𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐌𝐎𝐋𝐃.

#𝑭𝑨𝑻𝑯𝑬𝑹𝑺𝑬𝑵𝑫: private + selective writing blog for 𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 from 𝐑𝐄𝟕/𝐑𝐄𝟖. canon divergent & predominantly headcanon based.  ||  jay, 25, he/him pronouns.

fortress  —  bear’s den. amen  —  amber run. to your health  —  keaton henson. heaven is a place  —  amber run. easy way out  —  low roar. rain  —  city and colour.  still alive  —  flora cash. empty crown  —  yas. nfwmb  —  hozier. dreamer  —  low roar.

VIOLENT DEVOTION.  Everyone seems to think you are faithless, but the thing is you haven’t yet found someone who will bring you to your knees and make you raise your head in reverence. This world has stopped bringing you joy, you want more of the divine. You want to dedicate your entire existence to someone; you want to make them realize they are not something terrible, make them see just how much beauty they are bringing to this world. You want to be the only one for them, the only one they have chosen to love. There’s a god shaped pit inside of you and only they can fit in it. And what if they choose to walk away? Didn’t I say this was violent devotion?

@fathersend​ called : ❝ hey, don’t i get a say in this? ❞

resident evil village ( accepting )

“I  don’t  think  you  want  one.”  back  and  forth  motion  of  the  hand  that  held  tight  onto  cloth  slowed,  weapon  in  the  other-  his  polishing  took  a  halt  in  order  to  speak.  backwards  glance  over  taut  shoulders  was  given  to  ethan,  eyes  sharp  and  with  little  intention  to  give  leeway.  bad  habit  that  formed  over  the  years,  the  opinions  of  other’s  became  less  important  top  him.  for  reasons  other  than  selfishness-  chris  would  always  rather  take  things  on  alone.  shifting,  body  now  facing  winters,  head  tilted  just  barely  to  one  side.  “so,  no,”  flat,  the  corner  of  his  mouth  twitched  upwards.  “but  I’ll  hear  you  out  anyway.”

there’s frustration that comes with being told NO, especially under the assumption that he DIDN’T WANT ONE to begin with ( would he have asked if he didn’t want one? ); though a part of him can certainly understand where the older was coming from with it  —  having been through what he has ( and SEEING what he’s seen ), he’d likely do the same as him. still, that didn’t dissipate any feelings of irritation. he wasn’t just some civilian attempting to make matters worse for the both of them by GETTING IN THE WAY; he knew what he was doing ( at the very least ). 

i.  the buried.   weighed blankets.  drowning.  the comfort of a loved one’s weight.  soil and sand piling on top of you.  hugging so hard it hurts a little.  cramped hiding spots.  letting out air underwater to sink to the bottom of the pool.  walls pressing in on you.  not moving from a position even though you’re cramping a little.  dragging the last second before you have to inhale.  lonely subways.  feeling like one with the earth.  a layer of dirt on you.  looking for something below.  cardboard boxes and tiny pillow forts.  hands calloused from digging.  knowing that your purpose is just below the surface.  entering your final resting place before it kills you.  a storm drowning you out.  dust and sand speaking to you.

ii.  the corruption.   insects.  a close imitation of the natural course of life.  an illness in a community.  a rag that dirties more than it cleans.  an untreated wound.  containment.  breaching containment.  unbreathable air.  fungi.  one with that you love.  one with what loves you.  a corpse unfit for a glass case.  hearing a song in the sound of tiny wings and legs.  honeycomb patterns.  an ecosystem within a person.  a curse passed on.  the hubris of a scientist.  an ugly death where a glorious one is owed.  blood on a handkerchief.  parasites.  something pushing up the sewer.  a mask to keep something out.  trypophobia.  knowing you belong.  death weeks after impact.  fever.  food that’s gone off.  pandora’s box.  death behind a glass.

iii.  the dark.   shadows.  lights that turn off by themselves.  the feel of cold marble.  a beaked creature in the night.  the difference between seeing darkness and seeing nothing.  touch of something you can’t see.  hiding under a blanket.  white, clouded eyes.  months without going outside during sunlight.  pouring dark.  unscrewing lightbulbs.  black matter.  light sensitivity.  a starless night.  time before light was created.  a shadow on the wall without a body to attach to.  withering plants.  a world without a sun.  footfalls in an empty house in the night.  a light that doesn’t reach as far as it should.  desperate reach for a flashlight.  clothes that hide your shape.  staying unperceivable.  winter months in the north.  an empty church.

iv.  the desolation.   senseless pain.  warmth of faith.  wax where skin should be.  a blazing fire.  heat without a source.  the third or fourth tragedy in the family.  losing everything you’ve ever held dear.  so much to live for, gone so soon.  the smell of gasoline.  touch that scars.  coffee cup that never goes cold.  scorch marks on wood.  inescapably warm air.  a child born in fire.  death of a loved one.  a candle without a flame.  an altar in the middle of the woods.  animals with burnt fur.  plastic explosives.  burning hot metal.  sweating in an interrogation room.  never touching a loved one.  disfigurement.  a kiss that ruins you.  the scent of burning fat.  a tattoo that terrifies its viewer.  the agony of hellfire displayed as art.  auburn hair.  little clothing in cold weather.  a ripple in the air.  trying to cool down in vain.

v.  the flesh.   body horror.  factories.  a hunger for something more filling.  never quite happy with how you look.  the terror of an animal waiting for slaughter.  a very good meal.  the liquid of a perfect steak.  fighting your worst survival instincts.  a twisted bone.  long nights working out.  more than one heart.  appearance that shapes like clay.  a bag of bones.  bone broth in a pot.  knowing to fear pigs.  the butcher’s shop.  plastic surgery.  something alien inside your body.  a hunger in the gaze laid upon you.  unwitting cannibalism.  forgetting what you used to look like.  being admired for your appearance and appearance only.  teeth marks on skin.  scars from wounds that should’ve killed you.  cooking in scarcity.  fenced in with one way to go.

vi.  the end.   the last page of a book.  nightmares that don’t feel like nightmares.  a skeletal hand.  the grip of the grim reaper around your throat.  existential pain.  ivory dice.  flatlining in a hospital.  gamboling with death.  as old as the universe.  soul and spirit tied to an object.  a dream where you die.  closing your eyes for the last time.  the plead of a dying one.  knowing the fate of someone you know and being unable to prevent it.  a thousand cords tugging you towards your end.  skin that’s freezing to the touch.  an act of desperation.  someone’s life for yours.  an eternity spent alive.  the cost of your selfishness.  watching your own burial.  causing your own burial.  the smell of death.  numbness to fear.  words from someone gone.  meaninglessness of the actions or lives of single people in the universe.  multiple near-death experiences you refuse to die from.

viii. THE HUNT.        sharp canines. sore calves after a run. the scent of blood. an adventure for the journey’s sake. the adrenaline right before the kill. a whistle’s echo.  the woods. the doe eyes of a prey animal. your own breath in the air. sharpened claws. being tracked. fear of someone knowing your every movement. hunting down monsters.  hide and seek.  running away only to end up where you started. staying alive purely because the enemy enjoys seeing you run. a set of footsteps behind you. blood dripping from bare hands. barks and growls. focused eyes.  a victim going limp under your hands. a mouth full of fresh blood. catching the scent of something monstrous.  perfecting your craft. peering into the dark and running after it.

ix.  THE LONELY.        an apartment too small for a double bed.  completely vacant streets. waking up to see everyone gone.  fog. point nemo.  a house too big to hear your family members in. alone in a faceless crowd. a mask with nothing behind it. separated cubicles.  a deafening silence where joy should be. a blinding spotlight. the least missed in your friend group. streets without lights in the windows. isolation. not truly knowing your friends. your friends not truly knowing you. need for silence. fear of crowds. staring into space knowing nothing is looking back at you. a ship alone at sea. depression. knowing your friends are better off without you. talking to someone only to realize they’re gone.  a family too large to notice you there.  safety in being alone.

x. THE SLAUGHTER.      a game of tag.   senseless violence. a true crime hobby. improvised weapons. blinding rage. intent to kill. a horrific day in a quiet community. a medal of bravery. holding on to what validates your anger. history books that spare no details.  an injury you want revenge for. war. counting kills. songs of soldiers.  a knife-block on the counter. a pool of blood. shellshock. unspeakable horrors. anger pushing you forward.  unimaginable pain.  not seeing who will hurt you but knowing the pain is coming.  a fully human monster. an authority sending its lessers to their deaths. kill or be killed. unedited wartime memoirs.  a weapons collection. not knowing the names of who you kill. too many to remember.  loss of hope. there’s no heroes in war.

xi.  THE SPIRAL.      sleep deprivation. corridors you can get lost in.  maze puzzles that loop back on themselves. losing possessions. losing people. losing your sanity. corkscrew curls.  rows of funhouse mirrors.  optical illusions. a separate reality. walking through the wrong door. delusions. not knowing what your hands are doing. blank spaces in documents. hallucinations.  wrong proportions.  a nameless thing. a place that has never existed. doubting your own mind. blind faith.  losing track of names, labels, categories.  distorted sound. an imperfection in a glass that twists the view. loss of time. a garish color. doors that open to nowhere. lies. an unnatural laugh. jokes and tricks. illusions. a doorway. a sculptor with a wild imagination.  limbs in impossible angles.  doing what’s fun, not what’s sensible. fractals you can get lost in.

xii. THE STRANGER.        wax figures. a close approximation of a human face. a borrowed appearance. a strange smell. glass eyes.  furs and pelts.  a dance. a song of a choir.  the uncanny valley. stitching yourself together. the colors of a circus.  a puppet with no strings. mannequins. glitter and sequin.  a stranger you’ve always known. someone strange in the place of someone you knew.  stolen identities.  stolen skins.  a machine imitating humanity.  the anonymity of a service worker. hiding in plain sight.  uncomfortable to look at. a faked accent. concealing. forgetting who you are.  forgetting who others are.  a replacement no one notices.  images that look posed.  the only one seeing the false face of someone.

xiii.  THE VAST.      open spaces. carnival rides going up and down. fear of heights.  endless infinity around you.  your insignificance in an universe. stomach turning at a drop. fear of not the crash down but the moment you slip. the sway of a cable car. an adventure holiday. losing track of where the surface is.  miles and miles of nothing around you.  staring at the sky and feeling like you may fall into it. loss of control.  a fall that doesn’t end in death.  glass floor to the view below.  terminal velocity. the sound of wind in your ears. a reach over the railing. a jump from the top of the building. falling into nothing. feeling your feet let go of the ground. a leap of faith. motion sickness.

xiv.  THE WEB.      undecipherable code. a puppeteer holding the strings. power over the weak-willed. strings of fate. manipulation. an arranged accident.  a hundred minions doing your bidding. cobwebs.  spiders. a laid trap. never voicing discomfort. outwitting a cheater. doing things without realizing it. red string across a cork board.  finding something lost where you were sure you checked. power over the unreliability of chance.  watching others dance for you.  an entangled death.  a thousand tiny legs and fangs.  shady forum threads. something important gone missing. suspiciously disregarded case. a missing witness.  connections.  the world wide web. power of victimhood. gullibility. no control over your own decisions. an invisible leash.  mass psychology.  a horror film in the making. scapegoat.  never remembering to ask for a name.

☽ ⚜ ☾  ⎯⎯⎯           ❝   𝚂𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚜   𝙸   𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚔   𝙸   𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍   𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕   𝚊𝚝   𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎   𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑   𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚒𝚊   𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗   𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚐   𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝   𝚊   𝚕𝚘𝚝   𝚘𝚏   𝚙𝚎𝚘𝚙𝚕𝚎   𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢   𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝   𝚖𝚢   𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍   .   ❞

                     𝐓𝐇𝐄   𝐅𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐓   𝐒𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐄   𝐎𝐍   𝐋𝐄𝐎𝐍'𝐒   𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐄   came   as   he   heard   Ethan’s   words   ,   feeling   they   had   something   in   common      ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯      far   too   many   people   were   trying   to   𝚃𝙰𝙺𝙴   𝙴𝚅𝙴𝚁𝚈𝚃𝙷𝙸𝙽𝙶   𝙰𝚆𝙰𝚈   from   them   .   He   sighed   deeply   ,   looking   around   the   area   ,   the   winter   landscape   around   ;   although   the   weather   was   unfavorable   to   them   ,   Kennedy   finally   felt   at   peace   ;   as   if   he   was   missing   a   moment   of   isolation   ,   despite   the   fact   that   the   edge   of   the   world   they   were   on   was   𝙵𝚄𝙻𝙻   𝙾𝙵   𝙳𝙰𝙽𝙶𝙴𝚁𝚂   ,      ﹠﹠      there   was   still   a   task   ahead   of   them   .   Even   so   ,   this   moment   𝚂𝙴𝙴𝙼𝚂   𝚃𝙾   𝙷𝙰𝚅𝙴   𝚂𝚃𝙾𝙿𝙿𝙴𝙳   𝚃𝙸𝙼𝙴   ;   as   if   they   could   finally   feel   normal   people   for   a   while   .   Fascinating   every   moment   of   silence   ,   solitude      ﹠﹠      nature   doing   with   people      (   𝑇𝐻𝐸𝑆𝐸   𝐹𝐴𝐿𝑆𝐸   𝐻𝑂𝑃𝐸𝑆   𝐹𝑂𝑅   𝐴   𝐵𝐸𝑇𝑇𝐸𝑅   𝑇𝑂𝑀𝑂𝑅𝑅𝑂𝑊   )

                     ❝   𝚈𝚘𝚞'𝚟𝚎   𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚋𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚢   𝚊𝚕𝚜𝚘   𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗   𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑   𝚊   𝚕𝚘𝚝   ,   𝙸’𝚖   𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚎   .   𝙸𝚝'𝚜   𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚍   𝚗𝚘𝚝   𝚝𝚘   𝚋𝚎   𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚒𝚍   𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗   𝚢𝚘𝚞'𝚛𝚎   𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐   𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐   .   ❞

it wasn’t always LIKE THIS. THE PARANOIA DIDN’T EXIST before the baker house, it hardly existed afterwards ( at least, it hadn’t initially .. until they were forced to move home ); two life changing events in, however, and it was finally set in stone for him. feeling at ease with the feeling was easier said than done when his gut told him it was for GOOD CAUSE ( someone .. SOMETHING, wanted him dead. for good this time  —  it was only a matter of time before a move was made to finish the job others before them had failed ). he supposed it was at least nice that someone could RELATE TO THE FEELING.

gaze drifts from snow-blanketed grounds set out before them to pay but a GLIMPSE to the man standing beside him; faintest of smiles present on other’s expression does not go unnoticed ( but HE cannot force himself to mimic it  —  the feeling of peace he felt in this moment OVERWHELMED by that of worry of what would happen come tomorrow ). he’d survived it all, EVERYTHING this village had thrown at him .. but where would he go from here? where would they take him from here ( especially given what HE WAS )? 

                           “   holy   shit,   we   actually   made   it,   @fathersend​.   ”

To think that if he’d come to his aid sooner, maybe then their confrontation would be different. The hostility in his tone resembled that of a wolf with its leg in a trap, bared teeth, wild eyes, but apart from the venomous words and snarling of of teeth, he could see the trembling of fear in his hands. The way the gun seemed almost heavy, with the way his hands did shake- able to hide it with both hands at the ready, but the second he chose to speak, how he could see it clear as day. The man was dangerous, that much he knew, if it wasn’t clear enough from the fact that his family took to dropping one by one. Nothing more deadly than a man who had nothing to lose- fatherly love being the only thing that kept him going, not his well being or selfish desire to live. At the end of the day, it was all for her, not for her power or what she was capable of- but who she was: his daughter. Nothing more.

A part of him couldn’t begin to imagine what that love must have felt like, or if Rose would ever really know just how much her father cared. If she lived that long, if Miranda didn’t have her way, if either of them got to live to see her in one piece again for that matter. He had to make it past the gun he was staring down, and Ethan? he’d have a lot more in store if he managed to make it past him alive. He didn’t want to kill him, didn’t want this violence, which is why he didn’t dare make a move to set him off, triggering the fight or flight instincts that were so ready to jump out of this man with a single movement. Instead he studied him behind his glasses, smoke wafting from his lips as the cigar hung limp in the corner of his mouth. He could scream and threaten all he desired, waiting until he finished his warnings of death before he raised a hand to pluck the cigar from his lips to speak.

“Listen Ethan, you’re not thinking clearly.” Words stated as he took a chance to make himself comfortable, back pressed to a nearby table- or more so slab, still stained with blood and littered with bolts and gears alike. “You honestly believe you could waltz in there, put your daughter back together like pieces of some puzzle and go back to the way things were? Miranda certainly wouldn’t help you with that. You think this is just some storybook, sprinkle a little magic on her and she will be the daughter you remember?” A laugh escaped him then, brief and cutting through the silence of the room. “You need to realize something Ethan, your little Rose will never get to live a normal life you make up in your head for her. You think that asshole who shot your wife will let you have that? That the second you come running back to his arms, he won’t take Rose for himself? You’re being played, used by everyone you think you can call friend- and I’m the only one who gives a damn to tell you the truth. You want Rose to live a life where she’s not some weapon? Then listen to me, Ethan, I can help you.”

A hand lifted then, abusing his powers to manipulate the gun in his hand, a flick of two fingers to let it fall to the floor, then skitter away so he wouldn’t try and make a grab for it. “You and I, we’ve got real potential. Who you are- what you are- what I can do? Once Miranda and that asshole Chris is out of the picture, you'll have freedom. Freedom to go wherever you want, do whatever you want with your Daughter- not held under some scope like a fucking science project. You, her, even I- we’re more alike in ways you know, Ethan. If only you’d come to realize that.”

you’re not thinking clearly  —  a statement that makes him SCOFF, despite the fact that he almost agrees with it ( and after the day he’s had .. can one blame him? he was still trying to process it all ). he LISTENS, however, to words being spoken by the older; finding distaste in the truth they held behind them. whether he liked it or not, HEISENBERG WAS RIGHT. he was right. collecting the four flasks had been no easy task, but bringing them all back together hadn’t brought his daughter back, either  —  and to make matters worse, he had not a damn clue how he would achieve such, either ( and his luck on asking for help around here was practically non-existent, his options non-existent .. all except for HIM ). 

it’s disheartening. the idea of a normal life being a scarce possibility; one that likely would never come to be ( and not just because of WHAT she was ). as much as he may have wanted to believe otherwise, being what she was ( and what he unknowingly was ), living a NORMAL LIFE was but an idea; one far too out of reach for him obtain by this point ( for them to obtain ). even if miranda was removed from the big picture, it was likely that his family would be kept under CLOSE WATCH; the chances of a similar event happening unable to be known, but probably not non-existent. it only made matters worse to know that HE was his apparent ONLY HOPE to change that ( and wasn’t that grim ). 

gun is torn from his hand, ethan making a faint attempt to retrieve it from upon the ground before it’s ultimately KICKED AWAY by a force unseen ( but not unknown ). brows furrow and teeth grit together, his attention becoming settled back on the man before him  —  though look of anger is quick to become an expression of CONFUSION.  ❝ what the hell are you talking about ? ❞ it’s spoken with haste; his own voice sounding so SMALL to his own ears despite this.

who you are—  what you are—  .. WHAT THE HELL?