#literally not only almost died but also almost lost my horse

[delphiniumarchangelmoon]

Highlights from day one of “totk but I keep track of the days, don’t use fast travel, make Link sleep semi consistently, and write an in-character journal” (aka literally the weirdest thing I’ve done ever)

Day 5: “I got myself hopelessly lost climbing the mountain”

Day 9: “Purah Claims that Rauru shares his name with the first king of Hyrule. Combining that with the murals and Zelda’s own knowledge of her family history… I can’t let her know I found her ancestor attractive! She’ll never let me live it down!”

Day 11: “there was a blood moon last night, but that isn’t why I almost died. Purah launched me into the damn sky!”

Day 11 again: “from there I’ll head to Hebra, I want to check on Dad Teba and Tulin.”

Day 12: “going to take Cocoa (horse) toward Hebra and have her wait while I help Josha and Robbie investigate a hole in the ground

Day 14: when they called it a chasm they weren’t kidding!

Day 15: “I can’t believe it! That old coot left me down here!”

Day 16: “still down here.”

Day 18: “I hate to say it but Rauru is even more handsome alive.”

Day 20: “what was that. WHAT WAS THAT? It came from the floor it was so fast I need to go home. I want my dad.”

Day 21: we’re resting at Tabantha Bridge Stable until it clears. More delays sure, but a chance to catch up with Beedle! I found a rugged rhino beetle and I’ve been waiting to give it to him. He was so excited! He always insists on paying me back but the look on his face is payment enough. I hope he never reads this, I’d die of embarrassment.”

Day 22 “~sigh… not another brainless boy! I already have so many and I can barely take care of the ones I already have!”

Day 23: “it’s awful. At least Dad’s still here.”

[animentality]

I just had the most devastating honor mode run end that I have ever had, and I'm not going to lie.

I have never been tilted by Baldur's Gate 3...until today.

And it's honestly more tilted than I've ever been at a video game...and I spent like 3 years playing fucking Overwatch...and Dead by Daylight, where the world's worst people congregate to torture one another.

The last time I was at the gith creche, I got my ass handed to me by That Prick who I am going to call Wargass. He's the bitch who tries to murder you when you don't kill the Emperor.

Last time, I almost lost the run because of his legendary move, which is the most horse shit thing in existence.

Basically, every time you fucking hit him OR AN ALLY...he summons a sword to shove up your ass. And it just fucking appears next to you, and surrounds you, so you can't escape without taking opportunity attacks.

So last time, I escaped by going invisible, and running away so I could come back and kill him by dragging him out to the bridge outside the Vlaakith room.

This time, I thought, well last time I got fucked because I was in the center of the room, and we were just taking hits from everywhere. No cover anywhere. This time, I gotta be able to position, maybe surprise enemies.

So I choose the right dialogue options, to make sure Vlaakith doesn't just nuke us.

But then I see the Astral Portal...and I think...well, what if I position myself now? And we just kill him before going into the Portal...can you do that?

And like a fucking moron...

I say fuck it, let's try it.

And uh. I don't know how many of you have ever tried this, but...when you do that?

Lae'zel immediately leaves your party.

So.

I was fucked instantly. Lae'zel is a fucking fighter, which is the second most demonic class after Paladin. She is fucking stacked and has the best goddamn gear I have, and she immediately kills Karlach using action surge. Gale also dies immediately, because he's squishy and there are a million bitches with psychic rend around him.

The only reason the run didn't end there was because I went invisible and fled.

Now I went and revived everyone in camp, but I thought ok...so I have to go back, with four people, and get my shit back...

I bring in Astarion, because I think, it'll be fine, we just need to drag them out onto that bridge...

Guess what? It wasn't fine. I had to draw Astarion and myself back, because Gale and Karlach die again. See, the fucking problem is, the normal strat of making distance doesn't work here. Normally, you can aoe a ton of enemies or have them run into walls of fire or whatever. But these fucking swords that Wargass summons literally APPEAR NEXT TO YOU. And they all take a swing, and break your concentration. Plus, even if you do manage to break them, and good luck with that, he just makes more, every goddamn turn.

So almost in tears, I swap out Astarion and pull in Wyll.

I need Hunger of Hadar, my cheese spell.

It kind of works, because I put it on the bridge, and all of his dumb bitch guards get stuck in it. But THEN Wargass, being a fucking prick, chases me around and murders me out of pure spite. Then Karlach and Gale almost kill him...but then he does his usual bullshit, of using his swords to kill everyone.

And I just...at this point, I'm just done.

Wyll can't do anything, he's out of spells. He can't even run, because there are swords near him.

I just have him take an opportunity attack, and call the run over.

And it's funny, because I'm doing an honor mode run with my buddy, where we've done basically everything wrong...but we still made it to Act 3 mostly unscathed.

With only one or two close calls.

But this is the second time my run's been fucked by the goddamn creche boss battle.

And you know... I love Bg3...but I have played way too many goddamn hours.

Need to take a break and just write porn about it, like god intended.

[hubrisbracket]

Hubris Bracket Side A Poll 11: Riliane Lucifen d'Autriche (The Evillious Chronicles) vs Fei Wong Reed (Tsubasa Reservoir Chronicle)

Propaganda below!

Riliane Lucifen d'Autriche

So in evillious there are people known as the seven sinners because they were possessed by demons of sin (there were other people that were posessed too but the sinners are the ones who made the biggest impact on the world) and riliane is literally the sinner of pride!! She was a princess who got posessed by a the demon of pride and that made her all tyrannical, executing people for no reason, letting commoners starve, classic evil princess shit, and she committed genocide on a country because her ex-fiance fell in love with a girl from that country. BUT then the people started a revolution where they wanted to execute her, but her servant Allen who was very very devoted to her (and who was actually her twin brother but she lost memories of that because of a different demon) and allen puts on her clothes and pretends to be her and gets executed, she has to watch him die then runs away into the woods and almost dies, but then gets saved by a nun (that was actually the lesbian crush of the girl whose country she genocided) and was taken into the monastery, at first she was all pathetic and snobby and didnt want to do "commoner" work but eventually she came around but her main Thing is the part where she gets knocked from her throne and becomes a sad wet kitten okay. Also she was 14 and ruled the country bc her parents died

She is Literally the embodiment of Pride. She is fourteen years old. She ordered a genocided. She has a favourite horse named Josephine. She regularly has people beheaded via guillotine. She became a nun wishing for everyone to know peace later in life. She HAS the range and also she has bee the princess of my heart since like 2015 ♡

(this next one isn't in bullet form bc it's long)

Riliane was an exceptionally terrible tyrant, who only ruled her kingdom for 1 year before being overthrown. She would tax the people, who already had very little food, so that she could buy exorbitant things to show off to her guests and her fiancée. She would execute people over the tiniest of issues, such as not letting her win a game. She waged a war on another kingdom because her fiancée (who was forced into the marriage by his abusive mother) broke off the engagement to pursue a peasant woman. Not knowing the woman's identity, she simply commanded her army to track down and kill every woman who shared the same traits, known as the "Green Hunt".

If all of this sounds incredibly petty and childish, that is because Riliane ascended to the throne when she was 14. She is literally a child. History books say that she was executed in the square at three o'clock, just before her 15th birthday… but the truth is a bit more complicated. She had a younger twin brother, but a succession crisis and plot to undermine the royal family ended up with her getting amnesia and him having to fake his death for his own safety. This happened when they were only 6. He eventually came back to the palace as a servant named "Allen Avadonia", but Riliane had already been possessed by the Demon of Pride. The only people who knew Allen's true identity was Allen, their late mother, his adoptive father, and the two other confidants that their parents had. Riliane just saw Allen's resemblance to her as a fun piece of trivia.

Despite this, Allen did his best to make her happy, even to his own detriment. And it seemed that, even though she was possessed, she did come to care about him as well, because she only stopped the war because he said he would leave the palace if she didn't. When the revolutionaries were coming to capture and execute the princess, Allen asked if they could switch clothes, and then told her to flee while he stayed behind.

Even if she couldn't remember him, they were still twins, so he could probably fool the rebels. Riliane, to her credit, was absolutely horrified by this and protested, even telling him that this was all her fault and she should face punishment for it. Allen, however, didn't give Riliane a choice in the matter. He pushed her into a hidden passageway and locked the door behind him, while he faced the revolutionaries alone. Riliane has not lost everything, even her own identity because the princess was supposed to have been executed. On the brink of starvation, however, she is found by a nun, and taken in. Riliane is still somewhat selfish and bratty, pushing everyone else away, except for the nun who saved her, Clarith. Eventually, Clarith's kindness even manages to make Riliane try being more respectful and help out with the chores at the orphanage.

Clarith understands what it's like to be so alone, as it is something she struggled with her entire life until she made her first friend. And then her friend was killed in the Green Hunt. One night, Riliane goes to the confession box, and admits all of her evil deeds from her time on the throne, then goes out to watch the sea and mourn her brother. And, by complete coincidence, Clarith overheard everything. Knife in hand, Clarith looms closer and closer to Riliane. This is the tyrant who took her dearest friend and razed her village to the ground.

Everyone is dead and gone because of her. Killing her would be justice. Right? But she's a child and she's so lonely. She's just standing there, in the seawater. She knows Clarith is behind her. She knows that Clarith is intending to kill her, and she accepts it. She knows she deserves it for what she's done. But Clarith spares her life, takes pity on her. And furthermore, Clarith helps her adjust to this new life, and the former tyrant resolves to try and become a better person, to honor the sacrifice her brother made. She knows she can never apologize or be forgiven for what she has done.

But that doesn't mean she shouldn't at least try. She spends the rest of her life at the orphanage, raising the children there with love. (This is the propaganda) TLDR: Teenage tyrant loses everything; her kingdom, riches, last remaining family member, even her own identity, and is forced to live the rest of her life with the knowledge and guilt that she has no one to blame for her misfortune but herself. In the end, she is given pity by a person she has hurt directly and tries to honor her brother's sacrifice by being a better person, living humbly and being a loving parent to the orphans at the orphanage. She'd learn nothing if she was simply executed, after all.

Fei Wong Reed

Fei Wong Reed sought to conquer death where the superior magician (Clow Reed, who created Fei Wong by unspecified magical means) failed; he didn't do this because he particularly cared about any dead person, but because he wanted to prove he was better than Clow. he orchestrated a whole plan involving time loops, clones, memories scattered across worlds/dimensions, and pawns arranged for when they were children, but he still failed in the end. he arranged for a group of four people (and their sapient little magical creature) to travel between worlds, unknowingly fulfilling Fei Wong's ends; this group was made up of two clones created by him (one of whom had her memories scattered across worlds by Fei Wong so that he could use her for her powerful magic once the group had gotten all the memories back), a strong fighter who wouldn't have ended up on this journey if Fei Wong hadn't killed his mother when he was a child, and a powerful magician whose secret convoluted backstory meant that he was supposed to betray the rest of the group to Fei Wong (spoilers: when it comes down to it he decides to help the rest of his group instead because they are Found Family). in the end, the group (along with the escaped boy one of the clones was created from (who escaped because one of Fei Wong's other creations let him go)) stops him, and he winds up dead at the hands of the fighter. TLDR: Fei Wong Reed wanted to do an impossible thing just to prove he was better than his creator, he set up an intricate web that brought a specific group of people together to help achieve this task without (most of) their knowledge, and he was then killed by this group of people.

[astradrifting]

Hi! Were there any perspectives in the ASOIAF fandom that made your eyes roll? If there are, what made you say so? Thanks!

[mostly written in 2021, and posted very late. Sorry nonny!]

woof, this could open up a can of worms. I'm almost afraid this is a bait ask but I'm also very willing to run my mouth online about ASOIAF, and I love making fun of dumb theories, so let’s go!

Every time someone says that Jon and Dny are the song of ice and fire, my soul dies a little. Enough said.

I also hate the idea that parallels between ASOIAF history and the events of the books don’t matter. Not to state the obvious, but Westerosi history isn’t real. No part of it actually happened organically, GRRM has manufactured all of it, so everything must have been written with a purpose. I don’t buy that it’s just all world-building, because if parallels are obvious to us, they must be a thousand times more so for the man actually writing it all, and the army of editors who are probably helping him keep it straight.

There is absolutely no way that anything about Jonnel ‘One-Eye’ is a coincidence. Half-brother to Rickon Stark is obvious enough, but then we have his mother. Lynara sounds very similar to Lyanna (side note: a jonsa baby named Lynara would be adorable), but the real link is that she was born a Stark - all of the women on the family tree are listed under their maiden names. Her relation to her husband Cregan isn’t specified; it would have been so easy to have her be from another random house, or even a Karstark, yet what George wanted to convey is that Jonnel has a Stark mother, as well as a Stark father who happened to be heavily involved with the Targaryens.

Another fun thing linking Jonnel to Jon! Jon’s first relationship was with a red headed girl, who claimed that they were married because he’d stolen her. In the same conversation where she’s called half fish…

“You know nothing, Jon Snow. I’m half a fish, I’ll have you know.”

“Half fish, half goat, half horse…there’s too many halves to you, Ygritte.”

(ASOS, Jon V)

this conversation is already jonsa gospel as foreshadowing because of “half-fish”, but the horse part was always a little strange to me. As far as I remember, they didn’t have a prior conversation about her loving horses or riding particularly well, so that was seemingly out of left-field.

Well Jonnel’s second wife was a Ryswell - their sigil is a black horse’s head with a red mane.

pictured: the jonsa agenda winning again

The idea that Stannis will take Winterfell isn’t as personally annoying to me, all these dudebros have very detailed, tactics-based reasons to believe he’ll win I’m sure (something about a nightlamp?), but I just think it doesn’t do anything for the narrative, nor does it make sense with either his arc or Jon and Sansa’s.

Winning Winterfell will put Stannis in a position of strength, give him a base of operations in the North that’s not on loan from the Night’s Watch, and would probably lead to most of the Northern houses swearing allegiance to him, as Manderly has already promised to do. Why would a man in that position ever choose to burn his daughter, his only heir, alive? That is literally one of the few guaranteed book plots we have, so IMO speculation about Stannis all needs to work backwards from this end point; it’s ugly and horrible, and I don’t know if I’ll be able to stomach reading it, but it’s the only ending to his arc that makes sense.

Kinslaying reoccurs time and time again in Stannis’ arc. Kinslaying for his own personal benefit, no less. In his first appearance in ACOK, he listens to Selyse suggest that he kill Renly, then stands by whilst Melisandre kills Maester Cressen, his surrogate father. Cressen raised him and loved him like a son; yet if he had killed Melisandre instead, Stannis would have lost the power she wields for his benefit, the main reason he has a chance at the throne. Later in the book, he implicitly allows his brother to be murdered so that he could gain the Stormlords that had rallied to Renly instead of him (anyone trying to argue that the shadow wasn’t technically Stannis so technically it wasn’t kinslaying will be put in the naughty corner for excessive pedantry). In ASOS, he’s willing to sacrifice his nephew, an innocent 12 year old under his guardianship. He says it’s for the realm, for duty, but really it’s for his destiny. What is the life of a bastard boy against a kingdom so close to his grasp?

It’s escalation. Each time so far he’s had a layer of deniability, but he’s not going to have that in the end. Ordering Shireen’s death himself, murdering his daughter in some desperate bid to secure victory over the Boltons, will be the final step off the cliff. Maybe he’ll have some military victories before that, smarter people than me have no doubt discussed the parallels to the Greek myth of Agamemnon sacrificing his daughter Iphigenia, but I have no doubt Stannis’ story is headed only towards tragedy.

….Turns out that I do have a lot of feelings about Stannis. But to get back to my original point, Jon and Sansa taking Winterfell back together, travelling through the North doing the work and proving themselves as worthy rulers, makes a lot more sense for their future roles in the story than Stannis winning it all for them. It’s also much more affecting and thematically resonant, so I refuse to believe D&D entirely made up that storyline.

I also inevitably end up rolling my eyes whenever I'm bored enough to go onto r/asoiaf, there's always a bad take right on the front page. One that annoyed me enough to go into @istumpysk’s inbox and kickstart my jonsa blogging was one asking what the point of R+L=J even is, because it never amounted to anything and just muddled up J/D being “the song of ice and fire”.

While it gets so close to the point that it’s funny, there’s no way the “song” is going to boil down to a relationship, let alone JD. I would almost buy Jon and Dænerys being the song of ice and fire if Jon actually were just Ned’s bastard, all ‘ice’. Hell, if he really wanted to make a relationship the song of ice and fire, he could have cut out the middleman and made Jon a trueborn Stark from the start - make them starcrossed lovers from warring families, truly ice and truly fire. Utterly boring, but thematically coherent at least. A major point of Jon’s character is that he is both - and something a lot messier than that besides, as a bastard.

It's not all bad on r/asoiaf though, when I went back to look for that post I saw another about how the Titan of Braavos is a Pacific Rim-style mech that will come to life to fight any dragons coming to the city, a theory that I will be championing from this moment henceforth.

Wait, nevermind, in that same thread someone said that Jaehaerys is the sexiest Targ name, so r/asoiaf is immediately cancelled again. That's another fandom perspective that makes me roll my eyes, the idea that Jaehaerys is in any way an acceptable name, especially as Jon's ‘secret’ name.

This 👏 is 👏 Targaryen 👏 propaganda 👏

Just look at it!! How do you even pronounce that? The hill I will most definitely die on is that this name is ugly.

[jonsnowunemploymentera]

Benjen gave Jon a careful, measuring look. “You don’t miss much, do you, Jon? We could use a man like you on the Wall.”

Jon swelled with pride. “Robb is a stronger lance than I am, but I’m the better sword, and Hullen says I sit a horse as well as anyone in the castle.”

“Notable achievements.”

“Take me with you when you go back to the Wall,” Jon said in a sudden rush. “Father will give me leave to go if you ask him, I know he will.”

Uncle Benjen studied his face carefully. “The Wall is a hard place for a boy, Jon.”

“I am almost a man grown,” Jon protested. “I will turn fifteen on my next name day, and Maester Luwin says bastards grow up faster than other children.”

“That’s true enough,” Benjen said with a downward twist of his mouth. He took Jon’s cup from the table, filled it fresh from a nearby pitcher, and drank down a long swallow.

“Daeron Targaryen was only fourteen when he conquered Dorne,” Jon said. The Young Dragon was one of his heroes.

“A conquest that lasted a summer,” his uncle pointed out. “Your Boy King lost ten thousand men taking the place, and another fifty trying to hold it. Someone should have told him that war isn’t a game.” He took another sip of wine. “Also,” he said, wiping his mouth, “Daeron Targaryen was only eighteen when he died. Or have you forgotten that part?”

“I forget nothing,” Jon boasted. The wine was making him bold. He tried to sit very straight, to make himself seem taller. “I want to serve in the Night’s Watch, Uncle.”

In fandom, we often talk about Jon’s antics in his first AGOT chapter - e.g., boasting about being the better swordsman than Robb, his admiration of Daeron I, his insistence that he is a man and not a boy - as evidence of his immaturity. And there’s nothing wrong with that interpretation at all - I for one think that it’s very valid - but I rarely ever see this exchange with Benjen put in its full context; more specificallyy, the full context of what’s happening this entire chapter (and honestly what’s being going on in Jon’s life up to that point).

Because there’s something so…depressing and tragic about a fourteen year old boy desperately trying to grow up faster than is necessary because once he is a man, then there must be a place for him in this world. Because this exchange with Benjen is not happening in a vacuum. It arises out of the situation where the delineation between Jon’s social status and that of his siblings has been made ever more clear: his siblings get to sit at the high table with the visiting royal family whereas Jon has to sit with the squires far away from familiar company. But more importantly, he is a Snow and his siblings are Starks. They have a place of belonging (afforded to them by their Stark name) whereas he does’t (because he’s a bastard).

So Jon has to nurse his wounds with the belief that despite his bastardy, there has to be something he can do to belong. And what can he do, except grow up and be a man? At…fourteen years old?

So even though Robb can sit among royalty, Jon can still hold a sword just as well (in fact better) and ride a horse. He can be great too, not because of his name but because of his ability; but I do have to quibble with Benson’s (seemingly) sarcastic response to Jon’s answers here. Are you even bothering to actually listen to what Jon is saying, Uncle Ben?

And I have to admit that it makes me quite angry that the notion of bastards growing up faster than trueborns is not at all challenged among the characters. Do bastards actually grow up faster, or are they forced to fend for themselves faster than trueborns naturally would, just like Jon is in this chapter? It certainly doesn’t help that Benjen agrees with he statement, despite literally contradicting it just some few minutes earlier (by saying that Jon is just a boy and thus too young to make any life decisions for himself - like joining the Watch).

And as I was pondering on this, I realized that Jon really has been getting contradictory “advice” all his life: he’s a bastard so he has to grow up faster and cut his childhood short so he can make use of himself, but he’s actually a boy so his abilities and desires to advance are only a boy’s delusions, but then he has to join the watch and be a man and do a man’s job (and make a man’s sacrifices as Luwin would put it 🙄), but then he’s still a boy at the end of it all.

Given all this emotional and mental whiplash, Jon is actually quite well adjusted. I couldn’t imagine having to be pulled into 1000 different directions because at the heart of it the question is: is he a man or is he a boy? And what can he do, boy or man that he is, because he’s still a bastard?

I think this chapter shows that no one really bothered to sit Jon down and tell him that it’s okay to be a child, and that he doesn’t have to age far beyond his years because there’ll be someone to look out for him.

Worse yet, this chapter shows a young boy desperate to find a place for himself in the world, because no one else bothered to do so.

[yarrystyleeza]

Happy 200 Sleepover Celebration! Kiss Marry Yeet: Matt Murdock, Tristan Thorne, or Michael Kinsella. This or That: Breakfast or Dinner? Comfort Movie or Comfort TV show? Milk to Dark chocolate? Reading or Writing? Girly talk: Tell me about your favorite childhood toys, accesories,books, etc you wish you still owned. Rate This Music: Melt by Shaed

Thank you so much my dear, I loved the colorful header so much 😆💞💞💞

KISS MARRY YEET

Oh my god this is so phucking hard, I'm cryinggg 😭😭😭

I would kiss Tristan, he's just so tiny and cute, I just can't imagine anything bad happening to him he's such a baby 😭😭😭

I would Marry Michael, I can't even express how much I want him to wife me, he's the perfect man. 😩💞

And unfortunately, I will have to YEET Matt (don't yeet me please I can explain 🤣🤣🤣). Matt can survive this, he almost died twice before (s1 and defenders), I'm pretty sure he could survive me yeeting him. 😬

I love you Matt I'm so sorry 😭😭😭😭😭

This or That

Breakfast or dinner:

Basically dinner, it has more tasty options LIKE CHIMKENNN

Comfort movie or comfort TV show:

It kinda depends on how much time I have, but I would go for comfort movie here.

Milk or dark chocolate:

I'd go with milk chocolate, it's softer and is something in my comfort zone, I eat dark chocolate for fun.

Reading or writing:

Reading in general is easier for me, but writing is my hobby, so... I guess I'm choosing writing this time

Girly talk

Things I wish I still owned:

This actually reminded me of a little Pikachu rubber Keychain I had when I was 4, unfortunately I lost it back in middle school, I cried a lot that day 😂😭😭

Another thing is the top part of my One Direction merch pj's that I lost on vacation 7 years ago, I LITERALLY LOST THE TOP WHICH HAD ALL 1D BOYS FACES IN PINK HEARTS LIKE UGHHHHGHGHGH. I'm still so mad about losing it, it was Hella expensive and also a gift from my mom, I still think it was stolen idk I have trust issues 😂

I had a little rubber ball when I was seven, it jumped in the toilet 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣 very terrible fate

Also I had a transparent blue horse toy, it would literally shine in the light, I lost it in my grandparents house, it was never seen again, like it had vanished into thin air.

MY DAREDEVIL PIN, IT WAS ONLY 6 MONTHS OLD, AND MY FRIEND PAINTED IT FOR ME. I was coming back home from a very exhausting shopping day for my sister's wedding, and it was pinned on my denim jacket, and suddenly it wasn't there. 😭😭😭😭😭

I just went down a memory lane and that was a hell of a ride 🤣💞

Rate this music

Melt by SHAED

I listened to the song last night, it's actually good, her voice is really good, but the type of beat is not really my type of music so I would give it a solid 8/10. Would listen to it again surely.

Thank you for coming to my sleepover, you're one of my favorites 🥰🥰🥰

[lettherebemonsters]

Hey Spooky!! I have come to find and give you, yes you! An open invitation OOC to gush about anything you’d like! Is there anything about your characters you haven’t gotten the chance to? Any dynamics you want to express your love for, like Maurice and Kenny, or general musings about Springtrap! Anything you’d like! My ears are open and so is my heart to the clown lads! Haha

FFFFF-My luscious bunny bun! You know how much I like to gush. I'm a damn river here lol.

I definitely wanna talk about all my clown bois lol.

But let's focus on Kenneth and his favorite horsey Maurice. I definitely believe that Kenneth had absolutely nobody all his life. His father abused him horrifically to the point that, even as an immortal slasher, he's covered in gruesome scars. He's definitely got a psychiatric disorder like autism or ADHD (or both), leading to his father beating him harder. His mother died having him, Kenneth almost died with her but somehow survived.

Due to the horrific abuse and complete lack of family or support, he became isolated, reclusive and angry. He lost all trust in humanity and not even teachers who wanted to help him could break through the damages caused by the neglect.

Team sports could have given him a chance to find his own family but he didn't trust anyone anymore and bolted rather than give others a chance.

As such, he was alone. Even escaping he was alone. It wasn't until shortly after joining the circus that he found someone who truly loved him back....Maurice.

Kenneth helped Maurice's mother deliver him but the mare rejected her baby. So, instead of letting fate claim the newborn, Kenneth took the foal and raised him.

This is why he's so tightly bonded to his horse. Not only is Maurice his only friend, in most cases, he's the closest Kenneth will ever have to a child of his own and a family.

The Clown hates humanity and doesn't regret half the stuff he's done......but he loves his horse. And damn anyone who tries to harm his fur baby.

As for Clowntrap......literally his whole family is clown coded. So what's with people shitting on Clown Springtrap when literally his WIFE AND DAUGHTER are clowns??? I just don't get it.

And Clowntrap is completely insane. Decades locked away in agony destroyed what humanity he had in him. He also suffers from psychosis and the sheer stress of running Fazbear and the subsequent loss of his children made his medication stop working.

Charlie was never supposed to die.....William had planned on killing himself. She just happened to be at the wrong place, wrong time that he went crazy. Killing Charlie was like killing one of his own and the regret he had poisoned him until he had nothing left inside him.

He also grew to hate Henry Emily and vows to destroy him and make him suffer an eternity of agony, blaming him for what he became.

William is incapable of taking responsibility for his actions. If he did....he'd shatter completely.

[cals-are-gross]

FUCK

Vent?

So much shit has happened in the past month and I've been so busy but also have nothing to do and everything makes me want to breakdown. I can't even handle someone calling my name without almost breaking down, except I physically can't breakdown bc idek why but my body is being really fucking weird. I got jn a huge fight with my bsf and now I don't feel like I can trust her or anything but I'm scared to tell her that bc the fight we had started bc I tried speaking abt my emotions and how I was upset that she ditched me. But she got mad and started insulting the shit out of me (telling me no one would care if I died and that I'm pathetic and embarrassing bc I don't have friends irl and so much more but tbh I've blocked all that shit out, idek what it was) my boyfriend is in the middle of a 2 fucking hurricanes rn and I can't talk to him and haven't been able to for like the past week, it's driving me insane. All my friends have basically stopped talking and everyone is dry. My mother gets mad at me for no fucking reason and yells all day, tells me she's gonna sell my cats, goats, dogs, chickens, horses, etc. My dad is never home and when he is home he like. Avoids us or sleeps. My cousin came over and was being a bitch to me (she called me a fucking zebra bc she saw my scars.) (I didn't like it) it's basically a heatwave where I live and I've been on the verge of passing out for 5 months straight, all day everyday, even though I get forced to eat. That's another problem. I get forced to eat. I have no privacy whatsoever, my mother takes my phone whenever she wants and searches it, I only get 2 hours a day on my phone which means I can't really talk to my bsf anymore, and honestly I don't even know if I want to. I'm scared of being pathetic like she said I am. Maybe I already am. My horse has lost an immense amount of weight while growing and she isn't getting enough food but I'm broke as fuck and my parents said they aren't gonna do shit for my horses bc they're my responsibility so I can't buy the weight supplements for her and it's absolutely killing me bc I'm a horrible owner. I feel sick 24/7 and no one knows why, I can't eat a single peice of food without feeling like shit after (physically) but since I'm a fatass I can't fucking stop myself from binging the whole day which is absolutely amazing and I haven't gained a single pound😍🫦 (I'm scared to weigh myself but I've probably gained 10lbs again) I'm always so stressed it's actually horrible.

The only good shit that's happened is that I got my other horse to trust me. Literally only one good thing has happened.

Fuck life.

Anyway, sorry I came back like this, pookies<3 that's just whats been happening in this thing we call life

[al1x00]

⚠️CHAPTER 9 SPOILERS⚠️

OUCHH THE NIGHTMARE😭😭😭 WHY YOU GOTTA HURT ME LIKE THAT KATY?

Hobie letting himself be vulnerable with R is such a stark contrast to the beginning of OPIN. He would never, EVER, let any emotion slip past him, almost like he was afraid of having his feelings exposed, while now he allows himself to show just how much his traumas affected him and isn't afraid to cry in front of R. HE'S JUST A LITTLE PRECIOUS GUY LET HIM LIVE HAPPILY FOR ONCE

When R said the thing about desensitizing the horses to the ducks it reminded me of a video I saw about that but with a cat instead and it was one of the goofiest things I ever saw I swear😭 Imagine R and Hobie holding up the ducks to the horses while they go around in circles or some shit LMAOO

“It doesn't matter. We have forever now.” SJAKDJKBNAS I'M CRYING AND SCREAMING WTF THEY LOVE EACHOTHER SO MUCH I'M LITERALLY SOBBING.

OH MY GOD THE LETTERS?? I WOULD START CRYING ON THE SPOT TBH.

Also I love how they're both healing their emotional trauma together, all throught reassurements and making up for the time they lost together. They're always so gentle and understanding with eachother because they both just need that right now, to be at peace with eachother and take a quiet life.

“You said that last time and we didn't get anything done the whole day.” OH😳 KATY DOES THIS IMPLY WHAT I THINK IT'S IMPLYING?

“Maybe if we shave your head it might suit you.” BDAS HOBIE REFERENCE??? MAYHAPS?

KATY WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK DFDKNA SKDA I'M CRYING SO BADLY. NOT ONLY R'S "HUSBAND" SHOWED UP, BUT EVEN HICKS AND SHERIFF LEE? WTF DID THEY HAVE A "WORST MEN EVER" REUNION AND DECIDED TO GANG UP? LIKE WTF

You honestly made me hate Cross only with the first two words he said. I hate that man with my guts and I totally understand why R ran away from that place. He's not only egoistical, but so sure of himself he doesn't see the consequences of his actions and how cruel he is. Same with Hicks. I'm genuinely physically repulsed by them because anytime I read a line that refers to them I make a disgusted face

THEY'RE HORRIBLE I HOPE THEY HAVE A GRUESOME DEATH

YESS THE BITCH DIED YAYYY (Kinda sad R didn't get to kill her but happy anyway because now she has croaked🥰)

Also I'm so worried for Hobie and Clover too because if they really burned the house to the ground they killed Clover too because she was in there😭😭 MY POOR BABY LET HER LIVE

it's all fun and games until they kill the dog. That's where I draw the line tbh.

NONONONO DON'T TELL ME THAT SON OF A BITCH KILLED HOBIE KATY YOU CAN'T DO THIS TO ME I CAN'T HANDLE ANY SAD ENDINGS AFTER TF

ALSO THE PARALLELS BETWEEN THE DAY FIVE YEARS BEFORE WHEN HOBIE WAS BURIED UNDER THE OAK TREE AND IT WAS RAINING IN THAT OCCASION TOO? SO COOL HOW IT PARALLELS TO WHAT WAS HAPPENING NOW IN THE SOUTH

Also they're so cruel like, they burned R and Hobie's house to the ground, the very house they were finally living a happy life in, and then decided to try and bury Hobie RIGHT BEHIND IT? THAT'S HORRENDOUS.

THANK GOD HE'S ALIVE AND HICKS HAS A SHIT AIM OH MY GOODNESS I HAD A MINI HEART ATTACK FOR A SECOND

CLOVER MY BABYYY SHE'S ALIVE AND WELL AND HELPING HOBIE

AND FINALLY WE HAVE RIRI AND THAT OLD MEXICAN MAN TO HELP. God this chapter was a whirlwind of emotions, but I loved it so much just like all the other ones. Honestly I'm a bit sad the next chapter's gonna be the last but OPIN has been such a great fic until now and I can't wait to see what you got in store for the finale. As always you did an amazing job I LOVED IT I LOVED IT I LOVED IT THANK YOU KATY❤️❤️LYSM

By Hook or By Crook

Pairing: Cowboy! Hobie Brown x fem! Reader

Word count: 11.2 k

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

Our Place in the Middle of Nowhere Masterlist

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CHAPTER 9 >>> CHAPTER 10

Hobie's nightmares are few and far between now that you sleep beside him. But on the rare occasion that it haunts him, it's always horrific. His own mind betrays him, the fog of a nightmarish scene unfolds like theatre curtains; where you're the star, a bleeding, screaming star of the night. It always starts off with you in place of him. Hicks has you in his iron grip, while his men, men that you've known since you were a little girl taunt you with the same disgusting words they threw at him.

He can never forget how your face contorted into a horrified expression when you see Hicks brandishing the knife in front of you. All the while, Hobie stands there, motionless, in place of the same oak tree bearing your name. As if your fate is predestined, your own tombstone carved above the shallow grave they're about to throw you in. It happens just like how he remembered it. Hicks, your own uncle, slices your throat with a cackle; while rain pelts down upon you, drenching your lace dress, mixing in with your blood gushing out of your neck in waves. Thunder and lightning cracks above, and you're thrown into the pit where they bury you alive.

You try to claw your way out, nails digging into the dirt, staining your once soft hands. Gasping for air, Hobie is unable to look away— how could he when he stays rooted on the spot of your tree?

As the storm pours down, your lungs filled with dirt and rain water, he watches as you slowly lose the light behind your eyes; falling limp, chest completely frozen as you stare up at the night sky. Hobie tries to scream, desperately uprooting himself off the soil, but it's not enough. You lay there unblinking, dead before they could cover your whole body with the same earthly soil you once stood upon with him. The last thing you saw was the leaves dancing in the wind, the last thing you saw was him, unable to save you one last time.

You hold him in bed until the trembling stops, you'll hold him forever if need be. Hobie's embracing your middle, face tucked just above your ribs, hiding his red puffy eyes from you while you knead at his nape. Your other hand cradles his elbow, fingers drawing patterns on his skin to calm him down. With every sniffle, you squeeze him tighter against you, and love filled words spilling out of your mouth to comfort him further.

You've told him a hundred times before that it was just a nightmare concocted by his mind that was caused by the trauma he has experienced. But you know that he understands that it isn't real, but you'll tell him a thousand times more to ease his worries because he once told you that it helps. You'll do anything to support him, and maybe one day his nightmares will finally fade away. Until then, you'll hold him and keep him grounded to the present.

His silent sobs have subsided, hand splayed over your stomach to feel your warmth. Dawn is peeking through the light blue curtains you've put up in the shared bedroom. You're surrounded in hues of brilliant blue, as if the sky itself presents itself inside your small bedroom.

The room is sparsely decorated, save for a large wardrobe at the other end of the room. You were too occupied to decorate the house. If you had enough time in between tending to the garden and the house, you'd decorate your home with things you and Hobie love— place photographs of you two, trinkets that remind you of the good days back home; and fill it with shared memories. You promise once everything is settled, you'd put your time and effort in making the place more homely. For now, you'll settle for filling the abode with warmth and your love for eachother.

The almost sheer fabric of the curtains does nothing to shield you from the light, but with the soft blue hue coming from the heavens above, and the cool breeze passing by, blowing the curtains around the sparsely decorated room— it helps him calm down. Hobie feels like he's floating above a cloud with you hugging him, lips pecking gently against the crown of his head with so much love he feels it in his chest. Blossoming, spreading around his limbs, tending to him and comforting him slowly.

You flick your eyes over to him, inadvertently meeting with his own that has been searching for the light behind your eyes. “I think we need ducks.”

Hobie cracks a smile, green eyes lingering on your soft grin. “Why ducks?” His voice is still hoarse so he clears his throat as you continue to massage at his nape. Making sure that he doesn't get a crick in his neck from how he's looking up at you with tender eyes.

“They hunt pests, it'll help the farm.”

“Where'd you learn that?” He humours you, hand cupping your side; such affection could only come from him.

You chuckle while your fingers play with his baby hairs clinging to his nape. “From my books.”

Hobie cuddles closer, nose nudging your stomach. “Buck and Cherry won't like ‘em. Clover might even eat ‘em.”

You snort, tamping down another laugh as if your laughter will disturb the peace when it's the opposite for him. “If we desensitize the horses they'll like them. And I'm sure Clover won't eat the ducks.” Hobie pulls himself up, tear stained cheeks illuminated by the dwindling oil lamp; chin placed on your chest. “We can build a coop for them, then have duck eggs every morning.”

“Have you tried duck eggs before, lovie?” His knuckles brush along your jaw, emerald eyes swimming with emotion. Sometimes you wish you could hear his thoughts so you could do a better job at comforting him. Like he does to you, he's better at that than you.

“I don't think so. Do they taste bad?”

“Nah,” his voice is soft, as if he's whispering secrets only to you. “It tastes the same as regular chicken eggs.”

You reach for his nose, squeezing it once before letting go. “I'll take your word for it, farmer Hobie.”

He chuckles, cheek pressed gently on top of your chest, straining his ear to hear your heartbeat. “‘Farmer Hobie,’ I never thought I'd hear that.”

“Don't like it?” With your thumb, you wipe the remaining tears clinging on his eyelashes. “How about ‘rancher Hobie?’”

“It sounds better than outlaw Hobie. Whatever you want to call me, love.” He pulls himself up more, face tucked in the crook of your neck. You cradle his head, nails scratching lightly at his scalp. “I'll be there.”

“Good, you know I don't like waiting.” You joke, eyes slowly closing while you fight a yawn. “We can go back to sleep, Hobs. It's still early.” You feel his presence above you, eyes cracking open, you see him frown. “You okay?”

“'m sorry that we lost all that time together.” He sniffs, inhaling sharply. Eyes finding your own.

You smile, helping him ease up. “It doesn't matter. We have forever now.” Hands cradling his face, you peck his lips then his eyelids as he closes his eyes. It's a simple act, a small one but it wraps his heart in silk and warmth. He feels like that lovelorn boy he left behind a long time ago.

“I need to show you somethin'” He whispers against your lips.

You quirk a brow, lips pursed into a gentle smile. “Okay, show me.” Hobie kisses your cheek before leaning away. The mattress squeaks as he leaves your side, you already feel empty and cold.

You watch as he crouches down on the foot of the bed. There's a scraping noise when he pulls something from underneath. Propping your elbows up, you crane your neck to see what he's doing. Wood scraping against wood, you see him lugging it towards the side of the bed. It's a large wooden trunk that's carved with simple patterns. There's nothing out of the ordinary about it, nothing but metal inlays and a lock where a key would go. Your heart thumps loudly, filled with trepidation as Hobie takes an old rusted key hidden under the bedside table. Crawling towards the edge of the bed, you peek as he opens it.

“Please don't tell me that's where you're hiding your millions.” You joke just as when the smell of old paper akin to weathered books hits your nose. “Oh,” you almost cried at the sight of hundreds of letters piled inside. They all bear his name and yours where the recipient would be. Your letters dwarf next to his own, yours are wrapped in a red ribbon that's placed next to his own pile. “Hobie—”

“I kept it all, I used to write everyday, but I got busy. I never forgot, Y/N. I never forgot you.” You choke back a sob whilst he roams his eyes around the contents of the trunk. His hands reached inside to grab a leather bound book. He finally looks at you, staring at your tear filled eyes. “D’you remember this?” Holding up the book, you smile at the worn out title. You remember the gold painted on it, now it has been worn down from years of it being read.

Heart stuck in your throat, you could only beckon him over back to your side. “Come here please.” You sniff, and he complies. Reaching for your hand as you help him up on the bed. Hobie places himself in-between your legs, back laying on your chest as his hands flip towards the front page of the book. “‘Candide,’ how could I forget?” You wrap your arms around him while your legs are crossed around his waist. You're his personal pillow, you've accepted the role earnestly. “I never asked how you liked it.”

“Your confession trumped how much I liked the book.” Hobie takes your hand to peck the back of it, eyes reading the three words you wrote years ago. “‘I love you,’” he reads the brief inscription you wrote on the front page. It's short, but you'd write it on every wall you encounter, on every surface; carve it on mountains and even the sky itself if you could. “I thought it was as absurd as the book itself.”

You chuckle against the crown of his head, “I remember the way you ran towards me after you saw it.” His lips felt like morning dew against your own that day. It was heaven sent for him and for you.

“This is the only thing I could grab before I had to leave. It was just this, all my savings and the clothes on my back.”

“I'm sorry,” you hide behind his shoulder, sobs wracking your body as he holds onto you tightly. You should've been there, fought harder to be by his side. All you could do now is lament on your grief and longing for time lost.

“Never mind that, it's over now.” Hobie pats your cheek, “the trunk is yours, love. If you want it.”

You peek over his shoulder, blinking at the large amount of letters that would surely have you sobbing even more. “You'd let me read it all?”

“They're all addressed to you. ‘sides, I read all of yours. It's only fair that you read mine.”

You wipe a fallen tear, sniffing while a moment passes in comfortable silence. He senses your feelings, twisting around, he cups your cheek before laying his forehead on your own. “I never blamed you for everythin’ that happened.”

A weight is lifted off your chest, a weight that you never realized was there since you've gotten used to the burden. “I–I never truly hated you for leaving.” Eyes closed, you rub his shoulders, comforting him and yourself at the same time. “I wrote it a hundred times in my letters.”

“I know, I read all of them. Now it's your turn to read all my…” He inhales sharply, letting your scent ground him to the present. “...complicated thoughts.”

“Complicated thoughts comes with loving someone.” Pulling away, you kiss him gently. Hobie has placed his whole heart in your hands, and you intend to keep it safe and tucked right beside your own. Or perhaps you've given him yours years ago.

—

After spending hours in bed, letters in hand and Hobie sleeping soundly next to you; you've only read half of the letters he wrote for you. Some made you quietly weep as he wrote about his struggles in the new world without you by his side. Some have made you laugh with his almost incoherent scribbles, notes that he has written while deep in amber liquid and under the fog of longing. It was almost noon when you two finally decided to leave the comfort of the bed to eat and go about your day to day chores.

Hobie decided to make breakfast for the two of you, or brunch is the better way to put it. After feeding Clover and both horses, you come home to a neatly set table. Bowls of fruit, bread and butter with oatmeal on the side sit prettily inside the new porcelains you bought from town. The table is complete with a red checkered table cloth, and plush roses inside a vase placed in the middle.

You stop in the doorway, watching him whistle a tune as he straightens the utensils. “I love it when you go the extra mile.”

Hobie perks his head up, sun shining on the delight etched on his face. “Can’t help it, love, you're contagious.” He eyes your blue poncho that he gifted to you a while ago. “I spend all this time with you, it's impossible not to catch your flawless manners.” He's already reaching towards you as you close the distance.

You place yourself in his arms, palms flat on his chest. “You make it sound like I gave you an incurable disease.”

Index finger on your jaw, he wipes away sweat from your heated skin. You notice the gun belt around his waist that pokes your hip, you don't mention why he started carrying even in the comfort of your home. You know why he does.

“I don't mind dyin’ from it.” He starts to peck your forehead and then he moves down to your parted lips, but you lean away teasingly before he reaches your waiting lips. With a furrowed brow, he tilts his head questioningly.

“Easy there, cowboy. We just got out of bed.” You reluctantly pull away even though you wanted the kiss as much as he did. Patting his bicep, you walk towards the kitchen to wash your hands.

“What do you mean? It's just a quick snog, love.” He leans on the table with one arm, the other nonchalantly inside his jean pocket. He clearly knows what he's doing to you. Sun rays part around him, bathing him in godly light.

You laugh, looking away before you pounce on him, hands in the water basin as you scrub the grime off your hands. “You said that last time and we didn't get anything done the whole day.”

Shrugging, he pulls the chair away from the table for you. Wood scraping on hardwood, smirk thrown your way. “It was one time. ‘sides, we finished all our chores before the sun went down.”

Drying your hand, you walk back to him. You poke his chest with a chuckle, he feigns hurt, making you laugh even more. “Bucky and Cherry were ignoring us after because their food was late.” Sitting down, you roll your eyes, “and it wasn't just that one time, Hobs.”

Hobie slides the chair back in, quickly kissing the crown of your head before sitting next to you, not at the head of the table like you thought he would the first time you two shared a meal together. You love all the subtle ways he shows you his love without saying the three words.

He gestures between you and him, “combined effort, love.”

You flick his ear, heat settling on your cheeks. “I know, I was there.” mumbling, you grab the pitcher of orange juice to pour one in his glass then over to yours whilst he spreads butter on your bread.

“You love flickin’ my bloody ear.” His arm is comfortably placed over the back of your chair, fingers brushing along the top of your head. “How would you feel if I started flicking your ear, hm?”

Covering your ear, you dramatically gasp. “It's still healing, how dare you?” Despite your words, your smile betrays you.

Hobie chuckles, “you can barely see the scar now, love.”

“It still hurts, sometimes.”

“Wait, really?” The sarcasm goes over his head until you give him a look that says ‘I’m clearly joking.’ He sighs, relief in his viridescent eyes. “You had me, I was about to bring you to the doctor.” The last word doesn't send you spiraling anymore after what happened last time with a certain doctor.

Scooping up a spoonful of oatmeal with blackberries, you bring it to Hobie's mouth. “You're a worrywart, Hobs. And I love you for it, now eat. We have so much to do today.”

Smiling, he clamps his mouth shut. “Yeah, but what if we just stay in bed instead—” he gets cut off by oatmeal gently shoved in his mouth. Laughing, he almost chokes from amusement.

He loves this, the domesticity, the shared affection and everything in between. He now sees the beauty in the mundane, the peace in uneventful days. After what seemed like decades of longing and bone aching grief, he feels like he's finally living again

After eating, you pick up plates even though Hobie told you a dozen times that he'll clean up. Once you shut him up with a quick kiss, he immediately relents and continues to drink his coffee.

You come around his seat, taking his finished plate. Before you could leave, he dips his head down backwards to look up at you. “Don't wash them yet, let me help you, yeah?”

With one hand cupping his chin, stubble prickling your palm, you squeeze tenderly. “You made breakfast, so that means I get to clean.” He starts to shake his head, but your hand stops him, making him scrunch his nose. “Combined effort, right?”

As you brush your hand along his scruff, you can see that he's surrendering. “Fine, at least let me dry it.” Beaming down at him, you can't seem to move away from him, hand still running along his jaw. “Do I need to shave?”

“No, it's growing on me actually.”

“Funny, it's growing on me too.”

“Haha.” You walk away with the plates as he hides his laugh behind his mug.

Finishing his drink, as the warmth settles in his stomach, he saunters over to you with the remaining dishes. “D’you think a beard would suit me?” Appearing next to you, he grabs a clean towel, drying the clean plates just like he promised.

“Maybe if we shave your head it might suit you.” Teasing and giggling Hobie splashes water on your cheek. “Completely joking, my love. I like whatever you decide to do. Even if it's a mustache.”

“And they say ‘m the bloody menace.” He pretends to glare at you, but you flash him with a flutter of your eyelashes, melting his façade on the spot. You shake your head with a grin, a comfortable silence settles, save for the sound of water sloshing around the basin and birds chirping outside.

Your matching rings gleam in the sun with the kitchen window in front of you that's facing the backyard. You've gotten used to this life, yet you still can't believe you're living it. It's hard to think that you were running away and starving just barely six months ago. Now you're living the life you always hoped you would be in.

You've forgotten what you were worrying about in the first place.

“What are your plans today, love?” He dries his hands before he takes yours to dry with a clean towel. Gently wiping, he waits for your answer while you think.

“Pick some tomatoes for Riri, you remember how she loved the last batch?” You love it when he dotes on you.

“Yeah, she was raving ‘bout it.”

You hum, “then maybe try again with your surprise.”

Hobie pauses from drying your hands. “You're still not goin’ to tell me what it is?”

Shaking your head, you stare at him with a cheeky smile, and eyes sparkling. “Nope,” he doesn't know that you're trying to breed a new variant of roses that would bloom in the same shade as his eyes. It's a lot harder than you thought it would be, but you persevere especially after one of the saloon's band members lent you a book all about it. “I think I'm close to getting it.”

“As long as it's not going to blow up in my face.” His hands clasps your own, tilting his head with a raised brow.

“For the last time, I didn't know that combining those two cleaning agents would make the bucket explode.” You both chortle at the memory. “But I think it's about to rain though. So I might just help you fix the floors in the spare bedrooms.”

Hobie glances at the window, seeing a clear blue sky without any hints of grey clouds nor rain. “Let me guess, knee hurtin’ again?”

You nod, “exactly. Wanna bet like last time since you still don't trust my knee rule?”

“It’s not an exact science.”

“And yet I've been right ninety percent of the time.”

“Ninety?” He slyly wraps you in his arms, you let him wholeheartedly. “Try seventy.”

“You either bet or you don't, Hobie.”

Nudging your nose lovingly, he peppers your face with featherlight kisses. You softly smile, clay in his arms, eyes closed as he dusts your skin with kisses. “Fine,” kiss “I'll bite.” He smooches each corner of your eyes. “How much?”

“I think you're already paying in advance.” You don't blame him when you two didn't finish any chores for today. It is a combined effort as you let him in your saccharine embrace.

—

Hobie waits for you by the porch with a cigarette in between his lips, smoke wafting in the air. The sun is slowly setting, orange and pinks dancing along Clover's face as she paws on his leg. Her eyes are big and glinting in the afternoon hues. A breeze carries the smoke away into oblivion just as when Cherry and Buckeye make their way inside the barn like clockwork.

“Your treat is comin’, stop whinin’.” He pats her head briefly. If dogs could frown, Clover would be giving him the deepest lour. “You've become spoiled, girl.” His fingers scratch behind her ear, tail wagging from side to side, yet she still whines for her afternoon treat.

The front door opens with a creak, Hobie sighs from the sound, thinking that he has finally fixed the stubborn hinges. But alas, it still declares every time it opens. His furrowed brows are replaced by a gentle smile the second he sees you saunter out with two mugs of tea in both hands. Still gorgeous in your poncho that seems to camouflage you with the house paint.

He quickly snuffs the cigarette, and flicks it away from you. Waving away the remaining smoke, he holds his hands towards you, one to hold one of the mugs, the other to hold onto your waist.

“There you are.” He beams at you, palms meeting with the drink’s warmth and your affection. “Run into some trouble?”

You grin at him and his habitual sweetness. “Here I am.” Pecking his cheek, you place yourself on the porch railing, eyes never leaving his own. Hand brushing along Clover's head, petting her. “You didn't even wait that long.”

“Seemed like forever to me, love.” Hobie clinks his mug against your own, earning a soft chuckle from you. Taking a sip, he makes a face, scrunching up his nose with a groan.

“What's wrong? Shit, did I mistake salt for sugar again?” You take his mug, tasting it for yourself. His tea barely tastes like anything, if anything else, it tastes bitter and akin to dirt. You clearly forgot to add sugar and milk just like how he likes it with this tea variant. You don't blame him for disliking it, the shop in town ran out of the good tea so you both had to settle with whatever is floating in the mug. “Fuck, I'm sorry, I'll remake it.”

“Oi, oi.” Before you could leave his side, Hobie reaches for your hip, arm snaking around it to pull you back to him. “I can handle it, stay with me, yeah?”

You feign a huff, placing your own mug on the railing, bringing your arms around his neck to pull him impossibly closer to you. Hip to hip, you beam at him whilst his hands rests upon your hips. You two look like you're about to dance. “I appreciate the sentiment, Hobs, but I can't let you drink bland tea.” You're sure that you forgot to put honey in your own.

He shrugs while Clover watches from the side, puppy dog eyes waiting for her treat. “I've got all the sugar and sweetness right ‘ere.” Leaning down, he places his forehead against your own. He then pecks the tip of your nose, all the while never leaving the comfort of staring into your eyes.

“I knew you'd say that.” You giggle, hands balling around his shirt. His eyes shine brightly, emeralds mixing in with the soft orange.

“You psychic now?” He raises a playful brow.

“Nope, I just know you, Hobie Brown.” You slide your hands away from his shirt to his chin, scruff scratching you a bit. “And I know you hate this tea without milk and sugar.”

“I can live without it for one drink.”

“And what? You can't live without me for even a moment?” You tease, and you now notice Clover's waiting but polite stare.

Hobie smiles, tilting away to then bend back in to kiss your lips gently. His hand holds your chin in place while you smile into the kiss, eyes closed but you still see the soft afternoon glow behind your closed eyelids. With one last peck, lips brushing along your own, he gives you his answer without saying a word.

You open your eyes with a breathy sigh, warmth filling your entire chest. “Do that again when I come back.”

“Love.” He sounds like he's pleading.

“I'll make your tea better this time.” You pat his cheek. “Besides, I forgot Clover's beef jerky.” With the utterance of her name, Clover stands up, wagging her tail with her tongue lolling out on the side of her maw. You're already moving away backwards, but his hand still holds onto your arm. You take both drinks, careful not to spill and waste any. As you go, his palm slides down, still trying to make you stay. “Five minutes, Hobs. Give me five and I'll be back.” You giggle when he stomps his foot like a petulant child.

“I'll be waitin', countin’ down the seconds.” he exhales dramatically, making sure that his longing is clearly shown. You laugh as Clover follows you inside. “It's my beef jerky by the way!” He yells, earning a muffled guffaw from you.

Smiling, Hobie returns to rest on the railing, elbow propped up, leaning and relaxing on the bannister. He refrains from lighting another stick of cigarette so he could keep his promise to you of quitting smoking. Fiddling with a loose thread on his sleeve, his ears perk up from the sound of hooves thumping on the ground. Hobie's heart immediately skips a beat from the sound. His hand stays on his gun as he leaves the porch to see where the horses are coming from. He's not expecting any visitors, and from how loud the sound is, there seems to be a dozen of them coming his way.

Everything screams at him to take you and run.

His worry quickly rushes to you, as he twists and turns to spot where they're all coming from, he finally sees them coming down from hills. A dozen or so of them unmistakably gallop towards the farm. They're fast, leaving everything in the dust behind them.

There's no time to run away. And there's too many of them to fight off.

“Y/N!” He yells. “Stay inside!” There's no sound coming from the house, not even your footsteps as the strangers come closer and closer within a second until they all appear from behind the farmhouse with a couple of horses missing from the line. He takes notice of them, afraid of what will happen.

Dust flies around the farm, the clover covered ground gets trampled by hooves. They stop a mere inches away from your precious plants, surrounding him. Horses huff and neigh just as when dust settles, showing Hobie all their riders faces. He doesn't recognize any of them, and none of them stands out from the crowd. Except for the one leading the party, he's clad in a white suit with a pitch black tie. Eyes as green as the grass he's standing on, hair slicked back, revealed when he took off his matching hat.

Hobie stands before them, hand on his gun, posture ready to quick draw. “You’re trespassin’”

“Sorry about that,” the man in the white suit answers for the rest of them. “We're just here to ask for directions.”

“Ask, then leave.”

He clears his throat, “You see, we're looking for a place in Scarlett Meadows. But we're all turned around.” Chuckling, he leans on his horse, the poor horse clearly looks uncomfortable from the awkward weight on its neck.

“You're in Scarlett Meadows, mate.” Hobie says the last part sarcastically.

Clapping, the strange man looks around his party before returning his attention to Hobie. “That's good! Now can you point us towards the direction of Emerald Ranch?”

Hobie's stomach plummets, “You passed it.”

“That so?” The stranger looks around the farm. “Funny, this place looks like Emerald Ranch.”

“This is a farm, not a ranch.” Hobie's eyes narrow at the man before flicking towards the front door of the house to then return at the man whose eyes stare him down without a single fear behind them. “Have you tried asking ‘round town?”

“We would, but we heard they're not too friendly.”

“I wonder why?”

The white suit man chuckles lowly, “I'm just looking for someone, mate.”

“You're like a bloody cigarette, you're draggin’ this out, mate.” Hobie unlocks the strap securing his gun, ready to shoot.

The stranger chuckles, cracking a humourless smile before his expression turns flat. “Where's my fucking wife, Mr. Brown?”

Hobie falters, hand twitching around his gun. “Wife?”

The front door slams open, and you come out with a shotgun aimed at the stranger's head. “Ah there she is—!” A shot rings out, Hobie dodges from your range, and the man has the same idea. He falls from his now dead horse, using its body for cover.

“Cross!” You scream with anger, fear laced into your tone like venom. “You motherfucker!” Pumping the shotgun, you glance at Hobie. “Run!”

“I forgot I taught you how to shoot!” Cross laughs even with bullets raining down on him and his entourage.

Hobie sees everything in slow motion, one by one, as the assailants run towards you, they get shot down immediately. Blood splattered all over the clovers and plants you love so much. The horses neigh wildly from the barn, and Clover barks desperately from inside the house. Shotgun shells fall on the porch he mended, with gunpowder replacing the honey scented home. Hobie quick draws his gun, emptying half of his chamber at the men you missed. You're in the clear as his Entourage now lies beneath your feet. Hobie aims at Cross where he has a clear shot at while the man continues to hide behind the corpse. But before he could shoot, he hears your gun run out of bullets from how the trigger clicks empty. And then a harsh crack follows as you fall loudly on the wooden deck, head bloodied, breath trembling and struggling as the man Hobie hoped never to see again stands over you with his rifle digging into your temple.

Hicks, a stout man with a pencil thin mustache, clad in gold and your supposed uncle; the one who started it all, cackles above your bleeding form. “Long time no see, Hobie! Back from the dead, eh?” He waves at him, grinning widely. “Drop your fucking gun or I'll end her right here.”

Hobie's entire body trembles just like five years ago, mind reeling from the sight of Hicks' face. Never wasting a second, Hobie drops his gun just as he feels a pistol whip him from behind the second he's unarmed. He falls on the ground not from the strike on his head but from the angry kick on the back of his knees. He gets a mouthful of grass, dirt sticking to his cheeks.

Gun punted away from him, his vision swirls, hand reaching towards you. “No,” he whispers as he hears your sobs. There's a sudden pressure around his wrists, rope tying his hands on his back. “You fucker.”

Hobie picks up the unmistakable sound of a body getting dragged across the ground. Hands and feet hogtied, he struggles to fight back. He stops his struggle when you're placed in front of him in the same position. Your hands and feet are also bound, crimson trickling down from your temple to your eyes; blood sticking to your lashes. Trying desperately to wiggle next to you, he gets a harsh kick at his side. He bites his lip to prevent a pained groan from escaping.

Your eyes try to focus on him, pulse rapidly decreasing, you're in danger of falling unconscious. “...Hobs?” You call to him despite only seeing his outline in front of you.

“‘m here, love.” He wheezes. “Stay awake for me, yeah?”

You struggle to see, black dots dancing around your vision and blood rushing in your ears. Voices come and go, victorious laughter echoing and fading. “I–I should've told you. I'm s–sorry.” Crying, you feel a heavy cheek pressed on your own.

Your sobs would haunt Hobie in his grave. A haze of despair falling over him like fog atop a mountain.

“It's okay—”

“Yeah, you should've told him. Or maybe you shouldn't have left in the first place, hm, honey?” Cross has his hands around your binds, flesh against your cheek. “You left me for him?” He yanks you up, your bones crack and creak as his hand slither up to your bare throat. “I told you, you can never leave.” You choke as he squeezes.

Hobie tries to fight back even with the ropes around his legs and wrists. “Let her fucking go!” A heel stomps on the small of his back as Hicks laughs above him. A raging pain flares, but he refuses to let you fall in the clutches of a man that you clearly never wanted to be next to you.

Guilt wraps Hobie in its familiar embrace. He should've done more, added barbed wires around picket fences, hid guns under the porch, grabbed you the moment he heard the horses— he should've been better at protecting you.

“P–please,” you mumble out despite the hand gripping around your neck. “Let him go, y-you have me. You won.” Gasping, you stare at Hobie with your bloodshot eyes. He shakes his head, eyes full of unshed tears. Even now he doesn't want them to see the sorrow that they've caused him. “Cross, please.” You beg, a trapped doe in front of him.

Cross lets you go after a moment of you desperately trying to gasp for air. You look into his green eyes that are awfully familiar that fills you with dread. You despise that colour on him and how similar it is with the only man you love.

He reaches for your face as you flinch away but with his hand around your collar, you can't escape. You wait for a hit, but it doesn't come. Instead, he pats your cheek with a gloved hand, rough leather sending shivers down your spine. For a second, he looks like he's considering letting Hobie go. Hope blossoms in your chest together with the panic.

Your husband turns towards Hobie, towering over him, his hand still on you. Hobie meets with the similar green eyes with fury. Silence blankets around the farm as both men stare each other down. Cross is the first one to break.

“Thank you for bringing my wife back to me, Mr. Brown.” Craning his head to look at you, you pray that he gets hit with a stray bullet. “Mr. Hicks,” said man hums in reply. He smiles at you, showing his teeth. “Do whatever you want with Mr. Brown, I'm done here.” Cross pushes you towards one of his men, your back hits a sturdy chest. Something gold and metallic pokes your shoulder.

You look up at the man who bears the familiar gilded star. “Sheriff Lee?” He could only look at you through narrowed eyes, anger swimming behind hazel. “No!” Heart in your stomach, heels digging in, you refuse to go. “Hobie!” Said man wails for you in agony as you get dragged away by Lee's strong grip. You ignore the sheriff's sneer as you return your attention towards the only person who deserves it. “Run! Please!”

Hobie yells your name with wild rage. “No! Fuckin' let me go, you wankers!” He fights back on the ground, teeth biting at anyone who comes near him. But there's too many of them left, they punch and kick at him. Steel toed boots hitting his flesh in a sickening squelch. Once they're satisfied, they drag him behind the house as you both fight back despite the odds. “Remember your promise!” He screams, blood coating his tongue from the beatings. “Wait for me!”

“Leave—!” A sack is placed on your head, lungs struggling to breathe, eyes flicking rapidly from side to side. Your joints are frozen in place as panic takes over your whole body. Even with massive amounts of adrenaline to keep you fighting, you feel powerless, muscles straining, fingers trembling; everything crumbles. It's an assault on your senses, there're hands touching you, trying to tie you down. Breath staggered, eyes blown out, and body trembling. And yet, his screams are the ones that truly stay with you. Him screaming your name, crying out to you whilst you try to reach him.

“Burn the bloody place to the ground!” Hicks yells as you're placed on the back of a horse. “Dig a deeper hole! I'm here to finish what I started.” You call for him desperately, throat aching, body twisting and turning on the horse as you try to fall off it.

The stench of iron is replaced with fiery embers curling around your nose behind the fiber hood. You see blurred red and orange spreading through your home in a blaze of wildfire.

The last thing you hear is his screams as you fall unconscious from another hard punch to your skull.

—

Stirring awake, head pounding mercilessly against your temple, you groggily sit up despite the throbbing pain and dazed state. Hands still tied by rough rope behind you, the skin around your wrist is angry and starting to blister. Back hitting hard oak, your eyes meet with red stained glass windows that shine underneath flashes of lightning. You sit hunched on a pew as rain batters the windows with wind howling outside while you roam your eyes around the chapel— Smooth stone walls carved all around with granite floors glinting from the candle light. Arched ceilings that seem to be taller every time you blink, and incense filtering around the air, making your nose twitch.

“Good, you're awake.” Cross’ echoing voice rumbles deeply from the altar. Shoulders straight as a ruler, white suit drenched and dirtied from his recent fall from his horse.

“Wish I wasn't.” You groan, noticing how your feet are also tied together. Glancing around the altar, you scoff bitterly. “Really? Is nothing sacred to you, Cross?” He stalks over to you, fists clenched on his side. Fear is slowly creeping up to you. Yet, you don't balk, nor flinch when he gets closer to you. “What? Are you thinking about renewing our vows?”

“What did he do to you? Hm? What did he say to get you out here in the middle of bumfuck nowhere?” His wedding ring shines, making you glare at the piece of jewelry.

“Why? I chose to be with him, simple as that. I moved forward because you weren't there to shackle me anymore.” You lean closer despite the bindings and your instincts telling you not to fight or else. You know what he's capable of, his hands still bear the shape of your throat and cheek. “Why are you even here? You should've let me go, I gave you a reason to finally be free of me!” You stomp your foot, frustrated and angry. But most of all afraid for Hobie and what has become of him when you were dragged away. “Why didn't you let me go, Cross?”

His eye twitches, the same eyes that are sickenly familiar to Hobie's. “You're my wife, of course I'd follow you.”

You scoff bitterly, “your wife? I'm only your wife on paper.” Wrists twisting, you try to free yourself just like how Hobie taught you in case something like this would happen. And happen it did. “If you forgot, my aunt chose you, and Hicks made me walk down that fucking aisle with a knife to my throat. You are not my husband. Not to me.”

Cross blinks as if he's lingering around your words. Your heart beats louder than the storm outside, afraid of what the man before you would do. Your instincts are right as he suddenly raises his hand to land a harsh slap, you flinch away on instinct, heart beating loudly from the fear. But the pain doesn't blossom on your cheek like it used to, instead, he lunges for your throat, fingers digging in your pulse as you choke.

“Make s-sure you hit me right between my eyes until I see stars, husband.” You mock him despite your crippling fear.

“Don't.” He seethes, you don't stand down, this pain is nothing new to you.

When he doesn't get the response he wanted, his hold loosens, green eyes roaming and searching for the familiar fear in your eyes. A second later, he slowly lets you go and slides his hand up to cup your chin. He smells of nickel and rotten wood.

You tilt your head back so you can leave his hold but he grips tighter. Hair standing on end, his touch is a shivering familiarity on your skin.

“W-why do you hold on tight to me? You don't love me, you never wanted me to begin with.”

He rubs your cheekbone with his thumb. “A year of marriage with you— Anyone would hold onto you with a grip.”

“You should've gotten a dog instead of a wife then.” You laugh throatily, feeling his hand clasp tighter. “Now what has become of you, Cross?” His jaw clenches. “What happened to slapping me as your greeting? All the hair pulling, and dragging me across the floor to show your so-called love for me? Fetch my aunt, she knows how to properly greet me as always.”

His eyes sparkled with brief amusement. “You didn't hear?” He pauses, thumb brushing along your bottom lip, hunger in those green eyes. “Your great aunt's dead.” You swallow thickly, letting his words sink in. Your mind can't make out how to feel about it. “Died of a broken heart, that's what the doctor said.”

“A–a broken heart?” You shove his hand away from your face. “I didn't know she even had a heart in the first place.”

You can see the confusion spreading across his face, not used to your new found fiery attitude. “What has become of you? She died because you ran away.” Cross uses grief and guilt as his weapon, and he knows what he's doing.

“I'm not the same girl you married, Cross.” You tilt your head on the back of the pew, staring him down through your bloodied lashes. “And you and I both know that's bullshit. She smoked like a goddamn chimney, worse that she had numerous enemies. Not the kind of combination you want if you wish to live long.”

“Watch your fucking tongue, girl.” Hicks’ booming voice ricochets around the chapel as he appears from a door near the altar. “That was my wife you're talking about.”

“Look at that, hello, uncle.” Sarcasm drips from your words. “Why do you like a fucking priest when you're the farthest from being one?” You gesture with your head towards his robe like clothes, he's draped in black cloth from head to toe, mourning clothes.

Unabashedly eyeing him up and down, you start to giggle. “You married her for money, you fool. You're not convincing anyone with that.” Turning towards Cross whose eyes remained on you, you falter for a second before straightening your expression. “You blame me for her death but have you asked him about it? He has everything to gain from her death.” Cross flicks his eyes towards the man before turning to leave with a humourless scoff. “Coward.” You whisper.

A strong grip latches itself in your hair, pulling at your scalp. Hicks' hot breath puffs over your cheek, you yelp in pain, reminding you of all the times she did this exact thing to you. “You and your childish whims killed her. And for what? To be with that boy?”

“Fuck you!”

“Y/N,” Cross stands in the middle of the aisle, nonchalantly taking a coin from his breast pocket to twirl it across his fingers. “He didn't kill her, Hicks isn't the one named in her will. He has nothing to gain.”

Slowly, delight spreads across your chest, wrists almost free. You grin widely. “She left it all to me.” Hicks throws your head down, skull hitting the pew with a sickening crack. Yet, you still laugh even with blood trickling down to your nape. “A-after all the shit you had to do to win her over,” you swallow down the pain. “she still didn't trust you enough to hand the company over to you!” Your guffaw echoes around the chapel. You spot Sheriff Lee standing in the corner, guarding the door, your laughter roars louder at the sight of him.

Hicks scoffs, trying to act that your words hasn't fazed him. “I always admired her, y’know, her and her resilience to punish you even though she loved you so much. With your hands bloodied and knees in grain— pretty eyes wet with salty tears. It was quite a sight. But as much as I admired her, cared for her, I can't replace you. No one can.”

Your eyes brim with tears you refuse to let go. “She could barely look at me.” You whisper the words.

He sighs, “she loved you.”

“There was a time I thought she did. That I deserved all of the pain, that I didn't know any better. But I was just a child who didn't do anything wrong but look up to her.”

Shrugging, Hicks makes a face that fans the flames in you. “Maybe you did deserve it.”

You don't feel the fear anymore, your rage triumphs over it.

“Fuck you!” Your screech could be heard above the thunder. “It got worse because of you! Only because you whispered in her ears and told her everything with your jealous sickly eyes! Married me off to some man who would hurt me more than grains on my knees!” You heave, Hicks raises an unbothered brow. “Wasn't it enough that you took him away from me?” He grins at you, papers in his hand, looking at you as if you're the one in the wrong. “The poison drips down, from her to you and then to my accursed husband.” You turn your red eyes towards Cross, the coin in his hand pauses from your heavy stare.

Maybe you should've gone with your parents on that doomed expedition.

A rustle of papers makes you turn towards the sound. Hicks spreads the crumpled paper on the seat next to you, pointing at the dotted line and placing a fountain pen beside it. “Sign your name and this'll be over.”

You lick your dry lips, the taste of your blood is bitter and acrid on your tongue. Your eyes don't even glance at the words. Wondering how they knew where you went, your mind wanders to the only person back home who knew. “What did you do to Peter?”

“We set him free. Free to roam the gates of heaven that is.”

Nails dig into your palms, leaving crescent scars atop your old one. Fury snaking along your aching body, you crane your neck towards Cross who leans against the altar, flipping a coin as candlelight flicks across his face and red windows reflecting off his skin and eyes. “The people you surround yourself with, Cross, it's astounding. You've got a dirty sheriff, a gold digging motherfucker, and me, who will take every opportunity to kill everyone in this fucking room.” Your want for vengeance spreads across the chapel, voice louder than the thunder raging outside. Cross looks at you like it's the first time he truly ever saw you. Returning your focus on the man who buried the love of your life, you utter behind clenched teeth.

“Just sign the damn papers—”

“When you buried Hobie under that oak tree, you buried me too. And you sliced open my neck just like how you did to him, that's why I'll never sign it.” Hicks tries to grab your head but you headbutt his chin before he could. He collapses on the floor, cradling his bitten and bleeding tongue. Standing above him, pen in hand, wrists now free behind you, you smile at him so it's the last thing he'll ever see. “I'm going to burn the company into the ground, and you'll be left penniless but I'll be fine; thanks to you suggesting this, how did you put it? ‘Auspicious’ marriage.”

Cross notices the sharp, shiny pen in your hands. He yells, coin falling from his hand with a clink, but it's too late as you pounce on Hicks, stabbing his chest with every clink of the coin— three times, you stab him three times as blood gushes out in a spray across your vengeful face. Lee stops you by tackling you on the ground. The blood coated pen clangs on the granite, drenching the floor with crimson. Lee has to put his entire weight on you so you can't escape, Hobie drives you to fight back with the same ferocity he would.

You need to avenge him.

“How does it feel, Hicks?! That's how I felt while you watched!” Your uncle sits up, groaning, blood slipping from his fingers as the outlaws that they hired rush towards him. You know he won't die from his injuries, you'd know— but it's enough, knowing that you caused him pain until you can finally end him with your own hands.

Laughing, arms being tied up from behind, tighter this time, you continue to try and escape from under Lee even with his knee digging on the small of your back. “I will not cleave, never again! Especially to men like you!”

Hicks stands up with some help. He leaves small drops of his blood on the granite, hands plugging the holes you made on his torso. “Now I'm glad I finished the job! I buried him again, and this time he'll stay down there for good!” He tries to rile you up further, it works from the mere mention of Hobie. You fight back, Lee's hold on you wasn't enough so Cross joins him, hands keeping your kicking legs down. “I even burned down your dinky house, there's nothing left there for you!”

“Did you make sure that he stayed buried this time, uncle?!” You yell at him, a sound akin to primal fury. His eyes widen, and you grin bitterly, “You didn't. Don't bother running away because he's already coming after you.” Lee yanks you up, and then places the same hood on your face. “He's coming after you!” You get dragged away towards the small room behind the altar.

Your grief has grown teeth. “If he doesn't then I'll do it for him!”

As Lee ties you to a table, closing and locking the door behind your screaming form; Cross' entourage looks at him with trepidation.

“We'll leave the second the rain is gone.” They all agree immediately.

—

Dread spills over him like a flood, incapable of saving you, watching your unconscious form ride away as Cross carries you on his borrowed horse. Hobie had to gaze upon the agonizing pain of you being taken away.

Outlaws set fire to the house, razing it to the ground as smoke immediately entered his senses. Flames spread in the home you two built together, angry orange hues devouring the same place he promised to live the rest of his life with you. The light blue paint starts to melt, glass windows cracking in the heat. He watches as his home turns to ash.

Men drag his screaming, writhing body towards the back of the house as he hears the awfully familiar sound of soil falling from shovels. His entire body hurts, cuts and bruises marring his flesh, clothes torn, and teeth coated in crimson. Trying to fight back, his nails digging in on the men's wrists yet it doesn't faze them. He sees Buck and Cherry run towards Hobie, neighing angrily with every intention to kick each of his assailants.

Hicks takes his guns out, aiming at both horses before they could reach him. Hobie yells at his horses, pleading with his broken voice. “No! Get away, Buck!”

Hicks shoots, gunshot echoing around the farm, bullet missing Cherry's hoof by an inch. Both horses rears, neighing loudly. “Fuck, I missed.” Hicks looks back at Hobie, who's on his knees. Hicks pulls down the hammer again to shoot. “Good thing I have more than one bullet.”

Hobie sneers, turning towards both terrified horses. “Buckeye! Leave! Get!” Bucky seems to shake his head in protest, but one look from his rider has him understanding what he meant. He runs away in the direction with Cherry in tow, who looks at the place she last saw you in. Hobie's glad he listened, he can't lose them too.

With dust clearing, Hicks returns his focus on Hobie and the outlaws that are digging behind him. “Dig deeper, make sure he doesn't get out like last time.” An idea passes by his eyes. “Or maybe I should just strap your hands and feet to my horse and gallop away while I drag you around in your shitty farm?”

“Fuck you, Hicks!” Hobie kicks dirt at his direction, soil landing on his shoes, completely unbothered. “Where is he taking her?”

Hicks chuckles while he takes out a cigar from a golden case that Hobie recognizes as your aunt's cigar case. He cuts the cigar before lighting it up with the same fire that eats away the farm. “Why bother asking? She's married, boy, taken and all that.” Crouching down, he blows smoke at Hobie's face. Eyes flicking towards the hole behind him. “Besides, you'd be six feet under.”

Thunder roars overhead, followed by a spark of lightning and petrichor. You were right, it's going to rain.

“It was all arranged wasn't it? Was it you?”

“No, it was her aunt. God rest her soul.” Hicks points at the sky as droplets of rain trickles down.

“Good.” Hobie grins, teeth threatening to snap at the man. Hicks clenches his jaw, sneering with a scoff.

The fire continues to burn behind him, and the men carry on with digging Hobie's grave right behind him. “Well, technically, I was the one who suggested it but she's the one who did most of the work.” He huffs and blows smoke, “you should've seen Y/N at her wedding, so gorgeous in white.”

Hobie tightens his jaw, lunging at Hicks but the men holding him down stops him. “No matter how deep that hole you put me in, I'll dig myself out and I'll come and cut your neck this time.”

“Let's see about that, Hobie. Pity, if only you didn't chase her, you'd be fine. Hell, maybe a manager at the factory by now.” He takes a peek behind Hobie, sucking in his teeth when it's not deep enough. “Shame, you had talents. I gotta hand it to you though, you've built yourself quite a reputation over here.”

“Whatever you heard,” Hobie leans closer, but a hand stops him. “It's all true, especially what I did in the east. And once I get my hands on you and that prick you married her to, I'll make sure what happened back then was child's play.” For a brief second, Hicks wavers.

“It's six feet,” someone says behind Hobie, still heaving from the labour.

“About time.” Hicks stands up, instructing the men to lift Hobie up on his feet. He gets yanked up, shoulders throbbing. “I'm supposed to say some nice parting words to the departed,” Hicks takes out his gun, pressing the barrel on Hobie's forehead while he glares with a bitter smile— “But I don't want to waste my breath.”

“Make sure you don't miss.” Hobie leans closer to the metal as Hicks then digs it into his neck as Hobie taunts. Moving a few paces away with his free hand pressed on his ear, he knocks the hammer down and aims it at Hobie's head.

He braces himself.

Hicks shoots, lighting strikes a few ways from the farm, lighting up the bullet heading right at Hobie's head. Blood spills over the soil below. He falls into the grave with a thud. Hicks Looks from above, seeing Hobie limp inside the hole in the ground, right next to the writhing worms. Satisfied, he tells his men to cover it back up just as the rain starts to pour in.

“Meet us at the rendezvous.” Hicks says above the sound of rain and thunder as he makes his way towards his horse, already galloping away while soil drops on Hobie's motionless face.

—

It rains, just like that day five years ago.

Hobie's nails are coated in dirt and grime, face covered by his own shirt to protect him from falling soil. Yet it doesn't save him from slowly suffocating. Soil in his lungs, breath ragged, he remembers the panic in your voice, how you screamed so he could be let go. He's living his past once again, but this time, he's not a frightened boy, he'll rise from the dead over and over again if he has to. With a raging heart that feels like imploding, his thoughts are on you.

Your worst fear is him dying. Even with the threat of a gun to your head, you still chose him.

Did he deserve any of these? To see you cry for him desperately, to hear you call for him with blood spilling from your lips— is he cursed? Is this karma for all the things he has done? That he deserves all of it because he was molded into this, a weapon he never wished to become but had to so he could survive. He doesn't want to linger on the thought, all he knows is that he needs to survive this.

But will he survive long enough to see you again?

Grunting, his temple has stopped bleeding a few minutes ago, skin grazed by the bullet that he dodged covertly. Hicks was never known for his aim even if his target was just a few steps away from him. Or perhaps Hobie is incapable of dying.

With his belt buckle in hand, he digs upwards. While he laid there ‘dead’ he heard about the new factory settled in the south— That after your aunt's death, they changed the main location from London to the heart of the new world's south. He knows where to find Hicks now, and in turn, you too.

He's not going to lie down and bleed.

Hobie hears the pattering of rain just outside the grave, thankful that the idiots Hicks tasked to bury him gave up halfway after they thought him dead. Still, Hobie's having a hard time digging himself out when the soil has clumped together because of the water and became heavier because of it. But he won't give up until he gets to see and hold you again. He still needs to tell you that he forgives you, that he understands why you didn't tell him. That he loves you despite it all.

Yelling in frustration, he still can't feel the breeze from below. Seemingly not making any progress. Arms thrumming from fatigue, he inhales and exhales, remembering why he keeps fighting, why he wants to survive it all.

You. The image of you drives him to dig himself out of his own supposed grave.

Hobie digs and digs, calculating his breathing so he doesn't waste what little air he has. He lists all their names, all the people he has to cut through to get to you. Hicks is a given, he has to end that man to avenge his younger self. Sheriff Lee, whose asshole son he had to shoot or he'll continue to commit unspeakable crimes that his own father lets him do without a single reprimand. And Cross, your husband, a marriage you never wanted, your shackle that continues to drag you down.

“Fuckers,” he whispers, renewed energy making him dig faster and faster.

There's a metallic twinkle from outside, for a moment, he thought that he suffocated and is now being taken by death. His worries subsides when he hears frantic barking outside, paws digging and whining sadly.

“Clover.” Hobie is in disbelief, lucky that Clover returned. “Good girl, Clover! Keep diggin’!” He helps, tunneling together in tandem until he sees her snout sniff at the ground. “Atta girl!” Petting briefly, Clover digs as Hobie gets his hand out from the depths of the soil.

Lighting pierces the night, he rises from his grave once more.

Death can't stop him from getting back to you. This time, he won't leave you to be eaten by the coyotes.

Dragging himself out, Clover helps him by biting at the hem of his jeans, pulling him up by her teeth. Rain pelts against his skin, mud sticking to his flesh, and blades of grass clinging to him. Shakily standing up, he screams the moment he's fully out of the grave.

Hobie brushes his hand along Clover's head, scratching just behind her ear. She scampers off, running towards somewhere, maybe a dry place where she can rest after a job well done.

He lets Clover run away, taking out his cigarette and lighter, he drags the stick across his dry lips before placing it in between. Lighting it, he inhales deeply, the glow from it illuminates the fury on his face. Promising himself that he'll save you, that he won't abandon you this time. And If you're still willing, rebuild the house in each of your visions like it was supposed to be.

Staring at the farm house, its burnt, but remnants of it remains thanks to the unexpected rain. The structure still stands tall, darkened wood falling apart, ash mixing in with the rain, turning the floorboards into a muddy sludge. He can't think about all the letters that you didn't finish reading, all those words forgotten in the wind, nothing but ash flying away with the breeze.

Even the garden you worked so hard for is burnt to nothingness, not even a single leaf has survived. All the flowers and produce you've painstakingly kept alive are now cinders.

The familiar calmness that comes after a brush with death sits in his chest. A wave of pain seizes him to a pause, gripping the chest, his mind imagines the worst. That they've hurt you, that you're sailing halfway across the world by now; that they've killed you and dropped you into a shallow grave to let the rain inevitably wash you away. He shuts the thought out, tears pricking at his eyes. Uttering your name softly, he exhales. You're his peace.

Still standing in what remains of the farm, Hobie hears hooves rushing behind him, and a familiar bark running next to the pair of horses, whose shadow looms over him when lightning strikes and lights up the barren land.

“I'll get her back, I promise.”

—

The saloon is in full swing, patrons dance around the band, people rambunctiously play poker upstairs while Riri is arguing with Miguel after she told him that she's leaving to go and check the farm.

“I'm telling you, Miguel, something doesn't feel right. Morgan told me he saw fire blazing over there!” She unlaces her apron, tossing the empty whiskey bottle right next to other empty ones.

“Their place is far away, how could Morgan even see that?” Miguel chomps down on a slice of cake, rain continues to pour down as Riri takes her coat and hat from the closet beside the bar. “Where are you going, Ri? It's pouring outside!”

“To check on them—!” The saloon doors open with a bang, spooking the band, the music screeching to a halt when they see Hobie standing there drenched, bleeding and covered in weapons. Everyone stops to look, the brim of his hat covers half of his face, scar in full display, ring glinting in the light. Silence hangs, not even a whisper can be heard. “Holy fuck.” Riri pushes past people to get closer to him, hands reaching out to him, eyes seeking you from behind him. When she doesn't see you, she presumes the worst.

“They found her.” Lightning strikes behind him, briefly showing his red eyes.

Riri nods, hiding her shaking hands with a fist. “I've got your back, just like I said.” Miguel stands dumbfounded, frowning, eyebrows knitted in anger.

Hobie glances at the customers he knows, half of them were from the gang he used to run with. The other half are afraid of him. He turns his heed towards Miguel, eyes boring into the man. “Remember that bounty you never got?” Miguel smirks, already placing his hat on his head. “Any valuables you find, it's yours and the gang’s. Time to get even, Miguel.”

He hears ear splitting cheers before he collapses into Riri's arms.

[the-acid-pear-ocs]

Honestly w my short venture into Minecraft I've been thinking about C. a lot again and just how tragic their existence is despite their best efforts to stay silly.

After the crash they almost entirely lost their memory, with only a dim shadow of who they were remaining, and of course they aren't moved by this, they didn't know the person they used to be, but what about the people they left behind? The people back on civilized land that still mourn them? The ones who have hopes she will return and the ones that gave up? C. is most likely legally dead, it's probably been years, there's definitely a fucking grave for them.

Something i too have been thinking of implementing is Maria as a person who existed in C.'s past life, hence why when they saw the horse that became for the longest time their best friend they'd call her that. I think Maria was too someone extremely close to C., maybe platonic maybe romantic maybe sexual or maybe even familiar, i have no idea.

What I do have an idea on is that Maria still actively mourns C., and thing is, even if C. and her met and C. was like hey i think I'm the person on that grave you are bringing flowers to it would still not change anything. C. cannot remember her, and neither can they remember who they used to be. The woman they used to be has literally died.

And the fact that they didn't only lose human Maria but also horse Maria also speaks of great lengths for how tragic this is.

[avtrbee]

Unexpected Secret

inspired by the tumblr post above!

this fic defies almost everyhting that is canon but its really cute and fluffy in my opinion so idc idc idc

Petra was furious.

I’m gonna kill her, Petra thought, mopping away the last of the dirt from the stables. I don’t care how but I’m going to make it look like an accident.

Petra was furious.

Putting her anger on the mop she had gripped in her fist she aggressively wiped the stable floors clean, but her thoughts were somewhere else. Y/N L/N was the reason why she was stuck cleaning the stables during a Friday night when she could’ve spent the day in the market with Oluo buying cute clothes or enjoying a new café or getting drunk or just about anything. 

Petra loved her friend but no matter which way Petra tried to twist the situation, Y/N was the sole reason to blame. Y/N was the one who suggested getting drunk in her room that night, Y/N was the one who suggested the game, Y/N was the one who proposed the punishment, and Y/N was the one who called her a pussy for backing out, so of course Petra had to do it. Petra had to run through the hallway, from the stairway and back to the room naked. 

It didn’t help that Y/N’s room was the farthest room from the stairwell. Petra didn’t have a problem getting naked around Y/N and their friends- they’ve seen each other’s bodies enough with the communal showers and the occasional first aid outside the walls. Petra isn’t ashamed of her own body either, she may look petite but she was hardened muscle from all the training she endured to become the one of the best. Though Y/N had her own private room as one of the Survey Corps’ Section Commander, her floor was also near the other superior’s private spaces. 

Once Petra made it out, she dashed to the stairs as fast as she could before turning back and running like there was a titan behind her to the privacy and safety of Y/N’s room. Until Hange, Levi and Mike came out of Erwin’s room from their own private party only to stare at Petra like she was a dog with three heads. 

Petra could’ve died right there. In fact, she would have preferred it if she did. Hange laughed (“Oh, it’s one of those nights, eh?), Levi looked away with disgust evident in his face and walked to another laughing Y/N, who witnessed the entire incident, instead. Mike just stood there with his brain probably short circuiting and nose occasionally twitching. To make matters worse, Erwin came outside to see what Hange was laughing about.

I’m gonna kill her, Petra thought, mopping away the last of the dirt from the stables. I don’t care how but I’m going to make it look like an accident.

Petra looked up from her hard work and wiped her forehead. She smelled like horse shit and probably looked like one too. A few yards away from her clean stable stood Y/N and Eren together under the sun with Mikasa not so far running towards them.

Petra watched as Mikasa hastily put herself between Y/N and Eren with a glare on her face. Was it really a glare or was it just Mikasa’s usual stoic face? Petra didn’t care- a plan was slowly starting to form in her head. 

-

Petra didn’t bother rushing to the cafeteria to get first in line like she usually would. Instead she ate some heavy snacks before and took her time. Thinking back, Y/N was the only one out of her superiors to sit on another table other than the space designated for them. She usually sat with Eren, with Levi occasionally joining them. 

Once she strolled inside, the place was packed with soldiers along with hundreds of conversations going on at the same time. Perfect. Just as she planned. Just as she thought, Y/N and Eren were chatting away alone on one table with Mikasa several tables away shooting them looks every now and then.

Petra smiled. Victory tastes so sweet. She slowed down her steps and savored her way to victory as she walked over to Mikasa. “Oi, Mikasa.” she said obnoxiously loud, gathering the attention of several people.

Mikasa turned her head from Eren and Y/N’s table, and stared at her with her cold gray eyes. “Yes, Petra?”

Petra giggled, unable to keep her mood down. “Y’know, Y/N told me a secret.” She said, voice getting louder with every word.

Behind her, Petra heard Y/N speak. “Done from the stables, darling?”

Faint snickers from around the hall erupted. No doubt the story has already gone around. Petra felt a nerve in her head pop. That almost got her. Almost. 

Ignoring the rest of the people, Mikasa kept her eyes on her. “What did she say?”

She crouched down and put a hand on her cheek like she was about to whisper. “She told me that she loves Eren, very, very much.”

Silence. 

Utter silence. 

From the corner of her eye she sees that Sasha had a spoon halfway through her mouth filled with seconds of today’s dinner, while Jean and Connie’s eyes were darting back and forth to her and Y/N, who had gone up from her seat and was walking towards her.

Petra stood back and let herself smile a truly evil smile. That’s what you get, Y/N. You bitch. To be honest, Y/N was probably going to beat her up. Petra didn’t care. She could try if Mikasa won’t get to her first.

Mikasa blinked. “Well, I sure hope so. Eren and I love her just as much.”

Wait- “What?” 

That wasn’t the reaction she was expecting.

“Oi, oi, Mikasa. You’re going to make your mother cry. I’ve never heard you speak like that before.” Y/N clasped a hand on Petra’s shoulder. Y/N had this smirk as if asking oh is this what you planned?

Huh, wait- “Mother? You mean-”

At the same time, Mikasa looked at Y/N. “Okasan, I have told you I loved you many times.”

“What do you mean okasan- are you-?” Petra turned her head to Y/N. 

Y/N leaned shifted her weight on one leg and crossed her arms. She was smiling, probably enjoying Petra’s confusion. “Yes. I am.”

“But-” Petra stuttered. “Eren too?”

“Yes.” Y/N laughed. Petra should’ve been furious, but at this point she was too focused on solving this familial situation she accidentally uncovered. Plus, everyone was listening in. They were curious too.

Petra shoved her hands in her hair. “They’re siblings?”

“Well, I thought we’ve established that before.” Y/N replied. 

“But I thought- Mikasa was charging at you because you were with Eren just a while ago!” 

Y/N deflated. “Oh, that. I was scolding the brat. He was reckless during the last expedition again. You’d remember, you were the one who saved him.” Fuck. Yes, Petra remembered very well. She almost lost her right hand because of that boy. “Mikasa just came over to protect her brother. I might’ve gone overboard too…”

“Then why isn’t Mikasa sitting with you?”

“Oh, I’ve been encouraging her to interact with people other than family. She barely has friends, y’know.”

“Don’t they have different last names?” Petra asked. She was losing her sanity. 

“What, Jeager? L/N was my dad’s. Jeager my mother’s name, I had him when I was young. And, well, technically, Mikasa isn’t mine by blood.” Y/N sat down beside the girl and slung her arm around Mikasa. “She came with my marriage. She’s still my daughter though.” Petra saw Mikasa hide a smile under her scarf.

“Married?” Petra asked. “You’re married?”

“Yup,” Y/N replied, popping her words. “When are you and Oluo gonna tie the knot, by the way-”

Petra couldn't even be bothered to blush at the question. She saw Oluo choke on his food from their usual table though. “Is he in the military?” 

“Yes. We met years before he was in the military though.”

“Is he in the Survey Corps?”

Y/N grinned. “Yes.”

“Is he a superior officer?”

Y/N’s smile grew wider. “Yes.”

Petra felt dread creep down her spine. “Is it Commander Smith?” If Petra really did just try to call out the commander’s wife in front of everyone, she’s dead meat. She’s probably gonna clean the stables on Fridays forever. 

To her relief Y/N said, “Pssh, Mikasa isn’t blonde y’know.”

Petra was losing her patience. “Then who the fuck is it-”

“They literally have the same last name Petra.”

Silence.

Only this time, Petra wasn’t smiling. Her brain was probably overheated from all the information Y/N gave her.

“Oi, Petra” said Levi who was coming inside the cafeteria. “What the hell is going on?”

“Captain!” She squeaked, not expecting his voice. Perfect timing too. 

“Don’t tease her anymore, Levi. It’s my fault, I was just telling her about our familial situation.” Y/N said. 

“Tch,” Levi lightly slapped Y/N at the back of her head. “What happened to keeping it a secret?” 

“Oh, well, they were bound to know anyway. Your son over there can’t keep his mouth shut, I’m surprised he lasted this long.” Y/N nodded to Eren back to her table while the latter hid his face on the table, occasionally banging his fist on the wood. “Though I didn’t expect them to find out this way though...and the entire Survey Corps for that matter.”

“You’ve caused us a nuisance.” Levi deadpanned at Y/N- at his wife? Petra was still trying to comprehend everything.

“Let’s go home.” Levi announced, heading out of the cafeteria. “I can’t stand to be stared at any longer. It’s making me feel like a pig with fucking wings.”

At the words of their Captain- Father?- Mikasa and Eren stood up and picked up their empty food trays. 

Oh, that's right. Petra knew that Y/N and Levi had a separate house somewhere near their HQ; she just didn’t even consider the possibility that they were living together. Fuck, she has seen them leaving too, but she just assumed that they were walking each other because they lived in the same neighborhood or something. 

Petra even spotted Mikasa and Y/N together in the market shopping for vegetables, but she thought it was only a kind gesture. Y/N can be like that sometimes. She even spotted Eren and Levi inside a cleaning shop when she was buying a new mop once. And Mikasa and Levi’s surnames? Petra didn’t even suspect anything because it was common knowledge in the Corps that two of their strongest soldiers had the same last name- had none of them suspected anything?

Looking around, Petra spotted similar confused faces like her own. Ah, so no one did. 

She felt her legs give up on her and plopped on the seat Mikasa previously sat on. She watched as Levi, Y/N, and their children walked out the cafeteria with a blank stare. What the fuck just happened? 

btww,,,the vibe of reader and petra here are like really close friends that tease each other a lot. i can understand why people think that petra seems like the “villain” here but i swear its just that kind of friendship 😭 im sorry if it didnt deliver properly but ill try better next time !!

[blookmallow]

hi i binged through all of salad fingers for the first time in like 8 years and im fixating again here are. My Theories. pls talk to me if anyone else has Thoughts or wants to discuss things. this is really long i am sorry :’ ) 

also shout out to the salad fingers wiki for helping me keep track of details and also for this 

-----

thought: salad fingers is not violent on purpose he did not mean to kill that kid 

this is less a theory and more “if you slander my boy with accusations i will Get you” but listen. i see people going “but he mURDERED A CHILD!!” because of the oven incident but listen. listen to me. he didnt mean to and cannot be held to the same standard of morality and understanding consequences as a. person who isn’t..... in whatever situation and mental state he has going on

- yes, the kid getting trapped in the oven was his fault. but it was not intentional or malicious and i sincerely doubt he understands what happened or why. 

he was asking for help reaching the fish (there’s no reason to believe he wasn’t just genuinely asking for help. he tears up in gratitude. theres no evidence of him Tricking People Maliciously in any other context i do not believe he would do that) and was distracted by the rusty nail, causing him to let go of the door. it wasn’t “he cares more about rust than about a child’s life” or something, i dont think he can actually hold “hey look at that i gotta check that out” and “i need to hold the door open so the child doesn’t get hurt” in his head at the same time, rust is his favorite stim/an impulse thing that takes over everything else and his perception of reality and the things going on around him changes very quickly and easily. more on that later. but the important point here is it wasn’t a malicious plot, or a neglectful careless action, he literally did not realize letting go of the door would cause harm 

he stabbed himself accidentally with the nail and passed out for a while (the fact that he immediately bled that much is concerning too, he probably has hemophilia which is. a medical condition outside of his control, as well) and after all that he had completely forgotten about the child altogether (and says “i must have dozed off” so he doesn’t even understand he passed out. and might not remember the nail thing in the first place) 

we don’t see what happened after this, we don’t know how he responds when he investigates the fish and inevitably finds an unexpected charred corpse in there, but i guarantee he won’t remember why its in there or understand that its a corpse. we dont see it again so its. entirely possible he didnt recognize it as a person and either just disposed of it or, uh, ate it. but if he did, it wasn’t with the knowledge and comprehension of it being A Corpse or the memory of how it got there 

theory: on salad fingers and memory / comprehension of death and consequences 

more on that subject

- we see him frequently doing things and then immediately forgetting he did it or forgetting what was happening. he accidentally squishes the bug (which also was not malicious or intentional, he intended to pet it but just. went too hard) and has no understanding either that its dead, or that he killed it. she has gone flat and gooey for some unknown reason. that’s strange. she needs to go have a wash, that’s no way to be. 

he eats the jeremy fisher puppet at one point and then immediately goes “where have you gotten to??” 

he even briefly forgets hubert cumberdale’s name and immediately comes up with another one without realizing it, and then later goes back to hubert cumberdale again with no mention of barbara logan-price 

he refers to the same little yellow guy as “young child” and also Auntie Bainbridge later on. he keeps up the fantasy of... whatever the fuck yvonne was being his child for a pretty long time but then when he arrives at “auntie bainbridge” ‘s house he suddenly forgets why he’s there, and even apparently forgets what yvonne is and uses  ‘her’ as a window rag instead and never mentions it again (I also don’t think she was in the sandwich at the end either. it’s hard to see but the sandwich contents are vaguely brown and theres a visible lump in the black goo behind him. i like the idea that the lil yellow guy made the sandwich for him) 

salad fingers is constantly subconsciously adjusting his reality to fit Whatever Makes The Most Sense At The Time and does not consistently remember things (sometimes even major things. he remembers his puppets the most consistently and still even forgets hubert’s name) or have a concept of cause and effect 

i think he possibly has some sense of recognition, “I’ve seen this person before,” but doesn’t always remember Why he knows them, and his mind just automatically fills in the blank with whatever makes sense to him. he doesn’t remember who the yellow guy is, but knows he knows them Somehow, so, ah, of course, it must be auntie bainbridge out for her sunday stroll :) and he knows he’s there for a reason, but not what that reason was, so he decides it must be time to clean the windows 

- milford cubicle was already dead when salad fingers opens the door, but he has no idea that hes dead. this isn’t even a cause for concern. my, he must be tired, that’s all. he kept milford there until he rotted away, too, so there was never a point where he realized anything was wrong (until he became skeleton. more on That later too) 

- he finds a corpse buried in the yard and rather than confronting the confusing and alarming reality of that situation, why it must be kenneth, back from the great war! at no point does he understand kenneth is definitely dead

theory: kenneth vs glass brother

i think he really did have a brother named kenneth who probably died in the war. could be some subconscious connection between “recognizing” a corpse as his brother, but i dont think he realizes any of that. i think the glass family is probably a trauma based hallucination, but a... well, reflection. pun not exactly intended lmao. on how his real family was and how they treated him

i dont think glass brother is the same brother as kenneth, since salad fingers interacts with them completely differently 

kenneth is a corpse that salad fingers projects a personality on and speaks for, while glass brother seems independent and malicious toward him. i think he had a good relationship with kenneth (so, when salad fingers imagines that he’s here, it’s cause for celebration and he’s projecting onto something inert and “safe”) and also had another brother (who was probably his twin) who bullied him and acted violently, so when that trauma resurfaces, he hallucinates a vicious Other that he cannot control or speak for.

it also tracks that the abusive brother was his twin - he sees himself reflected in the mirror, and something in his own face reminds him of that lost brother until it “becomes” him

he refers to kenneth as his younger brother, and sees him as a being that does not look like him, while glass brother is literally his reflection, so it would make sense if he had one identical twin and one younger brother 

ive seen theories that he had a real sister named bordois too, but i think him calling the bug “little sister” was just. a term of endearment or one of his little odd language quirks, he seemed to be talking to it more like a pet than like a sibling 

theory: regarding mable

- ok people are saying salad fingers killed mable at the picnic but i Really Don’t Think He Did

we never see him acting out violently when he gets scared. he tends to try to escape situations that stress him out, he shrinks, he cries, he goes into his cupboard (which is. incredibly upsetting given the fact he was almost definitely abused by his family) 

he takes on a kind of Authoritative Tone often, he gets sort of ruffled up and disdainful toward things, but that’s not what he does when he’s scared

when he’s actually distressed (rather than irritated) he tends to break down and retreat. this includes when other independent beings act in ways that unsettle and upset him 

so i dont know where the “he freaked out and killed her” idea is coming from. he suddenly goes from outside at the picnic to having a breakdown in his house so. he most likely just ran 

i think the Only time we see him act out violently is when he decides he has to punish marjory for not getting a haircut like he asked - he tears her hair out, but for me that scene was particularly concerning because it was so unlike him. that was an anger response, not a fear response, though, and he tends to be harsher toward things that he’s actually controlling (I don’t think we ever see him decide to Discipline something that was independent from him other than the horses, and he didnt hurt them) 

ordinarily when something irritates him he just goes “hmph! so distasteful. how rude. i shan’t have this behavior, you know” but doesn’t really actually do anything about it, and moves on

anyway we never see mable again so i think either he freaked out and ran away and she just didn’t come back, or he scared her and she ran away, or both 

there’s a dress visible briefly when salad fingers is making his Flesh Boy which could be mable’s (he did comment he liked it) but it’s not 100% clear, and that doesn’t necessarily mean he KILLED her for it. she could have changed into something else and left it somewhere and he found it. she could have died under unrelated circumstances, and salad fingers found her - he doesn’t comprehend death, so. probably he decided they’ve made amends now and she’s given him her dress as a token of friendship, or something 

i dont think it really looks that significantly like hers but the fact that it stands out so distinctly from the rest of the Pile could mean something 

but i just feel like if he had killed her we would’ve seen her corpse again, he doesn’t have a concept of murder, or death at all, or consequences, and his memory doesn’t hold out that consistently, so if he killed her, he probably would have calmed down later and then forgotten what he did and came up with a new way to explain the corpse in front of him - oh, how rude of me, mable’s here dozing right off and i havent even offered her a blanket. let’s get you to bed

like, he probably would have dragged her home with him, with the intention of being a good friend/host to his guest, not understanding what happened. he kept milford cubicle around a really long time  

it wouldn’t be like him to have any concept of hiding the evidence

speaking of milford 

theory: regarding milford cubicle 

salad fingers keeps milford’s corpse around until it starts rotting, and then after a very confusing series of events, the corpse is suddenly a skeleton, which surprisingly alarms salad fingers considerably, and then he goes out to find a whole bunch of himselves eating various bits of gore. they give him a present, which is a hat very clearly made of milford’s skin 

my conclusion: salad fingers, in some kind of dissociative fugue state, skinned and ate the remains of milford cubicle himself and turned the remaining skin into a hat. he also saves some of it to make hubert cumberdale (the real boy) later as well, probably forgetting where it came from. he does not realize he’s done this or remember doing it, so his scrambled mind tries to make sense of it with other selves eating unknown flesh, and a lovely hat appearing (which he doesn’t seem to notice is made of flesh) 

you can also see milford’s original name tag in the drawer later on when he’s building the flesh boy, so. he kept that after the mysterious disappearance of milford’s flesh, apparently. more evidence that that skin is probably also his

some other scattered thoughts regarding the most recent string of episodes and salad fingers’ mental state: 

ive been trying to figure out what the fuckhell happened with the yvonne incident and everything that happened in the birthday episode

im really concerned for salad fingers’ health and mental state, as it seems to be deteriorating 

some yvonne theories ive seen:

1. he ate the burned corpse of the kid who died in the oven, and it made him very sick, which ultimately resulted in a charred mass he couldn’t digest - he steadily gets worse, until his body finally ejects it (yvonne’s “birth”) and after that his health starts to recover again. since the oven incident happens really early on, all the times he mentions his stomach being upset after that until he becomes deathly ill would make sense, so i think this is plausible 

2. the hair he found in the cupboard was actually a parasitic worm that grew in his stomach after he ate it and became yvonne. i think this is Possible, it is a really strangely wormy looking hair, but it doesn’t move and he mentions stomach pains before this, so it seems less likely to me 

3. i also saw the concept that salad fingers is a trans man who suffered a miscarriage at some point in his past and yvonne represents that, and i can definitely see where the idea is coming from but i do think something really physically happened to him in the present time, i dont think it was all a trauma-based hallucination, since the yellow guy reacts to the black ooze and something was definitely making him severely ill 

so. i Don’t Know what the fuck that was about but i think the burnt corpse theory makes the most sense 

on that note: there’s a lot of cannibalism imagery in salad fingers 

we have no IDEA where he’s getting food from. im pretty sure its been confirmed that he is Not a zombie, we see him bleed, pass out, sleep, etc so it seems like he must be a living person who has ordinary needs. but we see him eat... his own puppets. hairs. sand. the soup glass mother instructed him to make, which made him very sick. he has a working oven but doesn’t seem to have consistent access to water. he had a fish somehow but who knows where it came from. it’s very likely he doesn’t get food often and some of his hallucinations and mood swings could be caused by starvation (and when he does eat, it’s things that are outright inedible or probably not good for him) 

the burned corpse disappears and is never mentioned again (though salad fingers is very sick afterward). milford’s flesh disappears and salad fingers violently hallucinates multiple selves gorging themselves on unknown flesh

and what concerns me the most about that is that he loses a lot of time in that episode 

he passes out in the woods and when he wakes up, it looks like a shit ton of time has passed

we don’t know how much is reality and how much is his warped perception, but it looks like a tree has grown and his physical condition has deteriorated 

he looks really, really unhealthy and haggard for the rest of the episode 

i think he had a huge dissociative episode and lost possibly weeks of time, probably due to starvation, and he ate milford cubicle and very possibly other people as well 

so my question is. how often does this happen to him

and what happens to him during that state? does he become violent and dangerous without being aware of it when he returns to himself again? or has he just been ravenously scavenging corpses when he gets desperate enough? 

its possible dr papanak is another personality he has, one that’s “buried out in the woods” that he becomes when he’s in a really, really bad mental and physical state 

he looks much better in the next episode (though that’s also when he has his outburst with marjory. could be that he’s still staving off the violent urges/hasn’t fully come back to himself after the last incident) and I’m really hoping the fact that he was able to finally stand up to his family (at least in some sense) and smash the mirrors could mean he’s making steps toward recovery after whatever the hell all that was 

there’s not really much space to do anything with his life or get much help given the circumstances but watching him slowly losing himself even more is Awful :( 

i hope we get more episodes im so desperate for more information now 

lastly, some random observations 

i tried to read this newspaper and it looks like it’s actually written in french, which is interesting given that salad fingers seems to be british (but fond of france, and seems to speak french or at least knows one phrase) 

i wonder where he got this, or whether it ever meant something significant to him

theres a lot of evidence that he can’t read (takes no notice of the “harry” nametag and immediately names him something else, “reads” a letter that is actually a newspaper clipping in another language he’s holding upside down, “writes” a letter that is just scribbles) so i dont think he learned his one french phrase from this or anything but, still. vaguely interesting. maybe he has been to france before and brought this back with him for some reason. maybe he’s actually in post apocalyptic france and was just originally from england. We Don’t Know 

theres a weird little face in the. heater? whatever that is in the background for a second and i dont like it  

salad fingers leaves horace in charge, but then sees him (as a live horse) in the woods, but then comes back to find him both still on the shelf (as a toy) and in the room (as a live horse, now with his, uh, surgery scars) but doesn’t seem to notice this and doesn’t comment on it 

i dont know what the hell that means other than possibly his reality is even less consistent and logical than usual/a reflection on his mental state deteriorating 

[thedreadvampy]

a non-exhaustive list of Friend Gossip about the Mechanisms performers that I will never expand on or attach names to because I love Chaos but don’t want to impinge too much on people’s privacy

once swam across the river Isis naked to sneak into a college party they were not invited to

has offered as an explanation for why they are Like That ‘my dad did a lot of LSD in the 70s and married his moleskin trousers’

notoriously sexy

has a crush on Jean-Luc Picard, but specifically and exclusively when he’s been assimilated by the Borg

fantasised about turning DTTM into a wrestling promo culminating in the band turning heel in character and suplexing Jonny through a sound desk

punched a duck (you know who this was but I will not be elaborating)

nearly killed themself coming off a tyre swing over the river and landing on a sharp sheet of metal buried in the river bed. limped home bleeding buckets, was frolicking in a field two hours later as if nothing had happened

habitually frolics in fields

terrifyingly buff. can change clothes while doing a one-handed handstand.

trained in sword, axe, bow and kickboxing

nearly threw up and actually did pass out before DTTM and then went on and performed without showing a glimmer of how much pain they were in

used to sleep on a bare mattress in an empty room surrounded by nothing but broken mirrors. thought this was unremarkable.

used to sleep on the floor next to their bed. claims their ultimate goal is a room where the floor is one big mattress.

scared of cats

claims to be the king of cats

generally accepted to be a literal changeling (not Jonny)

refuses to use digital equipment. uses a 1950s vintage landline and a mechanical typewriter. collects vintage cameras.

considered becoming an Anglican priest (2 people)

once got so furiously angry at author David Mitchell that they threw a book across the room and ranted for two hours about his pointlessness

met while playing dwarfs in an intensely edgy and artsy (and allegedly extremely bad) retelling of Snow White, when both of them had auditioned and failed to get roles in the far more successful and fun Batman: The Pantomime

greatest theatrical triumph was playing a character called Ratman in a yr 6 school play

once got lost in the highlands and encountered a large bearded man who put them up for the night and later turned up at their door at 3am brandishing a sword and claiming to be hunting pine martens. Jonny later referenced this experience in an episode of TMA for an audience of the about 10 people who would actually get the reference

said they wouldn’t try cocaine because it would be too expensive to develop an addiction and they wouldn’t be able to afford Warhammer figures

owns at least one fully functioning sword (to my knowledge, at least three people)

once received a gift of a replica battleaxe, opened it while saying ‘I have been trained in weapons safety it’s fine’ and then cut their hand open on the packaging

Banned from London Zoo for arguing with the animals

went on a rollercoaster while suffering sunstroke. got so disorientated that upon getting off they walked directly into a wall and screamed in panic.

walked out of their own soundcheck because they saw a pokemon they wanted on pokemon go

got free food at the cafe near their recording studio because the proprieter thought they looked like a strungout rock star who needed to eat more

invented a version of scrabble where the key rules are that you can’t play words in English and you can’t play the same language over two consecutive turns.

burst into tears more than once because they loved their partner too much

evangelically listens to Brian Blessed ASMR and can quote verbatim every Brian Blessed YouTube video

has a scar on their hand from overenthusiastic sandcastle building

once had dinner with Richard Dawkins. said it was exactly as bad as you’d expect.

said that when they died they wanted their hand bones removed and attached to their grave, wired together and posed so that they were eternally flipping everyone off. later clarified that they were not joking and that this was an actual request. also said they wanted their ashes put in random pepperpots in cafes around the country. did not clarify whether or not this was a joke.

spent three days on a wild bender of champagne, poptarts and debauchery during a heatwave. almost passed out from dehydration. still only stopped when the poptarts ran out and they had to get dressed and go get pizza.

taught themself French at age 7 because they got bored of English

when they had a cold during the Fringe, kept flushing their nose out with warm water and then leaving bottles of nose water sitting around the flat until their bandmates were ready to murder them

went through a whole Deadlands game playing as a dog (not a talking dog)

cut the tip of their thumb off while making scrambled eggs. finished making scrambled eggs. still does not have full sensitivity in their thumb after 5 years.

chased by an angry horse. survived. ultimate power.

[luxurybrownbarbie]

Old money or New Money?

The eternal question, which is better: old money or new?

In my opinion, they’re just different, one’s not better than the other. It just depends on the life you’d like.

Old money is the land of heirs and trust funds. I personally define old money as three generations. (M says it’s four to five at least, but I think it’s because he’s European and can trace his back about twelve.) Basically, way back in time, one man in the family took capitalism and made it his bitch, and made a lot of people’s lives hell until labor laws were passed. Since then, they’ve largely traded on their name and prestige, and basically formed their own society. These are the Grosvenors, the Kennedys, the Gettys, the Morgans, the Rothschilds, etc. Families who will randomly dabble in politics and/or law and are often present in philanthropy. The money is essentially bottomless. Everything is inherited, all their careers are because of true passion or boredom. Being disinherited is little more than a joke to them because they still have the name and more than likely a few ventures of their own.

As previously mentioned, they have their own little society, old money isn’t just out and about in random locations. Law school is a gold mine, along with art galleries, fundraisers (charitable and political), polo matches, horse races (only upscale ones), Sotheby’s auctions, operas, and galas.

Here’s the thing about old money, it’s great. It’s also very low key. They don’t see the point in flashing designer items, they’re just there. It’s not as important as having their name on universities and scholarships. It’s classless to flaunt things. They have rigid public social standards, so any slip ups publicly are very harshly punished. Privately, you can do whatever you want. Just don’t put the family name in jeopardy. (They can probably get away with making you vanish.) If you do, take the Princess Di route. Be loud, and make sure you splash every bit of dirty laundry everywhere and say fuck it to the NDA. You will be ostracized from that insular community and rejoin the rest of the world. You (probably) will never get back into that one, it depends.

New money is the land of tech. That’s literally it. 90% of new money got there off the tech bubble. The rest are actors, athletes, and producers. I’m not going to encourage you to date the athletes or actors, but if wish, of course, go for it. These are the flashy group, the ones who are on social media flashing status symbols that are noticeable to the general public. They’re less picky about who gets in, because, well anyone can get in at some point. There’s a bit more freedom about what you do and how you interact with new money. They love attention, both good and bad, so they don’t care how they get it. Fawn over them and tell them how amazing it is that they built themselves from nothing (even if they didn’t) and watch them become putty in your hands.

New money is fun, but not entirely safe. They don’t have decades of keeping wealth and protecting it behind them, so they can end up in a lot of trouble. Case in point, Jeff B. got his texts exposed to the media (by his mistress) and was immediately divorced without a prenup. Lost about 67 billion. He made it all back relatively quickly, but yeah, I’m sure that hurt. Any of the old rock and roll stars who got married more than twice had their money snatched from them every time. One of the Google founders gets into lawsuits almost every other year because he doesn’t know how to hide his indiscretions, and the people take advantage and know they’ll get a payout and a role on Dancing with the Stars or something. The point is, new money can/will embarrass you publicly. Old money embarrasses you privately. A lot of new money people aren’t as savvy with prenups or really anything legal, so be ready for a lot of court battles and either dip right before it goes public or throw yourself into the fray and recoup even better rewards.

All in all, it’s really about what you prefer and how you want to navigate. Make a list of what matters and really decide which route is better for you.

[wyn-n-tonic]

Golden, Like Daylight -- Part IV

Word Count: 1,925 Warnings: PTSD. Drug use. Ben Affleck. Panic attacks. Bullet wounds. Smut (not explicit but it's there). A/N: Your kind words mean literally everything to me and I have been sobbing between the warmth shown to me over this series and also how much I love Francisco Morales and want the absolute best for him.

MASTERLIST | PART: I | II | III | IV | V | VI | VII | VIII | IX

Gif by: @uuuhshiny

Luna hasn’t stopped wailing since Sunday, the one and only day Frankie said he wouldn’t be able to call.

It’s Thursday and both their lungs are close to giving out.

One Morales woman hyperventilating herself into fitful sleeps, the other only sobbing through held breaths in stolen lonely moments of peace and quiet.

Kristyn had taken up residence in the spare room, making sure Leah slept and ate. She was the one who cashed in Leah’s sick days with the school, forging a bullshit sick note when she went into work.

Leah is currently distraught because her husband might be dead in South America, we don’t know.

That’s what the first one said, dashed out on the keyboard in a petty moment of frustration. She might be the only one of Leah’s sisters who didn't want to lob his fucking head off every time she shed a tear but it didn’t mean she never wanted to do it.

Patient is suffering from a prolonged migraine and intensive nausea. Follow up appointment scheduled for next Thursday at 9am.

That should fucking do it but she’ll have to start checking off the vacation days soon. Dip into family leave for Luna.

Alexa held her on that first Monday, talking her through the panic in a puddle of spilled coffee. The paper cup splashing across their knees in the hallway as concern emanated from the AP Lit room at their backs.

Somewhere at the base of the Andes, her husband was being pried out of a crashed helicopter by the only other men she’d ever truly loved. William was shot, Benny was reckless. She felt it all in her body as she was driven home, helped into the shower, held in her bed but not by the arms she craved.

“He's coming home,” Deana brought dinner that night, her big sister cutting into her steak like she was a child at risk of choking again, “he will do anything he can to make sure of that.”

“What if he doesn’t, D?” Leah’s taken on the stare, everything and nothing all at once, “what if he doesn’t come home this time?”

“I promise you, Lee, okay?” She reaches out to push aside hair damp with tears, “I've never seen a man so in love.”

“Yeah…” she’s quiet, “he promised me too.”

And she told him to stop making promises because he doesn’t keep them.

I think you put a baby in me, Francisco Morales.

The tears well over her eyes, spilling onto already salt stained cheeks.

He made love to her like it was the last time he would ever see her, the last chance he would ever get. He poured his entire being into her, drunk off the feel of their bodies together. She could feel him in the hollow of her ribs, an aching that called out for the comfort of his beating heart against hers again.

Would that be so bad?

She sobbed out, startling Luna’s own ragged cries again, afraid that she would never know warmth against her cold hands again.

—————

“Hey,” they're huddled against the onslaught beneath a barely-there cliff, labored breathing in tandem, “you still with me?”

Frankie’s panic attack came on slowly, a rolling storm in the distance the moment the helo crashed in the valley.

Bad landing.

His fight or flight response has his lungs in a vice grip but he still manages a laugh, “I think I should be the one asking you that.”

“You know it’s gonna take a lot more than a stray bullet to fuck me off,” he’s smiling but Frankie knows how much blood he’s lost, how long it takes for a wound like that to clot without medical intervention.

It’s true, it’ll take a lot more than a stray bullet to take William Miller but that was before, when they had back up. Out here, though? Surrounded by his brothers in arms? Having done what he just did?

Francisco Morales has never felt more alone.

“Fish,” William hits his knee against his, “where are you?”

His eyes refocus on the tepid water pounding all around him, the world coming back as he takes a deep breath, “are you afraid, Will?”

“You gotta be more specific, Frank, I’m terrified of everything.”

He’s quiet when he speaks, “me too,” barely above the downpour.

He sees Will nod in his peripheral, “I know.”

“Will, I’m afraid I’ll never see them again,” and when he chokes, he realizes he’s been crying.

“No, you can’t think like that.”

“I know, but I can’t stop it either, like…” trailing off, he lifts his face to the pressure of the water; it’s the sweetest thing he’s felt in days, “what if this is the last shower I ever take?”

“Fish…” Will reaches for him but he’s cut short.

“No, listen to me. If anything happens to me out he—“

“Nothing is going to fucking hap—"

“Shut up and let me finish,” his rage and sadness is burning hot through him, it takes everything within his being not to choke on air as he speaks again. “If anything happens to me out here, Will, take care of my girls. Please.”

The blond nods his head, heavy with exhaustion and pain, “until the very end of my life, Frankie.”

The relief that spreads through his body is better than any drug he ever tried, he feels himself slipping into an upright sleep, his heart at peace for the first time since he left his bed.

“But,” Will’s voice catches him on the edge of consciousness, “I would also face down the end of my life to make sure you see them again, do you understand me? If the only thing standing between you and a bullet is me, don’t fight. Leave me there and run like hell. You’re going back to your family.”

“But if I don’t make it…”

“Fish,” Will's laugh is drenched in the space between them, “are you saying it’s your last will and testament for me to marry your wife?”

“Fuck off,” his words are clipped, strained, “and don’t call me Fish.”

—————

They still, eyes up to the screen of the baby monitor as they hold their breath for another sound from Luna’s room. The baby settles back into silence, her small chest rising and falling on the grainy feed.

He remembers Leah opening the military grade surveillance equipment at the baby shower, the shake of her laughter as she held onto Benny’s shoulder to anchor herself to the chair.

“Should we check on her?” It’s small, a rushed question of a concerned mother.

“I said a baby monitor, Benjamin, not a prison security camera.”

“Absolutely not,” Ben grabs her hand, “This is better than any of that shit you’ll find at Target. Video means there’s no wondering either, you can just look up and assess the situation, more rest. That’s important, you’ll need to savor the little that you get.”

He pushes a lock of hair from her face, damp with the tears of the day and the sweat of the night, “no, baby, we don’t want to disturb her.”

“Yeah,” Will chimes in, his beer bottle held loosely in his hands, “Frankie should’ve been training you on sleep deprivation this whole time, you’re spec ops yourself now.”

“But what if she wakes up?”

“Well…” the corner of his mouth lifts to close the fan at the corner of his eyes, “it’s a good thing she can’t see us through that thing, right?”

“Francisc—“ the irritation of his name is finished in a heady moan lured from her body by another slow drag of his hips.

The crook of his nose slots against hers as he finds her lips again, the warmth of the room around them is nothing compared to their mouths on each other. Bathing in shared heat, her fingers entwine into the curls at the crown of his head, the other hand palm up to his chest. And as the beating of his heart races towards her burning touch, he submerges himself once again.

His firm grip holds the hinge in her leg, fingers digging into the sensitive skin that fills her lungs with fits of laughter and light. He braces himself against the bed, the aching in his forearm dulled by the soft, breathless whimpers intoxicating his entire being.

His voice is washed out when he finds it, “mi sol,” lips dragging across her own, “mis estrellas.”

Her eyes find his, heavy with admiration and trust. “Francisco,” she is drunk and drowning in the love of this man, “finish me.”

He shifts to cradle her jaw and as he trails his other hand up her thigh, he sinks within her once more. Finding his release against her own, he is convinced they’ll never be able to fully untangle again.

He presses a kiss to her nose.

My sun.

Her forehead.

My stars.

Her lips.

My whole sky.

—————

I think you put a baby in me, Francisco Morales.

He snaps back to reality, Santi and Tom’s voices echoing all around them.

His head is hot, he’s pushing past Will with concern set so deeply in his eyes he fears he’ll break right there.

Would that be so bad?

“Fucking bullshit!” Tom’s face is red, Santi having finally said what all of them are thinking.

He feels the weight of Leah in every fiber of his being, slotted perfectly against his body.

“We're all on the hook for this, are we not?”

I should’ve said no.

“God damn this fucking horse! Stop it!”

All those years blinded by loyalty to authority, Frankie never talked back to his leader but the man in front of him isn’t a leader. He’s a whiny child who’s lost his toys and Frankie hates him.

Biting back what he wants to say, he holds his hand up in a show of camaraderie, “Relax.” His finger quirks up as if he’s scolding a tantrum, “Relax. We’re not picking at the fucking scab right now, okay?”

Tom stares him down, like he’s weighing an argument against him too but Frankie’s done. He meets the taller man’s gaze, this man he would’ve died for.

“One foot in front of the other. Come on.”

This man he almost has died for.

“Let's go. Jesus fucking Christ.”

His true allegiances don’t lie to this man anymore or the gun at his hip. Not the money or the mules. He left that splintered fantasy about twenty feet back.

He’d throw this man over if it meant going home right now.

The money too.

None of it is worth a goddamn thing to him if it means he’ll never see the way that the light bounces off the gold in Leah Morales’ eyes ever again.

The same honeyed flakes in the brown of his daughter’s bright gaze.

I think you put a baby in me, Francisco Morales.

He made love to her like it was the last time he would ever see her, the last chance he would ever get. He wanted to pour his entire being into that woman, ensure that he would live on if lost to the Colombian jungle off a narco's bullet.

Would that be so bad?

He was scared but, truly, would it be so bad?

But it would be because he could truly leave her with nothing. No money, no husband, no father to her babies.

He lost count of the days he hadn’t called.

He makes his way up the mountain, following Tom’s bitching, wishing it was Leah leading him home instead.

TAG LIST: @justanotherblonde23 | @greeneyedblondie44 | @icanbeyourjedi | @princess76179 | @bbuckysbeardd | @notcookiebelle | @knivesareout | @empress-palpat1ne​

[bright-eyes-strawberry-lies]

Rating PJO Ships

I already made the PJO shipping jar meme (not linking because tumblr hates links) but thought I’d write it out anyway. 

***

Solangelo - (5/10) Will is Nico’s unnecessary rebound because Rick couldn’t let someone walk around with a crush on Percy without pairing them off with someone or making them live a life of chastity. The fandom went wild with this ship despite all of their “development” being off the page. Would be better if the building attraction and relationship was given actual page time to develop instead of being rushed. 

Frazel - (10/10) My only complaint is that we didn’t get more of them being the awesome couple they are. The way they went from friends to lovers is perfect. Looks cute but can kick your ass. Very supportive of each other. I am here for biracial power couples. 

Lukercy - (10/10) There are literally dozens of parallels between them and Rick wrote them as soulmates. I love that Luke trained Percy so hard that Percy’s never lost a sword fight except to Luke himself and still hears Luke’s voice in his head guiding him through fights. The subtle ways that Luke constantly gave Percy (and Co) chances to escape from Kronos’ grasp even when he still believed in Kronos was golden. Luke was the only person who was kind to Percy at Camp Half-Blood and trusted Percy to help other demigods when he died? My heart. How Percy now shares all of Luke’s views on the Olympians? Bittersweet irony. I wish that Luke hadn’t died because I’m tired of writing resurrection AUs. 

Percico - (10/10) The most powerful power couple. Nico’s youthful hero worship giving way to love? Sign me up. Percy spending winter looking for Nico to keep him safe and trying to reassure him that he has a place at Camp Half-Blood? Give me more. Making mistakes and forgiving each other for them and their relationship strengthening because of it? Gods, yes. Going to Italy to go gift shopping and flirting? Thank you for this blessing, Rick. If only they had been endgame. 

Thaliabeth - (7/10) Thalia is the only person that Annabeth respects and Thalia has extremely protective feelings toward Annabeth. They would be the nightmare power couple. Murder wives who slay anyone who stands in their way of power and glory. Neither of them would take shit from the other. And honestly, I’m here for it. 

Perachel - (10/10) Mutual respect and open communication are extremely sexy in relationships. Rachel being Percy’s mortal tie and his chance at a normal life; Percy being the one to help Rachel with her powers and clear sight? Please yes. They were really cute and sweet and had so much chemistry. It would have been great if Rick acknowledged that the Oracle isn’t a lifelong job and that Rachel can still date and have sex as long as it isn’t vaginal penetration. 

Percabeth - (0/10) Annabeth hits, pinches, pokes, kicks, ribs, and punches Percy too often for my tastes. She’s got a superiority complex and makes herself feel better by calling him stupid, crazy, and insane. Constantly threatens violence. Annabeth is possessive, jealous, refuses to communicate, and doesn’t respect Percy or allow him to have autonomy. She constantly wants to control what he says and does or doesn’t say/do. She victim blames him multiple times for incidents that were beyond Percy’s control. Percy is scared of her, refuses to argue so that he doesn’t set her off, and thinks Annabeth is going to hurt him every time she so much as looks at him. Percy deserves better. 

Jiper - (5/10) It would have been cool to see them work past the lies and false memories to make a real romantic relationship but I don’t really have a horse in that race. They’re alright. Not bad, not the best. 

Pipeo - (7/10) If the theory that all of Piper’s memories of Jason were actually memories of Leo is true, then I’m here for this. The fact that they were friends before they even knew they were demigods was fantastic. Give me that friends to lovers dynamic and the chaotic trouble they would get into together. They would be unstoppable. 

Caleo - (5/10) Pairing Calypso up with a man boy instead of a man man was a strange choice but Rick likes pairing up teenagers with beings that are over a thousand years old. It’s terribly romantic that Leo kept his promise and came back for Calypso. I like that they decided to leave the demigod life behind to do their own thing. They’ve had enough of the gods! Let them figure themselves out and enjoy each other and life. 

Connabeth - (4/10) The idea is cute if you don’t think about it at all. I think Connor would stand up to Annabeth but she’s been known to wear down three thousand year old centaurs [Chiron] so that he’ll do what she wants...so I’m not sure that Connor actually stands a chance of holding his own against Annabeth. 

Lukethan - (4/10) It would be really cute but they’ve never even spoken to each other in canon. Ethan spoke with Kronos. 

Thaluke - (2/10) Thalia doesn’t like Luke. She withheld a lot of [trivial] information from Luke just because she could and didn’t tell him important info either. She almost definitely knew that Luke would do whatever she wanted him to because she’s got a Look that makes him melt. Thalia is incredibly eager to kill Luke and eventually does. Luke is too dependent and blinded by how much he wanted someone to love him. They’ve got an unhealthy dynamic and I don’t see either of them changing to become better people together. 

Valdangelo - (6/10) They’re both small and cute. That’s all I’ve got. There’s no reason not to ship them. Oh, and Leo warming up a cold Nico with his fire powers is so sweet that I’ve got cavities just thinking about it. 

Jasico - (9/10) Rick was really writing them with romantic troupes during Mark of Athena and House of Hades. When they were paired off with other people, I was actually really surprised. The way that Jason supports Nico’s queerness and the way that Nico can teach Jason that he doesn’t have to live up to stereotypes and other people's expectations...that would have been really good to read. The way that Jason’s death affected Nico really tugged at my heartstrings. I like to think that Nico visits Jason in the Underworld. 

Thalianca - (6/10) The potential of Thalia and Bianca could have been so good and also good for comedy. Imagine Thalia - who missed the past five years - trying to catch Bianca up on the 21st century and being behind on the times. Both of them getting caught up together? Yes. Training together, friendly games and competitions. Midnight rendezvous at Camp Half-Blood. Bianca slowly showing Thalia that not all Hunters of Artemis are bad. Girls supporting each other and growing as people because of their relationship. This is what we could have had.