#no offense mosquito lovers but I will never be one of you

[dwindlebunnies]

I saw a pro-mosquito post and I prevented myself from interacting with it, you should be so proud of me.

[kamosweasley]

Not that damn song again (George Weasley x Reader)

Description : It's Christmas time so a cute fluffy fic about it sounds right. And I'm a simp for George (and Christmas songs), I hope you'll enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Words count : 2.5K

Author note's : lyrics from All I want for Christmas by Mariah Carey are in italics.

Tag list : @memekingofwwiii

It's terribly cliché but you can't lie, you love Christmas. There is no better time of year, with snow, hot chocolate, big sweaters, cinnamon cookies and decorations everywhere, how not to love it ? You don't understand people who prefer summer with its sweltering heat and sunburn and all those damn mosquitoes. But unfortunately for you, your boyfriend is a man of the second category whereas you are a woman of the first category. Which makes some things a bit complicated, like you grumbling when he wants to pull you out in the July sun or like him not being able to stand the Christmas carols that you play over and over again from the first of November.

“Not that damn song again …” he mumbles, hiding his face in his hands. “Darling I love you, but if you play this song one more time ...”

“Come on Georgie, it’s Christmas time ! Listening to Christmas songs is essential to my mental health right now. It's either that or stuff myself with cinnamon cookies with the delicious icing and not fit into my favorite sweaters anymore. You really don't like it ?”, coming to give him a back hug with puppy eyes. He never resists you with those eyes, he loves to see them disappear to give way to a big smile.

“I'm sorry my love, but at the end of the fiftieth listening of your playlist I started to hate Santa Claus and the sound of the bells.”

You're both sitting on his bed, he's finishing his potion homework but he's not getting very far with you in the same room listening to the same songs for over a month. He hates it because he loves you with all his heart, but he's starting to wish he could go deaf so he can't stand those melodies which haunt him even in his sleep. He would love it as much as you do, but the more the days go by, the more he understands this will never be the case. And he doesn't want to put limits on how you enjoy this time, he knows how much it means to you.

You put your hands under his sweater to warm your hands, the contact of your cold skin on his abdo makes him startle as you let out a giggle.

“Sorry, my hands are cold and I know that your mother's sweaters keep me warm so I took advantage of it …”

“I know darling, it's absolutely not to satisfy your wandering hands.” he says as he turns his head to kiss you, “I'm going to ask my mother to knit you some mittens, since it's very warm.”

“Good idea, I'm freezing to death right now.” George begins to turn around with a grin on his face, ready to warm you up in his own way but you haven’t noticed his purpose, “I'm going to go make hot chocolate in the kitchen, do you want some too ? I can bring you a cup, I make the best hot chocolate you've ever tasted. No offense to your mom who must make really good ones too, but mine is better.”

You often take him by surprise, changing the subject or not noticing how the situation is turning out and he always found it charming. You make him think of Luna a little bit, on another level but just as clueless as her sometimes. Your boyfriend smiles at you, returning to his potion homework. “Anything to please you darling.”

“You'll see, it's fabulous! I have a secret ingredient, if you're nice I might tell you what it is.” you put on one of his sweaters that you take from his suitcase before you wink at him and leave the room. He should take advantage of the silence of your absence to finish his damn homework in a hurry but he can't concentrate. Potion is boring and he really loves it when you wear one of his sweaters, it's way too big for you and that's what makes you so adorable. And you will come to spend a few days at the Burrow, meet his parents as his girlfriend and receive your own sweater knitted by Molly. He hopes that you will continue to steal from him even if you have your own.

“Here it is ! Taste it and tell me.” you say while putting the cup in his hand. You already know what he’ll say of course, everybody loves your hot chocolate, there is no reason for your boyfriend not to do the same. He thanks you before taking a sip of the hot drink, ready for a chocolate too sweet with some spice in it. And it is, but he has to admit that it is particularly good. He nods his head before he smiles at you. “You're right, it's the best I've ever tasted.” He puts his cup on the bedside table and returns to his parchment.

“So why don't you keep drinking it ? It doesn't look like the best hot chocolate you've ever tasted.” You're sure George didn't lie to you, but you still hoped he would act on his words. When he tells you it's the best hot chocolate he's ever had in his hands, you wish he wouldn't let go of the cup until he's finished it. Maybe you have a misplaced ego but this chocolate is your personal pride and you want your boyfriend to treat it well.

He runs a hand through his hair, not even taking his eyes off his homework. “I've never been a big fan of hot chocolate or Christmas cookies and certainly not of all those bell-filled songs. I’m sorry darling but I never liked any of this.” You melt before his eyes, he is sincerely sorry he doesn't like what makes you so happy and you think it's too cute.

"I'm just not a Christmas person. It's good because we saw family and have presents but still don't get what you found in this period.” You come and join him on the bed, sitting in a suit in front of him. “It’s simple. Let it snow, Jingle Bell Rock, All I Want For Christmas, it’s all about a magical time.” In his eyes you can tell that he doesn't understand at all what you're talking about, which is amazing when you consider how much time he spent listening to all those songs. “We are wizards. Our whole life is magical, I'm not sure I understand you on that point.” You grab a roll of parchment and hold it as if it were a microphone, looking at him with a glim in your eyes.

The best thing you can do to help him understand is to show him. You’re not a good singer, at least George never complains about it, perhaps because he tries very hard to keep his mind upright since he doesn’t like your playlist. It's unlikely you'll be able to change his mind, but a little a capella karaoke should put a smile on his face.

“I don’t want a lot for Christmas, there is just one thing I need. I don’t care about the present, underneath the Christmas tree.” While keeping your fake microphone close to your mouth, you point at your boyfriend with the same expression as Mariah Carey in the clip. “I just want you for my own, more than you could ever know ! Make my wish come true, all I want for Christmas is you !”

As it is impossible to sing Mariah Carey without playing the diva, you give it your all and when you see George's smile, you do it well. It must be your acting more than the words of love that make him smile like that, it's like he's trying to restrain himself from laughing.

“'Cause I just want you here tonight, holding on to me so tight.” On all fours you come and sit between his legs, facing him. He puts his cold hands on your hips passing them under the elastic of your jogging, a smirk on his lips. You shiver from the sudden cold on your skin but don't stop singing, your face getting closer and closer to his. “What more can I do ? Baby, all I want for Christmas is you ! You, baby.”

He's right in front of you. Your noses are touching, your eyes are immersed in each other and you melt like snow in the sun at the intensity of this moment. Damn you love him.

The hunger in his eyes devours you before his lips reach yours. A passionate, fiery, kiss that will get you high. Your head empties itself of all words and thoughts, your hands naturally place themselves in his hair and behind your closed eyes you imagine his smile, his eyes shining with mischief, his hand holding yours and all those little things that make you fall for him. Over and over again.

Gasping for air, the kiss is stopped. You're almost dizzy, head spinning with butterflies messing around in the belly. Liking George Weasley drives you crazy, there's no telling, you've never felt that way about anyone else. Before him you'd never been that high, you'd never had a simple kiss that made you tremble, you'd never dreamed of spending the rest of your life with someone. George Weasley is the kind of man you should treasure, marry and have as a father to your children. For the simple reason that he will be wonderful in all these roles, with him everyday life will never be boring, he will always have the words to make you laugh or smile. He will give love like no one else to his children, an exemplary father who will take care of his children as if they were the greatest wonders in this world.

You have no doubt about it, your boyfriend will offer a wonderful life to the woman he chooses. That's why you're not going to let him go. Your lover.

You suddenly open your eyes as you feel yourself tilted to the side with George, he's still holding you against him and you land softly on the comforter and pillows. You're lying against each other and George slips one of his legs between yours so that they get tangled up. “Now we’re good darling.” He kisses your forehead and plays with a strand of your hair, it's so peaceful. “I haven't finished the song.” You feel his mouth smiling against your forehead. “Who cares ? Certainly not me, I heard what I needed to hear. I think I understand now.”

“Do you ?”

“Yes, but I still hate Christmas songs.”

You lean on your forearm to look down on him, looking pouty. “C’mon ! You’re overreacting, this song is brand new. It's only been out for a month, you can't already hate it.” He grabs you by the shoulders and applies pressure to force you to lie down, not softened by your pouty air. “You listen to it all the time and if not, you sing it. Believe me, one month is enough to get sick of it.”

After being a diva a few minutes before, you're having fun being a diva again because after all, you can't talk about Mariah like that. And you can't help but defend the honor of your favorite Christmas songs. With a burning gaze, fists on your hips and a somewhat condescending tone, you fight back. “It’s Mariah Carey so it will be a massive hit, I’m sure of it. And at least, I’m sure you will think of me every time you’ll hear this song for the rest of your life.” Smiling at you, he adopts the same facial expression and flutters his eyes saying to you in a sweet voice: “The only way I'm going to hear this song again is from you. It's a Muggle song, no one is going to know it among wizards.”

Rolling on yourself to be flat on your stomach, half on George given the proximity that the bed offers you, you give him a charming wink as you rest your chin on your hands.

“That’s what I’m saying. At the end of each year you will hear this song many, many, many times and you will think of that moment when I sang it to you in your dorm at Hogwarts. You will see the scene again as you hear me singing it from the other side of our house. Because we're going to spend our whole lives together.” Since you're already half on top of him, he has no problem placing you on top of him, kissing both your cheeks and your forehead as you go by, making you giggle. “You’re a genius. You really thought of everything.”

You mess his hair before wedging your head in his neck, breathing in his scent. You smile against his throat and you know him well enough to know that it makes him smile back. “How could I want to live without you ? You know how to make yourself indispensable Georgie, it's almost annoying.” You love it when he runs his hand through your hair, it's the most relaxing thing ever. His other hand traces back and forth in your back, making you a little sleepy. This man knows how to deal with you. “Because you thought you were the only one who thought of everything? I would never let you go.”

If you could stop time and stay like this forever, you would do it without hesitation. You're comfortable in a bed, just the two of you, your hearts are beating at the same rhythm and you're in love. Then it smells like hot chocolate and you've managed to make him smile to a Christmas song. You never want to forget this moment. “Fine by me Georgie.”

You can't resist the temptation to hum Last Christmas, but George's caresses make you fall asleep little by little. You stop before the end of the song and in a few minutes you fall asleep on him. He kisses the top of your head, finding you absolutely adorable. You always manage to fall asleep quickly when you are being tickled, which makes him very tender and amuses him a lot. He often teases you about it, it always annoys you and he finds it even cuter.

Feeling your body rise slightly to the rhythm of your breathing, he starts humming the end of Last Christmas. He takes advantage of you being asleep, so you won't be able to talk to him about it someday. Continuing to run his hand through your hair and humming Christmas music, he smiles as he looks up at the ceiling. You are with him, alone and calm, in perfect harmony and he always liked to feel the beat of your heart when you cuddle. It's that kind of perfect moment. And he wishes it would never end.

[kaidans-alenko]

Finally returning to their story after what feels like forever

Lily and Kaidan sat on the deck of his parent's orchard, the smell of smoke in the air as they shared a pack of beer, their hands intertwined over the table between them. 

"Tell me something I don't know about you Lil." 

She took a drag of her cigarette before turning to him "I'm a woman with many secrets Alenko, there's a lot you don't know." She said with a grin.

"I'll tell you one of my deep, dark secrets if you tell me one of yours." He teased, kissing her hand.

"You drive a hard bargain Kaidan but I doubt your secrets are as deep and dark as mine." She took a swig of her beer "no offense."

"Try me."

She sighed, setting her cigarette down in the ashtray "Fine…." She looked up at the stars, just like she did on Torfan that night, only this time the man next to her was alive and she wasn't covered in blood or sweat. Instead it was a peaceful, cool summer night, no dead bodies just her, her lover and the biggest case of beer they could find. 

"I was engaged once." She told him over the faint sound of crickets. 

"What happened?" He asked, the alcohol in his system giving him less of a filter then he already had.

Lily chuckled darkly "Torfan happened." 

Kaidan nodded, eyes wide, he wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt and not assume things but from what he heard it probably wasn't an assumption. "Did the batarians….were they responsible?" 

"No, he was an infiltrator, batarian bastards never saw him coming." She smacked a mosquito that landed on her arm  "that was all me, I got him killed." 

"Lily-"

"And before you say 'oh no, it wasn't your fault'." She mocked "Aiden, my therapist and Anderson have all been telling me that for the past five years," she picked up her still lit cigarette and took another drag off it "I know it is and you saying it certainly isn't going to change my mind." 

"Okay, then I won't say it." 

She flicked her cigarette out onto the deck "Thank you." 

"I am sorry though."

Lily shrugged "whatever, your turn boy scout, where's that secret I was promised?" 

[dyscrasia-eucrasia]

<<Prev | Next>>

Part 25

"So… what now?" Angel asked as Demie shoveled the last few lettuce leaves into his mouth. "You wanna just go home?" 

Demie slumped back in his seat, looking out of the windshield at the diner. He turned the camera over and over in his hands. "Which road are we on?" He asked. 

"WV-2." 

Demie turned and looked out the passenger window. He seemed pretty deep in thought, but like he was conflicted about something. 

"Y'know," he said after a little while, "if we turn around and keep on 2, up through Point Pleasant, we could be in Wayne National Forest in about forty minutes." 

"Isn't that in Ohio?" 

"Yeah." Demie left it at that. 

"I thought you wouldn't like Point Pleasant, with the whole Mothman thing," Angel said. 

"I'm not saying we stop in Point Pleasant," Demie said tersely. "I'm saying we just drive through it to Wayne. I don't wanna go home right now, and Wayne Forest is like… really pretty and shit." 

"Okay, okay," Angel said, putting his hands up. "I gotcha, no need to get heated." Going to a national park with Demie actually sounded pretty idyllic. Angel didn't really get out into the wilderness much - his parents had worked all day every day, including Christmas, so they never had time for vacations. He'd been camping a few times, at the insistence of an ex-boyfriend, and while he had hated the mosquitoes and the lack of running water, there had definitely been something very intimate about sharing a tent with someone under the open sky. 

Demie reminded him a bit of that boyfriend - they were both bearded white guys who were really into making their own food and who were lowkey hipsters. But that ex had turned out to be an asshole who thought that 'free love' meant that he could cheat without consequences. 

Angel wasn't sure if Demie was like that. He didn't know what Demie's philosophy on love and sex was, and he didn't want to pry. He was, after all, supposed to be a friend, not a lover. But he hoped, on the off chance that anything did happen, that satyrs were monogamous. 

As Angel pulled out of the parking lot, Demie rolled down his window and hung his arm off the side of the door. Out of the corner of his eye, Angel could see him lean back against the seat and close his eyes. He inhaled deeply, and then exhaled in a loud whoosh. 

"Feeling any better?" Angel asked. 

"Yeah, I…" Demie rubbed one of his horns, seemingly trying to piece together his thoughts. "It sounds fuckin' lame but I get these, like, panic attacks sometimes when I leave Billy Brook." 

"Doesn't sound lame at all," Angel said. "I sometimes get panic attacks when I go out into the country. I get it, y'know. I'm an outsider out here and it's scary being in a place that you aren't sure is homophobic or racist or whatever." 

"No offense, dude, but sucking dick isn't the same as not being human," Demie grumbled. 

Angel frowned. He did take offense to that, but he wasn't sure if he had the right to. He supposed Demie was right - he had no idea how it felt to live being mistaken for a literal monster. Still, he didn't like the way Demie had said it. 

"So, do you go up to Ohio a lot?" Angel said, switching subjects. He didn't really like hearing Demie talk about homosexuality. He had it in his head that he could eventually change Demie's mind on the subject, but being trapped in a car for an hour didn't feel like the right time to attempt to do so. 

"Yeah, sometimes," Demie replied. "Most of my cousins live up in Ohio." 

"How many cousins do you have?" Angel asked. 

"Mmm…" Demie shifted in his seat, pulling his hand back inside the car so he could silently count off on his fingers. 

"Like… eight first cousins?" He said. "And then maybe fifteen second and third cousins. And some more that I don't really know how they fit in, since they're half maenad." 

"What's a maenad?" 

"Crazy ladies. That's what it literally translates to, that's not an insult. They're human chicks that worship Dionysus, when we have Bacchanalias they go fucking insane. In ancient times they'd get so crazy that if someone who wasn't one of them or a satyr crashed a party, they'd tear them apart with their bare hands." 

Angel whistled. "Wow," he said. 

"Yeah. It's nuts." 

"So, you said you've got cousins who are half of whatever they are--"

"Maenads." 

"Right, maenads. You've got cousins who are half maenad, so does that mean satyrs can like… breed with humans?"

"Yeah, I mean, you kinda have to these days, unless you're cool with marrying your third cousin," Demie said. 

Angel glanced over at him. "You're kidding," he said. 

"Nope. There's only like a hundred of us in West Virginia, Kentucky, and Ohio. I think there are some more in the deep south, but it's not exactly easy to take a road trip and go see them." 

"So… wait, you said that the Bacchanalia or whatever is everyone getting drunk and having sex in the woods. Does that mean you guys go have orgies with your cousins?" 

"What, like that's any fuckin' weirder than a gay orgy or whatever," Demie said, bristling at the question. 

"What do you know about gay orgies?" Angel said, looking over at Demie for a moment. 

"Nothing, but I'm sure you're about to tell me," Demie grumbled. 

"I have never been to an orgy in my life, gay or otherwise." 

"Really?" Demie sounded genuinely surprised. "I would've thought… I dunno…" 

"What? You would've thought what?" 

"I dunno, you're just like… a really good looking guy. I would've thought you'd be going to, like… a bunch of sex clubs or something. No homo, though." 

Angel knew he probably shouldn't be flattered by that, but he kind of was anyways. He wasn't sure if the conversation had answered his question about monogamy, though. Not that he had asked it aloud or anything. It did raise another question as to whether or not Demie had ever committed incest, however. That wasn't something he particularly wanted to think about. 

Fortunately, it was Demie's turn to change the subject now. 

"Hey, what kind of music do you have?" He asked. "No offense but I don't really like The Cure." 

"Some offense taken, but I'll forgive your lack of tastes. Here," he said, pulling his phone out of his pocket and opening up his music app. "Knock yourself out." 

Demie took the phone, holding it delicately, like he was afraid he was going to accidentally crush it. "What happened to your screen?" He asked. 

"Dropped it walking up the stairs," Angel replied. He didn't want to bring up how Demie's brother had responded to his DM. Even if it had been a positive interaction, he wasn't sure if he should bring up Marius at all. The subject seemed to be a bit of a tricky one for Demie, and he didn't want to make it seem like he was stalking his family. "I need to get it fixed, but for now just be careful touching the screen and it'll be fine." 

Demie was quiet for a bit as he scrolled through Angel's music collection. He held the phone awkwardly, holding it in his left hand and using his right index finger to scroll and tap. It was like watching an old man try to use a smartphone. 

"You listen to Queen?" Demie said after a minute. 

"Of course. Why, do you like them?" 

"Fuck yeah, they're amazing." 

"Huh. Sorry, I didn't expect that from you. Since Freddy Mercury was gay and all." 

"I'm not a homophobe, you know," Demie said, that bristly tone back in his voice. He didn't dwell on that thought for long, though, as he hit play. 

Angel had expected him to pull up Bohemian Rhapsody - that was the song everyone defaulted to for Queen - but instead what started playing over the car speakers was The Prophet's Song. It was a good song, in his opinion, but it was one of those album fillers that people never talked about. 

They sat in silence through the guitar intro, and when Freddy began singing, Demie did so as well, clearly knowing the lyrics from memory. His voice was much deeper than Freddy's, being a thick, deep baritone, but it provided a counter melody to Freddy's voice that gave Angel shivvers. 

There was the blast from the guitar as the time signature changed, and Demie lifted his hands and began to air guitar. It wasn't the kind of air guitar Angel was used to - it wasn't big and flashy, and Demie's fingers moved as if he were actually playing the chords. It was more like he just really, really wished he had a guitar in his hands. 

Demie continued singing along, his voice swelling and filling the car. Angel got a bit of that same feeling he'd had watching Bacchus in concert - that massive flood of emotion that washed over his whole body. This wasn't as angry and violent as Bacchus had made him feel, though, instead making him feel powerful and epic, like the main character of some fantasy film. He still felt horny, though. 

Angel wasn't usually the kind of guy to sing in the car, but the energy radiating off Demie was infectious. He couldn't help it. He opened his mouth and began singing along as well. His voice was out of key and he stumbled over the words - he hadn't sung his high school and didn't really pay attention to the song when he normally listened to it - but he still did his best to meet the high notes. 

Somehow, Angel managed to make it through all eight and a half minutes of the song, trading off on the round parts with Demie (which were made a lot easier by virtue of having another person in the car to sing them). When the song finally ended, Angel let out a manic shout, shaking his head and shoulders, which had tensed up over the course of the song. 

Demie jumped. "Sorry," he murmured sheepishly. "Got carried away." 

"No, dude, that's fine, oh my God," Angel said. "Don't ever apologize for singing around me, holy shit. I fucking love your voice, man." 

"Ah… thanks," Demie muttered, sinking lower in his seat. 

"Holy shit, that was epic," Angel said. He was out of breath and had started sweating and he didn't even care. "Dude, bring up Bohemian Rhapsody, I'm sure you'd absolutely kill that song." 

"Y-yeah, sure…" Demie said as he fumbled with the phone. They spent the rest of the drive singing along to Queen, though none of the songs really filled the car with the same energy as the first one. 

[arcanakrp-blog]

KANG JINTAE – THE SWORD AGENT 26.

                                                  [   FILE TYPE: CLASSIFIED   ]

//: LOADING PROFILE: KANG JINTAE ...

international age: 23 birthplace: jeonju, south korea arcana: the sword team number: ten

//: LOADING MUTATION: BONE MANIPULATION  ...

application one: bone regeneration — skeletal injuries he receives may be regenerated or even totally regrown at superhuman rates, though with costly drawbacks. for one, any flesh or muscular wounds are immune to regeneration. two, depending on the severity of the wounds he sustains, the process is nothing short of painful; similar to the process of broken bones healing, broken fingers and toes will not only heal quicker than whole hands or feet, but the recovery process is considerably milder – like a constant, dull throbbing around the area compared to actually feeling bone fragments shift and piece back together. three, regeneration of bone works only upon himself. by applying his ability to rebuild and regrow bone at an accelerated rate, he’s able to utilize it in osteokinetic constructs.

application two: bone density manipulation — the process of increasing or decreasing the density of his bones to make himself lighter or heavier depending on the circumstances. by increasing the density, he’s able to soften injuries to his skeleton as well as fortify any constructs he crafts from bones. however, it increases his weight and makes it harder to run, jump, etc. in decreasing the density, he becomes more susceptible to fracturing or breaking bones, though with it he also weighs less and may manipulate the density to his advantage such as against gravity, when running, jumping, etc.

application three: osteokinetic constructs — his main source of offence that requires the application of bone regeneration to be used to its fullest extent. he’s able to craft tools, objects, weapons, armours, and even appendages out of bone. each construct requires that the source be made of his own bone, and his bone only. constructs used offensively often require breaking through skin to complete formation, and such injuries are not readily affected by bone regeneration. constructs can be as light or as heavy as he desires, depending on the current bone density. naturally, denser constructs are formidable and challenging to break whereas lighter ones are more fragile and less reliable.

overall strengths and weaknesses: — i. any manipulation of bone may only be directed at his own skeleton. he is unable to manipulate nor regenerate the skeletons of others.   ii. constructs or manipulations that require bone to protrude or break free from his skin will cause extensive injuries that cannot be healed by himself. wounds must be properly attended to, and he’s at great risk of overusage; that is, constantly reopening flesh and/or muscular wounds and hindering the recovery process. iii. the processes of bone regeneration and creating constructs are taxing on him and require ample enough downtime in between processes, especially with greater use of his abilities. pain is a given and must be regularly endured in order for him to complete the process of regenerating bone or creating constructs. the more effort required, the more pain that is to follow. iv. by manipulating the density of his skeleton, he is able to lessen the severity of falls by altering his weight against gravity. in addition, lighter weights enable him to be more nimble, though great care must still be exercised as the depletion of calcium creates a greater risk of bone breakage. v. constructs must be tangible objects in existence that are not simply made from imagination, and can only be created from his own skeleton. 

//: LOADING HISTORY ..

PRE-MUTATION

tw: ( some graphic imagery )

prelude. 

evil isn’t what you think it is. 

it’s not the organised crime – the murders, the thefts, the robberies at gunpoint. it’s not the serial killer thirsting for a purpose by their gun and blade. it’s not the misguided child revolving his fate around busted lips and bruised knuckles. you don’t even know who the bad men and women truly are.

you’ll look in the mirror and swear what you see isn’t really there. that monster? that monster isn’t you. because if it was, you’d claw yourself out of your skin. and you can’t stand to see what you’ve become. 

so the next time you’re reciting verbatim from history textbooks back in grade school that the likes of hitler and stalin are the only embodiments of evil, consider this: 

what promises have you broken? ( whose worlds did you destroy? ) 

what did you let die? ( how many hearts have you left rotten with your ‘i love you’s’? ) 

who have you blamed for your own faults? ( and, subsequently, troubled with your greed? )

interlude. 

one. evil takes the form of a one-seventy cm girl whose voice was a deathless song in the ears of her lover. 

she’s of nothing but peasantry – homegrown by the famine and pestilence of country life; knows only blunt fingernails and weed-pulling out in the fields. she’s rat-skinned and fly-limbed. she’s a mosquito siphoning life and worth to leave behind bite-sized pieces of her own evil within others. 

it’s with a simple boy enchanted by the wealth of his parents that together, they breed chaos. 

two. the result of good and evil is not always righteous. it’s not black nor white nor grey. there’s plenty of grey in the world, little black or white. he begins following the path of his mosquito mother because he fears losing himself like his simple father. she teaches him tree climbing and pond skipping. she reminds him there’s nothing to fear among the forest. the long dead boys hanged by their throats from trees are old wives’ tales mangled throughout the centuries. ( no matter the animals that hiss and growl, they are the prey, too weak and foolish to take a bite out of you ) 

she’s the weight of the rifle placed in his hands. and as his simple father may try to forbid from their son tasting upon his lips what it’s like to kill, mother insists. 

she insists because like a mosquito, she must make their son strong and capable, unlike father.  

but it scares young son. it’s too much power and his finger around the trigger is chilling. he’s seen the soulless eyes of slaughtered deer. they stare and stare and stare and hope ( desperately, desperately desire that - ) he destroys himself for what she is doing. but she sees food, warmth, resources. she remembers her rat-skinned days of counting each of her ribs up the ladder of her sternum. and it’s by the first hunt that she believes ( no, knows ) that she’s doing the right thing – doing what simple father doesn’t have the courage to. it’s by the first hunt and haphazard gunfire that the son appreciates how alive the forest really is. birds flee en masse above the canopies, lizards scale the trunks of trees for higher ground, insects burrow beneath the soil, deer race away to not be the next one struck down. and there’s no death, but he can’t bear to look. he can’t bear to have another pair of dead, dark eyes carve into his brain. the task of hunting and gathering food remains mother’s chore, for he loses himself in the shadows along with his father. 

three. mosquito mother sheds her carapace. she’s a leech wrapped tight around father’s neck. she’s itchy, with a parade of ants marching all along her arms in four-by four-by time that won’t go away until she’s had it all. it’s not until father that she learns the indulgence of becoming prim and proper like those from seoul. though she may not bear the blood of seoul, she’s content with stealing the skin of someone from there. their son’s but ten, starving himself on the meat of young rabbits while mother’s chewing on diamond rings and earrings. and it’s never enough for one as insatiable as she is. 

it’s never enough. never enough. never, ever enough. it’s addiction. it’s drugs old farmer mom and dad strove to keep her from experimenting. for they knew she was born from addiction. 

their son’s but fourteen when she has the world in the palm of her hands, father’s death by her serpent kiss, and walks out, never looking back. 

she broke the most important vow of all. she not only had the world in the palm of her hands, she destroyed it. 

simple, enchanted father watches his whole world come apart. it crashes down around him, and the aftermath is a fog of thick dust and smashed concrete around his feet. two, three, four unanswered calls and voicemails. together, son and father learn what the world truly is. it’s a cold, cold unforgiving tundra with ice wind biting at their cheeks and burning their fingers. the world’s oh-so cold, but they are not lost, they are not alone. 

four. son bleeds out the toxicity, the infection of his mother. though brave as a lion, she was sly as a fox with the wings of a crow. she beat death every which way with her wings in her wake. she poisoned the good in father, made him craft a vice from his broken virtues to build a fantasy to protect himself from the world. son couldn’t blame father, but it mattered not that he disappointed mother, for he’d make father proud. he keeps father close to the heart, reminds father that they are not the shadows lost among the trees they once thought they were. mother will go up in flames and burn in hell. 

five. following in the footsteps of his father isn’t so bad. he vows to create a secondary destiny from the crossroads and dead ends father met. 

epilude. 

the forest dies just after dusk. twilight is when the crickets hum and the gnats swarm to warmth. the bubbling brook near his feet cascades over stone. leaves deaden the little bit of wind and play peekaboo with the stars above. a brilliant ray flashes across the sky and reflects in his eyes. whiteness curtains over. the corners of his eyes burn, as if acid was flung in them. when his vision returns, the horizon is empty of the hurtling fire. he continues staring up at a landscape devoid of clouds and fading away stars, wonders how long the hike is to locate the ray that cut through the sky. he smiles, figures it as a symbol of rebirth, of something new, of better days.

POST-MUTATION

the forest dies just after dusk. twilight is when the crickets hum and the gnats swarm to warmth. the bubbling brook near his feet cascades over stone. leaves deaden the little bit of wind and play peekaboo with the stars above. a brilliant ray flashes across the sky and reflects in his eyes.

wait.

he follows that flash, darts through the woods, tramples over fallen branches and crushed flowers. he runs, runs, runs, and the trees grow taller. they eat away at the sky, at the flecks of snowflake stars shining tonight. they swallow whole his shadow. he keeps running, and the smoke fills his lungs when he passes a clearing. the smoke grabs him by the throat and chokes air out of him. thick, too thick, something is howling in the distance. the land is burned and cratered in by –

he wakes, gasping for breath, heart breaking into a staccato rhythm.

his father chides him, playfully suggests that the pains and weakness he feels in his arms and legs is a delayed growth spurt. and that’s what he gets for not drinking enough milk as a young kid. but it’s something more, so much more.

instance one. he describes it like a tremor ripping through his calf when he hits his leg against the coffee table. he fears not the blooming bruise rather that the bone might fracture and spit shards through his skin. it hurts a little too much, more than he remembers. was he really that frail?

instance two. birdboned. a routine check-up with his doctor and subsequent bloodwork reveal a low concentration of calcium in his system. a little too low for someone of his age. that, and his weight. he’s reminded of the dangers of being too underweight for too long; because should he continue on this path, osteoporosis among other symptoms may develop. bemused, the doctor requests a repeat of the tests in a week.

a week later, his calcium levels skyrocketed. when the doctor mentions it, he agrees with himself in that he’s felt his skin was too tight? or something like that. like he was a snake growing too big, needing to shed. but his weight’s gone up, whether regrettably or thankfully. he jokes with the doctor that the scale is faulty and maybe one of his medications interfered with the lab results.

instance three. thorns are pressing into his spine. hands are reaching through his flesh and grabbing at his spine, twisting and twisting. breaking off little pieces of bone. he medicates himself with painkillers; anything to stop the crushing sensation. he doesn’t sleep that night.

instance four: they follow. they manifest themselves in his dreams as the growing trees and swallowing darkness. they catch him and there’s nowhere to run. a scream tears at his throat, begging to be let free. they follow. they’ve been following a long time. they say they need him. now. his cooperation is necessary. they have the answers to his burning questions. he just needs to trust in them.

father looks at him in a mixture of awe and fear at the babble his son’s spewing. it’s quite an active imagination he has, to describe as though cold steel was pressing down upon him. or, better yet, why he freaked when he slammed the car door against his hand and thought it totally broken ( only to discover his hand went mostly unscathed ).

the doubt grows in his simple father. he’s simple in thinking, shying away from the complexities of, well, logic and reasoning. his father is gentle in his suggestion to attend physical therapy, along with maybe a therapist to make calm the storm their late mother erupted in him. no, mother is a thing of the past. a burnt-out ember created by the wild imagination of a young boy. maybe the followers do have the answers he seeks, but –

too many unknowns. too, too many. even as he reluctantly puts his trust in the followers of the arc. even as he exchanges one setting for a similar on the opposite end of the country.

he retains this: it’s the start of something new.

addendum:

the months go by, the time is fleeting. he can only teach and be taught to tolerate the pain as much as he would allow for himself. but it makes him stronger, they say. the warning labels on painkillers are in agreement that two, at a time, is the max. it’s not enough. but it’s all substantial enough for him to cope with this mutation, as they call it. his tolerance for pain has increased since the whole episode began; that was something, right?

so if it doesn’t kill him, it makes him stronger.

[agxntmontana]

character perceptions

from your perspective, explain what you think others from different areas of your muse’s life would think of them. based on this! 

WHAT STRANGERS THINK. without having actually personally met montana, i think it would be much easier to have a better opinion of her. from a distance, i think the aforementioned qualities would seem more admirable when not directed at the stranger observing; it’s human nature to find traits respectable until the negative aspects of them target oneself, and to subsequently take personal offense in a way that one would not have before. i think strangers would certainly view her significantly more highly than those who actually have to deal with her. 

WHAT THEIR FRIENDS THINK. montana doesn’t have a great many friends, agent maryland being the most notable exception. speaking hypothetically, however, if she were to develop more connections in that regard, i think it would very quickly become clear to those friends that the traits that make her such an unapproachable person do not dissipate even for those close to her, but do occasionally affect them in a more positive way as a result of that friendship. for example, her aggression would not lessen towards the person/people in question, nor would the way she treats them change, but that aggression would also develop into a very passionate form of caring and protectiveness, as well. 

WHAT THEIR FAMILY THINKS. montana’s father’s opinion on her was very complicated, convoluted, and arguably unhealthy. it’s undeniable that he cared about her genuinely and, in the beginning, without question; when she was a child, his motivations behind forcing her into a military lifestyle were purely protective. on a basic level, they were simply pure -- he felt that having been raised that way himself benefited him greatly later in life, both in the person he became mentally and the things he was capable of physically and professionally. as such, all he wanted for her was to reap those same benefits; this only began to change in her teenage years when he began to recognize that she took to it much better than he had expected, and he dealt with her becoming more skilled than he had planned by treating her like a number one student and detaching himself from her as a father. he felt that he couldn’t properly teach her if he allowed a personal familial relationship to continue between them, and decided that it was more important not to waste her talents than it was to bond with her. his opinion on her in the beginning was that of most fathers; that she was his pride and joy and the most important thing in his life. this opinion gradually shifted into a more critical and cold perspective, but was always consistently very high.

WHAT THEIR COWORKERS THINK. montana’s teammates likely have to suffer for her stubbornness more than anyone else. while they also get to see her skill first-hand, dealing with her rudeness, dismissal and headstrong nature leaves them with just as many consequences by her fault as it does benefits. i’d imagine that their opinion on her would be the most conflicted of all as a result, as it would be clearest to them that montana’s pros and cons are equally matched, making it very difficult to either like or hate her without conflict. 

WHAT THEIR SUPERIORS THINK. honest to god i cannot imagine montana’s superiors ever not being wildly frustrated with her. she’s respectful of them and treats them exactly as a soldier is taught to treat their superiors, but does not fucking listen. that robert downey jr. quote “listen, smile, agree, and then do whatever the fuck you were gonna do anyway” is the entire summary of her behavior towards them, as she was taught from a very young age to be respectful of them, but is more than arrogant enough to value her own judgement over theirs and disobey orders when she feels it to be the right call. i imagine her superiors’ opinion of her to be both low and high, as she’s most definitely an asset to them, but must come off as incredibly childish and irritating in many ways.

WHAT THEIR ENEMIES THINK. montana’s a formidable enemy, and not one that it would be wise to make. if she’s motivated enough, she will disregard orders and directives altogether just to ensure her enemies’ suffering is properly carried out. all considered, i can’t imagine her enemies liking her a whole hell of a lot. she’s the kind of fighter that will get back up no matter how wounded and battle out of spite and rage alone, and is more than obsessive enough to chase a person until they’re dead, no matter the consequence, if they’ve wronged her enough. like, sooner of later, they’ve gotta see her as that one mosquito that keeps biting them but they just cannot swat and the mosquito is not fucking leaving them alone.

WHAT THEIR RIVALS THINK.

WHAT THEIR LOVERS THINK. montana’s never had a serious lover that wasn’t a one-night stand, and i feel like even hypothesizing would be pretty dependent on who that partner was, so i wouldn’t do the hypothesis any justice without specifics. the one-night stands, though, would probably have a wide variety of opinions on her, as, in all likelihood, they would each have met a different person. it wasn’t necessarily that she acted like someone else to get sex, and was always confident in her ability to do so without cheap tricks like that, but more so that during her years of promiscuity, she was unhappy with her life as it was and pursued her desperate need for change by spending each night not only with another person, but as another person. either way, she would leave long before morning each time without fail, so whatever opinion they had formed about her by then was not given time to legitimately develop.

WHAT THEY THINK. her opinion on herself is complicated and inconsistent. on one hand, she nearly always thinks herself to be better than others, or at least more capable where, in her opinion, it mattered. she could hardly be described as delusional in that regard, however, as she does consistently recognize her own shortcomings and the ways in which others are better than her. it isn’t that she thinks that her skills are better than those of others or that she’s a soldier of a higher caliber, but rather that she, mentally, is capable of achieving more than them and has the propensity to be better than them. this is the basis of her reasoning for dismissing the opinions of others, authority figures often included; in her mind, it’s like comparing a successful and competent adult to a genius child. to her, they’re better now, but she’s more capable of taking what she’s learned from them, improving it, and becoming an infinitely better version with time. there are many exceptions to this method of thinking, however, and her view on others is heavily influenced by how long she’s known them and how much respect she has for them. as such, her opinion on herself subsequently shifts along with her opinion towards those around her; the standards she was raised with have left her with the unyielding ideation that if she is not better than everyone around her, she’s not good enough. because of this, the higher she thinks of those around her, the lower she thinks of herself.

WHAT YOU THINK. i think my trash child is a brilliant dumbass who’s a mess of contradictions and is a goldmine and a landmine at the same time. i love her to bits, but it’s a weird feeling to write a character that you made and find yourself constantly disagreeing with them. don’t get me wrong, i definitely relate to montana in a lot of different ways, but my views on things so thoroughly clash with hers sometimes that i find it easier than i normally would to criticize her -- especially when writing her makes that even clearer. i feel like if i could actually meet her, we really wouldn’t get along too well; at least not at first, anyway. i think i’ve just been writing and developing her for so long now that her strong points have become normal in my view of her, but because it’s her flaws that ultimately separate her on a deeper level from other muses of mine, those have become more glaring than her assets and affected my view of her as a person. so if i were to take a step back and speak without bias, i think she’s a strong ass bitch that i’d have a hell of a lot of respect for, and while i definitely think she’d be way more successful if she handled things differently, i don’t think i could ever the manage the drive or pride she uses to handle things exactly how she does. she’s a tough fuckin cookie and i’d have a beer with her, let me have a beer with her