#Larry Lifeless

[spilladabalia]

Kilslug - Easter Time

[savage-kult-of-gorthaur]

"I WANT TO HANG ON AN UPSIDE DOWN CROSS..." -- KILL FOR SATAN TO THIS ALBUM TODAY.

PIC(S) INFO: Spotlight on complete CD package design for "Upsidedown Cross," the self-titled debut album by American sludge/DOOM metal band UPSIDEDOWN CROSS. The album was released under the Taang! label in 1991.

"Sludge/DOOM/Psychedelic/punk, or something like that... You'll need some time to get used to the "voice.""

-- NIGHTMARE BE THY NAME (blogspot)

TRACKLIST: 1. "Upsidedown Cross" 2. "Kill for Satan" 3. "Redrum" 4. "Hanging Witches" 5. "Batallion of Rats" 6. "Bloodmobile" 7. "Mass in Blood" 8. "The Cup"

In memoriam, Rest in Noise, Larry Lifeless (1958-2021), vocalist for bands KILSLUG, UPSIDEDOWN CROSS, & ADOLF SATAN -- Another legend lost.

Sources: www.discogs.com/release/1743202-Upsidedown-Cross-Upsidedown-Cross & Nightmare be the Name (blog).

[evilsatisfaction]

[takenbypeter]

Hi! I LOVED your Wonka x reader fic! Could I maybe request something?? Maybe one where she's the last one stuck in the laundry after everyone else gets rescued and he needs to go back for her? I love angst and fluff haha

All good if not! Love you

Trapped In Your Own Thoughts

Willy Wonka x reader

Words: 961

I am loving all the Wonka love I'm seeing, every time I write for a new character I wonder if anyone will actually request for them so seeing people request for Willy Wonka truly makes me heart melt

Abacus, Piper, Larry Chucklesworth, Lottie Bell, Noodle and you stood in a straight line across from Mrs.Scrubbit as she peered from behind the counter. 

What you thought was going to be a tiresome scolding from the woman turned into something unexpected as she laid pounds of money out on the table. She first stated how Mr.Wonka had settled a deal with Mr.Slugworth covering all your bills. And one by one she went down the line addressing every individual until it was just you and Noodle left. 

“It’s funny,” Scrubbit says as she stares at the last pile in front of her before glaring directly at you, “Mr.Slugworth didn’t seem to leave a single sovereign for you. Guess you're not important eh?”

You stilled, unable to believe your own ears as Scrubbit smirked at your disheartened reaction. “…this must be some sort of mistake,” you muttered before getting cut off. 

“—No mistake at all,” she grinned a toothy grin, “in fact your name didn’t come up at all. So don’t just stand there. Back to work with you,” she ushers and stunned you look around trying to wake yourself from this nightmare that you found yourself trapped in. 

“Go.”

With a wave of her hand, you walked past them shutting the door behind you. “Now, for our dearest Noodle…” you heard her voice fade away as you walked to the laundry room in a daze.

You could not believe this was happening. Of course this would happen to you. You shook your head unable to stop the thoughts from swirling as you walked down the hallway past all the now empty rooms, past your own room until you came to the laundry doors. 

Climbing down the steps and looking around at the now lifeless room, it was impossible for you to do anything but dwell on the whole situation. 

You were stuck here. Alone. 

Being here with a group was one thing but alone? That was something you wouldn’t ever wish upon your greatest enemy, (that is if you had one). 

This had to be an error. Why would everyone else be free except for you? It didn’t make any sense. 

Then your mind slipped back to what Mrs.Scrubbit said about Willy making the deal. 

Did he know you were to stay back? No he couldn’t have. Right? Right. You tried to assure yourself before you even had the chance to doubt him any further. That man was too good and too precious for him to accept this deal knowing you’d continue to be held captive like this.

You went back and forth, replaying Mrs.Scrubbit’s words, trying to figure out what could’ve happened. 

Was Mrs.Scrubbit right? Were you just unimportant?

Your mind goes back to those few late evening conversations that you’ve shared with Willy. It was kind of silly for you to think anything from that. It was foolish in general for you to think so much of the young man, especially when you’ve only known him for a short period. But you couldn’t help but feel hurt. 

Was it that easy to forget you and move on?

Maybe all those experiences just meant something to you.

You could only grind your teeth as you dove deeper and deeper into your self deprecating thoughts. It was difficult to pull yourself out when there was nothing else or knowone else to distract you.

Your thoughts silenced as a screaming pile of bedsheets fell down the chute landing with a hard thud.

The fabric shifted and you spotted familiar brown curls pop out followed by Willy’s head. “I can’t wait for that to be over,” you heard him say as he grunted while climbing out from the chute.

“Willy…” you let out, more surprised than anything to see him. 

“Come with me, we’re getting you out of here,” he declared, running up to you without wasting a beat, “we already gathered everyone else, so let’s go.”

He runs back to the chute, waving for you to come over and you do so. Willy prepares an empty cloth bag as well as some laundry so you have a gentler landing and he then pats the empty spot. 

You prop yourself up occupying the chute and with your legs bent you hug them close as he scrambles to tug the bag up over your legs.

Thinking about it now, your wandering beliefs were all so idiotic, but for some reason in that moment, you couldn’t stop them from slipping past your lips.

“I thought you were going to leave me behind,” you chuckled. 

You meant for it to sound as just a childish passing statement but Willy immediately paused his movements, his arms coming to rest on both sides of the chute around your legs. 

“I’d never leave you behind,” he voiced.

It was impossible to stop a tiny shy smile from spreading onto your lips, “yeah, I know but, I don’t know it was just a passing thought.”

“Hey,” he lowered himself to meet you at eye level as you sat, “I would never leave you behind,” he repeated his statement from earlier, his tone soft and delicate yet firm.

It was a simple phrase, but coming from him it meant something to you. 

A new concern popped into your head, “wait, what about the contract?” You questioned, suddenly worried about the consequences that would follow. 

Willy replied with a smile that told you he already had an answer ready, “don’t worry about that, we have a plan.”

You nodded, allowing yourself to trust the boy before he wrapped your head tying a simple knot.

“I’ll see you on the other side,” he said, giving your leg an affectionate pat before sending you on your way out.

[the-kr8tor]

Snake Eyes

Pairing: Cowboy! Hobie Brown x fem! Reader

Word count: 7.6k

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader (except for her clothing), TW death, CW blood and gore, CW violence, TW abuse mention, CW injury, CW guns, Cowboy AU, Wild west AU.

Our Place in the Middle of Nowhere Masterlist

Navigation

CHAPTER 6 >>> CHAPTER 7

Hobie looks at you before he exits the train car, wind blowing in his face, the loud chugging of engine roaring in his ears— but the only thing he could think of was you, you who stands behind him quietly as if you weren't right behind him. He'd take your hand in his, grasp blindly from behind to hold you and make his heart feel at ease with the simple gesture. He'd take your hand in his if not for his hands occupied with instruments of death. He hates that he can't stand not seeing you.

He still feels that he doesn't deserve you, he still feels that he hasn't done anything to deserve his atonement. In his entire life he has faced the worst things, dodged a hundred bullets, shot a hundred more, endured the soil in his lungs and faced death itself— but this is nothing compared to those, because you weren't there to see it, you weren't there to experience it just like how he did. You weren't caught in the crossfire, until now.

“Hobie,” your voice cuts through the fog that envelopes the mountain side where the train tracks wrap around like a snake eating itself. Your hand lays on top of his own that tightens around the doorknob to the next car. The same calloused hands that carry the weight of all of his wrongdoings and death he has committed. And yet, you still hold on to his rough hands like light at the end of a dark tunnel. “You're trembling,” he flicks his eyes downwards, seeing his hand shake under your own. “We can do this.” You smile, brightening up his view.

“What if we just leave.” His mind speaks before he even lets the thought escape. You blink, sliding your palm over to his thundering pulse. Everything overwhelms him, how his lips felt upon yours, how the smoke clings to his clothes and how everything is loud in his ears akin to lightning hitting and splitting a tree. He feels like that tree. “Uncouple the caboose and take the horses out of ‘ere.” He already knows what you're about to say. Leaving means giving up on the innocent bystanders behind the door, but if it's between them and you? He'd choose you everytime.

“And leave them?” You point towards the car door with your head. “What about Clementine and her family? We can't leave all those people behind, Hobie.” Your eyes shine in the moonlight, and he nods.

“Alright,” Hobie's vision plays tricks on him, he sees blood and carnage all over you. Your once hopeful eyes now lifeless, staring back at him without the shine he's used to. His heart pounds in his chest, he can tell that you're terrified too. “Just stay close to me, yeah?”

You grip tighter on his hand, feeling how cold he is and none of the usual warmth you're used to. “I'll stay close, I promise I got your back.”

“The second I open the door you duck and find a table or a fuckin'—”

You cup his jaw gently, “we'll be fine, we'll get out of this and ride into the sunset with Bucky and Cherry.” You try to be positive for him.

Hobie inhales, letting your honeyed scent waft over him. “If we get separated, head towards our cabin. We'll meet there.”

“And then what?”

He nervously chuckles. “I've got no bloody clue, love.”

“Me neither.” You snort, laying your forehead on his bicep briefly. “You ready, Mister Larry Brown?”

That puts a smile on his face. With a twist of the doorknob, you're met with a handful of men wearing shiny gold pins on their chests. They're startled by the sudden sight of you, and Hobie takes their shock as an opportunity to fan his gun, palm on the hammer, trigger finger pressing, bullets flying and hitting its mark quickly. They couldn't even take out their guns. The sound of their bodies hitting the ground made you sigh in relief. You think it's awful of you.

“Good shooting, Hobs.” You pat his back, hand lingering on his coat. Maybe it's your own nerves that's making you say such things.

Hobie recognizes that this is how you cope. “Rate it?”

You crack a wobbly smile, gun heavy in your hand. “Eight point five.”

He makes a face, “not that bad—” The sound of a bottle rolling across the floor immediately has Hobie raising his gun. An old man you recognize as the conductor comes out of the bar, hands raised in surrender. You both now notice the passengers hiding under tables and behind the bar. They're all unharmed, except for a few bruises and scratches. “How many?” His gun is still comfortably in his hand aiming below just in case. He's not taking any chances.

The older man doesn't speak, only shaking his head. He might be afraid of you and Hobie, seeing how the man next to you just flattened five men without hesitation. You want to tell him that there's nothing to be afraid of, but you fear that he won't believe you.

“He doesn't know. Knowing our bounties— if I was them I'd bring the whole cavalry.” Hobie mumbles, thanking the man with a nod. He takes bullets from his belt, immediately reloading the ones that he used up, metal rains down on the carpet. With a click, he gestures for you to follow while he walks towards the other side of the car; stepping over dead bodies and leaving blood trails in his wake. There's determination behind his jade eyes, and anger swirling behind them like a dust storm rolling just across the field. “They brought out the whole bloody lot of them for us.”

“Guess we're special.” You crouch down to take a rifle from one of the dead men. It's weirdly looking, there's a hunting knife strapped above the muzzle, all tied together by a thick rope— a makeshift bayonet. You figure the former owner is a psychopath for adding a blade on his gun, it's not like the bullet wasn't enough but he still wants his pound of flesh. A part of you is glad that he no longer breathes. After taking the rifle, you then lift up his torso to grab his bandolier, putting it over your shoulders and wearing it like a sash. Taking inventory of the gun, checking if it has jammed, Hobie takes watch on the door, peeking from the sliver of opening from the ajar door.

“You good, love?”

“Yeah, I'm a better shot with a rifle.” You holster the gun Hobie gave you as your last resort.

He knits his brows. “I've never seen you hold a rifle back then. I taught you with a six shooter.”

Shrugging, you hold the rifle in place, the butt of it is rough against your shoulder, barrel cold on your palm. “I taught myself with a rifle.”

“Huntin’?”

You sigh, giving him a weak smile. “Sure. I didn't see Clem or her parents behind the bar.”

“They might be inside their cabin.” Hobie understands the worry behind your words. “We'll find them.”

You nod shakily, licking your dry lips. “We will, I know it.”

Hobie gives you a once over, he doesn't ask if you're alright or to tell you to stay behind because he knows the answers to both of those questions. “Okay, opening the door now.”

The wind rushes inside as he flings it open, rusty metal squeaking on the door hinges. Droplets of cool water hits your cheeks, knees aching a bit, cold breeze howling and nipping at your neck. Rain is coming.

You stalk behind Hobie, he enters the door, you follow. He shoots, you shoot the stragglers that can still hold their gun up. It's an elaborate dance of death.

Blood seeps into the floorboards and on the soles of your boots. Your eyes are alert, heartbeat raging in your ears as you don't falter in your aim, trigger finger always on the metal. You smell like gunpowder and steel, and there's crimson splashed across the men's once gilded badges.

“You still good?” Hobie asks in front of you, his footsteps are calculated and silent save for the soft clicking of his spurs. “Y/N,” he asks once again when you don't answer within a second.

“I'm okay, sorry, I was looking for them.” You scan the dining car. The tables have drops of red coating the white marble, plush chairs reeking of gore. It's devoid of any passengers, you're not sure if that's a good thing or a bad one.

Hobie is already positioned at the door, waiting for you. “Alright,” his mind keeps telling him that your luck will soon run out. That the element of surprise won't be on his side the next time he opens the door. He's never been this afraid since he was buried alive five years ago. You arrive at his side, he can finally breathe. “The next car is the kitchen. They might've heard us coming by now.”

You nod, you're terrified but not for your own safety but for Hobie's, and the passengers. You've made your peace that you might not make it out of this alive just like how you've done when you escaped that horrid place. “I'm ready.”

He looks at you for a second before sliding his hand over your cheek, calloused hands that almost feel soft atop your skin. His thumb rubs along your cheekbones, silently wishing for an outcome where you both live to see the sunrise. “Don’t die on me.”

You lean to his touch, moving your head slightly to kiss his rough palm. He stops breathing for a second. “I won't die on you if you don't die on me.”

With a soft smile and a peck to your forehead, he nods his promise. “I promise.” He opens the door, the drizzle has turned into a downpour, it soaks his clothes, sticking to his scarred skin, and cold water splashing over his hat and atop the warm barrel of his gun. He opens the door with a creak after crossing the small distance.

You're both met with a barrage of bullets, Hobie pushes you to the side, effectively hiding you behind a counter while he gets nicked by a bullet across his thigh as he jumps behind a metal box.

“Fuck!” He yells, taking off his bandana to wrap it around the wound. Crimson immediately drenches the cloth, turning the already dark bandana into a darker shade.

“Hobie!” You call for him above the sound of guns going off and bullets hitting where you stood. Your breath gets stuck in your throat when you see the identical gold ring wrapped around a piece of twine, the necklace sits pretty on his clavicle, shiny and well taken care of; A stark contrast to the jagged scar lined on his neck.

He gives you a thumbs up, unbeknownst to the mixture of emotions you're experiencing. He even winks at you while he groans in pain. Your eyes are full of longing, tears pricking at the corners. He points at the gunmen, counting down, waiting for them to use up all their ammo.

He puts a finger down, three. One by one, the guns click.

Two. You hear panicked yells behind the counter.

One. The bullets stop flying. They frantically reload, metal scraping against metal.

Hobie nods and quickly lifts himself off his cover, fanning his gun, he shoots them down while you do the same. You both hit your marks just as when the last of your ammo pings out— metal meets flesh in a firework of rubies and torn insides. The entire kitchen smells of iron and gunpowder, you hide behind the counter again to reload.

“Shit.” You whisper as you reload the rifle, it makes a ping sound when you take out the cartridge. Fingers sliding on the metal from how the rain water has slicked your palms. Your pulse beats to the tune of the thunder outside the train. Trees whizz by the windows, raindrops clinging to the fogged up glass outside. Just as you finally finish reloading, you see Hobie stand up and confidently walk forward with his gun raised, shooting until not a single one of them twitches. You watch him work in awe.

The door next to you suddenly opens, the unmistakable silver muzzle of a gun peeking from the door that hides the man from your view, strong hands aiming directly at Hobie who's reloading. Without hesitation, you shoot the door where you've calculated where the man's torso is supposed to be. Splintered wood flies all over you, the gunshot rings in your ears, and your face is covered in something warm.

Hobie watches as the man goes down, almost dead, choking on his own blood for you have shot at the stranger's trachea. He scrambles towards you who's covered in blood. Crouching down, he slowly moves the barrel of the rifle away from him to wipe your face clean. Your eyes are wide, staring at the body lying just a few feet away from you. The man still desperately breathes, hand uselessly cupping at his gaping wound, blood seeping through his fingers, teeth stained with crimson, and dark bloodshot eyes looking at you. You watch as the light in his eyes goes out, and you realize, you're the last thing he ever saw.

Your ears stop ringing and you can finally hear Hobie call your name. “Love, just breathe.”

“I'm okay,” you say, blood smudged all over your soft skin. “I'm okay.” You utter it like you're trying to convince yourself. He hates that he has made you into this, a killer.

“Can you stand up?” His hand clasp your own, fingers kneading at your shaking palms.

“Yeah, I-I think so.” You stand up on wobbly legs, inhaling deeply, a mistake on your end, for the air has gone stale with iron and boiling water from the abandoned pot.

Hobie's palm is on your chest, encouraging you to breathe. In and out, in and out, you almost gagged. “You're doin' great, just keep doin' that—” A shot rings out, two men enters the train car, one is huge in form, brandishing a pistol. The smaller one has a shotgun with a crazed look in his eyes. The bullet misses your head by mere inches, leaving a gash across the shell of your ear. “Fuckin' wankers!” Hobie exclaims, the hand on your shoulder makes you sit back down, the other shooting at the men. Your blood soaked your once pristine collar. You don't feel the pain.

“Not her, you moron!” The bigger one shoves the other, Hobie is emptying his bullets, gunpowder permeating the stale air, mixing in with the iron and heat.

Everything else was a blur to you as you look at the pool of blood that's slowly making its way towards you. You hear your heartbeat quickening, the metal of the rifle in your hand stings, leaving indents on your palms. With a pained yell from Hobie, you wake up from your trance, just as you stand up, you're met face to face with the man who wields a shotgun. He yells, the butt of his gun aimed at your head. But you're faster, so you jab his stomach with your rifle, digging the bayonet into his flesh, blood seeps out of his white shirt from the knife. Despite his size, you've got the advantage, you've got everything to lose if you fail, so you fight, and survive, and will fight again because you promised Hobie.

Your attacker's gun falls from his grasp, staggering on his own two feet. He yelps as you push and push him into a table as you launch yourself quickly. The edge of the table stabs the small of his back, groaning, adrenaline rushing through you, you don't hesitate in pulling the trigger.

“No, wait—!” There's a gaping hole in his stomach, his entrails lay bare to you. That warm liquid is on your face again, it coats your white shirt, on your shoes as it drips down, and now your hands.

Hobie hears the gunshot, he looks over his shoulder to check, a mistake for he gets a punch to the gut. Hobie desperately fights the other assailant, dodging fists as they've both run out of ammo without time to reload. The man is visibly bigger than him, taller, and with more muscle. He's outmatched but he's not going to give up. Hobie has his fists shielding him, standing just a few feet away from you, if the man wanted to get to you, he had to get through him first. while the lawman does the same, both of them spit out blood that stains their teeth. The stranger smirks, eyes flicking over to you who just shot his partner. Before he could rush towards you, Hobie leaps up effortlessly, hands gripping a metal pipe above, swinging his legs towards the man to kick him. Steel toed boots hit his chest, but it's no use, even with the momentum, the kick barely fazed him.

“Fuck—” Hobie groans as the man grabs his middle, pouncing on him, trying to take him down but Hobie's grip on the metal is too strong. His legs wrap around his opponent’s neck, squeezing in hopes that it’ll choke him. Hobie’s side stings while the attacker takes a few hits in, using him as a punching bag. He squeezes tighter, trying to twist and snap his neck. The man gasps for breath but his fists still connect to his side.

You take out your gun from the man's dead body, rushing towards them, rifle aimed at Hobie's attacker. You pull the trigger but it clicks and nothing happens. It's jammed, your mind quickly decides for you, with the adrenaline rushing, mind addled, you pick up the boiling pot with your bare hands. It's hot, but only for a moment. You fling the searing water towards the man's back, Hobie lets go before the water hits him, lifting himself on the pipe, legs raised up and perpendicular to his body as he dodges the boiling water. Steam and water flies, landing directly at the lawman's face just as he turns towards you. He screams in pain, his shirt now burning into his skin, melting into his flesh. Hobie drops down, the pot clangs as you let it go.

The screaming gets into your ears, worming its way into your ear canals, so you do what you should've done to the man behind the door while he suffered— you put him out of his misery. Quick drawing the six shooter Hobie gave you, you shoot, hitting your mark as his body falls loudly on the floorboards.

Hobie heaves, and you stare at the carnage before you, carnage you've had your hand in. You suddenly feel rough hands on your own, he helps holster your gun back before checking the damage on your palms. The pot burned your skin, it's red and angry, lines in the shape of the handle have permanently etched into your flesh, right next to the scar Hobie helped stitch years ago. Weirdly enough, you can't feel the blinding pain.

“‘m sorry,” he says, reluctantly letting your hands go as he picks up his fallen gun off the corpse-ridden floor.

“What for?” Your voice cracks, barely recognizing it as your own.

“For everythin’, we shouldn't have gotten on this train in the first place, or any train.” Hobie sees how dull your eyes have become, the iris of your eyes have become restless, always moving, always checking for threats. You've become like him in the span of a few minutes.

You try to smile, it ends up looking like you're in pain. “Apology accepted, make it up to me by surviving the night—!” There's a lasso around your neck, you see Hobie's face contort into horror as you get pushed down on the floor, noose getting tighter as you gasp for air. Before he could shoot the one on the other end of the lasso, you're quickly dragged across the floor, body flailing like a ragdoll as the one dragging you around laughs.

“No! Y/N!” Hobie's thundering footsteps follow behind, shooting someone behind you. But you're still getting dragged around through train car to train car, rain battering your body whenever the person hauls you outside, the rough floor stings against your back. “Let her go!”

Black dots dance around your vision as your fingers try to get between the harsh rope and your neck. Your other hand reaches desperately at your gun holster. Fingers brush along the cool metal, ceilings whizzing above you. You're running out of air, and Hobie's running out of ammo. His panic and the rattle of the train makes his aim terrible. The man continues to lug and pull you as if you're a prized doe that they just hunted down.

The rope is choking you, leaving you with a mark around your neck and a skinned back from the floorboards that slash at your coat.

Gasping, you lift your leg up, finally reaching for the gun, quickly pushing down the hammer and leaning your head back to aim. The man dragging you about keeps moving from side to side, you shoot a couple of times but to no avail, panic sets in as your arm gets weaker, breath getting shallow, and your eyesight blurring. Your gun falls from your grasp, left behind as darkness envelops you.

Bang!

A body thuds, Hobie runs after you, the barrel of his gun still smoking as you lay limp on the carpeted floor. He gets to your side, immediately untying the noose around your sore neck. Your eyes fly open and you gasp for air, laying on your side as you try to take in breaths. You blink away the black dots and you're met with Clementine’s familiar eyes. Her mother holds her to her chest, hands covering her daughter's ears. While her father shields them both even with blood coating his forehead. They're terrified, you wonder if they're terrified of you.

Hobie pats your back for you to breathe better. “‘m sorry, fuck, Y/N,” he gingerly holds your face. “Look at me,” there's unshed tears in your eyes. He was almost too late, if his aim was just a few inches off— he doesn't want to think about it. Your eyes are glued to Clementine’s terror filled expression. “Oi, love, can you look at me please?”

You turn your head, neck aching and tender, you're met with soft viridescent eyes that smile when you finally stare back. He briefly turns his attention to the family cowering in their cabin before turning towards you again. “I have a plan,” he says while you hold his wrists, unable to speak. Hobie's heart aches at the sight of your bloodshot eyes. “We need to get to the engine, there's more comin', I can hear them.” Hobie struggles to breathe, so you slide your palm on his chest just like he did to you, wordlessly telling him to breathe. Nodding, he inhales deeply. “Uncouple the engine from the rest of the train. That's the only way we can get out of ‘ere.”

“What about them?” You manage to let out, you don't recognize your own voice. He knows what you mean.

“They're after us, not them. The most they can do is question them.” He tries to convince you even though he's not convinced himself.

You gesture towards Clem's father. “He's bleeding from his fucking head, Hobie—!”

“I'm alright,” Jesse chimes in, his wife nods along but she doesn't let go of Clem or his hand. “I got this because everyone started running away from the gunshots. I got trampled but I'm fine now.” His eyes pleads with you. “He's right, they won't touch us.”

“What if they do?” Tears cling to your lashes.

“There's more of us than them.” You don't expect him to chuckle, the pistol in his hand glimmers under the yellow light of the cabin. “Trust me, we're more trouble for them. I'm from the south, these kinds of things happen on the regular over there.” The scar on his brow tells you of his struggle, telling you that he can protect his family. “Worry about yourself.”

Hobie nods, thanking him silently while he still holds on to you.

“Get out while you can, sweetheart.” Florence addresses you. “I don't know what you two did but we don't care about them, just you. And you've got a good heart, so go.”

“Thank you,” you say, voice breaking. “Get to the caboose, there's more people there.”

They take your advice, standing up while Florence carries Clementine. Jesse goes in front of them, gun at the ready. Hobie helps you stand up and you watch as Clem waves goodbye to you.

“Bye, Clementine.” You whisper, a jar of honey rolls around the cabin and you frown, mind telling you that you might've traumatized the poor kid.

“They'll be alright.” Hobie brushes his knuckles against the back of your hand, careful of any injuries you're not telling him. “Let's go, love,” as he leads you outside of the cabin car, you spot a few more passengers running towards the back of the car.

You swallow thickly, neck stinging, burn marks left at your palms and neck. Your back throbs, but all the pain doesn't compare to the torture back home. Your great aunt throws despicable words at you, as if her jabbing you with stationary wasn't enough, with your so-called uncle always watching every punishment from the corner like a peeping tom. And him, he'd do worse than those two combined, perhaps he learned how to hurt you from them. And perhaps he has mastered the torture.

Suddenly, you're back at home in your pretty dress, pristine and looking like the perfect lady. But your velvet sleeves and satin skirts hide the tiny pin pricks and drying blood, the expensive jewelry outshines the apocalyptic look in your eyes. The ring around your ring finger keeps it all hidden— they call you lucky, they say that you glow under the chandeliers like the diamonds around your neck, yet, they pretend to be blind from how you stare outside the mansion like a doe caught in a bear’s trap longing to be free.

The rain hitting your face wakes you back to the present. Hobie's arm is around your middle, hovering just above your wounded back. With the cold raining down on you briefly, entering the next car, a group of men greet you on the other side.

“Finally made it.” The man in the middle says, he has a gilded star on his chest, twirled mustache on his face, and crow's feet around his green eyes. There's a hand cannon on his hand, the metal is all worn out and scuffed. “The name's Lee, I'm the sheriff around these parts.” He says, stubbing his cigarette atop a plush seat. You're in a regular train car that's lined with seats for the ones who're not in for the long haul. The rain outside keeps battering the windows, their guns are aimed at Hobie. “There’s a bounty on your head, Mister Brown. And I heard someone's lookin’ for you, pretty lady. You two got us running without our heads out there while you were on the dodge. But we got you now, eh?”

Hobie gets shoved from behind, and you both stumble forward. A couple of Lee's men appear, pushing you both closer to the sheriff with the muzzle of their guns. Hobie holds on tighter to you, and your gaze pierces the man in front of you.

You're surrounded. And Hobie feels like he's being buried again.

His eyes flick towards the windows, behind the water droplets lie a familiar view of a large lake— he knows this place, he knows where they're heading, all he needs to do is stall for time.

“You're lawmen, not bounty hunters.” Hobie taunts, “government not paying enough, sheriff?”

The man in front of you chuckles, lighting up a new cigarette with a flourish. You feel the acrid smoke enter your lungs. “A man's gotta eat, y’know?”

“Yeah, I know. Just like dumb and dumber who tried to ambush us by the river.” Hobie has a smug look, acting nonchalant, but his grip on you says otherwise.

You're worried when the lawman drops his confident stance. “What are you doing?” You whisper to Hobie, eyes never leaving your enemies.

“When I tell you to run, you run.” He whispers back, glancing briefly at you.

You don't protest, trusting him completely. You don't say, ‘alright,’ or ‘okay’ for confirmation that you'll follow whatever he's planning. Instead, you say the three words you've wanted to say to him, the real him, not the one from your dreams or hazy illusions— Hobie, your Hobie who used to greet you with a boyish smile under the oak tree. “I love you.”

His brave façade falls, you smile sweetly at him as you lean your head against his clavicle. Hobie makes an oath right there and then that he'll say it back when he deserves to say it to you, when he gets you to safety. For now, he holds onto you like how he desperately grasps onto the memory of you while you were thousands of miles away from him.

“That's a sweet sight,” the sheriff drawls, “looks like she knows that it's all over. But I can see that you don't.” He exhales smoke, it fills the cabin with sickly air. “You're off to the widow, mister Brown.”

Hobie smirks, you can see the cogs in his mind turn. “I think I remember you now, old man.”

Lee licks his teeth, the men at his command adjust their hold on their guns. “You remember now haven't you?” His spurs click against the floor when he moves closer, you notice he walks with a slight limp that he tries hard to not be noticeable. Hobie flicks his eyes outside.

“Yeah,” Hobie laughs to your surprise, “how's your leg? Or better yet, how's your son?”

“You motherfucker! Hobble your fucking lip!” Lee finally raises his pistol, cigarette ash falling from his lips that curls around the stick. It makes Hobie more amused. “Bet you don't even remember his fucking name.” He says through gritted teeth.

Hobie tilts his head, clicking his tongue, pretending to think. “Was it Jerry? Or Ronald? I don't remember, he didn't leave much of a mark on me.”

“I should shoot you right now.”

“Why don't you?” He raises a brow. A tall willow outside whizzes past. Hobie counts down in his head.

“Because the pay is higher if I bring you alive.” The man's green eyes stare at you. You feel like you're being scrutinized on stage. “Besides, I don't want to shoot you in front of your woman.” He gives you a toothy smile. “Why don't you come over here, sweetheart, I won't do you any harm. I'm just going to bring you home.”

You shake your head, trying to act brave now that the adrenaline has sapped out all of your energy. “That's worse than hurting me, sheriff.”

“Now why is that? Your family misses you.”

“I'd rather you shoot me with him than bring me back home.” Hobie listens in, guilt gnawing at his insides.

Sheriff Lee makes a face, befuddled by your words. “You’d rather die?”

“Without hesitation.”

He nods, looking like he's weighing his choices. “Now that's the love of a woman right there. I've only seen it a couple of times, one is from my own wife.” More ashes fall from his cigarette, the stick getting smaller and smaller with every exhale. Hobie uses it as a countdown. It's near, he can feel it from the rumble on the tracks.

Hobie scoffs, “‘m surprised that your wife stuck around with your ugly mug.” His fingers subtly unclasp the whip hanging on his belt.

Lee runs out of patience, clicking the hammer of his pistol, “this is for my son.” The last of the ashes from the cigarette falls, light completely going out from the stick.

Your eyes widens, body already moving to shield Hobie. In an instant, He yells, “Run!” Darkness engulfs the entire train car, gunshots let out muzzle flashes of light as the lawmen shoot with panic in their trigger fingers. You run forward, bodying Lee in the process. You hear the crack of a whip as you shield your head with your arms.

You land on the metal door, vision still dark while you blindly feel for the doorknob. Panicking, a familiar form presses behind you, immediately finding the doorknob and opening it for you. Stepping outside in a rush, you almost fall off the train if not for your reflexes making you hold onto the railing beside you.

With a creak of the door closing, gunshots muffling, you spot Hobie's silhouette amidst the darkness, you can't decipher what he's doing with the door. Noticing the rain has stopped, you look above, but in a second, rain hits your form like a waterfall, and the moon shines brightly. You were in a tunnel, and Hobie knew that the dark would give you an escape.

“Holy shit!” Like a thunderbolt, you whirl around to face Hobie to either kiss him or hug him. But you're met with his pained face, hand clutching his side as blood seeps out from his fingers. “No, no, no!” You press hard on his wound, he yelps, but he's grinning at you. “This isn't funny!”

He smiles wider, you think he has lost it. “It isn't, I just can't believe you told me you love me in there.”

You'd smack his shoulder if not for his injury. “You're an idiot, Hobie Brown,” he laughs, you smile, “a brilliant idiot.”

“I am quite brilliant.” You nod, tears mixing in with rain water, kissing his cheeks, you hear a muffled, “I can't believe that worked.” From him, so you pepper more kisses on his wet cheeks. “‘m lovin’ this, but we need to uncouple the cars. And we have an audience.”

You look over your shoulder, hands still on his wound. Two men look at you from the smokestack, one pauses from shoveling coal into the engine while the train driver blinks rapidly in shock.

“We're commandeering this train,” Hobie straightens up, jumping over the gap to get to the controls. Both men don't even protest, just silently raising their hands in mock surrender. He makes them stand in the corner that's further away from the controls, they obey. “C’mon, love.” He beckons you over, fingers opening and closing.

You hold out your hand just as when there's loud banging on the other side of the doors. Jumping the gap, you stand chest to chest with Hobie. There's hope yet for you two to safely escape.

The door doesn't budge from how Hobie locked it using his whip to tie the doorknob around the railing on the side. But it won't hold on forever.

The scenery has changed from the mountainside to a straight muddy plain. The tracks seem to go on forever, and you can see the next station just a few meters away.

“Alright,” He looks at the confusing controls. “Which button to unclasp the cars?” He thanks his adrenaline for keeping him on his feet.

“No button,” the one with the official looking uniform says. “You have to do it manually.” He glances at the floor where there's metal connecting the engine to the carriages.

You immediately get on your knees, wet hands sliding on the rusted metal. Desperately pulling on the large nail that connects both winches. You keep trying to pull it off. Your hands slide off so you try again. And again. Your hands smell of rust. And again. But it's all in vain, the hold is too strong.

“Shit—!” Hobie tries to help by crouching down but his wound denies him. Wincing, he lays his head against the wall, eyes flicking between you and the door that's barely holding on. He weakly raises his gun, seeing the chambers now devoid of any ammo. “Fucker.” He tries to find more bullets from his bandolier and pockets, but he finds none.

You look at the two men wordlessly watching you fail. The rain and harsh wind still smacks your face. “Please, those men on the other side will kill us if you don't help.”

The driver shrugs and joins you on the floor, but instead of pulling onto the nail, he leans further down, sliding his hand underneath the winch and turning a wheel counter clockwise.

“You turn, not pull.” He says to you, continuing to loosen the connection.

“Now you tell me.”

Hobie tells the other person to keep shoveling in coal so when the engine is free, the four of you would be way ahead of the car. The engine runs hotter with every coal shoved inside, you suddenly feel warm, clothes slowly drying from the intense heat.

You can see the metal loosening, you'd exhale a relieved breath but the door bursts open. Sheriff Lee comes out covered in blood with a pistol. One eye closed and bleeding. Behind him, you can see the bodies of his men littered around the car, all shot to bits, the seats covered in their blood. Only Lee and a couple of them survived who now stood beside him while clutching their gunshot wounds.

“You made me shoot my own men!” He seethes, without a beat, he shoots but his aim isn't straight. The bullet pierces the man helping you. His headless body falls limp and falls out of the train and under the tracks, leaving crimson trails behind.

You don't have time to scream when his warm blood splashes across your face and sleeves. Hobie grabs you to the side, a small sliver of metal wall shielding you both. His hand shields your head, arms encasing you. The train passes by the last station in a blur.

The other train worker does the same, crouching down on the other side, shielded by the same small wall. Hobie sees the man's pistol hidden in the waistband of his denim jeans.

“Oi!” He yells above the gunshots, “throw me your gun!”

“What?! No!”

“You're not even bloody using it!”

“You're an asshole!”

“Just give us the fucking gun!” You yell back in a quick tone.

With a shake of the stranger's head, he reluctantly tosses you the gun. Lee sees the opportunity and shoots the guy's hand. He screams as blood gushes out, the gun clangs on the floor just an arm away from you.

The poor man's screams get louder, and suddenly he stands up, pushing himself off the floor and jumping out of the moving train and into the muddled swampy ground. You don't know if he survived the jump, or if the gators got to him first.

Hobie whispers a shocked, “what the fuck,” in your ears. He groans as his wound gets rattled by the tracks. “The gun,” before he could even get a toe outside, a bullet nicks the steel point of his boots. Taking his foot back, he curses and punches the wall behind him in frustration.

You stare at the weapon that's slowly moving downwards and into the space between the cars and engine. It's going to fall off if you don't act fast.

“They need to reload.”

“What?” Hobie asks tiredly. He hears the guns click, indicating that they've run out, “wait— Y/N, no!”

Without missing a beat, you reach towards the gun swiftly before they finish reloading. Hobie yanks you back the second you get the gun in your hand. A bullet pierces the floor where you were just a second ago.

“Get the fuck out of there!” Lee taunts.

You clutch the gun on your chest. Checking the chamber, you only see two bullets in it. Hobie leans over to see it. “Fuck!” You both say simultaneously.

“We've got two shots at this, Y/N.” Hobie looks at you, his green eyes gets darker even though dawn is just about arriving. His hand slides around the gun and your hand. “Let me do it.”

You shake your head, briefly laying your forehead on his. “No, you've done more than enough.”

He furrows his brows, “let me do it, love, I owe you that much.” It's not because he doesn't trust you and your aim, he knows better than that. He just doesn't want you to be in their crosshairs again.

The gunshots seize, without a reply, you leave his side, sliding on the floor to shoot. You find no one on the other side, just a brief last look at Lee's retreating back. Hobie pulls you back in, “they left.” You say, confused. Standing up, you help Hobie up, eyes widening at the front of the train.

“Cowards.” He says with a victorious smile. He expects you to smile back but you only have a look of terror. “What is it?” He follows your line of sight, and sees the lack of tracks looming closer and closer. “Fuckin' hell!” Hands immediately trying to pull down the brakes, he ignores the pain on his side as he keeps trying to push it down with his weight. “Y/N!” Looking over his shoulder, he sees you crouched down, uncoupling the car from the engine. Within a second, you free the train cars, leaving it in the dust as it slowly comes to a stop. He thinks of Bucky and Cherry, and the innocent passengers.

You turn to face him with glossy eyes, the rain has subsided, grey clouds parting away for sunlight. Hobie shakes his head, refusing to give up as the train chugs on, smoke billowing out. Pushing the brakes down, he feels your hands wrap around his own.

“Together.” You say, smiling softly just like how you did amidst the crowd back home.

He nods, your hands are uncharacteristically cold against his own. “Together.”

With one final push from the two of you, railway workers run away from the tracks they're working on as they see you continue to move fast. They yell and wave their hands to get your attention, but your eyes are only on Hobie's face. Everything happens slowly, the brakes screech, sparks flying as metal hits steel, but the momentum is too fast, and the engine bursts from the speed and heat. You slam against the controls with a sickening thud. Arms embrace you as the train crashes and you're once again in darkness.

—

Hobie's head throbs, he feels numb, fingers tingling, and his field of vision is blurry. Blobs of colours fly past him, screams muffled in his ears as if he's caught under the tides. He tries to blink the fuzziness away, after a few weak tries, he sees your bloodied soot-covered face, and feels your hands on his cheeks.; desperately holding on to him.

“Hobie!” You cry. He wants to comfort you and tell you everything will be alright. “Someone help us please!”

His perception darkens, inky spots appearing just as he sees a metal beast creak and groan while it burns in the fiery destruction. There's hundreds of fiber-like metal bursting out from within, like an angel losing its wings, fallen from grace. That's the last thing he sees before he succumbs to the pain.

—

“Try to keep him awake!” An unfamiliar person says.

Hobie feels like there's water inside his head, sloshing around in his pain-addled brain. He forces his heavy eyelids to open, Bucky's face greets him. I'm dead, he thinks, then your hands wrap around his own, squeezing a dozen times. “I'm in heaven then,” he tries to speak but it only comes out as a jumbled mess of words.

“Stay awake, Hobie!” You yell, “please! Hurry up, mister! He's starting to bleed from his ears!”

“Love—” he says before blacking out again.

—

His nose picks up something musty in the air, it's humid, crickets chirping outside, and he's sweating a lot. His head still aches, a pounding pain right behind his eyes. Hand reaching upwards, he feels bandages wrapped around his head, groaning in pain at the simple gesture. He smacks his lips, realizing that his throat is dry. Time has passed, he surmises based on how his wounds are starting to itch, indicating that it has been at least a few days.

He opens his eyes wide, panic settles in his stomach, remembering your terrified bloody face looming above him. Sitting up from the lumpy bed, his sight darkens for a second from how fast he sat up. Whispering your name, he coughs dryly, arm perching him up. He calls again, a bit louder this time, but he doesn't hear a pip anywhere except for the rushing water outside and the insects.

“Love?” He heaves, rolling to the side. Moving his heavy head up, he sees your coat draped over a lone armchair, but still no you. “Y/N!” Yelling with all his might even though his head bangs against his skull. After a few seconds, his ears pick up your muffled voice that seems to be coming below him. He calls once again with a soft smile on his lips, hands fisting the sheets when a wave of pain crashes down on him.

Ears ringing from the blinding pain, he's sure he hears numerous unfamiliar voices downstairs. He blinks the warbling vision away, then his heart picks up pace from the sound of a loud thud. Eyeing the plain door, your piercing scream brings his greatest fear come to life.

Support banner by @/cafekitsune

Custom banners by @thatsapillowcase

[rebouks]

Previous // Next

Robin: [lowly] Aren’t you gonna say anything? Oscar: I haven’t decided what to say yet, pal-.. so, you better get your story straight. [Robin sighed, trudging after his father; he doubted “Levi’s a jerk n’ had it coming” was gonna cut it] Larry: Holy shit-.. tat man?! Oscar: Hey, uhm… Larry: Larry! We used t’be neighbours-.. dude, we were gutted when you moved out. Oscar: Oh, I’m sure you were. Larry: I totally didn’t reckon you were gonna make it last time I saw you-.. like I thought you were gonna be the first dead body I ever laid eyes on y’know, makin’ pals with that bathroom floor n’ all. [Oscar scoffed lightly, attempting to rid himself of Larry as quickly as possible. He couldn’t quite remember what his old neighbour was talking about, but he could guess-.. and it definitely wasn’t a conversation fit for a child’s ears] Larry: I wouldn’t be surprised if you don’t remember, dude! You were pretty-… Oscar: Well, it was nice seeing you! Larry: Aye-.. hey, you still in the game by any chance..? Oscar: Bye, Larry. … Robin: Why did he say that? Oscar: Ohh, we used to play games together now n’ the-… Robin: No, the dead body thing. Oscar: I don’t know what he’s talking about, ignore him. He’s a complete moron. [Oscar silently cursed Larry as he hurried Robin along, what an idiot, bringing that up in front of a bunch of kids] Robin: Did you die?! Oscar: What, no! Robin: But it look-.. it sounded like-.. he said you d-died! Oscar: No, he didn’t! Do I look dead to you? [Oscar sighed as Robin stammered something incoherent and jammed a frayed sleeve into his teary eyes-.. stupid fucking Larry and his big stupid mouth] Oscar: Robin, buddy-.. look, I’m fine! [Oscar tugged Robin closer and squeezed his arm with reassurance, murmuring softly] Oscar: Look, it-.. it was just a tiny accident when I was younger, okay? He’s being overly dramatic about it. I wouldn’t be here if I’d actually died, would I? Hell, neither would you! He’s talking nonsense, honey. Robin: B-but… [Robin choked back a sob as he threw himself at Oscar, catching himself before exclaiming that he’d literally just seen his father’s lifeless body right in front of him-.. well, Larry had] Oscar: I think today’s been a bit too much, hasn’t it? [Robin nodded somberly against Oscar’s shoulder, glad to be given a free excuse for his ridiculous outburst] Oscar: C’mon, let’s get outta here. … [Levi stared over his shoulder as his father practically dragged him toward the car. He’d be lucky to see the light of day for the next month at least and Robin got a hug-.. how the hell was that fair?!] Keith: Do you think I’ve got nothing better to do?! Get in the damn car!

[that-damn-fouth-chaosemerald]

Hi! I was wondering if I could request a Sal Fisher (Sally Face) x GN!Reader fic with fluff + angst (+ maybe a little yandere?) where Reader is Sal’s cellmate after he gets arrested?

Maybe with Reader trying to get him to open up + talk about why he’s here, what his life was like before, why he wears the mask, etc.

Feel free to do whatever you like with this request and have a nice day :)

—❢ー

×A/N×

Hi! Thank you for the request (I actually really appreciate it bc you guys the only reason why I go up and writing on tumblr! Lol Y'know, I can be a very lazy person...)!

I wrote this one-shot a little bit different than your request. Like he's not a yandere (or at least he doesn't show anything of the signs, but it has fluff, angst and other things. If you want, I can write you just for some Yandere! Sal Fisher :D

But only if you want it-)

I had fun with it while I wrote it, I hope you will enjoy too! ^^

×❢ About my work ❢×

fluff, angst, mention of Larry's death, mention of suicide, cursing, the reader is gender neutral, no proofread •-•, and I think that's all-

Fandom: Sally Face

Character(s): Sal Fisher, Larry Johnson (mentioned), Todd Morrison (mentioned), The Reader|You|(Y/N)

Ship(s): Sal Fisher x Reader

Type: One-shot

—❢—

𝐓𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐭

(Sal Fisher x reader)

𝑺𝒐𝒏𝒈: Bound 2 by Kanye West

“Bond to fall in love... ♡”

[Credit to the original artist!]

You almost fell as a strong guard firmly throwed you into the cell. They treated you like you were a wild animal.

" Asshole " you thought with an angry look on your face. You didn't want to say out loud, instead you gave to the guard a murderous look. But it seemed like he didn't care about it. He just walked away, letting you alone with your celmate. You looked at the stranger. He looked back at you.

"Hi!" you said with a friendly smile on your face. He reacted nothing. After that he continued what he was doing before: Sitting all alone on the bed and quietly looking down.

You felt awkard and maybe a little nervous. You weren't scared, you were far from that, he just had this feeling around himself what is made you feel weirdly comfortable. You stepped closer cautiously.

"I like your prosthetic!" He looked up at you, but still, he didn't show any reactions. But actually, he was really surprised that you knew this, and he didn't have to explain that it's not a mask. The prosthetic didn't show it, but his lips were apart from each other just a little, because of the surprise. He was still staring you, but no words left his mouth. It looked like he isn't a chatty person. Well, that's fine to you, if he doesn't want to talk, then you won't make him uncomfortable with it.

You walked to the other bed and sit down on it. It was awkardly silent in the cell. "Thanks." the stranger said it quietly. Deeply, you were surprised about he can talk, but you didn't show any of this. "Why are you locked in?" You invisibly facepalmed yourself. You just met a person in prison around 5 minutes ago, why are you asking personal questions already?

The prosthetic hid his voice very well, but you could still heard as he let out a sigh. "Because I saved people." he said without looking at you. You curiously, but still slowly sat down next to him.

"What from did you save them?" you tried to figure out his expressions, but you couldn't see anything.

"From the infestation of Red-Eyes." You looked at him with a confused look, but you didn't ask. "I couldn't save everyone, unfortunately. My best friend, Larry was one of the victims. After he didn't answer the phone, I started panicking and when I found him... All I could see that his body is hung down on a rope. I still remember how his lifeless eyes looking into mines. He was like a brother to me."

You could figure out of his tone that he really missed his friend. You put your hands on your mouth. He must feel terrible. He lost everything.

"I'm sorry" You spoke softly, not to scare him away. "I didn't know that you suffered this much." you said quietly with a sympathetic and understanding tone.

"I think Todd is suffering more, than me." he answered. He looked up at you and took some time with analyzing your face. You smiled back at him softly. You gently placed on his cold hand yours. He looked down at your hands and up at your face again. He squeezed your hands a bit.

He looked into your eyes. You didn't speak, but somehow you told him that it's okay and he can trust in you.

"You know (Y/N), I don't know how or why, but I feel like I can trust you." You gave him a kind smile, not thinking about how or from where he knows your name.

[morbidology]

On July 7, 1960, a typical school day turned into a parent's worst nightmare for Freda Thorne. That morning, she bid farewell to her 8-year-old son, Graeme Thorne, never imagining it would be their final goodbye. Little did she know, Graeme would become the first victim of a ransom kidnapping in Australia's history, sparking a nationwide tragedy that would forever change the landscape of lottery procedures.

Graeme was supposed to meet family friend, Phyllis Smith, for the school run, but when she arrived at their designated spot, he was nowhere to be found. Concern turned to panic as Freda reported her son missing to the police, initiating a desperate search that would grip the nation.

The chilling reality of Graeme's abduction became starkly evident when Freda received a phone call demanding £25,000 for his safe return, accompanied by a horrifying threat to "feed the boy to the sharks" if the ransom wasn't paid by 5PM. Sergeant Larry O'Shea, posing as Freda's husband Brazil Thorne, engaged with the kidnapper, unaware that Brazil had recently won £100,000 in the Opera House Lottery, a fact that had been widely publicized in the media.

Despite efforts to comply with the kidnapper's demands, including instructions to prepare the ransom money, the ordeal took a grim turn. Graeme's empty school case was discovered near the meeting spot with Phyllis Smith, followed by the discovery of his lunch bag and school books miles away.

The agonizing wait for Graeme's return came to a devastating end when his lifeless body was found on August 16, 1960, in Seaforth, Sydney. Wrapped in a tartan blanket, bound with string, and gagged with a scarf, Graeme had been killed within 24 hours of his abduction.

Forensic analysis uncovered crucial evidence linking Stephen Leslie Bradley, a Hungarian migrant, to the crime. Despite fleeing to Britain, Bradley was apprehended in Colombo, Ceylon, and subsequently found guilty, receiving a life sentence. His death in prison on October 6, 1968, provided little solace to a grieving family and a nation in shock.

[valeriewinks777]

ꕥHOMEꕥ

Ahkmenrah x reader

(based on the events after Night At A Museum 3)

After the tablet, and Ahkmenrah included, were left behind at the British museum, the New York museum became just like any other regular museum.

Still, lifeless. Just like how it was always supposed to be. Though that wasn't the only thing that was affected. Larry left his job as a nightguard to pursue other goals, and focus on his son. But you, as ridiculous as it was, refused to leave.

There wasn't even anything to guard anymore besides wax exhibits, yet you didn't have the heart to leave. So you remained a nightguard over lifeless exhibits, wishing almost every night that one magical day, everything would go back to the way it was.

That day didn't happen until three years later, when the tablet of Ahkmenrah had been brought back to the New York museum.

And just like it always was, everything became alive yet again.

You sit on a bench in the corner, watching the main room of the museum be a bustle of color and sound, all the exhibits alive and thriving yet again after three years of pure motionlessness, frozen in time.

You always thought that once the tablet returned, you would be happy.

But no, you aren't. And why? Because the one thing you wanted beside you most of all, was him... Ahkmenrah.

You had searched every exhibit, and even asked the British nightguard woman who helped bring the tablet to new york if Ahkmenrah was here, but she said no.

He had no reason to come back to New York. His new home, new life, is in the British Museum with his family. That's where he really belongs, you tell yourself over and over again, despite the sting of pain and betrayal in your chest.

It's almost unfair, how a caveman exhibit named Laa reunited with his British nightguard lover.

And yet you weren't reunited with your Pharaoh. It's how it should be, you say to yourself. It was never meant to be. How could it even actually work out? He's only ever brought to life due to that tablet, and even then, it's only at night only.

You could never hold his hand in the sunlight. You could never have a life with him outside this museum. After all, he's a 4,000 year old mummy. It's insanity.

Yet here you are, knowing all these facts, and still finding yourself walking to the empty exhibit belonging to Ahkmenrah when he stayed here, and laying down beside his hollow sarcophagus, staring at the ceiling coated with engrained symbols.

Damn your foolish heart, you let your guard down, you fell for him truly madly deeply. And now look at you. You're a mess. You just can't get the memories out of your head...memories of late night chats with him, walking around the museum, learning about each other's culture, random dancing...it all haunts you.

You were forced to say goodbye, without even confessing your feelings to him.

And now you don't think you'll ever see him again.

At some point, you fall asleep, not even knowing how many hours of the night you've wasted slumbering. But at some point--whether it was dream or reality, you cannot say--you could have sworn you felt a gentle hand brushing down your hair, soft fingers grazing against the back of your neck, and a silky voice whispering in your ear.

"I'm home, darling..."

[levi501ackerman]

Steel Heart Chapter 16:

These Inconvenient Fireworks

Hange x Reader Chapter Index Masterlist

Megan's Note: Title is after a Larry Stylinson fanfic I read when I was 14. The author sold hardcover copies of their fanfic on lulu.com (this was common with 1D fanfic authors) and at 14 years old I fr made my mom buy me printed gay fanfiction. She was just happy her daughter was getting into the love of reading like her! LMAO. I start fall semester tomorrow (UGH) and a new job next month. Posted: 8/25/24

Word Count: 3.8k

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Levi scoffed. “If there was a man, why would—”

“We’re being watched,” you whimpered into Hange’s neck. Levi crossed his arms and eyed you skeptically. “I did not have a nightmare, Levi! There was a knight in the forest! He had blonde hair, was tall, covered in blood, and had a crested sword like the Knights of the Royal King’s Guard! But I’ve never seen him before . . .”

“Squads one and two, come with me,” Levi beckoned the knights away from you. Levi’s unexpected commands made you unsure if he believed you. Tears fell down your face and Hange’s breath was on your neck. Levi was whispering with twenty knights huddled together in the darkness. Then, the knights broke apart and went into their tent. Your heart plummeted. The thought of the knights returning to bed while the strange blonde knight raided the camp made you sick. You pulled away from Hange and wiped your tears. “It should be around four a.m. since Franz, Daz, Samuel, and Thomas were on watch. But Daz is going to find a clear view of the sky and hopefully, the stars will be visible enough to tell time . . .” Levi kneeled beside Hange and put a hand on your shoulder. “The knights are getting some equipment and going to scavenge the forest for the man you saw and anything suspicious.”

“T-thank you,” your chest unraveled a little at the assurance that something would be done. 

“I want to speak with you,” Levi stood up and motioned to Hange, who was clutching your cloak around their naked body. 

“No! Please . . . don’t leave me,” you said. You grabbed Hange’s arm, and their half-lidded eyes glanced at Levi. Your wide eyes studied Hange’s face, seeking comfort. They blinked a few times. They looked lethargic and exhausted; even when they nodded, they were slow. A tinge of admiration spread through your chest when Hange gently grasped the hand you placed on their arm. They held your hand against their heart. 

“What do you want to talk about?” They asked Levi, and he crossed his arms. You noticed Hange cared for you as they did what you asked. They stayed. Levi hesitated, and his eyes shifted knowingly between you and Hange. Knights emerged from their tents with candles and their swords drawn. Connie approached the lifeless campfire and worked on igniting the logs.  

“It’s not that I do not believe you saw a man, but I think we will be alright. Depending on the time, we will get a head start on our day,” You recalled Levi having insomnia and not sleeping well through the night. Levi averaged two to four hours of sleep per night. In the past, Levi, being awake, had managed to help predict when you would have nightmares and he was ready to calm you down so you wouldn’t disturb the other knights. Levi sleeping during the incident of you in the forest could point to the time being near dawn. “How do you feel? Do you feel tired?”

“I don’t think . . . I don’t think I could go back to sleep,” you stammered.

“Okay,” Levi softly said. 

“What do you think, Hange?” Hange’s inner eyebrows were perked up like they were trying to keep their eye open. They squeezed your hand and rubbed their thumb against your skin. 

“I’m going to try to get more sleep, Princess,” Hange admitted.

“Okay, I guess I can try too.” Light and warmth burst from behind Hange and Levi. Connie stepped away from igniting the fire and turned to notice a knight running back from a part of the forest. His hasty nature did not appear worrisome or like he found the bloodied knight in the forest. His face was determined yet calm. He looked familiar and you recognized he was one of the knights who came up to you after you found Franz. He was one of the guards on rotation. 

“Commander! Captain! I found a clear view of the sky and did the math. It is around four forty-five and five fifteen,” Daz said. “The sun will rise soon and we’ll have more daylight.”

“Great work, Daz,” Hange said and groaned. There wasn’t enough time to go back to sleep and feel rested. Breakfast would be between six and six thirty. Daz's concerned eyes studied you, checking how you were. 

“How are you, your Highness?” He gingerly asked.

“I feel safer, thank you, sir.” 

“I should start taking down the tent instead. It’s best if we go bathe right after eating, and then we can head to Flegel’s Farm,” Hange rubbed their eye. You could tell your incident woke Hange from a deep sleep. Guilt coursed through you as your outburst woke everyone up. But he was real. The bloodied knight with the crested sword was in front of you. 

He’s still out there.

Watching you.

He’s real. 

You leaned forward and wrapped your arms around both Hange and Levi. 

“I’m sorry for my outburst,” you whimpered and Hange rubbed your back. “He’s out there, I swear.”

While the knights scoured the forest for the bloodied knight or anything related to the Marleyan Cult, you helped Hange take down the conference tent. They had to tell you what to do, and you appreciated their patience. Hange returned your cloak and told you to keep the hood on. You didn’t mind because the air was chilly. You rolled your bedroll up and Hange took it for you. 

The morning rays of sunlight broke through the canopy of trees, making the forest more comforting and less frightening. The green grass returned, and the trees weren’t shadows anymore. Their brown trunks were magnificent, and you could see past the light of the fire, which gave you a sense of safety. But deep inside, you felt unfriendly eyes on you. 

After a half hour of heading into the forest, the Knights returned to the camp at different intervals. The knights who usually prepared meals started with breakfast. Eventually, all twenty knights returned. No one was harmed, and no bloodied knight was found. But something felt wrong and you trusted your instincts. 

Levi wanted you to eat more protein and told the knight serving to give you three eggs and more chicken than rice. You cringed at the thought of forcing yourself to eat all the chicken and eggs Levi wanted you to eat. Especially since the rice felt more satiating. You argued with Levi that you wouldn’t eat another plate unless he took off half of the chicken and added more rice. Levi rolled his eyes but obliged.

Hange was sitting on a log in between two of their squad members. One of them you’ve seen Hange talk to before because he’s one of the only other knights who wears glasses, and the other knight was a man with short dark hair. The guy with the glasses passed Hange a delicate cloth, and then Hange wiped the lenses of their glasses. The two knights were next to Hange, and you hesitated to ask them to scoot over. You sat on the ground next to Hange’s feet, which amused Hange. Abel and Keiji offered to scoot over so you could sit next to Hange. Eventually, you did, which only ended up with you following the three when they got in line for food. 

Hange was retelling a story to Abel and Keiji about how they caught a frog in the river when they were younger, but you couldn’t pay attention. You tried ignoring it as you ate your chicken while standing beside Hange. Hairs on the back of your neck stood up and you couldn’t shake the feeling that you and the knights were in danger. Though more than forty knights were in the camp and would lay down their lives for you, you remained fearful of the bloodied knight. You weren’t dreaming.

He’s still out there.

Watching you. 

He’s real.

As the knights cleaned and put away the cooking equipment, Hange suggested going to the river. You didn’t want to go to the river anymore. You worried being with fewer people might make the bloodied knight approach you. What if while you and Hange were down at the river, he slits Hange’s throat and takes you? You’d rather have him kill you than Hange. The bloodied knight’s piercing eyes flashed in your mind and you gasped. 

“Are you okay, Y/N?” Hange asked and you realized you stopped walking. Hange looked over their shoulder at you and then walked to you. You were frozen in your tracks. They eyed you, analyzing your body and then approached your trembling form. Hange placed their hands on your shoulder and you looked up at Hange’s pretty eye. The heaving in your chest slowed and you blinked a couple of times. 

“Hange,” your whispered voice cracked. “I can’t shake the feeling that we are being watched.” Hange comfortably rubbed their thumb against your shoulders. You gave in to the feel of their soothing touch. They pulled you into their chest and you surrendered to their touch. Hange would keep you safe. Your breathing became even and Hange stroked your back again.

“Let’s bathe quickly so we can leave this place.” Hange soothed. They pulled away from the hug and wrapped a protective arm around your shoulder. They guided you toward the river. The sound of the water was reaching your ears and then Hange gasped. You both stopped in your tracks.

In the distance on the shoreline was a small brown fur ball with a small white fur ball for a tail. A large smile grew when you saw the furry animal's head raise, revealing its long ears. A small cottontail rabbit was drinking from the river. Hange turned to you and with their index finger over their lips. They drew their sword from the waist of their tan pants and handed it to you. Then Hange held a hand up to tell you to stay and you silently nodded at them.

The bunny was frozen. It sensed you and Hange. Hange silently crept closer, and you hoped this was the moment Hange would catch you a pet bunny. The brown bunny hopped away from Hange and you both held your breath, hoping you didn’t spook the bunny.  Hange took another step forward and then waited. The bunny was petrified but anchored itself in place. Then Hange took another step and was a few feet away from your future pet. Hange dived for the animal and reached out their arms for the bunny. Their fingers grazed the bunny’s fur. The cottontail pounced away from the grasps of Hange and went into the tree line. 

“Hange!” You ran to Hange’s form lying on the dried pebbles of the shoreline. They winced and then pushed themselves up onto their knees. You crouched down next to them, “Are you okay? You’re always so close! I know you are going to catch us a bunny!”

“Those cuties are quick. Bunnies can run up to eighteen miles per hour, you know.” Hange dusted off their shirt. They got their white shirt even more dirty and will definitely need to wash it while bathing. “They're quick as a flash.”

“Quick like lighting!”

“Like lighting, for sure!” Hange started unbuttoning their white shirt. “I should wash this first to let it dry, " they said more to themselves. 

You placed Hange’s sword on the pebbles and then turned around to start striping your clothes. You looked across the river and back toward the camp. You and Hange were alone.

Hopefully.

“I bet the next time we see a bunny, you’ll catch it!” You encouraged Hange as you pulled down the tan slacks and shimmied off your pants. You folded your pants and then laid them against your boots. The light-hearted thought of a cute furry bunny roaming around the tent and feeding her carrots while holding it like a baby crossed your mind. The sloshing sounds of the river pulled you out of your daydream. Hange was naked and holding their dirty white top. They sat on their knees and their back was to you. They dipped the dirt-stained part of the fabric into the water and used their thumb to circle the area. “Let me help with that! I know a quicker way!”

“Oh yeah? The Princess is going to show me how to wash clothes? How unexpected.” Hange kept circling the stain with their thumb. You pulled off the cloak and unbuttoned the white shirt. Without a care to fold them, you piled them on top of the pants. You splashed Hange when you hastily stepped into the river. “Careful! I don’t want to get my entire shirt wet! It will take forever to dry!”

“May I?” You wanted to show Hange the technique Fairy Godmother Ymir showed you during childhood. Hange handed over their shirt and you placed most of the fabric between your bicep and ribs. Then, you fisted the fabric on the sides of the stains, letting the fabric slack. You dipped the dirt-stained part into the river’s water and used your fisted hands to rub your fingers against each other. The technique Fairy Godmother Ymir taught you was like using your fingers to act as a miniature corrugated washboard. You pulled the dripping fabric out of the water and squeezed. When you unfolded the damp bunched-up fabric, the dirt stain was gone. “Ta-da!”

“What?! It’s that easy?!” Hange gasped. They grabbed their shirt from you and tilted it against the sunlight, trying to see if the stain was gone. 

“Yes! Fairy Godmother Ymir taught me that when I started learning to clean blood stains from my underwear!” Hange’s jaw was dropped and there was a fond satisfaction with impressing Hange. Hange stood up from the water, taking their shirt to their pile of clothes.

“And all this time, I’ve been doing dumb circles, which takes forever sometimes!” Hange placed the wet part of the shirt facing up so the crisp air could dry it. You started splashing water onto your arms and rubbing your legs. Hange sat on your left and you began rubbing your arms in the water. They poked your cheek and stretched out their legs. “Thank you, Princess Y/N, you changed my life!”

“You changed my life . . .” Their doe-eye glanced at you, causing your cheeks to turn pink. They darted away from you and you wanted them to look at you again. Their lips looked soft, and Hange started rubbing their legs, which were submerged in the river. Then, Hange took out the hair tie that held their short hair back. You pulled your hair tie out, letting your hair fall behind you. You wanted Hange to say something—to say anything. 

Say something!

“Are you excited to try on dresses for your wedding?”

Not that, UGH!

“I-I haven’t thought of that, honestly . . . I guess I am.” You noticed your hands trembling as you pulled your knees to your chest. You wrapped your arms around your knees, protecting yourself. Your heart. Then you said, “I don’t want to marry Prince Marco.”

“I know, Y/N, I’m—”

“No, Hange . . . I don’t want to marry Prince Marco.” There was a pressure behind your nose and you inhaled deeply. You did not want to cry. Small fishes swam by in the river, but you weren’t in the right headspace to be excited about tiny fish. The small fish probably could choose who they wanted to mate with. They did not have to worry about a cult hunting them. Those fish didn’t suddenly get the rug ripped from under them and forced into a new life—one of danger, death, and responsibility. “I’m forced to be married to a stranger and I’m forced to feel on the edge constantly because of a cult hunting me. I was forced to leave my cottage, books, clothes, and possessions behind . . . I want to choose something in my life!”

You tilted your head toward Hange, and their confused expression had a hint of helplessness. Their lips looked soft, and Hange’s brown eye usually comforted you. But their glance made you feel cornered and guilty. 

“You’ll get your opportunity to make your own choices.”

“I know what I want.”

“You know?”

“I know . . .” You’ve seen Christa and Ymir do it before and tried your best to replicate them. With a flood of courage, you turned and held yourself in a steadied stance on your knees before Hange. You grabbed their face, leaned in, closed your eyes, and smashed your lips onto theirs. The flesh was indistinguishable and you felt the tip of their nose on your cheek. You felt a new, exhilarating rush through your body and ache between your legs. Hange’s hands fumbled around and they grabbed your wrist and used their other hand to push on your chest. 

Hange’s eye was wide and their pupil was dilated. Their face had a rosy hue and their lips were flushed. Your lips tingled, and you wiped them with the back of your hand. Hange brought their knees to their chest and hugged themselves. They were silent and downcasted their eye to the river’s water.

Guilt surged through your body, and you carefully sat in the river again. You crossed boundaries and possibly upset your friend. You just wanted to try it—once. You pulled your knees to your chest. Pressure built behind your nose and you blinked rapidly, avoiding tears. 

The water shimmered from the morning’s daylight and the sun’s rays warmed your skin. A light breeze rippled the water on the river’s surface and blew over the taller grass stems on the other side. A bird unapologetically tweeted from high in the trees.

“You should not have done that,” Hange whispered and your heart twinged. They were blushing and hiding themselves. Hange sniffed and they rubbed their eye. “They will have my head for that.”

“Who?” It felt hard to breathe and the Hange getting in trouble raised the guilt in your chest. You should not have crossed the line. You made your own bold choices but at what cost? You can choose to do whatever you want, but you can not choose your consequences. 

“The Queen and her King. Marco’s parents. They would flog me and then kill me for ‘corrupting the Princess.’ I wouldn't be alive by the end of the day when they found out.”

“I thought my parents were nice . . .” Hange covered their eye with their hand and you heard them hold back a whimper. “I’m sorry, Hange. I just wanted to try kissing.”

“We can not speak of this,” Hange whispered harshly.

“This was my first kiss . . .” you whispered. Hange sniffled again and a tear streamed down their face. They wiped it off quickly and your heart ached at the sight of the vulnerable form. 

“It’s my first since I lost my eye.” Hange bitterly said. There was a pinch in your chest, and you recalled what Hange had told you last night. Hange was dating someone when they lost their eye . . . and you tied together that the girl did not kiss or show Hange affection after their injury, which ultimately led to their relationship ending. “Damn it!” The water sloshed as they stood up.

“What’s wrong?” 

“I knew you liked me,” Hange looked at the pebbles by their feet as they walked toward the grass. You chased after them, sloshing water and dripping onto the pebbles. You grabbed their wrist and they pulled away from you. 

“Hange!”

“I knew you liked me and I couldn’t stop myself!”

“I’m sorry, Hange! I am so sorry. Please, we can forget about this! Please don’t be mad!” Hange crossed their arms and looked at their feet, their hair masked their face. The knight in shining armor from the Karanese District was helpless, confused, and defenseless. You held onto their biceps, looking up at them. A tear dropped from their face and they wiped it instantly away, again.

“I’m not mad at you, Y/N. I’m mad at myself.” You didn’t know what to do, and you gently hugged Hange. You rubbed their back like they did when you needed comfort. “I like you, Y/N, and I know you like me. You are painfully obvious—your stares, your questions, your curious nature about romance. You don’t take your eyes off my body when I undress.” 

“I’m sorry,” your heart fluttered at Hange’s words. They liked you back, and some part of you hoped there was a chance. 

“Stop apologizing,” Hange clipped and you nodded obediently. “We should get back.”

“I haven’t washed my hair—we both haven’t yet.” Hang pulled away from your hug and they walked back over to their pile of clothes. 

“That’s because you were going around kissing some knight in the river.”

“Hange . . . I don’t want to marry Prince—”

“It doesn’t matter what you want!” You flinched at Hange raising their voice. “You’re a Princess going to become Queen and I’m a knight. I’m just a knight.”

“But you like me, right? So why can’t we date?” 

“Oh you’re so naive—”

“I’m sorry!” A storm of thoughts loomed over Hange and you, the rage between desire and the constraint of duty. You stood next to Hange, watching them dress themselves. You crossed your arms, covering your exposed chest. Hange was hopping on one leg, trying to get their tan slacks over their damp skin. You wanted to explore love and explore it with Hange. 

“Listen to me,” Hange put their hands on your shoulders after they zipped their slacks. You accidentally glanced at their boobs and then blushed guiltily. “I-I want to call you mine,” their voice cracked as they confessed. Your heart raced, noticing the window of opportunity—your desires in reach. “But if we are caught, I will die.”

“No!” You took Hange’s wrists from your shoulders and held their hands. “I want a chance with you . . . I want to be yours and I want you to be mine. You are my best friend—the light in the dark. You are my savior—my angel. You were sent to protect me.”

“I should not give in to temptation,” Hange whimpered, resting their forehead on yours.

“I want to be yours even in secret.”

“I should not give in to temptation.”

“I will protect you if the Queen and her King find out.”

“I should not give in to temptation,” Hange inhaled sharply. Their anguished face was evident. Their eye was squeezed shut, and their lips were trembling. You placed their hands on your waist and then yours on their shoulders. They fondly grasped your waist, feeling your damp, soft skin, getting a glimpse of what could be theirs—giving in. They whispered, “I am going to die if we get caught . . .”

“Give me your life and I’ll give you mine,” you whispered. Hange tilted their chin and gently pressed their lips against yours. You followed Hange’s tender rhythm. You affectionately cupped one of Hange’s cheeks and leaned into them. They pulled your waist into their hips and you whimpered. Your heart skipped a beat and you felt a tingle and warmth spread through your body. You will always remember this moment with Hange by the river. The secret that will stay between the two of you.

And the man watching.

next chapter Chapter 17: Garden of Rabbits

chapter index masterlist

[spilladabalia]

Kilslug - Bring Back The Dead

[savage-kult-of-gorthaur]

"A CHILLING SATANIC OVERVIBE... X-MEMBERS OF KILSLUG AND FROM DINOSAUR JR., J MASCIS."

PIC INFO: Spotlight on the seemingly "unhinged" man shown on the front cover art to the self-titled 1991 debut album by UPSIDE DOWN CROSS, a man none other than infamous British occultist Aleister Crowley who is posing as the Bodhisattva Hotei.

PIC #2: An UPSIDEDOWN CROSS 1 inch button/badge pressed in a limited run by the Macedonian-based record label/distro, Fuck Yoga Records.

Rest in festering noise, Larry Lifeless (1958-2021), another legend lost.

Sources: http://nightmarebethyname.blogspot.com/2019/05/upsidedown-cross-upsidedown-cross-1991.html, eBay, & Fuck Yoga Records.

[louisisalarrie]

I can’t believe you didn’t know that niamflopped is zot3! 🥴 You are talking about a certified psychopath !!

Her blogs are 👇🏻

Niamflopped

Zot3-flopped

Glacial-insanity

Thepersian-boy

Marine-styles

Purpletopaz

One-direction-split-up

Harryiconstyles

Put-out-the-dark

Italystyles

Beautiful-harry-styles

And God knows how many more fake blogs that sewer rat is creating every single second.

Notice how all the blogs have something about harry in the url, and if you check, the content is always the same. She uses several blogs so the one she uses the most (zot3) doesn’t get deleted. She uses the side blogs to post screenshots, photos that could be reported. So she won’t risk it with the main one. (Zot3) what a lifeless loser!!! Someone who creates so many diff blogs impersonating other people, needs to be locked into an asylum!! She reblogs herself from those blogs and adds comments as if she’s talking to other harries. This is absolutely disturbing! 💀 block and report that bitch !

I actually heard they are a man in their 50’s from an anon - idk if that’s 110% confirmed but the anon said it was, so don’t wanna start calling out their actual personal attributes but if that’s true… damn.

Thank you for the update on their current blogs. I have most of them blocked but have a feeling they are antagonising me on anon in my inbox, as opposed to actually sending hate now. Just trying to get a rise out of me.

Absolutely delusional and every part of this overall fandom, whether it be ot5s, larries, antis, or solos, have a few very awful and antagonising people that just wanna cause drama. It’s really sad and I hope this doesn’t keep happening - it ruins the fandom for so many folks.

Just takes me back to the 1d days but it was just antis vs larries, really. So it was two sides. Now everyone is in a different corner with a different opinion and it just feels quite shitty.

[werbitssft]

Dogs hurt people too

And they hurt you deeply right in the heart

Saved the dog from everything

Because of her old age, I didn’t find a pill

If i knew...

I wouldn't go for a walk, I'd skip the damn work day

My dog ​​asked, he moaned so much

I'm stupid, I didn't understand the hint

Sorry, I didn't expect...

That I will return home, and you, cold, lie at the door.

Waited me?

It hurt so much, realizing!

You were alone, you needed me

Quietly hugging your body

I felt the tears choke my heart

There is your ball, bowl, food,

Your scent is in the air,

But I don't hear your voice

Your ringing bark in my ears on loud

And in your arms a cold, lifeless friend

The neighbor shouts: “To hell with it! Buy a new one!”

Buy who? I just buried a fur baby.....

the verse is dedicated to the deceased schnauzer Larry, who once belonged to Henry. here Larry is still alive, but already old....

[rebouks]

Oscar heaved a sigh of defeat, plonking himself at the edge of the bed. “Well, he locked his door again-.. and he’s either ignoring me, or he’s got his headphones in, or both.”

“What the hell happened yesterday?” Courtney asked, rolling toward Oscar sleepily.

Oscar shrugged; he wasn’t entirely sure. The whole evening had been a disaster from start to finish. “I don’t know, he got in a fight with that kid, didn’t he-.. and my old neighbour saw us n’ decided to reminisce about me fucking OD’ing.”

“He didn’t actually say that, did he?” Courtney’s brows knitted together in shock.

Oscar shook his head, “No, he just said some shit about how he thought I was dead in that grotty bathroom at the Mill-.. I thought Ivan n’ Rhys found me but I guess he must’ve been there too, who knows.”

“What an idiot, bringing that up at the school gates.” Courtney tutted. Oscar nodded in agreement, pausing for a moment before suggesting, “Maybe I should explain what actually happened? He knew I was lying.” Courtney stiffened, “No, he’s too young!” “I hated it when my parents blatantly lied to me though, I’m telling you; he fucking knows.”

Courtney hummed, scratching Oscar’s back thoughtfully. “I’m more worried about him fighting.” Oscar pondered for a moment before replying, “It sounds like he was just standing up for himself. If he makes a habit of it, then we’ll worry.” “Yeah, okay…”

Oscar and Courtney glanced at one another as Robin unlocked his door and bolted to the bathroom, hastily locking that door behind him too. With a quick shove, Courtney hissed, “Go, go!”

Robin leapt across the landing and threw himself into his room, his sigh of relief swiftly retreated in on itself as he swung his door shut, however; Oscar had outsmarted him, waiting behind the door.

“I’m not going!” Robin yelled, “I’m sick…” Oscar calmly shook his head from side to side, “That’s not gonna fly, is it? We both know you’re not sick…”

Robin clenched his fists tight enough for his knuckles to turn white, desperately willing himself to vomit on command, faint, have some kind of fit-.. anything would do.

“If you’re worried about-…” “I don’t give a shit about Levi.” Robin spat.

Oscar frowned worriedly; he knew Robin hadn’t wanted their holiday to end, or to go back to school, but this abrupt fit of anger was highly uncharacteristic. Surely it was still too early to be worried about the dreaded P word? He had the faint beginnings of bags under his little eyes too-.. which were red raw and puffy, as though he’d spent more time crying last night than he had sleeping.

“What’s the matter, buddy?” Oscar asked gently, gesturing toward Robin with an outstretched hand. Robin shrugged a shoulder as he crawled beside Oscar, suddenly feeling guilty for yelling. What if his father died right after he’d said something awful and mean? He’d never forgive himself.

“Is it something in particular? A bit of everything?” Robin remained silent, anxiously nibbling at a stray strip of skin on his bottom lip. “Talk to me…” Oscar pleaded.

Robin wriggled away from the comfort of his father’s arms and curled into a ball. What the hell was he supposed to say? That he couldn’t sleep all night because he kept seeing Oscar’s lifeless body on a bathroom floor, on a stretcher, in a hospital-.. dying in various awful ways again and again until he wasn’t sure what the difference was between someone else’s memories and his own imagination. That he just wanted his brain to stop and for everyone to just shut up-.. just for once, please.

Oscar didn’t know what to do with Robin’s prolonged silence. He desperately wanted to explain what Larry had been talking about, but Courtney was probably right about him being too young. Besides, he didn’t even know if that was the issue. It could’ve been Larry, or the fight with Levi, or the fact that he missed Alex-.. all of the above, something else entirely?

“I know this Levi kid is probably doing your head in, but you can’t just go around hitting people-.. it’s not okay.”

Robin knew full well that violence wasn’t the answer, but he couldn’t deny that it’d felt a little satisfying to take his frustrations out on Levi. Any normal child might’ve asked if their parents were angry with them-.. except Robin wasn’t normal, and he already knew that Oscar wasn’t mad, nor his mother, so he kept his mouth shut.

Grasping at straws, Oscar cast his mind back to when he was a child. Whenever he was in one of his moods, as his mother always put it, he just needed to know that someone would listen, and he certainly didn’t want to be yelled at or mithered-.. but most of all, he just wanted to be left alone, at least for a little while…

“You can have one day, okay? Just one.” Oscar acquiesced. Robin barely moved, giving the tiniest of nods in response.

“Alright.” Oscar sighed inwardly, tussling Robin’s ginger curls with affection before reluctantly leaving him be.

Previous // Next

[lunarheslwt]

Sunday snippet

Hi!! Here’s a long-ish snippet from my upcoming @1daboficfest bc I have no self control. Aka the feral alpha au. I wasn’t tagged, I just wanted to share, but I’ll tag a few ppl below!! Also this is unedited and unbetaed, oops.

“Harry?” he uttered, voice soft, as he took a few more tentative steps. 

In response, a guttural growl filled the room, echoing against the bare walls, as Harry continued to grunt and growl with his head still buried between his arms. Terrifying, ferocious, ricocheting around the room and in his head. Despite Louis’ determination to not be affected, his omega trembled at the sound, and a high, stressed keen left his lips as he involuntarily slid down the the wall to his knees. 

And he wasn’t sure what caused it, but the relentless growling ceased, quieting to low rumbles. Still menacing, but less harsh. Louis took a moment to suck in deep breaths. He felt a little silly as he then started shuffling forwards on his knees, but he kept at it. 

“Harry, hey,” he tried again, voice dropping to a calm, silvery tone, inherently soothing. Omega voices were not always effective in the way alpha voices were; they tended to be most effective usually on family, partners, or children. But it was always worth a try.

Harry was shaking like a leaf now, his rumbles sounding more distressed than agitated. Louis’ omega almost couldn’t stand to see an alpha in such distress. He moved towards him bit by bit, approaching him like he was a spooked creature that had escaped the wild. The resemblance was uncanny.

When he was roughly five feet away from Harry, he was stopped from getting any closer by a warning growl. So he sat, on his haunches, with his hands held out to show he meant no harm. “I’m not here to hurt you. I won’t get any closer if you don’t want me to….you’re safe.”

No response came from Harry, other than panting breaths, and quiet grunts. 

Feeling emboldened by the fact that Harry had made no move to scare him off viciously, much less attack him, Louis continued speaking to him in the same tone. “I just want to talk, Harry. Nothing else, okay? The betas that came in did not want to hurt you. None of us do.”

When Harry made no move to stop him, Louis shuffled closer just a little more. “I know you’re scared. This room isn’t so nice, huh? Neither is being brought in somewhere against your will, I know. But-”

Louis took a deep breath.

“-this is a safe place. We are here to help you. I’m here to help you.”

The next moment, Louis found himself transfixed, stilling mid shuffle as Harry slowly lifted his head and met his stare dead on. Piercing green eyes bored into him- a little dull, a little lifeless, yet intense all the same- pinning him in place.

A helpless gasp fell from Louis.

Tagging: @larry-hiatus @babyhoneyheslt @onlythebravest @nooradeservedbetter @hellolovers13 and anyone who wants to share a snippet!!