#so i could diagnose by smell alone

[wetslug]

really regret googling this it comes up everytime i try to go on tumblr

[heartswithinreach]

LaDS with an autistic MC

a/n: another one i’m writing for me. but i tried to touch on different symptoms so others can feel included 😊

Xavier

He’s been asked if he’s on the spectrum more than once so he’s aware of what autism is but not much else.

That quickly changes when Xavier finds out you’re autistic. He does as much research as he can, both through books and online articles, and then subtly does his own study with you.

If he’s on his phone, you can bet he’s noting your preferences (food, texture, smells) and your interests for future reference.

Pleasantly surprised by how you start to change as you become more comfortable around him. He’s very glad to be allowed into your inner world.

Xavier never wants you to feel like a burden or you’re broken somehow. You are simply you. And he wouldn’t change a thing about his beloved partner.

Zayne

Autistic!MC 🤝 Autistic!Zayne

Zayne was diagnosed before you but didn’t pay it much attention until you got the same diagnosis in your teenage years. He added autism to his studies for medical school, learning how to care for you and himself at the same time.

When you come back into his life, he surprises you by remembering all the strategies and signals you made to support each other when you were young.

Masking has always been difficult for him. Hiding aspects of himself exhausts him so he makes sure you know you never, ever have to pretend with him. You can be yourself around him.

Zayne is in no rush when it comes to how your relationship evolves. You can both take your time in figuring this out and he’ll always be there.

Rafayel

“Yeah, I knew you were a weirdo from the day we met.”

Rude! But if you were worried telling him would change how Rafayel sees you, you have nothing to worry about. He’s loved you for so long, it’s just something new about you he gets to discover.

He loves how radiant your smile is when you talk about your interests. He could listen to you for hours, just basking in your light.

Rafayel also loves the opportunity to play hero.

“What’s wrong, cutie? You’re anxious and wanna leave early? Eh, this party was boring, anyway. Come on, I’ll get you something sweet on the way home. Don’t worry about offending anyone, I’ll take care of everything — you just breathe, okay?”

Sylus

With how rocky the beginning of your relationship was, it’s not unreasonable to think he would get frustrated with you the same way he did when you couldn’t resonate with him.

But no. Sylus is actually your most fierce and loyal advocate and very protective of your peace of mind.

He takes care of potential issues before you can even think of them and is slowly turning his home into a place of comfort for you — while keeping his aesthetic, of course.

Sylus happily allows you to cling to him in public, taking pride in how you go to him for protection. And if you have to go somewhere alone, you’ll hear Mephisto’s cry following you.

Never touches you without warning and always stops at the first sign of discomfort. Anyone who doesn’t do the same is swiftly handled by Luke and Kieran.

[softhairedhotch]

AHHHH FIRST FIC OF COMFORTEMBER YEAHHHH >:D comfortember day one: safe aaron hotchner x gender neutral reader after having a rough night out, you call aaron and he rushes to find you immediately. he fixes you up and the two of you finally admit how you feel about each other. word count: 1.5k warnings/content: mentions of fighting and alcohol but mostly fluff.

comfortember masterlist here! also on ao3 <3

you make me feel safe

Aaron wakes up to the sound of his phone ringing beside him. It gets to the fourth or fifth ring by the time he grabs it and anxiety bubbles low in his gut when he realises it’s you calling at almost three in the morning. Answering the phone, he immediately asks, “Is everything alright?”

“No.”

He’s up and out of bed instantly, throwing on the first shirt he finds and the closest shoes to the bed. “Tell me where you are.”

“I’m at, uh, I don’t, I’m… somewhere. My mind is all over the place.”

Aaron’s heart hammers widely in his chest. “Somewhere? Can you look around for me and see if you recognise something? Anything?”

“Okay,” you reply, voice shaky. After a few moments, you clear your throat. “I’m outside the bar we all went to a few weeks ago.”

“The Tipsy Ship? The one closest to work?” 

“Y-yeah, yeah.”

Aaron grabs his keys and runs out of his house, not even thinking about locking the door as he runs toward his car. Jack is sleeping over at JJ's; the house will be fine unattended for now. “I’m on my way. Are you hurt?”

“I think so.”

“You think–” Aaron stops to take a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose for a moment before shoving his phone into its holder and slamming his car door shut. “Don’t worry, I’m on my way.”

“Can you stay on the line with me?”

“Of course.”

***

When Aaron reaches the bar, his heart breaks at the sight of you standing alone outside. He tenses up once he notices that, not only are you alone, but dry blood covers your face, there’s a large bruise forming on your cheek, and the knuckles of your dominant hand are cracked and bloody. “God,” he mutters, running straight for you and grabbing you by the shoulders. He can smell an overpowering scent of alcohol on you and he winces. “What happened? Where’s the bastard that did this to you?”

You point toward an ambulance down the road. “The coward freaked out when I punched him back and thought he needed medical attention. Most they’re gonna diagnose him with is Dumbassery and Stupid Prick Disease.” You look back at Aaron and weakly smile. “And maybe a concussion.”

Aaron can’t help it, he laughs. “At least you haven't lost your sense of humour. But let's get you home and cleaned up, alright?” 

“Can I go to yours? I don’t really wanna be alone right now.”

He smiles. “Of course you can.”

***

Aaron holds a wet cloth to your face, reaching out to grab your chin between his fingers gently when you flinch away. “Sorry, sorry.”

“It’s cold, is all.”

“Sorry,” he repeats, gently dabbing away the dried blood under your nose and the corner of your lips. “Do you want to talk about what happened?”

“I got into a fight.”

“I can see that.”

You shrug, stumbling on your feet at the movement. Aaron gently grabs you by your elbow and shuffles you toward the kitchen counter so that you’re leaning against it for support. Once you’re stable, he begins to dab the other side of the cloth over your knuckles. “It was stupid, really.”

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

“I know,” you sigh. It’s quiet for a few moments as you watch Aaron continue to clean up the blood. “He… the guy who punched me… I was on a date with him.” Aaron tenses. “And he kept buying me drinks and told me I had to drink them. I did because, well, free drinks, y’know?” You sigh and shake your head again, letting out a groan when it results in pain. “So stupid of me.”

“Hey, none of that. You’re not stupid.”

“Whatever you say. Anyway, I think he was trying to make sure I was drunk enough so that he could take me home without much complaint. I don’t know. I refused because I really wasn’t in the, uh, mood, and the night was a bust anyway, and he started… tryna touch me, grab me and all that, his hands were everywhere and I didn’t want them to be and…” You stop to take a few deep breaths, feeling sick at the thought of what could have happened. Aaron feels anger rip through his veins. “Anyway, he ended up punching me and I guess he wasn’t expecting me to punch back.”

Aaron grits his teeth. "Twice as hard, yeah?" 

"Twice as hard," you grin. 

“Good. That’s what I expect to hear.”

You tilt your head at him, trying to read his expression. “You’re not mad at me?”

Confused, his eyes meet yours. “Why would I be mad at you?”

“I don’t know,” you shrug, watching as his large hand moves over yours, his thumb gently sweeping over your skin. “I woke you up.”

“You woke– You– That’s what you’re worried about?” He gives you a fond look. “Yes, you woke me up. But I’m glad you did. Thank you for calling me. And for trusting me to help you.”

“I don’t think I trust anyone more than I trust you.”

Aaron’s hand stills as the words sink in. When he looks up at you, he notices that you’re staring at him with so much love that his breath catches in his throat. He hasn’t been looked at like that in… he can’t even remember. But when he thinks about it, eyes never leaving yours as you blink innocently at him, not understanding his revelation at that moment, he realises it’s the way you’ve always looked at him. With complete and utter adoration. 

As if he hung the moon and the stars.

“Oh,” is all he can get out.

“Oh?” 

“Yeah. Oh.”

Your face falls and he feels guilt grow deep in his gut. “You don’t trust me back?”

“What? I never said that.” He steps closer, moving a hand to your shoulder and looking into your eyes. “Of course I trust you. More than most people. More than anyone else, really.”

“Really?”

His eyes search yours and he nods firmly, squeezing your shoulder. “Really.”

You look all over his face before looking down at his lips, licking your own as your mouth immediately goes dry. “I didn't want… I… I didn't go home with that guy because of, uh, well, you. I couldn’t stop thinking of you... when I was with him.”

Aaron hums as his gaze drops to your lips. “That’s why I don’t go on dates.”

“Hm?”

“Because I can’t stop thinking about you either.” He inches closer, moving a warm hand up to cup your cheek. “Can I kiss y–"

“Yea–"

And your lips are pressed together before either of you can finish. The kiss is soft, sweet, gentle, and full of so much raw emotion that it’s almost suffocating (in the best way). Aaron moves his lips against yours desperately, holding your face in his large calloused hands as if you might break at any moment, and you wrap your arms around his neck to pull him closer. The moment your tongue brushes against his bottom lip, though, he pulls back with a heavy sigh. “Shit, you’re drunk. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, it’s okay.”

“No, it’s not. I’m totally taking advantage of you and–”

“Aaron.”

“I should know better and–”

“Aaron!”

“You should feel safe here–”

You press your lips against his again, effectively shutting him up. It’s a much shorter kiss this time, but not any less enjoyable. “I do feel safe, Aaron. Here, with you.”

“You do?”

“Of course. You make me feel safe; you always have.”

He visibly relaxes and pulls you into a hug. “So have you.” He sighs against you, resting his forehead against your shoulder. “I like being with you.”

“I like being with you too, Aaron.”

He smiles against you and holds you for a moment more before pulling back, hands still wrapped around you. His heart breaks at the sight of the dark bruise forming on your face and he leans forward to press a tender kiss against the skin, careful not to hurt you in any way. “I wonder how long we’ve liked each other.”

“I fell in love with you the moment I saw you, I think.” 

Aaron’s breath hitches at the admission. “You’re in love with me?”

You tilt your head at him, fighting back a smile. “Did I not make that obvious enough?”

“I… didn’t want to get my hopes up.”

“Well, get them up, Hotchner, because I’m in love with you, and I’m not going anywhere.”

Aaron’s face softens and he presses a kiss to your cheek, sighing in relief. “I’m in love with you, too.” He runs his hands lovingly over your back. “Now let’s get you changed into some comfortable clothes and into bed, yeah? It seems like we have a lot to talk about tomorrow.”

“Can I sleep in your bed with you?” 

He presses another kiss to your cheek. “There’s no other place I’d rather you be, sweetheart.”

tag list: @criminalskies @ssahotchnerr @hotchs-big-hands @citrusiove @sillyhotchsgirl

lemme know if you wanna be tagged in future fics

[calaisreno]

Diagnosis

974 words / Prompt: Night / CW: Sad

After, I stayed at Baker Street as long as I could, but every morning that I woke up and found him gone plunged me into darkness. Everything reminded me. 

When I couldn’t sleep, I walked. I could never escape the memories, though. If I did sleep, they were there, waiting for me. 221B was full of memories, lacking him. At night, walking was better than lying in bed, sleepless, with the past. 

Sometimes at night I saw him. Wherever I walked, he would eventually appear, waiting in a doorway, sitting on a bench in the park. Without speaking, he would fall in step with me.

“You must be a vampire,” I told him one night. “I only see you after dark.” 

Vampires are not real, he said. 

“Are you real?” I asked. 

I could almost hear him smiling. You didn’t invent me.

Once I asked him if he would come home with me. He didn’t answer. 

I drank during the day, walked at night, and thought about going back to work. 

I slept in his bed. Even to myself, I seemed crazy. I thought about dying.

After a month of this, drinking and walking, it came to me that I had to leave. Mrs Hudson was lovely, but it was impossible for me to explain it to her, so I just left a note, promising to stop in at some point and pick up my things. 

I waited until night, took my bag and slipped out the door like a thief. As I looked back, I saw a tall figure in a Belstaff coat following me.

I’d travelled back in time to a depressing bedsit. To a life where Sherlock didn’t exist, where those few months at 221B were something I’d dreamed. 

The first day I returned to work at the hospital, a few people stopped me to offer polite condolences. I thanked them, saying the same empty things over and over. After a couple days, nobody reminded me that he was dead and I was alone. On my way home I bought more liquor. Vodka this time, since it didn’t leave much odour on the breath.. 

 Like a sleepwalker, I trudged along for weeks, not sure where I was heading. Life was just eating and sleeping, taking the bus to work and coming home, watching the telly, smiling at people, saying meaningless things. 

At night, I walked in a liminal space where he might still exist.

“This patient came in,” I told him one night. “Five years old, high fever, skin peeling right off his palms, bright red eyes.”

He glanced at me, intrigued. Diagnosis? 

“Kawasaki disease. Never saw a case before.”

What tipped you off?

“When he stuck out his tongue and I saw how swollen and red it was, I remembered reading about that and it all just clicked together.” 

Satisfying when that happens, he said, nodding.

He seemed as restless as I was, and began turning up in places I didn’t expect. There were always the all-night convenience shops, and if I had something to pick up he would follow me inside, just out of eyeshot, reminding me to get the biscuits he liked, recommending jams that I might want to try. What about these chocolate biscuits? Or maybe the ones with apricot filling. 

Sometimes he was there in the A&E, making observations and acting bored when I ignored him, as I had to. “Can’t have people thinking I’m losing my mind, talking to people who aren’t there,” I muttered.

I heard him scoff. No, we can’t have that.

But usually I only saw him when I wasn’t working. When I arrived at my sad little flat after work in the early morning, he would be leaning on the door, waiting for me. Almost every day I had a story for him, a new case to describe. He asked odd questions: Did you look at his fingertips? Did his breath smell like ammonia? Did she have freckles, not the usual kind, but darker? Did her skin look waxy? 

He’d always said, People see, but they do not observe. As I examined my patients, I tried to use his eyes to observe the things that might solve the case. And gradually I realised that I’d become the go-to doctor for bizarre diagnoses. The Sherlock Holmes of Barts Hospital.

Impressive, Dr. Watson, he said. You’ve become quite the detective. 

“You taught me,” I said. “It was from you that I learned to see everything differently. As you always say, the world is full of obvious things which nobody by any chance observes.” 

He smiled but said nothing. Though he loved receiving compliments, he was stingy in his praise of others. Once he’d praised something, there was no need to say it again just so my ego could bask in it. 

At other times, he was critical. You’re rotting your brain, he said one afternoon when I got out of bed and looked at my bloodshot eyes. You have talent — why are you doing this to yourself?

I didn’t point out that he had often rotted his brain with worse things. He had more or better brain cells, I suppose, and often needed to slow his mind down just to keep it from crashing out of exhaustion. 

But he was always more solicitous of my health than of his own. He scolded me now. You’re not taking care of yourself.

“I’m sorry,” I told him. “I’m really fucked up and I don’t know what to do about it. I miss you so much.”

I felt, rather than heard his chuckle. Try to remember all the things that used to annoy you. Try to remember what a prat I was.

“You weren’t,” I told him. “You were wonderful. I love you.”

The room was silent. When I looked up, he was gone.

[ashcal99]

Collarbones : Jasper Whitlock Hale II

Chapter Two

"I can see your collarbones and baby I'm scared, Never thought I'd be so unprepared"

Summary: Camila Johnson was only 16 when she was diagnosed with leukemia. By the time she had turned 17, the doctors had tried everything to save her. Her family is close to giving up hope when they hear of a doctor who may be able to help her. The only problem is, he lives on the opposite side of the country. The small family soon decides to move to the small town in Washington, in efforts to prolong her life. In doing so, her life changes forever.

Warnings: Eventual smut (18+ only), mentions of death, depression, descriptions of disease and weight loss, general angst, slow burn, blink and you'll miss it mention of eating disorder

Words: 5.1k

A/N: Please lmk if you'd like to be added to the tag list. Sorry for the delay in posting, I just got back from vacation, so I'm hoping to get back to normal posting soon. THX x

Soundtrack

Previous Chapter

Series Masterlist

——————

January 25th, 2005

Jasper had stood there for a moment, mind cluttered with thoughts as he tried to make sense of what he had just seen. He had been there completely by chance. Everything had happened so quickly yet almost in slow motion. He had heard the van speeding down the road. Had seen Alice’s face as the vision had played throughout her mind. Had heard Edward yell out in anguish as he saw what Alice had seen as she was seeing it. Next thing he knew, they were in the hospital, trying to warn Carlisle of what had happened. 

In truth, he was a bit angry with Edward. Not as much as Rosalie, but still angry non the less. He understood that it would’ve been bad for everyone in that situation if the van would’ve crushed her. The blood itself would’ve been a huge issue for himself. But Edward saved her and in turn had exposed them all to the girl. In the end, he hoped Edward wouldn’t come to regret his actions. He hoped that they wouldn’t have to give up this life that they had built for themselves in Forks prematurely.

The whole group had been caught up in hushed conversation with Carlisle that he hadn’t even noticed her until the door had shut behind her. Then, all of a sudden, she was there, standing just outside of Carlisle’s office, looking like a deer caught in the headlights. Anxiety radiated from her as she quickly turned, averting her gaze and walked down the hall away from the group. Clearly he had seen something that she hadn’t wanted him to, but what, he wasn’t sure. 

He had a clue of what it could be, but he needed to make sure before he jumped to any conclusions. He needed to talk to Edward, but he knew he would have to wait. He also would have to leave the hospital soon. His concentration was beginning to waver, and as much as he tried to stay as far away from the patient rooms, he could still smell the fresh blood. Alice could see this in his face, so she grabbed his hand and drug his stiff body back out into the parking lot, deciding that the rest of the family would have to find their own way home.

Alice sat in the driver’s seat weaving and winding down the long road that lead to their home. “Are you going to stay silent the whole ride?” She asked, trying the break the tension. 

Jasper let out a huff of air. “Do you know?” He asked, referring to the situation with Camila. It was eating him alive, not knowing. He hadn’t been so stressed in years, and the possibilities running through his mind were burning their way through his brain.

She nodded hesitantly. “I’ve seen it. After she came out of Carlisle’s office I had a vision of it.” She said. 

He looked out of his window to the trees rushing past. He knew from the look on Alice’s face that he was right in his suspicions, and his heart ached with this realization. “She’s sick.” He said simply. Not a question, but a statement. It made sense. This was why she was in Carlisle’s office. That alone meant that it was bad. Most likely terminal.

Alice let out a heavy sigh, knowing that it would be of little use to hide the rest from him now “Leukemia.” She stated simply. It hurt her to see her brother in pain, but this pain was inevitable. She had seen everything play out, and there was no going back now.

The word had stabbed him right in the heart. Suddenly, every little detail made sense. The scent of her blood, the bruises on her arms, her confusing emotions. His head fell into his hands. “Fuck.” He said, mind reeling. Sure, he barely knew the girl, but knowing she was dying hurt, and he was vaguely aware that it shouldn’t hurt as much as it did.

Yes, he knew that she was only human, and even if she wanted to be friends, in the end she would leave and he would be left alone. But knowing she was dying was like he had been shot in the chest. He knew that there was no physical aliment that was causing it, but the pain in his heart felt so real in that moment.

He knew it would do little to help knowing, but he had to ask. “How long?” He murmured.

“Less than a year.” She answered stiffly, trying her best not to be too specific, not wanting to upset him further. “But that could change.” She said quickly. He looked up at her, hurt crossing his features. He knew that she didn’t mean it in a hurtful way, but he couldn’t bring himself to think of that future. He couldn’t hope for that. “I’ve seen that too. You loving her. Her loving you. It could work out, you know.” She reasoned.

Jasper scoffed frustratedly. The vampire next to him was his best friend. He would’ve thought that she would’ve known him better than that. “Alice. I’m not going to single handedly doom her to eternal damnation.” He said. It hurt immensely to think about that. To think about a future with her. He selfishly wanted that future, but he also knew that it wasn’t the easy way out for Camila. 

It would complicate everything for her, and he didn’t know if she would willingly make that gamble. She would lose her friends. Her family. Not only this, but she would have to live through knowing that they would mourn her death. Because that would be the only way. To let everyone think that she had died. So he shut that thought down, pushing that small glimpse of hope out of him mind.

——————

January 26th, 2005

Camila was thankful that Jasper had left by the time she had finished in the bathroom, relieved to avoid him for just a bit, to be able to figure out what she was going to tell him. In truth, she hadn’t come up with any excuses, and deep down she knew that she would end up begging him to keep her secret to himself by the end of it. 

Nerves settled in her chest as her mother’s mini van pulled up to the front of the school. Deep breaths. It would all be okay. She stepped out of the vehicle, sucking in a breath of cold air. As she made her way to the building, carefully avoiding the sheets of ice on the ground, all of a sudden, she felt a cold hand on the small of her back. Her feet slipped out from underneath her as the hand caught her mid fall.

She looked up, seeing the face of the one person she had been actively trying to avoid. Of course, just her luck. “Jesus. You scared me.” She said breathlessly.

Jasper looked at her, a playful smirk adorning his face. “Actually, my name is Jasper, darlin’.” He joked. There was that damn name again. That deep southern drawl that sent heat straight to her cheeks. 

Despite his joking, he was in a very serious mood. He was determined to have this conversation, not wanting to delay it any further. He had thought about it all night, and didn’t want to wait any longer. “Do you want to skip with me today?” He asked.

Camila looked over to him, anxious, but knowing that it was best to get this conversation over with and out of the way. She nodded lightly, allowing him to lead her back to his own car. 

They drove in silence, Camila looking out of the passenger window at the greenery blurring past. He had promised to go and buy her breakfast, wanting to ease her anxiety as much as he could. So they weaved their way through the small town to the only diner open at that time.

The tension was thick in the air between them as the car pulled in front of the small cafe. The anxiety radiating from her was beginning to put Jasper on edge as well, so as soon as the car was in park, he jumped out, rushing to her side to open the door for her. Silently, they made their way into the restaurant, sitting in at a small table in a far corner in attempts to find some sense of privacy.

They sat there for a moment, quiet, Camila fidgeting with her rings to distract herself. Jasper’s mind whirled with thoughts. He had so much time to think about what he would say to her, but now that she was sat there in front of him, he was lost for words. He didn’t know where to begin, so he decided to jump straight to the point. “So…” He trailed off awkwardly, Camila’s eyes refusing to meet his own. “You’re sick.” 

Camila finally looked up at him, her face void of any emotions. He had said it as a statement, not a question. She didn’t know if it was better of worse, him knowing already, but either way, he had figured it out and this was what she would be left to deal with. “It’s pretty pathetic. I couldn’t even keep that a secret for a week.” She said scoffing, looking down at her hands once again

Jasper’s eyebrows threaded together in confusion. “Why exactly did you want to keep that a secret?” He asked, trying to not be rude, but curiosity winning the fight.

Sadness began to spread from where she was seated, however, the blank expression remained. “People change when they know you’re dying.” She said simply, tears beginning to well in her eyes. “I’m sick of the sympathy, because that’s all they’ll give me.” She said, her eyes dropping back to the pealing lamination of the cafe’s menu. 

“I just want a normal life. Nothing spectacular, just normal, but that clearly isn’t in the cards for me anymore. Given the lack of longevity of my life, why would I want to spend the small remainder of it smothered by the pity of others? That’s far from normal, it’s fucking suffocating.” She rambled sniffling slightly as she shook the thoughts from her head. 

She refused to cry in front of him. She didn’t want to cry anymore. “Sorry.” She muttered, knowing it wasn’t fair to pour all of that out to him. But he had asked, so it was okay, right?

He sat there for a moment, debating whether or not he should manipulate her emotions. He hated the sight of her upset. He hated feeling the pain that she was feeling. Knowing how things that other people had put her through had left her hurting so bad. “Well, your secret is safe with me… and my family I guess.”  He said.

She looked over to him, not convinced of his words. “I promise, okay?…Look, we have our own secrets and we know first hand how important is to keep them.” He reassured. He knew it probably wasn’t the wisest thing to elude to their supernatural tendencies, but he really didn’t care anymore. If she found out, she found out. It made it that much easier to give her the option to live later on. If you could even call it living. 

Camila didn’t care to focus on what their secret could possibly be in that moment. She only cared about his promise and the sincerity in his voice. “Thanks.” She muttered softly, looking deep into his amber eyes. 

Jasper smiled gently. “It was never my secret to tell, Darlin’.” He said.

She let out a groan, burring her face in her hands as heat began to creep up her neck. “You and that damn word.” She chided.

He laughed lightly. “What? You don’t like it?” He asked teasingly, knowing from looking at her bright red cheeks that she did in fact like it. He had been so distracted from her reaction to his words that he hadn’t even noticed the waitress that was walking over to their table until she was only a few steps away.  He looked up, giving a small smile to the woman before turning his attention back to the blushing girl in front of him. 

The woman cleared her throat. “What can I get for you two?” She asked politely, as the burn in his throat intensified from her close proximity.

Vaguely, he was aware of Camila speaking, giving her order to the woman. His focus was weaning as he tried to concentrate on controlling his thirst. Only when Camila called his name did he shake away his thoughts. “Sorry, what?” He asked.

“What can I get you, sweetie?” The woman asked lightly. 

Jasper gulped, thinking things through quickly. Did he want to even try to put up a front of portraying a human? Alice’s words rang through his head. ‘Less than a year.’ She had said.And he decided, fuck it. He would be his most authentic self, and she would find out in her own time. “Nothing for me, thanks.” He answered politely.

His eyes landed back on Camila as the waitress let them know that she would put in her order, her footsteps slowly fading away. “You’re not getting anything?” Camila asked expectantly, feeling a bit awkward that she would be the only one eating. 

He smiled at her, biting back the urge to tell her his normal lies. “I don’t really eat.” He said, his eyes meeting hers.

She nodded slowly, she of course understood. After being diagnosed she had lost the majority of her appetite, not looking forward to the nausea that would follow after a large meal. However, the look of mischief in his eyes said more. Like she was missing the point of his words. Like there was some kind of inside joke and she found herself sinking deeper and deeper into his eyes. Then it hit her. “Your eyes.” She said suddenly. “They’re really dark. They were almost gold before.” 

He clenched his jaw slightly, pushing himself to not look away from her. The waitress’ blood had no doubt caused his eyes to darken in hunger, and he hoped it wouldn’t scare her away. But still, he pushed on, knowing that the more truth that he offered her the faster she would piece the puzzle together. The more time they would have together. No hiding. “They do that.” He stated. 

Camila sent him a small smile. Yet again there was that little voice in the back of her head, telling her that there was something more to his words. But she wouldn’t question it. Not today. Not when she was too busy being relieved that he had promised to keep her secret. “Thanks for the food.” She said, smile still lingering on her lips.

Jasper couldn’t help but beam back at her, only hoping that the sight of his teeth wouldn’t scare her away like he knew that they should. “Of course, Darlin'. Need to make sure you’re fed.” He said, smirking slightly as he heard the sputtering of her heart at that ‘damn word’ again. Yeah she definitely liked it. “And I thought it may help with the mental distress of this whole conversation.” He admitted.

She bit her lip bashfully at his words. Here she was thinking that was so skilled at hiding her emotions when apparently she had been wearing them on her sleeve the entire time. “So it was that obvious, huh?”

He snickered lightly. “The crippling anxiety? Yeah. I guess I’m just good at reading people, you could say.” He smirked, looking down from her eyes momentarily as he shifted slightly in his seat. It was going to take some getting used to, being so open about himself around a human when he was used to being closed off completely.

“Like an empath.”

His eyes shot back up to her as his mind reeled at her words. He wasn’t sure if she was serious or joking, but either way, he knew it was okay. The end goal was for her to know, so there was no use in panicking at what she had said. He swallowed thickly, pushing a smile back on his face. “Yeah… exactly like that.” 

——————

Unfortunately, as much as she wished that she could spend the whole day alone with Jasper, Camila knew that they would have to return to the school as they would be taking a biology field trip during the second half of the day. After a few hours of hogging the small table all to themselves, laughing, smiling, and just overall enjoying each other’s company, they knew it was time to leave, so they reluctantly returned to the car. 

She hadn’t exactly realized how long they had been gone until they pulled into the school parking lot, seeing the two school busses already parked in front. Students swarmed the busses as they murmured excitedly. Not for the field trip itself, but for the opportunity to miss the rest of their classes for the day. Parking, Camila quickly stepped out of the vehicle, trying to ignore the stares of others around them as they realized the two had been together off campus just minutes before.

Jasper fell in stride by her side as they joined the rest of the group. “Make sure I get your permission slips.” Mr Molina yelled over the crowd of students, ushering them onto the buses. Glancing over and seeing Alice watching expectantly, Jasper lead Camila over to her, knowing that she had expected him to introduce her officially to the human.

“Camila, this is my sister. She wanted to meet you officially.” He said, slightly agitated that his time alone with her had come to an end. 

Alice smiled brightly at the girl. “Hi, I’m Alice.” She said cheerfully as she pulled the girl in for a hug. Camila tried to hold back her shock as she slowly lifted her arms to reciprocate her hug. She wasn’t uncomfortable, in fact the hug was actually quite nice, but still a bit unexpected. To Camila’s surprise, the girls skin held no warmth, the coolness contracting nicely with her feverish body.

Jasper rolled his eyes at his adopted sister. “Alice.” He chided, slightly annoyed the display in front of him. He knew he had nothing to worry about when it came to Alice, but it still made him oddly jealous. “You’re going to smother her.” He mumbled irritatedly. He of course knew what Alice was doing. She had no doubt seen what he had been not so subtly trying to hint at and this hug was her way of helping him. Showing off the lack of warmth in her touch would be just another clue to the puzzle.

The immortal girl pulled away from the embrace finally, blinding smile still present. “Don’t worry Jazz, I can already see we’re going to be great friends.” She said cheerfully. “Now I’m going to go grab a seat by Edward, I’ll see you two there.” She said sending the two a wink before rushing off onto the bus.

Jasper sighed, turning to face the frail girl next to him. “Sorry about her she gets a bit… excited.” He said.

“It’s okay, she’s cute.” Camila said, snickering lightly. She really didn’t mind, even if the whole situation still weirded her out a bit. Alice was clearly a very sweet and genuine person, and if she was willing to be her friend, even knowing that Camila would die sooner rather than later, she would gladly grasp at that opportunity. 

She had plenty of friends in the past leave her because of her illness. The happiness had been sucked out of their friendships, the only thing the were able to focus on being her cancer. They treated her as if she couldn’t enjoy what little bit of her life she had left just because she knew it was ending. She didn’t want the constant sympathy anymore, the constant sadness and if Alice was willing to put herself in that situation knowingly, she could tell that they would become great friends. 

Jasper smiled, feeling her happiness and comfort. He was glad to see that she hadn’t become overwhelmed, although he should’ve known better than to doubt Alice. He should’ve known that she would say the exact right words. She always did. The smile didn’t waver from his face as he lead Camila onto the bus.  

——————

January 28th, 2005

The end of Camila’s first week had finally arrived. Exhaustion began to set in, luck being in store as lunch had finally arrived. Camila sat there at her usual table, trying to muster the strength and appetite to eat her food that was beginning to grow cold. Twirling the thin strands of pasta around her fork, she brought the bite to mouth and began to chew the unsavory food. Grimacing slightly, she resisted the urge to spit the mushed up pasta out. She needed the nutrients, she knew this, but that didn’t make it any easier to actually eat the food. 

Looking up from her tray, her eyes connected with Jasper’s. He gave her a small wave, the corners of his lips lifting slightly. The two hadn’t talked much since the impromptu cafe trip a few days previous, having been busy with their classes. She had seen him in calculus, as usual, but of course as always, by the end of the school day she was worn out and just ready for sleep. 

“Camila?” A voice said, abruptly breaking her gaze away from those Amber eyes. She looked to the owner expectantly, waiting for them to continue. “La Push, baby. You in?” Eric asked.

Her eyebrows quirked in question, not at all understanding what he was getting at. She looked over to Bella wondering if she understood. She looked just as confused. “Should I know what that means?” Bella asked Camila.

She laughed lightly, glad to see that she wasn’t the only one confused. “Your guess is as good as mine.” She answered, looking back to the boy for an explanation. 

“La Push beach, down on the Quileute rez. We’re all going tomorrow afternoon. Big swell coming in.” Mike explained. 

Eric beamed a bright smile. “And I don’t just surf the internet.” He joked lamely. Camila snickered, shaking her head in shame at the joke. 

Jessica scoffed. “Eric, you stood up once. On a foam board.” She clarified, rolling her eyes. 

“There’s whale watching, too. Come with.” Angela said, trying to convince the two girls to accompany the group on their trip. 

Eric nudged Camila on the shoulder, smile unwavering. “La Push, baby.” He said again.

Bella let out a groan. “I’ll go if you stop saying that.” She bargained, laughing lightly.

Eric smiled in success, turning back to Camila. “What about you Cam?” He asked.

Camila lulled it over in her mind. She knew that it probably wasn’t the best idea to go, considering that it was the middle of the winter in Washington, and most likely, her parents wouldn’t let her go even if she wanted to. She shook her head, an apologetic look on her face. “Sorry, I should probably stay home. I’ve got a bunch of homework to finish.” She lied, trying her best to sound believable.

Eric’s smile dropped at her words, a frown replacing it. “Awww, can’t you just do your homework later?” He pushed. She shook her head in response, giving an apologetic smile, slightly annoyed that he wouldn’t just take no for an answer.

Lunch dragged on as she slowly ate away at her food. The daily trip to the cafeteria was like a blessing and curse, she had thought. While it was great to get a brief break from the physical and mental exertion of the day, it also made it that much harder to seem normal to everyone else around her. Any other time, she would push off eating, usually having the best luck with taking supplement pills and drinking protein shakes, those making her the least nauseas. However, she knew that would look odd to her new friends. If she stuck to only those options, it would be only a matter of time before they noticed something was up. With her luck, they would think she had an eating disorder or something.

Finally, the bell rang, signaling the end of lunch. She pulled herself to a stand, as she grabbed her picked over food tray. She pushed her aching muscles forwards the cafeteria doors, dumping her tray into one of the awaiting trash cans when a tall dark silhouette rushed to her side. 

“Camila.” Tyler greeted, slinging an arm around her shoulders. The action caused pain to shoot down her spine and she had to bite her tongue in an attempt to stop herself from wincing. Tyler had made a point that week to be as friendly as possible, and even though more than just the pain of his action was making her uncomfortable, she didn’t want to come off rude. 

“Tyler.” She greeted back, trying her best to keep the grimace off of her face.  He was just being nice and friendly, that was all. 

“I was wondering.” He started, pausing for what she could only imagine was dramatic effect. “Prom?” He asked somewhat randomly, a wide grin spreading across his face. 

Camila’s mind reeled. Was that really how he was going to ask? She wouldn’t have said yes anyway, not being interested in going to prom at all, much less with Tyler Crowley, but that really was a terrible way of asking. She got along with him well, sure, but she didn’t want to date him. 

“Can’t.” She said, voice filled with fake regret. She tried to quickly come up with an excuse for her denial. She definitely couldn’t use homework again. “I… already have plans with someone. Not prom related.” She said awkwardly. 

The smile dropped from his face, disappointment replacing it, clear as day. “With who? You can’t reschedule? I mean it’s prom.” He tried to reason. 

Fuck. She hadn’t thought that far ahead. Clearly, she wasn’t very good at coming up with excuses and clearly, these boys weren’t good at just taking no for an answer. A normal person would’ve just taken the rejection and left, but of course Tyler and Eric had to be persistent. She thought quickly of someone who she could explain the whole situation to the easiest. “Jasper. Do you know him?” She asked casually. Surely Jasper would understand why she had added him in on her scheme, especially since he had seemed so respectful in keeping her secret in tact previously. 

Tyler’s eyes widened slightly. “Jasper Hale? Yeah I know of him.” He said incredulously. What was she doing with that weirdo? He had seen the two together before the biology field trip, but had thought it was some weird fluke, but now she was scheduling dates with him? 

——————

“I didn’t know we had plans for prom night.” Jasper said casually once she had sat herself down at their shared table in calculus later that day.

She groaned at his words. How had he possibly heard? Did Tyler talk to him? Surely not. She knew the majority of the school would never willingly put themselves in a conversation with anyone from the family, since they usually seemed very intimidating. So that only left him hearing the conversation, and there was no way that had happened. She had seen him across the room, much too far away, when Tyler had came up to her. Maybe he had some kind of super hearing?

She pushed the rushing thoughts aside, trying not to get too caught up in the mystery. “Sorry.” She murmured. “I just needed an excuse out.” She reasoned. Jasper of course knew the reason that she had came up with the ‘date’ in the first place, but he did find himself slightly disappointed that she did not, in fact, want to go on a date with the ‘Cullen weirdo’. 

“It’s okay.” He reassured her, because it was okay. He knew that she didn’t mean it maliciously, just knowing that he knew the truth of why she couldn’t go. “Out of curiosity though, is it just because of you know what that you said no? Or would you have said yes otherwise?” He asked. 

He couldn’t help himself from asking. The question had been racing through his mind since lunch and he knew it was because of jealousy. That much was obvious, hell, he was jealous when Alice hugged her. However, he also knew that he had no right to be jealous. She in no way belonged to him, even if Alice had seen them together as mates. In reality, she didn’t owe him anything, and as much as it pained him to watch, if that’s how she wanted to spend the remainder of her life, he knew he would support her through it every step of the way.

Camila blushed lightly in embarrassment, causing the burn in his throat to intensify slightly. “Well, more than that, I guess.” She said. “Three reasons really. One, you know what. Two, he asked me in a terrible way and I’m not at all interested anyway. Three, no dating for me. It’s one of few rules I have for myself.” She murmured lowly, trying to keep her voice down so others wouldn’t hear her. 

His heart, if it had still been beating, would’ve leapt at the news that she didn’t not like Tyler in that way. However, almost immediately after, his chest ached for her. He could feel her sadness with the confession and it pained him to realize that she was afraid of growing too close to someone. He wanted to press the topic, to sooth her discomfort, but he knew that now was not the right time. 

Jasper sat up a bit straighter in his chair, an idea coming to mind. “Would you maybe want to hang out tomorrow? We could go somewhere or stay in, whatever you want.” He suggested, nerves filling his chest once more. 

As Camila sat there, mulling the invite over in her mind, she took note that the anxiety she had felt when invited to the beach, was nowhere to be seen. Jasper made her comfortable, and she wasn’t sure if that was because of him knowing her secret, or something else entirely. 

What she did know, is that she definitely wanted to get to know him more. To figure out what made him so different from the rest. To piece together all of the confusing details that he had shared with her.

She sucked in a breath and spoke. “I’d love to.”

Next Chapter

Tag List:

@itsmytimetoodream @jasper-the-beloved @parkchaeyoung1997 @bobaopal @izzyisstuff @soyeonrai @just-browsing101 @demirunner @dkbj14 @iloveramensm @imyelenasexual @bella7866 @ropickle

[mapliusoup]

my big theory about whats going on in the bp universe- pt1

hey guys!!!! im just so excited abt the whole tour and the possibility that theyll release new stuff so i thought. why not share the brainrot with the swarm!!!

this is gonna be a i think 5-part (maybe more, maybe less) series of theories im gonna be doing :)

i also wanted to clarify that these are my theories and i am not in any way claiming they are true! im just having some fun lmao, if u wanna add anything just share with me im curious

(i dont include house of wolves and teenagers in the story btw they just dont fit in for me)

this is the part 1, the beginning.

the black parade, for me, is about death. and coming to terms with yourself. i am going to tell the story how i view it.

the story is about the patient, a man dying of terminal illness, most possibly cancer. he is alone, he is sad, and he has nobody to spend his last moments with. this is about him. and death.

his story starts with i dont love you. his partner has had enough of him: he is selfish, broken, and they dont think they can fix him. so they leave him. and he is alone.

the patient never had anyone he could remember of apart of them: his family? he didnt remember them.

in between that and the next song of the album, his fate is sealed. he gets diagnosed with terminal cancer and admitted into hospital. he has no one there. he cant remember anything about his past, in between these white walls.

the sharpest lives, the next song of the album, is the patient being angry. he is angry, at his partner, at the hospital, at himself, at the non-existent god that cursed him to this fate. he cant die, he does not deserve to. he complains, shouting at no one, about his unfair fate.

in this is how i disappear, his anger slowly starts to dissipate, shifting, and turning into slight sadness, maybe even remorse. he misses his lover: he wants to be normal. he wants them back. he doesnt want to go just yet.

in cancer, the patient is starting to realize his fate: hes dying. and there is nothing he can do to stop it. hes regretting every single mistake he ever made. the patient hates himself. he is alone because he deserves it: dying will free him for all this loneliness. he says his goodbyes to no one. and then he dies.

the end.

he opens his eyes, and he is in a place he does not recognize. a land of gothic infrastructures, tall and cutting the horizon into strange shapes. (we'll talk about this landscape more in the future; remember it.) he is surrounded by silhouettes, faceless people he does not know, but that yet seem so familiar. a young white-haired man approached him, smiling. "welcome," he said. "to the aftermath of your life."

the young man, the parade leader as he calls himself, explains to the patient that he is dead. he tells him that because of what how much of an asshole he was when alive, he is here, now.

in welcome to the black parade, the parade leader tells the patient about this place.

the parade, for me, is the purgatory: they send lost souls there to repent themselves- or, alternatively, to get them to hell. the parade leader and his band sing for them, they sing for them to make them remember all their past mistakes and to decide of their fate. the band is stuck there, in this limbo, forever: what got them here, they do not know. maybe the tour will shed some light on the origin of the parade.

then comes dead!, where the parade leader laughs at the patient, explaining to him that he made these mistakes, that he is unloved and he deserves whats hapenning to him now. the patient tries to deny it so hard, but he knows its true. he knows he fucked up.

in a burst of pain, for knowing that this is his fault, the patient has a vision.

he lays in wet dirt, the smell of blood and death in his nostrils. he hears screams and gunshots all around him.

suddenly, he remembers. the patient went to war, probably world war two (i like to think he went there because of the ghost of you music video. maybe im overthinking it lmao), and killed people there. a lot of people. it was normal to kill people at war, of course. but it haunted him. during the battles, he lost so many friends. so many brothers. the only person he had left was his mother.

mama.

his mother cried when he came back. because she could see the blood on his hands. she cried because her own son had murdered other women's flesh- their families.

she died quickly, too sad to live like this.

from that moment and then next song, there is a big gap that im going to try my best to explain.

basically, after the patient recovered his memories of his mother and the war, he started regretting all that he did even more. at the same time, he accepted it: everyone was imperfect. everyone was human. he comes at peace with himself, and prepares to die. i mean yeah he already died but like just his mind died? like he was still technically alive because his old memories still attached him to the living world.

in famous last words, the patient tells his last regrets to the parade leader: how he couldnt tell his mother and his partner that he loved them: that he couldnt live a long healthy life: that he couldnt say sorry to the mothers of all the men he killed.

but in disenchanted, he comes to terms with that: it is sad, but it is how it is. just a sad song, with nothing to say. there is nothing he can do to stop it, so he might as well go peacefully.

the parade leader, himself, had grown attached to this man: the patient was like him in many ways. he couldnt quite explain it, or understand it, but it hurt to let him go.

and so, in sleep, the parade leader sets him off. his song comes from deep inside, from his guts. it hurts. it hurts so bad to let him go. as he screams at him to go to sleep, there is a flash of darkness. and so the patient ends.

thats kind of my interpretation of the story! a man who is broken and does not know why, who is going to suffer an unfair end, and who finally comes to terms with who he is thanks to another lost soul. ofc, thats just how i personally see it!

last little thing before he start working on the next parts, for which i have wayyy more evidence for what im gonna speculate hehe

blood is the "transition" to the next part of the story. the parade changed after the death of the patient. it wasnt the patient directly, but something had changed after he left. the parade had become more defiant, more unstable, more resisting. so someone had to stop them.

thats when swarm comes in.

feel free to share ur theories with me!! i love to hear them :3

[mytheoristavenue]

TMNT Leonardo x Mutant!Reader 🍋 - Teach Me - All 4-1 March

Summary: The cultures of mutants is so new to you and Leo is here to guide through your newfound urges.

Warnings: Adult!Leo x Adult!Reader, Fem!Reader, Mutant!Reader, reptilian!Reader, loss of virginity, mating season, Impregnation, Non established relationship, corruption, baby trapping, pregnancy kink

You hated this. At first, you'd chalked it up to allergies, but you now knew that his was something else entirely. Through research you were able to deduce that your symptoms boiled down to the time of year. Nesting behavior, more powerful motherly instincts, and an insatiable ache that no amount of self service could quench: you were experiencing heat for the first time.

Initially, you were able to isolate yourself in your room and find some sort of tranquility but as time progressed and your senses heightened, that was no longer an option. You would smell sweat rolling down necks as training drug on, food that was cooking in the kitchen as if you were there yourself, and the lingering aroma of soap on a person long after they'd showered. You began to wander out of your room at times when everyone was out or asleep, just to be able to sit with the remnant that your coinhabits left behind- just to feel a mite less alone. This was one of those times.

You laid on the couch, nuzzling your face against the back cushion, bathing in residual warmth of it having been sat on, pillows and blankets wrapped around yourself in a cozy nest.

"Trouble sleeping?" a stern voice called from across the room, close to the entrance of he hallway that lead to the dormitories.

"L-Leo?" your head shot up and you instantly began straightening yourself out and dismantling your small pallet. "W-What are you still doing up?"

"Glass of water." he answered. "What are you doing up?"

You thought for a moment, eyes darting between him and the fabric draped across you. "It's too cold in my room, so I was going to sleep on the couch for the night."

He cocked a suspicious brow as he weighed your answer. "You must really like the couch then, judging by how you were nuzzling it just now." He watched you go rigid, shoulders becoming stiff at the prospect of being found out. "C'mon, tell me what's really going on." He urged, sitting down on the couch beside you.

You were finding it hard to keep the secret any longer, needing to get it off your chest. "Leo...something's wrong with me..." you confessed, your head sunk in shame. "I think I'm sick..."

"Oh no," he replied worriedly, pressing a hand to your forehead. "You are kinda hot..." You blushed at the contact, feeling the heat radiating off him as he drew closer. "Hang tight, I'll go wake Donnie up, he can probably diagnose you better than I can." Just as he was about to stand and walk away, you caught him by his arm and pulled him back down.

"I-I think I might know what it is.." you trailed, humiliated to have to say it, his questioning look eating at you like vultures pecking at roadkill. "I-I think...it may be...mating season..." You felt horrendously awkward, and almost a bit frightened at the way his eyes seemed to darken at your revelation.

"Oh," he said flatly, forcing you to believe that this was a deeper topic than he was willing to delve into with you. "It is about that time, I suppose. What are you going to do?"

"I don't know what to do!" you panicked a bit. "Am I going to be okay? This has never happened before."

Unbeknownst to you, he could feel his stomach twisting at the thought you you, someone he'd been eyeing for months going through heat for the first time, so desperate and so ill-informed. "Well.." he began cautiously as he formulated a more calculated response. "What is your body telling you to do?"

You thought for a moment and collected all of your thoughts and fantasies from the last few days in order to come to a conclusion. "I think I just really...want to be a mom." you realized. "It's lest about the sex and more about the mating, I guess." Your cheeks burned just thinking of the visions you'd had, and hearing the words come out of your mouth.

"Well, I think you should give in." Leo said frankly. "It's not good to deny your body it's natural urges."

You were apprehensive to say the least. You never thought Leo of all people would encourage you to just have a baby without at least thinking about it first. "But...babies are expensive. And I don't have a mate. Plus, isn't being a ninja all about resisting temptations and stuff?"

"You worry too much." he comforted, sliding an arm around your shoulders. "I'll be your mate, I could protect and provide for our little family. Besides, all that stuff about resisting temptation doesn't apply to this. You wouldn't deny yourself food just for your ninja training would you?" You were beginning to find yourself entranced with the pheromones he was secreting, subject to suggestion, and love sick for a man you'd never once had romantic attraction to. You began to picture having a family with him; he would work all day to protect the city, and come home and play with the kids while you cooked dinner. Then at night you both would lay down and-

"Leo, I don't know about this..." you finally said, detaching yourself from the idea. "Don't you think we should get married before having kids? Or at least date?"

They'll be plenty of time for that, baby." he cooed, gently pushing your onto your back and crawling over you. "Just imagine how many cute dates we could go on while you have a bump. I could take you shopping for maternity clothes, we could do those little photo shoots where I put my head on your belly. It'll be so sweet." You were beginning to get too lost in the rose colored thoughts of having his baby to find anymore issues with the idea as he began peppering kisses all over your face.

"And then think of the dates we could take the kids on," he chuckled, trailing his lips down your throat. "Beach trips, dinners with the family, you'll love it, I promise."

"O-Okay..." you consented. "I think I'd like that." You smiled up at him as he parted form you, looming over with lustful eyes. "I wanna have a baby with you, Leo." He gave a gravelly laugh before diving back in to nip at your scaly flesh. "There's just one other thing..." you mumbled before breathy gasps.

"What's that?" he wondered, lips too preoccupied to ensure he spoke clearly.

"I'm a virgin..." you almost whispered, feeling your self esteem tank when he froze.

"That's okay baby, I'll teach you everything you need to know." he reassured. "It's so much more romantic this way, right? Your first time is with your future husband and you get pregnant from it. Couldn't be more perfect."

Taglist: @sunshinesdaydream, @thelaundrybitch, @momii, @camillahorne26, @turtle-babe83, @sharpwindow, @fyreball66, @roseygardenfan, @witchofthenorthstar, @pheradream15, @post-apocalyptic-daydream, @killmewithafanfic

[charleslee-valentine]

Headcheese

For the Texas Chainsaw Massacre Disability Pride Month Event: Day Two- Weird Lookin’

Word Count: ~9,700

Warnings: Ableism, especially internalized, and use of ableist slurs. Implied domestic abuse. Delusions- Nubbins Sawyer canonically has schizophrenia and this fic explores that. This includes mild religious delusions, fantasies about violence, slight medical delusions, and applying thoughts and motivations to others. Brief descriptions of harmful stimming. Canonical self harm. Misogyny. Inaccurate diagnoses and language. Period typical everything. Several instances of animal cruelty. Blood and violence.

Disclaimer: The dialogue is not original. All dialogue is pulled from the screenplay script which was still called ‘Leatherface’ or ‘Headcheese.’ This fic serves as an internal reflection/stream of consciousness during a canonical scene; interpretations, headcanons, etc are mine.

__________

His hair is sweaty, dropping little beads down his back in addition to an already soaked shirt. Nubbins scrunches his neck back to squish out the wetness, the inside of this van no better than out in the heat or at home. At least the windows is open at home, unless Bubba got scared of bein’ alone again and shut ‘em all up.

The van he’s in makes all kinds of noises, sputtering and coughing fuel behind it like roadkill entrails. The stink of gasoline always made Nubbins’ head dizzy, when it’d waft off the generators. Makes him wiggle a little every time the van struggles to get to speed on the long stretch ‘ road.

Better than walkin’ still. Nubbins been cooped up inside, couldn’t stand one more second at home waitin’ for Cook to do all the fun work bringin’ home food. Can’t get in trouble anyhow if he feeds the family by takin’ this trip. But he got tired of all the wanderin’ a good while ago without any excitement. Closest he got was the harsh ping of a crushed up Coke can smacking against the back of his head when it was thrown from a Cadillac. ‘Bout knocked him stupid.

The heat always makes him itch. Big brother would always tell folks, when he was just a tiny thing growin’ up, that the marks didn’t mean much, ‘cept it ain’t true. Where it’s red it burns like fire under his skin when he’s out in the sun so much. His arms too, where he’s got sores poppin’ up like prairie dogs been tunneling in his flesh. All the running made him tired of it even more now. Breathless from his run.

Franklin, the wheelchair man from the van group, don’t give him much a chance to recover.

“You getting off on the smell of all that blood, man?”

Nubbins feels a pull on the left of his face that’s got nothing to do with unpleasant feelings. He’d like to think he manages a smile, intrigued by the attitude on that man. There’s sweat in his eyes he got to blink away, turning the attempt at pleasantries into more like a grimace.

“I-It's a good smell.” He comments vaguely.

A girl from the front seat shares a look with meaning with Franklin, though Nubbins is left out of understanding it. His interest turns sour as the slaughterhouse floors when she says, even not directly to him, “Oh.. I don't like it.”

“I think we just picked up Dracula.” Franklin murmurs back.

Nubbins knows that isn’t nice. Don’t know what it means, but the way it’s said isn’t nice. He digs the ends up his fingers into the tender flesh around his scabs, tearing one open. Gotta make it to hurt when snide remarks just become backround noise. Heard ‘em so often the sting’s gone dull.

The other man here in the back talks and it takes Nubbins a moment to soak in his words, “Where you headed, man?”

“South.” Nubbins answers quickly. Ain’t safe to give more detail, just gotta get home.

Though Nubbins does crack a knowing smile when he realizes he’s thinkin’ ‘bout safety warnings, when he’s the one who is danger. Makes him seem pleasant.

Franklin makes a funny expression back with his eyebrows, squishing them all up, “You could have fooled me. I thought we were headed due north.”

Nubbins turns his stare on Franklin, but the words to respond doesn’t come right away. Mostly cause he ain’t sure which is being truthful, him or the wheelchair man. Been a long time out on them roads. Might’ve lost track of his direction.

Wouldn’t he get the whoopin’ of a lifetime if he went and got himself lost up.

But the other guy seems to think Franklin tells lies more, jutting towards him with his thumb, “He had a little accident- still doesn't know where he is..”

Until then, Nubbins hadn’t taken note of all the bruises and bloody lines on the man, sitting up straighter as his eyes trace over every last scrape and bump. Looks like big brother got a hold of Franklin too. If that was possible, maybe then Nubbins would’ve got somethin’ smart to say, but as is, he just stares and wonders.

While he’s lookin’ Franklin starts talkin’, askin’ up, “You work at that place?”

“N-No.” Nubbins answers simply, choking on a stutter while the rest of his brain catches up.

Don’t got a chance before the blonde girl gives him a new question, interrupting him so he’s got to think of a new answer all over and force himself to speak it, “How did you get stuck way out here?”

“I w-was at the slaughter h-house.” Nubbins’ voice feels like cotton in his throat. His little brother was right that he shouldn’t have broken the rules and gone out, the outside world already much too overwhelmin’ to his senses. Might help if all the folks in this van wasn’t starin’ at him so hard. Could tell them the truth, ‘at he was tradin’ with the old slaughterhouse, givin’ some of big brother’s vouchers to the men there who used to boss them around in trade for supplies and things.

Meat hooks, cattle irons, recipes, the like. Couldn’t get ‘em no place else to handle their own special kind of beeves. They’s lucky the old man of the slaughterhouse was Grandpa’s bestest friend in the world. ‘Ccepts them free gas and barbecue tickets like that’s any good enough, then pat Nubbins on his bony back and send ‘im back home on his way.

Stings his pride some, the pretendin’ to be civil after they sended him off with a pink card in his blood-stained hands. Him and little Bubba both. They was gonna let Grandpa and big brother stay, but they walked. And now Nubbins does all his walkin’, all over the roads, ‘cause the Sawyers gotta play niceys or they’ll get sniffed out.

His vagueness, the van folk don’t seem to like it much. Funny thing is those sour faces kill off any more words that might’ve been comin’.

The wheelchair man, Franklin, he ain’t in work either, understands the vengeful sorta shame Nubbins’ got boilin’ under his scratchy flesh.

“I have an uncle that works at a slaughterhouse.”

He’s good at that, at makin’ Nubbins feel like he already knows the inside of his head, so he makes sure to manage an answer, tell him a little on his family too, “M-My brother worked there, my g-grandfather… My family's a-always been in meat.”

It comes out punctuated by the tiniest laugh, satisfied with himself for being smart, knowing more than folks who thinks it’s the other way ‘round. Nubbins leans back some and wiggles his shoulders, working his pride into his physical self too, to burn off the happies before that becomes too much too and suffocated him whole.

Nubbins misses a second interaction between the Hardesty siblings in hushed tones, as much as they seem different from Nubbins hisself, they ain’t quite on the same page with one another either.

“Don't start talking about that place again..”

“A whole family of draculas..”

But Franklin can’t help himself. He liked the way the hitchhiker expressed things, the strange sort of lilt in his voice like he ain’t talked much to other people to know how inflection works. His batty eyes and flailing limbs, he might as well be some part cattle himself, escaped from the slaughterhouse and seekin’ refuge here. Hate to have to tell him the others wouldn’t be so keen on that. Might be best if that particular idea got lined up in the shoot.

“Hey man, did you go into the slaughter room or whatever they call it.. The place where they shoot the cattle with the air gun.” Franklin motions vaguely himself, wrists forming the air gauge and the bolt.

It wounds him some. Always said that automation was the thing put the Sawyers outta the business, but it ain’t true. Nubbins was a real good listener, better at that than talkin’ most times, hearing from around hushed whispers and corners in the house that it was him got them all the boot. His fit.

Had ‘em all his life, but actin’ that way was strictly against the rules at work. Drayton wouldn’t ‘llow it for a second. Always done his best, Bubba too, goin’ on pretend smoke breaks to just spin around in the fresh air and play together if the workin’ grew too much pressure.

‘Til a beeve kicked him in the chest. Made Nubbins get the jitters real bad, worked up over the pain and adrenaline and everyone ‘round him coming to stare. They was scared too, for the state of his ribs, ‘n all that was too much to handle. He’d just bounced a little at first, waving his arms around, sniveling some. Would’ve worked it all out on his own if it weren’t for a big noise. Metal hitting metal and then yelling for clearance and the beeves making their chuffing noises. Goin’ down the chute.

Nubbins only crouched down and covered his ears, but then he was yelled at for stopping work, and there’s blood in his hair cause his hands was still soaked from slittin’ a throat, so he lashed out. Cryin’ his eyes out, he swung for the boss’ face, slashed the big bowie knife they give him, and now there’s more screamin’ and he’s curled up in a ball, knees to his chest, again.

Big brother explained it away by sayin’ it was part of his condition in his brain, the same one Bubba’s got, so that was it. ‘Stead of things changin’ ‘round the slaughterhouse, Nubbins and Bubba had to go away. And the whole fam’ly followed.

“Yeh, it's nice, b-but the..the gun is-” He starts, face fallen serious and dull upon reflecting those memories.

At the same time, Franklin had started speaking. “I was there once with my uncle.”

“-is no good. The old way, w-with the sledge is better, they die b-better.” Nubbins finishes, looking up at Franklin when he realizes, slowly, that he talked over him. He flinches, just so, hopin’ to not gettin’ in trouble for that.

In a way he does, when the puffy haired girl on the floor gives her disgruntled opinion, “You like talking about morbid things.”

Big brother taught him to behave ‘round strangers, so as much as he’d like to, Nubbins don’t stick his tongue out at the girl or spit in her hair. He imagines it though, among worse things. Throwing her face down into the moving tires of this here van for example.

“How come? I thought the gun was better.” Franklin asks, bringing Nubbins back to the front of his head.

Which he shakes, messy hair slicked back with grease it don’t hardly move.

“No.. I li-like the old way better. A lot of p-people don’t got work now w-wit’ the new way.”

“You used to do that?” The dry haired man asks, but Nubbins doesn’t like the way he says it, somethin’ about the judgement from his lady pal seeping into his demeanor too.

Looking between them, Franklin notices and takes over, asking too, “You do that, man?”

“Yeh.. I-I was the killer. I don't d-do it no more.” Nubbins explains carefully.

“How come, man?” Franklin asks, but Nubbins doesn’t really wanna talk about that, so he doesn’t. Makin’ him would just lead to another fit.

When he come in the van, he’d really thought Franklin was gonna be the mean one, with his confusing comments right in Nubbins’ face, but now he thinks he’d be upset about sharin’ the unpleasant details. Doesn’t want a nice man to think of him that way.

Not while knowin’ he’s being talked about behind his back. The puffy haired lady leans to the other man, telling whispers that Nubbins can’t hear but they’s both looking right at him, thinkin’ he must be too dumb to know it.

“I can't believe he did that..”

“Now I'm an artist.. With the- the gun and knocking board they don't n-need me no more.” Nubbins turns away from the whisperers and tells it just to Franklin.

“You're an artist? Pam's an artist too. She’s really good.” The pretty blonde girl hums her words. Her voice is too sharp, all of it’s startin’ to make him fuzzy.

Nubbins slips his head to the side to look between her and that other pinched face lady. Makes him angry. Blondie’s under the mental tire too now, teeth knocked out of her tiny skull and scattered all over the road. Unknowingly to hisself, Nubbins’ eyes’ve gone unfocused, distant and empty while he’s in the torture chamber up in his skull.

“Hey..” Franklin says a bit too softly, understandin’ more than maybe anybody why bein’ compared to Pam could sting. If they all want so badly to group him in with the roadkill scented stranger, then he’ll take a little pride in that over bein’ another one of the non-political hippies. The type who think the world gets to be sunshine and rainbows so long as the whiny cripples like him stay hidden along with the other undesirables. Peace and love and only the good stuff.

The gentle voice sort of breaks Nubbins’ mind in two. Nobody talked to him that way in a long while, since throwin’ fits and scraped knees and tangled hair was still cute as a kid. It’s easiest to repeat himself, “Yeh.. I-I don't like it now. With the gun it’s no..”

They isn’t listening. Maybe Franklin is, since he’s still lookin’ that way, but the front seat blonde isn’t. She flicks her hair away from her shoulders and grills him, “Are you a painter or what? I know this crazy artist. He never knows what he's doing.”

“I work with uh.. l-leather. I'm a sculptor t-too.” The words just kinda tumble past his teeth without much awareness. Lucky he didn’t spit out the truth about workin’ in bones.

Sometimes his lonely just outweighs his angry. Makes him go actin’ foolish.

Franklin brings him back to him, with his fun voice, like a stinger’s buzz in his ears ‘stead of industrial grindin’, “Hey, man. I was in there. They had blood about up to...”

Delighted by somethin’, only ‘cause she’s obvious she’s already among the dead in Nubbins’ mind, the blonde laughs at more slaughterhouse talkin’, “Oh. I need one of those hammers for Jerry. He’s so hardheaded.”

They doesn’t wanna talk about Mr Jerry at the wheel, so they don’t. Jus’ like before. Nubbins starts to sees it that Franklin’s the way he is when he Franklin keeps on instead, “-your ankles covering this giant room. There were these big cow heads they had cut off sticking up out of the blood.”

Brings back Nubbins’ smile, “I-It's that way now.. Y-You liked it?”

“Sure. Lots of blood and guts. They dump all the entrails and heads and…” Franklin shrugs while he talks, bouncing about. The life he talks with keeps him firmly in the non-meat category in Nubbins’ mind. His energy’s as familiar as the subject.

Nobody ever liked those same things before. Franklin’s just special like that. For his troubles, the troubles of kindness towards someone awful through and through the way Nubbins is, he gets the reward of seein’ his pictures.

The critter pouch on his necklace fell inside his shirt while he was runnin’, gotta reach in to free it so he can show off his pictures. Older now and startin’ to wither some, he don’t let just anybody get they’s paws on these. But he hands them right over, proudly even, to Franklin.

Franklin who keeps on talking while Nubbins’ shakin’ the photos in his face. “..and stuff they don't use in one place and sell it to the glue factory or someplace like that.”

“Here.” He gives the permission, and Franklin finally goes and takes the pictures, the three yellowed ones that’s up for grabs.

One’s of the slaughter room, ankles deep in the blood just like he said. It’s from Nubbins lookin’ straight down, at the way it’s all pooled around him. Would be nice if they had a room like that at the house, but they isn’t allowed, gots to scrub the kitchen walls when they gets too splattery from the butcherin’. The picture though shows the heads of cattle cutted clean off their big ol’ bodies ‘n scattered about the room, just floatin’ along. That part Nubbins didn’t like so much, when they’d get left about like that. ‘Course that was the only pieces they was willin’ to send the Sawyers’ way for dirt cheap.

That first one’s his favorite, the other two more recently shot, noticeable right away ‘cause it shows the industrial equipments all around. The bolt and the gun and all that, the slicing up of the beeves. Ain’t his work so it ain’t his pride the same way. Just close documentation of what they says is more important. A gun over a retard.

But he’s smart! Knows more’n this lot, “They don't send the heads away.”

“Damn!” Franklin holds the photos away and down, like when big brother can’t see without his glasses, before bringing them right back up real close.

“Let me see.” The same irritating woman demands, but Franklin is inspecting them down to the gory details. Let fin’ himself be learned.

“Th-They make-” Nubbins tries to keep his attention held right there, casting the moment in gooey amber so it never goes nowhere.

“You took these, huh?” Franklin interrupts.

His enthusiasm and the pointy smile he gives is real enough Nubbins forgives him.

“Yes. Y-You like ‘em?”

.

“Franklin....” Blonde lady whines to see the photos, big bug eyes pleading with nobody who’s lookin’.

If Nubbins were more a little more observant, he’d note the jealousy from the girl, the way she sees him as some kind of strange adventure and not just a stranger. There’s danger in the way he smells and the crimson color hidden deep behind pale brown irises and the way his limbs clamber and pull. To her, a monster she can tempt into chasing her for the sheer thrill of it, in the safety of a group of people who know nothing of the way her morbid mind works.

Except maybe Franklin, and his fascination for those damned photographs he won’t let go.

The hitchhiker, as she knows him, inches forward, heels putting so much pressure on the ground his boots creak and flake off old material, so he can prop slightly up to gesture at the photographs.

Like he never left off, he continues his story, about the processes of the big house, violence radiating easily off of him, “They make head cheese.. E-Except for the tongue they b-boil the head, and scrape the b-bone clean of flesh. All the parts is used, n-nothin’ is wasted. The- The jowls, ‘n the eyes, even the m-muscles-“

“Ugh.” There's a groan from miss pretty, as she must realize, this kind of horror is all too real for her. He really had killed ‘em, over and over he had, and that’s too much for a little sheltered lady. Not for his friend though, nice Franklin.

Nubbins gets so worked up thinkin’ it, he’s talkin’ with his hands and rocking slightly, “and ligaments and the fleshy parts from the n-nose and gums- They put everythin’ into a jelly of f-fats!”

“Look at this.” Franklin urges, waving the blood picture in the face of the girl on the floor while Nubbins is still talking, keepin’ his eyes on the man now even with the photograph is moved away.

“..the f-fleshy parts from the nose and…”

This lady ain’t amused even in the slightest, slapping them away so much a new crease forms in the corner of Nubbins’ picture.

“Ugh.. You’re making me sick. Why do you like killing so much?”

Nubbins knows why.

Killin’ is a business, but they says if you get a job you like you don’t work a day in your life. Bringin’ blades across weak throats and feelin’ familiar warmth all up and down his body, smellin’ familiar smells and findin’ home in that. Home bein’ the little squirrely he found torn to bits by a coyote in the fields. Home bein’ the slaughterhouse once upon a time. Home bein’ with his brothers. Changes, but the reason don’t.

You do it to survive. And life is a gift. Mama and Gramma and Pa prob’ly too by now, they’s all gone. Big brother tells about how every one of them was sick as babies cause Mama didn’t stop her habits for a little bump on her tummy, comin’ out all kinds of messed up. They was never meant to live, skin kissed by the devil’s false affection on his right cheek to show it.

If he can’t be normal, can’t be loved, can’t be a ‘functioning member of society,’ -whatever that means- then he oughta either just be dead, or shake up the devil’s wishes. Nubbins chooses the second. Can’t be killed cause he fights to live and exchanges plenty of souls for his own. Gotta eat the meat and he gets another point from the heavens above to not end up in his early grave.

Likes doin’ it cause it’s a blessing so it makes him feel nice. Franklin, he must be smart enough to see that, gifted in his own way. The denim man said Franklin had an accident, and Nubbins sees those wheelies clear as day. That’s two mess ups. Figures whatever he’s been through, he can see death the same. Makes him truly special, not just on account of his niceness.

“-gums.. Th-They put e-everything into a jelly of fats!”

Nubbins shifts a hopeful gaze into Franklin’s, locking eyes while he scans for a sign that the other is being truthful when he says,

“Wow.. I didn't know that's what's in that stuff.”

“I-It's real good.. You like it?” His heart beats like some kind of a winged creature got swallowed up and lives in his chest. Important to him Franklin doesn’t reject the work, the gift.

First come the blondie girl, handing back the photos she’d taken straight from the hand that extended them into her friend’s face before. Along with it, more attitude, “Ugh..I don't see how anybody could eat that junk.”

Nubbins falters, shoulders slowly sinking down, bloat-air let out of him and stinkin’ up the already acrid van with disappointment.

Immediately Franklin sees that and gives his input a little bit louder, “Oh. I like it. It's good..”

Nodding, Nubbins lets him see more smiles instead of hiding it, a little wispy laugh following along. The creature in his chest turns into a whole colony of ‘em when Franklin hands his snapshots back with a returned nod. Even dumb old Nubbins knows that means he’s talkin’ to him, and not those others. He knows Nubbins knows he’s meant for slaughtering meat too.

Then he realizes the others must see it too. Prob’ly why they keep him from his legs workin’. Nubbins seen it before, what happens when the hacksaw breaks apart the rope down your spine. He’d bet anything they done that to Franklin, and he prolly don’t even know it. Grief joins the overwhelming joy in his body. It’s not just that they’re ignorant, airheaded little things just floatin’ on through their part of Texas and paying the angel’s price.

Their mean words and their dumb hearts, it’s all on purpose, weapons to keep them apart.

And they’s sharpenin’ their blades.

Pinchface girl covers her mouth with the back of her hand, but her eyes tell it all, the coldness there like lookin’ into two empty sockets.

“It sounds horrible.. Talk about something else.”

Sweet, unaware Franklin tries to light a match can burn away the tension, “Aw, you would prob’ly like it if you didn't know what was in it.”

Nubbins just knows if his brothers saw how really really smart Franklin could be, they’d let him keep him.

It’s a shame they’s outnumbered so bad, woulda been easier work if only one of the beeves was so mean and not all of ‘em. The same girl raises her hackles and her voice at the same time, actin’ like hunted prey just on account of bein’ around different folk. Weak.

“No I wouldn't and I wish you would quit.”

“Aw..” It hurts Franklin. Gotta toughen him up some, teach him the way to wrap himself in a shell of calcified rot and pure leather. Even if it had to be literal the way it did for little Leatherface, they could make Franklin masks too.

“Come on, Franklin, you're making everybody sick..” The floor man says scornfully.

Poor Franklin bows his precious curly head some, muttering, “Ok.. Ok…”

But his nature, that Nubbins knows is under there, comes out to play. Franklin, in his disappointment, sits glumly for a while. While the others stay quiet, Franklin brings out a little blade and starts toyin’ with it. Flicking it around like a butterfly blade, only it isn’t one. Nubbins can’t help but stare.

Franklin stops for a moment to dig under his nails with the knife, bringing Nubbins to imagine him popping each one off. Pop. Clatter. Screams. No need to waste that on Franklin when he ain’t the one that oughta be hurting. They’ll rip ‘em off of anyone else that gets in they’s way.

Noticing his affection and lettin’ it egg him on, or really just in his own fit, Franklin starts to work himself into a frenzy. Nubbins starts rockin’ a little harder in his mutual excitement over what they’s gonna be able do together. The thoughts in his head get so splatter sticky and cruel he starts to grind his teeth out loud. Puffy haired lady notices and openly points, no shame in her cruelty. Her beau just kind of shrugs, but he’s got disgust in his features just as clearly.

Nubbins can’t help using his rocking to urge himself forward, straining upwards against their judgemental glares towards Franklin. What he wants is to reach for that beautiful knife and show him just how to use it, but the plan is t’ get ‘em all home, feast on them together with Franklin ‘stead of scaring him off now. More giggles tear at his throat and bubble up without his permission.

The clueless driver interrupts and just ruins everything, “We're going to have to stop for gas fairly soon.”

“Th-There’s a place not far.” Nubbins remembers to answer. A big van-ful right into big brother’s lap, oh he’ll be so proud! Maybe he’d even spare Nubbins the beating for leavin’ the house with little brother all on his own again.

“Good enough.” Hums mister driver, no idea he’s fallin’ right into the trap.

See, Nubbins can be smart!

Only thing, he’s got to make sure Franklin ain’t wheeled right into the cattle pens too. He stares at Franklin intently, hoping naively if he looks long enough, he won’t ever have to go away.

Conversation or not, the stare is what brings Franklin out of the tiny fit he sunk into when he was toying with that blade of his. Now Nubbins gets a real good idea. Family is made from blood. Sharin’ his blood with another man would make him family too, share the mark right along with the name, a virgin’s sacrifice of sorts.

Nubbins finally snatches up the old blade.

The floor couple stares and gasps and shifts around warily, but they don’t mean nothin’ to no one. This is Franklin’s knife. And Franklin, though a little startled from the way his mouth falls a little bit open, watches with intense curiosity. Won’t tear those eyes away for nothin’. Nubbins closes the blade in his hand, gettin’ a good look at the whole thing, bubbly laughter piercing his own ears in a detached kinda way as he presses the silver spring button and the blade springs open again.

Slowly and on purpose-like, he puts the blade against the fleshy part of his hand, below the thumb and over his thick palm. Nubbins looks up to make absolutely sure Franklin is watchin’ what he’s doin’ for him. Blood is a real valuable resource afterall.

The blade sinks nice into his flesh. Kinda dull, the fibers pulling apart one at a time instead of all at once. His blood comes out real slow and dark, his new wound aching in a way that makes touching the cool blade feel nice ‘n soothing. Franklin is awed, eyes wide and alive instead of turned away.

Nubbins thinks sometimes that he ain’t a creature of the flesh, but the dealer. The trader. He’s the killer. Doesn’t wanna hear the various calls of distress, when even the front seat couple take notice. Keeps his smile good and fixed on his face so they don’t know it pinches at his chest some to be screamed at and not act out back.

“What are you doing!?”

“Put that knife away.”

“What did you do to yourself?”

Flexing his palm, Nubbins finds Franklin’s gaze again, to reassure him in one way that a reaction ain’t necessary. Remembers this was all for him, the exchanging of the blood, so he extends the knife back up to him, tilting the blade upwards some so he don’t have to grab it. Not yet.

And Franklin takes it.

The blood, the wound, it’s starting to dry up and panic nips at the edges of relief. Like if he lets it go away then Franklin will change his mind. He puts his hand into his mouth and bites down hard on the cut, making it gush again.

Blonde lady grimaces at him somethin’ fierce, “Ugh. How can you do that!?”

It’s real easy. He could show her. Franklin’s still lookin’ real hard at his knife, so Nubbins brings out his own. That trusty straight razor from inside his boot. Wants to carve a more pleasant expression onto Blondie’s face an’ show her exactly how simple it is.

“This is making me sick. Can't we let him off somewhere?” The puffy haired one asks quietly. Silly her not knowing this blood means that ain’t never gonna happen.

Not caring that it’s gonna scare her, he waves the razor some, “I-I have this k-knife.”

“You can put that one away too.” The beau that matches scared girl chides.

“It’s a good knife.” Nubbins promises, but returns it quietly to his boot when he sees they ain’t willing to reach out and lose a few fingers. Oh well, since it ain’t supper time yet, he can be patient.

His mind drifts off from himself in the wait, his stare fixing straight forward and landing on the girl up there. He can feel eyes on him, and cold blood on his skin, but he can’t quite snap out of it. Best to let it ride over. Fighting it just makes him go into a bigger upset.

Franklin, in turn, is staring right at Nubbins, that same morbid fascination written all over his expression. Can’t understand why he’s not afraid like the others. All his life he’s known little kids to point and ask why he’s using a chair for old folks, had peers gawk at him when he gets one of his spells and panics. Somethin’ about his trouble bein’ both physical and mental that turned him jaded in a lot of way.

Gullible, sure, in that he believed his sister when she said he’d have fun today, but never fully trusting. Like he’s always waiting for betrayal. Maybe that’s just it, that he ain’t all that surprised his hitchhiker friend turned out to be a little off his rocker. Better than secretly resenting Franklin, or spitting in his supper ‘fore handing it to him, or playin’ tricks on him.

It’s only after a little while of that reflection, that he notices the hitchhiker don’t got eyes on him, or care he was accidentally staring. He’s likewise staring at Sally, who herself notices both of them looking and turns. Her face is suddenly marred by discomfort, a smile that doesn’t even look quite like a good pretend one.

That shouldn’t make Franklin more uneasy than a stranger’s blood all over the knife in his pocket. But fake Sally means: “Of course you can come, Franklin, you’re my brother.” which means “Oh is he finished whining yet?” and “Again? Really?” and “It's been a bad day for you, hasn't it? Poor Franklin.” All which leads to him tumbling ass over end off a hill, and of course he’s gonna take more issue with that.

Instead of getting his knife out again to fidget with, figuring that’s just a recipe for disaster all over the place, he taps his hands on the arm rests of his wheelchair. The movement, and the dull plasticky sound of it, seems to reverberate into Nubbins’ head and pull him out of his little daze.

His eyes blink and drag ‘round slowly around, between Jerry and Sally now. Just from the clues he’s gotten so far he’s starting to make connections about the group, trying to piece together what the mess they’s gonna deal with later on will be like.

“This girl is your wife.” He questions eventually, making vague little motions with his hands.

The girl on the floor taps mister driver to get his attention, “Jerry..”

“Oh. Uh..no. My friend...my girlfriend.” Jerry sputters out stupidly. Nubbins would like to poke him with needles and rip out his hairs and see if he sounds goofy like that when he screams and begs.

His eyes light up but drift away again, knowing he has to wait for that fun. A pink freckled face greets him. Miss blondie don’t like bein’ talked about. Startin’ to understand why she’s always whining to get her hands on things, cause she’s spoilt for attention. The favorite like baby brother, without the special reason of her messed up face or lack of speakin’.

Keeps her clueless and plump, like big brother would say, but this one is curious and too skinny. Might be better just to do away with her, not take away one scrap off, ‘cept maybe her face. Wouldn’t that be a nice surprise for the youngest, showin’ off this new face he can takes and turn into a mask. He’d just love that.

“Th-That's good.. She's a good girl.”

“Thank you?” She says like she doesn’t get it, shiverin’ like there’s worms goin’ down in her shirt and she’s squirming away from ‘em.

Maybe the hair is too long for little brother’s taste. No use in peelin’ the skull jus’ to throw it all out. Could sell her down at the station instead, replace some of that awful meats they won’t eat and the customers don’t enjoy much neither with sweet and tender flesh. Could get rich off it and go back to slaughtering any real piggies that comes their way with a nice side of luxury.

Just the thought makes him ball his fists and shake them, too full of all these ideas it’s starting to seep out and take up all the space in the van.

The piggyest of the bunch, he don’t wanna eat. Franklin needs to be alive to listen, and share knives with, and talk to Nubbins real nice like he does. They can fatten him up on that headcheese he likes all they wants, but ain’t nobody gonna do the killing of his Franklin ‘less he says.

The Cook can sell blondie, but then Bubba needs somethin’ to sweeten the deal too.

He shifts to the other little lady all balled up on the van floor, takes note she’s got brown eyes like his bubba’s, and a tinker-bell bracelet he’d just love on her wrist. Comes free with clippies in her hair and pretty pale skin, and he knows she’s the one he oughta keep in one piece.

“You're a nice girl too..”

“Thanks.. You're a nice guy..” This girl responds robotically to him, without lookin’ in his face. Nubbins might be retarded but he ain’t stupid. ‘Course that means she don’t like him. Scared of catchin’ what he’s got.

What he wants is to stick his tongue out at her, slash his knife across her stupid face and chest ‘til she’s got blood in her eyes and she’s thrashin’ like a dyin’ cattle. His bubba would be so upset if he brought him a lady like that and wasted the face, and then he’d kill Franklin right back, and they’d got nothin’ but skinny girl meat goin’ to waste and everyone would be upset. Let little lady be mad, but he ain’t gonna let this plan go to waste.

Not even if he’s got to bite on the insides of his cheeks to make it happen, the focus.

Franklin leans back into his line of vision, looking so concerned and eager he might get sick everywhere.

“We're all nice..”

“Yeh.. Y-You're all nice.” Nubbins repeats with a smile, scooting on his haunches to get closer to Franklin again, so close his outstretched limbs is able to brush against his. All the while he’s pretty sure now Franklin can tell what he’s thinkin’, what with the way he’s so good at keepin’ Nubbins on track and calm. Throws him a bone so he knows he’s not the one chosen to become meat. “B-B-But you got them w-wheels.”

“What difference does that make?” Franklin barks, absolutely horrified. He looks down at his own paralyzed legs and back up at Nubbins over and over, mouth open and silly lookin’. Only a real expert like Nubbins might’ve heard the high crackle in his voice when emotion almost slipped past, but even he missed it.

Got distracted by the resurgence of the blade Franklin pulls from his pocket again to toy with until his upset passes. His mouth goes all dumb and quiet again instead of promisin’ he won’t kill Franklin. That’s gotta be why he’s got messed up legs too, so’s he can’t run and he can’t go and mess things up. They’s the perfect pair. Half can’t make his mouth form words, the other can’t move. They’ll fill it in and be one whole person together.

All his life Nubbins just knowed he couldn’t be cut out for love like Gramma and Grandpa got. They was lucky they both was hunters already, neither one turned out by the other covered in gore and shooting a person straight in the back of the skull. Could take up the killing business together.

Hasn’t been one like that since. Mama never had no men and her boys never had no daddy in the picture. They was on their own so long, on their stuffy old farm with stuffy old brothers and nothin’ to do all the day away but work, and workin’ is killin’. But not if he got wheels.

Franklin ain’t edible, can’t be with all that metal, and that means maybe he ain’t a killer too, ‘specially not yet no how. So he’s a third thing, just like Grandpa was when he stumbled onto Gramma’s piece of land with every intention to kill her and ended up tied down in her storage barn and married within months instead.

If he gets his Frankie on that path, he’s takin’ what God gived it to him. He just really, really hopes he’s given the permissions to keep Franklin. God ain’t nothin’ compared to an angry brother and his good leather belt.

Franklin is currently taking down one more button on his shirt to reveal more untouchable, ‘probably too tough to eat flesh, and fannin’ himself off, “It's hot in here..”

That’s silly to Nubbins cause it’s hot everywhere in Texas. “Where do you come f-from?” He asks with a small snort of laughter.

“We been to Colorado, New Mexico. Kind of a vacation, looking for land too.” Franklin tells him, waving his hand here and there. Doesn’t seem to like it much.

“Doing a little skiing.” Floor man adds on, explaining the big sword looking things leaning against the back wall in this little van. All the junk ain’t good junk, the nasty, clunky, plastic store bought garbage is all they gots. It’s startin’ to close in on Nubbins and suffocate him with a life he doesn’t live.

Feels harder to make sense.

“I mean w-where do you l-live?”

“Oh.. Houston. We’re all from Houston.” Franklin gives him a smile and it ain't like the girl’s, it’s gentle and bright and silly.

While he talks, Nubbins starts rocking forwards and back, and shaking about his wrists some more, flapping like the excited bird he is and feels on the inside. Franklin is just so so smart tellin’ him what he needs to know and that’s all. So he keeps asking questions. “Your p-parents live there too?”

“What? Oh, yeah..” Franklin gives a dismissive shrug, prob’ly don’t want to talk about it.

Maybe they’re like Nubbins’ parents and disappeared away, and he’s all alone. Or maybe they’re like big brother and get mean easy, beatin’ on the poor guy even though his legs doesn’t work. That’s prob’ly worse than anythin’ he been through. At the end of the night, Franklin ain’t running away to go burn off his frustration by kickin’ some roadkill around.

Just a shame that Nubbins don’t realize the only reason he’s still in the van allowed near Franklin is on account of he’s viewed the same way. The difference is a lot to someone who’s willing to consider it, but to the others, they’re both just crazy and annoying and easy to laugh at. Clowns for just existing.

Nubbins nods his head towards blondie, “A-And this girl.”

“What about Sally?” Franklin asks, miffed that they’re changing the subject again. He’d like to just grab this hitchhiker and scream in his face that the others don’t care about him. They never will, don’t waste your time on it.

Maybe he’d do the same for him and keep him from goin’ on another one of these stupid road-trips where he just sits around and watches. Kirk had been bragging with the skiing, showing off the poles so he could feel tougher than the guy with no qualms on using a knife. But no mention of leaving Franklin on his own while they done it. The “Sorry, Franklin. We planned this a long time ago, we never thought you’d come along at the last minute.” Like that’s even what happened.

Apparently paralyzed is s’posed to mean deaf too, ‘cause he heard very well what Kirk said when they was walking away to climb that stupid hill. “Someone oughta take one of these and shove it somewhere that it’ll put him out of our misery.”

Franklin was so mad he vomited in the snow they were skiing on. Thought about wheeling off somewhere and forcing them to come and find him and then they’d feel real sorry. ‘Til he realized they probably wouldn’t even notice he was gone. Sally, if she wasn’t distracted would, but they’d do just about anything to keep Sally from sticking up for her brother, and eventually it worked and she didn’t even try no more.

She now laughs at the hitchhiker asking them questions, “What? What about me?”

“Where are y-your parents?” Nubbins asks, sounding very polite, in contrast to his wolfish smile.

“Where are my parents?” She repeats, looking like she wants to laugh in his face some more, cruelty leaving its ashen tint on her questioning tone.

“Yeh.” Nubbins confirms, maybe naively. Maybe knowing she’s not interested in talkin’ niceties with a man she thinks is just some pawn in her adventure game.

This time she does bark a harsh laugh at him. Franklin knows his own face gets a little hot and red from the embarrassment of remembering folks laughing at him that way, treating him like an attraction. Part of him hopes the hitchhiker just won’t notice, maybe he’s been so sheltered up all his life he doesn’t realize the bully Sally and her friends can be when they wanna. Unlikely.

“What kind of question is that? Where are my parents. How should I know? My mother's probably about half drunk on martinis and my father’s probably playing golf. Where are yours?” Her hair swishes around and her head bobbles while she speaks, defensive in a way that just screams ‘who is letting this freak talk to me?’

“I-I mean where do they l-live?” The hitchhiker has to clarify again. He’s licking his lips and rolling up his shoulders in a way that it’s obvious he’s bothered, frustrated maybe. Holding down some kind of reaction.

“What does he want to know all that stuff for? We don't even know him.” Franklin hears Pam whisper to the side.

And Kirk’s louder, uninhibited response. “How should I know?”

Couple of gossips, really a whole group of them. The flush of embarrassment turns to anger for the poor hitchhiker. Franklin prays to the Lord above that if his mind ever leads him to wander and hurt himself that way, cutting into his own flesh andcsmiling about it, that a kinder group would happen to stumble upon him than this. Sorta puts into perspective how shitty they can be, makes him feel stupid for coming along at all.

Sally doubles back and answers his question anyhow, despite clearly hearing her friends discussing whether it’s a good idea or not. “Oh, where do they live? In Houston. They live in Houston.. Why?”

“Do- Do they know you’ coming t-to Houston?” Nubbins is busy assessing the situation on his own to notice what they think of him. Five is a lot to handle, never done a group that big all at once before without his brothers right on hand beside him. Important to know if somebody gonna come looking in their freezers in a day or two ‘fore they can hunt and slaughter and break down all that meat.

“Who told you we were going to Houston?” The driver guy asks skeptically. Whether it’s the failing engine or his suspicious driving, the van lurches around some.

When Nubbins motioned to who exactly did told him, that skip in the forward trojectory knocked him forward. He ends up with his hand resting fully on Franklin's pinstriped knee, and he don’t make an action to move it, “This man..”

“Let's tell him we can't take him any further when we stop for gas..” Miss puffy hair rambles quickly, not remembering to control her volume from her fear over Franklin being touched.

So Nubbins hears her loud and clear and counters, “M-My home is- is close to this road. Y-You could take me there.”

After getting a harsh nudge, the floor man speaks up, “Well, man.. I don't know. We're In pretty much of a hurry.. How far is it from the highway?”

“Oh, it’s r-real close.” And it’s true this time! They’s only another ten or so minutes out from the station at this speed if they keep it up, and that’s only another five from the house.

Back in the day, before he knew the routes by heart, Nubbins would walk the paths and count the seconds, the minutes, the footsteps it took until it was all in his bones. Drivin’ it by car is even quicker, though he usually ain’t so lucky to get carried there. Most ‘ the time they don’t pick up hitchhikers no more. Or it’s just him.

Does they all think he’s a Dracula?

“Couldn't you just walk? I mean.. if it’s so close.” Blondie talks like she regrets opening her mouth the second she done it. As she should with them awful manners.

“Y-You.. You could have supper with us!” Nubbins offers, increasingly desperate the more it seems like they ain’t gonna take him up on it, ruining just everything. It’s all gonna domino down and crush him flat like a box truck come at him full speed. His only friend in this, he singles out Franklin, “You like h-head cheese, m-my brother m-makes it good.. he always got some.”

Franklin doesn’t get the chance to speak before he’s being talked over by Blondie and her fake gagging, “Not that stuff you were talking about a while ago.. Ugh..”

“I think we better-push on, man. Sorry.” The shaggy looking guy mutters but it’s directed at Nubbins. They knows well they been mean, ashamed to look him in the face, and Nubbins don’t like it not one bit.

He shrugs it off, but his posture is so sunk in and he’s so silent, ain’t no way you couldn’t tell he’s upset. A bump in the road makes his camera clang against his ribs, givin’ him a real good idea. Nubbins raises it up and teases, laughing as he pretends to zero in on a target though he already got the perfect one in mind, aiming right at Franklin who is still just kinda absent. There’s a flash of light as the old, burnt-up flashbulb pops. Franklin looks up at it startled, but smiles, maybe automatically, a little vague, when he sees the camera.

“You took my picture.” Franklin sounds all outta breath just like Nubbins was when he runned to the van. The picture gonna help to connect them.

Under the sun, under the flash bulb, s’about the same thing. ‘Cause Nubbins don’t normally takes pictures of the living. Likes ‘em better as butchered pieces-parts for a bigger collage. Now Franklin he gotta stay this good way, startled and flushed and smilin’ just a little.

“Yeah.”

Nubbins pulls the photograph from the camera and peels apart the sheet. His film, it’d gone rotten a long time ago, the print comin’ out old and dark and discolored lookin’. Still he extends it to Franklin, only Franklin got the right to see it after all. Wants him to be proud of it. Needs it maybe.

“It didn't turn out so good.” Franklin remarks, squinting to see his own face.

“No. I-It’s nice, see -” Nubbins snatches at the photo but let’s Franklin keep looking, pointing to every detail that is his favorite to prove it’s alright. Namely the bruises and bloody scrapes, “It t-tells about your a-accident.”

A few comments float around the van:

“You look worse for wear.”

“I think you look nice.”

But blonde girl starts complaining again and makin’ it all ‘bout her, when Nubbins don’t care none about that.

“Let me see.”

Franklin extends it back towards her and gives a little warning that quicks up Nubbins’ heart, ‘cause his mind got changed about it turning out bad, “It’s kind of dark, but you can see my face.”

With girl gone, Nubbins leans forward.

What he wants, is Franklin’s word that he gonna behave and ain’t get himself killed durin’ dinner when they come. He’ll settle for a different way of tellin’ it.

“Y-You can p-pay me now.”

Franklin blinks away a mental fog but still can’t make no sense of this, “Huh?”

“Two dollars.. I-It's a good picture.”

Nubbins is nodding and giggling, can’t help himself ’cause he thinks this is it, that Franklin’s gonna understand fine what he’s got to do. His joy is met with blank faced confusion, but that’s better than discontent.

Or anger, like that he gets from the denim man.

“You want him to pay you for that picture?”

Blondie joins in the convincing, trying to ruin everything, selfish selfish girl trying to make Franklin mad at him, “It's not really a very good picture of you.”

“Not for two dollars anyway.” The floor man agrees.

“Two dollars?” Blondie asks, like she’s clueless.

Nubbins knows they’re tryin’ to corner him and narrows his eyes, holds out an expectant hand, trying to call her bluff, “Yehh. Y-You can buy it for him.”

“Hey, man, that’s enough.” The other guy barks, ordering Franklin around instead of letting him have a say, “Give him back the damn picture.”

Immediately Franklin returns the photo, and Nubbins can tell his hands have started shaking. Poor, weak Frankie let them boss him ‘round like that. Now he’s startin’ to fidget nervously again. Comparing that to his smile in the photo, which Nubbins stares at for a long moment, makes him a little sad ‘at his joy had to go.

Ain’t much room for it in this stuffy, closed-windowed world.

They keep talking about him, up in the front seat.

“That guy wanted Franklin to pay him 2 dollars for that picture.”

“You're kidding.”

“No. He was serious.”

Nobody ever asked a peep about what Franklin thought, or what he wanted. Now he’s got this little frown on and Nubbins knows it’s cause he’s scared to show the big feelings that get caught in there.

Havin’ a little brother meaned Nubbins seen all this play out before. Livin’ it was one thing, ‘n hearin’ big brother complain about the old times added to it sure, but nothin’ compared to watchin’ a miserable creature. Pinned down by its little deformed wings and screamin’ and cryin’ over invisible pain. They heads is sick, even Franklin, and the others ain’t kind to that.

Nubbins got a real good way to burn it off.

Some kind of a trash can or somethin’ is flipped over on its top like a pedestal, where he places the photo. His pouch gots a small bundle of ‘luminum foil, and a tube of gun power. He lays it out so the picture’s layin’ on its back in the foil, a little cone of the powder on top with a dip in the middle. Makin’ sure they’re watchin’, Nubbins gives a smile and a small giggly laugh, then strikes a match off his boot.

They know what he’s gonna do ‘fore he does it, but they still start screamin’ anyhow when it bangs and makes a big flash of light, burning up in fire. Smoke wafts off it while he crumbles it up inside the foil, crushing the air out of the fire so it goes out, and shovin’ it back into the pouch.

The driver man brakes hard and veers the van to the side of the road, sending all the riders forward violently except Franklin, who cracked his head off the seat behind him.

All of them start hollering over each other while Nubbins giggles at himself delightedly. Big brother woulda said he oughta be more careful, and maybe he’d ‘a been right in the case of gettin’ Franklin on his side. It’s just he can’t help havin’ fun!

“What? What?”

“What happened?”

“Hey! Damn.”

“HEY, man!”

“Roll down the window!”

Nubbins doesn’t flinch when a ski pole is shoved right in his face like a weapon. His knife is still sharper than some plastic lookin’ stick, and no fella afraid of a little fire gonna do the deed of shovin’ that thing past flesh and muscle into his vulnerable guts. Ain’t man enough.

“I've had enough, man. Time for you to go.” The guy with the ski pole warns, before turnin’ to call over his shoulder, “Jerry, stop this thing..”

It ain’t nice, but he’s losin’ control which means he’s losin’ Franklin too and that ain’t good. Can’t happen. They’s s’posed to be in this together, and more, part ‘a the same family. Betrotheds. Not the ones wanderin’ with no connection, not the mean folks. So long as he can find him again, they’ll fix it to be just right as rain. Even let Franklin carve into the one tryin’ to quiet him up if it come to that.

One half of the blood exchange been done already, with his on Franklin’s knife. Before he stands to haul ass out of the slowing down van, he snatches up his razor and flips it open, grabbing Franklin by his wrist and dragging the blade across. His blood bubbles when it comes out from all the pulling back and forth they’re doin’, and he squeals and sobs as the knife tears into him jaggedly.

Nubbins licks a crack in his lip instead of the blood from Franklin’s wound, though he’d like to see what he tastes like. Figures somethin’ like wood smoke and bitter forest berries. Somethin’ real special like a homemade pie, hold the mincemeat.

They’ll have time for that later; the ski pole guy goes for him, but tumbles back when the van lurches again and slows down to a real stop this time. Nubbins drags the door open and hops out while it’s still coasting, keeping his eyes locked with Franklin through the windows. He’s bleeding from his arm all over the place, his sister kneeling to bandage him and his friends shouting behind the closed door. But he won’t tear his eyes away from Nubbins. Can’t.

They’s covered already, relationship locked in by their tethers between their worlds, but to make sure the van don’t get lost, Nubbins rips open his palm again with his teeth and marks the side of it with his blood, pickin’ a good familiar shape so even big brother might notice it when they stops for gas up the road. Flashes one last grin Franklin’s way.

Kicking the tires, scrawling the family crest right onto the green paint, it’s perfect. Nubbins would be excited if he wasn’t realizing his own hurt by the way they throwed him out.

Speeding away means he can’t see his captive Franklin anymore, ‘n for a minute he tries to keep up. Running after and blowin’ raspberries to not lose his mind with this upset.

Until he’s sure they can’t see him no more. Then Nubbins just falls where he stands, curling his knees into his chest and hiding his face in them. His sad is anger. Teeth grit together and fists balled up, and he’s hitting the back of his head, over and over, ‘til sweat runs past his hair and he has to stop ‘n check to make sure it ain’t blood.

It’s salty tears in some places too. Feels stupid for cryin’ ‘em. Nubbins had somethin’ real special goin’ with Franklin, but them others was just mean. A thousand bodies ain’t make up for the hurt in his heart every ought time another person goes by and they’s mean to him.

But they’s all gonna get their due. Marked ‘em good, so they ain’t ever gon’ make it to Houston. Only one survivor, on Nubbins’ terms, ‘cause he’s certain now he ain’t nothin’ typical. He’s the killer.

[catdemontraphouse]

Ok I wanna have an autistic moment about triangle man if that’s okay. This is just my own opinion clouded by my own biases, but yknow

Guys please how do I do “read more” on mobile so I don’t kill peoples braincells with my crappy essay?!

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Seems pretty obvious to me that Bill Cipher’s severe problems stem from having grown up under a violent dictatorship that probably actively wanted him and his family dead or at least silenced. He says it was illegal to talk about the third dimension, which is weird. Like the government of his country was suppressing scientific facts for who knows what reason, maybe religious, maybe something about maintaining control idk it just smells fishy. Were they maybe ruled by a 3D shadow government lol idk?

And it was so much of an issue his parents poisoned him. Like, what kind of sus back alley doctor did they have to go to get treatment without being turned into the feds as bad actors/traitors? How did they even know his eye was an issue if they couldn’t see it? Who diagnosed Bill with “eye on the top of your head syndrome?” How could another 2D being see the eye was facing up if they can only see in 1D? WTF? Just who were Bill’s parents in this fucked up society and were they connected to some kind of anti-government activities? Or maybe did they work for the government and have to hide the 3rd dimension being real?

So I didn’t watch the whole Flatland movie nor have I read the book because I’ve got the attention span of a water flea, but I do recall some kind of thing about a place where they violently deform babies that don’t “look normal” so they can be “normal.” Bill’s homeland is said to be similar to Flatland. So uh, bro lived until the age of (or the equivalent of) 13 if I’m not mistaken, under a government that would likely try to imprison him, smash his face violently until he conformed, or kill him if he didn’t lay low. Because he has a birth defect that makes him “dangerous”😬 I know the “shoelaces are fascist” was a joke but also like maybe he learned that word from like, his parents whispering about facists idk? 🤷‍♀️

So anyways long post long but we eventually get to the whole “he accidentally killed everyone.”Gotta wonder if some of that need to prove the third dimension was real was because he was desperate to not live in fear anymore of him and his family being killed or thrown into prison. Or maybe he was trying to save his parents from losing government jobs and social status. If he could prove the existence of 3D to everyone then maybe the people would rebel against the government for killing citizens who talked about it? Or maybe a scandal would create some leeway to negotiate his family’s safety and wellbeing? I think Bill hated his country, rightfully. He probably did actually want to “liberate” the people. I think it went beyond just self-aggrandizing and proving he was “right.” If he could see the 3rd dimension it makes me wonder if he could be like the sphere in Flatland and see what goes on behind close doors too. What if he saw them killing babies….

Also if he lived in this kind of society maybe they did public executions which would explain some of his blasé reactions to violence? Oh and he can prob see everyone’s guts so I bet that’s where his sick fascination with guts comes from. He probably recognized people by their guts more than their faces or some weird shit 🤷‍♀️

So he’s young, alone, he killed the only people that mattered to him and also failed to liberate the masses, and now he’s somehow surpassed corporeal reality… I don’t rly get how that part works but okay.

So he’s a god now. Not by choice, by accident. A young being who has lived under totalitarian rule and the threat of persecution his whole life suddenly exists in this fucking vacuum where anything is possible, time isn’t necessarily real, you can shapeshift at will etc. He goes from being afraid and living in a very viscerally corporeal reality to suddenly everything he was ever terrified of is like, gone? So he might feel it didn’t matter? Like his life was some kind of sick twisted joke? Like oh… my whole world was a lie. My existence is meaningless. I destroyed my family and I have nothing now, I mean nothing to anyone, nothing is real, blah blah. It’s quite bleak. He can’t die from what I can tell. They say he “died” but like he didn’t at the same time and suggest that a person is ultimately an idea and you can’t kill an idea? I don’t get how death works in Gravity Falls tbh. Like at all. But basically this fucking dude is alone in the soup of chaos between dimensions or whatever with his entire world reduced to a speck of dust and now he’s god and I guess he didn’t die or can’t die idk it’s fucked up and weird ok???

He probably thinks he’s actually doing Earth a favor by bringing Weirdmageddon? No rules because he’s adverse to any kind of rules due to his upbringing. Do whatever, be whatever kind of freak you are. Nobody can tell you what to do or what to believe. Ironically the way he enforces it is pretty totalitarian but yknow. He’s got issues man. And hey, if once you transcend your dimensional limitations you become a god who’s impervious to death? I think an unhinged out of touch god would be like “well death happens, you’ll get over it and being liberated from your flesh prison is good actually. It’s better than living a lie. Now you can be limitless like me! Trauma is whatever, now you can fly so who cares about therapy?”

Bro was like, yeah great let’s destroy the prison that is the 3rd dimension and turn it into a safe haven for people who love freedommm! 🦅 whoever has to die or get their face rearranged so be it for the greater good, and they will physically recover eventually anyways so it’s whatever. (There’s several instances in canon of god like beings being “killed” or dismembered and recovering such as in one of the books it says Time Baby has to regenerate for a thousand years or whatever after Bill shot him, the guy Pyronica ate in the Fearamid who showed up next scene unscathed, Bill getting his eyeball ripped out and regenerating it etc)

It’s fucked up and twisted but it makes sense so much narratively I think.

[appynonna]

Our Universe

Chapter 11: Angel Baby Pairing: Poly!OT8xoriginal chararters Rating: 18+ Word Count: 2,387 Words

Trigger Warning: pet names.

This is a work of fiction. By no means is it meant to be taken seriously and does not reflect on the people used within the story.

Previous Chapter -> Here

Master list -> Here

Arthur notes: Hello, Deary I am sorry for the long wait. It has been a lot between school, work, Life, Friends, and Doctor appointments. I have been officially diagnosed with PTSD, no surprise to anyone. I have the next chapter started and it will hopefully be out by the

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Everything was fuzzy, and my head was pounding. I could still feel my momma pulling my hair and dragging me across the floor, I could hear her screaming at me as she cut my light brown curls out.

Her words cut deeper than the shears ever could, Making my heart bleed. If this is what my mom thought it had to be true. Maybe I was what she was saying.

"Angle?" It wasn't her voice this time, It was soft but deeper. I looked around trying to find it but everything was still so fuzzy. "Angel baby" It called out again. "Can you hear me" It continued "I'm right here, We haven't left you" It kept calling out.

-3rd Person POV-

Yeosang patted Seonghwa on the shoulder standing up "I'll be just inside if you need me" Then, I walked inside to a Concerned Mingi looking at him. Wooyoung was distracted by the TV and Jongho looked when Mingi started to speak, Yeosang cut him off " Don't ask" He said sitting back down and Pulling out his phone.

"You still talking to that girl?" Mingi asked him as he was still playing with Woo in Mariocart. "What?" Jongho asked, "What girl?" He asked Mingi looking up from his book.

"Oh our little Yeosang knows" Mingi smirked "Yes, We are still talking. End of story" Yeosang Replied knowing that if he didn't give them something they would keep asking, Jongho Nodded " I can respect that" Jongho looked back down at his book as Mingi Nodded too, "well I can't" Woo whined " Your cheating on us" Wooyoung gasped loudly, " You have betrayed us!" He fakes cries onto Mingi's arm.

"Get the hell off of me" Mingi pushed Wooyoung off him " Leave Yeosang alone," A voice said from behind the sofa, Turning to find Hongjoong looking around the room "Where is Hwa?" He asked looking at Yeosang "Currently outside on the terrace talking to Yechan"

Hongjoong nodded before walking around to the side of the sofa where Wooyoung from Hongjoong. When he got over to him, Hongjoong grabbed Wooyoung by the back of the back of the neck dragging him back down the hallway.

Wooyoung could be heard shouting as they went, "No, I'm sorry. I don't want to go to the bedrooms" Mingi laughed "Better him than me" He said laughing and turned from the TV to look at Yeosang. "Are you happy?" Mingi asked the older male, Yeosang smiled at him " I am" He told Mingi.

Mingi reached out to pat Yeosang's leg.

"That's all that matters," Mingi said and then held the controller to Yeosang "Want to go?" Yeosang nodded, taking the controller.

-Villa -

Yechan stayed in the closet on the off chance that she would be needed.

"Angel?" Seonghwa called out and Ari shook her head "No, you left me" She kept mumbling. "Angel baby" He called out again "Can you hear me?" Hwa asked the crying girl "I'm right here, Angel. We haven't left you" He kept going "You are safe Angel." Ari just shook her head

"Yechan are you still there" Seonghwa called out as Ari Started to Hyperventilate again.

"I'm here" Yechan called out. "Go get something that smells like me," He asked her. Standing up Yechan walked to the bathroom to look in the dirt hamper, but it was empty.

"Of course it's empty" SHe mumbled walking back to the bedroom, Matz was lying on the bed. The cat stared at her like he had been caught doing something bad "That will work" Yechan walked over to the bed getting Seonghwa's pillow. The cat lay down in the warm spot the pillow previously sat on.

Walking back over to the closet she could hear Ari's breathing "Ari. In through your nose, and out through your mouth" Seonghwa was trying to help the girl breathe the best he could from the other side of the phone.

Walking up to the girl with the pillow in hand, Ari was trying to get away as Yechan got closer. "I'm sorry Ari," She said shoving the pillow onto the girl's face. Boxing her in between the pillow and the wall.

"Yechan, what is going on" Hwa asked trying his hardest to see out with the phone pointing up. He was only able to see the underside of Yechan's breast with her kneeling over the phone.

"I'm smothering her obviously," She said in a smart-ass tone. Ari fought for a good few minutes and even managed to draw blood from Yechan's arm when she grabbed her with her nails.

Yechan was watching Ari closely. She finally stopped fighting and took a deep breath Wrapping her arms around the pillow and holding it tightly to her as she cried.

"Ari?" Yechan asked lightly, pulling the top of the pillow down, Ari hiccuped and looked at Yechan. "Channie?" Ari asked confused. Yechan couldn't stop her face from scrunching up to the horrible nickname, As she watched the younger girl more closely. Ari's eyes were rapidly unfocused then refocused "Yechan," she said again looking around the small room.

Seonghwa's clothes hung on the right side and Hongjoong's were on the left.

It was simple to tell what belonged to who. Seonghwa's clothes always had a more feminine touch as hongjoong stuff was mostly pieces he made himself.

"Why are we in the closet? Ari was still very much confused by the look on her face.

-Ari's Pov-

The feeling of something push up to my face. No matter how hard I was fighting, it wouldn't move away.

I fought against it not wanting to end here, I needed to get back to Hongjoong and the other. I could leave like this, Having them think I left without a goodbye.

They would never forgive me.

I faintly could smell the black coffee with a hint of vanilla that reminded me of Seonghwa. I could feel the energy leaven me as I fought less. The bittersweet coffee left me with a warm feeling inside my chest.

I could feel myself starting to cry as the fight left my body. I'm sorry Seonghwa.

"Ari?" A voice above me said as the coffee and vanilla smell left. Channie, It was Yechan.

As the light came into focus, I could feel the headache rapidly approaching. Looking around I found that Yechan was Kneeling above me.

I looked around confused, seeing that we were at. Sitting in the closet of my lovers, I looked back at Yechan. "Why are we in the closet?"

Yechan laughed sitting back down and then picking up the phone that was lying in front of me on the floor. "She's back now," She said then looked at me "Good morning Bunny," Yechan said then turned her phone to me.

Seonghwa looked through the phone at me smiling, His brilliant white teeth shining in the low light. I slowly reached taking the phone from Yechan, "What happened?" I looked back up at Yechan. She emailed and pushed a piece of hair behind my ear.

"Let's go downstairs and talk," She said standing up and offering her hand. I let her help me up. Wrapping myself in Hwa's fur coat, Yechan helped me down the stairs slowly. My legs shook the whole short walk.

Between Yechan, Seonghwa, and Yeosang they were able to explain what happened. What was missed in the last 12 hours.

They told me what was found in my blood, Yechan filled them in with what all happened after they left and I told them the last thing I could remember—walking into the changing room at the new dress shop.

"There is where Yunho found you right?" Yeosang asked, I turned and looked at Yechan "Ya, it was." She was looking everywhere but the phone propped up in front of us as I sipped on water.

"What did you do" I turned to Yechan. She smirked and ran her tongue across her overly pointed canines. "No one to hurt, so don't worry about it" Yechan gave me a sweet smile.

"Oh," Yechan said after a second "You need to call Rhea" She then passed me my phone. The device had too many missed calls and texts to count.

"I told her you would call when you woke up," She said pushing me up "Beside your dogs need to pee" She smiled pointing a thumb toward three sleeping dogs. Not the first of them paying any attention to me.

I shook my head And gave a short whistle. Rocky started asleep but Django and Siren got up and hurried to my side.

Walking outside I sat down in the hammock next to the inground pool, Siren jumped up into the swing with me laying his white head on my chest. He looked up at me with his big blue eyes.

"I'm ok boy" I stretched the space between his ears.

Unlocking the phone I Open the messages. There were mostly messages from Rhea and Kai. A few from just random people I would talk to now and then.

I laughed when I opened Kai's messages. They started normal then turned into chaos very fast after about 20 minutes.

"hey hey hey hey hey, Are you dead? I bet you're ignoring me! Hey heye hey heye heye heye heye. Ari Ari Ari Ari Ari AAAAAARRRRRRIIII" And the messages kept going like for a while, By the time I got to the bottom my side was hurting from laughing. I messaged him back "Chill out my dude" A few moments later a message came back "Fine, I'll call off the search party," Kai replied

I didn't bother looking at Rhea's messages, I just went straight to calling her. Pulling up the phone's app it shows me all the most recent calls. It almost looked to be from Rhea, But one stood out the most.

Namjoon

That was weird I thought, I'll call him back in the morning. I called Rhea, She answered before the first was done.

"I'm awake" She shouted, I couldn't help but laugh at my friend "I awake" She stated again "Who is this?" Rhea asked then there was a rustling sound. Most likely Rhea checked her phone.

"Ahh," She suddenly screamed "Your alive" She was being dramatic at this point "Where have you been?" She asked, Her voice still full of the sluggishness from just waking up as she was becoming more aware.

I told her it was a long story to try not to make her panic. "It's only 3 am, I got time," She said then made a sound "Get your fat furry ass off me," Rhea said suddenly "ok, I'm back. Now explain"

By the tone of her voice, I knew this was about to be bad. "Rhea, I don't know if you want to know. It's not too serious. I was only drugged, That's it" I said trying to Deescalate the issue, Hoping that she would drop it "You what?" She screamed at me, I could hear the cats in the background running.

Pulling the phone away from my ear, I was still able to hear her but not make out what she was saying "Are you done yet?" I asked. She screamed "no" at me and then kept yelling. I was unable to understand her fully as she rapidly kept switching back and forth between what sounded like a mix of Korean and Spanish.

Starting the sentence in one language and ending in a different one.

The phone then disconnected. I looked at my phone and then back to Siren. "I think I made her mad," I told the pearl-colored dog.

Walking back inside Yechan was still on the phone with what looked to be Seonghwa, He was leaning back laughing on the other side of the phone as she said something to him that I didn't quite get.

Walking over I sat next to Yechan whose arm was thrown over the back of the sofa, Pulling the coat over my legs.

"I'm guessing that San changed my clothes?" I asked no one in particular, as I was wearing the set that San had the matching set to. "He did" Hwa answered, then looked up. "Did you eat breakfast?" He asked, Knowing my old eating habits. I shook my head "No, but I ate some pizza around lunch at Rhea's salon" I told him hoping he would drop it.

The unspoken rule was as long as you were honest no one could get mad, Sometimes it doesn't always work but we try.

"You need to get something for dinner, Ari." He chuckled a little "Or an early breakfast at this point" Seonghwa added, Yechan got up "I'll make her something" She said heading to the kitchen, I turned getting on my knees as she walked into the kitchen. "I'm not hungry" I yell "Too bad. You're going to eat." Yechan yelled back as the pantry door opened.

"Ari, as much as I like this view of your ass," Seonghwa said behind me. I turned back to him. Picking up the phone I looked at the screen and laid on the sofa using the blanket draped over the back as a pillow.

I could smell Mingi's expensive colognes on it. It was a strange combination, but it fit him perfectly. A mixture of Mandarin, Cedar, Sage, and Seasalt.

"What is it, Angel?" Seonghwa asked as I snuggled into the blanket and fur coat, surrounded by the smell of my family. "Nothing, Just missing you," I told him.

Seonghwa smiled at me "I miss you too, Angel" His eyes were happy little crescents in the pale light. "Look at this" he turned the switch around showing me what he had been playing. His eyes poked out from behind it, and a gust of wind swept his hair to the side. "Your hair is getting long," I told him, His eyes narrowed with a smile. " I know," he said then pointed to the screen.

"This one is me" He pointed to the little human person, then to what looked like a hamster "This is Flurry, She is friends with Judy" he pointed to the pink and blue bear "And this one back here is Bill" I laughed at him as he kept rambling on about his animal crossing village.

[candlelightkitty555]

last friday i was diagnosed with borderline personality disorder, and

i remember the first time i saw that marguerite duras quote. very early in my life, it was too late. since i was a child, i felt this gnawing black hole growing in my gut and staining my organs with something dark, something writhing, something foul-smelling and repugnant. pregnant with this decaying corpse, carrying around these rotten remains. from a very tender age i was set on slicing through my skin and showing these putrid pieces to everybody around me. if they saw the creature within, they would not want to continue on the path of knowing me. i could remain where it was always safest: alone.

it hurt so bad, living in this body where all my emotions were far too large and my quivering heart was stuffed with them all too tightly. even when i feel nothing, i feel it completely. it was never that idea of isolation which intrigued me, it was the promise that i would never hurt somebody with this whipping windstorm of instability inside.

it never occurred to me that somebody could see these parts and care for me anyway. it shocked me to learn that somebody could shine a flashlight and examine these pieces and find that maybe it wasn't darkness all along. i had just been told i should see these facets of my being as curses.

i feel the bright, glowing joy of a warm hug in my bloodstream. i feel the stabbing talons of betrayal rip into my pounding heart. i feel ache sloshing through my stomach and happiness spattering on my lungs and i feel it all and i feel nothing and today, for the sake of that child inside of me, for the sake of my future self rewatching my life unfold in scant memories, for the sake of me and everybody like me, i choose to live on.

[kristinamae093]

Hey There! I saw this, and I couldn't agree more! Nothing says I love you more than "I'm willing to try this for you." And this works for all kinds of relationships: romance, friends, and family, too.

Would you be able to create something showing this for one of your characters or pairings? It could be a drabble, fic, edit, art - anything at all!

NO PRESSURE AT ALL - only if you want to, but I'd love to see what you could come up with!

Hey @jerzwriter! 👋 Thank you so much for sending this my way! This was a lot of fun and I hope you enjoy this silly nonsense I came up with! 🙂

Baking Memories

Everything else can be found here.

Book - TRR

Characters - Constantine, Liam.

Warnings - There's like, one bad word.

Word Count - 2489

A/N 1 - This is a one-shot from my HCTS AU, but this can absolutely be read as a stand-alone. The only thing you really need to know is Constantine didn't die as he did in canon and beat his cancer, but has been diagnosed a second time. Kyla (F!OC) is mentioned but not present, so I guess this takes place sometime between the previous chapter and the next.

A/N 2 - I slipped in the third @choicesflashfics prompt — “Why are you being so weird?” that will be bolded.

A/N 3 - (last one) - thank you SO MUCH @ao719 for reading through this for me and your suggestions! Any errors found are mine and mine alone, and I didn't really edit this a whole lot to be honest, so...... There's your warning lol 🙃.

Most characters belong to Pixelberry.

Constantine Rys was once a hard man; born and bred for royalty, he never got to enjoy and experience the little things in life. It never bothered him before, considering he was the reigning monarch of an entire nation with the world at his fingertips. However, since his retirement he found himself longing to experience all the things he missed out on. Today specifically, he wanted to learn how to bake; not just anything, a very specific recipe. 

His first wife was clueless in the kitchen and Regina knew very little, but Eleanor spoiled him with various baked goods consistently while she was alive. When she found the time for it Constantine never understood, but she always had warm cookies for him and the children to enjoy. He'll never forget the memories of retiring to his quarters after a long day and opening the door to hear the boys and Eleanor’s laughter, accompanied by the sweet, heavenly smell of whatever she prepared for them that day. 

Now, especially since his time left on earth was limited, he wanted to learn all these things he never had the opportunity to experience before. He found an instructor and Bastien vetted the person before scheduling a private lesson right in his quarters. His intention was to set everything up so Kyla could join him, but the teacher was only available on a specific day and Kyla was off. He knew she would still come if he asked, but he didn't want to impose on her personal time. Regina was his backup, but unfortunately, that day was a no from her as well. 

Even so, Constantine was still excited about his lesson. It may only be a class of one, but he was looking forward to putting his new skill to use. 

A knock sounded on his door and he quickly scurried over to answer it. On the other side stood Bastien, a woman who he assumed to be his 'teacher', and Liam, who Constantine hadn't told. It wasn't that he was trying to hide anything or keep secrets; he initially wanted to recruit Liam for this venture to begin with. However, he knew all too well how busy a Friday afternoon was as a solo monarch and figured it would be of no use to ask. However, his unexpected presence made Constantine hopeful that perhaps they would get to share this experience after all.  

"Son! What're you doing here?"

"I just so happened to be taking my lunch when I saw Bastien with Mrs. Finch." Liam motioned to the woman with a polite smile. "Care to explain to me why you're having bakers come to your quarters?"

"She's going to teach me."

"You want to bake?" Liam asked with an arched brow. 

"Precisely." 

"Why?"

"Do you remember those cookies your mother would make? The molasses ones?"

Liam's mouth involuntarily started watering. "I do… That's what you want to make?"

"Eventually I'd like to try other things, but that's where I’ll start. I haven't had them in years and the staff just can't make them the way she did, anyway. I was hoping if I took some lessons, perhaps I could give it a go." Constantine stopped talking as he took in Liam's nostalgic expression. "Care to join us?"

"I don't bake, or – haven't in quite a while."

"Then this is the ideal time to perfect your skills!" Constantine hopefully suggested.

Liam's face instantly fell at seeing him so excited. "I really wish I could, but I have a meeting soon." 

Constantine was trying his hardest to smile, but on a few occurrences he realized Liam was doing what he'd done to him and Leo for years; putting the crown first. He never realized how much it truly hurts to be left alone when the person you're longing to spend time with is occupied. Of course, he understood Cordonia does ultimately have to come first, but perhaps since his time was limited he was beginning to develop a love-hate relationship with the word duty. 

"Ah, I see... No worries, son." Constantine sadly smiled and motioned for the woman to come in. "If everything goes right, perhaps I can bring you some." 

"Thanks…" 

The woman stepped inside and disappeared with Constantine. Liam remained outside the door, suddenly feeling guilty for leaving. His whole life all he wanted was a genuine relationship with his father, and now that he'd been blessed with it he often had to put the crown first. However, now that his father's time left was dwindling, he found it was practically impossible to walk away.  

"Bastien," Liam started, "Clear my schedule for the day – no, the weekend. I'm unavailable unless it's an emergency." 

Bastien smiled and bowed. "Of course, sir." 

Liam made his way inside his father's quarters to the in-suite kitchen and couldn't help but laugh as he saw his father wearing a white, puffy chef's hat. When Constantine looked up and saw Liam enter, the pure excitement radiating off of him was enough to fill Liam’s heart so full he was sure it would burst any moment. 

"Liam! What're you doing here?" 

"As it turns out, I had a cancellation." Liam winked. 

"Get in here, then! You need a toque as well." 

"I don't think–" 

"We are pastry chefs right now; it's absolutely necessary." Constantine held out a hat to him. 

Liam stared at it for a long moment before he took it and reluctantly put it on. "Happy?"

"Elated. Now, Mrs. Finch, what are we doing?" 

"First we'll start by creaming the sugars and butter together." She showed the pair her measurements, as well as how to soften the butter. Using a hand-held mixer, she swirled the bowl until the task was completed before continuing, "Now, the eggs. The biggest thing to remember is don't over mix, or your cookies won't turn out properly."

Constantine nodded and picked up an egg from the supplies laid before him. “I’ve never done this before…” He held it up with furrowed brows as he intently studied it. "How do we get – inside?" 

Mrs. Finch laughed. "We have to break it, sir. See? Like this." She gently cracked an egg on the counter and emptied it into the bowl. Liam silently chuckled at Constantine's flabbergasted expression; something so simple was blowing his mind, and his elation was incredibly contagious. "It's easy, you just need a hard surface. You try."

Constantine nodded and tried to mimic her by using the counter, but that resulted in multiple yolks in his palm after a number of failed attempts. Finally, he looked around the area searching for a different surface to try when he got the perfect idea. He took the egg and although he intended to lightly tap it, he ended up smashing it against Liam's forehead; the egg splattered but thankfully most of his hair was shielded by his new accessory. However, the yolk and slimy membrane started dripping down his face, accompanied by the remaining shells. 

Liam squeezed his eyes closed as the goo slipped over them and his mouth fell open in shock, but he quickly closed it to not ingest anything. He felt something soft on his forearm and blindly reached out to accept a towel someone offered him. 

After cleaning his face, Liam turned to Constantine with narrowed eyes. "Seriously?!" 

"I guess I do still have some strength left." Constantine nervously chuckled before he added, "I apologize, son, I had no intentions of being so… brute."

"Why my head, though?!"

"She said a hard surface…" 

"Ha. Ha." Liam grabbed an egg and without breaking eye contact used one hand and cracked it perfectly against the side of the bowl. "Gently, grasshopper – and it goes inside the bowl." 

Constantine’s mouth fell open. "You may be upset, but you will not refer to me as a bug–" 

"It's – Nevermind… Mrs. Finch, please continue." 

She did as instructed and walked them through the various steps to make the cookies, plus gave them tips and tricks along the way to help make sure the recipe turned out correctly. They sifted their dry ingredients together in a separate bowl and were preparing to combine everything together, but Constantine insisted he wanted to be the one to use the hand mixer this time. Liam was absolutely reluctant, but ultimately caved after a five-minute debacle. 

Liam stood beside him watching Constantine's every move; so far, he was doing incredibly well with this specific job. Mrs. Finch was slowly adding their dry ingredients and Liam started to relax, thinking that things were smooth sailing from here on out. 

His phone rang and he stepped away to answer it but remained in Constantine's line of sight. Liam spoke with furrowed brows, his face red, and Constantine could tell he was speaking sternly; it instantly piqued his interest. 

The conversation was short and Liam reappeared a moment later completely unfazed. "Who was that?" Constantine practically shouted over the mixer still whirring in his hand. Liam answered, but Constantine couldn't hear him. "What?!" Again, Liam said something, but Constantine couldn't make it out. 

There was text beside each button on the machine, but they were so small Constantine couldn't see which one was labeled power. He ended up increasing the speed to the maximum setting, causing the mixer to shake and vibrate in his hand. Liam walked back beside him and spoke again, but Constantine paid him no attention as he was trying to read the tiny prints. Instead of leaning over to try and find the correct one, he decided to bring the mixer to eye level. 

It happened in slow motion; everything was fine one second, and the next their still very thin batter was flying all over the front of Liam’s suit. Constantine naturally turned his direction to Liam instantaneously as he held the mixer at arm's length, away from his own body. The machine continued to forcefully whirl until the beaters were clean, all its contents now covering the front of Liam’s face, body, and a little of the surrounding area. Liam could only stand there in shock; mouth agape, arms raised, completely flabbergasted. 

Constantine finally pushed the correct button and the mixer slowly stopped. He had a sheepish smile as he lowered it back into the bowl before speaking in a soft, timid voice. "The good news is there's still plenty left…" 

Liam only stared at Constantine with narrowed eyes. Constantine nervously chuckled and swiped his finger across Liam’s cheek before licking the contents. "Mmm – delicious indeed." Liam opened his mouth to speak, but Constantine quickly added, "Don't be mad, son… It was simply a mistake…" 

Liam took a deep breath and slowly let it out to keep his composure. "I'm not upset," A vengeful, mischievous idea struck him. He smirked and said, "matter of fact, perhaps we should hug this out." 

"I don't think that's–" Constantine tried to protest, but soon found himself engulfed in Liam’s strong arms. He looked down and saw Liam rubbing his face on his shirt, thoroughly cleaning it, and couldn't help but chuckle. "I suppose I deserved that." 

Mrs. Finch was quick to take over and simply talked them through the rest of the process to avoid any more mishaps, although they did help form the cookies. The sweet, heavenly aroma that filled the air as their delicacies baked brought back memories for both. Their goods came out of the oven and Mrs. Finch was dismissed, paid very well for her services, and Constantine even insisted she take some with her. 

Now, they were simply relaxing on the couch, enjoying the product of their work, and reminiscing with a cup of hot tea. Although they were missing Leo and Regina, it was nice for just the two of them to relive moments they��d shared while creating new memories at the same time. Constantine expected his ‘class’ to be rather boring but informative; never did he think it would turn into a chaotic, beautiful memory for him to relive for the rest of his limited days.

"Liam," Constantine started as he sat forward and grabbed another cookie. "Thank you for joining me today. I know things didn’t go quite as smoothly as they could have, but I'm thankful you were here… I had fun." 

Liam smiled. "I’m glad… There were definitely some mishaps–” He stopped to rub his forehead. “–but I had fun too. And, these cookies turned out amazing." 

"I concur. Mrs. Finch did an excellent job and I have to say, they are quite close in comparison to your mother's." 

"Here, here," Liam agreed whilst holding his cookie up to Constantine, which he returned before they both took a large bite. Liam swallowed and spoke again, "Listen… I know I'm busy, but I'll always try to make time for stuff like this – especially now…" He trailed off with a sad expression. 

Constantine signed and patted Liam on the knee. "I know. But I'm also aware of how demanding the Crown is. I don't want you canceling obligations on my account – again." He gave Liam a knowing look. 

Liam held his free hand up in surrender. "It wasn't that important! Neville comes here and bitches consistently, I'm sure he'll be back in a few days." 

Constantine couldn't help but chuckle. "Perhaps I could give you a warning next time, then… So you can try to pencil your old man in." He playfully grinned. 

Now, it was Liam’s turn to laugh. "You don't need 'penciled in', but a notice would be appreciated." 

"Done," Constantine suddenly stood and extended his hand. Liam shoved his last bite into his mouth and took it, confused, but Constantine was quick to pull him into a tight hug as Liam rose. "I love you, son." 

"I love you too." 

Their moment hung for a few seconds before Constantine stepped away with a bright smile. "Let's plan our next endeavor! It'll need to be during Kyla's work time, which proves beneficial to the both of us…" He stopped talking to wiggle his eyebrows. "Actually... What would you like to do? Perhaps something to woo her? We could go to a massage–" 

"Why are you being so weird?” Liam interjected. "You decide what you want to do and we'll figure everything out from there." 

"Hmmm…" Constantine trailed off, deep in thought. He snapped his finger a moment later. "We enlist Duchess Olivia and–" 

"I'm going to stop you right there; anything pertaining to Olivia means weapons and that's an automatic no." Constantine tried to retort, but Liam held a hand up. "Do I really have to pull the King card again? Think of something else, and we'll talk." 

Constantine opened and closed his mouth a few times before shaking his head and mumbling something as he sat. "What was that?" Liam asked with an amused grin. 

"I said you can be a bit of a hard ass sometimes." 

Liam smirked and confidently replied, "I learned from the best."

HCTS Tags (If you'd like added or removed, please let me know):

@choicesficwriterscreations @ao719 @queenrileyrose @tessa-liam @angelasscribbles @kingliam2019 @differenttyphoonwerewolf  @bascmve01 @busywoman  @belencha77 @mysticalfangirl @nestledonthaveone @lovingchoices14 @lunaseasblog  @malblk21 @sfb123 @twinkleallnight @emersyn-in-cordonia @walkerdrakewalker @tinkie1973 @queenmiarys @choicesflashfics

[abundantsnow]

oghhhgg kay first post on the kny blog

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hallo, if you dont know me, my name is Zenith Petrichor! you can just call me zen. :) my pronouns are zey/zem/zeirs (or he/it) and i am aroacespec (cupio/aegoromantic and aegosexual). i am on the autism spectrum and have adhd and ocd-c, all diagnosed. its nice to meet you if youre new, please send me asks about anything kny or related to my oc, i love answering questions!!!!1!1 /gen/pos

i need to put my oc out somewhere cause i dont want him to just spin in my brain 24/7, i need people to look at him in all his glory 💔

tumblr is the perfect place to release my "way too heavily projected on oc for it to not be a self insert" oc

kny wont leave me alone even tho the pacing and character dynamics are ass and i needed to make an oc and rewrite the entirety of kny with him and with better pacing and character dynamics

So anyway yeah thus is totally a self insert, meet Hisato Nagafuchi!!!!!!!!!!!1!1!1!1!1! please read more lkke pleade please please i love him so much please read about him im ljke so- *gets shot*

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Hisato's reference sheet

永渕氷聖 "Hisato Nagafuchi"

Hisato - 氷聖 “ice” “saint”

Nagafuchi - 永渕 “eternity” “quiet”

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Name: Hisato Nagafuchi

Race: Half-Demon

Gender: Male, He/Him

Age: 23

Height: 168 cm (5'6") (6'0" with his geta) ((the teeth are 5 inches but the base itself is a whole nother inch))

Weight: 80 kg (176 lbs)

Birthday: January 12th

Hair Color: White to Lavender

Eye Color: Indigo

Affiliation: Demon Slayer Corps

Occupation: Demon Slayer, Ice Hashira

Combat Style: Ice Breathing, Blood Demon Art: Purifying Ice

Partner(s): Giyuu Tomioka, Mitsuri Kanroji, Muichiro Tokito, Tengen Uzui

Relative(s): Unnamed Demon Father, Unnamed Human Mother (deceased), Sakonji Urokodaki (adoptive father)

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Hisato's sprite & parasol

I'll draw his actual official promo art at some point. This is like the sprite that would show up on the wiki lol

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About the Hashiras!

About the Water Hashira: “He’s kind, I like him a lot. He's very aloof and masks his emotions; which people don't seem to understand. They think he's arrogant, and he's not. He’s self-conscious, and I can tell something’s bothering him deeply. We were also taught under the same Former Hashira, even if I developed my breathing techniques differently.”

About the Love Hashira: “She’s a sweetheart. She was friendly to me from the start and trusted me, even though I am a half-demon. We bonded over our love for food.”

About the Mist Hashira: “Ah, I see him as a little brother of sorts. He’s a brilliant boy, even if emotionally stunted due to his amnesia. I’ve made the effort to try and communicate with him, and he has noticed this. I like to spar with him, and this is how we communicate.”

About the Wind Hashira: “He’s hot headed and loud. Very loud. He was the most outspoken about me being a half-demon during my crowning and even tried to tempt me with his marechi blood. It smelled nice, like a gourmet dinner, but I could easily resist the temptation. I haven’t really liked him since.”

About the Insect Hashira: “She didn’t seem to like me at first. I had offered her my blood to use as a substitute for an experiment and she accepted. Whatever the results were had her interested in me. She now comes to me to ask me questions occasionally, and seems to hold no animosity towards me anymore. Although there is something simmering under her surface, I’m sure it’s something to do with Kanae’s death.”

About the Flame Hashira: “He’s also loud, like Lord Shinazugawa, but he’s very passionate and kind. I look up to him, even though I am older. He was wary of me at the very beginning, but was one of the few that accepted me pretty quickly. He even gave me pointers during a spar.”

About the Stone Hashira: “He was adamant on not accepting me at first. He believed anyone with Muzan’s blood, however diluted, did not belong in the Corps and should be slain. It took a long time to earn his acceptance and it almost seemed futile. As embarrassing as it is... it was learning that I can purr like a cat that... got him to like me. Both him and Lady Kanroji love cats, apparently. He likes to pat my head whenever he gets the chance."

About the Serpent Hashira: “He also doesn’t like me. At first, it was because I was a half-demon. He accepted that after a while and even sparred with me, claiming that I was fun to spar with. Now, he hates me because he thinks I’m too close to Lady Kanroji. I think he has a crush on her…”

About the Sound Hashira: “He’s very loud, too. He was mean at first, but it turns out it was just a form of tough love. We’re the same age and he even gifted me a haori that matches my breathing style! I wear it all the time and I love it, it makes me miss dad- I mean Mr. Urokodaki's haori that I outgrew. He said my Blood Demon Art was very flashy; he calls numerous things flashy, actually. It’s quite funny. I also think he’s really pretty, but he has… three wives…”

About the Flower Hashira: “I only knew her briefly, seeing as she died shortly after I became a Hashira. But she was also kind to me. She was hesitant to trust me, but she still did anyway. I really wish she was still around. After learning it was one of the Twelve Kizuki that killed her, I swore to Lady Kocho that I would help her find and kill Doma, the Kizuki in question.”

◇▪︎◇

Taishō Era Secrets!:

(with Tanjiro)

"Mr. Nagafuchi can't stand anything spicy! He prefers all of his food cold, even things that aren't supposed to be cold! He also loves sweet foods."

"His ears are incredibly sensitive, and he has a good sense of sight, smell, and hearing! It's not as good as mine or Zenitsu's, but he's still able to pick up a lot of things that normal human senses can't!"

"His voice doesn't match his appearance, but it's still considered a beautiful voice. He loves to sing and hum melodies, but he's become very embarrassed by this particular skill."

Tanjiro: "I hope one day I can hear you sing, Mr. Nagafuchi!"

Hisato: "I'd only sing for Nezuko, sorry Tanjiro."

Tanjiro: "That's okay! I'm sure Nezuko would love it!"

"He also doesn't talk to anyone because of this! Only the Hashira, me, Zenitsu, Insosuke, and everyone at the Butterfly Mansion have heard his voice."

"He's able to sneak up on anyone without making a sound! Despite wearing noisy clothes and having chimes on his parasol, he can move without alerting anyone! It's almost like he can choose if he makes noise when moving..."

Hisato: "I can, actually. When making my presence known, I tend to allow my footsteps and parasol to make noise for a more elegant appearance."

Tanjiro: "Is there a switch you can flip or something? How are you able to do that?"

Hisato: "That... shall remain a secret."

"Apparently he was taken in and raised by Mr. Urokodaki since he was a baby, and even calls him dad!"

Hisato: "Th-That's embarrassing, Tanjiro... You didn't have to say that..."

Tanjiro: "I think it's adorable! I also saw him as a father figure if it makes you feel better!"

Hisato: "..."

"Mr. Nagafuchi can purr! Like a cat! When Mr. Himejima and Ms. Kanroji learned about this, they were over the moon since they both love cats!! They find any chance possible to pet Mr. Nagafuchi, so cute!!!"

Hisato: "I... I do not purr... That is nonsense...!"

Tanjiro "Can I pet you, then?"

Hisato: "No, of course not, Tanjiro! You cannot pet me! And Lord Himejima and Lady Kanroji do not pet me!"

◇▪︎◇

Hisato's haori and parasol design

◇▪︎◇

That's all for the first post!! I have a lot more already, but I'll schedule those posts for later since its 1am and like. yeah.

[yingren]

modern verse info. wip.

he was only five years old when the night terrors started and the only friends he made were brief encounters that lasted no longer than two playdates. troubled, perpetually tired and acting out. his parents tried their best with him for a few years, taking him to counseling, doctors, and child psychiatrists. four years later, at the age of nine, they essentially just gave up. 

ren ended up more or less neglected by his parents. rather than forcing him to socialize and/or go to family gatherings they could literally not care less if he showed up or not. he spent a lot of time alone at home and gladly avoided social interactions if he could help it. spent a lot of time reading & taught himself how to play the guitar.

his teenage years were ( you guessed it ! ) just him being extremely depressed. he did have some friends though. i’ll elaborate on this later but basically: tw drugs, self harm, attempted suicide, etc. tldr: mom died from drug overdose, dad took his own life.  this happened right after high school and he was diagnosed with severe psychotic depression among other things. he heard voices in his head ( just like main verse ) and struggled with a lot of guilt, grief and regret. in recovery with therapy, medicine and hospitalization.

“people with psychotic depression may get angry for no apparent reason. or they may spend a lot of time by themselves or in bed, sleeping during the day and staying awake at night. a person with psychotic depression may be hard to talk to. perhaps they barely talk or else says things that make no sense.”

after his “recovery” ( still in progress. ) he applied for uni, started studying engineering and eventually dropped out. now he works at a shithole of a diner, hates the smell of fried food sticking to his clothes, has no issues brawling with customers that want to order complicated shit like “bacon and eggs without bacon” or “caesar salad without the salad” ??? yeah, he gets pissed. at least he makes enough money to support himself and his rather humble lifestyle. lives alone with his a rescue cat named “chat” ( same cat as from main verse. )

ren is not a danger to others or anything like that, his darker elements are only mentioned here because i want to make sure people know of the things he struggle with other than working a ( in his words ) shitty job that pays ways too little. he still goes to therapy and he still has bad nightmares / insomnia. 

appearance: somewhat tan in the summer at least but burns easily so fuck the sun, waist long hair often tied up by a clip or in a half pony tail / bun  situation when he’s working, “unfinished” sleeve tattoo on his left arm, frenum barbell piercing, — tba, wip.

personality, vices, etc: more outgoing than his main verse, direct/straightforward, keeps himself clean and fresh but his surroundings often messy (organized chaos), hot-headed, impulsive, dark humor, prone to depressive episodes, smokes & will dip mid-conversation to get his fix

[redbud-tree]

Country roads, take me home

To the place I belong

My name is Nik, and I have never had a home. Now, before you panic or accuse me of making up stories, I have never been without a roof over my head. But a home is more than that. It’s somewhere you feel safe, somewhere you have family by blood or by choice and a community that you trust and that supports you.

In all my 35 years, I’ve never known what that feels like. But I want to, and that’s what the GoFundMe I've linked below is for.

I spent most of my life raised in a fundamentalist Christianity-based micro-cult in Oklahoma, born to an abusive mother and a chronically ill father. I was homeschooled, isolated, abused and denied medical care, and never taught many of the life skills I desperately needed in order to make it on my own.

I’m autistic and receive social security on account of being diagnosed before the age of 22, who has survived my father passing on from his own debilitating illness in 2014. I think my mother’s goal was to keep me at home and keep profiting off of my disability income for the rest of my life. Mine, not hers, because the stress and misery of it all was killing me, and if my mental health didn’t lead to me taking drastic actions, the lack of medical care I was receiving would have led to my death within a few years anyway.

Then, in November of 2021, I managed to escape. Escape is no exaggeration here, as it involved sneaking out of an isolated farm in broad daylight with a very high chance of being intercepted and stopped despite my age and status as an adult with full legal rights. I am not and have never been under a conservatorship or guardianship past the age of 18 - I was kept at home purely through abuse tactics and gaslighting. With the help of friends, I made it to the Pacific Northwest where I was supposed to be able to start over and build my life at last.

…Yeah, that? That didn’t work.

I stayed in Washington for about a year, but my roommate and I had incompatible trauma, so I moved to Portland where a larger group of my friends were and where I should have had a support network to help me as I recovered and started treating my trauma properly with medication and therapy.

…That support network ditched me completely. Everyone has their own troubles, their own struggles, but when you’re in a city and trying to recover from abuse, and you’re alone because the people you were counting on never even talk to you, let alone want to spend time with you because they have better things to be doing, well. You can’t make a home where you aren’t wanted.

And the thing is, there are a lot of things about where I live now that don’t fit who I am. Portland is too much of a big city for me. There aren’t enough animals, and the wrong kind of animals when there are any. The smells and the sounds are all wrong, and I stick out like a sore thumb with all of the cultural differences between the PNW and Oklahoma.

So for my mental health and continued recovery, I’m going to move to live closer to the people I know care about me– in this case, one of my oldest friends, who’s put up with my shenaniganry for close to 15 years now–but I’m trying to do that on a very limited budget.

My only income is, as I said, social security disability, and right now almost ¾ of that is going to my rent alone. That means I can’t save enough to move, and on top of that, I’m trying to move to West Virginia.

I’ve seen pictures of the area and it reminds me of the one spot in Oklahoma I ever felt happy, the Ouchitas, but somehow… More. Some of my ancestors used to live in the Appalachians; not West Virginia specifically, but the mountains, and when I saw a photo of that friend’s hometown I almost burst into tears because it was like looking at a place I hadn’t been to in years and needed desperately to get back to.

I never knew you could be homesick for a place you’ve never seen, but I am, and everything in me is crying out that I need to get there. Something deep inside me, something older than the trees, older than the concrete and steel currently surrounding me where I live right now says that when I do, I will finally have found my way to the home that I’ve been looking for all of my life.

Will you help me get there?

[psychopacifist-rm]

I’m a free man right now. I can use internet whole day, manage my time, go and just… buy the food for me and me alone. I can be sure that nobody will dig my bags and pockets anymore, nobody will control every my step, nobody will drag me out of the shower or burst into my room at night.

Am I happy now?… well, I can say so. But.

Even if I try to bury my past 10 feet under, it has reminders. Mostly it’s music, but can be a smell, a lightning or a weather, even just a sound. On my old phone I found about 234 photos of the same thing: the view from my window, which was the gap to the outer world, when I didn’t need to go to school or drive on a backseat somewhere I didn’t want to go.

And the thing that scares me is that sometimes I miss isolation. I was alone in a room 1x2 in a constant fear and hunger, but I had a whole galaxy inside. No internet, just a Bammes book and a bare rough sketchbook. Time always was slower. Nothing hurt more than now.

My happiest year was 2020, when I made my first steps into independence and tried full-time internet for the first time. That was so new, and I found that perfect balance between exploring something outside of my district and having a strict schedule.

Now I came to conclusion that I don’t miss isolation itself. I miss younger me. That fella, who never knows his diagnoses, that was hungry, but still could bear it, that had no so much responsibility. For himself, but for the whole world as well. Never knew that he came through something bad and that was not the worst. Even appearing on the global internet I feel that I need work on the limit of reality, because if I miss a day, people are stop being interested. Not gonna lie, I’m always trying to get attention only with my arts and stories, because I really want to leave only art in this world and disappear as a person forever. That’s my meaning of life - to give all my time, energy and soul to my characters until I become transparent.

Why I’m telling you that?… I’m grateful that you’re still reading. Maybe I’m trying to be more open minded, maybe I’m trying to share, I don’t really know. There are two ways: to be fully honest or to be fully silent about yourself as a person.