#BITING SNARLING GNAWING CHEWING SEETHING

[talentforlying]

WHY DID THE AUTHOR KILL YOU OFF?

DEATH AS REDEMPTION. some things cannot be forgiven. what a shame, then, that so many consider forgiveness to be the be-all, end-all of character redemptions. or that forgiveness in itself is the redemption. whatever sins you committed, whatever actions weigh your soul down, the author has decided that you cannot make up for it . . . and so they will not let you try. no, you will not even be allowed to try and put as much positivity into the world as possible. ( you cannot restore the balance, but surely you could do something? ) instead, there is only one thing to do: sacrifice yourself. you'll take a bullet meant for the hero, or tackle the villain off a cliff ( dooming you both ), or you'll use the last of your magic to get everyone else out safely.

when the heroes speak of your death, they will act as if you have undone all your wrongs, as if dying was the holiest gift you were capable of giving. i cannot help but wonder . . . how much more could you have done, if you had only been given the chance?

[burtlederp]

Pancakes

So, this is something I wrote for an assignment for one of my college classes. It turned out both longer and better than I anticipated, and kinda whumpy. I figured y’all might be interested in reading it. >:3 PLEASE note, though, all dialogue and writing was taken from and based off of Peter Morris’ play “Pancakes.” I haven’t watched the video on youtube, but I DID read the script out of my textbook, and it was pretty dang good. Anyways, hope y’all enjoy! 

content warnings: blood, death, choking, murder, uhh... Fun stuff.

---

“Hungry,” he gasped between mouthfuls. “So hungry.” By and by, he leaned back in the chair, chewing, and let his eyes fall down to Sam’s lifeless body on the floor beside him. He swallowed and chuckled, “You were right, the Lord does help those who help themselves.” He kicked the body in the side, laughing at how the head lolled about from it. Buddy then returned his attention to the pancakes, using red-stained hands to eat, the fork forgotten.

“People don’t need philosophers.” Sam shoved another pancake into his mouth, inwardly enjoying watching his flatmate’s eye twitch. He thought Buddy might explode, but then the philosophy major set his jaw.

“Yes, they do. They just don’t know it. But they will. One day, they’ll wake up with a spiritual malaise, and then they’ll need me,” Buddy replied with forced coolness. A smug smile tugged at one side of Sam’s mouth, and he strategically turned it into a confused frown.

“What the hell is a spiritual mayonnaise?” Sam, of course, knew what ‘malaise’ means, but it was just too easy to poke fun at the idiot.

“Malaise! Not mayonnaise! Spiritual malaise! And people like you are gonna get it bad! Trust me! Then I’ll be in big demand! You wait and see!” Buddy opened his mouth to say something more, his pointer finger jabbing in Sam’s direction, but then his jaw snapped shut. He sat down on the floor so fast that Sam thought his knees had buckled, he’d fainted, but he hadn’t. He folded his legs quickly into lotus position, eyes closed, chanting obnoxiously. Sam stared, pausing in his engorgement. 

“You don’t wanna work, do you?” Sam leaned forward, resting his chin in his hand, eyebrows raised. 

Buddy opened one eye ever so briefly to glance at him. “Yes, I do,” he replied, his words so in rhythm with his chanting that it took Sam a second to realize he’d responded. 

“You don’t,” Sam looked down at the man, a vague expression of amusement. “If you did, you wouldn’t be sitting around unwashed, unshaved, and undressed on a weekday.” 

“It’s eight o’clock in the morning,” Buddy informed him, peeking briefly at the clock.

“Early bird catches the worm,” Sam shrugged, leaning back in his chair and spearing another soft, warm pancake with his fork.

“I don’t want worms. I want pancakes,” Buddy protested, watching enviously as Sam halved the pancake. Sam gave him a condescending look, and something cruel flickered in his eye.

“Then earn them,” He said evenly. 

“How?” Buddy asked warily. He shifted out of his lotus position, his legs tingling with pins and needles. 

“You can do a little job for me,” Sam’s smile was much too kind, and didn’t reach his eyes. 

“What kind of little job?” Buddy’s eyes narrowed, suspicious. 

“You can shine my shoes,” Sam responded. 

“You want me to shine your shoes?” Buddy repeated, slow, turning it over in his mind. Really? That simple?

“I’ll give you a pancake for each shoe,” Sam nodded, crossing his arms, sitting as though he were closing a business deal, not trading a pancake for a shoe-shine. 

“One pancake for each shoe,” Buddy echoed, raising an eyebrow. 

“That’s the offer,” Sam waved a hand briefly. Buddy hesitated, then his face hardened.

“Is that what you want, to humiliate me? Demean me? Well, forget it! I won’t do it! I won’t!” Buddy growled, leaping to his feet. “I want at least two pancakes per shoe!”

Sam grinned, two perfectly-straight rows of perfectly-white teeth. “Deal.” He held out his hand.

“Deal.” Buddy shook the man’s hand. “Take off your shoes.”

“No.” Sam’s response left Buddy quiet for a split-second, and Sam could almost hear the gears turning. 

“Then… how am I supposed to shine them?” Buddy asked lamely, brows knitting together.

“Get down on your knees.” Sam held his gaze unflinchingly.

“What?” Buddy blinked.

“Get down on your knees and shine my shoes.” 

“Are you serious?” Buddy frowned, a hint of incredulity to his voice.

“You want some pancakes, don’t you?” The man quirked an eyebrow. 

Buddy could feel himself salivating at the thought of taking a big bite of fluffy, syrup-soaked pancakes. “You know I do.” 

“Then get down on your knees,” Sam’s smile had disappeared. 

“Sam, please…”

“Down!” He barked. Buddy jumped, and paused for a long moment, staring into the hard eyes of his host. Finally, he yielded, kneeling on the kitchen tile. He could see them here, the two shiny black shoes, already bearing a gleaming dully beneath the table. Buddy swallowed, glancing up at Sam to see he was still watching.

“What do I use to shine them with?” Buddy inquired hesitantly. 

“Your tongue.” Sam bit each word, his perfect teeth clacking together and the sound echoing around the kitchen. Buddy averted his gaze for a moment, working his jaw, hands clenched into fists.

“No.” He forced out the word, glaring up at him. Sam smiled wryly, cruelly, plucking a pancake from the plate and holding it out, dangling it in front of Buddy’s face. 

“Mmmmm, these are so good.” Sam’s eyes were dark slits, not a spark of empathy to be found there. Buddy made to grab the pancake, but Sam easily pulled it out of his reach.

“I won’t do it,” Buddy hissed.

“They’re so light and fluffy, sweet and delicious. Mmmm-mmmm-mmmm.” Sam shoved the pancake into his mouth, taunting.

“You’re a pig.” No sooner had Buddy spoke the last consonant when Sam’s foot kicked him hard in the chest and sent him toppling over onto the floor.

“Watch your mouth, Buddy. You’re only here thanks to my good graces. I could’ve thrown you out months ago. I could throw you out right now,” Sam seethed, leaping to his feet, gripping the table as he bared his teeth in a snarl. “But I won’t. You know why, Buddy? Because I pity you. Do you hear me? You’re pathetic. Look at you, about to kiss my feet for some lousy pancakes.”

Buddy’s could only glare at him for a moment, leaning back on an elbow as he caught his breath, before his face softened. “I’m hungry. All I’ve eaten in the last week were some stale Saltines.”

“Those were my stale Saltines. Bought and paid for with my money.” A malevolent fire burned in Sam’s eyes as his words hissed forth like a snake. “And you didn’t even say thank you, did you?” Buddy gulped, staring up at him, his stomach a hollow pit in his gut, gnawing at itself. He bowed his head, mumbling something.

“What was that?”

“Thank you,” Buddy repeated, then quieter, “I said thank you.”

“That’s better.” Heat diffused through his words as Sam sat himself back down. Buddy waited a moment, eyes tracing the tile patterns in the floor before he slowly rose to his feet. Sam studied him, silent, scrutinizing, chewing on a mouthful of pancake. 

“What is it with guys like you? You’ve always got your hand out. Soft, fleshy hands that haven’t seen a day of work.” 

“I need help,” Buddy’s voice was soft, hands working at each other as his pride gasped for air after such a hard hit.

“‘The Lord helps those who help themselves.’ Now there’s a Bible quote for you.” Sam said dismissively.

“That’s not from the Bible.”

“Well, it should be. Now stop bothering me.” Sam wasn’t looking at him anymore, though his eyebrows were raised disapprovingly as he turned his gaze down to his food, stuffing his face. Buddy watched him, fingers curling into his shirt as his stomach growled, begging for food. He turned to leave, and made it as far as the door when he paused, and looked back to his flatmate.

“How can you be so heartless when you have so much?” Buddy croaked, a lump in his throat. “Look at you, you have all the pancakes.”

“That’s right. They’re all mine,” Sam’s eyes flickered up to him. “And what, I should just give them to you?”

“You could share them,” he suggested weakly. Sam’s face screwed up like he’d caught a whiff of something foul.

“Why in the hell would I want to do that?” 

“It… might make you feel good,” Buddy tried weakly. Sam stopped, looking at him, and then burst out laughing. First he still hovered over his pancakes, shoulders shaking with humor, then he threw back his head in a guffaw, fork still clenched in one hand that rested beside his plate.

“That,” He wheezed. “Is the stupidest thing I ever heard.”

“Some people find great solace in charity,” Buddy informed him, and Sam just scoffed, rolling his eyes.

“What they find, Buddy boy,” Sam leaned forward, pointing the fork at him accusingly. “Is a tax deduction. No one does anything without getting something in return. Now, can all the philosophical mumbo-jumbo. I have to finish eating. I have a morning conference. They’re putting me in charge of the national ad campaign for Good Will.” He finished haughtily, and continued eating. 

“Good Will. They’re putting you in charge of ‘good will.’” Buddy’s voice was flat, staring at the man in dim disbelief. He huffed a laugh. “Well, that’s just perfect. It’s like putting a fox in charge of the hen house.”

“Very funny,” Sam’s words were somewhat obscured and jumbled through a large mouthful of pancake.

“It is. It’s hilarious,” Buddy leaned on the doorway, rubbing his face. “But I just can’t bring myself to laugh. It’s a very amusing paradox but I just can’t laugh. I’m too weak. I’m hungry and lightheaded and I just don’t have the strength to laugh.” He raised his eyes from the floor to Steven, and a weak, slightly-crazed grin spread across his face. “But it is funny. Not slap-your-thigh funny but wry and ironic. Only God could make a joke like that. The same God that gets kick out of holocausts and plagues and famines. What a sense of humor that guy’s got. He gave you all the pancakes, and he gave me none.” His voice soured as he staggered forward, slapping his hands on the table, staring at Sam, nose scrunched in a snarl. 

“That’s life. Some of us have pancakes and some of us have not.” Sam didn’t look up at him, cutting another bite.

“Yup, and you have them. You’re the pancake king.” Buddy gestured weakly towards him with a hand, letting it fall back to the table’s surface.

“That’s me.” Sam wasn’t even paying attention to him anymore.

Something filled Buddy’s stomach as he watched Sam eat. It wasn’t food, it wasn’t anything that would actually fill it for very long, but it was hot and fiery and furious. It overflowed from the pit that was his stomach and flowed through him, up into his head and out to his fingers. As if he was no longer in control, but this feeling was instead, he pushed himself back up to standing and circled around the table to Sam.

“Here, your majesty, why don’t I give you some more syrup?” He asked, his voice as sickly-sweet as the contents of the amber bottle he lifted from the table top.

“I don’t want any more syrup.” Sam’s eyes only briefly followed the bottle, but he paid him no mind.

“Sure you do. Everybody wants more syrup,” Buddy spat as he yanked off the cap and turned it out onto Sam’s head, the sticky, sugary sap covering the perfectly-styled hair. 

“What the fuck!” Sam barked, dropping his fork.

“And butter? What about some butter?!” Buddy snarled, curling his fingers around the butter knife and driving it into Sam’s gut once, twice, three times. Sam fell from his chair, uttering a strangled cry as blood began to seep from him, spattering the floor. 

“You want pancakes?! Here, eat some pancakes!” Buddy snatched some from Sam’s plate, and fell atop him, shoving them into the man’s agape mouth before he could make another sound. His legs straddled his flatmate, one hand pressing him to the floor by the neck, the other reaching back to the table. “Have another! And another! And another!” Buddy screamed, pounding pancake after pancake down the man’s throat as his body convulsed beneath him, held fast by the hand wrapped around his throat. Sam writhed weakly in his own blood, hands clumsily and uselessly clawing at the floor, Buddy’s arms, his own mouth, until his eyes rolled up into his head. The man went limp, head falling to the side. Buddy waited until he was sure he saw no more movement before he let go, panting. He leaned back on his heels, wiping sweat off his brow, heart pounding. His eyes rose back to the table, to the stack of pancakes that remained there. Buddy scrambled up into the chair and began to shove food into his face, feasting like an animal.

---

(just btw, proper citation in MLA format is located here, on my masterlist.)

[solohux]

okay but I'm in love with the whole fox!hux verse and I just really really want jealous/protective hux?? Maybe one of Kylo's douchey ex's comes around ahh idk

“Fuck.”

Despite Kylo whispering thecurse, Hux’s fox ears jerk at the sound of his mate’s distressed voice, tipspointed for extra alertness. He leaps off the couch and to the front door—wherehe heard Kylo’s voice—and peers around the doorframe.

“What is it?” Hux asks, headcocked, absently chewing the sleeve of his grey sweater.

Kylo stands with his facepressed against the door, looking through the small peephole at someone outside.

“It’s—fuck, I didn’t think he knew where I lived,” Kylo says, flinchingwhen four harsh knocks batter their front door.

“Ren,” Hux insists, worried, spine tingling at the unknown threat. “Who is it?”

“He’s…someone I used to date,”Kylo replies, tone hushed. “He was partof my art group. Got kicked out when he assaulted me and stole money from Snoke.He’s an asshole.”

Hux can’t help but growl atthe thought of someone purposefully bringing harm to Kylo.

“So it’s a fight to the death,”Hux says, licking his teeth. “Assert dominance over an old mate—”

“No, Hux,” Kylo laughs, covering his mouth. “It’s not like that inthe human world. We’re just going to ignore him and hope that he’ll go away.”

Hux scrunches his nose up,ears drooping in confusion, but he supposes Kylo knows more about his worldthan Hux does.

“I can hear you talking,little Kylo! You’re not going to let an old friend in?” A strong voice boomsfrom the other side of the door alongside another couple of harsh knocks.

“Hux,” Kylo says, sighing,reaching for the door handle, shoulder slumped. “Go in the bedroom and closethe door. Don’t come out until he’s gone.”

“What?” Hux exclaims, fists clenched. “No. Kylo, you don’t know what he’s going to do—!”

“I’ll be fine,” Kylo says,stepping forward to give Hux a quick kiss on the lips before gently pushing himaway. “Go.”

Hux whimpers, ears and taildrooping as he turns, looking back over his shoulder to see Kylo smile sadly athim. It isn’t fair, Hux thinks, closing the door to their bedroom beforepressing one of his fox ears against it, trying to hear what’s going on.

Kylo takes a long inhale in beforeopening the door, puffing his chest out when he sees his ex-boyfriend standing taller and thicker than him on his doorstop.

“Xander,” Kylo says. “Showingup uninvited. Again.”

Xander takes his sunglassesoff, pushing them back into his dark hair. His blue eyes burrow into Kylo’sskull, giving his stubbly beard a scratch.

“What can I say?” Xander says,shrugging. “I like giving people presents.”

He pushes past Kylo, knockinghim back against the wall as he strides in, leaving mud on the wooden floorfrom his heavy biker boots. Kylo rolls his eyes and groans, but follows Xanderinto the living room.

“Presents?” Kylo echoes,frowning.

“Uh, me!” Xander exclaims, using two of his fingers to point to himself.“So, cute place you got here. Bit big just for you.”

“It’s not that big,” Kylosays, smirking. “Though, I’m sure I’ve said that to you before.”

Xander visibly seethes at Kylo’scomment.

“I heard you talking tosomeone before,” Xander says, spinning around slowly on the spot to take in thespace around him. “Got yourself a new twink,Kylo?”

“I have a cat,” Kylo spits out,wondering if it’s a plausible response. “I talk to my cat.”

“Hm,” Xander says with ashrug, and Kylo knows that he believes him. “So. You’re single.”

“Yeah. Not that it has anything to do with you.”

Xander smirks, running hispalm up his chest, biting his lip.

“It has everything to do withme,” he says, taking an intimidating step towards Kylo, but Kylo doesn’t move. “I’mthe executive of my own business now. I want you to join me, Kylo. Leave Snokeand the Knights of Ren. Your art is world-class, it deserves to be recognised.”

“No.” Kylo snarls, quietlywondering whether some of Hux’s animalistic characteristics have rubbed off onhim.

Xander growls and reaches up, grabbing Kylo’s chin between his twofingers, turning his head from side to side.

“Still as stunning as Iremember,” Xander says. “Those pretty lips—”

“Get off me, Xander,” Kylo commands, pushing the man’s hand off ofhim. “And get out. Before you make medo something I’ll regret.”

“And what would that be, youngKylo?” Xander laughs, rolling his sleeves up. “Cry to Daddy? Oh. Wait, you can’t.”

Kylo’s eyes are filled withtears before he blinks, feeling a well of emotion gather in his chest,threatening to make him implode.

“You bastard,” Kylo shouts, unsure of whether it’s his anger or hisgrief that makes him swing his fist at Xander’s face.

His voice echoes across hisapartment, and Kylo sees an orange blur emerge from the bedroom as quick as aflash, the little thing growling and barking as loud as its lungs will allowit.

Kylo can’t help but feeloverwhelmed as he watches Hux—in his animal body—gnaw his way through the materialof Xander’s jeans, obviously biting some of his actual leg as the man cries out and tries to kick the fox off ofhim, but Hux’s jaw is far stronger and won’t be beaten; not when he believeshis mate is in danger.

“Fuck!” Xander shouts. “Afucking fox! What the fuck!”

Hux keeps on biting, snappinghis teeth at whatever part of Xander he can get at, though it’s mostly hisankles, but the ferocity in every one of Hux’s movements, his body quick andagile to avoid Xander’s kicks as he tries to make his way to the front door,but the fox is there every step, ripping his jeans to shreds, leaving trails ofhis blood on their floor.

“You freak, Kylo!” Xander yells as he scrambles out the door and hobblesdown the corridor and away from the fox that’s bearing his teeth at him.

Hux snarls, shoulders hunched as though ready to pounce, giving a huffbefore holding his head up high and trotting back into the apartment, evenclosing the door behind him with a push of his two front paws.

“My hero,” Kylo says with a smile, before feeling more tears on hischeeks and he slides down the wall, knees drawn up to his chest. He sniffles,biting his lip to prevent more tears from falling, to try and stop the memoriesof the car crash from resurfacing, but the tears keep spilling from his eyes.He buries his face in his folded arms, and cries.

He hears Hux whimper, his coldnose bumping against Kylo’s leg as though asking to be let in.

“Sorry,” Kylo mutters,lowering his knees so the fox can climb into his lap, standing on his two backlegs to reach up to rub his head against the underside of Kylo’s chin. “Better?”

Hux yips in response, lickingKylo’s cheek to catch a few of his falling tears.

Kylo can’t help but chuckle atthe innocence of his fox. Maybe one day he’ll be able to tell Hux about thelife he had before he was Kylo Ren, artist and protégé of the Supreme Leader ofFirst Order Art Academy, when he was still Ben, when he was unhappy.

Maybe. But as Hux shiftsforms, becoming human and giving Kylo a passionate kiss, Kylo knows that thatday is not today.