#rough day. have the house to myself tonight though so im gonna have a relaxing night | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

burtlederp · 4 years

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Grant(3), Caleb(4), Caetan(35), Tiburon(49) oops,, its a lot, huh? Your characters are just awesome hAHA sorrYY

Nooo don’t apologize thank YOU!!! I’M sorry for taking so long to respond!!!

Putting stuff under a readmore because holy hell there’s a lot of it

3. What is/was Grant’s relationship with his father like? tw: drugs, drugs, and more drugs; child abuse a la neglect

He’s laying on his back in the middle of his apartment, staring at the domed ceiling overhead. Coherent thoughts are far and few between, his mind muddled by the haze that fills it, fills the room, the whole apartment. Before he’d started smoking, he’d known he’d regret stealing so much weed, but for now, he didn’t. He floated in a peaceful bliss, utterly serene. No thoughts in, no thoughts out. Just smoke, curling and floating around him. Shapes moved amongst the haze, too faint to identify, passing, shifting forms. People, perhaps, walking by, walking around him. Legs passing by, nobody ever stopping to look down at him. People milling about, paces slowing, soon they’re coming and going. They enter the room, they talk, they leave after a brief exchange of currencies. His father is sitting behind him, on the couch. He’s high too, he’s always high, Grant can just barely see the shadows of his father’s hunched form when he tips his head back. His father never relaxed when he was high. He always became even higher strung, if that was possible. He only calmed down when he had heroin in his veins, or something stronger.

Grant couldn’t see the face of the smoky form of his father. There wasn’t one. In his memory, there never had been. His father in the transient construction of smoke was as accurate as any depiction Grant could have conjured on his own. Never present, never really there, always drugged out of his mind, never sober. Just the same as the haze that filled the house permanently.

4. Has Caleb ever witnessed something that fundamentally changed him? If so, does anyone else know? tw: war is hell, child abuse a la war is fucking hell, no I’ve not read the Silmarillion I just like the idea of Tom Bombadil don’t @ me

Caleb scrubbed his face on his arm and shivered, pulling the tattered cloth he called a blanket tighter around himself. It’d been raining for days now, with no end in sight, and it had transformed the prairie into a mudscape. He and one other lone figure huddled around a tree that stood tall in the midst of the brown sea, one solitary rise of solid ground, one lone spot of relative shelter.

“B-beautiful weather, innit?” the other, the stranger, chuckled. It was the first thing they’d said since they arrived. They’d showed up last night, flopping down against the tree and falling asleep. Caleb had kept his distance, kept still, not showing any inclination of actually being alive. He didn’t reply to the stranger’s comment on the weather.

“Not in th’ mood ‘fer talkin’? Thas’ a’ight…” they sighed after a long minute, realizing Caleb wouldn’t respond. “An’ I know yer’ not asleep, ‘cause iss’ too cold t’be sleepin’ right now.” Caleb still didn’t respond. He was wary of the person. There was no such thing as a stranger with ulterior motives.

“Don’ worry, I got enough words fer’ th’ both of us,” the stranger, a man, Caleb realized over the constant sound of rain, scoffed. Caleb looked heavenward, praying silently.

Please, no, don’t let him talk, Caleb prayed, but unfortunately the gods were not on his side in this moment.

“I’ve met a god before. Now, I know what yer’ thinkin’--’you? Dionisio? Seen a god? Ha! As if!’ But I tells ya’, I met ‘em. Hell if I’m to know which one he was or what he did or whatnot, but I met ‘im and he was a fabulous fella. Called ‘imself Tom, of all things. Can ye’ believe that? A god, named Tom! Ah, I hardly believed it myself when ‘e said it.” Caleb sighed, rubbing his face. The man’s name was Dionisio, and he was crazy. Excellent. I’m stuck out here in the middle of nowhere with a crazy man who’s likely going to kill and eat me.

A distinct crunch cut off Caleb’s train of thought. It wasn’t a sickening crunch, like a breaking bone or the like, but like a bite into an apple, a fresh, crisp apple. Caleb spun around, looking around the tree to see the man, as crinkled and wrinkled and dirty and filthy as he had sounded and smelled, leaned comfortably against the tree. His dark, beady eyes twinkled as Caleb stared at him.

“Mm, I knew that’d get yer’ attention!” he laughed, a hand lowering to his side. Before Caleb could react, jump back from the man’s drawn sword--he realized the man hadn’t drawn a sword at all. It was another apple. He held out the bright red fruit to Caleb. “Go on n’ take it, lad, y’probably more starved than I am!”

Caleb sat there, hesitating, eyes flickering between the apple and the man, weighing his options. He could take the apple, but… what did he want in return? Was the apple cursed? Poisoned? Was this a trick? He backed up a step warily, like a shy animal.

“Ayee, I’m not gonna ‘urt you! I jus’ wanna give y’ somethin’ t’eat. I swear I ain’t mean nuthin’ by it,” Dionisio insisted, holding the apple out further. Caleb stared, waiting. Dionisio tilted his head, giving a wry smile. “C’mon laddie. I ain’t mean ye no harm, c’mon.” His voice softened as he spoke, getting a little quieter, more gentle, not so rough and abrasive like the coarse mud that surrounded them. Caleb swallowed, his stomach twisting. It’d been days since he’d eaten. He didn’t remember when he’d last eaten. And here it was, food, offered with no strings attached. It was too good to be true. But his hunger overrode his instincts now and he snatched the apple from the man’s hand, leaping away right after.

“Aye, there we go, there we go, see? An’ I didn’ even ‘urt ye!” Dionisio chortled, watching as Caleb devoured the apple. The old man kept smiling, but it faded somewhat as the small, one-armed boy ate. “Ye been hit as ‘ard as anyone else by this war, ain’t ye?”

Caleb, chewing, looked up briefly at the man through messy, curly, wet black hair that fell in his eyes. He nodded, ever so slightly.

“Ye… Ain’t we all…” Dionisio sighed, letting his head rest against th’ tree. “I got more apples fer’ ye if ye want ‘em after that ‘un.” Caleb frowned.

“Why?” Caleb was surprised as the sound that came from his throat was not one he recognized. It was a croak, rough and unused. Though it had been… well, Caleb didn’t even know the last time he’d spoken. He cleared his throat and tried again, questioning the man. Dionisio huffed a laugh.

“‘Why’? Whaddya’ mean, ‘why’?” the old man looked to him with a grin. “‘Cause I want to, and ye look half-dead, and ye barely a child! Ye need it more than I do.”

“But….” Caleb looked down at the core of the apple in his hand. “You could last so much longer if you kept them to yourself.”

“But you’ll last so much longer if I don’t, won’t ye?” Dionisio pointed out simply. “That’s reason enough fer’ me.” A spot of red appeared in Caleb’s peripheral vision, and he raised his head to see another apple being offered to him, Dionisio smiling. Caleb took it slowly.

“No… no other goal…?” Caleb asked cautiously, and Dionisio shook his head.

“None. I jus’ wanna see ye get outta’ this war alive, lad.”

Caleb leaned back against the tree as Dionisio kept telling his story, listening out of one ear as he thought about the apple. Food, so precious in this time of war and chaos, and he’d given it away freely.

Perhaps there are good people in this world, still… Caleb thought as Dionisio talked and talked and talked, and it rained and rained and rained.

35. How does Caetan behave around people he likes? in a word: badly tw: implied to-happen noncon/r*pe

Caetan drummed his fingers on the bartop, chin resting in his other hand. He nudged his drink around a bit, bored. He didn’t really know what he was here for. Well, he did, he knew very well. He’d been more than busy the past couple weeks, and was yearning for some company. But he wasn’t sure what mood he was in.

And then someone sat down a few seats from him at the bar and he did a double-take. A man, maybe 6-foot-one, with short, dark hair that was well-kept, well-styled. Lean, well-muscled, but not brawny. His face was narrow, and by god that was the most perfect nose Caetan had ever seen in his life.

Caetan realized what mood he was in and got to his feet.

“This seat taken?” Caetan inquired. The man turned, looking up at him with deep, chocolate-y brown eyes that made Caetan pray the man said no because his knees were about to give out. The man shook his head, and Caetan tried to slip into the seat without giving away how weak he was already. “You here alone tonight?”

“I am,” the stranger responded, eyeing Caetan somewhat warily.

“That’s a shame,” Caetan shook his head. “A beautiful creature like yourself on your own on a Friday night? I’d say that’s a crime against humanity.”

The man stared at him, and Caetan suddenly second-guessed everything he’d said or done already. What had he done wrong? Could he fix it? What--

“I’m straight.” Ah. That’s what’s wrong. Caetan’s face fell a bit.

“Well, damn. You sure?” Caetan sighed.

“Very,” the man replied stiffly.

“That’s an even bigger shame, then,” Caetan grunted, motioning the bartender over. “Let me buy you a drink then, to save some face.”

“No thanks,” the man said quickly, getting to his feet. “Have a good night.” With that, the beautiful stranger turned and walked away. Caetan watched him go, and slowly got to his feet, moving stealthily through the bar as the man headed to the door of the bar, and he followed him out into the night.

49. If Tiburon was put into ______ situation, they’d rather die than live to see it through. I had no idea what to do with this for a looong time, ngl cw: cannablism(?), consumption of human flesh, gore, Tiburon doesn’t give two shits about your ‘ethics’, he’s got his own that he’s following; oh and implied kidnapping, planned torture that never happens

It occurred to Tiburon, now too late, that perhaps he was in over his head. ‘Infiltrate the mafia,’ they said, ‘it’ll be fun,’ they said. ‘You surely won’t be forced to torture and kill someone!,’ they said, he thought bitterly as he stood in front of a man tied firmly to a chair, a black bag over his head. His head was bowed inside the bag, but he wasn’t unconscious; Tiburon could hear the man choking on sobs, shoulders shaking. Tiburon had killed people before, he’d eaten people before, he had no issue with that; it was the torture that made him hesitate. Every time he’d killed, he’d taken special care to not let them suffer, he hated suffering.

And now here he was, being compelled to do it. Well, he would be, it hadn’t happened yet. He was trapped in this shipping container, another man standing by the door, waiting, watching, playing witness to Tiburon’s actions to let the boss know he was legit. Tiburon sighed, rubbing his face. What a fucking inconvenience. Six months--six fucking months of work, all down the drain, just like that. He tortured this man, made him suffer, or they would kill Tiburon. Well, they thought they would. Unfortunately, they were currently on the docks, so Tiburon would make his getaway before they ever knew he’d changed his mind about the work.

He turned away from the sobbing, bound man to face the guard, crossing his arms. The man, at least a head taller than Tiburon and fifty pounds heavier, every ounce made of muscle, eyed him.

“What?” The man’s voice was exactly what Tiburon had pictured--deep, raspy, heavy. Appropriate.

“Nothing,” Tiburon replied, looking away with a sigh. He rubbed his jaw, thinking. He had to cut to the chase before things started getting iffy. He turned back around and walked close to the guard.

“What’re you doing?” the guard grunted, sizing up the supposed torturer while the supposed torturer did the same to him. Tiburon did not reply, not verbally, grabbing the man by the head and pushing him against the wall. The guard barked in alarm and fought back, but Tiburon was quicker and slippery. Before the large brute could get a good grip on him and make the whole ordeal a lot more trouble, he leapt forward and sank his teeth into the man’s throat. The guard’s shout of alarm quickly twisted into a scream, then into a gargled wail that was silenced as Tiburon pulled away, trachea still in his teeth. The guard slumped to the floor, grasping at his own neck with wide eyes, and Tiburon hated it. A swift kick, and the guard’s body shuddered and went still, skull dented. Tiburon chewed thoughtfully on the trachea for a moment, surveying his work, and went to the captive man. The poor creature yelped in alarm at the touch as Tiburon cut through the zipties, but went quiet as the black hood was yanked off. The man’s eyes went wide as he saw the cartilage in Tiburon’s mouth, the dead body, and scrambled backwards with a terrified shriek.

“No, no, no no no please!” he begged, tears rolling down his cheek, one hand outstretched protectively. Tiburon frowned.

“Don’t worry, I won’t, I just figured it’d be cruel to leave you alone in the summer heat. Toodles.” With that, the merman turned and stepped out of the shipping crate, walking to the edge of the water, at some point discarding the trachea (cartilage wasn’t good eats anyhow) along the way. He dove in, relishing the cool ocean saltwater as it closed over his head, pleasant in the summer heat.

Six whole months… he thought again as he swam away, his legs fusing into a long tail, skin becoming rough, teeth sharpening. Ah well. Now I know; the mafia isn’t worth the work.

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rhinoswriting · 4 years

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A Life On The Road - Part 1 (A Luke Hemmings FanFic)

Overview: Elizabeth and Calum have been best friends since they were 15/14 respectively. Elizabeth is from and lives in the UK, but her family lived in Sydney for a brief 2 year period which is how the two met.

With Calum’s band, 5SOS, embarking on their biggest and most ambitious world tour to date, he has invited Elizabeth along to work as a photographer/content creator for their social media. This is in the hopes that travelling with them and getting to explore so many new cities will help Elizabeth achieve her dream of becoming a full-time travel writer.

Elizabeth is acquainted with the rest of 5SOS but doesn’t know them tremendously well. Obviously that changes as they are all forced to be in one another’s company for the duration of the tour. As the tour progresses and new friendships blossom, Elizabeth feels the connection between her and Luke grow more and more.

A/N: This chapter is a lot of story set-up and introduces you to the protagonist.

****************************************************************************

I lent my upper back against one of the work kitchen walls and peered out of the window beside me. Any other day, the grey curtain of drizzle would have perfectly matched my work mood. But today was not a normal work day for me. Today was my last day in this hell hole. I was finally getting out of here to pursue my dream of becoming a travel writer. I hugged my mug of coffee closer, content in the knowledge that nothing was going to step on my good mood today.

“I cannot believe you are leaving me with these people.” Drew complained as he walked over and lent some of his weight onto my shoulder while cradling his own steaming mug.

“I am sorry that I’ll be leaving you here. I truly am.” I told him, and I meant it, “But you know as well as I do how much this place can drag a person’s mental health down. So when a best friend offers to let you piggyback off their career to help launch you own, you take it and make the sacrifice of abandoning your work husband.”

“I hate that you have a famous best friend.”

“Don’t be a bitter bitch,” I laughed nudging him in the side with my elbow.

Drew and I chatted for a minute or two more before making our way back to our desks at opposite ends of the office. When I got to mine I noticed that someone (probably my manager or Josie, the company busy body) had taken my second coffee break of the morning as an opportunity to place an envelope and small gift bag by my keyboard. As I placed my coffee down I noticed that the people on my bank of desks had swivelled their chairs, and thus their attention, in my direction. I also heard the tell-tale sound of high heels on cheap carpet tiles that indicated Josie was making her way over.

“Elizabeth,” Josie cooed in her usual fake friendliness, “I can’t believe it’s your last day here already! We did a small collection for you in order to say goodbye and give you something to remember us by. It’s been such a great three years and eight months working with you. We’re all sad to see you go.”

“Thanks, Josie. I certainly will miss how precise you are with details.” I said trying not to make my sarcasm too obvious.

I rummaged in the tissue paper hoping to bring this moment in the spotlight to an end as soon as possible. First I pulled out a small, sleek rectangle. Through the plastic window of the box I spied a matte black fountain pen -it was a genuinely lovely pen which surprised me. Next I pulled out a small bottle of Kraken rum -my go to with Coke on work nights out- which was followed by a second, identical bottle. The fourth and final leaving gift was a new 10 shot pack of film for my Instax Mini camera.

“Thanks guys...” I awkwardly addressed the room, “These are all really thoughtful and nice. I love the pen. Uhh, yeah, thanks again. Stay cool and all that cliche stuff.”

I promptly sat down and unlocked my PC to indicate that the show was over and I should now be left the fuck alone.

The company’s internal IM program was flashing at me in orange, indicating I had an unread message.

[Drew Clarke - 10:47 am] I am so sorry they are putting you through this. You look so awkward. I can see you blushing from here. It is hilarious though :’D I made such a big deal about the stupid pen they wanted to get you having to be matte black Also my leaving gift to you is that I have done everything in my power to ensure Josie knows nothing about your leaving drinks tonight

I responded with a simple gif of some character I didn’t know mouthing ‘thank you’ to acknowledge his last message and then went back to work trying to complete as much of my remaining work as possible.

The rest of the day dragged on as it would any other day of the week. The only difference was that I had the occasional desk visit from a colleague to wish me luck or let me know they’d be at the leaving drinks Drew had arranged for me that evening.

And then Drew was at my desk before the clock had even hit 5 pm,

“Start packing your shit up then. We’ve got a bar to get to.”

----------------------------------------------------------------------

My leaving drinks were actually surprisingly fun. Which was as much of a good thing as it was a bad thing.

It was good because who doesn’t love people buying them either shots or rum and cokes? Plus Drew and I had had a beautiful drunken moment where we gushed over how much we treasured each other’s friendship and would definitely, definitely stay in touch always, and who doesn’t love those moments?

It was bad because I got in at 3:30 am, set an alarm for 6 am and left my house for the train station at 7 am with a hangover headache already brewing.

My morning then got worse when I remembered I had to change trains at Sheffield. Non-direct train journeys are enough of a pain without a hangover, rucksack, camera bag and 2-wheeled large carry-on suitcase to slow you down.

When I finally, and ungracefully, settled myself on the platform at Sheffield I glanced around to locate where I could get myself a coffee and some form of breakfast. I had a 50 minute wait until my next train so there was plenty of time to try and nurse my hangover with coffee and carbs before getting crammed into another train and eventually reuniting with Cal in Edinburgh.

I spotted a place on the next platform over with indoor seating and made my way to it. Once inside the warmth of the glass rectangle I grabbed a twin pack of almond biscuits from the counter display and ordered a large cappuccino as well as a breakfast bagel. I then went and dumped all my luggage (promptly followed by myself) down at the nearest table and waited for my name to be called over the mellow jazz music.

Once I had returned to my table with my breakfast order, I opened my phone to check my messages and view the photographic damage from the night before. As I sipped my coffee I opened my photos app and was pleased when nothing embarrassing immediately jumped out at me from the 50+ square icons of photos and boomerangs that I had very little memory of taking. Most of the photos were blurry and every single boomerang was a fail, so I deleted them to save storage space on my phone. There was a super cute selfie of Drew and I, with his fiance, Adam, photo-bombing us in the background. It made me smile so much that I set it as the lock screen on my phone.

Next I moved on to my messages. There we unread messages awaiting me from Drew, Cal, my mum and weirdly my now ex-manager.

Manager Si: Didd u mange t geet home ok?/?. Gd luk w everythin

Work Hubby: I miss you already. Hope you got home safe! Text me by midday so I know you’re still alive x

Mum: Good luck on this big new adventure of yours! Do not forget to call us when time zones allow. Your Dad and I will always b here to support you and cannot wait to see you succeed. Say hi to Calum for us. Mum & Dad Xx

Cal: Hey, hey! So stoked to see you later and have you come oN FREAKING TOUR WITH ME!!! See ya in Edinburgh! X

I responded first to my mum, because I was raised right. I flat out ignored my old manager’s drunk text. I assured Drew that I was still alive because if I was dead it wouldn’t feel like there was a gremlin hammering away inside my skull. I followed that up with a screenshot of my new lock screen. Finally, I replied to Calum:

Morning :) Feeling rough after my leaving drinks last night. Have I already begun my new rock n’ roll lifestyle?! So fucking excited to see you again!! You are not prepared for the hug you’re gonna get! X

With everyone replied to (or ignored in Si’s case) I put my phone face down on the table and tucked into my breakfast bagel. Then as I still had 20 minutes to kill I thought what better place to slap some make-up on than the middle of a train station coffee shop?

Looking and feeling more human, I made my way from the coffee shop to platform 4 as they announced my train was about to arrive.

I hopped on carriage L, placed my luggage in the overhead rack and settled into my seat for the next 3+ hours. I quickly shot a text to my parents and Cal, letting them know I was on my last train. Then I pulled my noise cancelling headphones on, opened up a relaxing Spotify playlist and promptly fell asleep.

#luke hemmings fanfiction #luke hemmings fanfic #5sos fanfic #5sos fanfiction #luke hemmings

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