#oh but if only they had Drayton as a figure anywhere. sigh

[trashmuis]

I bought Bubba a piggy 🐷❤

[carnoshin]

Slashers cloud watching with there s/o instead of happy things they see dark sinister clouds, I hope this makes sense..

Idk why I ended up practically writing fics for these, but I did. So I only ended up doing Jason and Bubba for them, sorry;;;

(I assume you mean the s/o is the one who sees the. Grimdark stuff?)

Note: I legit haven’t thought of anything grimdark in years, so please excuse my. Lack of knowledge on it.;;;

Jason

It’s rare that you two are outside on clear days. That’s when people are most likely to visit the lake, but it seems today is lucky– no visitors, not even the rumble of a single car down the road.

That said, the lack of bad weather and visitors makes it easier to finish all the chores a bit into the afternoon, as opposed to clocking out after dark.

He finds you lying in the grass– just past the giant dirt patch that stretches for a fourth of an acre, behind the cabin and into the woods. He immediately begins trying to mother you: your clothes are getting dirty, it’s not clear enough to hang up another load of clothes.

You just pat the space next to you– the grass, not the dirt, of course– and he takes a silent second before he sits down and looks up at the sky with you.

On account of him being… Well, mute. He isn’t able to verbalize his thought as he tilts his head and points at the sky. 

Of course, you try your best to figure it out for him– neither of you had been studying up on your ASL and had summarily forgotten a decent portion of words, despite being so adept at them earlier in the relationship when words were still necessary to communicate.

“A log?” No. “A board?” No. “A machete?” Nnno, but he could see where you were coming from. “Well, it’s dissapating now, so it looks like a machete. Specifically covered in blood– dripping off the blade and all.”

He’s not particularly surprised, though his thought was in the opposite direction of the road you were going down. He rolls over and drags his knees through the grass to head to the dirt patch, writing his thought out. You sit up to read it.

“… Oh, yeah. A canoe does make more sense.” He tilts his head, motioning at the machete sheathe on his belt. “I don’t know; it just looked like one! Hey, don’t blame me: you’re the one putting that imagery into my mind in the first place!”

Bubba

You’re out by the shed, fixing up the second generator that’s been down for a few days. It was rusted all to hell, but it’s not like anyone in the family was making enough money to buy a new one– especially not Nubbins, literally burning through half of his film on most days.

Usually Chop-Top is the one who fixes the generator, but how loud it is can really throw him off, what with having been active duty. The heat doesn’t help much either.

And with Bubba having broken a glass on accident, Drayton was more than happy to shove you two out of the house– he couldn’t deal with watching Bubba run to your side, all cowardly, you holding him close and scolding Drayton for scaring your “husband.” And he didn’t feel like getting in a one-sided yelling match where you would calmly come out on top. If you were gonna spoil that boy rotten, you wouldn’t be doing it inside his house!

So there you were, out in the sweltering heat with Bubba watching close by. Or he would have been watching, had you not figured the generator out within twenty minutes of arriving at the shed.

At this rate, the heat was starting to annoy you the most. Even with gloves on, your hands’ sweat had soaked through the joints of the black material and wetted every other tiniest piece. Being behind the shed and the tens of burning-hot cars, the occasional pleasant breeze would only barely reach you. Course, those occasional pleasant breezes would never hit you just right-- on the back of your elbow or your side where you hadn’t known your shirt had ridden up or anywhere else that wasn’t remotely pleasing.

Bubba, lovely boy he is, would take notice between his glances to the sky. You’d been outside for about an hour and a half, trying to de-rust and reverse engineer the generator. And he, clumsy as he could be, couldn’t help at all: his large hands had lost too many nuts and bolts on previous attempts to fix it himself-- always a bigger mess than it was worth. You were way past “starting” to get annoyed and he didn’t know what he would do if you turned that annoyance towards him-- besides cry and beg your forgiveness, of course.

As you bent down to rest, practically folding up into yourself, he found his opportunity: as gently as he could muster, he tapped your shoulder with his fingers. Used to this kind of attention getting, you turn around with an exhausted sigh, taking a big breath in before asking him what he needed of you. “What is it, Bubba, baby?”

He slowly extends his hand down to you, almost kneeling. When you take it, he pulls you up, almost hurting your shoulder in the process. And then he’s dragging you along just past the property line, into the open field and pulling you down with him to lay down in the tall grass.

The wind is nice, just barely avoiding giving you the cool air you need-- just barely not enough. But it’s sure as shit nicer than sitting out by the shed all day. That annoyance still sticks at the back of your head, though.

Bubba points at a cloud, babbles something you don’t quite hear, then looks to you for your opinion. You’re hardly even looking at it, just being edgy for the sake of being edgy. “Kinda looks like a knife to me.” He doesn’t see it, but points to another one. “Chalk-outline.” And another. “Gravestone.” Each time, he shakes his head before carefully choosing out another one. It’s a bit mean, but you know he won’t register it as being aimed towards him.

Five minutes of this and he’s crawling over you, forcing your eyes open and doing his closest approximation of an eye exam. Of course, this just ends in you being giggly and giving in. “Yeah, I do s’pose that one looks like a rabbit.”