#I can handle death for consumption but for no reason??? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

on-my-vigilante-sht · 7 months

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I'm Sorry

Young!Haymitch Abernathy x Reader

Summary: Moments of Haymitch having to mentor his ex-girlfriend

Warnings: Canon-level violence, implied smut, cheating, alcohol consumption

Word Count: 5.1K

Masterlist

“Haymitch!” I called my boyfriend’s name as he stepped off the train. He had just won the Hunger Games. Not just the Hunger Games, the second Quarter Quell. Where he competed with 47 other tributes. When he had won I was ecstatic and couldn’t wait for him to come home. But then I went to his family’s home and found nothing but the bleeding bodies of his parents and younger brother.

When he finally reached me, having to fight through the throngs of excited District 12 citizens, he wiped away my tears with a smile, mistaking them for tears of joy. “I’m back, sweetheart,” he smiled, pressing his forehead to mine. But as he pulled away he noticed my lack of a smile. “What?” he asked, fear creeping into his throat.

“I’m so sorry,” I cried, handing him his parents’ wedding rings. He immediately knew what that means.

“No,” he tried to deny, shaking his head. “No.”

“Y/N L/N,” the district escort’s voice rang out as he called my ex-girlfriend’s name. I was honestly surprised I had managed to comprehend it at all given that the crowd was a blurry haze and every word was melted together in my brain. But I saw her clearly as she walked up to the stage, fear and rage on her face. I assumed fear for the games, rage for me.

She had been there for me as I grieved my family’s death. Even when I pushed her away she was there for me. She was killing herself for me while I poisoned myself with booze and hate. All until I couldn’t handle her care and my rage anymore so I picked a fight.

“Can you not?!” I yelled as she tried to clean up my new house a little. “Just fucking leave it.”

Her sad expression, I regret to say, brought me satisfaction. I loved to hurt her for no reason. A small part of me was pained to hurt her, I think that’s what allowed me to push her away rather than trap her with my hate. “Sorry,” she murmured softly.

“Yeah you’ve said that before,” I spat, poison dripping from my words. “Why are you still here?”

She sighed, biting her lip. I could see she was silently debating whether or not she’d open herself up to being attacked by my again. “Because I love you,” she admitted painfully, tears pricking her eyes.

I scoffed. “Well I don’t love you anymore.” A small piece of my heart broke as I watched her shatter. I had spent weeks abusing her, something a part of me reveled in, but I had never hurt her this bad.

She nodded her head compassionately. “I understand.” And with that, she walked out of my life for what I thought would be forever. The part of me that had reveled in her pain immediately became regretful as I watched her go. My regret only continued to grow as I kept tabs on her throughout her life.

I tried to catch her eye as she took her place next to our escort but she refused to spare a glance at me. I understood, I had tortured her when I got back and had spent the better part of a year borderline stalking her.

I glanced at the crowd, finding her new boyfriend of five months, Rune, standing there, slack jawed. I rolled my eyes at the oaf as the male tribute’s name was called, Landon Caleban. Of course Rune didn’t volunteer to protect his girl. I would’ve. Eleven months ago I would’ve laughed at her reaping but now that my anger had faded a little, I would give anything to take her place.

As she was escorted into the capital building, I followed, immediately going into the room she went into. She had barely sat down by the time I entered and it broke my heart that she looked so surprised to see me. “Y/N…”

“What are you doing here, Haymitch?” she asked coldly.

“Well,” I began, taking a seat across from her, “I am your mentor. And… I also care about you.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah well you sure as hell didn’t care about me when you told me you didn’t love me anymore.”

I looked down at my shoes, ashamed. “I know and I'm sorry. I’d take back everything if I could. I was hurt, and angry, and god… I felt so powerless.”

“And I was your helpless punching bag?” she finished for me, disgust in her eye.

I nodded regretfully. “I made you, the girl I love who did nothing but support me, into a punching bag,” I confirmed, still looking at the ground in shame.

“Loved,” was all she said. I looked at her quizzically causing her to roll her eyes again. “You said ‘girl I love.’ You should say loved.”

“No, I still love you,” I insisted.

“You’re the one who said you didn’t love me anymore.”

“That’s because I had a lot of misplaced anger,” I insisted. “Yes, I know it’s not fair that I took everything out on you and I have no right to try to tell you I love you but I do.”

“Well what good does that do me? I’m being marched to my deat-”

“Don’t!” I cut her off “…fucking say that. You’re not fucking dying. I’m your mentor, I’ll get you out of there.”

Before she could respond, the door creaked open. I knew even before he spoke that it was Rune. “Babe, oh my god.” I cringed as I knew she hated being called that. He rushed over to her side, taking her hand in his. “I don’t even know what to say… I just…”

She shook her head dismissively. “You don’t have to say anything.”

“I promise I won’t date anyone else for a while,” he said genuinely, as if it were a touching thing to say. Even I knew that was probably the worst thing he could say. Y/N also stared up at him, a baffled look on her face. She made no verbal indication she heard him so I did. I scoffed, catching the little twerp’s attention. Upon seeing me, his face immediately soured. He knew who I was, what I had meant to Y/N. Everyone in 12 knew we were a couple. “Don’t you have a bottle of whiskey to down yourself in, Haymitch?” he sneered.

I just chuckled at his attempt to tell me to stay out of it. “Maybe you should try treating her decently and saying goodbye instead of planning your next random hookup.”

“You’re one to talk about ‘treating her decently,’” Rune immediately mocked.

Before I could respond, Y/N stood up. “Both of you shut up and get out.”

I started to say her name, hoping she wouldn’t kick me out too but she cut me off, insisting we both go. So I went reluctantly, making sure Rune left too. I’d be damned if I ever let him have a moment alone with her ever again.

As soon as we stepped into the hall, a woman I recognized as Y/N’s mother rushed in, tears in her eyes. As the door closed, Rune stepped close to me. “I know what you’re planning, Abernathy. But she’s not going back to you. You’re just a useless, 17 year old drunk who broke her heart. And I’m not gonna let you break her again.”

Some part of me knew he was right, I shouldn't be inserting myself in her life again but I had been missing her for the past eleven months. And now it was also my job to keep her alive despite only winning last year.

Not one to let Y/N’s rebound talk me down, I retaliated. “At least I actually believe in her and actually want to see her come out of this alive.”

Offense crossed over his face. “You don’t get to say that. You got lucky. We all know the odds, especially with you as a mentor. I’m her boyfriend, you blew your chance!” he yelled before storming off. I wanted to yell after him but I didn’t know what to say that hasn’t been said already so I just clenched my jaw before heading to the train.

I didn’t see Y/N again until we arrived at the Capitol. Probably for the best, I spent the two day journey sleeping and getting shitfaced. I hadn’t been back to the Capitol since my victory tour and I had absolutely no desire to go back but I’d be stuck doing this shit until there were two more victors.

When we all finally got off the train I finally saw her. She looked exhausted, like she hadn’t slept since she was reaped. I honestly understood. I tried to catch her eye but she seemed determined to look everywhere but me. And before I could try to approach her, she was whisked off to styling. So reluctantly I went to the penthouse until the tribute parade.

I stood with the other mentors, watching the tribute parade. My heart stopped when I saw the District 12 chariot. The camera never bothered to focus on them long but from the glimpse I saw, Y/N was hardly clothed. As was typical for District 12 tributes. The stylists were a big fan of just dumping black powder on us.

By the time the tributes were re-entering the building, all the mentors were waiting to bring their tributes back upstairs. Heading over to the last chariot I found Landon helping Y/N down from the chariot. She struggled in her stilettos and mini black skirt. I averted my gaze from her mostly bare torso, the only thing covering her was a lace top shaped to look like smoke. Along with an unhealthy dose of black powder to portray the coal-mines. Something they did practically every year. I kept my gaze firmly on her from the shoulders up. It felt like a violation of her privacy to ogle her like all the Capitol citizens or how I would have back when we were together.

I managed to meet her gaze but she quickly looked away, refusing to look at me again. Even in the elevator I caught myself staring at her longingly, just wishing she’d at least look at me. But she never did. As we stepped into the penthouse I let her go to her room. Remembering how exhausted she must have been, I had sleeping pills sent to her room along with a steak.

The next morning I sat at the table in the main room of the penthouse, eating breakfast. My attention was caught by Landon and Y/N heading to the elevator for training. I couldn’t help but admire the way the athletic clothing hugged her body. But as I noticed what I was doing, I averted my gaze back down to my food. It wasn’t until I heard a throat clearing that I looked back up at the pair. Y/N was looking at me, a conflicted and grateful look on her face. “Thanks for the uh… stuff, last night,” she thanked quietly.

“No problem,” I replied, in slight awe that she was talking to me. She just gave me a slight smile of acknowledgement before stepping into the elevator and disappearing.

I spent the next several minutes just staring at my plate grateful that I was finally getting somewhere with her.

I watched anxiously as Y/N took the stage for her interview. She looked absolutely stunning. Of course I always thought she was stunning but I had to admit, some of the Capitol glamours I could get behind. She was practically glowing under the lights, makeup drawing attention to her best features.

As always, everything was in a slight haze but when Caesar asked her a certain question, it sobered me up a bit. “So is there anyone back home that you’re fighting for?”

Y/N did her best to give a graceful smile. She knew how to appeal to the audience. “Well, my mom is back home rooting for me. I can count on her for that.”

“How sweet. Any boys?” he suggested cheekily.

I watched as uncertainty crossed her face before she answered. “Yes,” she answered, her voice noticeably weak, “my boyfriend, Rune.”

“Aw, well isn’t that so sweet, huh folks?” The crowd made coos of sympathy. “Tell me, did he visit you before he left?”

“Yes,” she answered, her voice cracking slightly again. “He said…” she trailed off before she seemed to decide what to say. “He said he couldn’t wait to see me after the games and that he loves me.” She gave a weak smile and my heart broke. I couldn’t believe she was lying to make this guy look good when I was the one who was actually there for her. Ever since she had thanked me for the food and sleeping pills, our relationship had improved. She no longer ignored and avoided my presence and conversation attempts. We had engaged in a few polite conversations and had even slipped back into old habits. One night, at dinner, Landon mentioned wanting to ally himself with the careers. To which Y/N and I instinctually shared a look of ridicule. I could feel my heart swell every time we interacted more like we used to. But an unreasonable amount of hurt rang in my chest as she essentially defended her dirtbag boyfriend.

I didn’t even bother to finish watching her interview, I just went straight upstairs to my room in the penthouse, bringing a bottle of vodka with me.

I don’t know how long I was laying there watching some stupid reality tv show when the door opened. In stepped Y/N in a sweater so long it looked like her legs were bare. Her face was cleaned of makeup, leaving a fresh look and I could see the exaggerated curls in her hair that remained from her updo. She just stood in the doorway, hugging herself, until I spoke. “Y/N,” I said a little too eagerly, having never expected to see her in my room again after I ended things. “Wh-what’s up?” I tried to ask casually.

She shrugged. “I’m here to drink,” was all she said.

Sitting further up, I held the bottle out to her, simultaneously gesturing to the bed to offer her a seat. She took both, perching herself at the foot of the bed, her legs crossed so she was looking at me. She took a deep swig from the bottle, cringing as she pulled it away. I couldn’t help but chuckle at her expression, she never got used to the taste and burn of alcohol. She noticed my expression and smiled slightly. “You know I hate the taste,” she explained, the slightest teasing tone in her voice.

“I remember,” I smiled fondly. “The only thing you liked was that flavored shit we got off that peacekeeper.”

She smiled, looking at the bottle in her hand. “Yeah, that was good. I got so drunk that night,” I got a genuine laugh out of that comment and it made my stomach do cartwheels.

“So what brings you here tonight?” I asked as she passed me the bottle.

“Well I’m being marched to my death tomorrow,” she laughed bitterly. Before I could try to console her she met my gaze. “How did you feel before you went in?”

I pondered for a second, trying to recall. “I was afraid,” I admitted. “I thought that there was no way in hell I’d survive but I wasn’t ready to die.” She hummed, nodding. I took another swig of vodka before passing it to her. “Why’d you lie about Rune during your interview?”

“You saw that?” sha asked. “I didn’t know you watched. The other mentors were there but you weren’t.” She noticed I wasn’t there? “I guess I just wanted them to think I had a reason to live,” she sighed. “I don’t really know what I was thinking but I figured bashing my-still-technically-boyfriend on national television wasn’t the best idea.”

“‘Still-technically-boyfriend?’” I questioned. “Y/N, he basically said that when, not if, when you were gone he’d be dating other girls. He’s not your boyfriend anymore.”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. We never officially said that we were broken up so it feels wrong to bash him.”

“Fuck him, fuck his feelings!” I insisted. She laughed a little at my exaggerated outburst.

“I guess I just feel like I still have an obligation to him. Like I can’t move on before we have the conversation and I may never get to have the conversation,” she mused ruefully.

I scooted closer to her, placing my fingers under her chin to make her look at me. A move from when we were together. “Hey, what do you mean obligation?” I found pain in her eyes as I asked.

She hesitated before answering me. But as she did she averted her gaze as if in shame. “You said you still love me?” she asked meekly.

My heart broke at her doubt. “Of course I do,” I promised, bringing her gaze back up again. “I never stopped. Yeah, I was angry and I took it out on you and I never should have. But I love you.” She hesitated with her next words and I took the chance to kiss her. She immediately melted into my lips much to my relief. I pulled her closer until she was practically perched in my lap, the bottle of liquor on the nightstand long forgotten.

The automatic alarm controlled by the Capitol went off at 6 am. As I shut the damn thing up I rolled back over, resuming my place cuddled up to Y/N. Both my arms were wrapped around her waist, my head cuddled into the crook of her neck. She groaned at having been woken up, probably a little hungover. “Morning,” I murmured into her bare shoulder. She just groaned again. This time I figured it was a groan of remembering what day it was. “C’mon,” I said, pushing myself up to rest on my hands, “you need to eat breakfast.”

She rolled over reluctantly, finally meeting my face. “Can’t even think about eating.”

“I know but you’ll thank yourself for eating later,” I advised, getting out of bed and throwing some clothes on. She followed suit, heading to the door. As I tried to follow, she stopped me.

“Wait, come out in a couple minutes.”

“Why? Are you embarrassed of me?” I asked only mildly genuinely.

“No,” she dismissed genuinely, placing a hand on my arm. “How’s it gonna look to Landon when I come out of your bedroom with you? With terrible bed head?” she added jokingly. I just hummed in agreement, gesturing for her to continue.

A few moments later I joined both Y/N and Landon before they were both ushered off.

The entire games I was a mess. I was ashamed to admit that I couldn’t remember most of it, too wracked with worry. I only ever sobered up enough to watch the rundowns of what had happened that day, listening for Y/N’s name when they listed the deceased.

I thanked whatever cruel deity was out there that Y/N survived another day. And when they told me she won, I wanted to break down crying in relief.

By the time I was able to see her, she was still very injured. She laid in the hospital bed, asleep, and it took everything in me not to shake her awake for reassurance that she was still in fact alive. But instead I settled for grasping her warm hand and listening to the rhythmic beep of her heart through the monitor. They kicked me out periodically to work on healing her and a day later, when they let me back in the room, her eyes were fluttering open.

“Y/N,” I uttered. My voice had an unexpectedly broken sob but if she noticed, she didn’t care. She sat up as best as she could as I enveloped her in a hug as tightly as possible without hurting her. “You’re alive.”

“I’m okay,” she assured me. I could feel her fingers in my hair, her other hand rested against my shoulder as she hugged me as close as possible. With as much strength as her weakened, malnourished frame would allow.

I finally pulled away, my hand cupping her face as I admired her face. She had scrapes on her face and a bruised jaw but it was otherwise unmarred. “I love you,” I whispered before pressing my lips to hers.

I stood behind Y/N as she stepped off the train, smiling down at her as the crowd cheered. She just stood there on the platform for a moment, seemingly in a daze. I couldn’t be more thrilled in this moment. Of course we were both shattered, both fragments of who we used to be before the games. But we were holding each other together nonetheless. I was just so grateful she made it. The picture-perfect happiness was shattered by a shout.

“Y/N!” Rune’s voice broke through the crowd. My mood immediately dropped. Ever since that night we spent together I had forgotten about the twerp.

Y/N seemed to hardly register his presence as he jumped up on the platform. He was immediately kissing her, dipping her into what would be a picture-perfect photo if it weren’t for what happened and the fact that she was visibly uncomfortable. When they broke away, he pulled her back up to her feet before pulling her in closely once again to pose for the camera. All the while, Y/N looked visibly uncomfortable from even just the rear.

I wanted to punch him. I wanted to rip the douchebag away from her and inform him that she didn’t love him. But for the sake of not creating an incredibly public, embarrassing scenario for her, I kept my fists at my sides and my mouth shut.

Y/N managed to pull away from him, disappearing into the crowd with peacekeeper escorts. Rune tried to follow after her but I stepped up to him quickly. “Hey, don’t count on this five second of fame,” I informed him in an admittedly snide tone.

He looked deeply unhappy to see me. “She’ll be my wife soon enough. She declared her love for me on national television. You didn’t do that for her,” he remarked smugly.

I glanced around, noticing most of the crowd and cameras were gone. “She never said that she loved you,” I corrected. “Besides, why’d she spend the night in my bed after that interview then?”

A dark look crossed over his face. “You didn’t. She would never.”

I admit that it’s juvenile but pride swelled in my chest as I watched him become increasingly indignant. “She did. She told me she only said that because she felt obliged to and then we slept together.”

Rage filled his features. “You’re lying, Abernathy. I know you are. What’s your game? Are you hoping that if you tell enough people you slept together she’ll just come back to you out of shame? That’s pathetic.”

I took a step closer to him, getting in his face. “You’re the one refusing to accept the truth. That makes you the pathetic one.”

Rune just looked at me with disgust. “Whatever, I guess we’ll both just have to get the truth from her tonight.”

I shrugged with a smirk. “I guess we will.”

I hardly even caught a glimpse of Y/N the entire day as she was too busy being pulled in every direction. Her mom was all to eager to welcome her back into her home while the district officials were trying to get them moved into their new home in Victor’s Village next to mine. Then, of course, there were the people she didn’t really know who were all too eager to suck up to the newest victor, hoping to gain a little bit of fame and wealth. And then finally, there was Rune who was practically stitching himself to her side. I was debating whether or not I should go to her and rescue her from the overwhelming-ness of being a victor and Rune’s attempts. But I decided against it, not wanting to add to her stress and because I feared that if that little bitch opened his mouth I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from punching him.

It wasn’t until the welcome back party a few of her friends threw for her that I got a chance to speak with her.

As I approached her in the crowded room, I held out a shot glass. “Grapefruit vodka?” She smiled, taking it from me.

“Where did you get this?”

“I requested a bottle before we left the Capitol,” I smiled down at her. “Congratulations, Y/N, seriously. I know the party and the drinks are a meager consolation but you deserve it,” I professed, bringing her into a hug.

She hugged me tightly in return. “Thank you, Haymitch. For everything.”

“Of course,” I returned, pulling away from the hug but still keeping her in my arms. I reached a hand up to her face. “I love you,” I professed, kissing her. Which she returned. Until she was literally ripped from my grasp. As I was wrenched back into reality I saw Rune holding Y/N by her arm.

“What the hell, Y/N?” he yelled at her.

“Hey, back off,” I told him, moving to get his grip off of her arm. But he just stumbled back, tugging her along with him.

“No, what the hell is going on?” he demanded, looking at Y/N. “I thought you hated him.”

She shook her head. “Maybe for a bit I did but you don’t get to act all incredulous, Rune. After I got reaped you said you wouldn’t date anyone else ‘for a while,’” she mocked his words. “You couldn’t even wait until I was dead. I know about Selene Ducote. While I was fucking fighting for my life you were more concerned about getting your dick wet than seeing if I’d survive. You were depending on my death.”

Rune stood there, still gripping her arm, flabbergasted. “Yeah well, you slept with Haymitch.”

“Yeah, I did” she freely admitted, “and now I don’t feel guilty about it.”

Rage filled Rune’s face as he clenched his jaw. His free hand moved to grip her jaw, “Here’s what’s gonna happen. You’re gonna end things with him,” he nodded to me with disgust, “and we’re gonna get married because I know that you are in love with me.” He sent a final glare to me and I noticed his grip tightening. “Am I clear, you fucking slut?”

Now it was my turn to be filled with rage. Before I knew what was happening, I was throwing a punch at Rune’s face. He crumpled and would have brought Y/N down with him if it weren’t for the fact that I caught her around the waist. By now, the rest of the crowd had noticed us and were unsure of who’s side to take. Because while everyone had known Rune and Y/N were dating, they had also been aware of our relationship and took notice of the way she was huddled against my chest.

Rune got up, intending to punch me in return but Y/N pulled out of my arms, stepping up to him. “Enough, Rune,” she chastised him. “We’re over. We’ve been over. You’re making this so much more pathetic for yourself.” Seeing as the guest of honor had clearly made her allegiance known, the other attendees began booing him out. I only caught a glimpse of him walking out in shame because Y/N was stood in front of me again. She cupped my jaw, reaching up to kiss me.

Later that night we were both sat in her kitchen as she attempted to heal my hand that had admittedly been a little banged up when I punched Rune. We were both a little drunk so I was grateful her mom was back at her old house.

I hissed as she dabbed rubbing alcohol against my split knuckles. “If you take a swig maybe it won’t hurt so much,” she giggled.

I chuckled, admiring her blissful expression. “You can’t drink this type of alcohol sweetheart,” I explained gently. She pouted softly but didn’t say anything else as she focused on my hand.

When she deemed my hand disinfected enough, she pulled away. “I need something to wrap it with. Maybe there’s some cloth?” she suggested. She went to the cabinets, rummaging through them. Most of them were empty but a few had supplies that came with the house.

As she was looking, I quickly began to miss her touch so I got up. I wrapped my arms around her from behind, trapping her between my body and the counter. I pressed my face into her shoulder and the crook of her neck, pressing kisses into her skin. “I don’t need a bandage,” I slurred in assurance. “I won the 50th Hunger Games.”

“And I won the 51st,” she countered.

“I beat 47 others,” I argued playfully as she spun in my arms so she was facing me.

She wrapped her arms around my neck. “Shut up,” she laughed before kissing me.

Masterlist

#haymitch #haymitch abernathy #haymitch abernathy x reader #haymitch x reader #the hunger games #the hunger games x reader #thg #young!haymitch #young!haymitch x reader

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sunshades · 7 months

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grief in the city, or "how many days off will i get when my lover dies of consumption next march"

Expanding from this post (@puffles HI) or mostly just trying to write it out in a readable fashion. (lor spoilers ahead yeehaw 📚)

Just been thinking. Death in the pmverse city. It's not something you're really allowed to get personal with. But some people just can't help it.

In lobocorp we get a look at what it's like from the inside of a corporation, and like yeah the entire story is about it, but to me Yesod's parts more than anyone else's showcase this feeling.

(Yesod core suppression dialogue)

The question of detachment comes up pretty often, and he points out Malkuth's as the ideal behavior to cope with it- forgetting you're dealing with humans as much as you can. Through his arc in lobocorp he struggles with it, this idea that it can all be fine if he stops thinking of the others as having a face, a name, and most importantly (for him) a body. Of course a strategy like that stops working as soon as one remembers, as one gets closer. That is one of the main themes of lor.

We're introduced to Xiao midway through the game, and her story unfolds as we start to learn about Roland's. The way she describes herself is similar to how A talks about Yesod, though Xiao doesn't feel special for it. The softness of her (at the time) coworker Lowell confounds her.

(Xiao's key page)

Then the invitation reaches her, and therefore the news of Lowell's death, and this changes. Her reaction is intense, she describes it vividly. And it feels... kind of natural considering the martial culture of her workplace? Specifically for an Association whose mechanics literally run off emotion levels.

(Liu S1 reception)

But we immediately see that no, to everyone else this seems like an overreaction to losing a partner. We see it from Chun's reaction, then Angela's, who suggests she simply finds a substitute for Lowell, and Roland himself is surprised by it: he muses about the Light influencing the people of the City: this is such a strange thing it gets compared to the goddamn Distortion! When we take a look at Lowell's own book it seems to confirm that out of the two he's always been the one with the more unconventional mindset.

(Lowell's key page)

It's not groundbreaking to say one should care about their partner, but it feels like in the City this isn't really the case? It feels like having someone you cherish becomes something of a nuisance as it can interfere with a Fixer's ability to... well, work. Roland, though affected for obvious reasons, tells Angela about it briefly enough, and it seems it's not particularly noteworthy, having romantic entanglements but also losing them pretty quickly. It's something that happens, that you're supposed to deal with easily enough, and go back to work.

(Liu S2 second reception)

Instead Xiao's feelings lead her to do the direct opposite; it's noteworthy that before her reception she resigns from the Association, and immediately justifies herself to her subordinates by letting them know this shouldn't affect their careers. It's worth noting that Roland's story is marked by a similar situation, once he's exposed in his revenge quest, he loses his Color title as well as his Fixer grade. In both situations we find that the question of how to deal with Survival (being a survivor to the person you love) can't escape from the problem of Survival (how to make a living). The death of another puts you in actual danger if you actually care about them.

In light of this, Lowell's hopes and promises for Xiao read differently. His apparent softness and sensitivity reveals itself as something he can handle very rationally; aware of how deeply their feelings run, he asks her to vow to always watch over herself.

(Liu S1 reception)

Instead Xiao, and we later learn about Roland, embrace the horror of what's happened to them, and show us what it's like to go into the deep end of this grief; it's a deviation from what we might consider normal or #HEALTHY, but it's also a display of feeling that usually people of the City just... don't allow themselves to have. I don't wanna ramble about this too long, but since limbus vaguely uses the Divine Comedy as a source, in Dante terms I would say: while Xiao and Roland commit sins of excess of love, letting their anger over their loved ones take them over, the people of the City in general commit the sin of sloth, "laziness of the heart", it's people who refuse to let any kind of attachment in their heart, because it's simply easier not to deal with them. Roland's arc touches on it quite often.

(Natural Sciences realization)

Though Roland does eventually turn out to be, well. A big deal, a lot of his behavior in the library is supposed to show him as a kind of everyman of the City. In moments where he talks like this, he's expressing what it actually feels like for most people to live in there. This heavily contrasts with Xiao's own beliefs, the ones she develops through her love, and that leads to her EGO manifestation.

(Liu S1 reception)

By the end we also know that the truth is Roland's own mindset isn't quite the one he tries to preach ("that's that and this is this"), but the grief over the loss of Angelica, and more generally the pain for the life he's always had, still weighs so heavy on him he isn't able to just start again- he doesn't want to! As the stories goes on and he faces the horrors of the City together with Angela, even this facade of "sloth" fades away, and his actual feelings start to show, the love and the anger and all of the grief- he starts to resonate with the abnos as Angela did, a similar experience to distorting.

While Roland has a lot of interesting dialogue, it'd take a whole other post to talk about it (I'm sure someone smarter has done it already) so for the purposes of this and to keep on topic I only wanna talk about a little bit that Xiao doesn't touch on, and that feels relevant with the perspective of canto VI.

(Black Silence "soulmates" reception)

In one of the darkest moments, we get a (can I say it now?) ⛈ HEARTBREAKING ⛈ confession straight from the inside of Roland's mind, the fear that in choosing to move on he'll have abandoned Angelica and all they meant for each other. The "pair of linked souls" is tied on a mechanical level, to beat them you need to disrupt their soul link, a buff they give each other that makes them basically unbeatable- they keep each other alive. Roland's fear, after years of Fixer work, after seeing how little value a person's life has in the eyes of the City, is this: that the second he looks away from Angelica's death and his attempt to avenge it, he'll have forsaken her forever, that their love and life together will lose its meaning.

Only with the help of the librarians and particularly Angela he's able to accept that's not the case, and in the final reception he once again wields her name and her gloves, carrying on her legacy and memory for the sake of the future and the new people he wants to protect.

Finally, I wanna show an incredibly interesting piece of dialogue from Leviathan, between Vergilius and Carmen.

(Leviathan chapter 18, translation by @/SnakeskinFS on twitter)

Now, Carmen's take on love is... something. Love as she means it is what we know to bring to Distortion, but it is interesting that the actual implication in the world she draws up is what the people of the City need back is contact with one another, understanding. It's also interesting Vergilius calls it a word he's unaccustomed to. Obviously here it doesn't apply strictly to romantic love, but this does check out with how little we get to see City residents... well, loving each other.

Xiao for Lowell, Roland for Angelica, as well as honestly Carmen for herself, her vision for the future, stand out in crowds of cordial coworkers and friends of circumstances, for the strength of their feelings, love in its danger and beauty. The paths they end up following are messy, some very bloody, and done in remembrance of the people they valued above all else. It's the theme of love that entwines so closely with that of death, the question of what you do when you're the one surviving and left behind.

So here's where I think of canto VI- WH is so heavily defined by grief. This is partially tied to its literary influences, partially to the author's own experience, but the story is scarred by the various funerals, each of which changes someone's life, mostly for the worse.

Is this malicious? A little. A little... not? Like in the City, the feeling is that the dead, the memory of them, follow because they love the living. When we get to Cathy's death, she and Heathcliff curse each other back and forth before making peace again, but in the end more than their harshness, what hits the most is the connection, the yearning to be reunited- "I care nothing of your sufferings" is soon followed by "I'm not wishing you greater torment than I have", which leads into the Heartbreaking speech, that we already know will be very relevant in the canto, in which Heathcliff takes her pain as his.

NOW I see readings/speculation around that this will be portrayed as lcb Cathy trying to tie Heathcliff to his past forever/them needing to Kill Her, and metaphorically his affection for her in order for him to move on and become his own person, to which I say: meh? I think that misses part of the point, makes her out to be a plot device instead of a character that, like him, has grown in an awful abusive household, and laments in her deathbed that she wishes things had been different, and that the person she loves could stay with her longer, after circumstances beyond their control have forced them apart.

By the end of it, though we know that in the book it doesn't really turn out like she'd like, Cathy claims she'd rather him remember her words, and her, as harsh and cruel than nurse anger while he lives on, she hates the thought that he should suffer more when she's gone, because she, too, feels his suffering as hers.

To me this last wish she expresses is most reminiscent of what we see of Lowell's request to Xiao, the way it's not fulfilled until the last minute. Xiao doesn't listen and she goes on, fully aware she's betraying the trust he put in her, and that she might be the next to die. Because of this betrayal, her feelings, this excess of love threatens to have the best of her, to make her forget about Lowell and focus only on herself and her anger- the "love of the self" that is the Distortion. Her final reception has her talking back to Carmen's proposal and worldview, detailing the way her bond with Lowell, but also Miris, Chun and all of her men, have been keeping her strong to this point.

(Xiao reception)

With the awareness her lover is dead and gone, she manages to work through her feelings and gain strength from them, deciding that these bonds, and her memory will keep all of them alive through each other.

SO am I saying this is totally happening to Heathcliff in canto VI. I mean, nah, not necessarily. But considering the similarities he shares with these other stories, and how we've already seen these examples of the theme of grief over a loved one being handled before in the previous games and resulting in these genuinely amazing characters, it's something I think about.

As we're talking about a game adaptation that obviously can't adapt 20 more years of story (and let's be real, shouldn't either. If you want to read WH you can just read WH,) I think that would be a reasonable way for the canto to play out: getting to see one of the sinners genuinely lose it over someone's death in a way none of the others really did, explicitly showing the uniqueness of such intense affection in a place like the City, and then slowly beginning the road to recovery. Much like for Xiao and Roland, this being done not as a result of leaving the past behind, but as a direct result of their love for another, and that of their lover as well as everyone else who cherishes them (Miris, Angela and the librarians- I think we'll soon add the sinners to the list).

(post core suppression dialogue)

To quote another bit from our bestie Yesod, the hope that grows out of the rot, as the death of another, but as your own wounded self as well.

So to conclude. I think in general, in the context of how we've seen major characters work around their grief in previous games it'd make sense for canto VI to reach a similar conclusion, the death being something that weighs heavily, but doesn't obscure the possibility of a future. Still. Love as something dangerous that has extreme power over us, but as something that lives in us and can't be taken away.

#bell.txt #limbus company #library of ruina #project moon #edit ok all screenies are captioned now. how did i write so much #its like barely even speculation im just putting together some stuff that gets me thinking about the general Vibe. i love u the city #xiao roland and heathcliff talk. dead wife club (honorific)#btw Did You Know: if canto vi releases on white day that means part 2 will release right after cathys book accurate death day. LOLLL #lcb heathcliff #xiao lor #roland lor #canto vi #edit 2: VINDICAAAAATION

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di-writes-stuff · 8 months

Text

The Story Of Us

Alex Keller x Reader

One Shot

TW: Mentions of d€ath, alcohol consumption, arguing. Light stuff compared to most of my shit.

“Now I’m standing alone, in a crowded room, and we’re not speaking.”

You and Alex were…well, you and Alex. Close, too close by military standards, but neither of you ever cared too much about that. Just enough not to cross that line. Not to start something that could never continue.

Then again, it’s not like you hadn’t ever thought about it.

Either way, you two didn’t really fight, ever. You didn’t have a reason to until he took whatever you are a step too far. Abused his ranking as your Lieutenant.

The mission was important, dangerous too, and you were on it. At least, you were supposed to be. That is until he pulled you out, replaced you with some rookie who did a worse job then you ever would.

His excuse still burns in the back of your head, the few words he was able to get out before you slammed your door in his face with a stern “Go to hell.”

“I just wanted to keep you safe.”

You sigh, liquor stinging your throat as you remember that one sentence. It was easier to be mad at him before he said that. It’s not like you’re not still upset, but you can’t help the way his softly whispered apologies through the door loop in your mind like a scratched vinyl.

He just…he knew. He knew how important it was. And he knows how good you are, everybody knows how good you are. That’s why you got assigned to that job in the first place. And it’s not as if Alex disagreed. In fact, he knows better than anybody how much you could’ve handled it.

It wasn’t that he doubted you. It was fear. Pure, burning hot fear that you wouldn’t come back from this one. That you wouldn’t come back to him. In his mind, he couldn’t not do something. He couldn’t see your name on that list, the list that might as well have been a death sentence, and just leave it there.

He might as well have just killed you himself. And, in a way, he was right. Somebody died on that job. And not some rookie, this guy knew what he was doing. And still, a folded up flag was sent to a widows home in exchange for her husband, for her daughters father.

There was never a chance in hell Alex would let that flag replace you.

He wouldn’t.

No.

He couldn’t.

Although, it didn’t seem to matter much to you, seeing as you hadn’t spoken to him since the incident. It wasn’t his place to make that choice for you. You agreed to that mission knowing exactly what it entailed. Death is a part of the job, always has been, always will be. He can’t change that, so all that’ll happen is he’ll limit you, and you’ll resent the hell out of him for it.

To make matters worse, Alex decided to pull this shit right before the big, miserable, military ball. The night you planned on spending with him, judging all the rookie douchebags before sneaking out as soon as you can, hopefully with a snagged bottle of tequila in tow.

Instead your standing alone, leaned against the cold marble of the bar top, forcing the grimace off your face as the vodka burns all the way down your throat. Your dress is a little too tight, along with the heels on your feet that have grown far too used to nothing but combat boots.

In short, you feel like shit.

Even more so when the person you’ve been avoiding (and missing) for the past few weeks sidles up to you at the bar, sliding over a ten as you order yet another overpriced drink.

You were hoping to forget about the whole thing, but the blonde next to you clearly has other plans. “On me.” He says simply, flashing a grin at the bartender that has her blushing and turning away sheepishly in about a second.

The worst part is, he doesn’t even mean to do it. It’s just…him. He’s charismatic, handsome, sweet, charming, everything that made you see him as more than just a comrade.

Right now, he’s also an asshole, but you’re having a hard time remembering that when he’s looking at you the way he is. The smile he usually has on his face is gone the second he sees the scowl on yours, blue eyes softening with guilt as his shoulders sag.

Fuck, he’s handsome. His suit jacket was abandoned a while ago, and the bow he always complains about at these events is untied to allow him to undo the top few buttons of his shirt. His sleeves are rolled up to his biceps, tattoos on display in a way that makes stuffy trophy wives passing by scoff.

Your momentary distraction gives Alex a second to look you up and down, and he’d happily spend the rest of his life soaking in the view in front of him if he could. You look beautiful, you always do in his eyes, but especially tonight. The makeup you’re wearing isn’t too overpowering, not hiding any of the face he’s grown to adore so much.

Despite the way your anger weakens at the sight of his face, you manage to think up a spiteful response. “First I can’t do my job, now I can’t buy my own drinks either.” You turn to look him in the eyes the glare that never seems to leave your face these days piercing into him.

The sigh that leaves his lips is prominent. It’s not like he thought you’d just get over it, but God, he hates being on your bad side. Not just because it takes so damn long to get off it, but cause it’s you. “Y/N…” He starts before getting cut off again.

“Oh don’t you worry Alex, I’m just glad I have a big, strong man around to take care of me. I mean, whatever would I do without you?” Your voice is flat, yet dripping with sarcasm as you down the shot he paid for. All the while he tries to ignore the way his breath hitches in his throat at hearing his name from your mouth for the first time since this all happened.

He reaches up, running an exasperated hand over his face. He knew you would be mad of course, but he didn’t exactly plan on how to deal with it. He just…acted. It was a panic response, the only thing he could think to do that would keep you safe. Keep you alive.

“It’s not about that and you know it. I don’t think you need protection, and I definitely don’t think you need me.” He answers, keeping his voice low to avoid causing a scene.

If it weren’t for the topic, the situation would feel awfully familiar. You and Alex at a bar, his voice quiet next to you, saying just the right things to get you to blush, his flirtation making your knees go weak as you try not to choke on your drink.

You hate how much you miss it, just after a few weeks.

You hate even more that this is happening instead.

You turn to face him, something a little more than anger in your eyes. The kind of hurt that only comes around when it’s dealt by someone you love. The kind that makes your body shake with the weight of it. “If I don’t need protection, why the hell did you do it?” You ask, cursing the way your voice wavers at the look in his eyes.

Love, or something close, anyway. It’s dappled with guilt, juxtaposed by the knowledge that he’d do it again if he had to.

Something in him snaps at your words as he whips around to face you with his whole body. “Because it wasn’t just about you, Y/N. I’m sorry for hurting you, I really am, okay? I know you’re capable, more than most the guys we’ve got out in the field. I know. But I couldn’t do nothing, I couldn’t let you go knowing at least one person probably wasn’t coming back.”

“Knowing that one person might be you. I lo…I care, about you, I won’t apologize for that. I won’t apologize for keeping you alive.” His voice shakes as he prays you didn’t hear it. That little slip. The beginnings of a phrase that’s all but banned between soldiers.

I love you.

You didn’t miss it. Of course you didn’t. How could you when you’ve been waiting years to hear it? Hear those three words slip from his mouth, the ones that you’ll never be brave enough to say first.

Now’s not the time to mention that, you both know it, but he started a fire inside you, one that’ll need more fuel sooner or later.

“You can’t always keep me safe, Alex.” Softness creeps into the edges of your voice as you answer, anger draining from your body like glass through a tire.

He doesn’t think anything’s ever hurt more than that one sentence. He was always going to have to face it, some day, at some point.

But now?

That, he wasn’t ready for. “I know.” His voice is barely a whisper when he responds. There’s a pregnant pause before he adds on:

“Doesn’t mean I won’t try.”

You quickly lose the fight to keep a small smile off your face at his words. You should’ve expected it from him. Stubborn, dedicated, loyal Alex. All the things that drive you crazy about him. They’re the same ones that make you love him, too.

Your fingers brush as you breathe out before responding.

“I’m serious, Alex. Never again. You don’t decide what I can and can’t handle.” Any attempt at sounding serious is quickly washed away as his hand slips around yours, grasping it softly.

Although, he’s still taking it to heart. He’s still listening, that much you can tell. Despite the way you, much like the bartender, blush as the beginnings of a smirk from on his face.

And despite the way he slowly inches closer to you.

Despite the way you lean into the circle of gravity that seemed to exist around him, you like the moon orbiting around the earth.

Despite the way his hands slowly sliding onto your hips send shivers running up your spine.

Despite the way your lips are mere inches apart, the liquor you’d both been consuming to forget now working to dampen your judgment.

Despite all that, he still makes sure to answer before his lips press against yours, a smile spreading across your lips to mirror the one on his own.

“Yes ma’am.”

A/N: okay this is a wee bit cheesy, cant lie, think i wrapped it up to fast at the end, but i still like it. figured it was only proper for me to write something for the love of my life before cod 3 drops. enjoy, girlypops.

(also i promise i’m working on part 2 of cowboy like me for any arthur enjoyers out there.)

- di <3

#fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic writer #self insert fanfiction #fanfiction writer #alex keller x reader #alex keller x you #alex keller x y/n #alex keller #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #COD #cod mw #alex keller cod #call of duty fanfic #cod fanfic

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chemicalpink · 2 years

Text

bad idea! | Jeon Jungkook (M)

ੈ✩ Festivaled Away: Daredevil Week hosted by @bangtanbathhouse

⤞ Ticket: Thrill Seeking

⤞ Main Event: A dare

⤞Games: remote vibrator, creampie, pain kink, exhibitionism.

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x Reader

Genre: smut, light humour, magical realism-ish, vampire au, s2fwb2l

Word Count: 4.8k

Rating: 18+

Warnings: mentions of death in vampire-like fashion, mentions of blood, imprinting unknowingly, alcohol consumption, language, creampie, use of plugs, remote vibrator, pain kink (biting kink, really) exhibitionism.

You try to swiftly laugh at whatever it was that your friend was saying over the loud music that envelops the whole room, the lights are dimmed enough, the flashing blue and red led lights not close to enough to make out the figure that your eyes are transfixed on watching from a distance. It is his party, after all. Jeon Jungkook stands spread along his kitchen counter, most of his body hidden by the darkness that envelops the hallway just behind him, all the more courtesy of his black attire, although you can watch entranced from time to time the way that his lip-piercing catches the light from around the place every time he presses the glass against his lips or he toys with the jewellery in a way that has you wondering if somehow his genes allow him to have better eyesight and is indeed looking right at you as you admire him from afar.

“You know, you could be way more subtle about wanting to eat that man up” you turn back to your friends, feeling how the ice in your drink settles something within you, there’s no actual reason for you to deny the claim as it comes as a secret to none that you have yourself a big enough crush on the vampiric man that has been attending your university for the last two years– a curated sort of infatuation that has everyone else poking and teasing you the longer it goes on.

Vampires weren’t such an odd topic as they once used to be– although relatively new to most. It all just seemed to fall right into place when a few too many of the mos influential families around the globe came out to advocate for such creatures after a particularly loud incident sounded off the alarms across countries. Everyone kind of rolled with it. Years of political mobilisation had ensured that they continued to be functioning parts of society– as they had proven to always have been. Yet the fear was still there. More to some than others. Creatures of the night had always roamed the highest social spheres, which left little to no room to actually encounter one that could be deemed as dangerous enough. Which is just the more reason to be mesmerised by Jeon Jungkook.

The Jeons were a fairly well known family of all-born vampires– mostly respected due to the fear of encountering such creatures, although their fear induced respect had little to do with their origins and more to do with the way they handled most of the country’s politics and economy way before they came out as such creatures. Their youngest, Jungkook, although set on breaking free from such high spheres, had proven to be quite adept on climbing high enough to be where he was in college– a promising student, astounding athlete and an even more exceptional paty thrower. As this one time he was proven to be.

“I dare you to get in Count Dracula’s pants” your– fairly drunk– friend whisper-yells into your ear.

Your gaze can’t seem to let go of Jungkook’s every move, pondering her words for a bit. Jungkook is not exactly known for his aversion to humans– yet he isn’t quite the player every other person that hasn’t quite crossed paths with the vampire make him to be. You can’t actually recall ever hearing about him casually hooking up after all the time he has been around. He seems to be private like that aside from the times he’s hosted the most grandiose parties off campus– and even then, he isn’t quite known for his welcoming aura, rather separated from the ordeal by the shadows he decides to keep himself hidden within. What the whispered voices do say and you could attest for yourself is the undubious way that being in near proximity to said man can leave your blood running cold. A testament of just how much power he holds within, it’s a predator thing– one of your few friends in common had mentioned in passing.

Whatever conversation your friends were having seems to have downed out the blurt of such a dare, at least until you feel your heart pounding against your chest as you utter your answer “...challenge accepted”

“Y/N I was just joking”

It is then that you rip your sight from the man, opting to let it linger around your group of friends, trying to somewhat appease the deafening silence your words had caused, “But wouldn’t it be amazing?”

“We have never heard of it happening– wouldn’t want you to end up in a ditch because of a drink-induced dare” Another of your friends is quick to note, drink still in hand, but all the more sobered up as she ponders the thought of it.

One of your more drunk friends is quick to find the humour within it, “I don’t think dude has gotten laid since the 1600s”

“Yeah, can vampires even get it up if- you know- they’re technically dead”

“Oh they totally can!” Hoseok– the only friend in common you have traced between Jungkook and yourself makes his way to where you guys were standing and is quick to drap himself all over your friends’ shoulders, face flushed with the drinks he’s had “What are we talking about?”

“Y/N bedding Jeon Jungkook”

That seems to do it for the smiley man, choking on his drink, sobering up in a second before a stoic demeanour takes over his face “You do know there’s a reason we haven’t heard of Jungkook’s hookups right?”

“No I don’t” blame it on the few drinks you’ve had or the way that the thought of a distant possibility of sleeping with the man had installed in your brain, it was indeed quite a feat to not hear a word about it on such a campus “But I can certainly find out”

“Y/N, Jeon Jungkook is a born predator. And one of the strongest ones out there– we’re talking top of the chain here”

“Now you guys are just trying to scare the living shit out of me” you roll your eyes, trying to ease the tensiona round you, sipping your drink once more and wishing you had just kept the acceptance of such a challenge to yourself instead of voicing it out loud “What’s so wrong about wanting to try and get dicked down by a vampire? Worst case scenario-”

“-Worst case scenario you end up sprawled open on my bed, isn’t that right, doll?” Jungkook’s voice drowns out whatever other noise. You can’t help the chill that runs down your spine as he walks past you, parting your small group of friends in order to be let through, the cold running through your veins, the way it all seems to concentrate down and have you clenching against air. You hadn’t even heard him coming– nevertheless seen him. And he’s gone just like that, black attiure blending with the rest of the surroundings. His words hanging in the air sounding like a promise to your ears.

A collective breath is let out once the vampire is out of sight and Hoseok is the first to speak after it “GOD THAT MAN MOVES LIKE THE DEAD”

“...he is dead- technically, I think”

“Shut up, look at how my hairs are standing!” he is quick to show his bare arm out for everyone to see in a quite dramatic feat, raising his glass your way “It was nice knowing you, Y/N”

Things go back to quite a normal pace even as the thought back to the dare doesn’t quite leave your mind– the way that Jungkook had approached you back then, something akin to a promise leaving the tip of his tongue, the chills that run through your whole body at the thought of him having heard all the entirety of your conversation. Of him being fully aware of your intentions. If your hand caresses your whole naked body at night as images of said man pinning you against the wall, ravishing in your taste, flood your mind, then there’s not much else to do about it. Even as you think you can watch a rather teasing smirk taking over the vampire’s features everytime you two so much as cross paths around campus, your eyes lingering on his hands and lips a beat too long as you imagine the infinite possibilities and outcomes of such an affair. Your friends would be quick to write it off as you imagining things.

You were walking down the street back to your dorm after quite a late running class. The weather had started to run on the colder side, so you can’t really blame yourself for carrying on walking down the street as if nothing was wrong. The small alleyway was sure to provide a shorter path to get to your building, even if it was poorly lit and come to think of it, wasn’t probably the greatest idea while being by yourself. You can’t help but pick out an out of the way sound surrounding you– curiosity getting the best of you as you make your way carefully towards the struggling noises seem to come from behind an adjacent street– even darker than the one you walked in.

Your heart is pounding in your chest, blood pumping into your ears and you’re certain your body had frozen if the way that your feet refuse to move even as you intentionally see yourself fleeing the scene is any indication of it. Inside said alleyway, none other than Jeon Jungkook has his face pressed neatly in the juncture between neck and shoulder of a girl you can almost swear you’d seen on campus before, her body lax against him, his eyes a crimson colour as they briefly catch yours before diving back in. It’s like time had frozen right there and then, a need to run away as fast as your feet could take you, scream at the top of your lungs– yet none of this is happening. There is, of course, no denying the way your mind also wanders off to imagine yourself in the girl’s place, the usual warmth in your lower belly present after such thoughts. After what seems like ages– which might have been closer to mere seconds, you finally move as quietly as possible down the other side of the road, intending on forgetting all about it– making do as if you hadn’t just answered your own doubts about not seeing the vampire mingle with humans ever.

“Leaving so soon, doll?” You brain can’t fathom whatever physics necessary to explain the way that you had just turned your head from watching the man feed, to having him stand tall and proud infront of you, blocking the way, velvet eyes amusedly looking into you.

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about” you hang your head low, ignoring the impeding thoughts about what you had heard before about getting a glimpse of a feeding vampire– after new laws were instated, even as vampires weren’t such an off item around town, feeding was meant to be a much more intimate almost contractual thing. Even more so, almost unheard of as such creatures had access to a hundred other ways of feeding that required less of the human contact they seem to so much as despise. Legend had it, that no mere human could ever go on and about if they were to catch a glimpse of a feeding vampire. Not only had you caught a vampire feeding, but had you also recognised the human along with said vampire being none other than top of the hierarchy Jeon Jungkook. Yet you try to play it safe and ignorant for as long as you are allowed to, even as your whole body freezes as he catches your elbow when you try and move past him in a haste.

“I’m sure you know I can’t just let you walk away after what you’ve seen, darling”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, I’m just walking home after class and you bumped into me” you try your best to keep your tone steady, even as deep down you are pretty much aware that the man knows you’re bullshitting him.

“Huh. I’ll still keep my eyes on you, Y/N” Jungkook squints his eyes as a smirk draws on his handsome face “Safe way home, doll”

“Well- not that it is any news but you look like you’ve seen better days” you plop down to the place where your friends were gathered in, extra large coffee in hand as your brain still struggles to comprehend the events of last night.

Hoseok’s voice is heard a few seconds before he even appears in your line of sight “So I’ve heard…things”

“I don’t know what you’ve heard, but if it involves Jeon Jungkook and I last night, it did not happen”

One of your friends lets out a shriek that has most people around turning their heads in your direction “So do vampires really can get it up?”

“I am still not sure about the logistics of it- how does it even happen, do they use the blood they drink or-”

A deadly look their way is enough to shut them up, Hoseok’s stoic expression back as he shoos the rest of your friend group away “Listen Y/N, Jungkook is a nice guy, I love the guy to pieces but-”

“He could harm me if he wanted to, I get that Hobi, I really do”

“...I don’t think he wants to” even after having just hung around the man for a short period of time you’re able to tell he is keeping things to himself– which you can only guess makes enough sense, him and Jungkook had been friends since way before the younger joined campus. “Look Y/N, just think things over, I wouldn’t want to see you or Jungkook harmed in any way”

You can’t help but chuckle at that. The mere thought of it enough to have you cackling, worst case scenario, Jeon Jungkook ends up with his heart broken, you would lose so much more than a few emotional struggles. “I’m not even sure I’ll go through with the dare anymore”

“Good. Just take care of yourself, Y/N” Your eyes seem to gravitate towards the table that was calling Hoseok over, the head of the table– Jeon Jungkook. His eyes seem to linger on yours for a few seconds before he turns to greet his friend with a smile. Perhaps it is yourself that is making things harder than they should be.

“Jane Eyre, a classic, I’m more of a Jane Austen guy though” you feel yourself freeze at the velvety voice behind you, as he hands you the book you had previously tried to get from a top shelf– you ahdn’t even sensed him coming, although that is not much news anymore, a chill running down your spine before it settles as heat in your lower side. There’s something more than a try at being friendly in the way he seems to examine your every move– almost vigilante.

You try your best to collect yourself, clearing your throat as you settle in one of the far left couches, hidden in between the large library collection “Late night study session?”

“Late night session alright, just of more…appeasing endeavours” his words, matched with the way his eyes settle on your neck, lips, back at your eyes, smirk wide enough to show off his sharpened canines before he reaches to take your hand in his, in less than a second his lips pressed to the back of it, quickly turning it to expose your wrist, nipping lightly at the skin “I’m watching you, doll”

“Iced americano, extra large” his breath tickles your ear as his arm reaches out to place the cup in front of you, next to your open notebook. You can’t even see him– quite unnecessary, for the way that you’re growing accustomed to him showing up just like that. His lips playfully graze the back of your exposed neck, going so much as far with a nip to the sensitive skin and you can feel yourself get heated at the action “Always watching you, dearest”

The man is gone before you can even turn yourself around.

Finals week soon ends just around the corner, a playful invitation with a side of lips too close to your neck, the idea of getting bitten along with a teasing threat makes their way to you. One of the most infamous house parties of Jeon Jungkook, finals season detox party. The music is blasting through the speakers as you find yourself straying far from everyone else enjoying the various activities and alcohol selection, in search for a particular vampire around the room. You have yet to accept to yourself the way each interaction you have with the man has made it harder and harder to stay away, even so much as a glimpse of his existence as if it weighs you down, keeps your reality in check, the thrill of it, the way your body reacts on its own at having such a predator on the back of your heels at all times of the day, an addictive sort of prey dance around imminent danger.

You can swear you watch him walk down the corridor– a place that doesn’t seem to be open to the general public, not that there’s any need for it, with the way that the rest of the house is enormous and accessible to all for a good time. Your back is turned to the party, heart pounding, expectant eyes trying to find him.

“Jungkook has always liked to toy around with his food, you know” a soft gravely voice speaks from behind you, cat-like eyes string back at you as the man reclines against a countertop, dark red liquid hitting his lips from the wine glass he holds in his hand.

You pull a hand up to your heart, a friendly facade on as you expect not to get in trouble for snooping around as the man clearly seems to be one of Jungkook’s friends “Oh god, you scared me!”

“Funny, with the way you keep placing yourself like a dangling piece of meat above a famished lion”

“Yoongi hyung, stop trying to scare my guests with vampire talk, I think Hoseok hyung was looking for you” your body now truly tenses up at the voice, his hands travelling to hold you by your waist and you can’t help the million of contradicting feelings it explodes within you. The heat. The freezing touch. Your brain screaming at you to get away from his hold. Something greater begging you to stay. The man– Yoongi, simply shrugs before walking away “I keep forgetting what curious little creatures you humans are”

“I was just looking for-”

“-Me, I know, irresistable” “How fragile you humans are and so- delectable. You must have found it so hard to stay away after that night, Y/N”

“W-what?”

“The way your body falls pliant with a simple touch of mine” “The sleepless nights you’ve spent trying to reach an orgasm that doesn’t come while thinking about me” “The absolutely delicious way you smell right now, I could eat you whole, wouldn’t you love that, doll?”

He turns to look back at the party before taking your hand in his and tug you back down the corridor he had previously came out from. You can still quite distinctly hear everyone from the party as a moan makes it way past your lips once his lips connect to your jaw, if anyone were to be standing where you had previously been, you’re sure they would be able to hear you. Two of his fingers find their way into your panties, expertly parting your lips and collecting your wetness in them just to spread it over your clit, circling it a few times before he retreats them back out, digits glistening even in the dark, your knees buckling as you heard him choke back a moan as he licks them clean, not wasting another second to capture your lips in his, tasting yourself briefly before you see his eyes glistening crimson, head diving in to faintly puncture the skin there, enough for you to let out a hiss that has him chuckling.

Jungkook shuffles to get something out of his pocket, a small pill-like object that he brings to your lips, your tongue circling around the piece as you coat it with saliva, bringing a delightful look to his face as soon enough you hear the motions of the toy vibrating against his fingers, working his way to press it against your clit and you can’t help but clench around nothing, feeling yourself get wetter by the second as he settles the activated toy in place “Be a good pet and try not to get caught, if you’re as deserving as I suspect you are, we’ll have some more fun” the kiss he plants on your lips surely contradicts his actions almost giving you whiplash “Don’t let any other vampires take you from me, you know how we all can smell how heavenly wet you are, doll”

You take a few deep breaths as your body grows accustomed to the feeling of the small vibrator, collecting yourself to whatever game Jungkook was playing, unable to stray any further now that you had had a taste of it.

“Y/N! Where have you been? We’ve been looking for you” Hoseok’s voice is surely a call down to Earth– at least for the whole five seconds it lasts.

“I was just-” you bite your lips to stop the impeding whine that threatens to elave your mouth as you feel the vibrations get stronger for a fraction of a second, the man hanging off of Hoseok– cat-like eyes, Yoongi, lets out a gummy smile and a laugh even as Hoseok surely looks terrified “I’m okay”

“I’d say you’re better than just okay, Y/N”

“Oh? You’ve met each other?”

You can only hum as you feel the pressing of the vibrations take up speed only to be let go and repeat one after the other, clenching yourself to minimise the impact only has you furthering the pleasure.

Yoongi sniffs and turns to look at you with a shit eating grin “We had a talk about playing with your food”

Hoseok surely looks as confused as he could be, not be let into the joke “I’ll just pretend that wasn’t the weirdest sentence I’ve heard in a while” he takes your arm in his, dragging you to an extended version of your group of friends– people you know to be part of Jungkook’s most exclusive clique along with the devil himself resting against a wall– vigilante as ever, hand inside the pocket of his pants, amused smile on his face and all “Anyways, this is Y/N everyone”

You try your best to bow in greeting, not before sensing a spike in the vibrator enough to have you gushing, surely ruining your panties further. You can’t help but watch equal parts horrified and even more turned on as a few too many eyes flash crimson red at the same time it happens. You know how we all can smell how heavenly wet you are, doll. Jeon Jungkook better be worth all the talk.

It’s a few minutes, a lot of knee buckling and seemingly starving vampires growing feistier by the second after, that Jungkook deems reasonable to walk away, signalling you to follow him down the corridor– not once looking back to make sure you were following him.

One of his hands cup the side of your neck, pressing down nicely as soon as you both enter what must be his bedroom, his enlarged canines tracing the side of your exposed neck, nipping harder at the base, enough to have you wriggling against him– the small toy still nestled in between your legs. His hands are quick to work you out of your clothes, tossing them anywhere around the room– to which he hadn’t even bothered to close the door for. His fingers toy with your pantie-clothed pussy, ravishing in the way that they stick to your skin, heightening the efforts of the toy as he presses down harder before deeming it enough teasing and taking the toy out, replacing it with his fingers, digits curling against your walls as his palm stimulates your clit, having you somewhat ride his hand, lips finding their way down your torse until they latch to one of your nipples, sucking it, his tongue drawing circles against it before moving onto the next one. Jungkook works his way down, nibbling at the expanse of your torso, surely leaving marks in his haste until he reaches your cunt, spreading your folds open before lapping up your wetness and you can feel yourself clenching on air as his tongue circles your bundle of nerves. One of his hands travels down to tease your ring of muscle, lubed up and ready to prod at it as the other one holds you steadily up for a better access.

You feel yourself getting a familiar heat in your belly as Jungkook halts his movements, lips against your inner thigh, scraping the skin with his teeth, skin puncturing and drawing blood at the same time as you feel a lubed up toy entering your tight muscle, a few knee jerks to help settle the feeling of having something up your ass while the discomfort washes away with the feeling of Jungkook feeding from you, even the slightest bit, before his tongue travels all the way back to your neck, shuddering voice against your ear “Just relax yourself for me and enjoy the ride, doll”

Sure enough, Jungkook is quick to stroke himself once out of his pants, cock out and standing prettily against him, the tip just barely grazing your folds, collecting your juices before lining himself up against your hole, the mere entrance of his member along with the plug pressed snuggly inside, enough to have you working towards climax. His movements are languid yet deep enough to hear a crack from his bed every now and then, your hands in between his hair, pulling it nicely, toes curling against his lower back in an attempt to push him further in, keep him there for a little while longer. His thrust pick up pace as soon as you start clenching around him, eyes flashing red before he hides his face in your neck, an overwhelming sensation leaving you whimpering loudly, legs shaking as you feel him release inside you shortly after you feel the way his fangs break skin, suckling noises against you, tongue lapping the wound closed, eyes droopy even as you feel yourself coming another time as he stands back to watch your ruined self sprawled open on his bed– collecting every drop of his that threatens to leave you, pushing it all inside with softer thrusts, coming up with another plug out of thin air to keep as much of it inside.

It surely would have been of great use to find out it would take your more or less a whole twelve hours to get your mind in check as the aphrodisiac from his bite and his come leave your system. If Jungkook leaves his mysteriously stoic persona in favour of staying by your side, neither one of your friends– or his, can say it came as much of a surprise.

BONUS.

“What the actual fuck, Jungkook?” he had just casually dropped the bomb of the nature of your relationship, all while placing an extra large cup of iced americano right in front of you, citing vampire stuff along the lines of never being able to get rid of him.

“Yeah well-”

“Are you shitting me?”

He smiles that smile that has you weak to the knees, bunny teeth and all “If I had said hey so now you’re stuck with me for a lifetime because I imprinted on you you would have ran away on the spot”

“Clearly” just as you’re about to never let him hear the end of it, one of your friends starts calling you over with motions from the other side of the road, you turn to look at the time on your phone, noticing how you were already a few minutes too late for class “This conversation isn’t over yet”

He leans back to capture your lips on his with a sweet peck before you’re rushing down the path “Love you, doll”

“So I take it you’re definitely not telling her that you actually imprinted on her when you first met her and then went around like a kicked puppy trying to get her to notice you for years?” Jungkook can’t help but roll his eyes as he watches Yoongi standing idly next to the spot you had just vacated, a teasing smile on his face.

“Shut up, hyung”

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oxygenbefore1775 · 1 year

Text

AoT characters as types of poisons

warriors edition!

cw: poisons and all the ways they could (and would) kill; also mention of abortion in zeke's hcs

a/n: as a pharmacy student i also have to study toxicology for some reason so what better way to apply my knowedge than to use it for some hcs; the thing on the divider is citric acid - it's not poisonous, it just looks cool

don't fucking get any ideas from this, it's all harmless fun, pls be reasonable

Annie

strychnine

you're nothing but a pesky vermin to it that needs to be mercilessly annihilated

it's actually been used as a performance-enhancing drug - you know, before people realized how fucking deadly it is

it's very versatile in the way it can enter your system, be it through inhaling it, consuming it or entering you via your bloodstream, even through the fucking eyes, the possibilities are endless

the only thing that's the same is your inevitable death

it's a neurotoxin class, meaning it's destroys the nervous system to the point that your brain can't send signals to the rest of your body which leads to paralysis

complete paralysis of the body, including the breathing muscles

i.e. you slowly die of suffocation all the while your airways are completely free and not blocked by anything and you stay perfectly conscious and aware of the each second you spend uncontrollably twitching

30 mins hardly pass between the first time strychnine enters your system and your death but it makes sure that each passing minute is agony for you

what's worse, there's no antidote against it - you are litteraly doomed the moment you come in contace with it

Bertholdt

acetaminophen aka paracetamol (or tylenol if you live in the us)

a wolf in sheep's clothing

harmless fella at the first sight and is actually nice for relieving different kinds of pain

but it has a dark side

it takes a LOT to get an overdose dangerous enough to kill you

and even then it wouldn't be followed by any symptoms for a whole week - it'd be just sitting there, gathering its strength for one powerful obliterating attack on your system

but when it kicks in, you're in for a lethal treat

your liver is the first to go down and sets off a whole chain of events with your kidneys and pancreas following suit and failing as well

the next thing to happen is that your blood gets too acidic for your body to handle and all the tissue near your blood stream (which is all the tissue in the organism) gets constantly irritated by the acids

the death is long-awaited, devastating and quite painful but it doesn't last that long - once the symptoms kick in, you'll be dead in the couple of hours

Colt

caffeine

a sunshine drug loved by everyone (but mostly young people)

it's everything a tired person could wish for - it energizes, it relieves pain, it gives you strength and motivation to live another day

don't mix it with alcohol though, it's a very bad idea

it basically creates the illusion that alcohol doesn't affect you which causes you to drink even more and you will be even more drunk than usual and a total wreck overall (and the hangover part won't be that nice)

it can't kill you that easily, you'll literally have to consume 70 cups of coffee in one sitting to even be close to death

the most fun symptom of it is eye flashes - not deadly, but definitely annoying

Pieck

nicotine

because zeke likes her :3

highly addictive and causes severe distress during withdrawal

only good for killing insects, pretty useless against people

it's very universal in its entry into the body - nasal, oral, dermal - and each means of consumption has its own perks

will take a lot to even reach an overdose, let alone the one that may be lethal

the worst immediate thing it can cause for you is headache and diziness

sure, it is harmful but you won't see the effects of it until couple of years in the future

but that's how it gets you - by being nice and pleasurable to consume

but - it works very well in combination with other poisons, especially if nicotine has been in the system for quite a long time

any poisons - nicotine prepares the turf for them and increases their effects tenfold

overall, it can be deadly but only with some other poison at its side

Porco

phosgen

it smells very nice (like fresh cut grass or hay)

a perfect warfare weapon

it's down to the earth so there's almost no chance you can escape it - it's moving fast and out there to kill you

its only way to enter the body is through your respiratory system

insidious little fucker as it's colorless and by the time you would notice it, it would be all to late

very-very reactive

basically burns the inside lining of the lungs and causes swelling of the airways at which point you die of suffocation since your body is physically unable to take a breath

it's a bloody death though as the damaged lungs are exposed to capillaris connected to them and as the result your lungs fill with blood that you helplessly try to expell ou of you with irregular coughs

Reiner

quicksilver

once useful and irreplacable, it slowly loses its advantage to the more modern findings of the civilization (just like rei and his armor)

absolutely harmless if consmed orally - you can litteraly eat a spoonful of it and it can do barely nothing to you

but once the heat is on, that's when it gets dangerous cuz it evaporates and that what kills you - quicksilver vapors

even in smal concentrations it can be deadly

one of the most prominent symptoms of quicksilver poisoning are the rosy color of the skin as if you were blushing and isomina

when the exposure is prolonged, it can cause depression among other things

the other thing is - once it enters your organism it will not exit it, there's no way to remove it, it will stay with you forever

it's not that it can kill you but the more severe the overdose is, the more you would be yearning for the sweet release of death

Zeke

digoxin (like i stated before in the convo with st)

also works a medication, a wonder-drug that's very versatile and can help with almost any heart disease

it's also used in abortions (how fitting)

it has a side-effect of enlarging breasts, be it female or male (lol)

a deceiving little fucker - you have to be very careful in order not to overdose and the intoxication can be chronic and proceed over the months

very intricate, it affects the body on a less than cellular level and fucks with the mechanism as sophisticated as electro-cardial processes of your heart

its main mechanism is inhibition, i.e. it litteraly doesn't let your body function at its normal rate, it controls you from now on

it strikes your heart first of all and you're litteraly left at the mercy of this traitorous drug as it controls your pulse

after a long torture where this drug constantly either accelerates or slows down your pulse

heart is all the flutter because of it, to sum up

the death is less-likely to happen but everything before that would be a fucking torture and you'll be surely living in misery

but one day it will stop your heart

feel free to request if you wanna see other categories of characters like 104th or the veterans - im open to ideas; ik it's pretty grim but it makes my monkey brain happy

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olderthannetfic · 10 months

Note

Why is it so hard for people to understand that someone who doesn’t like MCD or dark fic or whatever doesn’t necessarily feel that way about all media they consume? How you feel about the specific genre of “unofficial, amateur (meant in the literal sense, not in terms of quality) fiction written about characters in another medium that you’re already familiar with and attached to, and that is usually romance and/or erotica” is not necessarily how you’re going to feel about a Hollywood movie or an original novel or a video game or something else. People go to different media for different things and for me, fanfic is my happy place where I want my characters to have the happy endings and good sex they didn’t get in their canons. For someone else it might be different, but it doesn’t mean that when I crack open a book or go to the cinema that I have the same expectations, just like I’m likely going to be craving something different if I go to an ice cream parlor vs go to a steakhouse. The idea that if you dislike MCD *in fanfiction* you must be a super weenie baby about all your media consumption is like assuming that someone who likes rom-coms — and expects happy endings with those rom-coms and would be disappointed if they ended sadly instead — can’t also enjoy horror movies. Frankly a big reason I don’t tend to like fanfic that is big on the archive warnings is that I prefer when, say, rape is dealt with with a lot of gravitas and where if it happens it’s the main “point” of the story, and while I know some fanfic does that, my experience has been that most of it is either designed to be titillating instead, or the drama and trauma is just a vehicle for some later hurt/comfort. If I’m going to read or watch something about rape, I want it ti be about more than just making a character a woobie. And again, that’s fine if that is your thing! Fanfiction does not have to be the movie Promising Young Woman. I get why a lot of people are into RNC fic, but it’s not for me and for that reason I’m just much more likely to find what I am looking for there with like, an original fiction novel. “Whump” and “darkfic” are their own genres with their own tropes, and it doesn’t mean that you “can’t handle” rape, violence, death etc. in your fiction because you’re not interested in how those specific genres tend to do it. And even with the fics that deal with those topics more like how I prefer, I still just don’t particularly want to see it happen to my blorbos.

As someone who *does* seek out a lot of darkness in fiction and can even find it cathartic, just *not in fanfiction*, I find the idea that the second thing means I “can’t handle it” at all super insulting. Some of you really need to get out more TBH

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morvantmortuary · 9 months

Text

morvant mortuary x the boy au -

welcome to town (pt. II)

(pt. I)

summary: your realtor tells you everything about the old Morvant place. you make a decision, and a couple of new friends.

warnings: an attempted (but thwarted) assault on the reader by some rando. alcohol consumption. wall man!Maxi being a total creep and watching you sleep, among other things.

general: second verse, weirder than the first!

Within a couple hours, not only did Bev make good on her promise and have lights and power back, but you’d gone through the whole house flipping switches and pulling cords wherever you found them.

Just in case, you figured, just while it’s getting dark your first night here.

You already had water running to clear the faucets and pipes, and your suitcases haphazardly tossed in a pile in the master bedroom - a climb that definitely left you a little bit winded, after. You’d celebrated by changing to clothes ratty enough to clamber around a dusty house in, what little makeup you’d worn finally off. Like you were just having an average evening at home.

If this could be considered a home.

You were standing in the parlor, watching the sunset through the window you’d seen the shape in. But the longer you stood here, surrounded by the light fixtures cheerfully aglow, the more certain you were that you had imagined it.

Come on, now. Shadowy half-lit House with a bad reputation, after an entire family saga of death and destruction had just been generously heaped on your listening ears? Of course you’d imagined it. It would’ve been more worrying, you reasoned, if you hadn’t seen something looming behind the realtor. Seeing something just meant you were responding to social stimuli as you were meant to. Humans were supposed to be spooked by stuff like that, as your massive Horror movie collection indicated. It was only natural.

…Fine, so you were certain that you weren’t about to watch The Babadook or Lake Mungo in this place anytime soon, but that was you just trying to be mature, and not set yourself up for getting scared by perfectly normal House noises.

“It’s literally fine,” you said out loud to no one, your hands resolutely on your hips. “It’s my place. I can handle being here by myself, I live here now.”

That said, you looked down at your delivery app, checking the ETA like you had five minutes ago.

When it seemed a brief moment of human contact was no closer to you now than it had been then, you sighed - perhaps a little more tensely than you would admit - and looked around, trying to decide what else to busy yourself with in the meantime. If you were doing something, you were moving, and if you were moving, you didn’t have time to focus on what may or may not be looming in the corners of your eyes.

It was just you, as always, handling shit and getting it done by yourself.

…Or were you? By yourself, that is?

“Oh, right!” You snapped your fingers, remembering a promise you’d made what felt like ages ago, but you knew was probably only a few hours max. “My little buddy.”

You made a beeline for the viewing room, entirely missing the tall figure that silently moved out of sight at the top of the staircase, and thought about how you were only going to get this weird little doll man because you were a person of your word. Definitely not because even the idea of being accompanied by something that couldn’t talk to you was mildly more soothing than being here by yourself. Because you weren’t afraid of being here by yourself! Of course not! You were totally fine!

You opened the door, flicking on the lights instinctually, and basked in the sight of the slightly cobwebby chandelier illuminating the whole room.

…Okay, so maybe the paint was peeling just a little more than you’d realized. But still! Your own viewing room! In your own funeral home! How cool was that!

“So,” you continued talking to yourself out loud as you walked, taking your time to inspect things in the light. “Definitely going to need some paint, probably going to want to find a guy to polish and wax this floor professionally.” You picked up your foot, checking for dust on the bottom of your sock. There was a lot. “Actually, put that in the ‘Definitely’ column,” you said, putting it back down again. “And maybe also reupholster these chairs? I don’t know,” you frowned as you passed the rows for would-be mourners. “Is this old in a vintage, classic way, or is this old in a ‘Church rummage sale but it’s scary’ way? Or should I just get new chairs?” You pursed your lips. “Maybe when I see how much internal restoration the…” You trailed off as you turned to look where you were going. “Piano… needs.”

The little doll man was laying face up on the floor.

You frowned, looking from him to where you’d sworn he’d been sitting on the piano, and back down again. “…Huh.” You were still talking out loud. “…Not where I left you.”

The little man smiled up at you from where he lay, as if you’d happened across him simply reclining there.

…Five feet away from the actual piano.

You pursed your lips in thought. Okay. Simple enough. You probably knocked him over when you picked him up.

No, wait, you didn’t remember touching him. If anything, you pointedly remembered not touching him.

Alright, so you knocked into the piano without realizing it.

But you didn’t remember knocking into the piano. And definitely not hard enough to send him five feet away. That would’ve left a significant bruise on your end.

…Surreptitiously, you prodded the hip that had been closest to the piano, making sure there wasn’t some massive bruise under your clothes you’d just forgotten about in the rush of… everything.

There was nothing.

“Huh,” you repeated uselessly, your tongue poking nervously at the inside of one of your cheeks. “…Okay.”

You looked directly across from the piano, as if the small guy could have been… ‘traveling’, per se, in any sort of direction.

The only thing waiting there was a large framed painting - something you’d missed, in your murky inspection before. It was a replica of Ivan Kramskoi’s Inconsolable Grief: a woman in a dark dress stood in a well-appointed room, covering her mouth with a handkerchief as she refused to look at the heaps of well-meaning flower arrangements sitting at her feet. You recognized it from your time in school, when you’d thought a lot about how depictions of grief and mourning tended to look eerily similar across multiple eras. Kramskoi had painted a portrait of his wife, after the respective deaths of their two young children only some years apart — in some lights, an all too-eerie omen of what would befall the family here, you realized. It suited the room: emotional but still delicate, a fine lady experiencing her sorrow but not letting it overwhelm her. Exactly what you’d imagine the previous owners would have wanted to inspire here. This copy was even larger than the original, if you recalled correctly; it was nearly as tall as you were in this frame.

But there was nothing that would explain why the little guy at your feet had moved so far, in the brief span of time you’d been outside.

Like someone dropped him when they were trying to leave, your brain suggested.

The distant sound of a bell made you jump out of your skin, whirling to look behind you—

…And realizing it was simply the front doorbell.

“Fuck me,” you wheezed, clutching your chest for a moment. “Oh-kay, that’ll be quite enough of that. C’mon, fella. Let’s get you some dinner and a bath.” You reached down, snatching up the little man and hastily retreating from the room.

The front doorbell rang again, as if the person was impatient.

“Sorry! Coming!” you called towards the door. You hastily set the little man down on the parlor table where you’d thrown your bag, rifling through until you found your wallet.

When you opened the door, the pizza delivery guy looked surprised. “Whoa,” he said accordingly. “Someone did actually move in here. I thought they were just fucking with me.”

“…Yeah, hi,” you said, blinking at him talking like you weren’t standing right there. “I’m, uh, the new funeral director here. Or I will be,” you added quickly.

“Wild,” the guy said. He was tall and gangly, somewhere in your age range - whether older or younger than you, the somewhat oily state of his skin made it a little hard to tell. You wondered if he’d washed his face at all today, but the faint scent of stale weed and human sweat that drifted in on a breeze made you realize quickly that he probably hadn’t washed anything, actually.

You glanced curiously at his eyes, hidden somewhat under what appeared to be the stringy top of an outgrown mullet, and they were indeed fairly red.

Yeah, fair enough.

“Yeah,” you said, muffling a chuckle. “Tell me about it. Here, let me get this so you can head back.” You looked down to unzip your wallet. “Sorry, you surprised me, or I’d have it—”

“So is it just you?”

“…Out already,” you finished. You swallowed against your mouth threatening to go dry. He was high, he probably didn’t mean that like it sounded.

You looked up, blithe smile already in place to play this off as a misunderstanding. “Sorry?”

His eyes were already fixed on your face, though, rather intently. “Is it just you,” he asked, his words a little too slow. “All alone, in this big old house?” His voice sounded curious, like he wanted to look around — but his eyes slid lower on your body instead. Much lower than you were comfortable.

You cleared your throat to buy yourself a second. To lie, or not to lie. “Well,” you said, your voice frank now. “Until the dead bodies get here. Then it’ll get pretty crowded.” People normally got squeamish about your job — especially men, for some reason. The mere mention was usually enough to put someone off. “Then it’ll be me putting their faces back together and draining all the fluids out of their cavities, so. You know.” You nodded to the pizza box in his hand. “Can I—”

“Huh.” A leering smile spread over the pizza guy’s face. It wasn’t an outright grin, but the way it was so slow, like old blood trickling to the tray drain… it made your stomach flip, and not in a good way. “Wild.”

You were suddenly deeply, emphatically aware of your situation: you new were in a small town, alone, in a House where neighbors only heard you if you were screaming at the top of your lungs, and even then, they weren’t inclined to do anything about it.

Clearing your throat again, you held out some bills to him emphatically. “Yeah. Wild. You have a nice night.”

“You’re short.” Pizza guy barely glanced at the cash in your hand.

“No,” you blurted without thinking, so eager were you to get him gone.

“Yeah.” Pizza guy sniffed, his grin growing. He jerked his head to your hand. “‘Bout… another five or so.”

You glanced down. You’d only grabbed a five and a few ones when you’d meant to grab more.

He gave a laissez faire shrug. “It’s okay,” he said, and you hated whatever his tone was dripping with. “If you don’t have it, I’m sure we can—”

“NopeIhaveit.” The words all came out all in one breath like buckshot. You looked down at your wallet as much as you dared, your teeth subtly grinding together. “One sec.”

“What’s your rush?” Pizza guy said, and oh, fuck, that ripe smell was closer now. The hot edge of his breath was just reaching your shoulder. “I’m not in any hurry to...”

You were about to tear your wallet in half looking for that last five, or anything close. You were never keeping fucking receipts in here again, you were about to throw them all on the floor in your haste to just get him away—

“Go… nowhere.” His voice changed, getting even more spaced out and followed by a wheezing squeaky sound.

You looked up immediately, wondering if he was about to spit on you or something—

And he shoved the pizza box roughly into your arms. “Keep it.”

You looked up from not dropping the box just in time to see him staring, eyes wide and buggy and red, at something over your shoulder before he turned and hurried away from the door.

“Youhaveanicenightnow,” he said over his shoulder, his words tripping over one another as he himself nearly tripped over an overgrown bush.

“I-“ You frowned, looking between his retreating back and the box. “Don’t you want—?”

“Nope!” he about yelped, waving a hand like he was trying to get rid of a cobweb. He barely got his car door closed before he was pulling away, tires nearly squealing as he stepped on the gas.

You lingered in the doorway until he was totally gone, staring in utter confusion. If you’d turned around, you would have noticed the ragged-looking shape that silently retreated up the stairs again, from where it had been standing just within the pizza guy’s line of sight. A warning.

You belonged to this House now, whether you realized it yet or not.

But instead, all you saw when you turned was your little cloth pal waiting for you on the table.

“Well.” You kicked the door closed behind you, looking from the box back to him. “…Welcome to town, I guess.”

Your tiny silent friend just smiled back.

—

You sat at the kitchen table while your friend sat in a bucket of suds on its surface, the pizza box open and half-empty between you. You hadn’t pulled out the nice china still in the cabinets — you’d need to sort through that, see if it was better to sell it as-is or save it. You were more accustomed to eating out of boxes and bags anyhow, trying to keep more dishes from piling up in your sink.

Taking another long sip of screw-top wine you’d packed for when you got home, you sighed appreciatively. “I don’t normally do this,” you confided, glancing at the little man soaking in soap and warm water — your first clean batch since you’d been here. “I swear. Normally it’s one glass on a work night, two at most. And I really shouldn’t be doing this tonight, especially,” you added, looking back at the mostly-empty bottle. “I have — ugh, so much to do tomorrow.” You set the bottle aside, putting your face in your hands for a second. “I know the cleaners have been through, but we still have to go in and sanitize all the important stuff, you know? And I need to get internet set up, and tell my landlord I’m not renewing, and figure out how to sell all my old shit, and on and on…” Your hands fell to the table with a thud, causing the little man to jostle slightly in his bucket. His face was, as always, cheerful.

You smiled in return, tired but triumphant. “But at least it’s mine, right?” In a moment of exuberance, you threw your hands in the air. “I have a house! And a business! I did it!” You giggled loudly, then turned towards the door of the embalming room stairs behind you. “I DID IT! THANK YOU, DEAD PEOPLE!” you called cheerfully.

If you’d been more sober, you would’ve sworn the atmosphere in the room was suddenly tense. Like crackling in the air right before lightning strikes.

“…I’m sorry you’re dead!” you added a moment later, your hands still in the air, but feeling a little bit bad for bragging now. “Rest peacefully, and stuff!”

Nothing moved.

“Well,” you sighed, looking back to your friend. “Can’t please ‘em all.” You stretched, groaning, and sighed. “I guess we should turn in, huh?”

The little guy just smiled at you, still damp.

“…Yeah, okay,” you sighed, getting to your feet. You closed the pizza box, moving to put it in the fridge — and paused, waving a hand. “I’ll do it after I clean the fridge tomorrow. Just in case. It should still be fine, right?”

You didn’t wait for your friend to answer, fishing him out of his makeshift bath and dumping the water in the vast sink. After a few minutes’ rinse, you wrapped him in a dishtowel, patting him gently dry as you walked back into the foyer.

Standing at the foot of the stairs, even as wine-lulled as you were, the third floor bedroom still felt awfully far away.

You’d have to cross a lot of dark to get there, even with all these lights on.

“So,” you said at last. “How about we just, um. Crash on the couch tonight. Yeah?” You looked down at your little friend before turning, heading back for the relative safety of the living room just off the kitchen. After a few minutes’ debate, you allowed yourself to turn the floor lamp off - but the lights from the other rooms were still softly poking in around corners.

So you were technically sleeping with the lights off, your first night here. Like a Real Adult.

You yanked what excuse for a bra you wearing out from under your shirt, and wrapped yourself in a thin blanket you’d brought from home. Sure, your pajamas and a real quilt were just upstairs. But this was fine for now, right?

Indeed, it proved to be. After carefully setting your tiny escort on the table to finish drying and patting his head goodnight, you barely got through the first ten minutes of your sleep playlist - mostly instrumental piano pieces, staid and soothing - before you were already out.

Dead, for all intents and purposes, to the world.

The man managed to wait another twenty minutes before curiosity finally got the better of him.

With practiced silence, he padded from an unseen entry way in a corner full of shadows, then stood and gazed at your prone form from the doorway.

He stayed there another fifteen minutes, watching the slow hypnotic rise and fall of your breathing.

“…Pretty,” he whispered in soft awe, his breath stirring the lank hair covering half his face.

When you twitched in your sleep, jolting slightly, he flinched — bracing as if expecting you to sit up and scream.

But you didn’t.

When you kept right on sleeping, even nuzzling further into the couch cushions, he sunk to an impossibly low crawl, creeping unsettlingly further into the room.

You were oblivious to the red eyes that appeared like ruined moons over the couch’s arm, mere inches from your face. They didn’t seem to blink once for a good few minutes, as they watched the lights from the kitchen play softly in your hair.

Slowly - impossibly slowly, by fractions of inches - he leaned forward, then gave it the smallest, softest sniff.

He spasmed slightly, as if he was resisting the urge to shove his nose in your hair and wildly inhale, and looked quickly around…

To find your compression bra from earlier heaped on the floor.

He snatched it immediately, shoving his whole face into that instead, and rocking forward as if to smother himself with it. Without a sound, he then stuffed it down the front of what looked like a very tattered waistcoat.

Freezing, as if caught, he slowly turned to fix his crimson gaze on the side table.

Your little cloth friend - looking like a smaller, cheerier, less grungy version of the bedraggled man huffing your intimates - gazed at his larger counterpart, his smile now seeming like he was trying to overlook the half-living man’s deep social abnormality.

The red-eyed revenant leaned closer, inspecting the doll with a critical gaze before making a soft, vaguely impressed exhale: “Clean.” He extended a finger, reaching as if to touch his old friend — before he froze mid-air, as if examining the digit in the faint light for the first time in a while.

He made a small exhaled noise of self-reproach behind his hair, looking at the doll still as he wiped his hand - unsuccessfully - on the remnants of a dress shirt sleeve. He continued to stare at the doll for a period of time that spoke of longing, before looking back to your sweet, sleeping face… and sighed softly to himself, shoulders sagging. He gave the doll the tiniest wave before scuttling on, low to the ground, to the kitchen.

You were completely oblivious as the man returned and perched gently on the far end of the couch, watching you the entire time he silently nibbled on the smallest of the leftover pizza slices. When he was done, he continued to linger and simply stare, nearly hunched double on himself to avoid accidentally brushing you.

Once he was certain you were dreaming, perhaps of somewhere nicer than this awful House, he curled into a surprisingly small ball for his long frame with the ease of someone who’s done it far too many times.

He slept soundly at your feet, like a pet dog, until the first fingers of dawn poked through the curtains.

As he crept back into the inscrutable wall panel he’d emerged from, closing the wall of the family room back up, he couldn’t help but sneak a last look at you - so beautiful and oblivious in your slumber to his cursed presence.

He considered it, all in all, an excellent first date.

(kind of short compared to part one, but I really didn’t know where else to cut it that made sense. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ anyway! thanks for sticking with it!

here’s to more spooky fun to come soon💀✨)

#maxi morvant #maximilian vincent morvant #the boy au #morvant mortuary #southern slasher ocs #slasher oc #necromancer oc #slasher oc x reader #genderqueer reader #non-binary reader #bisexual reader #queer reader #mortician!reader #daniel brühl fc #monsterkisser fics

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sketching-shark · 1 year

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Do you think its funny that the fandom treats the Monk kinda the same way he treated Wukong, he kinda deserve it but can we at least something different about him (like I don't see anyone make bug jokes or about all the poetry)

AUGH well anon as I've said before I'm well aware that the internet is were nuance goes to die & while yes I know fandom is a place were people often just want to have fun & not think to hard, I do find it funny but also increasingly frustrating how even though fandom often purports itself as a place of massive diversity more and more it seems to be structured around creating an Official Version of characters' personalities & relationships rather than trying out many different things, or even considering the implications of the source material.

Now of course it has to be acknowledged that a lot of this is often due to what's in the canon work itself (like Wu Cheng'en himself seems to have deliberately written Tang Sanzang in large part as a caricature of fussy Confucian scholars), but in addition I feel like the popular understanding of a character as one extreme or another goes double for stories where the only easy access that an audience may have to it is from translated works or from cartoony retellings. Speaking for myself for example it's been pretty wild having gotten into Journey to the West before Monkie Kid came out & now it often seems like the lego show version of the story (well that and the sarcastic youtube retelling) is the only version of Xiyouji that people in the western internet audience primarily know/care about. But I'm coming from a position where I had the time & access to both read through the entirety of the Anthony C. Yu English translation (which as per usual I need to remind people you can access for free in PDF format on multiple posts on this hellsite) as well as was able to access some of the scant few scholarly works in English about the story. And that's just not something that a lot of people know about or have access to.

As such, it's pretty understandable why many people wouldn't know about all the poetry because well that's never even been brought up in the versions of Journey to the West that they've encountered, or wouldn't make bug jokes because there's little mention of Tang Sanzang having been Golden Cicada in any retelling that they've seen, or if it is it's just presented like fun trivia rather than one of the primary reasons why Tang Sanzang was even chosen to be on the journey in the first place (or what the religious significance of the cicada was in China). Add everything that can easily get lost in translation to the further simplification that cartoony retellings demand, and you can see why many people's understanding of the Tang monk would just be "whiny idiot who's constantly getting himself kidnapped, falling off his dragon horse, & torturing the monkey," especially since between Sun Wukong and Tang Sanzang the monk is by far the more static character (although a lot of Chinese retellings add scenes of him actually recognizing he was wrong & apologizing to the monkey in a reversal of the simplification trend afeawsdf).

Plus, well, I mean it's not like a cartoon is going to include all those scenes of Tang Sanzang tied up & sobbing his eyes out because he's literally in a gore-bespattered cave surrounded by yaoguai who plan to eat him, and they're especially not going to include the times when he's sexually assaulted. In a different approach than usual these things and the resulting trauma could be presented as explanations (but not excuses) for Tang Sanzang's ongoing hostility towards Sun Wukong (who lest we forget is the first yaoguai to try to kill him), but doing that well takes a level of nuance and care that's vanishingly rare in both big budget & fanon retellings of Xiyouji. Hell, in retrospect it's not even handled that well in Xiyouji itself, as if memory serves correctly the kidnappings & near death/consumption are mainly just framed as things that the monk needs to endure to get to the next stage in the journey, and Sun Wukong even makes fun of Tang Sanzang after he was molested by a female yaoguai for an entire night.

So YEAH I often do wish that Tang Sanzang was treated with more nuance (like I would LOVE to see a retelling of Xiyouji where he's more of an intelligent rule-breaker like the historical Xuanzang), but between how he was written in canon & the tendencies towards tropes & simplification in both big-budget retellings and fanon tendencies you can see how he would end up Journey to the West's Most Hate-able Character.

#anon answered #xiyouji #journey to the west #jttw #tang sanzang #daily reminder that the journey would have been pretty traumatizing for everyone involved #like geez the pilgrims all had a lot of things happen to them even before they got together #and in many ways them bouncing off each other under their circumstances kind of made it worse before it got better

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painsandconfusion · 1 year

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Ship in a Bottle

Whumping the Whumpers - Part Twenty-Five

(tw: child abuse, bad caretaking, broken nose, broken glass, character death, alcohol consumption, mourning, loss of parental figure, homicidal compulsions, hallucinations, blood, corpse mention, knife, a very unhealthy outlook on handling emotional pain)

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“There- n-n-n-no no no- not quite like th…..YES - right there. That’s perfect - hold it exactly like that and I’ll do the glue…”

Ethan bit down on his tongue, eyes beady and focused on the little rope and the narrow piece of wood between his fingertips that held it in place. Every breath, heartbeat, and thought shifted it from position - but he was determined to prove to David that he could do this. That letting him help wasn’t a mistake.

David grins. Warm. His fingers pinch the piece just above Ethan’s to give the glue a little testing tug as it sets. “Perfect - I think that’ll do it.” He twists it away again, and picks up the minuscule bottle, looking over the fine details and the line of thread they’d just run from the foremast.

Ethan smiled too - smiling came easy with David. His was infectious - Caroline always said so. When David was gone, the little foster family was mundane if anything. They kept to themselves and kept quiet. Just the constant thrum of reality tv buzzing through the house and down to Ethan’s room in the basement.

But then David would come. And the tv would turn off. The house would light up - Caroline would smile, giggling even, when he kissed her.

David’s workshop made up the second room of the basement - right next to Ethan’s. Ethan usually just lingered in the doorframe, watching him work - but this time, David let him help. He couldn’t afford to mess it up.

The car door clicked shut behind him, muffled further by the snow that crunched under his feet.

It was a small cemetery. Rural.

Evidently David’s family had some kind of plot.

It had taken Ethan weeks of searching for David when he finally escaped. After all those years of running and bleeding and screaming, all he wanted was to sit in silence next to the man and watch him build a boat. Even just one more time.

It took weeks because that’s how long it took Ethan to cave. To check the obituaries.

And there he was.

David ruffled Ethan’s hair. And for once, Ethan didn’t mind. The touch didn’t seem to be malicious or self-serving. Just absentminded affection and affirmation.

He handed the little bottle to Ethan to look over. The glass was warm at his fingertips, retaining light and that extant goodness that poured from David’s skin. Like a little of his life seeped into the boats he made.

Maybe that’s why they looked so real.

A three-beat stomp from upstairs made the little thing flinch at his fingers; it was quickly followed by a voice- “DAVID IT’S ALMOST TWO IN THE MORNING GET THE KID TO BED”

David blinked rapidly, and turned incredulous eyes to his watch. “Ah shit-” He knocked back the rest of his tumbler of whiskey and stood up, “YEAH- ONE SEC-” He sucked air in through his teeth, shrugging a ‘whoopsie?’

Ethan bit down on a laugh, setting the bottle carefully back on the tabletop as David snapped off the light. “Thanks for letting m-”

“No thank-yous, just get your ass to bed before she beats mine.” He nudged Ethan playfully toward the door.

Ethan squeaked, but moved easily, heading toward his room. “...tomorrow can we-”

“-oh yeah, I’ll be here when you get back from school. I won’t start without you.”

Ethan turned a grin to him as he reached his door, ducking inside. “Sweet - I’ll see you then.”

Graves lined up in only semi-reasonable rows. Some were off. Some were big. Some small. Some rusted over or draped in lichen. Some pearly and grand.

Ethan knew the name of the cemetery.

He hadn’t gotten the time or the heart to check it - so he had no idea where it was.

The cemetery was small, but not that small. There were hundreds of headstones here.

And he had to check them all.

Air pressed against his tight throat, elbowing its way inside.

It pressed out again as Ethan’s phone buzzed.

He flicked a glare up to the dry, grey sky. Anything to put this off a little longer…

He slipped it out, scanning the message - then shooting back a reply, ignoring his quickly-numbing fingertips.

Bestie 😘: when r u coming home?

Me: I literally just left.

Bestie 😘: that doesnt answer the question

Me: Idk like an hour or two?

Bestie 😘: cool, I got time then

Me: Time for what.

Bestie 😘: making soup

Me: What kind?

Bestie 😘: butternut squash

Me: Haven’t had it.

Bestie 😘: well ur gonna and ur gonna like it

Me: Optimist.

Bestie 😘: realist

Me: Again. Optimist.

Bestie 😘: whats wrong with a little optimism?

Ethan didn’t answer.

He just tucked the phone and his fingers back into the warmth of his pockets, finally starting his search in earnest.

Ethan bounded down the stairs with the ghost of a smile lingering on his lips long after he’d bitten it back. Time to finish the model. Add the last touches of stain and shading.

It was going to be done.

Ethan was going to finish making something.

Something in his own hands that he could be proud of.

He dumped his backpack on the ground and rounded the corner into the little workshop. “I’m here! David, I-”

He saw the wreckage before he heard Caroline’s choked sob.

Splinters of boats littered the ground, haphazardly strung together with bits of rope and string. Frays of stretching glue that refused to let go.

Stomped to crumbled lumps of pieces.

The whole collection.

Ethan just…gaped at her as she swiped the little bottle off the table - the smallest piece yet, trying to process what he was seeing.

“N-no don’t! Don’t that one’s n-” his voice choked out into nothing as the glass shattered against concrete.

He lurched forward, a sob catching in his throat.

He was barely in range as her elbow threw up to block his advance.

Whitehot embers exploded behind his eyes as his nose crunched back. It dazed him - sent stars sparking across the air.

Still, he scrambled forward, ignoring the warm wet spreading sensation as he scrabbled for the tiny ship stranded amongst the wreckage of its brethren.

There it was.

He’d missed it the first pass. The stone was small. Almost flush with the ground. The name, engraved in metal and bolted to the small rectangular stone.

The world seemed to stop completely. Any remnant of a breeze ceased. Birds stopped chirping. Squirrels ceased their chases.

He just stared at the stone, feeling the burn of the nonexistent wind ripping the moisture from his eyes.

“Wh-why- what are you doing!? David’s gonna-”

“Do NOT say his name - cheating fucking bastard-!” An invisible string jerked him to a stop as her food crunched down on the tiny thing.

Ethan stared as her foot pulled away to punt some other bit of scrap - already torn asunder, though evidently not enough for her.

Bits of glass and wood pressed into his jeans, pricking at his knees as blurred, bony fingers scooped up the precious tiny thing from the floor.

The foremast was snapped completely off. He plucked it up, vibrating with the force of a sob he kept swallowing as he tried to pinch it back into place - but the ship was crumpled. Sideways and wrong.

Then was snatched out of his hand.

Ethan stared up at Caroline, tears spilling down his blank face. “Wh-where is he-?”

“It doesn’t fucking matter.”

“Pl-ease lemme see him-”

Ethan didn’t recoil as the slap snapped his head to the side. He just let his face turn, eyes dead on the ground as the pain wrapped around his head.

“Are you kidding me!? You’re never seeing him again. I don’t want to hear another word about that disgusting drunk.”

She stepped past him, pausing at the door to look back on his kneeling form.

“..don’t you dare cry over that piece of shit. You’re sixteen goddamn years old. Act like it.”

Then she was gone.

The creaking footsteps pulling a flinch from him every stair.

He stared down at the tiny foremast between his fingers. Barely a sliver of wood now.

He didn’t move for hours. His mind wouldn’t let him. He just stared at the little splinter, rolling it between his fingers as the blood ran from his nose. Gradually stopped. Dried.

Then the puddle of it started to film. Fray at the edges. Crack.

Finally, numb, he tucked it into his pocket, stood, and grabbed a broom to clean up this mess.

Cool earth seeped into his jeans, chilling the skin at Ethan’s knees. It sent pinpricks of acid shooting up his leg - he ignored them. The pain was fake. Just cold.

He swirled the little foremast between his fingers. Rain and decay has softened it a bit. Cracked it. Made it more akin to cork than mahogany.

Still. It was David’s. Its condition didn’t change that.

Ethan didn’t want to have some dramatic fucking graveside speech. He didn’t want to pull the ‘I don’t know if you can hear me, but if you can…’ bullshit.

David wasn’t there. He couldn’t hear a thing. His ears were probably close to rotted off six feet under where Ethan stood. He hoped to hell that ghosts weren’t real. Ethan didn’t believe in heaven, so no good there. And if reincarnation was a thing, then David wouldn’t be here anyway.

So he didn’t say anything. There wasn’t a point.

He just set the little sliver of wood in front of the stone, tucking it a little under so it couldn’t blow away.

They’d keep each other company, these two dead, broken things.

They belonged together.

Ethan pressed the door open with half as much force as a breath, letting it slowly push away from him in a wide arc.

Silent.

He stepped inside the room.

In the moonlight, everything glowed white. Caroline always liked white.

White shag rug on dark floorboards. White sheets. White blankets.

White pillowcase stained with her smearing mascara and darkened by a puddle of tears.

White walls.

White sheer curtains that let in white moonlight.

But all Ethan could see was red.

Deep, thick, oily red splashed across the perfect, pristine room.

Red seeping through the blankets. Melding through her nightgown.

He could see it spreading dark and smeared across the floor, soaking into the rug as she dragged herself across the floor. Gurgling. Desperately reaching for the door.

Red splattering the walls.

Red pooling through her whiteblond hair.

Red on his hands.

On the knife.

It twitched between his fingers. Beckoned to him. Begged him.

But Ethan didn’t obey its call.

He just walked back out of the room, closed the door softly, felt its weight between his fingers as he pressed it - still clean - back into its place in the knife block.

He didn’t sleep that night, riddled with woken dreams of what he might have done.

Ethan didn’t linger. Only a moment of silence marked his grieving before he pushed up off his knees.

Stood.

He turned back toward the car, leaving the graveyard without a word. Without a backward glance.

David was dead. There was no point dwelling on it.

Still. The tears were stubborn, skittering hot down his cheeks anyway.

He brushed them away as fast as they came.

Time to move on.

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(tags: @prisonerwhump, @whumpawink, @mabledonut, @heathenwhump, @paleassprince, @happy-little-sadist, @wormwriting, @distinctlywhumpthing, @whump-cafe @jo-doe-seeking-inspo @azayta @wibbly-wobbly-whump @batfacedliar-yetagain @there-will-always-be-blood @siren-of-agony @whumpworld @bandages-andobsessions @deltaxxk @whumpasaurus101 @michaeltalks @pickywhumpreader @whumpberry-cookie @morning-star-whump @shelfsdesires @throwawaywhumper @the-mourning-stars @d-cs @suspicious-whumping-egg)

As always, lmk if you want to be added to the tag list!

#child abuse #minor whump #bad caretaking #broken nose #broken glass #character death #alcohol consumption #mourning #loss of parental figure #homicidal compulsions #hallucinations #blood #corpse #knife #someone please get ethan to a therapist #whumping the whumpers #david #ethan #Spotify

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onecornerface · 10 months

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Safe Supply addresses problems that all other forms of Harm Reduction can't handle

In the US, a lot of mainstream or near-mainstream drug discourse accepts that (in some sense) the drug war has failed, and makes positive statements about some forms of harm reduction—such as fentanyl test-strips, naloxone, needle exchange, and supervised consumption sites. However, this discourse usually fails to mention safe supply at all. This omission is unjustifiable.

For one thing, the other forms of harm reduction are all highly limited in their ability to address what is arguably the biggest problem—the fact that so many people are dying. By contrast, safe supply is a direct response to the mass death crisis.

Fentanyl test-strips are a wildly inefficient stopgap that tend to place unreasonable burdens on individual drug users. First, if a drug user finds that one part of her drugs (say, a pill or powder) doesn’t contain fentanyl, the substance could still be unevenly mixed, so other parts of her drugs may still contain fentanyl. So she often has to painstakingly test every piece of her drugs, or else take risks with untested parts of her drugs. I think there are some ways to account for the “uneven mixture” problem, but these are inconvenient and time-consuming, and many drug users are in a hurry for a variety of reasons.

Second, although it wasn’t always this way, many drug users are now seeking fentanyl, and would prefer to use fentanyl than a drug which contains no fentanyl. (This is at least a common first-order preference now. I don’t know for how many people such a first-order preference conflicts with a second-order preference to not have such a preference.) So, for some people, a drug’s not containing fentanyl would be a reason *not* to use it. In fact, this is a major failing of some extant safe supply pilot programs—that they do not provide fentanyl options, and thus fail to undercut the appeal of street drugs for some of their patients. (Conservatives allege that these failings prove that safe supply can’t work. Actually, it is more likely evidence that safe supply needs to go a lot further. On this, safe supply’s advocates have proposed more plausible mechanisms and arguments than its opponents have.)

Third, in some geographical regions, it is basically a foregone conclusion that all the drugs contain fentanyl, so fentanyl test-strips can become redundant. Similarly, not everyone is in a position to simply throw away their drugs if they contain fentanyl—it’s the fentanyl or nothing, and “not using” is just not in the cards at present for some reason or another.

Fourth, many other potentially undesired drugs won’t show up in a fentanyl test, such as xylazine. Now there is a growing availability of xylazine test-strips, which is good, but there are yet more drugs these don’t catch. Where does it end?

Placing the burden on individual drug users to painstakingly test all their drugs with fentanyl (or xylazine) test-strips is wildly inefficient and unreliable. Likewise, using professional drug-checking services has severe limits in its accessibility at present. And notice this is only a problem because the drug supply is unregulated and unlabeled. If people could look at their drug’s package and see what it contains—whether it contains fentanyl or not, whether it contains one drug or multiple, and in what exact doses—there would be no need to use test-strips or drug-checking of any kind. Safe supply is the only harm reduction measure that addresses this issue head-on.

A few notes on other forms of harm reduction--

Naloxone (aka Narcan) is crucial for preventing opioid overdoses from being fatal. But even nonfatal overdoses are devastating experiences. People who repeatedly have nonfatal overdoses are likely to accumulate health problems such as brain damage. Safe supply reduces how many overdoses happen in the first place, including nonfatal overdoses, by making it easy to know exactly what someone is using and how much.

Needle exchange has among the longest and best-established track record of any form of drug harm reduction. They reduce the spread of HIV and other infections that can be spread by sharing needles, as well as harms of reusing needles. But they do nothing to directly address overdose. If we’re already on board with providing clean needles, it is not clear why providing clean drugs should be off the table.

Supervised consumption sites are very important, for various direct and indirect reasons, but they do not appear capable of scaling up to serve more than a small fraction of drug users. Mobile SCS and other variants address this partially, but still seem highly limited. It seems inevitable that most drug users will continue to use drugs outside of SCS—whether by not attending the SCS, or by additionally using drugs elsewhere. Moreover, if you’re going to provide a clean place to use drugs, why not go ahead and provide clean drugs?

In the US, a lot of harm reduction discourse is stuck on fentanyl test-strips, naloxone, needle exchange, and supervised consumption sites. This is better than nothing—but it is miles behind where we should be. We should be putting safe supply on the table immediately. In almost any context where other forms of harm reduction are discussed, safe supply should probably also be discussed.

#drugs #safe supply #harm reduction #war on drugs #drug policy

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emmabirb8 · 9 months

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Okaaaaaayyy, so I went ahead and checked out Helluva Boss. Couldn't resist the siren call of Richard Horvitz forever I guess. (I still can't believe they got him for this series - he's a bit of a LEGEND in my book. In fact, I'm kinda baffled by a lot of people they managed to secure for the voice cast, but that's a whole other can of worms, lol.)

It's... not terrible. Not super great, but not terrible. I dig the concept, I think the series as a whole truly shines in its dramatic moments (it handles trauma surprisingly well, which shocked me), and it does succeed at being deep, emotional, and wholesome at times, but... tbh, there's MUCH more to criticize than there is to genuinely enjoy. Like, there're good bits and pieces; the ideas and valuable components are there, it's just that they're not utilized or executed in a satisfying way for the most part. Plus, a large portion of the comedy (esp the crude, sex-based stuff) just makes me roll my eyes and/or cringe so bad. Ugh. Why does "adult animation" always fall into the trap of thinking it needs to check that box?

And just to be clear: I am WELL aware of the controversy surrounding the creator. It's unfortunate that so far, I haven't seen very many people talking about that whole situation bc I personally think it needs to be more widely known, especially among the fanbase. That was mostly the reason I had been trying to avoid the show as much as I could up till now, knowing that I might find things to like about it; I didn't want to inadvertently show support for something that is clearly a product of a toxic and abusive environment if it meant putting the creator on a pedestal and sidelining the victims in any way. Helluva Boss is obviously (just like any other show) the result of a collaborative effort of a whole team of people, and anyone who enjoys the show even a moderate amount should think critically and give recognition to that hardworking team instead of only attributing everything to and directing all the praise at the creator (as some people have a tendency to do).

Anyway, rambling aside, I'm prob gonna reblog a few things here 'n there. I love Richard to death and, like I said, there are a few crumbs that I actually do like. I'm just... also gonna try to be conscientious and critical in my consumption of it too.

Blacklist "helluva boss" if you wanna avoid seeing any posts related to the show. I always tag pretty diligently.

#helluva boss #my posts #pls don't spread hate obviously but pls DO check out the link I dropped up there #like I said it's a situation that needs to be acknowledged

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dee-diary · 4 months

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Occupational therapy’s role in enhancing Maternal and child health.

“Maternal health remains a staggering challenge, particularly in the developing world. Globally, a woman dies from complications in childbirth every minute” - Jessica Capshaw. This quote shows that many women, especially in poorer countries, face serious risks during childbirth. It's a reminder that maternal health is a big problem worldwide, and we need to do more to keep mothers safe. Graham (2005) states that failure to provide efficient maternal health services is due to the functioning of the whole health system. In this blog, we will dive deep into the global health concern that is maternity and child health. Furthermore, we will analyse the role of occupational therapy in addressing this social issue at prenatal, antenatal, and postnatal level.

Maternal health refers to the health of a woman during pregnancy, childbirth, and prenatal period (World Health Organization: WHO, 2019). Underdeveloped countries experience lack of access or adequate health care resources, these health disparities lead to poor health outcomes for both the mother and child (Filippi et al., 2006). It is further mentioned that good maternal health is important for the wellbeing of the child as their health is closely linked and the child is dependent for developmental outcomes (Filippi et al., 2006). With proper provision of health care services to these pregnant women it would result in reduction in deaths during and after births.

The journey of becoming of a mother involves active learning through observation and participation (Hamilton-Dodd et al., 1989). The prenatal period is the phase where the formation of the embryo through the development of the fetus (Arey et al., 1998). A survey was conducted in the University of St. Augustine for Health sciences that gathered the lived experiences of the women before pregnancy and after pregnancy. As some said they displayed decreased interest to participate in meaningful occupations. One lady expressed “My sleep at night has definitely been hindered because I am uncomfortable and having to move positions and not being able to sleep on my back.” The OT’s role with pregnant individuals would be to provide support and adaptation to facilitate occupational engagement and performance. With this particular sleep difficulty, correct positioning and ergonomic principles would assist to allow for good sleep participation for this lady.

Another crucial role occupational therapists could play during the prenatal period to would be in supporting the mothers is identifying the delayed milestones through education (McCormick et al., 1982). Furthermore, providing support in adapting her behaviour to meet the needs of her infant. In my first week at Marian ridge community, I observed a very disturbing scene where I noticed a pregnant woman sitting on the side of the road and smoking cigarettes. Research states that the consumption of tobacco during pregnancy can result in increased risk of low birthweight, sudden infant syndrome (SID) and impact the pregnancy term (Castles et al., 1999). As an occupational therapy student, I would assume she is aware of the dangers of smoking during pregnancy. However, if she was a client assigned to me my first question would be “Why does she smoke? And what are the underlying factors that pushes her to engage in such activities that can danger the wellbeing of her child and pregnancy term?”. The Occupational therapy profession teaches us to look and treat our clients holistically and that could involve further investigating her reasons and working on ways she can handle her habits to ensure the child’s health is of priority.

After childbirth, the role of being a mother continues and raising of the child begins. This stage is usually coming with more physical and psychological responsibilities and adopting a lifestyle that suits the newborn. New mothers commonly experience different emotions while trying to adapt to changes to their routines and this may impact on maternal sensitivity and responsiveness to their newborns (Branjerdporn et al., 2020). Therefore, OT support to these mothers would increase occupational engagement, positively improving maternal health and facilitate a strong mother and newborn attachment (Baker et al., 2024). Research reports that following childbirth, 26% to 84% of women experience mild depressive symptoms and 13% experience postpartum depression (Barbic et al., 2021). Occupational therapists are equipped with the necessary knowledge in identifying occupational imbalance such as role transition difficulties mothers would experience after childbirth, provide stress management skills, routine adjustments, and support to achieve role fulfilment (Barbic et al., 2021).

Overall, occupational therapy interventions can contribute to improving maternal health outcomes and promoting the well-being of both mothers and children. By addressing the unique needs of mothers throughout the different stages of pregnancy.

References:

Arey, L. B., Sapunar, D., & Rogers, K. (1998, September 8). Prenatal development | Description, Stages, & Timeline. Encyclopedia Britannica. https://www.britannica.com/science/prenatal-development

Baker, H. B., Cuomo, B., Femia, C., Lin, D. J., Stobbie, C., McLean, B., & Hatfield, M. (2024). Occupational therapy in maternal health: Exploring the Barkin Index of Maternal Functioning as a potential tool. Australian Occupational Therapy Journal. https://doi.org/10.1111/1440-1630.12926

Barbic, S., MacKirdy, K., Weiss, R., Barrie, A., Kitchin, V., & Lepin, S. (2021). Scoping Review of the role of occupational therapy in the treatment of women with postpartum Depression. Annals of International Occupational Therapy, 4(4). https://doi.org/10.3928/24761222-20210921-02

Branjerdporn, G., Meredith, P., Wilson, T., & Strong, J. (2020). Prenatal predictors of maternal-infant attachment. Canadian Journal of Occupational Therapy, 87(4), 265–277. https://doi.org/10.1177/0008417420941781

Castles, A. G., Adams, E. K., Melvin, C. L., Kelsch, C., & Boulton, M. L. (1999). Effects of smoking during pregnancy. American Journal of Preventive Medicine, 16(3), 208–215. https://doi.org/10.1016/s0749-3797(98)00089-0

Filippi, V., Ronsmans, C., Campbell, O. M. R., Graham, W., Mills, A., Borghi, J., Koblinsky, M., & Osrin, D. (2006). Maternal health in poor countries: the broader context and a call for action. The Lancet, 368(9546), 1535–1541. https://doi.org/10.1016/s0140-6736(06)69384-7

Graham WJ. Now or never: the case for measuring maternal mortality. The Lancet 2002; 359:701–4.

Hamilton-Dodd, C., Kawamoto, T., Clark, F., Burke, J., & Fanchiang, S. P. (1989). The effects of a maternal preparation program on Mother–Infant pairs: a pilot study. American Journal of Occupational Therapy, 43(8), 513–521. https://doi.org/10.5014/ajot.43.8.513

McCormick, M. C., Shapiro, S., & Starfield, B. (1982). Factors Associated with Maternal Opinion of Infant Development—Clues to the Vulnerable Child? Pediatrics, 69(5), 537–543. https://doi.org/10.1542/peds.69.5.537

World Health Organization: WHO. (2019, September 23). Maternal health. https://www.who.int/health-topics/maternal-health#tab=tab_2

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