#do not ingest heavy metals

[elminx]

Hey folks, colloidal silver is not considered a safe treatment for anything in the medical community, including COVID. Shockingly, there's a really good reason for this: it's a heavy metal.

Do you know what happens when you ingest heavy metals?

You get heavy metal poisoning.

Source: the NiH

"There is no clinical evidence supporting the use of colloidal silver to prevent or treat COVID-19. Furthermore, no alternative remedies or dietary supplements have been shown to prevent or cure COVID-19."

We should absolutely be continuing to monitor, prevent, and treat COVID effectively.

But we also need to stop spreading bunk information.

New zine that's free for anyone to print and distribute! Read the whole thing at newlevant.com/COVIDzine or in the rest of this post.

[marzipanandminutiae]

honestly the positioning of common-sense sun protection- hats, parasols/sun umbrellas, sunscreen, etc. -as either prissy and affected or unnecessary anti-aging obsession is one of the most dangerous lines we've collectively been fed as a society, for 100 years now

like I get where it all started, I do. there ARE health benefits to sun exposure in moderation, those were starting to be understood around the 1910s, and the 1920s fancied themselves the inventors of science and Women Doing Things OutdoorsTM because of some discoveries made and voting rights gained around that time. tanning was the new miracle cure! it meant you were outdoors and active- with no consideration that the "active" part might be what made people feel good, not so much the endless sun exposure! it spoke to European or tropical holidays!

(if you were white. if you had natural, healthy dark skin, no dice; keep rubbing heavy metals on your body to look lighter. there's just no winning)

and unlike forcing factory workers to ingest radium and other harmful fads of the day, the negative effects took years to surface and weren't yet fully understood for what they were

but it took root so deeply that when sunscreen began gaining just a BIT of a foothold...it became associated with the kind of people who use special wrinkle-prevention straws. and some idiot who thinks skin cancer is caused by eating seed oils just reblogged one of my comments on the matter, linking a weird study that claims tanning-bed use is somehow good for you

god

we are never getting out of the Skin Damage Is Beautiful Industrial Complex, are we?

[focsle]

I get so annoyed when people are like ‘oh those 19th century idiots with their silly understanding of things that were killing them lol’ when half of it was like…

They knew there was harm but because of various things, be it manufacturing happening out of their control, or what their access or lack of access looked like, or what assurances they were given by whom, what have you, that harm mitigation became more challenging.

Like, people knew that scurvy was treated by access to fresh fruits and vegetables (though there was sometimes a mistaken identity of believing acidity was indicative of something that’d help you, such as vinegar, which is a logical conclusion when you don’t know about vitamin c). But sometimes one still finds themselves in a place or job where that access can’t happen.

Doctors and journalists were sounding alarms about the dangers of heavy metals in dyes and makeup. But If your understanding of how something caused harm didn’t match with the actual currently-not-understood dangers (such as thinking that arsenic kills something when ingested, but not knowing about dust or outgassing) one might not be alert to the danger of it. The power of advertising, and labels, and assurances could also sway people as much as they do today.

There were journalists who wrote on the dangers of adulterated food cut with inedible materials. But if, like heavy metals in dyes and cosmetics, it was embedded in the manufacturing process, and if there was no system in place to hold those manufacturers accountable, there wasn’t much you could do. Especially for poorer families who didn’t often have access to food that WASN’T adulterated. They couldn’t afford food that wasn’t adulterated. You still have to eat.

Some doctors also sounded the alarm about the use of mercury / calomel treatments for various ailments, saying that they did more harm than good. But if that’s the most widely available treatment, if it’s the only option open to you when the alternative is ‘inevitably die horribly from syphilis anyway’, people may have taken their chances. Especially when it was also being pushed by other authority figures as being an effective miracle cure.

Idk all this to say that capitalism always kills, ordinary people trying to get through their lives are always trying to do the best they can in the circumstances they find themselves in with the knowledge they have and what’s available to them, and like…look in a mirror or something. I don’t want someone calling me an idiot 200 years from now, if humanity is still here, because my organs were full of microplastics. There’s nothing I can do about that. Criticize the greed and structures that put them there.

[the-teufort-nine]

Ignore this if you’re uncomfortable with it no worries. Can we do an reader x merc (particularly medic, sniper, engie, demo, spy, and maybe heavy) Where they find reader greening out (super pale/passing out) and the mercs have to “save” you? Establish relationship please! Super hurt/comfort! I need a pick me up after a bad bad sesh.

anon you're so real for this. The one and only time i tried weed i greened out so bad that it scared me off drugs 4 ever (don't do edibles in the woods kids!)

I hope this makes u feel a bit better. get plenty of rest & water <3

Mercs x GN!Reader | Too Much THC

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ Hurt/Comfort | SFW | Cw: drugs, bad trip, thc overdose symptoms, vomiting ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Featuring:

Medic, Sniper, Engie, Demo, Spy, and Heavy

Scenario: When Respawn goes down for a routine bug check and maintenance, Reader decides to take advantage of the ceasefire to partake in some of Pyro's "special" brownies. However, things take a bad turn when the fire bug's edibles turn out to be too much for them to handle.

🕊️+Medic+🕊️

"Y/N? Taube, are you in here?"

The effort it took to pry your eyes open was truly Herculean, though you couldn't, for the life of you, remember when it was you'd actually closed them. Nausea made your vision swim, and despite your best efforts, you couldn't respond to your boyfriend's concerned voice. Words seemed beyond your capabilities, as was doing more than slowly blinking your eyes.

You were in the medbay, slouched down on the floor with your back pressed against a frigid metal cabinet. With great, great difficulty, you recalled that you'd stumbled in here when you began to realize that something was wrong, hoping to find Medic tending to his birds or riling up the living bread loaf he kept in a large jar, or whatever the hell it was he did on your rare days off. However, the medbay had been empty, and your legs had decided that they'd had enough of holding your weight.

"Y/N? Pyro told me you looked as though you vere going to be sick before you ran off, and zhat zey haven't been able to find you since. Please tell me you're in here, because ve searched the rest of ze base and I don't think I could handle you getting stuck inside ze walls again."

The tiled floor in front of you was starting to look like a choppy ocean, so you squeezed your eyes shut and knocked your head back against the cabinet behind you. It made a dull 'thud', and you heard the sound of footsteps approaching you.

Success had never felt so headache inducing.

"Ach! Mein liebling, are you okay?" Medic's voice was suddenly right next to you, and you jolted slightly, eyes opening in panic.

Your boyfriend was crouched next to you, an extended hand held aloft in the air as he waited for you to settle. When your breathing evened out once more, he gently wrapped and arm around you, frowning when he felt how cool you were to the touch. Even through your uniform, the doctor could feel that you were much colder than you should be, especially given the New Mexico heat that permeated throughout the rest of the base.

"I think I'm paralyzed." You responded, eyes moisiting as you leaned into the touch, "M' legs stopped working when I tried to find you."

"Y/N, I promise you're not paralyzed. You're simply having an adverse reaction to ze cannabis you ingested." Medic soothed, before slightly jabbing the back of one of your knees. You kicked out with a yelp, drawing a slight chuckle from him, "See?"

Unfortunately, you were feeling more than a little sensitive at the moment, and it only took a moment before tears filled your eyes.

"Don't laugh at me!" you warbled, lip wobbling a bit as you voiced your hurt feelings.

The look of amusement on Medic's face was wiped off the instant he saw your tears, and he quickly shifted into damage control mode.

"Scheiße! Please don't cry, taube, I'm not laughing at you!" he pulled you in closer, letting you rest your head against his chest as he shifted his hold on you, getting ready to pull you to your feet, "Come now, you vill be alright. Let's get you to your room so you can warm up and lie down, ja? I do believe Pyro intends to bring you one of zeir, ah, what's the word, weighted blankets?"

You grabbed a fistful of his shirt and sniffed wetly, grateful that he'd changed into his casual clothes, because the smell of his usual work coat was far too 'hydrogen peroxide and blood' scented for you to handle right now.

"Will you stay with me?" you asked quietly, clinging to him as he helped you become vertical once more. "Please?"

Medic smiled and gently pet your hair, taking the brunt of your weight with little trouble as you staggered up onto your feet. "Of course. I vill stay with you until you feel better, and zhen I vill go kill Pyro for letting you run off by yourself in such a state."

"Mnh, no you can't kill Pyro. No Respawn, 'member?" you muttered into his chest, not wanting to pull away yet, lest the world turn into an optical illusion yet again.

"Ah, verdammt, must have slipped my mind." he tutted, voice tinged with false disappointment, "I suppose I vill simply have to settle vith cuddling you instead."

⎚-⎚⌖Sniper⌖⎚-⎚

"Roo?! Roo?! Bloody 'ell, I swear if you don't wake up, I'm gonna lose my damn mind!"

Consciousness was slow to return to you, but by God did it make sure you knew how much it didn't want to be here. The only indication that you were actually awake, aside from the sound of your boyfriend's panicked voice coming from somewhere above (behind? Christ, you couldn't tell at the moment) came in the form of a disgusting, semi-familiar taste in your mouth; the patented Dustbowl combo of sand and blood.

With a sputtering cough, you managed to pull your hands beneath your prone form and shoved yourself up enough to hack and spit the vile mix out. A shaky sigh of relief came from your boyfriend's direction, wherever that was, and suddenly there were hands patting your back, helping to clear your airways.

"Christ alive, Roo, you nearly gave me a fuckin' heart attack!" Sniper barked, though his voice was filled more with relief than any form of anger, "What the fuck are ya doin' out here?"

"What?" you croaked groggily, rubbing at your aching head, which felt as though it had taken a direct hit from one of Scout's bats. Hadn't you just been on your way to your boyfriend's camper van? "Where'm I?"

"Middle'a the damn battlefield, Roo." Sniper frowned, "Yer right lucky I was nearby an' spotted ya. Dunno how long you've been out here for, but ya look right crook, luv."

You groaned and sat up fully, nearly toppling over as a rush of dizziness washed over you. Sniper was quick to catch you, plonking himself right down in the dust behind you as he drew you in closer, hugging you to his chest. He listened to you breathe for a moment, watching as your face scrunched up as you licked gritty sand out of your blood-stained teeth, the sight reassuring him that you were, in fact, alive. It looked as though you'd somehow managed to fall off one of the nearby bridges, judging by the amount of bruises that were starting to form on your face and arms.

"Fucking Pyro." you hissed, before spitting out another mouthful of blood and dirt, "That is the last time I trust them to make edibles, Jesus Christ."

"Strewth, ya' took one'a the fire bug's eddies?!" Sniper ran a hand through his hair, dislodging his hat slightly, "No wonder ya' fell ass over backwards, you must be greened as all hell! It's a bloody miracle ya' made it this far!"

The australian slid one arm beneath your knees as he adjusted his hold, grunting as he wobbled to his feet. He was hardly the strongest mercenary on your team, but you didn't survive out in the Outback for most of your life, and then survive traveling around with 9 other lunatics to fight and die and fight again in an endless gravel war, without picking up some muscle.

"Right, let's get ya' to Medic. I'm willin' ta bet ya' broke somethin', givin' your right shit luck, darl." Sniper said, eyes flicking over your battered body. While he couldn't see any obvious signs of serious injury, it was obvious that you were in pain. "She'll be alright, Roo. The Doc'll fix ya' up, then you can rest up in the van. Sound good?"

You let out a weak approximation of an agreement, not feeling well enough to form a proper response. Instead, you tucked your face into your boyfriend's neck, smiling slightly when you felt his stubble scratch against your cheek. The scent of coffee and gun oil filled your senses as Sniper started off towards the medbay, and it gave you something to focus on other than the pain that radiated throughout your entire body.

The next time you wanted to get high, you'd just smoke with Sniper. It would be a hell of a lot less painful and embarassing.

🧰🔧Engineer🔧🧰

You were having a heart attack.

Your nails dug into the skin nearest your heart as you fought to calm the erratic organ, your breaths coming in rapid, pained pants. Cold sweat dripped down your neck as you panicked silently, unable to find your voice to call for help, to scream, to do anything. If you could just speak, then perhaps you could get Pyro's attention. The masked mercenary was lounging on their bed only a few feet away, their head tilted back as they gazed up towards the painting of a rainbow unicorn on their ceiling, nodding along slightly to the record the two of you had put on earlier.

The mega baboon heart in your chest, though incredibly useful in battle, was now working against you, the increased rapid blood flow causing you to feel lightheaded. If you didn't do something fast, you were going to pass out.

Taking the deepest breath you could, you attempted to call out to Pyro. Unfortunately, all you managed was a near-silent rasp, the attempt taking more out of you than you'd anticipated. You blinked, and suddenly you were on the ground, Pyro frantically mumbling in front of you. It was harder than usual to pick out their words, especially with how rapidly they were speaking, but you managed to glean that they were frightened by your collapse, and that they were going to go and find your boyfriend.

As quick as a wildfire during the dry season, Pyro left your field of view, throwing open the door to their room and running out. The slam of the door hitting the wall made you flinch, and made you very aware of the fact that you still weren't breathing right.

The panic that had left when you fell unconscious returned full force, and you writhed on the floor as a stabbing sensation radiated out from within your chest. No matter what you did, or how you positioned yourself, the pain would not relent, and your vision began to blur.

"Y/N!"

A southern-tinged voice broke through your panic, and suddenly there was a muscular arm supporting your back, tilting you up slightly. A warm, calloused hand gently rubbed your chest, applying a light pressure.

"Easy now darlin', ah got'cha." Engineer soothed, his own rapid breathing starting to level out. When Pyro had burst into his room in a frenzied panic, yelling about his partner suddenly passing out, he'd run out of there like the Devil himself had been nipping at his heels.

The gentle pressure and familiar voice of your beloved southern boyfriend slowly brought you out of your fear-induced panting. You blinked up at Engineer, a few tears slipping down your cheeks. A gloved hand gently wiped them away.

"There we go, sweetheart. Try'n match my breathin'." he murmured, continuing to stroke your cheek with his thumb, "That's it. You're doin' so good, darlin'."

You finally managed to take a deep breath, sighing in relief when the pain in your chest began to wane.

"Thank you, Engie." you said softly, leaning into your boyfriend's arm. Engineer smiled, and with his goggles pushed up as they were, you could see his eyes crinkle as his mouth turned upwards.

"It was no trouble, doll. I'm just glad you're alright." he said, gently pressing your foreheads together, "Y'gave me 'n Py a helluva fright. I think they just about burst into tears."

"Oh no." you said sadly, managing to sit yourself up as the topic of your conversation finally made it back to the room. Pyro warbled out an apology in between exhausted pants, the arsonist clearly wiped out from the 'fuck off amounts of weed in their system/dead sprinting to Engie's room and back' combo. "Ro-ro, it's okay! We'll just lower the dose next time, yeah?"

Engineer merely shook his head with a laugh as Pyro wheezed against the doorframe, a shaky thumbs up being your only response.

🍾🗡️Demo🗡️🍾

+ Soldier is here too. He's not your boyfriend, but he is boyfriend adjacent most of the time.

Oh dear God, why did no one warn you about the dangers of mixing weed with alcohol?!

"Aye, there ya' go, mo luaidh, just get it allll out." Demo comforted, rubbing your back while sharing a sympathetic look with Soldier.

The two men had invited you to come and drink with them after they had found you lounging on one of the common room couches, and although you were already feeling quite buzzed after hanging out with Pyro, you weren't one to turn down the opportunity to spend time with your two favourite boys.

Unfortunately, the liquor in your stomach had decided to start a war with the edibles already stationed there, and neither of them were being very kind as they knocked you on your ass with the shakes and forced you to upchuck your lunch into the nearest bucket.

"Demo, I think 'm dying." you groaned, before sticking your head back into the bucket, a wave of uncontrollable shivers wracking your body, "Tell Medic he can't experiment on my body, okay?"

Suddenly, you pitched forward, and it was only Soldier's quick reflexes and Demo's hand suddenly snagging the back of your shirt that kept you from face planting into your own vomit.

"Fuck off, yer not dyin'." your boyfriend insisted, though you could, through the sudden wave of dizziness that had assaulted you, hear the worry in his voice, "Ye just had a wee bit too much to drink, that's all."

"Weed's not helpn'." you managed to bite out, before vomiting once again.

"Yer high?! Christ, ah' bloody knew there was somthin' off about'cha!" Demo groaned, smacking his free hand onto his face. Beside him, Soldier grimaced.

"Son, take it from me, it's gonna get worse before it gets better. You WILL feel as though you are in the trenches, but we will help you!" he shouted, before remembering that loud sounds were probably the last thing you needed at the moment, "I could try contacting Merasmus? He made me some kind of wizard voodoo potion that helped me feel better the last time I was higher than an eagle."

"No." was the firm reply from both you and Demo. The last thing you wanted was Merasmus dicking around with his magic while you were greening out.

Another round of shivers ripped through you, making the bucket rattle in your grip as you fought to keep yourself upright. Soldier tucked his arm around your midsection as Demo resumed his back rubs. Their presence grounded you, and you smiled weakly, though neither could see it, since you were still face down in the bucket.

"Thanks, guys." you said, wincing as your stomach turned and your vision swam.

"Do ye want to try an' move to the couch, love?" Demo asked.

"Nah, I think I'd just end up down here again if I tried to stand up." you replied, "Will- will you two stay, though? I know you probably have better things to do, but..."

"Negatory, private! I have never left a man behind, and I will not start now!" Soldier stated, and Demo nodded in agreement.

"Solly's right, a thasgaidh, we're stayin' right here 'till yer all better."

🚬🔪Spy🔪🚬

There was someone in the base.

Now, usually that would be a given; you lived with nine other mercenaries, after all, but this was different. Your teammates were supposed to be out, taking advantage of the ceasefire to get some much needed shopping done. Even your boyfriend, Spy, who usually never accompanied the others, had gone along this time, citing a need to pick up a few things at the local post office. You had decided to stay, since you had been waiting for Pyro's 'special' brownie to kick in, and hadn't wanted to deal with the bustle of Tuefort while you were high.

Now, though, as you stood with your back against the corner of one of the hallways that led to the intel room, your trusty melee weapon clutched in your hands, you were sorely regretting your decision.

You swore you'd seen something moving around the base, always just out of sight. It had sent a thrill of fear through you and put you on high alert. Respawn was down; what if the other team had decided to risk a surprise attack? Take care of one of their enemies permanently? You were all alone, inebriated, with only a close range weapon to defend yourself. Easy pickings.

Swallowing hard, you let your gaze snap back and forth, a snarl pulling at your lips when you saw the air flicker slightly, just for a moment, at the edge of your vision. You whipped around, eyes wide and searching, your ears straining to pick up any possible sounds.

"Y/N?"

A scream tore itself from your lips, and you jerked your weapon up to a defensive position as you turned once more, this time to see-

"Spy?!"

Your boyfriend stood only a few feet away from you, hands raised defensively. You blinked, before shakily lowering your weapon, relief flooding you, "Oh, thank God its just you."

"Were you expecting someone else, mon amour?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"N- no I just-" you ran a hand through your hair, still feeling a faint prickle of unease dance across the back of your neck, "I kept thinking I was seeing someone moving around the base. I- I think maybe Pyro messed up the dose in their brownies, because I am freaking out."

Spy made a soft sound of concern, and stepped closer, extending a hand to rest on your cheek. You smiled at your lover, but something still felt... off.

'Jesus, I must be greening out bad.' You thought to yourself, leaning into Spy's touch.

"I'm sorry to hear that, mon bijou. Would you like to retire to my quarters? Or, if you'd like, I can bring you to yours?" Spy offered sweetly.

"Yeah, that'd be-" you started, before his words suddenly caught up to you, the weed in your system making you a bit slower to react, "I'm sorry, honey, what did you call me?"

"Mon bijou. A fitting name for someone as beautiful as you."

My jewel. The one name Spy didn't like to call you. He'd never given you the full story, just saying that it was a nickname he associated with an unsavoury character from his past.

This was not your boyfriend.

Swallowing the fear that threatened to overwhelm you, you gave the enemy Spy your best smile. "Aw, you flatter me, darling. Do you mind leading the way? I'm a bit out of it right now."

"But of course." he replied, turning to walk down the hall, fully expecting you to follow him.

The second you were sure he had turned fully, you swung, your melee weapon catching him in the side. The wet shhhhck! of metal cutting through flesh was promptly overtaken by the man's cry of pain and shock. As he crumpled to the floor, his disguise melted away, revealing the colour of your enemy team.

"I FUCKING KNEW IT!" You screamed, arms raised as you gripped your bloodstained weapon tighter. Your breathing picked up as your adrenaline kicked in, your whole body seeming to buzz.

The enemy Spy hissed in pain, his hand instinctively going for his knife, before you swung your weapon down again, barely missing the appendage. Had you not been higher than the moon, the masked man would have been short a hand. Realising he was in a losing battle, and a potentially permanent one at that, your enemy scrambled up and became cloaked once again, racing back down the hall and, presumably, out of your base, leaving a trail of blood splatters as he ran.

With the danger gone, you dropped, shivering and shaking so badly that your weapon rattled loudly against the ground. Your breaths came in shallow, wheezing gasps, and you had to fight to keep your lunch from coming back up. Not knowing what else to do, you curled up in a defensive ball, pressing your swimming head into your knees.

"Y/N! Merde, merde, merde! Y/N! Where are you?!"

You jerked back to awareness, sucking in a breath through your teeth, jaw aching with how long you'd been clenching it. The base was alive once again, though the familiar sounds of chaos seeming much more frantic than usual.

How long had you been dissociating for? Christ, you were lucky that enemy Spy hadn't come back to finish you off.

The sound of rapid footsteps reignited your panic, and you squeezed the handle of your weapon. Had the rest of the enemy team come to finish you off? It sounded like your team was the ones here this time, but how could you be sure? You'd been right last time, after all.

Suddenly, Spy, your Spy, rounded a corner, looking uncharacteristically frazzled. When he spotted you, you could see the relief on his face, plain as day.

No, no you couldn't trust him. What if this was another trick?

"Y/N! Oh, ma moitié, you're okay, thank God. We saw ze blood and-"

"Get back!"

Spy paused, clearly caught off guard by your aggression. Wobbling to your feet, you glared at the man before you, putting all your effort into staying upright. You wouldn't be fooled twice.

"Y/N?"

Your eyes flicked over him, searching for any obvious tells. When none presented themselves, you cautiously stepped forward, weapon extended. Spy eyed you warily, but didn't make any sudden moves. It wasn't hard to piece together that something had happened while they had been gone, and if this was what his partner needed to feel safe, then he would allow it.

Once you were close enough, you roughly tapped the blunt part of your weapon against where you knew you had struck the enemy Spy, watching for any indication of pain. Spy continued to look at you with concern, but the colour of his suit and mask didn't change. This really was your Spy.

A relieved sob tore itself from your throat, and you all but fell into your partner's waiting arms. Spy wrapped his arms around you in an instant, only wincing a little bit as you cried into his suit. This one was less expensive that his usual work wear, and he could excuse it getting a little wet if it was in service of your comfort.

"What happened, mon rayon de soleil? Who has frightened you so?" he questioned, wondering who exactly it was he needed to kill. You didn't scare easy, but considering when he'd left you'd just recently had an edible... well, he wasn't exactly surprised that you were emotional than usual.

You just cried harder, unable to wrangle your emotions. Everything was just too much, and you justed wanted the comfort of your boyfriend and teammates.

As if reading your thoughts, Spy gently maneuvered you so that you could lean on him and walk down the bloodied hall, "Shhh, shhh, it's okay, petit tigre. You don't have to speak now. Let us get back and let ze others know you're okay before zey tear ze base down looking for you."

You nodded weakly, and this time, you let the man lead you down the hall.

✊🥪Heavy🥪✊

"This was poor choice, yes?"

You squinted at your boyfriend, trying your best to look ticked off from your place beneath a mountain of blankets. You were already suffering, did he have to rub it in?

Now, to be fair, you did make a poor choice recently. That poor choice being the decision to eat three of Pyro's weed brownies. At the time, it had seemed like a good choice. What better way to spend a lazy ceasefire day than by getting high with your buddy? Well, things had quickly gone sideways when you realized that Pyro had no idea of how much was too much when it came to THC, and thus the two of you were now high as balls and greening out hard.

"Yes." you muttered, snuggling down deeper in your blanket nest as you continued to hold Heavy's hand. You'd been holding onto it for the past half hour, having asked the giant to hold your hand when you'd started to get scared, only to grip his hand like you were making a business deal.

"Hmm, good. Heavy does not think лапушечка will make the same mistake again." your boyfriend mused. "Would you like snack?"

"I do," you started, squinting harder as you tried to sit up, "but I can't move. My bones are soup."

"Do not worry. Heavy will fix."

Suddenly, you were being picked up by the back of your shirt, not unlike a kitten. Heavy sat you on his lap, letting you rest against his broad chest. He produced a bag of pretzels, and your eyes locked onto the salty snack, your stomach growling. You attempted to lift your arms, but your limbs had decided to go on strike.

Seeing your struggle, your boyfriend took pity on you. Heavy fished out a few of the pretzels and placed them in your mouth. Processed grain and salt had never tasted so damn delicious.

"I love you." you sighed, leaning against Heavy as much as you could. Nothing said true love like feeding your partner when they were hungry, in your opinion.

"Я тоже тебя люблю."

[wheatbreadfuckyeah]

Flirting with death [Viktor x Reader]

Summary: In a chaotic lab, Viktor’s sharp words and irritation mask a reluctant respect for your brilliance. Amid playful tension and unspoken bonds, Viktor values your presence even when you had just point a loaded gun to his face.

Sigh sighh sighhhhh— hope u like it!

——‐——◇——‐——◇——‐——◇——‐——◇——‐——◇——‐——◇——‐——

The lab was dimly lit, its usual atmosphere of sterile precision clouded by a curling haze of smoke that seemed to blur the lines between order and chaos. The rhythmic hum of machines filled the air, punctuated by the crackle of open flames and the volatile hiss of chemicals bubbling in makeshift glass contraptions. Tonight wasn’t about calculated progress or meticulous breakthroughs. It was one of those nights where discipline surrendered to the thrill of reckless, unbridled creation.

You slouched in your chair, exuding an air of devil-may-care rebellion, the faint glow of your cigarette casting flickering shadows across your face. Smoke curled from your lips like ghostly ribbons, dissipating into the stale air. Scattered before you lay your tools of choice: experimental compounds, volatile tinctures, and haphazard notes scrawled in a frenzy. “For society,” you murmured between puffs, your voice dripping with mockery, barely concealing the grin tugging at your lips. A wheezy laugh escaped you, your shoulders shaking as you revel in the memory of your latest antic.

“And then... oh, you should’ve seen her face!” You doubled over, the chair creaking beneath you as your laughter echoed off the metallic walls.

Across the room, Viktor’s golden gaze flicked toward you, his work momentarily forgotten. He sat stiffly at his workstation, tools in hand, precision etched into every line of his posture. But your laughter, grating, relentless, and manic, broke through his focus like a hammer shattering glass. His jaw tightened, and for a moment, he seemed to weigh the merits of ignoring you versus addressing you. With a heavy sigh, he set down his tools with almost exaggerated care, the quiet clink of metal punctuating the tension. He straightened slowly, leaning heavily on his cane as he turned to face you, his expression carved from stone.

“Do you find something amusing,” he began, his voice low and measured, though his words carried a serrated edge, “or have you simply decided to abandon what’s left of your sanity?”

“Oh, Viktor,” you wheezed, wiping a tear from your eye, “if you’d been there, you’d have died! I said—”

“I think,” he interrupted, his tone cutting through your words like a scalpel, “you’re doing enough of that on your own.” His cane tapped softly against the floor as he stepped toward you, each movement deliberate, his irritation barely contained. “Whatever concoction you’ve ingested this time is clearly interfering with—”

Without warning, you spun your chair around, the wheels screeching against the floor. The motion was theatrical, almost comical in its abruptness. Then, with a flourish, you produced a pistol, the barrel levelling at Viktor’s face in one smooth motion. The laughter died instantly, the air between you crackling with tension. Viktor stopped mid-stride, his eyes narrowing as his gaze locked on the weapon. There was no fear, no hesitation. Only a sharp, unyielding intensity that could have sliced through steel.

“You’re testing my patience,” he said quietly, his voice as cold and steady as ice. His eyes flicked to the gun, then back to you.

"You won’t shoot."

“Oh, am I?” you teased, your grin widening into something equal parts dangerous and playful. “Come closer and find out, sweetheart.”

Viktor’s expression didn’t waver. He took another step forward, unflinching as the muzzle pressed lightly against his forehead. The room seemed to hold its breath. Then, with an infuriating calm, Viktor raised a hand and pushed the barrel aside, the cold scrape of metal against his temple doing little to faze him.

“Are you quite finished?” His tone was flat, his exasperation simmering just beneath the surface.

You exhaled, the gun lowering as a smirk curled across your lips. Leaning back lazily in your chair, you took another drag of your cigarette, blowing the smoke directly into his face. Viktor’s nostrils flared, and for a brief moment, his eyes closed, as if summoning every ounce of restraint to keep himself from throttling you.

“Relax,” you purred, rising unsteadily to your feet. You swayed slightly, but the swagger in your step was undeniable as you sauntered closer to him. “You should try living a little, Viktor. Who knows? You might even enjoy it.”

“I live just fine,” he shot back, his voice cool and clipped, “which is precisely why I’d prefer you didn’t endanger mine every other day.”

You laughed, ignoring his protest as you reached out, your fingers curling beneath his chin. Tilting his face toward yours, you studied him, your gaze sharp and deliberate. “You know,” you murmured, voice low and teasing, “you’re even prettier when you’re annoyed.”

A flicker of something passed through his eyes; exasperation, perhaps, or the faintest trace of reluctant amusement. But then, with a sharp motion, he brushed your hand away, his expression caught between irritation and resignation. “And I,” he replied dryly, “apparently enjoy flirting with death to tolerate you.”

Your grin widened as you leaned closer, your breath warm against his cheek. “Truth be told,” you whispered, the words a velvet challenge. “You’d miss me if I wasn’t here.”

He scoffed, turning away from you. “Miss the noise? The smoke? The endless catastrophes?” His sarcasm was as sharp as ever. “Yes. Terribly.”

Your laughter erupted again, full-bodied and rich as Viktor returned to his workbench, muttering under his breath. “It’s a miracle,” he said to no one in particular, “that I’ve survived working with you this long.”

“Oh, come on,” you teased, stumbling forward to lean against the edge of his desk. “You love this. You love me. Admit it.”

Viktor didn’t look up, his hands deftly manoeuvring the delicate tools before him. “If you’re done waving guns around and inhaling poison,” he said evenly, “sit down. Or better yet, go to bed. I’ll clean up your mess—”

Before he could finish, you shifted, accidentally knocking a delicate glass tube off the desk. It shattered on the floor, the sound slicing through the air. Viktor froze, his head turning slowly to fix you with a withering glare.

You shrugged with a sheepish grin. “Oops.”

“Again,” he finished bitterly, the word dripping with resigned disdain.

As you backed away, triumphant, you caught the faintest flicker of a smile tugging at the corners of Viktor’s mouth, a fleeting, almost imperceptible sign of something softer beneath his usual layers of irritation and sharp retorts. It wasn’t care, not in the traditional sense, but respect. A grudging acknowledgement of your brilliance and a grudging tolerance that spoke volumes. Viktor would never admit it, but he respected you. And maybe, just maybe, he cared enough not to let you go.

[kickbackkanzaki]

The Dungeon Master and Chess Queen

You're the new student and chess captain at Hawkins High. When Eddie Munson asks you for tutoring you're certain you have him handled but you may have underestimated his strategy.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

A/N Not so hot and heavy this chapter but I'm cooking up something for chapter four if you hang in there...

You were actually at band practice to enjoy some music and read a book on the bleachers while you waited for Robin. The two of you had a date for fries and the local bookstore afterwards but you let the onlookers believe you were there for Eddie.

"We can meet at your place or the public library, your choice," you whispered to Eddie as you twirled some of his hair around your finger.

Eddie had his hands on your hips with his fingertips hooked around your belt loops.

"Whoa not my place," he said a little frantic.

"Library it is," you declared and kissed the lock of hair twined around your finger.

Eddie made an unusual face that worried you.

"Yeah the thing is, we can't. I've got a lifetime ban there."

"How'd that happen?"

"There are a lot of details but it all boils down to a first edition Hemmingway and chocolate pudding."

You had several questions but thought it better to move along. Rehearsal would start in a minute and you needed a location for tomorrow's tutoring.

"Having guests is difficult for me," you explained a little cagey, "and the school wont let us use a room after hours because of our past shenanigans. So it'll have to be your place."

Eddie relented reluctantly and you pecked each other on the lips before he took his place in the band.

The next day you parked your rusty Mustang outside Eddie's trailer making a worrisome noise until you turned the ancient engine off.

You had just spent the past hour with Max shooting the breeze after delivering a batch of meals for her freezer.

When her Mum's roster fell on night shifts you provided a regular meal service so Max didn't eat from tins all week and feel crappy at school from all the chemical additives she ingested.

She rolled her eyes at the elaborate dishes your dad had portioned into tupperware but she was yet to complain about how they tasted.

Eddie heard you pull up and opened the trailer door for you.

"Where's your oven? This sucker needs to heat for ninety minutes," you said holding up a casserole dish with both hands.

"You brought your dinner?" Eddie asked as you passed him.

"Our dinner," you corrected and turned around trying to find the oven in the submarine sized kitchen. "Dad always cooks my student and I a meal when I do afterhours tutoring. I hope you like cassoulet."

Eddie lived on a steady diet of ham sandwiches and tinned spaghetti so he honestly couldn't say if he liked cassoulet or not. You weren't listening for an answer anyway as you were trying to open the oven door with your elbow.

"Guess your old man likes to cook," Eddie remarked as you slipped the dish in and set the temperature.

"He earned two Michelin stars before he gave it up," you answered then looked at him expectantly. "Where are we doing it? The bedroom? Or is the couch better?"

"Sorry?"

"Study," you clarified. "Do you have a desk in your room?"

"Oh right. No. Not the bedroom. I made room on the table."

You were oblivious to the blush rising on Eddie's cheeks as you returned to the living room and claimed a seat. The table was covered by towers of paraphernalia save for a corner Eddie had cleared for the session.

"I'll need a cup of tea and grab yourself some water," you called to Eddie who busied himself looking for a clean mug.

He gave one next to the kettle a suspicious sniff then ran it under some hot water hastily.

Sometimes the guys dropped by to rock out to metal tapes or watch a horror movie but Eddie had never entertained female company at home and it had him on edge.

'Hang on she's not your girlfriend,' he reminded himself as he opened all the jars in the pantry trying to locate a teabag.

That felt weird to think since he'd been making out with you publicly for weeks now. You'd seen him in his underwear and he'd had his hands all over your arse in the janitor's closet. Neither of you held back when you kissed either, your authenticity had earned you a few jeers about swapping mono.

Still, it was all a ruse to protect their business interests, no feelings to hurt.

Right?

The milk had gone bad and you declined sugar so you accepted your beverage as it was and opened a lunchbox of chopped fruit when Eddie sat with his water.

"Natural sugar for the brain," you explained as he looked baffled then you turned away from his smile.

There was something about that smile that made you giddy and invited you be playful.

It was probably the reason you never felt nervous kissing Eddie in front of a crowd. You knew he would never take advantage of you, there was a genuineness to him you trusted.

'Don't' your better judgement warned and you reverted to professionalism.

"Ok let's start with what's most urgent," you ordered. "What's due this week?"

Eddie handed you some crumpled sheets of paper which you flattened against the tabletop smoothing out the creases. He then pulled a math book out of his bag and opened it to a marked page.

You looked over the questions and nodded after a second of processing.

"Write the answers you get on some paper while I go over this then we'll take a look together. See where you're running into trouble."

Eddie "Yes Mamed" and followed your instructions faithfully. You noticed he wasn't shooting quips today or teasing so you suspected he felt embarrassed.

The humbleness of the trailer didn't bother you, your Dad had rented some awful apartments over the years and your current house was hardly The Ritz.

Nor were you gloating over Eddie's aptitude level. You breezed through your classes because of how puzzles deconstructed and realigned in your brain which you knew was rare. Plenty of people had commented about your neurotypical cognition when you had triumphed in no win chess matches.

That didn't give you an ego though, being smart didn't make you superior. You had more failings than you could count - your sporting efforts were laughable, your temper was always running hot and your domestic duties were never going to make you a housewife.

Meanwhile Eddie was creative in ways you'd never be, plucking new riffs from the air and bringing them alive on his guitar. He could write a D&D campaign with the skill of a fantasy novelist and his physical humour was hilarious.

Also the little sketches he'd done in the margins of his essay were quite good.

'Stop thinking about Eddie,' your better judgement piped but again and you concentrated on covering Eddie's handwriting in red pen.

You worked for a solid ninety minutes and found that most of what Eddie did was correct, he just had things around the wrong way.

He made some astute points in his essay but there was no structure to the piece and math he understood, he was just working it out backwards.

You supposed that was why his music was so original, a linear mind rarely came up with anything extraordinary.

The phone rang breaking the silence and you were glad for the disruption. There was something about being in Eddie Munson's private space that had you thinking fond thoughts.

Distractingly fond thoughts.

"Let me grab that," Eddie said and got up.

"Go for it," you said and went to the kitchen to refill your tea. You could hear Eddie on the phone as you searched for a fresh teabag.

"This is he, yes, yes. Sorry what did you say? How much? From where? You're sure? As in five two zeros? Right, thanks, bye."

You headed back to the table but froze when you saw Eddie. He was frowning, something you'd never seen him do and his hands were on his hips.

"That was the bank telling me the cheque you deposited into my account cleared," he said slowly after clearing his throat.

"Oh good," you replied cautiously waiting for the guillotine blade to fall.

Your casualness snapped his thin restraint and Eddie threw his hands into the air in an angry fit.

"Where the hell did you get five hundred dollars?!" he bellowed.

You relaxed knowing there was no emergency and walked back to your seat. If Eddie was going to be dramatic you'd rather take it sitting down.

"It's your ten percent just like I promised," you explained calmly and pulled his essay rewrite closer to read.

"You won five hundred bucks playing chess?" Eddie was flummoxed and couldn't comprehend your coolness.

He wasn't sure what had him wound up more, the amount of money he now possessed or how unperturbed you were about parting with it.

His bank account had never been so far in credit or his lunchbox full of crumpled dollars. His only investments were the guitar hanging on his bedroom wall and the jacket on his back but now he was loaded because you'd made a handshake deal with him behind school.

"Oh, your math is worse than I thought," you said with worry. "When you want to know a total amount of a percentage you write down the-"

"I know how percentages work!" Eddie bellowed. "When you said ten percent last week I though it would be about forty bucks or a couple of chocolate bars!"

"That was your assumption," you replied with an indifferent shrug. His hysterics were starting to bore you.

"Do they really give out five grand at high school chess comps?"

Eddie had heard of people living off games but they were usually card shark cocaine addicts or Russians with Einstein intellects. If someone sponsored D&D he could make a million as Dungeon Master but unfortunately he'd picked a game under persecution by the Christian middle class.

"No I was at the Michigan State Tournament," you said slowly to keep him placated. "I did mention Detroit to you remember?"

That's right, you'd needed the ten bucks for a bus ticket to a chess competition. It then dawned on Eddie he was talking to a state champion and he had to sit down.

"Shit girl," he puffed as he dropped in his chair like he'd just finished a marathon. "I didn't know you were that good."

"I do ok."

"A bit more than ok!"

"Yeah but no one likes a wanker."

Eddie silently agreed with that summation and finished his water before slamming it on the table like a beer pint on a bar.

"I can't accept the money," he declared in a seldom used serious voice. "It's too much."

The writing paper you were reading slowly lowered and Eddie could see your dangerous eyes staring at him lethally. It reminded him of a cowboy's eyes glaring down a gun barrel in a High Noon duel.

There'd be no arguing with whatever you said next.

"Don't start that shit. The deal was ten percent and you got ten percent. Buy some new music equipment, plant more marijuana or blow it all on D&D I really don't care. It's your money Eddie."

It was pretty rare that Eddie didn't get his own way. His band and Hellfire Club heeded his commands like loyal underlings and most adults simply gave him what he wanted to make him go away or stop talking.

Wayne had raised him on a loose leash because Eddie had always respected him enough not to abuse that liberty.

Thinking of Wayne, he'd have to keep the money a secret as he was already suspicious of where the weed cash was coming from.

Eddie hated to admit it but you had him pinned like one of your chess pieces. You wouldn't take the money back and he couldn't tell anyone who might have the influence to overrule your decision.

Zugzwang.

The one chess expression he knew. No matter which move he made it would be a bad one so he had to make the least bad decision he could.

"All right Grandmaster," he resigned himself to defeat sulkily and flopped in his chair. "What will you do with the rest of it? College fund?"

"Why's it matter?"

"Just curious." Eddie was a little taken aback by your snappish answer. "It's pretty cool that you beat a couple hundred people in another state. Most chess players are old dudes but you kicked their arses in a cute skirt. You should be proud of yourself."

Proud.

You'd never been proud of your chess abilities as you'd been warned too many times about the folly of pride. It always cometh before the fall.

You loved chess, the strategy, the cunning, the limitations and the possibilities all in sixty-four squares. Every time you played you discovered something new about the game or your opponent.

You hated the pressure of needing to win prize money though. It was like Van Gough pouring his heart into a painting then having to sell it for a pittance to keep him from begging.

Nothing destroyed your passion faster than making it lucrative.

Eddie's eyes were still on you and you could see his concern. It made you regret arguing and admitted he deserved some honesty. In the short time you'd known him he hadn't lied to you once.

"Some of what you've heard about my Dad is true, he has mental health problems," you began and picked up your mug so your fingers wouldn't fidget. "Very severe bi-polar."

"That's..." Eddie's uncertain expression told you an explanation was needed.

"They used to call it manic depressive. It's when you can't control your emotions so you can shoot up to an amazing mood only to crash into depression without warning. So he can come across as a little intense or strange which unsettles people. Hence all the stories."

Eddie nodded but didn't interrupt because he could tell you were struggling and had heard about your Dad's oddities to follow the story.

He'd never seen you vulnerable and realised you must trust him to talk about this. The two of you had done a lot of kissing but hardly any talking.

"I had to stay in boarding school a long time because he was never well enough to be responsible. He'd do ok for a time with his therapy and medication only to crash out and wind up back in the psych ward. Then last year his social worker said he was steady enough for me to come home."

Eddie didn't interrupt so you continued.

"However no one is keen to employ a man who's spent half his adult life in mental hospitals and Dad can't cope with anything stressful."

"So the prize money-" Eddie began.

"It takes more than a disability cheque and my two side gigs to cover everything. Chess keeps Dad's meds stocked, the rent paid and the bills in the black."

"That's a lot."

"That's just family."

The oven suddenly dinged and you felt a rush of relief. Literally saved by the bell.

Eddie followed you into the kitchen and together you assembled dinner. Eddie usually ate straight from the tin or without cutlery so it took him a minute to find everything.

Sitting back at the table together Eddie felt a sensation of surrealism. He and Wayne usually crossed like ships in the night with Eddie's days at school and Wayne's night shifts so they only ate together on weekends.

Even then it was usually on the couch and only if neither of them had plans. So using the dining table for its intended purpose and eating French food was not something he had anticipated for the evening.

"I've been getting a lot of company around the Coke machine lately," you attempted dinner conversation and Eddie raised his eyebrows. "Cheerleaders and Party Girls asking just how many tattoos you have under that Hellfire shirt and if you have a penis piercing."

"What did you say?" Eddie asked with a half smile.

It was good to see you perking back up after that heavy confession.

"That my lips are sealed but what you did to me on the pool table at The Hideaway last week left me gasping," you said in a sultry voice and added a little gasp for dramatic effect.

Eddie laughed a little as he chewed his dinner. For someone who liked a game so clinical you had quite the sordid imagination.

"You gotta go easier on the risqué stories sweetheart," he said and scooped up another fork of food. "If you give me a Cassanova reputation I'll disappoint the frustrated housewives of Hawkins when I'm cleaning their pools next year."

"You wont be servicing housewives in your future," you assured him. "You'll be a million miles from Hawkins tearing it up on stage at a Swedish Death Metal festival knee deep in Nordic babes."

"You really think so?"

Eddie had never discussed his music ambitions with you but you'd seen his enthusiasm at band practice. You'd seen his frustration too, having to keep to the dull notes of patriotic school pep songs instead of making that guitar roar.

"You've got just as much chance as anybody but not if you stay in this town," you said rationally. "Get your diploma and board a bus to LA or New York where there's actually a music scene. People around here are still playing The Doobie Brothers and The Beatles on vinyl."

"True," Eddie agreed.

Moving out of Hawkins had long been the dream but he'd never had any idea how to go about it. Wayne had gotten stuck here and his father had become a criminal.

Starting fresh successfully required cash and education neither of which he'd had much of.

Until now.

Later when you'd finished dinner Eddie shelled out some tens for your time and you made sure to remember the casserole dish when gathering your things. Dad was very particular about his cookware.

Eddie walked you to your car and unlocked it so you could pile your bags and dirty dish into the passenger side.

"Thanks for tonight," Eddie said as you took the keys back. "I think this helped."

"That's ok," you said dismissively. "Let me know when you need another session and I'll make time."

"I mean for everything tonight. It was really great."

The outdoor light on the trailer didn't cast enough light to see Eddie's face but his tone lacked its usual amusement and sureness.

Like you, it wasn't easy for Eddie to show vulnerability.

Theatrics and showmanship were how Eddie protected himself just as you used stinging insults and wit. Right now you weren't sure how to answer as a factious remark would be a barb on Eddie's exposed nerves.

"I'm glad. I had a good time too," was the first honest thing that came to mind.

Eddie kissed you then. Not one of his exhibition kisses but a gentle one that lingered on your cheek for a second then flew away.

"Oh, um," you would have been less surprised if he'd shoved you aside and stolen the Mustang.

Luckily in the dark Eddie couldn't see you blush. You hadn't received a kiss so sweet and chaste since a chess club boy has kissed you when you were twelve.

"Goodnight Eddie," you blurted and jumped in the car. It spluttered into life and you stomped the clutch to throw the gearstick in reverse.

Eddie looked started in the headlights for a second then you swung the wheel around and shot out the trailer park well over the five mile limit and didn't slow until you saw the lights of town.

Eddie Munson had changed tactics on you and your pieces were exposed to attack.

It was time to put your defences back up.

[mackjlee9]

|Part 2.1|Leon Kennedy x Male!Reader [?]

Masterlist.

part 2. version 1.

«««

Resident Evil 6

To say (M/n) hated every second of that mission was an understatement, and now, departing from the graveyard after Helena said by to her sister, he saw the woman throwing something at Leon, (M/n) recognized it as the makeup Ada had left behind in the helicopter when they left Tatchi that night.

"For when you see her again," he might've been quite far away, but he still heard her words thanks to the wind blowing in his direction. And (M/n) it was the moment to say goodbye.

He walked a few steps forward, and took a deep breath, "Hey Leon..." The blond made eye contact with him at the sound of his name, stopping his way to the van, and his blue eyes just silently stared into his (e/c) ones.

(M/n) felt like he couldn't breathe, realizing Leon's eyes had never made him feel this tense and insecure before, making him shift in place as he anxiously tried to make his voice come out.

"I uh... I don't think that- uhm..." Leon sighed, feeling exasperated at (M/n)'s stuttering.

"Yes?" He seemed bothered by him, as if he was wasting time having this conversation with him, and (M/n) understood that it was really over, he had to say it, and face the harsh reality of the fact that Leon didn't- never loved him.

He pursed his lips and reaches his hand into the pocket of his jacket, wrapping his fingers around the cold metal key. He could vividly remember the day when Leon gave him a copy of his apartment's key, but he no longer needed it, and he had already got his stuff out of there so there was no reason to keep it any longer.

(M/n) held Leon's hand and placed the key in his palm, looking at it for a moment before making eye contact with Leon's cold eyes.

"We should break up," he released Leon's hand, letting the blond see what he had given him, "It's clear that I'm not who you wished I was," he muttered while placing his hands inside his pockets, "Goodbye, Leon."

And like that, he made his way back to his motorcycle, there wasn't anything else he could do now, after all, he was only here because he knew Leon would be, and it was time to let everything go.

Leon's sight shifted from the key in his hand to (M/n)'s back as he drove away at high speed, wrapping his fingers around it, he stared at (M/n) leaving until he disappeared in the horizon.

//////

A few hours later, when the sun started setting, (M/n) had found himself walking into a bar and he had been sitting at the counter for hours, drowning his pain with glass after glass of whiskey, but living with Leon for years had made him realize how much alcohol he had to ingest to get thoroughly drunk, and he wasn't even halfway there.

As he was debating asking for a refill of his glass or getting up and leaving, he felt a heavy hand on his shoulder.

"Same as his," the man says to the bartender before sitting down on the stool next to him, (M/n) doesn't have to look to know who it is, he knows that voice well. It's Chris.

Of course, even though he knows who it is, he isn't any less surprised to see him there, and he finds himself showing Chris a small smile.

"Hey, man," Chris smiles back and takes the glass placed in front of him, grabbing it and taking a sip of the amber liquid swirling inside it before setting it back down.

"Hey..." (M/n) soon realizes that Chris seems nervous and he wonders why, but doesn't voice his thoughts, deciding on spending the rest of the night together, drinking to forget their feelings... If Chris had anything he wanted to forget.

While the hours pass, more alcohol sets in their system, making them loosen up a little bit more each passing minute, until they're comfortably talking and joking for a bit, and (M/n) isn't too sure about anything at this point and time, but he swears Chris is flirting with him. Or so he thinks, it seems like he is anyway. But he's not sure of anything at this point.

Although he is sure that... He definitely doesn't mind the flirting, not one bit, and he finds himself flirting back, enjoying Chris' reactions and their interaction drags on.

//////

It was a normal day off for (M/n), he was spending some time in the park, looking around and enjoying a cool drink on a rather warm day. He felt at peace, for the first time in months, he felt comfortable and safe in this spot in his life. Everything was going fine, and he was glad it had, he needed the stability for once.

He took another slow sip of his drink as he patiently waited, sitting on a bench, watching kids play and their parents chatting amongst themselves.

But then, he heard his name being called, by a voice he would recognize anywhere, a voice that he hasn't heard in almost eight months.

For a moment he thought he was hearing things, but as soon as he turned his head to the side, he saw Leon. He couldn't help but think that the blond -now more of a dark brunette- had definitely seen better days, he looked rather awful, especially comparing him to the last time he's seen him.

"Leon?" (M/n) is not too sure what happened after that, he just hears Leon rambling on and on for a few minutes, muttering that he's sorry and wants him back, how he really had to lose him to love him, and (M/n) can see the tears brimming in his eyes, which makes him stand up to try and calm him down, the movements of his hands catching Leon's attention when he catches the sight of something shining in his finger.

And he stops talking all together, his sight fixated on the ring placed on (M/n)'s left ring finger.

He almost couldn't breathe as he forced the words out of his throat, "You're... Engaged?" Leon's voice breaks his heart, he sounds so hurt by that, but (M/n) doesn't attempt to make him feel better.

"Yeah," is all he can manage to say in a meek whisper, sounding more like an exhale than a response.

"With who?" Leon looks back at his eyes, those (e/c) eyes that stared at him with sympathy and sadness. He opened his mouth to answer, but he was interrupted by another man's voice.

"(M/n)! The movie is gonna start soon!" The male looks over his shoulder, and sees Chris standing a few feet behind him, looking at him with a wide smile, sunglasses covering his eyes from the bright sun.

Leon sees the same sparkle on Chris' left ring finger and that's all he needed to see to understand.

"Oh... Yeah, I know, he... He's a nice man," (M/n) has a guilty expression on his face when he looks back at Leon, and he can't handle that.

"Leon-" the male wears a strained smile on his face and he shakes his head, taking a few steps back, ready to go.

"No! I-I understand, I fucked up and now I lost you... forever," realization seemed to have settled on Leon's whole being, the remaining light in his eyes banishing in the blink of an eye, "I'm... I'm sorry, I gotta go-"

(M/n) was unable to move or say anything as he caught sight of the single tear that fell down Leon's face, before he turned around, wiping it away and walking away from him. He really was at a loss for words, watching how Leon walked away.

[chase-solidago]

Does anyone have any favorite internet resources on food forest movement stuff? Academic stuff is one thing, but I'm trying to find things that are keyed to the pulse of what people are talking about outside of academia. I know a lot of that gets circulated here in the general solarpunk vibes zone.

part of my frustration that i'm trying to pinpoint here with concrete sources is that there's a middle ground here that has to be found between oblivious optimistic radicalism and like, the actual work it takes to *run* a food forest. I just read Make the Golf Course A Public Sex Forest and some of it is good, some of it is just "wow you have never actually gardened before, have you?"

The resistance organizations like park districts and forest services have to these well-intentioned, poorly-researched efforts stems a lot from the very practical logistics.

Yes, wouldn't it be great if you could eat wild berries from your local park. How the hell are we going to remediate all the lead out of the soil so those berries are safe? Yes, wouldn't it be cool to turn parts of golf courses into community gardens. How the hell are we going to remediate the decades of literal mercury application out of the soil? Those lawns weren't pest-free by default! Yes, wouldn't it be amazing to have a orchards in the city parks? Who is going to do the INTENSE work managing those trees? Picking all the apples? Dealing with the wasps and the mess coating the sidewalks?

There's so much good work that can be done but making the connections between the dreamers and the actual do-ers is overwhelming. Not least because many dreamers just love to talk and don't want to do. Meanwhile, the do-ers are terrified of getting their asses sued because some well-intentioned foragers are ingesting heavy metals.

[virgin-martyr]

Trauma is a toxin that hooks into our hair and organs and blood and becomes part of us, the way heavy metals do, our bodies nothing more than a layering of flesh around everything ingested and experienced. These things sit inside us like the misshapen pearls we sometimes prise from oysters.

Sophie Mackintosh, excerpt from The Water Cure

[palerick]

⋆˚꩜｡ 𝕣ꪮꪶꫀ ρꪶꪖꪗ ડ𝕥ꪖ𝕣𝕥ꫀ𝕣 ⋆˚꩜｡

✧˖°.⁺‧˚ ♡ ˚‧⁺ ✧˖°.✧˖°.⁺‧˚ ♡ ˚‧⁺ ✧˖°.✧˖°

Stumbling through the backstage door, Pastel dizzily stepped in from the dark outside. Thrums of the club just beyond backstage roared in his aching ears as he slammed the door behind him. Rubbing his eyes the dancer realized what a a complete mess he looked like. His hair flying in every direction, his skin oily and sick looking from the drugs leaving his system. With a groan he chew his cheek as he took a step and his body ebbed as a wave of nausea took him.

Pure spite could only take him so far, making it past the main part of the backstage and towards the stairs to his apartment above the club. 'Almost there' his tired mind reminded him. Then as he looked up the staircase before him seemed to stretch into oblivion and spun like a top till his legs gave out on the bottom step. Hearing the thud of his body hit the metal stairs didn't alarm him as much as the fact that it didn't hurt. With a deep sigh he struggled to turn his body around so his back was rested against the stairs. Half way there, he paused. The movement was too much. Pastel tried to close his eyes to keep the nausea at bay but every breath felt like a wall of water pushing him back and forth. Finally his body caved and neon green fluid rocketed out from his mouth and staining the floor.

"Urgh-- Fuck!" Pastel hissed as his throat burned from the concoction of whatever drugs he ingested now spilled out over the floor. Too tired to care about the mess he finally rolled over and allowed himself to breath deep and heavy. The sound of someone coming down to hall only pissed him off more than how pathetic he was.

"Fuck off." He groaned, rubbing his face in frustration. Even with his attitude he didn't hear footsteps or a response so opened his eyes and raised himself from where his body was slumped on the stairs. "You got something' to say, fucker? Or what? What do you want?"

[surely-galena]

idk how often lead paint are used (if at all)

but for total shits and giggles, in the crackiest way possible, i imagine marius using lead paint, sometimes accidentally drinking the paint water

and then someone tries to assassinate him with poison and it doesn't do shit because as it turns out, the poison isn't as strong as lead and marius sort of built a tolerance to lead poisoning on accident.

cue assassin freaking the fuck out because the poison had no effect

idk where that came from

Hi Rose!! :D

I did some surface level research for this ask because I thought that lead paint wasn't used any longer, but that's actually a myth... just not in the way I thought it was. When I think of lead paint, my mind goes to historical artists who poisoned themselves through their paintings, but the articles I skimmed were all about lead paint used for industrial/homeowner purposes. There is, however, Lead White paint for artists, but this is pretty expensive because it isn't produced as much and there are safer alternatives for artists to use, too. Money isn't a problem for Marius, so let's say he ends up using the fancy lead white oil paint for his art.

I read through this transcript of an episode from This Podcast Will Kill You on lead poisoning (tw for discussions around child experimentation) and essentially, adults are at lower risk than children because they don't absorb as much lead into their system. Also, absorbing lead through inhaling it is much worse than ingesting it because it gets into your system through your lungs. So even if drinking lead paint water sounds bad (and likely is), it would probably be much worse if Marius had been exposed to lead dust. Both are still bad though!

Plus, since lead has a sugary taste, Marius would probably be able to identify that he was drinking paint water on his first sip (and hopefully spit it out). If he doesn't... then Marius what are you doing.

Now I couldn't find a good source on this, but according to this Wikipedia article on Mithridatism (building up an immunity to poison), it is not possible to build up a tolerance to heavy metals (e.g. lead). This makes sense to me, but take it with a grain of salt since I didn't find anything to back this up.

Also, in the scenario with the assassin, let's say that Marius did somehow have a tolerance to lead poisoning. The chances of the assassin using lead would be a lot lower compared to something fast and lethal (belladonna and cyanide immediately come to mind but you may have to fact check that). So Marius would have an immunity to a different kind of substance and would still end up getting poisoned.

But say that nothing happens to Marius, like you said, and the assassin starts freaking out (as they should). Then this implies that Marius has either knowingly or unknowingly been building up a tolerance to a different kind of poison than lead (which means he's been going through symptoms of mild poisoning over and over again), and not only that, he's been continuously poisoning himself to keep up that tolerance.

Who's responsible for that?? Vyn and Luke, in some attempt to save their friend before he gets assassinated in the future? Giann von Hagen, bragging about his tolerance to X poison to Marius and thus putting ideas into younger Marius' head? Payton, who somehow predicted what kind of poison future assassins would use???

I hope I didn't lose you with all that rambling, haha. It's still a great scenario even if I didn't focus on the comedy/crack part as much, thank you for the ask!!

[iamthepulta]

I read Saint Sebastian's Abyss last night, some of it aloud to my friends, and it was an excellent read. Would recommend to literally anyone in academia or people interested in old deranged men.

Mercury/cocoliztli research update under the cut.

Summary of cocoliztli for the uninitiated:

Cocoliztli is the name given to a list of fatal symptoms that pop up during Spanish Colonization. These are typically described as epidemics, the most notable being 1545, 1576, 1636, and 1813. 1545 and 1576 were the most deadly and well-recorded, centered in Mexico and starting in Mexico City. The symptoms include, but are not limited to, fever, bleeding from the eyes, nose, and mucose membranes; interior hemorrhaging, heart palpitations, jaundice, little to no urination, mental and muscular deterioration, and death within 3-4 days. Over the years, almost everything has been used to explain the epidemics, including but not being limited to, smallpox, yellow fever, malaria, typhus, bubonic plague, and salmonella. The current academic consensus of cocoliztli is a viral hemorrhagic fever, (think Ebola) although it poorly explains the transmission patterns, latent periods for the virus, and its sudden disappearance after 1813.

So I think cocoliztli might be heavy metal poisoning. This is an absolutely batshit insane idea but is consistent with the transmission (extensive range, but no record of human-to-human contact), the indigenous population suffered disproportionately and the Spanish took longer to get ill and mostly survived, and its sudden disappearance was due to the ongoing Mexican Revolution and subsequent development of the cyanide process for gold and silver rather than the mercury used before. TLDR.

My research is NOT peer reviewed though, and while I've done (extensive) due diligence, I still consider this nothing more than a fancy coincidink because I haven't been able to talk to anyone who knows enough about Spanish colonialism, toxicology, cocoa growth, and mercury processing to smack me upside the head. So. Grain of salt.

That said, at this point I've been meandering quite a bit and trying to branch out from Mexican history. I think the transmission was via cocoa bean since the Spanish drank less and processed it before drinking while the indigenous population drank it strong and often chewed the beans straight for the caffeine. However, I need to nail Guatemala since they were the earliest cocoa growers I can find, and I need to align the gold mining process to mercury production or gold production in 1545. The patio process (involving mercury for silver processing) was only developed in 1572, and it aligns perfectly for 1576. But everything falls apart if I can't prove 1545 caused the same damage the same way, but different process.

[talking out loud]

This initially led me to Peru. Peru has Potosi and Huancavelica. Potosi is a silver mine discovered in 1545. (Yes, the date is suspicious, but I don't know why yet. The 'discovery' is just talked about vaguely from a guy wandering up the mountain. I suspect it has a lot to do with. You know. People keeling the fuck over that year.) The Huancavelica mercury mine was known pre-colonization, but extraction was minimal.

It's hard to describe my research takeaways from Peru because my brain keeps getting hung up on how fucking evil the Spanish Empire was. The cruelty to the Inca of Potosi and Huancavelica is... immeasurable, because it wasn't just the cruelty of slavery, it was the psychological cruelty of knowing the effects of inorganic mercury poisoning.

Inorganic Hg is typically what you inhale from vaporizing mercury or when you ingest poisoned food. If you're going to choose one of the two, vaporizing mercury is... better....? Because mercury within the lungs is absorbed into the blood slowly. However, you have coughing, tremors and nervous system deterioration while it slowly makes it to the brain. Ingested mercury is metabolized by the stomach into methyl mercury, which has one less electron (Hg+1). This means it can pass organic barriers into the bloodstream, where it's carried directly to internal organs, including the brain. Symptoms include soft tissue damage, internal bleeding, bleeding gums, loose teeth, bloodshot eyes, nervous system damage, paranoia, mental deterioration. Conscripts typically went to Huancavelica and Potosi and never returned home because the poisoning was so extensive they knew they would be dead within two years.

Methyl mercury poisoning (my theory), when eaten, is very similar to ingested mercury, except the plant has already oxidized the mercury for you. So instead of traveling to the stomach and over time being oxidized, methyl mercury is able to pass through the digestive system into the blood and soft organs immediately.

Inorganic mercury poisoning would've been well known by the Inca specifically at the point of the second cocoliztli epidemic in 1576. They would've called it by a very different name which the Mexicans likely wouldn't have had. And This is where my knowledge begins to fray at the edges. They would've recognized 'cocoliztli' as mercury poisoning symptoms, and likely what was the source of the poisoning. I don't know how extensive this knowledge was, and if their term, 'pest' is symbolic of the same thing. I have a feeling it is, but I simply don't know enough to claim that since secondary writers 1) do not care about making the distinction, 2) didn't name mercury poisoning; I'll have to go back to MM&E for this. 3) often translate the word without describing the actual symptoms so it takes more time for me to find the original source/context. 4) I don't know Spanish because I'm a pleb. T^T

Anyway, this said, Guatemala was the likely source of the original outbreak because they were the original cocoa producers. My learnings here: they did have a lot of mercury. The Maya used a lot of mercury as pigment. I'm not sure how much in comparison to the Inca and Aztecs. They had both native mercury and cinnabar sources, and those mines still seem to be in use today funding the illegal gold mining in Central and South America. The USGS source I found from 1957 didn't know, but that was also 1957. (There's also the sad knowledge this USGS bulletin was absolutely done for the CIA.)

In Acuna-Soto, the most damage from 1540-1550 in Mexico was done in Mexico City and the Yucatan Peninsula. The Yucatan Peninsula is suspect because there are no known mercury mines there on the peninsula itself. Were they growing cocoa on the peninsula? Are there gold mines there? Were the deaths just centered on the closest metropolis closest to the growing region? Either way: Guatemala was a growing region and there were absolutely mercury mines there, but that's not a connection.

Additionally, I stumbled on descriptions of an epidemic that killed most of the Mayan nobility in 1519. The descriptions are poor, but describe mental deterioration and bleeding symptoms that align with cocoliztli. Further research required into 1519 as well as 1545.

I also just found a book/paper picking apart the known descriptions of the last Incan ruler's death. (I don't actually believe this since the descriptions of his death align pretty well with syphilis or typhus. However, I don't like the timeline.)

So: Are there gold mines along the Yucatan? Does my hypothesis stand in light of 1545? How did the Spanish deal with the Maya? General summary of history and population decline.

I need further knowledge of gold mining in Peru pre-1550. I have a whole thesis I need to read on this, but I haven't made time to do it. There was cocoa grown in Peru as well, and I need to pinpoint those spots in comparison to this thesis.

(misc question nagging at me) What the actual fuck happened in 1545 for Potosi to be discovered? This date is too coincidental. Did all the explorers just book it out of the cities in fear of the 'epidemic'? I also don't like the possible reality that the indigenous nobility might have been indirectly (unintentionally) killed this way. It's not likely, but also isn't out of the question.

I also need to make a diagram summarizing symptoms of typhus, syphilis, and subsequent epidemic descriptions I've found.

[maxwell-mtv]

Introducing Joja Pink™️

[I've been brainstorming this since Spring, but I'll be diving my hand into the world of NSFW writing with my new AU. Introduction below the cut (there won't be any NSFW in it, that'll be purely on my AO3). The chapters will follow a general story plot but won't be plot heavy like my other fanfictions I'm writing. Think of it like self indulgence. Feel free to request any pairings, scenarios, etc, and I'll do my best (so long as it's nothing gross/illegal/ generally just awful) to write it when I have time away from my studies!]

NEW! Introducing Joja's new tonic for you! With refreshing bubbles and hints of rosemary and ginseng, Joja Pink™️ is the tonic we're sure everyone will love! Try it today from your local JojaMart! You'll do better with Joja :)

Joja Pink™️ is not to be ingested by anyone under the age of 21. Joja Corp is not liable for any adverse reactions from ingesting Joja Pink™️. If you believe that Joja Pink™️ may be causing a severe allergic reaction, we advise you wait 24 hours for symptoms to disperse before seeking medical attention.

Standing over a metal table, a final product was placed for display on a tray. Its curved bottle was slender and made from clouded glass which gave the illusion of it being filled with cherry clouds. The label was refined and determined to make any middle aged mom stop and fancy its features. In cursive lettering, framed by various pink petal decals it read:

Joja Pink The New Tonic For You

At the very bottom there was a warning that whatever fizzing liquid inside was intended for mature audiences, no younger than 21. 

It was a drink that was intended, to general audiences, for more feminine people seeking a healthier alternative to their infamous Joja Cola. It would surely give rise to a new audience of folks looking for a cheap, albeit refreshing, drink, exclusive to their stores alone.

Standing over the displayed prototype was a tall, young looking man. Brunette hair draped over his face, cupping the edges of his cheeks, and stopping at his ears. Glasses reflected the lights which cast a sinister shadow over his features. Reaching up to adjust his sights, he smirks. “So this is what you guys at the lab came up with?”

A slouched, disheveled looking man in a lab coat nodded. “Thanks to the folks in the design department, we’ve perfected the next product that will sell millions!”

“Is that so?” The younger man teases, circling the table to view the bottle at all dimensions without daring to touch it. “I guess this’ll do. I’ll let my superiors know you’ve done an acceptable job.”

The scientist backs nervously from the young man. “Th-There’s just one problem, sir.”

The younger man stops and cranes his neck to snarl at him. “What now?” He snaps.

“There are some adverse side effects...” The scientist manages.

“Are there really?” Coldly said, the young man lowers his face so the light no longer blinds his eyes from the scientist. “Shocking.” He retorts sarcastically. “If it’s like the last product, it doesn’t matter. Slap another warning label on and we’ll be exempt from legal action.”

“I-It’s not that simple sir! Surely with another trial run, I-I’ve created a less potent version which should resolve the effects of this one.”

“I don’t have more time. I have the COO and stakeholders breathing down my neck so this can be sold and served ASAP. It’s bad enough we’ve already had to delay its release from Spring to now!” The young man takes a moment and slumps, pinching the bridge of his nose as he collects his temper.

Shaking, the scientist holds out a thick folder containing a whole slew of papers, charts, and reports. “Mr. Dobson, surely if you just took a look at the test results you’d see why-”

“As if my time should be wasted on reading terminology that no one can understand but eggheads like you!” Snatching the folder up, he tucks it under his arm. Leaning in, he goes nose to nose with the poor, shaken older man. “If I scan this over and there is nothing about physical harm being done to those test subjects, I’ll have my lost hours of productivity compensated by comping your paycheck!”

Pulling back, Dobson circles the table once more. Standing before the drink, his confidence smirk returns. “Trust me, Dr. Wallace, you’re over thinking things again. Just as you did with Joja Bluu. And look how that went! We managed to turn it into a trendy craze amongst kids! We encouraged purchases for it by running competitions which never really had any payout to begin with! We rigged it, as we always do, so the people learn to love what we feed them.”

“B-B-Bu-But what about the kids who were hospitalized when they drank all those sodas!? Their skin permanently dyed a dark blue! No one should be ingesting more than one of those, let alone these,” he gestures to the pink bottle, “a week! The side effects will be chaotic and dangerous for any poor schmuck who plays into this latest scheme!”

“Dr. Wallace, might I remind you we’re not in this to make the world a better place!” Dobson scolds. “We’re in it for the chance at survival in a shrinking economy! With the war overseas, there’s never been a better time to thrive! Now,” Dobson strides to the exit, teasing a hand over the handle. “If I find out you put in a complaint against me or my approval of this drink, then I’ll have your job on the line too!”

Dejected, Dr. Wallace slinks back and bitterly eyes the bottle. “Yes, sir.”

“Good. Now send that approval report to me so I can forward it and get these things out by Friday. Releasing it while it’s still hot will do us justice.”

“Yes, sir…”

With that, the two men part, leaving only the future this drink had laid out for its unsuspecting victims.

…

Grunting, Shane drops another box marked “FRAGILE” on the linoleum floors of the JojaMart he was employed. Following him was another, younger man with spiked blond hair and a visible attitude for rebellion. “Can you believe they’re coming out with this now?” The young kid, Sam, speaks up as he dusts his palms off. 

“Yeah, I swear I was tripping when Morris announced this junk’s release again, but I guess they overshot their timing.” Shane responds gruffly, cutting open the box. Reaching in, he puts the first of many 4 packs of the newly produced bottles onto a display. Looking back and out at the nearby exit, he huffs. 

“Yeah, by two whole seasons! I heard from Martin that these babies were held back in the testing period. Something about ‘unforeseen side effects’.” Echoing Shane’s efforts, he began unpacking his own box onto the display table.

Shane scoffs, rolling his eyes. “What doesn’t cause some weird shit to happen when it comes from this shithole?”

“Easy now, last time I saw Morris he was working out where he could put the rest of these.” Sam glances around nervously before turning back to his work.

“Like I give a shit. If that old fart hears me, what’s he gonna do? Not like anyone else is dumb enough to work here...”

The redhead at the register several feet away huffs.

“Oh, hey Claire! I don’t think he meant you…” Sam attempts to defend Shane.

Looking over his shoulder at their only female coworker, Shane glares. “Yes I did.” He retorts and turns back to Sam, slamming another case onto the table. 

“Now let’s remember, folks, whatever you break while on the clock gets docked from your pay.” The chilling, condescending tone of their store manager makes Shane blanch. He can feel the man come closer from behind, stopping just a few feet away to better take a look at their progress. “Looky here, a fine display coming around from the both of you! I’m sure if we talk this thing up enough that it’ll sell like hot cakes!”

Shane turns to face his boss. “Considering how many chicks are in this town? I don’t doubt they’ll all flock to try this pink pony garbage.”

“Men can drink it too, you know.” Morris warns and leans over to slide a bottle from its cardboard corner cozy. “I’m trying it myself.”

“Oh? Far from you to like Joja Cola, sir.” Sam crosses his arms and eyes the cocky man with suspicion.

“Well, for one this isn’t a soda, it’s more of a seltzer. And for another, my managers have given all JojaMart managers the lucky chance to try it before it sells.”

“So what? It’s going on the floor today…” Shane remarks.

“Yes, I suppose I did hold off till the last minute.” Morris chuckles softly, glancing sheepishly to the side. “Well, anyhow, I should go. I have some reports to finish up.”

“Hey!” Shane calls, effectively stopping Morris in his tracks. “What are we s’posed to do with this case, huh? We can’t just sell it if it’s missing one!”

Morris’s smile grows, one could almost hear the bell go off in his head before he answered. “You’re right. Normally JojaMarts have more managers to share these sorts of deals with. However since I’m the only one and that’s going to just get written off during inventory anyway, why don’t you two boys have a riot and give some to your friends? Consider it a gift from your friends at Joja!” Gleaming, Morris marches right back to his office located at the front of the store.

The two men look between each other, the now shut door of Morris’s office, and the leftover bottles from the carrier. After a moment, Shane shrugs and waves Sam off. “Go ahead and take them. I only drink one kind of fizz made for adults…”

“Really!? Dude, this is the best day ever! You think Abigail would wanna try one of these?” Sam bounces with joy, taking one of the bottles in his hands and looking it over.

“How should I know? It’s not like I hang out with her…”

“You’re right, I’ll just find out tonight at the Saloon…”

“Good thinking. You know what else is good thinking?”

Sam tilts his head curiously. “Hm?”

“Me not being the only one to finish unpacking. Come on, man.”

“R-Right, sorry.”

[basu-shokikita]

Kloktober 2023 Day 18

Inspired by a metal song

Despite being a Metalocalypse fan, I'm not actually a metalhead, so I hope hair metal counts for this prompt.

Today's entry is explicitly Skwistok for a change. Warning for suggestive content too, but nothing beyond that. With this song title, what can you expect anyway 🤣

It takes place during Dethklok's rise to fame, they weren't quite the biggest band in the world yet, but not a bunch of runts in a basement either.

Toki stormed into the room without knocking, without checking if he was busy, essentially without giving a damn about what Skwisgaar was up to generally. He flopped on the bed unceremoniously and started grumbling and kicking his feet against the mattress.

Skwisgaar raised his eyes from his guitar. “Bad nights?”

“It suckeds!” Toki mumbled almost incomprehensibly so. He turned himself to the side and glanced at Skwisgaar pitifully. It was Saturday night and he was back home before 2 am, he was officially a failure of a rockstar. “What ams you doings here?”

“Didn’t feels like goins out.” Skwisgaar shrugged and Toki couldn’t help but admire the confidence with which he said so. Like he wasn’t burdened by his own womanizer reputation. “I think ams getting a little boreds of fuckins da regular womens.” 

“Dat’s because you’ve fuckeds so manies!” Toki laid on his back and sighed. They were seriously in different worlds.

Skwisgaar chuckled. “Maybes.” After a pause, he added. “Tells me about your nightsk.”

Toki was almost a bit too ready to talk. “Soes, I went to dis parties and I trieds to score some goils. Dere was this really pretties redhead, but she totallies turneds me down…” He pouted. “And then her boyfriends gots really mad at mes-”

“She had a boyfriend?” Skwisgaar seemed somehow impressed. “Dats bold, Toki.”

“I didn’t knows!” Toki said. “I thoughts she was alones…anyways. He trieds to punches me soes…” He cleared his throat. “I kicks his ass.”

“You gots into a fight?” Skwisgaar raised his voice slightly, indicative of his surprise.

“H-He starteds it!” Toki defended himself. “And I wasn’ts gonna loses…not in fronts of da pretties lady…”

“So, yous kicked her boysfriendsks ass.” Skwisgaar concluded.

“Wells…yeah-buts...” Toki gazed at Skwisgaar and found him smirking. “Oh, you ams just teasings me right nows!”

Another chuckle and Skwisgaar returned to his guitar. “You ams such a kids, Toki.” There was a tint of fondness in his tone.

Toki frowned. “Whatevors.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “It amsnt a big deals anyway.”

“Shores.”

Toki stared at Skwisgaar who was too focused on the guitar to notice. He felt his eyelids heavy from all the alcohol he had ingested, his head spinning like a whirl and his body clumsy. Even so, he decided to stand up. “Heys.” 

“Hmm?”

“Let’s dance.” Toki said.

Skwisgaar shook his head. “You knows I don’ts like danskcings.”

“I don’t cares.” Toki stretched his arms towards him. “Gets up.”

“Noes.”

“Come on, Skwisgaar!” Toki insisted. “Don’ts be borings!”

“There amsnt even musics to dance toes.”

Toki walked to the stereo and put a random station on. It was playing sappy rock. “Deres.” He turned to Skwisgaar, gesturing. “Now gets up.”

Skwisgaar rolled his eyes, but did as told. “Dat’s dildos music.”

“Yea, yea.” Toki reached to hold Skwisgaar’s hand. “Now turns.”

As he let himself be spinned, Skwisgaar added. “Dancings ams dildos toos.”

“Shut ups.” Toki said, looking down. “Watch your steps.”

“Eugh.” Skwisgaar groaned, trying to keep up with Toki’s feet. Even while drunk, he still had more grace than the huge Swede. “I hates dis.”

“And yets, you keeps accepting everytimes.” Toki smiled, this time he was the one spinning under Skwisgaar’s reluctant arm. 

“You ams too annoying.” Skwisgaar said. “Like a whinies dog whats can’ts stop yappings. I has to shuts you up somehows.”

“Oh, shut its, I knows you like dancings with me.” Toki said. In a miscalculation, he accidentally stepped on Skwisgaar’s foot and lost his balance, falling forwards. “Oh, shits!” On reflex, he held onto Skwisgaar’s waist.

“Ams you okays?” Skwisgaar asked, concerned.

“Yeah.” Toki said, still hugging Skwisgaar. 

“...Cans you-”

“No.” Toki closed his eyes, nestling against Skwisgaar’s shoulder. “Shuts.”

Skwisgaar audibly sighed, but he accepted and they slowly waved with the music. He really liked Skwisgaar. Because thanks to him he had a home and a family, of course. But also because he was so nice to him even though he pretended to be cool and distant. And he smelled good and he was so nice to look at. And nice to touch, and…

Toki slowly raised his eyes to him, a gesture that didn’t go unnoticed by Skwisgaar. 

“Toki?” He saw Skwisgaar call him, though his voice sounded like he was far away. 

He smiled, messy and impulsive thoughts taking reign over him once again. With the coordination he had left, Toki stood on his tiptoes and meshed their lips together. 

It only lasted a second before Skwisgaar pushed him away from him, brows furrowed. “Toki, I alreadies tolds you-”

Undeterred, Toki stroked the side of Skwisgaar's face, more alcohol in his veins than common sense. “It amsnt no big deals…” He whispered, their lips brushing each other before he locked them again. 

This time, Skwisgaar lingered before pulling away and Toki could see in his expression that he was conflicted. And he was so pretty too.

“Comes on…” Toki urged him, unable to contain the goofy grin on his face. 

Almost resigned, Skwisgaar was the one closing the distance between them this time. His lips were firm but soft against Toki’s. Briefly, he broke away and glanced at Toki with uncertainty before kissing him with full force. 

Toki had kissed a lot of girls ever since he joined Dethklok. Pretty girls, hot girls, beautiful girls. He had made out with so many by now and most of the time he had really enjoyed it. Less often he had loved it, even.

But no one had beat Skwisgaar. No, kissing Skwisgaar was different, it was unique and borderline magical. Toki couldn’t get enough of his kisses, though he only had the bravery to ask for them when he was intoxicated. It felt safe, it felt easy. 

And most importantly, it felt good.

Skwisgaar shoved him against the wall and Toki was suddenly glad he didn’t get laid that night. He held the sides of Skwisgaar’s face with devotion, tilting his own head for a better angle. The kiss deepened and Toki couldn’t hold back a moan when Skwisgaar bit his lower lip, way too entranced and inebriated to play cool. 

It would’ve been embarrassing how ready he was to give Skwisgaar full access to his mouth the moment he felt his tongue slide across over the bitten lip if he didn’t know that Skwisgaar was into it too. Why else would he pull Toki so close, as if he didn’t want to let him go? Why would one of his hands stealthily run under Toki’s shirt and the other one over his neck? Why would he hungrily devour Toki’s mouth?

Skwisgaar loved it, even if it was just the ego boost of making someone melt under his touch. Toki couldn’t help but hope that he wasn’t doing this with other Dethklok members. He couldn’t dream of monopolizing Skwisgaar’s lips over the ladies, but at least he could be the only bandmate he occasionally made out with.  

When Skwisgaar pulled away, it was akin to someone going back to the surface after being submerged for too long. “Okays! No mores of dis.” He said, seemingly more to himself than to Toki.

The only reason why Toki was able to hide his disappointment was because that singular session was going to keep him going for several weeks at the very least. “Did I tells you I went to a party?”

“Ja, you dids.” Skwisgaar sling an arm over his shoulder. “Let’s get yous some rest.”

Toki giggled stupidly. “Ams you invitings me to your beds?”

“Ams inviting you to sleeps.” Skwisgaar purposefully ignored the remark, placing Toki’s back on the wide mattress. He didn’t move away fast enough, though, and Toki pulled him in for another kiss. “Enofs.” He said, after indulging for more than a few seconds. “Go sleeps, Toki.”

Toki gazed at Skwisgaar with stars in his eyes. “Thank yous.”

Skwisgaar frowned slightly. “Yous welcomes. But one days I won’t be takingsk cares of you no mores.”

“Ja…” Toki smiled, looking over to the empty ceiling. “But untils dat…” The tiredness was washing over him like a water dam being opened. At some point Skwisgaar held his hand, though that could’ve been part of a dream.

Not that he’d remember the next morning anyway. 

[galliumgummysharks]

gallium top ten most chewable metals in the world like; it's soft and pliable and melts at 30°c and look at this shit

do you not want to bite into that. did you not just picture sinking your teeth into one of these bad boys like a starburst or hi-chew or whatever. you totally did. you agree with me. take my hand and come with me we can ingest heavy metals together

[qvigleys]

hiiii !!! here’s a short story i wrote for my creative writing class last semester :-) it’s not perfect, but i wanted to start sharing my writing on here, and thought this was a good start, as it’s a finished piece i’m more or less proud of!

The Ferocious

He swung the faded wood door open. Once upon a time, the house was beautiful. The prettiest in town. But after all the years of abuse, it looked simply tragic. The wrap-around porch like a frown. Sun bleached shutters like sad, wilting eyebrows. His limbs twitched vigorously, making each step increasingly more difficult. The air was suffocatingly steamy. Mama must’ve been making tea. The pleasant aroma of herbs and flowers clashed with the metallic tang of blood and dirt that forever surrounded the farm. He tossed the logs beside the stove, and they landed with a clang against the worn out silver metal of the oven. He made a sharp right turn, heading up the stairs; cautious not to grab the handrail too firmly. The recent termite infestation had made almost everything in the house more of a hazard than it already was. He reached the holding room. A cool, evening breeze drafting through the window pushed the door open ever so slightly. He grabbed the rusty metal handle, pulling it as gently as he could muster. He was childishly giddy about his new experiment, but he didn’t want to scare her. She might bolt, or scream.

The door’s hinges squeaked quietly, as he tugged on the handle. Scurrying and heavy breathing could be heard on the other side. The last time he’d seen her was the previous afternoon. Their rusty periwinkle van rolled into the rocky driveway of the old home. They were in search of a gas station, and a place to stay the night. There were three of them. He killed the first two he saw, initially not having seen the other, but he decided to keep her anyway. Not to torture her, or to torment her. Simply to keep her; as a companion.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, not wanting her to do anything that might draw any attention. “I’m not gonna hurt you, I was just checkin’ on you,” his heavy southern drawl made every word sound like an entirely different language.

“Who are you?” she shuddered, voice barely above a whisper. Her face was paralyzed with fear. “What have you done to my friends? Where am I?” she raised her voice slightly, gaining more confidence in her anger.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it for now. You want some water? Tea? Supper time’ll be soon, I’ll find somethin’ for ya,” he said, unsure of what he could serve her that didn’t contain human flesh.

Those who are not ferocious would fall very ill if they consumed human flesh, and on the flip side, the ferocious would meet their untimely demise if they consumed the flesh of another member of the ferocious. The Dewitt family had to stay on their toes when choosing their victims. Ingesting just anyone was a risky game, and the consequences for losing were your life.

She nodded in response, and just as quickly as he appeared, he left. She scanned her surroundings, the only light coming from the cracks in the poorly constructed walls, and the small rectangular window. To her surprise, she wasn’t tied down. No chains, no ropes, no duct tape. Just her. Confined to the small room. There wasn’t a bed, but there was a pile of towels and dusty old horse blankets. The room smelled faintly of blood and sweat. She scanned her body for injuries, miraculously finding nothing more than superficial cuts and bruises.

Loud, stomping footsteps grew closer. The door creaked open wider and wider. A humanoid silhouette emerged. His frame was lit from the faint glow of the lamp behind him, creating an eerie shadow. His broad shoulders were hunched over a rusty tray containing a small glass of water, an ornate teacup, and a piece of seemingly homemade bread. He stepped inside the room, and placed the tray in front of her. Standing back up, he cocked his head to the side, and just watched. She crawled closer to the tray, body trembling with fear. Timidly, she reached for the glass of water. Her hands twitched and quivered as she brought the glass to her lips. She sipped slowly, glancing up at the man, who was peering right back at her.

“Arawn,” he said, voice gravelly and hoarse.

“What?”

“My name,” he sighed, sounding quite frustrated with her.

“Oh,” she took another sip of her water, “Deanna. My friends call me Dee,” her accent indicated she was far from home. Her inflections and pronunciations were very different from that of the average Texan.

She gazed at him, memorizing his features. He looked awfully unkempt. His tousled, greasy black hair matched the colour of his eyes. It looked as though he hadn’t had a haircut in the past couple years. His nose slightly crooked, with a smattering of freckles gracing his olive skin. Several scars and scabs littered his dry skin. Granted, his miniscule spasms were odd, yet simultaneously endearing.

“You’re a pretty one,” he said, his twitching hand reached out to touch her face, yet never made contact. He took note of her large brown doe eyes.

The large silhouette suddenly disappeared without another word. He crept down the stairs, to find his Mama at the stove, cooking supper. She stirred vigorously, the wooden spoon hitting the metal pot with a rhythmic twang. The comforting, smoky aroma of dinner overtook his senses. His two brothers sat at the table arguing. Yelling and screaming had become somewhat of a routine ‘round these parts. Someone had always done something wrong, and someone was always getting blamed. Usually that person was Arawn.

“Elias! Sawyer! Pipe down! Sit at the table Arawn,” Mama called out

So, he sat. The wooden chair creaked, surprisingly not giving out just yet. His youngest brother Sawyer taunted him at the end of the table, mocking and teasing. Arawn ignored it, as he’d gotten so good at doing. The ridicule never ended, whether at school or home. Which is why as soon as possible, he left school. He left, and never returned. He never wanted to feel so ostracized ever again, but being the way that he was, that ostracization followed him wherever he went.

He was suddenly startled out of his melancholy by the loud thump of the pot being set on the wooden table. The contents bubbling out over the sides, staining the red and cream checkered table runner below. His gaze shifted from the edge of the table to the inside of the pot. Chili. His favourite. He grabbed his bowl and began serving himself a large helping.

“You gonna eat all that baby? That’s a big bowl,” Mama said. Her voice sounded genuinely concerned as she gazed at the overflowing dish.

He nodded and grunted, already beginning to stuff his face with the hot slop.

“Them tourists are real stupid,” his older brother grinned, “walkin’ in here like they own the place. You really showed ‘em brother!”

“Damn right! Thank you baby, I had my hands full with the laundry when they arrived. Besides, I’m gettin’ too old for this anyways,” Mama explained.

Sawyer squealed and squawked, imagining the scene unfolding. His eyes widened, revealing his enlarged pupils; a telltale sign of the ferocious. The blood, the guts, the carnage. It all excited him. Sawyer and Elias were very similar in nature, leaving Arawn to feel eternally isolated, even within his own family. He didn’t take pleasure in killing. He did what he did because he had to.

Once he was done with his chili, he wiped his face with his grimy shirt sleeve, and got up to go put the bowl in the sink. He hadn’t noticed that Deanna had snuck out of her room without a sound. She perched attentively at the top of the staircase, peering down at the family, observing their odd routines and rhythms.

Elias stuck his leg out, purposely tripping Arawn. He tumbled to the ground with an audible thud. He laid there helplessly as his family cackled and howled with laughter. Saying nothing, he got up, and went to dispose of his dishes. Deanna scurried back to her room as silently as possible. She situated herself in the corner, and closed her watering eyes.

After he washed his dishes, he trudged up the stairs, his family still snickered below him. Arawn grasped the handle to Deanna’s room, and flung the door open.

She had already fallen asleep. He knelt down beside her, and began stroking her auburn hair. He ran his fingers through the strands, his fingers getting caught in the curls every so often. The soft moonlight shone through the window, and made her hair look as silky and shiny as it felt. She began to stir in her sleep, muttering nonsensical phrases. He took this as his cue to leave. Softly, he kissed her head, and readjusted the tattered blankets that were covering her body.

That night, he wept rather than rested. Mind plagued with memories of his tragic youth. He had never not been different. He had never fit in, and everyone constantly reminded him of that fact.

The bright sun rose with a warm glow. Deanna blinked softly, waking up. Miraculously, she was still breathing. She was sure that would have been her final day. She sat upright, examining the room once again. Nothing had changed. Nothing had been added, or taken away. The tray was still laying in the corner of the dingy room, holding her empty cups and a few bread crumbs. She appreciated the kind gesture of him bringing her food and drinks. However, she was still bewildered by the whole situation. What did he want? Why her specifically? Where were her friends? She was hungry again. Her stomach growled at the thought of a warm meal.

Arawn had been up before the sun. Getting a head start on his chores and duties around the farm. To outsiders, the farm looked run-down, and unkept. But Arawn and his family worked hard to keep it functional. It’s not like the opinions of the public mattered anyways. Nobody sane would approve of their family, regardless of how their home looked on the exterior. He walked through the tall dead grass around the side of the barn, bucket in hand. He unlatched the wooden gate that desperately needed to be repainted. He scattered the feed across the pen, his hand spasmed aggressively. He needed to feed. All the chickens scurried to get their fair share of food. He collected the freshly laid eggs from the hens, and placed them in the now empty bucket with care. Suddenly, he remembered Deanna. He hadn’t fed her or given her any water in a while. With haste, he shuffled back to the house, ensuring he had closed the gate to the chicken pen.

He got her a large glass of water, and cooked her two eggs, scrambled. He didn’t yet know how she liked her eggs cooked, but he wanted to learn. He wanted to memorize everything about her. He wanted nothing more than to know all of her mistakes, and still love her anyway. He wanted them to be so close that they practically became one. But he had to be patient. He didn’t want to come off too strong, and scare her into doing something she’d regret. He carried the food up to her room, and opened the door gently.

“Mornin’,” he said, placing the dishes in front of her.

“Hi,” Deanna said hesitantly. She reached out for the plate, and dragged it across the floor with a horrible scraping sound. Arawn winced at the godawful noise. She began shoveling the eggs into her mouth, making small hums of approval with each bite. She swallowed.

“Where are my friends?” she questioned, sounding more confident than she felt. Deep down, she knew the answer, but she wanted nothing more than closure. She trembled slightly, awaiting his answer. He stared at the floor, his cold gaze was petrifying.

She gulped, “Nevermind. I don’t need to know.”

He simply nodded, and that was all the confirmation that Deanna needed to know that her friends were dead. Dead, and never coming back. So much for a cross country road trip.

“What were their names?” he asked, finally glancing up from the filthy hardwood. Deanna sighed, needing to compose herself upon hearing her friends referred to using the past-tense.

“Megan, Meg, was one of them. She was my best friend. We’d known each other since the second grade, she gave me the juicebox from her packed lunch,” she chuckled as she thought back to her childhood memories. “And then there was Frankie, we met in high school. It wasn’t as concise of a connection as Meg and I, but it was still a connection nonetheless. Something I needed so desperately at that point in my life.”

Arawn looked at her, a pathetic look on his face. His cracked lips formed a pout, his thick eyebrows turned upwards. However, he felt no remorse for what he and his family had done. It was what had to be done. It happened, and there’s no turning back. He couldn’t even try to explain his condition to Deanna. It just wasn’t something the others took very kindly to. He would just have to conceal that part of him, like he had done for so long. If she found out, he would likely have to do something he really didn’t want to do. There was always a risk of her escaping; the security measures on the room were non-existent, he was surprised she hadn’t already attempted to leave.

Deanna’s expression changed, snapping Arawn out of his tangential thoughts.

“I really like you,” she announced. Arawn froze, cheeks flushing. She grinned, and continued scooping the eggs into her mouth. She paused. There she sat, knelt down on the floor. There he stood, his broad frame towered over her. She stood up, pushing the plate off to the side. She took his hands in hers, and kissed him. It was awkward, sure, but it’s what she wanted.

Quickly, he spun around on his heels, and left; not knowing what to do with himself. Nothing like that had ever happened to him. It was incredibly confusing and completely and utterly overwhelming.

He began to feel the familiar sensation. The overpowering exigency. His limbs contorted erratically. Seemingly in an instant, his knees buckled, and he fell to the ground. He scurried across the floor, needing to get to the cellar. To the freezer. To Megan. Mama had used what was left of Frankie for dinner the other night.

He managed to stand upon arriving at the cold metal door. He grasped the handle, his vehemently twitching fingers made it all the more difficult. With all his strength, he pulled. The door opened, and he rushed to the freezer, yanking it open without a second thought. The fetid scent of the foul, unclean freezer was overwhelming, but he paid that no mind. He was desperate. She hadn’t yet been prepared in any way, but nonetheless, he needed this. He dragged her limp, frozen body out of the large white box. Her lifeless frame landing on the cold cement with a percussive thud. Her piercing green eyes were the only feature he could make out in the dimly lit cellar.

Arawn knelt beside her cool torso, and wasted no time. He chomped down on her stomach. The crisp, icy flesh crunched beneath his incisors. Her blood was no longer warm as it flooded his mouth. He gnawed like he’d never fed before. Teeth ripping through soft tissue and tough muscle. His face fully enveloped in the gaping hole in her stomach. Salty tears ran down his cheeks as he chewed. His hands grabbed fistfuls of squishy organs, and thrust them down his throat. He slurped, consuming mouthful after mouthful of the corpse, until he could ingest no more. The sticky crimson liquid dripped from his chin. He sat and stared at the aftermath of his hunger. Her mangled and butchered frame lay completely still. He couldn’t even remember her name. The tears continued to flow, he didn’t know why he was like this.

The only other time he had fed so carnally was his first time. That innocent four year old in the forest, not truly comprehending what he was doing. He recalled the warm, gushing blood, and the tender flesh. He only meant to bite; he didn’t mean to consume. Initially, it was a response to his anger, but as he ate more and more, it felt so natural. He sat in the dirt and mud, staring at the body before retreating back to his preschool.

Suddenly, there was a soft gasp behind him, abruptly followed by retching. His head snapped around violently. Deanna. He sprinted, needing to restrain her. She knew too much. He grabbed her small frame, scooping her off the ground. He covered her mouth with his large hand, ensuring she wouldn’t make too much noise. She wept out indiscernible words that were likely desperate pleas for help. The blood that covered his face dripped into her once soft hair. He belligerently carried her flailing body back up to the room. He dropped her on the floor, and she scurried to the corner, like a mouse cornered by a hungry cat.

“You stay back!” she shrieked, “That was Megan! You ate her!”

“Don’t try to run,” he said all too calmly, ignoring her sobs and shrieks.

She wept into her knees, body condensed in the smallest form possible. Boisterous screaming coming from other rooms in the home snapped both of them out of their current state. Someone had found Megan, and could most definitely hear all of the ruckus they had just caused.

“Arawn,” he turned his head back to look at her, his face showing nothing but fear and panic, “We need to leave. We can run away, into the forest, start a new life, just the two of us. Away from everyone else. Away from your family. I’ve seen how they treat you! It’s not right,” she ranted and babbled in between sobs.

The immediate shift in tone and mood from her made him skeptical, but truly what other choice was there? She seemed to care for him, and it was either this, or get murdered by his own family. There was no telling what they’d do if they found out all that had been going on right under their noses. What he had done, keeping Deanna, was enormously dangerous for their family, and their kind. The ferocious had lived peacefully, unbeknownst to society for all these years. The second anyone caught wind of this, the consequences would be dire for their kind.

With an extremely tight grip, he grabbed her wrist, and suddenly the two were off. They sprinted through the decrepit, decaying house. Shouts and screams followed as they ran. Elias chased after them, but he couldn’t keep up.

The moon and stars provided the only light for their journey through the otherwise pitch black night. Crickets chirped, and animals scurried in the fields. The landscape was mostly flat, with a few rises and dips. The trees around them were nearly naked. The greenery wasn’t exactly plentiful in Lobo.

Deanna was still weeping. The frosty tears flowed down her rose-tinted cheeks. She was still in shock from the past few days, but she was also overjoyed to finally be free. She breathed in the crisp, fresh air as best as she could while concurrently sprinting.

Upon arriving at a landing surrounded by trees, Arawn stopped suddenly. The two collapsed into the grassy clearing. Landing on top of one another, the two tangled in a mess of lengthy arms and legs. Both of them panted and wheezed, attempting to catch their breath.

“Thank you,” Deanna whispered. She held onto him, consuming him in a warm embrace; starkly different from the sensation of the bitterly frigid air that surrounded them.

Arawn froze, unable to move or react. He was overwhelmed and honestly terrified. He felt yet again like that little four year old boy. Petrified, yet comfortable. Everything should have felt natural, but there was still a lingering fear that something was horribly wrong. His hands rested on her lower back, touching the bare skin just where her marigold coloured shirt rode up. As his chest rose and fell, so did Deanna’s; the two breathing concomitantly. The two laid there together in the silvery moonlight for what felt like an eternity.

Deanna sat up slightly, “What’s going to happen? To us? What are we going to do?” she questioned.

“I’m not sure,” Arawn mumbled. His hands mindlessly fidgeted with the hem of her shirt.

“Okay, for now, why don’t we just,” she looked around, “get some rest. We should be safe here, we ran a long ways away.”

Arawn nodded, silently agreeing with her idea. He moved Deanna, and rolled over, facing away from her. He could just barely make out the shapes of mountains in the distance. His eyes fluttered shut, falling asleep.

He was abruptly awoken by the sounds of shuffling. He opened his eyes cautiously, careful not to make any sudden movements so as to not scare whatever was nearby. He turned over to check on Deanna, and make sure she was safe. He didn’t see her laying there, but rather a pair of shoes. His gaze travelled upwards, only to be met with the image of Deanna, a large rock held above her head. He was barely able to sit up before she took action. Her eyes had a crazed look to them as she swung the rock down, whacking Arawn right on the head.

The large stone collided with his skull, breaking the skin and leaving a large wound. The rock escaped Deanna’s grip, and fell to the ground with a thud. Arawn collapsed, and scrambled away on his hands and knees. With all the strength he could muster, he grasped the rock, and threw it at Deanna. The rock smashed into her stomach, sending her flying back with the impact. Full of fear and adrenaline, Arawn stood up shakily, and grabbed the stone. Deanna, winded from the rock, blinked up at him, unable to move.

“I’m sorry,” he said woefully.

Suddenly, he began beating her with the rock. Over. And over. And over. And over.

Her body laid there, nothing more than a bloody pulp. She twitched slightly every now and again, but her breathing had ceased. Her large, beautiful brown eyes were now and forever closed. The dull green grass below her was quickly stained a deep crimson. Arawn’s eyes widened as he realized what he had done. He began to weep. He wept, and wept. What had he done? The first and only person to give him such attention was gone, and it was all his fault.

The warm sun rose, painting the sky a blend of oranges and pinks. Without warning, his limbs began to twitch. He sobbed and gasped for air. He needed to feed, and he needed it now. He absolutely couldn’t make it anywhere else in time.

His gaze shifted to Deanna’s lifeless frame. He shivered at the mere thought, but deep down he knew what was going to happen. What had to happen.

On his hands and knees, he crawled towards her body. The gaping wound on his head dripped with each small movement. His joints ached; all of the contortion truly took a toll on the body. He caressed her face. If you could even call it that anymore. Her features were barely discernible. It was simply a mess of flesh, cartilage, and blood. He grasped her arms, and wept into her chest.

Slowly, he transitioned from sobs to bites. He gnawed away at the torn-up flesh, the meat squelching between his teeth. He chewed the muscle, consuming every inch he could reach. The texture was foul, but what other choice did he have? He inhaled panicked, quick gulps of air, often getting a lungful of blood instead. His body wracked with sobs as he ate, and ate, and ate.

“I love you,” he muttered into the cavernous hole in her chest. However, it was too late. She couldn’t hear him. It was all over.

He thought back to her sweet, gentle touch. All he had wanted was a companion, but he messed it up. Just as he did everything else. He thought that this could be the one thing he could do right, yet he was proven wrong.

He thought back to all of the friendships that ended with the other children running away screaming, and in tears. All those days he spent weeping on the playground rather than playing joyfully like all of the other tots. The countless nights spent replaying conversations and interactions in his head, counting all of his numerous mistakes.

Foolishly, he had thought he wouldn't screw this up. But here he was. Elbow deep in the stomach of what he thought could be his true love. He stuffed his face full of everything he could reach. Organs and tissue sloshed between his large hands. Thick gore coated every inch of his upper body. The wretched, coppery scent was overpowering.

He consumed all he could get of her, until he couldn’t eat anymore. He laid on the once green grass, and bawled some more. Sniffling and blubbering, he winced as the blinding sun shone in his eyes.

Without warning, he sat up, and began violently coughing and hacking up everything that was in his system. He retched and convulsed vigorously. Something was terribly wrong.

He writhed on the ground in such severe, staggering pain. He cried out in agony. Severe pressure built up inside of him. He babbled out phrases of confusion between whimpers. This had never happened before.

Slowly, blood began to pour from every orifice in his body. He howled in pain. The carmine gushed in a constant flow. His eyes were a continuous river of blood. The sticky liquid spurted from his nostrils and ears. He opened his mouth to cry out for help, but all that came was blood. He attempted to speak, but all he could convene were pathetic gurgles. He slithered closer to Deanna’s body, dragging his numb limbs behind him. He grasped onto her body, now unable to cry or speak.

He looked at her winsome face once more, and brought his hand to her eyelids. All he wanted in his final moments were to see her ravishing eyes one final time. His goopy fingers peeled her eyelids back. It was then that he noticed her pupils. Large. Dilated. Just like those of his whole family. Just like one of two identifiable traits of the ferocious. Deanna was ferocious. The darkness of the Dewitt home hadn’t allowed for this revelation to happen sooner. He gasped, the blood burbling in his throat. He let out one last deafening sob. He gasped for air, but inevitably succumbed to the darkness that had him in its clutch.

His body went numb right overtop of Deanna’s. The two forever intertwined, laying in a colossal pool of blood and gore. They had both escaped the situations they so dearly wanted to escape. However, this wasn’t exactly the ending either of them had in mind.