud with a pained chuckle.

Laurie rocked herself in her seated position as the cramping worsened. The final girl clutched her stomach, a pained grimace etched into her aging features. Her stomach rolled and gurgled as she came closer and closer to tears. These cramps reminded her of her teenage years, struggling with painful periods. It'd been years since she had that distinct, "I want my mommy" type of feeling. She was so tempted to call Allyson for help, but something in her mind still made her hesitate.

"Maybe I should call Karen..." she thought, then laughed. "Oh, heck no...I'd never hear the end of that. No way."

Laurie was just about to stand up to go back to the house, when her stomach lurched. Without any time to think, she doubled over and was emptying her stomach violently onto the forest floor. She yelled in pain as her chest muscles contracted with the force of her heaving. The poor woman could barely get a breath in between retches, but in the midst of the panic, she managed to grab her phone. Tossing her pride aside, she slammed Allyson's contact.

Allyson was in the middle of listening, or at least trying to listen, to a droning lecture about the history of medicine. Her phone rang in her pocket, and when she saw that it was Laurie, she quickly apologized to her teacher and left the room to take the call. She stepped into the empty hallway and answered the call. "Hey grandma. Everything ok?" Allyson asked. The girl's eyes widened when she heard her grandmother's tearful voice beg, "please...please come home...I'm really sick..."

"I...ok, I'll be there in just a few minutes, just sit tight. " Allyson said, before hanging up. She went back into the classroom and explained the situation to her teacher, and, thankfully, the teacher was understanding and gave her permission to sign out.

Allyson rushed home as quickly as she could, and when she didn't immediately find Laurie in the house, she assumed she was in the woods. Sprinting out the back door, Allyson called out to her grandmother. When she reached her, Laurie was sitting on a log, doubled over, clutching her belly and sobbing, a pool of vomit at her feet. Allyson crouched beside her. "Oh no...not feeling good,huh?" She cood, wiping the older woman's tears. Laurie shook her head and took in a sharp breath. "I-I'm so sorry...to call you at school...you..probably missed that test..." she sobbed. Allyson shook her head. "No no, it's ok. I already took it. Made an A." Laurie gave a tearful smile. "That's my girl. " she said, going to give Allyson a kiss on the forehead then stopping herself. "Um..yeah, you probably don't want me kissing you right now."

Allyson chuckled, "believe it or not, I don't mind. C'mon, let's get you back up to the house. "

The two women made their way back to the house, Laurie leaning heavily on Allyson. Once inside, Laurie collapsed onto the couch, and her granddaughter plopped down beside her. As Laurie cuddled up to the teenager's side, Allyson wrapped an arm around her and asked, "so...you wanna tell me exactly what malfunctioned?"

Laurie let out a tearful, yet heartfelt laugh at her granddaughter's attempt to lighten the mood. "Well...I don't know, I just...I had an awful time last night and I woke up feeling sick. I figured it was just anxiety...I mean it still may be, but...anyway, it just kept getting worse. I couldn't eat, couldn't drink coffee; and you know me, Allyson, I love my coffee."

Allyson smiled. "Yep, you sure do. Although I don't know how you call it coffee with all the cream and flavoring you put in it."

Laurie gave the girl a teasing bump on the shoulder. "Anyway, I thought maybe some fresh air would help, so I went shooting. But, then..well."

Allyson sighed. "Well...sounds like a stomach bug to me." She suggested, and Laurie shrugged.

"Allyson...can I just...vent for a moment?"

"Of course. "

Laurie took a deep breath. "I don't know what to do about the trauma anymore...the medications don't work anymore, I try meditation, ASMR, white noise...nothing helps..."

"I'm so sorry..." Allyson said, stroking Laurie's silver/blonde hair.

Laurie started to cry again. "It...it's getting so bad...it's making me sick...I-I can't take it anym..." she stopped, clamping a hand over her mouth as Allyson sprang up to grab a trashcan. The teenager thrust the container under her grandmother's face just in time, as she reached around with her free hand to hold her hair back. Laurie leaned back once she was finished, panting and wiping her mouth with the back of her wrist. "Jeez...this is horrible..." she moaned.

Allyson gave the contents of the trashcan a disgusted glance before setting it to the side and sitting back down. "Feeling any better?" She asked, and Laurie nodded. "A little, yeah."

The two women sat in silence for several minutes, before Laurie spoke up. "Sorry again for pulling you out of school. "

Allyson gave her a reassuring smile. "Oh, don't worry about it. You got me out of algebra, I owe you a thanks."

Laurie chuckled. "Your mother is gonna freak." She said. Allyson shrugged. "She'll get over it."