#fcused

[lifesver]

@fcused said: please don't leave me. don't leave me.

( cw for death (: )

❝ go,❞ leland says, eyes flashing urgently to julie and connie, ❝ i’m good — keep going. i'm right behind you —❞ he promises, pleads, through grit teeth. through the effort of keeping the bastard with the scarred face down in the dirt.

leland's not sure yet, if he's lying, though.

connie gives him one last wide-eyed look, before she's scrambling up to her feet. julie grabs for her hand, and they're sprinting down the dirt road together. they could make it, he thought. they had to — and at the very least, they'd have a head start if this sick fuck got through him.

snapped from his thoughts; leland feels the man's wrist tear away from his grip. the edge of the skinning knife lashing out, biting deep into leland's forearm. he cries out, tries to grapple for the weapon again. digs his knee harder into the man's ribs. but his own strength is beginning to wane. their struggle kicks up dust, and he feels like he can't breathe, like it's being beaten out of him.

but still, leland tunnel-visions, single-mindedly, on the task of keeping this man from chasing after his friends. for as long as he can.

of course, he probably shouldn't have brought his fists to a knife fight, he thinks, intelligently. he can barely see around the blood in his eyes, but he lands one good crack of his fist across the jackal's jaw. blood spatters sideways in the dirt. and that feels satisfying. and then another. crack. and that feels good, too — to see the black-and-blue branch across the man's cheek. and he's not thinking, anymore — lost in the feeling, the adrenaline that comes with making just one of these people pay for what they did.

his vision, all in red. the man's face, just snarling teeth, all in red. leland's fist reels back again, relentless. ready to make the bastard to hurt like he'd hurt them —

— but the man's taunting, laughing, now. why the fuck —

why —

leland's eyes shock pin-prick wide.

' gotcha, ' comes a hiss, low, right in his ear, and leland chokes on a sound.

blade plunges in, and then out. leland freezes, blindsided, and the man throws him off. sends him rolling aside, and scrambling, stumbling in the dust. he's trying to stand up, and the austere shape of the house is shifting sideways on him, treeline melting into the dark sky. and leland's hands hover, blankly, trying to find where he's bleeding from, this time. what hurts. everything fucking hurts. he knows he's just been fucking stabbed, but his dizzy head can't make sense of it. can't feel it over the roar of his blood in his ears. can't think about how bad it might be.

he clutches at where the dark fabric is punctured. in the gut. he got you in the gut.

that's bad, isn't it?

the man staggers to his feet, too, swaying slightly as he laughs, off-kilter, again. but he doesn't move to cross the distance again. lets leland backtrack, turn, and run, with a fever-pitch singing in his ears. run. nothing else to think about. nothing else. you have to run. leland can hear the man yelling something after him. swears he feels his wolf-eyes, unsettlingly calm, on his back as he goes.

but the man doesn't follow.

why isn't he following?

leland doesn't dare look back.

he goes toward the sound of his name, from somewhere out in the dark, up ahead. jules. it's jules.

he spots her close to the fence posts at the end of the drive, and she runs to support him under the arm. helps him the rest of the way. over the disarmed cattle grid. out into the road. down the road. all the while, his hand trembles over his stomach, presses at the blood-wet fabric. and god — don't think about it. don't think about it. just run.

they keep each other upright, keep each other moving forward. he assures julie, with every ragged breath, that he's fine. he's fine. because he needs to be fine right now. there's no secondary choice.

they run until their lungs burn. for as long as they can, until they have to stop. they meet up with the others, scattered and exhausted on the roadside. no one seems to have come after them, but they're still far from anything. far from home. or a hospital. but anywhere was better than that fucking house.

he nods to julie one more time that he’s alright. i’m good, jules. he just got me in the arm. i'm good. hey. go check on maria, will you? he even waves her off, keeping his other hand discreetly close to himself.

she looks over him with a quick nod of her own, squeezing his shoulder, and she hurries the rest of the way ahead.

leland releases a shaky breath he’s been holding, as he watches her go. thankful he was believable, for the time being. knuckles slowly uncurl, from where they had pressed tightly over his middle. to the torn, soaked fabric there. to the warmth of the blood escaping through his fingers more steadily, now.

leland finally trudges to a stop. he looks on at his friends.

it's a miracle that they're all here, really. they found maria. they found virginia's son. they made it this far. despite everything, they did what they came to do. and maybe, part of that was because of something he did right in this whole mess.

he watches them, in his own little world. the way raw emotion gives way to a moment's breath of relief. the however-brief release of all the fear and pain, that had gripped them since this nightmare had begun.

ana is knelt on the dusty ground, clinging tight to maria, face buried in her shoulder. like she's scared to let her go again. he sees julie running up, dropping down next to them. he can see how her shoulders shake with her crying. and then sonny, helping along a badly hurt, but still-standing, still gruffly complaining danny. ginny, and her son, jesse. and how she speaks so softly to him, with his tear-stained face in her hands.

leland feels his chest ache with something he can't name. his eyes soften, and he half-smiles to himself. those monsters had underestimated them. all of them.

the longer leland stands there in the road, the more he feels like he’s on the outside of a snowglobe. the more he has the quiet thought, that he doesn't want to ruin this. after all that had happened before it. and all that would happen after.

he doesn't want to be the bad news.

but his knees wobble, and give, and leland stumbles. and the others quickly take notice that he’s fallen behind.

' leland? ' julie's voice rings out. when she turns, he sees her face fall.

suddenly, he feels like he's told a terrible lie. and maybe he has.

sorry, he thinks.

' leland, man — hey, what's wrong? ' sonny's eyes flash with alarm, hand dropping from danny's shoulder as he starts moving back toward the group.

sorry, i'm sorry. i —

connie whirls around, with a swish of her wildfire hair. she had been looking over danny’s injuries. but now her face pales in uncharacteristic dread, too.

she's the first to rush up to him, calling out his name. her hands going for his arms, up to his face. to his hands, covered in dark red.

leland? leland!

his world is listing, tailspinning.

❝ hey, i...❞

his eyes drop to meet hers, and leland opens his mouth to speak again, but he can’t form anything. not even a sorry. he only gives her a sort of apologetic look, as hands fall away, to reveal the dark, growing patch in his shirt. probably couldn’t have been less visible in the black fabric. probably good that it wasn't. they would have worried. they would have slowed down for him. and he couldn't let that happen. not until they got far enough away.

now the dark red coats his hand completely, spills seemingly, endlessly. lands on the ground and pools by his shoes. all that red, from him. leland's eyes close against a dizzy swoop of black. it leaves him floating amongst nothing, for what feels like minutes.

it’s really only seconds, though.

in an instant, he hears the sound of quick footfalls across the asphalt. he doesn’t realize he’s fallen to his knees. connie had followed him down to crouch with him.

leland, hey, look at me —

more pairs of hands are moving him to lay down — trying to be careful with him. trying to lay him down on whatever they had. sonny's fancy button-up, he thinks, tilting his head to look at the patterned fabric. and then up, to the concerned faces crowding him. to the clouds beyond their heads.

staring skyward, with all that fight-or-flight fire dimming, draining out of his body — leland becomes aware of just how much he hurts. he shudders out a small sob, as his hands are moved from his stomach, so connie can see the damage.

his listing gaze comes to anchor on her features. her serious, scared eyes. the nervous fretting of her brows. and he wants to say something. he can feel someone brushing his hair away from where it sticks with sweat and blood. a million voices saying things he can't quite make out.

❝ sorry. ❞ he manages, roughly. to her. to everyone. to no one in particular. his voice feels shredded. and for the moment, connie is avoiding his eyes, focused on stammering out instructions to the others. give me your jacket. press here. julie, help me — connie’s pushing julie’s hands down again to hold the wound, with someone's jacket to soak the blood. leland groans quietly, added pressure causing a new wave of pain.

i know, i know it hurts

it does. it's unbearable. all that red. all that red from him.

connie's hands, covered in his blood, come up to cup his jaw. hey. stay awake, leland. i know — i know it's a lot of blood, but you're gonna to be okay, she's whispering to him, firmly. sternly. telling him off like she does. that he ought not die on her.

he tries to laugh at that, and it crunches his expression into a wince. bad idea. gives a weak nod, instead. ❝ doing my best, con. i swear, ❞ he tries to joke. eyes crinkle gently up at her. but connie's normally steady hands are trembling, and his own expression falls. ❝ it's... it's bad, huh?❞

connie doesn't answer, as her hands hover over where all the blood soaks through.

he hears julie hiccupping around a sob of an apology.

and connie isn't telling him it's going to be okay, anymore.

and no one's saying anything.

and that must mean it’s pretty bad.

connie knew it. they knew it. he knew it, too. the man knew it, laughing as leland had staggered away. the bleeding doesn't stop. it won't, he realizes. he realizes why the man had laughed.

one, and then two, he can feel tears landing on his cheek from above. connie's hands are delicate on either side of his face as she curls up, protective, by him. and the air goes still, as though holding its breath.

‘ ... please don’t leave me. ’ connie is whispering into his hair. ‘ don’t leave me. ’ she repeats it, repeats it.

he wishes he didn’t have to. it didn't feel fair.

❝ i’m right here.❞ he squeezes connie’s hand; to reassure her, with a small smile. his little cross on its chain burns against his heart. was there something after? was there anything? was it lonely? did it have to be now? did he do the right thing?

( his mother would say, all you can do is stay right with your heart. that's all you can do, baby. that's all you can do. )

he did that, didn't he? didn't he do what was right?

❝ con. i’m — i’m scared.❞ he chokes out, squeezing his stinging eyes shut.

it hurts, it hurts a lot. it hurts, and his vision is filling with tears. but maybe it’ll be just like falling asleep. maybe it’ll be alright.

he tries to look over connie's face again, as she blurs into watercolours, too.

( i love you, he'd say, if he was just a little bit more selfish. or a little bit more brave. did you know that? i did. and i do. there should have been more time to say it. )

and it does matter, everything, all of it. it does. it does. of course it does.

even if he’s scared. even if he's the one left alone.

even if he wants so desperately to stay.

as his thoughts reel and quiet, he feels the sticky spring air around him again. listens to the hum of crickets, and the way the wind moves across the fields surrounding them. faded on the edge of his pain, he hears the comfortable clamour of the dorm halls, back at school. he thinks about snowfall outside a window, the voices of his friends, laughing and talking in the room over. and the sound of his mother humming to herself in the kitchen. in this dream, the radio plays something warm, but indiscernible.

he feels hazy, less-there. but he feels less afraid, too. safe in the arms of people he cares for. people he loves.

leland's brows furrow softly, in question, in the gentlest concern;

❝ hey... we. we made it, right?❞ eyes flick across the faces above him, accounting for everyone one more time, to be sure. some new, some old. they had all slowly come to sit by him, there, on the empty roadside. scared, hurt, but together.

❝ everyone’s... safe?❞

again, a beat of heavy silence.

and then, their voices, a fuzzy and warm chorus, all around him.

... everyone’s safe, lee. everyone made it. all of us.

everyone’s okay, man. everyone's right here.

you’re okay, sweetie. you’re okay.

he focuses on the gentle hand, squeezing his, rubbing comforting circles into his palm. and on a mother's touch smoothing through his hair, that reminds him of his own, humming him to sleep as a kid. and on careful hands cradling his face, thumbing away tears and blood. warm, while he felt his fingers slowly growing cold. he feels that cold beginning to drift up through him, but it's not so bad, now. it numbs out the loudness of his pain, finally.

❝ good,❞ leland whispers. gives a watery laugh, as something bound tightly in his chest finally releases. lets go. lets him breathe.

they'll be okay, without you.

they'll be alright.

❝ that's... good,❞ he echoes, again, more softly. calmed, cheek leaning into connie's palm. he lets his eyes drift closed for a moment. open, shut, open. gaze drifting, slowly, holding on each of their faces, and memorizing their lines. drifting, into the sky, and the way it splits and fades into warm oranges and pinks. fireworks of colour against the black of the night.

and in the end, he decides it's not so bad.

in the end, it's a little like falling asleep.

[meatriarch]

there was no clear way for her to know just how long she had been down in this hell. her cell, for the time she had been locked away, before she had managed to wriggle free after the lithe, giddy one of this fucking family had last seen her, messed up the restraints. gave her leeway to slip out of them, escape from the four walls she'd grown accustomed to all that time — knew every little knick in hardwood walls, knew which spots in the ceilings were culprit to the maddening drip - drop of some sort of piping above-head.

knew, too, how many steps it took, roughly, each one of that fucking family when they'd crack that metal basement door open, and take the walk down the steps, through tunnels, and to her cell door.

learned, as well, which set of footfalls belonged to who.

the man with the mask covering his face . . . heavy, clumsy, almost. she only saw him a time or two. he stayed away from her. seemed scared, somehow. wild to her, being the one that had been locked up. the sing - songing woman, whose bare feet made very strange sound against the floorboards, against the dirt. even when she was silent as she did so. liked to test some new sort of concoction on her, at times — that powder shit of hers. she'd feel ill and dizzied and lightheaded for days. sometimes accompanied by the older woman — one who walked with devils — and whatever was in that powder made by the singing blonde seemed to only worsen when the older woman was near.

the things she'd seen . . . there was something seriously wrong with her—

the old man didn't do much but complain, sometimes whacked across the back of head by him, voiced very much how he wanted her dead and gone already — but that damn boy wanted to keep her alive, a little longer. too much fun to let her go to waste.

it was the heavy groan of boot on hardwood, crunch of dirt underfoot, that terrified her into paralysis. the little pop! of belt-sheath unclasping as they grew nearer to her cell door — until what little light she'd get flooding through small barred window in the door was eclipsed by head and shoulders . . .

terrified her most — johnny. knew his footfalls far too well. hyper-aware, now — and does pathetic, meek, scared little creature want to find the nearest little burrow and crawl inside and hide as the mans' cackling laughter echoes throughout the basement tunnels.

wide-eyed, panicked stricken to her core, every fiber of her screams to run! hide!

sounds of scuffle accompany the laughter, the taunts.

RUN! HIDE!

wounded, fearful, little prey animal listens to instinct, finds herself nearest table to crawl herself under, among the rotting gore left strewn over tabletop, dangling off edges. cares not when some indiscernible string of innards brush against sides of face, across tops of shoulders and arm, drags along her hair as she scrambles beneath shelter, burrows herself as deep as she can go — cornered, hidden, in the dark.

vision blurred as she stares out, unblinking, into the stretch of room laid out in front of her. eyes flicker, from way in the back, eclipsed in darkness, as she watches struggle ongoing by two shadows. one she cannot place a face or name to — the other, had grown to know too well . . . and the sight of johnny only pushed her further into herself. streamlined tears to fall from blurred vision.

a voice shouts out from across the room, and one shadow moves away, runs further into the tunnels, johnnys' laughter following close behind — the voice familiar, rougher, harsher, than she remembers it. but, surely, maria is hallucinating.

leland couldn't be down here—

she remembers seeing them all, time to time. especially when the older woman was nearby. sights, mirages, she wished she could unsee . . . of them in no better shape than she was, sometimes. and others, their faces pristine, their bodies no more different than the gore piles above her head.

no. it couldn't be leland. he was back home, back in austin. everyone was. they were safe, and warm in their beds—

the rooms gone quiet, lost in shellshocked - thought, when maria's eyes glide to a gap in the wall as the sound of shifting, scuffling feet, fill the silence otherwise. and maria freezes, initially, all over again — its the giddy one again, or, its the blonde — oh. buzzing, rising panicked thoughts die down into nothing, nothing but the buzz of radio static, as neither of those two are who slips through the gap in the wall—

stark green eyes zip all over the room, carefully looking at all possible corners, every doorway, the windows along the stretch of wall, the doorway leading back into tunnels, where johnny stalked off into the shadows to. the eyes. the hair. messied wildfire sprayed all over, partly in face, draped down across shoulders. maria's eyes stayed glued to her, wide, shocked, confused, as she followed her movements, carefully treading herself up steps to the large sliding door, that let up to that red wall of taxidermy. led up into the belly of the home above ground.

watched, as she did another look-around, listening carefully, intensely, before digging into pockets, start working on the door lock.

silently does prey animal crawl herself out from her burrow. afraid to make a peep. afraid her eyes are deceiving her, all over again. that its a trick on her already fracturing mind, from being down here for . . . for however long its been. gets herself to her feet, body trembling, aching, from how much she's overworked it — running, hiding, staying the fuck away from those people, from others they drag down here.

steps, one foot after the next. closer, closer, to bottom of steps. stare unblinking. stare unwavering. staring at red hair in the dark. at freckles and blood droplets dotting and trailing down from head wound. different, she realizes, to how she's seen her, in those visions, in those lies conjured up by the older woman. eyes drop to her hands, trembling despite her focus on getting that door unlocked. doesn't notice her, she thinks, creeping up in peripheral.

or, maybe, she truly was just a spectre — another trick of the eyes, a haunting of her mind.

the redheads' name comes out rough from maria's mouth. quiet. hoarse. sandpaper grit along sides of throat. and does her voice startle her completely, dropping the tools in hand, jolting and whipping head in her direction. face sheet-white, eyes so widened the whites bleed into her skin. her name escapes maria once again, staring up at her, blankly, from the bottom of the steps. " connie— . . ? is it, it's really you—? "

time seemed to have died then and there. the two of them staring at one another. both like they're staring at a ghost. i suppose, thought crosses mind, that's a little bit true—

its time that her own name reaches her ears. spoken into the air slow, cautious, disbelief. oh, maria thinks silently, connie's voice sounds . . . normal. not distorted, not layered by what seemed like voices speaking along with her — disembodied and echoing from all around her, when she'd encounter the illusions of her friends, ana, her mama, her papa, the older woman would make her endure, make her see, make her hear and feel—

but no. the voice wasn't the same. felt . . . clearer, in spite of the trembling in it. in spite of the horror, the shock.

maria watches her as, cautiously, connie started to close gap between them, descending the steps one by one. hesitant. scared. maria couldn't blame her. here they both were, ghosts of themselves manifesting to one another in the middle of this hell they've been subjected to. only, the connie before her wasn't real. connie would never be so stupid, unlike her, to get herself wrapped up in such a mess like this.

she was smart, and careful, and hardly easy at all to get her to trust. she wasn't me. not stupid like me, getting myself into a mess like this. connie wouldn't be caught dead in this place, by these people. maria was certain of that. she's back in austin, nose in one of her textbooks, or off along some stretch of road, stopped at a stall of fresh fruits — probably picking up a few oranges. maybe some strawberries.

maria's eyes fall between them both, as connies' hand raises into that remaining space.

what i wouldn't give to see an orange slice between her fingers. holding it out to me, without a word, without a glance in her direction. just her simple, silent, i peeled it. i love you. so take it—

cold fingertips meet marias cheek, and connie's eyes widen further, in realization at the touch, hand jolts from her. face contorting, brows pushing together, a shuddering in her beginning.

it can't be connie, maria thinks to herself, staring back at her in dazed confusion, connie never cries—

her name once again falls out from her friends' mouth — this time, accompanied by sobs, by heaves, as connie throws herself at her, arms clasping fully around her, stuns maria entirely. at the weight of her crashing against her, at the tightness of her hold around her. her sobs beside her ear. the warmth of her. the cold of her—

can just make out, between the uncontrollable sobbing in her ear, " i never thought i'd see you again! "

oh—

this really was her.

the dirt and iron and earthy scents on her didn't fully mask hint of berry lingering on connie's skin. maria stared at the side of her head, at wildfire so close to skin it could have burned her down to bone had long strands been truly licks of flames against her. it was her. it is her. then, that means the shadow leading johnny further into the tunnels must have been leland—

wait, then, that means they came looking for her—

fire blurred itself into a watercolor of red as marias' eyes welled up. as her arms finally brought themselves around connie, too, drawing her, somehow, even closer to herself than she already was. breath shaking trembling as much as she, now, was as much a crumbing mess as connies' sobbing made her.

fracture along dam walls separated, chipped away as realization settles deeper and deeper into her head. crackling along tall, wide walls until pressure from other end was too much, too strong to remain held back — and like connie, maria erupted into sobs too, clinging to her, like a lifeline, like the last stable thing she could grasp onto.

she hadn't a clue what she was even saying, between heaved sobs, into connies' hair. i missed yous. apologies. whatever it was, it was echoed by connies' voice, her own sobs,

they really came looking for her—

@fcused : “ i never thought i’d see you again. ”

[htchhiker]

❛ ... why are you cryin' ? ❜ he asks softly , fingers curling into his palms , empty && eager to fidget with something. they settle for grasping tightly onto the strap of his camera , though it isn't as satisfying as taking a handful of her hair. but he refrains , because @fcused seems upset about something ― her eyes the same color , red. though it seems no tears fall , maybe she's run out of them ; voice hoarse form crying , exhaustion hanging heavy upon her shoulders && causing her to slump where she sits. nubbins watches her closely , dark gaze void of any recognizable emotion , instead searching for something in her expression ( he doesn't understand. )

❛ hey ... y ― you hungry ? i ― i could getcha' somethin' to eat ! ❜

[anthrcpophagi]

🍒  + lifesver :3

send  me  🍒  +  a  url�� and  i  will  write  some  positivity  for  them. I haven't written a ton or plotted with @lifesver yet ( i hope that will change!), but I admire from afar !! I'm always in awe of amazing writers who can take a character that has like three sentences about them and turn it into such a well-developed and multidimensional muse & kels does it so flawlessly !!

[nxmeolvides]

[ LEVER ]: the sender, wanting to sit next to the receiver, places a hand on their shoulder to ease themselves to the space beside them.

Another sunset paints the sky with streaks of pink and blue, the horizon line blooming with orange where it kisses the landscape. It’s that time of day where the light is just starting to fade, and Ana can picture it captured in a photo sent home by Maria, lovingly annotated with a biro as her sister pens another letter. Isn’t the view out here lovely? 

In different circumstances, she would be happy to agree.

But right now, every new sunset is another day that Maria is gone. Another day of finding no clues, no real help, no anything - her chest feels so tight, she has to wonder if it can last much longer before her bones start to crack. Following her sister’s footsteps throughout Muerto County just doesn’t seem to be getting them anywhere. Or at least, not anywhere fast. Sure, a handful of people have recognised Maria’s face in their missing posters, but what does that matter when they can’t lead them to where she is? What does it matter when all the information they find is something that’s already written down in a letter, or reported to the police?

Nails curling into her palms, Ana tries to push her worries, her frustrations aside, but it’s been getting harder every day. She wants to believe that her sister is out there, that soon they’ll just stumble across her, relatively safe and somewhat sound - but it’s beginning to feel more like a bedtime prayer and less like something she earnestly believes. 

The rest of the group had disappeared into the nearby store earlier, stocking up on cheap supplies for another night of camping, and Ana had declined going in with them. At the time, it had seemed like a good decision - that she needed the time to herself, to clear her head, to focus. But instead, all it seems to be doing is letting her worries eat her alive. 

She just can’t shake this feeling. A constant, gnawing dread that finds her in the dark, settles on her like moths, and nibbles away at her walls and whispers that they’re too late to do anything at all.

She’s pulled from her thoughts by the press of a hand against her shoulder, and Ana blinks: jumping at the contact and then near-immediately regretful that she did. A brush of skin shouldn’t be enough to spook her, not even close. But, lately she’s been so on edge that just about anything can do it. An embarrassed warmth floods her cheeks, and glancing sideways, she catches a glimpse of freckles on pale legs and short-cut denim as her companion sits down. It takes a moment, but the tension across her shoulders eases at the realisation of who it is.

“Connie.”

The older girl’s name leaves her lips in a murmur, softened by relief. Ana shuffles herself to the side, instinctively offering up a little more space to the redhead in the opened side of the van. It’s the least she can do, after leaving them all to take care of getting supplies on their own. Now she isn’t so lost in her head, it’s beginning to dawn on her how rudely that might have come across. What did they all think of her, anyway, isolating herself like this? She’d promised the group and herself that they were going to find her sister, had practically appointed herself leader of the entire search - but if she just shut herself away, then how were they going to believe she was any help at all?

She has to be better than this. Stronger than this.

“Sorry,” she apologises, conjuring up a smile even if it takes a little forcing. “I – I just got lost in my head. Did I miss anything in there?”

[meatriarchived]

❛ I’m scared. That’s all I am. ❜ | @fcused

back rested firm against wall. there was almost a lightheadedness buzzing about her mind, and the stability of structure behind her helped ground her. twenty years. nearly, two full decades since she'd last seen the faces all gathered in the same room at last. since she's seen nor spoken to a single one of them, save for ana, once in a blue moon ( to keep her from worrying and gathering them all up like she had so long ago. )

maria's eyes crossed the room slowly, taking in each and every one of them.

of leland, after he had been the one to find and reach out to her - when he had shown up in front of her secluded home, in the middle of a rain shower at the start of the week. like a lost dog, soaked down to bone, large round eyes gazing sadly back at her - at the state she was in, miserable ( they both had realized how alike they were, how broken they became. )

of her sister, who had grown so much since they last saw one another. firm in her beliefs, firm in her dislike of the reason they all finally crossed state lines to meet once again. older, wiser, somehow far better off than maria could ever imagine. she had done so well for herself ( she did well without you, whispers harsh spat in the back of her mind. ) and maria's eyes lingering on her and sonny for a moment as they quietly spoke amongst themselves.

of sonny, eyes still friendly and features still kind, just as he'd been all that time ago. he stood taller, shoulders firm and confidence swelling him up. he worked hard for his degrees, graduating top of his class, went off to be successful. he truly deserved it, for all that hard work, the sleepless nights he'd spent. she was proud of him, for continuing where some of them simply could not.

eyes passing to julie and danny, standing side by side. danny brows were furrowed, and his voice lowered as he and leland spoke - quiet but harsh, of disbelief and anger flickering his features. he was most vocal about this entire thing. he still is. ( he's angry that this is even a thought, that any of us even consider going back to that house, back to where everything soured and spoiled in their lives - how their friendships with each other suffered for it, how they all went separate ways after she had quietly left in the night. ) the two of them, feet planted firm, voices hushed yet tumbling fast over one another as they argued amongst themselves, with julie - sweet as she was - trying to ease them both, settle them down.

and then, maria's eyes turn to connie - and pairs of hazel and green meet and lock together.

she'd been rather quiet, save for voicing her own dislike of the idea. hesitant to agree at all, but crumbling when she'd realized the rest of them were willing to join if they all were. she hates the idea - and maria does not blame her in the slightest.

when leland had laid out all the cards, of going back, maria was as dumbstruck as danny was. ( the thought itself was never foreign to her - she'd considered doing the same for years, now. )

the words had been stripped from her mouth because it was leland saying it.

she hadn't expected it to fall past his lips.

if anything, she could believe it were to from from danny. but not leland.

maria glances to the others, busy amongst themselves, not paying mind to the pair of them quietly off to themselves, and turns back to connie, motioning with her head for them to go someplace quieter, before moving away from the wall, and slipping out of view with her.

out to the back porch of the flores' home, into the cool night air. ( it felt less suffocating than inside, where tensions were still high. )

maria waited, quietly watching connie follow her out, closing door shut behind them both. lips part to speak, yet nothing spills out at first. and maria bites down on inside of cheek, finding herself unsure of what to say, and for a few moments they stand out there in silence.

maybe it was just the quiet peace they needed, after everything being said and decided on inside.

she breathes in deep - once, twice, a few more times than she cares to admit - before exhaling in a puff, and she turns to her, and asks if she's okay, truly, with what they plan to do - to go back to that damned house.

and green eyes meet hers once again, and response is simple, quiet, and heavy in the air.

" i'm scared. that's all i am. "

maria watches her for a moment, allowing her words to sink in. where leland and herself harbored their...anger over the years, their hate at what had been done to all of them - it was only fair how the others likely still felt fear at the thought of reliving everything they had gone through ( it was so long ago - and yet it still haunted each of them ).

head nods, faintly, after the silence, and she draws in breath between teeth and lets it out slow again. bitter smile playing at the corners of her lips as voice drops to a whisper,

" i'm scared too. admittedly, i'm terrified. "

all her memories of those weeks spent there - the few with johnny, the others with nancy, and then the last days strung up and locked away in the sprawling tunnels, exhausted, hallucinations still plaguing her vision - they still came to her, in dreams, in the corners of her room. in the rise of heartrate, the coiling of gut.

every morning and every evening when she lifts shirt off, and she sees that scrawled J still so pronounced, still so ugly, carved permanently into her skin...

the thought of seeing frenzied eyes and toothy grin - widened and wild - once again sent cold chills down her spine and bile to her throat.

the thought of seeing the older woman - of seeing nancy once again, however...

maria squeezes eyes shut, pushing back thoughts that make her stomach churn worse; feeling herself tensed at the itch in her fingertips - that if she could only get close enough to the HAG to close hands around throat-

another squeeze of eyelids, another shove of thoughts to back of mind, and maria's eyes open slowly, and look back at connie, sadness and understanding in them.

she doesn't want any of this. and i don't want it for her. she doesn't deserve this.

" you don't...you know you don't have to come, connie. "

faint smile crosses face, brows pinched together, as she continues, " you don't need to, if you truly don't want to. it may be the smartest thing to do, honestly. regardless of what may happen. " her shoulders lift in a shrug, " who knows? maybe by the time we get there, we'll have realized every single one of those fuckers are long dead already. maybe that's for the best, that they are. or that they aren't even there anymore, and its' just an empty shell of a house now. "

smile falters a bit. she knows that each of them would never allow any of them to go back - not alone, not without the rest of them.

" i'm angry. i'm- i'm so fucking angry, and, i'm hateful of these people, what they did to us, what they did to me... " she can feel the sting of tears in her eyes, and she swallows hard, " but that- that's not any of yours or the others' responsibility or obligation, to come along, when you don't want to - when its probably better that you don't. "

and maria realizes, how cruel it all is. in connie's position, in any of the others', to feel like they must, for their friends, return back to that hell they had barely managed to escape twenty years ago. and cruel as well, to tell her she can simply wait behind - for what? news of their disappearances, like what had happened with them when she had been taken?

how fucking cruel.

jaw clenches tightly, tooth grinding against tooth, as she stomachs the guilt bubbling in her.

HOW FUCKING DARE YOU PUT THEM ALL THROUGH THIS AGAIN?

she whispers apologies into the night air.

to connie. to her sister, to sonny, to danny and julie. to leland.

she regrets coming back. she regrets not having made the choice on her own to return to the house - to see for herself if it laid full or abandoned yet.

she regrets not taking scarred and diseased rabbit out back and putting it down before any of this came to fruition.

" i'm sorry connie. for- for everything. for all of this. "

[publicabsent]

@fcused: [ MANICURE ]:    sender and receiver paint each other’s nails together. / accepting.

annette rarely paints her nails. it's just one more thing for her to fidget with, something else to tear up when her nerves strike. as much as she likes the look of it, things always happen. & when connie offers to paint them for her, she's immediately nervous. (no, no, my hands are so ugly, fingertips marred & palm scarred over -- you don't want to look at them, please ...) but so far it's uneventful, the simple pink color painted on with no fuss. "i-i -- i c-could, um ... pai - pain-nt y-yours, t-t-too ... y'kn-now, after. h-hands-s sh - shake, though."

[sacrisomnia]

@fcused asked: ❛ It’s four o'clock in the morning, what are you doing? ❜

"Oh! Shit," Quentin fumbled his notebook shut, his pen bookmarking the page he was on. "Shit, you scared me."

Connie cast a wan shadow over him, the early light limning her hair into a russet halo. She looked more awake than he felt--which was not a hard comparison to achieve.

"I was...studying? We got that big chem test next week, so, you know," he bluffed. Technically it wasn't a lie, as he had started out studying. But then his thoughts strayed with his pen, and eventually transitioned into drawing cats and skulls with a mediocre hand. She caught him while he was in the early stages of outlining Nancy's visage--not a romanticized leftover of a severed intimacy, but just a symptom of his homesickness. Phone calls and mailed polaroids were only so much.

"Can't sleep, anyway."

Sleep only ever came in snatches for him. No matter what bed, what room, what floor, what state, he still lay there in a cold sweat, paranoia prickling the back of his neck, fearing Krueger's face on the other side of his window or his nightmares. Forever worried that once he fell asleep he wasn't going to wake back up. An unkillable dread he had no reason to have over a dead man. Still, it left him antsy. So he's been doing this; passing the tired hours of the morning at one of the benches outside the library, pretending to study.

Quentin gestured towards her, amicable: "What about you? Also looking to get ahead of the academic curve?"

[lifesver]

@fcused said: i'm fine. i'm 100% fine. / oh yk… being stressed about trying to be normal and ur definitely not fine.

he hadn't realized he’d zoned out — gaze pendulum scanning the party for his friends for the fiftieth time. even as leland counts each of them off mentally, paranoia roils insistently in his gut. demanding his attention. demanding he keep an eye out for strange figures in the crowd. like it was his job alone, to stare down the exits and shadowy corners.

leland blinks, a bit dazed — shit — maybe he just needed to loosen up more. maybe another drink would drown out the lingering, sinking dread he felt. they were supposed to be having fun, after all. like they used to. like everyone else at this dumb party. the people around him sound underwater. and he feels see-through, unimportant. barely there. bitter. his drink tastes bitter, and leland throws the rest of the lukewarm beer back with a small grimace. and then he makes his way through the throng of costumed strangers.

it's easy enough to spot connie — even if she wasn’t already wallflowering to the side ( pretty and unapproachable ), her big pink butterfly wings would have given her away. that had been the half-baked theme with them this year — enamoured by the costume wings in the halloween section together. although his angel costume was considerably less inspired in comparison — and he’d already misplaced his halo a beer pong game ago.

he’s familiar with the stormy look on connie’s face — restless, uneasy, looking like she wants to bolt. as if she felt just as uncomfortable as he did, here.

leland very gently bumps her shoulder with his. head turns toward her, looking over her expression. ❝ hey. you doing okay? ❞ a tentative beat, and his brows knit, sympathetic. ❝ … did something happen? or just… ❞ — or is it just, everything? maybe they just… couldn't do stuff like this anymore, without it feeling weird, or forced. his jaw tenses unconsciously; he doesn't even want to voice the other thing on his mind — but he’s sure they’re both thinking about it; the girl that went missing from the campus, last weekend. last seen at some sorority party, just like this one. did anyone even care?

he adjusts one of connie’s fairy wings for her, looking up in quiet question; ❝ —if you wanna ditch early, we totally can. i can walk you back. ❞ leland shoots a look around, doing the fifty-first scan for their friends in the crowd. leland shifts on his heels, uncertain; ❝ — or, um, i can go get jules, or maria. whatever you want, con, seriously. ❞

[meatriarch]

mental checklist — running down through every single possible leftover thing she could think of that she needed to pack, or that needed to stay in the small living space of her apartment, for the landlord to pass on to the next tenant. maria stood there, in the entryway under the warm-toned lights above her head, eyes flicking all over the space around her, taking note, making sure she had everything she needed ready to go, or stay put : the living room, the small hallway leading to her room, the little dining space and the kitchen tucked away around the corner, mind racing as she mutters to herself, brow pinched together.

she could feel the small tremors of nerves in her hands. her heart racing in her chest. this was it. the last night. in texas. with mama and ana, with her friends—

it was difficult to manage without anyone catching on, but . . . maria had feigned going to her classes the last two weeks, instead meeting with her department heads, the offices, to get herself officially dropped out. and she managed to secure another apartment, in washington — over the phone. with stops, she still had three more days to drive from austin all the way out to the northwest.

( she could already feel the pangs of regret, of reluctance, to go. to finish loading her car of what remained of her apartment, to set juniper in her carrier beside her in the passengers seat, and then take off. )

there was no going back on this, though. couldn't be. any feeling of regret had to be stifled, shoved back in, swallowed back down to gut. it was too late to try unraveling everything she'd set in motion these last couple of weeks. it was . . . had to be— with free hand she lifts up juniper's carrier, the other swinging duffles over shoulder, as she set chin firm fromt he urge to just . . . drop everything and stay put. stay with everyone. starts yet another trip downstairs, to her car.

maria already said her goodbyes — at least, she never said them out loud . . .

that last library visit with sonny, scouring over book titles, his ramblings at what ones were worth reading, what books most accurate. she was proud of him, and hoped she would come across his name in the papers someday for some grand achievement he's accomplished — perhaps many, to be fair.

danilo tagging along with her to a gallery opening, them both quietly talking among themselves, dan cracking sarcastic jokes at some of the pieces but otherwise, letting her ramble, on and on, about the ones she adored the most ( as he had watched her quietly, a small smile across face, happy that she seemed to be getting back to herself after everything— it stings still . . . she knows he's going to be upset when he realizes she's gone . . . )

julie and connie, with a final girls' night and sleepover in their dorm ( by her own suggestion, her place being emptied and packed ). peering at them both over rim of wine glass as they drank and snacked on the treats she and connie baked together earlier in the day. wanting those last moments to simply watch them both. remember their faces and their laughter, their banter. set in stone how much she adores the two of them, her best friends, the girls she's grown so close to and fond of.

danny, after helping her, unknowingly for the last time, on her car. she'll be driving so many miles. she wanted to be sure it would make the trip. and she knew danny would go over every little bump and scrap and odd noise made without fail. and then treated him, when he was finished with some nice and home-cooked. one of her last sit-downs in her apartment, with gentle banter and teasing jokes passed between them both.

they say love sometimes settles in the stomach — with a hot, good meal shared between those one loves.

maria can only hope the three of them know just how much she loves them.

and then the last, earlier in the evening on this final day in austin. out in a field of wildflowers — a last ditch attempt to ease her anxiety enough to follow through — laying among the tall grass with the soft-colored petals above their heads, between them and the sky, with leland. and theres a twist in her chest, remembering the gentle laughter shared between them both. his silly grin crossing his face . . . it was cruel of her, probably . . . leaving tonight. when he's last to see her. she silently prays he wouldn't blame himself, for not catching on, not stopping her. not returning to her apartment with her — to see the state of it, boxed up and ready.

her visit the weekend before, back home with her mom and ana, where she broke the news to them. and left ana with a stack of albums, to give to each of her friends, in due time.

each of those last little meet-ups ending in a see you later.

unaware of what hers in response really meant — a goodbye.

i'm so sorry —

maria swings open car door and sets juniper on the seat. she can feel the heat in her face, the tickle of her nose as eyes glossed over. she curses to herself, stuffing duffles down at the base of the seat. bites down hard on insides of cheeks, scowling at herself for getting worked up again, for wanting to stop herself—

we need to get going— but i don't— we have over thirty-four hours to drive, we have to go— i don't want to be alone—

her name cuts into her thoughts. called out into the night air behind her, and every part of her wants to collapse in on itself. nausea fills deep in her gut, acid burning her throat. she wanted to avoid this—

of course, it would have been connie.

of course, she'd be the one who noticed something wasn't right. as perceptive as she could be. or perhaps it was all just pure luck for maria that connie would choose tonight, of all nights, to stop by . . . maria slowly closes the car door fully, at this point mostly to stop the cold night air from freezing juniper, and she hesitantly turns to look back at connie.

“ were you really about to leave without saying goodbye? ”

meeting her eyes worsened the twists in her chest and gut. clinks! of wine bottles in bag draped over the crook of her arm, standing there, half shrouded by the trees blocking the lights from the apartments, from the streetlights. nothing could ever quite dull down those piercing green eyes though, staring back at her. throat tightened in on itself. as the seconds of silence falling between the both of them, connie's little hum, from some weeks ago — murmured into the air of maria's room, between the bitter taste of the wines they drank from — played back in her minds' voice : i still saw a future with everyone. like we'd be friends for years . . . i don't anymore— recollection brings a fresh burn of saltwater to her eyes, that itching sting across her nose. unintentional, she knew, so very deep in her heart — but, those words stuck at the forefront of maria's mind for days. and they rang clear as day, as if connie were repeating them in her ears, every step she'd taken until now.

meeting with her department heads. dropping out. behind every little fib she'd pose of where she'd actually be during her class periods. when she left her job at the florist shop. and behind every last meeting with each of them — we won't be friends in a few weeks or months time, anyways . . . maybe its just for the better, this way . . .

the dark and shadows hid her well — maria couldn't figure out, past the clouding of tears in her eyes, what the hell connie was even thinking in this moment. or even really, what her expression gave away. marias hand grasped one another, anxiously wringing and squeezing her fingers, as her eyes tore away from connie, stared down at the asphalt below her, biting on insides of her cheeks. until she could find her voice amidst all the panicked, racing thoughts buzzing around in her head. glasses clinked! quietly, as connie shifted where she stood, ever so slight.

regret sat hot across her face. she should've chose a different night. she should have left sooner. she waited too long. she never should have packed her shit up.

she should have talked to them—

throat and tongue move like sandpaper in her mouth as she, quietly, breaks the silence of the night, of the dark around them.

" I don't . . . i— " she stops herself, for a second, two, to swallow — to fight for some string of words she can tumble out, for some kind of excuse, a reason, anything— instead, her voice grows more quiet, uncertain, regretful, " i didn't know how to not make anyone worry . . . look at all of you and not feel like i did this to you . . . " maria's eyes lift to connie, split second, before they drop again. something like shame. something like guilt.

" goodbyes— felt more permanent . . . felt more like— like everything was going to be over, for good, a - and i don't— i didn't want it to feel like a goodbye, like an end, and i - i couldn't . . . i didn't know how to talk about any of this without it upsetting anyone . . . i'm sorry— "

@fcused : “ were you really about to leave without saying goodbye? ”

[htchhiker]

@fcused 's hair is so pretty ... like the color of the sky the morning after a bloodbath. a shaky hand reaches out to touch it , slide his fingers through the silky locks && admire how smooth the glide is. a mental note is made to be careful preserving it for later ― something pretty like that would be better used in one of his sculptures , rather than tossed in the burn barrel with the rest of the bits they can't use. nubbins pays no mind to the way she recoils away from him , instead choosing to focus on a loose hair that had been caught in between his fingers , head giving a slight tilt && jaw clenching. ❛ i ― i like your hair , missy ! it's ... it's r ― real pretty ... ❜ a throaty giggle , looking back up to her face.

[desertbled]

@fcused ♥️'d for a starter

〝 i've been having a bad day for the past several years. 〞

[meatriarchived]

a shut of truck door behind him, keys getting shoved into pocket, and danny rounds the back of pickup, stepping up onto sidewalk and then onto snow-covered grass. can make out connie and her vibrant red hair standing outside the dorm house, on the steps as she finishes off a cigarette, a smile passing across face as she calls out in greeting. danny's arm raises, giving a small wave in return as she asks how the drive had been.

shoulders shrug as he slows his stride, " people can't drive for shit, you know how it is. it was fine though. feel much better being back up here though. " he gives her a gentle, lighthearted smile, " missed ya'll, y'know— "

and then smile turns mischievous.

her face falls when she spots it and she's already spilling out a don't you dare— before danny leans in, arms wrapping around her and lifts her up with ease into a warm hug, eliciting a not-exactly-pretty sound from her — some sort of heaved HRRK — before she's demanding him to drop her, wriggling in his arms, til the both of them are laughing and he flashes her a playful grin — a sight not too common on daniel.

" okay, okay, relax, i'm gettin' you down, " and he does, careful to make sure she's steady on solid ground before letting her free from his hold.

however, danny brings his arm around her shoulder, drawing her back in — for a proper hug, this time. and drops head to kiss the top of hers. " — did miss ya though, connie. " before she could say another word, a dull thump hits against the back of danny's shoulder, and he turns his head and spots other familiar face, some feet away, head twisted in other direction — playing off airs that the snowball that just made contact with danny totally did not come from him.

grin now gone, brow raises at leland, eyeing the obvious snow-coated gloves keeping hands warm. he shoots a look down at connie, to make a little quip, when another snowball gets hurled at him...

only this time, it hits the side of danny's face.

he can hear connie's attempt to not laugh get stifled. danny turns back to leland, whose eyes are widened and his hands are up in front of him, sheepish and apologetic — didn't mean to hit you in the face, dan, i'm sorry-

jaw clicks as danny breathes in deep, eyes narrowed back at him, before he ducks down, scoops a pile of snow in his own hands, turns body and hurls it through the air, hitting leland's shoulder as he just responds in time to flinch it upwards to tank the blow rather than it hit his own face.

from there, tension dissolves and the two scramble at the ground, scooping up handfuls of snow at a time, packing them enough as they ducked and ran from each others' in time to throw their own back in return.

the two stumbled about in the snow, grins plastered and only growing across laughing faces, curses and feigning cries of pain when they each are hit with another packed clump of snow — their voices echoed around the dormhouse grounds.

connie watched on, eyes no doubtedly rolling at their playfulness. as their clothes progressively became whiter with the lingering snow clumps from every landed hit. the puffs of air float from their noses and mouths as they laughed, as they shouted after one another.

until they paused, briefly to catch breath, take a moment to affirm a truce. for danny to come up beside him, land palm against leland's back and then pull him into hug, " missed you, too, chico de oro*, hope you've been alright. its good seein' ya. " and its the brief surprise on lelands face at his words, before happy grin brightens flushed face from their little snow fight, and mouth opens to say something when, in rapid succession, both of them are hit one after the other by a pair of snowballs.

leland in the chest, danny square in the face this time.

daniel's head knocks back from the impact, and leland lets out a startled cry of connie's name. danny brushes snow from his face, looking across back at connie, smugly smiling back at them both, before the boys share a split-second glance, and both immediately drop, scoop up snow once again, and the fight continues—

this time, however, pelting at not only one another, but at connie as well, as they all scatter and scramble to dodge and duck, laughing and cursing and calling out each others names into the air as snow darts all over, as chilled breath puffs past laughing lips.

and as he drops down and cusses leland out, as connie hits them both with another rapid-fire set — stupid great aim, goddamn she's got a good throwing arm — danny's eyes flick;

from connie, to leland, to her, back at him.

with their pink-tinted cheeks and noses from the cold air and them running about. rounded from the smiles on their faces. eyes brightened, almost childlike. sweet.

from her, to him.

he really had missed them.

@fcused & @lifesver | [ snowball ] senders throw snowballs at receiver & [ lift ] + reverse / now if i said danny could pick up connie as a treat even though she's like HRRK.

[mvriigold]

sender tries desperately to stop receiver's bleeding / jules. <3

She’s gonna die here, isn’t she?

Gazing at Connie’s face, it’s all Julie can think. 

She’s never been the brave one, not really. Julie’s surrounded herself with people all her life - her brothers, her high-school volleyball team, her friends. All close-knit groups, strong enough to make Julie feel strong, too. A skinned knee didn’t hurt as much if there was someone there to help laugh it off. That time she twisted her ankle wasn’t so bad, because Kenzie helped her limp to the nurse’s office, kept her company right until she was shooed away. There was always a silver lining to focus on, something good to outweigh the bad.

But looking at the fear on Connie’s face, Julie can’t find a glimmer of hope at all.

The other girl applies more pressure to her side, and Julie cries out, whimpers softly at the pain. She’s been trying to hold it in, sucking in sharp lungfuls of air, trying to send her mind anywhere else, but she can’t. Her cheeks feel clammy with tears: her hair plastered to her forehead, soaked through with sweat. Connie’s hands keep pressing against her side, a piece of her own ripped shirt wadded up in her palms, but the material’s already soaked through. It doesn’t matter how hard she tries, Julie just keeps on bleeding - that woman had slammed a gardening tool into her, ripped shreds of her skin away each time she wrenched it back out, and just kept going, and going. 

She can barely even look down, terrified each time that Connie’s hands will shift, and she’ll see her own guts bulging through the gore.

And worse, Julie can feel herself fading away. No matter how hard Connie tries, how desperately she works to keep her insides where they’re supposed to be, Julie can feel everything slipping. Their surroundings grow more distant, her body more heavy, her heartbeat more irregular. There’s less of her left inside herself every single minute, and she’s scared. She’s not gonna make it, is she? 

Connie won’t be able to get her out of here, not really. Not if she’s gonna get out herself. Julie’s too injured; even if they patch her up, she’ll just slow Connie down. She’ll have to leave her here, leave her behind, and one of those creeps will probably find her right as she bleeds out on the floor. 

They’ll drag her off, string her body up like a sick trophy, and she’s gonna die–

Another terrified sob wrings through her, and she reaches weakly for the other girl’s hands, grasping onto them as she curls towards her.  “Connie,” she pleads, searching for comfort, for reassurance, for anything. 

“Please – I don’t wanna die here. I don’t wanna die here, please –”

[kineticrelief]

i never look back. it distracts from the now.

@fcused

"really?" he doesn't mean to doubt, but rather, he sounds jealous. he looks up from where he had been picking at a stray piece of nail polish on his skin. "and you're able to just like... not, like, think about the old stuff?" he doesn't mean to be so in awe of her, but...

"it feels like i see the past everywhere, whether i want to or not. like, i can't escape it, or something."

[creatureshrieks]

The wooden door that stood as the only exit into the make-shift prison swung open on it's hinges, the cobbled-together board and rusted hinges groaning in defiance as the towering figure of Leatherface enters through the threshold. He gazes at his captive, her arms tied to the ceiling, making her almost level with his gaze as he takes a few tentative steps forward. In his right hand hangs his chainsaw, teeth splattered with blood, though blessed silent. In his other hand, strangely, looks to be an old, chipped plate with an assortment of food on it.

Leatherface grunts at her, malformed words that sound little more than agitated huffs of breath, as if his throat was unable to do more than babble. He holds out the plate towards her, almost forcing it towards her chest in a non-verbal command.

Too much meat to break down all at once, he was told, but best not to let it starve neither. Bubba knew that much, at least. Chickens didn't give eggs or good meat when they weren't fed. Neither did cattle. He figured the same would be true for human.

@fcused || unplotted starters ( connie & leatherface )