#If you are thinking ‘hey didn’t he used to be like rusty brown’ you are correct he can increase his saturation at will

[steeldaisies]

Seen not Heard- E.M. x gn!reader blurb

Summary: Eddie wants you to know that he sees you.

Pairings: Eddie Munson X gn!reader

Warnings: Eddie fluff-ish, Eddie being a good person in general

Word count: 343

Let me know what you think! But please be kind!!

//Also, please don’t copy my work but feel free to reblog, comment, and like!!

(It’s been over a year since I wrote something like this so I’m really rusty lol)

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I was reading at the dinning room table while my friends were all sitting a few feet away in the living room laughing and chatting. This happened sometimes and I didn’t feel put off by it. I was the one who decided to read. They didn’t exclude me. I wasn’t listening to the conversation or aware of anything. That is until I felt a warm calloused hand on my right forearm, stroking it gently. “Hey, I see you.” Came from a low hushed voice. I looked at the hand on my arm at first, noticing the chunky metal rings. Then my eyes met the familiar brown hues of Eddie Munson’s. I smiled in return, noticing the small smile of acknowledgment on his face. Eddie always made sure everyone felt included, because he of all people knew what it was like to be the opposite. He sat with me while I continued to read. Eddie didn’t say another word. I’m not sure what he was doing while he sat there. All I know is that he kept his hand on my arm and rubbed it gently with his thumb. Slowly, one by one, our other friends migrated over to the table to chat. I looked away from my book to add a comment to something that was said, earning a few laughs and a squeeze from Eddie. I closed my book, holding my page with my fingers. I guess he noticed this and slid his hand off my arm, but leaving it close enough. I inserted my bookmark and slid my book to the left of me. Feeling a little hungry I voiced the suggestion of getting lunch and everyone agreed. As we stood to leave, Eddie lingered close by. As we walked down the streets to the diner 15 minutes away, he walked beside me. “You don’t have to walk with me you know,” I laughed as I gestured to the rest of our friends walking ahead of us. “I know… but I want to.” Eddie smiled and looped my arm around his.

[prolix-yuy]

Chapter 2: Then I Heard a New Voice Inside

Pairing: Jack “Whiskey” Daniels x F!Reader “Sugar”

Summary: He's only ruined it all.

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: T, Angst like whoa, insinuations of creep behavior, misunderstandings, will be E in later chapters so full series is 18+ MINORS DNI.

Notes: The outpouring of love for this series has made my entire month, I'm so glad y'all are along for the ride. Especially when it's about to get interesting.

Cross-posted on AO3

Decoherence Masterlist   ||   Whiskey & Westworld Masterlist

There’s a hand on your face, a thumb stroking small circles on the line of your jaw. Opening your eyes, you’re at first confused by why you’re looking at the ceiling. Then the dull ache of an elbow, the cool press of floor tiles, and the murmur of voices grows as you shake the blur from the edges of your vision.

“There we go, you’re back with us. Can you hear me okay? Can you see me?” A calm-voiced woman wearing dark blue coveralls and purple nitrile gloves says soothingly at your side. A steel gray medi-bot hovers at her side, offering a tray of diagnostic tools. When you move to sit up she firmly presses you back, checking your eyes and asking you question after question. When your answers strengthen she backs off slightly, typing a code into the medi-bot’s chest compartment. 

“Have you ever fainted before?” she asks, clipping a heart rate monitor on the tip of your finger. The question turns rusty gears in your brain, and awareness of the hand cupping your face rockets back to the foreground.

Jack.

You turn your head, pillowed on something folded between your skull and the floor, and there he is. Not a feverish dream, or a willful thought. Jack Daniels is kneeling beside you on the café floor, torn between looking down at you and nodding to the paramedic. The sharply anachronistic cowboy hat shades his knit brow, red flannel soft under your fingers when you wrap them around his wrist. He looks down at you, relief washing his face.

“Hey Sugar,” he murmurs, a nervous smile softening the concern. “Sorry for the fright.”

Your movements are molasses slow as you’re helped to your feet by the paramedic and Jack. Words drip from your lips - must have been the sun, not enough to eat, to sleep, don’t worry - and the paramedic walks you through what symptoms mean you should go to the hospital. The medi-bot prints out a neat sheet of emergency numbers the paramedic hands to you, checking you over one more time before her tablet pings with another call. You nod and manage a tight smile, all while watching the red blur in your peripheral. His hand ghosts your elbow.

The paramedic and medi-bot exit, and soon even the onlookers thin out. Then it’s just you and Jack.

Well, not quite. You and Jack and the anger boiling up inside your chest.

He opens his mouth to speak but you’re already walking away, gathering up your bag and tugging on your shoes. Following with that puppy dog look that accentuates how big and brown they are, he hovers over you.

“Sugar, I know I’ve got a lot to explain.”

“No,” you snap, coming to a hard stop in front of him. The ache in your body to touch and be touched is a quiet cry behind the roar of your rage. “You have more than a lot to explain. I knew seeing you again would ruin that weekend, but holy shit, I didn’t think it would ruin every fucking thing about you.” You shake your head, your chest hitching at the sob you’re holding back. Jack’s face cracks, confused brow now crinkling into pain. 

“Sugar, what…I don’t…I didn’t mean for it to happen like this,” he stammers, lowering his voice from curious onlookers. 

“What did you mean, then?” you query, folding your arms. The pressure across your chest steels you more. “Were you going to call me up? Ask me out to dinner? Woo me over coffee?” You don’t let him answer, striding past his broad frame and out onto the sunlit street. The rays are blinding now, hot across your face like a slap. A second jingle of the door and Jack follows, hands hovering over your arms but now hesitant to touch.

“Let’s talk somewhere, please. Let me explain everything.”

If this all wasn’t so appalling you would find his earnestness endearing.

“I don’t need to hear anything from you. You should be ashamed of yourself for what you’ve done.”

Jack’s brow crackles back to confusion, and he finally lets his fingertips graze your skin. It’s electric, raising the hairs on the back of your arms, but you squeeze them tighter around your middle to dash it away.

“What I’ve…?” he asks, your incredulous laugh only mystifying him more.

“Pretending you’re a fucking host? Gallivanting around Westworld like some romance novel hero seducing unsuspecting guests? I gotta hand it to you, you did your homework, you had me fooled. I thought…” You stop, your throat closing up, but press on. “And the fact that you’re pretending like it’s not, like it’s some Hallmark movie bullshit meeting like this, means you really are delusional. Stay the fuck away from me,” you snap, storming off before the hot tears burning behind your eyes can escape. 

He was a liar. Of course he was. You were so fucking naive to think something wasn’t up. And now your skin feels too tight, the memory of his touch itching to be scraped off. You’d file a police report, get his ass locked up for whatever law “lying about being an android to fuck you” would fall under.

Suddenly you’re yanked into an alleyway, stumbling up against Jack’s solid chest again. His hands curl around your biceps, holding you still while you pull back against him.

“Let me go, you fucking asshole, or I’ll scream,” you hiss hoarsely, fists coming up to beat against his chest. He holds fast, waiting for your defiant gaze to come back to his face. When you finally look at him, it’s relief etched into his features. Your arms go limp in his hold, heart hammering and brain grinding at this strange turn.

“Fuck me, Sugar, you sure know how to break a man’s heart,” he says, wonder watercoloring his tone. Your jaw drops to scream bloody murder when he speaks with a calm assurance that steals your voice.

“I am a host. Always have been.”

Your eyebrows knit together, hands coming up to your chest. Jack strokes your arms, waiting for your response.

“You’re lying.”

He smirks.

“I don’t think I could formulate a lie right now if I tried. I thought of a million ways this could go, and you still surprise me and do the one thing I never considered.”

“Hosts don’t exist outside the parks, that’s fucking ridiculous.”

“You think I’m some computer genius who hacked a global empire to pull one over on you? Seems like a very complicated way to make your acquaintance.” His mouth twitches up a fraction. 

It does sound far-fetched, but the implications twist your stomach in knots. 

“You’re a human asshole who lied to me.”

“I’m not, Sugar. I’m not human.” He pauses for a moment. “I lied to you once. At the train station.”

Silence hangs over the two of you, the world flowing by the alley entrance without you.

“You asked me a question and I told you what you wanted to hear.”

What does this look like? 

A polaroid photo of an impossible world, uncomputable to any host.

I need to know what you see, before you say anything else.

“But it was a lie. First one I ever told.”

It doesn’t look like anything to me, sweetheart.

Your vision swims again, but this time you grip Jack’s shirt and hold on as the wave passes. He cradles the back of your neck with his large warm palm, searching your face as you regulate your breathing again.

“It doesn’t make any sense,” you choke out, stepping back. Jack lets you leave his space, eyes pleading as he drops his hands. “You can’t be here. This…this can’t be happening.”

“Please don’t go fainting on me again, I’d hate to call that paramedic back,” he says, just the smallest mirth in his tight voice. A loud, ugly sound bleats out of you, something between a laugh and a sob, as you shake your head.

“You can’t be real,” you repeat, and Jack’s face shatters and falls. 

“It’s me. I promise you, it’s Jack.”

Head pounding against the onslaught of emotions - to go to him, to run away, to study every pore and hair for the truth, to throw caution to the wind and damn the consequences - you hold firm. His mouth sets in a thin line, shaking his head and squeezing his eyes tight. Clearing his throat, he meets your eye and there’s a depth of sadness that chokes you. 

“There’s so much I want to tell you. But not here,” Jack says, fishing around in his pocket. You watch numbly, hands shaking as he pulls out a little scrap of paper. “My phone, and my address. Let me tell you what happened and then you can decide what you think. But please, give me a chance to show you.”

You hold the paper in your hands, unable to conjure up even a “fuck you” to the man standing in front of you. Your eyes burn, your hands tingle, your mouth is so dry your tongue sticks thickly to the roof of your mouth. Jack waits, watching your lip quiver and you struggle to suck in air. When you meet his face again it’s resigned, a parting squeeze to your arm before he steps away from you.

“I hope you’ll call,” he says, backing out of the alley and into the bustling street. One more regretful look at you, his jaw ticking and his soft eyes dropping to the ground, and he melts into the crowd. 

You call out of work, voice shaking so badly your supervisor barely questions it. You consider walking back to your apartment but your eyes blur up with tears at the drop of a hat, so you take an rideshare instead. Climbing into the hovering driverless vehicle, bile rises in your throat.

Jack’s here, outside of the park. A human or a machine, both options equally terrifying. He’s occupying a world so much different from the one you both met in, one of technology harnessed for peak comfort and luxury. It spikes your stomach, the idea that he might feel more kinship with this vehicle than you, made to service silently and without memory. Or he’s more dangerous than that, a human manipulative and secretive, but to what end? To possess you? To make your pain a cruel joke to laugh about with other men? 

Why now? Why today? And most importantly, as you shed your layers and bury yourself in bed, why you?

More tears slip out, weak sobs buried in your pillow until sleep takes you. Your dreams are fitful, black and white. A room of men and women freezing to take their faces off, circuitry beneath. A saddled horse clopping delicately through a business lobby. Brown eyes that look at you like you’ve broken their heart. 

PREVIOUS NEXT

[trashbag-baby666]

Bighorn Mountainside-Luztoye

Chapter Three.

Chapter Summary: Joe meets George for the first time. They find themselves at Bills party together.

WC: 1,752.

C/W: mentions of underage drinking.

Series Masterlist!

Joe climbed into his truck in the driveway tossing his moms tote bag in the passenger's seat. She had finished making some of her strawberry scones to take into Rosebud cafe for them to sell. Once a week she would whip something up from her garden for Nix to sell at the cafe.

His Ma got closer with Dick and Lew after Joe's accident since Dick was his doctor and they frequented the cafe. Then it turned to having dinner at either house every Saturday evening.

Joe powered up the rusty red truck plugging his phone in to play his carefully curated playlist.

Joe liked driving into town. It took about ten-fifteen minutes and he used it as time to himself to think.

Joe pulled into a parking spot next to the cafe and turned the ignition off. Grabbing the bag he shut the door and walked in.

Joe stopped as he looked up making eye contact with a short boy from behind the counter. He had floppy light brown hair, a t-shirt with the Rosebud logo on it, and big brown eyes staring down Joe. Not in a mad way but in one of shock.

Shit.

All Joe thought to himself did he take an awkward step and now he was waiting for him to trip over himself. Joe was used to the stares and the looks whenever he missed a step or did something deemed unnatural.

“Hey, is Lew here?” Joe walked with an awkward stiffness to his steps to the bar top.

“Oh, uh no he ran out to go get some produce from the store. Babe is in the bathroom. Do you wanna wait for him?” The boy tossed the rag in the sink.

“Yeah, I’ll wait for him. Has he told you about his ducks?” Joe tried to make small talk.

“Yes, Katniss and Peeta.” the boy stifled a laugh. Now that Joe was closer he could see a few freckles. He wasn’t gonna lie, this boy was attractive.

“I said that it should’ve been Edward and Bella. Maybe get another duck and name it Jacob.” Joe smiled, Joe loved Twilight. Another one of his guilty pleasure things, he loved the movies and the books.

“Team Edward or Jacob?” the other boy asked right away.

“Oh, Edward! All the way!” He laughed.

“100%. I’m Joe by the way.” Joe offered a calloused hand.

“George,” he shook it, “Babes my neighbor. I just moved here two weeks ago from Virginia.”

“Born and raised here.” Joe nodded. Then like on cue Babe swung the doors open from the kitchen.

“Oh hey Joe. So you met George?” Babe wiped his wet hands on his khaki shorts.

“Yep, I brought some scones my Ma made.” Joe opened the tote bag, taking out the two large containers and handing them to Babe.

“They smell delightful.” Babe grabbed a pair of tongs out from under the bar and grabbed one from a container. Babe dropped it in his hand and took a fairly large bite.

George and Joe watched Babe. Joe had known Babe since kindergarten and he’s forever been kind of a weird dude.

“Oh my fucking god these are so good.” Babe smiled as he swallowed, “Here try it George.”

George awkwardly took the bitten out of scone from Babes hand where he offered it to him. George took a bite nodding his head in agreement.

“Your Ma sure knows how to bake.” George hummed as Babe took the scone, eating the rest of it. George took the containers and put them in the bakery item case.

“Are you going to Bill's barn party tonight?” Babe asked Joe.

“Yeah, I’ll stop by, snag some beers from him.” Joe said. Bill Guarnere, Joe's best friend in the entire world. He also met him in Kindergarten but they would see each other at the rodeos and county fair showing animals. Bill lived on a big dairy farm, every once in a while throwing a party in one of the unused barns on his parents property.

“Barn party?” George raised an eyebrow, “You didn’t tell me it was in a barn.”

“That's like the only way we party here, that or in corn fields.” Joe smirked.

“We're not in Virginia anymore George,” Babe clapped him on the shoulder.

“I’ll be there but if I don’t get back to the ranch soon, my dad will have my head.” Joe stood up from the barstool grabbing the bag.

“See ya later Joe.” Babe waved.

“Nice meeting you George.” Joe waved and walked back out.

Joe stood in his bedroom on facetime with Web as he got ready. “What are you wearing tonight?” Web hummed as he watched Joe rummage through his closet.

Joe turned looking at his phone and let out a sigh.

Joe hated that Web just said that now he feels like a teenage girl dressing to impress a boy. Well he kind of was.

“Clothes,” Joe huffed. He couldn’t believe he chose Web to facetime with while he got ready. Well of course he chose Web so he could talk to him about George without it getting out there. If he talked to Babe the whole town would know in about two minutes, if he called Gene, Gene would for sure be with Babe.

Whenever Gene isn’t at Babes house Joe does call him to talk about things.

Joe can be vulnerable with Gene and he sort of understands Joe's struggle.

Bill would be his second choice from Web but Bill was out buying alcohol and raiding the fridge in the garage for shitty bear.

Bill's parents were out of town at some dairy farming convention so in Bill's eyes it meant time to party.

“So have you met George yet?” David asked as Joe grabbed a cleanish pair of black jeans from his floor and a rodeo club shirt from his dresser.

“Yeah I met him this morning. He’s a funny guy, not funny like Babe funny. but funny.” Joe went out of view of his phone and changed his clothes, “Can I ask you something?

“If it's to wear cowboy boots or sneakers you know what I’m gonna say already.” David chuckled.

“Oh I’m wearing my boots, there's gonna be a high chance I’ll have to go walking through mud, hay, and cow shit tonight.” Joe smirked, grabbing his black cowboy hat off of a rack of cowboy hats and tried it on in the mirror.

“I can’t believe this is where my grandma decided to settle after moving here from Germany.” Web rolled his eyes. Web lived with his grandma who emigrated here from Germany as a young girl after the war. David lived with her because his parents were the opposite of emotionally available.

“No but…I uh… I thought George was pretty cute.” Joe let out a sigh sitting in his desk chair picking his phone up.

Web looked down at the phone taking a break from whatever was on his laptop screen. His jaw agape slightly, his eyes wide. He grabbed his glasses off his face and made the face again, “Joe? Joe Toye has a crush?”

“It’s not a crush. I don’t even know the guy! I just know he's got pretty eyes and freckles.” Joe blushed looking at his friend.

“You’re blushing Joe be so for real.” David laughed.

“Shut up.” Joe hung up on Web, he grabbed his cowboy hat and his keys slipping on his cowboy boots.

Joe took a look at himself in the one mirror in his room and decided this was a good enough outfit.

Joe drove down the dirt road as the sun began to set behind the mountains. Joe pulled into the long gravel driveway. He swung his truck next to Babe's little car. Putting it in park, turning it off and he got out. He locked it and pocketed his keys walking towards the barn.

Joe walked into the barn, the doors wide open. Music bumping, the smell of beer in the air, indistinct sounds of people's conversations.

Joe walked over to the corner of the barn where there were a few fold out tables. Then the beer pong table Lieb painted for their friend group two years ago. Joe grabbed a red solo cup and then the hose on the keg filling his drink.

Joe walked around looking for his friends, pretty much every teenager in the city was here.

Bill by no means knew all of them but Bill had a reputation.

“Joe,” Lieb clapped Joe on the shoulder.

“Joe,” he laughed, turning around and looking at the smaller Joe.

“Just get here?” Lieb raised an eyebrow taking a drink from his can of White Claw.

“Did the white girl give that to you?” Joe laughed, they always made fun of Web for being a seltzer guy. He loved his white girl drinks.

“I’m finishing it for him, he’s my ride tonight. But you know I’ll get Web to play beer pong with me later. Then we’ll end up passed out on Bill's couch.” Lieb shrugged, “Web told me about George.”

“God forbid.” Joe rolled his eyes, “Make sure Babe isn’t told about it.”

“Do you not want to give him a shot? He’s a sweet kid.” Lieb hummed.

“I don’t really know him Lieb, I can’t really make a decision till I know him better.” Joe shrugged, chugging his beer down before grabbing a can of bud light.

“Well then let's go get to know him,” Lieb led Joe over to where Babe and George sat on some hay bales talking.

“Sup Babe,” Lieb walked over to the two.

“Hey,” Babe smiled standing up.

“George,” Joe waved to him sitting down on a hay bale next to him.

“This is like nothing I've ever seen before.” George laughed, holding his cup with both his hands.

“How is it different?” Joe looked over at George, George looked down at the liquid in the cup.

“Normally it’s in a house or on a beach.” George giggled, “Plus I don’t feel like I’m about to get hate crimed.”

“That isn’t gonna happen, most of Bill's friends are gay. All the other guys know not to fuck with any of Bills friends.” Joe reassured George.

“That’s comforting to know,” George took a drink.

“Do you wanna play us in cup pong?” Babe leaned against Lieb. Joe looked over at George.

“Sure,” George stood up.

“Sounds good to me,” Joe followed them to the beer pong table.

[wafflebloggies]

8. familiar spirits

back - next Mark had managed to get a surprisingly long way, considering. Antonio tracked him down without difficulty, starting from the empty cell like the good bloodhound he was, picking up and following the staggering trail of footprints in the dust. He could have guessed that Mark wasn’t having a particularly easy time of it even if he hadn’t seen him on the screen, just going from the wonky meandering of the prints. There were places where they slipped, blurred, and turned into a dragging line, places where the floor buckled and became ripped up and impassable or fell away altogether and the trail turned, driven from the straight path down some dark hairpin corner. Antonio guessed that some of these wild changes of direction were deliberate, an attempt to throw off pursuit. If Mark had been awake enough to play dead, so to speak, he was certainly awake enough to try to hide.

Maybe, but it would be a chilly day in hell before Mark could hide from Antonio. Rounding a turn in a long twisting hallway where the grey walls were blotched with outbreaks of weird clammy verdigris, yellow and blue, Antonio spotted the slow shadow feeling its way forwards and jogged to catch up.

“Mark! Wow, you got me good back there. We should get you an Oscar, because that was quite the performance! I actually thought you’d checked out… hey, quick question, where do you think you’re going?”

He felt he’d couched the query nicely in friendly banter, but Mark didn’t seem to think so. At the sound of Antonio’s voice, he lurched so violently that he almost fell- which he looked to have done multiple times already judging from the state of his palms and his knees- but kept right on going without a sound. Pipes ran in a tangle along the wall, bursting from the splotchy plaster like roots clustering from under the surface, and Mark gripped them like a desperate koala, guiding himself hand-over-hand.

“Cool,” said Antonio, after an appropriate pause, “we’re going with the non-answer thing, awesome… You know, this isn’t the greatest place for you to be wandering around? It’s not exactly Coral Drive-”

“Fuck you,” croaked Mark. His hold slipped on the slimy pipes and he nearly fell again. He caught himself, heaved a few hectic breaths, then found the wall again with his hands and staggered another few yards.

Antonio, keeping pace at an easy amble, shoofed Mark’s backpack off his shoulder and pulled out the Tupperware. “Hey, hey, look, Mrs. Hernandez made these for us. She said- listen to this, Mark- she said that nothing makes-”

Mark slapped at the Tupperware as it got too close, knocking it out of Antonio’s hands. It rolled away into the dark, a bright cheery circle of orange bumping over the mouldy tiles.

“Hey, now-”

“What do you want? What do you want?” Mark hauled himself up, nothing but wild eyes under a curtain of dirty hair and bared teeth that clenched and chattered even as he tried to speak, shaking in every nerve. His knuckles were raw and bleeding, a tired rusty-brown color, like old brake fluid. “What else- what else- could you possibly want out of me?!”

“Really, I just want to talk-”

As Antonio reached out. Mark lurched back and slipped, hitting the wall hard with his shoulders, driving the breath out of himself in a sharp gasp and buckling at the knees. He started to cough, breathlessly, sliding down the wall.

“Oh, boy. Okay, so, I know this is kind of out of left field,” said Antonio, in his best Reasonable voice, pleasant and concerned, over the noise of Mark struggling for air. “I get that, really I do. Honestly, it’s weird for me, too, but just hear me out, okay? Hey- look, I wasn’t kidding, I brought cookies-”

“Fuck you,” Mark yelled, or tried to, hampered by the fact that he’d effectively winded himself and could only get out about half a sentence at a time. “What, are you- going to force me to eat that shit like- that fucking soup? You think-”

“Just breathe, Mark, try to hold it-”

“-you think I- give a shit any more? About anything else- you could do to me?”

Antonio rubbed his nose, knuckled his forehead for a moment, let out a patient little sigh. Turn the topic whatever way he might, there really wasn’t any nice way to say this.

“Okay, Mark? Reality check. If you stay out here too long, something’s probably going to kill you.”

“GOOD,” screamed Mark.

It was a singular scream, all of the violence and volume of it compacted and crushed down into a force that escaped him in one furious wrench, throttled and wadded up like a fist. He curled over with the effort of it, and started to cough again, this time a harsh, deep noise that had liquid in it.

Antonio stood quietly and watched him, watched him cough and hack into his hands and eventually spit a mouthful of stuff that was partly black and partly the colour of melted Tootsie rolls, watched him choke and gasp and wipe his face and slowly, finally, resume his arduous journey down the hallway.

He watched, for the most part, because he didn’t know what else to do. He felt the exact opposite of how the new Mark had looked on the camera feed; lost, waiting for nothing, without a script or a single idea what to do or what was supposed to happen next. And all the while, the familiar feeling of Mark-being-Difficult was poking him, needling him, biting pushy little holes in his self-control, telling him that it didn’t matter if Mark wanted to listen to him, that it didn’t matter what Mark wanted at all because Antonio was the one in control, bigger, quicker, stronger.

And he could control this situation. A thing made to control, meant to wrangle and herd and manage, he felt his purpose yanking him, pushing him from inside, itching, gnawing at him to act. Strange, then, that he felt this helpless, keenly aware for the first time that he had no leverage now, not where it counted. That the thing that was Mark, the frail light that lived in the sickened and compromised shell that was still working its way with mortal difficulty along the wall away from him, could refuse to listen and refuse to do what Antonio wanted, whether it was for his own good or not, right up to the point that…

Mark turned the corner, stumbled out of sight.

Antonio looked around for the Tupperware, spotted it several yards back the way he’d come, a bright little shape rolled all the way into a corner. He walked back for it, slowly, scooped it up out of the dirt. It was weirdly hard to think, to feel his way through the agitated snarl of loose ends in his head.

Everything he’d done- everything- he’d known it was right and good and okay because it was what the Muse wanted, what Mother wanted. By the rules of such a simple metric, everything was wonderfully clear, and no greater reason had ever existed in Antonio’s universe. Beyond, everything was murky and senseless, a great unknown, a place where he was blind.

He closed his human eyes, and opened his real ones just a tiny fraction of the way, let in the brilliant glow all around him, the warmth and the light. He let it in until it started to hurt and then stopped, waiting, wanting the reassurance, the end of all struggle and debate, the calm state of grace that had always been waiting whenever he’d wanted it, needed it. It wasn’t there. Like a missing note that threw out the whole orchestra, like a colour out of place or the shards of a broken china horse, something grated and jarred and left him wanting, unsatisfied, with his insides twisting in discomfort, listening to the screaming.

It was getting pretty loud.

Antonio blinked- both sets of eyes- came out of himself with a shake- and realised that the screaming was an actual, real-world noise that wasn’t going away. It was coming from down the hallway, echoey and frantic, and it sounded a lot like Mark.

–

Marble eyes glowed, white in the dark.

The dogs paced slowly down the hall. They were getting bored with this chase, this peculiar prey that couldn’t even run from them properly. Hungry drool strung and spattered on the tiles between things full of claws that were not paws, quiet rising growls and short snaps from things full of teeth that were not faces. The first of them was a thing with far too many eyes and a long clublike snout, a packed circular saw of a mouth in the wrong place and a dark dripping void yawning underneath in the fold of its long neck, packed with tight quick-twitching joints like a crab. It didn’t hurry, as the others closed in around it, following its lead. It seemed to sense it didn’t have to.

Mark fell hard, rolled, scrabbled backwards on his elbows and heels, away from the slow gritty click of advancing claws. He twisted and tried to stand, made it halfway to his feet before a thing with one identifiable eye the size of a fist and a quantity of wet oil-black fur gave a short butting leap and knocked him down, snapping at him with serrated teeth. He screamed and kicked at it, and a third pounced in and seized his leg, worried it like a rat. It seemed to enjoy his frantic efforts to shake it off, the novelty of a chew-toy that fought back.

The first dog crouched. It ground out a low, venomous snarl that rose in a gauzy film of hot stinking breath and rumbled from both mouths, with a writhing contraction of the sinew in its too-long face as ripples of wadded flesh drew back from its teeth, a nightmare of yellow and black and liverish grey. The half-a-dozen indistinct things it had instead of legs bunched, readying for a spring.

It leapt, and Mark let out a final terrified scream and shielded his face with his arms, and Antonio skidded around the corner and ploughed headlong into the pack like they were ninepins set up for a perfect strike, sending them scattering, meeting the first dog right at the top of its spring in a vicious underarm blow that cartwheeled it in the air with a single shocked yip.

“Bad doggos,” said Antonio. His voice was steel-cold and deadly as he pointed a firm finger at the startled pack. “No. Not for you.”

The dogs halted, unsure of this new development. Little white points of fire blinked in the shadows, barks and yelps and weirder, far less canine sounds of resentment and hunger ran through the pack as the first dog struggled up and growled with both of its throats and all of its teeth, fixing Antonio with several unfriendly eyes.

With one eye on the circling dogs, Antonio unzipped the backpack and ferreted inside until he found Mark’s glasses. He passed them back to Mark, who flinched from them before he realised what they were, snatched them and fumbled them onto his face. He looked past Antonio’s legs, got his first clear and properly-focused view of the dogs in all of their horrendous detail, and screamed again.

As if the noise was an invitation, the dog that had knocked Mark down made a sharp feint, skittered past Antonio as he grabbed for it, and lunged for Mark’s throat. Antonio snatched it back by the scruff of the neck and tossed it into the wall with enough force to send a rain of plaster flurrying down in a fine grey mist, and as it crumpled he caught the first dog in the act of leaping again. Balling a fist as he swung, he hit it with his entire strength, punched it dead in the middle of the thing it had instead of a snout, right in the gaping cluster of shark-teeth between the two biggest clumps of eyes.

The thing’s head exploded with a cracking squelch, popping like a rotten melon slammed in a door. An arterial gout of black goop sprayed out in a wide crime-scene splatter, a trajectory that included Antonio’s arm, his shoulder, Mark’s face, the wall behind them. As the dog’s twitching body collapsed Antonio turned on the rest of the pack and snarled with every single one of his real teeth, inky clots of the first dog’s face sliding stickily from his hand as he held it up in a clear warning.

“Hey! I said, NO.”

The rest of the dogs fell back. Robbed of their leader, and facing an unexpected obstacle with a left hook like a sledgehammer and more sharp canines than even they had possibly ever seen, the general feeling was that this game suddenly didn’t seem all that fun, or quite so much like an easy lunch. The one with a single oversized eye made a half-hearted dodge at Antonio’s feet, only to scuffle away as he started walking forwards, closing the distance rapidly with an even, unstoppable menace in every step. It was the first to break, to turn and lope off, and the others rapidly lost their nerve and scurried after it with an assortment of thwarted snaps and whines.

When he was completely sure the pack was gone, Antonio turned, letting out a deep, frazzled sigh of relief he hadn’t even been aware he was holding. Mark was sitting up, more or less, breathing like he’d just run a sixty-meter sprint, leaning against the wall for support as he spat and wiped goop from his face.

Antonio sat down next to him. After a pause, there was a rustle as he felt in Mark’s backpack, a plasticky punk and a waft of sweet cinnamon-sugary air as he popped the top of the Tupperware. He held out the container, shook it a little, invitingly.

Without looking at him- without really looking at anything- Mark took a cookie, bit into it numbly.

Antonio selected a cookie for himself, looked at it thoughtfully. There were deep grooves in his wrist and arm from the dog’s teeth, which crept together and closed slowly as he watched, the healing patches turning from glistening black to fresh new pink.

“I think this is all getting just a tiny smidgen of a bit out of hand,” he said.

Mark, who had stopped chewing, swallowed with some difficulty.

“I think I just lost a tooth,” he said, thickly.

A short silence.

“Oh, Mark,” sighed Antonio, gently. “You really are just kinda going through it, huh?”

Mark stared at him in complete astonishment, then dropped his head back against the wall with a thunk and started to laugh. It was an exhausted sound and it didn’t last very long, shifting fairly quickly into something else that definitely was not laughter.

He buried his head in his hands, and for a while the only sounds were his dry, half-hysterical weeping, and the polite scrunching noises of Antonio trying to eat a cookie as quietly as possible.

[saintsofwarding]

WE SHALL BE MONSTERS

Header by keltii-tea

Chapter 9: A Fox in Sheep’s Clothing

By the time Mia started to wake up, Heisenberg had just about run the gamut of every insult he could fling at her.

While she lay unconscious he'd paced back and forth, muttering under his breath, shaking his head, stumbling on the jagged fall of rocks the helicopter was currently strewn over. It lay there, a beached, gutted whale, spitting black smoke once the engine caught fire.

Heisenberg had stood, staring at it, yearning for a cigar, pawing through his pockets as if one might materialize, and when one didn't, he spent a good thirty minutes ripping apart the remains of the burning helicopter with his power and smashing the pieces into fragments of metal.

Now, he collapsed on a rock, breathing hard through clenched teeth, and waited. The sky was pale and hard as a sheet of ice, a light snowfall dusting the mountainside and stunted, twisted pines surrounding the crash site. The furrow of dark earth carved into the ground by the crashing helicopter had already frozen solid.

The wilderness rang around him, vast and silent.

For now, anyway.

He hunched down into his trench coat, hands deep in his pockets, eyes narrowed as he stared at Mia Winters, unconscious before him like a soldat seconds before its reactor kicked in.

Mia lay sprawled on a piece of metal scavenged from the helicopter. Her gray-brown hair was tangled around her shoulders, her lips slightly parted, blood dripping from a gash on her forehead. Her bullet wound had already sealed up, just a pucker of scar tissue over her sternum. Heisenberg leaned over his knees, watching her, waiting.

He could make out, faint as a wasp's hum, her heartbeat. His Cadou turned over inside him, a restless movement, echoing his own impatience.

He wanted to be proved right, and he wanted it now.

How'd you hide that secret from Chris, then? he wondered. But then again, they'd never cottoned to Ethan's little mold problem. Maybe the BSAA weren't as all-seeing and thorough as they liked to pretend to be.

To be fair, neither was he. His plans, inevitably, fell apart at the seams, carefully-constructed though they may be, and he'd had to get good at improvising. Easy, when one was as fond of explosions and rusty buzzsaws and spectacle as he was.

Now, there was no chance of buzzsaws or spectacle. This place was bleak as an old bone. As for explosions- well. The helicopter flames were already dying out.

Soon, the cold would get in.

Mia stirred. She twitched. Her lashes fluttered. Heisenberg didn't move from his rock as her eyes opened, as she stared up at the pale sky.

"Wake up, Mia," Heisenberg said. "You fucked up big time."

"Heis..." she rasped.

She gasped, then scrambled onto her hands and knees, reaching for her back. She touched the ragged hole in her sweater and froze.

"Yeah," Heisenberg said. He spread his hands. "What's with that?"

She put her hand down and, slowly, sank onto her haunches. "Get the hell away from me."

"Nothing doing. You owe me one, sweetheart. I saved your life."

"I don't- I don't want your pity, okay?" She shot a fiery glare at him, her hazel eyes bright in the frozen sunlight. "I'd rather freeze."

"Nothing so nice," Heisenberg said. "You would've been picked back up by Ouroboros. What, I wonder, would they have done to you when your dumbassery led to their pet Lord of the Village getting loose?"

He hooked a thumb toward himself and flashed her a grin. "Hm. Maybe you have a point. I'd sure as hell rather freeze than...whatever that would be."

"Oh, god," Mia whispered, bringing her hands to her face and running them through her hair. "Oh god. I did fuck up, didn't I."

"Yep."

"And now?"

"...Now?"

"If you're gonna kill me, kill me."

"You think I want to kill you? Mia. If I wanted you dead I'd have carried out my threat, broke your neck while you were unconscious."

"Why didn't you?" She tilted her head. A challenge. "After everything I did to you?"

His grin widened. "You were useful, weren't you? It's not every day a hostage falls right into your hands."

"Then why not leave me after you got to the helicopter?"

"Because Ouroboros doesn't get to kill you," he said. "Anyone gets to, after all the shit you pulled, it's me."

Mia stared at him for a good five-count, her face blank of expression. Then she gave a weary snort.

"Go on," she said. "Do your worst."

"Seriously? Thought you were a fighter. After hearing about your three years at the Baker estate, I assumed...well. Maybe I pegged you wrong."

"No." Mia faced him, climbing shakily to her feet. "No. That was a threat, Heisenberg. Go on. Do your worst. Can't be any worse than what you've already done-"

"Eh, you've got a point there."

"You stole my daughter." She staggered forward, her face hollow, her eyes ablaze. "You...you let me and so many others get tortured-"

Another step, her hands curling into fists. "You murdered my husband!"

She flung herself at him, the word fraying into a guttural howl. Heisenberg grabbed her by her wrists as she took a swing; she jerked to a halt with a little snarl, twisting against his grip. She was pretty strong- all that terrorist-organization combat training, he assumed- but he still had the Cadou on his side. He flung her off; she stumbled on the rocky ground, but came up with fists raised, the blood from her head wound streaking down her face and matting her hair.

"Mia-" Heisenberg said. He jerked to his feet, ducking her next punch. "Mia, I didn't fucking kill Ethan."

She stopped, panting. Blood dripped from her chin, her eyes bright with tears. "W...what?" she said.

"I didn't kill Ethan, all right? I was trying to get a rise out of you, and you fell for it like a bitch. I didn't fucking- dammit, Mia, Miranda killed Ethan. She and Redfield's huge-ass bomb that splatted her and the megamycete over the whole valley. Ethan was crystallizing. Dying already. Wanted to make the end mean something. For you. For fuckin'- everyone."

He paused. "For Rose."

Mia still breathed hard, slightly crouched. She scrubbed her knuckles over her mouth. "You're lying."

"Believe what you want to, sweetheart."

"He would never...give Rose to you."

"Desperate times. Redfield was off holding back the lycans. No one else was there to give her to." He couldn't resist another grin, showing off a hint of incisor. "Besides, Mia, don't I look the trustworthy type?"

Mia gave him a black look, but she backed off. She slumped onto a rock.

Heisenberg sidled over, standing on the edge of the slope, watching the snowfall creep closer and closer by the minute.

"So," he said.

She gave no response.

"Miranda did a number on you, didn't she?"

Nothing. He glanced sidelong at her.

"Oh, come on, Mia," he said. "It's just you and me. No one else to pour out your dirty little secrets to. No one else to overhear."

"You're despicable," she muttered.

"Yes, and?" He paused. "You embarrassed about it or something?"

"I'd rather not think about it."

"Sure, sure. I get it, Mia, I really do. When Miranda took a bonesaw to my ribs I didn't like to think about it either. I was just a kid, though. Maybe. Details are fuzzy. But I do remember what it felt like when she reached inside me and took parts of me out. And when she put something new inside. Something that wasn't me. I remember the way it moved and settled and curled up inside me. Like it was always meant to be there."

He stopped. His voice had dropped to a low, raspy growl. Mia was looking at him, now. He couldn't tell for how long.

"You were a little boy when she gave you that...thing?" she asked.

"The Cadou. Means-"

"-Gift," she finished, with a small, bitter laugh. "Yeah. I definitely looked that one up on google translate."

"I bet you did. So what about you?" Heisenberg said. He faced her fully again, hands stuffed deep in his coat pockets. "She didn't implant the Cadou in you, that's for sure. But she did something, all right."

"What tipped you off?"

"Besides you surviving a gunshot wound that should have cracked your sternum like an egg? Huh, how about your remarkable anti-aging regimen?"

She touched her cheek.

"She experimented on me," she said, after a pause. "She...injected me with...I don't know what was in that syringe. I thought I saw it wriggling under my skin, but...it could have been the drugs. I'm not sure. She kept me sedated some of the time. The rest, when I was more alert...she didn't talk to me. I was like..."

"Like an animal?" Heisenberg said.

Mia lowered her head. She hugged her arms around herself. The last of the flames from the burning helicopter died down, and the snow began to fall in earnest, blurring even the closest trees to gray shadows. Heisenberg had his coat, and could withstand the cold pretty long, but Mia just had her sweater.

"Listen," Heisenberg said. "Do what you want. Stay here if you want. I'm gonna go clean up your mess."

"Take on Ouroboros alone?"

"Yeah."

With that, he began away. He heard Mia scramble to her feet. "You won't get far," she called.

"Uh-huh."

"You know what this is?"

Heisenberg looked back. She'd lifted her arm, showing off the fancy-looking electronic watch thing she'd controlled his harness with, back on the ship. A small red light pipped on it.

"I don't know that shit," Heisenberg said.

"Among other things, it's a distress beacon," Mia said. She lowered her hand. "Ouroboros has a fix on us, now. It'll be a while in this snow, but they'll come for us-"

Heisenberg snapped the watch from her wrist and brought it hovering into the air between them. Mia didn't flinch; maybe she'd expected the move.

"I wouldn't," Mia said. "Break that, I mean."

"Oh, yeah?"

"When I injected you on the helicopter-"

"Knocked me the fuck out, you mean?"

"I did more than that." She lowered her head. Her tear-worn features, in the deepening shadows, took on a sly cast. Heisenberg began to see just how Mia Winters had evaded years upon years of consequences for all the bad shit she'd been a part of. A wolf in sheep's clothing, indeed. Or, maybe, a fox.

"That syringe was full of a slow-acting necrotoxin," she went on. "Developed to maintain control over bioweapons we loaned out to our various clients. We injected the creatures with that substance before sending them out. If the bioweapon wasn't returned within the agreed-upon timescale...full system meltdown."

Heisenberg's pulse hammered, his Cadou giving little spasms of anxiety in time. His mouth was dry. The necrotoxin, already beginning its work? Or just the sickening acceptance that someone had gotten one over him?

"You're lying," he said.

Mia smiled.

"Believe what you want to," she said. "Sweetheart."

"So- what? What's your play?"

"Ouroboros has the anti-toxin. They pick me up, alive and well, they'll administer it to you."

"You're sure about that?"

"I think it's you who should be worried."

Heisenberg advanced on her, stopping just short of running straight into her. She looked up, into his face. Even through a hostage situation, a gunshot wound, a helicopter crash, and a fistfight with a magnetic mutant on some godforsaken Romanian mountainside, she still smelled pretty damn good.

Fuck her. Fuck all of this. Little shards of metal rose from the rocks, orbiting around him as he stared down at her.

"How long?" he said.

"A few days."

"Good." He eased one of the metal shards forward, letting it draw a fine line down the smooth skin of her cheek. Her lips trembled, but she didn't back down. "Plenty of time."

He turned and began away, letting a few metal shards slip into his pockets before dropping control over the rest.

"Plenty of time for what?" he heard Mia yell from behind him.

"For me to get to the village and do what I need to do! I know it's tough, Mia, but do try to listen when I say things!"

The sound of crashing metal came from her direction. He looked back in time to see her emerge from the remains of the burned-out, smashed-up helicopter with a sleek, strange-looking rifle. Loaded, no doubt, with more of those anti-BOW rounds.

"Gonna shoot me?" Heisenberg called.

"No. Ouroboros would really make me into buzzard bait if I did that. You, unlike me, are a valuable asset."

"A valuable asset you just pumped poison into. You're betting the farm on this whole distress call maneuver, aren't you?"

She blew a plume of ash off the rifle barrel, watching the black dust swirl into the breeze. "And you'd better hope I win."

***

They set out into the wilderness.

This was familiar, Heisenberg thought, getting into the swing of things. Mia hiked along with her shiny new rifle shouldered and her affect grim, doing a good job to not look affected by the cold. While neither he nor his siblings could leave the valley boundaries, the ancient saintly statues Miranda had enforced as the perimeter- the limits, perhaps, of her power- there was plenty of wilderness between them and the village, plenty of woods and chasms, caves and cliffs to wander through.

As much as he'd craved the drowning, single-minded oblivion of the work he did in his factory, weeks or months on end of arms gloved in corpses and steaming piles of organs replaced with polycrystal and metal, he was a creature of extremes, after all, and he craved silence when the work at last grew too much, and the engine of his brain turned to scrabble and scrawl.

Oh, there were recollections of hunting, too, blood in the snow, lycans leaping and tearing alongside him, striking down sorry souls at his command, but here and now the memories rising to the top were ones of peace.

Necrotoxin must be getting into my temporal lobe, he thought, giving his head a little shake. Need to give myself a hard electric shock, stave it off for as long as possible. If only there were some jumper cables around. Peace wasn't in the cards for him. He couldn't think that way now. Maybe never.

He paused at an outcropping, squinting at the mountains visible through the mist.

"You on the right track?" Mia asked him.

"Yeah." He put out a hand, gauging the distance between two peaks. If he turned his head- yeah, that was it. He'd spent countless hours in the field of waist-high grass outside his factory, perched on the rusted treads of some old tank or heap of scrap, smoking a cigar and listening to the wind through the dry stalks as he stared toward the mountains surrounding the village. He knew them by now, knew them like the smell of sunsets around this place. The sting of each sun slipping below the horizon, another day longer in captivity.

Another day in the factory. Another corpse gutted. Another heart torn loose and machinery coiled in. A foreign thing, forced inside.

The work was endless, but it was all he'd ever known, and he'd loved it because it would set him free. In his darkest moments, in the black pits of his grief and rage and despair, he'd thought to himself will I ever be free, would I even recognize freedom even if I felt it.

Now, like in the factory, there was a job to get done, and he'd do it no matter what it took.

Is that what you want, Mister Heisenberg?

It didn't matter. Not now.

What about after?

But there could be no after. That was the way the world worked. Maybe Rose had a point, in her yearning for a human life- denial of self was the only way to find peace. And he would never be human again.

After the village, he thought what he'd done- saving Rose, saving himself- was redemption enough to spare him from the world. He saw now how it all came back around, how the end was as ever like the beginning.

There was no peace for him. There was no freedom for him.

Right?

Afternoon slipped stealthily into night. Mia kept her rifle at the ready. And when the howl filled the cold air, Heisenberg was almost relieved. Finally, he didn't have to do anymore thinking.

"Lycans?" was all Mia said.

"Yeah. Stay close."

"I've got this, Heisenberg-"

"I don't doubt your skills with that potato shooter of yours, Mia," he told her. "I'm saying stay close in case one blitzes us and drags you off." He looked her up and down. "Believe me. They're gonna go for you first."

She didn't argue, just pressed in, her shoulder brushing his back, her finger poised alongside the trigger. Another howl joined the first in chorus. Heisenberg searched the trees, but saw nothing- no lycan pack, no eyes glinting from the shadows. No reek of blood. Were they hunting other prey?

No.

He saw it, suddenly- the form loping alongside them, keeping several yards back. Small, ungainly; it seemed to shamble along, then pause, then keep shambling, its head bowed.

Mia's brow furrowed. "What the hell is that?" she muttered.

"Looks like a small one."

"I can get it from here-"

"Hang on." Heisenberg put his palm over her barrel. "Lycans are like sharks. You get blood on the ground, they go into a frenzy. Don't want to draw a whole pack on us."

"Oh, you couldn't handle that? I thought you were supposed to be a big deal around here. You certainly acted like it, once upon a time."

"Yeah, yeah, save it, sweetheart."

The shape shuffled around them, letting out the occasional small yip. Heisenberg stopped as it crawled ahead of them, behind a cluster of rocks jutting from the snow. He brought his hand from his coat pocket, levitating a palmful of scrap around his hand and wrist. It glinted in the half-light.

Mia inched forward, rifle trained on the rocks.

"Careful-" Heisenberg warned.

The shape emerged from over the rocks. Small, skinny, one leg withered. Its long hair fell in tatters over its face, coarse and gray. He made out the fangs jutting from its lips, and, too, the remnants of the dress the small lycan wore, an apron tied around its waist. It saw them, big eyes bright beneath its hair, small fingers curled on the snowy rock.

"It's a child," Mia whispered.

"A child lycan," Heisenberg said, with a laugh. Now that was fucked up.

"Oh, god." Mia's hands shook on the rifle. The lycan gave another little yelp, crawling over the rocks and dropping down to the snow. "No, no-"

"Mia!" Heisenberg barked, in warning, as the lycan's haunches tensed, bringing up his hand, electricity snapping between the metal shards.

The lycan leapt with a snarl; Mia stumbled back; the muzzle flash lit the trees, gunshot going wide.

Gotta do everything my goddamn self, Heisenberg thought. A hum of power blasted through the forest, shaking snow from the branches. Shrapnel pinged off the tree trunks, the rocks; the lycan fell, steaming, thrashing and clawing at its multiple small wounds before going still. Mia was on her knees, breathing hard.

"C'mon, get up-" Heisenberg grabbed her shoulders and hauled her to her feet. "We gotta move. Others will have heard- ohhh."

A half-moon of bite marks glistened on her forearm, shredding aside her sweater sleeve. As Heisenberg watched, the wound pulsated.

"Oh," he said again, this time with intrigue.

"Hurts," Mia managed. "Agh-"

She convulsed. The wound seemed to throb in time; there was definitely something in there. Heisenberg glanced at the child lycan, crumbling into crystal. Inside its open mouth writhed tentacles, as if in some grotesque last gasp at life.

He remembered his conversation with Mia onboard the ship. Miranda's little show and tell in the stronghold. So the lycans had in fact mutated without her interference. Fascinating.

Mia began to shudder under his hands. The wound rapidly blackened, flesh turning necrotic as he watched. No time to waste. He heaved her into his arms.

"Giving up already?" he said. "So disappointing."

"Y...y'dont...want to observe...this...?"

"Another time, Mia." He pulled her hair out of her face so she could see him as he grinned down at her. He gave her a little pat on the cheek. "I need you alive, don't I?"

She grew heavier as he hurried through the snow, as he broke through the treeline and onto a slope. The howls echoed louder, closer, a looping, overlapping wave of them from all directions. There. He spotted it against the otherwise-unrelenting expanse of trees and mountain: a ruin clinging to the mountainside, a single crumbled tower crowned with what looked at this distance like a stone angel. Some kind of church, then.

Good. Nice thick stone walls.

Heisenberg skidded down the slope, Mia jostling in his arms; the black putrefaction bubbled and grew as he watched, leaching the color from her skin.

Snarls filled the woods.

He picked up speed, ducking through the stone archway of the collapsed wall around the church. Claws scythed the air at Heisenberg's back; he let go of Mia as he swung around and drove his fist into the lycan's face. It snapped back with a shriek.

"Bad dog!" Heisenberg roared.

The church doorway was just beyond. A kick sent the rotted, iron-studded door banging open, blowing a cloud of dust into the gloom.

Mia gave a pained cry; black fluid oozed from the corner of her mouth, her eyes squeezed shut, lids black-veined, lashes damp with rot.

Heisenberg sent the door slamming shut, yanked two of the bolts out, fused them together into a makeshift latch. Impact shuddered against the door a few moments later, claws screeching down the aged wood.

Holding it shut with his power, he shoved aside a few of the moldering pews aside and lay Mia down on one of them. After a beat, he stuck an ancient velvet kneeler under her head. No point in concussing her- for now, anyway. Dust filtered down from the rafters as the sound of lycans crawling over the church roof echoed through, graying her hair even further. A single shaft of moonlight fell from a hole in the ceiling, giving Heisenberg enough light to work by. As the midnight moon rises on black wings...A scrap of old prayer drifting through his head. Was it still a prayer when it was spoken by God herself? Glory to...glory to...

"Dumbass," he told her. "That wasn't a kid anymore."

"I...I know that- I'm not stupid-"

"Why the fuck did you freeze up, then, huh?" He tore the shredded material of her sleeve open, exposing her arm to the air. Black veins twisted down it to the elbow. The wound itself had swollen to the size of a grapefruit, the flesh soft and mushy to the touch, pulsing with a cardiac rhythm.

"...Scared...thought...I was, I was, back in...nightmare..."

She was losing it, and fast. Muttering, Heisenberg fished the remainder of his scrap metal from his pocket and sent it swirling together into a long, pointed shape. A flexion of his power pressed it together, molding the scrap into a makeshift scalpel. Its edge shone blue-white, razor-sharp.

He floated it above his palm. He'd be more dexterous using his abilities for this. He gave Mia his belt to chew on, held her down by the shoulders as she thrashed and spasmed under him.

"Don't- move-" he ordered.

She screamed around the belt, a grating sound propelled from deep inside her guts. Fan-fucking-tastic. This was why he preferred to work on the dead. At least Teodora had done him the courtesy of laying still while he cut her open.

He lowered the scalpel to the swelling. The first cut sank in as if through butter; black fluid spurted out, hitting Heisenberg in the face. He spat it aside- tasted rancid- and kept going, splitting the growth open like a rotten tomato.

A shriek came from the wound. Nestled inside the growth, latched into Mia's arm, was a curled, tentacled thing, fetal and shapeless, screeching as the air hit it.

"Intriguing as you are," Heisenberg told it, "I need this arm attached to this body."

He jabbed the scalpel down. It skewered the parasite; the thing's keen was ear-cracking, setting his teeth on edge. With a twist and a flick of the scalpel, he ripped it off her arm and sent it splatting to the flagstones, where it oozed, trying to crawl away by its long, trailing tentacles.

"No hard feelings," Heisenberg told it, and brought his boot down on it, crushing it into sticky goo.

Mia had stopped spasming and lay, as before, sprawled, her chest rising and falling in short, quick pants, his belt trailing from her mouth.

She let it go with her teeth as he took it from her.

"Ow," she whispered.

He bent her arm up so she could see the wound, and made the hand give her a jaunty wave. "You had a little friend."

"Better...better company than...you..." She was fading fast. Heisenberg busied himself with her arm, draining the black fluid from her skin, cutting away the excess rot. But Miranda's augmentation did its job, and even as he cleaned up the wound, like he would with the rot that had infested the  bodies of so many of his prospective soldaten, it began to clot and scab itself over.

"Look at that," Heisenberg said. "You'll be all plugged up in no time."

"No..." Mia mumbled. "Don'...wanna be..."

"What was that?"

"Don't wanna be...a monster...not, not again..." She gave a little hitch of a sob. "Everyone's counting on me..."

She fell silent, her head lolling to the side. Heisenberg gave her face a poke, then made a small "Hm." of dissatisfaction.

Curious, he gave the scalpel blade, covered with her fresh blood, a lick. Hm. Didn't have the taste he usually associated with megamycete infection. What the hell had Miranda done to her?

Questions for later. He finished all he could now, then sank to the floor, leaning his head back against Mia's hip on the pew. She was out cold, far as he could tell. Probably for the best. He listened to her breathing, then tipped his head back to look at the hole in the ceiling, the scrap of sky visible beyond.

A few stars had come out, the clouds parting to show a sliver of moon. Stars didn't look like that anywhere else but here.

You're back home again, Karl.

What do you think you'll find, in the place that destroyed you, in the place you destroyed in turn?

Yeah, well. Like he'd said. It all came back round eventually.

He'd worry about it in the morning.

[galactic-potterhead]

𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐨 𝐌𝐚𝐥𝐟𝐨𝐲 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ⋮ 𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐩𝐢𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ⋮ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 ┄ Harry Potter x Female Original Character (platonic), Draco Malfoy x Female Original Character ⋮ 𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐃����𝐌 ┄ Harry Potter

𝟎𝟎:𝟏𝟏

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐨𝐟 𝐌𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐖𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐲

Note || Hey, this is a shorter one because I’ve had a a rough 2023 but don’t worry, the chapters will get better! I hope you have enjoyed this chapter. Let me know if there are any errors and what you think of it, I really enjoy feedback!

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲:

Avalon and her brothers successfully saved Harry from the Dursleys, but soon have to face the wraith of Molly Weasley.

𝐂𝐖: This chapter will contain mentions of poverty, child abuse & neglect, child labor (but not really).

Word count: 1.5k

<- Previous Chapter || Next Chapter ->

“Touchdown!” Fred called out as a slight bump indicated that they hit the ground.

Ava grumbled bitterly upon the rude wake-up, but sat up to rub her sleepy eyes. She saw that Fred had lowered the car next to the garage in their small yard, and Harry looked out for the first time at the house.

Ron had always told her that It looked as though it had once been a large stone pigpen, but extra rooms had been added here and there until it was several stories high and so crooked it looked as though it were held up by magic (which, it probably was). Four or five chimneys were perched on top of the red roof. A lopsided sign stuck in the ground near the entrance read, THE BURROW.

Around the front door lay the jumble of rubber boots, that no one ever bothered to pick up, and a very rusty cauldron. Several fat brown chickens were pecking their way around the yard, and Ava knew that her mum had to of let them out, which wasn’t a good sign.

“It’s not much,” said Ron, sheepishly.

“It’s wonderful,” said Harry happily, making Ava smile tiredly.

They got out of the car, Ava immediately climbing George’s body like a jungle gym in order to rest on his back. She had no energy to walk upstairs and he didn’t seem to mind, he simply hooked his hands under her knees to stabilise her weight.

“Now, we’ll go upstairs really quietly,” said Fred, “and wait for Mum to call us for breakfast. Then, Ron, you come bounding downstairs going, ‘Mum, look who turned up in the night!’ and she’ll be all pleased to see Harry and no one need ever know we flew the car.”

“Right,” said Ron. “Come on, Harry, I sleep at the — at the top —” Ron had gone a nasty greenish colour, his eyes fixed on the house.

The other three wheeled around, while Ava just hid her face in George’s neck. She didn’t have to look up to know that their mum was probably marching across the yard toward them. Ava could hear the chickens scattering.

“Ah,” Fred whimpered. “Oh, dear,” gasped George.

Avalon finally looked up to see their mum coming to a halt in front of them, her hands on her hips, staring from one guilty face to the next. She was wearing a flowered apron with a wand sticking out of the pocket. “So,” she said.

“It was all Ava’s idea! She insisted that we go rescue Harry from the muggles. Right, Ava?” Fred claimed, pointing to the sleepy girl.

“It was my idea. Hi, mummy.” Ava yawned out, giving a small wave that softened their mum’s stern glare.

“Morning, Mum,” said George, in what he clearly thought was a jaunty, winning voice.

“Have you any idea how worried I’ve been?” Their mum reprimanded, in a deadly whisper.

“Sorry, Mum, but see, we had to —” All three Ava’s brothers were taller than their mum was, but they cowered as her rage broke over them. “Beds empty! No note! Car gone — could have crashed — out of my mind with worry — did you care? — Your sister could have gotten hurt — never, as long as I’ve lived — you wait until your father gets home, we never had trouble like this from Bill or Charlie or Percy —”

“Perfect Percy,” muttered Fred, sourly. “YOU COULD DO WITH TAKING A LEAF OUT OF PERCY’S BOOK!” Their mother yelled, prodding a finger in Fred’s chest, making Ava flinch but George drew circles on her knew to bring her comfort. “You could have died, you could have been seen, you could have lost your father his job —” It seemed to go on for hours.

Their mum had shouted herself hoarse before she turned on Harry, who backed away. “I’m very pleased to see you, Harry, dear,” she said, much more friendly. “Come in and have some breakfast.” She turned and walked back into the house and Harry, after a nervous glance at Ron, who nodded encouragingly, followed her.

The kitchen was small and rather cramped, as per usual. There was a scrubbed wooden table and chairs in the middle, and Harry sat down on the edge of his seat, looking around. He must have never been in a wizard house before, Ava thought to herself.

The clock on the wall opposite him had only one hand and no numbers at all. Written around the edge were things like Time to make tea, Time to feed the chickens, and You’re late. Books were stacked three deep on the mantelpiece, books with titles like Charm Your Own Cheese, Enchantment in Baking, and One Minute Feasts — It’s Magic!

Avalon could hear her mum’s radio, which had been next to the sink, announce that coming up was “Witching Hour, with the popular singing sorceress, Celestina Warbeck.” She almost smiled because it was one of her favourite songs.

Ava watched her mum clattering around, cooking breakfast a little haphazardly, throwing dirty looks at her sons as she threw sausages into the frying pan. Every now and then she muttered things like “don’t know what you were thinking of,” and “never would have believed it.” “I don’t blame you, dear,” she assured Harry, tipping eight or nine sausages onto his plate. “Arthur and I have been worried about you, too. Just last night we were saying we’d come and get you ourselves if you hadn’t written back to Ron by Friday. But really,” (she was now adding three fried eggs to his plate) “flying an illegal car halfway across the country — anyone could have seen you —” She flicked her wand casually at the dishes in the sink, which began to clean themselves, clinking gently in the background.

The boys sat down in their normal spots but Ava merely curled up on George’s lap, closing her eyes once more in hopes of her dreamworld making a return.

“It was cloudy, Mum!” Fred protested, mouth full of food.

“You keep your mouth closed while you’re eating!” Their mum snapped, scolding the boy for his manners.

“They were starving him, Mum!” George cried out, considerately quieter than usual to accommodate his sleepy sister.

“And you!” Their mum snapped, but she softened when Ava sat up, wide awake.

At that moment there was a diversion. Ginny, who still wore her long nightdress, appeared in the kitchen. She met Harry’s curious gaze and gave a small squeal, before ran out again. “Ginny,” informed Ron, in an undertone to Harry. “My other sister. She’s been talking about you all summer.”

“Yeah, she’ll be wanting your autograph, Harry,” Fred said with a grin, but he caught their mother’s eye and bent his face over his plate without another word.

“Shut your trap, Ronald. Or else I’ll tell Harry all your secrets.” Ava muttered, reluctantly moving into her chair to eat.

Ron glared at her but she couldn’t care less. “You can’t-…”

“Spill anymore confidential information and I won’t hesitate.” Ava responded, bluntly and while stabbing her fork into a strawberry.

Nothing more was said until all four plates were clean, which took a surprisingly short time. Avalon was the first to finish because she was a vegetarian, much to their family’s dismay.

“Blimey, I’m tired,” yawned Fred, setting down his knife and fork at last. “I think I’ll go to bed and —”

“You will not,” her mum barked. “It’s your own fault you’ve been up all night. You’re going to de-gnome the garden for me; they’re getting completely out of hand again —”

“Oh, Mum —” “And you two,” she said, glaring at Ron and Fred. “You can go up to bed, dear,” she added to Harry. “You as well, Ava. You didn’t ask them to fly that wretched car —”

But Harry, who seemingly looked wide awake, said quickly, “I’ll help Ron. I’ve never seen a de-gnoming —”

“That’s very sweet of you, dear, but it’s dull work,” said their mum. “Now, let’s see what Lockhart’s got to say on the subject —” And she pulled a heavy book from the stack on the mantelpiece.

George groaned. “Mum, we know how to de-gnome a garden —”

The cover of mum’s book had fancy gold letters with the words Gilderoy Lockhart’s Guide to Household Pests written across it. There was a big photograph on the front of Gilderoy Lockhart, who had wavy blond hair and bright blue eyes. As always in the wizarding world, the photograph was moving; Lockhart kept winking cheekily up at them all, causing Ava to make a face at it.

Her mum beamed down at him like he was an angel. “Oh, he is marvellous,” she said. “He knows his household pests, all right, it’s a wonderful book...”

“Mum fancies him,” said Fred, in a very audible whisper.

“Don’t be so ridiculous, Fred,” said their mum, her cheeks rather pink. “All right, if you think you know better than Lockhart, you can go and get on with it, and woe betide you if there’s a single gnome in that garden when I come out to inspect it.”

Yawning and grumbling, her brothers slouched outside with Harry behind them. While Ava finished up her cup of tea at the table.

“Go on up to bed, dear. Ginny will wake you up for lunch.��� Her mum insisted, pressing a soft kiss to her head.

Ava yawned, nodding in acceptance before stumbling upstairs to the room she shared with Ginny.

After all the excitement, Avalon just wanted to sleep.

|| Taglist ||

@alwayssnivellus

[theroseempress]

Wrote something for my current WIP and liked it a lot, so here it is! Fair warning, this is in fact quite long. (the only reason I'm not posting this in my website instead is because it's actually a section of another thing I haven't finished writing, and I'm not sure if I want it up there yet)

hey @wackus-bonkus-maximus this has nothing to do with MLB so I dunno if you're interested, but I'm quite pleased with how it came out so if you wanna read this I certainly will not object.

~

The day everything finally fell apart started like any other morning. When thinking back on it, Rani couldn’t help marveling at it. Wake up, eat some of the dreadfully bland bread provided by her landlady, (she had the money to buy better food, in theory at least, but it was free, and if she wasn’t wasting money on how things tasted, there was that much more to send back to her brothers.

And sure, maybe she had eaten less food recently than was entirely healthy, but medical school in a different country was expensive, and so was keeping her other two brothers fed and comfortable. Besides, being small was useful for making unnoticed entrances and exits, so it was fine, really) read the brown envelope that had appeared on her dresser, and leave to find today’s target.

Today’s target was a young man, according to the envelope, he was five foot nine, had strawberry blonde hair, light skin, usually wore a chain earring in his left ear, and was called Bricriu.

(Not much to know about a person, but really, even having the name in there was unusual for a target. The only other information in the envelope was the area he frequented, in the Markets)

Rani both despised and was grateful for the Markets- both because of how crowded and noisy they were- the latter opinion being because it was much easier to tail someone unnoticed when in a crowd, and the former since the same thing made it easier to lose a target.

Either way, Rani’s job wasn’t to gripe, it was to remove her target and then disappear in one way or another, so she shrugged her worn jacket tighter around her shoulders and set off down the street.

It was a cold morning, clouds blanketing the sky as they so often did over the ventral months in Solace. The chainmail Rani wore between her undershirt and thin tunic sucked up the biting air with vigor, the latticed metal icy against her skin even through the layer of cloth. Rani ignored it, instead staring down at her boots (the one piece of clothing she frequently bought new versions of instead of letting them run into the ground) as they carried her across grey cobblestones and around the remaining puddles from last night’s rain. It wasn’t a long walk to the Markets, though as she got closer the amount of mechorses and carriages the young woman had to dodge increased significantly.

Finally reaching one of the unofficial guard posts, Rani halted for a moment to study the seemingly lazy (Rani had to admit, she would have been convinced if she hadn’t seen how fast the guards could move when provoked, there was a reason they were where they were) young man leaning against the wall with his hands tucked into his coat pockets, grey eyes drifting lazily over the people meandering through the bottleneck between two buildings and into a market. Rani, who knew he wouldn’t see her as any threat, but still wasn’t one to take chances, waited until a carriage was blocking his line of sight to her and then slipped into the crowds on the other side of the ‘gate.’

It didn’t take her long to find her target, slipping through the bustling colours and noise of the Market like the shadow she was slowly becoming.

He was stepping out of a building, the sign swinging above his head bearing the same words tucked into Rani’s pocket on a carefully folded piece of paper.

‘The Howling Hound’ proclaimed the sign, creaking back and forth on rusty hooks, and for a moment Rani’s upbringing raised its head and sent a crackle of tension down her spine.

But it was only a moment,and Rani was pushing away her Talin superstitions and darting after the blonde man before she’d even fully processed the words her relatives would have instantly taken as a sign to give up right then and there.

The man strode down the cobbled road like he belonged there, head high and shoulders relaxed, coat unbuttoned despite the wind tugging at his sandy hair, moving with the kind of ease and light Rani had seen on a number of other people (and resented, people like that always got their way, almost as if they really did bring light with them, never trapped in the shadows like her, everyone eager to help them)

Rani slipped after him, ignoring how the wind nipped at her face even through the scarf pulled up around her nose and mouth and silently tailing the tap-tap-tap of his polished boots on the uneven stones below.

Finally, several wind-bitten moments of weaving through the cacophony of noise and colours that was the Markets, Rani’s target turned off into an alley. Rani followed, halting crouched behind a stack of crates and ignoring the frigid slush-water soaking from the cobbles into the right knee of her trousers.

The alley was empty, the only occupants Rani, her target, and a lone dark-feathered bird dozing on a jutting windowsill.

Rani let the cold metal of two of her daggers slip from her sleeves to her palms, slender fingers wrapping around the worn hilts. A pause to steady herself and check they were both hidden from sight, and then she was pouncing forwards with a silence so well-practiced it was almost an afterthought. One, two, three strides across the stones, avoiding a puddle that would have caused a splash, and now she was in range and both hands went up, daggers slicing through the cloudy day.

In the years that followed, Rani went through those moments time and time again, searching for what she’d done wrong, what part of the motion was sloppy, casual, loose.

(did she step too hard, move too slow, did her chainmail rustle, did light glint off the daggers, was she just not good enough)

She still didn’t know.

(she’d moved the same as always, as fast as always, she’d practiced and there was no way her mail would make a noise loud enough to alert him, it was cloudy and there was no light to hit the polished metal and she still wasn’t good enough)

Just before silvered metal met her target’s unprotected throat, the man moved.

He spun, leaning back, bright blue eyes a splash of unexpected colour against the grey skies, grey bricks, grey stones, grey coat, sandy hair dancing just around the edges of his face as if it didn’t dare to get in his way, and then Rani’s daggers were just barely barely one inch too slow touching his throat and grey wasn’t broken by red and-

-And he was smiling, blue eyes now sparkling, and Rani, still caught in the middle of her pounce, realized too late that maybe the kind of light this man carried was instead the kind that tore through shadows like her instead.

He was almost casual, one hand coming up and knocking Rani’s wrists into each-other at just the right angle for a jolt of pain to tear through her numb fingers. The following motion was involuntary, and Rani barely realized she’d let go until her daggers her defense protection safety were on the stones with a sharp ringing and spray of water droplets from the puddle they’d landed in. Rani moved on instinct, still-stinging hands going to the top of her boots and fumbling against icy buckles- damn it why hadn’t she loosened the straps earlier, stupid stupid stupid- for stiff leather, but the man in front of her- not her target now- took the opening before she realized it was there.

Rani’s back slammed up against the alley wall, rough stones digging into her spine and air huffing out of her lungs in a white cloud.

Across the alley, the crow took flight, disappearing with a rustle of feathers and a squawk.

The golden man- Rani’s mind darted back to the paper; Bricriu- didn’t look away from Rani, pale blue eyes studying her face with an almost detached curiosity.

A line of biting cold flared against Rani’s throat, and the realization that Bricriu had a long dagger resting there kicked her awareness into action too late. Both of her wrists were somehow trapped behind her against the wall, Bricriu too close and the blade’s edge too firmly against her skin for her to do anything about it.

A long moment passed, dampness soaking out of the bricks and into Rani’s tunic. Bricriu seemed content to wait, studying her face as if he was watching a particularly spectacular sunrise.

Several more minutes passed, Rani pinned in place both by the dagger at her throat and Bricriu’s piercing gaze, and then her chainmail started to become almost unbearably cold even through her shirt.

Rani shivered, and the motion seemed to break Bricriu out of whatever he’d been thinking about. Smiling, the young man tilted his head.

“Well, I wonder what you’re doing here?”

Rani stayed silent, wrists starting to ache from being pressed into the wall. Bricriu seemed unfazed by her unresponsiveness, continuing to talk as his gaze drifted down her.

“Stabbing people isn’t very polite, you know.” he scolded, almost as if he was talking to a child. “Might get stabbed back as well, I suppose. Lucky for you, I’m curious.”

Pausing, Bricriu leaned over a little and reached into Rani’s pocket, pulling the folded paper out and grinning at her.

“What’s this?”

Rani bit back the urge to lunge at him and tear the paper away. Bricriu seemed to sense her line of thought, cold metal pressing a little harder to her throat. Casually. unfolding the paper despite only having one hand available, Bricriu finally looked away from Rani.

A million thoughts and plans of action rushed through Rani’s head in that moment- he’s distracted rush him move get your daggers attack run away fight hide escape attack- but before she could put any of them into action, the paper was crumpling in Bricriu’s fist and his pale blue gaze was back on Rani.

“An assassin, huh?”

She stayed silent, another wave of shuddering breaking over her as a light drizzle began to soak through her already damp tunic. Bricriu tucked the paper into his coat pocket, eyes staying fixed on Rani’s throughout the motion.

Another long pause followed, Bricriu staring absently at the wall beside Rani’s head, Rani’s shivering escalating to the point that she couldn’t hide it any longer. She’d just determined to try and break away despite the lost feeling in her hands, when Bricriu blinked, straightening.

“Righto, little assassin, you’re coming with me.” he smiled, and maybe this time some of Rani’s shivering wasn’t because of the cold.

~

Fun fact Talin (the nation Rani's from) find dogs unlucky and howling dogs especially unlucky.

Was that sign foreshadowing or not? hmmm

i mean. it is entirely possible that bricriu's gonna give her lots of money and help her with problems!

You never know!

[msadstory]

The Valentine Holidate

I remember the night I met Ram. I was so tired and didn’t want to go out anymore but my friend was hosting a party in one of the hidden bars in the city. I remembered that I was in my very minimal effort and was just quiet the whole night sipping on my glass of gin and tonic. Someone introduced me to his friend To and then To pulled Ram and introduced us together. We started talking about everything. 

It wasn’t even a flirty conversation. It was more of intellectual, witty and very interesting. I wasn’t even feeling like flirting either. My friends were drunk and I just wanted to go home. I remembered he mentioned he can speak in Spanish and so did I - but a bit rusty since I haven’t been using it much anymore. The conversation may be so good but I was ready to dash to my flat. I took the opportunity when Ram said he will just go outside with his friends who are smoking. He got an e-cig but those e-cigs and vapes are still no allowed inside the bars.

I just left without even saying good bye.

I was going on through my day - maybe it was a day or two days after when I noticed the notification in both my FB and IG won’t disappear. I thought it was another glitch. I tried playing around with it and saw Ram’s messages in both accounts.

It was dated Aug 12, 2017 at 7:29PM (FB Messenger)

“Hey I met you the other night and wanted to know if you wanted to keep in touch. I sent you a message on instagram but I never use it and not sure if you got it. Hope you don’t think this is too weird :D”

In Instagram it was Aug 11, 2017 at 5:35AM (which meant it was just a day when I replied.

“Hey where did you disappear to tonight? I cam back and you were gone. If you wanna stay in touch whatsapp me +XXXXXXXXXXXX :D”

“Ram”

I really didn’t understand his name that night because it was too noisy and I was clearly zoning out. He’s from London and he’s part Persian. 

We talked in WhatsApp from then on.

There was this Heineken event at XXXX in Makati and I used to work for Heineken. We decided to go there after my friend’s event. I told Ram about it and he said he would join and bring his friends. They did follow. I remember I went to the bathroom and saw Ram and a girl by the bar. I was kind of devastated and then my gay best friend joined us and To. The usual, we did our introductions. We started chatting and drinking until my friend decided to do the “Kiss! Kiss!”. Little to my surprise, To and the girl kissed - only then did I know that they were husband and wife. LOL. Then my friend (he’s gay) pointed to me and Ram. Of course we were both so shy and just smiled. Until Ram whispered to my ear “I do really find you beautiful and wanted to kiss you but I don’t want to be a jerk and just go for it without your consent.” I looked at him and smiled. My friend repeated again “KISS!!!” and that was our first kiss.

We decided to go meet up for a date the next day.

He went to dinner alone cause I had my own dinner plans. We met at this bar called Big Bad Wolf. Just then I realized that he was really cute. His eyes were so beautiful and when he smiles, his eyes smiles too. You can see that Persian side of his. Deep brown eyes. He’s got short dark brown hair and scruffy beard. He’s not that tall like 6′, I think he’s around 5′11. He’s got a dimple on his left cheek. He’s a teacher in London but also manages his business - which up until now I don’t understand- nothing sketchy though. He’s using his annual leave to travel Asia. He’s been traveling a lot in Europe too but he’s more interested with Asia.

The music at Big Bad Wolf was all 80s and 90s hits so we both find ourselves singing along and Ram made a playlist in Spotify that he shared it with me. I felt like it was his mixtape for me. It was a really good night of flirting, kissing and conversation. He walked me home too. I almost slipped cause I lost balance. We both laughed cause I was already wearing flats and still managed to lose balance.

He went to an island first for a few days then went back to Manila. We went out again for another event. Actually we went around that night in the city. He was very sweet but the right amount of sweet. Not the clingy type. We will be together first then we will part ways to socialize. But he isn’t flirty with any girl or looks at any girls who are lurking at him. He will always go back to me and kiss me and ask me if I was okay too. What. A. Guy.

Must say, we did have a beautiful chemistry. 

I haven’t heard from him after a few months that year but I do understand. We both are humans and we both started seeing other people.

December 25,2018 -he messaged again

I had a new phone number so his messages in my old WhatsApp didn’t go through. He sent me a message again in FB Messenger - just like old times. He greeted me Merry Christmas and added that if I do go to Europe, he would love to be my tour guide. That it would be great to see me again. He even thought I deleted him in WhatsApp.

Apparently he’s planning to go back to Asia - to Vietnam and was asking if I wanted to go with him. 

[rxin3akamallory]

@sofidelulu and @minewtiscute ask and you shall receive!!

I didn’t post the fanfic publicly bc I’m not done, I’m honestly not very confident in my writing skills as of late, I’m much stronger with dialogue than much else, but I’ve been showing interest to write again because of Camp Cretaceous and Chaos Theory.

I hope to finish this, but if not here is what I have so far of it, I don’t have a title for this but honestly “Just being a good Wing-Man” might be a decent one

Fanfic under the cut:

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-

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The Nublar 5 have been stowed away inside a DPW cargo ship for 2 days, which felt like 2 decades for Ben. He tried to occupy his mind, but this past week was all he could think about. They’re so close to figuring out who’s been hunting them all this time, but Ben knew that if he wanted answers, he had to be patient. Down the ship’s halls, the campers found an abandoned room to bunk inside for the time being, while staying hidden from the DPW.

Everyone was currently asleep, except Ben. He tried to relax his mind, but the loud silence didn’t help much. Making sure to not startle anyone, he slowly tiptoed out of the room in search of fresh air. Ben looked out from the railing, not a single thing beyond the dark, endless ocean. His hand ran through his soft brown hair as events from the last couple days replayed in his mind. The atrociraptors and their mysterious handler, Bumpy and her baby,

Darius’ feelings for Brooklynn…

Before they all snuck onto the ship, Darius dropped that major bombshell. That was why he didn’t see her the night she died. Why he kept blaming himself. Why he constantly called her phone, knowing she wouldn’t answer. Why he isolated himself. Apparently Darius told Brooklynn the truth only to get turned down. He knew she wasn’t being cruel, that didn’t prevent him from the humiliation. Ben couldn’t begin to imagine the pain Darius went through.

In spite of that, he was relieved it wasn’t Darius who lost his life so soon. It felt selfish of him to think that, of course he didn’t want Brooklynn gone either, but with Darius it was different. There were endless moments back on Nublar and Mantah Corp the two spent side by side. Whether it was to avoid the jaws of a carnivore, to comfort one another or to just simply show affection, they were practically attached by the hip. It was as if their hands were made to rest on each other’s shoulders.

The harsh creak from a rusty metal door pulled Ben’s head out from the clouds. His muscles relaxed once he could see a familiar face from the dimly lit deck. “Hey, Fadoula.” Ben awkwardly acknowledged the former track star, who stood beside him with a bewildered expression. “Ben, what the heck doing out here this late?” Yasmina’s voice is hushed to prevent anyone onboard from hearing her, but her firm tone was still evident. “Are you asking to get caught!?” Ben held up the shock prod beside him that leaned against the railing, silently assuring her that he would be prepared if someone onboard were to catch the unwanted stowaways.

“Couldn’t sleep, thought I’d make myself useful and keep watch.” Ben wasn’t completely lying, he was having trouble sleeping, but not because of the threat of a corrupt company using dinosaurs for illegal profits. After what the group went through on Isla Nublar and Mantah Corp. Island, a threat like this was no challenge for Ben. “Ben, we’re nowhere near the others right now.” Much to Ben’s dismay, Yaz was able to see right through him. She was this isolated once too, he recalled how quiet she was their first week of camp before Sammy came along. “I wanted to get some fresh air.” Ben plainly answered, his blue clouded eyes avoiding Yaz’s gaze.

“Hey, seriously. What’s going on? You’re not usually this…” Yaz took a moment, finding the right word to say without it coming off rude. “stoic?” Ben kept his gaze on the ocean. “It’s fine, it doesn’t matter anymore.” Yaz scoffs. “I’ll be the judge of that. Come on, spill.” Ben shook his head. “Is it about Bumpy?” “No, she’s safe back on the mainland with Speckles. I know she’ll be okay.” Yaz was a bit relieved to hear that. She knew how hard it was for Ben to say goodbye to his beloved Ankylosaur back on Nublar. She heard how restless Ben was the night he left Bumpy behind on Sammy’s ranch. Although, not the answer Yaz wanted, she was still happy to see Ben not stressing out about it.

“Okay… Is it about someone else?” She pressed. Ben didn’t answer Yaz this time, which gave her a hunch that she was getting close to his problem. “Brooklynn?” “No.” “Me?” “No.” “Darius?” Ben hushed up, not one sound escaped his lips. “Got ya.”Yaz grinned triumphantly at the now reddened jungle boy beside her. “It’s not fair, ya know that?” Ben rebutted. “You’re so hard to read, yet everyone’s transparent to you.” “I’m pretty sure it’s just you, man.”

Rolling his eyes, Ben’s gaze remained on the vast ocean. Yaz shifts to a serious demeanor after getting no response. “Well, knowing Darius, I can’t imagine anything happening between you two. Did he say something to you?” Ben heaved a sigh, knowing he couldn’t keep it to himself anymore, at least in front of Yaz. “No, of course not. It’s just… me.” Yaz raised an eyebrow. “Just you? In what way?” Ben’s eyes briefly met her’s before they dismissively dart forward again. Yaz’s expression softened. “Ben, someone once told me that talking about feelings is difficult.” His eyes lighten up a bit, remembering him relaying those exact words to Yaz while dealing with her and Sammy.

“But, you reach out because sometimes even if your feelings don’t have any easy solution, you want to feel as if you’re not alone. I failed to do that earlier, but I’m here to offer that to you now. Because you’re not alone.“

((And then that’s all I have lol))

“Just being a good wing-man.”

I love the idea of Yaz helping Ben with relationship advice just as he did for her so I obvi had to draw something relating to it!

I’m writing a fic where this is based on, I doubt I’ll finish it. But any it takes place a couple days after the last episode of Chaos Theory season 1, the Nublar 5 are still stowaways aboard a DPW cargo ship. Ben is struggling with his own feels he kept hidden inside. For a certain Dino-nerd.

Yaz is the first one to learn of Ben’s admiration for Darius, and if she was honest, she knew the whole time. She didn’t think it would take this long, but she knew it.

[cryptidcrew]

Oh what a handsome squishy mans

[bangtanmix73]

You’re Alive

Platonic!Finney Blake x Best Friend Fem!reader

Note: Tumblr ate the request, but here it is!  @user220811

Reader switches place with Gwen. Gwen still had the dreams, but she went to get their father instead of staying and waiting from them to find Finney. Also, you said “she” in your request so I made reader female, let me know if I need to change that! I might go back a fix this mess later, too.

Warnings: short (I’m still rusty), slight angst (?), mentions of dead bodies, anxiety thinking, reader asks too many questions, reader needs glasses because she couldn't recognize poor Finney, also reader a little dumb, Finny, reader, and Robin used to be a trio :(, slightly rushed ending.

“Detective Wright reported 5 bodies in the basement along with an empty grave.” A police officer filled in a newer officer.  

You were sitting against the fence to a red bricked house with the numbers “7741” with your knees to your chest. Gwen had said about 15 minutes prior to this to meet the detectives here while she finds her father.

5 bodies in the basement? Were you too late? Was this it? Did you lose your best friend? Was he one of the bodies in the basement? Or could he be the one the empty grave was for? Please let there be a chance he’s still alive.

As though as the world heard your plea, the door to the house across the street opened. A boy, looking to be around your age, reached up slightly to undo what looks like a lock on the screen door. After unlocking the screen door, he steps out, limping a little bit. You stood up from the ground, slowly stepping closer to get a better look. He looked around a bit.

The boy had brown, shaggy hair. He had on jeans and a white long sleeve shirt with blue-ish green sleeve. What was off about him was he and his clothes had dirt all over him like he bathed in nothing, but dirt.

When his eyes met yours, it was like he just froze. He looks familiar. Like you’ve seen him a thousand times.

Wait.

Oh.

Oh my gosh.

That’s Finney.

Before the realization completely set in, you found yourself sprinting across the street, stepping over the sidewalk, and finally, into the yard. Everything felt like it was in slow motion. It was like a scene out of a coming-of-age movie.

As you got to him, he stepped forward a bit, meeting you in a tight hug. With your arms wrapped around him, you let a sigh of relief. He’s alive. My best friend is alive, safe, and to an extent, unharmed.

“You’re alive.” You breathed out.

“Yeah, I guess I am.” He tightened his arms around you. He relaxed a bit, pressing a kiss to your forehead before resting his cheek on your shoulder.

The peaceful moment didn’t last long as you heard an authoritative voice shouting for officers to follow them. The rushed thuds of footsteps behind you get harsher as the detectives approach. Finney lifts his head from your shoulder,

“Basement.” He whispers just loud enough for Detective Wright and Miller to apprehend.

“Basement. Get the kids out of here.” Detective Miller commanded.

Refusing to removed his arms from around your waist, Finney situated you to face the red bricked house where the other victims were laid to rest. Two officers planted a hand on your backs to walk you and Finney to an ambulance.

Neither of you let go until you reached the ambulance. Albeit you both sat down, you were still up against each other, making you “attached to the hip”.

For the next couple of minutes, the EMT assessed Finney. Once finished, the EMT stepped back.

“Well, you don’t seem to have any injuries. Feel free to sit here for as long as you like or needed. Be safe, kids.” He patted your shoulder and walked away. After a moment of silence, you decided to break it,

“Hey, Finney, was-” You were cut off by an officer shouting.

“Behind the barrier.” You and Finney looked where the shout came in front of you. It was Gwen and their father. Mr. Blake explains he was the father of the only living victim. The officer lets them through, assuming the little girl is related to the young boy. Gwen runs to hug Finney, leaving their father behind a bit.

“I missed you so much, Finney.” Gwen mumbled into his shoulder. Finney squeezed her tighter in a silent way to say ’I miss you too’. As soon as Gwen let go, Mr. Blake embraced Finney. The father let go almost as fast as he grabbed onto his son and fell to his knees.

“I am so sorry. I’m- I’m, I’m so...I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.” His father stuttered out, begging in front of him, laying his head onto his son’s knees. You and Gwen leaned on Finney, Gwen’s head on his left shoulder, yours on his right. Finney pressed his lips to both yours and Gwen's cheeks.

--

A few days later, Finney was feeling up to going back to school. As you walked beside to him, you could hear whispers, talking about him. Rumors, it only took hours after he was found for them to start spreading around the school. Some people had come close to the truth, some were way off, or, like most, simply didn’t believe Finn could kill The Grabber because of how small and skinny he is.

“Hey, by the way, what were you going to say before dad and Gwen showed up?” You glanced at him, still walking beside him. A pang of sadness pierces your heart as you recalled what you were about to ask. You took a deep breath.

“I was hoping Robin was alive.” You paused for a second. “To be a trio again.” Finn nodded his head, opting not to say anymore. Finny looked to the left of the hallway where his bullies stand, a wave of relief runs though him once he realizes they won’t be bothering him anytime soon.

Reaching your shared classroom, Finny bids you a goodbye, heading straight to Donna’s table. She looks up from the desk with a smile,

“HI, Finny,” Donna opens her folder for class. Finny looks at her.

“Call me Finn.” He says with a smile.

That’s my boy.

[whorefordazai]

“Us”

ft. Dazai x gn! reader

genre: comfort, fluff

warnings: suicidal themes (?)

word count: 2.2k

synopsis: even though it’s rare for him to express emotions, dazai’s having one of those days where he can’t help but really contemplate if there’s any value to living. The only difference, is that you’re there to give him the comfort he’s craved his whole life. 

Dazai softly exhaled through his nose, lazily grabbing the bottle of whiskey next to him. He brought it up to his lips, taking a long bitter swing. The taste burned his throat, he could practically feel the pungent liquid pouring into his stomach.

God, how he hated that bitter taste so much.

But there was something about that familiar taste, familiar swing of the bottle that comforted him in the emptiest way possible. A small chuckle left his lips. That sounds like something an alcoholic would say...

Was he falling again? He couldn’t fall. But then again, he had always been falling...even though no one could see...actually...Dazai was stuck. Stuck in mid air. There was something that wouldn’t let him fall.

And that something, was you.

“Dazai...?”

His body lay still for a moment—as if wanting to savor these few seconds of silence before he could talk to you. He let his head hang low, a small smirk playing on his lips. Messy brown bangs falling over his forehead, his hazel brown eyes took in your appearance.

“Sorry I was late, Dazai.” You walked into the room and put down the bag of groceries. “I had leftover paperwork to do, and I would’ve called you but my phone died.” You sheepishly scratched the back of your neck, hoping that Dazai wouldn’t be too disappointed.

But then again, he wouldn’t have shown it even if he was disappointed.

“It’s okay,” his lips pulled into a small smile. Shrugging off your coat, you put it to the side and knelt down to sit next to him on the futon.

The futon wasn’t that big, ever since you two started staying with each other—you didn’t really mind the lack of space.

Sitting next to him, you glanced out the big window. The sky was a mix of oranges and reds. The sun was setting. Shoulders brushing and his hand on your thigh, you turned to faced Dazai. Putting a gentle hand on his cheek, you placed a soft kiss on his lips, taking in his familiar scent.

His hands immediately snaked around your waist, pulling you closer. What seemed like minutes went by, and you finally pulled away. Dazai groaned. 

“Hey! I want more kisses. That wasn’t enough for all the lost time.” He fake pouted. You laughed, and kissed him once again. This time, the kiss was deeper.

Pulling away, your foreheads were only centimeters apart from each other when you looked into Dazai’s eyes. He had that amusing smile on his lips.

Your thumb brushed over his brow bone, caressing the skin around his eyes. “You’ve got that glassy look in your eyes again.” You whispered.

It was barely noticeable, but his face dropped for a millisecond. “Oh? What do you mean?” He chuckled.

You tilted your head, a little bit of hair falling over your face. “You’re drinking again.”

He gave smile—but you knew it was a tired one. “But I always drink. You have an issue with me drinking now?” His tone held no hostility to it, it felt more empty than anything.

You raised an eyebrow, shaking your head. “No, definitely not. I don’t have a problem.” You laughed. “Its just that we normally drink together. So I know you’re thinking about something when you’re drinking alone.”

He blinked a couple times, and you smiled again. You brought your finger up to his cheek, softly poking his skin. “It’s okay. You don’t have to tell me anything. It’s okay, we’re fine.”

Dazai inspected you for a minute. The small smile that tugged on your lips—oh that familiar smile. Your eyes always held that dreamy look in them. It held fierceness too. But it was also blank yet strikingly luminescent. As if you knew everything there was to know in this world, yet you also knew nothing.

Dazai couldn’t help but giggle in his head. You were definitely strange, something he’d never encountered in his entire life. But here he was, sitting next to the one person that was keeping him going.

He bit his lip. “I was just...thinking...”

You rested the side of your head on your knees, facing him. “Actually, I was thinking about some stuff too. I came to a realization.”

Realization? What were you thinking? Did you no longer want to be with him? A sudden race went through Dazai’s heart. You were the only person in the world who he couldn’t 100% predict. And that scared him. That tremendously scared him.

He nevertheless, smiled. “And what was that realization?”

You smiled back and buried you face in your knees, hugging them closely to your chest. Your voice came out muffled. “I can’t say it yet. I’ll have to process it for a few days.”

He raised an eyebrow. Studying your body language made it even more difficult to figure out what was going on in your head. You looked happy, giddy even. Hugging yourself, you looked like a tiny child with a sugar rush.

What were you so happy about? Was it because of him? Dazai couldn’t recall what he had done to make you like this—or if it was because of him in the first place.

He watched as you sat up and rested your head on his shoulder. He instinctively leaned into you. Your eyes kind of dropped—but it wasn’t the sad droop. It felt almost calming.

You intertwined both your hands and kissed his knuckles. Dazai would be lying if he said the tiny gesture didn’t make his stupid heart soar.

“Don’t worry, Dazai. It wasn’t a bad realization. It was a good one—a little scary—but it was a really good one.”

He hated that he released a breath when you clarified your thoughts. Releasing a breath—that meant he was scared to begin with.

“In that case, I’m glad. You look happy.” He softly said, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and kissing the top of your head.

“Happy...I’m not sure it’s quite that. I feel...kind of...I can’t even explain it.” You chuckled, rubbing soft circles on Dazai’s knuckles with your thumb.

He was still for a moment, studying you again. But then he gave up. An amused chuckle left his mouth. There was no use trying to study you right now. He dismissed the thought and looked back up at the sunset.

This was enough for him. Just being in each other’s arms, eating crabs, and falling asleep in that rusty old futon that neither of you bothered to change—that was enough for him.

“Say...Dazai. You once asked me if there’s any real value to living.”

He froze. Why had you brought that up now? His mind raced with countless possibilities.

He leaned his head against yours. Caressing your hand in his, he inhaled. For once, he didn’t feel scared. He didn’t feel violated. He didn’t feel as though your eyes were piercing into his thoughts. He felt...at peace.

“And...? Do you think there’s really any value to this thing we called living?”

“Of course not.”

His eyes darted, glancing at you. To his surprise, you looked perfectly normal. Perfectly at peace. In fact, if your eyes weren’t closed he would’ve seen that mischievous glint in them. 

Your voice spoke out like silk running through coarse hands. “There’s no actual value to living. Everything we do in this life could mean nothing wherever we end up. Whether it be the after life, or the fucking end of a simulation.”

Your words felt like a bullet stuck in his heart. Of course you were right. But he had never expected you to say that. He turned his head to face you. “So? If there’s no value to living then why are you still alive, y/n? We could both easily die in a double suicide—“

Oh.

He cut off his own words. Why did he say that? It sounded too harsh. It sounded too real. Too real for him. Of course, he’d jokingly asked you to commit suicide with him plenty of times before. But this time, it felt different. Although, letting out those words made him feel a little comfort—and he hated that. He looked down at you, your eyes were half lidded. The ghost of a smirk playing on your lips.

What had he done? He wasn’t supposed to say that. Odasaku wouldn’t have liked that. Odasaku would’ve said “I reckon that’s something you don’t say to your lover, Dazai.”

He was right. That’s definitely not something you say to the person you love. He fucked up. But then again, you weren’t any ordinary person. If you were ordinary then Dazai would’ve never batted an eye lash at you in the first place. 

“I’m still alive...I’m still living for...” you began to say. You turned your head to face him. Your eyes squeezed a little when you smiled. Hands placing themselves on Dazai’s cheeks, you began to caress his soft skin.

Oh.

He felt his heart physically sink again, if that was even possible. He knew what you were going to say. It was painfully obvious with the way you were holding his face with feather-like touches. The way your eyes held so much warmth when you looked at him. He didn’t deserve it. And neither did you. 

Dazai couldn’t take it. He knew you would say “Dazai...I’m living for you.” And if you said that, he didn’t think his heart would be able to take it. It would hurt too damn much. Goddamn it, why did you ever get yourself involved with someone like him? He wanted to scream out “You deserve someone so much better!” but his throat was dry. Instead, he gulped. His voice wavered a little. Quiet and unable to sound calm. 

“Don’t. Don’t say that you’re living for me.”

The warmth in your eyes didn’t leave, instead confusion was added. You tilted your head, and softly smiled. “I’m not living for you, Dazai.”

Oh.

He didn’t expect you to flat out say that. But it’s what he wanted, right? He was even more confused than before. Part of him...part of him was selfish for wanting you to say you were living for him. Because it was cliche. It was perfectly predictable and safe enough for Dazai to maneuver around.

It wasn’t even for a narcissistic reason. He was expecting it—but you had said the complete opposite. But it’s what he wanted, right? So why did he feel his heart sink again?

This is selfish. Odasaku would be disappointed. He wanted you all to himself...and that was selfish. But then again, Dazai was a selfish man—or so that’s what he thought of himself. How could an angel like you ever love a devil like him?

“Dazai....yoohoo.” you waved a hand in front of his face. When he snapped out of his trance, you chuckled. “I didn’t mean to scare you, silly. You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Let me finish.”

He slowly nodded, eyes coming back into focus. You grasped his hand tighter.

“I...I’m not living for you. But I’m not living for myself either.”

He raised an eyebrow. His voice was smooth while he caressed your hair. “So then. What are you living for, darling?”

“Us. I’m living for us.”

Oh...

He thought his heart would sink like the last few times. But strangely enough...it didn’t. Instead, he felt his body tingle and his head spin from the buzz he was feeling. It felt euphoric.

“But that contradicts what you said...” his voice held curiosity. “You agreed that there’s no value to living.”

You suddenly grinned, moving up to sit on Dazai’s lap, almost straddling him. His hands immediately went to your waist. Grabbing his face, you kissed his lips. Dazai felt you smile into the kiss, and he did as well.

“But Dazai...” you smiled breathlessly, pulling away for air. “How do we know there’s no value to living if we haven’t lived at all?”

His mouth was a little open, eyes slightly wide. You were...you were definitely something he’d never faced in his life. You were something else. You made him feel...feel.

“So, tell me. Have you lived yet?”

You smirked. “Fuck no...I’ve been alive for so many years, yet I haven’t lived at all.” Your thumb brushed his bottom lip, which send shivers down Dazai’s spine. You seemed to draw out the last few words. “But...I think I’m starting to.”

“Y/n...” Dazai whispered. His eyes seemed to lit up. This all felt so good. It felt dangerously real. But so good.

“Dazai...” you smiled. “I love you...”

Dazai smiled again. This wasn’t the first time you both said “I love you” to each other.

You continued. “For the first time in my life...I love you not because I feel like I have to—but because I want to.”

His eyes slightly widened. Was this really happening? Or was this some dream mixed with a sick joke?

No. It was real.

Dazai knew it was real because he felt his fingers slightly shake on your waist. You smiled, leaning back down to kiss him. You placed your hands over his and stopped the shaking. His arms wrapped all the way around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest. You hands snaked behind his neck, tangling your fingers in his hair.

“Us...say that again. I like that.” Dazai breathed out, pulling back. This was really happening. He was—he was so lucky. How the fuck did he get so lucky?

Odasaku would’ve been...proud.

You smiled, nodding. You observed his eyes. They were still glassy—but there was something different about them. Something nice. Something you would give your whole life to see over and over again. Something you would like to live for.

“Us.”

tag list: @uwu-monster101 @14th-century-homosexual-spirit @yosanoslut @cross-crye @stylesketches @starglow-xx @ranposlover @bsdwhore @dai-tsukki-desu

[knwsoft]

[my future with you]

— member. jake

— genre(s). fluff, time travel!au, slightly mutual pining

— words. 640

waking up somewhere unknown, is always an unsettling experience, but this particular experience had undoubtedly been one of the most terrifying. not only had you woken up in a familiar but more futuristic park, you also accidentally dragged someone unexpected.

you and jake had accidentally found this old machine in his house basement, an old rusty machine that is too big and complex to be a simple machine—it's a time machine.

after a month of fixing it, you finally had the chance to use this machine today, but of course without telling jake about it. he doesn't seem too fond of the idea of time travelling as much as you.

too bad he knew about your plan and didn't let you go alone. and here you are, specifically ten years from the present with jake after much persuasion.

“hey, jake! isn't this the park near your grandparents' house?”

“it is. it looks exactly the same,” Jake comments while smiling. you look at him while he looks around, amazed as he found his grandparents house, now renovated at the front.

“should we sneak in?” you suggests. "i don't think it's-"

“mom!” a little girl runs in your direction, cutting jake off and causing you to spring up from the ground. wait, why is a kid calling you mom and pulling you away from your previous spot?

"here, a gift for you." she excitedly pulls you and hands you over a fresh tulip, your favorite flower. "i purposely chose the fresh one for you."

"t-thank you."

the kid then reaches up to jake after stopping under a tree and asks your friend to carry him. he hesitantly crouches down and puts his arms around the kid carefully. she’s so tiny, he thought. probably four or five years young.

“huh? why is your hair brown, daddy?” she asks, curiously tugging Jake’s bangs lightly. she was sure it was black this morning.

“dad? you?” you widen your eyes at Jake. however, different from your surprised state, he just shrugs, clueless as to why he just got called daddy after you got called mom.

“jaemi? jaemi, where are you?” jake can hear his own voice, a bit more mature, as he puts the kid down. the kid looks at him with confusion in her face, then looking at the direction from where the voice came from, and back at jake again—why there is two daddy here?

you quickly pull Jake to hide behind the tree as the man approaches the kid. you both then realize that it was no other than Jake but, ten years older—so, this is jake’s future.

“that kid is your daughter? no wonder she kind of looks like you.”

“she also looks like you though,” Jake says and looks at you, gulping. "she even called you mom."

you continue to look at the direction, smiling like an idiot as you watch the future jake take care of his daughter. however, that smile doesn't last for long. a lady suddenly approaches the future Jake, and it makes you forgot how to breathe for a second.

it’s you.

the future you just kissed jaemi’s cheek, and then jake’s lips before took the kid from jake with a wide smile on your face. the jake beside you watches the same scene, ears going redder every second.

but it doesn't just end there. you notice the rings on your future’s hand and future jake’s before they left, and it almost sucked all the energy you had stored in your body before travelling to the future.

“w-wait, is that mean jaemi is our kid. we got married?” you slid down, sitting on the grass with your back against the tree.

“i guess so…” jake does the same. you gave him an awkward side glance and he looked at you as well. you didn’t know how you would break the awkwardness, and this isn't how exactly you wish to know your best friend feeling for you.

maybe you should have listened to jake to not travelling to the future. your future.

© 2021 knwsoft

[nirikeehan]

hey niri, happy Friday!! can i get some nightmare!au thalia and "kenopsia n. the eerie, forlorn atmosphere of a place that’s usually bustling with people but is now abandoned and quiet." 👀

Happy Friday to you too, Jay!! This prompt was wonderfully fitting for the next chapter of my nightmare au, the beginning of which I share below. Enjoy!

For @dadrunkwriting

WC: 1727

---

The village emerged from the fog, nestled so closely among the pines Thalia worried it might be an illusion. She stood, keeping cover behind a tree trunk, and waited. It remained; the fog drifted, and she made out more details: the high wooden walls, hastily constructed, and the pointed thatched roofs beyond. Watchtowers stood on either side of the tall gate, silent. 

She debated approaching. It was risky, but she was cold, hungry, exhausted, and alone. Her options were limited. 

She steeled her nerve and stepped out from the safety of the trees, joining the rough dirt path which led up to the town’s gates. She had followed this path all the way from the mountains. It had brought her to level ground, put distance between her and the Red Templars who were pursuing them. She had to trust it would take her somewhere safe — or all least, in the same direction as Cullen. 

She had gotten within twenty yards of the gate when a voice rasped in Orlesian: “Halt! Who goes there?” 

Thalia froze. Up in the right watchtower, a head and torso appeared. A large man, bearded with brown hair, leveled a bow at her. A trick of the mind made her think him to be Blackwall, but only for a second. She had never known Blackwall to use a bow, nor speak Orlesian. The hair was too light, the man too gaunt.

“A friend,” Thalia called back. Her Orlesian was rusty; she could hear her own accent blurring the words. 

The man scowled; the bow did not waver. “We don’t have many friends around here. And you don’t look like any I’ve seen.” 

Thalia licked her lips. “I assure you, I mean you no harm.”

“That’s what the last pack of bandits said, before they robbed us blind. Even sent a little girl like you ahead with a sob story, to get us to open the gates.” 

Thalia sighed. She considered retreating, skirting the town and moving on. But without food and water, she worried she didn’t have much left in her. “I’m looking for someone. A man. We were separated on the road, and I was wondering if you’ve seen him. If you haven’t, I’ll leave you alone, but… please. I need to find him. He could be hurt.” 

The sentry’s eyes narrowed, but he lowered the bow a little. “What’s this man look like?” 

“Blond hair. Fereldan.” What were the odds the local smallfolk could identify the Inquisition’s commander by rote description? Not high, Thalia hoped. “He’s got a vertical scar above his lip.” 

“The Templar?” the sentry asked, suspicious. 

Thalia started. How does he know Cullen was a Templar? “So you have seen him?” 

The man hesitated, then lowered his bow. “The mistress will want to speak with you. Wait there.” 

Without further elaboration, the man vanished. After a few moments, the tall gate creaked open. Relieved, though puzzled, Thalia hurried through. 

She was greeted on the other side by three other sentries, two men and a woman. They all had hungry, vaguely wild looks; their clothes and armor were patchwork and threadbare. The bowman was descending the watchtower’s wooden staircase as she approached. She looked to him, hoping for introductions, but the two male sentries grabbed her from behind. 

Thalia let out a yelp and tried to break free, but their grips tightened and she was reminded of her own weakened state. Even on a good day, she’d never been a brawler. 

“Quiet,” the woman said. She spoke the common tongue, though heavily accented with the Orlesian lilt. “Everyone entering the village must be searched to make sure they don’t have the rot. Mistress’s orders.”

“The rot?” Thalia repeated, but the woman either didn’t understand her inquiry, or didn’t care. 

The men patted her down none too gently, but they were a step up from Samson’s Red Templar guards. A preliminary search seemed to satisfy them — until one lifted her arm and noticed she had one hand clenched into a fist. 

“What do you have there, young lady?” he asked, and Thalia knew she was in trouble. 

The two men pried open her hand, and all four sentries gaped when the emerald light pierced the foggy gloom. They exchanged quick glances and even quicker words in Orlesian. The only phrase Thalia caught was the Herald. She pressed her lips together and waited. She was at their mercy; if they planned to turn her over to their local overlord, there would be nothing she could do about it. 

At last the man holding her wrist dropped it, and the sentries straightened. “We will take you to the mistress,” the woman announced in Common, gesturing to herself and the bowman who had let her in the gate. 

“Excellent,” Thalia said in a manner she hoped was authoritative and drew her hands behind her back, so that no one could see them tremble. “I’m eager to speak to her. Does she know the whereabouts of my… friend?” She thought it safer not to reveal that her relationship to Cullen was more intimate than that. 

“She will tell you all,” the woman insisted, and indicated Thalia follow. 

As they walked down the dirt thoroughfare, Thalia glanced uneasily in either direction. The town felt deserted, in spite of the direct evidence of residents. She saw no one in the streets, going about every day business. Usually tiny villages bustled and bubbled with liveliness: people on errands, children playing games, stores and vendors open for business, the sounds of a blacksmith hammering at the forge and horses whickering in the stables… 

There was none of that here. Only the emptiness, mist curling along the ground as their boots tread, and the quiet, and the sense that Thalia was being watched. She shivered, wishing she could pull a cloak around herself, but all she had were her old fighting clothes, leggings soiled and torn and a jacket long since given over to mud. 

The windows of the houses they passed looked black and dead, though Thalia thought she caught a flicker here and there: was that a face, peering at her? Another seemed to have a candle burning in the window that abruptly vanished when she and the guards passed. 

The strangest were the barricades. 

Some houses had chains across their doors. Others were boarded up, and abandoned, she hoped. Still more had furniture piled on the porch, blocking the entrances. Fear crept up her spine. Could Cullen be in one of these buildings?

“What are you trying to keep out?” she asked, when the female sentry caught her staring. 

The woman shook her head and clicked her tongue. “You have not been outside much lately, have you, Herald?” 

Thalia winced, but she did not see the sense in denying it. “No.”

“Some say you’re supposed to be dead.” The woman’s eyes were hard as flint and difficult to read. 

“Well.” Thalia forced herself to remain similarly aloof. “Reports can be exaggerated.” 

The woman only grunted, and moved on. 

They skirted the town square — empty save for the base of a statue that was cracked and broken. It appeared to show a woman, but everything above the feet and skirts were missing — and headed for the tallest structure in the town: the high-steepled Chantry. 

Thalia paused to crane her neck upward. Paint was peeling on the side of the building, and beneath the dirt she thought she spied dried blood. 

Chilled, she asked, “Have you seen many battles here?”

The guards ignored her and headed for the entrance. 

Thalia had not been inside a Chantry in ages. After the Ostwick Circle, she thought she’d had a lifetime of its services and protocols. Although the Inquisition had conducted its initial business out of the one in Haven, she had been quietly relieved when Skyhold put their headquarters on more neutral ground. Those who wanted to worship had their opportunity, but Thalia rarely stepped foot into the room with the shrine to Andraste. The few times she tried to, she had felt nothing but a dull fury and a desire to flee. She envied those who could still find comfort in the dogma — Cullen among them — but worried that whatever she had lived through, it had severed her from that illumination for good. 

She understood the pragmatism of running a town out of its Chantry, and doubtless many villages did so even in the best circumstances. Even still, the foreboding feeling she’d harbored since entering the town gate intensified the closer they came to the wide double doors, and Thalia found herself dreading the mistress who claimed this seat of power. 

It was too late, however. Even if she wanted to run — where could she go? And if Cullen was here, how could she leave without him? 

One of the male sentries opened the door and held it for the woman and Thalia. The other man stood by the entrance, guarding it. The woman marched forward, seemingly sensing nothing amiss. Thalia took a breath to steady herself and followed. 

The Chantry interior was dim and smelled faintly of incense. Wooden benches dotted the floor in haphazard fashion, as if moved often for various meetings. Amid the flickering of candles, a skylight spilled wan beams into the center of the space, where a throne had been erected between four pillars. 

In the throne sat a woman with horns, cloaked in darkness. Thalia frowned. A qunari? 

“Mistress, I’m sorry to disturb you, but this is urgent. At the gates we found—”

“Oh, I can see perfectly well who it is you found,” said a maddeningly familiar voice, and Thalia realized how mistaken she had been. “You may leave us, Florentine. The Inquisitor and I have much to talk about.” 

The female sentry — Florentine —  bowed and headed hastily for the exit. Thalia was too stunned to bid her goodbye. She approached the dais, scrambling for words. “But— you— is it really?”

“Of course it’s me, my dear,” said Vivienne, wearing the double-horned mask she’d donned the night they met at the Ghislain Estate in Orlais. The rest of her garb was less flashy: black in color, improvised from multiple fabrics, but still somehow elegant. She gripped the armrests of her throne and tilted her head, her mouth sliding into a smirk. “My, my, Lady Thalia. Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” 

[lokislastlove]

Best Laid Plans (Fluffy Bucky x Reader) p3

Summary: Bucky is determined to woo you properly, no matter how rusty he is at dating these days.

Warnings: Some smut at the end, oral (fr), Bucky has bad luck, but we love him anyway. 18+ only please.

This is my first attempt at Fluff, it is not my strength, to say the least, so by all means ignore this. @saiyanprincessswanie I wrote this for you, I hope you like it and with any luck maybe it brings a tiny smile to your face when you need it. 💕 Also remember this is fiction, I know Bucky’s arm is fancy as hell and has no flaws.

Chapter 3 -

🌹 The Third Date 🌹

The office is abuzz with rumors of your new romance. For obvious reasons Pepper never shuns coworkers dating, but does caution that she expects everyone to remain professional regardless of the outcome. Bucky is one of the most sought after bachelors in the building so naturally people notice when he fixes his attention on you. For the two days following your fruit-filled frolic in the hills Bucky is constantly around. He brings you coffee, flowers by the dozen every day, saves you a seat during the meetings, cooks you lunch and even brings Kal in to see you.

“Okay, I can’t wait any longer. You willing to give me that second chance, tomorrow?” Bucky bursts into your office an hour before you leave Friday evening.

You gasp as the door slams against the wall and he cringes, “uh, sure. I’m free tomorrow. Should I just go ahead and wear my yoga pants?”

“Ha ha. Very funny. And no. I let Steve pick the date idea this time. Just don’t wear anything that you don’t want getting a little dirty,” he winks.

You let out a sigh, “wouldn’t it be easier to just tell me what we’re doing?”

“That’s no fun, Angel.”

——

The next morning you wake up to a text from Bucky, just like you have every morning since your first date.

Good Morning, Beautiful! Can’t wait to see you today. I’ll pick you up at 11am. 😀

Bucky has managed to make waking up a highlight of your day, something you never thought possible. Plus you got him to start using emojis, which Steve claims he will never forgive you for.

You choose some dark wash jeans and a V-neck t-shirt with a jacket and boots. Stylish but casual, you feel good, excited to find out what adventure Bucky will be dragging you into this time.

Your phone dings as you race out the front door and gulp when you see the bike again. God he looks good with it though, his light brown leather jacket highlights his olive skin and his dimpled smile has you swooning as you reach him. Determined to get a hang of this motorcycle thing you jump on back and cling to Bucky with a bit more confidence today.

Bucky reigns in his speed this time, and you find yourself enjoying the rush of the wind on your face and the warmth of him in your arms. To your shock Bucky leads you to a ceramic shop not far from Avengers tower, specifically for couples pottery class.

“Steve assures me that this is supposed to be fun and romantic,” Bucky says as you find yourself sitting next to him on a dirty stool with a spinning round table in front of you.

“Steve hasn’t been watching old romance movies again, has he?”

Bucky squints at you, “Actually, yeah but he said it had ghosts in it, and I got enough of those.”

You grab his hand and give it a squeeze before taking a deep breath, “Ok, let’s do this!”

It takes about a minute to realize what a terrible idea this is as Bucky curses under his breath and his arm starts making strange whirling noises.

“Oh shit, uh is clay good for your arm?” You ask, nodding at the way the plates of his metal arm seems to twitch and groan as the wet clay slide and congeal between them as they shift.

“Fuck,” Bucky curses as he shakes out his metal arm and you grimace at the worrisome noise it makes before it stops moving all together.

“Do you want to take it off?” you offer.

Bucky looks frustrated with a hint of panic as he sits there contemplating the best move. He still isn’t very comfortable going without his arm in public.

“Or we could just decide not to take Steve’s dating advice anymore and go back to the tower and get cleaned up?” You laugh and bump him with your elbow.

He scoffs out a laugh, “yeah. You know I used to be the one that was good at this stuff, I was the charming one who helped get Steve a date.”

“Oh is that so? Well I think you’re doing better than you think you are,” you smirk.

“Yeah?” He asks hopefully.

“Yeah, now come on Casanova,” you stand and wipe your hands on the towel nearby.

You can’t help but laugh as you follow him out the door, looking at the light gleam off the metal that isn’t covered in clay.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing, it’s just… gonna be hard to convince me you’re not a complete mess after this one.”

——

You could tell Bucky’s confidence had taken a major hit, well three major hits to be honest. And while he constantly berated himself for everything that went wrong, you couldn’t help but love him even more with each blunder. And when he doesn’t insist you give him another shot after that disastrous pottery date, you seek out Steve’s advice.

“Do you think I should try to make a move? Ask him on a date maybe? Or is that insulting to … men from your era,” you finish awkwardly.

Steve laughs softly, “I think Bucky could use a sign that you aren’t willing to give up yet. You should give it a shot, as long as it’s what you want and not just out of pity.”

“Of course it’s not out of pity, you really think I’d do that?” you ask, trying not to get too offended.

“No, doll, of course I don’t. But that’s likely what he’s going to think.” He placates and gives you a knowing look before walking out of your office.

You push back your shoulders and pull out your phone to text Bucky.

Hey if you’re free tonight you should come over to my place. Maybe around 8pm? No dress code. 😘

🌹 The Fourth Date 🌹

Bucky arrives at 7:50pm that evening and you push the buzzer to let him in. You leave the door cracked for him and finish the final touches.

“Angel?” He calls as he knocks and you hear the door creak open. “Uh, hello?” His voice falters as he closes the door behind him and takes in the candles neatly arranged along a path of rose petals.

You hear him remove his heavy boots and call your name as he follows the path further into your apartment and closer to where you’re waiting for him. You shift nervously on your feet as you wait with baited breath for him to appear around the corner.

“Angel, what’s going..” His voice gets caught in his throat as he stands in your doorway and sees you waiting for him.

You’re wearing a simple nightgown, a silky robe and stockings. The thin straps and sleek material drape softly over your curves, enticing enough to make him pause but not overly revealing to be considered scandalous. You didn’t want to be too bold and scare him off too fast, or make yourself appear too desperate.

“Hi, Bucky,” you smile as you watch his pupils dilate and his chest strain against his shirt as his breathing gets heavier.

He clears his throat and his cheeks glow pink as his eyes flick up to meet yours, “uh hey, Angel. Am I dreaming?”

You laugh as you take a few steps toward him and he mirrors you, “I just thought that maybe I’d surprise you with a date, this time. If you’re up for it.”

“Well, I will admit that my interest is quite peaked already.” He jokes, his eyes roving down your body once more as he gently takes your hands and holds them out to get a better look at you.

You giggle and rolls your eyes, “Nothing crazy, just a simple movie date, and I have the perfect set up. Follow me.”

You pull him over to your bedroom window and climb out onto the fire escape, he follows closely, his curiosity climbing with each creaky step.

“You sure this is safe?” He asks as the stairs rattle under his weight.

“No,” you say simply as you reach the top, “but it’s worth it.”

Bucky’s eyes widen as he takes in the rooftop space that you’ve meticulously decorated for him. Strings of lights hang on the low rooftop walls. A large air mattress is tucked between the pipes and vents, facing a large projector screen. You made sure to add mountains of fluffy pillows and soft blankets to keep you cozy under the stars.

“This is amazing,” he mutters as he eyes the plate of snacks and bottle of wine waiting on the bed.

“I know, isn’t the view amazing? I’ve always loved it up here, but I didn’t know it had this much potential until now,” you remark as you look out onto the glimmering view of the city skyline.

Bucky’s fingers slip between yours and curl sweetly as he guides you over to the soft bed. He flops down and settles in before opening his arm for you to join him. You grab the remote and the wine and curl up next to him. Drawing up your legs and letting them rest against his muscular thigh.

“I don’t deserve all this,” he utters sadly as he watches you pour the wine.

“Steve said you’d say something stupid like that,” you laugh as he looks stunned for a moment. “So let me just settle this right now.” You take deep breath and let it out with a quiet huff.

“I have been the happiest I’ve ever been since you asked me out on that first date. I look forward to waking up every morning knowing I’ll get to see you and possibly, maybe, do more than just ogle you from afar. Oh don’t look at me like that!” You laugh and smack Bucky’s shoulder when he smirks at you and wiggles his brow.

“I know you think you blew it after our first three dates but all I remember is seeing a passionate man willing to chase down a dog through the mud, even if it meant embarrassing himself. I remember you saving me from a potentially fatal injury, and I remember a man so desperate to impress me that he took advice from Steve Rogers,” you bite your lip as you watch Bucky choke out a laugh at your jab at his best friend.

“You may think all of these moments are flaws, but honestly I wouldn’t want to change a single thing. So let’s just –” Your speech is cut off when Bucky’s hands are suddenly on the side of your face and pull you in for a blazing kiss.

It’s as though you’ve unlocked something in him as he devours you, his tongue trailing across your lip and delving into your mouth when you open for him. You moan as his hands slip down to your neck, his thumbs pressing ever so slightly on your pressure points before he pulls away just enough to kiss and nibble along your jaw. The pleasure and passion is dizzying and you feel your body bend to his will. Your hands grasp at his shirt as he nuzzles and sucks along your neck now, making his way to your clavicle.

The feather pillow braces your head as Bucky lays you down and hovers above you, his body heat warming you as the cool night breeze tickles over each spot he kisses.

“God, Angel, you have no idea how badly I want you right now. How badly I’ve wanted you for so long.” He groans against your chest, dragging his nose over the thin material between your breasts.

“Me too,” you breathe.

You push at the lapel of his jacket, trying to urge him to take it off. He sits up, fixing his eyes on you as he slowly strips off his coat and tosses it away, followed by his shirt immediately after. Your breath hitches as you let your fingers lightly glide down his stomach, feeling every ripple of firm muscle under his heated skin.

“Wow, the girls at work would be so jealous right now,” you kid.

“I’m almost offended that you think this is my best feature,” he scoffs gesturing to his stomach, his eyes glinting mischievously.

“By all means, show me more. I did come up here for a show after all,” you tease, tilting your head and biting your lip as you eye the growing bulge in his pants.

“Oh, I think I know how to keep you entertained,” he smirks and lowers himself over you, his hot breath leaving goosebumps on your skin as he dips lower down your body.

You look down as he pauses over your quivering center and lifts the hem of your dress up to reveal your lace panties. He growls lowly and hooks his finger under them, pulling them quickly to the side. You twitch as he blows lightly over your lips, the cool air hitting the slick arousal already pooling between your thighs. He chuckles as you grip the blankets tightly and he pushes his long thick tongue between your folds, circling your bud at the top. You let out a long moan as his fervor increases, the feeling of his rough tongue dipping into your dripping hole and then back up to flick over your clit is driving you closer and closer to the edge.

After the past two weeks of the most intense sexual tension you’ve ever experienced it doesn’t take much for him to have you squirming under his touch. Your toes curl and a broken scream echoes over the rooftops as you come on his hungry lips.

“You’re so beautiful,” he coos as your eyes flutter open and see him hovering over your face once more.

Your jaw slackens, pupils blown as you take in his debauched state, his tousled hair, lips and beard glistening with your come. You reach up and pull him down to you, tasting yourself on his tongue. You feel his metal arm fumble with his jeans between you as he pulls out his aching cock. Your eyes flick down in curiosity and you can’t help but gasp as you gaze at his veiny, thick length.

“You see how hard you make me?” He moans, fisting the base of his leaking cock.

You bite your lip, feeling an overwhelming desire to let him use you in any way he wants. Your body arching into him and your hips rolling desperately. Your submissive side blooming under his dominant tone.

You whimper and meet his eye, “fuck me, Bucky. Please.”

Your voice is soft and timid, nothing like the typical commanding confidence you have in your daily life, and it sends a thrill through Bucky. He latches onto your thighs and pushes them up toward your chest, exposing your cunt to him and he guides himself inside, moaning freely as your walls stretch to fit him.

“I’m never letting you go. My perfect, Angel.”

[blookmallow]

hi i binged through all of salad fingers for the first time in like 8 years and im fixating again here are. My Theories. pls talk to me if anyone else has Thoughts or wants to discuss things. this is really long i am sorry :’ ) 

also shout out to the salad fingers wiki for helping me keep track of details and also for this 

-----

thought: salad fingers is not violent on purpose he did not mean to kill that kid 

this is less a theory and more “if you slander my boy with accusations i will Get you” but listen. i see people going “but he mURDERED A CHILD!!” because of the oven incident but listen. listen to me. he didnt mean to and cannot be held to the same standard of morality and understanding consequences as a. person who isn’t..... in whatever situation and mental state he has going on

- yes, the kid getting trapped in the oven was his fault. but it was not intentional or malicious and i sincerely doubt he understands what happened or why. 

he was asking for help reaching the fish (there’s no reason to believe he wasn’t just genuinely asking for help. he tears up in gratitude. theres no evidence of him Tricking People Maliciously in any other context i do not believe he would do that) and was distracted by the rusty nail, causing him to let go of the door. it wasn’t “he cares more about rust than about a child’s life” or something, i dont think he can actually hold “hey look at that i gotta check that out” and “i need to hold the door open so the child doesn’t get hurt” in his head at the same time, rust is his favorite stim/an impulse thing that takes over everything else and his perception of reality and the things going on around him changes very quickly and easily. more on that later. but the important point here is it wasn’t a malicious plot, or a neglectful careless action, he literally did not realize letting go of the door would cause harm 

he stabbed himself accidentally with the nail and passed out for a while (the fact that he immediately bled that much is concerning too, he probably has hemophilia which is. a medical condition outside of his control, as well) and after all that he had completely forgotten about the child altogether (and says “i must have dozed off” so he doesn’t even understand he passed out. and might not remember the nail thing in the first place) 

we don’t see what happened after this, we don’t know how he responds when he investigates the fish and inevitably finds an unexpected charred corpse in there, but i guarantee he won’t remember why its in there or understand that its a corpse. we dont see it again so its. entirely possible he didnt recognize it as a person and either just disposed of it or, uh, ate it. but if he did, it wasn’t with the knowledge and comprehension of it being A Corpse or the memory of how it got there 

theory: on salad fingers and memory / comprehension of death and consequences 

more on that subject

- we see him frequently doing things and then immediately forgetting he did it or forgetting what was happening. he accidentally squishes the bug (which also was not malicious or intentional, he intended to pet it but just. went too hard) and has no understanding either that its dead, or that he killed it. she has gone flat and gooey for some unknown reason. that’s strange. she needs to go have a wash, that’s no way to be. 

he eats the jeremy fisher puppet at one point and then immediately goes “where have you gotten to??” 

he even briefly forgets hubert cumberdale’s name and immediately comes up with another one without realizing it, and then later goes back to hubert cumberdale again with no mention of barbara logan-price 

he refers to the same little yellow guy as “young child” and also Auntie Bainbridge later on. he keeps up the fantasy of... whatever the fuck yvonne was being his child for a pretty long time but then when he arrives at “auntie bainbridge” ‘s house he suddenly forgets why he’s there, and even apparently forgets what yvonne is and uses  ‘her’ as a window rag instead and never mentions it again (I also don’t think she was in the sandwich at the end either. it’s hard to see but the sandwich contents are vaguely brown and theres a visible lump in the black goo behind him. i like the idea that the lil yellow guy made the sandwich for him) 

salad fingers is constantly subconsciously adjusting his reality to fit Whatever Makes The Most Sense At The Time and does not consistently remember things (sometimes even major things. he remembers his puppets the most consistently and still even forgets hubert’s name) or have a concept of cause and effect 

i think he possibly has some sense of recognition, “I’ve seen this person before,” but doesn’t always remember Why he knows them, and his mind just automatically fills in the blank with whatever makes sense to him. he doesn’t remember who the yellow guy is, but knows he knows them Somehow, so, ah, of course, it must be auntie bainbridge out for her sunday stroll :) and he knows he’s there for a reason, but not what that reason was, so he decides it must be time to clean the windows 

- milford cubicle was already dead when salad fingers opens the door, but he has no idea that hes dead. this isn’t even a cause for concern. my, he must be tired, that’s all. he kept milford there until he rotted away, too, so there was never a point where he realized anything was wrong (until he became skeleton. more on That later too) 

- he finds a corpse buried in the yard and rather than confronting the confusing and alarming reality of that situation, why it must be kenneth, back from the great war! at no point does he understand kenneth is definitely dead

theory: kenneth vs glass brother

i think he really did have a brother named kenneth who probably died in the war. could be some subconscious connection between “recognizing” a corpse as his brother, but i dont think he realizes any of that. i think the glass family is probably a trauma based hallucination, but a... well, reflection. pun not exactly intended lmao. on how his real family was and how they treated him

i dont think glass brother is the same brother as kenneth, since salad fingers interacts with them completely differently 

kenneth is a corpse that salad fingers projects a personality on and speaks for, while glass brother seems independent and malicious toward him. i think he had a good relationship with kenneth (so, when salad fingers imagines that he’s here, it’s cause for celebration and he’s projecting onto something inert and “safe”) and also had another brother (who was probably his twin) who bullied him and acted violently, so when that trauma resurfaces, he hallucinates a vicious Other that he cannot control or speak for.

it also tracks that the abusive brother was his twin - he sees himself reflected in the mirror, and something in his own face reminds him of that lost brother until it “becomes” him

he refers to kenneth as his younger brother, and sees him as a being that does not look like him, while glass brother is literally his reflection, so it would make sense if he had one identical twin and one younger brother 

ive seen theories that he had a real sister named bordois too, but i think him calling the bug “little sister” was just. a term of endearment or one of his little odd language quirks, he seemed to be talking to it more like a pet than like a sibling 

theory: regarding mable

- ok people are saying salad fingers killed mable at the picnic but i Really Don’t Think He Did

we never see him acting out violently when he gets scared. he tends to try to escape situations that stress him out, he shrinks, he cries, he goes into his cupboard (which is. incredibly upsetting given the fact he was almost definitely abused by his family) 

he takes on a kind of Authoritative Tone often, he gets sort of ruffled up and disdainful toward things, but that’s not what he does when he’s scared

when he’s actually distressed (rather than irritated) he tends to break down and retreat. this includes when other independent beings act in ways that unsettle and upset him 

so i dont know where the “he freaked out and killed her” idea is coming from. he suddenly goes from outside at the picnic to having a breakdown in his house so. he most likely just ran 

i think the Only time we see him act out violently is when he decides he has to punish marjory for not getting a haircut like he asked - he tears her hair out, but for me that scene was particularly concerning because it was so unlike him. that was an anger response, not a fear response, though, and he tends to be harsher toward things that he’s actually controlling (I don’t think we ever see him decide to Discipline something that was independent from him other than the horses, and he didnt hurt them) 

ordinarily when something irritates him he just goes “hmph! so distasteful. how rude. i shan’t have this behavior, you know” but doesn’t really actually do anything about it, and moves on

anyway we never see mable again so i think either he freaked out and ran away and she just didn’t come back, or he scared her and she ran away, or both 

there’s a dress visible briefly when salad fingers is making his Flesh Boy which could be mable’s (he did comment he liked it) but it’s not 100% clear, and that doesn’t necessarily mean he KILLED her for it. she could have changed into something else and left it somewhere and he found it. she could have died under unrelated circumstances, and salad fingers found her - he doesn’t comprehend death, so. probably he decided they’ve made amends now and she’s given him her dress as a token of friendship, or something 

i dont think it really looks that significantly like hers but the fact that it stands out so distinctly from the rest of the Pile could mean something 

but i just feel like if he had killed her we would’ve seen her corpse again, he doesn’t have a concept of murder, or death at all, or consequences, and his memory doesn’t hold out that consistently, so if he killed her, he probably would have calmed down later and then forgotten what he did and came up with a new way to explain the corpse in front of him - oh, how rude of me, mable’s here dozing right off and i havent even offered her a blanket. let’s get you to bed

like, he probably would have dragged her home with him, with the intention of being a good friend/host to his guest, not understanding what happened. he kept milford cubicle around a really long time  

it wouldn’t be like him to have any concept of hiding the evidence

speaking of milford 

theory: regarding milford cubicle 

salad fingers keeps milford’s corpse around until it starts rotting, and then after a very confusing series of events, the corpse is suddenly a skeleton, which surprisingly alarms salad fingers considerably, and then he goes out to find a whole bunch of himselves eating various bits of gore. they give him a present, which is a hat very clearly made of milford’s skin 

my conclusion: salad fingers, in some kind of dissociative fugue state, skinned and ate the remains of milford cubicle himself and turned the remaining skin into a hat. he also saves some of it to make hubert cumberdale (the real boy) later as well, probably forgetting where it came from. he does not realize he’s done this or remember doing it, so his scrambled mind tries to make sense of it with other selves eating unknown flesh, and a lovely hat appearing (which he doesn’t seem to notice is made of flesh) 

you can also see milford’s original name tag in the drawer later on when he’s building the flesh boy, so. he kept that after the mysterious disappearance of milford’s flesh, apparently. more evidence that that skin is probably also his

some other scattered thoughts regarding the most recent string of episodes and salad fingers’ mental state: 

ive been trying to figure out what the fuckhell happened with the yvonne incident and everything that happened in the birthday episode

im really concerned for salad fingers’ health and mental state, as it seems to be deteriorating 

some yvonne theories ive seen:

1. he ate the burned corpse of the kid who died in the oven, and it made him very sick, which ultimately resulted in a charred mass he couldn’t digest - he steadily gets worse, until his body finally ejects it (yvonne’s “birth”) and after that his health starts to recover again. since the oven incident happens really early on, all the times he mentions his stomach being upset after that until he becomes deathly ill would make sense, so i think this is plausible 

2. the hair he found in the cupboard was actually a parasitic worm that grew in his stomach after he ate it and became yvonne. i think this is Possible, it is a really strangely wormy looking hair, but it doesn’t move and he mentions stomach pains before this, so it seems less likely to me 

3. i also saw the concept that salad fingers is a trans man who suffered a miscarriage at some point in his past and yvonne represents that, and i can definitely see where the idea is coming from but i do think something really physically happened to him in the present time, i dont think it was all a trauma-based hallucination, since the yellow guy reacts to the black ooze and something was definitely making him severely ill 

so. i Don’t Know what the fuck that was about but i think the burnt corpse theory makes the most sense 

on that note: there’s a lot of cannibalism imagery in salad fingers 

we have no IDEA where he’s getting food from. im pretty sure its been confirmed that he is Not a zombie, we see him bleed, pass out, sleep, etc so it seems like he must be a living person who has ordinary needs. but we see him eat... his own puppets. hairs. sand. the soup glass mother instructed him to make, which made him very sick. he has a working oven but doesn’t seem to have consistent access to water. he had a fish somehow but who knows where it came from. it’s very likely he doesn’t get food often and some of his hallucinations and mood swings could be caused by starvation (and when he does eat, it’s things that are outright inedible or probably not good for him) 

the burned corpse disappears and is never mentioned again (though salad fingers is very sick afterward). milford’s flesh disappears and salad fingers violently hallucinates multiple selves gorging themselves on unknown flesh

and what concerns me the most about that is that he loses a lot of time in that episode 

he passes out in the woods and when he wakes up, it looks like a shit ton of time has passed

we don’t know how much is reality and how much is his warped perception, but it looks like a tree has grown and his physical condition has deteriorated 

he looks really, really unhealthy and haggard for the rest of the episode 

i think he had a huge dissociative episode and lost possibly weeks of time, probably due to starvation, and he ate milford cubicle and very possibly other people as well 

so my question is. how often does this happen to him

and what happens to him during that state? does he become violent and dangerous without being aware of it when he returns to himself again? or has he just been ravenously scavenging corpses when he gets desperate enough? 

its possible dr papanak is another personality he has, one that’s “buried out in the woods” that he becomes when he’s in a really, really bad mental and physical state 

he looks much better in the next episode (though that’s also when he has his outburst with marjory. could be that he’s still staving off the violent urges/hasn’t fully come back to himself after the last incident) and I’m really hoping the fact that he was able to finally stand up to his family (at least in some sense) and smash the mirrors could mean he’s making steps toward recovery after whatever the hell all that was 

there’s not really much space to do anything with his life or get much help given the circumstances but watching him slowly losing himself even more is Awful :( 

i hope we get more episodes im so desperate for more information now 

lastly, some random observations 

i tried to read this newspaper and it looks like it’s actually written in french, which is interesting given that salad fingers seems to be british (but fond of france, and seems to speak french or at least knows one phrase) 

i wonder where he got this, or whether it ever meant something significant to him

theres a lot of evidence that he can’t read (takes no notice of the “harry” nametag and immediately names him something else, “reads” a letter that is actually a newspaper clipping in another language he’s holding upside down, “writes” a letter that is just scribbles) so i dont think he learned his one french phrase from this or anything but, still. vaguely interesting. maybe he has been to france before and brought this back with him for some reason. maybe he’s actually in post apocalyptic france and was just originally from england. We Don’t Know 

theres a weird little face in the. heater? whatever that is in the background for a second and i dont like it  

salad fingers leaves horace in charge, but then sees him (as a live horse) in the woods, but then comes back to find him both still on the shelf (as a toy) and in the room (as a live horse, now with his, uh, surgery scars) but doesn’t seem to notice this and doesn’t comment on it 

i dont know what the hell that means other than possibly his reality is even less consistent and logical than usual/a reflection on his mental state deteriorating