#i had to google dead lamb for this

[glassartpeasants]

Calling To The Moon

Overhaul x F!Reader

Warnings: Child abuse, physical abuse, emotional abuse, death, slight gore, suicide, mentions and implications of self-harm, dead dove do not eat

A/N: This is probably the saddest shit I've ever written. I know I've said that before probably, but I'm serious this time. It took me a whole month nonstop to finish this. I wanted to make it perfect for you guys and just simply for myself. I'm very proud of this fic, and it took me so long to get it to the point where I was confident with the writing and editing. This fic is VERY long, and I mean VERY LONG. It was a whole 25 pages in Google Docs and has 9,603 words in it. I really hope you guys like and it would mean the world to me if you could tell me how I did. I hope you guys like it and enjoy <3

~~~

The atmosphere in the base has never been so cold. No matter what, every room and hall felt colder than the arctic sea. Both temperature and emotion wise. You’d ask your husband to turn up the heat, but he was always busy and seemingly never in a good mood. Which only added to the cold feeling. Summer or winter, it was always cold. Even colder when you’d guys have an argument.

Arguing with him was hell. He’d talk over you and say such hurtful things. Belittling you and ignoring whatever you had to say. In every argument, he stood victorious because you just wanted his horrible words to stop. He’d bring up things that he’d promise to never tell a soul. Yet there he was, using your past against you.

It feels like your chest is getting ripped open every time you do. The times he’d spit his venom when he wore his mask was terrifying. You could see a danger in his eyes, like how a lamb fears a wolf. You hated feeling this way. He was your husband. He shouldn’t be scaring you and threatening you. But here you were.

He never did it in front of other yakuza leaders, which is why you enjoyed the meetings so much. He'd act as lovingly as someone like him would during a meeting. These times would remind you of why you married him. How'd he act like he was proud being next to you. Telling you he loved you in ways only you both know. It was amazing while it lasted. The feeling of being wanted.

After 8 months of being married, though, he started to change.

He’d never sleep in the same bed as you anymore. You don’t know if he moved to a different room or if he slept in his office. You've searched your brain for anything but can't think of a single reason as to why he would just up a ditch you like that.

It really crushed your self-esteem. Having your once loving husband act like you were so disgusting. Looking at you like he does his enemies no matter what you wore or done. You tried wearing what used to be his favorite thing to see on you, but he completely ignored you. Acting as if you didn’t exist.

Then, he’d look at you with loving eyes that made you forget how he treated you only moments before. When that horrible mask and ugly jacket were off, he'd look at you like he did before you had the ring on your finger. It was times like this that kept you right by his side. No matter the horrible words his other side spilled.

But the mental toll was soon piling up, one small feather enough to make you crash down.

With the mental toll overflowing, it caused feelings you’ve tried so hard to bury to resurface. Times to before you met him. Parts of your life that you wish would burn away from your memories. But, the physical scars you carried only worsened it. You hated yourself, hated the loneliness that crushed you. Hated the way your past haunted you.

All these made your life unbearable. No matter what medication, no matter the ‘self-care’ people would recommend, nothing made you feel complete.

All your ‘friends’ left you as soon as they saw how dark you truly felt inside. They called you a ‘debbie downer.’ So no matter what, they left you to decay and continue their lives without you. You remember thinking that there was no point. No life in your light to scare away the darkness. Then, you met him, and everything changed.

But that was then. Now, you were feeling the darkness creep back inch by inch as you sat on the compound's couch.

The sterile scented environment contrasted greatly to the smell of tea in front of you. The only light was the moonlight shining through the windows. The room felt once again so cold. Hopelessness filled you as sleep still seemed so far away.

“You guys seem like such a happy family. I don’t see why all this happened.” The cop stood in front of the couch where you and your mother resided. You on the far right arm and her on the left. You desperately tried to put as much room as possible between the two of you.

“I'm sorry, officer. My daughter was just having an attention episode. Sorry to take your focus away from real problems.” Your mother’s response was smooth and calm, but you knew what hid behind them. Her stone mask always failed to deceive you, as you knew her best.

You were no fool. You knew she would severely punish you as soon as the officer left. It was just comical, really. How you were stuck in such a position in the first place. It happened only hours ago, yet it was still fresh in your mind like a burn wound. 

“Is this abuse, huh?!” The look in her eyes was so terrifying that you still see it in your nightmares. Her nails dug into the back of your neck, and you felt her nimble fingers squeezing your throat. Your heart seemed to stop at the reality that this was really happening. The way your mother held your throat as you went to pry it off. Although, it ended as soon as it started. She whipped her hands away from you and gave you one last death glare before stomping toward her room. 

Tears poured down your face as you took deep breaths, trying to gather the air that your lungs craved harshly. The feeling of her fingers still wrapped around your neck made the helplessness inside you explode as you started frantically searching for a bag.

The sunset illuminated the room as you managed to find a bag before shoving anything you could into it. Clothes, phone, charger, things that held emotional value, anything you could fit, you brought. 

Stepping out of your room and into the hallway, you feel scared. Worrying that you’ll turn the corner and see your mother standing there with that look in her eyes once more. But to your luck, she was nowhere to be seen. 

You turn towards the door and stare at the handle. It felt as if a strong force was holding your body still. Grabbing all the strength you could muster, you shakingly move your hand towards the door handle, opening it silently. Gently, you moved your feet out of the house and shut the door as quietly as you opened it. The wooden deck creaked below you as you tried to walk across it. Your heart beats in your ears as you bite your lip in anxiety. Being caught right now was something of nightmares. Yet, the sound of dirt crunching beneath your shoes made you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

Then, you ran.

You ran down the driveway and onto the dirt road that held yours and many other houses. Your shoes crunched against the ground as dirt flew behind you as you ran as fast as your legs could carry you. The sound of rocks hitting the earth fell on deaf ears.

The trees surrounded you and cheered you on as the wind rustled their leaves. Cold air enveloped your body as your cursed yourself for not wearing a jacket, but it didn’t matter. How your body ran gave your body enough heat to survive for now. Adrenaline pumped through your veins, and all you could think of was running. To run till you collapsed or reached your grandparents only a few miles away. You’d finally be safe and wanted there.

The sun set faster than you imagined, and the once beautiful sky was soon replaced with stars that called you. Telling you to come visit them. That you’ll be safe there. The urge to reach for the stars was crushed as red and blue lights surrounded you and the trees. They hid the stars above you, and the feeling of loneliness once again encapsulated you. Tears threatened down your cheeks as you heard a man’s voice tell you to get in the car. Saying that he’s taking you home.

What was back there was no home to you.

You got into his car without a fuss despite the urge to fight. The way back to your hell was quiet as the cop said nothing to you. The back seat of his vehicle was cold and unwelcoming. Dread filled you as you pulled up to the place you had run from only hours before. The image of your mom standing on the deck haunts you as she waits for her ‘attention-seeking daughter’ to come home.

“Why are you crying?”  A light voice ripped you from your reflection of the past and brought you back to the present. With blurry eyes, you try to make out the voice that called out to you.

“I just had a moment. Sorry, you had to see that. I thought everyone was asleep.” Wiping your eyes, you blink away the remaining tears as you finally catch a glimpse of the man in front of you.

You’ve never seen him before.

“Who are you?” You couldn’t help but be suspicious. 

“My names Gushiken Taro. I just started today, so I’ve yet to meet everyone.”

“Oh, that makes sense. Well, my name is Chisaki (Y/N). It's a pleasure to have you here at the compound.” You sent him a welcoming smile. His voice seemed so young. From what you could actually see of him, he still looked like a teenager or had the body of one. 

“You must be Overhaul’s wife, I assume?” God, you hated that name. Ever since that name had left your husband's tongue, your life has been nothing but constant dread. 

“Yes, that's correct. May I ask how old you are?”

“Your much more friendly, I have to say. But I’ll be turning 19 in a few weeks.” You couldn’t hide the shock on your face. His age would be the same as…his.

“That's so young! How did you get caught up in the yakuza so young?” 

“It’s a long story, haha. But why is the leader's wife crying at midnight?” You didn’t know what to say, so you just answered his question. 

“I couldn’t sleep. I just…get emotional when I don’t sleep.”

“Understandable. I’d love to chat more, Mrs. Chisaki, but I must find my way out of this maze and back to the exit. It’s so late, and I must go home. It’s dark, so it may take a while.”

“I can help you to the exit.”

“Really? Are you sure?” Standing up, you grab your tea and hold a smile on your face.

“I’m sure everyone deserves to be helped.”

“Thank you very much. I shall follow you.” You nodded as you led him towards the exit, making small conversations along the way. A familiar feeling to protect slowly crawled back.

~~~

Despite being so close to another human being, your husband no less, you still felt so cold. You tried to ignore the goose bumps that littered your arms, but you still let out a shiver on accident. 

“Hey, Overhaul, your pretty wife over there is shivering. Why don’t you give her your jacket, huh? Take care of a special thing like her.” The gruff voice of an older man cut through the air. You saw the leader of the farthest clan looking at Kai with an eyebrow raised. His hair was white, and his skin wrinkled, giving you the impression of him being in his late 60s or early 70s. Reminding you of your own grandfather.

You were shocked, to say the least. No ones ever mentioned you in a meeting before. Well, not in the way where they asked your husband to do something for you in front of everyone. A warmth spread across your face as the feeling of happiness made a small smile appear on your face. It’s been a while since anyone, including your husband, has called you pretty or special. You felt appreciated even if it was by someone you didn’t know.

Shooting your husband a quick glance, he caught your eye before you saw a frown appear from behind his mask. You said nothing as you expected the air to continue to nip at your skin and you’d stay cold, but you were pleasantly surprised when you felt familiar purple feathers surround you and block your vision. The heat of his body that was once trapped in the coat now surrounded you. Snuggling up in the warm fabric, you send a kind smile to the old man who sat in the back. You felt like your husband's love surrounded you for the first time in months.

A flash of white appeared out of the corner of your eye. Moving your head slightly, you ignored the men around you talking. A familiar figure stood by the door. You send the man a subtle wave and smile at him. Your smile grew bigger when the man sent one back.

~~~

 You started walking back to your room, a skip in your step as your husband's jacket still hung on your form. His purple feathered hood surrounded your face and tickled your nose as his scent covered you. The smell felt safe and made you feel so sleepy. What you wouldn’t give to sleep with your husband's scent again. Feel as if he was actually lying next to you.

“(Y/N).” The stoic sound of your husband's voice broke you of your small fantasy. You knew what was gonna happen. He was probably going to ask for his jacket back and then degrade you. Taking a deep breath to build up your walls, you spin around to look at him, smiling as you try to show a confident front.

“Yes, love?” his shoes echoed against the walls as he moved closer towards you. You tried your best not to shake in anxiety, not knowing his next move.

“Give me my jacket.” You take it off and give it back without even batting an eye. The cold coming back to attack your uncovered skin.

“Anything else I can help you with-”

“I’m not letting you come to the meetings anymore.” You look at him, shocked, as you try to piece together what made him make such a harsh decision so quickly.

“What? Why?”

“Obviously, you're a distraction to the real tasks at hand. I don’t want people paying attention to you when there are more important things to focus on.” With such small words, you feel your walls start to crash.

“All he said was that I was cold! You didn’t have to give me your jacket. You could have continued talking.” He looked at you like you were some stupid little girl. A look you knew all too well.

“If you had a brain, you’d see that that’d be a bad choice. If I want money, I have to make them trust me.”

“Oh, so fake being nice to your wife is a way to get respect and people to trust you?” His sharp eyes turned to daggers as he looked at you.

“I don’t have time to talk to you. I’ve got more important things to do.”

“Good! Because I also have more important things to do than talking to you asshole.” You turn around to stomp away but feel a firm grip wrap around your wrist. He aggressively dragged you to your room before closing the door and making you face him. Your husband's golden eyes bore into your own. Despite the fear that infected your blood, you tried to hide it.

“Who do you think you are to talk to your superior like that.” His voice low, and the grip on your wrist turned bone-crushing.

“Superior?! Kai, your my husband! And let me go! You're hurting me!” His grip on your wrist only got tighter, and you felt a stinging sensation erupt from his fingertips as his gloves disintegrated in front of you.

“It’s Overhaul. Kai is dead.” Your eyes blew wide at his statement. Confusion wracked your body as you searched for an answer.

“Overhaul?! What the fuck are you talking about Kai-” A horrific pain shot through your arm that Kai so aggressively held. Tears spilled harshly down your face as you screamed in pain. Red liquid covers your body as you try to grab the now missing appendage. Searing pain causes you to lose your footing as your salty tears fall on the ground.

Then, the pain stopped.

Your body trembled as you felt your once missing arm now back where it should have been. The sensation of losing something so important still puzzled your body as you tried to grab a sense of what had just happened.

“It's Overhaul, don’t make me tell you again.” The sound of his footsteps leaving your room haunted you as the door closed. Your lungs seemingly couldn’t get enough air as you tried to gasp and heave at the horror of your husband doing something he promised never to do.

~~~

“What could you possibly be depressed about?! What made you so sad that had you scratching yourself with a pencil till you bleed! Fucking pathetic, doing it for attention, aren’t you? You wanna see real cuts?!” The way your mother grabbed your wrist had you wincing in pain as she put your hand on fresh yet scabbing cuts on her arms. Her eyes tearing into yours as she moved your hand across her skin, yelling at you the entire time.

“This is what real depression is! Not your pathetic attempt at attention seeking. God, your so useless! Not everything is about you! Have you ever thought about how I feel?!”

You didn’t know how she found out. You tried everything to keep what you were doing to yourself a secret. Cause you feared what would happen if she saw your freshly open wounds on your arms.

It was the only thing that made you feel better. It took away the pain you felt inside and moved it to where you decided to dig the graphite of your pencil into your skin. The pain it caused numbed the pain you felt inside. It gave you something else to pay attention to. Sometimes, you’d dig the pencil even deeper into your skin, feeling like you deserved the pain you were causing yourself and what you felt inside.

You deserved it, you deserved it, you deserved it repeated in your head as you cry into the dark of your room, scratching the barely healed scars on your arms. Looking up at the ceiling, wondering what you could do to make the pain disappear. You’d cry into your pillows as the feeling of those fresh cuts on your mother's arms still tingled against your fingertips. Dry blood smeared on them with small spots under your nails. Holding your hands together, you look outside at the moon, crying for it to take you away.

You could see the moon shining through the small bathroom window. You got an even greater view with the window being wide open. The crescent moon reminds you of cartoons you used to watch when you were young. 

Candles surrounded you as the lights were turned off to try and calm yourself down. To relieve the anxiety and fear that had been coursing through your veins ever since yesterday. The bath was so warm and inviting as it convinced you to stay longer. To ignore the pain that still ghosted your heart. You didn’t dare leave your bathroom or room, fearing what Kai-Overhaul, would do.

It was such a numbing feeling. Knowing your husband put his hands on you after promising he never would. Breaking a promise, he told you ‘he’d rather die than break.’

Obviously, it didn’t mean anything anymore.

Your heart constricted as you looked up to the moon, begging for answers. Asking what you’d done to deserve this? Asking what you could do to get rid of the numbing feeling that overtook you. To feel something other than emptiness. To escape these all too familiar feelings.

Just then. A shiny glint caught your eye at the rim of the tub.

~~~

The sound of the screaming kettle let you know your tea was finally ready. Grabbing your favorite tea cup, you walk towards the steaming kettle.

Putting your cup on the tray, you grab the kettle before pouring it over the strainer filled with green tea leaves you had already set up. The tea goes into the teapot underneath it. A smile on your face as these times were one of the only times that brought you any sort of happiness. This used to be your husband's favorite, and he quickly had you hooked on it. The smell filled the kitchen with a homey feeling.

You put the teapot on the tray and some tea snacks before you make your way to the living room, only to be stopped by crashing into something immediately. The sound of everything hitting the ground made you cover your ears.

“Oh shit, Mrs. Chisaki, I’m so sorry!” The familiar voice of Gushiken filled the kitchen.

“It's okay. Things happen. It was an accident.” Looking down, you see the tea everywhere, and the teapot shattered into seemingly millions of pieces. Alas, your teacup was nowhere to be found.

“I managed to save the cup, if that means anything.” The man hands you the still intact cup. A breath of relief left your lips as you held the cup tightly, afraid it might drop any second.

“Please, let me help clean up. It’s my fault for not saying I was approaching.” You let out a laugh as you set your teacup away before you crouch down to pick up the broken pieces of what was your least favorite pot anyways. As long as your cup was fine, you were okay.

Making piles of glass, you and him gently grabbed them and threw them away. Mopping up the spilled tea and throwing the tray away in fear of Overhaul throwing a tantrum.

“Hey, what happened to your arm? Did some of the glass get you?” Looking at your arm, you see your long-sleeved shirt exposing minor cuts along your arm. Freezing up, you quickly lie.

“Oh! I guess. I didn’t even notice.”

“Well, can I help wrap it up? My sister was a nurse, and she taught me a few things. It's my fault your hurt anyways.” guilt plagued your mind at his words.

“I…okay.”

~~~

You sat at the kitchen island and watched as Gushiken wrapped up your arms with care. Much kinder and soft than Overhaul has been with you in so long. A feeling filled your body as he tended your wounds. You felt cared for. Like you were worth something to someone.

“There, you should be okay. Just make sure to change it and keep it clean to avoid infection.”

“I will thank you so much, Gushiken.”

“Can I ask you a question? It's kinda personal, so you don’t have to answer it if you don’t want to.”

“Um, sure? What is it?”

“Why does Overhaul never have you around? He seemingly avoids you life your the plague, and every time your name gets brought up, his brows furrow in disdain.” It was a really personal question he asked, but you were surprised no one else had asked you it earlier. 

“I don’t know. I couldn’t tell you who the man you see before us now is. This man isn’t the man who used to treat me like I was worth more than any jewels he’d gain. He is no longer the man who called me beautiful every chance he could. He’s not the man that asked me to marry him.” Tears brimmed your eyelids as you did your best to avoid crying. You didn’t want to look all red-faced and red-eyed in front of Gushiken.

“I don’t understand. Did a switch just flip inside him? Was there a fight or something?” His confusion was shared as you didn’t understand your husband's reasons either.

“No. Just one day, instead of the black mask he used to always wear, he wore the one that now adorns his face. The one that causes fear to anyone that looks at it. Then, he seemingly turned into a whole other man.” You felt your throat constricting as you try to talk without hiccuping.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Chisaki.” The remorse he expressed in his voice made your body shake as you lowered your head. He couldn’t see how affected you truly were by your husband's actions towards you. It wasn’t his problem that your husband changed.

“You should probably continue working. I don’t want you to get in trouble.” Your voice cracked as your lips tremble.

“But-”

“Please.” With a sigh, Gushiken got up from the stool he sat on.

“As you wish, Mrs. Chisaki. I hope you feel better soon.” His footsteps soon ran out of earshot as you simply looked at your knees. You could feel your tears fall on the clothing that covered them. Your problems were your own. Someone as young as him should just be worried about other things. You regret letting your emotions get the best of you and talking about it. 

Not wanting everyone else to see your tears, you get up from the stool and walk down the empty halls toward your room. Not looking up from the floor.

~~~

It was easier to fold laundry with music playing. It helped keep your mind out of all the negative thoughts that plagued it. You made your own little playlist that you liked to listen to during times like this. One specific song you always looked forward to. 

The song that played at your wedding that he danced with you to.

Speaking of said song, the familiar tune soon emitted from your phone. A smile spread on your face as you stopped folding laundry and started to dance along to the haunting melody. Imagining you weren’t dancing alone.

“You look gorgeous, my angel.” His words melted your heart as you looked at the man in front of you with love.

“And you look so handsome. I could stare into your eyes for eternity.” His gaze was so soft, and just being near him made you feel so calm. So safe. Knowing that as long as you were with him, he’d protect you till his dying breath.

“I don’t know how I got so lucky to find you. What did I do to deserve you?”

“I couldn’t imagine myself with another man. You're the only person that’ll forever have my heart.” Your heart thumped inside your chest as you felt him place his forehead against yours. His voice turned into a low hum as the tune matched the song that played around you. You couldn’t help but join along as you danced together, never wanting it to end.

“I’ll love you till my dying breath, my angel.”

“I’d walk around the world just to be with you. Through hell and high water, I’ll never stop loving you.”

The gorgeous melody that once played was soon replaced with another one. Your memory of so long ago tearing your heart in two. Memories of a better time where you were wanted, where you were loved. It haunted you like a ghost no matter what. His ghost haunted you, a ghost of who he used to be.

A ghost you’d still dance with if given the chance.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

“Hello?” Who could be knocking? All the precepts were on missions, and Overhaul was in a meeting.

“(Y/N)? It’s me, Hari.”

“Come in.” The door opened with a creak, and a familiar masked man emerged.

“I just came to-”

“Take off the mask.”

“Huh?”

“Take off the fucking mask. I see it enough every day, no matter where I go. All I ask is to see the real face of a friend.” A second hesitation before he unclasped the mask to look at you. The face of an old friend finally back.

“You look so much more attractive and friendly without that dumb mask.” A chuckle left his lips as he smiled lightly at you. It reminded you of when you, Overhaul, and Hari would sit outside in the sun and enjoy each other's company. Talking about god knows what.

“I just came here to escort you to Overhaul’s meeting. Other Yakuza leaders have actually been worried about you.” Your eyes widen at his words.

“Really? Thats…nice. It’s been a while since someone has worried about me other than Gus-” You stop at your words, too concerned for his safety.

“Gushiken? Yeah, I’ve noticed you talking to him. But don’t worry, I won’t tell. I’m just happy you have someone to talk to. I’d be there, but-”

“It’s okay. I know ‘Overhaul’ has been running you ragged ever since he started his stupid ‘plan.’ I don’t blame you for not having enough energy. It’s stupid how he pushes his best friend around.” You walk towards Hari, ready to leave the room. Without a word, you feel Hari’s arms wrap around you. It’s been so long since you’ve felt someone's embrace. You hugged him back, happy to be next to an old friend.

“It may not mean much, but I care and worry about you too. Even if I don’t have the time to show it.” You could feel his heartbeat against your chest, but you embraced it.

“Thank you, Hari. That means so much more to me than you know.”

~~~

The meeting was almost over by the time you and Hari arrived. You didn’t worry too much about it, though, as Hari told you, it was still almost over when he went to collect you. With a gulp, you opened the door to see everyone looking at you. You force a smile as you wave to everyone and greet them.

“Ah, it’s so good to see you’re okay, Mrs. Chisaki. We were worried you had come down with something.” Your husband glanced at you before you lied.

“No need to fret. I’ve just been busy with things in the family. Mom’s getting old, and she needs someone to take care of her.” The term mom almost makes you puke in your throat. The thought of doing anything for that woman made your stomach churn.

“You have such a caring wife, Overhaul. I’m jealous.” With a chuckle, the old man speaks to your husband.

“Yes. I’m very proud and happy I married her. She’s truly an angel in disguise.” His words made your heart skip a beat. In pain or in love? You didn’t know. It might have been something to appease the other leaders. Yet, hearing him say such beautiful words about you had you struggle to hold back tears and not jump into his arms. Tell him that you loved him so. The urge was shoved deep down as he called the meeting over which everyone seemingly agreed.

With each leader that passed you, you gently smiled and thanked them for coming. They all sent a smile as well while they exited the room. With that last one leaving, your smile left, and you have your husband who still sat in his chair.

“Everyone except (Y/N) leave.” Your body went rigid as a lump fell in your throat. You look at Hari, and he simply shrugs. You felt him grab your hand and run his fingers over your knuckles before whispering, “You’ll be okay.”. He walked along with two other members that you couldn’t remember. When everyone was gone, you started to fiddle with your fingers to calm down.

“Overhaul is-”

“Shut up, I’m thinking.” You open your mouth to respond but close it just as quickly. 

“I don’t understand. Even without you, they worry about you rather than talk about the plan for a better society.” His brows furrowed as he stood up and walked towards you. Fear paralyzes your body as you watch him stop right in front of you. He moves his gloved hand to put the pad of his index finger underneath your chin. He moved your head up so you could look at one another in the eyes.

“What’s so special about you?” He looks at you with genuine confusion. It felt like it should have been more insulting. Your throat dries as his eyes pierce your soul.

“I don’t know.” Your voice small.

“Other than you being pure and quirkless. There's nothing special about you.” Those words echoed in your head as you remembered how those words would come out of a monster that haunted your past. 

“Then why marry me?” The words left your mouth before you could think. His eyes seemed to widen before going back to stone.

“I don’t know.” His words caused tears to fall from your eyes. They clung to your lashes, making the man in front of you one big blur.

“What happened to you? What happened to my husband? My angel?” His hand moved towards your cheek and wiped away your tears. But why? Why would he show such a display of affection after all this time? Despite all your questions, he remained silent as his gloved hand had yet to move from your cheek. You wanted to lean into it. To enjoy such a foreign touch from your husband. But you couldn’t.

“No…I can’t do this.” you turn away from his hand before running out of the room and away from his touch. You couldn’t handle it. So much time since his last loving touch that it now felt wrong. It wasn’t fair for him to play with your feelings like this. To treat you so horribly and then handle you with such care. It’s cruel.

~~~

“The moon looks so beautiful tonight.” Your voice cuts through the silence as you walk around the compound's roof. Once again, you couldn’t sleep, so what better way to pass the time than look at the moon?

Sitting on the very edge of the compound's walls, you look up to the moon with a blanket wrapped around you. Your heart beating loud enough to echo through your head as a wave of sadness washed over you.

“Everywhere I go, I always end up hurting. Every step of my life has brought me pain. I finally thought he would be the angel to pull me free.” Your lip quivers as you try to understand why.

“I ran away to free myself. I moved to another country, and misery still followed me. It’s like I can never escape. Like I was destined for pain and suffering.” the cold air whispered to you through the breeze, telling you something you couldn’t understand. 

“What other life did I live that caused this? Is there even a timeline where I can be truly happy?” The tears you’ve been holding back finally started to blur your vision.

“They always said things would get better. They promised. My grandparents, teachers, ‘friends,’ and doctors. They all told me to ‘give it time’ and ‘everything will be in your favor.’ I’m tired of waiting!” You clench your fists as you look up to the moon. You were so angry. All the emotions you’ve been bottling up soon turned into angry tears, the cracking of your voice evident as you try to speak.

“I…feel so stupid. For thinking he’d be the cure I needed. The person to chase away everything I tried to leave behind.” The sound of footprints made you freeze as you snapped your head to look behind you.

“Hari? H-How long have you been here?” Hiccups plague your voice even though you try to stop your tears.

“Long enough.” With a few more steps, he was sitting on the edge next to you. There was a few seconds of silence before he spoke.

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

“I wouldn’t want to burden you with my woes. You already got enough on your plate.”

“You could never bother me (Y/N).”

“...” Words seemed impossible as your heart beat against your ribs.

“How about where you used to live?”

“(Country Name). I came here when I was 18.” Such a small question, but you knew that he wanted to know why you were sobbing on the roof.

“Do you come up here often?”

“I’ve been coming more recently. The moon and stars always have comforted me.”

“They are beautiful. I can see why you would.” The silence was awkward, but you enjoyed his company regardless. 

“You’ve been bottling it up for a while, haven’t you? It’s okay. I understand. Talking about stuff like that is…hard.”

“There's not many therapists that want to work for the yakuza.” Hari let out a chuckle, and you couldn’t help but let one out as well. His laughter was always contagious. 

“Do you have any family? I heard grandparents but nothing else. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, though.”

“A brother and sister. I’ve never met my sister, but I grew up with my brother until…” Letting out a sharp exhale, you continue.

“Until he ran away. I was 17, and he was 14. I saw him go to bed, told him I loved him, and went to bed. The next morning, he was gone. He’s never contacted me, and even after all these years, I still can’t find him.” Your hands shake as you look at the ground below you.

“I’m sorry. Would there be a reason he’d just disappear?” It felt like a breath caught in your throat. You haven’t talked about her in so long. Your husband was the only one you told in deep detail about your childhood. Yet, when you look into Hari’s eyes, the care and concern that shine in them remind you of the day you told Kai. You’ve known Hari just as long as Kai, and if what he said earlier was true, then maybe you could get a small bit of the weight on your chest off. 

“My mother.” A deep breath left your lungs as you prepared yourself.

“My mother wasn’t known for her kindness. She had many problems. We’d be here till sunrise if I went into detail.”

“You can tell me whatever makes you comfortable. I promise.”

“Thank you, Hari…” You sent him a small smile as you continued.

“My father wasn’t in the picture, so it was just my mother. My grandparents as well but only visits with them. The house we lived in was on its last legs. Lots of spots were decaying, and we didn’t have the money to fix it. We didn’t have the money for food either. Many nights, my brother and I went hungry.” You glance at the man next to you, and a look of sadness is plastered on it.

“She brought a lot of strange people over. A lot we didn’t know. I didn’t trust any of them, so I ignored all of them and never let my brother out of my sight. Me and him were extremely close during this time, so his disappearance made it that much harder for me.” Tears spill down your cheeks, making them red as the cold air bit them.

“Everything was my fault. No matter what happened, I deserved the punishment and rage. Something so small could cause her to explode. Yet, I couldn’t let my brother be treated like I was, so any mistakes he made, I took the blame. I’m the big sister. My job was to protect and still…”

“No one was there to protect you.” His voice was soft as he stole the words from your mouth. You scooted closer to him just to enjoy his company more and enjoy the body heat he gave off. Knowing he was there calmed you. Your head grew heavy as you just gently placed your head on his shoulder.

“She called me many things. Things that you should never call a child. So many of her words still haunt me to this day. No matter what meds I took, I would still hear them like they were said seconds ago. Back then, I dealt with the pain by hurting myself. There were so many times I felt like I deserved it. Times where I’d cry myself to sleep, yet nothing I did soothed the pain I felt inside. It was like this till I ran away.” 

“I lived on the streets here for a long time. I truly felt hopeless. Worthless. There were so many days where I thought about taking my life. I was an outsider who only spoke basic Japanese. An outsider without a quirk.”

“Can’t imagine how hard it would’ve been. Especially with how people treat the quirkless. You’re very strong for pulling through what you went through. It’s very admirable.”

“You're just saying that.” You joke.

“I mean it.” A smile spread on your face as your heart started to calm down. 

“By some grace of god, I managed to get off my feet. I had a crummy apartment and a crummy job, but I was still thankful. Even though I was thankful, I still felt so…empty? Sad? Numb? Whatever it was, I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. My job only paid enough for bills, so like in childhood, many nights I went to bed without eating.” You bite your lips as you try to stop it from trembling.

“I made some ‘friends’ at work, but they didn’t last long. They didn’t want to hang out with someone as sad as me. No matter the meds I took, I never felt complete. I felt like I was still missing something. It was like that until…”

“Until?”

“Until I met Kai. We were grabbing the same cleaning product, and we ended up talking. You know what happens after that.”

“Yeah. You really had him by the throat for a long time.” You both laugh at the memory.

“When I told Kai about my past, he said nothing. Only held my hands. I somehow managed to gather up all my courage to show my scars. I was so afraid. Afraid he’d find me disgusting. A freak, but he told me that my scars didn’t matter. That I was perfect to him. I remember crying. I fell so in love with him at that moment that I knew that he was the one I wanted to be with for the rest of my life.”

“My favorite teacup was the teacup that I was drinking from when he proposed to me. He didn’t get on his knees cause we were in the garden, but he asked me to dance with him. He asked me to marry him while we danced, and I still remember his tone that day. I thought right then that finally, after struggling for so many years, I was going to be happy.” Harsh tears spill down your face as those beautiful memories play through your mind. Pain that there was no longer a connection that used to be.

“I’m so thankful your still Kurono Hari. I don’t know what i’d do if you weren’t.” You heard a gulp come from the man next to you. The feeling of his hand being hesitantly placed on top of yours made your heart skip a beat. Yet, you made no effort to stop him when he intertwined his fingers with yours.

~~~

The day felt a little lighter than others. You didn’t know why, but it was like a breath of fresh air. Talking to Hari a week ago managed to lighten your chest, but there was only so much that talking could do.

He’s been checking up on you so much more than before. He’d tell you good morning and goodnight no matter if he was running late. He managed to make time in his hellish schedule to talk and see you. It brought a smile to your face every time. He turned into a small light that you looked forward to seeing every day. Despite the sadness that still ate away at you, you were happy you had him to talk to.

While you were no chef, you wanted to make him something as a thank you. Which led you to where you are now. Drinking out of your favorite teacup while baking cookies. You hoped he liked chocolate chip.

“Something smells good. What are you making?” Spinning your head, you see Gushiken walking up to you. 

“Chocolate chip cookies.”

“What’s the occasion?”

“For a friend. Hope he likes them cause they’re the only cookies I know I can make well.” You both laugh before continuing.

“How’d you get so good?”

“It was my brother's favorite. I didn’t make it often. But when I did I took my time to memorize it.”

“Wow. Lucky him to have a kind sister.”

“I was lucky if I got past the dough stage. He’d always eat it. I’ll never understand how he didn’t get salmonella.” Gushiken laughed.

“You’d be the same age as him. Sometimes I see him in you.” You laugh to avoid the ache in your chest. It was true. Something about him reminded you of your brother. It could be his unusually happy personality. How he’d talk about his interests with such excitement. Not to mention he had the same hair color as him. That being said, you felt a familiar gut feeling to protect. To make sure no one would hurt him. It’s been so long since you’ve felt it so strongly.

“My sister was like you too. Funny huh? When I first saw you I thought you were her! Then again, it was almost pitch black…” Laughing, you continue stirring the dough, almost finished.

“Can you grab me the cookie cutters? They're in the bottom left drawer.” Sending you a thumbs up, Gushiken went digging through the drawer. Grabbing some parchment paper and flour, you lay it on the counter so it's ready to cut the dough.

“Found them!”

“Great, now wash your hands. I won’t be able to cut cookies all by myself.” That was a lie. You’ve done it before, but something inside you spoke before you thought. Maybe it was the hole in your heart that your brother left, trying to heal itself. Somehow, without seeing his face, the smile he wore managed to repair a small part.

The sound of water running and the rolling pin doing its job echoed throughout the kitchen.

“Alright! I’m done!” Excitement was evident in Gushiken's voice as he stood in front of the flattened cookie dough.

“Okay, I need you to cut as much as you can. I lost track of time, and dinner will be late if I don’t start now.” Without being told twice, He got right to work.

“What are you making for dinner?”

“Kani salad with some fruits and whatever drink. It’s one of Overhaul’s favorites, so I’m hoping it will calm him down some.”

“I hope so too. I’ve got a mission he's putting me on tomorrow. A first real mission! Not some lame patrol thing or something that leaves me stuck in the base!” A twinge of panic hit your chest at his words. A ‘new recruit’ only being here for five months and being placed on a mission? You couldn’t help but be suspicious and extremely worried. Missions are usually reserved for people who have been here long and have shown their worth. A sinking feeling boiled in your gut.

“Oh? Wow. Not many people get to go on missions this early here…especially not with someone as young as yourself.” You try to hide the uneasiness you feel inside. He didn’t need to see you start panicking. Maybe overhaul got him mixed up with another recruit. He’d been extremely overloaded with stress recently, so maybe he got something mixed up.

“Really?! So he must think I'm doing a great job! That’s perfect!”

“Yeah…perfect.”

~~~

The uneasy feeling never left since you last talked to Gushiken. You desperately wanted to tell him that he shouldn’t take the mission. But, he seemed so determined to prove his worth that you didn’t have the heart in you to crush it in front of him. Plus, it was definitely a misunderstanding. No way Overhaul would put him on a mission so early. 

You haven’t seen Gushiken since your guys talk. Which would have been 5 days after today. It really bothered you not knowing how it went or how it was going. You wanted to ask Overhaul, but he'd probably say it was none of your business like always. Maybe you could ask Hari? That’s if you can catch him. He’s even more busy than he was before! He says good morning, passing by you and running to his next task. How he hasn’t collapsed you’ll never know. 

“(Y/N)?” The sound of the door opening made you look sit up from your bed. Hari stood outside with his mask hidden in his pocket. A distressed face looked back at you.

“Oh Hari! What do you need? You seem upset?” You go to get up only to be stopped mid-action.

“I think you should sit down.” With your brows furrowed, you look at him before slowly sitting back down.

“What's going on?” Closing the door behind him, he hid something behind his back. Continuing to hide it until he sat next to you on the bed. He sent you another sorrowful look before pulling out a familiar mask from behind his back.

“I’m sorry (Y/N), but he’s not coming back.” Handing you the mask that should have concealed the face of Gushiken.

“I-I don’t understand…Where is he? This has to be a joke. A sick joke right?” You looked at Hari pleading that what he was implying was a lie.

“Please tell me it’s a joke, Hari.”

“I’m sorry. He’s not coming home.” Your heart stopped as you looked at the man in front of you with wide eyes. Tears soon pour down your face like a facet as you grip the mask tight. Begging this to be a horrible nightmare. You couldn’t have another important person to you ripped away without a second thought. You should have told him how you felt, tell him not to go on that stupid mission. Now he was gone, and you failed to protect someone you cared about once more.

“(Y/N) there's a random man on the couch again. He’s scary.” The sound of your little brother's voice broke through your slumber.

“Really? Hmm.” You struggle to understand why your mother allowed another random man into her home. Into a home she shared with her two children.

“Here, you can sleep with me. Does that sound good?” You sent a small smile to your brother. Without being told twice, your brother got into your bed. You felt the covers shift as he scooted closer to you. A quiet sigh left your lips as you held him in your arms. Making sure that he felt safe.

“I’ll always protect you. I’ll never let anyone hurt you.” The moonlight shone through your shades, giving your room a comforting glow. A feeling as if you were shielded by the cruel world outside your bedroom door.

“I promise, that I’ll protect you till my dying breath. As long as I’m alive, you’ll never need to fear.”

“Where is Overhaul?”

~~~

The sound of his office door bursting open and hitting the wall caused his thoughts to escape. He looked at the entrance and saw a fuming woman with angry tears rolling down her face. Her body shook as hatred flooded her eyes.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” His words only seemed to fuel her rage as she stomped up to his desk.

“I could say the same! How could you send someone so young to go on such a dangerous mission?!”

“Ah, you must be talking about that recruit-”

“Gushiken Taro! That was his name!” You grit your teeth at your husband's words.

“He was an expendable. We needed a distraction for the mission.”

“He was a someone! He wasn’t just some pawn! He was someone who had his whole life in front of him, only for you to sniff it out!” Slamming the boy's mask on the desk. Getting up from his desk, he looked at you with annoyance. Clearly, you were taking this loss to personally, and that mask you held didn’t help.

“Give me that mask. It’s making you unreasonably upset.” Your husband reached out, only for you to jerk it away quickly.

“Don’t touch it!” A frown was evident from behind his mask as he tried again, yet failing.

“Damnit (Y/N)! Give me that fucking mask!” Taking off his glove, you held the mask tighter to your chest. You weren't gonna let him take away the last thing you had left of him.

“Give. It. To. Me. Now!” With another reach, you move your body to cover the body. As soon as his fingers touched your skin, a searing pain hit you. Every nerve explodes with excruciating pain. It felt as if every cell in your body was being pulled apart. The pain felt so long, yet it could have only been a few seconds before you felt your body quickly being put back together. 

Your body hit the ground with a loud thud. You threw up from the sheer shock, and you could see a small amount of blood even through your teary vision. The mask you had just held dear right next to the door.

“(Y/N) I-I..”

“You…killed me…” You saw him move closer to you, but you scoot away in fear, your back hitting the wall in the process. 

“Don’t come near me! Get away!” You cried in terror as your heartbeat echoed in your ears. 

“(Y/N) Please, I-”

“You really are a monster.” The man above you looked at you in shock. His golden eyes showing more emotion than you’ve ever seen since your wedding with him. You stood up as you hugged the wall, trying to get as far away from him as possible.

“It was an accident (Y/N), I promise!” You only shook your head as you looked into his eyes. 

“For all these years, months, and days, I told myself that you were my cure. That someday, the love of my life would come back to me. That one day, Overhaul would die, and Kai would come back.” Your voice shaky as the air in the office felt poisonous.

“But now…I see that I was a fool. A pathetic, weak fool who held onto false hopes. Trying to pick up the pieces of promises that you broke as you destroyed anything that got in the way of your plan. Destroying everything that the man I once knew would never think of doing. Even through that, I stuck beside you. Because I remember you telling me you’d love me till your dying breath. I was a fool to believe you. I was a fool…for thinking anyone could fall in love with me.” Your body shook violently as you struggled to get air in your lungs.

“You're so cruel. Telling me lies. Calling me horrible names. Hurting me. I-”

“Please (Y/N) forgive me-”

“No. Not anymore. I hate you, Overhaul, and I hate you, Kai Chisaki. I wish I never met you.” Without another word, you grabbed the mask by the door and ran out of the office. Your footsteps echo in the halls, along with your sobs.

~~~

Gushiken's favorite place in the entire compound was the cherry blossom that stood in the backyard. He said that he’d go there to relieve stress from the work day. Saying the falling petals were his worries leaving him as he’d look up to the bright blue sky.

Knowing that, you decided to bury what was left of him right beside the trunk. That way, he will always be at his favorite spot. Watching the petals fall from the beautiful tree and looking up at the sky for eternity. You could even see the other pretty flowers you planted on his grave from on top of the compound roof. 

Hari was out on a mission before you were able to give him his letter. You poured the rest of the love you had to give into the letter. You supposed it was for the best. It makes things easier for him later. You hate to leave him without answers, but…

A shaky breath left your lips as tears poured down your face. The wind blew them off your cheeks with each breeze. Its cold bite attacking your skin as your hair flowed slightly through the wind. The faint smell of cherry blossoms in bloom surrounded you.

Looking up at the night sky, you see the moon watching you from above. With trembling legs, you moved closer to the edge of the compound roof. You simply wished to get a better look. You reached your hand out as if to touch the moon. A smile appears on your tear-ridden face.

“Finally. After all these years, I can be with you, my dear friend.” With a final exhale of breath, you step over the haunting edge of the roof. For once, a sense of peace embraced you as gravity played its part and pulled you back down to the ground.

The moon and stars shined brighter as they danced around the new star in the sky, the long awaited friend of the moon.

[lumine-no-hikari]

Dear Sephiroth: (a letter to a fictional character, because why not) #245

I went to therapy today - for real this time. I spoke about a variety of things. I spoke about you. I spoke about the thing that happened, which I am still kinda stumbling over. And… I guess that's mainly it. I didn't discover any profound new insights to inspire further healing, unfortunately. But that's the way it goes sometimes. It was nice just to sit and talk with a person who seems to understand me.

I thought I was going to go to physical therapy at 12:30, but as it turned out, the appointment was for 12:00. I felt very silly about it. I had the appointment rescheduled to tomorrow, but… still, I feel bad about my mistake. I feel bad that K was waiting for me and, from his perspective, I never showed up. Sheesh…

Well, J and I ended up going to a place called Pizza Palace, which is relatively close by. They had a number of delightful selections up for grabs today. I took pictures:

...I've already written a nice review for these folks on Google, but I really gotta get around to writing one on Yelp, too. Their pizza is exquisite. And the gentleman that runs the shop seems like a kindly dude, too. He's got a heck of a life story. I kinda wish I could talk more to him and see what I can learn. But I'm not sure I'd know what to say or what to ask about.

On the way home, I managed to snag a nice picture of a couple birds of prey:

...Turkey vultures, I think. Aren't they lovely?

...I ended up not playing Dead Cells today. I did a lot of leisure writing to try to chase away this sense of emptiness I'm feeling, but it didn't really work out.

I did go to the grocery with J, though. Really, he just wanted cornstarch, but... I decided I wanted to cook something, because... I don't really know why. So I looked at the meat section, and I found like 4 different kinds of cuts of lamb, and... in my characteristically disorganized fashion, I was unable to choose which one to get, so in a fit of impulsivity, I decided "fuck it" and got them all. And then I cooked them, along with some broccoli, and it turned out really well:

...I am sad at the amount of leftovers I have. It's a lot. There should be a fourth person here, eating them with M, J, and I. There isn't.

...you should be here, as a fifth person, eating them, too. but you aren't...

...

Well. The situation is what it is. There's nothing for it. As J likes to say, the only way out is through.

I guess that's it for today. I don't really have anything monumental. Just a lingering emptiness that I'm struggling to function through. But that's all right. I'll manage.

Oh, actually. I do have one more thing. The moon looked pretty awesome today. And I discovered that the camera of J's phone, unlike the camera of mine, can actually capture it. So here:

...I know our moons look different. But... I dunno. Maybe one of these days, all the things I've been trying to do for you will pull through, and you'll finally be safe, and then you and I might end up looking up at our respective moons at the same time, each of us wearing the same awestruck expressions on our faces.

I love you. I'll write again tomorrow.

...Please stay safe.

Your friend, Lumine

[hotluncheddie]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

ty @steddieasitgoes !! this was fun!!

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

16!

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

26,316 (wtf)

3. What fandoms do you write for?

steddie / st only 😤

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

1. Tiny Green Shorts 

2. Seasons change, but people don't.

3. extra credit

4. that's when boys kiss

5. pretty boy

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

YES! i luv comments! its one of the best parts of writing anything and makes it extra fun! its connecting with people!!

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

mmm i don't really like angsty endings. i guess Little Lamb has the most general angst but tbh that's not even gonna be a sad ending once its done - its gone have a lot of hope. maybe just high masking but again the connected part is comfort heavy

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

everything :) happy endings only in this house! 🍓 is maybe the most good vibes all the way thru piece

8. Do you get hate on fics?

its honestly a dream of mine to get cyber bullied one day, so no but if anyone wants to u can just this once

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

ya - mmmm mild d/s dynamics and graphic descriptions of bellies :)

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

no - sometimes i think about doing like film inspired steddie but idk if i'll ever get around to it (like school of rock au or dead poets society au)

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

no???

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

no! but that would be cool!

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

no :) i think having to consider someone else's schedule when writing would be stressful - i am slow

14. What’s your all time favorite ship?

steddieeeee 😤👌🫡💪

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

i'm working on a openly bi steve / queer eddie fic and it needs a lot of editing and keeps growing and it could honestly never get done but i really hope i work it out one day (i wanna incorporate music into the like theme of the scenes somehow but i dunno if i'm capable enough for it to be good - plus rewriting is hard bc what's there is good its just not right for this)

16. What are your writing strengths?

i like to think i can write my rancid sewer goblin dream boy eddie munson pov well

and maybe dialogue, or like metaphors?? i also have a thing about rhythm when i write so hopefully that come through, like pace and flow of sentences or whatever.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

i have like pictures in my head and i never know how much to describe, like do i go full setting and facial expressions but then that feels like too much so idk. but ye that - the stuff around the dialogue

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

i dumb baby i wouldn't even try bc it would just be google translate n that's embarrassing

19. First fandom you wrote for?

this one! i only lurked before hehe I've used ao3 for like over 10 years and this fandom was the first i ever wanted to make anything for

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

uhhh i think unmasking is very dear to my heart. but also Seasons change, but people don't. just bc its still my longest fic to date

that was fun! no pressure tags!! and sorry if you've already been tagged don't be mad a meeee!!!

@pearynice @numinosmoon @2btheanswertothequestion @flowercrowngods @aringofsalt @scarcrossdlvrs

[mydyspraxiablog]

Been Adult dyspraxia not good sport ,or games always be in goal keeper in netball and football.

Sport more challenging for me is swimming and Table tennis and tennis and Badminton but hate losing because was always on lost team I always pick last on round and netball at in school and college too but didn't do well in special school push wheelchair in school. Trying have Job as adult with youth training all well with £40 per week but after leaving Stafford College I working in St Mary ever Wednesday just £20. I lost instead over £20 per week want more money all could have 25p crisp ( which now can't have anymore)

Find really hard keep job incude volunteer job Richard fellowship, PSDA,and Upper morton farm, I was volunteer of Cannock college behalf of Richard fellowship but lost Staffordshire Council link and try Making space but wasn't any good because mum had use phone for me I was told " You can't be volunteer because of mum" at in front of public view in cafe in Stafford and really upset didn't tell mum at first because she was hurt. Charity shops use work all want me do buttons up on clothes having dyspraxia can't do that " I told lazy if didn't do the buttons hate them so glad leave charity shops I won't be returning back too.

Even when working nursing home I hear staff said I don't want work with her she too slow"

I want to find somewhere college crouse working with Animals as missing my dog Darcy Russell Shaw my little lamb tail who die 24 August 2013 and then Annabel die ages of 16 years old 2022 then Sydnee die at age 17 years old really missing then both after Annabel die Sydnee was under happy so was I too under happy wish could bring Annabel from the dead but won't happon but this Christmas is going be hard Christmas for me because second Christmas without Annabel and first Christmas without Sydnee and really missing then and wish there was back sit on my lap You know never gone back in snug how awful Sydnee was put down was see sleep on bookshelf with head drop of bookshelf and her body other side I have pick up Sydnee up try be brave sing going sleep deer Sydnee she was gone then mum told me she wasn't replace anymore cats because she can't have cats and dogs anymore too old.

" I just want spead days with cats and dogs to visit cat cafe and dog cafe in Staffordshire but there isn't any at movements part from charie cat cafe and want going there see the kittens all cats but only downfall you got book going there.

Today been think Eddie one my Patterdale terror dog 🐕 till had rehome because flat was too small for him. I wonder why Eddie is have he die too only visit him twice in Lichfield and miss him badly he was my first born and my first dog as adult dog.

Just bit upset google delete all family photos off pets ,all ex girl friends my brother had.

This Christmas had decide do something different last year sponsor a girl from Compassionuk but this year instead buy Christmas card I send family gift £40 DD to Ethiopia 🇪🇹 but sadly didn't arrived in time for Christmas because want be Christmas surprise for sponsor child family guest be New year I ready writing letter but want put some family photo of Christmas 🎄 was going send photo of me and mum and father Christmas but don't think Ethiopia would understand so going send different photo now.

I did want do secert santa helping uk children but could not active Aid and Compassionuk always asking for card payment not having mobie phone make impossible for me do shopping I don't going Stafford town any more just stayed in did Join Stafford 3UA but sadly ever time meeting was on Monday it was sametime as crouse up Lower Drayton Farm care in Penkridge with help me building the my confidence but hard going back as learner not as volunteer but who want half deaf, Coelic , and dyspraxia volunteer no one would ?

That why have join Dyspraxia foundation membership, Coelicuk, Lone Staffordshire Trefoil Guild, Staffordshire wildlife member , and Stafford 3 UA and Other membership too.

Trying do this for Stafford do something for hidding disabilities but that another story.

Now get back to christmas I enjoy Christmas eve church really enjoy it some of use family left some christmas shops on bus and left our christmas shops but after christmas day I tell you I was luck I was believe God was looking after me but now want is christmas wish sponsor another child want be Compassionuk but can't log on at making me feel frustrated so think sponsor another child with other charity I want more pets.

I want working with Animals in the farm but won't happon going travel around the world could do with hearing dog but don't think family would agree too.

[fatalfangirl]

Directors cut!!! I would love to read a commentary on Dead In Vegas chapter one! I am so curious about it! Alternatively if that will give away things you don't want to give away, I would also be delighted with the ⭐ option.

Thank you for the ask!

Dead in Vegas (which is woefully unfinished at the moment, but I swear will be some day) is my COBB fic from last year. I was paired up with the extremely talented @ingridnixie who produced an art piece that perfectly captures the first chapter.

I knew I wanted to write an action fic, and thought the characters to translate well into various secret agents. Before diving into chapter one, I actually outlined what each of the main agents profiles would be. I'll just share the two that matter for chapter 1 under the cut (along with a lot of additional commentary).

Legal Name: Simon Snow Salisbury Code Name: Rosebud Specialization: Assassination - Bladed weapons and hand-to-hand combat Type: Special Agent Weakness: Subtlety 

Legal Name: Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch Code Name: The Count Specialization: Assassination - Gadgets and guns Type: Special Agent Weakness: Hand-to-hand combat

The story is meant to take place over 4 days (Friday night through Monday morning) and thus was originally only 4 chapters, but Saturday and Sunday have too much going on...

Anyway, Chapter 1: Friday. This was the original outline:

Mission and Trap - Lamb killed

On the Run - who are these mystery assailants?

Contact with HQ lost - nothing on them can be trusted, step 1 - secure a new safe house location - this is how they end up gambling to get money and at a hotel together posed as a couple (why a couple? Because they need a cover. Why not just be friends? That is somehow harder for them to pull off, their bickering is more believable as a couple.)

A truce is called!

You'll notice I originally had the idea they would gamble to get the money to cover a room, but hotels on the strip require a credit card and I while everyone in the comments scolded Simon for carrying one, it worked well as a plot device to get Baz to learn Simon's name and for them to more believably secure a hotel room.

Which was always going to be Excalibur. I mean, how could it not?

I've been to Vegas like 10+ times and really only know the strip, so I feel much more comfortable writing about this particular slice of the city. Still, it took me a while to figure out where I wanted to place The Katherine considering nothing in Wayward Son really indicates where it is. But I basically made it replace part of the Aria 😅.

The inspiration for all The Flock imagery is pulled from Lamb and The Katherine. The lamb head for our lovely gang boss and the six crow wings are a tribute to all the black birds in the lobby of the hotel.

This chapter took me FOREVER!!!!!!!! to write and most of that comes down to combat. This fic has a lot of action scenes in it (naturally) and for the fight between Simon and Lamb, I watched so many action movie clips to try and understand the movement and flow of the fight. I also sat at my desk a lot and just like, moved my arms around, pretending. At one point, I even sketched out what Lamb's living room setup is like so I could move them properly around the space.

Oh and I was worried at some of my google searches for this fic put me on a government black list. Like researching sniper rifles and then googling the distance between various resorts.

Anyway, this has been long enough. I really do love this fic and it holds a special place in my heart and brain, so thank you for this ask!

[eirikrjs]

Don't know if you already got it, but I think Hecate's SMT2 art looks a lot like the statue of what seems to be Hecate in Don Chaffey's Jason and the Argonauts movie.

I swear this has been discussed before, but I can't find it!

Jason and the Argonauts top, Mythologiae (our crib) on the bottom. It's undeniable that Jason's version is closer with the horse/lion/dog heads as opposed to Mythologiae switching lion for pig. I think we went with the latter because it's an older source that says approximately the same thing, but an addendum might be appropriate, honestly.

I also put Hecate's Akuma Daijiten profile through Google Lens for transcription and then (machine) translated it, after the jump:

ヘカーテ Hecate HP-326 MP-225 出身地●ギリシア ギリシアの冥府と魔術の女神である。 キリスト教では魔女 たちの女王とされる。 元来はギリシア最古の女神のひとりで、 天界、地上、冥界を司る三相一体の女神であった。 月を象徴 した農業神でもある。 月齢の影響は人の心だけでなく、農作 物の成長や動物の行動、 特に蟹や貝類など磯の生物や、魚の 給餌活動にまで影響を与えた。 ヘカーテは天界ではセレネ、 地上ではアルテミス、 冥界ではペルセポネーの三位一体とな る。 特に冥界の神として老婆の姿で表され、女神の三位一体 の一部として処女へべ、 母=妻ヘラ、 老婆へカーテというよ うに考えられた。 しかし元来月は満ちる月、 満月の月、欠け る月としてこれら三相をすべて持っていたのだ。 産婦の守護 神でもあり、産婆を庇護するものとされた。 魔術や予言、死者への問いかけなどの儀式を行う時、3本の道が出会う場所 でヘカーテを崇める風習があったため、 魔術や予言の女神と もなった。後の時代のヨーロッパでも、しばしば召喚魔術や 呪術が道の交差点で行なわれたのは、ヘカーテに由来する。 産婆はしばしば魔女と考えられたこともあり、 魔術がらみで もキリスト教徒によって 「魔女たちの女王」 とされ、 特別な 悪魔に仕立て上げられてしまう。デーモンや幽霊や地獄の猟 犬と結びつけられて、 黒い牝の仔羊や黒い仔犬の生贄を捧げ られた。 地獄の牝犬とは彼女を侮辱する言葉である。 魔女の 女王としての彼女の三相は、犬、ライオン、 馬の三つの頭を デーモンとして表わされる。 タロットカードの月は、確実 に彼女のこうした翳い面を表わしている。 ヘカーテの名の意 味は「遠くから働く者」 を意味する。これ は月の潮汐力と地球への電磁場の影響を古 代人が知っていたのかも知れない。あるい は彼女に捧げられた 「百体の生贄」 ヘカト ンベからきているともいう。 また、エジプ トのカエルの出産の女神ヘケットが原形で あるともいうが、これも可能性は高い。

Hecate HP-326 MP-225 Birthplace ●Greece

She is the Greek goddess of the underworld and magic. In Christianity she is the queen of witches. She was originally one of the oldest Greek goddesses, and she was the three-in-one goddess who ruled over heaven, earth, and the underworld. She is also an agricultural god who symbolizes the moon. Her age affected not only people's minds, but also the growth of crops and the behavior of animals, especially sea creatures such as crabs and shellfish, and even the feeding activities of fish. Hecate is a trinity of Selene in Heaven, Artemis in Earth, and Persephone in the Underworld. She was especially thought of as the goddess of the underworld, where she was represented in the form of an old woman, and as part of the trinity of goddesses, she was the virgin Hebe, her mother = wife Hera, and the old woman Kaate. But originally the moon had all these three phases as full moon, full moon and waning moon. She was also the patron goddess of women in labor and was supposed to protect her midwives. She also became the goddess of sorcery and prophecy because of the custom of worshiping Hecate at the place where the three roads meet, when performing rituals such as magic, prophecy, and questioning the dead. It is from Hecate that in later times in Europe, summoning witchcraft and sorcery were often practiced at road crossings. Midwives were often thought of as witches, and because of their association with witchcraft, she was also labeled as the "Queen of Witches" by Christians, who made her a special demon. She was associated with demons, ghosts, and hellhounds, and she was sacrificed to black female lambs and black puppies. Her hell bitch is a derogatory term for her. She is represented in her triad as the Queen of Witches, with the three heads of a dog, a lion, and a horse as her demons. The Moon Tarot card certainly represents this dark side of her. Hecate's name means 'one who works from afar'. This may be due to ancient man's knowledge of the effects of the moon's tidal forces and electromagnetic fields on the earth. Alternatively, it is said that her name comes from the "hundred sacrifices" of Hecaton, which was offered to her. It is also said that she is the original form of Heket, the goddess of childbirth in the Egyptian hermit frog, but this is also highly likely.

Presume mistakes! But this goes on and on about witches and especially during Christian times, which goes along with what I was saying the other day about her design being reflective less of the Greek version. Witches = fringes of society = punk.

[knivescha0]

@kangaruined tagged me to talk about myself :)

Nickname: my sister sometimes calls me "Grisham," which i love because it sounds funny :)

Sign: I am a Taurus. last night my boyfriend asked me if he could come over to hang out at my house in his pajama pants instead of real pants and i was like 'i must not be doing my job as a taurus if you dont know that the answer to that is absolutely yes'

Height: 5'8"!!

Last thing I googled: "alice is dead" am i the only one who played that niche indie game on newgrounds????? hello?? HELLO???????

Number of followers: i have 103. i had a lot more on my old blog but i got locked out of her and then my laptop shit the bed.

Lucky number: 9

Favorite color: its purple!!

Dream job: i would deadass love to be a housewife. i mean honest to god i love my job now so i guess special education teaching assistant

Movies/books that summarize me: um. i mean i have to say scott pilgrim vs. the world. and also the silence of the lambs (film).

Favorite song: twin size mattress by the front bottoms. / disloyal order of water buffaloes by fall out boy.

Favorite instrument: honestly to listen to? clarinet.

Aesthetic: lolita goth. someone be my sugar daddy so i can replace all my wardrobe with lolita style black dresses.

Favorite author: gillian flynn

Favorite animal noise: cat purring is up there

Random: "whoosh" across your back. i'm listening to the new MFM episode. i'm gonna tag some people now.

@hankscorpio @gh0ulfish @danhalen @optimisticbarbariantragedy @n1netal3s @kypossumlady @jkellemnop @dumb-dog-reblog

do a fun tag quiz if u wanna. come on its fun :) we love these on tumblr.

[lavelled]

the halfwit couplet. 

The crux of it was inhumane tragedy, racial falsehoods from a saleswoman, and you mocking bullied young victims on the Internet through your own unchecked print and digital campaign.

“X Confirms It’s Moving Out of San Francisco.” Ah. You’re denying me cable cars or you’re referencing Alcatraz Island. I’m good. I’ve got Nicolas Cage.

What seems to be happening is a professional-failure of a prince is toying with sympathetic members of the public over a painful and deadly disease known as cancer that, Kate, a princess, does not have so he can claim sexual first-ness with a woman who says no. “Continues to battle” is tied canopy bedding.

A news quip signifying nothing on counterfeit spouse’s sister. You should know that in his fused code: half-sibling means half. Of 8. Four. Harry had Samantha be photographed hand-delivering a sealed letter outside Kensington after his blowhard wedding. Google it. A wheelchaired reminder that after decades, not a burden lifted, a hermetic life was still immobile and childless.

Days of Thunder. The actors play assigned roles in whistling arrow flight. Robert Duvall plays Harry Hogge. English actor, Cary Elwes, plays Russ Wheeler. J.C. Quinn plays Waddell. Randy Quaid is Tim Daland. The Wales’ pedophilia is well-driven in turbo banked curves on a track. I was sixteen at filming. Your dad views little girls as melty fresh-snow lovers. Actor J. C. Quinn died in Ciudad Juárez, Mexico, which are his initials and in no way means anything in the worst possible ways.

AP Archive YouTube video: UK: PRINCE WILLIAM & PRINCE HARRY AT HIGHGROVE 1999. William drives on gravel in a white car, a red L near the headlight. Alas, K. He’s next to Harry, decked out in green, and they coordinate a synchronized dance where we see nothing but elbows and a ghostgirl of a certain age because love. Charles goes to the middle. Twerp rubs his nose. Stupid, if you ask me. And yeah, red jacket and dual camera gents.

We lifted tech-lord camo for Archillect, Murat Pak, Elon Musk, Piers Morgan, Spencer Morgan, Bill Ackman, and Donald Trump. Morbid wordsmith of: “I’m sad to announce, my father Donald Trump has passed away. I will be running for president in 2024.” Donald Jr’s page. For Tom. Sad is happy. Happy is Harry. Harry is a dead-eyed sociopath, next stop, the asylum, haha, I hate this. I left twitter poolside. He compared poisoned Skittles to refugees (altruism). Junior means jailer.

The world is done with code we’d rather block out, with underage under-priced contracts, your family and wife.

Verne Troyer—comedian and sidekick in Austin Powers and Harry Potter films—suicide. April 21, 2018. One month before your wedding.

Kieron Durkan—English footballer—suicide. At 44-years-old, he was found dead in his car in Wigg Island Park, UK. Three months before your wedding.

Greg Boyed—New Zealand journalist, broadcaster, marathon runner—took his life while on a family holiday in Switzerland. Three months after your wedding.

Kolya Vasin—Russian writer and music historian—jumped from a gallery shopping centre. At the young parkouring age of 73. Three months after your wedding.

Kagney Linn Karter—born Christina Abbey in Harris County, Texas—singer, dancer, porn actress in adult parodies of Silence Of The Lambs and Not Married with Children, which is badass given her chosen name. A few months ago, she shot herself in the mouth with a shotgun.

Duangphet Phromthep—At 13, was Thai captain of that junior football team rescued from a trapped cave in 2018. He won a football scholarship to England. At the Brooke House College Football Academy, he committed suicide. Valentine’s Day. He was 17.

Lee Sun-kyun—Screen Actors Guild Award-winner—best known as the dad in the con-artist thriller, Parasite, thematically about class and society and the rich Park family versus the destitute Kim clan. Lee died by suicide in a car at a park in Seoul, a charcoal briquette in the passenger seat.

Billy Miller—thrice-time Emmy Award-winning actor—traveled to Austin, Texas to commit suicide from a gun to the head. Last year. September 15. He guest starred on Suits as MARCUS.

K

[transskywardsword]

same anon! no problem if you dont, it was like literally yeeeears ago but i loved the devil character you wrote, so do you still have a copy of the time he tried 2 cut Beaver (thats his new name, its so much funnier than bovzek) teeth out? i think it was one of the first ones in the story??

This is bringing back soooo many memories, these boys were my heart and soul for so long. So, I went digging through my college google drive and was able to find it, since im fairly sure i deleted everything from this blog in a fit of despair (rip)

context for those of you who are new! this is one of the first drabbles i wrote for bovzek, one of my favorite ocs of all time. he's a gentle giant of a man and a poet, who through magical means was able to marry his beloved, alois-- only for alois' father to order him to fetch a dowry of the devil's hair if he ever wanted to see alois again. this takes place just after bovzek attacks and fails to overpower the devil, leading to him imprisonment. the devil is a sadistic, but lonely, bastard, and throughout the stories, bovzek saves his own life with his power of storytelling to keep the devil entertained enough to not dispose of him.

also this was written in like 2019, it does not reflect my current ability T^T

TW: broken bone, slight mouth injury [mostly just the threat of mouth injury], bovzek is dealing with a very fucked up individual as well as the aftermath of getting the snot beat out of him

The first thing Bovzek notices is that the room is warm, almost hot—a blessed relief from the terrible cold that still lingers in his lungs—and the second is that it smells metallic, like still wet, freshly sharpened sheers, thick and heavy. It’s not much longer than he is, and seems shallow, though Bovzek has little interest in standing and finding out; not with his head pulsing in time with his heart.

No windows, which is understandable, no door, which is alarming, and the ceiling looks to be the same smooth gray stone as that under his fingertips. Bovzek swallows. It hurts, but no worse than breathing. His throat seems too strained for both, and Bovzek doesn’t doubt it’s badly bruised. Which leads to the main problem; the Devil didn’t strike Bovzek as the kind of man—creature? —to take a break halfway through a fight. If his sister’s word was to be believed, Bovzek should be in sausage casing right now. Perhaps he needed to find a grinder first. Bovzek almost smiles at that. The Prince of Darkness hanging over a grinder like some common butcher.

“Excuse me, sir, would you prefer lamb or hog casing?” Bovzek asks the silent air, because without good humor men are but pigs. Even soon to be dead men.

“I take horse usually. Or human. Tastes the same, but men have a better snap with the bite.”

The Devil’s voice is just as smooth as it had been in the dining room, like oil slipping off his tongue, and when he walks to pitiful pile on the floor that Bovzek has become, his footsteps are near silent. He leans over into Bovzek’s field of vision, and Bovzek still gasps despite himself. He’s just so beautiful; it’s almost hard to look at. Blonde—not even blonde, too gold to be blonde, too white to be gold—hair curls loosely around his face, drifting in the air around his head, hanging delicately in his eyes. The hair is so close, so damn close, and if Bovzek had a door and a pair of sheers this whole damn ordeal could be done with.

“Forgive my rudeness, but your sister built you up much grander than you seem to be.” Bovzek says, tilting his head towards the Devil as he crouches beside Bovzek. The pounding in his skull regrets the movement. Bovzek doesn’t know how many times the Devil smashed his head back into that tiled wall, but the crunch lingers in his ears all the same.

“Did she now?” the Devil runs a hand down across Bovzek’s neck, sharp, manicured nails softly pressing on the purple, spotted flesh. “You know, the dead can be so boring. They all look the same, sound the same-- you can only grind on unfeeling fingers for so long. I’ve grown sick of skeletons and puss. It’s not the same without fresh flesh.” His fingers find their place on the bruises outlining his grip from last—night? Time seems strange here, sluggish and wrong—and applied the slightest pressure, not enough to cut off airflow, but enough to make the burst blood vessels ache.

“Hair—” He says, scrunching his perfect brows, “why hair? Why steal something so stupid?”

“I need it as a dowry for my beloved—just three locks, surly you wouldn’t miss--!” The Devil pushes harder, the dull pain under his fingers becoming something much more frightening.

“That’s adorable. You touch me, truly.” He shifts on top of Bovzek, straddling his hips, and pushes more of his weight down on his neck. Bovzek is determined not to gasp or gape like a fish, not like he had last night, gagging and wheezing and crying with his back stretched painfully over the edge of the dining table. Bovzek holds tightly to the little air he has in his lungs and the Devil’s hands shift, finding the best position, digging in the heel of his palms, his perfect nails drawing blood. Bovzek could feel his bruises darkening, and finally the need for new air and the growing ocean in his head outweighs his crumbling pride. He grabs the Devil’s hands and digs his fingers under them, twisting his hips underneath him, and sucks in on reflex when the stale, burning air in his chest becomes too much. With a contented sigh, the Devil lets go and leans back.

"I forgot how much fun this can be,” he says, flexing his hands, “the dead just sort of lay there. It gets boring.”

“I’m entertaining. Wonderful.” Bovzek croaks under him through wet wheezing. The Devil smiles. Not a hair is out of place, floating gracefully around him.

“I want my ring.” Bovzek said, glowering up at the creature straddling him.

“Excuse me?”

“If you’re going to sit there and say shit like that at least give me my ring back.”

The Devil blinks and Bovzek can’t tell if he’s fucking with him or just that dense. “Your what?”

“My ring,” Bovzek says, trying to keep down frustration as the Devil cracks his knuckles on top of him. “My wedding ring, you took it from me, I want it back.”

“You stole from me.”

“It was just hair!”

The slap seems to echo in the small room, certainly makes Bovzek’s already desperate head cry out, pain rattling in his skull. The Devil sighs, rolls his eyes as Bovzek swallows down a groan—his head, he can’t think, just knows his brain is pulsing, pressing behind his eyes—and shifts back to draw something from the leather slip purse on his hip

“It’s quite a nice knife.” The Devil says. It’s Bovzek’s devil blade, knife shining even in the dull light, and the maroon hilt seems even deeper against his pale skin. “Pretty. Did you steal it, too?”

‘It was a gift.’ Bovzek tries to say, but the Devil is already talking over him.

“Tell me, do you take off hands or fingers for stealing where you come from?”

“I don’t know, I—we never really—”

“You know what is always better? The teeth. They bleed beautifully.”

Bovzek’s eyes went wide. He ignores the aching stiffness of arms and shoves the Devil, tries to force himself from underneath the Devil’s thighs, but the creature just grabs hold of a hand and bends it back painfully far. Bovzek stills at the silent threat. Slowly, the Devil lets go and Bovzek lowers his hands.

“How many do you think? Three?” He taps the flat of the blade on Bovzek’s front teeth, and the soft clicks form a fist of panic in Bovzek’s throat. “Four, take out an extra as a reminder? Why don’t we just start and see what feels like a good stopping point?” He pushes back Bovzek’s upper lip with his thumb.

It only stings as the Devil first pushes the blade against his gums, then burning as he twists, and Bovzek can taste his blood dripping off his teeth onto his tongue.

“Phhwait—” Bovzek says, trying to keep his mouth still as possible. “You, you sthaid you’re bored, I can help! I’m a, a pfhoet!”

“A what?” the Devil said with a lazy smile, pushing deeper in, and the stinging became a searing pain down to the roots of his teeth.

“Pfhoet! Pfh—pfh—poet!” He manages to squeak out. “Don’t you want ssfhome one to talk to? I doubt the dead are good conffersation.”

The Devil sits up, devil blade slipping from his gums to rest on his lower lip, drawing up pinpricks of red. “You really think damn limericks makes up for anything, thief?”

“N-no, but aren’t you so, so bored? Wouldn’t it be nice?”

The Devil narrows his eyes, the pupils tilted and goat like.

“Which hand is your writing hand?

“Left.” The Devil leaves the dagger’s blade balancing on his mouth and takes hold of his left hand. It takes no effort from him to bend it too far back and jerk it down. The snap echoes, and when Bovzek curls away from him-- as if it could somehow help hold back a scream-- the knife slides forward and scrapes the roof of his mouth. The Devil snorts and jerks his hand back the other way; Bovzek swears he can hear the bones of his wrist grind.

“Should we do the other one too?”

“N-no, no— " Bovzek’s face burns at the words, and when the Devil moves the dagger and takes hold of his face, forcing him to meet his eyes, Bovzek imagines taking hold of his devil blade and sticking it right between his eyes.

“What kind of poetry?”

“All kinds—ballads, epics, hymns, whatever you want me to do.” The Devil stands.

“If you write one hymn praising anyone but me I’ll cut off every single one of your fingers, got it?” The blade and its delicate hilt disappear back into his slip purse and Bovzek’s muscles relax just a little. “Do you know how much you shine? Like the damn moon. It’s obnoxious.”

The Devil’s sister had said something similar. A sign of the fae’s good favor. Bovzek was certainly proving to be a shitty choice now, wasn’t he? Or maybe the fae weren’t pulling their full weight.

“Do you mind if I turn down the lights? It’s not like they’re all that important in the long run.”

“What—” Bovzek squints up at him’, and then he’s squinting up at nothing, just glowing goat like eyes in a sea of pitch black, and then the dark swallows everything up.

“Hello?” he calls out. Anything above a whisper hurts, and nothing answers. No oily voices, no echo, just heavy darkness. There is no difference between his shut eyes and the surrounding room. Bovzek carefully raises his right hand and gropes for his neck in the dark, setting on the bruises. At least it isn’t cold.

[wubbelwubbwubb]

Everyone please run Rule Britannia and share my obsession.

[batsandnerds]

Tagged by @memezeek

Name: it's in my bio

Star sign: aquarius

Height: 155 cm

Birthday: February 15th

Favorite artists: The Cure, Depeche Mode, The Birthday Massacre

Song I have stuck in my head: Isolator by House of Harm

Last film I watched: The Cabin in the Woods

Last show I binged: I genuinely don't remember, I'm not a big fan of shows

Blog created: I don't remember

Other blogs: photography blog I don't use

Last thing I googled: Cult of The Lamb follower forms, I wanna catch 'em all

Why I chose this url: because I like goth music and gaming. Also it was like 2014 so everyone had cringy urls like this

Followers: 1336, 2/3 of these are bots and dead blogs though

tagging @skeletonvintage @bloodstonegoth @wesleyccxx @whiskybravo

[cor-ardens-archive]

Hi, I'm a different anon from the one who asked for incest recs (and I promise I'm not baiting you either; sorry you have to deal with dickheads on here :/) but I loved your answer and I was wondering if you had a rec list specifically for sibling incest (or even just intense sibling relationships)? Thank you in advance!!

I was taking a long time to answer this because I knew I was forgetting a lot of relevant titles, but then I realized I’ll never be able to make a complete list, so have a few scattered recs instead.

Some of these are quite triggering and involve child on child sexual abuse, others are just very dysfunctional/unhealthy, and some are simply romantic. Look them up before delving into them if triggers might be a problem, or feel free to ask me about specific works.

Books/short stories:

Querelle de Brest, Jean Genet

Les Enfants Terribles, Jean Cocteau

The Carnivorous Lamb, Agustín Gomez-Arcos

Ada, Vladimir Nabokov

The Blood of the Walsungs, Thomas Mann

Os Maias, Eça de Queiroz

The God of Small Things, Arundhati Roy

The Cement Garden, Ian McEwan (recently recommended to me by a mutual, I haven't read it yet though!)

Twins, Bari Wood

The Magic Toyshop, Angela Carter

Angels and Insects, A. S. Byatt

There’s a brief incestuous encounter in James Baldwin’s Tell Me How Long The Train’s Been Gone (and i hardly see this mentioned at all, which is odd because homosexual incest is considered particularly scandalous, and the incest motif is pretty important in Baldwin’s works in general. i have a lot to say about this and how it compares to the incest motif in gothic literature actually but this is not the place). There's mention of an incestuous couple in Le Guin's The Left Hand of Darkness that isn't central to the book but still relevant. Geryon in The Autobiography of Red is sexually abused by his brother as a child, and although not central to the plot it is very important to his character.

Subtext/ambiguous:

Wuthering Heights, Emily Brontë (if you read Cathy and Heathcliff as siblings, and their relationship as sexual, which i do)

The Fall of the House of Usher, Edgar Allan Poe

White is for Witching, Helen Oyeyemi

War and Peace, Tolstoy

A Sicilian Romance, Ann Radcliffe

Just about anything by William Faulkner. There is of course The Monk by Lewis, but I have so much to say about that and how bad it is and also how different from Gothic works written by women (like, compare Radcliffe’s brother-hero to Lewis’s rapist brother. but of course this is not the place.)

Also, I don’t want to say much, but there’s As Meat Loves Salt by Maria McCan. There are layers to this... I could say more but I won’t :)

Off of the top of my head, two great books with dysfunctional/co-dependent siblings (actually sisters in both examples) are We Have Always Lived in the Castle by Shirley Jackson (i think it was Joyce Carol Oates who said the relationship was incestuous? i didn't read it that way but it's certainly an extremely compelling, dysfunctional, co-dependent relationship. this is a perfect example of what i want to read more of!) and Sharp Objects by Gillian Flynn.

Movies:

Incest is so common in films (especially in horror) that I simply couldn’t begin to make a list. But I think you’re looking for an specific kind of dynamic (sorry if I’m wrong!), so I recommend you these:

The Mafu Cage (1978), dir. Karen Arthur (sibling incest explicitly referenced but not shown, parental incest as subtext)

Crimson Peak (2015), dir. Guillermo Del Toro (everyone’s seen it by now)

Carne de tu Carne/Bloody Flesh (1983), dir. Carlos Mayolo (explicit)

Ginger Snaps (2000), dir. John Fawcett (subtext)

Dead Ringers (1988), dir. David Cronenberg (subtext)

Actually, I can’t do this. There are too many. Google “films with sibling incest” for a number of lists.

[therealsaintscully]

Mary and butterflies - the inevitability of death, murderous calling cards and collectors

Some ramblings with links to other people’s excellent meta, in which I suggest that butterflies (and/or moths) symbolize Mary as Moriarty’s reincarnation and or calling card, while also hint at her inevitable death.

Disclaimers: credits are below the cut. I’m not an expert in any of these topics. Thank you, @thewatsonbeekeepers​​ for the beta. In this post I’ll be using moths and butterflies interchangeably, apologies to any entomologists.

Mary’s appearance in the show brings with it new imagery we haven’t seen prior to The Empty Hearse - butterflies. Once Mary’s in the picture, there are butterflies in some very strategic locations, all are either visually or subtextually leading to her. The show has done that previous to season 3; Moriarty is connected to some well established symbols like magpies, apples and IOUs. 

When I first started reading meta I used to think these themes were a bit of a stretch, but I’ve since accepted  that this is a show that puts barely noticeable phoenixes in a restaurant scene that shows us Sherlock rising from his death.

Here are some of the butterflies I spotted so far:

Butterflies (and in the case of this piece of meta, moth) symbolize most commonly resurrection, change and renewal. Behind the symbolism stands the transformation of a small, ungainly creature into something full-grown and unbound. In that case, in the simplest way, one could argue that butterflies were chosen to symbolize her because the ‘Mary Morstan’ persona was a stillborn’s identity that was stolen and used ‘reborn’ to create a new person.

But more than this simplistic idea; butterflies carry multiple symbolisms. When it comes to Sherlock, I and many others tend to look at Victorian symbolism, considering the detective’s Victorian roots. 

I find the appearance of butterflies interesting in Mary’s context, much like I find the skull interesting in Sherlock’s. The skulls, in Sherlock’s case, serve plenty of purposes, but one of them is the idea of memento mori.

Memento mori (Latin for 'remember that you [have to] die') is an artistic or symbolic reminder of the inevitability of death. These are representations that can appear in any form of art such as paintings, literature, poetry etc. It’s a concept that existed in many ancient cultures but is also deeply rooted in early Christianity. It serves to remind people of the inevitable; that even if we choose to ignore it, not think about it, it’s always there lurking, and the purpose is not to scare us but to encourage us to make good use of our time when we’re alive. Memento mori was the philosophy of reflecting on your own death as a form of spiritual improvement, and rejecting earthly vanities.

Victorians were obsessed with the concept (weren’t Victorians obsessed with everything?). They would take photographs of the dead and keep locks of hair of those who died in mourning brooches. It is said that they found these practices comforting. 

Another expression of the ‘remember that you must die’ concept was vanitas art;  vanitas is a symbolic work of art showing the transience of life, the futility of pleasure, and the certainty of death. The Latin noun vanitas (from the Latin adjective vanus 'empty') means 'emptiness', 'futility', or 'worthlessness', the traditional Christian view being that earthly goods and pursuits are transient and worthless. It alludes to Ecclesiastes 1:2; 12:8, where vanitas translates the Hebrew word hevel (הבל), which also includes the concept of transitoriness. 

This concept reminds me, most especially, of the skull used in The Abominable Bride, which is actually Charles Allen Gilbert's 'All is Vanity' Illusion art.

Back to butterflies - butterflies are a staple component of vanitas art - paintings executed in the vanitas style were meant to remind viewers of the transience of life, the futility of pleasure, and the certainty of death. They also provided a moral justification for painting attractive objects - in a way, it’s a justification for the vanity, or the human need of enjoyment of beautiful things.  Below is a vanitas by Jan Sanders van Hemessen:

But butterflies are also considered an omen of death: 

“Butterflies and moths were associated with death, sometimes merely as omens, sometimes as the soul or ghost.” These butterfly omens came in many ways.  For example, in the nineteenth century United States, some people thought that a trio of butterflies was an omen of death.” [x]

Oh.

But I also think there’s more to the butterfly symbolism than Mary’s imminent death; I suggest that, in keeping with @loudest-subtext-in-tv​ M-Theory (suggesting that Mary was planted in John’s life by Moriarty), they symbolize Mary as Moriarty reincarnated following his death in TRF. That Moriarty had indeed not disappointed Sherlock - there was a posthumous game after all! That Sherlock was supposed to understand that while one form of Moriarty died on that roof, another had emerged, continuing the mission of burning Sherlock’s heart. Mary is Moriarty’s calling card, left behind in the crime scene. They’re different, but not separate, which is why Sherlock is so obsessed with Moriarty between HLV-T6T; he’s both wrong and correct at the same time.

So far, what I’ve suggested is that in Sherlock, skulls are Sherlock’s symbolic memento mori - the skulls are associated with Sherlock in some very significant ways. 

However, Mary’s character was doomed from the start - she dies during Sherlock’s hiatus in ACD canon. I believe many fans assumed Sherlock’s Mary expected the same fate when she was introduced to the show. Although the story of Samarra is told by Sherlock, who expects his own death in T6T, Mary is the one who ends up dying. 

Butterflies in ACD canon

Searching for the significance of butterflies in the ACD and BBC canon led me to a number of interesting directions in meta written by others. 

The first and probably the best place to start is this meta post by @tendergingergirl​​, which I strongly suggest you read in full: Butterflies, Sexual Deviancy & The Bloodline Theory in The Hound of The Baskervilles. 

Stapleton also has a hobby. He collects bugs…Butterflies, to be exact. This can often be seen as purely academic, but depending on the actions of the hobbyist, they can indicate more disturbing things. That of holding something vulnerable captive, treating it as your hostage, pinning it down. The torture of animals has come to be a good indicator of someone who would do this to a human. He had already shown callousness by laughing as he recounts to Holmes of ponies wandering onto the Moor, becoming trapped, and dying. In 1974, there was a release of a new edition of Sherlock Holmes stories, with the forward of The Hound of The Baskervilles written by British author, John Fowles. He is responsible for several well-known works, including The French Lieutenant’s Wife. Another, was a novel that Mason finds himself wondering why Fowles doesn’t mention in his introduction, since the villain is such a close parallel to Stapleton.(but as we have learned through the study of ACD, most writers will not come right out and say where they got their inspiration. They like for you to guess!)

A lonely young man, works as a clerk, and collects butterflies, becomes obsessed with a pretty young girl, Miranda, an art student. He chloroforms, and kidnaps her, taking her to his cellar basement, to add Miranda to his collection. That book was called The Collector. But what else does it sound like?

“So yes, I googled. From an article on the release of the movie’s Documentary. "The docu proves a poor reference point for anyone who wants to understand the literary and movie links for “Lambs.” There’s no mention, for example, of how Harris partly based the butterfly-loving Bill on John Fowles’ kidnapper in “The Collector” …And here I thought Mofftiss added allusions to Silence of The Lambs into Sherlock just for fun. SMH.”

@tendergingergirl​ also added this photo to their post:

So what we have here is a chain of metatextualities/inspiration, starting with ACD’s THOB, where Jack Stapelton inspires a book about a disturbed butterfly collector (The Collector by John Fowles), which inspires a the author of Silence of the Lambs in creation of his character Buffalo Bill, a serial murderer who inserts a death's head moth into the victim's throat because he is fascinated by the insect's metamorphosis. Silence of the Lambs served as inspiration for Sherlock  as analyzed by @garkgatiss​ in Bond, Hannibal, and Holmes (I suggest you read the whole Hannibal section) . 

Let’s look again at some imagery from His Last Vow. Mary shoots Sherlock’s heart, essentially burning his heart out, and who does Sherlock meet in his Mind Palace in a very cocoon-like straightjacket? Yes, the dead dude who encourages him to die already (“one more push, and off you pop”).

What’s the next thing we as an audience see once Sherlock opens his eyes? Mary coming to the hospital to hear that Sherlock had, in fact, survived. And what is she wearing? Her butterfly scarf, one which will another appearance later in the episode, during the tarmac scene.

I also find it interesting that in the context of Sherlock and Silence of the Lamb, there’s an element of gender-switching between Moriarty and Mary. Buffalo Bill, the murderer from Silence of the Lambs, skins bodies of women to create himself a woman’s 'suit’; in Sherlock, Moriarty is a man-villain who transforms into a female-villain in the form of a bride and/or Mary. 

By the way, who else is obsessed with his suits?

Also, let’s not forget the worms, maggots and other such crawlers in the grave scene:

Now, let’s go over some of the photos I included in the beginning of this post a bit further.

Mrs. Hudson’s butterfly tea set is first shown in TEH - she uses it to serve John tea when he comes visiting her and tellis her about Mary. We also see it near John’s chair on the day of the wedding. This isn’t Sherlock’s set - his set is different, featuring the British Isles. Moriarty drinks from it in TRF. The next tea set we see, now that Moriarty is dead, is the butterflies one. In TLD, Mrs. Hudson uses Sherlock’s tea set - the butterflies are gone.

Mary’s bedroom wallpaper is very feminine, with flowers and butterflies, both complementing symbols while also very common in vanitas art. Much like Mrs. Hudson’s wallpaper in Baker Street, Mary’s wallpaper is supposed to show the contrast between Mary’s flat/Mary and Sherlock’s flat/Sherlock.

There’s an interesting moth reference in The Empty Hearse, which in my opinion, is Mary & Moriarty related. In short, in a previous piece of meta I wrote, I suggested that the Jack the Ripper case in TEH is subtext alluding to Mary’s skeletons, which Sherlock ignores because he’s upset by his reception by John. And what’s one of the first things Sherlock notices about the skeleton? New mothballs smell, hinting at an attempt to get rid of moth/butterflies - maybe a hint to  the fact that Sherlock has a chance to discover the truth about Mary but misses it. Also, in the context of Mary and the Jack the Ripper case, notice this transition:

Transitions are important on Sherlock - they’re nearly always there to draw our attention.

This, I think, is perhaps the most telling about a possible connection between Mary and Moriarty: we have both magpies (a Moriarty hint) and butterflies together here. This isn’t the only hint of Mary’s past we get in the wedding; there is, after all, the telegram from CAM.

Mary’s scarf is colorful, and it appears by the time Sherlock’s subconscious suspects Mary. Mary’s black butterfly dress - an ominous dress, I’d say - is the one she wears during the labour scene in the car. The third photo is a behind the scenes photo uploaded by Amanda Abbington, although I’m unsure whether this necklace is AA’s or Mary’s (but I couldn’t pass on including this).

Interestingly, the butterflies do not appear in Rosie’s context - either because it’s a telling sign that Mary won’t be with us much longer, or because Rosie is spared being considered a part of the ‘burning Sherlock’s heart’ plan. Sherlock, on the surface, seems to love Rosie and accepts her.

Also, another BTS photograph I came across during my research which I’ve never seen before and ties nicely to the vanity topic is this one (found here):

The Death's-head hawkmoth and ‘Death with Interruptions’

You’ll recall that I referenced The Collector and Silence of the Lambs, both featuring butterflies on their cover art. 

The Silence of the Lambs cover features Acherontia atropos, otherwise known as the death's-head hawkmoth. It gets its name from the sinister-looking skull shape on its back. In many cultures it is thought to be an omen of death. In a bit of another coincidental but stunning piece of symbolism, all three species of the Death's-head hawkmoth are commonly observed raiding beehives of different species of honey bee; A. atropos only invades colonies of the well-known western honey bee, Apis mellifera, and feeds on both nectar and honey. They can move about in hives without being disturbed because they mimic the scent of the bees and are not recognised as intruders.

Anyway, the use of Acherontia atropos reminded me of the book ‘Death with Interruptions’ by Jose Saramago. Interestingly, this is another book about a deathly collector with a butterfly on the cover:

In Death with Interruptions death is a woman, and she falls in love with one of her future victims. She decides to spare his life: Every time death sends him his letter [notifying him of his imminent death], it gets returned. death discovers that, without reason, this man has mistakenly not been killed. Although originally intending merely to analyse this man and discover why he is unique, death eventually becomes infatuated with him, so much so that she takes on human form to meet him. Upon visiting the cellist, she plans to personally give him the letter; instead, she falls in love with him, and, by doing so, she becomes even more human-like.

It’s pretty common to read theories about Mary who maybe was one of the assassins due to kill John both at the pool and in front of Barts. So we have a death harbinger trying to kill someone twice and failing. She then falls in love with him.

But how does the butterfly fit in?

Well, at some point in the story, death (that’s her name, sans a capital d), contemplates that using the death head butterfly, instead of a violet piece of paper, would have sent a much stronger message to those whose death is coming for.

And here’s another last bit of coincidental reference to Sherlock: I’d argue shades of purple, among them shades of violet, are associated with Mary and her secrets. There’s the purple dress she wears in TEH, her bridesmaids’ dresses include various shades of purple (including what I would argue was a violet sash) and let’s not forget:

Oh and, by the way, remember the song Donde Estas, Yolanda from TEH, about a woman called Yolanda? Always thought it was a bit of an odd choice for a song?

Yolanda is a female given name, of Greek origin, meaning Violet.

:)

Thoughts?

Credits: thank you @lukessense​ for directing me to @tendergingergirl​ meta about butterflies. Episode screenshots are from kissthemgoodbye.net.

@sarahthecoat​  @tjlcisthenewsexy​ @devoursjohnlock​ @inevitably-johnlocked​ @shylockgnomes​ @possiblyimbiassed​ @raggedyblue​ @ebaeschnbliah​ @gosherlocked​ @waitedforgarridebs​ @helloliriels​ 

[lazyevaluationranch]

I was wondering if you would be willing to share the titles of your resilience-inspiring lesbian farm books? My google search led me to a book titled “Attack of the Lesbian Farmers” which, while certainly inspiring, is not exactly what I was looking for.

Here are two very different books in the Farm Lesbians Write Honestly About What Went Wrong And How They Got Through It genre. Hopefully at least one is to your taste.

It's nearly fifty years old now, and can be hard to find, but Country Women: A Handbook for the New Farmer is deeply important to me. Country Women was a black and white xeroxed magazine written by a collective of woman-run farms in California in the 1960s. (There are some issues scanned at the Lesbian Poetry Archive). Each issue was half articles about feminism and half articles about small-scale farming. In the 1970s, the how-to articles on farming were expanded and organized to make the book, along with some scattered journal entries, lovely hippie-style line drawings and poetry about wood splitting, bees, and gazing at one's beloved while fixing the tractor on a summer day. The contributors have names like Jean and Ruth Mountaingrove, Ellen Chanterelle, and Sam♀ Thomas. 

It's written in an informal and pragmatic style, mostly organic hippie farming, but using pesticides or conventional medications when necessary.

This afternoon the Anderson brothers began teaching me how to graft fruit trees - the careful joining of life with life. Even more than I loved gaining a new skill, I loved learning from two old men who have so very much to teach me. I admire the audacity of eighty-three-year-old men setting grafts that will not bear fruit for years: the total involvement in a process they love. Those trees will stand and live; I doubt whether Jake or Fred even stop to wonder if they'll pick the fruit. I want to live my life with that kind of harmony and purpose. I want to be planting seeds the day I die.

The first lamb was born today. Premature and dead. Olivia, the mother, seems to be all right though. I had a dream a few weeks ago that the lambs were born tiny (like mice) and pink. And that I struggled to save them, but they were too small to feed. The lamb today was small and pink, its fleece plastered against its body, thin and sparse. For a moment it was nightmareishly like my dream... This is my first animal death. The beginning of a long cycle. It seems even harder to have death come before life, than to have an old one die giving birth. Hopes for the future stillborn.

Driving home today, I suddenly realized that this really is going to be a sheep ranch, that I have done, and am doing, and will do it. That I'm making my livelihood from the land. The canyon is fenced now. There are  sheep out there on pastures that were open hillsides two years ago. 

The very act of building this place, the simple actions of tamping dirt, stretching wire, dumping hay in feeders, has profoundly changed my sense of self. I'm doing things I never dreamed I could do, and I'm doing them easily without even considering whether I really can. Last night I was talking with Susan about fencing the front meadow for feeder calves, and I realized that I could say that realistically, no fantasizing, no bragging: I can fence the front meadow as soon as I get done with the hay barn and get a little more money.

Like almost every other farmer in America today, I'm in debt and hoping for a good season. I'm only at the beginning now, and I know there are many struggles to come and overcome and come again: Someday I too, like my neighbours, will be counting carcasses killed by a marauding dog or watching the spring oats be wash away in an "unheard of" late storm. No matter how prepared I am, there us always that vulnerability - to the weather, other animals, disease - that seems to strike when things are finally going smoothly. But inside me there is also this incredible joy: This life is real and good, and it has made me strong and real and good too. 

I gotta stop or I'll type the whole book into this post. One more: 

My father is here this week ... working on the truck whose engine has been alien to me. I am learning now what I could have learned at 7, 11, 15. Beneath my truck, side by side, lie his seven-year-old son and his twenty-five-year-old daughter, both of us learning for the first time how bearings fit together, how to remove pistons. And here beneath this truck the patriarchy stops: he has passed his knowledge to his daughter, and from me  it will pass to sisters, from sister to sister to sister. 

That's this book. The things women weren't supposed to know in the sixties. They found people to teach them; they taught each other; they learned through bitter loss. The book says: we have gone before you and you are not alone. Here is what we have learned, and here is how we have learned it. We have failed, and we have wept, and we have gotten up and gone on, and it was alright. Here is the fire, passed from hand to hand to hand. Here is the light that will never be put out. 

The week after we first got goats, we received a package in the mail from my coolest relative, a veterinarian who was the first woman to graduate with a specialization in large animal medicine at her school. People thought that women just weren't physically capable of handling large animals. (Hint: the bull weights 1100 kilograms. It doesn't much matter if the veterinarian weighs 50 kilograms or 150 kilograms.) I remember staying with her a child, in summer, laying on the stainless steel operating table in the barn; it always felt cool when the heat was unbearable.

The package, of course, contained Country Women. An old well-loved copy, with notes on long-ago calving dates penciled in the margins, and random scraps of paper with sketches of possible gardens and goat sheds as bookmarks.  A light passed from hand to hand, a light that will not go out. It was like receiving a video game quest artifact.

Country Women is rooted in second wave feminism, which is not everyone's cup of tea. For something more modern and story-focussed, consider Hit By A Farm or Sheepish by Catherine Friend. These are collections of short, funny autobiographical essays about farming and relationships. Their tone is honest and wry, self-deprecating. You can see Catherine Friend's blog here and decide if you like her writing style. She wanted to call Hit By A Farm "Sheep Sex and Other Disasters" but her editor didn't think it would sell. 

In Hit By A Farm, Catherine - a professional writer - goes along with her partner Melissa's lifelong desire to ranch sheep, and describes the results from the perspective of the slightly reluctant farmer's wife as they start a farm in Minnesota.  Sheepish is written fifteen years later, when they're thinking about quitting the farm, after all the shiny newness of farming and the relationship has worn off. There are different mistakes then, different sorrows, and new joys. 

From Sheepish: 

We rarely pay attention to middles. Perhaps we ignore them because they're problematic. The middles of our beds often sag. The middles of our bodies sag. The middle of a long story told by your brother-in-law is likely to sag, and so you'll need another beer to stay focused. Everyone needs a reason to keep going when they're in the middle. 

And:

Don't expect a farm to fix your life, for once the romance dims, you must still muck out the barn and stack hay bales and give that sick goat an enema...Although there are tons of stories about starting something new, there just aren't that many about how to keep doing something, about how to slog through the middle when the going gets tough.

The quotes are all from Sheepish; I can't find our copy of Hit By A Farm:

My spinning wheel continues to torture and confound me. I realize I'm not interested enough in the craft to really commit to learning it. After a few more tries, I tuck the wheel into a corner of our living room and turn it into what Melissa likes to call a Dust Accumulation Research Project. Clearly our wool market will continue to be the wildly unlucrative wholesale warehouse.

The patron saint of spinners is, interestingly enough, Saint Catherine. She was a Christian martyr in Alexandria. In 307 AD, she was condemned to be torn apart by the spokes of the wheel.

Well. No wonder.

Spoiler: things get pretty rough, there’s illness and hard winters and financial issues, but they do not, in fact, give up the farm or each other. 

The book says: We made it. You will too.

[rjhpandapaws]

(Not) What I Want in a Second Chance

Ch 1: The Devil is in the Details

//Tw: Emotional manipulation. Death, grieving, alcohol abuse, suicidal ideation; anti-android sentiments, and anti-android language. CyberLife is an unsettling mix of FB, Amazon and Google. Be prepared

Hank had his fair share of regrets, it came with the amount of time he had been on the force. His family fell apart. There were lives he could have saved if he had only been faster. The consequences that came with hitting a patch of ice; just to name a few. There were days he debated putting in for retirement, but he knew where that would lead. One more added to a growing statistic. Another retired detective that chose to suck on a bullet; and that was assuming anyone cared enough to come check on him. So he drank instead. On the days he woke up in time, he went to work. On the days he didn’t he woke up only to start drinking again. Another hopeless, tired man on the fast track to a whiskey filled grave. He wasn’t as bothered by that as he probably should have been. He wasn’t bothered by much anymore. If he could think clearly that meant he needed a drink. There was one thing that always bothered him though, and that was androids. He found them creepy over all, they had no reason to look that human. Then one had killed Cole; or rather, stood there and did nothing while he died. That had been when Hank had drawn the line. In that moment they had gone from something mildly off putting to something he actively despised.

That was why he liked places like Jimmy’s. It was one of the few places left that wasn’t overrun by androids, and the other patrons left him alone. Everyone was nursing a different sorrow so conversation wasn’t a priority. He could treat his grief with whiskey until he was face down against the bar and no one would judge him for it. Tonight was shaping up to be one of the rougher ones. He couldn’t drown his regrets no matter how much he drank. The thoughts refused to blur. It wasn’t Cole tonight. For a change, he was thinking about someone else he had lost. Connor Paldeki was one of his earlier partners, and his favorite even still. He had belonged to the Deerborn Police Department originally and they had met on a particularly bad homicide case. They worked well enough that they were paired for joint cases pretty often after that. So when Connor was transferred to Detroit it only seemed natural that they were made partners since they had previous work history. Even as a rookie Connor had been bright. He could pick a scene a part and put it back together with ease and accuracy that was almost scary. Hank had been certain that he was on the fast track to making rank. Then the Red Ice bust had happened and Connor’s glowing career came to a sudden and bloody end. Hank had wound up promoted, but it felt hollow somehow. Like it was a consolation of sorts.

He felt like it was written in Connor’s blood. Hank had been told that he hadn’t felt it, that he had been dead before he hit the ground. They hadn’t seen him though with the fear of death frozen on his face. None of the them had the haloing pool of blood seared into their memory. For all the consolation they tried to give him, they hadn’t been so powerless as to see the life leave the eyes of a dear friend. The papers had praised the whole raiding group as heroes, painted the thing like it had been a success. In a way it had been; they’d gotten what they were after, but they had lost three officers in the process. Connor, and two officers he hadn’t known from the SWAT team that had accompanied them. No one talked about it, and Hank wanted to scream. He went through the motions; his mandatory grief counseling, being a pall bearer for Connor’s casket; and then he took some time off to try and process all of it. When he got back he took the small bonsai tree from Connor’s desk and pretended things were alright. He had to be. He was Lieutenant now, he couldn’t just break. He took care of the tree like Connor was coming back and would be upset to find it dead. He continued to try and love Ezra even though things were falling apart slowly, and he did his job. If he just kept going something would have to got right eventually. He hoped so anyway; because if it didn’t then what the fuck was all of this for. When Cole was born Hank had thought that was the start of his better days, and it had been for a while.

It was some level of pathetic that the most put together his life had ever seemed to be was when he was drinking himself into an early grave. He was pulled away from that train of thought by the feeling of being watched. That sense of awareness wasn’t something he could turn off even when he was drinking away what was left of his coherency. He looked up from the bar, and there was Connor, but something was off. Aside from the fact that he was dead, had been for over ten years at this point. He was here in the flesh, and Hank was almost willing to write it off as a drunken hallucination. There was just something about this Not-Connor that was bothering him. It took longer than it should of for his eyes to land on the blue LED at his temple. He’d had to tear his eyes away from the face that had haunted more than it’s fair share of his nightmares for the better part of a decade. CyberLife had accounted for every little detail. Down to that stupid curl that had always refused to stay put no matter how much gel Connor put in his hair. He could hazard a guess at how they had gotten that information. They had files on everyone it seemed, whether or not someone owned an android didn’t seem to matter. Or, since it had been over a decade they could have pulled it through FOI, but Hank sincerely doubted that.

“Lieutenant Anderson?” He - It asked. Hank couldn’t place it, but there was something wrong about the voice. It was almost exactly Connor’s, but there was something wrong about it. He was tempted not to respond, but he had the feeling this Not - Connor would wait there all night even if Hank ignored it. “Yeah,” He huffed, “What do you want?” “My name is Connor.” It started, and Hank wanted to scream, this was not his Connor. Not the right one, “I am the android sent by CyberLife. There has been a homicide and I was told to find you; which I was lucky enough to do after the fifth bar.” “Fuck off.” Hank groused. “My instructions were -” It started, but Hank cut it off. “I’ll show you where you can stick your instructions.” He muttered. That seemed to give it pause. Where is Connor would have laughed and made a remark of his own, this convincing fake just looked pathetically confused. Hank almost pitied the thing, but it wore the face of a dead friend and that wasn’t something he could forgive. “What if I buy you a drink?” It pressed, “Would you come with me then?” Hank gave an annoyed sigh of defeat and relented. The sooner he got this over with, the less time he would have to spend facing this walking lie, “Fine.”

In the most put upon way the thing that was not Connor flagged for another whiskey and even paid for it. As annoyed as he was, Hank had to admit he was almost impressed. The real Connor would have never set foot in a bar unless it was for a case. It made it easier to distance one from the other. He nursed his new whiskey for longer than was strictly necessary. If they were going to do this, they were going to do it his way. He drove to the scene with his music loud enough that talking would be a pain in the ass, and the thing had still tried to make conversation. Hank would have turned into oncoming traffic if he was certain this thing wouldn’t have tried to stop him. It certainly seemed to have a purpose other than torturing him. “Stay in the car.” He said firmly when they arrived at the scene. “Got it.” It said in a way not too unlike the actual Connor and it made Hank’s stomach twist in disgust. It didn’t actually stay in the car of course, and Hank hadn’t really expected it to. It had it��s orders after all, and so did Hank unfortunately.

Hank took a bitter sort of satisfaction in Ben’s obvious discomfort when he saw it. Whatever comment he had been about to make died and he let them by with a tense nod. Every person on scene that had known the real Connor looked distinctly troubled by the fake; and that had been before it had licked any evidence. Hank passively observed the scene, he wanted to see what this thing was made of.  Was his computer brain anything like how the real Connor’s had been? Better? As much as he hated the thing, he was curious how it would stack up against the real thing. The other android self destructed in the end, even with Not-Connor’s unsettling attempt at compassion. Or perhaps because of it. It was something Hank hoped he would never have to see again. By the time they were done for the night, Hank had one question that was weighing on him. “Why do you look this way?” He asked as he gathered his things. “To ensure your cooperation.” Came the flat reply. That was when Hank realized what was wrong; the voice held no emotion to it. The next thing it said was what chilled Hank to the bone, “They figured you wouldn’t want to the cause of your partner’s death for a second time, and it was too soon to use the image of your son.”

Hank wasn’t sure what hurt him more; the blatant manipulation, or that fact that if seeing his dead friend again didn’t hurt him enough CyberLife wouldn’t be above using his son against him. When he made it the parking lot he threw up in a near by trash been. He didn’t remember the drive home, but when he got to the house he made sure to feed Sumo before he grabbed the Black Lamb and his revolver. When darkness finally came for him he didn’t know if it was because he had drank himself into unconsciousness again, or if he had finally won at Russian Roulette. He just hoped he never came out of it. He couldn’t do this.

[gophergal]

Ok now I'm curious. What are your thoughts on human meat?

Ok, so for context, I was talking about how I slightly grossed myself out by listening to someone talk about the reddit Foot Taco Guy while I was cooking curry

So here's my opinion on Human Meat, split into two sections.

There is technically nothing morally wrong with eating human meat so long as the person you got it from isn't dead and consented to the meat taking. Say, with the reddit example, they had to have a limb amputated and decided to have the flesh prepared for they and their friends, or if they SOMEHOW got a chance to sell the meat to some weirdo with deep pockets. Consent is key here. So is the lack of murdering them. Fun fact, cannibalism isn't illegal in the United States, however, most methods of obtaining human flesh are as murder and desecration of a corpse/corpse abuse are both very illegal.

I hold the Foot Taco Guy's opinion on what human tastes like in much higher regard than criminal cannibals like Armin Meiwes or Isai Sagawa (my spelling of those names suck, google at your own risk) because Foot Taco Guy is a foodie for one, and not, y'know, Overly Fucked Up like the other two. Those two describe human as being akin to pork, veal, or lamb. FTG says it's more akin to tender bison, but less gamey. Very little fat or gristle. I find that interesting tbh and I personally think it makes much more sense than what criminal cannibals have described.