#TELL ME WHAT STU WOO IS

[cupids-scream-queen]

A Little Murderess °❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･❀*

❀ female!murderer!reader x poly!ghostface ❀

Part 8// 4.5k words

-> Part 7

Warnings: stalking, breaking and entering, p in v, actual sex (woo), choking, slight daddy kink, cheating, mentions of knife kink, dismemberment, rough sex, the works ig

A/N: this took me forever to figure out how to write properly, so enjoy this experiment.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･❀*ੈ✩‧₊˚⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Summary: You've just moved to a new town after the death of your little brother and stepfather with your mother. You're not ashamed of what you do to cope with the deaths; especially when you make two new friends who you might have more in common with than you thought...

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･❀*ੈ✩‧₊˚⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

It was Thursday, exactly one day before the date of the original planned kill. With Sidney sick, you and the boys moved faster, trying to get the deaths done before Friday. Friday night, Stu promised, the three of you would watch a movie. Your alibi for Thursday night was your house—at least six movies rented from Blockbuster.

Your car ride wasn’t silent; Stu was listening to a mix of AC/DC and Black Sabbath, claiming it got him into ‘the mood’. Billy kept calling bullshit, and you just sat in the backseat, quiet as ever, contemplating what could possibly go wrong tonight. You were going to be following a script that Billy wrote for you, making sure to ask everything the same way that he did to you all those nights ago. You practiced, and once you got it right Stu clapped you on the back, telling you he’s proud of you.

“Are we almost there?” Your question broke the silence of the car, and Billy nodded.

“Five minutes. You ready?”

“Born ready,” You flashed the phone in the rearview mirror, and Billy smiled sinisterly. For the murder of Sid, Billy wanted all three of you there, but for just Tatum, it was going to be both Stu and Billy hunting her in the house. Pulling up to the driveway, it was nothing like you’d imagine. It was big, of course, and you couldn’t help but notice the lack of cars—signaling nobody was home. Tatum’s usual car was parked on the driveway, her bookbag still inside.

“Part one, you call her.” You nodded, your fingers dialing the number that you had saved in your phone book. It rang for a few seconds, and then you heard Tatum’s voice as she picked up the phone.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Tatum,” You said, and you could hear bemusement in her voice as she said,

“Who is this?”

“Someone who wants to talk to you.”

“About what?” She was talking more flirtatiously, more bounce than usual. You didn’t really know why, but you knew it would be a mistake she’d pay for later.

“I don’t know.”

“Well, who are you?”

“You don’t get to know that yet,” You could hear her huff in annoyance, and the click of the phone meant she hung up. Typical. You dialed again.

“What the fuck do you want?”

“I told you—I want to talk,” You could hear Tatum’s breathing fluctuate as she decided what she was going to do, before she clicked her tongue, evidently making up her mind.

“You can bother someone else, because fuck you for trying to scare me,” She said, and she hung up. You called her again. “What the fuck do you want?”

“I want to see your insides hanging from the flagpole,” You heard her breath hitch.

“You’re a fucking creep!” She hung up again, and you rang her. Once. Twice. On the third time, she answered, then hung up before you had a chance of saying anything.

“She’s playing hardball,” You tell them, and Stu stuck his tongue out.

“She’s about to become a ball,” He takes his knife out. “Should we scare her, then call her?”

“Sure,” Billy slipped his mask on, getting out of the car. Stu followed suit. “Just don’t go off script.” You watched as Billy threw a rock at Tatum’s window, and you heard her scream. You called her again, and this time she picked up.

“What the fuck do you want from me? My brother’s a fucking cop you’ll get arrested you bitch!”

“I told you what I want Tatum, I want your insides on the flagpole.”

“Leave me alone!”

“I can’t do that, Tatum. I’m much too interested in the pretty color of your blood,” You could hear her shrieking as Billy and Stu started pounding on the doors of the house. You weren’t sure why nobody was at the house, but it wasn’t that much of a concern.

“Leave me alone, please,” Tatum said. “Unless this is a prank? Randy?”

“You’re going to end up like Randy.”

“Randy? Is that you? Why haven’t you been in school? And what’s up with your voice?”

“Randy’s no longer with us. Please leave your message at the beep.”

“Who the fuck are you?”

“Whoever you want me to be.” On cue, you heard Tatum scream as one of the boys threw a chair through a window.

“Who the fuck are you? Where are you? What are you doing?”

“I’m wherever you can find me.”

“What the fu—” She screamed again, as one of the boys made a dramatic entrance. “Holy fuck. Holy fuck there’s someone here. What the fuck.”

“Hello, Tatum, you’re looking ravenous this evening.”

“Go away! I’ll kill you!” Perfectly timed, Ghostface lunged towards Tatum, knife in hand. You couldn’t tell what was happening, but from a blood curdling scream from Tatum let you know that she was hit.

“Should I do it again?”

“You’re a fucking psychopath!” Ghostface wasted no time. Chasing Tatum around the house, slashing and dicing her. After a few more screams, you heard the clunk of the phone dropping to the ground. You grinned, knowing it was only minutes before the plight of Tatum Riley, Stu’s girlfriend, and your former friend of only around a week or two. You gave a small chuckle to yourself.

A few more screams, and the house went dead silent. You listened intently, before the phone was picked up by someone.

“It’s done. Come inside, you’re going to help decorate,” Billy said. You obliged, getting out of the car and walking up to the front door. You knocked politely, and Stu answered.

“Welcome to the house of horror! May I take your order this evening?”

“Of course,” You told him in a posh British accent. “I’d like a serving of small intestines followed by some ribs.” Stu stuck his tongue out and grinned, and you couldn’t help but laugh as well.

“What are we going to do for poor Tatum?”

“I want to skin her and put her flesh on the flagpole,” Stu suggested, and Billy grinned.

“How about we hide her fingers and toes around the house?” You got a nod of approval from both boys. “Cook her head in a pot of stew on the stove. Put her legs and arms in the oven. Her torso in her bed. We could make it look like real horror movie shit.”

“I like your thinking,” Billy grinned from ear to ear, inhumane darkness surrounding the air as the three of you got to work on Tatum’s body, carefully skinning, chopping, and cutting parts of her to be hidden around the house, like the world’s sickest game of Easter egg hunting.

Stu was the one to make her skin into a makeshift flag, carefully sewing parts of her together with a sewing kit you packed with you. He hung it up from the Riley flagpole, taking down the American flag and replacing it with, in his words, an “American Whore”.

Billy was the one to dismember her corpse, putting her legs and arms in the oven and finding various hiding spots for her fingers and toes. You were in charge of making a pot of stew, and placing Tatum’s head in it for whoever came home first. You worked mostly in silence, the boys carefully devoted to their craft. Occasionally Stu would joke around, and you would crack a smile. The majority of your time was spent figuring out where the hell the Rileys put their cooking supplies.

At the end of finishing up the stew and setting it on the stove to cook, Billy was finally finished with hiding fingers around the house. He promised they would be finding parts of Tatum’s body for months after the deaths.

“Three hours, not bad,” Billy said, once you were all piled in the car. The house looked normal enough; the busted window was the only thing to show that something was seriously wrong. You figured that all the guesses in the world wouldn’t prepare the Riley family for what they’d find inside.

“Sid next?” Stu grinned, answering your question. Of course Sid was next. Why wouldn’t she be?

“All three of us go after her. I want her to be the victim of the most violent and brutal of all of these. I want her body in pieces, I want her strewn around the house, I want her insides hanging off of every fucking surface in that house. I want this to be the crime of the century, the only thing people talk about for weeks, and I want us to make sure that there’s no way in hell she’d survive.”

“Jesus Christ, did you prepare that speech?” Stu asked. “Calm down man. It’s just a girl. She’s got nothing on us, we’re fucking giants compared to her ass.”

“Are we calling her beforehand?”

���I want to. And we’re going to take a while on this one, I want to fuck her up real good.” Handing Billy the phone, you and Stu watched as he dialed Sid’s number, preparing to fuck with the mind of his greatest enemy.

“Hello, Sidney.”

“Hi, who—who is this?”

“What’s your favorite movie?”

“Randy? Is that you? What’s going on with your voice? It sounds sexy.”

“What’s your favorite horror movie?”

“Randy, you just gave yourself away, you know I don’t like horror.”

“I like the ones where you die.”

“What? Is this some kind of a joke?”

“You should start hiding, Sidney. I’m going to give you a minute. If I find you, I’ll kill you. Understand?”

“I think you should prank someone else.”

“You’re in the family room. You’re pacing. Are you nervous?”

“Listen, jackass, I’ll call the cops! I’ll call Dewey, I’ll—”

“You’re wasting time.” Billy nodded, cuing you and Stu to start assaulting Sid’s house with a mirage of rocks, yard decorations, and nearly everything you could find and throw. You got out of the car, heading to the side of the house where you threw a few rocks. She started screaming, cursing, and yelling at Billy, who was grinning on the other end of the phone. You noticed she wasn’t hiding.

The goal of Billy calling was to keep her from calling the cops before you could wrench the phone from her hand. That was the first objective of you and Stu; phase two, if you had the order of events. Call her, freak her out, take the phone, torture her, kill her. Easy as pie.

You nodded at Stu, who was positioned in front of the front door of Sidney’s house. He knocked. You could hear Sidney pleading with Billy over the phone to leave her alone, but to no avail. Billy wasn’t going to go home without her head on a stick.

You and Stu waited for a minute, watching as it appeared that Billy was trying to coax Sidney into opening the door. You can tell she doesn’t. She’s screaming something in the house, her voice nearly hoarse from shouting.

Stu ended up picking the lock, allowing you and him entrance into the home. You two found it bare, Sidney gone. You carefully listened for her breathing, for the voice of Ghostface on the phone, anything. Dead silent. You and Stu looked at each other, both masked and cloaked. You were going to have to find her. She took Billy’s advice and hid after all. Stu made a motion towards the upstairs, and you motioned to the downstairs. You’d each search different floors. You picked up one of the house phones, listening to see if she hadn’t yet hung up. Delightfully silent. You kept the phone on you, making sure that if she answered, or tried to make a phone call, you could stop it from happening. You weren’t going to get caught, not tonight.

You heard a small rustling noise, and you looked around. No sign of Sidney, but you knew you heard her. Billy appeared at the front door, and you pointed to a closet. You found her. Billy was the first to open the door of the closet, scaring the shit out of Sidney. She started to try to flee, but you caught her, pushing her back into Billy. Stu came running downstairs at the noise, quick to join in with the murder. Billy’s knife went to Sid’s throat, taunting her.

The three of you had your blades out, threatening. Billy whistled a bit, and to Sid’s horror, started to drag the knife down her throat and to the base of her collarbones, before sliding it back up to her cheek. She was silent, her breathing loud and uneven. Billy cut her cheek open, and Sid screamed, and tried to get away from him, but failed. The three of you surrounded her. You and Stu weren’t going to interfere with Sid’s death—Billy was going to deliver the final and killing blow. That was Billy’s plan, Billy’s job. It was something that he wanted to do, to take revenge for his mother.

You watched as Billy taunted Sid with the knife, cutting her deep enough to draw blood, but not deep enough to scar. You realized he was playing with his kill. He motioned towards you and Stu. Stu ran off, and came back with a chair. You took the roll of duct tape in your robes out, handing it to Billy. He nodded, and Sid was silent, and you weren’t sure if she was thinking of how to escape or if she was shocked from it all happening. You didn’t care.

Taping Sid to the chair, tight enough that she couldn’t get out. Billy put tape around her head, preventing her from talking. You could hear her start to scream, but it was muffled, and Billy put his hand on her cheek, caressing it before he slapped her. He took his knife out again, motioning for you and Stu to do the same. Sid was the first, and only, victim to know that there were three of you. You wondered if she felt special for this knowledge, even though she wouldn’t be alive long enough to share it. It was an honor, after all. Billy started the actual assault first, slicing off one of Sid’s fingers. She tried to scream against the tape, but it was a fruitless effort. She was dead.

You knew Billy was wanting to reveal himself to her—wanted her to know who killed her. You wondered when he’d do it. Not for a good while, he and Stu were enjoying cutting off various parts of Sid’s body, making her scream and cry for their sick and twisted enjoyment. A part of you was enjoying the screaming, too.

Stu started slicing at her legs, making her jeans stained with her blood. She was moving, trying to put up some semblance of a fight, but you knew she wouldn’t be able to win. No, the three of you were going to have hands stained with the dark crimson of her blood. Billy suddenly made a noise with his throat, signaling for Stu to stop. Up until now, you were observing. But Billy wanted you to partake.

You walked up to Sidney, smiling wickedly under the mask. You started by slicing up her arm, drawing blood. She was still screaming, her movements still as sharp as ever as you continued torturing the girl.

The parts of you that you couldn’t control, the animalistic and psychopathic parts, were now coming full circle. The voice of anger that drove you to kill was back, and calling for the absolute death of Sidney Prescott, and you were going to listen to it with every fiber of your being. Your cuts got deeper. Stu and Billy watched as you increasingly got closer to killing Sidney, your slashes becoming more messy and difficult to get out of her body. Her left arm was barely on her body anymore, and her movements were weaker and weaker as she bled out.

“I think now’s the time,” Billy said, and Sidney’s face moved up, weakly. You stopped slashing. “Sidney Prescott, how are you this evening?”

“She looks dead tired,” Stu giggled. Sidney didn’t say anything, her eyes wide and her mind racing.

“Well, I guess it’s time to reveal ourselves. Sidney, meet Stuart, Stuart, meet Sidney,” On cue, Stu removed his mask, causing Sidney to start to struggle more.

“The tits of the operation, Y/N,” Billy announced, and you de-masked, Sidney’s eyes wider than before, her movements more and more desperate.

“And the mastermind and our brilliant leader, William Loomis,” You watched as Billy unmasked, the pure horror on Sidney’s face beautiful as he made the final, killing blow—slicing her neck all the way, butchering her head from the rest of her body. Billy quickly cut through the tape, his eyes and aura filled with something that was different from anything you’ve ever seen with him.

“We’re going to do all sorts of shit to her body,” Billy gloated, and he and Stu started to undress Sidney, tearing her clothing off with a knife. Her lack of head made you cringe, but you didn’t say anything, not when you were so close to doing what Billy was dreaming of two years ago.

Billy started by cutting out her eyes, handing them to Stu. He went to hide them, and Billy then cut off her ears, nose, and her tongue. He took time to rip her teeth out, before Stu scattered them along the floor of the stairs, leading to Sidney’s bedroom. Her fingers were cut off, just like Tatum’s, and Billy gave them to you to dispose of. You decided to hide them in cabinets and nooks and crannies, all ten of them waiting like a surprise on Christmas day. Billy began to cut off pieces of Sidney’s arms, handing them off to Stu and you, allowing you two to find places to put them.

Sid’s legs were kept to her torso, and Billy hauled the remaining bit of Sid’s body to her bedroom, where he propped her up against the window, admiring his handiwork. Stu came up next to him, and you followed, noticing how close the boys were. You put your arms around both of them, kissing them on the cheek. They both blushed; Billy froze and Stu stuck his tongue out, and kissed you on the lips.

“Someone’s a horn dog tonight,” He taunted, and Billy eyed the two of you.

“Get in the car. I think we’ll have some more fun tonight.”

You listened to him.

•❃°•°❀°•°❃•

You arrived at Stu's house, which was empty as ever. Billy quickly ushered the two of you in Stu’s bedroom, where he instructed you to strip. The glint in Billy and Stu’s eyes let you know this was going to be a special kind of night.

You did as you were told, slipping the robes off your body, followed by your tank top and your long black pants. Your red bra and panties were on full display, and you could see Stu lick his lips in anticipation.

Without warning, both Billy and Stu crept towards you, and grabbed you before throwing you on the bed. Billy grabbed part of the cloak, cutting a strip of it off. Tying it around your head, blindfolding you. You felt the hands of one of them start to touch your body, tracing circles around your stomach and down to the lower part of your abdomen. Another one had a knife to your throat.

“Is this okay?” The knife was tapped against your skin, and you nodded. “Good girl.” The praise made you blush, and you realized you were wet.

You were kissed, roughly. Hands were all over your body, exploring. The knife was traced along your body, your senses alert and aware of the movement of the blade. Despite not being able to see, you had a hunch Stu was the one holding the knife. You felt your panties being tugged off, and you held your breath as you felt the breath of one of the boys on yourself. A lick. You moaned, your mouth parting and a finger being slipped in.

“Suck,” Billy companded. Stu was on your pussy, licking and sucking and biting your clit, Billy held your hands above your head with his other hand, forcing you to not touch anyone. Your thighs tightened around Stu’s head, his muffled groans making your stomach twist in pleasure. Billy started to kiss you, touching your breasts as Stu kept eating you out. The two of them were pleasuring your body in ways you couldn’t even fathom, and you very nearly whined when Stu stopped eating you out.

“I’m going to fuck you like an animal,” Stu growled out, and you could hear Billy laugh darkly. Without warning, Stu slipped his dick in your pussy, and you cried out from the intrusion. He started to roughly thrust into you, not giving you any time to adjust to his size as he continued to pound into you, enjoying the tears that were sliding down your cheeks.

Without warning, you felt something touch your lips. You parted your mouth, only for the tip of Billy’s dick to be shoved in. Your eyes watered, but you tried your best. The praise that both of them were giving you made you feel incredible.

“Such a good girl, taking my dick,” Stu whispered softly, and you moaned around Billy’s cock.

“You’re a good whore,” Billy had his hands in your hair, controlling the rhythm you were sucking him off at. It was a strange angle, and you could imagine the image of Billy kneeling on top of you, his dick in your mouth and his ass in Stu’s face.

“You’re so fucking hot like this, goddamn,” Stu’s rhythm was sporattic, and you wondered briefly if that wasn’t him messing with you, but his genuine rhythm. Billy’s was quick-paced, you nearly choking on his dick a few times. “I just want to tie you up and fuck you like a ragdoll.”

“Have our way with you, just like a whore,” Billy added, his dick going farther into your throat. “Using you, and you’d enjoy it. Every second. Isn’t that right?” You made a noise around Billy’s cock, trying to speak, but the words died in your throat as Billy kept thrusting into you, his balls on your chin. You were taking all of him, your nose buried in his neatly trimmed pubic hair. His hands were rough on your hair, pulling it, making your eyes prick with tears as you enjoyed every second of it.

Stu’s hand made it down to your pussy again, causing you to nearly gasp. He started to play with your clit, causing your hips to buck and a moan around Billy’s dick. Stu laughed to himself as he continued pleasuring you, slipping his dick in and out in a rhythm that not even Beethoven could replicate.

“Good God, I’m going to come, and you’re going to drink it, aren’t you?” Billy’s tone of voice was deep and low, his hands buried in your hair as he started to roughly thrust into your mouth, using you for every drop of his pleasure.

“I’m going to come and you’re going to swallow, you’re going to tell me how good it is and how you’re a fucking slut for me, and I’m going to tell you how beautiful you are.” Stu kept thrusting into you, his pace more and more uncontrollable as he moaned and groaned every time he pulled out and went back in, your pussy clenching around him in the most delightful way. He was less vocal than Billy was, but his moaning made you more wet than anything.

Your thoughts were ripped from you as Billy tugged on your hair roughly, his cum starting to leak down your throat and out of your mouth as you struggled to swallow all of it, Billy’s tip hitting the back of your throat.

Right after, Stu came, flooding your pussy with his own seed, his thrust deeper and hitting your sweet spot, to where you came, your back arching, the hands of both of them touching every inch of you, Stu’s lips finding your breasts and leaving bite marks. Billy kept thrusting into your mouth, as Stu kept pounding into your pussy, making sure that you were finished with your orgasm before they pulled out.

Your vision was restored when Billy pulled your blindfold off, revealing both of them, their eyes full of desire and their heads full of them trying to process what happened. You laid there, your body still on full display, your hands still above your head, exactly where Billy left them. He was the first to speak.

“You’re such a good girl,” His hand graced your cheek, and he kissed it softly, his lips tickling you slightly. “You didn’t complain, and you swallowed every drop.”

“You felt so good on my cock,” Stu chimed in, and you nodded, your head filled with carnal desire for the two of them again. You wanted to do so much to them, and yet, you wondered if they’d do the same to you. If they wanted you the same way you wanted them.

“You should clean yourself up,” Billy said. “Do you need Stu and I to help you?” At the offer, you nodded, and Billy and Stu hoisted you up, carrying you to Stu’s bathroom. They sat you on the bathroom rug, as Stu started to run the water.

“Do you want bubbles?” He asked, and you nodded. He went into a cabinet and pulled out a container of bubble bath.

“Are you alright? We went kind of rough,” Billy’s eyes were still filled with lust, but you saw part of him that was worried.

“I’m okay,” Your voice was raspy, and you realized your throat was kind of sore. Billy went up for a second, and returned with a glass of water.

“Drink,” He said, and you listened. Stu shut the water off once there was enough, and the two of them carefully lifted you to the tub, and gently lowered you. You practically melted in the bubbles and warm water, your muscles relaxing. You sighed, content.

They weren’t finished with you quite yet. Stu began to wash your body with a washcloth, making sure to gently rub you with soap. Billy took to your hair, brushing it out before dipping a glass in water, wetting it. He began to massage your scalp with shampoo, and your eyes fluttered shut at the pampering the two were giving you.

They were gentle as they finished bathing you, and they lifted you out of the tub, drying you off with a delightfully soft towel. Carrying you back to Stu’s room, they gently placed you under the covers of Stu’s bed, whispering praise along the way.

“Where are you two going?” You asked meekly.

“We’re going to get some food, we’ll be back,” Billy said, and you nodded sleepily. You felt their eyes on you as you fell asleep, your head full of carnage and your body warm and clean. You were happy as you fell asleep, your mind peaceful and silent.

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[groovetrill]

Now I like dollars, I like diamonds, I like stunting, I like shining

I like million dollar deals, where's my pen? Bitch I'm signin'

I like those Balenciagas, the ones that look like socks

I like going to the jeweler, I put rocks all in my watch

I like texts from my exes when they want a second chance

I like proving niggas wrong, I do what they say I can't

They call me Cardi Bardi, banging body

Spicy mami, hot tamale

Hotter than a Somali, fur coat, Ferrari

Hop out the stu', jump in the coupe (the coupe)

Big Dipper on top of the roof

Flexing on bitches as hard as I can

Eating halal, driving the Lam'

Told that bitch I'm sorry though

'Bout my coins like Mario (Mario)

Yeah they call me Cardi B, I run this shit like cardio

Woo, facts

Diamond district in the chain, chain (I said I like it like that)

Certified, you know I'm gang, gang, gang, gang (I said I like it like)

Drop the top and blow the brains (I said I like it like that)

Oh he's so handsome, what's his name? (I said I like it)

Oh I need the dollars, cha-ching (I said I like it like that)

Beat it up like piñatas (I said I like it like–)

Tell the driver, close the curtains (I said I like it like that)

Bad bitch make you nervous (I said I like it)

Cardi B

[gcmblingdice]

Marty Stus can fit any Mary Sue Tropes, but some are more common with Marty Stus than Mary Sues and vice-versa. Some of the most common types of Marty Stus are:

Manly Stu: Probably the most common Marty Stu and the most likely to have all or most of the Common Marty Stu Traits above. This character has reached awe-inspiring levels of manliness through pure authorial favoritism. Nine times out of ten, he is written by a male author, with variable levels of Wish Fulfillment tossed in. You won't see him dwell often on romance, if ever, since Real Men Hate Affection. Also usually a God Mode Stu.

Alt. names: Marty Stu on Steroids, Manly Man Marty Stu, Macho Man Stu

Romantic Stu: This sort of Marty Stu is much "tamer" than the Macho Stu, and is much more interested in his Love Interest. In fact, he's more intuitive to the needs of his beloved than most men in Real Life would ever be. He might be a bad boy, or Troubled, but Cute, or this may be just an Informed Attribute. Either way, he's everything a girl would dream of in a guy. He's often written by a female or written to get females interested in the story.

Alt. names: Lovesick Stu, Romance Stu, Love Sickening Stu, Romeo Stu

Uke Stu: Taking Romantic Stu a step further, there's the Uke Stu. He's the polar opposite of Macho Stu and is more than just In Touch with His Feminine Side. As the name implies, he's likely a character possessing the traits typically associated with the 'receiver' in Boys' Love and Yaoi. If he's not gay, he's probably less aggressive and masculine than his female Love Interest.

Alt: Feminine Stu

Lemon Stu: He can seduce and sleep with literally anyone he wants and Really Gets Around. This guy has the sex life most guys can only dream of. For he is The Casanova taken Up to Eleven. See the main page for more details.

Alt. names: Casanova Stu, The Genji

Lemon Stu Anti-Stu: Exactly What It Says on the Tin, Lemon Stu meets Anti-Sue. This type of Marty Stu is unattractive, rude, and often meant to be a stand-in for the male audience. Yet somehow, he manages to score with beautiful women, often resulting in Kavorka Man and Ugly Guy, Hot Wife.

Alt. names: Lemon Stu Loser, Anti Stu Casanova, Kavorka Stu

Geeky Stu: Some males realize that they will never physically meet the qualifications for your typical action hero, even though they may enjoy their adventures. Qualifications that include rugged good looks, strength, stamina, athletic ability, and a strong constitution as well as being charismatic and having excellent social and leadership skills. They prefer a protagonist that they could see themselves as. The Geeky Stu is average looking, cerebral, quirky, and probably of a scientific bent, even if he doesn't hold a degree. His strength is in his gray matter, not his myosin. He kicks ass using wit and intellect. He disarms foes with clever rhetoric and kills the ladies with dorky charm. His sidekick might be an action ready type ready to supply the brawn, but will always be taking orders from Geeky Stu, the brains of the operation. Geeky Stu considers himself an intellectual elite in a world of fools. And he is always ready to put the powers that be in their place, whether they be military martinets or bureaucrats. He will always win over "The Girl" from the Alpha Male jock because Geeks Are Sexy. Hard Science Fiction has quite a number of these. May overlap with Einstein Sue.

Alt. Names: Nerd Stu, Intellectual Stu

Purity Stu: This is the Marty Stu whose main character flaw is... His lack of flaws, which irritates the audience to no end. He is an All-Loving Hero or something similar, and may see it as his personal mission in life to be The Caretaker to everyone, whether they want it or not. He will radiate Incorruptible Pure Pureness, and this aura of perfection will often create a weird inversion of Straw Loser, as this character is just so wonderful that he makes everyone else look bad. He will either be a Technical Pacifist or an Actual Pacifist, unless of course, he actually has to fight, in which case he will fight in the most heroic way, with no one being killed. If (and this is a big if) he has any flaws, they will be so tiny that you'll need a magnifying glass to see them, or they will be cosmetic flaws that don't really affect him or the story. And those flaws will almost exclusively be "good guy flaws." He will often have a traumatic past, and may have been a bad guy then, but now he's simply good. In those cases, he's The Atoner. If he's The Atoner he may be on the receiving end of Reformed, but Rejected. On the other hand, anyone who crosses him will be Easily Forgiven, not because of an agenda but out of the goodness of his heart. He's nice to everyone, even his enemies. In some cases, he may even save the life of one of his foes, or of someone close to them, which most will see as kind but the more cynical will interpret as Passive-Aggressive Kombat. If he dies, he may ascend to Heaven/be sainted/have everyone, even his enemies mourn him/ ect. He will probably help others in a way that may come off as sweet to most, but as Condescending Compassion to the more cynical. Everyone will love him, and those who don't will be vilified. In fantasy, he may very well be The Chosen One. He may very well be able to do amazing things simply through his goodness. If a young boy, he may be a male version of The Pollyanna. He will probably love his country. He will always, always, always be willing to rescue people, even if they don't want it. Is nearly always a Good Samaritan, but very rarely runs into No Good Deed Goes Unpunished. If a superhero, he will be The Cape Up to Eleven. He will often be an impossibly good judge of character, and always do the right thing. Sometimes this happens when Historical Hero Upgrade is taken Up to Eleven.

Alt. Names: Perfect Hero Syndrome, Mr. Good Guy, Messianic Stu (in works where he takes on Christ-like qualities, not that uncommon,) Buddha-Like Stu (in works where he takes on Buddha-like qualities, also not that uncommon,) The Galahad (in works featuring chivary as in Arthurian legend).

Black Hole Stu: His gravity is so great, he draws all the attention and causes other characters (and, often, reality itself) to bend and contort in order to accommodate him and elevate him above all other characters. Characters don't act naturally around him - guys wish to emulate him and all the girls flock to him regardless of circumstances. They serve as plot enablers for him to display his powers or abilities, with dialogue that only acts as set-ups for his response. He dominates every scene he is in, with most scenes without him serving only to give the characters a chance to "talk freely" about him - this usually translates to unambiguous praise and exposition about how great he is. Most people don't oppose him and anybody who does will either realize their fault in doing so or just prove easy to overcome. Often a combination of the above Stu archetypes.

Informed Anti-Stu: This Stu is disadvantaged by society, magic, technology or any other factor owning to certain attributes that make him weak and disadvantaged...except none of those weaknesses ever come into play, while any or all of the "positive" elements of the above Stu archetypes continue to apply in the context of the story.

[class1akids]

BNHA 315 - Thoughts

Fuck it, I’ll do it today, because then I want to forget that this train wreck exists and never ever see this chapter again. 

So let’s get this straight:

1. Our jaded ideological waifu comes up with the brilliant plan to distract Deku by aiming at Overhaul because hero education requires heroes to save everyone. 

2. Then when Deku proceeds to do just that and saves Overhaul from the bullet that she didn’t actually even aim at him, she got so overwhelmed by the amazing display of pure heroics, that she’s ready to switch to the light side immediately. OK. LOL, that sucks.

3. Deku somehow out-speeds a bullet, knocks down Overhaul, manages to calculate the trajectory of the bullet with the eyes located on the back of his head to know they would have missed anyway, swings around a building with a quirk he only ever used the second time with perfect accuracy, comes up with a new combo that is basically a cheat-code to 100% OFA and 100% pseudo OFA-smashes the rifle and somehow doesn’t pulverize Lady Nagant’s entire arm or even puts a scratch on her. Wow. Thy name is Midoriya Gary Stu Izuku.

(Being OP is not the problem - but this level of ridiculousness is. OFA is just asspull after asspull with no actual quirk mechanics / limits to conquer. It is another level of absolutely dumb).

4. Like, what the fuck was Lady Nagant’s rifle made out? Vibranium? Why the hell would he need 100% OFA to destroy it? But if he uses that level of power - how about it causes some actual fucking damage???

5. Lady Nagant has been Setsuna’d bad. Like super bad. Lots of hype, lots of body-shots, zero actual smart play. But never mind, because if she wanted to catch Deku, she would have made her first shot count, like any sniper worth their money would. But she didn’t actually want to do it. Because she was secretly good. So idk what the last chapter of shooting was for? Like something to do while she tells her story through the microphone bullets? 

6. 3rd has now my vote for most worthless vestige. First, he stares at the wall for no reason. Then he turns around for no reason. And now his only purpose is to hype Deku and tell us that the consequence from last chapter (that did jack shit) is hereby nullified if only two parallel processes are at play.  Also, his quirk sucks because this means Deku has now access to 100% OFA if he does ten squats or whatever. Talk about more plot convenience.

7. Deku breaks Nagant’s gun, but then decides to invite her to join his fight. Gets back the Disney character light in his eyes. Makes sense. Everyone would get shiny-eye boner for saving the waifu. She’s so trustworthy. Like she’s never ever killed or betrayed anyone. Perfect moral compass. Also, she has no gun so she’s pretty useless, but whatever. Maybe it regrows. Maybe she can carry Deku’s water bottle and be part of Deku’s cripple-squad. God forbid he walks around with someone not missing a limb, a lung, a quirk, because then they may look competent and then Deku would be less hype.

Deku is self-appointed god now who gets to decide who gets pardon. Hail the new Ruler of Japan who can by-pass fair process and decide for victims’ families he knows nothing about that their killer can just walk free. Because apparently she’s still a true hero, because she didn’t try to injure Deku on first shot, only on second. Also, because after killing many people she got very tired. 

Also, fuck you Deku, trying to woo the waifu when you turned your back on your friends. Because it’s not like you can trust them with your life, is it? It’s not like any of them would die for you? Or proven their worth? You just get to decide for everyone what’s best like the benevolent new fucking dictator you are becoming. Sorry for the rant. I really really can’t deal with Deku’s Jesus complex. I’m allergic to MCs with martyr boners.

8. Why does she start to fall? Doesn’t she have air walk? Can we get any cornier than that smile and “you are a true...”? (OMG, I really hope HK has a better no jutsu for the main 3 villains than this shit. If this is the level of nonsense to come in the Shouto - Dabi agni kai, I’ll be so disappointed).

9. OK, so Nagant goes boom. Where does the bomb come from? Was it attached to Air Step? How does it sense betrayal? Can AFO see through Deku’s eyes and remote trigger it? Or through Nagant’s eyes? Does he have the Killer Bee quirk from Vigilante minus the bees? Certainly feels like AFO is experiencing the show live... Maybe he has a telepathic connection to whomever he gave a quirk to. 

10. Oh, Hawks. It was so nice to see your tiny little wings. Glad you finally caught up. Also, sorry to say that your trademark speed is so yesterday, because Deku is fastest now. Still, those little baby chick wings flapping made me happy.  Not that Deku didn’t have Black Whip to catch Nagant with if he so decides, so narratively having Hawks there is probably so that she can say something to him too. 

11. Overhaul seems truly repentant and is willing to make whatever deal he needs to to see his boss. I almost felt sorry for him, but then I remembered what he did to Eri. So still fuck you, Chisaki. So yeah, I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s gonna step on Nagant to save her. Unless he goes boom too. 

Not that I give a shit. This chapter was legit the worst I’ve read in this manga I think. 

[durotoswrites]

For the character breakdown, I'd love to see what you have to say about Mary! :)

Ah, time for the long-awaited response for Mary! I know a few of you were looking forward to this one! I'd love to hear your thoughts on her as well! @julikoloveszestiria @redtutel I'll also include any thoughts on HM64 Maria as well!

How I feel about this character

As a fellow writer, I love that there's a character who writes for fun. Her moments of writer's block and hyper focusing while writing are totally relatable.

When I first started playing More Friends of Mineral Town, I didn't have much of an opinion on Mary because I wasn't able to woo her. I had triggered her first rival event with Gray and thought it was really cute, but I never thought to go to the library to befriend her – I rarely went in that corner of town. But after I got my character married, I spent more time befriending the villagers. I really liked Mary's dialogue. Her support of the main character's marriage is so sweet and genuine.

As I spent more time befriending Mary, I started talking more to Anna and Basil as well. Their family has some very interesting dynamics, and they're really fun to explore as characters!

All the people I ship romantically with this character

I really miss the rival system in the newer systems, but it does make the ideas for writing/shipping a lot more open. I've seen some really cute characters paired together I never thought of.

Maria/Mary x Harris – I think these two are so sweet together. Harris is such a kindhearted and shy person in HM64, and I really loved the event with Maria where he tells Maria that she doesn't need to buy that shady salesman's products to be beautiful – she already is. Him standing up for her when he is shy himself is so precious to me, and knowing that Maria has a history of having trouble saying no to the salesman's offers (she ends up being talked into buying some watermelons in another event) just makes this all the more sweeter. Yeah, it's a little cliché, but it's adorable and I like it. I think their personalities would mesh well together in Mineral Town as well!

Mary x Gray – I really feel like Mary would've been so great with Harris, but I also enjoy her with Gray. She is the gentle nudge Gray needs to be kinder to himself. Her gentle encouragement is something that Gray has needed so desperately. Their post marriage event is really sweet, too – Gray's worries about Mary overworking herself and being the voice of reason when she is burning herself out is a nice way to round out their relationship. I also really love him being so encouraging of her writing – it's a sweet detail, and she knows that he goes through a lot of books (plus a bit of a blunt personality) so she knows that her story is in good hands that will give her honest feedback. Their chemistry is just so sweet, and they're probably my favorite canon couple in FoMT.

Mary x Farmer – I like Mary's pensiveness and the events with her are pretty dang cute. Choosing to share a favorite book with the player is so dang sweet, and so intimate in a way. Everyone has their own unique experience while reading a story, and her recommending one that brought her to tears was really precious.

Mary x Elli – A fun rare pair. I can already see the two of them reading books together by the fireplace. I think Mary would be great with Stu, too, teaching him about the bugs he catches, and Stu would have someone he could show off his bugs to. Mary sharing her knowledge on insects might actually help Elli overcome her dislike for them, too. I could also see both of them having an interest in herbal remedies and teas. They both have such sweet personalities, too. <3

Mary x Cliff – As I mentioned in my Cliff ask, I think these two could have really good chemistry. Mary's gentleness could help Cliff out of his shell, and I think once he got comfortable, he would have some interesting stories to share with Mary. Maybe they could even write a book together about his travels! I could see them being really encouraging with one another, and I think it's a sweet pair.

My non-romantic OTP for this character:

Mary/Elli – They're great as lovers, they're great as friends. They're just great.

Mary/Doctor – I was just thinking on this one and I could imagine Mary helping the Doc with finding the right resource materials he needs for his studies. I could imagine them bumping into each other sometimes when Mary's family takes their trips up to Mother's Hill. And since I headcanon Mary and Elli being close with one another, I could see him being added to her friend group.

Mary/Gotz – Again, I could see these two bumping into the mountains, and perhaps Mary's treks with her family remind Gotz of his own family. I feel like he'd look after her protectively.

Mary/Thomas – I still see Harris and Mary as close as well, and, again, Thomas would be included in there. I can imagine their families having dinner together regularly.

Mary/Stu, May, and Carter – I mentioned the common interest of insects above, and I think she'd be great with helping encourage his curiosity and eagerness to learn. May could very easily be lumped into this as they pick wildflowers together and look at ladybugs, butterflies, and frogs. I imagine Mary coming to pick up Stu from the church on occasion and since Mary plays the organ in the music festival, it's only logical she has to go over there to practice at times. I feel like Mary and Carter would have a polite, but not very close friendship with one another.

My unpopular opinion about this character

I can totally imagine Mary choosing to live a happily single life even if other romancable people were available. She's a very well-rounded person who has goals in life and a job at a place she enjoys. Her relationship with her parents isn't perfect, but I could easily imagine her friends recommending her to take her book to a publisher and gaining more confident in herself and ultimately deciding to convert the top floor of the library into a cozy apartment and running the library while writing books – living the dream! <3

I do feel like both of Mary's parents are toxic/neglectful to her in one way or another. During the Goddess Festival in HM for Girl, Anna states that she wants Maria to have a boyfriend if you have Gray as your date. Mary states she can't see well without her glasses. That whole situation makes me uncomfortable – Anna's too focused on what she thinks a young woman should want and do, and Mary is too timid to speak up for herself. Basil seems to be so absorbed in his work that he doesn't make much time for his family. In HM for Girl, he even says some really cutting things about Mary that are just heartbreaking - they don't seem to really know that she's putting so much energy into her novel. I really get the impression that both parents just want Mary to follow their own footsteps and neither of them try to relate to her.

In the same vein, I absolutely HATE that Mary/Marie/Maria removes her glasses for her wedding. I am so tired of characters removing their glasses for formal wear. You could argue that she put in contacts, but they live in a pretty rural area, and that's not really the main point. Glasses are very common, and they don't make someone unattractive.

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon.

I wish that the player character was able to read her novel. Well, I guess you can in BTN/HM for Girl, but I was thinking of the one in FoMT that she lets Gray read.

I guess it's also pretty obvious I wish that Mary wore her glasses during formal events as well. It would be cute if they wore pajamas at home, and I could see her without glasses when she's in bed. That would be a cute touch to the games.

But for a more serious thing that I wish had happened for Mary is that her events slowly let her gain some independence from her parents, Anna in particular. It would be interesting if the characters changed their dialogue for the festivals if they had higher friendship/heart levels, and the more you befriended Mary, the more confident she became. <3

Thank you so much for the ask! I was happy to see that Mary was a popular character to ask about. I'd love to hear your thoughts on her, too! ;)

[sp00kyjellybeans]

Ghostface is typing... [Stu Macher x Reader]

What happens when you text a killer?

First real chapter woooooo- Hope you all enjoy

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2,059

part one//iMessage part two//iMessage part three//iMessage Group Chat part four//iMessage Group Chat part five//Movie Night

In hindsight, you didn’t think through the possibilities of tonight. The awkwardness that has ensued was beyond your comprehension when you agreed to be picked up in the first place. You figured that since you’d be spending time with some of the most popular people at Woodsboro High it’d be fine. No awkwardness. Just some movies and pizza... right?

Wrong. 

Currently, you sat in the back of Stu Macher’s car. Stu picked you up no earlier than 6:55pm in his Mercedes-Benz, which subtly reminded you that you were hanging out with one of the richest boys in school on top of his popularity.

Tatum sat in the front seat alongside Stu with their hands intertwined, yet the blonde had her body facing away from him completely. Her head rested comfortably on her manicured hands, staring out the tinted window after greeting you. 

The drive seemed to last longer than it actually was. The seven minutes it took to arrive at Sidney Prescott’s place felt like seventy minutes. It didn’t dawn on you until Stu pulled into the driveway that you were at Sidney Prescott’s house.

Although knowing each other since kindergarten, you had only seen her house at fleeting moments. The most recent time was when her mother passed. As a spastic attempt to leave town, your parents were eager to leave due to the murder, you passed by the beautiful white house that had turned into a crime scene.

“Woo!” Stu’s voice knocked you back to reality, shutting the car door with a slam. “It’s movie night, babes! BILLY! Where ya at?” Stu bellowed out, cupping his hands around his mouth. 

You walked alongside Tatum up to the porch, her eyes practically rolling into the back of her head. 

“You’ll have to excuse him. He’s an idiot,” she sighed, ringing the doorbell. 

“Randy’s not here. Damnit! I wanted some ‘za,” Stu whipped his head around, unable to find Randy’s car. “It’s past seven! That dork is always late.”

“Just give him a minute,” Tatum rolled her eyes once more. “Sid and I will make some popcorn in the meantime. Just chill.”

“Hey guys!” The door opened to reveal a smiling Sidney. “(Y/n)! So glad you could make it!” Sidney leapt forward and threw her arms around you in an embrace. 

“I’m glad to be here! Thanks for having me,” You smiled.

“What? No special greeting for me?” Stu whined and Tatum swatted his shoulder. “Ow- The hell?” 

“Doofus.”

“Come on in!” Sidney grabbed your hand and led the three of you into the living room.

As expected, the inside of her house looked nothing like the crime scene you had envisioned. It was decorated with normal, suburban house décor but most of the lights were out. The only light source coming from the hallway and kitchen bulbs. In the living room sat Billy, who was flipping through various Netflix movies under the horror tag.

“Billy, this is (Y/n)!” Sidney stood to the side and presented you like a new toy. 

“Sup,” Billy barely acknowledged you, still flipping through the movies.

You offered a small wave and allowed Sidney to lead you to the couch. You sat on the end opposite to Billy, pulling your legs to form a criss cross position on the cushion, with your shoes off of course. 

Sidney positioned herself next to her boyfriend and Tatum did the same, with her on your right, leaving no vacancy for Randy who was still late.

“I swear to god you better not put on some cheesy horror movie-” Tatum groaned. 

Stu sent puppy eyes her way almost instantly, “Babe come on!”

“No! We watch one every movie night. Sid hates that shit, too ya know,” Tatum crossed her arms stubbornly.

“Is that true?” Stu turned to face her and she nodded her head. “You lie. You always watch them with Billy.”

“Because he makes me?”

“I’m sure (Y/n) would wanna watch! Don’t you, (Y/n)? Then Randy is always up for it so we win!” Stu pumped his fists up in the air. 

Tatum nudged his side, “She didn’t even say that she likes horror movies, dipshit. Give her a chance to speak.”

The group of four peered at you with curious eyes, waiting for your verdict. You chuckled nervously but went with the truth.

“I actually kind of like them...?” You winced, afraid of how the girls would react. It was a stale reaction.

“Wow. That’s unexpected,” Sidney raised her eyebrows. “Horror movie it is then.” 

You glanced at Stu, who’s expectant expression shifted to pure joy, “HELL YEAH!” The boy stuck out his tongue and held his hand out for a high five, which Billy promptly ignored, “Come on! Don’t leave me hanging!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tatum muttered, sending a pleading signal at Sidney. Neither of the boys noticed this.

Sidney understood Tatum’s expression instantly and pushed herself off of the couch. She walked towards a door, looking at Tatum expectantly, “Tate, come make popcorn with me?”

They left the room, whispering ensued as soon as they entered the kitchen and you were left with Billy and Stu. Once he had lost sight of the two of them, Stu leapt across the couch, taking up the space that Tatum occupied.

“I didn’t know you watched horror movies,” He grinned and leaned on the headboard of the couch. He reminded you of a puppy. “That makes you like a thousand times more interesting.”

You scoffed playfully, “You mean I was boring before?” You put a hand to your chest. “And I thought we had meaningful conversations.”

Stu’s face dropped, “Wait that’s not what I meant-”

“I’m hurt, Stu,” The disappointment was clear in your tone, especially when you turned away from him with your arms folded.

“(Y/n) I didn’t mean that-”

“I’m kidding, Stu!” Unable to contain your laughter you turned back at the blonde. Realizing that you were just messing with him, he joined your giggles, laughing a lot louder than necessary. 

On the other end of the couch, Billy turned his head from the TV to stare at you and his friend. He was annoyed with how obnoxiously obvious he was. Neither of you noticed but his prolonged stare was interrupted when a ding sounded from his phone.

Everyone else in the room had their phone buzz in response too, indicating someone messaged the group chat.

“Oh, Randy said he’s here. Should I let him in?” You lifted your phone to your face.

“I got it!” Sidney called from the kitchen and darted into the foyer.

Stu didn’t bother looking at his phone and instead stared at your screen, a grin wide on his face.

“What?” You said, confused at his smirk. “What’s that look for?”

“Why in the hell is Randy put as Randy Geeks in your phone?” Stu snatched the device from your hand and stood up tall on the couch, looming above you. Every second that passed his grin had grown wider.

Billy covered his mouth with his hand, looking between you, Stu and the newly arrived Randy.

“My name is what?” Randy asked, exasperated. 

While Randy stared at you both, Stu stood upright on the couch to prevent you from grabbing the device. You were both too distracted to notice Randy in the room until he spoke. 

“Oh my god!” Your expression shifted from defeated to horrified to guilty all in a matter of seconds. “I didn’t mean anything by it- I just tried putting your full name and it autocorrected from Meeks to Geeks! I thought it was funny!”

“It is funny,” Tatum said. She had a bowl of popcorn in her hands, shoveling the pieces into her mouth. Her amused expression moved onto Randy. “Hey, Geeks.”

“Watch it,” He pointed at Tatum. “Never insult the guy with the pizza.”

“WHY IS MY NAME STILL GRU IN YOUR PHONE?” Stu exploded, his mouth agape. “I’M CHANGING IT!”

How did you even unlock it? What the hell, Stu?” You jumped up and tried to grab the phone back from this excessively tall boy.

The disadvantage here was, in comparison, you were small next to Stu. His long arms extended past your limit of reach. In a desperate attempt to take your phone back, you started to pound on his back. Maybe he would drop the phone or fall over. But it was no use. The lanky boy jumped from the couch and ran out of the room.

“WH-”

“Great,” Tatum rolled her eyes. “We’re babysitting.”

You groaned and landed onto the couch cushion, far too lazy to chase after the boy. Moments after he ran off you heard a door slam and lock, so there was nothing to be done.

“Stu!” Billy barked five minutes later. “Come get your pizza!”

“No way!” Stu’s muffled voice could be heard from the kitchen. “The stuff on (Y/n)’s phone is juicy. I’ll be in here for hours!”

“More for us...” Randy muttered.

“Sidney, can you help me out?” You whined. Your appetite vanished the moment Stu spoke, the phone was your top priority. Nosy Bastard!

“There’s a key in that drawer over there,” Sidney pointed. “Skeleton Key, it’s pretty obvious. The bathroom at the end of the hallway”

You gave thanks and snuck down the hallway, trying to make the quietest footsteps possible. Once you reached the doorway you could hear Stu snickering behind the thin wood. Sticking the key in the keyhole you turned it slowly...

“AHA” You snatched the phone from the boy and he let out a scream of terror. Behind you there came an eruption of laughter from four people.

“HAHA OH MY GOD,” Randy roared, his phone held in his hand. He had filmed the entire interaction. “That’s going on the private. (Y/n) what’s your snap you NEED to see the look on his face!”

You slapped a hand over your mouth upon realization of what had happened. Your eyes darted to Stu, who was red as a tomato. 

“Whatever, Geeks.”

The rest of the night was more fun than you could imagine. No more awkwardness. You wouldn’t tell a soul but it was even more fun than hanging out with your old friends.

The movie everyone agreed on was Happy Death Day. Billy and Stu were annoyed (Stu was already annoyed but for different reasons, obviously) since they wanted to watch a classic, Evil Dead, but the rest of you were eager to watch the horror-comedy. It came down to a vote and majority ruled. Even Randy voted for the film. It didn’t compare to the classics at all, but you didn’t hate it.

As you watched the movie, you interacted frequently with Randy. He had forgiven you for his contact name and you both had more in common than anticipated. For instance, you both loved movies of all genres, though unlike him horror wasn’t your absolute favorite. You were a total sucker for romance of all genres.

Sadly, you didn’t get to visit with the others as much as you wanted. The couples seemed focused on everything but the movie so you and Randy were left to converse. Little did you know, Stu had been keeping tabs on you in the corner of his eye.

The night flew by and it was time for you to go home. You bid your goodbyes and decided to ride home with Randy. You found out that you both lived on the same street, so it was more convenient than having Stu drive around town.

“You sure, (Y/n)?” Stu stuck his hands in his pockets, bouncing on his heels. “I don’t mind giving you a ride.”

You, Randy, Tatum and Stu stood in Sidney’s driveway, discussing who would go with who. Stu was insistent on driving you home for whatever reason but you could tell Tatum wanted the opposite.

“No worries,” You smiled. “I’m sure you’d like to spend more time with your girlfriend anyway.” You winked at the tiny blonde, earning you a grateful smile, and not noticing the frustrated look on Stu’s face.

“Alright... Bye then,” Stu said and strode to his shiny car.

The boy didn’t exit the driveway until Randy’s car left his vision, his jaw clenched the entire time.

“Can we go, Stu?” Tatum whined to her boyfriend.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming.”

“You’re what?”

“Going. I’m going.”

[cup-o-slash-orphaned]

Headcannons For How The Guys Say They Love You

Billy

He tells you things

I don't think he would say 'I love you' very often.

only if he's in a mushy pillow talk mood

The way you'd know he loves you is through trust

Him trusting you enough to tell you how he's feeling.

Like what was so bad about what this person said and why it made him feel that way

So if he tells you stuff, he trusts you. If he trusts you, he loves you

Stu

Other then down right saying it?

Stu's a cuddle bug so affection is the tell tale sign.

Stu's pretty open about how he feels at, like, all times

So other then him saying ya know "Hey (Y/n) guess what? ... I love you!" You'll know by his levels of bodily contact

Is he constantly

Asking for cuddles?

Holding your hand?

Smothering you in kisses?

With an arm around you?

If it's a yes to any of these the he's got feelings for you

Freddy

He won't say it.

He just won't

To show he loves you he'll hardly if not never flirt with any other people.

His eyes will be on you only

Most of the time

He'll even tone down the insults!

Unless you start it

He'll even give the rare, genuine, non sexual, complement

Maybe

Jason

Well he's a mute.... So he can't say it. But! He can show it!

Trust me though if he could he would

The way Jason would show that he cares about you and loves you is to show that he listens

You tell him you like to read. BAM! There's more books around the Cabin

Sometimes you don't need to tell him he just picks up on it.

You could be shivering a bit around the house or rubbing your hands together a bit too often.

Next thing you know he's come home with a sweater and blankets

Bubba

Another Mute. Sorta... You know what I mean.

The ultimate "I love you" You'll get from this big boy is him standing up to his family for you

He loves his family and wants to make them happy

But he also wants to make you happy and keep you safe

So for him to step in when Drayton starts teasing or block the door when Grandpa wants you gone (In the beginning).

It's the biggest "I love you" this man can give

And you better fucking appreciate it or I swear to god I will smite you so hard

Brahms

Now the biggest form of affection this boy can give you is to straight up tell you how he feels

For him to look you in the eyes and say "I love you (Y/n)" is just...

Woo doggy.

He is the sensitive (And cocky as shit) little Heelshire

He is love starved so once the words been used once you better be fucking ready to grow old and die with this one

Michael

The third mute of the day

Well the fact you're not dead should be proof enough.

And if it's not then tough luck?

Michael doesn't really do love. It's not something he's had since he was a kid and we all saw how that went

You seeing him, talking to him, living with him, touching him, (sleeping with him) that's more then enough

The shape could possibly love you but I'm a skeptic and don't trust so you do you.

If he truly did love you he would hold you.

Nothing harsh and sexual.

Just a simple, soft, hug

Disclaimer!

None of these characters or Gifs are mine all rights go to their respective creators.

[dontcallmecarrie]

Are you planing on ever making By Dawns Early Light into a full blown story? ... And is Thanos an issue in this AU? I think you havent mentioned him in it so well, I wondered?

UMM. *looks over what I’ve got in that tag, and winces*

geez this thing’s longer than some of my actual fics, when did that happen?

Here’s the thing, though: this AU’s meant to be a writer’s-block-buster. Which, if the current evidence is anything to go by, has been a resounding success. 

However. 

As of right now it’s just that, a thought-and-snippet-writing exercise, because there’s a lot of things that’d need tweaking before I’d even consider posting it on AO3 [aka my inner perfectionist strikes again]. 

Again, this is mostly just me messing around with a fluffy tumblr-exclusive [for now, anyway] AU because this feels smaller stakes than if I were to round this up and make it into a full-out fic.

Also, in regards to the second part of your ask: not exactly. By Dawn’s Early Light is, at its core, a fairly fluffy self-indulgent AU, which for me is also code for ‘nobody dies if I can help it’ and ‘if the MCU can have a Gary Stu villain then I can do what I want, Deus Ex Machina-levels of fixits included’.

How? Simple. By nerfing the heck out of him, while also unfridging as many other moms as I can, with a side of I-have-yet-to-forgive-the-writers-for-pulling-this-bs-seriously-what-kind-of-writing-was-that. 

Here’s how the entire Thanos situation would go down, in By Dawn’s Early Light (spoilers for a fic I have yet to write):

First, let’s take a step back, shall we? This is, among other things, a timeline-crunch AU. There’s a lot going down in a very compressed time frame [originally just because I wanted Howard to still be around just for Tony to be able to punch him, but now I’m invested in this so time go the full nine yards, buckle up everyone].

So. The entire situation around Maria Stark and Tony and Bucky’s been covered fairly well, but to sum up: when Howard turns out to be an abusive asshole of a husband, his wife smiles at him and promptly turns around and burns both SHIELD and Stark Industries, revealing HYDRA and Obadiah Stane’s double-dealing ahead of schedule [unintentional fixits ftw]. In the chaos, Bucky manages to escape and joins up with Maria and Tony as they go in hiding. 

Ripple effect that didn’t get mentioned: Hank Pym sees this shit going down, realizes that the most famous missing child in the country is about the same age as his daughter, and decides to not aim to be Absentee Father of the Year. He ends up being a tad overprotective, sure, but is way more involved in his kid’s life and Hope Van Dyne grows up with at least one (1) parental figure in her life, so…there’s that. 

Things happen, and the timeline for bringing Janet back gets moved up somehow, right around when the Avengers assemble.

Note to self: adjust part of Scott Lang’s origin story in this? Compare whistleblower laws of that time era, alt. entrance for him could be him somehow helping Tony hide because BDEL!Howard’s the type of petty and vindictive asshole who’d pull some strings if he found out this rando interfered with his search somehow. 

Bonus for giving Scott and Hank something to commiserate about, later on, and would also have Tony and Co. feeling indebted to him [which would result in a lot of shiny prototypes and records being expunged, later on, probably]

…though that might be a bit much. Hmm.

Reason to bring Janet back: I do what I want also I think the MCU fridged moms because otherwise they’d be too powerful 

Ripple effect that didn’t get mentioned, the second: since this is also the AU where moms get unfridged, Frigga’s going to be derailing the plot from her corner of the galaxy.

Also, since I finally watched Ragnarok but was a mythology nerd as a kid and have a passing knowledge of the comics, time to revamp how Hela fits into this universe.

Okay, she’s still murderous and powerful and ruthless. 

Only, turns out there’s a very good reason for it: she was one of Loki’s students [iirc she’s his daughter in the myths, that’s the best I can come up with atm] before Odin saddled her with the thankless duty of being the watchkeeper of Asgard’s enemies and prisoners. As in, Odin just straight-up went ‘hey you look pretty talented, here, I now hold you responsible for this entire goddamn realm of assholes and creeps, if any get out we’re all screwed’. 

Which is something Hela absolutely did not sign up for, but she’s now just about the only thing standing between said realm of undesirables and her home so she stays put […also maybe Odin sealed the only way back? Maybe? Idk].

It didn’t help that in the early days, these ruffians thought they could overpower her and escape to wreak havoc. So she had to kick everyone’s ass six ways to Sunday, until they finally accepted her as the head honcho of this dump and as someone Not To Be Fucked With.

Thus, why Hela’s known as the goddess of death and ruler of Helheim.  

…and it’s also why she accidentally came to Thanos’ attention.

(Because why the hell not, as if her day wasn’t bad enough Odin you owe her big time—)

Thanos, of course, is in love with her carnage and seems to be the kind of guy who doesn’t take no for an answer. Hela just wants to be left the alone but can’t tell him to fuck off because if she did, she’d risk leaving her home open to attack from enemy agents, which is how we get the story behind why Thanos is known as the madman who courted death. 

[Hela: fuck you and the horse you rode in on shoo you bastard and take your stupid flowers with you—]

Thanos was on one of his especially annoying ‘let me woo you with the ashes of this one civilization!’ kicks [Hela: ashes. How romantic. Not. Leave me alone already.] when some of the Dark Elves snuck out and killed Odin. 

Hela…is only pissed she couldn’t have done it with her own two hands. Also slightly embarrassed that the Dark Elves escaped in the first place, and relieved that it was only Odin who’d kicked it because his wife had seemed pretty nice, the one time Hela’d seen the lady before she’d been drop-kicked to this hellhole. 

Also— apparently she now can leave this place? Sayonara, bitches. 

.

Thanos is very displeased when he doesn’t find her standing guard over Helheim when he returns.

Displeased enough to get creative, as far as courting gifts go, and think that if she didn’t like rings or jewelry, well, maybe this Lady Death would appreciate a shiny, fully-assembled Infinity Gauntlet instead.

well…let’s be honest, if it weren’t for his ‘don’t take no for an answer’ thing, you’d have to give the guy props for trying. Nothing says ‘I love you’ more than ‘here have this item of absolute cosmic power’, amirite? [just kidding]

.

Hela now has mixed feelings about Asgard. Before she was crowned Queen of This Dump, she’d been a student of magic, had been used to certain things. There’s quite an element of culture shock to be had, now that she’s back. It’s the first time she’s seen sunlight in thousands of years, and also there’s a lot of systemic changes going on now that some of Odin’s dirty secrets are coming out at last. Turns out she’s not the only one who’d been pressed into duty: some of Loki’s other students[/children in the myths] came back with stories of the same. Fenrir was apparently voluntold to be the guardian of the Reality Stone, Jormungandr had apparently been busy on Midgard […which now had a school of Mystic Arts? Pfft. Overachiever], and the more Hela thought about it the angrier she got.

Especially when it turns out that her teacher had been mocked for suffering a breakdown and was also tortured by the creep who’d been flirting with her for millennia [Everyone: wait what Hela: I am going to KILL THAT BASTARD NEXT TIME I SEE HIM]. 

However, thanks to Frigga being Frigga and having a crazy-high charisma stat, Hela is still mostly willing to play ball with everyone else on Asgard. Despite her not being happy with how ungrateful the general populace acted [oh, magic’s just ‘tricks’? Here, have a fireball TO THE FACE I FOUGHT MONSTERS WITH THESE TRICKS FOR MILLENNIA]. 

So when Thanos shows up again, he gets one-shotted by Hela, who’s very very pissy about her vacation being interrupted.

Because this planet has sunlight and hot chocolate and punk rock and she’s got centuries’ worth of time off and she is damn well going to enjoy it.

.

…aka why Thanos is a bit of a non-entity in this one. Again, fixits are the name of the game for this AU.

[amandabe11man]

a VERY LONG post about Hell on Wheels

YEAH i forgot about this post in my drafts... it’s been like a year since i finished the show now and i feel i’ve barfed everything out into this post (that i can think of), so here it goes (you’ll have to shield your eyes after the spoiler warning if you don’t wanna be spoiled btw. i can’t seem to be able to add a read more-link...) :

SO... i finished watching “hell on wheels” at last, pm half a year since i started. it’s funny because i was under the impression that i’d sOMEHOW be able to binge all five seasons within just one month (reason: i wanted to watch it before my free trial on HBO’s website went out). honestly, that wouldn’t have been possible because it was a LOT more emotionally draining than you’d think at first glance... after being gutpunched three times in a row in season 4, any reasonable human would need a little break.

anyway, it feels-- weird. i’ve never been big on following tv-shows so i haven’t been able to relate to that feeling ppl describe once they’ve finished a show they’ve become so attached to, except NOW i can relate. the show’s not groundbreaking, it’s not perfect, but i’ve had a lot of fun. what a ride it’s been...

looking back, i’d say HOW’s biggest weakness is its tendency to forget or ignore certain plot points. i guess that’s not too weird, with such an arsenal of characters, but still, i find that’s what bugged me the most, if anything bugged me at all. for example--

[SPOILERS for those who might wanna watch it after seeing me go on abt it, idk]:

first off, what REALLY grinds my gears is how ezra dutson’s plotline was handled. it was set up perfectly in the beginning; having him escape from the swede (who promised him that, and i quote: “i’ll find you, ezra! i always do”), the original plan was obviously for ezra and the swede to “reunite” some time in the future so that ezra could tell everyone that the swede killed his parents, thus tying up loose ends and giving some closure to that whole arc. some might say this would’ve been too predictable, but i would rather have that predictable storyline than having it just end unceremoniously like it did, with ezra dying ACCIDENTALLY and off-screen by sidney snow’s hand, simply as a way to further bohannon’s pain and set the stage for ruth’s final arc. this might’ve been fine, if the writers had made it so that ezra actually, y’know, TOLD SOMEONE WHY HE’S AN ORPHAN TO BEGIN WITH. but they didn’t even give the viewer that form of closure, instead just deciding to use him as a plot device for the other characters’ increased angst... bohannon and the others were never even made aware of ezra’s last name, and this is all what bugs the everliving SHIT outta me: the only ones who know, or will EVER know, ezra’s full story is the swede and the viewer, tho after season 4′s end, ezra is never mentioned or acknowledged again-- not by bohannon, and not even by the swede. ezra went from convenient character with a PURPOSE to “nameless” orphan forgotten by history. thanks, writers...

then there’s the whole deal with campbell coming to town to reinforce The Law™, which wasn’t a bad arc, mind you-- campbell and his goons were the most infuriating little shits for a while there-- but the thing is; didn’t campbell LIE to his men about the president giving him the position as governor? i might’ve misunderstood it, but i’m PRETTY sure the president didn’t give him THAT much of an upstanding role, but that campbell just went ahead and took that position anyway? if that was indeed the case, then that’s another plot hole, cause nobody finds out about campbell’s possible trickery to become the governor. nobody rats him out, despite literally no one in “his” town liking him all that much, so they’d have no reason to protect his “secret”. (correct me if i’m wrong on this one though. i might be misremembering things)

then there’s the other pretty infuriating issue of bad guys never getting called out for doing bad shit (unless it’s the swede, who gets all the blame, all the time), for example:

major dick bongbendix(???idk he had a silly name like that) is presented VERY MUCH as a bad guy in the beginning. y’know, just casually beheading natives on all his missions and collecting those heads and taking them to the bar like a fucking nutcase-- those little details. he also seemed to believe in racial biology, so yeah, definitely not a good guy. but by the end, he’s been watered down into some quirky guy who’s ALMOST on friendly terms with the main characters. yeah, uh-- seems everyone (writers included) collectively forgot the whole public display of cut-off heads he had going on...

aaron hatch: started off as a guy too proud for his- or his family’s own good when he shot the police officer, BLAMED IT ON HIS FUCKING SON and then just kinda let bohannon hang the kid even though it was pretty obvious hatch was just shifting the blame away from himself. THEN he reappears with some other mormons and causes a full-on shootout in the town (probably getting some people killed, i don’t remember), TAKES EZRA (also a mormon) HOSTAGE SO THAT BOHANNON WILL COME WITH THEM WILLINGLY and passive aggressively forces bohannon to marry his daughter who bohannon knocked up. somewhere along the line, hatch’s bad side is just thrown to the wind, and bohannon at one point describes him as “a good man”. yeah, ABOUT THAT--

sean and mickey mcginnes: unlike the ones mentioned above, these two started out as seemingly decent dudes, but ended up pm as secondary villains in the end. however, like the ones mentioned above, they hardly face any consequences for whatever crap it was they did in boston, OR the fact that they killed and fucking mutilated/dismembered a man in cold blood (a man who WAS gonna kill them, yes, but HE did it because he thought they had killed his friend, which wasn’t a farfetched idea since mickey DID brag about killing the dude even though he didn’t actually do it). sure, they face their OWN demons as time goes on, they get ostracized, and they start losing faith in each other as well, which ends up with mickey killing sean before the latter can confess(?) his/their crimes. so, while sean was spineless and a creep, at least he thought about finally owning up to what he’d done in the end, whereas mickey lives on to keep doing shady shit, killing people, and getting increasingly more corrupt. he does end up pursuing new goals in the end, but it’s obvious he’s not happy about it anymore. that’s-- really all the comeuppance he ever gets, and the only one who knows about his shady businesses are pm just bohannon, durant and eva (also, personal gripe here-- they seemed to not settle for “just” tarring and feathering the swede and publicly humiliating him, but i’m pretty sure i recall mickey telling bohannon they were thinking about having the swede killed too. keep in mind, this was BEFORE the swede truly lost it and started killing people left and right. apparently, being kind of a douche about taxes is bad enough to warrant being tortured and cast out by the entire community... i’m obviously biased here, but still-- the mcginnes bros’ double standards are amazing to behold)

now that i’ve aired some of that out-- here are some highlights, according to me:

unexpected friendships, like that between eva and durant. i’d say the swede finding that stray dog and fawning all over him qualifies into this category too

durant and campbell fighting in the mud before finally coming to an agreement -- just- durant and his competitors being petty as fuck, honestly. it’s hilarious

bohannon trying to get through to elam by reminiscing about their friendship, especially since bohannon isn’t one to show his feelings often OR get sappy -- in fact, EVERY time bohannon loses his stoic facade is a good moment. when he was gonna bury elam and he just broke down completely for the first time since we were introduced to him... that shit had me in tears as well, but man was it a great scene

jimmy two-squaws

every time the swede opens his mouth (yes, even when he’s spouting some lies and bullshit like that)

ruth’s character development. i admit i didn’t like her at all in the beginning, idk something just felt off about her, but man did she ever grow on me. just-- how everyone kinda relied on her eventually, even though she’s only like in her 20′s or something... she still became a pillar of the community. bless ya, ruth :’ı -- also, her essentially adopting ezra was Pure as heck. I Lov it

the fact that this was the 1800′s and the only backlash the (openly) LGBT characters faced for it was pm just “yeah they’re a bit confused maybe but they’re not hurting anyone”. maybe that’s not very realistic but WHO GIVES A SHIT AMIRITE

mr tao just being a sweet old man

chang’s sunglasses, straight out of Django Unchained

mr toole’s complete heel-turn from racist POS to someone who sticks by his word to turn himself around. that shit was impressive coming from him, tbh

bohannon just calmly running into a buffalo by the train tracks

mei posing as a grown man instead of a boy (which is what she looks and sounds like, oml)

another thing i realized is that bohannon is a classic gary stu. there’s just no getting around that fact after seeing him being revered by most everyone he meets, how he’s somehow the only person able to build the railroad(s) fast and efficiently, and even wooing the literal PRESIDENT and becoming close friends with him-- all this despite his Bold and Brash personality. of course, there’s more to bohannon than these gary stu-symptoms, but i felt someone should bring it up, for the lulz

[mjihkaaaa]

Transcript: “Randy Writes a Novel” by Randy Feltface

I have transcribed this hour-or-so-long comedy piece. if I put the transcript on tumblr, it might pop up in the search results of some poor sod wondering whether it’s a thing that exists. fAiR uSe DiScLaiMEr or something, I’m making no money off of this and am posting it out of the goodwill of my heart, and also I sat down for two hours to make the transcript so it’s probably work. /original date of transcription, not that it makes a difference: 2019-07-16 /link: you can find the actual piece yourself or buy the dvd like a good consumer

||[Beard guy] Hey Randy? Yeah mate? ||[Beard guy] Ready to do this? (exhale) Yup! ||[Announcer] Please, without further ado... Welcome to the stage... The purple one... Randy! (Applause) YEEES! HELLO! THANK YOU! LOOK AT YOU ALL, MMMH! This is so EXCITING! This is my favourite bit of the show, this bit; The expectation - You don't know what to expect, I don't know what to expect. I've got high hopes for you people. I think you're gonna be fantastic. Some of you may have never seen me before, there's probably a couple of you wondering what the fuck is going on right now - couple of people up the back probably regretting smoking that spliff before they came in... "... ... ... the fuck is that?" it's alright, just relax. Throughout the show I'm probably gonna walk from about here, over to here. Any further than that, it's gonna ruin the magic, alright? And, um, this is pretty much what it's gonna look like for the next fifty-fix-and-a-half minutes, so just adjust your eyeballs to this shit accordingly. Looks pretty good, we did my tech rehearsal today, and we set this lighting stand and was like that looks good, that's good, and Stu, my lighting guy back there, said "iS tHaT iT?" and I was like ehh... eh... no, Stu, we can turn on the lamp as well, like this ... (lamp turns on). Yes. So we did that just to justify Stu's certificate for... in fucking... theatre production. GIVE IT UP FOR STU! UP THE BACK! (Applause) Who's having an alcoholic beverage this evening? (wooing) Ah-WOOO! I don't drink anymore, I used to SLAM that SHIT into my FACE like a WEAPON but I quit ... and nothing really changed, you know, I didn't notice too many differences between being sober and being a drinker ... UNTIL ... the first time I got pulled over by a cop, and had to do a random breath test sober. Because my physcial and emi-seeonal reaction was exactly the same as it had always been when I was a drinker. Which was ... - "OOOOH fuck I'm fucked I'm fucked I'm fucked I'm fucked I'm fucked I'm fucked I'm fucked I'm fucked I'm fucked I'm fucked I'm fucked I'm fucked" - "wind down your window please sir" - "IIIII'm fucked I'm fucked I'm fucked I'm fucked I'm fucked I'm fucked" - "one long breath into the bag sir" - "NAAAAAAAAAA I'm fucked I'm fucked I'm- (blow) I'm fucked I'm fucked I'm fucked I'm fucked" - "... you're free to go mate" - !!! ... oh yeah, I am, and the sense euphoria I felt was the closest feeling I've had to being drunk since I quit drinking. To the point where I now drive around on friday and saturday nights, LOOKING for cops. And if I get pulled over, I pretend I'm drunk just to get an extra rush... AHHH! Seriously, if you ever get pulled over, and you're sober, pretend you're wasted. Oh, the BUZZ! It's like shelving nine pills at once, it's fucking sick. Seriously, the next time the cop's walking towards the car, just be like - - "ohh, shush everyone he's COMING! act normal he's comin- put it down! put it down, he's coming! shush he's comi-!! he's here!" - "... ... ... Wind down your window please, sir." - "yeah, I'ma do that, I'ma do that, I'M DOING IT! ... Ah, it's electric. The button's in the middle 'cuz it's electric." - "... ... ... Have you had anything to drink tonight, sir?" - "NOOO ossifer [officer] not on a tuesday" - "It's a friday-" - "NO friday either mate!" - "One long breath into the bag please, sir." - "yes I will, you fucking champion ... y'know, people say youse are cunts but I don't reckon youse are, PBRRTT (blow) - WOOO! hahaaa..." (Cop checks bag, shocked.) - "Uh... You're free to go." - "FUCK YEAH! BRRRRRRRRR MEEPMEEP" (Applause) I took it so far once, I got down to the station for a blood test - ahhahaAA, gets addictive when you get to that stage... I've got track marks, it's out of control! and laDIES AND GENTLEMEN - you're very close, aren't you. Hello! (Shriek) Um... The reason we're here is because, didididii, didididi-didii, I wrote a book! Yes! Woo! Yeah, you can clap, but I'm concerned that it might be a bit shit. I don't know. It's weird - this is it here - I'm not sure if it's any good 'cuz I think I'm too close to it, y'know, I can't tell anymore. I'm concerned that it might be, like, an ugly baby that I'm looking at through the eyes of a loving mother? And it's not until I take it out for a walk in its little pram and people start screaming in horror and crossing the street to avoid me that I'll realize I've made a piece of shit baby? There's nothing worse than a piece of shit baby, is there... - "Ah, who's this little guy- WAUGH YOUR BABY'S A PIECE OF SHIT!" - "God... damn it..." But do I need to be told it's good to know that it's good? You know, that's how it goes with comedy; If I come up here and tell a shit joke, you tell me it's shit by not laughing, and I stop telling that joke. But with a BOOK I won't know it's shit until it's out there. Forever. Until I DON'T sell a million copies. Just wake up one morning, surrounded by towering boxes of unsold books, featuring on an episode of mentally deranged hoarders... We need to lay off hoarders, by the way. I think there's one too many television programmes "exposing the horrors" of people that like collecting shit. It's their house, let them do it! - "No we have to fix them!" No you don't, people are fucked up! If they wanna climb over a stack of cat shit stained national geographic magazines from the nineteen seventies to get to the kettle, fucking let 'em. THEY LIKE IT. - "Yeah but it's a mental illness-" Yeah, well, may be, but I would argue it's MORE insane to film them doing it, and then package it like a tacky microwave meal for one, so assholes can sit at home going "LOOK HOW SHIT THAT PERSON IS! They've got too many of the same thing..." ... Who's more insane in that sce-nario, I ponder... ANYWAY my book... My book is called "Walking to Skye", it's about a young man who walks from the southernmost borders of Scotland up to the Isle of Skye in the far north, retracing the footsteps of his great-great-grandfather and having a massive existential crisis along the way. It's a reeeeeeeeeeal HUMDINGER, and now that I've written it I'm terrified to let anybody read it, so what I've decided to dewwww, is; I'm gonna read bits of the book out, you're going to react, and then at the end we'll all collectively decide whether or not I should kill myself. Okay? Okay. Here we go. Hm-hm-hm. Ready? Everybody comfortable? No-one needs to go to the toilet, or get a drink, or anything? No? If you do, seriously, just go for it, because fucking... (waves hand in front of eyes). I'm not.. going.. to notice... Ahem, okay, ahem... Here we go. Alright. Here we go, here we go, okay. Khm. Blblbl. Okay. Phew. Alright. Here we go. Walking to Skye, chapter one. ... Phew. Okay. Khm. Blbl. Okay. Khm. Phew... (Sigh)... (Shivering) Read it... Just fucking read it... Come on man... Just... Son of a bitch... Pth... EHGgghhh... I'm too scared. (Audience goes "aww") No, fuck off. It's weird being scared for this, y'know, it's strange to be scared of something so intangible as JUDGEMENT. You know, I care what you people think, but taste is so subjective. Y'know, one man's "To Kill a Mockingbird" is another man's "Twilight" saga. Hello there, what's your name? (Matthew:) "Matthew." Matthew! N- where- right about there, mattie (adjusting line of sight)? Tell me, Matthew, what do you fear, what's your greatest fear, what are you scared of mate, we're all friends here, open up, unpack some shit, what are you-.. What's your biggest fear, Mattie? (Matthew:) "It must be rejection." Rejection? Same as me. <close> what do you know about my fear of rejection? </close> How old are you, man? (Matthew:) "Twenty-six" Twenty-six! The twenties are the time for rejection, my friend, it is the best time for rejection. Have you been rejected a few times? (Matthew:) "Quite a lot." Fucking rack it up, Mattie, rack it up mate, you just get- you wear those scars like a fucking warrior, mate! And then you get to thirty-six, my age, and you could not give a fuck, my friend. I'm telling you mate, rack up the rejection while you can, and then just.. fucking.. grab whatever's left. That's what you've got to look forward to. Let's hear it for Matthew! Yes! (Applause!) Rejection, eh? I think, actually, Mattie, Mattaroonie, Matterectomy, I think for me, Mattanoonles, I'm actually more scared of ... failure, in this case. I fear that I might've written a shit book, and as a result I'll fail, y'know. But I believe, Mattress, I believe it was Ernest Hemingway who put it best when he said "The first draft of everything is shit". And I often thought of that while I was writing my book, it's a great thing for young readers and young writers, sorry, to keep in mind, because it kind of lets you off the hook, y'know. And it makes you feel not so bad when you churn out something akin to Fifty Shades of Grey fanfiction. - "Every nerve ending in my body tingled as he boldly placed his swollen member directly onto my left shoulder ... and whispered into my ear ... 'tickets please' ... suffice to say, that won't be the last time I catch the bus to Broad Meadows." Khm. True story, true story. Okay, I'm gonna read the book - Broad Meadows, good suburb, Broad Meadows, good name! (Audience member goes WOOO!) Hahahaha, WEEEEEW! Has Broad Meadows ever had that reaction anywhere ever? How good is Broad Meadows- WOOOOOO! WOO! Wooing is one of few things you can do in a crowd. You can't woo when you're on your own, can you... You can't just be walking down the street like WOO! - "What's wrong with that person?" But if there's a group of you going "woo!" it's like, - "Naw, they're having a nice time, aren't they..." Wooing in- when you're in an audience is one of the few times you can get away with wooing. You can't, fucking- don't woo at the butcher's, y'know? - "I'll just have a ... 2 pounds of some sausages and uh, some pound of mince, and let me- six pound fifty WOOOOO!" - "I no longer wish for you to purchase my meat products." What was I talking about? Ah, Broadie? Yeah, Broad Meadows, it's a good name, Broad Meadow, like it makes sense, there was an expanse of just fucking... no stuff, there was some broad meadows, and they went "let's fucking build it here" and it was an honest name. All these new subdivisions now, they're all fucking, just... - "What are we gonna call this deserted swamp?" - "Um... Spring Valley Mountview Niceface." Fuck that! Name them honestly, y'know? - "Where are you living now?" - "Shitty water feature." - "Ah!" - "Where are you?" - "Stabbyville." - "Ah! ... How's that?" - "Yeah, it's good, it's close to schools, which is great, but um... We do get stabbed a lot though, it's a... You know, we knew the risks..." - "'Cuz it was in the name?" - "'Cuz it was in the name! yeEEeeAh." I like an honestly named place. I was Broken Hill recently, that's an honestly named place. - "We had a hill, we fucking broke it. Welcome to Broken Hill." Actually, Broken Hill have gone one further, they've named all the streets in the centre of town after elements. 'Cuz it's a mining town, they went thematic with that shit. So you're walking down Chloride, and you hit the corner of Bromide, or Oxide, I love that! That makes sense to me! I live in Collingwood - it'd be much easier to direct people to my house if I could send them to the corner of Soy Latte and Hipster Fuckwit. That'd take out all the guesswork ... When you're heading to Frankston, don't forget to check out the beautiful parklands on the corner of Bucket Bong and Pregnant Teenager. They are just enchanting. Alright. Gonna read the book. Blblblbl. You cool Matt? Sick. I'm gonna keep talking to you so you feel included. Therefore, not rejected. Khm, okay. Alrighty. Okay. Here we go. Alright. Shut up, I'm gonna read it. Okay. Phew. Walking to Skye, chapter one . . . Fascinating man, Ernest Hemingway. I didn't know a lot about him, but I kept thinking of that quote, "the first draft of everything is shit", while I was writing my book, and I started to think, "who are you to tell me my first draft is shit, Hemingway? What did you ever do that was sO fUckIng gOOd?" So I realized I didn't know anything about him, so I decided to do some research on him, and it proved to be an excellent means of putting off writing my book. And now I can tell you everything I know about him as an excellent means of putting off reading you my book, so... Swings and roundabouts, my friends, swoongs and rimbledibbledoodledoodoos, as they say in Scotland ... They don't say that. No-one has ever said that. Anyway, what I suggest we do, okay, is I'm just gonna tell you a little bit about Ernest Hemingway, bit about Hemmers, and then we'll just let the segway into reading the book develop organically. Like a runaway fungus at the bottom of a misplaced coffee cup. - "Aw, guys, how long has this been behind the couch? ... There's little people in it!" - "Save us! Save us from our porcelain prison!" - "wwWAAH!" (tosses cup) KSSSH - "We're free!" - (Running noise, tktktktktktk) - (Randy steps on the little people with an audible crunch) It's just for me, that bit, it's just for me!.. Okay. Okay, here we go, ladies and gentlemen, for the very first time I would wager in all of your living memories, I now am proud to present to you, the life and times of Ernest Miller Hemingway in approximately three and a half minutes. Go! (Background shifts) Born in Chicago in eighteen ninety-nine, son of a physician and a musician, reasonably uneventful childhood, decided to study journalism. Enlisted with the Red Cross during World War One, got blown up in Milan and spent six months in hospital with severe shrapnel wounds in both legs, fell in love with a nurse, they decided to get married. He came home to prepare, she stayed there and ditched him for an Italian soldier, which initiated a life-long pattern of him rejecting women before they had a chance to reject him. Take note, Mattie. Got a job as a foreign correspondent, fell in love with his roommate's sister, married her and moved to Paris. They hung out with Gertrude Stein, they kicked it with Pablo Picasso, he started writing in earnest, moved to Toronto, had a kid, moved back to Paris, published a couple of books, cheated on his wife, got divorced, married the other woman, converted to catholicism ... ... ...  Cut his head open after pulling on a cord thinking he was flushing a toilet, and instead ripped a skylight from the roof and smashed it onto his face, moved to Kansas City, had another kid, his dad committed suicide, he shot a lot of bears for some reason, had a car accident, had another kid, went to Africa to kill some wild animals and got dysentery - Karma! -, published another book, moved to Cuba, shot himself in the leg whilst aiming at a shark! Cheated on his wife, got divorced, married the other woman, published "For Who the Bell Tolls", sold half a million copies in a couple of months and got nominated for a Pulitzer prize, cheated on his wife, got divorced, married the other woman, became the self-appointed leader of a band of village militia outside of Paris, and was subsequently brought up on charges for contravening the Geneva convention and got away with it like a FUCKING CHAMPION! Got pneumonia, moved back to Cuba, and spent most of his spare time on his boat, tracking nazi u-boats with a machine gun and a pile of hand grenades - I AM NOT MAKING THIS SHIT UP! Had a few more car accidents, three more concussions, got clawed while playing with a lion! ... Got depressed, drank, got fat, published a couple of more books, went back to Africa to shoot some more wild animals and barely survived two separate plane crashed in the space of twenty-four hours, winding up with a fractured skull, internal bleeding, cracked spine, ruptured liver, first degree burns, and a paralyzed sphincter muscle - Karma! -, won a Nobel prize, had a file opened on him by J. Edgar Hoover, left a bunch of shit in a safe in Cuba and moved to Idaho paranoid that the feds were following him, which they were, because he spent most of the nineteen fourties working for the KGB! AGAIN, NOT-MAKING-THIS-SHIT-UP! Suffered from hepatitis, nephritis, hypertension, hemochromatosis, anemia, and impotence - Karma! -, got committed, received way too much electroconvulsive therapy and came out all fucked up, started hinting at suicide so immediately got re-committed, received another couple of months worth of electroconvulsive therapy, got released, put both barrels of his favourite twelve gauge shotgun into his mouth, and BLEW HIS FUCKING HEAD OFF. WHAT A GUY!!! (Applause) Ah... That is all true! What a fucking unit! Hemingway is the quintessential anti-hero, the talented, charismatic, belligerent, suicidal, alcoholic genius that can't keep his dick in his trousers. And he still found time to write about fifteen books! I've written one, and it took me ages, because I procrastinate like a motherfucker! I only got this written by doing most of the work in my local public library, because it's very difficult to masturbate in the reference section without getting caught. It's... It's almost impossible, in fact ... Almost. I don't even enjoy masturbating anymore, I just do it to avoid other tasks. And if it's something I really don't wanna do, I can seriously just go back-to-back wanks, just AARGH, just 'till it's painful, like NAAAAAAAAH, like hurty cum, like MWOOOAAARGH, WOOOMMMHHH MHHHH MMHHMHMMM RMMMMMHHHHOOkay fine I'll do the fucking dishes. And you know the weird thing about books is that you only really need to write one to be considered to be a great writer. Until last year, "To Kill a Mockingbird" was the only book that Harper Lee ever published. One book in eighty-nine years. To be fair that one book did win the Pulitzer prize and sold over fourty million copies, so she didn't really need to do another one, did she... - "Hey Harper, you gonna write another book?" - "Nope! Did you read the first one? FUCKING NAILED IT! FUCKING NAILED IT! I'm just doing the one. Just doing the one." Imagine if I did that. Came up here, told one joke, and then stared at you for fifty-eight minutes. - "You gonna tell another joke?" - "Nope! Did you hear the first one? FUCKING NAILED IT! I'm just doing the one." There's not many jobs where you can just do the one, is there... Just... Writers, and... Suicide bombers. Hard to do two of those... Or maybe UFC fighters that get punched in the head so hard in their first bout that cerebral fluid trickles out of their eye sockets. - "Ohhh, that's fucked Randy..." It happens. It's pretty much the perfect example of why we're sort of festering in this evolutionary cul-de-sac, isn't it? - "Welcome to planet earth, there's approximately seven billion of us, as you can see there's quite a few of us that don't have any clean drinking water, OH! Here's a large group of us that get paid millions of dollars to knee each other in the face! Obviously still... Ironing out a few of the kinks." Martial arts, mixed or otherwise, should not be the domain of fat-necked roughians trying to stomp on each other's ballsacks. Just as yoga should not be taught by twenty-two year old gym instructors that did a one week yoga retreat in Bali and now get around in low-slung fisherman pants with a bindy and a plat talking about mindfulness like they've ever had any fucking life experience at all. I'm sorry, you can tell me to relax and center myself when you spend maybe ten or fifteen years considering what that actually means. Until then, go back to taking photos of the froth on your coffee and shut the fuck up. And I'm torn! I'm torn because I do yoga! I buy oragnic vegetables. I blindly sign internet petitions without reading the fine print, give myself a good old pat on the back and go back to downloading hardcore pornography... I'm trying to be a good buddhist, I'm trying... But it's even difficult to identify as buddhist in the current climate without coming off as some sort of new-age pompous twat dipping his toe into the "What does it all mean?" kiddie pool while holding a beer in one hand, a cigarette in the other, and staring lecherously across the back yard at your cousin's tits. - "Geez, Tamara's grown up since last Christmas, hasn't she..." And I mean, Buddha was just a dude who found enlightenment sometime around the fifth century, and he decided to stick around and talk about it, y'know. But he made it clear that everything's optional, I guess, y'know, "here's the thing I've discovered, I think it's pretty nifty, but you can find your own way through it". He was kind of like a benevolent woodwork teacher, just overseeing the workshop, but allowing his students to discover for themselves which machine is most likely to cut their fucking head off. - BRRRRRRRRRRR-WAUGH! - "It was that one, Gareth, well done. A plus, matey, A plus for you." And there's been loads of other buddhas since, right, but they haven't necessarily felt the calling to stick around and talk about it. I guess they just become enlightened and fuck off. I think that's fantastic. But ... Are you only enlightened if you're able to share it with people? Y'know? If I write a book and nobody reads it, is it still art? What is the collective noun for monkeys? ... ... ... Seriously, does anybody know what it is? I was trying to think of it all day. Anybody? (Inaudible audience response) What? (Audience member:) "Gang" Gang? Gang of monkeys? Coming through on my gang of monkeys, we're a little gang of monkeys, ooh-A-A-A! It's not gang! Anybody else? If you come up with something stupid, I'll sing a dumb song about it ..? What else? (Inaudible audience response) What is it? (Inaudible audience response) ... Oh you people are fucked. Does anybody know what it is? It's not barrel, by the way. It's troop. What, what did you say, uhh... Gang. Who-what, what's your name, who said gang? Where are you? (Victoria:) "Victoria." Victoria? How are you, Victoria? (Victoria:) "Great." Thanks for coming to my show. Hey, Victoria, riddle me this m'sister, have you read "Go Set a Watchman"? Harper Lee's new book? (Victoria:) "Naw." Naw. Has anybody read it? (Audience member:) "Half." Half. That is the best book review ever. - "I read half." Has anybody read "To Kill a Mockingbird"? (audience responds yes) yEES we reAD IT at scHOOL, fuck off. For those of you who haven't- for those of you who don't know what I'm talking about, "Go Set a Watchman" was the Harper Lee book that came out last year, right, and if you don't know the backstory, alright, I'll just fill you in. Victoria, listen up. Um... Basically, Harper Lee, right? So, Harper Lee, she had a stroke in two thousand and seven, and until she died earlier this year, she was in like, assisted care, she was in a wheelchair, she was deaf and she was blind, and her sister Alice had been taking care of all of her affairs, until Alice died in twenty fourteen at the age of one hundred and three, like a fucking boss... Anyway before Alice died she was pretty much the last line of defence between Harper and this 'lawyer' that had just sort of been loitering in the wings, right. And when Alice died, this 'lawyer' just happened to discover the manuscript for "Go Set a Watchman" in the locked safety deposit box in an obscure vault in a random bank, where it had been busy minding its own business for the last fifty-six and a half years, and according to the 'lawyer', Harper was delighted that the manuscript had been discovered, and suddenly reversed her life-long vow to never ever ever publish another book ever ever again, particularly not "Go Set a Watchman" which she actually wrote before "To Kill a Mockingbird" and didn't think was very good. Other people think that maybe the 'lawyer' was attempting to get filthy rich by brutally fist-fucking an eighty-nine year old stroke victim, but the question is; ... ... ... The question is, if "To Kill a Mockingbird" had've stayed in that vault, alongside this newly discovered manuscript, would it still technically be a work of literary genius? Or is it only when something's been evaluated by the world and possibly someone's made some cash off it that it's considered to be valid artistic expression? Is art only art once it's been witnessed? Acknowledged? If I don't take a bow at the end of this show, does it devalue the performance? Will you feel unsatisfied? Or rejected? ... I recently read that book "The Pleasures and Sorrows of Work" by Alaine de Button, and in it, he says; "we might consider art as anything which pushes our thoughts in important, yet neglected directions". Now, I'd like to consider what I do artistic expression, but that sort of poses the question - do people really need their thought pushed in the direction of old ladies being brutally fist-fucked? Is that my artistic legacy? Is that what I'm gonna leave behind? Y'know, "Randy... He was the old lady fisting guy, wasn't he? Eh. Very droll, very droll. Yeah." Because Ernest Hemingway is remembered more for his literary talents than for being an insufferable cunt with a penchant for killing shit and cheating on his multiple wives, does his artistic legacy outshine his tactless and unfortunate personal life? Is it better to be a mindful human that leaves no palpable remnants of artistry behind, or a violently unlikeable sexual deviant that shits handfuls of heart-breakingly beautiful sonnets and sonnatas out of his asshole before brunch? Because it's the image of the tortured, self-destructive artist that prevails nine times out of ten. Amy Winehouse was just a girl that wanted to sing some songs, do you know what I mean? So... Should I just keep my fucking mouth shut? And try to navigate towards enlightenment, leaving behind an intangible trail of good deeds? Or do I dive deeper and deeper into the inky, black ocean of self-destruction and self-indulgence until I nail my chosen art form, leaving an echo for the eternal wonderment of countless future generations that will just breeze over my asshole personality? ... it's what's keeping me up in the night times. Eh... (Pause) Y'know, from the moment we're born we become less than human? You know that? E-... E-hh... Eh... All the bacteria from our mother is passed onto us on the way out of the womb, and from then on, we just continue to collect shit, on the inside and the outside, until the day we expire. Occasionally, you get to choose what that shit is, but most of the time you have very little say in where it comes from or when. You just have to duck and weave your way through the shit for as long as you can, until the chunk of shit with your name on it finally-AAARGH! cleans you up. Look, I know this was billed as a comedy, but a-ha-ha-HAA! LET'S TALK ABOUT DEATH! Woo! There are some pretty fucking ridiculous ways to die, though- OH, like that guy, that scuba diver they found when they put out the bush fire! *oh my go-od have you heard this fucking sto-ory?* They put out, like, a bush fire, and they found a dude in full scuba gear, and they figured out that the water bomber plane or helicopter that scoops up the water to put out the fire accidentally picked up a diver and dumped him into the flames! What a fucked up way to go! It's pretty much the polar opposite of "He died peacefully in his sleep", isn't it? Just dumped out of a plane into a blazing inferno... with a highly flammable gas tank instead of a parachute strapped to your back? - "NOOoo!" (Explosion noice) "I just wanted to look at the fish..." What do you say to his family? - "Uhh... At least he died doing what he loved." Well, he was a firefighter that enjoyed skydiving and water sports, but I'm not sure he ever wanted to combine the three... That's better, isn't it? - "Tell more jokes you little purple fucker." I had a good joke the other day - How do you know if a hippie has been to your house? ... They're still there. Haa... How do you know if someone's vegan? ... They'll tell you, yes, ahaHAHAA! Hahahaha, I'm vegan. Um... I initially became vegan for environmental and ethical reasons, and now I just do it to give people the shits at dinner parties. Like, - "Get it away, I can't eat that, meat is murder, STOP HAVING FUN EVERYONE!" It's a funny conversation, the vegan one, you bring it up, people just go - "... shut up fuckhead" But it's funny, 'cuz you know you don't actually need to eat meat. You don't NEED it. Nobody actually needs it. Unless you're on hemodialasys and you have to inhale a rare porterhouse steak every three hours to stop your kidneys backing in, you don't actually need it. That makes it a choice, and it's your choice. As long as you understand that that choice is born from belief and that particular belief is called "carnism". It's an inherited belief system that sort of conditions us to eat meat, and the notion is so... pervasive, I guess, it's viewed as a given rather than a choice. But it's totally a choice. - "Where do you get your proteins from then you little poofter!?" PEAS! (Gasp) It's crazy. And I know it's easy to just lump veganism in with all the other food allergies and just go - "They're the annoying fuckheads that don't eat the good stuff" which I get, I totally get... We're having Christmas at my house this year, right? Three months out, my cousin calls me to discuss her son, my cousin's son, which makes him... Someone I couldn't give a fuck about, anyway; She calls me up, the first thing she says - she doesn't even say hello - the first thing she says is "Brayden can't have blue." - "What the fuck? - "BRAYDEN can't eat BLUE FOODS." Apparently this kid, if he eats anything with a blue food preservative in it, he just KLKH (imitates death) just taps out. That is bullshit! Firstly, don't call your kid Brayden. Secondly... secondly, blue is not even a natural colour for foodstuffs. It occurs very rarely in nature- name me one blue food. (Audience member:) "Blueberry." BLUEBERRIES ARE FUCKING PURPLE! I'm talking about mentos blue, like seven eleven slushie blue, what flavour is that? Fucking highlighter? - "Ah no Randy, blue means mint-" MINT IS GREEN- if you planted mint and it came up blue, you would SET that SHIT on FIRE. - "And that's cool! It's cool! it's like ice, it's like water!" Water is clear. The only time water is blue, is when there's billions of tonnes of it and it's all in the one spot. And then it's got all sorts of shit in it, like salt, and SHARKS ... BLUE MEANS SHARKS IN IT! don't eAt iT it'S gOT SHARKS IN IT! You know, when sharks eat people, it's fucked, but it shits me how they immmediately go out and kill the shark like - "awrH it's gONe roGUe. iT's gOnE rOgUE!" No it hasn't, it's just doing what millions of years of evolution have programmed it to do, fucking swim around eating shit. - "yeeeeeeeah but ... ... ... it came into our bit. thIs bit's oUR bit oF tHe ocEAn." No-see that bit there? That big fucking wet bit? That's its bit. This bit here, all of this dry bit here, that you're standing on with your legs, your legs that have evolved to stand on the dry bit, that's your bit. You go into its bit, you're going to get bit. That's the lesson. ... Paddle out next to a seal colony and wiggle your ass around like a slutty little ol' dove, complaining when you get munched. It's that weird disconnect, y'know, it's the same thing as carnism, it's like if I imagine a pig is just a pig, and all pigs are the same, then I can detach what is on my plate from how it got there. It's just how most of us are brought up, y'know. But if you saw someone slit the throat of a Labrador, and then string it upside down to die an excrutiating death just squirming and bleeding out at the end of a steel hook, you'd think it was a bit fucked. How is a pig any different? It's not. It's actually not ... I said that on stage in Rock Hampton, in Queensland about four months ago. I was like, "how is a pig any different?", and a man in the audience yelled out "BACON!". Touché, sir. You win this round. He actually came up to me after the show - I was standing at the merch desk not selling anything - and he-.. I saw him coming from the other side of the room, just this massive dude, like - (stomping noises) - "Ah, you're a large man" and he said - "I was the one that said bacon" - "fucking don't kill me" and he goes - "nah, you alright mate, you alright mate, you alr-" It's the most passive-aggressive Aussie male thing you can say to another- - "naah, you alright mate, you-" It basically means "I wanna punch your fucking head in, but I don't wanna upset me misses. You alright mate." Anyway, he goes to me, - "Mate, you're not gonna make any friends in rock hampton being vegan. Did you know that Rocky is actually the beef capital of Australia-" - "ah fuck I didn't know that" - "-with over two and a half million head of cattle within a two point five k radius of the town centre?" - "fuck I didn't know that either" - "And that is a fair wack of the thirteen million head of cattle in Queensland alone, seventy percent of which is bred purely for export. Few fun facts for ya matey, few fun facts." I said - "thank you sir I did not know any of that" Did you know that, globally, cows produce thirty-eight percent more greenhouse gas than every single car, truck, bus, boat, train, and plane combined each year? That breeding animals for food uses up one third of the planet's fresh water? Takes up fourty-five percent of the earth's surface, and is responsible for a whopping ninety-one percent of amazon destruction, making it the number one leading cause of species extionction, resource consumption, and environmental degradation destroying the planet on a daily basis? FEW FUN FACTS FOR YA MATEY, FEW FUN FACTS FOR YA! Now, I'm aware this is in danger of becoming a TED talk at this point... - "jesus, a lot of statistics, is there gonna be a test?" It's alright, it's fine, I'll read the book, alright? I'll read the book. Not forcing my opinions on you, I'm merely saying them with a microphone, and you're paying for it. LOCK THE DOORS-no, seriously, okay, here we go. Khm. I'm gonna read the book. Y'know we've got McDonald's home delivery now? Does anyone do that? (Audience responds) You... You do? You know you can already get it in your car? You can get it without getting out of your car, but what McDonald's have now done is they've removed the gruelling walk from the front door to the car, so you no longer have to do that humiliating - "BWAAAAAARGGGGGHHHHH- WUUUUUUUUUAHHHH! OOOOOOOAAAAARGGHHHH! Now I have to reverend carpool! Oh, God damn you, God damn you -click- MRRRRRRGHHHH! HMMMMMRGHH! MMMMOOUUHHH WHY CANNOT THEY JUST BRING IT TO MEIN HAUS?" Well now they can. I think it's a good thing. Keep the fatties off the streets, STOP 'EM HOGGING UP THE FOOT PATHS, if they wanna eat shit, let them do it in their own home- WHO'S WITH ME? (Audience starts applauding) Don't clap that, it's a horrible thing to say. yoU'RE moNSTerS! ... Okay. You all good Mattie? Sweet. Okay, here we go. Blblblblbl, okay, kh-hm, alright, here we go, buggedabuggedabuggeda, okay. Stop it! Okay ... Do you like my typewriter, by the way? Isn't it beautiful? It's basically here just as a prop, but occasionally I am always tempted to just go ... (humming). Eh? A few "Murder She Wrote" fans in the house? Heyo? Everyone else going - "What? What is that? Sounds like an old person's joke." ... it is! It is! It totally is! Alright. Here we go. Okay, fuck, here we go. Blblblblbl. Walking to Skye, chapter one ... I bought a bookshelf on Gumtree recently, um, it was an amazing experience, I'll quickly tell you about it and then I'll read the book, but- I found it strange, becasue it made me start to think about the way our, like, methods of communication have sort of changed over the years, y'know? In the old days, if you wanted a bookshelf, you'd just go see Gareth the Bookshelf Guy, 'cuz he was the dude in your tribe that made the bookshelves, he had a little bookshelf cave, he was REPUTABLE. Now any mad bastard can sell their shit on Gumtree, you know what I mean? As a species, we're sort of able to cope with knowing and gossiping around like a hundred, or a hundred and fifty people. That's like the limit of our tribe. Any more than that, it starts to get confusing, which is why we created abstract constructs like territories and deities to unite larger groups of people under an imaginary common factor. And it works the trick, because we only really gather en masse on special occasions, but I think like social media and mmmh... It's fucking all that up, y'know? I think we're able to deal with the thousands of people we're connected to on a daily basis, and as a result we neglect our immediate one fifty, y'know? That's why I never get invited to parties anymore. It's not 'cuz I ramble on about veganism and fisting old ladies, it's because I'm not on facebook and everybody just assumes you are. I am so behind on the births, deaths, and marriages of my friends that I feel like the time traveller's wife every time I go to a party, I'm like... - "This is Tim, he's our son, he's six now-" - "Fucking... Didn't even know you were pregnant." Anyway, you know smartphones, aren't they great? You know that, right, they're not, they're not that great, you don't need the internet in your pocket, you work at Cole's, okay? You're not working for the president, you don't need it, you don't need that much information. And also, what was the point of developing opposable thumbs for you to take a photo of your head, post it on the internet, and then just stand by for validation. No-one gives a fuck about your head! They'll only validate it in order to gain permission to post a photo of their own head on the internet and stand by for validation. The people who give a fuck about your head will at some point see it in real life. Fuck your head and the neck it rode in on. Your vanity is sucking up my bandwidth ... Anyway this is what's going through my head as I'm on Gumtree looking for a bookshelf, because- you know when you put something on the... on the... in like... in the search in booktree- in booktree? what the fuck- When you put something in the search on Gumtree - I'm having a stroke up here - When you put something in the search, right, and like, there's always a couple of things that come up in the list that are like the polar opposite of what you searched for, and like "get out of my head gumtree algorithms, CONSPIRACY!"? No but seriously, it's all you type, it's like "bookshelf", and it's all bookshelf, bookshelf, bookshelf, grammophone? Huh. Bookshelf, bookshelf, bookshelf, combine harvester? What the fuck? ... Huh, that's actually a pretty good price. Anyway, on this particular day, I found two bookshelves that worked for me, in terms of cost, and more importantly, geographical convenience, 'cuz I'd be fucked if I'm driving to Broad Meadows to pick up a bookshelf, right? So I type in bookshelf, and I see the two things, and I'm like okay, one seller is Cathy, the other is Morgan. I send them both the same text message, "Hello! I saw your bookshelf on gumtree, is it still available?". Cathy texts back straight away, saying - "sorRRY iT wENt thIS MorNING!" - "That's cool, Cathy, I'm sorry I gave you an annoying voice in the retelling of this story." Morgan's response came through a couple of minutes later, and simply read, - "It was my wife's bookshelf." ... HOW DO YOU RESPOND TO THAT? Aside from the fact that it doesn't answer my fucking question... His use of past tense in that sentence unnerved me slightly. I'm like, aahhh, I should probably just find another bookshelf... And then I noticed he lived in the suburb next to me, so I replied; - "Is it still available?" He responded with the letter Y. Just a Y. Is he asking me why I wanna know if it's still available? Or is it a Y for "yes", and he's so in the throws of grief that he can't manage the E and the S? I assume it's a Y for "yes" and respond, - "Cool! I'll take it. When's a good time to come and pick it up?" No reply for fifteen minutes, I'm like... ah he's forgotten about it, fuck it, I'll find another bookshelf, and then when his reply actually does come through I realize he spent those fifteen minutes crafting his response, because it's a FUCKING THESIS. He must've felt so bad about only using a single consonant in his previous text that he just massively overcompensated with this one. Also, for some reason, felt that the use of punctuation? Entirely unnecessary. So it's just one obscenely long sentence, which reads; - "You must come and pick up now I only have short time here at house and also it wide so bring van or trailer and there's stair but I can help you carry it down stair if you come park out front walk up path ring bell and I will help you carry it to trailer or van I only accept cash and if you do not come now I will sell it someone else" (Shriek) Again I'm thinking, ahhh, I should just find another bookshelf at this point, but now I am FASCINATED by Morgan, and I simply must meet the man. So I drive over to his house- before I left, I sent him a message saying - "Cool, I'll be there in ten minutes" and he replied "ok", but spelled it OK-A-Y which just fascinated me more, that he'll use four letters to spell a two letter word, but only one letter to spell a three letter word, MORGAN IS OFF THE FUCKING CHAIN! And as I'm driving over to his house, I'm trying to picture what he's gonna be like, y'know... His pidgin English might suggest ethnicity of some sort, but I don't wanna racially profile him; Maybe he's an old man who recently lost his wife and is not that very good at texting, or maybe, and I'm really hoping this is the case, Morgan is just batshit crazy. So I get to his house, and I go up to the- ehe, I park out front walk up path ring bell, and I... I brace myself for the door to be opened by like, an old man in a smoking jacket, wearing fishnet stockings and suspenders, just puffing on an opium pipe while a butler just creepily polishes a goldfish in the background, and then a tiny pugdog wearing a fez hat just trots up the hallway, sits on the mat, looks up at me and says "RELCOME TO OUR ROVERY ROME!"... And then the door opens, and I am thoroughly disappointed. Before me stands an average caucasian male in his mid-thirties, dressed casually, hipster sheek, stubble, glasses with designer frames, expensive watch - I immediately think "architect?" but the house is too cheesy for that - it's like a double story doll's house with bay windows - but definitely a designer of some kind? Maybe a graphic designer? He's too skinny for manual labour, but he's too hip for the public sector, BUT THIS CAN'T BE MORGAN. Because Morgan's text messages would suggest that he's not that technically savvy, and then the man standing in front of me says - "Hello my name is Morgan" AND THE PLOT THICKENS! He invites me in, shakes my hand, closes the door, and twenty minutes later, I will be witnessing Morgan perform some of the most aggressive acts of violence I've ever seen in my life, and I will be speeding away in my car bleeding from the face. Here's how this shit went down... I go into the house, and I notice two things immediately; One, this is a house in the throws of renovation. Nothing too extreme, but there's like drop sheets on all the furniture, there's freshly painted walls, there's a bathtub wrapped in plastic in the hallway, awaiting installation- someone's doing some work on this house. The second thing I notice, on the way up the stairs to the second floor, on the first floor landing, is a wedding photograph featuring a very cleanly shaven Morgan with a very beautiful bride. Very much in love! The photograph is very much on the floor, and the glass in the frame is very much smashed. She's not dead, she's left him, and THE PLOT THICKENS A BIT MORE FOR MORGAN! And as Morgan unceremoniously like, kicks the photo frame to one side on the way up the stairs, I really wanted to pry into Morgan's life and ask heaps of inappropriate questions... But he was clearly a broken man. He had this terrible air of sadness around him, so I didn't wanna intrude. Luckily for me, though, I didn't have to, because Morgan immediately began oversharing and told me the whole fucking story aaAAAH! Thank you Morgan! I shall hang off your every word and then retell your tale to two hundred strangers and record it for a fucking DVD! He IS a graphic designer -YES!- and he's really good at it. He does like massive rebranding campaigns for large corporations, he gets flown all over the world doing this shit, right? About four years ago, a woman hired Morgan to rebrand her florist business, and he did such a great job she married him. And he thought everything was just fine, until about three months ago. Morgan had to do a presentation in Sydney, right? But he was on his way home from overseas and got stuck in Dubai due to a flight cancellation, so rather than cancel the meeting, Morgan suggested to these businessmen in Sydney that they do a Skype chat, because he's so technologically savvy, despite his fucking baffling text message style. So Morgan checks into a hotel, cracks open his laptop, and starts skyping with this room full of businessmen in Sydney, who are all watching Morgan on a massive screen on their boardroom wall, right? And everything's going great, Morgan is totally nailing it, until about halfway through; He realizes that a file he wants to show these dudes is on the desktop of his home computer back in his home office in Melbourne. And he decides to live share the desktop of his home computer on the Skype chat. He knows how to do that, he can remote control his computer from anywhere in the world, it's not particularly new technology, but Morgan makes it sound so impressive. So this room full of businessmen are all watching keenly, like - "OOAHP! MARGARET, BRING IN SOME BISCUITS, THERE'S SOME NEW-FANGLED SHIT GOING ON IN HERE!!!" as Morgan clicks a few buttons and (click) brings up the desktop of his home computer on the Skype chat. Now, what Morgan doesn't realize is that his wife has been using the "Photobooth" app on that particular computer to take pictures of herself. To take naked pictures of herself. To take naked pictures of herself... doing some pretty fucked up shit. It's embarassing, to say the least, just as Margaret came back in with the biscuits- - "I've got you the b-WHUIEAAAAURRRHHH!!!" Now, those of you who are familiar with the Photobooth app will know that how it works, is it accesses the built-in camera in your computer and with the click of a button, (click) takes a photo of you when you're standing in front of your screen. And if you know that, you also know that if you leave that application open, the camera also stays open, witnessing whatever may be happening in front of the computer, in real time. Such as your wife, in your home office, fucking your best mate. OOOOOOOOOO NOOOOOOOO MOOOOOOOORGANNNN... Nooooo... Morgan then goes on to tell me she's keeping the house, his former best mate is moving in, and while they're out for the day shopping for fittings, Morgan must suffer the indignity of moving his shit out, and selling the stuff they don't want on Gumtree to this guy. Ahhh... It's at this point of the story that Morgan starts crying, he breaks down, and I do not blame the man, it's fucking horrible and I just wanna give him a big hug and say "Everything's gonna be alright, Morgan", but I am holding the full weight of a BOOKSHELF halfway down a set of STAIRS and Morgan is the only thing stopping that bookshelf from caving my face in- I was like, MORGAN! MMMMORGAN! And Morgan managed to pull himself together ... for about eight seconds? And then just went BAHHH and let the bookshelf go. I fell backwards, it literally rolled over me, and took out the light hanging above the staircase, I'm now lying on my back getting showered in broken glass, as the bookshelf turned end over end and just went FONK right through a freshly painted wall at the bottom of the stairs. I'm like, AAH. aaAAAh. aaAAAAAAhhh. aaAAAAAHHH. I've got a tiny cut on my forehead which is just pissing blood, for some reason - apart from that, I'm fine. Morgan, however - he's not fine! Morgan is the opposite of fine. Something happened when the bookshelf lodged itself in the wall and his sadness just (click) went away in a second, and he started PISSING HIMSELF laughing. Hysterical. And he had the creepiest laugh I've ever heard in my life- I'm standing there like "this is weird" and he's like "mwhueHUEUEEUEUEUE! mhhwuEUEUEUE!" like some sort of demonically possessed baritone cookaburra, - "mwhueEUUEUEE, a-HOGUGUGUGAGAGAGA!" - "Um... Uh..." - "mwueEUEUUEUEUE" - "can I still have the bookshelf?" - "yuuEEEEAAH" We extract it from the wall - the bookshelf, incidentally, showing no sign of having just rolled down a staircase and smashed through a wall. We carry it out to my car- we had to stop about six times, 'cuz Morgan was like - "Hang on a minute, mwueHUEUEUEUEUEE" We got it to my car, put it on the trailer, and Morgan was in such a great mood he let me have the bookshelf for free. Ohh! Hahaha... Mm... And that's where the story SHOULD end. But there was something about the bookshelf going through the wall that flipped a fucking switch in Morgan's head, and he is now hungry for more destruction. So as I started tying the bookshelf down to my trailer, Morgan just strolls over to like an upright mailbox on the front lawn and just starts trying to wrench it out of the ground. Really putting his back into it. I'm like, "are you okay buddy" and he's like "YEAP" (struggling) HUAH! He pulls it out of the ground whereupon he wields it like a fucking battleaxe and just starts smashing up the front garden, just beheading the daisies, fucking up the lavender... I'm like, "uhh, hey Morgan, maybe you wanna stop and think about that" and he whirled around and looked at me like Jack Nicolson chasing Shelly Duvalle up the stairs in the shining and said - "WHY DON'T YOU MIND YOUR OWN FUCKING BUSINESS?" ... yep, yep, cool, man, yep, yep... Now, I like tying knots. I'm quite good at tying knots if I tie something down I take my time because I want it to stay there... But as Morgan nonchalantly strolled up the driveway, rolled up the garage door, and put the mailbox through the windscreen of an Audi!? I must admit, I kind of rushed my knot tying job. I got in my car, I'm about to drive off, I'm like, looking at the house going "ah, I'm sure he'll be fine" and then an armchair smashed out of an upstairs window and just went DOINK DOINK DOINK DOINK down the front lawn. I was like "... what's my duty of care in this situation?". I didn't want to call the cops on him, I didn't want him to trash the house, I'm like - "daw fuck I'm gonna have to talk to Morgan" So I got out, I walked up the driveway shitting myself- you know when someone does something really violent and you're just like "ah, fuck, we're not supposed to do shit like that!"? Yucky, just yucky feeling in my tum-tum- and I'm standing there, standing there in the garage and there's like an adjoining door in the garage that leads into the house. I can see in through the door into the house, up the staircase, it's like a wooden staircase, and I'm standing in the garage just going - "ah fuck..." (gulp) "morgaaaan. Morgaaaan!" Like I was calling a cat for its dinner? "Morgan! Moggie-moggie-moggie-moggie-moggie!" And then I notice a small trickle of water start to come from the top step. And then a little bit more water, and then QUITE A LOT OF WATER, just pissing down the stairs like shitty water feature, I'm like "aw that can't be right" and then Morgan appeared on the top step holding a hammer like this: - "BAAAH!" (jumps out) I was like - "WOAH!" and he's like - "mwhuEUEUEUE" Starts running at me wielding the hammer, like "UEUEUEUE", I'm like "aw no no I just wanted to buy a bookshelf..." he's like "UEUEUEUEUEUE-.. RRAH!" runs straight past me, I'm like - "Where are you going?" he's like - "UEEEH!" made a beeline for my car, I'm like - "NO, MAN! STOP!" he's like - "UEUEUEUEUUEUE" - "STOP IT! JUST STOP!" He spins around and goes - "I just checked my phone, she texted me fifteen minutes ago saying she'll be here in fifteen minutes, WE'RE GONNA GO!" and gets into my car! - "fucking... jesus... fuck me" I run down the lawn, get in the driver's seat, I'm like - "What was with the water?" he goes - "Ah, I put plugs in all of the sinks and turned all the taps on!" I'm like - "Oh that's fucked" He's like - "JUST DRIVE!" I was like - "AAH!" I took off so quick, rounded the corner of his street, and the bookshelf just went "mrrreeUUWh-BOOSH" and exploded against the guard rail, just exploded in a shower of badly tied knots and broken dreams... So me and Morgan just fucking left it there, like a little breadcrumb for his ex wife to find on the way home to her destroyed gingerbread house. I dropped Morgan at a train station. I have never seen him again. And that, my friends, is why I no longer shop on Gumtree. Thank you very much! Thank you very much. (Applause) Haha, ah, fuck... You know my favourite bit of that story? I just made it up. Yes, not true. There is no Morgan. MMMH! It's very unsatisfying, isn't it? - "But I saw him in my head. I saw Morgan in my head." ... ... ... Why is it we can feel so robbed when someone tells us a story we just heard isn't true, and yet so satisfied at the end of a fictional novel? Y'know? You know that? ... You know the other great thing about that story? First draft. FUCK YOU HEMINGWAY! ... (sigh) Can't end on that, can I? - "Those LIES? WE DID NOT COME HERE TO BE HOODWINKED, SIR!" The truth, eh? ... The truth is, I'm... I'm not an exceptional person, y'know? Nothing interesting really ever happens to me, I'm massively flawed, and I think I'm quite forgettable, if I'm being a hundred percent honest. And this isn't the shit bit at the end of the show where I get on the cross, I'm like "lOve mE on the wAY OUt thE doOr". It's not that, it's just that I don't think- on a scale from one to memorable, I'm not that memorable. Not on like the Morgan sort of scale, not on the Ernest Hemingway scale, certainly, y'know... But if I tell a great story, maybe people will remember that instead. Remember the card trick and just... pretend that they don't know how it's done, y'know? ... But must we leave a legacy? MUST we make an impact? Do we HAVE TO leave a footprint? Is it okay to just settle, seek safety, nest, y'know? Or must we constantly shake our lives up, or suffer the indiscriminate cruelty of having it shaken against our will? Must we try to carve a path through the tall grass, feeling as though no-one has ever felt how we feel? Terrified at what may be lurking low in the grass on either side of us, but just pressing ever on with that paleolithic instinct deep within our chromosomes that the only way is forward, that you HAVE TO keep going? That eventually you'll stumble upon the edge of the field, hitch a ride from a passing car, and meet up with the rest of the gang for tea and sandwiches at the old town hall? ... (deep breath) Do we feel like the path that we are carving through the grass is all our own? Only to finally float above the field with the sweet relief of expiration and realize that the field is insignificantly miniscule in size, and that there's only one path through the grass - the exact same one that every human has trod before us will ever after, just stumbling blindly along a tiny hyphen between the words "birth" and "death". And when reduced to that level of crisp simplicity, fear cannot exist ... So. (pausing, readying) Phew. Walking to Skye, chapter one: (Blackout) (Applause and credits)

[cupids-scream-queen]

A Little Murderess °❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･❀*

❀ female!murderer!reader x poly!ghostface ❀

Part 5 // 2.8k words

-> Part 4

Warnings: stalking, breaking and entering, p in v, actual sex (woo), choking, slight daddy kink, cheating, idk there's SEX in the SLASHER fic it's not gonna be vanilla 😭💀

A/N: No threesomes yet guys, sorry 😔

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･❀*ੈ✩‧₊˚⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Summary: You've just moved to a new town after the death of your little brother and stepfather with your mother. You're not ashamed of what you do to cope with the deaths; especially when you make two new friends who you might have more in common with than you thought...

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･❀*ੈ✩‧₊˚⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

“Y/N,” Sidney hissed, tapping her pencil on the desk lightly. “Whatcha doing this weekend?”

“Not much,” You whispered back, looking up from your paper. It was Mrs. Tate’s day off, which meant worksheets upon worksheets and you were getting increasingly bored from it. Sidney was too; she was bugging you nearly the entire time, asking you various questions or pestering you about your weekend plans. You almost wanted her dead. Almost.

“Do you want to sleepover at Tatum’s with me?” She asked, and you shrugged.

“I’d have to ask my mother,” You replied, knowing that you’d just tell her your mother said no. You weren’t really in the mood for Tom Cruise this weekend—you were more interested in something more sinister. That Sidney and Tatum most definitely weren’t going to want any part of.

“Damn, any chance she’d say yes?” Sidney looked at you, almost pleading with her eyes for you to say anything that would convince her that you’d make it. You weren’t sure why she was so clingy, especially to you, of all people—she should be running away from you, not towards you.

“I’m not sure,” You tapped your pencil against your face, watching the substitute teacher read a book about Sherlock. “It depends on her mood.”

“When doesn’t it depend on her mood?” Sidney joked, and you shrugged. It was something that wasn’t quite the truth, but also wasn’t a lie—your mother was relatively passive about your whereabouts in general, but sleepovers were another game entirely: she preferred to keep you at home overnight.

“I honestly can’t answer that,” You admitted, and she looked sympathetically towards you.

“You’ve got a lot in common with Billy,” she mused, and you took a note of that—a piece of information about Billy that you could use against him should he betray you. You hadn’t really gathered anything on Stu; he was more of an open-book, and you could assume what he didn’t want people to know about he simply didn’t talk about. He had money to pay people to forget.

“What?”

“I shouldn’t have said anything, but he’s got it real bad at home. Mom left him and stuff, dad’s a bit of an alcoholic,” Sidney said, and you almost had to strain to hear her voice. You took a mental note of this, though—Mr. Loomis might be key information for blackmail against Billy, should he try anything with you. You were more afraid of Billy than Stu—Billy was quieter, and seemed to ponder over things more than Stu ever did. Billy thought meticulously, Stu acted impulsively. Together, you couldn’t quite imagine what they were capable of.

“My mom’s an alcoholic, but she’s not that bad,” You told her, and you could see her almost loosen her borders around you. Good. She’s trusting you, that’s something you could use to your advantage later.

“Good lord, that sounds awful,” Sidney’s sympathetic nature was something that you were going to try to capitalize on. You didn’t want to kill her, but simply use her. She was a useful alibi, stupid and naive. Trusting people. People like you, who shouldn’t be trusted.

“It’s not that bad once you get used to it,” You tell her, and you could tell she was wondering if she should ask you something. “Why?”

“Maybe you could talk to Billy about it,” She said quietly. “Tell him how to cope. I think it makes him upset, even if he doesn’t let people know.” There it was. Bingo. Permission to hang out with her boyfriend without her, even though you’d do it anyways, you felt like it’d cause less issues if she told you that you could.

“Maybe. I’m not sure if he likes me, he’s kind of quiet around me,” You tell her, and you could practically see the gears in her head turning.

“You could probably give him a call, I’m sure he wouldn’t care. Or you could stop by Stu’s house, he’s usually there,” Sidney told you, and you nodded your head.

“I can try to help him, sure,” You could see the grateful smile she gave you, and you could see that something with Billy’s behavior put a strain on their relationship—which you weren’t even sure was real on Billy’s end. You saw the way he looked at other girls, in ways that he didn’t look at Sidney with, and you knew that he wasn’t thinking of her at night, he had someone else in his thoughts. Be it Stu or somebody else entirely, you knew that Sidney was not the one he had in his heart. If he even had one.

“That’d be great,” Sidney’s hope and trust were placed in you, officially. She was going to trust you, and you wanted to learn everything about Billy through her. The only other person you’d need now on your side was Tatum, but you figured if you went to the sleepover, they’d have to talk about boys eventually. That’s how sleepovers work, right?

“Maybe I will go to Tatum’s,” You mused, and Sidney had an excited gleam to her eye that you hadn’t really seen before.

•❃°•°❀°•°❃•

Ever since you figured out the identity of Ghostface, Billy and Stu hadn’t tried calling you again. You were kind of sad about it—the phone calls were fun, but you guessed they figured out someone else they’d try to murder. You sat on the edge of your bed, and decided to dial the phone number for Billy Loomis, killer extraordinaire. Before you could entirely dial the number, you heard a knock at your window. And then popped the head of Billy Loomis, on a ladder, straight out of a scene from Heathers.

“What in the name of JD—”

“Thought you were schemin’,” Billy said, grinning wildly. “Figured I could help you.”

“Where’s Stu?” You asked, bemused at the fact that Billy’s conjoined twin was missing.

“At home, his folks are home for once,” Billy didn’t look sympathetic for his friend at all, which you chalked up to him being a fucking weirdo. “I came here out of boredom.”

“Not out of admiration for your Knife Girl?” You joked, and you could see a glint in Billy’s eye that you hadn’t seen before.

“Maybe it was out of admiration,” He said, going through your window. He walked closer to you, and you could smell the desperation.

“Oh? And why would you admire the Knife Girl?” He smiled at your question, and got closer. You could see every pore in his face.

“Because you’ll let me do this,” He said, and pressed his lips against yours. You didn’t move at first, your body was stiff as a board. But Billy put his arms on your shoulders, grounding you to reality, allowing you to realize that this was happening, and nearly unprompted. “And you’ll like it.”

You couldn’t respond with words, just with actions. You knew Billy was attractive—and maybe a part of you even found him attractive, but you weren’t going to do anything about it. And maybe he was using you, but you’d use him back, and his body pressed up against yours made you really think of that. You began to melt into the kiss, and Billy moved his hands to your hair, forcing you closer. You could feel the tip of his tongue dance on your lips, and his other arm beginning his way up your shirt, tenderly asking permission.

“What about—”

“Shh, don’t say her name,” Billy said on your lips, and you obliged. You didn’t want to think of her, this was your moment. And Billy was seemingly enjoying it as much as you were. He held you against him, breaking the kiss. You could hear his heartbeat in his chest, and it was practically reaching out to touch you.

“You do this. You make my heart like this. Why?” Billy asked, and he suddenly ripped you from his chest. “Why?” His grip was tight, and you didn’t know what to say. “I—I don’t feel like this. Nobody but you and St—” He grew silent, and you reached out and touched his cheek.

“It’s alright, Billy. You’re fine. You’re human.”

“Am I? Are you?” You didn’t have the answers. You were certain of you being human, despite what you’ve done. And Billy, well, he was human—he was lustful. Prideful. Everything a human was and could be. “What am I even doing here?” He hung his head in shame, and you had no words of comfort.

“I’m not sure, but you’re here for a reason, aren’t you?” You watched as confusion, anger, hatred, embarrassment, everything cross over his face in the span of seconds. He wasn’t making an attempt to hide his emotions, and you were grateful for that.

“Maybe, I don’t know—I came here on an impulse,” He held you, gently. You weren’t sure of what was happening, your head fuzzy and confused. You weren’t thinking clearly, and neither was Billy—something alien to both of you.

“Are you lying to distract me?” You said quietly, and Billy looked at you with puppy dog eyes. You were afraid of what he’d do, but then he crashed his lips into yours.

“Does this feel like I’m lying?” Billy asked, pressing you against your bed, his figure on top of you. He moved your hands above your head, holding them down with one of his hands. He used the other one to hold your face still as he kissed you roughly, his body grinding against yours in a way that you hadn’t felt before. He moved down to your neck, kissing the exposed skin and sucking lightly. He playfully bit you, and you moaned, the sound driving him to continue to bite and suck his way down to your collarbone.

“Can I take this off?” The question made you pause, before you nodded your head. He pulled your shirt off, tugging at the fabric impatiently. He took your bra off in one sweeping motion, leaving you to ponder if he’d done this before, before he expertly took your nipple in his mouth, biting and sucking at the sensitive bud. He then moved his way back up to your mouth, a clash of tongues became the next move, him releasing your hands and burying his arms around you, holding you close to him. You moved, your hands wrapped around his.

“Is it alright if I…” He asked, and you nodded. You wanted him. And he clearly wanted you.

“I’m on birth control,” You whispered, and the glint in his eye let you know that he wouldn’t have cared either way. You giggled as he struggled to take off his shirt, his hips clashing against yours, his skin against yours. He hushed you, playfully wrapping his hand around your throat; a warning.

“You’re gonna be good,” He said, and then started to nip at your neck. “And I’m going to enjoy fucking you, aren’t I?”

“Yes, Billy—”

“Daddy. Call me Daddy.”

“Daddy. Yes Daddy,” You said, your breath hitching. Billy started moving his hands lower down your body, and you could feel his fingers tease your panties. “Oh god, please.”

He laughed, and obliged to your request, his cool hand slipping into your panties. You could feel him circle your clit, his hand large and rough.

“You’re so wet…” You shuddered, and he laughed, staring you directly in your eyes. “I’m going to make you forget about everything.” He put one finger in you, and without warning, he added another. He was furiously fingering you, pleasuring your clit with his thumb. You didn’t have any time or warning before he did this, and he ducked his head to suck on your tit. You moaned, your thighs clenching around his hand, your hands finding their way to his hair, pulling softly.

“Keep quiet and I’ll reward you,” Billy drawled, and you quietly tried to not make any noise, as he was furiously trying to leave hickies on you, in places only he’d see. “You’re gonna be a good little murderess for me, aren’t you?"

You said nothing, your body being stimulated by Billy’s fingers. How your body craved his; how he recipricated everything you felt tenfold. Billy took his fingers out of you, and you whined at the loss. You gyrated your hips against his, and to your dismay, he held them down, preventing you from moving against him.

“Look at me, doll,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. “I want you to look at me.” You did as you were told, and your breath hitched as you felt the head of Billy’s cock against your folds. “I want you to remember this, babe.” You nodded, your body responding to every touch like you were lit on fire. Billy’s warmth engulfed you, it was everything that you could think about.

Billy kissed you as he slipped himself fully in, and you felt your eyes prick with tears at the sudden intrusion. You tried to get used to the discomfort of his cock, stretching and prodding places you hadn’t even explored yourself. Reaching into every part of you, taking you as his.

“You…you feel so good,” You said breathlessly, your hands tangled in Billy’s hair, his thrusts becoming more and more bearable as you got used to his size.

“You’re so tight, but so wet for me,” He growled, and you nodded. Just for him. Only for him. He was pleased with your body, it was a work of art to him. He started to thrust faster, his rhythm rougher and less capable of placing. His pattern was losing control. He slipped a hand on your clit, and started playing with the slick on it. His mouth was slightly agape as he watched you, enjoying the look of pure pleasure that came across your features.

You felt yourself coming closer, but you weren’t sure if he’d let you come. You needed to, the tension burning up in your lower abdomen. You could feel the warmth starting to take over your body, your head nothing but an empty void devoid of thought; the only thing on your mind was the pleasure Billy was giving you.

“You’re close, aren’t you, love? Your pussy is practically squeezing the cum out of me,” Billy said, his tongue slightly out of his mouth as he concentrated. “I want you to cum after I do, understand?” You nodded, anticipating his release into you.

You wouldn’t have to wait long. He started going faster, his cock practically digging itself deeper and deeper within you. He moaned, his body pressing up against yours as he came, his hot seed spilling everywhere, filling you up. You came only seconds after, your pussy clenching down on his dick, milking him of every last drop. You needed more of him. All of him.

He grinned, and you smiled back, your eyes clouded over, your face nothing but pleasure, and he felt satisfied knowing he did that to you, knowing that you’d think of Ghostface and think of the Best Fuck of your Life.

“Billy?” You asked, and he smiled at you, almost begging you to tell him what he wanted to hear. But you didn’t tell him what you wanted to hear. “We should…we should clean up.”

•❃°•°❀°•°❃•

After thirty minutes of taking time to collect yourselves (and your clothing), you and Billy arrived at a pretty stable plan, all that was needed was Stu.

“He’ll be available to talk probably tomorrow, his folks don’t stay in touch much,” Billy explained, circling the address. “I guess if we do everything right…we should be able to knock Sidney and Tatum off in one go, and have you as the sole survivor of a vicious attack. Pretty grim, ain’t it?”

“I guess. Who’s going to call, who’s going to kill?”

“I’ll call, Stu’ll kill Tatum. Then Stu’s gonna call, and I kill Sid. You’ll just be battered and confused, you could say you went to grab a film or some shit.”

“Not a bad alibi, but what if we’re questioned why we didn’t go together?” You mused, and Billy paused for a moment.

“Tatum and Sid were scared because of the attacks, and you volunteered to go,” He finally said. “And since you’re new, you would’ve barely heard of any of the attacks, so it’d make sense why you went.”

“Works for me, I guess. What do I get out of this?”

“The enjoyment of killing? I dunno, you’re the one who asked to be included on this.” Billy started gathering his things, glancing at the time. “I gotta go, my dad’s gonna kill me if he finds me out past curfew.”

“The Billy Loomis has a curfew?” You raised your eyebrow, tauntingly. He hushed you, and started to inch his way towards your window where his ladder was.

“Yes, I do, doll,” He said, kissing you on the lips. “I’ll call you tonight, yeah?”

“Sure. Will it be you or Ghostface?”

“You’ll find out.”

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-> Part 6

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@citrusbunnies

[supposed2bfunny]

2doc Week Day 5- Vacation

Rating: T+

Warnings: Mentions of sex and drugs/drug addiction 

“Can I be honest?” Stu asked, licking spicy red sauce off his fingers as he passed what remained of his bomba to Murdoc.

“Uh-oh,” the bassist looked at him wearily as they wandered through Parc Güell. “Here it comes.”

“Relax. I was just going to say, I’m surprised. I wouldn’t have thought Barcelona would be your first choice.”

Murdoc chewed the last bites of the potato croquette and tossed the empty container in a nearby trashcan. “Well, it was this time around. You chose Jamaica for our anniversary, I chose Spain for the anniversary of, erm, ‘D-Day.’” He tapped a finger against the singer’s temple playfully, looking into his black eyes, the result of an act of stupidity that had happened over two decades ago that they had celebrated every since.

“It was a good choice,” the singer confessed. “The castle was really cool, and I didn’t really understand most of that Dalí museum, but it was colorful. The food’s been great and the beaches in Spain are always wonderful.”

“And look at that view,” Murdoc exclaimed, sitting down on the mosaic-covered bench to point at a particularly stunning vista of the city. “You can’t beat that!”

“Yeah, that’s pretty, for sure.”

“Get in the shot, Stu, let’s get another picture for Twitter!”

“Murdoc, you’ve posted like two hundred pictures of me today alone; your followers are going to hate you!”

“Half of ‘em already do, bluebird,” he quipped with a smirk, merrily snapping away regardless of his boyfriend’s protests.

“Okay, fine, but I want a picture of the two of us,” he said after a few poses. He approached the man on the bench, reaching for his phone. “Can you figure out how to flip the camera or do you need me to—”

“I know how to get it to Selfie Mode, mate, I’m not that old!”

“Did you just call the front-facing camera ‘Selfie Mode?’”

Murdoc glared, but only for a moment, because then Stu was guiding his hand so that the angle was perfect: a shot of the two of them, cheek-to-cheek and giddy, and a view of the city behind them. They snapped one picture, two. Murdoc turned, kissed Stu’s cheek (the picture would become his home screen approximately two minutes later), then licked his cheek, earning a squeal.

“Don’t be gross when we’re in a public park!”

“Honestly, Stu, I’ve never heard such a boring string of words come out of your mouth,” he teased.

“You avoided my question,” the singer complained as they continued their walk.

“Which was?”

“Why Spain? I love it. I’m not complaining. I’ll definitely want to do this again. But why?”

Murdoc looked around, watching a small guided tour weave its way through the park, watching vacationing families with matching shirts, watching young couples, presumably on honeymoons. It was strange to observe all these people; somehow when he took trips alone with Stu, it often felt like the two of them had the world together in spite of crowds.

“We came here to promote Demon Days,” he finally said.

“Yeah. I remember that. We traveled all over Europe to promote that,” he replied.

“But it was here, in Barcelona that we started hooking up.”

Stuart slowed down then, watching the bassist carefully and struggling to remember. Those early days were a blur for him. His attempts to balance medications to keep the migraines at bay during their debut album had turned into a dangerous addiction by the second album, and whole weeks were often gone from his memory, sounding fresh when one of his bandmates would bring up a party or an interview that he couldn’t recall being present for.

“I think I remember that…we were in the hotel by the water, right? So we stayed here more than a day...”

“We were scheduled to be here four days, three nights,” Murdoc helped him out, pausing to purchase some bottled water from a cart as the heat of the day wore on. “You and I stayed an extra two days.”

Stu furrowed his brow. “Why?”

Murdoc took a sip of water, passed the bottle to the younger man. “Because you and I spent almost the entirety of the trip in my hotel room, bluebird.”

Just like that, an image of the hotel’s interior jogged his memory, and he could remember kissing Murdoc feverishly in the elevator, breaking apart when they stopped on a floor to pick up a large family before finally making it to their own floor. He could remember the master bathroom in Murdoc’s hotel suite, and taking a shower with the bassist in there. He could remember ordering room service when they were famished from their activities, and he distinctly remembered them sharing a plate of cheeses, olives, and fruit, feeding each other and giggling and kissing like lovesick teenagers.

“Oh my god,” he exclaimed. “Yeah! Now I remember! That trip was amazing! We stayed an extra two days to fuck more, not to see the sights. We went the to the beach like, once that whole time we were here.”

“Yeah,” Murdoc agreed, giving him a strange look. “I think about that trip a lot.”

“Why? Why Barcelona specifically?”

Murdoc stopped at the top of a staircase to take a few pictures of one of the dozens of Gaudí sculptures (and also to catch his breath, Stu assumed, given the rapid rise and fall of his shoulders). “Because on that trip, that’s when I realized that you were it.”

The singer stepped a little closer, letting his arm bump the older man’s. It was making his head spin to think about how close they had been, yet how emotionally distant they still were all those years ago. “Speak up, Muds,” he implored. “I want to understand.”

With a sigh, the bassist turned to look at him, clearly a little embarrassed. “Watching you sleep in the mornings when the sun rose, spending that much time with you. Mate, I knew it then. That I was never going to feel as strongly about anyone else in the world as I did about you. I knew you were the only one I would ever love.”

Stu felt his mouth go dry despite the water bottle he had been guzzling. “Oh…”

“I know,” he added quickly, “I didn’t say anything to you, so obviously nothing came of it. Not right then, anyway. I was too scared to put myself in a position like that. Especially back then! My old man was still alive, I wasn’t on meds so the hallucinations were still fucking commonplace, and also…” he let his arms drop to his sides as he looked out at the spires and palm trees wistfully.

“Go on, lovely thing.”

“I assumed that you felt it too,” he said, sounding so sad that the singer hooked an arm around his waist and pulled him close despite the hot sun. “I thought you could feel what I was feeling, so when we left Spain and continued traveling through Europe and you went back to shagging birds and acting like nothing had happened…”

“It’s all coming back to me,” he admitted. “You were insufferable after that trip. Oh god, the next few weeks, you gave me and everyone around you absolute hell. I didn’t realize you were acting out because you were frustrated with me. Muds, if you’d just told me how you felt—”

“It doesn’t matter!” he snapped. “It’s all in the past. I got a taste of what it was like to hold you for a night without all the commitment crap. Anyway, we couldn’t stay apart for long, could we?”

“We hooked up again as soon as we were back at Kong,” the singer agreed with a smile. “And all through the music video shoots. We couldn’t keep away from one another.”

“It was only a matter of time before you returned my feelings,” Murdoc joked.

“Maybe in time, you’ll want to be mine.”

“That’s it.” He agreed quietly.

A soft wind blew, and Stu brushed his bangs out of his face, brow furrowed in thought. “I never realized,” he confessed. “I thought you hated me back then, Muds.”

“I never hated you, you daft twat. Only resented you a tad. The sun might be hot in the middle of the day, burns and makes us sweat and complain, but we need it so we can snap shots like this for Instagram,” he broke away to take a picture of some flowers, leaving Stu to contemplate the metaphor that he had very intentionally cut short.

“Well, I’m sorry your first trip to Barcelona didn’t work out the way you wanted,” he said. He walked up behind the bassist, so when Murdoc turned around, he was right there, tall enough to block out the sun, dark eyes fixed on the older man. “But I hope this trip makes up for it.”

He had intended to kiss his boyfriend then, but it felt too aggressive given the history that they shared in the city, too much like something that he would have done when he was younger and wilder and always carrying switchblades around for no good reason. Instead, he took Murdoc’s hand and kissed it. They were in a country filled with castles; let him act like a prince for once in his life.

It did the trick, because Murdoc’s eyebrows shot up behind his fringe and he sputtered uselessly, too flustered for words for a shocking five, ten, fifteen seconds.

“You incorrigible sap,” he finally managed. Quite mild as far as Murdoc Insults went.

“That’s me,” he replied with a grin, and Murdoc was already lacing their fingers together, guiding them out of the park and to their next destination in the city. “Thank you for telling me all that. Makes me all the more eager to savor every second of time with you now.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he grunted, “Don’t be too cheesy or I’ll toss you into one of the fountains.”

Stu laughed. “Fine. Where are you taking me next?”

“First, lets get some ice cold cervezas. Then, I’m thinking a siesta before we hit the beach.”

“Sounds perfect. Y’know, you’re actually quite good at planning these tips, Muds.”

“Of course I am,” Murdoc replied, swinging their hands between them as they walked, uncharacteristically playful. “I’ve been planning how I would woo you since the first time we stepped foot in this city, mi corazón!”

[beerthebard]

beer throckmorton & family as bdg quotes

(specifically unraveled quotes)

(specifically specifically unraveled season 1 quotes)

“he just goes and hangs out with his pirate friends” - beer hanging out with rum and ale

“he does this thing and then he goes sailing and then he crashes and has a dream and then dies in the ocean” - rum

“instead of having an existential crisis and then going to have to save the world from a moon, or having an existential crisis and hanging out with pirates, he just really gets into fashion” - weed

“that’s right! it’s darkness, baybey!” - beer describing his sister vodka

“what is he gonna do for the rest of his life? i’ll tell you what he does. he go-karts and fights people. for sport.” - weed

“i swear to god, if i get one ‘well, actually’ comment...” - wine

“history’s so BORINGGGGGG. UGHHH-” - beer

“i don’t give two shits about a king who lost a war 700 years ago! *snoring noises* GET OUTTA HERE!”

wine, reading to her brother: “they parted, and each went home to his own colony.” beer, having sat through 4 consecutive history lessons from his twin sister: “RIVETING.”

“everyone knows. that poetry and theatre. are meant to be seen. and not read... and you have NO idea how much it pains me that i DO not have time to do staged readings of all of these oh my GOD i would’ve loved that.” - beer

“who DOESN’T love a little erotic lizard fiction?”

beer abt the assassin he has a crush on: “there’s no way you can manage to maintain that level of erotic tension for seven acts.”

beer and his assassin boyf: *the entire staged reading of “the sultry argonian bard”*

“why the FUCK is he a top” - beer’s assassin crush abt beer

*gesturing to a picture of Garbage Man* “it’s me” - beer

“here’s a good rule of thumb: magicians are always evil” - beer abt vodka

“technically not murder. DEFINITELY BAD!” - beer abt his assassin boyf

“humans are trash” - every member of the throckmorton family abt their father

“this is what man has wrought... you will see these men in your nightmares.” - beer’s entire family descending upon their father

“we all know that dracula is hot. we all know that richter belmont is hot.” - beer

beer: “that’s right! we’ve narrowed it down to 69 monsters! can i get a WOOP!” bliss: “WOOP!” kiara, notorious asexual: “woo,” beer: “we’ll work on it”

“Oh God I Gotta Have Another Baby” - beer’s mother

“and, i just think we need to start thinking of new jersey in general as sexier.” - beer

“i got nothin for ya. if you’re not attracted to this, you’re wrong” - beer talking abt his crush

“if someone comes up to me and introduces themselves as Duke Mirage, my pants are already off” - beer

“it’s not their fault, they didn’t choose to be born! who does. choose to be born, right? who chooses...” - beer’s whole lineage of siblings

“am i safe to smash?” - beer any time he’s faced with a moderately attractive person or enemy

“pop some earplugs in!” - anyone listening to beer’s music, ever

“i couldn’t give a shit about death” - the throckmorton family

“just LET ME GAME, MOM” - weed @ their mother, beer’s aunt

“again, i could not categorize that, but i know he shouldn’t have been there!” - anyone who sees beer at any public gathering

*sung* “should auld acquaintance be forgot and all thaaaaaat jjaaaaaaaazzzzzzz~” - beer

“nobody wants to hear my opinion. which is why i am not STATING AN OPINION. I AM STATING A FACT.” - wine

“they called me a fool! but do i look like a fool to you?!” *proceeds to look like a fool* - beer and weed

“OH MY GOD THAT IS SO HOT. OHHHHH MY GOD-” - beer abt his crush

“hello friends. i’d like to take a moment to apologize for my recent outburst.” - beer after doing literally anything

“once you’ve got that boy under your possession, time to get real into unethical science~!” - vodka and/or wine

“and now that you’re jazzed and ready to go! time to fail.” - beer and his party

“and then you fail again.”

“unfortunately, even the military hierarchy is not insulated from nepotism” - beer explaining why his family is so spread across the continent

“despite what he has written in his memoirs, he’s never been on active duty, and he’s a valor stealing bastard.” - the throckmortons talking about their father

“and the chill bully, who is exactly like the bully, except he’ll kinda go easy on you if he can tell you’re having a rough day.” - beer describing whiskey

“is a living Bowser, Wet Bowser?” - beer talking about himself (bc he’s constantly horny)

beer, rum, and ale: *singing In The Navy*

“next we’ve got the Bros.” - beer & his brothers

beer: *is Smolderin’ Stu*

beer: *sings We Are The Toads as a jester for the royalty so that war stops being a thing*

[alvertesongdiary]

Cardi B, Bad Bunny & J Balvin - I Like It

[Intro:] Yeah baby, I like it like that You gotta believe me when I tell you I said I like it like that You gotta believe me when I tell you I said I like it like

[Cardi B:] Now I like dollars, I like diamonds, I like stunting, I like shining I like million dollar deals, where's my pen? Bitch I'm signin' I like those Balenciagas, the ones that look like socks I like going to the jeweler, I put rocks all in my watch I like texts from my exes when they want a second chance I like proving niggas wrong, I do what they say I can't They call me Cardi Bardi, banging body Spicy mami, hot tamale Hotter than a Somali, fur coat, Ferrari Hop out the stu', jump in the coupe (the coupe) They trippin' on top of the roof Flexing on bitches as hard as I can Eating halal, driving the Lam' Told that bitch I'm sorry though 'Bout my coins like Mario (Mario) Yeah they call me Cardi B, I run this shit like cardio Oh, damn

Diamond district in the jag (I said I like it like that) Certified, know I'm gang, gang, gang, gang (I said I like it like–) Drop the top and blow the brains (I said I like it like that) Oh he's so handsome, what's his name? (I said I like it) Oh I need the dollars (I said I like it like that) Beat it up like piñatas (I said I like it like–) Tell the driver, close the curtains (I said I like it like that) Bad bitch make him nervous (I said I like it) Cardi B

[Bad Bunny:] Chambean, chambean, pero no jalan (¡jalan!) Tú compras to'a las Jordan, bobo, a mí me las regalan (jejeje) I spend in the club (wuh), what you have in the bank (yeh) This is the new religion, bang, en Latino gang, gang, yeh Trato de hacer dieta (yeh), pero es que en el closet tengo mucha grasa (wuh) Ya mude la Gucci pa' dentro de casa, yeh (¡wuh!) Cabrón, a ti no te conocen ni en Plaza (no) El Diablo me llama pero Jesucristo me abraza (amén) Guerrero como Eddie, que viva la raza, yeh Me gustan boricuas, me gustan cubanas Me gusta el acento de las colombianas (¿qué hubo pues?) Como mueve el culo la dominicana (¿qué lo que?) Lo rico que me chingan las venezolanas (¡wuh!) Andamos activos, Perico Pin Pin (woo) Billetes de cien en el maletín (ching) Que retumbe el bajo, Bobby Valentin, yeh (boo) Aquí es prohibido amar, diles Charytín Que pa'l picor les tengo Claritin Yo llego a la disco y se forma el motín (rrr)

[Cardi B:] Diamond district in the jag (I said I like it like that) [Bad Bunny:] Bad Bunny, baby, be, be, be, be [Cardi B:] Certified, know I'm gang, gang, gang, gang (I said I like it like–) Drop the top and blow the brains (I said I like it like that) Oh he's so handsome, what's his name? (I said I like it) Oh I need the dollars (I said I like it like that) Beat it up like piñatas (I said I like it like–) Tell the driver, close the curtains (I said I like it like that) Bad bitch make you nervous (I said I like it)

[J Balvin:] Como Celia Cruz tengo el azúcar (azúca') Tu jeva me vio y se fue de pecho como Jimmy Snuka (ah) Te vamos a tumbar la peluca Y arranca pa'l carajo cabrón, que a ti no te vo'a pasar la hookah (hookah, hookah) Mis tenis Balenciaga, me reciben en la entrada (woo) Pa-pa-pa-pa-razzi, like I'm Lady Gaga (woo) Y no te me hagas (ey) Que en cover de Billboard tú has visto mi cara (ey) No salgo de tu mente Donde quieras que viajes has escuchado "Mi Gente" Yo no soy high (high), soy como el Testarossa ('rossa) Yo soy el que se la vive y también el que la goza (goza, goza) Es la cosa, mami es la cosa (cosa, cosa) El que mira sufre y el que toca goza (goza, goza)

[J Balvin (Cardi B):] I said I like it like that (I said I like it like that) I said I like it like that (I said I like it like that)

[Cardi B:] Diamond district in the jag (I said I like it like that) Certified, you know I'm gang (I said I like it) Drop the top and blow the brains (I said I like it like that) Oh he's so handsome, what's his name? (I said I like it)

16/08/2018

[humanityinahandbag]

Exposure

Going Up

Judy hadn’t known what to expect from life. But timelines are as uncertain as bridges to the stars, and she’s prepared to see where this one takes her. Almost. As long as he’s there with her.

I was going to make this platonic, but then I remembered that you loved Wildehopps, and I couldn’t deny you that.

But if you want the same prompt with a platonic plot, let me know!

She’s never had exposure to love. Real love. Not quite true- truth in itself was, by definition; accurate or exact. And they were neither of those things. Nick was sometimes too terse and she was sometimes too hopeful and they were a grab bag of will they won’t they and there wasn’t anything remotely true about the reality of them.

But it was honest and it was good, and she tentatively sidled into it with as much reserve as could be spared.

She asks him out. Tapping her feet on the underside of the dashboard and trying not to fiddle too badly with her radio. “Nick?”

He takes a left turn down fifth street and lets the wheel slide back through his paws. “Hmm?”

“Do you think you’d want to, uh…” tap tap tap go her feet- “we’ve been partners for a while.”

“One year,” he recounts almost lazily, his voice a twinge of summer days and sweet tea. “Or is it one and a half?”

“One and a quarter.”

“Tomato tomato.” He twists his head to give her that smirk. The one that always has her stomach in knots. Smirk number three out of his six smirk arsenal. “Why? You planning a party?”

“No. Uh- actually.” fiddle fiddle fiddle went her fingers- “I wanted to see what you’d think if I uh… asked you out?” A bunny of action was she, and beating around bushes had never been her specialty. Her arm was strong, but her morals were far too large to carry about sticks.

The silence after that is almost nauseating.

Nick is quiet. Taking the next right. Judy feels like she might vomit. Sorry, she wants to scream. God, she wants to barrel roll right out of their cruiser and duck into the sewers. Maybe she could live there forever! Become a hermit! Answer only to the call of the wild and tell no one about the mortifying moment where she asked her partner out in their cruiser.

Or… she could just be a big bunny, apologize, and then get home and bawl out her eyes the way she had at senior prom after she’d caught her date playing tonsil hockey with Jenny Clover.

“Nick-” she starts, her speech prepared with the twang of last words on her tongue-

“You know, Carrots, I ain’t a cheap date. Diamonds and flowers are all that really woo me. But if you’re willing to take a shot…”

The only thing that breaks her of her complete shock is smirk number five, and then she has to use every fiber in her tiny body to keep herself from throwing said tiny body across the dash and onto him. But she does well. Acadamy life trained her for this. And she sits in her seat, and gives a little wiggle of pleasure.

“I was thinking that Vegan place?”

“Sounds good.” He takes another right. “And I expect flowers.”

She brings him a bundle of petunias and he laces one through his lapel.

He’s never had the experience of meeting the parents, but here he is, sitting across from the both of her parents (who look like what he’d see on an honest to goodness How To Farm For Dummies instruction manual) and he is at a loss for everything.

“So… Nick…” Stu fiddles with the knife in front of him and Nick can see where Judy gets that habit from. “You uh… our daughter mentioned before that you were… different-”

“Stu!”

“Dad!”

Nick thinks he might actually be sick.

“What! He is! He’s a fox!” They opted out of eating at a restaurant, and Nick can see the advantage. At least the privacy of his home was of some comfort. He could duck out the fire escape and no one would be the wiser. “I’m not sayin’ it’s a bad thing!”

“Dad! Stop!”

Bonnie presses the heel of her hand to her brow and blows out a tropical storm. “Honestly, Stu.” She reaches across the table, taking Nick’s larger hands in her own. “Nicholas. We just thought it would be good to meet you. Our daughter’s gone through a lot and-”

“Mom!” Judy’s face is pink and red all at once, and she’s mirroring her father, fingers fiddling with the cloth napkins that Nick had taken out specifically for this occasion. “This isn’t ancient times, I can actually date someone without your approval!”

“I’m not saying you can’t hon bun. I just want to make sure that Nicholas here, I can call you that, can’t I?”

“Uh… yes ma’am?”

“Nicholas here is taking care of you.” Bonnie caught his eyes. “This isn’t a kind world, Nick, as I’m sure you’re well aware. And this isn’t a kind city.” The fox can suddenly see why she’s got as many kids as she does and is still standing. The woman was nothing short of a matriarch, and Nick wonders just how much strength she can fit in her denim clad body.

“I know, ma’am.”

“But my daughter is kind, Nick. You understand?”

And he does. Because this world could split in two, and Judy would still find a way to grapple a path to the stars, just for him.

He nods.

Bonnie smiles. “He’s a good one,” she tells her daughter, still holding tight to Nick’s hands. “Keep him.”

“Mom.”

Nick feels exponentially lucky.

They eat blueberry pie for dessert straight from the farm. And after, Nick and Stu head to the living room and scream at the screen, and Nick finds out that her father is a Lions fan, which is about as close to treason as it could get, but apparently in the country anyone who was a Panthers fan was practically trash and four beers later he and Mr. Hopps are getting on fine.

“Anytime, Nick,” he says, slapping the fox on the back.

Mrs. Hopps gives him a tight hug on the way out, and he responds in kind. “She’s kind,” Mrs. Hopps says quietly next to his ear. “But so are you.”

And then they leave.

“Well… that went… well…”

Nick agrees. 

He shows her how lucky he is later, pulling her away from the sink (”Nick, your hands are sudsy!” - “As if you’re any better.”) and dragging her into the bedroom.

The world had one Judy Hopps, and he’d wound up with her.

Judy has never had this much exposure to change. But here she is. Changing. First, it’s moving all her things to his apartment. Then it’s watching their home grow. And then, picture by picture on the wall, they become something kind and simple and good.

And then;

“Let’s have a baby.”

He says it, but it’s a question, and she can hear it there, somewhere between his teeth.

“What?” She looks up over her book.

“I said, let’s have a baby?” Ah. The question. There it was.

She puts down her book. “We’re not even married.”

“So?”

“So… shouldn’t we get married, first?”

Nick smiles wide. “Are you asking me to marry you, Mrs. Hopps!”

“It’s Ms.” She picks up her book again. “And maybe.”

They get married in the courthouse the next day.

             Things are good.

                                  So good.

                                                      (Too good)

She’s never had this much exposure to sadness. But here it is. And it slits her belly open and says nothing to the hole inside.

“I’m sorry,” says the specialist over the phone. “It just… won’t work.”

Nick comes home to her on the floor of the bathroom. Two tissue boxes are used up, and the second one had been thrown at the door hard enough to dent the cardboard.

He doesn’t ask.

He knows.

“I’m sorry,” says Nick.

“Don’t be,” says Judy.

They hold one another like that until the sun finally goes down. And when it does, Nick says, “we’ll find something.”

“Nick?”

“You’re too kind.” He wipes his eyes. Wipes hers. “You’re too kind not to love something that much.”

“I love you that much.”

He knows she does. That bridge to the stars is still incomplete but she never stops building it. For him. But…

“That’s not what I mean.”

She leans against the cracked tile and breaks. “I know.”

She’s never been exposed to this much grief before.

But neither has he. 

They share it, and that makes it a little easier.

Mrs. Wilde comes over one weekend and brings a casserole with her. “Judy,” she says, and her voice is as warm as the pot she pushes into the rabbit’s paws. “I’m so sorry, darling.”

“We’re… handling it.” She puts the pot down and hugs her mother-in-law. The woman smells like Nick without all his awful cologne.

“Foxes rarely have many children,” the mother explains once they pull back. “Nick was my only, and I was glad to have him. I couldn’t imagine not…”

“Yeah.” A laugh, a little bitter. A little sour. “My mother has a couple more.”

They drink wine on the small patio until Nick gets back and pours a generous glass for himself. “I still expect grandchildren,” his mother says after a time, finishing off her second glass of red.

“Mom… we can’t. It’s not possible.”

“Still.” She stands up and brushes off her dress. “I was exposed to a house of little feet.” She slides open the door. “Come on. There’s casserole, and I won’t let it go to waste.” 

They lie in bed after it’s all over and done with. “Nick?” Judy hisses through the dark.

“Hmm?”

“Your mother’s right.”

He flicks on the light by his side of the bed. “What?”

“I said-”

“I know what you said.”

“I just think… it would be good for us! You know. I want a kit.”

“I do too, but-”

“No.” She shakes her head. “You’re a flowers and diamonds kind of guy, remember? Well, you’re not getting any less. And neither am I.”

The bridge to the stars is making good progress, and as he pulls her to him, teeth clicking, hands rushing to fill in the gaps, he can feel the security of a constellation overhead.

She is kindness, and he will fall for her all over again.

She’s never had this much exposure to love.

Not when they’ve gone through agency after agency. Turned away because of their “life choices”. Because the fox sitting beside her was something to hate. Because Nick was too damn kind, too damn finished, to ever do anything but accept.

She was done accepting. So she made some calls.

“Hey, Nick?” she’ll ask him in the cruiser. Her feet tap on the bottom of the dash. Her fingers fiddle at the buttons.

“Hmm?”

He takes a left onto Seventh Avenue.

“So I made some calls…”

“Hmmm…” he says again, tapping the wheel.

“How would you feel about a little boy?”

This time, it’s Nick who has to keep himself from throwing the weight of him across the dash. And he doesn’t do a good job at that.

They name him Rigel. Well… she doesn’t. He does, really. Nick pointed out, from fifth-grade astronomy, that it was the brightest star in Orion’s belt. And it had some meaning. To him, at least.

Judy had wrinkled her nose. “You want to name our son Rigel?”

“You don’t like it?”

“I don’t not like it. It’s just a little…” she flounders. “I don’t know… Crunchy granola?”

“We can pick another name.”

She looks at their already exhausted list. “No… I want there to be some meaning to it. And you seem to like it.”

“I do!” he nods fast.

Her bridge falters. Just for a moment. “Rigel.” She tests the name on her tongue. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay.” She circles the name. “Crunchy granola it is.”

He won’t tell her that he’d thought of that name again and again. Rigel. If she were hanging any tightropes up through the skies, he rather thought she’d choose the brightest star. Kind Judy never did anything but poke holes in the darkness, and he’d been prepared to supplement whatever was to come ahead with a candle, a match, and a light bright enough to prove he was worth the effort.

Her bridge continues.

Rigel is the runt. They’d kept him under observation for a time while his lungs caught up with the rest of his tiny body. He’s all rust and puffy fur, and he settles so well into her arms that Nick could swear he was built for them.

He’ll say the same thing a moment later when he accepts his tiny boy into the crook of his arm.

“You’ll need to fill out paperwork,” the social worker reminds them.

“That’s fine.”

“And there’s a visitation from myself a few other board members coming up in three weeks. You think you’ll be ready for that?”

Nick bobbles over, (up and down up and down) watching the babe stare at the world around him with still blue eyes. “No,” he snips happily. “Not prepared at all.”

The social worker gives them a look. “Nevertheless.”

And that’s that. 

Rigel is settled between his parents. Fed. Bathed. Sleeping off an exhausting ordeal of playing with his new favorite pink hippo toy surreptitiously named “Bop”. Judy toys with his tiny ears.

“You’re okay with a fox?” asks Nick. His son - his son - yawns wide, and his milk teeth flash. They’ve already started having issues with that, and the legs of their best chairs are going to suffer dearly. “I know it’s… not what you expected. We could’ve gotten a Prey-”

“I’ve stopped expecting.” Her son makes a noise, and she kisses the back of his soft head with such affection that Nick wants to cry. “And there are too many foxes, Nick.”

Nick might cry, then. But he buries his face against her head and keeps their son (theirs, theirs, yours and mine and mine and yours and ours) between them.

This child will be exposed to nothing but love. He’s sure of it.

He won’t have an easy life. Foxes never do. They’re born with a pock, a mark, a scarlet letter stitched to their chest, and there’s nothing he can do that will wash it away. But he’s Judy’s son, now. Nick has to realize that. And he knows that this little boy will have to learn fast that the callouses passed on to his paws are good for nothing less than turning the world over and over and over again. And the woman who holds the Atlas, lying on the opposite side of the bed, won’t let the weight snap this child in two.

The escape bridge runs long and the stars spell their names in poetry.

Nick wants to say I love you, but she’s pressing another kiss to Rigel’s soft face, and Nick keeps it to himself.

(Besides)

(she already knows)

“What do you think he’ll be when he grows up?”

“I thin it’s too early to tell, Nick.”

“Nah. He’ll be a police officer.”

“Nick-”

“If he’s anything like his mama he’ll change the world.”

The baby yawns and stuffs one of Judy’s ears into his mouth. She winces fondly when he gnaws in his sleep. “It’s too early to tell, Nick. No one’s born to change the world.”

His leans over to kiss her and mumbles you’re wrong into her mouth. The bridge above her head changes course and reaches for higher stars. And he’s got no doubts that the path will be anything but exquisite.

“Maybe,” says Judy.

“Definitely,” says Nick.

She scratches her son’s head. “What d’ya think of that? You gonna change the world?”

Her son chews on her ear and yawns.

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