#911 AN ANIME MAN IS RUINING MY LIFE | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sweater-daddiesdumbdork · 3 years

Text

Real Life Tasks With Ransom Drysdale

An Advent Calendar Of 24 Normal Human Tasks As Performed By A Huge Man Baby

Day 22: National Lampoon Christmas Vacation Drysdale Style

Warnings: Bad Language Words.

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x Reader

A/N: So this is my last entry for the Ransom Advent Calendar. It has been so much fucking fun to do and read everyone's reactions at his attempts to be a good husband. Much love sent to @jennmurawski13 and @what-is-your-backupplan-today for the joint writing and antics. Happy Holidays everyone, Happy Reading and Much Love always

Series Masterlist

Christmas it turned out was a big deal for you. Huge actually, you had been decorating for a week since thanksgiving last Thursday and Ransom had never seen anything like it. There were lights and ornaments all over the place, he had never seen a nutcracker before but when you demonstrated how to use one, he said that was barbaric, and there was the constant smell of some kind of strong smelling candle constantly burning through the house now.

He could just imagine how much Linda would hate all of this, the santas, reindeer and snowmen scattered around, the big giant wreath hanging on the door, or the platter of cookies always laid out for whoever wanted some. She would loathe it and consider it tacky. Ransom loved it all just for that reason.

As well as how happy it seemed to make you, he would catch you now talking to your belly all the time, singing Christmas songs and telling stories while you would be setting something new up. Today you were busy making a miniature village the length of the living room to put in the picture window. Little houses scattered across the white sheet covered board, and you were fluffing bits of white cotton to look like snow, a container of people and animals were nearby to start setting up like it was an actual little village.

“Where did you even have all this packed away?” Ransom asked while he leaned over the table to get a better look at some of the buildings.

“In the attic, where you store stuff.” You retort sarcastically, as you try to prop some fencing up, and you straighten, rubbing the small of your back. “And I'm almost finished.” This time a hint of pride in your voice didn't escape Ransom, and he moved up behind you, taking over to rub at the small of your back, able to dig slightly into the tense muscle and make you moan in appreciation.

“Well it all looks good Princess.” he said softly and you nodded in agreement, happy at how well it had come together. “I have never had a Christmas like this before.”

You turned to face him, wrapping your arms around his waist while looking up at him. “I know, and I plan on changing that. This is the kind of Christmas’s I want our Bean to have, fun and exciting, full of love. There is one thing I need you to do though.”

“Oh? What's that? Taste test cookies? Because I'm all for that. Cookies and whiskey.” Ransom grinned and you shook your head.

“No, cookies and milk Ransom.” You chuckled while his face screwed up in disgust.

“Now that's just wrong. Ruin a perfectly good cookie. And what did you need?”

“Fine! When the time comes Bean will leave out Cookies and Whiskey for Santa… we will have a drunk Santa, everyone needs some kind of messed up tradition.” You played your fingers in his soft knit sweater for a second. “I need you to hang the lights outside.”

“Why the fuck we doing the outside to? It already looks like that elf you made me watch the other night wreaked havoc through our house.”

“Because Ransom, it looks nice. I already left it all out in the garage. All you gotta do is line the edge of the roof with the blue and white icicle lights I left you.” You patted his chest and turned back towards your village. “And admit it, what makes me happy usually fares well for you.”

“Just the lights? You're not gonna make me drag anything up on the roof like that movie the other night?”

You paused a moment, thinking about what Ransom was talking about. “What movie?”

“You know, the Tim the Toolman one, with that Halloween chick.” Ransom stated while grabbing a jacket from the closet and pulling it on to get ready to go out and start on the project you assigned him to.

“Oh Christmas With The Kranks… no no, there is no Frosty for our roof.” You turn back to your village, ending with a “Yet. I ordered one though. But he wont get here till after the new year because the one I wanted was on back order. Next year Ransom, you gotta get a Frosty up there.”

“Fucking hell, Of course I do.” He muttered to himself while leaving the house to get into the garage, feeling suddenly like maybe he wasn't entirely loving this whole Christmas explosion as much as he thought he did.

In the garage were a few boxes of the lights you had described, as well as a brand new nail gun and staples. He set about pulling out the lights, effectively tangling them in the process and spending another 45 minutes cursing them with every name he could think of while untangling them. “You fucking cunts, l’m gonna murder you if you don’t stay untangled.” He whipped the lights till they fell in place, and he dragged them all outside to toss in the snow near one edge of the house. Going back, he got an aluminum ladder and dragged that out as well to prop against the edge of the house. “Fuck this is going to take forever.” He grumbled while loping the lights over his arm and grabbing the nail gun to climb to the top.

Ransom, he was typically fearless, heights didn't bother him, so that made him less self aware then most people. He just started to stretch the lights along the edge, stapling half haphazardly along the roof while letting them dangle down his shoulder and eventually the strand tangled around his feet. It wasn't so bad he thought when he managed to get a quarter of the way up and was about to climb down the ladder to move it over. Ready to start hanging more lights when the strand tightened around his ankle from where they got tangled and the sudden pressure made him lose balance.

Now he felt actual fear of falling, watching as the bushes under the living room window where you were setting up the village started to rush towards him when a snap stopped him, making him sway and twist around like a pendulum. You happened to look up when he screamed and saw him hanging just above the ground. “RANSOM!” you yelled while awkwardly rushing away from the table to get outside, your hand braced against the side of your very pregnant belly to support it. “Hang on! Oh fuck fuck fuck...” You chanted in a panic while you made your way carefully down the steps of the house.

While you're trudging through the snow in your house slippers, Ransom is screaming. “Y/N, Call 911! Call 911!” he's all red faced from being upside down, his hands trying to grab at the bushes below to make himself stop swinging, and your using your phone to call the local emergency services because you are imagining all kinds of scenarios, mainly that your boyfriend has busted a ankle hanging like that or he was going to break his neck falling and you were going to have to raise the baby yourself.

“Don’t you dare break your neck Ransom, if you die and I have to raise our spawn child myself.” Your voice is panicked as your pressing the phone to your ear.

Ransom hollers hearing you, having grabbed a hold of the bush now to support himself. “PAY ATTENTION TO THE PHONE Y/N!”

There was a pop above the two of you and all the staples shoot out, the lights slacking as they pull away from the roof, and Ransom fell the last few feet into the bush below with a grunt from impact.

You give a surprised yelp when he disappeared from sight, the voice on the other end finally got your attention and your words just about run together. “Myhusband- he was hanging off the roof. I don't know what happened, he was hanging lights.”

Ransom rolled out of the bush, still tangled in lights. “Tell them i’m fucking fine Y/N.” He growled while trying to tug the lights off his legs. And you paused a second.

“You sure? You don't want to be checked out?” Your voice waivers with uncertainty, and Ransom is sitting in the snow, working once more to get them untangled, this time from around his ankles.

“Yea, I'm not hurt.” He yanks on them while shoving them off with a “Fucking whore bitch, I hate you.” his temper making him curse at the lights, and you step away so the 911 operator cant hear him.

“We’re fine, I’m sorry to bother you.” Hanging up, you return to Ransom who's standing now, checking himself over.

“I am not going back up there again Y/N, and that fucking Frosty can go in the yard.” he sputtered as he kicked at the lights before swooping down to gather them. “I will hire someone, that's the only way it will be done.”

You can hear the genuine shocked fear in his tone, and you have to agree this time with him that it would be better to let someone else do it. He half expects you to argue with him about it, wanting to be independent on hiring help, but this time you surprise him.

“You are right Ransom.”

Pausing, he looked at you with shock. “I’m… right?”

You nodded and rested your hand on your protruding belly. “Better mark the calendar.” Everything that happened in the last five minutes sink in, making you gasp a bit as the heaviness settled in your chest. The tears they just bust out of nowhere and Ransom drops the offensive lights to pull you into his arms. Of course you were going to cry, it seemed to be all you did over this. He was kind of used to it by now.

“Hey Princess, its okay.” He says soothing as you sob into his chest, making him wince. “It takes more then some god damn lights to end me.”

You sniffle a bit and lift your head to look at him. “Its not that Ransom.”

“Well then, what the hell brought on the waterworks?” He arched a brow and you look at the front of your house.

“I didn’t get a picture of you hanging off the house to show our kid.”

Ransom looked at you incredulously in disbelief. “You are serious...”

Shrugging a bit now that the shock was over you grinned a bit. “Come on... I’m just teasing. Now that its over an your safe, it was a little funny seeing you have a Clark Griswold moment...” Ransom pulled away and started stomping towards the house, you following after him. “Ransom! Don’t be mad! Its Christmas!”

“Fuck Off Y/N, I’m not in the mood.” He grumbled while shrugging off his jacket and you knew you had to make it up to him.

#real life tasks with ransom drysdale #happy holidays!#ransom drysdale

191 notes · View notes

ellewritesathing · 4 years

Text

So Close - S.S. XLI

Summary: The universe has a funny way of putting the things you want right in front of you, but just out of reach. Stiles and Y/N have been best friends ever since Scott brought him home, but when Stiles realizes that he might want to be something other than best friends, she leaves to go to some fancy private school up North. Now that she’s back though … maybe he’s got a shot? A Teen Wolf AU in which the reader has always been so close to Stiles and yet so far.

Masterlist Prev. | Part 41

Word-count: 6.7k+

A/N: not to like shamelessly self-promote but like. you guys might like this prompt i did for stiles 👀

You couldn’t sleep. Even with your friends safely back in your life and Stiles asleep next to you, you couldn’t sleep. Eventually, you rolled onto your side and watched the rise and fall of Stiles’ chest as he snored. You smiled and reached over to play with his hair. His heartbeat slowed after a little while and his snoring became a bit softer.

Taking your hand back after a while and lying down again, you pulled up your shirt and ran your hand along where the bullet hole should have been. It was freaky; your skin was perfect. You’d been injured internally plenty of times and healed but this was the first time you’d had a proper external wound. It healed slowly at first, better than a human but nothing to write home about, and then Deaton gave you blood. It made you feel sick. It wasn't supposed to be like this.

“Hey,” Stiles said softly. When did he wake up? He yawned and moved closer, putting his hand on top of the one you had on your stomach. His thumb grazed where the wound should have been. “You know I didn’t mean what I said earlier, right? My mouth kinda moves before my brain does sometimes.”

You smiled. “Yeah, I know.” You squeezed his hand before turning back onto your side to face him. “I wouldn’t blame you if you did, though. I mean, it is pretty weird.”

“You could never be weird to me,” Stiles said. Then he squeezed his eyes shut and groaned. “That was, like, ridiculously lame. I’m sorry. I just meant … you know. I’m usually the one being maimed, not you.”

“Yeah and it hurts like a bitch,” you said with a sharp exhale and a roll of your eyes.

Stiles laughed and lifted his hand to your face. “Yeah, the worrying isn’t that great either. You wanna trade back?”

“Kind of wish we could give up both,” you said with a small smile.

Stiles shifted and pulled you into his arms. He kissed the top of your head and sighed. “At least, for now, we’re both safe. Neither maimed nor worried.”

“I like the sound of that.” You found his hand again. “Almost as much as your use of ‘nor.’”

“You liked that, huh?”

“Yeah, it really distracted from the blatant lie that neither of us is worried right now.”

Stiles laughed and then it was quiet for a moment. You could hear Noah’s heart beating in his sleep down the hall, but Stiles’ beat louder. His fingers drummed your arms in the silence. You didn’t want to ruin the moment, but you had to tell him what happened.

“Theo wants me in his pack,” you said. No use sugar-coating it. Stiles’ drumming stopped. “He called me the shadow wolf. Said that I was more like them than I was like you guys.”

“He’s wrong,” Stiles said instantly. You could almost hear him frowning. “You know that, right?”

“The thing is … I don’t think he is wrong,” you said quietly. “With all the chimeras - even before we knew they weren’t like us - I felt bound to them. Like whatever they’re made of … maybe I am too. I- I’m not going to join them. I hate Theo. And even if I didn’t, I could never leave you or Scott.”

Stiles was quiet, working hard to choose the right words. As much as you loved him for it, if he didn’t say something soon, you were going to throw up. When he did speak, he didn't start asking the questions you knew were bouncing around in his head. All he said was: “You promise you’re not gonna leave?”

“I promise. No matter what.”

With that out of the way, Stiles relaxed. Still, you waited for him to say something. To ask what you meant, maybe even what it felt like to 'be bound' to the chimeras. But he was quiet, so quiet that you thought he’d actually gone to sleep until he said, “I’m gonna kick his ass.”

“Can I shoot him first? I’m still pretty pissed off about that.”

“Of course. Then you can hold him down while I kick him in the-”

With that colorful image in mind, you went to sleep with a smile on your face. Unaware of Stiles lying awake and anxious next to you.

---

Usually, after half of your group got injured and while you were making plans, things were at least a bit quieter for a few days. Unfortunately, the Dread Doctors weren’t so kind as your other foes; you’d only been shot yesterday and now you were racing down the highway with Scott and Stiles, chasing after the Beast behind a group of police.

“Unit Five heading northwest on Crescent reporting an incredibly large … something,” Clark said over the radio.

Another deputy responded, “Unit Nine to Dispatch, I think I’ve got eyes on the same thing. Some kind of rabid animal.”

“Unit Five to Nine, trust me: That’s no animal,” Clark said.

You laughed and unbuckled, leaning forward to poke your head between Scott and Stiles in the front. “She’s not wrong.”

“Yeah, but-”

Scott was cut off by Strauss coming in over the radio. “Unit Six to Dispatch, we have a situation downtown. Multiple fatalities.”

The voice of the dispatcher sounded cold compared to the overwhelmed officers. “Copy, medics on the way. Do you have a perp insight, Unit Six?”

“Negative,” Strauss said. He sounded overwhelmed. You guessed as weird as Beacon Hills was, not many people knew how to react after a werewolf attack. “Looks like a 10-91E. Animal attack.”

“10-4, can you say what kind of animal?” the dispatcher asked.

Stiles pulled out his radio before Strauss could answer. He also pumped the accelerator and you held onto Scott to keep from sliding back into your seat. “All units stay back. Do not engage,” Stiles said. “I repeat, do not engage.”

“Stiles, get off the radio,” Noah snapped. You almost laughed as Stiles handed you the radio to put back. Still, Noah added, “All unit alert: Wait for back-up. Repeat: No one goes near this thing.”

“Unit Five reporting a sighting on Hill Road southbound.”

“Unit Nine. I’ve got it turning off Oakridge, southbound on Beachwood.”

“All units, this is Dispatch. We’ve got a 911 call with an additional sighting on Mitchell.”

“Wait a second? Beachwood to Mitchell?” Stiles asked.

“It’s headed back for the hospital,” Scott said.

“Mom’s working tonight,” you said. “I’ll call her. Stiles, you gotta tell your dad.”

Stiles grabbed the radio instantly. “It’s headed to the hospital. Dad-”

“Stiles, get off this channel,” Noah said.

Stiles started arguing with his dad and you bounced your leg as you waited for your mom to answer her phone. The first call rang out so you texted her and tried again.

Melissa sounded tired when she answered. “Hey, honey, we’re pretty swamped at the-”

“Mom, you’ve gotta evacuate the hospital,” you rushed out. She started arguing but you talked over her. “Whatever the Beast is, it’s heading towards the hospital. And it’s going to kill people.”

You fell back into your seat as Stiles changed course towards Beacon Memorial. He was going as fast as the Jeep could manage, but the drive felt agonizingly slow. It was made worse by the constant updates from the police radio. The latest being a man on fire running into Beacon Memorial.

When you eventually did get to the hospital, it felt abandoned and eerily similar to that night with the durach and a dying Cora Hale. You shoved those thoughts aside when a gun cocked behind you, overridden by your instinct to pull Stiles behind you.

“Jesus Christ.” You let out a breath when you realized the threat was only Noah. He held his index finger to his mouth and shushed you.

As much as you loved Noah, you could have strangled him right there. Once again, you shoved those thoughts aside when the lights flickered and snarling rose in the distance.

“Fourth floor,” Scott said.

You all nodded and headed up as quickly as you could. Noah took the lead, followed by Scott and then Stiles - you’d insisted on taking the rear in case anything snuck up on you guys.

The fourth floor was ruined. Almost none of the lights still worked (luckily, not a problem for you and Scott), the electricity crackled through torn-open wires, and parts of the ruins were on fire. You wandered around the dark halls until something flew down the hallway in front of you. Since you noticed it first, you pulled Stiles into you and Scott pulled Noah back just before the fireball roared past.

It hit some partitioning and the flames went out. That wasn’t a random fireball; that was Parrish. Cut, charred, and disoriented Parrish. Parrish with glowing eyes.

His eyes extinguished as Noah made his way over to him, but you couldn’t focus on their reunion. Something had thrown Parrish across the fourth floor. Something big.

Scott walked ahead of you, but soon you found a paw print in the dust. The two of you didn’t need to say anything to know that you were going to follow the trail. The paw prints started changing, turning into something smaller and more human. Eventually, you found a sneaker print.

It struck you as odd that it would be a shoe print and not a footprint. Parrish was made out of fire and completely naked when you found him, and the Beast was made out of shadows. Maybe it was just different. Parrish wasn’t a chimera. At least you didn’t think he was.

“Scott …” You weren’t sure what you were going to say.

“I know,” he said with a sigh.

---

Once again, you and your friends were gathered around the island in your kitchen talking through the logistics of a crazy plan. The only thing that made this time different from all the others was the fact that Lydia was missing.

“We get into Eichen, we get into the Closed Unit, we get Lydia, and we get out,” Stiles said, summarizing his (already very long, very detailed) explanation.

“And we have to do it all of this while getting past orderlies, guards, electric door locks, and a Mountain Ash barrier,” Scott said.

“You guys have a plan for all that?” Malia asked.

Stiles pulled out a keycard. “I stole this off an orderly when I visited Lydia.” He paused, looking over at the card. “But it’s useless ‘cause they reset the codes each night.”

“So why did you take it?” Kira asked.

“He’s building up to that,” you said quietly, taking your eyes of Stiles to look at Kira.

“The only way to get Lydia out of Eichen is to make that keycard work again,” Scott said.

“And how are you going to do that?” Liam asked. You held back a smile.

Stiles held out a hand. “We’re getting to that, okay? Just listen.” He spun the laptop around to show you guys a data table. “I pulled all the history off the keycard. Two weeks ago, there was a brownout and the security system rebooted. During a reboot, all of the keycards revert back to a default code. So, if we trigger a reboot …”

“The card goes back to the default code,” you said. “All the keycards work again.”

“But how are we going to cause a brownout?” Kira asked.

“That’s your part,” Scott said with a hopeful smile. “You’re going to draw power from the mainline, but only enough to cause the brownout.”

That’s where Stiles jumped in to ruin their moment. “But not a blackout. If you do that, you send Eichen into lockdown which would be bad. Very, very bad.”

You touched Stiles’ arm lightly to get his attention. He was freaking Kira out. Stiles looked at you with an expression that said he was sorry, and you gave him an encouraging smile. He got a little carried away sometimes but he always meant well.

Scott, forever oblivious, kept talking and tapped on the blueprints that covered the island. “There’s an electrical room behind the reception counter,” he said. “The main power line goes into two breakers that run power to all of Eichen.”

“Okay, slight problem,” Kira said, looking ready to have a panic attack. “I don’t know how to do that.”

“That’s okay, you have time to practice,” Scott said with another trademarked hopeful smile.

“Let’s say all this goes perfectly,” Malia started in a voice that said she expected none of this to go perfectly. “How does the brownout get us into the Closed Unit of Eichen?”

“The system takes five minutes to reboot.” Stiles looked over at Malia. “In those five minutes, all the alarms will be turned off. And the keycard should work-”

“And then Liam, you, me, and Y/N get Stiles to the gate of the Closed Unit,” Scott said.

“After that, Stiles is on his own,” you said. Stiles reached for your hand under the table. “He’s the only one of us who can get through the mountain ash barrier.”

“And when we’re gone, all anyone’s going to think is that there was a reboot of the security system caused by a brownout,” Scott finished.

“So, uh … any questions?” Stiles asked.

They all started talking at the same time. From Liam: How do we get into Eichen House in the first place. Malia wanted to know what the worst-case scenario was. Kira asked what happened if she couldn’t trigger the brownout.

“Okay, admittedly, a lot could go wrong,” Stiles said, holding up his free hand in surrender.

“Everything could go wrong,” Liam said.

Stiles' open hand turned into a fist as you tilted your head. “Biscuit,” you said softly. Liam shrugged and started defending himself when Scott started talking.

“Guys, if we don’t do this, we lose Lydia,” Scott said. “She’s going to die in there tonight. And she might take a lot of innocent people with her.”

“We can do this,” you said. Your friends didn’t look convinced. “Okay, we’ve done a lot worse. At least this time we have a plan.”

---

Eichen House still freaked you out, but you could only imagine what it felt like to Stiles. So many bad things had happened to him here, and you had the feeling that more bad things were still going to happen. Then again, maybe the paranoia was coming from the fact that you were inside a body bag and lying next to an actual dead body.

Parrish was surprisingly good under pressure; when the guard made him open the bags, he was completely calm. Your heart spiked at the sound of the first zip being undone, but then Parrish started opening yours and you got ready for a fight. The fight never came. The guard valued his dinner too much.

Once you were in the morgue, you had to wait a few minutes before any of you could do anything. Stiles' heart was beating out of his chest. Admittedly, so was yours. You tore the bag open without waiting for the others, but they didn’t need any more encouragement after they heard you breaking out.

“Oh my god,” Stiles said between gasps of air. “Never again.”

“How much time do we have?” you asked as you got to your feet. Liam was closest, so you helped him out of his bag and to his feet. He mumbled a thank you as you waited for an answer.

Scott checked his phone. “Fifteen minutes, starting now.”

“Then let’s get started!” Stiles started fumbling to get out of his bag and fell to the floor. “Ow! Jesus.”

You hurried over to help Stiles up. He muttered obscenities the whole time but he accepted your help nonetheless. Scott got out of his bag safely, and then you just had to wait for the orderlies to leave the hallway. As soon as they were gone, you were on the move.

You wanted Scott to take the lead but Stiles knew this place better than any of you did, and personal knowledge trumped an hour spent studying floor plans any day. The best you could do was follow behind him and keep a careful watch for anything that might be a threat.

The orderlies blocking your way to the closed unit were definitely a threat.

You pulled Stiles back and Scott grabbed Liam. The four of you pressed yourselves against the wall in an attempt to hide, and the memory of doing something similar with Isaac, Erica, and Stiles popped into your mind. That felt like such a long time ago.

“What are they doing here?” Scott whispered.

“I don’t know,” Stiles said, stealing a glance down the hall. “Their rounds should’ve ended five minutes ago.”

Liam was decidedly less subtle with his look at the orderlies. “I can take them,” he said.

Both Stiles and Scott glared at him for a moment. “No one’s taking anyone,” Scott said.

“How much time?” Stiles asked, cutting Scott's alpha moment short.

Scott checked his phone and sighed. “Three minutes.”

“I’ll just knock them out and hide the bodies,” Liam said. He was adorably oblivious.

Stiles looked so close to slapping him that you instinctively reached for his hand to calm him down. “Oh my god, please stop,” he said.

One of the patients banged on the glass and scared you all out of your mini-argument. “Did you talk to the doctor?” he asked.

“What?” Liam whispered.

“Did you talk to the doctor?” he repeated. You looked over at Stiles uncertainly. “I haven’t had my medication. I need ten milligrams at 8am, 15 milligrams at 1pm, and no more than 20 at dinner.”

“We’ll get the doctor,” Scott said.

“Doctor Fenris?” the patient asked. Another beat of silence and you hoped that your nod was enough to calm him. “Doctor Fenris.” Then he started crying. He hit the glass as he said, “They took Doctor Fenris.”

“Guys-” You flinched when he hit the glass again. “He’s going to blow our cover. I can take the blame and get the orderlies out of here.”

“No way, you’re not going anywhere,” Stiles said. “Scott, do something.”

“What am I supposed to do?” Scott whispered.

The patient stopped banging on the glass, but he was still distressed. “I haven’t had my medication. I need to see the doctor.” Stiles looked down the hallway. The orderlies were coming closer. “They took Doctor Fenris.”

“Somebody shut him up,” Stiles said.

“I need to see the doctor!”

“Shut him up.”

You pulled your hand away from Stiles before he could argue and stepped into the hallway. “I told you: I don’t know where the doctor is, alright?” you said to the patient. “I’m just looking for my brother- nurses, could you help me? This place is like a freaking maze.”

“How did you get here?” one of the orderlies asked, roughly grabbing hold of your arm.

“I was looking for my brother. They said he was moved to another unit and that they’d take me to see him but no one ever came.” You shook your head and gave them a very clueless smile. “I’m sorry. Is this area, like, restricted or something?”

The orderly that had your arm looked ready to bite your head off but the other one just shook his head and gave you a tired smile. Either he wasn't paid enough or people wandering around the halls was a common occurrence.

“Let’s take you back to the reception area, okay?” he said. “They can sign you in and track down your brother. You can come to see him during visiting hours tomorrow.”

You forced a laugh and started following them down the stairs not too far away from the gate that your friends would need to break through in a few seconds. “You’re the nicest person I’ve run into all night,” you told him, careful to smile at the grumpy one too.

You carried on with your charade all the way back to the reception area, and then you gave them an annoyingly over-the-top thank you. They smiled and told you to wait for the nurse behind the counter to come back. You did not. As soon as they were out of sight, you made a b-line for the electrical room.

Malia immediately grabbed you and threw you against the wall as soon as you opened the door. She looked confused to see you but still held onto you.

“Relax, it’s just me,” you said, holding your hands up defensively.

“What are you doing here?” she asked. "You're supposed to be with Scott and Stiles."

“The dummies almost got busted,” you said with a small shrug. “I fixed it and came to check on you guys. Hey, Kira. How’s it going?”

Kira looked away from her small opening in the door and gave you a small smile. “Could be better. I don’t know if these guards are supposed to be here. How are we going to get out?”

Malia let go of you and the two of you walked over to check out the guards. “We don’t want to set off any alarms until Lydia is out,” she said.

“You’re right. Maybe we could-”

You stopped talking when one of the guards came in over the radio. The perimeter guard hadn’t checked in. You looked at Malia when the two guards rushed out to see what caused the delay. She shrugged and closed the door.

"Not our problem," she said.

Kira leaned against the door to get a better listen, but you and Malia didn’t need to. You heard the nurse loud and clear when he told someone that visiting hours were over, and then you heard Tracy tell him that they weren’t there to visit.

“Shit,” you whispered.

They pulled the nurse across the counter and slammed him to the ground. Tracy wanted to finish him off, but Theo said they were on a schedule and it was better to leave him. You, Kira, and Malia held a collective breath until the chimeras left.

Malia was the first one out the door and she slapped the nurse to get him to wake up. It didn’t work but at least his heart was beating.

“It’s started,” Kira said, looking down at her electrified hands.

“Then we need to get you out of here,” you said. You reached out to grab her arm but stopped when you remembered how she fried Scott. “Let’s go.”

“But what about the others?” Kira asked.

“They should already be back at the morgue,” Malia said. “We need to go.”

Kira took a second to decide and then jumped over the nurse and the three of you made a run for the morgue before Kira messed up Eichen’s frequency again. The others weren’t there, so you hoped they’d gone to the van instead. The alarm started blaring before you could share your theory.

You grabbed the sides of your head and collapsed in on yourself. Malia grabbed your arm to pull you out and reached for the doorknob, but it was electrified and both of you got electrocuted as a result. To top it off, the alarm still made your ears bleed.

Malia took a deep breath once she got back to her feet. “Lockdown,” she said.

You were still cringing on the ground when Scott started roaring. When your body got to its feet, it felt like being possessed again; you weren’t the one who moved your body. But once the brief discomfort was over, your head was clear and the alarm didn’t hurt so much anymore.

“Something’s wrong,” you rushed out. “I need to go help them.”

“No,” Malia argued, turning back to the door as the lights went out. “We need to get out of here.”

You were still arguing when Kira started lighting up again. The buzzing of the electricity didn’t freak you out so much as how worried she looked. She was terrified of messing things up again.

“I don’t know how long I’m going to last,” Kira said.

“How did you stop it before?” Malia asked.

“Scott carried me outside, which almost killed him,” Kira said.

“I’ve already died. It’s not so bad,” you said. You shrugged. “I can take you out.”

“Maybe we could try grounding her to something,” Malia said. “Lydia was teaching me about circuits before-”

You tackled Malia as a bolt of electricity shot out from Kira and hit the door where Malia had been. You held onto her as Kira’s lightning struck every metal surface it could find.

“You guys have to get out of here!” she yelled.

“We’re not leaving you,” you told her.

Kira hit one of the body holds as she turned her back to you. You and Malia got to your feet as Kira cried, “I should’ve stayed in the desert with the Skinwalkers. I can’t control this. I’m never going to be able to.”

“Kira, it worked,” Malia said. “You saw it work. You controlled it enough to cause the brownout. You can stop it.”

“I can’t!” Kira turned to glare at you and her eyes glowed an angry golden color. “Go!”

Even if you wanted to, an escape wasn’t possible because Kira electrified the entirety of her side of the room. Malia pulled you closer to her again and you both waited for the electrical storm to pass, careful not to touch anything conductive.

The storm passed as quickly as it started.

“Kira?”

Slowly, you both got to your feet, but then you had to pull Malia back from grabbing Kira’s unconscious body. She argued with you but you shook your head.

“She’ll kill you,” you said.

“She’s right,” Josh said. You both pulled away from Kira to focus on him. “Electricity is still coming off your friend. I can feel it from here. But I can help her.”

“Why?” Malia asked.

“Because I need your help.” Josh stepped away from the door and revealed Corey bleeding out in the hallway. “With him.”

“Oh my god, Corey.” You started forward when Malia caught your arm. She didn’t trust them; you didn’t blame her. “Mal, we’ve gotta help him.”

Malia let go and you rushed over to Corey. You tried to lift him but he was in too much pain. Josh took Corey’s other side and looked over at you. “I knew you’d help,” he said.

You didn’t know what to say, so you just hurried to get Corey on one of the exam tables. He was in so much pain. Almost his entire body was charred. He must have gotten caught up with Parrish.

“Why isn’t he healing?” Josh asked.

“Maybe he can’t. Maybe it’s too much,” Malia said.

“He’s going to die, isn’t he?” Josh asked.

“His heartbeat is getting slower,” you said. “But I can try to take away his pain. It could help.”

“It might even get him to start healing,” Malia said generously. “But we’ll only do it if you help Kira.” More sparks flew and you all ducked. “You said you could help!”

“Yeah, but it’s not like taking voltage from a car battery,” Josh argued. “She’s got a lot more power than that.” Corey groaned on the table. “Are you two going to do something or not?”

“Mal-”

“After you help her. I don’t trust you,” Malia said.

“I don’t trust you either!”

“Josh, do you trust me?” you asked. You’d never been close before, but you were something else now. “You said you knew I’d help him. I will, I promise.”

More sparks.

“We go at the same time,” Malia said, snapping his attention back to her. “Deal?”

Josh nodded reluctantly and walked over to Kira. You and Malia held each of Corey’s arms as Josh knelt over Kira. “On three?” he asked. “One.”

“Two.”

“Three.”

The lights started flickering as Josh absorbed Kira’s electricity, but it was the least of your concerns after only a second of taking Corey’s pain. Until now, you’d never understood the phrase ‘blinding pain’ but with your vision blurring and your entire body burning, it had new meaning.

But Corey’s heart started beating again. Rapidly. He was breathing. Kira gasped for air on the floor but it was almost impossible to hear over Josh’s screams.

Between you and Malia, Corey’s pain faded after a minute. Josh managed to get Kira conscious and not electrified. You stayed with him but Malia went to check on Kira and Josh came back to Corey.

“Anybody know how we’re supposed to get out of here?” Corey asked, sounding scared and hurt.

“This place is still in lockdown,” Malia said.

“But it’s not just locked,” Kira said after shooting a look at the door.

“Yeah, I can feel it, too,” Josh said.

“Well, what are we supposed to do?” Corey asked. “Just wait here?”

“We had a backup plan,” you said. Malia didn’t look like she wanted you to tell them, but you did anyway. “Mason is supposed to reset the transformer.”

“How’s he gonna do that?” Josh asked, at the same time that Corey asked if you meant his Mason.

“He’s got the blueprints of the building,” Kira said. “And he has the full map of Eichen’s electrical system. All he has to do is get into the transformer shed behind the building.”

“Don’t worry. Mason knows exactly what he’s doing,” Malia said.

You had to smile to yourself. Thinking back to your first few weeks with Malia when you couldn’t stand her and she said that she would leave you in the desert, you almost couldn’t believe how much she’d grown.

Malia and Kira kept huddled by the body holds while Josh rushed to the door to wait. Everyone was healing now, but you still felt ready to throw up. Taking away Corey’s pain had taken it out of you and if you didn’t drink some blood soon then you weren’t going to be much of a help to anyone. Surprisingly, Corey stayed with you by the exam tables. You heard the shutters on the windows roll back and then Josh pushed the door open.

“He did it!” Josh said.

“We gotta get to the Jeep,” you said, hopping off the table and running out with Kira and Malia.

It didn’t take long to get to the parking lot, and even less time to get to the front and pick up the guys and Lydia. You tossed the keys to Scott as you got out and asked if Lydia was okay.

“No, and we need to go,” Scott said. “We need to get Lydia out of here.”

Before he could get very far, Parrish collapsed onto the Jeep’s hood with claw marks all over his back. “Sorry, but she’s coming with me,” Tracy said. She held onto Lydia, no doubt paralyzing her as she did.

“Okay, Tracy. Just wait,” Scott said. “You don’t know what’s about to happen.”

“I’m taking her. That’s what’s happening,” Tracy said. “And none of you are going to do a thing-”

Electricity crackled and Tracy collapsed. Natalie stood behind her with one of the guard’s nightsticks in her hands. You and Stiles reached out to catch Lydia, but you faltered and he caught her.

“Could somebody please get my daughter out of this hellhole?” Natalie asked.

You helped get Lydia into the car with Stiles in the back. She looked awful, and you could smell the dried blood and gore in her hair. It was nothing on her fear though, nothing on Stiles’ fear either.

Scott drove as fast as he could, but Lydia’s heart was beating too quickly. Without any warning, she let out a scream that burst your eardrum closest to her. Heightened senses meant you were weaker when it came to loud noises like that, and Lydia's scream wasn't like any other loud noise. Stiles started bleeding and the mirrors cracked. You yelled at Scott to drive faster.

Even though the drive to the animal clinic was stressful, helping Deaton treat Lydia was even worse. Your brain was addled by the scream, and she kept screaming until Deaton injected her with mistletoe, straight into the spot where she’d been trepanned. Her final scream shattered all the windows in the clinic but you reacted too slowly.

Scott protected Lydia but Stiles tackled you to the ground, bits of glass sinking into his back.

“Stiles,” you said softly, hands reaching up to his face. The side of his face was still bloody from Lydia’s screams. “What are you-”

“Someone has to take care of you,” he said quietly.

You were both snapped out of your moment by Scott trying and failing to wake Lydia up again. You held onto Stiles’ hand as the two of you joined the others by the table. You couldn’t even hear her heartbeat.

She let out a low moan as her heart started again. Lydia looked terrified when she opened her eyes again but she held onto Stiles’ other hand when he reached for her.

“Are you okay?” he asked. She held onto him and nodded quickly. “You’re okay.” He took a deep breath. “Do you want to try to sit up?”

Stiles helped Lydia sit up, wincing slightly from the glass, and she looked around slowly. Her eyes landed on Natalie in the doorway. “Mom?”

“Oh, honey.” Natalie rushed over to Lydia and pulled her into a hug. She looked relieved for the first time in weeks.

“They saved me,” Lydia said weakly. “Stiles saved me.”

Natalie looked up from Lydia to make eye contact with Stiles. “Thank you,” she said. After her blow up the day before, you knew it meant a lot to him for her to apologize.

Stiles smiled at her to let her know that everything was fine, but then he winced again and ruined his heroic image. He still looked pretty heroic to you, but Natalie was a mother and all she saw was a broken boy covered in glass.

“Let’s get you home, huh?” Natalie flattened Lydia’s hair and kissed her head. She looked ready to cry when she touched Lyd’s trepanation wound. “You can take a bath and we can watch The Notebook. Hmm?”

“I can come with, if you want,” Scott offered with a smile.

Lydia nodded, not bothering to hide the tears in her eyes. She thanked you on her way out and soon it was just you, Stiles, and an awful lot of broken glass.

“Sit with me,” you said gently, tugging on Stiles’ arm to bring him to the exam table. It was so reckless of him to shield you like that but you couldn’t be mad at him. Not when he'd gotten hurt protecting you. “Do you want me to take your pain while I take the glass out?”

“And here I was thinking you wanted to makeout with me to say thank you for saving you from all that glass,” Stiles said with a lazy smile as he watched you get Deaton’s tweezers. You gave him a look and he laughed. “No, I can handle it.”

“You sure?”

Stiles nodded and you bit your lip. You weren’t sure if you had it in you to take his pain away, but still. Taking out all this glass was going to take a while and it was going to hurt.

You started with the shards furthest away from his spine, doing your best to ignore his wincing. The closer you got to his spine, the worse his pain got. You put your hand on his shoulder and tried to take his pain away like you did with Corey, but you pulled your hand away when it started burning.

Thankfully, Stiles was too wrapped up to notice your blunder, but it was pretty hard not to when your hand started shaking. The glass clattered into the metal dish with the other shards and you took a deep breath.

“Hey, you okay?” Stiles asked, looking over his shoulder at you.

“Yeah, just-” You took a breath and squeezed your eyes shut. “Just a bit light-headed. It’s been a while since I’ve had anything to drink.”

“Oh,” Stiles said softly. He looked down for a second and then used his hands to turn on the table to face you, no doubt opening some fresh wounds in the process. “You know you could do it if you wanted to.”

You frowned. “Do what?”

“Drink my blood,” Stiles said. God, when did this become your life? “If you can’t wait until we get home … you could do it.”

“No. No, I couldn’t,” you said. You took a step back. “Stiles, I would kill you. And even if I could control it - which I can’t - I could never ask you to do that.”

“But you didn’t ask, I offered.” Stiles reached for your hand and you felt so guilty for putting him through this.

“I know, but I- I can’t risk hurting you,” you said.

Stiles was quiet for a second. He looked down and drummed on the table for a second. “Malia told me you don’t heal without it.”

Snitch.

“Yeah, but I’m not the one that’s hurt right now.” You sighed and took a step forward to press your forehead to his, your hand holding onto his neck. Your thumb ran across his neck. “Let’s just get you cleaned up, alright?”

Stiles was so still, but eventually, he took a breath and nodded. “Okay,” he said softly. He kissed your hand before you pulled away to finish cleaning him up. He took in a sharp breath when you pulled out the largest (and, thankfully, the last) piece of glass. You apologized repeatedly but it just made Stiles laugh and then wince. “Hey, at least it's over now,” Stiles said in an attempt to comfort you.

You laughed and put the tweezers down. “Close. We still have to clean the cuts if you don’t want an infection.”

“Maybe I want an infection. I could get superpowers,” Stiles said between yawns. You walked around the table and he pulled you into a hug. His face was in your hair when he mumbled, “Do you think it’ll scar?”

“Not if I have anything to do with it,” you said. You pulled back and ran a hand through his hair. “This part will be quick, okay? Can I take your shirt off?”

“You can take my shirt off any time, babe.” Stiles leaned back and gave you a lazy grin which made you laugh despite the horrible night you’d had.

“Slow down, Stilinski. Let’s finish this first.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Don’t call me ma’am.”

“Sir, yes, sir.”

You rolled your eyes and pushed the open button-up off his shoulders so he could take his arms out of the sleeves. You lifted the bottom of his gray t-shirt and threw it at him when he made another flirty joke.

Cleaning and bandaging the cuts went a lot faster, which was a relief because you were exhausted and Stiles must have been freezing. When the last of the bandages were on his back, you leaned in and wrapped your hands around him.

“Thank you for taking care of me,” you said softly. You pressed a kiss to his shoulder. “Let’s go home. Do you have a shirt in the Jeep that I can bring you?”

“What’s wrong with my other shirt?” Stiles asked.

“It’s torn and covered in blood,” you said as you pulled away.

Stiles shrugged and pushed himself off the table. “You just want to see me walk around shirtless for a while.”

“You know me well, Stilinski.” You took his hand in yours and lifted it to kiss him again. Stiles rolled his eyes but he pulled you closer anyway, only letting go so you could lock up the animal clinic and then to pull on a sweatshirt.

Exhausted and worn out from the night, you fell asleep almost immediately as Stiles drove home. You weren’t sure what it was about the Jeep that did that to you; maybe the familiarly worn seats or how Stiles pumped the heat all the way up, or maybe just the way Stiles would drum on the steering wheel and play his favorite song on repeat. He was one of the only people who you trusted, and the Jeep was one of the only places you still felt safe.

Part 42

Tagged: @ietss @used-avocado

#stiles stilinski #stiles stilinksi x reader #stiles slow burn #stiles stilinksi imagine #so close #teen wolf #teen wolf au #teen wolf rewrite #mccall!reader

39 notes · View notes

blackfemmecharacterdependency · 3 years

Text

10. X Confirmed

Death had never been especially hard for Xander to accept. His mother died in front of him when he was young. He found it scary at first, but then curious. He didn’t know what an overdose was at the time. He’d been told at school that in case of an emergency, call 911, but his mom looked mostly the same way that she usually did. Sometimes, when she put the white stuff in her nose, she did weird things.

When she began to shake and flop around, to choke and gargle, he called out to her a few times, but then… she went to sleep. Which, in hindsight… usually happened whenever she carried her bottled drink. But, as far as her laying on the floor, eyes fluttering for a while, even the vomit wasn’t that strange for her… Usually she turned the other way… but if she was asleep, that wasn’t an emergency. Besides, he wasn’t supposed to call those people anyway. School rules and house rules were different and house rules mattered to his mom more. He was supposed to go to the neighbor’s and ask them to call his dad.

This was no emergency!

He went to school the next day and she was still there. He set breakfast next to her. Some toast and milk. He came home and she was still there. So was breakfast. Was this an emergency? He picked up her nose stuff and tried to give her some. She would probably jump right up. No. She didn’t. Maybe this might be an emergency. He headed to the neighbor’s, still had Mom’s nose stuff with him. The neighbor looked scared when she saw it. She tried to take it, but Xander insisted it was for his mom, but she was asleep on the floor and had been since yesterday.

So, she called his father and walked over to go check. When she did, she called 911. Xander’s father had not been around for a while. He would get mad and swing his fists at people… at Xander’s mom… at Xander. So, he didn’t live with them. That day, Xander found out that his mom wasn’t going to wake up from her sleep. “She was a cokehead. It happens,” his dad told him. Xander didn’t know what that meant, but what he figured out from swinging his fists at things when he got angry was that they went to sleep sometimes. Little animals. That meant that nose stuff wasn’t the only way. It also meant that when his dad got mad… it could happen to him.

By the time he left home and ran into his steward, he had fists swung at him more times than he could even count up to. If he was gonna go to sleep forever, he didn’t want it to be because of his dad. This was an emergency.

He never faced death again that up close and personal until his own life was on the line and Grace tried to get him out safely. He was terrified in the field by himself. Where could he go? He had no sense of direction. His dad probably wasn’t looking for him. His mom was asleep forever, and Grace was probably gonna get caught and killed too. He just sat in the field and cried. Insects kept crawling on him. He ignored a lot of them. Maybe he could just stay here forever and nothing would happen. Maybe… he could just lay down and go to sleep and not wake up again. Maybe there were no emergencies. Maybe death was a way to be free from emergencies..

Whenever Grace called him, he was still afraid, but happy to hear her voice. Was she coming to leave with him? To stay with him?

She was covered in blood. He had never seen so much. Not from fights, not from animals, and definitely not on people… Whenever they took the heads, he wondered, “Should we do something with those bodies? In the movies, they would hide them.”

“No. No. No… Wait… Yes…” She thought, “No. I read a crime story not too long ago. If they take fingerprints, you have to be a criminal for them to match them. We never did crimes before.”

However, whenever they did start to do crimes, Xander wondered, “Remember that field? Do you know where that was?”

“Near the abandoned train, right?”

“They’ve moved the train, now, but… maybe the field is still there.”

It was still there, but it looked different. It seemed greener than Xander remembered. It would still do. He grabbed a shovel and opened the trunk, sighing whenever Grace began to speak in her soft, but urgent voice. “We have to get a better system. You can’t just hit somebody in the head with a shovel and toss them in your trunk.”

“He was a steward. I confirmed it myself.”

“Well, as confident as I am in an X confirmed steward… We need to be careful.” The man started moving and she gasped and took the shovel to smash it into him to make him stop moving. She blew air from her lips and thought for a moment. “If you ever do this again, I need them researched, receipts created, and confirmation solid. Don’t just fly off the handle.”

“He kidnapped Jalicia with the intent to sell her. She was 3.”

“I know, I know… BUT, what I’m saying is… somebody is gonna be looking for this guy and nobody knows he did that, probably.”

“Who would look for this guy? He’s a loser.”

“A zero.” “Less than zero.”

She gasped, “He’s a null!” She laughed and grabbed the other shovel. “Dude, we also will need to be wearing something else. I love this Blood Orange shirt, and it’s ruined now. I’ll have to burn it or something.”

“Should… should we call Jalicia?” He wondered.

“And stress her out? No.”

“If I was her, I’d wanna know.”

She thought for a moment and looked around. Where this place was, she didn’t expect much traffic, so they probably were safe to move forward and still let their friend know about this. “Check with Heath. He’ll know whether or not that’s best.”

Heath and Jalicia met them out there and Jalicia looked at the man, “Yo… what the fuck, Xan? I’ve never seen this man before in my life, Bro. Did you kill him? Can we just drop him at the ER and dash?”

Xander shook his head at her and raised up the man’s sleeve to show a tattoo of a scorpion and a scar. “This is where you bit him.” They recognized the tattoo, and that did look like a bite mark. “I asked him what happened there and he said a kid bit him a long time ago. No… He said, “my kid bit me” a long time ago…” Xander was fuming again.

“I’m sold,” Heath said, his own jaw clenching as he grew protective over his girlfriend. “Who… owns this land? Because if they’re gonna farm it or something, they’ll find him.”

“But, if we buy it and it gets found some other way, then it points to us,” Grace said. “I’ll find out tomorrow. For now, we gotta bury this null.”

“The what?” Heath wondered.

“Null. Less than zero. I read it in a book once...”

She was always reading. She could read in multiple languages, and multiple avenues. She could read body language, social cues, people… why the fuck couldn’t she see how not okay Simon was?

As he recorded the dude’s address, he thought about the stern talking-to that Grace had given him about that first X on the way to the Field of Nulls. If they were going to be hunting predators and burying them, they needed to look into them, verify that they were either at the warehouse or into the crime scene within that time frame, and get as much information and dirt on them for it to be undeniable. Grace would look at the information to determine and if she wasn’t sure they were guilty, if there was a single chance that an X was not confirmable; she made a circle around them and held onto their information. There was likely a reason that they came up in shady business.

Sometimes, the proof came around. A few times, she just couldn’t stomach a mistake. They had been taken away from homes and families for years. She didn’t want to do that to someone else if she couldn’t say for sure they were responsible. He knew that he certainly couldn’t get an X put on Simon without proof, if even then.

Grace had gotten REAL cozy with her new little lap dog, and Xander did not like that. He didn’t like her bringing him into the fold, even if he was still in the dark. It was sloppy! They hadn’t vetted this guy! In fact, they didn’t let people in! Simon was the first outsider to have crossed over… since Hazel! Xander looked at Sunny, asleep in his bed, curled up with a pink narwhal stuffie, with an eye mask over her face and a bonnet on her head as he scribbled a note and slipped out of his apartment.

There was no doubt in his mind - the man was dangerous. He’d most likely escalate if openly challenged. Xander would just put him in the field… but he doesn’t lie to or keep secrets from Grace; and putting Simon in the field would make her very upset. Xander wasn’t quite prepared to risk that type of upset from her with nothing backing his suspicions. But, you couldn’t convince him that Simon wasn’t a serial killer!!!

Or… someone unsafe for them all, but mostly for Grace.

Whether it was the fact that it takes one to know one, just Simon being so strange in comparison to other people Xander had observed, or him just feeling threatened that Grace had a new person around… That she got close to him when Xander wasn’t there. That if he hadn’t slipped up again, this might not even still be a problem. That she was in danger and it might be HIS fault!

Initially, Xander told her to give Simon a chance, but he felt the dude proved that he couldn’t be trusted with boundaries and space… yet… there he was… in her life even deeper. Xander needed to confirm for himself and for Grace that Simon was simply a harmless creep and not a dangerous one.

Potential X: First - Observe the potential X in its natural habitat. How it walks and talks. Does it have friends and family at home or live alone? How often is it there and what does it do in it's free time?

“Potential X appears to live alone, has one pet as indicated on social media bios, and from a quick overview through the window - minimal security in place beyond a locked door. Background check came up clean, so if it is a danger, it is a crafty danger, because it hasn’t been caught or suspected of anything yet. It leaves early in the morning and goes… to the bookshop. Right. Everyday.”

Xander went across the street and ordered, then opened his laptop and watched the bookstore. He saw whenever Grace came in to work, Simon had rushed to open the door for her and… she… Kissed him??? On the cheek, but… she doesn’t DO that. This might be harder than Xander thought.

“Grace is very attached to X. Does she love him? It.” The X. Xander didn’t like to humanize the potential X. Grace would do that later, and highly likely go above and beyond for this one.

Xander ordered some lunch for Grace and went across the street with her known order. She came from clocking out and almost ran into him. “Whoa! Xan!” She cheered and tackled him into a hug. “Did you spring up to see me???”

“Yeah, I got your stupid lunch from the deli.”

She was eyeing him suspiciously. He knew why. He’d left this morning and Sunny most likely hit her up as soon as she found his note. He had technically been ‘missing’ that entire time, because none of his babysitters had eyes on him. But, she was soon comforted by the fact that she knew him well enough to know when something wasn’t right. Something wasn’t, but she knew it wasn’t drugs. “That’s super awesome, but I was actually gonna head out of work early and go to Le Bistro Parfait!”

“Le what?”

“Simon’s mom’s place. I told you about it.”

“Right. Where is he?”

“Waiting,” she said with a huge smile.

“Like a good little lap dog.”

Grace booped his nose, “Don’t be jealous. You’ve got BOTH of your exes wrapped around your little finger.”

“Debatable. Also irrelevant.” He paused and looked at her solemnly. “ They’re Apex.”

“He’s good to me, Xander. He understands that I have all this stuff going on and he still likes to be around.”

“Why do you think that is?”

“Because, I’m charming and beautiful,” she said through her teeth.

“Right, but you’re also aloof, inconsiderate, self-absorbed, noncommittal, highly, HIGHLY traumatized, problematic, pretentious…”

“OH MY GOD, XANDER!” She said. Those things were true and were often reasons that she didn’t have successful real dates and never had a boyfriend, but with him just saying them like that… Shit was a little hurtful. Especially considering that Simon never said anything bad about her, ever. Fortunately, he showed up right when she was ready to fucking lose it on Xander.

“Xander,” Simon said and held his hand out to shake, an unreadable expression and wide fake smile on his face.

“Dude, you do this every time. I’m not shaking your hand, for all I know, you just rubbed one out so that you don’t get a hard on for Grace in front of your mom.” Xander said it very casually, but they all knew that he was 100% serious and he even looked disgusted for emphasis.

“Oh,” Simon said, pulling his hand back. “I absolutely didn’t do that, but I won’t offer you my hand again, Xander.” His eyes glinted as he lowered his forehead just a little bit…

The X is trying to intimidate me! Xander stepped forward and Grace stepped in front of him to give him a silent look to back down and took the lunch, “I will put this in the break room and have it for tomorrow. You wanna come to Le Bistro?” Her voice didn’t indicate anything, but Xander knew that face and he was on thin ice if he didn’t keep his wits about him with Simon. Simon obviously was much better at being fake than he was. Grace didn’t even acknowledge the way he’d just challenged him.

“Yep.” He stared Simon down as she vanished to the break room, still giving him her warning look. Xander rolled his eyes and asked, “How long has your mom had her place?”

“Oh… Since I was 10 or so. I definitely lost the spelling bee in 5th grade and she was there by then, because I’d practice over and over in a booth.”

“You did spelling bees?” Xander asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I was a spelling bee champion,” Simon bragged.

“When you were 10.”

“No… I lost that year, but it made me work harder for the next time. So… 11.”

Xander nodded, “When I was 11, I was sucking strange dick so somebody else could get paid, and smoking pot so I wouldn’t worry so much about sucking strange dick.”

“Oh… I’m… sorry… I’m presuming that no one would ever joke about something like that… So… Just… sorry.”

“Hey, it taught me a life skill that I’d need for money later sometimes,” Xander shrugged his shoulders and winked at him.

“How uh… How did you and Grace meet?” Simon asked, uncomfortably changing the subject.

“She hasn’t told you?” Simon shook his head. Grace has not opened up to the X about our troubled past. This is a sign that she is not as far into his deceit as I feared. “Then, I guess she has her reasons.”

“Okay. Well, we’ve covered ‘strange dick’ now… what’s the next conversation topic in Xander’s world?” Grace reappeared and Simon exhaled, “Oh thank God.” She laughed and locked arms with both of them. They gave each other fake casual looks, two sets of eyes studied every single detail in the other’s face and both noticed that fact, and that fact only. But, while Simon smirked and faced forward, Xander frowned, and she marched ahead, guiding them both.

She and Xander both rode with Simon. Xander was studying the backseat and the lock. If he had to sneak in here to grab Simon, he wanted to see if he could estimate success. “Your music sounds mad stalkerish,” Xander said. Simon tensed up and of course he noticed.

Grace threw Xander a look in the backseat, “Be nice, please.”

“I’m always nice,” Xander said and leaned forward to smell the seat. “Did you recently clean out your car?”

“I have a person who does that,” Simon said. Xander glared and Simon shook his head, “I didn’t mean to sound like that. I mean… It’s a regular service that I get done…”

“What is this scent?”

“I smell mandarin,” Grace said, with a smile.

“Huh. You love that smell. That’s a nice coincidence,” Xander said, staring at Simon in the rearview mirror. Simon wore that same smirk from earlier… he knew what Xander was doing. They got to the bistro, Xander got onto his phone and told Grace, “A thing came up. I guess I have to leave you with him.”

“Well… Do you need us to bring you back to your car?” She wondered.

“No. Enjoy your lunch date.” Grace gave him a hug and he noticed Simon shift a little, almost like he was coming forward. It was impulsive. He held the hug longer than necessary simply to gauge if it would have an effect.

“Please call somebody if you need anything,” Grace whispered, pulled back and cupped his face, then walked through the door that Simon held open for her.

For the last time that day, Simon and Xander stared at each other. “Good luck, Xander,” Simon said. What makes the X think that I need good luck? He went inside and stared at Xander through the window on his way to the booth with Grace.

Potential X: Survey the X’s personal spaces. Car, exceptionally clean, seemingly with all functional capacities of the vehicle’s expectations. Home…

Alexandria picked the lock, with furrowed eyebrows and checked the time on her phone. When he went inside, wearing gloves, of course, he noticed things, some immediately. “X is a massive nerd… with disposable income. Some of these figures definitely look expensive…” he recorded several of them. Simon had an entire wall of shelving dedicated to very detailed and realistic figures from various fandoms, grouped together by fandom. They were all handcrafted, but Xander couldn’t be sure if they had been purchased that way or if Simon had made them himself. The living room was spotless. Maybe it has a person for that, too.

Across from the figures wall was a workspace with a computer and… Xander looked at the desktop… Everything seemed set like it was getting ready for some photo shoot or something. “The X is meticulous in organizing it’s personal space. Everything is extremely clean and orderly, even this desk that’s totally decked out for gaming… but, he’s put away everything in a specified spot and left nothing even remotely off.” He turned and looked at the book shelf. The top row were his own works, with framed photos of himself and who Xander presumed were his mother… mothers? Maybe she was a lesbian, and a red headed sister. There were two photos of him and the sister (an old one and a current one, one of the whole group, one with him and his mom, and one of just the blond mom… so… that probably was merely a friend or cousin or something. He didn’t have a photo of just the two moms. But, the rows beneath his own books and those photos were all alphabetized.

Xander explored further. The kitchen was just as clean, just as orderly. It was a pretty big kitchen for one man who likely didn’t have many friends, and it sort of reminded him of a movie set of a spaceship. The appliances were mostly chrome or white, with lights and stuff. The refrigerator was definitely new and fancy. He peeked inside and it was fairly empty (or possibly it appeared that way because it was so big). There was an absurd amount of different milk in there, oranges, gouda… raspberry jam, cotton candy grapes… He slammed the fridge. “Grace has been either stashing groceries here or he’s been accommodating her when he shops. I refuse to believe that the few things that she has to have in her own fridge at all times just happen to be the things that he also keeps in his! The fuck is the bread?” He went to the pantry and groaned at how it was both a walk in, and also as neat as everything else. He found the bread and there it was… Marbled rye from her favorite bakery… Xander clenched his fists and left the pantry, slamming it shut.

Why are you so angry? You KNOW that she’s seeing him. She’s been seeing him now for damn near half of a year... He entered a room that confused him. There were all these… costumes… Some of them were on stands, several things on a few racks… He walked a little further in and saw a table with a sewing machine and a side table with various tools and a figurine on it. This room was less neat than the others, and there was corner with a three way mirror, a shelf of wigs, and a rack of weapons… “LARPing!” Xander said, “Or something like that. These are all… costume things…” He saw a mannequin that was formed remarkably like Simon (like he probably was under his clothes). “Did he have this made in his image?” He picked up the figurine and noted it was a dragon of some sort. He didn’t know from what. He set it back down and moved on to the next room.

The bedroom wasn’t as neat either… but Xander had a feeling that wasn’t necessarily Simon’s doing. Because those were Grace’s Date Night boots at the foot of the bed and the book on the nightstand was one that she had been reading recently. He rushed to see if she had already taken a drawer in his dresser. Neatly folded clothes in each drawer, with the exception of a locked one. Alexandria had to keep watch outside, so he had to see if he could break into it himself. Whenever he did, he wasn’t expecting to see that… Xander turned up his nose at what he presumed was Simon’a sex drawer… Well, the dildo was a dead giveaway, and the strap… there were women’s underwear and lube, and other… things. He shut it and tried to rig the lock back into place, grumbling, “Grace better not have been in this drawer with him!”

For years, Xander had been telling Grace to just rip off the bandaid and bone somebody. If she waited until she found the weirdest creep in Seattle to do that, he would never forgive himself. But, there was nothing there to help him. All that he had proved was that this guy was an Extreme Nerd Olympics gold medalist, into pegging, and most likely a simp… because housing her favorite groceries?

He opened another door and a white cat came running out, startling him. She rushed into living room and Xander chased her. That room was ridiculously clean. He couldn’t remember seeing any cat fur in it, and he certainly didn’t want to leave any. He caught up with her quite quickly and picked her up by the back of her neck. She struggled with him and he said to her face, “Listen, you little shit. I already don’t like cats…” He peeked into the room she’d come out of and saw it was an entire room set up like some type of cat paradise… He tossed her in and closed the door. Somehow THAT was the weirdest room that he had seen in the place.

He had run out of time. He was getting ready to leave whenever he heard somebody knocking on the door. Alexandria would have still been out there, so… it must have been her, signaling to him to leave. He rushed out of the back and made his way off of the property, waiting around the corner for her and texted her where.

“Hello?” Simon said.

She turned around and looked confused at him. “Hi… are you… here for Luca too?” He stared at her for a bit, looked her up and down, sizing her up, figuring something. “Sir? Is this where you’re going?” she pointed at the door.

“This is where I live. Who did you say you were?”

“I’m here for Luca Magnus.”

“Ah. Magnus. They’re next door,” He pointed in the direction and she laughed and gestured with her fingers shooting herself in the head. “Simple mistake for a stranger. The addresses are very similar. You don’t look like any company that I’ve ever noticed them have. I’m pretty observant.” He blinked his eyes and her and gave her a very small smile that she could tell was not friendly.

Still, hers was as she said, “I’m the new masseuse. Are they gonna send me right back where I came from when they see me?”

“If you don’t have your supplies in your car, probably.” he said, looking around for her car. His driveway was uphill and if she had parked down below and walked up, it was suspicious for her to not have a bag with oil in it, or something.

“I can’t drive up these hills and I wanted to make sure it was the right house first. Thanks for your help.” He watched her rush off and head towards the Magnus house. She didn’t get into a car or go to the house, and he hurried to unlock his door, pausing only to notice that the lock looked scratched up and he couldn’t remember it being that way before. He came inside and walked through, eyeing everything. It looked fine. Maybe she hadn’t accomplished getting inside. Maybe he caught her before she had a chance. She looked familiar, but he was more concerned about making sure that the house was clear and safe. He reached behind his bookshelf and retrieved one of his guns, readied himself as he peered through his home, room by room. Samantha rushed out of hers. Nobody was in there, not in her closet full of supplies, either. He went into the bathroom, all clear. The bedroom… he noticed that the drawer wasn’t straight. He shook it and it was loose, but still locked. He knew that he would have noticed if that drawer was off in any way. He checked his closet, only his daily wardrobe. He checked his hobby workroom, and it seemed fine too, but his dragon… it was facing the wrong way. He always set them down facing himself. It was turned around. He turned it back and let out a frustrated breath.

Somebody had been in there, but they were gone, now. He put his gun away. If it had been that woman, he must have caught her coming out. But, why was nothing missing? Why would she break in and not take anything? Why did she look familiar?

He texted Grace.

Simon: Might have to skip coming over tonight. Someone broke in my house.

Grace: WHAT? Are you okay? What did they do?

Simon: Nothing appears to be missing, but I want to be sure to change the locks, and I have a drawer to fix. I don’t want you to come over, because I’m not sure why they were here and I don’t want you in danger.

Grace: Awww, that’s adorable. No offense, but if danger were to come through, I think I’d be a little more likely to have to keep you safe, Mon Beau Petit.

Simon smiled and blushed. He didn’t know if she was being condescending or flirting, but he liked it. Whatever it was.

Simon: I would never allow it, My Doll.

Grace smiled so brightly that Simon hit her right back with an affectionate nickname that her face felt pained.

She was sad that they might not be getting together tonight. Simon had become a bit of an anchor for her. He comforted her without pressuring her, judging her, or pitying her. It was like he knew just how she worked, just how to treat her for the best results. She left work with her coffee in hand, it was chilly, but not cold yet and the florals of her rose, lavender and chamomile coffee were flooding through her sinuses and senses. She loved the tingling it sent through her, like a little cleansing at the end of a long day.

The train ride home felt lonely. She was never really alone. She often felt like she was being followed and usually, by demons. Other times, she hoped it was an angel. She smiled and opened her social media up as she sat on the vehicle, playing music and seeing what Xander got up to after he left her and Simon.

Alexandria texted her earlier that she was going to be with him today. That was reassuring, as something was going on with him. She didn’t know if that was simply how he was now, or if it was a cause for concern. But, she was not going to browbeat him and make things worse. Instead, she checked out his media, saw nothing. Checked Alexandria’s. Saw even less. She groaned. If they were sleeping together again, she might honestly lose her chill…

But, then she saw something on Simon’s page. It was a computer drawn image of someone that he probably got his friend to make for him (because, she didn’t think he was that quick with a computer, even having apparently been pretty good in school), but what she noticed was the bomb tattoo on the neck of the image.

It was a white woman with a ponytail and a hoodie pulled over her head, but she had a tattoo on her neck of one of those circle bombs from the cartoons, lit… Grace took a screenshot and sent it to Alexandria. “Explain this,” was all that she typed.

Alexandria’s bubbles showed up and stopped several times before she finally replied several minutes later with, “Please ask Xander.”

Grace opened a thread with the three of them and sent the very same message into it.

Xander replied: Can’t chat. Observing an X.

Grace: Why was Alexandria at Simon’s house earlier and…

Xander: Going dark.

Grace: Somebody better answer me.

Alexandria: I’ve got a client. If he doesn’t get in touch with you by the time I’m done, I’ll call you.

Grace texted Simon: Come over whenever you’ve finished with things. Bring a bag. Stay the night.

Simon didn’t really get to stay the night at Grace’s. The longest he had been there was that first time that she needed an alibi. Just the thought of being invited was everything to him, even with his preoccupied mind. He had to get to the storage unit and make sure that video cameras were able to record. It wasn’t that he intended to catch anything dirty (they weren’t like THAT, and he wasn’t even sure if he wanted them to be), but he did like having moments to relive over and over, where she smiled at him a certain way, or they held hands and you could just *see* the chemistry felt in the moment. He had opened the storage unit and went to set his bag down, figuring that he could simply set the recording and then dash out. He wasn’t expecting anybody to be at the storage at night, as they usually weren’t. He certainly wasn’t expecting to be met with a voice, and turn to see a face, and have it be Xander Helstrom, 747, Grace’s right hand, but…

“X marks the spot.”

11. This is Fucked Up

#AU Infinity Train #Infinity Train #Nesha Fanfiction #Infinity Train Fanfiction #fics #People Watching

3 notes · View notes

touchxheaven · 4 years

Text

Got a bad roommate story i feel like telling because of recent events SO....

The year is 2017 or something and i move to Philadelphia to start a band, a year passes by and band moves in together for the sake of an easy practice space. We’re on tour in October of 2018 and bassist has a past tinder date come to a show cause it was in the area. She already confessed her LOVE for him. (this was i think their third time hanging out) He tells us he doesn’t want a relationship cause he isn’t over his ex and blah blah blah, they start dating cause that man was and always will be an idiot. She would come by our house and everyone (i live with four other people) would be cordial, friendly even.. We fucking hated her cause she only ever asked you a question so she could answer it, kinda like every washed band dude that has an interview based podcast. She was so loud and had the most annoying inflection (she’s from new jersey, the only redeeming quality of which is that it will one day be underwater) She’d fake her tastes to try and look cooler to us but it was so obvious it only evoked pity but you can’t really feel much pity for someone you don’t like,

She’d also lie about everything else, she commented on a post in her township facebook group (great indication) to try and grandstand about handing out narcan to those in need and how she grows vegetables for her community and she lives in a house where her roommates rescue pets. (i yanked a dog off the street and a cat crawled into our house, good things to do but we wanted those animals DON’T get it twisted) I don’t know if she ate vegetables let alone was a part of a community garden (of which there are several nearby) and she certainly never touched narcan in her life (despite it being very available) She was just a fucking assclown and we all knew it.

In the summer of 2019 we went on our longest tour to date and by day 3 she was crying on the phone begging our bassist to come home. She had zero friends (for obvious reasons) and my partner who lives with me wasn’t trying to hang out (for obvious reasons)

We played a show in Arkansas or Alabama or something and someone from the band Thou gave us acid (thanks.) Our soon to be ex drummer (thank god, different story different day, same tour tho) and later to be ex bassist (oh look a theme) took the acid as we drove from Arkanbama to Douglasville, Georgia (that’s where The Chariot are from) where the remaining two of us slept in the parking lot, before we went to bed we noticed there where several texts and six missed calls (and counting) on our dipshit bassists phone, he was outside tripping hard and we had no intention of telling him in hopes all six or so (pathetic and fight filled) months of their relationship fell apart right then and there.

The sun shines through the fading tint of the windows in our 2003 ford van, Alex (guitar) and I wake up to see ex-drummer trying to comfort ex-bassist outside in the parking lot, someone’s crying, this is it (we think) she’s finally gonna move out and we can enjoy not tip toeing through my house to avoid that loud obnoxious south jersey loser.

Douglasville isn’t very far from Atlanta (where our next show was) so we decided to enjoy the nature of rural Georgia before the show. It was a nice day out and there were several state parks near by. Bassist spend the entire day on the phone, “We broke up.” “We’re back together.” We’re all sick of it. The show in Atlanta was a fest we shouldn’t have played as the only metalcore band on a twinkle emo fest, but the dude who booked it liked us and promised to pay us well. He didn’t even watch the set, it’s fine though, we had to deal with heart ache. Bassist really seemed like he was gonna pull the plug on things, he really fucking did, she demanded the night prior that he come home IMMEDIATELY and that just wasn’t gonna happen, there were two more days or something.

We play the remaining shows and get home, drummer is soon kicked out for something that happened on the tour, they were the only one in the band who wasn’t living with us at the time. We add our roommate Kyle on drums and a mutual friend of Alex and Bassist (who grew up together.) The point is, everyone in the band are friends now, I’m probably the most alienated cause i’m a curmudgeon but we all have a good time together, after a year and a half of me wanting to fight our drummer.

At this point i feel like i have the hang of kicking people out of things, having evicted a guitarist prior and now our drummer from our ensemble. The final straw as this idiots roommate was her screaming about her makeup bag getting ruined in her boyfriends friends car (she left it there undoubtedly.) I think she hit him over this whole thing, I was sick of it and told everyone to get downstairs so we could tell her she has two weeks to find a new place or move home. In that whole conversation she tried to say she would stay because “squatters rights” which goes to show you how much this brainlet knows about anything. She wasn’t on the lease at all but we still allowed her to stay. I told her she would come home to all of her belongings on the street if she didn’t have a place in two weeks. I wasn’t fucking around. She ALSO tried to say she was going to keep the cat that crawled into our home prior to her moving in on the basis of “it sleeps in my room all the time” which was true but only because she closed her fucking door with it inside. I got incredibly loud with her and uh.. asserted that she didn’t want to try to take the cat that wasn’t hers out of our home.

We told dipshit bassist he didn’t have to leave but he obviously chose her over us. Which is fine I wasn’t really too fond of him as he was a spazz, funny but so fucking dumb.

They move out together and we go on another tour, this one was ten days, not our longest but not our shortest either. First tour that wasn’t just two days together since we kicked the idiots out of our house.

Bassist spends the entire day on the phone with her in the back of the van. We had a show seven hours away in Harrisonburg Virginia. At gas stations when we could get separation from the idiot we exchanged what we thought we heard over the phone. “Do you want me to call 911?”

We arrive in Harrisonburgh, we’re probably an hour from playing when Bassist tells me that his girlfriend cut herself and that she’s in the hospital and he has to return home as soon as he can get a bus. Previously when she had “cut herself” while we were in Georgia I asked him if he ever saw the scars. He said no (this is because there weren’t any) So i told him what any person would and said he was being manipulated and this constitutes an abusive relationship (as if fighting and her hitting him didn’t already.)

I am fairly certain that if you end up in the hospital with self harm scars they don’t allow you to have contact with anyone on the outside for 72 hours, I could be wrong, but regardless this idiot was liking stupid white girl tweets the entire time, not indicative of someone who tried to take their own life because their boyfriend has been gone for ten hours. We spend the night at the house we played at, woke up, he was gone. He took his bass with him without asking us, which i understand was his property but i could have easily played the instrument while doing vocals for the remaining days, or we could have taught our second guitarist the bass parts before the next show and played as a 4 piece again. We ended up managing to get fill ins for most of the shows which was insane, performances ranged from insane to “what are you doing” but we were having way more fun without the dude.

We obviously kicked him out of the band soon after, haven’t seen him since. Felt like sharing this story as him and his stupid girlfriend got jumped last night. I smiled so fucking hard about it.

Ex-Bassist still has 750 dollars that they owe me cause i covered their rent for months while they quit job after job because “i’m just not fulfilled here.” She still spends all day online talking about shit she has no clue about to try and seem cool for like one like per tweet, not that likes matter for shit but you just KNOW she wants them bad. Only reason I know they got jumped is cause she tweeted about it and I lurk occasionally cause obviously i have problems keeping an eye on things i wish would cease being.

Kinda pointless story but mildly amusing, might tell more stories if i’m bored enough, this has been a good time kill

8 notes · View notes

polaris-australis · 4 years

Text

6 Horror Podcast Recommendations For Quarantine

I’m bored, you’re bored. If you’re interested in looking for new audio dramas to listen to (because I’m bad at the nonfiction ones, sorry), especially if you’re a fan of scaring the shit out of yourself like I somehow am, then I have a few I’ve been meaning to talk about. Note that I will either give warnings for each one or they can be found in the descriptions of the episodes themselves. These are all my opinions on them, though I will try to stick to basic summaries. I just think these are good content.

I’m also willing to make a part 2 for this people are interested, because there are so many more and I haven’t even touched on most of the more popular ones (namely Magnus Archives which I’m not going to talk about because literally everyone is so it’s not hard to find a summary about it).

2 Short Podcasts

1. The Hyacinth Disaster: This is the shortest show on this list, being only seven episodes long, each being about 20 minutes long, but it’s amazing and I love it. It centers around a group of asteroid miners trying to strike it rich on an asteroid in order to bargain for the life and safe return of their friend, who is being held hostage by a rival company who claims the ship was in their territory. However, it turns out the asteroid is kind of sentient, and over the course of the show, every single character dies. This isn’t really a spoiler, so I feel like I can say it. It’s masterfully done, being very character focused and emotional. I can’t think of any major warnings here besides death (which aren’t explicit or particularly gruesome), but there should be some in the episode descriptions as needed.

2. Limetown: We’re only counting season one of Limetown because season two is absolutely garbage and hardly anyone I have seen actually considers it canonical. This one is also one of the major ones on this list, as it was one of the early audio dramas that really showed what the medium could do and brought in new listeners the way WTNV did for many people (including me). It surrounds a journalist named Lia Haddock who is investigating the mystery behind Limetown, a fictional research town for the top scientists in the country where, within a single day it seems, every single resident vanished. When she begins her investigation, a survivors start to come out of their hiding places, revealing exactly what was going on and some of them dying in the process. It’s six episodes total with mini “announcements” in between that are part of the show, though are usually about 3-5 minutes. Episodes average out around 30 minutes, sometimes more or less. It’s interesting and in-depth and I did enjoy it - however there are major trigger warnings that I wish someone had given me. At the end of episode 2, there is a man who people refer to as “The Manic Man” who is very much unstable and frankly pretty ableist and gross, but I won’t get into that here. He basically bangs his head on Lia’s door screaming her name and that she needs to stop investigating Limetown. He appears again at the end of episode 3, having broken into her parents’ house and is ominously saying her name into the phone. He is not heard from for the rest of the season, nor in season two if you listen to that disaster. Episode 3 also involves animal death, and in “The 911 Call” there are gunshot noises. Again, it’s an enjoyable podcast, but please be careful is any of these things are triggering for you.

3 Medium-ish Podcasts

3. Academicasaurus : This one is a bit different from the others, but I’m considering it horror because a) someone is listening in to all the phone conversations, which is how we’re hearing them, b) it does end up surrounding the supernatural, and c) it just has a creepy vibe to it. This one surrounds two English literature professors and the head librarian, who help run Academicasaurus, the school arts journal that combines older aspects and elements of literature with modern pop culture. It begins when they begin getting wildly inaccurate articles dropped at their office doors, and then strange things begin happening around the school, including a fire in the library and a missing person case. In season 2, the supernatural aspect to the school starts to unveil. Episodes are about 12-20 minutes for season one, which is 7 episodes, then start hitting the 20-25 marks in season 2, which is 8 episodes. Season 3 is starting May 25, 2020, so I’m probably going to relisten before then. It’s fun content, and yes goes along with the grey academia aesthetic.

4. Janus Descending: Listen. Listen. This was so close to being my jam. The twist just ended up screwing me over and I hate so much that it was ruined for me. It’s another space podcast where two xenoanthropologists head to an unknown planet where there were signs of an ancient civilization and things go terribly wrong. It’s told through alternating perspectives and audio logs, but the real kick is that Chel’s tapes go in normal chronological order and Peter’s go backwards. So you get the sheer whiplash of going from “everything is going to be amazing!” to “sobbing because one is dead and the other is about to die.” I personally just didn’t enjoy the main twist at the end but that was just me. Episodes are about 20-30 minutes, there are 13 total. The main warnings are for lots of paranoia, crying, and major character death/some violence. Not bad horror wise overall.

2 Longer Podcasts

5. What’s the Frequency?: This is a much weirder one that I have found is a hit or miss with most people. It’s set in 1950s LA and at first surrounds two private investigators searching for a missing typewriter, but then expands into a world descending into madness due to a strange radio show. It’s a bit gorey but there are trigger warnings, and the aesthetic is honestly terrifying. The audio effects are amazing, distorting and making it sound like an old radio. Episodes are around 20-30 minutes except for the finale I think which is longer. Only the first season is out for now but season two is supposed to be out soon, which is why this is going here instead of above. Regardless, this is a good time to listen.

6. The White Vault: This is a podcast I’ve referenced before on my main blog. It’s an isolation horror podcast about a team sent up to a research outpost in Svalbard to fix a transmission issue, but they become stranded by an unnaturally brutal snowstorm. They discover a vault (literally) in the bunker that leads into a cave system that isn’t as abandoned as they thought. This one is honestly terrifying, it’s just the anticipation and slow build up that then becomes actual horror as the monster hunts them down one by one. Three seasons are up right now, and the final season comes out in October, so this is a good time to catch up if you like. Episodes can be from thirty minutes to almost an hour, each being told through the “found footage” format with a separate narrator putting the pieces together. Each season has about 10 episodes. I adore it to bits.

Feel free to tell me if you try any of these shows and your thoughts on them! Again, I’m totally willing to make more posts like this touching on other horror podcasts or nonhorror ones, but I felt like making this one first. Hope you’re all having a good day, and, if not, that it gets better soon < 3

#lithoestudies #grey academia #audio dramas #i'm sleepy but i wanted to make this post lmao

3 notes · View notes

pinealperspective · 5 years

Text

A few random quotations, collected from the book "Pulp" by Charles Bukowski

• “I was gifted, am gifted. Sometimes I looked at my hands and realized that I could have been a great pianist or something. But what have my hands done? Scratched my balls, written checks, tied shoes, pushed toilet levers, etc. I have wasted my hands. And my mind.”

• “Man was born to die. What did it mean? Hanging around and waiting. Waiting for the ‘A train.’ Waiting for a pair of big breasts on some August night in a Vegas hotel room. Waiting for the mouse to sing. Waiting for the snake to grow wings. Hanging around.”

• “Hell was what you made it.”

• “Sex was a trap, a snare. It was for animals.”

• “What was wrong with me? Was this dame getting to me? She had intestines like everybody else. She had nostril hairs. She had wax in her ears. What was the big play?”

• “You only live once, right? Well, except for Lazarus. Poor sucker, he had to die twice.”

• “I killed four flies while waiting. Damn, death was everywhere. Man, bird, beast, reptile, rodent, insect, fish didn’t have a chance. The fix was in. I didn’t know what to do about it. I got depressed. You know, I see a box boy at the supermarket, he’s packing my groceries, then I see him sticking himself into his own grave along with the toilet paper, the beer and the chicken breasts.”

• “’You won’t laugh at me like the police did?’

‘Nobody laughs like the police, Mr. Grovers.’”

• “Now all that I can tell you is that there are billions of women on earth, right? Some look all right. Most look pretty good. But every now and then nature pulls a wild trick, she puts together a special woman, an unbelievable woman. I mean, you look and you can’t believe. Everything is perfect undulating movement, quicksilver, snake-like, you see an ankle, you see an elbow, you see a breast, you see a knee, it all melds into a giant, taunting totality, with such beautiful eyes smiling, the mouth turned down a bit, the lips held there as if they were about to burst into laughter over your helplessness. And they know how to dress and their long hair burns the air. Too god-damned much.”

• “Passed the Turf Club. Looked in. Just a bunch of old guys. With money. How did they do it? And how much did you need? And what did it all mean? We all died broke and most of us lived that way. It was a debilitating game. Just to get your shoes on in the morning was a victory.”

• “Something was always after a man. It never relented. No rest, ever.”

• “We waited and waited. All of us. Didn’t the shrink know that waiting was one of the things that drove people crazy? People waited all their lives. They waited to live, they waited to die. They waited in line to buy toilet paper. They waited in line for money. And if they didn’t have any money they waited in longer lines. You waited to go to sleep and then you waited to awaken. You waited to get married and you waited to get divorced. You waited for it to rain, you waited for it to stop. You waited to eat and then you waited to eat again. You waited in a shrink’s office with a bunch of psychos and you wondered if you were one.”

• “Getting out of bed in the morning was the same as facing the blank wall of the Universe.”

• “But trouble and pain were what kept a man alive. Or trying to avoid trouble and pain. It was a full time job. And sometimes even in sleep you couldn’t resist.”

• “The best interpreter of the dream is the dreamer. Keep your money in your pocket. Or bet it on a good horse.”

• “I wasn’t dead yet, just in a state of rapid decay. Who wasn’t? We were all in the same leaky boat, jollying ourselves up.”

• “’You’re a lousy philosopher,’ said Lady Death. ‘For me,’ I told her, ‘I’m perfect.’ ‘People live on their delusions,’ she said. ‘Why not?’ I suggested. ‘What else is there?’. ‘The end of them,’ she said.”

• “Existence was not only absurd, it was plain hard work.”

• “There’s always somebody about to ruin your day, if not your life.”

• “Everybody was screwed. There were no winners. There were only apparent winners. We were all chasing after a lot of nothing. Day after day. Survival seemed the only necessity. That didn’t seem enough. Not with Lady Death waiting.”

• “‘You a pimp?’

‘Oh, no, sir.’

‘You sell drugs?’

‘No, sir.’

‘Wish you did. I need some coke.’

‘I’m a bible salesman, sir.’

‘That’s disgusting!’

‘Just trying to spread the word.’

‘Well, don’t spread that shit around me.’”

• “Well, people got attached. Once you cut the umbilical cord they attached to other things. Sight, sound, sex, money, mirages, mothers, masturbation, murder and Monday morning hangovers.”

• “I should have been a great philosopher, I would have told them how foolish we were, standing around sucking air in and out of our lungs.”

• “Most of the world was mad. And the part that wasn’t mad was angry. And the part that wasn’t mad or angry was just stupid. I had no chance. I had no choice. Just hang on and wait for the end. It was hard work. It was the hardest work imaginable.”

• “Two women meant twice as much trouble as one woman.”

• “Why couldn’t I be just some guy sitting watching a baseball game? Involved in the outcome. Why couldn’t I be a fry cook scrambling eggs and acting detached? Why couldn’t I be a fly on some person’s wrist, crawling along sublimely involved? Why couldn’t I be a rooster in a chicken pen pecking at seed? Why this?”

• “‘We’ve thought it over, it’s just awful. We don’t want to colonize your earth.’

‘What’s too awful, Jeannie?’

‘The earth. Smog, murder, the poisoned air, the poisoned water, the poisoned food, the hatred, the hopelessness, everything. The only beautiful thing about the earth is the animals and now they are being killed off, soon they will be gone except for pet rats and race horses. It’s so sad, no wonder you drink so much.’

‘Yeah, Jeannie. And don’t forget our atomic stockpiles.’

‘Yes, you’ve dug yourself in too deep, it seems.’

‘Yes, we could be gone in two days or we might last another thousand years. We don’t know which and so it’s hard for most people to care about anything.’”

• “All in all, I had pretty much done what I had set out to do in life. I had made some good moves. I wasn’t sleeping on the streets at night. Of course, there were a lot of good people sleeping in the streets. They weren’t fools, they just didn’t fit into the needed machinery of the moment. And those needs kept altering. It was a grim set-up and if you found yourself sleeping in your own bed at night, that alone was a precious victory over the forces. I’d been lucky but some of the moves I’d made had not been entirely without thought. But all in all it was a fairly horrible world and I felt sad, often, for most of the people in it.”

• “Often the best parts of life were when you weren’t doing anything at all, just mulling it over, chewing on it. I mean, say that you figure everything is senseless, then it can’t be quite senseless because you are aware that it’s senseless and your awareness of senselessness almost gives it sense.”

• “Definition of a nice neighborhood: a place you couldn’t afford to live in.”

• “Most men don’t live well at all, they just wear down.”

• “‘But he said he was going to kill you, didn’t you hear him?’

‘He probably didn’t mean it.’

‘You don’t go on ‘probably’ when love and guns are in hand.’”

• “I didn’t turn on the tv, I found that when you felt bad that son-of-a-bitch only made you feel worse. Just one vapid face after another, it was endless. An endless procession of idiots, some of them famous. The comedians weren’t funny and the drama was 4th grade.”

• “My old man had told me, ‘Get into anything where they hand you the money first and then hope to get it back. That’s banking and insurance. Take the real thing and give them a piece of paper for it. Use their money, it will keep coming. Two things drive them: greed and fear. One thing drives you: opportunity.’ Seemed like good advice. Only my father died broke.”

• “Hell, I’d even failed with women. Three wives. Nothing really wrong each time. It all got destroyed by petty bickering. Railing about nothing. Getting pissed-off over anything and everything. Day by day, year by year, grinding. Instead of helping each other you just sliced away, picking at this or that. Goading. Endless goading. It became a cheap contest. And once you got into it, it became habitual. You couldn’t seem to get out. You almost didn’t want to get out. And then you did get out. All the way.”

• “I hung up. I stared at the phone. Deathly damned thing. But you needed it to call 911. You never knew.”

• “Boring damned people. All over the earth. Propagating more boring damned people. What a horror show. The earth swarmed with them.”

• “‘We could get to know each other,’ she said.

‘It wouldn’t pay off, it would only be stupid.’

‘What makes you say that?’

‘Experience”.

#quotes #charles bukowski #pulp #book #longread #pulp charles bukowski #charles bukowski pulp #pulp bukowski #bukowski pulp #bukowski quotes #bukowski

22 notes · View notes

copperbadge · 6 years

Text

archwrites replied to your post “The night I have had, good lord.”

If the latter, does this mean they did the dirty reconcilably?

I SEE WHAT U DID THERE AND I DO NOT APPROVE. :D

marmotsomsierost replied to your post “The night I have had, good lord.”

reconciliation dirty sounds like an excellent punk band name.

LOL YES it’s a band that covers only Beatles songs but like, in a punk way.

lysapadin replied to your post “The night I have had, good lord.”

I would not be that age again for the world and everything in it

If I could be that age again but know then what I know now, I would, but even then I would need some kind of extra compensation. :D

niennanir replied to your photoset “Breakfast is up!”

Let us know how this works out for you, this is one of the more sturdy looking rigs I've seen and I need one to recommend for hurricane season

It worked pretty well but it is godalmighty loud, and has no real setting other than “super fucking powerful”. Like, there’s a spigot you can turn to raise or lower the heat but even the low heat is very intense.

For reference both the stove and the pan are GSI Outdoors brand -- the stove is the Glacier model, and the pan is the Pinnacle Solo. The Pinnacle comes with a cup, a collapsible spork, a strainer lid, and a “welded” fabric carrying case that doubles as a sink; it also has enough room in the pan that even with the cup and spork, you can also store a small fuel canister and a small stove inside it. Both the Pinnacle and the Glacier are super light and the Glacier was easy to set up.

The only real problem I encountered, which may not matter if you’re storing them for emergency use, is that the Glacier doesn’t quite fit inside the cup -- it’s just slightly too wide. On the other hand, the wideness contributes to the stability of it.

memprime replied to your photoset “Breakfast is up!”

That looks top heavy...

It does look that way but the fuel canister is actually somewhat heavy, compared to the lightweight stove and cookpot (it’s aluminum). The broad base on the fuel helps a lot, too -- I wouldn’t want to light it or cook with it in high wind, but it was very stable on a still day.

shazrolane replied to your photoset “Sadly not. Needed some kindling, I think…”

Agreeing with niennanir - you definitely need kindling. But hey, I think I see some scorching? So you got some decent heat

I did actually -- I was wondering for a good ten minutes if the logs were actually going to catch or not. Some kindling would have been ideal, but I think if you HAD TO and you had like four bags of Doritos you could probably get a decent fire going.

winneganfake reblogged your photoset and added:

Nope, that’s the Doritos.

beowulf22121 reblogged your photoset and added:

Lads and Ladies, the voice of experience.

LOL I was going to say, @winneganfake sounds like they know whereof they speak.

prairie-grass replied to your post “That was a MUCH LONGER HIKE”

'which I'm not but I said yes' sometimes I don't understand why you don't work for the cia.

I once had a conversation with my mother about that, where she asked if I didn’t REALLY work for the CIA because of the kind of work I do. I told her no, of course not, and she said, “Well, that’s something that someone who works for the CIA would say, isn’t it?”

rodiniaorzetalthepenquin replied to your post “That was a MUCH LONGER HIKE THAN EXPECTED. I didn’t misjudge the...”

I'm a teacher. I *never* have nice pants!

Yeah, I thought the pants thing was weird, but maybe like, teachers have nice CAMPING pants? I was wearing actual facts hiking pants made out of moisture-wicking synthetic rather than, say, jeans like most of the other people in the area.

driedfrogpills4me replied to your photo “Well, the train isn’t moving yet”

I love that you do these. I haven't read one of these books for decades - fell out of the genre - but your posts bring it all back, for better and worse ��

Reading a Goldy story is always an....experience. :D I feel like mystery writers are often particularly proud of using their books as personal therapy, and not particularly subtle about it...

butterflyslinky replied to your photo “Well, the train isn’t moving yet...”

Considering both the priest and the groom vanished, I think the groom killed the priest and is now on the run. He will escape to Norway, grow a beard, and then return to marry his One True Love, Julian the Bisexual Poolboy. ...I've never read one of these books except through your posts.

TOM SCHULTZ (the groom) WOULD NEVER. He is a ridiculous ideal of a man -- he’s into gourmet cooking, antiques, and JUST LOVING GOLDY like he’ll DIE if he doesn’t. :D

redshoesnblueskies reblogged your photo “Well, the train isn’t moving yet”

#...questioned for...the sake of her shoes?#as a gross offensce agaist wedding footwear?#TO PREVENT FURTHER GRIEF FOR THE STRICKEN AND CLEARLY INATTENTIVE BRIDE?#why? why should they have questioned the shoe thing Sam?#:D

LOL! I only meant, like, surely someone should have said “Hey your street clothes and walking shoes are right here in this room, maybe let’s have you change before you have to go hiking around an acre of wooded land in Colorado looking at a crime scene”. Like, later she looks at her ruined dress and is sad at the metaphor, but that doesn’t feel like a good enough reason to have made her wear her wedding dress to a crime-scene in the first place.

There are often these moments in these books -- and I’m in the first few, so perhaps it’s a writerly learning curve -- where things happen not so much because they’re rational as because they’re clearly meant to forward some portion of the plot. Like going to the crime scene in a wedding dress, or catering a dinner she wasn’t even supposed to cater just because one of the pastors asked her, despite her having just been BEATEN WITH A STICK. Or how she keeps calling 911 to get in touch with a specific detective, which annoys him, but apparently it’s just for the sake of him being annoyed in the story, because at ANY TIME he could give her the precinct’s phone number or his desk number.

janedrewfinally replied to your photoset “Breakfast is up! First time cooking on the camp stove was a measured...”

All of this reminds me if the super-cute slice-of-life anime “Laid-Back Camp” (pretty much what it says on the tin).

Oh neat, I’ll check it out!

#janedrewfinally #redshoesnblueskies #burrflyslinky #driedfrogpills4me #rodiniaorzetalthepenquin #beowulf22121 #prairie-grass #shazrolane #winneganfake #niennanir #memprime #marmotsomsierost #archwrites #lysapadin #sam camps

28 notes · View notes

lostcybertronian · 6 years

Text

Day Twenty-Three- Carols

Tags: @mayor-damien-protection-squad, @colonel-william-protection-army, @kawaiihetaliana (dedicated to you, as you requested more Dark angst. I guess this is kind of angst? If you want more, let me know. Always happy to oblige :D).

“It’s that time of year again!” Damien’s breath was visible when he spoke, but he could barely feel the cold.

It was a beautiful night. Snowflakes drifted slowly from the sky to rest on the black fabric of Damien’s suit and the tan of the Colonel’s coat as they walked arm in arm through the town square.

They were on their way to the theater to watch Mark’s latest production, which was the latest in a string of hastily put together films that barely garnered any views. He kept trying to land a role in a big-bucks film, but so far, no luck.

Celine was already at the theater, having opted to go early so she and Mark could talk to the press and save them seats.

That left Damien and William.

“It is indeed.” William grinned and took a sip of the hot chocolate he’d bought from a bustling cafe on the corner. “I must say, though, that my favorite part of the Christmas season is the drinks.”

He removed his arm from Damien’s briefly so he could retrieve a small flask from his pocket, uncapping it and pouring some of its contents into the steaming drink.

“You would say so,” Damien teased. Then he sighed wistfully and looked around at the brightly lit shops, lights strung in the windows that cast glittering colors on the pure white snow. “My favorite part is the lights. The lights, and the-“

“Carolers!” William exclaimed suddenly, changing direction and dragging Damien with him, almost yanking the Mayor right off his feet as he made for the church, where a small group of carolers had set up on the snow-covered steps.

As people passed by they ooed and aahed at the music bursting from the carolers’ mouths. A few even tossed coins into the snow at their feet.

As Damien and William approached, one person waited.

As they drew closer, Damien recognized the person.

“Aaron!” He cried, quickening his pace. “I haven’t seen you since our last debate! How have you been holding up? No hard feelings about the election, I hope?”

When the man didn’t respond, merely staring blankly at him, Damien ventured tentatively closer.

“Are- are you alright?”

“Dame …” William warned from somewhere behind him, but it was too late.

Aaron’s hand shot out and seized Damien’s wrist, forcing him to drop his cane and stumble forward.

As he did, he heard the metallic click of a gun cocking and felt something cold and hard jam itself against his forehead.

The carolers stopped singing. One of them screamed. People scattered.

“Yer a fraud,” Aaron growled, his words slurring, not at all the man Damien had campaigned against during his run for Mayor. This man was obviously drunk. “Stand up ssstraight.”

“William.” Damien croaked, then cringed as Aaron rammed the gun harder to his forehead.

“I ssssaid. St-stand up! Hands up!”

His entire body trembling, Damien obeyed.

“Get away from him!” William snarled the words, and there was another metallic click that signified the Colonel pulling his gun.

“Not until he admits he’s a frrrraud.” Aaron slurred. “That he rigged the election.”

“I-I did no such thing!” Damien stammered.

“You did! You took it from me!” Aaron squeezed a shaking finger to the trigger. “I should take you!”

Damien squeezed his eyes shut, expecting the-

Bang!

Warm wetness sprayed his face and clothes and there suddenly was no more gun pressed against his forehead.

Damien hunched over, pressing his hands to his face so he didn’t have to see, barely muffling a strangled sob.

Then there were arms around him, a face buried in his neck.

“Damien. Damien. It’s okay.”

Damien could do nothing but shake his head. His entire body quivered.

“Damien. It’s okay. You don’t have to see. Let’s go home.” William withdrew, disappearing for a second before he was gently prying Damien’s hands from his face, kneeling in front of him so as to block his view of the body.

“But- but Mark and- a-and Celine-”

“They will understand,” William interrupted, standing, taking one of Damien’s hands, allowing the man to lean on him as he steered them away from the blood, from the death. “I’m taking you home, so you can rest.”

“I killed him. I- I-”

“No you didn’t. I did. Now, come on. Cook’s hot chocolate is better than here.”

Damien didn’t say a word. Only nodded and allowed his friend to lead him home.

Many, many years later.

“Dark! Look! Carolers!” Wilford dragged the entity toward where a dozen or so people were clustered around a small group of people singing Christmas songs in front of a church, their voices floating through the crisp, winter air.

Dark scowled as he allowed himself to be yanked along. A bunch of people singing off-key to songs that were outdated and overplayed was not his cup of tea.

He glanced to his left. Dr. Iplier and the Host stood next to him, the Host having replaced his customary bandages with a pair of sunglasses.

“As Dark glances at the Host, the Host decides to warn him about Wilford’s flashback-” the ego was cut off by a metallic click.

“Get away from him!” Wilford had pulled his gun and was jabbing it a dark-haired man who had sidled a little too close to Dark. His teeth were bared in an animal-like snarl.

“Whoa, man, I didn’t mean nothing-” the man backed away, hands held up, practically quivering with fear.

The people around them shrieked and clustered even closer together, huddling like pathetic sheep.

Except for Dr. Iplier and the Host, who remained where they were. The Host’s lips moved rapidly as he whispered to himself.

“You stay away!” Wilford started toward the man. “He didn’t touch the election! He’s a better mayor than you would ever be in your pathetic excuse for a life!”

He wasn’t really seeing the man. Dark knew that from the way his eyes were unfocused, staring blankly at something that wasn’t really there.

“Wilford!” Dark snapped, reaching for him, hoping to break Wilford from his haze, but it was too late.

Bang! Wilford shot the man in the head.

Blood sprayed from the wound as the man’s eyes widened and he fell backwards, hitting the snow and slush-encrusted sidewalk with a sickening thump.

There was a moment of complete silence, broken only by the Host’s soft mutterings.

“-ford has shot the man as he once did Aar-”

“-tecting Damien-”

“-knows what he must do.”

Then the screaming began.

Dark glanced around quickly. Wilford was hunched over, staring at nothing, hugging himself, blood splattering his face and clothes. His lips moved but Dark could not hear what he was saying.

People were on their phones, calling 911, taking photos, videos, screaming, running. The carolers had fled inside the church.

Witnesses. They would bring the police down on all the Egos. Their lives would be ruined if even one of those photos was leaked online, if even one person was left to tell their friends.

Dark knew what he had to do. But first, he went to Wilford, pulled him close, smoothed back his hair, allowed the pink ego to lean into him.

Then his aura cracked, splintered completely, leaving nothing but the monster within.

He knew what he had to do.

And so he did what had to be done.

Author’s note: Another long one. I hope this one is understandable. I tried to draw a lot of parallels but I don’t know if I succeeded/managed to get all my thoughts out for this drabble in a coherent manner.

#egochristmas #darkstache #wilford warfstache #darkiplier #lostandwandering #dr iplier #the host #mayor damien #colonel william #trigger blood #trigger gore #my writing #lost writing tag

56 notes · View notes

suspicious · 6 years

Text

music of 2017

i wonder if subscribing to apple music contributed to my year of passive music listening. i also championed individual songs more than albums this year, and a lot of the releases i had to look forward to somewhat disappointed (e.g., the national, lcd soundsystem, arcade fire, broken social scene, phoenix).

great albums:

cigarettes after sex - [self-titled]

harry styles - [self-titled] *some shame in including this but w/e

japanese breakfast - soft sounds from another planet

jay som - everybody works

joji - in tongues

kendrick lamar - damn.

the national - sleep well beast *though not on the same echelon as their other releases

rostam - half-light

tyler, the creator - flower boy

the xx - i see you

great songs (spotify, itunes):

animal collective - man of oil *third most played

banks - crowded places

beach house - chariot

brent faiyaz - talk 2 u

bruno mars - that’s what i like^

calvin harris & frank ocean - slide

childish gambino - sober^

cashmere cat & ariana grande - quit

daniel caesar & h.e.r. - best part

drake - passionfruit

drake - teenage fever *the j lo sample ruins me

the drums - blood under my belt

fabolous & tamia - into you^

frank ocean & jay-z - biking

frank ocean - chanel

girlpool - it gets more blue

goldlink, brent faiyaz & shy glizzy - crew^

harry styles - from the dining table

harry styles - meet me in the hallway

haim & mura masa - walking away

jamila woods & chance the rapper - lsd

japanese breakfast - this house

jay som - the bus song

joey bada$$ - love is only a feeling *second most played

kendrick lamar & zacari - love *clearly a corny gal, but i love the “ride blade on curve” bit

lana del rey & a$ap rocky - groupie love

lcd soundsystem - oh baby

mac demarco - let my baby stay^

martin garrix & dua lipa (medasin remix) - scared to be lonely

mura masa & a$ap rocky - love$ick^ *reminds me of 2000s hip-hop

noname - bye bye baby

the obsessives - when one thing ends

radiohead - lift *lovelovelove

real estate - beach comber

rostam & kelly zutrau - half-light

rostam - i will see you again

sampha - (no one knows me) like the piano

sam smith - the thrill of it all *there might be other songs i might like more but this one is safe lol

shannon saunders - creatures *much prefer this version to the recorded one

snakehips & mø - don’t leave

st. vincent - new york

syd - know

tennis - modern woman

travis scott - goosebumps^ *this song gets me

tyler, the creator, frank ocean & steve lacy - 911/mr. lonely

tyler, the creator & kali uchis - see you again

the xx - replica

the xx - on hold *most played track

+ song title word count: 5x love, 4x you, 3x baby (’baby’ shows up in the lyrics of many more songs)

enjoyed but can’t see myself revisiting:

drake - more life

girlpool - powerplant

kendrick lamar - damn. *oops

still need to process:

dvsn - morning after

phoenix - ti amo

st. vincent - masseduction

yaeji - ep/ep2

^ not from ‘17 but found this year

#music #note #list

1 note · View note

veneataur · 6 years

Text

I don’t quite know where this came from. I’m really starting to feel bad for Aramis. It’s a dark one again, sort of. It does have a happy ending though, if that helps.

TW: This story deals with self-harm and suicidal thoughts.

Only one more day and I’ll be done doing this to Aramis. At least on a daily basis...

Prompt: Shoulder to Cry On

Fandom: BBC’s The Musketeers

Title: Learning to Trust

Aramis observes d’Artagnan throughout the day. The young man is quiet, reserved, and listless. He knows that Athos and Porthos have seen it too but here, at the station, is not the place to address this. d’Artagnan’s silence makes them all quiet during the work day, on the train, and in the kitchen. Dinner too is a somber affair.

When the young man leaves his plate half eaten without offering to clean up, Aramis knows that it’s time.

“I’ll talk with him. You two clean up,” he says and follows d’Artagnan up to the man’s room. Though the door is half open, Aramis waits beyond the threshold. There are clear boundaries and rules in this house and not just because of Aramis. They all have their demons.

“d’Artagnan,” Aramis says quietly, knocking a knuckle on the door a couple times to further catch the man’s attention.

d’Artagnan looks up, face drawn. He is sitting on the edge of his bed, playing idly with the case of his phone.

“Mind if I come in?”

“You can come in,” d’Artagnan answers quietly. He knows Aramis won’t enter unless there’s clear consent unless danger is evident.

Aramis takes a step in and leans against the doorframe. The younger man’s room is far messier than his own. They don’t say anything about it. The only requirement is that he keeps it clean, a task that they all do for themselves with their bedrooms, their private sanctuaries. Athos had asked too that he properly hang up his posters rather than tape them to the wall. d’Artagnan griped about ruining the vibe, but he did as Athos asked. The young man is just twenty-two though he looks more like sixteen with the lack of facial hair that had come to be stereotypical of the Musketeers.

The two stand and sit in silence.

“Is this some kind of intervention,” d’Artagnan asks, mild irritation in his voice.

Aramis chuckles lightly.

“No. That’s more of a Porthos and Athos thing. They’re scary when they do a double-team intervention.” Aramis pauses. “It’s more of making sure you know that you can come to us. We’ve all been in your position. The first kill is the hardest.”

d’Artagnan huffs.

“I doubt any of you’ve been in my position, especially you, Aramis. I’m a farm boy. We had animals on the farm but never for eating. The most I’ve ever killed is some corn and it doesn’t have a face.”

Aramis waits, considers his words.

“d’Artagnan, do you think me being a sniper makes killing any easier,” Aramis asks, voice quiet. “The people I’ve killed had no idea a bullet was coming at them. They were enjoying their day, spending time with their families, watching a parade. Taking a life isn’t easy, whether you’re several hundred feet away or inches. It’s a person, just like you and me who had a life, family who will miss them, friends. They had goals and dreams and ambitions. And then, in an instant, it’s over, with a single pull of the trigger and you don’t even break a sweat, burn barely a calorie in the killing of a fellow human.”

“But he was a criminal,” d’Artagnan says. “He sold drugs to kids, got them hooked. How many did he kill with those synthetic drugs?”

“It doesn’t mean it’s any easier, d’Artagnan. A life is a life. It doesn’t matter if they’re good or bad, death is not the solution. Justice is and that doesn’t come at the end of a gun, no matter who you are.”

d’Artagnan looks at him and nods.

“I didn’t mean…”

“I know,” Aramis cuts him off gently. “You’re confused right now, not sure what you should feel.” Aramis walks slowly over the bed, sitting next to the young man.

d’Artagnan nods again.

“Part of me is glad that he’s off the streets and the other never wants to pick up a gun again.”

“That’s expected, normal. You should’ve come to us about it,” Aramis says. There’s no chiding in his voice.

“How could I? This is nothing in comparison to what you guys deal with, especially you.”

“d’Artagnan, we all need a shoulder to cry on once in a while. We’re brothers here, that’s what we’re here for. You can cry on any of our shoulders without guilt or embarrassment. Goodness knows I’ve done my share,” Aramis says with a slight huff.

“You?” d’Artagnan gives him a doubtful look. “You’re the strongest person I know. What with everything you’ve dealt with and you’re successful. You’re working at one of the most elite police forces in the nation.” d’Artagnan has been with them for a little more than four months now. He knows snippets of Aramis’ past and what he deals with now.

“You do remember how we met,” Aramis asks, turning the doubting eye back on the younger man.

“And that’s why you’re strong. You pulled yourself out of homelessness to get to where you are now.”

Aramis chuckles wryly and looks down.

“That’s a nice story but it’s not true,” he says.

“Who says it’s not,” Porthos says, just outside the door. d’Artagnan signals for him and Athos to come in. They both take positions near the door, leaning against the wall and doorframe.

“I know it’s not,” Aramis says. Then he sighs. “If it had been up to me, I’d’ve probably been long dead.”

“But…” d’Artagnan begins.

“When you’re in over your head in misery and depression, it’s very hard to pull yourself out of it. You need help. You have to want it, but you need help,” Aramis explains. “And the sooner you can accept that, the easier things will be.”

“Listen to ‘Mis on this one,” Porthos says. “You can always come to us, no matter what.”

“We’re family now, d’Artagnan,” Athos says. “And a family depends on each other to keep going.”

d’Artagnan gives them each a skeptical look.

“We’re not saying it’s easy,” Porthos says.

“No, it’s not,” Aramis says quietly enough he thinks no one hears.

“What happened, ‘Mis,” d’Artagnan asks. He doesn’t use Aramis’ nickname often. It feels awkward in his mouth but not this time. Aramis looks at him, a touch of sadness clear in his face.

“You don’t have to…”

“It’s fine,” Aramis says quickly, cutting him off. Perhaps it will help the young man to see that everyone needs help, even him who d’Atragnan sees as perfect. He takes a breath and when d’Artagnan thinks he’s going to speak, Aramis stays silent, shoulders sinking. d’Artagnan looks to Athos and Porthos, thinking they might jump in but they are standing there, patiently.

“Sometimes it seems like a lifetime ago,” Aramis says finally. His voice has a distant tone. “And other times, like it was yesterday. My first year on the task force, as a Musketeer, I worked two whole months before it all came down before me. I went from staying with Treville and his family to a spare bed crammed in Porthos’ bedroom, to here, Athos’ house and none of it was by choice. Four months on administrative leave did nothing. I just kept getting worse.”

“What happened,” d’Artagnan asks again.

“I gave up,” Aramis says simply.

“You?” d’Artagnan looks to Athos and Porthos.

“I still don’t remember a lot of it. It’s more of a giant black spot.”

“We remember it perfectly,” Athos says, a haunted look in his eyes.

“Do you mind,” Porthos asks, meeting Aramis’ gaze.

“You’ll have to because I only remember waking up days later,” Aramis says.

Porthos pauses before speaking.

“He’d been refusing to do much of anything for a while,” he says. “It’d happened before so we didn’t think much of it. He’d lay there listless but eventually come out of it. We talked to him and he’d tell us what was going on but it wasn’t everything.”

“I woke up one night suddenly,” Athos says. “It was strange because I’d taken melatonin, which usually kept me out until morning.

Athos remembers the strange feeling he had, it pulled him from his bed and he followed it out into the hallway where Aramis’ door was shut. It never was shut. The man didn’t like to be closed off from noise, from the world.

“Aramis,” he calls loudly, but calmly. He gives a few short knocks on the door. When there’s no answer, he hesitates for a moment and then cracks the door open. The nightstand light is on but Aramis isn’t in the bed. He isn’t in sight.

“Aramis,” Athos calls out again, more frantically this time, walking swiftly around the bed to see if the man is perhaps on the other side of the bed. And there he finds Aramis, unconscious and bloody.

“Porthos,” he yells out. He grabs some spare shirts that Aramis has lying on the floor and holds them against the wounds on his wrists. They’re not deadly wounds, but they are bleeding heavily. “Porthos,” he calls louder. “I need your help.”

Seconds later, he hears Porthos stumble and run out of his room right into Aramis’. He’s right across from the young man.

“Athos, what’s going on,” he asks, adrenalin chasing away the last vestiges of sleep.

“He’s cut himself,” Athos says. “Call 911.”

“You don’t want us to take him in ourselves?”

“No. Call, please,” Athos says urgently. “He’s been bleeding for a bit, I think, and isn’t waking up.”

Porthos doesn’t argue, running back to grab his phone. He’s already talking with the emergency operator when he walks back in.

“I don’t know. My friend found him maybe five minutes ago. He said he’s been unconscious the whole time.”

Athos tunes out the conversation as he changes out the half-sodden shirts with dry ones. The bleeding isn’t stopping and that worries him. They know that Aramis has been suicidal in the last year and made one attempt but he thought Treville got through to him.

When the paramedics arrive, Athos is shooed away briskly and watches with a vacant gaze as the paramedics work to stem the bleeding as best as they can and then whisk Aramis away. They don’t offer a ride to one of them and it’s only when Porthos asks where they’re taking him that Athos starts to process again.

“Come on, Athos, we have to get going,” Porthos says. His voice still sounds distant. “Athos, you okay?” Porthos stands in front of him, looking at him with concerned eyes. Athos looks back down at his hands, his bloody hands. Then he sees the stretch of carpet, the circles of blood-stained carpet, the t-shirts half-soaked with Aramis’ blood. And he vomits. Right there. Porthos moves quick enough to avoid the main bout but is hit with splatters. He holds his friend as he’s bent at the waist, violently throwing up. He winces at the harshness of each heave.

Then, as suddenly as it began, it’s over. Athos is left panting for breath and Porthos holds on still. He will feel this too eventually, but for now, his friends need him to function.

“Let’s get your hands washed, Athos,” he says quietly, directing Athos to the hallway bathroom.

“But Aramis,” Athos counters quietly.

“Will be there when we get there. We need to take care of you first. You can’t go walking around with blood all over your hands, now can you?”

Athos shakes his head and lets Porthos wash his hands. He’s too unsteady himself to take care of it. The warm water feels nice on his cold hands. When he’s done, Porthos grabs a hand towel and dries most of the water from his hands before leaving Athos to take care of the rest.

“Let’s get changed and then I’ll drive us over,” Porthos says.

“We should let Treville know,” Athos says.

“You can call him on our way over.”

They change out of their dirty nightclothes and make the drive to the ER. Athos calls Treville on the drive. Their Captain arrives minutes after them.

“Family for d’Herblay,” a nurse asks them as they walk to the desk.

“Yes,” Porthos says. “How is he?”

“The doctor is currently seeing him,” she says plainly, ignoring Porthos’ question. “You’ll have to wait out here.”

“Why? We’re his friends. His emergency contacts.”

“The doctor is busy working on your friend. When he’s done, you can go back.”

“Can you at least tell us if he’s okay?”

She looks at some papers. “He’s stable but in serious condition. The doctor is working on closing the wounds without much more blood loss.”

Aramis, when they get back to the exam room, a private one, is in a hospital gown. He’s been cleaned up and his wrists tightly bandaged. There’s the familiar array of machinery: wires for the heart monitor, a pulse ox monitor, IV, and nasal cannula. Beneath it all he’s pale and that, for some reason, shocks Porthos the most.

“How is he,” Porthos asks.

“A very lucky man,” the doctor says, finishing up his exam.

“Lucky?”

“If you hadn’t woken during the night, he’d’ve been dead.”

“He’ll make it then?”

“He should. We’re going to hold off on a transfusion. While he’s lost a good deal of blood, it’s not a critical amount and given time, he should be able to make it up on his own,” the doctor explains. “He’s been depressed, I gather.”

“Yeah,” Porthos nods, looking slightly puzzled at the doctor.

“And this isn’t the first time he’s cut himself?”

“What,” Treville says, turning to the others.

“We had no idea,” Porthos says, looking to the doctor.

“There are other marks on his wrists, in various stages of healing. He’s been doing this for a while. None of these are marks indicating suicide, but tonight’s are worrying.”

“Because they wouldn’t stop bleeding?”

“They were slow to stop because your friend is drunk and dehydrated.”

Treville turns to Athos and Porthos. “What’s been going on?”

“He was talking to us, trusting us, or so we thought,” Porthos says, confused and frustrated.

“His files show he’s not seeing a psychiatrist,” the doctor questions.

“He keeps rejecting them. I’m sure your files show he has a rather long list of illnesses,” Treville says. “It’s made finding the right one hard.”

“Well, he’s going to have to find one. I’m placing him on a three-day hold and he’ll have to talk with one of our psychiatrists.”

They nod. There’s no point in arguing. In many ways, they saw this coming.

They wait with Aramis in the ER and then in the room he’s assigned. He wakes fully a couple days after but he doesn’t talk. Instead, he rolls over and goes back to sleep. The psychiatrist comes in a few times and attempts to talk to him and when he refuses, his stay is lengthened.

By the eighth day, he’s stronger. He didn’t need a transfusion but he still looks pale and doesn’t bother getting out of bed. As much as Athos, Porthos, and Treville would like to stay with him all day, his sour mood and their own jobs make it impossible. Instead, they alternate hospital duty.

Lunchtime on day eight is Athos’ turn. He walks into the room to see a combative Aramis. A couple of male nurses stand on either side holding him down and putting soft restraints on his arms and legs as he continues to fight and yell at them.

“What happened,” Athos asks the psychiatrist.

“I tried talking with him again and when he refused, I told him his stay was lengthened again. He grew angry, tried to rip out his stitches,” she explains. “I know this looks harsh, but it’s for his own safety.”

“He’s not a danger,” Athos says, rather weakly.

“To others, no. But to himself, he is. We may need to look at a treatment facility.”

“No,” Athos says quickly. “No, not that.” He pauses for a moment. “Let me try talking to him. I have some experience with this sort of thing.”

“You studied psychology?”

“No. Personal experience,” he says, giving a slight, wry smile and then goes into the room. The nurses are done and Aramis seems to have figured out that his range of motion has been limited severely. The fight is gone from him and he lays on the bed, avoiding all glances.

When the nurses leave, Athos moves a chair close to Aramis, on the side where Aramis is facing. Not surprisingly, the man turns his head in the other direction.

“Do you want to die, Aramis,” Athos asks him bluntly.

Aramis doesn’t respond.

“It’s a simple question, Aramis. Do you want to die?”

Still no response.

“You know that you’re going to be kept here until you start responding. And they’re talking about something more long-term, like a treatment facility,” Athos says. “If you think this is restrictive, then you’ll lose any remaining freedom there. Trust me. Even the nice ones are depressing and dull. Treatment will be forced on you, is that what you want?”

This time Aramis turns his head to look at Athos.

“Why didn’t you tell us you were feeling so low? We want to help you but we thought everything was fine.”

Aramis’ face scrunches up and he tries to move his hands to cover his face, but they’re caught in the restraints. Athos thinks about letting one hand go, but he needs Aramis to confront this. Not hide away. He knows the younger man would do worse in a treatment facility.

“We’re your friends, Aramis. Your family. Families depend on each other to keep going. They talk to each other when something is wrong so we can help. Why Aramis?”

“I don’t know,” Aramis says quietly, voice raspy with disuse. Athos helps him drink some water.

“Do you not trust us? Did we do something wrong?”

Aramis shakes his head.

“Words, ‘Mis, please.” He doesn’t like forcing the man like this, but he wants to keep him talking.

“No.” Aramis doesn’t fight him.

“Then what happened?”

“I don’t know,” Aramis repeats, tears freely flowing now. Athos stands and moves to sit on the edge of the bed. He grabs one of Aramis’ hands in his own.

“What’s been going on?”

“I don’t know.” Aramis shakes his head lightly.

“You know. Tell me.”

“It’s… It…” Aramis trails off, unable to voice his problem.

“You can tell me. We’ve had this talk before. I don’t have all the same illnesses as you, but I understand depression. I know it’s erratic, cloying nature. Talk to me, ‘Mis.”

Aramis pauses. “Everything,” he says in a rush.

“Everything?”

“Everything.” Aramis is calming some.

“What do you mean?”

“The nightmares, the flashbacks, the panic attacks, the PTSD, the anxiety, the depression, work, life. Everything.”

“That is everything, from the sounds of it,” Athos says quietly.

“I didn’t mean to start but it helped. And then I couldn’t stop.”

“What about the other night?”

“That was an accident.” Aramis looks up, away from Athos’ gaze.

“That’s quite an accident.” Athos raises an eyebrow.

“I didn’t mean for it to be this bad.” Aramis looks back at Athos and he can see the sincerity in the young man’s eyes.

“But the fact is, it is this bad. But if you had talked with us, we could’ve helped you. Instead of bottling everything up until you think the only solution is hurting yourself, talk to us. We won’t understand always and we may not have a solution but we will listen as long as it takes. You’re not alone, but you have to want the help.”

“It’s not easy, Athos.”

“Oh, I know it’s not. It took me years to finally tell my parents but once I did it was better. Family helps family. That’s how it works.”

“I know, I know.”

Athos knows they’re battling against deep-seated trust issues. Friends had previously made such family pledges to him and abandoned him when Aramis needed them the most.

“How… how do I know this is real,” Aramis asks quietly.

“Is there something I can do to prove it to you easily?”

Aramis pauses to think. “No.” He shakes his head, looking away.

“Words are just that, ‘Mis. Words. You’re going to have to trust us.”

“And if you abandon me?”

“I won’t. Porthos won’t. Treville won’t.”

Aramis hesitates.

“It’s a big leap of faith, ‘Mis. And you have to decide if you’re going to make it. But I can tell you, it’s worth it. Porthos and I had to do the same with each other and I’ve never regretted it.”

Athos lets Aramis think in silence but he doesn’t move from the bed and he keeps his gentle grip on Aramis’ hand.

“It was just like that,” d’Artagnan asks, looking at Aramis.

“Not quite,” Aramis says. “Trust is easily broken but hard to establish. It took time but I’ve come to trust them with my life and I don’t regret it.” Aramis looks at Porthos and Athos.

“And now, you have to make that decision,” Athos says.

“We’re not going to force you and if you can’t trust all of us right away, that’s fine,” Porthos says.

“But find one of us to place that trust in because holding everything in like you have been, it’s not healthy. You have to get it out before it comes out in a way you don’t want,” Aramis adds.

d’Artagnan nods. He understands them. While he doesn’t have the emotional baggage that these men have, coming from a small town where he knew everyone, extending trust to strangers who he’s known for a few months isn’t easy. But perhaps he can try with Aramis first, the man did save him from being mugged after all.

#bbc the musketeers #aramis #d'artagnan #athos #porthos #treville #fan fiction #modernAU #whumptober #please please read the warning before reading

3 notes · View notes

jameypants1-blog · 7 years

Photo

Reading Makes A Country Great MY PET GOAT Emergency 911 The Terror War begins Ignorance is Bliss stand Proud and United rally around the Flag cross your heart swear to Sacrifice thank the least among you for their military home invasion mass murder Service keeping Authority placated rock the Vote respect the Law and State's Finest army of police who serve and protect them, Respect the Honor and Authority of the blind justice arbitrated by ritual black robed Judges and the prejudiced juries of peers any skilled Liar can persuade to Verdict The educated are educated to Accept The Free are not Brave enough to Resist Swear to tell the Truth so help you God is an Obscenity and offensive to a populace bursting with the enlightenment of Science, the premise that Flesh is the Origin of Species and Intelligence a side effect of gas Love thy Leader Hate thy neighbor Kill and chain thy neighbor Earn your Keep Pay your Taxes Death is certain It is not the size of the horn but how it's used that betrays best gets praised for elite public service Performance How fortunate it is for leaders that men do not think, Hitler intimated, forthcoming as any candidate for Office who smiles kissing maggot babies and shaking fools hands telling each in line thanks for their support couldn't do this without them Hell hides behind details and simpering political correctness, kind words expressing best intentions the enemies of which are branded crazy and evil and dealt with. How fortunate men do not think. Lest leaders and the Hell they maintain be naked by Light of the Truth. You can handle the Truth. You can be brave and free. It's these so called elite who can't. Never ask what they can do for you or you for them. Don't give up your food stamps just yet they trade for drugs just don't Serve them, Loyalty to them is so universal I am ignored and insulted. In Contempt. That's the price of Love. Let's change that. Perception is reality is their constant refrain. It is not. Reality is this fraction of a single percent of the population is a basket of deplorables in perpetual conspiracy to violate and ruin every human being on Earth. It's shocking and horrific but people can handle the Truth. Here is Wisdom: Had a customer tonight guy in his sixties cropped back hair going gray one of those Freddy Mercury mustaches adopted by law enforcement to remind everyone they're tops cocksuckers not pigs bc pigs don't have mustaches. he was wearing a black tshirt and jeans, never seen him before, recognize most of the customers, we have the same regulars rotating through for the most part. He came in right after I did, like my second grill order after clocking in. Gave me the stinkeye, and instead of going to sit in the dining room until his order was called he stayed in the lobby, got behind the Pepsi ketchup fridge by register, from the nose up visible over the fridgetop. I was on second flip before I noticed him again, glaring at me still. Eye contact, rage in his eyes. Made his burgers to perfection, ignoring him but for sidelong peeks to see if he still there; he was still there looking pissed off. I strongly suspect him to have been involved with lie enforcement, that or ive got one of those faces brings out the hate in frustrated Dom bondage specialists. kept my face expressionless, sent the burgers out and he left not long after. Felt the loathing in the air leave with him. He hates me for my freedom, like to put me in cuffs and bugger me into some Respect for his Authority lavished from God unto Moses unto the Chosen People, the Elite, who gifted us all with the world's two biggest religions Islam and Christianity to refer to in the establishent of State, Islamic States still widely fundamentalist in extrapolations and ammendments to the fundamentals Law, even today stones striking pleading girls in the face until the glistening bone pulp shows, eyeball popped out shattered socket debt paid for her adultry of being raped by a man she wasn't married to, lacivious temptress women not tolerated, kept virtuous by Ordained killers sanctimonious witless butchers in judicious black robes black masks, love and peace delegates, spread the beautiful religion into Eastern Europe and jerusalm, effective Evangelical technique of the option to submit you are the slave of Allah, either submit or get your head looped off. Beautiful religion. The castles of Europe erected to fortify against the sacred Islamic state conquering all of Elite Europe, price of doing Business, business of giving people the business, keep them stoneage and in check until final act, today thousands of Muslim migrants fleeing Syria region where isis, the royal president, Russia and the United States are mass murdering the population in alternating sweeps all claiming success against the terrorists who are any one of the four mass destroyers depending on which regions fake news one watches, the cities in ruins, the people still left sparse and debilitated, the dregs, hundreds of thousands more turning sections of Germany France great Britain etc into ghettos, young girls being raped in public parks, a seven yo girl in France gang raped in Germany lone German teens stalked in the streets by packs of Muslim youth and beaten half to death teens boasting they will take multiple wives across region have dozens of children each and breed out the natives, conquer Europe with their cocks now that the dear leaders of the region had welcomed them in. Beautiful religion. on their knees five times a day to take a facefull of dirt groveling praises toward the black cube in Mecca which Abraham built and shat inside marking the turf, holy kabba, over ten feet tall and ten feet wide the wonder of the Islamic world which one day all of Islamic Europe shall pilgrimage to link arms and dance ring around the cubicle singing and shouting trampling each other then setting off across hard desert terrain, many every haj die along the route hail Allah that the prophet Mahomet, may he rest in stink took wandering the sand ocean from sand dune to sand valley to sand mount where pilgrims collapse into the sand and commune with Allah catching spiderwebs of shade from the spray of spindly limbed trees rising several feet high here and there, terrain as beautiful as Islam itself and straight to Judgement for those sun dried brain fried dead before completing the last leg of the blessed trudge to the sacrificial slaughter barns where depending on what slaves of Allah can afford to slice the throat of a variety of animals await blood ritual, goats camels sheep sand chickens and coming soon pigs once the half breed desert princes of Frankfurt introuce fat juicy pork weenies into the Islamic diet, blonde haired blue eyed pink bellied pigs recognized to be far too majestic to be interbred with Jews, fine swine imported from outside the East where the scruffy big snout kosher breed forages in feral packs, hear them oinking Hebrew and Yiddish gibberish rooting in alley trash like dogs, dirtiest animals in all of creation, howling and squealing together during crawl in place borg prayers tuned in to Abraham's outhouse ever amid ring around the square dancing, stumbling, trampled underfoot weaklings hoe down haj stop in the stadium built around the squat edifice that thousands may sit and cheer rendering inaudible the tinny prayers from around the globe every couple hours, dogs howling offended every prayer, kick the snarling curs at risk of losing toes and sandles get tangled up in black man dress and fall down surrounded by curly tailed rabbi and black dogs foaming at the mouth eyes rolling from echoes of lalalalalalalala eeeeeek eeeeeeek eeeeeeek barnyardesque broadcasts from loud speakers leading the haj hails between free time to marry and divorce multiple times a day and trade goats for girls to marry and divorce trade back for chickens or a dozen eggs if she's missing ears tip of her nose or digits from administering divine law rehabilitation mutilations, sometimes new divorcees only fetch a bucket of fertile shit, hobbled hunchback prolapsed asshole tounge sliced into fork for her hissing disobedience to swallow the donkey load of bountiful seed diligently fed her everyday in lieu of lunch meanwhile back at the last stop of holy haj long walk baby animals and ton tall spitting camels shriek and wail, hawk lunger loads of camel snot pink with slashed throat blood spew onto the walls, slick spots on the straw, bled out into tubs and running down beards drank in hot clotted toasts to Allah who the sacrificed animals were stacked like cordwood into earthen pits and burned to appease blessings to all and to all a good time at the hotel after parties where newly married couples meet, consumate, get divorced and the just single ladies reintroduced to next end of haj celebratent to be smitten and fallen in love until the boredom of domestic life after orgasm left him dissatisfied with this woman who used to be useful but went back to the singles mixer sore and cooperative awaiting true love perhaps next bus in full of blood spattered fresh inducties into the walkabout God's country for days purification event everyone owed it themselves to do at least once a lifetime to truly get the most out of Islam the impending new religion of the well served everywhere from Africa to Piccadilly square, to be renamed Mahomet Kaba King Boulevard erected in the center of the square a scale replica of the Kaba with Mahomet himself weilding scrimtar of faith from head to toe dressed in black mounted upon his goat horse chimera Pegasus thingy reared up like a reindeer representing the flight taken to heaven to lead the prayer circle in heaven where all had deferred to him to lead the prayer circle of Prophets in Allah's den, Jesus fresh as the Daisy he'd been since the day he'd cleverly avoided crucifixion by Jerry curling his big black bushy beard and sneaking out of town on his gf's ass while another fellow, whose beard was styled similarly to his and who had assembled a small crowd outside town to demonstrate a new stain removal product for even the toughest stains like days caked Hersey splats from loincloths see comes right out and with the herbal infused formula eliminates some of the stench of urine baked in since pissing it in a wine induced stupor earlier that afternoon as jews were known to do between assuming their posts begging for pennies outside the bank, that guy had looked and sounded like the upstart they were looking for and after his miracle product failed to impress the honorable pontus Pilate with any supernatural stain removal properties except when applied to soiled underpants, a demonstration he didn't need to see twice since his underpants indeed came out clean the first attempt, hardly a miracle but in a good mood since his ass felt and smelled so fresh after the man who kept persisting I am not the Jew you were looking for I'm just an alchemist with a revolutionary new product for removing stains the secret formula is just leavening soda and grapeseed pumice mixed with water and lavender leaves ofc it's not a miracle I am not the king of the universe I've never even met the guy no one does but he doesn't travel alone with a bucket of my new secret formula removing shit stains from underwear, he's a stand up magician or something, heard there's strippers too, Im just a humble asshole freshener your honor and feeling magnanimous floral fragrance of his anus clinging to the finger he scratched along his craft to sniff while contemplating opens the honorable Pilate said let's let these Jews outside demanding their picked pockets wallets and jewelery back stolen by the whores and at least a dozen confidence men known to be traveling with this wanted man who said fuck the centurions fuck the flag fuck hannaka fuck Elysian fields fuck the Senate fuck caesaer fuck Rome fuck caiphus fuck the Torah fuck yo mama and fuck all of you cringing sex slave submissives bending over and getting fucked everyday to earn wheat penny Caesars that aren't worth a tin shit except for your belief in Caesar says, Caesar says hail Caesar I say fuck Caesar render unto casear these piles of Caesars ugly cunt lips embossed nickles and dimes and shove em up Caesars ass let him go pawn these pieces of shit off on some other idiots bc we're Jews brothers and sisters and Jews don't need no stinking sick economy sicker fools who'd diminish themselves by going along with this madness, Caesar is a paper god you drunks this money charade is just a game and your the losers for playing so fuck him fuck Rome and fuck all these fake ass God's and curly tailed shit eating elites got us all playing along counting stacks of worthless legal tender whoopty Doo what caesar says and fuck his court of whimsy and don't bend over only ever acquire what he gives you and dont obey every stupid lie he tells you is the law, tell him to take this Nation of lies and the shiney lie sanctioned house chips he rode in on and shove it up his ass bc if you don't you'll all be spending your lives sucking Satan's cock doing as Satan says and get paid in Satan tokens worth your life loyalty and labors and in return a flag to admire and fight for a song of the murder glory of this shithole to cross your hearts and sing that all who hear it know how unified and proud you are and you'll be paid to with every Betrayal his crown can afford to give you now that you've given him lives to spend. Have a free flag coffin shroud a medal of Honor for service unto Casear human sacrife pin and a bedpan full of shiney Benjamin's to spend at super Caesars super savers everywhere Rome is maurading, hail Caesar full of grace give you nothing give him everything and that sumbitch drugged the watered down wine him and his whores and degenerates robbed us and fuck yes that's him I recognize the beard kill him set Barbarossa free and so despite insisting he was not their King nor a crook the wrong man was crucified that day and Jesus told this straight to Mahomet so you know it's true bc Mahomet word is gold then Jesus said I am the slave of Allah and Mo he's instructed me to let his biggest ho Mo lead the ass in the air prayers from now on bc I'm always broke have never tipped a red Satan cent to tithe and insist that Allah sound a dry heave so does every single thing you said Mo so you're deffo the man to lead prayer to that bullshitters bullshit, guess it keep you busy long enough not to butcher or mutilate anyone for five minutes at least. Raise your Voice be offended by this beastial religion we're diminished under by these sneering aristocrats who practice it, they're the crew can't handle the Truth. Lies are all they got. Be eloquent. Knowing and not choosing a side is just a mess. I bring you. Pallid incompotence hanging from a mic stand. Prime example of why there's no having it both ways. Fuck it 🌊 https://g.co/kgs/ACnHqS

0 notes