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fe-semi-decent-scenarios · 4 years ago

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Could I ask headcanons of Black Eagles flirting and crushing on Byleth (professor?)?

[Ask and you shall receive lol. Lately I’ve been busying myself with long reports, so I needed something cutsey to recharge.(Sorry if it’s complete rubbish lol) It’s not much but I hope you like it!]

Edelgard:

Ehh. She won’t be a student much longer anyways.

Byleth will always be her professor...but maybe another title can be ticked onto that list? She hopes so.

However, she doesn’t go too overboard. Just a few teasing gestures and quips every once in a while to sedate the budding sentiment in her heart

With more pressing issues over love, Edelgard can’t afford to play the role of lovesick schoolgirl

She sets side her personal feelings for the professor when around others. Instead they are treated as a good friend and adored instructor. Alongside the present given on Byleth’s birthday are a few other trinkets Edelgard picked up herself, you know, because she’s extra

When alone her thoughts often drift. There are many occasions where work ends up procrastinated

She keeps everything bottled up inside and doesn’t even hint at the idea of a crush to anyone. To love is to be compromised, to be compromised is to be weak, and to be weak is to fail

This is something she firmly believes until the support of her peers and affection from her professor begin to challenge it

Perhaps there is room for love in her future

“My teacher, you are an important companion to everyone here and to myself. You must never forget that”

Hubert:

Oh he is smooooth.

Yet subtle

He knows that he shouldn’t become too attached considering what’s to come in the future. His mind and body are her highness’ to command

....well, all good things come in moderation anyways. What’s a little meaningless flirting?

His flirting methods follow the ‘attack of opportunity’ plan. Meaning that he tosses in his quips when the time seems fitting

He knows what he is doing. Never assume otherwise

Obviously such conduct towards a teacher is unrefined. Does he care? The guy couldn’t give less of a sh*t

He has 100% commented on their dancing attire at least once

People should mind their own business lest they want to lose their tongue. Can’t gossip when you can’t speak, right?

If the professor doesn’t seem to mind then why should he stop? If they recuperate then that’s even better

It’s no fun when prey doesn’t fight back once in a while.

“Oh do go on. The droll behind your ever so taunting tone is intoxicating. It almost makes this insufferable lecture mildly entertaining” -shots fired. Professor or not, ‘love interest’ or enemy, Hubert does not tone down the sarcasm

No one even suspects that he has an interest in Byleth. He downright makes it appear that they are his sworn enemy (whether this is intentional or not? You decide)

Caspar:

‘Flirt’? ‘Caspar’? That’s funny

It’s not that he can’t do it. Caspar can be very charming when he wants to be, but why bother?

They’re his professor. If he starts kissing up to them then the others might start to think he’s pegging for special treatment

He also doesn’t want them to like a facade. He wants them to like him

Not that he would turn said special treatment down if offered. He d o e s want to get stronger, and the extra time with his “favorite”*wink* professor is a lucky bonus

He tends to have a ‘lingering eye’ that’s easy to pick up on if you catch my drift

he is not pure hearted, just a dunce. There is a difference

The boy blushes at every little action without even noticing

He loves to watch them train, both to better his own moves and to admire them without it seeming weird

Literally everyone knows that Caspar has a thing for Byleth before he knows it himself. He’s the kind that mistakes a crush for admiration

He’s also a big baby when it comes to them giving other people attention.

He justifies his interruptions as: “The professor doesn’t have time to do __ for __! They have enough to do as it is!”

Now what does that translate to in Caspar language?: “The time the professor spends doing __ is time they could spend with our class me”

Someone help him. He’s so thick headed it’s actually sad

Petra:

“My apologies. I will be returning after the clearing of my head”

She’s unfamiliar with the courting methods in Fodlan. Are they the same as in Bridgid?

Thoughts of the professor occasionally will interfere with her study time

Also her appetite. Normally she eats plenty at meals since she hates waste, but the professor makes her nervous about her etiquette

let’s just ignore that Byleth eats like a ravenous boar

She wants to take them to see Bridgid. It’s only natural to want to share the things you love with those you care about

She embraces the affection she feels. Byleth is a truly wonderful person and the royal family would gladly accept them if Petra expressed her feelings

When she returns she wants to ask them to accompany her

For now she will remain at their side both in battle, in leisure, and in spirit

Petra also isn’t one to approach with caution. The way she flirts is through honesty

If they do something she likes then she says so. If they look nice or are trying something new then she’ll comment on it. If she sees something in the shop that they might like, then she buys it

Petra is simple. She does for Byleth what she thinks will make them happy and doesn’t overthink it in the slightest

Dorothea:

The newfound feelings aren’t discouraged nor appreciated. It is a battle between practicality and love for her

Not because of them being a professor, but everything else

Mercenary, teacher, reincarnate, solider, tactician, etc.

Such a dangerous profession with so much blood on their hands. Are those the ones she wants to hold for the rest of their days?

Will they even live long enough to grow old with her?

She wants a reliable partner to take care of her and not give her a heart attack on a daily basis. So far only one box is checked

She will not be a widow at such a young age. She refuses

When these thoughts emerge Dorothea retracts from Byleth. There’s still the open friendliness that was there before, but now an extra barrier has been put up

She won’t go out of her way to give Byleth special treatment. Her search for a partner other than them will continue on

Maybe she’ll find someone else to smash these feelings so that there will be no need to confront them

Only after they ‘die’ will she stop suppressing them.

“To think that it took such a disaster for me to see the light. Why do people realize such things when it’s too late?” - she focuses on personal growth until the reunion. Relying on another person to prevent the past from reappearing is not what she wants.

Ferdinand:

The best way that Ferdinand can communicate his feelings is through words

He tries. He really tries to come across as a potential life partner for the professor. He can only be a student for so long, and they’re close in age. Logically there is nothing wrong with the possibility of a courtship

but because speaking ‘frilly’ is a normality the effect is not like how he hoped

When Ferdinand falls, he falls hard. Yes, he is a flirt. Yes, he stretches himself thin trying to please everyone. Yes, he has his quirks that make him extremely confrontational

So when he finds someone with the ability to make him both strengthen his morals, question the bigger picture, and grow as an individual (after the whole ‘noble’ mine-bomb) it’s a big deal

Therefore he will not relent in his pursuit of Byleth unless they explicitly tell him to stop. If words don’t work then he instantly pegs for quality time and acts of affirmation

Greets them every morning, carries their supplies, invites them to tea, delivers lost items, etc. People really do peg him as a kiss ass.

He doesn’t get the ‘heart flutters’ that people talk about. When he’s beside the professor he just feels energized. Like he could actually beat Edelgard ‘could’ is the key word in that scentence

“Good morning Professor! If your schedule allows it, would you care to join me for tea later this afternoon? Your company would make it the perfect level of sweetness”

Linhardt:

A firm believer of “age is but a number”

It’s more of his personal beliefs that tone down any pursuit of the professor. They are currently in a position of power over him that halts any relationship progression at a professional level.

So as any healthy person does: he vents any growing affection into his studies

He h a t e s how they make him restless.He’ll be feeling drowsy one moment but then their face will pop into his mind

He can’t even sleep through class. Not with them there

Actually works in the class’ favor since he starts contributing to the lectures. If you can’t beat them then might as well join them

This is how it is during pre-timeskip for the most part. Occasionally he will let his thoughts slip but never any action

He has crests to research and Byleth has students that seemingly want to die by the hour. There is literally no time to flirt

Now AFTER the timeskip, things are different. Linhardt is a blunt person which sometimes works in his favor. Just so happens that flirting comes naturally to him

most of the time it doesn’t though

“Could you refrain from doing that? It’s distracting” “Linhardt, i’m stretching. How is that distracting?” “You are an attractive individual. Need I say more?”

Life is short. He has no filter

Bernadetta:

“HI PROFESSOR!” “Afternoon Bernadetta. I see you’re out of your room today” “W-what? OH! Yes. Y-y-yEs i aM IM SORRY I’LL GO BACK PLEASE DON’T PATRONIZE MEEEEE”

She’s scared. What’s new?

The girl never expected to have these feelings. One night she was painting when what was supposed to be a cloud began to resemble her professor

It was downhill from there.

Her behavior is exactly the same as prior to her feelings. Being a naturally jittery person works to her advantage, no one suspects a thing!

Compared to simply being friends it will take longer for her to be comfortable

She will avoid Byleth at all times outside of lessons. It’s just too hard to communicate anymore

Eventually her outer shell will crack. The once new feelings will begin to feel normal and the old bernie will be back. Jittery, hyperactive, kind, lovable bernie

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triumphorce · 6 years ago

Text

under stars that feel as far as

real does..

at the moment.

at any moment..

kidnap me.

any chance presented

& in moments prior.

spent alone

zone.

far from progress.

stasis,

stationed next to

hope & regret.

on either side.

stamina. breathe now

to breathe more.

no free will.

i got to survive.

i got to make it,

especially if i just change aim

change rim-height,

relate with reality

change chin height,

keep head up,

lower expectations

keep pen up.

can’t make shit up,

so i make this shit up

dig deep, drain soon as i wake up

from sleep, or conscious nap..

break up

buildup

of words

that

feel

millions.

euphoric

ultimatum;

write,

or just

waste.

can’t wait

to post, create.

post haste

long ass roads that really dont have

an end, or means to.

I just become more of

whatever comes;

whatever emotions

i allow;

however

i react;

whoever,wherever,

when tf ever

‘cause all i am

is now, here.

a little more conscious..

that’s it.

&the more i remember,

the more i forget.

gotta pick and choose.

careful.

careful, please.

carefully

cut ties, choose way

‘cause by the time it's time to remember

new knew's

once was' just can’t keep up

and i accidentally

delete something

important,

or distort it..

gotta

slow down

life...

ssssshhheesh

i once was in less pieces,

&I at least, once, knew peace, but didn’t know it,

more than likely still do

staring at sky blue.

so blue..

eyes find it soothes

waiting on.

bus late.

contemplating, mind rages

sea

lost in deep

hue pool

sharp, wind wrapping body.

waitin on,

waiting on.

contemplating. gone.

daydreamin way thru life.

thru the little things

i always belittled.

cause I thought I had what i needed. or what I had was mine to keep.

...just because.

i need a little more somethin

a little more new, more original stop cliches, tropes,& archetypes in general

droll,

repetition equals learning, well i'll just lurn-less

beg to differ, by beggin questions, even when forced to tread slow,&only do so in head.

we’re all middlemen.

just fiddlin’

‘round in world,

in universe,

riddled withh riddles,

that

trickle,

drip

complex

descent

from cognitive

beginnings.

ephemeral glimpses of outside-nighttime-world,

through blinds in bed, as a child to now, still just as far from.

as far as real feels.

feelin nothing like how I do now.

but pain passes,

so it just must be my brain's capacity for trust shrank. & elaborates time taken for to cross neural pathways,

not get lost, and make it back safe save, all at the same time, while i attempt to ignore age

pay mind solely to the idea i can do, &I don't have to prove.

to become honest, so potential growth is optimum to be one with me, and know I can't ever be anything but and no idea is ever done, no matter finished, no grey matter greyer, no more dr. bender's, no more directions, no more winners, reflect on self, &what it means-to be better, i deflect defects w/ skylark teeth,

a truer sense of.. truth

a higher level basic

newfound fundamentals

that all the world and creation in it,

then, now, or later

are truly small

no life was ever finished

nobody wants to give it up,but we learn to

and as a consequence return to world what we wish to see beyond our existence

to find trust again love again feel again believe again hurry up, clock's tickin

get it, grind look and find get inspired go inspire go perspire run a mile two three four

five seconds six seconds

gotta go for it gotta get better,

never listen only instrumentalz for me

in a room aspire to be able to define my every rhyme and reason behind thoughts had,

itchin to stay consistent, keep on writing and don't worry about why, keep on filing tomes of dreams, ordering guides to self, from one idea to a whole library of shit I did,

like,

"oh, damn kid, you wrote that?"

damn right I did.

conversations that I have in my head

while I reread pieces

an elixir, a pensive remedy

for when I feel reluctant toward

reality, when in reality

it's really just the people around me that I trusted, busted ass for, gave up past for filled up gigabytes, sticky notes, notepads for designed a whole world for,

put off parties, friends, a part of me I never gave a chance for. became an outcast for. put on mask for.

to be compared and not contrasted warned and not encouraged critiqued but not heard

made me want

to tell, create a story and not give a damn about glory.

although i worry how i come off..sometimes..

made me

change style time after time for some time, now..

made me have

to boost own confidence, own own ego; inflate like raft, & float to shore,

common ground with action &

focused on

how I'm amounting in life.

..apparently

im just climbing up invisible

mountains

but i don't let it make or break me,

used to,

but no more ,& nowit's just me.

&that's just crazy..

so im focused

on how im a mountain lion to moles tryna troll, but most the time, tho I'm...focused on settling score with where I've failed

& failed to respond to failure well

let go

of initiative, hung to anger

in orbit around regret towards doors left unopened, words unspoken to people gone, that could've changed life, if only They could hear these thoughts.. if only I had someone to talk to besides myself, & people that talk to high-five themselves; given approval never sought, advice for battles never fought, in a room for most of youth, stuck in head, so much to see, explore lore of stories never written, so much done even before i decided to pick pen up, before i decided I was ready for commitment decisions in head turn to an every 5 minute thing,

stuck in holes deeper than before

tell-tale signs around sub-subconscious that Im chasin nothin..

apparitions..

in front of people

waitin somethin fierce

for me to

summon what's already there

a mirror image of miracle from thinnest air from holes put in life for pride in pages of jumbled thoughts gaps in memories for drafts that define ironic, describing fine lines I believe are there, in thinnest mirror, between me and experience in eyes that remind me i am less, i am more i am worse, i am better everything in between all and nothing, not objective, but an object capable of observation, own purpose assigned no more worth than yours, no more than I have dealt my self chances missed to live for product tossed or lost in the end

x's & lines through a mind confused, backspaces scribbles procrastinating daily, delaying the inevitable, staring at.. ...coffee steam and letters linked in ink curves and ink in nerves

on nights only sleep's deferred as vivid as yesterdays and scenes in head of tomorrows mixed in with skips in consciousness obvious options almost always missed second guesses linger in gut like wtf

what the fuck am i doing everyday, if I don't contribute to future

to believe, or not to believe i was in control of will was the whole problem let go of all it hone on goals. fly low, that is...

as far a stretch as breath of desire to contribute to the world believing if chance exists, i will succeed I will fulfill promises thru notepads & audience

a caged bird singing

do or do not.

seems all I've done is try, it seems to try isnt good enough, seems what they want from me wasn't what I was told they want, which is for me to want from me & instead what they want to see is what they want to see

me to become this and not my own, no matter how many hours spent, no matter the font, text, or etiquette formed to gain attention, but apparently a proper use of improper use of prose prospered overtime & i kept my posture, keep me from losing self, going crazy, letting people make me think something's not okay, or wrong with me, or out of whack off top, not taken seriously

priorities of the majority of society made it difficult to captivate eyes, and garner respect, because of conflictive internal contradictions to set out for what I thought was spreading message, but was embedding judgment of self, & effort, looking at motives that been made a home in heart like they suspect, but they was who fucked with me when I wouldn't even fuck with me, wanna be someone else, something else, like what you want clave?

to wait for mine..

psh, nnn’eh, thinking I was good enough to be taken seriously ..

thinking there was nothing to do, but to do, but something changed course, one day,

one day atta time

thinking that I was right behind, could just lift up arm and touch but that wasn't the case, ever, constant race

couldn't hold on, couldn't hide the pain to psyche out greatest opponent, me

didn't want to, saw no point

repeating and repeating, over and again

so on and so forth, thus forth destroying self convinced I couldn't help it and still am

and still can't

accept I ever gave in, broke under pressure, buckled under what some would chuckle over, no pity, just recognition of jimity's petition to push when pushed, with thoughts into written gale force, in a position to always hope, so when foundation crumbles, there's another one up under

if not, I use earth to wander.

whether with excess of momentum or subsiding in subtle realization of sustenance behind life's work

purpose on course set to find reward I'm told I'm looking for..

fin

#poem #dps #clavevesari

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sab-teraa · 3 years ago

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im sorry but is it really a good excuse that she hid atlas because "society would judge her" for having someone else's child out of wedlock? this seems to be their main defense of esra over this whole situation but it sounds kinda selfish to me - poor atlas didn't get to know his real dad, who turned out to be a great dad to someone else's child, and thinks his dad is some other dude who has actually been messing with his real parents' lives. ozan and atlas absolutely did not deserve this.

Hey hey <3 I am so sorry for the late response my lovely! I agree with you! Here are my thoughts on your take, I apologize in advance bc it's super long lol: (1) I somewhat understand the whole "society would judge thing", but I also think that they finally had a chance to break the stigma surrounding single mothers ... and yet they chose not to... despite hinting at the possibility of Ozan being a single dad to Ela. They literally promoted the double standards that exist between single mothers and single fathers, whereby single mothers are looked down upon and seen as weak, while single fathers are seen as champions for taking care of their children. This show made it seem that single mothers are unable to provide their children with a good life and be good role models, and hence, a child NEEDS a father figure in their life .... even if this father is a bad role model + a negative influence. I'm aware that each country/culture/religion has its own sets of rules and what they deem is right and wrong, but, the stigma surrounding single mothers is universal and IMO needs to be tackled. Especially since this stigma has a domino effect/affect on the children and their everyday experiences + this stigma can lead to trauma for both the parent and the child, while also contributing to their inability to escape the poverty cycle/upward class mobility.

Like I understand that ami can’t fix all the worlds problems … and I don’t expect them too, but ami has positioned itself as a show that is realistic and grounded in 'f*eminism' (which imo is currently the most toxic interpretation of f*eminism, but that deserves its own rant) ... and as such, has a responsibility to make an attempt try and tackle such issues, by showing the impact of such discrimination + showcasing successful single parents to show that it is possible. Instead, this show has re-emphasized and promoted the notion of "us vs them" by recycling old cliches, rather than showing how strong single parents (single mothers in this case) are, and why they should not be discriminated against, and excluded from society. Ami literally went on to brand single mothers as immoral and something that is shameful. The show also equated a child born out of wedlock as "worthless" and a "burden", while also reiterating the dangerous stereotypes of unmarried single mothers being "w*hores" and seeing no fault in a man having an affair.

This show also frames guys who marry single mums (in this case Ci) as the good guys, bc he was willing to ‘sacrifice’ his life and take on this ‘burden’, and as such single mothers need to be grateful to such men for ‘saving them’ + must always be submissive to these men (even if they hurt you/control you) … all bc they accepted your child. Like, I understand that this is a show, but as I've mentioned, ami continuously pulls the f*eminism card .... and yet when it comes to a serious issue women face .... they choose to cave into societal norms which are grounded in discrimination rather than promoting equality and equity? I guess I shouldn't be surprised that ami is so insensitive and tone-deaf, despite the attempts at being progressive .... this is the same show that sees nothing wrong with a character attempting to SA a male character. (2) I agree. Esra is the most selfish dizi female lead I've come across. She has zero consideration for Ozan's feelings and constantly berates him. Not once has she recognized her role in this mess + how toxic her behaviour has always been ... she always shifts the blame onto Ozan ... who in fact has no control over any decision bc she decided before he had a chance too. It's like I've mentioned, it's one thing to keep the child away from the dad (I don't agree with this but anyway) ... but a whole other thing to forcefully replace a willing and able father. And that too with a man who constantly looked down on your peers/loved ones and openly hurt the man you apparently love so much. It's baffling to me. In my opinion, the only victims on this show are ela, ozan and atlas. I don't feel any sympathy for Esra. Given the bond between Atlas and Ci, I don't see atlas being v open to Ozan being his dad atm ... in fact, I think Atlas is going to resent Ozan for a bit or might even be used as a pawn by Ci to separate EsZan AGAIN. You said it best Anon, Ozan and Atlas do not deserve this. Ozan deserves better! Too bad that his self worth and validation is grounded in what that woman thinks of him 😔

#ask mantik intikam #dizi ask #ami ask

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thatweirdmod · 4 years ago

Text

Windowless Moviemaker Chapter 6: Race

Windowless Moviemaker

Chapter 6: Race

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

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

"Well?" Kidney demands irritably.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kidney nods his head.

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

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

Mitchol swallows and shifts in his blood-stained bindings.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kidney's eyes shoot to me, surprised.

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

His gaze narrows hatefully.

"So some weird shit happened and you saw my dream. It prompted you to get the jump on us, but that was mostly luck. And that's probably as far as your luck will go in regards to picking useful kernels of information outta piles of brain vomit." I snort. "Even my thing was more useful, because I saw you in real time."

Kidney smiles. "Where did I see your dream?"

"Huh?"

"It was inside your mind. It had to have been, 'cause that's where they're all cooked up." Kidney says, tapping the side of his head. "The moon is almost full again. That has to count for something." He breathes in. "I can go further with this. But I'll make sure you stay at your current level. You'll be underground here where you can't touch the moonlight."

"You don't even know what the hell 'this' is." I say.

"Pretty smug talk for a guy who's about to lose everything," Kidney says, with his mouth turned upwards in a smirk that doesn't reach his stony eyes.

"What better time to be smug than when you're about to lose everything?"

His face contorts with all the nasty feelings that must be roiling around inside of him. "I told you I'd take everything from you, and this bullshit positive nihilism of yours will be one of the things. I'll make you understand how bad playing as the loser really is, even if the game has the same black ending for everyone."

He takes Mitchol's phone out of his pocket, then says, "Mitchol, you told me you could set Redhand up."

Mitchol breathes in. "Redhand's looking for a new place to do his snuff movies, so I'm thinking maybe I can tell him I found a good place, and you can catch him there?"

"Hmm," Kidney says, folding his arms. "Why does he happen to need a new location now?"

Mitchol explains, "He's been under some suspicion lately. His neighbors've been complaining about a smell, like rotten something, coming from his apartment."

I don't need to wonder what that smell could be. I watched a video where Redhand Heriolt cut a girl open with a sharpened can top. It'd probably taken a fair amount of practice to learn how to do, but he'd managed to keep his subject awake and alive while he pulled out part of her intestines, smeared the pungent brown contents over both of them, and pleasured himself.

I had thought, while clicking through Redhand's contributions, that cleaning up set after filming that kinda stuff would be way too much of a pain. Looks like Redhand thought so too. That filth and gore in the background really had been as caked-on as it looked.

Mitchol continues, "He even got, you know, reported to the cops 'cause someone heard screams. Redhand laughed it off, sayin' it was slasher flicks playing on the TV. They left after he promised to turn the volume down, and they never got a search warrant or nothin'. Still, better not push it, right?"

I nearly snort. Well no shit someone heard screams if he was doing that stuff in an apartment.

Kidney asks, "Where do you plan on telling him to go?"

Mitchol swallows weirdly, with something about him quivering. "That ghost town 40 minutes southeast of Grishee, the neighborhood has a bunch of abandoned old houses. I know a little white one has a basement too. I think I could convince him it's ideal."

A frown of skepticism sends Kidney's lips pointing downwards, but then he walks closer to Mitchol and loosens some of the bindings so he can move one of his hands. Just as soon, however, Kidney slips a pocket knife out of his back pocket and pops the blade out against Mitchol's neck.

Mitchol gasps sharply, but Kidney just places the previously confiscated cell phone into his newly freed hand. "Text him," Kidney says into Mitchol's ear, adjusting the angle of the knife. "Make it sound natural, and make sure he goes to that little white one."

Mitchol's throat bobs, as much of a nod as there was going to be. He goes to work on the keys:

"sup dood. te ghosted out hood in Caplum has som gud spots. white house wit te green dor has a cool basement."

And "SEND".

Kidney's mouth quirks to the side. "I know I said to make it natural, but are you sure he'll get that?"

Mitchol chokes, "Yeah, I mean, I text him like that often enough."

"I see," Kidney says. Then, the phone buzzes.

"R U THERE NOW?"

"Eh, what should I say?" Mitchol asks.

"If this is a test, you might not be able to answer follow-up questions confirming that you're there. You're at home, got it?"

"nah im chillin in my plce. u out?"

"NO. HOME RUBING1 IN BEEFSLAB+blood I BAWT.CANT HUNT BUT NEed it bad."

"lol. tis Caplum spot wil fix u up. no 1 evr gos der. wnna chekit out togetrr?? jst gimme a time bro."

"nightS YUNG.TERES TIME TO CATCHA WOMAN I LEAVE RN. BETHERE 1HR???"

"frige lvl cool dood XD"

"I didn't say you were supposed to go too," Kidney purrs lowly over Mitchols shoulder. "But, I suppose you can just be 'late.'"

He takes the phone out of Mitchol's hand and re-tightens the ropes. "I can handle Redhand Heriolt from here."

With that, he turns on his heels, clops up the concrete stairs, and leaves me and Mitchol to rot in the bunker.

I look at Mitchol. "Please tell me you just tricked him somehow," I say.

"Shh," Mitchol replies quietly.

A couple of little sparks flare up in my chest and head. If I had the energy, I'd click my tongue. Don't you shush me, bitch. I whispered anyway.

Black silence begins settling down between us, and I close my eyes. The concrete is hard against my body, and I can feel us becoming one via temperature as my warmth seeps away into its cold. I move my lips, and a barely audible, hoarse series of whispers spills from them.

"Mother Earth, Mother Earth, once again to us give birth."

Suddenly, a violent roiling upheaves my stomach, like Poseidon's stormy fist punching the sea in wrath and sending the waters booming and swashing. I projectile vomit all over myself and the floor. The deja vu from my dream hits me first, and then the disgust and embarrassment of real life.

Mitchol jumps, as much as he can tied up anyway. His face is tense with that look of distubia, shock, fear, and concern that I hate directed

at me. "Wha.. are you okay man?"

A suck in a stinging, bile stained breath and respond to him in stench coated words. "No. Fuck... we just... we need to get the fuck out of here."

I lick my lips, and regret pools inside my mouth as my tongue pulls foul bits and cooling, sour fluid back into it.

There's a book of religion that says god will not be mocked and is not to be tested. I suppose I couldn't rightly be of the wombs and births of two different mothers at my own convenience. I never considered myself a man of faith, but this stuff I've been touching-- it seems to be some part of a sprawling realm beyond scientific knowledge.

I look down at myself. The sight of me must be making Mitchol sick, but since I'm already like this... I allow the muscles in my bowels to unfurl like a relaxing kitty, and warm liquid soon soaks my jeans and forms a pool around me.

Yep, this is one thing they don't tell you, at least not often, about being kidnapped. I was living freely up until however many hours ago I was taken, and that meant that I drank coffee and expected to be able to reach a toilet when it made its way through me.

I sigh, and lean over to inhale the merging smells that had all been inside my body. Amazing, how humans are all so disgusting inside, but we act as if we're clean until it comes out. I don't bother to look up at my roommate as I contemplate going number two.

But then I catch my reflection in the puddle of urine, and decide that I have to cancel my reservations with Mr. Brown, because the Train of Thought just arrived, and it only stops at the station for 3 seconds.

The first thing I thought, or perhaps, was told, about Mother Moon was that she was a relayer of the sun's message. And gods... gods... I was just thinking about them. But what do I do about them-- what do humans do about gods? They... sacrifice and serve. Blood, lives... offerings.

"Angel of The Great Star, to you, I unbar. Birth me into the spacial assemblage. Through me, relay the message," I say.

Mitchol again looks at me like I'm insane. Indeed, I've done it incorrectly. If her light cannot touch me, it is pointless. I take in a deep breath, and begin fighting against the ropes around my body harder than I ever fought before. Just a bit, perhaps they're loosening.

If I can just get out of these, I might be able to find a way to force the bunker door open and get outside. And if Mother Moon accepts me, I will be raised above Earth and the Earthlings. I will be 3rd, and they will all be 4th.

In the clearing outside the bunker, Kidney faces the moon and spreads out his arms, letting the glow bathe his body. This pale light can be so many things: ethereal, comforting, serene, eerie... He'd never questioned whose mood it really depended on until recently.

"Mother Moon, Mother Moon..." Kidney trails off, his eyes closed in concentration. But concentration isn't quite right. The chant... the feeling isn't coming over him.

"Mother Moon." He says, more of a plain address than a mystical prayer. "I can see you here tonight, as always. Does it not please you to commune with me right now?"

Gazing up at the white ball suspended in the infinite black cosmos, he ever so slightly feels her grow closer for a moment. However, she remains silent and far.

"On your own terms, Mother Moon." Kidney submits, inclining his head in reverence. Despite everything that has happened, he still feels a little crazy as he walks back to his rental car. He might fit the definition of "lunatic" now.

Kidney drives down the rural road to Caplum. Thousands of spindly, bent trees slash endless shadows through the yellow glow from his headlights. If he were taking the Passage to Hell of the South and met Satan at the end, it might not surprise him. Fitting though, that such a road would be irritatingly monotonous. Bored despite his mission, he flips the radio on.

Unintelligible words and tunes grate through static on most of the channels. Then there's the twang of guitar and a longing voice that reminds Kidney of grass fields swaying under a golden sunset in the middle of a heaven set in nowhere. He never did like country music, so he twists the knob one more click.

A bold, smooth, male voice butters the speakers. "The quiet neighborhood of Green Shade has been shaken by the story of a local housewife. According to her, she was drugged and kidnapped from her home by two masked men, who broke in late at night."

Kidney's heart lurches inside of his torso, along with the food in his stomach. He gags, swerving into the wrong lane for a second. After everything they-- Jeeto-- had told her, Mrs. Horatay was still talking?

The deep voice coming through the speakers crinkles with static. "...underground bunker. They then proceeded to film themselves sexually and physically assaulting her. The woman reports that at various points during the hours-long ordeal, both of her assailants lifted the masks away from their mouths and exposed the bottom portions of their faces."

Kidney's head swims with nausea. He never saw so much as a coin for getting that damnable spasm closeup. The footage of the actual stimulation was cut, he was sure. He'd been the one to edit Mrs. Horatay's movie. But somehow it had escaped his mind that Mrs. Horatay could be looking down, drawing a sketch in her mind for the cops.

"Both attackers appeared to be young males, in their late teens or early twenties. She describes them to be of average height, the shorter of the two having a round face and lightly tanned complexion, while the taller male's face was square shaped. She noted no hair or distinguishing blemishes on either of their faces, however..."

Kidney's hands tremble on the steering wheel, but he forces himself to focus on driving. "Relax. There's gotta be a hundred guys that fit those descriptions around here," he mutters to himself.

After a small eternity, Kidney spots a sign that humanity had come here ahead of him. "SPEED LIMIT 45" in faded black over rusted white. He slows down, guides his rental car into the overgrown brush on the side of the road, then takes the key out of the ignition.

With the engine dead, it's so quiet out here. Kidney pulls on his new black burglar's mask before getting out, just in case. He gently pushes the door closed behind himself, then goes around to the trunk.

A bag of supplies he packed from Jeeto's house is inside, and he unzips it and pockets from it a syringe of animal tranquilizer and a switchblade. The weapon he chooses to keep equipped in hand, however, is the 16-inch machete he brought himself.

Kidney begins his stalk up the road. Even in this dark place with the shadows of the bushes staring at his exposed back, he can feel Mother Moon's light clothing him and guiding his footsteps. Krin's innocently smiling face in the sunset of his room... such a distant memory kept so close to his heart. He clenches the hilt of his machete. He will not be afraid.

Mother Moon's warmth and comfort begins to seep all through him, and he senses her closer than before. The neighborhood comes into view. So he stays low and hidden as he makes his way to the west-most side where that white house is supposed to be. He sees the car before the house. It's a van that only breaks creep convention for its having a green paintjob instead of a white one.

Suddenly, a something like a living memory possesses his mind, only, something is not right. He finds himself looking at himself from behind, his black, hooded form crouching down behind bushes. One of his meaty arms is outstretched, and the hand is holding something, shiny, cold, and heavy. It's a gun-- pointing.

The head that he has an intimate awareness of, but not a oneness with, turns furthur downward without command. He sees white hairs in the bottom of his vision, and the stomach below protrudes too far forward. It is covered with a green Hawaiian shirt.

Kidney gasps, and seems to be sucked back into his own mind again. "Stoulfer," he breathes. Instinctively, Kidney whirls around on his ankles and spins up from the ground. The blast of the bullet rings the air, and Kidney feels it whip past his head and break through the dry shubbery behind him.

The moonlight makes depthless pits of the bags under Uncle Stoulfer's eyes, and carves darkness into every wrinkle and pockmark on his skin. The hairs of his white mustache and goatee twitch.

The old man's deep, raspy laugh mocks him. "I always knew you'd end up givin' me trouble."

Kidney runs for one of the houses. He can hear the many voices of his uncle's mind echoing. The thoughts are so muddled, though, and examined all at once, they're like a wild drove. Irritation. Lust. Smugness.

But the foremost thoughts-- those are the thoughts of action. That is where Kidney puts his focus. The gun fires again, but Kidney knows where it has made its path, and dashes out of its aim just as the trigger is being pulled.

"Shit! Pretty quick on his toes," Kidney hears.

"Got lucky there," Uncle Stoulfer hollers.

Kidney crashes through the rotting, wooden front door of a house, and runs into a bedroom in the back. He stands to the side of the doorway and listens to the floorboards at the entrance creak. Inside, Stoulfer's thoughts sound like mumbling, for only weak, pale streaks of moonlight penetrate the dark building through broken windows and cracked roofing.

Kidney can sense with the stronger rays of light touch the old man's balding head, because those are the moments he can hear more clearly.

Uncle Stoulfer plans to check behind the kitchen counters first, then... Kidney clenches the machete handle and raises the weapon. When Stoulfer comes here, he will strike.

#criminal #fantasy #disturbing #gross

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