#but he’s so prolific and insane there’s so MUCH

[rhubarbtriangle]

sufjan stevens is knocking down walls and building a massive extension onto his room in my mind palace atm . creating something of a banquet hall with a large gallery attached through which one might stroll

[akindplace]

The thing about romanticizing the tortured artist trope is that it takes very serious health conditions, physical, mental, and emotional ones, and it turns it into a very empty aesthetic made for consumption. It takes a life story, and it turns it into a punch line, an easy way out to explain a lifelong struggle while having no regard for the person who actually lived it.

It’s a way of simplifying something so complex as a whole life story, take away the good parts, the artist’s talent, and atribute years and year of studying and practicing their craft to an illness. As if it makes people feel better that maybe they aren’t geniuses but at least they aren’t “insane”.

Artists are constantly working to the bone to get people to see and understand their art, to change the current status quo, to perfect their craft. The most important thing is not how an artist died. It’s the life they lived, the work they’ve left behind, their mark on the world. Reducing people to a tragedy is not a way of appreciating their genius: their art is.

No one is a genius because of their illness, their trauma, their suffering, but because they studied and worked hard to develop the aptitude they were born with. Talent is not a miracle, it’s a lifelong effort.

This stereotype is extremely harmful to people who are currently struggling with those health problems, and it should not be used to “give pain a meaning”, because there is always so much more to someone’s life than suffering, and there is always so much more to your own life than romanticizing your own struggles and those of others.

Pain is meant to be worked through, not fed. And when you feed yourself the myth that an artist was brilliant because they were sick, you are erasing a big part of their life to try and make sense of yours. But you won’t find true meaning in life if you’re only feeding your sorrow instead of maybe, just maybe, doing what those artists did and work through it with your own art.

A lot of them did not have any access to healthcare because their conditions were unknown, but they did what they could to keep going. Their deaths don’t mean they gave up in a big tragic ending, and reducing them to that means you’re erasing everything they did to keep going, every fight, every effort they put into their own health and into their life’s work.

I love impressionist art ever since I was in elementary school, my favorite artist being Vincent Van Gogh. I was first introduced to his story as a man who had a mental illness and died a tragic death, while struggling financially and never being recognized properly during his lifetime.

But you see, Vincent Van Gogh had his brother Theo, who kept all the letters his older brother sent him, and sent his brother words of admiration, support, and unconditional love in his own.

He helped Vincent financially so he could pursue his paiting career. He saw the talent in his own brother even when others might’ve not. The period when Vincent was doing a little better with his health was actually when he was most prolific in his painting, which shuts down the idea that someone must be on the gutter and on the deepest pain and sickness to produce great art.

Most people in really poor health have a hard time managing daily life, and they probably won’t miraculously produce their best work yet while they in extreme suffering (I dare you to make the greatest work of art you’re capable of while you’re down with the flu, now imagine being in constant physical, mental and emotional distress and people think you can just make just about anything). Great art takes a lot of work. Genius and suffering don’t go hand in hand, and it reductive to explain away talent by an illness, as if any effort artists put into their craft was meaningless.

Theo named his own son after his brother, and after Vicent died, he still wanted to make his work known, and after his own death, his wife Johanna kept working on Theo’s mission besides her own political activism. She published the letters between the two brothers, and her own son helped in making Van Gogh’s work even more well known. Even though he was just a baby when his uncle died, he kept his memory alive by founding a world famous museum in his name.

Vincent Van Gogh was able to keep working because he was helped by his own family, financially, emocionally, and was given every encouragement so he could go on with his own career. He painted more when he got medical help, even though in his own time he would have had access to much simpler treatments, since the understanding of illnesses has largely changed in the last centuries.

Healthcare, support, compassion and understanding go a long way, and that’s why it’s important to keep pushing society to be more inclusive to people with illnesses - so they will get the help they need, so they won’t leave earlier than they should.

Vincent Van Gogh’s name is not well known just because of his own efforts, but also by the efforts of those who loved him and kept his name alive long after he was gone. He is not famous because he was a tortured artist. He is famous because those who loved him tried to help him in the ways they could, even after he was gone. His fame is not the result of his death, but of his life’s work and the work of those around him.

Love made him known. Support allowed him to keep working. Getting some help even at a time people did not understand his condition well enough meant he could paint more.

Van Gogh was only human, and he felt such a broad spectrum of emotions and lived through so many things, just as we all do. Behind those paintings, there is a person, a story, and so much hard work, and none of that can be reduced to the romanticized ideal of a tragic death of a tortured man.

It is not about his pain, his suffering, his death, you see. It’s about his life. And it’s about the life of those who loved him. He was able to do what he loved because he was loved, and that is the reason is remembered to this day.

I will end this long post with one of his most famous quotes:

“There is nothing more truly artistic than to love people.”

[ananxiousgenz]

alright the more I'm thinking about it the more I am completely bowled over by oscar's sheer level of devotion to arthur. this is insane. this man is insane.

you are a priest working at a small parish in new york city. one of your parishioners has been having trouble with some kind of entity and you have been doing your best to help her. a man who calls himself parker and is claiming to be a private investigator breaks into your office. he threatens to go to the police with what he knows. he says you have a drinking problem. he is aggressive, loud, rude, and intimidating. you give him information. he gives you a number to call him at and leaves.

the next time you hear from him is over the phone. he yells for someone to get down and then there are gunshots and someone singing loudly. you do the sensible thing and call the police. they find a man who was severely wounded but alive and take him to the hospital.

the next time you see this private investigator is in a hospital hallway. he looks like shit. his shoulder is crusted over with blood, his hair matted with sweat, eyes wild with panic, and raw and bloody rope marks on his wrists. you tell him where his father is and that you were the one who called the police. he tears up and says you saved his father.

and then he hugs you.

its the hug that changes everything.

you tell him that you believe he's trying to do good in the world and that you want to help as much as you can. he asks you to sit with his father, tells you that someone is after both himself and his father, and doesn't want you to let him out of your sight. and you don't. you don't move when a prolific serial killer presses a knife to the father's throat. you don't run when this so called "parker" and the man he called "the butcher" begin hurling insults at each other. you don't scream or flinch when the butcher asks "parker" to confess to his murders, his sins, right there in front of the whole hospital ward. the only time you do move is when the police officer tackles the butcher, and only then to crack the butcher over the head with a bed pan and save everyone.

all because a rude private investigator with a fake name gave you a hug. fascinating. how absolutely fascinating.

[notedchampagne]

FUCKING HATEEEEEEEEEEEE FANDOM. like i love fandom but i HATE FANDOM. HARROWHARK IS NOT YOUR PATHETIC WET CAT SHE’S NOT A GREMLIN SHE’S NOT YOUR LITTLE MEOW MEOW. STOP IT RN. SHE’S AN INCREDIBLY CAPABLE NECROMANCER AND AN AMAZINGLY INTELLIGENT PERSON WHO JUST HAPPENED TO BE PUT IN AN INCREDIBLY TOUGH SITUATION. she’s fucking 18 y’all. she did what she could and do you know what? she did well for being completely out of her depth and EIGHTEEN GOD FUCJING DAMMIT. i hate it when characters get boiled down to one fandomable aspect of themselves especially in a fandom with such prolific writers and artists (that’s you!) it literally happens with every character. ianthe is not your cool suave boyfriend she’s a desperate young woman. pyrrha is not your dom mommy she’s just been put into a situation where she is surrounded by children. dulcie? guess what: she exists. gideon isn’t a golden retriever silly boy she’s a complex and capable person. gideon the first isn’t some angry dog he’s loyal to his brother that killed him twice over. paul is a cool and interesting character that i want to see more of. I FUCKING HATE THE FANDOMIZATION OF CHARACTERS JESUS CHRISTTTTTTTTTTT KILL ME NOWWW ACTUALLY GOINT INSANE. anyway rant over sorry i dont have any friends that have read tlt so i have to resort to going insane on anon

this was a fun surprise to receive. that aside i Do agree with you it seems very much like the nature of fandom to fall into stereotypes and tropes for characters because its easier to make content when there is a type of script to follow + its more effort to always dissect things and rebuild them for every au scenario. alas everything is always nicer when you can make your own little circle of people to discuss with

[m1ssunderstanding]

Understanding Lennon McCartney Rewatch Part 2.4

It's in the paper that Allen Klein was involved in 40+ lawsuits and John doesn't question it? At this point, I feel like he just didn't want to let Paul be right about anything. 

My question is who did that work on before? I mean who fucking does business like that? Let alone business with the most successful man in the world. 

John's complaining about Paul being too good at his job is both hilarious (what the hell is Paul supposed to do with that) and sad (it shows just how far their musical relationship has degraded from partners to rivals)

How did they lose Northern Songs? Genuinely, if anyone can break it down for me I'd be so grateful. Anyway I'm sure it was devastating for both of them. “Who'd have the children?” “Dick James”. 

I know I'm insane, but can I be allowed to see a glimmer of goodness here? I really do think it's John's kinder side winning out when he decides not to lie. Like, yes, he gets a buzz off of watching Paul go white at his words, but I think he also just – in that moment – didn't have the heart to trick Paul into staying. 

But also. Why are we trying to maneuver Paul at all if the end game is for John to leave? It just doesn't make sense to try to trick Paul into signing the contract unless John's divorce threat is at the very least not meant to be final. 

I will never understand this picture. Even in the emotional state he's in, he's still hamming it up? There is something seriously wrong with this man. 

I do find it interesting that the fact that Paul cried his eyes out after that meeting isn't even mentioned in the doc. I wonder why. 

Let's put the bizarre, super-warped timeline in this quote aside for a minute. Apparently the depression started after Brian died and it lasted for about two years and John was still in it during Pepper. Okay. That aside . . .

I have to assume this negative lense on what I can only assume means the period between 66 and 68 is highly influenced by hindsight bias. I agree that John was depressed at the time, in an unhappy marriage, doing too much LSD, etc and that looking at Paul's prolific talent and expansive , fast-paced life would have been maddening. But everyone go back to the end of part one really quick. He looks extremely happy. He sounds extremely happy. Everyone who knows him says he's never been happier. I think he just can't accept right now that there was so much good and he's lost it. 

“I look from the wings at the play you are staging . . . I don't know why nobody told you how to unfold your love.”

Insanity quote Hall of Fame. Paul explaining why the Beatles just had to break up, obviously, because he and John "didn't marry the same girl." Someone write the fic where John and Paul both marry the same girl. Could be Yoko or Linda. Sister trad wives au. 

Okay, cool, so this means I have full permission to interpret and tin hat about any lyrics I want then, right?

But also. Are we just not going to talk about the fact that Paul dumped a bucket of garbage water and punched this person? And are we not mentioning the depression and alcoholism and heroin abuse during this time?

It's so embarrassing how he looks to her for confirmation here. John, they asked you what you think. Just you. Not some complicated definition. Not Yoko's definition. Just your own thoughts.

“I couldn't wait for them to make up their mind about peace or whatever. About committing themselves.” Yeah, John. You sound real committed to peace. Or whatever. Here's a theory that anyone can shoot down if they want: John asked Paul for some kind of commitment (a friendship wedding, a partnership contract, a mutual wanking pledge) in India and Paul was a chicken about it. 

What was that day like, I wonder? I imagine extremely stiff and professional and horrid. But who knows. Maybe it was nice, and maybe that made everything worse.

I will go to my death believing that instant karma was for Paul. 

Do we think John actually did send Paul “about twenty postcards from Denmark” all covered in hearts none of which Paul responded to? Paul could be just as cruel in his lack of reaction as John was in his over reaction.

I'm sorry but that is not what a man says when he's just lying to the press to buy time for business. That's what a man says to the press when he's trying desperately to communicate with someone who he can't get through to any other way. 

But really, I just don't understand why the creator chose to minimize Paul's emotional response to John's divorce statement. If we don't see him bawling his eyes out and losing the will to live, he comes off like a self-assured, uncaring, jerk. Which. To be fair. John didn't see those things, and that is exactly what John thought of Paul during this time. But still. The audience now comes away from this doc with a skewed view. 

All we get is Paul being pissed off about Phil Spector butchering Let it Be without his consent and John and George trying to change McCartney's release date without his consent. Which are both a) understandable and b) strong, male, angry reactions. Making this section portray Paul in the same one-dimensional hyper-masculine way that John so often is. Which isn't my favorite. But hey, it's my only complaint about this doc so far.

Anyway, update: I won't be able to do part three until it gets reuploaded, so we're on hiatus for this project for the time being.

[blurglesmurfklaine]

4, 7, 9, 12 for the ask game <3 (all glee if possible)

Yay, thanks for these Crys! 7 was previously answered so I went ahead and skipped it :)

4. say something nice about a ship you don't ship (it can be another ship in your fandom, a mutual's OTP, etc)

I don’t ship St. Berry, but I am of the opinion that if it couldn’t be Finn, I’m glad it was Jesse. He and Rachel really are two sides of the same coin and they seem to love each other very deeply and I hope they’re happy together!

9. a ship that isn't your OTP but that you enjoy

Samcedes 😭 they are my emotional support heterosexuals your honor. But also, they are two genuinely good people who care deeply about one another samcedes you will always be endgame to me

12. compliment someone else in your fandom

Okay this is gonna be a lot because I AM going to do all the active fandoms I’m in! So under the read more!

Glee:

First of all you, Crys! And @backslashdelta You are both so talented with your gif making that it kind of drives me insane.

@kurtsascot is probably one of the most talented writers I’ve ever had the pleasure of interacting with. I feel so lucky that we’ve gotten her so late in the game! I feel similarly about @rockitmans and @thelegendofjenna

@esilher @twinkkurt and @justgleekout make the most BEAUTIFUL fanart I’ve ever seen, and I also wanna thank @carsonphillips for klainegifs and keeping the fandom interesting with their events!

@somefeministtheatrepls is not only an amazing friend but the most thoughtful beta reader and honestly partner in my writing?? Writing is much less stressful because I don’t even worry about things being clunky or weird because I know her ass will help that chapter SHINE

@nancysgillians @kurthummeldeservesbetter also get shoutouts because they are wonderful people to have in your life

Newsies:

I could fill novels with how much I love and appreciate @somanywords! Their amazing storytelling and also volunteering to make art for the MiniBang I hosted earlier this year??? On top of listening to my insane ramblings?? They don’t make em like this anymore folks

@one-paper-bag is also SOOOOOO incredibly talented with their art, and their lovely comments on my Spider-Man AU keep me going (on GOD we are gonna get you another chapter ON GOD!!!!)

@livesincerely and @agentsnickers are some of the most prolific and INSANELY TALENTED writers I’ve ever had the pleasure of reading, and also genuinely lovely people! You know when you see someone on your dash and ur just like “wow. I hope they are having a FANTASTIC day and life. They deserve one.”

@piedoesnotequalpi and @regina-cordium are also so incredibly FUNNY and have the most correct takes on every single newsie and that’s on that ❤️

911:

I’m relatively new to this fandom, so I don’t know a ton of people yet, but there are def people I see on my dash that I have noticed!

@cranberrymoons @lesbianrobin @insertlovelyperson have written some of my absolute FAAAAAAVE fics! I feel like they really have a handle on who the characters are in a way that’s true to the show and kind of difficult to pull off!

@texasbama makes amazing gifs and honestly anytime I see her on my dash I laugh bc genuinely she’s so funny. Also on the list of hilarious contributors is @buckgettingstruck

And a couple of people who I think have genuinely great vibes are @buckera @leathercouchcushion and @yaz-the-spaz

And of course I can’t talk about 911 without a second mention to @regina-cordium who puts up with all my Texas!Buddie nonsense andbansndbsk

-

Okay yeah so that was a LOT sorry!! I didn’t mean for it to get so long BUT I do mean every single word! I’m really blessed to have met so many amazing people through fandom and my experience on this site has been nothing less than superb because of yall ❤️

[gimmethatagustd]

don't go insane | pjm + jjk

Jungkook's friends warned him not to go looking for Thirteen, Seoul's most prolific "pleasure dealer."

↳ pairing: incubus!jimin x human!jungkook

↳ rating/genre: BTS | 18+ | strangers to lovers | fantasy | angst | smut

↳ wc/date: 3.9k | November 2023

↳ warnings: idk if this is dead dove or just shitty but maybe don't read this if you're sensitive to problematic characters, alcohol, strip club, jimin is sort of a drug dealer, humans who have sex with incubi can become addicted, codependency, dry humping, shower masturbation, unprotected anal sex, anal sex without prep, painful sex (but consensual aside from the whole addiction thing???), blood, pain kink, degradation, humiliation, jungkook has issues i'm ngl, jimin also has issues sdhkfjs

↳ notes: this was written for @irishhorse-blog for the halloween drabbles (ik i'm late but halloween is a lifestyle, not a season) who was interested in jikook! this probs went in a totally different direction than you'd ever imagine 💀 idk what i was thinking while writing this, as usual. pls don't @ me jhsdkfjs bye🦇 unfortunately, i couldn't figure out who the original person was who made the jimin edit so shout out to them, whoever they are

↳ masterlist / taglist

↳ what was jai listening to? don't go insane - dpr ian

The bouncer looks over Jungkook’s ID for too long. He shines his mini flashlight at the plastic and watches how the shimmery symbols reflect in the light as if to say, I’m real, please believe me, and Jungkook watches with clammy palms splayed against the sides of his thighs. The denim of his jeans soaks up the moisture as he subtly rubs his hands along the seams like it matters if he’s sweaty. No one will be shaking hands with him tonight, and if everything goes according to plan, he’ll be sweaty for another reason. 

That is, if he actually makes it inside the club before it closes. 

His ID is real, but Jungkook has an “angel-baby face,” as Hoseok calls it. It doesn’t matter that he has hole-punched his face to slip silver rings wherever he can. According to his roommate, round cheeks and eyes pulled straight from a Disney movie are enough to slam Jungkook face-first into the land of perpetual childhood. 

“Alright,” the bouncer reluctantly shoves Jungkook’s ID back into his hands and motions toward the door with his flashlight. 

Jungkook hears one of the clubbers behind him groan, “Fucking finally,” but he’s too giddy to pay them any mind. He tries to keep calm as he slips through the doors, focusing on walking purposefully rather than skipping with anticipation. 

He’s getting way too ahead of himself. A plan is in place, and Jungkook is determined to follow it. Straying from the plan, well, he doesn’t want to think about what that might mean for him. 

For a strip club, Ego is far less seedy than Jungkook anticipated. The club is dark enough to give patrons a false sense of anonymity necessary for men to comfortably sit back in black satin chairs and let their tongues hang out of their mouths as male dancers gyrate in front of their faces. There are patrons of other genders, as well, but Jungkook thinks the men are the most afraid. They take their pleasure in the dark because it’s safe. Only the occasional strobe light of pink and gold casting a sugary glow across everyone’s faces breaks the facade, and even then, the effects are minute.  

Jungkook thinks he has gathered this much about the club and its patrons by the time he eases into a barstool and sips on his overly-priced cosmopolitan. It’s the only fancy alcoholic beverage he knows of that isn’t dark liquor. 

If this were a regular night out with Hoseok and his other friends, Jungkook would be throwing back tequila shots or sipping on a vodka cran. Rather than wear a nice black buttoned shirt and slacks, Jungkook would be sporting baggy cargo pants and an oversized t-shirt.  

The thought that this isn’t just one of his regular Saturday nights reminds Jungkook that he should be nervous. And, fuck, he is. The back of his neck is hot, and a sweaty imprint is left behind when he lifts his hand from the black marble bar counter. It fades eventually, but it’s there. 

He tells himself as he flags down the bartender that after one more drink, he’ll be ready. He can’t get too drunk; he needs his wits about him. 

In the end, Jungkook is lucky that he’s only on his second drink, or else he wouldn’t have noticed the very thing he came to the bar to find. 

Behind the bartender’s ear, half obscured by his mint green hair, is a small tattoo of an inverted pentagram with a dagger running through the middle. Jungkook’s heart kicks up in his chest, practically launching him over the counter. Three words are all he needs to speak. Three words. Three words. Three words. 

“Um,” Jungkook begins, hearing the insecurity bleeding through his tone.

Shit. 

“Would you like another drink, sir?” the bartender asks with a raised eyebrow and an airiness to his voice that catches Jungkook off guard. 

Three words, three words, three words, it’s only three words. 

Swallowing thickly, Jungkook straightens his posture and looks the incubus dead in the eyes as he says, “I summon Thirteen.” 

Jungkook doesn’t know why he does it. There are so many reasons why he shouldn’t. Hoseok laid them all out for him before Jungkook ran off to Ego with his phone on Do Not Disturb and his heart in his throat. 

For starters, it’s illegal. 

Jungkook gets nervous about simply returning his past-due library books. How would he survive jail? Or even if he doesn’t go to jail, he’ll at least get a hefty fine thrown at him and a mark on his record. That’s enough to make him want to start crying just thinking about it.

Then there are the dangers, which explains why this is so illegal. 

Jungkook doesn’t believe in it– he thinks it’s all discriminatory rumors and exaggerations. Incubus or not, they’re just a person. How could sex with a person be dangerous? Sure, there’s the supposed high, but Jungkook just can’t see how it’s possible to become addicted to a person. 

Take the vampire blood epidemic currently sweeping the nation. Jungkook understands that. Humans ingesting vampire blood for the hallucinatory high that comes with it, that type of addiction makes sense; it’s consumable, tangible. 

To be addicted to a person sounds fake. 

For a brief moment, as the mint-haired bartender leads Jungkook through a series of backdoors marked “EMPLOYEES ONLY,” Jungkook thinks perhaps Thirteen is fake, too. Maybe this mint-haired bartender is going to kill him for being fool enough to believe in Thirteen. 

All the horror stories Hoseok fed him earlier come bubbling up his throat like acid, images of people with sunken faces and cracked lips hovering around clubs, not unlike Ego, fingers shaking for a fix they can’t get anywhere else. 

It’s illegal for incubi to feed off of humans. Incubi can only feed from other immortals; humans’ souls are far too fragile. Jungkook is a human, but he’d never consider himself fragile. He has grit despite how his hands shake.  

“What’s your name, kid?” 

The bartender’s question jerks Jungkook out of his spiraling thoughts. It takes Jungkook a deep inhale before he finds the ability to speak, and by that point, the two men have stopped in front of a plain black door with the number 13 embossed in gold in Jungkook’s sightline. 

“J-Jungkook,” he answers, belatedly realizing he should have given a fake name.

With a curt nod, the bartender turns to the black door and knocks on it three times in quick succession. 

From the other side of the door comes a low voice speaking a language Jungkook doesn’t understand. The lock clicks and the sound makes Jungkook realize he can’t hear the loud music from the front of the club. Just how far back is he? 

“Come on,” the bartender orders gruffly. 

Stumbling forward, Jungkook tries to recover, but his confidence wavers once he peers through the cigar smoke weighing heavily in the air. 

It’s a private lounge, perhaps one of those VIP rooms where more than just a routine lapdance occurs behind closed doors. Jungkook wouldn’t know; he doesn’t have the money for that type of thing. 

Through the smoke, a man reclines on a red velvet couch with one arm draped over the back and his muscular thighs spread open. Dressed in a slate grey suit with a tastefully patterned tie snug at the base of a throat covered in thorny tattoos, he looks nothing like Jungkook had pictured. 

Pleasure dealers are said to be dirty and seductive villains who lurk in the shadows and lure you in with a promise of a good time. Thirteen is sophisticated and intimidating, with a sharp jawline and high cheekbones. His eyes, black and ringed an ethereal blue, pierce into Jungkook. Something about him is suffocating, with one look capable of stealing the air out of Jungkook’s lungs like a violent intrusion. 

The hand not gripping the back of the couch rests on his left thigh, palm facing upward. At the subtle flick of Thirteen’s middle finger, the bartender shoves Jungkook roughly into the room. The room, he hadn’t noticed, his entire body drawn toward Thirteen. 

“Sir,” the bartender bows at the waist. “Jungkook has summoned you.” 

Thirteen’s thick lips curl into a smirk that sends a rush of trepidation through Jungkook’s bones. Stony, yet with the slightest glint of amusement, Thirteen’s eyes shift from the bartender to Jungkook. 

“Is that so?”

Jungkook’s next swallow is slimy, like a slug inching down his throat. It reminds him of the time Hoseok hexed him with a case of vomiting slugs after seeing the spell in a movie. 

Unable to speak, Jungkook simply nods. 

Thirteen leans forward to rest his forearms on his thighs with his hands loosely clasped between his spread knees. “To what do I owe the pleasure, Jungkook-ssi?” 

Thirteen hisses Jungkook’s name, and Jungkook feels as though he’s being squeezed, Thirteen somehow wrapping around his body like a serpent despite sitting across the room. Warmth spreads across Jungkook’s cheeks and down the back of his neck. The room is stifling, but Thirteen’s gaze makes his chest feel cold. 

“Pleasure,” Jungkook finds his voice enough to whisper the word right back. “I seek pleasure.” 

Thirteen has a piercing just below his plush bottom lip, a tiny silver ball that matches the location of the little chocolate mole beneath Jungkook’s bottom lip. Jungkook wonders what the silver ball would feel like if he licked it. He’s horrified by the thought. 

“Did you not come to beg me for pleasure, Jungkook?” Thirteen’s breath is hot against Jungkook’s neck. 

If Jungkook turns his head to the side, he can line his lips with Thirteen’s, make them overlap, and pry them open with the tip of his tongue. The thought assaults his mind.

Thirteen digs his fingers into Jungkook’s hair and yanks his head back to force their eyes to meet. 

“Stop fighting me and fucking beg for it,” Thirteen growls. 

“Please,” Jungkook whispers. He squeezes Thirteen’s shoulders, straight and thick with muscle Jungkook wouldn’t expect from such a polished appearance. Even the thickness of Thirteen’s thighs beneath Jungkook is surprising. 

Sitting in Thirteen’s lap, Jungkook feels small. 

“Are you sure you want this, human?” Thirteen spits the question, “Because it doesn’t sound like it.”

Thirteen is cruel. His lips curl into a smirk that’s just as attractive as it is mean. His grip on Jungkook’s waist is bruising and nearly painful, but Jungkook likes it. Usually, he doesn’t. Usually, Jungkook wants to be taken care of gently. He likes soft love, soft touches, soft fucking. Whatever this strange desire to be ruined is, it’s not normal. He yearns for it. His body aches as his mind reels. 

Own me, take me, ruin me. 

A sick mantra clouds Jungkook’s brain. He tries to blink it away, but the more he struggles against this strange pull, the foggier his head becomes. 

“I-I want it,” Jungkook squeezes his eyes shut as a sudden wave of pleasure strikes him in the gut. It’s hot and wet, like lava rolling under his skin, from his chest down between his legs, where his cock is painfully hard in his slacks. 

“Want what?” Thirteen mocks Jungkook’s inability to speak. 

Jungkook can’t stop himself. He ruts against Thirteen’s body, rocking into him to get as much friction as possible. It shouldn’t be so hot, shouldn’t be hurling Jungkook toward an orgasm so quickly, but he feels like his entire body is pulsing. 

“Y-Your cock.”

“No.”

Never in his life has Jungkook ever wailed, but he does now. He sobs with his entire body, back concaving and face buried into the crook of Thirteen’s neck when he cums. 

It shouldn’t have been so easy. Aside from pulling Jungkook’s hair and letting him sit in his lap, Thirteen never even touched Jungkook. Yet he came, the force of his orgasm making him tremble like an addict going through withdrawal. 

“Good things come to those who wait, little Jungkookie,” Thirteen murmurs in his ear. 

A sharp contrast to his earlier behavior, Thirteen runs his fingers through Jungkook’s hair, smoothing out the strands he’d disturbed when he tugged on them so harshly. The action is confusing, though Jungkook’s brain is mush inside his head. 

Jungkook tilts his head back to look Thirteen in the eyes. His eyes cross and waver, unable to focus on Thirteen’s face despite being right in front of him. Sleep, or something like it, tugs at Jungkook’s eyelids. His eyes flutter rapidly as the room spins. 

“You taste exquisite,” Thirteen sounds pleased when he speaks. Jungkook doesn’t understand. 

“I-” 

Jungkook is falling. His eyes are closed, and his fingers stretch into the empty air, searching, no longer holding onto Thirteen’s muscular body. The darkness that sucks him up is cold, like the feeling in his chest when Thirteen looked at him for the first time. It seeps into his bones until Jungkook’s entire body trembles. 

Jungkook is falling, and there is no one down below to catch him.

Jungkook wakes up in his bedroom to the sound of Hoseok singing. His heart beats painfully in his chest. The rhythm is irregular, skipping a few beats or pumping so slowly that Jungkook panics, wondering if it may stop altogether. By now, the sensation shouldn’t be alarming; he’s been having these nightmares for weeks.

Every morning, he wakes like the living dead, sitting up abruptly with his fingers clawing at his chest and his mouth hanging open as he gasps for air that somehow chokes him when it goes down. 

Falling, always falling. 

It takes many minutes before Jungkook is calm enough to get out of bed. His knees are weak as he slowly creeps around his bedroom, searching for clothes that aren’t soaked with sweat. Laundry piles up wherever it can; Jungkook can’t remember the last time he cleaned anything in his apartment. He sifts through the piles as he flips through the catalog of dreams in his head. 

Hoseok keeps telling him to go to the doctor. Insomnia isn’t anything to be ashamed of, his roommate insists. Plenty of people suffer from nightmares – or worse. 

Jungkook knows all this. 

The thing is, the cause of Jungkook’s insomnia isn’t the mystery Hoseok thinks it is. 

Dark eyes stare at Jungkook from the bathroom mirror. The skin beneath them is puffy and purpling, so swollen that the bags wrinkle the tops of his cheeks. He tries smiling at himself in the mirror, and the black in his eyes remains empty, still murky waters. 

Turning on the shower gets more difficult every day. Jungkook's hands shake so hard that he struggles to grip the knob tightly enough to twist it. He can’t ask Hoseok for help. Sleep deprivation can only explain away so much. 

Jungkook keeps the water cold. He shivers beneath the stream pelting his skin, and clenches his teeth to stop them from chattering. The temperature never chases away the need that eats at his insides. His body burns with it. The cold water and the heat of his need create a tornado inside Jungkook’s mind, uprooting every sane thought until all he can focus on is the arousal stirring in his stomach. 

For an hour, Jungkook jerks off under cold water and can’t reach an orgasm. He rubs his skin raw until tears and snot mix with shower water. It hurts his body, and the aching thing inside his chest that he thinks is his soul. 

Why can’t he get rid of this need? 

“Jeon.” 

A rough hand shakes Jungkook’s shoulder. His head slips from where it rests on his forearm and smacks the surface of his desk. 

“What! What?” Jungkook flings his head back, reeling from the sharp pain stabbing his forehead. “What’s happening?” 

Taehyung gives him a sad smile as he crosses his arms against his chest. “It’s after five.” 

Jungkook blinks and looks around at the empty desks surrounding them. “Oh.” 

“Come on, get up.” Taehyung cups his hand under Jungkook’s armpit and hoists him to his feet. “A couple of the guys are going to that new club, Id?” 

Jungkook’s heart is thunderous, like a feral animal locked in a cage. He clears his throat before correcting his coworker, “Ego.” 

Taehyung snaps his fingers. “That’s it. I was close enough. Weird Freudian shit.” 

Jungkook is mostly silent on the subway while Taehyung babbles about the newest office gossip Jungkook has managed to sleep through – again. Hoseok says it’s insomnia; Taehyung thinks it’s narcolepsy. 

Jungkook knows it’s Thirteen. 

The headache that has made a permanent home nestled in the folds of Jungkook’s brain spikes as the two men wait patiently for the bouncer to check their IDs. Well, Taehyung is patient. Jungkook is sweating through the armpits of his work shirt. 

“Hyunwoo said this place is a strip club at night but a pretty standard bar during happy hour,” Taehyung explains because he thinks Jungkook has never been here before. “The duality of it all, right?” 

The mint-haired bartender looks at Jungkook with a blank expression, void of any hint of recognition. Jungkook isn’t sure if he should be grateful or offended as he sits with the rest of his coworkers at the bar. They all sip dark liquor that burns the back of Jungkook’s throat, reminding him that this was never really his scene. 

He pretends to care about their idle conversation, laughs at all the right moments, and sucks on ice cubes to keep his mouth busy. The bartender doesn’t look him in the eyes when he gets Jungkook a second round, but all Jungkook looks at is the pentagram etched into his skin. 

Taehyung’s fingers tickle Jungkook’s elbow, forcing him to look away from the bar. 

“I’m gonna take a piss and then probably get outta here,” Taehyung announces. Two hours have passed, but Jungkook wouldn’t know. 

The moment Taehyung leaves, Jungkook turns to the mint-haired bartender. The bartender stands off to the side to wipe down glasses and organize the alcohol bottles. His eyebrows furrow when Jungkook clears his throat to get his attention. 

“I summon Thirteen,” Jungkook speaks confidently this time, even though he has to sit with his hands clasped between his thighs to keep them from shaking. 

“He’s busy.” 

Jungkook swallows thickly. “What?”

“Thirteen is busy. He cannot be summoned tonight.” 

Anger flares in Jungkook’s chest, heating his face and neck. “What the fuck do you mean he’s busy?” 

The mint-haired bartender rests his forearm on the counter and leans close enough for Jungkook to see the flecks of red in his irises. When he speaks, he shows the unnatural points of his canines. 

“You better watch your tone with me, kid. Wouldn’t want to get blacklisted, would you? ‘Cause I can make it where no dealer in Seoul will do so much as look in your direction. Got it?”

Shame makes Jungkook want to be stubborn and refuse, but his desperation wins. He ducks his head and nods, aware of the fear rolling off him and realizing he doesn’t care. He doesn’t want just any dealer; he wants Thirteen. But he just wants to experience it once to have him fully. That’s all. Only once. Then his curiosity will be satisfied, and he can stop having dreams about the moment Thirteen takes him, finally takes him all the way, touches him, kisses him, tastes–

“You coming?” 

Jungkook startles when Taehyung appears at his side once again. 

“Uh,” Jungkook eyes the mint-haired bartender, but he’s no longer looking at him, “Yeah, yeah, I’m ready to go.”

Jungkook returns the following day. 

No Thirteen. 

Jungkook returns the day after that. 

No Thirteen. 

Jungkook shivers and shakes through a week. 

No Thirteen. 

More weeks pass, more tremors and nightmares stack up against Jungkook’s withering sanity. 

No Thirteen.

“Please,” Jungkook begs with a sob muffled by the carpet. 

He presses his face into the floor, cheek squished in a way that will leave marks on his skin. Jungkook took up the position as a sign of submission that his body naturally fell into without any thought. It should be embarrassing how quickly he sank to his knees in front of Thirteen. 

For months, he’s been plagued by the creature in his dreams. For months, all he has thought about is being taken, owned, ruined. He wants to feel full, to be desired. He wants to know, for the curiosity to be satisfied, the way he knows Thirteen could satisfy him. 

Only Thirteen. 

“Please, what?” 

Claws dig into the back of Jungkook’s neck, piercing the muscle and hooking into it so deeply that Jungkook can’t move. He feels blood trickle down his shoulders and pool in his collarbones, but the pain never comes. 

All he feels is need. 

“Please fuck me,” Jungkook whimpers. “I’ve waited. I’ve been good; I came back. I waited for you.” 

Thirteen scoffs as he releases Jungkook’s neck, only to dig his claws into the mess of his hair and yank him backward. Jungkook is pulled onto his knees with his head tilted backward to stare at Thirteen, who hovers above him with a biting, upside-down grin. 

“Is that supposed to flatter me, Jungkook-ah? Am I supposed to care that you came sniveling at my door every day for months?” Thirteen twists Jungkook’s hair so tightly in his fist that Jungkook feels strands pull from his head. “Begging for me like a bitch in heat, weren’t you? Desperate for cock and to be praised?” 

Each harsh word feels like another claw stabbed into soft flesh. Thirteen’s jeering hurts more than the wounds he digs into Jungkook’s skin, but he can’t stop himself from groveling. His mind is no longer his own. He is desperate. So, so desperate. 

“I’m going to die,” Jungkook gasps when Thirteen roughly pushes him to the floor. Hot tears flow like lava down his plump cheeks. “I’ll die.” 

“No, you won’t.” 

“I will,” Jungkook sobs. “I will. I feel it, I will.” 

Thirteen’s claws rip into Jungkook’s jeans, shredding the denim until there’s nothing left but tattered scraps of fabric wrapped around his waist. The air is cold against his bare skin, and he realizes belatedly that his briefs are mutilated, too. 

“I decide whether you live or die, Jungkook-ah,” Thirteen whispers against the curve of Jungkook’s ear. Jungkook feels the tip of Thirteen’s cock press against his hole while Thirteen’s clawed hand grabs the meat of his cheek to spread him open. “Now shut up and have your reward for being so patient.” 

Pain speers Jungkook’s body, sinking so far deep that he swears it creates fissures in his soul. Something horrible rips through Jungkook’s eardrums; it’s animalistic and wild. It’s his own scream, he realizes with a raw throat, that fizzles into whimpers with every rock of Thirteen’s hips. 

It hurts getting fucked by an incubus, but Jungkook should have known that. It’s the pain that makes the pleasure so addicting, the feeling of having one’s soul devoured at the same time one's body is satisfied beyond their wildest fantasies. Thirteen fucks into Jungkook with his body, but he tears into his soul with his mind. 

Drained, Jungkook wonders if this is how he’ll die. 

“Is this what you wanted?” Thirteen hisses. His voice takes on a slurred, gravelly sound that makes Jungkook’s skin prickle. It’s demonic, otherworldly. 

“Y-Yes,” Jungkook hiccups, and it’s true. 

The skin of his cheek and knees is rubbed raw from being thrust against the carpet, and snot clogs his nostrils from how much he’s crying. When Thirteen twists his hair between his claws and tugs, Jungkook’s orgasm punches him in the chest, leaving him heaving as Thirteen fucks him into overstimulation to the point that he can’t breathe. 

This is exactly what he wanted.

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do not copy, repost, modify, or translate any of my work

[imagine-this-doesnt-suck]

Dead Doves were Born to be Eaten

YellowJewl

Summary:

Here is chapter 2/2 of the continuation fic to Sleeping with Spiders, I hope you're happy you little nasties. We're back and gorier than ever It's fucked, real fucked. There is murder, smut, violence, if you are not comfortable with these themes, don't worry it's not going to hurt my feelings if you scroll on by, I'll still love you.

Chapter 2

Their ecological role is to be prey,” said some doctor during a nature documentary, you had only turned on for the background noise. “They are born to be eaten, and humans are just one of their predators. Hunting has not caused any decline in the various dove species.” Its true, the bird's populations remain resilient, mostly because of their prolific reproduction methods. They’re basically flying rabbits. Commonly, producing only a pair of eggs for each nest, a mating pair will produce up to five broods of young annually, nesting from March until November. Eggs take just 2 weeks of incubation to hatch.

So in short you don't feel as bad about hunting them as you once did. The guilt that once weighed down your shoulders like a ton of bricks every time you grabbed your rifle for a hunt, that made you suffer through countless, meatless dinner nights with only the vegetables you grew from your amateur garden and instant ramen you had picked up from your bimonthly trip to town, to fill your stomach, had all passed. You were able to rationalize it now. It was okay.

They were born to die and be eaten.

You inhale a breath of crisp air into your lungs, it smells overwhelmingly like the pine trees surrounding you in this moment. As you exhale you take the time to level your rifle and aim while you prepare to shoot.

Since moving up here, so much has changed in these past few months. A part of you was worried that the isolation would get to you, that years of living in the city in your comfy apartment, would have made you too soft for this life. But in truth you loved it. You found your cabin to be cozy and charming. The chirping of birds and the delicate rustle of the leaves caused by the mountain breeze turned out to be quite relaxing while you painted. As far as finding being lonesome went, well…

He did stop by quite often, so you wouldn't say that you were all alone.

You had met him some months ago, right before you had decided to move up here. Your first meeting was… unconventional to say the least. But he had expressed great interest in your artwork and you found his talents to be quite entertaining as well. You wouldn't call it love, in your opinion you were both just a little bit too twisted for such a sentiment, instead a mutual fascination was born the the night the two of you crossed paths. 

Still, who could say that it was merely fascination that led him to your cabin time and time again, only to end up buried between your thighs, bloodied knife in hand and a breathy moan that resembled your name rolling off his tongue. 

You were grateful for him. For he was the one who awakened the real you. There was an ugly truth within you that your parents had shamed into hiding. The part of you that had only ever been let out of her cage when you painted. The girl who loved gore and horror, the girl who created truly horrific and blood curdling pieces, the girl who's toes curled in ecstasy whenever he would plunge a kitchen knife into your abdomen and slowly cut off your air supply as he choked you with only one hand. 

Being with him was like living, breathing art. A verse by one of the greats,  Being touched by him felt like poetry;

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed

And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.

(I think I made you up inside my head.)

The man was an insatiable sadistic.

And you were a monster.

You entered the log cabin with ease as the door was left open by its former occupant. The strong scent of iron gave away the presence of blood within your home. 

 Without even giving him a glance you let out an amused laugh. "Bringing your work home with you?" You joked.

"Not my home. Your's ." He responds with a smile.

"Hitchhiker or hunter?" You ask, your voice calm and level. It was casual, the conversation had a certain ease to it, as if you were chatting about what you would cook for dinner as you unloaded the groceries. The thought was so sickeningly domestic. 

You dump the dead bird carcasses on your counter.

"Hitchhiker. Picked him up on way here."

He doesn't turn to look at you as he speaks. From the moment you met him, you found the man before you to be unequivocally beautiful. With his raven black hair that falls just above his shoulders in length and frames his pale face and short stature. He was probably just below five foot if you had to guess. But despite his stature he possessed an almost lethal aura about him and when his sharp grey eyes dart to meet yours, fear itself almost made you turn tail and run when you had first encountered him. Now, his back faces you as he hunches over the young man tied and gagged to one of your dining room chairs. 

You approach Feitan from behind, wrapping your arms around his neck and nuzzling him affectionately, "that's hot." You tell him, feeling up his chest from over the long robes he's clothed in.

He grunts. "Mmm..." You continue to nuzzle him while you whisper sweet nothings in his ear. 

With razor sharp precision and speed, your lover plunges the knife into the man, you sigh dreamily. The victim screams out in pain, the stab wound wasn't enough to kill him, it was just deep enough to keep the game going.

In a second chair, you hear a whimper and turn to be greeted with the sight of a young woman, she looks thrown about and frightened. The victim's girlfriend you suspect, sobs as Feitan continues with his torture.

"Stop, please stop!" She begs, "I'll do anything. I'll... I'll give you anything you want." Tears stream down her beet red face, leaving stains of mascara running down her cheeks. A pitiful sight indeed but, one you know the man you are draped over would enjoy quite a bit.

 You turn and smile at her, "hush. He likes it when you scream, I don't recommend it unless you want it to be your turn sooner."

Her pupils dilate in terror as she goes silent, heeding your warning. Leaving the two of you continue to torment the now unconscious man, severing a finger every so often to awaken him from his slumber.

"Let me grab a drink. I'll be right back." You tell him too casually as if the two of you were simply sitting on the couch together watching a movie. You rush to the kitchen and reach into the cupboard to grab something you were saving for a while. Clear liquid sloshes around in the bottle as you giddily rush back to the atrocities in the living room.

You throw your head back as you take a swig of alcohol. It burns your throat on the way down, setting your insides on fire, adding to the heat and excitement you are already feeling.

"Do you enjoy it?"

The question catches you off guard but you quickly recover, "I enjoy every moment I spend with you." You say honestly. You assume he's asking about the work he's brought home and not the small bit of drinking you had indulged in. Though, honestly you do enjoy both. Drinking has become a bit more of a habit for you as you moved out here all alone. And more so since Feitan has so graciously included you in his passion projects. The booze just loosens you up is all, not that you have any inhibitions about your actions but, it does help quiet that still small voice inside that constantly reminds you that you are a monster. Not that you would tell any of this to Feitan.

Feitan looks down at you, surprise finds a home upon his brow. A pair of sharp grey eyes regard you for a moment with such intensity before coming to rest in an amused expression. "You enjoy every moment you spend with me?" He says, his voice showing curiosity, "Then why do you spend so little time with me?" He seems to be in a teasing mood today. A good thing for you.

 You swat his arm and laugh, "because you are always away with your little troupe, doin crime or whatever." You go to take another swig but take a second to drink the moment in instead, strands of raven black hair fall into his face as he leans towards you, smirk peeking out just above his bandana. As your laughter dies down, you feel the slight tinge of pink stain your cheeks.

He reaches his hand out and grabs yours, pulling you close, "I am always away with my little troupe, if I was not, we would see more of each other."

"What do you mean?" The pink in your cheeks fade into a bright cherry red. Something wells up inside you as you ask this question. It's excitement. It's knowing that the next words out of his mouth could mean everything. Could change everything. Up until this moment, you knew the deal, it was just sex accompanied by the mutual enjoyment of the slaughter and gore. You were never going to ask for more but now that the thought was placed in your head, you couldn't help but mull it over. Even you want to feel a connection.

He looks like he's about to reply to your inquiry and you impatiently await his words, when suddenly like nails on a chalkboard, the victim's girlfriend interrupts with her sobbing, "please! Please let us go!" It seems as if she couldn't hold her tongue any longer.

Feitan turns to look at her, a faint smirk on his face. He reaches his hand out and gently squeezes her cheeks as she sobs, forcibly making her purse her lips. "If that is what you want, girly." He says, venom dripping off his sweet words.

You glare at the two as the interaction plays out. Why couldn't the woman just keep quiet? Did she just have to be such an attention whore and ruin your moment? Whatever happened to women supporting women? Annoyed, you pick up a severed finger that the man had lost and walk over to the woman. you frustratedly push past Feitan and stuff the appendage in her mouth and sneer. "There that will shut you up" you say.

She begins to sob as Feitan releases her face, but before she can cough up the foreign object in her mouth, you clap your hand over her mouth and begin to squeeze.

 She begins to choke on the finger.

You let out a delighted chuckle as her eyes start to bulge from their sockets. You make a mental note to try to remember every detail of her now nearly blue face as you think about what a lovely portrait her tear stained visage would make.

Feitan draws you out of your concentration as he wraps his arms around you and begins to feel you up his hand dipping up under your shirt, "you are always so creative" he coos. You feel his other hand wandering down into your pants, but before you can react he begins to squeeze your breasts.

"Ah, you have such nice ones. Pretty little slut" He comments, as he pinches a nipple in between his fingers

 "Horny asshole." You spat before engulfing him in a kiss. The two of you collide in a passionate ferver as you continue to explore each other's bodies, until you have just about felt each other up everywhere.

You moan in ecstasy as you see him grab for his knife. You shiver in anticipation as you await for what you consider the best part of the night.

Your arms tighten around his neck as you move to straddle him. Bucking your hips, you begin to ride him back and forth, the both of you moaning as he tightens his grip on the blade in his hand.

Your fingers tangle themselves into his hair as you try to anchor yourself to reality. Panting, you breathe out, "what was that about wanting to be with me more often?"

"Don't remember…saying that." He grunts out as his fingers dig into your ass cheeks, helping you along as you ride him. He tightens his grip and you swear that he must've drawn blood.

You furrow your brows in frustration. And through the utter ecstasy of being impaled upon the man below you, you stutter out your response, "C-come on. Early- oh fuck yes! Ah! Earlier you at least pretended like you like me " you manage to whine out the words. You feel him stall for a moment. As if your words gave him a reason for pause but, the cold steel finds it's home dangerously close to your jugular.

"I like you... a lot." You are like a deer in the headlights as your eyes widen. You study his face, his demeanor, the tiny subtle movements of his blade, any sign that he was feeding you horse shit. But whether you simply cannot read the man or the woman alone, lost in the woods, wants so desperately to find a connection to anything that she manages to delude herself, you are unable to sniff out the lie

"I like the way you scream." as his knife trails across your jawline. He smirks as the knife flows down your curves line running water. You squeeze your eyes shut and grin wickedly as you fall victim to the extacy of the moment. You scream out as his knife plunges into your stomach. Your back arches as you scream, crying out in pain as your blood pours out of you.

You hear him chuckle. "I think you like the way i cut you up."

"Yes! Yes!" You moan.

He laughs as the blood coats you like a warm blanket.

Your vision begins to blur as you breathe out the forbidden words between you two and whisper, "I love you…"

 You when you finally do awake on your cabin's couch, your wounds are bandaged and the two victims are slumped over in a corner, presumably dead. Feitan meanwhile, is no where to be found.

He must have unsurprisingly ran off. Your fault really. You spooked him, like a deer fleeing from a warning shot. Should have known better than to get too close. Sometimes you just forget yourself though, you start to think of him as a mirror to yourself. Another monster thirsty for blood but seeking something more. But he isn't you. 

You roll off the couch as your stomach growls and you clutch your bandages as you stumble towards the kitchenette. The dove you had shot, waiting patiently for you to turn it into a meal. You recall one time when you had tried to cook dove for Feitan once before. He had just sneered at you, snapping "Don't you ever fucking eat normal food?"

You smile at the memory when you finally make your way to the kitchen table and sit down to eat. And proceed with the day like any other.

The world doesn't stop when Feitan leaves on his trips. You wake up, eat, shower, do your chores around the cabin and garden, hunt, check your traps, and find time to paint. 

Speaking of chores, after you dump your dirty dish into the sink, you set out on cleaning up the mess from the day before. As you leave the cabin you toss your gun sling over your back, figuring you might be able to shoot a few doves down in your downtime. Grabbing a wheelbarrow and shovel you push it towards your front door and begin to load up. You make a point to do these sort of chores in the morning, or else the smell starts to become too bad. 

You wheel your load past your garden and closer to the tree line. You grab your shovel and begin to dig. Birdsong serenades you as sweat beads on your forehead as you work. It has been unusually hot this time of year, normally summer would have already began to make way for autumn by this time past years. Which reminds you, you should probably try to down a few bucks before the end of the season this year. You don't want to be all out of food halfway through winter. Some deer could do you some good.

When you finally decide that the hole is deep enough, you drop your shovel and stretch. Cracking your back as you do so and letting out a yawn. After this you might just take a nap, you deserve it after all.

Turning back to the wheel barrow, you're finally ready. You loop your arms up under the corpse's armpits and pull him from the wheel barrow. He's a bit heavy and you nearly tip over as you drag him towards the hole. You curse yourself for letting him leave you with this part of the job time and time again. He's just like a little kid, refusing to put away his toys after playing. At the edge of the small pit you have the body off the edge and hear it drop to the bottom with a final thud.

You stare at the body in the hole. A bit disappointed, if you had to admit. The scene was just so un-picturesque. Of course, with you having to practically push after dragging, his nearly bloated corpse into the pit, didn't leave much room for the most graceful landing. His face is obscured by the soil that it's buried in, his hind quarters curled awkwardly towards the sky. More humiliating for the dead man than it is eye-catching to you. 

Oh well, time to dump the girlfriend in the pit.

Learning from your past mistakes, you grab the handles of the wheelbarrow in hopes that it would be easier to chuck the second body down the hole this way. After pushing it to the very edge of the pit, you are ready to lift the back end up, until you hear a quiet whimper break through the quiet sounds of nature surrounding you.

You stop cold in your tracks. 

She's still alive.

A strangled sob escapes her and your blood runs cold. This is a first. It's not like Feitan to leave any bodies breathing before leaving your cabin. " Help m-" she chokes on her words along with the blood she coughs up. What are you supposed to do? You're in broad daylight out in open, merely yards away from your cabin's garden. And you've never done this alone. She looks so much more frail with the sun reflecting on her pale sunken skin. When her clouded eyes meet yours, you all but keel over yourself. "You have to help me please."

Unable to break eye contact, you shake your head. "I can't." The woman looks almost ethereal, velvet red blood spilling over her violet bruised lips framed by skin so ghostly, it's practically translucent. As soon as you spoke, her brows knit themselves in distress. Her once comatose limbs rise out of the wheelbarrow like the undead breaking free from the earth. You stumble backwards, away from her as climbs out, you hastily grab your rifle from your back. "My boyfriend he-" on doe like legs she stumbles about looking around frantically until her eyes land on the pit. She drops to her knees. "No…"

You take a tentative step towards her, rifle still raised, as if she truly were a deer that you didn't want to scare off. She's crying, staring into the abyss of her late lover's grave. "What do I- he's gone. He's gone. What do I do?" She's in hysterics when she turns to you.

"Did you love him?" You don't know where the question comes from but it spills out of you none the less. You are met with a gaze you are unable to define. "I guess you could say, love someone too, " you tell her as you step closer to her. 

"Please, please help me." She begs once more. "If you- you say love someone so you- please I don't want to die." Weeping and barely comprehensible. You know what she's asking. She wants you to help her escape. She most likely believes that Feitan will return and make sure she shares her boyfriend's final resting place. And of course, she would need your help, there's no way she would be able to make it out of the forest herself, especially injured and lacking in supplies. 

Some might argue that it would be an act of mercy to allow death to take her instead, like a wounded deer needing to be put out of it's misery, instead of dropping her off at the nearest township.

You are also aware that if she were to ever make it out of these woods, the cabin would be compromised. Even if you were to swear, or scare, her to secrecy, there is no way she would not go seeking medical help, they would start asking questions. The most pressing being the whereabouts of her boyfriend. And that could lead to the authorities looking for Feitan. What if all of this lead to him not coming back to the cabin because he no longer saw it as safe anymore.

The barrel of the gun comes to rest in the middle of her forehead.

Realization hits her like a ton of bricks. Her blood and tear stained face contorts as she she shifts violently from the bargaining phase to anger. "No! You can't do this! You- you monster!"

A soft smile lands on your lips, "I know. But even monsters want to feel a connection." 

A blast rings through the forest. Birds flee from their trees and take to the sky. A corpse falls gracefully into its grave. And you are left with the image of the ethereal woman sprawled across their lover, the picture finally completed, made multitudes better as you stare down the hole at the ghastly image. It will make a lovely painting, you note to grab your sketchbook before night fall so you can capture the sight later.

For now, you take the handles of the wheelbarrow and turn it around, heading towards your cabin's modest garden. You can hear the mourning dove's song above you, as the birds have begun to return to the area after the gunshot rang out. 

The guilt that briefly weighed down your shoulders like a ton of bricks when you were first faced with killing the girl had passed now.You were able to rationalize it now. It was okay.

Sometimes, like doves, people were born to die.

[hasarjunadoneanythingwrong]

OH YEAH BABY

Holy shit fgo property actually acknowledging arjuna’s prolific travels and the experience he gained from it??? In this economy??

We’ve seen this before but I think mash making herself emotional over a chilly sheep is funny as hell as well

THEY DID IT AGAIN!?! THEY KEEP DROPPING ACTUAL THINGS RELEVANT TO HIS BACKGROUND?

Fujimaru voice: wait I don’t actually know anything about arjuna except from karna I should rectify that

Arjuna is so sweet

WHAT WERE YOU GOING TO SAY HERE?? I’m going insane they give him so much restrained emotion

I’m just. Going to lie down in a corner I think

They’re both cute here tbh

Arjuna voice: can you ask me about an Indian god instead. I know those ones really well

Gilgamesh: lmfaooooo ishtar has 0 cross cultural relevancy

[persona5butitsincorrect]

Got my Haru headcanons, cause let's be real they did her dirty with the lack of screentime

Oooh I absolutely adore Haru so of course

(w a lil okujima 🥰)

Her mother was French. Though she never knew her that's probably what subconsciously drew her to the language (she's fluent) and interest in it's culture. As well as literature. This is something her and Ren surprisingly bonded over, often discussing it over coffee.

^^^(Makoto has occasionly joined them on these outings and found herself stumped on the topic for once. The one time they convinced Ryuji to come he near fell asleep, though surprisingly seemed to take some of it in.)

She had a very brief crush on Ren when she first met him. Though honestly, looking back she thinks it was more the idea of him. At the time she felt this need for some sort of saviour white knight figure and he seemed to fit the bill. He turned her down pretty quickly because his interest lied elsewhere. And she soon figured out hers did as well, the two wound up confiding in eachother about it.

Despite her father having had her tutored in pretty much every subject, the one thing she never quite seemed to master was an instrument.

After her father's passing, she had real trouble returning to that big house all alone. Not the mention the way it already made her feel, boiling up memories of his last few years she'd much rather forget. Knowing that, Makoto had offered to let her crash at hers. Which she did one night, then two, until it came to the point she essentially never left. With that said, it took Sae a good two months to realise there was a third person living in their apartment and another few months to actually find the time to actually take the time to speak to her.

It took her twice as long to realise the two of them had started dating. That had happened around the beginning of the Phantom Theives infiltration of Sae's palace. Noir had constantly been flirting with Queen back and forth whenever they were in mementos. It took Makoto a concerning amount of time to realize Haru wasn't just messing around with her.

It seemed all the Phantom Theives were all being truer versions of themselves while I the meta verse, but for Haru it was all the more extreme having been forced to suppress everything to spare her father's public image. She hadn't realised how embedded into her subconscious it was. It was only really with Makoto she'd managed to feel comfortable expressing herself that way all the time, and over time she became more comfortable with the others too.

Feeling bad for essentially lodging in Sae and Makoto's house Haru tried to contribute to cleaning and cooking. Only she, of course, had never done either a single time in her life and somehow was prolifically bad at both. Causing more mess than she aimed to clean and creating food that might have actually been radioactive.

Makoto offered to teach Haru how to cook a few basic meals. At first these often resulted in some sort of fire or terrible mishap. But slowly and surely her food became somewhat edible.

She became a little too confident too quickly and decided to make all their friends the most insanely spicy curry known to man on a night in at leblanc (albeit, her own taste buds seem to be immune to spice, so that may be the only place the error lies). Makoto gave everyone a heads up to "please just be nice", and so they had prepared to hold in any I'll feeling. But it was just to much for Ryuji and Ann to handle, both of them throwing up into the nearist container (being a plant pot and a half full bag of coffee) and screaming about it for a solid 10 minutes.

(both of them felt immensely guilty afterwards)

On the topic of Ryuji, the two of them surprisingly became incredibly good friends. It started because Haru had wanted to start training in the gym to build some more strength up and feel more secure after everything. Ryuji had offered to go with her, honestly missing having a gym buddy since Ren moved back to Tokyo. There schedules happened to line up pretty well so it round up becoming and regular thing. Sometimes they head down Ogikubo for some ramen (which is usually Harus treat).

She often gets frustrated just hearing about Yusuke's living situation and just shows up with bags of groceries to make sure he's eating right. Thing is he's not exactly a pro cook either and has been seen eating whole bell peppers and calling it a meal.

It was with Yusuke and Ann on a random shopping trip they round up bumping into Sugimura. It was only for a moment, he hadn't ever tried to speak to her. But just seeing him knocked her out of spirits for the whole day.

Things like that happened quite a bit, something would cross her mind. About him or her father, or the dozens of other investor friends who'd make a crude or sleezy comment about her he'd just let slide by. The others had learned to clock it from the way she'd get all quiet and seem to leave the room mentally. Thing was, most of them didn't really know what to do to help her. Other than Yusuke of all people, partly because he had similar moments himself. The two discuss it once and a while.

Despite everything, she still has an incredibly hard time expressing herself whenever somethings wrong. So much so she often doesn't and winds up bottling everything up or keeping important things to herself. She doesn't even realise she's doing it until someone calls her out on it, usually Makoto. At first she doesn't quite get Why Haru is doing it and winds up getting upset, which only serves to make everything worse. It takes a pretty big argument for Makoto to realise this is partly stemming from the trust issues Haru has and a fear of abandonment that isn't at all surprising. They managed to work through it though it's inevitably still hard for Haru to feel safe making herself vulnerable like that. But Makoto is constantly reminding her she's not going anywhere.

She's getting mentoring from Sojiro on how to run a cafe. She works in Leblanc on her days off college. Futaba usually comes around to pay her company when she is, which annoys Sojiro as she's "Distracting his staff" from the two customers they get every 3 hours.

Sae also pops in there most nights after work and offers to give her a ride home. The two of them get along quite well. One of these late night drives home, Sae hadn't had a chance to eat due to being busy with work all day and her stomach was growling embarrassingly loud. Whilst she apologised Haru simply suggested they stop by a Big Bang Burger drive through. They eat Burgers in the car but forgot to get one for Makoto, so tried to hide it when they got home. Which they failed at immensely, which Makoto sulked about just long enough for Haru to make a phone call for someone to deliver them one of the ridiculous big bang challenge burgers. Only for her to suddenly turn around and say she didn't actually want a burger and was just sulking for sulkings sake. It got Haru really vexed, which was probably part of the goal. As admittedly Makoto found it cute when her girlfriend got in a tissy about something stupid.

At some point Haru had gotten to calling Makoto and Sae's house "home". Even though she had her own home only a couple miles away she seemed to not only enter when she needed something from her room or needed somewhere to discuss important matters about her father's company. Though she'd chosen to take a backseat every now and then there was a matter she'd need to approve on.

When she did stay at home she usually took one of the dozen shirts of Makoto's she'd claimed to sleep in.

At one point before Ren left they all had a big sleepover in the house. Having everyone else there made it feel warm again. Since then she's felt a lot more comfortable being there for longer periods when she needs to be.

The house has a home cinema they of course chose to use. But they made the mistake of letting Haru pick the film, every single one of them scarred for life by the gore fest she put on. Other than Yusuke, who was just offended by the bad composition of the cinematography.

The home cinema is of course fully stocked up with the most gruesome horror flicks ever put to film, as well as her father's old Sci fi collection she happily donated to Futaba, who'd geeked out over it immensely.

Futaba had gotten Haru into video games as well. Something she hadn't had the chance to indulge in before. Theyre usually talking on headset together wile playing some first person shooter all night while Makoto's still studying. Haru gets just a little too into it sometimes (it brings out her sadistic side) and starts cussing out and screaming at the screen. Which cracks Futaba up every time.

The Phantom Theives gc is always full of voice notes of Haru yelling "Just Die you f**ing f***face" and alike out of context at 2am through the low bass crackly sound of Futabas headset speakers.

A lot of the time her and Ann go out clothes shopping. Though their taste is vastly different. Yusuke tends to tag along to people watch, because Ann told him he can't go and do that by himself without coming off as a creep.

There's a particular set of photos they all took in a booth together Haru has hung on her (Makoto's) wall. In which Yusuke just looks rather bewildered at what's happening until the last shot. It makes her chuckle every time she sees it.

She misses Morgana a lot when he goes with Ren back to his hometown. Mainly because he can't exactly type her a text. Ren winds up saying he'll help him sned her voice messages, which winds up taking up so much of his time he just sacrifices his phone to the cat to sit on call for 2 hours once a week. God knows how he has so much to talk about,, being a cat. It gets a few odd stares off of his parents.

(I may possibly have more of these to add in a later post, so let's call this part 1?)

[smilebackwards]

batman fic recs

This fandom is so talented and prolific!! Basically the only way I ever find stuff to read is via rec lists so here are some of my latest faves to share! Mostly Tim Drake focused.

Beef Consommé by Vamillepudding | Gen | 14k Jason and Dick aggressively adopt Tim because Bruce isn’t doing a good enough job. Peak brotherly chaos.

Face The Monsters That Are At Our Door by ebjameston @ebjameston | Gen | 5k Pacific Rim fusion where Tim decides he needs to be tested for drift compatibility with Bruce and makes that happen in the most insane way possible. I love him very much.

The Next Life by spqr @andthepeople | Gen | 15k Tim decides he needs to become a necromancer to raise Jason from the dead and bullies Constantine into training him. How could this possibly go wrong. Excellent excellent excellent.

buy the ticket, take the ride by Anonymous | Gen | 13k Tiny Robin Tim Drake is alone in Las Vegas with amnesia and blood on his hands. The part where he calls Jason broke me in half.

The Ruination Of Responsibility by Moxibustion (RyuuzaKochou) | Gen | 89k Genderswapped Tim with all the competence and family emotional hurt/comfort I have ever wanted. I was up to an ungodly hour in the morning reading this. Take care.

buy back the secrets by sundiscus @vinelark | TimKon | 29k Superb TimKon where Kon rescues Tim without knowing Tim is Robin. Technically this is a WIP but I think the 2 current chapters can stand alone and if you slam the subscribe button like I did you get to look forward to 4 more chapters!

just me against the sky by magneticwave | JayTim | 48k Genderswapped Tim and Jason. Tim never becomes Robin and instead just like goes to college and if you don’t think that scenario could be absolutely riveting I think you’ll find that in this story it is.

Aspire to Touch the Sky by Betty | Bruce/Diana | 13k Arranged marriage with identity shenanigans! I only mildly ship this but the fic wholly convinced me. I remembered it almost in entirety and the last time I read it was like 10 years ago so yeah it made an Impression.

[thesolemnhour]

A slightly modified version of inspirations for my most prolific and neurotic brainchild! Reasoning under the cut:

Alase Brinz-Widowknife from Lost Kingdoms and King of Chaos.

I've waxed poetic plenty on how much I adore Wesley's interpretation of Old Sarkoris in Lost Kingdoms, but his present-day Sarkorian characters are just as definitive to me. Alase is a young woman who practices the old art of Godcalling, where Sarkorian summoners call on the ancient protectors of their communities. One of the last Sarkorian Godcallers in the last Sarkorian village still standing. Alase feels a deep desire to do something with her abilities and dreams of taking back to city of Undarin, where Clan Widowknife used to reside. Alase also wonders whether her eidolon Tonbarse truly has a touch of the divine or is simply a loyal companion.

This meditation on what it means to be a Sarkorian one hundred years after the Worldwound opened was so foundational to Agria's character that I named her mother after Alase and decided to make her family another branch of Clan Widowknife.

Aerith Gainsborough, from Final Fantasy 7 (remake).

When I was still trying to nail down Agria's voice, my trick was to imagine all of her dialogue as though Aerith were saying them. Aerith has this delightful combination of sweetness and forcefulness. She's a very nice girl, and you're going to do what she asks! Possibly my favorite line in the game is when she and Cloud are halfway through a plan to sneak into a mobster's house, and she's telling him the last thing he needs to do. Cloud is like, "Hold on a minute," and she says, "No can-do, Cloud. This is our plan, and you'll learn to love it!" I'll take "Things Agria has said to Woljif," for $100, Alex.

Emma Woodhouse from Austen's Emma.

When Jane Austen set herself to writing Emma, she wanted to create "a heroine no one but me will much like." Emma is often selfish, unkind, and thoughtless, but she also cares deeply about the people around her and is willing to change her mind to accommodate them. Agria, likewise, can be a bit too attached to her own way of thinking to consider anyone else's, and it's Emma I look to most when I think about the ways that Woljif forces her to consider other perspectives.

Katara from Avatar: The Last Airbender.

A little bit like Emma, it's Katara's best and worst traits that make her such an influence on Agria. Katara is equally as capable of being kind, curious, and passionate as she is of being controlling and emotional. She can carry grudges and be competitive. Agria is many of these things as well, and the combination of these traits is what always brings me back to her

Kitri, from Don Quixote.

Kitri, my love! From her very first entrance to the ballet, Kitri effortlessly commands the attention of those around her. After every movement, it's like she turns to the audience to say, "Ta-DA!" She is fiery and joyful and alive! She has enormous spirit and insists on having things her way. She's a bit of a brat (affectionate). She is who I look to when I want to represent Agria being a drama queen.

Evgenia Medvedeva, Russian figure skater and Olympic silver medalist.

There is a kind of insanity at the heart of athletes that I'm obsessed with. A sense that if you just push yourself hard enough, you will accomplish everything you want. Evgenia Medvedeva has so much of this, and I am convinced she is the most intense person who has every lived. "As soon as you take it easy," she explained in one documentary, "you get nowhere. You're the same as everyone else." Are you sure about that, two-time world champion, Evgenia Medvedeva?? But it's never enough. That's Agria!

Template:

[ornii]

Numbers Don’t Lie.

Jane/ Eleven X Male Brother Reader.

Summary: You express the want to see your presumed dead sister. Being another one of Brenners experiments, you were luckily able to escape years before it, growing up in Ohio, when you turned 18 you headed to Indiana, to find her.

December 23rd, 1984

It's been a few days or perhaps a week or two since the Snow Ball Dance and it's festivities, while it was a different experience for the kids, you felt the same in Indian High School in Ohio. It all felt so, nostalgic, but the addition of all the horrific and mostly insane things made a twist on it. But, out of all the horrific and Almost unbelievable things that occur in this town, there was one thing that made it worth it all.

Eleven.

After helping Dustin and his Prolific father figure, Steve, find his "Pet." It lead you on a journey to finding about the Upside Down, Demagorgons, and the truth behind Dr Brenners experiments, and most importantly was Eleven, still alive and very much kicking. After closing the gate for the last time you had time to get to know her just a bit more, about her journey the first time she met Dustin, Lucas, Will and Mike. Those times you were able to talk to her were heartwarming. After your spat and fight with the gate, and her Dress at the Snow Ball Dance, you ruffled her curly but small hair and finally felt somewhat at peace.

Giving you some semblance of a normal life with your little Sister, but unfortunately, not everyone was so accommodating about it. There was one person who didn't share your declaration of peace. Jim Hopper.

"Coffee, Two sugars, Spoon-full of creamer."

"Just Black for me."

"Got it chief." The waitress at the Diner walks off, leaving (Y/n) and Hopper at the table, across each other as the tension is a bit, high. The gruff and more experienced hopper glares at the younger and hauntingly mysterious (Y/n).

"So, what did you want?" (Y/n) asks, he leans back into the leather seating of the diner, calmly but smugly folding his arms, hopper looks more annoyed than most in this place.

"It's about Jane." He says, which causes (Y/n) to raise an eyebrow.

"Jane?" He says, Hopper reaches into his chest pocket and shows him a birth certificate, with the words "Jane Hopper" printed. (Y/n)'s eyes narrow to the name and he looks back up to Hopper.

"Eleven.. that's her name." (Y/n) says, but Hopper ignores that.

"Sure Pal, it's obvious that.. you know more about her, situation than I do. I don't know what those doctors did to her but it's obvious she isn't the most sociable kid." Hopper says and (Y/n)'s eyes look more sullen.

"Yeah. The, Test.. Experiments, shock therapy, we didn't go outside, we didn't get to have any contact with the outside world, we never even saw sunlight. I got lucky when my mom was able to pull me out of there, who knows how I would have ended up... but why are you asking? You don't seem like the type of guy to care." He says, and Jim shrugs.

"Who knows I might surprise you.."

"I Highly doubly it, so.. what do you want?" He asks, the waitress returns witu their coffee and places it, they give her a small nod of Thanks and she walks off, (Y/n) sips his sweet coffee and Jim spills it.

"Jane needs someone to help her control her powers, so you're going to help.. In Exchange, you can see her."

(Y/n) stops drinking his coffee, and slowly places the cup down and turns his cold eyes to Jim.

" "In exchange?" This isn't some trade of goods, and regardless I am going to see my sister." (Y/n) clenched the cup handle a bit tightly.

"Yes, in exchange, as much as you want to act like It, you aren't all of a sudden everyone's friend. You just popped up randomly with powers."

"Just Like her, Right?" He says back.

"I can trust her."

"And why not me?"

"She's a 11 year old girl, they're not good at lying, barely legal adults on the other hand."

"Well aren't you funny? I'm not going to play by some dumb rule to see my sister. You aren't going to stop me."

"This 41 Magnum says otherwise." He replies, (Y/n) could probably assume the handgun is under the table in his holster.

"You really want to try this Jim?" (Y/n) and Jim stare at each other. There was silence between them but the tension was so heavy, an intensity fills the diner, as their aggression whispers were promises of destruction.

"I've lost most of my family, I won't lose her too." He says, Jim sees the desperation and Sorrow In his eyes when he spoke, Hopper relents just for a moment and sighs.

"God Dammit... okay, it's true I don't trust you, but Jane.. she wants you to come over for Christmas."

"Christmas? Huh.." (Y/n) says, and Jim nods.

"Yeah, told me she wants it with her Family, with her "Papa and Brother.", and, if that's what the kid wants.." Jim says, and trails on. (Y/n) felt his heart skip a beat, a depressing warmness fills his heart and he nods. Holding back a few tears Jim can see him look down and sniffle.

"...I'd like that." He says. Jim's attitude softens, and stands up.

"Yeah... come over, I'm sure she'd like to see you." He says, and (Y/n) nods once more, wiping a single tear.

December 24th.

The Cabin was renovated to fit the lifestyle of a Preteen girl with powers and a rugged Old cop. A medium sized Christmas tree was planted on a big pot and (Y/n) and Eleven are setting it up.

"Okay, now, place the star on the top."

"Okay."

Eleven, using her powers lifts the star up, and places the plastic model on the top. He gives her a small pat on the back.

"There you go." (Y/n) gives her a smile, and Jane couldn't help but crack a smile. The two look at the fully decorated Tree adorned with Christmas foil and ornaments.

"Well, I guess that's that, you want some Cocoa?"

"Cocoa?" Jane asks, obviously confused by the term. (Y/n) raises an eyebrow.

"Cocoa? You've never heard of it? Jim's never given you any?" (Y/n) asks and Jane just shakes her head confused. He scoffs and walks to grabs his keys.

"Cmon." He says, Jane looks hesitant and fiddles with her fingers.

"We're not supposed to go outside." She says, and he stops.

"Jane, you've been cooped up in this place, Jim's out on some investigation, and who knows when he's coming back and I'm not leaving you here alone, Cmon.. I promise you'll have fun." He says, A bit convinced, Jane follows and they head to his car and out of the woods and into the city, he keeps Jane close as he shows her the snow, the cool winds and the festivities of Christmas. After shopping for the food for Christmas, and getting Jane a Santa hat, they return as she has a glow about her. Jim is still away, but that doesn't stop them or (Y/n), boiling milk in a pot on a stove he shows Jane the brown powder.

"Now. This is Cocoa." He says and she looks at it, obviously a bit confused.

"It's.. Dirt."

"It's Not Dirt."

"It looks like dirt."

"I know what it looks like—"

"I bet it tastes like dirt."

"No it's..anyway.. it's made from Cocoa beans, they grind them down and refine them into a powder. And you mix that powder into hot milk or water, and it turns it into Cocoa." He explains, as the milk comes to a small boil, he pours it into the pot and begins to stir, Jane watches with intensity and curiosity, as he finishes the brew, he can see the intensity that Jane is watching and finds nothing but amusement. He pours a hot up into a mug for him and another for her. Sitting down at the couch he hands it to her, and she cautiously takes it with both hands.

"Now, it's hot.. be careful and just take a sip." He says, and She does as told, she takes a cautionary sip, the rich flavor and scent of warm chocolate hits her sensory and goes overload, she stops for a second, her eyes going wide.

"Good, isn't it." He says, and she begins to chug it down and his face quickly turns to concern. She finishes and a deep brown mustache is above her upper lip and hands him the cup (Y/n) tries to stiffen down his laugh, Jane looks at his quizzically.

"What?" She says, "Do you want another cup?" He asks, snickering and she nods eagerly. He refills the cup and she continues to eagerly consume the cocoa. She finishes again with the same mustache and he tries not keep his composure again. This time she looks more frustrated.

"What's so funny?" She asks and he obliged.

"Okay, let me show you." He drinks a portion of his and forms his own mustache, he points which causes Eleven to giggle at it, he smiled so genuinely at her. She drops her cup on accident and it plummets to the ground, before it can shatter on the ground, it stops mid air, and slowly floats upward via (Y/n), who then takes the handle of the mug.

"Cmon, I got a few movies we can watch." He puts in a VHS of the classic "Gremlins." And sits next to Jane, who is a bit oblivious.

"What's a, Gremlin?" She asks and he elaborates.

"They're annoying little monsters that you can't feed after midnight. Trust me I think you'll really like it." He says, halfway into the film, Jane is asleep, most l due to the literal gallon of Cocoa she consumed. Resting her head on his shoulder, she sleeps so soundly, he looks over to her resting so calmly and he smiles.

"Lightweight."

Five minutes later, he's also asleep, his head cocked back and open. The door Jingles and opens to a grumbling Jim.

"I leave for one day and you two.." he says before seeing them sleeping so, soundly and calmly. His attitude lightens up a bit and he just puts a blanket on them, he checks his watch and raises an eyebrow, he looks at them sleeping so warmly.

"Huh, Midnight.. Merry Christmas."

[consistentsquash]

2023 HP Slash Fic Recs (January to August)

My favorite slash fics written in 2023! Full disclosure everything is Snarry except one fic which is Sirius/Albus + Snape/Albus.

In the Margins of What We Know by Malora (January)

Snarry, 27700 words, epistolary fic

Snarry doesn't really get a lot of epistolary fic. So when I saw this one I was super excited. Love it. Really creative fic with a lot of scope/worldbuilding without a lot of words.

Magic and Botany: The Bamboo Forest of Li Xian (book excerpt) A bamboo forest is unusual compared to other forests in that its growth happens beneath the surface. The Bamboo Forest of Li Xian, in fact, could be considered one organism. There is a single root system for the entire forest. Two shoots of bamboo, seemingly distant, can be connected in ways that are not easily seen.

Check out the rest of the Snarry Adopt A Prompt Fest 2022.

  This Mirrored Perspective by @likelightinglass and zalil (February)

Snape/Harry/Tonks, 8000 words, PWP, Dirty bad hot wrong

Ok this is my OT3 and I don't really take questions. But this is my OT3 because of Likelightinglass writing An auror, a professor and a potioneer walk into a bar. This fic has a totally different vibe! It's intense, psychological, dirtybadhotwrong porn with peak self-indulgence. Definitely NSFW.

That nagging sense that he didn't deserve it.

  Night Skye by @titconao3 (March)

Snarry, 11500 words, OTP comfort food fic

Heartwarming OTP fic! It's the best Snarry comfort food fic I read this year. Good vibes, sexy high chemistry, loving/intimate feels, brilliantly characterized, beautiful settings.

“One day…” He shakes his head and looks up at Harry, his eyes like coal. “Today,” Harry says. “Today, Severus; that’s what matters.” This is how, finally, Harry gets Severus to agree.

  Coda to "Soft Touch" by @perverse-idyll (April)

Snarry, 3,300 words, Soft

Have recced before. Will rec again. Because everybody needs to read it for the soft tender vibes. Not really soft. But compared to the intense angsty fic this is a coda for, I feel like it's optimistic and soft and I just feel so happy for my OTP.

"Can a man not toss off in the privacy of his own room without being accused of sabotaging his bloody health? If you can't trust that I have a vested interest in my own recovery - "

Snape spotted Harry, and a flush raced from his collar up to his hairline, exquisitely pink beneath his unnaturally smooth skin. But although he swallowed his tirade, Snape didn't seem particularly put out by having practically shouted his masturbatory claims to the entire office.

Check out Soft Touch the perfect dysfunctional/dirtybadhotwrong massage fic which inspired this coda!

  Devotion by @danpuff-ao3 (May)

Snarry, 27000 words. Intense/dirty bad/hot/wrong.

Exactly what I want from my Snarry! Honestly Danpuff is bringing the oldschool vibes of Snarry back with a bang in their fics every single time and I am just super spoiled now. Snarry forever :D Also love to see Danpuff going into longer fics this year!

Though the worst crime of all is Potter’s. "Did you want to die?" Also The boy knows — he knows — he can take anything he wants. That bitter surrender is surrender all the same. That the force of Severus’ loathing is fed by his longing.

Pro tip - Read Contempt together with this fic. Check out other fics from Snarry-a-Thon 23

  Much Ado About Asmodeus by @ac1d6urn (June)

Snarry, 18100 words, Fluff

Fluff and crack! Really love the oldschool trope parody vibes of this fic. I actually haven't read something like this in a pretty long time. Going on my rereads! Also going on my holiday season reading list :D Also love to see Acid's insane prolific streak this year. I feel super spoiled as a reader! <3

Harry squinted against the rain and promptly attempted to expunge the phrase "Ventus Vultuosus, swish and flick when in a bind!" from his memory. Ugh. Curse you, Common Weather Weathering Spell #13! That'll be the last time I trust anything Witch Weekly puts out in fine print. (Except maybe that last fruitcake recipe.) Now that he thought about it, Auntie Annabelle's Advice Column on "Ten Ways of Bewitching and Beguiling Your Mr Right" didn't seem so reliable either, especially considering some of those later suggestions, and maybe even those in the middle too. Those were a bit wild.

  Promises, promises... by SerenaEW, @acydpop (July)

Snarry, 5000 words, Fluff

Aww!!! The Snarry Summer Fluff I was totally praying for and really needed! Perfect Snarry Bang opener for my reading <3 Also the art! <3

Severus was looking at him, telling him, with only a glance, to shut up before you say something utterly idiotic. The expression on Jamie's face looked nearly identical.

Check out the other fics from Snarry Bang 2023

  Brillig by eldritcher (August)

Dumbledore saying "You disgust me" to people in his life but also meaning "I disgust myself". The more he sees himself in the other person, the more disgusted he gets. Intense, intense beautiful fic. But also healing because he finally overcomes that.

He disgusts you. Ratty, bony, skulking, pleading, raging, raving, frightened of the shadows and frightened of the fog, frightened of you. "You did not save Lily!" he yells. "You did not save James!" he weeps. "You did not save me!" he whimpers, and huddles into himself and trembles as if the North Sea is in his very veins.

Also the math works out!!! Snape/Dumbledore + Sirius/Dumbledore = Snack by proxy actually.

Check out the rest of the spectacularly beautiful Frabjous which contains some of my all time favorite fics.

[conostra]

Death in Blood Meridian, or- The Evening Redness Of The West

In the old West, the old South, death was plentiful as dust in the Mojave. But in Blood Meridian, it is the Chihuahua that takes precedent, and the Chihuahua desert alone whose arid soil bears the blood of everyone lost to the party that our nameless protagonist, “The Kid”, travels with in his journey to find something to make out of this miserable little thing we call a life. And the world views these lives as just as miserable. Blood Meridian is incredible at conveying the truths of the old world: this is a place filled with bloodshed, loss, and pain insurmountable, a concrete and unbreakable vow of promised misery placed on each and every occupant, and fulfilled like prophecy by not only the insanely inhospitable climates, but the even more deranged occupants who have nothing better to do than act as extended arms of the chaos and turmoil that the wilderness on its own is quite capable of supplying. But as frequently as Death occurs during The Evening Redness In The West, it is vapid and empty- every lost life is as meaningless as the things that life managed to perform in its short and destructive duties scalping or being scalped. Lives are viewed like livestock, merely performance numbers meant to measure how well or poorly the brigade is doing at any given moment. 

Death here comes and goes like the wind. It is never hung on, nor escalated in proportion. I would go so far as to say that death in the West is a statistic and nothing more, a life is a resource- every count after every skirmish the party is involved in lists off dead, then lists off injured, then lists off those injured enough to be left for dead, and then moves on. At most, we will get another paragraph detailing how their things were distributed and their horses used, and then the caravan continues on in their journey. And even those embellishments begin to fade off as we continue further into the story, into the journey. We spend two chapters with a young man who rides with The Kid, only for him to be shot and killed at the doors of a saloon and bleed out in a few sentences. The beginning of the next chapter has completely moved on from the morbidity, and instead shifts focus to the handling of his equipment. 

This is how life is treated by everyone, by the world, by the author. At least, with the exception of two people in private- The Kid, and Judge Holden. Now, keep in mind, I have not finished the book, but I am in the process of doing so day by day. That being said, I just came off of reading a series of passages that portray death so markedly different from what came before them that I felt the need to say… something, at least, about it.

Holden is very clearly a man far removed from whatever things go on in the world, so distinctly human that he seems insidiously inhuman, a living thing surely, but more closely aligned to a creature, some sort of beast from the depths of the world’s underbelly that wears the skin of a man and nothing more. His goals are distinct and independent from the rabble around him, attempting to understand everything about everything he can see, hear, learn of, or even merely acknowledge. He would so much as pluck the very moon out the sky if it meant he could learn what the dark side looked like and mark it in his journal. He is prolific in his notation and profound in even his most casual speech, wise beyond mortality and willing to gamble with his life as much as any other’s like another casual chip to throw in the pot. But he is vindictive, vile as he is educated, his talking points and sagacious musings a veneer for his sadistic tendencies. 

In the heart of Jesus Maria, the Mexican town they reside in after another successful bout of scalping and selling, a young boy approaches Holden and attempts to sell him goods- again, the lives of two young and eager dogs would be more than just goods in any context excepting the depravity of the exact context in which they reside- and Holden is nothing more than amused. He offers the boy far more than the worth of “a bushel of suchpriced dogs” as the boy takes it and offers them to him. The glistening of the gold is infatuating, and deflects any attention away from the Judge walking to the river nearby and pitching them into the frothy mess below until the splash, followed by their cries, stirs the boy from his blood-soaked riches. Holden’s demeanor remained unchanged by the thrashing desperation of the dogs, pleading in the waters as they were dragged along by the current. Eventually, after a signal from the Judge, Vandiemanlander puts one in each of their skulls, the water now running a soft, diluted pink as their carcasses aimlessly drift along its pull. The Judge continues to walk on, and Vandiemanlander finishes pissing in the river as he was doing before.

What is different about this to me is not its brevity- it is its tone. This section lasts only a few short paragraphs, no more than most of the other segments of discussion leading to death- after all, the Jacksons were consistently at each other’s throats, and even then, their actual arguing lasted only a page or so until Black Jackson put it straight through White Jackson. What’s different here is that this is even more callous and sadistic than the activity they have engaged in before. Even in the dragging of old women out of their homes, the scalping of young boys, of anything, there has never been activity like this by anyone but Holden himself. To all the others, this murdering and pillaging is still just… work. Even if they are “superior” to the "disgusting Injuns" they hunt and slaughter and are hunted by and slaughtered by like warring herds of cattle, they still treat it at best like a job worth the gold. 

But for Holden? This is tantamount to some type of holy war. But not as though the Indians are depraved. It is a war against sense, against the most modest of even utilitarian good or generosity. Against humanity, almost. Doing this to the dogs is a swansong to the magnum opus of his wanton cruelty, the murder of the innocent young Apache boy. The Judge, after leading the men in the slaughtering of entire villages, warriors and civilians alike, takes to a young boy they find in the wreckage. The gang feeds him, plays with him, grants him -and themselves by association- a small reprieve from the brutality of their perverted crusade. Holden takes note of this and, when the men take a pause in their relaxation, takes the boy to play with him himself. He bounces the boy on his knee, plays with him, and after a moment, scalps the boy and kills him, leaving his body on the wayside while he sits. Everyone is perturbed to some degree, most of all Toadvine, who pulls out his gun, pointing it directly at Holden’s head. Holden looks at Toadvine, unflinching, and tells him: Shoot me dead now, or put that gun away. Toadvine holds for a moment, before the realization of their predicament hits him, and he re-holsters and bites his tongue.

The Judge revels in the vileness that the warfare and chaos he perpetuates provides. He thrives off of it, feeds off of it. It fuels him, and in turn he fuels it through his ridiculously sadistic behavior. He flips the narrative’s lack of hanging on a moment on its head. When every scene rushes by, every moment Holden acts hangs a moment too long- for every decision they make, cut-and-dry, the action taken one moment and the reaction occurring the next, Holden violates the theme and moves just as swiftly, but things hang not on his actions, but on the reactions. Holden’s behavior has more gravitas behind it than any else in the world, and despite his larger-than-life persona AND literal personhood, there is a magnifying glass that highlights his behavior more than anyone else’s.

Anyone else’s, of course, except for The Kid.

If Holden is a magnification of the violence of the world that they reside in, The Kid in isolation is a blow-up of the context of the world around it, and the gaps between that violence, even more so than The Judge. Whenever The Kid is part of the gang, operates in the crowd, he is effectively nothing more than a passive observer and participant in the senseless violence and barbarism they all engage in. But in those moments where The Kid is alone, or even in a group smaller than the whole, he almost regains his personhood, and independent will. He does not engage in the same savagery as his peers unless goaded into it. 

There are two particular events that cement this point for me. The first is when The Kid helped David Brown by removing an arrow from his leg. In the very same Chapter where the Judge commits his (so far) ultimate act of malice in the scalping of the baby, it starts with The Kid committing an act of selflessness beyond any the rest of the gang was willing to commit, independent of all of them, since they all actively refused to do the same before him. He alone took the supposed risk of assisting his fellow man, having the arrow pierce all the way through his leg, cutting the barbed head off. He gets back into his bed and is immediately lambasted by the expriest in the gang, told that God will not love him forever, that he would sooner have lost his life than successfully remove the arrow and that his luck will, inevitably, run thin. This frowned-upon act of independent good is hammered in with emphasis, both within the narrative through its highlighting and the controversy around it, and even meta-textually. There is a mid-chapter partition immediately after the boy has the priest hissing like the serpent down his ear, raving about how he would be hung out to dry for trying to do good.

The second is the passage that I just read, the one that inspired me to write this. In the very second paragraph of Chapter XV, the chapter that contains the passage I’m referring to, there is a sentence detailing how, while fighting a cavalry, three of Glanton’s men die, seven are injured, and of those seven, four were no longer fit to ride. Immediately, after all this death, things move on. And yet, just a bit later, here we are with The Kid accompanying several of the injured. The injured who is still the most capable, Shelby, a young man who had even been going to college before coming out here through the allure of a future for himself and a woman, had his hip shattered by a round. He could scarcely move, couldn’t even crawl on his own. The Kid offers to help him. Shelby’s response is swift and coarse. “If I had a gun I’d shoot you.”

And yet, they still go back and forth, and after a time, Shelby concedes to assistance, only to attempt to take the gun out The Kid’s waistband. He returns to his horse, puts the weapon away, and still decides to return and continue to talk with Shelby. Only after Shelby finally consigns himself to his fate, staring straight up at the sky after being warned of the approach of hostiles, does The Kid finally take his leave.

The Kid is practical, but generous all the same. There is no excessiveness to his actions- at least, not anymore. He does not overstep his welcome, but tries to help to the extent that he is allotted all the same. He is, in this way, the complete opposite of Holden, a man who gives nothing but strife, who takes all that he can force to take, and allots only that which he can abide to lose. They share only in their inversion, and act only in synchronized opposition- Holden and The Kid both are truly themselves when left completely to their own devices, and oppose each other completely in both action and inaction. I know there is so much more for me to discover as I continue to read, but I just wanted to share a quick observation I had made that I thought was interesting.

READ THIS BOOK PLEASE LOLLLL

[gimmethatagustd]

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If you are under 18 years old, do not interact with my fics. Most contain smut and aren’t appropriate for minors. Click here to view all my fics. My fanfiction works are created for entertainment purposes only and do not represent real individuals or events. My content is exclusively posted on Tumblr (gimmethatagustd) and AO3 (gimmethatagustd, daddytaehyungie). Copying, reposting, modifying, translating, or using my content for AI purposes is strictly prohibited. All rights are reserved.

Updated September 16, 2024

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