i-can-even-burn-salad - Tumblr blog

[i-can-even-burn-salad]

editing:

is this detail really necesary? (often no)

is this word really necessary? (usually no)

is this ellipsis really necessary? (maybe but probably not)

is this fucking EM DASH (one of four billion) really necessary? (no but try and take it from me and see what happens)

[i-can-even-burn-salad]

Word Find Tag

I was tagged by @winterandwords <3

My words are: whisper, talk, shout, and scream

And I am gonna tag @little-peril-stories @leahnardo-da-veggie @cryptidwritings if you want to, and whoever else wants to - with the same words, they're just so good!!

Despite Lies being 2 weeks away from release, those words scream (haha) Till Death (WIP Intro | Ebook) to me :)

Whisper

“Eilis.” He whispered her name with every breath he had to spare, not even hoping for an answer, just to fill the suffocating silence. “Ei… lis.” His voice was breaking as quickly as his mind.

Talk

At the sound of his voice, she froze. The smile appearing on her lips was like the sun. He had wondered if she didn’t talk because she couldn’t hear, but that didn’t seem to be the case. Which was good, because he fucking sucked at sign.

Shout

“Eilis!” His shout dissolved into a coughing fit, bringing tears to his eyes. When he could breathe again, she was gone. Finnian stared at the door, left wide open, and tried to figure out what the fuck he had done wrong.

Aaand uh, the last one will be under the cut for not quite safe for work content.

Scream

Every wound, every bruise, every scream torn from her throat. He had allowed it to happen. He should have been stronger, should have kept her safe. But he hadn’t, and the image of her bloodied body, moving lifelessly as Clayton had fucked her like a piece of meat, would haunt him for the rest of his life, however short that might be.

[i-can-even-burn-salad]

"i think i should be able to fit all this in one chapter" - writer who is going to end up splitting it into three chapters

[i-can-even-burn-salad]

OC questionnaire tag

Thanks to @kaylinalexanderbooks for the tag!

📝 Answer the questions provided with your own OCs perspective. Then create new questions for those tagged to continue the game.

I'm answering for Noah from November Breaks and Spin Cylinder...

Do you prefer working on one thing until it's finished or many things at a time?

I prefer not working. If that isn't an option, I need completion. I hate loose ends.

2. You are in a talent show! What is your talent?

Killing people. I don't have very talent show-ish talents, but I make excellent coffee.

3. How do you feel about your birthday? Do you have a best or worst birthday?

I'm mostly indifferent to my birthday. The one when I got the first part of my sleeve tattoo was satisfying though.

Tagging @drippingmoon, @duckingwriting, @dyrewrites and @eyes-talks-ocs if you'd like to do it, with an open tag for anyone else who wants to join in 💙

The questions for your OC are... 1. What was the last injury you had? 2. What was the last injury you caused? 3. Do you have any bad habits?

Reblogs, replies etc on my tag posts are always welcome, but if you're doing this tag yourself, please make your own post instead of using mine to start a reblog chain.

[i-can-even-burn-salad]

The Queen of Lies: Worthless

Story Intro | Contents [Warnings] | Mood Board | Vibey Song Lyrics | Ao3

Contents: blood, injury, restraints, abusive law enforcement, guy whump, how else to put it but "Lenton says very mean things"

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Word count: 1650 || Approx reading time: 7 mins

Worthless

Teaser: When it was only the constables and their burning desire for him to sell out the rest of Iustitia aecum, it was easy. Straightforward. Obvious what they wanted and what they would do to get it—well, to try, anyway. But now, with Hatchett’s bleeding pride and his wife in the mix, nothing made sense anymore.

The fox-thief was quite certain he was awake, but he wished he wasn’t. Pain ground into his knees, although it was fading slowly, for better or for worse; he hadn’t moved in what had to be over an hour. He was almost grateful for the numbness in his legs, because if the feeling there left entirely, that was one less thing to worry about, and he was only left with the screeching agony in his arms.

Arms that were stretched behind him, shackled, and entirely under too much strain.

Michaelson had wrestled him into the position with shamefully little difficulty, snorting jubilantly when the thief choked in fresh, near-blinding pain. “You attacking Constable Hatchett’s wife is the most interesting thing that’s ever happened in here,” he’d declared.

“I didn’t attack her,” the thief mumbled, knowing Michaelson did not give two shits about whether he had or not.

His insistence was futile, anyway, and much too late.

He wasn’t surprised when Michaelson laughed. He was surprised, however, when he just left, with the thief still stuck on his knees, arms pulled up behind his back at the most painful angle he figured they could possibly be in.

Even more surprised when he didn’t come back.

Silence and darkness, save for the maddening flicker of the torch in the corridor, enveloped him. He couldn’t move, couldn’t sleep, and couldn’t predict what was coming next—because when it was only the constables and their burning desire for him to sell out the rest of Iustitia aecum, it was easy. Straightforward. Obvious what they wanted and what they would do to get it—well, to try, anyway. But now, with Hatchett’s bleeding pride and his wife in the mix, nothing made sense anymore.

So he did his best not to move, not to scream for someone to let him down, and not to think at all.

Because if he let himself think, he would fall into regret.

And if he let himself spiral into regret…

He didn’t lift his head—didn’t think he could—when someone entered. The click-scrape of a constable’s boots drew near.

“Wake up.” Although it wasn’t the last voice he wanted to hear, it was far from the first. The thief forced his gaze up, biting back a pained groan, his heart beginning to race.

Lenton. 

The junior constable hardly moved, barely shifted his lips when he spoke. Stiff, even more than his usual stick-up-the-ass posture—stiff with resentment, the thief guessed, with wounded pride, with rage only thinly disguised and held in check. “Drink.”

So some things hadn’t changed, then. Hatchett and Michaelson got the fun torturing jobs; Lenton—somehow allowed to keep working after everything that happened, which made perfect sense, thanks a lot, Bulwell—got to offer him water. Realizing he was hardly in a position to refuse, the thief did as he was told.

When his parched lips were damp, thirst somewhat sated, the thief said, “Let my arms down.”

Lenton released a long, disgusted breath. “You’re actually asking me for a favour? Me? You’re even stupider than I thought.”

That was not an entirely shocking answer, but perhaps there was hope. After all…she was a kind person, wasn’t she? Even if he’d foolishly believed she wasn’t for a few agonizing minutes? And she and Lenton were friends, sort of, weren’t they? Maybe there was something in him that would hear. Listen. Believe the truth.

“This—this is all about her, isn’t it? About Bree—Breanna—”

“Mrs. Hatchett, you cretin.”

No, he wouldn’t say those words. That name. “It is, though, isn’t it?” Lenton, of all people—he’d been there. Right there. “I didn’t hurt her. I didn’t touch her. Let me down.”

Lenton’s mouth remained a straight line. “That’s not what you said yesterday.”

There it was—the truth and regret of a frantic, split-second choice. The wrong choice. Being spat back in his face.

With a rope around his neck and no air in his lungs, the thief had realized he would say anything—anything—if it meant Hatchett would just stop.

“I lied,” he said. His arms shook. His legs did, too. Lenton’s expression still didn’t change.

“I don’t believe you. And I know what I saw.”

“You didn’t fucking see anything,” the thief spat. God, even talking hurt. “I didn’t touch her.”

If he could go back in time and face himself in the moment he’d said, Yes. I hit her, or Yes, I was using her to get to you or whatever the fuck he’d yelled—as if he could even remember—to stop Hatchett from strangling him again, he’d kick himself right in the nuts.

“Why do you care so much, anyway? You’re not married to her.”

The moment the words came out, he knew that was the dumbest fucking thing he could have said, but it was too late to take it back. Just another thoughtless remark to add to his long, ever-growing list of Poor Decisions.

“No.” Lenton’s voice was as pinched as his face, but beyond the single word, he gave little reaction. The thief knew he should not keep talking.

He kept talking.

“That’s why you’re so pissed off, isn’t it?” The words continued to flow, and the thief understood somewhere in his head that he’d be nursing more regrets, and soon, but if Lenton would not see sense, if he wasn’t even going to acknowledge the truth, if he was just going to keep believing what he stupidly fucking thought he’d seen… “He is. You’re not.”

“Be quiet. You’re lucky you’re still alive after yesterday.”

“He is,” the thief went on, ignoring him, “and you’re not, and that fucking just eats you, doesn’t it?” Stop, stop, stop, you moron, you idiot, stop before it’s too late. He coughed, but he didn’t let the interruption stay his tongue. “Because if he hits her, then there isn’t shit you can do about it, but if it’s me, well, that’s just too fucking easy, isn’t it, you coward—”

The tin cup dropped to the ground, clattering against the stone.

“You son of a whore,” Lenton spat, “you listen here.”

New pain exploded, now in the thief’s neck and back, as Lenton forced him to look up into his face.

“I’m going to put this in words your minuscule brain will understand, so shut your mouth and listen the fuck up.” Lenton’s grip tightened. An involuntary whine slipped from the thief’s throat. “Because you know what? It doesn’t matter if you did or you didn’t. Or why, even. Not really. Because whatever the fuck you think you got from her—whatever you think you saw in her eyes—you didn’t. You hear me? You. Didn’t. You are nothing, and that’s all you’ll ever be to someone like her. Get it? Nothing. You’re worthless. A criminal. Condemned. You’re fucked. You were fucked before you confessed, and you’re even more fucked now, and you know it. We all do.” His breathing, like the thief’s, grew heavy. “And you should be grateful for small mercies, that she gave you kindness when everyone knows you don’t deserve shit, and now you’ve just gone and proved it, haven’t you? And if there’s even the smallest chance that you ever believed in that miserable, half-witted head of yours that she could feel anything more than pity for someone like you, then let me be the one to tell you that the very thought is laughable. So I’ll give you a piece of advice. You should do us all a favour and confess the rest, too. Give up your worthless criminal friends so we can send you packing and forget all about your miserable existence. We’ll all be better off with you gone.”

Lenton let go, and the thief’s head fell, every word ringing in his ears. Onto the stone below, something dropped and splattered.

“Look at you,” Lenton said quietly. “You thought she actually cared. You really are pathetic.”

He was, maybe. By this point? Sure. Pathetic beyond help. But the thief swallowed. The thin measure of relief the water had brought to his bone-dry mouth was gone, and the movement stung.

Lenton said, “Even if she did. Even if she could. You fucked it all up, anyway, didn’t you?”

At least, the thief thought it was Lenton who said it.

“You want to save her?” He forced his head back up. Forget the pain, he decided. This was his last chance to spit out the truth. “You’re fucking trying to save her from the wrong person. If you really want to help her, if you fucking love her or, or whatever, then take a closer fucking look at her face next time you—”

Lenton swung his arm, the back of his hand smashing against the thief’s face, sending his body reeling—or trying to, if the chains weren’t keeping him in place.

Something happened in his shoulder, something that wasn’t supposed to, something that hurt so fucking bad that the thief screamed, his vision going black. It returned too quickly, and Lenton was back in sight, not particularly focused as he stumbled backward, looking genuinely alarmed by what he’d done.

The thief gasped, every breath ragged, as hellish stabs of pain ripped through his arm and shoulder when he tried to move.

Lenton just stared, his face pale, and yet the anger that had made him lash out in the first place was still there. He spoke, and the thief struggled to understand.

“Suggest such a thing…” Lenton kept backing away. “Say that out loud ever again, you bastard, and see what happens.”

Without another word, without undoing the chains, without promising to bring back Gysborne or Mrs. Bristow or anyone else, Junior Constable Curtis Lenton walked out of the cell, leaving the thief with nothing but the excruciating pain in his arm and a slew of fresh regrets.

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Taglist (please let me know if you’d like to be added/removed!)

@starlit-hopes-and-dreams

@clairelsonao3

@gala1981

@pleasestaywithmedarling

[i-can-even-burn-salad]

WIP Wednesday

Tagging by @i-can-even-burn-salad here! I don't know what this tag is for either, and you said do whatever so here's whatever.

The original cover for TSP, from 2013!

[image ID in alt text]

Real name redacted

School project. Got a 100% for the record.

I'll pass this along to @gracehosborn @illarian-rambling @mk-writes-stuff @thepeculiarbird @little-peril-stories @mysticstarlightduck @televisionjester @finchwrites @loopyhoopywrites @elsie-writes @sleepywriter00 + anyone else

So I guess the rules are just post something about your WIP :)

TSP intro

TSP tag list (ask to be +/-): @thepeculiarbird @illarian-rambling @televisionjester @finchwrites

[i-can-even-burn-salad]

I'm so relieved. The words are still there

[i-can-even-burn-salad]

AITA WIP Tag Game

Stealing the open tag by @winterandwords

Describe your WIP as if it were a post on r/AmITheAsshole

This one contains heavy spoilers for the Fancy Boots arc of Glass Shards. Transcript of the images is below the cut. There's also links to the images at the end, because I think tumblr compresses them.

Aaaand I'm gonna very lowkey tag: @starlit-hopes-and-dreams @antisocialxconstruct and everyone who wants to :D

I don't know if you wanna do something like this. Obviously doesn't have to be image format, I just took the idea and ran with it because I'm so very normal. It's a rather high effort tag game, so feel absolutely free to ignore it <3

I'm gonna tag some people from the Glass Shards/Fancy Boots taglist as well, just for looking at it, because I put too much fucking effort into this: @teamwhump @dont-touch-my-soup @kixngiggles

Lol guys I found a thread on reddit, it's hilarious, check it out.

Poor guy got torn to shreds in the comments.

Seems there were some updates as well. I'm having my doubts about this story, but five months is a nice commitment to the bit.

All images: The Post | First Question | Second Question | Third Question | Edits | Update

All screenshots look like posts on the subreddit r/AmITheAsshole, with several thousand upvotes and comments.

User u/ThrowRAFancyBoots posted seven months ago and has been voted the asshole:

AITA? I just wanted to make sure he's not a threat, but his wife is giving me the death glare

So I (25M) recently ran across an old acquaintance (35M). Last time we met… ok, there's no way around it, I was in law enforcement, and I arrested him for attempted murder. It wasn't pretty. Some things happened, and he was seriously injured. Wasn't my fault, but I admit I could have been a bigger help. I was informed he broke out of prison before his trial, but I moved away a short time later, and it kinda ended up in the back of my mind.

Now my new employer is in negotiations to move to this town, and while he's stuck in meetings all day, I got some time on my hands. And guess who I saw wandering around at the beach? I couldn't believe my eyes, but it was definitely him, he reacted to that stupid nickname they gave him.

Well, I did what any upstanding citizen would do, I tried to arrest him, but his wife (25F) — he has a wife now! — begged me to let him go. Ok, perhaps she didn't so much beg me as threaten me, but anyway, I just… I couldn't do it.

But I had to make sure he's not a threat anymore, I mean, what if I let him go and he kills someone?? So I told them I'd be over again to talk, and he invited me to dinner. It was an amazing dinner, this guy's a wonderful cook. We kept talking and I lost track of time, and then it was late and I realized I hadn't even asked my questions, so I told them I’d come back the next afternoon.

It's been 4 days now, and I've visited them daily, and I don't believe he's anywhere near the monster people said he is. Really, his wife seems to be more dangerous than he is. I think she's about to stab me. If looks could kill, I would be dead already. It’s making me wonder.

I just want to make absolutely sure, you know? Is that too much to ask? I didn't even come for dinner each day, so he wouldn't have to cook for me, though he still offered me something every time (it was absolutely delicious). I came along as he went shopping, and he was nice to everyone, and everyone seemed to like him. When someone asked, he introduced me as his friend of all things. If he’s an actor, he’s the best fucking actor I’ve ever seen.

So I'm asking, am I the asshole for bothering them for a few days while making absolutely sure he's not a threat anymore?

Several people have replied to this post:

First reply thread:

BurntSalad: INFO: What do you want to ask him?

ThrowRAFancyBoots: I want to ask him why he did it.

BurntSalad: YTA. It's been 4 days. Just check the police records or something, if you're too much of a coward lol

ThrowRAFancyBoots: I would have to ask. There wasn't a motive, it was straight up an assassination attempt. It doesn't make sense. Not when you get to know him. That's why I've been coming back.

UpperDogPants: then ask. put on your big boy pants and stop ruining their lives

ThrowRAFancyBoots: I will. Tomorrow.

Second reply thread:

CheeseAndPasta79: INFO: What was for dinner?

ThrowRAFancyBoots: Bean roast, mashed potatoes, glazed vegetables and freshly baked bread, why?

CheeseAndPasta79: YTA

ThrowRAFancyBoots: :(

Third reply thread:

SecretlyJealous2342: YTA you just want to fuck his wife

ThrowRAFancyBoots: No I do not want to fuck his wife, wtf.

Next comes a screenshot of the lower part of the OP, which now shows several edits and update. The thread has been locked:

Edit: Since people have repeatedly asked about the incident when he was arrested: his gun exploded, and he blew up his hand. We had to cut it off to save his life, and it… it was pretty gruesome, and I'm not proud of anything we did, all right? I didn't want to mention it, because I figured it might lead to prejudices before you've even read the whole story.

Edit 2: I don't think he's a killer. He really, really doesn't behave like one. But people wanted to know what I could possibly want to ask him after 4 days, and it's complicated. I want to know why he did it. For some reason, I can't seem to ask him that. But if I don’t know what made him do it, how can I be sure he won’t do it again?

Edit 3: Ok, after the latest edit, people seem to agree that I'm the asshole. Perhaps you’re right but can’t you see the predicament I’m in? And no, for those who were asking if his motives weren’t clear, they were not. It wasn’t a case of jealousy or revenge or anything, it was an assassination attempt, plain and simple. Perhaps he was blackmailed into it, or… fuck, I don’t know. This one day. I’ll go back one more time, ask my question, and leave them alone afterwards.

Update: I think I fucke 

Update 2: Sorry, I dropped my phone and hit send too early. My hands are shaking. I fucked up. I went back today (yeah, yeah, I know) and I saw something I shouldn’t have seen. He’s… it’s not my secret to share, and I won’t do that to him in case he or anyone he knows will ever find this, but safe to say, he was treated so much worse than I had assumed. I didn’t… It wasn’t me, but I let this happen to him.

You were right, I’m gonna leave him alone, but I have to go back one last time to tell them I will keep his secret. Fingers crossed I won’t end up with a knife between my eyes. Just kidding. Hopefully.

Update 3: So, uh, things took a turn, and I don’t know what to make of it, but… I think it’s a good thing? When I went to apologize, I brought something of his, something I had kept since the day I handed him over. I told him how I quit my job afterwards, because of what we did, because I couldn’t look those people in the eye anymore. And how I had kept this object to remind me.

I wouldn’t have asked him anymore, but it was him who brought up the question, and I decided to be honest, so I finally asked him why he had done it. I was right, he had been forced by someone. Not only the attempted murder, but also the rest, which I didn’t… I didn’t mention it because it would have made his identity too obvious and might put him at risk, but it doesn’t matter anymore, because there’s no fucking chance he’ll ever do it again.

I’m sorry, my thoughts are all over the place. When I left, he actually ran after me and invited me to dinner. I went, and before you call me an asshole again, this time… it was different. They were actually at ease around me. 

I’m now back in my room, and I can’t stop wondering where to go from here. If he really wants to be friends. We’ll see. I’m gonna leave it fully up to him, that’s the least I can do. 

I guess the question of whether I am the asshole has been answered (yes I was, big time). It doesn’t really matter anymore, but since people seem to be strangely invested (you should try reading a book instead), I can let you all know in a few weeks how things are going.

The last screenshot is of a new reddit post by u/ThrowRAFancyBoots, with even more upvotes and awards, two months ago.

Update: I just wanted to make sure he's not a threat, but his wife is giving me the death glare

I promised an update, but things have been kinda crazy. At first, everything was going well, I was visiting more often, and while his wife still didn’t like me (I can’t blame her) she was courteous enough. I would say he and I became friends, which is… fuck, I don’t really have many close friends.

It really took her flipping out at me to realize that I was holding the threat to his life over his head. That if I were to hand him over to the authorities, they were going to kill him. That I’ve been coming into his home, basically telling him “if you can’t convince me you’re nice enough, I’ll have you killed”. 

Yeah, you were right. I’m a fucking idiot.

And just when things started to settle, shit hit the fan. Turns out, he hadn’t told his brother about me (for which I also can’t blame him). Said brother wasn’t very amused to see me leaving the house and lost his temper. Not to go into details, but if my friend’s wife had taken a few moments longer to come out and check on the noise, I wouldn’t be writing this now.

I was out of commission for several weeks, which I spent at their house. His wife’s behavior took a 180 degree turn, and she’s been fussing over me ever since. Which is kinda endearing, but I hate to see her worry like that. Those two are some of the kindest people I’ve ever met, and it hurts my heart to think what they’ve been through.

Lost my job in the meantime, because my employer got sick of waiting for my return (I can’t… well perhaps I do blame him. A tiny bit. He could have gotten a temporary replacement, but fuck me, I guess). Not sure where to go next, I’m not quite fit to return to work yet, but there’s a chance the local headquarters will employ me directly, which would be fantastic. If not… I’ll figure something out. I could always return home to my family, but I’d really like to find a way to stay here.

Now I know my friend’s brother was just worried about him (for which I absolutely can’t blame him), so I decided to forgive him for attacking me. There’s nothing more important than family, and to think I almost destroyed theirs… I’m incredibly lucky to still be around, and to have them in my life, and for everything to turn out rather well, all things considered.

Probably not the update you expected, but that’s life. I won’t be posting again, I already put too much of their business onto the internet. Take care, and give your friends and families a hug today, if you haven’t. 

[i-can-even-burn-salad]

*Thinks I’m done editing*

*Goes back to add more angst*

[i-can-even-burn-salad]

writing patterns tag game

rules: list the first line of your last 10 (posted) fics and see if there's a pattern!

thanks for the tag, @adhdavinci! let's pretend this wasn't sitting in my drafts for a month 😅 go check out their lines here

passing the tag along (with no pressure) to @i-can-even-burn-salad, @macabremoons, @fanged-writer, @innocentlymacabre, @winterandwords, and an open tag for anyone who wants to share

sooo I'm gonna have to break some rules here bc I don't think I've even worked on 10 fics recently, much less posted them (not more than, like, a snippet at a time, anyway). so i'll start with what i've actually posted, then just... fuck it, we ball?

yeah that sounds good.

'Just stuff my dad into a bag,' she'd said. 'He'll fit, of course he will. Have you seen how small he is? He's bluffing, he won't really turn you into a fern,' she'd said. (Dead Roots, Dark Water, Ch 1)

For all his research, Daxter had never figured out who'd designed the Krimzon Guard Fortress. And it was a good thing, too, because if he ever did, he would shoot the architectural anarchist in the foot, run them over with a hellcat, and throw them in the port. Then he'd fish them out again just so he could shoot them in the face. (DRDW, Ch 2)

Magic and blood sit heavy on V’s tongue. (Untitled Cyberwitch WIP, Ch 1)

The silence amplified everything: the squeak of rusty nails in the boards beneath Luka's feet; the rat-a-tat rattle of the loose panes in the windows; Jules's unsteady breathing as they tapped on their phone; Luka's own stammering heartbeat. "I don't think we should be here." (I Am Alive)

I have always been here. (A Haunted Home)

'The monster is not your enemy.' A half-crushed note, faded and bled, written in his own hand: the only familiar thing in the room where Lienzo had awakened. (The Art of Empty Space (V2), Ch 1)

It was the pain that woke him. (TAES (V1), Ch i-don't-know,-i-didn't-section-this-thing-into-chapters)

The air coated his lungs in a thick layer of smog and exhaust, vapor and sweat and noise, cacophonous clanging competing for his attention. Engines, alarms, voices. Jak let them all in, let them bury him in a landslide of stimulation. It wasn't stale, silent, recirculated air. It was alive, and so was he. (DRDW, Ch 3)

Metal shrieked against metal. Violet paint streaked across the green of his speeder. Screaming. Crackling eco slugs reached out with staticky tendrils as they whizzed by. (DRDW, Ch 10)

The ocean breeze brought with it decay: rotting seaweed infested with sandflies; drowned fish with oil and eco caked in their gills; algae and mildew and rotting wood. Its icy fingers trailed goosebumps down his skin, cooled the blood beneath. (DRDW, Ch 13)

so, if we're looking for patterns, i think it looks like... i really like character voices; starting en media res; and starting with some really vivid descriptions. anything you guys see that i missed?

[i-can-even-burn-salad]

[i-can-even-burn-salad]

Im having a pretty bad pain day today, can I request some Cingerglass caretaking? Maybe Lex has a bad pain day too, with phantom pains and Sarah being there for him. Idk just he doesn’t have to go through that alone anymore

cw: phantom pain, referenced captivity

He woke to shooting pain in his hands.

It felt like his fingers were overextended and cramping, the muscles in his palms spasming, and Lex wondered dully how he'd managed to hold them open like that as he'd slept. He curled his hands into fists, but was only met with the sound of metal on metal as his cybernetics obeyed the signal. His cybernetics, that he couldn't feel.

He sat up, moving his arms into his lap, the stretching, straining, imaginary pain still there, getting worse, crawling up the forearms he didn't fucking have anymore. He breathed through clenched teeth, trying not to let panic rise in his chest.

(Nest, best, crest)

This had happened before. He knew it was... normal, kind of, but he didn't know how to stop it. In the Tower, he'd just curled up on his cot until it got to be too much and he was biting back screams. With Uriah, all of his energy went into trying to conceal it, trying not to let it become another moment Fox could exploit. Here... fuck. He was free, but it was early morning, and he didn't want to wake anyone up.

He forced himself out of bed, trying to shake off the feeling by shaking his cybernetic arms, but it did nothing. He stared at his hands, willed the ghostly ones to relax and close with the metal ones, but the fingers stubbornly refused, stretching and stretching until it felt like the joints would sever from each other.

(Brother, another)

He needed to go out. Go for a walk or something, try to distract himself, ride it out. He winced as he grabbed the handle of the door to his room and threw it open, tried to keep his breathing even as he moved down the stairs, stumbled towards the door--

"Lex?"

Sarah was already awake. His metal fingers curled into tight fists, but the sound of it only seemed to drive the phantom hands to be spiteful, a flash of pain running up his arms with such intensity that Lex had to choke back a gasp.

"I--I'm going out," he said, forming the words carefully, trying not to let any pain leech into his voice, but the words were coming out too sharp. Clipped. "Be back later." (Hater, crater)

"Are you okay?"

"Fine." Even as he said it, his body sought to prove him a liar, non-existent forearms clenching with enough force that it felt like the muscle fibres were splitting. Lex winced audibly, metal hands coming up to wrap around him before he could stop himself.

Through blurring vision, he could see Sarah getting up, coming to stand a few feet away from him.

"Uh... we might have different definitions of what 'fine' is," she said in a careful voice.

(Brine, sign)

"It-- I can't do anything about it," Lex said. Fuck, he didn't want to explain this right now, didn't want to fuck up her morning, he just wanted to leave so he could scream in peace. "Phantom pain," he said shortly, and hoped that was enough.

Her eyes widened. "Oh shit, hold on, I can grab you some Tylenol."

Lex's brows pulled down further. He kept forgetting that was something that was available, after he'd gone so long without it as an option. "Yeah," he gasped out. "Please."

"Okay, here. Sit down." She held out her hands, and he moved to meet them, allowing her to guide him to the couch.

"I'll be right back."

He hunched forwards, trying to breathe through the next bout of spasms. The moment seemed to drag out forever, but eventually Sarah came back with water and pills, and he took both eagerly.

"I'm not sure how much it'll help---"

"S'okay. It's enough," he said. Miles better than what he'd had access to in the past. His forearms twisted tighter, and he turned away from her, clenching his jaw until the muscle there began to burn. Despite his best efforts, a whimper managed to slip out.

He felt the couch shift as Sarah sat beside him. "Do you want me here?" she said softly. "I can go upstairs if you'd rather be alone."

Did he? He was used to being alone, especially for this, but... he didn't want her to go. Even if it didn't do much for the pain, something in him was drawn to her like a magnet, and he just... felt better when she was nearby.

"Stay," he said, and she smiled in return.

"Okay. I can put on some cartoons? It might help distract you from it."

He nodded, eyes squeezing shut against another wave of pain. Better than nothing, better than staring at the wall and waiting for it to end.

"You... Uh, you can sit closer if you want," Sarah said. "I mean, you don't have to, but if you think it'll help..."

He wasn't sure it would, but because it would be a distraction, because it was Sarah, he inched closer to her, breathing shakily as he lowered his head onto her shoulder, felt her arm rest light on his waist.

It didn't help the pain, not directly.

But it sure felt good to have something to hold on to.

וו×

@whumpacabra @enteredin2eternity @kixngiggles @whumpsday @kiichu @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @shywhumpauthor @distinctlywhumpthing , @bloodinkandashes , @fleur-alise , @whumpy-daydreams , @whumpwillow , @honeycollectswhump , @snakebites-and-ink

[i-can-even-burn-salad]

Dark Water

Chapter 44 : The Liar

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cw: forced to hurt, self sacrifice, restraints, mention of blood, two POV's.

a/n: I don't have the usual pngs with me, so take some dots as separators today :) sorry for the delay, hope it was worth it!

...

A cracking boom shook the ground, and Moss’ eyes snapped open, catching the tail-end of the rumble and a bright flash of light, followed by a clatter of drops on the roof. He relaxed with a sigh, then pulled the covers on top of him.

Wait. His eyes opened again. He was in a bedroom; the single bed where he lay was shoved into the corner. A trunk was in the other corner, opposite the door where the light of a fire flickered underneath; interrupted by a small shadow rocking back and forth with a groaning creak.

Moss sat up, sucking in a breath as his leg pulsed and twitched. On reflex, he bent his knee, registering the clink of metal, and something heavy around his ankle. He flipped the blanket off of him. A cuff with a few feet of chain length was now around his left ankle, the other end attached to a bed spoke. He could feel the slight tug of a clean dressing over his wound, and his jaw clenched, hating that he was grateful for it.

He froze as a shadow appeared under the door with quiet steps. It turned slowly, then opened, and Moss lowered his head as Reid stepped inside.

“Terrible storm tonight, might not pass for a few days.”

The memories were catching up.

“Where am I?” He finally asked.

“My home,” Reid answered from another room. Then he returned, and pushed a bowl to Moss.

It was soup; spicy, warm, and watery. It filled his belly, though. The chunks were some sort of fish he had never tasted. Reid watched him gulp it down, then wipe his chin with his sleeve as he offered the bowl back.

“Ye want another? There’s plenty.”

“Yes,” he looked up and hastily added, “please.”

While Reid served another bowl, Moss could hear a distant thump, like an untethered window shade. Then, the bowl was there again,

Reid leaned on the door jamb. “Caught a catfish the size of my arm,” he smiled, his gaze hitting the back wall as the thumps finally died down, “guess they liked the bait.”

Moss paused, mid-slurp, taking in Reid’s subtle smile. He gulped, then rest the half-full bowl on his lap.

Reid’s eyebrow raised. “Ye look worried.”

Waking up chained to a bed, no matter how much more comfortable than the floor, was more alarming than the howling wind and thunder. Moss reasoned that if he had went to sleep in a cell, then it only made sense that Isidro was somewhere worse.

“I want to know where he is.” Moss spoke softly.

“Why?” Reid took a deep breath, looking down as he massaged the back of his neck. “He wasn’t concerned for ye when he lied about being a sailor, now did he?”

Moss took another slurp of the soup, recalling Isidro’s attempted confession. “Where is he?”

“He’s fine.”

“That’s not what I asked-” Moss flinched as Reid’s fist hit the wall.

“It’s the answer ye get!” Reid straightened his back. “Ye not in a position to be demanding anything, savvy?!”

“I’m not demanding. I’m not,” Moss shrunk as Reid approached. “I just- I want to know where he is.”

Reid stared down at him. “Are ye sure that’s all ye want to know? Ye aren’t curious about anything else?”

Moss’ averted his eyes. “No. Why would I be?”

The pirate stopped moving, then took a breath. “Oh, lad. Ye naive son of a gun.”

Moss’ jaw clenched.

“Ye don’t know what he is, do ye? Not even a clue?”

“I...I don’t care.”

Reid backed off his stare. “Well, I think it’s about time ye do.”

...

The pirate exit his house, mumbling, “damn stupid sod, making me come out here in the rain.”

He stomped his way through the mud and towards the cell where Isidro was huddled, pressed into the corner with his arms bent. The sight of what remained of his shivering hand, adorned with his bloodied shirt, was something to behold.

Ried grabbed his blade, and slapped the bars, yelling through the whistling wind. “Up!”

Isidro raised his head, blinking away the water cascading down his face. When he saw Reid, his body twitched like a cornered animal— too hurt to commit to running away. The pirate opened the cell door and dragged him out by the pant leg. He was heavier than Moss, but the change in weight from when he had lift him onto the back of his horse was obvious. He could push him around easily, now. It would only be a matter of time before he was just skin and bones; wasting away to nothing.

When he pulled Isidro toward the table again, the man screamed and jostled around, holding his hands close to his center in protection.

“Shut up! I don’t want ye finger!” Reid yelled, pulling a set of cuffs from the wall before straddling the sailor. He seemed to get the picture; falling still as Reid squeezed a cuff around his left wrist, encasing the edge of the shirt underneath, then stabbed his knife through the knot. The bloodied rope fell, and Reid shoved him to his stomach where he made quick work of the other cuff behind his back.

He grabbed the man’s biceps and pulled him to standing, noticing angry welts criss-crossing scars and tattoos. The sailor’s muscles folded with the strain of his shoulders as Reid pulled him along.

“Ye friend wants to see ye. Behave and I won’t take it with him watching, savvy?” He shoved Isidro forward, smiling as he stumbled down the stairs, then picked him up from the mud.

...

Not a minute later and Reid returned, dragging with him a sopping wet and shivering sailor. His brown hair was water-logged and dripping, sticking to his head over his eyes and all the way down to the nape of his neck where Reid’s hand shoved him into the room.

He shivered violently, looking around the room in a haze. Moss scrambled to toss the blanket to him.

“You had him out there in this?” Moss stared daggers at the pirate as Reid kicked the blanket away.

Reid ignored him, shaking Isidro. “Tell him who ye are.” He snapped.

When Isidro didn’t immediately comply, Reid swept at the back of his knees and folded him to the floor.

“O-okay! Okay...” Isidro’s breath shook. “M-Moss...I-” he swallowed, and closed his eyes, “I’m an assassin for-mmf!” he panted, “for the C-Cathal.”

Moss listened to the low timbre of Isidro's voice.

“An assassin?'” Moss questioned, softly, “with shit aim?”

“I’m an assassin, not a ma-marksman.”

Moss chuckled. “This is stupid. What kind of assassin isn’t a marksman?”

Isidro went quiet. His eyes hallowed out, then were brought back in a click as he again focused on Moss.

“That’s n-ot the point... listen-.”

“Why are you lying?”

“I'm not lying!” Isidro’s voice cracked with desperation as he jostled and sat up a bit more. Water dripped onto the floor. Moss stared at him; trying to figure out what was going on.

He sighed. “If that’s true, then why are you here?”

“To kill someone, obviously. Idiot,” Reid shook Isidro again. He responded with a groan. “Tell the lad why he's here.”

Isidro bit his tongue. The silence was as thick as the rain.

Moss watched the sailor—or whatever he was. It didn't take much for Moss to see the way Isidro’s shoulders slumped, or to hear the way his lungs wheezed and how his voice was stuffed up with blood. He was in pain, and yet he was staring back; his eyes shifting as if weighing the words.

“What is he talking about?”

Isidro shivered again. “I... had to...”

Moss’ brows stitched together. “What?”

“I had to save you.”

“Save me from what?” The question bit.

“Y-you asked me,” Isidro muttered. “You asked me why they’d waste the time to stitch you up, aye? They wouldn’t... not unless they wanted you.”

Moss shook his head, then chuckled. “Wanted me-? They accused me of being a spy.”

“A lie,” His voice wavered. “I knew... the m-moment Jacobsen called you out on deck. I saw the look in his eye. He wanted you, but first he had to hear you. How you beg and how you s-scream, what makes you angry... and what would make you spill your guts.”

“Reiss shot me.”

“I know. Reiss lost control,” Isidro looked at Moss, his eyebrows up in distress. “I tried to stop them-”

“Ha!” Moss leaned back as if laughing with contempt to the sky, “You’re the one who handed me over!”

The silence stretched.

“I... I ha-had to.”

Moss’ jaw clenched. “So none of this is your fault? You just had to?”

“I was trying to tell you before-”

“-and what good would it have done?!” Moss stood on his right leg, the chain rattled from his left, tethering him to the bed as his gut wrenched. "Why didn’t you just leave me!” He growled. “I've been surviving my whole life for nothing. At least then I'd be someone!”

“You'd be a ghost!” Isidro’s breath caught in the effort. “Yo-you were accused of being a spy on a g-overnment ship. There's a trial at sea, you're found guilty and sen-tenced to death. Mmf!” he took a breath and repositioned, “You become who they need, you do what they want, they plan it, they g-et you out!” he took a shaky breath, “until they don't.”

“Fine!” Moss threw his hands up. He rubbed his head, then froze with realization before looking at Isidro again. “They were going to kill you, weren’t they?”

Isidro's face fell, then he shook his head. Moss’ blood boiled up his chest.

“Really? Then why haven’t you killed him?!” Moss pointed to Reid. “Why haven’t you done anything to help us get out!”

The answer came as a whimper. “My family...”

Moss rolled his eyes, “Spare me.”

“They’re all I have, Moss!”

“Only a coward would use that as an excuse!"

Isidro’s lips curled as he looked up. “You don’t understand because you hate yours!”

The insult rung out. Moss squint his eyes, “what?”

“You heard me.”

Reid began to laugh, and pushed Isidro’s head down again until it kissed the floor. Moss’ eye was trained on the man while his own hands balled into tight fists as his chest rose and fell with the huff of his angry breath.

He could feel the reverb of Reid’s deep chuckle fall over his skin, breaking up Isidro’s whimper’s of pain as a red-stained cloth rose over the curve of his scarred back.

“Ye see, lad?” Reid looked down at Isidro, “what did I tell ye? He’s not worth the mud on ye feet.”

Moss’ mind was reeling, barely latching on to Reid’s words, until:

“I’ll make ye a deal,” Reid smiled as Moss looked at him, “I’ll let ye have free run of the place, if ye don’t try to run again.”

The lad scoffed. “Yeah, right.”

“I swear it,” Reid held up a hand, “on my brother’s grave, savvy? I swear.”

Moss grit his teeth. “What do you want?”

The gold teeth glimmered again as Reid stood, shoving Isidro recklessly to the ground in the center of them both.

“Beat him.”

“What? No... I can’t.”

“-of course you can’t,” Isidro said from the ground. He grunt as he got to his knees, and his bare foot slapped at the wooden floor. “You have to keep pretending, aye?” He pant, his face flushed as he stood.

“You want to call me a coward? Well the sad lad story won’t fool me!” He stepped forward, his teeth barred, catching Moss off-guard as he lowered his voice, “there’s something wrong in your head, isn’t there, Moss?”

Moss’ brow twitched.

Isidro took another step, stuttering a bit on the approach before he caught himself. The rattle of his chain followed his uneven gait until he was a few inches from Moss’ face.

“I was wrong before. To hate would mean you could feel anything at all. That’s why I had to explain it to you, isn’t it?” His face twisted in cruelty, “You can’t care for anyone but yourself. Is that why you ran? No one could love a selfish little brat?!”

Moss screamed as he tackled Isidro to the ground. The man landed on his back with a thud. He shrieked, craning his head back in anguish as the veins in his neck darkened.

“D-do it then!” Isidro growled as tears filled his eyes, “Do it you pathetic piece of SHIT! HIT ME! HIT-!"

Isidro’s face whipped to one side, then the other, his goading drowned in screams of pain when Moss’ fist connected to his left temple. His body twisted away, shoulders moving as if to try and shield himself. On the third strike is when Moss stopped, feeling a tightness in his chest that made him want to puke.

He scrambled away, pressing himself to the foot of the bed as Isidro rolled to his right side with a cough that sprayed dots of red onto the floor.

Moss’ whole body shook, staring at the singular, unfocused, orb in the man’s head before Reid dragged him out with a laugh.

“Deal’s a deal!” the pirate cackled. “I’ll be back.”

...

taglist: @sparrowsage @kixngiggles @honey-is-mesi @annablogsposts

[i-can-even-burn-salad]

[i-can-even-burn-salad]

[ID: White text over a photo of the full moon, tinted red. The text reads: “That’s my sleeping gown, and my blood.” “You don’t look hurt.” “A woman does not have to be hurt to bleed, sir.” She put as much disdain into her words as she dared. End ID]

Finally, a convenient excuse!

WIP Intro

[i-can-even-burn-salad]

Sweet Little Lies

[ID: The title of the story, Sweet Little Lies, written in a pink to yellow gradient over a picture of various glass jars filled with assorted, colorful candies. All other images in this post are decorative dividers showing a row of round, white, flat candies with a pink heart in the middle. End ID]

“I don’t want to keep you from working. Which is what I assume you were doing before I came in, not that it’s any of my business what you’re doing back there.” He nodded in the direction of the backroom, aware that he was talking too much. Again. “If you’re worried about leaving me alone up front, I can stand in the doorway and keep in your line of sight.” 

“My line of sight, huh.” A moment of silence settled between them in which the woman inclined her head. “I wouldn’t mind some company,” she then said. “Name’s Aurelia, by the way.”

“Laurent,” Laurent said before he remembered that he should not have given her his real name. Whatever. He was only here to buy some candy, right? “Pleased to meet you.”

📖 Synopsis

Aurelia’s days are filled with work. A charming stranger with a voice like soft caramel is a welcome distraction, even though she has more to worry about than the question of whether his lips are as sweet as his words. Someone is trying to put her out of business, and their methods keep escalating.

Laurent is scouting a target for his best friend’s heist when he dives into a candy store to avoid being spotted by the guards. What starts as an attempt to kill some time ends with his heart lost to the store owner’s warm smile. He wants to see her again but returning to the scene of the crime is playing with fire.

Fortunately, Laurent is a fire mage.

📖 About

Genre: Fantasy romance

POV: Third person past tense, split POV

Word Count: 37k

Status: Editing and formatting

Content Warnings: Genre-typical violence, off-screen deaths. That's it. That's the warnings.

Vibes: dark wooden shelves filled with glass jars / the smell of warm sugar / a bloody handprint on the window / blueberry muffins and lavender tea / stolen touches between fire and ice / a rainbow of candies / dancing slowly at a grand ball

Other Things:

Moodboard | Character Art by @bumblingdragon | Rainbow Tag

📖 Cast

Aurelia

“I don’t believe a single word you say, Mister Beaufort.”

As a candy-smith, Aurelia is a master of her craft, and her store a paradise filled everything from fruit drops to rainbow lollipops. She doesn't need much to be happy: good friends, a nice cup of tea, and a stranger who promises to get rid of the man trying to destroy her life.

Laurent

“Am I too late to witness the miracle of rainbow candy making?”

Accountant by day and fence by night, Laurent is used to lying, and his charm has saved him more often than his magic has. He doesn’t like candy, but he will try every single flavor in this store if it means he gets to spend more time with the owner who stole his heart.

📖 Tags

I haven't posted much about this yet, but the few tags that exist are:

#wip: lies

#Laurent is a guy to count on

#Aurelia is a sweetheart

Currently aiming for a mid-May release, which would give me two months for editing and formatting. Fingers crossed.

[i-can-even-burn-salad]

what's the first movie you remember seeing in theaters? don't try and be all edgy and cool and say like tetsuo: the iron man. be honest.

Go!!