#except it only happens in my traitorous little brain meats

[the-saddest-clown]

I didn’t take my meds today and apparently my brain decided to get back at me by suddenly playing the first notes to black parade for no fucking reason

[thunderheadfred]

🐈‍Aizawa HC’s🐈‍

I dunno if people will care for this; I suspect my HC's for Aizawa are a little off the fandom norm. Still. I tried. Things get approximately NSFW under the cut. Minors do not interact.

- - - - -

General

He has like, one discernible change of clothes per season. There is no distinction between hero outfit, casual wear, and pajamas. That fabric used to be black. It is now an exhausted shade of ‘please stop washing me.’ If you suggest that he buy new clothes, he will stare you down like you have three heads, and none of those heads have a brain.

This man does not spend money. He has a mind-blowing amount of savings, but no one will ever know until he dies and wills it all to a random animal shelter in the middle of nowhere. Has a secret scholarship fund for UA students. Again, this is completely anonymous. Only the principal knows.

He's a startlingly competent sketch artist. Nothing fancy, and he never took an art class in his life, but his quirk innately lends itself to spacial reasoning and feature recognition. He has sketch books brimming with sloppy but pin-point accurate life drawings. He can capture your soul in three strokes of a dried-up ballpoint pen. It's eerie.

Given his schedule, you’d expect him to prioritze convenience first, but junk food makes him cross-eyed. His body is a temple and he eats like a fucking monk.

He’s a wine snob. Well, a liquor snob generally. He knows the name of every regional sake-maker in Japan, and can tell you exactly which bottle is the best, down the the month of production. Assumes everyone possesses such laser-focused knowledge.

Tea drinker. Yeah, he has encyclopedic knowledge about that too. Apparently everything this man drinks comes with a bibliography.

Technically he’s supposed to live in the UA dorms part of the time. He sleeps poorly there, and goes home whenever he has the opportunity.

His house is old, but not valuable. Probably inherited. Traditional style with very few modern updates. He keeps it meticulously clean and does repairs as needed, but the age is still obvious. Everything creaks. You swear the place is haunted but won’t dare admit it aloud - he WILL laugh you out of the house.

There’s a garden but he doesn’t have time to keep it up. He has a lot of memories of the plants in full bloom. Letting it go to seed upsets him more than he lets on.

He has zero personal possessions aside from household appliances, which he meticulously researches and keeps in perfect condition.

Reads an insane amount of books. These mostly come from the library. There’s always a stack near his bed. You have no idea how he finishes them, because every time you see him with a book, he’s asleep with it on his face.

He doesn’t adopt cats so much as just leaves his doors open and lets them freely colonize the place. It’s not his house, it’s theirs. Somehow there's not a single cat hair on anything.

Most of these cats are cuddly little angels; you've never met nicer. But there’s a few beasts in the mix, with battle scars and three legs and a craving for human meat; these are Aizawa’s special favorites.

- - - - -

Dating

Falls for you when he stumbles across you taking care of one of the hideous strays he usually feeds on his route. Doesn’t approach you at first (definitely tries to hide) but the cat is like "mrrr?" and brings you over to him, giving the game away. Traitor.

Will make you pay for your half of everything, down to the last yen. So what if you’ve been together for ten years? You have your own income.

One exception to the above: he’ll never buy you presents but he WILL treat you to lavish meals in dark restaurants with hand-written menus. Don’t mistake this for romance, he just likes the quiet atmosphere and excellent service.

He cleans every day; there’s an unwritten five-dimensional schedule and that schedule is EXACT. Zero time wasted. He’ll never actually ask you to help with any of it. He’ll never directly thank you, either. But if you learn how to take over certain chores and do the daily upkeep while he’s away, he’ll love you forever.

Not the type to talk about his day; he’d rather sit with you outside. He values silence. Not because he doesn’t want to talk to you, but a lot of the time he doesn’t have the energy to give you his full conversational attention. Physical contact is easier, and more comforting besides. Just... hold his hand a while.

His scalp gets tingly and sore from overusing his quirk. If you run your fingers through his hair he will pass out instantly.

He will cozy trap you. He’s touch-starved and was definitely a cat in a past life. Will hang all over you if you don't give him enough attention and constantly falls sleep in your lap. Hope you don’t need to get up anytime soon; he’s not moving.

You don’t exactly ‘move in’ with him. He never wants to spend a night without you, but his living space is already exactly how he likes it. He will never move out of that old house, but he’ll give you some rooms to yourself. Your stuff and his... complete absence of stuff... stay pretty much separate. Do NOT clutter up the bedroom.

The kitchen is the exception. That's a warm and cozy shared spot, the heart of the home. You’ll always be stepping around a cat.

He LOVES when you cook for him (so that he doesn't have to take the time). Will shower you with praise and encourage you to make huge earthenware vats of old-timey tsukemono that the two of you cannot possibly eat by yourselves. He’ll help with food prep and knows his way around, but he insists you’re the better cook (even if you aren’t).

Big on actions over words. Makes an effort to be present with you as much as he can.

Will stare into your eyes until you look away. When you look back, he's still staring with a rare warm smile on his face.

God, he loves you. You will never, ever know how much. He doesn't tell you often, but he shows you every day.

- - - - -

Somnophilia???.........

ACE ACE ACE ACE

This man is A-fucking-sexual. He’s not sex repulsed in any way, he’s just not personally invested.

Aromantic too. Deadass doesn’t get the hype. You are the most important person in his life and he’s deeply commited to and comforted by you. Just don’t expect to be seduced; it will literally never happen.

If you are allosexual, he will still be devoted to your sexual well-being. At first, that means buying you a DELUXE toy and encouraging you to use it on your own.

His voice is too damn sexy, even when he isn’t trying. He’ll give you all the phone sex you want; he thinks it’s sweet how you unravel for him. Edging you for ages is a fun little power play, but he’s definitely grading papers while he does it. Don’t be offended. Toshinori has overheard some THINGS.

When your relationship gets sufficiently serious, he’ll help out with his hands. He’s VERY SKILLED AT IT. He likes to lay down next to you and whisper encouragement in your ear. Eventually he gets possessive about your orgasms, and will make you ask for permission.

Sometimes the stars align, but his arousal is a rare bird. He'll take a whole afternoon to prepare. It’s love-making, full stop. Always slow and intensely emotional. He'll cherish every inch of you but might not cum at all; you can’t force it.

[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch. 49

This is another chapter that kinda fought back.  I wanted to write one thing.... the story wanted to write another...

Someone pray for me. I don’t care what you pray to, I just need help....

“Is mushroom gravy okay?” Tyche asked, glancing over her shoulder.  It was the day after the festival, and we were preparing for the re-institution of family dinners.  We had both spent the day in our respective quarters nursing social hangovers of homicidal proportions, but were committed to an evening of comfort food and finding a new comfort zone without…. Without.

“Yeah,” I answered quietly. “Everyone’s good with mushroom gravy.”

A quiet growl preceded the smack of a spoon hitting the counter in my sister’s kitchen. “Sophia,” she said slowly. “You don’t have to force this.  Yesterday was enough, you realize that? You don’t have to force yourself to have social interaction two days in a row.”

“You sound like Antoine,” I giggle slightly, mostly out of nerves, before taking a break from the painstaking task of mixing up a meatloaf.  Sure, the console could blend it for me, but I liked the irregularity of doing it by hand. “It’s not the socializing, I promise. Tonight is just going to be you, Antoine, Conor, me….” I swallowed thickly, unable to keep going.

“Mon soeur,” Tyche exhaled. “Are you still sad about what happened with her?”

Huh? “What?” I turned around, confused. “You mean Arantxa? You’ve got to be kidding.” I scoffed so hard it made my sinuses hurt before muttering. “Stupid, traitorous bitch.”

“Then what is the deal!?” she cried, frustration clear in her voice. “You love cooking. You love meatloaf. You can make this in your sleep, so I don’t get what the problem is!”

“It’s just… weird, with just the four of us,” I confessed.  I always felt better with more mouths to feed, and had gotten used to cooking for five.

“Four?” Tyche looked like I was speaking another language. “What do you mean, four?”

“You, Antoine, me, and Conor. That’s four.”

She gaped at me before stomping over and stabbing me in the chest with one finger. “Sophia. Michelle. Reid. What. The. Fuck. Have. You. Done.” When I tried to take a step back, she stood her ground, hands on her hips. “Why isn’t Maverick on that list?” I mumbled a response, wringing my hands, before she took a deep breath to calm herself. I rarely made my sister this angry, but when I did, I knew I really messed up. “Soph. You’ve got to speak up. Please.”

“I didn’t know if you were okay with me inviting him,” I explained, fighting back tears. “He’s mine, not yours, and I didn’t know if you were okay….” I choked on a sob, shaking my head when she offered her hand.

“Of course, he’s welcome,” she explained, more confused than angry now. “Antoine was always welcome, even before we started dating. You never hesitated. And I don’t believe in that ‘you complete me’ nonsense, but having Maverick and Conor around makes you…. Steadier. You’re more confident, Conor is more serious, and Maverick is calmer. You’re all three… muchier. Much, much muchier. I look at you and see the Sophia that only I ever got to see.”

I nodded, sniffling and wanting to laugh. “I know what you’re talking about. It’s the same thing that happened when you and Antoine started dating. You could be you, all the time, because the only people whose opinion mattered liked you exactly as prickly and squishy as you are. That’s how I feel when I have them around, as annoying as they are sometimes.”

“Antoine leaves his socks everywhere,” she confided. “I don’t even know how he does it… I never see him wear them! But still. Socks. Everywhere.” Her mock-horrified face finally made me smile. “Come on, let’s finish dinner before the other three get here.”

“Aw nuggets,” I swore. “I’ve got to send a message to Maverick.” I flicked my datapad up, silently praying to whatever power was listening that he would get it in time.

Tyche just waved her hand at me. “I assumed he was invited so I sent the reminder to him when I sent it to Conor and Antoine. And I’ve been talking about it during my training, like, nonstop. He knows. You’re fine. Now, season and loaf that meat, woman!”

With a fake groan, I plunged my hands back into meat I had been blending.

Two hour later, everyone was getting seated around the table as Antoine set down drinks for everyone. Before anyone could take a sip, he held up his glass. “To Tyche and Sophia, our most accomplished chefs for the evening.” I blushed and Tyche groaned as we all toasted.

Maverick looked at the food on the table before shaking his head with a grin. “You weren’t kidding when you said ‘family’ dinner.  This has to be the most American-sitcom meal I’ve ever seen – meatloaf, mashed potatoes and gravy, green beans, and dinner rolls.” He looked alarmed when Conor and Antoine started snickering. “What? I’m looking right at it. That’s what it is, right?” He glanced at me and my sister for explanation.

“It is never that simple, my friend,” Antoine explained. Conor just nodded enthusiastically in agreement.

Tyche took pity on him and explained. “Those aren’t regular dinner rolls, they’re pao de queijo.  Like… a gluten-free, Brazilian choux.”  When Conor gave in and laughed, she smacked his shoulder. “Hey! Those aren’t mashed potatoes, either, buster.”

“Hey!” He looked offended. “I’m not blind! That’s the best-looking mash I’ve ever seen!  Fluffy and creamy.  Don’t try to pull one over on me.” He shook his finger at her. “I snuck a bit before you put it on the table. That’s garlic mashed potatoes, all day long.”

Comically, she turned her nose up in the snootiest posture she could muster. “Ha! That’s where you’re wrong! There isn’t a potato one on this table. Isn’t that right, Soph?”

Biting my lip, I winked at Maverick to let him know this was all part of the fun. “Hate to break your heart, but she’s right. That’s mashed celeriac and cauliflower. You got the garlic right, though.” I gave my most sickeningly sweet smile, making everyone laugh. To Maverick, I explained “It’s all healthier than what it looks like, but it still tastes like what you think it should. Except maybe the rolls? They have cheese in them.”

Soon, everyone was happily eating, and the conversation turned to what it inevitably did: what everyone was up to.  Conor filled us in on how he knew Charly – she apparently worked in hydroponics. Maverick told tales of Tyche learning to fly. Antoine updated us on the feedback he got on the translator updates after the festival. I brought everyone up to speed on how Alistair was working out.

It was nice and familiar, just what I needed. Soon, conversation turned to silly speculation about other crew members we were familiar with. “Has anyone heard from Zach recently?” I asked, curious. “Other than him working at the festival, I haven’t really gotten to talk to him since what happened on Level One.”

“Ooo, he has a girlfriend,” Maverick told us, wide-eyed. “Some girl in research.”

Tyche and I shared a glance, remembering Zach’s comments about Maverick during the lockdown. “Finally,” I exhaled, more relieved than I expected. “I was starting to worry about him.”

Conor furrowed his brows. “I thought… nevermind.” Despite stopping himself, he looked pensive.

“I know he’s attracted to me,” Maverick announced, surprising everyone. “He told me. I explained that I am very asexual, and very not available. We’re still friends.” He shrugged nonchalantly before grabbing a second helping of mashed not-potatoes.

“That’s a relief,” Tyche declared. “Zach’s like… not a brother, but maybe a cousin to us?”

I nodded, still thinking on what Maverick had said.  It was still stuck in my mind as we cleared the table, Antoine having explained to Maverick that those who cook do not clean the dishes. I was staring into my wineglass when Tyche flopped onto the couch beside me, nudging me with her elbow. “Hey, what’s going on in that big brain of yours?” she asked carefully.

“I’m really confused,” I admitted.  “I don’t know what’s going on between me and those two.  Part of me doesn’t want to put a label on it, because I feel like that means I have to pick, you know?  What if I lose the other one?”

Covering her face with both hands, Tyche groaned and shook her head. “To be one of the smartest people I know, you can be really dumb sometimes. Have you talked to them about how you feel?”

“No….” I answered hesitantly. “I’m kinda scared.”

“You’re going to make me ask the gross questions, aren’t you?”

“Please don’t.”

“Sophia.”

“No.”

“Sophia.” I must have hesitated a little too long, because my sister turned towards me and covered her face. “Which of them are you sleeping with?”

My face ignited in embarrassment. “Both, in the literal sense. Neither in the euphemistic sense.”

“Both? At the same time?”

“Well, yeah.” I was starting to fidget. Fuck.

“How does that even work?” Trust my sister to get sidetracked by a cuddle puddle.

“It just does,” I shrugged.

“Do you sleep in the middle?”

“Sometimes? Not always. Whoever needs the cuddles the most sleeps in the middle. Usually it’s me or Maverick.”

She smacked my arm impatiently. “Wait wait wait wait wait. You mean Maverick sleeps in between you and Conor?”

“Sometimes? Yeah?”

“Does Conor react differently when that happens?”

“Not that I know of. He sleeps like an octopus: if you’re in range, you get spooned, tough shit.”

“You are so stupid, and I love you. But you are an idiot.”

“Why am I an idiot this time?” I asked warily.

“You’re dating both of them. You realize that, right? All three of you are dating each other.”

All the blood left my face. “Oh, gods.  I’ve got to talk to them.”

“Yeah you do.”

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[writteninsunshine]

Step Into The Dark - Adam-Centric - NSFW

Title: Step Into The Dark Author: Donnie Fandom: Saw/Insidious Setting: The Bathroom Pairing: None Characters: Adam Faulkner, Lawrence Gordon, Zep Hindle, John Kramer, Specs (Insidious), Tucker (Insidious), David (Saw .5), OC: Matthew Faulkner, OC: Lukas Radford-Faulkner Genre: Angst/Horror Rating: M Chapters: 1/1 Word Count: 2006 Type of Work: One-Shot Status: Complete Warnings: Canon Character Death, Hallucinations, Sensory Deprivation, Adam Dying, AU - Canon Divergent, Adam just starves to death here, Vent Disclaimer: I don’t own anything except Matt and Lukas. Summary: Adam would have accepted anything to dull the pain, even death. AN: Lol just have to say this before I get into the meat of it, I checked, and 2006 was the original word count for this. 2006 was the release year for Saw III. I just thought that was funny. xD So… On to the real thing here. I’ve been doing not very good and really needed to torture Adam, I guess. I don’t usually write his death, or him being dead or whatever, but I guess I needed to vent pretty badly. I hope you guys enjoy! Edited by my friend, Griff, because I couldn’t do it myself.

Bye Bye Man/Insidious/Saw Fic Masterlist Step Into The Dark ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ While Adam was used to the clawing beast in his stomach, this was a new low for him. Dying in the dark, waiting for something that wasn’t coming. Lawrence had lied to him, and all he could hear was I wouldn’t lie to you. over and over again in his head. An endless loop, sometimes in slow-motion as if he could pull every syllable from Lawrence’s filthy, lying lips if he tried hard enough, and it was growing so old. The last thing he remembered seeing were those grotesquely bright blue eyes. They had been so handsome before the blood loss; it had made the incandescent fire in them scorch him, before leaving him to rot.

It took too much effort to be angry anymore. It took too much effort to even open his eyes, and he’d given up on trying to move his right shoulder at all. There was no escape this time, no way to duck under the responsibility and run. His own cowardice had landed him in the one place he couldn’t seem to leave. Even the acrid scent of his dead cellmate and the stench of shit didn’t register anymore. He had heard of the term ‘nose-blind’, but this was probably to a rather crazy degree. Old-Lady-With-Twenty-Cats crazy. Sunlight was a vague memory, something he couldn’t quite grasp anymore, and he yearned for one more sunrise. In his restless dreams he saw his family, his father’s crooked grin - passed to all of his sons, Lukas’ inability to stick to one person, David’s sardonic attitude, Specs’ nerd culture. They welcomed him back, Matt constantly babying him, much to his siblings’ chagrin, and even Lukas was being kind. That was probably the biggest tell that it was a desperate fantasy. Another bout of stomach acid shredded his throat as it leaked out of his mouth, and he didn’t have it in him to even move. Barfing on his shirt was something that, last month, would have been alcohol-induced. Here, he was so used to tasting acid and feeling sick that he couldn’t imagine ever drinking booze again. With his head pounding and his eyes, adjusted to the dark enough to see the vague shapes of the fixtures, pulsing, he closed them carefully, watching the spinning dots behind his eyes like an in-flight movie. When had his life become so bad that he wished for his shithole apartment, that he missed the days that he couldn’t eat because he didn’t have the money? Having the option sounded like it would be better than this. How long had he been down here? It could have been three hours or three days. That time was spent either pleading with God or hating him because that had always worked for other people. It wasn’t like he had access to anything else, either. The tap didn’t run, not anymore. Even the ticking of the clock had stopped at some point, leaving him in the dark in deafening silence. It figured that he wouldn’t be allowed to count the seconds by to try haphazardly to keep time. Worse than that, though, was when he could hear things. Little scampering feet in the darkness. They had to belong to rats, mice, things of that ilk, and if Adam knew these New York sewer lines, he’d be feeding mammoth rats before the day was out. It did enough to terrify him into stiffening until his shoulder quaked, but nothing ever ventured close enough to touch him. Maybe in his sleep, emboldened by his steady breathing, but never when he heard them when he was awake. Beady eyes in the darkness watched him, mocked him with their ability to come and go as they pleased. Rustling the chain did well enough to scare them off, and it was usually both a gift and a curse when he finally decided to move his leg. Restriction made comfort a far cry in any position, but even less so now that it felt like his ass had been melded with the broken tile beneath himself. Sometimes, he humored himself; which of them was really worse off, after all? At least Adam had both of his feet, the evidence was on the other side of the room. It was a poor claim to happiness when seconds later his traitorous brain replied with, But he has his freedom. That was, if Lawrence had managed to crawl to safety. For all Adam knew, Zep wasn’t the only corpse he shared a catacomb with. Anything beyond the bathroom was a mystery, and he’d go so far as to say that anything in the bathroom out of reach was a best guess, at this point. It was almost impossible to even tell which of Zep’s feet he had had to kick away from himself at first. Once the door was closed and he was, rather suddenly, left with the inability to take anything for granted, he took everything in his general vicinity for some semblance of safety. For a while, he had thought it was a better use of his time to try and find the key, to lay in the bathtub instead of on the floor. The less strength he had in his arms and legs to lift himself, however, meant he had wanted to get up and down less. Eventually, he parked back against the floor, and he wasn’t sure he’d moved much in the last millennia. He was a fixture of this bathroom, like the tub, the clock, Zep’s lifeless corpse. Sometimes he wondered if he’d been dead this whole time, if he wasn’t already gone and his soul hadn’t left, hadn’t been given the chance or the option to leave. Was this Hell? The question had crossed his mind on a few occasions, but he never truly entertained it. If nothing else, leaving the thought open-ended meant that there was a chance that this mind-numbing loneliness would leave, that the impending doom he felt looming all around him could end. Even if he didn’t live, which was looking like the only option, death would be a welcome reprieve. What had he ever done to deserve this? He supposed starving to death in a shithole you could leave wasn’t much better than starving to death in one you couldn’t, but at least he’d been able to try and change his situation before. That was his mistake, he mused absently, giving a breathless, mirthless chuckle. His only sin had been living, trying to survive. Had he gone back to his dad’s two-bit trailer and scraped up his pride off the floor for dinner instead, maybe this wouldn’t have happened to him. Hell, Lukas was better off than he was, and the man was a walking medicine cabinet if you were paying high enough. Why wasn’t Lukas tested? Or, maybe he had been. That Jigsaw guy was intent on cleaning up the under crust, and Lukas was as slimy as they came. Unbeknownst to him, David had been a player in his own game, just the same as he was, except for the thorny issue of him being the triplet that lived. David’s survival was the only thing holding Matt together, who pleaded and threatened God in equal measure to have his son returned to him. Much like an unimpressed Customer Service employee, God had deigned to do nothing but let him rant, so far. It almost hurt more that his dad might be holding out hope that he’d come out of this, but he would say it was a close second. This hurt like Hell. Whatever his stomach was saying, he’d almost forgotten the translation. Pain, sure, it hurt, but it always hurt. No matter how much writhing and pitching it did, it melted in with everything else that wore on him. Sleep was nonexistent for him, but there was occasionally a lull in the constant pounding of his head. Were his eyes ever even open, anymore? He could make out vague shapes but it didn’t really seem much different from when he closed his eyes again. A sudden rush of light plagued his tired eyes, and he blinked awake, lower jaw quivering slightly. “Adam, come on.” Lukas cried, and the eye roll could be heard in his voice as he slammed his elbow into the table, “Dad says we can’t eat if you don’t get your ass in gear, he’s gonna starve all of us because of you, lazy assh--” “Shut it, Lukas, don’t you have a ballet thing to be at for daughter number twelve?” Matt’s voice cut in, playful and sharp as a tack, and Adam felt a smile working onto his face. It turned to a full-on grin when his father could be heard smacking Lukas’ shoulder, “You watch your mouth. I’m your father.” “Pretty sure Adam’s the only one that matters to you. Davey and I’ll just have to go hungry.” “David’s a good kid, he can have as much KFC as he wants, too.” “KFC?” Adam heard himself before he could register that he’d spoken. His voice didn’t sound broken, it didn’t sound fractured or even quiet, it was just how it used to be. “The grilled shit?” “Yeah!” Lukas piped up again, peeking around the wall a little to give Adam a disapproving frown, “With mashed potatoes, macaroni, coleslaw, and biscuits. Get in here or I’m going to eat everything but the fucking slaw.” “You will not.” Matt snapped, before his voice turned soft and coaxing, “Adam, come on, baby boy. Got all your favorites.” “You did not,” Adam found himself giggling, elated at the idea that anyone would actually like coleslaw, “You got coleslaw, and not extra Mac.” “I know, kiddo, that’s the thing I got me that I know you brats won’t eat. Except maybe Tucker.” “Tucker eats coleslaw.” Specs supplied, already dishing out his plate of mashed potatoes, gravy and a single drumstick. “But he eats almost anything.” The mammoth of a man sat with his family around the coffee table in the dingy trailer he grew up in, on the floor because all of the chairs were too tall for him to still reach the table. Everyone was staring, expectant, as Adam shuffled in place in the hallway that lead to the bedrooms, biting his lip and feeling out of place. Was this even his family anymore? “Adam,” Matt’s tone took on a sugary sweet tone that had him wary, knowing he had probably done something wrong, “Come on, come eat. I know you’ve been struggling. You’re not in trouble, I’m your dad, I can do stuff like this for you guys now and again, even if you’re grown. Especially because you’re grown.” Acceptance seemed to wash over him in waves. Each step he took onto the thin carpet didn’t feel like anything, but he was moving forward, taking a spot between David and Specs on the couch. David offered a one-armed half-hug, and Specs barely tilted his head before demolishing his drumstick. Lukas shot him an expectant look but dug into the breast he’d pilfered from the bucket, eating enough that when Matt noticed, he didn’t do anything more than glare. “You know that’s--” “Adam’s, I know, I get it. We all know he’s your favorite.” Lukas groaned, “It’s weird to pick a favorite identical triplet but whatever.” “I don’t play fav--” “Dad,” Specs paused in his eating to look up, “You do, and it’s okay.” There was something in Adam’s hands. It didn’t feel like the greasy, delicious grilled chicken wing he’d picked up, it was soft, firm and bony. Cold, maybe, or just cool. It didn’t seem quite right, but he couldn’t exactly see anything wrong with it. Warmth blanketed his face as he took a bite, and something seemed to give. With a final sigh, everything melted away into nothingness, and he finally felt at peace. Matt never would get to see his son again without looking into the faces of the remaining triplets. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ AN: I forget why I started this, but this happened even more because of some shit happening in my life right now and I’m just…. Trying to keep going. This sort of helped but I’m also more anxious, now.

[rosemaidenvixen]

You are my Sunshine

Chapter 12: Thirteen Part 1

Ao3

Content warning for animal death, animal consumption, and mild gore.

For most people it was no easy task to lift a plastic bucket full of saltwater and poultry, but Jim just had to wait until nightfall and it was a snap.

Jim carefully adjusted the bucket’s position and slid the lid of the cooler into place. Tomorrow the turkey would be ready and waiting for roasting.

Turkey prep down, he pushed the cooler into an out of the way corner of the kitchen and got out the cutting board. Time to start on the stuffing. Getting a handful of onions and celery out of the vegetable crisper, he got to work prepping, peeling, and chopping them.

Personally, Jim could take or leave stuffing, but his mom and Toby loved it so every year a bowl of the stuff made it onto the table.

Falling into the practiced rhythm of slicing vegetables with little to no fear of cutting himself, Jim’s mind started to wander.

Thanksgiving, like all of their holidays, was pretty small scale. It usually just involved him, his mom, Toby, and Nana getting together at his house for a shared meal. Occasionally an out of state relative or two of Toby’s would drop by, but they weren't particularly close relatives and few ever came twice.

As for Jim and Barbara, all of their extended family had either passed away or were distant enough to be considered strangers, so no out of state visitors for them.

Jim looked down at the blue, stony skin of his knife hand.

It must be hard for Mom to have so little family, but it was probably for the best.

No relatives visiting meant no one coming around and questioning why Jim never left the house past dark. Or worse, actually  seeing  something.

Jim swallowed the lump that suddenly appeared in his throat.

He’d been changing every sunset for so long that transforming was as natural to him as breathing now. It had gotten to be so routine that some days he almost managed to forget how unnatural it was.

But lately even forgetting had become harder and harder.

Jim’s hands trembled as he sliced through the celery.

In the past year he’d grown several inches in his normal shape, while his blue form had shot up by nearly half a foot. During the day his voice had started cracking non stop and at night he suffered from constant headaches as his horns grew in even faster than the rest of him.

But Jim could deal with that; growth spurts that left him gangly and gawky, constant growing pains in bizarre places, sounding like a cartoon character. All of it.

Except for one thing.

Jim slid the finished celery into a large bowl with a lot more force than was needed and started peeling the onions.

From the start he’d never been able to eat normal food when he was blue. But while the things he could eat were weird, they weren’t exactly rare. Canceling their recycling plan and occasionally picking up used socks from the thrift store set him up with plenty of night time snacks. So diet was never really an issue for Jim, at least not until last summer.

It had started before then, though when exactly Jim couldn’t say, but July was really when it sunk in.

Jim used to be able to go all night without eating. Sure he prefered to have a snack or two after dark, but if they happened to be out of night time ‘food’, he could just as easily skip eating and make up for it with an extra large breakfast in the morning.

Last July was when Jim realized that he couldn’t not eat at night anymore. Even if he did manage to fend off hunger pangs for the whole night, the day after he would be so sluggish and weary that he could barely function.

But getting hungry wasn’t the issue.

Jim was bringing the knife down with so much force that it actually started to embed into the plastic cutting board.

The issue was what he was hungry for.

Glass and metal and plastic had always been staples of his nocturnal diet. But a while ago Jim had started craving….different things.

Things he could tear his new, larger teeth into. Things that were chewy and crunchy but also moist and tender. Things that tasted like metal and butter at the same time.

Things an awful lot like the seven pound turkey currently brining in the cooler.

The turkey Jim had barely been able to keep himself from taking a bite out of the whole time he’d been preparing it.

The knife slipped in his hand, catching two of his fingers with the blade. Jim yelped and dropped the knife, which fortunately didn’t land on the floor, before quickly grabbing the injured hand and pulling it close to his chest. Once his heart stopped pounding, Jim cautiously pried his good hand off the injured one to examine it.

A long scratch across both fingers but no harm done. It was a good thing that the hand he’d knicked with the knife lacked a pinky, if he had one it would have been badly cut.

Jim took several deep breaths before picking up the knife and going back to chopping the onion.

Jim could handle looking different, he could handle  being different, but not this.

This wasn’t like growing horns or being made of blue stone.

This was wrong.

It wasn’t just raw meat he was craving, if it was he’d eat some sushi and be done with it. What he was craving wasn’t a cut and cleaned piece of meat, but a whole bloody animal.

What scared him the most was that he knew he could do it. Years of eating metal and leather told him that if he wanted to, Jim could grab an animal, fur, hide, hooves, and all; and just start eating.

What did that say about what he turned into?

Jim dumped the last of the onion into the bowl. He really should work on the herbs next, but if he got out the sweet potatoes, the smell of the sweet, starchy tuber would kill the traitorous stirrings of hunger thinking about the turkey had brought up.

During all the months Jim had been having these cravings, never once had he given in.

And tonight would be no different.

Jim rapidly started peeling and dicing the orange tubers, the smell made his stomach turn but he welcomed it.

Same plan of action as always, work on the sweet potatoes to kill any appetite he had, then force down empty cans and soda bottles to keep himself full for the rest of the night. He didn’t have to fight it forever, just until sunrise. Then these disgusting urges would be gone.

At least until the sun set.

Then it would all start over again.

But he could do it, Jim had been fighting his appetite and winning for months now, and he could keep doing it for however long he needed to.

He wouldn’t let his nightly transformation change him any more than it already had.

No matter how strong his hunger was, Jim was stronger.

He would fight this forever if he had to.

Loud rustling noises coming from outside jarred Jim out of his thoughts.

Curious, he leaned over towards the window and peeked through the blinds. A flash of movement raced across the compost bin, followed by a loud bang and a crash.

Jim jerked backwards from the window.

What  was  that?

Was it something dangerous?

What if it hurt Mom when she got home?

Despite how much he did not want to leave the house, Jim needed to take the risk and find out if something dangerous was out there. He walked over to the back door and gingerly cracked it open. Just in time to see one of Nana’s cats scurry past him and go out through the hole in the fence.

It was the one that actually liked him, he could never remember all their names so he just called it Cat #6.

Looking back at where Cat #6 originated, Jim had to do a double take. The compost bin was laying on its side with the lid several feet away and compost strewn everywhere.

And propped up against the side of the bin was a rabbit bleeding from its neck.

While he watched, not quite believing what he was looking at, the injured rabbit gave a single twitch before shuddering and going still.

For a few seconds Jim didn’t move, slowly realizing what had happened. It wasn’t burglars or a roving pack of coyotes causing all the racket. One of Nana’s cats got out, got into a tussle with a rabbit, and knocked over the compost bin; that was all. He just had to clean up the mess before his mom got back.

After quickly grabbing a large trash bag, Jim took a few hesitant steps outside and walked over to the compost bin. It wasn’t that Jim was scared of leaving the house, he loved going camping and running around in the woods. But being outside in his own backyard, with nothing but a wooden fence separating him from the prying eyes of anyone walking by made him deeply uncomfortable. That was why he needed to clean up the rabbit and the compost and get back inside as fast as he could.

Gingerly, Jim grabbed the rabbit by one of its feet and lifted it off the ground.

He could feel of bone and muscle and sinew move under his fingertips.

The rabbit itself wasn’t too messy, the only wound was the one in its neck that had already stopped bleeding, all Jim had to do was put it in the bag and put the bag in the trash can.

The coppery tang of it’s blood filled the air.

The smell reminded him of the turkey, rich and briny.

Jim held the rabbit over the open mouth of the trash bag, ready to drop it, tie off the bag, and go back to working on their holiday dinner

But Jim found himself unable to let go.

Stomach churning with unease and traitorous hunger.

What was he doing, why was he even considering this? This was a, formerly, living and breathing animal, not food. He couldn’t just eat a bunny rabbit!

Or could he….

Jim glanced around; it was too perfect. The rabbit was already dead, one of Nana’s cats had gotten it, that was just nature. So it wasn’t like he went out and killed an innocent, woodland creature to satisfy his sick urges.

He was in his own backyard well past midnight so no one would be around to see him….it would be the simplest thing to take a quick bite.

But he couldn’t, wouldn’t. Jim had been keeping his appetite in check for months, he couldn’t screw that all up now. If he had half a brain he’d chuck the rabbit in the bag right now.

Despite every rational argument he could think of, his grip on the lapin stayed firm. Some murky instinct floating in the back of his mind refused to let it go.

The rabbit just smelled too damn good.

Jim took a deep breath.

Just one little bite, that was all it should take to get the curiosity out of his system. Then he would throw it away and go back to chopping sweet potatoes.

Jim raised the rabbit to his mouth, heart pounding, blood rushing in his ears, half of him recoiling in horror and the other half rejoicing, and tentatively took a bite.

Bones crunched easily under his sharp tusks.

They were built for this.

Scorching hot blood dripped down his throat, quenching him in a way he’d never thought possible.

Flesh stretching and tearing in his mouth before landing in his stomach, filling him with complete and utter bliss.

Forget socks and empty bottles and old silverware.

Forget filet mignon and coq au vin and red velvet cake.

This was the most delicious thing Jim had ever eaten in his life.

One bite became two.

Two bites became four.

Four bites became eight.

After eight he stopped counting.

Jim knew he should stop, he should have stopped a long time ago, but he was well beyond the point of caring.

After months and months of fighting back his hunger, Jim was finally indulging himself.

And it felt  so  good.

The world around him narrowed until it just contained Jim and the rabbit he was rapidly devouring. In that moment nothing else mattered. All he cared about was eating more and more and  more .

Jim was so lost in his feast that he didn’t notice. Not until the backdoor light flicked on.

Instinctively, Jim jerked his head up from the rabbit in his hands, swiveling in the direction of the light.

Standing on the back steps was his mom, still dressed in scrubs and lab coat from work, staring at him with wide eyes.

[westminsterandsalisbury-blog]

The last few days

The last few days have been a bit of a blur. We’ve just finished our first week - London is going to fade into the distance, though the echoes of our music may still drift among the chambers and arches of the Abbey’s interior, and it may be a while before I forget the sound. I just finished a walk up and down past the Parliament building, which was resplendent in the late afternoon sunshine (not an especially common weather phenomenon here), taking some photos of the bicyclists on their race, which was happening all around the West End this week-end. (See what I did there?)

As I get older, my thoughts tend to gloss over things and my mind does not appreciate the moments as I used to. So I was trying to appreciate the small things of our time there. There was a verger, whose name is Benjamin, whose eyes point in opposite directions, who was very kind to us, and is a very jolly person. He is famous, apparently, for having been caught on camera after the Royal wedding of Prince William and Kate Middleton, doing a cartwheel after the ceremony, because he was happy things had gone well. I’m not sure how long he has been at the Abbey, but, at least since then. He was there almost every day instructing us on various formalities of the services (whom to bow to, in which direction, details about hymns and prayers and so on). It was a pleasure to work with him. There were also deans and canons whose names I never learned. They would pray with us both before and after the service, and they usually expressed gratitude and thanks for our services, which was genuine, but terse, as one would expect from those in their position (and nationality).

Today we sang a Mattins service, a Eucharist service, and an Evensong. I felt proud of how I sang today, and I do think the Evensong may have been our best all week.

I didn’t do anything else today, but that’s fine, because my legs and my brain are a bit worn out from this week.

I left off my blog after Wednesday night, so let me briefly talk about the intervening three days. On Thursday, I visited the British museum, and it was a colossal place. I never know how to pace myself in museums anyway. I spent a long time looking at sarcophaguses and death masks from Egypt; saw the Rosetta Stone, went pretty fast through the Assyrians, and then gazed at Greek sculptures for a while. Then somehow two hours had passed so I had to book it upstairs to see the Anglo-Saxon exhibits and was quite impressed with those.

As we did every day (except Wednesday), we sang at the Abbey that afternoon. After that I left my phone there, made it all the way to Soho and panicked because I didn’t know where it was, and tried to activate Find my iPhone but couldn’t remember any of my passwords, so I had to cancel going to dinner, and go back to Westminster and try to get in, but luckily the guards let me in (being a singer really does have its perks) and it was there. But it was too late for dinner, so I stupidly went into an overpriced pub and got a very greasy fish and chips meal which, I do not recommend by the way. They fry their fish in so much oil and fat and whatever that is, and there is not much meat.

After that I thought it would be nice to try and see some live music, but, for some reason my brain wasn’t working (probably the fish and chips) and so I walked all the way to Trafalgar Square and got on a bus, instead of taking the tube, which would have been faster, and then it started to rain, and traffic got really bad so I ended up on the bus for quite some time. I stopped in Camden and looked around, but it was nasty weather and there were crazies about, so I grabbed a free newspaper and just read that on my way back to the hotel. Did not sleep especially well.

On Friday, though, I managed to fill up on a nice breakfast and then had a great time touring the Tower of London on foot. I thought there would be a guided tour, but there wasn’t, but it turned out all right. The first stop was the building housing the Crown Jewels. If you didn’t know already, there is an entire set of bling which is used exclusively for coronations, the post-coronation banquets, and nothing else. A great majority of these date back to the reign of Charles II, the monarch who resumed England’s monarchy after Cromwell, who had destroyed the old Crown Jewels. Some of them are Victorian, but a lot of them are several hundred years old. Among the most impressive (to me) were all of the golden banqueting dishes. There must be at least ten giant salt containers, all made of gold, including the Exeter Salt, which is a salt container in the shape of a castle, which has its own special container that is used to carry it into Westminster Abbey when a coronation takes place. Then there is the scepter and the orb; the orb is very old, as I recall. These are used in coronations. Of course there is the crown that is used exclusively to crown the monarch, and then there is also the Imperial State Crown, which is used for special occasions (such as the opening of a Parliamentary season). These crowns, especially the latter, are studded with diamonds and sapphires. I just had to Google this again - this crown has on it the 2nd largest clear-cut diamond in the world as well as three pearls reputed to have been worn by Elizabeth I, and a sapphire which supposedly belonged to St. Edward the Confessor (king of England prior to the Norman Conquest, who also founded Westminster Abbey, and is enshrined there in a very special spot right behind the high altar).   

These crown jewels made a very big impression on me. Not only is everything very old, but also very much in a state of perfection, and yet much of it is also still used.

I would go on, but I have more to say. The jewels took a while to see, but then I wanted to see the White Tower. This is where the bones of the two princes were discovered under the staircase, who may have been murdered by Richard III or Henry VII. (These bones were recovered and moved to Westminster Abbey, to an urn in Westminster Abbey, in the same room where Elizabeth I and Mary I, “Bloody Mary”, are buried, all of which I had seen on Tuesday.) In the White Tower also is the “Line of Kings,” which is a set of enormous rooms were the armour of many famous kings of England (not queens) is all displayed. The White Tower was used over the centuries for the armoury and also for housing for monarchs (it seems there have been quite a number of places over the years for their dwellings - Buckinham Palace is just the latest). (Also Henry III, who is responsible along with St. Edward the Confessor, for most of the building of Westminster Abbey, also had his own dwelling at the Tower of London, but just off the battlements, not in the White Tower.) So anyway, I saw a ton of armor, and also guns, cannons, shields, and so forth. Outside the window was the Thames and the Tower Bridge, a nice view.

It took a while to go through the White Tower, and learn about the history, and look at all the old Norman architecture - this building is amazingly 1000 years old, and is still standing, despite centuries of age and then of course, WWII bombings, which affected so much of the rest of London.

There was just enough time to look at the dungeon with instruments of torture such as the rack (inside the “Bloody Tower”), Traitors’ Gate (where traitors were brought in boats from the Thames, through a water gate and up to the steps to the Bloody Tower, to be imprisoned), and the famous ravens who dwell there and are fed meat every day by the Beefeaters, the uniformed regiment of men and women who guard the Tower every day and night, and have for many centuries (I don’t know how many). These ravens are formidable, though their wings are all partially clipped so they won’t fly away and trigger the ominous prophecy that, if the ravens fly from the Tower of London, the Tower will crumble and London itself will fall.

It was a lot of history for one morning, and maybe my favorite thing that I did all week. I would love to go back.

The rest of Thursday was good - Evensong went well, and then I went off to the National Gallery which is a giant art museum on Trafalgar Square. I spent a bit over an hour with the Impressionists who I very much like, and then just wandered around getting lost in history, so to speak. I was so lost I almost couldn’t find my way out. Then I was starving so I wandered around trying to find a place to eat, and finally went in some place and felt very weak from hunger, and ordered an entire pizza and ate the whole thing, which in retrospect I regret a little bit, since it took me two days to work off.

On Saturday morning, I was very tired (probably because of the pizza) and the whole day was a bit off, I had a bit of a mishap with trying to get to rehearsal in the morning, on the tube, and after rehearsal I just sort of tuckered out and could not finish standing in line for the Sherlock Holmes Museum, unfortunately - I mean it would have been an hour and half wait just to get inside, and the whole place was wall to wall with tourists so it just would not have been that enjoyable I think. I did visit the Royal Academy of Music then, though, and saw part of the original manuscript for the Mikado, and some pianofortes, harpsichords (and a virginal) from the 1600s through 1800s. That was all before the Evensong.

Last night I walked around Whitechapel on this Jack the Ripper tour, and saw some of the original buildings - most of them are gone, but some remain - near where these events would have taken place, such as the Ten Bells pub, and the church where all these hundreds of poor people would have been crammed into beds that they would only sleep in for the night, before going out to make the money the next day to afford again the next night (for the equivalent of 1-2 pounds today - as our guide said, life was cheap); prostitutes and butchers and people fallen on hard luck all lived around there, on the East End. He showed us the buildings, and told the tale of each grisly murder, and showed us some photographs to give us an idea of what things would be like back then. I did enjoy this tour and wanted to learn more.

Today, we had our final services, and I have just packed, after we were fed by the hotel and then I hung out talking.

Now I have to get to bed - we bus to Salisbury tomorrow for our 2nd whole week!

Jeff