HE / ANTAPEX !

NAME  :          jacob  christian  fitzgerald. NICKNAME  :          jake,   j-dog,   fitz,   moron,   literally anything  tbh. AGE  :          seventeen   /   eighteen. SPECIES  :          human.

PERSONAL    !

MORALITY  :          lawful   /   neutral   /   chaotic   /   good   /   neutral   /   evil   /   true. RELIGION  :          baptized  and  confirmed  catholic;    raised  loosely  protestant  with  catholic  influences;   attended  a  nondenominational  church  only  on  holidays  with  his  parents  and  a  catholic  church  on  saturdays  with  his  caretaker;   currently  agnostic  with  atheist  leanings;   a  firm  disbeliever  of  ghosts,   spirits,   superstitions,   etc. SINS  :       greed   /   gluttony  /   sloth   /   lust   /   pride   /   envy   /   wrath. VIRTUES  :          chastity   /   charity   /   diligence   /   humility   /   kindness   /   patience   /   justice. PRIMARY GOALS IN LIFE  :          survive  lmao   ——-   also  pass  math. KNOWN LANGUAGES  :          english,   spanish,   very  limited  italian. SECRETS  :          a  whole  ass  blackmail  scheme  involving  illegal  access  to  the  webcams   /   security  cameras  of  most  of  the  town,   the  footage  of  which  is  used  to  extort  people  in  exchange  for  not  posting  the  video;   jake  has  a  knack  for  being  deceptive,   but  he’s  generally  very  blunt  and  only  cares  for  secrets  if  they  serve  him  ft.  he  has  a  complete  disregard  for  the  consequences  of  his  actions,   so  half  the  time  he  doesn’t  care  enough  to  keep  things  secret. SAVVIES  :          woodworking,   deception,   perception,   linguistics,   athletics.

PHYSICAL    !

BUILD  :          scrawny   /   bony   /   slender   /   fit   /   athletic   /   curvy   /   herculean   /   pudgy   /   average. HEIGHT  :        6′4″. SCARS   /   BIRTHMARKS  :          a  three  inch  vertical  scar  along  his  left  pectoral;   no  birthmarks. ABILITIES   /   POWERS  :           none. RESTRICTIONS  :          human  ones.

FAVOURITES    !

FOOD  :          most  spicy   /   savory  things  ft.  a  massive  sweet  tooth;   has  a  preference  for  fast  food  that  he  really  only  gives  into  it  when  he’s  drunk,   high,   or  otherwise  under  the  influence   ——   particularly  enjoys  wafflehouse,   chick-fil-a,   and  firehouse  subs;   other  than  that  he  gladly  sticks  to  daya’s  homecooked  meals,   especially  favoring  any  dish  with  pork  in  it,   and  maintains  a  healthy  diet  in  order  to  stay  in  shape  for  football   /   basketball. DRINK  :          blue   /   red  gatorade,   orange  juice,   lemonade,   iced  coffee  with  a  splash  of  creamer. PIZZA TOPPING  :          eats  pizza  toppings  indiscriminately   (   like..,,..,..,,you’ll  never  catch  him  turning  down  a  slice,   regardless  of  what’s  on  it   )   ;  favors  pepperoni  and  jalapeños,   but  he  picks  the  jalapeños  off  because  he  dislikes  their  texture   /   prefers  the  essence  of  them. COLOUR  :          forest  green. MUSIC GENRE  :          leans  towards  rap   /   pop   ——   typical  party  music;   gets  into  edm  after  his  first  music  festival;   has  different  spotify  playlists  for  different  moods   (   chill,   lit,   sex   )  that  have  fairly  sizable  followings. BOOK GENRE  :          mysteries;   he  likes  attempting  to  figure  them  out,   and  he  usually  manages  to. MOVIE GENRE  :           mysteries,   psychological  thrillers,   comedies;   because  of  his  aforementioned  knack  for  guessing  endings,   he  can  be  irritating  to  watch  with. SEASON  :          winter;   he  loves  the  vibe  of  the  holidays  and  prefers  the  cold  weather  ft.  it  him  birthday. CURSE WORD  :         fuck   /   shit. SCENT ( S )  :          dove  men,   tide  detergent,   ralph  lauren’s  polo  red  cologne,   wintergreen  gum,   sandalwood,   bonfire,   freshly  cut  grass.

FUN STUFF    !

BOTTOM OR TOP  :          switch   ------   preference  for  top  in  casual / hook - up  settings,   preference  for  bottom  in  serious  relationships. SINGS IN THE SHOWER  :          unfortunately. LIKES BAD PUNS  :         prefers  sharp  quips,   but  can  appreciate  a  bad  pun.

        𝐃𝐀𝐏𝐇𝐍𝐄’𝐒 𝐀 𝐋𝐀𝐃𝐘. 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐎𝐌 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐀 𝐏𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐄𝐍. 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐌𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑, 𝐀 𝐃𝐄𝐁𝐔𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐄. She knows, that way, when to keep quiet. How to manage her features so they don’t express the absurd amount of shock she feels. Kind of like now! Instead, every time this Jake Fitzgerald guy drops a little nugget of information that’s so juicy she could almost salivate over it, all she does is smile and keep on writing! 

❛ Jeepers, that’s… wow. A lot to take in. ❜ It sounds to her like no one liked Nina, but for Jake to be so upfront about his lack of…. erm –– grief –– is still surprising. At least Daph’s learned by now not to take deep drinks of her smoothie when he’s about to talk. She’s already almost choked once. ❛ So, it kinda sounds like Nina had a lot of enemies… ❜ Gosh, she sounds so professional! ❛ But I don’t actually think this is a one and done. Aren’t you worried at all about being targeted next? ❜

          death  exists  a  novelty  to  he  who  has  only  ever  been  acquainted  with  own  immortality.   it  is  an  option  he  has  never  considered,   has  never  even  had  to  consider;   the  finality  of  it  sits  ill - suited  upon  him  and  all  that  he  was  taught  to  be.   now  that  he  must  face  its  non - reality,   it  looks  back  at  him  as   [ . . . ]   a  piece  of  intrigue  to  disrupt  the  monotony  that  is  lakewood,   louisiana   ------   a  twitter  highlight  that  garners  him  the  attention  of  an  interviewer.   death,   in  this  moment,   is  only  what  he  makes  it   :   unreal,   unthreatening.

           GODS  CAN’T  DIE  GODS  CAN’T  DIE  GODS  CAN’T  DIE

          it’s  like  she  said!   nina  had  a  lot  of  enemies,   and  beyond  that,   nina  had  far  too  little  discretion  for  jake’s  taste.  so  he  lets  a  shrug  roll  the  length  of  shoulders,   both  elbows  coming  to  rest  upon  table  top  as  forearms  cross  one  another.   ❛   nah,   things  like  that  don’t  really  happen  in  good  ol’  lakewood,   ❜   he  muses,   an  intentional  mistruth  to  grab  her  attention  when  he:   ❛   well   ——   save  for  the  whole  brandon  james  incident   [ . . . ]   now  that  shit?   wild.   ❜

cayenne

everyone  says  that  you're  so  bright,   so  loud,   so  much  and  maybe  you  are  or  maybe  you're  covering  up  that  gaping  wound  in  your  chest  with  fireworks.   or  maybe  you  really  are  so  bright  so  warm  so  hot  but  sometimes  you  wonder  if  anything  will  ever  be  enough  to  soothe  that  aching  burning  cold  fire  in  your  chest.   you  don't  know  what  it  is,   can't  ever  let  yourself  close  enough  to  that  pyre  to  know  if  it's  anger  or  fear  or  loneliness  or  grief  but  it's  there  and  if  you're  good  enough,   funny  enough,   bold  enough,   maybe  you  can  hide  it  from  everyone  else.   maybe  there's  enough  of  you  and  enough  of  the  world  that  you  can  outrun  it  forever,   your  own  fire  bright  enough  to  put  that  wound  to  shame.   bright  enough  to  prove  to  everyone,   anyone,   yourself,   your  mother,   your  father,   your  friends,   your  classmates,   the  world,   that  you're  enough.   you're  enough.   you're enough.

He takes a moment to look at her, that in itself aggravates her. Nose wrinkles at his flippant disposal of the joint, tongue coasting over the inside of her lip as she averts her gaze. ( He’s trying to piss you off . . . Don’t rise to it. ) A scoff betrays her stoic facade at his ‘compliment’, the remark tainted almost lewd on his tongue. He matches those expectations soon enough.

❝  Jake, ❞ ( his petulance is contagious ) ❝  Troglodytic as always. ❞

He makes her wait for it. Forcing her to stand there while he gulps, Adam’s apple twitching vigorously. ❝  BELIEVE ME, that has never and will never be my intention, ❞ another eye roll, this time punctuated by her hand darting forward to grab his fuckboy chalice. ❝  You think this is funny, don’t you? You think you’re oh so untouchable. ❞

The shake of her head is slow. But when she empties the cup’s contents down his front it’s fast. ❝  Oops . . . Now, are you ready to talk, mhm? ❞

         if  he  is  shocked  by  her  actions,   by  the  tepid  alcohol  seeping  through  the  defenseless  fabric  of  his  shirt  and  threatening  to  trickle  down  into  the  waistband  of  his  jeans,   expression  does  not  betray  it   [ . . . ]   save  for  the  imperceptible  darkening  of  gaze,   the  smallest  quirk  at  the  corner  of  his  mouth.   a  hush  befalls  peers  surrounding  them  as  they  take  notice,   a  few  snickers  and  goading  hollers  cutting  through.   roseate  flush  tinges  the  apple  of  his  cheeks   :   borne  not  of  embarrassment,   for  he  has  certainly  had  his  fair  share  of  drinks  thrown  on  him   ------   but  of  vexation  at  successfully  forced  hand.

          PACKLESS  PREDATOR!   there  is  something  wholly  discordant  about  transferring  schools  mid - semester,   even  for  one  as  socially  adaptable  and  perceptive  as  he.   the  safety  of  known  peers  dissipates   :   no  one  to  fall  alongside  in  the  hallway  or  nod  amiable  greeting  to  in  passing,   an  absence  of  hushed  whispers  and  muffled  laughter  as  the  secrets  of  peers  are  exchanged  like  currency.   mounting  pressure  to  assert  oneself  threatens  with  each  passing  day   ------   to  garner  the  respect  that  begets  ease  of  interaction.   daunting,   but  simple  enough  to  overcome  under  normal  circumstances.

          with  five  altars  constructed  along  the  entryway  of  the  campus  composed  of  ever - lasting  floral  arrangement  and  a  fire  hazard’s  worth  of  votive  candles  that  the  staff  don’t  have  the  heart  to  remove,   with  every  other  person  he  sees  wearing  their  grief  for  lost  friends,   their  vehemence  towards  attacker  like  armor   [ . . . ]   these  circumstances  are  decidedly  abnormal.   (   no  one  gives  a  shit  about  the  new  kid  when  their  friends  are  dead!   )   so  he  finds  himself  uncharacteristically  grateful  when  they  are  assigned  partners  and  given  a  project  that  requires  out - of - class  work  in  english.

          he  sits  across  from  partner  now   ------   maggie,   if  he  remembers  correctly   ------   twiddling  pencil  in  hand  and  gazing  through  the  library  windows  just  beyond  her,   transfixed  by  one  of  the  shrines  visible  enough  for  him  to  make  out.   the  news  didn’t  provide  too  much  information.   an  avoidable  tragedy.   the  murderous  outcast,   the  sole  survivor   ------   a  group  of  friends  decimated!   some  overheard  conversations  provided  a  bit  more,   but  certainly  not  enough  to  satiate  jake’s  interest.

she never wished to share this with her daughter  —-  their friends and their loved ones,  buried in a graveyard.  all her life,  she promised herself she would protect emma the way she wished she could have protected her first born,  yet it’s all flipped on its head now.  she couldn’t save emma from her own past coming back to haunt her,  and letting go her first baby is the very reason why - —  even if that was never the choice that maggie wanted.   there wasn’t enough time to explain that to piper when she had a knife to her throat:  your mother loved you,  your mother wanted to be with you,  your mother always regretted not fighting harder for you.

it’s like this place has called for her;  a graveyard for margaret anderson’s ache,  a place for her to come to see all her failures all at once.  first,  her friends from high school.  now,  her daughter’s.  and more —-  the only man who ever made her feel the way that brandon james made her feel:  like she mattered,  like she was special,  like she was easy to love  (  the way that kevin never did;  like she was a burden,  like he was settling.  )  

she’s not used to seeing people here;  they come and go quickly,  the place bringing upon a chill from all the horror the town has wreaked.  and if they see her here,  then she feels the guilt all at once,  and she feels like she’s not allowed here after the hurt her name has caused.  but seeing one of her daughter’s friends does the opposite of making her want to run.  she feels the pain he’s likely feeling now  —-  and whatever she can do to try to help him,  maybe that’s WHY she’s survived time and time again.  

she opens her mouth to speak,  but she closes it again once he starts to.  his joke doesn’t make her laugh,  yet it does remind her of someone  (  one of her own friends who lost his life many years ago;  she can’t deny how familiar it all is.  )   ❝  jake. ❞   it’s almost spoken like it’s a question,  her eyes darting to the bottle and back to him again.  she shakes her head,  a silent way of telling him she isn’t concerned about that.  maybe she should be,  but there are better ways to reach him,  she thinks.   she’s silent for a moment before her brows furrow and she mentally kicks herself into motion.  ❝  hello.  i’m —  here for  .   .  .   ❞   she cuts herself off,  because she doesn’t need to explain.  not when there are too many names for her to list.   ❝  —-  it’s nice of you to be here.  for your friend,  ❞   she notes,  looking down at will’s stone,  her stomach turning as she remembers the way she and her daughter were both put in positions to END the lives of the ones they loved.  it makes her sick,  but she focuses on jake instead.  

❝  how are you doing?  ❞   that’s the real question,  spoken in a way that’s welcoming,  a way that insists he can talk if he needs to,  because she knows how hard vulnerability is to come by for teenagers,  especially ones like him who have defaulted to making a joke at the site of his friend’s grave.  she sees him;  maybe,  she can give him that help he’s seeking  — without realizing he’s looking for it.  

         life  is  nearly  granted  to  the  incredulous  peals  of  laughter  demanding  escape  from  his  throat,   further  spurred  on  by  the  dawning  realization  of  just  how  intoxicated  he  has  become  upon  standing  fully  upright   ------   but  mirth  is  swallowed  down,   down,   down  so  as  not  to  appear  disrespectful  before  her.   his  appearance  at  this  grave  is  borne  of  bone - gnawing  guilt,   the  kind  that  has  him  gasping  [   awake   /   alive   ]  on  the  frigid  tile  of  bathroom  floor,   dried  remnants  of  stomach  bile  clinging  to  the  front  of  his  shirt  and  an  empty  bottle  of  that  night’s  liquor  of  choice  mere  inches  away  cell  phone  with  will’s  number  still  glaring  from  the  screen  once  he  finds  the  strength  to  unlock  it.   his  appearance  at  this  grave  is  an  attempt  to  relieve  unremitting  grief  that  has  him  brutalizing  anyone  who  dares  try  to  put  their  belongings  in  the  wrong  gym  locker  or  make  an  offhanded  quip  in  his  presence,   already  primed  to  pick  a  fight  before  he  has  a  reason.   so  even  though  he  understands  her  intended  sentiment,   he  cannot  accept  that  his  being  here  could  be  considered  nice.   

  BE  REMINDED:   PENANCE  IS  NOTHING  TO  BE  PRAISED  FOR.

          right  hand  cards  through  unkempt  curls,   the  left  disappearing  into  jean  pocket,   thumbing  at  the  seam  in  its  idleness.   only  one  has  been  able  to  bear  witness  to  the  true  reality  of  his  grief,   only  one  has  desperately  pulled  fully  clothed  body  into  frigid  shower  in  an  attempt  to  sober  him  up  while  he  sobbed  in  her  sodden  lap  for  minuteshoursdays,   and  even  then,   their  comfort  towards  one  another  tends  to  stray  towards  the  non - verbal.   his  truths  have  died  along  with  his  friends.

          so  when  she  asks  that  fateful  question,   the  one  that  everyone  does,   his  immediate  reaction  is  to  give  one  of  his  non - answers.   he  goes  to  respond   ------   and  it  snags  on  a  lump  that  has  formed  in  his  throat.   it’s  the  liquor,   selfishly  robbing  him  of  his  ability  to  maintain  his  composure;   it’s  her  tone    :   genuine  and  knowing,   as  though  she  truly  wants  to  ensure  his  wellbeing  and  not  just  get  the  formality  out  of  the  way,   something  few  other  adults  have  since  sought  to  do   [ . . . ]   not  even  his  parents.   he  is  suddenly  unable  to  evade  the  way  this  affects  him.

          burdened  gaze  falls  away  as  he  clears  his  throat,   the  telltale  pricking  at  sclera  announcing  the  arrival  of  brimming  tears.   ❛   i  miss  him.   ❜   voice  is  small,   thick,   lacking  the  forced  whimsy  it  contained  even  moments  ago.   he  returns  to  seated  position  in  the  dirt  below,   grabbing  nearby  bottle  and  allowing  it  to  dangle  between  his  knees   ------   defeated!   anguish  has  won  this  battle  already;   he  is  only  allowing  it  to  do  what  it  will  with  him.   a  swig  from  bottle,   fallen  tears  hastily  swept  away.   just  because  his  soul  will  be  bared  does  not  mean  he  has  to  remember  doing  so.

˚  @apexhe·    . . ⊹   ❝ my  words , uh …  they  tend  to  shoot  to  kill  when  i’m mad .  ❞

❝   i   noticed   .   ❞   alex   deadpans   ,      perhaps   she’d   have   some   fighting   words   if   they   weren’t   currently   sitting   in   death’s   waiting   room   .      now   wasn’t   the   time   to   fight   ,      nor   was   it   the   time   to   make   up   from   a   fight   .      people   were   dying   ,      their   campers   were   dying   ,      and   he   was   worried   about   how   he   had   hurt   her   feelings   earlier   ?      she’s   shuffling   through   the   cabin   ,      trying   to   find   anything   that   could   be   used   as   a   potential   weapon   .      marshmallow   skewers   ,      that   could   work   .      she   pulls   two   out   from   behind   the   bunk   bed   ,      tossing   one   his   way   .      ❝   are   we   just   going   to   stand   here   or   are   we   going   to   try   to   find   some   of   our   kids   ?  ❞

          reflexively  does  palm  rise  to  secure  what  has  been  thrown  his  way,   but  the  other  is  catching  the  crook  of  her  elbow  in  an  attempt  to  bring  pause  to  the  momentum  she  has  gathered.   the  sudden  fragility  of  life  begets  consuming  notions  of  self - preservation.   he  was  not  born  as  sacrifice  for  another;   he  was  born  to  see  the  world  to  its  end.   even  if  the  guilt  would  eat  him  alive  for  his  choices  later   ------   at  least  he  would  be  alive.

@apexhe   whispered   ::   “   i   thought   this   might   cheer   you   up.   “   is   it   a   blunt,,,,,,   Yes

she   resembles   a   kid   opening   up   presents   on   christmas   day,   the   way   her   eyes   glisten   &   gleam   with   excitement   just   at   the   sight.   (   she   makes   it   seem   like   he’s   just   bestowed   the   highest   of   honors   upon   her.   )   after   the   night   she’s   had,   she   can   definitely   use   it.   gingerly,   she   plucks   the   joint   from   his   hands   and   gives   it   a   good   examination.   ❝   y'know   what,   dingus   ?   i   think   you   know   me   too   well.   ❞   and   just   to   ensure   that   jake   knows   she’s   genuinely   thankful,   she   leans   up   on   the   tip   of   her   toes   and   gives   his   hair   an   affectionate   ruffle.   a   lopsided   grin   appears   with   ease   as   she   wastes   no   time   in   digging   through   her   hoodie   pocket   to   fish   out   her   lighter.   the   warmth   and   sunshine   has   returned   to   her   countenance.   ❝   you   big   ol’   softie.   ❞