#bush cutting machine

[divyasharma1998]

Tips to Choose the Right Brush Cutter for Your Landscaping Needs

Brush cutters are adaptable instruments made to easily handle dense undergrowth and difficult vegetation. Whether you are clearing large tracts of land for horticulture or farming, or if you have a backyard garden or commercial lawn, choosing the correct grass cutting machine is essential for getting efficient and effective results. Here are the important aspects to think about when selecting a brush cutter for your particular needs and the surroundings.

Engine Power

When choosing a brush cutter, one of the first things to take into account is the engine power. Engine power is commonly expressed in cubic centimeters (cc) or horsepower (HP). When it comes to light- to medium-sized chores like cutting grass and little weeds, a brush cutter with less horsepower (around 25cc to 35cc or 1 hp) is sufficient. To get more cutting power and economy, choose a brush cutter with a larger horsepower (over 35cc or 2 hp or more) for more demanding jobs like clearing dense brush or saplings.

Cutting Width

A brush cutter's cutting width tells the area of vegetation it can remove in a single pass. The cutting widths of brush cutters range from 8 inches for small versions to more than 12 to 15 inches for heavy-duty equipment. Select a cutting width based on your demands and the size of the areas you will be working on. Narrower cutting widths help provide more precision and movability when cutting around obstructions and confined places, while larger cutting widths are best for swiftly covering large areas with less obstruction. However, the most ideal brush cutter width is 12 inches offered by all Honda cutters, this helps fulfill the need for both narrower and wider areas of land. 

Terrain

The type of machine required for a given task depends on the terrain on which the brush cutter will be used. When working on plain, unobstructed terrain, a regular handheld vertical brush cutting machine will suffice. However, it is important to take into consideration a brush cutter with features like 360-degree movability or a stabile handle, and an overhead cam cylinder or a backpack brushcutter that is portable and easy to carry and gives control for hard or uneven terrain, such as slopes, ditches, or rocky terrain.

Choosing a brush cutter with a powerful engine and heavy-duty cutting blade attachments like one from the Honda Grass Cutting Machine range helps to adequately manage the challenging conditions in densely vegetated or highly wooded areas.

Fuel Type

There are two types of brush cutters: gas-powered and electric-powered. Once that runs on gas are perfect for long-term use in distant locations because they have longer runtimes and better mobility. On the other hand, electronic brush cutters emit no emissions, need less maintenance, and are quieter and lightweight. Honda bush cutting machine runs on petrol and gives all these combined benefits and is a good fit for smaller properties or environmentally sensitive places where noise and pollution are a concern. Also, they are great for heavy-duty tasks because they have greater cutting power than any other cutter. 

Brand Reputation and Warranty

It's essential for homeowners, farmers, or commercial land owners to select a trustworthy brand while you purchase a brush cutter, one that is recognised for manufacturing sturdy, high-quality agricultural equipment like the Honda India Power Products Limited. It has been the leading manufacturer of power products with cutting-edge technology and environment-friendly products. It has been serving 5 million customers in India. Buying a brush cutter from Honda with a thorough guarantee of 2 years will give you more assurance and defense against any flaws or problems.

An effective brush cutter is important for keeping your outdoor area tidy, regardless of the size of landscaping tasks or how much overgrowth you need to remove. There are many criteria that need to be carefully considered when choosing the best brush cutter, such as engine power, cutting width, terrain, fuel type, ergonomics, and brand. Select a brush cutter from Honda at a reasonable Brush Cutter Price that satisfies your needs and provides the best performance.

[olivegardenmenu]

i want to take you back to my hometown and show you all the corners of my heart. this is where i was loved. this is where i was hurt. here is where i spent my summers and watched the counters grow shorter and shorter. this is how i walked home from school but the barn i walked past was torn down years ago. can you imagine it? can you see it how i saw it? just like this but so different now. just like me but so different now.

[itsrockinronnie]

Understanding Clock Pivot Wear and Bushing: Part II of Two-Part Series

In Part I, I explained the importance of bushing to mitigate wear on a mechanical clock movement. In summary, bushing involves replacing worn brass around a pivot by drilling a new hole and inserting a new bushing, either using a bushing machine or hand tools. Severely worn pivots may need re-pivoting, which involves installing new pivots using a lathe. Minor wear can be managed with filing,…

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Greenwashing set Canada on fire

On September 22, I'm (virtually) presenting at the DIG Festival in Modena, Italy. On September 27, I'll be at Chevalier's Books in Los Angeles with Brian Merchant for a joint launch for my new book The Internet Con and his new book, Blood in the Machine.

As a teenager growing up in Ontario, I always envied the kids who spent their summers tree planting; they'd come back from the bush in September, insect-chewed and leathery, with new muscle, incredible stories, thousands of dollars, and a glow imparted by the knowledge that they'd made a new forest with their own blistered hands.

I was too unathletic to follow them into the bush, but I spent my summers doing my bit, ringing doorbells for Greenpeace to get my neighbours fired up about the Canadian pulp-and-paper industry, which wasn't merely clear-cutting our old-growth forests – it was also poisoning the Great Lakes system with PCBs, threatening us all.

At the time, I thought of tree-planting as a small victory – sure, our homegrown, rapacious, extractive industry was able to pollute with impunity, but at least the government had reined them in on forests, forcing them to pay my pals to spend their summers replacing the forests they'd fed into their mills.

I was wrong. Last summer's Canadian wildfires blanketed the whole east coast and midwest in choking smoke as millions of trees burned and millions of tons of CO2 were sent into the atmosphere. Those wildfires weren't just an effect of the climate emergency: they were made far worse by all those trees planted by my pals in the eighties and nineties.

Writing in the New York Times, novelist Claire Cameron describes her own teen years working in the bush, planting row after row of black spruces, precisely spaced at six-foot intervals:

https://www.nytimes.com/2023/09/15/opinion/wildfires-treeplanting-timebomb.html

Cameron's summer job was funded by the logging industry, whose self-pegulated, self-assigned "penalty" for clearcutting diverse forests of spruce, pine and aspen was to pay teenagers to create a tree farm, at nine cents per sapling (minus camp costs).

Black spruces are made to burn, filled with flammable sap and equipped with resin-filled cones that rely on fire, only opening and dropping seeds when they're heated. They're so flammable that firefighters call them "gas on a stick."

Cameron and her friends planted under brutal conditions: working long hours in blowlamp heat and dripping wet bulb humidity, amidst clouds of stinging insects, fingers blistered and muscles aching. But when they hit rock bottom and were ready to quit, they'd encourage one another with a rallying cry: "Let's go make a forest!"

Planting neat rows of black spruces was great for the logging industry: the even spacing guaranteed that when the trees matured, they could be easily reaped, with ample space between each near-identical tree for massive shears to operate. But that same monocropped, evenly spaced "forest" was also optimized to burn.

It burned.

The climate emergency's frequent droughts turn black spruces into "something closer to a blowtorch." The "pines in lines" approach to reforesting was an act of sabotage, not remediation. Black spruces are thirsty, and they absorb the water that moss needs to thrive, producing "kindling in the place of fire retardant."

Cameron's column concludes with this heartbreaking line: "Now when I think of that summer, I don’t think that I was planting trees at all. I was planting thousands of blowtorches a day."

The logging industry committed a triple crime. First, they stole our old-growth forests. Next, they (literally) planted a time-bomb across Ontario's north. Finally, they stole the idealism of people who genuinely cared about the environment. They taught a generation that resistance is futile, that anything you do to make a better future is a scam, and you're a sucker for falling for it. They planted nihilism with every tree.

That scam never ended. Today, we're sold carbon offsets, a modern Papal indulgence. We are told that if we pay the finance sector, they can absolve us for our climate sins. Carbon offsets are a scam, a market for lemons. The "offset" you buy might be a generated by a fake charity like the Nature Conservancy, who use well-intentioned donations to buy up wildlife reserves that can't be logged, which are then converted into carbon credits by promising not to log them:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/12/12/fairy-use-tale/#greenwashing

The credit-card company that promises to plant trees every time you use your card? They combine false promises, deceptive advertising, and legal threats against critics to convince you that you're saving the planet by shopping:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/11/17/do-well-do-good-do-nothing/#greenwashing

The carbon offset world is full of scams. The carbon offset that made the thing you bought into a "net zero" product? It might be a forest that already burned:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/03/11/a-market-for-flaming-lemons/#money-for-nothing

The only reason we have carbon offsets is that market cultists have spent forty years convincing us that actual regulation is impossible. In the neoliberal learned helplessness mind-palace, there's no way to simply say, "You may not log old-growth forests." Rather, we have to say, "We will 'align your incentives' by making you replace those forests."

The Climate Ad Project's "Murder Offsets" video deftly punctures this bubble. In it, a detective points his finger at the man who committed the locked-room murder in the isolated mansion. The murderer cheerfully admits that he did it, but produces a "murder offset," which allowed him to pay someone else not to commit a murder, using market-based price-discovery mechanisms to put a dollar-figure on the true worth of a murder, which he duly paid, making his kill absolutely fine:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/04/14/for-sale-green-indulgences/#killer-analogy

What's the alternative to murder offsets/carbon credits? We could ask our expert regulators to decide which carbon intensive activities are necessary and which ones aren't, and ban the unnecessary ones. We could ask those regulators to devise remediation programs that actually work. After all, there are plenty of forests that have already been clearcut, plenty that have burned. It would be nice to know how we can plant new forests there that aren't "thousands of blowtorches."

If that sounds implausible to you, then you've gotten trapped in the neoliberal mind-palace.

The term "regulatory capture" was popularized by far-right Chicago School economists who were promoting "public choice theory." In their telling, regulatory capture is inevitable, because companies will spend whatever it takes to get the government to pass laws making what they do legal, and making competing with them into a crime:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/06/13/public-choice/#ajit-pai-still-terrible

This is true, as far as it goes. Capitalists hate capitalism, and if an "entrepreneur" can make it illegal to compete with him, he will. But while this is a reasonable starting-point, the place that Public Choice Theory weirdos get to next is bonkers. They say that since corporations will always seek to capture their regulators, we should abolish regulators.

They say that it's impossible for good regulations to exist, and therefore the only regulation that is even possible is to let businesses do whatever they want and wait for the invisible hand to sweep away the bad companies. Rather than creating hand-washing rules for restaurant kitchens, we should let restaurateurs decide whether it's economically rational to make us shit ourselves to death. The ones that choose poorly will get bad online reviews and people will "vote with their dollars" for the good restaurants.

And if the online review site decides to sell "reputation management" to restaurants that get bad reviews? Well, soon the public will learn that the review site can't be trusted and they'll take their business elsewhere. No regulation needed! Unleash the innovators! Set the job-creators free!

This is the Ur-nihilism from which all the other nihilism springs. It contends that the regulations we have – the ones that keep our buildings from falling down on our heads, that keep our groceries from poisoning us, that keep our cars from exploding on impact – are either illusory, or perhaps the forgotten art of a lost civilization. Making good regulations is like embalming Pharaohs, something the ancients practiced in mist-shrouded, unrecoverable antiquity – and that may not have happened at all.

Regulation is corruptible, but it need not be corrupt. Regulation, like science, is a process of neutrally adjudicated, adversarial peer-review. In a robust regulatory process, multiple parties respond to a fact-intensive question – "what alloys and other properties make a reinforced steel joist structurally sound?" – with a mix of robust evidence and self-serving bullshit and then proceed to sort the two by pantsing each other, pointing out one another's lies.

The regulator, an independent expert with no conflicts of interest, sorts through the claims and counterclaims and makes a rule, showing their workings and leaving the door open to revisiting the rule based on new evidence or challenges to the evidence presented.

But when an industry becomes concentrated, it becomes unregulatable. 100 small and medium-sized companies will squabble. They'll struggle to come up with a common lie. There will always be defectors in their midst. Their conduct will be legible to external experts, who will be able to spot the self-serving BS.

But let that industry dwindle to a handful of giant companies, let them shrink to a number that will fit around a boardroom table, and they will sit down at a table and agree on a cozy arrangement that fucks us all over to their benefit. They will become so inbred that the only people who understand how they work will be their own insiders, and so top regulators will be drawn from their own number and be hopelessly conflicted.

When the corporate sector takes over, regulatory capture is inevitable. But corporate takeover isn't inevitable. We can – and have, and will again – fight corporate power, with antitrust law, with unions, and with consumer rights groups. Knowing things is possible. It simply requires that we keep the entities that profit by our confusion poor and thus weak.

The thing is, corporations don't always lie about regulations. Take the fight over working encryption, which – once again – the UK government is trying to ban:

https://www.theguardian.com/technology/2023/feb/24/signal-app-warns-it-will-quit-uk-if-law-weakens-end-to-end-encryption

Advocates for criminalising working encryption insist that the claims that this is impossible are the same kind of self-serving nonsense as claims that banning clearcutting of old-growth forests is impossible:

https://twitter.com/JimBethell/status/1699339739042599276

They say that when technologists say, "We can't make an encryption system that keeps bad guys out but lets good guys in," that they are being lazy and unimaginative. "I have faith in you geeks," they said. "Go nerd harder! You'll figure it out."

Google and Apple and Meta say that selectively breakable encryption is impossible. But they also claim that a bunch of eminently possible things are impossible. Apple claims that it's impossible to have a secure device where you get to decide which software you want to use and where publishers aren't deprive of 30 cents on every dollar you spend. Google says it's impossible to search the web without being comprehensively, nonconsensually spied upon from asshole to appetite. Meta insists that it's impossible to have digital social relationship without having your friendships surveilled and commodified.

While they're not lying about encryption, they are lying about these other things, and sorting out the lies from the truth is the job of regulators, but that job is nearly impossible thanks to the fact that everyone who runs a large online service tells the same lies – and the regulators themselves are alumni of the industry's upper eschelons.

Logging companies know a lot about forests. When we ask, "What is the best way to remediate our forests," the companies may well have useful things to say. But those useful things will be mixed with actively harmful lies. The carefully cultivated incompetence of our regulators means that they can't tell the difference.

Conspiratorialism is characterized as a problem of what people believe, but the true roots of conspiracy belief isn't what we believe, it's how we decide what to believe. It's not beliefs, it's epistemology.

Because most of us aren't qualified to sort good reforesting programs from bad ones. And even if we are, we're probably not also well-versed enough in cryptography to sort credible claims about encryption from wishful thinking. And even if we're capable of making that determination, we're not experts in food hygiene or structural engineering.

Daily life in the 21st century means resolving a thousand life-or-death technical questions every day. Our regulators – corrupted by literally out-of-control corporations – are no longer reliable sources of ground truth on these questions. The resulting epistemological chaos is a cancer that gnaws away at our resolve to do anything about it. It is a festering pool where nihilism outbreaks are incubated.

The liberal response to conspiratorialism is mockery. In her new book Doppelganger, Naomi Klein tells of how right-wing surveillance fearmongering about QR-code "vaccine passports" was dismissed with a glib, "Wait until they hear about cellphones!"

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/05/not-that-naomi/#if-the-naomi-be-klein-youre-doing-just-fine

But as Klein points out, it's not good that our cellphones invade our privacy in the way that right-wing conspiracists thought that vaccine passports might. The nihilism of liberalism – which insists that things can't be changed except through market "solutions" – leads us to despair.

By contrast, leftism – a muscular belief in democratic, publicly run planning and action – offers a tonic to nihilism. We don't have to let logging companies decide whether a forest can be cut, or what should be planted when it is. We can have nice things. The art of finding out what's true or prudent didn't die with the Reagan Revolution (or the discount Canadian version, the Mulroney Malaise). The truth is knowable. Doing stuff is possible. Things don't have to be on fire.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/16/murder-offsets/#pulped-and-papered

[determunition]

i took the switcheroo week as an excuse to finally try my hand at some scrybeswap designs! got a bit carried away as you can see, i love doing character design so much

decided to keep their species/major design elements fairly consistent (e.g. grimora's makeup, mag being vague and indistinct, leshy having nonhuman legs, p03 only having one arm) while still switching up their aesthetics as needed; super happy with all of these as a result!

design notes for each scrybe under the cut! def open to any further questions or curiosities, i always think way too hard about characters while designing them lmao

P03:

scrybe of the dead: i went for a possessed tv vibe; he's still mechanical but those bones do have a living soul trapped in them...also shoutout to @squid-hug for suggesting the x-ray machine, i was very tickled by that lmao

scrybe of beasts: overgrown old bot was kind of a given for this one, but i was also thinking that the plants are part of what's keeping him running somehow

scrybe of magicks: the magic eye is the core powering that top monitor, and the two side monitors display what he's seeing with that eye at any given time

grimora:

scrybe of beasts: she's a witch! like a chill terry pratchett kind of witch, she works with a lot of herbs and such; also her makeup is meant to mimic blood drops

scrybe of magicks: magick grimora is more of a warlock type, her magic is a lot more sinister and she almost never opens her eyes (whereas her third eye is basically always open)

scrybe of tech: tech grimora is kind of a wacky machinist-flavored dr. frankenstein; she inscribes by writing on circuitboards!

leshy:

scrybe of the dead: this leshy is a gargoyle/vampire hybrid! i thought a mirror would be fun for him bc you can get two different cultural refs; medusa (bc stone gargoyle), and the idea that vampires don't appear in mirrors!

scrybe of magicks: i decided to make him a bird guy (kinda harpy-esque) bc he's basically a more whimsical baba yaga hermit; the baba yaga thing carries over from slavic folklore obvs. also he has polycoria!

scrybe of tech: tech leshy was super fun, bc he's steampunk! rather than animal legs i gave him digitigrade robot legs, but other than that he's the most like, normal human guy here probably lmao; despite his well-adjusted appearance though i still think he's got a bit of freaky wonk in him

magnificus:

scrybe of the dead: this one was very ring-inspired lol, got those clump of hair you found in the shower drain vibes

scrybe of beasts: bush magnificus real! i think he'd be a bit more quirky trickster fae in this form

scrybe of tech: one of my favorites; tech mag is an emaciated cyborg draped in so many loose cords and wires that you can't tell what he looks like anymore. a lot of those cords are connected to him, and he plugs them in wherever as needed! he also has a drawing stylus, making him just an average art student tbh lmao

[remiivu]

Ghostly Companion-- Chapter 2

<---- Last Chapter | Masterlist | Next Chapter ---->

Thank you everyone for reading! This chapter features mostly soft, domestic fluff as I work out the plot! Next update in ~3 days. Enjoy!

[Ao3 link]

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Hehehehe!” Is what you awoke to, followed by the heart-stopping blare of cars passing by way too close for comfort.

You jolt, held in place by Mr. Crawling’s firm arms. He laughs again, giving your face a poke. “Not ∎∎∎∎!” He coos rather loudly, and you sigh.

“Yeah, good morning, Mr. Crawling,” you say, despite the sun hardly being up. It’s actually still pretty dark, and as you survey your brand new area, you notice that you’re on a rather steep part of the mountains, adjacent to some dirt roads and the scarce road lights illuminating the area.

“∎∎∎ stops!” Mr. Crawling says, rocking the both of you gently in a soothing back-and-forth motion. Huh, for being dead and rather thin-looking, his lap was actually pretty comfortable. 

You eye the area, trying your best to repeat “∎∎∎?”

Mr. Crawling nods quickly with a smile. “∎∎∎!” He says, pointing at the road.

Oh, road?

But– wait, the road is very obviously continuing off towards somewhere, you muse quietly. Perhaps something more like… the path? If you look from his perspective, the monotonous dirt mounds, roots, and rockers were most definitely cut off by the road.

So, path will probably fit somewhat better.

You nodded, “Mhm, path stops. Go with me.” As you stand up, you groan a bit, stretching stiff limbs held tightly together for an extended period of time. Judging by the sky, he must’ve been dragging the two of you for a good amount of time.

You look right and left, and upon seeing no cars, you hurriedly cross the road, watching with relief as he does the same– in fact, he moves much quicker here, traversing the flat land with glee.

Upon crossing the road, you see the lights and tall buildings of your city, numerous of which you recognize based on the shape, ads, or colors. 

“Oh thank god,” you smiled, looking back once more to check on your ever loyal ghost. Though he most definitely didn’t understand your relief, he seemed to mirror your relaxed and happy demeanor, swaying ever so slightly as he waited patiently for you to continue.

You grinned, then began to carefully trek through the remaining hills and bushes, mostly following the road from a safe distance. After all, you weren’t quite sure whether or not other people could see your new companion, and you’d much rather get back to your tiny apartment without any extra screams or the need to act like Mr. Crawling wasn’t 2 feet behind you. 

Fortunately, Japan is much quieter at dawn than at midnight with most office workers having already gone home after a night of drinking or overtime. The few that remain were early risers much too tired to give their surroundings a second thought or still half drunk and passed out near the station or a random nook in an alley. 

Lucky, lucky, lucky you think to yourself as you made steady progress to your apartment building. Feeling slightly more rested and in a better mood, you allowed Mr. Crawling explore the new setting for a few minutes, laughing at his reaction to window displays or any vending machines you passed by.

You felt far more secure walking around an area you know compared to the mountains.

“∎∎∎∎!” Mr. Crawling says, stopping to inspect a small collection of Gachapon outside a large convenience store.

You let out a small snort, his amusement infectious. You can't remember the last time you were that excited over a capsule machine. Maybe it was elementary school? 

“Want one?” You ask, giving your bag a small shake to confirm that it still had coins in it.

Mr. Crawling brightened even more, “Me can?”

You fish out your coin pouch, digging around for some 100 yen coins. You pull out 2, handing them over to his hand and placing them in his palm.

You grab 2 more coins and demonstrate, picking out one depicting cute foods. You inserted the coins and twisted the lever, watching as a yellow ball rolled out. You picked it up, popping it open, and unfurling the wrap covering your brand new keychain, revealing a piece of cartoony buttered toast.

Mr. Crawling scooted closer, giggling out “cute cute cute!” as he poked and prodded at the small plastic thing.

Without a moment of hesitation, he inserts his coins into the same machine you had picked out, his hand turning the lever making a suspicious creak and clicking that, in your heart, signified something breaking. 

Ah, shit… you thought half-heartedly as he took his yellow capsule, popping it open and tearing off the plastic covering. He let out giggles, staring at his tiny new keychain.

A cute fried piece of mackerel with little x marks over its eyes.

You let out your own laugh, absentmindedly patting his head as he poked and moved his keychain. His head jerks up, grin radiant, as he says “Me like ∎∎∎! Thank you!” 

You felt your heart melt as you gave his head a rougher pat. “Of course. Me happy…uh– me happy you happy.”

Mr. Crawling gushed, lunging up to give you a tight hug that nearly brought you to the ground again. Your far more controlled yelp was cut off by your own laughs paired with his giggles as you combed your fingers through his hair. It wasn’t as neat as before, slightly ruffled up and tangled around small pieces of dirt, leaves, and rocks.

Yikes, he needed a bath. Do ghosts need baths? Well, regardless, you probably weren’t that far off, and the remains of dried blood would probably stop looking like the dried mud you knew other people assumed it was when the sun fully rises. 

And so, the moment was rather brief, interrupted by some cars passing by, but it was more warmth than you’ve ever really experienced since childhood, and you truly cherished it.

“Alright, c’mon,” You grinned, taking a half a step back to indicate you wanted to move. “We go.”

Mr. Crawling, as sweet as can be, followed after, keeping his new keychain as… safe as can be tucked between his razor sharp teeth, the little mackerel swaying against his chin and jaw.

You tried your best not to laugh at the sight.

The journey to your apartment afterwards was as tedious as you recalled, the same streets looking hardly any different despite the fact that you were basically kidnapped into a new world and nearly died quite a few times. And, while the rush of laughter was nice, you could feel the remaining exhaustion built up from the past 24 hours weighing heavier on your shoulders with every few steps, your hour-or-so long nap hardly the rest you actually needed.

But, you can’t deny, having Mr. Crawling by your side was the motivation you needed as you hiked up roads and through narrow roads as you began to walk away from the most busting parts of the city, entering a residential area that was fairly secluded from the main streets. 

Your building was more run down than most, cheap with some decent space for one person and some nice, elderly neighbors (that you really don’t want to traumatize). So, you opened the creaky entrance as quietly as you could, feeling confident that Mr. Crawling wouldn’t make much of a peep of noise until you reached your room.

You were 3 floors up, and you stopped yourself from letting out another huff of laughter at how at-home Mr. Crawling appeared to be on familiar concrete floors and stairs. That was too bad, honestly, as your house had wooden floors and some tatami mats, but a part of your mind, despite knowing how sturdy his limbs were, felt better that he wouldn’t be constantly kneeling and crawling on cold concrete floors like before.

And, really, it would be best for the both of you to leave that place as far behind as possible. In fact, you’d like to convince yourself that everything was a dream, and you simply found a ghost in the mountains like all the ghost stories had warned you about. No blood, no torture room, and no man in red.

All normal. Regular life. No deaths or blood or a creepy face peering at you from every dark crevice. 

You pull out your keys, giving your doorknob a soft rattle as it opens, and you breathe in a lungful of air you didn’t realize you could miss so much.

The air was slightly stale, but it was nothing an hour or so of airing out could fix. 

You walk in, kicking off ruined shoes by the doorway and hesitating for a moment when you see Mr. Crawling’s… attire.

It wasn’t bad. For crawling in a damp mountain, it was actually very clean, but you were still on the edge of letting dirt and grime inside.

But when Mr. Crawling tilts his head, mackerel clicking against his cheek, you felt yourself give in with a small sigh, and nod with a smile that you simply couldn’t help.

You walked in, waving him in, and once settled upon the hardwood floor, you shut the door tight, ensuring everything was locked.

“∎∎∎?” Mr. Crawling asked, mouth free of a charm. It was now back in his hands.

You hummed, giving him a blank look that you knew he knew meant you didn’t understand.

Mr. Crawling, hardly deterred, points at your home. “∎∎∎? You ∎∎∎?”

Hmm… You contemplate, looking at your room. Was he trying to say home?

“Home,” you say patiently in your language, watching as Mr. Crawling had a turn of looking confused. “...H..” He mumbles, and you nod.

“Home,” you pointed all around your home. “Home. Me home.”

Mr. Crawling followed where your finger was pointing rather comedically, head craning backwards and torso twisting around to see everything you were showing him. “You ∎∎∎. You… home?”

Your smile was instantly matched by his as you nodded quickly in affirmation. “Yes! Me home! Me language. Home.”

Mr. Crawling giggles, then crawls further into the house, exploring. You take the time to get settled, placing your bag on the hanger and plugging your nearly dead phone into the nearest outlet. Stretching your tensed, spent muscles, you finally took the time to look at yourself in the mirror and cringed at the sight.

Firstly, your hair was an utter mess, grime and browned blood crusting up in it, on your face, and on a good amount of the rest of your body. Your clothes were frankly ruined, and you’ll have to burn them or something. There’s no way you’ll be able to explain why that much blood from a presumably missing person is all over you.

You give a glance at Mr. Crawling who paused his cabinet-inspection to, in turn, look at you. 

… surely… you contemplate, not even registering the way he’s shuffling a bit under your gaze. Surely I can leave him alone for… 20 minutes? I need to shower at least… scratch the bath. I’ll probably fall asleep if I stay there. 

Mr. Crawling hurriedly began shoving stuff back in, the clacking and banging drawing you out of your thoughts.

“Huh?” You question, eloquently, as Mr. Crawling asks, holding a dustpan, “You mad?”

… Oh? “No, no.” You quickly reassure, crossing the room to bend down a bit and pet his head. “Me happy you happy. You… uh..” You pause, eyes scrunching shut as you begin digging in your mind for a word.

“You… can.” You eventually settle with, feeling assured that he understood when he smiled. You watched for another few seconds as he re-emptied the now-messy floor cabinet, digging out items that you’ve frankly forgotten about, before turning away with a small laugh and walking off to the bathroom.

You pulled out a spare set of clothes, dumping your current ones into a pile, and watched as grime and crust poured into the drain.

________________________________

When you step out, feeling refreshed and relaxed, you spotted a mini pile of mess surrounding your brand new roommate who seemed eager, mackerel keychain in mouth, to explore.

You hummed, observing his dirty appearance, before making a decision.

After all, you can’t have someone that dirty resting on a clean, white futon– or even the tatami mats he thankfully hasn’t walked over yet. He needed a bath earnestly. 

“Mr. Crawling,” You say, watching him turn in excitement.

“Hello!” He greeted, crawling towards you.

A brief half-second thought ensures that you truly had no word associated with water, wash, or anything along those lines, so you simply pointed into the bathroom, motioning towards yourself and your clean body.

“Uhm, wash. Bath,” You said, heading inside the still steamy room as you rinsed the tub and began filling it with water.

Mr. Crawling inspected it, peering at the warm water. “You,” you said, pointing inside the filling bathtub, followed by the motion of you washing your hair.

He tilts his head, jaw gently chewing at the keychain in his mouth. Then, when he sunk his arm in, you nodded fervently. “Yes yes,” You encouraged, motioning for him to get in.

When he sinks in, clothes bubbling to the surface, you contemplate asking him to take it off, but…

Yeahh, maybe not. You weren’t ready to see… whatever male ghosts had down there.

You pushed the fabric into the water, letting it soak up water until it sunk on its own and grimaced at the small wave of dirt that rose to the surface.

Yikes.

_____________________

Giggles erupted from the bathroom followed by small shouts of laughter periodically for the next 30 minutes as Mr. Crawling enjoyed the bath, splashing water out the tub and nearly melting when you firmly scrubbed his scalp and feet-long locks of hair.

You had drained and refilled the tub about 3 times now, the water finally a consistent clear color, that allowed you to wash and rinse the poor guy with some peace of mind.

“Good good! Happy!” Mr. Crawling cheered as he pushed his head up against your palms and fingers pressed against his head. “Thank you! Thank you!”

You laughed yourself, rinsing out the shampoo by scooping up buckets of water and pouring it over his head. “You really needed this,” you mused, gently layering a thin amount of conditioner onto his hair and letting it sit out on the side of the tub.

You can already see your bank account taking a foreseeable hit once your hair products run out.

Mr. Crawling giggled, taking out his now-warm arms to pet your (thankfully still wet) hair as you briefly scrubbed his legs and arms and attempted to wash his torso through his clothes. They seemed to be thin enough, after all, and it doubles as washing the fabric.

You snorted as hair fell into your face, large damp fingers clumsily pushing them away before you could really react. “You safe!” Mr. Crawling chirped, using his warm hands to cup your face and keep anything else from falling onto your eyes.

You felt your heart skip a beat as your cheeks began to warm themselves up, a soft smile firmly planted on your face. “And you’re very sweet,” you hum good naturedly, finishing up with a last rinse, drain of the tub, and wash down with the nearby showerhead.

You squeezed out as much water as you possibly could from your brand new sentient, crawling mop before helping him out of the tub and onto a towel. You gave him a small warning, motioning him to cover his ears as you plugged in the hairdryer, doing your best to dry him off.

He giggled, pulling his hands off his ears after a few moments and observing the hairdryer, reaching out to touch it a few times. “Cool! Noise ∎∎∎.” He said, watching his hair fly all around the room.

By the end, your arms were sore and your eyelids were heavy with the need to sleep, but he was dry and clean– very, very clean, skin no longer various shades of gray and clothes a step lighter than they used to be.

Before you could stand up and begin your voyage to your bed, he gently tugged you down, pulling you to sit on the towel.

“Huh?” You ask, watching as he fiddled with your hairdryer. He giggled when it roared to life, pointing the heated air at your head and clothes.

Oh… You relaxed, smiling as he tried his best to dry off whatever remaining moisture was in it. It was only slightly damp anyways, the air having done its job, but the tenderness of his fingers trying to run through your scalp and the warmth of not only the hairdryer but also the comfort of returning to some sort of semblance of a normal, soft, and loving life was enough to give rise to brand emotions that surged up from your chest and into your eyes. 

You did your best to choke out anything threatening to escape your throat, but there was no hiding the tears burning in your eyes or the way your body tensed up against the knees pressed against your back. 

Suddenly, the hairdryer shuts off, and a head smelling like your favorite shampoo pops in your vision, followed by “You sad? Hurt? Sad, you sad, me ∎∎∎.”

You sniffled, giving yourself that at least, and shook your head, quickly wiping off any tears. “No. No, me happy. You… nice. You nice… much. Me happy. Thank you.” 

Still, Mr. Crawling looked concerned, giving your body a quick check over and closely inspecting your head to ensure he really didn’t hurt you. When he finds nothing, he leans back, crawling to your side.

“You rest?” He says, and you give a jerky nod.

“Yeah, me… rest. Need rest.” You mutter, standing up and kicking the towels off to the side as well. You could clean that up later.

You lead Mr. Crawling out the room and into the small alcove covered in a tatami mat, opening a cabinet and pulling out 2 futons, unrolling them onto the floor. You then grabbed your pillows, blanket, and hurried to make yourself as comfortable as possible, handing him his set so that he could do the same.

But, instead of setting up his bed like you, he just sat right beside you intently, merely laying down the futon and pressing his pillow against your side.

“What are you doing?” You mumble, voice slightly nasally and eyes a bit puffy. You simply laid down, too tired and half-embarrassed to remain sitting up, but let out a small noise as his body laid on top of yours.

“What are you–”

“You rest,” Mr. Crawling says with a smile, face pressed against your abdomen and his blanket resting against his legs. “You rest. Me ∎∎∎∎ you safe.”

And, honestly, you don’t bother with trying to refute anything anymore. You sighed, letting your overworked muscles relax and gently resting your hand on his head. You were home, you were safe, and you… you weren’t alone. You had someone there with you now. Someone who protected you and could keep you safe in your sleep.

You blink open your eyes briefly when you felt something cold and foreign press into the other hand resting at your side, but upon seeing the small mackerel and toast keychains resting in your palm, you let out a small snort and let your eyes fall shut once again, mumbling a small “goodnight..” as you felt yourself drifting off to sleep almost immediately.

.

.

.

.

“...g…goood…niight…”

That's all! Gave you guys a bit of a longer chapter (~3.2k words) as an extra thanks! Hope you enjoyed ^^

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[Ao3 link]

[emo-batboy]

Trick or treat!

Hello :D Here's your treat

Battinson and Cars

He is a car guy. He loves his car. It is his baby. He can fill his car with gas, yes. That is a thing he can do on his own in his own garage with his own gas.

But he does not know how to operate a gas pump. (New Jerseyans are crying in solidarity.)

Bruce gets into so many car accidents.

Like yeah, he's Batman. But he's also that kind of driver who is perfectly okay when he's on autopilot, but the MOMENT he remembers he's driving a death machine on wheels next to other people driving death machines on wheels, and if you accidentally cut them off or forget to use your turn signal, they will rear end you?! He gets a little antsy :/

The second he overthinks it, he's making mistake after mistake. What are you gonna do? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

But when he's in his tricked-out batmobile engaging in a high-speed chase while narrowly avoiding death at every turn? A vigilante with no regard for the rules of the road other than "Do Not Hit People?" He’s suddenly a professional stunt driver! Fuck it!

That’s one of the reasons no one could possibly believe he’s Batman

"Bruce Wayne Reverses into Bush at Local Wawa, Cries as He Calls the Cops on Himself"

Then four hours later...

"The Batman Performs INCREDIBLE STUNT on Garden State Parkway, Saves Lives and Kitten Stuck in Tree"

You think these are the same person? Please be serious.

Anyway-

He is the only person in the JL who can reliably parallel park.

He's also a fucking speed demon. (This is Jersey. The Norm is going 90 in a 55. And back to the "autopilot" point) if he's lost in thought, he's definitely breaking the law. And overtaking like five cars a minute.

Alfred taught him to drive (and is lowkey the one that gave him driving anxiety. He is a very strict teacher.) Because of this, his first car was manual :) Now, he prefers it because it feels cool and action-y when he changes gears on the highway.

Bruce got into his first car chase when he was 15. (Baby's First Car Chase <3) Don't ask me how.  Don't ask why. Just know he does. (I mean, I do have an answer but I'm not giving it to you.) This also means he did it without a license because he was too young to even have a permit at the time.

He has a hatred for literally anyone with Pennsylvania or New York plates. Why? Because they’re slow as fuck and try to turn left at the intersection when there is clearly a jughandle??

(Homework for everyone that doesn't live in NJ: Look up "jughandle" or "jersey left" and tell me your thoughts.)

He was so pissed at the amount of potholes in Gotham that he personally filled them as Batman in the middle of the night. (Wtf are his billions of tax dollars going to?)

Once Bruce was muttering curses at the idiot in front of him with NY plates only to see Clark fucking Kent exit the car. Superman could not understand why Batman kept glaring at him for a week.

I did not spell-check this. Happy Halloween :)

[graywaynewriter]

Bruce Wayne and daughter reader meets Damian for the first time

Brother ?

a/n: here I’ll just refer to daughter reader as daughter Wayne in case if anyone is looking for it in the tags

It was yet another late night, waiting on your father to come back from patrol. You weren’t too busy that night so you had to wait for him while you monitored some of the screens with Alfred. It wasn’t unusual for him to take longer than he said he would since so many unexpected twists, and turns can happen with an expanse of time. However, later on he pinged you letting you know, he was on his way home and to have the entrance of the Batcave, ready.

As the dark machine rolls into the Batcave, it’s engine comes to a halt as the latch opens, and Bruce steps out. However, this time he had company with him, he had a young boy who looked no older than 13 years old he thought to yourself that he probably brought home another robin so you stand up and approach them and say

“ Another robin?” You ask with a slight smile, however Bruce‘s face does not change. Instead of him answering the young boy answered instead.

“ more like the heir to Wayne Enterprises,” he crosses his arms as he scans your body up and down “who are you?”

“Hu-“ you were beyond confused because as far as you know, you were Bruce Wayne‘s only child.

“Damian is my son, Y/N….he’s your brother.” Bruce explains briefly “it’s a long story having to do with Talia. I’ll explain what happened later.

Is he still there processing the information Damien decides to start circling you like a vulture and observing your figure and trying to read you

“Hm, you don’t look like a fighter, but I suppose every family supposed to have a child who is just for show” he said, as he stopped and looked back to your face. And with a straight face, he says “ you’d be in much better shape if you actually worked out. Maybe one day you’ll even measure up to me”

All you do is stare at this random kid that just pulled up with your father as he criticize you in your skills. Sure you didn’t go on any patrol, but that was all by choice.

“…. So not only does he look like you, but he has to say everything that’s on his mind it seems” your eyebrows furrow as you look at your father trying to subconsciously ask him what in the hell is going on

“That’s enough Damian,” Bruce steps in and looks to Alfred “Alfred, could you please take Damien to the room that he will be staying in”

"Of course Master Bruce, this way Master Damian," you remain quiet as you watch the two exit the Batcave and you look back to your father.

"So....I have a brother huh?"

"It seems that way Y/N," Bruce said in his low gruff voice "this information is just as new to me as it is to you. I know Damian is....a handful, but we need to try. His life would be better here than with the league," he said resting a hand on your shoulder.

"I suppose so....you don't think he'll cause trouble do you?" you asked

"well....I hope he doesn't But I'll be sure to keep an eye on him,"

Next thing you know you were watching Damian shred up the garden shrubs with Alfred the next morning. You both jut sip on some tea Alfred had brewed up for you.

"So, why is he doing this?" you asked as he took the head off of the shrub in the shape of a bear

"Training, I was told at least," Alfred answers as Bruce walks into the kitchen ready to head into the office

"Well as long as he doesn't touch my-NOOOO!" with a quick slice the bush of hibiscus flowers was cut in half and you freak out "MY FLOWERS! DAD!"

Setting your cup down your rub out into the garden barefoot and start waving yours arms around. While Alfred and Bruce watch from the window as you scold Damian for the brutal damage to your favorite bush. Bruce lets out a sigh and Alfred adds,

"I will call the gardener and landscaper,"

"Thank you Alfred" Bruce sighs as he watches you both start to argue back and forth. He had to go and step in before anything got out of hand.

The following weeks were just the same. Start off pretty tame, and argument happens and you were bother bickering as most siblings do. He had even had his moments with your father and even Nightwing. To the point where Alfred had to stitch him up because of the fight they had gotten into while he was out on patrol.

He seen that almost anyone he ran into he pick a fight with. Whether that was verbal or physical or even both. However, sometimes you would see him sit on his own and just contemplate about things. You couldn’t exactly put your finger on what could be on his mind, but in a way it did make you sad. All he ever knew was the league of assassins, it was like he had no childhood no fun on top of that. He never really knew your father.

It’s like you got to enjoy Bruce without him being around and this is his first time being an actual child to a father. Even though he was so stubborn about it and insisted on being an adult at the ripe age of 14.

In the following weeks, you even try to get up at around the time that he did. Which was around five in the morning, which is absolutely insane, but you would try to wake up either way and make breakfast for him. It was a small star, but it was something to show him how different life could be.

Perhaps having your blood related, brother, suddenly appear, wouldn’t be such a burden as it once seemed. Although he may clash with you and almost everyone around him, you think he just may need some guidance. He definitely needs a lot of time to adjust. But there are times you would look at him and you would just see a smaller version of your father, especially when it came to training or bettering himself.

And even when you thought he would bring nothing but trouble you can see just a sliver of light in his eyes. And there was no doubt that he had gotten it from Bruce. Maybe having a brother wouldn’t be so bad after all. 

🦇Taglist:

[materlux]

Nemophilist

Nemophilist: (n.) A haunter of the woods; one who loves the forest and its beauty and solitude.

  The script brings Kafka and Blade to a post-post-apocalyptic world, inhabited by primitive humans who believe in ghosts and monsters. But in the forest a monster really does live, but it’s not evil, just slightly stupid. The monster is you, by the way.

CW: Idk?

Honkai Star Rail | Main Masterlist

This planet had experienced a catastrophic incident many amber eras ago, this has left its remaining life forms cut off from the rest of the cosmos. The people of this planet are, what the Genius Society would label, primitive. They do not understand the giant metal structures left behind by their forefathers, they have no knowledge of the aeons, or of the place they once occupied in the vast universe. To put it simply, it’s like someone pressed the ‘reset’ button on their civilization.

   This explains why the script was so simple and short, no one on this planet knew who they were, they believed they were celestial bodies from beyond the stars. Kafka enjoyed the treatment, compared to how they normally had to avoid all open areas, it was refreshing to be welcomed. Although Blade would much prefer the usual, if only because then he’d be left alone.

   Their mission is simple: Retrieve an ancient maschine core, something this planet's forefathers used to trade for high prices, and get back. The hard part would be to locate the core, it has been deactivated for centuries and the ruins of old have become overgrown.

   The locals are of little help, only talking of wild superstitions and monsters in the forest. The village they are at now borders with a dense forest of tall trees, the locals fear it, saying it’s home to ghosts and a monster. Kafka smiles and nods along as they explain, but her smile is one of barely hidden amusement, not sympathy.

   But a local makes a comment that catches both their attention, the monster lives in the body of a giant metal box, surrounded by other metal boxes. It’s a crude way to describe it, but this planet’s people used to live in giant artificial floating cities, the machine core they were searching for must be hidden in one such building.

   Kafka comes up with a plan and uses the people's beliefs of a monster to her advantage, she promises that she and her companion, Blade, will slay the monster for them. She makes a show of telling the people of their great endeavours and heroic acts, Blade thinks she lays it on too thick, singing her own praise more than anything, but it works.

   The locals see them off as they enter the forest, creaking branches sway tall overhead, the ground is covered in plant growth. Luckily there is a passage carved through the bush, dirt and stone crunch under their boots.

   “This is like a walk in the park, it makes you wonder what the locals are so scared of.” Kafka makes idle musings as they walk, Blade pays her little mind, keeping his eyes on the surrounding undergrowth.

   “It’s been a while since we’ve had this simple of a mission.” Kafka continues to fill the silence, not expecting a reply. “Maybe we’ll even have time to stop by some of the other planets in this solar system.”

   Something fast moves between the ferns, Blade halts his movements and watches for a culprit, more ferns sway violently as it moves closer. Kafka watches with lax eyes, observing the way Blade tenses and summons his weapon; whatever small forest critter is moving its way towards them is surely going to regret it. But it’s not a small forest critter that stands at the edge of the path, it’s a small, vaguely humanoid, looking spirit thing; with wide blank eyes and stubby limbs. More gather at the edge, tilting their heads in thought.

   “These are the ghosts the locals fear?” Kafka can barely contain her amused grin. “They’re quite cute, no?” She looks at Blade, who is poking at them experimentally with the tip of his blade.

   “Cute is not the word I’d use,” Blade mutters as the small ghostly figures grab at his sword, unfazed by the threat. Kafka huffs a quiet laugh as she begins back down the path, Blade follows her, the small ghostly figures hot on their heels a few hanging off his sword.

  The path narrows the further in they go and the trees seem to grow in size, more of the ghostly figures gather around them, creating a long trail behind them. Until the ghosts break away from the path to effortlessly climb a tree, Kafka pays them no mind and neither does Blade, at first.

   But something large moves in the canopy above, Blade stares unblinkingly up at it, but there is nothing to see and the movement stops, the wind rushes through the leaves.

   “C’mon Bladie,” Kafka calls from up ahead, “it was probably just the wind, or a bird, or something.” He glares at the leaves for just a moment longer, before he follows after Kafka.

   Maybe if he had stood there for two moments longer, he would have seen you, but luckily for you that lady distracted him. The small ghosts gather around you, they clamber their way up your sides, and hang off your arms and antlers. An abomination of the abundance some would call you, although you were no child of a God, simply an oddity created in the chemical fallout of the apocalypse; not entirely plant, not entirely animal, not entirely human, but wholly alive and curious.

   His striking red eyes had pinpointed you immediately, even though you were certain you were hidden behind the branches, could he perhaps sense you. You slink off further into the canopy, the small ghosts ride along on your back, you move from branch to branch, from tree to tree with ease.

   In a clearing of flowers you lounge, limbs, human and not, stretched out in the soft grass. The small ghosts watch you from the shadows, unlike you, they are not immune to the sun’s rays. A patch of striking red flowers catches your gaze, they remind of the man, Bladie the lady called him, he’s been stuck on your mind for the past hours. It’s not often anyone wanders into the forest, and something about these two told you they weren’t like the locals.

   Maybe this would be your chance to find some company, as mean as it sounds, maybe you could even leave, you love the ghosts really, but they don’t make for great company. Compared to the newcomers who spoke and weren’t frightened of the monster in the forest, they were far better company. 

   But you had to make a good first impression, especially on the man, Bladie, he was the one most on edge, even threatening the small ghosts. Your eyes land on the red flowers again and an idea pops into your head, the locals give each other flowers as a sign of good intention, right?

   Grabbing a handful of flowers, you move up a nearby tree with ease, the ghosts happily follow after you as you weave along the canopy.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

   Kafka sits perched on a rock as Blade walks the edge of the small clearing, large branches overhead creates some shade. After looping around one last time he too settles down, he keeps his sword out and eyes alert, flicking around the canopy.

   “I doubt whatever you heard has followed us,” Kafka reasons, but Blade pays her little mind. A hoard of small ghosts tumble out of a large tree, gathering at its base and watching the canopy expectantly. Something larger and humanoid surprisingly elegantly makes its way down the trunk, Blade stands at attention like a guard dog, sword drawn and pointed. Kafka on the other hand leans back on her hands, curiosity in her eyes as she watches you move into the grass.

   You watch the man as he watches you, he’s threatening you, if you were smarter or maybe more skittish you’d have turned tail and run. But you weren’t, you had a plan and a handful of flowers, so calmly you walk across the clearing.

   You stand a sword’s length away from him, he is far taller than you and more noticeably built, for a moment you do consider turning tail. But you muster up the courage and extend your arm, red flowers shake in your hold. The two of you just stand there, staring at each other, it’s actually the lady that makes the first move.

   “Bladie, lower your sword, they just want to give you some flowers,” she coos, making her way through the grass. She stands by your sides and gently lowers his sword for him, he relents and sends it away, you watch perplexed as it disappears into thin air.

   “Red flowers, why red?” The lady asks you, if she expects a verbal reply, she’s sure to be surprised. Blade is, when you step up close to him and hold the flowers up to his face, right beside his eye.

   “Oh I see, those do match his eyes quite well,” she agrees, it makes you feel a little giddy. You don’t often get praised, it’s not often you have any social interaction at all, the locals are terrified of you.

   The lady, who introduced herself as Kafka, has now spent the better half of 30 minutes teaching you how to say her name. You kinda get there, but you only really make half the sounds before giving up. The two let you tag along as they explore the forest, reiteration; Kafka lets you tag along, Blade tolerates your presence at best.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

   As the sun begins to set over the horizon, you wander off into the forest, making your way back to your home. A nest-like structure hidden away in some metallic ruins, you, who was here when they fell out of the sky, remember what the locals forgot. The only problem is, you don’t have a universal translator, and you cannot for the life of you remember more than a word or two in the universal language.

   “Where are you going?” Kafka asks as you stand before a tree, you tilt your head over your shoulder. You try to make sense of what she said, as well as come up with a proper reply.

   “Home?” You croak, your vocal cords having gone unused for years are straining to form just one word. Kafka smiles and nods, you relax, you think that means you picked the right word.

   “Can we go with you?” She looks amused, you think, by your little predicament. You decide to just copy her head movement, a nod.

   It’s not a long walk from the clearing, you make your way up the creaking metal structure, and make yourself comfy among the old fabrics you’ve scavenged. Kafka and Blade stay on a lower level, you hang slightly off the ledge to peer down at them, they start a fire to keep warm.

   In the morning you’re awoken by the sound of rummaging, you follow the sound to find Kafka and Blade, mostly Blade, Kafka wouldn’t want to dirty her nice clothes, looking through the wreck. You tilt your head at them as Blade moves a piece of metal with ease, he huffs when he finds nothing but more debris.

   “Good morning,” Kafka greets you, “I put Bladie to work.” She smiles.

   “Bladie,” you mimic her speech, the man in question freezes and then throws a glare over his shoulder, Kafka only laughs.

   “They’re like a parrot,” Kafka muses.

   “Parrot?” You tilt your head in confusion, but Kafka just smiles like you just proved her point exactly.

   As the day goes by and they continue searching for something, Kafka watches amused as you observe Blade, you mutter ‘Bladie’ at him a few times only to be met with his glare. You are very confused, when you mutter ‘Kafka’ at Kafka she just smiles, why does he seem so upset?

   At some point Kafka makes use of your curious nature and obvious understanding of this place, she shows you what they are looking for, a look of recognition passes over your face before you disappear into the wreck.

   A couple hours later, while Kafka enjoys the tranquil atmosphere and Blade continues to be ever vigilant, you stumble less elegantly out of the crash site. Something cradled in your arms, you settle before Kafka and offer it to her. Before her feet now lay the exact machine core they were looking for, and it’s still in good condition.

   “I told you this script would be easy,” she smiles at Blade, who only huffs. “Well thank you.” Her hand gently rests on your head.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

   Helping them was easy and you got praise out of it, it made you feel good to help them, but now there is a new problem; they are leaving. You don't want them to leave, or rather you don’t want them to leave you. You offer them more flowers and other things, you hope to convey your message, but Kafka only coos at you and Blade pays you no mind.

   By the edge of the forest you make a sudden decision, Kafka stretches out in the sun, but before Blade can leave the shade. You latch onto his arm, he very nearly cuts your head off.

   “Stay,” you croak quietly. He tries to free his arm, but you don’t let up your grip. Kafka looks over the scene in amusement, but she interjects before Blade can actually hurt you.

   “We can’t stay.” She places a gentle hand on your head. “Why do you want us to stay?” She assesses the stressed out look on your face as you try to make sense of her words.

   “Alone.” Is the best response you can give with your limited vocabulary, Kafka coos at you again.

   “Sure, you can come along.” Blade makes a noise, but keeps his opinion to himself.

   The small ghosts gather by the edge of the forest, it’s they’re way of saying goodbye, you figure. In all these years you never thought you’d see the universe again, but before your eyes stars stretch for miles, you are now a member of the Stellaron hunters, or more like a glorified pet.

[upon-a-starry-night]

While We Dream Pt.1

Kylo Ren x Fem! Reader

Star Wars Masterlist Series Masterlist

Word Count: 1.4k

Summary: As Kylo sleeps he finds himself mysteriously transported to your modern world, while you sleep you find yourself following alongside Kylo as he goes about his duties as “supreme leader?” who even was this guy? And why does he keep talking about ‘The Force?'

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You know how in life there are those days that make you want to squeeze lemon juice directly into a fresh cut just to feel something? Well, you were having one of those days.

You’d just been laid off from your job and to make matters worse you locked your keys in your car while you were packing away your desk essentials. It would take the mechanic two hours to arrive so you could either sit there looking pathetic in the parking lot of the job you just got fired from or you could take a walk.

Yeah, you weren’t going to humiliate yourself with that first option, especially not after all your coworkers avoided eye contact with you as you packed up your belongings. 

Running your hands through your hair, you sighed in frustration, looking up at the cloudy gray abyss above you. Well at least the weather matched your mood, you just hoped it would hold off on raining until after you were back home. Maybe then you could cuddle up with your cat and a good book and forget today ever happened.

Walking in the opposite direction as your old office building, you turn around to glare at it in all its boring corporate glory.

“Good riddance” you mutter under your breath as you shove your hands in your pockets and let the sidewalk lead you to something that would hopefully brighten your day.

You’d never really gotten to explore the area around your work aside from the coffee and bagel shop you’d frequent for breakfast and the deli two buildings down where you’d get lunch. You’d miss the sandwiches at that deli but there was no way you would go back there and risk running into your coworkers. It was only noon and today was already one of the worst of your adult life experiences. 

It wasn’t like you particularly liked that job, you yearned for a creativity that would never be found behind a wooden desk in a cubicle. Still, you’d made a few accomplices and had started growing used to your routine.

You didn't know if it was bad luck or the universe telling you to finally do something more adventurous with your life but either way, you’d need to find a new job soon.

So lost in thought, you don’t even realize where you are until you stumble over a stray tree root. Only then do you notice the gorgeous park you’re in. It’s roughly the size of a large backyard but it’s filled with so many plants and tall trees that you could nearly forget you were in the middle of a city if the honking of traffic didn’t give it away.

Flowers of every color blossom all along the brick pathway and all sorts of pollinators flitter around the garden. It’s a wonder they can find their way to this place through all the buildings and construction around but if you lived here you’d probably never leave it anyway.

It would feel like a segment pulled straight out of a forest if it weren’t for the fountain in the middle of it all. It’s a beautiful circle made out of white marble with a woman in the center holding some sort of pot where the water is flowing from. 

It’s nothing but a simple statue but something about the woman's eyes is warm and motherly, whoever carved them must have spent a lot of time on them to get them to feel so inviting. They don’t look directly at you, however, they focus just to the right of where you're standing and you follow the line of sight till you notice something in the bushes.

Curious as to what could be so important that they’d face the statue towards it, you move to investigate the mysterious object and are pointedly surprised to find a coin machine buried amongst the leaves and vines. It reads:

“Wish coins. Hold the coin in your hands and make a wish then toss it into the fountain. The Universe is kind to those with pure intentions. Only one per person!” 

From the looks of it, no one’s used it in a long time and it makes you sad that humanity has seemingly given up on simple things like making a wish in a fountain. You remember doing it once or twice as a kid, although your wishes never came true- it was probably for the best that you didn’t receive 15 puppies and all the toys in the world at age 8.

It only costs a penny to get a coin from the machine so after a few minutes of digging through all your pants pockets you manage to scrounge up one dirty penny made in 2003 from your back pocket. You insert it and twist until your ‘wish coin’ comes out with a clank.

It’s bigger than a dollar coin and looks like something you’d get at an arcade or gaming festival. It’s got a star on both sides instead of anything remotely similar to real currency but it holds the weight of real metal and looks entirely made of copper. Even if you don’t throw it in it’s a pretty cute trinket to have found.

Checking your watch, you see that you still have an hour until the mechanics can get to your car so you walk over and take a seat on the fountain, admiring the greenery, you think about how you probably never would have found this place if all of the bad stuff didn’t happen. Although you didn't know if this surpassed the loss of your job you were grateful to have found such a beautiful place to rest and wait. 

Taking a deep breath in, you flip the coin in your palm over a few times, staring at it in consideration. It couldn’t hurt to try…could it? 

Truth be told, you don't know why you’re putting so much thought into it but maybe there was a small part of you that still believed in silly things like this. The little girl in you that held out hope that things like magic actually exist somewhere in this world.

Standing up, you turn and face the fountain as you clutch onto the coin with both hands and think of the perfect wish. What is it that you really wanted anyway? 

A job? No, that was something you needed, and it didn't feel like something worth wasting a wish on. 

A partner? Now that would be nice, someone to come home to and cheer you up on days like these, but even that didn’t feel right and you didn’t want to end up in one of those shitty genie situations where they take your words literally and end up screwing you over.

What was it that you truly wanted? Adventure? Excitement? Something to look forward to in a world that makes you constantly look back? That felt like the right direction but you had no idea how to phrase it so you just poured everything you were feeling into the coin and then flicked it into the clear blue water.

As it sank to the bottom you held your breath as you waited for something to happen. You don’t know what you were expecting, it’s not like everything you wished for would just magically appear out of nowhere…

You waited a few minutes, shifting anxiously on your feet as you stared at the coin at the bottom of the fountain. There were no other coins in the water and you wondered if someone came to clean it often, even the water was flawlessly clear despite the area being so secluded. You wondered if your coin would soon be cleaned out and debated fishing it out of the water. 

It was pretty cute but maybe you could just grab a second one from the machine? You fisted your pockets for another penny but came up empty so you resorted to searching the surrounding dirt for any lost change. Much to your luck there was a single penny underneath one of the within-reach bushes and you quickly inserted it into the slot and tried to twist.

The machine didn’t budge. Was it broken? You tried twisting again, taking the penny out and putting it back, and even lightly smacking the machine but nothing worked. The “only one per person" sticker staring at you tauntingly. Perhaps that was your sign to stop trying. 

Sighing, you glance at the time and decide you should probably start to head back if you want to make it to your car before the mechanic people do. Before you go though, you take one last look into the statue's warm eyes, letting the tiniest ounce of hope spark through you.

“I don’t really know what I wished for but… I hope it comes true.” You turn to walk away but then hesitate, taking in the scenery one last time “And I hope it makes me happy.”

Pt.2

A/n: Hope you enjoyed Chapter one of my new series! It only gets crazier from here!! ~Starry

[trigunsapphicweek]

[I.D.: The prompt list. The background has an aged paper look with real-life violets in the corners. The list is captioned: “Trigun Sapphic Week: February 9th-15th 2025.” End I.D.]

Here’s the prompt list! Thank you to everybody who has voted and supported us so far!

Check out our carrd for further details about the event here: Carrd. If you have any questions, comments, or concerns, send an ask or a DM!

Under the cut is a plain text transcript of the prompts.

[Text Transcript of the prompt list:

Trigun Sapphic Week

February 9th - 15th 2025

1. T4T | Post-Canon

"And I realize I'll play any type of fool to make her laugh." - Mazey Eddings

"Killer Queen" by Queen

2. Flirting/Banter/Teasing | Role Swap

"That's what I admire most about you - the bloodiness of your heart." - Margaret Atwood

"Red Wine Supernova" by Chappell Roan

3. Flowers | Pre-Canon

"Would you put my whole, wounded body in your own, if I asked you?" - Bianca Stone

"Running Up That Hill" by Kate Bush

4. Hurt/Comfort | Missing Scene

"Stand and face me, my love, and scatter the grace in your eyes." - Sappho

"Two Slow Dancers" By Mitski

5. Letters | Cowgirls

"Tell me how all this, and love too, will ruin us. These, our bodies, possessed by light. Tell me we'll never get used to it." - Richard Siken

"Girl with One Eye" by Florence + The Machine

6. Hands | Supernatural

"In the crooks of your body, I find my religon." - Sappho

"Love is like a butterfly" by Dolly Parton



7. Worship | Canon Divergence

"Someone will probably love you for who you are, not just for who you labor to be." - Stephanie Burt

"She's A Gun" by The Greeting Committee. End Transcript.]

[dontbethatguy20]

Hellooo! Chucky has been recently added to DBD, as you probably know, but I'm not sure if you are willing to write for him :( If you are, I've got a silly little request that goes like this: survivor reader is downed by Chucky, but before he can summon his spirit to carry them to the hook they tap his nose and go: "Boop!" (If you are okay with it, I would also love to know Tiffany's reaction to getting booped in the nose!) Thank you and no hard feelings if you don't write for them! 🩷

I love this. It's adorable :) Don't worry, I got you.))

Chucky:

He'll be taken back and he'll freeze for a moment and be like "Ok, what the fuck?"

He'd take a couple of seconds to process before he just shakes out of his head before probably doing his mori on you out of spite.

I feel in the next trial with you he'd see you, he'd roll his eyes and be like, "Really? This guy agian" then save you for last probably couse imhe thinks you're going to do it agian and dosnt want it to happen.

When he finally gets to you agian, he'd probably be one of two things, be irritated but let you do it before killing you like "get it over with" and he'd roll his eyes or just try to kill you before you could do it agian.

Story to go with:

Five minutes was all it took. Five minutes for 3 of the strangers I arrived in this fog with to be picked off one by one.

I looked on from the cover of a bush maybe 20 feet away as the last of my improvised team fell.

A piercing laugh ripped through the cold night air. “That’s what you get when you play with dolls asshole!” The possessed doll’s knife sliced through skin and muscle easily cutting the terrified scream short.

A choked whimper escaped my lips, “Shit.” I whispered quickly clasping my bloodstained hands to my mouth. A futile attempt it seemed.

Chucky’s head spun with a sickening click. His plastic eyes lit with excitement for yet another plaything.

“I know you’re there you little shitstain!” He twirled his knife, coated with viscera gleaming in the moonlight.

My thoughts raced through my options. He knows I’m near. If I move he’ll hear me. What can I do? Shit! Maybe if I stay here he’ll leave thinking I ran away. Wait…where did he go…?

Chucky was no longer near the body he’d just disemboweled.

He left!

I backed out of the bush slowly.

I have to find the gates.

“Hide and seek is over fuckface! Guess what?! You lose!” My head whipped around to face the 2 foot killing machine just in time to witness the blade sink into my thigh bringing me to my knees. A scream tore itself from my throat whether from pain or shock was unclear.

My head was screaming at me to run but my injured leg refused to cooperate.

This is it. I’m going to die here.

“What’s wrong? Don’t wanna play tag?” Chucky snickered and readied himself for the final blow. “Say goodnight!”

He really is an actual doll… possessed. I wonder…

Before he could attack I allowed myself to act on an intrusive thought.

In one swift motion I reached out and with one finger I gently pressed the doll’s nose. “Boop.”

He froze. His hands fell to his sides, face scrunching in visible confusion.

“Boop? Fucking boop?!” He shook his head and cackled loudly holding his midsection to steady himself from the laughter. “Thanks for the laugh kid, I’m gonna have to tell Tiff about this one.” He grinned maliciously, his knife raised above his head, “Game over!”

The last sensation I felt was the cold steel scraping my ribs. The sound of my own innards being thrown in the dirt and that damned laughter, my lullaby.

Tiffany:

She'd be taken aback a little but be like, "Oh, cute, kinda adorable," like she'd actully like what you did.

She'd probably complain to chucky that he doesn't do adorable shit like that. "Why don't you do shit like that, you dipshit?" That's what she'd say to him

She'll still hook ya, but if you get off hook, she'll then come after you last couse she thought it was adorable. But if you're lucky she'll let you get hatch.

If you guys are in a trial and she sees you agian, she'd be like, "Oh, you agian" in a happy tone of voice and she'd wonder if you'd do it agian.

Tiffany's story to go with:

You were in a trial, the sound of other survivors around, the sounds of screams here and there.

You have been lucky enough to do a couple of gens without too much trouble until you were on your way to a gen you saw. You ran over, or tried at least. That's when you heard little tippy tappies behind you. You looked, and there she was, Tiffany, coming straight for you.

You screamed in fear and then ran. You did run her a good while, enough for a couple of other survivors to finish a gen, and that's when she got you. She was about you just kill you from the ground but that when you got a good look at her. "She's just a pretty doll," you thought. You, by impulse, just booped the tip of her nose.

She paused for a moment before speaking. "Awww, that was kinda cute." it gave her a little smile.

"I'll let you live this once, only couse I got to complain to chucky about not doing shit like that." she'd then carry you to hatch.

(Mines kinda short lol

Credit

Chuckys story and editor of my post : https://www.tumblr.com/astarionsrightnipple

[itsrockinronnie]

A smoothing broach completes the bushing process

Clock movements often require bushing for several reasons. Over time, the original brass bushings can wear out due to friction and other factors. When this occurs, the holes in the clock plates become enlarged and misshapen, resulting in a poor fit between the components that interact with each other. This wear and tear can lead to excessive play in the gears, causing the clock to run erratically…

[jellyfishcake]

Mae x F reader

°○°○°○°○°○°○°○°○°○°○°○°○°○°○°○°○°○°○°○°○°

You and Mae got along pretty well when you met her. Mea was always by you're side when she didn't really have much to do.

Their was books in the military camp you would read alot because it was the only thing that made you keep you're hope's up. Space was the main thing you liked reading about you would always talk to Mae about the solar system and the different types of planets and what they were made of.

Mae would listen and just look at you with loving eye's.

You did find out you are very good at making bombs. The bombs are very unique you put different colors in them so when they explode many different colors come up. Mae helps you out alot you guys came up with silly designs of what to make next.

☆●☆●☆●☆●☆●☆●☆●☆●☆●☆●☆●☆●☆●☆●☆

Mae was trying not to worry too much about you she knows you can take care of yourself but so many things were going on inside of her head. She watched you get taken by the apes they were trying to find her but she was hiding behind a bush and they got so close to her. You came out of hiding and yelled out so they can get you instead of Mae.

She watched you run until a big gorilla came up and grabbed you from the left. "Don't touch me," you screamed out loud.

"We got one. Let's go so the other one can follow," said the gorilla out loud. Mae didn't know what to feel she stayed their until they left she did want to follow but she can't.

She met this ape named Noa and an orangutan named Raka. She was going to bed until she saw Noa get up and walk somewhere she decided to follow him where ever he's going. Mae walked into the building where Noa was and looked around and she started to walk up to the telescope.

She looked down into the telescope and saw the night sky but it turned all bright. '[Y/n] said those are stars' Mae thought to herself she started to cry not because it was beautiful but it reminded her of you. She needed to get you back.

☆●☆●☆●☆●☆●☆●☆●☆●☆●☆●☆●☆●☆●☆●☆

You were being forced to walk along a sea side you knew where you were, you got sent to go on a mission with a group but they got killed and Mae and you were the only ones that survived. A rusty ship was in you're view rope was tied around you're wrists, looking around you see a village on you're left with many apes.

The ship is bigger then it seems you made it to the entrance and the ape that was pulling you got off the horse and walked to you. Fear start to come up in you're body the ape grabbed you're left arm and looked at you a knife cut though the rope they let go of you. 'So much noise' their was so many apes in this rusty ship you felt the gorilla hand tighten around one of you're arms and start yanking you to follow him.

You end up in a room 'This don't seem like a ape lives here' as you spin slowly to look at the room. "Do you read books" as you hear a male voice behind you turn around and see a man coming down stairs "Yes.." you said in a low voice "Hmm what kind?". "Machines but mostly space" he looks at you "Space.. I haven't heard that word in a long time"

"So what's your name?"

"[Y/n].."

"That's a nice name" as he turned around "Oh yeah their hot water so you can take a shower and clean clothes" as he raised his hand in the air to point.

"Aren't you going to tell me you're name?"

"Trevathan"

You took a shower and got ready you felt more clear then before. You were reading a book you had interest in you sighed 'He had more Roman books then space' you sighed "Trevathan why is their more Roman books then other books?" He stops what he's doing "Proximus is more interesting in those books then any other", 'oh' you jumped up when you heard big bangs come from the door "It's time for dinner" Trevathan pops ups as the door open the big gorilla came in view. You started to follow Trevathan slowly behind him as he made his way out the door you looked behind and saw the gorilla.

"[Y/n] it's not that bad just give him want he wants and you'll be fine" as he point his finger up "He probably be interested in space but he'll find you useful" you didn't really know what to say. You walked in a room and a low table was in the middle you see Proximus sitting in a chair "Welcome [Y/n] to my kingdom" as he raised both of his arms and walked down to the table.

"My apes tell me you're good with machines more so bombs?"

You didn't say anything

"You could be useful too me, like how Trevathan is useful to me" you felt you're lips tighten "Trevathan what have they told" Proximus said as he looks at Trevathan

Hey what's up I watched the movie my hyperfixated is planet of the apes yeah but I'm back I will finish the fortnite fanfic. But I wanted to post this before I forgot about this.

[generic-sonic-fan]

The post where I do vague cultural worldbuilding headcanons for Sonic characters??

Sonic and Knuckles are mountain man bros in the sense that they both grew up in the wild raised by animals. They dunk themselves in a river, call themselves clean, and then fistbump about it. They eat fruit right off bushes. Knuckles can find you a damn good tuber in a pinch and Sonic would be able to snatch you a worm if you really wanted it. Knuckles finds it difficult to pick up on mainstream cultural customs but Sonic's always found it easy now that he's older.

Tails and Amy, meanwhile, grew up in towns. These towns had a definite human influence, hence their possession of first and last names, but they still grew up in a Mobian in-group of sorts. They know proper fur/quill care, feel that it's gender non-conforming for a boy to wear clothes and a girl to go without them, and are adept at reading ear/tail gestures. Tails was never really one for any small-town slang but Amy still uses more rural phrasing even now that she lives in a larger city.

Rouge grew up in a large city, so she's more well-versed in cultures other than her own. She's adopted some human rituals because she thinks they're fun, like face masks and shaving some of her body fur. She loves exploring human cuisines because they're "exotic" to her while Mobian cuisine are comfort foods. She's fluent in several different kinds of slang along with the gestures/manners of the different cultures.

Shadow was raised by humans. His mannerisms are unmistakably human. From wearing human-sized shirts around the house, to having a taste for "human" comfort foods, to being completely unable to read ear/tail gestures in conversation, any Mobian is able to peg him as an outsider pretty quickly. While he's absolutely embraced proper quill care, Rouge had to first point out to him that he was doing it wrong- using human shampoo is not going to cut it, hun.

Omega is. . . weird. For the most part, he's predictably alien: what few social customs he's bothered to learn he has to have observed first. Rouge has been a helpful educator on the rare occasion he gives a shit, usually in regards to slang translation to add to his dictionary. He's almost more like Knuckles in the sense that he was isolated and now he's playing catchup. Sometimes, sometimes, though, the assumptions Omega makes will lean more towards human biases. Anyone who values their life knows not to ever point that out to him.

Metal Sonic reads like a robot imitating a human imitating a Mobian. Yes, he can imitate Sonic's gestures, but it's the movement in between that's uncanny. The physicality of his limbs. The weight of each step in his out-of-combat walk cycle. It screams "human". Most of his cultural knowledge, the little that he has, comes from observing Eggman's daily routine. But Eggman is just one human, and an isolated and eccentric one at that. Metal Sonic could recognize a refrigerator but not a washing machine, could recognize a plate and fork but not any other kitchen cookware. His knowledge is piecemeal. His imitations are incomplete. He was designed for combat, nothing more. His unconscious attempts to fill in the gaps are illogical, aren't they?

Silver is permanently locked into a culture called "survival mode". That's a joke, but only mostly. His behaviors more closely match that of someone growing up in extreme poverty. He can't stand to throw stuff away and he has a hypervigilance about danger that someone who grew up in a "bad neighborhood" would understand. Not to mention that any cultural values he has learned are a few hundred years out of date, so his guesses at any customs tend to be slightly off.

Blaze is from a different dimension, which basically reads as just a different culture than the one that's prominent where most of Sonic's friends reside! She actually gets a kick out of sharing her customs and comparing them to everyone else's. She's also from an extremely privileged walk of life, though, and it definitely shows no matter how much research she does to try and be less ignorant about how "normal" life works.

[themagical-soup-spaghetti]

Not requested!!

Karl Heisenberg x abused!male reader

Summary: Reader has stumbled across the factory while running away from his abusive ex husband who is seeking revenge for their divorce. He quickly finds a way into the factory and finds a place to hide, awaiting his ex husband's departure from the premises, where Reader meets Heisenberg for the first time.

Warnings: Angst, mentions of abuse, memories, abusive husband, trauma, mentions of attack, blood, scars, mentions of open wounds, mentions of attempted murder, semi soft Heisenberg

~

~

Cold, harsh air whipped Y/N's face and wounds as he ran through the snow that wad laid so softly on the ground. Snow was falling all around, and Y/N wasn't really prepared for the weather today. He expected to stay in his home, near the fire with a good book, maybe some hot cocoa or coffee or tea. So for the past 5 minutes, he's been running in a tank top, red flannel pajamas bottoms, Santa socks, slippers, and a long red robe. Not the most ideal running attire, especially in the cold and snowy weather.

Y/N's cheeks were extremely red and cold, but he was to fear struck to even notice the cold nipping at his exposed face and hands. All he was focused on was trying to find a place to hide away until his ex husband, Markus, had given up on his pursuit. His eyes scanned the open lands, nothing but snow and the occasional rustling of bushes or trees. Along with snow crunching under Y/N's slippers.

A little background on Y/N's relationship with his ex husband, and why this is all happening.

Y/N had been married to his ex husband Markus for 10 years, withstanding abuse of different varieties. Being physically hit with fists, knees, feet, beer cans and bottles, glass or ceramic vases, basically anything that was in reach that would do some sort of damage to him.

Once Y/N's parents had heard about this, they had called the cops and Markus was brought to jail. During his time in jail, he was served with a divorce notice and was taken to court. Ultimately loosing everything that he owned during his marriage, being his home, his cars, ect. Markus had plotted throughout his entire jail sentence to destroy everything that was now in Y/N's possession, or to ultimately kill Y/N altogether. On multiple occasions, Markus had tried to kill Y/N in subtle ways that wouldn't point to him. Cutting the brakes on Y/N's car, messing with Y/N's engine, ect. Soon Markus got tired of his attempts failing and decided right out he was going to murder Y/N himself.

Which is what got Y/N into running for his life. Now back to the story!

Y/N's head spun in all directions, looking for somewhere to hide. He grew more dizzy by the second; the cold and his open wounds finally getting to him. He then came across a building, factory looking. And he decided then that he would hide there. Y/N checked his surroundings, and hearing the steps of Markus become closer with every passing second. He immediately started to run towards the factory. The first entrance Y/N tried was sealed shut by something on the inside, so he ran around the building to see if there was another way in. Low and behold, there was another door that was wide open, which was a little worrisome. But that was his only option of safety so far, so he went into the building.

~

Several minutes had passed since Y/N had entered the factory and found a hiding spot amongst a bunch of machinery and metal scraps. It was silent inside other than machines moving, and the sound of Y/N's soft breathing. He could feel blood slowly rolling down his face, and his leg. But he tried not to move to wipe it or cover the wounds. He wasn't sure if there would be any noise if he moved. The wind whistled outside, and soon there was the sound of shouting. Markus has found the factory. There was the heavy crunching of snow before there was a pounding on the locked door Y/N had tried to enter through earlier. Then there was a sound of heavy footsteps on the wood inside.

"Who's inside of this place?! Are they going to kill me when they find me...?"

They subsided just as quickly as they came. It seemed the person who was inside was standing relatively close to Y/N's hiding spot.

"Y/N you open this goddamn door right now before I fucking bust it down!!" Markus shouted, pounding on the door with a good amount of force. Metal could be heard moving, and the door slamming against the walls inside was very evident. Markus was clearly about to start shouting, but instead took a step back in the snow. "Who- Who the hell are you?!"

"I assume that I could ask you the same thing," A voice unbeknownst to Y/N spoke, semi-deep, a hint of an accent in some words, it wasn't an accent that he could make out from his hiding spot amongst the metal scraps. Y/N listened further, "But... Since you so kindly knocked on my door, I'll give you three seconds to leave before things get ugly."

Markus was about to protest, but hearing the unsheathing of something metal, the sound of running across the snow could be heard getting fainter by the second. The door closed and was locked once again with metal, and heavy footsteps rang across the wooden panels of the floor once more.

Y/N stayed silent, shaking softly from the fear of being found by the person who was currently walking around in the exact room he was in. He took a shaky breath in, and right at that moment the metal he was hiding behind was moved at a rapid pace.

His hands lift in front of his face, and he scoots closer to the wall behind him. He can almost feel the cold through the wall. Footsteps grow closer, slowly, slowly, then they stop. Right. Infront. Of Y/N. There isn't any movement for a while between the two, just small breaths and hicks from Y/N as he slowly begins to cry.

"Please don't hurt me..." Y/N finally speaks up, softly, quietly, almost inaudible. There was a small gasp from the person in front of Y/N. The floorboards cried out as the person sank down in front of the shuttering man.

A rough feeling hand grabbed one of Y/N's, pulling it away from his face. He shut his eyes tightly, pulling whatever he could away from the person in front of him. "Come on, I'm not gonna kill ya, open up." Y/N was hesitant, but slowly opened one eye. There was a man with a beard, brown hair that reached the bottom of his neck, and a pair of sunglasses. He had his hat to his chest, his lips pressed and brow furrowed with a bit of worry. "Here, stand up."

The man spoke, helping Y/N stand. The man was much taller than Y/N, standing around 6'5 at least. No more than 7 feet though. Y/N cowered before the man got on his knees to seem less intimidating. "Hey, hey, relax. I'm not going to do anything to hurt you." This put Y/N slightly at ease, but he was still tense. The man sighed softly before dipping his head slightly. "My name is Karl Heisenberg, I own this factory."

"Own it? This place?" Y/N thought to himself, curious about how this man came to own a place like this.

Y/N grew less tense as he stared at the man, Karl Heisenberg. He took a deep breath in slowly. "That's nice..." Heisenberg watched Y/N for a minute, then two, then he spoke again.

"Who is that guy to you?"

~

Hours passed, Y/N had explained his relationship with Markus to Heisenberg; the taller man had patched up his wounds, and they were now sitting down for a cup of tea.

"How did you find this place anyway?" Heisenberg asked with a cocked eyebrow.

Y/N smiled and laughed a bit. "Well, it's a giant factory in the midst of a bunch of snow... It kind of stands out.."

"Well I suppose you are correct.." Heisenberg spoke before trailing off. He stared at Y/N for a bit before he spoke again, "If he did this to you before, he's bound to come back again. We'll go to your house and grab your things. You're staying here until I can build you a home closer."

Before Y/N could protest, Heisenberg had stood and walked off, probably getting something ready to take him back to the house to collect his things.

~

Time had passed once again and now all of Y/N belongings were in a room that Heisenberg had cleared out for him. He sat in the room, looking at all the things thst had been brought. His bookshelf, his recliner, the mattress that was now on a bedframe thst Heisenberg had made for him, and some extra things that Heisenberg had made. It was really generous of him.

Y/N wasn't sure what to expect, but he prayed that it would be better than his time with his ex-husband.

A/N: HI!! I finally posted again, if you have any requests for me I will gladly complete them! Have a good day <3