#it's just rotting his memory like bro is having a really hard time remembering shit

[aliendragondreaming]

infected really do be the type of guy to have the worst de-reality spiral of his life and then go "h4h4 th4t w4s cr4zzzy, 4nyw4yz y0u w4nn4 g0 sk4t3b04rds??"

[sukirichi]

Breakfast for Choso with ingredients #17 and 34 with #2 sugar? Wine is optional.

EASY 

— Nothing is ever easy with Choso, but for him, you’d push through hell and back.

meal order: breakfast + 17, 34 (fake dating, rentboy au) + 2 (enemies to lovers) + biting, scratching, choso eating reader out, sex on the beach

warnings: mature content, unedited fic, choso is mean and harsh when he’s angry

notes: thank you so much for this anon! I really enjoyed writing this and this totally made my day. I hope you like it!

word count: 10k+ LOL CHOSO BRAIN ROT

check out the fanart @tigressnej-chan made, it s so beautiful HURRR

Your day was absolutely ruined. Dark, deep bags covered your under eyes as you stormed through the convenience store downstairs your apartment, body clad in an oversized hoodie and socks visible through slippers, hair greasy and lips chapped. You’re aware you look like a mess, but did you care?

Absolutely not, especially when you haven’t been sleeping well the moment you moved into this cursed apartment because of a certain fucker.

Speak of the devil and he shall appear. That specific fucker – the cause of your ruin and the devil who prevented you from living a good life – waltzed inside the store, the small bell chiming to signal his presence. You scoffed at his confident, suave walk, further irritated because he just had to be insanely attractive – in an alternative, laid-back kind of way.

He wasn’t even your type; you preferred more refined men who wore pressed suits and leather shoes, but you had to admit this man was insanely attractive.

With deep, sunken eyes, a dark tattoo across the bridge of his nose and dark hair twisted into twin ponytails, large, muscular body covered in a black sweatshirt and a red scarf – he looked very much like a former member of a gang who retired because their barbaric ways wasn’t his thing. It was an odd theory, and you sat there at the corner of the store, glaring at the man who tiredly pressed the coffee maker machine for a dark roast.

As if feeling eyes on him, his lazy eyes slid over to yours, and almost automatically, one corner of his lips tilted up in humor. This fucker knew how much he annoyed you, and he only further pushed your buttons by walking over to you, the steam of his coffee nearly blocking your gaze.

“Good morning,” he greeted sarcastically, well aware that it definitely not a good morning for you.

“Have fun last night, neighbor?”

“Yes.”

“Jeez, you won’t even bother denying it?”

“I see no point in it,” he invited himself by sitting next to you, long legs crossed over his muscular thigh. You found yourself staring at how he seemed so firm even in loose sweatpants, averting your gaze and staring at your soggy ramen noodle cup instead.  “And you’re not trying to hide the fact you’re listening, either.”

“I wasn’t listening!” you slammed your fist down the table – he didn’t even flinch, only continuing to sip his coffee as if you weren’t burning in anger beside him – as you hissed, “The walls are too damn thin and you’re so fucking loud.”

“No, I wasn’t. She was loud, though.”

Scoffing, you crossed your arms against your chest. He really was shameless. You already knew this man didn’t have enough shame in his body, but you didn’t think he’d have absolutely nothing.

Upon witnessing your stupefied state, he reached over to knock at your skull. “Still there, princess?” you cringed at his nickname for you; you didn’t even know this guy’s name, for pete’s sake! “Or are you still too bothered by the fact I got some good fucking last night?”

You flicked his arm away from you, nearly seething in your seat. “God, you’re insufferable. I should move out.”

“Yes, I think that would be for the best too,” he nodded to himself as he stared at his now empty coffee cup. Had it been that long already? Apparently, it was, because your noodles turned cold and your neighbor was already leaving your seat, dipping for a mocking bow. “Have a nice day, neighbor. Don’t think of my cock too much,” he teased, even going as far as winking until your jaw dropped.

You watched as he threw the paper cup in the proper bin, a little surprised he was decent enough to do mundane tasks like that. Sometimes, it was so easy to forget your neighbor was also a decent human being, but whatever.

You absolutely, utterly hated him, and you kept mumbling to yourself of the different ways you’d get your revenge on him as he walked out the door, his annoyingly gorgeous ass in view. “Yeah, right,” you scowled to yourself, “As if I can get that image out my mind now.”

He would not be an easy feat.

Despite your constant pleas for him to at least be silent during the weekdays to give you enough peace of mind to study for the finals, he didn’t stop. Hours just after the sun sets, you’d hear giggles and sloppy kisses on the hallway.

No matter how much you pressed your hands into your ears and set your music on full volume to block out the noise, you could always hear them.

Your neighbor was undeniably a fuckboy. 

Every night, he’d have a different girl dangling in his arms. You knew, because the voices squealing his name while he fucked them right next door were always different. Some days, it was deep and throaty, and on other days it’d be high-pitched and nearly scraping at your ears. They all said the same thing though, such as fuck, right there, you feel so good or harder, harder, please, I’m so close!

To say you were traumatized was an understatement. You never wanted to hear such things again, but alas, your neighbor apparently couldn’t give a single shit because he was fucking someone again.

As if things couldn’t get worse, the person he brought home this time around just had to have the most fucking annoying voice ever. Or maybe it sounded like the others, but you were in the middle of memorizing veins and brain chemicals in alphabetical harder when you heard the headboard of his bed slam against your wall, the sound hard and loud enough you dropped your book in surprise.

They didn’t stop. If anything, he kept going harder until nothing but his low sexy groans and his partner’s screaming – that was right, she was fucking screaming – like she was having her insides rearranged.

You didn’t doubt the possibility that maybe she really was. Your neighbor was such a huge, attractive guy, after all, it would make sense he was capable of such. Before you knew it, you could no longer understand the words in your textbook. You kept rereading the same line over and over again, but nothing registered into your mind. You were so close to screaming at them to stop and shut the fuck up because it was three in the morning and they were still going at it, but you weren’t that mean.

Yes, you hated him, but you weren’t going to blue ball someone or make sex awkward. Sex with your ex was always awkward, so you knew how painful it was to live with that memory. No matter how much you hated your neighbor, you wouldn’t go that far.

So you trudged all the way up to the building’s public balcony, bringing a blanket with you to survive the chilly bite of the night.

You used your phone’s flashlight to read all over the textbooks, keeping your little note cards organized and color coded beside you. Finally, you could make sense of things a little bit more, and you chugged at your Red Bull to keep you awake. Time passed by so fast whenever you were lost with your nose stuck in a book, and your attention was only ripped away when the balcony door swung open, revealing your neighbor with messed up hair and bruised lips.

He looked totally fucked out.

“Oh, fuck, no – what are you doing here?”

“This balcony is for all tenants,” your neighbor barely blinked as he walked closer to you, but instead of joining you on the table, he leaned against the railings and stared into the night sky. He seemed so placid, a little approachable despite his intimidating face even, and for a moment, you were studying his sharp, masculine features before he turned your way with a passive face. “Last time I checked, I’m a tenant, therefore I have the rights to be here.”

“I don’t care,” you retorted childishly, pulling your books closer to you as if he wanted to steal it. He only raised a brow at your actions, the large muscles of his arms bulging up from where he stood.

It felt so hard to not salivate at the sight, but for the sake of your pride, you had to push those thoughts down and remind yourself why you hated him so much. “I evoke your rights. You’re not welcome here.”

“You’re awfully harsh to a stranger.”

“You’re not a stranger, you’re my neighbor who brings girls in his home every night and I can never get a wink of sleep because all I can hear is them moaning and the sound of balls slapping!”

“Vulgar,” he smirked, and he had no business looking so attractive with that arrogant smirk on his face that it took all energy you had in you to not whack him with your book.

“I think I deserve an apology.”

“I think you should mind your business.”

You stood up with a scowl, nearly shoving the book right in his chest. “Bro, I’m this close to slapping this book right in your pretty face. You see how thick this is? I’m not kidding, this will hurt. Listen, I’ve got a final exam and a suture practice this weekend. All I’m asking for is just a few hours of sleep – that’s all. I just don’t get why you always seem to be balls deep in someone at every god forsaken hour; I can’t focus on my work when the noises are so distracting. At this point, I remember their begging more than I’m familiar with nerves. I need to study, okay? I really want to graduate.”

He fell silent at your sudden rant, then, he tilted his head to the side, a small smile on his lips. “You think I have a pretty face?”

“After everything I said, that’s all you remember?”

“It’s kind of hard to listen to every word when I’m distracted by your eyes.”

His comment caught you off-guard, and your eyes widened, arm coming up to hide your face that soon began to felt warm. He only chuckled at your reaction, the sound deep and throaty that it went right straight into the pools of your belly. “My eyes – what are you talking about? Seriously, what’s wrong with you? You’re so creepy!”

“Hmm,” he snickered, “That’s the first time I’ve heard that.”

“What, no one tells you you’re creepy?”

“No, people always say I’m handsome,” he said it with such a straight face that you gave him an are you serious look, and he raised one shoulder to shrug. “I’m surprised you’re not attracted to me, to be honest.”

“Wow,” you drawled out, shaking your head with a laugh as you plopped down back to your seat in defeat. “Aren’t you full of surprises? First, I get a really horny man as my next door neighbor who keeps me up at night with his shenanigans, and now he’s got the audacity to ask me why I’m not attracted to him?”

“I mean,” he scrunched his nose cutely, a huge contrast to his domineering stature. “Why aren’t you?”

“Yeah, I give up. I’m just gonna crash at my friends tonight,” you mumbled to yourself while gathering your things, leaving your neighbor all by himself. As you reached the door, you called out to him one more time, “Oh, and by the way, you reek of pussy. Go shower or something.”

“So how’s your exams going?”

“They’re fine,” you lied through gritted teeth, slicing through the fish a lot harsher than you intended. The knife scraped against the plate and you winced at the sound, ignoring your father’s loud munching. “Not too much of a big deal. My professors are nice and my classmates are nice too. I’m fitting in really well and I think I’ll even come out on top of my class this time if it weren’t for that stupid little bastard…” your last words ended up as a whisper, eyes glazing to the side as you glared at nothing in particular.

“Stupid little what?”

“Nothing, nothing,” you waved your hand in the air, “Someone’s just distracting me from my studies, is all.”

At the mention of someone distracting your usually composed and unbothered self, your father straightened up in his seat, a large smile on his face that made him look younger than he really was. “Is it a guy? Do you finally have a boyfriend?”

“Ugh, dad, really, you’re the only father who’s so eager for his daughter to have a boyfriend. Shouldn’t you be more proud that, I don’t know, I’m pretty and smart? I don’t need a boyfriend or anything.”

Your father nodded, “True, you don’t need them, but trust me when I say life is going to get pretty lonely when you grow old and you’re all by yourself. It’s still better – and life is a lot happier – when you’ve got a stable supporting and loving figure in your life.”

“I have you for that.”

“And you always will,” he patted your hand gently across the table, “But a parent won’t always be there for their child, and if you’re still not prepared for the future or ready to stand on your own two feet, then that means I didn’t do a great job at raising you; that means I’ve failed as a parent. Tell me, have I failed? Have I raised my wonderful daughter to be so repulsed by the idea of love that she’s willingly closing her doors and locking herself away in isolation?”

“No…”

“I didn’t think so,” he grinned to himself, and you watched with a frown as his eyes crinkled in happiness. Your father was such the complete opposite of you; he was always so loving and open to everyone, while you were mopey and afraid of attachment.

“Don’t be too afraid to love, child. It’s one of the most wonderful things in this world – it’s a blessing – the absolute core of our being. Why do we exist if not to love?”

“Not everyone is a romantic like you, dad,” you sighed, “Plus…how is it so easy for you to finally find someone after Mom died? Isn’t she your soul mate?” you questioned, putting your fork and knife down as you looked your father in the eye. “I just can’t believe you’re getting married again.”

“It’s already been years since she passed away, Y/N. And yes, she is my soul mate, but that doesn’t mean I’m incapable of loving someone again. Our hearts aren’t limited like that, and your mother wouldn’t want me to keep mourning her when she’s resting in peace,” he gestured to the both of you after swallowing his food, “She would’ve wanted the both of us to be happy.”

At the mention of your passed mother, your shoulders deflated, and your eyes watered at the thought of her kind smile. You wished you could see that again.

“I miss her…”

“I know, child, I know,” your father smiled encouragingly, “I also know the reason you’re so afraid to love is because you’re scared they’ll end up leaving you too, like how your mom just slipped past our fingers like that, but it’s only her body that withered. She’s still with us, right in our hearts and in our memories.”

“You really do sound like a lovesick fool.”

“That’s because I am,” your father laughed with a slap to his knees. When his phone buzzed for his alarm, he quickly dabbed a towel on his lips, standing up to excuse himself. “Now, this lunch was lovely and I dearly missed you, but I need to go back to work. We doctors just never get a break. This is a life you have to prepare for if you want to follow my footsteps.”

“I won’t follow your footsteps – I’ll surpass you.”

“I’ll be waiting for that to happen then,” he announced proudly; pride bursting in his chest at how determined his daughter was. “Oh, and Y/N?”

“Yes?” You squinted at the mischievous look in his eyes, wary of what your cunning father had in mind this time.

“You won’t outsmart me. You better bring a boyfriend or at least introduce someone to me on the wedding – or else I’m pulling you out of the university hospital.”

“Wha – Dad, that’s not fair!”

“All is fair in love and war, child, you’ll learn soon.”

“Oh, I just hate men!”

You really did hate men.

Your final exam was tomorrow already and you’d lost count of the coffee and Red Bull you’ve inhaled today, all so you could study one last time for the test, but no, something – or rather someone – just had to get in your way.

“I’ve had enough,” you announced before slamming your door open; not hesitating as your fists came banging down on your neighbor’s door. “Hey! Keep it the fuck down – someone’s trying to study here! Seriously, man, is it really that hard for you to keep it in your pants for one night? This is what, the sixth woman you’ve had around the past four days? Don’t you get tired? Because I sure as hell am very tired of you!”

The moans and the sounds of bed creaking stopped. For a moment, you almost smirked to yourself when they fell silent.

If only you knew it would be that easy to shut them up, you would’ve done so long ago. You were about to turn back into your room when his door swung open, and you were met by his sweaty and muscular chest heaving up and down – either in anger or from his previous activities – you couldn’t tell.

Your throat felt dry as you peered at him under your lashes, almost afraid of the way he loomed over you. Thank goodness he found the time to wear pants, though, because had he been baby naked, you would’ve run for the hills already.

His dark eyes cut through yours as he seethed, “What do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m the one who wants to ask you that,” you were surprised to find your voice despite the way your pussy actually ached just by the sight of his chiseled body, but when you did, you forced yourself to stand up taller, refusing to back down from his gaze. “It’s literally three in the morning and you’re about to fuck a hole through my wall!”

“I thought you said you’d be crashing at your friends. What are you doing here?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t know I had to have your permission to come back home. Next time, I’ll give you a heads-up, good sir. And for your information, unlike you, I actually don’t like bothering the people around me so I came home. Now would you please kick her out and shut the fuck up for once?”

“Babe, are you coming back here or what?”

Red acrylic nails wound from his body out of nowhere, and your mouth fell open as you watched the naked woman press kisses on the blades of his shoulder. You were conflicted, torn between feeling jealous that she got to touch him like that because damn was he fine, but you also felt appalled your neighbor would be this type of person.

“Babe?” you repeated with a sarcastic laugh.

Stepping away from your neighbor’s tempting pecs, you waved to the stunning woman behind him. “Hi, I’m his neighbor, I don’t mean to be a cock block or anything but I’ve been a witness to his fuckboy ways for months now. If you think you’re special to him, I assure you, you’re not. Yesterday he was just banging two girls until the sunrise. If you’re really as sane as I hope you are, I suggest you skedaddle before this man feeds you with more lies. You’re not special, hun, he’s just going to fuck everything that walks on two legs.”

“Is that true?”

“Nadia, you know how this works—”

“I was literally just on the phone with you last night!” the woman named Nadia pushed him away, but because he was bigger, he didn’t budge. Nadia turned to you, her lipstick smudged and a suspicious white stain on the edge of her lips. You couldn’t even bring yourself to look down her head, and you and your neighbor both watched as she got dressed and left, hands up in the air. “Thank you for this. I should’ve known better than to waste time and money on him.”

You snickered as Nadia pressed on the elevator buttons, a scowl sent his way. Turning to him with pride swelling up in your chest, you smirked, “How does it feel—”

“Happy now?” he growled, his eyes so dark and slit into tiny cuts you took a step back, your heart pumping frantically for different reasons. You never thought he’d be this bothered for not being able to bust a nut. “Satisfied now, Y/N? Do you even realize what you’ve just done?”

“Uhm, yes,” you scoffed, matching his tone. “I just saved that poor girl’s life. Who else knows what you would’ve done and said to her. We don’t deserve to be looked down on and treated like this, you know.”

“Neither did I. I’m just doing my job.”

“Job? You don’t even have a job! You don’t even go to university for fuck’s sake – your apartment is rundown and smells like sour cunt and feet! Maybe you should even thank me because I’m trying to give you ideas on better things to do!”

“Yeah, and be like you?” he snapped, tugging at the strings of your hoodie until you fell a step forward. “Dressed in loose shirts to hide the fact you’ve got no tits and your ass is flatter than your back? Lying to her neighbor that she’ll crash somewhere but ends up waddling back home anyway because she’s always cooped up in her apartment studying to prove that she’s not as worthless as she is and that she doesn’t have a life or friends to begin with?” tears pooled at your eyes at his words, and you knew it hurt because it was true, but did he really have to say it that way?

However, his anger got the best of him, and he didn’t stop there. “I don’t want to be like you. I don’t want to skip meals and lose sleep studying for something I don’t care about because I don’t know anything else other than following daddy’s footsteps so he’d notice me more than his new bride. I’m happy with my life.”

“How did—”

“Like you said, the walls are thin. You’re not exactly so quiet to yourself, neighbor. It’s kind of pathetic you talk to the walls when you think I’m asleep because you’ve got no one else to talk to.”

Hands balled into fists at your side, you stood on your tiptoes to spit the words out. “You’re a terrible human being,” no matter how much you tried to exert dominance over him, your lips still quivered as you fought back the urge to cry. “Go fuck yourself.”

“You’re the one who needs to go fuck yourself and get laid,” he didn’t let you have another word as he slammed the door in your face, but you still heard him through the door anyway. “Uptight bitch.”

You were wrong.

Your neighbor wasn’t just difficult – he was completely impossible.

[Dad:] Don’t forget your date!

[You:] Dad…don’t push it.

[Dad:] I find it hard to believe my beautiful daughter can’t have one. Go out there and make some friends, Y/N, I know you isolate yourself too much. It doesn’t even have to be a boyfriend. You could date a girl for all I care. I just don’t want you to be too bored at the wedding. Bring a friend.

[You:] Fine, fine, okay.

[Dad:] But a boyfriend would still be better. Your old man isn’t getting any younger and I want grandkids in the future.

[You:] Dad!

[Dad:] love ya kid !

And so it was the turn of your events that had you groaning in your swiveling chair, the grip on your phone so tight you wouldn’t be surprised if you ended up breaking it. As if your week couldn’t get any more horrible with your neighbor’s hurtful words still living at the back of your mind, your father hadn’t stopped talking about you to his co-workers and his equally crazy mother that your grandmother didn’t waste time in calling you.

You loved your nan, you really did, but more often than not, she was much more of a pain in the ass than your father was. The old woman was ruthless, shooting you question by question on why her pretty granddaughter was still single, then came the demeaning comments of how you “weren’t living life to the fullest.”

Frustration eating away at you, you let out a silent scream.

The escort site blinked back at you mockingly, temptingly, as if to remind you that your problems could easily be solved with just a click. You chastised yourself for always having the need to solve problems fast and as easily as you could, because before you even realized what you were doing, your heart started beating a mile a minute as the other line kept ringing.

You ended up lying to your grandmother that yes, nan, I have a boyfriend, can I study for my exams now please, to which the pressing woman responded with, oh, finally! well, I won’t bother you anymore. study well, my dear, I can’t wait to see him!

Just thinking about how she would react if you came alone at your father’s wedding had you breaking out in a sweat, and you chewed at your nails while waiting for the site to pick up.

You were truly desperate now, so much so that you were actually calling a rental boy site.

“Good afternoon, thank you for calling Kamo Escorts! I’m Ijichi, here to assist you. What can I help you with?”

You held back a really painful cringe, biting the insides of your cheek as you got your heart to calm down. “Uhm, yeah…so this is like my first time c-calling a site like this and I don’t know what to do but…yeah.”

“I see, we get new callers too. Would you like a guide?”

“Yes, please, that’d be great thank you.”

“Kamo Escorts is all about, well, as you can see on our webpage – we have men and even women you can hire to escort you on special events. We mostly cater to clients who only need a pretty face to dangle off their arm for social company or even care, or whatever reasons the client may have and the relationship is purely business and professional, but in some cases, the escorts may have sex with the client too under the condition they are paid more.”

The gasp that left your lips was barely stifled, and you furrowed your brows at the implication. “Wh-what, so that’s like a real thing? Isn’t this…?”

Ijichi chuckled from the other line, almost as if he’d been asked this question many times before. “In a way, it is, which is why Kamo Escorts is commercially advertised for purely social company only. You may, however, negotiate with your escort if you would like more services, but we do require that you keep our escorts’ dignity and not look down on them. The service we provide may not be your typical honorable one, but we are dedicated and equally eager to be of service to this society. Should we find that you’re dehumanizing or harassing our escort, we won’t hesitate to…take some action,” the light warning of his tone didn’t go unnoticed by you, and Ijichi took note of your hesitant silence. “Would you still like to proceed?”

“Ye-yeah, I didn’t want the sex anyway.”

“Very well, then. What event are we looking for?”

“It’s for a relative’s wedding,” you supplied, “I need a date.”

“Any preference in escorts? Male, female, tall, short, sociable or introverted?”

Your eyes widened, your back flattening against your chair. “Oh, wow, so this is like a Build-A-Bear, okay, wait,” you chewed your nails again, racking up on your mind on who or what exactly you liked. “My ideal guy is…someone tall, and has pretty broad shoulders…I think I prefer a more introverted one too because people with too much energy sort of drains me…and someone caring and attentive, yes. Handsome too – but if that’s too much to ask for then—”

“It’s okay, Miss. I assure you all our escorts are definitely blessed in the gene department.”

At his confidence, you scrunched your nose and made yourself small on your chair. “Okay, but now that you say it, if he’s too handsome then I’m going to look like a potato next to him.”

“We’ll find someone compatible for you; we always never fail to please our clients. We’ll be able to match you with a more suitable escort if you’re more descriptive with what you want.”

“Okay, okay,” you continued, “Oh, and I like guys with long hair too, but really, anything is fine. I just want someone to effortlessly pretend they’re enamored after just one date and that they’re very glad to be there with me on the wedding. It’s even better if they’re introverted but can communicate well and isn’t shy at all. My relatives are kind of…freaky.”

Freaky couldn’t even begin to describe the chaos of your relatives.

In fact, had you not been paying for this service, you would’ve almost felt bad for the guy. He had no idea what he had coming for him – but then again, neither did you.

“I think we’ve got just the perfect guy for you,” Ijichi answered after a beat, “May I ask when is this event and how long you’d like to book the escort service for?”

“The event is in two weeks. I don’t need to meet him before the wedding because I’m very busy with exams, so I hope this guy can just act really well. As for the duration…I think just one day is enough. After the wedding, I’m coming right back home.”

“Convenient then,” he mused to himself, and you heard slight clicking from his side. “Let’s see…someone introverted and able to communicate well…definitely not Satoru, and his entirely booked by sugar mommies too…” Ijichi whispered to himself, followed by a slight humorous snort. “One last question: would you like someone older, younger, or the same age as you?”

“I’m in uni – I’d be more comfortable if they were closer to my age.”

“Oh, perfect, his schedule is oddly open for the whole month. Wonder what happened, he’s barely had free slots before…” the man was speaking to himself again, and you sat there pouting, even more dumbfounded at how this whole process worked.

Ijichi talked about this escort service and guided you so easily you almost couldn’t believe that it was as…simple as that. You didn’t know what you were expecting, but deep down in your mind, you were waiting for something fishy or weird to happen.

“I found someone for you. He’s one of our best escorts and I believe he’ll be great for this event. However, due to privacy issues, the disclosure of contacts and personal information can only happen once the escort agrees to this service. We’ll shortly get back to you if he’s up for the job. If not, I’ll find you another one quickly; you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“Okay, thank you so much!”

“It’s our pleasure. Thank you for contacting Kamo Escorts – we hope to see you again!”

Once the call ended, you fell back on your bed with a sigh. Your neighbor wasn’t around the whole day, leaving you in peace and silence, and you took advantage of the rare quietness by pulling out a book. Hours passed, and you were nearly finished with half the textbook, fingers slightly numb from practicing sutures over and over again when your phone lit up with a text.

It came from an unknown number, but the words were loud and clear. Hey, this is Choso, I’ll be your escort for the wedding. Please text me here for the details and what else you expect from my service. I’m only a text and call away, please don’t hesitate to ask me for anything else.

You blinked at your phone, unsure of how to process the whole thing.

So it was official now – you rented an escort and you had a date for the event. Quite frankly, you were kind of expecting that escorts would be a lot more…flirtatious or even eager to please, but this Choso guy sounded too formal for you to picture yourself having this stranger be a good company for your event. Ijichi sounded so sure though that you no longer questioned it; smiling instead now that you’ve finally solved one of your problems.

Life felt a lot easier.

At around four in the morning, you were too worn out to keep going. Your exam was in the afternoon so you still had plenty of time to sleep, your stomach grumbled, prompting you to leave your unit to get some snacks.

Keys in hand and feet cold in your socks, you locked your door, halting in your steps when you saw your neighbor. Different from his usual comfortable clothing, he was dressed in a formal white shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows and his large, masculine hands coming up to loosen his tie. He wasn’t aware of your presence, almost blindly walking to his door and sighing. You didn’t miss the fact his shoulders were slumped, and he looked absolutely worn out.

For a moment, you actually felt worried, until you remembered what he said to you.

“What, no pussy to fuck tonight?”

He froze in front of his door for a moment, slightly tilting back to see your aggravated stance. Upon seeing it was just you, he shook his head and turned back to unlock his door. “No thanks to you.”

“Aw, did I ruin your reputation?” you mocked sarcastically, “I’m surprised people aren’t smart enough to pick up the smell of women’s perfume on you already. Seriously, are people that desperate for touch?” It was ironic; you’d never admit it, but you weren’t any better than them. You were equally desperate to be touched despite your aversion to romantic relationships, but he didn’t need to know that.

“It’s normal when you’re someone people are naturally attracted to. Not that you’d get it, of course, because it’s clear you don’t get some.”

“At least my apartment doesn’t smell like pussy.”

“At least I don’t masturbate every night then pass out after one weak orgasm.”

Your cheeks burned at his offhanded comment, and even with his back turned to you, you could see the slight smile tugging at his cheeks. He must’ve felt so cocky, thinking that he’d defeated you, so you blurted out the most intelligent thing possible: “How dare you!” while grabbing onto his shoulders to make him face you. “Look me in the eye and take that back!”

“Whatever you’re planning,” he crooned, head tilted to the side and making strands of his bangs fall over his eyes. He looked absolutely handsome under the flickering lights of the hallway in that moment, and you hated how you weren’t able to take your hands off of his strong shoulders, his masculine and spicy perfume clouding your mind. “It’s not going to work. Surprise surprise, but you’re not as cute as you think you are.”

Your eyes burned with fire, the nerves in your body so closing to popping. He infuriated you so much. “And you’re not as sexy as you believe you are!”

“Oh, yeah?” The positions are suddenly switched as he cornered you beside his doorframe, both of his arms planted beside your head. Because he was taller, he had to lean down to look you in the eye, his warm, minty breath brushing over your lips. You stared at him with wide eyes, fingers raking over the wall in a silent attempt to flee. Upon seeing your pursed lips, he laughed.

“Then why are you so shaky? Do I make you nervous?” his head dipped down, his lips grazing the shell of your ear. “Say…you only pretend to hate me, but you actually wish it was you I’m fucking every night, don’t you? Tell me…do you touch yourself when you hear me eating someone out?”

“I-I’m not—”

Before you could combust under his gaze, he pulled himself away from you, a satisfied smirk on his face at your flustered state. He chuckled lowly, keys spinning on his thick finger. “I was just teasing you, princess. No need to get so worked up.”

“I never want you near me again!”

He raised both brows as if to challenge you, and you knew from the glint in his eyes he was up to no good. “Princess, you jumped on me first.”

“I didn’t!” You shouted, immediately slapping your palm over your lips after realizing people were sleeping. He snickered at your reactions, and you pushed past him back to your unit, suddenly losing the appetite to get your precious snacks. “God, I hate you so much.”

“Believe me, the feeling is mutual.”

Difficult. Unbelievable. Complicated. Idiotic. Nothing was ever easy with him.

“Would you stop fidgeting?” your father scolded from his chair, his body barely moving as the stylists fixed his hair and makeup, but his eyes glared at you from the mirror. “You’re a lot more nervous than I am, and it’s my wedding.”

“Sorry, I can’t help it.”

Your father sighed to himself, standing up after they were done with him. He checked his appearance in the mirror for a while, nodding to himself in satisfaction. It was still a little surreal that he was going to get married again, to a woman half his age of all people, but he was happy, and his bride seemed to really love him too, so you no longer questioned your father’s decisions. He was an adult, anyway, he could make his own decisions.

“You’re waiting for your boyfriend, you say?”

“Yeah.”

“What’s he like?”

You stiffened at the question. Not wanting your sharp-eyed father to pick up on the smallest cues, you lied through your teeth despite not having any idea on who or what kind of person the escort was.

Other than discussing details of how you two supposedly met, conversations had been crisp and short. You were lucky that the escort seemed to be nice and smart enough to not always ask you to explain everything, and he was crisp and curt in his texts too. No flirty or suggestive messages, not even a single emoji. He seemed a little stiff, and while you worried if you could fake chemistry with someone who seemed like a wall, you were also assured by the fact he wasn’t some creep.

“Nice. He’s sweet. You’ll like him.”

“And when did you meet him?”

“Dad, do I have to tell this story all over again?” you groaned, “We met after exams, he goes to a different uni and he studies law—”

“Law. Impressive.”

“Of course you’re impressed,” you rolled your eyes. Coming from a family of doctors and engineers, your father, and pretty much everyone else in the family, also expected that you’d date someone who was equally intelligent and had enough connections in different industries at least. It just so happened you were really lucky your escort also really did study law for a bit before he became an escort; a detail you never got enough explanation for. “He’ll be here anytime soon. Just you wait.”

In reality, you were the one who couldn’t wait.

You were excited and nervous at the same time to see this mysterious escort, and you were in the middle of talking to your father and his bride when someone called you.

“Y/N?”

You turned around with a bright grin. That must be him! You clasped at the hems of your dress so you could meet this mysterious, rigid man properly, but the moment your eyes met his equally startled gaze, you choked on your own breath. “Y-you—”

Choso stood before you; handsome as ever in his suit and tie, his iconic twin tails still there. How ever would your father believe you now that he was a lawyer, especially with his messy hair and face tattoo? You loved it and found it sexy on him, no denying that, but your father was a little bit more traditional. But that aside, it was Choso?!

His professionalism arose and he regained his composure quicker than you did, the smile on his face so natural and alluring even you almost fell for it.

Choso wrapped an arm around your waist before kissing you on the cheek, and the skin felt extremely hot under his lips. You couldn’t move, couldn’t even speak, because Choso was pressed flush against you, and he looked at you with stars shining in his eyes you didn’t know whether to be flattered or afraid.

Maybe a fucked up mix of both.

“I’m sorry I’m late. Traffic was bad,” he explained with a small smile on his lips, and he looked so handsome and smelled so good in that moment you were left gaping at him as he bowed to your father, arm politely extended. “You must be Y/N’s father. It’s very nice to meet you sir. I’m her boyfriend, Choso.”

To your surprise, your father eagerly shook his hand with the brightest grin he’d worn the whole night before he faced you with a laugh. “No way,” he beamed, gesturing to Choso. “He’s your boyfriend? You managed to snag this fine man?”

“Dad!” your ears burned with embarrassment. Choso only laughed; making you painfully aware of his large, warm hand resting at the small of your back.

“I heard you’re a lawyer, son?”

“Yes, sir.”

Your father nodded in approval, the two exchanging over words about what his plans were for the future and how his studies were going. You stood there with a pounding heart, fearful that Choso could fuck up any moment, but he was so effortless and easy going. Had you not been the one paying him, you would’ve been fooled too.

So this was the life of an escort.

“So how much did my daughter pay you?”

“Dad, I didn’t—”

“I mean, there’s no way she actually charmed you with her non-existent social skills. My daughter here can’t even talk to someone and look them in the eye, much less ask someone out, so how did this happen?”

Choso laughed at your father’s lighthearted comment, saving the day for what seemed like the hundredth time already. “I approached her first, sir. We were both eating in this small diner and it was cramped, so we shared tables and started conversation,” Suddenly, his grip tightened on you as he pulled you closer, your ear now resting above the lulling and steady beating of his heart. How was he so calm?

He lightly squeezed your hip and it had you freezing under his touch, stiffening even more when he looked down at you so adoringly. “Guess it went downhill from there.” God, you had no idea who this man was.

“Really? What did you guys talk about?”

Choso opened his mouth to speak, but it was there, that damned glint on those dark eyes again that you clutched at his bicep. He may be damn good at this job, but knowing Choso, he was enjoying this way too much.

Anything you couldn’t predict or control properly was a huge no in your game, and you pulled Choso away before he could say something downright humiliating.

“Dad, just go focus on your wedding. I want to spend time with my boyfriend, okay?” You couldn’t even begin to fathom the inward cringe upon your words, the feeling only worsening when Choso fought back a laugh masked with a cough. Before your father could say anything else, you dragged Choso rather harshly, but he didn’t mind; he followed you obediently. “Come with me. I need to talk to you,” You didn’t stop until you were both alone in a desolated corner, and finally, you hissed at him. “What are you doing here?!”

“I should be asking you the same thing – but it turns out you’re my client.”

“Client? So you really are my escort?”

“Yes, I am.”

“So those women…”

“All my clients,” he confirmed your thoughts. “I assure you they knew what they were getting into. In fact, they were the ones who asked for that special service that caused you to lose your sleep every night. That woman the other day was just pissed because she booked me for three days, but I lied that I was available until the duration she wanted when I wasn’t.”

“You mean you were still working an escort for somebody else?”

He shrugged. “Pretty much.”

“Why did you lie then?”

“It’s more money,” Choso stared down at his hands before his eyes flitted back up to yours, his face unreadable. “I’m saving up so I can move somewhere else. Our apartment isn’t exactly the most ideal considering my profession. I need to find someplace quieter with thicker walls this time,” he smiled, “That way, I’ll no longer bother my sweet neighbor,” your lips felt dry at his words, your tongue darting out to lick at them while Choso scrutinized you under his gaze.

“I have to admit though – you asking for escort service is the last thing I’d ever imagine you doing. Not that I’m complaining since it’s still money in my pocket, but you’re not the most pleasing company to be with.”

“Oh, you bet, Choso. Had I known you were going to be my escort, I would’ve declined long ago,” you groaned, your head dropping in your hands. “What was Ijichi thinking when he said I would be compatible with you?”

“You’re not,” he stated, “But I am compatible with you – as I am with pretty much everyone else. I’m one of the best escorts, and soon you’ll see why.”

You didn’t understand what he meant by then, but it seemed Choso was quite eager to show his skills off when he dragged you back inside the reception event. The whole time, you couldn’t pay attention to anything or anyone else other than Choso. It still felt hard to believe that the whole time, he really was doing his job, and upon seeing how easily he had people believing you two were an item despite you just standing silently beside him, you felt guilty that you disrupted his “work” like that.

Guilt gnawed at you as Choso made everyone laugh, and soon your relatives were cooing, praising you and congratulating you that you were “happy” now.

Back then, you always looked down on him and even called him a mere fuckboy, but Choso was so much more than that. He was intelligent; his past as a lawyer proved that, and whatever happened that caused him to work in this industry kept lingering in your mind.

There was no denying it now.

You respected this man – admired him even.

“And now it’s time to join the newly married couple on the dance floor! Come on, people, bring your dates up here for a twirl!”

You remained planted in your seat, too comfortable with Choso’s jacket draped around your bare shoulders. You’d lost count of how many times your head ducked down for the lack of sleep, and as much as you loved your dad, you wanted nothing more than to go home and rest.

Choso offered his hand to yours, a teasing smile on his face. He wriggled his eyebrows up and down, and he looked so utterly ridiculous that you couldn’t believe the boring man you were texting was the same infuriating yet undeniably attractive bastard who was your neighbor was the same fun. The world is very small, it seemed, and you weren’t sure whether you were brave enough to venture these strange places and feelings.

“Uh-uh. No. I’m not dancing.”

“Two left feet?”

“No, I’m wearing heels. My feet hurts.”

“Then take it off.”

“And get my feet dirty?” you scoffed. As if to prove your point, you snuggled deeper into his jacket that smelled heavenly like him, closing your eyes as you pretended to sleep. “Sitting here isn’t so bad. Plus, look at them, all staring at each other with goo-goo eyes. It’s revolting,” you shuddered.

Through the sickeningly romantic music playing in the background, Choso fell silent. You cracked an eye open, frowning when Choso studied each of your features carefully. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You seem to hate the idea of love.”

“Because it’s pointless.”

Choso narrowed his eyes at your answer, brows bunching up at the way your shoulders squared to keep yourself away. Then, he stood up and sighed, offering his hand to you once more.

“I won’t really ask you to explain why, because frankly, I don’t care,” you stared at his large palms for a few seconds. There must be a ghost possessing your body because you looped your fingers through his and allowed him to guide you on the dance floor despite your mind’s protests, and soon, Choso’s eyes were all over you. “But if you don’t want your money to go down the drain and you really want to convince everyone, I suggest you forget about that mindset for just a few more hours,” his voice dropped down to a low whisper, his forehead pressed to yours. His eyes turned solemn, his hand on your waist gentle. “Dance with me. Let’s show them how madly in love we are with each other.”

“We met just last week, remember?”

“Love at first sight, princess,” Choso kissed your forehead, sending your heart thumping and running to another dimension. Oddly enough, you didn’t mind, and your hands travelled from his strong arms to his broad shoulders instinctively. “Take your heels off. You can step on my feet and I’ll dance for us both. Just put your arms around my neck – yes just like that,” he nodded with a smile when your fingertips nervously played with his hair, and Choso began to dance you both in time with the music. “Are you good?”

“I don’t like this lack of space between us.”

Choso smirked, “Why, do I get you all hot and bothered?”

“Jesus, Choso, you can’t be serious for a minute, huh?”

“It’s kind of hard to be serious when you’re so flustered and adorable right now,” you pulled at his hair in response, but of course, he wasn’t really hurt.

“Look at me,” he demanded, but you refused, keeping your gaze planted on your bare feet on top of his again. “Hey. I said look at me,” he tilted your chin up until you’re forced to be like prey under his gaze, his breath tickling the bow of your lips. “I am your escort for tonight – and I humbly ask that you do your part as my client so I can perform my job well. I need you to look into my eyes and pretend you’re in love with me.”

“I don’t want to fall in love with anyone,” you suddenly admitted, “I’m scared.”

“You don’t have to be,” he replied, softly this time, and his hands ran down tenderly to your hips to pull you closer to him. “I’ll be there to catch you.”

You couldn’t remember who leaned in first. The only thing you remembered was that the music faded in the background when you kissed him – or maybe he kissed you – fuck, you didn’t really remember. Eventually, the kiss grew too heated, his hands squeezing your waist while you moan at the taste of chocolate and wine on his expert tongue.

Choso easily read your mind and swooped you away from the crowd, the both of you stumbling until you made it out to the venue and onto the beach.

The salty air kissed your skin while Choso carried you bridal style, arms looped around his neck while he kept moving his lips above yours. He was laughing through the kiss with how messy and eager you were, tugging at his shirt to encourage him to unbutton it. Choso set you both down on the darker, isolated part of the beach where nothing but the sound of waves lapping against one another could be heard with your breathless pants and his chuckles.

You were lying on his jacket, dress bunched up to your chest while your legs were spread wide open for him. “Ch-Choso,” you choked out when his tongue ran flat across your slick folds, his hands keeping your hips pinned down to the sand. “I-I, please.”

“I got you, princess,” was all he said before he completely dived into your heat, his sharp nose brushing into your cunt.

It didn’t take long until you were spasming in his hold, legs closing around his head. Choso groaned into your pussy, a finger working its way inside your sopping cunt while he licks and slurps your arousal like it was fucking water. Now you understood why those girls always lost their mind – Choso was a fucking expert when it came to worshipping pussy.

Choso pulled his fingers out of you, making you whine at the sudden emptiness, but he was kind, eager to please you that he immediately replaced it with his tongue.

You cried out when you felt his tongue entering your hole, one thumb pulling the hood of your lips up to reveal your sensitive pearl. Choso rubbed your clit fervently, his other hand reaching up to squeeze and tug at your breasts while he drank your juices dripping down his tongue as if you would be his last meal – and he honestly wished you were, because you tasted like heaven on him and he wanted more.

Once he felt you clamping down on his tongue so tightly he struggled to retrieve his warm muscle back, he helped you reach your high by pinching your clit. You moaned out his name, the sound sending blood straight down his cock, and he groaned into your pussy the moment you grinded on his face as you relaxed from your orgasm.

Choso didn’t give you the chance to recover from your orgasm, pulling you up to his lap before he’s kissing you again. You moaned when you tasted yourself on his tongue, his face and cheeks sweet from your arousal and cum.

You should be ashamed, but you couldn’t find a single bone in your body that felt shy right now. Choso was right – there was no point in being shameful when it came to your pleasure.

The kiss was sloppy, more tongue than lips and teeth clashing onto another. Choso grinded you on his hardened erection in search of your heat that would bring him relief, but he slowed down and pulled away from you, a string of saliva connected from your lips. He wanted you – wanted to fuck you so badly – so he searched your eyes for the answer when you aligned the tip of his cock to your entrance. “Is this okay? Are you sure with this?”

“Yeah,” you gritted your teeth when his tip entered your tight cunt, your walls sucking him in greedily already. Choso’s head dropped down to your shoulder, his teeth sinking down to your shoulder. You slowly sat down on his thick length, but then froze before he could bottom out. “Wait, no, I’m broke! I can’t pay for your extra services!”

“It’s free for you, princess,” he rasped out, “Now sit on my lap so I can feel you around me already.”

“Do you always have to be so vulgar?”

Through the pleasure that had his abs rippling, Choso managed a laugh. “You might want to get used to it.”

“Why would I?” you breathed out, eyes shutting tight once he fully slid into you. He allowed you to get used to the sudden stretch; it had been too long since you’ve been touched this way that you were impossibly tight around him right now. Your chest rose and fall with each faltering breath, your nails running down his back when Choso gave a deep, experimental thrust that immediately hits your sweet spot.

You moaned, cheek resting on his shoulder as Choso set the pace, squeezing your ass as he bounced you up and down his cock. “You’re gone after this. Once this contract is over, you’re moving away and I won’t get to see you anymore. I-I won’t lose sleep anymore after hearing you fuck all those women and gosh, I hate you so much, you know that?”

“I hated you too,” he groaned through your skin, “Or at least, that’s what I told myself so I wouldn’t get hurt.”

“Hurt? I would never hurt you,” Really, you praised yourself for still being able to form coherent sentences even after Choso kept fucking into you.

“I’m an escort, princess, I’m everybody’s and nobody’s at the same time,” he explained almost angrily, and his lips zealously sucked love bites to the sensitive flesh of your neck, “Even if you won’t hurt me, we’re bound to crash and burn at some point. This is why we’re not allowed to get attached to anyone,” his lips brushed over her collarbone, his canines dragging along to make red marks. “Why we’re not allowed to fall,” he squeezed her breast in the palm of his hand, twisting the peaked nipple until you whined, hips bucking deeper into his cock. “Why we’re not allowed to love.”

“I-I don’t understand.”

“I’ve always liked you,” he laughed through the pleasure, holding your hips down so he could drive his cock deeper into you. Yes, he was selfish, yes, he was frustrated – and his feelings burst through the way Choso powered into you. You fell limp in his arms and he easily caught you like he always did, his eyes blown wide as he stared right into your eyes, his dick still pummeling through your gummy walls.

Choso inhaled sharply when you clenched down on him, an elongated moan spilling past your lips. “I liked you the moment you moved in and you fell flat on your face before you could greet me.”

“Shut up, don’t remind me of that!” you raked your nails down his back hard enough to draw blood, and Choso concealed the pain with light chuckle, the pain only prompting him to absolutely use you. “You’re seriously bringing it up now when you’re – ah, fuck – b-buried in me?”

Choso tugged at one of your legs and wrapped it around his waist, the sudden change of angle had you pressing down deeper into him. It felt like you were sinking closer and closer to his cock, the tip of his dick kissing your cervix until you’re crying out in his arms, scratches evident on his back.

“For now,” he breathed out, “I want to at least be selfish enough to want you now, just for now if fate won’t still allow it.”

“W-we can try,” you said in your lust-filled gaze, lips crashing down messily to his while you bounced on him, your hips slamming down at the same to meet his thrusts. “It’s not going to be easy, but we can try, right?” You cupped his face, surprised with the sudden vulnerability from his hooded eyes, looking so innocent and beautiful as if he wasn’t painting your insides white.

“Okay,” he nodded, brows pinching together. And that was all the both of you needed before Choso sank his fangs down the column of your neck to hold on his low groans; your head thrown back as you both drown in the pleasure of being with one another.

In the blink of an eye, all tenderness is Choso’s touches replaced by the hunger in his eyes and the power of his lust-filled thrusts. You were a moaning mess by the time your hips sit flat on his pelvic bone and his balls brush on your ass from how deep he was hitting you, and you felt his teeth nibble at the side of your breasts again as he warned, “But for now, I’m not going to go easy on you – not when I’ve wanted you for so long and I’ve been so hard for you these all time.”

And you allowed him. Because nothing was ever easy with Choso, but for him, you’d try pushing through hell and back.

[slasherscream]

just a small blurb but i can’t stop thinking about -

                   BILLY LOOMIS FT. A HILARIOUS READER

they don’t know how to act! no brain to mouth filter whatsoever. it’s the wild, wild west whenever they decide to move their lips.

imagine that reader with mister. stick up his ass billy loomis. can you GET what i’m laying down here?? the age old riddle of unstoppable force meets immovable object. whomst will win?

you may you run within the same general circle as billy and stu but you aren’t close to them or anything. you’re just so funny that everyone loves having you around. you could sit at any table during lunch and be greeted with smiles and eye-rolls, everyone already trying to guess what you’ll come up with next. 

it’s easy to not get caught always watching you when almost everyone is doing the same thing. you draw the eyes of anyone who’s talked to you, even if just for a little while. your personality nothing short of infectious. 

it drives billy a little crazy, actually. how you tell a little joke and he wants to look up and see the way the punchline shaped your mouth. how he hears your laugh in a crowd and has to stop himself from trying to find you so he can watch you be so caught up in being happy- 

at one point he’d thought he wanted to kill you. he’d never focused on another person so much without wanting them dead, frankly. 

but when he and stu were picking their next victim he bit down on his tongue to stop himself from saying your name. if he said it he’d follow through on it just to prove a point. so he didn’t say your name, and he admitted to himself that maybe he liked you a little. maybe even more than liked you. 

he still can’t bring himself to do anything more than stand a little closer to you at a party, or catch your eye and not be the first one to look away. 

stu is no idiot though and he’s billy’s guardian angel of “bro you’re capable of human emotions”. it just takes one time of billy slipping up while you’re around. you make a dumb joke, not even one of your hilarious ones and billy scoffs quietly       but not the way he usually does when stu tells a joke that doesn’t land. it was soft and there was the hint of a smile as he turned away from watching you. a real smile, too.

now that stu is involved all bets are off. he loves to see bullshit play out!!! even more than that?? he wants to see his best friend HUMBLED by the human condition of pining and having to regularly interact with the Person You Are Pining For™. 

so he “casually” tells you he’s never seen billy really laugh ( a lie. he’s seen everything billy has to offer, for better or worse ).

now billy has the full force of your comedic talent focused on him at all times!! because that’s so sad!! not even his best friend has seen him laugh? the person who he spends every minute with?? this is an emergency!!!

( stu thinks it’s kind of cute how easily you believed him. he thinks it’s cuter that you’ve decided it’s your life’s mission just to make billy laugh. some days you look like you found a hundred dollars laying in the street just because you get a smile out of him. he’s been the only one caring for billy for so long it guts him to see someone else finally do the same thing. and lord knows billy doesn’t make it easy- )

everyone needs a laugh!!! you are the laugh doctor! please hold still for this exam billy you are obviously sick and in need of healing. 

suddenly billy has two shadows instead of one. one of his shadows follows him around like an overeager puppy ( and it’s overwhelming - after so long of watching you from afar - to suddenly have every ounce of your attention. it’s like walking through a blizzard for miles, never wanting anything more than to be back in your warm house. then you get there and open the door and you’re home but the warm air hits your face and it hurts. that’s what it’s like when you hang off his arm rambling like you wouldn’t want to be anywhere else but with him even on the most mundane days. ) and the other shadow is looking oddly smug recently. 

this all goes on for so long that you’re starting to get discouraged even as you also, incidentally, start bonding with him because of the sheer amount of time you spend following this man around for No Good Reason (according to him). 

the boiling point of it all? the anniversary of his mother leaving.

you know his mother is gone, of course. and you might even know the reason why (it’s a small town and people will always talk) but you didn’t know the date. you don’t have it etched into your memory the way it’s been burned into billy’s. 

stu has been walking on eggshells for weeks but you’ve ignored billy’s prickly mood, thinking he’s just getting into one of his funks.

in fact you doubled down on giving him attention. on teasing him. touching him. talking to him. staring at him. him. him. him. him. him - 

as if you don’t have anything better to do or anywhere else to be. 

the closer it gets to the day his mother up and left him without so much as a goodbye the more your constant presence starts to make him feel sick. you seem to be none the wiser as with each passing day the way his eyes settle on you gets more and more unhinged. 

( stu is nearby, painfully unable to help either one of you. a helpless onlooker that’s praying billy doesn’t go over the edge and kill you, or worse - push you away. )

and you’re doing it because you care so much it hurts but billy is insecure, at his very core, and he loves you and maybe he’s loved you for so long it’s pathetic. and some part of him can’t believe that you actually care about him. that this is anything more than a game to you when every little fucking thing you do means everything to him. 

it comes to a head when you invite yourself over the night of the anniversary. billy had seemed off the day before and you wanted to make sure he was okay or make him feel better if he wasn’t. 

( the funny thing about being so caught up in how you feel about someone is that it’s easy to miss the way they feel about you. because you love billy. you love him when he’s ranting about the complexities of the horror genre. you love him when he’s moody. you love him when he’s happy but thinks it’s not cool to show it. you love him when the sky is black as night or when it’s the brightest blue it can be. billy’s obsessed with the way you fill up a room just by being you but you can’t get over the way he invades every part of who you are. you can’t remember who you were before you first looked into those eyes of his, overflowing with intensity, and thought ‘ game on, tough guy ‘ )

he opens the door, already having half a mind to kill the person who has the nerve to bother him today of all fucking days - and there you are.

                                  and he snaps.

he snaps and he says every hurtful thing he can think of to say. because he wants to see how far you can take your stupid act. because he wants you to walk away so he can have a reason to kill you and get it over with. because he can’t love anyone again just so they can leave. 

when he runs out of words to say the rage subsides and he sees you. he sees you the way he’s never seen you before. on the verge of tears. and now he wonders if the one thing worse than you leaving him is you leaving him because he hurt you. 

but you push your way into his house, close the door and tell him that he’s a fucking asshole and that you’d beat the shit out of him if you didn’t love him so much. 

he finally laughs. it’s a shock to the system. it’s explosive and messy, the way billy is whenever he lets himself feel anything. you don’t have time to commit it to memory before it turns bitter and verges on hysterical. 

you’ll both always remember the way you rushed to wrap him into your arms and hold him close. the first moment when all the walls came crashing down. and even though you shouldn’t be, you were there waiting for him, ready to hold him together when he couldn’t do it for himself anymore. 

you talk all through the night and you don’t laugh but you smile at each other, and even though the smiles are a little sad they mean so much. maybe all this time you were hoping that if you could just make him happy enough then he’d always be yours in a way that no one else could ever have him. it was so fitting of him - with his contrary personality - to decide to share the ache inside of him instead. 

but you know this is so much more permanent and meaningful than his sweetest smile, or his brightest laugh. when he finally falls asleep in your arms, defenseless and vulnerable in so many ways, you feel like you could cry as the full weight of his trust sinks in. 

you can share happiness with anyone. but sadness?? the kind that’s seeped into every part of you? the kind that feels like a rot in your bones? that burns at the back of your throat? that’s special. 

and you do get to see him laugh the way you’ve always wanted to. 

you wake up late the next day and he’s, dare you say it, almost shy when he first looks up at you, already trying to move away from the warmth and comfort you’re so readily willing to give him. and it’s so endearing to see billy in the aftermath of all his anger. you did that for him - gave him a different kind of relief that no amount of blood shed could substitute. 

he tries to apologize, in his roundabout way, for either having human emotions in the first place or for burdening you with them. it’s hard to figure out since he’s so terrible at communication. 

you shut him up by kissing him and for once he doesn’t have anything to say. 

you kiss for a long time, the accumulation of months of wanting one another and ignoring it. and then you pull away to catch your breathe. as soon as you found it you tilt your forehead against his and look at him like he’s your whole world and it still makes him feel sick but now it’s in a good way. because now he can have you. 

he thinks you’re going to tell him you love him again and this time he’ll say it back because you need to know. need to know that you’re everything. that nothing matters but you. 

instead you say “it be like that sometimes” and the words hang in the air long enough that you start to regret them. until he starts to laugh. he wraps his arms around you and laughs so hard his shoulders shake. he presses his smile into your cheeks and says he can’t stand you. 

but it sounds so much like an i love you that you don’t even need to hear him say it. 

once he’s done laughing he says it anyway. 

[dastardlydandelion]

Max Mayfield and Tory Nichols in a horror film, what would be the plot/monster and would they survive?

this is it. this is the tumblr ask. the ask i've been waiting for my whole life. my time to shine, here we go!

filming begins under the cut:

tried and true creature feature, this is a werewolf movie. let's go with a werewolf between the van helsing (2004) and trick r treat (2007) variety. the beast once transformed is fucking huge, clearly both lupine and human, head almost entirely wolf, body primarily bipedal in shape, but robust, sinew shredding claws and big ass bone tearing teeth. also tails!! bc tails are cute!!! powers include monstrous strength, accelerated speed, healing factor. weaknesses silver and decapitation.

okay, so van helsing (2004) werewolves are mindless rage monsters and trick r treat (2007) werewolves are cognizant. for our max & tory creature feature, they're gonna of the in between variety. i chose a werewolf movie for these two specifically bc they both have their anger problems and the werewolf has long been a symbol of anger unleashed in the horror genre, even tho common gray wolves are just like. i mean, yk, animals, they hunt and howl and pee on trees and most of the time would rather avoid humans. but obvi horror genre werewolves are not common gray wolves, they need to be scary, and like, the remnants of traditional folklore influenced by rabies and discourse in the middle ages...wait, where was i going with this? anger, yes, max and tory both have anger problems and i think this works for what i'm gonna do with this theoretical movie.

who's the werewolf in town? terry fucking silver. bc terry is evil and dramatic and also, i think it's rly funny for a werewolf to have silver as a surname. he's fully cognizant in his transformation and he's purposefully biting kids and teenagers bc he wants more talented karate students. and like. yk, with the enhanced strength, speed, and regenerative recovery of lycanthropy, well. there u have it, more talented karate students.

do max and tory know each other, if so, how? okay, so in this 'verse tory is a lil older than max. that reflects their canon ages, i think. let's say max is 13 and tory is 16. billy has tory in some of his classes and he more or less makes a deal to spilt his allowance with her if she'll babysit max bc he's tired of neil riding his ass to babysit max. tory needs money so she's like, 'sure, why not.' max finds it rly stupid that she's 13 and neil thinks she needs a fucking babysitter but as far as babysitters go, tory is fun. she likes to show max what she's learning in cobra kai and they spar together a lot. max would actually like to join cobra kai but 1) neil would throw a fit on various fronts and 2) lucas is in miyagi-do. max knows there's some rly intense beef between cobra kai and miyagi-do. ofc tory's filled her in on the karate war, how could she not?

well one day tory takes max to the playground to watch a plane fly like she does with miggy in ck, and it's nighttime, ofc, and lo, the full moon is out. shining up in the sky. they hear a howl. they both look at each other. max is kinda curious but tory's like nah, nah, we gotta go. she grabs her, starts pulling her along. but the next howl is a lot closer and they can hear smth running and it just sounds fuckin big. they're running too now, legs pumping hard, but there's no escape once the beast is right behind them, hot, rancid breath blasting the backs of their necks and harvest gold eyes glowing in the dark.

max gets bitten first. tory tries to kick the big ass beast off of her and then it rounds and bites her too. the terror is real now. and then shockingly, as fast as it'd come, it leaves. neither girl has an explanation for wtaf just happened but tory takes max home. billy gripes at her for being out late but helps her patch up. when susan learns what happens she decides to take max to get rabies shots right away. loads her up in the car, runs her off to the emergency room-- but when the bandages come off, they are no wounds.

tory's bby bro tries to help patch her up too. but he's like 4 yrs old and his idea of "help" is sticking bandaids with cartoon characters up and down the wounds in haphazard fashion. tory plans to redo it all properly once she's put him to bed. sure enough after he's asleep, and she peels the bandaids off from every open mouthed pac-man to every green teenage mutant ninja turtle, the wounds are gone.

meanwhile there's missing ppl err day on the news. terry turns kids and teens but kills adults for the lulz.

tory and max know what happened to them was an event that tangibly, definitely happened but neither have any explanation for their wounds just disappearing. max, our resident horror fan, is the first to propose a real life werewolf as an explanation. she cites the missing ppl on the news. tory thinks she's tripping balls but reluctantly gives an inch when she acknowledges no, she can't think of any other explanation.

life goes on. max tells lucas what happened only she leaves out the part abt tory bc she's not gonna tell a miyagi-do student she's kickin it w the enemy. he doesn't rly believe her, like how she didn't rly believe him about the upside-down in their canon. he thinks the horror movies are rotting her brain.

tory almost tells her dojo but she gets distracted being pissed off by sam and that should be her priority, right? sensei kreese is always going on abt getting back at the enemy. she spends her shifts daydreaming abt revenge bc it's more comforting than worrying abt past due bills and her mother looking paler by the day.

full moon next month comes around. neither tory nor max are cognizant of or during their first respective transformations. max's first kill is neil. she's seven feet of fur and fury, tears his ribcage open with claws like daggers and sinks her teeth into his putrid, maggoty heart. susan isn't home. billy is, but he doesn't hear any of the fracas. he's unconscious on the living room floor, crisscrossing impressions of neil's belt buckle blaring red on his back.

tory's first kill is sam. sam larusso wants to think she's a bully?? fine, tory will show her a bully. she hops the miyagi-do fence after hours. she just wants a fight. just a fight, they always fight. but then she's sprouting fur and tory as tory gives way to smth else. she'd not aware of being a person when she doesn't have fur. not really, all she knows is rage and ravenousness and the morsel below her has bunny rabbit wide eyes.

neither of them remember what they did the next day. not vividly, anyway. it's there but it's cloudy and hard to discern, like a groggy fever dream more than a memory. but max burps up neil's wedding band and tory finds señor octopus (sam's stuffed animal) bloodied in her bed. it's apparent what happened. max accepts this more easily than tory bc 1) she always kind of suspected she'd turn, since she sincerely considered what attacked them was a werewolf and 2) max isn't terribly upset abt killing neil while tory is acutely horrified she killed sam.

max kinda had some smidgen of attachment to neil bc like, he's the only father figure in her life and here and there they've had their moments. but his abuse (psychological/physical toward billy, sexual/financial/psychological/emotional toward susan, psychological/emotional toward herself) outweighed any and all of those moments. she is genuinely concerned that she tore a human being to pieces and only vaguely remembers it but like, if she had to kill anyone, she figures neil was the best to kill. max is mostly concerned bc she can't kill neil a second time. she's worried the next time she turns it could be an innocent person, or one of her friends, or her mom, or billy.

tory is blindsided and scarcely able to comprehend the reality, holy shit, max was right, she's a fuckin werewolf. and she's sick to her stomach bc she hated sam but she never wanted to do anything like that. she didn't want to kill, she just wanted to break her face. scare her. rough her up. she didn't want to eat her. she just killed someone. she's a literal horror movie monster and she just killed sam. what's miguel going to think?

tory and max talk. they decide they need to find the werewolf who turned them. we get montages of them going over the news articles with a fine-toothed *ba dum tss* comb and searching areas where it seems like a werewolf would be. the woods. some caves. max all of a sudden has a freakishly tall man constantly hounding her to join cobra kai. neil's gone but she still hesitates bc of lucas being in miyagi-do. also he believes max now and with the proff, she's decided to let the rest of the party in as well. they also exist in this 'verse. she showed them the crime scene and the wedding band she burped up. billy isn't a roid rage racist in this 'verse bc that would be a giant buzzkill. he doesn't believe the werewolf shit either. he thinks max saw neil get attacked by some animal and that the carnage was so traumatizing for her, she subconsciously created a werewolf fantasy to cope.

tory meanwhile spirals downward. bc she passes sam's memorialized locker in the hall everyday. her memorial table in the other hall, full of sticky note condolences and mournful teddy bears, and a picture of sam right in the center always, always accusing her. miggy is heartbroken and distraught. hawk didn't care for sam but even he's freaked out by what happened, how the news said there were only torn up chunks and bones picked clean found in her bedroom. tory is terrified of herself. she's desperate to find whoever did this bc she wants to make them pay. if sensei silver has been asking her extra questions lately and presenting her performance to the class more than normal, she doesn't notice at all. aisha notices tory's fucked up but tory can't exactly tell aisha that she *ate* sam. aisha is also mourning, she and sam used to be bffs. so she doesn't say a word.

max has a theory that if u can learn to control ur anger, u can learn to control urself when u shift. she is, after all, v familiar with angry horror movie werewolves. and she's savvy enough to know it's smth she and tory have in common. neil is dead but that doesn't mean max isn't angry anymore. she's still angry at the damage already done and tbh also angry that there's some werewolf around turning ppl willy nilly bc she recognizes the danger in that and it wasn't smth she consented to. but controlling ur anger is an easier feat for max than tory insofar that max has a support system w her friends, and better relationships with the remainder of her fam. tory has two mentors actively, adamantly teaching her and her friends to be ruthless, view the world as ur enemy, use violence as ur go-to solution, and that mercy is weakness not to be tolerated.

when the next full moon rolls around, they decide to spend it together under the correct inference that they will transform. they think it's better to be together. they're hoping they'll be able to control each other, if not themselves. or that if they are both mindless rage monsters again, that rage will be turned on each other. this would be a better outcome operating on the presumption that one werewolf will be able to take what another can dish out, at the v least more so than a regular human being.

max is successfully able to maintain enough of her consciousness to control her actions once transformed. she feels aggressive and hungry, but not enraged and ravenous. she can keep it in check. tory, on the other hand, uh...tory can't do it. she throws her wolf head back in the most bloodcurdling howl ever and takes off like a bat outta hell. max goes loping after her. they can't speak like human speak in this form, but max tries to communicate with her. whimpers plaintively. tackles tory at one point, not out of anger but just tryna subdue her, licks at her ears and tries to get her to settle. tory bucks her off.

tory runs off again, max in pursuit. they wind up at the skate park where billy n robby are prolly up to some fuckery or another. i could easily see pre miyagi-do robby n billy getting up to all kinds of mischief. ooh, actually, they're prolly arguing abt that. now that robby's in miyagi-do he has another outlet for all his energy and he's getting the positive attention he craves so he's not participating in hooligan activity or shenanigans w billy anymore and billy is like. offended. except suddenly there's werewolves. fucking. snarling, gigantic, toothy, hairy ass werewolves.

let's say robby kicked miguel down two stories in this 'verse too and tory recognizes him in her werewolf form even if she isn't exactly cognizant of herself. she tears straight for him, jaws open. billy doesn't exactly *mean* to protect him but it's kinda an automatic reaction from putting himself in between whenever he thought neil was getting too aggressive w susan or max. and like, sure, robby's the better fighter (not that billy would ever acknowledge this) but it's not like he's gonna karate kick the motherfuckin werewolf anyway-- billy is bigger, he's bigger and it's instinct and the next thing he knows, he's in between robby and the thing w sharp teeth (tory).

and that's when max gets serious. she bowls tory over, away from billy before she can bite. they're rolling, tearing at each other with teeth and claws. lo and behold, terry silver is lurking in the background like the evil mastermind he is, just watching them shred each other and evaluating his experiment. it's a p close match and tory is the more aggressive of the two but she's also been going, going, going since she shifted and she's burning herself out. she's also fighting with the blind instinct of a threatened animal while max maintains more precision bc she has better control of herself. max also isn't wasting energy unnecessarily. max gets her jaws around tory's throat and tory just goes slack. but she can think and she doesn't want to hurt tory, so she opens her mouth and relaxes her maw, teeth grazing harmlessly thru tory's fur.

tory's being shown mercy. possibly for the first time. it's so unlike her conception of others' ruthlessness, so unlike the worldview that's been instilled into her that it startles her enough to crack thru to her cognizance. she does the wolfy deference thing where they tuck their tails and lick at the dominant pack member's muzzle. max responds in kind and lets tory up.

this is when they notice terry lurking (billy's already worked out the werewolf that came to his defense is max so he's just dumbfounded watching all this shit, and robby's not abt to leave someone who just saved his ass, so he's stuck unsuccessfully tryna pull billy away and inevitably watching too). terry calmly slinks over, sizing up his charges. he's pleased with the performance. but tory and max are anything but, another werewolf fight ensues.

so while they all get huge after transforming sheerly on the basis of being werewolves, i'm gonna guess the size is proportionate to their human forms. so tory is a little larger than max and terry significantly outsizes them both. terry is also the more experienced werewolf. it's two against one but it's not the curbstop it would be if this was some weaksauce werewolf, it's dramatic evil karate werewolf terry fuckin silver. terry's shredding tf outta these two. their healing factor can't keep up, he's dishing out faster than either of them can recover and tbh they were already winded from fighting each other first.

but it'd be a major buzzkill if our movie had a downer ending. and also, the power of determination and friendship and shit. terry's got his jaws around max's throat now. he's a millisecond away from tearing it open. tory's pinned under him but she thinks fast, frees a hind leg, and rips her claws down his soft underbelly as deep as she can and doesn't stop ripping, like pedal kicking almost for a human, but with her hind claws. his intestines shoot out like paper snakes from a gag candy can!! okay, well, maybe they don't shoot out w that much gusto, but still. the bowels are free, the bowels are hanging low and tory's tearing 'em tf up, fluids n fecal matter errywhere. on tory. i'm sorry tory. ur under him, that's just how gravity works.

terry dies. healing factor can't keep up with the damage done, it's too critical. but nobody knows it's terry until the dawn breaks and he reverts back to his human shape.

max is v much 'i told u so,' in billy's face. robby promises not to tell. he doesn't want to get mauled or killed or anything. tory's able to cope better with what she did to sam knowing that it won't happen again, that she won't hurt anyone else she doesn't want to be she can control herself now. tory believes in mercy now bc max spared her, she trashes kreese's philosophy and joins eagle fang when johnny and daniel join forces in this 'verse too. max also joins eagle fang, takes her place in the front row right between tory and lucas at her v first practice.

credits roll.

after the credits we see tory considering turning her mother in the hopes that having the healing factor would help her mom's condition improve.

is that a teaser for the sequel?

idfk.

[nitewrighter]

Do you think Hanzo ever tried to talk to Widow about her... Condition? And about Gerard? Does Widow ever talk to Hanzo about his 'I-killed-my-bro-and-can-never-forgive-myself' state of mind? Would love to see what you think about that

This turned into a fic-ish thing referring back to this ask

---

This mission was her last chance.

If Hanzo wasn’t going to be Talon’s key to acquiring the Shimada clan, then that loose end needed to be cut if they were going to move forward in their dealings.

And Talon sent her in here like an indifferent older sibling handing off a worn down toy rather than be the one to break it.

She convinces herself she’s still the assassin they made her to be (they designed her to do that.) She ignores the random high pitched ringing in her ears, her general lack of appetite somehow mutating into full-blown nausea,  the hesitation and shake to her muscles. Stupider. Clumsier. It takes seconds longer than it should to assemble her rifle. The infrasight on her visor helps her track him down, establish multiple vantage points. He’s just making his way through the underbrush, unawares he’s flying into her web like so many other victims. She could see the way he carries himself through her scope, sure-footed, practiced, a full-body-awareness she knows well, but coupled with a melancholy that seems to heave its weight onto every movement. She almost feels charitable fixing her sights on him. Don’t worry, Scion, it will be over before you even know what’s happened.

It should have been one shot. Was it her vision doubling? Was it the shake of her arms? Why did the gun feel so much heavier than normal? Did she have him in her crosshairs or did she just convince herself of that? It doesn’t matter. The wood on a tree trunk next to his head splinters with her shot and his head immediately jerks in her direction.

The mission just got a lot longer. A lot messier. He draws a bow off of his back and dodges into some bushes.

She would be fine with this. She would be patient, as she has been patient on so many missions before, but there is darkening at the periphery of her sight. She thinks of wood rotting in spring thaws. Stone cracking as water freezes and unfreezes in its fissures, but this is the mind blurring, more time passing than it should, and she tries to re-focus on the mission. An arrow whistles through the thick jungle air and she’s forced to grapple to a new perch. The muscle memory alone is enough to get her through it, but she’s unsure how much she can trust her automatic reactions. 

They hunt each other for hours. It’s more silent, more tedious than anyone would expect. To fire is to give away one’s position, so there’s long stretches of time (they are long stretches of time, aren’t they?) that are filled with only the desperate scanning of dark jungle shrubbery while trying to make one as small and unseen a target as possible. But then, all the problems that had brought her to this point start bubbling up again. Vision blurring, time stretching and contracting, her heart straining against everything Talon had done to it. Talon had been putting her in freezing cold suspended animation between missions to try and slow the effects of their own experiments on her, but here in the heat of the jungle, all those efforts seem to melt. She didn’t feel the cold, she always said, but she can feel herself coming apart here. There’s too much shake in the barrel. She keeps her focus on him throughout all of it. She’s on a well-camouflaged platform up in the trees when his arrow grazes her cheek and that flare of adrenaline throughout her whole system burns her out and her vision goes black.

She’s unsure how much time has passed. It had to be only a few minutes--seconds, even, where she’s scrambling out of the darkness, trying to claw her way back to consciousness.

The humidity of the jungle lingers like a fever sweat on her cold skin. She feels his callused knuckles on the inside of her cheek and something hard and sharp digging into her left molar pulling her back into consciousness. She grunts a little as she feels something come loose from her tooth and the hands still, only momentarily, before quickly withdrawing from her mouth. Her eyes blearily open long enough to see his moonlit silhouette examining the cyanide capsule Talon stored in her tooth. His mouth is tight and tugged down at the corners as he examines the option he has just taken from her. He looks so tired. She wonders briefly if he’ll just pop it into his mouth right there. His nostrils flare with a resigned exhale as he flicks the cyanide capsule off into the darkness of the jungle’s shrubbery.

“It’s not that easy,” he says quietly before darkness sweeps over her again.

---

She wakes up under bright fluorescents and a soft whirring fan. There’s an industrial air conditioner humming somewhere, but the building must have poor circulation because the fan is only pushing the stuffy air of the room back down on her. She tongues the gap in her molar, and then realizes her head feels lighter. Her hair is down and spilling out over the sides of her little clinic cot. Her visor--her hand clumsily pulls up to feel for her visor. No--no gun--the rifle is gone. Something itches on her skin. She glances down to see a tacky Numbani Heritage Museum tee shirt hastily yanked over her jumpsuit. Her eyes flick up to the only other human figure in the room. He’s clearly feverishly scrubbed off the mud of the jungle in the bathroom, but the scent of sweat and blood and rotting earth still sticks to him.

“What...?” she starts woozily.

“You’re in a clinic in Nonthaburi,” he says, pushing up from his chair, “They managed to provide enough biotics to stop your organs from shutting down, I grabbed what extras I could, but I would say we have 15 more minutes until law enforcement comes here.”

“What are you doing?” she asks.

“I don’t know yet,” he says, looking out the window. 

“...you took my capsule,” her voice drops to a hiss.

“We both still have things we need to answer for,” he says. He opens the window, “You’re in no condition to fight. Our only option is to keep moving.”

“Talon will come for me,” she says, her eyes narrowing.

“Then by all means,” he says, nimbly slipping out the window.

She pushes off the cot and stumbles as her boots hit the floor. Stupid, sluggish, weak. She’s the opposite of everything she should be right now. She can’t go back while he’s still alive. She sways and it takes an embarrassing amount of focus just to stay upright. She stumbles toward the window. A hand extends to her through the window frame and her face twists up in disgust. He’s waiting for her, out on the fire escape.

“I don’t need your help,” she says, swatting the hand aside. The hand withdraws back out and she braces her own hands on the window frame.

She falls. Her shoulder flares with pain and the fire escape rattles beneath her, enough to wake the whole town. She glances up and there’s his hand again. A snarl falls out of her as she grips it. She wants it to hurt, but he doesn’t react at the tightness of her grip.

“I am going to kill you,” she says as he hauls her up into a fireman carry and descends the fire escape. He doesn’t respond to that.

---

“I am going to kill you!” she has to raise her voice over the buzzing motor of the hovercycle he hot-wired.

He doesn’t respond to that. Apparently focusing on quickly weaving through traffic.

----

“I’m going to kill you,” she says as they both deftly pick the security tags off of new clothes in a store with Lúcio’s latest album blasting over the speakers. Lights bloom in the corners of her vision. It’s been 4 days. He’s stolen her another batch of biotics to keep her going.

“Mm-hm,” he says before pulling a two pairs of pants off the rack, “Black or gray?”

“...Black,” she says.

----

“I am---urgh-- going to kill you,” she says mid-gag as he holds her hair while she grips the toilet seat before she throws up again. It’s been 6 days. The bile feels hot in her throat. She can’t remember the last time something felt warm inside her. 

“Just breathe,” his voice is gentle.

“You’re deluding yourself doing this,” fury is leaking into her voice, maybe the bile is thawing it out from all the mood-suppressors Talon put her on, “You should have killed me. There’s nothing to save. You’re a killer and I’m a killer and that’s the only way this--” The next stream of vomit cuts off her words.

“I know,” he says, keeping a steady hand on her back as it convulses with her gags.

---

“I’m g-going to k-kill you,” her teeth are chattering as he pulls his jacket around her. She’s lost track of how many days its been. There are no cryo-sleeps to keep her mind sharp. Everything’s bleeding into everything else.

“This isn’t working,” he says, “You need a doctor who can figure out what’s going wrong.”

“Just s-s-steal me more biotics!” she snaps. His jacket stinks of him. She pulls it tight until her knuckles whiten.

“...so you can kill me?” he arches an eyebrow.

They stare at each other for a beat.

“Yes,” she says stiffly.

“We need help,” he moves to put a hand on her shoulder but she flinches back and lightheadedness bubbles up from the base of her skull with the suddenness of her own movement. She shrinks into his jacket and his hand is still extended toward her. “Please.”

“Why are you doing this?” 

“I do what I must.”

“T-that’s not an answer.”

“I’ve killed every assassin that’s come for me,” his voice lowers slightly, “I... cannot remember the last time I did something that felt like a choice and not a reflex. But this is a choice.”

“...the first assassin you choose to spare, and it’s the h-hardest assassin to keep alive,” her eyebrow arches with amusement even as shudders wrack her body, “You have shit luck.”

“...I really do,” he agrees, “You have a choice here, too,” he keeps that hand extended toward her but hesitates, knowing she might flinch back again. 

She looks down at his hand.

----

“I’m going to kill you,” her voice is quiet from the watchpoint infirmary bed. He glances up at her, half-obscured by the multiple IV’s leading into her arm. He’s been missing half the day, his presence only confirmed by the sounds of arguments outside the little infirmary room. He’s scrubbed the stink off of himself and wearing their odd gray and orange training clothes

“Mm,” he grunts in mild acknowledgment while frowning over the tablet one of them gave him.

“I am,” she says, turning over in the infirmary bed at him, “Talon had to have put a failsafe in. Something that’s going to make me scorch the earth before they lose me.”

“They’ve already lost you,” he says.

“You brought me to the place where I can do the most damage,” she says, turning on her back and looking up at the ceiling, “Talon had to have planned this.”

“I’m sure they meticulously planned your violently vomiting all over a Bangkok train station platform,” he replies. There’s a new exhaustion on him, his body accepting the apparent safety of his environment, but his mind pushed to its brink just by being here, “And they were definitely counting on me being a warm and charitable soul.”

A chuckle falls out of her at the idea, but it melts away as quick as the fog of breath on glass. “I’m not...meant to...have...” she doesn’t know how to finish the sentence but exhaustion is creeping back over her. Her eyelids feel heavy. She feels his callused thumb gently tuck her hair back from her temple.

“I don’t think I am, either,” he says quietly, retaking his seat.

“Two broken weapons....” her voice is fading.

“Just rest,” he says but sleep snuffs out his voice as she curls up in the infirmary bed.

[theartofbeinganeldar]

The Art of Being an Eldar: Legolas x Reader Chapter 4

Summary: After discovering that you were stuck in the fantasy world you had no recollection of, your memory was jogged after weeks of depression: this land was Middle-Earth. A council of wizards and Elves was summoned, and Thranduil expressed his wishes of wanting you gone. Elrond agreed to take you in and Gandalf was excited to share in his adventures with someone who knew nothing of the world, quite like a Hobbit, but you wanted to stay in Mirkwood, with Legolas and Tauriel, of which you'd made friends with. Legolas leaves in three days to locate the orcs who enroach upon Mirkwood's northern flank, and the council sees this as a chance for you to prove your worth. If you fail, you are to leave Mirkwood...

Chapter No.: Chapter 4

Key: [Y/N]=Your Name [F/N]= Friend's Name [B/N]= Bro's Name [S/N]= Sis's Name [M/N]= Mom's Name [e/c]= eye color [h/c]= hair color [s/c]= skin color

Notes: I want to thank all my readers for their feedback, likes, and reblogs! I'm only on Chapter 4 and all of you combined have made me feel really good about my writing. I've gotta admit, I was a little scared of going through with this multi-chapter fic at first, because while a few people really liked and enjoyed my stories on DeviantArt, they never got the reception The Art of Being an Eldar has. I just thought my writing sucked for the most part. Thank you all so much!

Warnings: Fluff, angst, graphic depictions of gore and violence (Cuz of orc battles y'know?), more angst, slow burn, some light depression in the first few chapters, some amnesia about Middle-Earth because the Valar say you're not supposed to have foresight, hard-core language, feels, lots and lots of feels, mentions of NSFW content, maybe some eventual NSFW content, LGTBQ+ characters, Thranduil being a jackass at first because he's fabulous, Legolas being a hot edgy prince that nobody can handle, Kili being an innocent bean, Hobbits being smol innocent beans, except for Bilbo 'cause he's been through some tough shit, Bard being dad of the year, Thorin being one dumbass boi, The fucking Silmarillion, awesome dragons, awesome Nazgul, awesome scenery, awesome stuff in general, Elrond isn't listened to by anybody, confused Aragorn is confused,  Denethor's a bitch as always, brace yourself for creepy as fuck Cream of Wormtongue Grima Wormtongue, Boromir lives, Gandalf. (yes these are all legit warnings don't judge me.)

Pairings/Ships: Legolas x Reader, Legolas x you, Aragorn x Arwen, Faramir x Eowyn, Thranduil x Elvenqueen, Galadriel x Celery Celeborn, Boromir x OC, Thorin x OC, Fili x OC, etc. general LoTR standard shippings plus some of my own cuz I can't stand my boys being lonely

Word Count: I try to keep my chapters short, under 2000 words. Rating: Teen (14+) for now

"You what?"

Apparently Leggy didn't comprehend the concept of being accompanied by a suddenly Elvish human from another dimension.

With a sigh and a roll of your eyes, you repeated, "I said, I'm coming with you when you leave for your orc-hunting mission."

Legolas narrowed his eyes. "And who gave you permission to do this?"

"The council, that's who. So suck it up buttercup, I'm coming with your sorry ass."

Legolas rolled his eyes. "Very well. Tell me, aside from randomly swinging a sword, do you know anything about weaponry?"

You raised an eyebrow. Shit, you'd have to fight? "No, but I can say a mouthful of greetings in Elvish."

Legolas raised an eyebrow. "Nin ista, Sairen, but words are not mightier than fighting skill in battle."

You scoffed. "I can think of a pretty famous phrase from my world that totally contradicts that..."

Legolas shook his head as he sauntered past you, down the stairs of the bridge you'd found him on. The sounds of his bows and knife sheaths clanking together as he walked relaxed you. "Of course you do, mellon." He paused to look at you. "Are you not coming? We leave in three days. If you are intent on coming with me, surely you cannot believe I will let you go without even so much as learning the proper way to stab an opponent?"

You made a face, but followed him anyway. "I know how to stab."

"How, then?" He gestured to you pointedly and crossed his arms.

"Um..." You mimed the gesture you'd probably use while stabbing an orc in the guts. "Like... This? With a twist?"

"That may work if your enemy has the weak skin and flesh of a human, or even on an Elf," He pointed out, "But we are fighting orcs, Sairen. Their hide is as thick as that of a boar, and their flesh is equally so." With a flourish, he flipped out one of his long knives. He paused in handing it to you. "I am not letting you keep this, mellon. My mother gave them to me."

You froze in reaching for the weapon. "You have a mother?"

Legolas chuckled at your wide-eyed expression. "You thought I did not?"

You stiffened before hurriedly turning away. "No! Of course not! Why would you think that?!"

Legolas laughed as he followed you. "Well, I do have one. She has been away on the other end of the palace-city. I should introduce you to her."

"Is she as fabulous as your dad?" You ran the tip of your index finger along your eyebrows. "And maybe even with the same super dark eyebrows?"

Legolas smiled. "No, no. She is perfectly beautiful."

"So you're saying your dad's not?"

"What?"

"Nothing." You waved a hand. "Where's the training grounds again?"

Legolas grinned evilly. "Well, your training begins now, Sairen. See if you can actually get to said training grounds without killing yourself on that blade."

Your jaw fell. "Are you fucking kidding me?! That's child's play! Don't you think I already know how to not do that?!"

"That is a double negative sentence, but no, I do not believe you already know this skill." Blue-Eyes shot you another grin. "Besides, we are not taking the average path to the training grounds. They are outside of the palace, after all. We will go out and around, on the hardest path imaginable. For a human, they would be entirely impassable."

You stared up at him dumbly. "Uh... Do... Do you even realize I spent the last nineteen years of my life around people with the mindset of shit water I might die because I'm a-- I was a-- human? Also, I was never agile. I won't be able to make it over a log, if it's big enough."

Blue-Eyes gave you a disapproving look. "Do the humans of your world never traverse nature?"

You pretended to think about that

"Hm... Let me see... Uhm... Yeah, nope, pretty much never, unless you're one of those super outdoorsey kinds of people, and the true ones of those are rare. For instance, most usually wear really tight clothes and walk through parks with stone paths and everything primped to perfect condition so that nobody even gets grazed by a dandelion, and everything's sprayed to keep the bugs away and animals are limited to squirrels and bunnies, then they wanna act like they just walked the fuckin' Sahara Desert without water. Real outdoor people are rare. Steve Irwin? Real. Bear Grylls? Real. Josh Gates? Real. Hell, when I was a very tiny little girl I used to watch a kid's show with two brothers who pretty much lived in the jungle. But out of everybody, those are the ones I can think of right off the top of my head. Them, and the few tribal races still out there."

Blue-Eyes made a surprised face. "Well... I am glad you got a chance to experience what real life is like."

"Thank you, Blue-Eyes." You'd reached the front gates of the palace, which were opened by a couple of those ninja Elf guys. You and Legolas walked on through, and into the forest, with its pink and amber leaves, down here, nullified into black and gray, piling up in the muck of the forest floor.

You'd been surprised when you'd seen this part of Mirkwood. Apparently, only the northern half was unaffected, but the rest of the once-spectacular Greenwood the Great was now victim to a strange plague, orc attacks from the north, and giant spider infestations from the south, from an ancient ruin called Dol Goldur. Animals no longer lived here, the rivers had mostly gone thick with filth, and the trees rotted and groaned in agony. The forest would confuse you, threaten to swallow you up and make you lose your way...

If you weren't an Elf.

Luckily for you and ol' Leggy, the two of you were Elves, and he had been raised here. If you stuck close to him, you'd be fine, even if the forest did manage to confuse you. He could hardly remember a time when the slow-acting plague hadn't been part of some region of the forest, and Tauriel had told you that he was 2, 371 years old. That was a long time for a forest to be sick.

"What even caused Mirkwood to get sick? Do you even know?"

"It is a nameless malice," Blue-Eyes replied, stopping all show-offy on a thick, low-hanging bough that precariously hung over a small gorge. "The darkness stems from Dol Goldur. Now, there are rumors; rumors of a necromancer, who resides in the ruins of that ancient fort."

"Necromancer?" That hardly sounded good. In anything where it was used, necromancer usually meant one who raises dead. "That doesn't sound good. Have you investigated it?"

"Of course not," Blue-Eyes gave you an odd look, like you'd just suggested he drink out of the toilet or something. You struggled to get up the side of a log he'd just casually hopped onto. "Why should we? They are merely rumors, and the forest has been sick for a long, long while. Still... This darkness unsettles me, as it does to all Sindar whom reside here."

"Dude, then maybe you should check the fuckin ruins," You mumbled, but he ignored you and continued hopping around from flowertop to flowertop. You just trampled noisily and clumsily along behind him. "Don't you guys like, live for light? So shouldn't you see if the ruins really do have a necromancer now? Especially since this dark ooze comes from it?"

Blue-Eyes shook his head. "King Thranduil does not wish for time to be wasted on rumors when we have other matters to deal with."

"Oh, so you mean he's too busy having everybody vote on which crown of berries goes best with his eyebrows."

"What?"

"Nothing. You Elves are just stupid."

Legolas grinned. "Well, humans are equally intellectually challenged."

You paused in chasing after him, stunned. He turned to face you when he didn’t hear you following. "Did you seriously just do that?"

"Do what?"

"You literally just used big words to sound smart." You laughed theatrically. "Oh! Pardon me, fine companion, I meant to implicate that you utilize gargantuan idioms to fabricate intelligence."

He smiled slightly as you finally made it up beside him. "I suppose you are not so daft," He relented teasingly, "Otherwise you would not even have those words in your vocabulary."

You made a face and rolled your eyes. "Whatever, blondie."

The training grounds were closer than you remembered, even taking the roundabout route. Along the way, though, you'd fallen into a bog, got your face scratched up by evil tree branches, and tumbled head-over-heels down a steep ravine, getting battered and bruised all over your body.

Apparently Middle-Earth-- Mirkwood specifically-- was prone to give previously non-Elvish members of other worlds injuries.

You made quite a show; barreling through a thorn bush and landing flat on your face right on the edge of the training grounds. You heard all the Elves turn their weapons on you, in case you were an orc, but then they seen your sorry ass, and Leggy casually coming down the steep ridge as if it was just a flight of stairs.

"Mae govannen," Said Legolas cheerfully to the Elves. Casually, he picked up his knife, which you'd thrown away from you halfway down so you didn't impale yourself at any point during the fall. Still, it'd skittered down alongside you. "Sairen, it seems you've failed this test."

"I dropped it on the goddamn border..."

"Nevertheless," Blue-Eyes ignored your response. "We are here now, and forfeiting other forms of training for the sake of redoing one failed task is pointless. You will learn as much as you can here, until I say we stop."

You finally moved, trying to at least sit up on your elbows. "It's only noon. We've got till nightfall, yeah? I can do that. No problem."

Legolas grinned down at you. "Mellon, you are of the Eldar now. You are stronger than before and do not need sleep unless you wish to dream."

"I don't what?!"

"Elves do not sleep unless we have been injured and need to heal," He replied, and grabbed you by the underarms to help you up. "We are stronger and more resilient than the race of Men. You are no longer imprisoned by the necessities of the human body."

Instant headrush slammed into you. "Apparently not all human body shit..."

He raised an eyebrow. "What do you speak of?"

"Headrush, dammit."

"Oh," He grew amused. "Do you mean the Blackness? Unfortunately, that befalls us all."

You glared daggers at him.

Another Elf approached, with a slender face and long brown hair. "My lord, most of the training grounds are taken up. You may yet have mine, if you wish so."

Legolas smiled. "Ah, my thanks. [Y/N], this is one of the Elves that accompanied Lord Elrond here, Lindir."

You extended your hand. "Nice to meet you."

Both Blue-Eyes and Lindir looked at your hand in confusion. Lindir, with a glance to Legolas, slowly tried to hand you his bow. With a roll of your eyes and a shake of your head, you realized they didn't even understand what a handshake was. "No no no, sorry; that's called a handshake. It's what two people do when they meet each other where I come from. I didn't mean to confuse you. SO." You bowed in the Elvish way. "Mae govannen, Lindir of House Elrond."

Lindir and Blue-Eyes smiled. Lindir returned your bow. "Mae govannen, [Y/N] of House Thranduil."

"Lindir will be accompanying us to trace the orcs, and Erestor of Rivendell," Said Legolas, "As will another of our own house, Elros; I believe you have met him already. He was the Elf who lead you to the councilroom. From Lothlorien is a friend of mine, Haldir, and of course, with the other Elven Lords aiding us, Mithrandir feels he should send his own aid as well..."

Lindir's eyes widened. "Do not tell me..."

Blue-Eyes nodded seriously. "He is sending Naughrim to accompany us."

"Naughrim?" You asked. Of all names, that didn't sound familiar. "Who's that? Somebody not well-liked among Elves?"

Blue-Eyes fought a smile. Lindir answered you. "Mellon, Naughrim is our tongue for dwarves."

Your mouth formed an 'o' in recognition. "Ohhhh, now I get it. Elves and dwarves hate each other for no explainable reason. Got it. Who's he sending?"

Blue-Eyes shook his head in exasperation. "They are all of Erebor. Balin and Dwalin, two are named, and of the other, he is the most insufferable of dwarves; Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, King Under the Mountain. Mithrandir believes that this will be a good experience for him as it is for us, but he refuses to come himself. He's all but forcing the situation."

You looked from Blue-Eyes to Lindir and back. "How can he force you? Dwarves and Elves are both stubborn beyond all reason, and none of you seem to take him seriously."

Legolas shook his head and pursed his lips. "Unfortunately, Dwalin is as good a tracker as any, and Ada  is not permitting many of the Sindar on this journey for the reason that we are merely meant to find where the yrch dwell, and go no further. We will need all the aide we can find, even if it is in the form of unwilling dwarves. As for them, he has promised treasure, the details of which I know not; I can only hope it is not any of ours he has promised them." He smiled at you. "Shall we?"

Before you could follow, he walked off; you glanced to Lindir questioningly. "...Ada? Who's that?"

Lindir smiled softly. "It means father. He is referring to King Thranduil."

"Oh. Now I feel stupid."

"Do not, mellon, for the language of the Elves is not easily learned unless you were born speaking the tongue."

With a roll of your shoulders, which ached, you followed Leggy.

***

"Ow, goddamn it, and goddamn you, you stupidly perfect Elf."

At the end of the day, you'd been cut, pricked, whipped by a bowstring, nicked, dinged, and all kinds of other small injuries that added up to one big mess of drying blood and bruises.

Blue-Eyes had had you train deep into the night, until the silvery waning moon had all but left the star-filled sky. Now, as the sunrise approached, you both sat on two convenient boulders, and he bandaged your bloodied hands. In the eerie half-dawn light, he looked ethereal, and his pale hands and silver tunic sleeves compared to your now dark-with-blood-and-mud-and-bruises hands and black sleeves was a huge contrast. Your hands shook slightly, aching and stinging and pained on various sorts of levels, while his were perfectly steady as he wrapped them in soft green leaves.

"Stop shaking, mellon," Legolas told you gently.

"What was that?" Your head snapped up. "Are you feeling sorry for me? Don't feel sorry for me! This is nothing! I've been shot in the calf by an orcish arr--OW!"

The leaves had drawn too tight and released some kind of juice that stung like hell. His hands hovered over yours. "My apologies, but it draws out the infection."

"What infection?!"

"You are not yet used to your Elven body yet," Blue-Eyes replied, looking into your eyes. "Since you are the equivalent of a newborn, I would say you are very susceptible to infections, sickness, and injuries."

You looked off dramatically into the distance. "That explains why I can't stop fucking getting hurt..."

"That it does," He smiled at you, and something pulsed in your chest. Da fuck... You fought a flush. He stood, then held out his hand to you. "Shall we return to the palace? You may rest until sunhigh, and then we will continue your training." You took his hand, and he helped you up; you stumbled into his chest, and backed up quickly. He took no notice, but patted your shoulder before going to retrieve his bow and quiver. "You did well today, Sairen, even if you frightened off half of the other Sindar and Silvan training here."

You made a face. "Pfft. They just can't handle my awesomeness."

"If you say so, mellon," He said, and started to take the easy way back, to your relief. You followed closely behind him.

You looked up at the stars as you walked in silence for awhile, until finally, you broke it. Of course, you broke anything, really... "Where I come from, they say there's a star for every soul that's passed away."

Legolas glanced to you, then followed your gaze wistfully. "That is something our two worlds have in common."

"Scientifically," You added, "They're spheres of hot air and gaseous materials wound up tight by gravity that glow and put off heat, but the idea always felt nice to me... But where I come from... You also can't see the stars."

Blue-Eyes halted in his tracks as if you'd just said someone murdered his mother. "I... What? You can't see the stars?!" He actually looked genuinely horrified by that idea.

You shook your head. "No. Humans... They've polluted the atmosphere too much. Filled it with trash, and man-made lights and even remnants of smoke... You can't see them."

He watched you even as you watched the stars. "I've never seen them like this... They're beautiful." You could see bands of galaxies and clouds of distant nebulae, and the small silver fires glittered in the billions, even as the pink-orange glow of the beginning of dawn was starting to show in the east. You were in awe.

You jumped when Legolas took your hand. "What?"

He smiled at you. "Come with me. I will show you one of the best stargazing places in all of Mirkwood."

"Thranduil's pavilion?"

"Better."

"Whoa. Dude, count me in."

He lead you off of the trail, deep into the woods, through the easiest ways that probably were a pain for him, but he did it anyway. Finally, you stopped at the base of a massive tree, stretching so far up you couldn't see its top. Its trunk was pockmarked with holes and vines, and after slinging his bow onto his back, he threw you a smile over his smile. "Come, Sairen."

You couldn't help but smile back. You climbed, quickly, all the way up, past the canopy, into the uppermost branches of the tree, where the copper-gold leaves thinned out to allow for one thick branch to get a view of the night sky. The branch was thick enough across to allow for two or three people to sit side-by-side against the trunk, and Blue-Eyes sat quickly as he helped you up.

Here, no branches obscured any part of your field of view. You got a perfect view of the sunrise, and the starry sky. "Holy shit..."

You felt him put an arm around you, and you stiffened, just before he breathed in your ear, "I will not let you fall from this tree, Sairen. You've only just arrived in this world, and should another portal be below that is activated by a beautiful sunrise, I am loathe to let you go, for there is so much I want to show you..." The sun burst over the distant mountains beyond Erebor, sending fiery orange and red across the sky. "Such as this. Your world does not sound as if it could have any sunrise as wonderful as this one."

A warm feeling blossomed in your chest as you watched the sunrise, jaw slack. "No... Not like this."

Legolas smiled, and finally turned his focus to it himself. Your eyes slowly dragged off of the beautiful scenery to look at the Elf beside you, and the warm feeling worsened; your heart started fluttering. Eldar only fall in love once... Galadriel had warned you.

...Shit.

A blush crawled up your face, and you tried your hardest to focus on the sky rather than the Elvish princeling pressed close against your side.

***

"Mae govannen, [Y/N] of the Woodland Realm," Greeted Lindir kindly as you approached the group of Elves gathering in front of the front gates.

"Mae govannen, Lindir of Rivendell," You replied with a smile. The Elvish greetings rolled off your tongue easily now. After the sunrise you and Blue-Eyes had watched together, you'd spent the last two days training at obscene hours and resting. Now, finally, the group of Elves leaving to track the orcs were gathering-- there were only about fifty in total, of which there were those wearing Woodland garments, the red-and-gold of Lothlorien, and the greens, purples, and browns of Rivendell. Apparently Galadriel, Celeborn, and Elrond didn't agree with Thranduil sending what would've only been a dozen to track some very dangerous orcs.

You heard several of them muttering to each other about Naughrim, something all of them had in common.

You swung your light traveling pack off of your shoulders and by your feet, scanning the crowd for a certain platinum-blonde head-- unfortunately, most of the Elves from Lothlorien had blonde hair. You looked at Lindir. "Where's Legolas?"

Lindir glanced around. "He is on his way, I am sure. After all, it is he and Haldir whom are leading this journey."

You nodded. "I've never packed for something like this before... I hope I didn't pack anything weird or forget something."

Lindir looked confused, then recognition flashed across his face. "Oh. Forgive me, I had forgotten you do not have this experience. Tell me, what did you pack?"

You shifted your weight nervously, and lowered your voice. "Uhh... Two extra pairs of clothes in case these get ruined, some extra food, even though I've noticed I don't have to eat as much as before, and some water. Then there's these," You gestured to your back, where a quiver and longbow hung from your back. You felt its weight all too strongly, and that of the sword on your hip and the knives on your thighs. "And some of those special leaves that're used for bandages."

Lindir smiled and placed a hand on your shoulder. "Mellon, you have packed what we all have, and lightly, as well."

You smiled. "Thanks. Just consider yourself lucky that I don't know how to read Elvish, or I would've packed a book or two to keep me company."

Lindir chuckled and stepped back. "Well, for now, I am glad of it. On this journey you will learn much, hopefully, and by the time we return, you may be able to speak more of Elvish. It is harder to learn to read it, I have heard, much harder."

You ran a finger over your chin in thought. "I wonder if Thranduil would let me go to Dale or Laketown to get some books in English..."

"Forgive me," Lindir looked confused. "I do not know what that is."

You realized what you'd said a second too late. "Oh! Sorry. Where I come from, Common is just referred to as English."

"Oh, I see now. I am sure he would, and if he does not yet, then perhaps one of the Woodland Elves could bring some back for you. What of Legolas? Are you not friends?"

You blushed. "Yeah, I hope so. I've never been very good at making friends, though. Nobody's ever really liked me." You realized Lindir was staring at you with an absolutely terrified expression. Your own eyes widened in alarm, and you frantically patted your face. "What?! Is there something on my face?!"

Lindir shook his head. "I-I am not sure. Your skin has suddenly gone red, as if burned. Are you ill?"

"Uhhh..."

You were spared the embarrassment of explaining blushing by all the Elves gathered suddenly gasping and bowing in the direction of the stairs. Lindir saw the cause before you did, and his jaw fell. "By all the Valar..." He bowed deeply, and you followed his motion, but not before catching a glimpse of who it was. Thranduil, of course, and Legolas, following a she-Elf in a tunic that looked as if it were made of starlight itself, with flowing white hair and alabaster skin.

"Ui!" Shouted Thranduil irritably. "Ni telima lume, autauva!"

You leaned closer to Lindir. "What did he say?"

"He is forbidding her to join us," He answered quickly.

The she-Elf whipped around, generating a power almost as strong as Galadriel's. Legolas stepped forward. "Amal... Mecin."

She shook her head. "Yon, venno, nin carindo ier nin indo. Alye uva pusta ni."

"What did she say about pasta?" You whispered.

"Sh!" Lindir said quickly.

The woman looked at Thranduil and Legolas lovingly, before approaching Thranduil and placing both hands on his face. Thranduil closed his eyes in regret, and the woman kissed him; you looked away, embarrassed. That was the Elvenqueen.

That was Legolas's mother.

"Melinyel, Thranduil, alye ista si."

Thranduil sighed. "Melinyel, mela... Mecin ea girthonwed."

With that, Legolas reluctantly took his mother's hand and lead her down the stairs. They disappeared in the crowd, until you heard the Elvenqueen's voice. "Rise, all of you." Unsure, the Elves rose one-by-one. "Which of you hail from far places, whom rescued my son Legolas Greenleaf from the fate of an early death?"

The Eldar glanced to one another, realized it wasn't their neighbor, and slowly, like somebody who'd gotten called out in class, you were being stared at, and a path was made between you and her majesty, while Legolas stood beside her.

You swallowed hard, suddenly terrified. Lindir patted your shoulder. "You have been summoned, mellon. Go, I will make sure your pack does not get swapped with someone else's."

You tried to look and walk confidently, but you were terrified. She was beautiful and indimidating, and you had to admit, you were definitely intimidated. When you reached her, you bowed as deeply and respectfully as you could, a fist over your heart. "Elen sila lumenn omentielvo, your majesty." You didn't know what else to say. What you'd said to Galadriel and Celeborn was the most respectful thing you knew in Elvish, and you'd never been in the presence of royalty.

"You come from another world," She looked down at you indifferently, and you suddenly felt very small and very weak with everybody's eyes on you. This was nothing like Thranduil's fabulously indifferent look. "Yet still, you saved my son's life. After, you make the presumption that you can live and walk among us as one of us, freely, unburdened, merely because you came here by happenstance and you were allowed the reward of living. Do you feel as if this is the correct course of action for you to take?"

You glanced to Legolas, absolutely horrified. "Y-your majesty..." Your hot-headed tongue, a lot more toned down, popped into existence. "I saved your son's life because he didn't deserve to die. I was given the freedom to live, and to repay that, I mean to make the most of my time here by helping in whatever ways that I can. King Thranduil has given me the chance to prove myself worthy of living here by allowing me to join in hunting for the orcs. If I fail, I will leave Mirkwood, and go with Lord Elrond to Rivendell."

Legolas's eyes widened a fraction of an inch, before going back to their normal selves; he looked to you with almost a sadness, but you couldn't figure out why. Elvenqueen smiled, as if proud. "Then you are not what the rumours of your world have made you out to be. You are humble and grateful, qualities I did not expect from one of this Earth. You possess a unique personality, [Y/N]. Tell me, who are your parents, so that I may refer to you properly?"

"I have no father," You said quickly, relieved that she was just trying to scare you. "None I care to speak about. But I do have a mother, who I love very much. Her name is [M/N]."

Elvenqueen smiled. "Very well, [Y/N], child of [M/N]. Here, we, all of us, have a secondary name, such as my son; Legolas Greenleaf. During this journey, you may earn your own."

You smiled back, relieved beyond relief that she'd decided not to kick your ass for existing. "My thanks, your majesty."

She sailed away regally, and Legolas shot you a glare. "Why did you not tell me you would be leaving us?" He demanded.

You balked. "I-I said if I failed..."

"And you are most likely to do so," He snapped, sending your heart and soul plummeting to roughly the center of Middle-Earth. Without another word, he followed his mother.

"Mellon?" Said Lindir from behind. You turned around; He held his bag and yours, which you gratefully took from him.

"Thanks," You said, but your eyes followed Legolas's back as he disappeared into the crowd.

"Is everything alright?"

"Just fine," You shrugged. You were used to being abandoned.

Lindir looked doubtful. "Very well, if you say so. May I introduce you to those you will be most judged by?"

"Sure."

He took you through the crowd, to the guy who helped you find the councilroom. "Ah, [Y/N]. Mae govannen."

You bowed your head and returned the greeting to Elros in a monotone voice. "So your name is Elros?"

"Yes," He replied. "Son of Elrond."

If you were taking a drink of water, you'd've spewed it everywhere. "Huh? But isn't Rivdendell like, waaay over the Misty Mountains?"

Elros chuckled. "Yes, but those of the Eldar cannot always remain in one place. We yearn for far places, and even farther shores. Long years I have spent in the halls of my father, but I left for Mirkwood when my sister, Arwen Evenstar, left for Lothlorien, to spend a time with our mother's mother, Galadriel."

Your eyes were wide. "Galadriel is a grandma?! Your grandma?!"

Lindir and Elros looked at each other in amusement. "Elves," Said Lindir, "Live forever, so long as we are not killed by injury, or the wounds of the heart."

"Wounds of the heart?" You echoed.

"When love remains unrequited, it is sometimes too much to bear," Replied Elros, "And the victim suffers long before dying of a broken heart. Oftentimes, it is when a wife perishes during childbirth, or when war or battle takes the life of a beloved, and their souls pass into the Halls of Mandos. I still worry for my father, even though my mother has long since passed due to child-sickness."

Your eyes widened. "I'm so sorry."

Elros raised a hand. "She is at peace now. She resides in the halls where her mother lives, and many of my kin who have long since passed on."

"Is Elrond gonna be okay?" Now you were worried. You didn't even know the guy (Even though you probably knew him before your amnesia.) but you didn't want him to die of heartbreak. He was being nice to you, and offering you a place to live if Thranduil decided to be more of an ass.

"He is strong," Lindir assured you, and partially Elros. "He is stout of heart and fierce of soul. He will live long yet, that I can assure you with the utmost certainty."

Together, Lindir and Elros took you to where another dark-haired Elf in the Rivendell attire spoke with a Lothlorien Elf in red-and-gold armor. White hair was braided away from his stern face. Elros said something in Elvish, getting their attention, and they both bowed to you. "[Y/N], child of [M/N], may I introduce you to Erestor, Chief Counselman of Elrond, and Haldir of Lothlorien."

"Mae govannen," They both said.

Haldir regarded you warily. "I have heard you come from far lands, one beyond even Arda."

You tried not to look stupid. "Arda?"

"This world upon which we live," Haldir clarified.

"Oh!" Now you knew what they were talking about. "You mean this whole planet? Mine never had a cool name; Earth, that's it, with a bunch of different countries on it. Are there countries besides Middle-Earth here?"

Erestor chuckled. "Yes. There is Beleriand, just the remains of it, to the farthest west. Also in the west lie the Gray Havens, and across the Sea are the Undying Lands of Aman, far from Endor-- that is to say, collectively, Middle-Earth and Beleriand."

"Oh, cool! Where I come from, nowhere has cool names anymore, except for maybe Dubai, Greece, and Rome. In the past, there were hardly ever cool places, except for Egypt and Babylon."

The four Elves around you glanced to each other in amusement, as if you were a child just learning new things; and you pretty much were...

"Haldir," Said a familiar voice, and you perked up as Blue-Eyes stepped through the crowd. Your heart sank as he completely avoided your gaze. Damn, you should be used to this kinda shit by now. One small thing and someone abandons you. "We go to meet the dwarves. You have told your party, yes?"

"Of course, mellon."

"As have I," Added Erestor as Blue-Eyes went to ask. "None of us may like this, but it the word of a Maiar, of which the Noldor still yet revere. Worry not, Legolas."

Blue-Eyes nodded, glanced to you, and walked back through the suddenly-departing crowd as the doors opened. You hefted up your bag further onto your shoulder. "Mmkay, Lindir?" You fell into step with the purple-clad Elf.

"What is it?"

"Questions. Lots of them. What the hell is a Mayan and a No-door?"

Lindir chuckled. "Maiar, and Noldor. The Noldor are the oldest of the Elves. The Maiar are wizards, servants of the Valar; such as Saruman, Mithrandir, and Radagast."

"They met gods?"

"Yes," Said Lindir doubtfully, eyeing you. "Do the people of your world not know of their gods?"

You scoffed dryly. "You kidding me? Almost everybody believes in some bearded guy in white floating through existence and pointing to a random spot, then saying 'Let there be light!' Bam, universe created. Others have much more gruesome stories; like in Norse, Odin and his two brothers cut up a giant to create the world. Then there was Egyptian, where two godly people representing the earth and sky consummated and BAM, universe created again. They all say the gods came from the sky, which others believe to be aliens-- people from other planets entirely-- but I've always been an atheist."

"And what does that mean?"

"That I don't believe a goddamn word of any of that 'god' shit."

"You should not speak of them so, for they hear all."

"Yuck. Let's hope they don't find somebody on their wedding night."

Lindir's eyes bugged out of his head. "That was... Sudden."

You grinned. "I'm like that. Get used to it, Lindy."

He frowned. "My name is Lindir."

"I know that," You laughed. "It's a nickname. It's a sign of friendship."

Lindir smiled. "Oh. Then we are friends, then?"

"Sure! I've never been friends with so many people before!" You looked ahead excitedly, waving when you seen Legolas glaring at you. So what if he was pissed? You'd make him un-pissed.

Lindir gave you a sad look. "But you have only befriended Legolas and myself."

"And Tauriel."

"Still, that is only three people." He looked genuinely confused. "Do the people of your world not believe in friendship either?"

You sighed. "Not really. They're more interested in betrayal. Me, personally, I've had it all. Betrayal, death, abandonment... I've gone through some shitty times, that's for sure. One catastrophe after the next. One painful step at a time through it. I've been through hell and back, been shattered like glass and looked death in the eye, and somehow, I'm still standing. Sometimes it feels like I've lived a thousand lifetimes in only nineteen years." You gave him a sideways smile before looking back ahead of you, trying to block all of the flashbacks...

Lindir regarded you with newfound admiration. "I can... See it, in your eyes. I believe all of us can. The things that you have endured are marked on your stride, and not many could recover from what you have recently gone through so quickly. A human with your strength is... Unheard of."

You laughed. "Yeah, 'cause now I'm an Elf!"

Lindir laughed too then, as did a few other Elves and she-Elves near to you-- as you walked out of the doors of Mirkwood's palace, you got this strange, tingly sensation in your core... The odd feeling of people laughing with you, not at you. The feeling of not being judged. Of people realizing you've been through hell. Of people not automatically striking you onto their enemy list because you're different.

As you moved into the north, the light filtering through the leaves was golden, and everything seemed at once surreal and ethereal. But aside from those two feelings, you felt one stronger than any other. You smiled as you looked around at your new friends in this new world, which still felt so familiar. You were happier than you'd ever been. Even though you'd miss your family, you were glad the portal had been closed.

And there are many paths to tread...

Through shadow, to the edge of night...

Until the stars are all alight...

You passed Blue-Eyes, who'd climbed a tree to scout, and when he seen your awestruck, childlike expression, even he, who was currently pissed at you, couldn't help but smile at down at you. You smiled back. That warm feeling returned.

Finally, I'm where I belong.

I'm...

I’m...home.

Tag List: @tesserphantom​ @thedragonghostofmordor​ @hauntedsiriel​ @reclusive-chicken-nugget​ @naryamirie​ @legolasdeserveslove​ @escapingthoughtsandsecrets​ @sagabriar​ @brushwood-souls​ @taurlel​

If anybody wants to be tagged, just let me know!

Extra Notes: Elvish is SO FUCKING HARD. And yes I put the Elvenqueen in this. And dwarves are inbound. Don't guess the plotline, just DON'T.

Fun Facts: In Old Nordic mythology, there was a forest known as Mirkwood. There was also a dwarf called Durin, who created the line of the most power dwarfs, some of which, just to name a few, were Thorin, Fili, Kili, Dvalin, Balin, Oin, Oakenshield, and Gandalf. There were also many types of Elves-- Ljosalfar were the Light Elves, and Dokkalfar were the Dark Elves. In general, Elves were known as Alfar, and they lived in Alfheimr, "The Land of the Elves." Supposedly, Alfheimr had shining trees of silver and gold, like Lothlorien. Also, there was a dragon called Fafnir, a cursed fire-drake, coppery-red, who laid atop a mound of gold and guarded his wrongfully-taken treasure with his life. The original owner of this treasure was a dwarf, reduced to a husk of his former self, called Andvari, who, out of all of this treasure, loved most a golden ring, inscribed with runes. He cursed this ring, so that all who wore it would soon come into misfortune...

[fortunatelycooltrash]

So people love to say that America doesn’t have free healthcare because the quality would sink and the waits would go up. Now, while those are valid worries despite being no excuse for the atrociously high prices of even minior procedures, I’d like to share some bullshit that I’ve experienced involving normal US hospitals and medical branches alike.

My root canal is going to cost 2500 dollars because it is not covered by most dental plans despite it being a completely necessary procedure that directly affects my health. Absorb that then absorb the fact this plan covers some of braces. The crown alone is costing over 1200.

I almost died in a hospital waiting room because my ‘stomach ache’ that was causing me so much pain I was sick with it wasn’t severe enough to qualify for immediate attention. Undiagnosed Appendicitis.

My nephew and sister almost met their end because an incompetent doctor misdiagnosed my sister with a URI. She had type A flu.

My cousins father had a doctor who refused to diagnose him despite him coming back constantly because of lethargy. Said he couldn’t find anything wrong. Her father was poor and had really bad insurance. Finally he went to another doctor and was diagnosed with kidney cancer. He could have lived if he had been diagnosed a year or two prior before it spead but by the time he got his diagnosis, it was too late. He died, I believe, a few months later but I was young so he might have made it a year or longer.

I suffered from chronic nosebleeds as a child to the point that blood didn’t even scare me anymore. The doctor told my mother that it was coming from wounds inside my nose and I was most likely picking at it and there was nothing medically wrong with me. My mother, knowing even as a child I knew not to waste her money, took me to another doctor. Severe Anemia. Still suffer from it too this day. Have to take those horrid tasting red pills🤢.

My aunt constantly butchering her budget because she needs her insulin and it’s cost keeps getting higher despite it remaining relatively the same. Luckily my state is looking to cap it at 100 though if that will actually go into effect isn’t determined yet.

My mom, bless her, repeatedly going in for her back aching only to be told pain was normal for someone of her weight and age. Nope, she is a nurse and turned people that were 300 pounds or more. She had completely blown her back and had a pinched nerve that was so severe she could barely stand without pain. The doctor that diagnosed her was surprised she could even walk.

My sister, having a grand mal seizure in the nurses office of a high school. They told her to stop faking. That bitch wasn’t even a real nurse so this one doesn’t count but I had to mention this because why the fuck wasn’t a registered nurse hired?

My (other) aunt having minor chest pain then suffering a heart attack in the waiting room because they had her wait so long since she didn’t seem serious. I’m sure that’s going to have lasting damage that could have been easily prevented.

My sister giving birth and getting a 28,000 dollar bill for a room and care for her and the baby. She was there for a day and a half. She didn’t even have a long or complicated delivery.

My mother being told she was completely fine to continue working despite having an off feeling about her third pregnancy(about 24 years ago) the doctor told her there were no complications and she could go on as normal. She miscarried her seven month along daughter three days later because her placenta was underneath the baby and tore. That doctor is still in practice.

The nurses in my mothers delivery room ignoring both her and the monitor. Which, if they had been looking at, clearly desplayed my older brother with his umbilical core wrapped tight around his neck. He lived because my moms main doctor walked in and had a conniption fit when he noticed the vitals dropping. He’s the doc my sis uses now. A good man.

(Same bro)My older brother turning blue everytime he cried being brushed off. Hole in his heart that has since closed.

When I was younger, I slipped in the shower and hit my head so hard against the metal lining of it(stall shower) that the skin split open and abscessed. My doc treated the abscess but did no further testing after a 4 hour wait. As we were leaving, I don’t remember much of this week my mom told me, I vomited and passed out in the parking lot. Had a concussion.

My brother being misdiagnosed with the flu, strep, and a few other things over the course of a few weeks before one doctor finally tested him for HIV. It was positive. Luckily he only had one partner. Unluckily, the partner was the one that gave it to him via cheating on him.

Me, almost dying of a violent case of strep throat because they said I had a sinus infection. My fever peaked at 104 then, blessedly, broke. I do not remember this as the memories of the days I was sick are incredibly fever burned but I remember wrapping blankets around me because I was so cold.

The strep attacked so quick and harshly that if I had lived alone it probably would have killed me since I wouldn’t have been able to get help and I would’ve kept trying to get ‘warmer’ and helped raise my temp over 106. You typically don’t come back from that one unharmed. If at all.

My older bro(cord baby) being told suffering from auditory hallucinations was a common thing(not wrong but they should have actually asked about his family history and idk, did more??) he had undiagnosed bipolar disorder. He is medicated and much happier now.

Me breaking my gotdamn pointer knuckle and the x-ray person getting blurry x-rays that she used despite the fact that they weren’t accurate. Thank you bitch, now my abnormally short pointer finger clicks because it began to set wrong.

Theres a few more but I’m currently giving my bro a hard time for texting me a text meant for his bf so imma bounce for now. May add more later. The whole point to this was to show people that don’t want free health care because the ‘quality would go down’ or the ‘wait would be too long’ that the wait is already long enough for you to die anyway and the quality already sucks ass if you’re poor because they will not diagnose you correctly.

Or They will misdiagnose you then blame YOU when you sue(happened to my mom in that miscarriage one but because he hadn’t wrote a release back to work she had no actual proof he’d told her she could.)

Or They will overcharge you for things that have a far cheaper value simply because they can and you can’t do anything about it because you need that procedure or medicine to keep your health good.

I can understand things like heart surgery or transplants, you know, the big major stuff not being free because yeah that shit takes a fuck ton of resources and care so I get it, I do. I can reasonably say “Yup that should cost thousands.” I mean, I’m don’t even avocate for fully FREE healthcare, I just want a limit on their overpricing bull shit to where it matches with economic standards.

You can’t expect someone with an average 7-4 job that pays 10/hr(oooh ya, y’all think I’d go higher? Guess what, young people starting out their careers also get sick!) to drop thousands upon thousands of dollars for whatever. The sad thing is I can say ‘whatever’ and you can actually think of multiple things that aren’t that major or that resource draining yet still cost thousands.

Even someone making 15/hour couldn’t do that and I’d be hard pressed to say even 20-25/hr could do that. They may have it better and be able to pay it off faster but they’d still be in debt for a while or have to work years after their planned retirement to make up for the lost savings if they were lucky enough to have them.

I’ve also heard people complaining about it raising taxes but you’ll spend way more getting something done at a hospital then you’d spend on those taxes in a year.

Besides, if you’re so pissed about taxes then to even it out protest the stupid taxes. Your house? Taxed. Your inheritance that you gain but also leave behind to care for your family? Taxed. Your property that you bought 100% full price paid? Taxed every year. Your car? Taxed.

How bout getting pissed about those instead of getting pissy about people getting their health fixed? There are plenty of ridiculous taxes so I don’t know why people are so against having one that actually helps people.

Sorry for this rant, I know it’s not centered around my profile theme but I am majorly pissed off that I’m about to have to let a tooth rot out of my head because my insurance decided that: covering something cosmetic like braces? Yeah! Covering a completely necessary surgery that can actually harm/kill the person via infection if left untreated? Nope, that costs us more!

I can’t drop two fucking grand on dental surgery. It’s just not happening. I don’t know anyone who can do that shit. Anyone who gets pissed off about me posting this: go slam a hammer against your tooth until it cracks down the middle, exposing your nerve to the harsh unforgiving world then let it develop a cavity around it.

Afterwards, try to eat literally anything: hot, cold, hard, soft, it doesn’t matter. You’ll cry, I promise. Now imagine being told the only way to fix that is to cough up over two grand and if you can’t well then oh fucking well? Kinda hurts ya a bit. Not nearly as much as the tooth but still.

Hell, I know dental probably wouldnt even get covered if they made healthcare reduced or free but this whole situation has reminded me just how fucked you are if you get anything remotely wrong with you in the U.S

[penciltopbear]

OKAY I’ve been thinking about Tasky and tma stuff even though I’m not caught up at all and I’ve come to the conclusion that Taskmaster is SUPER hard to pin down entity-wise so I’ve compiled my thoughts for and against each entity. Disclaimer that despite this being all I ever talk about I am by no means an expert on either tma or Taskmaster and will probably misremember a lot of stuff so please feel free to tell me what you think! Also I’m gonna be taking some of these points from @lhassinu so hi :)

Under a cut because I have a lot of thoughts

These aren’t ordered based on compatability or whatever it’s just based on what order the wiki has them 

The Buried 

For: He has a fear of drowning, one that was fairly pervasive in his childhood

Against: While he does have a fear of drowning, it’s not an overwhelming fear, especially since he has taken specific measures to minimize that fear so that it isn’t an issue. He doesn’t have any other fears associated with the buried, nor any financial issues, and I mean. Let’s be real here. Buried would be the lamest entity to go with. The man kills people for a living and wears a cool cape and you want to go with the fear named Too Close I Cannot Breathe? Lame. Moving on.

The Corruption

For: There really isn’t much in the way of support for this one. The closest you can really get is that he seems to have a general aversion to rot and decay, but nothing beyond a normal reaction. You could maybe spin something out of his best friend hanging around ants, but that’s a stretch. 

Against: Like I said, not much for it in the first place. Aside from a lack of strong fear towards most of the Corruption’s manifestations, he also doesn’t have the need for love that people like Jane Prentiss had; there’s no way that something like what happened in Love Bombing would happen to him. In fact, he actively betrays most of his friends and doesn’t get especially attached to anything or anyone.

The Dark

For: Some parallels can be drawn between the Dark and the Abyss, namely the whole cult thing, and Tasky seemed vulnerable to the Abyss, so there’s some evidence that would suggest that he would align himself with the Dark/The People’s Church. There’s also the fact that, given his line of work, darkness can be incredibly advantageous for stealth missions.

Against: While there’s some support for aligning with the Dark out of love or something similar, there’s little in the way of fear. A big part of the Dark is the unknown, what can be lurking beyond, but Taskmaster just would not give a shit. He’s far too confident in his abilities to have anything more than mild caution.

The Desolation

For: Tasky has no aversion towards destroying people’s lives if it means making a quick buck, and he has definitely set fire to quite a few things.

Against: Despite that, however, he doesn’t necessarily enjoy doing those things. It’s more of a means to an end, that end being money, and it would take quite a bit of provocation before he would take the initiative and do it for free. The Desolation, much like the Corruption, also tends to pull in people with a need for companionship, people who want to be a part of something, which Tasky just doesn’t care about. Plus, while he’s not afraid of setting fire to things, it’s not a common enough occurence to really warrant devoting himself to a cult about it, ya know?

The End

For: There are a few obvious ties, namely the fact that he does kill people a lot and he utilizes imagery closely tied to the End in the way of his Skull mask. He also has a fear of dying, at least to a small extent. After all, you can’t really be a mercenary without a healthy fear of death. It’s possible that, if he were to die, he would choose to serve the End rather than go quietly.

Against: That being said, he’s also far too cocky to really be afraid of dying, at least enough for him to turn to the end while he’s still kicking. And, again, he doesn’t kill for pleasure often, it’s just a job. 

The Eye

For: This one works really well in the context of Unthinkable. I tend to ignore Unthinkable for reasons I’ve gone over in the past and don’t care enough to talk about right now, but it definitely plays into the whole “need to know even if it could destroy you” thing. Aside from that, there is also his drive to constantly be acquiring new skills, and he keeps records of different fighting styles on tapes. In a way, he’s sort of like the Archivist, but instead of cataloging fear, he catalogs actions and behaviors. 

Against: This man hasn’t stepped foot in a library since middle school and he can’t remember shit. Whether or not he knows how to read is questionable

The Flesh

For: There’s really not much here. If you’re reaching, you might be able to make something out of him being something of a butcher, but you can’t get anything super concrete. 

Against: Piles of meat is just sort of part of the job, he’s not gonna be bothered by it much. Plus, he’s seen so many weird people in his line of work that he’s not gonna bat an eye at someone like Jared Hopworth, no matter how grotesque their body may be. 

The Hunt

For: The Hunt was the first entity I thought of while trying to pin him down. A big part of the Hunt is how easily it can take a hold of people. As soon as they are exposed to hunting, whether it be monsters or people, there’s a chance of it taking hold. In that sense, the Hunt is somewhat of a hazard in Tasky’s line of work, so it wouldn’t be a stretch for him to be aligned with it at some point. Plus, I think that Taskmaster with a wolf skull mask would be a really neat aesthetic. 

Against: I know I’ve brought this up a lot, and I’m gonna keep bringing it up, but killing isn’t something Taskmaster does for sport, it’s a job. He doesn’t necessarily derive joy from the chase, and if he isn’t going to keep it up if he doesn’t have a reason. If the money runs dry, he’s not gonna keep going. In a story, it would take a bit of build up for the Hunt to really work, but that’s not to say that it can’t work at all. 

The Lonely

For: Tasky tends to work alone a good bit of the time. Every time someone does get close, he ends up betraying them in one way or another.

Against: He has been shown to care about his friends, and does feel bad about betraying them. He also has been shown to be effective when working with others, possibly even more effective than when he’s alone. Being a mercenary, being completely cut off from society is impossible, since good networking is crucial to getting jobs. Plus, his abilities rely on him being around other people. All of that put together prevents him from willingly cutting himself off like Peter Lukas. He doesn’t have a fear nor a love of being alone, thus stopping the Lonely from really taking hold. That being said, it’s not necessarily impossible. Much like the Hunt, if you really develop the idea it could make for a really neat story, but it won’t work well in the current state of his character. 

Oh holy shit there are a lot of these

The Slaughter

For: He kills people bro

Against: The Slaughter is founded around unpredictable, unmotivated violence, which Taskmaster just does not do. Whenever he kills someone, it’s either because he was paid to or because someone really pissed him off that much. You could make the argument that from the victims end it seems unpredictable, but if they’re watching their actions and how they affect people it really isn’t. People aren’t gonna hire mercenaries to kill you for no reason, even if that reason is just “they have money and I want that money”. He also isn’t afraid of violence against him, he knows the dangers of being a mercenary and is prepared to deal with them. He also has no strong ties to war or music, at least when it comes to violence.

The Spiral

For: This is another one that I think is good in the context of Unthinkable. Throughout that entire run people are actively lying to him, and memory issues can definitely mess with your perception of the world to the point of thinking that things are wrong. He also does lie and betray others quite frequently.

Against: He doesn’t really tend to doubt himself, nor does he suffer from any hallucinations or mental illness that would alter his perception of the world, and his lies are often more short-term deceptions in order to gain the other hand as opposed to gaslighting someone or making them question everything they know. 

The Stranger

For: Again, this can work well with Unthinkable. His sense of self gets entirely screwed up by his memory issues. Outside of that, masks are closely tied to the Stranger and his mask is one of his most recognizable features, and it’s definitely one that can invoke an uncanny valley sense. He also has the ability to quickly change his mannerisms, which I personally think could fit quite well with the Stranger,

Against: He doesn’t have strong ties with most things commonly associated with the Stranger, namely the circus and mannequins and taxidermy. He doesn’t have a strong fear of the unknown and unfamiliar, if anything it’s just another thing to be understood and for him to learn from. He doesn’t show intense paranoia, no sense that things are wrong, and I doubt that he would feel any fear of things associated with the Stranger beyond “haha that’s kinda creepy”. 

The Vast

For: There’s not really much in defense of this one. 

Against: He’s too full of himself to worry about his own insignificance or whatever. His only fears relating to wide open spaces would be drowning, but that’s a Buried fear and not Vast. 

The Web

For: This is another one that I think shares a lot of similarities with the Abyss, namely being controlled. He has been manipulated multiple times in the comics, with one example that I can think of off the top of my head being when he worked for AIM in Secret Avengers. He strikes me as someone who could definitely be one of the Web’s puppets.

Against: I don’t necessarily think that he’s afraid of being controlled or manipulated. After the whole Abyss thing, he honestly seemed unfazed by the whole ordeal. He likely thinks himself too smart for it to be really an issue. He also isn’t afraid of spiders, so that can’t be used as a jumping-off point, so to speak, unlike Annabelle Cane. 

I’m not doing the Extinction because 14 was enough. 

So, based on all of that, it seems like the Eye is the best fit without changing any characterization, with a few others having the ability to work with a little bit of storytelling. BUT there’s also the possibility that he serves none of them. There are plenty of people in tma that don’t serve an entity but still profit from their existence, like Mikaele Salesa. I could definitely see Taskmaster sort of staying on the fringes of the whole thing, taking jobs to kill monsters and retrieve artifacts as he pleases and ignoring whatever the fuck Elias has going on. 

IN CONCLUSION this was a really horrible idea and I should not have put this much time and thought into this. Anyway I am tired and refuse to read any of this over again so if I got something wrong feel free to tell me so and I would love to hear everyone’s thoughts :)

[petriichvrs]

𝒘𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒍𝒆𝒚, 𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐘.

        ❝   you   know   PEACE   like   someone   who   has   survived   a   long   war.   take   it   one   day   at   a   time,   because   everything   has   the   scent   of   another   possible   war   ;    you   know   how   easily   one   can   start,   one   moment   QUIET,   the   next,   blood.   war   colors   your   voice,   warms   it,   even.   𝐍𝐎   𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍   𝐀𝐒   𝐓𝐎   𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑   𝐘𝐎𝐔   𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐄   𝐓𝐇𝐄   𝐊𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐑   𝐎𝐑   𝐓𝐇𝐄   𝐌𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐄𝐑.   no   one   asks.   perhaps   you   were   both.   you   haven’t   kissed   anyone   for   a   while,   now.   to   you,   EVERYTHING   tastes   like    𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒅.   ❞ 

         hey,   isn’t   that   GINEVRA   MOLLY   WEASLEY?   i   read   a   daily   prophet   article   on   them,   once   ;   the   twenty   two   year   old   pureblood   WITCH   is   a gryffindor   alumnus   who   has   gone   on   to   be   a   professional   chaser   for   the   holyhead   harpies.   i’ve   heard   they   can   be   quite   RESILIENT   &   INTUITIVE,   but   i   don’t   know...   they   came   off   very   HEADSTRONG   &   WAGGISH   in   that   interview.   it   really   is   hard   to   know   what   to   believe   these   days   though,   isn’t   it?   click   𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄   for   statistics,    𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄   for   ginny’s   entire   history   and    𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄   for   her   pinterest.

𝐅𝐔𝐋𝐋 𝐇𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘.

click this link !

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘.

seventh child and only daughter of arthur and molly. first girl born into the weasley fam for GENERATIONS, so that makes her special. had too many brothers. biggest grievance was they never let her play quidditch with them, so she broke into their shed and taught herself. cried every single time they went to hogwarts without her.

eventually got there herself. her first year notoriously SUCKED.

if ‘sucked’ is a good enough word to describe being possessed by tom riddle and opening the chamber of secrets, which ultimately led to a lot of people almost dying, including herself.

this, understandably, royally fucked ginny’s shit up. easily seen by her extra special hysterical reaction to the dementors. didn’t do much in her second yr other than be upset by them on the train and be hermione granger 2.0 ( overachiever extraordinaire ).

fully supported harry potter during his fourth year, when he became the unwitting fourth champion. would have gone to the yule ball with him if she hadn’t pledged herself toneville longbottom, who goes on to become one of her best friends.

got all up in order business in her fourth year, against her parents wishes. you can take the girl from the rebellion but you can’t take the rebellion from the girl. joined dumbledore’s army. also named it. became a royal pain in umbridge’s ass. was super talented at spells ( she’s special ) that they were being taught. had a rough christmas cos her dad almost got killed by voldemort’s ugly snake. hexed draco malfoy and still giggles about it to this day. fought off death eaters in the department of mysteries and was witness to sirius black’s death.

everyone rly wanted a piece of ginny in her fifth year ( understandable ). she got invited to slug club. was also made chaser of the gryffindor quidditch team ( after playing seeker the previous year when harry was banned ). she dated harry for a hot minute after she finally got rid of dean thomas ( srry dean ), but… after dumbledore died and death eaters attacked the school he broke up with her to ‘protect her’ which… sucked.

honestly. summer in general sucked. her bro got attacked by a werewolf. her boyfriend dumped her for her own good. there was a wedding, for some reason.

sixth year also sucked. the da was reformed ( by ginny & her friends ) but could only do so much in the face of the gross misuse of power by grown ass adults. ginny did all that she could even when they were actively torturing them all, but was made go into hiding at easter.

followed her fam to hogwarts for the battle. almost had to sit the whole thing out, but ran off after she was forced to leave the room of requirement.

let’s recap the battle real quick : her brother? died. her friends? died. the love of her life? never even said goodbye and died. ginny? almost died! she did not have a good time. 0/10 stars on yelp, in fact. but they prevailed! they made harry proud! love when you succeed and get ptsd for your troubles.

ginny helped rebuild hogwarts over the summer, and went back in september to finish her seventh year, but… it wasn’t really home anymore. a war will do that. loss will do that. she was trying very hard to be okay - and in a lot of ways, trying a little too hard to be who she had ALWAYS been. she probably could have done with being told that no one expected her to be unchanged, but… everyone was going through their own stuff.

she tried to honor the one’s that they lost by living, but… that was easier on paper. ginny didn’t seem to make it all the way through the five stages of grief. she was angry, and she was sad, but she couldn’t deny it and she couldn’t change it - and acceptance was impossible. her grief turned into a persistent feeling of emptiness, and that took a toll on her, as a person.

a lot that made her happy once didn’t, anymore. she was scouted by the holyhead harpies fresh out of hogwarts, but when they asked her to sign, she didn’t immediately take them up on the offer. quidditch was about the only thing she had left at that point that brought her some measure of joy, and it felt…surreal, to be considering taking such a small pleasure and turning it into her life work. it felt not right, for some reason. doing something so ‘normal’ felt insulting, almost, to all the people who wouldn’t do anything normal again - but she couldn’t do nothing forever, and eventually, she was convinced.

she took the offer. she never looked back. things haven’t really gotten better in all the time since then, but at least they can’t get any worse.

𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒.   triggers for talk of death, scars and trauma.

ginny’s scars tell more stories about her life at hogwarts than she has ever uttered. from her first year, she has marks that she can’t name the cause of. scarring along her thighs and upon her fingertips that were obtained in some of her black outs, that her parents BEGGED madam pomfrey to remove, but who she quietly told to not bother. there’s a small dent on her forehead that she sustained when she collapsed in the chamber of secrets, and you wouldn’t see it, if you weren’t looking. she doesn’t point it out.

of course, she sustained some in her fourth year. she fell over during a dumbledore’s army session and she scraped up the palm of her hand, something that they all laughedabout, back then. she broke her ankle badly enough that it continues to click, even now, but luckily was never a hassle in her chosen career. maybe she’d have been even worse of, if bellatrix had tortured her like planned. ginny counts her blessings.

but it’s her sixth year that ruined her. that instilled within her a LOVE of long sweaters and a fear of being seen entirely naked. ‘blood traitor’ is carved into her right arm from lines she was FORCED to write with her own blood, over and over, after being caught putting graffiti on the side of green house number five. she didn’t cry, to them. she didn’t shed a tear. along her back there are criss cross scars from the CRACK of a whip, so many of them that ginny still closes her eyes when she’s getting into the bathtub, so she doesn’t catch a glimpse in the mirror. she’s been suspended by her ankles, by her wrists, and she has the taut skin there to show for it, and under one instance of the cruciatus curse, she FELL and sustained two wounds most commonly paired together in her thoughts - a scar along her left cheekbone, and a gnarly one upon her knee.

the war scarred her too. scarred her deeper. scarred her truer. she has more now than she can possibly remember that serve as a reminder to the war that they fought, together - and she tries to be proud of them. she really does. but even she finds it difficult.

ginny still keeps a bag packed and ready to go at the drop of a hat under her bed, just in case she has to run. it’s a habit instilled in her by her parents from when they went into hiding, and it’s one that she’s finding almost impossible to break. she still sleeps with her wand underneath her pillow every night, fingers curled around the wood - terrified, always, to be caught without it.

her nightmares vary, but they’re there. sometimes she wakes in a cold sweat, blinking away the MEMORY of green light that came all too close to finishing her off. sometimes, all she can see is the rotting body of her older brother and his open, vacant eyes. sometimes it’s harry, and he’s all alone, and she’s screaming at him - just screaming and crying and begging him to turn around and stop and come back, but he never does. sometimes she’s back in the dungeons of hogwarts, hanging by her ankles, and when she’s shakily sipping coffee in the morning, she can still hear the carrow twins laughter in her ears, clear as day.

she’s suffered from sleep paralysis, too, though this predates the war and began in the weeks after the chamber of secrets. her limbs too heavy to move, the demon that stands over her is tom riddle - her longest and most withstanding nightmare. she’s ashamed of the fact that though she fears she’s forgotten the exact sound of fred’s laugh or the feel of harry’s hand in hers, she’ll never be able to forget the features of sixteen year old voldemort.

ginny can throw off the cruciatus curse, now, and perhaps can even resist imperio. she’s never wanted to TRY, but after the many times it was used upon them in her sixth year.. she believes it possible.

she trained to be an animagus, more out of… boredom, than anything else. she’sregistered as an orange tabby cat, and it’s not uncommon for her to run off in this form in the direction of the lake, where she can sit for hours.

ginny is bloody awful at all of the things her mother tried to teach her. knitting, cooking,general housework. she would sit for HOURS with molly in the lead up to christmas, a pair of knitting needles held awkwardly in both hands, fingers incapable of making the loops and stitches that molly is so skilled at doing, until SHE had all the christmas jumpers done… and ginny only had a rather pathetic excuse of a scarf. similarly, she tried many a time to lend a hand in the kitchen, or memorize the recipe and replicate her mothers famous homemade fudge - almost always creating some sort of inedible goop at the end of it all. she tries, god bless her, but she just doesn’t seem to have the knackthat came so EASILY to molly, and years ago after a particularly disastrous attempt at knitting the weasley family matching jumpers that ended with tears all around, ginny gave up that particular hobby.

she can garden, though. BOY can she garden. neville taught her how to take care of plants she thought were beautiful, and when she moved into her little bedsit, ginny pulled up the entire garden in her allotment - redoing it in her image. she spends hours out there, knee deep in mud, hands covered, and she comes in, sunburnt, smiling, blazing and beautiful. it’s such a simple joy to her, but it is one, nonetheless.

she always had an interest in muggles. ginny idolized her father ( and still, perhaps, does ), and some of her earliest memories were of clambering onto piles of scrap in the burrows yard, just to peek through the little dusty window on arthur’s shed and watch as he tinkered with some new muggle artifact. she was the one who told fred and george about the car, you know - though she never thought even for a MOMENT that they would end up driving it.

she learned the concept of ‘stick and poke’ tattoos from a worn out fiction book she borrowed from hermione, and learned how to replicate them with a good quill, some magical ink and a couple good spells. she gave herself her own one, in fact - the little snitch inside of the crook of her left arm, that isn’t a perfect circle, but still manages to glow BRIGHT when the conditions are perfect for quidditch. she got pretty good at them, too, giving many of her classmates their own magical tattoos as the years went by - though, like many things that brought her joy, she stopped doing them after the battle of hogwarts.

𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒.

GINNY WEASLEY ( jessica barden ) is looking for their FATHER / ARTHUR WEASLEY who resembles ANDREW LINCOLN, EWAN MCGREGOR, MADS MIKKELSON, DANIEL CRAIG / ANY FC and should be OLD. applicants do not have to contact RACHEL to talk over the details before applying.   (   father of the weasley kids ! muggle loving king ! arthur doesn’t get ENOUGH recognition for being one of the good ones, but he can have it here !)

GINNY WEASLEY ( jessica barden ) is looking for their MOTHER / MOLLY WEASLEY who resembles NICOLE KIDMAN, SUSANNA THOMPSON, CHRISTINA HENDRICKS, LENA HEADEY, GILLIAN ANDERSON / ANY FC and should be OLD. applicants do not have to contact RACHEL to talk over the details before applying.   (   kickass mother ! the earliest love of my young life ! the strongest woman alive for dealing with her merry band of misfits day in and day out ! pls bring momther.)  

GINNY WEASLEY ( jessica barden ) is looking for their NEIGHBOURS / ANY AMT who resemble MENA MASSOUD, ALEX FITZALAN, ZIYI ZHANG, JESSICA ALBA / ANY FC and should be ANY AGE. applicants do not have to contact RACHEL to talk over the details before applying.   (   they can be any age ! they can be a canon, if you’d like, or someone entirely original ! ginny lives in a bedsit in london - i imagine somewhere in greenwich and i’m leaning towards charlton - which she purchased outright two years ago, sort of… seeking out her own space, in a sense. she rented an allotment just around the corner where she could grow her own vegetables and flowers and things, and she finds… a great deal of peace simply existing, there. tending to her garden. sipping tea in her bedroom/sitting room/kitchen combo. reading on the roof, probably. i'd actually love if the bedsit was a part of a small little wizarding community in london - so a lot of members of the magical world all living closely together - and i’d love even more if she had a bunch of neighbours, all of whom she could have some varied dynamics with. there could be the one who she always goes to when she needs a sugar topup ! the one who trampled on her tomatoes once in the allotment, and they’re now in all out war ! the one who comes over sometimes and simply sits quietly with ginny, for a while, both of them enjoying each others company so simply ! lots of options. gimme all.)

GINNY WEASLEY ( jessica barden ) is looking for their PET SITTER who resemble ANY FC  and should be 20+. applicants do have to contact RACHEL to talk over the details before applying.   (   i’d put this as sort of adjacent to the above, but it doesn’t have to be ! they COULD be a fellow neighbour, but they might just be someone ginny as come to know well and trusts to take care of her pygmy puff and owl when she’s away. that’s… a huge position of trust in ginny’s life, because she loves arnold and archimedes more than she loves HERSELF, so ; they’d probably have quite a good dynamic !   )

GINNY WEASLEY ( jessica barden ) is looking for their FLINGS who resemble BEN HARDY, AVAN JOGIA, HUNTER SCHAFER, ASHLEY MOORE / ANY FC ! IDC  and should be 21+. applicants do have to contact RACHEL to talk over the details before applying.   (   i don’t know whether ‘romantic connections’ is the right place for this , but… o well ! i have the flip side connect down below for characters who ginny has been involved with in the past, but i thought one for present time would be fun ! i like flings, as a concept. i like them for ginny especially, because i think she has a very modern view on them, and doesn’t really… go in to any one night stand or three date relationship or brief fling with… an expectation, or the NEED for it to go beyond what it is for them both at the time. ginny’s quite happy to exist as a single being for the rest of her life. she’s not seeking a long term relationship, nor am i in the mindset right now that she ever will - but she hasn’t become an old maid just because she’s grieving someone she loved, and no one expects it of her. i love the idea of just… characters having casual dates ! characters hooking up for fun, no strings attached ! please let me explore it.   )

GINNY WEASLEY ( jessica barden ) is looking for their PERSONAL TRAINER / TRAINING PAL who resemble ANY FC  and should be 20+. applicants do have to contact RACHEL to talk over the details before applying.   (   this can be one or the other, i don’t really mind ! and it could be quidditch based or gym based - also, don’t mind ! i think ginny tries to continue finding quidditch fun, even though it’s also her job now, so she probably does a lot of training on her own just as a way to… fly, on her own, outside of a harpies training session. it’d be nice if she had someone to do that with, or finds someone with who she can ! flip side ; now she lives in muggle london, i think she’s started to really get into muggle gyms, so that’s an option too. a good connect to pair that take with would be the one for her neighbours, cause they could walk there and back with one another !   )

GINNY WEASLEY ( jessica barden ) is looking for their QUIDDITCH TEAMMATES / HOLYHEAD HARPIES who resembles PRISCILLA QUINTANA, FLORENCE PUGH, HUNTER SCHAFER, ANTONIA THOMAS / ANY FC and should be 20+. applicants do not have to contact RACHEL to talk over the details before applying.   (   the holyhead harpies is an all female quidditch team that plays in the britain + ireland league, and ginny has been one of their chasers for almost five years now ! there isn’t much given to them, outside of that and some controversies surrounding their captain - gwenog jones, a past member of the slug club - but i can’t see it any other way than as a team of talented players who have formed a tight knit bond. i’d love to explore the different dynamics they all could have, and the only way to do that is by having ‘em here !)

GINNY WEASLEY ( jessica barden ) is looking for their EX / MICHAEL CORNER who resembles SANTIAGO SEGURA, DAVID CASTENEDA, AVAN JOGIA, ALBERTO ROSENDE / ANY FOC and should be 23/24. applicants do not have to contact RACHEL to talk over the details before applying.   (   the first boy ginny dated at hogwarts ; the one she dumped because he was being a sore loser about gryffindor beating ravenclaw. honestly ? hilarious. i don’t think that there was love between them at all, and i’d love to see them have become quite good friends, since - give me two people who were figuring out relationships and what that meant when they were together, who fell apart and then came back together when they realized they could be good friends ! that’s a story i’m interested in hearing. )

GINNY WEASLEY ( jessica barden ) is looking for their EX / DEAN THOMAS who resembles LUCIEN LAVISCOUNT, KEITH POWERS, REECE KING, JOHN BOYEGA/ ANY BLACK FC and should be 23/24. applicants do not have to contact RACHEL to talk over the details before applying.   (   the one who got away ! sort of. you know. i think dean got it rough, to b honest with you. he came along at a point in ginny’s life when she had just started to feel she was breaking away from her brothers, a bit, and becoming a bit more miss independent - and she was also absolutely not oblivious to the fact that harry seemed a lot more interested in her than usual. things with dean and ginny went well for a while, but they weren’t what each other needed at the point of their lives that they were at, and that led to arguments between the two of them - a lot. eventually they broke up, and for a long while, couldn’t even be in the same room as one another. it was definitely the awk breakup that made everyone else feel awk, but i’d hope that after the war and in these past six years, they might’ve reached a point of being able to get along !   )

GINNY WEASLEY ( jessica barden ) is looking for their EXES / ???who resemble ABSOLUTELY ANY FC and should be 22 - 24. applicants do have to contact RACHEL to talk over the details before applying.   (   you know what ? try and convince me that there weren’t more teenage flings. of course there were ; because ginny was encouraged to find things out for herself, and was NOT raised to be find casual dating shameful in any sense of the words. ginny worked out that she was bi in school, and i actually like to imagine that it was through short lived flings with fellow students who were doing exactly what she was - figuring themselves out. they would have been pretty young and it was all mostly innocent, but i’m interested in the thought !)

GINNY WEASLEY ( jessica barden ) is looking for their SUPPORT GROUP PALS who resemble ABSOLUTELY ANY FC and should be ANY AGE. applicants do not have to contact RACHEL to talk over the details before applying.   (   look me in the eye and tell me there aren’t a whole bunch of support groups running to this day, dedicated to the witches and wizards and wixs who fought in either of the major wizarding wars. ginny probably attends one that’s london based, and was probably heavily encouraged to go. she’s not against therapy or even ‘support’, but… she is the sort of person who finds it a nice thing to think about, but not something that feels as if it’s doing her much good. she holds on to a lot, and that makes it difficult for her to really take from the group what she should be, but she’s still going ! she might hate some of the people at it. she might grab coffee with someone after, every time, religiously. maybe she just always saves your character a seat or vice versa. we can discuss ! )   [ heather pettigrew + more ]

[mindlessselfdeprivation]

The Nothing

It’s just like The Neverending Story. It’s not darkness, it’s not even a hole, because even hole would be something. No, this...this is just nothing.

That’s depression. That’s what true despair is, it’s The Nothing that eats up your everything. It bleaches your life, nothing has any color or flavor or texture anymore. Food sucks, company is annoying, being alone is excruciating and substances exist only as a shit-ass temporary floaty. Recreation means nothing anymore, every desperate action during the day is taken only to distract me from myself for a little bit longer. Sleep will come soon, and in sleep there’s just that sweet fucking nothing. 

Which is what you feel like you constantly have, at any given time. Nothing. The Nothing has it now. And now every memory is covered in spikes, too painful to even go near.

Nothing can make you feel ok anymore, and your good days are the ones where you only brood and lament your life for a few hours out of the day. You know, as opposed to every second you’re awake. 

Those days happen so much more often. I swear to fucking God, some days I feel like the pain inside me is gonna open a fucking hole in the earth. Like I’m no longer going to be able to keep this horrible monster at bay anymore, and the scream that finally peals out of me will shred my lungs and crack open an abyss that swallows me once and for all. 

I fear for anyone that might be around when that bomb goes off. Which is another problem. Although I’m desperate to be seen and heard and known and loved, I’m fucking terrified of getting near anyone ever again, it seems like an absurd idea to even say it out loud. I’m a goddamned hurricane, I’m a fucking natural disaster on legs, an extinction level event taken human form. All of my relationships....it’s just a festering sewage basin, that whole area of my life. Everything there, flies and pestilence, disease and rot. 

That’s my heart in there too. Fucking rotten, like an old forgotten tree stump wasting away in a swamp somewhere in whogivesafuck. Thinking on it, can I even love anymore? Do I even know what that is anymore? 

An older woman I work with asked me for a hug the other day cause she was a little sad, thinking about her brother that died...and I was happy to oblige, she’s the sweetest little thing. And I realized - holy shit, this is the first real hug I’ve had in an entire year. I’ve hardly touched anyone for ten months outside of a handshake or a friendly bro-hug. 

And afterwards she thanked me and said I gave great hugs, and it dawned on me...I remembered being a guy who loved hugs, remembered a guy that was very romantic and affectionate, that insisted on using physical touch to remind those around him that he loved them dearly....then I looked over from that guy to the one that’s in there now. What a shadow, what a husk he’s become. Empty and hollow and discarded. A lost soul...an inevitable consequence of The Nothing.

The worst thing? I mean, if there is a blacker black than all the rest...

The Apathy. That’s what The Nothing shits out and leaves behind for you. You just don’t....fucking....care...anymore.

I used to have passion, play music, learn language or just about any damn thing else (I was always such a junkie for knowledge), write stories or poetry or music or any one of a dozen other things that enjoyed. And I don’t even write this out of sadness or with some sense of self pity, this is just a cold, apathetic recall of facts. There was a guy who knew love and there’s the guy sitting there now. And those are simply two different guys. And the insurance adjuster in me is fairly certain that at this level of damage, it’ll cost more to repair the existing vehicle than it would to just buy a new one.

I don’t have any real relationships anymore. I have the ones that are necessary to maintain normal social function, but even those I put in just enough to get buy and no more. I’ve lost too much and hurt too deeply and hurt others far too much to let anyone close anymore. It’s hard to describe how it feels to look around you and realize you’re standing alone, no one around. 

The only times I hear from someone is when they need something from me. I’m like a tool for rent. Why buy this thing when I only ever need to use it once in a blue moon?

Family? No, two sisters and two brothers in law that I don’t know anymore and they definitely don’t know me. A mom that taught me to use people like pawns and a dad so devoid of emotion and connection that it’s impossible to communicate, a daughter I never see or speak to anymore and an ex that swore we’d remain amicable for the sake of our daughter but slowly, methodically, and fucking brilliantly shut me out of her life completely...and my daughter with her by extension. Friends? No one there that knows me either, just people I talk to on occasion to spend a little bit of my distraction time with someone else.

But no one around me knows this. I put on a pretty decent mask I suppose, my boss apparently thought I was a really happy guy and married with kids. Ha. Cool, it’s working. I’ve gotten good at camouflage. It’s just another form of lying, and I’m incredibly good at lying. 

Talking about it, is like...what’s the fucking point? This is a tar pit, baby. I’m not bringing anyone else in this. Even if you were standing right next to me with a brilliant torch, this darkness, this Nothing around me is far too thick to see it. 

I miss writing though, maybe that’s why I’m finally doing this. Putting something down. I’m going to commit to talking to this fucking thing everyday. No one knows me here, I barely use this website. I only ever got onto it for....well, another person who eventually left. Maybe that’s why I feel I can be ok here, being naked and bleeding and fucked up and real.....no one who knows me by my mask will have to know what lives underneath it. This is my tree of trust.

I don’t want this to just be a dumping ground for depressed Emo bullshit though, I can go listen to Dashboard Confessionals while cutting myself if I wanted to go there. What I want is a true exploration and record of The Nothing as it grows stronger, what it’s taking, what fuels it, can I escape. I don’t want help either, I don’t think there is any such thing (see tar pit reference above). Maybe you’re always alone too, maybe you’re also constantly afraid that the house of cards will get blown down and people will see the real ugly inside. 

Maybe this is just me yelling into the wind that you’re alone, but not so alone. Maybe all of us are and none of us. Maybe I don’t know what to believe anymore.

I’ve tried to remember it, you know. Happiness. I’ve tried to find that motherfucker like Sherlock and his dear Watson, complete with cocaine and violins. You ever try to think of a nice warm fire while you’re soaking wet and freezing your balls off? And how’d that work out for ya? Same idea - “Just think happy thoughts” is like telling someone that just fell into arctic waters that they should “Just think of a nice warm fire”.

Hopefully, they’re still giving you the finger when their body gets frozen in place. It’d be a bit of justice, if there is such a thing.

That happiness is like the thought of a warm blanket when I’m currently buried in snow. Doesn’t actually exist.

There’s not a day where I don’t wake up wishing to fuck that I hadn’t. And there isn’t a night that I go to sleep that I don’t pray that I won’t wake up this time. Life has become a grueling marathon of pain and most days I have trouble figuring out why I fucking bother. 

Even as I’m writing this, I’m constantly stopping to wonder what’s the fucking point. 

I’ve gone on dating apps, funny enough. But every time I actually think about having a connection with someone, it honestly freaks me the fuck out. I’m so fucking damaged, there’s just no fucking way I’ll find someone with a back strong enough to help me carry all this baggage. I freak out and delete the account.

It’s completely not about the sex for me, if you can believe it. I’ve got such a low libido recently that even the idea of it lately gives me paralyzing anxiety. I don’t want to have sex if it’s not with someone I have a good intellectual connection with, and I never have. The problem with that is that sex in my mind is held on this strange pedestal where it straddles the line between sacred entity and foul beast, and it’s gotten so complicated and ridiculous that I just don’t care anymore. 

There isn’t anything even tempting or alluring about sex anymore. Even masturbation is almost completely without enjoyment, used every so often as a tool for general upkeep. And even this The Nothing has it’s hands on. The other day, I stumbled on a video that looked almost exactly like my child’s mother with another man...and I got physically ill. After throwing up 3 times and shaking for nearly an hour, I slowly pulled myself back from the panic attack I was having.

I didn’t eat for 3 days and I couldn’t get another erection for more than a week. Suppose it’s safe to say I’m still in love with that woman, I guess. Not only did I feel like absolute shit that whole week, I felt like shit for feeling like shit. My Yin and my Yang were both very very pissed off. This is just one of a number of broken fuses and faulty wires inside this broken machine.

Sometimes I wish we had the ability to do a form of Vulcan Min-meld, but with emotions and empathy. Especially when someone asks what’s wrong. Just grab their hand and rest it gently over my heart and let it tell the story for which I’ll never have the words. 

That’s also why I’d be scared like hell if that were possible, I’d be afraid the weight of it would crush them. I’m not trying to be really morose or hyperbolic, I’m fairly certain the vast majority of people walking around out there don’t carry this. I’ve talked to them, I know them. When you’ve spent a fucking lifetime perfecting your camouflage and your tower of lies, you can spot someone else playing that game from a mile away. And I’m not saying everyone else out there is skipping through a magic pixie lolly-pop fairyland or anything, but most people out there are general pretty stoked about being alive and doing stuff. People like me are out there, but I don’t see very many people that are under the spell of The Nothing.

I fucking hope not, this is an existence I wouldn’t wish on anyone, friend or foe. On that note, I also hope you aren’t going through that as well if you’re reading this right now. If you’ve never counted the different ways you could choose to end your life instead of counting sheep to fall asleep at night, you are truly blessed. 

I hope you stay whole. And with whatever capacity I’m still capable of feeling it, I love you. Cause maybe you don’t hear it that often either, and for that I’m sorry. I’d rather go without food than love, and I’ve been in both spots before.

I hope The Nothing never finds you.

Until next time.

[apurpleaddledbaker]

Character Solidifying

Answers to this ask meme because mun doesn’t know how to love herself and got up far too early to function so have some results

1. How does your character think of their father? What do they hate and love about him? What influence - literal or imagined - did the father have?

Gamzee thinks poorly of his lusus, the creature may have looked after him after his emerging but he was hardly around enough to have much of a positive impact upon him. He may have taught Gamzee about Alternia and ensured he knew of home and his purpose upon it, but that was hardly useful when the creature absconded and left him to his own struggles.

2. Their mother? How do they think of her? What do they hate? Love? What influence - literal or imagined - did the mother have?

The Mother Grub is the Mother Grub, not much else to say on that.

3. Brothers, sisters? Who do they like? Why? What do they despise about their siblings?

He’s got all his brothers and sisters in the crew Jade sister is definitely a fav, they chatter about their less than innocent jobs. Gamzee thinks it’s really fucking cool how Jade works He doesn’t hate any of his bros or sisters

4. What type of discipline was your character subjected to at home? Strict? Lenient?

It was most lenient, due to his lusus being mostly absent, he was able to do a lot of things he most definitely shouldn’t have been allowed to, including get himself hooked on sopor slime. After his lusus absconded, he had a very strict set of rules to follow when he worked for the original owner of what is now his bakery. Before the man was tragically lost during a break in… yes.

5. Were they overprotected as a child? Sheltered?

Not at all. Not at all.

6. Did they feel rejection or affection as a child?

He definitely felt more rejection than anything else, there was a complete lack of affection in his childhood.

7. What was the economic status of their family?

They were actually quite well off before the absconding, then his funds were flat locked (and may or may not have been stolen from him at some point by shady bank) and he had to do his best to deal with shit from there.

8. How does your character feel about religion?

Gamzee is all about the Mirthful Church, is here and he stands it. All of the here for his Grand High Brother and the rest of the Church, it’s all good.

9. What about political beliefs?

He’s just a big shrug, doesn’t have the time or the care. Just wants to do what he do, shit’ll happen and he’ll just keep going.

10. Is your character street-smart, book-smart, intelligent, intellectual, slow-witted?

Gamzee… is a special. He’s consumed all of the mind rotting drugs and he’s the most slow, very late for all of the things it’s not uncommon for him to respond to something that happened a while ago as if it just happened. He’ll also forget so much of what he’s just been told.

11. How do they see themselves: as smart, as intelligent, uneducated?

Gamzee knows he’s a bit of a dumb son, he’s fine with that, he’s all cool.

12. How does their education and intelligence – or lack thereof - reflect in their speech pattern, vocabulary, and pronunciations?

He doesn’t use a lot of bit words, uses a lot of profanity though and tends to speak slowly and a bit slurred, trailing off and tripping over his words at times.

13. Did they like school? Teachers? Schoolmates?

He didn’t really go to school, all of his teachings were very homeschooled kinda thing, first everything he learned from his lusus then what he learned from his employer.

14. Were they involved at school? Sports? Clubs? Debate? Were they unconnected?

N/A

15. Did they graduate? High-School? College? Do they have a PHD? A GED?

Nope, not at all. There was nothing to graduate so he done didn’t.

16. What does your character do for a living? How do they see their profession? What do they like about it? Dislike?

He’s a Baker first and foremost! He loves making miracles for people and sharing his baked goods! Loves seeing the happy faces and hearing how much people like his stuff Also works as a Hitman for the Crew, which he is also enjoying, it’s the closest he’ll get to what he was born to do according to his lusus and there’s something really satisfying in beating a motherfucker with his clubs

17. Did they travel? Where? Why? When?

He’s never travelled anywhere, just stayed in Midnight City that he knows off. He’s unsure if he was born on Derse or Alternia and he doesn’t have anyone to ask anymore.

18. What did they find abroad, and what did they remember?

N/A

19. What were your character’s deepest disillusions? In life? What are they now?

Literally all of the drugs he takes, those are some big disillusions right there. Also probably all of his miracles, would much rather believe in them then the truth of science and things that can be explained away. Let the boy continue to believe in his greater powers.

20. What were the most deeply impressive political or social, national or international, events that they experienced?

That would definitely have to do with meeting his Grand High Brother and being accepted into the Church proper, that was a very big impressive day for him and stays cherished in his memories.

21. What are your character’s manners like? What is their type of hero? Whom do they hate?

Gamzee’s not got the best manners, he doesn’t quite get personal space or a lot of social ques but he does his best to remember things he’s told if he thinks it’ll make somebody happy, doesn’t like setting people off or making them uncomfortable so he does his best to ensure it only ever happens once if that. He doesn’t really have a hero type? Is just kinda shrug, doesn’t mind hearing about ‘em though if somebody wants to chatter at him about ‘em. He currently has no potential pitch leanings or any hate towards anybody at this current time. At least nobody alive and it’s kinda useless to hate a dead person, would much rather spend his emotions on other things.

22. Who are their friends? Lovers? ‘Type’ or ‘ideal’ partner?

All of his brothers and sisters are his friends! All of them. His Jade sister is his favourite, murder buddies for life Currently doesn’t have any flushed partners/leanings nor does he really have a type or ideal partner, he’s happy to roll with things and let emotions pop up and fester where they do.

23. What do they want from a partner? What do they think and feel of sex?

From a Flushed Partner, someone that’ll stay afterwards and cuddle with him even if he is bony and uncomfortable and won’t be deterred by waking up in a clown octopus hold, rub his horns a little cause he likes that and he’ll purr for you From a Pitch Partner, please just hold him down and give it to him rough, pull on his hair the most good, also biting, yes for biting. And a good fight to decide who gets to be on top is always good for a very violent race >;3c Sex is good, he enjoys it, is messy but is fun. Enjoys both topping and bottoming with a bit of a lean towards the latter.

24. What social groups and activities does your character attend? What role do they like to play? What role do they actually play, usually?

He’s part of the Midnight Crew, works as a Hitman for them and sometimes brings and leaves baked goods for them, usually just what he hadn’t been able to sell that day but sometimes he’ll make shit just for them. Definitely prefers to just be told what to do about things, give him orders to follow and he’ll follow them.

25. What are their hobbies and interests?

All of the baking! Also enjoys all kinds of clown things such as juggling (I’m not saying he’s good at juggling blood-stained clubs but I really am)

26. What does your character’s home look like? Personal taste? Clothing? Hair? Appearance?

His room is a very chaotic place, messy but he knows where everything is so it’s fine, the only part of it that isn’t messy is where Deploy (his new cat) sleeps, it’s pristine and well maintained over there. But the rest of the room is mess and piles, the best one being his blankets and pillows pile, really just a nest but he likes piles more so that’s what he calls it. He doesn’t really have much of a care for what he wears, is really shrug about it and he often wears his clothes wrong anyways, because buttons are hard ok. His hair’s really soft and thick, wild curls that he does remember to brush sometimes so there’s an equal chance of knots and not. He looks lanky and a bit not-quite there, wandering hazy gaze and listing in place.

27. How do they relate to their appearance? How do they wear their clothing? Style? Quality?

Not really big on things like style and quality since how he wears his clothing goes really well with his general disposition of confused, not all put together and things could probably be better.

28. Who is your character’s mate? How do they relate to him or her? How did they make their choice?

Currently no Matesprit

29. What is your character’s weaknesses? Hubris? Pride? Controlling?

An inability to focus for too long and an over-zealousness for his job. Also the fact that he’s really friendly and that’s not the best quality for this life Gamzee.

30. Are they holding on to something in the past? Can he or she forgive?

Not really, Gamzee runs better with it’s better to let shit go and just keep going with his life, no point hanging onto grudges too long. There’s also the fact that a lot of his grudges tend to end in murals painted on stone but that’s not important.

31. Does your character have children? How do they feel about their parental role? About the children? How do the children relate?

Nope!

32. How does your character react to stress situations? Defensively? Aggressively? Evasively?

Typically he’s just go with the flow, unaffected. Others he gets a bit fidgety and would like to either leave it or if that’s not available to him, aggression is always a good road to take.

33. Do they drink? Take drugs? What about their health? 

He takes ALL OF THE DRUGS. ALL OF THEM. His health is pretty not the best, is not terrible but is bad, is why he’s mostly bones, boi takes too many drugs and shit’s just fecked up now.

34. Does your character feel self-righteous? Revengeful? Contemptuous?

All of the no, not at all for any of those.

35. Do they always rationalize errors? How do they accept disasters and failures?

Errors happen all of the time, you just gotta learn from them and continue on, and if they continue, well you only need to beat the motherfucker harder.

36. Do they like to suffer? Like to see other people suffering?

Gamzee’s alright with a bit of physical pain, it adds a nice ping to the haze he’s usually in very enjoyable. He’s very meh about other people suffering though, doesn’t really care one way or the other.

37. How is your character’s imagination? Daydreaming a lot? Worried most of the time? Living in memories?

He is always daydreaming, mind’s always getting away from him and wandering off somewhere he doesn’t want it to.

38. Are they basically negative when facing new things? Suspicious? Hostile? Scared? Enthusiastic?

He’s pretty open and excited about new things! Unless someone he trusts and respects tells him to act otherwise, then there’s suspicion and wariness because they know what they’re talking about and they wouldn’t warn him without good reason.

39. What do they like to ridicule? What do they find stupid?

He doesn’t really care to ridicule anything or anyone, everybody’s off making their own miracles and that’s cool. Except disloyalty, that’s unforgiveable and a big no-no to him.

40. How is their sense of humor? Do they have one?

Everything is hilarious. Everything. All jokes are miracles and deserve to be laughed at.

41. Is your character aware of who they are? Strengths? Weaknesses? Idiosyncrasies? Capable of self-irony?

I think Gamzee is very aware of himself, knows how strong he is, knows he shouldn’t be around all of the people while he’s sober/raging and that he’s definitely not the brightest/best blub in the box. He’s fine with that. He is definitely capable of self-irony.

42. What does your character want most? What do they need really badly, compulsively? What are they willing to do, to sacrifice, to obtain?

I don’t know if Gamzee has anything he really really wants, probably just to make his Grand High Brother proud to associate with him and stay with him for some time to come. He needs his miracle pies as being sober is a terrible time for him and he hates it, absolutely hates how weighted and real everything feels, it hurts his head and makes him so easy to rage and he doesn’t want that please, would do anything to prevent it.

43. Does your character have any secrets? If so, are they holding them back?

Yeah, definitely. But more in the sense that they’re not really important and don’t need to be brought to attention at the current time. There’s no point bringing up anything about the roles they would have taken on Alternia as that’s neither here nor there and he doesn’t want his brothers and sisters worried that he’ll just murder them just because Alternian culture would have called for it.

44. How badly do they want to obtain their life objectives? How do they pursue them?

He doesn’t really have a life objective currently, he’s currently at a good place and is good with staying here.

45. Is your character pragmatic? Think first? Responsible? All action? A visionary? Passionate? Quixotic?

He doesn’t think first, if he did he’d never get anywhere because the thought would abandon him so quickly it would be hilarious and sad and nothing would ever be done ever. Even when he plans things it’s very quick spur of the moment, follow the thought before it escapes.

46. Is your character tall? Short? What about size? Weight? Posture? How do they feel about their physical body?

He’s a toll boi! 6’1” and all gangly limbs and bones! No fat on him whatsoever, there is some muscle but not too much. He’s very shrug about his physical body, his blood caste live a long time so he’s pretty sure he’s got another growth spurt or two in him, until then just ‘this is it’

47. Do they want to project an image of a younger, older, more important person? Does they want to be visible or invisible?

He doesn’t really want to project much of anything, what people see is what they see, he does try to be non-threatening, though that’s a bit difficult with the face paint. Doesn’t really try to be either visible or invisible, he’s just there.

48. How are your character’s gestures? Vigorous? Weak? Controlled? Compulsive? Energetic? Sluggish?

His gestures aren’t controlled at all, they’re a bit slow and dragging, sluggish is a good word for them.

49. What about voice? Pitch? Strength? Tempo and rhythm of speech? Pronunciation? Accent?

Very slow, slurred kinda scratchy. A low bass or a baritone

50. What are the prevailing facial expressions? Sour? Cheerful? Dominating?

A cheerful, if absent-minded and dopey grin, it tends to show off sharp teeth.

[thatweirdmod]

Windowless Moviemaker Chapter 6: Race

Windowless Moviemaker

Chapter 6: Race

Kidney turns and leaves me sitting against the wall-- speechless.

My eyes slowly move over to Mitchol, whose slouching form is now cast in darkness by Kidney's shadow. I think, hollowly, that the blood drying on his face probably itches a little. Mitchol manages a small squirm in his ropes.

"Well?" Kidney demands irritably.

Mitchol's swelling, battered face jerks up to attention at Kidney. "W-what?" He dares to ask.

"You're up. Give me a plan."

"Oh," Mitchol says. "Er, I just expected-"

"Is there something you don't understand about your situation?" Kidney interrupts. "You don't get to expect anything. Now, the plan."

"Uh, well, I guess we need to get to their computers somehow. They probably ripped DVDs too. Redhand's a little old fashioned. We might also have to look out for tapes..."

Kidney crosses his arms, scowling. "If I kill these guys, then wipe their houses, am I gonna have to worry that I missed a spot because you couldn't point me in the right direction?"

Mitchol attempts to splay his hands. "Look, I know where my stuff is, but how am I supposed to know exactly where their stuff is?"

Kidney chews at the inside of his cheek angrily and walks over to the table to grab a notebook and pen. "Let's just start with addresses," he says, poising to write. "Redhand."

"He lives up in Tindle in those stained up white apartments. Er, I think the number's 46."

"Costriel." Kidney demands, looking up from his scribbling.

"He lives in an apartment too, and he's actually rooming with Nethandre." Mitchol says. "316, in the Fortitude Apartments."

Kidney nods his head.

"So, er," Mitchol begins. "What are you planning to do now that you know where these guys are?"

"You remember how I said you don't get to expect anything?" Kidney says patronizingly. "The same applies to asking. I, the one who is allowed to expect and ask, do not expect you to open your mouth unless I ask you something."

Mitchol swallows and shifts in his blood-stained bindings.

Then Kidney turns to one of the concrete walls, as if it called his name. He stands, staring at it silently, before asking another question.

"Did you... Did you give those videos to my uncle too?"

Mitchol's mouth quivers. "H-he, uh... he was the one who suggested that, you know, we needed some extra insurance on you in the first place. So yeah."

Kidney stands still, unanswering and unmoving, but I can see his jaw working slightly.

"But please!" Mitchol sputters. "Dude, I-I.. I totally forgot about that earlier-- when you asked who had the videos." His arms press up against the ropes, trying to shield his body. Kidney walks in front of him. "I wasn't holdin' out on purpose or anyth-" Mitchol is cut off by Kidney smacking him over the head with a closed palm.

"Just out of curiosity, Mitchol," Kidney says. "If I hadn't asked about Uncle Stoulfer just now, would you ever have "remembered" to tell me?"

"We-w-w-well I don't know." Mitchol trembles with his hands splayed open and his eyes wide. "Guess it's a good thing you jogged my memory man, ha..."

Kidney turns and paces slowly, shaking his head. "I never liked the way that old, crusty loaf looked at Krin, even at me. But for my own selfish reasons, I ignored it all this time." He scoffs lightly. "Just one more reason to be glad I'm out." He turns back and looks Mitchol dead in the face. "The blinders are off."

"So you're aaalll alone," I say from the corner.

Kidney's eyes shoot to me, surprised.

"What? You thought I'd be totally traumatized just from that?"

His gaze narrows hatefully.

"So some weird shit happened and you saw my dream. It prompted you to get the jump on us, but that was mostly luck. And that's probably as far as your luck will go in regards to picking useful kernels of information outta piles of brain vomit." I snort. "Even my thing was more useful, because I saw you in real time."

Kidney smiles. "Where did I see your dream?"

"Huh?"

"It was inside your mind. It had to have been, 'cause that's where they're all cooked up." Kidney says, tapping the side of his head. "The moon is almost full again. That has to count for something." He breathes in. "I can go further with this. But I'll make sure you stay at your current level. You'll be underground here where you can't touch the moonlight."

"You don't even know what the hell 'this' is." I say.

"Pretty smug talk for a guy who's about to lose everything," Kidney says, with his mouth turned upwards in a smirk that doesn't reach his stony eyes.

"What better time to be smug than when you're about to lose everything?"

His face contorts with all the nasty feelings that must be roiling around inside of him. "I told you I'd take everything from you, and this bullshit positive nihilism of yours will be one of the things. I'll make you understand how bad playing as the loser really is, even if the game has the same black ending for everyone."

He takes Mitchol's phone out of his pocket, then says, "Mitchol, you told me you could set Redhand up."

Mitchol breathes in. "Redhand's looking for a new place to do his snuff movies, so I'm thinking maybe I can tell him I found a good place, and you can catch him there?"

"Hmm," Kidney says, folding his arms. "Why does he happen to need a new location now?"

Mitchol explains, "He's been under some suspicion lately. His neighbors've been complaining about a smell, like rotten something, coming from his apartment."

I don't need to wonder what that smell could be. I watched a video where Redhand Heriolt cut a girl open with a sharpened can top. It'd probably taken a fair amount of practice to learn how to do, but he'd managed to keep his subject awake and alive while he pulled out part of her intestines, smeared the pungent brown contents over both of them, and pleasured himself.

I had thought, while clicking through Redhand's contributions, that cleaning up set after filming that kinda stuff would be way too much of a pain. Looks like Redhand thought so too. That filth and gore in the background really had been as caked-on as it looked.

Mitchol continues, "He even got, you know, reported to the cops 'cause someone heard screams. Redhand laughed it off, sayin' it was slasher flicks playing on the TV. They left after he promised to turn the volume down, and they never got a search warrant or nothin'. Still, better not push it, right?"

I nearly snort. Well no shit someone heard screams if he was doing that stuff in an apartment.

Kidney asks, "Where do you plan on telling him to go?"

Mitchol swallows weirdly, with something about him quivering. "That ghost town 40 minutes southeast of Grishee, the neighborhood has a bunch of abandoned old houses. I know a little white one has a basement too. I think I could convince him it's ideal."

A frown of skepticism sends Kidney's lips pointing downwards, but then he walks closer to Mitchol and loosens some of the bindings so he can move one of his hands. Just as soon, however, Kidney slips a pocket knife out of his back pocket and pops the blade out against Mitchol's neck.

Mitchol gasps sharply, but Kidney just places the previously confiscated cell phone into his newly freed hand. "Text him," Kidney says into Mitchol's ear, adjusting the angle of the knife. "Make it sound natural, and make sure he goes to that little white one."

Mitchol's throat bobs, as much of a nod as there was going to be. He goes to work on the keys:

"sup dood. te ghosted out hood in Caplum has som gud spots. white house wit te green dor has a cool basement."

And "SEND".

Kidney's mouth quirks to the side. "I know I said to make it natural, but are you sure he'll get that?"

Mitchol chokes, "Yeah, I mean, I text him like that often enough."

"I see," Kidney says. Then, the phone buzzes.

"R U THERE NOW?"

"Eh, what should I say?" Mitchol asks.

"If this is a test, you might not be able to answer follow-up questions confirming that you're there. You're at home, got it?"

"nah im chillin in my plce. u out?"

"NO. HOME RUBING1 IN BEEFSLAB+blood I BAWT.CANT HUNT BUT NEed it bad."

"lol. tis Caplum spot wil fix u up. no 1 evr gos der. wnna chekit out togetrr?? jst gimme a time bro."

"nightS YUNG.TERES TIME TO CATCHA WOMAN I LEAVE RN. BETHERE 1HR???"

"frige lvl cool dood XD"

"I didn't say you were supposed to go too," Kidney purrs lowly over Mitchols shoulder. "But, I suppose you can just be 'late.'"

He takes the phone out of Mitchol's hand and re-tightens the ropes. "I can handle Redhand Heriolt from here."

With that, he turns on his heels, clops up the concrete stairs, and leaves me and Mitchol to rot in the bunker.

I look at Mitchol. "Please tell me you just tricked him somehow," I say.

"Shh," Mitchol replies quietly.

A couple of little sparks flare up in my chest and head. If I had the energy, I'd click my tongue. Don't you shush me, bitch. I whispered anyway.

Black silence begins settling down between us, and I close my eyes. The concrete is hard against my body, and I can feel us becoming one via temperature as my warmth seeps away into its cold. I move my lips, and a barely audible, hoarse series of whispers spills from them.

"Mother Earth, Mother Earth, once again to us give birth."

Suddenly, a violent roiling upheaves my stomach, like Poseidon's stormy fist punching the sea in wrath and sending the waters booming and swashing. I projectile vomit all over myself and the floor. The deja vu from my dream hits me first, and then the disgust and embarrassment of real life.

Mitchol jumps, as much as he can tied up anyway. His face is tense with that look of distubia, shock, fear, and concern that I hate directed

at me. "Wha.. are you okay man?"

A suck in a stinging, bile stained breath and respond to him in stench coated words. "No. Fuck... we just... we need to get the fuck out of here."

I lick my lips, and regret pools inside my mouth as my tongue pulls foul bits and cooling, sour fluid back into it.

There's a book of religion that says god will not be mocked and is not to be tested. I suppose I couldn't rightly be of the wombs and births of two different mothers at my own convenience. I never considered myself a man of faith, but this stuff I've been touching-- it seems to be some part of a sprawling realm beyond scientific knowledge.

I look down at myself. The sight of me must be making Mitchol sick, but since I'm already like this... I allow the muscles in my bowels to unfurl like a relaxing kitty, and warm liquid soon soaks my jeans and forms a pool around me.

Yep, this is one thing they don't tell you, at least not often, about being kidnapped. I was living freely up until however many hours ago I was taken, and that meant that I drank coffee and expected to be able to reach a toilet when it made its way through me.

I sigh, and lean over to inhale the merging smells that had all been inside my body. Amazing, how humans are all so disgusting inside, but we act as if we're clean until it comes out. I don't bother to look up at my roommate as I contemplate going number two.

But then I catch my reflection in the puddle of urine, and decide that I have to cancel my reservations with Mr. Brown, because the Train of Thought just arrived, and it only stops at the station for 3 seconds.

The first thing I thought, or perhaps, was told, about Mother Moon was that she was a relayer of the sun's message. And gods... gods... I was just thinking about them. But what do I do about them-- what do humans do about gods? They... sacrifice and serve. Blood, lives... offerings.

"Angel of The Great Star, to you, I unbar. Birth me into the spacial assemblage. Through me, relay the message," I say.

Mitchol again looks at me like I'm insane. Indeed, I've done it incorrectly. If her light cannot touch me, it is pointless. I take in a deep breath, and begin fighting against the ropes around my body harder than I ever fought before. Just a bit, perhaps they're loosening.

If I can just get out of these, I might be able to find a way to force the bunker door open and get outside. And if Mother Moon accepts me, I will be raised above Earth and the Earthlings. I will be 3rd, and they will all be 4th.

In the clearing outside the bunker, Kidney faces the moon and spreads out his arms, letting the glow bathe his body. This pale light can be so many things: ethereal, comforting, serene, eerie... He'd never questioned whose mood it really depended on until recently.

"Mother Moon, Mother Moon..." Kidney trails off, his eyes closed in concentration. But concentration isn't quite right. The chant... the feeling isn't coming over him.

"Mother Moon." He says, more of a plain address than a mystical prayer. "I can see you here tonight, as always. Does it not please you to commune with me right now?"

Gazing up at the white ball suspended in the infinite black cosmos, he ever so slightly feels her grow closer for a moment. However, she remains silent and far.

"On your own terms, Mother Moon." Kidney submits, inclining his head in reverence. Despite everything that has happened, he still feels a little crazy as he walks back to his rental car. He might fit the definition of "lunatic" now.

Kidney drives down the rural road to Caplum. Thousands of spindly, bent trees slash endless shadows through the yellow glow from his headlights. If he were taking the Passage to Hell of the South and met Satan at the end, it might not surprise him. Fitting though, that such a road would be irritatingly monotonous. Bored despite his mission, he flips the radio on.

Unintelligible words and tunes grate through static on most of the channels. Then there's the twang of guitar and a longing voice that reminds Kidney of grass fields swaying under a golden sunset in the middle of a heaven set in nowhere. He never did like country music, so he twists the knob one more click.

A bold, smooth, male voice butters the speakers. "The quiet neighborhood of Green Shade has been shaken by the story of a local housewife. According to her, she was drugged and kidnapped from her home by two masked men, who broke in late at night."

Kidney's heart lurches inside of his torso, along with the food in his stomach. He gags, swerving into the wrong lane for a second. After everything they-- Jeeto-- had told her, Mrs. Horatay was still talking?

The deep voice coming through the speakers crinkles with static. "...underground bunker. They then proceeded to film themselves sexually and physically assaulting her. The woman reports that at various points during the hours-long ordeal, both of her assailants lifted the masks away from their mouths and exposed the bottom portions of their faces."

Kidney's head swims with nausea. He never saw so much as a coin for getting that damnable spasm closeup. The footage of the actual stimulation was cut, he was sure. He'd been the one to edit Mrs. Horatay's movie. But somehow it had escaped his mind that Mrs. Horatay could be looking down, drawing a sketch in her mind for the cops.

"Both attackers appeared to be young males, in their late teens or early twenties. She describes them to be of average height, the shorter of the two having a round face and lightly tanned complexion, while the taller male's face was square shaped. She noted no hair or distinguishing blemishes on either of their faces, however..."

Kidney's hands tremble on the steering wheel, but he forces himself to focus on driving. "Relax. There's gotta be a hundred guys that fit those descriptions around here," he mutters to himself.

After a small eternity, Kidney spots a sign that humanity had come here ahead of him. "SPEED LIMIT 45" in faded black over rusted white. He slows down, guides his rental car into the overgrown brush on the side of the road, then takes the key out of the ignition.

With the engine dead, it's so quiet out here. Kidney pulls on his new black burglar's mask before getting out, just in case. He gently pushes the door closed behind himself, then goes around to the trunk.

A bag of supplies he packed from Jeeto's house is inside, and he unzips it and pockets from it a syringe of animal tranquilizer and a switchblade. The weapon he chooses to keep equipped in hand, however, is the 16-inch machete he brought himself.

Kidney begins his stalk up the road. Even in this dark place with the shadows of the bushes staring at his exposed back, he can feel Mother Moon's light clothing him and guiding his footsteps. Krin's innocently smiling face in the sunset of his room... such a distant memory kept so close to his heart. He clenches the hilt of his machete. He will not be afraid.

Mother Moon's warmth and comfort begins to seep all through him, and he senses her closer than before. The neighborhood comes into view. So he stays low and hidden as he makes his way to the west-most side where that white house is supposed to be. He sees the car before the house. It's a van that only breaks creep convention for its having a green paintjob instead of a white one.

Suddenly, a something like a living memory possesses his mind, only, something is not right. He finds himself looking at himself from behind, his black, hooded form crouching down behind bushes. One of his meaty arms is outstretched, and the hand is holding something, shiny, cold, and heavy. It's a gun-- pointing.

The head that he has an intimate awareness of, but not a oneness with, turns furthur downward without command. He sees white hairs in the bottom of his vision, and the stomach below protrudes too far forward. It is covered with a green Hawaiian shirt.

Kidney gasps, and seems to be sucked back into his own mind again. "Stoulfer," he breathes. Instinctively, Kidney whirls around on his ankles and spins up from the ground. The blast of the bullet rings the air, and Kidney feels it whip past his head and break through the dry shubbery behind him.

The moonlight makes depthless pits of the bags under Uncle Stoulfer's eyes, and carves darkness into every wrinkle and pockmark on his skin. The hairs of his white mustache and goatee twitch.

The old man's deep, raspy laugh mocks him. "I always knew you'd end up givin' me trouble."

Kidney runs for one of the houses. He can hear the many voices of his uncle's mind echoing. The thoughts are so muddled, though, and examined all at once, they're like a wild drove. Irritation. Lust. Smugness.

But the foremost thoughts-- those are the thoughts of action. That is where Kidney puts his focus. The gun fires again, but Kidney knows where it has made its path, and dashes out of its aim just as the trigger is being pulled.

"Shit! Pretty quick on his toes," Kidney hears.

"Got lucky there," Uncle Stoulfer hollers.

Kidney crashes through the rotting, wooden front door of a house, and runs into a bedroom in the back. He stands to the side of the doorway and listens to the floorboards at the entrance creak. Inside, Stoulfer's thoughts sound like mumbling, for only weak, pale streaks of moonlight penetrate the dark building through broken windows and cracked roofing.

Kidney can sense with the stronger rays of light touch the old man's balding head, because those are the moments he can hear more clearly.

Uncle Stoulfer plans to check behind the kitchen counters first, then... Kidney clenches the machete handle and raises the weapon. When Stoulfer comes here, he will strike.