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veinereastath · 2 years

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considering you make a lot of Harrow content (and bless you for it), do you have any take on what his past could've been? like, who he was, how he got into khonshu's service etc?

Ooooh, boy. This is something that's been bothering me since the show was around episode 3 and... You know what, it's hard, but I will try to put my chaotic thoughts into words.

Beware, long post, because I got carried away and broke Harrow's persona into little bits to analyze what I can.

Alright, alert, this is strong speculation / headcanoning.

* * *

1. There is very little information on Harrow, because those that we can be absolutely sure about are just those:

• he's American (though, funny enough, that's what wiki page says, it's not stated black on white in the show; but I guess it makes sense, so let's accept it as 100% solid fact),

• he was a former avatar of Khonshu and wielder of the Moon Knight title, • he's vegan,

• he speaks Ancient Egyptian, Coptic, and Arabic and knows a bit of Mandarin, but that last one isn't too important,

• he knows some big chunks of history, probably (I'm basing this suggestion on the things and people he mentioned to Steven in episode 1),

• if we accept a loose idea that Harrow is around the same age that Ethan Hawke is, we have early-fifties friendly neighbourhood cult leader.

Aaaand that's it. Bit disappointing, especially since this is the time where someone thirsty for more knowledge would get their hands on the comics and learn more, but... Being a Harrow stan has a big problem, and that is - Arthur Harrow in the show is a totally new, mostly improvised character that barely has anything to do with his comics counterpart (honestly, it came out way better, but still, that means we barely have any outside knowledge).

Fun fact if you haven't watched Assembled: The Making of Moon Knight - the very first idea/draft for Harrow was, according to the producers, Harrow that is some kind of shady billionaire instead of what we got in the end. Also came out way better, I think.

* * * 2. I have all Harrow scenes, even the few-second ones (him standing menacingly in the bus from episode 1, woah), and at this point I've probably memorized all of his dialogue lines, but you know what... Damn, it still barely gives any idea for what he might've been up to in the past. However, if someone came to my room, put a pistol to my head and told me to write few ideas about his possible occupation pre-Khonshu I might have, I would pick these: • psychologist / psychiatrist: let's be honest, Harrow is very good at manipulating people, effectively using his words, body language and touch, and while it's something that you can learn without any sort of psychological degree, it would just fit pretty nicely. It would also tie with how he's portrayed in Marc's & Co mind palace. Notice how his mind totally swapped the roles of everyone from the show - the "good" guys are patients, while Harrow's disciples are hospital's personnel (Bobbi Kennedy and Billy Fitzgerald, for example - these two you could probably recognize from episode 2, where they came to Steven's apartment, posing as/actually being police officers). And on the top of that cake you have The Big Bad himself as... Well, a doctor. A soft-spoken, patient individual. It's interesting how Marc's & Co mind took Harrow's good qualities and put him in charge of his... Huh, let's call it therapy. After episodes 4/5/6 and scenes from that asylum I could genuinely buy Arthur as former doctor, because he indeed does have qualities that would fit into this category - I only suppose it was later he's worldview got corrupted.

The only 'but' I have in this theory - something tells me that Khonshu wouldn't be overly interested in a doctor of any kind being his avatar, but I could be wrong. Still, it irks me a bit. Not very Khonshu-style.

• historian: I won't lie, it's a very loose idea, but hell, who knows. Not much to say about this one, mostly just throwing it in your face for you to think about if you wish. It might be just me looking too deply into just one sentence from museum scene in episode 1, but it's still something to think about. Even if Harrow wasn't a full-time historian, he definitely knows a thing or two, though it could be because of his life experience. Let's be honest, people in their 50ties know something about the world.

• okay, bare with me on this, but! mercenary: listen, I know that Harrow doesn't look too much like a soldier material (though he clearly kicks ass of 2, well, actually, 3 people at once in Episode 6, because Steven & Marc are a package deal), but it would fit nicely with Khonshu's interest in avatars that both can and are mentally ready to get their hands bloody. It would also make an amusing connection to Marc himself, and if we really wanna speculate hard, we could try to somehow connect the Bushman-Marc-Layla's father dilemma with Harrow himself. I just find it curious that the murder of archeologists took place nearby Khonshu's temple, of all places.

Also, if Harrow truly were a mercenary, it would also fit the way he at once point decided that serving justice after the fact is way too late - because someone in this profession sees death on a nearly daily basis, meets people of questionable backgrounds, so that would be a nice beginning for him to just go mad with society, and at some point, also hate himself, in a way (throwback to his confession in the end of episode 3, where he says to Khonshu's ushabti that he enjoyed inflicting pain).

All of it also makes me think about the way he basically growled 'mercenary' towards Steven during their first meeting in the Alps in episode 1. Because it either suggests some kind of hidden contempt towards this occupation because Harrow knows first-hand how disgusting it is, or it also could totally destroy this theory because he actually meant it in a truly derogatory way without actually having first-hand experience in this field of work. As I said in the beginning, it's all a messy speculation, do with that what you will.

* * *

3. The other things I was wondering about is his general status of wealth in the past. Somehow I can't imagine him as a very wealthy person. Either he was just making a simple living at some point (that, however, would clash with the mercenary theory, since this work has a potential for getting a lot of money), or he was, maybe, at some point, totally homeless. An interesting things worth noticing that he said in episode 2 are those:

• "I'm curious, do you think that Khonshu chose you as his avatar because your mind would be so easy to break, or because it was broken already?"

and:

• "I know that being on the right side of things is important to you. Khonshu always tries to ensnare those with a strong moral conscience."

^ also, I find it funny that right after he says that, Khonshu does his typical temper-tantrum shenanigans, knocks over some food and says "You have no conscience." I know that Harrow couldn't hear him at this point, but I find it more probable that Khonshu actually meant it as an offense towards Harrow. I genuinely doubt it was towards Marc/Steven. Steven especially, he's too pure, and he was in control of the body at the time.

Now, as everything else that Harrow says, those sentences as well must be taken with a grain of sand salt, because he knows that Steven is totally lost at what's going on, so Arthur tries to take advantage of it and manipulate him into getting the scarab's location. However, if we accept what he says as truth - and I'm willing to do so in case of these specific lines of dialogue, especially since I believe that Harrow is not truly a liar, but more likely he lies by omission.

Now, the point I'm trying to make is this - we actually know Khonshu has a weak spot for people with broken minds, for example he got Marc into his service when he was truly at his worst, with a gun pressed to his head. I can believe that he might've gotten Harrow in a similar way - either when he had no home, no money and no perspectives and was close to ending himself, or, if we accept the possible mercenary lifepath, he could've broke out of this line of work and found himself tormented with, perhaps, some sort of PTSD and crushing guilt + disgust because of the society as whole. This would make him a person with a broken mind, or one that is on the verge of breaking and just needs a soft push - and surprise, wild Khonshu emerges.

Another important, in my opinion, line of dialogue is this one, from 'Dr. Harrow' in the asylum, by the end of episode 4 (for those who don't remember, he says it to Marc as he's during a sort of panic attack and tries to run away):

"Truly, I understand how you're feeling. I too have suffered from mental illness, breaks in psychic awareness, manic episodes, followed by depression."

Okay. This is, once again, a dangerous territory of 'how much of actual Harrow is in Dr Harrow', because we don't know that, we don't know how much of this Harrow is actually Marc & Co projecting. But if we take it as another hint towards the actual Harrow and his past, we are getting a nice little clue: he indeed was on the verge of breaking, or even totally broken at some point. And once again, we can speculate that either he was a psychologist/psychiatrist that just got overwhelmed with the cons of this line of work (and believe me, it is very tiring, and psychologists also have their own psychologists and so on, it goes in circles basically) or he was a mercenary that suffered from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.

* * *

4. Last but not least - at what point did Harrow got invested into Egyptian mythology in general, if ever? Because we know that Marc was probably quite dim in this area (for example, he doesn't know who Khonshu when they meet, he doesn't know Hathor after years of servitude, and Hathor is one of the main characters of the Egyptian pantheon!), and yet Khonshu was interested enough to pick him up, revealing himself to someone who had nearly no knowledge about Egyptian gods at all. So, there are two possibilities:

a) Harrow was also taken in a similar way, not interested in the history of ancient Egypt whatsoever until Khonshu picked him up as his Moon Knight,

b) Harrow had either a general idea, or, even better, already was quite deep into the ideas of Egyptian gods. Hell, considering how hell-bent he is on the idea of justice, even if twisted, it is possible that he himself turned to Khonshu during his breaking point in life because he wanted to, and he was the one who searched for some sort of contact, if he was devoted enough to somehow believe in these gods' existence.

After mixing it up, connecting the dots here and there, there are two main (!!!) headcanon (!!!) backgrounds for Harrow I can come up with.

a) former psychologist/psychiatrist who got overwhelmed with the mental ilnesses of his own patients, quite possibly those who suffered some sorts of trauma from abuse/general injustice, and at some point lost control over himself; he delves deep into depression, and being already somehow interested in the idea of egyptian justice, at some point he gets maniacal enough to genuinely try and contact Khonshu, maybe in the midst of one of his panic attacks or those breaks in psychic awareness he mentions in episode 5. Khonshu sees a pretty nice catch and a mind broken enough to easily get twisted into a well-fit avatar, and so Harrow begins his bloody rampage in his name.

b) former mercenary who, during his escapades, saw first-hand a lot of violence, maybe even got captured and tortured at some point (!), suffering some sort of PTSD. He barely has any grip around the idea of egyptian mythology, but Khonshu appears and possibly gets him out of an unescapable situation (maybe from captivity), thus making Harrow continue on pretty much the same warpath, but now getting his hands bloody in a cause that at least seems better than just killing for money, therefore giving Harrow an illusion of setting himself straight. Also, being a mercenary gives a nice chance to learn Arabic.

* * *

5. Another thing worth thinking about is at what point exactly did Harrow turn his back on Khonshu and started being interested in what Ammit's views were. In this case, I barely can get anything solid from the show itself, so once again it's a speculation playground. I was thinking that perhaps he was a witness to someone preparing to abuse someone, making plans, and yet he wasn't allowed to act beforehand because Khonshu makes a point of waiting to the point where there is no turning back and evil has already been done. That sounds like something that might've make Harrow either start to strongly question his loyalty, or immediately break the deal and turn to Ammit, either momentarily, because he might've already been intrigued by the idea of her during his service (though I doubt it - if Khonshu was in his mind, it might've been risky), or found out about her during his separation from Khonshu, seeking a new way to regain some sort of sense in his life. Perhaps once again he gor thrown into the pit of despair and self-hatred, his mind broken both by past trauma and Khonshu himself being extremely abusive, desperately looking for answers, and boom, wild Ammit appears in some sort of old history books. This might've looked to Harrow like a final solution to the problem of world's injustice, and also serving justice to himself after genuinely enjoying inflicting pain on Khonshu's behalf (and perhaps even before then, if we accept the mercenary-lifepath possibility. Or he might've just been a psycho-doctor, though Harrow doesn't give me psychopatic vibes, honestly).

... Alright, I'm done. Thank you for the ask, anon. :") Have a treat in these trying times:

#carried away is a one way to call it #long post #arthur harrow #moon knight #mcu #marvel #ethan hawke

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wclkmans · 2 years

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[ ellie bamber | cis female | she/her | twenty-two ] —— it’s just another typical week in hawkins i guess — isn’t that right, maxine mayfield? huh, guess they can’t hear me over running up that hill (a deal with god) by kate bush playing on their walkman, but it looks like they’re headed to work as an arcade attendant. did you know max has been in hawkins for three years? yeah, they’ve been described as a bit brusque, but i suppose them also being resilient outweighs the negative. i’ve also heard people say they remind them of the thrill of beating your high score in a game and rubbing it in kids faces, the splash of puddles along a dirt road that dirty your vans, idolizing feminine comic book heroes and posting them on your bedroom wall, the distressed feeling of someone lingering in the back of your mind and haunting you, the blasting of kate bush through shitty headphones, and making your own rules… however, that could just be this weeks newest rumor.

character inspirations — katniss everdeen (the hunger games trilogy), rey (star wars sequel trilogy), ellie williams (the last of us), maeve wiley (sex education), kate beckett (castle), veronica mars (veronica mars), juno macguff (juno).

full name — maxine mayfield nickname(s) — max, madmax, zoomer, red name meaning — a feminine name of latin origin, meaning “greatest” age — twenty-two date of birth — may 18th, 1964 place of birth — california current location — hawkins, indiana gender — cis female pronouns — she / her sexual orientation — bisexual religion — agnostic ? she’s prayed before, but not sure to whom occupation — attendant at palace arcade education level — high school residence — forest hills trailer park family — sam mayfield, estranged father. susan hargrove, mother. neil hargrove, ex-step father. billy hargrove, ex-step brother, deceased. finances — poor spoken languages — english faceclaim — ellie bamber

tw: divorce mention, mental / physical abuse mention, alcoholism mention, grief, death mention, self deprivation mention.

a cali girl at heart, maxine mayfield was never going to be the girly girl her mother had hoped for. she enjoyed the non-conventional things someone of her looks and stature should enjoy, and became skilled enough to even be better at them than anyone else. a horror / thriller movie buff, video game legend, and skating fiend — max mayfield had the seemingly perfect life. until she became a child of divorce.

she was eighteen, and with no plans ahead of her, she had no choice but to follow her mom to the midwest after she married someone new. “we want to get far away from your father”, is what her mom had said. but max liked her dad, and she wasn’t really sure why he didn’t want her to stay with him instead.

it was a house of horrors when susan became a hargrove. she earned a step-brother in the process, billy, who did everything in his power to make max’s life a living hell. his own father was an asshole who treated billy like shit, thus giving billy the power to return it on max. she was just another member of the food chain while her mom just watched. max always hated how susan never said anything.

the skating loner best known as MADMAX. had it not been for the way she was, max truly wasn’t sure if she would’ve made any friends. making girl friends was hard for her, and the only guy friend she had was back home. without letting them know, max was grateful that dustin & lucas were welcoming to her, even if mike wasn’t at first. she was curious, wanting to know more, but obviously something else had happened before her move to hawkins that made her give will their space.

and even though she is as nosey as one can be, max wasn’t gullible. it took her time, and definitely proof, for her to believe anything that lucas told her about the other dimension and ‘el’, the crazy friend they had that could move things with her mind. but after some real proof and nearly killing billy, max was a member of the party.

the summer of ‘85 was the best summer of max’s life, until it wasn’t. her and lucas were on the rise ( even if she dumped him at least an on-going of five times ) and she was finally gaining that sense of normalcy she had in california. billy left her and her friends alone, and she even finally gained a new one in eleven.

even though max may be considered a typical tomboy to anyone on the outside, she knew she needed the girl time she could have with el. max actually loves to shop, and was blessed that the mall had better clothing options than downtown hawkins could offer. her california sense of fashion was able to make a reappearance and her giddiness for gossiping and slumber parties helped make max feel like she was a sweet teenager again, and that hawkins could actually be home.

things started going downhill that summer the night eleven and her realized billy was flayed. max was already terrified of billy and what he could do, what he showed her he was able to do. she feared for the lives of her friends and the town she just grew to love, but she battles the mind flayer with the rest of the party and watches in horror as billy dies right in front of her. not because she was heartbroken, no — but because she was relieved.

max turned cold after that summer. riddled with guilt for the way she felt about billy, mixed in with the second new home life she had to endure in a two year span. her ex step-father was an asshole, and eventually left which helped, but then susan turned to other ways of coping.

the alcohol, mixed with the trailer and the constant worry about money forced max’s mind to focus on things other than her friends and her own health. she found someone she could go to for cheap for help. someone to talk to that didn’t obsess over dnd or basketball. the nightmares were first, then the headaches. but max would always brush it off, say everything was fine while she was simply a ghost. until there was a mysterious death.

max felt like she had gone back in time. something new was happening in hawkins and it helped keep her mind off of lucas and the nightmares. that is, until the investigations began pointing her way, and she was back to being cursed again. legitimately, this time. but, she accepts it, because of course it would be her. she deserved it after everything.

the letters she wrote simply served as insurance. max was never good at expressing herself verbally in any vulnerable fashion, but she needed to get the words written down before she regretted never being able to say them in the first place. she nearly died that march evening, and had it not been for nancy, robin, lucas, dustin, and steve, she wouldn’t be where she is today.

and max thinks thats why she will never be able to recover deep down. she was saved and she didn’t deserve it. instead, her original plan to become the bait, the final sacrifice was ruined by vecna’s own plans. max believes that it’s because of her that cindy johnston is dead. two bodies on her conscious.

now that it has been a year, and after her own trailer was destroyed in the earthquake, max is starting to get her footing back. there’s a new trailer, and while it’s worse than the last one, it’s still better than living in the old mall just steps away from where billy took his last breath.

max was also able to get a job, one that reminds her of who she was... who she used to be. MADMAX is no longer number one on digdug, but she’s okay with it. all that matters is that she can move on, but that first requires her to forgive herself.

#╰ * 𝐌𝐀𝐗. : intro. ⧽ let me steal this moment from you now .#hawkinstm.intro

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denimbex1986 · 4 months

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'All of Us Strangers is a haunting drama about reflection. After casting a spell on audiences at film festivals, including Telluride and BFI London, Andrew Haigh’s adaptation of Taichi Yamada’s 1987 novel, Strangers, comes to theaters on December 22nd from Searchlight Pictures. Blurring the lines between reality and fantasy, what emerges is something raw and heartbreaking yet therapeutic.

London-based screenwriter Adam (Andrew Scott, Spectre) lives a solitary life in a new apartment building in London. One of his few neighbors, Harry (Paul Mescal, Aftersun), sparks a connection with Adam that gets him to open up about his childhood, leading Adam on a pilgrimage back to his childhood home. What he didn’t expect to find was the ghosts of his father (Jamie Bell, Billy Elliot) and mother (Claire Foy, The Crown) waiting for him, frozen in time and waiting to learn about his life.

Artistically crafted, writer/director Andrew Haigh (Looking) weaves together elements that are sure to spark conversations like the best movies do. Is Adam haunted or hallucinating? Is any of this real? It’s the kind of question that stays in the back of your mind after the credits roll. There’s a psychological aspect to All of Us Strangers that filmmakers typically reserve for thrillers, but this one delivers that creep factor without any jump scares or horrifying visuals.

The film artfully uses light to tell the story. Reflective surfaces are often used, creating a visual feast of refraction. The apartment elevator, for example, has mirrors on all sides, creating an endless echo of its occupants in scenes set there. And in a romantic night out at a dance club, Adam and Harry kiss amidst disco lights that burst through the tight spaces between them. Visual poetry. It’s a cinematographic masterpiece that’s sure to be studied by a future generation of film school students.

Haigh also leans on a great soundtrack of 80s-infused music to help tell the story. Frankie Goes to Hollywood’s “The Power of Love” becomes symbolic of the relationship that develops between Adam and Harry, quoted in the dialogue in addition to playing over the end credits. And the Pet Shop Boys’ cover of “Always On My Mind” takes on narrative significance in the context of Adam’s relationship with his parents, who passed away suddenly when he was twelve.

What sets All of Us Strangers apart from other films about the living communicating with the dead is the fact that its lead character is gay. Unique aspects of growing up queer give Adam a lot of unfinished business when it comes to his relationship with his parents. Having never had the chance to come out of the closet to them, one of the film’s stand-out moments happens when tries to tell the ghost of his mother. While the film has stellar performances, Andrew Scott and Claire Foy deliver an unforgettable moment for queer people that resonates in a similar way to Jennifer Garner’s unforgettable monologue in Love, Simon.

All of Us Strangers is raw, vulnerable, and poignant. At its essence, it’s a film about a man with arrested development unpacking and examining his past traumas so that he can move forward. It keeps you guessing, even after the credits begin to roll, and is the type of film that audiences will debate about for years to come.'

#Andrew Haigh #Andrew Scott #Paul Mescal #Claire Foy #The Crown #Jamie Bell #Billy Elliot #All of Us Strangers #Pet Shop Boys #Always On my Mind #Frankie Goes to Hollywood #The Power of Love #Taichi Yamada #Strangers #Aftersun #Spectre #Looking

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hargrvcs · 11 months

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| | ➻ ( dacre montgomery, twenty-three, he/him ) did you hear all the drama from rick’s party ? yeah apparently ( william ‘ billy ‘ hargrove ) was there. i think someone said they work at ( hawkins community pool & 7-eleven ) and their favourite song is ( die young by black sabbath ) and that they tend to be ( daring, decisive ) but also seemed quite ( volatile, abrasive ). everyone says they remind them of ( the knife of childhood guts you clean ; grief blossoming into rage ; rage like a gaping maw —- a threat, a promise, a fear ; spitting blood and kerosene ; oh ! tyrant king, empty idol —– what adoration can’t get you fear will ; but how lonely it is to be seen and not known ; that animal fear, that secret affliction rots you from the inside ; you cut yourself on your own jagged edges ; are you your father’s son? do you deserve to be saved? ) …. i guess i could see that too. | |

𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐒 !

name: william neil hargrove

nicknames: billy , b

age: twenty-three

sexuality: bisexual / biromantic

gender: cis man

pronouns: he / him

date of birth: march 29th

place of birth: san diego , california

place of residence: hawkins , indiana

occupation: lifeguard at hawkins community pool & cashier at 7-eleven

relatives: neil hargrove ( father ) , edith hargrove ( mother ) , susan hargrove ( step-mother ) , maxine ‘ max ‘ mayfield ( step-sister )

𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐘 !

mbti: estp

dark triad: psychopathy

four temperaments: choleric

alignment: chaotic evil ( just chaotic tbh. the rest fluctuates )

ennegram: type 8

rosenberg self esteem scale: 13 / 30

zodiac: aries sun , scorpio moon

weekday: wednesday’s child is full of woe

𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐆𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 !

mother’s mirror , born to venerate the holy father ( he who was baptized in napalm and crucified by the american dream. he who takes his libations in blood. ). you might not of been able to dream bigger than father’s fists and seven feet waves , but she could. and she knew if she didn’t get out then , she never would.... so she left. left her husband. left her child. left only san judas tadeo in her wake ( oh patron saint of lost causes ! will you help her only son like she never would ? )

neil’s cruelty is multifaceted and after edith leaves , it learns a new face ----- one that feigns fatherhood. rage teeters into adoration at the drop of a pin. one second billy is the worst goddamn thing that ever happened to his , the next , he’s the only good thing neil’s bitch of an ex-wife ever gave him. monday he’s dodging bottles , wednesday he’s cradled like something special ----- like a son. it’s like a game , really. will neil laugh when billy flinches , call him a pussy , or break into apologies ? ice cream or ice packs ? it’d be easier if they hated each other. kinder if neil was cruel all the time.

then came susan. then came max. then came hawkins fucking indiana.

scumbag fuck with his daddy’s temper and a flashy car , he gave the shitty little nowhere town something to talk about. snarled and bit his way to the tippy top of the food chain. sucked off football players behind the bleachers and fucked their girlfriends in the back of his car. helped take home a championship. made a name for himself with housewives and the 5-o. graduated with a 3.4 gpa and a ticket to nowhere.

he never stopped california dreamin’. kept those dreams close to his chest and his disdain writ plain on his face. but small towns were like pit traps. college was never an option , but god , he had hoped to at least get out of the house.... but his birth certificate was held hostage. his money sent straight to neil’s wallet. quick as his father was to kick him out , he wasn’t half as willing to let him leave. didn’t want him to turn around and run out on family like his bitch mother had. cried abandonment the second someone breached the topic. so billy stayed. stayed in his father’s house where dreams turned to ash and love was where the belt bit in.

the longer he stays , the more he wants to leave. the longer he stays , the harder it becomes to leave. the harder it becomes for him to tell where neil hargrove ends and billy hargrove begins. what is he but an extension of his father ? a two-headed beast. a conglomerate of anger and fear and abandonment issues. is he his father’s son ? is he is father’s property ? is he his father ?

his mother taught him this : get out now or you never will.

billy hargove is going to die in fucking nowhere indiana. it’ll be a murder-suicide.

𝐄𝐗𝐓𝐑𝐀 !

billy is a carfucker. the camaro is his baby. don’t look at it the wrong way or you’ll be eating your teeth. poured his heart and soul into fixing it up in shop class back in cali.

he’s got a lead foot. drives at least thirty over the speed limit at all times.

babygirl’s middle name is oral fixation. gum , cigarettes , toothpicks , candy , pens , his necklace , it’s all fair game.

metalhead ! tank , dio , metallica , black sabbath , motley crue , w.a.s.p., judas priest , nasty savage , blessed death , liege lord , anthrax , exodus , metal church , iron maiden , pantera , ratt , slayer , whitesnake , ac/dc , scorpions , king kobra , queensryche , aerosmith , helloween , thin lizzy , exciter , saint vitus , girlschool , running wild....

he’s got a soft spot for pink floyd and fleetwood mac

into shitty horror flicks

attention whore

mental health is simply.... not super stellar atm. but he has abs !!!!

sweet tooth

literally has no fucking clue what a dungeon master is and would probably think you were propositioning him if you used it in a sentence

like a magpie , he likes to collect shiny things ----- particularly jewelry

very vain. ties a lot of his self-worth to his looks. needs to be the prettiest princess at all times

daddy AND mommy issues

very loosely catholic

would move back to california in a second if he thought he could

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 !

hookups ! ----- girls , guys , either way , billy has gotten around. probably a wham bam thank you ma'am , one-stop-shop situation ( billy doesn’t do feelings ) but i’m so down for things to get complicated and messy.

drug dealer ! ----- pretty self explanatory. billy does drugs. he needs someone to provide , please and thanks.

rivalries ! ----- let’s be real , billy is a straight up bitch ! he’s a walking problem. five feet and nine inches of attitude. there’s bound to be people who take issue with that. who either want to pay him back in kind or knock him down a few pegs. only question is: who’s going to step up to the plate.

hellraisers ! ----- he can’t be the only bad influence in hawkins. give him someone to get in trouble with. someone who brings out the worst in him. someone who’s friendship might as well be a signed contract for mutually assured destruction. drugs , violence , rock n roll , baby , he’ll take it all !

guiding light ! ----- someone who sees the best in billy , even if he doesn’t see it himself. a friend who sees him through black eyes and binges. who painstakingly tries to put him together after he’s worked so damn hard to smash himself to pieces.

heartbreaker ! ----- someone who turned the tables on billy and shattered his heart into teeny tiny pieces. was it karma ? definitely. inevitable ? maybe. but either way , it’s still a sore spot. a tender bruise that’s begging to have a thumb pressed into it.

neil’s friends / coworkers ! ----- neil hargrove is a good man cursed with a trashy loudmouthed fuck of a kid. but if he’s a little quieter around the people neil knows , a little more respectful , that’s just manners , isn’t it ? still , it’s bound to strike at least one or two of them as off.

lost duckling ! ----- why the fuck this kid decided to latch onto him ( brain damage probably ) is beyond him , but they did. and , alright , maybe he’s got a little bit of a soft spot for them now , but that’s not going to make him all parental or anything. he’s shit at the big brother thing ----- just ask max. so really , if he’s teaching them how to suck down marlboro reds and giving them rides in the camaro , it’s not because he wants them to stick around , alright ? it’s just because no one else is looking after the kid , apparently.

literally anything else

#abuse tw #hwkinshq.intro #domestic violence tw

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askthefuturegleeks · 2 years

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Thank you for joining the campaign to bring the arts to future generations, STACEY EVANS, we’re happy to have you! If you want a refresher on what to do next, feel free to look at the WELCOME CHECKLIST. Please send your account in within the next 48 hours so that you can get started.

ooc information NAME: Char

AGE:

PRONOUNS:

SHIPS: Stacey w/ chem

ANTI-SHIPS: Stacey w/o chem

basic ic information NAME: Stacey Evans

BIRTHDAY/ZODIAC: December 1 Sagittarius

CURRENT OCCUPATION: Event Planner & Owner @ Dreams by Design

CURRENT LOCATION: Based in NY, frequently travels to LA

RELATIONSHIP STATUS: Single/Complicated

FC: Billie Lourd

twitter post @DREAMSBYSTACEY: (I'm bored, someone should get married or something.) #EVENTPLANNER #BOOKNOW

in character questions Answer these in character, and feel free to add gifs into your answers.

1.) What did you want to do with your life when you were younger? What would the child version of yourself think about the path you paved for yourself?

When I was younger I wanted to be an astronaut, and where I ended up could not be further from where I thought I would be. I'm cool with it though, all is well that ends well and I love what I do. I'm good at it, and I made a name for myself. That's what matters.

2.) What is your proudest accomplishment? Don’t be afraid to talk about what it took to achieve it and how you feel about it as well.

Opening my business was my biggest personal accomplishment to date. I've hosted so many big events since, I guess any one of those could make the list too. But opening my business officially changed my entire life, so I still have to go with that.

3.) If you could do anything you wanted for one whole day, what would it be and why?

I dream of sleeping for 24 hours solid.

where are they now? Growing up in the Evans family wasn't always an easy thing. The earliest parts of Stacey's childhood were amazing and near perfect. But, when her father was laid off from his job, everything changed. The stability the family had once experienced was lost, and with their parents struggling to find work, and struggling even harder to make ends meet, everything changed.

Stacey has always been motivated, determined, and hardworking, but the struggles her family faced only made her push herself harder, and dream bigger. Growing up, Stacey always did anything she could for her family, and did her best to have as few needs as possible. She worked hard to help her parents as much as possible, and kept herself in line and on the straight and narrow, to give them less to worry about.

Growing up, Stacey always looked up to her older brother, Sam. No matter what, in her eyes, everything he did was amazing. She has also always felt a bit of a protective nature over her twin brother, Stevie, even though she is technically the baby of the family.

School was something Stacey was always decent at, earning B's primarily and a handful of A's over the years as well, but never bringing home anything lower than a C. Having a healthy social life was always important to Stacey too, which has served an incredible purpose in her business.

Event Planning was something Stacey became interested in early on in high school, and she began drawing up plans and making schemes for her business at the age of 15. She has worked consistently to make sure she was able to achieve her goal of being a business-owner by 25, and she worked any job she could, saving every penny that didn't go to her family, to make it happen.

Out of high school, Stacey went straight into college, as well as a self-paced online program to earn her Event and Wedding Planning License and Certification. Her major in college was Business Administration. During her Junior year, Stacey took an internship with a local planner who was KNOWN for being one of the best in the state of Ohio. After seeing both passion and promise in Stacey, and hearing her goals of moving to a big city and making a name for herself there, the planner got Stacey in touch with a college friend who had a very, very, very successful and well-known business in LA.

After graduation, Stacey moved to LA to work and study under this person, and she stayed there, learning all she could for three years, and even making it to the level of Executive Assistant. By the end of her third year, she was ready to spread her wings, and she put in to begin her own LLC. She operated successfully in LA for two years before deciding to tackle the NY scene. She has been building her business in NY for two years, and has made an incredible name for herself.

#glee rp #fandom rp #atfg admin #accepted

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thedeviljudges · 5 years

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lucky number seven

Steve switches on the television, watches as the black fades from sparks of gray and multi-colored lights into a crystal clear image of Wheel of Fortune. There’s a ding and some shouting, and as he steps away from the medium, someone clears their throat and mumbles, “Can you turn that up, dear?”

He obliges, gives Rosie a smile and replies, “If we turn it up any louder, people will think we’re in a rave.”

She laughs softly, a little roughly from the scratch in her throat. “Wouldn’t that be something.”

“Is this good?” Steve asks after clicking the button, the rising number on the screen set to a level he knows he personally wouldn’t be comfortable with. It’s not about him here, though. He takes care of them the best he knows how, and sometimes that means exhaustion and over stimulation from the differences in how he functions in his life versus the people he takes care of.

“Better,” comes the reply, and with that, Steve leaves, knows Rosie won’t go anywhere any time soon. There’s a lineup on the television. It’s always on at the same time every day, and it’s the reprieve he needs to catch up on all his other rounds.

Heading straight for the reception desk, Steve rounds the corner, tapping his fingers against the surface of the wood. The folders he needs are tucked away under the desk, alphabetized and ready to find. There’s usually a chart on the computer, the one the receptionist is using, and Steve would normally bug her for information about who’s next on his list, but he knows this one. Like the back of his hand, Steve unfortunately pulls the file of his least favorite resident.

“If you frown any harder, your face is gonna get stuck like that.”

Steve blinks, turns toward the voice and finds Robin at the end of it. Her fingernail clacks against the mouse her hand is resting over, eyebrows raised like her point is important.

“I’m not frowning.”

She huffs a laugh and shrugs, turning back to what Steve guesses is college homework. Relief, in some sense, finds his way throughout his muscles. Then again, Steve hardly made it through his first round, and the thought of Robin going further in education is both daunting and excessive if not admirable. “Lies, Harrington.”

In return, Steve tsks but doesn’t argue. So maybe he’d been frowning, but it’s only because he’s on his next rounds. An unlikely presence in a home like this, where visitors come and go freely, where most of the residents are happy as they can be in a world that moves too fast for them now.

He doesn’t want to go, would rather avoid the next room altogether, but with a sigh, he closes the folder, places it back where it belongs and heads toward the bay. The medicine sits stacked in rows, locked behind a thick door in case anyone tries anything funny. He measures what he needs, pops the top off of a few bottles and grabs two cups for his journey.

The walls of the nursing home are pale yellow. Steve’s visited a few in his lifetime before working here, and he thinks they always choose the most mundane colors. They’re always dated, and he can’t tell if it’s a sign of the times or purposefully done to accommodate a sense of familiarity within the residents. Steve thinks that routine is much more conducive, but he’s not a painter, and his decision comes last in these matters.

Instead, he gets to decide whether he wants to enter room 104. It’s cracked halfway open, the television glaringly loud. It’s not that he hates the mister inside, but he gives Steve a run for his money when he’s having a bad day.

Most days are bad days.

Squaring his shoulders, Steve gently raps his knuckles against the wood frame of the door, pushing it open to find his patient sitting up in bed. The clothes he wears are from the night and not usually what Steve expects from him at this time of day. It’s nearing nine, knows there’s something to be said about starting the day off early, that previous sentiment racketing his brain from a redundant lecture.

“Good morning, Mr. Hargrove,” Steve says.

The man grunts in reply, but that’s all he gives Steve to work with. Eyes stare far away from the door to the blue light emanating from the tiny screen hanging from the wall. Voices echo in the space they have, somewhat small and refined because most of the folks living here have very little possessions, and if they had more, they weren’t always allowed to bring them in. Glass trinkets are dangerous and useless stuff after they pass is thrown into the trash. Most bring in books and pictures encapsulated in plastic frames, a reminder that they belong somewhere than just a home for the old.

But this room is bare to its core. The man inside no exception.

“I’ve your medicine for you,” he says gently, feet shuffling across the tile. Slippers sit next to the bed, ready for use, that Steve carefully maneuvers around. There’s not a lot of places to walk around like the shoes imply, and Steve often feels guilty they don’t have a better outdoor situation. The halls are only so long, and supervision is often required for other patients, but the sun would be nice sometimes.

Sometimes.

Steve sets the cups down on the nightstand and waits. If there’s one thing he’s learned, it’s that patience goes a long way with Mr. Hargrove, unfortunately. The inconvenience trifles with the limited time on his hands, always cutting it close with the next visit on his list.

“Don’t want none of that.”

Dwelling within his lungs is the urge to release all the air, let them deflate while oxygen runs across his teeth. The day doesn’t have to be difficult, but there’s always a caveat.

“I know Mr. Hargrove,” Steve says alongside sympathy. “But you know you have to. They’ll help you feel better.”

It’s a wry look he receives, dark pupils staring at him from the corner of older eyes. The crow’s feet are jagged lines that run from the corners of the eyelid back toward the thinning line of hair, what little is left.

The silence balloons between them, only the television playing against the stillness. Steve hears the remnants of Rosie’s show ringing in his ears, played on repeat from all the times he’s turned the television on just in time for a contestant to spit an answer.

He’s sure neither of them know how long they stand there, Steve not forcing his hand quite yet. There’s protocols and the like for individuals who make a rough go of it, but Steve often feels a little too nice to take those measures if he can do his best to coax everyone to follow directions.

After enough time has passed, and just when Steve is about to throw in the rag and try other bargaining tools, Mr. Hargrove’s fingers twitch, shoulders slumping as he angles himself properly. “Hand me the damn cups.”

Steve obliges, not saying a word least that propel the man’s decision to cooperate in another direction. With a watchful gaze, Steve makes sure that Mr. Hargrove swallows his pills, hands him the water when he’s got them in his mouth and breathes as evenly as he can in order to avoid further suspicion of his relief.

When he’s done with them both, he hands the cups back to Steve with another grunt, an aborted noise of dissatisfaction escaping past his lips.

“I’ll be back later for lunch,” Steve says gently against the noise of cheering. Blinking away from a stony face, it’s the first time he sees the television for what it is. A bunch of cars on a track racing in circles and counting down laps. “Call if you need anything.”

The cups give way in his hands, crumbling under the pressure of a curled fist. Steve doesn’t wait for a reply, and truth be told, he knows better than to. His shoes squeak as he walks across the tile and through the door, discarding the cups in the trash near the front desk. The file cabinet is already halfway open by the time he makes his way around the counter, Robin rolling back to position and paying him no mind.

Deep down, Steve’s okay. The draft from a room filled with contempt is stifling, but at least it’s another day for the books. At the very least, he can take that and run with it.

“Some motherfucker always has the nerve to take my damn parking spot.”

Robin’s ponytail swings in a fluttery mess of golden-brown, and Steve finds the map of freckles highlighted across her face from the hues of light cascading through the open blinds as she tilts her head.

“If you’d learn to be on time, dingus, then maybe you wouldn’t have a problem.”

“I’d argue that you’re doing it on purpose, but I know that’s not it. It’s not your car.” Steve removes the jacket from his shoulders, shaking the left sleeve until it slowly crawls down his arm. It’s an annoying thing he finds with the uniforms they have to wear; they cling to everything, and he finds that he gets stuck in clothes more often than he’s able to take them all off.

The jacket goes on the coat rack, Steve dropping into the second chair behind the desk. It’s early in the morning, and the crew on the overnight shift hasn’t yet left. Steve hears them shuffling about, gathering things that need to be cleaned and dumping the overnight trash into the bins.

“Hey, did you ever find out-”

“Fuck you, old man.”

Robin’s eyes meet Steve’s, going wide as her mouth slowly closes, silencing the question on her tongue. There’s more muffled comments that Steve can’t quite make out, but it drifts down the hall. It’s an argument if he’s ever heard one, and the hairs on his arm raise from the exaggerated scenarios running through his head.

They have protocol for unruly patients, but the most they’ve ever been instructed to do with possible visitors is call the police. Steve scans the reception area and finds no phone readily available. “Rock, paper, scissors?” he asks with a shoulder shrug.

Robin gives him a look, sighing. Her body isn’t rigid likes Steve, and he guesses that maybe she’s not been on the other end of a yelling match. That isn’t to say Steve enjoys them much, but his father has a way with words.

As he’s thinking, Robin brushes past him, startling him. Reaching out, he gentle grasps her wrist. “Let me handle it.”

Pointedly, she takes a look at his temple, the little scar left over from when he got into it with Tommy in senior year. Robin had been witness to it, played nurse and made him sit through the pain of the alcohol she’d used to wipe up the blood and clean the cut.

To avoid further conflict, and because there’s still deep voices resonated from down the hall, Steve pulls the puppy eyes that practically gets him anything he wants. Robin, normally immune, hesitates as she looks back. It’s cute, he thinks, that someone is actually worried for his safety. That’s still a thing he’s not use to, but he tugs at her wrist as he stands up, positions himself in front of her and smiles. “I’ve got it. Don’t worry.”

He feels like those are famous last words. Not that he actually believes in harms way, but Steve has seen patients act out or have episodes that leave people with scratches and pretty bruises. It’s not their fault, he knows; old age is nothing that he can outrun, but a body in distress isn’t always the easiest to handle.

He leaves Robin there, notices her sit back down out of the corner of his eye, and he’s relieved for that. Usually she’s the type to follow, always has Steve’s back in whatever dumb shit he’s trying to do, but truth be told, he’s been hurt far more than she has, and well, Steve has always been a bit of a mother hen.

As he walks down the hall, the voices become clearer until there’s nothing left. Steve, as he’d been listening this morning to the scrape of employee shoes on the floor, finds that there’s a much deeper set of footsteps amidst the others. When he pauses, peering into every room as he walks in case something is off, a door at the end of the hall opens. It catches his attention immediately with the force of the swing.

Dread immediately fills his body.

There’s a pair of boots on the floor, accompanied by legs in jeans. Steve trails his gaze up, following the shape of a human body leaving Neil Hargrove’s room.

Neil never has guests.

He’s blond. That’s the first thing Steve takes notice of. Untamed curly hair. Thick brows. Pink lips. The list goes on really, and Steve bits the inside of his cheek to bring himself back into focus. Into the real meaning of why he’s standing in the middle of the hall like an idiot while he tries to figure out who the fuck this man is, and how he knows Neil of all people.

When Steve focuses again, the man with no name is leaning against the wall just outside the door, runs his hands through those curls. There’s a tick in his jaw, unreleased tension building in the way he holds himself—in the slope of his shoulders, in the way his fingers tap against his jeans like he’s itching for something to do.

A good amount of time passes, lost in thought, lost in a hallway with no indication of time sifting through the ether. Steve stands there, and the man stays there until they both gain composure, Steve only moving when his companion pushes himself away from the wall.

As soon as he turns, he spots Steve. It’s kinda hard to miss him when he’s in turquoise scrubs against a yellow backdrop of nursing home walls. There’s the initial pause that comes, the startling thought of being caught so intimately, and then the inevitable change of facial features into one of pure anger.

Steve might’ve fucked up on this one.

His throat works, thick with saliva and unable to churn out the words he needs to bring help to a situation that had deescalated but might shift in reverse any second. The furrow in the other man’s brow creases, eyes glassy but hard, akin to a stone caricature. It’s like a gunslinger’s battle just without the weapons, and Steve feels his pulse escalating until it drops, suddenly.

Like a balloon bursting, the man licks the front of his teeth, smiles in the most dangerous way and continues down the hall like nothing happened at all.

Steve catches a glimpse of him as he passes. Pretty blue eyes and a chain around his neck. The denim jacket smells like subtle cologne, and before he has a chance to ask, the sound of heavy boots are disappearing.

The decision to run after him or go check on Mr. Hargrove is difficult. It’s obligations on both ends of the spectrum, but at the end of the day, it’s Neil that lives here so Steve shakes his head to unstir his thoughts until he’s planted in front of an open door and a bare room with nothing but someone inside.

Neil is in his wheelchair today rather than his bed. Steve would take it has a good sign if it weren’t for the way he’s got his leg stretched out in front of him. There’s the thought that maybe his visitor had done something wrong, busted up the knee and left behind pain, but Neil gives him a look that shuts him up, reminiscent of blue eyes who’d argued to speak his mind.

“Get the fuck out,” he grumbles in reply, reaching for the remote. The television isn’t so loud this time, doesn’t bounce off the walls like he’s used to. Steve doesn’t listen, not until Neil flips through the channels and settles on his station of choice.

It’s always the cars. Always the stupid cars on the track. The numbers counting down and Steve unaware of the rules of the game.

He suspects that Neil is fine, would probably bitch at him if he wasn’t. So Steve says, “let me know if you need anything,” and is just about to step out when Neil huffs out laughter.

At first, it sounds like it’s aimed at him. Steve feels that tell-tale leak of shame in his chest for wanting to be helpful and productive, but the flicker of the tv screen changes his mind in an instant.

It’s not just cars anymore. It’s a list of drivers with their sponsors and their numbers, and Steve can’t miss it for the world. Couldn’t if he tried.

Number 61 has vivid blue eyes. Curly blond hair, and a self-deprecating smirk that rings all too familiar.

#x #billy hargrove #harringrove #sort of #this fic should really be multi-chaptered but it came from a HC i had and this is the fleshed out version #so here we are so uh yeah billy aint in it much but like u kno #guess what billy's occupation is!!!!!!!!!!!!#lmao i didn't do it on purpose actually billy didn't have anything until the idea came to me randomly #so thanks brain for that super helpful

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fific7 · 3 years

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Dangerous and Divine - Part 20

Billy Russo x Reader

Summary: Billy Russo is an itch you don’t want to scratch. But he’s all over you like a rash.

A/N: This does not follow canon, it’s mainly fluff & lemon zest 🍋 Hopefully you’ve guessed by now that is my “Billy Russo Deserves Real Love AU” as I totally refuse to accept what happened in S2! The GIF is from Exposed, unreleased pilot show in case you’re wondering 😌... Billy vibes.

Warnings: 18+ NSFW due to sexual content including unprotected* sex between consenting adults. Some drinking & swearing.

*Irl, please don’t go wild in the country without protection.

(My GIF)

You’d just realised that - despite his little caveman episode earlier on - you didn’t ever want any man except Billy in your life.

Still gazing into his dark chocolate eyes, you heard yourself saying, “I think I’ll have that ring, please.”

You really wished you’d had your phone in your hand to take a photo of Billy’s face, because it was what they call ‘a picture’.

Never had you seen his mouth drop open so wide. He gaped at you for what felt like minutes, until he stuttered, “Th... the ring???” You nodded, “Yeah.”

He grabbed your hand and stood up, moving quickly out of the booth and dragging you along with him. Glancing at the waitress, who was looking very surprised, he said happily, “Sorry, miss. We’re gonna have to leave. Sorry ‘bout that.” She shrugged and turned away as Billy rushed to the door, you in tow.

Once outside you huffed, “Billy! Slow down! And what about lunch?!” “Nah, nah, nah. Lunch’s gonna have to wait!” “But I’m starving!” “Angel, I’ll get you lunch soon, I promise ya. Right now? I need to get you back to the apartment. Get that ring on your finger ‘fore you change your mind!”

He continued moving along the sidewalk at speed, gripping your hand tightly almost like he thought you’d try to get away. You were beginning to pant slightly as he was going at such a rate, his long legs eating up the sidewalk, and you laughed breathlessly, “Seriously, Billy, slow down!” He dropped back ever so slightly, “Nearly there, angel,” he grinned at you.

Eventually you arrived back at his apartment, Billy throwing open the door and then slamming it behind the two of you. Just as well he doesn’t have neighbours up here, you thought, otherwise they wouldn’t be very happy.

The next second, Billy’s mouth was on yours in a fiery kiss. He broke away, “Wait there, wait there!” He almost bounced over to the kitchen table and grabbed the ring box. Meanwhile, you were smiling at his goofy schoolboyish enthusiasm. Then he was back in front of you and dropping to one knee again, but this time looking happy as a clam. The ring box was held up towards you, open on this occasion, and its occupant sparkled at you as it caught the light.

A bit out of breath, he said your name in a serious tone before continuing, “....I’ve said all this to you before, but I’ll say it over and over again. As many times as you need me to say it. I want you in my life.... I’ll always want you in my life, angel. I love you so much it hurts, and I can’t be without you.” The dark eyes stared intently into yours, “Will you marry me? Please?”

This time you reached out and stroked the hand which was holding the ring box, “Yes, Billy.... I will.”

The smile which appeared on his face would’ve put the sun to shame. He leapt up, fumbling a bit as he took the ring out of the box, taking hold of your hand and sliding it onto your waiting finger. It fitted perfectly. How’d he manage that? you thought.

But when you met Billy’s eyes they were full of tears. You immediately reached up and stroked his face, “Billy.... you’re crying.” He sucked in a big breath and wiped a hand across his eyes, pulling you into his arms and just holding you close.

“Thank you,” he whispered next to your ear. “I really hope you don’t feel like I pressurised you into this, angel. It means so much to me that you said yes. But just ‘cause I wanted it so bad doesn’t mean I ignored what you said before. Hey, we can still get to know each other while you’re wearin’ that ring on your finger. I just wanted something that said to the world you’re mine.”

“Big sap,” you smiled against his chest. He chuckled, “Yeah, I’ve already admitted I am,” before tipping your chin up with one long finger. His lips hovered over yours, “You’re my fiancée now.” You nodded, “Yes I am.” His mouth gently met yours and he kissed you... softly, slowly, with love.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

After a prolonged and passionate kissing session on Billy’s sofa, you two finally made it back out for lunch. Which mightily pleased you, as you were absolutely starving by now. Billy had your hand in his and he was happily swinging both your arm and his backwards and forwards as you two walked back to the same diner you’d been in earlier.

He’d asked if you wanted to go elsewhere, but you just couldn’t face going even a little bit further away - you were sure you’d faint from hunger if you did.

The same waitress looked round from where she was leaning on the counter as you and Billy went back in, and tracked you over to the same booth you’d occupied before. Whipping out her notepad and pen, she was once again drinking in Billy with her eyes and ignoring you so a bit pettily, you picked up the menu with a flourish so that the diamonds in your ring flashed as they caught the light.

Her eyes were drawn to it - as you’d expected them to be - and widened quite noticeably. Billy was smirking at you, as he knew exactly what you were doing. He repeated almost the same thing he’d said earlier, “And my fiancée will have.....”

You hid a grin and ordered steak and chips, and Billy smiled “I’ll have the same,” at the waitress, before switching his gaze back to you a millisecond later. She looked at you, her mouth set in an irritated line and turned on her heel without another word. “And two beers, please,” you called after her. “Okay,” she said over her shoulder. You grinned over at your fiancé - your stomach leapt as you thought of him as that for the first time - “Y’know, if she worked for me, I’d fire her.” Billy nodded, smirking, “I know you would, angel. And not just ‘cause she’s got the hots for your fiancé.”

You swiped the menu at his his head, and he ducked out of the way with a joyous chuckle. You could tell that Billy was almost incandescent with happiness, and you felt glad that you’d made him really smile again.

While waiting on your food, you had a ‘brilliant’ idea. With Billy watching on with an amused smirk on his face, you took a photo of your ring and sent it to Karen.

About 10 seconds later, your phone rang and you answered it to a long loud shriek of “Ohmygod-Ohmygod-Ohmygod!” “Hi Karen,” you replied, holding the phone away from your ear and smiling at Billy.

She took a breath before saying, “So you did it! What happened to slowing down and waiting a little bit, then?!” You laughed, putting the phone on speaker, “I came round to Billy’s way of thinking.” You heard a chuckle from her, then Frank’s voice in the background, “Whass goin’ on?” Karen filled him in on the new development, he yelled something unintelligible and then suggested you all meet up for a celebratory drink. “Did you hear that?” asked Karen, “Wanna meet up for a drink?”

You looked over at Billy with a raised eyebrow, he nodded, so you said to Karen you’d meet the two of them at a bar halfway between the two neighbourhoods.

After consuming your late lunch faster than the speed of light, you and Billy headed out from the diner (you couldn’t resist giving the waitress the brightest smile as she frowned over at you while Billy paid) and walked to the bar to meet your two friends. Just as you approached it, a body slammed into you and two arms got you in a bear hug. Initially freezing in shock, you relaxed as you heard Karen squealing into your ear.

You managed to extricate yourself and as you did so, she grabbed your left hand, pulling it up to her face and squealing again, “Oh...! oh my god, it looks so good on you!” Grinning, you replied, “Why thank you,” as you made your way into the bar. Heading to an empty table, Frank went to the bar and ordered a bottle of champagne, returning to the table with it in an ice bucket. “Didn’t really see Frank as a champagne kinda guy,” you whispered to Karen. She and Billy grinned as Frank said. “I heard that!” and you looked at him apologetically, “C’mon, Frank, when was the last time you drank champagne?” He smiled, but a bit sadly, “At my wedding.”

Oh no, you thought, feeling instantly guilty. However Frank laughed now, “But if this isn’t a good time to take my second hit of champagne, I don’t know what is!” He glanced fondly over at Billy, who seemed to have a permanent smile on his face, then back at you, shaking his head and smiling, “You two.... I can’t keep up with you!”

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

After several pleasant hours of drinking, chatting and laughing, you’d all eventually left the bar and gone your separate ways. Billy was now mildly tipsy, and insisted on walking down the street with both arms wrapped right around you. Which was fine until you met people coming in the other direction, meaning you had to dodge round them in an awkward dance, pulling Billy this way and that while he just clung onto you like an extra-large koala bear.

Back at his place, you were amused to see Billy’s eyes beginning to close drowsily, so despite all the filthy promises he’d been whispering into your ear the entire walk back, you two ended up just falling into bed and going to sleep.

You weren’t sure how many hours later, but you started to surface from your deep sleep as you suddenly became aware of hands on your breasts and something hard between your legs. Your eyes slowly opened to see Billy’s big dark eyes looking down into yours and then his hand found its way to your ring finger, bringing it to his lips and kissing it. Billy had somehow managed to part your legs and manoeuvre himself between them while you were sleeping on your side. Realising that Billy was already inside you and beginning to thrust, you whispered, “Billy, you cheeky big devil!!! I’m not awake yet,” but you only heard a low laugh from him as he carried on making love to you.

He was nuzzling into your neck, kissing and licking so you decided to take what was yours and grabbed two handfuls of his hair, pulling on it. He laughed out loud, “I guess you get to do that whenever you like now,” and thrust extra deep, making you gasp. “Definitely,” you managed to say as he rolled you over onto your back and pulled your knees up. His lips moved to your breasts, and your head went back onto the pillows as his tongue did its best work.

Suddenly he hit your sweet spot, and you hauled on his hair like you were trying to rein in a runaway horse, hearing an answering “Ow!” from him. You were just smirking to yourself when your climax hit you, and your mind went blank as you became completely immersed in it. Billy kept up his fast pace until you felt him shudder and release into you, his mouth biting down on your shoulder.

He moved onto his back, but somehow managing to stay inside you for the moment even as he softened. “Sweetheart.... you know I’m happy that you like my hair, but I truly don’t wanna be bald!” he laughed as he tried to get his breath back.

“I’ll buy you a wig!” you replied, “...sorry, Billy... not gonna stop pulling your hair, you know I’m not.”

Billy smiled lazily over at you, eyes staring into yours as he pulled slowly out of you, saying happily, “Yeah, angel, don’t worry... I know you’re not!”

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

After breakfast, which involved a certain amount of kissing as well as the food items, you said to Billy that you needed to go shopping. You were just finishing a catch-up text with Jake, and noticed Billy reaching for his jacket. “No!” you blurted out, and he looked over at you in confusion and with a slightly hurt look on his face.

Billy seemed to need to be physically attached to you right now; he couldn’t stop stroking, touching, hugging, kissing you (with some licking thrown in there for good measure), so he looked really disappointed that you were insisting on going on your own. “I’ve just got a couple of extremely boring things to pick up, poppet and I don’t want to inflict that on you,” you soothed, going over to him for yet another long kiss.

“Okay, sweetheart,” he grumbled, “...how long you gonna be?” You stroked his face, “Not long, I promise.” A slightly happier look on his face, he sprawled out on the sofa and switched on the TV, so you sang out, “Bye!” and made your escape, a satisfied little smirk on your face.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Twenty minutes later, you were in Harry Winston’s Fifth Avenue store. The sales assistant was looking at you as if you’d been let out of a psychiatric unit for the day. You’d just handed her a ring made of out of a sliver of Post-It note, rolled up and sellotaped together. She took it from you, holding it between two fingers as if it might bite her.

You sighed, and decided to explain the situation to her as otherwise you didn’t think she’d take you seriously. “Look, my fiancé got me this ring....” extending your rock-laden finger towards her, “... but it was a complete surprise.” She now gave you a warm smile, recognising one of their very expensive engagement rings.

“And I want to get him a ring,” you carried on, “...and I want it to be a surprise for him too. Had to pretend I was just idly wrapping scrap paper round his fingers while I was watching something on Netflix.” It did look like something a kindergarten kid might’ve made, but you were quite proud of your improvised way of finding out Billy’s ring size.

Now she was really getting into it, leading you to a display case of big chunky men’s rings. “I’ve got something in mind, but I’m not sure you’ll have it in stock yet.” She gave you a quizzical look, and you described a ring you’d noticed recently in a fashion magazine; a fairly thin matt black titanium band, with two ultra-thin strips of platinum running round each edge. You knew that one of those chunky ones just wouldn’t look right at all on Billy’s long, slim finger.

She gave you a huge smile, “We’ve just launched some new collections, and that’s one of them! - our Midnight range. Please wait here, madam, and I’ll be right back.”

Soon you were on your way back uptown to Lenox Hill, and this time you were the one with a ring box hidden away out of sight.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

As you let yourself into the apartment and hung up your jacket by the door, you noticed that Billy had dozed off on the sofa. You loved watching Billy sleep, so perched on the edge next to him and stroked back a couple of strands of hair which had strayed onto his forehead.

He awoke at your touch, smiling sleepily up at you, “Angel, you’re back...”

You took hold of his left hand, and scrabbled around in your bag for the ring box. “Billy.... you remember you said you wanted something to show the world I belonged to you?” He gazed back at you warily, as if he thought you might’ve changed your mind while you were out. “Uh... yeah?”

“Well, snap!” you said, finally finding the box, opening it and then sliding the black band onto his ring finger.

Billy’s eyes widened, and mouth opened in surprise. “Wow!” he said, sitting up and looking at it closely, “I love it!” You breathed a sigh of relief: some guys didn’t even like wearing their wedding bands, never mind an engagement ring. “So you’ll wear it?” you asked. He nodded, “Uhuh, course I will, angel!”

He turned his hand this way and that, and you admired how good the slim band looked on his finger.

His dark eyes met yours, and he gave a low chuckle, “Ha, see...? Now you’ve got me on that leash, sweetheart!”

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

@blackbirddaredevil23 @galaxyjane @omgrachwrites @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead @ourloveisforthelovely @swthxrry

#ben barnes #billy russo #billy russo x reader #billy russo fanfiction #billy russo imagine

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yurtletheturtlehenderson · 3 years

Text

COSMIC - S3:E4; Chapter Four, The Sauna Test - [Pt. 3]

A Will Byers x Reader Series

𝘔𝘪𝘬𝘦, 𝘓𝘶𝘤𝘢𝘴, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘞𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘳𝘶𝘪𝘵 𝘌𝘭, 𝘔𝘢𝘹 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘠/𝘯 𝘵�� 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘱 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘔𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘍𝘭𝘢𝘺𝘦𝘳'𝘴 𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘙𝘰𝘣𝘪𝘯, 𝘚𝘵𝘦𝘷𝘦, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘋𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘳𝘶𝘪𝘵 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘯𝘦𝘢𝘬 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘓𝘺𝘯𝘹.

📝: ERICAAA!!! FRICKIN FINALLY!! Less important note, but when writing about Y/n, El and Max, I wrote "the three friends" and autocorrect literally changed "friends" to "fruits". Yelmax confirmed 💀

||𝟑𝐑𝐃 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐏𝐎𝐕||

"It is fascinating what twenty bucks will get you at the County Recorder's Office," Robin reports, unfurling what looked to be a familiar layout on the break room table. "Starcourt Mall. The complete blueprints."

"Not bad," Dustin smirks from her left.

"So this is us," she points to a familiar-looking room before gesturing across the map. "Scoops, and this is where we wanna get."

"Yeah, I don't really see a way in," Steve mumbles from his seat at the table.

"There's not. If,"

She rips away a layer of the blueprint, revealing a vastly complicated map of air ducts, pipelines, and detailing that made up Starcourt.

"you're talking exclusively about doors."

Dustin looks at her with excitement growing in his eyes. "Air ducts!"

"Exactly," she smirks, making her way to the whiteboard to retrieve the magic marker. "Turns out, this secret room needs air just like any old room and these air ducts lead all the way" she circles the secret room in question, drawing one, interrupted line right back to, "here."

Dustin and Steve finally tear their eyes away from the map and follow Robin's mischievous eye. All the way to the air duct tucked away in the far corner of the Scoops Ahoy break room.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

To their surprise, a screwdriver had been harder to find than a ladder but soon enough Steve had managed to reach the air vent and unscrew it from the wall. But as he stood here now, peering down into the vent he quickly realized they were now facing yet another obstacle.

"Flath'ligh'?" Steve asked, finally removing the screwdriver from his mouth and shaping it for the small torchlight Dustin had waiting. "Thank you,"

The flashlight turns on with a tiny click and a soft yellow light bounces down the narrow metal tunnel, enunciation the frown on Steve's face.

"Yeah, I don't know man, I don't know if you can fit in here, it's like... super tight."

"I'll fit," Dustin smirks. "Trust me. No collarbones, remember?"

"Uh, excuse me?" Robin asks.

Steve jumps down from the ladder, turning to Robin as Dustin begins the climb and gives her a nod.

"Oh, he's uh, he's got so disease," he frowns thoughtfully, racking his brain as he tries to recall the word. "It's chrydo... um... something, yeah I don't know. He's missing bones and stuff, he can bend like Gumbo."

"You mean... Gumby?"

"I'm pretty sure it's Gumbo," he snorts.

"Just shut up and push me!" Comes Dustin's muffled voice from the vents.

By now he had wormed himself halfway in, his bottom half sticking out of the wall and still propped up on the latter while they had been talking.

"Okay," Steve huffed, motioning knowingly to the kid's feet and turned away from Robin.

She watched with a tired, lazily bemused expression as Steve grabbed a less than sturdy hold of the kid's feet and attempted to push.

"Not my feet, dumbass, push my ass!"

"Uh, what?"

"TOUCH MY BUTT! I DON'T CARE!" Came Dustin's impatient scream from the walls.

With a heavy grimace, Steve hesitantly began pushing against Dustin's rear end and his muffled anger grew louder.

"I'm pushing!" Steve argued.

"PUSH HARDER!" Dustin shrieks as he attempts to inch further into the metal vents. "You're playing with my legs!"

"I'm not playing, I have terrible footing!"

"Come on!"

Steve finally makes it to the top of the latter, Dustin's legs bunched together over his shoulders and locked under his arm as their voice continued to shout over one another.

"I'm gonna just shove you, ready?"

"Just shove me?"

"One, two..."

"Shit!"

"That work?"

"One more time,"

Robin rolls her eyes, finally turning away when she hears the sudden rapid chimes of the customer bell out front and all too familiar patron.

"Ahoy, sailors! All hands on deck!"

Through the partition window, Robin meets eyes with none other than Erica Sinclair who flashes her an exaggerated salute and rings the bell knowingly.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

Laughter and joyful screams filled the chlorine-soaked air, the smell of the pool lingering with sunblock was strong enough it wafted all the way to the parking lot where the majority of the Party now stood at the Hawkins pool. It looked quite different than it had the day before when Y/n, Max, and El had last been, but the tension weighing down the atmosphere seemed just as heavy and ever-present.

The storm had of course long since lifted, and the sun was now beating down heavily on their backs as they took shelter behind a Rust Red AMC Hornet, all eyes across the lot on the occupant in the lifeguard chair.

Billy.

He was squished underneath the bright red beach umbrella, hidden underneath a baseball cap, thick shades, a long-sleeved sweater, and a white beach towel draped over his legs where they poked out into the sun. He was completely covered.

"I don't know," Max begins, peering through the group's binoculars. "He looks pretty normal to me,"

"Normal?" Lucas scoffs. "How many times have you seen him with a shirt on?"

Y/n smiles weakly from where she stands in between him and Will. Max lowers the binoculars, conceding a wince.

"I mean, it's a little weird,"

"More than a little," Mike nods. "He was in a tub with ice. The Mind Flayer likes it cold. Plus everything El saw—"

"But he's lounging at the pool," Max argues, doubtfully. "Which is like, the least Mind Flayer thing ever,"

"Not necessarily," Will says, pulling everyone's attention. "The Mind Flayer likes to hide. He only used me when he needed me. It's like... like you're dormant. And then, when he needs you,"

All eyes return to Billy.

"...you're activated."

Y/n gulps, shifting on her feet from where she had previously stood rooted to the spot. Ever since that dreaded Halloween night the previous year, nothing seemed to have been the same. The Mind Flayer had set his sights on Will, and in turn, her. Slowly but surely, he had infected all of their lives as he had the town of Hawkins; spreading his rot and poison, and his hate. She could still feel it sometimes; the pain of Will's nails raking into her face and leaving behind the faded scar that had already long since disappeared.

Her eyes dart back through the fence at the suspicious-looking lifeguard and her insides twisted further into a sickening knot. The thought of the Mind Flayer's possible return was enough to drain the color from her face and leave a chill in the humid, sticky summer air. Her mind was running rapid with fear but the sound of Max's voice was enough to return her to earth.

"Okay, so we just..." she shrugs, looking back over towards her brother. "wait until he gets activated."

"No," Mike says with the shake of his head. "What if he hurts someone?"

"Or kills someone?" Will counters, and the Wheeler boy nods.

"We can't take that chance. We need to find out if he's the host,"

"Well, how do we do that?" Lucas asks.

The Party falls silent. The weight of the air growing heavier and heavier as it dawns on them. And one by one, each pair of eyes trickle over to the only present Henderson sibling in the Party. Her head is hung, propped-up against the hood and when she senses the eyes on her she straightens, breathing a sigh. But Will was already shaking his head.

"What? No, no way," he says to Mike and the others, Y/n already turning to him. "No, Y/n, I don't think it's a good idea,"

"I don't like it either," Y/n fretted. "but it's our best chance. The Mind Flayer hates me, and I can push his limits. It's the fastest way."

"And if, by some random chance, Billy isn't the host?" Will countered gently. "He'd find out about you,"

Y/n didn't have a reply for that. Truthfully, she didn't know whether to be relieved or angered he had cornered her. She just stood there, frowning at the concrete sidewalk biting her lip thoughtfully. She tried to think of a way to use her abilities subtly, but all her experience with heat came from seismic blasts or concentrated bursts from her hands. If she attempted that on Billy, he would surely know it.

"There's gotta be another way," Mike cuts in. "I mean, a safe way that doesn't risk you getting hurt or discovered."

Y/n and Will - even El - shoot him a funny look and he shifts under the sudden attention, guiltily.

"What about the sauna?" Lucas says, lighting up.

"Huh?"

"Yeah, it's perfect!" He grins, stepping out from around the car and motioning for Will and Mike. "Come on,"

Seemingly catching onto Lucas's idea, Mike wastes no time in following. And Will hesitantly steps away, sending Y/n and his friends an apologetic shrug.

"Where are you going?" El called after them, exasperated.

"Sorry! Boys only!" Mike throws over his shoulder.

Max scowls after them. "Seriously?!"

"Just trust us!" Lucas cries.

"We'll be back," Will shrugs again. "... I guess."

The three friends sigh, throwing less than impressed looks at the retreating boys. Privately, Y/n wondered if Mike stood any chance of harm just from her glaring at him in this moment. She hadn't shared these feelings with anyone, but since reuniting with Will something had been troubled Ling him and he wouldn't say what. She could spot it right away, the shift in demeanor but she knew it was something different from the return of the Mind Flayer somehow. And she believed it had something to do with Mike.

He was acting differently around him. He had been for some time now, as she had with Max and even El but this was different. Something had happened, and because Will was, well, Will, he was clearly trying to put aside for the sake of everyone's safety. Y/n couldn't really blame him there, but she wished he would open up to her. Tell her what was wrong.

And she wished more than anything she could fix whatever Mike had clearly broken.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

"All we gotta do is wait until the pool closes and everyone leaves," Lucas begins, guiding his friends through the first layer of the men's locker rooms. "And then get him from here..."

He steps forward, quickly ripping open the secondary door. The three boys scurry inside, and Lucas's friends quickly seem to catch on to his plan and a small smile grows on Will's face.

"And get him into here," Lucas eagerly rips open the sauna door, expecting to see nothing but steam but his luck had run out.

Five sweaty adult men in towels sat packed in the sauna like sardines, scowls on their faces for the three party members who interrupted their steam. "Hey! Shut the door!"

-"Come on, kid!"

-"Shut it!"

Lucas finally broke from his stupor and slammed the door shut, shuddering.

"I think I just threw up in my mouth,"

Will nodded with a grimace, but shook it off when his eyes landed on the wall beside the door.

"The controls!"

Mike's still bulging, haunted eyes finally broke away from their zoning out and jumped to the wall where Will was pointing. His face lit up.

"We can control from the outside, it's perfect!"

"Do you think it'll get hot enough?" Will asks, feeling more and more relieved by the second. "Like, "Y/n" hot?"

His friends immediately stopped, looking to him with a deadpan expression. Will scoffed at them. "You know what I mean" he snarked, not in the mood though he was trying to ignore the hint of a blush creeping up on his skin.

"Nevermind that," Lucas says. "Look right, here, 220 degrees. That's definitely enough."

"Okay, so we just need to figure out how to get him into here," Will nods towards the sauna door.

"Precisely."

"Then we lock him in," Mike says.

Lucas nods. "-heat him up,"

And Will manages another somewhat relieved smile. "-and no matter what happens, we'll know for sure."

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

Erica descends from the latter, the flashlight in her hands flicking off with a loud click as she strides up to the break room table where her recruits stood waiting. The group had taken a calculated risk I confiding in the young girl, but she was smart and demanded the information and why they needed to know if she could fit into the air duct in the back room. So here they stood, waiting with anxious breath for her verdict.

"Yeah, I don't know," she says, propping herself up on the edge of the table rather unimpressed.

"You don't know if you can fit?" Dustin asks.

"Oh, I can fit. I just don't know if I want to,"

"Are you claustrophobic?" Robin tries.

Amused, Erica gives the young woman a pitiful laugh. "I don't have phobias."

"Okay, well," Steve begins with a shrug. "What's the problem?"

"The problem is I still haven't heard what's in this for Erica,"

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

Steve slides another banana boat ice cream float across the table, joining the already plentiful dairy banquet laid out for the Sinclair girl. She merely gave it a single, disinterested glance and slid it back.

"More fudge please,"

Nobody said anything. And Steve just stared back at the table with tired, glazed-over eyes before Erica sent him a dismissive wave.

"Go on,"

He gave a sigh, and left the booth with the Banana boat in hand, and retreated to the counter. Robin took that as her cue and pulled out the marked-up blueprints she had at her side.

"Alright, you see this?" She points from the circle marked Scoops Ahoy and trail connecting over the flipped map. "This is the route you're gonna take. Then we just wait until the last delivery goes out tonight then you knock out the grate. Jump down. Open the door."

"Then you find out what's in those boxes?" She asks.

"Exactly,"

"And you say this guard is armed?"

"Yes," Dustin quickly nods. "But he won't be there,"

"And booby traps?"

"Booby traps?" Robin echoed.

"Lazers, spikes in the wall,"

Robin couldn't help but give a small laugh, but Erica was all too serious. She turned to the two with a serious look.

"You know what this half-baked plan of yours sounds like to me? Child endangerment."

"We'll be in radio contact with you the whole time-"

"Uh! Uh! Uh!" Erica stops her. "Child. Endangerment."

Robin sighs, ignoring the knot wanting to twist in her stomach. She knew she was right, and Robin supposed she just didn't want to admit to herself what they were asking not only of themselves but the young girl.

"Erica?" Dustin began. "Hi, uh... We think these Russians want to do harm to our country. Great harm. Don't you love your country?"

"You can't spell America without Erica," she shrugs, taking a long and loud sip from her complimentary Scoops Shake.

Dustin just blinks at her response and concedes with a nod. "Uh... yeah. Oddly, that's uh... weirdly true, so... so! Don't do this for us! Do it for your country. Do it for your fellow man. Do this for America, Erica."

Erica, who had been slurping her drink through her straw throughout his entire speech, finally finished it off and shivered, sending him a smirk. "Ooh! I just got the chills."

Dustin smiled proudly.

"Oh, yeah," she quickly corrects, her smile falling. "From this float. Not your speech."

His smile falls right off his face.

"You know what I love most about this country?" Erica began. "Capitalism. Do you know what capitalism is?"

Both Robin and Dustin mumble a 'yeah'.

"It means this is a free market system, which means people get paid for their services depending on how valuable their contributions are. And this seems to me that my ability to fit into that little vent is very, very valuable to you all. So-"

Robin and Dustin share a worried look.

"-you want my help? This U.S.S. Butterscotch better be the first of many. And I'm talking free ice cream for life,"

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occulticisms · 2 years

Text

[ chris wood & he/him s & cis male ] : my oh my, is that archer reed in bon temps ? what the hell are they up to hanging around bon temps fire department listening to rebel yell by billy idol when they should be doing whatever a firefighter does ? between you and i, the 30 year old special child is avoided for acting caustic, but whenever they let their sentimental side shine through people flock to them. i guess they’re in town because they’re looking for a new start. explains some of it, though i can’t help but wonder if there’s more to a smell of burnt flesh, the feeling of falling right before you wake up story. ─── v, 25, mst, she/they.

TW: blood, death, general stupidity

Uh heys guys it’s me yah goirl...and this is a tiny bit about Archie...

full name : Archer James Reed nickname : Call him Archie and suffer blood loss... age : Dirty thirty gender : cis man. pronouns : he / him. sexuality : bisexual. occupation : firefighter, should be a phlebotomist species : special child with the ability of blood manipulation and exorcism. sign : Sagittarius. date of birth : december 11th. height : 6′ 0″. alignment : chaotic neutral.

quick facts...

He’s not really aware of his abilities yet so he’s just fuckin around with it at this point who cares if people get hurt????

He accidentally killed his step father in an argument, giving him a stroke but like he’s in denial about it...

Discovered he can manipulate blood when he got a bloody nose in a bar fight. It was cool or w/e they made up after the fight.

Dog lover, hemophiliac (not really), and a motorcycle enthusiast...thinks he’s a lot cooler than he really is...

more to be made up later he’s still a newborn his baby skull hasn’t hardened yet...

#macabreintro

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hypnoticwinter · 4 years

Text

Down the Rabbit Hole part 1

It's five in the afternoon just outside of Corpus Christi and I and my poor old Elantra with the broken AC are stuck in a traffic jam because some dickhead decided he wanted to cut across five lanes of traffic and got mangled by a semi truck. And then the jam’s compounded by all of the damn lookie-looes slowing down to a crawl as they squirm through the two lanes still open, the metaphorical arteries of the gigantic beast that is the United States highway system, trying to get a good look at something gory on the way home.

I'm slowly melting into my seat, barely able to keep my eyes open. I keep glancing over at the water bottle I'd set snugly into the passenger seat, my cupholders being full with spare change and old receipts and little mini bottles of hand sanitizer, but just the way the sun's reflecting off of it makes me sick thinking about how warm the water would be by now.

I'm a few cars back from the wreck now. A police officer, looking sweaty and tired, steps out into the road, stopping traffic to let a couple of paramedics cross. A loud radio ad is playing in the car next to me and I look over. The guy in it looks about as done with this as I feel. I smile to myself, go back to watching the wreck.

The paramedics have stopped now and are talking to the policeman in the middle of the road. He looks annoyed, gestures at the cars ahead of him. One of the paramedics shakes his head and points back towards one of the cars.

The radio ad ends and the throbbing beat of Billy Joel's "We Didn't Start the Fire" comes on and I find myself singing along under my breath without even thinking about it.

Harry Truman, Doris Day, Red China, Johnnie Ray

South Pacific, Walter Winchell, Joe DiMaggio...

Another paramedic joins the group in the middle of the highway and then they hustle over to the wreck. The police officer gestures and we move fractionally forwards, then stop again. The asshole in the giant pickup truck ahead of me has decided to stop and watch them peel the door off the crushed sedan like the scab off a fresh cut. I can see something pink and fleshy and hurt-looking inside, where the driver's seat ought to have been, and I look away quickly.

We didn't start the fire

It was always burning since the world's been turning...

I end up meeting the eyes of the guy in the car next to me. He's bobbing his head along to Billy Joel and gives me a somewhat sheepish, embarrassed look. He's balding, looks about forty. A tired, haggard, sweaty face. I roll my eyes and smile at him and he smiles back. Someone behind me honks and I twist backwards and give him the finger, really slam it at him against the dirty rear window. We're rolling forwards so slowly that it's absurd to even honk, just people blowing off steam. I suppose on some level it's equally absurd to give him the finger for it, but whatever.

Lebanon, Charles de Gaulle, California baseball

ARPANET, Free Tibet, what's in Mystery Flesh Pit?

Buddy Holly, Ben Hur, space monkey, Mafia

Hula hoops, Castro, Edsel is a no-go...

Wait. What?

Now that we're past the wreck the highway widens out. More lanes open and the guy next to me merges over to the left. Billy Joel's voice disappears into engine noises and honks and the sound of the wind whipping past my open windows, but I still keep thinking about the lyrics I had just mouthed along to.

What the hell is a Mystery Flesh Pit?

I glance over at the phone sitting in its holster on the dash but something about the way the car I’d just past had crunched in on itself like a discarded candy wrapper makes me think better of it. I shift a lane or two to the right, get in line for my exit, and then I'm off the freeway. I make every light on the way to my apartment, all four of them, and it's just enough time that I forget about the line in the song. I jump into the shower and let the cold water run over me for fifteen minutes, which turns into thirty, which turns into forty-five, which turns into an hour.

When I get out I'm shivering but the warm Texas air blowing through my open window wraps me up like a warm hug, and I shrug into a flannel shirt, leave it unbuttoned. I put my cigarette out, leave it crumpled in the ashtray, stifle my coughs. I’m still not used to smoking this much. I eye the half-empty pack laying on the table but I let it alone.

The letter I received yesterday is on the kitchen table where I'd dropped it. The envelope is still on the floor somewhere. I think about going back and reading it again, or going and finding the envelope and throwing it away, but I don't want to. There wouldn’t be a point.

My phone buzzes; I see the name of the contact and let it ring. I don’t want to talk to him.

Outside, down in the courtyard, an old man is taking his dog for a walk. There is a vast darkened array of clouds closing in from the east and it already smells like rain, the wind is carrying it. I might take a walk too, later tonight.

I go back to the dresser and take my shirt off, slip a bra on, and then put the shirt back on. I almost light another cigarette, then I stop myself.

What the hell is Mystery Flesh Pit?

I had almost forgotten. Almost, but not quite. Billy Joel got stuck in my head and while I'd been puttering I'd hummed along until I got to that verse.

I shake my head and go get my laptop, type it into google half-expecting to find a porn site. A few travelogue type posts, a Wikipedia page...I click on that one and get hit with a redirect. Permian Basin Superorganism Containment Area? ("Mystery Flesh Pit" redirects here. For the defunct U.S. National Park, see...)

I read the page, and then I stop. The growing sense of unease I felt while I devoured the Wikipedia article is now almost too much for me to handle.

This can't possibly be real. This has to be a prank or something, some kind of internet joke gone out of control. I click on the link to the National Park and see pictures, too many and too high quality to be faked. It's like something out of a Michael Crichton novel but it's real. It has to be.

The Permian Basin Superorganism (Immanis Collosseus), I read, is a subterranean organism unique to modern biology, being the sole occupant of the Phylum Immanemqa. The organism was discovered by a pilot well drilling crew in 1973; later efforts were made to expose more of the organism through drilling and surface mining explosives. The Permian Basin Superorganism is notable for its immense size, being the largest living animal on the planet, its equally immense age, and for the degree and sophistication of human exploitation concerning the animal, culminating in the opening of a National Park largely within the creature’s body, allowing visitors to descend within the Permian Basin Superorganism and…

I read about gullets and bones and digestion, about an ancient animal of some kind living baked into the stone and earth outside of Gumption, Texas. I read about the sheer enormity of it, I read about how a mining company turned it into a tourist attraction, splitting its throat wide open with metal retaining walls and letting people ride an elevator a thousand feet down into its insides. I read about ballast, some kind of secretion exuded by the creature that acts as a kind of panacea, healing afflictions untouchable by conventional medicine. They made great baths out of the glands that produced it, let people bathe in its diluted aphrodisiac waters. I read, finally, about the 2007 disaster that closed the park, when a pump failed to activate and drowned the thing, making it wake up – god, wake up? – and swallow almost seven hundred people, making it spew caustic vomit so high into the air that there are still pockets of it being found here and there nearly a hundred miles away, burning into the ground and poisoning water tables. And the way they managed to get it to go back to sleep is classified by the US Government. Did they nuke it? Christ, Gumption is only...okay, well, it's about five hundred miles away, so I guess I'm a little less concerned, but, god, this happened in the same state as me and this is only the first time I'm hearing about it. July Fourth, 2007...

I realize after a moment, with a strange little knot in my stomach, that actually, I did hear about it. I wasn't in the state in 2007. It was four years ago, I'd just gotten out of school and I was still in Oklahoma, but I remember my parents telling me about an earthquake at midnight that they'd felt, that woke them up, knocked a couple of things over. I had never known...

I feel a little like I've just woken up and gone to the bathroom and looked outside and all of a sudden the sky is a bright green, and everybody I ask about it just looks at me really strangely and says that it's always been green.

I google my way all over the internet, looking at photos people have taken decades ago on their family trips, hosted on filesharing sites or on ancient GeoCities-era pages. I see smiling families, people in hiking gear, people swimming inside biological hot springs, people digging pitons into great sheer walls of flesh, not minding the blood that gushes out. I see a shaky video someone's taken of their television, of CNN back on the Fourth of July, 2007, I see a vast bloody pit, carved into the great flat nothing of central Texas.

I feel like my head is spinning. I get up, get away from the computer, grab another cigarette and smoke it slowly, standing on the balcony, looking out over the sprawling cityscape in the general direction of Gumption, Texas, or at least where I think it should be. If north is that way, then…

Alright. It's real. There's enough evidence, photographs, videos, spread across so many different web sites that it would be impossible to fake. I look up an old rating list of National Parks, making sure that it's from around 2004 or so, and find Mystery Flesh Pit near the bottom. The tiny two-sentence blurb describes it as "strange," "horrifying," and "easily skippable," so I guess that could also explain why I had never heard of it.

And, of course, the ballast. Some kind of miracle liquid. I read on Wikipedia that they’d tried to synthesize it after July 4th, after the supplies had been cut off, but no matter how molecularly perfect they could make the compound it was so much drossy bathwater, without the power to cure even a hangnail. It has to come straight from the source for it to be any good - who knows why.

There is a slow, anxious curl unwinding in my stomach, and for a moment, I fear the results it may lead me to.

I look at the map I'd opened in another tab again; Gumption, Texas; a tiny little county named after a tiny little town, or so I've heard. Now that I’m thinking about it, I vaguely remember passing through Gumption once, very briefly, during a family road trip back when I was six, but I don't remember much more than that. The only reason I even recognize the name of the town is because at the time I thought it was a funny name and I kept saying it to myself after I'd asked my mom what the word on the sign meant when we drove into town. Welcome to Gumption. Did it have more, perhaps? “Home of the Mystery Flesh Pit?” I don't remember visiting the Mystery Flesh Pit National Park, that's for sure. I think that would have stuck with little six-year-old me.

I eye the scale on the map, use my fingers to estimate the distance from Corpus Christi to Gumption.

It'd be a solid day of driving, seven or eight hours on the road, not counting breaks for food, sleep, restroom. I grimace at the computer screen, then zoom the map out. Lubbock, though...I could take a plane to Lubbock. That'd be, what, like two hours? Maybe? And then rent a car, drive down to Gumption...

I swallow, then laugh at myself. Why bother? I think. Why bother driving down to look at some fences and security guards? It's closed off, the Wikipedia page said, nobody in or out, just some scientists and a sedative plant. The fun stopped when it woke up, back in ‘07.

Flights are cheap. Ninety-nine dollars, ninety-five dollars. I start to type in the address to check my bank balance, then stop, fold the computer closed. I want a cigarette.

On my way out to the window my foot brushes against the envelope I'd left discarded on the floor and again I think of picking it up and putting it away, and again I leave it there. It doesn't really matter.

It'd be a horrible waste of money, probably. And I doubt I'd find anything really meaningful. Even if, you know, I use the excuse of going and looking around so I could write a story on it or something, I don't know if Jim, my editor, would really care that much. From what it seems, Mystery Flesh Pit is ancient history.

I take another look at the sheet of paper sitting on the table, curled over on itself like a dead spider. Fuck it, I think, then repeat myself out loud. I stub out the cigarette and go retrieve my cell phone, look up the phone number for American Airlines out of Corpus Christi airport. Fifteen minutes on hold later I am the proud owner of one business class ticket to Lubbock, Texas, leaving in four hours out of gate nine. I hang up the call and say "fuck it" aloud again because it makes me feel a little better, and then I go pack.

The plane ride is okay. Security was a bear and a half but it always is. I realized from the pleasant-unnerving swooping sensation in my stomach when we took off that it had been long enough since the last time I'd been on a plane that I had forgotten what it feels like. I was lucky to grab a window seat next to a little kid and his father; they didn't bother me as much as I'd expected. Once he turned to me to show me something on the handheld video game he was playing but his father quickly intercepted him and apologized to me; I was a little put out, honestly, I would have wanted to look at it. I'd forgotten to stick a book in my carry-on so I had been stuck staring out the window, and about a half hour in the plane had angled in such a way that the setting sun was glaring me right in the face and daring me to enjoy the scenery, so I did the most sensible thing I could and closed the shutter and tried to fall asleep. I think I managed to do so about fifteen minutes before we landed, which lead to me letting out a rather embarrassing yelp when the landing jolted me awake. The kid and his dad looked at me and I blushed, mentally kicking myself for blushing, but I smiled at them and shrugged and said that I'd fallen asleep and we had a laugh about it.

Lubbock is alright, I guess, if you don’t look at it too closely or stay too long. I rent a car at the airport and drive into town, and consider driving to Gumption that night, but I decide after some deliberation that it'll be better to do a little reconnaissance here first, if I really am going to make a story out of this. Am I? I've been treating that as my excuse so far and yeah, I brought my voice recorder and my camcorder and my DSLR and plenty of memory cards and extra batteries...but I guess I hadn't really taken it seriously.

The city's very alive at night, more so, it seems to me, than Corpus Christi, but I also don't get out very much back home, so maybe my perception is skewed. Everywhere I look there are clubs and shows and bars and things, and then, as I pass into the seedier areas, huddled groups of people spotted here and there. I imagine they’re eying me as I drive past and I tamp down the little curl of fear rising in my stomach.

I find a Motel 6 and then I try to find a Waffle House, but seemingly there aren’t any in Lubbock. I settle for someplace called The Pancake House, and then in a couple of hours I feel better, and then a couple of hours after that I finally manage to fall asleep.

I wake up having slept like the dead. I think about going someplace for breakfast but think better of it after I sit up too quickly and my stomach gives an uneasy lurch in protest. I get dressed leisurely – it is my weekend, after all. For a moment I even manage to fantasize that I'll be able to catch a flight home in time to make it to work on Monday but then I laugh at myself, which I seem to be doing quite a lot of lately.

Barely a hundred miles away, Mystery Flesh Pit is waiting for me. I don't know what I'll find there – personally, I feel rather certain it'll be a hell of a let-down – but it feels nice to have a purpose for once, to feel as though my life is being put to some kind of use other than to see how many cigarettes I can smoke in a single day and still retain some dignity.

It's nice to not have to think.

I take a breath and throw some clothes on and get started on the hard part.

* * *

The guy mopping the floor at the bus stop:

"Excuse me, sir? Do you know anything about the Mystery Flesh Pit Disaster of 2007?"

"The what?"

Businessman on the street, approached while tying his shoes:

"Excuse me, sir? I'm doing some research on the Mystery Flesh Pit disast –"

"I'm sorry, lady, I don't have any money."

Lady at the counter of the pharmacy:

"Excuse me, ma'am? I'm trying to find out some information on the Mystery Flesh Pit, do you have a moment to talk about it?"

"Sure, honey, but I'm afraid I don't know that much about it. That was back in, what, 2003? 2004?"

"2007, actually. Did you ever happen to visit while the park was still operating?"

"It was a park? I just remember something about some sort of tunnel collapse."

"Right. Thanks for your time."

Guy at the 7-11, asked while filling up the tank on my car next to him:

"Hey, dude, you know anything about the Mystery Flesh Pit?"

"Went there once when I was a kid. Pretty cool. Why?"

"I'm a reporter, doing a story on it. You remember the disaster that closed it down?"

"It's closed now? That's lame. What happened?"

"Thing woke up and ate everybody."

"For real?"

"Yeah. I've been asking around, like nobody's heard about it. Kind of surprising."

He taps his finger to his chin. "You know," he says thoughtfully, "it has been like five years since then."

"Four years."

"Even so. People don't have any kind of attention span any more."

His pump clicks off and so does our conversation.

Yeah, alright, maybe it isn't a very representative group, but it seems like nobody cares. Is that reasonable? Well...seven hundred plus people died, most in pretty gruesome ways, according to Wikipedia. Then there were the, god, the thousand or ten-thousand-plus people affected by the vomit and ejecta scattered hundreds of miles away. I’m not sure. You'd expect that apathy from the rest of the nation, maybe, I don't know why somebody in Arkansas or Kentucky or Illinois or wherever would give a fuck if they didn't personally know somebody who was affected, but here? Just a hundred miles from the place or so?

Maybe they did a really good job of cleaning up the cities, maybe it's only the little towns and places where the legacy of it has really clung on. I know there has to be a story, somebody who was there, somebody who saw it. That jerky camcorder video of CNN is a start, but something real, something visceral, in the words of a survivor...

That was the one thing I didn’t find much of. No memoirs, no autobiographies, just a few mentions here and there but nothing like a back-to-front story of what that night was like. That is what I’m really after.

I put my cigarette out in one of those trashcan-cum-ashtrays that dot the corners of every city I've ever been to, Lubbock no exception. I get in the rental car and again forget that it has crank windows instead of buttons. "To the library, and step on it," I giggle to myself as I pull out into traffic. I feel a little lightheaded and I remember that I never bothered to eat anything.

Perusal of the newspaper archives at the Mahon Public Library downtown confirmed what I'd already assumed – that there was no big government coverup, there was no conspiracy of that sort. The disaster at the Mystery Flesh Pit was capital-letter Very Big News for about a month, back in 2007, at least in the area. The stories towards the end of the month cast a little light on why it didn't last, though – it wasn't ongoing, it was just sort of a one-and-done thing. Yeah, finding the caustic vomit everywhere kicked up another stink a week or so later but the Powers That Be seemed to get that under control fairly quickly, at least in more populated areas. After that there were grumblings about disclosure and fault and blame and all that, and quite a few articles about Anodyne Mining or whoever going bankrupt but by the end of the month, aside from a few overly sentimental memorial pieces dedicated to delicately sidestepping the exact causes of death of the people they were memorializing, the news had moved on.

A librarian pokes around the corner with a cart and smiles at me; I smile back at her. She's young, pretty, long skirt, dark eyes. I scoot forward so she can pass behind me. I read on for a while, the faint swish of her skirt and the slim sliding sound of books going back into shelves registering dimly and pleasantly in the back of my mind. I put the paper down and stretch a little, and then I notice she's glancing over at me. I smile at her again.

"Doing some research?" she asks, and I nod.

"Yes," I say. "I'm a reporter for a paper in Corpus Christi and I'm doing a story on the Mystery Flesh Pit. Have you heard of it?"

As soon as the words pass my lips there's something dark and guarded lurking in her eyes that makes me perk my ears up. She waits a couple of seconds before she answers, clearly thinking of what to say, of how much to tell me. I mention, after a moment, that I'm surprised that so few people here in Lubbock seem to really remember it or care about it, and she nods, leans up against her cart.

"It was a big deal for a while," she says, gesturing to the stack of papers next to me, "but after that I guess it just wasn't exciting any more. The only people who really remember it are out in all the small towns where it really affected them. Here, in Lubbock, they just had vans working overtime to clean everything up and then it was easy to forget about. Every now and then I hear about them finding another pile of that vomit somewhere just...festering away out there in the desert."

"Were you there?"

"No," she says, "but my brother was."

"I'm sorry," I tell her. I want to reach out and touch her or something but I don't know if she'd appreciate it, so instead I keep my sympathy subdued. "Is he - ?"

"No, no," she says quickly, "he's alright. He was a park ranger there, he just…happened to be working that night. He, ah...it really fucked him up for a while," she says finally, giving me a grimace. "We haven't talked in a long time."

"I'm sorry," I say again. "That must have been hard, for both of you."

"Yeah," she says, cutting her glance downwards. "He always said some strange things about the disaster, real Alex Jones type stuff. But he just couldn't, you know, move on at all. We got in a big fight about it and, well, that was that."

I wonder what to say for a moment before I cross my legs, set the newspapers aside. "You must have gone there, then, while it was still operating."

"Yes, plenty of times."

"What was it like?"

She laughs softly. "God, that's such a...like, where do I even begin, you know? Have you been to many other National Parks?"

"A few," I tell her. "Not as many as I'd have liked. Crater Lake, Devil's Tower, Badlands, Petrified Forest..."

She laughs. "Real Midwest girl, aren't you?"

"Hey, Crater Lake is in Oregon, that's not the Midwest."

"I wasn't knocking it. Um. Well, it wasn't like any other park you've ever been to, I can guarantee that. It was like, you drive up to it and you park and you walk up these stairs to get to the main observatory building, and you get in there and you look down and there's just...skin. In a hole in the ground. It was extremely disconcerting. From that distance it didn't look real, it looked like it was plasticine or something, like it was a model. And there was something...I don't know, kind of lewd about it?"

"Lewd?"

"Yeah. The way they were spreading it open with these giant metal, like, flanges or whatever, and how it was all raw and pink around the opening...Freud would have had a field day with it. Made you feel like you were watching a gynecological exam."

"I still kind of can't believe they found this thing and thought opening a theme park was the best thing to do with it."

"It was the 70s, I guess." she shrugs. "Place is old, you know. Anyway, once you actually got down into it, it was...it was an experience. You rode this giant elevator down and they had a massive visitor center something like 1200 feet down inside the thing's throat, and you could look out the windows and see all this flesh outside. It was honestly like something out of a movie, it was so surreal. I went there a bunch of times with my brother cause he got an employee discount and I could get in for five dollars and I saw at least ten people have panic attacks and hyperventilate."

I think about my next question for a moment. "Would you say overall that it was, you know, a negative thing? Like, the park on the whole."

"No, absolutely not."

"Why's that?"

She licks her lips. "I think that it's really easy to forget how small we are. We've done all these great things, we've built civilizations, we've put people on the moon, we're exploring the bottom of the ocean, I think humanity in general likes to think that we have everything figured out." She shrugs. "The Mystery Flesh Pit is a really good reminder that we know basically nothing. I mean, they were studying it but they knew practically nothing about it, not how big it was, not whether there were more creatures like it elsewhere in the world, not where it came from, not even if it was awake or if it could move or what the thing looked like as a whole. I think what they ended up doing with it was stupid as hell, but as far as the experience of actually going down inside of it and walking around on a trail and, I don't know, watching macrobacteria roll past outside the fence or seeing something really weird moving around down there and seeing the park ranger guiding you not know what it is either, that's an experience I genuinely wish everybody got to have. It'll change your life."

"How did it change yours?"

She laughs. "Besides, you know, everything with the disaster and my brother and all that shit? Just going down there really made me realize who I was."

"How, exactly?"

She shakes her head. "Like I said, I figured out just how small I was and how – I don't know, how insignificant we really are. These days whenever I get worried or bothered or I stress out over something I think about standing there in the elevator looking up through the glass ceiling and watching the light get smaller and dimmer, like I was falling into a bottomless pit, and I find peace."

"Seems like an odd way to find peace."

"Different strokes, right? Anyway. I really ought to put these books away. Was there anything else you wanted to know?"

I think about it for a moment, then shrug. "I'm planning on heading down to Gumption tomorrow, aside from the pit itself is there anything else I ought to check out?"

She lets out a low whistle. "I think you're going to be very disappointed. They don't let anybody go to the Pit any more, it's all sealed off, has been for years. And Gumption, well...that town has seen better days. I'll give you a tip, though, even though maybe I shouldn't. Look for my brother there, I know he still lives in town. I can't give you his number or his address, unfortunately, because I don't have them any more, but I know for a fact that he works at the only gas station in town, a 7/11, so ask around there and you'll be able to find him. His name's Peter; I'd tell you to tell him I sent you but I kind of get the feeling that might not get you very far."

I thank her for the tip and set the newspapers aside. If I head out tonight I might be able to get some good shots of the fence around Mystery Flesh Pit. I think of it, of the sunset, then discard the thought. Forget it. I'll need a whole day to really dig into it, I think. And more's the better. I have plenty of batteries, I have plenty of storage. Easy girl, there's no rush. Assuming they let me just walk up and start filming, but if I really hype myself up I can half-believe I could talk my way into at least getting some shots of the fence, at the very least.

"Oh, and one last thing."

I blink, look back up at her. She has a faint smile on her face, probably from watching me zone out, that fades quickly. "Don't stay in Gumption too long."

* * *

The drive down to Gumption is dusty and hot and boring. I get about halfway before I realize I'm not driving my poor old Hyundai, I'm driving a rental car, and that it has a functional air conditioner, and then I feel very silly, for though the wind certainly felt nice on the whole I would have much rather just rolled the windows up and sat in the cool air. I see a grand total of four other cars, all coming from Gumption, on the two-hour drive. It's mostly a straight shot but my phone tells me to take a county road that turns into just a dirt track towards the end that, after a little meandering, plops me out onto a back street of Gumption, Texas.

The research I'd done suggests that at one point Gumption had been a bustling little town, fuelled by the Pit’s tourist draw, and initially its size would indicate that it still is. But as I drove slowly through the empty streets, the general air of disrepair and decay became more and more apparent. I see a couple abandoned houses, and not the foreclosed sort with realtor's signs out front, but straight-up shattered-glass, boarded-windows, holes-in-the-roofs abandoned. The ones that weren't just looked sad, like no one was taking care of them properly. The cars parked on the street are all at least five or six years old, as best as I can tell. I see only two people out and about while I'm driving around at 15 miles an hour, getting some video footage, cruising down the middle of the road, eyes flicking between the empty street ahead and the screen on my camera. One, a youngish-looking black guy, keeps his head down and doesn't look at me, and the other, an old man in a wifebeater mowing his lawn, stares at me all the way down the street, until I turn the corner and pull onto the main road.

There's the 7/11. I'm tempted to head to it right away but I refrain, look for a diner or something, but the ones around look about as welcoming as the rest of the place. There's a McDonald's but it's so small it doesn't even have a drive-through, which is something I'd never seen before. There's a drug store and a liquor store and one of those tiny little storefront churches, something something Starry Wisdom. I think about going to McDonald's but instead I pull a u-turn and head back to the gas station. The clerk, a haggard-looking woman, doesn't look up from her magazine when I walk in. I wander to the back and grab a Coke out of the fridge unit. The credit-card reader is broken so I have to dig around in my wallet and find some bills. The entire exchange continues without any speech at all until I work up my nerve and lick my lips and ask her if there's a hotel around here somewhere.

She looks at me for a few moments and then jerks her head towards the road. Her voice sounds like a frog croaking. "There's a motel down the road a ways. When you pull out take a left and turn at Third street."

"Thanks."

"No problem."

"By the way."

"Yeah?"

"Can you tell me when Peter works?"

I had to think for a moment to remember his name. I have it written down in a notebook but it's out in the car. Her eyes flash a little more lively. "Who's asking?"

I think of what to say for a moment before I shrug. "A friend."

For a moment I think she's going to tell me to fuck off, but something in my face must have convinced her. "He's off today. Come in tomorrow at eight or nine at night, he'll be here. He works graveyard most days."

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it."

I walk out the door and the heat hits me like a thrown punch. I blow a breath out and lean up against the rough cinderblock edge of the gas station building and drink my Coke.

It's four in the afternoon and it'll take me maybe half an hour to drive down to the Mystery Flesh Pit. It'll be cooler, too, in the evening, and if this town is any indication I doubt there'll be much of a line. I wonder where the people who work there live; maybe they have a dormitory there or something. Clearly they don't live here. Maybe there's some little patch of suburbs somewhere, behind those hills over there, perhaps, where all the people are, but it's four in the afternoon and I've seen a grand total of three other cars driving around, so maybe not.

The guy at the motel gives me a nicer greeting than the lady at the 7-11 did, although not by much; at least I get a few dirty molars of a smile out of him as he hands me the key to my room. I had to wake him up from his nap at the front desk in order to get the room to begin with, and though I tried to do so as gently as I could he still started and almost fell out of his chair.

"Here for the Pit?" he asks as I'm about to leave, and I turn back, glance at him.

"Yeah," I say after a moment. "Just going to see what's there now."

"You're heading over now?"

"Yes."

"Huh," he grunts after a moment. "Most of you folks don't do that 'till dark."

I frown. "Us folks?"

"You know, you..." his eyes roam over my face and his mouth drops open very slightly. "Oh," he says heavily. "Never mind."

"What?"

"Nothing, ma'am. Now if you'll excuse me –"

"Wait, hang on –"

"You have a good day now, ma'am."

He disappears into the back room and I stand there, glaring at the door as it swings shut, key still looped around my finger. I have half a mind to vault the desk and head back there and demand to know what the hell he was talking about, but I take a deep breath and let it out. What could he have meant? Maybe he thinks I work over at the Flesh Pit or something, although that wouldn't explain why they only head over after dark...that doesn't make sense. Tourists, maybe? But that doesn't make sense either.

I chew on my lip for a little while and then shake my head, push the door open and let the heat swallow me up again. There's no sense brooding on it; the only thing to do is to move forward.

* * *

The drive down to Mystery Flesh Pit is, if it were possible, even hotter and more boring than the drive down to Gumption. The heat is pounding on the window and begging me to let it in so I turn up the AC, trying to drown it out, but it's no use. No matter where I put my arm the sun is pouring down on me, and if I leave it still for more than a moment I get that unpleasant prickling sensation that tells me I'm starting to burn already. I've already got a pretty terrible driver's tan from the ride down but this is just overkill.

No cars pass me on the long road that my phone assures me is the way to the Permian Basin Superorganism Containment Corporation. It's only wide enough for one so if someone did come by someone's going off the road. Hopefully not me, as this rental Toyota is not built for that sort of thing. It's already been complaining at me creakily and jostling me around. I'll have to get it a car wash or something when I get back to Lubbock, whenever that ends up being. I didn't read over the rental contract very closely but I'm pretty sure if I bring it back this dusty there's some kind of fee.

You can see the outline of the plant, growing larger up ahead. It looks unassuming, exactly like any other indecipherable cluster of industrial buildings you'd see along the side of the highway, all greyish-white, tubes and pipes and tanks and corrugation, warning signs and fences and barbed wire, power lines and scaffolding and light poles, all clustering out of the ground like mushrooms after a cold rain. The guard in the gatehouse is watching me as I pull up, but I turn off the road, turning the car around so I'll be ready to go whenever I need to, well away from the road so anyone trying to get in or out can get by without any trouble.

The sign on the fence broadly proclaims that this is the site of the Permian Basin Recovery and Superorganism Containment Corporation, and says that the administration building is to the right, along with the barracks, infirmary, commissary, and so on.

I get out, shut the car door, take my camcorder with me. I keep it on but held low, taking a shot of my feet. I wander up to the gatehouse and the guard steps out, hand on the butt of his pistol, resting loose but confident. He has an MP helmet on and I wonder whether the National Guard is in charge of security or something, and then I wonder if I'm about to get got for trespassing. Surely there'd be more of a commotion if I was, right?

The guard has a sharp face but disconcertingly watery eyes. "Hi," I tell him.

"This area's off-limits to civilians, ma'am," he tells me.

"I'm not trying to get in," I assure him. "I'm a journalist, I just want to take some photos. Is that okay?"

He relaxes a little, points up and down the fence. "Right now," he says, "you're on public land. You go over that fence, you're trespassing on Federal land. Understand?"

"Yessir," I grunt, reflexively. Some old habits never die.

"You can take photos of whatever you like except for people inside the fence, understand? Before you leave I will check your camera."

"Yessir."

"Any questions?"

"Can I take a photo of you?"

"Am I inside the fence?"

"No."

"Then yes, you can."

I bring my DSLR up, snap a picture of him. He gives me a cheesy grin. I look at the display and then back up at him. "You blinked."

"Better take another."

I do so. "You know," I say to him, "this is a much more civil interaction than I expected it to be."

He pauses, halfway back to the guardhouse, to shrug at me. "You're just lucky that the government doesn't also own the land around the park. On most military bases it's like that, you know, they own a hundred-foot radius out from the fence, but here it's different."

"Cause it used to be a National Park?"

"I believe so."

"Do I have to stay in your sight or anything?"

He shakes his head. "No, there are cameras. Just make sure you don't touch the fence, it's electric."

I look at the sign on the fence again; I'd sort of skimmed over it before but a few more things catch my eye this time, especially the bright red one proclaiming that it's charged to 10,000 volts. I whistle. "Y'all really don't want people getting in, huh?"

"It's dangerous."

"So I've heard. Want to do an interview?"

"Can't do that, ma'am. What paper are you with?"

"Corpus Christi Star-Tribune."

He raises his eyebrows. "You're a long way from home. What brings you down to Gumption County?"

I briefly explain what got me interested in the Mystery Flesh Pit and he nods. "Lot of people seem to have forgotten about this place. It's for the best, I'd say."

"Care to elaborate?"

"No, ma'am," he says, but not unkindly. "I can't talk to reporters."

"Come on," I wheedle. "Who'd know?"

"We're on camera," he repeats.

"Fair enough," I shrug.

He gets back in the guardhouse and I run a hand through my hair and turn my attention to the fence. I take a shot of the gates, of the fence, of the signs on the fence, of the great bulging buildings visible through the fence. I get a nice one of the fence extending along into the horizon, a great metal wall bisecting the flat, hot plain of West Texas earth, extending into infinity, it seems, a shimmer of heat distortion bubbling off of it down in the distance. I get another good one of the sun dipping downwards behind the plant, swallowed by it, casting shadows across my face, long spidery ones that scrape the ground. Then, once I'm at about fifty-percent capacity on my memory card, I put the camera away and sit there on the trunk of the car, kicking my heels idly against the gravelly ground, taking it all in. I read the sign again and I call out to the guard. After a moment he comes out of the gatehouse again.

"What is it?" he asks.

"What's that sign mean?" I ask him, pointing to it. He turns, looks at it.

"I don't think it's very ambiguous," he tells me, and I roll my eyes.

"No, I'm serious. What the hell does it mean? 'Over 500 people die each year attempting to commune with the Organism?' What does that - ?"

"Ma'am, I really can't talk about it."

I look at him carefully but he seems serious, and the sign, well...it's a sign on an electric fence on federal property, so surely it's serious as well. I turn my camera back on and snap a photo of it, then I realize that there's a bit of background noise, coming slowly closer. It's the rumbling of an engine.

There, down the road, is an unmarked white Econoline van. It flashes its brights at me and I step out of the road, let it pass by, while the guard at the gate straightens his uniform. It pulls up to the gate and the guard leans in. He and the driver have a brief conversation before the guard steps back and reaches into the booth to open the gate. The gate opens but the driver of the van sticks his head out, looks back at me. He has a jowly, bristly face, about two five-o'clock shadows away from a beard, and a large bald spot.

"And you, what are you doing here?" he calls, and I get up, a little surprised to be addressed so abruptly. The guard comes out in a hurry, shaking his head.

"Sir," he starts, but the guy in the van isn't having any of it.

"Shut up for a second," he says. "Lady, what're you doing out here?"

"I'm –"

"Sir, you really shouldn't –"

"Look, lady," he says, gesturing me closer. "Things don't have to go this way. There've been a lot of advances with medical technology that can really help you out with those urges. There's –"

"Urges?" I ask. I get a prickly feeling all up and down my spine, like I'm hearing something I ought not to.

"Sir," the guard says, urgently now, "she's a reporter."

The man's mouth snaps shut so quickly he might as well have been a cartoon character. He flushes an angry red and glares at the guard as though he wants to say something but he just ducks his head back through the window of the car and drives through the gate, which closes after him. I shake my head.

"I suppose," I say after a moment, "that you aren't going to tell me what he meant?"

"Not a chance."

"Well," I say, getting up and stretching, "it's been fun."

"You have a good night now."

"Am I going to get a visit from the Men in Black at my hotel room later?"

"I wouldn't worry about that."

"Riiiight." I waggle my eyebrows at him. "That's exactly what they'd want me to think."

He laughs. "Good luck," he tells me.

"I get the feeling I'll need it."

"You’ll be fine," he says after a moment, but I do not feel reassured.

* * *

I drive back to Gumption with the setting sun blazing in my rearview mirror. It slips out of view entirely and coats the sky in dusky purples that quickly fade to black, and then it's the figurative middle of the night. One-handed I manage to wriggle a cigarette out of the pack on the seat next to me and transfer it to my mouth and then feel around for my lighter, and then I groan and pull over. The guy at the rental desk at the airport had seen the pack of cigarettes in my hand while I was filling out the paperwork and told me very strictly that I had better not smoke in the car and I, of course, had managed to forget completely. It's a good thing I remembered before I lit up.

The night is cold but not unbearably so. I spend a long time there, leaning against the trunk of my car, cigarette in my hand but forgotten momentarily, staring up at the sky. There's so little light pollution out here that I can see what feels like all of the stars, practically, great scattered dustings of them sweeping across the whole of the night sky like someone had tossed them there. There's the Big Dipper, there's Orion, there's the Little Dipper... I think that bright one is Mars, maybe, it looks a little reddish. And that cluster there must be the Pleiades.

I take a breath and blow it out and realize exactly how tired I am. It's somewhere lurking in the back of my skull, right behind my eyes, coiled around my neck. If I closed my eyes I'd probably be able to fall asleep out here, right on the hood of the car.

I crack my neck and wince. The moon's bright and full tonight, at least, so I can still see the barren terrain all around me.

I consider the cigarette for a moment before I throw it to the ground and crush it out. I don't normally litter, really, I swear, but the exhaustion creeping over me is making me not care.

There's a long drainage ditch along the side of the road here, terminating in one of those white-concrete tunnels disappearing into the dirt, its mouth wide enough to swallow me whole if I felt like going down there. I stifle a yawn, kick a rock down into the ditch, and traipse around the side of the car, get in and start it up. From where I parked it, the headlights angle downward enough to reveal a sliced-pie cut of the inside of the tunnel and there, inside it, I see for only the briefest second a pale, wide-eyed face staring at me, along with a dark-jacketed body and a hand, curled there on the floor of the tunnel like a spider before, in a flash, the man retreats into the darkness deeper in the tunnel and is gone.

I can feel my heart beating out of my chest and I realize my mouth has dropped open. Real animal fear has seized me and my rational mind cannot jerk back the reins. I put the car into gear, fumbling first and sticking it in neutral, and then push the pedal all the way to the floor and roar off into the dark.

I was very lucky that there was no one trying to get to Mystery Flesh Pit that night, for I probably would have flipped the car trying to go around them. The closer I get to Gumption, the slower I drive, until finally I manage to get myself to stop the car just outside of town. I pull over again and get out, curling my lip at my shaking hands, and light up another cigarette.

It was just a homeless guy, hiding in a drainage ditch. I probably spooked the fuck out of him, pulling up right there on top of him and hanging out. He must be wondering what the fuck I was doing out there. Probably scared him more than he scared me.

Why did I wig out so bad anyway? I like to think I've got a pretty good nerve. Well, stress is a good excuse, I guess. Or perhaps it's because he was simply hiding down there, unknown, unnoticed, the whole time I was sitting there on the hood of the car, completely oblivious. He could have rushed out and attacked me, if he'd had the guts to, and I wouldn't have been able to do anything about it.

I take another drag at the cigarette and glare up at the stars again. Ursa Major, Orion, Pleiades. Sometimes, when it's quiet like this, I allow myself to think about what the coming year, or possibly years, if I'm lucky, will be like.

Whatever.

I crush the cigarette out and drive back into town, head back to my motel room. I feel better once I've showered and put on some shorts. I get into bed and pull the covers up, and even though they're the scratchy, weird-feeling covers used in seemingly every cheap motel in America, regardless of location, I drift off to sleep easily enough.

Continue with Part 2

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#writing #mystery flesh pit #writeblr #Michael Crichton #thriller #novel #alt lit

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