god awful shitty feeling of dread in my heart

[tom=http://i.imgur.com/pJFtdCh.png, #ffcc99]Jude had been good in Manta Carlos up until now. New and improved, despite not quite mustering the courage to leave his apartment! Go fucking figure. But once his birthday rolled around, coping through food and learning about his new home wasn't keeping him distracted. And without distractions, Jude was completely screwed, everything coming back and haunting him.

The day he was born had always served as a reminder of how overwhelmingly lonely he was. Every birthday before his parents' death, they'd tried to make it as special as possible, friends and family present, a festively decorated house, shiny new bikes and detective books, everything a little boy could want. It also happened to be Valentines Day-- so while some celebrated with him right then, others did afterwards, and it felt like an extended party. His early childhood was a dream, and once that had passed, his life had only gone downhill. First, with careful pacing, then with a bang, falling into an abyss at a merciless speed.

He was trying to crawl out, but definitely wasn't going to make progress on that on this holiday. He'd planned to sleep all day, but disappointingly, woke up after a bout of nightmares. Scared to experience that again, he was resigned to being awake. At first, the sense of dread wasn't any worse than his usual. Then, he kept drifting off, memories bittersweet. When he'd started to imagine what it'd be like if his parents were there now, what they'd have done together, their older but still bright smiles, he couldn't handle it anymore. He broke.

Predictable.

Jude went out into the cold air and nightlife, fleeing the drowning atmosphere of his empty, tiny, dark apartment. He was hoping his tired feet would take him to a bar, any fucking bar, and that he could black out somewhere. Maybe never wake up. He prayed for it to at least be a week long coma. Couldn't the universe be kind to him, just once?

As he was walking to the busier part of the city, not wanting to waste money on a cab (especially in such a dense place), he felt a pull. Something curious, and something dangerously masochistic, was demanding and urgent in his brain. When he tried to ignore it, his body was stiff, as though it didn't want to let him walk away.

Despite his paranoia, Jude had an addiction to thrills. They were both his ruin and the only thing that ever made him feel alive. There was a familiarity to the sense of bad shit in the air. He wasn't sure what to make of that, and he needed to find out.

Things got quieter. He might've been imagining it, but the outside sounds of the city became muffled, while his own breathing was too loud. Looking into a barren alleyway, he saw a young girl, her heels clicking on the pavement, echoing on the walls, a sharp and attention drawing noise. She seemed lost, holding her phone up for a signal and cursing under her breath. A motorcycle went by, distantly, and despite wanting to help, Jude recognized that his voice was caught in his throat, a pressure telling him that he'd regret it if he spoke.

He couldn't say anything, but now, he understood what was happening. It didn't stop him from being shocked when it did happen. A figure emerged from the other side of the alleyway, and that woman didn't catch on to a damn thing, too busy with her phone and increasing frustration. Despair, an active version of it as opposed to the usual lingering on old wounds, flooded into Jude. It'd been cloudy before, but suddenly, things were real. The panic was real. Cold air bit at him and horror made his stomach drop.

She barely was given a chance to scream, going limp and lifeless as soon as the monster touched her. And Jude knew it was a monster, because his empathy was screaming at him, flashes hitting him left and right-- he couldn't grasp most of it in the moment, but it was upsetting.

When her eyes went glassy, Jude's voice returned, a sharp gasp echoing instead of the clicks, impossible to miss in this isolated space. The monster, masquerading as a butcher in a rooster mask, knew he was there.

If Jude were to sum up his emotional state poetically, it'd be an all encompassing, world record setting, simple but beautiful oh fuck.

He had an answer to his earlier question. No, the universe couldn't be kind to him-- not even once.[/tom]

[tom=http://i.imgur.com/pJFtdCh.png, #ffcc99]Jude couldn't call for help, wouldn't run in a populated place like this, was only able to start stumbling backwards-- but he didn't even manage that. And nothing mattered, because soon enough, he was out like a light. Unconsciousness brought a temporary peace.

It didn't last. He was woken up by the shrill, teen girl screaming, jolting in reaction to the loud wakeup call. His head fucking hurt like a bitch. And once he realized what state they were in, his stomach lurched. He was shivering, from cold and something more spine chilling, and he hadn't even focused his attention where it was dangerous yet. This situation alone didn't need special insight to terrify him.

A man had taken them, they were bound, stripped down, and alone here. Jude listened as their captor, Nick-maybe, began to speak for the first time. He kept his eyes shut and breath held.

The voice wasn't what he expected, but the words were, in the sense that they successfully made his dread close further in. Silencing charms? What kind of bullshit magic trick was that? That sounded like you could make any ordinary, safe looking place a horror show without anyone suspecting a thing. Jude's guts twisted more violently. The supernatural both fascinated and disturbed him. He didn't think this extent of easy power should exist-- it was no wonder the island didn't want its existance known to humans. A negative response seemed reasonable. It was scary, the concept of not being at the top of the food chain. If he wasn't a freak himself, Jude wasn't sure what he would've done if he'd found out. No guarantee it'd have been pretty.

Sharp pain sliced through his cheek, causing Jude to squeak and open his eyes. They were wide, now, and avoiding properly witnessing the monster was no longer possible. He couldn't hide from it, because this 'power', his special ability, forced itself on him. Instead of being a safe haven, Manta Carlos being his new residence felt like a punch in the face.

But Jude felt as though he might not be around, a gentle word for alive, to feel that bitterness, after this. His heart skipped a beat, or a few, and he forgot to blink, mouth hanging open.

Billy Fucking Graham hit Jude like a train, with a huge impact, then continued crushing and degrading. While watching this rapist murderer's actions play out, tears slipped down his cheeks, barely able to sort out some of the things he saw. There was too much. There were people Jude met that gave him one or two solid peeks into their lives, and he'd mull over those, become intimate with their details a lot quicker. Here, it didn't end. He hardly knew where to focus, so it was all scattered details suffocating him, leaving him disoriented and sick.

Jude wanted to use his real name. He knew real names didn't matter to Billy, Nick, Butcher, pigfucker farmboy-- but it mattered to Jude, because it meant he had some form of control. But the girl didn't know. Instead, from where she couldn't see, Jude gave him the weirdest look he could muster. It was a combination of recognition, as if he knew an inside joke, and strong, ruffled outrage at that. He didn't want in on this stupid joke. Jesus.

He was trembling and horrified, but somehow, some fucking how, Jude was so caught off guard by 'the fuck are you, some sort of sheep whore?' that he choked on a snort of laughter. His cheeks flushed. This predicament was practically every fear he had coming true. Not only was he a serial killer's upcoming victim, he was making an embarrassment of himself as an upcoming victim. How did you mess that up? Jude wasn't sure, but he'd done it anyway.

"Innocent bystander, l-luckless sonuvabitch," Jude told Nick, voice cracking, forcing an awkward grin and very out of it. The sensory overload meant he was loopy. "Sheep. Not a sheep whore, that'd be more of a job than I have now." The regret for these words dawned openly in his expression. Don't begin your conversation with what translated into 'hello, I'm poking fun at my own pathetic luck, and now I'm going to inform you that I'm unemployed-- want more information on how I'm a loser with nobody to miss me?', genius.

Jude was scared. That special fear remained in his eyes, the fear that was too well informed. He was searching for anything that'd repulse Nick, but he couldn't find anything. He hiccuped a sob. "I'm sorry," he told the girl, tone strained and tight, vision blurring. "This isn't going to be good for you. Either of us. I hope you don't last long, or he gets bored, because it'd be a blessing. I'm so, so sorry, and... goodbye."[/tom]

[tom=http://i.imgur.com/gcjFDr7.png, #ffcc99]"I don't think that matters to you, Nick, you're going to see me as whatever you want to see me as," Jude said, shaky but icy. He didn't want to give this fucker the right to using his name here, either. Preferred dying faceless as opposed to letting it get too personal. And some loser sounded perfect for him, either way.

He followed Nick's movements, gaze increasingly nervous despite the tone he'd taken on. His forehead… was a name tag, suddenly. He was glad he didn't have to look at it, but the brief physical contact was like a burn mark on his skin, feverish and slimy. "Sheepie," Jude murmured, feeling another burst of anxious, dark humor, and breathing out a chuckle. "Good fucking christ on a piece of shit buttered toast."

His eyes grew larger again when the attention switched back to the girl. In this moment, he asked himself why he'd said what he did to her. It'd only inspire Slaughterhouse to make this more dramatic. Jude's empathy wasn't meant to make him a hero. Praying wasn't going to work here. It was a nice thought, but pointless.

His body felt like lead, and the trembling was so heavy it was nearing panic attack. His brain had waited a few minutes, to give this the benefit of the doubt, as humans tried to rationalize in strange ways-- but this wasn't a nightmare he had the privilege of waking up from. Jude missed his cheap apartment, he missed being unconscious, and he missed his family. He continued to cry as the loss set in.

Jude's life was over. This is it, end of the road. He didn't have a single thing to his name but regret. Sheep Whore was almost a better person than Jude Shepherd had been.

He averted his misty gaze quickly when Nick turned her face to him like a doll, squeezing his eyes shut. He wasn't proud of himself at all, no. He didn't even need to be asked that question. "How'd I ruin anything? What the hell relevance do I have?" he spat out, flushing further in his shame and anger. "You caught me in ten fucking seconds, asshole, I can't possibly be a threat to your-- y-your Saw setup, or what the fuck ever." Jude squirmed against his bindings. "Don't tell me to be guilty! You're the hick gorefucker who gets stabby and fucky for giggles, this isn't my goddamn fault," he said, while his tone dripped with guilt. He was being defiant, not honest.

The following comment from Nick made Jude's blood go cold again, the anger draining temporarily, dread ruling above all other emotions. It was worse than fear, because it lasted far after the excitement, ate you from the inside out. But it was okay, wasn't it? Because NickBillySlaughterButcher was going to eat him first. (Now, why'd he have to be so fucking conversational about it? Great, we have an artist on our hands.)

Jude didn't know when he'd gone back to staring, but he had. Nick had this energy, and it was hard to shift in the opposite direction. He was magnetic. The word didn't sit well, too flattering, but nothing fit better. Jude hated it. He hated himself. The magic left him dumbstruck, having not put together what it'd been from the flashes. Refined. There was something wrong with this. Something was wrong. This wasn't right, and Jude was both terror-stricken and riveted.

He cringed at the sounds coming from the girl, beginning to hyperventilate with the stress. And Nick did his part in making it a hundred times worse. Jude's body twitched and writhed involuntarily, sobbing and hiccuping coming with it. He could barely see with the big blobs of waterworks present. It didn't take a lot to hold his mouth open, since he was already in hysterics. The taste was abhorrent, and everything in him screamed that this was unnatural. He gagged and coughed. He didn't want this. No, no, no.

But he did it. In a desperation, he followed the instructions. The need to vomit all of his internal organs out was powerful. Saliva dripped from his mouth and pooled on the floor with his tears, and he dry heaved. Jude's eyes dulled.

"T-t-this i-is going t-to go b-b-bad for me a-anyway," he whispered. "O-oh, god." He sniffled, a very tiny noise, then barely audible when next speaking, "I w-want to d-die."[/tom]

[tom=http://i.imgur.com/gcjFDr7.png, #ffcc99]Jude couldn't stop crying. There weren't any breaks. He was starting to feel dehydrated, like each tear was draining his energy. He wished they were, because he wanted this to fucking end. Why wouldn't Slaughterhouse kill him? It'd be mercy, at this point-- but that word wasn't in either of their vocabularies. Jude felt like that flesh in his stomach was ready to come back up as vomit any second now.

He blinked through the tears as Nick peered at him, eyes large and confused. He wasn't sure what kind of reaction that was, but it felt different than what he'd already been exposed to. Probably a bad sign. For a long time, Jude had been desperate for blissful ignorance, plagued by the opposite and never able to be naive. But unpredictable was frightening in its own way. Jude's throat was so dry.

Taking more short, nervous breaths, Jude flinched when Nick sat down and grabbed him. He managed enough lucidity to shake his head, shaky, shivering in fear and disgust. "N-no," he squeaked, lip wobbling. "Please…?" His face and chest burned. Nick's gross fucking hard on was against Jude's ass, whose head was spinning. He wasn't supposed to be put in a place like this. He was a man, and "I-isn't the girl prettier?" he asked, weakly, as a last effort. It was awful and stung, but his moral alignments were getting washed away with the sobbing. He wasn't Nick's type. Couldn't be!

Nick got his filthy hands on him and squeezed. Jude had to accept, horrified, that he was. He quickly avoided eye contact, but Nick was in the corner of his vision no matter what, blurred but threatening and pressing, asphyxiating. And it was impossible to avoid being touched by simply looking the other way. Even if Jude were to shut his eyes, there would still be fingers sinking into his thigh, body heat from this person mixing with his own.

Jude kept shaking his head to everything being done and said, feeling more unpleasant lurches. "F-fuck you, damn redneck c-creampuff," he spat, squirming again now, tears angry and exhausted. "I haven't s-screwed any men, unlike you. You're the one doing this! If you don't like queer shit, look at yourself, alright? L-leave m-me the fuck alone—"

One moment, Jude was completely silenced by where Nick touched next. And before he could register what he felt towards it, towards rougher firmer hands…

Everything was searing pain. Jude screamed and writhed, blood loss and emotional trauma both heavy. His skin was starting to feel clammy and greying, heartbeat and panicked sobbing both nearly without any pause. He couldn't process most of what Nick was saying to Bianca, or what exactly was happening, but it was unmistakably upsetting. Even when it was impossible to think straight, there were always sensations, sounds and imagery that caused a deep, instinctual grief. Nick was good with that.

Dizzy and out of it, hyperventilation returning to fully replace the screaming and sobbing, in unexplainable pain, it didn't take much more to break Jude. Nick remained hard to ignore, and looked at him.

Jude would remember those sounds too clearly, from then on. First a thud, then a crack, a slick splash-- and finally, Nick's words.

Poor Sheepie's eyes rolled back, and he passed out from shock.


When Jude woke up a while later, he noticed he was alive. This made him feel hurt and betrayed. Everything was painful, physically and mentally. He thought he'd been worn down enough, but Nick apparently didn't agree. At least fainting had meant he wasn't leaking as much blood anymore.

The scent of cooked meat was in the air. Jude groggily glanced around for the source, queasy and sensitive, then-- he found it. A woman's torso, the Bianca that'd never be Bianca again, was by itself, other parts chopped off. If that wasn't pukeworthy, Nick (who must be so fun at parties), had cooked the insides. A skilled show of depravity.

Jude squealed and bumped his own head on the floor. He tried to wiggle away from this with all of his might, maybe even roll, he didn't have any dignity he could protect here. He didn't have any left, in general, to protect. The smell left his escape attempts hindered by dry heaving. "Help, h-help," he slurred faintly, more an expression of mood than a plea he thought would be heard. The only person who'd ever be able to hear it was the perpetrator.[/tom]

[tom=http://i.imgur.com/gcjFDr7.png, #ffcc99]Jude used to love the person he was. Brave, protective, passionate, rough around the edges but ultimately with good intentions. Anything that the world threw at him, he could overcome with a confidence that refused to be beaten down. Had he lost that version of himself, or was it the real joke, all a lie from the start? Had a single part of Jude Shepherd ever been his own, or was this the most honest he'd ever been, a blindfold being torn off?

This magic was bad fucking shit. He wondered what cruel god decided to bless Billy Graham with the perfect skills for murder and other depraved acts. He imagined it gave the man a nice, sick justification. He'd been given a special gift, and wouldn't it be more offensive to let it collect dust? Jude couldn't feel his jaw, but he could taste Bianca. Smaller, remorseful tears streamed down his cheeks.

Drool followed the crying, too numb and nauseous, face very damp. He was pathetic, and he'd lost so much. Everything, once Nick said his name. At least the girl was dead. Better off, that way. And despite being happy she wouldn't suffer further, he hated being her replacement, jealousy burning. The spite made him feel slimy. When he swallowed the flesh, imagery of it rotting inside his body haunted him.

And like Nick said, it didn't taste that bad. His guts churned at knowing what it was, the unfamiliar texture, and eating meat while being a herbivore-- but it didn't taste bad. Jude didn't stop trembling, seeming l