#and called me rotten for murdering everyone and then doing this...

[raiseupyourbat]

at the asriel fight in lv0 ps!outertale. chara. chara why are you shocked asriel is alive. asriel LITERALLY talked two seconds ago about that time a couple resets ago where he regained his asriel form and we killed everyone lmao

[vandme12]

Ronin x Reader, where ronin puts on a personal show (Hehe, a LIL murder in alleyway) for reader because they need inspiration?

TW : BLOOD, GORE

Beauty of Rot, Beauty of Him - Ronin x Reader

You were dumb.

Like, really dumb.

"Hey, can anyone with experience killing someone with a crowbar DM me?? it’s really important!! tysm."

You posted that. On a dark web board. Like some beginner in need of a walkthrough.

An ask for how to kill a person. With a crowbar.

And as it turns out? The best fucking mistake you ever made.

Error: UNKNOWN. Error: Not So Unknown Now. Error: You Got a Boyfriend Out of It.

Because someone did message back.

Not just someone. The Butcher. Your Butcher. Now your boyfriend. Rotten God of Uptown’s back alleys, crowned in cartilage and martyrdom, crowned in blood.

They say he gores people like he’s stringing violins from intestines, splashes the brickwork with bone-shards and sin. Swings that crowbar like a conductor, splatters skull into halo, makes murder into gospel.

And now? He’s yours.

You still remember when he dropped a key into your DMs like it was a gift from the Devil himself — well, maybe it was. A server. A red room. A laugh.

Don’t be so Obvious smh you’re Gonna Get Caught — that’s what he said. Right before giving you access to a Discord/j full of serial killers.

Butchered usernames. Gutted profile pics. Everyone trying to one-up each other in filth and finesse. You, though? You got something better. You got Ronin.

It’s been ten months since that fateful crowbar moment. Ten months of selfies Ten months of late-night convos about blood viscosity. Ten months of soft-spoken I love yous whispered between ruptured lung sacs.

Romance is bleeding. And your boy wants to treat you.

No dinner. Just a murder.

goreboy: hopin to see ya darlin

You feel it in your bones — not fear, not nausea. Anticipation.

Your own personal red room. You joked about it once — and Now, he's gonna put on a show.

You don’t know who the target is. Might be a monster. Might be some guy who cuts lines at the bank's Ronin never tells you until the blood’s already pooling.

That’s part of the fun. Inspiration on impact.

You're wearing boots that can step through brain matter. You took a shower before this, which was stupid. You’ll be showering in blood anyway.

You turn the corner.

There he is. Leaning against the brick wall like some kind of death-dealing delinquent Cupid. Crowbar slung over his shoulder. Eyes bright, blackhole-shiny, grin split open across his face like a peeled fruit.

He’s all gore and glamor, all ruin and romance, a boy made of butcher cuts and fucked-up poetry.

"Heya, Darlin," he drawls, teeth white like an Angel's ruin

You smile. You’ve always been ready.

You DMed him first, obviously. No shame. No fear. Just that familiar static in your lungs, that high of being this close to something filthy.

you:

hey butcher boy u swingin that crowbar tonight or just compensating again

goreboy

oh look. it’s my favorite little freak. thought i smelled ink and desperation u comin or what? red carpet’s wet. might be brain. might be yours. let’s find out.

you:

damn do u flirt with all your victims like this or am i special

goreboy:

only the ones who write poetry about spinal cords and call me cute after i break a jaw sideways hurry up darlin. don’t keep the devil waitin.

He always knew just how to say I missed you.

And then it dropped. The real thing. No flirting this time, not exactly.

Just:

EXECUTIONER: "come to Purgatory. tonight. bring whatever weird notebook shit u scribble in. I’ll give you something worth writing about." "devil says hi, btw.

"lil mean tonight. love that. keep talkin shit and i’ll carve your name in someone’s ribs. wanna see?"

He always knew just how to say I missed you.

And then it dropped. The real thing. No flirting this time, not exactly.

—

You pack a bag.

Notebook

Pen

Knife (not to use. just in case.)

A dream.

You saw him before you really saw him.

The man—his prey, his canvas—was huddled near a dumpster, shaking like a leaf in acid rain. Eyes blown wide, lips parted in a silent scream, knees buckled in a prayer that wouldn’t be answered. Sweat clung to his brow. His hands were bound, taped in a trembling little bow, like a gift no one wanted to unwrap.

And then there was Ronin.

He wasn’t even touching him yet.

No, Ronin was pacing slow, crowbar dragging behind him like a leash, metal shrieking against the concrete just enough to set teeth on edge. His steps were too measured, too graceful—it was a dance. A fucked-up, symphonic ballet of menace.

He didn’t even look at you as you stepped into the scene. Just kept circling.

Like a shark in a kiddie pool.

"Oh God," the guy whimpered. "Please, man, I didn’t do anything—"

Ronin tilted his head, cracking his neck with a sickening pop. Still no words. Just a smile. That smile—the one that made your spine tighten and your thighs clench. Not out of fear. Not entirely.

You crept closer, notebook in hand, but the man saw you now—you, not Ronin—and his face twisted.

"You—you’re just standing there?! Help me! This guy’s insane!"

You blinked, like a deer caught in headlights made of raw meat.

"I’m with him," you said quietly. Then added, "Kind of a date."

The man screamed.

Ronin cackled.

"Fuck, Darlin.. he gasped between laughs. "You’re really gonna make me blush sayin’ sweet shit like that."

You felt your face heat up, but not with shame. Not even guilt. Just... thrill.

"You’re scaring the hell out of him," you muttered, crouching behind the safety of your notebook.

Ronin raised a brow, licking blood from the side of his thumb like frosting. "I am the hell. C’mon. Say that one again."

You scribbled, breath uneven. Quoting yourself like a freak. “You’re scaring the hell out of him.” Then added in shaky ink: He is the hell.

The victim whimpered louder, rocking side to side now, muttering prayers like they were protection spells. You honestly couldn’t blame him. You felt the tremble in your own bones too. But it wasn’t fear—it was awe. That knife-edge thrill of watching a master at work.

You looked up.

Ronin was closer now. He’d stopped circling and was crouched in front of the guy, crowbar in one hand, the other under the man’s chin, lifting it with casual gentleness. It was obscene, the contrast. Like a lover about to kiss.

"Tell me a story," Ronin whispered to him. "Tell me why your blood’s gonna be special."

The guy was sobbing now, babbling nonsense. Ronin leaned in closer. "No? Then I’ll tell you one."

He turned to you, eyes glinting.

"You wanna write this down, Darlin"

You didn’t say yes. You didn’t have to.

Pen kissed page. And Ronin began.

"Once there was a man who liked to lie. Said he never hurt nobody. But lies?" He brought the crowbar up and rested it against the man’s cheek. "They rot the tongue. They rot the heart. I’m just the gardener."

CRACK.

You jumped.

The guy screamed. Blood bloomed across the bricks, painting the wall in fast, arterial strokes.

You’d never seen anything more horrifying. You’d never seen anything more beautiful.

You wrote that down too.

Ronin didn’t stop—not for a while. He moved like a conductor, crowbar rising and falling to an unheard symphony. The victim’s screams grew hoarse, then wet, then stopped altogether. The sound of metal on bone filled the air like church bells.

By the end, it didn’t look like a body.

It looked like art.

Red. White. Pulp. A rose garden of gore.

Fuck the guy's still alive.

Ronin finally straightened, shirt soaked, crowbar slick. He looked sated. Not tired. High.

And then, impossibly—he turned to you. Soft.

"You alright?"

You stared at him. Then down at your notebook. At your handwriting—jagged, fast, shaking. At the sketches in the margins. At how much you’d written. How inspired you were.

He steps back into frame like it’s stage left. Wipes the smile off his face and puts on something worse—an expression that’s all serenity. Peaceful. Reverent. Like a man praying before he wrecks something holy.

And that poor fucker on the ground? He’s trembling so hard his bones might rattle apart. You wonder if he even knows what's coming. Or if Ronin’s already told him. Whispered it sweetly in that honeyed voice, dripping rot like nectar, how he was going to make him into something worth remembering.

Ronin lifts the crowbar.

Not like he’s about to kill a man.

Like he’s about to paint.

CLANG.

It smashes into the ground beside the guy’s ribs again—just a tease. A wet warning. You watch as blood speckles the concrete. Not even from the hit—just from the fear. He’s bleeding from the nose now. A stress rupture. Ronin looks delighted.

“There it goes,” he says softly, watching the crimson dribble down. “Like clockwork.”

You find yourself breathing harder.

And you’re writing.

You don’t even realize it at first, not consciously. The pen scratches across the page like it has its own mind:

“He doesn’t kill for fun. He kills for structure. For design. For detail.” “Each bruise has placement. Each scream has volume.” “He doesn’t kill people. He erases them, makes meaning of them.”

Ronin kneels again. Cups the guy’s chin like he’s posing a doll.

“Don’t pass out now,” he hums. “We ain’t hit the chorus yet.”

You whisper, half-joking, “Tell him it’s for art.”

Ronin doesn’t even glance your way this time. Just smiles wider.

“It’s for art,”

The scream that rips out is pure animal.

You flinch. And then—you don’t. Because it’s addictive. The sound of it. The feeling of being here.

Watching Ronin twist something alive into something raw. Something else.

You’re starting to wonder if this was always inside you. If it just needed the right person to peel the skin back and expose the nerves. You look down at your page.

You’ve drawn him.

Not the man on the floor. Ronin.

Sharp cheekbones. Bloody hands. Wide grin like a god with no church but his own red room. There’s a halo of crowbars around his head like a saint of carnage. And beneath it, you’ve scrawled:

“I think I love him.”

You almost laugh at yourself.

But you don’t tear the page out.

Ronin’s looking at you now. Not saying a word. Like he knows what you wrote. Like he could taste it through the air.

He stands slowly. The guy’s still breathing—barely. He’s not dead yet. You think Ronin’s waiting on you.

“Darlin’,” he says, voice slick with mirth and menace. “You wanna pick the finishin’ touch?”

Your breath catches. He’s offering you the last stroke.

You stare. You blink. You swallow.

Then you nod.

“Yeah.”

You don’t know what you’ll choose yet. But you know you’ll write about it after.

You’ll write all of it. Every inch of this living nightmare.

Because you were never the hero of this story.

You were just looking for a muse.

And you found him—in blood and concrete, in screaming men and the lullaby of breaking bone.

You found him.

Your devil. Your butcher. Your art.

At first, just to remember. A little scratch of ink, a reflection. Something poetic to keep the nausea away. But it didn’t stay poetic, not really. Your hand cramped from the speed, from the need, and the page bled black with words the way the floor bled red.

You weren’t just watching anymore. You were documenting. You were translating murder into metaphor. Gore into gospel.

“He paints with pain. That’s the medium.” “He composes screams like violin notes, each snap of the bone a crescendo.” “His hands aren't hands. They're brushes. He doesn’t kill. He curates.”

You glanced up from the notebook and saw it again—how Ronin tilted his head just before he struck, admiring the posture, the pleading, the panic.

And you got it.

The way the crowbar slid through air—how clean it sounded, the whistling hush before impact. The way he didn’t grunt or pant. Ronin didn’t labor. He moved like he was dancing, like his body already knew where the final stroke belonged.

“He kills with rhythm.” “He kills with grace.” “He doesn’t need a reason. The act is the art.”

You looked at the man he was killing—not the man. The canvas. The collapsed figure with his face bent inwards and his ribs shifting like a broken accordion. And somehow, some rotten part of you—

—you thought it was beautiful. You understood him. You thought, “This is how he loves.”

And still, you wrote.

“I saw the art.” “I saw the beauty.” “I saw how he kills.” “He kills like a lover—softly at first, with admiration. Then all at once, with devotion.”

Ronin turned to you again. Bloody, heaving, smiling.

“You writin’ sonnets over there, Darlin?” he asked, tilting his head as the body gave a last twitch behind him. “Wanna read me one when I’m done cleanin’?”

Your mouth was dry. You licked your lips.

“I’m trying to keep up.”

He laughed. Low and pleased and ruinous.

“Darlin, if you keep writing like that, you’re gonna make me fall for you all over again.”

You looked down.

Your notebook was nearly full.

It was done.

The body lay still, sunken into itself like it was praying to the wrong god and got exactly what it asked for. Blood pooled like a frame around the chaos. Art, in the Butcher’s gallery. A ruined masterpiece.

You closed your notebook with a little snap, pen still trembling between your fingers.

“Thanks,” you said, soft. Honest. Like someone just cooked for you, and you meant it.

Ronin dragged the crowbar down the wall with a lazy scrape, shoulder slouched, chin lifted—swaggering toward you like a wet saint. Blood dripped from his chin like it was meant to. His eyes flicked over you with that look, like he was checking if you still breathed the same after watching him do what he was made for.

“C’mere,” he said, voice sticky with play. “You wanna help me sow ‘im up?”

You wrinkled your nose. “Nah.”

His brows raised. “Aw, how mean, Darlin’. I put on a show for ya, and you fuckin’ mean?” His voice pitched mock-wounded, but the grin was sharp, wicked—flirting. “Y’ain’t even gonna stitch the finale?”

You laughed, stupidly charmed. Your stomach was still a mess, your knees weak, but God—

Even if the Devil's scary, he can be cute.

He can be romantic, in that rotten way that makes your heart thump for all the wrong reasons. He’s the worst kind of sweetheart. The kind that calls you “Darlin” with a mouth still stained from slaughter. The kind that murders and flirts in the same breath.

He really is the god of gore.

He shrugged, licking blood off his bottom lip. “Next time, then. I’ll make it extra messy. You can pick where I break ‘em.”

And despite the stench, despite the twitch in your gut, you smiled and tucked your notebook closer to your chest.

“Deal,” you whispered.

[ashrayus]

PLSSSS MORE FANFIC RECOMMENDATIONS OF JASON TODDDD!

DUDEE!!!! really happy u asked but also omg this got long agaiN who would have thought (!) i added summaries this time tho :)

here is part one of my fic recs XD

andd heres the new ones!! pls give them some love if u read them :D

Dick and Jason:

how lonely to be something that nothing wants to kill by sunlitlemonade

There were blood drops dripping down his fingers to the ground. The puddle was big enough for it to have spread around more than half the tub. His breaths shuddered, they were shallow and waning. But he was breathing and Dick’s world centered around that.

starting strong with Angst go read all of sun’s fics i always die and get revived <333 pls mind the tags on this one

cast on/cast off by hellsreluctantheir

“This is surprisingly non-destructive for Jason,” Dick comments, lightly. In the parking lot, Jason pulls a grenade out of one of his pockets, yanks the pin, and tosses it through the roller door and out of sight, before tearing out of the parking lot in chase of the truck. “Well, for a minute there,” Dick amends. He takes a step back towards the alley the batmobile is parked in, giving Bruce a quick glance. “We following? “No,” Bruce says, as the grenade goes off. “He’s cleared the warehouse. We can get into the office.” Dick sighs again. But Jason knows he can call in if he needs help.

time loop!!! read most of this writer's fics and fell in love with them all,, go read fr

bloodstained by hellsreluctantheir

“I know where the clinic is, asshole,” Jason said. The wad of gauze he was using to keep pressure kept slipping against his shoulder. The knife had caught the space between two panels, split to allow movement. Lucky shot. “Ok, let me make sure you get there without passing out from blood loss,” Dick said, a deliberate evenness to his tone, like he was doing his best to accomodate someone who was being completely unreasonable. Shithead. “I’m not going to pass out,” Jason said, ignoring the fact that he was actually feeling pretty unsteady on his feet. He caught himself with his good shoulder on the entry to the bathroom, took a deep breath. “What would Daddy Bats think if he knew you were here, trying to help me?” “I assume something like, ‘Wow, Dick, you’re such a good brother, trying so hard to make sure Jason is ok even when he’s being a complete idiot about it,’” Dick sniped.

heres another one from them. jasons scars and dick. andd another one next

brothers in arms by hellsreluctantheir

It wasn’t like none of them went undercover. Jason practically lived there. And he’d punch anyone who tried to make it a sob story for him, to cluck over the times he’d been alone in a pit of vipers, act like it was some tragedy. But given half a minute to think about it, Dick somewhere completely cut off from everyone but Bruce, no allies on hand, surrounded by enemies. Angry as he was at the lie, there was something about that he just fucking hated. or Thinking your brother is dead and then finding out he's been alive the whole time really has a way of making you rethink the relationship.

Shelter by Ptelea

Two safe houses, two nights dealing with the aftermath of fear toxin, multiple conversations, several meals. Written for Sholio's September 2020 Comfort Fest for a prompt from Musesfool. Warning-wise, there's nothing graphic here but there are definitely references to past canon trauma for both the characters.

the way they are written here <33

Rotten Fruits by couldyoublameme

“I’m fine,” Dick assured gently, sitting up slightly. “Just a bad night, is all.” It’s a familiar phrase he has used so often. Whenever the addiction crawls back into his mind, a parasite he can never truly get rid of. The family knows what it means. Knows what the ‘bad’ is. Knows what to do. “Oh,” Jason says. “Why?”

absolutely murdered me. pls do mind the tags

You Can Do Better Than That by AlexaAffect

All Jason could hear was his own ragged breathing. He desperately gasped for air, each breath more exhausting than the last and his lungs and throat burned with the effort. In. And, he needed a second longer with every breath he took, out. His arms had been suspended for the last… 15? minutes? Jason had quit keeping track of the time, he’d been too preoccupied trying to hold himself upright, trying to ease his position, switch it up, anything to prolong the guaranteed death. “Red Hood?” That was Dick’s voice. Huh. So they had found him fast enough. Or alternatively; Dick finds a kidnapped Jason shortly before he asphyxiates.

this fic is just oddly comforting to me idk. very precious

Equivalent Exchange by Lysical

Apparently favors don't expire on death. --"What do you want, Dick?" "For you to be happy, Jay." Dick leaned over and pinched his cheek. Jason reached up and swiped at him, scowling. "And world peace."

ADORABLE and fun

Just for Now by Lysical

Jason was back in Gotham and the timing couldn't be worse for him to need assistance on a case. He didn't want to see any of the Bats and he was sure the feeling was mutual. Nightwing was the worst option for Oracle to pick to help him out.

To Reconcile by CasualDanger

“Babs slapped me at your funeral.” Jason goes to laugh, but it’s just a cough and his mouth barely even twitches up. “She hated me in that moment. I mean, really, really hated me, like I did Talia after I found out Damian had died. And I wondered,” his voice cracks, eyes glassy now, “did you hate anyone when I was gone? Because I was gone?”

he ain't heavy, he's my brother by someplacewarm

Dick's been putting off meeting with Jason for a while now, but when a distress call comes through, he has no choice but to answer. Or the one where Dick and Jason talk, fight, get high and cuddle. In that order.

making gold out of it by vmkhoney

Dick talks himself back down on the bathroom floor, clinical and detached. (For someone whose primary skill is manipulating his body, it’s not very often that he feels connected to it.) - Or, five years after Blockbuster, Dick begins teetering on the ledge of processing what Catalina did to him.

a wonderful dick grayson fic, and jason is there being a good brother. mind the tags

What Hurts You by blueyeti

Dick comes to Jason's aid when he's injured in a fight, or at least he thinks he has.

jason has no scars!! and thats also sad

at me, too, someone is looking by bacondoughnut

Dick Grayson knows he's got problems when the Red Hood's busted leg somehow becomes his concern. aka; How Dick Grayson finds out Jason Todd is alive. A story about healing.

a rather long one for my standards XD (very short attention span) but this made me sit down and read. very fun jason

Bruce and Jason:

Saltwater and Desperation by bacondoughnut

Jason's not sure how he even manages to get himself out of the harbor. He's just glad Bruce is there when he does. Not that he'll ever, ever admit as much out loud.

same writer, love this jason (and bruce) so much

Insomnolence by navree

It's not like he slept much as a kid anyway; this is just a return to the status quo. He's not overly tired, and even if he's been sleeping less than his already limited amount throughout April, that's still not any of her business. Bad memories are already bad enough even before they spend the next few years in the aftermath becoming nightmares.

navree being The bruce and jason writer for me all of their fics are so o(- (

Ash Into The Wind by navree

This is his dad in there, the first man he ever called Dad, at any rate, and even after everything, booze and jail and Bruce and death and then death again, there's never going to be a part of Jason that isn't gutted that he's dead. One night, a wraith in a red helmet slips onto the grounds of Blackgate Penitentiary to steal one specific thing.

another one from them

Trapped by lurkinglurkerwholurks

BatFam Week 2018, Day Two. Prompt: Trapped Yes, the prompt is "trapped" and it's a Jason fic. I'm so, so sorry. (Not really, though.) Please see tags for potential triggers.

binge read this writers fics recently they write them so nice

Overcoming Our Antecedents by Batbirdies

Bruce swallows, closing his eyes for a brief moment before he takes another, steadying breath and presses both hands to his face. He just needs a moment. Needs to remember where he is, what year it is, that Jason is not actually fifteen, he only looks like he is. This is temporary. This is just a temporary problem that needs to be contained until they can change Jason back. This is not a repeat of events already passed. This is not a second chance.

Jason and Batfam:

Names and Neapolitan by Muddell

“Goddamnnit Robin,” Hood is there, pulling him into his arms. Robin sees that helmet, he sees the green eyes, the dark hair, he sees open, gray, Gotham sky, and hears tires squealing, and then he sees stone. He sees the cave. Bruce is there. Alfred is there. Dick is there. And Hood is there. Robin rolls in and out of consciousness. He reaches out, snatches the smell of copper and the touch of leather, and he holds Hood’s hand and he does not let go. He’s allowed to say it now. “Jason,” he says. “Don’t leave.” Or, following Dick telling Tim about his older brother, to Tim actually knowing him.

read a couple fics from this writer all so good!!!

Six Ways to Sunday by Muddell

Jason catches Duke hiding a headache and says, is anyone going to deal with that?

same writer!! really love their jason

Settle Down and Sleep by OberonBronze

A series of vignettes about seeking comfort. Damian tries his hand at being a comfort animal; Tim shows up at Jason’s place for an impromptu sleepover; Jason bonds with his older brother after a damaging fear toxin trip; Dick and Bruce have a long-overdue conversation.

really liked jason and dick in this :)

Tuck Me In by OberonBronze

Bruce Wayne and his long-standing habit of tucking his kids into bed.

think how great it is to fall asleep (and how terrible it is to wake up) by mikkal

Jason was fifteen, barely five foot, and underweight for his age when he died. When he came back to his body, suddenly he was too tall, too scarred, too much, too different. And he just... never got used to it. (Or: 5 times a Bat noticed/discovered his body dysphoria post resurrection)

Stranger Danger by alchemistsarego, whumpinaheartbeat (alchemistsarego)

There was never one particular moment that Damian registered that he was losing consciousness. Everything simply flashed from one thing to the next, even though some part of him understood that time had been passing in between. He had been sitting upright, rolling his eyes at something someone had said, then he was on the ground being pinned by some unknowable weight. All at once the weight was gone again, replaced instead by something not only lighter, but much warmer too. A blanket? No, a jacket.

jason and others:

Past Experience by Rookblonkorules

He thinks he might be dying. Again.

clark and jason :)

Bats in the Belfry by endlessnepenthe

Hal idly wonders how long he has before he's found. Probably not very. The Bat's freaky like that. (Or, Hal goes to Gotham and discovers that Batman's brand of freaky isn't exactly one of a kind.)

jason and hal jordan??! and slade? and magic.

[forthegothicheroine]

I've made a post about great lesser-known noirs, but it occurs to me that some of you might not be familiar with the classics, and might want to know where to start. This is a ridiculously short list- I have a million more to talk about- but here are some of the big stars of the genre.

The Maltese Falcon: Sam Spade, a clever but callous private detective, gets wrapped up in intrigue relating to an artifact that is functionally cursed. If he's an unscrupulous character, just wait until you meet everyone else. The whole damn cast is electrifying, lending charm and cruelty in equal measure.

The Big Sleep: Philip Marlowe, a kinder and more poetic detective for Humphrey Bogart to play than Spade, is called upon to deal with a wealthy, dysfunctional family, and it keeps on getting weirder from there. Is the sharp-tongued Vivian Sternwood the femme fatale she seems, or is she just another person trying to find the right thing to do in desperate circumstances? And will she and Marlowe keep their hands off each other until the plot has had its last twist?

Double Indemnity: Rich housewife Phyllis Dietrichson and sleazy insurance agent Walter Neff are, by their own admission, rotten people. It's only natural that they should plot a murder together, and that they should turn on each other the very second things go wrong. Every single domestic murder movie since 1944 has ripped this off.

Kiss Me Deadly: This is nominally an adaptation of a Mike Hammer story. Screenwriter Bezzerides hated Mike Hammer. As depicted here, he is one of the worst people in the world. Depending on the cut of the film you see, he may inadvertently cause the nuclear apocalypse. (For once, the theatrical cut is darker.)

Sweet Smell of Success: Cruel, all-powerful columnist JJ Hunsecker wants his sister's boyfriend out of the way (for reasons that are, um, ambiguous.) To accomplish this, he enlists the biggest weasel in New York, Sidney Falco, and the two completely deserve each other as they spend the rest of the movie trading elaborate insults. Popular on tumblr for its dialogue and chemistry between the leads.

Sunset Boulevard: Broke screenwriter Joe Gillis thinks he can con a has-been into hiring him as a script doctor, and that's the last free decision he ever gets to make. From then on, his life is in the hands of Norma Desmond, silent film starlet turned crazed recluse, terrifying yet intensely pitiable. This is as much gothic horror as noir.

Ace in the Hole: The story of a man trapped in a cave is turning out to be a big hit in the newspaper, and if the publicity will make a reporter's career, then what's the harm in delaying rescue just for a little while? This is as vicious as noir gets, but damn it, you've just got to see what happens next. (Watch Jacob Geller's video Fear of the Depths after this.)

Sorry Wrong Number: Of all the films on this list, this is the one that really scared me. In the days of switchboards, a rich hypocondriac woman is connected to the wrong phone line and overhears a murder being planned. It doesn't take her long to figure out she's the intended victim, and each call she makes or recieves makes the situation darker. But how can she escape her fate if she can't- or won't leave her bed?

The Asphalt Jungle: The heist movie. Maybe the only heist movie ever made. Every line is quotable. Every member of the team is an unforgettable personality. When things go wrong, they go horribly wrong. One minute you're laughing, and the next minute you think you'll never laugh again.

Gun Crazy: Laurie and Bart, two practiced sharpshooters, are perhaps the most perfect match in all of noir- and that's a bad thing. When one half of the duo gets a criminal idea in their head, the other can't say no. When the opportunity to ditch her man like a sap comes up, the femme fatale throws it away to be doomed at his side. He fell in love with her when she first aimed a gun at him. Quentin Tarantino kissed star Peggy Cummins's feet at a showing of the film, and I hope she kicked him in the head.

Laura: Everyone was in love with Laura Hunt, and somebody killed her- or did they? Did they get the right person? Is the cop on the case in love with a dead woman? Was her columnist mentor just her gay best friend, or was there something darker beneath that facade? And what would Laura think of all this? A big inspiration on Twin Peaks.

In a Lonely Place: Bogart isn't at all heroic here, as a screenwriter with a drinking habit and a violent temper. He's obviously a bad idea to date, but just how bad an idea? He's not the type of guy who'd kill a woman, is he? Bogart and Gloria Holden give perhaps their best performances here, and they'll wound your soul.

Touch of Evil: A Mexican cop (played, unfortunately, by Charlton Heston) finds out a nasty secret about the big hero cop Hank Quinlan: he's framed the culprit in most of his cases. Not because he's crooked, but because his intuition tells him they're guilty. Director Orson Welles as Quinlan is frightening, grotesque, and a little bit tragic in what some consider the last classic noir.

The Killers: The first twenty minutes or so are an adaptation of a Hemingway story, where out of town hitmen gun down a man so depressed he won't even bother to run from them. The rest of the film is an investigation into how he got that way. It had something to do with a radiant gangster's girl, and something to do with a few botched crimes. Sometimes a man can die before the bullets even touch him.

The Third Man: Everybody is lying about the whereabouts of an American expatriate named Harry when his friend comes looking. Did they do something to him? Or, more frightening still, is he the one who's been doing things to other people? Orson Welles is a more charming monster than he was in Touch of Evil; the light and shadows on his face cast him as a vampire, while his fingers sticking up through the sewer grate look like something terrifying emerging from the earth.

[rocknroll7575]

The Argument (Warped Metal AU)

Ruby stood over him, her fists clenched and trembling at her sides, her red cloak fluttering in the wind like a warning flag. Jaune remained on his knees, head bowed, eyes locked on the lifeless remnants of the Paper Pleasers scattered across the ruins. His sword lay beside him, half-buried in the dirt, useless now—just like him.

Her glare was searing, filled with years of grief, betrayal, and rage that had been festering just beneath the surface.

"You thought... you could atone?" she asked, her voice brittle with emotion, barely holding together. Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears, but there was no mercy in her tone. "Atone for the countless lives you snuffed out? Atone for what happened to Vale!? To Beacon!? To Pyrrha!? To Atlas!? To Penny!?"

Her voice cracked as her pain erupted into fury.

"YOU THOUGHT YOU COULD ATONE FOR ALL OF THAT BY PROTECTING SOME PIECES OF PAPER!? YOU THOUGHT YOU COULD PRETEND TO BE THE HERO AND ATONE FOR ALL THE SHIT YOU'VE DONE!?!?" she screamed, her voice raw, shaking with anguish.

"Ruby, don't—!" Yang tried to step forward, reaching for her sister.

But Ruby shook her head violently, stepping back as though Yang’s words physically struck her. "No! I'm done pretending that we've forgiven him for everything that's happened!" she cried out, her voice breaking as tears finally spilled down her cheeks.

She stared at Jaune’s back, her voice trembling with every word. "Tell me, Jaune, what were you thinking when you sat with us at our table? Laughing and joking with us, knowing what you were going to do!? What were you thinking when I told you about my dreams!? About my fears!? What were you feeling when I called you my friend!? When I told you that I could trust you!? What were you thinking, you damn lackey!?"

Still, Jaune said nothing. He didn’t flinch. He didn’t rise to defend himself. He didn’t even turn to meet her gaze. He simply knelt there, silent and motionless, as the weight of everything she named crashed down on him like the rubble of the town around them.

The silence between them stretched, aching and heavy.

And then—after what felt like an eternity—he finally spoke.

"I felt... awful," Jaune said, his voice low and hoarse, as though the words scraped against his throat on their way out. "And I felt sorry for you, for putting your trust into someone as rotten as me..."

Ruby's breath caught. Her eyes widened, not from sympathy, but from shock—disbelief at the brokenness in his voice. For a moment, just a flicker, her glare faded. But then it returned, fiercer than before, her expression twisting with fury and something deeper—betrayal.

"I get it now..." she growled, her voice tight with venom. "You're not a Huntsman, a knight, or even a hero. You're just a murderer... A psychotic mass murderer who killed thousands and thousands of people who never did you any wrong!"

Her words hit him like bullets, each syllable laced with righteous fury. Jaune’s body trembled—then suddenly, he snapped.

"DON'T YOU THINK I'M AWARE OF THAT FACT!?!?" he roared, rising to his feet in a burst of raw emotion. His eyes were bloodshot, tears cutting trails down his dirt-streaked face, and his features were twisted in a mixture of grief and rage. "I DON’T NEED YOU SHOVING IT DOWN MY GOD DAMN THROAT!"

"THEN STOP ACTING LIKE YOU GOT ANY RIGHT TO FEEL SORRY FOR YOURSELF!!!" Ruby screamed back, stepping closer, her voice shaking the air between them. "EVERYONE'S LIVING IN A HELL THAT YOU HELPED CREATE! ARE YOU PROUD OF YOURSELF!?!? YOU’RE NOT ONE OF US! YOU’VE NEVER BEEN! YOU’RE NOT EVEN HUMAN ANYMORE!!!"

Jaune’s hands curled into fists at his sides, his knuckles pale. His glare hardened into something jagged and wounded.

"YOU DON’T THINK I KNOW THAT!?!?" he shouted, his voice cracking as he fought to hold himself together. "YOU THINK I WANTED THIS!? YOU THINK I WANTED TO KILL COUNTLESS PEOPLE!? YOU THINK I WANTED TO BECOME THIS MONSTER!?!?"

He ripped his cloak aside, revealing the deep, cruel scars that lined his body—marks of pain, guilt, and choices he could never take back.

"YOU THINK I WANTED THESE SCARS!? I’D RATHER BE DEAD THAN LIVE AS THE PERSON I AM NOW!"

His voice echoed into the silence that followed, hollow and broken, like a man screaming into the void.

Ruby, however, didn’t stop. The fire inside her had grown into a blazing inferno, consuming everything—grief, compassion, restraint. Her fists shook at her sides, her chest heaving with every breath. The tears streaking her face did nothing to soften her fury.

"THEN WHY HAVEN’T YOU DONE IT!?" she screamed, voice cracking from the force. "WHY HAVEN’T YOU DONE THE WORLD A FAVOR AND KILLED YOURSELF!? IT WOULD’VE SPARED THE WORLD SO MUCH PAIN IF YOU HAD JUST DIED!"

Her words hit harder than any weapon. The silence that followed seemed to suck the air from the world itself.

Jaune recoiled like he’d been struck in the chest. His lips parted in shock, eyes wide with devastation. Then his face crumpled, anguish tearing through him like glass under pressure.

"YOU DON’T THINK I’VE TRIED!?" he shouted, stumbling forward a step. His voice was hoarse, shredded, teetering on the edge of a complete collapse. "I WISH I COULD DIE! I WISH I COULD HAVE THE FUCKING STRENGTH TO END IT ALL, BUT I DON’T! BECAUSE...! BECAUSE..."

He choked on the words, fists trembling, jaw clenched so tight it looked like it might break.

"I—I’m a coward...!" he finally spat out, the admission leaving him hollow.

And then his legs gave out.

Jaune collapsed to the ground with a broken sob, his body folding in on itself. His hands covered his face as the dam burst—loud, guttural cries echoing in the silence left behind by their screams. His shoulders shook with every breath, every sob, as though the weight of everything he'd done had finally become too much to bear.

Ruby stood above him, unmoving. Her mouth was slightly open, her breath shallow. The storm inside her still roared, but it began to slow—just enough for the sound of Jaune’s crying to pierce through.

She stared down at him, her silver eyes still swimming with rage, but now... also something else. Something colder. He looked so small, so broken, a man crushed by the consequences of his own hands.

But even then, even now, her anger hadn’t fully let go.

"You're fucking pathetic...!" Ruby hissed, her voice barely above a whisper, trembling with fury.

Her lips curled in disgust, and her eyes—wild and burning with hatred—locked onto the broken figure kneeling in front of her.

"I hate you... I hate you! I hate you! I hate you! I...!" she said through clenched teeth, each word sharper than the last. "I'M GONNA FUCKING KILL YOU!"

In a single, fluid motion, Ruby reached behind her and drew Crescent Rose with trembling hands. The metal glinted under the broken sky as she yanked the bolt back, the weapon humming to life in her grip. Her arms trembled as she leveled it directly at Jaune's head.

"RUBY! NO!" Blake cried out, eyes wide with panic.

Without hesitation, Blake lunged toward her. In the instant Ruby squeezed the trigger, Blake struck the barrel of Crescent Rose, forcing it skyward just as the shot fired. The crack of the rifle echoed through the air, the bullet streaking into the clouds instead of Jaune’s skull.

Before Ruby could react, Yang was there too, wrapping her arms tightly around her younger sister from behind. "Ruby, stop!" she shouted, her voice pained.

"LET ME GO!" Ruby screamed, thrashing wildly as both Blake and Yang struggled to hold her back.

Her body convulsed with sobs, her legs kicking at the dirt, Crescent Rose falling from her grasp as her strength gave out.

"No! No! No! No! No! He has to die! He has to die!" she wailed, over and over, her voice ragged and hoarse. "HE HAS TO PAY FOR WHAT HE'S DONE! HE CAN'T GET AWAY WITH IT! HE CAN'T KEEP GETTING AWAY WITH IT!!!" she screamed until her voice gave out, her cries dissolving into broken, choking sobs.

Jaune didn’t move. He didn’t flinch. He just knelt there, head bowed, letting her hatred wash over him like a tide he believed he deserved.

[hansrkive]

THE WOMEN OF HANNAM-DONG (C.SC — 18+)

CHAPTER 1 — THE HOMECOMING

The neighborhood of Hannam-dong, or as tourists would call, "the land of the rich", is a place where you can visit and relax. You would think, a small neighborhood like Hannam-dong wouldn't hoard any dark secrets. That everyone that lives there were innocent. Well you're wrong. In this small neighborhood, everyone knows everyone. If you think your secret is safe, you're wrong. They'll find out, whether you like it or not.

THIS BOOK HAS MULTIPLE CHAPTERS WITH THE POSSIBILITY OF IT BECOMING A SERIES. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK.

౨ৎ PAIRING: choi seungcheol x song hyeri (afab!oc)

౨ৎ GENRE: angst, thriller, and murder-mystery.

౨ৎ TAGS: mentions of death, murder, gossip, blood, and more.

౨ৎ NOTES: i’ve written this book years ago with original characters in mind but i thought doing it as a fan-fiction would be better.

౨ৎ HYPERLINKS: pinned post, ko-fi, seventeen’s master-list, seungcheol’s master-list, and the women of hannam-dong chapter list.

౨ৎ WORDCOUNT: 2.3k for chapter 1.

I was never fond of the cold weather. I never liked how it made my fingertips freeze despite already wearing thick gloves. But here I was, standing in a train station, waiting for my ride to pick me up on this cold, snowy day. I never intended to go back to the neighborhood where I grew up. Don’t get me wrong, I loved everything that was in Hannam-dong.

It was already noon, and I was still standing at the god-awful train station that I was at four hours ago. Being in the same position I was for so long, I could already feel the ice starting to form on my fingertips. They should’ve arrived by now. Already dreading every hour that I was here, without any hesitation, I left the station and hailed a taxi. I should’ve never gone back.

“Taxi!” I shouted at the top of my lungs. The taxi came to a screeching halt. The driver rolled his windows down and looked at me from head to toe. Almost as if he was criticizing how I look and if I belonged here.

“Where to?” The driver asked, his tone deep and tired, like he was suddenly awoken from a deep sleep.

“Mallory Heights,” I said, my voice cracking as the cold winter air caught my throat.

“Hop in.” The driver sighed. “Are you a tourist?” He said as I got in and made myself comfortable.

“Oh, no. I grew up here.”

“Really? What’s your name?” He asked as he chewed on the toothpick between his rotten teeth.

I hesitated, thinking about whether I should lie or tell the truth. “Song Hye-ri,” I said, telling him my real name, which made his eyes widen at the words that came out of my mouth.

“Song. Wait, Hee-young's daughter? You’re a Koo or a Kim? Well, I’ll be damned.” He said, his smile reaching his ears as he got excited. I never understood why the people of Hannam-dong and/or South Korea obsess over rich people. It was weird.

I chuckled dryly. Whenever I was asked who my mother was, I simply shook my head and sighed. I always contemplated whether I should answer their question or not. My family, in other people’s words, was affluent in the neighborhood of Hannam-dong. My grandmother, Koo Hye-jung, came from a rich family in Gangnam, while my grandfather, Kim Beom-seok, also came from a rich family here in Hannam-dong. Yes, they literally lived minutes apart, but acted as if one were in a different country.

At first, both families opposed my grandmother and grandfather’s relationship because of a problem they had. But it was true that love conquers all. After years of fighting with their families, my grandmother and grandfather got married.

“Technically, I’m a Song. But yes, my mother’s Hee-young.” I whispered.

“I knew it! You look just like your mother.”

Wrong, I look like my father. But go on. “Well, that’s what people say.”

After minutes of pure silence, we arrived in front of the cream-colored gate that I deeply missed, sort of. Not wanting to say another word with the taxi driver, I quickly gave the money, took my bag, and left the taxi without any sound coming out of my mouth.

I slowly lifted my head to get a better view of the compound on the other side of the gate. Oh, how I hated living here. Here in all its glory, the infamous Koo-Kim Estate. Seven houses, one obnoxiously large swimming pool, and one big outdoor courtyard for the parties my grandmother hosted every year. I inhaled deeply, trying to gather all the confidence and courage I had left in my body. I dropped my bag and took out my phone from my pocket. As I was about to text someone from the staff to open the gates, my grandparents’ butler, Mr. Park, was running towards me.

“Hye-ri!” He said in between breaths. Mr. Park stopped to catch his breath, then opened the gate in one swift motion. Mr. Park was like a father to me. The second my dad got busy with the family business, Mr. Park was always there to guide me throughout my pre-teen years.

“Nice to see you again, Mr. Park.” I smiled. I enveloped him in a tight hug that made him chuckle heartily.

“It’s nice to see you as well, Hye-ri. Come, your grandmother is waiting for you.” He smiled as he took my bag from the ground. “How was Busan?”

“It’s still Busan.” I chuckle.

“What about your job? What is it again?” He laughs as we walk to the biggest house on the lot.

“I manage a small firm.” I shyly said. In all honesty, I didn’t really know what I did. All I know is that I have a shit job that pays the bills. Ever since I left the nest, I have had trouble finding a job that doesn’t hire me for my surname.

“That’s good. You have a nice job.” He smiled, which I returned with a chuckle. Mr. Park was a nice old man. He’s been in the family ever since my Uncle Ha-joon was born. So, when you truly want to know the history of this family, your go-to person is Mr. Park.

After a long walk, we finally reached the large auburn doors to my grandparents’ house. Mr. Park opened it, which revealed the red carpeted floors I once ran on as a kid. “Where’s everyone?” I asked.

“Oh, your grandmother is in the living room. As for your parents, Hee-young is in your home.” He politely said as he gave my bag to one of the house helpers.

“What about Aunt Ha-neul and Aunt Ha-eun?” I asked as we finally reached the living room. Before Mr. Park could even answer, I could already hear my grandmother yelling my name.

“My dear Hye-ri!” My grandmother yelled; her voice almost breaking the glass.

“That’s my cue.” I smiled at Mr. Park and left him to finally go to my grandmother. “Halmeoni!” I smiled as my grandmother hugged me tightly.

“Oh, how I missed you.” She chuckled as she patted my head. “It’s been two long years without you, my dear."

“Where’s everyone?” I asked as I slumped on the velvet couch.

“Well-” My grandmother sighed. She then sat beside me, her hands touching mine. “Your mother is in her house, your Aunt Ha-neul and Aunt Ha-eun are in Gangnam for a book club meeting, and your uncles are outside with your grandfather.”

I simply nodded. I stopped the urge to laugh at how my whole family didn’t even care that I was here, that I had already arrived. But I pushed it to the back of my brain. Like I always did. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not mad at my family for forgetting me. But a nice ‘hello’ would’ve sufficed.

“Are you hungry?” She sighed, changing the topic.

“Not really.” I faked a smile to hide the fact that I was indeed hungry. But my family being absent on my arrival suddenly made me ill. “I’ll just go to my room and unpack.”

“Okay, dear.” My grandmother gave me the biggest smile she could. “Don’t forget dinner later.” She spoke. I responded with a faint nod.

I’ve been cooped up in my room for God knows how long. I twisted and turned until the sun finally decided to set. Staring blankly at the rose-colored ceiling above me, I contemplated whether I should call or text my cousin Ho-sook, Aunt Ha-eun's only daughter. Ho-sook, who’s a year younger than me, was the only cousin I was close to. As kids, we were inseparable. Joint to the hip, if you might say. But when we grew older, Ho-sook and I’s relationship drifted apart. I went to study abroad for college while she stayed here.

So, here I am, phone in my hand, thinking about whether I should text the only cousin I could bear. The others, not so much. Other than Ho-sook, I have six more cousins. Four of them were older men, and the other two were women. Maybe it’s because they’re much older than me. Or maybe, just maybe, they’re just annoying, very annoying. Ever since I could talk and walk, my older cousins made it very clear that I didn’t belong in their clique. Like, I wanted to hear them talk for hours about how women should submit to their husbands? Yeah, I’d rather stick a fork in my eyeballs. That’s why Ho-sook is the only one I could talk to. They’re the only cousin I have that doesn’t annoy me.

“To text, or not to text,” I whispered, my eyes landing on the windowsill in front of me. I mean, should I be scared to call Ho-sook? No. Should I call them and tell them that our family didn’t even care that I arrived? Yes. But after minutes of arguing with myself, a soft knock startled my train of thought.

“Can I come in?” A male voice said. A voice I knew. A voice I loathed for years. A voice I didn’t want to hear.

I took a long, deep breath and got up. As much as I wanted to ignore the man on the other side of my door, I forced myself to open the door, which revealed a face that I didn’t want to see.

“Hyeon-ju.” I sighed, placing my hands on my hips as I stared down at the man in front of me. “I’d lie if I said it was nice seeing you.”

He chuckled at my words. God, I wanted to rip out his eyeballs. “Come on, you’re not going to hug your favorite cousin?”

“What do you want?” I said, dismissing everything he said.

“Dinner's ready.” He said with a dirty look plastered on his face. “Oh, and grandma said to wear nice clothes. The next-door neighbors are here.”

“What I’m wearing is fine.” I rolled my eyes as I got out and closed the door behind me. After I closed the door, I tried to walk as fast as I could to avoid the devil incarnate, whose name was Hyeon-ju. But much to my dismay, he immediately walked beside me, rested his calloused hands on my arms, and smiled like the devil.

“How’s Busan?” He asked, trying to start a conversation with me as we walked down the stairs.

God, please let me push him on the stairs. I stared at him. Almost as if my stare could burn his eyes. I didn’t know what he ate, but I was sure that he wasn’t the Hyeon-ju I knew. The Hyeon-ju who constantly argued with me. The Hyeon-ju who pushed me down the stairs when I was a kid.

“Busan's fine,” I whispered, still bewildered at the fact that he was having a full-on conversation with me, with someone he hated for all his life.

You would ask, why did we hate each other? I mean, it wasn’t like this. It was never like this. When I was a kid, Hyeon-ju was already in college. Meaning, our age gap was wide. So, to this day, I never knew why he hated me so much. Maybe it was because I took all the attention when I was born? Maybe he hated the fact that there was another kid on the growing list of inheritors? But I never got an answer.

“That’s nice.” He smiled. Something’s not right.

“How’s your wife?” I asked, easing into the conversation as we got near the dining hall. The various voices I could hear made my stomach twist into knots. Hyeon-ju didn’t even finish his sentence as my grandmother shouted as she saw Hyeon-ju and I standing at the end of the long crimson dining table.

“Ah, there she is!” My grandmother exclaimed, making everyone in the room turn their heads and stare at me like I was dinner.

“Come sit beside me, dear!” My mother grinned and patted the velvet chair beside her.

I didn’t know what to do. I froze in my spot as I saw my whole family. The same family that didn’t even bother to pick me up. The family that I haven’t seen in two years. So, like any obedient kid would do, I nodded and walked towards my mother, who looked at me like I had done something wrong. I silently sat down as the conversation continued.

I looked at the people surrounding me. Some were familiar, some weren’t. All my male cousins and their wives sat on the right side while my female cousins sat on the left side with their husbands. While I quietly played with my soup, I felt a pair of eyes looking at me. I looked up to see that my neighbor, whom I didn’t know, stared at my face as if it were just the two of us in the dining hall. His stare burned right through me.

He was intimidating, for sure. Maybe it’s his looks. In my years of living, I have never lied. I always told the truth even if it could hurt anybody. This man was pretty. No, not pretty. Beautiful. He was the typical rich guy you would see in a country club. He only doesn’t look rich, but he smelled rich. He was the very definition of old money.

As we had a stare down, which I now regretted, my grandmother, who was sitting at the end of the table, shouted in my direction. “Dear, I see that you made yourself acquainted with Seungcheol.”

I looked at my grandmother with wide eyes. She didn’t have to call me out like that. Then I heard a chuckle. A deep chuckle that made my lips tremble. My gaze landed on the man in front of me, whose name was Seungcheol, as my grandmother said. “Is there something funny?” I scoffed, irritated by the way he was looking at me. He didn’t say anything. He just looked at me and gave me a toothy smile. God, I’m melting. His lips were now pressed thinly, his long-calloused fingers twirling the sharp knife, and his eyes staring deeply into mine. “Nothing’s funny.”

[wangxianficfinder]

Fic Finder

May 13th

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1. I really need help finding a fic! It's either ABO or the Chinese equivalent kunze/qianyuan. It's got some sort of arranged marriage, as Madam Yu(?) marries WWX off to LWJ. In this universe Alphas often do not allow their Omegas to bite them back and create a reciprocated bond, as it gives them power and status in society. LWJ lets WWX bite him back (because he's a romantic and a sap), and the Jiang's are salty because JYL wasn't given a reciprocal bond when she married JZY, so WWX is technically of a higher status than she is now. @star-whatevers

FOUND!🔒Alliance AU by Ilona22 (E, 21k, WangXian, JYL/OC, Arranged Marriage, A/B/O Dynamics, PWP, WangXian Get a Happy Ending, Intersex Omegas, Not JC Friendly, Matchmaking, canon Jiang family dynamics, Family time, Night Hunts, Mention of male omega pregnancy, Intrigue at Jinlintai, Mentions of Prostitution, War, Conflict between characters)

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2. Hi! Fic finder plz. Looking for a fic where wwx is "sacrificed" by the other great sects to the gusu lan (in exchange for something? Don't remember). He is given to lwj and all the sects assume wwx is going to be a concubine (so much so that when they present wwx to lwj they dress him up like a concubine). Wwx also expects this and is very surprised when Iwj treats him nicely and everything. You can tell that lwj has fallen for wwx but is holding himself back. Wwx gradually falls for him too. I remember there was a part where the great sects came to visit and were surprised that wwx wasn't treated like a concubine. Tysm!!

FOUND? golden when the day met the night by glitteringmoonlight (Not rated, 95k, slow burn, sugar daddy LWJ, light, angst, fluff, developing relationship, eventual smut, WIP)

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3. Hiii!!!

I'm looking for a fic where Lan Zhan is de-aged and the juniors take care of him while on a night hunt. Wei Ying is still away and has not returned and they have not confessed yet. Baby LZ just wants his WY so the junior quartet takes him to Qinghe to a discussion conference or smth. Wei Ying is also called there and LZ just goes and hugs him.

That's all I can remember. I think he was cursed to be more open and vulnerable so that he could confess.

Thanks! @ffaddictsrn

FOUND! Send Me Your Earnest Love by goneforthestars (T, 13k, WangXian, Age Regression/De-Aging, Curses, Attempt at Humor, Light Angst, baby LWJ, Mutual Pining, Fluff, Post-Canon)

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4. I hope you can help, fingers crossed! I've tried everything on this one... Jin sibs murder JGS? sort of along the lines of Qin Su and the boys, but I can't even remember if it was a full fic on Ao3 or maybe even a ficlet/snippet on Tumblr? I think JZX was very shocked/normal reaction but siding with his siblings and JGY/MXY/QS were all stab-happy gremlins? I think JGY and QS might have found out much earlier that they were related and planned revenge together? Any help would be great, thank you! @katonahottinroof

I read #4 a few weeks ago😭 I believe lan zhan was a courtesan/prostitute who was supposed to assassinate wei ying, and lan zhan was beholden to meng yao for saving him. lab zhan ends up going to wei yings home in the burial mounds and gets poisoned I think ? does this sound familiar? the story may be tagged under courtesan lan zhan or prostitute lan zhan

NOT FOUND! out to get you (to get you) by iliacquer (E, 41k, wangxian, graphic depictions of violence, switching, top/bottom LWJ, top/bottom WWX, power play, courtesan LWJ, assassin LWJ, dark lord WWX, bondage, happy ending, past slavery)

FOUND! 🔒Something is Rotten in the State of Lanling by East_Of_Akkala (T, 42k, XuanLi, 3Zun, LQY/QS, Fix-It, Character Death, Angst, Family Feels, Black Comedy, Except for chapter 1, MDZS SPOILERS, Canon Divergence, Jin Siblings Dynamics, QS Deserves Better, Humor, Fluff, Background Relationships, Warning: JGS, POV Multiple, POV QS, POV MXY, POV JGY, Murder, Attempted Murder, Illustrated Fic)

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5. Good afternoon! I hope everyone has had a pleasant day.

Can’t say how many of my favorite stories have been found through you guys!

For the next fic finder.

I’m looking for a fic that has both a/b/o in it but also the lan clan were dragons and wwx was a fox, I think. Either one or both, I can’t quite recall.

Oh and it’s set in study arch.

Wwx and Lwj were already a couple or courting at the very least.

Anyway what I remember the clearest was a part where wwx was walking some stairs, might have been the stars to cloud recesses.

Anyway a spiritual dog suddenly appears and I think starts chasing or just barking at wwx.

Anyway twin jades to the save.

It is later revealed that the dog belonged to Jin Zixun which was confirmed by Zixuan who recognized the dog.

That’s all I remember.

Have a nice day and keep up the fantastic work! @ravenwithwings

FOUND! Jades' Lotus by keela_1221 (E, 125k, LXC/WWX/LWJ, Jadecest, Incest, Non-Traditional A/B/O Dynamics, Fluff, Smut, True Mates, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, No Sunshot Campaign, WWX Has a Breeding Kink, Male Lactation, Marriage Contracts, Polyamory, Pining, thirst, Mpreg, They Experiment a Little, Cum Marking, switch everyone, Double Penetration, graphic description of childbirth, Sprinklings of angst for flavor)

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6. There's this wangxian fanfic I know I've read more than once, but I can't seem to find it anymore! Ok, so it's a modern world with cultivation fic, and in it the 5 Great Sects are like big crime syndicates or something similar. Wei Ying has his own territory in Yiling where he is known, of course, as the Yiling Laozu. The story uses specific terms to refer to some characters' status. Ex: Lan Wangji is the Red Pole of the Lan Sect, and Meng Yao is, I think, the Straw Sandal. Pls help me find it? @dreammaiden21

FOUND? 🔒 Words are Gonna Bleed from Me by GravityWinsAgain (E, 173k, WangXian, WIP, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Triad AU, Blood and Violence, Explicit Sexual Content, warnings in the notes, Modern with Magic, Dark Magic, BAMF WWX, BAMF LWJ, Murder Husbands, POV WWX, Organized Crime, lovers to enemies to estranged lovers and back to lovers, it gets weird when somebody dies but not really, Angst, Feels, BDSM Switch WangXian, Ghosts, Body Horror)

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7. Hi there! I hope you can help me figure out which fic I have just remembered. I think it might have been an ABO fic, but I'm not sure. All I remember is one scene. There was some kind of trial, and WWX was seated in some kind of special alcove where nobody could see or hear him, so that he could watch without encountering the Jiangs. I think he made some kind of comment about the type of court drama that would necessitate such a feature being built. Does anyone else remember this? Thank you!! @balleyboley

FOUND! 🔒 Crossing Paths by Ilona22 (M, 21k, wangxian, shapeshifter au, graphic depictions of violence, war between sects, war crimes, not JC friendly, happy ending)

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8. hi! potentially very long shot, but I'm looking for a fic with this quote "Besides, no one ‘was good,’ in some isolated way. Good was a relation between people. Good was a thing you did." I saved this quote then, and sadly can't remember any other details about this fic... I'd love find it to reread again, thank you! @potatokunst

FOUND? I Started From the Bottom/And Now I’m Rich by x_los (E, 57k, WWX/WRH, WWX/JGS, wangxian, JYL/JZX, time travel fix-it, Pining, Marriage of Convenience, Arranged Marriage, No Sunshot Campaign, WQ Lives, Transmigration, Weddings, Sugar Daddy au, Sugar Daddy, Black Widow, Protective Siblings, Family, Dysfunctional Family, Family Bonding, Sugar Baby, consort, Politics, Demonic Cultivation, Canon-Typical Violence, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Canon-typical domestic dysfunction, Canon-Typical Gore, Ballad 39: Tam Lin, YLLZ, Crack Treated Seriously) did a search for the quote and it came up -- ch 3, specifically

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9. Fic finder request: there's a fic I only recall some details of. In this fic, dual cultivation in the Cold Pond Cave contributes to the security of the Cloud Recesses, but it has to be done by powerful cultivators with a member of the main family. MY and LXC are married in this fic, but they are unable to use this method of boosting security because MY's cultivation level is not high enough. Wangxian do it eventually, and when they leave the Cold Pond Cave, they are congratulated (?) by the Lans, who were waiting outside. WWX is also welcomed into the sect as one of their own. I think JC comments at some point that it's really weird for him to be safe in Cloud Recesses because of this reason. Please help me find this fic!

FOUND? The Ritual by nightwalker (E, 12k, WangXian, Sex Magic, Post-Canon, Fluff and Smut)

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10. Hello! I am looking for a fic that might have been canon-esque, but also could have been modern, where Mama Lan calls Lan Zhan her little bird. Only I think for a while the author gave us the Chinese word for it, which I don't recall what it was. It's translated later in the story. Thank you!

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11. Looking for a longfic I read a while back. The elements I remember are that the Lan figured out that WWX wasn't being properly compensated/treated as a head disciple of the Jiang and the deliberate stunting of his academic education was a violation of (handwavy) Jianghu high academia codes of conduct. As a result the Lan got WWX his backpay and the Jiang teachers got shunned by their academic peers. Had similar vibes to Stunted, Starving Juvenility, but I did a reread of that recently and I'm pretty sure it was a different fic. Thanks! @alychelms

Love this one and recently read it, but not it. The fic I'm looking for was definitely in canon-setting

NOT FOUND sounds like part of the story for 🧡🔒Truth Will Out (when caught on video) - End_OTW_Racism! by KizuKatana (E, 178k, WangXian, WN & WWX & WQ, graphic depictions of violence, modern cultivation, canon divergence, YZY abuses WWX , caught on camera, partial core removal, WWX kicked out of Jiang sect, livestreamer WWX, meet ugly, dual cultivation, smut, no war)

FOUND!🔒 the language of flowers and silent things series by Reverie (cl410) (M, 107k, WangXian, LXC/NMJ, LWJ & Madam Lan, NHS & LWJ, LWJ & LXC, LWJ & NMJ, LWJ & NHS Friendship, Developing Relationship, POV LWJ, Minor Injuries, Autistic LWJ, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, aka the YZY warning, Genius WWX, Light Angst And Hurt/Comfort, WWX Protection Squad, Gusu Lan Sect, Slow Burn, Protective LWJ, LWJ-centric, Politics, Canon Divergence, No Sunshot Campaign, Cultivation Sect Politics, Protective WWX) I don't recall if backpay was a part of it, but 11 reminds me of this

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12. Hi, I really need help finding a fic I read on ao3 some time ago. It was a modern day fic, I believe set in America, where wei ying and lan zhan meet again at jiang yanli’s wedding. They both act awkward around each other and don’t really interact until they are all in the hotel lobby and wei ying is trying to leave because LZ…but yanli tells lan zhan to give him a ride because it’s suppose to be a long ride home (to a different state I believe and lan zhan will be driving by it either way so it’s ideal) Wei ying tries to reject the idea but LXC gets involved too and he’s like it’s a good idea. It’s like a long drive/road trip fic where they are forced to interact and make up. Thank you for your time and effort.

Hi, I wrote to you asking for fic #12 on your may 13th post. I ended up finding it. It was a wlw fic 7:15 from Chicago by milesofheart. I’m sorry for the inconvenience but thank you for this platform, allowing me to ask in the first place.

FOUND! 7:15 from Chicago by milesofheart (T, 24k, WangXian, F/F, Modern, Rule 63, Road Trip, Getting Together, Female WangXian, matchmaking siblings, recovering from traumatic childhoods, spiritual trauma, Lan Disciplines as modern religious fundamentalism, LWJ's defiance of the Lan Disciplines, activist LWJ, the universal rage of women in a sexist world, Estranged Friends to Lovers, Pining, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, brief references to sexual violence, references to past alcohol abuse, mention of spiking a drink as a bad practical joke but in a safe environment, mentions of real American political and social issues, brief mention of physical child abuse, past experiences of homophobia)

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13. I need help finding a fic. I've looked through my AO3 history and had no luck. Here's what I remember: Its a modern AU (I dont recall if its modern Cultivation or modern without magic) WWX is on the outs the Jiangs but is close to the Nies. There is a scene where NHS puts put Nie braids into WWX hair, and LWJ is jealous and takes them out. WWX developed a software that the Nies distribute and the Jiangs use. When WWX does online tech support for the Jiangs he uses the alias MXY.

FOUND! Come Around and Stay by trippednfell (M, 160k, WangXian, NieLan, Slow Burn, Kid Fic, Found Family, Modern AU, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, PTSD, Blood and Injury, Dissociation, Angst with a Happy Ending, Musicals, POV Alternating, Baking, Yunmeng reconciliation (eventually), Friend Zoning, Literal Sleeping Together, Hurt/Comfort, Panic Attacks)

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14. Hello, how are you doing? 👋

I am looking for a fic which i found on this blog i think, i am not sure. It's where wwx breaks up with lwj as a dare but they're actually meeting for the first time. I thought i had it bookmarked but unfortunately i was wrong, please help me find it. 🫰

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15. Heya bros!! Got a request for the ficfinder? I read it a while back but accidentally closed the tab.

It was Wen Ning and Nis Huaisang centric. Chapter one was Wen Ning helping NHS escape qishan, chap 2 was NHS helping WN break outta the Jin dungeon and I think chap 3 was them talking about it??

I think Hua Cheng and Xie Lian made a very brief cameo in the third chapter?

FOUND? Jailbreaking by CullenBlue (T, 21k, WN & NHS, Canon Compliant, POV NHS, NHS Is A Little Shit, Cinnamon Roll WN, Fierce Corpse WN, Ghost General WN, References to Heavens Official’s Blessing, References to The Scum Villain’s Self Saving System, NHS insulting the Wen Clan’s taste in interior Decorating, Mentions of Murder, WN made a friend by talking about his childhood trauma, BAMF WN, Panic Attacks, mentions of gore, Canon-Typical Violence, Violence in the Name of Comedy, Trauma, Is NHS taking anything seriously? who knows, Bromance)

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16. Hi...

I am looking for this fic that I read a long time ago. It's a modern au and mpreg, where at the airport Wei ying went to the toilet and left a yuan with strangers (Mr & Madam Lan). Both of them thought twin jade especially lan zhan had a secret child as a yuan share similarities with the lan gene. If I'm not mistaken, Wei ying works together with lan zhan before leaving the country because of pregnancy and lan zhan doesn't even know about it. I don't remember why...🤔

Please help me find it. Thank you for your time 😊 @hazeylove89 //

Hi. I would hope to find this fic I read a long time ago. It's modern au where Wei ying leaving a yuan with stranger in airport for toilet break however the stranger is Mr &Mrs lan. Both of them thought a yuan is lan zhan child as a yuan share similarities with lan zhan. Btw this fic is mpreg n lan zhan don't know that Wei ying is pregnant.

Sorry if it's a difficult request. Thank you.

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17. hello! trying to find a specific tumblr post (not here but out in the wild) about yllz wwx actually being a fairly solid ghost who died in the burial mounds and knows he's dead but expects the ones he loves to also pick up on that and mourn him/give offerings? but none of them do; they see solid and assume alive, so he's feeling hurt about it. pretty sure it's here on tumblr somewhere but will accept fic recs

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18. this for fic finder <3 i remember reading a fic where WWX is a paperman and is spying on LWJ bathing. and then paperman wwx gets a cut and lwj gets angry or sulking at him for disregarding his safety @notdaniee

FOUND! I don't know about a fic but there's a comic by @moobiess like that

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19. hello, thank you for your help!

i was looking for this fic where wwx and mianmian are dating (?) and wwx accidentally moans lwj's name while making out/intercourse. i am unable to find it anymore. could you please help?

thank you again.

hello! #19 from the latest fic finder (may 13th). yes! it does! wwx goes to lwj's and they 'talk' about whatever happened and then they end up having sex.

bummer that they made it private, thank you for the help though!

sounds like a fic that has been privated/hidden by Pancho I believe , in the story does wei ying end up going over to Lan zhan and they have sex?

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20. hiii, i need help finding a fic on ao3 where lan wangji and wei wuxian time travel to the past and tell the sect leaders some form of info. the sect leaders are then nosy and weird about it so they end up using something to spy on them? lan xichen feels guilty but joins in anyway. in the scene that the sects see wwx and lwj are sitting and wwx is combing lwj's hair i think ? the two are aware that they're being watched as well. i don't remember much else, but i hope that's accurate enough. thank you so much.

FOUND? lan xichen is very concerned (and confused) by theninjacat (T, 3k, WangXian, POV Outsider, Time Travel, Canon Divergence, Sunshot Campaign)

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[therandompagesblog]

SKZ War Chapter 2

Trigger Warnings: None

It was cold, dark and empty. The wind was blowing. The trees shook. It was every and Lucas was all alone outside his home. There was no mum nor Dad there with him. There was no Moon. Only him. It was only him walking through the trees, bare footed. The leaves crunched under his feet the further he went. The deeper he went into the woods. All of a sudden he was back at the haunted house. The house that was trapped in spirits because of an alpha named Hongjoong once meddled with witches and killed omegas, trapping their souls deep within the spiritual barrier. They learned the lore at werewolf school but everyone thought it was a spooky horror story and none of it ceased to exist.

"Lucas." The wind called. "Lucas come here." The wind called again. "Lucas. Come inside. It's cold outside." The wind said, luring Lucas into the house. The house smelled damp and rotten. It smelled like a place of executioners. A place where souls were murdered. A place of torment. Lucas walked into the house and up the stairs, following the light. The floorboards creaked underneath him with every step that he took. "Come here little apex." The voice called out, making Lucas stop. The young man had his back to him. He was by the fireplace, watching, curiously. The man had blackened hair like his soul. His shirt was shredded from the last encounter he had. The last encounter with her.

Lucas crept forward and looked at him. The man was frozen like a painting. He did not move and he did not speak but Lucas got a good look at him. His face was slim and he had high cheekbones. If he smiled there would be a dimple somewhere. If he laughed it would surely look possessed. His neck down to his chest had scratches, making the young apex want to reach out to see, but he stopped himself. All of a sudden the man moved and turned away slowly, waiting for the apex to follow. Lucas followed him down the stairs slowly, when the man spoke. "I once had a lover. My sweet omega. She had a fiery heart with passion. She was my best friend. She would always wake up early to bake me cookies. She tended to my pack until her soul was taken from me." The man said sadly. "What happened to her? Your lover?" Lucas asked, following the man. "What do you know about Hongjoong, Lucas? Did you know his lover's soul was taken by another alpha? That he possessed her brain. Manipulated her and then she was gone." The man cried. Tears of blood streamed down his face. "Are you Hongjoong?" Lucas asked. "Yes." Hongjoong turned around. "Her soul changed. It turned evil because he was evil. She didn't know who I was when she was taken. She was gone." "I'm sorry!" Lucas apologised. He didn't know what to say to the heartbroken man.

Lucas thought Hongjoong was executed for playing with dark magic and killing omegas. Lucas didn't know why Hongjoong was calling him for his help. "Please believe me. I want to be buried. I don't want to be trapped in these walls anymore. Will you help bury my body so I can move on?" Hongjoong begged. Dropping at the young boy's feet. "There is a way to get my body out and set me free. All you need is yourself and your brother Moon to help. On the next full moon come to me. Step into the fog and I will reach out. Pull my body out and then bury me in the back garden. Do not tell anyone. Elders and alphas believe I was evil but it was the werewolf pack that stole her. Please help me!"

Lucas shot up sweating profusely. He hadn't experienced a dream so real before that it shook him up. He didn't understand what was going on. First, the weird house he and Moon fell upon, then the dream. None of it made sense to him. Lucas shook his head when he heard his father demanding him. "What?!" Lucas shouted. "Don't 'what' me. Your mother has called you five times this morning." His father said. "Yeah. Let me get dressed." Lucas groaned when his father opened the door making him glare. His father had long curly hair that was slightly dishevelled and his eyes looked tired as if he was sick and tired of shouting at Lucas for getting up late every day. "What's the matter with you?" His father asked. "Bad dream. Can I get changed or are you gonna watch?" Lucas said plainly. "Enough of the attitude." His father said and left the room making Lucas roll his eyes.

Lucas spent the whole weekend feeling tired and his mother thought he may have gotten sick. Apparently, there was a werewolf viral infection going around so by Monday he was in bed with his mother checking his temperature. His mother was the most beautiful woman he had seen except for the girl in the werewolf lore class. She was cute too. "You're not hot." His mother said as she felt his head. "Are you cold?" "No mum. I promise. I think it's a stomach bug!" Lucas assured. He didn't want his mother to baby him. He wanted to prove to his mother he was strong and sickness wasn't anything that would stop him. But that dream. That forsaken dream bothered him. Moon had even suggested talking to his father, Jeongin, about it but he didn't want to. Technically he was closer to Father Felix but he didn't want to burden him with such dreams. "Mum," Lucas called out before his mum could escape and get some soup for him. "Do you think the lore about Ateez is true? Someone didn't lie did they?" Lucas watched his mother's face shift quickly and she shook her head. "No. It is the truth. Only focus on it for your test. Don't ask questions." His mother said plainly. He couldn't even ask her because she was so dismissive. Even his father's would be the same. Why would they teach about a topic they wouldn't speak about at home? Why was it so taboo?

Taglist for the iconic readers:

@silentreadersthings @ihrtlix @galaxy4489 @catlove83 @linocz @eastjonowhere @hyunmikim @hpnsfwaddict @tsunderelino @multistan248

[topazy]

Tomorrow’s promise

Pairing: Daryl Dixon × reader, Rick Grimes × sister reader

Swearing: Swearing, blood

4.04

“Everyone, get back into your cells now!”

In the blink of an eye, everything had gone to shit. One minute you and Sasha are helping Hershel put a dead body onto a trolley for it to be taken away, and the next the prison block you’re in is full of walkers.

You shove Mika and Lizzie, two sisters under the age of thirteen, into a cell with you and slam the door shut just as a walker approaches. It tries to grab you, but thankfully the metal bar keeps it at bay.

“Y/n,” the youngest sister says. “She doesn’t look so good.”

Turning back around, you see Sasha slumped against the wall and coughing heavily. “Shit, keep her sitting upright and don’t open the cell for anyone else. I need to get Hershel.”

Using your blade, you stab the walker in the head, and do your best to not think about how this was a person who greeted you every morning, you’ve laughed with them, and survived alongside them.

As you navigate through the block, stepping over dead bodies and dodging walkers trying to rip you to shreds, sweat drips down your back.

You reach the far side of the upper floor and find Hershel attaching a resuscitator to Glenn. Maggie was standing guard at the cell door, shooting at the dead to keep them from getting to her dad and Glenn.

“Y/n behind you!”

The sound of shuffling feet echoes closer, and you spin fast and stab the person in the head. Henry. You feel sick; Henry was just a teenager.

Walker or not, you just stabbed a teenager, a kid.

You somehow manage to hold back the urge to vomit. “Hershel,” you call back. “Sasha’s not looking so good. You need to help her.”

The block is full of nothing but screams and gunfire, but you somehow manage to make out what Hershel is explaining, and you take over from him and start squeezing the bag of the resuscitator, inflating Glenn’s lungs.

You’re unsure how much time has passed, but when night comes, the walkers have been dealt with, and the sudden silence is deafening.

—

There was still pain in your chest whenever you took deep breaths, and your throat still felt dry and scratchy, but at least you were now able to go outside as long as you kept your distance from the others.

At least outside, the smell of death wasn’t so strong.

One of the fences came down the night before, and a horde would have gotten through if it wasn’t for Rick and Carl shooting the walkers down. Now that the rotten bodies had been moved further away, you were attempting to block up the gaps until the fence could be rebuilt more securely.

Maggie notices what you’re doing and comes over to help. “You should be resting.”

Since you’ve already been in close contact with Maggie, it didn’t matter if she was beside you. “I need to do something,” you say while wrapping a wire between a pole you stuck in the ground and a wooden crate. “Glenn is looking a lot better.”

“I know, thank God.”

“Thank Hershel; without your dad, more people would have died. Me included.”

She gives you a sympathetic smile, “Hopefully we can join the others in a couple of days.”

“Hopefully.”

You doubted things would feel normal for some time. Rick told you Carol murdered David and Karen in an attempt to stop the flu from spreading, so he banished her. You cared for Carol but couldn’t help but wonder if she would have done the same to you, Glenn, or Sasha if she saw how sick the three of you were.

“On the bright side, we got plenty of diapers and formula now that Daryl’s back from the supply,” Maggie says, making conversation.

You let out a deep sigh; you hadn’t seen Daryl since being completely conscious. He had taken a few other members of your community on a supply run, and they had only returned less than an hour ago.

Seeing you become teary-eyed, Maggie rests her hand on your shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

“I miss Jace.”

You wanted nothing more than to hold your baby and kiss his chubby cheeks and hold his hand. Beth has brought him to the viewing room once, but all it did was distress him; your poor boy didn’t understand the plastic barrier keeping the two of you apart.

“I can’t imagine how hard it is not being able to take care of him yourself, but at least you know he’s well taken care of.”

Following her trail of sight, you see Daryl holding Jace on the far side of the courtyard; he was pointing at the birds sitting on the fence. All you wanted to do was run to them, but you stayed back so as not to upset your son again. But seeing them together gives you peace of mind.

—

After helping scrub the remaining blood off the cell floors, you go back outside to watch the sun set. The atmosphere inside the block was becoming too much for you to bear—too many grieving parents, brothers, sisters, children… nothing you say would be able to help them.

Hershel says it should be safe for those not showing anymore symptoms of the flu to rejoin the rest of your community; you were equally as nervous as you were excited. Being able to take care of Jace, Carl, and Judith again was something you couldn’t wait for, but the fear of the virus spreading to them was still fresh in your mind.

The smell of tobacco fills the air. Looking over your shoulder, you see Daryl with a cigarette between his lips.

“Those things will kill ya.”

He grunts between exhaling smoke.

Sitting atop one of the metal benches, you bring your knees to your chest. “Thank you, Daryl, for always taking care of Jace.”

He takes another puff of the cigarette before dropping it on the ground and stubbing it out with his foot. “Ain’t nothing to thank me for,” he says, coming over to the bench and sitting beside you. “It’s just what we do; we dare for each other.”

Your heart races as you fully take in his appearance now that he is closer to you. Daryl’s eyes were heavy; his body, face, and hair had traces of dirt and blood covering them.

You sit in a comfortable silence for some time until Daryl suddenly turns to you and says, “Doncha, think it’s weird you ain’t ever seen me without a top on?”

“I’ve never really given it much thought; why?”

All of your time was usually spent surviving or looking after Jace, and since you hadn’t had sex yet, not seeing Daryl completely topless hadn’t even crossed your mind.

Daryl turns his head to see if anyone else is around, and after seeing there’s not, he looks away from you and pulls up the back of his top, revealing multiple deep scars on his back. After a moment, he pulls it back down and faces you just as a single tear rolls down your cheek. He wipes the tear away with the pad of his thumb. “Both my parents were alcoholics, and after my mom died, my dad became a complete asshole.”

“Daryl…” The thought of him being a frightened young boy in pain was almost too much to bear.

“It’s why I hated my goddamn brother for so long. Merle left to join the army as soon as he could, leaving me alone with him.”

You link your fingers with his; Daryl wasn’t the kind of person you could pry info out of. He only shares things when he fully trusts someone, so for him to share this with you was a big deal.

Shyly, you start to lean into him, unsure how he will react, but Daryl wraps his arms around. You bury your face into the crook of his neck. “I’ve really missed you.”

“If you're broken, then I’m broken.”

[smokey07]

How do you think Achilles and Neo(around the ages they were when the war ended) would interact?

I understand this ask 2 ways:

1- If Achilles was somehow resurrected for a day (Like in Dragonball) when the war ended, before the Achaeans left for home and Neoptolemus freaked the f out (ultimate delulu super crack version, do not take this seriously)

Shameless cheerleader dad meets “I hate everyone and everything” teenager.

Basically Zeus and Hades were feeling generous, he popped up in the middle of his camp, scaring everyone else and his first question was: “Where’s my son?”

Only to hear the clanging of the shield. His shield.

Oh my god the chase of the century. Forget Achilles chasing Hector around, this is the thing that we’re in for.

Neo ran away in full speed with “I don’t know who the f you are”, “Get the f away from me”, “You’re not my dad”, etc etc

While Achilles' “Pyrrhus you pooped on my shirt, I know exactly who you are”, “Pat wants to meet you so much”, “Get back here you gremlin, let dada hug you” was right after him. Oh and he punched Agamemnon along the way, because bich it’s fun.

After a while Neoptolemus jumped into the water and swam away, only for Achilles to call on his mother to tow him back. Neo was then tried to escape again and it turned into a wrestling match. After a few rounds, Neo started punching him and accused him and Pat for leaving, and to everyone’s surprise Achilles agreed. Sorry for dragging you into this so early or something along the line.

The kid broke down crying like a baby in the middle of the fight, and Achilles had to coax him, saying how proud he was. Then he tugged the tired child into bed just like the old days, only for Neo to almost kill him in his sleep. Sword by his throat, feet on his chest ready to strike. The same eyes of war reflecting in his. Neo realized what’s he done but this time Achilles did not let him run away. they hugged each other. In the end, they spent the night talking about Pthia, Skyros, Achilles’ past, Patroclus, Deidamia and a small farm in the woods, far away from everything.

Next morning Achilles was of course gone.

Enough petition and I could make a fic out of it XD

I personally don’t think Achilles will ramble about any Neo’s moral problems and just go “Yo there’s my kid, you fought so well, noiceeee” like he did in the Odyssey.

2- The ghost of Achilles returned (darker and Polyxena incident related). He’s dead so his age doesn’t change, so ig this qualifies XD

Based on the idea from the superstition from many cultures that when someone died in lots of regret and rage, they don’t really leave but linger in places that familiar to them. In Achilles’ case, his f-ing camp. Their soul is also corrupted and often demand a worthy sacrifice, especially for souls full of vengeance. (yeah it’s a thing, you could see where this goes)

I plan to write this for my AU so I’ll make it brief.

It was not Calchas who started everything but Neoptolemus. After the event of the siege, he then dreamt of a man in dark armor, his own to be precise, standing in the corner of his room trying to reach out to him. This man’s flesh was corrupted and rotten, only one of his eyes remained and they were identical to Neo. Day by day the man stood closer to his bed until one day closed enough to reach out and strangle him in his sleep. Neo could not fight a ghost, even when he tried. And for some reasons, he froze whenever the ghost touched him. The ghost always muttered the same thing “Murderer.” He woke up in terror, and the same happened again and again. Every single night.

Neo became sleepless and agitated, he even attacked his own troops out of insignificant errors and almost cause a brawl in the briefing, with everyone. It was so terrible that everyone forced Calchas to consult the gods, and the rest is as you know it.

Hope you like this stupid rambling of mine

[twola]

Hi! I hope you had a safe trip (if it's not over then I hope it's pleasant)

I was wondering how Arthur would feel to a reader that has a smart mouth and spits venom to anyone who insults him or the people she cares for and goes absolutely berserk if Arthur is hurt/captured. Maybe after a close call on losing Arthur/after rescuing him I can see reader saying stuff like "damn it Arthur! you sure know how to get your girl worried sick and think about you all day" and punishes him with either crazy head or rides him 'till it's morning and has his hands tied.

The things we would do for him 😔

Have a good day/afternoon/night!

This is my last pending one from my sprint the other day! This was a ton of fun - check back in on Tuesday for another one!

MDNI~

-

Everyone knew to give you a wide berth. You swore, you scowled, you would raise hell and high water when you were upset. The joke around camp was that if you and Sadie were both pissed at the same man, he was as sure as dead.

Somehow, someway, that facade of bitterness and vinegar broke down and you let someone in : the most unlikely of men - the feared enforcer of the Van der Linde gang. Somehow, someway, two of the meanest darn people on earth found each other. Found comfort and perhaps something more.

But lord almighty, when Arthur comes back to camp after a job with a black eye and a suspiciously noose-shaped rope burn on his neck, woe be to everyone in the camp that night. You swore, and hollered, threatened Dutch and smacked Bill Williamson upside the head before Arthur was able to drag you away, saddling up again and leaving camp, Hosea shaking his head as the two of you head down toward the river.

By the time Arthur gets you down from his horse, you're mad as a hornet, and there is no one to take it out on but him.

"You're a rotten son of a bitch, Arthur Morgan."

"Honey-"

"No you listen to me, you big oaf, how dare you come back to me lookin' like you barely escaped the reaper. How d-da...."

Arthur blinks. Your hellfire, which he secretly loves to see, falters. You press the heels of your palms against your eyes to hide the tears collecting there.

"You idiot, d-don't you know how lost I'd be without you?"

"Darlin'..." Arthur reaches for your hands, and gently pulls them down, uncovering your face. He leans down to be at eye level with you, and you frown at the black eye blooming across his face. He chuckles.

"Arthur, it ain't funny."

"No, you're just the sweetest little thing." He stands back up again to his full height and you scowl.

"Sweet ain't something no one has ever described me as." You retort, your hackles rising at his cajoling, "Stop it Arthur, I was worried about you. I was thinkin' bout you all day!"

"Oh, was you now?" He laughs, enjoying your aggravation, "Was you thinkin' bout last night?"

You blush, caught off guard. Last night he had you smothering noises in his pillow as he pounded down into you. Hell, you were sore this morning when he left. He snickered to you, as you moaned softly, that he'd won that round.

But you are not one to shy down from a battle.

You push him back with all your strength. It usually would not be able to move him, the mountain of muscle that he is, but he's taken by surprise and stumbles backward two steps before catching himself as he hits a tree trunk. You follow him, with catlike reflexes, and before he can even steady himself you have worked your hands into his pants and are drawing his cock out, coaxing it to rigidity.

You sink to your knees in front of him, and he's barely able to sputter a word before you're taking him into your mouth.

Some time later, a man stumbles into the periphery, gun drawn, asking where the hell the man was that was shoutin' so loud that he thought he was getting murdered.

You swear and threaten him enough that he speedily leaves the two of you alone.

--

[dyns33]

Only wastelands part 2

Here's part 2 of my Cooper Howard x Reader ! I think it will be a story in 4 parts at the end, but I'm not sure yet.

Tags : @one-of-thewalkingdead @coolrobloxkid28 @thebumbqueen @rachmari @ilyvia @justme12200 @honeybunhottie @savanahc @gobbodoggo @bisasterbisexual @killingboredom @bonafideyapper @i-simp-for-mha-men @pixelatedprofilepic @ultimatreality @chattersstuff @harmfulb1tch @hellolettuce444 @miketastic25

If Y/N had to pay Cooper one compliment, it was that he had been a very good teacher.

Months passed, years, and she survived the apocalypse perfectly on her own.

To avoid trouble, she hid her pitboy and her gender under a large coat and a Ranger mask. Some people made fun of her, thinking she was doing this to protect herself from radiation. Everyone knew that West Tek's hardware, or any of Vault's partners, was crap.

Y/N knew it, and that was why she always had Radaway on her. Not at all in case she saw Cooper again and he needed some.

Three years without any news, doing everything to avoid attracting attention, and she hardly thought about him at all.

If she sometimes looked at the photo of him before his turning, with little Janey, it was only to remember that she should trust no one in this rotten world. Never again, she repeated to herself.

It was with this spirit that she almost killed Lucy when the young woman fell on her. Literally.

Y/N was standing in a crater, calm, silent, holding her sniper tightly, ready to shoot her future dinner, when the little vaultie had jumped to escape a yao guai.

Her instinct not being often wrong, she knew that it was more urgent to kill the bear than the imbecile who had thought that surprising a shooter was less dangerous than confronting a beast.

Even though she had a gun, was covered in blood, and one of her fingers was a different color, little Vault dweler looked harmless with her big, naive doe eyes.

It was obvious that she had been outside for a short time. A true miracle that she is still alive.

"Thank you, thank you very much !" she repeated with a huge smile, as if Y/N wasn't pointing her sniper at her. "You don't know the week I just had ! My father was kidnapped, I wanted to save him, but I discovered that he was a murderer who had bombed a city, and all the people I met tried to kill me, and…"

"Hey. I don't remember asking you to tell me about your life, vaultie."

"Oh, sorry ! It's just that I got lost. I was with someone heading to a place called New Vegas, but a big monster pulled him into a hole, then this thing attacked me. You seem nice, and I could use some help…"

"No."

“Wait. But wait !” the girl begged, following her as she went to carve the yao guai. Not the best meat, but she had just wasted five bullets for that, and the noise had either scared away the easy preys or attracted the attention of the dangerous ones.

Y/N vacillated between ignoring Lucy and threatening her, asking her to leave, but after exchanging names, the vaultie seemed to have decided that they were now best friends and should stay together.

No doubt taking her savior's silence as an invitation, she continued to talk about what had happened to her, between her meeting with a man named Maximus, and the inhumane treatment she had suffered at the hands of a mercenary.

Completely incoherent, she ended her story by explaining that she had abandoned her potential boyfriend to go on an adventure next to the guy who tortured her, with the aim of finding her dad and discovering who had destroyed the entire planet.

It was quite funny, because Lucy reminded her a bit of herself before. Y/N wondered if Cooper had seen her like that when they met, a lost and stupid thing.

At the same time, the girl's reasons for living were the same as the Ghoul. Find a family member and take revenge on Vault. Amusing. Maybe they would be very happy together.

If we forgot the fact that Lucy thought that no one should be killed, that everyone was nice, and mutual help was a fundamental notion, to start again. Ugh.

"So, some free advice, if you want to avoid having your tongue cut out, remember that it is not a good idea for a little vaultie who grew up in a palace to give big moral lessons to people who have been doing what they can to avoid dying for years, sometimes centuries."

"Why do you call me that ? You come from a vault too, right ? My pitboy picked up yours."

"Hang on. I am a victim of the cruelty of politicians and businessmen, betrayed by my own country and only alive by luck, or bad luck. You are a little vaultie. Now get away before I strangle you."

Lucy continued to follow her. And Y/N could have killed her, she really could have. This wasn't her first rodeo. She had killed a lot of people for less than that. But she didn't really want to.

Maybe she had been alone for too long. Maybe she felt sorry for this girl, like Cooper had felt sorry for her.

A deal was found. If Lucy could keep her mouth shut, then Y/N would help her find her friends so she could resume her main quest. Their paths would then part ways, and everyone would be happy.

Especially Y/N.

Because if she often talked about her dear Max, the little vaultie didn't seem so eager to find her survival partner. This was understandable, since he had tried to kill her several times, shooting her, cutting off her finger, using her as bait, and selling her.

Compared to this guy, Y/N was a saint, an angel from heaven, the perfect friend. When she offered the girl a bottle of non-irradiated water, she seemed about to ask her to marry her.

“You must be the only person in all the wastelands with good water !”

"It doesn't come cheap. But… I made a promise."

“My lovely traveling companion forced me to drink disgusting water and eat a man.”

"Charming."

Even though she seemed sweet and pure, Y/N continued to be wary of Lucy, sleeping with only one eye open and waiting for the moment when she would try to stab her in the back. First rule, don't trust anyone.

It had happened before. Never again.

Even after three years, the wound was still raw.

It was only when she saw the fear and regret in Lucy's eyes that Y/N restrained her action, yet ready to plant her blade the moment she had shown her the photo, taken out of her bag, asking her if it was her family.

Cooper hadn't been her family. He had been an asshole, who had manipulated her, who had made her believe that he loved her, and that she could love him, before abandoning her like a dog on the side of the road.

"Be careful with this Maximus. Men never change. He will take what he wants from you, and you will be hurt."

“He’s not like that.”

"I didn't think Coop was like that !" she shouted, really getting angry for the first time at Lucy, who jumped. "Yes, I loved him ! I trusted him ! It was stupid of me and I will never make that mistake again ! I hope he died in a hole, alone and in pain !"

"… Can I throw the photo away then ?"

“Give that back !” Y/N said quickly, snatching the only souvenir he had left from her hands and putting it safely in her pocket.

Lucy's sad smile indicated that she wouldn't have destroyed the photo. How sorry she was, for having gone through her things, and for having caused her pain by forcing her to talk about this man who had been so important. Also that she was happy, to see that despite her speeches, Y/N still cared for someone, even if she didn't want to.

She had never told anyone about it. It had been a long time since she had said his name, except when she woke up from a nightmare, in the middle of nowhere, calling for him like a child.

Lucy continued to smile, because for her, there must be another explanation for her precious Coop's behavior. She continued to call him Coop, even after Y/N threatened to make her eat her rotten finger.

"I know you don't like talking about him…"

“If you know that, shut up.” Y/N muttered as she continued walking towards New Vegas, trying to ignore the stream of words from the stupid vaultie, bingeing on romance novels and patriotic films.

"From the few things you agreed to share, Coop cared about you. He protected you, he taught you to defend yourself, he gave you a picture of his daughter. For me, this are proofs of love. Actions speak louder than words."

“He promised to come get me and I’m still waiting.”

"Wrong ! You left, you know how to hide perfectly, and you do everything to avoid him ! So, maybe he's been chasing you all this time and you don't know."

"What I do know is that the main clause of our deal was that you would stop talking so much, especially if it was to give such ridiculous and inappropriate advices."

They finally arrived at their destination after several weeks of walking. No sign of Lucy's friend on the way though. Perhaps he had died, or had not continued on his own.

It was clear that he wanted to use the daughter of vault 33 overseer to achieve his ends, and now that he had lost her, there was no point.

The city amazed the girl. It was the first real city she discovered, instead of those piles of ruins full of dust and vermin that were found in the four corners of the wastelands.

Her enthusiasm almost made Y/N laugh. A bit like how she had often made Cooper laugh without meaning to.

Damn, she needed to stop thinking about that bastard so often. Her mother was always saying that we manifest things through emotions and thoughts.

Her poor mother, long dead, but who had always been right.

As soon as her eyes landed on him, Y/N was crouched behind a wooden crate, watching Cooper Howard, fucking Cooper Howard, sitting near the casino, seemingly waiting for someone.

Seeing her, Lucy began to ask her what she was doing, her gaze following hers, and then the reaction was strange. Everything about this girl was strange anyway.

She started to smile.

Worse, she waved an arm at the Ghoul in greeting, opening her mouth to get his attention as she realized it wasn't enough, his cowboy hat falling over his face.

Y/N quickly grabbed her arm to pull her towards her, asking her what she was playing.

"It's the mean bounty hunter who accompanies me !" she replied happily, as if everything was normal.

For a moment, Y/N wondered if Lucy was making fun of her. If from the start, this was just a horrible joke against her, the continuation of a torture started in this seedy bar.

Then she told herself that if someone made fun of her, it was just fate.

Because she remembered that she had only described Cooper, continuing not to have any particular interest in his condition as a ghoul, and with her goodness as a jug, Lucy had not wanted to reduce him to his appearance either.

The difference was that he didn't give his name to his new pet.

“I knew you were an idiot, but not that much.”

"What ? Why ?" Lucy wondered, slightly offended and trying to free herself.

"You can't trust him. You already know that, why do you want to go back with him ? Look… I can help you find your father, okay ? Find Max. Whatever you want, but let's avoid this bastard and let's leave quickly."

"Golden rule. We said we would wait near the casino, he's there, I'm not leaving him."

With this serious look, the vault dweler would almost have looked frightening. Almost. It was mainly because it was obvious that it was impossible to reason with her that Y/N let her go, not waiting for her tirade about great friendship and the need to stay together to run as far as possible.

If Cooper noticed them, she didn't give him time to really see her, nor to catch up with her or shoot her.

Y/N didn’t turn around to check. Not because she was afraid of him chasing her. But because she was afraid that not only would he not pursue her, but she would also see him with Lucy.

Because even though he had tortured her, insulted her, threatened her… He was in front of the fucking casino waiting for this girl. And it really hurt.

[cosmos-daughter]

I adore how soulsborne games explore the theme of humanity in their story with the premise of "are all of us who possess souls humans even if we don't look like one?" How far can a person be modified until they are still considered human? If the soul is the essence of life, what differentiates the humanity we have within us? How much can you change until your humanity vanishes? — but I particularly enjoy the way Bloodborne does it.

It's cruel to the point it inflicts you with existential dread when you stop to think properly about what you've been doing the whole time. It forces you to wonder what makes you better than the beasts you so mercilessly slay throughout the game — they came from the same place as you, and still carry a soul regardless of their appearance, so what gives you the right to end their lives? You're no better than them — you're all equal in essence, you simply have your mind intact and they don't. Being a hunter is sinful and dirty and their vileness is known by everyone, which explains why they are so antagonized by everyone.

Djura is the first one to point out the Hunter's hypocrisy — he's the opposite of you: a retired hunter who decided to protect the beasts instead. "The things you hunt, they're not beasts. They're people. One day you'll see." Is what he tells the hunter. Brador, the church assassin, recognizes you as a hunter instantly and says "Are you going to kill me? After all you've done, kill me, as if to right your wrongs?" and the Afflicted Beggar — who also has my favorite quote of the entire game that provoked a sharp shiver down my spine and made me question my morality after his speech: "Have you got a screw loose? Or is it your... animal intuition? It doesn't even matter... You hunters have got more blood on your hands! Hunters are killers, nothing less! You call ME a beast? A beast? What would you know... I didn't ask for this! Rancid beasts, every last one of us..."

You, the hunter, are a walking killing machine murdering everyone and everything that exists, not minding the humanity that still exists or not. The "they're people, not beasts" mindset turns even more devastating once you look back at your enemies and remember the glimpses of humanity they displayed: Amelia, even after losing herself to beasthood still clutches tightly onto her pendant because she still recalls it's something precious to her, even if her memories are gone. Ludwig, who even as a beast still performs his duty to protect the entrance to the research hall — and even recovers his consciousness during the fight to wield his sword with the posture of a knight and fight like he used to before the transformation. He appears to be the only one who understands what's become of him and is able to maintain his sane mind for long enough to hold a rational conversation with the hunter.

All of them still have a soul, but you slaughtered them all regardless — but that is what is expected of a hunter, to hunt and carry the unforgivable sin of their cruelty forever. Hunters are rotten to their core, but what else could they do if not kill?

[nunalastor]

Resident Evil AU

Anonymous asked:

I want to know how many Resident Evil fans were already on this blog and how many got their fandom tag flooded with our nonsense and decided to check it out.

Anonymous asked:

In RE8 there were radio recordings of Mia during her pregnancy with Rose, hyperventilating, trying to assure herself everything would be fine, apologizing to Ethan, alluding to something she can’t tell him, etc.

Unless the mold did something else entirely, Guy can’t be pregnant. What if those recordings later used to torment Alastor (accessed the same way Lucifer learns Alastor’s past) were recordings of Guy realizing he is really sick and going to die from it? Because unlike Mia, Guy wouldn’t have enough experience with the mold to know Alastor is infected, and if he did there’s no reason not to tell Alastor the truth, so what other secret could he be hiding from Alastor besides one about his own sickness?

Anonymous asked:

Alastor died before he got to experience RE8 (if he gets a Hazbin equivalent, it's in hell) but if he did, he would have a way better time of it just on principle of going in knowing he's super infected with the mold after reading the documents in the RE7 lore room, or he would find out the second he gets told his blood tastes stale. "Excuse me? My blood is--wait, fuck, I got infected with the mold, didn't I?" no fucks about vampire ladies trying to suck his blood, he's offended by the insult to quality even when he knows why.

Anonymous asked:

Another questions everyone has is how the every location either has bullets, gun powder to make weapons, healing herbs and things Alastor needs to progress. Also what’s with the puzzles?

@kitsunesongs asked:

If Eveline here grabbed Guy because he was kind to her, sheprobably slotted him into the 'father' role mentally - which means when she brings Alastor to the Baker House, it's because she wants him as her Mother.

Somehow this results in Alastor being dressed in a dress while he's unconscious and doing the whole thing in a dress. This doesn't slow him down at all. Also Eveline calling Alastor 'Mommy'.

Anonymous asked:

How long would it take the hotel to realize Alastor was infected with the mold? It's never said directly in RE7 but between lore documents they would see Alastor read and Alastor's mold-person behaviors (rapid regeneration, eating rotten flesh/cannibal, switching between friendly and aggressive on a dime, etc), one would assume the hotel would put two and two together pretty quickly.

That information doesn't mean much, he's reached the point where a cure would straight-up kill him. What it could do is cause Lucifer to be suspicious assuming he knows where the mold comes from, and make Charlie assume Alastor's murderous tendencies come from the mold when they very much don't. Alastor was just like that, and if not for the regeneration he probably would never notice.

@kitsunesongs asked:

Resident Evil 7

If we are going with Resident Evil 7 happening, what if Resident Evil 8 also happened? Rosemary was Guy's daughter by a one night stand that Alastor is helping raise, and lets be real the Village is basically a few centuries behind modern times anyway.

And that means Alastor dies, saving the baby girl who is basically his daughter.

And gets into heaven - which is so boring he promptly saunters vaguely downwards to hell, where he has much more fun!

Heaven, meanwhile, is freaking out over the fact that their newest Seraphim, the first ever human born Seraphim, is missing!

Guy shows up - maybe as a Dominion or Power, with four wings? Cause he got less of the mold then Alastor - and is all 'okay so my friend should definitely be here...

Bonus points, when the Hazbin Hotel peeps are checking out the Baker House via the crystal ball that shows Al's past, they end up seeing him in the Village as well, and are shocked at how he died - and how he was so gentle and caring with baby Rosemary.

Also! If the Baker House and the Village happened in the 20's/30s, with Alastor dying for baby Rosemary in 1933, then by the time Hazbin Hotel happens, Rosemary would either be in her 90's - or already dead. And in Heaven, presumably. And might even come down to Hell with her Dad to search for the man who her dad made damn sure she knew was basically her other father...

[megjameswrites]

Hair

Daryl Dixon x reader, Daryl Dixon x OFC

Overstimulation and a near death experience lead to an impromptu haircut in the woods. The archer can also be a hairdresser, albeit not a great one. But it isn’t the hair that matters so much as the help.

Season 2 setting, one shot

Brought to you by today’s intense desire to shave my whole head because my hair is Too Much(tm)

“What the fuck ya doin’?”

I didn’t bother turning toward the voice. I was busy, and whatever Daryl wanted could wait. I grabbed another hunk of hair and sawed at it with the machete. It came away in jagged layers, falling over the fist clenched around in and onto the ground by the creek as I worked.

He grabbed my shoulder roughly, trying to snatch the knife from my hand. I jerked out of his grasp and out of his reach with a glare. Breathing hard, I narrowed my eyes and stared him down until he held his hands up and stepped back in an exaggerated motion.

"It's in my way," I said finally. I grabbed the last long section, set the blade above my fist, and sawed.

My hair lay all over the creek bank, and what was left of it was no doubt interesting. From the look in Daryl's eyes as he studied it, I was pretty sure it looked a damn mess.

I didn't care. I would shave my head if I had a mirror. As it was, I'd get someone else to do it. I'd ask Rick, but bothering him with my head while he was trying to keep us all alive seemed unnecessary. I grabbed for the shorter strands, pulling them straight up and using the creek as a mirror as best I could. I set the blade against my head and started cutting some more.

Daryl's snort was eloquent. This time, when his hands grabbed at the machete, they were gentle. "Stop that. Too dull fer hair. Lemme use mine."

He tossed the machete into a nearby stump, and then his hands gathered the tattered remnants of my hair. He was silent as he cut, fine strands falling like strange snow around us.

"Thanks," I mumbled finally.

He grunted. "Why ya want it cut, anyway?"

"It's in my way," I repeated, but softer. The jerking of my knee settled, foot no longer bouncing like I was trying to win a trampoline competition. My shoulders, which had taken up permanent residence near my ears, it felt, settled too. "Hate the way it keeps getting in my face, in my eyes. On the back of my neck. And with- with what happened earlier-"

He made another sound, this one low agreement with a hint of a growl to it. I didn't say anything else, lost in thought and tactile overwhelm.

We were packed into such close quarters. Everyone using the RV as a base, and Hershel's people in his house, and all of us so close together when there was so much land, so much room. Daryl had the right idea, making his campsite so much further away.

I'd moved off, too, and then today while out looking for Carol's poor little lost girl, there'd been the walker out of nowhere. I'd been overstimulated and overwhelmed already from the gun training, and Carol's radiating grief and fear, and Rick and Lori bickering and Shane and Rick bickering, and just the general atmosphere. I'd gone out to be alone, more than anything. To get away from it all.

And then the walker, out of nowhere. It was like he'd come out of a tree like a particularly murderous dryad, and his hands had gotten tangled in my hair as I passed. I'd thought it was a branch, until the snarls had been so close to my ear, and I'd grabbed rotten slimy flesh and-

I shivered, hard.

Too close. It had been too close. Daryl had saved me, hearing my choked-off screech. He'd disentangled the thing's hand from my hair as best he could, but it had kept a solid chunk that had ripped right from my skull.

That was the last straw. I went running, taking off for absolutely nowhere while he called my name behind me. I hadn't been thinking, really, just needing to get far away from anything and everything and more importantly, everyone.

My hair flew in my face when I tripped over a plant. I'd landed here, on my knees beside the creek, and I'd started hacking away at it like a manwoman.

It had been either that, or start screaming and maybe never stop.

"Close call. Don't blame ya for being upset."

"I'm not upset," I said slowly, surprised to discover it was accurate. "I'm not even scared, really. Yeah, ok, I nearly died and that was scary, but it's not the first time. It's just- there's people everywhere, always. And there's always someone fighting or crying or stressing out about something, and there's noise, and people chewing, and it's hot and the sun's bright and my goddamn hair driving me crazy, and I just- had to get rid of it," I finished lamely. "You know?"

"Naw."

"Oh." I didn't know what to say to that, so I shut up and chewed on my lip instead. "Well. Anyway. Sorry. For running off."

"S'fine. I don't get the hair thing is what I meant. Liked it. Your hair. S'pretty. But hey, your head. Ya can do what ya want with it. I get the rest though. Too damn much noise. Too many people, all the damn time."

"Oh," I said again, softer this time. He liked my hair? He thought it was pretty?

I glanced down at the fallen strands, dead and dying soldiers in a private, strange war. Oh well. I didn't like it, and already the absence of it felt like a weight off my shoulders.

He ran his hand over my head, brisk to dust off any loose hair, but it felt oddly intimate in a way my hairdresser cutting it never had. It genuinely felt like I was five pounds lighter without the mass of it cascading around my shoulders and down my back, and knowing I wouldn't have to tame it or worry about washing it because my head itched was a relief so palpable I might have cried if he hadn't been watching.

"Thank you." I ran my own hands over my head when he stepped away, feeling the fuzz of super-short ends. It wasn't perfect, and it probably wasn't anything close to even still, but it wasn't all over me and I wouldn't get it caught in any walker hands again.

Plus, the slight breeze on the back of my neck felt like heaven in the Georgia heat. I met Daryl's eyes, smiling for real. His was tentative, but it was there.

I climbed to my feet, reaching to tug my machete out of the stump he'd stuck it in. It didn't budge, and I frowned at it. "Shit."

Daryl's amused scoff had me scowling his way instead of smiling. He grabbed it with one hand, tugged sharply, and presented it to me via the handle. "Here ya go. Come on, let's get back. Before they send out a search party fer us instead'a Sophia."

"Yeah," I agreed. My eyes strayed to the quiet trees all around, and I hesitated. "Want to look for her awhile instead?"

Daryl's eyes slid away from mine like they so often did. He jerked one shoulder like it didn't matter, but I saw the faintest hint of a smile as he waited for me to reach him.

We didn't find Sophia, but we didn't run into any more walkers, either.

[literary-illuminati]

Book Review 70 – American Psycho by Brett Easton Ellis

I’m honestly not sure I ever would have gotten around to reading this on my own, but ended up buying it through the ‘blind date with a book’ thing a bookstore in New York was doing when I was visiting (incredible gimmick, for the record). The fact that it then took me a solid three months to actually finish probably tells you something about how genuinely difficult a read I found it. Not in the sense of being bad, but just legitimately difficult to stomach at points. Overall I’d call it a real triumph of literature.

Not that anyone doesn’t already know, but; the book is spent inside the head of Patrick Bateman, high-flying wall street trader and Harvard blueblood at the close of the Reagan era. Also a serial killer. The story is told as a series of more or less disconnected vignettes, jumping from dinner conversations at one exclusive bar or club or another to the brutal torture and murder of a sex worker to several pages of incredibly vapid pontification on Nina Simone’s discography. The story vaguely tracks Bateman growing ever-more alienated and out of control as the year goes on, but there’s very much not any real single narrative or cathartic climax here. - most stuff just happens (stuff that’s either incredibly tedious or utterly nauseating by turns but still just, stuff).

So yeah this is an intensely literary work (obviously), a word I’m here using to mean one that is as much about the form and style of the writing as about the actual events portrayed. Bateman is a monster, but more than that he’s just an utterly boring and tedious husk of a man, traits which are exaggerated to the point of being fascinating– if you told this story in conventional third person narration without all the weird asides, it would be a) like half as long and b) totally worthless. The tonal whiplash of going from an incredibly visceral depiction of Bateman cutting out the eyes of a homeless man to six (utterly insipid) pages on the merits of The Doors is the selling point here (well actually I think Ellis goes back to that specific well probably one time too many, but in general I mean).

Bateman is a tedious, unstable monster, but as far as the book has an obvious thesis it’s that he differs from the rest of his social milieu only in degree. A symptom of a fundamentally rotten society, not a heroic devil among sheep. The book’s climax, such as it is, involved Bateman getting into a drug-fueled gunfight with the NYPD, shooting multiple people in the middle of the street, and then stumbling home and leaving a rambling confession to every crime on his lawyer’s answering machine – but despite very clearly wanting and trying to get caught and face some sort of consequence or justice, people just refuse to believe that someone like him is capable of anything like that. (It’s not, it must be said, an especially subtle book).

There is, as far as I can recall, not a single character who gets enough screentime to give an idea of their personality who I’d call likeable. Sympathetic, sure, but that’s mostly because it’s pretty much impossible not to sympathize with someone getting horrifically tortured and torn apart (at one point a starving rat is involved). The upper crust of New York yuppie-dom is portrayed as shallow and vapid, casually bigoted towards quite literally everyone who isn’t identical to them, status-obsessed to the point of only being able to understand the world as a collection of markers of class and coolness, and totally incapable of real human connection. Bateman is a monster not because of any freak abnormality, but just because he takes all of that a few steps further than his coworkers.

The book is totally serious and straight-faced in its presentation, and absolutely never acknowledges any of the running gags that are kept up through it. Which shows impressive restraint, and also means that none of them exactly have a payoff or a punchline – it’s just a feature of the world that all the expensive meals at trendy restaurants everyone competes for tables at sound disgusting when you think about them for a moment, or that the whole class of wall street trader guy are so entirely interchangeable that ostensible close friends and coworkers constantly mistake each other for other traders and no one particularly cares. Or – and I’m taking this on faith because fuck knows I’ve got no idea what any of the brands people are wearing are – that the ruinously expensive outfits everyone spends so very much time and money on for every engagement all clash comically if you actually looked up what the different pieces looked like. The book’s in no way really a comedy, so the jokes sit a bit oddly, but they’re still overall pretty funny, at least to me.

I like to think I have something of a strong stomach for unpleasant material in books, but this was the first work of fiction that I had genuine trouble reading for content reasons in I can’t even remember. I’m not sure it’s exactly right to call the violence pornographic in a general sense, but as far as American Psycho goes the register and tone Bateman uses to describe fucking a woman and torturing her to death are basically identical (and told in similarly explicit detail), and all of Bateman’s sexual fantasies are more or less explicitly just porn scenes he wants to recreate, so. Regardless, the result’s pretty alienating in both cases – his internal monologue never really feels anything but detached and almost bored as he relays what he does, sound exactly as vapid and alienated as when he is carefully listing the exact brands and designers every person he ever interacts with is wearing at all times, or arguing over dinner reservations for hours on end with his friends and lovers (though both those terms probably deserve heavy airquotes around them). He legitimately sounds considerably more engaged when talking about arguing over sartorial etiquette. It all adds up to a really strong alienating effect.

Anyways, speaking of sex and violence – perhaps because my main exposure to the story before this was tumblr making memes out of scenes from the movie, but I was pretty shocked by just how explicitly awful Patrick is ‘on screen’. The horrible murder, sure, but also just the casual and frequent use of racist and homophobic slurs, the pathological misogyny, the total breakdown he has at the idea of a gay man being attracted to him and thinking he might reciprocate – all of these are entirely in character for an asshole Wall Street ‘80s Guy even if he wasn’t a serial killer, but it’s still oddly shocking at first to see it so thoroughly represented on the page. It makes how comparatively soft-pedaled the bigotry and just, awfulness, of villains in a lot of more modern books stand out a lot more, I suppose? I have read a lot of books that are in some sense About queerness and/or racism in the last year, and no one in any of them holds a candle to good old Patrick Bateman.

Part of that is just the book being so intensely of its time, I suppose. The New York of this book is very much one of the late ‘80s, incredible wealth living side by side with social rot and decay, crippling poverty everywhere and a society that has to a great degree just stopped caring. Absolutely none of which Bateman or any of his peers care one bit about, of course – they’re too busy showing off the latest walkmans and record players, going to the newest clubs, and just generally enjoying all the fruits of Reagan’s America. Recent history has made the fact that Bateman’s personal idol is Donald Trump almost too on the nose to be interesting, but in 1991 I’m sure it was a bit more subtle in how telling it was.

Anyway, yeah, horrifying and exhausting read, triumph of literature, my god did Easton Ellis hate America (this is a compliment). Now time to go watch the movie!