#then i have a roadkill scene to do & a red scene

[raiiny-bay]

i always forget how short marky is compared to everyone else.....

[enhastars]

THE RED ROOM જ⁀➴  CHAPTER THREE

AT THE WAREHOUSE, OCT 13TH ✦ (TW: GRAPHIC)

Blood painted the walls in messy strokes, the feathered splatter of arterial spray. It dripped down in dark streaks, pooling ominously into the carpet. As Jake approached the scene, the floor squelched beneath his boots, the sound damp and sickening, like water being wrung from a sponge. A thick crimson liquid welled up under his soles, staining them irreparably.

Jake lifted his foot, his face twisted in disgust. This sight had become far too familiar, yet he never grew accustomed to it. The stench alone was enough to turn most stomachs, and it was precisely why he never committed these heinous acts with his own two hands. 

Jay was already at the scene, crouched beside the mangled corpse—or what remained of them. He jabbed a stick into the flesh, prodding it like one might poke at roadkill. The chunk of tissue rolled lifelessly, smearing against the floor. Jay smirked, seemingly satisfied. Jake couldn’t understand how the other could get so close to the carnage, with guts and viscera splayed across the room, and then go on to eat meat with relish. 

“This one’s messy,” Jay remarked, his tone almost lighthearted.

“No kidding. It’s disgusting,” Jake shot back, rolling his eyes at the obvious observation.

Jay grinned and spun on his heel, his gaze catching another gruesome fragment on the floor. He knelt to inspect it, jabbing at the flesh with morbid curiosity. “Hey, doesn’t this look like lasagna?”

Jake didn’t need to look long to see the resemblance. A chunk of what could only be brain matter lay in a lumpy, tangled heap on the ground. The sight made his stomach churn. 

“God, you’re so gross, you know that?” Jake groaned, running a hand through his chesnut-colored hair in exasperation. He swore he wouldn’t be able to eat Italian food for weeks now.

Ignoring him, Jay rose to his feet, his eyes narrowing as they caught sight of a maroon file on a nearby table. He grabbed it and casually brushed off the debris clinging to its surface. Curious despite himself, Jake carefully stepped around the carnage to join him.

Jay flipped open the file, his expression darkening as his eyes scanned the pages. His lips pressed into a thin line as he handed it over to Jake without a word. One glance at the contents was enough for Jake to understand.

“What a sick bastard,” Jay muttered, running a hand through his blue-toned hair. Jake frowned at the realization that Jay’s hands were likely far from clean. Still, he nodded grimly in agreement. 

The file detailed the heinous acts of Choi Jeongwu, 27, who had been convicted of manslaughter, theft, and sexual assault. The list of his crimes was sickeningly long. Even if he had pleaded guilty, Jake thought, he would’ve ended up on death row. 

“I’d say he deserved it, don’t you think?” Jay spoke as if reading Jake’s mind, his tone devoid of any sympathy.

Jake offered a strained smile. A part of him agreed—men like Jeongwu didn’t deserve mercy. But another part of him, a deeper, more human part, struggled to process the violence that had just unfolded. Jay had always been better at compartmentalizing. Jake suspected Sunghoon had something to do with that. 

Sensing the shift in Jake’s mood, Jay nudged him lightly with an elbow. “I bet he’d taste disgusting,” Jay joked, breaking the tension.

Jake looked up, his bangs falling over his face. “I can’t wait to see Mr. Choi’s face when he finds out what his favorite steak was made of.”

The mental image made Jake laugh despite himself, the sound easing the weight in his chest. Jay grinned, glad to have lifted Jake’s spirits. It had always been like this between the two of them—each other���s lifeline in a world that seemed bent on swallowing them whole.

When Sunghoon had entered their lives, Jake had just turned 20. He remembered it so vividly, as if it were yesterday. Back then, he and Jay were nothing more than rogues, living on the edge of life and death. Jay, his childhood friend, had dropped out of school when college funds proved unattainable, and he’d urged Jake to do the same. Jake couldn’t imagine life without Jay by his side, so he followed suit.

They scavenged the streets for ways to make a quick buck, eventually stumbling into the dark, violent world of narcotics. Selling drugs and conning the wealthy had been dangerous and morally dubious, but it paid well. It had also given them a rush they couldn’t find anywhere else. 

Now, standing in the aftermath of yet another grisly scene, Jake couldn’t help but wonder if this life would ever truly let them go.

“What are you waiting for? Hurry up!” Jay, who was much younger and sporting his natural jet black hair, yelled over his shoulder at the man lagging behind him. His arms were weighed down with plastic bags, each stuffed with illegal substances ranging from cocaine to LSD. The load was heavy, but the stakes were heavier.

Jake, younger and far less experienced, was frozen in place. His hands trembled, and his knees felt glued to the ground. Fear coursed through him, making the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. Jay couldn’t see what was happening behind him—he was too focused on making their escape after their hideout had been mysteriously tipped off to the police.

“Hyung...” Jake whispered, his voice shaky and his chest tight. He felt as though even the smallest breath could spell his doom. His dry lips quivered as the terror of the moment overwhelmed him for the first time in months.

“I suggest you tell your buddy to put the bags down before I shoot him through the chest,” a new voice cut through the tension like a knife. The words were cold, sharp, and commanding.

Jay whipped his head around, and in that moment, he understood why the other had been paralyzed. Standing just a foot away was a lanky man with a gun pressed firmly against Jake’s back. His long blonde hair was wild and unkempt, falling over his pale, porcelain skin. A black leather jacket clung to his frame, layered over a matching black polo shirt. A gold chain glinted against his chest, a stark contrast to his otherwise shadowy appearance. His face was hard, his gaze boring into the back of Jake’s head, but his lips curved into a maniacal smile.

Jay had seen his fair share of vicious people, but there was something about this man—his cold confidence, his eerie smirk—that left him petrified.

Slowly, Jay dropped to his knees and set the plastic bags on the ground. His eyes were wide and unblinking, his breath shallow as his body tensed. He couldn’t even muster the strength to reassure Jake, who looked like he was on the verge of tears.

The stranger let out a low, mocking laugh, his voice dripping with condescension. “I never thought you’d actually listen.”

Jay’s jaw clenched, his nostrils flaring as anger simmered beneath his fear. He hated feeling humiliated, especially during what was supposed to be a clean getaway.

Without warning, the man tossed the gun to the ground at Jay’s feet. Jake exhaled sharply in relief, suddenly aware that he’d been holding his breath the entire time. Jay arched an eyebrow, his confusion plain.

“It’s empty anyway,” the man said casually, shrugging. “I just wanted to see what you’d do.”

“It... it was empty?” Jake’s voice cracked, the adrenaline still coursing through him.

“Of course it was. It’s illegal to carry a loaded firearm in Korea, you know,” the man said with a sly grin. Brushing past Jake, he crouched beside the bags of drugs and began rummaging through them like he was inspecting merchandise.

Jay, still on edge, was flabbergasted. He couldn’t believe someone had the audacity to toy with them like this. And yet, for some inexplicable reason, he couldn’t bring himself to lash out. Whether it was lingering fear or sheer exhaustion, he wasn’t sure.

Jake hesitated, then inched closer to Jay, careful not to provoke the stranger. The sound of sirens began to grow louder in the distance, snapping them both back to reality.

“Hey,” Jay said, his voice sharp and urgent. “I don’t know who the hell you are, but we need to get the fuck out of here.”

The man didn’t even glance at him, waving him off with the back of his hand. “Relax,” he muttered, still digging through the bags.

The sirens drew closer, and panic began to rise in Jay. He clenched his fists, ready to drag Jake out of there if he had to.

After a few seconds, the man sighed in disappointment and stood up, dusting off his hands. He turned to face them, his sinister smirk returning. Jake instinctively moved behind Jay, but Jay stood his ground.

“How about you two work for me?” the man asked, his tone unnervingly casual.

“Are you crazy? Why the hell would we do that?” Jay snapped, his frustration bubbling over. He wasn’t about to let himself be treated like a pawn.

The man tilted his head, his expression calm and calculating. “Because, I can promise you’ll make more money with me than you ever could in this rat’s nest you call a hideout,” he said, gesturing around the grimy room with a look of distaste.

Jay’s jaw clenched, and he took a step forward, but Jake grabbed his arm to hold him back. The sirens were closing in, the red and blue lights beginning to paint the room in fractured colors.

“What do we get out of this?” Jay questioned defensively. 

“I can help you out of this debacle you got yourselves in.” 

The sirens were inching towards where the three were, making the panic rise in Jay. He didn’t have time to argue with this stranger, unless he wanted to be locked up for the rest of his life. 

“Hyung,” Jake whispered, his voice urgent. “I think we should listen to him.”

“How do you know we can trust this random guy?” Jay spat, growing increasingly frustrated.

Deep down though, he knew he had to come up with a decision quickly.

“The odds are stacked against us, Jay! Look around us.” Jake yelled, surprising both of them with the outburst. 

Jay glanced back at the younger, startled by the seriousness in his tone. It wasn’t often that Jake called him by name, and it only happened when he was dead serious. He gritted his teeth, torn between his pride and the reality of their situation.

The man grinned, sensing victory. “So, what do you say, Mr. Jay?”

The sirens were now deafening, the flashing lights casting eerie shadows across the room. Jay swallowed hard, then nodded begrudgingly. He didn’t like it, but he knew they had no other choice. The stranger seemed satisfied with that. 

“We don’t even know your name,” Jake said, stepping forward cautiously.

The man cocked an eyebrow, then reached into his pocket and handed Jake a small slip of paper—what appeared to be a business card. Jay’s eyes widened as the man turned around and climbed onto the windowsill, clearly preparing to jump. “Are you insane?” Jay shouted, realizing the his spontaneous plan. 

The stranger turned back with a smirk, silencing him with a wave of his hand. “Don’t worry about me,” he said, his voice calm yet commanding. “Just worry about keeping up.”

Before he jumped out, he glanced back one more time at the duo expectedly, who were staring back at him stunned. 

“It’s Sunghoon, by the way. Park Sunghoon.” 

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

“Sunghoon, I got the body.”  

Back in the present, Jake was pulled from his flashback as Jay’s voice broke through the silence. Jay was speaking into his cellphone—a special kind of burner phone designed to prevent any calls from being traced back to them. Keeping the cops off their trail was always a top priority.  

As expected, the call went straight to voicemail. It always did. Jay left a message anyway, confident Sunghoon would get back to them quickly, as usual. The waiting rarely lasted long, and it wasn’t much of a hassle.  

The process of transferring the goods was routine by now. Ever since Sunghoon had purchased a trucking company under a shell corporation, transportation had become significantly easier. The only annoyance was waiting for the trucks to arrive. Sometimes it could take hours, but today, they were quicker than expected. Jake guessed the hitman they’d hired must’ve called the trucks ahead of time, for which he was grateful. He didn’t want to spend another minute in that warehouse if he could help it.  

“What about the cleaning service? Did they get back to you?” Jake asked, glancing at Jay as they finished packaging the goods.  

Jake never dealt with the cleanup—he avoided it like the plague. Blood and guts weren’t his thing, and Sunghoon had thankfully hired a private cleaning service for these kinds of "specialized" messes.  

“No, but they should be here soon,” a worker nearby replied, his voice muffled by the hazmat mask covering his face. His gloved hands moved efficiently, stacking sealed evidence bags.  

Jake tsked in annoyance, partly because he was tired of waiting but mostly because he’d forgotten to wear protective gear. His clothes were ruined, and now he’d need to replace them.  

With a nod from the worker, Jay gestured toward their car, signaling that it was time to leave. The rest of the cleanup would be handled by the hired crew. Jay and Jake only stuck around to grab any files or critical evidence worth salvaging.  

“I need new shoes,” Jake muttered with a pout as he climbed into the passenger seat of Jay’s gray Mercedes-Benz.  

Jay, sliding into the driver’s seat, smirked knowingly. “It was a birthday gift,” he always said about the car. But Jake wasn’t buying it. He was pretty sure Jay had stolen it—being a thief was practically written into his DNA at this point.  

Jay turned the ignition, and the car roared to life, the radio blasting an ear-piercing burst of heavy rock music. Jake flinched, letting out an undignified yelp before launching into a fit of rage, smacking Jay’s shoulder repeatedly.  

“Turn it down, you idiot!” Jake yelled, while Jay doubled over laughing.  

As the music settled to a tolerable level, Jake crossed his arms and sank into the seat. “I heard there’s a new recruit. Can’t wait to meet them,” Jay said, a grin playing on his lips as he focused on the road.  

Jake perked up, his interest piqued. “Oh yeah?” he asked, tilting his head curiously. He’d overheard something about it on the phone but hadn’t caught the details.  

Jay nodded. “Yeah. I haven’t seen Sunghoon in a while either, so I’ll get to check in with him too.”  

Jake grinned to himself, excitement bubbling under his skin. He wouldn’t admit it out loud, but he was also looking forward to seeing Heeseung. Not that anyone needed to know that.  

“Off to L’Atelier Rouge we go,” Jay announced, his voice dripping with an exaggerated, fake French accent. Without warning, he slammed down on the gas pedal, sending the car hurtling toward Seoul, their home.  

Jake grabbed the edge of his seat, glaring at Jay as the car shot forward like a bullet. “You’re such a reckless driver!”  

Jay only laughed harder, the city lights of Seoul shimmering in the distance as they sped toward their next destination.  

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

authors note: hey lol this was kinda short but !! i start university again on tuesday so updates might be less frequent but ill try my best!! :D sorry its kind of dark and gruesome lol its definitely not my usual but i hope you guys enjoy regardless <3

prev | masterlist | next

taglist: @rebeccaaaaaaaa, @strxwbloody, @shuichi-sama , @pshbites

[hexedwinchester]

Supernatural S02E16 Roadkill

One of those well done horror episodes. The story was good, the jump-scare was good, the moral was good, the final closure was amazing

A fine example of how Sam and Dean perceive everything differently. Dean is all black and white.. he is aloof, sees Molly as just another ghost that needs getting rid off without feeling sorry for her. Sam is clearly dwelling in the gray area. He knows the world is muddled and doesn't really fit into black or white. He is empathetic of Molly's situation and believes he has to do her justice. He is also kind enough to not leave Greeley's wife's dead body hanging in the house.

The Greeley's ghost 'grabbing Molly through the window' is so similar to that scene from Friday the 13th movie (yes, the Jared Padalecki movie) where Jason grabs Clay

The walking encyclopaedia of weirdness 🤣

Okay..hear me out!! David and Molly are Sam and Dean parallels for the entirety of the show.. molly and Dean love David and Sam too much to let go. Coincidentally, both Molly and Dean suffer for 15 years because of this. While Molly is physically dead, we have seen the show portray Dean to be dead inside too. Sam is Dean's unfinished business just as David is Molly's. As Molly relives her nightmare every year, time and again, Dean has been stuck in his own limbo. Molly chases David and Dean does the same but by trying to bring Sam back on various occasions: first the cold oak resurrection, then trying to get Sam's soul back in appointment in Samarra, the Gadreel possession, the almost deal with Billy in Red Meat. Finally Molly realises she is dead and needs to move on just like Dean at the end S15. Both David and Sam go onto live a fulfilling life.. thoughts?

Only Sam Winchester can be this gentle to a haunting ghost. Also after she moves on, you can see Sam feeling at loss. Sam Winchester grieved for a ghost! One of the infinite reasons why I love Sam Winchester the most!!

Hope's kinda the whole point

[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.

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

Roadkill: Part One

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.2k

Summary: Someone is using their vehicle to run people over, but why? What compels someone to take another life?

Warnings: canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If there are any warnings that exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them. If you’ve seen the show, then it’s the same level of angst unless otherwise stated

x

"I'm not sure about automobiles. With all their speed forward they may be a step backward in civilization." - Booth Tarkington

You have some time before the briefing to steal away for yourself, and you and Spencer are in the break room alone together. You're leaning against the counter and you pull Spencer in closer to you by his hands. You wrap your arms around his neck and look into his beautiful brown eyes.

"I got us a nice hotel room for the both of us this weekend. It has a fireplace and a really big bathtub that can fit two people. What do you say?" you grin.

"That sounds amazing. We could really use it to get away."

You pull him in closer and kiss him slowly with a hint of tongue. No one else is around to judge you, but that blissful peace doesn't last long. Derek walks into the break room just as you pull away from him.

"I'm telling you right now, we're not leaving the room," you chuckle.

"What are you two talking about?"

"How much hot sex we're going to have over the weekend."

Spencer blushes deep red and Derek laughs as he pours himself some coffee. He caps his cup and walks past Spencer but not before he pats his chest.

"Wrap it before you tap it," he winks.

"It's so easy to get you like this," you smirk and pull away from Spencer. "You're cute when you're flustered. If only they knew what you were like in the bedroom."

"Don't you dare tell them," Spencer gasps when you walk away.

"Yes, sir," you smirk and wink.

Everyone makes their way to the briefing room where JJ is getting set up. Once everyone is in, she puts up pictures of current victims and their crime scenes. This unsub is killing people with his car; that's new.

"An unsub that kills with his car? I haven't seen that before," Emily says.

"Neither have the police in Bend, Oregon which is why they need our help. There have been two victims in the last twelve days. The first victim is Maria Delgado, twenty-three. She was hit on a morning jog. The second victim is Shannon Makely, forty-three. She was stranded on the side of the road when her car broke down.

"What makes the locals think that they were connected?"

"For one thing, they were both backed over after the initial impact. This wasn't an accident. Plus, they matched treads in both scenes. They were large wheels for all terrain. Their wounds also indicated a raised bumper, so they're thinking a large SUV to a truck."

"Do they know the make or model?" you ask.

"No. The tires are made for multiple kinds of vehicles."

"I'll do what I can to see what kind of car it is."

"Were there any witnesses to either incident?"

"No, both victims were attacked in secluded areas."

"Two tons of metal make a hell of a weapon," Derek says.

"Serial killers have been known to become rather attached to their vehicles. Bittaker and Norris even gave theirs a nickname. Murder Mac," Spencer explains.

"Bittaker and Norris were sexual sadists. There's no sign of torture here. This sounds like thrill kills for easy targets randomly selected."

"We need to think about if they're not random. We need to see if there is a connection between the two victims."

"With this type of impact, the vehicle shouldn't be hard to pick out of a lineup. There should be significant front-end damage."

"Somehow I don't think it's gonna be that easy," Rossi shrugs.

"Well, I think it's safe to assume our unsub is male," you say.

"I agree with you, given what we know about aggressive driving and road rage."

"And the fact that men have an unnatural bond with their cars," Emily adds.

"That is true," JJ nods.

"Wait a minute, I don't know about unnatural," Derek says.

"I once dated a guy who washed his car more than he washed his hair," JJ says.

"A nice car needs love."

"A woman doesn't?" you ask Rossi.

"I'm not qualified to answer that."

"I'm just saying a big car is phallic like he's overcompensating for something. Maybe he's impotent. If the unsub sees himself as physically defective, the car not only gives him the power and control he otherwise lacks, but it also serves as a shield."

"Maybe a way to avoid physical contact?" Hotch asks.

"Now we're going in a different direction. Power, control, and female victims equal up to a rape profile."

"Rape and thrill kills are two very different profiles. What does victimology tell us?"

"Nothing, yet. Shannon Makely was a white, married, commodities trader. Maria Delgado was a Hispanic grad student and a competitive tri-athlete."

"So far, gender's our only link. Hopefully, the crime scenes will tell us more."

It takes eight hours to get to Bend, Oregon from where you are, and Detective Quinn is waiting for you, Derek, and Rossi when you arrive. The rest went back to the station to get set up. The crime scene is so new that the blood is still on the ground from where Shannon was hit. You're kind of floored by the energy she left behind, you have to take a moment to gather yourself.

Rossi and Derek immediately talk to the detective while you stay where you are. All the officers and police cars disappear until the only one that's left is Shannon's car. She is stuck on the side of the road after her car broke down, and she's holding her phone up to get a signal to call for help.

She gets out of her car and starts walking in hopes that she catches a connection. She doesn't get far when the unsub comes around the corner. He stops exactly where the tire tracks are found in real-time. Time slows down the second Shannon turns her head toward the unsub. He slams his foot on the gas and lurches forward, still in slow motion. He rams her at full speed, backs over her, hits her again, and speeds off down the road.

You walk closer to the spot where Shannon's car broke down and focus on the big lifted truck instead. You rewind the events until the truck is right beside you. Of course, you can't see anything inside the car. Either the windows are tinted or your abilities can't put together what the inside looks like. Still, even though you can't see inside, you feel the unsub looking at you.

There is no distinctive mark that tells you what make and model this is, but you do know a couple of things. This is a lifted truck that someone put time and effort into, it's black in color, and the taillights are rectangular and small. You replay the events five times before letting the unsub escape. You're not getting anything else off the truck, but you're glad you got this much.

"Tell us about what happened," Derek's words bring you back to reality.

"Shannon lived a little outside of town and was on her way home from work when she broke down."

"So, she breaks down and gets out to start walking. Why not call for help?" Rossi asks.

"There's no service," you say. You point to the tire tracks on the ground. "He made a complete stop here then hit the gas at full speed. He hit her twice and then sped off."

"Full stop in the middle of the road? I take it there's not a lot of traffic out here?"

"Not on this stretch," Detective Quinn says. "Not at that time of day, at least."

"She was done working by three in the afternoon? What did she do?"

"She was a broker that specialized in foreign markets. The time difference made for some odd hours."

"There's something not right," you say.

"What are you thinking about?"

"What are the odds that she breaks down right here? She can't use her phone, there's no traffic, no witnesses, and nowhere to run. It's the perfect place for an ambush."

In the case of Maria Delgado, she was hit while she was jogging. The area in which she was hit is a popular spot for joggers, and not many people can take the stress of that hill. Maria was a tri-athlete that was jogging up there from off the main road. The unsub drove in where he could and ran her down the hill.

That's theory one. Theory two is that he was already there lying in wait. A woman jogging alone would be aware if someone was tailing her. She was the reason he was up there lying in wait like he knew she would be there. These attacks aren't random; they all have some significance to the unsub, which means they can be connected.

Once finished at Shannon's crime scene, you headed back to the police station to talk with the other half of the team.

"The only thing I got from his car is that it's a lifted truck that someone put time and effort into, it's black in color, and the taillights are rectangular and small," you say after you explain what you saw. "I also think he may have targeted these women. They have to be connected."

"That takes thrill kill off the table."

"Why, because the murders were planned in advance?" Quinn asks.

"Yeah, this type of stalking behavior indicates a personal motive. There's a reason he chose these victims. He knows their work schedules, jogging routes, and drive patterns. That would explain how he knew where to strike."

"It explains Maria. She was on a run, but he couldn't have known Shannon's car was gonna break down out there."

"Did you look at her car?"

"The guys at the impound lot said the water pump blew. They said it's a common enough problem."

"We should look at it. I might be able to get something off it," you say.

"Why don't you and Rossi head over there, and let me know what you find out," Hotch says.

You and Rossi head over to the impound lot to see Shannon's car. There isn't a lot of damage to it externally since the unsub didn't hit it. However, the deeper they went, the more they found the problem of why it stopped. No one else can see this, but you see two legs sticking out from underneath the car. The legs have the same energy as the energy you saw at her crime scene.

The unsub tampered with her car which is why he knew it would stop in that location.

"Can you tell us what the problem is?" Rossi asks.

"We figured it was the water pump because it was pretty much melted, but we didn't prepare for this."

The mechanic shows that there is a clear cut in one of the tubes inside the engine.

"This car is pretty new. This wouldn't be normal wear and tear, right?"

"No. The rest of the line is in good condition. Someone punctured it. You can tell from the smooth edge."

"How did they do it?"

"Probably reached a blade right through the grille with a penknife or something like that."

"They wouldn't have even had to pop the hood. If she drove away without water in the radiator, it explains the overheating."

"Could somebody possibly gauge how far she could have traveled with the car in this condition?"

"Someone who knows cars could make an educated guess, sure."

"Thank you." You and Rossi walk away from the mechanic. "The unsub did this to her car. He screwed with it. I saw his legs from underneath his car. He must have gone from the bottom instead of through the grille."

"Sabotage. He's more focused than we thought. He's well-organized and highly motivated."

"By what, though? What do these women have in common? They're all of different ages, appearances, and social class. He's not hunting a specific type. Their only connection is the unsub. There has to have been contact before the attacks."

"We profiled a guy who's afraid of contact. The truck's a shield," Rossi says.

"Maybe the contact's incidental. There's something he perceives in their exchange, something about his perception triggers his fixation. It could be the way she looks at him, something she says, or even something as trivial as what she's wearing."

So far, the team has narrowed down the lifted truck to an older model that's American made. He must have removed all emblems from the car so it'd be harder to track the car to him. One way you can narrow down the list is to send what you have to the DMV, but you're going to waste a lot of paper that way. The truck is only going to get you so far, so you have to build on the profile if you want to catch him.

Some things you know about the unsub are that he's mechanically inclined since he certainly knows his way around an engine, and he's strong enough to pull out dents in his car from each accident if he's fixing the damage to his car. Both victims were killed during office hours, so he must have a flexible work schedule or none at all. If he's stalking someone and getting to know their schedule, he has to put aside a lot of time for that.

Why did he start doing this in the first place? If he doesn't have a job, then losing it could have been the stressor. Eight percent of this state is out of work recently. You need to look for men who are employed as mechanics, work in a body shop, and have criminal records for reckless driving and assault. Two murders in two weeks isn't much of a cooling-off period, so he's not going to wait for another opportunity to present itself.

He's gonna create one, and soon. You just didn't think it'd be this soon.

x

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

[we-keep-odd-hours]

(repost of a tag game, original post was getting really long)

Ten questions to ask a mutual

Instructions: prev asks ten questions and you answer them, then ask ten new ones and tag ten people to keep the chain going! I’ll go first

Tagged by @rock-n-macabre

Do you think Severen survived the end of Near Dark and he's probably just chewing on roadkill somewhere until he gets his strength back? I think he's the most likely to have survived; there's so much emphasis on daylight, direct daylight being the only thing that can kill them, that his death seemed...an odd way to go out permanently. Personally, I like to lean on 'they'll all be fine eventually, it just won't be a very fun recovery, plus transfusions don't work like that and Mae and Caleb are still vampires.'

Weirdest song you get stuck in your head? A rotating mix of atrocious pop music; sometimes it's just snippets of whatever I've been listening to recently. Right now I have "Father" by the Misfits stuck in my head.

What is an item you wish would become a fad? Common sense; selfishly I do wish goth would go mainstream again like it did for two minutes in 2014ish, just to make it easier to find dark makeup.

If you had to live in an era, what would you choose? None in the past; I think it'd be fun to visit, but between health concerns and other factors I really wouldn't want to move someplace else. If i HAD to....just like. A couple decades earlier, I guess?

Fav genre of music? Most of what I listen to falls under the rock umbrella.

Fav past time? Writing, reading, I'm bad at it but also like painting. My favorite time-wasting activities outside of my house are wandering art museums and this really nice botanical garden I'm lucky to live near. I don't consider it a time-waster because it's my therapy, but I spend a LOT of time at the National Aquarium too (not exactly local, but not a horrible drive).

Gators or Crocs? like...the animals? Crocodiles are one of my favorite animals, but I love everything crocodilia. I have a bunch of tiny alligators and crocs on my desk at work, and another that lives on top of the radio in my car.

Possums or Armadillos? the latter for the novelty; we have a lot of possums around here so I'm used to seeing them.

Tacos or Burritos? tacos

(whew almost there...Im reaching for Qs) - Best Bill Paxton movie? EVIL. oh man. oh no. Don't make me do this, as I blog on a Near Dark blog, with a word doc for a fanfic open, in my red/white/black flannel shirt, whlie drinking out of my Aliens coffee mug. I'm not making choosing one. My favorite role of his is definitely Severen though.

Okay for my ten I'm going to be entirely self-serving and try to get some meta and head-canon conversation going on in the tags again:

Thoughts on Eric Red's idea for a Near Dark sequel? (Mae and Caleb's adult, human, daughter has a run in with "kin" of the Hookers.)

Top five movies with vampires?

If YOU were going to pitch a sequel (time machine back to 1987, or else a book/comic/etc) what would you say?

Favorite scene that isn't the bar scene?

We know (canon) that Mae was turned around 1982, Jesse around the Civil War, and (kiiiiiinda canon?) Severen in Tombstone in the late 19th century. When/where do you think Diamondback and Homer were from?

Do you think if Caleb got over his selectively applied human moral code that he would have made an okay vampire, eventually?

Severen: ace/aro spec, or no?

Any scenes that were changed from script to film, or otherwise cut that you wish made it into the movie/were done differently?

What would have happened if Loy and Sarah were at literally any other motel that night?

Aside from her god-awful taste in boys, what's your opinion on Mae?

taggging @rock-n-macabre again, @hex6rcist, @mrsvansickle04, @babieswrld, @ltofoceania, @lupinedreaming, @lektricfergus @tragantia, @osmanthusoolong, and @starfolk7 who is actually normal about this movie but whom I made sit down and watch it, as I have done and continue to do every time I find out one of my friends has never seen it.

And anyone else who wants to join in.

[corky-the-gluttony-demon]

Corky’s Scare Pranks

AN: I decided to change it up and write from my OC’s pov, and I am having a lot of fun with it.

Also, I know Devil May Cry doesn’t give years, but for the sake of the timeline in my fanfiction, Devil May Cry 5 takes place 2014. And while I am sharing bits and pieces of my Fanfiction on here (including the entirety of the Sloth arc and working on revisions and edits for the Wrath arc when I have time) I only upload what I feel comfortable uploading. So I might give some context depending on when the scenes take place if I feel it is necessary.

October 9th, 2014

Devil May Cry shop - Red Grave City

6:42am

Nico is knocked out next to me still. Good. Shoulder’s healing up nice, but the poor gal still needs rest so I’ll let her sleep in.

I slide out of bed, careful not to make a sound. My feet land on the floor with a soft thud. I go downstairs and see the lights are still out. It’s too early to open, but usually Nero is up around this time drinking his coffee and eating breakfast. Maybe he went to train a little?

Felix is passed out on that crusty couch. Soon we’ll find our own place here in Red Grave but for now we are making do. Although I like my little slumber parties with Nico. No not those kinds you perverts. I told Felix the same thing. The floor creaks under me as I make my way downstairs, the wood groaning like it knows I'm up to no good. Felix is sprawled out like roadkill, one arm hanging off the couch, head turned at that weird angle which I know he's going to regret.

So I crouch down. Real low. Like a predator, stalking its prey. I can hear the faint buzzing of a broken neon sign outside the window, the tick-tick-tick of the wall clock—God, someone needs to shut that thing up—and the steady breathing of Felix.

"Felix," I whisper, but not like whisper whisper, more like a hiss that’s dripping with menace, like one of those demons that crawl outta the walls in Limbo. "Feeeeelix."

Nothing. Guy doesn’t even flinch.

I get real close, like nose-to-nose close. I can smell the whiskey he got drunk on, along with…something sour. My gluttony-demon senses identified the source as a human female.

Hahaha.

"Felix!" This time, I scream like a banshee and I swear the windows shake. Felix jerks awake so fast he almost punches me in the face.

"Fuck!" He’s already halfway off the couch, fists raised, eyes wide like he’s ready to throw down with whatever demon just crawled outta the floorboards. His chest is heaving, that fight-or-flight instinct kicking in, and I can practically see the gears turning in his brain as he processes that it’s just me—again.

I’m laughing my ass off by this point, rolling on the floor, clutching my sides.

"Goddammit, Corky!" Felix snarls, rubbing his eyes like he’s trying to wipe the sleep—and probably the murderous thoughts—out of his head. "You can’t keep doing this!"

Felix slumps back into the couch, running a hand through his hair, muttering under his breath. Something about how he thought we left this shit behind in Limbo.

January 21st, 2015

Outside Grease Pit Royale, Red Grave City – 6:03pm I was just picking up some dinner from Grease Pit’s when I catch sight of Nico's precious little Devil May Cry van parked some random supply shop.

Nico's running errands. Again. Probably picking up God knows what—spare parts, screws, maybe some gunpowder to mix into her morning coffee. The stuff she gets excited about, y’know? But she doesn’t know I’m here. Ohhh, she doesn’t know.

Perfect.

Bag of burgers in hand, I waltz over and sneak up to the van, cracking the door open quietly, and sliding into the back seat. No creaks, no nothing. Nico’s off in that store and she’s gone long enough for me to get comfortable.

I’m sitting there in the back, burgers spread across my lap.

A few minutes pass. I bite into one of the burgers because I’m hungry, and it’s dinner time. The grease dribbles down my chin, and I wipe it with the back of my hand.

And then, there it is. The soft shuffle of boots outside. The jingle of keys. The van door swings open, and Nico steps in, balancing some weird metal contraption.

Just as she’s halfway in, I pounce, leaping from the shadows. “Surprise, bitch!” I scream, face practically inches from hers.

Nico, though? Nico doesn’t flinch. Not even a little. She just blinks at me, raises one eyebrow.

“How come I didn’t scare you?” My words tumble out, fast and loose, a little whiny if I’m being honest.

She settles into the driver’s seat, lighting up a cigarette.

“What, you think you’re some kinda unflinchable badass now?” I ask.

She doesn’t even bother turning fully to face me. Just that over-the-shoulder look again, like she’s humoring me. “You mad buttercup?”

“A little, yeah,” I admit.

Nico blows a cloud of smoke and shoots me a cheeky grin, “After I’m done with my smoke, I’ll give you a ride back to your place.”

March 8th, 2015

Outside Felix’s Apartment, Red Grave City

7:21am I’m crouched down outside Felix’s apartment. I told Nero that I was going to make sure he comes so we can head on out to Vie de Marli. I’ve been camped out here in the cold for, I don’t know, ten whole minutes, waiting for him to open that damn door.

I can hear him inside, shuffling around like he’s got nowhere to be. Dude’s slow. Probably hungover… again.

I hear the door click, the hinges creak like the thing hasn’t been oiled in years, and I know this is it.

The door opens just a crack, and I launch myself forward like a wild animal—arms out, mouth wide, and I let out the loudest, most demonic scream I can muster. “RAHHHH!” I’m in his face in half a second, and for a brief, glorious moment, I see it—actual surprise in Felix’s eyes. I did it. I got him. The guy who’s seen hell and worse, finally, finally rattled.

But then, of course, because it’s Felix, the bastard just blinks, his whole body barely jerking back, like he’s dealing with a mildly annoying fly instead of me. He’s standing there, door halfway open, one hand on the frame, and his expression goes from that tiny flash of shock to pure, unadulterated irritation.

"You really need to find a new hobby," he deadpans.

July 5th, 2015

Outside the Devil May Cry shop, Red Grave City

8:12pm

I feel I spend more time crouched behind doors to scare my friends then to hide from demon threats. But I’m committed—no, dedicated. I hear Marcus shuffling around inside, probably gathering his bag of nerd gear and whatever illegal software he’s been messing with all day.

I can hear Nero and Nico bickering inside, but I am focused on Marcus’s footsteps, that familiar clumsy shuffle he’s got going.

The door creaks open just a crack, and I hear Marcus muttering something under his breath.

And then, just as the door swings fully open—BAM—I leap out like a goddamn wildcat. Arms up, mouth wide, screeching like a banshee straight outta the depths of hell. “BOO, BITCH!”

Marcus’s face goes pale immediately, and I swear to god his soul leaves his body for a split second. He yelps like a kicked puppy, stumbling backward, legs flailing in the air like he just slipped on a banana peel. For a split second, I wonder if I actually killed him. His eyes are wide, pupils blown, mouth hanging open like he’s trying to process whether he’s dead or if this is some kinda fever dream.

“C-Corky! Shit! You almost made me piss myself!” Marcus practically screams, clutching his chest like he’s having a heart attack.

I’m doubled over, laughing so hard I might actually fall down and roll into the street. My sides hurt, but I can’t stop—it’s just that good.

His face is beet red now, either from embarrassment or the fact that he genuinely thought he was about to die. The guy’s wiping at his forehead, like he’s trying to erase the trauma from his mind. “Corky, that was not cool!” he whines.

“That was hilarious!” I manage between breaths, gasping for air.

Marcus glares at me—or tries to, anyway—but he’s too flustered to pull it off. He’s more like a wet puppy at this point, all shaken and twitchy. He runs a hand through his dreads, trying to calm his nerves.

July 19th, 2015

Njaa Village, Kijuju Jungles

1:22pm

It’s so damn humid out here, the air thick like molasses, making my skin sticky with that gross mix of sweat and jungle funk. Welcome to the Kijuju jungle—where every step feels like you’re walking through hot soup and everything wants to bite, sting, or eat you. And here we are, just sitting in this van that wreaks of cigarettes, Nico’s gun oil, grease, and Felix's funky boots. Nico’s out like a light, sleeping hard enough to miss the literal apocalypse.

My eyes dart to Felix, who’s standing by the van, leaning against it like he doesn’t have a care in the world. He’s got that smirk on his face, the one that says he’s already ten steps ahead.

“So, what’s the play?” he asks.

I grin, leaning closer to him like we’re planning a heist. “Alright, here’s what we’re gonna do. You sneak around the other side, knock on the window. Get her to stir just a bit, but not too much, y’know? Then, I’m gonna jump outta the back and scream.”

Felix raises an eyebrow, and for a second, I think he’s about to give me that “seriously, Corky?” look, but instead, he chuckles. “You know she’s gonna shoot you, right? This woman sleeps with a gun under her pillow.”

I wave him off, like that’s a detail that doesn’t matter. “Pfft, she won’t shoot me. Probably. Maybe. It wouldn’t kill me. It would just hurt… a lot.”

Nico’s inside, snoring softly, one hand draped over her stomach, her other arm tucked under her head. Poor girl’s been working her ass off all day, but it was almost go-time.

Felix taps on the window. Just a soft, deliberate tap-tap-tap. Nico stirs, a sleepy grumble slipping from her lips, but she doesn’t wake up fully.

I slam the back door open and scream—loud, shrill, like a banshee on crack. “WAKE UP, SUNSHINE!”

Nico bolts upright so fast I think she might’ve given herself whiplash. Her hand immediately shoots to her hip, where she keeps her gun holstered, but she fumbles with it, blinking blearily, eyes wide, not processing what the hell just happened. For a split second, I think she’s about to actually pull that trigger, and I’m about to have a hole in my chest, but then recognition kicks in. Her face twists into this expression—half disbelief, half murderous intent.

“You goddamn jackass! I swear to Christ, Corky, one of these days, I am gonna shoot your ass, and I ain’t gonna feel bad about it!” Her southern twang is extra thick when she’s pissed, and right now, it’s like molasses, all warm and sticky with that angry charm only Nico can pull off. She’s glaring at me, but I can see the tiniest twitch at the corner of her mouth—she’s trying not to smile. She won’t admit it, but I can tell.

Felix’s laugh cuts through the humid air. “Told ya she’d pull the gun.”

January 3rd, 2016

Kyrie’s House, Fortuna

Scaring Nero has always been tricky. It’s rare to catch him off guard. But since he has been back in his hometown and still dealing with… whatever is going on between him and Kyrie at this point has him kind of distracted, which makes him the perfect target.

Nico’s beside me, practically vibrating with excitement, that grin plastered across her face like she’s about to watch the best damn show on earth.

I smell Nero’s essence and then hear his footsteps.

Nico nudges me, eyes gleaming. “Here he comes.”

“BOO!”

I launch myself out from the corner, arms flailing, letting out the loudest, most guttural scream I can manage, aiming right at Nero, thinking I’ve got him dead to rights. But instead of Nero, it’s Kyrie. Sweet, gentle Kyrie—who was walking in front of Nero—right in my line of fire.

Her scream is so high-pitched I’m pretty sure it could break glass, and her eyes go wide as dinner plates as she stumbles backward, legs giving out from sheer shock. And—oh no, oh shit—she’s going down.

“Oh god! Kyrie!” I’m in panic mode now, scrambling to catch her before she hits the ground. Too late. She’s on her ass, wide-eyed and gasping, and I’m frozen for a split second because, holy shit, I just scared the hell out of Kyrie.

I drop to my knees, my brain catching up with my body, sliding to her side in an awkward crawl. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” My voice is all frantic, and I’m grabbing at her, trying to make sure she’s okay.

“Corky what the hell!?” Nero yells at me angrily, “Kyrie, are you alright?”

But here’s the thing—she’s laughing. Full-on, belly-laughing, like I didn’t just give her a near heart attack. She’s holding her stomach, face flushed, tears in her eyes from laughing so hard. “I—I’m fine!” she manages between gasps. “I wasn’t… expecting that!”

Nico’s already on the floor, too, doubled over in hysterics, slapping her thigh. “Damn, Corky, you just knocked her flat! That was supposed to be Nero!”

I can’t help but laugh, too, even though I feel like the world’s biggest jerk. I flop down next to Kyrie, still half-hugging her, and bury my face in her shoulder. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to literally knock you over.” I’m laughing, but I’m also kinda mortified. She smells like lavender and something soft, and I just feel bad.

Nero, of course, is standing there, arms crossed, glaring at us like we’re a bunch of children. “Well it failed,” He shakes his head, but I catch the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips as he sees Kyrie is more than okay.

Kyrie waves him off, still giggling. “I’m fine! Really! I haven’t laughed this hard in a while.” She looks at me, eyes twinkling, and I swear she’s not mad. If anything, she looks like she enjoyed it, which makes me feel about ten times better.

March 5th, 2016

Felix’s Apartment, Red Grave City

4:31pm

Nero’s sitting on the couch, staring at the floor like it’s got all the answers. I can see the gears turning in his head, the way his jaw’s tight, the furrow in his brow—it’s all there. He’s thinking about everything. Dante and Vergil are back and this leaves Nero trying to figure out where he goes from here.

Which means… this is my shot.

I’ve tried a dozen times to scare him. Failed every time. He’s like a brick wall. No—he’s worse. He’s like a brick wall with demon blood that doesn’t flinch at anything. Felix is hard to scare, sure, but Nero? Nero’s on a whole different level. But right now, he’s distracted, and I’m thinking… this might be the one. The golden opportunity.

I’m crouched just out of sight, heart beating fast, excitement bubbling up in my chest like I’m a kid about to pull off the best prank of the century. This is it. He’s too deep in his head to see it coming. Perfect. I’ve got you now, Nero.

I tiptoe closer, quiet as a cat. Felix’s apartment isn’t much—just a couple rooms, a couch, and a whole lotta weird smells (seriously, what is that?), but it’s home enough for Nero while he figures out whatever existential shit he’s got going on.

I take a breath, hold it, and then—

“RAH!” I leap out from behind the couch, arms out like I’m a damn demon crawling outta hell. I scream loud enough to rattle the windows, full-on feral, just to get that reaction out of him.

And for a second, a glorious second, I think I’ve done it. Nero jerks, his body tensing up like he’s about to spring into action. His eyes go wide, hands shooting up like he’s ready to grab Red Queen or Blue Rose and shove them down whatever demon’s throat dared to come after him.

But then… nothing. He blinks. Looks at me. And then the realization sinks in, that heavy calm settling over his face as his eyes narrow. And I’m just standing there, caught in the middle of it, like a dumbass with my arms still raised, grinning like I’ve won something when, really, I’ve just lost.

Nero rubs a hand over his face, groaning like he’s disappointed in the whole world. “Corky… really?”

Goddammit.

I drop my arms, deflating like a balloon. “Seriously?! Nothing? I didn’t even get a flinch?”

“You got a grunt,” he says, leaning back on the couch, crossing his arms like the unshakable bastard he is. There’s a flicker of amusement there, though, hiding just beneath that stone-cold expression. “That’s about all you’re getting.”

“I was so close,” I mutter, half to myself.

[thethirdvoerman]

For the writer's ask game, in the basics, 1, 2, 9, and 10? 😊

1 — music: I do! It's usually something ambient that fits the atmosphere of the scene, preferably no vocals so as to not distract me. I have amassed a small playlist on YouTube that I put in the background when I'm writing, it's mostly horror OSTs, one Midwestern gothic mix with a bunch of songs, and compositions I enjoy. Sometimes I just loop something and let it rip.

2 — pantser or plotter: A bit of both. Mostly stories pop up in my head as messages from God and I do not dare question. I make outlines, but rarely. My current WIP has a vague plan of events, and my Vampire chronicle has like 2 Google Docs and a conspiracy board, full Charlie Day style.

9 — current WIP: I've always dreamt of writing a book and I've been doing so sporadically ever since I dropped out of uni last year. It's called "Postmortem", I have the prologue and 4 chapters done, and chapter 5 is going smoothly. If I had to describe it, it's like a sci-fi urban coming-of-age story set in a small town in Nebraska about a dead girl and her dad hunting ghosts. My girlfriend calls it "pure anime" (affectionate). I'll enclose an excerpt from chapter 5 under the cut (translated into English as I wrote it in my native tongue).

10 — deadlines: I am bad with self-inflicted deadlines, so I don't bother. I don't feel like forcing words out of myself is right, my uni already does that for like 1000 bucks a term. Then again, that explains the leisurely pace of my book writing process doesn't it...

Mio spat on the pavement, then turned exactly ninety degrees with the precision of a soldier, and stomped away from Hunters’ Hall. She could probably wait around; the tiny patch of concrete here acted as both the parking lot and smoking spot for the locals. Yet the mere act of waiting seemed a grueling task in itself, not to mention talking. She could taste the ennui already. A stack of convenient lies upon more convenient lies made up the legend she’d repeat and slightly alter in each town Doc and her stopped at. This time it was “Mio Miyawaki”, yet another empty promise of a person, one that could answer every question about herself without ever telling anything important, nod along in conversation while never revealing what she really thought, and mislead everyone into believing that she was actually, truly genuine despite not even being real.

“Well that’s just great.”

Mio didn’t really hate this bleak reflection of herself. Neither did she like her.

She turned around the corner. The passing-by truck dragged a gust of hot air past her, and Mio instinctively clasped a hand over her nose. In Carrion, summer was always a haze of smog descending into the valley, a mix of exhaust fumes, burning trash and forest fire smoke. Unable to escape the clutches of the trees, like a sea not being able to escape its shores, the sickly fog of ash and stench stayed calm and still. Then, autumn winds would carry it away, and heavy clouds full of snow would come instead. The town, therefore, existed in a constant state of rigor mortis. No life was possible there – aside from, perhaps, the writhing of parasites in roadkill.

The smell of burning and grey ash didn’t feel as annoying as the odor of tobacco in the fog, both gently tickling and cruelly scratching at her throat from the inside.

Her jaws dragged against each other, an industrial chew of machinery, and Mio only felt it as a thin streak of blood ran down her chin. She’d chewed her lower lip into raw meat. Wiping the blood was a mechanical, meaningless gesture. The red of her uniform jacket soaked it up all nice. Neither blood nor ectocardium really stained it.

All so that the illusion of calm wouldn’t be disturbed.

[kadavernagh]

TIMING: Current LOCATION: In the middle of the road :/ PARTIES: Regan and Wynne SUMMARY: Regan and Wynne converge on the best kind of dead rabbit: an albino one! They're both extremely weird about it.

Albino rabbits were a rare thing in the wild. Unlikely as they were to be born in the first place, most of them were easily spotted by predators and devoured before anyone lay their eyes on them. This one met a different fate. As Regan carefully peeled the flattened flanks of the rabbit off the road, she kept a careful look over her shoulder to make sure no cars were coming. She wouldn't let them further damage this beautiful find. Or her. She supposed. Despite the tread marks, it still looked okay… its dead, glossy eyes were accentuated by the finest white whiskers she’d ever seen. Did it know what was coming? 

Unlike the rabbit, Regan did sense someone’s approach. They were probably just wondering what she was doing haunched over the road outside of a coffee store, or maybe they even saw the white-and-red clump of fur. She took a glance down at her prized rabbit, assuring herself that it would still be there, insert, when she looked for it again, then turned to face the stranger. Regan cleared her throat and held her gloved hands up, showing that they were empty of anything suspect. “I know this looks strange. But it’s very easy to explain. I mean, I don’t know that I have to.” She stepped aside, giving them a clear vantage point of her beautiful find. “I know what you’re probably thinking, but you can’t have it. It’s mine.”

The sight of a white-haired human crouched over a white-furred thing attracted Wynne’s attention the moment they set foot out of their workplace. Admittedly the bar for attracting their attention was rather low, considering the way plenty of things sparked their curiosity — but upon closer inspection, this wasn’t something entirely new to them. Death, Wynne knew. Roadkill, less so, as the commune had never known much car traffic, but did it really matter, at the end of the day? Guts spilled, blood was poured and prey animals died before their lifespan was done. Such were the demands of nature and not many escaped their fate.

But Wynne had and maybe that was why they were attracted to this scene. They didn’t bother justifying their curiosity, finding freedom in following their inexplicable instincts. Moving from the front steps of the shop to the middle of the road was done with second thought, as was the way they placed their coffee-to-go on the asphalt (ready to fall victim to another rushing car) after they’d crouched down. “You don’t have to explain,” they said, their tone understanding. They had pictures of dead birds on their new phone. There was something about these things that attracted. They reached out towards one of the hind legs, but looked up. “Oh. I suppose, finders keepers?” The death belonged to themselves though, didn’t they? Unless they died for a higher cause. “It’s beautiful, though.” Collen would have loved to stuff this one. Wynne felt a pull for its hide, its bones, its potential power. “We should get it off the road.” 

“I don’t?” It was rare that Regan didn’t need to explain herself. She stroked the rabbit’s soft cheek with her gloved hand, whiskers poking her. Maybe this person was more than a simple interloper. Maybe they did understand. Regan watched, breath clotted in her throat, as they extended a hand toward the rabbit. The urge to protect her find competed with her curiosity to see what they would do. But they seemed to think better of it, honoring a code that Regan had only heard voiced among the others.

The respect they conferred on the rabbit struck Regan with a deep pang of familiarity – one that, at times, she preferred to discard. But today was one of those days where she felt especially like an outcast here, in such a human place. Maybe it was the look Marcy gave her when she said she didn’t know what a “podcast” was, or maybe it was the sprinkling of shattered glass in the autopsy suite when she’d felt deeply for an adolescent decedent. Either way, she’d take a sliver of kinship.

“You’re right, of course. I won’t see it damaged further. It’s coming home with me.” Her eyes slowly scanned the person, and she decided she was content trusting them… for now. If they were a banshee, Regan would need to reassess the situation. “You’re interested in this rabbit, aren’t you? That’s unusual. I don’t meet many who… share my predilections. Will you tell me about yourself? Where are you from?” Not Saol Eile, right? The prickling along her arms was in response to the carcass, not the company. Regan slowly lifted and cradled the rabbit in her arms, not minding one bit that the small intestine was dangling from its crushed abdomen and draping over her skin. “I am Dr. Kavanagh.” 

They shook their head. Wynne preferred explanations for most things, as the world made very little sense to them, but in this case it all seemed incredibly clear. There was a dead creature with an intriguing coat of fur, in a state where it could be repurposed and find a usefulness in death. Wasn’t that what they all wanted, at the end of the day? For their deaths to mean something? All in good time, of course — Wynne did hope this rabbit got to live a fulfilling life, rather than one cut short too early.

“What will you do with it?” It wasn’t asked with judgment, but rather with curiosity. Wynne could think of a number of ways to make good use of the rabbit. They let out a sound of amusement, “Well, if it’s unusual, then why are you interested?” It was unusual, they thought, how distanced people in this area were from death. Especially when it came to animals. But those were thoughts best reserved for rants made when slightly more comfortable and perhaps a tad inebriated.

They watched the dangling intestine for a moment as they considered the question. “Careful that it doesn’t drop,” they said, rather than answer it. It was always a tricky one: sometimes they said they were from Bethel, as that was where they’d spent most time before arriving here. Sometimes their lies were bigger. Sometimes vaguer. “From up north. Very far from here.” A half-truth, half-lie. Wynne moved onto the sidewalk. “I’m Wynne.” A beat. “Hughes.” They creased their brows. “Are you a veterinarian?”

“A veterinarian?” Regan frowned at the question, but given the context, perhaps it should have been an expected one. “No, not a vet. I’m a forensic pathologist – a medical examiner. The rabbit isn’t for work.” Though it couldn’t rightly be described as fun, pleasure, or leisure, either. Such adjectives were ill-fitting for such a solemn matter. But then, how to describe it? Regan looked at Wynne, and judged once more that they were genuinely curious, showing respect and deference, and not asking out of some morbid fascination or disgust. Had she let herself, she might have even liked Wynne.

“I have an appreciation for the dead, be it human or non-human animal. The humans must stay in the morgue or in the grave. But the animals come home with me. Often, I get rid of the soft tissue and keep only the skeletal remains. In this case, the pelt is of great importance, don’t you think?” This could be an opportunity, actually. Regan was a poor taxidermist, and preferred articulated skeletons to taxidermy any day. But this was a special case. “Do you know of taxidermy? I suppose I’m now looking for a taxidermist. One who can be trusted.” Or bound to their words. “Maybe you even know one from… up north. They can be from out of town.” One thing was for sure though; she wasn’t going to mail the rabbit to Ireland and have one of the others get anywhere near it, no matter how skilled they were.

Regan slowly walked toward the sidewalk, increasingly aware that if they didn’t move they might just join the rabbit and become roadkill themselves. And the specimen was safe now, cradled in Regan’s arms, dotting her skin with blood that burned the way she liked. “If you would like to stroke its fur, I will allow it. You seem to understand in a way that most do not.” And strangely, they didn’t even seem to realize it was unusual. Regan was still getting used to the way people responded to her mannerisms now that she was outside the walls of Saol Eile. For years, she was around like-minded individuals. Now it was back to being the weird outcast for different reasons. Previously too human. Now too not. Did Wynne not care that they were strange, or did they not know? “Would your peers up north also enjoy such a thing?

Wynne didn’t know what a forensic pathologist was, but they didn’t want to ask either. A medical examiner sounded like someone who examined medicine, so it did make sense that the rabbit wasn’t a work-related thing. They didn’t really want to admit to their ignorance on this occasion, though, as it seemed like it ought to be common knowledge to know what that occupation entailed. It got exhausting, always asking, always confronted with new information. And besides, the rabbit demanded and deserved their attention. “Oh, fair enough.” 

At least the rest of the woman’s words made sense, ringing true for Wynne as well. It was a bit eerie, how her words seemed to hit home, how their mind traveled to Collen for the second time in a short while. They’d watched him at work, taking great care of the dead critters as he made them into something that would last forever. “I find that rabbit bones are of great use. To reuse the remains of the death is a way to honor them anyway, right? And this one, with its pure pelt…” They trailed off, eyes closing for a moment before blinking wide open again. “I’m not very good with taxidermy.” Their thoughts circled around Collen again, but they could hardly send this woman to the estate — a place that didn’t like strangers and didn’t need strangers visiting it that knew where they were. “I’m sorry, I don’t know of anyone. But there must be someone in town, right?” 

Their head felt heavy for a moment as thoughts piled and circled, nostalgia a dangerous trap. At home, they’d hunt the wild rabbits and use their bones and eat their meat and sacrifice the bits they didn’t. They’d pen some of them up for the kids, but they’d never live long enough to die a natural death. Wynne was familiar with the fur of rabbits, alive or dead. They reached out and felt it underneath their fingertips, but didn’t let them linger. “Thanks.” They still felt the fur under their fingertips. They almost considered asking for the bones, if the other wasn’t going to keep them. They shook their head. “No, no, they wouldn’t. I guess it’s something I learned to understand by myself.” They hoped the lie was convincing.

Of great use sounded ominous. Regan was of mixed opinion when it came to using the remains of the dead. It seemed that banshees as a whole were. Some eagerly decorated their homes with pelt rugs and used ulnas for spoons, while others saw it as a grave disrespect, wishing only to preserve what was already there and not create anything new from it. Regan tended toward the latter. Call it her sensibilities as a pathologist, furiously documenting everything she could about the deaths on her table, but she didn’t believe such a beautiful process should be altered. A sour taste filled her mouth but she refrained from arguing with Wynne, giving a shake of her head. “The pelt must stay with the rest of the body.” 

Regan’s whole body tensed as Wynne approached to stroke the rabbit. It was a brief but intimate moment between them and death itself. And it shook loose some memories; the others gathered around carcasses, taking turns, whispering, connecting. She recoiled slightly, but Wynne had finished anyway, the spell broken.

“You don’t owe me anything.” Regan said reflexively, a rejection of the thank you. It was strange going from Saol Eile, where everyone was so deliberate with their words, to here, where they were flung around without a whiff of caution. It wasn’t the fault of humans. They didn’t perceive the danger, and they were probably better off for it. Still, if one was to survive in this town… “You should be more cautious with your words. And tell others, too. Because I’m tired of being the one to do it. Unfortunately, most people learn the hard way.” She stroked the dead rabbit’s soft fur, letting it tickle between her fingers. 

“Shame you don’t know any taxidermists. They’re a strange kind, anyway. Different sensibilities.” She knew on some level that was rich coming from her. But she wasn’t the only strange one here. “I admire those who come to understand the way of things on their own. Even more so if you’re of differing… sorts than those up north that you came from. It’s difficult.” That was enough honesty for now. It agreed with her stomach, but she wasn’t willing to provide this stranger with more of herself. “When I figure out what to do with the rabbit, perhaps I’ll let you come see the result. It was acceptable talking to you, Wynne Hughes.”

This town kept proving to Wynne that they should run, but it also kept proving to them that they should stay. There were people here that were more on their wavelength, the likes of which they hadn’t seen in the other towns they’d passed through. This Dr Kavanagh was proof that there were people that tended to think at least along the same line as them, but not in a disastrously similar way. Not in a way where they’d end up on an altar. Or they at least hoped so.

“That’s alright. I wasn’t —” They shook their head, a little flustered. “Wasn’t asking, just pointing it out.” The rabbit had been found by the other, and Wynne understood and respected that. If they wanted bones of their own they’d have to find them on their own, in the obscure stores around town or in a more bloody way. They just weren’t sure if they wanted to, though: hadn’t there been enough death? Hadn’t they potentially caused enough, anyway?

As the other pointed out that they ought to be more careful with their words, Wynne remembered Emilio’s warnings and felt the need to smack themself against the forehead. They stared at the other, wondering for a moment what she knew of fae – that was the word the hunter had used, wasn’t it – but not bringing it up. “You make a good point. I was distracted.” Expressing gratitude was just part of their system, yet another part that would have to be snipped away and cauterized. They almost considered thanking the other for not doing anything with their thank-you, but thought better of it. “I’ll tell the people I know.” 

Wynne nodded. There was something odd about the people that stuffed creatures, even if they’d only known the one. Collen had been a strange fellow anyway, even if he was nice. Their gaze shifted for a moment, towards the dead creature and the pavement and then back to the doctor. “It can be difficult. But at the end of the day it’s best to come to our own conclusions, isn’t it?” Not that they were doing a very good job at it these days, but they were trying at the very least, and that was more than they had done the first two decades of their life. “It was nice to talk to you too, Dr Kavanagh. I’d love to hear what happens with the rabbit. Either way, I’m glad it got picked up.”

Wynne seemed to understand, which was curious. There was something… off. Regan was always relieved when she fit in, when her odd ways were only minimally questioned, and that happened here. But it also rang alarm bells. Didn’t that say something about Wynne? She questioned her senses – maybe she was wrong, and her skin should have prickled, and Wynne was fae. Regan pinched herself, like that would prompt something, but all she felt was the calming presence of the dead rabbit. Who was Wynne, exactly? Her uncertainty made her uneasy, but she had other priorities right now. She gave Wynne a curt wave goodbye and made off with the dead and bleeding rabbit cradled in her arms, and a head full of questions.

[ameliandil]

Image from Hidden Phantom Chapter 4 (Link to chapter 1: https://archiveofourown.org/works/45059404/chapters/113355835)

Image description: Edward is holding on to Danny's elbow. Danny is trembling a bit. The image is from behind them, and they are in black and white. There are news vans and a crowd of reporters in the background and they are yelling phrases written in red like "What was your reaction?" "How did you miss this?" "Did you know all along?" and "What do you say to all American people?" In addition, other words like "mutant", "strange", "Juggernaut", "freakish", "students", and "abominations" are scattered across the image.

This chapter will go up soon, when AO3 stops being so strange. Thank you to my beta reader, J05U_404, who helped a lot with this chapter!

Scene:

Danny swings into the parking lot hard enough that Edward has to hold onto their lunches so they don’t slide across the seat. There are vans already there. An entire swarm of them, like bees in search of a new hive location. Worse, the vans are surrounded by people, all of whom are facing the entrance of the parking lot, cameras at the ready.

Danny mutters something just under Edward’s ability to make out words.

 Cold dread spreads through Edward’s gut. That’s a fuckton of news stations. He sees at least six, and as they pull in, lights start flashing.

He glances at Danny. “Sometimes I wish we had a secret entrance,” he says.

Danny nods tersely, then shifts the car into park. There isn’t another lot to park in, and all of the school’s entrances look blocked off. Edward would just about bet that’s the case on the other side too. Danny turns off the car and his breathing turns loud. For a moment, Edward thinks he’s headed into a panic attack, but then he notices there’s a rhythm to it. He’s doing breathing exercises, and it’s incredibly fucked up that he’s having to do it just to get through a crowd.

None of the news outlets present are local. The local one is actually pretty pleasant compared to this.

Edward steps out of his side of the truck and Danny follows momentarily. The distance to the door may as well be a mile. Like flesh flies sweeping over fresh roadkill, the reporters descend, and the tide almost knocks Edward over. He glances at Danny for permission, and just before they hit Danny nods. Edward grabs him around the elbow to brace.

With that, they’re engulfed in dazzling lights. There are so many people speaking they may as well be static. Edward can feel his eardrums trembling inside his skull. He can pick out a few words here and there.

One of the reporters gets close enough that Edward can actually hear what she says. She aims a camera like a cannon at his face.

“Were you aware of the presence of mutants at your school?” She asks.

Edward tightens his hand on the lone backpack strap he’d looped over his shoulder. Runs his thumb over the fine mesh pad. Puts on a careful smile. He isn’t sure if he should answer. This has never happened to him before, but maybe if he gives them something they’ll go away. “No, I was not.”

She brightens, and he has the horrible feeling he’s made a mistake. She turns to Danny, panning with the camera, but asks both of them, “What do you plan to do now that you know about mutants?”

Danny looks ill, eyebrows drawn tight and low. Edward answers for both of them. “We’ll be holding a meeting when the mutants return to decide, but until then we don’t know.”

Another reporter yells, “Did anyone know about mutants?”

Edward thinks that’s an incredibly dumb question. “I don’t know how I would know that,” he barely avoids sniping.

A weak poke to his side pulls Edward’s attention back to his partner. Danny whispers in his ear, “No comment?” It’s just loud enough for Edward to pick up on. Right, they need to get into the building. This is a terrible time of day for an interview.

Edward turns his attention to the reporters and dredges up some courage. “Please direct requests for an interview with the staff to the school email or phone number. School will begin in less than an hour and we need to be able to get ready for classes today.”

The reporters collectively pause for a split second, before one asks for another few statements. Edward puts his foot down and asks them to leave the premises. The clock is ticking down fast, and they’ve lost fifteen minutes to this nightmare.

Reluctantly, the reporters start to pack up. Danny pokes Edward again and after a few moments, Edward walks with him into the building. As the doors close behind them, the worst of the cacophony dies down. A few vans trundle away, though others set up at the far end of the parking lot, setting up cameras on tripods. Edward wonders if they’re trying to get B-roll or if they’re planning to use it to figure out who else they can interrogate.

He officially hates reporters now. Well, dislikes. He reserves hatred for a few specific people who either he wishes were dead or whom he would be indifferent to the death of.

[igniakino]

ROADKILL

Makeup Artist

I was very excited to be asked to join the team of Roadkill as a their makeup artist! This isn't something I had had much experience of in the past, just doing bruises and SFX type makeup at Halloween, but it is always something I have been interested in. I thought this would be the perfect opportunity to hone the few skills I had and do something semi-professionally.

My main task was to make they look exhausted and depressed to emphasis the toll not only this situation is having on both the characters, but their whole lives. They have been living in this turbulent relationship together, near breaking point before the accident even happened, and their faces have gone gaunt and haggard from stress. The accident has just bough this on tenfold!

Below I have linked the Pinterest board I used for references during the shoot:

I was on set for all 3 shoot days, helping out here and there. Keeping on top of the makeup was fun but stressed me out quite a lot as I kept trying to recreate the same look everyday for continuity. Eventually I had to accept that I couldn’t make it 100% accurate and some scenes called for less makeup with if there was more intense lighting, so I had to constantly make changes.

It was really interesting to learn more about colour theory through this shoot, and to see how lighting effected the look of the makeup through shadows or bright lights etc.

It was a really really fun shoot and I hope I can get involved with makeup again! I really enjoyed doing it.

Some pictures from the first day, mostly eye bags and red rims. I constructed this look with eye shadow, as it’s a really simple medium to work with. My method was a very light red base to imply the area is swollen, a darker red with some brown to add shadows and depth to the eye, a touch of purple directly under the eyeliner to look as sleepless as possible, a red/purple/brown mix following the shape of the face to create pronounced eyebags and a brighter red in the corners of the eye to create the illusion they are irritated as if the characters have been rubbing at them (either to dry tears or to drive away exhaustion). I repeated this each day and added more/took away as required.

I was also in charge of the dirt under Louis’ fingers, to imply to the audience that he did the burying. I did this with makeup too, black and brown under the nails (although I did cover Louis’ hands in soil for one of the more intensely lit shots)

Some BTS pictures!

[stvrsold-arc]

yes. here's some undead charlie headcanons.

charlie dies by aspirating on her own vom. yes, super grody, but what's a BETTER way to go as a superstar. it's so gross and unglamorous. the crime scene photos are leaked on internet, so those are the last pics of her ever taken. it's not a pretty legacy.

charlie comes back by some unknown force, i think could be case-by-case / plot-by-plot. but i'm marinating on this. i think it'd be funny if she was brought back wrong after a huge ritual done by fans or something.

nova is dead to the universe as we know it. no one knows she's alive except the people closest to her. she holes up in her malibu home. plenty of hyperzoomed paparazzi/creepshots have circulated where there's a barely visible silhouette of charlotte in her home. lots of conspiracies exist because of this. like she's on an island with elvis and tupac or something.

charlotte is super zombie-esque. she rots over time and has a dead smell about her. flied, maggots, etc. she's not a pretty sight. but she also has some other interesting qualities per my own discretion : gross, overgrown talons/claws for ripping flesh, blackened sclera + red irises that deepen when she enters starved rages, hyper awareness but most importantly superhuman scent of smell, and heightened strength for more epic takedowns.

she tries to cover up her rotting flesh with makeup and has even sought out ways to reverse this, starting with creams and skin treatments. some of them work, most don't. but she seems to be getting a hang of the routine.

charlie tends to lose hair in large clumps, and clumps of orange and blond hair can be found in her wake. her hair does grow back after heavy feeding.

charlie HATES killing people or animals to feed. she tries to pick off carrion like a buzzard : roadkill, dead vermin in alleys, washed up animals on the beach, scraps from butcher shops including blood and extra bits ... she'll do anything before she enters a bloodrage and kills whatever is in sight in order to satiate her hunger.

there's been a few unfortunate sightings of nova slinking around hollywood, though charlie is usually in disguise. but it's not a good look when she leaves behind a clump of hair or a shed talon at her crimescenes.

[thatpinkbetch]

Bkdk Fic Rec

I’ve been inspired to write a fic rec! This one goes out to you @lonely-rabbit

At like, the end of 2018 and the beginning of 2019 I stayed up until 4am every night reading fics, and because I’m such a loser, I made a word doc to keep track of all of them so I wouldn’t forget them.... I tried organizing it by length but it got messy cause I’m ridiculous and cluttered, so sorry! (I’ll save my own for the end alskdjflsdkfj gotta self promote you know). This is going to get...really long, so I’ll put it under a read more! Also, just a heads up, these are all on ao3, in case that’s important to anyone!

Disclaimer: Any fics with mature or explicit content I will add a bolded warning for, even if it’s only a little bit. Normally most fics will be tagged as such, but some fics that are rated as teen I’ve found to be more suggestive than some of those rated as mature, so I will try to point it out where it feels necessary, for anyone who wishes to avoid it.

Fics under 1k:

Illuminate by TheQueen (269 words)

Summary: Bakugou watches the first firework launch and fights to keep his face neutral

Very short, plot is about a case of amnesia, also very cute and well written for that length! Not angsty at all imo

sweaty hands holding secrets - shounentwink (563 words)

Summary: Someone said Midoriya holds secrets in his hair.

It’s not true: He holds it tightly in his hands. Bakugou’s seen it.

I really like this writer! You’ll see quite a bit of them in this post alkdsjfalskdjf

Fics 1k - 10k:

Many sunflowers later - Jeka (2395 words)

Summary: Scholar Midoriya Izuku comes back to the person he left behind after his journey through the kingdom, the mighty dragon clan leader Bakugou Katsuki.

Day 1 of Twin Stars Week 2020: Fantasy AU.

First of all, fantasy au!!! Second of all, jeka!!! (I need to read more of your stuff!!) Anyways, so cute, such lovely, pretty writing, wonderful story telling, and they’re so in love TT_TT

Boom Badoom Boom - warschach (3429 words)

Summary: Izuku's working the kissing booth at the school fair, it just so happens Katsuki has been crushing on him since the first grade.

“Did you—“ Izuku parted his mouth with no sound leaving it, “Did you pay?”

“Yea.”

“For a kiss?”

This one’s a little silly but I love it still. It’s got a “kids in the 80′s over summer vacation” vibe, I think. I love warschach! I should read more of their writing... They have SUCH good bakudeku content! *It’s rated teen but there’s some suggestive content, just a heads up!

Hopeless Ramen-tic - lalazee (7155 words)

Summary:  Midoriya is a cute guy who works at a ramen stall and Bakugou is thirsty as hell, but has to hide it by being an asshat. Another love story.

Ah, so good TT_TT so much sass, such good plot development and story telling for a simple concept *It’s rated as teen but again, it can be suggestive at times!

I’ll share this with you, so leave it behind - yabakuboi (3508 words)

Suammry: For the sake of the story, All Might is never in need of a successor, and, when Izuku saves Katsuki from the sludge monster, encourages young Midoriya down a different path. Thus, Katsuki and Izuku part ways after junior high, as Katsuki enters U.A. and the Midoriyas move overseas. It’s later that Katsuki realizes that there’s something missing, that he drove that something away.

Years after, Katsuki finds him in the last place he looks, in the cereal aisle at the local grocery store of their childhood neighborhood.

So soft, so sweet, so good if you just want to curl up in a comfy blanket and drink hot cocoa and feel warm and cozy and a little in love

The Secret Deku Box - yabakuboi (2241 words)

Summary: “Y’know, Bakugou never, ever talks about girls,” Kaminari says, his voice thoughtful.

“And I wonder why that is.” Ashido rolls her eyes.

“I’m just curious!” Kaminari whines. Kirishima drags the box out, unlabeled and unassuming, the lid not even fully clasped over the edges. “The guy has to— Whoa, what’s that?”

Kirishima realizes a little belatedly that this is a serious breach of privacy, and Bakugou will actually murder all of them. “Nothing!” he cries, attempting to shove it back under the bed, but Ashido snatches it away.

“Please be his porn stash!” Kaminari whispers as she whips the lid off.

Cute, funny, in canon, in character, and a must read I would say! 

daisy bunches and heather branches - halcyonwhispers (5862 words)

Summary:  izuku falls in love with the foul-mouthed tattoo artist next door.

Not another flower/tattoo shop au.... aldskjflaskdjfd Okay but punk!Bakugou is ALWAYS a smart move imo

the best part of me (is the worst I can give) - halcyonwhispers (5668)

Summary: Whole sentences usually make up people’s Words, but Katsuki got stuck with a name instead.

Izuku’s name.

I am such a sucker for soulmate aus when it comes to these boys TT_TT *There is some mature content, just a heads up!

Hard to Say - halcyonwhispers (8390 words)

Summary: Izuku is a Halfling, born after his faerie father spirited away his mom and then left her behind. Never quite fitting in with the humans or any of the supernatural beings in his small town, Izuku hoped that going to a diverse college in the big city will help him finally make friends.

Katsuki’s family has been powerful witches for generations, and he’s no different. Talented and a proclaimed genius to boot, he knew he shouldn’t waste his time on this dumbass (disgustingly cute) half-blood.

Or,

two idiots fall in love and don’t get that the other’s awkward cues are just a result of romantic tension.

I am ALSO a sucker for fantasy/mythical creatures au and I LOVED this one - Bakugou absolutely unable to handle how cute Midoriya is? Perfection - but it’s unfinished, and I don’t think it ever will be continued, unfortunately TT_TT

lots to unpack (throw away the whole suitcase) - shounentwink (4315 words)

Summary: “How’d you know?” Midoriya asks.

There’s a hunch to his shoulders that wasn’t there three hours ago. Freckled shoulders are kissed sunburnt and red: he looks like someone ran him over and left him like roadkill in the sunlight. Bakugou’s working with insurance today, but he could see the sparks of green lightning even from his elevated position in their shared agency. Midoriya’s holding his thumb, cracking it over and over — it looks like he’s rubbed it raw.

“Dunno,” Bakugou says. “Maybe you’re just easy to read, nerd.”

I love this one so much, it was one of the first ones I read, it’s so good, and it’s another that really affected how I view their relationship! Idk this one just hit for me

hang the moon from us (it’s a no from me) - shounentwink (1200 words)

Summary: Midoriya’s gonna get sick of Bakugou one of these days, and then the whole ruse will be over, and the balance of power will tilt beyond salvation, but that day isn’t today and it looks like Bakugou knows it.

What an asshole.

Once again, I’m a sucker for the fantasy au... But even more, the diction, the details, the imagery...it’s absolutely all stunning here. I wish I could write this pretty

In Which Bakugou Finds His One Tru Luv - Erina (5862 words) This is the first one of a series called The Misadventures of Explodo-kill Agency!

Summary:  Welcome to the Explodo-kill agency! We can destroy your buildings, crash your cars, and help you solve one of the seven mysteries in life: who is Bakugou Katsuki's mysterious boyfriend?!

I’ll admit I’ve only read the first three but by god they are the funniest fics I’ve ever read in my life. I see that Erina has added more since the last time I checked it out! Tbh I was only interested in reading the purely bakudeku ones... (My favorite was the second one!! SO funny and cute!)

i still do - raeryn (9646 words)

Summary:  He’s losing him to pieces, but Izuku still tries to make them count. In which a battle leaves Bakugou Katsuki with amnesia, and Izuku finds himself picking up the pieces.

So, this one makes me cry. TT_TT

One Thing Straight - winningshot (9899 words)

Summary: They totally aren't.

Hints of their relationship is found in all of their friends’ social media accounts, but majority of their fans still think that Katsuki and Izuku are in relationships with anybody but each other.

It was amusing up until it became sad.

Lmao it’s a little salty but I guess I can be too. This is a social media fic! There’s multiple ships in this one, too

A Demolition Boy & his Cryptid BF - kewltie (8472 words)

Summary: Bakugou of the Demolition Squad is famous for running one of the most popular Youtube channels on the web that regularly blow shit up and jumped off a perfectly good building for shit and giggles. He's also famous for his Cryptid BF™, never appearing on camera except for a few bodyshots and all information on him is kept locked up tighter than Fort Knox, therefore drawing all sort of attention and curiosity toward his mysterious boyfriend.

Deku from Deku Explains is a hopeless chatterbox who is known for uploading 20-30 minutes video that talked about his favorite shows and comics and have one of the most devoted following on Youtube. He also can't seem to shut up about his boyfriend Kacchan, who regularly make his presence on the channel as a disembodied voice.

They should theoretically have nothing in common except a shared platform to host their content and an army of fans with an endless curiosity and devotion to their Youtubers. Vidcon is where we lay our scene and the internet is about to get a rude wake up call.

Okay kewltie is SO GOOD and very creative! The formatting is phenomenal, it’s like you’re actually experiencing a social media melt down in real time lol

be my good luck charm - writedeku (6785 words)

Summary: See, the thing is, Midoriya Izuku had been born with a curse. It’s not a curse that’s particularly visible. He doesn’t have horns, or a tortured face, and it’s not the kind of silly curse like a friend of his had way down south in Diagnor, wherein the girl had been born without the ability to say the word duck. Midoriya Izuku is just extremely unlucky.

(Or the AU in which Izuku's the world's unluckiest travelling merchant, and Katsuki is someone who may be able to help him. For a price, that is.)

Oh I adore this one! It’s so cute and such a good narrative! Nice and warm, and Bakugou trying his damnedest to be suave, and it somehow working because Midoriya is just as flustered. *Another one rated as teen but some suggestive content.

Smells Like Victory - majjale (2377 words)

Summary: Bakugou takes two steps into the room and stops, clapping a hand over his nose. “Ugh, what stinks like Deku in here?”

"Good afternoon, Bakugou. That would be the amortentia."

I must admit, not a fan of HP, but majjale...TT_TT majjale writes these two boys so well. This one is really, really good!

Cherish Me - Justaperson1718 (2376 words)

Summary: “What?”

Izuku looked back down at his menu and flipped the page, a small smile on his face. “Nothing.”

Katsuki glared at Izuku from across the table. “If it was nothing then you wouldn’t be staring at me.”

“It’s just a little funny watching you try to look your best for our date when you always look great anyway,” Izuku explained. He wouldn’t look up from his menu while he spoke, but his words remained ingrained with confidence nevertheless. He considered what he was saying to be fact, and nothing else. “Even when you’re not trying in front of the cameras, it’s still hard to take my eyes off of you.”

This is a sequel to a fic that’ll be in the next section, because it’s longer, called Manage Me. Please read that one first before this one! (Not part of a series, but they’re the same story line)

Fascinating - Justaperson1718 (1556 words)

Summary: “I’m not staring at you,” Izuku replied, his eyes focused intently on Katsuki. He’s still wearing his pajamas, sitting on his knees in their shared bed. He was awake moments before Katsuki, and waited eagerly for the other to awake.

Katsuki glanced over his shoulder after his shirt was on and glared. “You’re fucking staring at me right now.”

Izuku shook his head, humming his disapproval quietly. “I’m watching you.”

“That’s the same damn thing,” Katsuki said while searching for a pair of pants in the dresser. “Your eyes are fixated on me like I’m your life’s fucking goal or some shit.”

“I just like watching you get dressed.” Izuku tilted his head to the side and smiled softly at Katsuki’s confused stare. “I know, it’s weird. But I like it.”

*There is a little bit of implied mature content, but overall, it’s just so sweet and intimate, and I just simply adore this one.

in a place once filled with gold - dorenamryn (9226 words)

Summary: It felt strange to remember such details, for they were things a friend should know, and as far as Katsuki was concerned, he and Deku hadn’t been friends in a very, very long time. He could admit, with reluctance, that they were on the path there, now, even though they would never make it. Katsuki would die before they could get the chance.

or: There is a garden growing in Katsuki’s lungs, and he is helpless to stop it.

“Hanahaki disease” okay, I can explain myself. Okay, I can’t. In any case, you got angst with a happy ending if that’s what you’re into!

Kaleidoscope - DPRenFTW (5141 words)

Summary: Izuku is a witch. He just needs to find his familiar. Enter a boy that is a wolf, and a wolf that is a boy - with wild red eyes and sharp smiles.

And Izuku thinks:

"Oh, it's him."

Just as beautiful and fascinating as the name implies! I seriously recommend for the beautiful writing, the gorgeous world, the mythical creatures au, and the lovely bakudeku romance!

Learning Curve - sensiblysilly (4222 words)

Summary: Deku and Katsuki’s first kiss goes rather differently than planned.

And Katsuki’s quickly learning that relationships can be unpredictable - especially when taking into account the variable that is Midoriya Izuku.

This really is just a careful handling of a teenage romance where perhaps one of them may have shit they’re still working through. It’s really sweet, and a careful study at boundaries and the building of a relationship. I actually stumbled across this while looking for another with the same name and ended up pleasantly surprised. Kacchan can has a little validation, as a treat.

4/20 is a national holiday - Ereri_Garbage (

Summary: Izuku is a drug dealer that doesn't really accept the fact he's a drug dealer, Katsuki is hot as hell as shouldn't be allowed a facebook.

Happy (Late) birthday Katsuki and happy (late) 4/20. I actually half assed an edit on this one so it took longer to post than I thought it would.

Uummmm lmao yes I have a sense of humor. ;ALDSKJFLSKDJF Okay, I say that, but this is not a crack fic, it’s a good story that I enjoy with good writing, and *it has mature, content, obviously for multiple reasons here. It’s rated as mature but there are borderline explicit moments imo. It’s a fun fic and funny, too! And, ngl, it really does remind me of college... But forget about me, the bakudeku is wonderful too of course :)

Drinking Watermelon - warschach (8906 words)

Summary: For whatever reason, maybe divine fate, Izuku turned and looked over his shoulder and waved to them.

Katsuki’s heart full on stopped right then, and his fingers forgot their duty on the rails, and his body neglected its job to keep Katsuki balanced.

Izuku’s summer sweet smile fell into concern as Katsuki went airborne and cracked his skull on the porch.

or Katsuki works as a camp counselor, and Izuku is a boy made of summer heat and sunlight.

Love it when people have Bakugou as absolutely enamored with Midoriya; it’s so good and true. Anyways this one makes me like summer camp story lines. It’s funny and also cute and great writing! *It’s got explicit content, just a heads up. Warschach stories just have this youthful 80′s vibe, I don’t know how else to explain it.

there are listed buildings - semiautomatichearts (3309)

Summary: Katsuki first sees colors bloom when he is only three years old. It is timid Izuku, hiding behind the cover of his mother's leg who looks upon him with wide eyes, and Katsuki's world explodes in shades of greens and pinks and blues, and he is so startled, he begins to cry.

His life is then on defined in color, in shades his peers can't see, by the forlorn, timid stare in Izuku's eyes that always lets off more than he is willing to tell. There is a schism driven between himself and his fated other, and Katsuki strives to be better than fate, better than what is defined for him. He is more than the written pages of a book, to be cracked open and read by the gods.

He wonders if it is possible for colors to bloom for someone who will never love you back.

Ah...soulmates :) So interesting how bakudeku fits into soulmate aus like this one when they’ve known each other as kids! And when they’ve had this complex push and pull thing going on all their lives! The writing is beautiful, and so is the story!

Promise Ring - bkdkwritingsdump (3579)

Summary:  The midwest in the 1950′s is no place for boys who like kissing boys: something Izuku and Katsuki know all too well growing up there. However, the undeniable bond between the nervous science geek and the aloof delinquent will still find a way to blossom in such a desert.

Cute, sweet, makes my gay heart ache. Longing not just for the one you love, but just to feel right loving them. Very pretty story line, lovely story telling!

Fics 10k - 30k:

Fishy - warschach (19417 words)

Summary: Izuku’s convinced his hot co-worker/neighbor, Katsuki, is a mermaid-or merman- you gotta consider genders even with mythical creatures- and plans to prove it.

(or this is kinda like the show ‘Monster Quest’, except Izuku actually finds said monster, falls in love, and have sexy times.)

Another warschach! I love this one, I love how they write bakudeku, particularly as college students, their stories (at least, the ones that I’ve read) always feel so warm, like a summer’s day, but not a lazy one, one that’s playful? If that makes sense? *This one is explicit, another heads up!

Manage Me - Justaperson1718 (10756 words)

Summary: Izuku caught himself moving forward, his head tilted somewhat to the side, and his eyes shot wide open. His gaze met Katsuki’s half-lidded eyes now that he was no longer in a dreamlike state, and seeing the way Katsuki was looking at him—waiting for him—made him realize Katsuki would’ve let him do it. He might have even wanted him to do it.

“You’re both doing fabulous!” the photographer called out to them, packing his camera into his bag and getting ready to leave. “I just got word that what we have now should be good, so we’ll stop there. Thank you for your time! Lock the door on your way out after you change.”

The pair stayed frozen in place, with Izuku’s arms around Katsuki’s neck and Katsuki’s hands resting on Izuku’s waist, while the photographer and his supervisor left.

“Kacchan,” Izuku cooed once they were gone. “Did you want to…?”

Love the story, love the bakudeku! Very, very good bakudeku TT_TT very sweet *There is some mature content in here as well

point to a map (we’ve been there) - cosmicfuss (10589 words)

Summary: Serendipity / sĕr″ən-dĭp′ĭ-tē Serendipity is the occurrence of an unplanned fortunate discovery. Two men find themselves on a subway, hot coffee on one while the other is in the middle of a screaming match. After that they can't seem to stop finding each other, no matter how far they go.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again; this fic owns my entire soul. I love the story, the ease of their relationship, just how lovely they are together. It’s another kind of nice, fluffy fic you’d read on a bad day where you come home and curl up in a blanket and listen to a ten hour video of thunderstorm white noise. *Again, some more mature content in here

Partners - tsukithewolf (13619 words) Another series! Two parts to this one this time

Summary: It is said that in Musutafu there is a charm that one can buy at a temple that will lead you to your destined partner. They say that if the charm works, you would be able to follow the red string of fate to the person you were meant to be with. And if the person returns your feelings, they would be able to see the string as well, proving that both were meant to be.

Three-year-old Katsuki and Izuku misunderstand what the word "partner" means and discover the charm and the rumor behind it is not only true, but more than expected.

Gets a little heavy, depression, bullying, suicidal thoughts, etc. But it must get worse before it gets better, that kind of thing. I also just adore the second part (called Bond) - maybe because it’s much fluffier, what about it?

Learning Curve - iknewaman (10304 words)

Summary: “Izuku.” Uraraka repeats as she motions at the person stood next to her. Green curls, average height, and, well. Up close, not such a bad smile. Uraraka points a thumb at Bakugou and enunciates slowly, “This is Bakugou. He can speak sign language too.”

Wait. Sign language?

The stranger— well, Izuku— looks at him with a raised brow. Their free hand lifts up as they make a slight motion of the hand.‘

Really?’

*

Bored out of his mind at a house party one night Bakugou is introduced to Izuku, a deaf student who offers to help teach Bakugou sign language in exchange for a favour-- or well, is prompted into asking for a favour.

Ah, I really want to explain this one a little bit? I’d never been into fanfiction ever, only really getting into it with these boys. This was the second one I read, I remember, and it caught me off guard, and it intrigued me. It really surprised me as to what fanfiction could be. Ngl I had biased perceptions of fanfics - I used to be one of those people who thought fanfiction could never be good writing - and this one slapped me in the face with it’s subtle beauty and creative story and heart melting capabilities, and very, very real relationship and growth. Anyways it’s so cute how happy Deku is to teach Kacchan sign language TT_TT Make sure to read the tags!

The Keeper and the Sun God’s Heir - SurelyHeavenWaits (12746 words)

Summary:  The Titans' have stolen something important from Izuku, heir of the Sun God, and he wants it back.

This one, this one, this one, this one, this one, this one, this one, this one this one- Oh my god this one. Okay so what, I was a Percy Jackson kid, what about it? I love the mythical aus, particularly the god ones. But beyond that, the writing is so beautiful, just like the world, and the imagery. The bakudeku...absolutely stunning. The story itself? Incredible. Cannot recommend more. *There is explicit content in this, though I will say, it’s all in the last chapter, and all of the story is in the first two chapters. There’s also a second part as it’s a series and it’s short but it’s cute and sweet TT_TT

seven days - aaAAAaaahhhhHHHHH (10094 words)

Summary: There’s something about the green haired boy, an aura that just drew Katsuki in before he even knew his name.

[Sometimes your mind forgets, but your heart remembers]

Heed my warning: DON’T read this in front of other people. I bawl every time I read this one TT_TT I know I said I don’t like angst but AJLSKDFJALSKDFJ it has a hopeful ending! I mean yeah you’re gonna cry but...hope? :’) (that username really says it all tbh)

Fics 30k+

Notice me, nerd - useless_donut (40000 words)

Summary: Bakugou is in love with Midoriya. He doesn’t hide it, in fact it’s so painfully obvious that the entire class of 3-A has him figured out in a matter of months (days, in some cases). Too bad Midoriya is the most oblivious motherfucker out there, and Bakugou is too damn stubborn to actually ask him out.

Will the class of 3-A survive the sexual tension? Who will snap first? Someone put Bakugou out of his misery, please, before everyone else dies of second-hand embarrassment.

(a love story as witnessed by the class of 3-A)

Love the idea of Bakugou being brazen and brash, cause yeah, he is. So fucking funny though how that translates to him flirting. Gotta say, thought I was gonna cringe, but his “I’m gay af” outfit really ended up being A Look. Love the mutual pining, it really is strong in this one. *Okay, mature content in this one lads.

While You Were Sleeping - Belkacaramelka (71197 words)

Summary: The one where quirkless fanboy Midoriya Izuku rescues Pro Hero Todoroki Shouto, gets mistaken as his fiancé while he is in a coma, and gets caught up in the most unlikely fake engagement... until his childhood enemy and Todoroki's classmate Bakugou Katsuki tries to catch him out, and they both end up discovering a lot more about each other than they'd expected.

Quirkless AU based on the film; endgame BakuDeku. -- Katsuki didn’t know when the change had happened: how he had gone from asking why Todoroki chose Deku of all people, to wondering why it was Todoroki that Deku chose. Troublesome Deku, who cooed like an idiot at cats, tripped at a random catcall and sang badly. Who, despite everything, proved that it wasn’t the quirk that defined a person. Deku, who was too much, not his, and undeniably off limits to begin with.

Update: Epilogue added

*This one has mature content. If you can, please, for the love of god, read this fic. It’s like, tied with my favorite bkdk fic perhaps ever. It’s based on the movie of the same title, a nineties romcom with Sandra Bullock, but Belkacaramelka has so effortlessly made it into it’s own story, fit it so perfectly inside of the bnha world. I definitely stayed up until 6:30am reading this one. It’s got such good badass Midoriya, who is also sweet, and really really good reconciliation between bakudeku.

All Gifted - fitzefitcher (39129 words)

Summary: The thing about gifts is that they're meant to be given, they're meant to be shared; so Izuku will take his gifts, so freely given to him, and share them with all he holds dear.

Izuku is born without any gifts, as his kind often are, to a witch mother and salamander father, on one sweltering night in July.

This one is unfinished...and I highly doubt it will ever be. But what has been written is incredible. Once again, I’m a sucker for the magic/mythical creatures aus. But the relationship is great! The characterization is great! The found family trope that was building up is great!

under a hollow sun - umbrage (40572 words)

Summary: Midoriya is cursed with emptiness.

Misfortune leads him to a man of ancient magic and endless rage.

To stop an unfathomable evil, their mismatched halves must become whole.

Uuuggghhhh this was so good! I don’t think it’s going to be finished either :( Once again, fantasy au, more amazing writing, on point characterization, incredible pacing, makes you hungry for more story.

all the savage soul requires - majjale (58032 words)

Summary: Bakugou seems to have exhausted his patience for words and no longer acknowledges that Midoriya exists, so Midoriya crosses his legs, stares down at his hands limned in firelight, and makes a list of things he knows.

One. His name is Midoriya Izuku.

Two. He is a Godmarked, future god of life, heir to the divine throne.

Three. The gods have been fighting Death for eons, and now he's coming for recompense with everything he’s got.

This is majjale, so of course, the writing is more than beautiful; it’s absolutely breathtaking. This may be my favorite fic ever - unfortunately I don’t think it will ever be finished either TT_TT There’s the gods/fantasy au, which you know by now I love. But the characterization of our two boys is absolutely perfect, and I mean that as literally as possible. And the story being crafted between the two, the memory loss, the obvious history muddled by it all, it was so dense, and the PINING, so incredibly written, flowing so naturally. It wasn’t even close to being done, but it was wonderful, still is wonderful. 

My Writing: (You can skip this if you hate shameless self promotion)

You’re too damn flicking cute (1815 words)

Summary:  Bakugou is certain his shitty boyfriend is instigating kisses. Maybe it doesn't help that he keeps giving them away like it's a damn going out of business sale, but the stupid nerd is too fucking cute. Either way, like everything else, this is a competition, and he's going to win it.

Please don’t read this unless you’re going to the dentist afterwards! I’ve been told it’s so sweet it’ll give you instant cavities >_>;;;;

Bakugou Katsuki, you smooth motherfucker (10118 words)

Summary: Everyone around him knows that Bakugou Katsuki has a very special way with words. To the untrained ear he is loud and crass; to those that speak Kacchan, he is caring and inspiring. Yet there are rare moments, moments so fleeting you blink and you miss them, where Bakugou’s words pierce straight through Midoriya’s chest, and surprise everyone around him.

Goddammit, if only he would say them to Midoriya’s face.

Or, the five times Bakugou said something nice about Midoriya, and the one time he said something kind to him (but that was too long of a title).

I think most would consider this my best published fic; it’s one of those snapshot fics, “the five times where x did this, and the one time where they didn’t.” The recurring comment I get on this one is both of them being super in character, so I think that’s it’s defining characteristic! Bakugou and Midoriya have never known a life without the other, and in a perfect world, they never will.

Here, let me fix that (11247 words)

Summary: Bakugou honestly never thought he’d see Deku ever again. And now that they were together in this tiny compartment, alone for the next two and a half minutes, he had no clue what to say. He’d just apologized, right? So perhaps he could leave it at that and carry on with the original plan to never see the green-haired man that reminded him of dense forests, late night adventures, and tear-stained faces, ever again.

Ha! Who is he kidding? These bitches are soulmates.

I’ve gotten some critiques on this one, so sorry in advance if it’s not to your liking! Basically, what if Midoriya never got his quirk? Obviously, life would find a way to put them together because, as previously stated, these bitches are soulmates.

Plenty of Time (16654 words)

Summary: Bakugou found what little sleep he got restless and filled with nightmares that he forgot the second he opened his eyes. Tonight was the first time in a long time where he just had a normal dream - and it happened to be about Deku.

How fucking typical.

In other words, two dorks realize they have feelings for each other but don't know what to do about said feelings.

Ah, my first fic. Very simple, boys being boys, kinda like a slow burn? Idk how to explain this one, just boys figuring out their feelings and trying to figure out what to do about them. Been told these two are a little stupid but I think that’s valid.

We’re all time bombs waiting to explode (39223 words)

Summary: We have now entered the slipstream of time, into an alternate dimension where it neither is, nor isn’t, the 80’s. Two teenagers, burdened with the weight of adolescence in the modern world, find themselves struggling side by side, in part because of each other.

Bakugou, the most popular boy in school, has everything he could possibly want; status, power, and an unbreakable will. Having been dragged along behind him all the way to the top, Midoriya can’t help but wonder how (and why) he ended up standing beside his childhood friend-turned bully-turned friend again, weighed down by their complicated past and present. As the tension between them grows every day, and the arrival of a new, pretty face causes it to peak, it won’t be long before something - or someone - snaps.

I am...very bad at titles, and summaries apparently. This was my Heathers au, but it very quickly diverges from the original (I don’t do sad endings....) *This one has mature content, including implied sexual activity, drug use, and underage drinking, along with other heavy topics; please read the tags! Though tbh Midoriya is 17 for a couple weeks before it hits his birthday halfway through, so keep that in mind I guess? I kind of went heavy with this one, but I think the pay off was immense. This is the one with the most amount of comments stating it’s their favorite bkdk fic ever (and I cry). It’s a rough start, with a rough journey, but so is bakudeku! There’s a lot of petty drama, and then all of a sudden it’s Not That Petty and very much Far Too Real. Many have cried reading the ending, I cried writing it. My sister says it’s her favorite of mine. Now, I did kind of push this out without polishing it so much because I was losing my willpower, so if it feels lacking, that’s one hundred percent my fault.

Okay that was a lot! It took me a couple days...I hope I wasn’t too annoying with all my opinions! Please have a nice day. and enjoy some good reads, even if they aren’t the ones in this post!

[fishmongeringstudies]

twenty one: i keep waking up in rooms i don't recognize and then realizing that i am still dreaming. my therapist says this is a symptom of a dislocated knee. i have not gone running since march. everyone that i know is lying to me

when i was a kid my parents used to take us to the same restaurant for brunch every sunday. it was on the first floor of a shopping mall which had big panes of glass stitched together for a ceiling and consequently let in far more natural light than your average building, but the restaurant itself was dark. moody. the walls were black and so was all the upholstery. the coffee mugs the waitresses served you coffee in were so dark you couldn't tell how full they were unless you looked extra hard at them, which i rarely did. in most memories of this place i'm seven or eight and i only drink two things: lemon tea and milk. so i'm sitting there with my frosted plastic cup of lemon tea, methodically stirring in my syrup with a skinny metal spoon because they make their lemon tea from scratch here which means no sugar and lots of tea, and my parents are drinking from their big adult mugs, and my sister's picking apart the roasted tomato on my dad's plate, and life, well. life is simple. good.

i can't remember when we stopped going there but i know that by the time i was nine and traipsing around in the hallways of the chinese primary school my parents had transferred me to, it had closed down and been replaced with some other restaurant whose name and shape i can't recall. well before i turned sixteen that entire wing of the first floor was demolished and replaced with the monstrosity that is singapore's flagship muji store. the muji's still there today. it's got a retail area and a few showrooms showcasing lifestyle choices for the upper-middle class citizen and a cafe with a dining area marked out by eclectic hanging decor that looks like a hundred little wastepaper baskets made from twine tied together to form a spotty mural of sorts. i'm fond of the cafe. their desserts are on the expensive side but they're thoughtfully made and look pretty in pictures, prettier in person.

your childhood years are one of those things that gets shinier the further away you stand from it, like how a bad experience becomes bittersweet by necessity if you give it long enough or you'll be stuck carrying that baggage with you forever. looking back, for example, on spring, i am inclined to see the educational takeaways instead of the moments in which my brain shut off and was replaced with a vat of screaming kittens. in this way we propel ourselves forward with the wisdom of the past, scrounged together from moments of pain and deep embarrassment. in this way we find ways to stay alive.

this summer i have wound up in upperclassmen housing by some unfortunate trick of fate. my apartment suite has five bedrooms but only four of them are occupied; i live in the room at the end of the hallway. my flatmates live in the next three. it has been five days since i moved in and i am convinced all of them think that they are living with a cryptid constructed in the scp containment breach format and unsure how to let them know that they are correct without making it personal. last night i woke up after a brief period of dreaming to use the bathroom; while washing my hands in the sink one of my flatmates walked past in the hallway behind me. 'hey, it's you,' she said. 'i feel like i haven't seen you forever. i mean. i've seen you, but i haven't seen seen you, you feel me?' asleep on my feet and ready to crash facefirst into bed, i nodded. 'yes.' she stood there for a few seconds as if expecting me to say more, but i had a vending machine for a brain at the moment and couldn't find it in me to press any more buttons. i certainly could've tried. but i was tired.

when i got on campus in february i resolved to sign up for therapy sessions with the school's mental health services since i was paying an ungodly amount for 'health insurance' (not a thing in singapore, really; not necessary in most places except america, really) anyway and i might as well make use of some small part of the astronomical sum that had been deposited in the pockets of some old white people i would likely never meet in my life. i got as far as filling out the form embedded in the school website and opening the automated email i received a few days later asking me to list my free times each week. i forgot about the rest. we are therefore entering the summer of my twentieth year without a goddamn clue what the inside of my head looks like apart from the fact that it must be pretty cool in there. it has to be cool. if it isn't cool what's the point of holding onto any of it anyway? we live for the spice of life. like garlic powder. cumin. oyster sauce.

this morning i went to target to look for sugar. the dining hall here doesn't do any of its vegetables justice but their desserts are to die for, and i've found myself suffering from a mild withdrawal since i started scrambling eggs and boiling about five hundred grams of cauliflower a day for the sheer therapeutic effect of it and because i don't really know any better. the target near campus is located in a shopping mall and surrounded by miles of parking space on both ends. while walking back across that stretch of empty parking space, i came across a smear of orange on the pavement. it was an orange. or it had been. the rind had been ground into the gravely surface of the road by a repetitive smoothing action so that it looked less like a bit of roadkill and more like it had been there all along. i can't stop thinking about that orange. who the fuck drops an orange in the middle of a road? why didn't they pick it up?

i have been cursed with an idea. it came to me last night before i fell asleep and it has been sitting on my shoulder since then like the devil in the popular angel-and-devil writing device which all nine year olds are taught by their teachers in chinese class, whispering to me about how great things will be if i can teach myself the fundamentals of sound design in three days. unfortunately it is when one decides to start a war that they are forced to confront their contacts list and the vast, untraceable geography of its contents. i cannot tell you if anything will result from this. but i hope that it will.

back when i still talked to her i mentioned the idea of doing puzzles to soothe the mind once and she took to it with so much genuine enthusiasm (she was always enthusiastic. too enthusiastic. enthusiasm was the problem, and the lack of willingness to curtail it the thing that eventually nailed the coffin shut) that i went to target the next weekend and bought a set of four puzzles depicting various scenes from old disney films. over the last two weeks i have done each puzzle three times, save for the last one, in which mickey and minnie mouse waltz down a red carpet and the people on the sidelines cheer for them with champagne moustaches and glittering beads for eyes. i cannot decide if this is meaningful. i cannot see the point of summer. but i am trying.

i don't remember the name of that sunday brunch restaurant. i don't remember the names of a lot of places our parents brought us when we were children, but my sister has been on a nostalgia trip since april and sends me screenshots of old pc games we used to play together from time to time. ernie's adventures in space. timmy's sea adventures. barbie island princess. i open each image and feel something inside of me physically ache in response. it appears that despite my best efforts, i will never be seven years old again.

i'm not a huge fan of lemon tea anymore. i prefer water. how it cleanses the palate like a vacuum cleaner sucking up all the dust and grime in a musty room. it's hard to distinguish between the inside and the outside of a thing when both are the color of a blood-red sunset but we try our best, you know? we draw lines on the sidewalk with chalk and we say 'here is my side of the universe and here is yours'. we act diplomatic when inside we are drunk and slurring our words all over the bartender's white vest. and then, because there is nothing else to do on this planet, we keep on living.

06.10.21

[holywaterandlove]

Hawks x reader 💕

The music from your speaker blared freely and into the world. Words of inspiration flowed through you and pushed you into the light.

“Let’s break it-“ You sang raising your metal bar.

“JUST BECAUSE WE CAN!” The bat hit the window of the hero commission building, shattering it on impact.

“DEFACE IT-“ another raise of your arms and the bat shattered another window.

“Just because we can.” Your body felt like it was on fire for the first time in your life. Your eyes twinkled with fiery, fueling your body with more adrenaline.

“Y/n!” A shout was heard from behind you. You turned swinging the bat near your feet.

“Yes bird man?” Hawks stared at you, a frown replacing his usual smirk.

“What do you think you’re doing?” You chuckled at his question

“Something you couldn’t.” His frown deepened

“We had a plan-“

“YEA WE HAD A PLAN!” Your anger took control and you swung your bat at the building again. Your quirk activating itself, making the impact 20x more powerful. Causing the window and part of the wall to blow right off.

“THEN... then.” The memory was only a flash but it fueled your pain and fiery more. You turned once again towards the pro hero.

“Then the commission killed them... “

“They knew what they were getting into y/n-“

“Shut up! Shut up right now before I turn you into roadkill !” You slammed your fist into the bricks behind you.

“You were supposed to have my back Hawks! But your double agent shit was more important than me!” The anger boiling inside slowly went down as sadness and disappointment replaced it.

“What happened to our two birds in one egg shit? What we had was rare Hawks! They ruined you!”

“Let’s talk about this somewhere else Y/n, they’re probably coming right now and this won’t end well” hawks took a step forward making you step back. His hand reached for yours in a plead.

“Yea.. it won’t end well for them.” You turned back to the crumbling building, swinging your bat at another window. This time activating your quirk on purpose causing a whole wall to break. You could hear footsteps approaching now. A smirk arised on your face, your hand gripped the metal turning your knuckles white. You were ready for a fight, even if it caused your demise.

“Hello heroes!” You worked your dramatics turning around. There stood some of the people on top. Endeavor, Mount lady, and midnight you recognized as some.

“Welcome to the show. I like to call it; the end of an era of corruption! Would you like to see how it ends?” The bat was now resting on your shoulder, waiting to be used.

“No because I already know the ending. You in jail and us being applauded.” Endeavors flames arose more as he talked, probably trying to be intimidating.

“Wrong! Anyways...hawks.. whAt side will you be on this time?” Hawks scowled as his shoulders tensed. He raised one of his bigger feathers, pointing it at you.

“You should already know Y/n.” No one could miss your face of disappointment and betrayal as you tightened your hand on the bat.

“Fine by me Bird brain!” Raising the metal in the air you threw it towards the group, in a boomerang style. Your quirk making the throw stronger and faster. As the bat reached the group, hitting mount lady in her face, Hawks turned and surprised you. Raising his feather he slashed endeavor in the leg, taking him down for count as well.

“You should’ve known I’d choose you Y/n. It’s always you.” Still shocked with the sudden turned tables you didn’t notice midnight behind you.

“Duck!” Hawks yelled, you gave a look of confusion before crouching. One of his feathers grazing the top of your head.

“Ouch!” Midnight was now down for the count.

“Kind of ironic isn’t it?”

“This isn’t a time for a monologue hawks!” You wiped yourself off as you stood, getting closer to the bird man.

“It’s always time for a mo-“ flames cut his sentence short, one of his wings catching fire. As anyone would do, he stopped,dropped, and rolled. You couldn’t help but laugh at the scene. But realizing the situation you got serious once again and screamed.

“You fucker!” But it wasn’t endeavor like you thought. It was his son, shoto. “Not these shits.”

“I don’t hurt children if I don’t have to.” You warned.

“Well I hurt scum like you.” The todoroki responded making your eyes widen.

“What about your father?” You heard all about the troubles from hawks. Dabi, the fire bender of the LOV, was actually Touya Todoroki. Talk about family drama.

“I know what my father has done. I experienced it.” The boys face was monotone as ever. You were about to break this kid just so you could survive. ‘Please forgive me Jesus’

“Oh so you know how that villain Dabi is actually your brother Touya...” the kids stone face cracked, a look of confusion replaced it.

“What?” All mights successor was next to step up, trying to comfort the half and half boy, as he also tried facing you.

“That’s not true todoroki. She’s a liar! Just like the rest of them.” A scowl replaced your smirk and you pointed your finger at the green haired kid.

“What about you kid? You’re hiding the biggest secret of them all!” His face dropped and yours lit up again. This was too easy.

You continued.. “and let’s not forget how the hero’s are using you all as child solidiers! How many broken arms have you gotten just this year Izuku?” Izuku looked like he was about to pounce but another kid stepped in. Bakugou was it?

“Calm down deku... she’s kind of right.” He looked bored, as if you weren’t gonna do anything.

“Finally someone listens!” Hawks was now next to you, a strong smell of fire on him.

“Don’t be too confident, this could be a tactic.” The male whispered wiping off ash from his jacket.

“What has UA done for us?” The electric kid joined in.

“All we’ve been doing is getting into trouble! How many villains have we taken down and gotten hurt-Almost Killed! because they weren’t there!?”

“I-“ izukus face dropped, a look of realization mixed with sadness replaced his usual determined one.

“Go.” The todoroki kid spoke up. “Before we change our mind.” And you did. You grabbed hawks and tried your best to run while supporting him.

“Those damn kids!” He chuckled. “They’re doing better than we ever could.”

“Yea they are.” You glanced back with a smile. “They will be the ones to change history. With or without us.” Hawks stifled a laugh as you pulled him a lil harder.

“Should we take you to a hospital?”

“No they’ll be looking for us. Take me to the league.”

Your eyes widened at that sentence. “I’ve never been there or met them. Won’t they try to kill me?”

“Not if I explain who you are to me.” You looked down at his slumped form.

“And who am I to you?” His cheeks blushed a light pink as he looked up to you.

“ my girlfriend. Maybe? Please?” His eyes twinkled as he stared up at you. The question made you stop in your tracks.

“Yes! I mean sure. If that’s what you want?” You both were red now and hawks grasped your face gently.

“I’d love that.” And now you two were kissing. Yay!

The end happy live story

A/n the ending was rushed but here y’all are.

Hope you are having a wonderful day/night!

[earlysunsetsoverambrose]

Operation Sweet Surprise (1/3)

Lester Sinclair x f!Reader (Romantic or Platonic)

Warnings: roadkill and animal skulls

Description: It’s Bo and Vincent’s Birthday and you’re determined to make it special. You can’t do it alone, however. So you enlist the help of the youngest Sinclair.

The alarm on your bedside table went off at precisely 7 AM. Your eyes shot open and you couldn’t contain the smile that immediately took over your whole face. You were quick to shut off the alarm, glancing at the calendar to confirm you were correct. Today was the day. September 18th. More than likely, neither twin remembered the date so that made it all the easier for you to get away with your master plan. You’d been planning your little scheme for weeks now and it was all about to pay off. Operation Sweet Surprise was in full swing.

Yesterday, you were meticulous in your preparations, making extra sure you had your game plan mapped out completely. You had taken stock of what ingredients the Sinclairs already had. They didn’t have a lot, but they had some of the basics: flour, white sugar, butter, and eggs. The flour and sugar had been sitting there mostly untouched for years and were a little expired, but they would have to do. You couldn’t afford to buy everything new and you had to prioritize. Luckily, you’d had a little money from doing jobs Bo gave you around town. They were only small tasks here and there and he’d only give you a few dollars out of what they’d gotten from visitors, but it was enough for your purposes. You found an old cookbook with fairly simple recipes for both desserts that didn’t call for anything too fancy. Everything you needed was well within your ability to procure.

After that, all you had left to do was appeal to the youngest Sinclair to ask for a huge favor and hope he’d indulge you. Luckily, he had. That’s why he was your favorite by far.

You made your way to Lester’s cabin on foot. It wasn’t too far outside of town, but it was still a bit of a long walk. Obviously, you couldn’t ask Bo or Vincent to take you or you’d spoil the surprise and that was non-negotiable. Thankfully, the sun was on its way down, so it wasn’t miserably hot outside, making for a rather peaceful mini-hike.

Once Lester’s cabin came into your line of sight, you eagerly jogged up to the front door. You knocked, announcing yourself so he wouldn’t be alarmed as to who was knocking on his door right before nightfall. The door swung open to reveal Lester, toothy grin and all.

“Y/N! What can I do ya for? What’re ya doin’ out and ‘bout so late? ‘Specially all the way out here?”  

“I came to see you! I have a huge favor I need to ask and you’re the only one who can help me!” You said, buttering him up so he’d say yes.

“Alright then, lay it on me.” he said, matching your enthusiasm.

“I’m planning on baking a birthday cake and pie for your brothers and I need you to take me into town so I can get the rest of the ingredients.” You said hopefully “I just need a ride, that’s it! I swear! And maybe, if you could let me borrow your kitchen that’d be incredible too! If it’s not too much trouble! I promise to clean up everything when I’m done!”

“Wow! That’s awful nice of ya!” Lester said supportively. His grin faltered for a moment, though, “Ya sure ya want it to be me that takes ya?”

“Pretty please, Lester! I’ll do anything! You’re my only hope!” you said dramatically as you clasped your hands together with the best pout you could muster through your giggles, begging him to help you.

“Well, I don’t suppose I can leave a damsel in distress. Sure, I’ll give ya a ride!” he said happily, “When did ya need to go?”

“Tomorrow morning! I’ll meet you where the road’s washed out at seven-thirty sharp.”

“Square deal, I’ll be there.” He said reaching out his hand to seal the deal. You dodged the hand and practically rammed your body into his, squeezing him in a tight embrace.

“Thank you, Lester! I’d be lost without you!” you said as you released him, smile beaming.

“N-no, problem. Anything for you…a-and Bo and Vinny, of course. They’re my brothers after all.” Lester stuttered out, still red from your hug.

“Thanks again! Okay! I’ll get out of your hair! I’ll bring all the pots and pans and other ingredients with me tomorrow! You’re the best, Lester!” you said as you began to jog back towards Ambrose.

“Hey, wait! It’s gettin’ dark out! I’ll give ya a ride back, if ya like!” Lester called out as he closed the door behind him, following you.  

“You don’t have to do that. I couldn’t abuse your kindness any further.” You said only half-joking, “It’s okay, it’s not that far a walk.”

“Guess it’s not out of my way then.” Lester said matter-of-factly as he opened the passenger side door of his truck. You glanced between the long walk ahead and back to Lester’s hopeful expression.

“Well, if you’re going to twist my arm about it…” you said playfully as you walked up to Lester’s truck. He helped you up and closed the door behind you. You two got lost in conversation as you drove into the night toward Ambrose. By the time you arrived back, the ride didn’t seem nearly long enough.  

You hopped out of bed and were quick to change into an outfit you wouldn’t mind getting dirty. Baking had a propensity to get messy so you were prepared to let the flour fall as it may. You pulled out a duffle bag you’d take from the storage house a few days ago and slung it over your shoulder. Last night, after the twins finally went to sleep, you loaded the bag up with everything you would need to make their birthday treats.

It was incredibly important everything go perfectly. It was a very special day whether the Sinclair Twins cared about it or not. It was their birthday and you were determined to make them feel special, damn it. All of the Sinclair brothers had spent far too many years being ignored and undervalued. Continuing that tradition simply wouldn’t do.  

Over the last few weeks, you’d managed to weasel the information you wanted out of them, little by little. They told you that birthdays weren’t ever a huge ordeal for them. At most, their parents would buy them a cake and that would be it. The cake was always a vanilla cake with white frosting, which also happened to be Vincent’s favorite. Something you were sure Bo was bitter about. You tried multiple times to subtly badger Bo into telling you what he would have wanted if he had gotten a choice, but he always said he didn’t like sweets and shut you down. With a little more time, you noticed the one food Bo would consistently linger on - whether in an old coupon clipping or in reruns on TV - was apple pie. You noticed that each time, without fail, when Bo’s eyes would land on a picture of old-fashioned apple pie, he’d stare just a bit longer before moving on. Sometimes you even caught the smallest sigh escape his lips as he moved on after a glimpse of the dessert. That was all you needed. Once you had your answers, everything came together.

You quietly poked your head out of your room. Both Bo and Vincent’s doors were wide open, signifying both of them were up and about. You made your way down the stairs, listening for any signs of life in the house. It was silent so far, though that only meant Bo wasn’t there. Vincent could be lurking right behind you and you’d be none the wiser, the stealthy bastard. You paused at the bottom of the stairs to scan for movement. Nothing. You made a beeline for the front door and made your way down the porch and along the gravel road. Vincent was most likely working in the House of Wax. Bo was probably in the gas station. You just hoped he was too preoccupied to notice you. If he saw you trying to sneak by with a giant duffle bag, he might get the wrong idea. Thankfully, when you neared the gas station, you could hear his music blaring, meaning he was working in the back or downstairs. A shiver ran down your spine and you tried not to think about what he was getting up to. You picked up the pace toward the edge of town.

             All the tension in your shoulders and the back of your mind disappeared when you laid eyes on Lester’s truck, waiting just like he promised. He was leaning up against the front, vigorously rubbing at something in his hand with an old, ratty cloth. You couldn’t help but find the scene endearing, his tongue poking out in careful concentration. You whistled to get his attention and his head shot up at your sound. His classic, goofy grin overtook his features. Whether he meant it or not, Lester wore his heart on his sleeve, and you treasured that.

You smiled back as you could practically see an imaginary tail wagging behind him at your arrival, his big brown eyes sparkling with anticipation. Always so keen to be around you, Lester never made you feel like a burden. He was the first to make you feel like Ambrose was your home, invested himself in talking to you and sharing with you. He welcomed you with open arms and proved himself to be quite reliable. It was always a welcome relief to be around someone who so honestly wanted to be around you. Not that you didn’t enjoy Bo or Vincent’s company, but they could be rather closed off and many times you were left not knowing how to feel or how they felt about you. That was never a question with Lester. You rather liked that about him.

“Thanks again for helping me out, Lester!” You said as you carefully made your way across the water. Lester wrapped up his cloth and tossed it to the driver seat before reaching out a hand to help you across the rest of the way over. As you made it to the other side, you dropped the bag at your feet, letting out a sigh of relief.

“Wasn’t any trouble,” Lester said, “Let me get that for ya.” He leaned down and hefted your bag over his shoulder and carried it toward the truck. He placed it on the floor of the passenger side before turning back to face you, “I tried to clean the truck up as best as I could, but uh, it’s still a bit rough. Sorry ‘bout that.”

“Don’t be sorry, you’re giving me a free ride. I’ve got no room to complain. Besides, I love your truck. It’s got style.” You said encouragingly. You noticed Lester rub the back of his neck as he looked down and smiled to himself. He did that every time he got a compliment. His truck might have been unconventional and certainly fragrant to say the least, but like he said; with time, even you got used to the smell. Now, it was just another part of him that you accepted like anything else. You two hopped in the truck and took off down the road toward town.

“Oh! Get a look at this!” Lester suddenly piped up as he scooped up his cloth from beside him “I found it by the road this mornin’! It was a raccoon ‘fore it started rottin’.” He held out a gory animal skull for you to admire.

“H-how about that?” you said looking the skull over. This wasn’t really in your area of expertise, but Lester seemed excited about it, so of course you listened closely.

“Yeah, pretty neat, right? Chased away some buzzards peckin’ at it ‘fore they messed it up. I have ‘bout five different skulls at home - kinda like this one - but this one’s nice and put together, ya see?” He was ecstatically pointing out the features of the skull as he went on, “The others I got are in bits and pieces. So, I reckon I can clean it up nice and set it on the dash next to…uh…sorry. I’m ramblin’ again. Ya don’t wanna hear this…” he trailed off as the joy in his voice turned apologetic.

“Hey, don’t apologize. I like to hear about the things you like.” You said energetically, trying to hype him up again, “If it matters to you, it matters to me. And I think it’ll look great on your dash. You’ll have to show me the rest of your collection sometime!”

“Really?” Lester asked lighting up again.

“Course I would! Why not?” you asked.

“No one ever wanted to hear ‘bout this sort of stuff, is all.” He said forcing his gaze to the road, “Usually just tell me to hush up.”

“They said that to you?”

“Yeah…I get it, though. Bothers some folks.” Lester said as he tried to shake off the shame in his voice, “I used to collect little bones and rocks when I was a kid. I’d clean ‘em up and show ‘em to everyone. I showed ‘em to my folks. And that foster family I had. And kids at school – some teachers too - but uh…I guess it ain’t too interestin’. They were too busy is all. And I don’t ever wanna bother no one.”

“Well, I think it’s cool.” You said resolutely. You were absolutely fuming inside. You knew Lester was neglected by his parents, but the fact that no one after them ever tried to engage with his interests was upsetting. Your heart broke thinking about little Lester trying so hard to make friends only to be ignored; not just by other kids, but by adults and educators who should have been on his side. He was just a kid trying to share what he loved and they told him to shut up. Well, you weren’t going to do that, “I definitely couldn’t have told you what animal that used to be. I wouldn’t know that from an opossum or a fox. How can you tell the difference?”

“They key is in the ridges on top. This one’s nice and smooth, see? It’s definitely a raccoon!” Lester explained excitedly. He was delighted as you continued asking more questions about the trinkets in his car and where he’d picked them up. Lester told story after story; and the childlike joy all over his face was reason enough for you to keep asking for more all the way up until you realized you had made it to the grocery store.