âCharles Smith and Dylan Davis red dead redemption roleplay blog, blog created sometime in August 2025. I am not affiliated with Rockstar gaming, nor any acting. The person who did the motion capture and voicing for Charles is @noshirdalal. This is a sideblog, all follows/likes from @ink-stained-pawsâ
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Why i muse Charles
Analysis on him (not finishedtill part seven!): part one part two part three part four part five along with a small drabble of 'how he lost his soul' and how he got it back
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Writing piece
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RP starter for 'Where did the time go' AU, anyone is free to interact truly. I really REALLY love writing angry-rabied buck
Small recap: Buck's now 18, and just as he was about to leave his home, His 'father' sic-ed a rabid dog on him, causing a massive wound to his arm and ankle. Buck was helped by Tubbs to Hurons place, where he was healed, but unfortunately not cured. Has been living them for a bit, but... slowly losing himself...
Warnings: self-mutilation (not hard-core, but there in biting form), harsh Language, the likes.
@just-a-lone-soul
Buck wasn't sure how much more he could take. How much more he could go on. How much he could live, knowing that fucker was still breathing. Knowing that whole god damn family stayed living. He could imagine it every second, Massimo sitting at the head of his table, surrounded by that miserable excuse of a family. They were probably convinced Buck had died somewhere in the woods, or run off like the 'coward' they'd always called him. Buck could almost picture it; glasses of expensive wine raised in celebration, smug smiles, laughter echoing through that house.
The fuckin' snobs.
He couldn't help that something inside him had twisted. The voices never stopped, they hissed over one another until he couldn't tell where one ended and another began. Sometimes they were so loud his entire body trembled. More than once he'd caught saliva dripping from the corner of his mouth, hastily wiping it away before anyone noticed, his lips having a burning sensation left..
Most evenings he wandered away from the cabin with a cigarette hanging from his lips, sitting somewhere above town where no one would bother him. He'd sit there with narrowed eyes, set in a constant glare now, watching below.
Sometimes he'd spot Angelo laughing with his friends, and the rage would bloom in him so violently it made his vision blur. He imagined putting a bullet through every last one of them. Burning their homes to the ground. Stringing Angelo up for everyone to see.
He didn't push away the rage, he'd done that all his life, he welcomed it now, welcomed that very poison he swallowed down. He wanted to be angry. He wanted to be dangerous...
But not to those who cared. He didn't want to smack Dylans hand away again like he had one time, he didn't want to snap or glare at Huron for just existing, he didn't want to get irrated at Hurons Lolo or Lola, even his mother. He still remembered when he even snapped at Tubbe, saying how 'he should have left him to die.'
Currently it was arpund 10 PM, Buck sat on a ranchers fence, smoking as usual. He had to wipe away saliva with his sleeve occasionally, it being more prominent. He hadn't taken a drink in a few days now, nor eaten. His brain kept yelling that he'd choke, drown, and he couldn't die till Massimo was 30 feet under. Till his body was no more, till his heart was even pulled out, till he stopped looking so smug.
Buck wanted his hands around the mans neck, tightening and watching the life slowly ebb out of him, as he gasped for breath, gasping for forgiveness. The boy would give none, no consolation either. Just get the satisfaction.
Shit he needed to bite something. He got this way sometimes, where his jaw would gritt together and a low growl would lrumble in his chest; he couldn't stop it and didn't try, lifting his already wounded arm and sinking his teeth into it harshly. This had been the repeat for a few weeks, re-opening the wound then lying to the family on how it happened.
He pulled his arm back, staring at the yet again gushing crimson, dribbling down onto the fence. It'd attract predators to the ranch, but Buck could care less. He blew out some more smoke, then placed the cigarette right against the open bite, hissing and grimacing, letting it press there for a moment then dropping it onto the ground. The smell of tobacco mixed with blood made his eyes water and scrunched his nose.
....
He needed to leave. He was getting dangerous and he didn't want to calm down. But he didn't want to cause harm to huron and his family. Away from them too he could cause Massimos murder without them all being blamed. It was what needed to be done... but he sat there still for now, letting his arm bleed as he stared up at the smoke going into the sky...
[Huron had decided on a walk after everything, Dylan was worried about Mike and his gaggle of friends but Huron showed him the cool pocket knife mama got him and that helped soothe his worries, he walked along his usual route and was walking back on a new one. One near a ranch, although it seemed deserted, he walked until he saw Buck, his arm dripping blood and a cigarette on the ground, he walked over and silently pulled out a small med-kit, one Lola made for him and Dylan when they were younger because they would always run into some type of trouble.
He grabbed a pad and the cleaning alcohol and sat next to Buck]
Buck didn't register that Huron had sat next to him at first, seeming zoned out on the stars, until Huron lightly touched him; Buck flinched hard and bared his teeth automatically, looking at his friend and stopping his growling. He swallowed thickly. âWhat're you doin' out here...?â
[Huron seemed tired, moving with a purpose but it seemed stilted and sluggish, his short response replacing the usual long-winded stories he tells of his day]
Buck grunted and cocked an eye, eyeing the pad and alcohol Huron held, subconsciously bringing his bloody arm closer to his lap. â...Ya don't usually stray from the usual trail.â
[Huron cleaned the arm, making sure to make sure it's well and truly clean before disinfecting it and finally wrapping the arm, silently moving through each process]
Buck winced at each little wipe, gritting his teeth to try and stop himself from pushing Huron back, from snapping him. He didn't want that. He wanted to be angry, but not at his only friend.
âI can't. I-i need to god damn bite somethin', somethin' that's real. Not a stick, not a leaf,â he scoffed, looking away as he clenched his fists. âAin't nothin' else to bite but myself.â
Buck looked at his arm, yet again covered, and let out a breath, looking across the field to some horses.
â....Why are you here.â he murmered quietly. âWhy are you still trying? What's the point of being around me, to make things worse when I eventually leave? To try 'n 'fix' me? Clearly there's nothin' left.â he scoffed bitterly.
"only damn reason everything is fine is because Dylan came along, if he hadn't, mom would've gone off to get revenge on my dad and who knows how the family would be then, I was born a burden and I can't help anyone, clearly"
[Huron didn't even seem sad or angry about it just.... defeated]
âDon't fuckin' say that,â He punched hurons Shoulder, more firmly than he meant too but he glared at his friend.
âIf you were born a fuckin' burden your mom woulda left way before Dylan came 'long. Your grandparents would have dumped you, they don't fuck around... Dylan wouldn't have ever come along if it wasn't for ya.â he huffed.
âYour mom probably wouldn't have taken him in without you, nor would he have even fome near her from what I gather. Then there's me. If I couldn't have joined the navy for some reason, I woulda fuckin' killed myself, but you gave me something to look forward too. You. Being friends with you. Talking with you.â he pushed hia fingers slightly against Hurons chest. âSo, if you ever say that shit again, I will bite you.â
Buck watched Huron, his own gaze softened, the bitterness easing in his heart. He glanced away then back.
How could anyone like me. How could anyone like who I am and what I've become. How could anyone like something so broken.
He swallowed back the words. â....I like you too. 'N that's what... scares me.â he looked away, picking at some splintered wood on the fence. â'm losing myself. 'M losing my brain, I'm losing my senses and I'm going to lose you, just from myself. Or, I'll hurt you. I don't want that. I'll wither hurt you physically, or I'll say some mean shit I don't really mean. You don't deserve that. You deserve better.â
âI don't even know how to fuckin' fight this shit.â
[Huron hesitated but took one of Buck's hands into his own]
"you don't have to fight it...that's what's making you feel so helpless"
[Huron looked to the ground]
"me and my Tiya have a lot in common, one of those is we have a disease, something that can't be cured, something that doctors don't know what the cause is, something that everyone believes we're faking, there's two options
Push through it and believe nothing is wrong, steadily getting worse and hating ourselves for it
Buck looked at their conjoined hands, blushing a little; he couldn't help it... he couldn't feel touch on his palms and wrist, but the back of his hand and knuckles felt his fingers and it made him want to cry and stiffen at the same time.
He raised his gaze to look back up at his face, listening to his words. â...One option is certainly a bit easier than the other huh...?â he chuckled weakly then sighed. â...Its hard to work alongside somethin' that feels like an enemy. How do... how do you do it...?â
"well...a change in perspective is always good, I know there's never a cure but there's stuff that makes me feel better, and if there's never a cure, that I'll never be 100% it rather be 85 than 70, y'know?"
Buck slowly nodded; that tea that they made sometimes did make him feel a little better, it was just... hard to drink and keep down most the times...
He hesitated for a moment. â....I don't... I. Ugh... I don't know if I chamge my perspective, not until Massimo is dead.â he closed his eyes, biting his cheek. âI want him gone and not just out of this town, but out of this life, I want him to suffer and die. I want Angelo the die too, but Massimo more. I see them around and my anger grows. I can't move past it. What he fuckin' did to me, the years of being hit with a ruler on my arms, the years of being smacked, pushed, degraded. Then that damn night. I can't let that go.â
"but you're alive....isn't that revenge enough as it is? Being able to live and breathe and grow? Maybe you'll end up happier than he ever was, a better person than he ever was, even if that bar is so low it's practically a tripping hazard"
â....â Buck said nothing for a moment then nodded slowly. â...But what if he thinks I'm dead? What if he's getting that satisfaction I-â he closed his eyes.
âI know you're right. Finding my own way and livin' is it's own revenge. I jus'.. need time. I've fantasized killin' him since I was young, I jus' need to come to terms that isn't how the real world is.â
Buck smiled faintly and looked to him, muscles slowly relaxing, the voices calming. â....Thank you, Hur. Really. I... ain't sure i'd be here without ya.â
He took a small risk and gently laced their fingers, looking to the horses, heart pounding. For once maybe he could just... chill
RP starter for 'Where did the time go' AU, anyone is free to interact truly. I really REALLY love writing angry-rabied buck
Small recap: Buck's now 18, and just as he was about to leave his home, His 'father' sic-ed a rabid dog on him, causing a massive wound to his arm and ankle. Buck was helped by Tubbs to Hurons place, where he was healed, but unfortunately not cured. Has been living them for a bit, but... slowly losing himself...
Warnings: self-mutilation (not hard-core, but there in biting form), harsh Language, the likes.
@just-a-lone-soul
Buck wasn't sure how much more he could take. How much more he could go on. How much he could live, knowing that fucker was still breathing. Knowing that whole god damn family stayed living. He could imagine it every second, Massimo sitting at the head of his table, surrounded by that miserable excuse of a family. They were probably convinced Buck had died somewhere in the woods, or run off like the 'coward' they'd always called him. Buck could almost picture it; glasses of expensive wine raised in celebration, smug smiles, laughter echoing through that house.
The fuckin' snobs.
He couldn't help that something inside him had twisted. The voices never stopped, they hissed over one another until he couldn't tell where one ended and another began. Sometimes they were so loud his entire body trembled. More than once he'd caught saliva dripping from the corner of his mouth, hastily wiping it away before anyone noticed, his lips having a burning sensation left..
Most evenings he wandered away from the cabin with a cigarette hanging from his lips, sitting somewhere above town where no one would bother him. He'd sit there with narrowed eyes, set in a constant glare now, watching below.
Sometimes he'd spot Angelo laughing with his friends, and the rage would bloom in him so violently it made his vision blur. He imagined putting a bullet through every last one of them. Burning their homes to the ground. Stringing Angelo up for everyone to see.
He didn't push away the rage, he'd done that all his life, he welcomed it now, welcomed that very poison he swallowed down. He wanted to be angry. He wanted to be dangerous...
But not to those who cared. He didn't want to smack Dylans hand away again like he had one time, he didn't want to snap or glare at Huron for just existing, he didn't want to get irrated at Hurons Lolo or Lola, even his mother. He still remembered when he even snapped at Tubbe, saying how 'he should have left him to die.'
Currently it was arpund 10 PM, Buck sat on a ranchers fence, smoking as usual. He had to wipe away saliva with his sleeve occasionally, it being more prominent. He hadn't taken a drink in a few days now, nor eaten. His brain kept yelling that he'd choke, drown, and he couldn't die till Massimo was 30 feet under. Till his body was no more, till his heart was even pulled out, till he stopped looking so smug.
Buck wanted his hands around the mans neck, tightening and watching the life slowly ebb out of him, as he gasped for breath, gasping for forgiveness. The boy would give none, no consolation either. Just get the satisfaction.
Shit he needed to bite something. He got this way sometimes, where his jaw would gritt together and a low growl would lrumble in his chest; he couldn't stop it and didn't try, lifting his already wounded arm and sinking his teeth into it harshly. This had been the repeat for a few weeks, re-opening the wound then lying to the family on how it happened.
He pulled his arm back, staring at the yet again gushing crimson, dribbling down onto the fence. It'd attract predators to the ranch, but Buck could care less. He blew out some more smoke, then placed the cigarette right against the open bite, hissing and grimacing, letting it press there for a moment then dropping it onto the ground. The smell of tobacco mixed with blood made his eyes water and scrunched his nose.
....
He needed to leave. He was getting dangerous and he didn't want to calm down. But he didn't want to cause harm to huron and his family. Away from them too he could cause Massimos murder without them all being blamed. It was what needed to be done... but he sat there still for now, letting his arm bleed as he stared up at the smoke going into the sky...
[Huron had decided on a walk after everything, Dylan was worried about Mike and his gaggle of friends but Huron showed him the cool pocket knife mama got him and that helped soothe his worries, he walked along his usual route and was walking back on a new one. One near a ranch, although it seemed deserted, he walked until he saw Buck, his arm dripping blood and a cigarette on the ground, he walked over and silently pulled out a small med-kit, one Lola made for him and Dylan when they were younger because they would always run into some type of trouble.
He grabbed a pad and the cleaning alcohol and sat next to Buck]
Buck didn't register that Huron had sat next to him at first, seeming zoned out on the stars, until Huron lightly touched him; Buck flinched hard and bared his teeth automatically, looking at his friend and stopping his growling. He swallowed thickly. âWhat're you doin' out here...?â
[Huron seemed tired, moving with a purpose but it seemed stilted and sluggish, his short response replacing the usual long-winded stories he tells of his day]
Buck grunted and cocked an eye, eyeing the pad and alcohol Huron held, subconsciously bringing his bloody arm closer to his lap. â...Ya don't usually stray from the usual trail.â
[Huron cleaned the arm, making sure to make sure it's well and truly clean before disinfecting it and finally wrapping the arm, silently moving through each process]
Buck winced at each little wipe, gritting his teeth to try and stop himself from pushing Huron back, from snapping him. He didn't want that. He wanted to be angry, but not at his only friend.
âI can't. I-i need to god damn bite somethin', somethin' that's real. Not a stick, not a leaf,â he scoffed, looking away as he clenched his fists. âAin't nothin' else to bite but myself.â
Buck looked at his arm, yet again covered, and let out a breath, looking across the field to some horses.
â....Why are you here.â he murmered quietly. âWhy are you still trying? What's the point of being around me, to make things worse when I eventually leave? To try 'n 'fix' me? Clearly there's nothin' left.â he scoffed bitterly.
"only damn reason everything is fine is because Dylan came along, if he hadn't, mom would've gone off to get revenge on my dad and who knows how the family would be then, I was born a burden and I can't help anyone, clearly"
[Huron didn't even seem sad or angry about it just.... defeated]
âDon't fuckin' say that,â He punched hurons Shoulder, more firmly than he meant too but he glared at his friend.
âIf you were born a fuckin' burden your mom woulda left way before Dylan came 'long. Your grandparents would have dumped you, they don't fuck around... Dylan wouldn't have ever come along if it wasn't for ya.â he huffed.
âYour mom probably wouldn't have taken him in without you, nor would he have even fome near her from what I gather. Then there's me. If I couldn't have joined the navy for some reason, I woulda fuckin' killed myself, but you gave me something to look forward too. You. Being friends with you. Talking with you.â he pushed hia fingers slightly against Hurons chest. âSo, if you ever say that shit again, I will bite you.â
Buck watched Huron, his own gaze softened, the bitterness easing in his heart. He glanced away then back.
How could anyone like me. How could anyone like who I am and what I've become. How could anyone like something so broken.
He swallowed back the words. â....I like you too. 'N that's what... scares me.â he looked away, picking at some splintered wood on the fence. â'm losing myself. 'M losing my brain, I'm losing my senses and I'm going to lose you, just from myself. Or, I'll hurt you. I don't want that. I'll wither hurt you physically, or I'll say some mean shit I don't really mean. You don't deserve that. You deserve better.â
âI don't even know how to fuckin' fight this shit.â
[Huron hesitated but took one of Buck's hands into his own]
"you don't have to fight it...that's what's making you feel so helpless"
[Huron looked to the ground]
"me and my Tiya have a lot in common, one of those is we have a disease, something that can't be cured, something that doctors don't know what the cause is, something that everyone believes we're faking, there's two options
Push through it and believe nothing is wrong, steadily getting worse and hating ourselves for it
Buck looked at their conjoined hands, blushing a little; he couldn't help it... he couldn't feel touch on his palms and wrist, but the back of his hand and knuckles felt his fingers and it made him want to cry and stiffen at the same time.
He raised his gaze to look back up at his face, listening to his words. â...One option is certainly a bit easier than the other huh...?â he chuckled weakly then sighed. â...Its hard to work alongside somethin' that feels like an enemy. How do... how do you do it...?â
"well...a change in perspective is always good, I know there's never a cure but there's stuff that makes me feel better, and if there's never a cure, that I'll never be 100% it rather be 85 than 70, y'know?"
Buck slowly nodded; that tea that they made sometimes did make him feel a little better, it was just... hard to drink and keep down most the times...
He hesitated for a moment. â....I don't... I. Ugh... I don't know if I chamge my perspective, not until Massimo is dead.â he closed his eyes, biting his cheek. âI want him gone and not just out of this town, but out of this life, I want him to suffer and die. I want Angelo the die too, but Massimo more. I see them around and my anger grows. I can't move past it. What he fuckin' did to me, the years of being hit with a ruler on my arms, the years of being smacked, pushed, degraded. Then that damn night. I can't let that go.â
"but you're alive....isn't that revenge enough as it is? Being able to live and breathe and grow? Maybe you'll end up happier than he ever was, a better person than he ever was, even if that bar is so low it's practically a tripping hazard"
â....â Buck said nothing for a moment then nodded slowly. â...But what if he thinks I'm dead? What if he's getting that satisfaction I-â he closed his eyes.
âI know you're right. Finding my own way and livin' is it's own revenge. I jus'.. need time. I've fantasized killin' him since I was young, I jus' need to come to terms that isn't how the real world is.â
RP starter for 'Where did the time go' AU, anyone is free to interact truly. I really REALLY love writing angry-rabied buck
Small recap: Buck's now 18, and just as he was about to leave his home, His 'father' sic-ed a rabid dog on him, causing a massive wound to his arm and ankle. Buck was helped by Tubbs to Hurons place, where he was healed, but unfortunately not cured. Has been living them for a bit, but... slowly losing himself...
Warnings: self-mutilation (not hard-core, but there in biting form), harsh Language, the likes.
@just-a-lone-soul
Buck wasn't sure how much more he could take. How much more he could go on. How much he could live, knowing that fucker was still breathing. Knowing that whole god damn family stayed living. He could imagine it every second, Massimo sitting at the head of his table, surrounded by that miserable excuse of a family. They were probably convinced Buck had died somewhere in the woods, or run off like the 'coward' they'd always called him. Buck could almost picture it; glasses of expensive wine raised in celebration, smug smiles, laughter echoing through that house.
The fuckin' snobs.
He couldn't help that something inside him had twisted. The voices never stopped, they hissed over one another until he couldn't tell where one ended and another began. Sometimes they were so loud his entire body trembled. More than once he'd caught saliva dripping from the corner of his mouth, hastily wiping it away before anyone noticed, his lips having a burning sensation left..
Most evenings he wandered away from the cabin with a cigarette hanging from his lips, sitting somewhere above town where no one would bother him. He'd sit there with narrowed eyes, set in a constant glare now, watching below.
Sometimes he'd spot Angelo laughing with his friends, and the rage would bloom in him so violently it made his vision blur. He imagined putting a bullet through every last one of them. Burning their homes to the ground. Stringing Angelo up for everyone to see.
He didn't push away the rage, he'd done that all his life, he welcomed it now, welcomed that very poison he swallowed down. He wanted to be angry. He wanted to be dangerous...
But not to those who cared. He didn't want to smack Dylans hand away again like he had one time, he didn't want to snap or glare at Huron for just existing, he didn't want to get irrated at Hurons Lolo or Lola, even his mother. He still remembered when he even snapped at Tubbe, saying how 'he should have left him to die.'
Currently it was arpund 10 PM, Buck sat on a ranchers fence, smoking as usual. He had to wipe away saliva with his sleeve occasionally, it being more prominent. He hadn't taken a drink in a few days now, nor eaten. His brain kept yelling that he'd choke, drown, and he couldn't die till Massimo was 30 feet under. Till his body was no more, till his heart was even pulled out, till he stopped looking so smug.
Buck wanted his hands around the mans neck, tightening and watching the life slowly ebb out of him, as he gasped for breath, gasping for forgiveness. The boy would give none, no consolation either. Just get the satisfaction.
Shit he needed to bite something. He got this way sometimes, where his jaw would gritt together and a low growl would lrumble in his chest; he couldn't stop it and didn't try, lifting his already wounded arm and sinking his teeth into it harshly. This had been the repeat for a few weeks, re-opening the wound then lying to the family on how it happened.
He pulled his arm back, staring at the yet again gushing crimson, dribbling down onto the fence. It'd attract predators to the ranch, but Buck could care less. He blew out some more smoke, then placed the cigarette right against the open bite, hissing and grimacing, letting it press there for a moment then dropping it onto the ground. The smell of tobacco mixed with blood made his eyes water and scrunched his nose.
....
He needed to leave. He was getting dangerous and he didn't want to calm down. But he didn't want to cause harm to huron and his family. Away from them too he could cause Massimos murder without them all being blamed. It was what needed to be done... but he sat there still for now, letting his arm bleed as he stared up at the smoke going into the sky...
[Huron had decided on a walk after everything, Dylan was worried about Mike and his gaggle of friends but Huron showed him the cool pocket knife mama got him and that helped soothe his worries, he walked along his usual route and was walking back on a new one. One near a ranch, although it seemed deserted, he walked until he saw Buck, his arm dripping blood and a cigarette on the ground, he walked over and silently pulled out a small med-kit, one Lola made for him and Dylan when they were younger because they would always run into some type of trouble.
He grabbed a pad and the cleaning alcohol and sat next to Buck]
Buck didn't register that Huron had sat next to him at first, seeming zoned out on the stars, until Huron lightly touched him; Buck flinched hard and bared his teeth automatically, looking at his friend and stopping his growling. He swallowed thickly. âWhat're you doin' out here...?â
[Huron seemed tired, moving with a purpose but it seemed stilted and sluggish, his short response replacing the usual long-winded stories he tells of his day]
Buck grunted and cocked an eye, eyeing the pad and alcohol Huron held, subconsciously bringing his bloody arm closer to his lap. â...Ya don't usually stray from the usual trail.â
[Huron cleaned the arm, making sure to make sure it's well and truly clean before disinfecting it and finally wrapping the arm, silently moving through each process]
Buck winced at each little wipe, gritting his teeth to try and stop himself from pushing Huron back, from snapping him. He didn't want that. He wanted to be angry, but not at his only friend.
âI can't. I-i need to god damn bite somethin', somethin' that's real. Not a stick, not a leaf,â he scoffed, looking away as he clenched his fists. âAin't nothin' else to bite but myself.â
Buck looked at his arm, yet again covered, and let out a breath, looking across the field to some horses.
â....Why are you here.â he murmered quietly. âWhy are you still trying? What's the point of being around me, to make things worse when I eventually leave? To try 'n 'fix' me? Clearly there's nothin' left.â he scoffed bitterly.
"only damn reason everything is fine is because Dylan came along, if he hadn't, mom would've gone off to get revenge on my dad and who knows how the family would be then, I was born a burden and I can't help anyone, clearly"
[Huron didn't even seem sad or angry about it just.... defeated]
âDon't fuckin' say that,â He punched hurons Shoulder, more firmly than he meant too but he glared at his friend.
âIf you were born a fuckin' burden your mom woulda left way before Dylan came 'long. Your grandparents would have dumped you, they don't fuck around... Dylan wouldn't have ever come along if it wasn't for ya.â he huffed.
âYour mom probably wouldn't have taken him in without you, nor would he have even fome near her from what I gather. Then there's me. If I couldn't have joined the navy for some reason, I woulda fuckin' killed myself, but you gave me something to look forward too. You. Being friends with you. Talking with you.â he pushed hia fingers slightly against Hurons chest. âSo, if you ever say that shit again, I will bite you.â
Buck watched Huron, his own gaze softened, the bitterness easing in his heart. He glanced away then back.
How could anyone like me. How could anyone like who I am and what I've become. How could anyone like something so broken.
He swallowed back the words. â....I like you too. 'N that's what... scares me.â he looked away, picking at some splintered wood on the fence. â'm losing myself. 'M losing my brain, I'm losing my senses and I'm going to lose you, just from myself. Or, I'll hurt you. I don't want that. I'll wither hurt you physically, or I'll say some mean shit I don't really mean. You don't deserve that. You deserve better.â
âI don't even know how to fuckin' fight this shit.â
[Huron hesitated but took one of Buck's hands into his own]
"you don't have to fight it...that's what's making you feel so helpless"
[Huron looked to the ground]
"me and my Tiya have a lot in common, one of those is we have a disease, something that can't be cured, something that doctors don't know what the cause is, something that everyone believes we're faking, there's two options
Push through it and believe nothing is wrong, steadily getting worse and hating ourselves for it
Buck looked at their conjoined hands, blushing a little; he couldn't help it... he couldn't feel touch on his palms and wrist, but the back of his hand and knuckles felt his fingers and it made him want to cry and stiffen at the same time.
He raised his gaze to look back up at his face, listening to his words. â...One option is certainly a bit easier than the other huh...?â he chuckled weakly then sighed. â...Its hard to work alongside somethin' that feels like an enemy. How do... how do you do it...?â
"well...a change in perspective is always good, I know there's never a cure but there's stuff that makes me feel better, and if there's never a cure, that I'll never be 100% it rather be 85 than 70, y'know?"
Buck slowly nodded; that tea that they made sometimes did make him feel a little better, it was just... hard to drink and keep down most the times...
He hesitated for a moment. â....I don't... I. Ugh... I don't know if I chamge my perspective, not until Massimo is dead.â he closed his eyes, biting his cheek. âI want him gone and not just out of this town, but out of this life, I want him to suffer and die. I want Angelo the die too, but Massimo more. I see them around and my anger grows. I can't move past it. What he fuckin' did to me, the years of being hit with a ruler on my arms, the years of being smacked, pushed, degraded. Then that damn night. I can't let that go.â
RP starter for 'Where did the time go' AU, anyone is free to interact truly. I really REALLY love writing angry-rabied buck
Small recap: Buck's now 18, and just as he was about to leave his home, His 'father' sic-ed a rabid dog on him, causing a massive wound to his arm and ankle. Buck was helped by Tubbs to Hurons place, where he was healed, but unfortunately not cured. Has been living them for a bit, but... slowly losing himself...
Warnings: self-mutilation (not hard-core, but there in biting form), harsh Language, the likes.
@just-a-lone-soul
Buck wasn't sure how much more he could take. How much more he could go on. How much he could live, knowing that fucker was still breathing. Knowing that whole god damn family stayed living. He could imagine it every second, Massimo sitting at the head of his table, surrounded by that miserable excuse of a family. They were probably convinced Buck had died somewhere in the woods, or run off like the 'coward' they'd always called him. Buck could almost picture it; glasses of expensive wine raised in celebration, smug smiles, laughter echoing through that house.
The fuckin' snobs.
He couldn't help that something inside him had twisted. The voices never stopped, they hissed over one another until he couldn't tell where one ended and another began. Sometimes they were so loud his entire body trembled. More than once he'd caught saliva dripping from the corner of his mouth, hastily wiping it away before anyone noticed, his lips having a burning sensation left..
Most evenings he wandered away from the cabin with a cigarette hanging from his lips, sitting somewhere above town where no one would bother him. He'd sit there with narrowed eyes, set in a constant glare now, watching below.
Sometimes he'd spot Angelo laughing with his friends, and the rage would bloom in him so violently it made his vision blur. He imagined putting a bullet through every last one of them. Burning their homes to the ground. Stringing Angelo up for everyone to see.
He didn't push away the rage, he'd done that all his life, he welcomed it now, welcomed that very poison he swallowed down. He wanted to be angry. He wanted to be dangerous...
But not to those who cared. He didn't want to smack Dylans hand away again like he had one time, he didn't want to snap or glare at Huron for just existing, he didn't want to get irrated at Hurons Lolo or Lola, even his mother. He still remembered when he even snapped at Tubbe, saying how 'he should have left him to die.'
Currently it was arpund 10 PM, Buck sat on a ranchers fence, smoking as usual. He had to wipe away saliva with his sleeve occasionally, it being more prominent. He hadn't taken a drink in a few days now, nor eaten. His brain kept yelling that he'd choke, drown, and he couldn't die till Massimo was 30 feet under. Till his body was no more, till his heart was even pulled out, till he stopped looking so smug.
Buck wanted his hands around the mans neck, tightening and watching the life slowly ebb out of him, as he gasped for breath, gasping for forgiveness. The boy would give none, no consolation either. Just get the satisfaction.
Shit he needed to bite something. He got this way sometimes, where his jaw would gritt together and a low growl would lrumble in his chest; he couldn't stop it and didn't try, lifting his already wounded arm and sinking his teeth into it harshly. This had been the repeat for a few weeks, re-opening the wound then lying to the family on how it happened.
He pulled his arm back, staring at the yet again gushing crimson, dribbling down onto the fence. It'd attract predators to the ranch, but Buck could care less. He blew out some more smoke, then placed the cigarette right against the open bite, hissing and grimacing, letting it press there for a moment then dropping it onto the ground. The smell of tobacco mixed with blood made his eyes water and scrunched his nose.
....
He needed to leave. He was getting dangerous and he didn't want to calm down. But he didn't want to cause harm to huron and his family. Away from them too he could cause Massimos murder without them all being blamed. It was what needed to be done... but he sat there still for now, letting his arm bleed as he stared up at the smoke going into the sky...
[Huron had decided on a walk after everything, Dylan was worried about Mike and his gaggle of friends but Huron showed him the cool pocket knife mama got him and that helped soothe his worries, he walked along his usual route and was walking back on a new one. One near a ranch, although it seemed deserted, he walked until he saw Buck, his arm dripping blood and a cigarette on the ground, he walked over and silently pulled out a small med-kit, one Lola made for him and Dylan when they were younger because they would always run into some type of trouble.
He grabbed a pad and the cleaning alcohol and sat next to Buck]
Buck didn't register that Huron had sat next to him at first, seeming zoned out on the stars, until Huron lightly touched him; Buck flinched hard and bared his teeth automatically, looking at his friend and stopping his growling. He swallowed thickly. âWhat're you doin' out here...?â
[Huron seemed tired, moving with a purpose but it seemed stilted and sluggish, his short response replacing the usual long-winded stories he tells of his day]
Buck grunted and cocked an eye, eyeing the pad and alcohol Huron held, subconsciously bringing his bloody arm closer to his lap. â...Ya don't usually stray from the usual trail.â
[Huron cleaned the arm, making sure to make sure it's well and truly clean before disinfecting it and finally wrapping the arm, silently moving through each process]
Buck winced at each little wipe, gritting his teeth to try and stop himself from pushing Huron back, from snapping him. He didn't want that. He wanted to be angry, but not at his only friend.
âI can't. I-i need to god damn bite somethin', somethin' that's real. Not a stick, not a leaf,â he scoffed, looking away as he clenched his fists. âAin't nothin' else to bite but myself.â
Buck looked at his arm, yet again covered, and let out a breath, looking across the field to some horses.
â....Why are you here.â he murmered quietly. âWhy are you still trying? What's the point of being around me, to make things worse when I eventually leave? To try 'n 'fix' me? Clearly there's nothin' left.â he scoffed bitterly.
"only damn reason everything is fine is because Dylan came along, if he hadn't, mom would've gone off to get revenge on my dad and who knows how the family would be then, I was born a burden and I can't help anyone, clearly"
[Huron didn't even seem sad or angry about it just.... defeated]
âDon't fuckin' say that,â He punched hurons Shoulder, more firmly than he meant too but he glared at his friend.
âIf you were born a fuckin' burden your mom woulda left way before Dylan came 'long. Your grandparents would have dumped you, they don't fuck around... Dylan wouldn't have ever come along if it wasn't for ya.â he huffed.
âYour mom probably wouldn't have taken him in without you, nor would he have even fome near her from what I gather. Then there's me. If I couldn't have joined the navy for some reason, I woulda fuckin' killed myself, but you gave me something to look forward too. You. Being friends with you. Talking with you.â he pushed hia fingers slightly against Hurons chest. âSo, if you ever say that shit again, I will bite you.â
Buck watched Huron, his own gaze softened, the bitterness easing in his heart. He glanced away then back.
How could anyone like me. How could anyone like who I am and what I've become. How could anyone like something so broken.
He swallowed back the words. â....I like you too. 'N that's what... scares me.â he looked away, picking at some splintered wood on the fence. â'm losing myself. 'M losing my brain, I'm losing my senses and I'm going to lose you, just from myself. Or, I'll hurt you. I don't want that. I'll wither hurt you physically, or I'll say some mean shit I don't really mean. You don't deserve that. You deserve better.â
âI don't even know how to fuckin' fight this shit.â
[Huron hesitated but took one of Buck's hands into his own]
"you don't have to fight it...that's what's making you feel so helpless"
[Huron looked to the ground]
"me and my Tiya have a lot in common, one of those is we have a disease, something that can't be cured, something that doctors don't know what the cause is, something that everyone believes we're faking, there's two options
Push through it and believe nothing is wrong, steadily getting worse and hating ourselves for it
Buck looked at their conjoined hands, blushing a little; he couldn't help it... he couldn't feel touch on his palms and wrist, but the back of his hand and knuckles felt his fingers and it made him want to cry and stiffen at the same time.
He raised his gaze to look back up at his face, listening to his words. â...One option is certainly a bit easier than the other huh...?â he chuckled weakly then sighed. â...Its hard to work alongside somethin' that feels like an enemy. How do... how do you do it...?â
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RP starter for 'Where did the time go' AU, anyone is free to interact truly. I really REALLY love writing angry-rabied buck
Small recap: Buck's now 18, and just as he was about to leave his home, His 'father' sic-ed a rabid dog on him, causing a massive wound to his arm and ankle. Buck was helped by Tubbs to Hurons place, where he was healed, but unfortunately not cured. Has been living them for a bit, but... slowly losing himself...
Warnings: self-mutilation (not hard-core, but there in biting form), harsh Language, the likes.
@just-a-lone-soul
Buck wasn't sure how much more he could take. How much more he could go on. How much he could live, knowing that fucker was still breathing. Knowing that whole god damn family stayed living. He could imagine it every second, Massimo sitting at the head of his table, surrounded by that miserable excuse of a family. They were probably convinced Buck had died somewhere in the woods, or run off like the 'coward' they'd always called him. Buck could almost picture it; glasses of expensive wine raised in celebration, smug smiles, laughter echoing through that house.
The fuckin' snobs.
He couldn't help that something inside him had twisted. The voices never stopped, they hissed over one another until he couldn't tell where one ended and another began. Sometimes they were so loud his entire body trembled. More than once he'd caught saliva dripping from the corner of his mouth, hastily wiping it away before anyone noticed, his lips having a burning sensation left..
Most evenings he wandered away from the cabin with a cigarette hanging from his lips, sitting somewhere above town where no one would bother him. He'd sit there with narrowed eyes, set in a constant glare now, watching below.
Sometimes he'd spot Angelo laughing with his friends, and the rage would bloom in him so violently it made his vision blur. He imagined putting a bullet through every last one of them. Burning their homes to the ground. Stringing Angelo up for everyone to see.
He didn't push away the rage, he'd done that all his life, he welcomed it now, welcomed that very poison he swallowed down. He wanted to be angry. He wanted to be dangerous...
But not to those who cared. He didn't want to smack Dylans hand away again like he had one time, he didn't want to snap or glare at Huron for just existing, he didn't want to get irrated at Hurons Lolo or Lola, even his mother. He still remembered when he even snapped at Tubbe, saying how 'he should have left him to die.'
Currently it was arpund 10 PM, Buck sat on a ranchers fence, smoking as usual. He had to wipe away saliva with his sleeve occasionally, it being more prominent. He hadn't taken a drink in a few days now, nor eaten. His brain kept yelling that he'd choke, drown, and he couldn't die till Massimo was 30 feet under. Till his body was no more, till his heart was even pulled out, till he stopped looking so smug.
Buck wanted his hands around the mans neck, tightening and watching the life slowly ebb out of him, as he gasped for breath, gasping for forgiveness. The boy would give none, no consolation either. Just get the satisfaction.
Shit he needed to bite something. He got this way sometimes, where his jaw would gritt together and a low growl would lrumble in his chest; he couldn't stop it and didn't try, lifting his already wounded arm and sinking his teeth into it harshly. This had been the repeat for a few weeks, re-opening the wound then lying to the family on how it happened.
He pulled his arm back, staring at the yet again gushing crimson, dribbling down onto the fence. It'd attract predators to the ranch, but Buck could care less. He blew out some more smoke, then placed the cigarette right against the open bite, hissing and grimacing, letting it press there for a moment then dropping it onto the ground. The smell of tobacco mixed with blood made his eyes water and scrunched his nose.
....
He needed to leave. He was getting dangerous and he didn't want to calm down. But he didn't want to cause harm to huron and his family. Away from them too he could cause Massimos murder without them all being blamed. It was what needed to be done... but he sat there still for now, letting his arm bleed as he stared up at the smoke going into the sky...
[Huron had decided on a walk after everything, Dylan was worried about Mike and his gaggle of friends but Huron showed him the cool pocket knife mama got him and that helped soothe his worries, he walked along his usual route and was walking back on a new one. One near a ranch, although it seemed deserted, he walked until he saw Buck, his arm dripping blood and a cigarette on the ground, he walked over and silently pulled out a small med-kit, one Lola made for him and Dylan when they were younger because they would always run into some type of trouble.
He grabbed a pad and the cleaning alcohol and sat next to Buck]
Buck didn't register that Huron had sat next to him at first, seeming zoned out on the stars, until Huron lightly touched him; Buck flinched hard and bared his teeth automatically, looking at his friend and stopping his growling. He swallowed thickly. âWhat're you doin' out here...?â
[Huron seemed tired, moving with a purpose but it seemed stilted and sluggish, his short response replacing the usual long-winded stories he tells of his day]
Buck grunted and cocked an eye, eyeing the pad and alcohol Huron held, subconsciously bringing his bloody arm closer to his lap. â...Ya don't usually stray from the usual trail.â
[Huron cleaned the arm, making sure to make sure it's well and truly clean before disinfecting it and finally wrapping the arm, silently moving through each process]
Buck winced at each little wipe, gritting his teeth to try and stop himself from pushing Huron back, from snapping him. He didn't want that. He wanted to be angry, but not at his only friend.
âI can't. I-i need to god damn bite somethin', somethin' that's real. Not a stick, not a leaf,â he scoffed, looking away as he clenched his fists. âAin't nothin' else to bite but myself.â
Buck looked at his arm, yet again covered, and let out a breath, looking across the field to some horses.
â....Why are you here.â he murmered quietly. âWhy are you still trying? What's the point of being around me, to make things worse when I eventually leave? To try 'n 'fix' me? Clearly there's nothin' left.â he scoffed bitterly.
"only damn reason everything is fine is because Dylan came along, if he hadn't, mom would've gone off to get revenge on my dad and who knows how the family would be then, I was born a burden and I can't help anyone, clearly"
[Huron didn't even seem sad or angry about it just.... defeated]
âDon't fuckin' say that,â He punched hurons Shoulder, more firmly than he meant too but he glared at his friend.
âIf you were born a fuckin' burden your mom woulda left way before Dylan came 'long. Your grandparents would have dumped you, they don't fuck around... Dylan wouldn't have ever come along if it wasn't for ya.â he huffed.
âYour mom probably wouldn't have taken him in without you, nor would he have even fome near her from what I gather. Then there's me. If I couldn't have joined the navy for some reason, I woulda fuckin' killed myself, but you gave me something to look forward too. You. Being friends with you. Talking with you.â he pushed hia fingers slightly against Hurons chest. âSo, if you ever say that shit again, I will bite you.â
Buck watched Huron, his own gaze softened, the bitterness easing in his heart. He glanced away then back.
How could anyone like me. How could anyone like who I am and what I've become. How could anyone like something so broken.
He swallowed back the words. â....I like you too. 'N that's what... scares me.â he looked away, picking at some splintered wood on the fence. â'm losing myself. 'M losing my brain, I'm losing my senses and I'm going to lose you, just from myself. Or, I'll hurt you. I don't want that. I'll wither hurt you physically, or I'll say some mean shit I don't really mean. You don't deserve that. You deserve better.â
âI don't even know how to fuckin' fight this shit.â
RP starter for 'Where did the time go' AU, anyone is free to interact truly. I really REALLY love writing angry-rabied buck
Small recap: Buck's now 18, and just as he was about to leave his home, His 'father' sic-ed a rabid dog on him, causing a massive wound to his arm and ankle. Buck was helped by Tubbs to Hurons place, where he was healed, but unfortunately not cured. Has been living them for a bit, but... slowly losing himself...
Warnings: self-mutilation (not hard-core, but there in biting form), harsh Language, the likes.
@just-a-lone-soul
Buck wasn't sure how much more he could take. How much more he could go on. How much he could live, knowing that fucker was still breathing. Knowing that whole god damn family stayed living. He could imagine it every second, Massimo sitting at the head of his table, surrounded by that miserable excuse of a family. They were probably convinced Buck had died somewhere in the woods, or run off like the 'coward' they'd always called him. Buck could almost picture it; glasses of expensive wine raised in celebration, smug smiles, laughter echoing through that house.
The fuckin' snobs.
He couldn't help that something inside him had twisted. The voices never stopped, they hissed over one another until he couldn't tell where one ended and another began. Sometimes they were so loud his entire body trembled. More than once he'd caught saliva dripping from the corner of his mouth, hastily wiping it away before anyone noticed, his lips having a burning sensation left..
Most evenings he wandered away from the cabin with a cigarette hanging from his lips, sitting somewhere above town where no one would bother him. He'd sit there with narrowed eyes, set in a constant glare now, watching below.
Sometimes he'd spot Angelo laughing with his friends, and the rage would bloom in him so violently it made his vision blur. He imagined putting a bullet through every last one of them. Burning their homes to the ground. Stringing Angelo up for everyone to see.
He didn't push away the rage, he'd done that all his life, he welcomed it now, welcomed that very poison he swallowed down. He wanted to be angry. He wanted to be dangerous...
But not to those who cared. He didn't want to smack Dylans hand away again like he had one time, he didn't want to snap or glare at Huron for just existing, he didn't want to get irrated at Hurons Lolo or Lola, even his mother. He still remembered when he even snapped at Tubbe, saying how 'he should have left him to die.'
Currently it was arpund 10 PM, Buck sat on a ranchers fence, smoking as usual. He had to wipe away saliva with his sleeve occasionally, it being more prominent. He hadn't taken a drink in a few days now, nor eaten. His brain kept yelling that he'd choke, drown, and he couldn't die till Massimo was 30 feet under. Till his body was no more, till his heart was even pulled out, till he stopped looking so smug.
Buck wanted his hands around the mans neck, tightening and watching the life slowly ebb out of him, as he gasped for breath, gasping for forgiveness. The boy would give none, no consolation either. Just get the satisfaction.
Shit he needed to bite something. He got this way sometimes, where his jaw would gritt together and a low growl would lrumble in his chest; he couldn't stop it and didn't try, lifting his already wounded arm and sinking his teeth into it harshly. This had been the repeat for a few weeks, re-opening the wound then lying to the family on how it happened.
He pulled his arm back, staring at the yet again gushing crimson, dribbling down onto the fence. It'd attract predators to the ranch, but Buck could care less. He blew out some more smoke, then placed the cigarette right against the open bite, hissing and grimacing, letting it press there for a moment then dropping it onto the ground. The smell of tobacco mixed with blood made his eyes water and scrunched his nose.
....
He needed to leave. He was getting dangerous and he didn't want to calm down. But he didn't want to cause harm to huron and his family. Away from them too he could cause Massimos murder without them all being blamed. It was what needed to be done... but he sat there still for now, letting his arm bleed as he stared up at the smoke going into the sky...
[Huron had decided on a walk after everything, Dylan was worried about Mike and his gaggle of friends but Huron showed him the cool pocket knife mama got him and that helped soothe his worries, he walked along his usual route and was walking back on a new one. One near a ranch, although it seemed deserted, he walked until he saw Buck, his arm dripping blood and a cigarette on the ground, he walked over and silently pulled out a small med-kit, one Lola made for him and Dylan when they were younger because they would always run into some type of trouble.
He grabbed a pad and the cleaning alcohol and sat next to Buck]
Buck didn't register that Huron had sat next to him at first, seeming zoned out on the stars, until Huron lightly touched him; Buck flinched hard and bared his teeth automatically, looking at his friend and stopping his growling. He swallowed thickly. âWhat're you doin' out here...?â
[Huron seemed tired, moving with a purpose but it seemed stilted and sluggish, his short response replacing the usual long-winded stories he tells of his day]
Buck grunted and cocked an eye, eyeing the pad and alcohol Huron held, subconsciously bringing his bloody arm closer to his lap. â...Ya don't usually stray from the usual trail.â
[Huron cleaned the arm, making sure to make sure it's well and truly clean before disinfecting it and finally wrapping the arm, silently moving through each process]
Buck winced at each little wipe, gritting his teeth to try and stop himself from pushing Huron back, from snapping him. He didn't want that. He wanted to be angry, but not at his only friend.
âI can't. I-i need to god damn bite somethin', somethin' that's real. Not a stick, not a leaf,â he scoffed, looking away as he clenched his fists. âAin't nothin' else to bite but myself.â
Buck looked at his arm, yet again covered, and let out a breath, looking across the field to some horses.
â....Why are you here.â he murmered quietly. âWhy are you still trying? What's the point of being around me, to make things worse when I eventually leave? To try 'n 'fix' me? Clearly there's nothin' left.â he scoffed bitterly.
"only damn reason everything is fine is because Dylan came along, if he hadn't, mom would've gone off to get revenge on my dad and who knows how the family would be then, I was born a burden and I can't help anyone, clearly"
[Huron didn't even seem sad or angry about it just.... defeated]
âDon't fuckin' say that,â He punched hurons Shoulder, more firmly than he meant too but he glared at his friend.
âIf you were born a fuckin' burden your mom woulda left way before Dylan came 'long. Your grandparents would have dumped you, they don't fuck around... Dylan wouldn't have ever come along if it wasn't for ya.â he huffed.
âYour mom probably wouldn't have taken him in without you, nor would he have even fome near her from what I gather. Then there's me. If I couldn't have joined the navy for some reason, I woulda fuckin' killed myself, but you gave me something to look forward too. You. Being friends with you. Talking with you.â he pushed hia fingers slightly against Hurons chest. âSo, if you ever say that shit again, I will bite you.â
RP starter for 'Where did the time go' AU, anyone is free to interact truly. I really REALLY love writing angry-rabied buck
Small recap: Buck's now 18, and just as he was about to leave his home, His 'father' sic-ed a rabid dog on him, causing a massive wound to his arm and ankle. Buck was helped by Tubbs to Hurons place, where he was healed, but unfortunately not cured. Has been living them for a bit, but... slowly losing himself...
Warnings: self-mutilation (not hard-core, but there in biting form), harsh Language, the likes.
@just-a-lone-soul
Buck wasn't sure how much more he could take. How much more he could go on. How much he could live, knowing that fucker was still breathing. Knowing that whole god damn family stayed living. He could imagine it every second, Massimo sitting at the head of his table, surrounded by that miserable excuse of a family. They were probably convinced Buck had died somewhere in the woods, or run off like the 'coward' they'd always called him. Buck could almost picture it; glasses of expensive wine raised in celebration, smug smiles, laughter echoing through that house.
The fuckin' snobs.
He couldn't help that something inside him had twisted. The voices never stopped, they hissed over one another until he couldn't tell where one ended and another began. Sometimes they were so loud his entire body trembled. More than once he'd caught saliva dripping from the corner of his mouth, hastily wiping it away before anyone noticed, his lips having a burning sensation left..
Most evenings he wandered away from the cabin with a cigarette hanging from his lips, sitting somewhere above town where no one would bother him. He'd sit there with narrowed eyes, set in a constant glare now, watching below.
Sometimes he'd spot Angelo laughing with his friends, and the rage would bloom in him so violently it made his vision blur. He imagined putting a bullet through every last one of them. Burning their homes to the ground. Stringing Angelo up for everyone to see.
He didn't push away the rage, he'd done that all his life, he welcomed it now, welcomed that very poison he swallowed down. He wanted to be angry. He wanted to be dangerous...
But not to those who cared. He didn't want to smack Dylans hand away again like he had one time, he didn't want to snap or glare at Huron for just existing, he didn't want to get irrated at Hurons Lolo or Lola, even his mother. He still remembered when he even snapped at Tubbe, saying how 'he should have left him to die.'
Currently it was arpund 10 PM, Buck sat on a ranchers fence, smoking as usual. He had to wipe away saliva with his sleeve occasionally, it being more prominent. He hadn't taken a drink in a few days now, nor eaten. His brain kept yelling that he'd choke, drown, and he couldn't die till Massimo was 30 feet under. Till his body was no more, till his heart was even pulled out, till he stopped looking so smug.
Buck wanted his hands around the mans neck, tightening and watching the life slowly ebb out of him, as he gasped for breath, gasping for forgiveness. The boy would give none, no consolation either. Just get the satisfaction.
Shit he needed to bite something. He got this way sometimes, where his jaw would gritt together and a low growl would lrumble in his chest; he couldn't stop it and didn't try, lifting his already wounded arm and sinking his teeth into it harshly. This had been the repeat for a few weeks, re-opening the wound then lying to the family on how it happened.
He pulled his arm back, staring at the yet again gushing crimson, dribbling down onto the fence. It'd attract predators to the ranch, but Buck could care less. He blew out some more smoke, then placed the cigarette right against the open bite, hissing and grimacing, letting it press there for a moment then dropping it onto the ground. The smell of tobacco mixed with blood made his eyes water and scrunched his nose.
....
He needed to leave. He was getting dangerous and he didn't want to calm down. But he didn't want to cause harm to huron and his family. Away from them too he could cause Massimos murder without them all being blamed. It was what needed to be done... but he sat there still for now, letting his arm bleed as he stared up at the smoke going into the sky...
[Huron had decided on a walk after everything, Dylan was worried about Mike and his gaggle of friends but Huron showed him the cool pocket knife mama got him and that helped soothe his worries, he walked along his usual route and was walking back on a new one. One near a ranch, although it seemed deserted, he walked until he saw Buck, his arm dripping blood and a cigarette on the ground, he walked over and silently pulled out a small med-kit, one Lola made for him and Dylan when they were younger because they would always run into some type of trouble.
He grabbed a pad and the cleaning alcohol and sat next to Buck]
Buck didn't register that Huron had sat next to him at first, seeming zoned out on the stars, until Huron lightly touched him; Buck flinched hard and bared his teeth automatically, looking at his friend and stopping his growling. He swallowed thickly. âWhat're you doin' out here...?â
[Huron seemed tired, moving with a purpose but it seemed stilted and sluggish, his short response replacing the usual long-winded stories he tells of his day]
Buck grunted and cocked an eye, eyeing the pad and alcohol Huron held, subconsciously bringing his bloody arm closer to his lap. â...Ya don't usually stray from the usual trail.â
[Huron cleaned the arm, making sure to make sure it's well and truly clean before disinfecting it and finally wrapping the arm, silently moving through each process]
Buck winced at each little wipe, gritting his teeth to try and stop himself from pushing Huron back, from snapping him. He didn't want that. He wanted to be angry, but not at his only friend.
âI can't. I-i need to god damn bite somethin', somethin' that's real. Not a stick, not a leaf,â he scoffed, looking away as he clenched his fists. âAin't nothin' else to bite but myself.â
Buck looked at his arm, yet again covered, and let out a breath, looking across the field to some horses.
â....Why are you here.â he murmered quietly. âWhy are you still trying? What's the point of being around me, to make things worse when I eventually leave? To try 'n 'fix' me? Clearly there's nothin' left.â he scoffed bitterly.
RP starter for 'Where did the time go' AU, anyone is free to interact truly. I really REALLY love writing angry-rabied buck
Small recap: Buck's now 18, and just as he was about to leave his home, His 'father' sic-ed a rabid dog on him, causing a massive wound to his arm and ankle. Buck was helped by Tubbs to Hurons place, where he was healed, but unfortunately not cured. Has been living them for a bit, but... slowly losing himself...
Warnings: self-mutilation (not hard-core, but there in biting form), harsh Language, the likes.
@just-a-lone-soul
Buck wasn't sure how much more he could take. How much more he could go on. How much he could live, knowing that fucker was still breathing. Knowing that whole god damn family stayed living. He could imagine it every second, Massimo sitting at the head of his table, surrounded by that miserable excuse of a family. They were probably convinced Buck had died somewhere in the woods, or run off like the 'coward' they'd always called him. Buck could almost picture it; glasses of expensive wine raised in celebration, smug smiles, laughter echoing through that house.
The fuckin' snobs.
He couldn't help that something inside him had twisted. The voices never stopped, they hissed over one another until he couldn't tell where one ended and another began. Sometimes they were so loud his entire body trembled. More than once he'd caught saliva dripping from the corner of his mouth, hastily wiping it away before anyone noticed, his lips having a burning sensation left..
Most evenings he wandered away from the cabin with a cigarette hanging from his lips, sitting somewhere above town where no one would bother him. He'd sit there with narrowed eyes, set in a constant glare now, watching below.
Sometimes he'd spot Angelo laughing with his friends, and the rage would bloom in him so violently it made his vision blur. He imagined putting a bullet through every last one of them. Burning their homes to the ground. Stringing Angelo up for everyone to see.
He didn't push away the rage, he'd done that all his life, he welcomed it now, welcomed that very poison he swallowed down. He wanted to be angry. He wanted to be dangerous...
But not to those who cared. He didn't want to smack Dylans hand away again like he had one time, he didn't want to snap or glare at Huron for just existing, he didn't want to get irrated at Hurons Lolo or Lola, even his mother. He still remembered when he even snapped at Tubbe, saying how 'he should have left him to die.'
Currently it was arpund 10 PM, Buck sat on a ranchers fence, smoking as usual. He had to wipe away saliva with his sleeve occasionally, it being more prominent. He hadn't taken a drink in a few days now, nor eaten. His brain kept yelling that he'd choke, drown, and he couldn't die till Massimo was 30 feet under. Till his body was no more, till his heart was even pulled out, till he stopped looking so smug.
Buck wanted his hands around the mans neck, tightening and watching the life slowly ebb out of him, as he gasped for breath, gasping for forgiveness. The boy would give none, no consolation either. Just get the satisfaction.
Shit he needed to bite something. He got this way sometimes, where his jaw would gritt together and a low growl would lrumble in his chest; he couldn't stop it and didn't try, lifting his already wounded arm and sinking his teeth into it harshly. This had been the repeat for a few weeks, re-opening the wound then lying to the family on how it happened.
He pulled his arm back, staring at the yet again gushing crimson, dribbling down onto the fence. It'd attract predators to the ranch, but Buck could care less. He blew out some more smoke, then placed the cigarette right against the open bite, hissing and grimacing, letting it press there for a moment then dropping it onto the ground. The smell of tobacco mixed with blood made his eyes water and scrunched his nose.
....
He needed to leave. He was getting dangerous and he didn't want to calm down. But he didn't want to cause harm to huron and his family. Away from them too he could cause Massimos murder without them all being blamed. It was what needed to be done... but he sat there still for now, letting his arm bleed as he stared up at the smoke going into the sky...
[Huron had decided on a walk after everything, Dylan was worried about Mike and his gaggle of friends but Huron showed him the cool pocket knife mama got him and that helped soothe his worries, he walked along his usual route and was walking back on a new one. One near a ranch, although it seemed deserted, he walked until he saw Buck, his arm dripping blood and a cigarette on the ground, he walked over and silently pulled out a small med-kit, one Lola made for him and Dylan when they were younger because they would always run into some type of trouble.
He grabbed a pad and the cleaning alcohol and sat next to Buck]
Buck didn't register that Huron had sat next to him at first, seeming zoned out on the stars, until Huron lightly touched him; Buck flinched hard and bared his teeth automatically, looking at his friend and stopping his growling. He swallowed thickly. âWhat're you doin' out here...?â
[Huron seemed tired, moving with a purpose but it seemed stilted and sluggish, his short response replacing the usual long-winded stories he tells of his day]
Buck grunted and cocked an eye, eyeing the pad and alcohol Huron held, subconsciously bringing his bloody arm closer to his lap. â...Ya don't usually stray from the usual trail.â
[Huron cleaned the arm, making sure to make sure it's well and truly clean before disinfecting it and finally wrapping the arm, silently moving through each process]
Buck winced at each little wipe, gritting his teeth to try and stop himself from pushing Huron back, from snapping him. He didn't want that. He wanted to be angry, but not at his only friend.
âI can't. I-i need to god damn bite somethin', somethin' that's real. Not a stick, not a leaf,â he scoffed, looking away as he clenched his fists. âAin't nothin' else to bite but myself.â
Buck looked at his arm, yet again covered, and let out a breath, looking across the field to some horses.
â....Why are you here.â he murmered quietly. âWhy are you still trying? What's the point of being around me, to make things worse when I eventually leave? To try 'n 'fix' me? Clearly there's nothin' left.â he scoffed bitterly.
RP starter for 'Where did the time go' AU, anyone is free to interact truly. I really REALLY love writing angry-rabied buck
Small recap: Buck's now 18, and just as he was about to leave his home, His 'father' sic-ed a rabid dog on him, causing a massive wound to his arm and ankle. Buck was helped by Tubbs to Hurons place, where he was healed, but unfortunately not cured. Has been living them for a bit, but... slowly losing himself...
Warnings: self-mutilation (not hard-core, but there in biting form), harsh Language, the likes.
@just-a-lone-soul
Buck wasn't sure how much more he could take. How much more he could go on. How much he could live, knowing that fucker was still breathing. Knowing that whole god damn family stayed living. He could imagine it every second, Massimo sitting at the head of his table, surrounded by that miserable excuse of a family. They were probably convinced Buck had died somewhere in the woods, or run off like the 'coward' they'd always called him. Buck could almost picture it; glasses of expensive wine raised in celebration, smug smiles, laughter echoing through that house.
The fuckin' snobs.
He couldn't help that something inside him had twisted. The voices never stopped, they hissed over one another until he couldn't tell where one ended and another began. Sometimes they were so loud his entire body trembled. More than once he'd caught saliva dripping from the corner of his mouth, hastily wiping it away before anyone noticed, his lips having a burning sensation left..
Most evenings he wandered away from the cabin with a cigarette hanging from his lips, sitting somewhere above town where no one would bother him. He'd sit there with narrowed eyes, set in a constant glare now, watching below.
Sometimes he'd spot Angelo laughing with his friends, and the rage would bloom in him so violently it made his vision blur. He imagined putting a bullet through every last one of them. Burning their homes to the ground. Stringing Angelo up for everyone to see.
He didn't push away the rage, he'd done that all his life, he welcomed it now, welcomed that very poison he swallowed down. He wanted to be angry. He wanted to be dangerous...
But not to those who cared. He didn't want to smack Dylans hand away again like he had one time, he didn't want to snap or glare at Huron for just existing, he didn't want to get irrated at Hurons Lolo or Lola, even his mother. He still remembered when he even snapped at Tubbe, saying how 'he should have left him to die.'
Currently it was arpund 10 PM, Buck sat on a ranchers fence, smoking as usual. He had to wipe away saliva with his sleeve occasionally, it being more prominent. He hadn't taken a drink in a few days now, nor eaten. His brain kept yelling that he'd choke, drown, and he couldn't die till Massimo was 30 feet under. Till his body was no more, till his heart was even pulled out, till he stopped looking so smug.
Buck wanted his hands around the mans neck, tightening and watching the life slowly ebb out of him, as he gasped for breath, gasping for forgiveness. The boy would give none, no consolation either. Just get the satisfaction.
Shit he needed to bite something. He got this way sometimes, where his jaw would gritt together and a low growl would lrumble in his chest; he couldn't stop it and didn't try, lifting his already wounded arm and sinking his teeth into it harshly. This had been the repeat for a few weeks, re-opening the wound then lying to the family on how it happened.
He pulled his arm back, staring at the yet again gushing crimson, dribbling down onto the fence. It'd attract predators to the ranch, but Buck could care less. He blew out some more smoke, then placed the cigarette right against the open bite, hissing and grimacing, letting it press there for a moment then dropping it onto the ground. The smell of tobacco mixed with blood made his eyes water and scrunched his nose.
....
He needed to leave. He was getting dangerous and he didn't want to calm down. But he didn't want to cause harm to huron and his family. Away from them too he could cause Massimos murder without them all being blamed. It was what needed to be done... but he sat there still for now, letting his arm bleed as he stared up at the smoke going into the sky...
[Huron had decided on a walk after everything, Dylan was worried about Mike and his gaggle of friends but Huron showed him the cool pocket knife mama got him and that helped soothe his worries, he walked along his usual route and was walking back on a new one. One near a ranch, although it seemed deserted, he walked until he saw Buck, his arm dripping blood and a cigarette on the ground, he walked over and silently pulled out a small med-kit, one Lola made for him and Dylan when they were younger because they would always run into some type of trouble.
He grabbed a pad and the cleaning alcohol and sat next to Buck]
Buck didn't register that Huron had sat next to him at first, seeming zoned out on the stars, until Huron lightly touched him; Buck flinched hard and bared his teeth automatically, looking at his friend and stopping his growling. He swallowed thickly. âWhat're you doin' out here...?â
[Huron seemed tired, moving with a purpose but it seemed stilted and sluggish, his short response replacing the usual long-winded stories he tells of his day]
Buck grunted and cocked an eye, eyeing the pad and alcohol Huron held, subconsciously bringing his bloody arm closer to his lap. â...Ya don't usually stray from the usual trail.â
[Huron cleaned the arm, making sure to make sure it's well and truly clean before disinfecting it and finally wrapping the arm, silently moving through each process]
Buck winced at each little wipe, gritting his teeth to try and stop himself from pushing Huron back, from snapping him. He didn't want that. He wanted to be angry, but not at his only friend.
âI can't. I-i need to god damn bite somethin', somethin' that's real. Not a stick, not a leaf,â he scoffed, looking away as he clenched his fists. âAin't nothin' else to bite but myself.â
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RP starter for 'Where did the time go' AU, anyone is free to interact truly. I really REALLY love writing angry-rabied buck
Small recap: Buck's now 18, and just as he was about to leave his home, His 'father' sic-ed a rabid dog on him, causing a massive wound to his arm and ankle. Buck was helped by Tubbs to Hurons place, where he was healed, but unfortunately not cured. Has been living them for a bit, but... slowly losing himself...
Warnings: self-mutilation (not hard-core, but there in biting form), harsh Language, the likes.
@just-a-lone-soul
Buck wasn't sure how much more he could take. How much more he could go on. How much he could live, knowing that fucker was still breathing. Knowing that whole god damn family stayed living. He could imagine it every second, Massimo sitting at the head of his table, surrounded by that miserable excuse of a family. They were probably convinced Buck had died somewhere in the woods, or run off like the 'coward' they'd always called him. Buck could almost picture it; glasses of expensive wine raised in celebration, smug smiles, laughter echoing through that house.
The fuckin' snobs.
He couldn't help that something inside him had twisted. The voices never stopped, they hissed over one another until he couldn't tell where one ended and another began. Sometimes they were so loud his entire body trembled. More than once he'd caught saliva dripping from the corner of his mouth, hastily wiping it away before anyone noticed, his lips having a burning sensation left..
Most evenings he wandered away from the cabin with a cigarette hanging from his lips, sitting somewhere above town where no one would bother him. He'd sit there with narrowed eyes, set in a constant glare now, watching below.
Sometimes he'd spot Angelo laughing with his friends, and the rage would bloom in him so violently it made his vision blur. He imagined putting a bullet through every last one of them. Burning their homes to the ground. Stringing Angelo up for everyone to see.
He didn't push away the rage, he'd done that all his life, he welcomed it now, welcomed that very poison he swallowed down. He wanted to be angry. He wanted to be dangerous...
But not to those who cared. He didn't want to smack Dylans hand away again like he had one time, he didn't want to snap or glare at Huron for just existing, he didn't want to get irrated at Hurons Lolo or Lola, even his mother. He still remembered when he even snapped at Tubbe, saying how 'he should have left him to die.'
Currently it was arpund 10 PM, Buck sat on a ranchers fence, smoking as usual. He had to wipe away saliva with his sleeve occasionally, it being more prominent. He hadn't taken a drink in a few days now, nor eaten. His brain kept yelling that he'd choke, drown, and he couldn't die till Massimo was 30 feet under. Till his body was no more, till his heart was even pulled out, till he stopped looking so smug.
Buck wanted his hands around the mans neck, tightening and watching the life slowly ebb out of him, as he gasped for breath, gasping for forgiveness. The boy would give none, no consolation either. Just get the satisfaction.
Shit he needed to bite something. He got this way sometimes, where his jaw would gritt together and a low growl would lrumble in his chest; he couldn't stop it and didn't try, lifting his already wounded arm and sinking his teeth into it harshly. This had been the repeat for a few weeks, re-opening the wound then lying to the family on how it happened.
He pulled his arm back, staring at the yet again gushing crimson, dribbling down onto the fence. It'd attract predators to the ranch, but Buck could care less. He blew out some more smoke, then placed the cigarette right against the open bite, hissing and grimacing, letting it press there for a moment then dropping it onto the ground. The smell of tobacco mixed with blood made his eyes water and scrunched his nose.
....
He needed to leave. He was getting dangerous and he didn't want to calm down. But he didn't want to cause harm to huron and his family. Away from them too he could cause Massimos murder without them all being blamed. It was what needed to be done... but he sat there still for now, letting his arm bleed as he stared up at the smoke going into the sky...
[Huron had decided on a walk after everything, Dylan was worried about Mike and his gaggle of friends but Huron showed him the cool pocket knife mama got him and that helped soothe his worries, he walked along his usual route and was walking back on a new one. One near a ranch, although it seemed deserted, he walked until he saw Buck, his arm dripping blood and a cigarette on the ground, he walked over and silently pulled out a small med-kit, one Lola made for him and Dylan when they were younger because they would always run into some type of trouble.
He grabbed a pad and the cleaning alcohol and sat next to Buck]
Buck didn't register that Huron had sat next to him at first, seeming zoned out on the stars, until Huron lightly touched him; Buck flinched hard and bared his teeth automatically, looking at his friend and stopping his growling. He swallowed thickly. âWhat're you doin' out here...?â
[Huron seemed tired, moving with a purpose but it seemed stilted and sluggish, his short response replacing the usual long-winded stories he tells of his day]
Buck grunted and cocked an eye, eyeing the pad and alcohol Huron held, subconsciously bringing his bloody arm closer to his lap. â...Ya don't usually stray from the usual trail.â
It was a rather gloomy day. Sticky. Smelled of rain. Sherlock knew he was at least a dayâs trip from the nearest town, and he didnât like his odds of beating the storm. Maybe he could flag someone down, get a ride. Then again, he also didnât like his odds of not getting recognised. The law was out to get him in some places, after all.
All of a sudden, Sherlock heard movement a few yards off. He tried to scramble into a tree, but climbing was never his strong suit, and he fell back to the ground just as the person approached.
:>
âI'll never understand why you wanna go out in the rain...â Dylan grunted as he held onto Chances reigns, limping beside him. Hie hair was soaking wet, sticking to his forehead, getting in his remaining eye. But Chance seemed happy, trotting along and giving a huff.
Dylan sighed, pushing his hair up, kinda slicking it back, looking up, eyes narrowed. Least the rain wasn't heavy, more so a drizzle. He could deal with that better; rain wasn't bad, he'd been in it plenty, he'd just gotten comfortable to not being wet. More used to that now.
He heard sone noise and looked over quickly, on alert. His eye scanned the area, head tilting slowly as he began to walk in the direction to inspect; what did he have to lose?
As he stepped into the little clearing, someon had fallen out of the tree they apparently had been climbing. Dylan internally winced and hoped they hadn't fallen far, but he halted a few feet away, looking down at them, head still tilted, blinking with curiosity.
He laughed a bit, sitting down on his hunches, still facing the other. âTruth be told, I dunno really... I had this whole thing with the Devil, technically sold my soul to him 'n when I got it back fair 'n square, he wouldn't let go, multiple times. So, in the end I stole my souls contract after I uh, died the first time.â
He hummed, âSince then my looks have changed 'n that's when I could shapeshift. It used to jus' happen when I was like, frightened or panicked, now I can have it happen randomly.â
Dylan shrugged and turned back to his normal form. â... it is what it is, really my own kinda fault. I've died more times than I can count, 'm jus' stubborn.â
âCertainly has it's moments.â
Soon they were approaching a decent sized looking cabin, a lantern outside to cast some light around the place. Dylan hummed, leading them into the little stable to hitch Chance up.
Chance seemed thankful of the pat, ta swishing and ears perked. Dylan climbed off and shook his head. âNah, I didn't go to the store or anythin' so we can walk right in.â he smiled as he began to lead the way up the steps.
As they walked inside, it was a pretty cozy place... a fireplace, a couch, a rocking chair, a small shelf of books, a kitchen to the right, and a hallway to the left of what could be assumed rooms. There was a gaint dog bed in the living room, where three hounds were asleep curled up with each other, occasionally kicking one another. A cat lay on the top of the couch, purring.
Dylan assumed Scrap, Bata were with Huron and Buck in their room, and Vulcan and Fang, the mice, pip were in the shared boys room. He turned to Sherlock, smile still on.
âYa want the couch or I can get a mattress out for ya? Oh, are ya hungry at all?â
Dylan looked to the hounds, blinking. He was silent for a moment then smiled sheepishly and looked back to Sherlock. â'm gonna be so honest, I only remember the girls name, Pandora... I do NOT remember the others.â
Dylan chuckled, rubbing his neck, âThe hounds 'n I have a bit of a past, so I honestly jus'... kinda ignore them. Not that I don't like 'em particularly, jus' ain't my thing. 'M not a dog person really anyhow.â
He smiled; he wasn't planning on making anything, but he would now. â'm just gonna make a simple grilled cheese with some pepperoni... want some?â
It was a rather gloomy day. Sticky. Smelled of rain. Sherlock knew he was at least a dayâs trip from the nearest town, and he didnât like his odds of beating the storm. Maybe he could flag someone down, get a ride. Then again, he also didnât like his odds of not getting recognised. The law was out to get him in some places, after all.
All of a sudden, Sherlock heard movement a few yards off. He tried to scramble into a tree, but climbing was never his strong suit, and he fell back to the ground just as the person approached.
:>
âI'll never understand why you wanna go out in the rain...â Dylan grunted as he held onto Chances reigns, limping beside him. Hie hair was soaking wet, sticking to his forehead, getting in his remaining eye. But Chance seemed happy, trotting along and giving a huff.
Dylan sighed, pushing his hair up, kinda slicking it back, looking up, eyes narrowed. Least the rain wasn't heavy, more so a drizzle. He could deal with that better; rain wasn't bad, he'd been in it plenty, he'd just gotten comfortable to not being wet. More used to that now.
He heard sone noise and looked over quickly, on alert. His eye scanned the area, head tilting slowly as he began to walk in the direction to inspect; what did he have to lose?
As he stepped into the little clearing, someon had fallen out of the tree they apparently had been climbing. Dylan internally winced and hoped they hadn't fallen far, but he halted a few feet away, looking down at them, head still tilted, blinking with curiosity.
He laughed a bit, sitting down on his hunches, still facing the other. âTruth be told, I dunno really... I had this whole thing with the Devil, technically sold my soul to him 'n when I got it back fair 'n square, he wouldn't let go, multiple times. So, in the end I stole my souls contract after I uh, died the first time.â
He hummed, âSince then my looks have changed 'n that's when I could shapeshift. It used to jus' happen when I was like, frightened or panicked, now I can have it happen randomly.â
Dylan shrugged and turned back to his normal form. â... it is what it is, really my own kinda fault. I've died more times than I can count, 'm jus' stubborn.â
âCertainly has it's moments.â
Soon they were approaching a decent sized looking cabin, a lantern outside to cast some light around the place. Dylan hummed, leading them into the little stable to hitch Chance up.
Chance seemed thankful of the pat, ta swishing and ears perked. Dylan climbed off and shook his head. âNah, I didn't go to the store or anythin' so we can walk right in.â he smiled as he began to lead the way up the steps.
As they walked inside, it was a pretty cozy place... a fireplace, a couch, a rocking chair, a small shelf of books, a kitchen to the right, and a hallway to the left of what could be assumed rooms. There was a gaint dog bed in the living room, where three hounds were asleep curled up with each other, occasionally kicking one another. A cat lay on the top of the couch, purring.
Dylan assumed Scrap, Bata were with Huron and Buck in their room, and Vulcan and Fang, the mice, pip were in the shared boys room. He turned to Sherlock, smile still on.
âYa want the couch or I can get a mattress out for ya? Oh, are ya hungry at all?â
Dylan looked to the hounds, blinking. He was silent for a moment then smiled sheepishly and looked back to Sherlock. â'm gonna be so honest, I only remember the girls name, Pandora... I do NOT remember the others.â
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
It was a rather gloomy day. Sticky. Smelled of rain. Sherlock knew he was at least a dayâs trip from the nearest town, and he didnât like his odds of beating the storm. Maybe he could flag someone down, get a ride. Then again, he also didnât like his odds of not getting recognised. The law was out to get him in some places, after all.
All of a sudden, Sherlock heard movement a few yards off. He tried to scramble into a tree, but climbing was never his strong suit, and he fell back to the ground just as the person approached.
:>
âI'll never understand why you wanna go out in the rain...â Dylan grunted as he held onto Chances reigns, limping beside him. Hie hair was soaking wet, sticking to his forehead, getting in his remaining eye. But Chance seemed happy, trotting along and giving a huff.
Dylan sighed, pushing his hair up, kinda slicking it back, looking up, eyes narrowed. Least the rain wasn't heavy, more so a drizzle. He could deal with that better; rain wasn't bad, he'd been in it plenty, he'd just gotten comfortable to not being wet. More used to that now.
He heard sone noise and looked over quickly, on alert. His eye scanned the area, head tilting slowly as he began to walk in the direction to inspect; what did he have to lose?
As he stepped into the little clearing, someon had fallen out of the tree they apparently had been climbing. Dylan internally winced and hoped they hadn't fallen far, but he halted a few feet away, looking down at them, head still tilted, blinking with curiosity.
He laughed a bit, sitting down on his hunches, still facing the other. âTruth be told, I dunno really... I had this whole thing with the Devil, technically sold my soul to him 'n when I got it back fair 'n square, he wouldn't let go, multiple times. So, in the end I stole my souls contract after I uh, died the first time.â
He hummed, âSince then my looks have changed 'n that's when I could shapeshift. It used to jus' happen when I was like, frightened or panicked, now I can have it happen randomly.â
Dylan shrugged and turned back to his normal form. â... it is what it is, really my own kinda fault. I've died more times than I can count, 'm jus' stubborn.â
âCertainly has it's moments.â
Soon they were approaching a decent sized looking cabin, a lantern outside to cast some light around the place. Dylan hummed, leading them into the little stable to hitch Chance up.
Chance seemed thankful of the pat, ta swishing and ears perked. Dylan climbed off and shook his head. âNah, I didn't go to the store or anythin' so we can walk right in.â he smiled as he began to lead the way up the steps.
As they walked inside, it was a pretty cozy place... a fireplace, a couch, a rocking chair, a small shelf of books, a kitchen to the right, and a hallway to the left of what could be assumed rooms. There was a gaint dog bed in the living room, where three hounds were asleep curled up with each other, occasionally kicking one another. A cat lay on the top of the couch, purring.
Dylan assumed Scrap, Bata were with Huron and Buck in their room, and Vulcan and Fang, the mice, pip were in the shared boys room. He turned to Sherlock, smile still on.
âYa want the couch or I can get a mattress out for ya? Oh, are ya hungry at all?â
It was a rather gloomy day. Sticky. Smelled of rain. Sherlock knew he was at least a dayâs trip from the nearest town, and he didnât like his odds of beating the storm. Maybe he could flag someone down, get a ride. Then again, he also didnât like his odds of not getting recognised. The law was out to get him in some places, after all.
All of a sudden, Sherlock heard movement a few yards off. He tried to scramble into a tree, but climbing was never his strong suit, and he fell back to the ground just as the person approached.
:>
âI'll never understand why you wanna go out in the rain...â Dylan grunted as he held onto Chances reigns, limping beside him. Hie hair was soaking wet, sticking to his forehead, getting in his remaining eye. But Chance seemed happy, trotting along and giving a huff.
Dylan sighed, pushing his hair up, kinda slicking it back, looking up, eyes narrowed. Least the rain wasn't heavy, more so a drizzle. He could deal with that better; rain wasn't bad, he'd been in it plenty, he'd just gotten comfortable to not being wet. More used to that now.
He heard sone noise and looked over quickly, on alert. His eye scanned the area, head tilting slowly as he began to walk in the direction to inspect; what did he have to lose?
As he stepped into the little clearing, someon had fallen out of the tree they apparently had been climbing. Dylan internally winced and hoped they hadn't fallen far, but he halted a few feet away, looking down at them, head still tilted, blinking with curiosity.
He laughed a bit, sitting down on his hunches, still facing the other. âTruth be told, I dunno really... I had this whole thing with the Devil, technically sold my soul to him 'n when I got it back fair 'n square, he wouldn't let go, multiple times. So, in the end I stole my souls contract after I uh, died the first time.â
He hummed, âSince then my looks have changed 'n that's when I could shapeshift. It used to jus' happen when I was like, frightened or panicked, now I can have it happen randomly.â
Dylan shrugged and turned back to his normal form. â... it is what it is, really my own kinda fault. I've died more times than I can count, 'm jus' stubborn.â
âCertainly has it's moments.â
Soon they were approaching a decent sized looking cabin, a lantern outside to cast some light around the place. Dylan hummed, leading them into the little stable to hitch Chance up.
Chance seemed thankful of the pat, ta swishing and ears perked. Dylan climbed off and shook his head. âNah, I didn't go to the store or anythin' so we can walk right in.â he smiled as he began to lead the way up the steps.
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