#And physically taking things i'm working on away from me to butcher

[drumlincountry]

[hughiecampbelle]

The Boys Preference: Supe Hating Their Powers

Requested: Hii! I loved what you wrote for my last request, so I figured I'd drop another one✨ May I request a the boys preference where it's basically (bear with me, I'm gonna try to explain) reader is a supe, but refuses to use their powers bc of whatever reason (feeling dangerous, not liking the ability, keeping it secret etc) But it's their reaction to when their S/O uses their abilities to protect them, bc no matter how terribly they hate being a supe, they'd embrace it to keep them safe - @ghostlyaccurate

Requested: hii! how are you doing? may i request a The Boys preference where reader is a supe, but their powers are very self-destructive (like, using it too much could be dangerous to reader themself), and basically their reaction to reader using their abilities to save them, despite it nearly killing themself? also, so sorry if this is too dark! you can totally change it to just being tiring if your more comfortable writing that <3 - @yinorathedragontamer

A/N: I combined these two requests, I hope you don't mind!! I love both of these ideas and I thought they'd work well together :) I imagine it like Cate with her eyes/seizures when she pushes too much/too many people. I made all the powers different cuse I thought it would be more interesting! Thank you for requesting!!! Feedback is always appreciated 💜💜💜

Butcher never wanted you to use your powers if you didn't want to. But when he needed saving, you didn't give it a second thought. Your powers feel like burning alive. The fire, the flames, they're powerful, but it's excruciating. You save him I the end, but you spend days after feeling like you've been burned at the stake. There are no actual physical burns, but your body still feels that way. It never gets easier, either. He's grateful you saved him, but he knows how painful your powers can be. He tries to help as much as possible, but there's really nothing you can do but wait it out. It was one of the first things he ever knew about you: you're a Supe with side effects. He didn't realize how bad it would be until you were locking yourself away, trying to ease the burning sensation around your whole body.

Hughie knew what happened when you healed other people. You'd told him in graphic detail the last time you'd used your abilities. He told you you'd never have to use them, ever. But he was hurt. He was losing consciousness. You were the only one who could help him. You were the only one who could save him. So, you did. And in return your skin unzipped, blood pouring out of you. You couldn't breathe. You couldn't make a sound. You would have to die before you could go back to normal. Hughie hated watching this. He begged for help, but there was no one around. It was horrible. He'd wake up from nightmares where you'd die and die again. You told him it wouldn't happen again, that you were sorry he'd have to see that. He knew he should have been grateful, that you saved him, but it was awful. You knew how awful it was and that's why you never used it.

Annie refused to let you use your powers. She told you outright she had it handled, but when the time came for her to fight, you knew it was a losing battle. You could leave your body and take over others. You jumped from body to body, taking each person out, but by the time you find you way back to your body you're exhausted, your eyes bloodshot, your mind cloudy. Like Cate, you're susceptible to seizures when you push yourself too much, when you spread yourself too thin. The more people you take over, the worse it gets. Annie feels awful that you had to save her, when you had to risk your health and safety. It was amazing to see. As soon as you took over their bodies she could tell it was you. But the side effects were awful. She couldn't stop worrying about you, worrying about what would happen.

M.M. never realized what your powers would entail. You could read other people's minds. That didn't seem so bad. You rarely ever used it, though. He never pushed you to explain or use it, but when the team needed you, when your abilities were the only answer, you did what you could. Days later you were still hearing people. You tried to drown it out with TV and music, but they were in your head. It felt like the while city was talking through your brain. Screaming and crtuing and laughter and fears and worries and everything. Every feeling and thought a person could he capable of, that's what you were experiencing. It was horrible. You were never sure how long it lasted. It felt like an eternity. You cried to him, trying to keep it together, but all you could hear was his apologies. He felt awful for asking you to do this.

Frenchie never would have asked you to save him, save the day, but you had no choice. He was in danger. You would have done anything to protect him. Your sonic scream is rarely ever shown off. You're not totally embarrassed by it, but it has some pretty awful side effects. Plus you didn't love being a Supe. You felt lied to by your family. When you do scream, heads splatter. Frenchie was shocked you were capable of that. Afterwards your throat burns, you lose your voice. You can't talk for days, maybe even weeks, and though you try not to, you can't help but try to talk, argue, bicker with The Boys. Your voice sounds so painful, gravely, and he encourages you to put it on rest. It's your throat that hurts, like it's on fire. You rarely ever used your abilities because it was a one and done deal. You were powerful, you could kill, but it came with it's own consequences.

Kimiko only knew the general ideas about your Supe abilities. Your blood was poison. You had to he careful about getting hurt or rooms full of people, a whole hospital floor, would he dead. Kimiko had been seriously hurt and though you knew she would come back fine, your anger and hurt got the better of you. You slice yourself open, spewing blood everywhere, all over the bad guys. Before then you urged The Boys to get out of there, not wanting to hurt your teammates. Everyone around you drops dead. You stitch yourself up alone, making sure there's not a drop of blood left outside of your body. Kimiko is horrified at your work and the fact that you hurt yourself so badly for her when she ended up being fine. It hurt and made you feel like a freak, but you did it for her. Besides, your stitches were getting a little better.

[safarigirlsp]

Never Whistle in the Woods

Flip Zimmerman x OC

Word Count: 7.5k

Warnings: NSFW. Smut. Horror. Violence. Monster Action. Cryptids. Creepy things that happen in the woods. Backcountry flavor. Just a nice getaway with Flip. Those never go according to plan. I’m willing to continue this and write more if people like it!

Note: Going forward, I'm going to write characters from now on instead of Readers just because it's really annoying trying to switch back and forth for the non-fic writing I do. However, the female characters will be totally physically vague aside from having a name, so they can still easily be read as an insert by anyone who chooses to insert themselves.

Based on two requests I combined then butchered from rynwritestuff and @lumberjack00fantasies

AO3 Link

One of Flip’s favorite things was spending a secluded weekend out at his cabin, nestled in the forested mountains, away from the noise and mayhem of town. And away from people. Nothing cured a man’s love of humanity better than working with them. He enjoyed having a beer and a burger with his friends after work and he enjoyed taking his girl out to dinner. But he liked it a helluva lot more to take her with him into the mountains and not see or hear from another person for a couple days. Actually, it had become his favorite thing.

Knowing this, his girl, Kate, had booked him a nice getaway right up his alley. A solid week squirreled away in a truly remote cabin about as far away from humanity as he could get. It had taken a little online spelunking for her to land on the small town of Kitwanga, British Columbia, but its selling points of having a population of less than five-hundred, being a prime location for hunting and fishing, and being a true gateway to the wilderness with scarcely an outpost North between the little town and the Yukon, had sealed the deal. Besides, for the shrewd outdoorsman who wanted a less touristy experience with a friendlier populace for about a third of the money, British Columbia was a superior option to Alaska with all the same appeal.

Over-the-counter hunting licenses were available for all sorts of game that required a lottery draw or exorbitant fee in the States. Flip laughed when he read in the game regulations that it was strictly prohibited to shoot Bigfoot and that, should a sportsman encounter him, he was to be considered a protected species.

“How many big, hairy Canadians do you reckon had to get shot in the ass before they added that regulation?” He grinned at Kate, sitting with her legs curled under her on the seat of his rented truck as they bounced down the terrible excuse for a dirt road, sloshing in the mud and hitting potholes by the hundreds. Flip had twice hit his head on the bolt of the rifle secured in the headache rack above his head on the ceiling of the truck’s cab. He would have left the rifle inside their cabin, but they had been stringently warned not to take a step outside without it. Bears were a real threat and the animals here had little experience with humans, which meant little fear of them.

“Sounds like you better watch your own ass if you’re out wandering around in low light,” she teased back. “You’re big and lumbering enough to be mistaken for Bigfoot.”

“Yeah, but I’m a lot better lookin,’” he winked at her as he pulled into the only gas station in the tiny town. He filled up every day on their return in case the owner decided to take a day off. Electric pumps were a novelty that hadn’t reached this far north, it seemed. He was in a teasing mood, returning from a day of hiking and, as he put it, takin’ pictures of every goddamn thing in Canada.

“Depends on who you ask,” Kate laughed warmly. “I’ve waged a losing battle for quite a while trying to convince my friends you’re handsome. They tell me I’m blind or brainwashed.”

Five businesses in the tiny town were booming, frequented by most if not all of its citizens on a regular basis: the grocery store, post office, church, bar, and the gas station. Actually, Kitwanga boasted two bars. Flip figured this was a good insight as to the favorite pastime of the locals, especially since it doubled the churchgoers. There were no restaurants, but the bars had all the haute cuisine a man could want, so long as what he wanted was a cheeseburger or a sandwich or some chicken fried steak. However, one bar generously offered to cook anything a person brought in, provided the thing was somewhere between alive and kicking and starting to turn, and provided that gastronome paid in cash. Flip had already taken the owner and bartender up on this offer and handed over several trout he had caught that day to the owner’s wife and cook to fry for dinner. He had to admit it was some of the best fried fish he had ever had, and it paired wonderfully with the potent Moose Knuckle stout beer on tap.

The sign at the gas station read, Headed north? Need gas? It’s now or never. Two lonely gas pumps sat on a rectangle of cement on the otherwise muddy ground – the kind of pumps a person usually only saw on postcards from the fifties, with the rounded tops and numbers for cost and gallons that ticked by on a dial like an old one-armed-bandit style slot machine. A hand-scrawled sign in the window listed the hours vaguely as open from dawn ‘til dusk. An uninformed observer could easily mistake the business for being abandoned, or even condemned, a relic lingering in a ghost town. But for the metropolis of Kitwanga, it was a thriving business. There was even another vehicle at the pumps, a ’79 Ford truck with a lift and a winch on its bumper and a fat man in overalls leaning against the bed, pumping gas.

Flip stepped out of his truck and lifted the nozzle of the gas pump with a rusty squeal. He admired the view of his girl as she trotted into the gas station to forage for supplies. A brisk wind rustled his hair, tinged with chilled moisture. Above, low clouds in a grayscale palette churned in the sky. The snowy tops of the mountains were hidden inside the clouds and rain slashed across their facades in a grey haze. The rain hadn’t yet reached the foothills where the town and Flip’s rented cabin were nestled, but fog was creeping in from the base of the mountains and off a nearby river. Between the thunderclouds and the fog, it was as if the world was slowly closing in, like the vignette on a Bogart movie narrowing in on the dramatic eyes of a starlet.

Tilting his face up into the chilly air, Flip smiled. He loved rain and thunderstorms, and found peace in their chaos. Mainly, he loved holding his girl while a storm raged outside, or having a drink with her while they sat on the porch and felt the electricity in the air, and making love to her and feeling her shudder thunderously beneath him. His smile widened as he anticipated the evening ahead.

“Storm’s comin,’” the man at the pump said to Flip as he spat a string of brown tobacco into the mud. “You here for huntin’ or fishin?’”

“I’m mostly just here to take a break from everyday bullshit,” Flip replied in a friendly tone. “But I have tags for fishing and tags for bear and moose in case one happens to wander in front of me.”

“Storms are bad for fishin,’” the man said, nodding knowingly. “But they can be good for huntin.’ Storms bring the animals down from the big mountains. Moose especially like the mist and bears like to hunt in the rain when their prey can’t hear and see ‘em as good.”

“Good to know.” Flip smiled as he replaced the nozzle and turned to go inside and pay his tab.

“That your girl?” the man asked with a suggestive nod toward the gas station.

“That she is.” Flip turned to face the man, wondering if he’d end up getting in a fist fight while on vacation.

Not taking the hint, the man whistled appreciatively.

Flip decided the rube meant it as a compliment, so he simply agreed with a “Yup,” and went into the gas station. Kate had been suspiciously long inside anyway, something that nagged at the part of his mind that was always an officer on duty.

Inside the dingy little gas station, Flip saw his girl leaning against the counter engaged in an affable conversation with the attendant behind the counter, a squat older man with a heavily lined face and long silver hair in a braid hanging over his shoulder down to his gut. Flip wandered through the store, grabbing a few items that struck his fancy, some beef jerky, chips, candy bars, and other assorted junk food. At the back of the store, a menagerie of terrible taxidermy watched him with glassy eyes. Above the beverage coolers that lined the wall hung several deer and caribou and two enormous moose. A life-size grizzly bear stood on its hind feet in a corner, frozen mid-snarl, its head a solid three feet above Flip’s. He looked at its paws that were larger than his head and vicious curling claws, longer and thicker than his fingers. Facing such a beast, the gun he had in his truck now seemed very feeble. He grabbed a six-pack of stout beer bottles and an over-sized bottle of cheap wine and took his loot to the counter to pile it alongside Kate’s items.

“Have you heard about the wendigo?” Kate asked Flip when he joined her at the counter. The lilt in her voice told him she was highly amused. “My new friend was just telling me about it.”

“Yeah, wasn’t that the name of that stripper I arrested last year for blackmailing the mayor?” Flip smirked. “Wendy-Go?”

“He’s an idiot, I’m sorry,” Kate apologized to the man behind the counter, simultaneously elbowing Flip in the ribs. “Please ignore him and continue.”

The attendant gave Flip a sideways look and continued talking to Kate in a slow, backcountry drawl, “It is said the wendigo were people once, but now they are cursed. A wendigo is born during times of famine or in the harshest winter. When men are starving to death in the cold. When a man is weak, and he chooses the black path of cannibalism over death, butchering his fellows to save himself. When a man eats the flesh of another, he takes a curse upon himself. The wendigo lives in constant starvation, its body emaciated and rotting, only growing hungrier the more it eats. Its hunger can never be sated and it becomes a crazed beast with an insatiable bloodlust.”

“Is this insatiable bloodlust specific to tourists?” Flip asked sarcastically.

“Sometimes,” the man shrugged, unbothered. “It looks to punish those with greed in their hearts. Or, depending on which stories you believe, it seeks people who are like-minded to itself to build its own tribe.” He eyed Flip narrowly. “So, if a tourist is out greedily mining or wantonly slaughtering game, then yes, the wendigo will come for him.”

“Slaughtering is one of the few things I never do wantonly,” Flip deadpanned and slapped some cash down on the counter.

“You should be careful, son,” the old man told Flip seriously. “There are many ways a man can be greedy. He can be greedy for his woman and covetous of her.” Then he shrugged again. “But these are nothing more than old tales.”

“So, you don’t believe in the wendigo?” Kate asked.

“Oh, there’s no doubt in my mind he’s real. I’ve seen a wendigo twice. He has antlers taller than a caribou and wider than a moose, teeth like a wolf, and only skull sockets for eyes. But they glow. It’s the glow I remember most,” the man said genuinely as he counted out change. “I just don’t know if he was once a man, or something that was never human at all. Maybe the people who first came here created a myth to explain the monster rather than created a mythical monster themselves.”

“Maybe it’s a convenient way to scare pretty, gullible girls.” Flip smirked at Kate. Then he returned his attention to the cashier. “Let me guess, there’s something that wards off the wendigo? A silver crucifix or whatever? I bet we can buy it right here.”

“Nothing wards off the wendigo,” the man scoffed. “And he is far older than your crucifix. Why would a forest god bow to a stranger on a cross? Fire can stall him, maybe even frighten him, but it can only buy you time.” He looked outside the window at the building storm. “Not good weather for making a fire if you need it.”

“Damn shame.” Flip shook his head and began collecting their provisions in his arms. There were no courtesy bags.

“We do have flares,” the man suggested innocently. “They burn in any kind of weather, even underwater. All the bush pilots carry them.”

“Probably inside their emergency monster-hunting kit alongside the stakes for vampires and silver bullets for werewolves,” Flip laughed. “Go ahead. Load us up with some flares. Consider it a tip for a good campfire story.”

“It’s always smart to be prepared,” the man agreed as he placed two bundles of six red flares apiece on the counter and rang them up. They looked like bundles of dynamite.

Kate took the flares because Flip’s arms were already overfilled. She thanked the attendant and turned to leave.

The old man grabbed her by the elbow, stopping her and causing Flip’s hackles to rise. He spoke seriously, “Don’t whistle when you’re out in the woods. Whistling will summon the wendigo. Sometimes people hear whistling too, before it comes for them.”

“And these people who hear the whistling before it gets them,” Flip said as he edged his body between Kate and the counter and nudged her toward the exit. “They walk out of the woods to tell their story, huh?”

*******************************************************************************************

Their log cabin for the week was almost an hour’s drive from the gas station. It wasn’t that far as the crow flies, but the road was serpentine with switchbacks as it climbed the foot of the mountains and made even slower by soupy mud. It was set deep in the forest, surrounded by old-growth trees with trunks as thick as the truck’s bed. The sun set on their drive back. As it dipped below the mountainous horizon, the landscape glowed a shade of hazy purple only seen in the alpine. The clouds were the color of gunpowder and the rainy vapor was periwinkle. The spruce turned into an army of nearly black silhouettes with a light mist writhing among them as moisture rose from the damp ground as well as drizzled gently from the sky. The drifting mist made everything look as though it were moving. It gave the illusion of eldritch shapes in the trees creeping along the edges of vision and tree limbs grasping like clawed fingers as they swayed in the breeze.

Flip hit the brakes suddenly, slamming Kate forward in her seat and knocking her out of the reverie the gloaming forest had cast over her. A black shape froze in the muddy road a few yards ahead of them. Its eyes sparked cold white in the headlights and the fur on its back was raised aggressively.

“A wolf!” Flip said excitedly. “I’ve never seen one this close.”

The huge animal was coal black, its amber eyes reflecting white in the headlights in the way wolves eyes do. It stood frozen, staring down the vehicle, acting like the truck was a new creature intruding into the wolf’s territory. Something was wrong with its silhouette. Something with its mouth. It took several seconds for Kate to realize what it was. The wolf turned its head uncertainly, deciding whether it should continue on its way across the road or turn around from the metal beast with offense headlights. A dead rabbit dangled from its jaws, its legs swinging lifelessly and ears flopping limply. Its lifeless eyes glinted a dull red.

The simple reminder of nature’s brutality unnerved Kate unexpectedly and her hands felt suddenly cold. She gripped Flip’s hand, digging her nails into his palm with irrational harshness.

“Nature, red in tooth and claw,” he teased and grinned at her, but he laced his fingers through hers and squeezed her hand reassuringly. “Some redneck at the gas station told me that predators liked to hunt in the rain. Guess he was right.”

Night had veiled the forest with its velvety black cloak by the time they parked next to the porch of their cabin. It was silent enough to hear all the noises of the forest, from the chattering birds to the subtle rustling of deer browsing in the brush to moisture pattering lightly on the ground. A great horned owl as large as a man’s torso sat perched in a tree branch hanging near the roof of the cabin, its yellow eyes glittering like moonlight as it hooted an eerie cadence. It followed them with its yellow eyes as they unloaded the truck and carried their loot inside, its head turned almost fully backward like a creature possessed.

There was no light pollution and on a clear night, the moon and stars lit the forest bright enough to see easily. On a rainy night, moisture in the air brought out all the smells of the forest, the crisp spruce, the earthy soil, the embers in the fireplace. The cabin had no electric lines and was powered by a temperamental generator and a wood stove. A woodpile was stacked against the back of the cabin, complete with a large timber axe embedded in a nearby stump. Cell service was laughable. Flip loved everything about all of that. He was pleased it had running water, however, mainly because it would have greatly impacted his sex life if it didn’t.

Flip grilled steaks outside that night before the rain hit and they had dinner on the porch, counting lightning bolts. Then they tangled around each other in front of the fireplace, making love as the flames crackled and danced and the thunder rolled. Between dinner and fooling around several times, they finished the bottle of wine and opened another. Night fell early this far north in the autumn and the nights were long. The cabin was equipped with a tv, but it was one of those terrible old boxy things with a tiny screen and antennas. The antennas were only for show since there was no service. Instead, there was a vcr and a selection of campy nineties movies and some even campier porn. It seemed to defeat the purpose of being there to even bother with the tv. They hadn’t turned it on once.

“I’m wide awake,” Kate mused, propped up on Flip’s bare chest, looking down at him. “Let’s do something.”

“I have plenty of ideas,” Flip said huskily. “They’re all sure to wear you out.”

“We’ve tried your ideas. Several times. And I’m still far from worn out.” She smiled. “We’re here in a cabin, basically having a sleepover. Let’s play some sleepover games, the kind you play as idiot teenagers or in sororities in college.”

“I think girls have a lot wilder sleepovers than boys. And my experience with sororities is limited to sneaking in and out of them, so you’ll have to be more specific.” He ran his fingertips along her spine and kissed her throat, doing his best to interest her in another round.

“Later, you animal,” she laughed and shoved his face away while pushing herself up and off him. “You know what I mean. Sleepover games. Like Bloody Mary, or playing a Ouija Board, or the Midnight Game.”

“Packed a Ouija Board, did you?” he teased. “That would explain why your suitcase weighs fifty fuckin’ pounds.”

“I don’t think ghosts care whether or not you use a name brand.” She pinched his chest, making him flinch.

“What ghosts are you gonna find out here?” He squinted as he rubbed his chest. “The Donner Party?”

“Don’t you think they’d be fun to talk to? We can try Bloody Mary. I don’t think she has a centralized location,” she teased and pulled on her discarded pair of pajama pants and a hoodie. She threw Flip’s grey sweatpants at him. “Put that thing away or it might scare off the ghosts.”

Flip grumbled more protests under his breath, but he dressed in his sweats and a thermal henley. “How about we each stand in front of the bathroom mirror with the lights off. I’ll ask for Candyman. You ask for Bloody Mary. And we’ll have a Celebrity Death Match between vengeful ghosts?”

“You know the ghosts always get the cynics and the cocky shitheads first, right?” She shook her head and crossed her arms over her chest in a faux reprimand.

“Is that a rule?” Flip grinned. “I think the ghosts go for the morally corrupt woman who can’t keep her legs closed first. You’re in trouble, sugar.”

“There’s only one way to find out,” she said with finality.

“How about we play a fun game, like spin the bottle or truth or dare?” He winked at her. “I always pick dare. Do your worst.”

“I can’t imagine where a game of truth or dare with you would lead.” She rolled her eyes sarcastically.

Flip puffed his chest and stepped closer to her until their bodies were almost touching. “I have a better idea. You have some pretty big balls for a pretty little girl. Let’s see how big they really are.”

“Oh my god, Flip, if this is another ploy to explore that region further…” she laughed.

“Everything I do is some kinda means to that end.” He smirked. “But we’ll get to that later. Now, let’s go outside and whistle at the wendigo. There should be some of those sonsabitches around these parts.”

Flip went to the door and stepped into his muddy boots. He leaned against the doorframe, casually cocky, and raised an eyebrow at her in a challenge. “How ‘bout it, hot stuff?”

“I think we’d be better off trying to summon Bloody Mary than a wendigo,” Kate said hesitantly. “Plus, it will be cold out there.”

“I’ll keep you warm,” he teased. “How do you figure that trying to summon a ghost through our bathroom mirror would be safer than trying to call in a wendigo? At least a wendigo will stay outside. Besides, I know how psycho you’d get if I let another woman into our bedroom. Dead or alive. Don’t try to set me up, sweetheart.”

Rolling her eyes again, Kate pulled her coat on and slipped her phone into its pocket, feeling the bundle of flares she had absently pocketed at the gas station. There was no service, but its flashlight might come in handy outside. Grinning, Flip picked up the rifle that was leaning against the doorframe and slung it over his shoulder. Cocky though he was, he took the advice serious about the threat of bears and always having a gun on him out here in the wilderness. He held the door open for Kate and ushered her outside.

The air was thick with humidity but the rain had stopped for the moment, leaving the moisture on the air to chill their skin and turn their breath into ghostly thick fog. The porch was covered in slushy frost as bright as diamonds. Their boot prints left skeletal black outlines on the otherwise pristine frosty canvas as they descended the steps and walked into the forest that awaited them only yards away.

Flip offered Kate his arm and led her into the trees. The old growth forest felt like being inside a fairytale, surrounded by enormous tree trunks and relatively open ground at their bases. The roots of those great trees were so thirsty, they leeched most of the nutrients and left little for brush and scrub to encroach. After the rain, the ground was muddy and slick, with frost growing denser by the minute as the temperature dropped through the night.

Filling his lungs, Flip began whistling a terribly off-key tune as he walked through the woods. His casual swagger was the same as if he were taking his girl out for a stroll in the park. Kate winced when he struck a particularly loathsome note, and squinted her eyes at him, “What in the hell are you whistling?”

“Season of the Witch,” he replied, acting offended. “I thought you’d appreciate it.”

“I like the song, I don’t appreciate what you’re doing to it,” she laughed. “We’re not going to find any wendigo if you scare them all off with that horrendous noise.”

“I don’t hear you doing any better,” he scoffed.

Mainly in an attempt to save her ears from his screeching, Kate started whistling. She teased Flip first with her best wolf whistle. Smells were heightened in the damp air but sounds were muffled. In the silence of the forest, the whistle sounded unnaturally loud. Now that Flip wasn’t making noise himself, he found himself focusing more on his surroundings. He didn’t feel right, something he couldn’t put his finger on tugged at the back of his mind. It wasn’t just that noises were muffled by the dampness in the air, but something else that he found indefinable in that moment. He told himself it was just the product of being in an unfamiliar place, surrounded by unfamiliar vegetation that he found unsettling. The size of trees still seemed monstrous to him, and the smell of spruce instead of the familiar smell of pine must have been unsettling to his subconscious. And it probably didn’t help that he had cultivated a little buzz drinking wine for the past few hours.

A light gust of wind blew into his face and all of his senses sparked with alarm. He froze in place, seizing Kate’s arm to silence her whistling. The unmistakable scent of a wet animal hit his nose with the force of a slap in the face. Quickly evaluating his surroundings, he unslung the rifle from his shoulder and held it across his chest in high port. It would take him less than a second to aim and fire. But the forest was close around them, visibility limited to fifteen feet or so in any direction. If the animal was a predator, a bear or a mountain lion, it could cover that distance in less than a heartbeat if it wanted. He could still see the faint glow of the cabin’s lights. They hadn’t gone far, but there was no chance of outrunning an animal back to safety.

A heavy footfall sounded inside the trees ahead of them, muffled on the wet ground but distinctive. Straining his ears, Flip thought he heard a branch being brushed aside by something passing by it. Whatever it was, it was very close ahead of them. Flip’s thoughts raced, less cohesive and more a rush of images of nightmare scenarios that he weighed in an instant. He could hide himself and Kate behind one of the huge tree trunks and hope the animal passed them by. But whatever it was had to already know of their presence. If his feeble senses could hear and smell the animal, it had no doubt smelled and heard him much sooner. In that case, he decided it was best to hold his ground and meet whatever it was head on, straight down the barrel of his rifle. That would give them the best chance. Flip would have to make his shot count, and he’d probably only get one, but it was a decent chance.

Stepping in front of Kate, Flip raised his rifle to his shoulder. He kept both eyes open, not limiting his focus to only what was past the end of his barrel, but trying to expand his senses to the full spectrum of forest in front of him. He heard a heavy breath, something panting. Closer now. Flip clicked off the safety and tightened his finger on the trigger. The hardest skill for a hunter to learn, especially when hunting game that hunted him back, is to wait long enough for a good shot but not so long as to let it get him. He wouldn’t waste his shot until he saw his target clearly and could be sure of putting the bullet where it would matter most. His hold on the gun was rock steady, his breath stalled, his eyes unblinking.

The panting grew in volume until it seemed to drum in his ears. Odd for a stalking predator. Before Flip could reconcile that, a bear burst from the trees only feet in front of him. A huge grizzly bear lumbering toward him on all fours, the top of its humped shoulders taller than Flip’s head. His finger tensed, less than a millimeter of movement was required to fire. But something was off with the bear. It was panting heavily, saliva dripping from its open mouth and fog snorting in bursts from its wet nose. The bear stopped short at the sight of the man with a gun right in front of it, clearly surprised, very unlike a predator who had been stalking the man. Flip hesitated. If he didn’t kill the bear immediately with one shot – drop it right in its tracks – it would maul them both before it died. If the bear wasn’t hunting him, it was a foolish risk to take. Grizzlies were not commonly hunting predators; they were scavengers and fishers. Most people who were mauled by grizzlies had either gotten between a mother and her cubs or a bear and its food, or they had startled it like waking a grumpy old man.

Sniffing the air, the bear looked at Flip. He was so close he could see the small particles of moisture the bear blew out of its nose along with steam when it snorted. The bear’s little round ears flicked, one turning backward to listen behind it. The bear’s eyes were wide, showing white, in a nervous gesture that was common to both man and beast. The bear looked back over its shoulder and then broke into a gallop. Flip’s rational mind told him to shoot, but his instinct prevented him. The bear altered course enough to avoid running straight into Flip. It paid him no further mind at all, instead running right by him. Flip followed it with the barrel of his rifle as it passed by him so close that a string of white saliva landed on the rifle’s blue-black barrel.

Turning around about face, Flip followed the bear with his sights until it was well past them and showed no signs of turning back around. He looked back toward the place the bear had come from, still holding the rifle to his shoulder. He didn’t look at Kate when he told her, “Walk back to the cabin. Don’t run, but go now.”

“You want me to follow the bear?” she hissed. “He ran toward the cabin. I don’t want to get near him again.”

“Follow the bear,” Flip gritted. “If a bear’s runnin’ from something, we’d best do the same. He didn’t care about us anyway. Now, move.”

Uncertainly, Kate turned and retreated toward the cabin. They hadn’t gone that far, after all. Flip backed after her, keeping his rifle aimed into the black forest from which the bear had run. A shrill scream splintered the silence, starker than a bolt of lightning. Kate shuddered and Flip ducked, hunching his shoulders like he had taken a punch. The scream shrilled for several seconds, wavering on a blood-curdling note before trailing away. It echoed around them, seeming to float on the mist.

“That’s just an elk bugling,” Flip said, trying to calm Kate. Maybe it was in fact an elk, a sickly, ravenous elk. “Keep moving, slowly.”

“I’ve never heard an elk that sounded like that.” Kate shivered against more than the chilled air. “This is starting to scare the hell out of me.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll take your mind off of it when we get back,” Flip tried to joke but he couldn’t muster the required lewdness, his mouth was too dry.

The howling scream burst again through the forest. It was something like an elk bugle, but more howling and rasping, with a sort of growling mingled in at the end as it trailed away. It was closer now. Flip felt as much as heard it reverberate inside his skull.

“Whatever that is, it’s not an elk.” Kate had her arms wrapped around her body, trying to prevent herself from being overtaken by tremors.

“Sure, it is,” Flip lied. “They probably just grow ‘em bigger up here.”

Kate blew out a shuddering breath, fighting to keep her steps slow and steady.

“Pick up the pace a little, darlin,’” Flip rasped.

“You said not to run,” Kate hissed.

“I didn’t say to crawl either!” Flip gritted. “This is one hell of a time for you to start listening to me.”

Instead of moving faster, Kate stopped short. So suddenly, Flip bumped into her as he walked backward. A branch snapped somewhere inside the forest. It was strangely loud. Flip realized then that the snap only sounded harsh because the forest had gone utterly silent. The hundreds of small noises from birds and insects were gone. Even the drops of water falling from tree branches seemed to have stopped. The forest felt like a living thing around them, possessed of a presence all its own. Now that presence was altered into something darker and ominous.

“What the hell are you doing?” Flip’s voice had dropped to a whisper without his conscious approval. “I said keep moving. We’re not far from the cabin.”

“Turn around.” Kate’s voice trembled.

Dropping the rifle for a moment, Flip looked back over his shoulder. His nerves must be playing tricks on his eyes. He turned fully around, holding the rifle at high port across his chest. The view of the forest that met him was foreign. It wasn’t the same forest they had walked through only minutes before. The trees were more skeletal, their grasping branches more cloying. Moss hung from the branches like the lank hair of a corpse, and the ground was spongy underfoot, as if the forest was rotting around them. Even the air smelled stale and moldy. Thunder boomed overhead and lightning illuminated the forest in patches like a stop-motion movie. Most unsettling of all, the comforting glow of the cabin lights that could be seen through the trees had vanished or been snuffed out.

“What the fuck…” Flip’s voice trailed away as he took in the strangeness of their surroundings. A burst of lightning brought the forest into focus for a gleaming second. Bizarre shapes hung in the trees like a macabre abomination of Christmas tree ornaments, figures made from twigs lashed together with sinew to form pentagrams and humanoid shapes and horned beings. Flip swallowed thickly and ignored them. “We couldn’t have gotten turned around so fast.”

“We didn’t.” Kate looked around frantically. “I could see the cabin lights, then I heard that horrible bugle and looked around for it. And then the lights were gone. They couldn’t have all gone out, not all at once.”

“Lightning must have struck the cabin,” Flip lied again. Nothing about the forest looked familiar to him now and everything about it felt wrong. “Must have shorted out the lights.” There was no reason to scare Kate more than she already was. “It’s alright, we don’t need lights for what I have in mind when we get back.”

The scent of wet dog hit Flip again on a gust of wind, yanking his attention in the direction of the odor. He saw a heap of dark fur, glistening from the spotty rain and aimed his rifle at the creature. It didn’t move. Steam rose from the furry mass. Flip noted another smell on the air, something with a coppery aftertaste that coated the roof of his mouth. He edged forward, looking at the steaming animal down the barrel of his rifle, his finger resting on the trigger, ready to fire. He recognized the beast when another bolt of lightning revealed the horror to him.

“Don’t look,” he said to Kate, but it was too late. She clasped a hand over her mouth to keep her scream from escaping.

The huge grizzly bear they had encountered minutes before lay on its side in a broken heap of matted fur. Steam spiraled into the air from its torn-open belly, its entrails protruding from the mangled tissue like uncooked sausage. The gaping wound was only minutes old. The bear’s body temperature would plummet rapidly in the frigid air and it was still warm now. Even as they stared, the steam began to abate. Hanging in the branches of the tree nearest the bear carcass were several more bizarre figures crafted from twigs.

The screeching growling bugle erupted again, very close this time. Flip nudged Kate ahead, keeping his rifle at the ready, but not knowing where to aim it.

“Which way do we go?” Her breath came in shuddering puffs of fog.

“I don’t know,” Flip admitted. “Away from here.”

Amid a stand of spruce to his side, bare tree branches swayed in the wind, their spiky fingers waving ominously. Flip hadn’t noticed the wind pick up. Looking at the oddly swaying branches, he realized there was no wind. The air had gone as still as the inside of a crypt. The strange branches were bare, glistening wet and pointed upward, still swaying.

A flash of lightning illuminated the creature and Flip flinched so hard he almost fired accidentally.

What he had taken for bare branches was a set of enormous antlers, shaped somewhere between a moose and a caribou and as large as an Irish elk, with wide paddles and long spiked tines spurting out non-typically like broken fingers. It had a dark mane like an elk with a tawny, painfully emaciated body. Flat tines of several spinal processes protruded through the hide at the top of its high withers and one hip bone showed through the skin. But its head was the most terrible of all. Its face was in an advanced stage of rot, dregs of sagging flesh barely clinging to the skull. White skull bone gleamed in exposed patches, and its sharp, lupine teeth were long in the exposed jawbone and ragged. Its nasal cavity was bare, the fleshy nose rotten away, leaving only the pointed bones and a black hollow. It had no eyes that Flip could see, but there was an evil gleam inside its sockets, like embers inside a pile of ash. The monster shook its head, slinging water from its great spiked antlers. Then it leveled its head like a bull about to charge and fixed its glowing eyes on Flip.

“Shoot it,” Kate whispered, her eyes wide with terror.

“I don’t think it’ll do any good.” Flip looked down the barrel at the rotting flesh covering the walking skeleton and white bone peeking from beneath. The monster’s glowing eyes were not something found among the living. Without lowering his rifle, he looked at Kate and met her eyes. “It’ll come for me first. I’ll make sure of that, and I’ll stall it as much as I can. Get to the truck, darlin.’ The keys are in it. Run like hell.”

“I’m not leaving you!” she said vehemently, her voice losing some fervor when the creature took an ominous step closer, its enormous antlers swaying with its gait.

She felt for her phone, hoping there might be service. Not that another human could even reach them in less than an hour, making any idea of help hopeless. Her hand closed around the lumpy bundle of flares. With an excited breath, she freed a flare from the bundle and fumbled with lighting it.

The monster bugled angrily, a sound so shrill it felt like it grated along their spines. It rushed toward them through the trees, its teeth bared and eyes aflame. Flip fired, sending a bullet right between those glowing eyes. He even saw the bullet strike and tear away more rotting flesh, leaving a pearly white hole in the skull. It didn’t slow the monster or even make it flinch. He bolted another round into the chamber on instinct, staring down the barrel at the demonic eyes that were fixed upon him.

Kate popped the cap off the flare. The cap had an abrasive tip like a matchhead and she struck it to the end of the flare, holding it high as it burst to life. With their eyes accustomed to the darkness, the flare seemed as bright as sunlight, searing black pulsing spots into their vision. The monster squealed again, shaking its head with pain or irritation. Its antlers caught in the tree branches, stalling its advance. The flare burned and popped, hot on Kate’s face even at arm’s length and blindingly bright.

The landscape around them crackled and wavered, like a tv signal trying to come in through static. The trees looked less skeletal and more normal, like they had been before, and the strange twig figures vanished. The cabin lights glowed through the trees, yellow and warm, not far from them.

“It’s in our heads!” Kate shouted. “It’s making us hallucinate, but I can see the cabin and the truck now.”

“The light bothers it,” Flip said as he reached into her coat pocket, grabbing three flares and leaving her the remaining two. The monster wrenched its antlers free of the branches where it was tangled and lurched toward them in a shambling gait.

Shouldering his rifle that was of no more use than a club against the monster, Flip bit the cap off a flare with his teeth and struck the head. He rammed the end into the muddy ground at his feet, leaving the tip burning. The beast reared, shrieking with rage and clawing the air with its cloven hooves as Flip backed away. He could see the glow of the cabin lights now too. It was hard to resist the urge to run to the light.

Flip lit the next flare. Kate was a few yards ahead of him, gaining ground toward the truck. It would take whoever reached it first a minute to start it. Flip had a good throwing arm and even better aim. The monster lunged at him, rage overriding whatever else had been driving it to pursue them so far. Flip drew back his arm, took a second to aim at the gaping black jaws, and threw the lit flare as hard as he could. The flaming tip cartwheeled through the air like a throwing knife before the fiery head struck the monster right where its nose should have been. But it had no nose, its nasal cavity was exposed in its partially skeletal head. Robin Hood could not have struck a finer bullseye. The flaming tip sank deep into the nasal cavity, embedding itself there.

Screaming terribly, the wendigo shook its head and stomped its hooves, rearing and bucking like a horse that had stepped on a hornet’s nest. It couldn’t shake the flare free from its skull. The flames spread, shooting out through holes in the rancid flesh of its cheeks and jaws. It looked as though it breathed fire when it screeched, belching flare fumes and flames out of its hacking mouth.

“We’re not gonna get a better chance than this!” Flip roared at Kate as he burst into a run toward her. She had a few paces head start on him and sprinted ahead toward the truck.

Kate reached the truck first, yanking the driver’s door open and jumping inside. Flip could bitch about her driving all he wanted, but she dared not spare the extra second or two for him to take the wheel. Not with the eldritch monster galloping toward them, bugling terribly, flames bellowing from its mouth and nose. Flip had his one remaining flare in hand when he reached the truck. The engine roared to life.

Instead of joining Kate inside the cab, Flip vaulted into the truck bed and shouted for her to drive. Kate slammed the truck into gear, throwing Flip against the side of the bed. Regaining his balance, he dropped to his knees and planted his back against the rear window, making himself as steady as he could. Kate was speeding as fast as she dared down the muddy, winding road, and it wasn’t fast enough. The wendigo pursued them, galloping after the truck and gaining ground. Striking the tip of his flare, Flip held the flaming tip aloft, casting the entire truck in a halo of searing red fire. The wendigo allowed more distance between them, smart enough to keep outside of throwing range of another flare.

Kate took a slippery curve too fast, the truck fishtailing as she recovered control, slinging Flip from one side of the bed to the other. The flare was nearly whipped from his hand, but he clenched his fist tight to keep his hold. Gritting his teeth, he composed himself, using all his strength to keep his balance and keep his arm held high. He couldn’t afford to lose a flare. They only had three flares left, and it was going to take every last burning second of each one to reach town.

*******************************************************************************************

 © safarigirlsp 2024

Tagging some buddies!

[eldritch-spouse]

Just when you thought taking a day off from retail when you're sick would be paradise away from the retail hell boys when your door suddenly explodes and the retail hell boys enter your room when they heard you got sick. You can't win.

TW: Reader has a dark mindset, their suffering is not treated seriously.

It's kind of ridiculous that your only respite is sickness, isn't it?

Does it count as self-harm to deliberately let yourself get sick just so you can miss a day or two of work? Does... Does not caring about a twisted ankle that much because you know you won't have to work for a while count as mental illness? If only you could afford a psychologist right now.

What you do know, is that in spite of your physical pain, you haven't felt this at peace in a while. You can even ignore the fact that your pay is getting damaged from this, it's worth it. It's calm.

No weird coworkers, no pressure from a shitty boss, no creepy clients-

CRASH

There's no mistaking it. That was the front door of your rackety little apartment.

Fear has you flatten to the wall of your bedroom, ankle squealing with pain. Deep down, you've always dreaded this would happen since moving to Hell. That some nutjob would just break into your place and butcher you like a pig. Because they feel like it, because some demons are just like that, because humans are easy targets.

Humans are like gazelles to them. And amidst all those grazing bodies, a tired and beaten down one like you is the gazelle with the limp, the one that's getting picked first.

Fucking damn it, you should have bought the domestic defense bat that tall butch tried to sell you when you moved in. You wondered why she was pricing it so high until she revealed it was some kind of hellish beast, as opposed to a barbed wire bat.

As is, you can only grab the bedside lamp and hope, with every fiber of your being, that the thing you're up against has a skull soft enough to allow brain damage.

Hearing hushed voices, your plan is to turn the corner and possibly run outside before you have to hit anyone.

A plan easily thwarted when a meaty hand swipes the bedside lamp right out of your hands.

Alright. You didn't think that far ahead.

" YEAH, THAT'S IT SMALL FRY! " The meathead you've come to recognize as one of the creepy regulars beams. He smashes the bulb out of the lamp, and jams some kind of blade in the hollowed space, using fabric to tie it all together. Is that... Part of your curtains?

" Moz, you ruined the door, you oaf... Isn't that essential to keep the house safe? " The other one, the incubus, points out, feeling the dents left in your wall.

Said wrathful demon pauses to gouge the extent of the damage for several seconds, then waves. " Huh. I'LL DO YA ONE BETTER- WHO NEEDS DOORS?! By the time I'm done, no one will even think of trying to get in. "

Babesley turns around. " Well, she does- Oh! Oh there she is, our tasty workaholic. " The incubus gets a glimpse at your injured limb and gasps. " My sweet hardworking princess, what are you doing out of bed?! Come on, let's go lie down, I'll give you a wonderful massage and you can tell me all about the awful people you work with! "

The awful people being them both, mostly. On a good day.

Babesley has started pulling you along gently, and frankly, you know there's nothing you can do to get them out of your home now, so you might as well just bide your time and see what comes next.

He openly evaluates the state of your room before cautiously helping you lay down, starting to work on your back muscles with surprising competence. You didn't know he was a masseur! Out of spite, you don't allow the shock to show on your face, keeping noises to a minimum.

" Come now, it's no fun if I don't get to hear it. " He huffs. " You're being difficult when we're just trying to keep you safe! Tsk tsk, brats these days. "

" Get- Hnnh- " Oh he popped something ancient in there. The smug brow raise is his display of victory. " Get out of my home. "

" Mhm, not happening. I was thinking of getting a pizza from that cozy nook downtown. "

Pizza does sound good.

You ponder on it to the sounds of Moz breaking your house apart in a nightmare DIY session.

" ... I want the pepperoni one. " It was a moment of weakness. And most importantly, free food.

" Say please. " He sing-songs, clawtips flirting with the fat of your rump through your pajama shorts.

" Cunt. "

" Yes, I bet yours is heavenly. "

Before things can get any more awkward, the other demon bulldozes in with a cup, slapping your ass with a force so great it has you barking every curse under the sun.

" Spit on this, jizzbrains. " He angles the glass at Babes, who easily 'ptoo's in.

You think that one slap just undid all of the incubus' work on your accumulated tension. " What are you even doing? Ruining my house for the fuck of it?! "

" HAH. " Moz grunts. " I'm making it IMPENETRABLE. This here is for a booby trap. IMAGINE DYING WITH A BONER. "

You and Babesley look at him blankly.

" They walk in, right?! They STEP on the plate, they ACTIVATE THE TRAP, THEN BOOM- GET A SPRAY OF THIS NASTY SHIT AND THEN THE FUCKIN' LAMP COMES SWINGING DOWN JAMMING RIGHT BETWEEN THE EYES! Either that or the throat... Actually, I need a plan B for a shortstack. "

You decide you'll mourn your furniture later.

" What about the pizza guy? "

" WHAT PIZZA GUY?! "

Babesley waves Moz away, continuing his earlier work above you. " Think about it this way, if it works, we won't have to pay for it. "

You want to go back to work.

[s-exy-sapphillean]

Finally coming back to Runaways AU posting. If the original concept interests you but you don't like where i'm taking it, please consider what i said here.

(There's a lot so i included a cut here to not make it fill up your dash too much)

Quick disclaimer: queerplatonic jeaneil is very dear to me. I do not ship them romantically. Their dynamic in this AU is fairly complicated and codependent and the presence of strong emotions & physical affection doesn't mean their bond is romantic. I of course can't stop anyone from interpreting it whichever way they choose but i'd rather people don't insist that what i'm writing must be romantic because that's how they read it.

So. Neil & Jean + Elodie on the run together..

Neil of course is the one to teach Jean and Elodie english. He's an okay teacher, good enough that they get by and they improve fast enough. Neil however is simply not aware of a couple of accented words and anglicisms in his own vocabulary, so the moreau siblings have some random british words in their vocabulary

Physical affection is complicated for the boys. They both initially only know touch as something practical or to hurt. They are touch starved. But elodie is a child who gives and craves physical affection freely, so the boys gradually grow more used to giving and receiving affection through touch. Sleeping curled together becomes a necessity to keep warm wherever they're camping out but they eventually do it even when not necessary because it is comforting to have the other right there

After his mother got got, before joining up with jean, neil felt kinda directionless & defeated because without his mother there to push for it 15 year old neil doesn't really see the point of running forever if the only possible end is eventual death. Then he meets jean & elodie, starts bonding with them & keeping them safe becomes his entire world. Like a "i'll get caught and killed eventually but as long as i'm alive i can at least make sure they're okay & will be fine when i'm gone" mentality because he doesnt understand that jean is equally as fucked if the butcher finds them.

They bicker a LOT, getting into verbal fights over a lot of small things. They are constantly stressed with no outlet except eachother. Neil for a long time is also just not coping well with witnessing elodie receiving such genuine love and care because it makes something in him burn with ugly jealousy. Jean for a while absolutely despises having to rely on essentially a stranger for so much when his own english is way too lacking to get around by himself.

As much as he doesn't cope well at all with his own jealousy and yearning for being cared for, neil does also become fiercely protective of elodie pretty quickly. If she gets to have what he can't have then she needs to be able to keep that and not become like him. His "one of us has to make it" mantra we know from canon becomes entirely focused on her.

They have pretended to be a couple a few times, simply because it is the easiest cover for why a teenager as clearly french as jean would be so close to some very clearly not french teenager

They kissed once or twice as like a "for the sake of the cover" thing, trying out if that works but unanimously decided it wouldn't. It just made neil feel queasy and uncomfortable and bisexual disaster jean is self aware enough to know that risking developing a hopeless onesided crush would be the worst in their situation

Little head kisses have kinda become a thing though. It's something jean did a lot to comfort elodie & once when neil was having a breakdown he did it to him while holding him and it helped so it just stuck

In millport their story is that jean & elodie's father had moved to the US with them for work and had been colleagues with neil's parents. When father moreau turned out to be abusive, neil's parents helped jean emancipate himself and gain custody of elodie, and helped them move away, letting neil go with them.

When they get to palmetto, most of the foxes do assume they're dating and the boys don't directly correct anyone out of worry it will raise too many eyebrows, so neil doesn't get to explain that he doesn't swing any direction until much later

[poisonsage808]

hiii! i wanted to say first off that I love your work! i always come back to them whenever I'm in need of some sandor time and they never fail to make me smile.

i wanted to ask if you could do something w/ "i was so worried. it was killing me, not being able to reach out and touch you" from that secret relationship prompt list. I thought it was fitting for sandor cause that man secretly loves physical touch does he not?

♡ Strong Enough ♡

Sandor Clegane x Stark!Reader

a/n: hello there! i see your user all the time, i’m so happy you requested something and thank you for your constant support! i tweaked it a bit to suit him more but i hope you like it xoxoxo

tw: blood, violence, death, swearing

The gods were having a laugh at him, weren't they? Giving the ugliest brute in Westeros the heart of the sweetest thing he thinks he’s ever seen in gods know how long just to take them away. Of all the people in the world to weasel their way into the Hound’s heart, it had to be you. Twin to the Young Wolf, Robb, fucking you. A fucking Stark!

You’d somehow befriended the Hound during his stay at Winterfell but then you kissed him on the way to King’s Landing. He was certain you’d hate him after he killed that butcher's boy and end whatever it was the two of you had, but you didn’t. Then he was even more certain you’d hate him after he took you and your sister, Sansa, hostage, but you didn’t. Sandor was abso-fucking-lutely certain you’d hate him after King Joffrey ordered your father to be executed… but you didn’t.

“It’s not your fault,” You told him, some of those times through flooding tears, “Don’t risk your head, alright? Not for me, not for anyone.”

Gods, he hated it when you cried. And Sandor had been seeing you cry a lot ever since Joff had your father beheaded. Even so he allowed it, especially because you never cried in front of anyone else. You were strong like that, never giving them the satisfaction of knowing how you were truly feeling. Your red rimmed eyes may say otherwise, it was proof enough but Sandor still thought you were strong and he would hold you whenever he had the chance.

“Keep your head down, little wolf, and do as you're bid. Tell your sister the same.”

‘They won’t hurt you’ he wanted to say but they could. They did and have, whenever they had the chance. They being the Lannisters— Baratheons, whatever, the royal cunts he worked for. Sandor never felt guilt as heavy as he did these past months. He felt it every damn time he saw your stoic face, albeit the red under your eyes seemed to be permanently stained that way, in court or dutifully beside your sister.

The gods were testing his restraint as if Sandor needed a bloody test. He damn near gutted Meryn yesterday for the punch he gave you in front of everyone. He’d take a tongue lashing or walk the gallows for it, gladly. Then he met your eyes. Don’t risk your head, your voice ricotched inside his skull so loudly it stilled him. Sandor had never been so happy to see the dwarf in his life, ending the beating before Meryn’s sword struck you and only you. The little bird with her ripped dress sobbing on her knees tucked into your protective arms. He would’ve killed the Kingsguard himself if it wasn’t for Tyrion and, as much as he wanted to, he didn’t want the last time he saw you to be in that room.

Sandor bandaged you himself, undoing the shite work that old pervert Pycelle did.

“No one’s gonna hurt you again, little wolf.” He swore— no, he vowed, and the Hound didn’t do vows, “No one, you hear me?”

“I’m ok, Sandor.” You assured him as you always did, each time sounding weaker than the last. Never quite yet a lie, you were still strong.

Sandor felt the shift in the air less than halfway to the Red Keep, the walk was eerily quiet. He knew King Joff wasn’t beloved by any means but utter silence was a warning and he’d curse himself if he didn’t chance a look at his surroundings. He’d tell himself this anyways but his eyes landed on the little bird… then his little wolf following behind her.

You didn’t smile when you caught his brief gaze looking back at you over his shoulder. No, you felt the same tense aura he did and he could see the worried expression on your face. Fear. He thinks he hates that look on you more than tears. Sandor wished he could just grab you, hook you under his arm and make sure you stayed there until he saw you to safety.

Don’t they always say “it happened so fast” well it fucking did. Sandor blinked, Joff was hit and his sword was drawn out right after. Then everything went to shit. The Bread Riot they would call it by tomorrow but Sandor Clegane could name it right here and now; his worst fucking nightmare come to life.

Joff was fine, he made certain of that firsthand but when he turned around, though his body never ceased moving, his heart stopped. You and the little bird were nowhere to be seen. Sandor felt like he could breathe at least when he found Sansa, just in time by the looks of it. His sword hacked through flesh and bone then he swung the girl over his shoulder. She cried the whole way back, never ending blubbering was just as bad as her chirping. Only this time they were both thinking the same.

“Where are they!?” She sobbed, “Please, you have to—“

Sandor didn’t need to be fucking commanded to find you, so he didn’t stay to hear the rest of her pleas. He went back to face the riot a third time. Occasionally some idiot came at the Hound only to meet their gorey demise at his sword. Sandor shouted your name until his throat hurt, growing more panicked the longer he went without a response.

Until you called back.

Footsteps come closer, heavier, faster. Rounding the corner his nerves finally leave him alone with relief. Sandor’s shoulders slump as lets out a breath that takes away some of the tension he was holding onto. He takes one step closer while you close the distance with a leap. Your arms locked behind his neck, the blood on his armor smearing against your own attire. You didn’t seem to care, he certainly didn’t. The deathly grip on his weapon shook and his sword clattered when it hit the ground. Sandor enveloped you in his arms and breathed in the scent of your hair. He almost thanked the gods that laughed at him that you were alive—

Then he pulled away harshly, hands flying to your cup your cheeks and turning your head all around looking for any bruises or cuts. He ignored the way you said his name until he inspected every fucking inch of you, making sure you weren’t bleeding or something worse had happened. If you were it would all be his fault, he made fucking vows for you! He—

“Sandor.” You said again

He sighed then begrudgingly met your red rimmed eyes, “It.. it fucking killed me not to reach out and touch you.”

You somehow smiled and attempt to gently pry his hands away to hold them, “I’m ok, I—“

“No.” He growls and holds your face still in his grip.

His eyes are wide, boring into yours. His breaths short and shaking with every exhale. Is this fear? In the Hound— your Hound?

“It would’ve fuckin’ killed me if something happened to you. Do you understand me? I’m strong but,” Sandor sighs and blinks away any traces of fear you thought you saw but he doesn’t meet your eyes for the final part of his little speech, “I’m not strong enough to lose you.”

Halfway through his admission your brows punched up and tears welled in your eyes. You managed to swallow down the sob that almost escaped. Words aside, the seriousness and earnestness in his voice had you choking up. Including his statement, it was just about the closest Sandor Clegane has been to admitting he not only cared about you but quite possibly loved you.

“Look at me,” You managed to say, “I’m right here, Sandor, I’m not going anywhere.”

His eyes find yours again. You’re smiling that bloody smile that twists his guts in a way he doesn’t necessarily dislike. It’s weak… but it’s there and it’s mighty reassuring. Sandor’s thumb catches a tear that drips down your cheek. He hates it when you cry.

“Alright…” He swallows hard on nothing.

[franki-lew-yo]

Worst year of your life so far

It's hard not to feel like every time a moderately good and nice or even great thing happens to me I ought to expect and inconvenience or a TERRIBLE thing to happen right after. This is genuinely why I'm afraid to be happy. I don't have an exact religion, I'm just certain that I am in fact an evil person or at least some evil person's revitalized soul. Since November of last year my life has been, in this order:

>Receive notice that I might owe SSI 15k because a miscalculation says they're overpaying me. I don't have 15k or stashed away 15k. I've been using every cent of money given to survive and pay back overdue fees. Life coach is sure I won't have to pay anything. I don't believe her.

>Find out that the location of my jobsite is being terminated within a week before the site is closed down. Can not be moved to a new location. The chain is dying. No location has room for me.

>Spend the days up to Christmas helping my coworkers who were a lot of times my only non-family communication, tear apart our store and then become strangers. The worst part is when they have me throw out hundreds of dollars of boutique clothes because the company wants to write it off as a reduction, DIRECTLY into a garbage bin. We'll be terminated from any further locations if we're caught trying to save or sneak away with anything. It's Christmas time and here's some clothes for needy people and my company is literally throwing them in a landfill. I just watch.

>Is repeatedly told by my job coach, REPEATEDLY, that I will get a job at a place which shares my old workplace's union. Nope. I don't. They string the both of us along for four months. By the time we move on to a new place in mind THAT job opportunity fizzles out after too many tries. My job coach and I have a fight and he doesn't talk to me or wants to see me. I feel nothing but shame. He and his wife are going through their own crisis.

>While ALL of this is happening I'm watching an active genocide a take place in real time. I try to do my daily clicks and boycott as much as possible. Come August I use up the rest of my unemployment money donating to any vetted fundraiser I can. I hope, I HOPE every time that THIS MONTH must be the last month of this slaughter. The powers that be have to do something...the answer is a resounding no. More and more innocent families are butchered. I can't offer anything really substantial.

>TWICE. TWICE IN ONE YEAR- my EBT gets cut off until I repeal it.

>My sister and I are both unemployed and in mental (in her case physical anguish). We blow up at each other more than once, especially over politics. She gets a job that she hates and is dangerous before the thankfully quits. She gets another job and is layed off for no reason in the same week she gets it.

>Can't afford a real dentist. Have to do a dentist-intern who tells me to watch my cavities that I have but no they can't do anything about it.

>My laptop's mouse stops working. It's fine for tablet but it means I need to use an external mouse for everything casual and writing. I'm already avoiding doing too much digital artwork on account of not wanting to wear down my system. Oh also my screen has a shadow on in.

>My mom is evicted from the house she and her boyfriend have lived in for years now and is forced to live in my grandpa's house which HE'S been forced to move out of. It was also a house I had lived in for awhile as well and so all of my sister and my own childhood things have to come back with us to our apartment. We don't have room. I'm going to have to downsize so many of my things.

>Catch covid because I was too stupid to bother with a booster. It delays getting me my new job and tasting anything for a month. Also delays me getting to work on the art I need done by September/October.

>Dog gets a bad flea infestation almost immediately after this because of summer heat. Also she wasn't on flea medication when it happened.

>My new job is two days a week rather than three. Lesser pay than what I used to have. All throughout October my schedule is cut to one day a week. I can never truly finish my job for my supervisors like they need to of me.

>Life coach assigns new job specialist; the one who got me my job. New specialist tells me all about Tiktok and how I need it and how I ought to download and post more on there. When I ask her for help navigating the platform and for her to help me on my social media art campaign; she shuts me out. Tells me repeatedly she's not versed in social media and tells me to instead take an online class. That's not what I want from her I want her to support me as an artist and that means occasionally just following my pages. She gives me a hard "no". Literally all my plans for a semi-active youtube, tiktok and instagram campaign fall apart. If I can not be supported even emotionally what's the POINT??

>I learn just this night how I unintentionally deeply hurt one of my oldest friends on the platform when I get the courage to ask if she's really upset with me or not. She blocks me mid me trying to ask for more information on the incident that hurt her. I do think I wronged her, but it's that I didn't even know I did that HURTS. Another one of my friends is right in the way of a frikin hurricane.

>Sister/Roommate is diagnosed with a condition that makes drawing difficult. I try not to draw near or around her as much as possible. It hurts. We are both still artists.

>Next door neighbor who's made creepy sexual comments about me to my sister throws dog poop on my sister's car at night. He thinks it's our dog even though I'M THE ONE picking up our dog's poop every single time.

and finally

>Country elects the same admitted fascist we kicked out for starting a riot.

Art, fandom and my dog is literally all I have. It is my one and only escape and happiness. I would be proud of myself and how much I've matured since just last year, but I can't. I can't be because I'm too miserable and so is everyone else around me. People tell me it's my fault or not my fault, people tell me I can help but won't or that I can't help at all. It's never enough. I wish I could be a better friend towards every one of you. I wish I could be a better creator. I wish I could find the time in my schedule to find a time in my therapists' schedule to see me again. All I ever feel like is an entitled garbage heap for even complaining when so many people are suffering to such an insane degree. Even the campaign people coming to me about how they want me to reblog their posts trigger me on account of how so many seem to forget they've already talked to me before. The fact that I am forgotten by circumstances where people can't remember anyone's username hurts me when it shouldn't.

I just want it all to stop.

----

And, for the first time, I actually want to thank you if you somehow read any of this. This is going to get deleted soon (or maybe not) because it is a trauma dump and TMI.

And yet I genuinely needed to get all of that off my chest. I am INCREDIBLY stressed out and hate to feel bad for myself because that just makes me hate myself and then feel more bad for myself AGAIN rather than do what I keep saying I want to do and help people. I wish this clarity and odd inner-peace wasn't brought about by such turmoil and inner pain. I wish that so much. I guess to quote Art Spiegelman quoting someone else: "Samuel Beckett once said: 'Every word is like an unnecessary stain on silence and nothingness.'...but then again, he did say it."

[inkyquince]

inky inky inky im begging for sum tiny bitty crumbs of your texan slasher oc. ive been too long far away from any country boys and i feel its affecting me mentally and physically. lots of love from someone trapped in a big city 🫶🏼

So I'm stuck between Matteo (Matty) or Elijah (Eli) cuz I like both names a lot. Anyway, his last name is Heron!

First time you meet him, you fully just believe he's a gentle himbo. Silly little guy, harmless, kinda dumb, worked his entire life on the family ranch. You KNOW things about him, like yeah, he's a part time butcher, helping his uncle bleed out animals to be cut up and sold for their meat, but it could never seem ominous to you for any reason. His smile is so sweet and you gently explained things like how you it's not advised to fill every socket on the extension chord since it could blow a fuse. Or that no... Pro Bono doesn't... Mean.... That. Dirty boy. Or that twenty first century doesn't mean 2100,

But actually, that's all a facade. Finds it so cute the way you talk to him when explaining things, and day dreams about the day he gets to grip your face and make you bite down on his knife as he finally gets to talk down to you.

When summer comes to his town, there is usually people coming to enjoy the summer, for people who enjoy camping and small town vibes. Heron picks out someone to start a "summer romance" with, play their doe eyed, dumb boyfriend whose great for a fuck, and to be dumped at the end of the season, maybe with the promise to keep in touch or something.

He gets to play mind games, either getting to play "stalker" or "hunter" depending if they came here alone. The local law enforcement really doesn't care about tourists, so he gets to have his fun. Either stalks his "summer love" or slowly pick off their friends and family. Its his true hobby, and its why summer is his favorite season ever.

Usually takes the victims back to the slaughterhouse, slice their throats, let them bleed out, then cut up and put the meat in the packages to be shipped out. Everything else goes to the pigs.

[briar-ffxiv]

FFXIV Write #18 - Hackneyed

FFXIV Write 2024 Master Post

Prompt #18 - Hackneyed

Note: How Briar got his first animal friend, his chocobo!

Trigger Warning: Mention of drunks, animal injury, and bullying. Mild, but present, so be aware.

Some years before ARR...

Briar kept his head down, shoulders tight as he tried to avoid being noticed. It was relatively safe at Buscarron's Druthers. Still, there were always those who saw a young, skinny half-Elezen with nervous eyes and wanted to cause trouble. Some of it was just simple mocking, but it wouldn't be the first time a drunk bandit or the like got physical with him. For a mercy, he seemed unnoticed today as he clutched the straps of his pack, full of little odds and ends for trade.

His ears worked back and forth, alert twitches as his gaze darted around, making sure he avoided bumping into anyone or being snuck up on. He should have ignored the voices since they weren't directed at him, but he paused midstep when a gruff, irritated voice caught his attention.

"Nophica's tits!" the man said, half-snarling under his breath. "Stupid bird. You nearly dumped the cart and me!"

The sad 'kweh' Briar heard in response had him turning his head. It was a shabby little cart, pulled by a ragged-feathered chocobo balancing awkwardly on one leg. The apparent owner was dressed in rough clothing and had the slight sway of one who drank often through the day. The drunk jerked the reins when the chocobo shifted, wincing away from a man squeezing and tugging at the bird's injured leg.

"Not broken," the man grunted, ignoring the bird's weak protests. "Don't think anyway. Nasty swelling though. He'll need lots of rest to--"

"Feh!" the drunk said, spitting to the side in disgust. "Like I'm going to waste good gil trying to tend some hackneyed old gelding." He scoffed and shook his head. "Put him down. There's always someone to buy the meat. Might be old, but make all right stew."

Briar sucked in a soft, shocked breath at the man's cold indifference to the chocobo. Especially considering that despite the rough treatment and clear pain the bird was in, it was still docile and obedient. The gelding was doing his best to please, giving a sad little chirrups as dark eyes watched the drunk closely. Yet the person the bird depended upon was going to callously end the gelding's life without even an effort.

"W-wait!" Briar said, surprising himself. For a moment, he almost wanted to take it back at the look the drunk gave him, but the chocobo's stumbling steps as the man started to jerk him toward the forest gave him courage. "Wait," he said again, stepping closer to the pair and the gelding. "I-I'll take him."

The gelding's owner sneered at him. "Take him? Why should I--"

"Buy him," Briar clarified, lifting his chin and clenching his hands around his pack to steady himself. "I'll b-buy the chocobo."

The drunk gave Briar a measuring look and the half-Elezen was used to the disdain. He knew he was small, skinny, dressed in homespun clothing that was too big, and looked 'half-wild' according to most. Being called a 'wildling' wasn't uncommon, even if it wasn't accurate. At the very least, he seemed to be treated as a pariah by most.

"I have coin," Briar confirmed, defiantly meeting the man's gaze.

"...How much?" the drunk sneered, but a look of greed showed in bloodshot eyes.

Briar froze for a moment. He'd never really had experience with bartering and was little judge on the worth of things in coin. He understood people used coins, but his mother had always bartered. He always found it a little strange that people put so much worth on coins since coin couldn't be eaten or used for much of anything. Buscarron had been trying to teach him in the last year, but it was still a baffling concept to him.

When he noticed the drunk's impatient shifting, Briar frantically recalled how much the Quarrymill butcher had given him for a deer he'd hunted. Biting his lip, Briar blurted out a number twice that. "S-surely that is more than his m-meat would bring."

The drunk grunted, but Briar watched his eyes dart back and forth, clearly considering. The half-Elezen tried not to shift nervously as the drunk stared at him for a long moment. He tried not to noticeably release a breath when the man finally spoke.

"Show me the coin."

Briar dug into a small bag at his waist, quickly counting the gil. It was most of what he had, but he didn't let that bother him. He flinched a bit as it was snatched away, examined closely, and then shoved into the drunk's pockets.

"Fine," the man sneered, throwing the reins at Briar hard enough he flinched at the sting of the leather. The drunk marched off. "Take the damn cart too. No use without the bird anyway." The other man followed him with a bored shrug, heading toward the tavern.

Then Briar realized he suddenly had a chocobo. A chocobo he had no real place to keep or idea on how to care for. An injured chocobo that gave a confused, sad chirp as his master walked off. The bird blinked at Briar, giving a questioning kweh as the gelding shifted back and forth, trying to favour the swollen leg.

Biting his lip, Briar moved closer, reaching up to slowly stroke the gelding's neck. The little flinch at the first touch made his heart ache for the poor chocobo. "Hello, friend," he said softly. "It's all right. I promise. You don't have to worry anymore and you're not going to be stew either."

The gelding canted his head to study Briar before giving a soft chirrup and leaning down to nuzzle Briar's arm.

And just like that, it was worth every coin and more.

[dumbass-tumbler-cryptid]

Hi, I'm wondering if you've watched/read The Hunger Games and if so, what do you think it would be like in the world of Avatar? (I mean the district of the characters, who would be from the Capitol and who would be in the arena, etc.) I just came back from the movie The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes and Spider reminds me a lot of the character of Sejanus lol

Hello! I'm not the biggest Hunger Games fan to be honest. I think it just got over hyped for me. The series was everywhere back when I was in middle school. I read the first two book but I think they might have been above my reading level at the time so i didn't understand them very well back then. I saw movies one through three but I just didn't care enough to see Mockingjay part 2 so to this day I never have. None of this to say I disliked the series. I find a lot about it very interesting actually. And also while watching explainer videos on the Hunger Games series to refresh my memory on what happens to answer your ask, it kinda made me want to try reading the series again. Or at least watch all the movies. So thanks for possibly sparking a side obsession anon, lol.

Anyway I've got tones of ideas for this Au.

To start off with lets break down all the parent.

First off Quaritch and Paz are both from district 7. Quaritch came from a more wealthy carpentry family and Paz comes from the poorest section of district 7 the Yard. Quaritch was reaped for the Hunger Games when he was 15 and was an absolute monster, zeroing in on an ax placed in the cornucopia and immediately using it to butcher the careers. It was one of the fastest, most brutal Hunger Games on record.

His parents where so disgusted with him afterwards that they disowned him. Not that he cared. He had a sweet set up in the victors village. No neighbors, just complete and utter peace (accept for the constant memories of the hellish things he'd done that plagued his every sleepless night) He was forced to become a mentor after that. He did his best every year to try and help his charges survive. They just never did.

After some years of mentoring he met Paz Socorro. She was the daughter of two criminals who where long since passed leaving her an orphan of the yard. She didn't cry or scream like many other did when she was reaped. The seventeen year old held her head high, marched onto the stage and with a biting smirk said "this fucking sucks." Paz was charismatic as hell during her interview charming the Capital with her surprising wit and beauty for someone as low born as her. Quaritch was very impressed by not only this but her physical prowess as well. She was surprisingly strong, agile as hell, and well versed in poisonous flora and fauna. But only in front of him. During training she was weak and helpless, "pathetically" watching everyone else unable to do anything but look pretty for the cameras. She purposely tanks her training score (an act that drives Quaritch insane). No one sees her as a threat in the slightest. During the games she simply runs away, not bothering to take a single thing from the cornucopia. Instead she hides. She's so well hidden that even the camera have trouble finding her sometimes. She sneaks around her forest arena stealing useful objects off of dead bodies, watching her opponents from the shadows as they pick each other off. She analyzes her surrounding for things that can be useful as well. edible plants, drinkable water. And a nest of extremely venomous mutant spiders that she's very familiar with from back home. Luckily she also knows what plants they hate and makes a repellent so the spiders won't bite her. But they will attack the group of careers that are hunting her down before they start killing each other. She purposely leaves her tracks all the way to the spiders nest, disturbing them so they attack, doing most of her dirty work for her. For the last remaining tribute that only narrowly avoided the archaeid trap Paz brutally bludgeoned him to death with a large rock thus winning the games.

She moved into the victors village after that. President Snow tried to force Paz into prostitution much like Johanna Mason in the series but here she could basically just laugh in his face and tell him to fuck off. She was beloved by the Capital and had no family or friends that he could hold hostage or kill out of revenge. He had no power over her. And so Snow left waiting for the day when he could seek revenge against the woman the defied him. Paz lived alone for a long time. Her and Quaritch never really talked much until it had been a full ten years since her Hunger Games. Then she went up to him one day while he was woodworking in his backyard and in a voice that was surprisingly soft for such a brash woman asked, "does it ever get easier. living with the..."

"no." Quaritch answered. they started spending more time together after that slowly but surely building a bond neither ever believed themselves capable of after everything they'd been through.

Tonowari and Ronal are obviously from district 4 and competed in the games in different years, Tonowari at 15, Ronal at 17. They both managed to win in their respective games because the arena was aquatic themed in those years, giving them the advantage.

Next Grace, Jake, and Neytiri are all from district 11

Grace was 15 when she was in the Hunger Games, getting by in a similar way to Paz using her mind more than sheer force, setting deadly traps all over the arena that eventually lead to her victory. She became a mentor after that. She was there for Jake when he volunteered at 16. Jake comes from a wealthy family in the Estates in district 11. His father was a peacekeeper. Jake never planned on volunteering for the games and hoped his name would never be drawn but he alway tried to prepare for the possibility, keeping physically fit, training with his father's guns, and any other weapon he could get his hands on. If nothing else Jake could always become a peacekeeper like his father and excelle through the ranks with his skill. His twin brother Tom was never interested in such things. Said the odds where to low to worry about either of them ever being reaped. So it came as quite the shock to him when his name was called. Jake knew his brother would never be able to survive and so he volunteered to go instead. And the Capital loved him for it. Jake was great on camera, he earned a 7 training score, and got a lot of sponsors. He was able to win but the final fight was brutal. He delivered the finishing blow to career from district 2, right as the other guy stabbed a knife right through Jake's low back severing his spinal cord and instantly paralyzing him.

Neytiri was reaped and won at age 15, two year after Jake. Her older sister Sylwanin had been reaped and killed in the games a few year before and it had devastated her. She was terrifed of being reaped herself one day but couldn't let that fear take over her life. And so she trained. Her parents were extremely supportive not wanting to lose another child. Her father helping her make her bow, and would help her train in the dead of night, keeping watch for peacekeepers. Her mother taught her all about deadly flora and fauna. She was well prepared when they called her name. Neytiri amazed all of Panem with her ability with a bow and arrow, her animal like veracity, surprising stealth and impressive nature knowledge. She let most of the tributes pick each other off, carving out her own little territory to hide in the meantime, killing anyone that came close. In the end when there were only a few left she snuck up on them in the dead of night and went beast mode (I'm pretty much thinking about that scene from Way of Water)

When Neytiri got to the victors village Jake was immediately enamored by her. Neytiri wanted nothing to do with him. But much like Quaritch and Paz, Jake and Neytiri found it hard to relate to other after everything they'd been through and took solace in each other.

So fast forward some years to the kids.

A few months after Neytiri had Neteyam, Grace gave birth as well, but then seemingly died weeks later under mysterious circumstances, leaving her daughter Kiri an orphan. Jake and Neytiri had loved their mentor like a second mother so, didn't hesitate to adopt Kiri.

Given some of the names in the Hunger Games series, I'm going to say in this A.U Spider name is actually Spider, named after the thing that kept his mother alive. And while Spider was dearly loved by his parents, secretly Quaritch and especially Paz freaked out over his birth. They had agreed not to have kids not because they didn't want them, but because they didn't want them used against them. Paz always feared that Snow would come and harm or kill her only son in retribution for her defiance so many years ago. Quaritch just didn't want to see his only child die in the games. And so from the moment he could walk Spider is prepared for the games. His parents drill into his head to never volunteer but he is ready if worse comes to worse.

The Sully's do the same with there kids. So when Neteyam gets reaped at age 14 the family is gutted but knows he has what it takes to survive. Neytiri goes to the capital with him as his mentor. And the citizens of the Capital are obsessed. They love the "legacy champion" and eat up every moment that mother and son are together. Which gives Snow ideas. Neteyam wins but he's different when he comes back, traumatized by the games, but still manages to put on a brave face for his younger siblings.

The next year Kiri is reaped. Neytiri and Jake have to fight to not have break down on camera. It's like they're cursed or something with how many family members have been selected for the games.

Over in district 7 Spider is also reaped for the games. Quaritch actually did have to restrain Paz from freaking out, covering her mouth to stop her from accusing Snow of rigging the raffle. Quaritch goes with Spider as his mentor just like Neytiri is Kiri mentor. The Capital goes absolutely feral for this match up. Quaritch and Neytiri are squaring up every chance they get. Meanwhile Spider and Kiri become fast friends. They sneak out at night to see each other, spend all of their time in training together. During interviews they gush about their friendship, and if the people of the Capital where feral before, they were absolutely crazy for this relationship.

The two stick to each other like glue in the games, never going after anybody, just hiding, talking, making the best out of there very bad situation. Spider promises that if it comes down to the two of them that he'll eat poison berries so she could live. Kiri refuses insisting that she'll be the one to die not him. Finally it gets down to the two of them and they decided, fuck it. If they both ate the berries then no one would win and that would surely piss off the powers that be. So they traverse back to the cornucopia find their camera, intertwine their arms and pop the poison into each others months. The game masters quickly announce that they both win and Spider and Kiri spit out the poison before it can do them harm.

Their parents are pissed that their kids would roll the dice like that but are also relieved that they're alive. Snow is livid that he was outsmarted by a couple of teenagers. And the Capital is completely off it's shits with how much they loved the out come (like have ever seen footage of Philadelphia Eagles fans going crazy after their superbowl win? (if not your in for a wild google search) the Capital basically does this over Spider and Kiri)

Fast forward to the next Hunger Games. The 75th Hunger games. Where the twist is that previous winners will be the ones being reaped like in the book, but other victors, or the family members of the ones being reaped can volenteer to go in there place.

So the line up goes:

In district 4 Tonowari gets reaped but his son Aonung volunteers to go in his place, wanting to prove he's a mighty warrior. Ronal volunteers as the female tribute to protect her son.

In district 7 Paz is the only living female tribute so she knew she was going no matter what. Spider's name is called in the reaping. The family anticipated this and agreed that Quaritch wouldn't volunteer to go in his son's place. They've got bigger plans and need him on the outside.

In district 11 Kiri is reaped again but Neytiri volunteers in her place. Jake is also reaped but Lo'ak volunteers, like Aonung wanting to prove himself, especially compared to his siblings.

The citizens of the Capitol feel like they're getting a five course meal. The drama, the family dynamics, the tragedy about to unfold all from beloved past champions. It's all too much, especially since Snow insists that they all bring their whole families, to be paraded around in extravagant outfits at lavashish parties before the absolute slaughter fest.

What the kids don't know is that all the parents are in on a rebellion plan. Jake was the first to be contacted by a mystery person from district 13. It took awhile to convince him that it was real but once he was he started recruiting others, first Ronal and Tonowari, then Paz who convinced Quaritch. Aonung and Lo'ak volunteering threw a couple wrenches into their plan but they were able to pivot.

The moms are tasked with putting on a show, teaming up to not only protect their sons, but two tributes from district 3 Norm and Trudy who are in on the rebellion and are the ones who will destroy the forcefield so they can all be rescued. The mom's hunt down anyone who's both not in on the rebellion, and eager to actually participate in the games.

This is about where I'm going to end it since I don't really know the details of the final book, i just know how it ends. I don't really have an idea of who would be captured following the escape and who would get out of the arena safely. I was building to Grace basically being the Coin in this A.U but not evil in the end, because Grace would never suggest a Hunger Games with Capital children. But yeah sorry if the ending is a little lackluster here. Please share with me your thoughts or ideas of where to take this A.U. I'm really excited to hear what you all think and hope you enjoyed! 💙

[sgcairo]

Heya! Wanted to ask a question, hope you don't mind! Oh, and also I wanted to gush about this idea.

In your universe, is Dottore from Sumeru or is he perhaps mixed in ancestry? Yesterday I came across this fantastic fan-comic of him as a kid, and the artist headcanoned him as just albino, with both of his parents being dark-skinned.

I've read the Mamatorre stuff and I woke up my dad from screaming with joy. I'm not one to praise representation much because most of the time it's butchered, but, the fact that Dottore being Sumerian is canon in the game is what makes him such a curious case to me.

Oh, and- Dottore speaking Arabic is nice to think about-

Now, this is a tricky ask, and I definitely sat on this for a while so I could give a good and accurate answer, sorry about that. But what I have come to the conclusion of is that the Dottore in my mind and the Dottore that Hoyoverse officially let out of gay baby jail are very different.

First and foremost, I do not agree with the fact that they took all the melanin from his skin, give it back you cowards- and they made him so... I don't even know how to describe it. They made him squishy, I was expecting pointy. His design is also very random, and I think this plays into this ask fairly well, as I believe very firmly that his clothes would take after a more Snezhnayan design, but have touches of Sumeru woven into them for emotional comfort, rather than the uh... The thing that we got. I can't even look at it, it haunts me. I'm definitely not vibing with the in-game design for very specific reasons.

Now, no matter how angry I may be as a writer and artist about his official design, one thing stands true in all my renditions of him: His mother is from Sumeru. Her parents are descended from the people of the desert, and while she may live tucked away in a western corner of Avidya forest, she belongs to the lands of Sumeru, and very much looks it. Her skin has a coppery color to it, her hair is bleached a bit from the sun, and her accent is quite a bit stronger than her son's, but she's been living in the rainforest since she was little, and doesn't plan on leaving anytime soon.

But, as much as I hate saying it, I actually can't say all that much about Dottore's father, but only because I kind of threw him in a corner and forgot about him for a while. He collected dust while I fawned over Dottore's eccentric mom, and I'm still working out the details of his backstory. What I can say is that he worked in mechanics, and met Dottore's mother while on a business trip to the Akademiya, which included him nearly fainting of fright after she popped out of a flower bed covered in dirt and muttering ominously to herself. But as for where he's from, I'm not putting down a definitive answer, but mostly because I'm still deciding in that aspect.

Not to worry about his physicality though, Dottore got everything from his mother (except for his height).

For some more juicy details, because I love digging into the meat of Dottore's backstory- Dottore's mother is named Hikmat, though she does insist that outsiders call her Magdalena. Why? It may have been due to her husband, and his quite frankly horrible demands, but that is a statement to be speculated over. However, Dottore just calls her ma', or "mother", if he's with Pantalone. It's rare that the segments use her name either, as Dottore's own affection has rubbed off on them quite a bit. But she has names for all of them, and nicknames (she calls them all "habibi" a lot, and they all love it) that she remembers distinctly for each.

As for Dottore's connections to Sumeru, he does not like the cold. At all. He's not used to it, and certainly won't admit to being miserable with little to no sunlight from the eternal winter in Snezhnaya. When he does visit his homeland, he's rejuvenated to the point that Pantalone has remarked several times that he's like a whole different person. The same can't be said for his mother, she's never seen snow before and loves it. It helps that the Tsaritsa is there to enable her curiosity in that regard, and the first time she came to Snezhnaya, she spent hours running around outside Zapolyarny, and had to be lured back inside before she froze to death when night fell.

Dottore can also definitely speak some Arabic, or the Teyvat equivalent of it. His Snezhnayan is still a little rough, even after centuries of practice, and he falls into the habit of cursing and muttering to himself in his mother tongue when he's extremely focused or stressed. He knows many languages, and has reason to use them, but he'll always fall back to his roots, as many a poor Fatui soul has learned, after being cursed out in a language they may or may not even know.

As such, the point stands: if you ever ask Dottore where he's from, he'll 100% say he's from Sumeru, without a doubt. No matter where his father is from, he loves his mother and what she has given him too much to let that part of him go.

I'm sorry this wasn't a hard stop answer, but I hope this answered your question at least a little! I'll be sure to reblog this when I come to a final conclusion, but I'll have to see where my brain takes me on this one.

[theharrowing]

Ohhh, it has been a while hasn’t it? Hello, Harrow 👋🏽

You got some good questions to choose from 👀 would you so kindly answer…

7 - What's the gnarliest physical injury you have written in detail?

14 - What's your favourite way to emotionally destroy your favourite character?

17 - If you could steal one fic from any other writer and claim it as your own, what would you take? (you can pick two if you would like 😉)

I am looking forward to your answers cause I always enjoy picking your brain and hearing your thoughts ☺️

CHELL, MY DEAREST!!!

7. What's the gnarliest physical injury you have written in detail?

(semi-spoiler even though it is vaguely mentioned in the warnings) i think because i did this to my reader character, the stabbing in Deadly Desire is the gnarliest because i killed the reader character in real time, and i wanted to at least try to describe the way it feels.

there is also a death in Boy Blue that feels kinda gnarly because it is abrupt and bloody, and maybe not at all what anyone reading it expects will happen in that moment.

14. What's your favourite way to emotionally destroy your favourite character?

this depends so heavily on the story, but in general, i enjoy taking away someone's autonomy. like succeeding at or attempting to break someone down until they are completely moldable. although it's an abhorrent thing in real life, it makes for a very fun situation in writing. whether it be more realistic setting, or, my favorite, something involving a little magic.

17. If you could steal one fic from any other writer and claim it as your own, what would you take?

i would love to live inside the brain of vmintie. if i could steal anything, it would be her fic Fatal Compulsion (which is no longer on ao3, but you can find it on her drive here.) Boy Blue has moments of being obviously influenced by it, though. her fics Jewel of Busan & Butcher of Seoul are also the only mafia fics i have ever enjoyed, and they have influenced Collateral a bit, at times. idk if i would steal them, but there were moments that were so incredible and so sad and i can only hope to be able to do what she can. and in general, reading her works helped me realize that i can play in the darker side of things without feeling like i need to worry about it too much.

thanks so much for asking!!! i hope you consider my brain picked! but i'm open to expanding more on topics any time! 💜

send me some cursed/deranged fanfic asks 💌

[hughiecampbelle]

first and foremost, i wish you a speedy recovery! congrats with 10k <3

preferences: the boys series, any character you want. i usually gravitate towards men and morally questionable characters, but everything is up to you :)

1. physical: im 21, 5'5, slim, no tattoos, black short hair, i have glasses and i usually wear casual dark clothes, like really not flashy at all. really like going around with a backpack full of stuff for every occasion

2. personality: im agender asexual. basically im trying to logically analyze everything around me, so i end up being 'i told you so' person with negative eq. but really, im told im pretty kind to the people around me. i like interacting with my friends but i get tired quickly from it, so i self isolate a lot. i have a negative worldview. i'm prone to anger and control it poorly. i dont have grand goals in life, no ambitious, i dont strive for more because i dont care, im really only attached to life through the people whom i idolize and if anyone opposes me, my ideals and especially people special to me, i defend them relentlessly, im really only stubborn about them. and well, since my main interest is russian politics, i am really passionate towards russian opposition, so the hate towards the government, violence, dictatorship, censorship, apolitical people who dont care etc etc applies.

3. hobbies: consuming/analyzing new information on anything that interests me at the given moment; linguistics, computer games, drawing, writing, cooking, birdwatching, joking.

4. favorites: book – solaris by stanislaw lem; movie – tenet (2020); game – deus ex mankind divided; song – vertigo by edwin rosen. i like sci fi a lot

thanks in advance ☃️

You're the only person in Butcher's life who can tell him "I told you so". Coming from anyone else, it would set him off. He'd come back at them with quips and jokes and even some harsh words, but when you're the one saying it, all he can say is "I know, love". You're the one who keeps him (mostly) level headed

Despite the both of you being stubborn, you agree on a lot of things, especially when it comes to Vought/Homelander. The both of you would do anything to stop them. Anything. Your Russian opposition bleeds into an opposition towards Vought and Supes in general. It might not always be the best thing for everyone, but if it's the right way to take them down, you're willing to do it

Butcher loves that you like analyzing new information. You're the best on the team for catching things no one else did, seeing the smallest obscurities and inconsistencies in Vought's story. You're always finding something they could have missed. Your attention to detail is what's gotten them out of trouble on more than a few occasions

He appreciates your commitment to the people you love. He's been fighting this fight, first for Becca, then Ryan, now you. You're linked together through love and appreciation and understanding that you're committed to one another no matter what. Though he doesn't always feel deserving of it, you make sure he knows you'd never leave him. You'd never turn on him

Butcher was never really good with words, so he's pretty amazed by your writing. When he does try to talk things through, it all comes out wrong. It's jumbled and cynical and taken the wrong way. The fact that you can make your words malleable and work right and also sound pretty blows him away. Even his compliments come out wonky, but you've been together long enough to know what he's trying to say, what means

I hope you like it my love!!!! Xoxoxo💜💜💜💜💜

Want to request a ship?

[is-she-suffering]

2005 - Trash Pit Magazine

Always one to court attention due to her rag doll in torn dress appearance and quirky off the cuff personality, vocalist Katie Jane Garside has always been the centre of attention in whatever band she has performed in whether she liked it or not. Dropping into the public eye in the early part of the 1990's in Daisy Chainsaw, the band released just one album before Garside disappeared for almost a decade until returning with a new band, Queen Adreena, in 2000. The band have built upon a somewhat cult reputation and now boast an ever growing underground following. Following the release of their new album 'Butcher & The Butterfly', Taz Miller caught up with Garside prior to the bands show at Rock City in Nottingham. 'Taxidermy' and 'Drink Me' were very different albums, how do they compare to 'The Butcher And The Butterfly'? There's a sort of... oh god I don't know how to answer those questions? You know the 'How are you?' questions? I think it's a lot easier to do interviews when they're written down so that I can be foxy with words rather than spontaneous! I don't know what the albums about really, it's just the one that survived. There was a great storm, some things survived and some things were washed away for better or for worse! What are your musical influences? (A humming noise is coming from a fridge in the corner) Sounds like that! The white noise all around us, the sound of the sea, anything around us, the sound of blood pumping through my ears. I mean I have extremely developed tinnitus so I have my own high pitched squeal and that kind of white noise cancels it out. If you cut out the outside noise I think voices, but it's not that. It's too easy to say you hear voices. That's what my influences are anyway, it's just white noise and pulling out external noise and then figure out what it's trying to say whether it's the spirits or the gods or the fucking nut case I don't know! What's your favourite song to perform? Ummm I don't know, I really don't know because it comes and goes. That's a tight rope as well, if you can cut down these external extractions it becomes like some physic ballet and then you can find it, and it you don't find that place it can become a living nightmare like a pendulum blade. What do you like to do outside of your music career? I'm trying to figure that out right now, there has to be another way... there has to be! What did you do before you started singing? I was a child I suppose. My mother and father looked after me and I moved to London when I was 16. I met Crispin when I was 17, and I always did this, always. Being bought up on a boat we had a lot of time to talk to ourselves and sing to ourselves. You've been working with your sister (Melanie Garside - Maplebee) this year how has that been for you? It's been an interesting year. She's gone on to much better things, for her own sanity really! Mel's doing great, she's doing things with the Medieval Babes and her own Maplebee Records so she's a really busy chick, but it was really nice. What is the best thing about being in a band like Queen Adreena? It's damned if you do and damned if you don't. There's a gorgeous seduction about it and it can also get down on you. A cliché question I know but do you get nervous before a show? Yes, I do I think about it before I go out and it's one of the things you get sick of, I get very tired of it. I don't know if I'm confused about the whole process, taking things for granted and things taking you for granted. I found a stack of fan mail and I think as a woman you shouldn't look at that stuff - I found it a bit distorted when I read it. Maybe I'll see you afterwards and tell you how it goes this time, maybe it will make more sense because I've let the fog clear a little bit and I haven't been drinking. That's left a big question mark so I don't know much about nothing right now. I want to go to the beach and look at the sea for a bit - something like that!

Taz Miller

[goodgriefwhatanerd]

I'm thinking about being Marion's cute little human again. I'm also too tired to try being coherent so you get subjected to my vague timeline thoughts.

I'm selling my blood every so often for a bit of extra cash, so when my local pub gets a couple of regulars who drink from very distinctive wine bottles, I know that they're vampires. But they're also really chill? Okay this just isn't my business and I'm staying out of it. Unless. That bloke Marion is paying noticeably more per pint than I get paid for it. Maybe we can both benefit from removing the middle man a couple of times a month.

I go up to them trying to hide my shyness. Have a very awkward conversation with Marion about "being sympathetic to gentlemen like yourself" until I give up and stop trying to be subtle. Marion's frankly relieved I wasn't approaching them for a threeway.

After a few months of this arrangement, Marion starts asking if I can do this or that odd job for him and of course he'll pay me for my time. Possible risk of violent death, but I'd make cute vampire man happy. I agree.

After plastering several walls and weeding the garden on damp days, I see Marion without his guise. He thinks I'm mildly freaked out and trying not to show it. I let him think that because the reality of "oh gods help he's hotter as a monster" is not a better reaction.

A few months later Marion suggests I properly enter his employ. Nothing too strenuous, just setting and lighting fires in the morning, mopping the floors when they're safely out of the way, maybe help Elanore in the kitchen if she'll let you. Oh and it will be nice for young Lidriana to have someone her own age around.

Okay cool, now I live with an exhausted immortal woman, a very angry undead butcher-surgeon, a gay vampire who seems to be playing at being human, and a pretty human lass who's more unhinged and violent than any of the others. What the hell has my life become?

And I get protective. Of course I do. Which means I start fussing. Marion is the only one who puts up with me fussing at him, so before either of us knows it I'm straightening his collar, checking he's suitably attired for rain if there's a single cloud in the sky, and generally being a mother hen.

One morning a lace snaps on his corset. I go to help without thinking. And that's how I switch from odd job man to manservant.

Somewhere amongst lacing Marion's corsets, warming his "wine", commiserating with rough brain days and bad family life, and the odd bit of physical affection, it becomes clear that we're not just playing at these roles of master and servant, but also pretending that there's nothing deeper underneath.

I'm not going to say anything. But if I become more of an emotional support human than a gentleman's personal gentleman, then that's neither here not there.

Marion melts into a long, tight hug after an exhausting day in meetings and has a minor crisis. Rowan's human, he's technically his employee, and he should not have fallen in love with him. But he has. And he panics.

But Rowan's treated him better than any other man ever has. Maybe it's worth taking the plunge. But that would be Taking Advantage and he couldn't live with himself if he did that.

His confession is mostly an apology, partially reassurance that he has no intentions of doing anything, and what do you mean you want me to? Oh god, oh no.

But we're giving it a try. It's very slow and uncertain, navigating through past traumas and present dysphoria, but it's working. Even if it's a short lived thing that never goes beyond chaste kisses and sleepy cuddles, it will have been worthwhile and healing for us both.

It's not going to stay at that though. Not when Marion has taken to sharing my bed on lonely night. Not when he's stopped shying away when our kisses deepen and his jaw starts to split, revealing the inhumanity he despises and I adore.

I've got less than a century of mortal life in me, but I'll gladly spend that full measure waiting for him if needed.

[pomrania]

[A thing about marine predators and scavengers, whale carcasses, and mermaids. Transcription follows.]

It's 4:00 a.m... and I'm a bit frustrated by the ineffectiveness of marine scavengers.

On land when something huge dies, it gets eaten very quickly. Hyenas can strip an elephant carcass clean in less than 48 hours.

But in the ocean, whale carcasses drift around for months before they eventually sink. It's not that no one wants to eat them...

It's mostly a physics problem.

["36 hours after this elephant died", showing a large skull and bones; "2 weeks after this whale died", and the body form is pretty much intact.]

Land animals have gravity privilege. Any random stray dog can tear into a dead cow, no problem, even if the cow is a lot larger.

But when a bunch of sharks come up on the floating whale carcass, it's essentially a game of bobbing for pumpkins... it's not really possible to hold on to it or tear it open.

All they can do is bite off pieces from the outside.

It's not just scavengers. This is a problem for ocean predators too.

Wolves kill bison, tear it open and eat the most nutritious parts first, the organs. They then move on to muscle after organs are gone.

Orcas kill other whales and eat the tongue and the soft flesh of the lower jaw. They're not actually able to open up the body of their own prey to get into the nutritious internal organs, so they leave the rest.

[Diagram of a whale, with divisions shown like a butcher's cuts; the lower jaw is labelled "edible", while all the rest are labelled "nope".]

It's actually super sad if you think about it. Orcas have echolocation. They sounds they make are able to travel through solid objects and bounce back to them, so they can tell what's inside objects.

But this means that orcas can "SEE" all the goodies that are in there, like a kid looking through the window of a candy store.

Just staring at all the delicious organs that they worked hard for but will never get to taste... It's so fucking sad.

But back to the scavengers thing... whale carcasses drift around for months, without anyone really able to get into them.

But this whole thing just bothers me so much, because the ocean has some powerful carnivores with Teeth! Tentacles! Teamwork! ...but none of them have solved the large carcass problem

Millennia of nutritious organs have remained uneaten and left to rot because no one has the ability to get into them. For some reason, the ocean seems to lack this role of large-carcass-opener-creature which we take for granted on land.

And... it makes me wonder if this role has ever been filled. Prehistoric seas had a lot of huge animals too. Was there a lot of floating ichthyosaur carcasses back then?

But you know what could solve this problem? Mermaids. They have hands! And teamwork! And tools!

You see a lot of mermaid art that is just them looking sexy.

But... they have this unrealized potential to take on this deeply lucrative role of top scavenger that nobody else in the ocean seems able to fill.

They'd probably have some kind of mutualistic relationship with sharks, in the same way that vultures lead hyenas to carcasses.

They can potentially utilize the miles of abandoned fishing nets constantly drifting around the ocean to anchor large carcasses as they are cut apart.

Whale carcasses are free sources of food and raw materials with zero risk of being injured during hunts, the way predators so often are.

Also, I don't know if you know this, but here in the US, whale carcass disposal is expensive and politically risky for seaside towns.

The location the dead whale washes up determines who pays for disposal. If the carcass is dragged out to sea and washes back up at a different seaside town, that town can sue the first town.

City officials have to choose between expensive disposal risking a lawsuit, or leaving it and hoping it will wash away on its own, so no one is liable. But leaving it tends to make residents (voters) unhappy.

Mermaids be performing a service!

Why stop at sexy sea maidens when you can take on the much sexier role of salvagers of large floating carcasses?

[End description.]

It’s always been odd to me that there are not any ocean scavengers equipped to take optimal advantage of large carcasses. Like…. in prehistoric times, the oceans were full of huge animals… was this a problem back then too?