#i have wanted to paint barb wire for a long time

[dirty-spiced-chai]

𝘚𝘠𝘓𝘜𝘚 ft. mephisto

(as a bleach painted hoodie)

it’s on my SHOP if you want oneeeee ♡

[diejager]

Saw your requests are open can I please please please ask for Pyramid Head? Any crumbs of him pls you write him really well. Size kink and belly bulging or gaping, or him eating the reader out if you need any inspo? I don't know if I want him to have just one long, slimy tongue under the mask or a whole mess of bloodied guts and tentacles tbh

Behaviour actually had a tongue for Pyramid Head’s model-

Tongue Cw: cunnilingus, bulge from tongue, tell me if I missed any.

Pain and pleasure were synonymous with Pyramid Head, his pleasure stemmed from pain and your pain brought him ecstasy. You were hesitant at first, looking at the sharp wires that made up his restraints and cages, fearful of pain, of hurt. They were all rusted, sharp barbes turned brown with age and dried blood of his prior victims, it was neither sanitary, nor was it secure.

But you’d learned to take from pain, every slash and every stab from a killer became something you expected, something you awaited with batted breath. You learned to use pain to further your excitement, your pleasure and your enthusiasm, you found pleasure in pain and it made your world much easier. It made Pyramid Head rumble, his body trembling with arousal and excitement to finally have you the way he wanted, an entity of pain and regret using what he was made of you bring you satisfaction.

You let him tie you up, wires wrapped around your wrists, keeping you still from his ministration, pulling and squirming under him. The barbes cut into your skin, small nicks and scrapes that bled the metal red with fresh blood. The pain pulsed down your arms, warming the skin under his palms and made your clit twitch, it made the knot in your core coil, throbbing strongly between your legs.

His hold was unmoving, the strong grip of his hands on your thighs, spreading you open to his slick and able tongue, pumping into you with deep and harsh thrusts. His fat tongue curled inside of you, pressing against the walls of your cunt and tapping your bruised cervix with hard hits. You bulged with his tongue, the pink muscle pushing your skin outwards with intent of watching you swell, searching for the tightness of your cunny when he makes you look at your navel bulge with every thrust, popping up when he pushed more of his tongue into you.

Although he was bruisingly rough, he was still mindful of your safety, often making sure you were all right, to be sure that your whimpers and cries were one of pleasure and not agony —he wouldn’t ever dream of hurting you too deeply, to scare you away from him. He would purposely loosen his grip from time to time, reassuring growls that would send you reeling, a rumble vibrating into your core and invisible eyes keeping track of your expression.

His tongue swirled, curling on itself before twisting and turning inside you, rolling the rough and asymmetrical texture of the ball to push at different, sensitive spots of your walls. You wailed, high keens with tears rolling down your cheek and drooling in sheer, mind numbing pleasure. Your body burned, toes tingling with pleasure and fingers curling in ecstatic pain, your eyes never left Pyramid Head’s face, watching him through dazed eyes, his hulking figure and nimble tongue.

You were so close, the unwavering heat and tight coil in your core becoming unbearably present as was Pyramid head and the sting of your wounds added to it, coursing through your veins in a hot flash. He groaned, feeling you grip his tongue, pushing more and more into you, admiring your writhing figure, back arched and hips buckling into his face, crying out his name over and over again. It was as addictive to him as it was to you, blinded by fiery, white pleasure, squirting over him, painting him in more than rusted metal and dried blood.

You mumbled lowly, expressing your gratefulness while your head rolled back, eyes heavy with exhaustion. He grumbled, a happy and satisfied sound, thumbs rubbing circles on the bruised skin of your inner thigh.

[ghoulfuckersincorporated]

Never thought id be here today, waiting for more Coopee Howars foot fetish content.

Tbh its not even that I want someone sucking my toes, i just love how into it he gets.

As always I speak for the however many of us when I say I love your stuff I cant wait to be fed again<3

Oh, this one's going up on the shelf. Y'all are really turning me into wretched little goblin who enjoys corrupting people, even moreso than I already was! And yes, I feel like not enough people consider the "receiving" side of foot fetishism. Having someone you really like and trust be into your feet (which aren't usually in anyone's favorite physical features on themselves or anything) is so fun and strangely ego-feeding. Go on and get someone hot to rub your feet or pay for a pedicure or something, friends. It could change your life!

"You really don't have to do this, you know." you muse at your narrowly-focused boyfriend as he cracks his neck for the fourth time in the last hour.

Initially, he had offered to rub your feet. After a long day of walking and standing, your ankles are often tight and your feet ache, and he's sweet enough to help you out when you're spending the night together. You'd been very eager to accept; you remember it well. It was only a while ago. How it had turned into all of this was still somewhat of a mystery to you.

You'd offhandedly mentioned, right on the verge of falling asleep in sheer relaxation at his massaging of your lower body, that you'd been intending to take some time to paint your toes for a few days, but you'd been too busy and tired to get around to it. Before you knew what was really going on, he was asking where you kept your polish but insisting you didn't get up, leaving you directing him through your bathroom, under the sink to find what he wanted. When he sunk back onto his end of the couch, the small wire basket, the one that contained all your nail polishes, clippers, emery boards and such, fills his hands. You try your hardest to not squirm at the idea of him digging around in your meager little bathroom.

It's almost surreal to see him dressed so "working class", reclining on your couch in a pair of blue jeans, a braided brown belt, and a white tee shirt. He had been wearing a fairly nice short sleeve button-up when he'd first come over, but the late summer heat inspired him to remove it. Your air conditioning works, but it doesn't work that well, unfortunately, leaving the place just a hair below "muggy". He's polite enough to not complain.

He's always a very gracious guest in your apartment, but you still find that you always feel a little embarrassed at your accommodations. You don't live in a hovel or anything, and you keep your place clean and work hard to make it homey, but knowing how much higher a standard of living he's used to never fails to fill you with mild shame. He wasn't born wealthy, though, and even now his split with Barb has left him somewhat hamstrung financially, so you know that he at least respects how hard you work to have the few nice things you have. It's a level of down-to-earth that you hadn't been expecting when the literal celebrity had initially begun to woo you, and it made you fall for him all the quicker.

The two of you choose the color together from the options, settling on a nice, bright white. He says it compliments the tone of your skin beautifully. Your place is filled with companionable silence as he sets to work, the only real sound the buzz of the multiple fans you have running in each room.

You're rather surprised at how well he seems to paint the nails, at least at first. For one, he has incredibly steady, nimble hands, working the tiny brush with practiced ease, so the little dots and streaks you usually leave along the cuticle and nail bed are nowhere to be seen. You suspect that he may have done this for Barb a time or two, but if he has, he doesn't volunteer it, noticeably quieter than he's been all night. You don't press, often afraid to breach the subject of his ex for fear of ruining the vibe.

Secretly, you also worry, deep inside, that he might think about going back to her sometimes. While he seems relieved by the finalization of the divorce most of the time, there are moments, vulnerable moments, where he openly misses his family. You want to be fair to him, to give him the space to express and process his feelings that he needs, but he and Barb had only been separated about a year when the two of you had begun to date. Head over heels in love with the sweet, sexy, thoughtful older man at this point, you fear ending up a rebound, your dreams sometimes plagued with visions of him leaving you to reconcile with her, or simply deciding that he no longer wants to date anyone, period.

You keep these annoying little dreams to yourself, by and large.

"Alright, they seem dry enough." he says finally, poking at one nail gingerly and distracting you from your rather grim thoughts. You watch him inspecting his work, and it makes you beam, a reaction that only intensifies when you notice his erection. Its presence doesn't necessarily surprise you.

Several times now, he's sort of goaded you into letting him suck your toes when he has you in certain positions, usually when he's got you folded in half like a lawn chair on your back and you basically can't stop him (or properly kick at him, accidentally or otherwise). It's not something you'd seen coming from him, but the way it makes you feel leads to you letting him do so whenever he wants, rather happily. He's very adventurous sexually, and the two of you enjoy trying new things together, so initially you'd taken the experimentation as just that; messing around, testing, teasing. But he seems to really enjoy both the act itself and your reaction to it, slowly adding it to his regular repertoire.

Two can play at that game, though, and you've begun to use his own moves against him.

You let the soft arch of your foot play over the now-straining bulge in his pants, a smile playing coyly at the corners of your mouth as he barely withholds a groan at the feeling. For a few silent moments, you toy with him, examining the white polish that perfectly coats each of your nails, nudging and petting at him as you do.

"Quite a bold little tease." he chuckles, the sound low and licentious. His left hand still dances around your feet as they rest in his lap, but the other dances down and quickly works the mahogany colored belt open, the hiss of his fly coming undone making you shiver.

Wordlessly, he tugs his cock free, staring you down all the while.

"Mmm, I think your initial foot rub offer may have been just a tad self-serving, Mister Howard." you muse, your voice low and rich in your attempt to be seductive, your eyes glued to the hand that's slowly, teasingly stroking himself at you. The head is already flushed a deep red and leaking generously, and you feel drawn to it, pulling yourself up into a sitting position to get a closer look, but you're quickly rebuffed.

"Not done yet." he responds, his hand leaving his erection, which springs up to lay flat against his stomach as he playfully pushes you back into your spot, his palm warm against your exposed skin for a brief moment. Giggling, you humor him despite the heat you feel rapidly consuming you, gnawing away at your lower lip as you watch him closely.

Reaching down into the little metal basket on the floor once more, he produces a bottle of lotion that you often use to finish off your at-home pedicures. His demeanor is all business as he sets to applying the thick cream to your skin, starting at the ankles and working his way down, gently massaging his way as he goes. It feels wonderful, just as his massaging earlier did, but at this point, you're beyond distracted by the very minor view of his cock you have at this angle, pressing your thighs together as best as you can to try and relieve the ache building in your clit.

"Mmm, needs just a little more lotion, don't you think?" he asks, thumb pressing right into the center of your heel and drawing a sigh from you, the sound of the cap popping open snapping through the air. He watches you closely as his grip eases, both hands moving up to warm the glob of the stuff he lets fall into his palm. Watching raptly, you finally slide your own hand into your sleep shorts, grunting quietly at the sparks that shoot through you as you begin to slowly rub at your puffy slit. His eyes are following you, and his already throbbing erection jerks visibly at the sight.

Both of you let out a low groan when one of his well-lotioned hands wraps around his cock, stroking it lightly a handful of times before quickly grabbing your feet once more, applying the extra product mostly to your toes and inner soles, which you watch with a delicious combination of lust and squirming bashfulness.

"God, you have such sexy feet." he murmurs, entirely to himself.

The two of you are often surprisingly in-sync for a couple with a not-insignificant age gap, and sometimes you feel like you can see his thought processes perfectly.

This is one of those times.

You've never given a proper foot job before, but the whole thing isn't really as complicated as it seemed in your mind once you pull yourself close, your lover's eyes glinting with want as you experiment with your body's position, the angle of your legs and ankles, trying to find what's most comfortable for you both. Eventually, you settle for sitting up and facing him, balancing on your hands and ass on the worn cushion as your legs extend forward, resting lightly along his own, spread open along the couch frame.

"You'll tell me if I do something wrong, right?" you ask, and he laughs at first, but when his eyes meet yours again he must see the sincerity there, because his tone is earnest when he responds.

"Of course, sweetheart."

Trying his best to help you, he cups your heels and supports your lower legs as you gently begin to rub against him, starting with your inner arch. He hisses at the contact, watching you very closely as you pet along his shaft with your lubricated toes, tracing the head with care. You can feel his precum cooling on your skin as you tease him more and more, building him up into a groaning, lowing mess, begging you for something he doesn't have words for.

His moans only increase in volume as you press both arches around him, squeezing his shaft as best as you can, raising and lowering yourself intentionally, trying your best to stroke him with your lower appendages alone. Your lover is frozen as he takes in your efforts, quickly becoming more and more coordinated, your skin becoming slicker and slicker as he leaks continuously. As soon as he regains any composure, his only move is to grab onto your ankles and hold on tight.

Spurred on by the wild look in his eyes, you press your feet together as tightly as you can, still balancing on one hand and your rear as your lover slickly fucks the gap between them. It doesn't feel like much to you, save for the slight tickle of the friction of his skin on yours, but watching him writhe with pleasure, his chest heaving hard as he breathes fast and shallow, groaning and bucking as you both glisten with sweat…the sight of it pushes you rapidly towards the edge.

"Fuck, baby, I love you." he growls almost absentmindedly, feverish with lust as his hips snap against them faster and faster, your hand between your legs racing to catch up as you both speed towards your finish. The confession makes you flush and clench hard, and a split second later, you're cumming harder than you have at any time in recent memory, finally losing your balance and spilling backwards, flat and staring up at the ceiling as your body twitches and jerks out of your control. Cooper continues to use your appendages to please himself, and you can hear him muttering incoherent obscenities under his breath as his whole body tenses, tight like a cobra ready to strike.

"Lemme see it, Coop." you breathe.

Still riding your incredibly tense high, you fight to keep your eyes open as you watch him toss his head back, his squared jaw falling slack as a low, deep, guttural bellow spills forth from him, filling the room with sound as the first shot of him hits your skin. Jet after jet of hot, sticky cum paints the tops of your feet, your toes, your inner soles, dripping hotly down onto his covered stomach as the head of his cock rubs against you a final few times.

As you both work to recompose yourselves, he pulls his soiled shirt over his head and uses it to crudely clean up the mess, enough that you won't be dragging it everywhere, at least. It's your turn to admire him, then, drawn in as always by his enticing physique. He has a very nice body, painstakingly crafted and meticulously maintained with hard work, and you know he's very proud of it, so you let your eyes linger rather obviously. It earns a wry smirk from him as he leans back a bit. You want to kiss him breathless.

"Well." you say after a few more silent seconds, a sly remark loaded that dies on your tongue as he pulls himself to his feet rather suddenly.

"Yeah, don't 'well' me, kid." he retorts, tucking his visibly still-hard cock back into his pants, his clothing disheveled, open belt buckle clanking back and forth as he leans down to take your hand, quickly yanking you up onto your own.

"Cooper!" you cackle as he holds you steady, eyes running hungrily up and down your body. His voice is deadly when he responds, his free hand coming down to slap your ass hard as he jerks his head towards the back of the apartment:

"You'd better get your ass in that bedroom, girl."

[bucking-mustangs-with-wings]

So I done goofed, and my brain wasn't happy until I wrote a sequel to my little Barbed Wire Hearts snippet/ask/prompt thing from yesterday. So here ya go!

@swifty-fox @moghraidhs this is very much for you because we all needed this to happen

I recommend listening to this while reading, it had me all up in my feels while writing this:

Walking into the hospital parking lot and seeing his old beat up red F150 still sitting there, like a silent vigil awaiting his return was almost a surreal experience for John. As much as he would have found the thought ridiculous in any other situation, he'd almost forgotten it existed in the time he had spent cooped up in the sterile environment of the hospital, mind awash with more pressing matters. Coupled with the stress and worry that had oozed from every single one of his pores like a sickness, the outside world other than room number 13 and its occupant was the only thing he had been mentally able to put any real energy into.

Curt and a few of the other boys had stopped by every few days to slink their way into the wing, jeans and boots and cowboy hats sticking out like a sore thumb amongst scrubs and white coats and had brought him a duffle bag of spare clothes and toiletries so he could use the visitor's showers. He'd made it pretty clear in the first days that he wouldn't be leaving any time soon, not even to pick himself up anything to eat (when he could remember to).

Curt had been an angel in that sense, too. He'd brought Bucky dinner a few nights in a row in the fortnight he was there, some cheap takeaway from one of the diners in the middle of town, burgers and such. And those nights he couldn't make it in to check up on things John had very helpfully been informed by one of the nurses on shift that she was to remind him to eat, even if it was from one of the crappy vending machines dotting the hospital corridors at the behest of a very worried friend that had called the front desk. The soft amused smile the woman had flashed his way alerted him to the fact that none of the nurses were bothered by Curt's mother-hen phonecalls. Especially when Bucky hadn't turned his phone off of silent since he'd been there and one too many calls had gone to voicemail. He knew he'd be getting an earful off Curt and the other boys once he had made it back to the grounds, but he also knew he'd be quickly forgiven his neglect, given the current circumstances.

As he got closer to the truck, pulling his keys out of his coat pocket and twirling them around his index finger, Bucky took a quick glance back over his shoulder at the figure not too far behind him, making sure they were still following him.

Buck still looked like he'd been hit by a semi truck, blue eyes cast down to the pavement as he diligently followed Bucky on auto-pilot, bruises still stark over his face, albeit slightly faded now, but still evident. Still sore looking. His left arm was cast from the hand all the way up to his elbow, held up gently in a sling over his good shoulder. Bucky had no doubt the other man could still feel the telltale ache in his left shoulder-socket where it had been popped completely out in the accident, features wincing every now and then if he stepped too heavily and jostled himself.

His blond hair was in a messed up disarray, bed-hair born of two weeks of laying in an uncomfortable hospital bed for hours at a time, sticking up in some places and falling softly across his forehead in others. The nurses had helped him up and into the room's private bathroom the night before and had helped him finally have a shower before he got discharged the next morning, an awkward affair that Bucky knew the blond didn't necessarily want to talk about if the blush that had painted his pale cheeks when prodded was anything to go by. Better than having to be given a spongebath though, by a long shot, and Bucky couldn't have agreed more.

He also couldn't help the small smile that pulled up at the corner of his lips as he raked his gaze over the smaller man's body, taking in the soft grey over-sized sweatpants (Bucky's) tightened as much as the drawstrings would allow around thinner hips, tucked loosely into worn Twisted X square toe boots. A good idea in hindsight when there was no way Buck would have been able to get himself into a pair of his usual jeans with the soreness of the bruising up his thigh and over the jut of his hip bone, matching his face in colour albeit a bit more angrier looking.

The nights were a bit cooler than they were a week or so before, so at Bucky's insistence Gale was also draped in one of John's massive Ariat puffer jackets, only one arm able to fill the sleeves while the other hung uselessly at Gale's side. With the collar pulled up around his ears, John felt a sense of pride and slight satisfaction knowing he was wearing his clothes. Everything but the plain white tshirt underneath the draped layers.

Walking over to the passenger side quickly after shoving the key in the driver's side door and unlocking it, Bucky opened the passenger door and swept his other arm out in a low gesture, a smirk on his face.

"After you, princess," he drawled, delighting in the unimpressed lift of an unbruised brow shot in his direction, but no real heat or disdain behind it.

He patiently waited with the door held open, allowing Buck to gingerly hoist himself up into the truck's cab knowing if he tried to assist in any way he'd get sworn at for his trouble, ever the independent hard-headed idiot Buck often was. Once the other man was seated comfortably, only a few winces and sharp intake of breath painfully hissed through clenched teeth, Bucky carefully shut the door and trotted around the front of the truck to climb into the driver's seat. He gave a double glance into the truck bed at his and Buck's bags he had tossed in a little while earlier before he'd gone back in to help with the discharge papers.

The old truck roared to life without much protest, and he couldn't help the self-satisfied little chuckle that escaped him, patting the dash like the vehicle was a loyal old dog at his heels. As much as he'd nearly forgotten about her amongst the chaos, he was happy to be back behind her wheel, even if the leather was peeling just a tiny bit from sun damage. It added more character, he thought.

He looked over at Gale, noticing the younger man sitting still and almost stiff, eyes zeroed in on the dash but glazed over in thought and what was probably left over sedation from the heavy painkillers he was given. His expression was blank, nothing giving away even the slightest hint at what was running through that pretty head of his, and Bucky felt that telltale tightening in his throat creep up again. But before he let it get a permanent grip, he reached forward, grabbing the black felt hat that had been sitting on the dash since the previous day (thanks, Curt) and picking it up before turning and dropping it perfectly over Buck's head.

The other man flinched in surprise, ripped out of his thoughts and his bright blue eyes coming back into focus as he turned to look at Bucky, a confused frown creasing his brow as he brought up his working hand and felt the hat underneath his fingers. He straightened it a few centimetres, eyes looking between Bucky's in a numb sort of questioning expression.

"My hat," he said dumbly, voice quieter and still that hint of lost that had Bucky swallowing back emotions that he didn't want to put a name to, instead letting a bright smile grow from his smirk in the blond's direction, teeth bright.

"Well, can't be much of a cowboy without your hat now, can you?" Bucky smiled, watching every minute change in Buck's expression like a hawk. He was rewarded with a swooping sensation in his chest when he noticed the smallest grin colour Buck's face, eyes flickering away from Bucky's with a small huff of a laugh to focus out the windshield.

"Don't think I'll be much of a cowboy for the next couple weeks, Bucky," Gale muttered. As if in stark reminder, he winced as he shifted slightly in the worn leather seat, obviously jostling one of the many painful areas littering his body.

"Ahhh come on," Bucky joked, leaning forward slightly to grip the ancient clutch and put the truck into gear. "You're still one of the best cowboys around, even if you are bruised and battered to high heaven."

Gale huffed out another light breath of a laugh, lifting his good elbow up to rest it against the open window, hand and fingers dangling on the outside and tapping a gentle beat against the metal of the door as Bucky pulled the vehicle out and towards the end of the parking lot onto the main road.

The next half hour of the drive back to the rodeo grounds was silent, just the monotone hum of the local radio turned down to barely audible from the truck's old speakers and the quick whoosh of another vehicle every now and then, passing them on the highway on the way back to where they'd just came from. The sun had dipped low enough on the horizon now that the reaching expanse of the county they were in painted a picture through the slightly dirty windshield, sky lit up in oranges and reds streaked through by a few stray clouds.

Bucky would hazard glances from the corner of his eyes every now and then at Gale, who sat still and stoic beside him, chin now rested in the palm of his hand against the window, eyes cast out to the scenery that rolled by. Bucky could tell that under the surface there was something much more sinister and harsh squeezing at Buck's heart and thoughts, spiraling down deep into a void that he worried he wouldn't be able to pull the younger man out of, even if he lassoed him like a runaway steer.

At some point, with a nervous swallow, Bucky reached his free hand out, covering Buck's thigh with the expanse of it, feeling the tension in the muscles and gave what he hoped was a comforting squeeze, gentle and barely there, but a reminder he was right there with him all the same. He counted it as a win when he noticed Buck's face turn to him slightly with a soft smile, eyes very obviously still avoiding John's own before turning back to the view from the window. It had Bucky releasing a long breath he hadn't realised he had been holding hostage in his chest. He didn't attempt to remove his hand, and Buck didn't make any effort to shift out from under it. If anything, he leaned into the touch, knee swinging softly towards the gear stick in Bucky's general direction after a few moments. A silent thank you.

Bucky couldn't help the gentle self-satisfied smile that graced itself onto his face.

By the time Bucky turned the truck off the highway and through the big open gates of the grounds, the sun had dipped that much further underneath the distant mountains that everything was washed in a barely perceivable darkness. What was left of the sunset was slowly turning itself to the deep blue of the night, stars beginning to reveal themselves against the quickly fading orange glow.

As the beam of the truck's headlights lit up the dirt road further into the grounds and towards the still set up camps close by the back of the arena, the familiar sight of gooseneck trailers and camper trailers, awnings folded out and a pit fire settled in the middle amongst them came more into view.

They could see the silhouettes of a dozen people, Curt and Dougie and Brady and the rest all chatting away circled around the fire, beers in a few hands as Bucky slowly pulled the truck to a stop up beside Crosby's trailer. It wasn't until he had turned off the engine, hopping out of the cab with stiff knees and moved around to Buck's side that Curt's voice cut through the night and reached them through the other voices.

"Ayyyy, the great Champion returns!" Bucky couldn't help the grin from painting his face as he looked up, mid opening Buck's door and seeing Curt walking in their direction, back lit up in orange from the fire's warmth and arms lifted above his head, beer bottle in one hand.

Buck had only just planted his boots on the ground with a slightly pained grunt before he was swept up in a happy but very careful embrace by Curt, the other shorter man being incredibly cautious as to which parts he touched, but none the less enthusiastic in his greeting. The curve of Buck's own smile, teeth glinting in the half darkness caught Bucky's eye and he couldn't help the weight that lifted from the centre of his chest.

"It's good to see you, Buck. They finally release you from that hellhole, huh? Thought our good ol' Bucky here was gonna rot himself to that chair by your bed if you didn't get outta there soon."

Bucky couldn't help the bashful way he rubbed at the back of his neck at Curt's words, hoping the slight colour that rose to his cheeks wasn't too obvious in the lowlight when Buck shot him a soft glance from his peripheral.

"Wild horses couldn't drag me away, Curt," Buck joked back. It was light-hearted and jovial, appeasing Curt's attention on him, but Bucky could see that his smile didn't quite reach his eyes. There was a blank faraway look behind those baby blues, and it made Bucky's chest restrict uncomfortably as he watched as more of the boys made their way over. They all stepped forward to squeeze the blond cowboy's good shoulder or shake his good hand, some like Brady and Jack and Crosby mirroring Curt and pulling Buck into a gentle embrace, ever careful of his injuries.

Once they had all made their way over to the fire's warmth, Curt all but forcing Buck into one of the fold out camper chairs in his usual mother hen ways, everyone took their turn updating him and Bucky on everything they had missed while they had been in the hospital. Buck more-so, considering the first almost week the man had been unconscious for most of the time and had missed more than Bucky had.

Curt took a few moments to admonish Bucky like he had expected at having had his phone on silent for nearly the entire time, but Bucky just waved him off with a cocky smirk. He kept glancing at Buck every few minutes, taking note of every small change in the blond's expression, the way he joked with the others, the small smiles and tilt of his chin when he laughed as much as his broken ribs would allow him to in their process of healing. To any of the others, everything was normal, Buck's gentle quiet nature and injuries the reasoning as to why he wasn't quite himself yet, why there wasn't that normal spark in the shine of his eyes. But Bucky could feel the tension, the exhaustion that was more than just from pain and injury radiating from Buck like he was melded with the man's very mind himself. Could see the way he tucked himself further underneath Bucky's jacket every now and then with a faraway look on his face before he made himself more alert to the conversations around him.

Bucky just sat and boded his time, happy to not have to make too much small talk amongst the other boys as the night further darkened and the numbers on his watch got later and later.

When most of the conversations had died down and a few of the boys had retired to their trailers for the night, a few still milling about with the happiness that both Buckies return had caused and talking amongst themselves, voices slightly slurred from alcohol, Bucky stood from his seat against the wheel of one of the goosnecks and shoved his slightly chilled hands deep into his pocket. Making his way over to where Buck was still seated in the camper chair, staring blankly into the fire which wasn't as fierce as earlier in the evening now.

Leaning down, his lips close to Buck's ear from behind he whispered a low "Come on, Sunshine, follow me for a sec. Got something I wanna show ya."

He smirked when Buck jumped slightly in surprise at the sound of his voice so close, obviously so lost in thought that he hadn't noticed Bucky make his way over. Craning his neck backwards so he could look up at Bucky's face, blue eyes trying hard to focus on him upside down, he frowned in question.

"Come on," Bucky repeated, smile soft and obvious as he stepped to the side a little and held his hand out to Buck in an offer to help hoist him to his feet. The blond almost looked like he wasn't going to move, body language hesitant and lips pursing into a tight line, before he sighed and reached out with his good hand, gripping Bucky's offered firmly and allowing himself to be lifted into standing, a small grimace of pain fluttering across his features at his ribs obviously screaming in protest.

Once Bucky was sure he had recovered, he tugged at their joined hands gently, tilting his chin in the direction of the arena with a small smile. Buck looked at him, still questioning in his gaze before he allowed himself to be lead through the cluster of trailers. He didn't drop Bucky's hand, but instead almost hesitantly thread their fingers together. Bucky couldn't help his heart from soaring as he gave Gale's hand a gentle squeeze in silent comfort.

Like second nature he guided Gale out of the gathered maze of trailers, the sounds of the other boy's voices growing further and further behind them until the arena was not far in front of them, only just visible by some of the smaller flood-lights that were still on around the barriers. When they got closer, and Bucky turned towards the holding yards, he felt Gale falter slightly, his hand pulling back subconsciously but he didn't drop their hold.

Bucky looked back at Gale's face, seeing the blond's eyes focused out onto the sands, expression blank but taut like a frayed guitar string on the verge of snapping, and he slowed his stride.

"Hey," Bucky spoke gently, like he was approaching a ready-to-spook horse. When Buck still didn't look at him, he gave their still joined hands a squeeze and a shake, until Gale finally snapped his eyes back to Bucky's. They were wide and had a look of slight fear buried deep behind, flickering over Bucky's face trying to look for some semblance of comfort. Bucky held their gaze for a few moments, both men having stopped in their journey, and waited until he knew Buck was partially back in the present. "Hey it's okay, I promise. Trust me."

Gale's expression was still one of veiled panic and grief for a few more seconds, before he found whatever he was looking for in Bucky's own face and let his shoulders slouch and relax, breath exhaling slowly with a small nod.

With a comforting smile, Bucky tugged at their hands gently until Gale fell back into step behind him, eyes still glancing over to the middle of the arena every now and then like he was seeing invisible monsters advancing towards them.

Bucky could only imagine what was going through the smaller man's head, still often privvy to his own torturous memories and images from the day of Buck's accident no matter how hard he tried to forget and push them back. Every now and then the picture of Gale's face, bright red blood flowing down one side of it and slack in unconsciousness, pale and looking for all intent and purposes dead kept haunting him. But he stamped those thoughts down, focusing instead on the feeling of Buck's thankfully now warm fingers between his own, the slight sensation of his fluttering pulse.

Making it to the holding yards out behind the bull chutes, Bucky carefully made his way through the maze of yards, keeping a firm grip on Buck's hand as the two men threaded their way in and out between metal gates and runs in the dark.

Gale's voice, hushed and urgent, reached him from behind, and the smile only grew on his face. "Bucky I can't fucking see. We're both gonna fall head over tit if you don't slow-"

"Shhh!" Bucky answered back, only pulling Gale further into the pens.

Gale made an affronted noise, mouth parted. "Did you just fucking shush me?!"

"Sure did, now if you'd just shut your pretty mouth and look."

Gale gave his hand a harsh squeeze in retaliation. "Did you forget the part where I just said I can't see? What the hell am I even supposed to be looking a-"

Buck froze in his following of Bucky, the taller man allowing himself to be pulled to a complete stop when Buck's hand pulled against his as the whuffled knicker of a familiar horse finally reached the blond's ears in the darkness.

Bucky turned, facing Buck so he could catch sight of the smaller man's face in the dim light, and he couldn't help the genuine warm smile that split his face, noticing Gale's eyes focused somewhere off behind him, shock evident and an obvious glint of wetness beginning to form against dark blond bottom lashes.

His lips moved silently, stuck on actually producing any noise, until he glanced up at Bucky, brow furrowing into a look of pain. "John.."

"She's been waitin' for you," John said simply in response, still smiling brightly and allowing Buck's hand to drop from his as the blond stepped past him towards the last square pen at the end of the lane.

Almost as if he was seeing a ghost, Buck walked up carefully, eyes flickering over every inch of the palomino mare's body, taking in every inch of her as she walked up to the rails and shoved her head through and pushed her nose into Gale's chest, still murmuring at him. He couldn't help the way his breath rushed out of him at the contact, good hand lifting up shakily until he rested it on the white of her blaze. She nudged at him again, a questioning sort of move and lipped at the cast around his other arm. A silent question of 'what the hell is this thing? Why do you have this?'

Bucky slowly walked up to stand beside Buck, reaching up and resting his arms onto the higher rails in a casual air of relaxtion, and watched, transfixed as Gale just stared at the horse, hand still on her face, the younger's breathing jagged and coming in short bursts. Shock, relief.

After a few more moments, Buck seemed to come back to himself, a disbelieving breath escaping parted lips and turned his gaze back to Bucky. John could see the tears still evident in the other man's lower lashes, glittering and growing and threatening to fall to the dust underneath them.

"H-how..?"

Bucky smiled at him, resting his forehead against his folded arms and looked at the mare in question. "Curt's been looking after her while you were gone. Made sure she was real pampered, 'til you got back and did the pampering yourself."

"But she.. Bucky, I thought she was.."

Bucky chuckled, low and easy, and nudged his shoulder against Gale's. "What, dead? Nahhh, barely got a scrape on her. Tiny little cut just above the front hoof. Vet didn't even have to wrap it."

At John's words it was like a dam broke from within Buck, and he could only watch helpless as the tears gathered in the blond's eyes finally fell down his cheeks in silvery lines as he squeezed them shut, body bowing over at the waist with his good hand braced against his knee before straightening again. Buck tilted his face to the sky for a few seconds, breathing ragged, a barely audible sob hitching from his lungs painfully.

"I thought she broke her neck. God, Bucky I thought she was fucking dead, I thought she'd broke a leg, and she had to be shot. Fuck I- As soon as I woke up, that's all I could... that's all I could fucking-"

John stepped up to Gale, reaching up and pulling the smaller man against his broad chest and held him there, feeling the small tremors that wracked Gale's broken body. He put a hand against the back of Gale's head, fingers threading through golden strands, hat getting knocked off kilter and falling onto the ground.

"Hey, hey, you're okay. Everything's okay. Baby's okay. She's as tough as her goddamn rider," Bucky shushed him gently, resting his cheek against the top of Buck's head and just allowing the other to cry all but silently into his neck. He could feel the air chill the wetness there and looked up to the stars himself and thanked whatever was watching over them that Buck was still here, that he was still alive and able to be held in his arms like this. He felt his own eyes begin to gather tears at the fragility of the man in his arms, and swallowed harshly against them.

Bucky inhaled deeply, Gale's good hand clutched desperately in the side of his jacket, a warm weight sitting there as he pressed his lips into the crown of Buck's hair.

"Think she came out of it a bit better than you did, though," he whispered as an afterthought, lips curving into a smirk when he felt Gale clench his hand into a fist and thump it into his ribs in reply. He couldn't help the chuckle that rumbled in his chest, only slightly moving back so that he could look down at Buck, his smirk melting into a soft smile at the sight of Gale now looking up at him. Tear stained cheeks and lashes clumped together, a defiant glare but with no real malice directed at him, eyes bright and blue and more reminiscent of the Buck that John knew and adored.

Gale's eyes flickered from his down to his lips and back, frown easing into something much softer and more vulnerable, and Bucky thought his heart would explode at the pure emotion he could see mirrored in Buck's irises. His breath stuttered, smile slipping off of his lips and heart thundering like a freight train behind his ribs.

Everything fell into a syrupy slow motion as they stared at eachother, Bucky's hand that had been gently cupping the back of Buck's head slowly slipping around to cup the other man's cheek, slow and careful, thumb sweeping over the sharp line of his jaw in a barely there caress.

He swallowed thickly, noticing Buck nudge into that hold, eyes lowering back to his lips. He felt like his entire world was tilting on its axis, narrowing down to just the two of them standing out in the middle of the stock pens behind the arena where he nearly lost the one thing he had ever truly cared for more than the feeling of being perched up on a raging bull's back. Even riding a bull made his heart thunder less than it was right now.

Carefully, giving Gale the chance to pull away, he sighed, breath ghosting over the other man's lips. "Buck, I-"

"Shut the fuck up and kiss me John before we both die of old age," Gale whispered harshly, good hand that was gripping into Bucky's jacket tugging now and John couldn't help the surprised smile from lifting his lips.

"Sure thing, cowboy," John laughed silently, revelling in the familiar exasperated roll of Buck's eyes towards him before he surged forward and ever so gently pressed his lips against Gale's, eyes closing against the absolutely overwhelming sparks that ignited in his chest like someone had just lit fireworks behind his sternum.

Gale's lips were soft, just like he'd imagined a million times, pliant and warm and so gentle it stole his breath away, and it wasn't until Buck's good hand reached up and threaded through his dark curls that he allowed himself to deepen the kiss, tilting his head slightly. His lips parted, allowing Buck the access to slip his tongue carefully along his own, insistent and starved but always gentle. He could feel the taut guitar string tension like a mockery of earlier in the night behind Gale's kiss, a long awaited hunger like a man starved and then unleashed among all the sustenance he could have ever wished for.

It wasn't until Buck made a small sound in the back of his throat, a small needy gasp that Bucky allowed himself to pull back slightly, letting his lips linger as he allowed Buck a few more soft kisses before he gasped himself, pulling air into his starved lungs and it was only then he realised that at some point he had stopped breathing all together.

Buck didn't chase, happy and content with what had just happened, but still comfortable to stay wrapped up in John's arms, no sign of regret or fear in any way, and Bucky let his eyes open slowly and wander over the ruined and wrecked expression on the other man's face. Kiss swollen lips were still parted, breath huffing sharply, body still trembling but for entirely different reasons than before now, and Bucky didn't think he had ever seen anything more perfect, more beautiful in his life. Nothing, not even winning the PBR in Vegas could make him feel as elated or wonder-struck as this moment right here, having just kissed Gale fucking Cleven in some random rodeo grounds.

Trying for a few moments to catch his breath, Bucky let his thumb graze over Gale's jaw again in a gentle gesture, watching half lidded blue eyes peer up at him in wonder. He couldn't help the breathless laugh that escaped him, forehead bumping against Buck's, tips of their noses touching shortly after.

Baby knickered from behind them, shocking them back slightly into the present and John laughed again, the mare reminding him of something.

"By the way," Bucky panted, grin curving even further "Curt may wanna demand some compensation looking after your girl. He's down one half of an ass-cheek as of two days ago. She's got a nice pair of chompers on 'er."

Buck realed back, shock evident in his eyes and the gape of his mouth. "She fuckin' what?"

[dusty-cobweb]

Julian realizes that Garak is still hurting weeks after the incident with the wire. He intends to help.

tw // mention of suicide, animal death (not explicit)

Garak lied. He knew how to mold his face, suppress the suspicious lilt of his voice and stim of his hands. Yes, Garak was a very good liar.

However, today, merely a few weeks after the wire incident, his facade trembled. It wasn’t obvious, not at first. But Julian knew Garak, or at least knew how he acted.

He would smile coyly, maybe move the replicated flowers from the center of the table, press his hands together politely while Julian got his meal. Afterwards, they would exchange barbed words, meant not to hurt but to puncture holes in the other’s argument. It was fun, for the most part. One they equally enjoyed.

Now, Garak still smiled, but his lips pressed flatter than usual, painting a thin line against dull scales.

“Doctor? I do hope I’m not boring you?” Garak’s voice fluttered in, almost amused at his lack of attention.

“No! No, not at all Garak. It’s just…” Julian tried to find the words, tried to place what was so wrong with the picture in front of him.

“Just..?” Garak questioned.

“Your scales— they’re not shiny like they usually are.” Julian ended up saying, cursing himself as he did. Garak seemed just as surprised as himself, his brow ridge shooting a bit higher than usual.

“You know how work goes. Lots of commissions make for not much time for scale treatment, you understand,” He says, “Now about the Mirabal sisters; I can see what you were trying to say with the story, but in Cardassia a leader such as Chujillo”— his accent slithered out—“would never have taken power in the first place. Our peer-reviewed system prevents this.”

At any other time, Julian would’ve jumped at the opportunity to dissect what peer-reviewed meant (he suspects that’s why Garak said it), but right now all he could think about was finding out why Garak was so evasive.

“Garak,” He needled in what others have said is his “doctor’s voice”. “Do not try to avoid the subject, not with me.”

For a moment, Garak’s eyes darkened. Not in anger, but something more soulful; a bone deep exhaustion that settled heavily on armored shoulders. It was like all the life had left his body, leaving only the aftermaths of the wire in its place. And then— just as quickly as it came— it left, leaving only Garak’s saccharine sweet smile.

“My dear, there is no need to worry.” He said simply. No further explanation, no more platitudes, no lies. The worry in Julian’s heart turned desperate.

He was losing Garak.

Julian sat quietly with that thought. Garak sipped his tea. Finally, “I had a cat when I was younger.”

Garak looked at him over his tea.

“And here I thought I knew everything about you, my dear doctor.” Garak smiled lightly. Smiled as if Julian wasn’t plunging down a rabbit hole of what-ifs.

“She was the cuddliest thing— a calico, meaning she had all these multicolored spots on her fur. Gosh, she was beautiful. And wherever I went, she followed. Always my little shadow. If I sat down, she jumped onto my lap. If I showered, she would wait in the sink. Every night, she would find a way to sleep on me, even if I turned over.” Julian smiled sadly at the thought— it had been so long since he thought of Mu’izza.

“While that’s quite touching doctor, I don’t know how that’s related to totalitarian dictatorships of Latin America.” Garak once again took up his teacup.

“One day, she just got up and left. Jumped out of an open window, maybe. I don’t know.”

Garak frowned, “I’m sorry my dear, that must’ve been heartbreaking,” After a few moments of considering pause, “If she was fed well, taken care of—loved— then why did she leave you so suddenly?”

“Because cats hide when they go off to die, Garak. They don’t want to be vulnerable in front of others.”

Julian looked at Garak, really looked at him. And Garak saw his desperation, his pleading for him to understand. And of course Garak understood; the doctor was hardly ever subtle with his metaphors.

“Ah,” Garak said simply, tea cup placed gently back into its plate.

“Sometimes I think if Mu’izza stayed and let me take care of her, that maybe I could’ve saved her.” Julian’s voice got softer at the end, cushioned by a long standing sadness.

“Or maybe you couldn’t have. Maybe you would have just prolonged her suffering by helping her. Doesn’t she deserve to die when she wants?” Garak retorted. He was angry, he realized suddenly. He was so angry. Garak wanted to snarl, to bear his teeth and swipe their meals off the table, watch his delicate tea cup shatter. He wanted to throttle the doctor, make it so he could never breach his psych again.

Through his newfound fury, Garak heard the doctor’s voice flutter in again, “You’re right. Maybe she would’ve been miserable. But we’re peddling hypotheticals again. The fact of the matter is my little Mu’izza was still vulnerable when she died. It didn’t matter where she went to die, she always would’ve been powerless. At least with me, I could’ve had her in my lap, could’ve shielded her from the cold, could’ve—“ Julian’s voice wobbles, just slightly. It’s enough for him to pause, take a deep breath, and look away. Garak notices the barely there shimmer of tears in his eyes.

Oh, my dear Julian, Garak realizes. The anger at the doctor ebbs, turning into an aching love that moves him to wrap his hands around the doctors’. Julian looks back at Garak, surprised. For a moment all he does is look at their enjoined hands and Garak worries he miscalculated. Then, slowly, Julian squeezes.

“I just… I just wish I could’ve said goodbye. That’s what I really want.” Julian whispers, just for Garak to hear.

“I see that now, my dear. I’m sorry if I brought up bad memories.” Garak returns the squeeze.

“Are you sorry enough to not make more bad memories?” Julian asks. His voice was like a molten sword dipped in oil, fiery words hidden beneath a tempered tone.

“You cannot ask that of me, my dear. Please do not ask that of me.” Garak pleads. Julian frowns, worrying his lip between his teeth. Finally, he nods.

“Then, I only ask that you let me say goodbye. Will you allow me that?”

“Of course, my dear doctor.”

Julian squeezes his hand and makes to let go, but Garak holds on. Perhaps it’s selfish of him to cling to the doctor. But now that he’s felt the warmth of his hand and the breadth of his care, Garak can’t imagine letting him go now.

|

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yeah this is bad but idc. no beta, no thoughts, just pure procrastination from finals.

good night everyone ! sweet dreams to me (i will be playing solitaire until 3:30 AM)

[chelseeebe]

wherever you stray (i follow)

more apocalypse au! yayyy

i actually really am enjoying writing this bc it’s so different.. i haven’t really decided if it’s zombies or UD related but i guess it’s not explicitly mentioned yet.. anyway, there may or may not be an appearance from someone from steve’s past.. we’ll have to see

i’m sorry everything is taking so long.. it’s the festive period and i am working like crazy while also trying to see my friends and acc enjoy the time so my writing time is limited

as always, 18+.

₊ ⊹

steve had never expected life on the road to be so.. fun?

he feels weird even thinking about it because in all honesty, the shit you’d both endured while on this journey had been anything but fun. he thinks, or rather knows, that if it were anyone else but you, he’d have turned back a long time ago.

you’re not easy on him by any means, coaxing him into walking to the next town over after he’d already proclaimed he was done for the night and making him open the scary doors while you stood poised. nevertheless, he enjoyed it.

that was until now, when everything was flipped on its head and you were the one begging to call it a night.

‘steve,’ you warn from somewhere behind him. he barely glances back, keeping on hobbling forward. his leg was throbbing, the pain searing up to his thigh, but he’d never tell you that.

steve had got caught up in some barbed wire a few days ago, the sharp metal had torn his leg to shreds. it was an almighty wound that had set you back a couple of days in the schedule. you’d been petrified of tetanus, asking him hourly if he was sure that he’d had his vaccinations, tenderly prodding the painful area as you muttered a plethora of symptoms of infection.

there wasn’t really much he could do except bandage it up and hope he didn’t die. maybe a few years ago he would’ve freaked the hell out over it but now he’d realised that that never helped anybody. it especially would not help you.

‘i’m fine,’ he grits, stopping to turn and look at you. your face painted with the deepest frown, arms crossed over your chest. it was reminiscent of his mother, how she’d stand a the kitchen table when he’d come home with yet another black eye. except he felt you actually cared, she had just wanted an explanation.

‘no you’re not,’ you assert, as if you knew him better than himself. hey, after this maybe you did. ‘there’s a perfectly good house here.. we can rest for a while and i can check your leg,’ you bargain with him, trying the puppy dog eye technique that very often won him over.

steve holds his hands up, he wasn’t going to let you win this one, not after he had been the sole reason you guys were so behind. ‘i’m okay.. i don’t need to rest, i’ve got at least another two miles in me,’ toothy grin on full display.

‘i’m not going back and forth with you, we’re stopping here for the night.’

he sighs as you stomp angrily up to him, ‘i am fine.. no we’re not. why don’t you just believe me?’

steve thinks he sees hell in your eyes, the scorn of the devil written all over your face, ‘because i love you and i don’t want you to lose your fucking leg for the sake of two extra miles,’ your brows knotted together in pure rage.

he doesn’t respond, decides it’s better for his health not to. rather just nodding, letting you guide him towards the, hopefully, derelict house. your words ring around his head, echoing loudly as you do all of the heavy lifting, checking the house and ensuring there were no nasty surprises.

love.

you said you love him.

he wouldn’t ever admit to it, but he’d been toying with the same thought for at least two weeks now. deciding over and over again that it couldn’t possibly be love, it was too soon. he was just.. infatuated, or something.

but hearing the words straight from your mouth solidified his feelings.

the moment you clear one of the upstairs bedrooms and bundle him inside, his grin is unstoppable. reaching his eyes as he just stands staring, waiting for you to finish barricading the damn door before he speaks.

‘what?’ you question, startled by his stillness, ‘what are you looking at?’

‘what d’you say outside?’ he doesn’t take his eyes off of you even as you rush around, checking the windows and then slinging the heavy bag into the floor.

you blink back at him until it clicks, ‘wha- oh,’ your cheeks burn, suddenly much more interested in the room than him, ‘please don’t.’

‘you said you love me,’ steve beams, ignoring your warning though he’d probably regret it.

‘steve, i didn’t-,’

he cuts you off before you can even finish, not allowing you to play the bashful game, ‘you didn’t mean it? i don’t believe you,’ his unfaltering smile still occupying his entire face, right up to his eyes.

you punch his arm, now stood directly in front of him, ‘i didn’t mean to say it like that,’ your own smile inches onto your lips, he’s almost begging you to let it out, ‘i thought it’d be a little more romantic than this,’ gesturing towards the rundown house you stood in.

‘i don’t think romance exists anymore,’ his arms snake around your waist, pulling you closer as you use his shoulders for leverage, ‘say it again.’

you groan, hands coming to connect around his grubby neck, ‘do i have to?’

‘yes.’

steve adores how diffident you become, ducking your head down before the words form and the very quietly squeaking out a tiny, ‘i love you.’

it’s enough for him, his grin growing tenfold, ‘i love you too,’ bumping his nose against yours, drawing your attention back to his face rather than the splintered floorboards.

what’s left of the pale sunlight reflects off of your eye, practically glimmering at him, ‘i know,’ you giggle quietly, ‘you said it in your sleep the other night..’

his smile drops, ‘what? you weren’t supposed to find out like that,’ sighing softly, his stupid, drugged up brain had let it slip before he even had the chance to.

you respond by pressing your sweet lips to his, god he wishes he had some chapstick. you deserve more than his cracked lips.

far more than this world could offer you.

though he would certainly try his hardest.

-

steve normally took first watch because he knew if he didn’t, you’d never wake him up for his shift, rather letting him sleep all night but tonight he doesn’t argue. his leg hurts too much to waste time going back and forth with you.

it’s only when he wakes up to a room full of sunlight that he starts to question how long he’d been out. there’s an echo of his name coming from somewhere, still too encompassed by sleep to figure out what the hell was going on.

‘look who’s finally awake,’ the voice starts but it’s not you.

you’re not next to him either, his arms cradle the pillow where your body should’ve been. that’s when he turns, the bedroom door flung open and a familiar figure looms in the doorway.

‘tommy?’ he croaks out, sitting up against the headboard.

what the hell was happening?

you’re nowhere to be seen, the makeshift barricade pushed back against the wall rather than where it should’ve been. his mind instantly flashes to the worst case scenario, you’ve been taken or tommy has done something to you.

holy shit.

‘stevie! i didn’t know if you’d recognise me,’ tommy leers, still lingering in the doorway, hand poised on his gun.

steve hadn’t seen the boy in years at this point, not properly. they passed each other in the halls but after the whole ordeal with jonathan in the alley, they hadn’t spoke since. which steve was eternally grateful for, the red head was in simple terms, an asshole. there was no part of him that wanted to be involved with people like that.

‘what the hell are you doing here?’ steve questions, voice still heavy with sleep.

god he hopes this is just a bad dream and any second now, he’ll wake up and you’ll be by his side.

tommy’s face drops in faux-offence, ‘c’mon man, is that any way to treat an old friend?’ the side of his lips curling up. he always was a horrible person, provoking people til they had no choice but to respond.

‘how’d you know i was here?’ he asks, deciding not to mention you on the off chance you had just run off and tommy had no idea of your existence.

‘i was searchin’ houses.. thought you’d be smarter than this man, sleepin’ with no protection,’ his eyes fall to steve’s leg, eyebrows raised with opportunity, ‘and you’re hurt,’ the boy tuts, ‘this should be easy then.’

steve stiffens up, his bag was on the floor next to the bed, there’s no chance he’s faster than tommy.. he’d never get it in time.

it’s then that steve’s eyes flit to you, appearing silently behind tommy in the doorway. his heart drops. you were alive. tommy clocks on immediately, eyes following steve’s gaze to your looking figure behind. but before he can turn around fully, the baseball bat connects with his cranium, his body falling to the floor with a mighty thump.

you stand staring at the lifeless body for a moment, chest heaving as you step over him and over to the bed. wide-eyed and trembling, god knows how much of that you heard.

‘oh my god you’re okay,’ steve starts, reaching up to hold onto your cheeks, ‘i thought something had happened.. jesus christ where were you?’ he’s trying not to sound like such an overbearing mother but it’s not exactly working.

‘your leg was hot.. i went to go find medicine, i barricaded it from the other side but i didn’t think that asshole would show up,’ your hand caresses his atop of your cheek, ‘i got the medicine though,’ you look somewhat hopeful, pulling the bottle from your pocket and presenting it to him.

once steve has calmed down a little, he takes two of whatever it is, looking nervously at his ex-friend still on the floor, ‘i can’t believe you killed him..’ he trails off, even if he didn’t particularly like tommy, he didn’t want him dead.

your face screws up, pausing as you shove your belongings into your rucksack, ‘he’s not dead steve,’ you state, features contorted as you glare at him.

‘oh,’ he chuckles awkwardly, relief washing over him. ‘well shit,’ a smile twitches at the corner of his lips, taking over when you shake your head in disappointment. look, he wasn’t the brightest, never had been.

‘he’s probably gonna wake up soon so we need to get the hell outta’ here,’ you frown, glancing at the lifeless body.

you trundle over, taking the man’s gun from his hand, patting his pockets for anymore concealed weapons he may have. pulling a small switchblade from his back pocket, steve recognises it immediately. he’d been there when tommy had carved his and carol’s initials into some old tree in the woods by school. he wonders if it’s still there now.

‘how d’you know this guy anyway?’ you ask, slipping the knife into your own pocket. he watches dubiously, he’d never been a thief.

‘we were best friends..’ he swallows, maybe he had left some things out about his life before the end of the world. there’s no way to explain why they drifted apart other than to admit to how cruel he once was. ‘just drifted, you know?’ it wasn’t exactly a lie and he’s not sure you’d even care but now didn’t feel like the appropriate time to admit to all of his wrongdoings.

you nod, slinging your bag over your shoulder, ‘sucks.. but i’m not gonna lie, he didn’t seem like a great person,’ shrugging as steve finds his feet, getting off of the bed for the first time in hours.

‘he wasn’t,’ again, not a lie.

you hum in response and steve looks to the floor. he wasn’t keen on discussing the ins and outs of his friendship with tommy hagan right now. or ever really.

-

the rest of the journey up here had been pretty non-eventful. his leg was healing nicely and he was able to walk for at least another hour without complaining out loud. most people had obviously found communities, not daring to go out in the road anymore.

without mention of the run in with tommy, it had just been just the two of you. well you and the grotesque, rotting monsters that roamed around the forest. he thinks the cold must slow them down as your gun goes, mostly, unused.

steve has never seen you look quite so excited. the moment you’d crossed the boundary into your town, you’d been babbling nonstop about where you grew up. pointing out important locations and silly details about things he couldn’t even picture. his eyes instinctively roll when you mention the now decrepit diner you had your first date. he can’t help it.

it’s only when you near what he assumes is your neighbourhood that you quiet down, holding onto his hand with an iron clad grip. your nails dig into the grime covered skin when you spot the gargantuan make-shift wall up in front. he doesn’t squirm or pull away, instead he whispers a small it’s okay as you near the cul-de-sac.

‘what if they’re not there?’ you ask, shrinking into yourself.

he doesn’t have the right words to assure you but he’ll try his hardest, ‘then.. then we’ll find them.’ he hasn’t a clue what lies on the other side of that wall, perhaps the people behind it weren’t friendly and you’d never find out or maybe there weren’t even any people left.

but you’ll find out together and that’s all that matters.

someone’s head pokes over the top of the wall, gun poised at steve’s head. they must be stupid if they think he’s the one they should be scared of.

‘stop right there, don’t come any closer,’ the heavily armed woman shouts down, ‘what do you want?’

steve looks to you, unsure if he should even attempt to speak right now. his fingers squeeze yours for silent reassurance, there’s a voice above but he can’t see who it’s coming from, tucked behind the wall as they inevitably discuss your fate.

‘i used to live here,’ you speak, just loud enough for the first woman to peer down at you. she looks back towards the other mystery voice and then another face appears, eyes like saucers when they spot you.

‘open the gate,’ she orders, ‘open the gate now!’ barking at the other lady who jumps to it.

steve stands in quiet wonderment, glancing back at you with your mouth hung open. so you must know each other. or is that your mom? now he truly understands how you must’ve felt coming out of that nurses office to a bunch of strangers.

but you don’t let go of his hand when the gate creaks open just enough to let the two of you through. the houses are all more or less how he imagined they’d looked before everything started.

‘oh my god,’ you sputter out, dropping his hand to jog over to the faceless woman, throwing your arms around her neck as she pulls you in.

you don’t look particularly similar but steve has no idea what your parents look like. he wasn’t quite so prepared to meet the parents though he’d had weeks and weeks to think about what to say.

who even is he? not your boyfriend. yet. maybe it just wouldn’t be brought up in the midst of all the reunions.

he knows you love each other, you’d said that much, that he’d hobbled across state lines for you and would do just about anything to make sure you were safe so, did labels even matter in the apocalypse?

‘i can’t believe you’re here,’ the lady cries, still wrapped up in your arms. the locals are looking on with a mixture of confused and joyous looks on their faces.

‘neither can i,’ you sniff, pulling back and looking at her, hands still firmly on her arms. ‘are they here?’ you rush out excitedly, full of hope.

the woman’s, who is still yet to be introduced to, face falls, her voice dropping an octave as she speaks, ‘baby..’ she tremors through the sentence. ‘they left to go and find you.. i don’t- they haven’t come back..’

your smile drops immediately, steve’s heart sinks. he couldn’t begin to imagine how you felt. the pair of you had made it across multiple states, lived through steve’s injury and evil past friends for nothing.

he supposes that it wasn’t for nothing exactly. despite the bickering and rumbling stomachs, it had brought the two of you closer.

now his heart breaks the way yours does when you bury your face into his chest, shoulders shaking as you wet his already ruined shirt.

-

the next few hours are a blur of introductions, meeting people you called neighbour not so long ago. the now-identified woman was called janet, who had told him all about how they fortified the neighbourhood and their efforts to keep everyone alive. they’d done something similar to the school, kept the water system running so they could clean and drink and hoarded supplies the second they realised the army weren’t coming for them.

this was followed by a tour of the place and then your house. it had been left untouched in the hopes that your parents would come back eventually. dusty pictures of you in school, at college and one he particularly likes of you at christmas, nose scrunched up as you grin into the distance.

maybe he’d snag that one for himself.

it’s only when you bundle him into your room that you really let go. sobbing in his arms on your bed. surrounded by a time capsule of the past. if it felt weird for him, it must be utterly awful for you.

‘i thought they’d be here,’ you choke through tears, ‘they were supposed to be here,’ fingers grabbing at his biceps.

steve’s not known for his quick thinking but he realises there’s not much else he can say. the situation would seem hopeless to most but he wasn’t letting you give up now. not after you’d dragged him thousands of miles to get here.

‘you were at college in indiana, right?’

it’s enough for you to stop crying and look up at him through your wet lashes, ‘yeah.. why?’

you had never really spoken about college. he knew you went to college in indianapolis, that was obvious from the ratty letterman jacket you’d been wearing when he stumbled upon your camp, but that was about it.

‘so we go back to indiana,’ his fingers tangle in your hair, unsure if a smile would be completely inappropriate.

‘steve.. we-,’ you go to object but he can see the cogs turning in your brain, it’s the only sensible suggestion either of you had. ‘you would do that?’

this is where he smiles, the corners of his mouth twitching upward, ‘of course,’ he’s not even sure why it’s even a question.

he’d do anything, traipse after you to the ends of the earth if you asked. hell, he’d do it even if you didn’t.

he continues on, ‘we’re in this together now.. like, forever,’ pressing his forehead to yours, thumb coming to swipe over your sodden cheek.

there’s hope, or at least a tinge of optimism back in your eye, ‘forever?’

steve nods, caressing your dirtied face as if it were precious porcelain, ‘is that alright with you?’

maybe, in a roundabout way, that was him asking you if you’d be his girlfriend. he knows he probably should ask properly but he’s sure you know.

it’s contagious, his smile, your lips curving as you blink slowly, ‘sounds good to me.’

that night, you’re fully relaxed, a kind of placid state that steve hadn’t seen since the school. normally, you’re on high alert even in bed. your muscles stiff as you let him sleep. but this time, he lets you drift off first.

his fingers glide through your now clean hair, eyelids fluttering shut on his chest. he thinks you might even start purring.

instead, your breaths get deeper, and slower until you no longer even murmur in response to whatever he was saying. and eventually, steve drifts off too. relieved that you can both sleep tonight, both feeling a sense of security that hadn’t been there for weeks.

-

steve awakens suddenly at what he determines the middle of the night, your palms clammy as they grab hurriedly onto his chest. you’re panting, desperately trying to steady your breath when his arms tighten around your shoulders.

‘what’s wrong?’ he asks, still in that confusing transition between sleep and awake, his eyes struggle to adjust to the dark room.

you exhale, the outline of your face suddenly begins to form, ‘i had a bad dream, i’m sorry,’ chin pointed upwards. your face is wet, eyes glossy with tears.

‘it’s okay.. it’s okay,’ he soothes, heart still pounding rapidly even after he knows no creatures have mattered down the door and had a chomp on your leg.

you swallow loudly, still gazing up at him when his head rests back on the pillow. ‘i love you,’ you squeak into the quiet night, the third time he’d ever heard it tumble out of your lips.

it mostly went unspoken. coming through in little gestures, feeding him his medicine or scratching your nails into his scalp the nights the pain was too much to sleep. he liked it that way. as if your love was only for the two of you.

this world didn’t deserve to witness that.

[hermslore]

Tolerate it | Xavier Thorpe x Reader

You and Xavier have been dating for a while and it was all fun in the beginning but slowly, you can see him falling for Wednesday and ignoring you. When you confront him about it, he dismisses it like it was nothing. Warning : Angst Inspo : Tolerate It by Taylor Swift

You sit and watch him draw pictures of this monster. You wake and watch him breathing with his eyes closed. You sit and watch him do so many things, painting, archery, whatever other passion he has. You support him despite him having mental health problems, you make sure he goes to therapy, has his homework done. You care so much about him, but he doesn't. Not anymore. You've seen him hanging around Wednesday instead of you, watched him try and impress her knowing he has a girlfriend. You don't blame Wednesday, she's rejected him many times too. You've been so miserable, he hasn't even noticed, until Bianca told him about it. "Xavier, what the hell are you doing? You have a girlfriend, why are you going after Wednesday, do you even care about Y/n?" She confronted him. It's not just Wednesday, he basically ignores you now. You wait by the door like you're just a kid, waiting for him to come to his shed so that you can show him your paintings. You use your best colors for his portrait but he doesn't care. He's always out with his friends or with Wednesday, ignores you half the time, treats you like shit, but you still can't let go. You greet him with a battle hero's welcome whenever he comes back to his dorm. "Xavier, are you okay?" you say, concern lacing your tone. He looked so stressed and you just wanted to understand him better, but no. He yet again ignored you. "Can you stop bothering me, Y/n? Can't you see I have a life unlike someone here," he said. That made you snap. "You know what, asshole? I'm done. I'm done with you and your stupid games, you can't treat me right, then I'm leaving," you said, getting up and gathering your things. "Wh- What do you mean? You can't leave!" he said, looking at you for the first time in what felt like years. "I've tried, really hard to be your girlfriend, Xavier. It wasn't always like this, you took this dagger in me and removed it, you helped me out so much. But, while you're out building worlds where am I? Where's the man that threw blankets over my barbed wire? I feel like I'm begging for footnotes in the story of your life. I'm always taking up too much space or time, so you know what? I'm done, we're done." Xavier just stared at you as you stormed out of the door, not making any efforts to call for you or go behind you. You were really disappointed in yourself for loving him for so long. You knew your love should be celebrated, but you watched him tolerate it.

[therealbeachfox]

"So Outlaws should’ve been doomed from the start, and almost was. The thing that saved it though, strangely enough, was that fucking décor.

For those of you who never set foot inside one while they still existed (and good on you, you are truly wise) and don’t want to sit down with any of those old YouTube “Live Commentary of my Outlaws Trip Experience” videos (also good on you. No one has enough life-span to be wasting any of it on crap like that), it can be hard to describe. You had your cow skulls painted with American flags and wearing giant rhinestoned purple cowboy hats. You had guitars with red and black lightning bolts and flashing LEDs hidden inside. You had railroad crossing signs covered with barbed wire, shotguns with screaming eagles painted across the barrels in gold paint, and on and on and on.

Just… Truly godawful shit.

But this was Gotham, and that décor did not last long. I mean, around here most restaurants know better than to cover their walls with easily snaggable crap like that. It’s just free shit as far as most of the late-night customers are going to be concerned, especially when your business model is so heavily focused on the 20-somethings and teenagers with good fake IDs demographics like Outlaws was.

But this was Gotham, so we didn’t just steal all that shit, oh no. See, here’s what the rest of you don’t get about Gotham. It’s not that we’re all a bunch of amoral murderous criminals. Sure, our per-capita rate of those is truly unsettling compared to the rest of the country, but they’re still very much the minority. No, what makes a Gothamite truly a Gothamite is the utter gleeful perversity we take whenever we’re gonna be a shit. It can manifest in all sorts of ways (Just look at our own Bruce Wayne, who manifests his as pure ‘fuck the rich’ energy, setting his money on fire, pratfalling into fountains, and then grinning at all the other rich-people who have to put up with his bullshit because despite it all he’s still way richer than they’ll ever be.), but very often it manifests in not doing crime in a straight-forward manner, but insisting on being a little fucking bitch about it.

So people didn’t just steal that gaudy bullshit wall art; they replaced it.

The cow-skulls got switched out for manikin heads, still wearing the same gaudy cowboy hats. Then the hats were exchanged for headwear that was even weirder. Railroad signs were taken away, even with the barbed wire, and for awhile the walls were plastered with “Warning! Live Mines!” signage left over from No-Man’s. That terrible LED-illuminated lightning guitar was replaced with a full-ass gargoyle someone managed to pry off one of the smaller spires of St. Marie’s, and I really fucking wish I could claim credit for that one, but I have no idea who did it much less -how-. "

(494 words from chapter one of TCAKMJT) I would love to know about how you came up with the idea of Outlaws, because I (non-american) had to actually search up if it existed or not!

Hoo boy! Going from 0 to 60 right out the gate on this one!

*deep breath*

Outlaws (the restaurant) is what happens when I'm allowed to let an idea peculate for the better part of a year in the back of my head.

While I was in the process of pulling together Conrad the Crime Alley Kid from the various in-character comments I'd made on TaxiCabToSlowtown's "Am I the Bathole" series, TaxiCab was busy making their own version of the (at the time) nameless not-hench, which turned into How to Get (a) Partner(s) Through Reddit. In it, the big mask-off reveal that Red Hood was Jason Todd was made in the back alley behind a nameless East End bar with Starfire and Arsenal in attendance, and just as with Jason's screen name being TheFredHood, I knew I had to borrow/steal/homage that for my own version as well.

When I got to that point.

*Spongebob voice* 11 months later.

So during all the time I was working on the earlier stories, I had this scene churning away in the back of my head. The first thing I -knew- I had to do was name the bar they met at Outlaws. Because I strongly feel like Jason and pals would be unable to resist grabbing 1 AM burgers and beer while plotting out their next technically-not-a-crime-spree from a place called -Outlaws-.

However, Outlaws lead my mind to Outlaw Country music and all of its assorted motifs and flair, and I floundered around on how to reconcile my version of Red Hood voluntarily eating at a place like that. But that was fine, I had a bunch of other shit to write ahead of figuring out how to handle that.

A bit into all this, I came across the Skrunkfest post series, and my brain promptly shoved it into the Outlaws box and went "Eh? Eh??" at me while waggling its eyebrows, but it still wasn't jelling.

A bit after -that-... I can't remember a specific post or image or thing I read triggering it, but that doesn't mean there wasn't one, but I had the sudden mental image of a western-cyberpunk bar with the fog-machine ambiance and weird lighting, and walls covered with Batman villain gear with green and purple fairy lights strung through them, and just a total Skrunkfest style vibe as you got served at a grungy funky bar with a cracked Red Hood helmet mounted between one of Harley's hammers and a razor-wire wrapped "No Man's Land - Landmine Warning" signpost. And went "Okay. Something like -that-."

So by the time I sat down to start writing that story for reals, I had the mental image of "Outlaws: A kitchzy Western/Outlaw Country restaurant/bar turned Gotham Skrunk/Villain den." and began writing it based around that concept sketch.

Small digression: I usually write my stuff multiple times. I write the chapter, get out everything I feel needs to be in there. Then I put that to the side of the screen, and start writing it again from scratch. Now that I'm not coming up with the ideas fresh, I can write them... smoother? More detailed and more comfortable. Taking a sander and sculpting knife to it all. I honestly usually repeat this process two or three times before moving onto reworking stuff within the document instead of making a new one.

All that to say, the first... three? versions of the chapter still weren't working for me. Then I remembered: Oh wait, I don't need to have Conrad give a mental description of the place as he walks through the door, I have social media posts!

And it was while rewriting that whole section as Conrad's online review-slash-teardown that the full Outlaws experience jelled into being.

Outlaws, pre-Gothamization, is everything about American chain restaurants I hate. And everything I hate about the 2000's faux patriotismgasim that overtook and consumed Country music then swaggered around in it's skinned hide.

On the restaurant front, I started with the "Stick everything on the walls" philosophy you get out of Cracker Barrel or *deep sigh* Red Robin. I don't know how common this... concept is outside of the USA, but it's basically taking the contents of some barn's storage shed and just nailing it all to the walls. "Crazy Crap on the Wall decor", pastiche americana, faux Americana, "like a telekinetic went crazy at a flea market", there's no common name for it.

Basically, taking that concept, and blending it with all the insane-ass "We're calling ourselves Outlaw Country, but we've got million dollar budgets for this show tour" stuff I've seen over the years, shoving in the weird over-abundance of sauces that all taste different variations of sickly sweet you get out of places like Buffalo Wild Wings, and just everything that comes from the "A bunch of venture capitalists with too much money decide to just brute force a new dining institution by opening 80 branches all at once and money-bombing an advertising spree across every form of media at once" phenomenon.

So that left me with the original Outlaws, and I knew what I wanted the final results to look like. Then once I was writing Conrad writing about it all, the exact progression of how the former became the latter finally came together.

Ta-Dah!

Honestly, the Outlaws restaurant has one of the highest number of contributing concepts out of anything I've come up with so far. Which, again, is what happens when you get an entire year to just let something brew in the back of your head.

And I'm glad that it felt real enough to have to google because there are honestly so many places like this. I just sort of smooshed them all together and bumped the dials to max because comics!

[holymollygraham]

"Graham’s head felt stuffed and stupid. He swam in the pool at his hotel until he was rubber-legged, and came out of the water thinking of two things at once—a Tanqueray martini and the taste of Molly’s mouth.

He made the martini himself in a plastic glass and telephoned Molly.

“Hello, hotshot.”

“Hey, baby! Where are you?”

“In this damned hotel in Atlanta.”

“Doing some good?”

“None you’d notice. I’m lonesome.”

“Me too.”

“Horny.”

“Me too.”

“Tell me about yourself.”

“Well, I had a run-in with Mrs. Holper today. She wanted to return a dress with a huge big whiskey stain on the seat. I mean, obviously she had worn it to the Jaycee thing.”

“And what did you say?”

“I told her I didn’t sell it to her like that.”

“And what did she say?”

“She said she never had any trouble returning dresses before, which was one reason she shopped at my place rather than some others that she knew about.”

“And then what did you say?”

“Oh, I said I was upset because Will talks like a jack-ass on the phone.”

“I see.”

“Willy’s fine. He’s covering some turtle eggs the dogs dug up. Tell me what you’re doing.”

“Reading reports. Eating junk food.”

“Thinking a good bit, I expect.”

“Yep.”

“Can I help you?”

“I just don’t have a lock on anything, Molly. There’s not enough information. Well, there’s a lot of information, but I haven’t done enough with it.”

“Will you be in Atlanta for a while? I’m not bugging you about coming home, I just wonder.”

“I don’t know. I’ll be here a few more days at least. I miss you.”

“Want to talk about fucking?”

“I don’t think I could stand it. I think maybe we better not do that.”

“Do what?”

“Talk about fucking.”

“Okay. You don’t mind if I think about it, though?”

“Absolutely not.”

“We’ve got a new dog.”

“Oh hell.”

“Looks like a cross between a basset hound and a Pekingese.”

“Lovely.”

“He’s got big balls.”

“Never mind about his balls.”

“They almost drag the ground. He has to retract them when he runs.”

“He can’t do that.”

“Yes he can. You don’t know.”

“Yes I do know.”

“Can you retract yours?”

“I thought we were coming to that.”

“Well?”

“If you must know, I retracted them once.”

“When was that?”

“In my youth. I had to clear a barbed-wire fence in a hurry.”

“Why?”

“I was carrying this watermelon that I had not cultivated.”

“You were fleeing? From whom?”

“A swineherd of my acquaintance. Alerted by his dogs, he burst from his dwelling in his BVD’s, waving a fowling piece. Fortunately, he tripped over a butter-bean trellis and gave me a running start.”

“Did he shoot at you?”

“I thought so at the time, yes. But the reports I heard might have issued from my behind. I’ve never been entirely clear on that.”

“Did you clear the fence?”

“Handily.”

“A criminal mind, even at that age.”

“I don’t have a criminal mind.”

“Of course you don’t. I’m thinking about painting the kitchen. What color do you like? Will? What color do you like? Are you there?”

“Yeah, uh, yellow. Let’s paint it yellow.”

“Yellow is a bad color for me. I’ll look green at breakfast.”

“Blue, then.”

“Blue is cold.”

“Well goddammit, paint it baby-shit tan for all I care. . . . No, look, I’ll probably be home before long and we’ll go to the paint store and get some chips and stuff, okay? And maybe some new handles and that.”

“Let’s do, let’s get some handles. I don’t know why I’m talking about this stuff. Look, I love you and I miss you and you’re doing the right thing. It’s costing you too, I know that. I’m here and I’ll be here whenever you come home, or I’ll meet you anywhere, anytime. That’s what.”

“Dear Molly. Dear Molly. Go to bed now.”

“All right.”

“Good night.”

Graham lay with his hands behind his head and conjured dinners with Molly. Stone crab and Sancerre, the salt breeze mixed with the wine.But it was his curse to pick at conversations, and he began to do it now. He had snapped at her after a harmless remark about his “criminal mind.” Stupid.

Graham found Molly’s interest in him largely inexplicable."

~ Red Dragon by Thomas Harris, Chapter 5

[aredhels]

fanfic writer interview

thank you for tagging me @hobbitwrangler!!

How many works do you have on AO3? 40

What's your total AO3 word count? 106,905

Your top 5 stories by kudos/likes:

same mistakes till the morning breaks (tma, elias bouchard/reader)

you're my sunshine and I want you to know (hp, wolfstar)

i miss you, when the lights go out (choices: open heart, ethan ramsey/mc)

tempt my trouble (tma, elias bouchard/oc)

all of my love for you cuts me like barbed wire (the silm, maedhros/maglor)

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not? i do! it sometimes takes me a bit but i want to reply to them to show how much i appreciate them

What's the fic you've written with the angstiest ending? at first i was gonna say this elimichael fic but i feel like it isn't the ending that is the sad part here but the whole damn fic lmao so uh maybe this aredhel/luthien fic because i rather love the blow the final line deals here lol

What's the fic you've written with the happiest ending? this tooth-rottingly cute wolfstar fic for sure

Do you write crossovers? i haven't and it has never quite been my cup of tea but never say never

Have you ever received hate on a fic? not quite hate i guess but my first witch king tar-miriel fic did get an annoying condescending anon comment about how the timeline doesn't work which is the closest to what i've got

Do you write smut? If so, what kind? 90% of what i write is smut lol i like it when it's a bit angsty and emotionally repressed (or, like, emotionally slow burn although they fuck immediately lmao)

Have you ever had a fic stolen? not that i know of

Have you ever had a fic translated? yes! this russingon fic of mine was translated into russian a while ago which was a very cool experience because i do also know russian myself but def not enough to do the translating myself but it was soooo fun to read your own words translated into another language

Have you ever co-written a fic before? nope. idk if it would be something i'd even be into tbh

What's your all-time favorite ship? unfortunately i still think it is wolfstar, idk which other ship would've been with me for so long. like with tolkien i don't really have just one favourite ship lmao there are so many (ask me again in a year and i might say maemags though)

What's a WIP that you want to finish but don't think you ever will? i have soooo many half-finished scarlias aus and as much as i want to finish them all i feel like many of them won't. honorary mentions to the arranged marriage au and king lear au which are very galaxy brain of me

What are your writing strengths? short angsty with plenty of things unsaid and hidden between the lines that end with a punch in the gut

What are your writing weaknesses? transitions between scenes, descriptions too probably

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic? complicated? sometimes it is a bit annoying when it gets excessive especially if it's real life languages but sometimes it does work in setting a tone and vibe, like for instance using bits and pieces of sindarin or quenya. ig it is just that it takes a lot of skill to do it in a way that isn't jarring.

What's a fandom/ship you haven't written for yet but want to? for fandoms i def want to dip in the x files (i mean i do have a silly self insert wip i might yeet into ao3 one day but, like, actual msr fic or something) and i feel like one day i'm gonna want to venture more into star wars too. and then for tolkien ships i haven't written all that much lotr stuff so maybe like try my hand at faramir fic at least

What's your favorite fic you've written? this is pretty interesting because when i started writing this for silm smut week not too long ago i had no idea this would became a favourite of mine but as it turns out i'm so proud of the way this luthien/daeron fic fleshed out and i adore the whole vibe and the picture i managed to paint there and i will forever be riding the high of getting a comment where it was described as "gothic" like wow goals

tumblr hates me whenever i try to tag more than like two people to things so i will only tag @tiesanjiaoshenanigans and ask anyone else who would like to do this do it and say i tagged you xx

[coff-in]

hiii coffin! how are you!!

i had a questions abt your ocs :3 since Andrew’s assigned weapon is the cleaver and Ashley’s is the gun, what weapons does each of you oc’s have? and do u have an why?

- Dungeon Anon

hehehehe!!! i do, i do, i do!! ALSO I AM DOING VERY WELL!

SO! starting with the oldest (before andrew): alexis would use his bare hands/fists. I couldn't really think of him using a physical weapon in face to face combat, he seems to be the type of person to avoid physical altercations as much as possible. of course, as the oldest, he's ready to throw hands to protect his family if he has to-- and he's not half bad! he mostly lacks technique and doesn't have as much punch as andrew, but he makes up for it with his energy and speed.

amber (second oldest/middle child) would use a baseball bat. this is mostly inspired by my online friend who always uses long blunt weapons in zomboid, but i do think it fits amber's alt/rebel vibe! it's meant to hurt and get sore, the pain lingers and leaves noticeable bruises... they can break bones too! if given the chance, they'd add nails or barbed wire to the bat for the extra damage and the vibes

before i said amy (second youngest after ashley) would use a hatchet-- which i still think fits her. it's the tool and weapon of a hardworker, requiring the strength and skill to properly wield. i also see her with a fireaxe and hammer. i usually think of my ocs via a player would a video game, seeing them walk around in a 2d avatar/3d environment platformer (think of subway midnight! amy's mind is akin to that), and every time amy slams down with her hatchet her body does a little jump due to the physical recoil. she's the shortest somehow (5 foot flat or 152.4 cm) and not the most physically strongest so she can't properly wield her weapon. i like to think about the weapon being some sort of representations of the expectations she puts on her shoulders... they're heavy but, like, powerful. and they lead her to hit hard, and harder, and harder. she'll shock everyone with what she can do. she can hurt, and protect, and destroy if she must. she's not weak... she's useful, she promises!! i've also dreamt of her and amber using the demon summoning for dummies book as some sort of spell book... i wish we saw more of that book.

the baby of the graves siblings, aria, would have two weapons depending on the route. throughout most of episode 1 and 2 (during the neutral portion of the game), she's just use a basic kitchen knife. it's a classic weapon (especially for a yandere like her) and she pulls it off well. during the burial route she'd use metal knitting needles (she's a neet like ashley in my mind, so she's pick up a variety of hobbies to entertain herself. knitting would be one, along with embroidery, painting, and reading some of andrew's poetry and acting it out). knitting (or crocheting at least) is using one single strand of yarn to create something or it can be used to sew two different pieces of yarn together. it's supposed to be a basic reflection of their (andrew, ashley, and aria's) relationship getting closer together, intertwining their strands together to create something beautiful!

during decay, she's grab a pair of scissors. they're relationship is falling apart, slowly unraveling the tapestry they were forced to create. and if aria has to cut out parts or lose strands to salvage her favorite part, then so be it. i think it also reminds her of school and the school saying "don't run with scissors". ari always had power at school, no? manipulating her poor classmates with her acting skills to be pawns of her own game to get andrew and ashley's attention. scissors are everywhere, danger is everywhere... sometimes you just overlook it.

ANYWAY! that's for my graves siblings... as for the non blood related ocs

juno wolfe uses metal claws because i say so. i want to lean into the "wolf" aspect of his characters because he's honestly just a loyal mutt to be commanded by the graves siblings. even if they can't claw their enemies to death, he still has his teeth to rip and tear off their skin and flesh!!

coff-in uses powers beyond the human understanding because humans don't need to understand how it does the things it does. they just need to know not to provoke them into using them.

that's all :3 sorry this is long, i haven't gone to bed and have been yapping/writing stuff (non-tcoaal, sorry!) all day

please ask me more about my ocs, i love my children no matter how much suffering i put them through (it builds their character)

----

coff-in

[paranormeow7]

Sooooo ive been wanting to Write smthn abt my oc Gavin and his backstory bc he makes me SO INSANE. This has been in the works for maybe like 2 weeks and ITS FINALLY DONE SO Without further ado, here’s this lmao (this is my first time tryin 2 do smthn like this, any critiques r very welcome!!)

CATSKIN

an oc story. by meeee :3

tw: parental abuse, detailed depictions of gore, disturbing imagery, death, animal harm, substance abuse, vomiting, possible dermatillomania trigger, religious trauma, etc

disclaimer!! Part of this story takes place in a fictionalized, static version of the 1950s-60s where racism/transphobia/etc don’t really exist/exist as they do now. Putting that there to clear up any confusion. I swear there’s a worldbuilding reason for this I’m not just doing it to get away with having a trans MC in a story set in the past i prommy-

word count: WHO KNOWS but its kinda long lol strap in

What would you do if you found out everything you thought about how the world worked was was wrong? Would you freak out and retreat back to your comfort zone? Or would you take it as an opportunity to escape, no matter how much pain it caused you?

A sunny April afternoon in a cookie-cutter American suburb. Rows of houses, some with trash cans kicked over, or dented/nonexistent mailboxes. Egg stains on the brightly colored vinyl siding. Lousy teenagers.

The house on the back end of Maple Street, in the sleepy old town of Lockroot, Who-The-Fuck-Cares America was a tiny yellow shack with a beat-up blue roof and dark stains running down the siding. Behind that wooden door with its chipped, blood-red paint, a calendar on the wall read April 14th, 1956.

The buzzing fluorescent kitchen lights shone down on an eleven year old child with wavy brown hair and sunken black eyes. It reminded him of divine light, but there was no god waiting for him that day. All the lights did was accentuate the frown painted across his pallid face. His mother sat across him at the table, looking livid, as per usual. She was always mad at something.

“Chie, do you appreciate all that I do for you?” He stared at the dusty white lucky cat on the shelf, its eyes vacantly staring into space, golden coin growing dull, a painted grin upon its wooden face.

Mocking him.

He always hated cats.

“Yes, Mother.”

She stared him down, her perfectly ironed poodle skirt and white blouse a betrayal of her anger. God, please just let me leave. Let this go fast today. “Are you sure, Chie? Because last I recall, attempting to go into the forest that I specifically told you not to visit wasn’t the way to show it.”

He suddenly became hyperaware of the dirt on his knees. The forest was on the edge of town, blocked off by a barbed wire fence. No one thought about it. It was like it didn’t exist.

“Do you want us to look like a family of ruffians with no self control? Do you want to disgrace our name? Does that sound like fun to you?”

The child shrank back in his cracked leather chair, suddenly finding a great degree of interest in his scuffed brown shoes. He’d gotten them for 3 dollars at a neighbors garage sale, the very same sale they’d gotten the chairs at.

“Rich of you, calling us a family since Father’s gone.”

The child knew he’d made a mistake the moment the words came out of him. He didn’t even know why he’d said anything to begin with. Me and my big mouth. However, what was said could not be taken back. He would just have to live with it.

The color immediately drained from his mother’s hollow, freckled cheeks. Her eyes narrowed into piercing blue slits. “What… did you… just… say to me…?”

Her son braced himself, making himself small, preparing for what he knew was soon to come.

“What did you just FUCKING say to me? You ungrateful little RAT?”

The cold, bony hand came at him like so many before, grabbing him by the hair, yanking him up. His scalp felt like it was on fire, his long brown hair coming out in chunks. pleasestopimsorryiloveyoumommy. After this, he’d chop it all off in front of the spiderweb cracks of his bathroom mirror.

“I do EVERYTHING for this family! I buy your food, your clothes, I send you to school, I brought you into this world!”

Thank you, Mother.

“What have you EVER done for me? NOTHING. ZIP. All you ever do is take from me. Youre just like your no good, mangy dog of a father.”

He thought back to the family portrait that had stood on the mantel of the house, until around 4 years ago, when his dear Father up and sped off in that shiny red Mustang convertible. God, how the child had loved that car.

Afterwards, Mother had taken all the photos of him and burned them in their backyard with the trash. He suspected she wanted him to forget what he looked like. Well, too bad, since in the bottom of his junk drawer, he’d saved the family photo, from their mantel. Aiko. His fathers name was Aiko Nakamura.

At seven, he failed to notice the wild look in his eyes, and how much he tended to glance at the fenced-off woods. But at eleven, it was all he could think of as he nursed his brand new shiner and stared at the cracks in his bedroom ceiling. He knew he’d seen a shape in the darkness that day. It almost looked like a matted, skeletal gray cat. Smiling at him. Just like the lucky cat in the kitchen.

Father got out. He knows the secrets of the woods. Of a life beyond this. Maybe one day I will too.

7 years later, the child, now called Gavin, opened his eyes to that very same ceiling, covered in posters for horror flicks, stolen from the newly opened theatre. No matter, he liked the old drive-in more anyways. His mother was always threatening to take them down and throw them out, but she knew that even if she tried, he’d always bring home more anyways. At any rate, she wasn’t home right now. He rolled out of bed, taking a moment to stare at the autumn leaves outside his window. Orange was always his favorite color, but he didn’t have a time to linger. The phone was ringing.

He wandered out to the living room, picking up the shiny red rotary telephone. “もしもし, Nakamura household.” His mother never answered the phone with this greeting, but his father had taught it to him as a child, and he liked it. “Gavin, babe! Hows tricks?” He could hear the smile on the other end. “Hi, Valley.” His face lit up along with hers. They had started dating almost a year ago. “That doesn’t answer my question, but its no matter, you can answer it in around 10 minutes from now!” He was puzzled, for a moment, but hearing sound of a key jangling in the background, he got it. “Val, you don’t have to. There’s barely any food in the fridge, hasn’t been full for weeks. You got your own posh little house to sit up in, don’t ya?” Gavin didn’t like Valley coming to his house. Its not like there was anything to do outside of watch their outdated cabinet television or throw his old baseball around, and Val was rich. He didn’t want her to feel like she owed him anything.

“Too late, doll! I brought snacks for the both of us, anyways. Catch ya later Gav!” “Val, wait just a-“ She blew a kiss into the receiver, and the call disconnected. Gavin rolled his eyes, hung up, and threw on his favorite brown bomber jacket. Val had always been so caring.

I don’t deserve her.

He didn’t have time to wallow, hearing the sound of a window opening. He ran up to his room and opened the door, right as Valley fell through the window, landing on her butt with a loud thump, along with a case of strawberry soda. My favorite… At the sight of the chubby, dark skinned girl in his bedroom, Gavin ran to help her up. “Ever the gentleman, ain’tcha?” She set down the basket she was holding and situated herself on the bed. Her matching red skirt and cardigan, and floor length locs that must’ve taken ages to style, were already gathering dust. Why’d she have to come here?

Gavin suddenly became aware of the mess in the room. Dirty clothes on the dresser, books stacked near the bed, and dozens of loose papers strewn across the floor, each adorned with sketches, paintings, collages, poems, anything his mind could conjure up when he couldn’t sleep. Blushing, he attempted to sweep them away, but not before Val took notice, and picked one up off the floor. “Your art is so lovely, Gavin. What’s this one?” Taking it from her and stashing it away, he responded “Nothing in particular, just couldn’t sleep. You know me, haha!!” He was bright red this point. Change the subject, will you, dear?

That she did. “Sooo, what are we gonna do for your birthday this weekend? You’re gonna be eighteen! Far out, huh?” Oh. Right. Eighteen. He didn’t know how to feel, if he was being honest. “I dunno, maybe we can go out and see a movie.” Val put her head on his shoulder and laughed. Gavin winced. The shoulder was bruised. However, thats what love was. Wasn’t it? “That’s what we always do!” Val chirped. “Ain’t much else in this town, is there?” Gavin quipped. But, if he was being honest, he knew exactly what he was going to do.

Gavin sat up and stared out his cracked bedroom window, past the pretty orange leaves, past the cheesy Halloween decorations, past the shops and diners and gas stations. All the way to the forest surrounding their little town.

Nobody thought much of it, which was true. Nobody that is, except the kids. While the adults were content to sit back and live their monotonous American dream, the children would whisper across the town, stories of what could possibly be on the other side of that barbed wire fence. “My cousin said there’s monsters out there. He says they have no skin, and they’ll cut you up and eat you bit by bit while you’re still alive. They start with your eyes.”

“My sister said that if you fall asleep out there, you’ll never wake up again and have horrible nightmares for the rest of your life. The spirits out there keep you asleep so they can eat your dreams.”

Run of the mill horror stories. But among the bolder, or perhaps the more beaten down, those with less to lose, the woods offered something else. A fortune beyond comprehension. Godlike power. Freedom. A new life, a new start. All sorts of wonders, waiting for those who knew where to look.

Maybe that’s what the adults were afraid of, because every once in a while, a new person would get this look in their eyes, like they knew a good secret. They would become more and more withdrawn, or excitable, or any suspicious change that could happen in a person. Then, after a little while, around a few days to a year, they would disappear. Sometimes it was a business trip, an inheritance, a need for a change of scenery. And sometimes they would just.

Vanish. Without a trace. They were there, and then they weren’t. Of course, they would send out search parties to comb the town for them, and reassure everyone who asked that they were doing the best they could. But of course, everybody knew. The seductive call of the woods was not to fall of deaf ears. After a while, their “MISSING PERSONS” posters were taken down and discarded, and they lived in the town only through the gossip of the children. Gavin had quite a collection of salvaged posters on his bedroom wall, hidden behind his dresser. His mother would blow a gasket, he thought.

When his mother wasn’t reading him the Bible, Gavin’s father used to tell him old Japanese folktales about fox spirits, yokai, kaibutsu. He recalled his stories of creatures known as Kaibyo when-

“Hey, spaceboy. Whatcha thinkin about?” Valley waved a hand in front of his face, bringing him back to reality.

“Nothing, doll. Absolutely nothing.”

Laughter. Then, a kiss. Warm hands caressing his cheeks, on his waist, through his short brown hair. It was 1963, the love decade was soon to kick off, there was a girl in his bed and the world was beautiful, if only for a little while.

At some point, Valley left, and Gavin picked up the piece of paper that she’d asked him about. Clinging to his tarnished silver first communion rosary, a chill ran down his spine, for no reason he could discern. On the paper was a sketch of an emaciated gray cat, with a wide, yellow toothed grin.

Two days until his birthday.

He fell asleep rather quickly that night, which was unusual for him, but it was a shallow sleep, dreaming of nothing but black water, fur, and two piercing, blue eyes.

CAUTION-CUIDADO-ATTENTION

あなた以外に神はいない

Waking up in a cold sweat, Gavin rolled over in his creaky bed. He looked over at his alarm clock. 2:18 AM.

for fucks sake.

Staring at his beat-up wooden desk and the piles of paper and pencils sitting at it, it occurred to him that he didn’t feel like drawing that night. It was a pretty night, with a lovely moon in the sky.

Some fresh air would do me good.

He’d fallen asleep in his clothes. Motor oil stained white T-shirt, frayed black pants, and of course, his brown leather bomber jacket. It had seen a lot in all the years he’d owned it. It had been patched twice, one on each elbow, in different colors. He wanted to paint something on the back, but he didn’t know what he wanted yet. He hadn’t thought about it.

Tiptoeing as not to wake his catatonic mother, who was sleeping on the couch in front of the TV, Gavin almost stepped on a shard of broken glass.

Beer bottles.

The living room floor was carpeted in them, in sparkling amber and green, casting moonlight all over the room, in the multifaceted reflections of the tired faces residing within it.

Beautiful… so beautiful…

He’d never drank alcohol before. He knew a lot of kids at his school who would. Theyd throw big parties at their parents houses while they were away, cut into Daddy’s brandy, and go rampaging around the neighborhood, TPing trees, streaking through the park, smashing windshields, all kinds of juvenile delinquent shenanigans. It was always the worst on Halloween, which was coming up. It was October, the month of playground rumors, teenage pranksters, and a chill of anticipation in the air.

Gavin put down the bottle, grabbed a bolt cutter and walked outside.

A cold wind immediately blew into his face, making him shiver and sneeze. A shower of damp orange leaves fluttered into his hair. As he plucked one out, he glanced toward his favorite thing he’d ever owned, his escape from all of his troubles.

A shiny motorcycle sat in the driveway, waiting. He’d rescued it from the scrapyard a few years prior and had it painted red, just like his father’s old car. His mother was always telling him to scrap it.

“Lets go, old girl.” Revving the engine, stepping on the gas, and taking flight. Wind in his hair, leaves in his face, he drove, and for a little while, he forgot all of his troubles. He passed by each and every cookie-cutter house, with their perfectly trimmed lawns, covered in tacky Halloween decorations. Bright, glowing jack-o-lanterns. Wispy plastic spiderwebs. Cartoon witches and ghosts.

Snarling black cats with brightly colored eyes.

Blue eyes.

Gavin looked away and kept driving all the way up until he reached his destination.

The edge of town, and the entrance to the forest, the sign-covered fence surrounding it, like a dare.

CAUTION-CUIDADO-ATTENTION

It had an eerie air about it. While the trees in town were decorated in all the fiery reds, oranges, and yellows of fall, the trees of the woods were all painted in the strange shades of evergreen leaves. They seemed to fade from green to what looked like blue the further you looked. The bark was white, like birch wood, but with an odd, almost pearlescent sheen if you looked too hard. And were those… eyes…

Hello.

Jerking him out from his troubled thoughts, was a voice, from behind. Human. What else would it be, silly? He turned around and almost fell backwards at the sight of a silhouette of a woman, we standing over him. “SHIT!!” he declared. A giggle in response. Oh…

“Hi, Valley…” Gavin exhaled. It hadn’t occurred to him that he was holding his breath at all. She took his hand and squeezed it. He smiled. Her hands were warm. “Why do you look so afraid? Did you think you were the only kid who came out here?”

His heartbeat slowed. Maybe she would understand. Maybe she wants to go with me. Maybe we can see whats on the other side together.

He glanced at his motorcycle, at the bolt cutters, and began to speak.

“Remember when I told you i didn’t know what I wanted to do for my birthday?” A puzzled expression danced across Valley’s face. Exhale. “Val, how would you like to see whats on the other side with me? We can get away from all this. Together. Just like we wanted, right?” His eyes shined in anticipation.

Valley’s expression changed to a warm smile. She leaned towards him and kissed him. Her lips were soft and she tasted like the strawberry soda she brought him the day before.

His heart fluttered. His face got warm. Was this happening?

She pulled away.

His hands felt so cold all of a sudden.

“Oh, Gavin, doll. You know theres nothing out there, right?”

“what…?”

“There just isn’t. All the folks that go out there just die. Everybody knows. Please don’t tell me you believe all the stories the kids tell. I love you and I support you, but I can’t agree with you on this.

Don’t you remember what happened to your father?”

The mention of his father made his blood run cold. Sure, he left him and his mom to fend for themselves, leaving them poor and hungry, but whatever was on the other side of that fence had to be worth it, right? He wouldn’t have done all this for nothing, right?

He can’t be dead. He’s out there somewhere. He has to be.

He hadn’t noticed that that familiar haunted look had passed over his own face, the way Valley had. He felt a strong, warm hand gripping his sleeve.

“Gavin, please. I know you want to find out what happened to your dad, but I’m really worried about you. I’ve been trying to support you no matter what, and I know you’ve been going through a lot, but I can’t let you go in there-“

“let go of me.”

“w-what…?”

“please, I-“

“Gavin, you’re scaring me. Please come back with me, I love you-“

“I SAID LET GO.”

Gavin pulled away with such ferocity that Valley fell backwards against his motorcycle, toppling it over. Breathing hard, he turned back towards his girlfriend. The look in her eyes was indescribable. There was so much hurt, so much fear, so much worry for him.

He couldn’t handle it. He had to run. Gavin knew he probably should have just turned back and ran home, but he just couldn't deal with the anger of his mother, the worry of his girlfriend, and everyone, all of Lockroot watching, knowing. Seeing the look in his dark brown eyes.

There goes another one.

He dropped his bolt cutters and clambered over the fence, ignoring the barbed wire digging into his hands and the warm blood gushing down his cold wrists. Ignoring the sobs and begs of his girlfriend. Ignoring them as they stopped completely. Getting to the top of the fence, he threw himself over, no hesitation. Landing hard on his side, a shot of pain burst through his hip, causing him to let out a moan. It didn’t matter. He just needed to get away. Gavin got up with a pained grunt and took off, deep into the mouth of the dark, cavernous woods, not daring to look back.

As he ran, searing pain throbbed in his side and the deep gashes in his hands left an obvious trail of blood behind him. Gavin’s injuries were getting harder to ignore, threatening to throw him back into the rotten leaves and worm infested dirt. He had to keep going. He didn’t know what he was running from or where he was trying to get. He just knew he didn’t want to fall. He was afraid that if he did, he’d pass out, never wake up, and rot alone out there in these God forsaken woods, his lean, sallow body slowly falling to pieces and filling with maggots, beetles and flies. Picking at his soft flesh. Eating him, bit by little bit.

The air had grown moist, tepid and suffocating. Gavin started to gasp and heave for breath. Wasn’t it October? The eyes on the tree bark were growing sharper and darker. Scrutinising him.

Stop looking at me.

He couldn’t fall. He couldn’t surrender. There were whispers in his ears, so faint that he didn’t know if he was really hearing them. The voice was indescribable, neither male nor female, young or old, but filled with desire, desire for something beyond what it had. Something it shouldn’t be allowed.

lie down here with me, will you? you’re a handsome one. why don’t you stay a while…

He felt paws all over him, grasping at his thighs and his stomach, pulling at his hair. It felt familiar.

keepgoingkeepgoingdontstopyoucantquitnow

In the end, his undoing was a regular old, run of the mill, medium sized gray rock. The kind you’d find in your backyard. His foot hit the stone hard and he went down, right on his bad hip. Crack. He lay on the ground for a few minutes, not even mustering up the energy to scream. The only thing that came out of his dry, cracked lips was a soft, pathetic moan, followed by a choked-back sob. What had he been thinking? Valley was right, there was nothing out here, and now he was lost and all alone. His girlfriend was gone, his mom was gone, and now he was going to die out in these horrible woods just like his father.

Blood gushing from his hands and tears flowing from his eyes, Gavin slowly sat up and tried to brush the dirt off of his soiled leather jacket. At that moment, he noticed a horrible smell.

Like a garbage dump. Like rotting meat. Like death.

The stench was overpowering. It assaulted his sinuses and made him gag. Gavin swayed, doubled over and vomited what little was in his stomach. The smell of it mixed with the nauseating air, threatening to make him throw up again, when all of a sudden, a shadow fell over the forest.

Gavin looked up, and his eyes met with a monster.

ねこまた nekomata

It was hard to discern in the pitch dark woods, but it must have been around 15-20 feet tall. The space around it rippled with what looked like dark, matted fur, two impossibly long, mangy tails danced behind it, and its drooling, slavering mouth held rotten, yellow teeth the size of small trees. A deafening buzzing noise could be heard near and around the monster, with Gavin realizing that this demon was shielded in a dark, undulating cloud of flies.

The worst part was it’s eyes.

Two soulless, pitch black holes, deep as an abandoned well, with two piercing pricks of bright, nuclear blue in their centers. The creatures gaze was blank, filled with nothing but hunger. Staring at Gavin like a bloody slab of steak. Like a tiny mouse in a trap.

It began to move towards him, calmly, and ever so casual. Gavin couldn’t cry out. All he could do was sit, stunned, in a rancid puddle of his own vomit. This can’t be real. God wouldn’t let this happen. At that moment, he realized that he had lost his rosary. The monster drew closer, until it’s head was just inches away from Gavin’s, it’s breath blowing into his face. He noticed large chunks of rotting flesh festering between it’s teeth, being fed on and burrowed into by the army of insects surrounding the creature.

I guess that explains the smell…

Gavin was frozen. He wished he had a weapon, wished he could attack the thing waiting in front of him. He wished he could move, so maybe he could try to escape. But instead, he was still as a stone, unable to do anything. How many times have you been in this position?

Gavin tried to brace himself for his death as the monsters mouth began to open. He waited to feel claws to rival his monster movies on his body, cracking his bones in half. He waited to feel teeth ripping his skin away from his muscles. He waited for the feeling of bodily fluids mixing and flowing and filling his lungs and his eyes and smothering him.

It never came. Maybe it would’ve been better than what followed.

Instead of devouring Gavin and leaving his bones for a stray dog to chew on, the monsters eyes rolled back into its head, and it’s face began to split down the middle. A viscous black liquid gushed out of the seams.

It almost looked like motor oil.

Gavin almost gagged as the creatures face slowly tore apart and peeled away, revealing a shiny white skull filled to the brim with millipedes. The oil-like substance dripped onto his clothes, further staining them, the black mixing with the red and green of the blood and vomit. One of the millipedes crawled out of the monsters gaping mouth and fell onto Gavin’s arm. He watched in horror as the insect burrowed into the gash on his hand. He could see it moving under his skin. He could feel it’s little legs poking at his muscles.

あなた以外に神はいない

do you understand?

Gavin promptly blacked out.

The next morning, at the end of Maple Street, the sun shone through the small yellow house’s windows. The birds were singing, and the paper boy was making his rounds as if nothing had happened, nothing at all. The calendar read October 16th, 1963. A certain young man’s 18th birthday.

Gavin woke up, at home, in his own bed, with his mind full of fog and the worst headache you can imagine. It felt like a jackhammer was being drilled into his brain.

Was it all… a horrible dream?

His jacket and t-shirt were lying on the floor next to his bed, but his jeans were still on. I need to stop sleeping in my clothes.

His side hurt. His hands hurt. It's nothing. I probably just fell, maybe cut myself on one of Mother's beer bottles...

As he rolled out of bed to get a shirt on, he noticed his drawings, rather than being scattered across the floor, were stacked up next to his desk. Looking through them, he saw they were all of shadowy, grey cats.

"Ugh..." He wondered if he'd been drinking, and that was why his head hurt so bad. Never mind that he didn't drink. That was his mother's habit. It's just that there was no other way to explain what had happened the night before.

Speaking of which...

"Gavin. Get down here. We need to talk."

A "Happy Birthday" would've been nice.

Ambling down the stairs, Gavin braced himself. Did she find out where he'd been, somehow? That would mean he'd actually ended up going, and the events of last night had actually played out. He wasn't ready to accept that truth.

His mother met his face, standing in the middle of their glass covered living room floor, which no one bothered to clean up. Her auburn hair looked like it hadn't been combed in weeks and her green sweater was covered in stains. She looked like she hadn't slept a day in her life.

"The sherrif found your motorcycle down by the outskirts of town, and your little girlfriend wouldn't say anything, but she seemed pretty damn shaken. Is there anything you'd like to say for yourself?"

no... it was a nightmare... nothing more...

"I don't know what you're talking about."

under his skin, something moved.

"Oh, i think you do. For eighteen years now, i've fed you, clothed you, provided for you and the ONLY THING i've asked in return is for you to STAY AWAY FROM THE WOODS. This is how you thank me? For EVERYTHING IVE EVER DONE FOR YOU?"

The woman was livid, blue eyes burning with rage, face locked in a snarl. She grabbed Gavin by the hair and pulled his face up close by hers. There was a distinct stench of alcohol on her breath. He'd heard this song before, many times over.

"You were looking for your father, weren't you."

He felt something running down his scalp. Blood? Something more viscous, perhaps? Motor oil?

Your father is dead. Maybe the "evil spirits" in those awful stories he told you did him in. At any rate, it doesn't matter anymore. Go into the woods if you want, because you're not welcome in my house anymore. If you want to be like your father, then be like him. Leave. Don't ever come back."

"Mama-"

"JUST GO!" The woman threw her son backwards, landing hard with a sickening CRUNCH into the floor's coating of broken glass and booze bottles. His mother's sorrow would find yet another way to hurt him, he thought, as he felt the shards dig into his back. This was it. Gavin would need to find someplace else to go. Wincing as he got up, blood rushing down his back, he limped back upstairs, grabbed his jacket and was just about to leave before he noticed several full beer bottles from her mom's stash. Nothing left to lose...

His mom couldn’t punish him for anything anymore. It was oddly freeing. He took a couple bottles and stowed them away. With everything he needed stored in his bag, there was one more place he figured he could try. If it didn't work, he would have to find someplace else.

Valley had spent the entire day up until that point talking to the police. They wouldn't get anything out of her, she didn't even know what had happened herself. Besides, everyone in town knew that these investigations were for show anyways. No one ever came out of the woods, and after a while, everyone forgot. Valley would have to as well.

At that moment, lying on her blue silk sheets, the doorbell rang.

"Listen Officer, i already told you i haven't got anything for you-"

Her eyes met not with a blue clad member of the force, but with a ghost. If possible, Gavin looked even worse than he did the night before, when she watched him jump the forbidden fence like a man possessed, seemingly sealing his fate. His clothes were covered in bloodstains, some looking old, some looking new. Valley couldn't believe what she was seeing.

"H-how? You’re not... no one is supposed to... I saw..."

"Hey again, Val."

How could he just show up on her doorstep like nothing happened at all? This wasn't how these cases were supposed to go. The posters would stay up for a while until they got taken down, and no one would ever talk about the missing person again. Maybe it was messed up, but that’s how it had always been.

"Gavin, i can't believe you're..."

"Alive? Yeah... i'm having some trouble believing that too."

Valley rubbed her temple and sighed. It was obvious she was very stressed. And why shouldn't she be? Her boyfriend of almost a year had seemingly gotten himself killed right in front of her, she'd spent the entire day talking to the cops about the incident, and now he'd showed up on her doorstep out of nowhere? Maybe it'd have been better if he hadn't come back at all. Maybe he should've just stayed gone. All he ever did was hurt others anyway...

Valley looked up, finally. "Okay, what do you-" Nothing. He'd already gone. It was like he hadn't even been there to begin with.

I’m such an idiot.

Val walked back upstairs to her room, flopped down onto her expensive silk sheets and screamed into her pillow. “That fucking ASSHOLE! How could he be so casual about this? I thought he died!! And now he leaves me all over again, with no explanation??” Valley was tired. This wasn’t the first stupid thing Gavin had pulled, and now he was crossing into genuinely dangerous territory. “That’s it. I’m done. I don’t need to worry about him anymore. Let him go back into that forest. See if I care.”

She decided it would be best to try to go to sleep, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that something terrible was about to happen.

“You wouldn’t actually go back there… would you?”

Meanwhile, Gavin knew he needed to find his motorcycle. It could have either been taken by the police, or it was still out there by the woods. Somehow he doubted the cops had touched it. There was probably yellow tape around it or something. He didn't want to go back to the forest, but somehow, some way, he knew he had to.

His hand itched, and there was still something squirming beneath his skin. It felt like it was trying to get out. To go back into the forest, and take him with it.

Was he marked?

At that moment, Gavin remembered the bottles he’d taken from his house, if he could call it that anymore.

Maybe it could help me get my courage back.

He took one swig, then another. The first drink was awful. It tasted like hatred and burned his throat, but he kept forcing it down, because he was desperate to feel SOMETHING. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea…

He kept going anyways.

After a while, it started to get better. Or maybe this was what being drunk was like. Before he knew, he'd burned through nearly half of the bottles he'd stolen, and each sip sent fire down his throat, burning away his inhibitions. How did i never try this? How do people not do this every day? His head swam and his thoughts blurred, and all he knew was that he felt good, and that a new chapter of his life was about to begin.

Follow me.

A voice rang out from seemingly nowhere in particular, taking his hand, dragging him along for the ride. Whatever was under his skin felt like it was trying to tear it’s way out and lead him to the woods. Maybe he was marked. Marked for this journey.

Follow. I know what you’re looking for. I can take you there. You’re going to see something beautiful…

And what else could he do? The alcohol in his system was preventing him from thinking straight anyways. Gavin felt himself almost being pulled forward by some external, seemingly invisible force. He felt fur all around him. It was almost nice. Comfortable. He could hear disjointed voices, seeming far away.

“Hey, isn’t that…” “It can’t be. He should be dead...” “They never come back.” “Is he okay?”

Pay them no mind… we’ll be here soon.

Two glowing blue pinpricks. Jack o lanterns outside of cookie cutter houses. Follow the lights. This is your destiny.

Destiny?

Gavin had never thought of destiny before. When he found his motorcycle, that felt like destiny. When he started dating Valley, that felt like destiny.

I guess none of that matters now.

Everything itched.

Suddenly, he was back by the fence, in the outskirts of town. Didn’t it usually take longer to get here, especially by foot?

There was a hole in the fence, seemingly cut out just for him. Did I do that? And right in front of it, there it was.

His motorcycle. It hadn’t been moved since the night before.

There was a path slicing through the forest. He didn’t remember that from the last time he was there.

The bike was fueled up and ready for him. Gavin knew what had to be done. Whether or not this was real or an alcohol induced haze didn’t matter to him. Getting on the bike and finding out what was on the other side of those woods was all that mattered.

Any horrible monsters or demons be damned.

He revved up the motorcycle and back through the woods he went, and with his inhibitions drowned out of his body, Gavin could finally see how pretty it was out there. The almost supernatural blues and greens of the tree leaves complimenting the pearlescent bark. He could see the shadows of impossibly large creatures rustling behind the trees. This time, the atmosphere of the woods felt less like a warning and more like a new beginning. But sometimes, new beginnings can be just as terrifying.

He didn’t see the cat until he’d already hit it. He’d been swerving through the path, and had come pretty close to a crash several times over, just barely missing any stray trees or rocks. However, his drunken reflexes weren’t going to be enough to save him for long.

A jingling bell. Glowing, fearful blue eyes on gray fur. A animals shriek. A thud, a splat, and a swerve. Too late. The damage had been done, and both the bike and the boy were thrown aside by something that seemed far larger than a roadkill cat. Something that threw them a long way before they landed, and they landed hard on what seemed like pavement. why would there be pavement way out here in this forest?

Gavin skid across the ground, feeling something pop out of his face theysaidmyeyesweresobeautiful, well, what was left of his face, as he felt his skin scraping off the side of his body pleasemommyitburnsitburns, and as he felt the shattering of bones upon impact that’smorethanjustmyhipisn’tit and the broken glass shards embedding in his flesh feelslikehome, it all came to him. It came to him as he realized his bike was pinning him to the ground, as he felt his limbs bend the wrong way, as blood and piss and oil flowed from seemingly every opening on his body.

I guess this is it. I’m dying.

I didn’t even get to see what was on the other side.

Was there even anything on the other side?

Was this what happened to Father?

I can feel the glass in my back.

All I am is glass. I want to go home.

I want to see Mother. God, maybe, if I’m lucky. Something tells me if I’m not lucky.

招き猫 maneki-neko

All I am is glass.

The last things Gavin heard as the black washed over him were a pained, stilted meow, a blood gurgle (my first victim’s? my own?), and the skittering of something crawling out of the cavity where his eye used to be.

all for nothing…

all for...

Fur. Fur, all around him. Again. He was beginning to get sick of this feeling. Or was it becoming comfortable? He didn’t know. The feeling reminded him of his mother’s old habits. Not like he had any time to dwell on her, because the moment he opened his remaining eye, he was met with a massive feline skull, seemingly coming out of and from the darkness around him, with two blue pinpricks for eyes.

Welcome, old friend.

I know your voice. Who are you?

That doesn’t matter. You want to get out of here, don’t you?

Yes. I never got to see… I never got to see what was…

I can do that for you. I can bring you back. I can get you out.

How?

A massive paw with claws like butcher knives materialized in front of him. What was the saying? Don’t deal with the devil?

Was this even the devil? Or was this something else entirely?

Take my hand. Your transformation will come with pain and hardship, but it will help the both of us. I promise.

Gavin didn’t want this to be for nothing. He didn’t want to go back into the darkness. He really didn’t.

You don’t have to. You can always just stay where you are. Forever.

His journey, his pain, his losses, his discoveries. He wanted to know where it all would lead.

What is your final decision, old friend?

He needed to know.

He put out his hand, hesitated for a moment, and then forcefully connected it with the gargantuan paw splayed out before him. No going back now.

So it shall be. Thank you, Gavin.

The gray fur melted around him and gathered into his hand. It began to spread and grow from there, covering each inch of his body. His arms, his legs, his torso, his face. It blinded him, and as he lost his senses one by one, he felt it flow into the cavernous empty eye socket left by his recklessness.

Curiosity killed the cat.

But satisfaction brought it back.

After hours, or days, I can’t tell anymore, Gavin woke up changed, someplace else. Everything hurt. He felt like every part of his body was bleeding. His injuries might have healed by some supernatural force, but it sure didn’t feel that way.

He opened his eye and the first thing that struck him was that instead of a forest, he was met with a sprawling junkyard, filled to the brim with piles of garbage as tall as buildings, against a stark red sky. An all manner of dilapidated mechanical gadgets. People’s weeks-old trash. Horrible smelling organic matter that Gavin didn’t want to look at or even think about. Salvage heaven? He couldn’t tell, but it felt like everything anyone had every thrown away ended up here.

Have I been thrown away, too?

Gavin attempted to get his bearings and try and survey his new surroundings, but every move he made felt like a thousand knives as hot as the sun were being inserted into his flesh. He knew he had to do SOMETHING, though.

I need to see what happened to my body. I need to see the results of this “transformation.”

There was a reflective pool of a familiar black, viscous liquid seemingly a few feet away from him, his estimate as his depth perception had all but disappeared. Maybe that would work. Abandoning all dignity he might’ve still kept at this point, he put his death-razed arms out in front of him and dragged himself to his goal.

Is this what I’ve come to? Is this the culmination of all my 18 years of life? I never even saw my senior prom.

Gavin would see something else, however. Mustering up all his strength, he made it to the metallic puddle and attempted to stand. A thousand sickening cracking noises resonated out of his body, as if he was 81 rather than 18. The pain was so unbearable he almost puked his literal guts out into the looking glass puddle he’d just worked so hard to reach.

However, what he saw in it made him hurt in a different way. He didn’t know whether or not it was worse than the pain of all the injuries he’d agreed to endure. Whatever I just struck a pact with must not have been powerful enough to get rid of any pain I might be feeling, even if I’m now able to live through it.

Before him was a face he didn’t recognize, a face he might’ve expected from the horror movies he used to sneak out to see. His skin appeared ash white, like all of his blood had drained from his body. The skin he had left, anyways, as the right side of his body, the side he’d landed on after the accident, had barely any at all. He’d never really thought of what human muscles looked like underneath skin, but now was as good a time as ever to find out. If he could even still be classified as “human”. His teeth were an odd red color and had seemingly all been replaced by canine incisors, giving him a terribly offputting grin on top of everything else concerning his new appearance that might scare a person off.

His jacket sleeve was completely torn away, his black pants ripped to shreds, and his hair had turned that same familiar shade of gray, with no trace of the brown his loved ones had run their fingers through. His remaining eye was glassy and pale, with a jaundiced yellow look to it, and the cavity where his other eye used to be was so badly shredded that some of the bone could be seen. His eyelid seemed to have suffered the same fate, leaving the gaping hole in his head open for all to stare at and wonder about. His limbs had grown bushy, tangled gray fur, and at his fingertips were retractable, cat-like claws.

The most noticeable new features, however, were marked by new weight at his back and on the sides of his head. Two large, alien looking, cat-like ears had grown over Gavin’s old human ears, with lumps in places were imperfections seem to have occurred. His right ear was deformed and stunted, seemingly due to the damage he had suffered in that area. It gave him the look of a stray cat that lost the tip of it’s ear in some kind of turf war. And at his lower back danced two long, ratty, almost mangy gray tails. They seemed somewhat non-Euclidean, appearing longer and shorter depending on where you looked at them, and adorning them were two concerning markings that looked a bit like teeth.

As the boy stared into his reflection, the heavy realization settled over him like a wet cotton blanket. The old Gavin, the one that had listened to his fathers folktales and eaten at the local diner and gotten into fights at school and drawn on his arms and snuck his girlfriend into movies, was dead. He had died in an accident in the forest like so many others before him, and his replacement was this ungodly chimaera-like creature.

For the first time since he was in elementary school, Gavin knelt to the ground, threw his gaze to the red, smog-filled sky, and let himself cry. Heaving, painful sobs. The culmination of all of his life’s mistakes. No one would be there to see him, anyways.

Who’s going to love me, looking like this?

Will God forgive me for becoming something so unholy?

Was any of this even worth it?

A familiar voice rang out inside his head. Something told him that this was where it lived now.

You’re not ungodly, my disciple. In fact, you are far from it. You came back from the dead, something many saints couldn’t accomplish. There’s something divine in that, is there not?

Is that who you are? Are you God?

Laughter. And with that, the voice in his head, in his heart, went dormant.

Gavin strained and threw up a little, but managed to get up. Looking around the endless expanse of the junkyard, he noticed something, standing out from the rest of the wreckage.

A cherry-red Mustang convertible, smeared with long-dried blood. Laying next to it, a page out of fairly recent looking calendar, with the date reading April 14th, 2163.

Suddenly, the junkyard didn’t seem so endless anymore. Gavin could see what looked like a cityscape in the distance. Mustering up all the strength he could, he began to walk.

I guess this is my new beginning.

For a brief moment, the spirit’s voice came back into his head.

あなた以外に神はいない

There is no god but you.

A young girl tacks a missing persons poster to a telephone pole. What have you seen? What have you found?

Would she ever find out? Who else did?

the end LMAO ✌🏻 I hope you liked this I worked my ass off on it. If you didn’t that’s okay!! I’m not sure if I like it, either!! But at least it’s done. YIPPEE. Now go drink some water.

[joz-yyh]

Love Host - Ch. 7 (Preview)

SUMMARY: A prequel to my fic, “Good Boy.” Takes place during the final scene of the game and the journey home afterwards. Miles becomes the host and the Walrider intends to consummate their bond. No beta. Read at your own risk.

RATING: T (for preview only!! / depictions of violence / swearing)

PAIRING: Walmiles (WalriderxMiles)

WORD COUNT: 1,152

A/N: The fugitive reporter is reunited with his jeep, but things are never that easy, not for Miles Upshur.

This chapter is dedicated to @is-gw! :3

Thanks again for all your support! I know you've been waiting a long time, but I am finally getting around to writing this again. I hope you like it so far!

——————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————–——

The reporter runs his hand along the jeep's frame, taking note of the various scratches and dents dealt to the paint that he can't remember being there before. So much had changed in just a few short days and neither of them, man or machine were quite the same as they once were.

“Hey, remember me,” Miles says to the oversized keepsake, getting a little choked up by the reunion, “I can’t believe you're still in one piece.”

His bandaged fingers slide over the red door frame, following the dark seam of interlocking parts down to tug at the door handle. 

It opens. 

The seats been moved, a noticeably tighter fit as he wedges his legs inside, adjusting the position so it's more comfortable to his height. 

His flashy press pass is right where he left it, dangling faithfully from his rear-view mirror. 

The reporter smiles sadly, turning the flimsy ID in his hand, his grip growing heavy, enough to strain the integrity of the four corners of plastic.

Miles lets the reality of this moment sink in, folds himself over the steering wheel in an awkward hug, a horrific memory of the past coming back to haunt him in full color.

Miles wouldn't be here now if it wasn't for O'niel – just another civilian reporter assigned to the same mission he was, caught in the crossfire, blown away by the bombs of war. 

It could have just as easily been Miles who died that day, years ago during his tour in Afghanistan, but it wasn't and now he's stuck reliving the event, watching the rookie from behind the viewfinder of his camera, there and then suddenly not, taken by an explosive wave of dirt and smoke, no body to be found, nothing left of him except for his rundown jeep.

He'd seen so many lost souls, innocent lives sacrificed to feed the campaign of wealthy politicians but this young man's violent passing hit different, stayed coiled around his heart like barbed wire.

He hopes O'niel is proud of the work he's done, that he's watching from somewhere, that he knows how close Miles has come to nailing the vile corporation that started it all.

There's a tug at the back of his mind, a treatrous dark sea, not quite his subconscious (he's learned to tell the difference), but the Walrider – it wants his attention, warning him of a threat.

“What is it," Miles asks dazedly, looking up from his crossed arms, wiping at the melancholy sting in his eyes.

His symbiotic partner supplies him with images, black combat boots and swat gear flickering across his eyes as a tactical team makes a perimeter around the woods.

The hairs in the back of his neck are standing on end, his nerves firing like pistons, his stomach dropping.

"Oh God," Miles whispers, nanites skirting his vision, "they’re here, aren’t they."

The reporter is losing it, becoming a frantic, irrational mess as he rambles to himself, “I knew they would be, I knew, and I still couldn’t stay away. What … what does that mean,” the host laments, feeling his emotions breakdown, going through all the stages of grief one by one.

“I am sorry for bringing you out here," Miles tells the machine, convinced that this was their last stand, that he had to make some poor amends for all his mistakes, "I am sorry for everything.” 

The Walrider manifests itself, its bony phalanges gripping it's host's tear-stained cheeks, forcing the man to look it straight in the eyes.

Miles stares back, searching the dark abyss, the Walrider trying so hard to convey an emotion that it’s not equipped to express.

“How many,” the host asks, his tone a terrified reservation.

The nanties bristle, an urgency, it's optical lenses oscillating.

“Oh God," Miles breathes, the dread building, his voice doused in ice water, "too many.”

“What should we do,” the host asks, feeling so fucking helpless and pathetic for having to rely on his demonic counterpart for guidance.

Sighing painfully, he holds the machine in a similar embrace, stroking along the creature’s cheek, joining their heads together. For whatever reason, it helps him to think, clearing away the panic.

They needed a plan, some means of escape. The jeep was a possible exit strategy, but that's if it can make it out of the ravine and he's not even sure if it will turn on.

A word flashes before the human's mind, the Walrider offering an idea. 

“REVENGE.”

Miles understands it all too well, his own intimate connection to the exact moment in time when he lost his life and became the undead monster he is now. 

His blue eyes harden, bordering on arrogance as an influx of strength hits him.

“Alright," the rebel declares, seeking the entity's affirmation, "you ready for this?" 

The Walrider trills in his head, the nanites bursting from his veins with heady anticipation.

It's good enough for Miles, his lips pulled back into a toothy grin.

"Lets show ‘em who they’re fucking with," Miles growls, eyes drowing in a sea of onyx, his irises burning rings of gold.

{End Preview}

[t0jisd0ll]

Project Z - chapter III

genre: horror, dystopia (viewer discretion advised)

Kenji Watanabe did not know what he was doing with his life. At the ripe age of seventeen, most people would have figured this out, but here he was, sitting aimlessly on a worn-down couch, trying to think about life.

He was awoken from his thoughtless trance by the sound of his phone ringing. He never bothered to change the ringtone, so it remained the default, blaring noise.

"Kenji, my man! Are you up to come down to the Chrysler? Tina has been nagging about how she wants to scale the building or something like that for about a week now. I gave in, but I'm in short supply of emotional support. Please come, bro, I'm begging-"

"Oi, quit yapping, mate; I'll be there," replied Kenji (albeit while yawning) to Matteo, his best friend for about eleven years.

"Come on, man, don't tell me you just woke up," groaned Matteo from the other side of the call.

"Gimme a few; just tell me when to come," Kenji answered, already feeling like returning to his dreamless sleep.

"Around three sounds good, I guess. I and the others already had lunch, and Alia called Myke, so get yourself here quick; you got that soldier?" Matteo questioned him playfully.

"Yessir, I'll be there!" replied Kenji, finally starting to feel a tad bit awake. "Now put down the phone, you little- " The long beep signifying that the call had been cut was heard. Kenji chuckled to himself and slowly sat up. He probably had to brush his teeth.

After about what felt like an hour or so, Kenji exited what seemed to be a dilapidated apartment, perfectly finished off with beige paint slowly peeling off the building, revealing a few cracks in the outer wall.

The walk to the nearest metro wasn't that far, plus Kenji enjoyed walking. In an era where everyone travelled along in their hoverbikes and cars, walking seemed refreshing. Just going at your own pace, not feeling rushed, and always feeling peaceful because of the surrounding nature Not that there was much left of it anyway.

After reaching the Grand Central Terminal, Kenji hopped on one of the trains that were heading towards the Chrysler Building. The trains now seemed to be much different than those before. They were known as hover trains, which travelled many metres higher than normal hover vehicles. The undersides of the trains were made of some sort of sturdy glass, so you could see the city below. These sights were usually pleasant, especially when combined with the rise or setting of the sun.

Due to the train's speed, Kenji reached the station near Chrysler in one minute flat, and he proceeded to walk towards the tall structure. Upon nearing the main gate, he saw his friends waiting for him.

"Kenji, we told you to come at three, dumbass." Alia scowled, while Tina, who was next to her, also frowned. Kenji apologised profusely, explaining that he had lost track of time while admiring the view from the hover train (which wasn't true). Alia rolled her eyes and said they would forgive him this time, but he owed them all ice cream for making them wait. They laughed and walked towards the entrance of the Chrysler building, excited for their adventure. Kenji couldn't help but glance back at the hover train station, already eager to ride it again and take in the breathtaking views.

While they all caught up for a bit, Mykel and Matteo entered the scene holding some bagels and other small snacks. "I bought some in case we get hungry; there aren't many shops here and very little activity to add to it." He said this while stuffing a bagel in his mouth.

"First of all, ew. Second of all, for all that talk about scaling this dump, how are we even going to get in?" Alia asked, glancing towards Tina.

"Honestly, I didn't think that through," Tina replied, as the five silently gazed at the seven-foot-tall barbed wire fence surrounding the humongous building.

<- previous  next ->

[olesiaivanova]

I would like to dedicate this blog to the movie "The Boy in the Striped Pajamas". I believe that the Holocaust should be talked about to this day. Well, let's get started! I have already reviewed most of the best films that have been released. Good in my opinion, of course. Such films excite the mind, and do not allow you to break away from the screen and penetrate extraneous thoughts into your head, they absorb you completely, turn your consciousness and leave an imprint for a long time. I want to review such films. I have a list of my favourite movies. It is quite large, but it is being replenished less and less often because I meet few worthy paintings now. "The Boy in the Striped Pajamas" is an exception. I must say that films about the war (even if indirectly related to this topic) stand in my special place. I have always been attracted to films and books about the fate of people before, during and after the war. While watching this movie, I always cried, starting with Bruno's farewell to Berlin friends, and ending with the last scene of the gas chamber. For what, why, and how so?.. How can such cruelty, and injustice exist in the world, how can there be a war in the world that destroys lives, families, and destinies? An 8-year-old boy doesn't understand this, and neither do I.  The boy Bruno is a ray of light in the dark realm. Researcher. And the whole story is shown through his eyes, maybe that's why I want to be so indignant at injustice and cruelty. This makes the film even more heartfelt. Bruno is waiting for 'everyone to make peace' so that the same 8-year-old boy with the 'strange' name Shmul could come to visit him on the weekend. But Shmul can't. He is a Jew, an 'enemy of the people who must be exterminated' and is behind barbed wire on a 'farm where everyone wears strange striped pyjamas'. The boy does not understand this; he rebels against such rules in this world and wants to change everything. Throughout the film, we see how Bruno grows and changes, his perception of the world changes, although sometimes he is thrown in the wrong direction. And who knows how the boy's fate would have ended if... But I will not tell you the finale of this drama. Bruno's parents are also a kind of camp.  In this picture, I ask you to notice a very clear manifestation of orientalism: 2 camps - a merciful and sympathetic mother and a military fanatic father. In general, it should be noted that in all respects there are two warring parties - Bruno's grandparents, mom and dad, and even Bruno himself and his sister, they are just still small, and this difference does not interfere with friendship and love. Family relationships reflect the relationships in the world in which these people live. And they make it clear that good people also could not accept this state of affairs and did not consider it normal. It gives hope.  The problem of fascism, Nazism and genocide is shown in such a way as to touch the soul of the viewer. After this movie, a sad residue remains on my soul, but it's worth watching it. Necessarily. Look at the world through the eyes of a child. Sometimes it seems to me that this is the only way to perceive reality. The critical point of view and analysis: Racism and orientalism in this film are expressed in the most "vivid colours". The plot of the film implies the superiority of one nation over another. And this superiority does not just put pressure from one side on the other but turns out to be a threat and an attempt to destroy all Jews. As far as I remember from history lessons, about 6 million Jews were exterminated. "Nazi racism" is a concept that I understand as the Nazis' belief that Jews were a separate and inferior race. The basis of this concept lies in the prejudices and stereotypes of the Nazi German government (racism is the basis of German state policy at that time).All the actions show us the inequality, racism, and orientalism. I recommend you to watch this film and deeply feel this tragedy now, in 2023. 

[trashcan4trashrat]

*in bat form, I flap into your room and then transform into the hottest fucking vampire you’ve ever seen that you totally remember you want to do pet play with me*

Good evening! It is I, Count MACKula, coming to wish my BOOtiful Ghoulfriend a spooktackular Halloween!

*I tip my black, spiderweb draped fedora towards you*

Malady (sic), I’ve come to rescue you from your Booring life and bring you into the world of the FUNdead!

*despite giving off intense masculine confidence, i nervously adjust my spooky collar*

(Thinks to himself - I hope she lets me turn her. Then I’ll have a gorgeous ebony queen to be with me forever)

Despite my spooky intimidating and piercing stare, you see a spooky sadness, a yearn for love behind my spooky cold, spooky dead spooky eyes.

You see my giant undead vampire hallowiener bulging from my skin tight Lycra pants with bad ass glow in the dark black widows printed on them.

So what do you say? Come live with me in St. BOOuis, Misery and have a delightfully scary time!

Also can I cum inside you?

*I reach my pail hand out from under my cloak, revealing a pale white hand with long matte red-painted fingernails with an arm covered in tribal tattoos and barbed wire. The hand outstretched to you palm up expectantly waiting for you to take it while staring deeply into your super fucking hot and sexy eyes.*

(However, inside I can barely contain my nervousness.

I present a cool badass exterior but inside I’m a quivering hot mess filled with doubt when all I want is to leave her a quivering hot mess filled with cum.)